#and i am often rather judgemental of YA

[likedrotten]

sometimes ... the book about faeries that is less well known ... is better

[anxiousgirl]

hey rachel, I hope you’re doing well! some questions for you:

What is the lie you tell yourself most often?

If you could tell your younger self any one thing, what would it be?

Name one thing some people do that confuses or bothers you.

God these are deep, anon 👍🏻

- I think I tell myself the lie that I am NOT spending too much money at any given time. I spend money like there is no tomorrow and it’s a problem lol

- oh my gosh… I’d tell that kid so much. I would tell her she has anxious attachment and codependent tendencies that aren’t really her fault but will get her into trouble. and to chill out, essentially. I’d be nice to her about it cause she is just doing her best with the hand she was dealt ya know

- oh. well I hate when people make fun of other people for things they cannot change. my golden rule is that if someone can’t change something about themselves in 6 seconds or less, you shouldn’t say anything about it. so for example: you can tell someone they have spinach in their teeth but if they have acne or something you should fucking shut up about it cause it’s not actually a problem but rather a judgement of yours cause you’re clearly insecure and projecting- Sorry. It pisses me off lol

[cloudiilink]

Euphoria

Just a self indulgent thing that I got the idea from @four-feet-of-pure-bullshit, the usual lmao. It's done now!

This can low-key link to the trans sky fic since it's the same gender hcs but this focusses on enby time <3 though it's kinda Time starting to figure it out <3

Enjoy the art too <3

Time sat there awkwardly; their hands clasped around the yellow fabric of a sundress. Their hands shook slightly.

They sat there for a while before taking their usual armour and clothing off- leaving the black undershirt on for comfort before slipping the dress on.

They were glad they were in Wild's hyrule- they were even more glad that they got dumped near Hateno. They had managed to sleep in for once and now they were alone- trying the dress they got a while ago on in peace and without fear of judgement.

Though, they hated this dress. The colour was just this weird yellow-green. It sat weirdly on them too, but that they understood. It wasn't made for them. Though, the colour was by far the most off putting.

Why did Hylia create such a weird colour?

They took a second to criticise the dress before the euphoria settled in. They would enjoy it while it lasted.

Time didn't know how much time had passed, well, they did but for once they didn't concern themselves with keeping track as they did various things inside the house. Mostly cleaning since it looked like the house desperately needed it.

They hadn't noticed the door open as they hummed. They hadn't noticed the wide-eyed gazes follow their movements while they kept cleaning.

There was just silence until Time had turned around and their eye met the younger Links eyes.

They froze. This was meant to be a just them thing. They didn't want anyone else to know.

They shut their eye, waiting for any words of judgement.

"What are ya wearin'?" Legend asked. Oh, they didn't expect that tone from the Vet-

"What the hell Vet?!" They heard Warriors shout. "You should be the last-"

"Shut up Wars, that colour is terrible. It doesn't do anythin' for Time."

" 'Ave got ta agree wit' tha vet. It's a 'orrible colour. Am thinkin' more of an olive."

"I think tha yellow is cute. Just tha wrong shade."

Time opened their eye almost hesitantly and it met Legend's gaze.

"Go put ya other clothes on and we'll go find ya a better colour. Maybe make it more flattering too."

Time didn't move. They didn't know what to do.

"We don't have all day!" Legend ushered the chain out so Time could change peacefully.

They didn't know what to do. They had expected so much... Worse... That's what they usually got from everyone but Malon.

They slowly put their usual clothing on, leaving the armour. They folded the dress up, placing it in a bag.

They almost wanted everyone to act like they hadn't seen this. They would have rather them judge.

Time hesitated, before pushing the door open.

"A'ight then. Let's go." Legend turned without even waiting for Time and began to wonder towards the clothing and dye shops.

Time followed behind him, their eye wondering around. "You don't have to do this." He whispered.

"I'm not lettin' ya walk around in that ugly dress."

"It's fine. I don't wear it often to-" They couldn't finish their sentence.

"Even if ya don't wear it often, you looked happy. So, we're gonna make you happy with somethin' you'll look good in."

They didn't know what to say, though not much could be said since they had arrived at the dye shop.

"D'ya have the dress?" Legend got passed the dress before sorting the dye thing out while Time just looked around.

So many pots of dye. It would be nice to have dresses in all the rainbow. Not only dresses actually, skirts too. Just anything.

Legend seemed to almost read their mind. "We can look at a few skirts too. Maybe I can try ta make ya one when we get to my Hyrule."

Time paused, their eyes quickly meeting the Dye shops worker before looking back to Legend. "Uh sure-" They didn't want to talk as openly about it- after all, they had been told so many times guys don't wear dresses.

"Right, while this is gettin' sorted, let's find a good colour for ya." Legend picked up the samples of the dyed fabrics, going through each one and looking up at Time.

Sometimes Legend made a disapproving face. Sometimes he smiled, all while Time stood there awkwardly. Maybe if they got a nice dress, they could greet Malon in it the next time they saw her. That would be nice... She'd probably be happy to see them in a dress...

"Right. Not so surprisingly, greens suit ya the most. Maybe that yellow may've been a mistake..."

"What about light blue? Malon said it looked nice on me." Time sounded nervous, beginning to wish they had their armour to hide under.

Legend picked it up a few shades of blues, holding it up to them. "Whaddya know. Light blue does look nice on ya."

Time smiled slightly at that. "I want to get a light blue dress then-"

Legend grinned. "Great. I'll probably have ta sew the dresses a bit so they're more flatterin' but great."

Once the dress had been dyed, Legend took Time to the clothing shop. They'd probably come back to the dye shop once more but for now- dresses.

Time was mostly dragged around by Legend, who occasionally looked to them then to a dress. It went on for a while, but Time let it.

Though, they couldn't help but focus on the shopkeepers eyes drilling themselves into the back of their head from her little corner.

They're gonna hear a comment about men not wearing dresses. They knew it.

Then Legend looked over to the shopkeep. "D'ya have any more styles?"

She smiled at them nervously. "Sadly not. Are you getting dresses for your friend here?"

"Yea. He had a dress in tha most ugliest shade of yellow so we need to sort it right out."

The shopkeeper giggled slightly. "We can try get some more dresses in next time we restock for your friend?"

"That would be appreciated."

"Alright! Did you like any of the dresses?"

Time glanced to Legend. They didn't know what would look good on them.

"Yea. I'll grab them quickly. It's like... Two... How much would that be?" Legend asked, going to get the two dresses.

"About 300 rupees."

Before legend could say anything else, Time quickly passed the rupees. They just wanted to leave.

This was getting a bit much for them.

They quickly rushed out of the shop and leaned against the wooden beams. Their breathing was a little heavy. Their eyes darting around- they knew half the chain would've judged them if it weren't for Legend going on about his clothing preferences.

They waited for Legend. It felt like it took half an hour, but Time knew it was maybe three minutes max.

"Ya okay, Oldie?" Legend asked the moment he left the shop, pulling a cloth bag over his shoulders. "Ya seem kinda freaked out."

"This is just... A lot..." Time mumbled, waiting for Legend to start leading him wherever next.

"Let's go sit down an' talk bout this." Legend led Time to the outskirts of Hateno, just barely off the path leading into the small village. "Now, talk."

Time sat down on a rock, holding their head in their hands. "I- I- Why is everyone encouraging this?"

"Because? It's just clothes?"

"I got told guys don't wear skirts. Or dresses."

They could hear the cogs turning in Legend's mind, clearly looking for the right words in the right tone.

Thirty seconds.

A minute.

A minute and a half.

"Well, why does it matter? What's your gender anyway?"

There was some silence before Time managed to shrug.

Legend sat down on the ground across from Time, half fidgeting with his various rings. "Try describe it?"

"I don't know?... Can we go back, and I'll think about it, I guess?" Time spoke quietly, quickly getting up. "I want to try the dresses on." Time shrunk back after he said it, nervous. "Maybe adjust them while we're at it?"

"F'course... Woulda mind if I use neutral pronouns for ya?"

"I don't think so?"

Legend nodded and guided Time back to Wild's cosy, little home. "Try on one of the dresses for today. Maybe keep it on an' see how ya feel?"

Time just nodded, half hunching as they walked. "No one will say anything?"

"They try ta and they'll regret it... Sorry if I scared ya earlier though."

Time just nodded, following closely behind Legend, only stopping when a deep turquoise fabric was shoved in their arms. Legend didn't wait for Time before pushing the door open.

"A'ight. We're back. Time needs ta get changed so out." He ushered the chain out quickly. "They'll probably keep it on for the rest of the day."

Time couldn't help but smile.

Some of them instantly picked up on the change, half whispering between them about how good Time will look- using the neutral pronouns.

Time's cheeks would definitely start to hurt at some point.

They could get used to this. They at least had something nice to wear when they stayed in villages. They didn't look as threatening in a dress- they felt pretty.

They could really get used to it.

[obeiii-mee]

Hey! Sorry to bother you with a second ask but i thought this one would be cool. Fluffy headcanons of the demon brothers watching scary movies with MC??? Somewhere MC gets scared, and some where they don't? Thanks again!! :)

It’s no bother!! I love getting requests from you guys! The more, the merrier. I sort of hc that the brothers and MC do have movie night every week or so and with them being demons, they tend to levitate towards the horror genre. Thank you for sending this, this is really cute :)))

Without further ado—-

————————————

The Brothers watching Scary movies with MC:

Lucifer:

-Haha mf already knows how this is going to end

-He warned you, he really did

-The horror movies DevilDom has to offer are nothing, and I mean nothing, like the ones from the human world

-I’m not going to go into detail but imagine Two Girls One Cup, in a less kinky and more gorey way (then times that by 10)

-But you were adamant into giving it a go and he literally could not deny you in that moment

-Because you were giving him the puppy eyes

-That’s like, the finishing blow you use every time to get your way with him and as far as you know it’s the only one that works so-

-He expected your reaction to the last second

-You were traumatised for lack of a better word and you were basically watching the whole film through the cracks between your fingers

-Seeing you in that state was like a punch in the gut but he couldn’t stop himself from throwing in a subtle ‘I told you so’

-“I told you watching something like this before bed is a bad idea, MC.”

-He might be a bit condescending and judgemental at first, but he’s probably going to baby you a bit for the rest of the night

-Because he feels bad he allowed you to watch it in the first place

-HAHAHAHA SOFT LUCIFER HAS BEEN SUMMONED, USE HIM WISELY

-He will start muttering words of comfort to you later because he’s certain you’re going to have trouble sleeping

-Because of that one time, he’s very hesitant to let you watch another horror film anytime soon

-But he will relent eventually (especially if you want to watch a human horror film as those are technically less extreme)

-If it makes you happy, he will go through with it, even if he has to let you cling onto him for the rest of the day

-Besides, the way you cuddle into him while you’re watching a horror film is very cute and endearing to him

Mammon:

-Ah yes, the most effective method of waking up the entire House of Lamentation at 3:00 am

-Mammon screaming his own vocal cords out in his room as he tries to get through his human’s favourite horror movie without dying of a heart attack

-It was his idea because he’s definitely the type to go: “Yeah let’s do this, it will be fun. Don’t get too scared alright MC? The Great Mammon will be here to protect ya.”

-And then ten minutes in, he’s basically in your lap

-Half an hour in, he turned himself into a demon burrito with his blankets

-You were enjoying the movie, laughing at the stupid sound effects and poor quality while Mammon next to you has wrapped himself in like two dozen blankets and pillows

-“Mammon you’re going to overheat.”

-“Don’t be silly human, I’m a demon who lives in hell. I can take high temperatures the same way I can take this damn movie!”

-He doesn’t take either of them well

-Mammon and the horror genre don’t mix well together to begin with

-So even if you might enjoy horror, he doesn’t react well to it at all

-And he’ll be low-key relieved if you tell him you guys don’t have to watch any sort of horror film for your date night

-“Well I guess if you don’t want to, then we don’t have to. Can’t make my human do something they’re uncomfortable with eh?”

-But if you do watch a scary movie with him, be sure to show any sort of physical affection to him as often as possible

-You don’t have to say anything, just hold his hand or let him put his head in your lap or something

-It might stop him from screeching like a female sloth in heat

-The last time that happened, his brothers weren’t too pleased with him

-They about to recreate the horror film scenes onto him, bring the popcorn have fun

Levi:

-For some reason, I feel like he doesn’t get scared easily while watching stuff

-I mean, after decades of obsessively watching animes with brutal character deaths (like Attack on Titan style) and grotesque horror games that are pretty nasty even to demons, let alone humans;

-A horror film, from the human world or even DevilDom, doesn’t do much for him

-It will have to have very good psychological horror in it if you want the hairs on his arms to stand up in anticipation

-Tension is a big deal for him and he will immediately shut off the TV if there are any cheap jump scares

-But, if you manage to find just the right thing for him?

-You’ll both be hiding under the bed in no time under the bathtub more like

-Hell, if the film you’re watching is that good, he might even be holding onto you for dear life without realising it and getting flustered about it

-For weeks afterwards, any sound that is remotely similar to one from that movie will probably send both of you into panic

-You came to his room one night because you’ve had a nightmare about the stupid film and legitimately thought there was a fucking demon serial killer in your room

-So you wanted to stay in his

-“But what if there is a serial killer in your room and now you just led it to me MC????”

-It’s all jokes, there’s no question he would lock both of you in his room and then stay there with you wide awake until dawn

-You’re his best friend after all, he would have to be completely heartless to leave you on your own! (Besides Levi is terrifying when he wants to be)

-One time you were sleeping over and the sound of fumbling woke you tf up

-And Levi immediately turned into his demon form, like he was ready to throw hands with this fictional murderer that supposedly sneaked into his room

-“DON’T WORRY MC, I’LL PROTECT YOU!”

-“Ah never mind, it’s just Mammon breaking into your room again to steal your Ruri-Cham figurines and sell them on Akuzon.”

-“Oh OK.”

-“.....”

-“WAIT MAMMON WTF YOU FUCKING SCUMBAG, GET OUT OF MY ROOM-“

-I’m playing Minecraft

Satan:

-Believe it or not, Satan doesn’t care much about horror movies

-Don’t get me wrong, he loves watching his brothers shit their pants out of fear in the middle of one while he silently smirks to himself because watching other people suffer brings him euphoria

-Especially if someone actually manages to find a film that is excellent enough to spook Lucifer, because then he will be cackLING

-But, overall, he watches a lot of shows revolved around drama and crime

-That’s his thing

-However, he won’t turn you down if you’re up to watching a scary movie with him

-Any time spent with you is valuable time seeing as it won’t be long before his brothers start hogging you again like the cockblockers they are

-He is honestly surprised to find out you seem to be rather amused by those sort of movies

-So, even if it’s not inherently something he does on the regular, he would definitely watch a scary film with you if you enjoy them that much

-But in exchange, he makes you promise to read with him until bedtime rolls around (imagine Lucifer having a fucking curfew for his brothers and you lmao)

-So for the rest of night you guys just read together, ya know, like sappy romantics

-Tbh, this man will do almost anything with you as long as both of you are having fun

-He knows it’s not likely, but he insists on sleeping in the same room that night just in case you have nightmares and he needs to comfort you

- :)

-Satan is a gentleman. Idk how many people that don’t play OM expected to hear this

Asmo:

-Why would you want to watch a movie when you could be watching him???

-I mean, you would rather watch all that gory stuff on the TV than his beautiful face?

-He may get salty over a fucking movie tbh

-Horror films aren’t something he generally looks for while trying to pick a movie to watch

-He can definitely handle them better than Mammon but it’s not something he takes great pleasure in watching

-But the first time he ever sits down with you to watch one, he’s very intrigued to see your reactions

-You started feeling the sensation of absolute dread creep in at the very beginning and you were trying your best to act like you weren’t getting affected by what you saw on the screen

-But you were

-You went from “I’m grown ass adult, I can watch a fucking horror movie, no problem.”

-To “Welp, not enough of a grown ass adult for this-“

-And Asmo thought the way you tried to hide your nervousness was very mesmerising in a way

-He was planning on flirting with you during the movie anyway, but now that you were pressing himself against him?

-Oh boy, Oh boy

-“Darling if you wanted to touch me, you could’ve just said so. Making the excuse of watching a movie is unnecessary.”

-Nightmares? What nightmares? You won’t have time to have nightmares ;)

-haHAHA funny inappropriate joke

-It’s Asmo, it’s mandatory to have at least one of those added in here

Beel:

-Beel will show up if there’s food and that’s that

-He doesn’t care what type of movie is playing on the TV as long as he has a bucket of popcorn next to him at all times

-Horror films aren’t something he can’t handle, he’s a demon like the rest of his brothers and he is used to...violent deaths and such

-He doesn’t get scared but there are times where he gets attached to the characters

-Especially movies with actual good and not cringeworthy dialogue

-Therefore, when they die, he gets sad even if they’re just fictional and their death had no real impact

-He also thinks that the way you can watch these things without flinching is impressive

-I mean, he can watch it and so can his brothers because they are demons

-They’ve done worse things than the things you see in horror films

-But you’re a human! So it’s weird to see you watch a person get repeatedly slammed against a wall until their neck snaps without batting an eyelid

-Overall, he does not have an opinion on scary movies

-He gets a bit emotional when a character he really liked dies

-But other than that, he’s just focused on eating

-And occasionally patting your head affectionately

Belphie:

-He doesn’t really like horror films because there’s a lot of screaming and tense music and he’s just trying to nap in your lap (rhyme)

-He doesn’t really need sound effects like that in the background while he’s trying to sleep

-But one day he was like “Hey, what if I show my favourite human this particular scary film?”

-And he did

-And he’s internally dying and feeling guilty and yet so flustered because of you

-It’s like you suddenly turn into this very fidgety and anxious mess and he thinks you just look....cute

-At some point you were getting overwhelmed and sprung up on your feet to turn the lights on

-And he just grabbbed your wrists, pulled you down next to him and let you press your head against his chest

-As mentioned, he’s a little shit and will tease you for being such a scaredy cat

-“That was the most predictable jumpscare and you still flinched, wth is wrong with you lmao.”

-But at the same time....

-“Relax. It’s just a horror movie. You’ll be fine. Besides, I’m here. Like I would let something bad happen to you.”

-That’s sweet, even if the tone of voice may not imply it because he’s such a brat-

-He actually really likes holding you for once, because usually he’s the little spoon

-He’s still a bit of a sadist so I imagine him sitting there and watching this while giggling to himself

-Isn’t he the cutest, laughing at other people’s misery and their never ending suffering?��🥺🥺 UwU

-Ah well, at least he has the decency to spoil with affection afterwards and make sure you have no nightmares that night

-You know, as payback for the horrific shit he made you watch with no warning

————————————

OK, I think I made a decent job of this even though it took longer than it actually was meant to. Thank you for reading though. I’ve got so many requests to go through and I’ve been feeling motivated lately so yeah!

See you soon

Al~

[aelaer]

Thanks for answering that last ask, lol. I half-expected you were going to ignore it tbh. I was hesitating when I wanted to send the ask, bcs, well, duh. It's controversial af lol. Just wanted to let ya know that you're not the only one with that view. (Great minds alike, am I right?) So please don't stop. Really.

This is gonna be a bit of a rant, and if you feel the need not to answer this ask, due to the fear of causing controversy in your blog, I 100% understand. Dunno if tumblr will cut off my ask so i'm hoping this is sent in its full-form.

I honestly agree that Tony gets maybe a *bit* too much spotlight (especially after the CACW shit and fans picking team tony/steve), and I hate that Stephen is just used as a plot device. I don't get why exaggerating a char's innocence is a good thing. Especially if they put other characters *too* antagonised and spiteful. It's petty. And putting another character in it (refer this as Stephen) as a plot device to make the main char more angelic is just.... idk. I'm only using rather insensitive words bcs I'm on anon ngl hahahahah.

Which is why, when I found your ao3 profile, I felt like you saved my life. Cus like. Idk. It's rare to find fics alike. Not really good with words so yeah.

Also thanks sm for tagging your fics properly, lest I wouldn't have found your works.

Ik some authors who share the same idea with the matter, but either they wanted to reach a wider fanbase by venturing into ships and fulfilling people's cravings (that require an ooc stephen, wince), or they simply don't have the writing capabilities to match their intentions -- like you do -- yet, I'm not so sure.

So basically yeah. Binge read your works this week. You're doing super great. Please keep going or else I would've probably never been here in the first place.

