#and he’s gotten some criticism for dropping passes and that flop

[taylorrepdetective]

Since you like to say you’re always right, tell us what is next. You say you don’t make predictions, but you actually do, even if you don’t call them that.

Ok so I’m absolutely not always right. There have been some really big things I’ve been wrong about and a lot of small things too. And what I learned from that is to keep an open mind, and when I’m wrong about something, to figure out why I got it wrong and shift my world view in some ways to try to understand and guess better the next time. But it’s not even really about being able to guess. It’s about understanding when things happen. It is fun to be right on a guess though, when that happens.

The biggest thing I’ve learned, and luckily I learned it pretty early on in my time in this space, is that trying to figure out the timing something big will happen is absolutely a fools errand. And another thing to avoid is trying to come up with the exact, specific way Taylor (or others in her cinematic universe) will do something to get a point across. Like I can predict she will try to get a point across (set up a timeline, create a narrative, shore up a brand point) but I cannot predict exactly how or when she’ll do it. I also can predict she’ll set something up but then she never does. That’s because I think of lots of options. Some happen, some don’t. So this is the kind of thing I’m often wrong about. But I see them and always try to present them as options, not predictions. And if one of the options I think of happens, I have already spent time thinking about it, so it already makes sense to me.

I don’t know what’s next. She could drop TS11 at midnight. She could break up with Travis tomorrow, or announce her engagement next week. But I do not think any of those things is likely.

So here’s the closest thing you’ll ever get to me making a specific, timed prediction, because to me it seems quite clear:

What I do think is likely is that her jet will go to KC, ✅she’ll go to the game on Sunday✅, and her jet will then leave KC sometime between next Tuesday✅ and next Thursday. Why? Because it’s a home game, and she likes to go to home games and get the exposure and publicity that comes with that. She is working really hard at becoming an icon in KC, seem like her relationship is very serious for those who want to believe it’s serious, and she wants to shore up that relationship by spending time with him, his family, and his friends (also KC icons - the Mahomes mostly.)✅ All of this is so important to the story she’s creating. However, she won’t stay long ✅because that’s been her pattern. She also seems to be establishing that she also has her own busy, fabulous life✅ (she’s bejeweled and he lets her be✅) and when he’s busy with his football week (generally Tuesday-Sunday) he doesn’t have much time for her and she has her own life.✅This gives her the opposite option of the relationship being very serious. In other words it gives her an easy out for it to end. And Wednesday is her birthday. So she’ll either stay till Tuesday ✅and we’ll see or hear about birthday celebrations Sunday night/Monday, ✅then she’ll head out for further birthday celebrations with her other friends and family✅, or her jet will stay through her birthday, solidifying the seriousness of the relationship. But she will leave KC.✅ And then she’ll probably go to the game on Dec 17 in Boston✅. Why? Because it is a short hop from NYC, she has a huge fanbase there✅ and can expand it and shore it up, the patriots are bad so a win is likely✅, but they are a very popular team, so viewership (publicity) will be high✅. After that? Well she’s likely to spend more time in NYC✅/Nashville. Then she will probably go to the Christmas Day game in KC✅. This is a huge opportunity to “take the relationship to the next level” by spending the holidays together ✅, something the public absolutely loves to see and will further fuel the “engaged by the end of the year, after the Super Bowl at the latest” fire. Hopefully we’ll get something reputation-related for new years❌, so the extra publicity will help with that. Additionally all of this corresponds with the Eras film being released to streaming, another huge money making opportunity for her, and her attendance is an ad for the film.

After the new year, there will be some huge games with high viewership. They will be playing for playoff seeding. Then they almost assuredly will be in the playoffs✅. She will go to those games✅, which have even higher viewership, and will give her more free marketing for reputation and eras movie and anything else we don’t know about. After that, it will depend on how deep they go into the playoffs. They are no longer favored to be in the Super Bowl, but it is still a strong possibility✅. We all now know she can fly across the world after a concert to attend an event (she flew to the US during her time in SA, planned to a second time but couldn’t because of the events in Rio, and flew to London for 24 hrs for bey). The precedent has been set for her to fly from Tokyo to Las Vegas for the Super Bowl. ✅There is no bigger stage than the Super Bowl (outside of the World Cup final, if you’re thinking internationally.) The free marketing potential there is something that would be very hard for her to pass up. And if Travis isn’t playing, Jason’s team might be, and they can go together to support him. Imagine the potential of travlor in a suite together with mama and papa kelce cheering on a retiring Jason❌✅ . And even if neither of them are in the game, they could still all go together and stand in a suite as a big happy family in front of an audience of 115 million Americans. Why wouldn’t she do this?✅

Will all that happen for sure? Of course not. But you can see the logic, right? Will there be other things that happen that I haven’t thought of? Most likely.✅ I don’t actually have a crystal ball. What kinds of things could derail this? Well there’s always the possibility of the black swan, but a more likely scenario is they lose again against a team they should beat✅ and/or Travis has another bad game✅. There is a real danger of people turning on her as a distraction ✅and I think they have their fingers on the pulse of this very closely. As long as KC keeps winning, and there’s a good chance they will win the rest of their games, all will be smooth❌✅.

Also I am not even thinking beyond February. I have one interesting thought about it, but it’s just too speculative to even mention here. But as we move through the next two months, I’ll get clues to be able to guess at what will happen after she goes back on tour after the Super Bowl✅. And if I’m wrong about all of this, which I may very well be because she is notoriously unpredictable sometimes, I will simply take it as a learning opportunity to understand her better.✅

[spooky-nerd]

I Wrote an MSR Christmas Fic in September, Sorry

Christmas comes but once a year, or so he’s been told. Which means that he has 364 days (at least) to strategize. And yet, he never quite manages to be able to escape it.

He’s come close a small handful of times. A mere brush with victory followed by crushing defeat. In 1971 he was hospitalized with appendicitis on December 24. Unfortunately, the hospital gave out little teddy bears with santa hats that year to all of the children. In 1994, he tried lying low in his apartment, but Mrs. Sanders from across the hall had dropped off a fruitcake wrapped in red and green paper with a ridiculously frilled bow. The fruitcake had tasted horrible, but then that had been comforting, because he has never had a fruitcake that didn’t taste horrible and would find the very idea to be unsettling to say the least.

Twice he has nearly managed to avoid Christmas altogether. An almost impossible feat, and a coveted one amongst those who bemoan the holiday like he does.

He is not a grinch, as some would suspect, and his heart is not withered and cold. He does not have a propensity for stealing presents from under trees, and he has never once uttered the words “bah, humbug!”. He just does not care for Christmas.

This had come as a shock to Scully during their first year of partnership. She had whisked into the office on December 23rd in a cloud of merriment, smelling like peppermint and humming festively. “So, what are your Christmas plans?” she had asked innocently.

“Well, I’ll probably microwave some popcorn and watch Plan 9 From Outer Space,” he had said in complete seriousness. In spite of his delivery, she had laughed. Probably at the absurdity of it, which likely was obvious to outside observers, he had realized then. And yet, his world-weary soul had lacked the energy to care.

“You’re serious?” She had dropped the smile, and in its place was that frown of disappointment that he was rapidly becoming acquainted with. For some reason, he had felt a bit sheepish.

“Yeah, I’ve just never been one for the holidays.”

“But Mulder, it’s Christmas,” she had said, her incredulity ratcheting up impossibly higher.

“Oh I know, Scully. Trust me, I know. 104.9 started playing Christmas music in October. My building super put up tinsel in all the hallways on November 1st. I’ve been visually assaulted by this holiday on every street corner since the day after Black Friday. I know it’s Christmas. I just don’t really care.” He had shrugged, in case the rant came off a little too harsh. Not that Scully was easily intimidated. He was quickly beginning to learn that too.

She had shrugged, already poised to drop the subject. “Alright. Enjoy your popcorn, then.”

He had smiled. “Thanks, Scully.”

She had paused, turned back to him. He had gotten a whiff of peppermint again, and wondered if it was a new holiday perfume, or just the everyday magic of her. “You know, November 1st is a little early for tinsel.”

Looking back, it is possible that he had begun to fall in love with her then.

* * *

In the four years that Scully has been his partner, he has discovered that she has exactly one flaw: she loves Christmas. The music, the food, the gifts, the decorations, she eats them all up with a little festively-adorned spoon. At his request, she had refrained from stringing lights up in the office, but in exchange, he is forced to accept one Christmas gift from her each year.

Of course, he isn’t a monster, so every year, he buys her a present, too. Usually something quite ridiculous and useless. Their second Christmas together, he had bought her a mug depicting the entire cast of General Hospital. “It made me think of you,” he had said, to which she had raised an eyebrow and smiled, sliding her own present across the desk to him with false demureness. He had given her a suspicious look and ripped into the gift with exaggerated zeal, just to make her laugh. With delight he had pulled out a tie with little green aliens and flying saucers.

“Scully,” he had said, completely smitten. She had smiled and shrugged. He had decided that is was possible he didn’t hate gift exchanges as much as he had previously thought.

* * *

On December 23rd, 1997, he walks into the office and she is not there. It is not a surprise to him, but it is a blow nonetheless. She should be here, bringing him hot chocolate in addition to his morning coffee, placing a gift on his desk wrapped in ribbon so clinquant and overwhelmingly jubilant that it makes his eyes hurt. She should be here, making him dislike the holiday less and less with each passing moment. And if she can’t be here, he should be there with her. He calls Skinner and tells him he is taking a personal day. He does not explain further but he does not need to.

“Okay. Tell her I said Merry Christmas,” Skinner says.

“Thank you, sir. I will.”

* * *

Within an hour, he is at her doorstep with a hazardously overstuffed plastic grocery bag, a six-foot spruce that is growing heavier by the minute, and a gift wrapped in paper that had been sparkly at one time but has now transferred all of its glitter onto his coat.

It takes her a worryingly long time to answer the door. But she does eventually, looking completely drained, a sweater wrapped around her thin frame. She is cold all the time now and she never complains but it has not escaped his notice. She looks exhausted, but it stops his breath how beautiful she is all the same.

She is surprised to see him. Even more shocked by the one-man window display he has become.

“Mulder? What are you doing?” Confusion, but also a smile in her voice that he can see glittering in her eyes, too.

“I thought I’d bring the party to you, Scully.” He is still a little out of breath, but he smiles, and finally she laughs, melodic and joyful. She lets him in.

* * *

With the muted tones of Bing Crosby playing smooth and unobtrusive underneath, he makes them hot chocolate, dons a Santa hat, and gets to work decorating her tree. She sits on the end of her couch nearest him and opens up the little boxes of colorful Christmas ornaments, handing them to him one-by-one with delicate care. He gets tangled more than once in the Christmas lights, each time extricating himself in a flurry of limbs and curses. It’s worth it to hear her laugh. He wants to close his eyes and listen to the sound and pretend everything is okay.

When he is finished, she holds out her hands wordlessly and he helps her stand up. He wraps an arm around her and they lean against one another, admiring the finished tree. He wonders if she knows it means so much more to him than just a nice gesture. Her grip tightens around him in a brief hug.

“Mulder,” she says softly. “I don’t even know what to say. You really didn’t have to do all this.”

They are quiet for a moment. Bing Crosby sings that it’s beginning to look a lot like Christmas. He finds that he agrees.

“I wanted to, Scully. I wanted to be here. The office doesn’t feel right without you,” he says. “Besides, you would’ve done the same.”

She huffs a small laugh. “You hate Christmas.”

“No I don’t.” She looks up at him and he meets her gaze. “I don’t.”

* * *

Exactly one year later, she is safe and whole and mulling over a file, tapping an absent beat on their desk with her pencil. He bounds into the office, over-laden with a diverse assortment of ridiculous Christmas paraphernalia. He dumps it all on the floor in an unceremonious heap, shakes the snow out of his hair, and tosses her a goofy smile.

“Hey, Scully,” he says, out of breath. “Wanna help me deck the halls?”

When they are finished, the office has never looked more unprofessional. They couldn’t be prouder of themselves. Before she leaves for the night, she gives him his gift and a kiss on the cheek. Also very unprofessional, as is the alarming rate at which his heart is beating. It’s just about the only thing he can think about over the holidays, and that in itself brings clarity.

* * *

Her hand is icy where it settles atop his on the steering wheel. He risks only a brief glance in her direction. ‘It’s really coming down out there,’ he had said obligatorily about thirty minutes earlier, squinting into the critical sliver of light their headlights were slashing through the dark flurries of snow.

“Let’s stop for the night,” she says. He nods and gets off at the next exit without question.

They find a motel down a nearly deserted back road that makes them both touch the concealed weapons at their hips just for comfort. The attendant wordlessly accepts their cash and slides them a key.

“You know what’s messed up?” he says as he flops onto the bed after a cursory inspection for suspicious stains.

“What?” she says, rooting through her bag for their toothbrushes. 

“I don’t even know where we are.”

She sighs, a weary sound that he has gotten used to hearing in the months they’ve been on the road. Almost four months now.

“We are somewhere in the southern part of Kentucky. That’s all I know.”

“Scully,” he begins, the word absolutely riddled with guilt.

“Mulder, stop. I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t want to be.” They’ve had this small scrap of conversation several times. He keeps waiting for her response to change but it never does.

Silence except for her continued rummaging. Then, a triumphant “Aha!”

He peeks out from under the arm slung across his face. “What-“ He stops at the sight of her wearing a santa hat and holding a lumpy package wrapped in newspaper and held together with duct tape. She smiles and inclines her head triumphantly. The hat tilts adorably and the little pompom falls in front of her face. He laughs in spite of everything. In the spirit of the season, she joins him.

“Merry Christmas, Mulder.”

He shakes his head, in awe once again. “I love you.”

* * *

In an unremarkable house, in an unremarkable room, in an unremarkable chair sits a man. He is unremarkable in some ways and remarkable in others. He is holding in his hand a two-inch long replica of a Louisville Slugger that has been made into a keychain. A gas station trinket, unremarkable in some ways and remarkable in others. He turns it over in his hands and cannot help the smile that spreads across his face. It takes him back to a motel on a snowy night in southeastern Kentucky, and he has a mind to stay there awhile.

She walks in at that moment, wearing the most hideous sweater he has ever seen. After a moment of stunned silence he lets out a loud gut laugh. She smiles, spreading her hands in a silent ‘ta-da’. The sweater is red and green, and knit into it are alternating rows of Christmas trees, presents, wreaths, some colorful blobs that inexplicably might be potted ferns, and a pair of kissing reindeer, both of which have antlers.

“You look horrible,” he says, still chuckling. “I love it.”

“I found it at a Goodwill.”

“An ironic name for a store that would sell such an act of violence.”

She laughs. “I’m thinking of adding it to my regular rotation. I could get you one, too, and then we could match.”

“Well, people in town already think we’re crazy. Maybe it’s time to start leaning into it.”

She heads to the kitchen to make the hot chocolate, and he puts his hand in his pocket for the thousandth time that day, touching the small box like he’s afraid it will disappear. While she putters around the kitchen, he stares at the winking lights of their Christmas tree and gathers his thoughts.

Within minutes she is back with two steaming mugs filled much too full, sloshing dangerously. She sips a little out of both of them, burns her tongue, and hands him his. The mugs are hot. She pulls her sleeves up until only the tips of her fingers are peeking out and holds the mug that way. He watches the entire scene, completely enamored.

She throws herself onto the couch with a sigh and it is a Christmas miracle that she does not spill any of the hot chocolate on that horrendously festive sweater. He settles down next to her and sips gingerly from his mug, contemplating the mystery of those reindeer.

“Is it a misunderstanding of deer anatomy or a political statement, do you think?” she says, clearly reading his mind. He makes a mental note to open up an unofficial investigation into how she keeps being able to do that.

“All I know is it’s my favorite thing you’ve ever worn.”

“Aww. Thanks.”

“I am curious about those potted ferns, though.”

“Is that what they are?”

They wait there together, sipping and talking about everything and nothing until the hour whittles down to nil and the clock strikes midnight, Christmas Day. He puts an arm around her shoulders and marvels at the way her head fits so perfectly in the crook of his neck. He presses a kiss onto the top of her head.

“Merry Christmas, Scully.” He whispers it like a treasured secret.

She turns to kiss him. “Merry Christmas,” she whispers back. Then she is up, grabbing his presents. She is eager for him to see one of them, and has been carrying the secret of what it is around with her for weeks. She hands it to him first, and he makes a show of opening it agonizingly slowly. She rolls her eyes and shoves him gently until he picks up the pace.

“Oh wow, Scully,” he says softly when he pulls the tissue paper aside to reveal a vintage restored Polaroid camera. “Thank you. This…wow.” He runs a hand over the glossy surface appreciatively, and then points it at her. “Say cheese.”

Within moments, the photo of her completely unprepared and squinting painfully at the sudden flash develops.

“Ugh,” she giggles.

“I’m keeping it.” He slips it into his pocket before she can snatch it away. His knuckles bump the small box, and he swallows the sudden lump in his throat. “Okay, now it’s your turn.”

He retrieves the gift from under the tree and watches her open it. “Oh, Mulder,” she says, pulling the typewriter out of its box. He’d had to place an anonymous ad in the paper for that one. They had decided at the beginning of their life on the run that they would use only the most basic technology, which meant burner phones and nondigital alternatives. “It’s beautiful.”

It is. It’s an Underwood, glossy white, impeccably maintained. He’d paid a small fortune to a very old man for this one. They had met in a public park. He had paid in cash. The man had brought it in an old shoebox inside a brown paper grocery sack. The whole transaction had felt vaguely illegal. The man had looked at least 100.

“Thank you.” She gives him a hug. She smells like hot chocolate and peppermint. It reminds him of a Christmas many years ago. A conversation about why he didn’t like Christmas. Oh how things have changed.

“Actually, there’s one more thing,” he says when she pulls away. She raises an eyebrow. She hates to be outdone, especially on Christmas. Incredulity turns into disbelief when he pulls out the small box.

“Mulder,” she whispers. Her eyes fill with unshed tears when he gets on his knee in front of her, and if he’s going to make it through this, he cannot look at her.

“Scully, I-“ his voice catches immediately. He clears his throat. “I know that the past few years have been…well there’s no words for it. You are the only thing that has gotten me through. You’ve been there Scully, since the beginning you’ve been there and I- I can’t imagine my life without you. I want so much more for you. You deserve so much more, and I…I wish that I could give you more. But this is all I have to offer, Scully. This is everything I have. I want to grow old with you and, and love you and support you and laugh with you until the end of time. I promise to be faithful. I promise to have your back and to be there for you always.” He takes a shaky breath. “Dana Katherine Scully, will you marry me?”

He looks into her eyes, and he sees everything there. The love and devotion that had started small and fragile and had grown into something ineffably strong. He cannot imagine a life without this woman. Bing Crosby’s voice floats quietly over from the record player, singing about having a merry little Christmas. He wants a life with her, a thousand more little Christmases just like this one, filled to the brim with ridiculous, garish holiday cheer. She takes a deep breath, the words that will determine their future poised on the tip of her tongue.

“Yes. Of course I will.”

- - - - - - - -

Note: Btw, I wasn’t lying about that sweater

[weasleylangs]

bunny rabbits & a clover patch - g.w

Pairing: George x Fem!Reader Summary: All the times Y/N and George spent their days in the clover patch next to her house. Warnings: Minor character death (Y/N’s mother, it’s in the second paragraph), I guess a mention of the war but it’s like one or two lines  and it’s super brief like blink and you’ll miss it. Word Count: 4.8k 

A/N: A huge thank you to @whiz-bangs78​ who sent me this ask for a made up title game that inspired his entire fic (although I changed the title a smidge)! Requests are open and constructive criticism is always appreciated! This is my new baby, my most favourite thing I’ve ever written so please be nice

Please let me know if you’re interested in being added to a tag list!

-----------------------------

Y/N is five years old when she moves from the bustling city of Bristol to the quaint, little magical village of Ottery St. Catchpole. She’s just now starting to get her magic, little spurts here and there. Recently she dropped a ball down the stairs of the townhouse she and her dad live in and she somehow levitated it for two seconds before it slammed into a mirror and broke it.

Y/N’s dad is a muggle, her mother was a witch and unfortunately passed shortly after she was born. Being a single dad is hard, and being the single dad to a witch when you’re a muggle is even harder, so her dad did the only logical thing he could think of.

He knew his late wife dreamed of raising Y/N surrounded by magic, to give her the childhood she never had. Y/N’s mother was an extremely gifted muggle-born witch and she wanted nothing more than to raise her children with magic in tow. So when Y/N started to exhibit magical symptoms, he reached out to some of his late wife’s friends to find the best magical village in England. If it was magic she wanted, it was magic she was going to get.

That’s how he ends up here, in a tiny cottage for two on the outskirts of the village. 

He looks down at the piece of paper in his hand. It’s the address of the ‘nicest wizarding family you will ever meet’ and it turns out it’s the house on the plot of land next to his own. Scrawled in messy handwriting is the name Arthur and Molly Weasley.

He’d gotten the note from a friend, someone who works at the ministry with Arthur. He can’t provide a magical childhood for his daughter, but he hopes the lovely family that resides next to him in Ottery St. Catchpole can.

They’ve only just moved in when there’s a knock at the door. Y/N screams in excitement as her dad opens the door and she’s met with a pudgy looking woman with fiery red hair and two identically looking boys next to her. One of the boys is missing his two front teeth in the bottom row, grinning widely and the other boy is clinging to his mother’s leg, clearly more cautious than his exuberant sibling.

Y/N immediately decides they’re going to be her best friends. Even if boys have cooties and are sometimes gross. 

“I’m Y/N!” she exclaims loudly, much to the dismay of her father who reminds her to use her inside voice. This makes her pout unhappily and in turn, makes the boy clinging to his mother’s leg smile.

“I’m George!” He replies, equally loud in fashion hoping to cheer the girl up. This was not George’s best idea, however, as it then causes the missing-toothed child to declare himself as Fred so loud, Molly and Y/N’s father sends them outside. 

They sit themselves down on the clover patch to the right of the house and start getting to know each other. Y/N learns there're five other Weasley siblings, their youngest being their only sister named Ginny, she's a mere two years old and their oldest is William, who they both affectionately call Billy, and Y/N learns he's almost thirteen.

“Wow,” Y/N says, suddenly feeling extremely jealous. She’s an only child and while she’s only five, she has a child’s intuition that her dad isn’t ready to meet someone and bring more siblings into her life. “I’m jealous. I wish I had brothers and sisters.”

Fred puffs up his chest and grins, “We’ll be your brothers!” The grin on his face is 100% sincere and he looks so happy to gain another sister. 

“Really?” Y/N questions looking at George for approval. “Of course. Are we best friends now?” He questions and Y/N eagerly nods her head.

The three of them spend their time playing tag or showing each other their ‘accidental magic’. Molly at one point calls out the window at the twins telling them they know better than to encourage underage magic but when George winks at Y/N as he somehow manages to turn her hair blue for two seconds it’s clear he doesn’t care about his mother’s warning.

“It’s okay,” he starts when he sees the look of fear rise in Y/N’s eyes, “we’re only five. If someone comes they’ll just see three magical kids and leave.” 

Soon enough, Molly is muttering apologies about staying so late and trying to round up the boys to go back to their own home. Fred ends up in a tree, saying he wants to stay and poking his tongue out at his mother. 

George however, is timidly looking at the clover patch they were all sitting in and plucks one, handing it to Y/N. When she examines it, she notices it’s almost a four-leaf clover, the stem is there if you look close enough, but the leaf itself is missing. “Almost luck, for you!” 

