#Yeah yeah blond stick in the mud French guy I know

[solradguy]

As one note as the yaoi jokes are it’s hard to deny that sol and ky’s present relationship is pretty much amicably broken up ex bfs/beloathed in-laws/flawed but well intentioned fathers of an unknown but growing number of children

There's definitely underlying homoeroticism to their relationship, but sometimes the fanfiction headcanons need to be set aside to look at what the actual canon is trying to get across, you know? It's easy to boil it all down to "because they're gay for each other" (which I also do sometimes because it's funny lol) but their relationship is so much deeper than that.

I'm not even really a Ky guy, tbh, but I very rarely see people talk about him with the same care they talk about characters with 1/10th the lore he has, and his relationship with Sol is discussed in a serious context even less.

[eddsworld-headies]

i was wondering if u could do a tord/tom with a female reader that dresses really baggy-VERY TOMBOYISH but is decked out with all types of rings and chains. doesn’t dress girly but still barely wears makeup and likes to have pretty nails at the same time.

Oh wow what a coincidence my-- OC IS JUST LIKE THAT HAHA WELL SINCE YOU ASKED MIGHT AS WELL RIGHT??

--------

Tom huffed loudly, not noticing that Tord had helped himself to sitting at the kitchen table to watch him press his forehead to the window, looking outside. He simply stayed silent, watching the brit get frustrated while opening and closing cabinets.

"Lose something?"

Tom groaned, slamming the cupboard door and turning round and facing the Norwegian with a sneer. "Screw off. I don't need you chewing my ear off." He replied grumpily, moving towards the living room and giving a quick glance around. " What, did you lose something in the bottom of your flask? Other than your self-worth?"

"EDD!" Tom shouted, making Tord roll his eyes as he stood up, following Tom as he moved up the stairs. "Jesus, don't be such a tattletail. I'll stop bothering you." "This isn't about you, Commie."

The two stopped in Edd's doorway, Tom holding onto the edge of the door trim as he leaned in. The leader of the group was jamming to some tunes at his drafting table, tablet pen in hand and hoodie wrapped around his waist.

His room was messy, seeing as he wasn't the only one occupying the room now that their newest addition moved in from America and needed a place to stay.

"Hey," Tom said loudly, moving in and lightly slapping Edd's shoulder, the tallest of the group shifting his eyes over before lifting his left earbud out. " Where's your sister?" The black eyed man asked." Huh?" "Your sister, dude, where is she?" " I dunno. She's your girlfriend, keep better track." "It's not like I have a tracker on her or something." "Then maybe you should invest in one." Edd retorted, settling his earbud back in his ear.

"Thanks for the help." The dirty blonde scoffed, pushing the second ginger of the house to the side and moving past him. "Oh!" Edd said, pulling out his earbud once more. "If you figure it out, let me know!" "Whatever!"

"You seem ever worried today," Tord started, continuing to follow the other-- much to his annoyance. " What? You fuck something up again?" " Fuck off. I haven't seen her all day. I'm just worried, Dick." "It's not like she can't take care of herself." "I know that. But she's a fucking dumbass with an impulse disorder and a can of pepper spray. Plus 4 years of law enforcement and dumb fucking defense classes in a tiny 5 foot package. The girl thinks she's indestructible and that doesn't go well with her--" "Tendency to do dumb fucking shit?" "That's putting it lightly. I guess getting into trouble runs in the family."

Tom perked up when the front door opened, Matt walking in with his hands behind his back as a much shorter figure following behind.

"Fuck, there you are-- What's with your hair?" Tom asked, moving toward his girlfriend, who's impossibly short cut hair almost replicated her brother's. " It's windy. And of course someone had to put the top down." She said, green eyes narrowing at the freckled ginger who was smiling brightly. "Oh, but look how good my hair is!" Matt whined, trying to get a bit of sympathy from his best friend's sister.

It was times like this that Tom realized, without her snake bites and brow piercing, their were only a few differences to Edd and his sister. Besides the accents, they could be twins if her eyes were a different color. And you know... If she wasn't a fucking twig.

Tom can remember how hilarious he thought the two were where they were younger. Sure, they weren't as big as they were now, but seeing this skinny short stack next to a guy like Edd and claiming them to be siblings was hilarious. But they looked a like, identical traits in each but separate none the less.

He had to admit, seeing his girlfriend without her hair pushed back was a little odd. She rarely wore it in a cowlick like her brother.

"Okay. Where did you two go off too?" He asked, noticing that the only girl in the house hand her hands shoved into the pockets of her blue zip up hoodie. The red long sleeve down to her wrists while the blue sleeves of her jacket were up to her elbows, and her tan pants and sneakers were slightly muddy. Practically all the cuffs of her pants were dirty, since she usually liked to go through puddles and mud rather than walk around a foot or two.

"We went to the mall!" Matt exclaimed, suddenly thrusting his hands into Tom's face. The shorter flinched, grabbing Matt's wrists and pushing them away to get a look at his hands. His nails were long, at least an inch and a half, and bright purple with butterflies and hearts. They were rectangles at the top and wrapped pretty nicely in a white french tip. "Aren't my nails gorgeous?"

"Yeah, their great," Tom said, letting his wrists go. " And why did you need to get your nails done?" "They were so dull before! I can't be this perfect and have dull nails! Plus, we got a 5% coupon!" Matt explained. Tom looked over to his girlfriend. " And how much did this cost?"

" 63 pounds each." She answered, her boyfriend raising a pierced brow. "Each?"

"Ah! Well yes, of course! I simply couldn't have a spa day all to myself," The ginger said as Tord took a seat on the couch, messing with his phone. "Sooo, I invited Bridget to come along!" He said, grabbing her hands out of her own pockets and revealing her nails. Long and sharp, deep blue with little piercings on them and a little blue marbling.

She smiled guiltily as Tom's eyes widened. "I mean- I couldn't not." She defended. "Bride- Baby, You're an All-star, really-" "Ah yes, just what every girl wants to hear." She teased lightly, fully knowing neither were at the "I love you stage" yest so finding a compromise was hard. "Yeah yeah- But... You're the clumsiest person I know. And you chew nail polish off your nails. In what world is this a good idea?"

Bridget blew air as her ran her hands through her hair, the front lightly sticking up in her normal do but half deflated without hair gel. " There is none- But! Listen to this!" She said excitedly, moving towards the wall and clicking her nails repeatedly on it with a wide smile, the noise loud and slightly satisfying. " Eh? Right? Isn't that great?" She asked. Tord sat up, laughing lightly. "You game for a living and the first thing you do is get acrylics-?" Bridget shushed him, moving over and running her fingers through his hair, lightly scratching at his scalp as his face scrunched up.

"Don't think about the future, think about the now." "OH gOd that's horrible!" Tord groaned, cringing but laughing at the odd feeling. "Fuck it feels like your scratching my brains!" Tom rolled his pitch black eyes. " You're gonna hate those in two hours." He insisted, watching her creep closer. "Okay. I'm hearing you," She said. " But in my defense...."

Bridget moved forward, wiggling her fingers in her boyfriends face. "These are fucking sick." She whispered, her nails lightly scratching at his stubble and making his laugh and pull back from the ticklish feeling. " Fuck that's absolute shit." He chuckled, face scrunching as Edd jumped down the stairs.

"Hey! I knew I heard you-" His eyes widened as they landed on his sister, the siblings locked in a staring contest as she slowly moved her hand away, this time towards her brother.

"What the hell are those?" "Edddyyyy," "Don't you dare." "EEEEEddddddyyyy," "Bridget, I swear to god if you touch me with those things-" " I think you need a back scratch, Eddy bo' Beddy." "Get away from me you fucking dwarf!"

///////////

Tom groaned as he scratched his stomach, lazily flipping out the band of his sweatpants so he didn't have to tie them as he went to the kitchen. He opened the fridge door, goosebumps forming over his chest as he reached in to grab the milk. He kicked the door close with his foot and turned to fill his glass, jumping out of his skin at the figure in the arch way to the living room and hall.

"Jesus-! Damn it, Bridget! The hell are you doing?" He asked, hand over his chest as she stared at him, eyes slightly bloodshot and wide as she stood in the arch way, his blue hoodie down to her thighs and the peaks of dinosaur boxers underneath. Her hair was spiked up now, only slightly ruffled. " Did you just finish your stream?"

"Seventy-eight," She said shakily. " Seventy-eight fffffucking run-throughs, because my fucking nails! Keep getting caught!" She whispered- but it was more of a stage whisper with her theatrics as she held her hands out awkwardly. " I want them off, Thomas." Tom stared at her for a moment, eyes wide as she looked at him with a death glare.

"..Uhhhhh," He dragged. ".... There's a Buzzsaw in the attic?"

//////

haha I really just wrote a short with my Oc in it cause I have that kinda power so suck it

( But if ya'll really want an x reader one I can write another one. It'll litterally be the same though I have a bunch more asks to get through)

[areyoureadyforsomemeatballz]

Steve Rogers’s Day Off

Summary: For years Steve’s friends and coworkers have seen him as a stalwart stick in the mud. If only they could see him when he lets his hair down. But only one person seems to get that side of him- you.

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader

Word Count: 2500

Warnings: Swearing. Steve shirking his captainly duties?

A/N: This was my entry for @themaskedwriter ‘s challenge. Check out their account for wonderful fics and upcoming rounds. I had an absolute blast writing it and watching you guys guess. I wanted to re-upload for those that may have missed it! Enjoy. 

Tony pushes his head into his folded arms, almost sending his plate of untouched eggs to the floor. “Can we all just take the day off? Mission debrief be damned.”

“Steve wouldn’t stand for that,” Clint chuckles as he takes a long drag of his coffee. “We all know he isn’t one to play hooky, especially when he’s the one that set the meeting”

Around the dining room table, there are nods and a few words of agreement. Bucky looks up from his phone and shakes his head.

“I don’t think you guys know Steve as well as you think you do,” he says with a small smile.

“I think you’ve lost touch, Tinman. We’ve all seen Steve in action this century,” Tony rolls his eyes. “Pardon my French, but he’s so tight that if you stuck a lump of coal up his ass, in two weeks you’d have a diamond.”

In the kitchen, a glass shatters and everyone whips around in their seats toward the noise. There’s a flash of golden blond hair and the sound of hasty footsteps.

“I think he heard you,” Bruce murmurs, not looking up from his bowl of cereal.

Bucky moves to stand as you walk into the room. “Hey, do you guys know what’s up with Steve? He ran the other way when he saw me coming down the hallway.”

“Tony’s just being an asshole, as per usual,” Clint says.

You look away from Bucky and notice the sheepish expression on Tony’s face. “Tones, what did you do?”

“Clint said it too!”

“I wasn’t the one talking about his tight ass!”

Bucky rolls his eyes and moves to smack both men on the back of their heads. “Maybe you should go check on him, sugar?”

“Yeah,” you look back down the hall to where Steve disappeared. “Yeah, I can go see if he’s okay.”

You knock on Steve’s bedroom door softly and wait for a few minutes before peeking your head around it. Steve is sprawled out on his back staring up at his ceiling fan. You walk over to him and sit down on his bed. He lets out a long exhale and tosses his arm over his eyes.

“What’s got you so down, Stevie?”

He pulls his arm away from his face and his bright blue eyes meet yours. “Am I boring?”

You raise your eyebrow at him and grin at the face he pulls. “I don’t even know where to start.”

“Because you think I’m a stick in the mud too?”

“Get up!” You reach down for his hands and pull the two of you up off the plush mattress. “We’re going out. I’m not letting you sit here and throw a pity party all day.”

��Leave me be,” Steve groans. “Hey! This isn’t a pity party and I wasn’t going to stay here all day.”

“You’re damned right it’s not. You do fun stuff all the time, you’ve just been busy lately.”

You grab Steve’s hand and he trails behind as you lead him through the halls. When you reach the garage, you look up to the wall of keys expectantly. “Pick one.”  

“I don’t think Tony would want us to.”

“Tony owes you one,” you gesture towards the wall. “Now pick a car, any car.”

“Where are we going?”

You grin at Steve as he randomly grabs a set of car keys. “To see something good.”

He passes you the keys and you click the lock to find the car. Your grin only grows when you see it’s one of Tony’s favorites. Steve slides into the passenger seat as the car roars to life.

Steve fiddles with the knobs of the stereo and looks over at you. “Okay, you’ve successfully kidnapped me, now where are we going?”

“What’s the first thing that pops into your head when I say ‘fun’?”

His brows pinch together. “I don’t know? Baseball, maybe?”

You pull out your phone and shoot off a quick text. “It’s a little early in the year for baseball, but I’ve got an idea. F.R.I.D.A.Y. can you start a route to Yankee Stadium? Also, send a message to the team that Steve came down with some nondescript illness.” You pull the car out of its spot and race off into the early morning sun.

Her Irish lilt fills the speakers. “Of course. Anything else, miss?”

“Yeah, start Steve’s favorite playlist. Thanks, F.R.I.”

She doesn’t answer but a different song pours through the speakers and Steve nods along to the beat. You weave through the mid-morning traffic and soon enough your stepping out into the parking lot outside the stadium.

“Are you going to tell me what we’re doing here? The season doesn’t even start for another month.”

“I know that you’re a Dodgers man, but I figured you wouldn’t want to spend all day on a plane. That, and I don’t personally know anyone on their coaching staff.”

