#The idea of Shadow doing all of those high pitched laughs is too funny to me

[welcome-to-green-hills]

I desperately need someone to make an animation of Shadow doing all of these laughs and chuckles from interviews.

[inkandpen22]

Always a Ploy

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Female!Reader

Warnings: none

Word Count: 1.3k

Summary: Y/N is often used as a ploy to catch the perpetrators and it drives Spencer crazy 

A/N: I’m always adding new one shots for Reid so if you’d like to be tagged lmk!

Masterlist

Y/N

I sway my head from side to side, playing music in my head to distract myself from the fact that I'm freezing. 'Stand and wait on the side of the house' Hotch ordered. 'I'll give you the go-ahead soon' he promised. Ten minutes later, Reid and I are still waiting for the said go-ahead. At least Reid gets to be in normal clothes for the desert at night. I'm yet again being offered up as a ploy and in Morgan's mind, a door-to-door saleswoman would wear a dress when the weather is supposed to be low sixties, the wind not included. 

"Honey, you're killing me. Are you sure you don't want my jacket?" Reid offers again for the third time in the last five minutes. 

"Yes." My breath escapes between my teeth. "I'm fine. Plus, we won't have much time once Hotch gives the signal." I shake my limbs to remain warm. 

“Wait for my command," Hotch announces into our earpieces. "We lost sight of him in the window. We suspect he’s headed to the basement.” 

I shake my head. “Screw this. I’m going in.” 

“No, you’re not!” 

“They’re children! One more minute with that monster is another minute of trauma!” I move to step around the house and toward the front door. 

Reid slips his gun back onto his belt and grabs my wrist to stop me. He yanks me back and pins me against the cool wooden panels of the house. I open my mouth to argue and he covers my mouth. He whispers frantically, “Baby, baby, listen to me. I can’t let you in there!" I wiggle in his hold. “Stop fighting me.” 

“Y/N, you may proceed," Hotch announces, giving me the go-ahead. 

Reluctantly, Reid has no choice but to let me go. His hand falls from my mouth slowly, but he keeps me pinned and stares into my eyes warningly. “Don’t do anything reckless!" 

I smirk and slip out from under him. “You should know me better than assume I’d listen.” 

“Y/N, I’m serious!” He whispers, aggravated. 

“So am I." I send him a wink as I step out from beside the house. 

The lights from the living room pour out of the window onto the dry dirt yard. I take a minute a toss my hair to one side and yank the dress down to reveal more of my chest. 

Spencer

I watch from the shadows as Y/N adjusts herself to speak with the suspect. I hate it when she does this. I understand that Hotchner and everyone agrees that it works, but their opinions don't make any less uncomfortable. My own girlfriend is being used as a ploy, expected to flont herself to earn the trust of serial killers or rapists. 

Morgan appears beside me and squeezes my shoulder. “Don’t get hostile, Boy Genius.” 

“She’s doing it on purpose,” I grumble, gesturing to Y/N. 

“I know, I know.” He sighs. "But she's just doing her job. It's all pretending to her too," he assures me. "She's into you, man." 

Y/N

I ring the doorbell and rock on my heels, making the panels of the porch creak. Suddenly, the door swings open to reveal a worn-down middle-aged man in dirty overalls. 

“I don’t want to join any religion," he grumbles. He goes to slam the door shut, but I block it with my hand. 

“Neither do I,” I voice softly with a smirk. I step forward to stand on the threshold. “But maybe you’d like to sit down and talk about your finances? Have you been keeping track of where you’ve been putting your... assets?” I scan the man up and down with my eyes until I meet his gaze. 

Spencer

As we listen to Y/N flirt with the suspect, Morgan chuckles quietly next to me. 

I elbow him in the stomach. “It’s not funny.” 

“She sounds like Jessica Rabbit,” he jokes, only irritating me more. 

There's creaking on the porch, followed by the front door squeaking shut. He's let her in. 

Y/N

The place is an utter wreck. There have to be at least a dozen cats, hundreds of old newspapers scattered everyone, and it smells of feces. I sit down on the worn and ripped plaid couch next to the old man. I wear my best smile, though inside I'm screaming. 

“Now, let’s begin. What bank do you currently use?” I ask, gripping my fake leather finance binder. 

The man shifts closer to me. “Chase.” 

I note now that he's missing at least five teeth. I nod. “They are great to their members, but we something broader... larger in size," I chose my words intentionally. 

Abruptly, there's a high-pitch scream from within the house, making both of us freeze. 

“What was that?” I ask, searching the surrounding area. 

“My daughter is upstairs playing!" He rushes out and scoots closer to me. Boldly, he places his hand on my bare knee. "What was that you said about size?” He grins and begins to glide his hand up slowly. 

I swallow hard, my eyes on his hand. I try to ease it off. “Sir, please-“ 

He lifts his hand off my knee and brings it to my shoulder. He tries to urge me to lay down. “Come on, sugar. I’ll pay you for your time. Your supervisor won’t have to know.” 

I reach underneath my dress and whip out my gun, pointing it directly between his eyes. “FBI, down on the ground!” 

His eyes grow wide and his jaw nearly hits the floor. “What!” 

The S.W.A.T. team barges into the house, all yelling over each other. They march deeper into the house and into the basement where we know the children are. Hotchner appears in the foyer with Reid and Morgan. Soon, Prentiss and JJ are close behind. 

Reid yanks the man off of me and tosses him onto the ground on his knees. He handcuffs him and pulls him to his feet. “No means no, asshole!” 

“She was asking for it," the suspect huffs as he's dragged off toward the foyer. 

Reid laughs mockingly. “Doubtful consider she just has to go to me for that." 

Morgan kneels in front of me. “You okay?” 

I nod weakly. “After every time I just feel gross.” I shake out my arms with a shiver. 

“He’s a disgusting man. I’m sorry he touched you.” 

“Part of the job.” I shrug. “At least I know how to defend myself. There are so many women who don't." 

Morgan nods. "Maybe you can take your experiences and help those women." 

Now there's an idea. 

__________________________________________________

I lean against the car with JJ and Prentiss as the S.W.A.T. team and members of C.P.S carry the little girls out of the basement and into ambulances. It's a bittersweet sight. Morgan and Reid step out of the house once the last child is removed. Morgan pats Reid on the back with a chuckle as they approach us. 

As soon as they reach us, Reid takes my hand and leads me to a tree a few feet away from the car. When we have some privacy, he starts to apologize. “Look, I’m sorry for what I did. I shouldn’t have grabbed you and covered your mouth. I didn’t know-“ 

I cut him off, reaching up and bringing my lips to meet his with a quick peck. His hands rest on my waist and I break from him. 

He blinks rapidly, taken aback. “I thought you’d be mad.” 

“Oh I was pissed in the moment. Now, it’s just hot," I grin, wrapping my arms around his waist. 

He smirks. “Noted.” 

“I didn’t know you could move so quickly, Reid,” I giggle. “And what you said to the perpetrator when you arrested him!” 

He chuckles, “yeah I may have been a little heated in the moment. In my defense, he did touch you! Okay, that was not a part of the plan!” 

“I appreciate the protectiveness,” I assure him with a laugh. 

He glances down at the small space between us and the smile on his lips fades slowly. 

I can tell there's something on his mind. 

“About your performance...” He mumbles. 

“Didn’t like it?” I ask, knowing how he hates it when I have to be a ploy. 

He nods frantically. “Yeah, never again," he orders. 

“Deal.” I nod, giving his lips a quick peck again. 

He smiles into the kiss. “Well, never again for anyone else," he adds against my lips, making me grin. He breaks from me to ask, "Do you think maybe tonight you and I could talk about my assets?” 

I swat him on the arm. “Reid!” 

He chuckles, "you're right. We'll talk about this when we get home." 

I roll my eyes and they land on our teammates by the car as they watch us go back and forth, smiling brightly. 

_____________________________________

Masterlist

Tags: @mrsobrien888​ @hufflepufftruffle @gillybear17 @thatsonezesty13 @smol-flowerkiddo @reesespieces10123 @madds-m @az3r0o @wafflebacon23 @spencerreid-mgg @alfonsais @justlivinginadaydream @kaitlynpcallmebeepme @farah3012 @doveygirlkay-blog @dreatine  @imhappybutimalsosad @parahmur  @tremendousdinosaurhideout  @destiny-dream67  @ashwarren32  @yeahjustcallmer-n @bluehydrangea-cherry​ @izzysecrets

[constellaj]

just ran into your art today and. would you like to elaborate on your gay lucky in love rewrite 👀

boy would i

as always shoutouts to @crystalfloe for pitching + workshopping w me on this, ESPECIALLY on this one since it was mostly her idea!

we open up with a shot of shadow circling through amity park, looking in the windows of various citizens. danny is face-down, fast asleep; valerie is repairing some gear; tucker is being a gamer; sam is watching a horror movie; paulina is also watching a horror movie. shadow passes by all these houses and gets more and more annoyed, until he peeks the window of a large, elaborate house:

dash has drawn the curtains, turned the lights off, turned a fan up. this is his deep dark secret. he’s sitting on his bed, face lit by the dim rose glow of his laptop. the volume is turned down so low but the viewer still sees and hears him whisper along to the movie: “but we could never be together, jessica...” “but... I love you...” he’s watching a HORRIBLY cheesy hallmark romcom.

but of course nobody can KNOW he’s into chickflicks and romcoms! he’s a tough football man and it would trash his rep if anyone knew he secretly craved those deep but silly romantic stories... the tenderness, the love...

shadow has specifically been looking for a romantic.

shadow slips in and ‘possesses’ dash. possesses in quotes, because, well, even though dash is dumb and therefore easy to possess, shadow is ultimately a glorified dog, and not a fully sentient ghost; he doesn’t have any total agency in dash, and the most he can do is mess around with his emotional and hormonal balance. shadow is DISMAYED, upon entering, that dash’s deep romanticism is so repressed, and so immediately gets to work digging it out of the recesses of his brain, putting it in the forefront.

(see, what danny and the audience will learn later is, shadow is a ghost that subsists off of love. romantic love especially. he first found a ‘host’ in johnny (before he died!) because johnny and kitty were madly, ridiculously in love, and johnny especially admired kitty beyond words. they still do love each other, of course! but like all healthy relationships, they’ve learned to take breaks, and they have a ‘break week’ once every few months.)

(this, naturally, drives shadow up a WALL; after a certain level, displays of romance become like dog treats, and shadow has been downright spoiled by the overabundance of love between the two. when they take a BREAK WEEK and aren’t constantly showering each other (and therefore him!) with affection, he needs to go find another host, because clearly they do not love him and have forsaken him. they kick miette.)

since shadow’s prime host for so long has been johnny, his understanding of a few... norms... are bleeding over. dash shows up to school with a leather jacket and a motorcycle (his family’s rich, of course he’s had one). his hair is slicked back and the cologne is overpowering. while danny and others think it’s just another asshole stage of dash, kwan (as well as the popular kids, but kwan especially) notices something’s wrong. it’s not quite... dash. 

yeah, he’s happy-- well, he’s also strangely flirty with everyone (shadow is testing the waters, trying to find out who is the best match). and kwan LOVES that he’s happy. but he’s a little too daydreamy, he laughs a little too long. he is having horrible luck all day, but he just keeps taking it in stride. dash is concerned with appearances, but this is the first time he’s put in effort like it was for other people to see. he’s a little too suave. his eyes reflect just a little too much light.

and then-- luck of luck-- shadow finds the big name repressed crush.

fenton! of course!

danny did NOT want to deal with dash towering over him and slamming him into the wall, but he didn’t KNOW how to deal with dash leaning over him and telling him he looked cute. danny’s flustered! of course he is! well, yeah, dash is an asshole, he knows that, yeah he’s a stuck up rich kid, YES SAM, he knows this (sam is not fooled by a little hair gel and some high heeled leather boots), but you can’t deny he’s, well, built. and he’s weirdly suave? and nice. he’s actually being really nice. what no of course DANNY hasn’t had a crush on DASH this whole time or anything. shut up.

the fact that dash asks him to meet him in the woods at lunch (because sam, jazz, and even tucker are increasingly concerned with dash just making moves on danny, afraid it’s some new form of abuse; and lancer keeps perceiving it as bullying since that’s their dynamic and breaking it up) and he GOES is just. well. that’s unrelated isn’t it.

they kiss and danny is starting to maybe think dash just had a homophobic middle school experience like everyone else when- his GHOST SENSE GOES OFF. RIGHT HERE? RIGHT NOW??? (gee what could be causing it?) dash cracks a joke about him using too many breath mints and danny panics, bullshits an excuse, and runs off to transform and find the ghost.

dash thinks he’s been rejected and almost shakes out shadow’s possession from the sheer dismay, but shadow doubles down. no, no, we can find another crush. somewhere.

...oh hey! the ghost boy!

time to double down on the ghost aesthetics.

danny’s just finished fighting kitty (”where’s your boyfriend” “that’s none of your BUSINESS!”) when there’s a motorcycle rev underneath him. there’s... dash, again, but.... something feels very, very wrong.

danny lands, cautious. “hey phantom... you into biker dudes?” “don’t you have... a boyfriend...” “heee sorta dumped me in the woods”. and then danny gets close enough for his ghost sense to go off. and it clicks.

“dash, you’re possessed”

this is the ONE THING that shadow can’t have. this could be the perfect romance, and THIS GHOSTCHILD thinks he knows more about ROMANCE than SHADOW??? PSH. cue fight scene! dash of course is grappling with both not wanting to hurt phantom, but wanting this ghost out of his system, because of COURSE he’s possessed geez why else would he want to kiss FENTON of all people-- but shadow REFUSES to leave, slowly building more and more monstrous elements onto dash, darker eyes and claws, erasing his legs until it’s not dash as much as it is a large shadow monstrosity with dash at the center.

danny eventually realizes he needs a new strategy and runs for it. after a decent amount of bickering with sam/tuck, they realize that the only ones who would know how to tame shadow are.... kitty and johnny.

turns out, when shadow went missing, kitty NOTICED. (johnny didn’t! he was having a fun alone time working on his bike with loud music.) this is bad. why? well, johnny is NOT a very powerful ghost. in fact, he’s sort of the opposite. he and shadow have a symbiotic relationship of sorts; it’s shadow’s residence in him that gives him any powers at all, like the basic healing factor a ghost has, or phasing, or flying. without shadow he’s essentially a zombie, who can still be hurt in the ghost zone. NATURALLY, kitty decided to run off and retrieve shadow (because this isn’t the first time he’s run away on break week, always throwing a tantrum) before anything horrible could happen to Johnny; this is what she was doing in Amity in the first place

this is the part of the story where i reveal that the ending isnt fully fleshed out yet. in the rough conversation right it ended up with kitty and johnny trying to FORCE shadow back into johnny, and they’re getting annoyed by it, and kitty goes “well this wouldn’t be a problem if YOU weren’t so LOVING AND SENSITIVE” and johnny goes “well i wouldn’t LOVE YOU so much if you weren’t BRILLIANT and BEAUTIFUL” and they have a whole argument like that. its very funny. and shadow ends up still running away and possessing dash again.

ah, in typing this out, i have figured out an ending!

the above fight and run away happens, and there’s two endings: one where shadow possesses dash, and one where shadow possesses danny. in both, of course, the other party realizes the only way to get shadow out is through making shadow feel safe enough to leave, aka... flooding the room with romance. if dash is possessed, danny and co. realize that danny’s the prime candidate to... be the suave lil boy. if DANNY is possessed, sam and tucker begrudgingly explain that, uh, yeah, phantom might have a crush on you, he’s just really controlling of his emotions. (also kwan! kwan definitely plays a part if dash is possessed, maybe even in saying “uh... he has a bigger crush on Fenton. can you guys get him instead?” and danny. explodes)

blahlbahblah luring shadow out by being gay happens and shadow gets scooped back up by the 13s. as much as the previous argument is funny it might also be very funny if johnny literally noticed none of this, and kitty shows up like ‘you lost this’ and johnny is like. ‘...shadow? when did you leave’. anywho.

that’s the concept! the MAIN difference is that johnny and kitty actually have a very healthy and sweet relationship, and the conflict, ironically, comes from the fact that they love each other TOO much. i do love ‘dash finds out’ reveals but as far as an episodic romp goes, this might not be the best ep for him to discover the secret in. however in a oneshot or something of course you could slot that in there excellently i believe.

[readiajin]

To Love Herself - Chapter 3: Hello

Synopsis: Following ACOSF until Nesta’s confrontation with Amren. Rather than going to hike and soul search with Cassian in the wild, Nesta uses her powers to disappear.

Masterlist

Chapter 3: Hello

Nesta - After Disappear

“Who the hell are you?”

Nesta jumped to her feet and whirled around. 

A woman stood a couple yards away. No, not a woman, a High Fae. The female had dark skin and her tightly braided hair was pulled back, revealing her pointed ears. Despite her ears marking her as High Fae, Nesta couldn’t help comparing her to the Illyarians. She wore fighting leathers somewhat similar to theirs, and they were form fitting around the muscles of her torso and arms. A bow and quiver were slung over her back, with a sword sheathed at her side. 

Nesta froze as she silently cursed herself for not having any weapons of her own. She had no idea how she had used her magic before and had very little faith in it if the female decided to attack. She however, had her arms crossed and one eyebrow raised at Nesta as she slowly looked her over. 

“Do you speak? I asked who you are and what you are doing here.”

The arrogance in the female’s voice made Nesta grind her teeth but also stand straight and lift her chin. 

“You didn’t actually.” 

“Excuse me?” 

“You didn’t ask what I was doing here before. You only asked who I was.”

The female tilted her head and narrowed her eyes at Nesta. “You know I don’t think you are in a position to have so much attitude.”

Despite Nesta’s rapidly beating heart, she forced her face to be impassive as she gave a dry smile. “Funny, I was about to tell you the same thing.”

Nesta wasn’t sure how she expected the female to react, but to burst out laughing wasn’t it. Her laugh was high pitched and infectiously jovial. At least it would have been if it wasn’t at Nesta’s expense. Nesta felt heat rush to her face but retained her still exterior as the female leaned over her knees while attempting to catch her breath. 

When she finally calmed down enough to wipe tears from her eyes she took in Nesta again, her face softer than before. 

“I don’t know what I was expecting, but you’ve surprised me.” 

Nesta had no idea what that meant, but she bit back, “You haven’t surprised me.” 

The female snorted. “Nevertheless, if you want to live you should probably come with me.”

Taken aback, it took Nesta a moment to respond, “I don’t need your help nor will I go anywhere with you. Turn around and go back to wherever you came from.” 

The female rolled her eyes. “Mother, you are a piece of work, aren’t you? We both know that you didn’t intend to come here or even know where here is. If you want food and shelter and help you will come with me, Nesta.” 

Nesta stepped back at her name, trying to call to magic for help but it was silent. “How do you know my name?”

The female’s lips curved it into a tight smile, but she simply shrugged and turned away. “Welcome to the Forest of the Lost,” she said over her shoulder before heading to disappear between the trees. 

Part of Nesta told her to let the female go, but another part screamed at her to get answers. 

“Wait!” The female stopped. “Tell me your name if you want me to follow.”

The female turned back slowly, a mischievous look in her eyes.

“I’m Thalia. Now keep up.”

•••••

Cassian - After Appear

The Obsidian Isles were named so for the smooth rocks that made up the beaches instead of sand. Flying towards them from above, they looked like dark slashes dividing the rough sea and dense evergreen forests of the Isles. 

Cassian glanced at Feyre flying to his right, trying to be calm as he flew towards his heaven and his hell. It had been decided that only Cassian, Feyre, Rhys, and Azriel would go to meet Nesta. Elain had made her feelings clear, and no one explicitly had said it, but it was understood that it is probably better to keep Mor and Amren far away from Nesta. 

They had sent Azriel to scout ahead as usual, but the Northern Island and the rest of the Isles were all free of Fae. Azriel could find no evidence that anyone had even visited recently, or where exactly they were expected to meet Nesta. 

So now they flew towards the dark beaches, all four of them on high alert. 

They landed in the center and examined the tree line. “Anything?” Rhys asked Azriel. 

Az shook his head. “Place seems as abandoned and cursed as usual.”

Besides from their location in the cold and gray north, the soil of the Isles were fertile, and the surrounding waters prime fishing. Despite that, no Fae settlement had ever lasted. Stories of tragedies befalling any settlement were plentiful, from lighting burning down a half built cabin to an entire colony disappearing. This fact had been pointed out repeatedly by Mor as she argued with him and Feyre to not be stupid by coming here. 

Cassian wasn’t worried, as there had never been any tragedy for someone visiting the islands. Even if there was a curse, Cassian would settle down to stay here if Nesta asked him too. 

Stupid. Cassian’s logical voice chided him. He couldn’t let his emotions influence him right now. He was still angry with his family for their mistrust of Nesta, but he also needed to think as the General he was. Nesta had managed to get into Velaris without anyone knowing, at least twice. How many times had she gone there besides the two times they knew about? Cassian didn’t want to consider she had been so close without him knowing while he worried about her, but he knew now not to make assumptions. 

“Should we go into the trees and look for her?” Feyre asked as the beach remained empty. 

“No,” Rhys replied. “We shouldn’t risk an ambush hidden among the trees.” 

Feyre shot her Mate a dark look. “Nesta is not going to ambush us.”

Rhys and Feyre fell silent, speaking mind to mind. Knowing better than to get involved, Cassian turned to the trees again. 

Cold winds swept off the sea, making Cassian shiver. As he looked at the trees, his gaze snagged on a boulder about 60 yards away, just slightly beyond the tree line. There was nothing special about it, besides it’s massive size probably being a foot higher than Cassian’s height, and just as wide. But as he stared at it, Cassian suddenly felt a tug in his gut. 