He runs away at that, looking almost borderline shy and when Fred chases him all the way home, Y/N is convinced these boys will be her friends for life. 

-

They’re eight now, and it’s a regular occurrence for Y/N and the twins to be seen together. Their parents have started referring to them as the ‘mischief trio’ because whenever the three of them are together, no one can turn their back for a second without something happening.

Y/N’s currently at The Burrow, convincing the twins to come to see her new pet bunny rabbits. Fred is reluctant, wanting to stay and play on his toy broom and trying to convince George he wants to do the same.

Fred, as usual, has an evil plan that involves the beater’s bat in their quidditch kit and Percy’s head after he told their mum that Fred was trying to fly Charlie’s broom yesterday. This resulted in Fred getting no dessert after dinner and the eight-year-old boy wants revenge.

“I don’t know, Freddie,” George starts, looking at the small girl to his left. They might only be children, but the twins are already growing taller and Y/N can barely keep up anymore, “I kind of want to meet the bunnies.” 

“Come on, Georgie! Percy’s a prat and we need to get him back!” Fred dramatically exclaims as he flops his body onto the couch in the living room. As usual, it’s we, Y/N is always roped into the twins’ plans, and while she usually doesn’t mind, today isn’t the day for it. Fred never really knows when it’s time to be quiet, always wanting to be on the go and this pops an idea into Y/N’s head.

“Daddy got cows recently,” she begins and she notices how that immediately grabs Fred’s attention. He loves cows, whenever he’s in the car with Y/N and her father he points them out every time they see one, “you sure you don’t want to come to meet them?” 

Fred is out the door quicker than you can say pranks, running towards the fence that divides their two properties. Y/N and George have to stop and tell Molly where they’re going because Fred left so hastily, that he didn’t even tell anyone before. After Molly sighs and gives them permission that the twins don't really care if they get, George grabs Y/N’s hand and runs out the door after his brother.

When they finally catch up to him, Fred's face is bright red from exertion, almost matching his hair and his eyes are bright and wide. Y/N’s dad only got two cows at first, testing the waters with how he’d feel looking after them but Fred is in absolute awe. 

George pushes him over the fence as he’s laughing, telling him to hurry up so they can get out of the blasting summer sun. George and Y/N slowly make their way back over to the clover patch and Fred stays near the cows. He’s watching them shyly and Y/N thinks this is the only time he’s ever seen him calm and quiet- not wanting to scare the cows. 

“This is Ruby,” Y/N says as she places the small, white rabbit on George’s lap. He looks nervous like he’s worried about dropping or squeezing the bunny rabbit too hard but when he settles, the bunny is content sitting in his lap.

“This is Cutiepie, I named him!” Y/N says proudly about the black bunny rabbit in her hands, “he’s my best friend.” 

George looks up at Y/N at that and before he can say anything, Y/N is giggling, “Don’t look so worried, Georgie. You’ll always be my number one...” she pauses for a moment, and looks between Fred and the bunny rabbit in her hand before giggling, “just don’t tell Freddie.”  

The two of them sit in comfortable silence, admiring the two bunnies as they eventually clamper down their laps and start hopping around. George is mesmerised- the only pets he’s ever had have been the chickens, an owl and the gnomes if you count them and he hopes Y/N will have him over every day to play with the bunnies. And hang out with her of course. 

“Why did you want to come to hang out with the bunnies?” Y/N soon questions, curious as to why George chose the calmness over chaos. They both look over at Fred, who’s now bent at the knees looking like he’s going to run at a cow.

“I don’t know,” George shrugs, he didn’t know why he wanted to spend time sitting in one spot instead of pranking his older brother with Fred, “Bunnies are cool, I’ve never met a bunny before.”

Y/N hums in agreement, she thinks bunnies are the coolest pets someone could have and she’s glad George agrees. If George didn’t like bunnies, she thinks she’d have to demote him to number two best friend and while she loves Fred, she doesn’t want to do that.

- 

It’s the day the three of them have been waiting for as long as they can remember. They’re on Platform 9 ¾, trying to get away from their parents and onto the train.

“I’ll miss you so much, sweetie,” her dad says, and Y/N thinks she might cry. She’s never been far away from her dad for long periods of time. The longest she’s ever been away from him was two days and even then, she was just at The Burrow.

But now she’s leaving for school and it’s all the way in Scotland, which to an 11-year-old moving away for magical boarding school, is forever away from her family. Tears well up in her eyes and her dad pulls her into a hug.

“I’m so proud of you,” he says pulling away and wiping the tears that have fallen from his daughter’s eyes, “your mother would be proud too. Now remember, stick with Percy and Charlie, Molly told me they’ll look after you.” Bill had graduated earlier in the year, leaving the 2nd and 3rd oldest Weasley brothers to mentor ‘mischief trio’ as they navigated Hogwarts. 

“Please make sure the twins don’t get into too much trouble,” Molly says, pulling the small girl into a hug, but she knows it’s useless. Where Fred and George go, Y/N goes too and detention is included. 

They eventually make it onto the train, Y/N noticing the tears in her dad’s eyes as he waves to her. They look around for a few moments, trying to find an empty compartment. 

They eventually find one with just one boy in it who looks around their age. He’s got dreadlocks in his hair and he already looks bored. When he notices the doors open, he smiles widely and ushers the three of them to come sit with him.

“I’m Lee,” he introduces himself and after the introductions are done they find out he’s also in their year and convinced he’s going to be in Gryffindor.

“Us too!” The twins shout at the same time. Their entire family are in Gryffindor and while the Weasley’s are by no means a strict wizarding family, the twins would feel quite odd if they weren’t sorted into Gryffindor.

Y/N however, did not know what house she’d be sorted into. Her mother had been in Ravenclaw but she didn’t believe she had any of the Ravenclaw attributes. Lost in her thoughts, she doesn’t notice George shuffling closer to her and tapping her gently.

“Are you okay?” He asks and Y/N nods her head, contemplating if she should express her worry to George. She knows it’s silly, but now she’s starting to get a bit worked up. Worried that after all these years, her and George will drift apart, especially if they’re in different houses and definitely if she’s in Slytherin. “Just worried. What if… What if we drift apart, Georgie?” she whispers.

George hates to admit he’s had the same worry and the look on Y/N’s face tells George this is the first time she’s even considered this and it’s killing him. He’s grown quite affectionate for Y/N over their six years of friendship. Molly and Y/N’s dad have jokingly asked when’s the wedding numerous times and while they both yell about cooties, George’s face gets the tiniest bit red every single time the joke is mentioned. 

“I promise we won’t. Remember what I said the day we became friends? Best friends, and best friends are a forever kind of thing,” he promises, holding out his pinky for Y/N to wrap her own around and they stamp each other’s thumb with their own. Their way of promising each other. 

“Remember, if you break the promise, Georgie, your thumb breaks,” she says with full sincerity and George remembers the one time he gave her this exact threat. She had cried for 20 minutes thinking that she’d accidentally made an Unbreakable Vow over getting ice-cream with him at Diagon Alley and poor nine-year-old George was forced into comforting Y/N and apologised profusely.

Fred and Lee are talking animatedly about quidditch (Fred can’t wait to be a beater and while Lee isn’t big on sports, he thinks he’d be a great commentator) when Y/N spots George rifling through his bag. 

He pulls out a photograph and smiles as he looks down at it. It’s the last picture they took together before summer ended. Y/N’s dad took it on his muggle camera so it’s not moving, but George doesn’t mind. They’re smiling widely, bigger than they’ve ever smiled before and holding their wands they just got at Diagon Alley. They, of course, are standing in their clover patch, Y/N trying to hold the black bunny rabbit and wand at the same time and her dad clicked the capture button just as Cutiepie tried to jump out of Y/N’s arms. 

It makes him laugh every time he looks at it, but seeing the worry still in Y/N’s brow, he thinks she needs the photo more than he does. “Here,” he says, nudging her briefly and handing her the photo. “When you’re worried we’re drifting, look at this and remember you’re stuck with me forever.”

Y/N’s eyes well with tears, this is the sweetest gesture anyone has ever done for her. “Thanks, Georgie. You’re stuck with me as well,” she says, tucking the picture into her robe pocket that rests over her heart.

- 

Summer of ‘92 arrives fast and once again, Y/N spends most of her time at The Burrow causing mayhem. Today, her dad’s at work and while he 100% trusts his daughter to be home alone, he does not trust her best friends, so she waltzes over to The Burrow, walking in like she’s lived there her whole life, kisses Molly hello on the cheek and runs around, trying to find her boys. 

It’s scorching, way too hot for summer in Devon and all the Weasley siblings who still live at home have decided to go swimming in the pond. They started playing Marco Polo until Fred started cheating by running outside of the pond so he wouldn’t get caught and then tried to play Chicken fight until Ginny fell off of George’s shoulders and almost hit her head. 

Now, everyone’s calmed down and just relaxing. George and Y/N are cuddled up and floating around and it’s making her heart race. In the last year, her feelings for George have developed from platonic to romantic and being this close to him, while not unusual, is making her heart race. But it doesn’t last long, and soon enough Fred splashes them to get their attention.

“I’m tired and I need a nap, I’m going inside,” Fred says, eyeing his best friends. He’s had the assumption that something is going on with them for a while, and while he’d love to meddle, this is George and Y/N and there’s an unspoken rule between the three of them that involves not messing with each other.

So George and Y/N decide to get out of the pond and make their way over to Y/N’s house. They sit themselves down in their clover patch and quickly get the bunnies out. It’s a tradition at this point, and this is their spot. This is the place they tell each other everything, almost everything in Y/N’s case and the place nothing else matters but each other.

Cutiepie and Ruby are getting older now, but they’ve had babies and now there’s plenty of bunnies surrounding the pair of friends. George picks one of the babies up and nurses it, having gotten over his fear of squishing them long ago. He pulls faces at them that cause Y/N to laugh and George loves it.

He loves making her laugh.

“How weird is it that we had You-Know-Who on the back of Quirrell's head, teaching us all year?” George says. They both heard the stories first hand from Harry, Ron and Hermione. The school year they just finished being ridiculous for the three first years, but Y/N can’t help the anxious bubble forming in her throat.

“I’m scared, Georgie,” she says, turning to face him and the fear in her eyes is obvious, “We’re only young but whatever’s happening seems like it’s going to be happening fast now Harry’s at school.” She sniffles, and George thinks he’s put his foot in his mouth. So he does the only thing he knows how to do.

He shuffles closer to Y/N and wraps his arms around her, difficult because of the two bunnies in their laps but he makes it work. “I’m always going to protect you, don’t worry,” he says confidently. He doesn’t know how or when he’d need to protect her, but she must know just how much she means to him.

They sit in silence, just listening to each other breathing and patting the bunnies in their lap. The silence between them is always comfortable, nine years of friendship does that to you. But George is itching to ask something, ask something that could change everything. He’s noticed, recently, that while himself and Fred are at quidditch practice, Y/N and Lee are getting closer. 

Sometimes, when Oliver sets quidditch practice on the weekends, Y/N and Lee go to Hogsmeade together and George wonders why he has an icky feeling in his stomach when he hears about their days when that happens. 

“Can I ask you something?” George asks and there’s no backing out now. He has no plans to confess, not at age 14 when he doesn’t think he needs a relationship, but he needs to know or he might, as Fred would say dramatically, die. When Y/N hums in agreement and turns to remove herself from his arms, his heart starts beating faster and before he can even stop himself, he’s blurting out the question-

“Are you dating Lee?” 

Y/N stares at him in shock, not entirely convinced he hasn’t picked up her feelings for him and then she laughs. She laughs hard. And George is so confused that he starts laughing as well.

“Me and Lee?” She questions between giggles, “There’s no way, he’s like,” she laughs again at the thought of her and Lee dating, “he’s like in love with Angelina. It’s ridiculous.” 

George realises how dumb he sounds. Lee’s feelings for Angelina have been so obvious, especially when he decides to comment on how good-looking she is during matches now that he’s the quidditch commentator. But George always thought he was joking and from his perspective, it always seemed like Lee had a small thing for Y/N. 

“Lee and I are a no go,” she says when George doesn’t say anything besides his awkward laughter, “I.. I think I like someone else, but I don’t know. I’m 14 for crying out loud,” she laughs, “I don’t know what love is.”

She’s lying, she’s 100% sure love is what she feels with George Weasley. The way she feels with the twins is different. Fred is chaos personified and she knows if she’s ever hurt, Fred will be the first person to go after whoever hurt her, no matter who it is. But George is comforting, like home-cooked meals and Molly’s sweaters personified and she’s sure this is what love is. 

George pretends to agree, they’re both as clueless as each other in regards to their feelings. George knows what love is, and it’s what he feels for his best friend who’s sitting with him in their tiny clover patch.

- 

Y/N’s heart is aching. She hasn’t seen the twins in weeks and without seeing George every day, her days are a little bit duller. She understands he’s been busy, after all, opening the most anticipated joke shop in Diagon Alley is bound to take up most of your time, but Y/N misses the days when she could yell for her best friend and he’d come running, no questions asked. 

Y/N’s short term boyfriend has just broken up with her and she longs for the comfort she knows the lanky, 18-year-old ginger could give her. They weren’t together long and she knows she should never have tried to date someone while she thinks she’s still in love with George, but it still hurts.

So, she’s sitting in the clover patch as usual. She still lives at home, her father being accommodating while there’s a war raging in the Wizarding World and he understands it’s hard to get a job these days. 

She always sits there when she needs the comfort of George and he’s nowhere near. Today is one of those days. Everything is building up and she needs him but she doesn’t want to be a bother. They owl back and forth most days and he’s always talking about how much work he has to do.

She’s been laying in the clover patch, their clover patch, for so long the sun is starting to set and when she sits up she sees him.

George doesn’t miss the red-rimmed eyes and the messy hair that’s covered in grass. He notices the confused look on her face and he picks up a clover and conjures it into a bouquet of wildflowers as he walks over to her.

“Hi, darling,” he says, sitting down and passing her the bouquet. Y/N is trying her hardest to pretend like her heart isn’t swooning but it is, and it’s all George’s fault. “Your dad owled me. Said you needed some George time,” he chuckles quietly and Y/N lets out a groan.

Of course, her dad decided to meddle. 

“Hey, don’t stress,” George says as he sees the look of annoyance on her face, “I don’t mind. I told you I’m always here for you, didn’t I?” She hates that he’s right.

“You did,” she starts, “but you’ve been so busy. You don’t deserve to be forced into listening to my boy troubles.” She’s mocking herself now and George lightly pushes her and shakes his head. Anything upsetting Y/N is worth listening too and he’d listen to her drone on about a broken muggle device if it meant she wasn’t bottling her emotions up. 

“Sean broke up with me, said I wasn’t in it enough for him, which…” She trails off, debating whether she should continue, “he wasn’t wrong. I wasn’t in it enough for him but it still sucks,” she mutters. 

George is well aware she just got out of a relationship and he’s also well aware they’ve been friends, for now, thirteen years and if anything was going to happen between them, it would have happened by now. But he can’t help but feel the slightest bit happy when he hears they’ve broken up. 

“Do you want to talk about why?” He enquires trying to be a good friend. Y/N falls flat on her back and sighs as she looks up at the sky above her, “I’ve been in love with the same person since I was 14 and I think I was trying to get over him? Or is that too specific?” she laughs but George knows she isn’t joking. 

“Why… Why haven’t you told them?” He asks, hoping to all four founders of Hogwarts that Y/N is talking about him. She looks at him, a glint in her eye and she decides she needs answers. She needs to know if her feelings for George Weasley are ever going to be reciprocated or if she needs to get over him.

“Scared. We’ve been friends for so long…” She hints and she hopes to Godric he gets the hint and doesn’t think she’s talking about Fred, but decides to say more just in case, “He’s tall, funny, ginger, an incredible quidditch player, great with animals…”

“You like Charlie?” He teases to hide the excitement bubbling in his chest and she has to resist the urge to slap him. But she caught the glint of happiness in her eyes and he doesn’t even have to speak for her to know her feelings are reciprocated.

She launches herself into his lap, almost pressing him into a bunny when he falls backwards and she straddles his waist, pressing kisses over his cheeks, “No! I love you, George Fabian Weasley!” 

“Hey, hey, hey,” he exclaims, swatting her away, “What if I didn’t love you back?” He teases, eyebrows raised and Y/N lets out a cackle of laughter, “I know you, George Weasley, the look in your eye made it obvious you were excited I love you.”

It’s George’s turn to smile like an idiot as he rolls them over and presses his lips to hers, finally. Thirteen years of friendship, four years of loving her and he was not prepared for this kiss to knock the wind out of his lungs. All the love he feels for her is reciprocated and he feels like the happiest man in the entire world. 

When they pull apart, George’s eyes are transfixed on hers. The redness disappearing and being replaced by what he can only assume is absolute pure joy. She blushes and turns her head, not being able to handle the attention he’s giving her and when George tries to follow her eyes, his own eye catches something.

He reaches up above her head and plucks something out of the ground before showing it to her. “A four-leaf clover,” he whispers and George can’t help but think it’s fate. The day they became friends he’d found almost a four-leaf clover and the day they became more, he found a real one.

“Your lucky day, boyfriend,” she winks as she pulls him into another kiss, but he stops her and she gives him a pout, “Who said I was your boyfriend?” He teases and the look of fear that flickers across Y/N’s face is reminiscent of the day he threatened her with a broken thumb.

“I- I- Sorry, I assum-” He cuts her off with a kiss, laughing against her lips, “You just didn’t give me a chance to ask you, darling,” he says as he pulls away and Y/N’s face is as red as a tomato in embarrassment and he kisses both her cheeks in reassurance.

“Y/N Y/L/N, would you please be my girlfriend?” he asks, but it’s almost phrased like a statement, like she has no other choice and honestly, Y/N doesn’t mind.

When she pretends to think about it, George waggles his eyebrows and waves the four-leaf clover in her face and she pulls him into a kiss again, hoping that a ‘yes, I’ll be yours for the rest of my days’ is obvious.

[mxvladdy]

Ey, could you make food source reactions for Mammon & Levi like you did with the others?

I've read it like 3 times now, they're all so sweet and believable you did a great job!

You got it Fam! Glad you like them so much lol. (I got a lot more angsty with Mammon than I thought I would but I love him sooooo)

Mammon

This poor man. He gets to spend so little time alone with you. He has to make every second count. Between the hustling, modeling, and running from Lucifer, he’s a pretty busy guy. 

So he plans date nights. Just you, him, and his leather couch. Ya ain’t goin’ nowhere, ya hear? He looks forward to this every month. He pins it on his calendar too just so he doesn’t double book himself. 

Now, don’t get me wrong. Just cause he plans this doesn’t mean he necessarily has a plan. Not that you care. Most of his activities turn into trouble anyway, even when he is not trying.  

 Sometimes he teaches you how to play cards (also shows you human ways to cheat-just in case you need it). The hours are spent pleasantly sitting in his lap while he teaches you how to count cards.

But, most nights, he just wants to talk. He enjoys his time with you. You and him cuddling and chatting away the hours before passing out for the night. 

He has a lot of things he wants to know about you. To him, he feels like if he knows you better than the other brothers he’s won. 

Won what? Idk, your affection? Approval? He already has it, but he is insecure about his place in your heart regardless. 

This evening starts out like any other. Mammon dashing to the kitchens to pilfer some snacks and drinks before Beel can steal them all, and you bring your cute self over to his room. 

You two toss back a few drinks and spend some time looking over his latest photo shoots before going on to the main event. Tonight you brought one of your favorite human card games. It was like 20 questions, but some questions were more risque than others. Was it meant for more than two players? Yes, but whatever- Mammon wants to play it so you are.

You both are relaxed and drowsy by the time you start playing. Your stomachs are full of junk, and the morning moons are just on the horizon. It’s the perfect mixture for loose lips and secrets, before falling asleep in each other's arms. 

You pick easy cards first, jumping from silly innocent questions to one that made him blush from ear to ear. The hours pass quickly and Mammon’s answers become more slurred and accented as he tires out. 

He was on the verge of sleep when you ask,  “What’s your favorite dish?” 

It was a slip of the tongue, a long-lost memory pulled up from the dregs of his exhausted mind. He remembers a savory dish Barbatos use to make way back when. He can still smell the savory smoky spices mixing with the fresh vegetables and meat- Oh shit.

He feels you stiffen and he ain’t sleepy anymore, that’s for sure. Immediately up and apologizes. He stumbles over himself in his haste to explain himself. 

You spend the rest of the evening with him in your arms trying to comfort him as he tearfully swears he hasn’t eaten a person in a couple of hundred years. 

Mini Fic

He regrets it the moment the words slip out. His sleepy remark hangs out in the chilly air of his room. He feels you jerk in his arms as if punched. “Shit! I-I didn’t mean.” Mouth agape, he backtracks, tongue working faster than his overtaxed brain. He looks down at your head on his chest. 

Your eyes are wide. Their surprise reflected in the bright blue moonlight. His heart sinks to his stomach. Gods, he ruined it. “I’m sorry- I.”  Pushing you off of his chest he goes to grab his shirt and redress, ignoring the prickling heat growing at the corner of his eyes. He could sleep somewhere else tonight. You could have the room if you wanted, or at least give you a minute to flee in terror from the demon that masqueraded as your friend. He can’t look at you. Hells, he was too ashamed to even glance in your direction. What kind of idiot let’s slip that? They even had a council meeting about this very thing before you arrived. 

So lost in his panic he doesn’t notice you trying to get his attention. It wasn’t until you forcefully grab his arm did he hear you. “It’s ok Mammon.” You engulf him in your warm and comforting scent. Strong arms dragging him back to the crumpled sheets of his bed. Your soft fingers wipe at the silent tears streaking down his cheeks. 

He dislodges himself from your light grasp to rub at his own eyes. “How can ya’ say that?” Where was your sense of self-preservation? Ain’t humans supposed to be aware of such dangers? The irony wasn’t lost on him though. Being your ‘protector’ and all.

You shuffle closer, hellbent on comforting. His pack mark hums gently on his chest when you touch it. As much as his body wanted to run, your pact mark cemented him to his seat. He sits while you fuss over him slowly breathing through his mouth to calm his racing heart. He can’t help but drift closer to you when he feels your hand on the top of his head. When had he become so weak for you? 

“Well-How can I not?” You shrug. He closes his eyes when you start ruffling his fringe. “You’ve been nothing but sweet to me. Yes, you have,” You cut him off firmly before he can object. “Always my number one anyway.” That pulls a wet chuckle from your demon. His eyes clear up at your admission. “I trust you Mammon, honestly. I mean, I kinda knew that you’ve probably eaten a human or two in your life. Knowing, and knowing are more different than I thought.” 

 Mammon cages you in his arms, his nose brushing along your neck and jawline. “Damn-.” He huffs covering you in his warm body, arms tight around your sides. “I’m sorry. I ruined tonight.” Mammon sighs into your skin. 

You hug him back. “Nonsense, if you want to get technical I think you won this game. I can’t top that answer.” You push away with a wide yawn. “Now can we go back to bed?” With a nod, he flops over pulling you down with him. You bully your way into his arms again. Sighing constantly you snuggle in for the night, ready to drift off. His eyelids began to feel heavy again too. Your soft weight on him like a security blanket. He listens to your slowly beating heart, matching his breathing to yours. The rhythmic thumps working to calm him better than his noise machine. He basks in your presence, rubbing his broad hand down your back for a moment before you speak again.

“Hey, Mammon.” 

“Hmm?” 

“Do you think I would taste good?” 