Fucking love your works. Don't hate on me for this if you happen to find it irrational ;-; Though if you do, I'm honestly interested with what you think. Sorry for sending a long ass ask.

Hey it's all chill, my anon friend. I really try not to hate on folks, even when I don't agree with everything they say or do. The world needs more empathy after all. And you've done nothing wrong in this ask here.

I personally don't ignore asks. It may take a month or two to get to some as it has in the past during busy or bad seasons, but I get to them. (I also don't get a ton so they're easy to answer haha.) The only ones not answered are short fic prompts that have taken me over 2 years to get to, which I'd like to finish eventually... some day.

I expanded on the topic about other characters in the last ask so I won't get into it again here, but I will say that unfortunately Stephen is not a terribly popular character compared to many other MCU characters like Tony, Bucky, and Loki. It makes finding fic starring him very challenging. He's also a difficult character to write well, though I applaud folks for trying, truly. It's great when people challenge themselves and don't let the fear of failure or judgement keep them from trying.

Anyone who hasn't written Stephen because they're not sure how to write him, or have written him but aren't confident with their writing of him, I recommend rewatching his origin film in particular as that's often forgotten for what we saw in IW and Endgame. There's also some good video essays about the character on YouTube. Some fanfic of him is good, while others are very bad, so it's a hit or miss there. One shot character pieces that are not concentrating on a ship tend to be more reliable, in my experience, for a better character analysis because the goal of the piece as a one shot is more a character study, and without the romance you aren't looking at the character as part of a unit. You need to know the character before you study how he works as a romantic partner, IMO.

I'm hoping his film helps his popularity, but I do have some fears that it will be drowned out a bit by Wanda. We'll have to see what happens on AO3 in particular, which is where my primary fandom interest lies in this case. I really, really want to see fic that isn't just reader inserts. Totally legit fanfic, but romance is already not my cup of tea and, if they aren't just smut pieces, those tend to be caretaker-Stephen fics which are a dime a dozen with his fics with Tony and Peter. So yeah, hopefully there will be more variety in the coming weeks. Of the action/adventure/drama type. A girl can dream.

I'm thrilled you like my writing. And also my tagging, some of the tagging is very hard to complete with some of the one shots xD but seriously, you're sweet. And you're good. Don't sweat it ❤️

[elytrafemme]

Now we move onto cstubbo! Who will be faster to analyze because ive already established some things here.

hes deffo an introvert! Like i feel like this is the easiest of all aspects to assign due to the simple nature of introvert v extrovert. While i do feel like many people lie in the middle between the two, when it comes down to it there is a scale and most people are on either side even if barely. 

Anyway cstubbo introvert.

Next is intuitive v observant. I feel like cstubbo might fall more into observant here. People who are observant prefer things to have one clear message rather than an abstract one, and they are very focused on the present. They are practical and deal with what is right in front of them. They value simplicity.

Okay and then comes the aspect i despise assigning the most. Like what makes someone thinking or feeling when everyone is such a mixture of the two?! Alas i carry on!i am going to be very topical with this one for the sake of my sanity. thinking individuals are associated with using the scientific process on every day life. What does that mean? Im not really sure! However at the end of the day tubbo=science. 

Okay ill think about it more. Those with the thinking trait are less likely to as others for help or opinions on their own problems. They find a discomfort in emotions and often will override their own emotions to have a more rational response or opinion. And yea i think thats pretty cstubbo!

Now comes the tactics aspect which is even more broad, but yea. This one is hard because the actual test doesnt take into account anything like idk adhd which would make it hard to focus on things. However someone with adhd isnt automatically someone with the prospecting trait. But thats just one of the many flaws of the system and im trying my best to work around that.

To be honest i think cstubbo might be more judging and here i have a reason. Throughout tubbos story arc we see him struggling to cope with the changes going on in his life, which are all valid things to struggle with. However he refers back to how he wish he was back in the weird little routine he had before. Or maybe im imagining things idk.

Anyway for that reason i think he has the judging trait. While he deals well with smaller changes or does good with being spontaneous on a small scale, those are all things that he mentally planned anyway. Like he mentally planned out how he was going to skip class to hang out with ranboo despite the action seeming spontaneous in nature.

Okay i realize i should have given reasons for literally every other decision before now but that would double the length of this and im too tired to do that. Sorry but youyfgsdyghkfdyugbksdfuygtkrueygt ya know?

OKAY SO cstubo ISTJ and then also turbulent because, well, stressed. 

Now lets take a look at the ISTJ description. Here they are called Logicians (on 16personalitys.com) but ima just say ISTJ

They are reserved and willful. They commit to what they do and have high integrity. They are committed to staying rational and grounded in order to keep up their practicality. Even in stressful situations. They respect structure and often find that there is only one way to do things. They are quick to own up to their mistakes.

ISTJ often holds other people to high standards and can be quick to judge. Theyre the kind of person to do a group project by themself because they want it done right.

strengths: honest, direct, strong-willed, dutiful, responsible, calm and practical, create and enforce order, jack of all trades

weaknesses: stubborn, insensitive, lives life by the book, judgemental, blames themselves

this website says that ISTJ enforces conservative values like who the hell thinks political standing is determined by a literal personality trait???? i dispise the romance section of each personality. and yea the whole *this personality is usually conservative with traditional beliefs* was in the romance section.

in friendships they are very loyal but they struggle with expressing emotions. they don’t like conflict and avoid it when possible. it’s common for a ISTJ to have an intuitive (N) person in their close friend group.

turbulent ISTJ need consistency for stability in their life however they often don’t know what they want. 

okay i think this description fits cstubbo better than the first description fit csranboo. so let’s look at another description!

Truity described ISTJ as,”responsible organizers, driven to create and enforce order within systems and institutions. They are neat and orderly, inside and out, and tend to have a procedure for everything they do.”

this description feels like it fits even less, but no matter! to get more results!! i’m going to take the same quiz as before but this time answering as cstubbo! which is actually really fun, i highly suggest taking personality quizzes as a fictional character! it’s a joy

interesting enough the result was ISTP! Truity had this to say,”As an ISTP, you are curious about the mechanics of the world around you and have a unique ability to manipulate the tools in your environment. You tend to study how things work and often achieve mastery in the use and operation of machines, instruments, and equipment. You seek understanding, but in a practical sense: you like to be able to put your technical knowledge to immediate use and are quickly bored by theory.

You are attentive to details and responsive to the demands of the world around you. Because of your astute sense of your environment, you are good at moving quickly and responding to emergencies. You are reserved, but not withdrawn: you enjoy taking action, and approach the world with a keen appreciation for the physical and sensory experiences it has to offer.

You tend to be detached and prefer the logic of mechanical things to the complexity of human emotions. Independent and reserved, you treasure your personal space, and want to be free to be spontaneous and follow your own lead. You are selective about your relationships, and appreciate others who allow you plenty of freedom to do your own thing.”

I think this, if anything, is very c!tubbo. Not sure about cstubbo though. I guess theyre the same though! I am still stubborn about cstubbo having the judging trait, and i’d even argue so does c!tubbo. Like both of them like spontaneous things they control, change that they individually control. But in the end both tubs are still thinking and planning in everything they do. Either that or I'm projecting again. Am i? I dont think so. Maybe subconsciously?

In conclusion, cstubbo ISTP-T and or ISTJ-T. Personally i like ISTJ more but that's really trivial I guess.

Anyway ima try and cut this short, I hope you enjoyed! I hate the myers briggs system but i will shove things into it to spite myself! Peace and love 

(3/3)

yeah cs!tubbo introvert that one is ez

i would agree with observant too! i think that one is the one i have the hardest time wrapping my head around bc idk if im observant or intuitive myself tbh but i do think he is a lot more like practical with things. he's a bit of a cynic and a lot of his abstract thoughts are actually just a lot of patterns repeating in his head -- a lot of his paranoias are kind of just. analyzing past patterns. so i feel like overall yeah

yeah thinking v feeling with tubbo's character is hard... he's deffo near the middle but i would argue a lean towards thinking as well. he's pretty aware of people's emotions constantly but when he makes decisions they are not really off of his own emotions, if they're irrational its more due to like his preconceived notions about something rather than a spur of the moment thing. so yep agreed on thinking here

truthfully i have no fucking idea what to decide on this last one. because the more i think on it i realize ranboo is WAY more judging like as i ruminate but i get here and i don't really know? on one hand i do agree tubbo has a lot of plans set out, but the thing about him is he's made a lot of moves to have practical plans, but a lot of these plans kind of include him just Figuring Shit Out. his plan to run away in a lot of ways as we see in the earlier chapters kind of just boils down to... i've collected stuff and planned for this but after this. well IDK. so it's kind of hard to say but i will tentatively go with J here

deffo turbulent. man has not the slighest fucking clue what he wants to do with himself

that first description is actually pretty accurate with tubbo! i mean as much as these can fit they're obviously broad and weird. the second one doesn't really fit that much LOL he doesn't necessarily seek out order in life he kind of thrives off of shit going wrong and getting messed up which makes him the exact opposite tbh. so maybe he IS more P than J idk

HM OK I LIKE THAT LAST DESCRIPTION TOO... Goddammit these letters are pissing me OFF okay. because like with his relationships tubbo also does like having relationships where he doesn't feel super tied down in a way? like if he has to make a clean break and run he wants to make sure as minimal as possible people give that much of a fuck. i have no goddmn clue maybe he's a perfect middle who knows

thank u so much for these! know that an owl has been shouting outside my window this entire time which owls usually arent around here so idk why he's here but yeah!

[cycat4077]

Real Talk

Words: 1639 Warnings: angst Pairing: Sonny x Reader AO3 here

This idea popped into my head after that phone call Sonny received which seemed to be a date. So, ignore the fact that we know that the person on the other end was Nicole. 🙃

Part 2

---

You had met Sonny at Fordham while taking your law degree. A few classes together and the two of you, with a couple other people, hit it off. Yes, you were part of that group Sonny mentioned to Amaro. The group that he went bowling with. In fact, you were even one of the “pretty girls”. However, that’s where it stayed. You and Sonny often bounced ideas off one another and studied for exams.

Any girl would be a fool to say that they didn’t have a crush on Carisi at least at some point, and you were no different. But the thing was, your friendship meant so much more. It was uncomplicated. Just two people who supported one another; borrowed ears to let off steam from time to time.

When graduation rolled around though, you and Sonny saw less and less of one another. His detective gig left him such little free time to begin with that without classes, it was virtually impossible to find the time to get together. And, as so often happens, the texts and calls grew fewer and far between until six whole years had come and gone.

That all changed however, when you walked into the Manhattan DA’s office to cross reference about a case that you were working in Brooklyn. You could recognize that lanky, well-dressed man anywhere. He was speaking to a colleague, using his hands like he always did to get his point across. Your heart rose to your throat.

“Sonny?” you speak up, but you already know the answer. He swivels on his heels to face you, his features easing and eyes lighting up upon recognition.

He crosses the room in just a few long strides, a huge smile plastered on his face. He speaks your name and scoops you into a hug. It catches you by surprise at first, but the warmth of his arms around you – back around you after so many years, makes you genuinely happy. “How are ya?” he exclaims. “It’s been too long.”

You make small talk for a little while, catching up on what you’d missed. Sonny was an ADA now, finally biting the bullet and moving on from SVU. You tell him that you’re working in Brooklyn, not on criminal cases, that was always more Sonny’s speed, but still enjoying the career that your time at Fordham had awarded you. It was decided that you and Sonny needed to make grabbing coffees and lunches a regular occurrence, and so the two of you reserved a space in your calendar for the first one of many.

It was nice to rekindle that friendship. For all the time you knew one another at school, you had always had one another’s backs. There were never any judgements and the two of you could talk about anything and everything. Sonny would always make sure you were doing okay, seemingly knowing just when you needed him to talk to. This dynamic worked both ways too. It used to be that Sonny would phone you up, sometimes in the middle of the night, because he had come off a particularly hard case. You always picked up and it was that mutual friendship and care that got you both through many tough times.

Unfortunately, in those six years, that type of relationship was something you hadn’t found since. Seeing Sonny again made you realize just how much you had missed him. Not to mention that he had gotten more handsome and impossibly sweeter. You hated to admit that there was a flutter in your stomach every time he would smile and a heat that rose to your cheeks when he’d give you a quick peck as a friendly hello.

Little did you know that Sonny was starting to feel that way too and, after a few months of coffee and lunch meet-ups, he invited you to have dinner with him. You suggested a place, one of the few restaurants which were open for dine-in and one that you loved.

Was it a date? You weren’t exactly sure, but you worked up the courage to make tonight the time to tell him how you felt. You put forth extra effort in your appearance, styling your hair and slipping into a nice dress. Stepping in front of the mirror, you take a deep breath and tell yourself that it’s now or never.

Then your phone rings. It’s Sonny. You pick up and greet him, smiling.

“Hey,” he says. “I just finished my paperwork n’ am ready ta leave.”

“Great!” you say eagerly. “I’ll call to confirm our reservation -”

“Ah, that sounds great,” Sonny sounds in your ear.

“- and I’ll make my way over there.”

 “Ah, that sounds great,” he says again. His voice sounds genuinely excited. “Listen, I’ll meet you there in an hour.”

“Sounds good, Sonny.” You take a breath, softening your voice. “I’m really looking forward to tonight.”

“Yeah, me too.” You can hear the smile in his voice.

“See you soon. Bye.”

“Alright, bye.”

A fluster of nervousness and excitement churn in your gut as you grab your coat and purse and head for the door.

---

Arriving at the restaurant, you’re taken to a table out of the way in one of the back corners. All the better to have a conversation, you think to yourself.

Just as you’ve gotten comfortable, your phone rings again. Sonny Carisi flashes on the screen. Your heart rises to your throat, unsure why he would be calling. “What’s up?” you answer.

“I’m gonna be late,” he begins apologetically. “Rollins had a family emergency and I was helping her take care of a few things.”

“Oh, okay,” you stammer out, slightly confused. “Be careful.”

“Yeah, I will. See you in a bit.” The line clicks off.

Amanda Rollins. A major figure in Sonny’s work life. His partner as a detective and still a member of the squad he tries cases for. Many the times you had heard about Rollins: how hard she had things, her problematic family, her daughter Jesse. And each mention of her would be rooted in Sonny’s desire to help her out somehow. Cook her dinner or help her with her baby. He’d tell you how great of a detective she was and how she, too, had his back.

However, Sonny could be gullible. He made decisions with his heart rather than his head and sometimes that let people take advantage of his kindness. So, you were often cautious on his behalf when he’d tell you about the things he did for Amanda. Sometimes it seemed that she, whether intentional or not, would accept Sonny’s kindness without giving him much in return. And by the way he used to talk about her, you suspected he had developed some sort of feelings for her. But through these conversations, he also invertedly revealed how she kept him at arms length. Now, from Sonny’s phone call, you suppose that things had never changed.

You sit there for what feels like an eternity, the waiter returning to check in on you a few times, until finally you see him round the restaurant corner towards your booth.

“I’m so sorry,” he begins, taking a seat. “Rollins – her dad had a stroke n' she needed ta fly out immediately. I arranged for her mom to watch her kids n' informed Liv what was goin' on. I feel so bad. I mean, she’s been through so much n' she really has no one…” He looks up at you then, noticing your attire. His eyebrows lift as he drinks in how pretty you look. But your face tells a different story.

You feel so disappointed. Not in Sonny, but rather, in yourself. You thought that the history you shared would bring you closer together. A solid and mutually supportive friendship was something you longed for in a significant other. Something for love to build off of and grow. Now though, seeing how Sonny was still holding out hope for Amanda, still giving her every ounce of himself with little in return, you couldn’t take it.

You catch Sonny’s gaze. “It was silly of me to think that this was a date.” Your voice is quiet, sadness brimming your words.

He stares back at you confused. His brow knits, “No!” he begins, the realization hitting him. “It was – is a date!” He reaches for your hand, placing his overtop. “I asked you here because it felt so good to reconnect with you. I missed you. We get along so easily and it’s nice to have someone to talk to again. I always thought you were attractive too, both physically and intellectually. When we were at Fordham we were always just friends but seeing you again and having you back in my life, well, it made me feel something.”

Sonny looks positively hurt, yet he understands how all this must seem to you. “I missed you too, Sonny. So much,” you reply, voice a little unsteady. “And I care about you more than you could ever imagine.” You give his hand a small squeeze and he closes his eyes for a moment, knowingly. “Except, I can’t be a placeholder while you wait for Amanda to come around. It’s not fair to me. It’s not fair to you either, but that decision has to come from you.”

There it is. All feelings laid bare. There’s nothing more you can say. You have and always will support Sonny and you always will be his friend. However, those lines between friendship and something more were starting to blur and before you give your heart away, you need to know if Sonny truly wishes to accept it.

Sonny studies your face, his mind racing. Then he looks down, squeezing his eyes shut. “I know,” he says running a thumb along your knuckles. "I know."

---

Tag list? @barbasbodaciousbeard @adarafaelbarba @teamsladsandgents @caracalwithchips @averyhotchner

❤

[ladyherenya]

This was more-books-than-sometimes month, because rather than take the time to write about the books I'd finished, I just read more books! Also, I read a lot over the Easter break, including some shorter books and a very binge-able series.

Also read: Two-Step and Someone Like Me by Stephanie Fournet, Hooked by Cathy Yardley, “Cloudy with a Chance of Dropbears” and “All the Different Shades of Blue” by W.R. Gingell, and “Home: Habitat, Range, Niche, Territory” by Martha Wells.

Reread: A Curse So Dark and Lonely by Brigid Kemmerer.

Total: nineteen novels (including two audiobooks and one reread), one novella collection, two novellas, two novelettes and one short story.

Cover thoughts: Bellewether’s blue cover is (unsurprisingly) my favourite. I also really like The Ghosts of Sherwood. 

Still reading: A Portrait of Loyalty by Roseanna M. White and Playing Hearts by W.R. Gingell.

Next up: Torch by R.J. Anderson.

My full reviews are on Dreamwidth and LibraryThing.

*

The Rose Code by Kate Quinn (narrated by Saskia Maarleveld): Historical mystery about three young women who worked at Bletchley Park during WWII.

My favourite out of the books I’ve read so far this year. Most of the narrative is set during the war, but interspersed with sections set in 1947 -- when Beth, in a sanitarium after a breakdown, has sent her two estranged friends a coded message begging for help. I loved this, but at times found it stressful and heartbreaking! The writing is so lively and effective and emotional. 4½ ★

 *

Castle Charming by Tansy Raynor Roberts: Fairytale retellings, collection of novellas.

A very entertaining and a somewhat different take on fairytales, focusing on the reporters, Royal Hounds and royalty at Castle Charming. Some of the character dynamics felt similar to those in Roberts’ Unreal Alchemy although I didn’t feel quite as attached to these characters. I’ll read the sequel. 3 ★ 

*

Bellewether by Susanna Kearsley: Historical and contemporary fiction, set in Long Island during the so-called Seven Years War in 1759 and the present day.

Alternates between a curator overseeing turning a house in a museum and some of the house’s previous occupants, including a French-Canadian Lieutenant awaiting hostage exchange. Despite the various tensions the characters face, there’s something slow and ultimately gentle about this story. Which is lovely --  I enjoyed the picturesque sense of place and astute observations of people -- but it is less dramatic than I was expecting. 3½ ★

*

Happy Trail by Daisy Prescott: Contemporary romance, set on the Appalachian Trail.

A park ranger and a hiker shelter together during a storm. I was fascinated by the insight into hiking the Appalachian Trail and enjoyed some of the characters’ interactions, although I thought the way the romance unfolded was somewhat anticlimactic. Not always what I wanted, but I don't regret reading it.

*

Legacy by Stephanie Fournet: Contemporary enemies-to-roommates-to-lovers.

Wes offers to move in with his late-best friend’s girlfriend to help her out financially. This sort of hurt/comfort appeals to me. I liked how seriously this story takes Corinne’s messy, consuming grief. I don’t really want to spend any more time with the characters, but I was very invested in seeing them reach a better place in their lives.

Two-Step by Stephanie Fournet: Contemporary romance between an actress and a dance instructor. I enjoyed reading this. I particularly enjoyed how Beau helps Iris with her anxiety about dancing and with her controlling mother/manager. He’s very supportive and understanding! But I finished this with a niggling feeling of dissatisfaction -- Iris needed more opportunity to support Beau in turn.

Someone Like Me by Stephanie Fournet: Contemporary romance between a yoga instructor and her new neighbour, who has just got out of prison.

