#It's the fifth entry I think? It's really good!!

[trustmypoison]

First time with Wonwoo

Requested? Yes!

Request: ‘hey jj!! can i req for a drabble on wonwoo and reader’s first time in bed tgt? i feel like the way you write bed scenes is just so intimate and loving and i would love to see one for wonwoo!’

TW/CW: explicit smut with mentions of protection (stay safe). First time with each other (not virgins). MDNI. 

Word count: 2.8k

A/N: Thank you to the requester for the sweet compliment. I'm still trying to get comfortable writing this sort of content, so I hope you enjoy.

Wonwoo thinks your nervousness is rubbing off on him.

You two have been dating for a while - a few months to be exact. Life has gotten in the way and this is only the fifth date. But he’s talked to you every spare moment, texting you constantly even when he’s on the other side of the world. He’s very into you. He knew he would be from the moment you said hi. 

But he can kind of tell where the night is going. You’re not his first girlfriend and you’re also not his first time, and the tension simmering throughout the date is crystal clear to him. But so is your nervousness. It sort of cuts through the excitement of it all, serving as a warning to tread carefully. 

Admittedly, he’s a little nervous too. He can’t remember a time that he’s ever been all that anxious about this sort of thing, but this is a special moment. A tipping point that often makes or breaks a relationship and he’d really like this one with you to work out. So he resolves to just see where the night goes.

He talks to you through dinner like he normally would and guides you to the car with his hand on your back. He holds your hand in your lap on the way to your apartment as he drives. He likes the innocence of the affection you two share so far. His touch is gentle as usual, but tonight, your grip is a little tight on his hand. 

He insists on parking and walking you up to the door. There’s no motivation behind it beyond making sure you get inside safe. He expects to walk you to the door that he met you at earlier tonight and maybe give you a little kiss before being on his way. But you shove the key in the lock and pause in the doorway. “Do you want to come in for a bit?”

Of course, he does, and he says so. He expects you to offer coffee or tea, maybe a snack. Maybe a kiss or two good night when it’s time for him to go. You two have done all of that before once or twice.

He doesn’t expect you to corner him in your entry way and press your lips to his as soon as the door is closed. Wonwoo sighs into the kiss, one hand finding your face to cup it, the other wrapping around your lower back to pull you close. It’s not the first time you two have kissed, but it’s certainly the most intense one you’ve shared. The others have been sweet pecks at the door or in the car. 

The more you lean into him, pressing your body against his, he can’t help but gently spin you so that your back is against the wall instead. You sigh at the pressure as your hands roam - his shoulders, his chest, his waist. When they drift to his belt, he pulls away from your lips. 

He loves the duality you have. You look a little sheepish staring up at him, and he could feel the nervousness radiating off you all night. Yet, you’re still bold in the face of nervousness, not shying away. He still pumps the brakes, pulling back to put a few inches between the two of you. Your hands slide to curl around his shoulders again, like it’s a safe zone. 

You smile, that tinge of nervousness present again. “Sorry. Too forward?”

“No, it’s not that,” Wonwoo soothes immediately, hand combing back some hair from your face. “I just didn’t want you to be under the impression that that’s all I’m here for.” You stare up at him like you aren’t sure what to say. Wonwoo purses his lips. It occurs to him that you might feel some kind of invisible pressure to conform to a timeline, like five dates or less is the magic number for this sort of thing. “I’m not turning you down. I wouldn’t dream of it. But I have no expectations.” He punctuates this with a gentle squeeze of your waist. 

“I know,” you mumble. “You’ve give no indication that you do. But I definitely wouldn’t mind it.”

“Wouldn’t mind it? Or want it?” Wonwoo clarifies because the distinction is important to him. He won’t move a muscle if it’s not a want, not even when your expression shifts a little. You swipe your tongue across your lips and Wonwoo resists the urge to suck in a breath at the sight. 

“I want it. If you do, that is,” you finally say. 

Certain images flash through his mind, ones that make his head spin, and he resists the urge to make any of them a reality right now. You two have never discussed what you like in bed. This conversation is the closest you’ve ever come to addressing the topic of sex. So, he takes you by the hand, pulling you into your living room. He sits down, pulling you to stand between his legs, hands on your hips. He stares up at you for a few seconds. “I want it. But what we do is up to you.”

That little slice of boldness is back, because your hands are on his shoulders again, pushing him to lean back as you crawl into his lap, straddling him. His legs spread wide as he gets comfortable, and your dress bunches up your thighs as you move with him, tempting him, but he keeps his hands pinned to your waist as you lean into his lips again. His breath catches when you boldly swipe your tongue across his lips. He lets you in, hands gripping your waist tight. But as you both find a rhythm, his hands start to drift. He keeps going because you shiver and sigh into his mouth at every sweep of his hands. 

Wonwoo’s hands finally land on your thighs, just above your knees, squeezing gently. You settle even more into his lap and his hands inadvertently slide up your thigh a little more when you do. Your weight fully on him has him gripping your thighs a little tighter, thumb sweeping into your inner thigh. You let out another shiver, accompanied by a little sound at the back of your throat - not quite a moan or a whimper, but it’s encouraging. Encouraging enough that the tips of his fingers slide under the edge of your dress a bit, exploring the skin of your upper thighs. 

You’re starting to grind a bit, perhaps without even realizing it, and this paired with the creeping of his hand means that eventually his thumb brushes your core. You gasp softly and he’s elated by your responsiveness, letting his thumb sweep across the lace of your panties gently again. “Okay?” He asks. You nod and he likes how your eyes drift closed as he applies a little more pressure, your clit right under his thumb with every sweep. 

He peels away one side of your panties, fingers exploring. You both sigh against each other’s lips as he feels how wet you are. He circles your clit, helpless to press his lips into your neck when your head tilts back, sucking and nibbling lightly. Your fingers dig into his shoulders a little when he slides a finger into you, body jerking slightly at the sensation. He smoothes his other hand up and down your side. When you ask for a second finger, he sighs against your neck, giving it to you. The feeling of you like this has him throbbing in his pants and he begins to pump his fingers steadily. 

You start to make little noises that Wonwoo needs to taste, so he pulls you down to kiss him. He knows when you’re getting close. He can feel it in the way you wrap around his fingers a little tighter, particularly when he gives you third, and how your fingers dig into his hair. You stop kissing when you’re at the edge, a little pinch between your eyebrows. He kisses your slacked jaw. “It’s okay, let go for me.”

You do, and Wonwoo continues pumping his fingers gently as you shake. He wraps an arm around you as you sag a bit when you’re done riding it out. He pulls out his dripping fingers, righting your panties. You give him a bit of a hazy smile and he presses a kiss to your lips. “Feel good?” He asks with only the tiniest bit of ego, but you still chuckle. 

“You couldn’t tell?” That tinge of nervousness is back. “Sorry, it’s been a while for me.” 

Wonwoo shakes his head. He doesn’t want to hear you say sorry for anything that just happened. “Don’t apologize, you were perfect. We don’t have to continue though, if you don’t want to.”

“Oh no! I want to,” you say confidently, before biting your lip. Your duality drives him crazy. “Only if you want to continue.”

“Can I take you to your room?” Wonwoo asks. “It would be more comfortable.”

You beam, haziness gone. “First door on the left.” Wonwoo stands up, taking you with him. You wrap your legs around his waist, a little gasp leaving your mouth close to his ear. He follows your instructions, flipping on a lamp inside your room before plopping you down on the bed, landing on top of you. Your hands wind into his hair, pulling him down to you. He’s lost in how you feel underneath him, particularly when you don’t unwind your legs from his waist right away. He’s unsure of how much time passes on top of you, kissing you with increasing fervor. 

His hands roam from your hair, down to your neck and chest, down to your waist and hips, and then back up again. When his tongue dips into your mouth, your legs tighten around his waist, his hardness pressing right against your core. Your hands drift down, finding the hem of his shirt and he helps you yank it off. Your touch feels better on his bare skin. It’s soft, but your rings are cool against his skin and your nails prick a little every now and then. He wants them in his back at some point.

You reach for the zipper of your dress on your side and he helps you drag it down, sliding the material off. “So pretty,” he sighs against your heated skin, leaving little marks down your collar bone and breasts. He’s working his way down to be between your thighs when you pull him back up, hand landing on his belt. “Later. Can I have you now?”

Wonwoo catches his breath, mostly because your words do something crazy to him. “Condom?”

“Top drawer,” you say, gesturing to the bedside table. He’s quick about fishing one out, but you’re quicker about sitting up with him, hand still on his belt. “May I?” Something about the way you say it makes Wonwoo pinch his eyes shut and nod. You seem to like the impact you’re having on him, biting your lip as you undo his belt, reaching for the button and zipper of his pants. He kicks the material down, along with his boxers. He feels exposed if only for a split second before you’re taking the condom from him, rolling it on for him. He shudders at your touch, desperately needing the distraction of pushing you back onto the bed, undressing you completely. If you kept touching him like that, he wouldn’t last long. 

Wonwoo falls in between your parted legs and you both sigh at the feeling of him against you with fewer layers between you both. “Are you sure?” 

You nod, and he squeezes your waist, asking for a verbal answer. “Yes, I want you.”

He loves the sound of that, but he still tacks on a genuine, “Stop me at any point.” 

You pull him into a lingering kiss as he rubs the head of his cock against you, gathering your wetness. The sensation makes your thigh twitch in his hand. But when he notches the head into your entrance, he feels you tense. He presses another soft kiss to your lips. “I’ll go slow, but tell me if it’s too much.” Only when you nod does he start to push in inch by inch. He bites back a groan at the back of his throat, both at the feeling of you engulfing him and the way your mouth drops open at the stretch. Once all the way in, he places soothing kisses along your cheeks and jaw, hands running across your body soothingly. “Okay?” 

You nod, though there’s still that little pinch between your eyebrows. Your nails are still biting into his shoulders. “You can move.” He sits back on his knees, pushing your legs up just a bit, but he can see that it changes the whole angle for you. He slides out and back in, and that pinch between your eyebrows is totally gone, replaced by a blissful look that makes him groan. You yourself pull up your legs even more and he slides in deeper with each pump. 

Once all signs of discomfort for you are gone, Wonwoo picks up the pace and the noises you make are heavenly. He cages you in below his body, hips moving faster with every minute that passes. He feels how you grip his hand, fingers intertwining with his. “I’m close,” you say, words a little lost between the sweet whimpers and moans. He’s pounding into you, rougher than he ever planned for this first time to be with you, but you seem to enjoy it as much as he does. 

Like earlier in the living room, your jaw goes slack as you fall off the edge, clamping down around him, back arching off the bed. One of his hands slides underneath your back, holding you like that to keep the deep stroke. It only takes a few pumps like this for him to fall off the edge too. 

Once he’s caught his breath and your body has relaxed, he gently pulls out of you with a little kiss, going to your ensuite bathroom to dispose of the condom. He comes back with a damp towel. You shiver when he cleans you carefully. You fold into his side when he’s back in bed and you both are out like a light. 

The next morning, you find Wonwoo in your kitchen, clad in boxers only while he makes some breakfast. He looks over his shoulder at you as you wrap your arms around him. “Aren’t you cold?” You ask.

“A little,” he shrugs, flipping off the heat for the burner and placing the skillet aside. He turns to you, arms folding around you. He’s felt a little anxiety about how the morning would go, and the way you fall into him inspires some hope. 

“You should bring a change of clothes next time,” you say casually into his chest. 

“You’d like there to be a next time?” Wonwoo asks cautiously. 

“As long as you do,” you say simply, pulling away to look up at him. “As long as you enjoyed it.”

Wonwoo presses a long kiss to your lips. “I did. As long as you did.”

You laugh at the way he throws your words back in your face. He picks you up, placing you on the counter so he can stand between your legs. “Are you free today?” You ask, fingers folding into his messy hair. He nods, humming against your lips. “Good, I have some ideas,” you say with a little bit of a mischievous look. 

Wonwoo chuckles, pinching your hips lightly. “Oh?”

“Mhm,” you nod, easy smile on your lips as your hands drift to his chest. He loves everything about this, but particularly that the nervousness from last night is almost totally absent. Your fingers drum against his collar bone lightly. “I was thinking of starting with a shower. Breakfast can wait.” 

He doesn’t think anything of snatching you off the counter and carrying you out of the kitchen as you giggle in his ear, clinging to his shoulders. He thinks he could do this for the rest of his life. Not just the sex, but really anything with you. 

[gureumz]

liar, sweetheart

rating: explicit

member: sunghoon

premise: your best friend, benj, is a twin but he's the complete opposite of his brother. his brother, sunghoon, is all kinds of sleazy, or so you've heard. knowing about your big fat crush on your best friend, this sorry excuse of a twin brother agrees to put in a good word, in exchange for a good fuck, of course.

notes: fem!reader, dom!sunghoon, sort of rivals-to-lovers, unprotected sex, slight breeding, dacryphilia, dirty talk, degradation, praise, clothed sex, accidental voyeurism, sunghoon is two people here lmao, lmk if i missed anything!

a/n: fifth entry for my 1k follower special! we're in the endgame now, people. one last after this and my 1k event is ending. how did that happen :') anyways, i really got back into my writing groove for this one so i hope you all enjoy!

"what do you think of sunghoon?"

your ears perk up as you turn your head to give your best friend a look.

oh, benj. sweet, sweet benjamin park.

awkward but in a cute, boyish sort of way, tall almost to the point of gangly, but handsome in the way supermodels were.

benj is a figure skater, a very good one at that. he's at the level where if he did well enough, he'd be international news tomorrow. you've seen him skate and to you, it was nothing short of mesmerizing.

oh, you. clueless, utterly clueless you.

honestly, it was all so predictable.

a situation right out of booktok's latest favorite friends-to-lovers novel by some up-and-coming author. the comfortable silence, the memorized starbucks orders, the pining, oh, the pining. booktok lives for the pining.

sitting here in benj's room as he casually games, fingers lazily moving over his ps5 controller, you realize just how utterly shortsighted you were.

of course you'd fall in love with your best friend. it's law. it's fate. a canon event, as the kids say.

but, you're getting out of topic here. right now, benj is asking you about his twin brother.

"what do you mean?" you ask, swiveling around in the office chair by benj's desk. benj is perched on his bed, leaned up against his headboard as he plays.

"like...what do you think of him...?" benj repeats, as if in an attempt to rephrase his question but ultimately failing.

your forehead creases even more.

"you have to be more specific than that," you chuckle.

benj pauses the game, setting the controller down. he shifts on his side so he can get a better look at you.

"do you like him?" benj deadpans, raising an eyebrow.

you nearly choke on your own saliva.

sunghoon. benj's twin brother.

the younger twin, as benj always reminded. your thoughts drift to the other park brother, complete in all his dark clothes and equally dark hair.

while benj afforded himself the preference of dying his hair an icy blonde, sunghoon kept his own hair jet black. benj wore sweaters and cardigans and loose-fitting shirts, but sunghoon wore button-ups, with the first three buttons popped open, paired with jeans ripped to the heavens.

benj is the shining star in this family, a star figure skater, an overachiever. sunghoon battles his way around ice hockey, dabbles in dance, keeps his triumphs to himself.

benj is the sun, while sunghoon is the moon. yin and yang.

you get the picture.

oh, and sunghoon is a complete asshole. benj is not.

"he's okay," you finally answer. benj looks at you like he's waiting for more.

"that's it?" benj asks after a second.

you roll your eyes. "i don't know what you want me to say. i barely talk to him since i spend most of my time with you."

benj cocks his head to the side, as if curious.

"weird," he says. "he asks about you all the time."

this piques your interest.

"he does?"

benj shrugs, returning his attention to the tv. he picks the forgotten controller back up, resuming his game.

"yeah. asks if and when you'll be coming over," benj explains. he shoots you a quick side glance.

"you're not hooking up behind my back, are you?"

you physically recoil at benj's words, the idea initially repulsive to you.

"absolutely not," you practically spit out. "he's not my type."

benj bursts out laughing, his eyes forming cute crescents as he does so.

"you basically just called me ugly with that," benj points out, eyes unmoving from the tv screen.

you stutter for a second. "that's not what i meant. it's just—well we're not close, at least not like how we are and—"

you sigh, cutting yourself off. you've embarrassed yourself enough, you think.

benj shakes his head, one side of his mouth turning up in a half-smile.

"okay, no need to explain, ______. i was just asking," benj says. "but the way you're so defensive about it is raising a few questions, not gonna lie."

you rub exasperatedly at your temples.

"i am not sleeping with your brother."

---

"hey."

you nearly jump a foot back in surprise. looking up, you're met with the stern gaze of sunghoon, black hair falling over his eyes. he's wearing one of those compression shirts, ridiculously tight against his toned upper body.

you turn away before it gets weird.

"oh, sorry, is benj home?" you ask, peeking momentarily past sunghoon.

"he's at training," sunghoon informs. "didn't he tell you?"

you glance at your watch. "he said he'd be done by now."

sunghoon raises an eyebrow. "well, he's not."

your mouth falls open, your mind momentarily going blank. you shift your expression to one of stony resolve.

"you know what, i'll just come back. sorry to bother you," you say, already turning away.

"i didn't tell you to leave, did i?"

you turn back, giving sunghoon a look. you stare hard, noticing just how much he resembles benj. but some things differ, naturally.

an extra beauty mark. the slightly sharper upturn of his nose. the seemingly eternal frown on his face.

"you can come in," sunghoon says with a sigh, stepping aside. you duck your head as you cross the threshold.

"and don't be so uptight next time," he adds. you can practically hear the smirk as he says this.

you glare daggers at sunghoon and he's still smiling as he closes the door behind him. he crosses his arms and studies you.

he leans back against the door and you straighten yourself up as much as you could.

"what's your problem, sunghoon?" you ask, planting your hands on your hips.

"what's yours?" sunghoon replies. you feel a twinge of annoyance spark in your chest.

"nothing," you emphasize. "and that's exactly it. i don't have a problem but if you don't stop acting like that, i might just have one soon enough."

"acting like what?" sunghoon questions, tilting his head to the side.

you swallow. you rack your brain for something to say, and don't be mistaken, you have a lot, but it's like your train of thought has halted altogether.

"like...that," you say, gesticulating vaguely with your hands.

sunghoon laughs, a hand coming up to run through his hair. you watch him, observe as his muscles shift beneath that stupidly tight, stupidly attractive shirt.

...what?

"are you this jumpy with my brother?" sunghoon asks, shoving his hands in the pockets of his grey sweatpants.

"i don't follow," you say, taking a step back. being close to sunghoon seems suffocating now, as if the air is stuffy with something you can't quite put your finger on.

"of course, you don't," sunghoon mutters under his breath.

it takes everything in you not to punch him square in the jaw.

"you like benj, don't you?" it's more of a statement rather than a question and it's so unexpected to you, you nearly stumble back in surprise.

"what?" is all you can say.

sunghoon snorts as if your confusion is oh-so-amusing.

"no need to deny it, _______," sunghoon reassures. "everyone with one working eye can see it."

you decide to stay silent. maybe if you don't react, sunghoon would drop the subject.

sunghoon seems satisfied with himself as he grins, nodding to himself, probably mentally patting himself on the back for his 'detective work'. he brushes past you and you get a whiff of his perfume and what you can assume is his body wash.

fresh. powdery. clean.

you wait a second before you hear his bedroom door close.

you let out a breath you weren't aware you were holding.

your phone vibrates with a notification and you're relieved to see it's a message from benj.

'are you at my place yet? i'll be home in a few. sunghoon will let you in. sorry, love u!'

you smile to yourself as you lock your phone.

---

you couldn't stop thinking about it.

were you really that obvious? or is it just some twin telepathy that's why sunghoon could tell? could benj tell?

you sit up, careful not to jostle anything in your immediate vicinity. you peer up at benj's sleeping figure from where you're situated on his spare mattress, positioned on the floor right next to his bed.

he seems to be deep in slumber, shoulders rising and falling steadily. you swallow, realizing how parched your throat has gotten. you get up on your feet, treading carefully around benj's room to get to the door.

you exit, walking down the hallway of the parks' penthouse apartment, trying to make as minimal sound as you can. you round the corner to where you know the kitchen is and you immediately stop in your tracks.

"shit—" you curse, startled by the figure standing by the kitchen island.

your eyes adjust to the dim lighting and you realize you've come face to face with sunghoon.

"hi, _______," sunghoon greets. "fancy seeing you here."

you huff, approaching the refrigerator. "ha ha. you scared the shit out of me."

you hear sunghoon laugh quietly from behind you.

you take the ice-cold pitcher out of the fridge, setting it on the counter before walking over to the cupboards where the parks keep their glasses.

you can feel sunghoon watching you, aware of the burning attention. you can feel your neck prickle with it.

you pull the cupboard door open and it's only now that you realize you can barely see. afraid to just reach in and possibly knock over and break something, you pause, willing your vision to adjust even more to the low lighting.

"hey, can you turn on the—"

your words are cut off when you feel warmth press up against your back. you flinch, watching with wide eyes as sunghoon's arm braces itself against the countertop in front of you. he reaches over you, his breath tickling the top of your head.

you shiver involuntarily.

you turn to face him, pressing yourself fully against the granite behind you. sunghoon pulls a glass down from the cupboard, handing it to you. his arm is still planted firmly to your side, half caging you in.

"here," sunghoon says.

you can just make out his face in the low light, his scent invading your senses once more. you take the glass from him and he steps away, freeing you.

you wordlessly return to the center of the kitchen, pouring yourself the water you desperately need. and boy, do you need it.

you gulp down mouthfuls of it, unsure why your legs are suddenly weak, your knees threatening to give out.

"hey," sunghoon calls out. you pause, turning to where he's still standing by the cupboards.

he has the same easy stance he had earlier in the day. leaned back, arms crossed. even in the dark, you can feel him staring.

"what?" it comes out a little more harshly than you'd like and you wince.

"do you hate me or something?" sunghoon asks brusquely.

once again, you find yourself rendered speechless by sunghoon.

"no," you answer simply, setting your glass down.

"then why don't you hang out with me like you do with benj?" sunghoon asks, approaching you.

"because benj is my best friend, you're not," you respond. sunghoon stops right in front of you and you have to crane your neck to meet where you think his eyes are.

"your best friend that you're in love with," sunghoon says, a hint of amusement in his voice.

"that's not true," you deny.

sunghoon snickers. "sure, keep lying to yourself, sweetheart."

you inhale at the term of endearment.

"you know, i never understood why you got closer to him but you stopped spending time with me altogether," sunghoon muses. "the three of us grew up together, remember?"

you do.

the afternoons spent in the local playground. you and benj sat on the swings while sunghoon pushed. you and sunghoon on the seesaw while benj attempted to balance in the middle (much to their mother's horror). the twins hiding while you played seeker.

a smile tugs at your lips at the memory. and then it falters just as quick.

"you were the one who stopped hanging out with us," you say, a little accusatory in the way you did. "you had newer ice hockey friends and when middle school rolled around, you decided those girls were worth your time more than us."

'more than me,' is what you wanted to say. but you swallow it down.

sunghoon stays silent at this. after what you estimate is a minute, he sighs.

"sorry," is all he says.

you shake your head. "it's okay, we all drift apart from our childhood friends at one point."

sunghoon steps even closer. you can feel him now. a strange crackle of electricity tickles your fingertips.

"that's not the case with you and benj," sunghoon observes.

it's your turn to say nothing.

"i can help you," sunghoon suggests. your head snaps up as you try to process sunghoon's words.

you can see him now, illuminated by the faint hallway lights behind you. sunghoon's looking at you, expression unreadable.

"help me?" you parrot back. sunghoon nods.