Leviathan 

Awkward boy. Of course, he has had his fair share of humans. Not particularly his favorite through. A lot of the time it wasn’t on purpose. His demon form is big and sometimes more than just fish and other demons get swallowed up. Course when that happened, they weren’t exactly fresh either. Bleh-just thinking about it makes his stomach turn. 

No, he never got a taste for it, even when it was served in the royal palace. The memories of the sea are still pretty vivid. It never really crosses his mind anymore. Till you bring it up.

He invites you over for a game night. A new VR game he had been saving up for just dropped and he had to play it with you.

It was a horror stealth game. Heavy on critical thinking and solving puzzles in real-time.

Your two characters were on a race against time against a flesh eating cult that had invaded a small village. He thought it was a fun concept and you both liked horror games. He didn’t notice how quiet you had gotten until you had set your controller down. 

You ask during a loading screen after a pretty graphic cut scene of a npc getting caught. How realistic was that cut scene? Had he ever eaten a human before?

Boy is a brighter pink than Ruri-chan’s signature outfit (and twice as cute lbr) 

He gets so flustered that he misses the start of the next round and gets you both eaten. 

He doesn’t take conflict well. Like at all. He much rather slink off into his fish tank and hide than answer you. In fact, that sounds like an excellent idea.  

He slithers back out of his tank hours later thinking you had left or found a better brother to hang out with. Yucky people eaters like him aren’t good company for humans. 

You jump him the minute his feet are back on solid ground. Have an answer now you must! Yrssss. 

Mini Fic

“L-Let go!” Levi shrieks, caught in your sneak attack. He locks up when you jump him, all four of your limbs wrapping around his soaking body like an octopus. 

“No!” You squeeze him harder taking full advantage of the fact that he won’t remove you himself. You feel the heat of his blush through his soaked clothes as you cling closer. If he could blush any harder you were pretty sure steam would be wafting off of him. 

“Why do you want to know anyway?” He wiggles gently, trying to loosen your tight grip. 

“Morbid curiosity.” Well, at least you were honest. He was still going to say no, you didn’t need to know that about him. He opens his mouth to shut you down but makes the mistake of looking at you. The words die when he catches the pout growing on your face. Oh no- his one weakness. Your way your lower lip pops out adorably, accompanied by slightly puffed-out cheeks. It was a one-two punch to his defenses. 

“I-they weren’t on purpose.” He pleads. Nevermore in his life did he wish he could turn into a mist-like his brother. He feels you slip off of him. Your bare feet don’t make a sound on his carpeted floor. “It just happened sometimes.” He admits. You accept it for a few seconds before his words fully hit you.

“Wait? How do you accidentally eat someone?” You ask incredulously. “All though- that’s something Beel might do.” You ponder the logistics and step back to give him some space.

He rights himself, wicking the moisture from his coat and pants with magic until he is completely dry again. You start asking a dozen more questions in rapid fire. It was enough to make his head spin. You were too curious for your own good. “Ever heard of basking whales?”  

You blink. 

Levi sighs and waves a hand to himself.  “When I lived in the ocean… I’m big ya know. I kinda would just open my mouth and swallow. Whatever I caught I ate.” He waits for you to get the jest. Most of the time it was smaller fish and aquatic mammals. When a demon encroached on his territory he would eat them too. The dead were meant for his army, but sometimes they got sucked into.

Instead of nodding in understatement, you cover your mouth with the palm of your hand and snort. His eyes grow big and his blush turns brighter. You were spending way too much time with Asmo. “No-Not like that!” His flailing only makes you laugh harder. Great, as if he didn’t want to die of embarrassment already.

“Well word it better, nerd.” You laugh retreating back to the mound of pillows you claimed for gaming, VR headset in hand. “Come on, we have to start over now- thanks to someone.”

“You started it!” Levi shoots back grabbing up his gear as well. He fiddles with it for a moment before glancing back at you. You were oblivious to inner turmoil over this admission. A naval admiral was one thing. Humans had them too, that wasn’t too much for you to comprehend. Being a devil was easy enough to understand too, at least in his mind. But eating people? Shouldn’t you be more concerned? “So-that’s it?”

You look up questioningly. “What’s it?” 

He raises a purple brow. “You have nothing else to say? I just admitted to eating people!” 

“Not really.” You shrug. “I can’t get too pressed about it. It’s not like you are human. I’m like what-at the bottom of the food chain to you, right?” Levi nods. “See! So no point stressing over it. ‘Sides, you haven’t munched on me yet.” You turn your attention back to the screen, flicking your controller to wake his flat-screen back up. “Unless~” He gulps at the sly eyebrow wiggle you throw at him, the shit eating grin that accompanied it only made him worry.  “Perhaps you just have an appetite for seamen.” 

Your peals of laughter mix with his shrill yelps of objection, as he tackles you. His previous worries were completely forgotten by your teasing. 

[quinncupine]

Hiiii quinn! I never realised you did requests but if it would be fine (and also because its my sole goal) could you do a boom boom boi and izubby with having their own cat or dog as a pet??? I'm seriously thinking that boom boom boi would be both a cat and dog person, don't u agree? (Ily lots and don't feel pressured to do this if you have a lot of stuff going on!)

Hi Dorki! I'm finally making my way through my requests and I was really excited to write this one! Okay, hope you like it!

Quinns Masterlist

Wanna request something?

The Boys with Pets

Word Count: 1,750

Featuring: Izuku Midoriya and Katsuki Bakugo!

Warnings: dogs, cats, cursing

Izuku Midoriya

Now Izuku loves pretty much all animals, but I can totally see him getting a dog. Dogs are loyal and full of energy just like a certain green-haired hero. The perfect duo.

He would probably rescue one from the pound, the one with the biggest, saddest, cutest eyes because how could he not? But someone has to go with him because he'd try to rescue them all if there was no one there to stop him. Once a hero, always a hero I suppose.

I'm thinking for names, he would definitely pick a name that reflects his favorite heroes. Don't be surprised if he names his dog something super cheesy like Mighty or Rocky…

Wait, okay, I've decided, he names his dog Mighty and that is the hill I will die on.

The life of a hero is quite busy so when he goes off on long missions, he drops the dog off at his mom's house. Inko has fallen in love with this sweet pup, so much so that she sometimes begs him to stop by with the dog for a visit. It's the closest thing she's got to grandbabies at the moment, she'll take what she can get :)

Now, this cute pup draws in the attention of just about everyone so he's gotten an influx of attention and a few numbers slipped in his hand during their walks, much to his flustered surprise.

Best wingman ever.

This dog goes on regular runs with Izuku and sometimes even helps him with training. I'm thinking a Collie or an Aussie would just be the perfect fit for him to keep up with his personality and lifestyle. He needs an active dog!

I can see it now, he goes on his daily morning runs with this cute Lil furry training buddy and they race the whole way! A few regulars on the trail know about this and it's become sort of a tradition to cheer the two on as they pass.

 ...

The morning air was crisp with the slight scent of the coming autumn, the perfect morning for a run. Izuku, dressed in his usual training wear, had a steady rhythm going for the last forty minutes, letting out even, controlled breaths. This was the easy part of the run, a warm-up if anything, and he hadn't even broken a sweat yet. The canine jogging by his side was enjoying the dewy morning air as well, tongue happily flopping out the side of her mouth. The shared morning ritual between man and man's best friend: Mighty.

Her tail picked up speed, wagging uncontrollably as they neared the bend where the giant jagged rock towered over the path. It was the place marker to start the race. A three-mile run to the top of the hill located at the center of the park. It was also Mighty's favorite part of the morning.

"Ready girl?" Izuku grinned down at the ecstatic dog who barked in reply.

The instant the two of them passed the big rock, they both broke out in full speed, leaving behind a cloud of dust. Happy barks filled the air as she gained the upper hand. Izuku laughed as the dog turned to look back at him lagging behind her. He always did these races without his quirk to assist him. It was only fair and it helped him work on his natural stamina in case he was ever in a situation where he couldn't use his quirk. Always good to be prepared.

He watched as she bounded up the first steep hill on the trail. There were a few small hills on this route, but this one was the hardest to climb and Mighty had the advantage with her four legs so she always managed to pull ahead first. She stopped at the top and barked him on before quickly disappearing over the crest.

When he reached the top, he stopped for just a second to take in his surroundings. This part of the park was a heavily wooded area with numerous trails that many people used to hike or run. It also served as a great view of the city skyline and he couldn't help but stop and admire the rising sun from between the foggy buildings every time. Then Mighty barked to pull him out of his thoughts.

"It's not over yet!" He called after her and raced down the hill, putting on an extra burst of speed to easily close the distance.

Tail wagging, she nipped playfully at his feet as they sprinted along the path, side by side. There weren't many people out this early so he usually had the trail to himself. The only sounds were the wind in the trees, the leaves crunching under feet and paws, Mighty barking beside him, and his own unrestrained glee as they ran together.

These were the mornings he loved. Just the two of them, away from the stresses that came with pro-hero work. He wouldn't trade being a hero for anything, but sometimes it got to be too much so coming here to clear his mind with a little run was always a cathartic release, only made better by the furry companion by his side.

The short bridge that arched over the creek signaled the last mile. Getting more serious, Izuku pulled ahead of Mighty, not able to hold back the giant grin as he streaked across the bridge, startling a few birds off the railings which Mighty barked at as she came up behind him.

Up ahead was a large open meadow with a small duck pond near the center. A few benches were scattered about the path and he saw the same elderly couple sitting in their usual spot with a bag of rice and seed to feed the plethora of ducks waddling around their feet.

"You got him this time Mighty!" The old man looked up as the two of them zipped down the path towards the couple.

"Show 'em what girls can do!" The woman cracked a smile, waving her hands.

"Morning Mr. and Mrs. Fujino!" Izuku waved as he passed. "Don't count me out yet!"

Mighty barked her greeting and took a detour, herding some ducks closer to the couple then with a quick lick to Mr. Fujino's hand, she sprinted back to catch up to Izuku.

The Fujino's marked the last leg of the race. The only thing left was to climb the top of the largest hill in the park to the old oak tree at the top. That was the finishing line. It was always a gamble as to who finished first every day, but Mighty sure had a competitive spirit.

Izuku pumped his legs as he steadily made his way up to the dirt trail, Mighty just behind him before she suddenly veered left and disappeared into the shrubbery. He was so focused on the tree that slowly came into view just around the curve as he neared the top that he didn't notice.

Just as the path leveled out, almost to the finish line, he glanced back to see no sign of his dog. The tree was a few feet away when a furry mass ambushed him from the side, knocking him clean off his feet. The pro hero landed in the grass with a heavy Oof. Sitting on his chest was Mighty, looking quite proud of herself.

"Cheater!" He laughed, trying his best to hold back the slobbery licks she was determined to give him. "Okay, okay, I'll call it a tie!"

 Katsuki Bakugo

Now Katsuki on the other hand would totally be a cat person. Not that he has anything against dogs, but cats are more his style. They don't need constant attention and are pretty much self-sufficient. Just the way he likes it.

That being said, Katuski would go all out on toys and the latest gizmos to take care of his cat. Has a self-cleaning litter box, a waterfall bowl, an automatic feeder, etc. You get the picture.

Oh, and toys galore. If he has space, this cat is getting a personal jungle gym that lets him walk up to the ceiling. S.P.O.I.L.E.D.

Doesn't like to tell people just how much he actually loves this cat because he's never been one to express emotions, but this cat just gets him to his core. They share the same wavelength and he appreciates that. The cat is the only one he trusts to open up to, so sometimes you might catch him ranting to the poor thing who just stares back with big wide eyes and occasional meows. Yup, totally gets him.

I see him with a super chill cat, like maybe a Ragdoll or a Russian Blue. Something that tolerates his constant screaming and explosions.

This guy is just as bad at names. It'll definitely be something long and dramatic like Lord Cat Explosion Demon God of Furballs. Yep. He doesn't take criticism so most people call him Lord Furballs, much to his disdain.

Katsuki won't ask for attention from the cat, but the little furry feline is a total cuddler and will often find itself curled up in his lap or even on his neck if Katsuki's sitting on the couch. You better believe this guy won't be moving until that cat decides it's time to move. He's been late to meetings with friends because of this cuddly cat.

He's a hero so this cat is definitely being treated right. Katuski is no slacker when it comes to caring for his lil buddy. The vet is on speed dial should anything ever happen.

Did someone say a custom-made collar that matches his hero costume to a tee?

He's never loved anything more.

 ...

"Uh, hey Bakubro, why is your cat glaring at me?" Ejiro asked, staring down at the feline.

"What?" Katsuki didn't even bother to look up from his laptop.

"Your cat. It's giving me the evil eye. I thought it was supposed to be friendly." The red-haired hero frowned, not able to break eye contact with the cat. "I don’t think it likes me."

The small furry creature had lazily curled up in the sunspot next to Katsuki's feet, purring away without a care in the world. It seemed harmless enough, except for the heavy glare it was shooting Ejiro's way.

"Heh," Katsuki finally glanced down and crossed his arms. "He's not glaring. That's just his face."

"Ah," Ejiro nodded, "like father like son."

"What the hell's that supposed to mean!?"

Taglist: @thecindy @peachsenpie @awilddreamerwrites @miriobaby @kiyoobi @dragonsdreamoffire @amive2567 @justscar @kenmaskitten10 @freckledoriya

[uchihashisuii]

Also how about some Goro/V and 93 :^)

93. “I tried, but I just can’t stay away from you anymore.” 

V knocks on the door of the hotel, a bundle of nervous energy. She bounces on the balls of her feet, glancing up and down the hall as she sucks noisily on her teeth. She'd been pacing outside the ramshackle building for what felt like hours, weighing pros and cons in an attempt to decide if throwing caution to the wind was worth it. Pro: she can finally get her feelings off her chest. Confession is a freeing thing, and it might make her feel lighter. Con: she will have to get her feelings off her chest. Bad. Embarrassing. Not good. Before she can agonize any further -or say fuck it and just turn and leave- the door opens, revealing Goro standing there in his usual white button-up and dark trousers. His hair is down, which does funny things to her breathing and oh wow okay she should definitely have run away while she had the chance. "V," he greets her quietly, leaning out of the doorway to look up and down the hallway before urging her inside with a wave of his hand. V swallows the sudden lump in her throat, shoving her hands deep in her pockets and stepping inside. He closes the door the moment she's passed the threshold, bolting it as he goes. V purses her lips at that, cocking a brow at him when he turns to look at her. "I cannot be too careful. What are you doing here?" Goro says as he crosses his arms over his chest, looking her up and down with a critical eye. If she weren't so good at reading his expressions, she would think he didn't want her here. As it is, she's damn good at it now; she can see clearly the worry in his eye as he takes in her tapping foot and bitten bottom lip. "Straight to business as usual, I see," V responds with a small chuckle, shrugging her shoulders. Goro hums at her, cocking a brow. She runs a hand back through her hair nervously, turning on her heel to begin pacing through the motel room. "Look, uh - y'see -" Fuck, she's bad at this. "I uh - really wanted to see you and, and tell you. Tell you ... something." She finishes with a slight cringe, slapping herself in the forehead with the side of a fist. "Has something happened? Is it the Relic?" Goro's voice is urgent, and thick with concern. It makes her breath catch, thinking too hard about how he's come to care for her. Dangerous territory, right now. Instead, V looks at him with a breathless laugh, holding her hands up. "No, no. Nothing like that. Sorry, shouldn't be so vague, huh?" "You are not making sense, as usual," he says, cheek twitching as he smiles. She smiles back at him, feeling her stomach do a little flip-flop as they gaze at one another. He takes a step forward, reaching out to place a hand on her shoulder, grounding and solid and warm. V automatically brings her hand up to cover his, squeezing his fingers. She nearly buckles under the weight of his stare, but the way he's looking at her combined with that little crooked smile of his is just enough to push her forward. "I can't stop thinking about you," V blurts out before she can think too hard about it. Goro's fingers tighten and his eyes go wide but she barrels on anyway. "We've gotten to know each other, and - and you get me in a way a lot of people don't. I care about you, like, a lot, and I think you're honorable and strong and you look preem in a suit and I just - it kills me, worrying about you, with Arasaka painting a target on both our backs, and I think maybe you care about me too but if you don't see me like that then kindly tell me to fuck off and we'll pretend this conversation never happened." She's breathing hard by the time she's finished, head tilted down to stare at his chest. She can't meet his eye, not when her heart's on her sleeve and her face burns from mortification. Goro doesn't say anything and God that feels so much worse than flat out rejection, so V drops her hand from his and starts taking a step back. Goro follows her, the hand on her shoulder moving to her chin. He tilts her face up, forcing her to meet his eye. V bites down hard on her bottom lip, looking up at him with her stomach clenched tight as a vice. He has a bemused expression on his face, locks of hair falling past his shoulder as he smiles down at her. "You talk too much, sometimes," Goro says with a chuckle, fingers tightening on her chin as he dips down to press a soft kiss to the corner of her mouth. "Oh," V says after he pulls away, letting out a breathless chuckle. She's certain her heart is lodged somewhere in her throat. "Would you believe I hear that a lot?" "Yes," he says before she's done speaking, making her snort out a laugh. Goro kisses her, properly, this time, and V smiles against his mouth.

[whitherliliesbloom]

lights, camera, duty commenced!

[ ffxivwrite2021 ] ★ [ masterlist ] ★ [ prompt #14 - commend ]

[ illya, g’raha & emet ] ★ [ 2,263 words ]  ★ [ actors au ]  passing mention of some friend’s ocs and illyanaud

commend: praise formally or officially

behind the scenes of the critically acclaimed long running tv show, final fantasy fourteen, g’raha tia is (almost) inconsolable after he reads the final act’s script

The not-so everlasting light shining down feels radiant and warm, but not scorching. In the distance, one can hear the push and pull of the tides from the nearby lake, as well as the rustling of the purple hued leaves that hung and swayed ever so gently upon the trees. A light baby blue canvas with dusty cotton candy clouds crowns lakeland, painting the perfect, serene vista for an uneventful day of shooting.

Though, Illya has to remind herself, as she looks up at the peaceful sky, and sighs in contentment that she was in the completely wrong headspace. Even though the sky above was bright and undoubtedly beautiful on this fine afternoon, she knows that all it takes is for a little bit of compuer-generated television effects magic to turn the tranquil landscape into a scene of naught but utter devastation and war.

Think termination. Think termination. You’re in the middle of a large-scale battle between Elidibus and the people of Norvrandt. The tone’s supposed to be somber and tense. You’re the warrior of darkness. You got this!

“Oh.... How could this be...?”

Her train of thought is rudely interrupted by the sorrowful moping of her co-actor, and she has to resist the urge to chide him for dragging his early morning sulking all the way into the afternoon. 

“G’raha, please...” the lalafellin sighs, though cannot help but to let a sliver of sympathy slip into her tone. “The next scene’s starting soon.”

“I know, I know... But...” the man heaves a heavy sigh, hanging his head low and letting his arms drop onto his lap so dramatically she’d almost thought that his flesh really was made of crystal and wasn’t just a product of the hard work of extremely talented make-up artists. “I can’t help it. I can’t believe that my poor crystal exarch is-”

Illya can say she at least empathizes - though perhaps not to the same extent. She’s been casted into roles of characters who would meet an unfortunate demise later, but to be fair, they weren’t often major characters within the narrative of the show or film she was playing a role in. 

The crystal exarch on the other hand, has played a key role as one of the many recurring supporting casts in the show. He’d lingered in the background as early as the first season, and was, to G’raha’s jubilation, finally given a main role in the fourth season they were filming. 

Only to be killed off in the final act - succumbing to the crystallization of his entire body, from head to toe, in the throne room of the crystal tower after the warrior of darkness’ battle with the ascian Elidibus. His death scene was to be an emotionally poignant one... and Illya herself has spent the last few days getting into the headspace of the protagonist - who would understandably be utterly devastated by the loss of a dear friend. 

It didn’t help that the crystal exarch was a considerably popular character within the international community of fans - and his significant increase in screen time was due in part to fan demands... though that perhaps made his long foreshadowed death even more of a cruel irony. 

And there was nobody in the world who was a bigger fan of the crystal exarch than the actor who played him himself. It wasn’t narcissistic either, in their line of work, it’s easy to get attached to the roles they play... even more so when they’ve hovered within the headspace of their character for as long as 6 years - she would know, Liliya Liya is as big a part of her as the crystal exarch is for G’raha now.

Thus, though she felt the urgent need to get G’raha back up on his feet in preparation for the remaining scenes on their schedule to film... she could not bring herself to so callously talk down his very real and personal attachment of a character he was meant to portray well anyways. 

“Oh come now... you should’ve seen this coming.” with a swagger in his step and lazy grin plastered over his expression, Emet Selch strolls over to the pair.... far too comfortable within his own role that he was speaking with Hades’ signature slur in his speech even while out of character. The man has always noted just how similar he was to the god of the underworld, and Illya wouldn’t be surprised if he’d claimed to not even be acting in his scenes at all.

“I...” G’raha pouts, looking up at Emet as his ears flatten atop his head. “I guess I was in denial of it. I thought they would maybe subvert expectations... but-”

“But that wouldn’t be a very compelling story to tell, now would it?” The older man shrugs, and Illya regrets to think that she’s inclined to agree. 

“I guess not..” 

The robed miqo’te man sighs, and she notes with an amused raise of an eyebrow as his tail that had once been tucked tightly to his side was now swiveling from side to side and puffed up in annoyance.

“Still! They could at least let him go out with more of a bang! Maybe... after he has a solo action scene... or give him a kiss scene to make things more dramatic!”

“Is defeating the big bad and saving the heroine not dramatic enough for you, already?” Emet’s voice is in part mocking as it is exasperated, his arms thrown up to his shoulders in a shrug. “Also I hope you didn’t mean a kiss scene with Liliya.”

“W-what-?? I-” Illya’s mouth hangs agape. 

“No! I wasn’t thinking anyone in particular, honest. Besides, she’s already caught in that love triangle subplot with the twins, isn’t she?” 

At the mention of the topic, the lalafellin woman’s smile fades.

“D-don’t remind me of that. I’m really not looking forward to acting those scenes out.” 

She’s already read the script for the fourth season in it’s entirety... and though she has incredible respect for the masterful writing and the wonderful character dynamics that has only gotten better with each passing season... she has never been... entirely comfortable with the romantic aspects of the scenes involving the elven twins. Scenes of the pair vying for her attention, scenes where she held hands and even got unsettingly close to kissing them... 

Though, she will admit... her own uncertainty over her competence in filming those scenes are a result of her own, very personal emotions... something of which Emet Selch seemed to be more than aware of.

“Is it not because you harbor actual feelings for one of them? Would having scenes of you being close to him not be a blessing for you, then?”

The miffed glare Illya’s shoots up at Emet rivals moments of shadow possession Liliya experiences throughout the show, and he can only shrug with a cocky grin as her star-spangled swirl with indignation. Anger aside, heat is spreading across her cheeks in the form of a burning red hue that reaches the tips of her short, pointed ears.

Please stop. 

Her expression spells out. She’s as annoyed as she her frightened about something.

Oh dear. 

“Relax. Workplace romance here is nothing new.” His words only serve to worsen the already infuriated gleam in her blazing, shimmering eyes. “Mint certainly isn’t shy when it comes to showing she’s in a relationship with Estinien. Nor your friend Laurelis for that matter. She’s still keeping in touch with Haurchefant, no?”

Illya doesn’t say anything, but her silence and the paling of her complexion speaks louder than any words she can spill from her lips. 

It’s precisely because he doesn’t know. So please, please shut your mouth.