This one didn’t particularly appeal to me. Although interesting to see the experiences of someone recently released from prison, the romance developed too quickly.

(No, I didn’t read all three of these back-to-back!)

*

Hooked by Cathy Yardley: Contemporary fandom-y romance novella, set near Seattle. Takes place during Level Up and is about two of Tessa’s colleagues.

I enjoyed the characters' interactions and would have liked this more if it hadn't felt rushed. 

*

The Ghosts of Sherwood by Carrie Vaughn: Historical Robin Hood retelling, novella.

Exactly what I wanted! It alternates between Robin and Marian’s eldest daughter, Mary, and Marian herself. I liked seeing Robin and Marian as a long-married couple, who still love each other and still have disagreements. And the dynamic between their children gave me a zing of recognition, reminding me of my siblings. 3½ ★

*

The City Between by W.R. Gingell: Australian YA urban fantasy (murder) mysteries. Set in Hobart.

I ended up enjoying this series so much more than I’d expected to!

Between Jobs: After a neighbour is murdered, our seventeen-year-old orphaned narrator acquires some unexpected housemates -- two fae, one vampire. Once I got past the opening, with its tales of murder, the worldbuilding intrigued me. I still wasn’t sure what I thought about her housemates or the fact that they call her “Pet”, but was willing to reserve judgement until I’d read more. 3 ★

Between Shifts: About supermarket shifts and shapeshifters. Pet and JinYeong go undercover at the local grocery store. This is a reasonable murder mystery. I was initially disappointed with how something played out (but in retrospect can see how that was actually a positive development for Pet). It ended on a cliffhanger, so I was extra motivated to start the next book. 2½ ★

Between Floors: This is where the series took off, because things suddenly get personal! One of her fae housemates has been captured and the closest any of them get to finding Athelas is Pet contacting him in her dreams.This raises a lot of interesting questions, not just about Pet’s abilities, but about her relationship with her housemates. How much does she trust them and how much do they value Pet’s personhood? 3½ ★

Between Frames: Pet’s housemates are hired to investigate a series of fae deaths around Hobart, which involves scrutinising some baffling security footage.  Another solid murder mystery.  The final pages felt like one step forward, two steps back, but yet again, in retrospect, this was a positive development. I’m glad I could dive immediately into the next book. 3 ★

Between Homes: Pet has moved in with some friends. Hurray for Pet having friends! I think this was the point where I started to feel comfortable with Pet calling herself Pet -- when it's the name used by people she likes and trusts and who don’t view her as a pet at all. 3½ ★

“Cloudy with a Chance of Dropbears” (novelette): An awesome title and an entertaining opportunity to see Pet from someone else’s perspective -- moreover, someone who doesn’t know her or what she’s capable of. 3 ★

Between Walls: Pet’s friend Morgana is worried about an online friends and asks Pet and co to investigate his disappearance. Along the way, they discover that there are human groups who actually know a lot about Behindkind. I am also becoming increasingly entertained by the Korean vampire. 3 ★

“All the Different Shades of Blue” (novelette): A great cover and it explains who that guy at the cafe is, but otherwise didn’t really do anything Cloudy with a Chance of Dropbears hadn’t already done -- ie., show us Pet from someone else’s perspective. Most of the time, I have enjoyed this series all the more for binging it, but I suspect this particular story would have worked better if I had read it after a period of absence. 2½ ★

Between Cases:  My favourite of these have been the ones where things get personal, and this involves a lot of revelations about who Pet is -- from a fae perspective -- and why her parents were murdered. I enjoyed this one a lot. 3½ ★

*

The Duke of Olympia Meets His Match by Juliana Gray: Historical espionage romance novella, set in 1893 onboard an ocean liner travelling to England. Apparently not the Duke’s first appearance in Gray’s fiction.

I liked the idea here much better than the execution. I liked Penelope, a fifty-year-old widow dependent upon her position as a governess, and I enjoyed her interactions with the older Duke of Olympia. But parts of the spy plot were rushed or confusing, and the resolution was almost-but-not-entirely satisfying. 2½ ★

*

A Vow So Bold and Deadly by Brigid Kemmerer: Fantasy. Follows on from the fairytale-retelling A Curse So Dark and Lonely and its sequel, A Heart So Fierce and Broken.

If this is meant as a conclusion to a trilogy, then the ending was a bit too anticlimactic, with a few too many loose ends, to be really satisfying. But I reached the end feeling positive about the story, because I really enjoyed the characters’ interactions. All of the protagonists have to deal with conflict in relationships. I loved the times when they each navigate these conflicts by acting fairly and communicating honestly, when doing so is often difficult and complicated. That’s realistic and satisfying. 3½ ★

*

“Home: Habitat, Range, Niche, Territory” by Martha Wells:  Science-fiction short story. Part of The Murderbot Diaries series, set after Exit Strategy.

Very, very short but I really liked seeing things from Dr Ayda Mensah’s (third person) perspective. 3½ ★

*

Emily of Deep Valley by Maud Hart Lovelace: Historical coming-of-age fiction, set in Minnesota in 1912-3.

I am very glad to finally have read this! It’s delightful, a fascinating insight into community life in a Minnesotan town, and it effectively captures the emotional experience of navigating a period of transition. After high school, Emily’s friends  leave for college, but Emily has to find her own path to purposefully fill her time, build connections and further her education. 4 ★

*

On Wings of Devotion by Roseanna M. White (narrated by Susan Lyons): Romantic historical mystery, set in London during 1918. Christian fiction. Features characters from The Number of Love.

Arabelle Denler is a nurse working in a London hospital; Phillip Camden is an airman now working for British Intelligence. I enjoyed their interactions, especially once they start to get to know each other. I didn’t like the antagonist’s contribution to this narrative -- between the dangers of wartime and the protagonists’ respective issues, there’s enough tension without her. But what I enjoyed about this story outweighed what I didn’t. 3½ ★

*

Our Darkest Night by Jennifer Robson: Historical fiction set during the Nazi occupation of Italy in WWII.

Nina, a young Jewish woman from Venice, goes into hiding by pretending she’s married to Nico, a Catholic farmer. Robson’s strength lies in pairing details of daily life with likeable characters, realistic dialogue and a sweet romance. I read this quickly and eagerly. But if the characters had been more nuanced, more complex, or if their emotions had been conveyed more vividly, I likely would have found reading this a more emotional experience. 3½ ★

[gaitwae]

Forget the Woman •||• Loki x Reader

"Bartender," the scraggly stranger asked. "An ale, and your finest maiden."

"I don't work for free, swain," the bartender (father, and innkeeper) spat, cocking his head. "Either ya has the money now, or you don't get nothin's more, ya understand?"

"Oh, I understand perfectly," the man said, straightening in his seat. He set his dagger down into the table. The seal of the royal family glittered in the candlelight of the tavern. It caught your eye, the green and silver weaves of the Asgardian knot on full display. Your eyes widened in surprise, as did the innkeeper's. "Shall I ask again, or will you fulfill my wishes?"

"Who are ya?" the innkeeper questioned. "What does ya want?"

"I want many things, but at the moment, I want ale and a woman, now get me what I asked for, or you'll not have a very happy week." He thought for a moment, a dangerous expression on his face. His sharp jawline displayed itself from his hair and his hood; it could cut diamonds. "Or perhaps I'll gut you here, and save you the... ah... embarrassment of this establishment being burned down."

"Who are ya?" your father repeated.

"I am Prince Loki, Odin's son," the stranger said lowly. "I have the seal to prove it, and I have my brother outside waiting, what more proof do you need? I am wearing the finest Midgardian silks, gold from Vanaheim, and a sword from Niflheim." Prince Loki leaned forward. "Need I repeat myself, again?"

You saw your father's face turn into a stony, surprised expression: one of fear. You felt oddly stimulated, seeing a man who intimidated your father. Especially one who was roughly your age. "I'll get ya tha' drink, Prince," he said, rushing off.

"Don't forget the woman!" he called after him with a laugh. You swallowed. That was when the prince caught your eye.

You never forgot the look he gave you. Hunger? Surprise? Delight? Anger? You had no way of knowing. There was no smirk or smile on his face, just the expression his eyes told. You felt your face heat like there was a flame beneath your skin, and your ears suddenly felt too warmed by your hair. Your father always made you wear it down, and you knew that it may be all over the place if the prince had his way.

"Come."

His one word was compelling. You obeyed, whether you knew if you wanted to or not. The prince removed his hood from his head, letting his raven-colored locks spill out onto his shoulders. He took the black gloves off of his hands. He set them in his lap; your eyes followed his long fingers until you saw his legs. Long. This man was naturally tall.

You gulped.

"What a pretty bird this tavern has," he whispered with a silver-coated tongue. You looked down at your feet, nervous. You didn't want to see what color his eyes were, or you would never look away. Your father wouldn't want you flirting with royalty—even by accident. "What is your name, little sparrow?"

"My name is (Y/N)," you answered in an almost-inaudible tone. He laughed—a beautiful laugh, too—and tilted your chin up.

"Is this little bird for sale?" he asked. "Or does she come free with the drink?"

"Your Highness, I don't know for sure," you said. "I don't know if I even have a prince—price." Your palms became sweaty. You were already stumbling on your words. "Can I get you anything, sire?" Your hand flew to toy with your necklace. It was a nice purple pendant, and it glowed in the dark when you needed it to.

"Well, that innkeeper is getting me a drink... but you can get me a kiss, or perhaps a night." He smirked broadly. "I'll take you as my woman."

"But—"

"No buts. Your prince commands it." Prince Loki stood up, grinning wider than he had. He loomed over you, in your dirty, scullery dress, and he took your hand. His was so much wider than yours.

"Sire, my father is the innkeeper," you managed to tell him. "I'm not sure how he would feel by letting me be—..." You had to cut yourself off, and your sentence trailed trying to find a less vulgar word. "Letting me spend the night with someone of your stature... a kitchen maid wouldn't be proper for a prince—"

"A harlot isn't proper for a prince, either," he said, cutting you off with a small capture of your lips by his. You touched your fingers to your mouth, shocked. Wait. More than shocked. Flabbergasted. "I'd rather have the kitchen maid with more honor."

"Your Highness, I need my father's permission," you said. "And my fiancé's."

The prince's face twisted into horror. The thing was, you couldn't tell if it was because of what you said or because of his actions. You didn't know whether or not it was good or bad. You didn't have the slightest clue why the prince would even care if he was suggesting unmarried relations to you.

Prince Loki stood as tall as he could, wiping his eyes. "Fiancé? Oh, I'm so sorry. I should have asked; of course, a little thing like you would have a betrothed."

"Excuse me?" you whispered softly. You felt a little offended, and you didn't know why. It wasn't like you asked to be engaged to some man you hardly knew. No one could afford to marry for love in the middle class or lower—you just hoped you could grow to love that person you were paired with.

"I mean no disrespect," he said, sitting down. "I just find you so beautiful. Of course your father would have already found a suitor for you. A man driven by desire is often a fool, you see."

You just nodded. You didn't dare sit in the presence of royalty. You didn't even know what to say. You could say one wrong thing and you'd die, you knew that for certain. You'd seen it happen. Everyone did. Everyone knew.

"You must tell me," Prince Loki said, resting his head on his fist, "who this betrothed of yours is. If he's wrong to you, I want to kill him."

"What?!"

"You heard me, sparrow, I want to kill him." His chest rose in a soft but large inhale. "Now answer me."

You were trying to work the lump out of your throat out. You couldn't exactly answer. You hadn't met him before, exactly, only seen him talk to your parents.

"What's wrong?" he laughed gently. "Cat got your tongue?"

You nodded.

Loki chuckled. "Have you met him?" His eyes skirted around your person: your eyes, your lips, your chest, your hips. You pressed your skirt down, trying to forget he was looking.

You shook your head. In response to his question. You never met your betrothed.

"Then there's no way he could love you," the prince announced. "You can spend a night with me, surely."

"Your Highness," you mumbled, "love isn't a luxury I can afford. As for the night with you... I am flattered... But I cannot."

"One night. It's all I want."

"Ask my father." You curtsied and sat down behind the bar.

The prince exhaled deeply, looking at you. He seemed fixated. You stared into those... oh, those eyes... They were blue. Sapphires. Gorgeous. You melted. He leaned in a little. You felt drawn to him. Loki moved your hair out of your face.

"One kiss...," Loki whispered.

You felt yourself nod... against better judgement... you pressed your lips to his. Loki held your face close, kissing you deeply; kissing you hard. You kissed back, leaning over the counter to reach. He stood up and cupped your face with both hands.

He pulled away, and kissed you four times sweetly, quickly, like he could forget how a soft peck felt. You blushed and pulled away. "My prince..."

"You enjoyed that," he laughed quietly, seeming drunk off that kiss as well. You nodded. He kissed you, again. "I'll get a room. Come to my bed if you want something better than those kisses..."

You couldn't speak. You just kept nodding, nodding, nodding... He smiled and went to get his ale from your father. Your blood ran cold. Your father would kick you out.

You stood up. You couldn't resort to being some sort of... of whore... Especially for the prince. You scurried up to your room in terror. Regret.

---

"Prince Loki, I says it again, ya not to have my bairn," you heard from downstairs. "I already promised her hand."

"I can make her a princess, she would be well off and happy." Your heart began to hammer. Princess? What?

"Happy? Ya can't guarantee tha'."

"That other man hasn't met her. I have. I have the means, the right, to marry your daughter."

MARRIAGE!?

"Forget the woman," your father said firmly. "She is already promised."

A large sigh. "A deal, then."

"Aye?"

You held you breath.

"I shall return in a week. If she hasn't been married off by then, I wish to take her if she will have me."

You sped downstairs. You were your father's only daughter. Who else could they be talking about? You peeked from the stairs.

"(Y/N) is me child, I want what's best for her..."

"Father," you said, piping up. "I want to marry the prince."

They both turned. The prince had a grin, your father was surprised. You came down to face the men.

Loki took your hands. "You do?"

You nodded. He grinned brightly. You smiled back. "I do."

+-+--

"I do," you said, holding Loki's hands at the altar. He smiled down at you.

"You may kiss your bride."

You leaned up. He kissed you back.

You lived happily ever after.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

The Handmaiden🌹1

Warnings: eventual dark elements (tags to be added as fic continues)

This is dark!(king)Steve and explicit. 18+ only.

Summary: Princess Madeline has left her homeland to marry a king. On her journey, she has brought her most trusted handmaiden. Little do either of them know how perilous their new home will be.

Note: Alright, here’s another medieval AU ft. King Steve. His darkness will build as we go and we’re gonna ride those vibes, thots. I really hope you enjoy. 💋

<3 Let me know what you think with a like or reblog or reply or an ask! Love ya!

Madeline was the fairest woman you’d ever seen. Her strawberry blonde waves flowed like water down her back and shoulders. Her jaw was etched by the gods themselves and her lips were soft to the eye and as you guessed, the touch. Her eyes were like gems and her figure was graceful and lithe. Her voice was a melody and her laugh like the pluck of a string. 

How could she not be perfect? Porcelain and precious. She was a princess. The eldest of Eddor.

It would be unnatural not to envy  her. Not to compare your ordinary features with her extraordinary ones. Not to measure your circumstance against hers. You had grown up in her shadow. Once a playmate, now a maid. You served as her closest companion and attendant. A mere servant, you were but another accessory among many.

Your jealousy was not spiteful. Many a peasant lived a life worse than yours. You did not complain or want. It was the order of things. The world as it was.

She was serene, often intimidatingly calm. That day, you could see the nervous tension in her cheek. Not many others would notice but you did. You didn’t blame her. She was to meet her betrothed at last. A man more than ten years here elder; of the few men grander than her in prestige; a widower and king.

You stood just a few steps away, hands folded and head slightly bowed in deference. If she needed you, she would call to you. You were glad for the camouflage of your low standing. Among the foreign court, on such a significant day, you were nothing; just another witness.

Your journey was long. A month at sea, a fortnight in a draughty northern castle, a week upon the road, and finally you were in the capital; Halder’s Arch. A night spent awaiting the first meeting and a further hour for the king’s appearance. The other servants were growing restless; Madeline’s ladies, too.

 It would be a sad and heartless act to send a princess out upon her own. Sybil and Lucille were the only noblewoman to accompany Madeline. They were to remain at the foreign court and seek their own suitors. Her guards, her priest, and her physician were also among the party as well. Her retinue was finely outfitted.

Finally, the doors shifted and the armoured guards hit their staffs on the stone to announce the arrival. As the hall opened up, you held your breath as Madeline did the same. She raised her chin slightly and rose with the rest to receive her betrothed. A line of lords preceded their king, hidden by the group of men.

The Princess of Eddor was announced first. Her crest bearer spoke loudly for all the people to hear. Then it was the king’s turn. Steven, first of his name, son of Stewart, ruler of Anglhem and its territories. The lords broke and formed two rows as they stood at attention.

King Steven strode between them, as proud and stoic as the princess he would wed. You kept your chin down but watched him below your lashes. His dark blonde hair was thick above a trimmed beard. He wore a simple golden crown without stones, his jacket a turquoise brocade slashes with citrine. A chain of golden links hung from his shoulders with a single sapphire upon it. 

It was simple but bespoke a man of intent; of standing. His simplicity said it all. You suspected he dressed for the occasion; a very deliberate impression for his future wife. The capital, the castle, the lords, did not suggest a ruler without extravagance.

The king stopped before Madeline and bowed to her; she curtsied to him in kind. He seemed pleased as he took her hand and kissed it. His eyes flicked all over as he considered his new wife; his second. The first had come to a tragic end during a summer plague not two years past.

“Princess,” He greeted. “It is a privilege and a pleasure to meet you at last. The painter did you an injustice for no canvas could capture such beauty.”

“And you, my king,” She said evenly. “I did hear of a handsome and noble king but the accounts do leave much untold.”

You were always rather amused by such empty courtesies. These words were rehearsed and recited without thought. It was what was expected. A princess could not come off as appalled by her suitor, even if she were, and a king could not be disappointed in a princess, even for a crooked nose or blotchy complexion. It was all an act. You did not envy the fallacy of status.

Your eyes wandered as the royals went about their performance. The audience was rapt and marvelled at the perfect pair; a stately king and a beautiful princess. You bit down to keep from grinning wryly. Your amusement was stifled completely as your eyes were caught by a pair most unexpected. 

As Steven was offered a chair to sit with his queen, his gaze strayed from her. You withheld your surprise and assured yourself he was merely distracted by the portrait behind you or perhaps a nick in the stone. It couldn’t be you. Servants were like windows; transparent.

His brow twitched and he looked back to the princess. Her ladies were dazzled by the king’s stature, the lords were pleased by the princess’ grace. All seemed to be in a trance; all but those who held their attention. 

Madeline held her veneer only because the cracks could not be noticed by strangers. Steven’s matched hers though you saw no flaw. You only saw a man sure of himself because he knew what to say. To him, it was a ritual, each step another closer to the end.

You straightened at the subtle signal from the princess. She wanted wine. You went to her and took the ewer from the table beside her. You filled the king’s goblet first and presented it to him with a bow. He took it and you repeated the steps for the princess. She thanked you and you didn’t miss the king’s eye. He was watching you. Why?

You resumed your vigil along the wall with the other servants. Your gown differed from no other. The blue-grey wool was plain enough that it could’ve been another stone in the wall. Your cap hid your hair and no ornament sparkled at throat or wrist. You lowered your head as the king turned his goblet in his hand and gazed over at the princess.

You wanted to laugh at yourself. It was preposterous. He hadn’t looked at you for any reason but what you offered; a cup of wine. How could one ignore a figure right before them? You did long for it to be over for the sake of your weary mind. Your travel had left you endlessly exhausted. It was clearly affecting your judgement.

Yet, you peeked up again and the king squinted over at you. You blinked as he grinned and leaned back. He drank from his goblet and returned his gaze to Madeline. She presented him the letter sealed with her father’s crest. He accepted it and she seemed not to notice his wandering eyes.

Maybe because they did not wander. Maybe because he had been thinking and they averted to follow his thoughts. Or he was listening and did consider her words as he considered the room. 

You twined your hands together behind your back. You were trained, you were patient, you were attentive. You could bear yet another royal meeting. You could cling to your duty and see it through. You only had to resist the nagging fatigue that caused your mind to drift. 

You needed to focus as the princess’ goblet was empty.

🌹

The wedding was already well-prepared. Both parties had settled their arrangements long before that fateful meeting. Steven and his advisers had the date, the feast, the ceremony, all plotted carefully for the next week. Madeline had her gown in her trunk and her virtue intact. Or so it was written in their betrothal.