Steve quirks his eyebrow at you. “That doesn’t tell me what we’re doing here.”

“We’re breathing a little life back into our routines,” you say with a laugh and tug on his arm. “C’mon, I promise it’ll be fun.”

A smile overtakes Steve’s face and he lets you guide him through the empty stadium to a row of offices. You knock on one of the doors and a man with kind eyes greets you.

“I’ve been expecting the two of you,” The man says with a broad smile. “Mr. Rogers it’s an honor.”

“Please, it’s Steve.”

“Steve this is Aaron, he’s the team’s general manager. I saved his ass during one of the many botched alien take-overs and he insisted that he owed me a favor.”

“I am surprised you are finally cashing it in, though. The field is all set up for the two of you.”

Aaron winks at the two of you and Steve raises his eyebrows at the man. “Set up for what, exactly?”

“You’ll just have to wait and see,” you singsong and push the confused blond back towards the field.

Steve smiles as you pull him onto the field and toss him a bat. “Ready to let out some aggression? I have a feeling this is going to be a baseball massacre.”

Steve scoffs and spins the bat in the air over his shoulder, catching it deftly. “This was my dream, you know? Buck and me went to any game we could. I uh- I thought that they’d let a little guy like me on a team if I was good enough. I practiced until my hands were raw.”

“You never told me that.” You look up from the pitching machine that you’re trying to turn on.

“Never told anybody. Not even my mom or Bucky,” he murmurs with a far-off look. “I’m sure they suspected.”

“I’m sure they did. You’re about as subtle as a bull in a china shop.” You tear your eyes away from him before he can notice you staring and finally turn the right knob. “Aha! You ready for the first pitch, Mr. America?”

His eyes narrow at you, but he can’t hold back the laugh that bubbles up out of his throat. “Do your worst.”

You raise your brow and feed the first ball into the machine. A deafening crack sounds throughout the stadium. You flip around just in time to see the ball fly through the air straight over the back wall.

“Holy shit,” you exclaim. “Steve! That was on the fastest setting!”

Steve’s smile is blinding as he takes off around the bases at breakneck speed. He’s not even panting when he slides into home plate. He stands and wipes the dirt off his pants as he jogs over to you.

A giggle bursts out of him as he pulls you in for a hug. “I’ve always wanted to do that.”

“If only the talent scouts could see you now,” you say breathlessly. “They’d be begging to get you on the roster.”

Steve’s cheeks flush as he lets go of you quickly. “That would sure be something. Is it your turn?”

“After that performance, I don’t know if I should.”

“C’mon its fun,” he smiles as you return to the plate and pick up the bat. “I’ll even turn the speed down.”

You hold the bat with one hand and raise your middle finger to him. Steve drops the ball into the machine and you manage to hit the ball over his head. You drop the bat and sprint towards first base. Steve scoops up the ball and darts towards you, just before you can hit the base Steve is there. You can’t stop your feet in time and you crash into Steve’s broad frame, his hands circle your waist to keep you steady.

“You okay there, doll?”

You grin and look up at him. “I mean I’d be better if I were safe, but I’m no match for the great Steve Rogers.”

He rolls his eyes and holds your arms to make sure that you’re okay to stand. “It’s the serum. I’d be almost as hopeless as you without it.”

You gasp and clutch your chest. “That’s a low blow, Stevie.”

“I couldn’t help-” his stomach growling cuts off his sentence and his cheeks flush a brilliant red again. “it.”  

“It appears that even star athletes get hungry,” you say with a grin. “You wanna break for some lunch?”

“As much as I love ballpark hot dogs, I don’t think eating last seasons are such a good idea.”

“As good as that sounds, that’s not what I had in mind,” you scrunch your nose up and he laughs. “What’re you in the mood for, dummy?”

“You’re the mastermind here.”

“That’s not how it works! We’re having your best day ever. So, I ask again, what’s for lunch?”

Steve laughs and his eyes light up. “You know a hot dog actually sounds really good.”

“So, you do want a moldy-year-old hot dog? You’re a sick man, Rogers.”

“I was thinking Central Park? We could do some people watching. That and the drive shouldn’t be too bad.”

“If that’s what you want for your special day then it’s what we’re doing.”

You reach for Steve’s hand but stop midair, quickly rethinking your action. You feel your cheeks heat up and you turn to walk back to the car. Steve watches your retreating form before his brain catches up and he darts after you. You toss him the keys with a tight grin.

“Think you can handle it?”

“Doll, I was driving long before you were alive,” Steve chuckles. “Tanks and planes mostly, but they can’t be that different.”

“Hardy-har, grandpa has a sense of humor.”

Steve turns to you with a heart-stopping grin and stomps on the gas, pealing out of the parking lot. He expertly weaves through the mid-day traffic and pulls the sports car into a spot just outside the park. You make your way to a hot dog vendor and eat your lunch as you walk around, enjoying the warm weather.

The soft sounds of a few street performers draws you and Steve in, along with a small crowd. An older couple takes each other’s hands of the and the two start to sway to the music. Others in the crowd follow their lead and Steve offers his hand to you.

“Dance with me?”

You smile and take his hands and he spins you around. “It’s only right.”

“Danke schoen, darling, danke schoen,” the singer croons. “Save those lies, darling don’t explain.”

“I recall Central Park in fall,” Steve sings quietly. “How you tore your dress, what a mess. My heart says danke schoen.”

You laugh softly and lay your head on Steve’s chest. “Too bad it’s spring.”

“Just pretend, doll.”

You close your eyes and he continues to murmur the words, his chest rumbling as the two of you dance. All too soon the song is over and the couples around you begin to separate. You squeeze Steve’s warm hands and he smiles softly before stepping away from you.

“What’s next?”

“I was thinking something with art? I think they’ve got a new exhibit at the Met,” you say as you start to pull out your phone to check their website.

Steve stops you and nods towards another street artist, this one sketching people for money. “How much do you think he’d charge for a sketch pad?”

“There’s only one way to find out,” you say with a grin as Steve approaches the man.

It turns out the going rate for a sketch pad in Central Park is twenty-five dollars and a selfie with Captain America. You and Steve find a nice spot where he can draw, while still having people around for him to sketch. You sit next to him, content to watch his intense concentration as he shades. The park begins to grow quiet as the afternoon wears on.

“What are you sketching now that there’s nobody around?”

Steve bites his lip and his eyes dart down to the pad in his lap. “One of my favorite subjects.”

“Oh, Tony then?”

He laughs but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “You know I prefer to not draw from memory. Besides Tony’s a terrible muse, he’s always moving too much.”

“What is it, then? The city? New York’s got to be the perfect muse.”

He shakes his head. “How could I waste time drawing buildings when I’ve got something so beautiful sitting right in front of me?” His hands shake lightly as he holds out the pad of paper to you.

You look down at the sketch pad and notice a familiar form- yours. He’s somehow captured the slopes and angles of your body perfectly as if he had drawn them hundreds of times. You can’t take your eyes of the radiant woman smiling up at you. Steve’s somehow put a sense of untouchable longing into the portrait.

“I’m really sorry if you don’t like it,” Steve whispers. “It’s creepy. God, I just can’t help but draw you-”

You cut him off by pressing your lips to his and the needy noise he makes in the back of his throat sends you into overdrive. His hands find your waist and he drags you impossibly closer to him. The sketchpad falls forgotten at your feet as you tangle your fingers into his short strands. You both pull back panting, desperate to catch your breath.

“I take it you like the picture?”

You bury your face in his chest. “I love it.”

“Doll?”

“Yeah, Steve?”

“Can I kiss you again?”

Tony shrieks as he looks down at his phone and everyone comes running into the common room. He shoves a picture of you and Steve kissing into Natasha’s face. “Since when are they together?”

“According to this very real looking TMZ article, they’re secretly married,” Sam says as he reads over Natasha’s shoulder.

“How rude, we didn’t even get an invite,” Natasha smirks. “And to think Steve told us he was sick.”

Bucky grins from the couch. “Oh, that’s not Steve, that’s Abe Froman. And his lucky lady.”

“The sausage king of Chicago,” Tony sputters.  

Bucky laughs and nods as the rest of the group look at Tony as if he’s grown a second head. “It’s the name he uses when they’re playing hooky. Looks like he finally got the balls to do something about his feelings, though.”

“What the actual fuck.”

“Language,” Bucky mock-gasps.

Tony’s eyes widen. “Rogers has got a lot of explaining to do.”

Likes/comments/reblogs mean the world!

[themaskedwriter]

Steve Rogers’s Day Off

Summary: For years Steve’s friends and coworkers have seen him as a stalwart stick in the mud. If only they could see him when he lets his hair down. But only one person seems to get that side of him- you.

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader

Word Count: 2500

Warnings: Swearing. Steve shirking his captainly duties?

Clues: This author started writing last June and has loved every second of it so far. She has a slight obsession with all things vintage, the latest being Queen and John Hughes movies, hence the inspiration for this fic (side note: Bucko and Steeb count as vintage, right?). She’s currently in the last semester of her undergraduate degree, which is related to the medical field.

******

Tony pushes his head into his folded arms, almost sending his plate of untouched eggs to the floor. “Can we all just take the day off? Mission debrief be damned.”

“Steve wouldn’t stand for that,” Clint chuckles as he takes a long drag of his coffee. “We all know he isn’t one to play hooky, especially when he’s the one that set the meeting”

Around the dining room table, there are nods and a few words of agreement. Bucky looks up from his phone and shakes his head.

“I don’t think you guys know Steve as well as you think you do,” he says with a small smile.

“I think you’ve lost touch, Tinman. We’ve all seen Steve in action this century,” Tony rolls his eyes. “Pardon my French, but he’s so tight that if you stuck a lump of coal up his ass, in two weeks you’d have a diamond.”

In the kitchen, a glass shatters and everyone whips around in their seats toward the noise. There’s a flash of golden blond hair and the sound of hasty footsteps.

“I think he heard you,” Bruce murmurs, not looking up from his bowl of cereal.

Bucky moves to stand as you walk into the room. “Hey, do you guys know what’s up with Steve? He ran the other way when he saw me coming down the hallway.”

“Tony’s just being an asshole, as per usual,” Clint says.

You look away from Bucky and notice the sheepish expression on Tony’s face. “Tones, what did you do?”

“Clint said it too!”

“I wasn’t the one talking about his tight ass!”

Bucky rolls his eyes and moves to smack both men on the back of their heads. “Maybe you should go check on him, sugar?”

“Yeah,” you look back down the hall to where Steve disappeared. “Yeah, I can go see if he’s okay.”

You knock on Steve’s bedroom door softly and wait for a few minutes before peeking your head around it. Steve is sprawled out on his back staring up at his ceiling fan. You walk over to him and sit down on his bed. He lets out a long exhale and tosses his arm over his eyes.

“What’s got you so down, Stevie?”

He pulls his arm away from his face and his bright blue eyes meet yours. “Am I boring?”

You raise your eyebrow at him and grin at the face he pulls. “I don’t even know where to start.”

“Because you think I’m a stick in the mud too?”

“Get up!” You reach down for his hands and pull the two of you up off the plush mattress. “We’re going out. I’m not letting you sit here and throw a pity party all day.”

“Leave me be,” Steve groans. “Hey! This isn’t a pity party and I wasn’t going to stay here all day.”

“You’re damned right it’s not. You do fun stuff all the time, you’ve just been busy lately.”

You grab Steve’s hand and he trails behind as you lead him through the halls. When you reach the garage, you look up to the wall of keys expectantly. “Pick one.”  

“I don’t think Tony would want us to.”

“Tony owes you one,” you gesture towards the wall. “Now pick a car, any car.”

“Where are we going?”

You grin at Steve as he randomly grabs a set of car keys. “To see something good.”

He passes you the keys and you click the lock to find the car. Your grin only grows when you see it’s one of Tony’s favorites. Steve slides into the passenger seat as the car roars to life.

Steve fiddles with the knobs of the stereo and looks over at you. “Okay, you’ve successfully kidnapped me, now where are we going?”

“What’s the first thing that pops into your head when I say ‘fun’?”

His brows pinch together. “I don’t know? Baseball, maybe?”

You pull out your phone and shoot off a quick text. “It’s a little early in the year for baseball, but I’ve got an idea. F.R.I.D.A.Y. can you start a route to Yankee Stadium? Also, send a message to the team that Steve came down with some nondescript illness.” You pull the car out of its spot and race off into the early morning sun.

Her Irish lilt fills the speakers. “Of course. Anything else, miss?”

“Yeah, start Steve’s favorite playlist. Thanks, F.R.I.”

She doesn’t answer but a different song pours through the speakers and Steve nods along to the beat. You weave through the mid-morning traffic and soon enough your stepping out into the parking lot outside the stadium.

“Are you going to tell me what we’re doing here? The season doesn’t even start for another month.”

“I know that you’re a Dodgers man, but I figured you wouldn’t want to spend all day on a plane. That, and I don’t personally know anyone on their coaching staff.”

Steve quirks his eyebrow at you. “That doesn’t tell me what we’re doing here.”

“We’re breathing a little life back into our routines,” you say with a laugh and tug on his arm. “C’mon, I promise it’ll be fun.”

A smile overtakes Steve’s face and he lets you guide him through the empty stadium to a row of offices. You knock on one of the doors and a man with kind eyes greets you.

“I’ve been expecting the two of you,” The man says with a broad smile. “Mr. Rogers it’s an honor.”