“There.” He said, before moving toward it without waiting for a response. 

Cassian walked around it, examining the smooth surface for any signs. He met Azriel at the back, as he had gone around the other side. 

“Do you see something in this bolder we don’t, Cass?” Feyre asked as she and Rhy joined them. 

“I…” Cassian frowned. “No, I thought something was telling me this was it.”

“This was what?” Rhys asked. 

“A giant boulder of obsidian, of course.”

The voice that spoke those words did not belong to any of them. 

In an instant Rhys had thrown Feyre behind him, his dark power surrounding them. Cassian and Azriel both drew their swords and siphoned up shields around them, jumping back. 

However, they all froze upon seeing the figure now perched atop the rock.

Emerie sat there cross legged, an amused look on her face as she looked down on them. 

“It really is just a rock,” Emerie said as she hopped down to stand in front of them.

Emerie turned to Rhys and Feyre to bow. “Good to see you again my Lord and Lady.” She straightened to look at Cassian and Azriel, smiling. “You two as well.” 

Cassian thought back to the last time he had seen Emerie. After Nesta had disappeared, Cassian had stopped training the priestesses and Emerie. Had stopped doing a lot of things. His last conversation with Emerie had been a couple days after Nesta had gone, when it had become clear to him that neither Emerie or Gwyn had any idea how or where Nesta went. 

Azriel had tried to continue to train them all for a while, but between looking for Nesta, Feyre’s pregnancy, the threat of the human queens, Koschei, and the talks with Vallahan, Cassian later learned training had been put on hold. That was another thing for Cassian to feel guilty about after they were also gone. 

“Emerie,” Rhys said, looking her up and down. She wore leathers like the ones Feyre had described Nesta wearing, her wavy hair braided with feathers down her back. And the missing sword was hanging from her belt. “What are you doing here?”

She opened her mouth to respond, but before she could Cassian felt the world shift. Every molecule of his being was suddenly pulled to the right as time seemed to slow down and he turned. 

“She is helping me show you all what I told Feyre was the truth.”

Nesta said this from 10 feet away, standing between two trees where she had certainly not been a moment before. She looked as Feyre had described. Wearing well worn fighting leathers, molded to show off the sleek muscles of her arms, stomach, and thighs. Her golden streaked hair shone in the sunlight, with a silver feather braided into it. Her smooth skin now had a warm tan, making her glow. Cassian had never been able to take his eyes off her, but now there was no denying how devastatingly beautiful she was.

She stood straight, her arms crossed with the Great Sword at her belt. Her stormy grey eyes were bright like a thunderstorm as dusk as she surveyed them all. Except for Cassian. She seemed to be dutifully ignoring his stare. 

“The reason I asked you all here is because this is the meeting point of those within the Night Court who are working with the Rising to steal the Night Court's power.” 

“Hello Nesta,” Rhys said, his voice cold. “It’s been a while.”

Nesta took in Rhys with an equal level of disdain as he gave her. After a moment she simply said “Yes,” before turning to Azriel and continuing.

“The fact that your shadows have not picked up this group's activities tells me that they are probably already well established in Prythian.”

“Nesta,” Feyre said, stepping forward. “If you want us to believe you, why not start with how you left eight years ago and what you have been doing since them.”

Nesta sighed. “I ended up on the continent and met some people who… helped me. They also were interested in helping the priestess. Something I understand you lost interest in once I was gone.” Nesta still didn’t look at Cassian but he felt as if she punched him in the gut. “The group consists primarily of lesser Fae who want to upset the hierarchy of power between them and High Fae. Actually they really just want to flip it, and subject the High Fae to the same treatment they revived. They call themselves The Rising,” Nesta rolled her eyes. “So to answer your inevitable question as to how we know this, the former priestesses have been tracking this group's movement on the continent. We intercepted one of their correspondences to a contact here.” 

“How do you know they have a source within the Illyrians?” Azreil asked, the only one of them not completely taken aback by Nesta’s explanation.

Nesta nodded to Emerie, who removed a parchment from her pocket. “This is the last message we intercepted,” She explained as she handed it over to Azreil. 

Az brow furrowed slightly as he read the paper before handing it to Rhys.

“What is it?” Cassian asked as Rhys got the same look.

“The top part is Illyrian but the bottom part is in a language I don’t recognize,” Rhys explained as Cassian took a look for himself.

The part in Illyrian read: PEAK SUNRISE DROUGHT CEILING

“What is that supposed to mean?” Feyre asked after they translated the Illyrian for her. 

“We aren’t sure either,” Nesta said. “We think it refers to another meeting place. And we were hoping one of you knew what the other language was.”

“Amren might know,” Azreil said.

Nesta stiffened at the female's name. “That would be helpful,” She said. 

Cassian blinked in surprise. Nesta wasn’t one to appreciate someone else helping, especially Amren. 

“And how exactly does the Rising think they can steal Prythian’s High Lords’ powers?” Rhys asked. 

“Like I told Feyre before, by finding the physical manifestation of it in Prythian.” Nesta leveled Rhys a glare. “If you know, you might want to check it, and the Illyarians. And look out for Riding members infiltrating  the courts.”

Rhys examined Neata with the High Lord stare that regularly brought Fae to their knees. “And what will you be doing, Nesta?”

Nesta held her chin high, weathering the power rolling of Rhys. “My friends and I will be handling them on the Continent.” 

Cassian couldn’t take it anymore. “Oh, that’s all?” He growled.

Nesta finally looked to Cassian, her face impassive. That look made his blood boil, in conjunction with how it felt like she was ripping out his heart. 

“We have been trying to stop this group from spreading on the Continent for years now. I have no interest in seeing Prythian become subject to their misguided revolution.”

“You sure you and your friends can handle it?” Cassian spit out. “Sounds like you have been failing for years.”

Out of the corner of his eye Cassian sensed Emerie step back. Silver flames danced in Nesta’s eyes. 

“We’ve done a lot in the past eight years.” She said in a deadly quiet. “I’ve done a lot of things. I’m doing this to save the lives of innocents. I’m not interested in another war or anything else.”

Cassian fell silent. 

In all the times he had imagined seeing her again, it wasn’t like this. He knew she was the queen of pushing people away, but even at her worst he knew what to expect from her. He could take her yelling and cursing at him. He hadn’t really believed Feyre before about Nesta looking good. Hadn’t truly believed she could be happy without him when not a day had gone by where he hadn’t missed her. But Cassian didn’t know how to handle her standing tall, strong, confident, and beautiful, telling him what to do. All without him. 

Probably sensing Cassian’s coming breakdown, Feyre stepped forward. 

“I’m sorry Nesta, I’m still very confused. How did you get into Velaris, and who are your friends besides the priestesses?”

“You are the one who wanted me to master my powers Feyre. I did.” 

Feyre blinked. “Okay but who—“

Feyre was cut off by an ash arrow flying out of the trees to lodge in the middle of her chest. 

•••••

Tag list

Thanks for being here :)

@bluassassin @my-fan-side @nehemikkele @vidalinav @dread3r @vasudharaghavan @laylaameer01 @little-shipper55 @aelinchocolatelover @mis-lil-red @missing-merlin @frosted-crackers @swankii-art-teacher @nessiantrashh @camnesta @purpleglitterypinecone @sayosdreams @notjustaverb @madie-max @haepaw @nyelareyelle @audreycressworth @ghostlyrose2​ 

(Bold doesn’t work)

[shoot-the-oneshot]

Counting the days: day 1

Series summary. You go to a friends bachelorette party in Italy and meet the man of your dreams, NOT, you didn’t see the part where you get kidnapped by a gangster on your friends itinerary. How will you handle being thrown into a life of guns and mafias.

Massimo Torricelli x Reader

Series masterlist

A week in Italy, your dream vacation. Only difference is when you imagined it you didn’t see the screaming girls surrounding you.

Sinking further into your seat when the squeals start up again. Your eyes shifting to to the right when Ally jumps in the empty seat next to you.

“You know I don’t think planes work like that.”

You tease, seeing equal annoyance on her face. You both loved Katie, the bride to be.

But her friends that seem determined to hit a new octave with their high pitched yells, not so much.

“Oh hush we’re already here they won’t say anything. Plus you didn’t just spend ten hours sitting next to a freakin squeaky toy.”

Laughing as you pushed her out of the way to grab your bag. Her grabbing hers as you pass her seat when the plane stops.

“Y/n, Ally, come on the cars waiting!”

Katie yells, still wearing a very inappropriate headband which is one of the reasons the two of us were keeping our distance until now. When we meet the group outside they immediately shove sashes over our heads. Ally was miss behaving, while I was hot mess. Rolling my eyes while she laughs.

“At lest you’re hot.”

After dinner we went to the resorts bar and took up a cabana by the pool. After a few hours of her housewife friends throwing subtle digs at you for being not being married yet.

“Clarity!”

“I’m just saying, Y/n is a pretty girl but she can’t wait to settle down forever.”

“Yeah I’d take your advice if I wanted my husband to be sleeping with his assistant.”

Ally coughs as she choked on her drink laughing while everyone else is still shocked that you even knew that. You didn’t, it was a guess but judging by her face you hit the nail on the head. As politely as you could you excused yourself saying you needed to find a bathroom, more like you needed the bar.

While you were still ranting in your head you accidentally bumped into a hard chest. Mumbling apologizes as you backed off, stopping as you looked at his face. Hello tall Italian and handsome. Taking a moment to look him over wearing all black, a few tattoos you can see, intense look in his eyes. As hot as he was there was something about him that send warnings off in your head.

“Are you lost babygirl?”

Before you could reply Ally comes running up, and starts shaking you.

“Y/n, that was amazing did you see her face!”

When you looked back for mystery man he was gone, so you let your guard down and let her drag you to the bar while telling you about the reactions you missed.

You’ve been here for five days. Just enough for you to fall in love with the place and your tan to be just right. You and Ally thankfully shared a room and while the champagne that room service brought every night that neither of you ordered creeped you out your roommate loved it.

And right now was a moment you were happy for the alcohol. The party was out at a restaurant while the food was amazing the company, not so much. Charity has made it her mission to get under your skin and while you found it funny Ally did not.

“Men don’t like women that drink Y/n”

“Shut it Karen!”

“It’s Charity!

“Sure!”

Seeing the two bicker you didn’t want it to ruin your friends bachelorette vacation. Taking yourself from equation was the best option, it was easy enough to slide away coming up with some lie about feeling sick and wanting to go back to the hotel.

Giving a few hugs to the people you actually like before taking your leave. The city was beautiful at night but you were definitely lost. While you weren’t exactly heading back immediately you’d like to at least know what direction the hotel was in.

Just as you were about to give in and call a taxi, the trashcans down the alley suddenly tipped over, your hand coming up to your chest to calm your breathing, laughing when a cat came running out. Turning around you bumped into someone for the second time this week and this man sent up red flags too.

And you should probably learn to listen to those instincts, because the next think you know everything went black.

The first thing the went through your head when you woke up was that this definitely wasn’t your hotel room or even the alley. You weren’t sure if you’d rather woken up here or back there. The room was beautiful, you can admit that. The dark floors and walls contrasted perfectly with the gold accents the biggest shower you’ve ever seen. Big double doors, wait doors! Almost tripping over the dress you were thankfully still wearing in you haste to get to the doors. Locked of course, you’ve seen enough criminal minds to know how this goes. They locked the doors but the windows however were open, Amateurs. They probably thought you wouldn’t risk the two story jump, but you’re pretty sure the climb down is better than what’s on the other side of those doors.

Pushing open the window, getting hit with the ocean breeze. The molding on the outside walls gave almost perfect steps for you to take down. You swear nothing had ever felt as good as the grass under your feet in that moment. you couldn't enjoy it for long before you heard yells, that was quick.

Gathering your dress in your hands you take off running. Looking for a way out when the voices started coming from all around you. You’re trapped, the only thing you can get to is the pool so that’s where you go.

Slowly getting into the pool to not create a splash, taking deep fast breaths until you see shadows come around the corner. Gasping once more slipping under the water keeping your back to the wall. You never thought you’d use anything you learned in those diving classes for once you were glad to be wrong.

All you heard was muffled voices, after what felt like forever they started to fade, waiting a few more seconds before coming up just to be safe. But before you could two hands reach through the water hauling you up.

Choking between screaming and gasping for air, barely noticing the man picking you up until he gently sets you down on a couch.

It’s mystery man! You can only see his back but you’re sure it’s him. Especially when he turned back. You didn’t see the towel that was around your shoulders until he finally spoke. Leaning on his arm that was resting above the very elaborate fireplace.

“Was the idea of being here so bad that you tried to kill yourself twice to get away?”

The words rolled off his tongue, thick with frustration and his Italian accent. Did he think you wanted to be here? You didn’t even know where here was. Oh if only you weren’t trapped in an episode of Dexter this situation would almost be hot.

“While it was incredibly stupid to jump out a window, I must admit I admire your dedication the pool was very smart. But if you try it again I will not be as kind.”

As his sentences went on the closer he got, step by step the more intimidating he became. He ended up only a few inches away from your face. Arms reaching the back of the couch trapping you between them.

“So next time don’t let you catch me”

Those were not the words he wanted to hear, he made that fact very clear but tugging the towel tighter around your neck and pulling you even closer as he growled.

“Don’t test me, If you run again I can always chain you to the bed. How would like that? Think you could run then?”

No you don’t, but you do think you can play nice and slip away once you gain his trust. So you kept quiet, taking your silence as cooperation he backs off back to the fireplace.

“Five years ago my life changed, I watched my father die by a bullet that was meant for the both of us. I didn’t see my life flash before my eyes I saw you, I’ve looked for you for years, no one believed you were real they said you were only my imagination, but when I saw you at the airport I knew I had to make you mine.”

You could see where everyone was coming from. You didn’t believe him either it was insane! “I’m not yours!” You couldn’t help but say. Now Y/n you really shouldn’t tell the psycho that he’s a psycho. You could hear Ally tell you now.

“I know, that’s why I’m giving you a chance to fall in love with me. Not because I forced you but because you want to. I’m giving you 365 days to love me and if in a year nothing changes I’ll let you go.”

Three words. What. The. Hell.

“I have a family, friends, a boyfriend! they’ll look for me!”

“My men have collected your things from the resort, your friends think you left to ease the tension with that woman. Your family thinks you found out your boyfriend cheated on you so you’re staying here to get over it. Y/n, if you give it a chance you’ll love me, I know you will. I’ll do everything to make you love me.”

DAY 2

❤️part one is done. I know it sucked but it will get better but hope you guys Liked it stay tuned for more. My request are still open!❤️

Series tag list: @calirindo

[bubmyg]

scarecrow - myg

pairing: yoongi x reader

genre/warnings: vampire!yoongi, fluff, couple blood mentions, death mention (brief), bit of protective yoongi, those previous three warnings sound a lot more dramatic than they actually are, non-chronological with the rest of my vampire yoongi series, this hints at some of the angst for future parts but only if you squint

word count: 1,612

summary: you’re going to keep telling yourself (and yoongi) that the maze is targeted towards literal children or the one where yoongi growls at a fake scarecrow. 

“Whose idea was this?”

You contained your laugh by shoving your chin further into the pile of scarf fabric tucked around your neck and anchoring down on Yoongi’s clammy hand in yours. 

“Uh, yours, babe.”

There was an acute chatter around your huddled figures, laughter too, and the faintest of startled screams coming from the dying corn stalks that clattered against each other in the late evening breeze. You, however, were only aware of the leaves crunching beneath Yoongi’s boots as he shifted next to you, arm occasionally brushing yours, tiny shoulder bag clacking against your hip. 

“We can go home,” You reminded gently, casting a gaze behind you past the line that had quickly gathered behind you. “I think they’re selling cider near the entrance—”

“No,” Yoongi said quickly. Too quickly. Quick enough for a sheepish smile to form on his lips as he glanced at you. “I’m fine. C’mon, we’re next.”

You regarded the costumed attendants at the gate to the haunted corn maze with a muted giggle, squeezing Yoongi’s hand when the more bloodied of the two seemed to zero in on him with their pointed warning of, “Have fun…”

The group in front of you appeared as nothing more than some fuzzy shadows, disappearing as quickly as you thought you’d made them out until a small scream emitted from that general direction. You laughed again when Yoongi tensed, tugging him along through the beginning weave of the maze by means of threading your free hand around his elbow. 

“What if we get lost in here?” He wondered out loud, seeming to calm when the first dozen yards weren’t lined with haunted jump scares. 

“We can cheat the maze. Corn is planted in rows, we can just shimmy through them. The field has to end eventually...”

Yoongi was staring at you with a strange mingle of confused fascination. “Why do you know that?”

You saw the outline of a giant felt spider dangling at eye level before he did, letting your grin grow when the next succession of steps forward had him walking directly into it. There was a surprised yelp that came from his lips, higher pitched that anything you were accustomed to from your soft spoken, ancient boyfriend. 

“Not funny,” Yoongi complained with a clear pout even in the haze of the evening, unlacing your fingers to drag his perspiration lain palm over the front of his jacket. The wrinkle at the bridge of his nose only worsened when you used your grip on his elbow to surge forward and peck his nose. 

“Kind of funny,” You pointed out, regaining possession of his fingers in yours. “Haven’t you, like, killed people before?”

He groaned, dragging you past an actor’s arm that darted out from the corn in an attempt to snatch your heel. “Have I told you before that you’re ridiculously morbid?”

“You’re a two hundred year old vampire that just got scared by a fake spider made of styrofoam in a haunted corn maze marketed towards human children,” You cocked an eyebrow at him, “and I’m the ridiculous one?”

You didn’t need proper lighting to hear his cheeks pinkening. “I wasn’t scared…”

If there was anything about Yoongi you’d had to accustom yourself with, it was his consistent ability to be alert. Whether it was his inner survival instinct, his heightened senses, or simply a byproduct of his curiosity to understand the human world as it evolved around him, you weren’t sure. In fact, you began to hypothesize it was a combination of all three. Long ago had you stopped being startled when his nostrils flared at the sound of a loose dog two neighborhoods over, when his eyes flicked to a leaf rustling and breaking apart from its steam one hundred feet up in a one hundred and fifty year old oak tree. 

Everything about Halloween themed amusements were meant to simulate a similar thing, pricking your ears to every movement, every scream up ahead, every rustle in the dirt part below the soles of your shoes. Somehow, the opposite effect had trilled through Yoongi, relaxing him when he began to anticipate the miniscule jump scares, progressively becoming less and less infatuated with anticipating them so as to mask his reaction. He’d started focusing more on you instead, calming only when he began to register the roar of your heartbeat in his ears was good, fear consented to rather than something he needed to try to curb for your safety. 

You weren’t that scared by the scarecrow that catapulted from between the corn. There was an automated voice to the mechanism too, warning something about staying far away from it’s crop, encouraging you to run in some eerie monotone. You were near the end of the maze, anyway. You could see the lights of the festival at the end approaching over the stalks. 

But in the moment, you jumped. It was unexpected, genuinely, as it was intended. Your shoulder blades bumped into Yoongi’s chest, your hand immediately coming up to cover the thrum of your heart underneath the layers of sweaters and jackets. The laughter of disbelief at your own actions fizzled when you heard a sound you’d only heard Yoongi make a handful of times. 

A strong arm secured around your waist, heightening the growl that reverberated against your back, effectively pulling your stature backward until you were stationed firmly behind Yoongi’s bristling figure. 

“Hey—” You touched Yoongi’s waist first, then his arm, using the tiniest budge you managed to get on his strength to touch his cheek, turning his gaze to yours. The shade of gentle brown in his warm irises had darkened red and, as you expected, the point of his fangs extended beyond his bottom lip, “—it’s okay. I’m fine.”

He blinked, an action that only softened the shade of his eyes but didn’t calm the rigidity of his stature, not as his gaze whipped to where the scarecrows animatronic had already retracted itself back into the corn. Gently, you took his hand, willing your heart to stop beating so fast so you could, with the utmost trust, settle his palm against the side of your neck where your pulse thrummed the loudest. “See,” You coaxed, triumphant when his thumb stroked under your jaw and his eyes swirled caramel, “I’m okay. Promise.”

Yoongi’s shoulders slumped, dragging his gaze away from yours but his hand remained on you, standing there huddled in a corner and dangerously close to a stray husk of corn that was dangling off one of the nearby stalks. You paid no mind, not when his hand traveled up from your neck to your cheek, brown eyes returning to you despite his fangs that still pressed small indentations into the plush of his, now pouting, bottom lip. 

For a half second, you thought you were the one with the keen hearing when you heard him murmur, “Don’t.”

“Don’t what?” You demanded, the laughter that started the whole incident bubbling back through the slight, genuine, fear that had settled high in your chest. 

“Sorry,” He tried again. His arm curled around your waist, pressing you close enough to lay his lips to your forehead. 

You couldn’t resist. “No, thank you, actually. You protected me from the big scary scarecrow.”

It was a whine that left Yoongi’s throat this time, “I’m sorry. I can’t help it, I—”

“I’m kidding,” You laughed, rubbing a soothing palm over his stomach until he glanced at you again. “Hey—”

“I ruin everything,” Yoongi grumbled and even if he looked almost comical with the pointed tip of his retracting fangs still poking out from between his lips, you sensed he was at least halfway serious about the statement. 

“Hey,” The firmness in your tone made his eyes widen. “I love you. I love being with you. You were caught off guard, no big deal.” His eyelids lowered in solace, nodding a couple of times, mostly to himself.

“Besides,” You took to pinching his hip, “Would Jimin have growled at a fake scarecrow for me? No.” 