The princess seemed pleased with her husband. That night she watched herself in the mirror as you brushed out her hair. She touched her long neck and her fingers trailed down to her collarbone. She let out a wearisome sigh.

“Do you think he was taken by me?” She asked. “He was cordial but a marriage cannot survive on cordial.”

“I’ve never known a man who wasn’t taken by you, your highness,” You dragged the bristles through her lush strands. “A king could not hope for a better princess.”

“Oh, so they say,” She preened. “I am told he sent his painter to at least a dozen courts to paint their princesses. Then he was presented with their likeness and he chose me himself.”

“And you were deemed the worthiest to share his crown then,” You said. “I see not how he could be disappointed.”

“And I cannot say I am,” She smiled and batted her lashes. “He is very handsome. I feared when they said he was older than me.”

“He doesn’t appear to suffer from it,” You assured her. “His step is as sure as any youth.”

She was silent as you finished brushing out her hair and you parted it. You began to braid her long tresses before she found her voice again. When she was thoughtful, she was often plotting.

“And the wedding night?” She ventured quietly. “Do you think he will be pleased with me then?”

“I… am certain he should be,” You said stiffly. “I see not how any man cannot be pleased with his wife in such a way.”

She giggled and played with the buttons of her sleeping gown. She eyed you and looked away guiltily. You tilted your head at her and tied up the end of her braid.

“What is it?” You asked.

“Oh, you know,” She stood and turned to you. “I was always told servants were more experienced in those matters, but you are always so modest.”

“As I have served you loyally, when should I have had time to take experience in such matters?”

She laughed and pulled a stray thread from your cap. 

“Much too loyal,” She chided. “Let us retire for the night. This kingdom is still strange to me and I do wish to know it better before I am bound to it entirely.”

🌹

Madeline was not to see her betrothed again until the wedding day. Their separation was tradition and ensured the legitimacy of the marriage. Thus, the princess could only emerge from her chambers when she was assured the king was engaged and the corridors were clear. 

On the first day after their introduction, she took to the gardens, dewy with the early spring dampness. The second she explored the wing within which her rooms were. On the third, she was warned to stay in as the king was to attend to the wedding’s final arrangements. She was irritated by her exile but not unhappy. It would end soon enough and this would be her castle to reign as she wished.

As you had since you were children, you slept beside her and woke before her. You touched her shoulder and advised her to wake but she stirred only a little. You dressed and left the lanterns unlit as the sun streamed in through the windows. You hid your hair beneath your cap and allowed yourself a moment of vanity as you adjusted your skirts in the mirror.

The best way to rouse the princess was food. You closed the heavy door behind you and greeted the guards who stood in the corridor. Lawrence and Hal were selected by Madeline’s own father and had served her since she was a girl. You knew them well and they were little disturbed by the mousy maid upon her duties.

You carefully counted the corners as you still found the castle unfamiliar and confounding. The day before, you’d become so lost, you had to ask another servant how to find your way back. You loathed a repeat but it was likely as you already felt entirely displaced.

You came upon the lower floors where the kitchens resided. You were confident that your destination was close but found yourself in a hall you’d never been before. A round door was open to the cool morning air and voices mingled with the scent of horses. You cursed under your breath and looked back over your shoulder. You must’ve turned the wrong way at the stairs.

You were kept from righting your course as the voices grew louder and a shadow appeared in the doorway. A lord, vaguely familiar from among those who had accompanied the king, strolled through as he laughed over his shoulder. You skirted against the wall and bowed your head in deference.

You peaked up through your lashes as he was followed by another. You recognised King Steven as he yawned behind his hand.

“You disturbed me so early for--” He complained but paused as his eyes fell upon you. “...nothing.” He finished slowly as he nodded at you. 

He carried on as he caught stride with his companion who reprimanded him for his grumbles. They were bawdy and the king took no offence to the remonstrance. You kept your head down until you heard them turn the corner. You wondered little at the reason for the king’s visit to the stables; you only wanted to retreat before the stench lurked in any further.

[cinderelliee]

My final character opinions before Chain of Iron...

Just finished my reread of Chain of Gold ahead of Tuesday’s release!!! I am posting my thoughts/opinions of the main cast so that after Chain of Iron I can see how or if my feelings change. Spoilers: most of my opinions are going to be that I don’t know enough about them lmao. I love the big cast of characters, but that unfortunately also means less time is spent on each one.

Disclaimer: I know that I love some characters that people hate and vice versa. My intention is not to start anything, but more to be more open about what I think about the characters. It’s okay to disagree and just because I say I don’t like a character, it does not mean I believe they are badly written...

Alastair Carstairs:

One of my favorites of the series, and possibly TSC as a whole (let’s see how the series goes first). I love him so much and I can’t wait to see how his story goes. I love that he keeps everyone at arms length and pushes everyone away, but he would also go to any length for the people he loves. I think he has a gift of being able to see people as they are, and notice things others don’t. Probably why he was the one, not Cordelia, who saw what was wrong with his father and kept it from his sister. I’m sure he used to look up to his father like Cordelia did, but instead suffered great disappointment when he learned the truth. And then when he went to the academy, finally having some time away from it, all he found was more disappointment. He did what he thought he had to to survive. And I think along the way he sort of lost himself.

I do think Alastair should make amends with the Merry Theives, but less for their sake and more for his own. I think his journey is more about finding and forgiving himself. There are other ways to live and survive than hurting anyone who gets too close to you. I think he started that journey in Chain of Gold when he dyed his hair back to black and broke up with Charles. But fixing yourself is easier said than done, it’s not one choice, but something that you strive for everyday. His journey actually reminds me a lot of Matthew’s; they have a lot in common and I think their paths will parallel each other’s. I also think Thomas will be a catalyst for Alastair’s growth, as well as a helping hand.

I can’t wait to see his dynamic with the characters this next book as he tries to return to his true self. It’ll be interesting to see how his relationship with Elias plays out too.

Anna Lightwood:

I really like Anna so far. I think she’s very unique and exciting. I love how dedicated she is to being true to herself, but at the same time cares deeply about her loved ones and shows it. Often times I feel like characters like her often act like they’re above showing affection towards their family, so I was pleasantly surprised when she wasn’t. This is probably because her parents love and support her, so she never had to scorn familial love.

Romantic love is a different thing. Now, my two pieces about her life style is: why don’t we all just have a good time. I know there’s some people who didn’t like that she called her many partners ‘conquests’ and that she had a little black book. But I didn’t really see that criticism until recently and I’m confused as to what people thought Anna was doing? Would they rather her not keep track and forget them all? It’s perfectly healthy to explore your sexuality as long as you aren’t harming yourself or others. I know Anna is seen as older, but she is still only 19 (I think? 20 at most right?). She’s still on her journey to figuring out who she is. She is a bit self-centered and definitely privileged (see her relationship with Ariadne), but if she didn’t have flaws there would be nowhere for her to grow from. I highly doubt Anna will be living her seductress lifestyle by the end of the series

Personally, I cannot wait to see how her relationship with Ariadne plays out. Hopefully Anna will have some healthy confrontation with how she reacted to her heartbreak and why. Anyway, Anna is definitely one of my favorites.

Ariadne Bridgestock:

She seems like an interesting character, and I like how she’s not afraid to go after what she wants. I’d like to know a little more about her past and motivations. I also think she’s in a really difficult situation with her family and who she is/wants to be. I think she made a really understandable choice when she engaged Charles, and I support her journey in winning Anna back (I don’t not agree with the people who judged her for not backing off from Anna. She is fighting for who she loves and we are all fools in love). I think she has a lot of potential, but I can’t quite say that I like her yet since she’s probably the character we know the least about.

Charles Fairchild:

No opinion. I don’t love or hate him. No feelings whatsoever. The only thing I care about is the possible drama he will cause for Alastair and Thomas or the Clave as a whole lmao

Christopher Lightwood:

This boy is great! I have no complaints about him at all. He is precious. Honestly I’d just like to see more from him! His lines always make me chuckle. Also I’m not convinced that he would be able to create a antidote before the Silent Brothers would’ve been able to. But whatever, it’s just a story so who cares.

Cordelia Carstairs:

I just think she’s really neat. She is a fantastic protagonist and definitely on her way to becoming my favorite TSC lead, other than Tessa, obviously. I love her strength, kindness, relentless resilience, and how headstrong she is. I think it’s hilarious how straightforward she is. There’s so many scenes where she just says exactly what she’s thinking and just surprises everyone around her because they underestimated her or never expected her to so forcefully share her opinions. I adore her relationships with everyone. Her and Lucie are adorable. Her relationship with Alastair is so sweet and watching them rebuild their relationship was one of my favorite parts of the book, and definitely something I’m looking forward to. Matthew and Cordelia’s relationship is one of my favorites from the book; I love how they challenge and surprise each other (I think they could learn a lot from each other). Her interactions with the Merry Theives in general are perfect.

One thing I will say is there just wasn’t enough of her. I was very surprised when I read it that James and her were basically co-protagonists. I didn’t expect James to have such a prominent role, usually the split between the girl and boy lead is 60/40 at most, but this felt more like a 50/50 split. I just would’ve prefered more from Cordelia I guess, but that’s just me.

Grace Blackthorn:

So at first I was neutral towards Grace. I didn’t care about her at all, but after I came online and saw how many people hated her and acted like her was a villain, I started liking her more. She obviously is a victim of her mother’s manipulation and she doesn’t want to do what she’s doing to James. It’s clear to me that she is doing what she can to survive and to help her brother, the only person she truly cares about. Since she is also one of the few characters that it’s unclear where her story is going to end up, I am curious to see how her story goes.

I know there’s some people who just wanted her to be a villain, and I totally get that. But I feel like if she was, we would get a less complex character. Cassie’s villains, with the exception of Jonathan perhaps, tend to be one dimensional (which is fine because that’s not the reason I read her books anyways!). I also don’t really think she needs much of a redemption arc because she’s just trying to survive.

James Herondale:

This is where I’m going to get a little unpopular. I don’t love James, BUT I don’t hate him either. I am just not interested in where his story goes at all. I think I get what Cassie’s goal was with his character. He doesn’t have Will and Jace’s dark past and he’s not a morally grey bad boy like Julian. James is caring and sweet and noble and has a good family and I can totally see why people like him. For me, he still fills the same exact role that I’ve seen, not just from Cassie, but other YA books as well, and I’m just tired of it. His motivations are doing whatever he can to protect his loved ones and doing things because they are the right thing to do. He is willing to lay down his life for the greater good. I just can’t see anything about him that feels new. The only times I’ve felt anything towards him is when Jem, Cordelia, or Matthew were making me feel something for him.

It could be because I don’t really care for Cassie’s plots and his arc is so heavily involved with all the Prince of Hell stuff. And the bracelet just pisses me off in a bad way. The solution to it is so simple that it just frustrates me, but does not intrigue me at all. I will say I like him better with the bracelet off so I’m hoping in stays off this next book so I can enjoy his POV a little more. I really want to like him, but I just don’t connect with him at all. I wish Cassie had come up with something other than the bracelet as well.

Jesse Blackthorn:

Imma be honest: at the moment I don’t really care about Jesse either. I don’t know enough about him. But it seems like we’re gonna get more from him this next book so I’m reserving my judgement until then. In Chain of Gold I noticed most of his scenes were pretty expository or he was passing along information, but we never really got to know much about him. Hopefully I will like him in Chain of Iron though!

Lucie Herondale:

I really like Lucie so far! My favorite part about her is that she is so practical, but also able to loose herself in whimsical fantasies. She is totally 100% Tessa and Will’s child!! I don’t have much to say other than I love what I’ve gotten from her so far, but I just need a little bit more to connect with her. I’m hoping Chain of Iron really explores her darker side and her motivations. I kinda have a feeling this next book will either make or break my opinion of her.

Matthew Fairchild:

Anyone who has been following me for a while now could probably guess that Matthew is my favorite from TLH. I don’t know what it says about me, but I relate to him on a personal level. Although I haven’t made the same mistakes he has, (thank heavens for that!) I do know how he feels. I do know what it’s like to have something happen, that’s completely your fault, and have it change your life into something completely different than you thought it would be. I have made a lot of posts about him so if you want more in depth details, they are on my blog.

I’m just going to say that, very similar to Alastair, I think that Matthew has a lot of amends to make, to everyone in his life. And his journey is what I look forward to the most. He’s made a lot of mistakes, huge ones, and I know it’ll probably get worse before it gets better. But I hope his story isn’t going to be as sad as everyone believes, (I don’t think it will be, since a vast majority of Cassie’s characters eventually get happen endings) it just means a lot to me that his character doesn’t end up a tragedy. Like I said before his relationship with Cordelia is something I am really looking forward to. And his relationship with his family as well.

I love him your honor. *if I loved him less I may have been able to talk about him more*

Thomas Lightwood:

I really like Thomas!!! I favorite thing about him is that he can so easily see the beautiful and worth in everyone and everything (which makes him perfect for Alastair!). I love how gentle and kind he is. So far what I have seen from him has been so great. And how he was able to carrying on despite his sister’s death and then Christopher’s illness was really admirable. But I’m going to say for him as I’ve said for most: I want to see more from him!!! I have faith that his and Alastair’s relationship with be the best part of the book, so I have high hopes!

Okay!!! I think that’s everyone!! Let me know what you think?? Do you agree or disagree! I would love to get into some discussions with people to pass the time until the release!! If anyone wants to make their own post, please tag me!! I’d love to see!!! Do you think I have enough ‘!!!!!!!!!’?

[ratsoh-writes]

Alright, this is my first time actually sending anything anonymous (or any ask to someone who isn’t a mutual) on Tumblr but guess ya gotta start somewhere, heh

I’m serious and cold to anyone who I don’t know well and I have a habit of being sarcastic whether when I’m annoyed or trying to joke around with people I’m unfamiliar with though with people I know well, I’m supportive and a lot more open to laughing and joking around. I have a blank resting face, really the only time I smile is when I have something to smile about.

I’m actually really protective of my friends. I have a difficulty discerning what’s rude and not, I’m blunt but I’m also very careful not to say anything that could hurt someone’s feelings (of course I don’t have the best judgement with that).

I don’t always express my emotions properly, I’ll storm out when I’m nervous which can make it look like I’m angry when I’m more scared than anything.

I have really bad anxiety, especially when it comes to anger, it doesn’t have to be directed at me. I panic relatively easily, it doesn’t matter if I’ve lost something or it’s a rude comment, it can be someone who’s close or whom I’ve never met. Unfortunately I tend to be a bit of a pushover when it comes to defending myself, I’ve gotten better, I have certain times where I will stand up for myself but for the most part I just panic.

This also transitions when talking to people I don’t know well, sometimes I’m either ‘eh’ or really awkward if I have to actually talk to them.

Likes:

I like to draw, write, video games (more turn based and relaxing ones rather than shooting games) and collect animal figurines (they just make me smile, I remember when my mom first got me one and I was immediately grinning). I absolutely love animals, I have my own smol doggo and kitty cat :) I myself am a cat person

Dislikes or pet peeves:

People who are loud (like all the time, I can handle someone who laughs loudly) or nosy. I’m also not a fan of being touched, especially when it just kinda… happens. Not a fan of sports overall

Deal breakers:

Somebody who gets mad quickly or one who can’t calm down and talk about it rather than yell. Also somebody who can’t respect that I don’t like being touched without being asked or even then I might say no. I’d like someone who’s level headed or relaxed, though will take situations seriously. Or somebody who forces me to go out

Some specific traits I’d prefer is someone who is patient yet stubborn and won’t take my ‘I don’t care’ as an answer cause that’s my answer to many things because of my anxiety and my fear of upsetting people. I’d also like someone who can read body language as well. They also need to be able to wait for like a minute for me to answer a question properly since I uh decide things rather slowly.

Weaknesses:

-I don’t talk about my feelings, not even to people who I trust and am really close to

-I panic a lot

-I’m easily irritated, though I don’t often act on my anger unless it’s pent up, doesn’t mean I don’t show it y’know… via body language

-I’m more of a pessimist than anything else

-I’m a perfectionist, I have to do something right

-I’m prone to burnout

-I don’t have a lot of patience when it comes to people, specifically to people who nag, are idiots, or just rude

Strengths:

-I can and will stand up for my friends

-I care deeply for my friends and family

-I’m not a very judgy person, like let people do what they want man

-I’d like to think I’m somewhat good at giving advice

-I actually have a lot more patience when it comes to animals, they can poop in the house or tear something up and I’d be more frustrated than I am mad at them

Tidbits:

-I have 0 stamina or strength

-Legit someone can gently punch me and it’d hurt for a solid 30 seconds

-Tickling makes me want to cry(?)

-A long conversation can leave me exhausted, I need time to recharge and that time can either be a couple of hours or up to two weeks

-I pace a lot which is mostly to zone out and go into my own fantasy world, I’ll either pace in silence or while listening to music

-I can't focus on a single task if I'm working, gotta be doin something at the same time like listening to music

I have freckles, I’m a sandy blonde which is almost light brown, and blue eyes. I’m really short lol, I’m 4’10

Alright, after a lot of consideration, I think the best fit for you would be…………ACE (mafiaswap sans)!

First of all, ace is literally a mafia boss. He been dealing with temperamental and jumpy people his whole life. Your personality when he first meets you won’t phase him at all. And ace is just the right amount of patience and persistence to befriend anyone!

Ace is also very observant and witty. His whole job is to charm the pants off of people and make them relax. He’s great at picking up those signals for when you’re feeling uncomfortable. And it doesn’t take him long to figure out which buttons to push to help you loosen up. He’s not an enabler though. Ace does care about his loved ones and will insist on them stepping out of their comfort zones once in a while. He knows their limits though and is good about not pushing them. This is the main reason I picked him over second choice.

Ace is no stranger to video games. They aren’t necessarily his favorite thing, but he can be convinced to play with you. He does it plenty for his little brothers slim and bruiser.

He tends to show his affection more in acts of service and verbally rather than touch. And words mean a lot to him. He doesn’t except you to bear your soul to him all the time, but he would want to hear an “I love you” sometimes

Ace with a SO can be pretty playful. He likes leaving silly notes in his SOs pockets to find later, or sneaking mini treats or gifts into their room. It keeps them on their toes and gives him a chance to be stealthy.

If you’re curious, second choice would’ve been wine

[miss-eucatastrophe]

Pairing: Levi x Erwin x Mike x Thick!Reader/PlusSize!Reader

Summary: When you purchased your first home you’d anticipated it being a turning point in your life. You just didn’t anticipate that turn to give you whiplash. 

A new home throws you into a new lifestyle you would have never thought you’d find yourself in-- with three men you’d never expected to be with. 

Rated: Explicit [18+]

Main Tags: Polyamory/Polyamorous relationship, BDSM, Attack on Titain Modern AU, Slow Burn

A/N: Hey all, Just some things about the reader in this fic before you get invested:

I keep the reader ambiguous in appearance and use [y/n]. Use of [y/n] becomes minimal in favor of pet names as the story progresses. 

One thing that is not ambiguous is that the reader is thick, you could also say plus sized though because that’s different in every country I favor the word thick. I also think its kind of a sexier adjective. 

Reader has self consciousness issues and anxiety, both are being treated/have been treated through therapy. I keep it ambiguous as to whether or not the reader is still in therapy-- regardless the reader is insinuated to be far along and doing well in her treatment. Shout out to my peeps who are/have been in therapy, your mental health is important and you’re doing great no matter where you are in it. 

Reader is in her mid to late 20′s because realistically purchasing a home before that is near impossible. Hell even in our 20′s its hard. I also wanted to give a little love to my thick girls in their later 20′s because we out here. 

A lot of AOT reader inserts, if not completely ambiguous, often emphasize a super fit form. Which makes sense in the typical setting when the reader is in the AOT world and maybe a soldier-- but I wanted to give some love to our fuller body types. Maybe I just got tired of reading “...reader’s flat/muscular stomach...” and going-- ooh can’t relate! Haaa. 

That being said, you can read this no matter what your body type because everyone’s perception of self is different-- I just wanted to give the heads up because the reader does struggle a bit with her sense of self in the story because of her body type as her self confidence continues to develop. 

BDSM dynamics ultimately take place in this fic. Some are good BDSM practices/etiquette, some are not good. Professionals know the difference and this is not your guide to polyamory or BDSM. The poor etiquette will be rather obvious but if you’re interested in pursuing BDSM in your real life, please don’t use this work of fiction as gospel. Do your research and practice safely! 