"i can help you get with benj, if that's what you want. plant the seeds, so to speak," sunghoon explains. "he is my twin brother, after all."

you consider this for a moment. there's no denying the giddy feeling you get in benj's presence. the comfort it gives you when you spend the whole day together. the butterflies in your stomach when he beams at you, all bright and shining.

this should be an offer you can't refuse.

"i just have one thing to ask of you," sunghoon cuts through your thoughts.

"what?" you ask.

sunghoon pauses, turning away as if gathering his own words.

"do you ever feel that there's this weird...thing between us?" sunghoon asks.

your whole body seems to stiffen. your hands turn cold, clammy.

"like tension," sunghoon elaborates. "something you can't really explain."

"no," you answer a little too quickly.

sunghoon chuckles. "there you go again, lying."

you avoid sunghoon's gaze, staring hard at a spot behind him where his shadow dances against the cabinets.

"if you agree to...try this thing with me just this once, i'll help you get together with benj," sunghoon concludes, bending lower so he's in your line of sight.

unable to avoid him any longer, you look into sunghoon's eyes. he's much clearer now, your eyes well-adjusted to the dark. he's looking at you, expression soft, unlike the other times you've come face-to-face with him.

"so, you're offering to be my wingman, but only if i let you fuck me?" you string your words out carefully. "is that it?"

sunghoon sighs, shrugging. "basically, yeah. sounds fucking weird but you can always say no."

"it is weird," you confirm. you cross your arms as you narrow your eyes at sunghoon.

"can't we just skip the part where we fuck and go straight to the part where you help me?"

sunghoon grins down at you, dipping even lower so you're eye level with him.

"it's as if you don't know me at all, _______," sunghoon says lowly. "that hardly seems fair, sweetheart."

you grit your teeth.

"besides, do you want to skip the part where we fuck?" sunghoon presses on the last word, holding your gaze as he said it. you feel a warmth spread all over your body.

you take a deep breath, steadying yourself. your mind is at war with itself, warning you that this is a bad idea. if you get together with benj after, what then? take the secret that you fucked his brother to your grave?

"just this once, and when we're done, you'll help me, correct?" you say, raising a brow at sunghoon.

sunghoon nods. "exactly."

you pause. you want it. what 'it' is, you're not so sure.

you reach your hand out.

"deal."

sunghoon grasps your hand in his, squeezing firmly. his fingers envelop yours easily, your palm almost cartoonishly smaller than his.

and he's warm. so warm.

your eyes meet his and it's like something snaps.

you feel sunghoon grasp at your waist and your own arms come flying up to wrap around sunghoon's neck. he kisses you fervently, harshly, desperately. you respond with the same enthusiasm, pulling him closer to you.

sunghoon pushes you against the fridge, the contents rattling within. you gasp as the cold metal presses through your thin pajamas, but sunghoon drinks in any noise from you with his mouth.

"fuck," sunghoon mutters softly.

"god, ______," sunghoon continues, hands splayed against your back, his lips exploring the expanse of your neck.

"sunghoon," you whisper, clutching onto his wide frame. you mewl softly when you feel him suckle on a spot just above your collarbone.

you pull sunghoon away from your neck, guiding his face back to level with yours. you kiss him some more, a strange feeling bubbling within you.

it's making you want more of sunghoon, as if your whole being craved him.

you hear a soft click of a door opening somewhere down the hall and your eyes fly open, your hands forcing sunghoon off you. he jumps back as well, a panicked look on his face.

footsteps echo in the hallway and a voice immediately follows after.

"_______?"

benj. it's benj. his voice is thick with sleep and you look over at sunghoon, eyes wide with alarm.

"i-i'm in the kitchen," you call out. "just needed a drink."

you rush out of the kitchen and into the hall, running right into benj's firm chest. he catches you before you stumble and he holds you at arm's length, looking at you through half-closed eyes.

"there you are," benj says with a laugh.

you let out a nervous giggle of your own, gently pushing benj back towards his room.

"i'm right here," you assure him. benj rambles on about hearing noises from his room and you quickly dismiss it as you just messing around in their kitchen.

just as you herd benj back into his room, you look back down the hall and see sunghoon sauntering casually towards his own door. he catches your eye and winks, stepping quietly into his room.

---

"i know what you were doing last night."

you stop dead in your tracks, hand frozen in midair just as you're unwrapping your hair from your towel.

you had just stepped out of the bathroom adjacent to benj's room, dressed in his shirt and your shorts from yesterday. it's the morning after your little tryst with sunghoon and you were nearly a hundred percent sure you had successfully lied your way out of an explanation to benj.

it turns out, you haven't.

"you were hooking up with sunghoon, weren't you?" benj says, looking at you expectantly.

you put on your best attempt at an appalled expression, eyes wide an lips turning down into a frown.

"no, i wasn't," you muster up with as much disgust as you can.

benj just laughs. "i've lived here for nearly half my life, ____. i know the sounds of this house better than you."

"well, you thought wrong," you argue, busying yourself with brushing through your hair. you keep your eyes trained on the full body mirror in front of you, setting your sight on your own face.

benj comes up behind you, looking at you as if he could see right through you.

you think maybe he can.

"you're such a bad liar," benj accuses.

"i would never hook up with your brother," you protest, raking through your hair aggressively. you're getting antsy and you pray that benj would just drop the subject.

"why not?" benj questions.

you look at his reflection, scowling. "i don't like him like that, benj."

"hooking up with him would feel like hooking up with you," you add. 'a red herring, yes,' you think. 'distract him, make him feel weird for even asking.'

benj gives you a look. "what's so bad about that?"

you stare open-mouthed at benj. a million thoughts are flying through your head and something pinches at your chest.

"you're my best friend, benj," you try to reason. "that's weird."

"and hooking up with my brother isn't?"

you groan, letting your head fall into your hands.

"i didn't hook up with sunghoon!"

benj nods, pouting as if not fully convinced. "okay, whatever you say."

he steps out through the door, leaving you in his eerily quiet room.

you sigh, turning back to your reflection.

"not yet," you whisper to yourself.

---

"aren't you leaving yet?"

you look up from your phone and you're met with sunghoon peeking through benj's door. his hair is damp and you can smell his aftershave from where you're sprawled out on benj's bed.

"nope," you reply curtly, turning back to your phone.

"you've been here two days," sunghoon points out, stepping into the room. you ignore the jolt of excitement in your gut.

"i'll leave once benj comes back from training," you say.

"oh sure, then the two of you will get caught up again in whatever nerd things you do, and then it's the evening and you'll stay another night, walking around in your skimpy pajamas," sunghoon rambles sarcastically.

you narrow your eyes him as you sit up. "what's wrong with my pajamas?"

"they make me impossibly hard, _______. that's what's wrong," sunghoon admits, expression unchanging.

your eyebrows shoot up in mild surprise. "that down bad, huh?"

"nah," sunghoon replies nonchalantly.

"whatever you say, sweetheart," you say, throwing the pet name back at sunghoon.

sunghoon lets his eyes travel over your body, expression darkening, and you feel every hair on your skin stand up under his unrelenting gaze. you shift around, unsure of what to do with sunghoon's undivided attention.

you watch as sunghoon approaches, his jaw set as he pauses right before benj's bed. he meets your eyes and before you know it, sunghoon is crawling over you, stopping once he has you caged in between his arms.

"you're seriously not thinking of fucking me on your twin brother's bed, are you?" you whisper. you're nearly nose to nose with sunghoon now.

"i am," sunghoon answers simply before kissing you, effectively driving you back against the plush mattress.

the same bubbling feeling reappears and you grab at any part of sunghoon that you can, hooking your legs around his waist. he grunts against your mouth and you feel him harden against your core.

"this is my shirt by the way," sunghoon grins against your lips. "benj stole it from me a while back."

you moan at the thought of it. you feel sunghoon reach under your—his—shirt, chuckling when he feels the absence of a bra. he cups one of your breasts in his hand, kneading as he continues his assault on your lips.

"lose this," sunghoon commands, his other hand tugging your shorts down harshly. you oblige, reaching down to discard the piece of clothing along with your underwear.

"but keep this on," sunghoon adds as he kisses along your jaw, referring to the large shirt swallowing your frame.

you kick off your shorts and underwear the same time sunghoon pulls back to undo his own joggers. he throws them off to the side unceremoniously before hovering back over you, his eyes scanning every feature of your face.

"if you're so in love with benj, why are you about to sleep with me on his bed?" sunghoon asks, his fingers trailing down delicately from your chest down to your stomach. you flinch, fighting the urge to curl into yourself at the ticklish feeling.

sunghoon continues down towards the space between your legs, wasting no time swiping through your folds. you gasp, back arching as sunghoon rubs up and down, finger circling teasingly around your entrance.

"you talk too much," you counter, voice shaking. "are you gonna fuck my brains out or what?"

sunghoon sneers, shoving two fingers in without warning. you yelp, turning to bury your face in benj's pillow. it smells like him, but you barely register that, seeing as his twin's fingers are knuckles deep in you.

"go on, run your mouth like you always do, slut," sunghoon taunts. you involuntarily clench down at his use of such a degrading word and sunghoon notices, of course, his mouth curling into a smirk.

"should have known you were into that," sunghoon wonders out loud. he moves his fingers in and out of you, pumping his thick digits into your wanting hole.

you clamp a hand down on your mouth, suppressing every noise that threatens to escape you.

"let me hear you, pretty, come on," sunghoon coos, prying your hand off your face. "it's just the two of us here."

you bite your lip but let yourself be heard as sunghoon continues to fuck you with his fingers. he curls them up inside you and you thrash about, the pressure building within your abdomen.

"gonna cum already? you're so fucking easy," sunghoon comments, leveling his face with your cunt. he blows softly against your clit and you cry out in pleasure.

you feel the wet heat of his tongue press against your bundle of nerves and coupled with sunghoon's fingers, you can't help but curse loudly at the sensations.

"shit, sunghoon!" you whine. "yes, just like that, please."

sunghoon wraps his lips around your clit, sucking and running his tongue over it alternately. you feel like you're about to lose your mind. you're seconds away from orgasm and you barely have any time to warn sunghoon.

"i'm gonna cum, sunghoon i'm gonna—"

you're cut short by your own loud moans as you feel yourself come undone, your whole body seizing up. you grip at the sheets beneath you with one hand while the other reaches down to thread through sunghoon's hair. you hear him grunt against your pussy as you tug at the strands.

eventually, you relax, easing up on sunghoon's hair. he comes up to face you, his mouth glistening with your release. he licks his lips, smirking at the way you watch him with awe.

"you still with me?" sunghoon asks with a raise of his brow. you nod weakly, hands coming up to cup at his face.

sunghoon leans down to kiss you tenderly and you moan as you taste yourself on his lips. he moves his lips against yours slowly, savoring each pass of your tongue over each other's, tugging on your bottom lip with his teeth as he pulls away.

you peek down and see that sunghoon's cock stands red and angry against the black of his shirt.

"fuck me raw," you say before you can stop yourself.

sunghoon's eyebrows shoot up.

"are you sure?" he asks.

you nod, angling your hips up. restraint be damned, you want sunghoon and you want him now.

sunghoon chews down on his bottom lip as he lines himself up against your dripping hole. he coats his tip with your juices and you throw your head back as he teases you with his leaking cock.

"please," you whisper.

sunghoon presses a kiss on your cheek. "i got you, angel."

you feel him push in, stretching you out more than you anticipated. your mouth falls open in a silent moan as sunghoon slowly but surely bottoms out. your heart races and your mind loses all coherent thought. all you can register is that sunghoon feels like he's splitting you open with his dick.

"fuuuuck," sunghoon drawls into your ear.

"so fucking tight and so fucking good," he continues, bracing himself on either side of you. he moves his hips experimentally, pulling out then thrusting in and the two of you moan at the same time.

"give it to me," you pant, pulling sunghoon closer. "don't you dare hold back."

sunghoon grunts as he snaps his hips forward. you whine and moan like a whore as sunghoon fucks into you with reckless abandon. he keeps his eyes on your face, observing every expression that passes over your features.

"look at me," sunghoon orders as you let your eyes flutter close. "i said, look at me."

you obey, peering up at sunghoon through your lashes. he grabs your jaw as he hammers even harder into you. you cry out brokenly as you feel him deep within you. he's like a man starved, eyes wild as he takes you like this. rough and uncaring and oh so desperate.

"waited so long for this," sunghoon grunts. "to have you moaning and begging under me."

you feel tears prickle in your eyes, half from sunghoon's sharp nails digging into your cheek and half from the way his cock repeatedly punches against your cervix. it hurts but it's a pain you'd like to savor.

"god," sunghoon says, his face scrunching up in pleasure. he momentarily closes his eyes as he moves his hips even faster. he turns back to you, and by this time, your tears have escaped, streaking your face.

"fuck yeah, cry for me," sunghoon curses. "my pretty slut, weeping over my dick."

"oh, fuck—"

it came so suddenly, so unexpectedly that you can physically feel your body jolt. your second orgasm of the day rips through you, brought about by the filthy words escaping sunghoon's mouth. you hear him practically growl above you as he stills, your cunt clenching down so hard he's unable to move. you feel him twitch inside you and a second later, the warmth of his cum follows, shooting deep inside.

you're full-on crying now, mind hazy from pleasure as sunghoon catches himself before completely crushing you with his weight.

you wrap your shaky arms around sunghoon's shoulders, stroking his hair as the two of you calm yourselves down. sunghoon pulls out a minute later and you wince, immediately clamping your legs together to keep all of him inside you.

sunghoon plops down next to you, breathing heavy as his eyes stare at the ceiling. you hug your knees to your chest, hoping that nothing stains benj's sheets.

"fuck, that's a good girl, keeping all my cum in," sunghoon says through breathless chuckles. you groan, swatting at his chest.

"get tissues or something," you demand weakly, rolling over to your side. sunghoon pulls you close and cradles you against his chest.

"later," he murmurs, kissing you on the forehead. "just wanna hold you."

you hum in agreement, letting your eyes droop close. the two of you lay there, unmoving for a few minutes.

you initially think it's your imagination but you can hear faint footsteps coming down the hallway from outside benj's room. just as your eyes fly open, a loud knock thunders against the door.

"are you done?" comes benj's muffled voice from the other side.

"as much as i wanted to stay and watch, that might not be something you guys are into, so i gave you your privacy," he continues.

you and sunghoon look at each other, clearly panicking.

"but please, for the love of god, don't do it on my goddamn bed next time!"

[carolmunson]

wake up slow | barista!steve harrington

entry for my fall frenzy requests this request comes in from @superblysubpar: 'there's a scenario with bookstore / library date AND a dialogue prompt that says "what are you reading?"' with steve harrington summary: it's 1990. you're on the opening shift at the bookstore you work at, only to be surprised at a newcomer claiming to be up for an interview for the open barista position in the cafe at the back. sort of put off to start, it's no surprise when things start to bloom over time, and i'm not talking about coffee grounds. tl;dr carol writes a mini romcom.

tw: minors dni, there's nothing too out of whack in this one but i still don't want minors in here. reader is a little sassy but also like, pretty normal overall.

That damn key jams every time it rains -- doesn't help that you left your umbrella at home. Doesn't help that the 'light mist' turned into a heavy downpour the closer you made it to the book store. Doesn't help that you had to park a street over because of street cleaning and had to walk a block in the rain. Now the damn key.

"Come on," you grumble, jiggling an wiggling to no avail. Insert, r-insert, slight tilt to the right, jiggle, pull out a little, turn a little left and then -- nothing. You take the key out only for it to fall to the ground with a fairy like tinkling.

"Come -- the fuck -- on," you nearly growl under your breath while your coat gets heavier and heavier with rain, hood soaking through and dripping water onto your face. You bend down to get the key with a sigh meant for people with back pain, coming back up again to see the coffee bar manager on the other side of the glass door. He chuckles, salt and pepper beared thick over his chin and cheeks. Ruddy skin beams red even in the cool grey light of the morning, 30 years a butcher who pivoted into coffee when he turned fifty and had a really good knack for it.

"Easy morning?"

"Does it look like one, Carl?" you ask, stepping in when he opens the door. He laughs again, a hearty belly laugh that might as well have transported him into a Santa suit in December. "What happened to you?" he asks, following you into the back room where you start putting your stuff in your cubby. You switch out your wet sneakers and socks for the platform loafers and knee highs in your bag. Now that the fall weathers hit, it's all corduroy and knit sweaters, circle skirts and tall socks. If you're going to be on your fifth year working at an idyllic bookstore, you might as well look the part.

"Weather app lied, street cleaning, forgot an umbrella," you shrug, "Just another manic Monday, y'know?" "I know," he nods, "Gimme one second." Carl comes back with a white paper cup and black lid that makes you smile from the inside out, "Is that what I think it is?" "Isn't it always?" he smiles, "I got it ready the second I saw you on the schedule. Caramel latte, hint of cinnamon. Since its -- ya know, fall officially, I put a little maple in there, too." "You spoil me," you sigh, taking the cup from him and letting the warmth radiate through your hands.

"I do," he nods, "But, that latte was the last of my regular milk so I need to run out and grab a few gallons before we open up. You okay to be hangin' out by yourself?"

You nod, of course you're okay to be hanging out by yourself. You take the first sip, letting the caramel flood your tongue. The maple is a good addition. You're about to tell Carl to add this to the seasonal menu but he's already out the break room door with his coat before you can. You hear the jingle of the bell and the lock of the door and eventually the silence settling into the store around you.

You start to re-organize the window display which should've been done last night but 'last night you' said that 'this morning you' could handle it. You wish you could punch last night you in the face, but this is what you get for taking an assistant manager position.

You stack the back to school reads next to your knees where you're sat on them. The dust billows when you move them, making you sneeze with each turn of your head. You rub at your eyes, realizing at that very moment that the mascara you put on this morning has now definitely smudged -- you can't even find the emotional capacity to check considering the store opens in forty five minutes. You wipe down the display shelves, letting the oak gleam under the spot lights. The color is a warm reminder of the cozy moments to come the way that they do this time of year. As you start separating the 'cozy reads' from your 'spooky reads' in the pile on the other side of your knees you hear a knocking at the door --that's not very like Carl to forget his key.

You look over your shoulder, not seeing Carl at all, and if it is, he had some kind of Seventeen Again magic happen to him in that time at the store. You stand up, wiping off your knees and straightening your skirt before getting to the door where the rapping continues against the glass. "We aren't open yet!" you call out.

"M'here for Carl!" you hear, muffled through the panes. "For the barista spot?" you yell back. The guy nods under his hood, the rain picking up in heavy sheets. You sigh, unlocking the door and letting him in. "Carl's not here, he ran out to get some more milk but um, you're welcome to wait in the break room if you want," you explain, wiping a palm over another display through the main hallway and wiping the dust off on your hip. "Thanks," he says, hood coming down to reveal a head full of thick chestnut hair. A gold ring shines on the the hand that runs through it, looks like a family crest type, right on his middle finger.

"I'm Steve," he says with a smile, hand now outstretched to take yours. You look at it and then at him, finally taking in the sight before you. Prominent straight nose, warm amber eyes, lips that definitely use chapstick regularly. He has a nice smile, the kind you read about in the romance novels in the back of the store, the kind people write about.

You take his hand and introduce yourself, he has a business major handshake and you only know that because you dated a handful of them back in college. You try to stifle a chuckle but it comes out airily out of your nose.

"Something funny?" he asks when you both let go. "No, no, sorry, I just thought of something from the other day," you shake your head, "Don't worry about it." He nods, taking off his coat and closing his umbrella following your lead to the back, "It's a cute place."

"Yeah, it's nice in the morning," you nod, "I normally close but -- doing a favor for a key holder today; so you have the pleasure of seeing the troll of the store in her natural habitat."

"What?"

"Nothing -- nevermind," you shake your head, cheeks burning with a wave of embarrassment when you look back and notice that he's genuinely very handsome. You get to the break room, pointing out the spare cubby where he can hang his coat and umbrella. He's in a sweater you swear you've seen on the Cosby Show -- dark green and patterned, a perfect combination of colors against his skin. It cuffs at the wrists, you can see a sliver of his white t-shirt underneath at the collar, a whisper of a gold chain tucked beneath it.

"Yeah um," you start, feeling your heart start to patter in your chest when he takes a seat at the table by the cabinets, "You can just wait here. I'll let Carl know when he comes back."

"Okay," he smiles, "Thanks."

You nod again, heading into the employee bathroom to collect yourself for a moment -- seeing your reflection. You forgot you had rubbed your eyes, masacra smudged in black smears nearly down to your cheeks. "I look insane," you whisper in horror, "Oh my fucking god."

You cover your face for a moment, trying to hide yourself from the embarrassment racking your chest. Definitely looking like the troll of the store, you silently scream into your palms, another dramatic whisper of, "I should just fucking kill myself."

Despite the humiliation, you know it's funny. This would happen to you. This hot guy would come in when your mascaras a mess and your hair is fucked up from the rain, when the weather is bad and your tights have a run, when your allergies are rampant from the dust. Of course he would!

You wet a paper towel and do your best to wipe off the smudges, happy to look a little less insane after a dab of tinted lip balm makes it onto your lips and cheeks.

When you re-emerge he's fiddling with his CD player and his over ear headphones, working on a knot in the wire. You go back over to the counter and take a sip of your forgotten latte.

"What do you drink?" he asks.

"Carl makes it special for me, it's not on the menu," you tell him over the black plastic top before taking another sip. He grins, a soft nod moving his hair with him -- so it's like that. "I didn't ask if it was on the menu. I asked what you drink," he says, leaning back in the chair. His eyes lingering on you sends a zip up your spine, wondering if he's giving you a once over or not.

"It's a caramel latte with maple and cinnamon," you tell him. His confidence both intruiges and enrages you, both making you want to tell him to get out but also learn more about this hot guy that wants to be a barista with a Wall Street handshake, "So why do you wanna work here?"

"Is this the start of my interview?" he laughs.

"No, I'm just wondering," you shrug.

"I'm back in school about twenty minutes away," he says, "Did it for a little when I was in high school -- coffee, I mean. Ice cream shop after that, video store after that. Went to school, took a break, back in it. My dad thinks having jobs like this builds y'know -- character and whatever."

"Jobs like this?" you ask, jaw tensing with annoyance.

"Like, y'know, jobs with the people," he tries to explain, pink building on his cheeks when he realizes he might've said something shitty, "They're not like bad jobs, that's not what I mean -- I mean like, y'know -- not suits kind of jobs. Regular shit."

"Regular shit," you nod, biting back what you wanna say. That gold crest ring should've been enough to tip you off, but your next question is the ace in the hole, "What're you back in school for?"

"Getting my MBA."

Of course.

"Nice," you lie, fake smiling into your next sip -- the latte going cold as your insides when you come to the conclusion that he's just some hot grade A asshole, "Well, good luck."

"Thanks," he calls out while you make your way back to the floor, "I really like your name, by the way! It suits you."

You try not to let that compliment change your mind.

He gets the job, but you don't see him a lot. He opens an then goes to classes at night, you close most of the time -- only catching him really in the first hour of your shift and the last hour of his. You're both too busy to be finding time to talk; him with his mid-shift clean and you with your hourly sales goals and mid-day schedule re-adjustments.

But he does wave when you come in. He calls out your name when you bustle past the coffee counter and weave through the tables to get to where you need to go. It's nice of him, you guess, but the stain of him explaining that the job he's doing is just for regular people taints it for you. Maybe he thinks you're just some menial worker bee that he only knows for now, since his daddy probably has a job lined up for him once he pays through his masters degree.

Job with a suit where the bookstore will be a distant memory for him, whereas you're on a two year track to becoming the manager and likely future owner when the owners get too old to manage it. Job with a suit where he'll pass by the store and shake his head at 'how stupid it was', a 'can you believe people work there?' head toss to a coworker while he get a coffee somewhere else. Meanwhile, it's your entire life, and so are all the stories inside.