“Please, it’s Steve.”

“Steve this is Aaron, he’s the team’s general manager. I saved his ass during one of the many botched alien take-overs and he insisted that he owed me a favor.”

“I am surprised you are finally cashing it in, though. The field is all set up for the two of you.”

Aaron winks at the two of you and Steve raises his eyebrows at the man. “Set up for what, exactly?”

“You’ll just have to wait and see,” you singsong and push the confused blond back towards the field.

Steve smiles as you pull him onto the field and toss him a bat. “Ready to let out some aggression? I have a feeling this is going to be a baseball massacre.”

Steve scoffs and spins the bat in the air over his shoulder, catching it deftly. “This was my dream, you know? Buck and me went to any game we could. I uh- I thought that they’d let a little guy like me on a team if I was good enough. I practiced until my hands were raw.”

“You never told me that.” You look up from the pitching machine that you’re trying to turn on.

“Never told anybody. Not even my mom or Bucky,” he murmurs with a far-off look. “I’m sure they suspected.”

“I’m sure they did. You’re about as subtle as a bull in a china shop.” You tear your eyes away from him before he can notice you staring and finally turn the right knob. “Aha! You ready for the first pitch, Mr. America?”

His eyes narrow at you, but he can’t hold back the laugh that bubbles up out of his throat. “Do your worst.”

You raise your brow and feed the first ball into the machine. A deafening crack sounds throughout the stadium. You flip around just in time to see the ball fly through the air straight over the back wall.

“Holy shit,” you exclaim. “Steve! That was on the fastest setting!”

Steve’s smile is blinding as he takes off around the bases at breakneck speed. He’s not even panting when he slides into home plate. He stands and wipes the dirt off his pants as he jogs over to you.

A giggle bursts out of him as he pulls you in for a hug. “I’ve always wanted to do that.”

“If only the talent scouts could see you now,” you say breathlessly. “They’d be begging to get you on the roster.”

Steve’s cheeks flush as he lets go of you quickly. “That would sure be something. Is it your turn?”

“After that performance, I don’t know if I should.”

“C’mon its fun,” he smiles as you return to the plate and pick up the bat. “I’ll even turn the speed down.”

You hold the bat with one hand and raise your middle finger to him. Steve drops the ball into the machine and you manage to hit the ball over his head. You drop the bat and sprint towards first base. Steve scoops up the ball and darts towards you, just before you can hit the base Steve is there. You can’t stop your feet in time and you crash into Steve’s broad frame, his hands circle your waist to keep you steady.

“You okay there, doll?”

You grin and look up at him. “I mean I’d be better if I were safe, but I’m no match for the great Steve Rogers.”

He rolls his eyes and holds your arms to make sure that you’re okay to stand. “It’s the serum. I’d be almost as hopeless as you without it.”

You gasp and clutch your chest. “That’s a low blow, Stevie.”

“I couldn’t help-” his stomach growling cuts off his sentence and his cheeks flush a brilliant red again. “it.”  

“It appears that even star athletes get hungry,” you say with a grin. “You wanna break for some lunch?”

“As much as I love ballpark hot dogs, I don’t think eating last seasons are such a good idea.”

“As good as that sounds, that’s not what I had in mind,” you scrunch your nose up and he laughs. “What’re you in the mood for, dummy?”

“You’re the mastermind here.”

“That’s not how it works! We’re having your best day ever. So, I ask again, what’s for lunch?”

Steve laughs and his eyes light up. “You know a hot dog actually sounds really good.”

“So, you do want a moldy-year-old hot dog? You’re a sick man, Rogers.”

“I was thinking Central Park? We could do some people watching. That and the drive shouldn’t be too bad.”

“If that’s what you want for your special day then it’s what we’re doing.”

You reach for Steve’s hand but stop midair, quickly rethinking your action. You feel your cheeks heat up and you turn to walk back to the car. Steve watches your retreating form before his brain catches up and he darts after you. You toss him the keys with a tight grin.

“Think you can handle it?”

“Doll, I was driving long before you were alive,” Steve chuckles. “Tanks and planes mostly, but they can’t be that different.”

“Hardy-har, grandpa has a sense of humor.”

Steve turns to you with a heart-stopping grin and stomps on the gas, pealing out of the parking lot. He expertly weaves through the mid-day traffic and pulls the sports car into a spot just outside the park. You make your way to a hot dog vendor and eat your lunch as you walk around, enjoying the warm weather.

The soft sounds of a few street performers draws you and Steve in, along with a small crowd. An older couple takes each other’s hands of the and the two start to sway to the music. Others in the crowd follow their lead and Steve offers his hand to you.

“Dance with me?”

You smile and take his hands and he spins you around. “It’s only right.”

“Danke schoen, darling, danke schoen,” the singer croons. “Save those lies, darling don’t explain.”

“I recall Central Park in fall,” Steve sings quietly. “How you tore your dress, what a mess. My heart says danke schoen.”

You laugh softly and lay your head on Steve’s chest. “Too bad it’s spring.”

“Just pretend, doll.”

You close your eyes and he continues to murmur the words, his chest rumbling as the two of you dance. All too soon the song is over and the couples around you begin to separate. You squeeze Steve’s warm hands and he smiles softly before stepping away from you.

“What’s next?”

“I was thinking something with art? I think they’ve got a new exhibit at the Met,” you say as you start to pull out your phone to check their website.

Steve stops you and nods towards another street artist, this one sketching people for money. “How much do you think he’d charge for a sketch pad?”

“There’s only one way to find out,” you say with a grin as Steve approaches the man.

It turns out the going rate for a sketch pad in Central Park is twenty-five dollars and a selfie with Captain America. You and Steve find a nice spot where he can draw, while still having people around for him to sketch. You sit next to him, content to watch his intense concentration as he shades. The park begins to grow quiet as the afternoon wears on.

“What are you sketching now that there’s nobody around?”

Steve bites his lip and his eyes dart down to the pad in his lap. “One of my favorite subjects.”

“Oh, Tony then?”

He laughs but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “You know I prefer to not draw from memory. Besides Tony’s a terrible muse, he’s always moving too much.”

“What is it, then? The city? New York’s got to be the perfect muse.”

He shakes his head. “How could I waste time drawing buildings when I’ve got something so beautiful sitting right in front of me?” His hands shake lightly as he holds out the pad of paper to you.

You look down at the sketch pad and notice a familiar form- yours. He’s somehow captured the slopes and angles of your body perfectly as if he had drawn them hundreds of times. You can’t take your eyes of the radiant woman smiling up at you. Steve’s somehow put a sense of untouchable longing into the portrait.

“I’m really sorry if you don’t like it,” Steve whispers. “It’s creepy. God, I just can’t help but draw you-”

You cut him off by pressing your lips to his and the needy noise he makes in the back of his throat sends you into overdrive. His hands find your waist and he drags you impossibly closer to him. The sketchpad falls forgotten at your feet as you tangle your fingers into his short strands. You both pull back panting, desperate to catch your breath.

“I take it you like the picture?”

You bury your face in his chest. “I love it.”

“Doll?”

“Yeah, Steve?”

“Can I kiss you again?”

******

Tony shrieks as he looks down at his phone and everyone comes running into the common room. He shoves a picture of you and Steve kissing into Natasha’s face. “Since when are they together?”

“According to this very real looking TMZ article, they’re secretly married,” Sam says as he reads over Natasha’s shoulder.

“How rude, we didn’t even get an invite,” Natasha smirks. “And to think Steve told us he was sick.”

Bucky grins from the couch. “Oh, that’s not Steve, that’s Abe Froman. And his lucky lady.”

“The sausage king of Chicago,” Tony sputters.  

Bucky laughs and nods as the rest of the group look at Tony as if he’s grown a second head. “It’s the name he uses when they’re playing hooky. Looks like he finally got the balls to do something about his feelings, though.”

“What the actual fuck.”

“Language,” Bucky mock-gasps.

Tony’s eyes widen. “Rogers has got a lot of explaining to do.”

[loucifieri]

Disaster disaster chatfic (v3 HPA AU)

I… I made a chatfic tie-in of my HPA AU. It’s to make up for the lack of exposure of the other v3 kids in the comics ;w; also, chat fics are fun (and easier) to write (since my strength is with dialogue– I’m not really good at writing descriptions that’s why i just draw them lol) 

The groupchat was created around 2 weeks after the start of classes.

04/21/18 07:19PM

Akamatsu Kaede added Saihara Shuichi, Yonaga Angie, Chabashira Tenko, Harukawa Maki and 11 others to the chat.

Ouma Kokichi: WHOMSTVE???

Iruma Miu: WHAT IS UP FUCKERSSS

Harukawa Maki: for what is this, akamatsu?

Akamatsu Kaede: Hi guys!! I just thought that a group chat would be a great way to even get to know each other.

Ouma Kokichi: we live in a dorm together, we all go to class together… what MORE do you want piano baka

Amami Rantaro: she just needs an excuse to talk to a someone

Yonaga Angie: oooh Angie wonders who that might be~~

Akamatsu Kaede: Amami-kun, shut

Akamatsu Kaede: Okay, maybe a groupchat is redundant but

Akamatsu Kaede: the upperclassmen have one per class and it sounds fun??

Harukawa Maki: they're just going to use this to send each other memes

Ouma Kokichi: spot on assassin-chan!! you know us so well already, how sweet

Harukawa Maki: die

Momota Kaito: harumaki we talked about this

Harukawa Maki: but this is Ouma we’re talking about

Momota Kaito: fair enough

Ouma Kokichi: OI

Akamatsu Kaede: Okay, I don’t mind you guys using this to fool around but please don’t text during class!!

Iruma Miu: booooring,,, didnt think ud be a stick in the mud bakamatsu

Ouma Kokichi: yea ikr

Ouma Kokichi: lets fix that

Ouma Kokichi removed Akamatsu Kaede from the chat

Iruma Miu: LOL

Amami Rantaro: what a power move

Saihara Shuichi: Please don’t be mean to Kaede-san, she’s doing her best

Saihara Shuichi added Akamatsu Kaede to the chat

Shirogane Tsumugi: Saihara-kun used lesser revival potion! Akamatsu-san’s back with 25% HP

Akamatsu Kaede: this was a mistake, making this groupchat and being resurrected

Gokuhara Gonta: Hello everyone! Gonta just went online and is happy to see that we have a groupchat! Gonta wants to be better friends with everyone!

Akamatsu Kaede: Actually! I regret nothing now.

Saihara Shuichi: Hi Gonta-kun

Harukawa Maki: finally this groupchat seems bearable

Shirogane Tsumugi: Gonta-kun is best boy!

Gokuhara Gonta: Thank you Shirogane-san!

Ouma Kokichi: k this is getting boring so lemme spice it up a bit

Ouma Kokichi changed Ouma Kokichi to Lord Panta

Amami Rantaro: first sign of the apocalypse

Lord Panta changed Amami Rantaro to imma meme

imma meme: no complaints here

imma meme: its pretty bland actually,,

Lord Panta: is that a challenge

imma meme: if you're going to make an avocado reference then don't bother

Lord Panta: damn

Lord Panta: i'll think of something better but for now youre a meme lord

Lord Panta changed Harukawa Maki to stabs ppl

Lord Panta changed Momota Kaito to stab me Maki

stabs ppl: fuck you Ouma

stab me Maki: u lil shit

Lord Panta: boi im bein a wingman here

Shirogane Tsumugi: Let their romantic development happen naturally!!

stab me Maki: yeah what she said

Lord Panta: whatever boring ppl

stab me Maki changed stabs ppl to Maki Roll

stab me Maki changed stab me Maki to starlord

Lord Panta: rly wanted to strangle starlord in Infinity War ykno

Maki Roll: I still dislike this name but its kind of Ok

starlord: :D

Chabashira Tenko: I go online and this is what welcomes me

Chabashira Tenko: a degenerate harassing a beautiful girl

starlord: i wasnt harassing harumaki!!!!

Lord Panta: tone down the gay there chabs u already have yumeno-chan

Yumeno Himiko: ….....nyeh

Chabashira Tenko: gtfo shota

Chabashira Tenko: And dont call me chabs

Lord Panta changed Yumeno Himiko to Jingle Jangle

Jingle Jangle: …......thanks..... i hate it

Shirogane Tsumugi: do you still watch that hot mess of a series

Lord Panta: nah stopped watching ages ago, thats the last time im taking series recommendations from Angie-chan

Yonaga Angie: Pardon my french but Atua says you're a b i t c h (ಠ_ಠ)

Shirogane Tsumugi: how much of the audience do you think would get that reference then

starlord: shirogane wat

Jingle Jangle changed Chabashira Tenko to chaotic lesbean

Jingle Jangle changed Jingle Jangle to Do You Believe In Magic

chaotic lesbean: Tenko loves it!! thank you yumeno-chan <3

Do You Believe In Magic: np.............

Lord Panta: wow is it me or is the atmosphere here getting gay

Lord Panta: hey hey akamatsu-chan did you intend for this to be a breeding ground for couples

Akamatsu Kaede: No???

Saihara Shuichi: Don't mind him, he's just bitter he doesn't have anyone to be gay with

Akamatsu Kaede: hasahshhaha OMG

imma meme: asdndals;dskbdbjk

Lord Panta: SAIHARA-CHAN HOW DARE U

Yonaga Angie: Even Atua did not see that coming!

starlord: hahahahaha thats my sidekick!!