My fictional stories are for ADULTS. Do not read them if you are under the age of 18. 

With all that out of the way, Please enjoy~ 

Chapter 1:

“I got this,” A panted breath.

“I got this,” A strained grunt.

“Nope I lied.” A loud thunk of a heavy box hitting green grass.

“Told ‘ya so.” The brunette breathlessly quipped from her position beside another box, her arms haphazardly flung over its surface. “Can we please take a break now?”

Admitting defeat, you fell in a heap on the lawn and nodded your head, but not before running your forearm across your sweaty brow. “Okay, yeah,” your reply was just as breathless although your friend had given up long before you. “Like five minutes.”

The other female placed her chin on the box, framing her head between her outstretched arms. “Okay, yeah, like fifteen minutes.” She echoed in a tired din, attempting to get you to thoughtlessly agree to her editing of the time.

Though tired with your legs and arms throbbing under the surface of your skin, you shook your head. “No Sasha,” you said firmly. Though it sounded like you were trying to convince yourself over her. “If we take longer than five minutes, we’re gonna quit and we’re almost done!” You gestured with an open palm to the admittedly small moving van parked in the street in front of you. You’d made good headway with it. It was amazing how much stuff you could fit in such a small van.

It was amazing how little space said stuff could take up in such a big home.

Well, big might be a little generous. It was by no means a mansion, certainly not as big as some of the other models on the same street, but it was bigger than your previous living conditions.

More importantly it was yours.

Yours.

You smiled, looking up at the bright sky above you, dotted with a few fluffy clouds.

Your first home.

Your heart sped up when you reminded yourself. You had doubts that it would ever happen. Saving enough money to put a down payment on a home without loans or handouts was no easy feat. But you did it, and that hard work had paid off in achieving your goal. Your down payment was enough to make the house payments bearable; though for the first few months you could see that a majority of your income would go back into the home either in the form of said payments, filling the home with furniture, or renovating some of the areas that needed love.

Like the front yard.

The front yard needed some love.

Not the lawn. The lawn was good. The lawn was providing you and Sasha with a much-needed reprieve. Yes, the lawn could stay.

You loved lawn.

Lawn loved you.

Until your arms started to itch. A less than intimidating growl left your lips as you quickly sat up, your nails digging into your skin as you scratched at it for some relief before flailing your arms about to try and save them from the irritation—as if you could shake it off your flesh.  

“Back to work.” You chirped, making Sasha groan.

“Remind me what I’m getting out of this again?” She mumbled, her face planting itself back to the box to muffle her protests.

Kicking yourself up to standing, you looked over your shoulder with a playful smile, “I’m feeding you.” You reminded her.

After a long pause, perhaps letting your words sink in, Sasha released a huff, lifting her face and flexing her small arms in her baggy t-shirt. “Second wind!” she shrieked by way of a battle cry, her hands clenching the cube between her legs in a vice grip as she moved to a squat, yanking the box off of the pristine lawn.

Who would take such good care of a lawn but ignore the rest of the yard? The previous owner apparently. Then again, it made a bit of sense. It was easy to turn on a sprinkler system to keep a lawn looking fresh whereas the things you wanted to add would take work. Like flowers. You loved flowers. Though you’d struggle on and off with a potentially green thumb, unlike your mother who could make anything grow. Planting flowers was a must. You would work your way to the backyard. But the front yard was like a first impression and you wanted it to be pretty for when friends came over as well as for the strangers that passed by. You wanted people to say, “Oh what a cute house. Whoever bought it really spruced up the place. It looks much better. Oh, it so does, blah blah blah.” Should you care what other people said? No. But you were human. Besides, your mother always kept an immaculate home, you wanted to emulate her in the maintenance of your own home.

As always you were getting too ahead of yourself. You were thinking twelve steps beyond where you were. That could be dangerous. Such thoughts could stimulate anxiety. Something you were unfortunately prone to. You took a deep breath, stealing your resolve to focus on the present moment.

You lifted your gaze, letting it drag over the neighborhood. “Find every color.” You murmured to yourself.

Red, the roses on the bush two houses down.

Orange, the moving van.

Yellow, your shirt.

Green, the lawn.

Blue, the sky.

Purple, your struggled to find purple and made a note to plant some purple pansies to rectify that.

Pink, the flowers of the magnolia tree next door.

You took a deep breath. This was your favorite grounding exercise you’d learned from therapy. It forced you to stay in the moment, steel yourself, and stop racing thoughts—often times before they happened since now you were much better at recognizing the warning signs. It took a lot of work to get to this point. It was work you were proud of.

You took another breath.

First the van. Empty the van. One thing at a time.

A huffing and puffing Sasha stumbled down the shallow steps of the front door—your front door you though joyously—with her hands on her hips, bent slightly at the waist to pin you with judgement. “Excuse me? Am I do’n all the work around here?”

You smirked, nudging the box in front of you with the toe of your shoe, the memory of your struggle to lift it still fresh in your mind. You weren’t in a hurry for a repeat performance in spite of your hassling of Sasha. “Depends, how big of a meal you want?” You teased her.

The brunette scoffed. “If you want me to go at it alone then you better be treating me to a buffet.”

You giggled, though a twinge of envy settled in your chest. Sasha was a petite thing considering how much she ate. You were not. The fact that she could eat so much and still keep her shape while you struggled around your weight made you jealous. The thought of going to a buffet filled you with dread. You always wondered what people thought when they saw someone of thicker size stepping into one of those. It triggered the self-consciousness you were working on diminishing. It wasn’t as though you were lazy, ugly, or any other stereotypical term that so wrongly coincided with your set. Hell, you’d moved over half your old residence by yourself. You were strong! Your body could do amazing things. You just didn’t match the image plastered all over social media and society of what a woman “should” look like.

Size 0 mannequins could go fuck themselves.

You had hips, you had a butt, you had ample breasts—all things sexualized excessively in the female form—you just also had a little extra. Thick thighs, a bit of a tummy—society wanted you to have tits and an ass but when you had the addition that often went with those things naturally, you were frowned upon. It was a complete catch 22. However, society wasn’t going to change, not overnight. So instead you worked on yourself—or rather your perception of self. Therapy helped, but it was an everyday battle to combat two parts of your brain. The half that liked and appreciated the many elements of you, including your body—and the half that was an asshole.

Right now, the asshole was winning. Because of this you had no interest in taking Sasha to a buffet—which meant you had to actually pick up the box you were glaring at.

Bending over, you hoisted the box into your arms with refreshed energy and groaned as you started to your home. “Remind me again why we didn’t recruit the guys?” You mumbled; your voice strained with effort. You probably had books in there. Yeah that was absolutely the book box. Should have spaced those damn things out. What kinda dumb ass were you to put almost all of them in one box?

“Oh, it’s not that much and they’re working, we can totally handle it.” Sasha said, her voice mimicking yours as best it could, though laced heavy with sarcasm. “That’s you. That’s how you sounded.”

You were kicking yourself, “Talk some sense into me next time.” You called, over your shoulder, dropping the box just inside the door where it was going to stay until you either, one, had the energy to move it, or two, had finished putting up your half book shelf.

It was probably going to live there for a while.

“Already thinking about ‘next time’? Oh, no, you’re not moving for at least 10 years. You can’t get me to do this again before that.” Sasha said sternly when you walked back outside to meet her by the van. “I’ll book you for 10 years from now.” You agreed, leaning against the side of the vehicle while Sasha took a moment to fix her ponytail which had gone messy with her unloading efforts.

Walking around to the back of the moving van, you leaned down to pick up another box, a smaller one than the last and took a moment to look over what was left. Just a few bigger items. They were bulky but between the two of you they wouldn’t be difficult to manage. Getting the bed frame and headboard up the stairs was going to be a pain in the ass, luckily TV’s were thinner now so that would be easy to get inside, the bedside tables were small and each of you could carry one of those, the dresser was going to be a bit of a bitch…

You bit your lip, looking over the items and making a list of difficulty in your head. Once again you were filling your mind with ‘to-do’s. Luckily, a voice pulled you out of your own thoughts as you backed down the van’s slope.

“Hello girls!”

You turned around to see an older woman toddling down the driveway beside your own, holding a tray with cookies and two glasses of what appeared to be lemonade.

Putting on your best ‘first impression’ face, you gave the woman a bright smile and placed the box down at your feet to greet the woman who was undoubtably one of your new neighbors. “Hello ma’am,” you said politely. Sasha was too busy drooling over the cookies in the woman’s hands.

“Please, please, call me Della.” She said, lifting the tray in her hands to present the offering to you and Sasha, who was quick to snatch the lemonade and two cookies, chewing both of them at the same time with happy hums and grumbles. You nudged her with your elbow silently scolding her for bypassing the introduction process. Della waved you off, having noticed the subtle action. “She’s absolutely fine! I’m thrilled to have someone enjoy my baking so much.”

All the same, you introduced yourself before taking your own cookie. “It’s nice to meet you Della. I’m [y/n] and this is Sasha.” You took the tray from her and placed it on one of the taller boxes so you could shake the woman’s hand. “Thank you so much for the lemonade and treats.” How on earth had the woman baked that fast? You’d only been there about two hours and these cookies were absolutely fresh out of the oven. Clearly you were living next door to a witch. A kitchen witch. You were totally okay with that so long as she directed her baking powers on you regularly.

“These are amazing.” You mumbled around a mouthful of warm cookie, the flavor sitting on your tongue for a moment, only to have your pallet cleansed by the lemonade.

Della gave a bright smile, “Well thank you dear. It’s nice to have another darling couple to bake for.”

Sasha spit out the lemonade she was sipping, her eyes popping out of her head as she coughed.

You swallowed your bite to try and keep from choking yourself. “Oh! Oh gosh no. No Sasha is just helping me move in. She’s my best friend.” You clarified calmly.

Sasha was thumping her fist to her chest in an attempt to clear her esophagus. “Connie would kill me.” She managed to choke out between wheezes.

“I think he would be down.” You murmured around another sip of lemonade, teasing her.

Della however covered her mouth, looking a little embarrassed by her assumption. “I’m sorry I shouldn’t have jumped to conclusions. I guess I’m just so used to our other neighbors.” she trailed off, gesturing to the house on the other side of yours. You took that to mean that your other neighbors were a gay couple.

You shook your head, “Don’t worry about it!” Honestly, you were pleasantly surprised to have an older woman be so openly accepting and progressive. Having a neighbor like that wouldn’t be half bad. Especially if she made a habit of sharing her cooked concoctions.

It seemed you’d managed to move to a rather well-rounded neighborhood. It made a smile tug at your lips.

“Will you be living alone, dear?” Della asked, smoothing her hands over the apron tied around her waist. The action cause tiny plumes of flour to drift in front of her before her green eyes came up to regard you with her full attention. It must be her way to ask if you had a significant other that would be moving in alongside you. To some it may seem prying, but you didn’t blame her for wanting to know a little more about the person living right next door to her.

Nodding your head, you reached for another cookie. You probably wouldn’t have normally, sometimes you felt odd eating in front of others— it might have something to do with your negative self-image—but in this case it seemed rude to not show how much you enjoyed the treats after your neighbor slaved over them for you. So, you justified the second as you answered her question. “Yep, just me.”

Humming her understanding, Della nodded in response. “Well don’t you worry. This is a very safe neighborhood. I’ve never felt nervous living alone.” She assured you.

It was not something you’d even considered. You’d lived on your own before, in truth you just slept with a baseball bat under your bed or a heavy flashlight by your nightstand. You’d never had to use them of course, but better have it and not need it than to need it and not have it. You were confident in your ability to defend yourself. As confident as an untrained baseball bat wielder could be anyway. It’s not as though you knew martial arts.

“That’s reassuring.” You told Della with a smile who returned your kind expression. “If you ever need anything, do let me know,” she said softly, picking up the tray as you and Sasha placed your glasses on it—though she handed you the plate of cookies which was for your to consume at your leisure.  “Us girls gotta stick together.” She winked, pulling a giggle from you before she gestured with her chin to your other neighbor’s home. “We’re outnumbered by boys after all.” She was just teasing but it clarified your suspicion of your other neighbors being a male couple.

“They’re very kind,” she added, “So I’m sure they’ll tell you the same. It’s a very lovely neighborhood.” She gave a little curtesy since she couldn’t wave. “I’ll let you girls get back to it!” She called as she walked back up to her driveway.

You smiled back, waving as she made her way to her home, “Thank you again! It was nice to meet you!” You raised the plate of cookies to Sasha’s view once the woman had retreated into her house after the brief welcome. “These are gonna be gone.” You whispered, walking past her to get them to the empty kitchen before you and Sasha could turn them to crumbs.

“Don’t you owe me a debt?” Sasha called after you, picking up the box the tray had once sat on top of.

You gave her a look over your shoulder. “I’m not giving you all my welcome cookies. I’m ordering pizza later.” For a moment you contemplated hiding the sweets. But that wouldn’t protect them from you. Just Sasha and her ravenous hunger.  

It took a little under an hour to get the remainder of the van emptied, without any interruptions—no matter how pleasant. Assembling the bed was a bit of a pain, as suspected, but it was the only piece of furniture you were going to rope Sasha into helping you with. You’d bought a few new pieces of furniture that were still in boxes, which made them easier to pack, but you still had to assemble them. You were confident in your ability to do so on your own. You’d put together enough furniture in your time; and Sasha had done more than enough to earn her pizza.

Thus, the remainder of the evening consisted of eating said pizza, demolishing the plate of cookies, and yelling at reality stars through the television about their actions even though they couldn’t hear you nor Sasha. Thank god you had gotten the cable hooked up day one. You at least needed internet to watch Hulu and Netflix.

Your spunky brunette friend didn’t stay too late. Bless her, she took it upon herself to take the van back to the rental facility for you so you could continue to get settled. The most important piece of furniture was already complete, ready for you to pass out on it when you gave up on the boxes.

To your credit, you managed to unpack most things that didn’t involve the furniture still needing to be assembled. In fact, you unpacked and sorted all your kitchen ware very easily. The kitchen was a good place to start because it didn’t require the rearrangement of furniture which would inevitably come with unpacking areas like your bedroom. Empty cabinets, drawers, and countertops were a blank slate that only required methodical stuffing. Most people’s kitchens were relatively similar in where cutlery went, mixing bowls, cups, pots, and pans—there was only so much variability. It wouldn’t require the careful placement needed to make a space cozy and inviting. It just had to be functional and neat.

Another aspect that made the kitchen simple was your lack of items. Again, this home was much larger than your previous residence. It had much more space for things. Things you didn’t have but would come with time. You were rather excited to shop around for new things to fill your kitchen as well as the rest of your house.

You’d also managed to unpack some knick-knacks and items that would be set on already constructed furniture, like photographs of your family and friends. One of your favorite pictures included you, Sasha, and Connie in Disneyland. Because you were never too old to enjoy Disneyland. It had been your first trip with friends instead of family when you’d reached adulthood. You smiled fondly back at the joyous photo, all of you wearing Micky Mouse ears and grinning at the camera.

Connie and Sasha were two of your closest friends and though they were together romantically they never made you feel like a third wheel. You enjoyed their company dearly. The picture would get a place of honor in the living room before you went to bed that night, concluding your first day of unpacking.

-

The next two days went by in a blur of screws, hammers, nails, bubble wrap, newspaper, and boxes as you unpacked neatly tucked items and assembled furniture that was somehow always missing a screw or two that probably wasn’t important to the overall design anyway. Hopefully, the instructions were more like guidelines. So long as the furniture was sturdy and looked the way it did in the picture, it was fine. A lot of it was place holder furniture anyway. Rather cheap IKEA stuff that would serve to fill space and allow storage as you’d slowly accumulate nicer goods overtime.

It was a process, you reminded yourself, and the home wouldn’t be perfect or look like a catalog home right off the bat. It was what your mother had told you as well when you told her you were buying your first home. Her encouragement and soothing words also helped to keep you grounded much like the techniques you were still learning and utilizing from your time in therapy.

You’d hardly been out of the house since Friday when you first moved in and in spite of your fatigue caused by tedious unpacking, you were itching to start work on the front yard.

Not the backyard.  

That was an adventure you weren’t ready for. You didn’t have an idea mapped out for that yet and weren’t going to spin out trying to construct a plan for it. The backyard would be last. Mainly because that was going to be a big project. It wasn’t poorly maintained, but it was empty. It had a nice lawn, much like the front yard, but that was it.

A blank slate almost overwhelmed you more. It allowed too many options. When you were ready, you’d likely ask the opinion of your parents or friends. Picking their brain for ideas would be helpful and take some of the burden of decisions from your shoulders.

But that was another day, likely many weeks from where you stood now.

Where you stood now was The Home Depot, in the gardening section, looking over the flowers, shrubs, pots, and yard décor they had to offer.

As you promised yourself earlier, you picked up some purple pansies, leaving every other flower and shrubbery up to the whimsy of your mood. Once you had enough plant life to fill the sparce areas of your new home you picked out a few more gardening essentials that you were severely lacking in. Such as gardening gloves, a trowel, and a small bag of soil to fill the few cute pots you would put on the front porch containing succulents. Because succulents were hard to kill—and admittedly you were still a bit green regarding the whole gardening thing.

Pun very much intended.

You snorted at your own stupid joke.

People looked at you in the checkout line.

You looked away, chagrinned.

Quickly, you paid for your greenery items and scurried out to your car. You would start planting right when you got home. It was still early in the morning, hardly 9:00 am. Way earlier than you liked to get up if you were being honest. But, if you started now you could get most of it done before it got too hot.

-

This was Mike’s favorite way to start the morning. With his heart pounding in his ears to the tune of his running mix, his nose filled with the fresh scent of the creek’s running water, and his bare shoulders gently warmed by the sunlight dancing through the canopy of trees overhead.

Almost every day before work, Mike would jog down to the creek trail not far from the house, enjoy the scenery, make a loop or two around the two mile-long path, and then jog home. It was a routine that never changed. He’d been doing it for years now and the consistency was part of what grounded him. He would credit his morning run with assisting in coping with his PTSD. Going without triggered his anxiety and instantly set a poor tone for his day. As such, his boyfriends were good about allowing him to untangle from the sheets every morning, despite one not being a morning person—because he hardly slept in the first place— and the other being a bit of a cuddlier, though he would insist Mike was the cuddlier. Not himself.  

A smile tugged at Mike’s lips at the memory. He wiped his sweating brow with his shirt which was draped around his neck rather than on his body. He’d discarded it early in his run in favor of feeling the light breeze tickle over his bare torso.

His breathing changed as dirt road turned back into concrete when he turned from the creek trail back onto the sidewalk of the main streets of his neighborhood, making his way towards home.

As home came into view, his jog slowed to a walk, allowing his muscles to feel the rush of blood flow under his skin, the tingling throb of adrenaline cycling through his system becoming more noticeable with the shift of pace. Mike’s arms stretched over his head before bending at the joints. His hands folded behind his skull just under the knot of his blonde hair—the half up hairstyle keeping his shaggy bangs out of his face.

Getting closer to his home, he noticed a difference in the normally consistent pattern of houses along the street. A person was in the yard of the house beside his. Their old neighbor had never spent time tending to the yard. He hummed a curious sound. He hadn’t yet had the opportunity to introduce himself to their new neighbor. The “for sale” sign had been taken down days ago, and he vaguely remembered the presence of a moving van without occupants when he’d left for work that Friday.

Mike pulled his phone from his pocket, pausing his music before taking out one of his earphones as he got closer to the house. Though his own music was silenced, a new tune hit his ears, getting louder the closer he got to the kneeling form. The music wasn’t so loud that he would have to yell over it—he could probably clear his throat and the stranger would hear him.

With every intention to politely do just that, he opened his lips and—

Stopped dead in his tracks the moment he got behind the stranger because of what he was greeted by.

There you were, in front of him, on your hands and knees, back arched and your body at an incline as you dug the hole in front of you. But that’s not what got his attention. It was that your legging covered ass was perfectly on display, high in the air, round and inviting.

Mike stood there; mouth partially agape without realizing it. It was a few moments of ogling before he could take in more than that. He picked up your gentle voice, humming to the tune of what was playing on your portable speaker, he picked up the scent of flowers and damp earth, and he picked up on your doe like eyes wide with surprise. It was only then he noticed you had turned around away from your project, hand on your heart as you let out a yelp of surprise at finding someone standing behind you.

A giant standing behind you.