He still cannot understand why on earth she would stay so adamant about keeping her feelings a secret anyway. For all he knows, the entire cast of actors... and the whole final fantasy crew for that matter, was fully aware of their pining - and Illya’s feelings towards her close co-worker and friend wasn’t unrequited either. 

Just like in the show, the pair are completely oblivious to their attraction to one another... something he’ll just have to fix with his bare hands then... 

But the matter is neither here nor there, and there was something of greater urgency to rectify now. 

Emet Selch turns his gaze back down to G’raha, who has gone uncharacteristically quiet... and sensing his seriousness, Illya too diverts her attention back to the sulking redhead. 

“You know... you’re a very talented actor. It’s so very rare to find someone who can capture the emotions and nuances of a character as well as you do.” Emet is the faster of them to speak, and Illya can barely believe the words she’s hearing leave his lips. 

Compliments and praise, genuine ones at that, coming from one of the cast’s eldest, most experienced actor who is not only known to be critical when it comes to the art of acting - but is a certified acting coach himself? The monumental honor is not lost to G’raha, as his ears perk up and he whips his head up with widened ruby eyes to look at Emet.

“Death is difficult to portray - dare I say, almost impossible. After all, how can we, who have never experienced death... truly capture the sorrow and despair in it?”

Emet Selch pauses, drawing in a breath before he lifts his hand up to gesture at the pair before him.

“Which is why this is your biggest opportunity to showcase your talents, to move the audience with not just the story, but your very acting! The only thing we can do, as men and women of this field, is to act as vehicles and carry the emotions of the story into the hearts of the fans.”

The man finally sighs, shoulders falling and arms flopping lazily to his side, the sentimentality of the words he just spoke tasting bitter on his tongue.

“Besides, even in death there is a beauty. The crystal exarch lived his life fulfilled and having realized his wish at the end. I expect you to remember that when you eventually see him off.”

There’s a silence that hangs and festers in the air for a moment, before the fur on G’raha’s tail stands and his chest puffs up in a show of renewed determination.

“Y-you’re right, Emet! The crystal exarch dedicated his life to finding a way to save others... There is no better way to end his legacy than to see the world he’s protected for so long finally saved!” 

Standing onto his feet, the miqo’te clenches his hands into fists and nods before casting a glance down at Illya.

“Illya! I will act my heart out to the best I can! I’ll act so hard that I’ll make you cry on set for sure!”

The corners of her lip tugs upwards into a wide smile, glowing as the afternoon sun basks down and reflects upon her snowy white hair and the blossoms of her amethyst eyes. Even with the black of the garments she wore and the eastern patterned ribbon that held the braid around her head in place, she was luminous and blinding in her radiant presence... not unlike the heroine of their story.

“Of course! And I’m sure the rest of the crystal exarch fan club will too when they watch that episode.” 

“Illya, G’raha!” A pink haired lalafellin calls out to them from a distance away, her olive green eyes wide and excited as she waves her hands high above her head. A raven haired man stands just behind her, his dark blue eyes narrowed as he reviews the script in his hands intently. “We’re starting soon! Get over here!”

“Coming! Just give us a second!” G’raha waves back with a grin before turning back to look at Emet Selch with an apologetic, yet grateful bow, his relaxed tail swaying gently from side to side behind his back. 

“Thank you, Emet. I won’t soon forget your encouragements. I’ll do my best and make sure to not let everyone down.”

“Yes, yes. Spare me the nauseating mush. I was just making sure you didn’t drag your co-actor down with your sulking.” 

The elder man now glances at the starry eyed girl with amusement flashing through his expression, and Illya can already feel her earlier lighthearted elation fade as quickly as it came. 

“By the way... I’m sure if you asked Yoshida properly.. he’d be willing to consider writing in a kiss scene with Liliya and-”

“If I were the warrior of darkness, I’d take my crescent moon cane and stab you with the end of it......”

------

Meanwhile, a little distance away from the trio, Kaye lets out a low hum as he reads and re-reads the words upon the small stacks of paper he held, expression doubtful and confused.

“You sure this is the script to Endwalker?”

“Yeah, I am! Alphinaud gave this copy and said that he got from miss Ishikawa directly! Apparently he’s playing another major role in the next season, which is why he got the script early as a heads up.”

“But... it says here that the crystal exarch gets reincarnated? Assuming that’s not gonna be changed... that means G’raha’s gonna be...”

Kaye’s head lifts and turns, eyes wide and brows furrowing in bemusement only to see an impish smile glimmer upon Lily’s face.

“Should we tell him?”

“Hm...? Nah... He’s gonna film the exarch’s death scene soon, right? I’m sure he’ll appreciate the little surprise later, anyways.”

[blinder-secrets]

Lion Tamer - part 8

one | two | three | four | five | six | seven

3,270 words, mild nsfw

ao3 link

It was late when you left, but London didn’t seem to follow time in the same way that it did elsewhere. There was no slowing in the approach to midnight. No sign that things were about to be wrapped up, shut away. The pavement outside the club Arthur had chosen was as full as the inside, just as loud, just as unruly. You would’ve had to queue if you weren’t with him. Fuck, you’d have turned around and left altogether if he wasn’t attached to your palm. You weren’t used to the noise, to the heave and pull of bodies. It would’ve been unbearable without your anchor.

Arthur, however, walked through it like he knew where he was going, like he was put together in the midst of it, made of the racket. He’d insisted he’d never been but his shoulders parted the crowds easily, footsteps sure and keen, hand wrapped tightly around yours the entire way. He didn’t stop until you were by a table near the front of the stage — one that had been cleared and emptied quickly, frantically, like you were unexpected but valuable all the same.

‘Here, love,’ he said, holding the chair out for you.

‘Thank-you.’ You sat down quickly, eager to be out of the way. The band at the front were mid-set, already roaring, the audience loud and pulsing with alcohol. ‘This is…’ There wasn’t a word. You felt like your mind was rattling in the bend of the nearest trombone.

‘I know,’ Arthur finished, though you’d barely begun, and dropped into the chair beside you. ‘Nothing like this in fuckin’ Small Heath, is there?’

You snorted. ‘It wouldn’t survive if there was.’ The gold would tarnish before it could even be appreciated. ‘Is this what they’re all like?’ you asked, cringing at the volume you had to speak to be heard.

‘Nah, nah,’ he shrugged, ‘just the expensive ones.’ His eyes were on the table, his hands reaching for the small card that sat in its middle. He took it all in like it was Christmas, sank into his seat like he was home. Shoulders softened, angled down, his breathing deep and satisfied. He looked happy, brand-new. His knee fell against yours as he settled. ‘What d’you want?’ he blurted, squinting at the writing in his hands. ‘Somethin’ to drink?’

You didn’t realise you were smiling until it curved your words into a purr. ‘You pick, Arthur. I don’t mind.’

The tone pulled his gaze to you. ‘What?’ He flitted over you quickly, like he was worried you’d done something and he’d missed it. ‘What is it?’

‘You look happy,’ you told him, laughing beneath it. ‘I like it, that’s all.’

He was flustered for a moment. ‘Well, I am happy,’ he said, gruffly, like the sentiment had to be bracketed with something rugged. ‘Bloody happy.’

‘Good. Me too.’ You laughed. Your hand fell away from where it’d been propped under your chin, and went to cover his. The back of his palm was warm, familiar, his thumb lifted to rest over your fingers. ‘Go on, then,’ you pushed, ‘order us something.’

He nodded, smiling, and looked back to the card. He didn’t let you pull your hand away. ‘There’s a poet on next,’ he said. ‘You like that stuff, right?’

Deja Vu. That’s what it was. That’s how he looked at you, that’s how it felt. That’s why you were giddy. It had happened before, all of it, it was youth repackaged and polished into something new. The two of you were exactly the same as you’d always been, except now you’d lived some. Now, you’d realised it was worth trying. Cherishing. You were teenagers without the wanton carelessness, without the desire to stay free and untethered, without the need to ask, but what’s next? What else is there? Where do I go when you’ve left?

You knew the answers now, you’d worked it out.

What came next didn’t matter; everything that was worth having was already there, already found. If you’d rushed, it wouldn’t be so sweet or so certain. You didn’t need to ask him to know he felt the same.

The food they served was small, and designed to be eaten between the pinch of two fingers. He’d picked a few plates to share and you had passed them to each other like you were critics, commenting on the crumb of the biscuits, the seasoning of the fish. You’d laughed and drank, and talked about everything from everywhere, until you were so looped up in each other that his thoughts seemed to come from your head directly. You were talking like you read each others mind, like you’d opened the gate and welcomed him in. Take a seat, Arthur, stay, stay and make it your home.

Eventually, the bar had emptied. The acts had ran their course and people were left dancing to nothing in the space between the tables, with just drink and lingering-energy to keep them upright.

‘Let’s go back,’ you said to him, when you were slouched in your chair with his arm over your shoulder. ‘I can’t stand another thing.’ The room was spinning, swaying, dipping in and out of your head like you were a buoy and he was the tether beneath the waves.

He nodded, his reaction lagged slightly. His fingertips ran up and down your arm. A rake through the leaves, a farmer laying tracks. ‘My head’s in the fuckin’ bin,’ he said.

‘It’s not.’ You turned and put your palms to his cheeks; it would have been sweet if you weren’t so clumsy, so counter-balanced by the gin in your system. ‘Your head’s right here on your lovely shoulders.’

‘Like your book,’ he slurred.

‘What?’

‘You’re gonna say it, you used to.’

‘Say what, Arthur?’

His brows pulled together. ‘The thing,’ he rambled, ‘about your books. Bout me.’

‘You remember that?’

‘Why would I fuckin’ forget, ay?’ He leant away slightly, drifting like the tide, before coming back. Closer. His skin ran hot under your hands. ‘Nicest thing anyone ever told me,’ he said.

And you loved that, and your heart grew so tight in your chest that it might’ve broken free, might’ve pushed through the alcohol, and the ribs, the flesh, so tight that he should’ve felt it; because he was close enough, because he leant forward and you didn’t stop him. You just held his face, his gaze, and he was so warm and so him, that you kissed him.

You kissed him, you kissed him.

His moustache was rough, scratching. His hands dug into your waist like he was pawing for air, like he wanted more of you and you were willing, so willing to give it. When you came away to breathe, he chased you, stupid grin on lips that you had finally tasted. They were sweet. It was alcohol and cigars, and not an ounce of bitterness, not a drop of anything other than him, him just to the core, him and his lips and his breath and his tongue pushing through to meet yours. Christ, Arthur. Christ, you thought, that’s it then. That’s what it’s like.

‘Wanted to do that forever,’ he said, dripping the words down your chin. He pulled back enough to look at you and then kissed you again like he’d left it behind. ‘Took us bloody long enough,’ you thought, but he said it at the same time, words from your head and into his mouth in the same second.  

‘I know,’ you agreed. You were panting so heavily it didn’t even feel like breathing, it felt like storms, like curled winds rutting against each other. ‘Why didn’t we…?’ You couldn’t finish the sentence. Your hands clung to the back of his neck like you were falling. ‘Kiss me again,’ you said, ‘please.’

He did. He kissed you there, in the club, and again in the car on the way to the hotel. In the lift, in the hallway by your room. He kissed and kissed and kissed, and you thought for one, hopeless moment, that maybe you were dreaming, maybe you were asleep in your bed at home, but then he said, ‘I feel like I’ve won the fuckin’ derby,’ against your neck and you laughed so stupidly that it made him pause.

‘What?’ he asked, frowning and smiling at the same time. ‘What’s funny?’

He was over you on the bed, the front of his hair flopping down to cover his brow. You, you thought, you with your hair and your muscles and your lips on my throat like I’m edible.

‘Nothing, nothing.’ You’d gotten drunker somehow. He was more lethal than the cocktails, more dizzying. ‘Can we just,’ you stuttered, ‘just, I don’t know.’ You laughed, and sighed, and then dropped your palms, limp, from his back onto the mattress. ‘I think I’m going crazy from all this kissing. I feel like a kid.’

He barked a laugh, grin mirroring your own, and then rolled off you like he agreed. He fell onto the bed beside you, bouncing it with a groan. ‘Who needs fuckin’ snow, when you can have this,’ he said, chest puffed. Boasted upwards like the ceiling was taunting him. He glanced at you once, then again, and then sighed with a quiet, ‘Fuck me.’

‘I don’t think I can,’ you joked. You could barely handle the kissing.

‘Ey?’

‘What?’ He’d heard you well enough. You flashed him a smile that should’ve been coy but felt wild instead, unmanageable. ‘I didn’t say anything,’ you lied.

‘Is that right?’ He was nearly smiling himself. His gaze fell to your lips before the thing could set. ‘C’mere,’ he said.

‘No.’

‘No?’

‘No,’ you insisted. ‘I’m having a breather.’

He laughed again and shook his head in the fond way. He was back to looking at the light fitting when he spoke again. ‘Y’know,’ he started, ‘I thought I’d missed it with you, thought I’d let it all slip away between my fuckin’ fingers.’

You’d thought the same, you’d just never acknowledged it. You set your eyes on his profile, on the angle of his nose against the light from the window. Without the gas-lamp outside, he’d be invisible, lost in the dark. You don’t even know what time it was.

‘Everyone knew it would happen,’ you mused. ‘We’re the last to realise, I think.’

It seemed stupid now, utterly ridiculous that you would be anything other than this. The line between you had been crossed, no not crossed, it had been shattered entirely, torn up and thrown in the Thames. You didn’t ever want to be just friends again. There was no reason to draw the line back to where it had been.

‘Not everyone,’ he muttered, voice dropping slightly. ‘Tom couldn’t work you out. Think he thought you was after money, or something. Not,’ his hand lifted, gesturing in circles to the air above him, ‘y’know, not this.’

‘Tommy knew,’ you said, before sense had caught up to your liquored words. ‘He asked me if I wanted you or him.’

‘What?’ His voice soured sharply. ‘He what?’

You’d done it, you’d ruined it. ‘Don’t worry,’ you told him quickly, ‘it wasn’t serious.’

He sat upright, turning and blocking the amber glow from the window. ‘What did he fuckin’ say?’ You couldn’t see his face, couldn’t make out his expression, but the words were hard, pointed. He spat them out, crystal clear through the haze. ‘Ay? The fuck was that?’

‘Arthur, it was just—‘

‘You tell me, tell me now.’

You scrambled into a sitting position. ‘It was just that, just some stupid mind game to see…’ To see what? You’d never even decided yourself. ‘I shouldn’t have brought it up, alright? I’m drunk, it doesn’t matter.’

‘Matters to me,’ he bit back. Then he sank slightly. Less angry, more hurt. You pulled toward him, shifting onto your knees to meet him in the middle, to tug at his shirt like you were lamenting.

‘Arthur, baby,’ you said, and his head picked up at that, lifted with the endearment. ‘It’s just what he’s like.’

He grumbled. ‘No fuckin’ excuse.’

‘I know. I know.’ You climbed your palms up his chest until they were on his neck, your thumbs rubbing circles into the stubble beneath his chin. ‘I don’t know if you’ve noticed,’ you started, tone serious but as light as you could allow, ‘but, well, he’s a prick, Arthur. He just says shit and leaves the rest of us to deal with it.’

His hands stilled your wrists. You just about made his iris’s out in the dark. ‘What did he say?’ he asked slowly, his words firm enough that you couldn’t bat it away like before.

You sighed. It didn’t matter, it really didn’t matter. After the night you’d had it was almost laughable to think about; if you could go back in time, you’d tell Tommy outright how stupid he was to even suggest it. ‘He asked if I was serious about you,’ you offered Arthur, ‘and I told him yes.’

He twitched his head to the side. ‘Don’t lie to me.’

‘I’m not.’ It wasn’t fully the truth, but it wasn’t so far from it that you felt guilty. ‘He asked, very rudely, if I was ever going to sleep with you.’

‘You said—‘

‘Arthur,’ you interrupted, snapping at him. ‘Why does it matter what he said, when my answer was yes? That I chose you?’

And you always had; you always would.

‘Let Tommy play his little games,’ you continued. ‘You have me.’

He groaned; the noise slipped out of him, strung out of his mouth like the whine of an injured animal. ‘I’m getting sick of hearing his fuckin’ name,’ he said, and you knew he meant from you, from your lips. It came out and sat between the two of you like chainlink. ‘I never know what to bloody think.’

You laughed dryly. ‘That makes two of us.’ You touched his face, brushed his cheek, felt the line of his moustache. ‘I’m sorry,’ you said. ‘I didn’t mean to spoil this.’

‘You haven’t.’

‘I feel like I have.’

With a sigh, his arms wound up around you, bringing you close and onto his lap once you’d pulled your legs through. ‘So, I have you, eh?’ he asked gently, close enough that you almost felt the rumble of it in your chest. ‘You’re all mine?’ He held you like a prize, inspected you like he did with everything he loves; noted the details like he would before, when he drew horses, and people, and everything else that he thought was beautiful. 'Isn’t that something,’ he commented. Quiet, just to himself.

You toyed with his collar. ‘Didn’t you know that already?’

There wasn’t an answer. Instead, he kissed you roughly, like he was suddenly desperate for it, and the pair of you melted backwards into the sheets. His hands were on your neck,  then along your ribcage and down, down, smoothing down until they hit the soft dip of your waist, the curve of your hips. He squeezed you there, pushed you flat, held his thumbs to your hipbones tight enough to pinch the skin.

‘Can we?’ you asked, surprised that it came out so steadily. So calmly. You twisted your hand into the top of his hair and watched his gaze lift, scorching into your own.

‘You want to?’

You nodded, humming. You had never imagined you could, never imagined you actually would, but now it seemed easy. Natural. You let a smile fall into place. ‘But,’ you teased, not meaning it in the slightest, ‘I might change my mind if you keep me waiting any longer.’

He didn’t hesitate; he met your lips again, hungrily, careless in a way he wasn’t before. His hands went into your hair and then it was your turn to drop, to explore.

You ran your fingertips along the line of buttons down his chest, pulled them apart and away from each other slowly, like you had the time. Because it was London, because it was the two of you, and nothing else, and time had been left back in Birmingham with the smog. His shirt fell open; you dragged your nails down his ribs, his stomach, over the straight hair that scattered from his navel. When your hands found the fastening of his trousers, he pulled back to pant against your neck.

His lips went against the skin clumsily, dragging heat and lust over the goosebumps. ‘I want you,’ he said between breaths, ‘so bad.’

‘I know.’

‘But.’

You undid the fastening, slipped a hand between the cotton.

‘But,’ he rasped again, stilling you, ‘I don’t think I can, love.’

‘What?’ You pulled your hand back. His head dropped until his hair brushed your collarbone, his chest heaving into yours. ‘What’s wrong?’ you asked.

‘Been a long day,’ he said, pushing the words into the space between your breasts. ‘I’ve drank a lot.’ He kissed your shoulder, your earlobe, then pulled back to face you remorsefully. ‘I don’t think I can,’ he grumbled. He looked between you, down at himself, and then back to explain. ‘It won’t, you know, well.’

‘Oh.’ The meaning clicked and you felt yourself melt with relief. It wasn’t you, then. Wasn’t serious. He was sweeter every day, every moment. If you told anyone about the Arthur you knew, the one straddling you with shame printed onto his features, they wouldn’t believe you. They’d say you had the wrong man entirely. ‘It’s fine,’ you told him earnestly. ‘Don’t worry. It’s okay, we can just sleep, Arthur, really.’

He smiled and brought your hand up to kiss the palm. ‘Too good to me,’ he said.

‘No one’s too good to anyone,’ you said back.

‘Here.’ He dropped your hand again, pulling close to kiss beneath your jaw. ‘Just cause I can’t,’ he whispered, ‘doesn’t mean…’

‘Arthur.’

His lips dripped down your neck, your chest. His face lost itself in the fabric of your dress as he bunched the skirt up and out of the way. You felt your breath flush once, twice, three times out your mouth as he rolled the wool of your tights to your knees, his hands firm and certain. Positive of their mission. Your cheeks grew hot, firecrackers snapping across your skin, down your legs. Lighting in your blood like he’d timed it all. He was saying things into you, against the silk, his voice low and rough, but you could hardly hear him through the thumping in your ears.

‘Arthur,’ you breathed, sounding as desperate as you felt, ‘you don’t have to.’

His nails caught the skin on your hips as he tugged your underwear down and then you stopped lying to him, you stopped acting like you didn’t want it. Your hips lifted to meet his mouth, but he pushed them back, held them down. You rolled your eyes to the ceiling, squeezed them shut as his moustache brushed the inner portion of your thighs, as his hands put your legs flat to the bed.

‘Let me take care of you,’ he said, or you thought he did, because it had all begun to swirl into one roar of noise, one rush of heat and feeling from your head, through your heart. It flooded you and it was him, all him. He had possessed you. Taken your brain and turned it to mush.

You pulled the sheets into your fists and let him unwind you, let him pull you apart.

Arthur, you moaned, Arthur, you thought, Arthur. Arthur.

Read part 9 >>>

____

taglist: @peaky-arthur @theshelbyclan @woeisbutwoe @random-stupid-stuffs @murderousginger @sanktaalinaa @the-panda-man-stole-my-soul @inceptenet @isaiahdurag

[bunny-bts]

Never Want To Hurt You Pt II

Author: Idk how long or short this part will be to be honest lol

Warnings: same as previous chapter part I , add injury and accident, coma, polygamy?, Cheating

Pairings: I think this has taken a turn for future Jimkook x reader

It had been weeks since you had came back and since your birthday at dinner you and Taeyhung hadn't spoken much. You've known each other for your entire lives so there was nothing of you haven't been through, and yes you have been pissed at each other before but this was different. You had been walking around giving each other cold shoulders, certain everyone noticed. He had tried to speak to you and talk it out once he noticed you had gone out several times with Jimin and JK and was noticing things heat up between the three of you more and more. You shared a bedroom with him, again, something you had done more than enough to be used to and didn't mind. Only now the two of you weren't snuggled up like any other time, you were sleeping back to back and sharing a bed with Taeyhung with him not protectively holding you was not something you liked. You hadn't paid attention but the two makneas didn't like it either, that you weren't sleeping with them, or that they would be relieved to know you slept so distantly.

"I'm going to go potty, I'll meet you out there," you laugh as you walk out of the theater screening room with the maknaes and turn toward the restroom as they buy slices of pizza and drinks at concession then go outside. Today you decided to all match each other and wear print tops that you had found while window shopping, it was fun and so cute you thought.

They go out and find a table up against a fence to sit while you all eat and they wait on you. You weren't there right now so they could drop a facade they had going on as of late. Jimin, with a friendly smile although faker than tits in California as it was, throws a elbow on Jungkook's shoulder, "back off," he forces a chuckle. "Why? Why don't you make me?" Jungkook returns the same smile. "It's been six weeks, it's time one of us made a move, don't you think?" "I agree," the youngest smirks. "We can't just race over and bombard her, she will get nervous. How should we do it?" He adds. "Hmm, good point....it seems little Kookie is growing up," Jimin teases. "I'm a grown man, I assure you," Jungkook growls through gritted teeth and a toothy smile. "Are you now? You have a ponytail-" "she will need something to hang onto," Jungkook winks, "she's coming, be cool." He smiles at you and waves to show you where they are. "Oh it's funny because of irony-," Jimin starts as he waves and smiles at you too. "Yes, I know it is asking a lot Jimin, but please try your best," Jungkook straightens out his jean jacket as you approach. "oh and Jimin..." "Yeah?" "Don't fall" "What?" Jimin asks before being pushed off of the table he sat on top of. Before he is able to retaliate you're there and giggling.