At the mention of your human coworker and best friend who harbored a not so subtle yet mostly joking crush on you, Yoongi locked his grip around your fingers again and began marching off toward the exit of the maze. 

“Wait,” You tugged on his hand, only to have narrowed eyes assess you seriously when he stopped walking. “Do not go girl who cried wolf on me,” Yoongi deadpanned, “I just got my fangs to calm down. That includes mentions of that human.”

You grinned, rolling on your toes to cup your hand around his ear, even if he could have picked out your voice among a million others if you were halfway across the world from him. 

“There’s a real life human waiting at the end of this maze to scare us. I think they’re dressed as a scarecrow,” You whispered, locking him in place when his features scrunched and he tried to lean away from you, “I’m telling you now that I’m not scared of them. In fact, I’m sacrificing you to them. As an offering.”

“You’re infuriating,” Yoongi told you when you dropped away from him, still rocking your hands at a gentle sway between your bodies, “You know that?”

“I love you?” You tried again.

Yoongi’s entire being softened, tiny flecks in his eyes now mirroring the stars shadowed by the thinnest layer of clouds racing across the night sky above you. 

“I love you, my angel.”

Then, a look of determination crossed his features as he began shuffling backward. “Let’s get out of here, I want a caramel apple.”

“...wait, you do?”

[nanamisflowerfield]

Hiyaaa! I JUST READ MY REQUEST AND I'M IN LOOOOVEEEE💓💓🤧

SO HAPPY THAT YOU WROTE THIS BUT ALSO PLASE DON'T STRESS YOURSELF SO MUCH!

I'm a happy lil' girl rn so Can I also request a Sebastian one of the same request or maybe a second part like she starts to fix Ciel's mistakes and interacts with him and Elizabeth?( like Pluto's death or some other things? Also she teases Ciel and annoys him and Sebastian and her bond over their shared love for felines?)

I'd be delightful if you did that and again thank u so much! Take care hun muaaah

Omggg! Thank you so much for your sweet words, hun!!❤️❤️❤️ That means so much to me!

I did the Sebastian x Reader now~ I tried to pit more Ciel and Elizabeth in it and make it more fluffier but I think it isn‘t so good ;-; I also thought about making a second part, but I think Ciel had made too many mistaked maybe in his life to fix them and if reader changed them, maybe she would change her entire future too! And omg... I have a few ideas for a serie.... not good... No one would wanted to read my stuff anyway (　ﾟдﾟ)

No! I have to thank you for requesting it to me!~

Gender: I wanted to write it gender-neutral but it I wrote sometimes she/her in it.... Sorry! 

warnings: fluff? does that count?

words: 2106

Requests: Open

Other Version: Finnian

Everybody, please stay safe, take good care at you and the people around you!~

🗡  “Come on! Go and get that, stupid witch!” You yelled over to your group of colleagues and friends. You all runed as fast as possible to hunt down a strong witch, who wanted to kill the Queen of England and as a good-hearted and well paid Phantomhive, you tried to help her. Unfortunately for you, the emphasis was on the word tried, because the witch was too fast.

🗡  “Sooo…. When is going to be our wedding?” You heard a too familiar voice asking you by your side. “This is no the time to joke around, Elijah! We need to hurry!”

🗡 Thanks to the gods above, you surrendered the witch. But she started to laugh like a frickin’ maniac! “Ohh, you know why I did so many things? Hahaha… I did it for a reason! So many people did so many mistakes and nobody ever tried to help them out or to fix their big problems … So… Why don’t you be a dear and fix the mistakes your beloved ancestors did!”

🗡 Suddenly a light dazzled you and when you opened your (e/c) eyes. No! The witch can’t escape her again! So you did the only intelligent thing and killed her.

🗡 But that damn light came again and out of the sudden your group was gone…

🗡  “Wow… That was strange.” But not Elijah. Your cousin. He stood up and walked to your direction, looking over your body to see, if you have any bruises or wounds. At least one of your group members were there.

🗡  “Yes, indeed. But not as weird as this place here.” You said and looked around you. The surroundings looked like London, the city you used to live in, but everything was so… old? What’s up with the furniture and this crappy paintings? You were to 100% sure that you were in your home. The Phantomhive Manor. But everything was so… weird!!

🗡 Before you could have asked your cousin about his little wound the witch inflicted him with, knives were thrown into your direction!

🗡 Fortunately, you were a skilled fighter. You could practically use every weapon if you wanted to! So you used your great skills and blocked the attacks of some strangers.

🗡 Some of them shot at you, some threw knives but then… You saw something weird. A tree!?

🗡 Elijah pushed you away in time, but only got stretched but a branch of it.

🗡 How in the world, could somebody throw trees around!? That was not possible for any human being!

🗡 Now, when you two were on the ground, you heard footsteps.

🗡  “Who are you?” - “Uhh… If I’m not wrong, people usually introduced themselves before they asked others.” – “You are inside my home. I’m pretty sure, that you know who I am, assassin.”

🗡 Assassin? That was new…

🗡  “What the hell? Hey, kiddo. This place belongs to (y/n)! Afterall this is her home for she is a Phantomhive!”

🗡  “Phantomhive?” The young blue-haired boy raised his eyebrow and did not believed any word Elijah had said.

🗡 So, it was your turn to explain your situation. Who you are, why you are here and so on and on. But the young boy still didn’t believe a word. His household even looked at you in confusion. Until you showed them your ring. The ring of the Phantomhives.

🗡 His eyes nearly popped out of his head when he saw it and immediately glanced to his finger. It was the same one! How could it be possible? A young woman with blueish hair, the same ring as his and not to forget a similar past… Is she mayhaps from another world? But no. You retold him everything again.

🗡 When your eyes glanced around, you saw very familiar red eyes. The red eyes of a demon. Sebastian Michaelis. “Ohhh my gosh. Are you kidding me, Sebastian!? Did you really… REALLY attacked ME!? What the hell! I thought that you wouldn’t do such a thing except if we had our training sessions, but this is just…. Oh god, I am really mad right now. And what the hell is wrong with your clothes?” Sigh. “Dude… you didn’t even bother changing yourself? Unbelievable.”

🗡 Everybody was just very confused…. Even Elijah.

🗡 And who knows. Maybe you were unfortunate or maybe not, but you were stuck in the past. At first you though it was your bad luck, but now… Maybe it wasn’t so bad. Afterall… he was here. With you.

 😈 “Lady (y/n), there you are.” Said a smiling demon behind you, while you trained in the garden a little bit. The only thing that some might hear, when you are nearby, is the wind and the sword you held tightly in your hand, cutting every leaf that tried to land on the ground.

“Demon. What do you need?” You asked, still focused on your training rather of the one you had a pact with. He might sound and looked like the demon you knew, but he for sure is not the one you’ve met. He was kind of a younger version. One which never had met you. One that has to get to know you better again. It was weird, but you have to live with it until the day will come and you will be back in your time.

Just a few days and maybe you will fix the mistakes Ciel’s have done. Even though you don’t know which mistakes he has done. But even then, you will stay on his side, whenever he needs your help so you can finally be back. Back with him. The only person who knows you best…

😈 “What are you thinking about again, my lady?” He asked you, like on every other day since you have been arrived here. “About me! Who else~” Elijah said, as he approached you two, sword in hand and ready to train with you.

Sighing, you ignored them and continued.

😈 It was like back then. Elijah never stopped to be by your side, while you tried to drink you tea, shaking your cousin off of you and Sebastian smiling at you two.

😈 But now… Now it was slightly different. He wasn’t always there like your shadow. He was now by your ancestor’s side and serving him. Were you…. Jealous? No. That couldn’t be possible. You tried to shake off those strange feelings you had, but your mind always seem to wonder of to the attractive butler and demon.

😈 “Cieeeeeeel!!~ Ohhh, I missed you sooooo much!” You heard a high-pitched voice and fast footsteps rushing through the building in search of the young head of the phantomhive household.

What happened right now? It was like seeing a pink something running around. Weird.

😈 But this pink-something was actually the fiancée of Ciel. Her name was Elizabeth Midford.

😈 Unfortunate for Ciel and for you, Elizabeth and your cousin Elijah were very alike. Both loved the same things and both were nearly overprotective over you two. It was horrible. Ciel just wanted to work in silence, while you read plenty of books in hope that you might find another way to break this curse or spell or whatever this stupid witch put on you! Just be far away from this crappy place and be back… Back to the people you love and back to great technology like computers and smartphones! The internet… The Fanfictions you’ve read in secret…. All these things you loved so much were gone now….

😈 “(y/n)! That was so funny! You have to hear Lizzie’s story! It is hilarious!” – “Ohhh, El! I laughed so much thanks to your great jokes. You can be happy to have such a great fiancée, (y/n)!” Rolling your eyes didn’t help to stop them…

😈 “My lady. I think I might have found what you were looking for.” Said the one and only demon behind you, as you turned around to see a smiling Sebastian. “Mh?”

Following him, you ignored the two blondes and a deadpanned Ciel, who just wanted to flee.

😈 “So, what have you found… Sebastian?” You asked him after you two walked into another room filled with plenty of books, like many other rooms Ciel had. Sure, back in your time you had many too, but in digital form, so it was different than this.

“Oh, nothing. I thought that you needed some space.” He smiled, placing his forefinger and thump on your chin, staring into your eyes.

😈 Time to fricking blush like jfejfösdjgöajö IT’S SEBASTIAN!!!

😈 But no! You are a badass and he was just a very very very attractive butler!

😈 He served you back then! As if you could ever feel attracted to him!

😈 “Sebastian. Stop.” You said, trying to hide your face, walking away from the chuckling demon.

😈 Since then, he won’t stop teasing you. For now, he has no pact with you, so he will only listen to your ancestor and not you. You are just a sweet little being to him. A plaything some might say.

😈 But you are not the only one who got a little bit annoyed or more likely teased. Ciel too, because you are “too cruel” how he described you once. Only because you teased him a couple of times (46 times a week… Ciel counted it.) His fault if he is adorable and blushy, when you tease him.

😈 But after two months you’ve decided to finally make Sebastian, the cruel demon, blush! So he will realize how mean he is to you!

😈 Mission: Make Sebastian Blush Like A Tomato!

😈 You tried it. Many times… Wearing short clothes (Baldroy, Meyrin, Finnian, Elijah and Ciel blushed furiously and you were certain, that you saw their noses bleed…), brushing your hands with his, smiling sexy at him, bending over, touching him a lot…. And it goes and goes… But nothing happened. He just smirked and teased you back.

😈 Mission: Totally Failed.

😈 “My lady, how it seems you tried to tease me.” Sebastian smiled as he poured tea into your teacup. “Yeah… And I give up.” – “Oh, that is quite sad. I was happy to see more today.” He chuckled or more likely laughed at your attempts. “Haha… Very nice of you… No go, Sebastian….”

😈 But there was Sebastian actually speaking the truth. He was a little bit to not see you trying to attract him. He had always fun to see you like this, but now that you gave up, you had no reason to be near him again… He liked it whenever you were there, staring at him or trying to talk dirty to him (without success).

😈 When you talked later on with Ciel during your usual cup of earl grey tea about your past and what so not, he told you about his cat allergy and why he hates it that Sebastian always hides cats everywhere, because of his love for the small kittens.

😈 Wait… Right… Back then, you figured it out. There was one thing that the demon butler and you had in common! Your love for cats!

😈 So you walked to Elizabeth once and asked for a favor…

😈 “Sebastian. Could you maybe turn around? I need to show you something.”

😈 And that’s what the good butler did. He turned around and saw you. You looked the same, except for your clothes. You changed your usual attire for skintight, beautiful clothes with a cat-ear hairband and a tail. On your hands you wore paw-gloves, as you smirked at the now slightly flushing butler, who worked a few seconds ago in the kitchen.

😈 The knife he used to cut the onions, fell down and his red eyes scanned your body many times, when his mouth turned to a smirk and he walked to you.

😈 “My my~ What do we have here?~”

😈 Let’s say that many kisses were exchanged… Too many to count, when he held you tight in his arms.

😈 Maybe the reason for you to make him blush was not only to get your revenge… Maybe it was because you fell in love with him once, when you were younger and that you fell for him again.

  Bonus:

😈 “What the hell!? (y/n)!? Sebastian!? NO! Where is my sword!! Get your hands off of her, you goddamn butler!!! I never liked you!!” Elijah screamed when he tried to get his sword, ignoring the sweet words you and your beloved exchanged. The teasing kisses and the “I like you too much”s….

[anobscurename]

ocean eyes – chris evans

previous part: PART XIX — masterlist

concept: you finally have had enough. the slowest of slow burns. part twenty of many.

pairing: chris evans x reader

word count: 2,4k

warnings: you might cry; i know i did. angst.

author's note: i needed my comedic relief comfort characters for this one in the beginning tbh cause... well... you'll see. this one is for @miss-jackson500 because i haven't dedicated one to her yet and she's? amazing?!

You had wondered – for the days that followed – that if maybe the rescheduled meet-up hadn't been cut short by Anthony, if things would be different.

You came to the conclusion that all that really would've been different was that you'd know a little less.

"You're finally going to do it, huh?" Anthony grinned from across the pool table. You had, according to the original plan, all come together at the old bar where you'd first met the two. "You're going to tell him how you feel?"

"Is it a bad idea?" You asked, missing your shot. Your mind was heavily distracted, and it was showing through. You were usually wiping the floor with the duo, but now you were losing four balls to one.

"No, no, it's a fantastic idea," Anthony bent down to line up his next shot. "Tell her it's a fantastic idea, Seb. Better yet, tell me who the Black Widow should be with."

Sebastian, who had been sat to the side, waiting for his turn, rolled his eyes and took a swig of his beer. "I admit nothing until I see a ring."

"Speaking of rings!" Anthony jumped up excitedly – either from the prospect of marriage or the thrill of pocketing his ball, leaving team Falcon and Winter Soldier with just the black on the table – "I'm thinking a round cut two carat, set in rose gold? Colour scheme would he lavender, of course, because as best man–"

"You can get fucked if you think you're going to be best man."

"Of course I'm best man! Look at me, I'm the bestest man around, I'm fine as–"

"You can both get fucked if you think there's going to be a wedding," you laughed.

Anthony hissed a curse under his breath as he missed the winning pocket, reluctantly handing the cue off to Sebastian, who hopped off the stool to land gracefully on his feet.

You chalked your cue, determined to not lose yet another game to these dipshits. "I haven't even told him yet, what if he doesn't feel the same way?"

Anthony and Sebastian both looked at you, incredulous. "I mean this with only love, and it comes from a place deep within my heart... Are you blind?"

Sebastian was even balking. "Even I could tell, and I have the social skills of a pineapple."

"Okay, fine! You both are clearly biased, you saw us kiss."

"No, we watched a softcore porno is what we did, y'all devouring each other like that in public–"

He cut himself short, having to laughingly dodge himself out of the reach of your playful slap.

"I'm asking Scott for the final opinion," you proclaimed.

Sebastian rolled his eyes, eager to play and win the game, bouncing the end of the cue on the wooden bar floor. The rubber stop muted the noise.

You opened up the text thread you had been maintaining with the younger Evans. Should I tell Chris?

You didn't need to elaborate, Scott would know what you meant. There was a pause on his end, and you had just been about to put your phone away before his response bubbled up.

Sorry, was just changing your name in my phone to sister-in-law ;)

That was all the answer you needed.

You finished the game – you lost, mind overrun with giddiness and the odds having been stacked against you long before – and you were hugging Anthony goodbye.

When you'd asked where he was headed, he'd just given you a sly wink and a "wouldn't you like to know."

That left just you and Sebastian, and you decided to walk him back to his hotel before heading home.

"How long you going to be in L.A. for?" You'd asked, just to make conversation.

"A week or so, maybe? And then I'm jetting back to New York. I haven't been home in so long, I think the dust has taken over my lease."

You chuckled, and continued on in a pleasant silence.

You gave him a departing hug in the lobby, and hailed a cab back to Chris'.

You were so high on the exhilaration of finally telling him and ending this will they/won't they charade once and for all. So excited, you'd nearly missed the unfamiliar Bentley in the driveway on your way in.

But it didn't go unnoticed.

You came in, greeted happily by a yapping Dodger, and the smell that hit you was one of Valentino perfume – overpowering the usual scent of Chris lingering in the house.

"Hey, Dodge," you whispered, giving him a vigorous petting session. "Where's Chris? Where's your dad?"

Dodger gave your hand a wet lick, slobbering over your keys, and you laughed lightly.

The door to the pool was open, and you could hear splashing and giggling – pitched more feminine than you'd ever heard Chris go.

Curiosity killed the cat. And satisfaction was never going to resurrect the plummet of your excitement. No, that was replaced by shock and anger. Even if you knew you had no right to feel that way.

"Chris?" You'd called out as you padded across the lounge. "Chris, whose car is in the driveway? I have something I–"

Blindsided, your slobber slick keys fell from your hand to jangle uselessly onto the ground. It was that that finally grabbed his attention.

He had been otherwise excruciatingly preoccupied with the topless girl in his lap, legs locked around his waist in a languid grind, his hands smoothing over her curves as they all but explored each other's tonsils in a moaning kiss.

Red flashed across your vision as well as your cheeks, and you ducked your head. Embarrassed and feeling stupid, you quickly grabbed your keys. "I'm sorry, I'll go..."

You quickly turned and dashed to your room, ignoring the tears in your eyes, and the call of your name.

"{Your name}, wait!" Chris cried, water sloshing as he clambered out of the pool. "{Your name}!"

You slammed the door shut behind you, making it clear you wanted isolation. Pulling out a duffel bag, you began throwing clothes into it, careless of what you might need, just needing to leave.

Sebastian had asked you once how much more you were going to put yourself through before you'd had enough.

And this was it. This was the breaking point. This was enough.

The strength in which Chris frantically ripped open your door had it banging against the adjacent wall, but you couldn't even look at him. Your eyes were blurry as you continued violently packing your clothes.

You didn't even know where you were going to go. You just knew you had to. Go.

"{Your name}, stop," he said, soft in direct comparison to the panic he felt in his chest. You were leaving him. "What are you doing?"

"What does it look like?" You spat out. And then, just to change the subject, because not even you could bare to dwell on it too much: "You're getting water on your floor."

"{Your name}–"

"Don't talk to me, Chris. Rest your tongue a bit, it sure was busy earlier."

"As was yours, too, I'm sure," he bit back.

Your movements stuttered at the reciprocated rage. To your knowledge, he had no right to feel as you did in that moment. None.

"What the fuck is that supposed to mean?"

There was provocation in his eyes, and his searing gaze only fuelled your fire.

"Have fun with Sebastian?"

Your scoff was followed by a bewildered laugh. "I went out tonight with Sebastian and Anthony, Chris. We're friends. Welcome to the world of platonic relationships, professor, we've been waiting for your arrival."

And like the cut strings on a puppet, tension left his body – anger being replaced by confusion.

"I... I thought..."

"You thought wrong, Evans," you seethed, pushing past him to the bathroom to grab your toiletries. You made an effort to bump him, your shirt sticking to your skin with the water droplets still dotting his toned body. "And to think I really thought..."

"Thought what?" His voice cracked out.

"Thought that you might actually care about me!" You finally snapped. You were yelling. You didn't want to yell, but you were, voice echoing in the acoustics of the bathroom.

"I do," he whispered. His conviction was quickly draining from him, being replaced with an inevitable sadness and feeling of loss. You hadn't even left yet, but he knew that nothing he was going to say would make you stay. He knew he'd gone too far. It didn't stop him from trying. "I loved you, {your name}. I still do."

You had hoped that if he ever was to say those words, it would be under different circumstances. In fact, you'd found yourself imagining whole sunset beach scenarios, late into the night.

"I thought you were better than that, Chris. Manipulation? That's low."

"It's true. I've loved you–"

You didn't want to hear it. You weren't going to give him the opportunity of persuading you into staying. You knew you should've left long ago. "I can't say the feeling is mutual."

It was a lie. It was a lie, because if you really had felt nothing, then you wouldn't be acting like this. But you needed the upper hand, because Chris had basically knocked you over with the force of his admittance. You couldn't let yourself be dragged back in. Not this time. You had too much self respect for that. Not when he still had lipstick smudged on his lips, disappearing into the scruff that shadowed his jaw.

You had to avoid looking at his pained expression at your words. No matter how much you were hurting now at his profession of love, you knew he might possibly be hurting a little more at your rejection.

"And if you really did..." You trailed off, struggling to say the words love me. "Well, you have a really funny way of showing it."

"Pretending not to love you is the hardest role I've taken on, and I did it for you."

Red was dancing back into your vision, your shock growing alongside the fury.

"How is that for me?"

"Because that's what you wanted!" He was finding his voice again, raising it in his desperation. "Believe me, I wanted to fight for you. I would, would wage wars for you," he stuttered out. "But you never wanted that from me. You wanted to pull away, from this, from us. And I let you because I would do anything you asked of me."

"So you stayed away because you wanted to keep me?" You worded it slowly, just to make him understand how ridiculous it sounded.

"...Yes."

"Are you stupid? Actually mentally deficient?" You zipped your bag, brushing past him again, this time making sure to have as little contact as possible. He all but occupied the whole doorway.

"If I had told you then you would have left!" He was following you now, following you to the front door. "I told you I wanted you in my life, even if it meant the pain of never having you."

You had hoped to slam the door in his face to make your point known, but where Chris had slacked in fighting for you before, he was making up for now. He caught the door before it could close, trailing after you into the driveway.

"There's something wrong with me. I ruin things. So I let you have your space because you are the greatest thing that has happened to me in a long time, and I'd be fucked if I ruined you too!"

"It's a bit too late for that," you said, finally looking him in those ocean eyes. They were bloodshot with barely restrained tears. But your resolve was iron. "Congratulations, Evans. You've ruined me."