Iruma Miu: HAH GET REKT LIL ABORTION

Maki Roll: nice

Lord Panta: i'll have you know i have ranty!!

Lord Panta: right babe? ;)

imma meme: went offline

Lord Panta: >:C

Lord Panta: hmph back to name changing then

Lord Panta changed Akamatsu Kaede to dumb blonde

Lord Panta changed Iruma Miu to dumb blonde slut

dumb blonde slut: h-huh

dumb blonde: OUMA-KUN

Saihara Shuichi changed dumb blonde to Treblemaker

Saihara Shuichi: I gotchu

Treblemaker: Thanks Shuichi-kun!

dumb blonde slut: hey what about me

Yonaga Angie changed Yonaga Angie to bitch I am the WAY

bitch I am the WAY: (◔◡◔✿)

Shinguji Korekiyo: Well this has been an interesting conversation so far.

dumb blonde slut: whoop the stalker's here

Shinguji Korekiyo: I've always been here, from the very beginning. Just... Watching.

chaotic lesbean: Tenko is filing a restraining order tomorrow

bitch I am the WAY: Also!! Angie thinks your nickname suits you Miu!~ Atua does, too~~

dumb blonde slut: eeeeehhhh

Treblemaker changed Saihara Shuichi to The Only Hope For Me Is You

The Only Hope For Me Is You: eeeeyy thanks Kaede-san!

Lord Panta: geez we get it, you're both so gay for each other

dumb blonde slut: someone's salty

Treblemaker: What no

Treblemaker: I am gay tho

Lord Panta: OwO)???

chaotic lesbean: GLORIOUS NEWS!!!!!!!

Maki Roll: isn't @The Only Hope For Me Is You an MCR song?

The Only Hope For Me Is You: Harukawa-san gets it

imma meme: “Still in their Emo Phase” Solidarity!!

Maki Roll: not another word from you Amami

Do You Believe In Magic changed Shinguji Korekiyo to Kork

Kork: …

Kork: I suppose this will suffice.

Kork: It's not as tasteless as Iruma-san's nickname.

dumb blonde slut: EEEHHHHHHH

bitch I am the WAY: she is truly screaming

Maki Roll: it's bordering on a moan actually

Idabashi Keebo: I hear an unsettling distress call... what seems to be the problem?

starlord: theres no problem keebs just ignore it

Gokuhara Gonta: Hello Keebo!

Idabashi Keebo: Greetings, Gonta-kun.

Shirogane Tsumugi: This is so Pure™

Lord Panta: Do you ship it

Shirogane Tsumugi: stop

Shirogane Tsumugi changed Shirogane Tsumugi to [anime reference]

Lord Panta: ehhh boring!!

Lord Panta changed Idabashi Keebo to Do Robots Have Dicks

Lord Panta changed [anime reference] to Nani the FUCK

Nani the FUCK: kdajkdjdsl; OUMA

imma meme changed Nani the FUCK to Weeaboo Mastermind

Weeaboo Mastermind: Rantaro-kun you baka we're Japanese

imma meme: ( ͡~ ͜ʖ ͡°)

Do You Believe in Magic changed Weeaboo Mastermind to ShirogaNYEH

imma meme: HAHAHAHAHA ACCEPTABLE

chaotic lesbean: that's wonderful yumeno-chan!

ShirogaNYEH: this will do for now I guess ;w;

Do Robots Have Dicks: I do not like this name :(

Lord Panta: its a valid question keeboy

starlord: why do i hear sobbing from the next room

Treblemaker: Look what you've done Ouma-kun

chaotic lesbean: do you want Tenko to break his legs

Treblemaker: Uh, no need Chabashira-san!

Treblemaker changed Do Robots Have Dicks to Robot Rights Activist

Robot Rights Activist: Thank you Akamatsu-san!

Robot Rights Activist: I am sorry for crying

ShirogaNYEH: constant mood

Robot Rights Activist: But next time I won't be tolerant of such discrimination against my robotic creations!

Lord Panta: whatevs

Tojo Kirumi: A pleasant evening to everyone. I just got back from grocery shopping and re-stocked the pantry. If any of you require my assistance, you may reach out to me through this group chat.

The Only Hope For Me Is You: Welcome back Tojo-san

Lord Panta: MOM!!! did you get me something from mcdonalds??

Tojo Kirumi: I told you, we have food here.

Treblemaker: She did buy a single black coffee from Mcdo though

Kork: Well then

chaotic lesbean: AHAHAHAHAHAHAHA

starlord: SHE JUST MEME'D IRL

imma meme: MOM KNOWS HOW TO MEME AKJSAJJDSK

Lord Panta: uuuuuuuuuuu eeven mmom is bullyinnng mmmme :'((((

Lord Panta: i hhaaaate thiisss faaaamilyyy uuuwaaaaaaaaa

Maki Roll: then leave

Lord Panta: wow no need to be a cunt, harumaki

starlord: oy im the only one who can call her that!!

Maki Roll: only Momota can call me that

Lord Panta: cunt or harumaki???

Maki Roll removed Lord Panta from the chat

starlord: NICE

ShirogaNYEH: I SHIP IT

Maki Roll: do you want to die shirogane

ShirogaNYEH: I'M SORRY BLS DONT KILL ME

Kork: Good riddance.

Do You Believe In Magic changed Tojo Kirumi to Mother Knows Best

Mother Knows Best: I suppose I will just have to contend with this nickname as most of you do act like children.

Imma meme: dont worry tojo-san, akamatsu-san will be there with you every step of the way :3

imma meme: OH SHIT SHES BREAKING INTO MY ROkjdjksfbjksdkladladhrwt4eqio

chaotic lesbean: he's good as dead im sure

The Only Hope For Me is You: Uh where's Hoshi-kun? He hasn't said anything yet, I'm worried...

Gokuhara Gonta: Oh! No need to worry Saihara-kun! Hoshi-kun is with Gonta out the garden, he didn't bring his phone that's why he is silent here!

Gokuhara Gonta: We are catching some fireflies!

The Only Hope For Me Is You: That is so pure oh my gosh

starlord: its not manly but there are legit real tears in my eyes

chaotic lesbean: you must be protected at all costs!!! the only non-degenerate male here

The Only Hope For Me Is You added Lord Panta to the chat

chaotic lesbean: WHY

Lord Panta: IM BACK BITCHES I KNOW YALL MISS ME

starlord: this betrayal... whyd u do it sai

The Only Hope For Me Is You: I'm sorry, I'm not... strong enough

starlord: and this will make you strong??

Lord Panta: he means hes not strong enough to resist my charms *finger guns*

starlord: sure jan

The Only Hope For Me Is You: He's right

Lord Panta: wait rly??????

bitch I am the WAY: Atua did not see this coming too!

– nickname guide Lord Panta: Ouma The Only Hope For Me Is You: Saihara Treblemaker: Akamatsu bitch I am the WAY: Yonaga starlord: momota shirogaNYEH: shirogane Mother Knows Best: tojo imma meme: amami Maki Roll: harukawa Do You Believe In Magic: yumeno chaotic lesbean: chabashira Kork: shinguji Robot Rights Activist: idabashi dumb blonde slut: iruma N/A yet: gokuhara & hoshi NDRV3 HPA AU Character Design Masterlist here and background information here [Facebook] [Instagram] [Twitter] [Blogger] [Kofi] will probs post this on AO3 too idk lol

[abdicatedarchive]

not an interrogation || wren and florence

𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐍: library // early march.

𝐅𝐄𝐀𝐓𝐔𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆: wren x florence.

𝐓𝐑𝐈𝐆𝐆𝐄𝐑𝐒: none.

𝐃𝐄𝐓𝐀𝐈𝐋𝐒: wren meets florence for the first time, and the interrogation ensues.

Florence had about an hour before her next class, and since the Language Arts building was close to the library, she decided it was a good chance to check out a couple more books for the weekend. She had found out early in the semester that using this time to eat lunch made her more sluggish and sleepy by the time her French class started, so she quickly adjusted her schedule to have lunch after all her classes were finished around 2. Browsing through the children's literature section ( these books had some of the best plots and covered deep topics ), she stopped in front of the shelf with all the Newbery Medal winners, too engrossed in the titles to notice the person that had shown up next to her.

Wren was very fond of the library, it was nice and quiet. He also was in a developmental literature class and was working on a term paper, and to do that he needed many a book. Wren was making a beeline to The Snowy Day when he realized the blonde was in front of it. He knew he wanted to include it in his paper, it was one of his favorite books as a child, and one of the first children's book about a POC that won any kind of awards. Yes, it was written by a white person, but that could be ignored for the sake of the paper, and of course fond childhood memories. "Hey can I grab something real quick?" he said to the girl.

The sounds of someone’s voice startled Florence so much that she jumped, putting her hand over her heart. It was thumping so hard, she thought she might actually have to go to the nurse on campus. “Oh my God,” she said, looking over at the boy. She took a few deep breaths to calm down and stepped aside. “I’m so sorry. Yes, absolutely. What book are you getting?” she asked. She wondered if it was one she’d read before. “If you don’t mind me asking,” she quickly clarified.

"The Snowy Day I'm doing a term paper on it" said Wren as he crouched down to the caldecott winners and grabbed the book. "What are you doing in this section?" he asked with a kind smile. Wren self defined himself as very friendly, and he loved meeting new people. She seemed a little nervous from the way she was breathing, so he kept that warm smile on his face to make sure she was comfortable.

She tilted her head curiously. “Hmm. I haven’t read that one. What’s it about?” she asked. Maybe she would check it out when he was done with it. “Me? I’m here to find a new book or two to read. I go through at least one a week. These books are my favorite.” Her heart had settled back down by then, and she smiled back at him. He had a warm, friendly smile.

"Well it's not too entertaining for an older reader, it's a picture book" said Wren, "I'm focusing on young readers. But it's about a child in a red jacket on their snow day. The artwork is in quilting/patchwork style, and it's just really sweet" Wren picked it up off the shelf, "I applaud you on reading something new, I just reread pride and prejudice all the time or ready player one" that was if he was reading at all during the week. He usually just read for comfort when he needed to turn off all devices .

Florence chuckled. She hadn't realized it was a picture book. "That's an excellent point. It would probably take me all of five minutes to read. Sounds like a cute story, though. What class is it for?" she asked. She couldn't remember writing any papers about books like that, but if she had to guess, it was either an education class or literature of some sort. Florence had tested out of the required introduction literature class for English, so she hadn't had to take any last semester. She was just in composition now, but they didn't do any assignments like that. "Aren't those very different books? Quite the range. I also don't hear about many male Austen fans, so that's cool." She moved back to the shelf now that he had his book and scanned the remaining books with her finger before picking out Bud, Not Buddy. "I wouldn't say I read something new every time," she corrected him, holding up the book. "This is one of my favorites. I've already checked it out a couple times this year, and I read it in high school, too."

"It's a children's lit class, we're on early development right now" said the boy, "Education credit and english credit." Wren was a huge Austen fan, he watched pride and prejudice when he was an 8th grader and he fell in love with the enemies to lovers trope. He immediately read the book, not that he fully got it in the 8th grade. Since then, it's been a comfort read. "They are very different books, but I'm not really someone who branches out" said Wren, in every way possible, he was a comfort creature. "Oh yeah we read that in middle school, that's a good one for sure" said the boy with a friendly smile. He had enjoyed it, but required reading sometimes killed the vibe.

A children’s literature class sounded amazing. Now she wished she had taken it. “That sounds great. Do you like it? What have you read so far? What kind of range is it?” She laughed quietly at herself when she noticed she was rattling off questions. “Sorry, that was a lot.” She shrugged in response to his confession that he didn’t branch out. There was nothing wrong with that, and she told him exactly that. “We all have our comfort zones.” She just didn’t mention that hers was very much solid. She may branch out in the books she read, but everything else she did was routine and unchanging.

"It's still early in the semester" Wren explained, "so we're just on early childhood books and their impact and how to compose a children's book. So only picture books so far". He liked how excited she got about books, it was refreshing to see someone so into their school work and stuff that didn't even pertain to them. "You're good, I don't mind talking about my classes. Helps me get into them" he said, moving his hand to show it was no big deal. "I'm a big routine man myself, but my roommate is a spontaneous guy ... so we're growing and changing together" said Wren with a laugh, thinking about how little Jet stuck to a schedule in comparison to Wren.

"Good point. I'll try to ask again later in the semester if I see you again," Florence said. She wondered if she would see him again, or if this little library run-in was just a one time thing. The school was much larger than a high school, so it was certainly possible to not know people or see them once and then never again. She was enjoying talking about books with him, though. She brightened when he said he was into routines. "Really? I am, too. Well... a routine woman, but still," she rambled. "That's cool, though. You probably balance each other out. It's not quite the same thing, but my best friend is a little more flexible than I am, so she helps me get out more and meet new people."

"For sure, you can find me anytime, I'm Wren by the way" said the boy, realizing he had not introduced himself at all. They had just started making small talk. "My roommate is my best friend, so I feel that on a whole level" Wren replied, "It's good to find someone who gets you out of your comfort zone every once in a while. Helps me be a little bit less of a stick in the mud, personally." He didn't mean to cause any offense, but he got a lot of complaints from his friends back in California.