A few weeks pass and the days get a little colder, the nights starting earlier as they go. You have an opening shift that chills your bones, hugging your wool coat tight to your body while you fiddle with the key at the door, groaning at the tinkling of it hitting the concrete again.

"Rough morning?"

You look up to the door opening, seeing a pair clean white Nike Air Force 1's singaling who it is.

"It is now," you mumble, grabbing the key and bustling inside.

"Surprised to see you here," he says, following you to the back, "You're not on the schedule." "Last minute switch up, Rochelle has a christening," you say, hanging your coat in the cubby and switching out your sneakers for platfoms again.

"Oh, nice," he grins, "So why is it a rough morning? 'Cause I'm here?"

"Sorta kinda," you shrug, "Did you alread--"

"I got sales report from yesterday on the check out desk, yes," he crosses his arms, leaning against the door frame.

"And th--"

"And the inventory report, and before you ask, yes I checked that all the milk is in stock and that we aren't low on beans. I've been here for a month, honey, I know what I'm doing," he mutters.

"Gross," you pull a face at him over your shoulder, "Don't call me honey."

He shrugs with a smirk, "Rochelle likes it."

"Can you go skulk to your caffeine den and leave me alone?" you snap, "I'm trying to open a store, here."

"Skulk, huh?"

"Too big of a word for you, Harrington?"

"You're on fire this morning," he smiles, that smile they write about.

"I kinda like it," he adds before turning out of the door and back into the warm light of the store towards the coffee bar. You swallow while you watch him leave -- I kinda like it ringing in your ears and floating down to your chest where is settles in, cozy and kind.

The reports are where he said the would be, neat and organized like he was the manager and Carl was his employee. You normally spent at least thirty minutes trying to figure out what Carl had written in chicken scratch on the forms, but Steve's sharp and elegant script was easy to read and perfectly spaced. Annoying.

Even his signature was handsome.

After you get the registers counted and ready you file the forms and mark the reports so they'll be ready for your manager when they get back in store. You check the list of what needs to be done, the chilly late October air swooping in from the cracks under the door. Your face sours while you make your way over to the coffee bar in the back, seeing Steve set up the pastry delivery in the cases on the side.

"Did you come back here to yell at me about something?" he asks, focused on the task at hand, "I got all morning."

"You didn't turn the heat on," you cross your arms, "That's like, the first thing you're supposed to do."

He scoffs quietly, shaking his head, popping back up to lean on glass of the case, "Did you read your morning report or just sit there and admire my handwriting?"

"Excuse me?" you bite back.

"Heats fucked," he shrugs, ducking back down to finishing his display, "They're sending someone to take a look at it later today."

"Whatever," you grumble, turning on your heel to go dust the front shelving and reshelf the returns from yesterday.

"Hey," he calls out, waiting for you to turn around before he continues. Your eyes catch his amber ones, sparkling with a mischief reserved for school boys who are mean to the girls they like, "You look nice today."

You look him over, sucking in your cheeks to kill the smile growing on your lips. His navy sweater hugs a bit across his chest and shoulders, giving way to billow slightly over his midsection and arms. Kahki chinos cut just at his ankles so his sneakers don't even look stupid paired with the outfit, socks just the right height to look cool and not forced. Awful.

"Yeah, you too Harrington," you agree quietly before walking away; and while you killed the smile, he was able to catch that crease in your eyes, the twitch in your shoulders. You thought that was nice, he wonders if he can make you do that again.

You head over to the back of the cafe during your break, no windows near your designated 'break chair'. It's close enough to the fireplace that it always feels like a rainy day even when it's nice outside. Now that Carl started his shift he got your drink ready to go the moment you walked over.

"Well la-di-da," Steve cocks his head when Carl walks over to greet the customer at the register, rag in his hands wiping up the pick up counter, "Expert service and you're not even gonna tip?"

"Here's a tip: leave me alone when I'm on break," you bite. Why did he have to be so handsome? Slight pink on his cheeks from the heat of the espresso and coffee machines, the lights overhead. The heat finally works again and it's almost working too well from the small bead of sweat forming above his brow. He runs a big hand through his hair again, the same way he did when you first met him. You try to ingore the way his bicep bulges in his sleeve when his arm stretches.

His tongue runs over his teeth, settling between them for a second before looking straight at you, "Good one."

"That's what you get when you read books," you say sarcastically, "You should try it sometime."

"You should teach me," he leans over the counter, resting his chin on his palm, "Bet you're a great teacher."

You bite your tongue, pulling in your lips and squinting your eyes to keep the smile from brewing a second time. You pick up your mug and sip your latte while he crosses his arms over his chest. "Nothing this time?" he asks, waiting for you second blow. You shake your head no, occupying your mouth with the rim.

"No?" He asks, you shake your head again, somehow glued to the spot under his stare. He slings the rag over his shoulder, still looking at you. "Well I don't wanna keep you standing here," he teases, offering you a wink that is so soul crushingly charming you could just die, "Enjoy your break."

You've never turned around so quickly in your entire life.

The following week you take another opening shift, happy to settle into the quiet of the cafe now that the morning rush of moms, dads, students, and aspiring writers have cleared out. The fire crackles just right, the leather warmed up to your body heat while the book sucks you in further an further. Thirty minutes pass when you hear a shift infront of you, the subtle squeak of leather being sat in with a soft crunch.

"What're you reading?"

You peer over the top of the spine to see Steve sat in the chair across from you, legs open wide while he leans his forearms on his knees. His long fingers slide together, gold ring shining in the light again to remind you of who he is and where he comes from. As handsome as he is today in his black henley and white t-shirt combo you'll never quite forget the fact that some MBA bro is perched in front of you like a puppy with nowhere to go.

"Sound out the cover, that should tell you," you boredly mumble before tucking back into the chair. His fingers peak over the spine, pushing the book down from the top. He pulls the leather chintz closer to yours with ease -- of course he does.

"Or you could tell me," he says with a softness you weren't ready to hear. Your chest gets warm again, creeping up your neck to your cheeks.

"It's Pride and Prejudice."

"S'that your favorite book or something?" he asks, elbow driving into his thigh so he can rest his chin on his fist.

"One of them," you shrug, "I always read it this time of year, kind of fits the mood of the season."

"Hm," he nods, like he's really listening, "What's it about?"

"Basically," you start, thinking of a way to describe it in two sentences or less, "It's like -- hm -- it's about two people, a love story. One guy is some super rich asshole and he's a jerk because the girl isn't as rich and him. And the girl isn't from the same social standing so she's a jerk because she already assumes that he's a super rich asshole. Like...I don't know, idiots in love who are too stubborn to love each other."

"Hm," he nods again, grin splitting his face, "Interesting."

"What's your favorite book?" you ask, wanting to wipe that smug grin right off his face. His dumb handsome face with that perfect sloped nose, and eyes that look like they're looking directly into you.

"I don't have one," he shrugs.

"You have to have one," you balk, "Like, even if it's one you read in school or something." "Hmm," he sits back up, leaning back in the chair with his hands resting just under his chest.

"You have to know how to read to run a business," you shrug.

"I know how to read, honey," he laughs, "I just don't have a favorite book."

"At least try," you ecourage, albiet annoyed. He taps his fingers on his diaphragm, one knee bouncing while he thinks about it. His shirt rides up just a smidge in the back, revealing a sliver of skin you didn't think you'd ever see.

"Shel Silverstein," he says finally, "Where the Sidewalk Ends."

"You didn't strike me as a poetry guy," you say, closing your book over your finger to hold your place.

"My mom went through this poetry phase -- and I'm my mother's son, so I had a poetry phase with her," he shrugs, "We wore that book out, think we had to get a second copy cause the first one was just like -- destroyed."

"Well that's...you know," you lean your head from side to side, "That's nice. It's cute."

"You'd know, right?" he smiles, that god damn smile Shel would write about in a new book. You'd bring back book burning just to throw it in the flames after it was published. He gets up, disappearing behind you for a moment and reappearing with your favorite green mug. He gingerly places it on the side table next to you.

"Compliments of the chef," he says, presenting it like a Michelin star meal.

You look at it, a perfect pour -- the cream rosetta leaf striking against the warm brown espresso. You can smell the caramel and maple already wafting off it, cinnamon sprinkled delicately on top.

"Um, thanks," you say quietly, taking the mug to your lips. He looks down at you eagerly when you take a sip, waiting for your reaction.

"Did you do something to it?" you ask before you take one.

"No I'm just -- damn, come on. I'm excited to see you try it," he sighs, "I worked hard on it."

"Fine, fine," you murmur, letting the latte flood onto your tongue. Its -- regrettably -- one of the best iterations of you've had in a while. The perfect creaminess without being too milky, enough caramel and maple without being too sweet, the espresso's bitterness cuts the sugar in just the right way to make it smooth. He knows he did it right by the way you go for a second sip without saying anything.

"I did good?" he quirks a brow.

"You did good," you nod.

"Good," he smiles, tapping the top of your chair, "'Cause Carl's putting it on the menu starting in November."

"How come?" you ask into your third sip, the steam billowing over your cheeks.

Steve lets his eyes flicker over your face slowly, offering a half shrug, "I told him to."

November brings the first pre-season snow, not that it mattered now that your favorite drink was a regular menu item now. Caramel and maple always in stock, espresso machine always on first thing in the morning.

You open twice a week now, seeing Steve more often than not. Dropping your key became less common now that he was normally at the door when you'd get there, ready to let you in.

"Another great day, right?" he'd tease.

Now that the holidays were in full swing the bookstore was busier than ever -- sales, bundles, events. You even started carrying children's coloring books and crayons in the kid's section; a whole set up just for kids to sit and color while their parent's browsed.

The stress was getting to you, constantly checking and rechecking the end of day sales versus last year, wanting to make sure everything was on a steady incline with a nice cushion for the next. It helped that the cafe seemed to be absolutely climbing in numbers since September. More and more people wanted to spend time over there, and the more time they spent the more time they looked at books or started reading. It wasn't shocking to see people checking out at the counter with a second coffee and a new book or two in hand.

You don't want it to be true, but you're sure the new barista had a play in what makes so many people stick around. You'd see the way Steve would flirt when he took orders, how he's listen to them intently, make every customer feel like they were the only person in the room.

At least that's how he'd make you feel when he caught your gaze from over the shelving, helping find books for new patrons from the college nearby. You both started to wave at each other at each passing glance, each look caught by surprise, each accidental yearning stare.

Mid-November greets you with a bitter chill, the very early morning doesn't even have the decency to greet with you the rising sun. It'll be atleast another half hour until then.

For the first time in a long time you don't drop the key, pushing into the store with ease. You waste no time turning the heat on, making sure the radiators bled a bit before hand. You rub your hands together while they settle in, putting your coat away in the cubby and switching out your shoes in the break room.

Opening on a Saturday morning isn't common for you, but it's the first event you've planned by yourself. A very simple read-along story telling with some kids from the neighborhood and their parents. You collected three solid winter time reads: The Mitten, The Snowy Day, and A Charlie Brown Thanksgiving. A solid hour of reading while the parents could peruse, or sit and watch while their kids tuned into a book instead of cartoons on Nick Jr.

Once you've given yourself the onceover for the morning you feel more confident about the upcoming next few hours. Your knit tights fit snugly over your legs, a touch sheered out with the stretch over your thighs but the pleats in your plaid maroon skirt cover that just fine, hitting just above your knees -- still covered, still sensible. Still cute enough to snag a single dad if one were to show up.

Your feet stay tucked in a pair of worn in platform mary-janes stolen from your sister's New York City closet when you went to visit her over the summer. The chunky knit sweater over the whole ensemble completes you, a spitting image of a 'caught on the street' look you saw in a Seventeen magazine that you still get delivered to you despite being well past the age group.

You thrifted the sweater with Steve in mind, it looked like something he'd wear.

Anyway.

As you set up the 'reading rug' in the cafe area you hear the familar unlocking of the door. The sun finally starting to seep in in golden shards through the panes, leaving squares of light on the wood floors and carpets below.

"Hey Carl!" you call out, "I got everything up and running for you."

You hear the keys jingle but not his smoker's cough, not his heavy steps finding their way to the cafe area. Instead you look up to see Steve with his hands on his hips, watching you struggle to move the leather chintz to the back wall as your reading chair.

"Redecorating?" he asks, looking around the cafe. Under his shearling lined aviator jacket is an open hunter green flannel you wouldn't expect to see him in, his white t-shirt underneath hugs tights to his chest and stomach. You unfortunately noticed how great of a view that is for you.

"Um," you started, looking around the room and the dissaray you seem to have made without realizing, "Why are you here?"

"Same reason your here," he says, stepping forward to shoo you away from the chair, "I'm on the payroll."

"You don't work weekends," you say, crossing your arms over your chest while he lifts the chair over the rug with a soft grunt.

"I do today," he says with a slight strain, "Where do you want this?"

"Uh," you start, "Just right in the center against the wall so everyone can see me."

"Oh, so you're reading to the kids this morning?" he laughs to himself after putting the chair down. He wipes his hands off on each other, shrugging off the jacket and holding it in one arm, "Bitter Betty is gonna entertain the young minds of Main Street?"

"Bitter Betty, huh?" you challenge, following him into the back room, "What's that supposed to mean?"

"You know exactly what that's supposed to mean," he shakes his head.

"I am very sweet," you tell him, a serious edge to your voice, "There are so many customer reviews saying how sweet I am."

"Sure," he nods, putting his coat away in his cubby, "I bet there are; since y'know, you're selling them something."

"I'm not just nice when I'm selling something," you say softly, arms coming protectively across your chest. A frustration bubbles in your chest while you look at him, following him back out into the cafe so you can keep getting the place ready before the families start to show up, "You think you know everything."

"I don't," he shakes his head, smiling while he checks over the machines and gets the first pot of coffee started.

"Yeah, you do. You walked in here two months ago and swear you know everything," you huff, getting the cafe back to a place of organized coziness.

"Okay," he chuckles, "Whatever you say, boss."

"You're infuriating," you mumble under your breath.

"Got that caramel latte coming right up for you, by the way," he says warmly.

Your head turns to see him watching you, he smiles, "Maybe you're a little nicer after you've had a coffee."

You smile back, unable to stop it this time.

"So that's a yes, right?" he cocks his head, fingers drumming on the counter while he watches you. That Harringtom charm pumping out at full speed.

"Y-yeah," you nod, "Whatever. You gonna go chop down a tree, Harrington? What's with the flannel?"

He looks down at his shirt and then back up at you with a soft shake of his head, "I better hurry up and get that started for you."

The kids look up at you with starry eyes, their parents smiling along with their coffees, lattes, espressos, and pastries. The Mitten was a hit and The Snowy Day is so far showing up to be a great follow up.

You take your time to really point out the pictures and adding on to the story since all three of them are pretty short. However, you're finding that kids between two and five are pretty easy to entertain if you do enough counting and make enough sound effects. Maybe you should've been a kindergarten teacher -- or maybe not. Maybe you should just keep doing book events.

You're halfway through when you show the illustrations to the group again, listening to them ooh and ahh at all the snow.

"Did um -- Miss -- did you know -- it snowed? It snowed at my house," one of the older kids announces, arm straight up in the air.

"It snowed last week, Michael, that's right," his mom pipes up, "Daddy had to shovel outside."

"Has everyone else seen snow? Raise your hand if you've seen this much snow!" you announce in your perfect parentese, watching while the older kids and parents raise their hands. The two year olds don't really get it so they just sit there and laugh.

You look up at all the hands, an enthusiastic 'Wow!' coming out of your mouth -- but you barely hear it. Behind the hands are a set of warm amber eyes looking at you from the coffee bar, soft and gentle. Enthralled even. You swallow and lick your lips quickly before smiling, catching his smile back as you look back at the book to start again.

After each couple of pages you catch each other, the pink on his cheeks rising when he looks away -- pretending to be occupied with something else. Cleaning, organizing, resetting the espresso machine. He can tell you're flustered by the way you clear your throat whenever you start to read again.

After The Snowy Day you take a ten minute break so that the parents can take their kids to the bathroom or re-up their beverages. The tip jar is full to bursting because nobody knows how to make a single mom feel like Steve Harrington does; and husbands will pay anything to get him to leave their wives alone.

You reset your chair, making sure the books you're reading are on display for purchasing on the shelving close by in your Winter Children's Bundle for a discounted price. As the ten minutes closes up you feel a soft tap on your shoulder.

"Here," you turn around to Steve with a green mug in his hands, "It's just regular coffee this time, but -- figured you could use it."

You take it body first, reaching around for the handle only to feel his fingers brush against yours at the hand of. The soft touch isn't electric like it is in the books, it's like that but better. Warm like an oven, the gooey parts of you rising in a slow bake when you see him look down and turn away -- running that same hand through his hair on his way back to the counter.

"Thanks," you say over the chatter of parents and kids coming back to sit.

"Can I have something ready for you for your break?" he asks back.

"Surprise me," you shrug, sitting back on your chintz chair and taking the final book onto your lap. The kids cheer when they see Snoopy on the cover, a well loved favorite cartoon to finish off their morning. With the crack of the spine you can already smell the sales coming once this little event is over.

You work through your break, ringing up and helping customer after customer on easily one of the busiest Saturday's you've seen in a while. It normally doesn't get busy like this at least for another couple of weeks.

The stress of working through lunch barely matters though because your event was a bigger success than you could've hoped for -- logging in the notes for Rochelle that you should probably start doing this throughout the season just for good measure.

It's starting to get dark by the time your shift ends and the store closes -- early on Saturdays at a tight 4 PM. You let your sales girl go a little early, wanting to take the time to close up the store properly since you were the one who made it such a mess this morning. As you start to put the chairs back that had been moved from the cafe to the children's section you hear him, fingers tapping on the counter.

"You didn't come by for your break," he says, "And I put a lot of effort into that drink."

"Sorry, we can't all be flirting through our shifts like you can, Harrington," you snark with a grin, flipping the last chair over onto it's accompanied table.

"You don't have to clean up the coffee part of the store," he says, coming around with another mug in hand, "That's my job, y'know."

"I know," you say, "But I kind of fucked it up this morning so -- just doing my part."

"Well, here," he says, mug outstretched in his large hand, gold ring gleaming back at you, "For doing your part, I guess."

"You guess, huh?" you laugh lazily, taking it -- he places his fingers in a way that you have no choice but to touch them. You wonder if he did it on purpose, "What do you call this one?"

"'Surprise me'," he replies in a mocking drawl, flipping the rag over his shoulder again and leaning against the counter's edge. The first sip is unfortunately one of the most even temperatured hot drinks you've put past your lips.

"You're good at this," you blurt out, almost offended.

"Well don't look so upset about it."

"I am upset about it," you nod back over the lip of the mug, taking another sip. Mocha -- something. It's like hot chocolate and espresso but better, still caramel, still cinnamon, like a hug from your past but caffienated like your present.

"Consider me surprised," you nod, licking your lips again, "It's good -- it's um -- yeah. It's really good."

"Thanks," he smirks, "A few of the mom's thought so, too."

You let out a sigh through your teeth, rolling your eyes. He expected that, taking a step forward when your gaze comes back to center. You can smell the left over wraiths of his cologne and Old Spice deodorant, count the moles on his neck adorned with his hidden gold chain, see the hair on his forearms from his rolled up sleeves.

"You know something," he says quietly, "If I didn't know any better -- I'd think you like me."

"Like you?" you balk, eyes widening, "You wish."

He clicks his tongue when you get so defensive because it just proves him right. He crosses his arms with another step forward, head cocking to the side slightly while he sizes you up. Why did his creator need to make his forearms so beefy? So perfectly sculpted that you can't look at them without losing your train of thought? Stupid.

"I don't think I have to wish, honey," he says softly, Doc Martins creaking on the wooden floors, "I think...uh, I think I must allow you to tell me how ardently you admire and like me."

Your mouth falls open, staring at him with eyes as glassy at the kids who watched you read this morning.

"You -- no -- you read it?"

"Maybe," he says, another step forward, his arms bumping against your chest.

"Maybe?" you ask back, brow quirking.

"Yeah, maybe I did," he runs a hand through his hair, falling back away from his face to show off his sturdy brow bone, watching you with admiration down the slope of his nose.

He reaches down and takes the mug out of your hand with smooth finesse, arm long enough to reach back and place it on the counter behind him. When he leans back in place he's closer than before, toe to toe, nearly nose to nose.

"Maybe I bought it the day you told me about it," he shrugs, "Maybe I thought it was pretty close to something I had goin' on with a girl I know."

"A girl you know?" you challenge. You know exactly who he means, but it might be fun to hear him say it. "Yeah, sometimes I only see her like, an hour a day. But sometimes I get to watch her read on her break, sometimes I get to close with her on Saturdays," he explains warmly, the timbre of his voice deep against the crackling of the fire in the back corner of the cafe.

"This is the only Saturday you've closed with me," you counter, head tilting up slightly, close enough that the tip of your nose brushes his.

"Who said I was talking about you, honey?" he murmurs back, mischief in his eyes that are half hidden by his eyelids. You feel a puff of his breath over your top lip, still minty fresh like he just brushed his teeth.

"We both know you're talking about me," you smirk, self satisfied while his gaze flickers to your lips and back to your eyes. He steps at an angle, making you step back so you're against the pick up counter.

"So sure of yourself," he he scoffs quietly, leaning over you and getting into your space. Each hand coming to the side of you to lean on the granite, caging you in, "I like that in a pretty girl."

"Most do," you shrug matter of factly.

"Yeah," he nods, "Think that's what I like about you."

"Maybe that's what I like about you, too," you nearly whisper out.

"Maybe?" he asks, lower lip ghosting over yours. "Mayb--"

The hand he uses to run through his hair finds itself flat over the back of yours, sliding down to over your cheek and jaw where he keeps you angled just right. He closes the millimeters between you, warm lips catching yours in a kiss that feels like passion but a power play you want to match.

Your hands find their way to his shoulders, heads moving in soft tilts when you change angles. When you find yourself sat on the edge of the counter he uses the leverage to pull you close to him, hips between the fullness of your thighs.

His tongue skates over yours when it slides into your mouth, free hand ridding up the soft material of your tights, tips of his fingers inching under the hem of your skirt in an innocent tease.

Even the way he breathes through it is sexy, leaving you with a lingering guess of what he can do when he presses his lips against your neck. Tongue flitting and striping while he nearly nips a bruise onto your skin. You let out a gentle gasp, enough to admit defeat to him -- much to your chagrin. Steve comes back up to your lips to meet you with a few final deep kisses before you break apart.

He steps back once, the deep golden light of the sun setting cracks through the panes of the back window in the cafe, adoring him in a glow that shines of his hair and eyes. The kind of glow they write about, the kind of glow you read about.

You both take deep breaths, eyes hungry for each other -- unsure if you should go for more. He lingers, coming forward again to rest his hands on your thighs.

"I didn't read it," he confesses. "Pfffft. Why am I not surprised?" you huff, exasperated.

"But! But, but, but," he argues back, pecking you feverishly, "I had to go to like, five different places to find the movie from 1980 so -- I did actually put some effort into it."

"I love that one," you say back.

"I get points for that, right?" he asks expectantly.

"Yeah, fine. You're luck you're cute," you explain, "But you do definitely have to read it, at some point. If you wanna keep making out with me in the cafe after closing."

"Oh, absolutely," he grins, hand reaching to pull you in by the back of the neck for a final searing kiss, "You'll have to teach me, remember?"

You of course start closing together every single Saturday.

masterlist | fall frenzy | ko-fi

[cosmerelists]

How Well Did We Predict Wind & Truth, Based Only on Cosmerelists Posts?

[Obviously, big BIG spoilers for Wind & Truth in this post!!!]