You heard Dodger pawing at the door, whining low and long for you. If you thought leaving Chris was hard, this was what made you break.

But you turned away from them, from that house, tears falling freely. A sob escaped your lips, barely stifled.

"Put on a shirt, Evans," you managed to get out. You wanted the last word, even if it brought very little satisfaction. "You have company."

———————

Your first call was to Anthony. He hadn't picked up, and you remembered his other plans.

The second also went unanswered – the friend who had become a self proclaimed L.A. local upon graduating high school, and who had let you crash at their house when you'd first arrived. She was probably at work, and so you left her a quick voicemail asking her to call you back.

The third did, on only the second ring. You had almost lost hope in anyone else being awake at that point, so you hadn't composed yourself before he picked up.

The first thing he heard was your sob, which you quickly cut off with a greeting.

"What's wrong?"

"Can I crash with you tonight? I need somewhere to go."

"What happened? Did–?"

"I don't want to talk about it," you said quickly. He shut up almost immediately. "I just... Please?"

There was a pensive silence on the other end, and you felt the need to fill it.

"I tried Anthony, but he wasn't picking up."

"Yeah," came the small chuckle crackling on the other end. "He's got a hot date tonight. Must be going well."

"I wouldn't do this if I had anywhere else to go, but I don't, and it'll only be for one night–"

"Of course you can stay," he assured, sushing you softly. "Can't believe I made you ask twice."

————————

Sebastian met you in the lobby, taking you up to his room almost immediately to avoid strange looks and any unwanted public attention.

He explained to you in the elevator that although he had tried to get you your own room, the hotel was fully booked. He sounded quite apologetic for that.

You didn't say much, because if you spoke, you were scared you were going to start crying all over again. And you'd just managed to stop, averting your eyes from your teadstained appearance in the mirrors.

Sebastian's room was a big one, on the pricier end of all the hotel had to offer. A large king sized bed stood to one side, bedsheets twisted as if he'd clambered into it right when he'd gotten back.

There was a lounge suite to the side, looking like a set-up you'd see on the glossy pages of Architectural Digest, and although the curtains were drawn, you could see the city lights sprawling out before you through the crack.

He was still in his outfit from the bar, shirt and jeans slightly rumpled.

The television was on, playing the original Nosferatu quietly in the background.

"I'll take the couch," Sebastian offered, dropping off the bags he'd taken from you.

You declined him with a shake of your head.

"{Your name}," he said, tender, placing both his hands on your shoulders to make you look at him. "You've been through a lot tonight. Take the bed, I've got the couch."

You didn't have the strength to fight his insistence. You didn't have the strength for much any more.

When you'd gotten out the shower, dressed in your pyjamas, Sebastian finally asked you again what had happened.

You just shrugged tiredly, climbing between the cool cotton sheets.

"I just had enough."

[captainficspace]

Game Night- Five’s Day

Fandom: The Umbrella Academy 

Characters: The Hargreeves Sibs

A/N: I think this is actually my favorite fic I’ve written for this week. I couldn’t wait to post it :) 

Movie night wasn’t the only “mandatory fun” the household had started keeping up with. Game night probably never would have happened in a million years if Vanya hadn’t suggested it and everyone wanted to let her have this one thing. Not that it had gone well, naturally. The initial concern would be that no one would care enough to show up, but the opposite ended up being true. No, everyone cared entirely too much when it came to game night. She had forgotten that everyone in the house was competitive as all hell, and so far there had been three game nights in a row that ended in someone flipping the board in frustration. It took serious begging to give it all one more try, and reluctantly, everyone agreed, if not out of the potential entertainment that would come from giving Klaus a Taboo buzzer.

Vanya had also thought things over, learning from the past nights. This had to be different. Everyone gave her looks of startled bewilderment when she came into the house that day, Klaus in tow, with a traffic cone, a 2x4, spray glitter, and a bulk bag of googly eyes.

“We’re making the game this time and it’s gonna be better than anything else you suggest, so don’t even start.” Klaus announced.

 It somehow ended up being so much worse. There were seven pages of hand-written rules and a haphazardly painted board studded with google eyes and plastic dinosaurs. They had all been trying to play for a solid half hour and not even Vanya could remember what the objective had been. Putting the finishing touches on the game had taken up a good part of the night, so midnight was slowly approaching when things started to get real.  

 “So clearly, the spacemen need to roll to enter the chaos volcano and trade for the ice crystal if you’re going restore the dinosaur kingdom.” Diego moved the plastic army man they had been using as pawns, approaching a cardboard volcano at the center of the board.

“We don’t have enough HP to enter the volcano realm, yet. Everyone still needs to collect the spells.”  Luther said, flipping back through the rules again for what seemed the thousandth time. None of it made sense. Vanya sank down in her seat ever so slightly. The goal was to make a game where everyone used their competitive-ass natures to work together for once, and she couldn’t even do that right. Five kept looking at her out of the corner of his eye, silently begging for her to allow him to leave. If this didn’t turn around in fifteen minutes, she was throwing in the towel.

“How can we be spacemen and also wizards?” Allison asked, looking over Luther’s shoulder to see the rules for herself, trying to find the bizarre cast of characters they had to pick from when starting the game. Spacemen, necromancers, aliens, ghosts, something called Bananamen…was there even a mention of wizards here? Five, on the other hand, had not looked at the rules since beginning out of silent protest for being part of game night once again. He stared into space or at the bottom of his empty mug, waiting for everyone to give up so he could just go to bed.

Klaus had long stopped trying to explain the rules that he and Vanya had come up with and instead became distracted with how many of the little plastic eyes he could pick off the board and stick to his face.

 “Well, my character is a dinosaur and also a necromancer, so anything is possible.” Vanya added, trying to stay positive.

 “See, so she can resurrect us in the volcano realm.” Diego said.

“She can only be allowed three healing spells. Did you pay any attention to the lizard king?”  Allison asked.

“If Diego had used the action cards to fill out the sidequest-“ Vanya tried to balance between letting the others figure things out and outright telling them what to do out of growing frustration, and it wasn’t going well.

“Who has time for the sidequests?”

Five buried his face in his hands, slowly slumping down in his chair. No one could tell him he wasn’t being a good sport for just showing up.

“You’re just going to sit there as a level-two hermit and tell me, to my face, that I’m wrong?” Oh great. Diego was on his feet now, staring Luther down across the table. It was only a matter of time before the giant sheet of plywood they had used as a board was going to go flying.

 “I will look you dead in your face and say you have zero idea how the sidequest with the elf queen was supposed to get us to the volcano realm.” And now Luther was also standing, nearly hitting his head on the chandelier that hung over the table. A shadow fell over the board

“Hey, guys. Look. I’m an angel now.” Klaus interjected, drawing attention to his eye-covered face, “I’m using my holy damage by punching the volcano in the face until we get the ice crystal.” The two feuding brothers ignored him, still refusing to take a seat until the problem was solved.

“You shut your damn velociraptor mouth.” Diego growled.

From behind his hands, Five squeaked. Vanya looked closer and realized his shoulders were shaking. He wasn’t just playing up his exasperation for dramatic effect; he was giggling. The others turned as well, equally surprised.

“I’m sorry, what was that?” Allison asked, “We hadn’t heard much at all from our level 3 firebreather.” Five shook his head, still covering his face. He was doing a progressively worse job at keeping himself quiet, and his laughter was beginning to break through, high-pitched and sweet.

 “He would always get like this when he stayed up too late.” Luther said, “Don’t you guys remember?” The memories slowly started to come back of them sneaking into each other’s rooms after lights-out to actually be kids for once. Five was always the first to succumb to the midnight giggles, curling up and hiding his face in a pillow to muffle the sound so he wouldn’t get them caught. It would spread like wildfire, and they would all end up giving into that magical hour of the night where everything became funny, cracking jokes and teasing each other and finally not taking anything too seriously. Either Five had never outgrown it, or it was just another perk of new form.

“He’s overtired. I guess he’s just loopy.” Allison said, grinning as she heard a muffled snort come from the giggling pile of sleep-deprived goo that was her brother. He put his head down on the table and buried his head in his arms, well-past being able to stop at this point.

“Instead of turning into a pumpkin at midnight he just turns into a gigglebox.” Klaus leaned over and squeezed his knee, “Come on, let me see your smiling face!” Five squealed, nearly falling out of his chair trying to squirm away. He still refused to lift his head and show that he was actually capable of laughing.

 “We need your firebreather wisdom, be a team player!” Diego added, coming over from behind and digging his hands into his ribcage.

A solid thud came from under the table, knocking over several pieces on the board from the force. Everyone sitting nearby said a silent word of thanks that Five ended up kicking the underside of the table and not anyone’s shins. Five kicked like a mule when he was tickled, especially in the scream-laughing stage Diego had him in as he wiggled his fingers in-between each bone.

“Oh, and now he’s taking down the bananamen army.” Luther said, throwing up his hands in mock-anger.

Five finally lifted his head, swatting his brothers away. His unrestrained cackling bounced off the walls, almost startling in its volume and intensity.

“E-Enough!” He squeaked out, sniffling. His face was bright red and streaked with tears. The brothers slowed down, but still didn’t stop completely, sneaking in pokes and squeezes to keep him giggling.

“His dimples hadn’t changed at all.” Klaus said, pinching his cheek and giving him one last tickle behind his knee. Five swatted him with one hand and muffled his laughter with the other, shoulders shaking. He couldn’t look Klaus in the face with those stupid googly eyes and Diego’s ‘ ”shut your velociraptor mouth” comment kept playing over and over in his head. The teasing and the tickling did nothing to help his attempts at pulling himself together. He pounded his fist on the table, the hand over his mouth doing little to suppress his giggle fit.

“Is it past someone’s bedtime?” Allison asked, doing everything in her power to be condescending.

“I h-HA-hate you!” He managed out at last. Everyone waited for him to blink away in a burst of angry eyebrows and swearing, but he stayed. He actually stayed. Vanya then considered every part of game night a success. No one had seen or heard Five laugh, really laugh, in forever. She had almost forgotten what it sounded like. Five himself probably forgot what it felt like, still shaking with leftover giggles from the tickle attack. He finally caught his breath, trying to scowl but failing.

“I hate you.” He repeated, wiping his eyes.

 “You hate how much I’m kicking this volcano’s ass.” Klaus said, “You wish you were a level 420 angel spaceman like me.”

“Now you’re just making things up!” Vanya said. The game was hopelessly out her hands at this point, but she was strangely at peace with it.

“We made up the entire game! If anything, I’m just creating the expansion pack as we speak.” Klaus defended, grabbing the rules out of Vanya’s hands and scribbling a new page of ideas.

 The game went on well into the night, with each twist and turn becoming more and more bizarre. Five’s uncommonly giddy mood was infectious, and everyone had to stick around to enjoy it while it lasted, even grabbing at his knees when he tried to shift back into his typically grouchy state. The ice crystal was never acquired, but Five ended up with the hiccups from laughing so much and so hard, so everyone thought the evening was worth it. As the game wrapped up, everyone left the room feeling somewhat lighter, relieved almost. They were going to have to start later more often.

[creative-type]

wake from death (and return to life) ix

AO3 first summary:  Zoro had always been told Kuina died falling down a flight of stairs. But she didn’t fall, and she wasn’t dead.

.

.

It took Kuina almost five minutes of dangling over the rails of the ship to realize there was no wind. She was punch-drunk and giddy, the weight of uncertainty rolled off of her shoulders now that she had a clear path forward. She was a Revolutionary. She was going to be the greatest swordsman in the world.

Kuina allowed herself those five minutes. With everything she’d gone through in the last week and a half she’d more than earned them, and it had been so long since she’d felt any real excitement for her future. But no swordsman worth their blade would let themselves get lost in childish emotionalism. Kuina steadied herself with a few deep breaths, mentally drawing in the flights of fancy that had momentarily escaped from her imagination—daydreams of facing Dracule Mihawk at the behest of the Revolution, of proving once and for all that she could do what so many thought impossible, of reuniting with her father and Zoro proudly bearing the title Greatest.  

It was like trying to wrangle a gaggle of unruly children. The more Kuina struggled to contain herself the more her imagination tried to run free, but she managed to settle back into the state of tranquil serenity that was more befitting of her training. The practical side of her, the part that quietly disapproved of this most recent turn of events, knew that now that she’d painted the broad strokes of her future it was high time to figure out what the hell Aria de Gris was doing now. It was then, and only then, that she noticed that the air was unnaturally still.

The sailors around her were not perturbed even as the Valor’s sails hung limp from their moorings. Kuina could feel that they were moving on the clear, mirror-flat sea. Slowly, but that was better than being dead in the water. Kuina wandered to the ship’s bow, noting that the Valor was sailing almost due south. If the Revolution had followed the same heading since leaving Tolouse, and Kuina had been unconscious for two full days, that meant…

“Don’t worry, we should be out of the Calm Belt by the end of the week.”

Kuina flinched, sword half-drawn before realizing it was only Dara using what had to be the most annoying Devil Fruit ability in the history of the world. Dara laughed as she popped out of the deck, hooking her thumbs in her pockets as Kuina shot her a glare.

But most of Kuina’s irritation was at herself for letting herself be caught by surprise, and she returned her attention back to the water. It was impossible to sail through the Calm Belt without some sort of engine, which the Valor lacked, to say nothing of the danger presented by the innumerable nests of sea kings that buffeted the Grand Line from the Four Blues.

Even as Kuina tried to wrap her mind around it, a dark shadow emerged from the depths directly in front of the ship. A high-pitched, eerie wail, almost like a siren’s song, reverberated through the air and deep into Kuina’s chest.

A monstrous head breached the surface so close to the Valor it sent rippling waves across its hull. Sprays of water jettisoned thirty feet into the air, exposing only part of a stripped, misshapen body before submerging once more. Great flukes, as large as a whale, but covered with algae-like strands of hair, slapped against the surface of the sea and sent sprays of salty water against the deck. Someone in the crow’s nest above whooped out a cry of encouragement.

Thoroughly confused, Kuina looked at Dara, whose grin only widened as she pointed to a tiny speck bobbing to the space recently vacated by the leviathan. “Oh look, there’s Cam. Someone should send a boat after her.”

“As if she’d take it!” a Revolutionary Kuina didn’t recognize shouted from across the deck.

“True,” Dara said contemplatively. Beckoning Kuina to follow, she meandered to the starboard side of the deck and loosened a rope ladder into the sea. “It’s probably faster to just let her swim.”

If Kuina hadn’t been so amazed by the fact Camille hadn’t gotten herself eaten, she would have marveled at the speed with which she cut through the unnaturally-still sea. Kuina considered herself a good enough swimmer, but Camille looked like she’d been born for the water. She moved like she was part fish, each stroke strong and graceful, returning to the Valor in moments. When she climbed back onto the decks she seemed sad to be there, looking back longingly at the water.

“So, how’s Fin?” Dara asked.

“Good, good. I adjusted the harness to fit more comfortably.” Camille arched an eyebrow at her friend while adjusting a leather thong around her neck, from which hung the biggest tooth Kuina had ever seen. “And his name isn’t Fin.”

“Well since you haven’t said what his name is, you’ve left me no choice but to improvise,” Dara retorted. She nudged Kuina in the ribs. “Can you believe she went through the effort of taming a sea king and then didn’t name it? ”

“You tamed a sea king?” Kuina said. “ How? ”

Camille rolled her eyes. “I didn’t tame anything. We’ve just...reached an understanding.” She gave Kuina an appraising look. “I’m surprised the doctor let you out of her grasp so soon.”

“She almost didn’t,” Kuina admitted.

Dara wrapped an arm around Kuina’s neck, ignoring the choked yelp of alarm and Kuina’s efforts to squirm free. “Forget about that! Did you hear, Kuina joined up. She’s officially one of the team!”

“I thought that was a given.” Camille said, utterly disinterested as she wrung the excess water from her shirt.

“When did you hear that?” Kuina said at the same time.

“Pfft, Dara knows pretty much everything on this ship,” Camille said. “You get used to it.”

Kuina frowned. She didn’t like the idea of someone with Dara’s ability nosing her way into business that wasn’t her own. If there was anything she’d learned since sailing with the Revolution, it was that there was very little in the way of privacy while at sea. Ships crowded everyone together, crewmates eating, sleeping, and working in close proximity. While the forced closeness had its advantages, Kuina was used to spending great blocks of time alone. It was something to get used to, and to be wary of.

“Don’t worry, your secrets are safe with me,” Dara said, tweaking the end of Kuina’s nose. “You saved me from losing five hundred berries, and to Lizard of all people. I am at your service.”

It took Kuina a moment to remember Dara’s ill-thought wager with Elizabeth, and before she could voice her protest Dara had taken her by the arm to make official introductions to the crew, Camille laughing a half-step behind.

There was John the cooper, and James the blacksmith. Among the deckhands Kuina was introduced to rapid-fire were Kojo, Zhao, Lin, Char, Sean, Jen, and Tiva, and by the end of it she had gotten them so thoroughly confused with one another she had no idea which one was which. Others were working belowdecks, or off-shift and resting.

Elizabeth was still regretfully in charge of cooking duties, while Lyudmila was the ship’s quartermaster and second in command. Kuina was surprised to hear that in addition to taming sea kings in her spare time, Camille was the crew’s navigator.

“And what is it you do?” Kuina asked as Dara dragged her back below decks for the grand tour.

“Get newbs like you up to speed. Now here’s Trini’s room—try not to get stuck in here unless you want to spend the afternoon feeding lettuce to snails.”

Kuina blinked in amazement. The communications room was packed full of terrariums housing snail phones of every size and color. At its center was an enormous machine that looked vaguely like what the marines used to send their faxes, with thin cords attached to half a dozen den den mushi. Behind the machine sat Trini wearing an oversized pair of headphones, deep in concentration.

“She’s scanning the airwaves,” Dara said in an exaggerated whisper, carefully closing the door once more. “Not that there’s much to intercept in the Calm Belt, but you never know with the marines these days.”

“The marines can cross the Calm Belt?” Kuina said. “I can barely believe we’re crossing the Calm Belt!”

“It’s all thanks to Fin. Sea king bulls don’t typically fight with one another unless it’s mating season, so even if he’s pulling along a tasty treat we should be all right. I think his song has something to do with it, too.” She made an exaggerated gesture. “As for the marines, I have no freaking clue, but it must be a pretty new development since Boss doesn’t know about it, and the Valor isn’t sea-king proofed either.”

“That’s right, this was a marine ship,” Kuina murmured, looking up at the planks with fresh eyes. It was funny, without the marine’s distinctive painted hulls, she’d never would have been able to tell the difference.

“Oh, yeah. Came with all the amenities, which is how Trini got her state of the art snail room.”

“So if you guys had a sea king snuck up your sleeve this whole time, why didn’t you use it during the battle?” Kuina asked. “A monster that size would have been useful on Tolouse.”

“Ach, must everything be about fighting with you?” Dara said. “You must never have seen a real sea king, but Fin’s practically a baby, not even half-grown. And it’s surprisingly smart—for all my teasing, Cam was right. The thing has a mind of its own and acknowledges no master. I don’t think we could get him to attack a ship if we wanted to.”  

“But he’ll pull a ship through the Calm Belt?” Kuina said.

“It’s better than going the long way around, eh?” Dara said with a shrug. “Come on, I’ll show you where you’ll be sleeping.”

At the barracks, Kuina had her choice of seven open bunks. One, which happened to be closest to the door, had a small crate propped on top of the thin mattress. Inside was stuffed with clothes and basic belongings. When Kuina looked askance at Dara the light in her eyes dimmed.

“That’s Danny’s stuff,” Dara said. “The rest who died already have their things stowed for when we get back to base, but as far as any of us know she doesn’t have any family so we’re not really sure what to do with hers. I’d say for you to take the clothes since you don’t have any, but I don’t think they’d fit.”

Kuina drew her fingers over the box, trying to think if she’d said anything about any family in their short time together, but all she remembered her mentioning was an apprenticeship under a cruel master. Kuina’s throat tightened as the memory of Danny screaming hysterically echoed in her mind unbidden.

“I’m sorry,” she said.

Dara rubbed her neck uncomfortably. “It happens. I already told Boss when I bite it to sell all my stuff and use the money to have a party. If you all can’t be happy, at least you’ll be drunk.”

“I don’t drink,” Kuina said.

“Then you and Mila can be mopey together,” Dara said with determined cheerfulness. “It won’t matter to me, I’ll be dead. Now, where do you want to be? I’d be careful about that middle one there, it’s next to Lizard, and she snores terribly. ”

Kuina took the hint, and changed the subject, trying not to wonder how many of the bunks available to her had only emptied after the battle of Tolouse.

After the tour came lunch, and with two solid, if not especially tasty, meals under her belt, Kuina was beginning to feel more like herself again. The itch to train was back, and Kuina wanted nothing more to test the limits she’d recently expanded and chase after the high of battle, but much like her time on Belo Betty’s ship she was first subjected to the humiliation of being the newest and lowest-ranking sailor on a large and understaffed warship.

“You’re kind of shit at this, aren’t you?” Camille observed from her perch at the ship’s bow, watching as Kuina ran her mop over the deck for what felt like the hundredth time.

“You could help,” Kuina said.

“And deprive you of the opportunity to learn? Never.” She gave a long, catlike stretch. “By the way, you missed a spot.”

Kuina muttered an oath as she stabbed the mop into the bucket. “It isn’t as if it’s dirty.”

“Water expands and seals the wood, salt protects against rot.” Camille yawned, as if bored by the conversation, and wandered back to their useless rudder. As she passed Kuina, she said, “If you want to live in a drippy, softwooded ship, be my guest. As for me, I’d prefer not to die the first time a Grand Line squall hits.”