Florence winced. How had she forgotten to introduce herself? She mentally facepalmed. "I'm so sorry. I'm Florence," she said, holding out her hand. Was that too formal for this kind of introduction? It was kind of too late to withdraw her hand, though. That would make things weirder. "That's so cool that you're rooming with your best friend. Mine actually just transferred here, but we weren't able to room together, unfortunately. I don't really talk to my current roommate. Honestly, she's kind of intimidating." She wasn't sure why she was telling this stranger about it. Then the name clicked. "Wait... you said you're name's Wren?" she asked. There couldn't be that many Wrens walking around campus.

Wren smiled and shook her hand, he enjoyed the formality of it. He couldn't think of the last time anyone had shook his hand. Let alone another college student. "Well, I'm sure she will warm up to you eventually. There's a ... weird kind of intimacy when you share a room. At least that's what my Nana said about wanting me to sign up for a random roommate. But I didn't want to live with some asshole that I don't know. I'd rather live with an asshole that I do know" he replied with a laugh. He cocked his head to the side, "Yeah, Lawrence Bishop, Wren for short. I'm in a band, maybe that's where you've heard the name before" said the boy. He wondered how she had heard of him, maybe her intimidating roommate was Chanel.

She shrugged. She wasn't sure how to go about getting closer to her roommate, and she wasn't sure if she wanted to try. They were in a nice coexistence, so she was fine with that. "I understand that. I didn't know anyone here really, so I had to just wing it. Last semester was not my favorite, but I'm getting better. Plus, now I have my best friend with me again." She blinked. Yes, she was sure now that this was the same Wren that Juliette had told her about. As a good friend, maybe she should ask about Stevie. He really is the nice one, she thought. "Oh yeah. Are you in The Striking Vipers?"

Wren wondered for a minute who this friend was, he hadn't met anyone who had transferred in. But then again, it wasn't like he was going to know the girl. He didn't know Florence, so why would Wren know someone from her past? That didn't make any sense. "That's good to hear, I'm glad this semester is treating you right" he said kindly. "Striking Vipers, the one and only. Stevie is the mastermind behind it all, and Rosemary is our little star. I'm just there for moral support, and to keep the beat" said Wren humbly, "We wouldn't do anything if it wasn't for Stevie's passion for music, and Rose's ability to organize everything. She got me elected to student body president when I was a junior. That girl is ... terrifyingly organized" Wren explained.

"Yeah, same here," she agreed with a soft smile. "Hey, and now I can say that I've stepped out of my comfort zone and made a new friend. Well, if you're interested in a new friend." He was a nice guy, but he could just be acting polite and making conversation. "Yeah, I've heard about you guys. I haven't had a chance to see you perform yet, though. How do you all know each other? Stevie and Rosemary sound cool. You do, too, but I've got more firsthand experience there. So Rosemary is organized and the star, you keep the beat and were student body president... What about Stevie, other than being passionate for music? Sorry, I'm asking a lot again." She laughed awkwardly. She was rambling and trying to ask about Stevie without making it obvious that she just wanted to know about Stevie.

"Definitely new friends, you should bring your roommate around sometime. Everybody loves our shows" Wren replied, he liked this girl. She was nice and polite, and of course an avid reader. "Well, I went to Temple with Stevie as a kid. We've been friends ever since. Hebrew class really bonds people" said Wren, "and Rose has a great voice, so she had to be a part of it, but we went to school with her too." Wren heard her asking a lot about Stevie, but she seemed just as curious about everyone else. "Stevie is the backbone and the heart of it all. She's got this love for music that is unmatched by any other human walking on this earth. I know I'm talking her up a bunch, but she is sadly kind of off the market at the moment" said Wren, just covering all his bases. Sometimes when he talked Stevie up that much it had an effect on people, "But she might be one of the coolest people I have ever met. I am outrageously biased as one of her friends."

Florence grinned. She was glad to have a new friend. Hopefully Juliette wouldn't have a problem with that. From what she had heard, she still liked Wren but stayed away because of his connection to Stevie. Speaking of Juliette, her smile faltered just barely. "Oh, um, yeah, I'll ask her about it." She listened to Wren talk about his friendship with the two girls. She never would have guessed that he was Jewish, but it was sweet that he and Stevie had bonded over that so young. "Wow, that's a pretty deep passion. I don't even know if I'm that passionate about anything," she said, laughing a little. She had already heard all about Stevie's love of music and her talent for it from Juliette. Her eyes widened. "Oh! No, I'm not... I was just curious, that's all, but... what do you mean kind of? I thought someone was either on or off the market," she commented. "What about you? Now I've heard all about your friends, I'm curious about what you like, aside from books, as we've established."

"Well, they haven't ... shit there's a term for it. My lesbian vocabulary is kind of weak. It's like a thing where women move into relationships really fast, or move in together really fast? Something about a moving truck. This is going to bother me" said Wren as he pulled out his phone and looked it up, "U-haul! Yes, Stevie doesn't exactly U-haul, she fell in love in high school and doesn't exactly date anymore, well ... until now." There was more to that story, especially when Stevie got cheated on really badly by one of her ex girlfriends, or the girl she dumped for Juliette. But he didn't need to give the full report on Stevie's dating life. "So she's just taking things nice and slow, so I'm never sure if they're girlfriend/girlfriend" Wren explained. He smiled when she asked about him, most of the time he just talked about his friends. "Well ... I like Jane Austen, basketball, gaming, hanging out with my family -I'm a twin- aaaaand partying from time to time. What about you, what is Florence into?" he asked, curious to hear about her.

Eyebrows creased, Florence watched Wren with a look of amusement. She knew the term he was thinking of, but she couldn't find a spot to cut in. Then, when he stopped talking to look it up, she felt bad stopping him, so she just let him go. Her heart broke for her best friend when the boy explained Stevie's situation. It had been sweet that Stevie didn't really date anymore, but then he added "until now." Juliette wouldn't like that, but Florence felt obligated to tell her. Juliette was her best friend; she couldn't just keep something like that from her. "Oh, I see. I've never understood the U-haul thing, anyway," she commented. "But, yeah, I can see how that would be considered kind of off the market." She let the conversation drop there. It would definitely be too suspicious if she asked more questions. Smiling back at him, she listened to his answer, nodding along. "You're a twin? That's so cool! Identical or fraternal? Well, if I asked brother or sister, that would probably answer that. I have an older brother and a younger sister. I miss them an insane amount. Does your twin go to school here, too?" There she went again with the rambling questions. "Me? Um, well, I like children's literature..." She held up the book in her hand as proof. "...traveling, baking, board games and puzzles, and stuff like that. Not too exciting."

Wren honestly didn't notice anything: perks of being an oblivious male. He had just been through an entire Stevie interrogation and he didn't even know it. "Fraternal, I have a twin sister, and she goes to FIT in New York" said Wren, she was the shining star of their household. He had wanted to stay a little closer to Nana, he was a homebody for sure. "My friend from high school was really into board games and puzzles, he could talk about them all afternoon. Once you get into them, there is no going back" he replied, his kind smile just ever present on his face, "and I think those are exciting things. My ex-girlfriend bakes a ton, I know it can get very intense and exciting" he reassured her. It always came back to Chanel for him, he couldn't go one conversation without her name in his mouth. He hated himself for it, but he kept his smiling burning regardless.

“Wow! Does she like it there? My older brother is in school in Oregon, and my little sister is still home in Washington. She’s just finishing tenth grade,” she shared. Her parents had been shocked that Florence chose a school across the country, but she knew she had to make a drastic step if she ever wanted to travel the world. At least here, she knew Juliette had friends and family. She may not know them personally, but knowing of people had helped her make the leap. “Oh, really? That’s cool. Puzzles are very calming for me.” She chose not to continue the conversation about baking. She had her opinion of Chanel already formed because of Juliette, so she really didn’t want to talk about her with Wren. “What sort of games do you play?” she asked instead.

"My nana and I would do 1000 piece puzzles a lot. There's almost always one on the kitchen table" he replied when she said that puzzles were calming to her. "We try to do them as casually as possible, or we'd be there for hours at a time" he added. "Just fps with the boys mostly, and some other stuff from time to time. I went on an animal crossing binge this summer, I got really into it" said Wren, he had wasted pretty much the whole summer on his switch. It was a good way to fill his time, and him and Rory enjoyed visiting each other's islands.

She smiled at the thought of a teenage boy putting jigsaw puzzles together with his grandmother. “That’s so sweet. I bet she loves that time with you. I do jigsaws occasionally, but I’ve been really into logic puzzles lately, mostly sudoku.” She had a few apps on her phone of different puzzle games. When she wasn’t reading in her free time, she was likely playing one of those. “FPS?” Florence asked when he finished talking. The confusion was clear on her face. She was not a gamer, so she didn’t usually catch on to the acronyms people used for some of the games.

"I do love a good sudoku in the paper" said Wren, he spent Sunday mornings with Nana after they would come home from church. She would always hand him the comics and the puzzles, it was a nice routine. "First person shooters, nasty habit but they are fun" he replied, saying it out loud instead of the acronym made him feel kind of iffy about it. He was a soft boy, but they were fun with friends. "Well, I have to get back to my term paper. But I will see you around, Florence" said Wren with the kindest smile, he really did have to get his work done though.

“They keep the mind active.” Florence was happy to hear that he enjoyed them, too. A common interest or two was great to have for the beginning of a friendship. “Ohhh,” she responded, dragging the word out. “At least it’s just a game, right?” She couldn’t imagine playing one herself. She didn’t understand the point of shooting games. “Yeah, of course. Sorry for keeping you. It was nice to meet you, Wren.” She waves and flashed another smile, watching him go. Not wanting to say goodbye and immediately follow him out, she lagged behind and searched the shelf a little more to see if she wanted another book. Deciding against it a couple minutes later, she checked out Bud, Not Buddy and left the library, immediately texting Juliette. [ END ]

[hunchbearing]

The Sonic Guys’ Story

“I’m heading to Sonic with TJ, baby. See you later.” 

Peter had said those words to his wife at least twice a day for the last sixteen years. He was forty now, almost old enough for his age to justify the dark circles under his black eyes. Janice had loved him once. They used to sneak up to the roof of Peter’s old apartment building in the moonglow of the steamy summer nights of L.A. They talked about their darkest secrets, their greatest hopes. They made love like animals on those sandpapery shingles so many times, the roof had an oval-shaped section worn bare by their writhings. Janice’s incredible yoga-sculpted ass could have been used to hammer the nails back in, if she’d been so inclined.

But that was long ago, and these days her rear end reminded Peter of a stocking full of cream cheese. A mud baby that never grew grass, save for the few scattered stray hairs. Peter always told her where he was going. He made it a point to announce it to her zombie-like face every single time. He didn’t know why he bothered. A diseased part of his mind hoped that maybe, just once, she would doubt what he said. After all, who goes to Sonic every single day? She might suspect an affair with some eighteen-year-old cheerleader who thinks cum tastes like Cinnabon icing. Yeah, that would stick it to the saggy old hag. But alas, she would always wave it off with a generic mumble. “OK, babe. Have fun.” She wouldn’t even extend him the courtesy to look up from the Lots-o-Slots game on her phone. She thought her husband was just going to Sonic. And she was absolutely right. Their last sexual encounter was a drunken blowjob on Valentine’s Day. Peter’s aunt had died that morning. Janice cooked spaghetti for dinner. After they ate, she took off his pants and told him to sit in the table. When he felt the crumbs of his children’s morning Pop Tarts on his bare cheeks, he had to hold back tears. And like an angel of mercy, his own mind came to his rescue. Erotic images flickered across his psyche. Two dollar happy hour.tomorrow. Vanilla blueberry slushie. Fifty cent corn dogs all day long on Saturday. Just fifty cents! Such sweet savings. Such value. It was his first erection in five months. It was his first orgasm in a year. Janice knew Peter was having an affair. An affair with a woman named Sonic. Her sister Audrey would always make jokes when Peter was gone. “Peter is off with his boyfriend TJ again? They’re going on another one of their Sonic dates?” Janice would always offer a weak smile. If only. If only he were fucking a man. But to do that, you have to be alive. Peter was a corpse. An M&M with no chocolate inside. As for his balding blonde friend TJ, she had her suspicions that he was mentally challenged. The three of them went to a movie together once. While Peter was out in the bathroom, Janice took TJ’s hand, gently ran it up her thigh, and pressed it hard into her matted pubic hair. He giggled like a schoolboy. “That’s squishy!” Peter could have that dunce. Those two spent most of the 21st Century at that Sonic place, eating that repulsive cheap garbage. So many nights, Peter came home with that smell on his clothes. He was like a human onion ring. When the odor started to linger in the sheets, she made him sleep in the living room. Whatever his fascination was with that grease hole, she wanted no part of it. She just wanted someone, anyone, to give her a moment of attention. As for TJ, he was perhaps the only human being who enjoyed Sonic more than Peter. In TJ’s youth, Sonic was his refuge from the constant beatings delivered by his shrill mother. “Why can’t you do math!?” She home schooled him, unwilling to put him in special needs classes. “No son of mine is going to Tard School,” she’d often proclaim. “Why can’t you spell your own name? Your own name! You stupid bastard! You worthless stupid bastard!” After hearing the words “stupid bastard”, TJ knew The Belt was coming. Theodore Joseph Jr., in a desperate attempt to please his mother, started going by TJ around age 11. After all, he could spell TJ. Mother was enraged. The beatings only got worse until finally she punctured his right lung. He was placed into foster care. His new mother, Ms. Gladstone, was a 400 pound chainsmoker from Louisiana. She had no children of her own, and treated TJ with a kindness he hadn’t known before. Her restaurant of choice was Sonic. She ate all her meals there and would take TJ to every single one of them. She’d request her chili on the side, so she could slurp it like morning coffee. At home, they would talk and play games, and she would always give him a quarter when he scraped her feet with her pedicure kit.