“H-hello…” you murmured, collecting yourself as you moved to turn down your music to a gentle background noise.  

Mike was able to take that time to gather himself. He quickly closed his mouth, clearing his throat and rubbing the back of his neck. The man made a conscious effort not to stare, though now that he could see your face it was becoming even more difficult. A cute face to go with a nice ass. A blush dusted his cheeks. Hopefully covered by the sun kissed pigment of his skin.

God willing.

“Uh sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you.” He lifted his hand not currently on the back of his neck, pointing to the house to his left, the one with the magnolia tree. “M’name’s Mike Zacharias, I live next door.” He put on a smile though it was no less sheepish than his previous expression. “I hadn’t had the chance to introduce myself yet.” He was thankful to have a cover up to his staring.

You paused for a long moment, the gears in your head almost audible—then recognition flashed over your face. Part of you was trying to recall the conversation you’d had with Della on move in day, the other part was mesmerized by the husky voice.

The sudden brightness that filled in your eyes when you smiled had Mike’s heart in his throat.

“Oh! Yes,” Pulling yourself up to standing, you rubbed your palms together to brush off the dirt and then pulled off one of your gardening gloves, extending a clean hand to him. “I’m [y/n] [l/n]. It’s nice to meet you.” You were extremely eager to make a good impression on your neighbors. You thought you had done a pretty good job with Della—though her cookie offering had done most of the work for you. It was imperative you get along with Mike and his partner. After all, you’d gotten very lucky with most of your neighbors throughout your life. Most of that was due to your parents. Your mother was friendly, polite, and warm. Your father was boisterous, funny, and generous. You strived to offer the same mix to your neighbors and have a good relationship.

You had seen enough episodes of “Fear Thy Neighbor” to understand that a poor relationship on either side of you could wreck an otherwise comfortable home life.

Of course, “Fear Thy Neighbor” was the most dramatic of examples often leading to violence and murder.

You should probably stop watching the ID channel.

Stick to the stupid reality shows.

Mike swallowed thickly, the dusted pink in his cheeks brightening. His large palm engulfed yours and it was as if his blush traveled from his face, down his arm, through your hands and up to your own cheeks. His hand was huge, it practically swallowed yours. Your palm was completely swaddled by the deceptively gentle squeeze of a rough hand, slight calluses made firm by some sort of labor you couldn’t name.

With your surprise having warn off from the initial contact you found yourself fully registering the man in front of you—

And holy shit if your brain didn’t almost immediately short circuit again.

First of all, he was a giant. Already established—but something you didn’t truly comprehend until you’d stood and fully approached him from your botany project. If you dug the hole you were working on a little deeper, you were pretty sure you could plant Mike up to his knees and he’d continue growing into the tree he so clearly was.

Second of all there was his face which was generously exposed by his tied back dark blond hair. Hazelly-green eyes, pronounced nose—that fit him perfectly, and a strong jaw lightly bearded along it as well as his upper lip.

Your eyes followed the curve of his jaw down his neck, past his broad shoulders and onto a sparsely haired chest just where his defined pectorals met. If you followed the path from his chest down to his toned stomach, which you absolutely did, you found the same light etching of hair extending from his navel down to his—

Your eyes quickly darted back up to his face, your own heating up substantially as your hands all too soon disconnected.  

Mike placed his hands on his hips which served to flex his strong arms and momentarily distract you again.

If you could have slapped yourself subtly, you would have done so. But with those hazel eyes boring into you, you settled for mentally berating your thirst. ‘Get it together woman. He’s taken… and gay.’ But gay came second to taken. It was important to respect a preexisting relationship. It was important to respect sexuality too.

But—

You could look, right? No harm in looking. That’s why people went to museums. To drool over the Statue of David.

That throaty voice pulled you back to focus. “So, is it just you?” If you weren’t completely sure that the man in front of you was gay, the question would have sounded hopeful.

He must have just been asking so he could introduce himself to any other potential newcomers.

“Yep just me. It’s my first house.” He didn’t ask for that second part, but you were proud. You were proud of having your own home and doing so alone. You didn’t have to depend on anyone to get to this important step in your life. That wasn’t something many people could say. You weren’t trying to brag—it was just that residual excitement of having achieved one of your life goals.

Mike to his credit seemed excited for you. His eyebrows raised, as if impressed. Buying a home was getting harder and harder for every generation. Though he didn’t seem too much older than you. Probably in his early 30’s. Even if he were ten years older than you that would be a generational gap and that meant the struggles to find a home were different between the two of you. However, you didn’t think he could be that much older than you considering you were in the later part of your 20’s. 30’s seeming to creep ever closer. But seeing Mike reminded you that your 30’s didn’t make you old in the slightest. The more you looked at Mike, the better your 30’s looked. Because fuck if Mike wasn’t fine as hell.

You were thinking too far ahead again, this time years.

To pull yourself from your spinning thoughts, you looked back at Mike’s face. The smile momentarily dazed you. Because of course he would also have perfect teeth. “Congratulations, that’s wonderful.” He murmured, looking to your house for a moment and then back at you. The house was rather large for one person. “No significant other chomping at the bit to invade your space yet?” The tone was teasing, and you managed a laugh which dispelled your previously spiraling thoughts. God, sometimes you didn’t even notice when they were spiraling.

Mike seemed interested in your relationship status. It put little butterflies in your stomach which were squashed when you looked down at yourself. Even if Mike were interested in females, why would he be interested in you?

You growled internally at those disparaging thoughts to shut the fuck up. You counted to three in your head, a brief distraction from those thoughts used to ground you in the present.

Normally, you preferred your longer methods of distraction, like your colors. However, those weren’t feasible when in the middle of a conversation with your hot neighbor.

“Nope, no boyfriend or anything. Just me and maybe a dog or a cat at some point.” You grinned at the idea, reminding yourself that now that you had your own home no one could tell you if you could have a pet or not. No landlord, no parent, no roommate—no permission needed.

The twinkle in Mike’s eye was easily missed. “My votes’ for a cat,” he murmured offhandedly.

“Not a dog fan?” You asked playfully. Though maybe he was worried about you having a yappy dog that he would have to listen to all day. Understandable.

“No, I like dogs too,” Did his voice get a little deeper? “Just always been fond of kittens.” His eyes slid over you, a smile tugging at his lips that made your blush from earlier give an encore performance.

‘Taken. And. Gay.’ You reminded yourself, willing the blush to dissipate and scolding yourself for reading too much into his gaze. Schooling your expression with the same friendly smile you’d given Della; you nodded your head. “Well I’ll just have to drag you along when I adopt one, then you can play with some pussy.”

Oh lord.

That was a Freudian slip if there ever was one.

You felt your face go hot and resisted the overwhelming compulsion to connect your palm to your forehead. Inappropriate joke for a first meeting—for sure.

Mike’s eyes flashed with something you couldn’t name, his tongue darting out to wet his lips. “I’ll take you up on that,” he grinned, and the expression was playful, putting you a bit more at ease. “It’s been far too long since I’ve played with a cute pussy.”

Your thighs squeezed together. Unnoticeably, you prayed.

Mike must have been messing with your somewhat unintentional word choice. Though you were happy that Mike seemed to be the lighthearted type. You could see yourself forming a friendship with the man. Hopefully, his boyfriend (husband?) was half as laid back.

You also hopped his partner was half as sexy.

Because if he was just as sexy as Mike, you were going to suffer a heat stroke.

The giant grinned, tilting his head to gesture to his home. “I gotta get ready for work.” Was it your imagination or did he look a bit reluctant? His grin was back in place too soon to really tell. You nodded your head politely with a little wave just before he turned away.

“It was nice to meet you.” You called, getting back on your knees next to the little pit you’d dug for your shrub.

The blond looked over his strong shoulder as he made his way down the sidewalk and threw you a very obvious wink. “Catch ya later, kitten.” He replied before he rounded his driveway and walked up to his front door, giving you one more glance and disappearing inside the much larger home.

Blinking, you sat frozen for a few moments before your eyes drifted to the hole beside you. Maybe if you dug it a bit deeper you could bury yourself in it.

Because Mike was surely going to be the death of you.

-

When Mike got back into the house, he had to lean against the door, tilting his head back to let the cooling air of the AC drench his heated skin. Though at this point the heat was less from his run and more from the cute new neighbor. It took everything in his power not to pin you to the dirt right there. He let out a little groan, hardly audible.

But just audible enough.

A voice, smooth as honey called from around the corner. “Mike? You alright?”

Mike hummed an affirmative and pushed himself off the door to make his way to the kitchen where the voice was coming from. If he didn’t answer right away, he knew the male would come searching for him and instantly begin to drill him on his mental state. There was no need for that.

His mental state was good. Very good this morning.

His large palm came up to slide over the marble of the kitchen island as he bypassed it to get to the fridge, sticking his head in for longer than necessary to retrieve a water bottle. A soft crack filled the room as he twisted the cap, breaking the seal as he turned to face the kitchen table. Two sets of eyes peered over at him. One set a bright blue; the color of the ocean, the other a stormy grey sky.

The honey voice spoke again, the blue eyes having been peering behind a newspaper completely revealed by its placement on the table. “Good run I take it?”

“Looks a little too happy about a run, Erwin.” The stormy eyed male murmured from behind a teacup held at the rim.

Mike smirked a little. Levi always was perceptive. They both were. But Levi noticed subtleties far more quickly than Erwin did. “I met our new neighbor.” He brought the opening of the bottle to his lips, letting the chilled liquid sooth his throat of the dryness from his run.

“Oh?” Erwin asked, leaning back in his seat and tilting his head back as a silent hint for Mike to lean down to him. Levi was good at noticing subtleties, but Mike was good at reading hints. He leaned down and pressed his lips to Erwin’s, his own cool and water glazed compared to Erwin’s soft and warm ones. “Mm hm,” He confirmed while righting himself. “And Levi,” Mike moved to the other side of the table, tilting Levi’s head back with a fingertip to direct his gaze to him which had been glued upon the novel in his left hand. The ravenette looked up from his book with the giant’s prompting, gaze aloof and seemingly disinterested. However, the look in Mike’s eyes gave him pause.

Since Mike knew Levi, really knew him, he noticed the curiosity lingering behind that seemingly blank expression.

Mike pecked his lips to the shorter male’s, whispering against them. “She’d be perfect.”

[fandomsalive]

So Listen Dear, Won’t You Meet Me Here While I’m Bringing in the New Year

So Listen Dear, Won’t You Meet Me Here While I’m Bringing in the New Year | Reddie | Teen and Up | 5,627 words

Summary: “Fuck you, I would have gotten it eventually,” Richie shoots back, even as he rushes to save the game quickly, and then tosses the controller to the side. “I’m bored," he declares loudly.

He stares resolutely at the TV the same way he’s been avoiding Eddie’s eyes most of the night, like he’s too nervous to meet Eddie’s gaze.

“You were the one who wanted to play video games all night,” Eddie grumbles, glaring at the side of his face. When we could be making out instead, he complains in his own head, but refuses to say aloud.

**

It’s New Years Eve, and Eddie’s just waiting for Richie to make a move already.

—

Title from "Bringing In A Brand New Year," by B.B. King. I was inspired by this (x) tik tok and I know it’s way too late for New Years but take this New Years fic anyway. This is also set 2016 but the boys are teens. Thanks to @imnotinclinedtomaturity for the beta I love you.

Ao3 Link

—

Stan (10:16 PM)

so has he made a move on u yet?

Eddie (10:16 PM)

fuck you stan you know he hasnt

Stan (10:17 PM)

i told u ud have ot be the one to suck it up kaspbrak

Eddie (10:18 PM)

I hate you.

Stan (10:18 PM)

ur just mad i was right. i knew richie wouldnt have the balls to follow through on his plans to jump ur bones tonight

Eddie doesn’t dignify that with a response, instead choosing to toss his phone onto the edge of Richie’s bed with a huff. Richie, who up ‘til then had been blatantly (and perhaps a little desperately) trying to pretend he hadn’t noticed Eddie was on his phone, glances at the discarded phone with far too much interest.

“Who ya texting, Eds?” he asks, feigning indifference but missing by a mile. Eddie wants to roll his eyes at just how transparent his best friend is, but he really shouldn’t be surprised. Richie has been on edge all night, more often than not turning to Eddie to say something, and then changing his mind last minute, so of course the moment Eddie’s attention isn’t on him, he’d be concerned.

“Your mom,” Eddie snarks back, crossing his arms over his chest in irritation. Richie snickers, but his heart clearly isn’t in it. He keeps darting his eyes towards Eddie’s phone, and then back to the TV screen, where he’s been playing Kingdom Hearts for the last hour, as if he wants nothing more than to take Eddie’s phone and find out for himself.

Do it, Eddie begs him internally, eyes narrowed at the back of Richie’s head.

Richie doesn’t, but Eddie hadn’t really been expecting anything different. Richie hasn’t been picking up on anything Eddie has been hinting at recently. It’s starting to feel like nothing short of screaming his intentions from the rooftop will work to knock some sense into him.

In fact, he’s been sitting at the head of Richie’s bed for the last two hours, sprawled as invitingly as he could imagine in a pair of sleep shorts and one of Richie’s jackets. He looks good, he knows he looks good.

More than once he’s stretched himself towards Richie, pressing their thighs together and tossing his ankle over Richie’s, but rather than encouraging Richie to just do something already, it had only succeeded in Richie giggling nervously and, after the third rendition, retreating half way down the bed.

Richie has been sat cross legged down there for the last hour and a half, and Eddie doesn’t know what to do to salvage the damn night. He can’t exactly chase Richie, because so far drawing any attention to Richie’s weirdness, or Eddie’s blatant attempts to flirt, has only seemed to spook him, and any attempt to broach the subject — that subject being the fact that Eddie wanted to date him — only made Richie clam up more.

Eddie has been waiting the last couple of months for Richie to just… come out with it already, ever since Janice had asked Eddie to be her date to homecoming, and Richie had gone into such a fit he hadn’t spoken to Eddie for a week. Eddie had been so mad at him for being a dick and ignoring him, but every time Eddie’d tried to catch him on his own, Richie would disappear. For three days straight he’d been to all of Richie’s favorite hang out spots and hadn’t seen hide nor tail of him until the end of October when Eddie stumbled out the back of the Chemistry building and accidentally overheard a private conversation between Richie and Bev.

He hadn’t intended to eavesdrop but… Richie was his best friend, and more than anything else, Eddie had been hurt by the sudden refusal to speak to him. He hadn’t even understood at the time, hadn’t made the connection to Janice at all, until he’d heard Richie confessing to Bev, his voice hesitant, quiet… hurt.

“It’s only a matter of time before someone asks Eddie out and he says yes, Bev,” Richie had sniffled miserably. “What am I supposed to do then, because I sure as fuck can’t pretend to be happy for him? It’ll break my heart.”

Ever since then, Eddie has been trying to tell Richie that Eddie doesn’t want a girlfriend. In fact, Eddie isn’t interested in girls at all. He’s far more interested in his foulmouthed best friend, despite his better judgement.

Richie doesn’t seem to get it, though. The following Monday, Richie had started speaking to him again as if nothing had happened, and any time Eddie attempted to bring any of it up, Richie would say something so nonsensical and infuriating that Eddie couldn’t help raising to the bait.

Now it's been over two months and Richie is still pussy footing around despite the fact that Eddie has been flirting with him this entire time. He’s dropped so many hints about his own fucking feelings that now all of the Losers know he’s in love with Richie, and their sympathy is quickly waning.

“You need to just tell him outright, Eddie,” had been Bill’s sage advice after the millionth time Eddie had practically sat on Richie’s lap in the hammock and Richie had responded by jumping out of it. “He’s an idiot, and obviously terrified you’re going to reject him if he so much as breathes on you wrong. He’s not going to realize you like him back when you’re flirting with him the same way you’ve been flirting with him your entire friendship.”

Eddie had told Bill to fuck off, and hid in his room for the rest of the night, frustrated at his own inability to sack up, as Bev would put it.

And truthfully, Eddie doesn’t know why he hasn’t just blurted it all out yet, but every time he’s even come close, he’s felt almost faint with anxiety. It hasn’t helped that everytime Richie senses a serious conversation coming, he diverts the conversation as fast as he possibly can. Richie’s lack of desire to actually fucking talk about this isn’t exactly comforting, despite the fact that Eddie knows Richie likes him.

But it’s New Year’s Eve tonight, and Stan, sick of watching Richie and Eddie dance around each other, had confided in Eddie that Richie was planning on confessing his feelings tonight, if he could only convince Eddie it would be worth pissing off his mom to spend the night.

Spending any amount of time with Richie was worth it, but if it meant Richie was going to admit to how he felt, Eddie wasn’t going to miss his chance.

Except… so far, Stan’s assumption that Richie wouldn’t have the guts to tell Eddie the truth seems to be the most likely outcome. Eddie sighs at the thought, unsure what else he could possibly do to make it clear to Richie that he’s more than receptive to Richie’s feelings..

All Eddie can really think about just then, however, is how shit Richie is at Kingdom Hearts.

“You’re doing it wrong,” Eddie grouses loudly, as Richie makes another attempt to defeat Luxord, and the loud death animation plays out on the screen.

“Fuck you, no I’m not,” Richie shoots back, stubbornly clicking “restart” and beginning the fight all over again. Eddie sighs loudly. This is the fifth time he’s seen Richie attempt this fight tonight, and each time he’s fallen to the same fucking trap. It's probably thanks to the fact that Richie hasn’t actually been paying very much attention to his game at all, apparently too busy fidgeting in place and sending Eddie obvious, but nonetheless longing, looks.

“You just have to pay fucking attention,” Eddie grumbles and shifts onto his knees, crawling determindedly over to Richie. Richie looks over his shoulder at Eddie, a nervous look in his eye, tongue sticking out in concentration. Richie shifts with Eddie, leaning forward like he wants to get away. Eddie wants nothing more than to shove him off the bed already. “Look, see, when he turns into a card you just have to —”

At Richie’s side now, Eddie reaches for the controller in Richie’s hands, and jerks it into his own.

“Hey!” Richie complains loudly, but doesn’t fight it. Instead, he practically recoils, and moves over on the bed so that he’s on the edge, a large gap between him and Eddie’s knees. Eddie does everything he can to ignore it, and starts mashing buttons on the controller.

“See, look, if you just fuck with the camera you can tell which card he’s and then —” Eddie unleashes a combo attack on Luxord in the few seconds that he’s stunned, before Luxord changes tacks.

Eddie doesn’t bother handing Richie the controller back, because Richie doesn’t ask and Eddie is tired of sitting around looking tempting when it’s clear Richie isn’t going to fucking do anything about it. Irritated, Eddie unleashes his anger on the game instead. “And then when he does it again, you just —” Again, Eddie manipulates the camera until he knows exactly which card Luxord is in, locks on, and beats the shit out of him all over again.

“Alright, alright,” Richie grumbles, pouting and reaching up to throw his hoodie over his head, casting his face into shadow. Eddie rolls his eyes at the way Richie fiddles with the drawstrings there. Eddie recognizes it as one of Richie’s nervous ticks, and if he hadn’t known Richie was working himself up to confessing tonight, that would have been a good red flag that Richie wanted to do something.

Finally, after three more rounds of doing the same shit, Luxord dies, and Eddie thrusts the controller back into Richie’s hands. Richie takes it cautiously, sneaking a look at Eddie’s irritated face.

“There,” Eddie exclaims proudly. “I told you you were doing it wrong,” he adds smugly, and settles himself more firmly into the spot he’s taken up residence in. Richie will just have to deal with Eddie in his space, and if he wants to sit on the very edge of his bed with one foot pressed to the floor, only barely keeping him up, then so be it. Eddie’s tired of making this easy on him.

“Fuck you, I would have gotten it eventually,” Richie shoots back, even as he rushes to save the game quickly, and then tosses the controller to the side. “I’m bored,” he declares loudly, and drags the remaining leg he has on the bed up to his chest, wrapping his arm around it and resting his chin on his knee.

He stares resolutely at the TV the same way he’s been avoiding Eddie’s eyes most of the night, like he’s too nervous to meet Eddie’s gaze.

“You were the one who wanted to play video games all night,” Eddie grumbles, glaring at the side of his face. When we could be making out instead, he complains in his own head, but refuses to say aloud.