She left Kuina with her head bowed and cheeks burning. But the words had their intended effect and Kuina redoubled her efforts, determined from that point on that no one could in good conscience reprimand her sailcraft ever again.

It was nearing dark when de Gris and Lyudmila emerged from the captain’s quarters to call a meeting with the crew. After a long day of labor, Kuina’s muscles ached and she yearned for the sweet respite of bed. And it wasn’t as if the work had been taxing, especially after Clara Cross emerged from the infirmary like an avenging angel to tell off the entire crew, but especially Kuina, for overexerting herself.

There were some things not even Devil Fruit magic couldn’t sweep under the rug, and apparently the exhaustion of a near-death experience was one of them.

“All right everyone, gather round!” de Gris yelled. “Watchmen too! There aren’t any ships out here, and if the sea kings come after us we’re fucked anyway. I want everyone to hear this. Where’s Trini? She can leave the damn snails for ten minutes.”

The crew scrambled to obey the order. Kojo (or maybe Sean) went to gather those who were still belowdecks. Minutes later everyone was assembled in a loose circle around the main mast, with de Gris at the center. She paused a moment to ensure everyone was paying close attention, and under her stern gaze the idle chatter vanished into deathly silence.

Rays of dying light cast against de Gris’s back and framed her face in deep shadow. “I know you all have been wondering lately why the hell we were called to the East Blue so suddenly, and why we’re leaving just as quickly. I’ve heard you lot asking where our next destination was and wonder why I’ve not said where we’re going once we hit the Grand Line. Well, the answer’s simple. Until today, I didn’t know.”

From the folds of her coat, she pulled out an old and crumpled sheet of paper. Kuina squinted her eyes and was just able to make out the blurry picture of a masked figure. The bounty underneath, however, was clear as the sky above. Master-at-Arms Gemini, Wanted Dead or Alive. Bounty: B48,000,000.

Beside her, Dara snorted. “Oh, I bet the marine who thought up that name thought he was very clever.”

It was difficult to tell much from the photograph, but the one detail that was absolutely clear was Gemini’s strange, double-segmented arms, too long for an ordinary human and vaguely insectile. Kuina, who’d never seen anything like it before in her life, wondered what it would be like to fight someone who essentially had two elbows.

She brushed the thought away and turned to Gemini’s face. Their mask, fittingly enough, was divided vertically into halves, one dark and one light. The side that was dark was completely bereft of ornamentation; Kuina couldn’t even make out an eyehole to see out of. The side that was light, however, was painted with a garish grin. A shock of wiry black hair fell past their shoulders, but beyond that it was impossible to discern any identifying features. Baggy clothing and the poor quality of the photograph obscured anything else, even gender, and after spending this much time under de Gris's command, Kuina knew better than to assume.

“Gemini is a prominent figure in the criminal underground,” de Gris continued. “Arms dealing, drug trade, slavery, the whole lot. Removing them from the equation will make the world a safer place.”

“What’s an arms dealer got to do with the Revolution?” someone to Kuina’s right called. “And what have they got to do with the East Blue?” A murmur of agreement rippled through the crew.

“Enough!” de Gris bellowed, silencing them once more. “Tolouse's government were slavers, that much is now clear. They called it political exile to a labor camp, but the end result is the same—the World Government gave the king kickbacks for human chattel, using the Callihan Trading Company as a middleman. And we now now that the CTC was taking orders from Gemini. If Gemini is willing to go through so much effort to set up a scheme in some East Blue backwater, who knows what other fingers they have stuck into various pies around the world.”

“So we’re going after them,” Camille said, crossing her arms across her chest.

“That's right. So far Gemini has been able to stay one step ahead of us, but with the intel gathered on Tolouse we have the upper hand.” De Gris marched to the mast. In one smooth motion she drew a dagger hidden in her boot, and stabbed the bounty deep into the wood.

“Ladies and gentlemen, we’re going to Kyuka Island. In the days ahead I’ll be divvying out assignments. Any questions are to be directed toward Lyudmila or myself—out of an abundance of caution, you’re not to discuss your orders with anyone else on this ship. I’ll keelhaul anyone who tries.” At this her gaze went directly to Kuina, who got the impression these instructions were given strictly for her benefit. "Kyuka is marine territory through and through. I pray none of us fall into Government hands, but if we do, it's safest for the Revolution that each individual knows as little as possible about our plans."

After a pause, and hearing no objections, de Gris lit a cigarette for herself. “I’ll pay anyone who finds any intelligence on Gemini that leads to their capture or death the full value of their bounty. I’ll pay double to anyone who brings me their head. This chase has gone on long enough, I want this bastard dead. ” She flicked a bit of ash off the end of her cigarette and added, almost as an afterthought, “Dismissed.”

A gap in the circle opened to let de Gris through. As she passed, she grabbed Kuina by the shoulder. “Come on, greenhorn. It’s time we sort out your position on this ship.”

For the second time that day Kuina was led to the captain’s quarters. De Gris’s desk had been cleared away, the sea charts rolled back into their proper places and ashtrays emptied. Kuina slid back into a chair that smelled like tobacco. “What is it? Does the Revolution have Articles of Enlistment for me to sign? Is there a manifesto I’m supposed to study?”

“Don’t be stupid.” The sun had almost dipped below the horizon, and de Gris found a box of matches to light a kerosene lamp. The orange flame danced on its wick and flickered with the natural roll of the ship. “I’m told Dara gave you the runaround today.”

Kuina nodded.

“Clara never came screaming at me, so I have to assume you’re not feeling too poorly,” she mused, taking the time to light another cigarette.

“I’m fine,” Kuina said, rolling back her shoulders so de Gris couldn’t see the weariness in them.  

“And have you taken that sword out of its sheath even once today?”

“Uh...no?” Kuina said.

“Unacceptable.” De Gris leaned back in her chair and let out a long stream of smoke. “You’re not some swabby or rigging monkey, you’re here because of your blade.” She looked at Kuina as if she were an idiot for not realizing this sooner.

“I’m willing to work just as hard as anyone else on this ship,” Kuina said stiffly.

“And you will. Harder, even, since you’re so far behind. But a ship is like…” She gesticulated, trying to find the right word. “It’s like a person. A crew is its own organism, and every one of us has to fit into their part. You don’t expect a heart to do the same work as a kidney, and no matter how hard you try, you’re not going to be half the sailor as the people who’ve spent their whole lives on the water. It’s ridiculous to think otherwise.”

Kuina nodded. What she said made sense, and in many ways Kuina agreed with her. But there was something about agreeing with Aria de Gris that didn’t sit right with her, so she said, “I have to learn sometime.”

“Obviously. I’m not about to let you be a liability once we hit the Grand Line, but there has to be balance. You’re no good to me if you get yourself killed because you spent too much time studying the different types of sails instead of your swordsmanship.” De Gris was pensive for a moment. “I’ll have Mila set up a schedule for you in the morning. Half the day working chores, the rest training. A few of my men use katana, but you’re better than all of them. Most of what you’ll do will have to be self study.”

“That’s fine. I haven’t had a master in years.”

De Gris looked surprised to hear this, but didn’t comment. “We have regular sparing times as well, to help our less practiced fighters build their skill, and to give the mainliners a chance to get used to each other's styles. Depending on how this all shakes out, you might be pairing with Dara or Camille for the upcoming mission. Do you know how to use a gun?”

“Of course not,” Kuina said, caught off-guard by the question.

“Then you’ll learn.” De Gris cut off Kuina’s protests before they could begin. “Can you kill someone at twenty yards with your sword?”

“No,” Kuina said mulishly.

“Then you need to know how to fire a gun, and probably keep one on you as a backup weapon. I have no use for senseless pride on this ship, girl,” she said as Kuina scrunched her nose in distaste. It’s your job to listen to what I say, and it’s my job to try and put you in a position to not die. Do you understand?”

“Yes,” Kuina said, still unhappy at the prospect of sullying her hands with a firearm.

Without warning, de Gris pounded her fist on her desk. The kerosine lamp tottered and threatened to fall, but her eyes never left Kuina’s, the scar on her cheek pulled taunt with her scowl.

“I said. Do. You. Understand ?”

“And I said yes, ” Kuina snapped. “I’ll learn to use you’re stupid gun, and when I figure out how to kill someone at fifty yards with my sword I’ll drop kick it into the ocean where it belongs." She crossed her arms across her chest. "I already told you I’ll do what you say so long as you don’t interfere with my ambition, so there’s no need to treat me like a child.”  

They glared at one another for a long while, hackles raised, but this time Kuina refused to let herself be intimidated into backing down. Slowly, still without breaking eye contact, de Gris eased back into her chair and doused her cigarette. “I have put too many people’s belongings into boxes because they wouldn’t listen. For your own sake, I hope you’re not one of them.”

For the second time that day, memory of Danny's last words echoed in her mind. “You’re in luck, because right now I don’t own enough stuff to fit into a box, let alone anyone to send it to.”

“No one at all?” de Gris said, eyebrows raising.

Kuina’s breath hitched as she thought of her father back at Shimotsuki village. Would the Revolutionary Army be able to return her meager belongings home without the marines knowing? Would he be able to stand knowing she’d joined Dragon’s cause despite all his warnings? What about Ipponmatsu? He at least wasn’t under suspicion by the World Government...Or was he, now that she’d attacked Tashigi?

Of everyone she knew, it was probably safest to give her belongings to Zoro , but gods only knew what part of the Grand Line he’d found himself in. She almost laughed at the thought of him using two of her swords for himself.

“No one,” Kuina said. Her hands clenched into fists, nails digging crescent moons into her palms, but she kept her voice calm and her tone even.

After another heartbeat of painful silence, de Gris said, “Well, you’re not the only one." The words were probably meant to be reassuring, but Kuina felt they were anything but. “If you think of anybody, make sure someone knows.”

“I don’t plan on dying,” Kuina said.

De Gris snorted and lit another cigarette. “None of us do. Now get some grub and get to bed. You have a long day ahead of you tomorrow.”

Kuina rose to her feet. After a moment’s hesitation, she bowed slightly. “Thank you...Captain.”

De Gris waved her away with a dismissive flick of the wrist. “You don’t have to break your teeth saying it. I don’t give a damn what you call me so long as you follow orders. Just know I take discipline on this ship very seriously. Cross me, and keelhauling is the least you’ll have to worry about.”

Kuina didn’t doubt it for a second. Murmuring her goodbyes, she left de Gris to her cigarettes and her musings, grateful to be able to swallow the clean sea air once more.

[idontmeantosoundrudebut]

This is Home (stupid Eretlout oneshot)

Oh hello it is currently 4 am and I've just finished this impulse one-shot about Modern Eretlout haha lol bruh! It's set in Britain by the way, because I'm British and I love my British culture lol! This hasn't been edited by the way so... yeah, it's really bad in my opinion but I need to post some writing because yeah! I'm actually currently working on a long Eretlout fic but I have no idea when/if it'll be finished so haha lol bruh awkward! Oh yeah, warning of abuse and past child abuse and only slightly steamy content, really its just making out and all that!!! haha lol bruh enjoy

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Blood fills his mouth. It drips from his chin, pours from his head, spills from his nostrils.

He opens his red-speckled fist and a tooth lies in the scarlet pool gathered in his palm, it almost looks like gold beneath the glow of the streetlamp that slants into his car. His upper jaw throbs from where he'd yanked out the already loose tooth and he can make out the rivulets of gum-flesh still clinging onto the roots. He stares at it with an unbothered and tired expression.

"Couldn't even punch my tooth outright," He mumbles to himself, opening the glove box and chucking the tooth inside, "Had to yank it out myself,"

It makes a high-pitched clanging sound as it bounces off a half-finished bottle of Captain Morgan and then, silently, it disappears behind the several cigarette cartons that lay piled unceremoniously within (Marlboro Reds, Marlboro Golds, Caramel Blues, Regal Kingsizes, even the odd Mayfair for when he gets desperately low). He reaches a hand inside and rummages through the collection, most of them are empty at this point, he needs to restock and clean out his car, it's been a solid few months since he did that. He shakes a Caramel carton, empty. Another Caramel? Empty. Marlboro Red? Empty. Regal? Ah, lucky day, only half-empty.

A great sigh forces its way through his clogged nostrils and, with the abruptness of a cut artery, blood spatters all over his shirt and along his forearms. His hand freezes mid-air, fingers tight around the bending carton as he blinks slowly, anger simmering beneath his skin because really? Really?! He looks down at his shirt, it was ruined anyway. He'll never get the red out that white, looks like someone's just slit his throat from all the blood that's been pouring down his neck. That table-corner got him good in the head and cut a deep gash just above his eyebrow, the entire right side of his face is crimson with blood and it shimmers in the flickering lamplight.

He bites into the end of the cigarette and lights it with a silver zippo, the flame casting writhing shadows across his blood-spattered hand. The first drag is the best, the first hit to the back of his throat, the first exhale of smoke. Each heartbeat hurts a little less with a little more smoke, a little more tar, a little more death in his lungs.

Snotlout starts the car and drives away. He watches his childhood home disappear around the corner and it feels like goodbye. He can't kind it in himself to be sad about it.

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He parks outside of Eret's house on the edge of the path, walking up to the red door with a tidy black seven nailed on it.

"Oh Snotlout, love, you alright?" Comes a familiar voice and he looks over to see Chantel from next door, wrapped in her dressing gown with a black bin bag clutched in her hands.

Eret's house is tucked in the centre of a row of brick houses, it's the kind of street where everyone knows everyone and everyone knows everything, whether you like it or not. In the last year, Snotlout has gotten to know a lot of people (and a lot of rumours) who live along this here street.

"I'm alright, Chan," He says honestly (because he is alright, it's just a bit of blood and few bruises) and stamps the butt-end of his fifth cigarette in thirty minutes into the cracked path.

"You 'aven't been fighten' again, 'ave you? With those Trapper boys?" Chantel asks severely, a mother of four, she's very intuned to her maternal instincts and even the slightest sign of distress has them flaring up, "It better not be with those Grimborn brothers! I'm telllen' you Snotlout, those two are shady bastards and its best to stay clear of 'em-"

Snotlout lights another smoke, this one from a full carton of Marlboro Red, and spits blood and phlegm onto the grass, tongue prodding the empty socket in his jaw.

"I haven't been fighting, Chan, promise," He reassures her, and that's also true because he didn't fight back at all, it was more of a beat down, "Just a disagreement with my old man, you know how it is,"

Chantel's back straightens like she's been in the army her whole life and she crosses her arms over her chest, red hair wet and shining like blood in the moonlight. Only four of the streetlamps work and they're further down the road, so the road and paths are alight only from the horseshoe moon that hovers amongst the star-filled sky, the black-asphalt gleaming silver. They've been complaints to the council to get them all fixed, but they won't do anything, they never do, they just leave the poor to rot.

She looks like she's about to say something about it, but he shakes his head at her. Instead of telling him to call the police, she says;

"You're bleedin' like a stuck pig all over the place, Lout, people'll gonna be thinkin' that Jack the Ripper is back from the fuckin' dead," He laughs at that and he offers a straight to her, as a thanks for not making a big fuss over finding him bloodied like a murdered boy in the middle of the night, but she shakes her head.

"You're grand, love, I got a pouch this mornin', save 'em for desperate times," Chantel looks him up and down, black eyes near white in the moonlight, "You look like you're in one now,"

Snotlout agrees with her. He waves a hand to bid her goodnight and goes inside. He closes and he turns on the hallway light. The marrow-deep tension in his bones slips away, causing a breath that comes from the very bottom of his tar-clogged lungs to fall from his lips, and his hurting heart finally stops beating against his ribs like a jackhammer as he leans against the front door.

He's safe, he's home. Because this small, shoddy house with its water-stained ceilings and peeling wallpaper and creaking floorboards is home. It's simple and a little broken, but it's home.

"Snotlout?" Eret calls from upstairs, he can see the bedroom light glow up the hallway at the top of the stairs, "That you?"

"Yeah," He takes a generous drag, then exhales slowly, "It's me, sorry I'm late... Went to see my dad, after work,"

Footsteps ring across the house and Eret appears at the top of the stairs, dressed in nothing but a ratty pair of grey jogging bottoms, his terribly handsome torso bare for Snotlout and Snotlout alone to see. He grins proudly around his cigarette at the sight of those hard abbs, those firm pecs, those faint scars, those old gang tattoos. Oh, what a handsome devil he is and Snotlout caught him all on his own.

"Fuckin' Hell, Snotlout!" Eret comes charging down the stairs like a mad horse and Snotlout barely blinks when he comes over to him, large hands gracing over his oozing temple and along his bruising jaw. The touch is very much welcomed.

"What happened? Were you jumped?"

"No, I wasn't fucking jumped-"

"You've lost a tooth!"

"It's in the car, in the glove box, I'll get Gobber to stick it back on,"

"I don't think that's how it works, darlin',"

Eret drags him into the living and posts him on the black vinyl couch. Hookfang, his German Shepherd, immediately bounds over to him and rests his snout on top of Snotlout's knees, wet nose twitching and throat moving with unfurling whines and whimpers. He pets him affectionally between his ears, humming lowly to Hookfang to help ease the old war-vet. Eret goes to snatch the half-smoked cigarette from his fingers, but Snotlout's reflexes are too fast.

"Hey! I'm not done, asshole,"

"Not smokin' in the house is your rule, not mine, I'm just helpin' you out,"

"Fuck that rule, just for tonight, fuck it,"

With a rich laugh, Eret saunters into the kitchen to get the med-kit. But Snotlout saw the concern and anxiety in those dark, earthy eyes and he heard it too in that laugh, it was a little shaky at the end. Hookfang barks at him.

"Easy Hookfang, I'm okay," He barks again, louder, black eyes glistening with fear, "I know pal, there's a lot of blood, but it's okay, I'm okay, soldier," He ruffles the War-dog's neck lovingly, trying to ease Hookfang's unnerved mood and distract him from the blood. It probably brings back bad memories for him.

Eret comes back with the med-kit tucked beneath his armpit and a large bowl of water cradled in his hands. He set it on the coffee table and politely nudges Hookfang out of the way, the Shepherd in turn leaps onto the couch and curls dutifully at Snotlout's side. Such a loyal friend, Snotlout doesn't deserve something as honourable as Hookfang's fidelity.

"Look like a stuck pig," Eret whisper, running a wet dishtowel along the drying river of blood that pours down his face and throat.

"Ha, Chantel said the exact same thing," He chuckles lowly, watching rivulets of watery blood travel down Eret's powerful forearms as he sponges at the blood along his cheek.

"Chantel?" He queries, eyes briefly flickering to meet his.

"Yeah, caught outside just as I was coming in," Snotlout closes his eyes as he lifts his chin so Eret can easily swipe the already stained towel down his throat. It leaves a funny tightness in his gut and a nice shiver ghosts up his spine at the vulnerable display.

"Well, expect the whole street to know by lunchtime tomorrow," Eret replies, then adds, "I mean, I love Chantel to pieces, but by God, she gossips like there is no tomorrow,"

Snotlout nods in agreement, smoking his cigarette and tapping the ash into an ashtray that's always kept on the coffee table, despite his own rule of no smoking in the house. But he's never been good at keeping to the rules, even his own ones. Eret wipes away the twin-tracks of maroon streaking from his nose and begins to wrap the gash above his eyebrow up.

"We'll go to the doctor tomorrow mornin', yeah? Think you might need stitches,"

"Cool," Is his reply, tired and uninterested.

All the blood is finally cleared from his skin. The towel is scarlet. The bowl on the table is no longer a bowl of water, but a bowl of blood. A swathe of bandages is wrapped around his head like a bandana, but there hasn't been any bleed through for a few minutes so Eret looks satisfied (and rather proud) at his nursing work.

After a moment, Snotlout flicks his finished fag into the ashtray and stares into Eret's dark eyes; he's very tired.

"Thanks for patching me up, babe," Snotlout says quietly, not because he doesn't mean it but because he is full of such a sudden exhaustion that it feels well overdue. His head, his brain, needs a good rest or else he's going to start screaming.

"No problem," Eret soothes his large hands up and down Snotlout's thighs, "Now, are you going to tell me what happened?"

Snotlout sighs, big and heavy, hand settling on the nape of Hookfang's neck and running through the dense fur. His heart shudders, his lung quiver, his blood boils, his body doesn't like any of this. Just get it over with, as he did with his dad.

"I told my dad about us. About me... you know, liking guys and all-"

"And he did this to you?" Eret's voice goes low, like a growl of an animal with its teeth bared. Snotlout would be lying if he said it didn't turn him on a bit. Thick fingers curl protectively around his thighs.

"Eret, don't get yourself all riled up about it, okay? It's done. I knew he'd react like this, it's not the first time he's punched me around and called me a faggot, just this time, he actually had a reason to call me one,"

"Yeah, well, it may not have been his first time but it sure as fuck is his last, do you understand?" Eret snarls vehemently, hands moving from his thighs to his hips and sides, Snotlout doesn't even flinch when he accidentally brushes against a forming bruise, "You are never going near him again, Lout, I won't let you be hurt by scum like that,"

Eret's eyes burn. Dark soil and spitting embers in furrowed sockets. The firm frown on his face and the clenching muscles in his jaw, grinding teeth that thirst for a hating man's blood. It's making Snotlout's throat go dry.

"You're hot when you're angry, have I told you that before?" He says lowly and Eret looks at him, vengefulness fading as he takes note of the wanton look in those pale eyes.

"You may have mentioned it once or twice,"

They breathe on each other's lips, tempting, waiting for the first one to move. Hookfang books it upstairs, sensing the heady change in the air.