But of course, paradise didn’t last.

Mrs. Gladstone choked to death on her favorite sandwich: a bacon cheese toaster topped with tots and coney chunks. It happened right in front of TJ, and after he laughed at the way her face changed color, he realized the gravity of the situation and attempted to resuscitate her with a few punches to her flabby stomach. The courts decided that TJ’s mother, who was now fresh out of rehab, was ready for a second chance at raising him. She regained custody, and resumed the savage beatings. But TJ’s heart was warmed by fond memories of Sonic. His church. His promised land. His universe. He wore Sonic like armor, and it dulled the sting of the large rodeo championship belt buckle. When TJ was 25, his mother died of lung cancer. On the day she began her permanent hospital stay, he was sternly informed that he could not sleep in her bed with her. He was enraged, as was Mother. The altercation that followed was thereafter known as “The Mommy Incident” by the staff. The veteran doctors still occasionally retell the tale in the breakroom to put a scare into the new interns. They were legally obligated to let TJ stay in the hospital, so he was banished to the waiting room. During the many days TJ spent there, he made friends with Peter. Peter’s grandfather had colon cancer. When Peter and TJ would sit in the huge, quiet waiting room, TJ would crack wise about his favorite cartoons on Nickelodeon. Peter’s sides would split in laughter. He was charmed by TJ’s juvenile sense of humor. It wasn’t until weeks later that Peter realized TJ was just flat-out juvenile. Peter stood by TJ’s side at his mother’s funeral. They were the only two people in attendance. The funeral director’s two sons had to fill in as pallbearers. “Pretty heavy for a little bitch,” one of them griped. After it was over, Peter turned to TJ and shrugged, “Wanna get something to eat?” TJ paused. For the past 15 years of his life, he hadn’t tasted anything but ketchup toast and boiled cabbage. TJ wrestled with the concept in his mind. Get? Eat? Peter helpfully chimed in. “There’s this one drive-in place I saw on the way down here. Ever been to Sonic?” TJ’s hapless moronic mouth split into a gaping grin. “Let’s go!” And go they did. TJ was in heaven. As they pulled into the space, he was thrilled by the bright colors on the walls and the sleek chrome trim on the signs. It was like arriving in a city of the future. The carhops rolled around on skates with platters of food. They were like angels on wheels. Looking at the menu, he hardly recognized it from his childhood. There were so many more choices now. Thousands of them, in fact. Milkshakes. Malts. Slushes. Cream slushes. Coneys. Cheese fries. Cheese tots. Chili tots. Hamburgers. Toasters. Chicken strips. French toast sticks. Mozzarella sticks. Breakfast burritos. Onion rings. Not to mention the thousands of possible combinations of flavors you could put in your drinks. Chocolate. Vanilla. Cherry. Blue Raspberry. Lemon. Lime. Orange. As if by magic, he never wet the bed again after that day, and only seldom shit his pants. Right there, TJ decided to go to Sonic every single day of his life until he had tried the entire menu. When Peter pointed out to him that it was impossible, that he could live several lifetimes and never try them all, TJ just smiled and affectionately stroked his Wacky Pack toy. In a few short years, he would have a massive collection stashed in his house. Whenever he needed shelf space for a new toy, he threw some of his mother’s old clown figurines onto the front lawn. With the Wacky Pack kids in his house, Mother’s voice could never get back into his brain. Peter also had an immediate attraction to the place. You drive up and pick your spot. You look at the menu. There’s no pressure to decide, because you press the button when you are ready to order exactly what you want, down to the last detail. He was aroused by the level of control he had. Perhaps it was because he felt he had no control at home. At Sonic, he was God and he ruled with an iron fist. It was even better with TJ. Peter was fascinated with TJ. The big idiot could grate on his nerves a little, but he would be damned if he didn’t find his ignorant innocence charming. He had such a zest for life. At least the parts of life that involved Sonic. It wasn’t long before their weekly trips there became daily. They talked about the food, the drinks, the service. TJ would often make a comment on the meal that bordered on insane, and Peter would try to correct him, then ultimately throw his hands up in defeat. “Popcorn chicken? How do they make the popcorn into chicken?” “What do you mean? It’s not popcorn. It’s chicken.” “Right, but how did they turn this popcorn into chicken?” “They didn’t. It’s just chunks of chicken that you can eat like popcorn. Popcorn chicken.” “Oh, so they just feed a lot of corn to a chicken and then cook the chicken.” Was this what it felt like to love a son? The years flew by. TJ remained a child, and Peter ignored his own children. The strange couple learned everything about Sonic. They became the Encyclopedia Sonnica. If you told them what you were going to eat, they knew exactly what kind of drink you should have with it.

“Bacon cheese toaster? Get a blue coconut slush. Squirt of chocolate, squirt of lemon. Oh, hold the bacon? In that case, orange cream slush, squirt of strawberry, and get some real limes in there, and a cherry. Yeah, they’ll do it. They have to do it for you if you ask.” They knew the names of all the kids in the Wacky Pack; first, last, and even middle names. They had written letters to Sonic’s CEO asking for their backstories, and when their letter was returned, they were disappointed with the flimsy answer.

“The Wacky Pack all live in ‘Wacky Land’? What the hell? That’s not even canon!”

They took it upon themselves to create a detailed universe for the characters - one that actually made sense. Their submission to Sonic Headquarters never received a reply. TJ often dreamed he was in the Wacky Pack, running and playing in a world of jungle gyms and smiling tater tots. They would make their pilgrimage to Oklahoma City and visit Sonic headquarters a few times a year. If a new product was coming out, they knew about it before anyone else. If Sonic announced a new dipping sauce on social media, TJ and Peter had posted about it 5 hours earlier on their own Sonic fan-website, along with a 1000-word critique. TJ baffled Peter in this department. Despite the fact he was illiterate, he could dictate a fast food product review that hit the ear like a Shakespearean sonnet. His words on the honey mustard dip actually made Peter weep. For once, TJ was exceptional at something. His mother’s cigarette burns were fading, both from his skin and from his memory.   As for the carhops who delivered the food to them, their opinions were divided. Several of them affectionately called Peter and T.J. the Dailies, because they always showed up at least once a day. They called them by name, and Peter and T.J. knew their names too. That was the carhops who liked them. The others referred to them as “The Menu Fags”. Peter was “Coney Cunt”, and T.J. was “Tater Tard”. Trixie was their favorite carhop. 20 years old, chubby, a front tooth missing. Hearing their Sonic trivia was always the high point of her day. And Peter would stay up all night researching mind blowing fun facts, just so he could recite them to her the next time she served them. She was impressed with him, for God’s sakes. No way would he let her down. On the rare occasion he made love to his wife, he imagined her with a visor and rollerskates. One night as he crudely thrusted into her, he blurted, “Did you know Sonic was originally called Top Hat? They had to change the name because it was already taken - Unnng!” Janice was taken aback. “What are you talking about?” But by that point, Peter had already climaxed. Even his loads were starting to smell like fry oil. “God, I’d like her to sit on my face,” Peter pined as he spotted Trixie delivering to another spot one afternoon. “But how would you breathe?” T.J. laughed. “God, never mind. I need new friends.” A few minutes later, Trixie showed up with their food. “Hey, guys! I saw you got grape, coconut, and whipped cream in your lemonade. What’s the occasion?” Peter smiled bashfully. “No occasion. It’s just that I got extra onions and ketchup on my coney this time, so I figured it would hit the palate just right if I complemented it with something exotic.” “Interesting! Broadening your horizons, huh? You’re the expert I guess. So what have you got for me today?” Peter coyly raised one eyebrow. “Well, just out of curiosity, do you know what Sonic used to be called?” Trixie’s face brightened. “No way. It used to have a different name?” “Peter wants you to sit on his face!” Peter stared ahead blankly. TJ looked at him with an openmouthed smile. Trixie was frozen. “That’s 24.57,” she finally spoke. Peter didn’t turn his head. “Here’s a fifty. Keep the change.” “Hah! He wants your big fat butt on his face.” They didn’t see Trixie again after that. They tried several locations over the next few weeks, thinking maybe she transferred, but she was nowhere in sight. Peter’s libido officially collapsed. Once their favorite server was gone, they took more and more long-distance trips. They called it “Sonic Surveying”. They took notes. Which place has the freshest fries? The cleanest parking lot? Even better, which locations had menu items that nobody else had? 

During one trip, TJ stuck his head out the window and struck a mailbox. Even though his scalp bled like a fountain, he held a towel to the wound and insisted they press on. His health could wait; he had to know if the El Caldera branch really did leave their corn dogs on one side for too long. Eventually, Sonic took up so much of Peter’s time that he had to quit his job at the water department. He signed up as a customer service rep for the sole reason that he could do it at home. As he sat at the computer, his eyes frequently flitted to his framed photograph he took of his neighborhood Sonic. Trixie was holding a Route 44 Dr. Pepper with blueberry flavoring, waving to the camera. Peter would occasionally run his finger over her breasts. As for TJ, he hadn’t had a real job his entire life. His mother was a wealthy heiress, and when she died he became a wealthy heir. But he had no desires beyond Sonic. The family accountant took care of the bills, and when TJ was home he watched his beloved cartoons with the Wacky Pack arranged all around him, all facing the TV. When women saw him in public in his Gucci sunglasses, they would often saunter over and flirt with him. But his childish attitude drove them away like the stench of a dead dog. Many of the would-be gold diggers assumed Peter was some kind of caretaker to the boy. After all, how could a man look so sullen, so empty, unless he was changing adult diapers 7 days a week? Peter was somewhat aware of their reputation among the Sonic workers. Through the windows, he’d occasionally see the fry cooks snicker and point at him. When he walked inside once to complain about his mozzarella sticks, he overheard one of them call him a “gaylord”. Since then, he often made it a point to mention his wife and kids while he bantered with TJ. “My kids would love these dino-shaped cookies.” “I should get another of these Valentine slushies for my wife.” “Wow. With these half-price root beers, I can get enough for my whole family. And fuck the ol’ wife later, if you know what I’m saying.” TJ never knew “what he was saying”. It wasn’t directed at him, anyway. It was just in case the Sonic twerps were listening. There was never a “moment of epiphany” when it came to Sonic. There wasn’t one specific day when Peter realized the restaurant had consumed his entire identity. It came little by little. The only thing was, he didn’t care. Where else would he be if it weren’t for Sonic? 

Would he be back in his miserable cubicle reading meters 40 hours a week? Wow, sounds great. 

Would he be playing with his kids? Fuck that shit. Those girls never loved him. Even when they were toddlers, they cried when he held them. They rejected his presence like an amputee can reject an arm transplant. He wasn’t their hero. He wasn’t even an authority figure. He was just a stranger in their house who paid the bills and kept their cell phones in working order. 

His wife Janice? She’d never admit it, but she was just as hollow as he was. The fun, smart, challenging, sexy girl he fell in love with in college was as dead as Princess Diana. Buried in the casket of a fat old bitter woman, but dead all the same. Who had the right to say he was wasting his time, anyway? What do other people do? Watch sports? See movies? Play games? Listen to music? Everyone on the planet was killing their time as far as Peter was concerned. Sonic was just his own version of wasting time. Entertaining himself with cheap food as the world spun around. As the faint lines on his face became deep wrinkles. As his hairline faded back like a tide. As his pooch became a pot belly and his teeth rotted. As the french fries under his seats got as hard as wood. As his daughters grew older. As they had their own children. As the world’s countries collapsed into themselves. As the continents collided back into one. As the earth’s water baked into the sky from the heat of the sun. As the galaxy swallowed itself. We’re just killing time, at the speed of sound.