[If you're tagged in this post, it means that you said something interesting in one of my prediction polls, so I'm REALLY sorry if I tagged you but you haven't read the book yet--I'd still recommend waiting until you finish reading it to take a look at what I said about you sorry]

In the runup to Wind & Truth, I published a number of prediction posts & polls trying to guess what would happen. Now it's time to step back and assess how I -- and all of you, via the polls -- did!

1. The Length of WAT (This entry is NOT a spoiler)

Before I get to the actual predictions, shout out to @gekho who used math to accurately predict the length of this book! In my post about Cosmere-themed math problems, I had one asking people to use the previous books to predict the length of Wind and Truth. I didn't think it was actually solvable, but gekho used a graphing program and came up with 1360 plus or minus 45 as the result....and the actual length was 1344! Holy shit!

2. The Windrunner Fifth Ideal

In this post/poll, we tried to guess what the Windrunner Fifth Ideal would be. In the poll, two answers were tied for first place with 19.9% of the vote: "I will protect what is right" and "I will protect more than people's lives." In those guesses, we were...quite wrong! The actual ideal was "I will protect myself so that I can protect others." The closest option offered was "I will protect everyone, including myself," which was the second post popular guess at 15.7%.

Almost good job, us!

3. My Wife Tries to Predict the End

In this post, my wife, who has read 0% of any Sanderson, tried to predict what the ultimate fates of Kaladin, Adolin, Shallan, and Szeth would be.

She guessed that Kaladin would die, and in that, she was wrong! He's immortal, even. Everyone just...thinks...that he's dead... :(

She got Shallan correct, saying that she would merge personalities! RIP Radiant.

She also got Adolin correct, guessing that Adolin would "have a power with his buddy" (=get some sort of special ability with Maya) and that Maya "wouldn't scream too much." And yeah! Adolin & Maya are now the super cool Unoathed Squad, and Maya now talks.

But she failed to predict Szeth's fate, predicting that he would become a Worldhopper when in fact he...just settled down and got married. I don't think any of us saw THAT coming.

4. Honor's New Vessel

In this post/poll, we tried to guess who would pick up the Shard of Honor. The number one choice was Kaladin, with 32.5% of the vote, so we sure got that one wrong. BUT Dalinar was second with 21.3% of the vote, and he did hold it for a hot second, so I think it counts. Sadly, the most correct choice, Taravangian, was not on the poll because who the hell would guess that. ...Other than @godless-of-the-hunt who friggin' NAILED it and guessed EXACTLY that in the tags, and @violet-snail-sfw who agreed.

5. Dalinar Not Being Homophobic

In this passionate post, I argued that when Renarin & Rlain got together, Dalinar would NOT respond homophobically. And in the end...he died before he ever found out they were dating so....

I still think I (would have been) right. As a final piece of evidence, we discovered that Renarin was worried about Navani's reaction. That's...something? I guess?

6. The Third Bondsmith

In this post/poll, we tried to guess who the third Bondsmith candidate would be. As it turned out, we still don't know...and maybe there won't ever be one, now. The top guess, with 16%, was "Someone who is currently a child, like Gavinor or Shallan's future kid," but since this didn't actually happen, I'll call this a bust.

7. General WAT Predictions

In this post, I just threw stuff at the wall. Honestly, I didn't do too bad! Let's do it rapid-fire:

Shallan getting pregnant: WELL, it depends on whether anyone else is reading too much into her "clutching her stomach" at the very, very end, two months after her shower sex with Adolin.

Rlain & Renarin getting together: Hell yeah.

Kaladin swearing the fifth ideal: Hell yeah.

Szeith wearing the fifth ideal: Hell yeah.

Adolin healing Maya & becoming an Edgedancer: Nope. But what actually happened was cooler

Finding out the truth about the Recreance: Yes! Finally

Kandra shows up: I mean, *I* didn't notice any

Someone bonding the Nightwatcher: Nope. :( Should have been Leshwi :( :(

8. Kaladin's fate

In this poll/post, we tried to guess Kaladin's fate but, uh, the actual answer was not an option, as I did not guess that he would become a Herald. The top answer is kind of correct, though: with 31.9% of the vote, the top answer was that Kaladin would simply live and be in Arc 2. Which does TECHNICALLY count, I think!

However, shout out to the people who predicted the whole Herald thing, @actual22plus and @lexiwhatwegot!

9. Will Dalinar Lose?

In this post/poll, we tried to predict the outcome of the duel. The top answer with 37.2% of the vote was that Dalinar wouldn't actually be the champion at all. So we were wrong about that. But, like, my basic choices were "win," "lose," "tie" or "no duel" -- I didn't predict that Dalinar would break the terms of the Contest of Champion themselves, bond Honor, break his oaths, and die immediately. How could I have been so foolish.

10. Who will be Odium's Champion?

Honestly, we nailed this one. The top guess, with 18.6% of the vote, was that Odium's Champion would be "baby Gavinor." And, okay, it wasn't actually a toddler holding a sword and crying like I expected, but it WAS Gavinor, so. We got it.

11. And finally....That Travel Games Post

This one wasn't even meant to be a serious prediction post, guys...and it started going around again pretty much as soon as Wind and Truth came out...and I just feel SO bad...for making a joke about Szeth having a pet sheep named Sweep, and then Szeth really did have a pet sheep which he saw get murdered and eaten and it was so traumatic....

That joke really did not age well. Sorry, Szeth...

[moonstruckme]

you did the james x hufflepuff prank story so good. BUT i think what would be so iconic is the reverse. IF a slytherin reader got tired of james and the gang's shenanigans against the slytherins and decides to get revenge which maybe goes a bit wrong?? i live for a little enemies to lovers haha!

Thanks for requesting my love!

cw: alcohol, spiked drinks

James Potter x slytherin!reader ♡ 1.4k words

You’d thought the only downside of your prank was that you wouldn’t get to see it happen. The best you could hope for was an overheard conversation in class about how the marauders had gotten drunk on the firewhiskey Sirius kept stored under his bed and had somehow ended up naked in the forbidden forest trying to befriend the faeries or something like that. 

You certainly hadn’t expected James Potter to come knocking at the door to the Slytherin common room at nearly one in the morning. 

Your scowl is immediate upon seeing him, more instinct than anything, but you're surprised that he almost matches it. James’ eyes are fierce, his hair in disarray and his lips downturned. He’s breathing hard like he’s run all the way here. 

You raise a brow. “Can I help you?”

“One—” he pants. “One of you tampered with our alcohol. I need—need to know who.” He starts to push the door open, but you stop it with your foot. “Let me in.” 

“That won’t be necessary,” you say coolly, though you’re more than a little alarmed by the grim set of the Gryffindor captain’s features. You don’t know James very well, but you’ve seen enough of him over the years to know that his geniality is usually unshakeable. Has a taste of his own medicine really gotten him this riled? “What’s happened to your alcohol, Potter, and why do you assume someone in Slytherin is responsible?” 

James huffs. “I don’t know what’s happened to my alcohol. All I know is that I’ve got fifth-years in the common room flapping their arms and saying they’re going to join a dragon colony, and I need to know if there’s an antidote to give them.” He seems to anger with every word. His eyes narrow on you, and you never would have thought to find James Potter intimidating, but you’re something close to intimidated now. Your stomach does a little flip. “And when an entire party of Gryffindors gets roofied the night before our quidditch match with Slytherin, I’m bound to make some assumptions.” 

“Take me to them.”

“What?”

“I might be able to help,” you say, forcing your shoulders back and your chin up a notch. “I’m good at potions, and it could take forever to track down the person who drugged your alcohol. Let me try to figure it out.” 

James shakes his head at you, straightening his glasses. “I don’t have time to mess around.” 

“I can tell.” You slide out of the opening in the door, shutting it behind you before James can think to dash through. “But I think I’m your best shot.” You start towards the Gryffindor rooms, hoping he’ll follow. 

He does, jogging to catch up to your brisk strides. You don’t like the idea of wasting time any more than James does. Your prank was supposed to be contained, a little joke to get back at the small group of Gryffindor boys for their endless volley of pranks against your house. You were supposed to have the gratification of knowing you’d made fools of the marauders for one night, not roofie an entire party of innocent students. Well, Gryffindors. But still. 

“How did you not end up drugged?” you ask as you walk. 

“Quidditch match tomorrow,” James replies simply. “I didn’t want a hangover. Not,” he adds, “that I’ve ever had a hangover. I’m Head Boy; any drinking that happens in Gryffindor house is, of course, without my knowledge or participation.” 

You have to bite back a small smile. “Of course.” 

He murmurs the password to the fat lady as you approach, and you ignore the judgemental look she passes over your green robes as she swings aside, begrudgingly allowing you entry. 

Your guilt increases tenfold at the scene in the common room. 

Lily Evans has posted herself by the door, turning back students vying for exit. There is indeed a group of fifth-years waving their arms about and looking out the windows as if they’d take to the skies, and half of the Gryffindor quidditch team looks to be trying to start a match indoors. 

James takes your hand when you linger too long by the entryway, tugging you through the crowd. You stop at a small table, where the empty bottle of firewhisky sits next to a giant bowl where they’ve apparently mixed it with coca cola or something. You lean down over the bowl, sniffing cautiously like you imagine you would if you didn’t know what it was. Thankfully, one ingredient has left a scent. 

“Scurvy grass,” you say to James, straightening. “It’s the main ingredient in befuddlement draught.” 

“S’exactly what I said,” Remus Lupin comments from the couch, seemingly speaking to a pillow he’s got in his lap. “We’ve all got scurvy.”

James ignores his friend, raising his eyebrows at you. “That was quick. Is there an antidote?” 

You frown, letting the very real regret you’re feeling show in your expression. “None that I know of,” you reply. “It’s like alcohol, it just fades with time.” 

James looks around the room worriedly. “How much time?”

You shake your head. “Not likely soon enough. Your best bet is getting everyone to bed. They’ll sleep it off.” 

James takes a deep breath. “Alright, I can do that. Evans!” he calls, getting the Head Girl’s attention. “We’re to put them to bed.” 

Lily nods, gathering a few girls from around her and herding them upstairs. James heads for the fifth-years, blabbering something about how dragons need rest to keep their fire hot. You don’t think that’s true, but the students start moving nonetheless, James keeping them going with words of encouragement each time they try to turn back. 

“Could you just stay by the door?” he asks you as he follows them upstairs. “Make sure nobody leaves.” 

You nod, posting yourself by the entryway and telling anyone that comes close to go to bed. Your persuasive skills aren’t up to par with James or Lily’s, but eventually they get everyone to their rooms, and James is the only one who comes back down the stairs. 

He rubs harshly at his eyes, disrupting his glasses, and begins to clean up the mess of the party. You join him, gathering discarded cups and setting up a pile of left items (shoes and wands and even a pair of pants) by the fireplace. 

“If you’re still worried about the match,” you say after awhile, “everyone should be fine by tomorrow morning. The effects of befuddlement draught don’t usually last for more than a few hours, and sleeping will help.” 

“You seem somewhat of an expert on befuddlement draught,” James says lightly.

You flush, bending to pick up another cup. “It was on the OWLs. I studied hard.” 

He hums noncommittally. “Well, I appreciate you coming to help clean up your own mess.” 

You look at him, an inquiry as to what he could possibly mean already forming on your tongue, but the look on James’ face stops you. He knows. “It was only supposed to be you,” you say. “It was Black’s firewhiskey, I thought it would just be him, you, and maybe Lupin drinking it. I didn’t think you would share.” 

James actually laughs at that. “Yes, sharing! How ridiculous of us.” 

You huff, despising him for the shame twisting in your gut. “I’m just trying to tell you that it wasn’t my intention to spike the drinks of all of Gryffindor.” You narrow your eyes at him. “Maybe if you didn’t distribute your alcohol, these things wouldn’t happen.” 

James crosses his arms. “As I’ve said, I would personally never distribute alcohol or endorse underage drinking. But it seems that, whatever may or may not have happened tonight involved a series of unfortunate accidents, which could have been avoided if several parties had been more responsible.” 

You bristle at the veiled scolding. Frankly, James implicating himself as partially responsible for the night’s events doesn’t do much to alleviate your guilt either. He’s gone soft on you, the panic that had fueled his earlier breach in character worn away, and he’s back to his lighthearted, irritatingly nice self. 

You can’t look at it, and you roll your eyes as you turn away, tossing the last cup into the trash bin on your way to the door. “See you at the match tomorrow, Potter.” 

You can practically feel the warmth of his smile at your back. “See you there. And I’ll be keeping an eye on my drinks in the future, so don’t get it in your head to try it again!”

Oh, James can rest easy. You won’t.

[jamneuromain]

Divorce with either Steve/Andy I'm feeling angsty.

Whether happy/sad ending is up to you :)

Hi bestie <3 I'm sorry it has taken more time than I thought but my drabble turns into a one-shot before I can even realize skjksjskjskjksj

hope you'll enjoy this <3

Lie, Lie, Lie

Steve Rogers x You (Mutant!Reader)

Warning: Swearing, Angst, Divorce, (also asshole-ish Avengers?)

W/C: 5.4 K

Summary: A small leak will sink a great ship. -- Benjamin Franklin

A/N: My first entry to the bingo challenge hosted by @the-slumberparty.

It starts with a minor, insignificant detail.

Just some static in the phone, really.

A snippet of sound that common people would interpret as bad signals, considering that Steve is phoning you from thousands of miles away, while you are using the landline.

For holy Mary’s sake, who the hell still uses landlines today?

Apparently, the academic conferences you attend do.

Steve notices the small static buzzing the call you are having, after which you grumble in frustration, “Stupid signals, can’t even function properly.”

He smiles, knowing that you can’t see the expression on his face. You are cute even when you are complaining.

You sigh deeply on the other end of the phone, your voice slightly distorted from the electronic, or wireless, transmission, “I miss you, Stevie. Can’t wait to come home.”

“It’ll only be two more days,” Steve reassures you with his soothing timbre, “I’ll be waiting for you at the airport, alright? First thing you’ll see after getting off that plane.”

“Okay.” You know he can hear you pouting, but you pout anyway, “Gotta have some sleep now. I’m going to the keynote tomorrow morning.”

“Take care of yourself.” Steve holding on to his phone, wincing again as the static buzzes again, but it appears only on his end, as you seem unaffected by it, “Take care of my favorite scientist and my favorite girl for me, okay?”

“I am your favorite girl. And you know I have my powers.” You try your best to stifle a large yawn, but Steve senses your tiredness right away.

“Sleep tight, okay? I’ll talk to you tomorrow.” Steve blows a kiss, hoping that it would travel across oceans and lands via the phone, and reach your forehead.

“Night, Steve.”

“Good night, sweetheart.”

You are about to hang up when the static tortures his ear again.

You hang up.

Static isn’t a problem for most people, who, unlike Steve, don’t have super hearing and super memory.

Steve could think that the static is a minor interference, however, static that appears during phone calls are hardly inconsistent. And if he has learned a thing or two during the time that landlines are still fairly popular – 40s, by the way – is that static doesn’t go on and off, nor does it blur on different pronunciations since static should naturally have a pattern.

Since Stark phones issued by the friendly billionaire is certainly off the question, he suspects that someone might be tapping into your landline.

Something is off. His intuition is telling him. So, he called Tony and asked for a favor.

After some analysis that Steve couldn’t fully understand, Tony presses his index finger to his lips tightly, humming to himself.

“Anything?” Steve watched as Tony chugged down the fifth cup of coffee ten minutes ago, and now Tony has been unusually quiet.

Tony spins his chair around, looking thoughtful. He waves his fountain pen in midair, pointing at his screen in general, “This isn’t some sort of prank Bruce asked you to play, is it?”

“Prank? Tony, this is my wife we’re talking about.” Steve is about to lose his patience. He crosses his arm, dead serious, “What is … this? Am I being paranoid or …”

He wouldn’t dare to think about you in actual danger and he’s sitting cozily in Avengers Compound. He could’ve been risking your precious rescue time. Or warn you, somehow.

Even knowing that you have your special powers.

Your mutant powers.

Still, there are hundreds of ways for you to be defenseless.

A collar could suppress all your powers. A shot of the new dose of Mutant Serum could make you lose your X-gene once and for all. And all those terrible things that could happen to you.

Tony scratches his goatee, his expression is puzzled, to say the least, “this static that you provided, looks like the interface Bruce and I were cooking up for a Friday-upgrade.”

“English, please, Tony.”

Tony magnifies the example of static extracted from the recording that is automatically stored on Stark servers, and pulls out a random MRI brain scan from Steve’s health exam last year, “See what I mean?”

Steve watches the two waves on the screen closely, almost stuttering from what he is summarizing, “They look … similar.”

“Exactly.” Tony throws the MRI scan off the screen and points to the static, “This? This isn’t sound. This is human thinking. Hell, thinking, I’m not even sure it’s human. And it has a purpose. The reason you are hearing the ‘static’ – I’ll name that thing later, is that it serves as a relay, that patches you through its – thinking, whatever, and directs your call to Y/N.”

“It isn’t Friday?” Steve blurts out the only AI he could think of.

“If it is Friday, the Nobel committee is handing me the award right this moment.” Tony snorts, but he turns serious as soon as he notices Steve’s worrying look, “but with this fragment, I can locate Y/N,” and with a few taps on the keyboard, a global map appears in front of them.

Tony mutters to himself, “Can’t track the relay itself, but I can … ”

Another few keystrokes and a red dot blip.

“… in the middle of the Pacific Ocean.” Tony isn’t even sure about what the blipping dot shows, “Now this can’t be right-” Tony looks back at Steve, whose eyebrows are tying up like knots, “Where did you say she’s having this academic conference?”

“Leipzig, Germany.” Steve answers without a second thought, “Quantum 2023.”

Tony looks awe-struck.

“I’m sending a team to get her.” Steve stands up from his seat abruptly, heading to the doorway, but Tony’s words make him stop.

“Quantum 2023 is next week, Steve. And it isn’t held in Leipzig.”

“But that’s impossible,” Steve turns on his heels, glaring at Tony, “She told me that she came into contact with some Professor, who invited her to this conference because she was doing so well with her panel back in January.”

“And what’s that panel?”

“CPS Quantum Computer-”

“CPSQ was never held this year.” Tony shakes his head, “The conference was cancelled because a main member of the CPSQ committee passed away last December. What else has she told you?”

“I can’t tell you.” You dare not read his face. Your gaze lands on the marble counter that you and Steve agreed on two years ago, instead of him. You lied. And you know you lied. And the fact that you know that you can tell him nothing, makes you even more scared and frightened, as you are well aware the last things Steve would tolerate are betrayal and infidelity.

Your shared home, once a sanctuary for you and the love of your life, now withering and shaken, cold and gloomy. It no longer is a safe haven for you.

“Did anyone blackmail you with anything?” Steve asks calmly.

He’s prepared for the worst things to come.

He spent the whole night with Tony trying to figure out the so-called “academic conferences” you were supposed to be a part of, and there were eight of them during the last three years.

Some calls were too old to trace, but Tony has figured out it with the recent three conferences, you weren’t doing Keynotes or presenting your results to academia, but in the same spot in the Pacific doing God knows what.

It was undocumented waters. Tony could only gather so much info that the islands in the vicinity were bought by a mysterious wealthy man who paid through his Kaymen Island account.

And you were visiting it almost every four months. Like clockwork.

There were a few heat signatures on the island, but with no visible vehicle, neither ferry nor helicopter in sight, Tony would have to guess that you would need someone who can transport you from where you were to the island.

“No.” You have no excuse. No reasons. No idea what you should say.

But you weren’t blackmailed. You went there voluntarily.

His gaze feels heavy on your shoulders. From the corner of your eyes, you can see he’s looking at you intensely. Trying to figure out whether you are still lying to him.

“Are you cheating?”

The other possible explanation he has thought of. Frightening, if an answer of certainty comes out of your mouth, but it would explain your lies. Steve curls his hand into a fist, the veins on his hand popping briefly onto his skin.

The hands that caressed your hair and your jaw, cradling your face when he leaned in to kiss you. All the gentle moves. Treating you as a soft and delicate being. Now a hard fist on the table.

He didn’t touch you on your way back to your home. Nor did he accept your hugs and kisses at the airport.

He was very disappointed.

“No.” You answer, with your head low.

How could he doubt your relationship? How could he doubt your love for him? Waiting for him to return after every battle, taking care of his wounds, having-

How could he think all of those were lies too?

“Then what are you hiding?”

Steve maintains his best manners not to crush the table under his fist into bits and pieces. He wants you to answer. Something. Tell him why he has been kept in the dark.

Anything.

You open your mouth, but no word comes out.

“I can’t tell you.” You whisper, your resolve of keeping the secret faltering under his piercing gaze. But you can’t tell him.

There’s turmoil in your stomach, wreaking havoc in your guts. You want to throw up when thinking about the truth, but cannot say it. Not with your teeth and tongue. Not with pen and paper. You cannot. You physically cannot.

Nothing remorseful or any expression similar appears on your face, as Steve observes your reaction closely.

“Please, Steve. I promise I’ll tell you, but now is not the time. It was – is an important … deed, to do.”

Steve stands up from his chair slowly.

Not even looking at you anymore, he sounds emotionless. Cold.

“I thought for a moment you were kidnapped. Tortured. Lured into a trap.”

“Steve-”

“I was this close,” he pinches his index finger and thumb together, “sending a full-blown rescue tactical team, to get you out.”

“Steve, please, just listen-”

“And are you talking, Y/N? Are you telling me what I need to hear?” He stands with his back to you, shaking with uncontrollable anger. “The truth, that’s all I want.”

“I can’t-”

“I can’t, either.” He interrupts you. For the entire time you can remember, from his cute and sweet attempts to ask you out on a date, from his chivalry of taking you out and asking you to be his wife, from the start of your happy marriage, he hasn’t once interrupted you when you were talking.

Tears roll down your eyes as you are tongue-tied, unable to utter a sound.

But Steve didn’t see those tears. If he did, he would have some idea that you are truly sorry for what you have done.

Steve stands with his back to you.

“I’ll save us the trouble and ask Tony to wipe our marriage from the system.”

Almost a shriek, your hands and feet are placed in the bottom of the ice pit, “You can’t-! I- You can’t!”

Your sobbing fills the room that was occupied by a dreadful silence. From your husband.

You would never imagine that a lie would go this far.

“Watch me.”

He can’t, not when you are-

Not when you are working on-

Not when you are trying to-

He can’t.

Realization dawns on you that even if you did tell him one thing that you can say to make him stay, he would consider it a lie.

Or an effort you make, trying to be bound to him.

That your trust is broken forever.

With that realization hitting you, he leaves the room.

Five years later, somewhere near Hawaii.

“This is really nice, what you got over here,” Tony comments in honesty, taking a step back to observe the rippling portal gate, “How long has it been put into use?”

Jean, the woman with flaming red hair and a scarf around her shoulders, has an impeccable smile on her face, leading the way as Natasha and Steve boarded the small vehicle up ahead, “Four. We used to transport to and from all over the world with the help of mutants who can create a portal. But as larger machines and construction materials were needed on Krakoa, the very land that you are standing on, our top scientists decided to benefit us all by inventing an instant portal device- Devices, should I say.”

As there are three large portals, each the size of a house, standing next to each other on the founding stones.

“Why are we even here?” Steve murmurs to Natasha, sounding confused, “I thought bargaining was Tony’s specialty…?”

“Smile, Rogers.” Natasha murmurs back, her eyes scanning the tropical island for any anomaly, “It’s a diplomatic event, not a business one.”

“Like a photo Op?”

“Like a peace offering.” Nat lowers her voice as she notices a mutant with bright green hair start the engine of their car, and take the position as their driver, “Krakoa now has the most efficient cancer eradication solution, and if we all behave and act like adults, the world would accept the possibility of the first mutant country. The UN is considering whether to add Krakoa as a new member country as we speak.”

“And if we blew it, WW3?”