Eret pushes Snotlout back onto the couch and crawls carefully over him, their lips immediately locking in a wet and obscene kiss that stretches on and on forever. Snotlout moans as Eret forces his tongue down his throat, golden hands skimming beneath his shirt and touching the tender flesh beneath in a skilled and teasing way that drives him mad. They make out for a while, dominating each other's mouths with vigour and gusto till their breathless and sweating.

The bloodied shirt is pulled over his head and Eret stills above him when he sees the black and blue bruises that bloom along his ribs and chest and stomach, even Snotlout gazes at them with morbid curiously. Fuck, his dad got him more than he realised. Not that it matters.

"I'll kill him, Snotlout, I'll kill him," Eret promises in a snarling growl and Snotlout wraps his arms around his shoulders, drawing him down so he can mumble against his lips;

"I know, but fuck me first,"

Of course, Eret complies.

Later, tangled in a mass of sweaty limbs and exhausted desires, Snotlout knows that he'll be okay. With his head on Eret's chest, he closes his eyes and sleeps because he's home, home has always been in those dark eyes, in those large hands, in those warm arms. Home has always been here.

Eret, a wanderer for most of his life, a lost man at sea who was bound for dirty work, has finally found a place to set loose his anchor. Snotlout is home, is the harbour he'll always be homebound to. He'll protect his Snotlout because who is he but a wanderer without his home.

[slashingdisneypasta]

(Any Category Villains) x Reader || Drabbles

Plot: Congratulations, you have caught character A’s (Italics in the ‘Includes’ section) attention and they’ve been bothering you since you met (Caught you sneaking into the museum, caught Peter Pan bringing you into Neverland, or you transferred to Dauntless and jumped) and you have upheld the front that you dislike / hate him but your real feelings are given away when you see Character B, who is a reincarnation of Character A, and you are visibly attracted to this person. 

Includes (Italics = The love interest. // No italics = The one you gush over) : Al Capone and Frank Castle / The Punisher, Captain Hook (2003) and Lucius Malfoy, and Eric (Divergent) and Captain Boomerang.

Warnings: Looking at our line-up, I’m assuming theirs gonna be some swearing and, because of the topic their will probs be sexual references. Some THIRSTING

Notes: 