"Jimin, poor thing," you giggle and offer him a hand up. "You're always falling, sit on the seat," you advise as you sit on the seat attached to the table and lean your back on the table itself, grabbing the soda they had gotten you from it and taking a sip.

"Y/N, ya~, sit on my lap. Seat is uncomfortable," Jungkook grabs your waist and sits you on his lap. He wasn't wrong, it was one of the picnic tables you see at playgrounds, metal with bar patterns. "Aww, so sweet thankyou Kook, haha~ people will think we are together" "maybe~," he laughs and sends Jimin a glance as he places a hand on your thigh and starts rubbing your leg. Jimin is still smiling but you can't see or hear him really growl behind his lips, he casually moves Jungkook's hand and places his on your thigh. "We really like you Jagi," he says sweetly, leaning in a bit. "I really like you both too, I have two thighs," you giggle and glance down, the youngest man easily takes the hint and places his hand on your other. "Oh, she is naughty," Jimin laughs as they both with their thumbs. The three of you definitely look really touchy, maybe like a polygamous couple. This was different, you hadn't had anyone fawn over you the way these two did and shit did you like it. It is quiet for some moments, you all just eat and relax. At some point you start playing with their fingers.

"Jagi~, what are you doing Aien?" You feel Jungkook's breath against your ear.

"Do you like our hands?" Jimin's is against your other.

"Yes," you say simply, probably blushing and trying to play it off with a smirk, "you have really pretty fingers," you stop abruptly and stand. "We should go, it's getting late"

"Yeah, hold our hands princess," they both reach out and grab one of your hands and the journey home begins. At some point you all have to cross the street so you have to let go and run but a rogue out of control car spins around and hits you.

"Y/N!!"

The time couldn't pass any slower for the two of them when you're brought to the hospital. You're in critical condition so they aren't allowed to see you and are left waiting on the others to come.

"What. Happened?" They find themselves slammed against the walls with Taeyhung having a firm grip on thier throats and unable to breathe as they are pretty sure that with the way Tae's nose is flaring there may as well be smoke.

"Tae! Let them go! You're going to kill them," Namjoon and Jin rush behind him and fight to pull him off.

"I WANT ANSWERS"

"You're going to get them, let them....regain color...," Namjoon soothes one friend as he looks to the other two. "What happened guys?"

The two youngest explain and Taeyhung excuses everyone else to go after several hours pass. Reluctantly they go and tell Taeyhung, Jimin and Jungkook to keep them updated. Which they do, they find themselves there for three days once you get admitted into the hospital, they all stay by your side and the other guys pop in time to time to visit as well but JK and Jimin weren't allowed to stay overnight. Taeyhung was literally the only thing you had remotely close to family by the hospital's definition since your aunt was no longer around.

"Now may I speak?" He asks you, he was alone with you at the moment and you had been in a coma. "I have been trying to explain....," He pulls a chair by your bed and strokes your baby hairs, "I know that you're mad about our birthday......I know you told me that you liked me and I know I hurt your feelings.....I did it because.....I never want to hurt you....," He leans in and kisses your forehead. "Please wake up soon.....you have changed. So much....," He glances at your fine 'baby hairs', "I remember when you looked like a peach," he giggles.

"You hurt her feelings so you wouldn't hurt her?" Jungkook says from the door.

"You wouldn't understand, Jungkook."

"Try me."

"Why are you back already?" Tae gets up and goes over to the other side of the room. "What's that?" He points with his head to Jungkook's hand. "Squish mellow....," Jungkook replies and takes the seat that his friend had just had.

"I promised I would never hurt her again"

Jungkook simply looks at him with a raised brow, "you know.....you know why she and I get along so well? Everyone treats us like children, and we aren't. Taeyhung, when she wakes up, I am going to ask her to be my girl and I would like your blessing....," He receives no answer, only Taeyhung standing and walking out. Maybe that was his way of avoiding giving a answer, or maybe he was just telling Jungkook to watch you for a while because he hadn't been able to sleep. He goes to the hotel room he had gotten basically across the street from the hospital, the room he had specifically requested was directly across from yours.

Flopping on the bad he closes his eyes.

"Taeyhung, sit down baby. This is Y/N," his mother smiles at him, holding a blanket in her arms with a baby inside it. "Want to hold her baby?" "Yes," he giggles. "Okay, you have to sit down and be very still first," his mom instructs, smiling back over her shoulder at your parents. He hops into a chair and sits as still and motionless as he can and your dad is trying his very best to hold back laughter. You cry before his mom can hand him over to you, only to stop when your aunt steps forward and takes you. He laughs and soon your aunt is handing you to him and showing him how to be gentle and hold your head. He holds you just fine for a moment, then you stretch and he accidentally drops you. His mom dives to the floor just barely catching you. "She's alright," she announces.

Tae shoots up, sitting bolt right again unable to sleep. He realizes that he is pouring sweat then looks around before getting up and walking past the giant window. He stops and moves the blinds, seeing you, in the bed at the hospital across from him and still in a coma. He sighs and takes a shower before trying sleep again.

"Y/N? What are you doing?" He stops short. You were peering around a corner into the kitchen where your dad sat sobbing. He comes up behind you to watch, "why is he crying?" "I don't know.....Oppa...," You step out so your dad can see you. "Y/N.....come here," your dad calls you over. You look to Tae who shrugs before going over to him. It was almost three in the morning, why was your dad like this? "Nae salang...." "Yes?" He watches the man smile at you, holding your waist. "You are twelve now, you're going to be trying many new things in just a few years, listen closely." You nod. "Your mother and I are no more-" "Why?" "Because I don't want to hurt you nae salang, understand?" You shake your head no. "You will be living with your aunty, here, for the time being," he kisses your forehead and gets up, he kisses your aunt on the lips by the door on the way out. Leaving you standing there very confused and Tae who is a little older and more versed on the world wide eyed in shock.

He finds himself tossing around and punches the pillow.

"Tae!! Tae!! Tae!!" He turns to see you running towards him outside of the school grounds. You jump into his arms, and he catches you. You had been gone the last eight months to stay with your mom in the states but it was finally summer which means you had months to be together. "Tae, I heard there is going to be a dance?" "Yeah, tommorow night, why?" "Well~," you swing his hand and bite your lip and he sees that happy twinkle in your eye. "Well?" "Ask me~, fine~, Kim Taeyhung, please go with me to the dance?" ".........No," that was it, that was the moment. "No?" "No, the dance is for a girl that you like and you're my sister basically so no," he lies because he remembers the night your dad was crying and he now being about to graduate understood your dad's reasoning. He didn't want to show feelings for you to someday accidentally hurt you, he had remembered what happened when you were born.

He couldn't do it, sleep was out of the question. He walks to the window to see that you still hadn't woken up. He leans his head on the glass and bangs his fist on it. Jungkook was holding the stuffed animal and leaning in, saying something to you then he smiles and uses the animal like a pillow, lying down next to you. Tae slides to the floor unable to stop the tears, "I....I never want to hurt you!"

Meanwhile in your room, JK was leaning over, "I got you a Squish mellow....ladies like those, right? But I'm going to use it like a pillow first, okay?" He giggles and lays down beside you.

"Still hasn't woken up?" Jimin strolls in, to be answered with the shake of a head. He comes to sit by the bed. "Why did you have to get her one of those?" He responds to Jungkook's confused expression by pulling another Squishmellow from inside his trench coat and tucking it under your arm, kissing your forehead. "I was thinking......you can ask her to be your girl....."

"I was thinking too......." "Yeah?" "Why don't we both ask her?" "Wouldn't that make you and I-" "Not necessarily, it would just mean that we would both protect her. If we had just kept holding her hands, she wouldn't be here....," Jimin nods in agreement. "So, we are going to ask her to be our girl"

"We should ask Taeyhung first"

"I did?"

"and?"

"I don't know, he didn't say anything,....Jimin..."

"Hmm?" Jimin glances over at him, he had been looking to his feet. One was tapping anxiously.

"I miss her...."

"Me too...."

[eury--dice]

history, huh?

chapter 3: propius

(check the rb for chapters 1 + 2 on tumblr + ao3 links!)

Adam was woken at 5 o’clock on the dot with a series of sharp knocks on his door. “Up and Adam,” Gansey’s voice called, making the one stupid dad joke that always set Adam’s blood to a boil. He was too tired to react, however.

“Kindly leave until a later time,” he called, his voice heavy with sleep. “I don’t have class for another three hours.”

Gansey opened the door anyway, striding in with more pep than anyone should have in the morning.

“You’ve made the tabloids, my friend. Your weekend with Ronan finally hit.”

“Did you sleep at all?”

“Nope,” Gansey said cheerfully. “‘From America, With Love: Ronan and Adam flaunt friendship.’” He turned on his heel once he’d crossed the length of the room, which Adam could never forget was formerly Malia Obama’s, and seated himself in Adam’s desk chair.

Adam had never been closer to considering strangulation. He elected to shove his hearing ear into his pillow instead.

Unfortunately, the muffled sounds of Gansey speaking still made their way in. “‘Photos: Adam’s Weekend in England,’ oh, that’s boring…ah-hah: ‘New Bromance Alert? Pics of FSOTUS and Prince Ronan.’”

Adam resigned himself to his fate and mentally promised himself a giant cup of coffee. “As long as I’m getting fewer death threats on Twitter, I’m happy,” he mumbled into his blankets.

Gansey ignored him. “Why are you so tired? It’s the hour of kings, time to be awake and alive.”

“I’d settle for dead if it meant I could sleep at this point, to be frank.”

“Please don’t be frank. Be Adam.”

Adam sat up, eyeing Gansey in his wire-framed glasses with disdain. “Any more puns and I suffocate myself with this pillow.”

“Please don’t,” Gansey said, but his eyes had already returned to his screen. While he read through the articles, he continued his line of questioning. “Working on the campaign late last night?”

“Not really,” Adam admitted. “I had a Press and the Presidency paper to write.”

“Just write ‘I’m Adam Parrish’ on a piece of loose-leaf paper to turn it in and you’ll probably get an A. You live it every day, for Christ’s sake.”

“And yet I still need to cite sources in Chicago Advanced.”

“You’d think nepotism would work out more in your favor.” He flicked to a fresh article, a gesture Adam only recognized from all the other times Gansey had done it. “Luckily, I think the press is eating this one up.”

Adam grimaced. “Fantastic.”

“Not-campaign-ruining, you mean.”

“That too, I suppose.” He wanted nothing more than to flop back against his pillows and get the sleep his body so desperately craved after being jet lagged for a week, but he fought the urge.

“That _ People _exclusive takes the cake, I think. I didn’t realize how much you cherished your relationship with Ronan.”

“Fuck off, please. Or end my misery.”

“No to both. Why are you even taking that press course?”

Adam slid out from under his blankets, rolling his shoulders to try and wake up more. “Curiosity, I guess. It never hurts to learn more of what not to do.”

Gansey looked up from his phone to level a glance at Adam. “And what have you learned so far?”

“…Don’t have a sex scandal?”

“You _ would _need someone to tell you that.”

_ “Hey,” _Adam said, affecting outrage.

Gansey lifted his thumb to run over his lower lip, tilting his head consideringly. “One of us three will probably have a scandal before your mother’s second term is up.”

“If there is a second.”

“Chin up, young padawan. With you working on it we’re guaranteed.”

“I don’t know, Gansey,” Adam replied. “I don’t think I’m the good luck charm you believe in.”

“Of course you are,” Gansey said. “We won the first time, no?”

Adam glanced exaggeratedly around the room and to the phone in Gansey’s hand. “I’d say so. That or we’re about to get questioned very thoroughly about the the events of last three years.”

“Don’t make me cut you off on the true-crime videos.”

His eyes narrowed, focusing on Gansey. “Don’t you dare.”

“Blue agrees, anyway,” Gansey said, successfully deflecting topics. “Said there’s a ninety-four percent chance you’ll get into a sex scandal before the general.”

“Both of you date more than I do, why am I the one who’s supposedly having a sex scandal?” Once his initial outrage passed, disbelief crept in at the time of day. “Did you just text Blue at five AM and get a response? How the hell did you manage that?”

“She’s been up,” Gansey dismissed. Adam stared at him for a moment, and then Gansey seemed to feel the weight of his stare. His eyes widened almost comically. “Oh, Christ, no, not that. Nate Silver asked for another set of eyes on the Superbowl predictions, and she’s trying to get a shoo-in with them before the primaries begin. I just brought her some coffee.”

“And you didn’t bring me any?”

“You’re the only one of us who hasn’t been up all night. You need coffee the least of all of us.”

“Don’t blame me for your bad decisions.” Adam squinted at Gansey. “Were you working on an article all night or something?”

He snorted. “Hardly. They’ve been blocking all of my pieces. Too far from my mother’s politics, too far from your mother’s, too controversial, too critical, all in that order.”

“Thought you were liking the _ Post _gig?”

“On paper,” Gansey dismissed. “I’ve defaulted to writing about Welsh history.”

“Sounds like it’s right up your alley, then.”

“Once again, on paper.”

“How do you even connect the Welsh to the hellscape of American politics?”

Gansey waved a hand. “‘Eternal spirit,’ ‘fighting for honor,’ ‘remembering Glendower and others who set a pristine model,’ et cetera, et cetera.”

“People read that? That just sounds like you in high school spouting off again.”

“Yes, Adam. People read it.” Gansey squinted at his phone again. “Twitter _ really _likes you and Ronan together.”

“We’re exciting,” Adam said dryly, reaching for his laptop. He scanned over his most recent paper while Gansey dramatically narrated replies to the gif of them on _ This Morning. _

“‘Either of them could stab me and give me one of those smiles and I’d thank them,’ Jesus Christ,” Gansey read, “They really love your fake smiles… ‘name a more iconic duo, I’ll wait,’ hm, maybe any other duo? ‘Oh my God, just _ kiss already.’” _

Adam choked out a laugh as Gansey punctuated the last one with a dramatic and uncharacteristic hand wave. “At least it’s working,” he allowed, shutting his laptop once he felt secure about his essay. “Now get out. _ Some _of us have places to be.”

Adam’s phone buzzed on his way out of his cursed Presidency and the Press course.

Somehow, the interest of those around him seemed to pique even higher when he looked at his phone instead of in front of him. It wasn’t a new sensation by any means; ever since starting at Georgetown, he’d felt eyes on him constantly, but the intensity increased tenfold each time his classmates thought he was too occupied to see them staring. He noticed every time, but of course nothing could be done about it.

The name _ HRH shitty bird boy _ popped across his screen. How strange - in only a week, he’d almost entirely forgotten that the name he had (quite maturely) given Ronan in his phone was… _ that. _As he swiped the notification open, he felt a certain amount of trepidation as to what a technology-averse prince would ever text him about.

His harassment and emergency fears flew out the window with the body of the text, simply a screenshot of their tabloid appearance with the added caption of _ youre the nerd and I’m the cool jock. _

_ Competitive yachting? _Adam asked in response, nearly tripping over his own feet while typing.

_ ffs i told them to stop writing that as my preferred sport. _

Adam felt his lips twist against his will.

_ I’m sorry, this is a common problem? _

_ you can’t even imagine. _

_ I appreciate that they consider competitive yachting a regal sport. _

_ status symbols and faux athleticism are the core of the monarchy. _

Adam blinked down at his phone, stopping short abruptly. Persephone, from behind him, adjusted accordingly.

He…hadn’t been expecting this. Any of it. The text, the almost-joking response, the casual statement about the monarchy being ridiculous despite him being in it. Their conversation ended there, and it was probably for the better. He resumed his pace, trying to get to his next class. He almost forgot about the texts, too; save for a rogue screenshot Adam sent him of speculation on Ronan’s presence in Majorca, nothing else went between them.

Sometimes, Adam could _ just barely _ get away with being on his phone during briefings with Maura. He hated to be distracted during them - they were _ important, _he knew that, but all the same occasionally she spent a particularly long time covering an obscure dignitary’s comments and he’d gotten too few hours of sleep to truly focus and someone or other was blowing up his phone.

Maura’s topic of conversation this week appeared to be a series of Buzzfeed articles run on the lack of pets in the First Family, complete with a power point dissecting their points

The glamorous side of politics, truly. Discussing a clickbait series in the West Wing briefing room.

_ iMessage chat to _ ** HRH shitty bird boy **

_ Resumed 30 October, 2019, 1:47 pm _

_ if you want a pet chainsaw dragged in a mouse the other day _

_ Ah yes, the mouse. A pet eternally beloved by constituents. _

_ we can’t all have a raven, that would be unfair _

_ Your heights of cool and goth are truly dizzying. _

_ im glad you agree _

_ Modest, too. _

_ it comes with the wealth and fame _

_ As long as you’re being straight with me, feel free to be as ‘modest’ as you like. _

_ i’m the prince of bloody england. i’m straight all the damn time _

_ That’s the biggest lhxemxlp_

His phone slipped from between his fingers, landing with a dull _ thud _onto the wooden floor. Adam stared helplessly at it, a sleek black rectangle hiding between types of oak. But Maura repeated his name, and he suddenly remembered what had made him drop his phone in the first place. He dragged his eyes up, staring at a spot on the sterile white wall just beyond Maura’s head.

“Adam,” she said a third time, but he refused to look her in the eyes. She conceded immediately. “What the hell?”

He felt his cheeks darken as blood found its way up. “I’m sorry.”

Her lips thinned just like Blue’s did, turning into a dark line on her brown face. “Do you even remember what I was saying?”

“Er…” he scrambled. “Don’t mention animals in any public setting?”

She looked at him for a long moment, then picked up a mug of coffee and took a controlled sip.

“Get out?” she said once she’d swallowed her sip.

“I-”

She pointed to the door. “I am impossibly busy. Take your phone and go laugh in private.”

He nodded once, finally, ducking under the table with his spine pressed against the bottom to grab his phone. His fingers closed around it, grip the edge of the wood, and he was up in a second.

He couldn’t regret it.

Because - well, here was the weird thing.

He wanted another text from Ronan.

_ iMessage chat to _ ** HRH shitty bird boy **

_ Resumed 31 October, 2019, 12:03 am _

_ it’s finally spooky day in your hell country _

_ Isn’t it 5 am in England? _

_ Do you ever sleep? _

_ bold of you to ask that question _

_ halloween, bitch _

_ it waits for no one _

_ I’m really going to have to advocate better habits. _

_ I understand, you’re enthused for Halloween. _

_ do you even care at all _

_ I enjoy halloween like everyone else. _

_ Though your level of excitement feels a little pagan? _

when the skeleton army rises Jesus will forgive me

_ appreciate this glorious day parrish _

_ I have enough fear in my daily life, thanks. _

_ I filed my own taxes all throughout highschool. _

_ And payed rent. _

_ The horrors of early adulthood. _

_terrifying _

_ terrible i’ll never deal with that shit _

_ You’re the prince, we know. _

_ Do you also not have enough horror in your life? _

of course i do

_ but parrish. listen. _

_ this is the one day a year all the monarchy and parliament dress as they are in life _

_ hideous monsters _

He laughed a little harder at that than he should have.

_ You’re telling me the monarchy plays dress up. _

_ ronan_frankensteins_monser_costume.jpg _

_ matthew insisted. did this on me an hour ago _

_ oh my god _

The makeup _ was _really good, and the monstrous look suited him, but hell if Adam ever said that to him.

He may have saved it to his phone, though, to glimpse Ronan’s green-paint covered skin and crooked, drawn-on stitch smile on his perfectly blank face.

Although Adam certainly didn’t intend to make a habit of texting the Prince of England, when he saw a funny bird or a stupid article or an obscure meme his first thought became _I should send that to Ronan. _And Ronan, clearly, was thinking along the same lines. The sheer number of sole emojis that seemed to tell a Ronan-centric story he received at all hours only affirmed that. And somehow, between all the pictogramme and jokes, he started to learn snatches of information. Declan was a better storyteller than Ronan, Matthew was the only person who could make Ronan attend family dinners ever since their father died, and his mother - the Queen of England, Adam had to remind himself sometimes - drew further away every day.

The problem became that he always wanted to know _ more, _and Adam didn’t know if that was due to his rampant curiosity or something else buried deep inside of him, and he was too afraid of what he might uncover by digging to look.

Adam had very few friends.

Most of that came with the territory of being part of the First Family; nothing made casual acquaintances drift away quite like being constantly surveilled by Secret Service agents and trailed by NDAs. Adam didn’t have time for small talk and coffee, a fact which he sometimes lamented and often loved. Part of this came from the type of friendship he became accustomed to with Gansey and Blue, the all-encompassing type of friendship that took over their minds in spare moments and forged ties stronger than steel between them. He’d probably forgotten how to have normal, casual friends, not friends an outsider would think he was completely in love with. And, perhaps more than anything else, it came back down to Robert Parrish and his heavy hands and ringing words. Adam’s memories of his first few years were scattered and inconsistent, but they filled up a too-large corner of his brain all the same. Blue, who entered his life at the tender age of 5, had won his trust with greater ease than their other peers, and Gansey had done the same in high school. They knew him and what he’d been through, and so they could (platonically) love him for all that he was. When campaigning and political office came into the mix, that full truth of Adam Parrish became a secret to guard like any else.

But, oddly enough, Adam had a third friend: Noah Czerny, the thirty-three-year-old baby of the Senate.

Noah and Adam met through an Aglionby networking event while Adam was a student and Noah a recently-elected congressperson, both green as grass in different ways. Adam, thrown neck-deep into a Presidential campaign, had questions, and most of the time Noah had answers. Although all of the professors had warned Adam to proceed cautiously with Czerny, Adam found nothing to fear. Noah had mellowed out quite a bit from his high school days, becoming a familiar face at political events and a surprisingly-wise piece of advice always at the ready. Despite Adam’s near hero-worship of this brand-new politician, half-Mexican just like him and just as frequent to lose sleep rewriting policies that unjustly taxed communities of color or defunded children’s education, they’d formed an improbable bond. The summer before his sophomore year, Noah let Adam closer to the politics process than even his mother had as he ran for the Senate, and Adam took to it almost at once. A politician twelve years his senior was perhaps not a conventional choice of friend, but Adam seldom remained conventional.

It wasn’t too out of the ordinary for Adam to arrive at Noah’s congressional office unannounced, either with business or without, and so when Adam rounded on Noah’s stark, bright, white office, he wasn’t at all surprised to see him ducked over an obscene number of papers.

“It’s Friday night,” Noah said without looking up, barely before Adam had even crossed into the office. As always, the tiny burst of color in the Pride flag deposited in a tourist mug drew Adam’s eye for a long moment before Noah himself did. All Adam could see of him was his brown curls, resolutely held in place even as bent over a desk. “Go party or something.”

“Damn, I didn’t _ think _ this looked like a frat. I knew something was off.” Adam slid into one of the seats across the desk. He had several inches on Noah, but he always felt smaller in those chairs across from the most important legislators in the country. “What’s got you here at eight PM?” Off of Noah’s brief, incredulous look, he amended to _ “this _particular time, I know. You’re salaried. Shouldn’t you…ever go home?”

“I’m trying to get something done so that there’s at least a hope of banning fracking in our lifetimes.”

Adam scoffed quietly, though not for lack of faith in Noah. “Let me know when you’ve cracked the code.”

_ “If, _but sure, I’ll be in contact. Now, why are you here?”

“You didn’t answer my leaving-the-building question.”

Noah’s eyes flickered shut briefly. “Jesus, Adam, I am salaried by the taxpayers of millions of Americans. I’m not going to slack on them.”

“Fine, but don’t make me drag Gansey in here to make you take a long nap and drink some hot soup.”