“Worse. We will be hanged before we could say ‘assemble’.” Natasha sits straighter when Tony and Jean, the woman with red hair approaches the vehicle, and asks with a louder voice, “Would you mind telling us about the three-day trip planned on Krakoa?”

“Certainly.” With a look from Jean, the green-hair starts the car and drives away from the beach, heading towards a road that leads to the Krakoa city center. “We don’t have anything planned for this evening, so Lorna – our temporary driver - and I will show you around this place in general and escort you to your residence, where you will have dinner with our high council tonight. Tomorrow you’ll visit our university facilities and our most advanced laboratory, with our head scientist Hank. If you would like to visit any place else, feel free to tell us and we’ll try our best to satisfy your demands…”

Their residence is a small building near the city square. After a brief tour of the area, Jean tells them that normally they wouldn’t expect many visitors, so the building, though more well-equipped than most hotels, only resides the three of them, plus Jean for now.

Natasha strides across the room as Tony takes voice notes on his phone.

“… Their technology is at least two decades, if not three, more advanced than our top scientist.” With that as a summary, Tony stuffs his phone in his pocket.

And the room is filled with deafening silence.

“Do you think they cleared this place out when they are expecting us?” Steve sits on the edge of the bed, looking up at Tony and Natasha.

“They are afraid of us, as we are afraid of them.” Natasha says slowly. Not really answering Steve’s question, but hinting at the opinion that she has in mind. Her striding comes to a halt, “The looks we had on our way here? Not all friendly.”

“Too bad we don’t have a mutant as a middleman.” Tony clicks his tongue, moving around his jaw like he has a toothache.

“Tony-” Starts Natasha warningly.

They all know one mutant who helped around in the Avengers a few years ago. They know one mutant was exceptionally close to Steve. Hell, they were even there to witness the wedding of-

“I’m gonna go get some air.” Steve pinches the bridge of his nose, taking a long exhale, before walking out of the room.

Of Steve and you.

You were not a powerful mutant. But you would be helpful, under a circumstance like this.

But Steve divorced you a few years back.

No one knows why. No one knows any information regarding the terrible divorce that made Steve leave you, leave the States for months.

Except that you were “missing” from time to time.

Natasha sits on the other armchair in the room, looking closely at Tony, and his greying beard. She chooses her words very carefully, “Was she…” Were you cheating back then? On Steve?

Tony shakes his head, “He never told me.”

“But is it possible that…”

“I wanted to believe the other way.” Tony nibbling at his bottom lip. In the end, he looks back at Natasha, the former Russian spy, “But the incident right after she left…”

A breach that erased all of your data, along with the data of three staff within the Avengers Compound, happened a few months after you left the Compound and disappeared. Not only the records of your information, but also calls and texts, almost every trace of your presence was erased completely from both Avengers Compound and the government system as well.

The three staff later identified as mutants. They fled from the compound on the same day of the incident.

No one knew where you were. No CCTV or surveillance camera has recorded your prescence ever since.

It's a shame to admit, but no one bothered to look either.

After all, there were no demands or ransoms asked. And they were too busy saving the world to care for such trivia.

Nothing else was missing.

A few printed photos that Steve kept in his office survived. Printed photos of you and him together. That he had kept in the bottom of his drawer ever since your divorce.

A week later, Krakoa was established, announcing itself as a country and providing shelters for all mutants.

Steve suspected that the two events might be connected somehow, but Krakoa banned anyone who isn’t a mutant from entering the territory and has been moving on the map ever since, refusing any prying eyes.

Steve wanders into the patch of green a few hundred inches away from the hotel, heading towards the beach.

He was painfully reminded of you.

Of your happy times together.

And the determination you showed when you refused to tell him about your affair.

Yes, your affair. Even though you denied it. Steve believes that you were lying to him. About your location, about your everything.

About your lover.

“… come on down little monkey!” A familiar voice ghosting his ears.

A little girl screams at the top of her lungs, before giggling and sitting at the far end of a branch on a tree a few meters away, “But it’s out of power-Hi, Uncle Hank!”

The girl has blonde curly hair, bouncing as she jumps on the thin branch that could snap at any second. Steve is about to sprint to rescue when he hears you.

Your familiar voice.

“Come on, Mommy will catch you.” You clap your hand, your back facing Steve, who is hiding in the bushes. Your arms stretched wide open, urging the little girl to come down.

Urging your daughter to come down from the tree? From a branch seven feet in the air? How are you even encouraging the little girl while she could break her neck is unfathomable to Steve. This is stupid. Reckless. Irresponsible. A total -

“Come on, little monkey.” You clap your hand again, “It won’t be half as fun if I have to come up and get you.”

“Sorry, Y/N, I didn’t know that the rocket boots will die so soon,” begins a man on your side, apologizing. A thin man with glasses in his 40s. “The battery is supposed to last five hours when I put them on- Oh.”

“Yes.” Steve hears your grumpiness, “Batteries. Hank. My expertise.”

Steve knows your expertise.

Although you studied quantum physics and its application, your interest in Physics derived from your ability to absorb power and power transformation. However, you were not particularly interested in fighting bad guys, that’s why you weren’t on missions as often as he thought you would.

Batteries. You would absorb electricity from it in an instant, even when you are not intentionally doing so.

“Exhibiting her abilities so soon?” Hank gasps in disbelief, raising his head to look at your daughter jumping on that twig, “Normally it would be until their teen years.”

You chuckle, “Missing out on the latest Bio lab, aren’t you? They just published a paper about how mutant parents would cause a higher rate of mutant children, and as a result, their abilities tend to show earlier. Even so,” you kick the sand under your feet, your voice less exciting, “Hers is showing earlier than I did.”

“You showed your ability when you were five, right?”

“Two months till five. But yeah, pretty early. She made the light in our room flick on and off, starting from a month ago.” You make one last attempt at your daughter, who is having her fun with those thick rocket boots on her feet, “Be a sweetheart and come down, alright? Mommy is getting tired and we haven’t had dinner yet.” You plead softly.

“Alright, Mommy.” The little girl answers.

As Steve watches from afar, worrying sick that your daughter would fall from the tree, she spreads her arms and falls from the tree. But like a piece of paper, descending slowly into your arms.

Absorbing gravity to cancel it out. One of your typical moves too. Steve thinks bitterly. No doubt the little girl is your daughter.

Hank offers something as you three walk further from Steve and the bush he’s hiding. Steve didn’t quite catch what he said, but he hears you reply with a certain “Yes”.

Your voice trails away, “But it’ll be fine. Won’t we, little monkey?”

The little girl giggles again.

“Do you want Daddy back, Mommy?” Your daughter Maddie asks abruptly as you take out the storybook before bed.

“I-” It would be a lie, to say that you do not want Steve. But years have gone by and you’ve built your life around Maddie and Krakoa. While you were desperate, wanting him back when you found yourself pregnant with Maddie, the night when he left your house, you knew that the only reason Steve would stick around, which is knowing that you are pregnant. Despite the responsibility he would be burdened with, he would also doubt whether he’s raising some other people’s child, since he already suspects that you were cheating, and your life would be miserable with his indifference.

You remember your panicking and fearing his leave.

Thinking that he can’t leave you, not when you are pregnant, not when you are working on a home and a shelter for your future children, trying to create a safe haven for you and your family.

But he left.

“I don’t know, sweetheart.” You tuck a strand of her blonde curls behind her ears, gazing into her beautiful cerulean eyes, “I hurt your father really bad when I made the big mistake that we talked about. And he hurt me too. Not that he wanted to, but he left me alone in this world.” You kiss her short chubby hand, placing her hand on your cheek, “We won’t be happy ever again. Because I lied to him. And he will always remember it.”

“Oh.” Maddie sounds disappointed, scrunching her little face together, “But Daddy knows you are doing the right thing, right? Building Kra-Kra-Krakoa and our home?”

She tried a few times to pronounce the word “Krakoa”, making you smile.

“I don’t know, sweetheart.” You explain to her with more patience than you can ever imagine, “I have never seen your father ever since.”

“He should!” Your daughter curls herself up into a ball in your arms, nuzzling your soft pyjamas, “He should be proud of you. And what you did. You help build the island, Mommy. Daddy should know. And he will forget your lying.”

Kids. Always thinking everything in the world is so simple. A small grin creeps up your lips.

But in your heart, the bitterness swirls into a dark pit.

Everyone else understood. Other mutants who had a family, who told their partners they will be gone for a while, who lied to their partners that they were needed for a job.

Their partners did. Their partners understood the cruelty of separation and the pain that those mutants cannot utter a word about their whereabouts, or the details of the job. The worst you’ve heard of, aside from yourself as an example, was a huge fight between Lorna and her boyfriend, but in the end, she forgave him after a week, having enough trust for both of them to continue their relationship and got married two years ago.

But no. Not Steve.

Steve, who quickly jumped to the conclusion that there was no need to continue this marriage.

Steve, after leaving word of divorcing you, left. To some shit-eating place in South Africa, for two whole months.

Two months. Two months of prying eyes and prodding questions from the Avengers, which you knew they were being kind and helpful, but you couldn’t stay there. Not when it brought pain and scars to your chest every time you’d see some possession that belonged to him, and cry your eyes out, nearly losing Maddie as a result. Not when they were also suspecting that you cheated on Steve and scolding you lightly, telling you to “speak to Steve and ask for his forgiveness”.

They were his family. Not really yours.

Yours is here.

You kiss her forehead, tucking her in, “I sure hope so. Good night, sweetheart.”

Your smile fades as your mind drifts to the human delegation that is alleged to arrive today.

You asked to be kept out of the loop and out of the trails that the delegation is visiting. You even confirmed with Hank today that you would take these three days off from the lab.

You blocked all relevant information regarding those visitors.

You were raised by this mutant family, by mutants such as Jean and Hank and befriended them, and you had your heart broken in the human world. You don’t want anywhere near humans ever again.

“These are some state-of-the-art devices. I have to say, I’m very impressed.” Tony tilts his head to the side, reading the metrics recorded on the screen in the up-state Bio lab, “This is not quite my expertise though, the project you are operating here.”

Hank magnifies the part Tony is observing onto the huge screen behind them, “We are trying to incorporate human thoughts into robots, but in a wireless form. With a thought-” Hank, the man in glasses, places two stickers onto his head, and a robotic arm on the far end of the lab begins writing “Welcome”, stopping dead when it comes to “O”. Hank shrugs, not even bothered by the failure of the demonstration, “We have a talented specialist that helps with coding, but there are always some interferences with the transmission.”

Natasha clears her throat to gain their attention, “I’m also very impressed with the construction of the island as a whole. A construction this large should take … what, five years and a couple hundred workers?”

“Two and a half, to be precise.” Hank gestures for them to move forward onto the Physics lab, peeling the stickers off his temple, “About three dozen mutants involved. It would be sooner if it weren’t…” As if he suddenly was reminded of something, Hank let out a short “Ah”, and a brief pause, “if it weren’t some … unintentional held-up with one of our finest mutants.” His eyes land on sulking Steve, only for a few seconds.

Hank said it with a proud smile on his face. It didn’t take Steve forever to recognize the man from the beach last night, who gave your daughter, very irresponsibly, Steve might add, rocket boots.

Your daughter’s father is very irresponsible too. Not even showing up when your daughter is in danger. He thinks, clenching his jaw, praying for strength that he would punch that guy in the face if he ever meets him.

Natasha and Tony exchange a glance behind Hank, failing to notice Steve and his stern expressions.

“But it must have been a huge effort, even with three dozen, to keep them silent?” Natasha jokes light-heartedly, “There’s hardly any secret in the Avengers Compound without the full staff knowing it in three days.”

Hank nods politely, holding the door for them to come through, “Well, yes. But as you are well aware, a few of our best mutants are telepathic, meaning they could plant a gag order in our heads,” Hank taps his temple with his knuckle, “We couldn’t speak to anyone else about Krakoa for three years until it’s established. Our mind forbade us to speak of it because of the gag order.”

“Masochists, and they are proud of it,” Natasha whispers to Tony in a rush.

“It is troubling. Misunderstandings and arguments have aroused based on the gag order and its implementation.” Hank walks them through the long hallway from one building to another, “But we agreed it’s for the best at that moment.”

Tony makes a face that isn’t as obvious, but Steve and Natasha could tell that’s his disapproving face.

As Hank opens another door for them, the first thing they see is a little girl playing with her toy car on a tall chair. She slides the car down from a colorful track, and the track would deliver the toy car back to her hands.

“Maddison!” Hank rushes to her side, looking up and down to see whether the girl got hurt, “What are you doing here?”

“Mommy needs to pick up something.” Maddie points at you, cheering, “Look! Mommy Mommy!” She drops her toy car to the ground, and jumps off the tall chair, running to you and hugging your thigh.

Steve stops breathing. Seeing you, well and alive in front of him, with your daughter, in a rosy-pink dress that you bought while dating him a few years back.

You look … the same.

“Get behind me, Maddie.” You tug the little girl on her arm, to have her shielded fully behind your legs. An undetectable shakiness in your voice.

Maddie peeks from behind you. She doesn’t understand where this tension is coming from, but she understands one thing: “Mommy, is that Daddy?” She raises her head and asks.

You hate to lie to your daughter. But you are not going to let her be exposed to Natasha and Tony, and most importantly, Steve.

“Christ. It’s Y/N.” Tony mutters.

“Mommy, he looks exactly like the photo you showed me.” Maddie asks in confusion, pointing towards Steve, “He looks exactly like Daddy?”

“Maddison, not now.” It takes all your willpower not to push them all out of the lab at once, “Hank, would you mind?” You glance icily at Hank, urging him to solve the problem at hand.

“Yes, of course.” Hank starts to head the other way, “I’m sorry, but we’re behind schedule. If you would come with me-”

“No one is coming anywhere until we deal with this,” Tony announces, one hand already on his wristwatch, which you know contains a small plasma canon if he activates it.

“Is she…?” Steve knows the answer to his question before he asks. The hair and the eyes are similar to his, and the nose and lips resemble yours-

“Boys,” Natasha raises her voice, “Let’s be civil, shall we?”

“How old is she?” Steve feels a lump down his throat, “is she-”

“Civil?” You let out a dry laugh, the exact opposite of amused, “Tony Fucking Stark is ready to attack when he pulls out that wristwatch. And Natasha, long time no see, the same goes for your widow bites too. Yeah, I saw the glowing blue under your sleeves. You are trying to take my child away from me in a heartbeat and call yourself civil?”

“Tony, Nat.” Steve speaks.

Two words that bring the two of them away from their weapons.

You pick Maddie up from the ground, having your back to the Avengers, protecting your daughter from their grasp, “Let’s go, Maddie. I am apparently not welcomed here.”

“Y/N!” Steve calls to your back, “Y/N, please!”

Natasha is tempted to step forward and ask you to stay and talk this out, being blocked by Hank.

“I assume it is best that you stay right where you are,” Hank says politely, though his thin body has no intention of moving.

Maddie hugs your neck, laying her head on your shoulders. Her blue eyes focusing on Steve while you walk away.

Find my The Slumber Party Present Bingo Challenge here 👈

Questions? Comments? Requests? 👉Send them to my inbox 👂

[something-wild-calls]

Getting another part out before Christmas, woo! :D

Previous

FIRST

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Cody trotted alongside Jordan, who had a rather chunky brilliant red and orange feathered staffwyrm clinging to him. He met its flame-colored eyes, but couldn't guess what it might be thinking.

They passed through clusters of buildings that nestled in patches of greenery and perched atop small hills. Today was the fifth day since his encounter with Jamie in the woods. He'd completely healed, and not for the first time he found himself enamored by the possibilities that came with magical healing.

It was a pleasant town, with folks they met along the way waving good-naturedly. Most had curious glints in their eyes at the sight of the stranger among them, but none held any hostility.

He had to wonder... how long would that last?

He gently wrapped his arm under the tattered bag draped over his shoulder, feeling comforted by the lump that weighed it down. To take his mind off his worries, he asked, “No Jamie today?”

“She might be around somewhere.” The chief shrugged. “She hangs out at the edge of the valley most of the time. Or with the griffins.”

“Griffins?” Cody glanced at the sky, as if the mention of them would summon some of the large winged beasts. He caught sight of some in the distance, but he couldn't make out any details on them. “Are there a lot around here?”

Jordan nodded. “There's a huge colony living in the northern cliffs of the valley. There's something of a long-held agreement between our town and them—We work together to keep the territory safe.”

The blond boy smiled. “Huh. Neat!” At the same time, a chill ran through him as well. He considered asking on a further thought, but decided it would be better to hold off. The need to ask may not even arise, but if it did, it might be better to be in the Chief's good graces than a stranger among his people.

As they continued along in discussion, the houses and buildings began to thin out, with the paths being edged in more and more wild growth.

Soon the path they walked was alone in the wilderness aside from lampposts to light the way come night. A smaller path split right from the larger main road that led out of town, and Jordan took Cody down this way. The trees and plant life filled the boy with a sense of calm. Birdsong filled the air, and the quacking of ducks sounded, rising in volume as they walked.

~ ~ ~ ~

~ ~ ~ ~

Cody stood in the entry way as the door clicked behind him, uncertain where to go from here.

His host, Frenzy, hung his hat on a coat rack nearby and gave Cody a nod. Without saying anything or changing his expression, he strode into the heart of the house. The blond boy noticed his gait was uneven, and the man now gripped a tall cane in his hand that clacked softly on the floor as it matched its owner's footsteps.

The place was cozy, dotted with dressers, bookshelves, and small trinkets. In the living room, a couple of comfortably padded chairs sat invitingly, a coffee table shared between them. Against a wall was a couch with small tables on each end.

Cody turned to Frenzy. "Do you, uh... does someone else here?"

He shook his head. "Nope. Just me." He beckoned. "I'll show you to your room."

With his bag strap in hands tight and slicked with sweat, he followed the man.

"Here y' are."

Frenzy flicked on the light, and Cody scanned the room. It wasn't terribly big, but it still seemed like a nice place to call his own, at least for the time being. As he stepped in, he let out the breath he'd been holding. "It's nice here, Frenzy."

"I like to be open to company. If needed."

Cody looked toward the older man, who stood in the doorway of his new resting place. His hands wringed the bag's strap anxiously. "You, ah, d-don't seem like the type to like company."

For a moment, Frenzy was silent, and his expression shifted, though Cody still couldn't read it. Then, he shrugged. "No. Not really. But I don't hate it."

The boy hesitated, still unsure about his new situation. "Uh, do you mind if I take a moment to get settled?"

Frenzy nodded again, backing away from the door. "Go right ahead." He paused a moment, and Cody caught a flicker of something in his gaze. "My home is your home now... 'Cept my room. Andy my workshop. Stay outta those. Please."

Cody nodded. "Yes, Sir."

Frenzy gently shut the door. Cody listened as the sound of his steps and the tapping of his cane faded away, and once he was alone, he approached the neatly made bed and sat on it with a sigh. A clock ticked on the wall in the silence, and the boy looked around.

A window caught his attention. He set his bag gently on the bed and walked over to it, fiddling with the latch. He was happy to find it slid open smoothly, and no screen barred it. Leaving it open a considerable amount, he returned to the bed. Before sitting, he leaned over to see what kind of space was underneath it.

Plenty.

Good.

Finally he sat back on the bed next to his bag, and, carefully, he unzipped it. The pink head of Pari peeked out at him, the russet mark across her face beaming a false grin while her pale purple eyes shone anxiously.

Still, they exchanged a smile as Cody gently cupped her head in his hand. He leaned in close to her, glancing at the door.

In a whisper, he said, "Guess we're gonna have to be careful again, Pari." He sighed. "Just until I can find a good time and way to tell him about you..."

And what for?

The mental voice growled, low and hopeless.

Just to be back on the road, traveling endlessly to each town that will let you in only long enough to gather your senses.

Cody laid back onto the bed, his legs hanging where he'd sat them.

He tried to tell off the voice of doubt, but it persisted.

We should just thank Frenzy and Jordan for their willingness to help and move on. There's no point in staying.

Pari hopped onto the boy's chest, gazing down at him with concern.

He wrapped his arms around her, pulling her into a crouch on top of him, and she nuzzled his chin. A purr rattled in her throat.

At that, Cody couldn't help smiling.

How many people were bold enough to learn that imps could purr?

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Introducing a new cast member, ~Frenzy~

Previous

FIRST

[rallamajoop]

Hi! I saw your analysis posts about the Lords of RE8, and I am absolutely in love! The early concept of the Duke as the fifth Lord always fascinated me, especially since I wonder what "motif" there could have been in term of horror for him. I mean, the other lords all answer obvious archetypes and that ever since their concept art (vampire, werewolf, Frankenstein, ghost). I wonder what would have been the plans with the Duke and his early, more zombified-like version... What d'you think?

Well, as I've said before, I don't think there's much to suggest the Duke was ever meant to be "the fifth lord" in the sense of having his own domain or a big boss battle, or however else you're thinking here. He doesn't appear alongside the other lords in any of the early concepts for Ethan's trial, and all the lords' iconography is big on square corners and blocks in a way that really wouldn't work with a fifth entry. All we've even got to go on to tell us he was ever meant to be a lord at all is a single line attached to one piece of concept art (below). I don't even see him as looking all that much more zombified there ‒ it's just a sketchy art style.

My guess, FWIW, would be the Duke was always going to be Ethan's ally/shopkeeper, but with some late-game reveal that he was a (deposed? former?) member of the lords as an explanation for his implied powers and connection to the village. But the Duke doesn't need to be explained for the story to work, which may be why the 'fifth lord' idea was ultimately dropped.

If you really want to dig into fairy tale archtypes though, there's an obvious one that already corresponds to the Duke, with his horse and carriage ‒ and that's the old, wandering fortuneteller. Typically this would be a Romani woman (although I don't imagine she'd be called 'Romani' in any authentic fairytale), and our hero would more likely be trading money or favours for advice rather than treasure for weapon upgrades, but the Duke fits the bill otherwise.

In fact, as I mentioned in my post on some of the game's unused assets, the Duke actually has a number of unused voice lines that seem to relate to him selling Ethan more information (“You won’t come across this information just anywhere,” “A little bird whispered this to me,” and “Not to presume, but some advice if I may.”) ‒ possibly treasure photos or hints to significant locations.

Fortunetellers and other folk who offer cryptic-yet-vital advice are a regular feature in horror stories too, not just fairy tales. If offended, their role can easily overlap into that of 'witch', for greater monster cred. But for my money, the Duke himself doesn't come across as the easily offended type, so expanding his role into 'monster' might be reaching.

Alternately, you could also look at the villainous Masked Duke from the Shadow of Rose DLC. I doubt he much resembles any authentic 'original' plan for the character, and he's very much his own entity, but he's certainly an effective villain.

(Though if neither of those work for you, given the Duke's size and association with food, 'literal giant who eats people' might also be a fairytale archtype that could fit.)

All that said, I do wonder just a little if there was ever a plan for the Duke to have a proper villain-reveal moment, when you learn he's the fifth lord. I have this whole semi-developed theory that the Duke is actually working on Miranda's direction for most of the game we all played: after all, she seems to want Ethan to destroy her 'false children', and it's the Duke who sets him on the path to do that (with some input from the old hag, our other cackling-fortuneteller-character). It's only once Ethan wakes up in the Duke's carriage at the very end that he unambiguously picks a side against Miranda. After all, even if he was always privately rooting for Ethan, why stick his neck out for a man who might not even survive the day? That's just not good business.

But even if the Duke wasn't working for Miranda from the start, how much do we really know about his motives? It's far too easy to read his eagerness to buy the crystalised remains of mould-infected individuals as the stuff of war profiteering. How much would the additional remains of Miranda, and even Ethan, be worth to him? And these are hardly the only possibilities for what he could really be after!