[concerningly-murder-y]

Campe Fuckng Diem - part 1

It was nighttime at Camp Campbell, the sky a cool shade of blue sprinkled lightly with stars, David walked past the Mess Hall, a lantern illuminating his path. He sighed happily. "Another wonderful day at Camp Camp, and some new campers! All that's left to do now is recharge with a full eight hours of lying in bed... Awake, waiting for tomorrow." He reflected happily, speaking to no one. As David continued on he remained oblivious to Max, Neil and Nikki sneaking through the night to the docks - looking like something out of a spy movie. "Alright guys, our- wait, what the fuck?!" Max trailed off as he noticed another's presence by the lake, Avis was standing by the lake, dragging a stick through the mud in the shape of a skull. Her black shirt had been traded for the Camp Campbell yellow shirt but she had painted over the ordinary shirt with red paint to make a pentagram that looked like it was made from blood, some paint trailing down the shirt a little. She noticed them finally and waved lazily, Neil and Max stood confused and slightly put out while Nikki jumped to her drawing excitedly. "Hey Avis! Are you escaping camp too? (Max face palmed as Nikki gave away their plan and Avis raised an eyebrow) No? Oh! Are we doing a ritual? I can go get a sacrifice!" She growled predatorily, baring her teeth and crouching readily. "Nikki, no." Max scolded, he was cut off from elaborating as Avis spoke at the same time, "yes." She caught the looks the boys were giving her and hurriedly corrected herself. "I meant no, stupid autocorrect." Max heaved a frustrated sigh, "look, we're trying to escape. You want to come or not?" "Sure." Avis shrugged and Nikki grinned. "Now, our first attempt to bust out of this godforsaken hellhole didn't work. But tonight's gonna be different. 'Cause we have a secret weapon." He informed smugly, turning to the docks. "Billy Nixil." He narrated as a chubby, short boy with dark hair and skin emerged from the shadows spookily, a candy cane clenched in his mouth. "Call me Snake." He ordered in a gravelly voice that was in no way a rip off of every movie tough guy ever. "He's ex-Wood scouts. And he's one of the best." Max proudly boasted, "isn't that right Billy?" He prompted, Billy - or 'Snake' - chewed his candy cane sullenly. "Got my search and rescue badge in two weeks, got my water survival in one." He informed. Nikki praised him eagerly, "that's amazing!" "I never had a choice." Oh, and there's the cliche movie line. "The Wood Scouts are some of the most intense militant campers on Lake Lilac. Billy here escaped." Max said. "Then why is he helping us?" Neil asked suspiciously. "I'm not doing this for you. I made a vow." He placed a hand on his hip, seriously, where did they get this kid? Awkward silence followed Terminator reincarnated's confession, crickets chirping as the four looked at each other unsurely. His eyes then finally drifted over to Avis, having failed to notice her due to her clothes blending in with the dark night. "Hey! It's you!" "You know Avis?" Neil questioned nervously. "Yeah. Tried to join the Wood Scouts even though she's a girl!" He took an aggressive tone, pointing at her accusingly, Avis bristled angrily and burst out in a loud, frustrated whisper. "I didn't want to join your stupid fucking camp! You fucktards literally thought I was a boy!" She hissed, clenching her fists at her side, leaning towards him angrily. "Well okay, let's get in the boat!" Neil offered awkwardly, trying to diffuse the palpable tensions created from the stand off.