Adam’s phone buzzed, but he ignored it; despite it being almost 1 am in England, Ronan could presumably take the blame. Noah asked, “Did you catch the Fox town hall last night?”

Adam grimaced. He’d seen part of it, trying to multitask with his macroeconomics homework at the same time, but instead he’d fallen asleep with his head on the laptop screen. “Part of it. It was a shitshow.”

“You can say that again.”

“I honestly thought that Whelk would pull more support from the extremists. He just seemed desperate last night.”

“Oh, he definitely was.” Noah leaned away from his desk, appraising Adam as though considering his words carefully. “We went to school together.”

“Aglionby?” Adam asked. He knit his eyebrows together. “How did I not realize he went there?”

“The school doesn’t exactly love toting him.”

“He’s older than you, though, right?”

“Yes, Adam,” Noah said slowly. “I’m thirty-three. He’s already announced a bid for President. How old do you have to be to run for executive office?”

Adam scowled. “I just came from class, I can’t use my brain. He was a senior when you were a freshman?”

“Yep,” Noah replied. “We were paired in upperclassmen-lowerclassmen bonding.” His lip curled a little. “He outed me.”

“Wait, _ what?” _

“He outed me to the school,” Noah repeated. He looked back down to the papers on his desk, his voice softening to a barely audible level. “I trusted him, which was a dumb thing to do, but I was a really stupid freshman. Scared, too. He was a friendly personality.”

_ “Fuck,” _Adam said, pushing a hand through his hair. “I’m sorry, that’s…”

“Terrible?” A bit of Noah’s life returned to him. “Don’t worry about it, kid. It was years ago.”

“But then…Whelk, he was the reason you…?”

“He didn’t make my parents react the way they did. They did that on their own. But no, they wouldn’t have known without him.”

Adam shook his head. “I thought it wasn’t possible to like the guy less, if only because of his politics, but he’s done it.”

“Done what? Received the full wrath of Adam Parrish?”

“He very well may.”

“Don’t worry about him. Whelk will be out soon, believe me. I know him. He may have his parent’s money, but he’s barely old enough to hold office and he’s running on fumes.”

“If he’s not, I’ll convince Blue to skew stats until he is.” Noah knew just as well as Adam that that wouldn’t change anything, but it lightened the air anyway. “It seems kind of pointless to entertain any of them. Greenmantle is probably going to win no matter what.”

Colin Greenmantle: former antique collector, congressperson from Massachusetts, and millionaire with the funds to take over the Republican primary, and very possibly the whole election, before any papers were even filed.

“It’s early,” Noah said. “Too early to worry about it. Too early to even be _ talking _ about it.”

Adam slanted a half-smile at him. “Never too early to worry about an election.”

Noah looked back to his papers before broaching the next topic. “I hear you’ve got a job on your mother’s re-election campaign.”

“Once I graduate, and maybe a little earlier, yeah.”

Noah cast a glance around the office. “Are you sure this is the life you want?”

Adam knew he was referring to the constant bustle, the fear of disappointing and harming instead of helping, and the ever-evolving media scrutiny. He knew it was the closest Noah would give to a warning. “I’m sure.”

Noah sighed. “Fine.” He pointed to the door. “But I won’t let you throw your youth away, not this early. After you graduate, Parrish. Go get drunk and make out with someone.”

Adam stood, his frame unfolding and standing tall. “You are a terrible role model.”

“Can’t hear you over the loud music.”

“You and Blue and Gansey - if I die of alcohol poisoning, it’s all your fault.”

“Feel free to blame, so long as you’re out there and not here.”

“Alright, alright, Jesus. You’ve made your point.”

“Finally,” Noah called after Adam’s retreating form. But Adam could hear the amusement in his voice all the same.

For someone so allergic and averse to technology, Ronan sure seemed to share a lot with Adam.

_ iMessage chat to _ ** HRH shitty bird boy **

_ Resumed 13 Novemeber, 2019, 8:38 pm _

_ bird.m4a _

_ she wont stop nuzzling my head?? _

_ Picking for lice, probably. _

_ God knows you have so many. _

_ my scalp is perfectly clean _

_ Forgive me for abstaining from running my hands over it all the same. _

_ I’ll leave that to her. _

He didn’t always respond, though.

Adam tried not to read into it.

(He mostly succeeded.)

Adam never tired of stepping into the Oval Office. On the Wednesday right before Thanksgiving, he stepped in with the same amount of awe he always had, allowing himself a single moment to glance around at the wide windows and perfectly upholstered furniture. He sat on one of the couches without preamble.

His mother looked up from what was in front of her on the desk and smiled, albeit a tired one that frayed a bit at the corners; Adam had seen a few particularly troublesome foreign dignitaries be escorted away not long before, so he didn’t have to guess at the reason. Ana looked like she belonged to sit right there amongst all the history at that desk, from the sun dipping just beneath her halo of hair straightened within an inch of its life and her stick-straight posture. It might have been a lot at times, but seeing her was a reminder of all the good that came from her position.

She rose and walked to join him, her heels clacking lightly at the ground before she sank onto the cushion beside him and pulled him into a loose hug. Adam had overtaken Ana in height some years before, but there had been a long gap in there as he grew - like one day he was three and a half feet tall and wrapped tightly in her arms and the next he was off to Georgetown and several heads taller. She pulled away after a minute, slowly and bit-by-bit as though savoring her moments as a mother rather than a president. Her hand reached to muss his hair a moment later, and Adam ducked away instinctively before exchanging an identical grin with her.

“God, I forgot how light your hair looks in here,” she said, leaning back a little. “Almost golden.” She tilted her head as though examining him. “Nah. Still brown. But much lighter.”

“How could you forget? The photo here was in _ GQ, _the same article that first declared me the family golden boy.” At the corner of their conversation was the knowledge of where he’d inherited that hair color, as it sure as hell wasn’t from Ana. But he let the thought stay buried, patting the dirt back down with the shovel himself. Their relationship always had an absence in it, and he didn’t particularly feel like deepening it in the Oval Office.

“Ah, so that’s the one I have to blame for your big head,” she responded, reaching for a piece of fruit from the little coffee table. It was a familiar half-jest, borne from Adam’s constant contradicting confidence and imposter syndrome. Idiosyncrasies were just Adam’s style, never one to make things easy for himself. He sometimes wondered if so much of himself conflicted because he tried to walk the middle road so often, balancing his weight over all sides to minimize the damage if the rug was yanked from beneath him, like lying down on a bed of nails: a thousand tiny, dull pains over one sharp, potentially fatal puncture. She smiled again. “Is Noah doing well?”

“For Noah he is. He would barely look up from some new reports on fracking, seems hopeful he’ll be able to garner enough support.”

Ana snorted. “Good luck with that. I’ll be shocked if it reaches the floor for debate.”

“That makes three of us, then.” He nodded towards the desk. “Bad meeting?”

The frown lines on her face deepened. “Don’t get me started,” she drawled, falling back fully against the cushions. After only a moment, she _ did _ get started regardless of what Adam did or didn’t do. “We received the memo a few days ago that a delegation from Sweden wanted to be in contact, right? Fairly standard stuff, Maura gets back to them quickly because they worded it like it was an urgent matter, and there’s a back and forth for a while about scheduling and accommodations. We’re of the belief they won’t be out here until Monday at the earliest.”

Adam knit his eyebrows together. “It’s not Monday.”

“You fuckin’ tell me. Anyway, I’m halfway through a meeting with a few UN representatives when Maura has to interrupt. They arrived at the White House, claimed they had a meeting, and just…didn’t leave. Evan Maura couldn’t get through to them, which is the thing that scared me a little.”

“You should have put Calla on it.”

“Believe me, if she were here, I would’ve. But as it was, I had to hurry out the UN members to deal with decidedly more antagonistic foreign relations.”

“Why were they even here?”

“They wanted to discuss the military relationship between our countries-”

“What the hell?”

“Yeah, I don’t know,” she said, waving one hand in dismissal. “Any points they were trying to make went straight out the window when they started pulling out cue cards, to be honest. I might have to call Löfven to smooth things over.”

“Well, there’s never a dull moment,” Adam said fairly. His mother snorted.

“Sure isn’t. Anyway,” she said, glancing at her watch, “it’s now Thanksgiving, so no more meetings for twenty-four hours.”

“It’s Wednesday.”

She pulled a face in dismissal. “We take our patriotism seriously, darlin’. Don’t want our home state gettin’ too mad.”

“Of course.”

Ana checked her watch again. “The turkeys will be on their way to the Willard by now, so we’re not ruining any American traditions today.”

“Wait,” Adam said. “Where?”

She looked at him, her eyes narrowing. “The Willard. They stay there every year.”

“What? No. _ No. _You cannot give the turkeys five-star accommodations with taxpayer dollars. You’ve been doing this every year?!”

“It’s public knowledge, sugar. Every news outlet mentions it.”

“How did I not-” Adam cut off. “There is no way you can do that! They’re turkeys! It’s a waste!”

“It’s precedent, Adam. I’m not sure if there’s anything to be done at this point.”

Adam stood quickly, pacing back and forth, and his mother stood behind him. “It’s a _ blatant _waste of money, I’m shocked we haven’t already been-”

“Hon, every president so far has done the same-”

“Imagine the story if we broke the tradition! Even conservatives would have to applaud your frugality-”

“We can’t play games with tradition, you know they already call us disrespectful-”

“-we can’t be using _ taxpayer money-” _

“-by all means, if you have the time to find lodging for two forty-pound turkeys-”

“Put them in my room!” Adam blurted. His mother stopped short.

“You’re not serious,” she said. “We’re not putting the turkeys for me to pardon in your bedroom.”

“Yes, we are.”

“Adam-”

He shifted his feet, coming to a stop. He lifted himself up to his full height. Debate Captain Adam, six-time Best Delegate Adam, and First Son Adam converged into one. His mother barely looked phased.

“Oh, God,” his mother said. “I can’t listen to another sales pitch.”

“Madame President,” Adam began, “I’d like to echo the sentiments of the forebears before me-”

“Nope,” she said, making double-time back to her desk. “You’re not going to filibuster me.”

“In 2018 alone, at least forty-three articles in the Wall Street Journal accused the sitting administration of wasting tax dollars. This came on the heels of a tax increase for Americans making more than ten million dollars per year and the subsequent pushback from a more conservative electorate in Congress.”

“Fine!” Ana said, her hand falling to the desk with a thump. She brought it back up to her head to massage her temple a moment later. “I’m too tired to hear my own history read back at me. You win.”

He sat back down on the couch, crossing his legs primly. “Perfect,” he said, allowing himself to smile once again.

[jaskierswolf]

The (un)Helpful Mage (Pt.2/3)

Previous ______

Geralt had cursed that damned mage a hundred times over by the time they reached Posada.

The bard stopped chattering pretty early on into the journey but the man was incapable of silence. When he wasn’t humming some melody under his breath he would tap incessantly on the strap of his lute or muttered rhymes breathlessly. The worst part is that he didn’t even seem to realise he was doing it. When they camped for the night the bard had scribbled in his notebook furiously with his tongue caught between his teeth in concentration until the firelight faded to embers and it was too dark for him to keep writing. With some reluctance the bard had curled up on the ground next to Geralt. Geralt tried not to feel guilty but he couldn’t help but think that the bard would have probably been tucked up in a bed somewhere warm if it weren’t for the mage’s curse.

The next morning Geralt had awoken to find the Bard cooing at his horse. Roach, the traitor, seemed to have taken a liking to the chattering troubadour and let him pet her mane. The next couple of days had passed in a similar manner. Geralt’s headache had eased after the first day and his travelling companion had tentatively began to ask more questions and quietly strum away on his lute.

The morning after their last night on the road before Posada, Geralt had woken up to find the bard laying practically on top of him like a blanket. He assumed the human had gotten cold in the night and reached out to share Geralt’s body heat.

They didn’t talk about it.

The bard blushed prettily and rolled off of Geralt as if nothing was amiss and they were strolling into Posada by supper time.

“I need to take Roach to the stables.” Geralt told his travelling companion as he dismounted. “You’ll have to join me.”

“Do we know how far we can go from each other?” The bard asked as he kept pace with Geralt. “Not that I mind your company but obviously there was reasons a man would want some privacy.” He winked at Geralt with a smile that was probably meant to be charming but it didn’t work on Geralt. He would not be charmed by this chattering good for nothing bard.

Soulmate.

He scoffed. Destiny was shitting with him if she thought that a bard would make a good soulmate for a witcher.

“Twenty feet.” Geralt answered and then cursed loudly.

“Witcher?”

“I can’t kill monsters with you trailing after me. We have to break this.” Geralt grumbled.

To his surprise the brunet placed a hand on his arm. Geralt growled as he turned to face him but the bard was looking up at him with those piercing blue eyes and such a soft caring smile on his face. There wasn’t a whiff of fear which was unusual in humans, especially ones that had just been cursed to follow a mutant and monster killer. Geralt realised with a start that the human had not smelt like fear once in the few days they’d been tied together.

“We’ll find a way. In the mean time I can play for our supper.” The bard beamed up at him. “I’ve been getting rather good since leaving Oxenfurt. They train the best troubadours in the Continent!”

“They train you how to fight as well?” Geralt asked.

The bard laughed melodiously and winked. “Not at Oxenfurt.”

Geralt raised his eyebrow at the man but he didn’t seemed inclined to expand. For someone that talked so much he seemed to want to keep his past to himself, unless it involved music, sex or food. Geralt laughed to himself. He didn’t even know the bastard’s name.

They settled into a corner of the tavern. Well, Geralt did. The bard danced on top of tables strumming his lute and singing at the top of his lungs to try and charm the room. His voice was enchanting and he flirted easily with the patrons of the room. Some of the younger girls blushed prettily but the crowd was tough and the bard’s songs were… not the finest Geralt had ever heard. He was quickly booed off the tables and once again left to gather up stale bread from the floor.

The brunet looked disgruntled but lit up when he saw that Geralt had been watching him.

“So.” He said as he flopped dramatically into the seat next to him. “Tell me witcher. How was my performance?”

Geralt just rolled his eyes. He’d been refusing to answer that question since day one. He hadn’t heard much of the bard’s first performance before they’d been cursed, and whilst he liked his voice, Geralt really couldn’t say much else. This time, however, he’d been paying attention and he had one rather large criticism but if he offended the bard then there was no way of escaping his whining.

They may be able to move just about twenty feet from each other but it wasn’t exactly comfortable, and Geralt had noticed that once the bard had flitted inside the building and out of his sight then he’d immediately started to feel a pull through the door even though they were less than ten feet apart.

Bloody mage.

“Oh come on. Three words or less?” The bard insisted and Geralt decided he’d have to take this one on the chin unless he wanted to hear the troubadour sing ballads about mythical beast for the rest of their acquaintance.

“They don’t exist.” Geralt grumbled.

“What don’t exist?” The bard asked his brow furrowed in confusion.

“The creatures in your song.” Geralt added.

The bard pulled a face as he considered the criticism and nodded. “Right. Yes. Well. I’ve never actually met any real monsters. Thankfully. Unless you count lords who beat their wives?”

Geralt smirked. “Not the kind I kill.”

“Tell me about them, Geralt.” The bard leant forward on the table, his eyes sparkling with curiosity.

Geralt raised an eyebrow at him. “You know my name?” It was the first time the bard had used his name and Geralt couldn’t remember ever introducing himself.

“Not many witchers left these days.” The bard shrugged. “Even less with such unique hair.”

Geralt hummed and finished his drink.

“So, witcher, Geralt of Rivia, tell a humble bard a story?” He leaned his head on his hands and Geralt swore that the man practically batted his eyelids at him.

He considered the proposal. If the troubadour was the only source of income for them whilst they sorted out the curse then he’d have to write some half decent songs. Geralt really didn’t want to live off stale bread until he could hunt again. He scowled, but what monsters would the bard would to hear about? What would make the best story? Geralt wasn’t exactly known for his riveting tales, his experience in the field was practical and not the type of adventure that poets wrote epics about.

Luckily for both of them he never got the chance to decide as fate intervened in the shape of a scrawny farmer.

Unfortunately for him the offer of coin was once again too much to resist and devils didn’t exist so it shouldn’t put the bard in too much danger. He would just poke about the fields a bit. It was probably a hungry stag grazing on the crops. No monsters.

Or at least that was what he thought?

__________

Julian strode away from Roach playing his new, sexy, lute with confidence that his witcher would follow him. Yes yes, of course the witcher didn’t exactly have a choice in the matter but something Geralt had said made Julian think he wasn’t exactly unwelcome company.

Geralt had pleaded with the elves to let him go.

A witcher who had an obvious distain for humanity and who didn’t even know his name, and he’d defended him.

Really if Julian had died it probably would have been easier for Geralt. The man would no longer be bound to him and he could go off and live his best witchery life. Sure he might feel guilty about his death for a few days but surely the man had seen more death than Julian could even begin to comprehend.

And yet, here he was.

Alive.

And still very cursed.

He winced as he got near the twenty feet mark and his vision began to cloud over. He almost dropped his lute as he struggled to catch his breath. He gasped as the sound of hooves trotting on the dirt path echoed round his head and Geralt landed next to him and his knees buckled underneath him.

“Geralt?” He asked weakly.

The witcher hummed an agreement. “Best not stray too far, bard.”

Julian smiled up at the witcher. Geralt’s eyes seemed to soften as he gazed back down at him.

Bard.

Julian laughed he should probably tell Geralt his name.

His name. Viscount Julian Alfred Pankratz of Lettenhove.

The home he’d run away from to become a travelling bard. He didn’t want Geralt to think any less of him, to think he was a coward. What sort of a man runs away from a cushy mansion to live on the road? Geralt would dump him back at his parents’ estate and he’d never get to see the world like he’d always dreamed.

No.

That wouldn’t do at all.

“I was thinking.” He said thoughtfully to his quiet companion as they carried on walking side by side along the path. “I need a stage name. Every good bard needs a stage name. Something unique to draw attention to oneself.”

“Your clothes aren’t bright enough?” Geralt sniped.

Julian gaped at the insult. His clothes were fabulous thank you very much! At least he knew what colour was and the blue brought out his eyes. He narrowed his eyes at the man. “I will pretend I didn’t hear that, Geralt.” He snapped with a flamboyant wave of his hand.

“A likely tale.” Geralt grumbled and Julian rolled his eyes.

“No, my stage name will be the envy of troubadours all across the Continent. A tribute to the song that will make me famous!” He sang gleefully as an idea popped into his head.

“Don’t get ahead of yourself, bard.”

Julian ignored the witcher’s sarcastic remarks. “I may not be able to respect the Elves in my song, otherwise I’ll never be able to change your tragic reputation, but I can pay homage in my chosen name. Our first adventure as a duo, in Dol Blathanna!” He twirled around to accentuate his point. “Otherwise known as?”

Geralt growled at him but didn’t answer.

“That’s right. The Valley of the Flowers! But, dear bard, what does that have to do with your name? I hear you ask.” Julian continued.

“I didn’t ask.”

“My name, dearest witcher, will be Dandelion!” He announced gleefully as he remembered the bright yellow flower from his youth. He’d spent many hours in the garden blowing off the seeds when the yellow petals turned grey and fluffy.

Geralt snorted.

“Dandelion?”

Julian, no Dandelion, put his hands on his hips. “And what’s wrong with that?”

Geralt smirked and tilted his head like an adorable puppy. “Dandelion?” He repeated.

Julian huffed. “Fine. Whatever, witcher. What would you suggest?”

Geralt looked around the fields either side of the path. There were plenty of wildflowers scattered in the grass. “What about that one?” He pointed to a bunch of cornflowers.

Julian scrunched up his nose. “Nah. That’s a shit idea. Anyway I prefer dandelions. They are bright and yellow like the sun that gives us life and heat and burns brighter than the love between two souls.”

Geralt scoffed. “They teach you that at Oxenfurt?”

Julian pouted. “It’s a work in progress. What’s so good about cornflowers anyway?”

The witcher didn’t answer his question but scoured the area for a different flower until he picked a small yellow buttercup and handed it to him. Julian looked down at the small flower. It was pretty. It was also yellow like he’d requested.

“Buttercup?” He raised an eyebrow.

“Better than Dandelion.” Geralt shrugged.

Buttercup. No that wasn’t right. Not quite. It needed more mystery, more allure.

He grinned.

“Jaskier.” He announced, a warm feeling settling in his heart. “My name is Jaskier.”

After their adventure in Dol Blathanna, Jaskier’s music improved significantly as he began to immortalise bastardised versions of their adventures together into ballads and poetry. Geralt felt more confident about taking on smaller contracts for the right price and Jaskier was now actually picking up gold coins rather than mouldy old bread.

They still hadn’t broken the curse but they were making it work. Luckily they had some leeway which meant that they could sleep in separate rooms if the inn had two next to each other and they could get far enough away to piss behind a tree when travelling.

The strangest thing was that, over the last few months, Geralt was starting to enjoy the bard’s company. He no longer wished for silence on the road and there was an uncomfortable disappointment in the pit of his stomach whenever an innkeeper said they did in fact have two rooms that were next to each other. More often than not it was rooms on either end of the inn which meant they had to share instead. Anything further than fifteen feet was uncomfortable and twenty feet was hell on earth.

It was much better for both of them to curl up on one mattress or bedroll together than to worry about the burning in their hearts whilst they slept.

Occasionally, Jaskier would take a lover to bed in the room next to his and Geralt would lie awake, trying not to listen to his soulmate, trying and failing. It wasn’t intentional but it sparked some petty jealously in his heart. He remembered the mage’s words.

For some it is rather like brother’s in arm, others will have an unbreakable friendship.

That was what he would have with Jaskier. Despite the younger man’s flirtations when they’d first met nothing further had ever developed between them and Geralt was fine with that. That was what he wanted.

and then of course. There is love.

Geralt scoffed.

Who could ever love a witcher?

They didn’t feel like that. That’s what they were told. It was what Vesemir drilled into them.

Witcher’s don’t feel.

But then again, Geralt had never been a normal witcher. His additional mutations had made sure of that. In some ways it had made him more beast like, stronger, faster, better than his peers, but in other ways he was more human. Less predictable and more controlled by his emotions, his fears, his desires.

But what did a witcher desire? Beyond a full coin purse, a hot meal and a whore to bed.

He sighed.

This witcher desired more.

He desired Jaskier.

“Geralt.” Jaskier whined in the bed next to him. “Would you kindly shut up?”

He grunted. He hadn’t even said anything, the bard was probably just bored.

“I have never known such a noisy thinker.” Jaskier continued. “Honestly it would be easier if you just talked! At least then it would be out of your head.”

He hummed and rolled over onto his side and pulled Jaskier to his chest. They often woke up like this but they never spoke about it and they never initiated it whilst they were awake but Geralt was almost overwhelmed with the need to feel Jaskier pressed up against him.

“Oh we’re cuddling now. Not that I’m complaining. I love cuddling but… why are we cuddling?” Jaskier chattered away.

“Just go to sleep, Jaskier” Geralt grumbled into the back of his neck, inhaling his soft warm lavender scent.

“Yes of course. Sleep.” Jaskier sighed and relaxed into Geralt’s embrace. “Goodnight, my dear.”

_____

Next

[a-forgotten-spirit]

Chained To Him (3)

Pairing: Dad Aizawa x Reader (Platonic), Dad Mic x Reader (Platonic), Bakugou x Reader

Summary: Dads don’t want you to compete in the sports festival but you do. 

Words: +-3000

Warnings: Orphan, villain parents, voices talking to you, voice being mean (hella mean), you watched the show. SLOW BUILD.