In short, I would actually love to see more villainous takes on the Duke. Don't get me wrong ‒ I do love that a character as shady as him doesn't turn out to have been Evil All Along, but he's still sinister enough that I'm intrigued by AU possibilities where he has his own twisted plans for Ethan all along, whether as part of Miranda's scheme or all his own. There's stuff you could do here, I'm just saying!

One one final note, people have suggested the owl crest you can see in the background of his shop and the carpet of his carriage was intended to be the crest of his house, and that seems broadly plausible (more on that & translations in my post on everything we do know about the village lords). While I'm at it, have some high-res versions of both from the game assets.

I'm sure you don't need me to tell you that an owl represents wisdom, or how that tracks with his role as a source of information for Ethan either.

Does it actually look like the crests of the other lords, though?

Eh, a little? You'd have to do some heavy reworks to make it fit in a diamond like all the others. As for overall shape, you could even say it bears more resemblance to Miranda's crest.

Does that mean anything? Eh, if you want it to. Who knows?

(I am also going to nitpick you just a little and say that none of the lords was ever a werewolf. The werewolves are the werewolves, the missing lord in your list would be Moreau as the hunchback or swamp monster. We really don't need anyone else thinking Heisenberg is a lycan, that's really getting tired.)

[qqueenofhades]

as a starting history major i wanna ask how do you read/evaluate academic history papers/books? i'm trying to avoid just blindly agreeing with whatever the author is writing because it seems correct. how can you tell what is good scholarship and what is more shaky?

This is a great question for you as a freshman history major to ask (many of my toiling colleagues and I can attest that we wish more of you would!) and shows that you're already taking initiative and investment in your studies and want to be the best prepared you can. So truly -- thank you! Us on the faculty/staff/administrative end of academia can feel as if we are pouring into an empty bucket at times, and it's always gratifying to hear otherwise. We really appreciate it.

As a college freshman and/or underclassman (or so I'm assuming) your first job is learning how to collect basic information from the things you read, collate and cite them accurately, and make them converse intelligently with each other in an entry-level piece of academic writing (such as an essay responding to an assigned prompt). So before you have to worry about understanding complex nuance and granular-level fact-checking, the first step is just getting comfortable with academic forms, styles, and conventions. There's an occasional anti-intellectual strand of thinking that pops up on Tumblr, basically insisting that everyone everywhere should be able to understand everything in fifth-grade words and if not then it's Elitist Gatekeeping, but this is a symptom of TikTok brainrot where people's brains have been literally rewired to only process spoon-fed chunks of incredibly simplistic (and uh, often wrong) information, and literally can't parse anything longer, even if it's written in accessible language. Yes, many academics are not necessarily great writers, but you also have to let go of the mindset that you can speed-read once and understand everything. You will need to slow down, take your time, and make a note of concepts that are confusing or that you want to double-check, words you need to look up, and things that make you say "hmm I should look into that more," whether because you're interested or they seem questionable. I always read academic texts or papers (I prefer hard copy, because I am Fucking Old) with a pen in hand, because if I don't, I often feel like I didn't read it at all.

Basically, this is an interactive process between you and the text, and requires you to develop a different kind of reading mentality than just buzzing through a novel or fanfic for pleasure. You have to expect that it will take time and that if you regularly skive off the readings, you won't be prepared for class, your professors will be annoyed, and you won't be able to write good essays, because you haven't engaged with the material. In your case, it sounds like that will be less of a problem, because you are eager to know how to do it right, but I can tell you from my experience that nothing frustrates us more than students who just won't do the reading (and you know, use ChatGPT to write their essays) because then what are you even DOING here? What do you want to get out of this? Why are you wasting your precious tuition money like this? Yes, you probably have to fill a requirement, but STILL. It's disrespectful to your teacher, who has invested a lot of effort in being here to help you with this and doesn't want you to just quit because it looks hard, and your peers, and to you. So anyway, /Captain Holt voice/ apparently that's a trigger for me. Basically, if you learn nothing else from this ask: please do the reading. Even if it's only to admit you need more help or want to talk about this concept in class or otherwise take advantage of all the structures that are in fact there to help you understand it! Thankee.

Likewise, because you're an underclassman, you have an advantage in that your teacher will select the class readings for you ahead of time. That means you will be receiving things that a professional has already checked, decided are useful and trustworthy, and you don't have to do independent research and vetting yourself (that will come if you decide for some godforsaken reason to pursue graduate and/or doctoral study). So you don't need to spend tons of extra time and effort deciding if the sources given to you in class are reliable on a basic and functional level; your professor has already done the work for you to make sure that they are. Your job is now to read those sources, keep a record of what they say (hence the aforementioned pen or other way to make quick notes) and figure out how to put them together in an essay. For example, if Author A cites Factor A as, say, the main cause of the fall of the Western Roman Empire, and Author B insists that Factor B was in fact more critical, what is your best approach to reconciling that information? You would search in the rest of those texts to see what else they say in support of their position, and you would probably end up with a qualified statement to the effect of, "While Author A argues A, Author B thinks B, representing the lack of consensus and the difficulty in attributing one single cause to an event as complicated as the fall of Rome." (And then because you're smart, you would go on to mention Byzantium and the Eastern Roman Empire and show that you are aware of the further context.) All of which is true! Historians do that all the time! You don't need to select THE RIGHT ANSWER and vigorously discredit all other theories, ever, and we tend to look suspiciously on people who do (cough cough Philippa Langley).

In other words, we are certainly not expecting you as a freshman, and even as a more advanced student, to be able to pick out ONE ANSWER from the material. We just want to see evidence that you have in fact read it, are able to evaluate and place theories side by side and possibly make a judgment as to which one you find more compelling, and also to properly cite where you got that information. We've seen a lot recently about plagiarism and that being the pretext on which Harvard president Claudine Gay was forced to resign (which is a whole other can of worms, but never mind). A lot of professors think that saying "Don't Do Plagiarism" is enough, but then don't explain what it is and the different forms it can take. It's not just a matter of copying verbatim chunks of someone else's work (or you know, ALL OF IT, like certain recently discredited YouTube scumbags) and acting like it's your own. If you are relying substantially on someone else's work, whether in their wording, arguments, conclusions, structure, or anything else, even if you've changed some of the words (yep, still plagiarism!), that needs to be cited appropriately according to the relevant style guide. Direct quotes from anyone need to go in quotation marks or indented blocks and have the author cited immediately afterward. History usually uses Chicago, MLA, or MHRA, and you can find cheat sheets for how to do that online. It's a pretty simple and straightforward style, and your professor will be extra impressed.

If you're expected to do an independent project or a senior research thesis, as some undergraduate history students do, then it will come when you have already had three years of experience in reading, evaluating, and writing historical scholarship, you will probably have a faculty member assigned to you for one-on-one mentoring and personalized feedback sessions, and they will be able to provide suggestions and support for useful sources. So even then, you still don't have to do it entirely on your own. They'll probably also be MORE than happy to debate with you which ones are good and which ones are suspect, because it's all a part of developing your ability to flex that muscle for yourself. (And as noted, faculty members Will Have Strong Opinions.) That likewise doesn't mean you just have to copy whatever they say (at least if you have a good teacher who wants you to think for yourself and not just be a mini-clone of their pet theories), but it means that by the time you reach that stage, you will have been prepared enough to feel confident in taking more steps on your own. I think not enough people realize that studying history (or anything, really) isn't just throwing you out there and being like "tough luck sucker, do it all yourself."

That's why academia is so collaborative, why plenty of historians with doctorates and tenure will still have to say "I don't know, let me get back to you" when someone asks them a question at a conference, and you don't have to fear that if you don't have The One Right Answer, you will be immediately exposed as a fraud and thrown out. History as a discipline is also moving away from the 19th-century German approach that attempted to systematize it as a singular social science with One Right Answer, and to focus more on multiple perspectives and incomplete answers. That's why the goal is not necessarily to know everything (which alas, is impossible), but to make better sense of what we can know and search for ways in which the existing record is flawed and needs to be revised, expanded, or reworked with new perspectives (which have existed all this time, but haven't been privileged by the white male western academy for the obvious reasons). And that work is fun and important! I don't want you to be scared of getting to that point, because someone will be there to support you the whole way and by the time you do, it will make sense to you in a way it probably doesn't right now, just because it's a new skill and like any new skill, it takes a long time to learn and to be able to apply confidently, consistently, and at a high level. And plenty of us who do it as a career still often have to say "I don't know, let me ask Dr. So-and-so who specializes in this," so yeah. It's a process of becoming comfortable with both learning how to answer what we can, and to ask others for help with that, and it never really ends. Which is the fun part. There's so much more to do.

Good luck!

[romantichoneypie]

Bad Idea!

Pairing: Mia stone X fem!reader

Warnings:18+ MDNI!,smut,Fluff, "betrayal", mention of Mia X dr. W Afton, lavender wedding, fingering,Oral sex.

Author's note: I never post nothing before and I also don't speak English so sorry for any mistake, I will always try to make bots and leave the link at the end!

You work as a doorman in a residential building protected by D.D.D. The job was quite easy, but it was difficult to deal with a lot of strange anomalies, but you earned a good salary for it. D.D.D.'s training was useful, you always kept an eye on everything.

After calling D.D.D. a few times, you just wait for a resident, Mia, to arrive. Since she usually takes a while, you don't worry... much, because the world has anomalies everywhere, no one is really safe on the streets. Mia works as a teacher in an elementary school, teaching fifth grade. She often talks about how much she likes to teach, but sometimes it's just hard to control the students.

As sometimes your work was really boring, the anomalies were usually quite obvious, and the resident lists were small, but Mia was on the list today, so you would see her normally, that would brighten your day, you kind of became “friends”, with light flirtations almost like jokes and touches that lasted more than enough time.

You are in love with her even though you know she is engaged to Dr. William Afton, a physicist who is usually very quiet, you just felt bad for liking a woman who was ready to get married but you can't control your heart.

“Good afternoon (y/n), how is your work day going?” She looks at you with her eyelashes blinking, and that beautiful smile on her face, she slides the ID and the entry request through the hatch, but you already knew it was her.

She always appears lightly in a sweet way, the dresses with a slight neckline that would only make you want to see more, the delicious scent of vanilla that she emanated like a unique essence... damn you were in love with someone you could never have.

"Hi Mia, good afternoon, how was your day?, the work is the usual capturing doppelgangers and letting the residents pass, I was just waiting for you... by the way you look beautiful".

damn!, you didn't do it right, maybe a more flirtatious approach would be better you said almost shyly, she has that beautiful smile on her face with the compliment and her blushed cheeks revealing the light freckles on her skin.

"you are so sweet dear, thank you for the compliment, you also look beautiful today, as always, the work today was almost good, the bad thing is those students who try to stop the class from fooling themselves or talking..." Mia says with a smile on her face you can see that she blushed with your sweet compliment.

“You’re flattering me, Mia. I’m going to end up believing it. Well, something like this always happens with children. It’s natural for them to get restless.” I say the first sentence in a flirtatious tone. I think something more direct might work better. I practically pretend not to know that it’s her taking a long time to check.

“I’m just telling you the truth. You’re beautiful. I love your concierge uniform. It looks charming… I know it’s true, but it’s still exhausting, especially now that William has gone on a business trip and I feel lonely.” Oh, you didn’t know that information. I thought Afton was the only one who had gone on vacation and hadn’t even left the apartment. him didn’t go to work somewhere else.

She made you run now, saying that you look beautiful in your blue concierge uniform. “Thank you… I didn’t know William had gone on a business trip. It must be a little lonely.” While you’re talking to her, she checks. She’s almost finished with the checklist that was made and everything is really perfect.

“Since your shift is almost over, how about a coffee or tea at my place with a pie? I made a lemon one yesterday, I need some company.” Mia bats her eyelashes in a sweet tone, looking at you in an adorable way. It seems like today is your lucky day.

“Oh, of course, I wouldn’t announce pie and your company. Just a second, I’ll lock up and let you in.” As soon as she says this, you press the button, letting her in. She seems happy about it and waits for you on the other side. Meanwhile, you lock the room, put your hat away, and grab your things.

“I’ll lead the way.” It seems crazy that this is really happening, of course. When would you imagine that Mia Stone would be inviting you to her house? The two of you get into the elevator, the ones made of iron that move a little when someone goes up. You were terrified of going in them. There were only three floors, you could go up by stairs, but you simply went where she went. Now you had to hide the fact that you were afraid of that elevator.

“God, I hate this elevato” you mutter under your breath, and she ends up hearing it and bursting out laughing at it. Even her laugh must be beautiful. How could it be more perfect?

“It’s okay if you’re scared of this. I can just hold your hand to make you miss it” she says with a smile on her face. You notice a bit of flirting in her voice. She presses the button for the third floor and the elevator starts to go up. The iron cabin now smells sweetly of her perfume.

You were actually a little startled by the elevator’s start to start,you little scream, God she laughed again at this point your cheeks were hot, but you didn't expect her to actually take your hand in hers, the contact with the fabric of her white glove, it was silky and soft felt good "hey it's okay, don't be nervous, if you had told me we could have gone by stairs... your hand is cold and sweaty".

You didn't even notice it, your hand felt like a popsicle and on top of that it was sweaty as if you had run a marathon, you quickly tried to take your hand away from her but she wouldn't let you, holding it tight, you were anxious and nervous as well as embarrassed "I'm sorry, I just don't like the elevator and I didn't mean for us to go by stairs" lie, you weren't even paying attention to what you were doing you just followed her.

"it's okay, I don't like this elevator either I only use it because I'm too lazy to go up the stairs in high heels".

And it's your turn to laugh at something she said. You had never really noticed, but she wears high heels, matching her white clothes and still clean. The elevator always takes so long. You only used it for deliveries, so you thought it was your nervousness that was causing the delay.

"Does it always take so long? They need to improve this invention" you say, and she smiles at you and nods. "True" she says, and then the two of you stand there in silence, waiting for it to arrive. Your eyes go to your hands, they fit together so well... but your eyes end up falling on her engagement ring, a gold ring with a diamond in the center. It seemed to match.

Suddenly, you are pulled from your thoughts by the sound of the elevator stopping and the door opening. You let go of her hand and smile with flushed cheeks. "I told you there was no need to be nervous. We're here, now let's go to my apartment" You let her go first and you follow timidly behind her. She opens her purse and takes the keys. She opens the door for her and you enter. You've never been to anyone's apartment in the building, just ringing the bell and leaving packages at the door. But there was one time when you were called by the Sverchzt twins, specifically Selenne, but you didn't even go.

"Make yourself comfortable. I'll just change my clothes quickly" Mia says in a calm tone. You close the door behind you and enter. The apartment is really beautiful. You expected it to be smaller since there were only two people living there. The walls were royal blue, there was a painting on the wall and the furniture was white, a large gray shaggy rug on the floor. It really was beautiful, however, there were no photos of the couple who lived there. It even seemed like... well, there was nothing of them there at all.

You just sit there and try not to be embarrassed, you really shouldn't be staring so much, you hear the sound of the bedroom door opening and Mia comes out wearing her hair tied in a small ponytail and a more comfortable outfit consisting of a looser light blue dress, she still looked beautiful in it, she's beautiful anyway, the gloves are gone and the sleeves of the dress, you can see that Mia actually had a lot of freckles but she hid them with long sleeves and gloves, her arms had several caramel colored dots, her neck too, she looked adorable.

"Do you prefer coffee or tea?" you don't know exactly what to answer, either one is fine for you, she looks at you with those eyes and her eyelashes fluttering, you just realized it wasn't mascara because her eyelashes were still long and beautiful.

“Coffee, I prefer coffee, please.” You say this and now you have to try to calm down so you don’t seem like a nervous child. You sit at the table while she fills the coffee maker with water and coffee powder on top. She takes the lemon pie from the fridge. She hadn’t even eaten it. It was untouched and looked beautiful.

“I’ll weigh a plate for you. So, any interesting anomalies?” Mia always asks the same question. You usually say yes and show her a small photo, but today you don’t have that.

“I saw a copy of you, but her head was spinning. When I asked her, she said she was sick with a disease called floating head.” You laugh at that. The doppelganger looked like Mia, but her head was completely still.

“Hmmm… God, I wish I knew why these creatures exist. William is traveling, that’s exactly why he works for D.D.D. I think it's to put an end to these creatures, I'm not sure, we haven't talked about it" Mia says, you think and it even makes sense, the two live in a residential building protected by D.D.D so it's because they have some connection.

"I don't really understand either, they just want to take someone else's place, I'm curious to know what they're really like" you kind of understand why William you also don't like to talk about the anomalies, it's an uncomfortable subject, but luckily for you the coffee is ready in no time and she puts it in the bottle, then in two cups for both of them.

"Let me get a knife to cut it and the plates" Mia says and gets a knife and two plates that match With the cup, she cuts a slice for you and one for herself.

“Thank you, you are very kind,” you say, thanking her. Since when did you ever think about having afternoon tea with her? You really only dream about it.

“You’re welcome, you’re the one being kind, keeping me company. I don’t like being alone, but it’s actually nice. William is very busy, almost always working, so it doesn’t really matter.” She says as if it really doesn’t matter as she cuts two pieces of pie for both you and her, placing them on the plates and pouring the coffee into the cups.

“Hmmm, it’s a shame he doesn’t have time to spend with you. You shouldn’t spend too much time alone,” you say, but you’d like to say that if you were her fiancée, you would never stop spending time with her in your free time to work. It’s better to keep quiet and eat a slice of pie than to end up talking shit. Tasting a piece of pie makes you just want to let out a small sigh. It’s delicious. It’s like lemon ice cream with sweet butter cookies. It’s perfect.

"So how's the pie? I called you because I remembered that you once said it was your favorite." Mia gives you a soft smile. She's also hiding the fact that she made it just for you and only with the intention of inviting you to spend some time with her. The truth is that Mia likes you as much as you like her.

Mia was engaged to William, but it wasn't real. It was a lavender wedding, the kind where two people who are attracted to the same gender do it to avoid being judged. William and Mia were good friends and got along very well, but never in a romantic or sexual sense. They became friends in high school, which started with a math competition and gradually became a friendship. The two ended up realizing that they made a good pair and what one didn't know, the other knew well.

Mia was just trying to get a reaction from you this whole time and all she realized was that you were a shy person. It was cute, but she wanted a little more boldness from you. You could give her more.

"Hmmm... yes, it's my favorite. It's been a long time since I've tasted something this good. I mean, I don't usually make this kind of thing, it's quite tasty." You take a sip of the coffee. It's slightly warm and the sweetness seems to match the slightly bitter coffee. In reality, you didn't have much time to cook and when you did, it was something practical just to avoid eating junk food.

"I'm glad you liked it, dear." Mia says and you don't understand why she's smiling in such a seductive way to you. The noise you made, however small and not even close to a moan, left her slightly stimulated. Her panties got slightly wet, and the way you were eating the dessert and licking the spoon made her have a small thought that required a lot of control not to blush.

"Oh, you seem to really like this, it's really cute actually, I'm glad I called you" Mia really thought it was adorable that you were eating the pie with such gusto, at the moment the only thing that crossed her mind was to put her hand on your thigh and lean in to kiss you, she just ate a piece of the pie while watching you.

Of course you felt Mia's eyes simply burning a hole in your skin and you thought it was because you were eating too fast or just too much, you awkwardly wiped the corner of your mouth "Sorry I must look starving right now" you laughed and she smiled at you, wow she still hasn't stopped looking at you with her emerald green eyes, in fact she leaned in.

If she said what she had in mind, she wants to ask if you would eat it like you were eating that pie, with that smile on your face and getting all messy like you were doing, she leans over and runs her finger along the corner of your lips, cleaning it, while her other hand simply holds your chin "I would never think that of you, I just have my mind far away" she says and simply after cleaning the corner of your lips she simply licks her own finger, feeling the lemon taste, very indirectly from your lips.

You simply gasp a little at this but close your mouth, she was really teasing you, it's not possible even if it was just a reflex it was a provocative reflex "I don't think you need to taste the pie from the corner of my lips if there's a large part of it in front of us" you say, it's not meant to be a provocation but that's exactly what it seemed like, and Mia loved it.

Maybe your slight boldness in saying what you thought had made her more excited because she was literally devouring you with her eyes now "because it was on your lips and what interests me is not the pie but the taste of your lips" Mia speaks so shamelessly being excited simply makes people uninhibited.

"and why don't you try it since you're so close to me?" you say with your breath starting to catch in your throat and she simply leans even more squeezing your thigh gently.

"I was just waiting for permission to do this" and she actually kisses you her sweet lips against yours and the kiss tastes great of lemon, one of Mia's hands goes to your neck and the other continues to squeeze your thigh, yours wraps around her waist pulling her onto your lap, the kiss becomes deep as she gives way for your tongue to slide it's not a dispute for dominance just a wonderful kiss, your tongue was cold against hers and she loved it, Mia was making little noises during the kiss.

And God it was so good, the kiss was perfect it seemed to fit so well, your hand quickly went down her spine to her ass her dress rode up and there was nothing better than pushing that dress up even higher "I think I like your dresses even more, the practicality is charming" you whisper to her and she lets out a small laugh at that, you continue running your hand over her ass and stop over her lace panties the thin fabric against Mia's lightly tanned body.

"Do you like it? If I tell you that I chose it thinking of you? Both the dress and the panties, including... I'm already so wet for you" Mia whispers in a seductive tone in your ear, the panties were light pink lace with the lace being printed with flower embroidery, you have never felt so much desire as you do now.

"Just for me? God you are making me lose my mind" you say and pull the fabric against her skin gently hitting it generating a small whimper from her, Mia then begins to grind on your thigh.

"Hmmm... come on fuck me baby, you don't know how much I've wanted this for so long" Mia seems needy for you and she gently drags her hand over your face and chest, you feel that engagement ring against your skin, you remember that this is wrong.

"Hmmm... Mia and your fiancé?, William, are you still engaged to him and...." you are cut off by her ripping the ring off your finger and simply leaning in to kiss you again, this time softer and more superficial like a peck.

"It's a lavender wedding my beautiful, we don't love each other we're just friends, we're both homosexual" Mia says then it seems to make complete sense the two of them have never really kissed in front of anyone just held hands and besides that they barely looked like a couple.

"Hmmm that makes sense now" you whisper and she laughs at that, your hand squeezes her ass and she lets out a soft sigh, and leans against your body.

"Let's go to the bedroom, darling. I need you so badly." Mia says, and then you make a small show of strength by picking her up in your arms bridal style. She laughs at that, and then you take her to the bedroom. You noticed that even the bedrooms were separate. You entered the second one where Mia indicated. There was a double bed, a table in the corner with her work material as a teacher, and shelves with books. The bed was covered in a dark pink and the walls were painted white and pink. Next to the bed, there was a lamp. The floor was covered with a black plush carpet.

You only took a few seconds to analyze it, but when you quickly got in, you threw her on the bed. She liked it. She simply pulled you to her and kissed you again. This time, her hands began to remove your pants, unbuttoning them and taking them off. She did the same with your blouse, starting to unbutton them. "What my clothes have in practice is what yours has in difficulty." She laughs at that between kisses. You were going for her neck and kissed her softly before starting to help her.

"Nothing is impossible to remove, my dear," you say and begin to remove your own pants and blouse, leaving you only in a black bra and panties. You go back to her and begin to remove her dress, and you simply remove it from her shoulder, sliding it down and then pulling it off. The lingerie she was wearing was really beautiful, and even more beautiful was seeing her beautiful breasts pressed together in her bra. Mia had freckles all over her skin and simply looked adorable.

"Hmmm, you seem to have really enjoyed that. Let me give you a better view," Mia says and then unbuttons her own bra, and when her breasts are finally free, God, you just want to go up and not stop.