“Yeah, but you’re so much better at it,” Richie whines, and tosses himself backwards on the bed. His hood acts as a halo around his face, dark curls spilling out of it, as Eddie turns his body to stare down at him. Richie meets his eyes for half a second before his cheeks turn bright red and he looks away again. “Hey, I’ve got an idea!” he declares suddenly, and sits back up. He turns giddily to Eddie and declares, “Why don’t you play Dark Souls?”

Instantly, Eddie groans. “Fuck no!” he complains, “The last time I let you convince me to play Dark Souls, you spent the entire time making fun of me when I got my ass kicked. I’m not doing it again!” Eddie practically shouts at him.

Richie is cackling on the bed, grinning like an absolute lunatic at Eddie. It’s the first time all night things have seemed semi-normal between them. “That’s the best part, Edwardo!” Richie exclaims brightly. Eddie groans loudly at the nickname, but Richie steamrolls past him before he can say anything. “No one wants to watch someone being good at that game, it’s boooooring,” he sing-songs, dancing in place.

“No!” Eddie refuses, reaching out to shove at Richie’s shoulder. “I refuse! Pick something else!” he demands.

With a pout, Richie turns and drops back onto the bed. This time, his curls are what halo his face, and they’re so cute that Eddie wants to bury his fingers into them. Eddie has to fight a blush at the stupidly cheesy thought, and turns away.

“Fine,” Richie grumbles, shoving his hands into the pockets of his hoodie. “You pick something then,” he adds, still pouting.

Sighing, Eddie reaches out to pick up Richie’s controller, and exits out of Kingdom Hearts. He scrolls through Richie’s downloaded games in search of a different one — not Dark Souls.

The clock in the corner blinks 10:32 PM, inching closer and closer to midnight. Richie only has an hour and twenty-eight minutes left to follow through on his supposed plan (and, unknowinglingly, prove Stan wrong. Eddie’s not so certain he’s going to manage it).

“For someone who spends so much time on his PS4,” Eddie complains, “you don’t have very many games.”

“It’s not about quantity, Eds,” Richie snarks back, shifting to prop himself up on his elbows, “It’s about quality. Oh!” he exclaims as Eddie skips through his games, “Crash Bandicoot! Eds, Eddie, Edwardo, Eddie Spaghetti,” he rattles off, shooting off the bed and grabbing for the controller. “Come on, we have to play that!”

He’s so excited he doesn’t seem to notice the way his fingers cover Eddie’s for a moment, but Eddie sure does. It sends a spark of heat down his back and he swallows thickly, releasing the controller.

“Fuck you, that’s not my name,” Eddie complains automatically, frowning. Richie isn’t listening to him. Instead, he’s opening up Crash Bandicoot N. Sane Trilogy, and debating between the three options. “Wait, I thought I was choosing the game,” he adds as an afterthought, not really caring but arguing out of habit.

“You were but you took too long,” Richie shoots back, sticking his tongue out. Eddie rolls his eyes, but doesn’t bother arguing. It had been thirty seconds at the most. Richie is just impatient. “Besides,” Richie adds, eager as ever, “We can take turns defeating the levels,” he insists, and finally settles on Warped.

“Take turns my ass,” Eddie grumbles, but settles himself more comfortably on the bed regardless. He’s taking up the majority of the middle of the bed again, and Eddie isn’t surprised when Richie chooses to fit himself back against the very edge again, one leg propped on the floor to keep him stationary. His leg is bouncing nervously as he darts his gaze back and forth between the game and Eddie’s face. “I don’t think you know what take turns means,” Eddie adds, stubbornly ignoring Richie’s gaze.

“I do, too!” Richie claims, pouting. A smile twitches at Eddie’s lips, but he chooses to ignore it. “I’ll even prove it to you. You can go first!” Richie insists, and this time presses the controller into Eddie’s hands.

Rolling his eyes, Eddie takes it and starts the first level.

It turns out that Crash Bandicoot is one of the worst decisions Richie could have made, because they’re both disastrous at it. Within the first ten minutes, they’ve lost every single one of their lives, and they’re forced to start the level over from the beginning, rather than from the last checkpoint they’d hit. This only serves to make the game even harder, and Eddie isn’t the least bit surprised when he and Richie end up fighting over the controller.

“It’s my turn!” Richie screams in Eddie’s face, giggling as he wrestles him for the controller.

“No it isn’t! I haven’t beat the level yet!” Eddie argues back, struggling against Richie’s longer arms. As is par for the course for the two of them, their wrestling isn’t the least bit careful. In fact, Eddie’s fairly certain he’s going to have a bruise on his jaw tomorrow from where Richie had hit him with his elbow, but Eddie doesn’t mind. It’s always been satisfying to roughhouse with Richie.

“Yeah but you used our last life!” Richie shouts at him. “That’s pretty much the same thing! It’s your fault we had to start the level over!”

“Like you haven’t done it a million times already,” Eddie growls, finally shoving Richie off of him.

Richie goes careening off the bed, and hits the floor with a loud thump. Startled, Eddie drops the controller on the bed, and crawls across the sheets to stare down at where Richie has landed, eyes wide. Richie is staring up at him dazed, blinking rapidly as if trying to reorient himself. Eddie bites his bottom lip.

“Fuck,” he whispers, and leans down to grasp onto Richie’s wrist. “Are you okay?” he asks softly, waiting for Richie to grip onto his wrist in turn before dragging him up and into a sitting position. Eddie lets go of him, and Richie reaches up to press tentative fingers to the back of his head. Eddie winces when Richie winces.

“I’m fine,” Richie groans, and drops his hands to the floor on either side of him. He takes another moment to gather himself, before leveraging himself to his feet. Instinctively, Eddie leans backwards until he’s sat back on the bed and out of Richie’s personal space. “You pack quite a punch for such a little guy,” Richie comments playfully.

“Oh, fuck you!” Eddiee screams instantly, reaching for the pillows at the top of Richie’s bed. As soon as he’s got one in his grip, Eddie starts pummeling Richie’s face with it. “Fuck you, fuck you, fuck you!” Eddie shouts, as Richie laughs and bats futilely at the pillow. “See if I ever worry about you again!” Eddie complains, huffing loudly.

It takes another few smacks of the pillow to Richie’s laughing face before Eddie finally relents.

“Okay, okay, I’m sorry, sheesh,” Richie says, still laughing. “I didn’t mean to offend you,” he offers sweetly, using that stupid smile he always uses on grown ups to get out of trouble. Eddie huffs and crosses his arms over his chest.

“Yes you did,” Eddie argues darkly.

Richie laughs again. “Okay, yes I did,” he agrees, nudging at Eddie softly, and then shuffling onto the bed next to him, “But I only do it to rile you up,” he admits. The moment the words are out of his mouth, Richie starts blushing and looks away.

Eddie, shocked at the confession, can only stare at the side of Richie’s face, terrified of doing or saying anything in response that might scare Richie off.

They’re silent for a moment, nothing but the sound of their game echoing around the room. The sound is annoying, considering how many times they’ve died in such a short period of time, but Eddie can also hear his heart beating roughly in his chest while he waits anxiously to see what Richie will do next.

Finally, Richie clears his throat. “You know, Eds,” Richie starts, his voice soft and tentative, the way it has been on and off all night. Eddie’s eyes dart to Richie’s face, and he feels his heart clench up tight in his chest. Is this it? Is this the time? Is Richie actually going to tell him—

With a huff, Richie shakes his head and gets up off the bed. He doesn’t say anything else, wringing his hands at his sides again instead, and Eddie’s chest deflates.

“Come on,” Richie says, completely changing the subject, “Let’s see if we can get to the boss before midnight.”

With darting, anxious eyes, Richie looks for the controller he’d just been sitting on, and snatches it up quickly as soon as he locates it. Then he throws himself back onto the bed, this time pressed up against the headboard, curled into his small pile of pillows.

So, no. Not this time, no point in Eddie getting his hopes up again.

Freshly annoyed at Richie’s new positioning once again away from Eddie, Eddie reaches up and snatches the controller from Richie’s hands.

Richie lets it go without a fight, eyes wide and unsure.

“It’s still my turn,” Eddie explains tersely, and turns back to the TV screen, where he can see the time 11:12 PM sitting innocuously in the corner, mocking him.

Eddie doesn’t know why he thinks it, but somehow he feels as if Richie hasn’t confessed by midnight, Richie isn’t going to confess at all.

With a sigh, Eddie tries the level again. And again. And again.

They do make it to the boss, eventually.

Richie’s the one to beat level 5, though it takes him a good 50 times to do so, and only then because the fourth level had been pretty easy and Eddie had managed to farm more than a couple of lives. He’d gone so far as to play another round of keep away with Richie to play the level a second time, to which Richie had sat in his corner and pouted.

But now they’re on the first boss, and Richie has refused to hand the controller back over.

“You got two turns with level 4!” Richie argues defiantly, “We’ll take turns with the boss. Everytime one of us dies, we hand the controller off!”

Grumbling to himself, Eddie relents, and, starting to feel uncomfortable sitting in the middle of the bed, moves to the top to settle in next to Richie. Eddie leaves some space between them this time, unwilling to put himself through the depressing experience of Richie pulling away from him again.

Richie still shoots a terrified glance at him, and scoots over the tiniest bit. Eddie does everything he can in his power not to roll his eyes too obviously, and nods at the game instead. “What are you waiting for? Start it already, dumbass.”

So Richie does.

Shockingly, the boss is pretty easy to beat. He’s so easy, in fact, that Eddie doesn’t even get a go at it, and while Richie laughs and cheers for his own victory, Eddie swipes the controller from his hands and starts level 6.

It’s inching nearer and nearer to midnight. He can see the clock glaring 11:47 at him. The year is almost over, and Richie still hasn’t confessed to him. Eddie isn’t sure if he should even be expecting it anymore, given how many times Richie has stared at him and then clearly chickened out without saying anything. It’s disappointing, when Eddie had come over that night feeling so hopeful.

Stan had warned him to keep his expectations low. None of their friends seemed to have any confidence in Richie’s willingness to confess, regardless of whether or not Richie had said he was going to do it. Eddie had just been hoping…

Well, he’d been hoping that maybe, by midnight, they would have talked about their feelings and Richie might have kissed him. The longer the night goes on, though, the less and less likely it seems that Richie actually will.

Eddie is so deep in his own thoughts that he doesn’t even notice it when he runs out of lives on level 6. He sighs, frustrated, when the game starts back over outside the level, and he turns to hand the controller off to Richie.

Their eyes meet. Richie’s are wide and terrified. His hood is pulled up over his head again, hiding part of his face in shadow, and he’s playing with the strings again, tightening and untightening his hood over and over again. For a moment, the look on Richie’s face is so startling that even Eddie feels nervous.

And then Richie says, “It’s almost midnight,” with a tremble in his voice.

Eddie nods his head slowly, feeling that familiar quiver in his chest that tells him the hope is building.

This time? he wonders.

“Yeah, it is,” Eddie agrees after a moment, unsure.

He does his best not to make Richie feel any more uncomfortable than he already does, and stays as still as he dares. He wants to reach out and take Richie’s hand in his, wants to drag his fidgeting fingers away from the strings of his hoodie, wants to shift forward so their thighs are pressed alongside each others’, wants to lean his forehead against Richie’s and beg him to kiss him.

But he doesn’t.

He doesn’t, because he knows that Richie is scared, and he knows what it’s like to be scared. Eddie’s spent his whole life being scared. He’d grown up being told all the ways he could get sick if he wasn’t careful, being told that he had allergies he didn’t have, and illnesses that wouldn’t stick. There had been a time in Eddie’s life where he couldn’t go one hour without taking another set of medications, and his inhaler had been his best friend.

So he understands being scared, and maybe that’s the real reason he hasn’t pushed Richie on this. Eddie knows that forcing someone to get over their fears isn’t going to fix anything, not in the long run, anyway — they have to want to get over them themselves. And Eddie is willing to wait.

“Fuck,” Richie mutters to himself, fingers tangling tight in his hoodie strings. His hands look like they might be shaking, but Richie is fidgeting too much for Eddie to know for sure. “Fuck, uhm, Eddie?” Richie asks nervously, eyes darting all around Eddie’s face, avoiding his eyes completely.

“Mm?” Eddie replies, breathless, his own eyes wide and nervous. He flattens his hands down hard against his thighs, and begs himself not to touch, to not scare Richie, to not push him.

“I’m—” Richie starts, cuts himself off with a sharp inhale, then starts again, “I’m going to do something now, but if you hate it, just tell me, okay?” he babbles nervously, finally detangling his fingers from his hoodie strings, only to clench them deeply into his jeans.

Eddie’s breathing speeds up, and his hands are shaking now too.

“Richie,” Eddie whispers, aiming for encouraging and falling short. He can hear that his own voice is shaking.

Richie doesn’t seem to notice, barreling on, “I promise it’s fine if you don’t like it. I just want to — I just want to try…” Richie’s voice trails off as he gulps, eyes darting all over Eddie’s face. He opens his mouth to say something more, but hesitates, and then starts to retreat into himself, clearly losing his nerve.

Eddie panics.

Before Richie can try and back out of it once again, Eddie blurts,“Kiss me.”

The words are half garbled with breathlessness, almost a gasp between them, but Richie seems to catch on. His eyes go wide, and he inhales sharply, struck dumb. For a long moment, they just stare at each other, Eddie with his heart in his throat, and Richie absolutely stunned. Finally, Richie bursts into a flurry of giggles.

He releases the strings of his hoodie to instead press his fingers to his mouth, laughing loudly around them, and gasps, “oh my god.” Richie is trembling all over as he drags his hands away from his mouth and wheezes, “holy shit,” the shock more than a little apparent.

Unable to help it, Eddie starts smiling as well, fingers clenching tight into the fabric of his jeans. “Richie!” he demands, giggling. “Come on, asshole!”

The I’m waiting feels heavy between them.

“Dude!” Richie shoots back, absolutely beaming now, and without another moment of hesitation, he reaches out and threads his fingers through the hair at the back of Eddie’s neck.

Eddie will never forget the way it feels when Richie tugs him into their first kiss. The sensation is like a shot of electricity to his spine, and he gasps before their lips even touch. He can feel his heart in his throat, beating so hard he shakes with it, and then Richie’s mouth is on his, and the feeling is like fireworks going off in his head.

Eddie doesn’t mean to groan. The sound is just ripped out of him, shocked and needy. Richie’s lips are hot against his, and he despite all of his previous nervousness, he doesn’t seem nervous of this at all. Maybe it’s because the scariest part is over, or maybe it’s because Richie knows Eddie wants it too. Regardless, he doesn’t seem to be holding back now.

Richie is a shockingly good kisser, and he takes Eddie’s bottom lip between his instantly, sucking so softly and sweetly that it's more a tease than anything. When he introduces teeth, it's the tiniest nip, and it drives Eddie absolutely crazy.

The way Richie sighs against his lips makes Eddie shiver. It takes Eddie a moment to realize that he’s raised his own hands to fist his fingers into the back of Richie’s curls, knocking off his hood and holding on tight in an attempt to prevent Richie from pulling away even the tiniest bit. Richie’s other hand has found Eddie’s waist, and it’s only when Richie yanks Eddie in closer that Eddie realizes he’d begun to melt backwards into the bed.

Gasping at the feeling of being held tight, Eddie shoves himself further into Richie’s personal space, until the warmth of him is seeping into Eddie, and Eddie is practically in Richie’s lap.

Their mouths come together again, and again, and again, their breathing hot and heavy between them.

Eddie’s heart feels like it’s going to burst. HIs entire body feels like it’s on fire.

“Fucking finally, asshole,” Eddie groans into the kiss, pulling lightly on Richie’s hair in punishment. Shocked, Richie laughs, and kisses Eddie even more enthusiastically, the wet sound of their mouths loud in Eddie’s ears. It’s almost all that he can hear, the faint sound of Crash Bandicoot so far away it might as well be in another room.

It feels like they make out forever, making up for all the lost time they could have spent doing this. Richie’s fingers dig deep into Eddie’s hip, and Eddie tugs on Richie’s hair unapologetically. Richie’s tongue sends sparks down Eddie’s spine every time he drags it against his lips, against his own tongue, against the back of his teeth. It feels so good that Eddie never wants to stop kissing Richie.

With every shift of their mouths, Eddie shifts his body closer to Richie’s, until finally Eddie manages to knock Richie over and lands on top of him with a small oof.

“Holy fuck,” Richie gasps, shocked as their mouths pull apart. His eyes are hazy when they meet Eddie’s, his mouth wet and red.

Short of breath, Eddie can only manage to gasp back, “Holy fuck.”

For some reason, this makes Richie laugh. He slams his head back against the bedsheets with the force of it, and lets his eyes drift closed.

Hovering on top of him, Eddie releases Richie’s hair to instead prop himself up, unable to help the way he grins down at Riche.

“I’ve been wanting to do that for months,” Richie admits breathlessly, grinning as he finally opens his eyes again and looks up at Eddie. Eddie laughs and rolls his eyes, knocking his forehead gently into Richie’s.

“Yeah, I’m not an idiot, I could tell,” Eddie admits a little brashly, leaning in to peck Richie’s lips before Richie can tense up too much.

“You could?” Richie asks into the kiss, sounding shocked at the admission. Eddie nods, and kisses him again, and again, and again — soft little pecks that don’t turn into anything more.

“Yeah,” Eddie agrees, nuzzling their noses together. “I’ve been waiting for you to grow a pair and do it already,” Eddie adds teasingly, and drags his head away from Richie’s long enough to look him in the eye. “Seriously Richie, I’ve been waiting for months,” he complains good naturedly, some of the irritation gone now that it’s out there — now that Richie’s kissed him.

“Oh,” Richie replies, eyes furrowing until he’s frowning. Surprised at this change in demeanor, Eddie pulls back from Richie again and shoots him a worried look.

“What’s wrong?” he asks, panicked.

Richie glares at him. “What the fuck, you asshole!” he whines, scrabbling at Eddie’s back until Eddie falls fully on top of him. “You knew this whole time, and you didn’t say anything?” he groans, wrapping his arms tight around Eddie and squeezing the life out of him.

The hold makes Eddie giggle, and he shoves his face into Richie’s neck, breathing hot there. “I’ve been trying, fucknuts! You’re just too fucking stupid to notice when someone’s flirting with you!” Eddie argues back, giddy with it.

Richie shakes his head against Eddie’s neck and says, “You know, you could have kissed me, too.”

The words are softer than the rest, a little coy and shy. Eddie feels his heart melt at it, and he pulls away from Richie’s neck slowly.

“I guess,” he agrees quietly, but doesn’t explain himself. He doesn’t think he has to, with the way that Richie is looking at him. Despite Richie’s grumblings, he thinks that both of them know Richie had to be the one to kiss Eddie first.

Sure enough, it takes a moment, but eventually Richie rolls his eyes and says, “Alright fine.” Then he lifts one hand to press it into Eddie’s hair, and pulls him in close, “But did you know that I love you?” he whispers right up against Eddie’s lips.

Eddie shivers, and laughs softly, eliminating the last few inches of space between their mouths with a searing kiss, before whispering, “Yeah, and I love you too, dumbass.”

[fivenightslaughter]

Wicked Serpentine (Part 2)

Part 1

pairing: draco malfoy x femravenclaw!oc

summary: slowburn enemies to lovers fic, multiple parts. <3

warnings: use of m*dblood, malfoy being mean

word count: 2,174

taglist: let me know if you’re interested in being added!

I knew nothing of this school I was willingly sending myself off to, nothing of this world. Other than the fact that I was severely late. I felt stunted and out of place. I couldn’t decide if this was some crazy, hyper-realistic dream or an even more unfathomable reality. But yet, I was standing here, at King’s Cross station.

“You look rather lost, love.” A voice rang.

Another chimed. “Mighty lost, really.”

Two voices on either side of me interrupted my contemplation and quieted the thumps of my palpitating heart. My palms felt clammy.

I had briefly considered asking these two ginger strangers about platform 9 and... ¾ , but ultimately I’d decided to hold my tongue from uttering such an outlandish thing.

“I, well… I’ll find my way, thanks.

”They looked at each other and seemed to jest before looking back at me.

The one on the left introduced himself.

“I’m George.”

The other followed swiftly, gracefully nabbing my trunk from my betraying slippery fingers.

“And I’m Fred.”

They gave each other a glance again before one pointed at the other.

“No, you’re George, I’m Fred.”

Their playful bickering lasted a few seconds before they had spoken to me again, this time about the platform. I had resolved already that these two must be quite familiar with young or lost wizards attempting to find this mystery location? They seemed eerily comfortable in this situation.

“Here, let us show you to the train. It’s just through this brick.”