A/N:   Everyone lives on campus except you to make my life a little bit easier. It’s a slow build story, it’s going to be awhile. If you want anything in particular or have questions send me an ask. I look at them. Please leave a comment they make my life.

Tagged: @puppetofyourdreams​ 

I AM TAKING REQUESTS FOR THIS SERIES AND OTHER ONESHOTS.

Chapter 1 Chapter 2

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Chapter 3

A few days have passed and everyone has slowly calmed down, Bakugou, Denki, Kirishima and I have been talking of a morning and I say goodbye to them at the end of the day so we’re friends? I guessed we were friends. Sitting in class just talking and things, Dad comes in and begins to talk about the sports festival, the height of the UA year for the students. I was so excited, I loved using my power but also hated it, it was complicated and I had watched it every year, I may not want to be a hero but I wanted to participate. Everyone was talking about it during class and I honestly was getting so pumped for it. I mean it was a sports festival.

“You won’t be participating,” Dad said as I was talking to him at the end of class, I had started to say how I could get noticed and maybe more into the whole hero thing, I knew others could hear us and I was making motions with my hands and things but when he said those four words my arms felt as I stood in silence for a few seconds as he just looked down at me.

“Excuse me,” I said slowly my voice lower than before as I looked to him, he wasn’t going to let me. I have always wanted to participate in “I love the sports festival, I watch it every year and the time I can go in it, I’m not allowed” I ask shaking my head and breathing out my anger, I had forgotten anyone was there as I tried to keep quiet but it was a small room.

“Your father and I had a chat, we decided it was best if you didn’t” he shrugged as if it was nothing, a simple thing, though I could see the sorry in his eyes, he had just gone on about how important it is and then dropped this I shook my head turning on my heel. “Y/N come back, we can talk about this” I didn’t respond.

I loved the festival and now I couldn’t even participate, everyone else got too. I didn’t expect to go far maybe the first round but the thought of being in the stadium was like a dream and now it’s gone. Four words and my hopes had vanished. I walked down the hallway and then down the stairs, quickly I needed air, I needed something. I knew I had to go home with them but even if I had a few minutes to myself to calm down, I needed it.

“They don’t trust us, no trust, fearful, scared, too strong, not in control” they came at me all at once and I put my hands over my ears trying to stop them, quieten them even just a little as I stormed to the training area that I was allowed into, there were perks to being a teacher's kid. The voices continued as grit my teeth, just stop. They didn’t think that. Walking inside I sighed “No trust, evil, villain, scared the man, he saw”

“Shut up” I screamed throwing my hands out as a burst of energy came from me in the form of black veins running over my skin, they had reason to not trust me. I sighed leaning my head back to try and calm down, I couldn’t activate my full quirk my shirt would be ruined so I held everything as I tried to calm down, the power surging through my system as I tried to be calm. Laughter was heard circling my ears and I shook my head “I said shut up” why was it that they could turn malice within a few seconds. My nails dug into my head as I held my ears and I slowly crouched down.

“Y/N” I turned seeing Bakugou staring at me as I still, the black fell back into my skin and could no longer be seen. “I thought you would be here” he smiled lightly and the voices stopped for a few seconds, they never stopped. “I thought id check on you, Aizawa is finding Mic then coming to get you I think, I heard him mumbling to himself” I rolled my eyes a few whispers were heard once more as I slowly stood up and nodded.  

“I’m fine, you can go now,” I said and turned back around sighing out as I looked down to the ground as if it was the most entertaining thing I had ever seen, I didn’t want him here, or maybe I did? I didn’t know what I wanted at this point.

“Hey, Idiot I’m trying to be helpful” there's the Bakugou I knew and befriended, the hot-headed loudmouth, I laughed lightly “Oh so now you’re laughing at me” I turned and saw flushed cheeks and an angry stance, his fingers outstretched and a few popping noises being heard.

Shaking my head I smiled, “No, you just made me feel a bit better” his stance faltered as his shoulders sunk “I really wanted to compete in the festival, I’ve watched it since I was a kid and now that I have a chance, I’m not allowed” even I could hear the sadness in my voice, my eyes downcast and I swallowed.

“State your cause” was what I was told, head lifting I tilt in confusion a raised eyebrow accompanying it as I just stared at him, what was he going on about? “Storm in there and say what you want. You won’t get anywhere if no one hears you” of course he would suggest something like that, he walked up to me handing me a small piece of paper “It’s my number, message me” a smile then turned and left the building like it was nothing.

Now I was flushing as I bit my lip, “State my cause huh” I whispered and narrowed my eyes and biting my lip. Sometimes he was bright if he wanted to be. Storming from the building I continued up the stairs and through the students as I made my way to the office, I knew the looks I was getting as I stomped my way down the halls. Slamming the door open I walked right up to my parents my eyes wide and chest puffed, I had to state my cause. “I demand I be able to participate in the sports festival” all went silent as I looked to my parents and then around as I swallowed, ok maybe this was a bad idea. Dad went to talk saying my name and I shook my head, I had to state my cause “It is my right as a UA student to be able to participate in the festival, I should get the same chances as everyone else. It is not fair that I will be disadvantaged because you do not think I should do it” I looked between the two of them and saw a smile rise on Pa’s face. Why was he smiling?

Pa had that smile and Dad sighed out “We were just talking it out, you can do it, you would know that if you let me finish” I paused my hands now in the air as I looked back to him and Pa my face flushing, I just yelled at them for nothing.

“Oh” I nodded and then bowed “I thank you for the consideration” I nodded and swallowed “I will be waiting to go home in the lounge” I nodded again not having really stopped and turned around seeing the other teachers with smiles on their faces.

Immediately flopping down onto the lounge I pulled the note from my clenched hand, taking out my phone and placing the numbers in, Bakugou’s number, I had Bakugou's number. Sending a quick message saying it was Y/N, I then proceeded to say that Dad and Pa had already decided I could do it but I made a fool of myself by not letting them speak. Moving to be laying down on the lounge I began to think about how this could go, I was messaging Bakugou like the boy in my class, my friend.

“I’m going to annihilate you” was the only text I got back and I couldn’t help the small smile stretch it’s way onto my face, that’s just like him.

“As if” I replied and from there we had a texting battle for who would win, strategies and comebacks being thrown at each other. It was whoever could type the fastest, Capitals being his favourite use of action when messaging. Not so long later and I was heading home, eating, chatting about their days and then sitting in my room on my hammock, my chains hanging over the sides.

A few more messages shared between Bakugou and I and then a “Goodnight Loser” signifying the end of the conversation. We had been speaking for a few hours and moved onto more interesting things, just learning about each other as we messaged.

I smiled rolling around in bed as I re-read the messages as I then heard a small voice “A crush” was what was whispered and I stopped my finger stopping scrolling and the smile fell from my face “Cute, a crush, like him, message, nice, crush, cute” I shook my head sitting up quickly.

“What no we are just friends” I called out sitting up and then looking around the room as I heard laughter. Damned voices. Throwing myself back onto the pillow I swung and sighed. “We’re just friends”

-

This was it, the day of the competition, the day I would compete in the sports festival. Dressed in our school uniforms the only thing difference being our shoes, it was annoying that we couldn’t wear our hero gear but it was too be fair to the other classes. I had gotten my ‘gear’ checked off just so I wouldn’t rip my shirt when using my quirk. Everyone had been training hard, I had been trying to harness my power and trying to stay on top of being in control of everything around me. It was difficult but rewarding nonetheless. I had spoken to my parents knowing they would be commentating the festival and to be honest. I wanted to hear the criticism. This was my chance, my chance to show everyone I could be a hero. To show all the agencies I deserved to be here. People didn’t know my biological parents yet, except Bakugou and no one knew my real parents except 1-A. They knew my quirk but I also knew theirs so this would be hard and easy at the same time. I was so excited about the festival, I was practically vibrating. Stalls open and people walking through was so much fun, I had heard some of the things people were saying, everyone was excited for 1-A after the USJ. We were all in the waiting room talking and sitting, getting ready.

“Everyone get your game faces on, we’re entering the arena soon” Iida’s voice came booming through the room, loud and proud. He was like a father or a leader to the class, always giving directions and whatnot. Though I have to admit I did jump a little at his voice.

“Midoriya” Todorokis’ voice was low and baritone, as he walked to the green-headed male, hand in his pocket and eyes narrowed. Midoriya responding and asking him to continue. This would be interesting. “From an objective standpoint, I think it’s very clear that I'm stronger than you” really hitting him where it hurts, it seemed. Todoroki was a man of few words, though it seemed he really did have a plan, wanting to prove something. Midoriya nodded “However, you’ve got All Might in your corner helping you out. I’m not here to pry about what’s going on between you two but, know that I will beat you” Midoriya looked as though he was about to faint, to fall over and die, eyes wide and mouth open. I felt bad but this wasn’t my fight.  

“What’s with all these declarations of war lately” Kaminari smiled from the table that sat his friends. I had to admit everyone seemed on edge, but this was the first festival and after the USJ everyone would be looking at us in particular.

“Yeah what's the big deal, why are you picking a fight all of a sudden” Kirishima, light and bubbly, always wanting to keep the peace between everyone? I admired him for that. “And right before we get started” Kirishima was pushed away, lightly, by Todoroki.

“I don’t care to be each other’s friends” Todoroki was really on a mission today, I hoped I didn’t have to verse him, that would be a pain and a lot to deal with. He began to walk away “Don’t forget this isn’t a team effort” he wasn’t wrong but in the hero field, there was going to be people you had to pair with.  

“Wait a sec Todoroki” Midoriya started, he was going to respond to his little huff. I didn’t expect this but then again, Midoriya had a lot to prove to everyone else. “I don’t know what’s going through your head, or why you think you need to tell me why you’ll beat me and yeah, of course, you’re better than me” this was sad, his face was low and his spirits. Everyone sat in silence just looking on. “You probably have more potential than anyone in the hero course” a little sting to my ego but that was fine, I was the one that saved everyone need I remind. “That’s why you got in so easily” Kirishima tried to lessen his blows not only at himself but also the other students. I for one wasn’t impressed by Midoriyas’ comments. “No he’s right you guys, the other courses are coming at us with everything they’ve got, we’re all going to have to fight to stand out and I’ll be aiming for the top too” he looked so serious I almost went to laugh but held back.

Waiting for when we were allowed to leave our little tunnels was quite funny, listening to Pa shout over the intercom was a delight in itself, he always got so invested in these types of things. The crowd was loud, the cameras ready. Then we were allowed out while music played. I walked out with my head high and shoulders back. This was my time to shine. Fireworks took to the sky and I walked with my class in silence. Pa went on about the attack and how we should be watched but I knew the truth. I knew how he acted when he found out Dad and I were in the firing line. All the classes came out heads high and ready.

“Now the introductory speech” Midnight called out her whip ready and waving around, her costume didn’t faze me, she had worn that since I was little. A few of my fellow students commenting about telling her what she was wearing with flushed cheeks and narrowed gazes. “Silence everyone and for the student pledge we have Katsuki Bakugou” this wasn’t going to end well.

With the confidence of a god he walked up hands in his pockets and face blank, he walked up the stairs and I noticed how bad his posture was. This was a disgrace to the hero course not to mention the other courses already didn’t like us. “I just wanna say, I gonna win” voice monotone and unchanging.

“Why would you say something so disrespectful” Iida was on him immediately, arm moving in an angered linear way that puts a smile on my face. He was confident, nothing wrong with that. “You’re representing us all” he did have a point with that comment.

“Not my fault the rest of you are just stepping stone to my victory” a roll of my eyes and a sigh I could hear people yelling around me and looked up to the commentating booth seeing Dad and Pa. I smiled and waved lightly, they waved back.

Bakugou walked past us all with ease “Without further ado, it's time for us to get started, this is where you’re really going to feel the pain. The first game of the festival” a strange hologram-like thing appeared, pieces spinning like at a casino. “What could it be, Tada” it was an obstacle course. Easy, I could do this. Midnight explained what was to happen and I felt my heart sped up. “As long as you don’t leave the course you are free to do as your heart desires” she should not be saying that to people like Bakugou or Todoroki. “Take your place contestants”

We were all placed into a hallway of sorts, ready to start, I had changed into a jumper from the school, I never liked the feeling of jackets. The back was cut out as well as the chest, I had full movement and I was still in uniform. Perks to having teachers as parents. There were three lights, above us. Slowly turning off, I bent down ready to run. I could do this. My quirk could be used for heroism, my biological parents do not define me. My parents were heroes sworn to protect. I would be one of them, I could be a hero.

“Begin” at the sound of her voice I sprinted, I had stamina, having an ouija board come out of my chest every time I wished it too had made me have a lot of stamina and pain tolerance. I was sprinting, I was fast, always had been.

Everyone was running, cheers and yelling behind me, I was keeping pace with Todoroki and a few others, he was my problem right now. We all wanting this, we all wanted to win. I could hear Pa but I didn't have a car. It was squishy and this was the first obstacle.

I felt the cold and jumped up seeing ice fall beneath me. “To your right” I heard the whisper and turned landing on a flat part and continued to run “People are locked down not all though. He is fast, run” I was running.

“Apologies” I heard him call out though he never looked over his shoulder, he was strong and I knew had already made an impact on the crowd. I ran next to him his eyes wide and un-pleased.

“Did you really think some ice could stop me” I smiled.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Chapter 4 

[nxtchios]

Ambivalent (Dean Winchester x OFC) - pt.1

prompt: llya and Nicky, a pair of amateur hunters have an interesting encounter with the legendary winchesters,

wc: 2k

-I’m just getting back into writing so constructive criticism would be very nice. 

----

Nicky watched Ilya yank her sneakers off with a scowl. Her baby pink socks were a stark contrast to the grimy asphalt, but this didn’t seem to catch her attention as she began knocking her hand on the back of her shoes. “I don’t understand how I could have possibly ended up with rocks in both shoes! We haven’t even walked anywhere rocky!” Nicky didn’t say anything. He leaned back against the brick wall of the library and watched as she grumbled to herself. “Aha!” The rocks in question tumbled out of the shoe after a particularly brutal hit and Ilya’s freckled face beamed with satisfaction. Her smile didn’t waver as she leaned against the wall across from her companion to balance as she slipped her shoes back on

 The two didn’t really understand each other and they didn’t have much in common, but it was moments like this that made him think that it didn’t really matter. Their differences and quirks made for good entertainment, even if it means standing outside in the cold while they were supposed to be researching. With both of her shoes back on, Ilya finally stood up straight with a sigh. “You ready?” Nicky nodded, and with that they shuffled inside.

The pair had become something close to friends throughout the last few months. Their meeting had been about as confusing as any of their other interactions, if not a bit more traumatic, and since then, they were like shoe strings and belt loops. Ilya was a walking juxtaposition and thinking about her for too long and too hard left Nicky with a headache on most days. She was a pretty flower with thorns, and in their short time together Nicky had gotten pricked more than once despite his best efforts to stay out of the way.

Ilya was quick to take the lead once they pushed through the doors. The wrinkled little lady behind the front desk glowered at her as she sped by without so much as a hello. Nicky followed closely behind, and within minutes they were seated in the back behind an ancient looking desktop.

“Jesus, I know funds are low but these things are older than me!” Ilya ignored the glares that were shot her way as she continued to complain about the state of the computers. “The lady, what was her name again?” Nicky pulled his phone from his back pocket and started searching through his notes. “Hold on…” Ilya grunted and tapped impatiently on the mouse. “Any day now would be nice.” Nicky rolled his eyes at her and continued scrolling. “Ah! Her name was Avery Sampson.” Ilya straightened up and started typing.

“Avery, Avery…Aver- Aha! Avery Sampson. Found dead in her apartment four days ago. Her neighbor reports seeing her well and alive earlier that day despite an autopsy showing she had been dead for weeks! I think this is our kind of thing.” Nicky shoved his phone back in his pocket and leaned back into the hard plastic of his seat. Regardless of if it was ‘their kind of thing’ or not, he knew she wouldn’t let up so he figured he’d just agree. “Sounds like it.” Ilya grinned. “Ok. Gimme a second to find her address, and we should be set. Sounds like it could be a skinwalker to me.” Nicky didn’t say anything, but Ilya didn’t seem to mind. After finding what she was looking for, she leapt from her seat, and the pair made their way back to their motel.  

           The first thing Ilya did when she walked through the door of the dingy motel room was snatch her suit from her bag and lock herself in the bathroom. Nicky used the time he had alone to start getting ready.

         Inside the dingy restroom, Ilya turned the squeaky handle. The shower head spluttered angrily before spitting out a harsh spray of water. Within minutes the bathroom filled with steam and Ilya, her mind racing a mile a minute, stripped down and stood under the water.

         After their first few hunts together Nicky had realized that Ilya made it a point to shower before any major investigative step or confrontation. After asking her about it, she had simply said that it helped her get in the ‘zone’ and to ground herself. Despite her own words, she scrubbed anxiously at her skin.

         She had been excited to find another job, but she couldn’t seem to shake the feeling that something was off. The whole case just seemed too easy to find, like it was dropped into her lap. Ilya had been hunting long enough to know that most things that seemed easy were anything but. She was being set up, and she knew it. The only problem was that Nicky, although he was pretty intuitive, wouldn’t take ‘a gut feeling’ as a good enough reason to go running. After all, he had his own reasons for doing what they did, and despite how passive he let himself seem, he was determined in carrying out his goal. 

She turned off the water, and got dressed quickly before meeting him at the table in the middle of their shared room. “Here you go” He handed her the fake FBI badge and pocketed his own before straightening himself out one more time and making his way towards the door. Ilya glanced at the plastic image of herself and sighed heavily before following behind her partner. 

  Clarissa Madison, Avery’s neighbor,  insisted that there was no way in hell Avery had been dead for as long as the coroner had suggested. “I swear to God I saw her. And it wasn’t just an out of the corner of my eye sorta’ thing. I mean I saw this girl head on, she looked me right in the eye! And then the cops are lighting up the entire block at 2 in the goddamn morning, and I’m thinkin that Morgan, the old lady down the street finally croaked or broke her hip or something, anything but Avery being dead! It literally makes no sense. And the poor girl, she went so brutally, I can’t even imagine how her boyfriend is gonna feel when he gets back.” 

Clarissa flopped back into the red leather of her couch with a dismal sigh. “She had a boyfriend? Where is he?” Ilya leaned forward with her elbows digging into the flesh of her thigh. She had been on edge since they pulled up to the house. If Nicky had noticed, he didn’t say anything about it, and Clarissa was too far gone off a strawberry margarita mix to pay anything any mind.  

  “Yeah, they didn’t tell you? Kid’s name is Aiden. I can’t remember his last name right now, but he’s a sweetheart. Was head over heels for that girl. He’s gonna be so so so upset when he hears.” Nicky scribbled her words down quickly, and Ilya huffed. They had been there for three hours, and all they had gotten from her was senseless babbling with the occasional crumb of helpful information. “It is sad, but I think it’s be really helpful if we knew where he was so that we could talk to him a bit and find out if he knows who would want to do something like this.” 

Clarissa pushed her dark hair from her face and pouted over her drink. “Well, Agent...McMahon was it?” 

“McCall.”

“Agent McCall, I really don’t know. All she told me was that his poor mother was having some issues and he went up to visit her. I’m just not so sure on where ‘up’ is.” Ilya’s jaw clenched and she pushed herself up quickly. “Well, Miss Madison, thank you so much for speaking to us today.” Nicky followed suit and stretched out his hand for her to shake while Ilya showed herself out.  She was halfway down the driveway when he cut her off and stared down at her suspiciously. “What’s wrong with you? Why are you so agitated all of a sudden?” 

She grunted before dragging him towards the car. He squeaked in protest as Ilya pushed him forward and got into the passenger seat. For a minute, he stood outside glaring at her through the windshield before he huffed angrily and threw himself into the drivers seat roughly. “I have a bad feeling about this hunt. It was too easy to find.” Nicky shoved the key into the ignition and started the car. “You didn’t seem to think anything was wrong earlier. So what if it's easy, it's a job. Plus, nobody’s out here trying to sabotage a bunch of random hunters. You're being paranoid.”

“I’m not being paranoid, I’m acknowledging a gut feeling. And I didn’t tell you initially, because I didn’t notice until earlier, plus I knew you’d respond like this. Your stubborn ass only cares about one thing.” She grunted angrily and turned away from him to peer out the window at the passing trees. Nicky scoffed. “So what, you wanna just leave and ignore the whole situation? Isn't the whole point of this gig to help?” 

Ilya didn’t say anything, and the rest of the ride was silent until they made their way back to the library. 

“I should really invest in a laptop.” The library was packed with kids who had trickled in after school, and the pair stood impatiently against a back wall as they waited for a computer to free up. “It’d probably be quicker to go buy one and do what we need to do than wait here.” Ilya grunted, “That sounds plausible until you consider the fact that we are very, very poor.” 

Nicky couldn’t argue with her there, so he  stayed quiet as they waited. 

It was another half an hour before they got what they needed, and were back on the road. “The boyfriend only lives a few blocks from the motel. Do you wanna check it out now, or do you think we should wait until tomorrow? You seem a little high strung.” Nicky only meant to soothe Ilya’s growing agitation, but she just grunted in response.

“We should go now. I don't wanna drag this out any more than we need to, plus we don’t know when he’s’ coming back.”

By the time the pair had changed and driven to the house, the sun had set. Ilya parked the car at the end of the street and she and Nicky strode up to the driveway. Just as they had expected, it was empty. Nicky made quick work of picking the front lock, and within minutes, the two were inside shining their lights throughout the dark halls. 

The rooms were neatly made up, and what little paperwork was left out was stacked neatly where they sat. “Looks like he was a little bit of a clean freak.” Nicky grumbled in response and continued on past the kitchen and towards the back porch. Ilya watched him go before walking into the master bedroom. 

The door groaned on its hinges as she pushed it open, and she cringed as she stepped past the threshold. She passed the light across the room, finding it in pretty much the same condition as the rest of the house, pristine. Before she could get any further though, the familiar sound of a gun cocking stopped her in her tracks. 

“Who the hell are you?” 

Her breath caught in her throat as her eyes met a shadowy figure to her right. She cursed herself as she realized he had been hiding behind the door. She started to move the flashlight over to get a better look at him, but he was quick to stop her. “Don’t move. What are you doing here?” Ilya opened her mouth and closed it again. If anything, she should be asking the same thing. “I’m a friend of the owner, Just looking for a sweater that I left here before he left.” The figure scoffed, “Bullshit. Don’t make me ask again, what are you doing here?” 

Fair enough, she thought. “Why should I tell you?” He reached for his pocket and Ilya tensed, but quickly relaxed as he pulled out what looked to be a badge. “I’m FBI.”

Ilya couldn’t stop herself before a laugh bubbled past her lips. “You’re a hunter!” Now it was the man’s turn to tense up. “Oh, thank god, a burglar would’ve sucked.” 

The man lowered his gun tentatively, and Ilya took the opportunity to shine her flashlight at him. 

The man was insanely tall with dark hair that reached his shoulders, and at closer examination, Ilya decided that he was quite handsome, Had the situation been any different, she probably would've been smitten. “You here about the skinwalker situation?” The man squinted at the light in his face, and nodded. “I’m Sam by the way, I’m here with my brother, Dean.” Ilya moved her light away from him. “I’m Ilya, I’m here with my friend, Nicky.” Sam nodded. “I guess we should go meet up with them. I can’t promise that my brother’s introduction will be as nice.” 

“Fair enough.” With that, Ilya lead him out back towards her partner.