I dunno who will want this but I wrote it a week ago and was having trouble adding the last two character (Freddy and Buckman) but I got a new idea for Buckman (And Hoyt, and Jafar. Ya’ll just sit back and wait for what I’m brewing with these unholy three) now so no worries! Imma just post it. I like Al’s at least ^^ NATM fans will be maybe happy :D 

~~~

Al Capone: Frank Castle / The Punisher ( @blueinkblot ) 

“So, you’re supposed to be the other me?” Al talks to his doppelganger with contempt in the other room, and you can just imagine the pinched look on his face. Chuckling about it, I get up from the lunch table and leave the break room, going to see what’s happening and oversee the visit – hopefully I don’t have to use the dreaded torch the museum gave me as a weapon,- , go-ghurt still between my lips and my teeth. Strawberry flavour! Its delicious. The cooling sleeve was a smart purchase, I think. Despite what Napoleon and Kahmenrah might say… Stupid, pompous bastards. Thinking yoghurt out of a tube is inferior to yoghurt out of a tub.

Pfft!

Rounding the corner, I see two Al’s. One of them is grey scale, of course, and he’s holding his tommy gun like it will make any difference in a fight if it came down to it, with is having no bullets and all, and the other looks like he’s recently been to war.

Oh, good, lord.

Really, he is as gruff looking as they come. Where Al’s clean and baby-faced, this guy has that sexy five o’clock shadow. He’s also buffer, human coloured and… is he taller?? I don’t know how it could be possible, but just way the way he looks at people makes him seem taller.

Suddenly he looks my way and I smile… but of course, I still have a tube of go-ghurt in my mouth and when I pull it out -a bit too excited maybe,- some specks of white yoghurt fleck onto my mouth. I go bright red with embarrassment and Al looks over to see what the new guy is looking away from, -me, - as I use my sleeve to wipe that stuff off. I miss his broad, knowing grin.

I flash him a toothless, joyless grin which I hope reads ‘Don’t talk to me, stop looking at me, don’t even mention me. I’m going to go find a hole to live in’ before raising a hand quickly to waive, slouching and slowly moping off to my hole. Go-Ghurt, how could you betray me like this!!

Ahhh, its better off that way anyway. Wouldn’t want Al to get to the idea that I think he’s attractive, haha. I sit down at the table Napoleon, Kah, Ivan and a couple other exhibits are playing go fish on and watch them play for a while, my legs stretched out under the table and arms crossed over my stomach, watching and not saying anything. Even when Kah matches a 6 of clubs with a 7 of clubs and no one else notices- I’d rather not set off any high-pitched French shrieking right now. My ears are still sensitive from last night, thank you very much.

When midnight strikes, they finally decide to give Go Fish a rest for the night, thank god, and disperse to separate areas of the museum. I’m just playing with the cards, shuffling them and organising them into suits and chronological order when Al plops down in the seat beside me. I glance at him between separating hearts and diamonds. “Your guy left?” Oh, thank god.

“Yeah; Said he had some work to do before the night was over.” He responds, and I nod in understanding. “Makes me wonder what kinda work he does, at night… with a gun… in all black… But I don’t ask questions.”

“Oh, you don’t?” I turn over my shoulder, set the cards down and look sceptically at him. I could have sworn he asks me a million questions about myself every chance he gets.  “Do you?”

“Fine, I don’t ask that guy questions. I ask you, a lotta questions.” I make an immediate ‘Ahhh’ sound when he admits the first part and look back to my cards. I look right back at him through when I hear the legs of his chair scratch against the floor and find that he’s much closer now. “One more question.”

I raise an eyebrow at his mischievous face. “What?”

“Did you embarrass yourself checking the other me out?” A wide grin takes his mouth, and I gasp.

“I was no checking him out- and- and he’s not even like you, anyway. He looks completely different! In fact, I think he was 4 inches taller!” Okay, not quite that much taller, but if it gets under Al’s skin then fuck. Four inches is what I saw.

And it does get under his skin! His eyes go steely and he looks from you to where the guy had been a moment ago, then back. Pointing at the spot they were in, he exclaims. “There’s no way.”

“Oh sure, there was.”

“Bring a measuring tape tomorrow, we’ll see who’s really taller!”

I hold back a laugh, looking away from him and shuffling the cards again just to have something to do with my hands. “Sure, Al!~”

“You know what?” Ooh, he sounds frustrated. Success, for me! Yippee!

I grin, and ask him. “What?”

Then Al cups my jaw, drags my head around and plants a kiss right on my mouth. I shouldn’t- No, it shouldn’t have the effect on me that it does. I should push him off and leave, but I immediately transform into mush and turn fully to wrap my arms around his neck, tilting my head into it the kiss instead. I’m not gonna lie, I think, this boy can kiss. And maybe I’d been waiting for it.

A little bit.

Captain Hook (2003): Lucius Malfoy

“My dear Y/N come over here please! ~” Hook calls over to me from the lower deck, and I look up from my phone -surprisingly enough, I get great connection in Neverland,- like a sullen teenager, earplugs still in my ears, and wait for an explanation. What? What does he want? He’s keeping me hostage and now he wants something from me?? “I’d like to introduce you to my reincarnation! His name is Lucius Malfoy, he’s a wizard!”

For a moment I consider pretending I didn’t hear him, but then decide it’s always a good idea to stay on the good side of your kidnapper and huff. Getting up from the floor where I was sitting, I take my earplugs out and wrap them around my phone as I walk down the stairs to the lower deck where they are, stuffing it in my hoodie pocket when I reach them. “Hi, I’m Y/N. The Captains hos- “

“Consort! My fair Y/N.” A hook picks up a strand of my hair, and Hook watches as it slips off the hook.

What?! I look immediately up from the floor to Hook with a look of utter horror and ‘hell no’ carved into my features. Um, absolutely not- “Yes!” I hate myself for this, but what choice do I have? “That’s me, it’s nice to meet you- “

My mouth goes dry as soon as I see him for the first time and my expression softens quickly. So pretty! How?

I offer my hand to him to shake and he smirks -Lord help me, - and takes it, shaking for a good amount of time. “Lovely to meet you also, Y/N… Its funny, you look nothing like my wife. I guess reincarnation exists but not fate. Peculiar.” Hmmm, yes, or I was kidnapped. Not really his consort! Not at all!! No??!

Ahhhh, rats though. He’s married.

I run a hand back through my hair and take my hand back, smiling politely. Oh well. “Yeah, I guess! I haven’t really thought of it- Hook?” I turn promptly to him to keep up the conversation. I’m not going to. I’m anti-social and introverted. Besides, he started this. Conversation was thrust upon me.

When we connect gazes, I notice he was looking at me before I even turned. I flash a nervous, toothless smile and look away the ocean awkwardly. Oh, dear. What’s going on in his mind?

As they talk, and watch the ocean and feel… slightly, at peace watching the beautiful blue Neverland waves crawl over the expanse of water and the disperse into its depths after crashing. It almost feels like I’m back in Britain again… until a certain hooked arm hooks its way around my bloody waist and my head whips around to see what the hell he think’s he’s doing.

Plastering a smile on my face, I turn to my ‘husband’, giving Lucius a quick ‘excuse me a moment’, and gesturing for Hook to lean down to my level so I can whisper something in his ear. “Yes, hi. Hook. Get your fucking arm off of me; Your touch feels like gross bugs on me.”

He turns to face me, and our faces are uncomfortably close in this moment. “Dear, if you think I’m going to give up on you just because you’re too stubborn to admit you want me too because of some abomination of a moral dilemma then you’re mistaken.” My face burns, from embarrassment and anger -maybe just embarrassment? He touches his lips thoughtfully, then uses those same fingers to pull my chin up so I’m more at his mercy as his expression turns into a full smirk. Bastard. “And don’t think for one second that I somehow didn’t notice your reaction to my lookalike. I know just enough about how you feel about what I look like now to hold on. You will fall for me, you’ll see. “I watch with a deep frown on my face, heat running down my neck and into my clothes as he straightens up again to continue talking with Lucius. I take a deep breath, now that his focus isn’t on me anymore before he tugs me even closer against his body.

Eric (Divergent): Captain Boomerang (Keep in mind that I have never seen Suicide squad or anything else with Captain Boomerang) 

Ohh, Eric was not happy about this. Eric isn’t happy about most things, unless they included the misfortune and pain of others and more recently, regrettably, me. But he reaaaaalllly hated this.

Contrasting drastically, I’m living for it. Naturally.

And the fact that ‘Captain Boomerang’, or Digger Harkness which is one of the sexiest given names I’ve ever heard, is gorgeous in that ruffled, dark way doesn’t hurt the situation one bit. No, it does not. Eric is villainous looking too, sure, but he’s so clean cut and angry looking. Its harsh on my irises.  

“So, Captain, you said you grew up in Australia?” I’m enjoying this, and I’m sucking every morsel of joy out of it as I can- which means ask the Captain copious questions while Eric just stands with his arms crossed over his chest and tries to intimidate someone the same size and scary level as him, right beside me. I don’t know how he thinks that’s going to work out for him, but I think it’s the only form of offense he has right now to utilise. Poor, evil Eric. Boo hoo.

“That’s right, you ever been there?” He grins -he grins! The only time Eric ever grins is when he’s being cruel and because he does it so little, it’s kind of scary now. Very good for making birds fall out of the sky and babies cry, - and pats my arm. His hand is big, and I beam up at him because I’m getting attention from a pretty boy. “You’d like it, I think. Most people would.”

“Sure!” Will you take me, handsome?

Eric notices the Captain’s hand still on my arm before I do even, zeroes in on it, picks it up so tight I can see his knuckles are white and drops it back towards its owner. I press my lips together and bite on them, looking down at the ground for a moment to widen my eyes at the awkward tension.

When I look back up, they’re staring daggers at each other and it’s even more awkward. Eric! Could you go stand somewhere else possibly!?

Ooooor, maybe I will. This doesn’t seem like a safe place to be anymore.

“Well, it was really nice meeting you Captain. I have to go be somewhere else now, see yaaaaa,” I give him a jaunty and half-assed salute as I’m already occupied with turning and wheeling it out of there.

I was hoping to get away from them, but its two seconds out the door before I realise Eric has followed me. I continue on though, ignoring him and hoping he’ll get the hint- and screw off. I get that that’s a pipe dream though, so I’m not surprised when instead he starts speaking to me.

“So, what was that about?”

“Stop trailing me.”

“Answer my question.” He counters. Oh, scary stubborn Eric.

I know what he’s talking about. I know what he’s going to say. He’s going to say I think Captain Boomerang is pretty so I must think he is pretty- which is just not true!!

Is... is it?

No, no it mustn’t be that. I cannot be. I repeat, it c a n n o t be. “I refuse! Get off my tail Eric!”

He chuckles from behind me, pats my back and quickens up to leave me in his dust as he speeds down the hall effortlessly. “Sure, Y/N. Sure.” Soon, he’s out of sight, and I stop walking.

It… it’s not true, is it?

[i-did-not-mean-to]

Hello Tumblr

The subreddit has directed me here to promote my realfic(s) about actor Richard Armitage on Ao3.

I do not know the etiquette of doing this, but here I am...

Here’s the first chapter of the ludicrous romcom I’m writing right now...

°1° ­~Victoria~

Victoria, Vic to her friends and Vicky to her father and Tory to her ex-husband, walked briskly towards the little café at the end of her street, lifting her shoulders to her ears to shield herself as much as possible from the wind that cut into her skin and made her face flush an unflattering shade of windburned red.

She had no idea what Angie and Liza were up to, but apparently, she was to have high tea today, which in itself was not a reason to distrust her friends, but a little voice at the back of her head told her quite clearly that this was not going to end the way she had anticipated, and she was already annoyed before even knowing what they would spring on her.

As her heels clacked on the pavement in an impatient staccato, she yanked her handbag that kept sliding off her shoulder a little harder to wrestle it back in place and slammed it into her face with full force.

“Oh, for heaven’s sake!” She cried out in the middle of the street, rolling her eyes at her own incompetence.

When she pushed open the door though, the warm smell of cinnamon and coffee wafted into her cold, numb face and she relaxed a little, especially as the young girl behind the counter gave her big, beaming smile and took the dark grey coat from her with perfect understated courtesy.

Victoria loved this place, she had loved it from the very first time her former husband had taken her here to introduce her to the owner of the little shop for whom he had a strange fascination (which turned out to be run-of-the-mill horniness, as Angie was a lesbian).

Once, this had been a townhouse much like the one Victoria lived in now, and the old doors were still clearly visible in the bright, open room where polished white tables and dainty chairs with faded blue upholstery invited for a quiet sit-down with a good book and a steaming cup of coffee or tea.

On the old mantlepiece over a disused fireplace, daisies and peonies smiled at her from a slightly kitschy, ornate vase and her favourite spot, right next to the huge windowfront looking out on a neat little courtyard with wrought-iron tables and chairs in impeccable white, was waiting for her.

Angie had worked wonders with the small, crowded rooms, making them appear more spacious without losing the cosy feeling they had once held, and every artfully decorated plate hung on the wall had a special meaning to the dreamy, romantic woman who was the owner and boss of the establishment.

As far as middle-aged women went, Victoria was a good enough catch with her reasonably attractive physique and her actually very pretty face, not to mention her considerable smarts and her undeniable wealth, BUT Victoria was also notoriously stubborn and easily angered.

Most importantly though, at least that was what Angie and her beloved Liza thought, Victoria had taken the ludicrous and completely insane decision never to date another man again after her divorce and they were having none of that nonsense.

Hence why they were about to have high tea with her to gauge how hot her distemper was still burning after months where she had shut herself away in that little house she had taken to spite her family and avoid her ex-husband, refusing to take most calls and only ever coming to the tearoom to read a script.

As a member of a highly successful production-team, Liza had decided to offer Vic a spot as proof-reader of scripts, as her friend seemed particularly good at finding mistakes or inconsistencies. Also, Liza was convinced that Vic needed a few stories in her rather dull life after the childhood and youth she had had.

Vic took her new job as seriously as she did everything else in her life, her existence as a hermit included, and this made Angie’s plan to find her nice man to at least bed increasingly hard.

“She doesn’t want a man.” Liza had rolled her eyes at her, but Angie was convinced that it was not good for a woman to leave home and hide somewhere in London in a tiny townhouse and refuse to meet any kind of new person. It made people bitter, and she definitely didn’t want Vic to become bitter.

“Jesus, Angie, listen, I see bitter old men every day at work.” Liza had laughed, but when her girlfriend’s eyes flashed a feline green, the idea had taken hold in her own head to convince Vic to change her mind after all.

Only, not only did Vic not want to meet any men, no, she had made it very clear that there was a certain type of man that she would never ever exchange a single word with again: wealthy, suave, and handsome men, which was exactly the kind of men Liza had to sell a dime a dozen.

In this very second, she watched Vic settle down in her usual spot, waiting for her friends to arrive, her eyes narrow, suspicious slits as she surveyed her surroundings with hawk-eyed distrust.

~Richard~

He was surprised to see his phone light up and when he saw the name on the screen, his amazement only grew. There was no good reason why Martin would call him up just now as they’d meet a few days hence for one of those terrible meetings where all the rich and beautiful would stand around, bored to tears.

“Hey, what’s up?” He picked up his phone, nonetheless, curious what his friend could want from him.

Martin droned on about all kinds of things before making sure that Richard would indeed show up on that fateful evening, he had just been musing about a few minutes earlier.

It was vital that the man would be there for the success of the plan that he had hatched out with a dear friend of his, which consisted of getting two boorish, middle-aged twats to have a roll in the hay.

Maybe that hay would be pure spun gold, but the roll would be the same as it was everywhere else on this planet for all kinds of people. As far as he knew, the woman Liza had pitched had been made a millionaire by her divorce…and an emotional cripple.

After having married her high-school sweetheart, she had been replaced by a woman 10 years her junior as soon as the money and the fame started rolling in. If Liza was to be believed, she had put her heart and soul into that marriage and into the platform she now owned 50% of, which made of this banker’s daughter a good catch…Only, she apparently hated all men with a burning passion now.

Enter stage left, a rather underwhelming specimen of said population: inveterate bachelor, notoriously shy and often awkward and still stunningly handsome artiste extraordinaire Richard Armitage.

Martin had no idea how much he and Liza had drunk that evening to really believe, even for a single moment, that it would be a good idea to pair a hissing, angry, and disillusioned divorcee with a man who had not even been able to convince wide-eyed ingénues of his merit, but for some reason, they had shaken hands on their game plan and he would be damned if he was the one to drop the ball on this one.

“Yes, I will come. Why?”

That makes two of them being suspicious from the get-go, Martin thought, feeling the challenge raise his hackles and light a fire within his chest. This could be great fun if they managed to pull it off.

“Just checking in on you, old horse, don’t get your panties in a bunch over it.” Martin chirped cheerily, rubbing his hands noiselessly as he popped the earbuds in to move around the house while being on the phone like the puttering busybody he was.

Richard pinched the bridge of his nose in silent exasperation, he worked too much and socialised too little, he was well aware of that, but God, what did people expect of him? Secretly, he HAD thought about ducking out of this function on the down low, but now, that was virtually impossible as at least one person would indeed be looking out for him to show up.

There was an edge to Martin’s voice that he didn’t like all too much either as it announced some mischief he could not yet fathom, but already, he could feel the shadow of those dark rainclouds falling on him and it made him frown impatiently.

He had no time to be the butt of a joke or the unsuspecting victim of some cruel prank that had been hatched in good faith, he had no doubt whatsoever about that, but he was too old to be made a fool of in public and he hoped that his friend would know that, and respect his boundaries.

Poppycock, the hell he would, Richard thought with a sigh, rubbing his forehead to dispel the headache that was building constantly behind his eyes. He really should be wearing those glasses more consistently, but he tended to forget when he was sitting around at home, lounging comfortably around with a good book and planning a productive, prolific future that would keep him from thinking too much about the things he had missed out on.

“I’ll be there, don’t you worry.” He grumbled, hoping that there would be enough mainstream artists so he could blend into the background and slip out of the crosshairs of those who were after some funny business.

“Then I’ll see you there. I’m sure you’ll look ravishing.” Martin chuckled and earned a disgruntled growl from his friend and colleague which made him laugh silently. Oh, he was smelling that something was up, Richard was too smart to be taken unawares, but he was also adorably easily to get flustered sometimes, and, if he was honest, Martin enjoyed that a great deal.

For a second, he pondered if it would be cheating to pull Ben into the fray, but he knew that he’d need help to steer poor, old Richard into the right direction and there was only so much a single man could do.

[zwritestuff]

Get up and shake the glitter off your clothes (Crygi)

“D’you wanna get married?” Gigi blurts out before she can think it twice. No, scratch that. She’s not thinking at all. 

Crystal doesn’t even flinch or look surprised by the question; she just stares at Gigi for a long second, blowing the smoke in her face again.

“Sure, why not?” She replies, throwing the cigarette on the floor and stomping on it.

a/n: SPARE ME THE DIRTY GLANCE, ‘KAY? the people asked for it (well, it was like three anons and one person.) and i delivered. will someone read this and not think i’m straight up mental? who the fuck knows! but just to clarify - yes, i did write based off gigi’s instagram caption where she said she and crystal got married in vegas. do i think that’s true? that’s for me to know and clown over, thank you very much. it’s not beta-ed at all and poorly looked over, so pls act as if there are no mistakes even though there are. title comes from Waking Up In Vegas by Katy Perry.

“D’you wanna get another round?” Gigi shouts over the music so Crystal can hear. But Crystal barey registers her, being far too much worried in trying to re-apply her lipstick — her phone serving as a mirror and the flashlight making her squint.

They’ve been in drag for hours now, and everything hurts, aches and itches. Crystal’s sparkly red lips are now a shadow of what they were at the beginning of the night, and if Crystal insistes on re-applying some of her lipstick, it’ll end up being more of a mess, for she can’t get her hands to draw a straight line.

Gigi’s lost her hat somewhere, the last she remembers is that Heidi took it to fool around and take pics with it. She doesn’t mind; it was heavy, anyway, and if Heidi lost it she can use that to ask her for a favour later on, once the tour begins and their lives turn into a complete and utter chaos.

“Ta-da!” Crystal exclaims satisfied, turning to see Gigi. Her red lipstick is smudged around the edges, with half of the glitter gone and she’s pretty sure she got some in her teeth too. “What were you sayin’?” She asks, pulling down the neck of her dress and stuffing the lipstick there. Gigi giggles; she swears she’s seen Crystal put from bills to her phone there, and she’s not sure why, if her coat has large pockets, but whenever she does it she can briefly see that stupid One Direction tattoo, so it’s not that she’s complaining. 

“Want another round?” Gigi repeats, coming closer to Crystal can hear her better. Crystal blinks owlishly, tilting her head to the side and furrowing her brows before speaking.

“Wait a second…” She says, standing up from her seat and trying to walk. It takes her about two steps before she almost trips with her own feet, even while she’s grabbing the table for some stability. Crystal sits back down as Gigi laughs loudly. “No,” Crystal replies, with that high pitched tone she always uses when she’s embarrassed.

Gigi complains with a whine, sounding far too childish, and if they were a little sober Crystal would make a joke about this, but Crystal seems one shot away of being drunk out of her mind and therefore she’s unable to form any coherent thought. She just giggles at whatever Gigi says or does, before jamming to the music blasting through the place — a remix of Circus by Britney Spears, currently, and she tries to do the whip movement when the lyric comes on. 

“Careful, Britney, you’re gonna get dizzy,” Gigi advices, a giggle escapes her as Crystal does weird moves to the beat of the song. 

Crystal pulls her tongue out at her, scooting herself closer in the couch of the booth so now she’s in Gigi’s personal space and dancing all over her. Gigi laughs loudly, throwing her head back against the headboard of the couch as Crystal pokes at her ribs as she sings off-tune.

“I make it hooot, when I put on a ssshowwww,” Crystal drunkenly slurs, singing right in Gigi’s ear, pressing her lips ever so slightly. It sends chills down Gigi’s spine, making her stomach twitch, and she doesn’t even mind the fact Crystal has probably left her lipstick smeared in her ear and wig. She’s left her lipstick in far worse places before.

They’ve been fooling around for quite some time now, running from Missouri to California and everywhere in between. The whole ‘dating a drag queen that lives in the opposite side of the country’ it’s hectic in every possible way, not only because the show will air in a few weeks and whatever privacy they have will fly right out the window — not that they have any privacy now, if they were to be honest.

Crystal’s lips linger on her cheek, mumbling the words of the songs, her breath is hot against her skin and if they weren’t in a public event, with lots of cameras everywhere, filming every move they make, Gigi would’ve grabbed her by her wig and pulled her into a kiss long ago.

“Wanna go for a cigarette?” Gigi blurts out at the same time the song transitions from Circus to Womanizer.

“But you don’t— oh!” She catches on when Gigi stares at her lips and bites her own bottom lip, winking. A dumb, toothy smile spreads across her face as Crystal nods.

They lace their hands together and navigate through the crowd, elbowing people to get to outside, running into their season sisters every so often. Nicky is already drunk, giving Jackie a sloppy lap dance and Jackie exudes gay panic, while Jaida just doubles with laughter and Jan —seeming to be the only sober one— films the entire ordeal. Gigi lets a sigh of relief when they don’t notice them leaving together.

There is, however, a tinge of worry at the back of her mind that someone has noticed them, but she doesn’t pay it much attention, since she’s trying to help Crystal walk without falling in the process.

The cold night air hits them and Gigi suddenly feels a bit more woken up. Crystal sighs heavily and fetches for something in her coat, smiling happily when she pulls out a package of cigarettes, and leans against the wall.

Gigi just stares at her as she tries to light up the cigarette, closely watching the tube when it doesn’t light up at the fifth attempt. She grumbles, throwing it away with a childish whine.

“Got a light?” Crystal asks, the cigarette dangles from her lips and Gigi tries to search for Widow’s lighter in her pockets.

(Widow didn’t lend her lighter, she just forgot to ask back for it long ago, and now Gigi is stuck with a lighter she only uses to light up Crystal’s cigarettes.)

There’s a flame and Crystal brings her face closer to it, firmly holding the cigarette between her lips. Gigi would normally scold her for it, but right now the action doesn’t even phase her. 

Crystal takes a drag and blows the smoke right into Gigi’s face. Gigi is embarrassed to say she finds it hot.

“You’re an angel, Geeg, you knew that?” Crystal says, winking at her. “C’mere.” She pats the air next to her and Gigi settles beside her, watching Crystal as she smokes.

There’s something about Crystal that makes her endearing to watch, even if she’s not doing anything. But it’s Gigi who we’re talking about; Gigi, who’s beyond head over heels with Crystal. It’s funny, when she thinks about it, this all started because Crystal was so unapologetically weird during their time on Drag Race, and Gigi felt more and more drawn to her until she was so into Crystal she found it hard to breathe.

And then Crystal reciprocated her feelings, after God knows how many shared fruit snacks, hints thrown her way and subtle flirting, and Gigi forgot how to breathe altogether.

“You think too loud,” Crystal suddenly says, and Gigi blinks repeatedly.

“What you mean?” 

Crystal gives her a shit eating grin before answering.

“You think that I’m so coooool, and awesome and cuuuute, and how you wanna wife me upppp,” Crystal babbles, holding her cigarette in her hand as she leans closer to Gigi again, hitting her with the smell of nicotine and tequila. 

She brushes her lips against Gigi’s, being the tease she is, and then Gigi groans, grabbing her by her wig and closing the distance between them.

Their lips move lazily, tasting every second that the kiss lasts, taking all the time in the world. The kiss is tender and soft, making Gig feel butterflies in her stomach — it doesn’t matter how many times she kisses Crystal, it still makes her melt and feel as if she’s sixteen and kissing a boy for the first time.

Crystal breaks the kiss after some moments and goes back to smoking, placing an arm around Gigi’s waist. Gigi lets her head fall in Crystal’s shoulder, looking at the oddly empty streets when something catches her attention.

There’s one of those chapels in which people get married as if it’s no big deal, and a group of people await in front one of those, with their cameras ready as they snicker between each other. A couple comes out from behind the doors, and there’s screeching and laughter as many flashes point their way and there’s rice thrown.

Gigi imagines for a moment that’s her and Crystal. How funny would it be if they actually got married? Gigi’s always wanted a big wedding, because if she’s leaving the market, she may as well go with a bang. But a small, private wedding doesn’t sound half as bad — she imagines herself in full drag, cinched and painted, anxiously waiting to say “I do.”

She looks at Crystal, trying to imagine how would it be if they got married. She doesn’t think much of the actual cohabiting, that doesn’t even cross her mind; instead, she wonders what would Crystal wear, and if she’d cry once the moment of saying their vows arrives.

An idea crosses her mind, and at that moment it seems innocent enough, but later on she’ll find out it may have not been that good.

“D’you wanna get married?” Gigi blurts out before she can think it twice. No, scratch that. She’s not thinking at all. 

Crystal doesn’t even flinch or look surprised by the question; she just stares at Gigi for a long second, blowing the smoke in her face again.

“Sure, why not?” She replies, throwing the cigarette on the floor and stomping on it.

And that’s all that Gigi needs to grab her hand and make their way to the other side of the street, not really thinking before they’re at the reception of a tiny pink chapel, filling out their information, scrambling to find their IDs —luckily, Gigi always has it on thanks to her baby face, and Crystal always has it on her phone case— and the seventy dollars fee. Gigi says something along the lines of, “That’s what I get in tips after doing three shows in one night.”

What happens next is a blur of a man talking and reciting some boring laws, making them sign some papers and asking if they have rings. Before she notices, Crystal is pulling off one of her own rings and offering it to Gigi, and Gigi whines pathetically because she doesn’t have a ring for her. She pays five extra dollars to buy a cheap ring the chapel offers in emergency cases and tells Crystal she owes her.

They get told “You can kiss, uh, the bride,” in a very doubtful tone, and suddenly nude beige and sparkly red clash against each other. Much to Gigi’s surprise, Crystal doesn’t cry at all through the whole thing.

When they come back to the party, holding hands and with their lipsticks smudged, the other queens get a little suspicious about it. When asked about what were they doing, Crystal just replies nonchalantly:

“We got married.”

A decent amount of the cast don’t believe her, because she’s drunk and there’s no way in hell it’s true, they say. But others like Nicky, Jaida and Jackie fully do, wasting no time in scolding them for doing such a stupid thing, but they barely pay attention.

It hasn’t fully sunk in the reality of what they just did, but that’s a problem for their sober selves. Right now, they just make their way into the bathrooms, lock in a stall and kiss lazily until their lipsticks are beyond any touch ups.

[andimack-crack]

A christ-mack story: Andi Mack

read part one here

Part 2: Memories and Menorahs

[Word count: 1631]

T.J's POV

I was stressing out ripping through my cupboard I had never been to a Hanukkah celebration before I've only ever been to Cyrus's Bar and his Grandmother's Shiva. Those were easy enough go dress for but I wasn't sure what outfit said 'I'm here for Hanukkah but I'm also here to help your gay son come out to you' luckily I called for some back up.

"I'm here the dating expert is here" Jonah said bursting into my room

"Pipe down Jonah we all know how your relationships ended" Marty said trailing behind.

"Well if I have such bad relationships how come I easily get back into them?" He said smirking

"Guys big picture I need help"

"Okay, okay let me dig into your closet  Marty get the make up kit" Jonah said going inside my mess

"Th-the what?" I said nervously

"Hey Jo do we need the razor for his hair?" Marty said from the hallway

"Um yeah" Jonah said his voice suddenly a little high pitch.

"What no not the hair!" I said frantically they both started laughing coming to stand next to me.

"You big idiot we're joking" Marty said patting my back

"Dude you're over thinking this Cyrus likes you because you're you and it seems cliche but if you be yourself in front of his parents you'll do fine" Jonah said smiling encouragingly

"Thank you Jonah"

"Yeah man your a great person we all know that now the Goodmans have met you before anyways you just need to have confidence Cyrus is probably just as nervous" Marty reassured

"But I can still pick a decent outfit because you know don't wanna look you don't care" Jonah said digging into my closest

******

Bex's POV

I had been avoiding talking about Gabriel changing the subject whenever Bowie tried bringing him up I'm thankful he never spoke about it in front of Andi even though she knew more than he did. I just wasn't ready to re-live those memories again. But Bowie wasn't having any of it he kept pressing on and on now I couldn't avoid it since Andi had gone out with Buffy.

"Bex please just tell me who he is" he pressed

"W-who" I pretended play dumb

"Gabriel"