"You are so hot, so beautiful, you look like a goddess," you say to her, and she just smiles. Your hand automatically moves to her chest, rubbing and squeezing them. They are soft and large. The tanned skin contrasted with the light beige of her nipple. In addition to squeezing, you tilt your head and simply begin to kiss, suck and lick.

"Oh that's right my beautiful, you have such a good mouth" Mia says with a tone halfway between clipped, her hands go to your hair sliding through the strands and pulling, for you you could spend the day just sucking her nipple and pulling with your tongue, Mia starts to move below you as if looking for a little fixation.

"I forgot about your beautiful, needy pussy. Let me pay attention to you." You say and move your body away from hers a little. Moving down a little, you start a trail of kisses from her breasts to her belly to the bottom of her stomach. Mia's breath catches as you continue down and go to her warmth, kissing where a wet spot is already rising on the fabric.

"Don't tease me, darling, just... oh, be good to me and I'll be good to you." Mia pulls your hair with a slight force. You comply with her request and start to remove her panties. Her body looks even more beautiful. The fabric slides between her legs and you have a great view of her pussy. It looks delicious. Mia only had a small amount of hair there, the exact same color as her hair. She parts her legs for you and it looks like an entrance straight to paradise.

"You're so hot, you smell so good, I want to bury myself between your thighs," you say. You have her panties in your hands, feeling the sweet smell of her excitement. It seems wonderful, but then you simply throw the panties in the pile of clothes already formed in the room and separate her thighs even more, the inner part being pinker. You bury yourself there and start to suck her, her taste seems delicious, your tongue licks and wraps around the small sensitive spot and your nose rubs against the small intimate hairs. Mia holds your hair and sets a rhythm that she likes.

"Oh that's it my love, just keep going, suck me like I'm your whore, hmmm just like that" she is sighing and biting her lower lip to keep from letting out obvious moans, while you suck her clit and follow her rhythm you decide to add more stimulation and start rubbing your fingers against her pussy, she is already so wet for you, you hear Mia mumble a curse word and then you fit two of your fingers inside her, she is still so tight, when you start moving them it seems like Mia is actually seeing stars, your fingers are in a fast and rough rhythm inside her and it is like heaven for Mia.

"Oh... God you are going to kill me like this, you are really good at what you do" Mia lets out the words in broken pieces, her body reacts well to your stimulation she is absolutely wet with it as your fingers enter and leave her in a fast and rough rhythm it is perfect it makes her feel like never before even more with your mouth simply sucking her so well she feels like she is going to melt.

Mia's noises only grow, moans and whimpers, she seems so wet, she has one hand on the sheet pulling and the other on your hair pulling too but for you to go exactly where she wants, Mia's thighs seemed like they were going to suffocate you with those beautiful thighs, you hold on to her thigh trying to keep her still.

"hmmmm (y/n) fuck I'm so close hmmm...keep it up" you could feel her shaking beneath you she removed her hand from your hair and is holding on to the sheet her moans only grow and get louder with time, you focus on her clit sucking and licking while your fingers go in and out in a steady rhythm.

"Oh fuck! I'm going to cum for you" Mia starts to sigh and after a few seconds of sucking you and enough to send her over the edge, she comes at you hard, you can feel the bittersweet taste on her lips it seems perfect, her taste feels magnificent on your lips to the point that you can't control yourself and simply lean forward while she was breathing heavily and kiss her.

The kiss is so good, her lips against yours the taste of her in your mouth, she is still breathless but invigorated you can feel her hands undoing your bra, the clasp opens without you even noticing and her breasts are exposed she gently covers one of them, with her hand squeezing and massaging it, meanwhile you kiss her and she sucks your tongue feeling her taste on your lips.

"Hmmm you're so good at what you do really..." Mia whispers she looks slightly disheveled now with her messy hair but it only looks even better, she pulls you to her and takes your panties out of the way, she goes back to kissing you again.

"Hmmm you still look quite excited" you say in a teasing tone and feel Mia taking off your panties and aligning her intimacy with yours which you really like and help her by pulling her body against yours, your pussy is already so wet, when yours comes into contact with hers the wet sound is audible and delicious to hear, your intimacy against her intimacy and hers against yours.

"I'll always be excited to be with you my love" she whispers in your ear as the two of you rub against each other Mia leans in and kisses your body like you did with her kissing and biting your neck while her hand stays on your waist and the other goes up your breasts squeezing.

"You don't play fair Mia, I'll end up coming undone in seconds" you are wet and Mia saying these things and touching you doesn't help much, you love the way she touches you squeezing your breast massaging in a hoarse and slightly clipped tone while the two of you continue this activity, Mia leans in and then starts kissing you while the two of you are against each other.

"hmmm fuck you're delicious you know that?" you whisper as the two of you kiss her grip on her hips only increases as the two of you get closer.

"Oh... God I feel close again" Mia whispers separating her lips from yours and runs her hands over your neck while holding back some moans and God you rubbing yourself against her feels perfect the wetness only seems to grow even more.

"Hmmm...let's go together my love, let's play together" you whispered in her ear and after a few more rubs you finally both came at the same time, the wetness between your legs just grows and looks delicious, Mia leans against your body and rests her head in the crook of your neck.

"Hmmm if I knew it would feel this good I would have done it sooner" Mia says laughing and you gently rub her back the little brown dots of freckles dotting her skin it looked just adorable.

"If I knew you wanted me I wouldn't have kept it a secret, but I'm glad you invited me to eat the pie...I ended up eating something else too" you say and Mia punches your arm you gently separate your private part from hers and you can see a little wet potion there Mia also looks down.

"We need to take a shower, that's a fact." Mia says and laughs. You're both sweaty and well...dirty. As if you were just following what you were told, you get up and go to the bathroom in her room.

You both get under the shower and clean yourselves. Mia gives you small kisses and washes your body, and you do the same with her. The hot shower seems perfect, but the question pops into your head.

"Shall we spend more time together?" You ask as you clean her body. It would be terrible to find out that it was just one night, you and her.

Mia sighs and looks at you, batting her eyelashes and wrapping her arms around your neck. "I don't want you for one night. I want you for a lifetime, so no, I hope we can spend more time together." Mia says and your heart calms down. She gives you a soft kiss on the lips and caresses your cheek.

After the shower, Mia lends you a pair of panties and pajamas. You both lie down on the bed together and cuddle up to sleep. She lies on your chest and you have your arms around her waist. She was sleeping on your chest and all you could think about was how wonderful today was and how much you love her. So you say, "I love you, Mia Stone. So much it hurts." You whisper softly and close your eyes to sleep. "I love you even more than you can imagine, my beautiful one." You didn't expect her to answer, but she did. You only said it because you thought she was sleeping, but well, she was awake and heard it. After that, she snuggled even closer to you, hugging you, and you stroked her hair. The two of you started to really sleep together.

C.ai bot:

Retained for the artist who made the fanart,@_xi005 in tik tok For this art!

[writing-whump]

Where's Sel

Seline stood in front of the hospital entrance, pulling her meager sweater closer to her body. The days were hot, but early mornings were getting colder as autumn approached.

Plus she didn't exactly prepare to stay the night at the hospital because her boyfriend had a sudden heart attack.

She needed to keep her head cool and get some things for them. Isaiah could use his clothes or at least familiar things that would bring him comfort. And she and Matt needed a phone charger and something to eat that wasn't just cheap automat coffee and biscuits.

Matthew drove them to the hospital in Isaiah's car, but the thought of having to drive herself through the tricky Vienna streets with each crossroad unique and complicated with over five different lines for four different vehicles made her want to cry.

She was just about to order a Bolt to their place when her phone died on her.

Her eyes were prickling and her throat closed up. Even from that. So much to her resistance.

Worst thing was that Isaiah could wake up any hour now and she might not make it back.

She swallowed back her discomfort at having to ask someone for help, approaching a young woman smoking at the entrance if she could make a quick call.

Dylan took it on fifth ring, groggy from sleep. "Huh? What do you want at this ungodly hour?"

Seline bit her tongue at his annoyed tone. "Hey. Sorry to wake you up...do you think you could do something for me?" Maybe that was not a good way to start.

"Like what? You know, you should really give me your apartment keys. We don't have any flour and when you just disappear on a trip out of nowhere-"

"We are not on a trip," she said sharply, her voice breaking at the end. She took a deep breath, sniffling.

Something about that noise made him more alert, she could hear shuffling as he straightened on the bed. "Wait. What's going on? Where are you?"

"At the hospital." She had to look up at the murky sky, fighting the new onslaught of tears.

"Sorry—what?!" He was definitly walking now, bare feet slapping against the floor. "Why would you- what did you- are you-...?"

"I'm fine, I'm fine. It's a pack thing."

"So Matthew? Or Isaiah?"

"Could you not mention the names over the phone? Be discreet," she admonished. "Anyway, I need a charger and...I know you don't have the keys, but you are good at unlocking...with your shadow, right? Could you break in and take some things for Z, my charger and-"

"Good at unlocking," he growled, but she knew he was. When he came home late he tried to sneak in through the door with his shadow, which was a fine skill to be trained. Not that it ever worked on their mother, who never went to sleep before he was home. "Yes, of course. I can be there in a few." His voice softened. "Do you want anything else? Something to eat maybe?"

"No, it's fine. Could you also take a jacket for me, the jeans one I have in the entry hall..."

"Sure thing. I'll be right there." He hesitated. "So something with I.W.?"

She rolled her eyes at his failure with codes. "Bye, Dylan."

...

"You look horrible," Dylan said when he met up with her by the gates to the hospital. "And you owe me for the taxi."

Seline rolled her eyes, but she was still glad to see him. "Yeah, yeah. I get my phone charged, I'll pay you back."

Dylan offered her a backpack filled with stuff than changed his mind and swung it back around his shoulder. "Alright, you need a break. What if we took Isaiah's car, I know it's missing—that's why I thought there was a trip—and I'll drive you home? You could have a shower, some sleep and then you and Matt could switch."

"It's fine, D." She shook her head, reluctance and regret on her face immediately. Dylan hadn't lived with her for over two years, but he could still read his sister's mind, thanks.

"What about breakfast? There is a McDonald's around the corner. Some proper food and good coffee will get you back on your feet."

Not that Mcdonald was all that healthy, but it was greasy and heavy and he wanted that daunt look from his sister's face. Her skin was almost translucent in the morning light, like she was disappearing where she stood.

When she didn't say no immediately, he grabbed her around the shoulders, leading her down the sidewalk. "Come on. Breathe in some fresh air, eat, and you can go back to saving the world, kay?"

"I don't know..." but she wasn't protesting, even if she turned back to stare longingly at the hospital.

Dylan brought her inside quickly enough, ordering her her favorite wrap and a big coke and coffee for good measure. Seline added another wrap and fries to take with her for Matt, before allowing him to sit her down and wait for her order.

She was uncharacteristically quiete. Dylan didn't know her like this, lips pressed together, downcast eyes, unnerved and tired at the same time.

"It really is no big deal. I can drive you home in 15 minutes. If I get you back in 2 hours after a nap, nothing will happen. Matt would understand."

Matthew had a shadow for fuck's sake, he could take some difficulty. If he didn't, Dylan was glad to explain. Surely he wasn't wrong to be biased in Seline's favour in this.

Seline said nothing, eating obediently when he reminded her.

"Sel? You want me to call mom and dad?"

That had her finally looking up at him, frowning in confusion.

"I'm sure they would love to be here if it helped." Dylan didn't currently feel like he was managing much. Their mom would know what to do.

"Nah, it's fine." She took another tiny bite of the wrap, eyes going back to study the table like it had something written there. "I messaged her about this, but there is not much they can do."

"They have contacts with doctors-"

"In Slovakia and Germany, not in Austria. And this hospital is very good, used to wolves and everything. Austria medical quality. It's better he is here."

Dylan nibbled at his bottom lip in concern. Sitting across from her suddenly felt too far away. He got up, pushing the take out bag for Matt and the tray away to sit down next to her.

Back at home when he was younger, they used to be very touchy feely with each other. 6 years old between them meant he was basically her toy. She carried him around, snuggled with him, taught him, did whatever she wanted.

Until he hit puberty, his shadow got all itchy with unbearable energy and he found it emberassing to still hug is big sister. Witch or not, it felt too personal. And he liked to tease her about how much she still liked it, used to it all their life.

"You are always gonna be my little brother," she told him when he officially towered two heads over her.

They had their fair share of arguments and mouse-frog wars closely before she left. To be fair, he got into screaming matches with his parents at that time too, feeling stiffled and restrained by their protectivness and rules.

The gym helped. And boxing. And finding other pups to spar with and social life with his peers and playing around with girls and boys and whoever he met.

Once he got out of that heated hyped up phase, his sister was safely away. Offended by millions little things he apparently did wrong, neglected, overreacted for or scared her with, while getting used to his new strength. Maybe even showing it off too much.

Dylan was stronger than their parents. He was the only one in the family with a shadow. If he didn't want to do something no one could make him.

Except cutting him off money, yeah. Otherwise he was totally independent.

He had realized it a bit too late, all the things he did wrong. Some he was still finding out. But this, he could still do.

Shuffling closer, he bumped her shoulder gently. When she didn't react, but also didn't pull away, he slid closer. "Come here."

Wrapping his arm around her shoulders was the most natural thing of his life. Weirdest one of the recent years, his tough persona, his silly pack jealousies.

But it felt right to his shadow.

Seline stiffened in his hold, which had fear stinging his chest...except he noticed that her chin was shaking and she was crying, right there at the greasy McDonald table.

He tightened his hold and she buried her face in his shoulder. Not making much noise.

Dylan wasn't sure if this was normal with the shock or if this was something more. The idea someone could have hurt her, made her like this had him flexing his jaw with anger.

But if holding her while she cried was what she needed right now, then that was what he was gonna do.

[thethirdromana]

Recently-ish someone on my dash wrote their opinions on every Dr Who Doctor. Was it you?

(Because I’m just now realizing I want to read it)

I don't think it was me? (Depending on how ish, I might have forgotten). But it's Sunday and I'm putting off doing some DIY, so I might as well do this instead.

Though I should preface this by saying that for the most part, I have extremely boring, normie opinions on different Doctors, particularly the classic series. Not much by the way of spicy, man-bites-dog takes here, I'm afraid.

One: I love the era, I love Ian and Barbara especially, and I utterly love the way that through the influence of his companions, the Doctor gradually turns from a grumpy, somewhat selfish old man who keeps running away from things into an actual hero. Some people manage to hold this set of opinions and like the First Doctor as a character, but I'm not one of them. The twinkly-eyed hee-hee ho-ho stuff is also just not really my cup of tea.

(How incredibly mainstream an opinion, I hear you say. Well, I did warn you.)

Two: FAVOURITE FAVOURITE FAVOURITE. I love him, I love his face, I love his companions. Some of the stories in this era are a bit dull and I simply don't care because it's such a pleasure to spend time with these TARDIS teams. The Doctor, Jamie and Zoe combo is peak.

Three: Another entry where I love the era and the stories and the companions more than I love the Doctor himself. Some of my favourite stories are Third Doctor stories (Invasion of the Dinosaurs <3) but the pomposity of the Third Doctor is not for me.

Four: Tom Baker feels so inseparable from Doctor Who as a whole for me that having an opinion on the Fourth Doctor is actively tricky. I think the Second Doctor is the best Doctor, but the Fourth Doctor is the most Doctor. And City of Death is probably my favourite story.

(I DID WARN YOU)

Five: We're now getting into the Doctors that I mostly haven't revisited since my teens, and I suspect the Fifth Doctor would suffer the most from me not being 17 any more. There was something about the way that he tried and suffered and struggled that really called to me then but I fear wouldn't work for me now. The Fifth Doctor is about the closest I come to understanding the people who really love whump.

Six: Great Doctor; unlovable companions; terrible, terrible stories. I wish I vibed more with audio dramas so I could actually experience the Sixth Doctor doing the good stuff.

Seven: So I think one of the things that distinguishes good Doctor Who writers from great Doctor Who writers is that the good ones write for the [whateverth] Doctor and the great ones just write for the Doctor. On a similar theme, I think Sylvester McCoy has a tendency to play the Seventh Doctor rather than the Doctor, but he does do a damn good job of that. And I find Mel borderline unwatchable but obviously I love Ace.

Eight: I can't judge the Eighth Doctor rationally due to how incredibly attractive I find Paul McGann. I think he's a good Doctor and I wish we'd got to see more of him on screen but I suspect I would think that regardless of whether it was true.

Nine: My first Doctor! At least, bar a vaguely remembered BBC2 repeat of The Green Death when I was three or four. I wish Christopher Eccleston had had a less shit time of it, and not just because I wish we'd had more of the Ninth Doctor. It also felt like a performance that had space for a part 2 that we never got to see.

Ten: An excellent Doctor. The Tenth Doctor feels like the opposite of the Sixth, Eighth and Ninth in that there's so much, there's just an absolute glut of Tenth Doctor stories. But slightly too much is the serving size in which all Doctors would ideally come.

Eleven: OK, this is the spiciest one. I do not like the Eleventh Doctor. This is no slight at all on Matt Smith, who I think is a superb actor who achieves precisely what he intends in the role: namely the Doctor as an old man trying to cope with centuries of trauma by being childish in a young man's body. He does that exceptionally well. It's just that I don't like that take on the Doctor. The balance of darkness/adventurousness/whimsy/rebelliousness is tilted much more towards darkness in the Eleventh Doctor than I would like. I also don't love Steven Moffat's convoluted-lore-all-the-way-down approach, nor his approach to writing women.

Twelve: Back on a winner! There's still the same Moffat issues (though I love Bill) but the Twelfth Doctor tip the scales back towards rebellious/adventurer in a way that I am very much on board with. There's also just the sheer fannish relish to the way that Peter Capaldi plays the Doctor that's a pleasure to watch.

Thirteen: You know, I wanted to like the Thirteenth Doctor so much. The problem is that here the series tilts more towards an ensemble cast, and she is so often sidelined in her own stories. Much more than previous Doctors, she spends a lot of time saying that she doesn't know what's going on, or asking other people what they think she should do. A lot of this is sexism in the writing, but I think part of the problem is that Jodie Whittaker doesn't quite have the presence to reassert herself as the star of the show. There is just not quite enough Doctor in this era of Doctor Who.

(I think this is particularly noticeable in Fugitive of the Judoon, where we have two Doctors, and Jo Martin just dominates that story. I wish we could have a whole series with her. Or three.)

Fourteen: We really didn't need more of David Tennant as the Doctor (see absolute glut of stories, above). But the Fourteenth Doctor episodes were an absolute joy, so I can't bring myself to complain.

Fifteen: Arguably too soon to say? So far the Fifteenth Doctor is drifting towards the Sixth Doctor pattern for me, though. I think Ncuti Gatwa is incredible, but Ruby is forgettable as a companion, and the stories have... not been great. In particular I'm really feeling the lack of bog-standard Doctor Who stories - think The Fires of Pompeii kind of thing. RTD is clearly having all kinds of fun subverting the form of Doctor Who but we've yet to have an episode that I think you could show someone as a standalone to get a flavour of the era (Rogue, maybe?). But we shall see. Hopefully there'll be lots more of the Fifteenth Doctor to come.

[emeraldthelynx]

Crossovers

So, I just feel like talking for a bit about my approach for crossovers. Crossovers are one of my favourite things to write, from two entries in the same franchise to two franchises that were never meant to cross, they're special to me. Allow me to present to you, Lynx's Unofficial Guide to Writing Crossovers! Buckle up, this is going to be a long read.

The first thing is to decide what kind of crossover it's going to be. I don't have names for all of these, so I'll explain the premises. The first option does have a name, Shared Universe. This works like a Pokemon AU. Elements from one world, Pokemon, exist in another world, say Sonic, but not too much changes in terms of world or story. We would simply see let's say, what Sonic would do with a Pokemon partner as he runs around bashing robots. These crossovers don't require a lot of lore to explain why the world is the way it is, although it can be interesting if they do. (Check out Bilsu Art on YouTube and his 'Linked Dimension' project. It's a good example of a lore-heavy Shared Universe.)

The second type of crossover is the kind you would typically see in a comic book or a TV show, like a 'Iron Man meets Spider-Man' or 'Sonic and Mega Man Worlds Collide.' This is also the crossover you usually see new fanfiction writers make. These kinds of crossovers have to be done 'just so.' You need a reason for the two to meet. If they already exist in the same universe, it's not a problem, but when they exist in different universes, you need a reason for those universes to meet. Usually it's in the form of the villain discovering the other world and meeting a villain there to team up with. (Sonic and Mega Man Worlds Collide, Marvel vs Capcom Infinite.) These crossovers are often prey to what I like to call 'character overload.' It means that there are so many characters that they either don't get enough time to shine, or they get lost in a sea of other characters. Let's just call this kind 'Comic Book crossovers.'

The third kind is when two characters just so happen to be in the same world. They were not really meant to cross, but it's not unusual for them to cross. (Grumpy Cat/Garfield.) These ones are more simple, since the characters can just run into each other without some sort of overarching threat. It does run into the issue of character overload as well.

The fourth type could be considered an RPG crossover, where characters from one series stand in for characters of another series or story. (The Sonic Storybook games.) These kinds of crossovers can either be amazing or terrible. Usually when they're terrible, it's when the canon dialogue, actions and motivations are pasted onto the inserted characters. They can be amazing when the roles are upheld alongside the new character's personality. There is a special challenge in writing these crossovers because you need to uphold the fine line of 'adaptation' and 'AU.' Personally, I would be more invested in the story if it turned into an AU. The premise behind these kinds of stories boils down to 'what would character A do if they were in character's B's role in B's world?'

Let's call the fifth and final kind (that I can think of) 'Borrowed Element Crossovers.' Theses are much closer to AUs than they are to crossovers. I did it myself with my story Pokemon Powered Up where I took elements from Mega Man Powered Up but it is still in the Pokemon World with Pokemon people and Pokemon personalities. This list is far from complete, and I often borrow bits and pieces from the different types to make crossovers.

All crossovers stem from the idea of different people meeting each other. There has to be a reason the two worlds fit together so nicely. (i.e., Digimon and Megaman Battle Network both have a Digital World or Sonic and Kaito KID both are free spirits with their own rules.) Sometimes they don't even need much in common. I once read a spectacular My Little Pony:FiM/classic Mega Man crossover and I can honestly find no obvious real element between the two series. I've also noticed that some series can cross over more easily than others. (I'm looking at you Harry Potter crossovers and I don't know the reason why because I've never read the books.)

The next step in crossover making is figuring out which world is the dominant world. Is it Sonic in Pokemon or Pokemon in Sonic. The difference would be if it was Sonic in Pokemon Sonic would be a Pokemon trainer and do trainer stuff but if it was Pokemon in Sonic then the biggest difference would be that Pokemon share the world with the characters and the characters themselves might even be anthropomorphic Pokemon. Sometimes the worlds can be pretty balanced in elements, but other times one world takes over all the elements.

The next question is figuring out who is meeting and how. Are they going to bump into each other at a gaming convention? (Secret Reverse.) Is a mysterious entity going to invite them to another world? (Smash Bros series) Will the villain(s) try to merge the worlds together? (Marvel vs Capcom Ultimate.) Some series will have a thing that makes it easier for crossovers to happen. Fullmetal Alchemist has the Gate from the 03 anime that canonically can send people between the real world and the FMA world. Sonic's world has the Chaos Emeralds, Pokemon has Dialga and Palkia, and Yu-gi-oh! has plenty of nonsense across all its entries. (My personal favourite crossover hotspot is Majora's Mask. It's incredibly easy to make crossovers with this concept, no matter the characters or world.) Other worlds might be harder to cross over. Detective Conan and Wild Kratts are both fairly firmly set in the the real world, and even in worlds like Star Trek where they seem to encounter a wormhole or multiverse every other season, they have particular rules of interaction that would make things harder.