[btsqualityy]

Amour Vincit Omnia / 2

Akira let out a loud huff as she started at the stretch of traffic in front of her, realizing that today probably wasn’t going to be her best day. It had been a week since the night of the show at the gallery and she didn’t manage to make even one sell. Not even to the guy with the blue hair, which pissed her off more than anything else because for someone who supposedly loved her work so much, why not help her out by buying one?

So on top of her failure to support herself doing what she loves the most, she was running late today and she knew that Jin was going to have her head for being late, and being criticized even more wasn’t something that she was sure she could handle today. 

After sitting in traffic for another 20 minutes, she managed to make it to the gallery only 10 minutes late, but then that 10 minutes turned into 20 when she couldn’t find a space to park. Needless to say, when she walked into the gallery and saw Jin waiting for her next to the front entrance, she held her hand up at him to stop his tirade before it even started. 

“I know I’m late, I had a rough start today and it won’t happen again,” she ranted, making Jin’s eyes widen.

“I guess I’ll cut you some slack because you do look a little...rough today,” he winced, his eyes raking over her in her blue sweater, dark jeans, and silver flip flops. “Forgot you were coming to work today huh?”

“I’m working the desk so they’ll only see my shirt,” she shrugged as she walked over to the sign in sheet to write her name down. “Calm down.”

“I’m just teasing,” Jin said as he smiled lightly at her. “Get to work, alright?”

“Yes Sir,” Akira saluted, making him laugh as he walked away. She then walked over to the front desk, where Jimin and her other friend Cassie where siting.

“Hey Kira,” Jimin greeted her with his usual bright smile, handing her a small stack of mail that was addressed to her. 

“And where the hell have you been?” Cassie demanded to know, making Akira laugh as she glanced over the mail in her hands.

“Hello to you too Cassandra,” Akira smirked. “I’m just great. How are you?”

“I’d be better if I didn’t have to stay over my shift for your ass all the time,” she sassed with a smile. 

“As if you had any other plans.”

“I do have a man at home, you know.”

“I’d hardly call Hobi a man,” Akira scoffed, shrieking loudly when Cassie threw a small stress ball at her in retaliation. “I’m kidding! How’s he been doing?”

“Still working on the music thing with Joon and Yoongi,” she said as she stood up and gathered her things. 

“We all need to plan another get together soon,” Akira said, frowning when she realized how long it had been since her group of friends had been able to hangout altogether. Adulting sucked.

“Oh, we should,” Jimin interjected. “And Tae’s finally in town so he should be able to come.”

“Me and Cassie will finally get to meet the infamous Tae?” Akira gasped as she moved to take Cassie’s place behind the desk. 

“He actually finally took the plunge like the rest of us and just moved here,” Jimin revealed.

“We definitely need to make this friend get together happen then,” Akira laughed.

“Absolutely,” Cassie agreed with a giggle. “I have to go guys, but I’ll try to set something up with everyone else, alright?”

“OK. Bye Cass,” Akira said, she and Jimin both waving as Cass left the gallery. “What’s been going on today?” She then asked, turning towards Jimin.

“Nothing much, the usual,” Jimin shrugged. “Oh! Someone called and said that they wanted to come and purchase one of your pieces from the show last week.”

“Really?” She gasped excitedly, a wide smile spreading on her face.

“What was that about not caring if anyone bought your work or not?” Jimin smirked at seeing her reaction.

“Listen, I’m sick of having to eat ramen,” she admitted with a chuckle. “Do you know who the buyer is?”

“Nah, whoever it is must be pretty important though,” Jimin murmured. “They had their assistant call and set up the purchase.”

“Hmm,” she hummed in reply. Call her greedy, but Akria lowkey hoped that whoever was buying the painting would pay her more than what she was asking for it. She was really getting sick of ramen.

Another 20 minutes passed by uneventfully, with no visitors to the gallery and Jimin even getting up to go get lunch for the two of them after the 15 minute mark. Akira was on her phone, scrolling through Twitter when she heard someone clear their throat. 

“I wonder what Jin hyung would say if he knew that his employee was on the phone during her shift.” Akira looked up and her eyes widened slightly at the sight of the same blue haired man from the night of the art show.

“What are you doing here?” She asked, setting her phone down on the desk. 

“Is that how you greet your visitors?” Taehyung wondered with a tilt of his head, the same smirk on his face from a week ago.

“Hi, welcome to the Healing Gallery, where we make art for the soul,” she chirped, putting on her best fake customer service smile. ”Now what are you doing here?”

“Well, I came to,-”

‘Taehyungie?!” Taehyung whipped around and sped walked over to Jimin, who hugged him so tightly that Akira was sure that Taehyung’s circulation was getting cut off. 

“What are you doing here?” Jimin questioned as he unwrapped himself from Taehyung, walking over to the desk and setting down the two bags of food that he had gotten in front of Akira.

“I came for a proper visit. You know that I haven’t seen Jin hyung’s new gallery ever since he opened it,” Taehyung replied.

“Wait,” Akira interjected, making the both of them look down at her. “You two know each other?”

“Oh Akira, this is Taehyung or Tae,” Jimin introduced and her jaw dropped slightly. 

“This is Tae?” She exclaimed, a clipped laugh escaping her mouth. 

“Has someone been talking shit about me behind my back again?” Taehyung wondered as he looked over at Jimin.

“I mean, if you consider telling Jimin telling me that you pulled down your pants and peed in a public fountain when you guys were teenagers talking shit about you, then yeah,” Akira giggled.

“Jimin!”

“What?” Jimin shrugged. “It’s an iconic story.”

“That doesn’t mean tell that you have to tell everyone that you meet,” Taehyung groaned.

“Wait, do the two of you know each other?” Jimin queried.

“We met each other the night of the art show,” Taehyung replied.

“And he boasted about how he appreciated my talent for art but yet he didn’t buy one,” Akira added, a smirk on her face as Taehyung looked down at her.

“Tae, how many times have you sat in on the discussions we’ve had about paying artists their due?” Jimin scolded.

“That’s also why I’m here,” Taehyung chuckled. “I came to buy that cityscape from you.”

“You’re the buyer?” Akira gasped. This was a lot for one day.

“Yes, I am,” he confirmed. 

“That didn’t sound like you on the phone though,” Jimin pointed out.

“I’ve been in meetings all day so I had my assistant call.” 

“Ah, ok,” Jimin nodded. “Well, I’ll go get the painting from the back for you. Akira?” He called and she looked over at him. “Be nice.”

“Go get the painting,” she said as she rolled her eyes. With a smile, Jimin walked away and Akira turned her gaze to Taehyung.

“So, an assistant huh?” She teased. “What is it that you do?”

“Oh, is that the only thing that Jimin hasn’t told you?” He shot back and Akira’s eyes widened at his quick comeback. Impressive.

“He said that you don’t really tell people,” she shrugged. “Figured I could ask the source.”

“How about you ask me while I take you out on a date?” He wondered and Akira scoffed lightly as she shook her head.

“I don’t think so.”

“And why not?”

“I don’t wanna know that badly,” she replied with a smile and Taehyung couldn’t help the laugh that escaped his lips from her comment. Just then, Jimin came back carrying Akira’s painting in his hands.

“Here you go Tae,” Jimin said as he handed it to him. 

“Just as beautiful as I remember it,” Taehyung sighed as he held the canvas out at arm’s length. “How much do I owe you?”

“$200,” she answered, watching as Taehyung pulled out his wallet and took out five crisp $100 bills before handing them off to her. “Taehyung, I said only $200.”

“I know, but consider the extra an apology for me taking so long to come back and get it,” he smirked before looking over at Jimin. “I’ll call you later, ok?”

“Yeah, we can finally plan something since you’re in town,” Jimin nodded. 

“Of course. Bye you guys,” he waved before turning and walking out of the gallery. Akira looked down at the money in your hands and realized that there was a small piece of white paper in between them. She pulled it out and read over it, rolling her eyes as a small smile spread over her lips.

I meant what I said about your talent. I’d also love to get to know you more. Feel free to call me anytime, 212-359-5268.- Kim Taehyung

[lonely-bored-writer]

Is Everything Okay? Ch. 12

Danny released a deep breath he didn't know he was holding. In about twelve hours he'll have to face a jury, and intensive questioning by one of Vlad's high priced lawyers... and don't even get him started on Spectra. A shiver ran down the teen's spine at the idea of Spectra being in the same room as him. A grim feeling took root in him, he knew he was going to be like a feast to the ghost. He was nothing but a mess of negative emotions for the weeks that have passed. So much has a happened, it's no doubt the specter would be able to sense it off of him.

Groaning, Danny dropped his head into his desk. He had work to do. Even if he wasn't going to be in classes tomorrow, he still had homework he needed down. He still had to turn things in on Friday. Nonetheless, it was still a struggle for him to keep his racing mind on topic. He was much to filled to the brim with anxiety to focus on the equations and text in front of his eyes. His tired eyes landed on the red numbers on his alarm clock. 1:43. It was already morning and he still has yet to have a winking of sleep. No sleep was going to make things a whole lot harder on the teen.

Grumbling in defeat, the young man closed his textbook and slid his papers in as a bookmark. He yawn, stretching stiffly as he stood. A groan left him when a loud pop sounded the room. Trudging over, Danny fell into bed. Even with his face pressed into the pillows, the object cutting off some air flow, and not being anywhere under the covers, the exhausted teen fell deep into ebony hair stuck out around the white pillow, covering any exposed skin of his face. Soft puffs of breath escaped the teen's parted lips, pushing some onyx strands back and forth. All the anxiety and fear was cleared from his face, instead leaving behind a innocent looking kid. Almost as if in a few hours he wouldn't be facing a possibly life changing challenge.

The ebony haired teen bit back a groan as he rubbed his eyes, focusing his tired eyes back on the alarm clock. 3:15, per usual. Sapphire eyes rolled, the exhausted teen flopped onto his stomach. He wanted nothing more than to sleep. He had a court hearing at one pm, he needed his sleep. However, regardless of the heaviness that weighed on his mind, his eye lids were wide open. He just couldn't sleep.

Actually releasing a groan, the teen flipped on to his back, placing a hand on his bandaged torso. The wound he had gathered was healing nicely, it was just a scab. The bandage was more at Lancer's insistence because Danny kept picking at the scab. He placed a pale hand on on his eyes, sliding them shut. Maybe if he just stayed still his mind would give in...

But time felt like it wasn't moving, and the longer he stayed still, the more he felt anxious. He couldn't quite tell what it was, but it was like having an itch you just can't scratch. Danny sighed, pulling himself into a seating position and released some of the energy and anxiety that was building under his skin. His eyes scanned the room, flashing a neon green to enhance his night vision. His slightly trembling hands began to crack his knuckles.

He froze, an odd sense of confusion filled every part of him not overtaken by the trepidation he felt. Why was his hands shaking? His eyes widened a fraction of a size when he noticed the intense anxiety that was seated, and growing inside him. Why was he so scared? Swallowing thickly, he ran a shaky hand through his hair. He needed to calm down, no one was in the room, nothing was happening, he was safe. That didn't help.

His fear only grew when he tried to figure out why he was scared. He's woken up at this time many times before, and not once had he had this happen... So what is it? Resting his hand against his beating heart, Danny could also feel the soft pulsing of his core. Closing his eyes, he tried to focus on that. He reached within himself for the familiar icy feeling. That did the trick. His shaky hands, and laboured breathing evened out. The security of his powers that can help him our of many things before calmed him tremendously.

His tense muscles relaxed, but the itch still stayed. Something was wrong, very wrong. His eyes lids began to drop, without the adrenaline keeping him up, the exhaustion was weighing on him. He fell back into bed, feeling the comforting feeling of sleep wrap around his mind. Whatever it is that's bothering him, he can find out what it is in the morning...

Knock Knock

A grumble slid past parted lips, the exhausted teen turned his back to the wall. It was to earlier for this he needed sleep...

Knock Knock Knock

"Daniel? Are you awake?" Danny bolted up right at the voice. Lancer. Not just Lancer, now a worried Lancer. "Are you in there?"

"Uh?" Danny stumbled out, pulling himself out of bed. Before he could bring himself closer to the door, said door opened. In front of the now awake teen stood a fully dressed Lancer. His facial expression only revealed one thing that Danny knew already. Something was very, very wrong. "What happened?" Daniel asked, the fear seeping past his usual guards. The exhaustion, and anxiety made it easy to read the teen.

"Danny..." Lancer started, a melancholy look filled his face. The elder man swallowed, seemingly not knowing what to say. "We need to get to the hospital... It's your father..."

Danny sat there against the wall outside of his father's room. He didn't do a thing to try and mask the shaking of his shoulders, or him crying into his knees. He couldn't believe this was happening now of all times. He bit back a sob as he remembered why he was here. His dad was in critical condition, they didn't know if he would make it.

Guilt clouded his mind at the sounds of his mother crying by his father's side. The teen couldn't bring himself to be anywhere near his dad's side, not when all of this was his fault. There had been a malfunction with the surgery, something went wrong and his dad had been internally bleeding. That's what lead them to where they are now.

Daniel couldn't blame the surgeons for trying to save his dad's life, or his mum or sister for not noticing the bleeding. No. He could only blame himself. All of this was his fault, not anyone else's. If he hadn't lied, if he had just told Lancer, if he had just been more careful... If he hadn't stepped inside that damn portal in the first place none of this would be happening.

"Hey..." Anderson greeted sadly, taking a seat on the floor next to the teen. Instead of his usual suit, Anderson sat in a set of faded blue jeans, sneakers, and a red hoodie. Any other day the teen would have made a comment, but not today. Instead the broken teen stared at the agent with teary eyes. "You know we can postpone the whole court hearing... We could possibly find an opening next month if anything-"

"No." Danny's voice cracked, causing the teen to clear his throat. "No, it's fine. I want to get this over with..." Anderson nodded, not needing to hear the unspoken words. The agent knew all too well the strain something like this has on a teen. The two fell into a silence, Danny's tears slid to a stop and Anderson sipped quietly at the coffee in his hands.

"You should go down to the cafeteria, get something to eat. I doubt I could talk you into getting any sleep." Anderson broke the bedded silence, his face softened when the tired teen glanced into the room. "I'll keep an eye on them, don't worry." Anderson offered a smile, seemingly cutting off any argument the teen was going to give.

"Thanks." Danny whispered, offering a small, sad smile to the older man before making his way out of the area. Anderson watched the teen go, a sense of protectiveness filling him.

The agent shook his head. He couldn't get emotionally involved, this was a case. Nothing more. Anderson took a sip of his coffee, a dreaded feeling filling him. If this was just a case what was he doing sitting on the floor of a hospital at three forty-five in the morning? A sigh escaped the man, he ran a hand through his blonde hair. He couldn't help the self loathing from bubbling inside him.

He's had many cases before, and never had he gotten this wrapped up personally. But now he has, he needs to tread lightly. He needed to distance himself, after this case was over he wasn't going to see Danny ever again, so he shouldn't feel this way. Regardless of what he knew, Anderson still felt the strong urge to protect the teen. The teen he didn't even know existed until very recently.

[drizzitwrites]

Football RPF Challenge - Day 9: Cuddling

I’m officially renaming today’s prompt as “We started out on a short, simple, straightforward journey and ended up somewhere I never even meant to pass through on the way to our destination that is also NOWHERE near our destination, but whatever, it’s a nice place so I guess we’re just here now.”

Today's prompt was supposed to feature cuddling. This one should have been remarkably easy, or at least it seemed so on the surface before I actually started writing anything.

Basically, the plan for today was a short spin-off scene that may or may not actually get used in the fic it's intended for (but could get posted later as a related work maybe?) of Vincent's injury recovery and Christian cuddling up with him on the sofa instead of going to dinner with friends because Vincent’s been sleeping in a separate room to keep from waking Christian up and Christian misses him.

That is.......not what I wrote.

I mean, don’t get me wrong, I could get back there given some more time, but I took 1.5 hours to write what I have because I did that thing where I started a scene and then accidentally slid into a flashback (about things that happened like FIVE HOURS EARLIER, WTF, Drizz?). I thought about fixing it once I got back from the appointment I had to leave for, or at least finishing the scene and writing until we got to the point where Christian was actually there cuddling up with Vincent on the sofa, because (and I cannot stress the word *shouldn’t* enough here) it shouldn’t take much more to get us there. 

BUT! I have things to do and would like to spend time with my SO, etc. so I decided to just post this as is. It doesn’t adhere to the prompt AT ALL, but there’s an object lesson here:

Sometimes writing is like this. Sometimes you sit down at the computer with a brilliantly clear idea of what you’re planning to write that day. You know everything that’s supposed to happen in the scene and you know the players and you know the motivations and you know all the things you are supposed to know and then...it doesn’t go that way.

And usually that’s frustrating, especially when what comes of it isn’t good or useful or taking you anywhere and you just feel like you had this plan and instead you couldn’t execute it and ended up with a bunch of worthless words and wasted hours. BUT! Sometimes it takes you to a place you didn’t think of, but you’re like...THIS SCENE THAT I HAD NO INTENTION OF CREATING HAS SO MUCH POTENTIAL AND I WANT TO EXPAND ON IT AND MAKE IT ITS OWN THING.

Basically, when your writing takes you someplace you never meant to go, you have to ask yourself:

1. Is this place somewhere I actually *want* to be and thereby worth exploring more? Should I keep going down this path a bit further?

2. Is it okay that we detour through here on the way back to the main plot? Should I finish out this scene and then figure out a way to steer us back on course?

3. Is this NOT AT ALL where I want to be and I’m just going to pretend all this writing didn’t happen and start over, following the plan? (If yes, don’t delete what you did, just put it in a separate “for later” doc, because, who knows, maybe that place you went will work just fine in another story or will turn into a story of its own someday).

Explore those tangents, friends. Because no path explored is made of wasted steps or something equally profound that makes more sense.

Vincent shifted a bit as he heard the unmistakable sound of Christian's garage door sliding closed, followed a minute later by the slight creak the inside door made as it swung open. Was it that late, already?

Christian had left earlier that morning, Vincent only half-awake and still mostly delirious from his 6:00 am dose of pain medication. Vincent vaguely remembered a cool hand smoothing the hair back from his forehead and Christian's soft lips pressing a kiss to his temple.

"I'm off to training, Liefje," he'd said, his voice soft and low, as though he were afraid to rouse Vincent from his near-constant sleep. "I left you some fruit and toast, although it might be cold by the time you get to it, sorry. Someone will be here later to check if you need anything, okay? I love you. I'll be back as soon as I can."

Vincent didn't recall what he'd mumbled in response, or if it had been even marginally coherent. He'd slipped back into a fitful sleep before he'd even heard the door click shut behind Christian.

Christian, in defiance of everyone's advice, had insisted on staying home from training for the past few days so he could help Vincent with his recovery. Vincent hadn't minded, of course; it had been nice to have someone around to bring him food and glasses of water and, much to Vincent's extreme embarrassment, help him down the corridor to the toilet. Still, the Premier League season was only just underway and with so many of Christian's teammates newly back to training after the World Cup and several others out with injuries or international duties, Christian's presence in the squad was even more critical than usual.

Somehow, he'd managed to convince Pochettino to let him have three days of leave ahead of their match with Manchester United the following Monday, and today had been his first day back following Vincent's surgery.

He hadn't expected to miss Christian much while he was gone for the day--it wasn't as if Vincent did much of anything besides crashing in and out of fitful sleep in-between his doses of painkillers--but it seemed he'd gotten rather used to Christian rushing to his side whenever Vincent made the slightest commotion.

Toby's wife, Shani, had turned up around midday, bearing gifts of salad and selection of sandwiches. She didn't look in much better condition to make the trek up and down Christian's stairs as she went to refill Vincent's gathering of water bottles and exchanged the dishes left behind from his light breakfast. She was due to give birth any day now, and Vincent wasn't at all sure she needed to be prioritising his care over her own, but she'd waved away his protests.

"This is the first time I've left the house in days," she'd said with a laugh. "Don't get me wrong, I think after today I might be happy to stay shut up indoors with my feet up until all of this is over, but it's nice to have a change of scenery for a time."

Vincent had shifted around on the sofa, attempting to prop himself up into a sitting position so Shani could sit down. She'd done her best to lean over and straighten the pillows behind him, but Vincent had shooed her away.

"No sense you hurting yourself," Vincent had told her. "I can only imagine what Toby would say if he found out if something happened on account of you helping me. Besides, I'm not sure either of us would be in a position to help the other if we both end up falling over or something."

Shani had let out a giggle at that, but she held up her hands and let Vincent struggle through rearranging himself until he was scooted into a sort of half-slouch against the corner and arm of the sofa, leaving half a cushion free for her to settle in.

They'd stayed that way for nearly two hours, talking and laughing as they caught up on everything they'd both been up to in the months since they'd last seen one another. For all that Vincent and Toby had always held one another at a distance, he and Shani had fallen into amiable companionship from the beginning. She was lighthearted and kind and Vincent had always found her easy to talk to. It didn't surprise him that she'd been the one to volunteer to come by and check on him while Christian was away at training, despite her rather advanced pregnancy.

After the fifth time Vincent had nodded off while she was speaking, she levered herself off the sofa and began gathering up the remnant cutlery and containers from their lunch.

"Don't..." Vincent started, a yawn swallowing away the rest of his words. "I mean...leave it all. Christian can clear it up when he gets home. I need to make the long trek down the hallway to the WC anyway, so I'll at least, I don't know, push it all into a pile with one of my crutches or something."

"I should help," Shani said, staggering a bit as she tried to shift her wait to help Vincent to a standing position.

Vincent held up a hand. "No, thanks. Really. I appreciate the offer, but...I'm not sure we're the sort of friends who help one another go to the toilet."

"Fair enough," Shani said with a laugh. "But I should at least stay until you're back and settled."

Vincent shook his head. "At the rate this process usually goes it will be at least another hour. Plus, as we established, if one of us falls down there's not much the other can do. We'd just end up having to call someone to help lift us both off the floor of Christian's hallway."

They both gave a laugh at that thought--two of them flopped side-by-side against the floorboards until they managed to ring up someone to help them up.

"Alright," Shani said at last, her full cheeks pink with laughter. "But you'd better not fall. Christian will never let me hear the end of it if he comes home to find you laying there and me nowhere in sight."

"I'll take all the blame, I promise," Vincent said.

He turned slowly, dropping his good leg off the sofa and onto the floor, then leaning forward to lift the other--still encased in an immobilising cast. Shani grabbed his crutches from where they were propped against the door and held them out towards Vincent so he could use them to push himself up off the sofa.

The whole process was awkward, and Vincent had to give up and crash back down to the cushions once before he managed to get the angle right, but he eventually ended up in a standing position, cool plastic of the crutches wrapped around his forearm, his bad leg bent behind him so his foot could rest on the sofa.

"Thank you again for coming by. I appreciate you taking the time, especially when you should be at home yourself."

"I had to come by. It's the only way I will get to see you since you never come along with Christian when he visits."

"It's..." Vincent started.

"When you're feeling well enough, please come by. I hope by then that I can introduce you to my daughter."

Vincent couldn't help but give her a smile at this.

He shifted his weight so he could press air-kisses to her cheeks--right, then left, then right again. "How could I say no when you ask me that way?"

"So I'll see you soon?"

"Of course. I hope everything goes well. With the birth, I mean. I look forward to meeting her."

Shani flashed him a wide smile, then turned to make her way slowly out the door and down the steps. Vincent followed after her, crutches creaking and thudding as he moved. He hovered at the top of the stairs, waiting until she was out of sight and he heard the click of the door and the soft clunk of the key turning in the latch before he turned to make the long trek down the hallway.