Whenever I was with Gabriel, my self-esteem always took a hit. He would jokingly criticise what I wore or the way I did my hair and makeup, saying things like, ‘Were you still asleep when you got dressed this morning?’ and ‘Your eye shadow and lipstick colours make you look super-old – maybe you need some makeup lessons’. Looking back now, I can say that his comments were hurtful and unnecessary, but at the time I just passed them off as him trying to be funny. Whenever he made such belittling jokes, I would force a smile but on the inside I’d be crying.

"He's nobody don't worry" I said to Bowie smiling but also freaking out on the inside. How did he even find my number? What could he possibly want to tell me?

"You're sure he's nobody? you seem on edge by the mention of his name" he said putting a hand on my arm

"I'm sure h-he supplied me with new chairs for cloud ten last week"

"Oh well alright then I'm gonna make some lunch hungry?"

"Always" I threw a small smile which felt more like a grimace but I saw his phone number still on there I quickly wrote it down and deleted the message.

Occasionally, however, Gabriel would compliment me or say something supportive – in those moments, I would reassure myself that our relationship was okay and that I ought to stay with him. At the time, I couldn’t see that that was just his way of controlling me and to keep me hooked so that I wouldn’t leave him.

I shuddered thinking of all those memories. I had a lot other important things to think about. Something really big in particular I didn't have a lot of time to worry about Gabriel.

But I should at least hear what he has to say.

Cyrus's POV

"I-I'm gay but this doesn't change a thing I'm still me"

I had given the same speech to myself in front of the mirror for the past half hour I still didn't feel as if I could go out there and do it. I hardly believed in the words I was saying. A tear slid down my cheek I wiped it away I had to compose myself. I read somewhere that it's difficult coming out to the ones you love because you've known them forever you don't want things to change. That's probably why it hurt so much. I washed and dried my face straightening the kippah on my head taking a deep breath. I jumped when there was a knock on the bathroom door.

"Cyrus your friend T.J's here" I heard my mom say from the outside

"Okay" I opened the door and went downstairs T.J was talking to my aunt Ruthie

Oh no.

"So T.J are you Jewish?" She had a scary look in her eye

"No I'm just here for Cyrus" he smiled coolly

"Oh are there any girls in school that are interested in him or do you know of any he could go out with?" T.J looked a little confused so I went in to save him

"Hey aunt Ruthie chag sameach" (happy holiday)

"Oh Hanukkah sameach dear" (happy hanukkah)

She left me and T.J alone and no one could see us from the halls so I went in for a quick hug and he smiled kissing my forehead

"Sorry about her she's very well..." I trailed off looking for the right words

"I get it my relatives are like that too" he took my hand making light circles on the back.

"Are you okay?" He asked concerned

"Y-yeah I'm just really nervous since most of my family is here" he squeezed my hand

"You'll be alright I promise" I smiled at him gratefully. We entered the living room my mom putting up a picture of Bubbe Rose I realised it's my first Hanukkah without her.

We all stood around the Menorah as all eight candles were lit as it was the final day my family's rabbi recited a prayer that everybody followed along with T.J attempted but without much success since it was in hebrew but it was sweet he tried. I subtly wrapped a pinky around his we did the same linking them together without drawing too much attention.

"Cyrus" Rabbi Hurwitz suddenly spoke making my pinky move away from T.J's "I'm going to lead a prayer for your Bubbe Rose would you like to join?"

I wanted to but I wasn't sure I'd be able to get through it I've been missing her so much recently.

"N-no thank you sorry" he nodded understanding I wasn't ready he said the prayer I hung my head low fighting the tears in my eyes. Once it was over I was about to go help my mom in the kitchen but T.J quickly put a hand on my shoulder.

"Are you okay underdog?" He said softly I just shrugged

"I will be as soon as this is over with" I said reassuring him.

I brought the food to the table and set it down pointing out to T.J what food is good and what isn't good this year I made sure gefilte fish wasn't on the menu nobody likes it any ways.

"Cyrus um... I was just speaking with Rabbi Hurwitz and I just wanted to let you know that it's okay" my dad reassured

"I don't understand" I said confused

"It's just he said he saw you... hold hands with T.J over here" oh shit.

"What" my mom interrupted coming over "Cyrus honey are you gay?"

"Well I-i" I stuttered

"Gay what is that?" My aunt Ruthie  intruded. That's the last thing I needed

"I can shed some light on this" T.J began with my other family members beginning to listen "Yeah um me and Cyrus we... we are dating"

"Yes T.J is my boyfriend" I said smiling proudly taking his hand "we're both gay... I'm gay" I breathed out

"You... You're both boys" my aunt Ruthie objected

"Yeah good catch but gay means you're a boy that's only romantically attracted to boys that's way I haven't had any girlfriends since Iris I'm sorry I didn't tell you I was scared" T.J squeezed my hand tightly.

"Plus after Bubbe...p-passed away I felt so guilty for not telling her when I knew I could of" my breath got caught in my throat.

"Honey don't worry she knew" my eyes went wide at what my mom said

"How?"

"When me and Norman last spoke to her she told us to never disrespect you just because you're different from us she said we should treat you the same as we always have I didn't understand at the time but now I do"

I was in shock I have no idea how she could of known but at least she did know.

"T.J we are glad it's you Cyrus has found" my dad said putting a hand on T.J's shoulder he smiled thankfully.

"Well I guess I'm happy for you Cyrus he seems like a very nice boy and if Rose was okay with it then so am I" Aunt Ruthie squeezed my face

"Well then all that's left to do is... eat I mean now I feel the need to celebrate" I smiled my family sat down at the table me and T.J had been holding hands the whole time.

And I wasn't planning on ever letting go.

[sabraeal]

Desert & Reward, Chapter 9

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Chapter 8

Obiyukiweek 2020, Day 6: Courtesy Exhibit manners. Be polite and attentive. Be respectful of host, authority, and women.

Unlike the other fancy soirees Obi has attended in Wistal, his stag night is not in the grand ballroom. Too informal an occasion, Yori had said, and for a moment, he lets himself believe this might be all right. It wouldn’t be a boisterous night of hot toddies followed by a morning of hangovers like Hiro’s, or even a quiet affair-- as much as the brothers Lowen would allow-- held by the hearth like Sir’s, but humble enough that he didn’t feel like a thief wearing an imposter’s crown.

One look at the crowd teaming on the veranda and he knows: he’s an idiot.

Every man attending your nuptials will be there, Kiki had warned him, Izana has shown you the guest list, hasn’t he?

Oh no, that had been a detail that slipped through the iron trap of His Majesty’s memory. Last he’d heard, the plan was discreet, but befitting your station. He’d assumed that meant small; there was no way a knight-- even one who answered to the prince himself-- merited a grand fete for his wedding.

He’d forgotten: a marquis did.

“Ah,” His Majesty’s lips curl as he catches sight of him, plucking a flute of champagne off a passing tray. “If it isn’t the man of the hour.”

Obi stares at the glass pressed into his hand, and with the barest hesitation, downs it entirely.

“Ha ha.” The king’s eyebrows rise with his smile. “Do try for temperance tonight, my dear marquis. It wouldn’t do to start a marriage with a scolding, after all.”

Or, as his wife as so delicately put it, limp groom. Not that he’d have to worry about any of that.

The empty flute disappears from his hand, replaced by another. “Mine, or yours?”

His Majesty’s smile loses its shine, but the shadows give it sincerity. “Oh, who is to say she’d only stop at one?”

His mouth curls behind a crystal rim. “Oh, my miss would have us both to rights.”

If he didn’t know better-- and at this point, Obi’s not certain he does-- he could swear the king looks fond as he says, “She would at that.”

The moment doesn’t last; in a breath His Majesty’s mask settles back in place, smile wide and utterly insincere. “This may not be what you thought it would,” he murmurs, tone pitched low to obscure his words but bright enough to conceal his meaning, “but do try to make the best of it.”

Obi’s fingers clench tight around his flute. “A funny thing to say to a man on his wedding night.”

“Maybe on a different night. Maybe to a different groom.” The kings turns from him with a meaningful glance. “Enjoy yourself. My brother labored over this to make it so you could.”

He glances at the passed trays, filled with tiny canapes, at the endless parade of footmen carrying champagne, at the endless press of lords and their knights, and tries to picture the time in which he’d find any of this enjoyable. He fails before he’s even begun.

“Well,” His Majesty hums, lips twitching at a corner as he strolls away, “I never said he did it particularly well.”

A lifetime ago, he’d spent the night in a barrel.

A boy his age should have been too big to fit, but he’d always been small, underfed and overworked, and on that night he’d been lucky, too. With the scent of rotting fruit pressed all around him, he’d held his breath for minutes at a time, hoping that he could stay quiet enough to live until morning. And now--

Now the king of Clarines was eating finger foods at his stag night.

Lata had told him once, the longer you live, the more absurd life becomes. He’d thought that was some stuffy noble thing, but--

“Lord Obi!” An unremarkable blond man breaks through the crowd, clasping his wrist. “What a pleasure to finally meet!”

--He was starting to see his point. “Ah, I...wish I could agree.”

The lord laughs, open and friendly, and Obi is entirely certain he’s never seen this man in his life. “Ah, of course. I know you by reputation only. My name is Asanagi Sui.”

Sui; a name he knows all too well. Its last lord was on of the first casualties of His Majesty’s campaign to cut away the corruption in Clarines. Which would mean this man--

“We are neighbors, are we not?” Sui asks, a guileless smile on his face as he snatches a scallop from a tray. “Not quite next door, but a few manors down, one might say.”

--An ally of His Majesty’s. A trusted one, if he’d made it onto the king’s short list of conspirators.

“Ah, yes.” A map of Clarines unfurls in his mind’s eye; after all this business with Conti, it’s practically tattooed on the back of his eyelids. “You’re next to Forenzo.”

“Just so.” He casts a curious glance around the veranda. “I’m surprised to see that none of them have come to celebrate your nuptials. I was under the impression that you were quite close with your neighbors.”

“Ah, well...” Obi grimaces, rubbing at the back of his head. “Lata isn’t so fond of this kind of thing. Takes him away from his work too much, he says. Last time we lured him out to one, it was with a grant.”

“Ah, yes,” Sui says, stilted, that wide smile faltering. “I do, hm, remember him saying something similar to me.”

He tries to picture Lata exchanging more than two words with this ray of sunshine and fails. “You talked to him?”

“Yes, a handful of times,” he admits, taking a delicate sip of champagne. “That one was at my wedding...”

Obi chokes on a laugh, just barely keeping the corners of his mouth schooled. “Well that...sounds just about right.”

“His father’s much the same,” Sui confides, voice trembling with a laugh, “loath to leave his manor for any reason that isn’t shooting season.”

“Not really?” Obi can’t wait to pitch that particular morsel at the professor once he’s back at Lyrias. He’ll be so pleased to be reminded how much he resembles his father. “That does explain a bit about Lata, though.”

“Doesn’t it just?” Sui glances over his shoulder before stepping close, mouth rounded in a conspiratorial curve. “You know, I met your bride once.”

Out of any other man, the words would have been pointed, a prelude to an insult. From Sui’s lips it is an anecdote, not a cut; a way of making more pleasant conversation.

“Oh?” Six years by Miss’s side has him sure he’s never seen him save in passing; just another pleasant face in a glittering crowd.

“Yes! Years ago, now.” His face brightens with the memory, and ah, he has met her. “His Majesty introduced us.”

His hand tightens, only the brittle sway of crystal reminding him not to crush it. “You don’t say.”

“It’s true,” Sui continues blithely, “a funny story, really. He told me she was his new secretary. One of his little games, you know.”

“Little games.” Oh, he knew all about those. “Of course.”

“Yes! Though at the time, I had thought it must be about--” Sui’s teeth snap shut with a click. “Ah...never mind.”

“No, go ahead,” he manages, tone deceptively light. “I haven’t heard this story before.”

“Ah...” Sui glances at his flute, mouth settling into a pale grimace. “It’s really...”

“Please,” he murmurs pleasantly, “I insist.”

“A-ah, well, I has been under the impression that she, ah--” he swallows, finger pulling at the knot of his cravat-- “had been a particular companion of His Highness. But,” he quickly amends, “I must have been mistaken.”

“Perhaps.” Obi lets his mouth stretch into a particularly pointed grin. “That was years ago now. Before I met her. And things do have a way of...changing.”

“Right, yes.” Sui’s smile fades paper thin. “Change.”

“Ah, Lord Obi,” a snake hisses in his ear. “The man of the hour--” oh, how quickly he’s becoming tired of that phrase-- “let me congratulate you on your accomplishment.”

Sui recoils as Luigis slithers between them; Obi’s growing fond of the man already. “Hisame Luigis,” he says, like a man curses a stone in his boot, “I would have never thought to find you here.”

His tone implies his sentence is incomplete, and that the other half of it is instead of in a gaol cell. The snake bares his fangs, so polite, so polished. “I could hardly miss such an opportunity. Not when Sir Obi and I have so much in common.”

Sui’s gaze darts dubiously between them. “Do you?”

Obi’s mouth hooks into a sneer. “We share a master.”

One of his worse ideas, just below trusting the Bergatts, and a little above hiring Obi himself.

“A lord,” Luigis corrects tightly. “Not all of us are dogs needing a master to hold our leash.”

“Funny.” He takes a long drag of his champagne. “You never gave me the impression of knowing when to heel.”

Luigis grins, no humor in him. “And yet you always gave me the impression of a mutt waiting for his turn.”

It would be the height of impropriety to commit homicide at a stag night-- he wouldn’t be the first, and at least it would be at his own, unlike certain knights he knew-- but oh, this snake is just asking to be defanged, permanently--

“But that is neither here nor there,” Luigis drawls, as if his impending death bores him. “I must admit I wandered over this way to inform his lordship that I found something that might interest him.”

Sui nearly sags in relief. “Ah, well, then I suppose I should leave you gentlemen to it,” he says, his smile struggling to stay on his face. “I wouldn’t want to get in the way of confidences between colleagues.”

Colleagues. The man could have slapped him and he’d be less offended. “We’re not--”

“You’re too kind,” the snake simpers, and oh, he could ring his bandy neck if he wasn’t-- “If you would come this way, Lord Obi.”

“If I must,” he manages.

“You must,” Luigis informs him, none of that noble politesse lingering on his face. “Now get over here.”

Luigis leads him on a circuitous path around the veranda, winding down to a lower balcony a staircase away from the main party. Not so far that he has left the crowd, but quiet, at least. Isolated.

The former Knight Captain clucks his tongue when he drags his feet, mouth drawn in annoyance.

“It would be just as easy to poison you in there as out here,” he chides, impatient, “and you know it.”

“We both know you would never stoop to a poisoning. That’s much more Touka Bergatt’s style.” He arches a narrow brow. “I think you’re much more of a dagger-in-the-ribs kind of murderer, or maybe even a garrote--”

“Dramatics do not become you, Lord Obi,” the snake rattles.

“Really?” he drawls, flouncing down the stairs with as much feeling as he can conjure. “But I learned from the best.”

Luigis stares at him, blank. “I do not know how Prince Zen put up with you.”

“I’m very pretty.”

“You’re obnoxious.”

“Now, now, Sir Hisame,” Obi drawls, wallowing in the hollow ring of his title, “is that how a knight speaks to his betters?”

The snake’s skin sheds, and Obi fears no man-- besides the marquis, of course-- but he’d be a lot more comfortable if Hisame wasn’t looking at him like that.

“Get down here,” he mutters, turning his back to him. “I thought a bridegroom would be more eager to see his beloved.”

“What--” his voice is a whip crack, cutting into the night-- “do you mean by that?”

Luigis huffs, patience worn thin. “You’d know already if you’d stop dawdling.”

“I’m not dawdling,” Obi grumbles, hurrying down the rest of the steps, “I’m making an entrance.”

“You’re being a nuisance,” he corrects, as peevish as always. “Do you want to see her or not?”

Ah, now there was a threat to get him moving. “What have you done to my mistress?

Luigis clucks his tongue. “I haven’t done anything to her. Though you might want to get accustomed another pet name if you want to convince the rest of these heels of your love-match.”

He grits his teeth. Sloppy, dropping his guard in front of the snake.

Obi sidles up to the balustrade; a cursory inspection reveals that it’s just a little too high for a man to conveniently fall from. Not that decent reasoning has ever stopped a terrible accident from happening, but it would be a cold day in hell before Obi let a man like Luigis get the drop on him.

“So,” he drawls, leaning an arm on the rail. The garden spills out below them, though it’s not Miss’s stomping grounds. This is the decorative one, complete with useless fountains and a laughably easy hedge maze. “Is there some reason I should be im--?”

A giggle bubbles into the air, wafting up to the balcony on the wind. He’d know that sound anywhere.

His heart surges at the flash of red flitting between the hedges, quick as a bird. But it’s not, not with the crowd of blonde and brown and black following along behind it. His vantage is made clear as the red scurries further into the maze, and-- ah, there she is, too far away to make out more than the burnished glow of her hair and the shimmering fabric of her gown.

So this is what the ladies were up to tonight. He knew he should have made Kiki his best man.

“Ah, see? We’re not so different after all,” the snake murmurs. “We both like to bask in what was never meant to be ours.”

Kiki saunters after the press, and oh, when the moonlight hits her, she could be one of those goddesses Master is always on about. The kind that hunted by moonlight and turned men into tree for looking at them naked.

Obi had always thought something like that might appeal to her; Miss Kiki would certainly be itching to try if she caught Hisame Luigis looking at her the way he is now.

He turns a feral smile towards the former Knight Captain. “At least some of us didn’t use lies to get it.”

Luigis stares back, impassive. “Oh, did we not?”

My name is Obi, Miss, he’d said, the second lie he’d ever told her, and I have many aliases and many secrets.

He clenches his jaw. “Well, some of us didn’t go on to commit treason.”

Against all expectation, the snake grins. “You have me there.”

“It seems as if all the south is here at your wedding,” Luigis remarks after a long moment, crossing his arms over the balustrade. He may play at a casual pose, but oh, Obi knows his gaze hasn’t strayed, not one inch. “What a lucky man you must be to inspire such a press.”

Obi’s mouth twists into a rueful grin. “I think we both know none of this is for me.”

“Of course not.” Strange how much more palatable this snake was when he wasn’t trying to hide his scales. “His Majesty only invited lords he could trust. Ones that toe his line.”

He huffs out a laugh. “And somehow you still made the short list.”

Luigis favors him with a brittle smile. “Only due to the magnanimity of our mutual master. And yet...” He casts a wary glance back toward the veranda. “No northern lord has merited an invite.”

Obi frowns, following his gaze. “Or maybe they refused. It is a long trip. Short notice.”

“Perhaps,” he hums, mouth pulled into a grim line. “Perhaps. You all never did catch Conti, did you?”

His gaze darts up to his. “What do you--?”

“Sir Hisame.”

The both start, a fact that does not escape the crystal trap of His Majesty’s eyes. His mouth curls, threatening the sort of good humor a cat has when the canary’s between its paws. “I hate to interrupt, but I do believe you are hogging the groom.”

The snake’s smile fades to harmlessness. “Apologies, Your Majesty. Sir Obi and I have so much in common now that we both are in Prince Zen’s service.”

“Of course,” His Majesty agrees, utterly insincere. “I’m sure the marquis has much wisdom to impart about my brother’s idiosyncrasies. Still...I do hope you’ll spare me a few minutes to have a word with my vassal.”

“As you wish, Your Majesty.” The snake flashes his fangs at Obi. “He’s all yours.”

The king of Clarines is still as he watches Luigis disappear into the press, his polite smile firmly in place as he says, “Kiki dodged an inconvenient accident with that one.”

Obi coughs. “Your Majesty?”

Master always threatens to tie bells to him, but it’s His Majesty that moves silently, sweeping in beside him with little more than a whisper of his cape over the stone. “I trust you are finishing your engagement agreeable.”

“As little of it as there is,” Obi replies, guarded. Miss still bobs through the hedges, obvious to his keen eye, but oh, how he hopes it is not the same for the king.

“What can I say? You are a passionate man,” he remarks dryly, peering out over the gardens. “Once you discovered your love, it took you mere days to marry. Unless, of course, you rather a longer courtship? It’s not too late to change history.”

Obi’s mouth pulls flat. “I suppose that depends on how much Tanbarun know about Master and Miss, doesn’t it?”

“Ah, how very reasonable of you.” The king lifts a brow, impressed. “I should be grateful for it. If you had shared my brother’s temperament, I would have had to do quite the dance to explain that swap of wives.”

He shouldn’t rise to the bait. Izana Wisteria, first of his name, never mentions anything off-hand; each turn of conversation is planned, a gambit he has weighed and measured before placing his bet. He is not the sort of man who asks a question unless he has already devised the answer to it.

He knows all that and still, still-- “Really? I would have thought one up-jumped common girl would look the same as any other in this court.”

His Majesty’s smile sharpens, and oh, he’s some kind of idiot leaving an opening like that against a master swordsman. “I would commend you for that observation, my lord, had not the engagement party taken place. Months ago now.”

Months ago. Yesterday he had asked since when, and Miss would not meet his eyes, but now-- now--

His knuckles blanch on the balustrade. “How long?”

His Majesty’s eyes alight, and oh, he’s falling right into his trap, but it’s hard to care when the answer is, “Oh, half a year ago, now? Perhaps more. Not long after you’d left to go north. Your title was part of the marriage agreement.”

Obi blinks. “Excuse me?”

“The title to Conti,” His Majesty repeats, “Countess Yuris was quite clear that as part of her reward for liberating it from its last lord, the march should go to a man that would be sympathetic to her island’s struggles. When we offered your name, she agreed. Quite quickly, if I may say so”

His thoughts are a storm, a hurricane, and oh, there are a thousand more important things whipping through his skull, but the only one that surfaces is, “Kihal?”

Doesn’t a marquis outrank a countess, he’d teased, only hours ago, and she’d rolled her eyes, but-- but--

She chose this. Chose him. Ha, he knew she liked him, no matter how much she complained.

“So you can see what sort of trouble I would be in had you decided to be as belligerent as my brother,” the king continues, watching him carefully. “Perhaps if we committed to the deception, I could convince them that she dyed her hair, but losing two inches, hm...” He lifts a shoulder. “A hard proposition. And I doubt Marquise Conti would have be any less of a firebrand than Countess Yuris.”

The king laughs, but his smile is an invitation to think of all the things he has left unsaid, all the slights from which a countess would never recover from. There was no way to exchange Miss and Kihal, no way to pretend confusion when they had already presented her as Master’s consort-to-be. Everyone would have known she was put aside, shunted off to a loyal retainer to smooth over ruffled feelings. A consolation prize and a reward all wrapped into one.

Fine enough, if she was just some lord’s daughter. But Kihal was Countess Yuris, a lord in her own right with a seat on the council, and to insult her in such a way--

Well, Master’s reputation would recover, but hers never would. And Miss--

Miss would be a party to it. All because Master could not resist the chance to have what he gave up willing. Months ago.

“You look quite thoughtful, Conti,” His Majesty observes pointedly. “Perhaps--”

“That’s not my name,” he says, because it is rote, it is safe, and nothing else that roils inside him is.

The king’s mouth curves, pleased. “Ah, my apologies--”

“Brother.”

Master stands at the top of the stairs, all billowing cape and shining hair like an illumination of a folk tale’s prince-- but it is soured by the grim set of his mouth and the hard gleam in his eye. “I see you’re both taking in the evening.”

“Can you blame us?” His Majesty sweeps a hand toward the garden below. “We have have such a pleasant view.”

Master’s brows take a dubious slant as he approaches the balustrade, peering over as if he suspects His Majesty might take the opportunity to become an only sibling. “What--?”

A flash of red darts through the hedge again, and Master’s mouth pulls thin, skin pale in the moonlight.

“Well then.” The king smiles, all teeth. “I see you’ve become as enchanted as we have.”

“I’d like to speak to Obi,” Master grits out, never pulling his gaze from Miss. “Alone.”

“Of course.” His Majesty floats away, too pleased. “A lord does have his duty on the night of his vassal’s wedding, after all.”

He should say something. It always been his job to break the tension; it would be too easy to do it now. Don’t worry, Master, he would say, you don’t need to explain to me how a lord does his duty.

But he can’t. Not when he remembers how proudly Master had worn Kihal on his arm. Not when he knows how easily he would have scuttled her reputation, her entire island’s hope for safety, if only to have what he wanted. Still, given the same choice, could he say he would have done any different?

Yes. He would have married her when his damn knight asked him on his knees to do it.

“I was thinking.” Master drags his gaze from the maze, finally meeting his.

“Funny,” Obi grits out, hands flexing at his side. “So was I.”

He takes in a breath, lets it out. This is fine. It’s practically tradition for the groom to punch his best man the night before the wedding, isn’t it?

“I don’t hold your reins.”

His head jerks up. “Master--?”

“Not anymore,” Master continues, the words solemn, his shoulders rolled in a rueful curve. “You’re a lord in a your own right now, Obi. Your earned that. Ten times over.”

He stares. “Ma--?”

“No, don’t. I...I think--” Master steps forward, pained smile parting his lips--“it’s time you called me Zen.”

“I--” His hands are trembling now, but not from anger. “I can’t. I couldn’t. Master--”

Pale hands reach up to clasp his shoulders. “You’re a marquis. And beyond that, a personal friend.” He laughs, bitter. “I should have told you that a long time ago. It’s not like I make Mitsuhide stand on tradition. And Kiki...”

Obi lets out an inhuman wheeze. “They’d never find the body.”

“That’s putting it lightly.” He slings an around around him. Obi staggers under the weight. “ Come on. I think it’s high time we got you respectably drunk.”

 “I...” Obi swallows, throat so tight it nearly chokes him. “I think I don’t know who Miss will scold more.”

He laughs, mouth widening into a grin. “What, and miss the chance to get both of us at once?”

The world lurches into place as Obi says, “You know, your Honorable Brother said the same thing...”

His jaw drops. “No! He didn’t, take that back.”

Obi grins, sauntering beside him. “Miss says I may joke, but I never lie.”

He groans. “Let’s just get you drunk already.”

Obi snickers. “Sounds like a good idea, M--” he bites down on the word. “...Zen.”

In the lamplight, Obi is sober as a schoolmarm, hoofing down the hall with a spring in his step and a song on his lips. A song he can’t quite remember with lyrics that seemed clearer in his head, but-- sober. No tipping or slurring whatsoever. Sir would be proud.

It’s when he gets to his room, the lights extinguished-- don’t know why, it’s not like Yori didn’t know where he was going-- that things start to fall apart.

Namely the lamp. That falls right to pieces when it hits the floor. Oil soaks straight into the carpet. The king will probably bill him for that. One (1) Viandese carpet, stained. One (1) priceless antique oil lamp, smashed. Oh, to see Morel’s face when he gets that letter. Won’t be attending any more weddings, that’s for certain.

Not a problem. Wouldn’t be attending this one either, if he wasn’t the groom.

Ooh, the groom. The groom that would need to be upright and art--- art-- able to use words. Things. And stuff. For the...word things. Important word things.

He bends down, trying to pick up the lamp. Ouch. Nope. Leaving that for Yori. Miss will scold him if he draws any more blood tonight.

Miss. Miss, who he’s going to marry tomorrow. Who will be very put out if he can’t word good. Talk good. WORD THINGS.

Or would she? He’s just got to make it through the ceremony. Doesn’t need him after that. No worries about a limp groom, no matter what Her Majessy says. Majosty. Mejesty. Whatever. Him not being able to perform would probably be a relief, if Miss--

Knock knock knock.

He blinks. That’s not at his door.

Knock knock.

It’s on his wall. Can’t open that.

Knock knock knock, it persists, after a bit of a pause. Knock knock.

OH. It’s Miss. She’s talking to him. Through the wall. How nice.

She’s started a third round by the time he stumbles close, picking out the same pattern on the paper.

Knock knock knock, he replies. I’m here.

Miss, never one for subtlety, breaks into a run. He stands there, brow knitted. Why a ru--?

Her balcony door swings open.

Oh, she wants to see him. Now. Right now. How he is.

He stares down at his costume, and well, all right, it’s seen better days. Better hours at least. But Miss Kiki-- Mrs Kiki now? -- knows what she’s doing. He looks presentable.

He takes off the cravat anyway. And the jacket. He’d be out of the waistcoat too, if there were any less steps for him to take.

“Obi,” she breathes, cheeks flushed. “You’re back.”

“Miss.” He’s not prepared to see her, not when she’s in her nightgown already, shawl wrapped tight around her shoulders. Might as well be back in Tanbarun with a set up like this. “Would have made it hard to knock if I wasn’t.”

A laugh bubbles out of her, her eyes wide. “Yeah,” she agrees, hiccuping up another. “I guess so.”

“You know...” He saunters toward the balustrade with a swagger. Or maybe swaggering with a saunter? Eh, a saucy walk. That’s the thing. Reminding her he’s got some hips and he’s not afraid to use ‘em. “It’s bad luck for the groom to see his bride before the wedding.”

“Good thing our wedding happened two months ago.” Her mouth curves into a little smirk he’d love to put his mouth on. Which he won’t, because they aren’t like that. Mouth friends. “So there’s nothing to ruin.”

Sound logic. That’s what he likes about her. And everything else, too.

“I saw you tonight.” She wrinkles her nose, like she’s only just hearing her own words. “On the balcony, I mean. At your stag night. It looked like fun.”

A laugh heaves from him, unbidden. “I promise you were having more at yours.”

At least until Honorable Brother opened up the good stuff. One for the road, he’d said. Or wait, no. Didn’t say that. But well, something like it. Close enough.

“I wish I was with you,” she sighs, voice thick with longing.

“You would have been very, very bored,” he promises. “I'd like to have been running around that maze instead.”

He’d caught more than a few pairs unaware in there. He would have liked to catch Miss unaware too. Maybe even been caught by--

“But I would have been with you,” she insists, and she must mean something more for the way she frowns, as if even her own words weren’t working properly. “I mean--” she sighs, frustrated. “Obi...”

Miss hesitates, gaze flicking up to catch his, and with no more warning than a clench of her jaw, she crawls over the balustrade and leaps onto his balcony. She stumbles over the lip of his own rail, but he’s already there, arms out to catch her.

“Miss,” he laughs, breathless. “My heart almost stopped.”

She laughs too, but it stills as her hand curls into his shirt. She lays it flat against his chest. “But it didn’t.”

It didn’t. It hasn’t. It never has. That’s all he can think as he stares down into her eyes. Her mouth goes slack, breath coming out of her in tiny, labored bursts, and on any other woman, he’d know what that meant.

No, a lie. Not the last thing, but before. He’s also thinking, months ago. Six months ago. A letter in hand before he left Lyrias. And she’d said nothing at all.

Nothing at all, but told him she’d missed his body. Had answered every hopeless flirtation in kind.

It doesn’t mean anything. It can’t mean anything. But... “Miss--”

“Obi,” she breathes, gaze fixed to his. “you would...you would tell me. If this wasn’t what you wanted. If I...” She licks her lips, an utterly distracting technique. “If you wanted something else.”

He blinks, arms loosening. “Miss. I’m happy to do whatever you need--”

“No.” She squeezes him tighter, as if that might wring the truth from him. “I’m asking if this is what you want.”

His breath rasps out of his chest. He’s never wanted anything more. No, never wanted anything to be real more.

But that’s not what she’s asking. “Yes,” he breathes, “I want this.”

Her gaze drops, straight to his lips, and oh, she must think he’s coming down with something the way he’s wheezing.

“I guess it’s time for all good grooms to go to bed,” he tells her, setting her down on her feet. “I think I might have had too much.”

She blinks, flushing as she looks away. “O-oh, right. Yes, me-- me too, I think.”

“I should get you in bed then,” he says, because oh, he’s far too stupid to use words right. “I mean, put you in bed. Your own bed. Over...over there.”

She nods. “Right. Yes. It would be good to, ah, have someone to lean on I think.”

She stumbles on her first step, and he laughs. “I think in the interest of you making it down the aisle under your own power, you need a little more than that.”

Her eyes widen, curious. “What do you-- oh!”

He grins, swinging her up onto his back. “Come on, Miss. Let’s take the quick way.”