The last rule is to have fun! Laugh as you think about what character A will do in this world. Groan as you realize what cultural norm character B will get wrong. Grin as you determine who will win and who will loose. That's the whole point of the crossover, isn't it? Find out 'what could happen' and make it happen!

[ell0ra-br3kk3r-writes]

The Phoenix and the Crow

part thirty-one

pairing: kaz brekker x fem!reader

genre: neutral with a angsty underlining

el's thoughts: i'm back to writing again! hope yall like itttt

masterlist

“Thank the Saints, Djel, and your Aunt Eva,” Jesper said gratefully and slid down the rope, followed by the others.

The roof of the embassy was curved, probably to keep the snow off, but it was a bit like walking on the humped back of an enormous whale. It was also decidedly more… porous than the prison roof. It was pocked with multiple points of entry—vents, chimneys, and small glass domes designed to let light in. Nina and Inej were tucked up against the base of the biggest dome, a filigree skylight from the dwindling rain, but should any of the guards on the ring wall turn their attention away from the approach road and onto the rooftops of the Court, the crew would be hidden from view.

Nina had Inej’s feet in her lap.

“I can’t get all the rubber off her heels,” she said, as she saw them approaching.

“Help her,” said Kaz.

“Right,” Jesper said as he crawled over to get a better look at Inej’s blistered feet. “Saints,” he muttered.

Inej grimaced. “That bad?”

“No, you just have really ugly feet.”

“Ugly feet that got you on this roof.”

“But are we stuck?” Y/N asked. The Elderclock ceased its ringing, and in the silence that followed, she shut her eyes in relief. “Finally.”

“What happened at the prison?” Wylan said, that panicked crackle back in his voice. Jesper gave him a quick reassuring glance. “What triggered the alarm?”

“I ran into two guards,” said Nina.

Jesper looked up from his work again. “You didn’t put them down?”

“I did. But one of them got off a few shots. Another guard came running. That was when the bells started.”

“Damn. So that’s what set off the alarm?”

“Maybe,” said Nina. “Where were you, Kaz? I wouldn’t have been in the stairwell if I hadn’t wasted time looking for you. Why didn’t you meet me on the landing?”

Kaz was peering down through the glass of the dome. “I decided to search the cells on the fifth floor, too.”

They all stared at him. Y/N felt frustration bubbling up in her chest.

“What the hell is this?” Jesper said. “You take off before Matthias and I got back, then decide to expand your search and leave Nina thinking you’re in trouble?”

“There was something I needed to take care of.”

“Not good enough.”

“I had a hunch,” Kaz said. “I followed it.”

Y/N’s expression was pure disbelief. “A hunch?”

“I made a mistake,” growled Kaz. “All right?”

“No,” she fired back. “You owe us an explanation.”

After a moment, Kaz said, “I went looking for Pekka Rollins.” A look passed between Kaz and Y/N. Everyone else shared a look as Kaz cleared his throat. “I screwed up. I made a bad call, and I deserve the blame for it. But that doesn’t change our situation.”

“What is our situation?” Nina asked Matthias. “What will they do now?”

“The alarm was Yellow Protocol, a sector disturbance.”

Jesper pushed at his temples. “I don’t even remember what that means.”

“My guess is that they think someone’s attempting a prison break. That sector is already sealed off from the rest of the Ice Court, so they’ll authorize a search, probably try to figure out who’s mission from the cells.”

“They’ll find the people we knocked out in the women’s and men’s holding areas,” said Wylan. “we need to get out of here. Forget Bo Yul-Batur.”

Y/N waved a dismissive hand through the air. “It’s too late. If the guards think there is a prison break in progress, the checkpoints will be on high alert. Right?” she looked to Matthias in a quick question. “They’re not going to let anyone just walk through.”

“We could still try,” said Jesper. “We get Inej’s feet patched up-”

She flexed them, then stood, testing her bare soles on the gravel. “They feel all right. My calluses are gone, though.”

“I’ll give you an address where you can mail your complaints,” Nina said with a wink.

“Okay, the Wraith is ambulatory,” Jesper said, rubbing a sleeve over his damp face. The rain had faded away to a light mist. “We find a cozy room to bash some partygoers on the head and waltz out of this place decked in their finest.”

“Past the embassy gate and two checkpoints?” Matthias said skeptically.

“They don’t know anyone escaped the prison sector. They saw Nina and Kaz so they know people are out of their cells, but the guards at the checkpoints are going to be looking for hoodlums in prison clothes…” Jesper’s voice faded to a buzz in Y/N’s ears.

She came on an assignment. A world-changing substance was out here somewhere and if it were to get into the wrong hands, it could reach and poison all Grisha. She had a duty to her people and fellow brothers and sisters. If she were to get caught then she would be caught trying to finish the mission. If she were to die then she would die on her feet as a Ravkan soldier.

“Forget it,” she said. “I came here to find Bo Yul-Bayur, and I’m not leaving without him.”“What’s the point?” said Wylan as he watched the Inferni with concern. “Even if you manage to get to the White Island and find Yul-Bayur, we’ll have no way out. Jesper’s right: We should go now while we still have a chance.”

“You are more than welcome to leave if you see it best. I came here with an assignment and I intend to see it through, even if it means I have to cross to the White Island alone. I will.”

“That may not be an option,” said Matthias causing her to turn her sharp gaze in his direction. “Look.”

They gathered around the base of the glass dome. The rotunda below was a mass of people, drinking, laughing, greeting each other, a kind of raucous party before the celebrations on the White Island.

As they watched, a group of new guards pushed into the room, trying to form the crowd into lines.

“They’re adding another checkpoint,” Matthias said. “They’re going to review everyone’s identification again before they allow people access to the glass bridge.”

“Because of Yellow Protocol?” asked Jesper.

“Probably. A precaution.”

It was like seeing the last bit of their luck drain from a glass.

“Then that decides it,” said Jesper. “We cut our losses and try to get out now.”

“I know a way,” Inej said quietly. They all turned to look at her. The yellow light from the dome pooled in her dark eyes. “We can get through that checkpoint and onto the White Island.” She pointed below to where two groups of people had entered the rotunda from the gatehouse courtyard and were shaking the mist from their clothes. The girls from the House of the Blue Iris were easily identified by the color of their gowns and the flowers displayed in their hair and at their necklines. There was another pleasure house that took Y/N a moment to recognize. It was a house located in Shu Han that Y/N had business with years back.

“I have a friend whom I met briefly while traveling with Sturmhond. She could help us get inside.”

“Inej-” Kaz started.

The Suli quickly interrupted him. “I can get two of us in for sure.”

The guys shared a silent look of hesitation while the girls wordlessly discussed who would go.

Nina spoke up, “I’ll go with Inej.”

Matthias had opened his mouth to argue but Y/N cut him off. “That’d be the smartest choice, a Heartrender would be a better fit than an Inferni. It’s likely you both would need a bit of tailoring as well…” She trailed off as she continued to observe the swarm of people below.

Inej nodded, “Then it’s settled. We go in with the pleasure houses.”

~*~

taglist: @katherinereid @littlecat21 @jahayla-parker @maliciousbrekker @brekkershadowsinger @brekkers-desigirl @clunaes @wonderland2425 @bookloverfilmoholic @karensirkobabes @bookworm-center @el-de-phi @so-get-this-sammy @skittleabyss @crispy-croke @cometsghost @auttumnsayshi

[jamneuromain]

Hey honey! I'm loving your bingo challenge<3

So I want to send in a request for Steve Rogers for the prompt 'ugly duckling'

So basically Steve meeting readers family and friends, and the running joke is how reader bagged an Greek god looking man like him despite being not so pretty. He soon understands why reader was first hesitant and a bit surprised when he asked them out. But Steve takes a stand for them in front of everyone and call them out on their behaviour and all the fluff! Please feel free to change anything you like or ignore the request if it's not worth it! Thank you so much! I love your fics💙

Hi hon <3

I feel so much about the "ugly duckling" so I added a little bit of "horrible family actions" that I've seen. I hope you'll enjoy this!

Make an Impression

Steve Rogers x You

Warning: Ugly Duckling, shaming from all aspects, bad language word(?)

Summary: Steve was nervous about meeting your family - your larger family, that is.

A/N: My eighth entry to the bingo challenge hosted by @the-slumberparty.

"What if they don't like me?" Steve whispered in horror as he looked at himself in the mirror.

"They will love you." You stood on the tip of your toes and kissed his cheek, "Seriously, my mom thought I'd be single for life. So she is already way beyond happy that I'd be taking someone home for this traditional festival."

Steve mumbled a "yeah", before turning to you, "I really want to make a good impression." He almost knotted his brows into a bun, "Any tips on how to be the best boyfriend?"

"You are the best boyfriend there is." You help flipping his collar in place. He was so nervous about meeting your family that he tried on five different ties for over a dozen times, leaving his collar a mess, "You'd be helping out... I think. And you definitely do not need a tie to suffocate yourself when you're helping out. They will love you." You emphasized the idea that your family would welcome him one more time, shrugging, "Just try not to answer any questions when my aunties and my grandma ask you about 'when are we having kids'."

"Kids?" Unfiltered panic filled his eyes.

"Um-hmm." You fiddled with the hem of his shirt, tucking it in place, "I know, we aren't even planning anything yet. Still, they love to do that. They'd be scheming when we're having our fifth kid with or without our help."

Steve swears he is sweating like a fountain.

"Smile. Tell them we're enjoying our solidarity. And you will be fine." You threw him a sympathetic look, "Tell them about your military stories. That would distract them enough."

You hoped your boyfriend would survive under your ruthless (or so you believe) aunties.

"C'mon. Mom said we should be there by 11 to help her cook lunch." You kissed his cheek again, "You'll do fine."

"Not quite sure about that." Steve muttered. If confidence could be measured from 1 to 10, he'd be negative a hundred by now.

You thought your aunties - your father's sisters - would be hogging Steve until he was going to have a panic attack, asking about your relationship or about his family three generations ago. But within an hour, you heard that he was able to make all of your aunties laugh with joy by telling some interesting stories in the barracks, while your mother kept you in the kitchen to help her around.

Help with cleaning. Not cooking.

After an hour and a half, your grandmother pulled an ancient photo book out of nowhere and started to show him your baby photos.

With pots of traditional dishes simmering over the stove, you were finally able to get a break from your mother's accusations of "not practicing homemaking" and escape to your boyfriend.

At which point, the photo album was only about one-quarter through, and your aunties had just started the chapter where you were 4 or 5.

"...now this." Your grandma chuckled and shook her head, "This was precious. She has always been the not-so-good-looking one among my grandkids. Hasn't changed about that. See her skin? And the hair? Her cousins tried almost everything to help her look better."

Yes. By "help" she meant that your cousins, who were not that older than you, shoved you around like a doll, pinning all their least-favorite hair bands and hair pins onto your head, and giving you ridiculous "make-overs".

The kind of "make-over" some 6-year-olds could achieve.

While your male cousins ignored you.

Some of them still did.

You didn't mind.

Your family isn't exactly the tightest bun in the world. You tried avoiding them until important family-gathering activities such as this one. Because they would criticize everything from your clothing to your work. And probably also tell your boyfriend that you are not that good.

"And what are you wearing?" One of your aunties eyed you disapprovingly, gasping as if she had just seen you. Even though you have been helping cleaning and cooking for at least sixty minutes, "Sweetie, your ass is going to rip your jeans. Why not sportspants? They are definitely more comfy. Could help cover your thick thighs too. Honestly, how you are able to date... him-" She gestured at Steve, "is baffling."

"That hair..." Another auntie tutted as loud as she could, "So messy, my dear. Have you tried conditioner? My boy brought back a bottle of L'OREAL conditioner from Paris and it has been working wonders. "

Third auntie chirped up helpfully, "Must have been that awful job, cutie pie. I told you that you should be working closer to home, not driving three hours to see your family. That incompetent husband of mine recently opened up a factory and we'd be happy to arrange a desk job for you. Smaller pay, but closer to home. What could a ton of money do anyway if you can't see your family every week-"

That's enough bullshit for you for a day. You'd rather drown yourself with mud than listen to them criticize from head to toe.

"I think that's my phone." You forced a smile, getting up as fast as you could, "I'm gonna go check."

"See, I told you a busy job can do you no good..." One of your aunties yelled behind your back, before gossiping in a low voice with others.

What you didn't see (or hear, for that matter) is that Steve apologized swiftly, leaving the couch and following you.

Eight months ago

Steve accompanied Bucky to his graduation ceremony that day. Being around the same age, they chose a path in the military at the start, though Bucky had a severe injury to his left arm and had to leave the sergeant program after only a few months. After some rehabilitation and trying a handful of jobs, Bucky decided to head back to university and study criminal law in order to become a police officer, or a district attorney if he's not fit for police work anymore.

Steve, on the other hand, was luckier. He stayed in the sergeant program and got assigned to the States right before Bucky's graduation. After three tours and a surgery to collect bomb shells from his leg, the Army decided he could be a drill sergeant on the New Jersey Base, responsible for training new recruits before shipping them overseas.

Anyhow, Steve pulled Bucky into a big hug when the ceremony was over. He whistled and nearly clapped his hand numb as Bucky beamed at him in a black graduate gown.

"I guess I'm the smarter one of us now." Bucky smiled coyly, punching Steve in the chest, "And the luckier one too." As he fished a cute girl in gown by her wrist and introduced her, "This is my girlfriend Wendy. Wendy Stone. Wendy, Steve."

She reached out shyly to shake his hand, "Hi Steve. I've heard a lot about you."

And as if Bucky was the magnet, attaching people like coins in a line, you slipped through the crowd patting Wendy on her shoulder, "Your phone. You almost forgot - Hi Bucky, I'll be out of your hair in a minute."

Bucky's palm flew to his forehead, gasping out in shock, "Damn. I haven't introduced you two yet. Steve, this is Y/N, Wendy's cousin. Y/N, this is my best pal Steve."

Five months ago

You had hung out with Steve a couple of times, but only in the presence of Bucky and Wendy. Wendy and you shared the same apartment, so it was nearly inevitable for Steve to bump into you when looking for Bucky, or Bucky asking both of you to join Game Night for you four to know each other well.

Steve grew fonder of you, nonetheless. He loves the laughter whenever you hear a silly joke; he loves the way you make a face to him whenever Bucky and Wendy getting all gooey and clingy, making both of you feel like the third and fourth wheel; he loves your optimistic and can-do attitude, whether it was Wendy having a bad day at work, or when the pipe burst in your apartment.

Before he opened his mouth that day, sharing a pot of coffee with Bucky during the quiet morning of a Sunday. Bucky cut him off, saying Steve's line, "You should ask her out."

"You think I should?" He gulped nervously, counting the larger bubbles on his coffee.

"Dude, why do you think I've asked you on these game nights stuff?" Bucky snorted into his mug, "You practically glued your eyes to her the day you met. It's hard not to notice."

"Thanks...?"

"Don't thank me yet, punk. I've asked Wendy about her. She's one tough-" Bucky paused before continuing, mulling over the semantics, "Is it degrading to say son-of-a-bitch? Because Wendy said the exact same words. Anyway, according to Wendy, she doesn't really date a lot. And her work is crazy as hell. Plus, they came from the same family, cousins from their mother's side. They are a hard-to-please bunch of people, and Wendy heard that her father's side was even worse."

Steve didn't really take the last line into consideration back then. Still, asking you out was one hell of a mission, worse than the tour he had in the middle of some desert. It took some persuasion and some more coaxing ("good-measured coaxing", Bucky insisted) to get you on the first three dates. But from that point forth, everything has run smoothly, until now.

"You alright?" Steve closed the door behind him. Your tiny room seems smaller with his broad shoulders larger than the door frame.

"Yeah." That's a lie. "Another few hours and we'll be left alone." You swept away the invisible dust on your jeans, murmuring.

That's why you don't like your relatives. The smell of grease and tobacco rose from the backyard where the men were drinking and smoking, more revolting than the way you remembered.

Steve pursed his lips tightly into a line, "Are they always like this?"

You huffed out an unamused laugh, "At least we were related. You should have seen how they treated my mom."

"That's why she's in the kitchen?"

An unimpressed glare threw in his direction, "She enjoyed that, believe it or not. Cooking and cleaning and homemaking." Raising your chin towards the kitchen, "Blamed me about 'not doing my part' just now."

"Why don't you-"

"Stand up against them?" You knew what he meant. You did. You tried. But they would always accuse your mother of not "teaching you properly".

"They are bullies, Steve." You shrugged, pretending that it didn't bother you at all, "They'd do anything to make sure we get all those nasty comments. And the moment any one of us stand up against them, they'd ask my parents to force me to apologize."

Steve crossed his arms, furrowing his brows again.

"Look, my mom is ... old-school. So are all of them. She nags a lot but she'd be sad if I'm not here to support her during this family reunion. But reunion means all of them, so..." You held his wrist, resting your head on his shoulder, "family comes first."

He took you into his arms, landing a kiss on your forehead.

You craned your neck to smile sweetly at him, as if nothing had happened, "Let's get back to the living room before they mock me for being a baby about it."

Surprisingly, for one full hour, they weren't able to make a comment about you - plenty of comments about Steve since your three cousins had arrived. More comments about your cousins. Gossips about their neighbors. Judgements thrown around on their men and your mother's cooking.

"... your daughter better have clarity on herself." Your grandmother pointed at your mother, drunk on her third cup of wine, her words slurring, "Steven....s Steve, here, is way out of her league. And she needs to maaaarry him before some s... ska... skank butts in."

Your mother eyed you, mouthing silently, asking you to eat rather than reply, before coming up with a polite smile, "Of course. But young people have their own opinions on marriage, and I suppose it's only fair that they figure it out themselves."

One of your aunts waved her fork too hard, sending a piece of chicken into the air, "Oops. Ma's right. And you need to have a kid soon, sweetie. Marry him, and have a kid. Your body is a ticking clock. Don't turn deaf towards it."

"I'm surprised you were able to get a boyfriend, let alone... this." Another aunt gestured at Steve, "You've never been the pretty one, cutie pie, and you sure ain't now."

You put your hand on Steve's thigh to calm him. You could feel his muscles tensing and his jaw clenching, not so subtly. You shook your head lightly.

Don't give them what they want. You hoped you were able to convey the message.

"Oh my oh my," the last aunt chuckled, "we are not going to witness some cheesy scheme of renting a boyfriend here, are we? I heard from my daughter Jean that it's quite popular these days. You know, it's not that embarrassing not to have a boyfriend, I mean, we all thought that way-"

Jean, being one of your cousins sitting by the table, chose to munch her food in silence rather than responding to your aunt.

"That's enough." Steve placed his napkin on the table, folded it back into a triangle before he spoke, "All of you." His rigid tone from the military days seeped into his voice, having the conversations on the table stop for the moment. Taking your hand beneath the table, he watched every person on the table with a serious expression, "Our relationship is none of your business, and so is her appearance. I see a beautiful, strong, independent woman, and I pity you for none of you were able to see her the way I do. Because you were so focused on yourselves, comparing everything about you to make you feel less pathetic. "

A brief pause.

"You didn't say anything about your daughter owning a clothing store, inherited from you, that barely gets by." He looked at the aunt who called you "fat".

"No one said anything about your son stuffing potato chips in his mouth and being unemployed, still taking expensive trips with your pension, because he's the son in the family." He points at the aunt who called you "cheap".

"And finally, you know damn well that husband of yours is having his third secretary-mistress. Since that's all the rest of you could hint about this afternoon." He directed at the aunt who thought you weren't "homemaker" enough.

"I hope you'll have the day you deserve." He spat out, standing from the table, asking for your hand.

For the first time today, your eyes sparkled with light. Gladly taking his hand, your rose from the table. Not minding if you have shoved your chair backwards too hard or the sudden movement is not "lady" enough.

"Mom, I'll come visit next week. Promise." A big smile raised the corner of your lips, waving your mother goodbye while the rest of the table watched in silence.

You still had trouble believing this when you got in your car. Steve immediately pulled you into a hug, nudging your neck with his cheek.

"Not so scared about 'impressing' my family now, huh?" You joked, tugging the end of his blonde hair lightly.

"They're going to hate me and you after I dumped every scandal on them." He mumbled apologetically, "Sorry, I hate bullies."

"No." You signed, "I should've be braver and just ... cut them off."

"You did the best you could." He kissed your shoulder gently, looking into your eyes, "You are everything I've dreamed of, and I meant everything I said at the dining table. You are incredible."

"Hold your proposal, Rogers." You teased him, seeing his ears turn into beet-red as you mentioned "proposal", poking his chest with your index finger, "You aren't on your knees yet and I'm not having five babies without five carats."

Steve's face flushed with a shade of pink, looking like a total turnip if it wasn't for his blonde hair. "Five babies???" He gulped, and then, "Does that mean we're having ten babies if I buy a ten-carat now?"

It was your turn to be stunned speechless. Only when he was grinning madly did you realize he was messing with you too. Laughing with tears, you fell into his embrace, "Steven Grant Rogers, you are a horrible person."

A few laughs bubbled from his chest as you leaned back in your seat and buckled your seat belt, "You'll get used to it." He started the engine and changed the subject, "I didn't have much food in your house. Mind if we stop by at the new Burger joint and order something?"

"I almost forgot how awful my mom's cooking is." You set your phone on navigation mode and put it on Bluetooth speaker, chuckling, "I'm starving. Let's go."

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[pocketramblr]

Winter Break WiPmas + Headcanon Game

You guys can send asks for any of my WIPs, listed below, and I'll give you a headcanon for it and also write at least a sentence. I have four more days till break but I'll start taking asks now- might do some little headcanons if I think of anything really good early..

(yeah you can send asks about other aus too these are just the ones I worked on most recently)

WIPs

Dungeon Meshi

Whatever you wish for you keep- Laios, Marcille, Kabru, and rules-lawyering the winged lion's curse

Original Fiction

The Imperial Court - the au I created a system of 63 pronouns for, and the Emperor attempts to convince thejs eldest child to consider becoming heir, while in the town a family organizes a play, and a farmer debates starting a feud with a small mining company.

Animal Husbandry- Shay is not cursed- Halim is cursed, yes, wrapped in snake skin before he was born, and Trey is cursed, yes, molded into a beast by a furious fairy, and Deryn is doubly cursed both day and night. But Shay isn't cursed, because she still has to pay for law school, and she can't afford to be cursed too.

BNHA

A Matchless Match- Masaki must keep the captured princes of Iida- his new husband and brother-in-law- alive, which is far easier said than done for a simple cupbearer

DCAU- Wherein Toshinori safely makes it to earth, and builds a mighty family indeed - even if it's mostly unintentionally

Mandoade and Jetisse- The Jedi Temple on Coruscant is investigating the strange circumstances surrounding young Initiate Izuku leaving, while Clan Ka'ra has their own travels evading the dar'jetii and training their youngest trouble magnets

DCU

Con Wayne- Superman died a year ago. Robin died six months ago. Superboy has spent his whole life trying replace better heroes, he isn't going to replace Bruce Wayne's son too. The offer of a name was nice, though- so he needs to make sure he makes the most of it. (Contrary to the synopsis and first chapter, this is a comedy)

Half- Custody- Jason Todd spends half his nights with an empty heart at Shelia's condo, and half his nights with an empty stomach at Willis and Catherine's apartment. But then his bad luck gets worse, and he figures he can claim at least half his own custody, since he's more than halfway to eighteen. (This is not a comedy but I am in awe of how many parents this kid can collect)

Little Birdie- oneshot how Dick became Robin in the Batman: The Audio Adventures universe

The Old League- an old guard au oneshot, because I couldn't help myself...

Fledgling Fall- an au where the Kent and Wilson families swap roles. Working at both a fifth entry and into some rewrites of earlier stuff now