They sailed across the waters, discussing calmly what they were going to do once they left. "What about you Avis?" Neil asked and Nikki turned to her patiently. "I'll probably sacrifice something to Satan, get caught and sent to prison. Maybe I'll break out a bunch of people and start a riot." She hummed thoughtfully. Neil rubbed his arm awkwardly while Nikki nodded in approval, "how about you Max?" She asked, asking again confusedly as he didn't look away from the misty lake. "Max?" "Billy. Where are you taking us?" He probed suspiciously. "Shortcut." Snake replied shortly. Max surveyed the lake warily, looking down to see the waves lapping at a branding on the side of the boat stamped 'property of: the Woodscouts'. Max gasped but before he could do anything else Snake lunged at him and sliced him wildly with a knife prompting Neil to scream out cowardly and scrambled to the end of the boat pushing Avis' legs up. "Jesus Christ!" Snake turned to growl at them angrily before seizing Nikki and holding her high above his head, "Yo! What gives?!" "No girls allowed!" He yelled, tossing her into the water. "Nikki!" Neil screamed, reaching out to her, Avis stood up with her arms outstretched, "take me!" She yelled dramatically but Snake ignored her. "All boys stay! No exceptions!" He ordered and Avis glowered angrily, opening her mouth to retort which distracted him for Max getting up behind him. Max tackled Snake with a grunt forcing him to the ground, "Neil quick grab his-!" Max yelled, turning back to see an empty boat, catching one last glimpse of Avis jumping into the water, embracing her fate. "Oh shit." Were the last words Avis heard as she plunged into the cold water, submerging herself.

~~~~

Back at camp the sun had risen to illuminate a new day, Marina was walking through the camp, she quickened her stride when she noticed David up ahead. "Well good morning camper!" He cheerily flashed a blinding grin - literally, she had to shield her eyes as the morning sun reflected on his pearly whites. "It really isn't." She grumbled, David squatted down to her level, "what can I do for you today?" He offered, overly welcoming attitude throwing her off so she glared at him disdainfully, how dare he be happy in her presence? Avis would have made a comment either threatening him or - following her line of thought- muttering 'the audacity!' In an offended tone under her breath, but that was what brought her here. She had been looking for Avis and had gone to the lake, thinking she would be drawing pentagrams in the sand when she saw something on the water that made her turn on her heel and march right up to David. "You guys have a camp for pirate ships?!" David furrowed his brow at her question before he realised, "you must mean Pirate Camp! It's another camp on Lake Lilac!" He informed her with detestable enthusiasm. "There are other camps?" "Well sure!" He endeared her, turning around and closing his eyes as he walked away, recounting a list with the air of a tourism guide, one arm behind his back, the other in the air knowledgeably. "There's the Woodscouts, military campers. Pirate Camp, they train you on how to be a pirate and the Flowerscouts, they are most known for being ladylike and their cookies!-" "Cookies?!" "That's ri-" David had turned around and opened his eyes again to inform Marina more when he stopped talking as he noticed she was nowhere to be seen.

When Avis came to she was lying on a sandy bank, the water lapped to her waist causing her to jump up with a comical start. "FUCK! That's cold!" She scrambled to the side and kicked her foot out spastically to fling off water. She hopped backwards to stop beside Nikki and Neil who she hadn't noticed until now. "Hey Nikki. Hey female swamp monster." She commented, acknowledging Neil's weird accessory of seaweed adorning his head. "Where are we?" She turned to Nikki who seemed the most alert. "Where happiness comes to die." Nikki hissed at her and Neil, they turned as an annoying voice suddenly called out. "Oh. My. God. Is that... Nikki?" A preppy looking blonde drawled, standing next to a tall cheerleader with red hair and another model with brown skin and blue hair that shielded one eye. "Hey guys." Nikki spoke nervously, dropping Neil. "Ew. Who is that?" The brown girl spoke disgustedly, the red head addressed her posse with a bratty air, "Tabbii, Erin please. A Flower scout always welcomes others with daintiness and respect." Her grating voice chastised. "Flower scouts?" Neil and Avis echoed. They suddenly noticed a beautiful area over the hill behind the girls, seemingly glowing and sparkling magically, it looked like something out of a Barbie movie. A camp full of pink houses and cabins with yellow pavement and bright green grass was shining in the morning sun, sparkles reflecting of the freshly polished roads. "Nikki... You were a Flower Scout?" Neil questioned surprised while Avis hunched away from the light, hissing like a vampire at the sparkles and pink. "Ugh, yeah... But they were totally boring so I bailed." Nikki grumbled. The first girl fake coughed to regain their attention and they all curtsied in unison. "It's sooo good to see you again Nikki. And-" "Ne-" "ancy!" Nikki cut Neil off, jumping on him and covering his mouth. "Neeancy?" "Yes! It's- uh, spelled really dumb, it's french." Nikki excused. "Ooh, France." Erin drawled before the leader glared at Avis darkly. "Your... Friend here, is not welcome. Boys aren't allowed." Avis spluttered in anger, crouching and pulling at her beanie in a frustrated gesture she hissed, "I am not a boy!" Angrily. "Oh! Are you sure?" The girl continued, suspicious. Avis let out a frustrated groan and took a threatening step forward. "I. Am. A. Girl! My name is Avis!" "That sounds like a boys name!" Tabbii whined, "my name is Tabbii. With two 'I's." "Congratu-fucking-lations." Avis grumbled. "Come on Neeancy, our morning activities are starting!" The head girl cheered and they swung around gracefully, pausing to look over their shoulders disdainfully. "You can come too Nikki, and, uh, 'girl'." She lengthened the word skeptically, eyes narrowed. "Man, we really lucked out." Neil commented happily, Nikki let out a feral growl of frustration and followed the others. "Hey, you think Max is okay?" Neil asked offhandedly as Avis glowered. She trudged down the hill and they passed a small building labeled 'storage'. "Oh, that's where we keep our cookies." The red head waved as she saw Avis looking, from inside Avis could vaguely hear muffled noises and as the others continued along she stopped and ducked out of sight. Detaching from the group and pressing herself against the wall of the cookie storage shed sneakily. She opened the door slowly as it creaked ominously, a pillar of light illuminating the room slowly like in a dramatic movie scene, a hunched mass was in the corner, shrouded in shadows making sounds of eating, chewing and crunching ferociously. More light was shed on the quivering mass until it unfurled and Avis could see- "Marina?" Said girl stiffened and turned around sheepishly, blushing at being caught red handed. She was hugging a cookie box possessively, dressed in a Girl Scouts uniform she had a few crumbs over her bulging cheeks which were stuffed with cookies making her resemble a chipmunk. Marina's eyes guiltily darted to the side briefly and Avis followed her gaze to see a pretty looking girl tied up with so much rope Avis wondered briefly if she could breath and if she was naked underneath given Marina had probably stolen her uniform. They both stared at each other for a prolonged period of time, the awkward silence deafening until Avis shut the door behind her and sat down beside Marina. She grabbed a nearby box and yanked a dagger from her boot to stab and slice the box open, smiling warmly at Marina who blushed and smiled back, swallowing her cookies before shovelling more in her mouth. The girl tied up groaned and blinked groggily, waking up, she spotted Avis and recoiled, "ew! A boy-" Avis had gotten up, in a fighting stance but before she could use her dagger that was still clenched in her palm the girl was cut off as Marina shoved a sock into her mouth unceremoniously and gave Avis a wink.

A couple hours later Marina and Avis had finally sated themselves and were exiting the room with their arms heaped with boxes, above they saw an eagle flying regally across the sky, Nikki and Neil  hanging on to its claws. "Hey, isn't that Avis and Marina?" Nikki commented, pointing down at the two. Marina was sitting on top of a mound of cookie boxes like a queen on a throne and she waved brightly up at them while Avis squinted confusedly.

I don't know how to link it but there is a prologue to this you need to read, this is obviously a fic with my two OC’s.

@@bluestripedshirt@mamazooey​

[an-unlikely-encounter-blog]

An Unlikely Encounter Ch 1

It was hot.

It was really hot.

I woke up this morning, my hair sticking to my face, my body trapped in a cocoon of bed sheets I'd created in my sleep.

I could hear sirens blaring in the distance, the sound of angry caffeine-deprived drivers shouting obscenities greeted me; Just another annoying day in Gotham City.

I spared a glance at the clock. Sigh, I'm late again.

I wonder if today I can manage to find the energy to care. . .

Didn't think so.

It took me ten more minutes of coaxing my body to move for me to succeed in getting out of bed.

"Hey Katherine! You want an omelette, or some pancakes?" called my roommate, Roxanne from the kitchen. God bless that woman.

"How about both?" I yelled back, sleep evident in my voice.

I crawled to the bathroom to take a shower, removing an article of clothing with every step. I avoided looking in the mirror as I always do. No need to work myself up this early in my routine.

I adjusted the temperature of the water to how I liked it and stepped into the tub, where the seductive liquid invigorated my skin until I finally felt more alert.

I exited the shower and brushed my long hair into a messy bun, did my morning routine and got dressed.

As I entered the kitchen, I was greeted by the tantalizing scents of caramelized peppers, cheese, spices, and flapjacks. My stomach grumbled in agony.

I smiled for the first time today. "Roxanne, can you hear how much I love you right now?"

I live in a small three-roomed flat on the fourth floor of a decent-looking, brick apartment building at the edge of the city. Traffic wasn't that bad, and a Starbucks lined every street corner.

Roxanne grinned at me over her shoulder.

"I make you breakfast everyday," She replied. I sighed, "Exactly."

"Well, I'm not sure you'll have enough time to eat all of this," She turned and laughed at the stricken look on my face.

"I mean, weren't you supposed to meet up with an art dealer," she checked her watch, "-about two hours ago?"

I sighed again, "Roxanne, you know I couldn't care less about any responsibilities that I have," I took a seat at the table. "Besides, I'm not gonna miss out on your fabulous French cuisine to talk to some old geezer about how my work should be handled and shit."

Roxanne clucked her tongue at me while adding some salt to the eggs, "Usually at this point I'd laugh at your indifference, but I'd appreciate it if you could help me pay the rent every once in a while. I can't have you getting too lazy on me now." She turned and gave me one of her winning smiles.

"Besides, how are you gonna meet the guy of your dreams sitting on your ass, drawing all day?"

I rolled my eyes at her. I don't think Roxanne has ever had any problems finding the "guy of her dreams," she's so exotic. I mean, I guess in some ways we're pretty similar.

We're both tall, at least 5-8, both well endowed, and our tastes in music is the same. But that's where the similarities end.

Roxanne is slim, with dark eyes and smooth cocoa colored skin. She's social, outgoing, and strong-willed.

Roxanne tells me that I'm beautiful, what with my long shatan hair, shapely legs, curvy figure, slim face, and my big hazel eyes, but I can't see who she's looking at.

When I look in the mirror, all I see is my Turkish background, my pale skin, caterpillar eyebrows, and introverted personality. I can almost hear Roxanne disagreeing with me in my head, telling me to stop being so hard on myself.

"Oh fer sure. I bet I'll find Mr. Right sitting next to the hobo on the subway, holding out daisies and heart-shaped chocolate for me," I muttered sarcastically, munching on my omelette. Roxanne clucked her tongue again. "I wish you wouldn't be so private," she said, " How are you gonna expect to fall in love when you appear to hate the human race with such a fiery passion?"

"It's not just an appearance," I informed her, "I well and truly hate everybody,"

She stared at me.

I swallowed the last bit of my pancakes before I amended, "Except for you of course,"

Now Roxanne rolled her eyes, "Before you go, I wanted to warn you. There have been some reports of attacks in the dark part of town at night. Some people say that the . . . uh . . .. Joker," She hates saying his name, "Is up to his old tricks again,"

This got my attention.

Everyone in town knows about the infamous Joker.

Bombing the Hospital.

Robbing the Banks.

Kidnapping the innocent and forcing others to commit sins in order to retrieve them.

Being so demented and rebellious.

Basically, wrecking havoc in the streets of Gotham. Only, he's been dead for two years.

Or so we thought.

"Dude. Even if I did run into the Joker, what possible reason would he have to hold me hostage? I mean what would he do? Call my mom? She's in freaking Russia drinking Vodka and partying it up. She probably wouldn't even believe that the Joker was on the phone calling her asking for a ransom for me. He only takes interesting or valuable people into custody with him and his goons," I was starting to become bitter at this point, "He'd take one look at me and pass me right on by acting as if he'd never seen me cause I'm so freaking unimpor-

Roxanne slammed her hands down on the counter.

"Girl, you REALLY need some self-confidence," She began, "I don't know how you can look at yourself and not see. Babe, the Joker would see you, and he'd just take you on the spot due to the fact that you are just SO freaking beautiful, that he couldn't help himself."

Roxanne took a close look at me. "And why do you sound so down-trodden at the idea that the Joker wouldn't want to kidnap you?" she asked curiously.

"No real reason. It's just a blow to my ego," I couldn't tell Roxanne the true source of disappointment is that I've been obsessing over the guy for years. In fact, the whole reason for moving to Gotham was to get a chance to see him.

And then he died.

Before she could get any more suspicious, I left the apartment with the excuse of not wanting to be anymore late than I already was. I caught a glimpse of Roxanne giving me the we-will-talk-later look, before I flew out the door to the stairway and outside the building to begin my long trek to the "Coup de la Fleur" art studio on Buckingham Street in the city.

It was about 2:30 P.M. when I arrived.

I entered the studio to an angry looking Jeffrey Parkins, the art dealer for the establishment.

He was wearing an expensive gray suit with a loosely worn blue tie and the first few buttons of his white shirt was undone. His dark blond hair was sticking to his forehead and his face was perspiring. He would be kinda cute I guess, if it weren't for his small mud-colored eyes and his big-ish nose.

He looked like he'd been waiting outside in the heat for a while.

He glared when he saw me, "What happened to 10:00 A.M.?" he said angrily.

I shrugged, "It probably died in the war," I replied, unfazed by his harsh stare.

He looked shocked for a second before he recovered, "You're impossible you know that?"

Again I shrugged, "So I've been told. Listen, do you want my work or not? Tell me now so I can still make the lunch special at Denny's," I'm probably going to regret being so bitchy later.

His dark expression deepened. "I'm sorry, Am I wasting YOUR time?"

I didn't grace him with a response.

There was a long pause.

He pinched the bridge of his nose with his thumb and index finger.

He took a deep breath, "Listen," he began slowly, carefully choosing his words, "The only reason why I'm not biting your fucking head off right now, is because I need you for my art show next week. Understand though, that I am NOT the most patient man. You WILL meet ALL of your deadlines when I assign them. If not, I will make sure that you'll NEVER be able to sell your ANY of your art in Gotham EVER again. Are we clear?"

I sighed reluctantly at him, "Yeah."

"Good. Now go away before I fire you," he stated. Wow, this coming from the guy who just told me that he needs my artwork. Good luck holding your threats after that one bub.

I smiled to myself as I strolled out of the building. I mean, I was just interrogated, yelled at, threatened, and complimented in one foul swoop, and the day isn't even over yet. I broke like, eleven different rules with the guy, and got away with it.

I am on fire!

As I walked down the street in search of some lunch, I let my mind wander to Roxy's question earlier. Why DID I care so much? I mean, The Joker intrigues me sure, and he does have a few things going for him in the bad-boy attraction department, but do I have a crush on him or something? Is it serious?

Well, I HAVE drawn quite a few pictures of the Joker's face in my sketchbook.

I continued walking around town, but I wasn't really in search of anything anymore. I was merged so deep into my own thoughts, that my body was moving of it's own accord.

I shook my head at myself. What kind of person had to be messed up enough to have a crush on the most terrifying, disturbed, demented villain in Gotham City? Chuckling to myself as I was walking, I passed by a closed shop with the windows scratched, and the door was boarded up. I turned and looked at my reflection. There I saw myself in my usual attire; Beige boots, a patterned skirt, a mono-colored tank top, my Yin necklace (Roxanne has the Yang), and the light, silvery blue mascara I put on my eyelids.

What kind of person indeed? I guess people are right when they say "It's always the quiet ones . . ."

[elizabethschoices]

The Royal Romance, Chapter 4: My Thoughts

I’ve never understood why the last dance thing was so special. Like, it’s the end of the night, you’re tired, sticky with sweat, and all you wanna do is take your bra off and kick your heels up your own ass for wearing them.

Alright, we’re picking up where we left off and approaching Bradley as he talks to Lady Penelope. ‘Bout to throat punch that bitch.

She’s at the end of her story on how her family earned their fifth golden poodle statue. Overachievers, much? Bradley says he can relate and mentions the queen’s antique goblet collection. I wonder if it’s a collection that can’t be used, like your grandma’s fine china.

Now’s our turn to speak up. We’ll be polite and not a total dickhead and go with the simple ‘May I cut in?’ Penelope, while upset, is also mature about it and allows us to take the reigns. We got a relationship boost with Bradley, who is proud that we acted like adults and not children. Honestly, what’s the point of the other two choices? They’re disgustingly rude to the wrong person.

The orchestra plays a ‘dreamy waltz’ (their cheesy words; not mine!) and Bradley takes our hand. Now MC suddenly realizes she doesn’t know shit about dancing. Hoo boy, I love playing an idiot. Bradley’s got us though, and we follow his lead.

He tells us he’s glad to have a moment alone with us.MC makes an offhand comment about not really being alone, to which Bradley responds saying he’s got a trick up his sleeve. Premium choice coming?

Oh thank god no. (It’s sad when you’ve been conditioned to thinking you have to spend money to have any kind of fun.) He waltzes us over to a set of French doors (I love French doors) and takes us out on the balcony, where things are slightly more private. Caring as always, he asks about how we are and wants to know if we’re being taken care of. We tell him how good Maxwell (#Swooning) has been to us and how we haven’t met Bertrand yet. I catch the feeling Bertrand won’t really like us all that much. Maybe he’s part of some scheme to get Olivia and the prince together where he gets a really big payday from it and gets to kill his brother or some shit. Idk. Just spitballin’.

According to Bradley, Bertrand is different from Maxwell in that he’s more serious. But their house has quite the good rep because of him, so it’s safe to say he knows his shit. Bradley asks us how we feel about Cordonia. I love it, despite the fact that the situation around it reality tv’s wet dream.

Our relationship is boosted again. This game better throw Drake my way real quick before I say fuck it and pursue the prince on both of my devices.

Hm, Bradley says it’s a good thing we like it here because a queen should love her kingdom and then mentions Cordonia’s “recent history” with a sad face. Oh god sad music sad Bradley sad me.

The first queen left his father and his older half-brother (so I guess that explains how the prince would be related to Leo if your prince is the black or the Asian one) and he doesn’t really know the details of it. Which makes since, because that had to happen before he was born and all. I wonder how many years apart The Royal Romance and Rules of Engagement are.

Ex-queenie couldn’t handle the royal life. Boring. Give me a juicier explanation, like she hated her husband and tried to kill him, only she was caught and then executed publicly.

Aww, Bradley’s mother passed when he was a young boy. I can only imagine the pain someone feels when their parent dies when they’re but a child. It’s like, there’s still so much you need from them. Ugh. Death is cruel.

What. The Fuck. Answer Choices. Clearly the only acceptable answer is I’m so sorry because what kind of fucking dick do you have to be to say it was tough for Cordonia? Man, fuck Cordonia; that’s his fucking mother you’re talking about.

Moving on. He tells us instability in a monarchy isn’t good for a small kingdom because the currency is weakened, crime rates rise and tourism drops. The lives of the rulers really matter, so there’s got to be a good connection between the prince and his bride. This also means that we can’t change our minds from the prince to Drake/Hana because it makes Cordonia look bad. And the prince is lovely, and we care about him, so we should want what’s best for him and his home, right? I think so.

Poor baby. He’s too caught up in thinking about everyone else to give himself a second thought. That’s exactly why he doesn’t need the Zenobia spawn. She’d steamroll his ass without a care in the world. He apologizes for telling us all this, but I don’t mind. I may not be pursuing him on this specific playthrough, but that doesn’t matter. He can tell me anything; I’m there for him.

He tells us a story of how his father made him sit through hours of meetings for three weeks straight. He got bored of it (as any eight-year-old should) and liberated himself by playing hooky. He and Drake stole a ton of chocolate and hid in the gardens, making up games for the garden maze. The best one was maze-tag, he says. He shows us the entrance of the maze.

He continues on, saying they played for hours and hours, climbed up into a tree and took a nap. He then only woke up because he fell out of the damn tree and cussed like a sailor. My first reaction is that this boy knows any swear words.

Apparently MC can be surprised by that too. I’ll poke some fun at Drake though and say that I’m surprised Drake knows how to have fun. Bradley’s such a good best friend. His response is literally me with my best friend. Her name is Lyla and I adore her.  😄

MC tells Bradley how our experience with Drake hasn’t been the best. Bradley says he’s rough, but we’ll never meet anyone more loyal than Drake. I believe it. Bradley takes us back inside and we sway together as the music dies off.

And here’s our premium option. It’s enticing, but since I’m A.) A Drake junkie this time around and B.) Not the owner of seventeen diamonds, I’ll have to pass. No maze-tag with Bradley, even though it sounds fun. In another playthrough, my dear.

The night ends and now we’re back in our bedroom, getting ready for bed. There’s a knock on the door, and I hope it’s Drake but it probably won’t be him.

I knew it’d be Maxwell. He’s not unwelcome. ;)

Do we get to meet Bertrand now? We do! Maxwell is very happy to introduce us. Please tell me we get to romance him at some point. (Answer: Very fucking unlikely.)

Stick. In. The. Mud. Corrects us on how we greet a duke. We want him to like him, so we’ll apologize, Your Grace. You don’t know how hard my jaw was clenched, guys.

LOOK MOTHER FUCKER I’M NOT A DAMN DOG!

MC basically gives Bertrand that same sentiment, just with fewer swears. Maxwell tries to cool things off, but then Bertrand pulls him out of the room. We can hear them speaking behind the door.

MC is an idiot. Who the fuck else would they be speaking of? We’re going to listen at the door because even though they’ll probably come back in and find out we were eavesdropping on them, I want to hear what the high and mighty Bertrand has to say, as if I don’t already know that it’ll be that he doesn’t like us and how we shouldn’t be here, blah, blah, blah...

What did I tell you? I was right about that entire above paragraph. Bertrand accuses us of listening in. No point in lying. Yeah, we listened in and we don’t like what we heard.

MC tells Bertrand that if he doesn’t like us to get another girl to take our place. But it’s too late because they don’t have anyone to replace us, so we’re staying here.

Bertrand fills in the gaps that Maxwell didn’t. If we, their pick, marry the prince, their house gets fame and recognition, and they need that because they’re broke. So we have them relying on us to marry Bradley, and as we’re trying to romance Drake in this, that’s going to be hard to do. I’d hate to let them down, but you gotta follow your heart. And I heart a sarcastically witty asshat.

Bertrand doesn’t like that Maxwell revealed their financial status, and that’s just silly. They nominated us, so why not just tell us? Besides, there’s no shame in being broke. We all have our highs and lows with money.

After a lengthy explanation that, to me, was already self-explanatory about what our ‘win’ would mean to their house, Bertrand asks if we’ve prepared for the next day’s event. It’s a derby. Do we know what a derby is, the Duke asks condescendingly.

It’s a fancy horse race. Duh. Bertrand’s happy with our knowledge, at least. The derby will be the first time we can make an impression on the press. Maxwell says they don’t get many chances with the royals, so they’ll be all over us like flies on dog shit, so to speak. We really need to make a good impression, even if it does hinder our chances with Drake, ultimately.

Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaand here’s the bullshit clothing choice. The expensive one will actually make us look competent and the second one will have nothing to do with the event, I’m sure. Fuck this game.

Looks like we’ll have to wait a minute for the outfit selection. We bid the boys goodnight and hit the hay. Olivia is in the boutique the following morning, and apparently is surprised we’re still here. Typical bitch antagonist. We won’t be petty about her clothes, nor will we bother talking about feelings. We’ll simply inform her that she can’t intimidate me.

She starts talking about chickens and shit, stating they have better plumage than us. Well no fucking shit, I don’t have feathers. Whatever. She’s out and now we take a look at our options. Olivia says to wear something runway-worthy for the press, Bertrand said wear something modern to impress the Queen. My eleven diamonds say neither.

I’m really sad though because that second outfit is gorgeous.

Also, I hate that hairstyle. I wanted the longer blonde, wavy-ish hair but I really don’t want to spend diamonds for that crap.

Anyway.

Bluebell it is. I love wearing a dress named after a ship that was the site of five brutal murders in the sixties.

Will we be able to survive the derby? Bitch, I can’t even survive another chapter with no Drake.