I nearly gaped, incredibly unsure of this new situation or how to handle it. Was I being toyed with? I decided to give them more merit than I should a stranger and did as they gestured. I aimed to go headlong through a brick wall.

I braced for impact.

There wasn’t one.

Instead, I was met with a completely new sight of bustling students and their parents waving them off. Kisses and hugs goodbye. Yells and whispers, people filing onto the train. It was brighter, much brighter than the train station I had arrived at.

Following shortly behind me were clearly twins I’d now attempt to recognize as Fred and George, not respectively however, as I couldn’t exactly tell the difference yet.

I could swear I felt a fleeting pang of despair as my eyes trained unnecessarily long on two parents who had wrapped their daughter in a hug before she scurried off. My parents had no desire to be here, not with me, not in this world.

That was okay though. I tried to soothe my racing mind by turning to face one of the fiery-haired boys I’d just met, to attempt conversation, but they had busied themselves as pests to some other small, first year looking students. They seemed like a funny pair, maybe I’d unknowingly made my first friends already.

‘Fred and George’. I turned their names over in my head. Friends. I liked that.

I shuffled towards whichever was closest to me, needing a shield from the busy platform. Tapping him on the shoulder, I tried my hardest to gather my thoughts.

“I don’t mean to sound thick, but what do I do now? I mean, at all? I know I need to step onto the train but…” My face flushed as I admitted myself to someone I’d just met, “I don’t know anything about magic, or… Or this place.”

His jubilance eased into faint seriousness. He smiled genuinely at me.

“Oh, we could tell.” He let out a warm laugh.

“Also, I really am George. Don’t tell Fred I told you, though, …?” He trailed off as I assumed he realized he still didn’t know my name. No, there hadn’t been time for that yet.

I answered the question that lingered after his sentence. “Eris. Woodwork, if it matters.

”He seemed to enjoy my full answer, turning to look at Fred not far off behind him, I looked with him, noticing Fred hanging around other red haired kids dressed in robes. I made eye contact with George again and he nodded knowingly.

“Weasley. My last name is Weasley. And to answer your question, you’ll catch up easily and it will all make sense. I promise.”

Lingering kids rushed onto the train like lightning bolts and I took that as a cue to board immediately. I went to wave but noticed George had already taken back up with Fred and the other bright headed kids he had confirmed to be his family.

I suppose that meant I’d be navigating my way into this solid metal contraption alone. I didn’t much mind, though. Deep down I was glad, because I’m sure if I spent any longer with someone so nice I’d bare my whole soul before I could even think about the consequences.

I made my way on and took it all in rather slowly. It’s just a normal train. How curious it was, to be just a normal train. I began searching for an empty compartment from which I could stare outside in awe from without judgement. But it was proving to be more difficult than I thought. Everyone seemed well acquainted with one another, squeezing in with their friends and taking this as a chance to lightly doze before going back to school.

My head began to spin uneasily and my resolve was beginning to fade. Without the twins, or at the very least someone to guide me, I felt as helpless as when I arrived blindly at King’s Cross.

My helplessness only amplified when I felt an aggressive impact with my entire left side, followed by snickering.

“Out of my way, mudblood.”

Mudblood? What did that even mean? I stared back at my aggressor in confusion and it seemed to spark an odd glint in his sharp grey eyes. I took in his features. Pale, blond hair tossed over his forehead and ears. Pink lips pressed in a tight line, lifted into a slight smirk. He was rather attractive, though it was offset by a radiating malice that seemed to course through his very veins. I wasn’t expecting a negative encounter so soon. 

He examined me up and down, finally settling on the door behind me. I knew he could see through the window into the empty compartment, as I had nearly moments before. I knew where he was looking and yet it felt like he was looking over me into nothing, in a way that made me feel small and invisible.

“You’re so stupid you don’t even know what it means, do you? How pathetic I have to explain. It means your blood is dirty, filthy really, and you’re inferior for it. You’re lowly. Like dirt. Get it now?” He had a haughty air about him, as if explaining his insults was below him.

That was my first introduction to a... word of that manner in this brand new world. No good without the bad, I rationalized. I suppose there wasn’t much I could do about that.

“I see, thank you for explaining.

”His lips curled in response and I assumed it wasn’t an answer he heard often.

“Yeah, you should be thanking me. You’ll do well to mind your manners.” He was almost spitting his words as he started off in the direction my presence had halted him from, followed by two others I hadn’t noticed before.

I opened the door of the compartment I had just been pressed against, sliding into a seat. This had been easy enough so far, save for the mark of impurity that I was now aware danced above my head.

My thoughts flurried as I gazed out of the window and with a jolt, the train began to move. Fast. I was determined to take in the scenery passing on the ride but the speed turned it all into an amassed green blur that allowed me to be lost in thought again. The ride was eerily smooth and calm, save for the quick succession of grassy hills and trees I could make out, and it seemed to lull me into a quiet comfort.

I opened my bleary eyes slowly. Without even realizing I had, I'd dozed off. I frustratingly berated myself for allowing myself to miss out on my surroundings, but I was cut short as I noticed a figure in the seat across from me.

She… stared. Right into my eyes, into me. She bore into my very soul. A soft, knowing smile lifted her features up.

"I've interrupted a deep thought, haven't I? I can see it growing smaller in your eyes." Her bluey grey eyes looked dazed and vacant, as if she were talking to herself as much as she spoke to me. Her hair was long and blonde, falling against her almost ghostly frame. For a real, palpable person, she seemed almost see-through.

“Ah, no. Not too deep.” I managed to smoothly answer, much in contrast with my nerves. The only other blond-haired person I’d encountered thus far had been rather harsh. There was something about this girl, though, that felt eerily still and yet pleasant; very much unlike the writhing, seething heat I’d received from the other boy.

“Luna Lovegood,” she began. She structured her sentence as if there was more, but blatantly said nothing. Simply smiling, the action lifting her eyes. What an odd girl, very odd.

“Eris Woodwork. Nice to meet you, Luna.”

I wondered if sharing my name over and over would get old, as it already had bothered me this second time over. It felt intensely personal, despite being the most impersonal part of me yet.

She nodded and I finally noticed an odd looking magazine resting loosely in her hands, upside down. She looked through the window to my left and back at me, then to her magazine cover.

“We’re here.” She seemed to always have a faint smile affixed to her face as she spoke.

She silently slid out of her seat, opening the compartment door. She didn’t look at me, but I was too nervous and out of place to be left alone again. I swiftly followed her, my mind at war with my legs, which threatened to buckle and lock me on this train.

A large man covered my field of vision, Luna had floated off to wherever she saw fit. I looked up, and up a bit more before I found a face under a large, dark beard. He had a positively emanating grin as he clamped a warm hand on my shoulder.

“You must be Eris now, aren’t ya? Woodwork?” He offered, inquisitively. I felt my eyes widen a bit, my eyebrows now drawn together in confusion. He chuckled heartily, a booming and yet, sincere sound.

“Ah, ‘course ye are. Well, on now! Let’s get going ‘for yer late.” He shrugged his large hand from my shoulder and motioned for me to walk in front of him.

“This ‘ere is the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry; though I’m sure you knew that much at least. You’ll get yer house sortin’ with the other wee first years and we’ll be on from there!” He shined another pleasant smile while leading me to the school, among some scattered first years from the train.

It was beautiful. Extraordinary, really. A steely grey, old castle. It felt archaic in a gorgeously antique way. Elegance and, dare I say, magic, radiated in waves from the architecture. I felt safe enough with the rather large oaf guiding me to begin asking questions. Although, I could barely find my footing, causing me to stumble embarrassingly over what I wanted to know.

“So, where… What; no, who... “ I stammered out stupidly. I tried to focus on the immediate things I didn’t know- like that boy on the train.

“Is mudblood a dirty word?” I finally managed. I knew it was. I had just wondered, well, if it were a popular or well-accepted ideal.

He took in a sharp breath, leading me to assume it wasn’t.

“Now where ‘ave ye heard that already?” There was a short pause as he continued, almost defeatedly.

“See the thing is, Eris, there's some wizards, like the Malfoy family, who think they're better than everyone else because they're what people call ‘pure blood’.”

It was my turn to take in a sharp breath. The boy on the train must have been a Malfoy, who else could taunt that word so carelessly and be so well-known for it? The large man continued, passively angered.

“And it's codswallop to boot. ‘Dirty blood’. Why, there isn't a wizard alive today that's not half-blood or less.” He finished off his rant with that, looking back at me. My eyes were searching the dirt for some sign of life, the buzz of the magic that I knew scattered this place.

“Ay, but I’m Rubeus Hagrid, Keeper of Keys and Grounds here at Hogwarts. An’ I’ll be right willing to help with anything you need, lass.”

Relief flooded me to know that I wouldn’t be as openly hated or condemned for coming from two muggle parents. I also felt satisfied in knowing the last name of the blond from the train, as it hadn’t been so hard to piece together from Rubeus Hagrid’s small bout.

‘Pure blood’.

I mulled the words over in my head, wondering how much that word would fit in this new world of mine. If it were something important to remember, because it surely seemed like it was.

[violetwolfraven]

eek also this is a lot but ikeshot for 7, 14, 26, 33, 39 or 43?

Angst in general.

Nightmares.

You have a scar and I asked about it and it’s really angsty.

I thought I lost you and you need to be more careful you dumbass.

and

You fought me (verbally or physically) and I am s h o o k.

*cracks knuckes* aight then.

I haven’t written ikeshot yet! This’ll be my first time figuring out how I wanna portray their dynamic, so we’ll see how it goes.

I’m gonna do all of them except 33 cause that one doesn’t really work with the idea I have but I can combine all the others.

...

This wasn’t the first time Ike had stayed the night in Brooklyn, but it was the first he’d been woken up by a jolt.

It had taken him months to get this far, the point where he was sharing a bed with a Brooklyn boy, where he was pretty sure he was in love with said Brooklyn boy, where he was even welcome in Brooklyn after dark.

It had been a long and confusing road, starting a couple weeks after they won the strike.

See, Mike did this thing with his lover where they were super paranoid about getting caught. And yeah, that was good for safety, when courting a boy could get you killed or arrested, but Mike and Jojo took it to a whole new level, almost never even sitting on the same side of a room while outside the Lodging House.

And as much as Ike liked that his brother was keeping safe, this was also really fucking annoying, because it meant he had to deal with the pining.

So, he’d asked to tag along to Sheepshead with Race for a day, figuring a day of alone time with his boy might tone down Mike’s annoyingness a little. And Race occasionally took a partner to Brooklyn with him, anyway. He hadn’t done it in a while, but nothing bad had happened before.

And besides, since the strike, inter-borough relations had been better than ever out of a proud kind of solidarity. No big deal, right?

Wrong. They’d split up for maximum efficiency, and barely an hour later Ike was getting dragged away from the entrance to the races he was staking out and into an alley across the street, by which time he was getting thrown against a wall before he even got a look at who was dragging him.

Then he’d looked up, already raising his fists, and seen probably the tallest boy in New York.

Ike had remembered seeing him at the rally, this kid about his age who usually stuck pretty close to Spot Conlon, and he’d made the mistake of lowering his guard.

“Hey! I remember you! You’s Brooklyn’s second, right? What was your name again? Uh... Heat?”

This kid smirked, “Hotshot.”

Then he’d punched Ike in the face.

It was hard enough that Ike was knocked to the ground, but he was on his feet again in an instant, raising his fists again.

“I’m Ike,” he panted, “And I’m here—“

He’d been cut off by having to dodge another punch, trying to throw one of his own, but only getting kneed in the stomach after Hotshot blocked it.

Still, he’d raised his fists again, coughing as he tried to ignore the urge to curl in on himself.

“Don’t know when to give up, do ya?”

Ike smiled, still gasping for breath, “Nope! Don’t mean we have to fight, though.”

Hotshot just punched him again, “You’re on the wrong side of the bridge, Manhattan boy.”

“And that’s grounds enough to soak someone?”

“Hey!”

At that point, Hotshot froze, turning to see Race running into the alley.

“He’s with me, Hotshot! Jeez!”

“Well, he didn’t say—“

“Ya didn’t give me a chance to,” Ike interrupted.

Race had helped Ike up, glaring at the Brooklyn boy despite how Hotshot was much taller and stronger.

“I ain’t gonna tell on you, but kid, you need to learn to think before ya start swingin’. If Spot asks about me, I’m sellin’ with Albert today.”

Race had helped Ike get home, then actually gone to sell with Albert, but on the way back, he’d answered Ike’s questions, about how someone that young and hotheaded could help lead the biggest borough in New York.

“Hotshot’s young, you’re right. He’s your age, actually—14. And yeah, he’s defensive. But I’s known him a while, and there’s more to him than that. The short version is that he’s either a good friend or a bad enemy. Once ya got his loyalty, ya got it forever. That’s why he’s Brooklyn’s second. He’s one of the few Spot actually trusts.”

With that description combined with the way Ike had honestly never met anyone who punched that hard, he was just a little intrigued. Maybe it wasn’t smart, but he’d went back to Brooklyn a week later, not selling this time, but just looking for that one Brooklyn boy.

He’d found him, selling at Coney. And Brooklyn boys usually didn’t sell with partners, so Ike hadn’t had trouble sneaking up on him.

“Hey.”

That was the only warning he gave before putting a hand on Hotshot’s shoulder to spin him around and punch him in the face.

Hotshot had wheeled back, raising his own fist.

“You got ‘bout four hits on me for no reason—I thinks I deserve one free shot!”

Slowly, Hotshot had lowered his hand, still glaring at him, but not as much.

“Fair is fair. Now go back to Manhattan.”

Ike was going to, honestly, but then figured, ‘what’s the worst that could happen?’ and didn’t.

“So, how often do ya beat up kids from other boroughs without askin’ for their story?”

“Are you completely fearless, or just stupid?”

“Both, probably. Ya gonna answer the question, or punch my daylights out?”

“I ain’t decided yet.”

“Well, while you’re decidin’, I heard you’re close with Spot Conlon. What’s he really like? Is he always that scary, or is it just an act?”

For the next several weeks, it was like that. It was Ike coming over, finding Hotshot wherever he was, and annoying the hell out of him.

And Hotshot always said he was going to punch him, but he never did. Slowly, he started actually answering Ike’s questions, at least a few of them, and asking a few in return. Ike wouldn’t necessarily call them friends, but they definitely knew each other better, now.

“One of these days, I’m actually gonna punch ya,” Hotshot grumbled once, when Ike asked a question a little too personal.

“Every time ya say that, I believe you less,” Ike said cheerfully, “Anyway, I’s heard Brooklyn’s got great sunrises. Is that true?”

Hotshot actually smiled a little, “I dunno if it’s any better than Manhattan, but yeah, we’s gotten some pretty nice ones over here.”

It took a couple months, but Ike started figuring out that by even talking to him, Hotshot was letting down his guard, little by little. He let it down a bit more as he started letting Ike touch him, allowing a handshake when they met up, or a punch in the shoulder in a friendly way.

Once he realized how much Hotshot was trusting him by doing those little things, Ike realized that against his better judgement, he trusted him, too. He liked spending time with Hotshot, probably too much.

Definitely too much, with how he was stupid enough to walk through a November rainstorm months after they met just to see him.

By the time he got to Brooklyn, he was freezing, wet, and disoriented enough that he’d ended up passing out in front of a random store, just so the awning would keep the rain off.

He’d woken up in the Brooklyn Lodging House in the middle of the night, with Hotshot holding him in a bed.

Actually, he’d kind of jolted awake, and apparently woken up Hotshot with him as the Brooklyn boy whispered an explanation to him.

“Hildy found ya damn near frozen. By the time she got ya back here, you were almost dead and needed body heat bad.”

“Oh,” Ike whispered back, almost too terrified to move or even speak.

“That’s all ya got to say, you idiot?” Hotshot hissed, clearly angry as his arm around Ike’s waist tightened, “What were you thinkin’, walkin’ here in a storm?”

Ike was still pretty confused, and for once, he couldn’t even think of something to say.

Then Hotshot sighed, “I thought you were gonna die.”

Oh. So that was what this was about. He wasn’t angry—not at Ike, really, at least.

Ike had finally let himself relax against the taller boy’s chest, enjoying how warm Hotshot actually was.

“Ain’t goin’ anywhere.”

Hotshot had exhaled kind of sharply, and Ike was praying to a god he didn’t believe in that he wasn’t misreading things, but he’d rolled over so he was facing Brooklyn’s second, their faces barely inches apart, though it was so dark that Ike couldn’t really see him.

Beyond that, he hadn’t wanted to make the first move, mostly out of fear. In Manhattan, it was pretty common knowledge that many of them liked the same sex, but Brooklyn was different. It was less of a family and more of almost a gang. Ike wasn’t sure how Hotshot would react if he did anything.

He wasn’t sure he wanted to do anything, because yes, Ike liked boys, and he’d made peace with that, but being with one made it dangerous. Mike wasn’t the only was who was terrified of getting caught, for good reason.

Then Hotshot’s hand had come up to touch a scar on the side of Ike’s face. One he guessed he’d probably never noticed before because their faces had never been this close.

It had been from a pretty bad wound, but was so faded that it looked minor now, because he’d gotten it so long ago.

“I didn’t give you this, did I?”

Ike shook his head, “No. I’ve had that scar since I was 8.”

“How’d ya get a scar so bad it still shows now when you were 8?”

Ike had taken a deep breath, forced down panic over events he’d rather forget, and decided to tell him the truth.

“My brother and me,” he whispered, “Our parents died when we were really young. So’s we got brought up by our mom’s sister and her lover... her lover who was... also a woman.”

Ike paused there, waiting for Hotshot’s reaction.

There really wasn’t one, and he’d felt a bit of relief at that.

“They was good at bein’ subtle,” Ike continued, “So nobody suspected anythin’ for a long while. But then when me and Mike were 8... some bad people figured it out and... and those men came in the night and set the house on fire. I guess we’s lucky to have made it out at all—our aunts weren’t that lucky—but...”

His voice trailed off. Ike didn’t like admitting that he wasn’t this happy-go-lucky kid all the time. He hadn’t told anyone about this, ever. Mike had told Jack, years ago, to explain why they had bad days sometimes, but Ike had never been able to talk about it.

He’d felt Hotshot take a deep breath, and then the other boy had pulled him closer, right against his chest. He wasn’t sure if it was his imagination when, later, once Ike was halfway into a dream, he thought he might have felt a kiss being pressed to his hair.

Ike had known right there that something had changed between them, and though Mike gave him hell for staying out all night the next morning, he couldn’t say it wasn’t worth it.

He didn’t know if they were... what, did you call it courting? He didn’t know if what they were doing had a label or if spending a significant amount of their free time together qualified as being together.

But, after that first night, Ike did spend the night in Brooklyn a few more times, sharing a bed with Hotshot under the excuse that he’d lost track of time the Brooklyn Lodging House didn’t have one to spare. In reality, he stayed over because sharing a bed, sharing warmth with Brooklyn’s second... it was nice. It was somehow different from crawling in with Mike if nightmares got bad or huddling on the fire escape with Crutchie and Jack if he didn’t make enough to pay for his bed one night.

Sharing a bed with Hotshot was comforting even when nothing was actually wrong. It was safe and warm and it made Ike feel all fuzzy inside and...

Not that he knew how to say it, not that he could say it, but Ike was pretty sure this was what falling in love felt like.

It was scary, but he didn’t want to stop falling.

Of course, he wasn’t planning on telling Hotshot how he felt. Not unless the other boy made the first move. Or unless they decided to get drunk for some reason. Or if it happened to come up in conversation.

Okay... maybe Ike really wanted to tell him, but he just didn’t know how to go about it.

Well, he’d been sitting on this for a long while already, so Ike still really didn’t know when he was going to tell him, but he still felt the need to follow when he felt Hotshot jolt awake, just before rolling out of bed and leaving the room.

“Hotshot?”

Ike followed him out onto the fire escape, finding the taller boy staring down over the edge, a death grip on the railing.

“Hotshot, are you okay?”

Ike moved to stand next to him, making sure it was clear and visible what he was doing as he put a hand over Hotshot’s on the railing.

For a few seconds, he didn’t react. He didn’t even give a sign that he’d heard or even felt Ike touching him.

Then, slowly, he let go of the railing, flipping his hand over so he could intertwine their fingers.

Hotshot exhaled shakily, most of the tension leaving his frame. Ike took that as a sign that it was okay to lean his head against his shoulder.

“Ya gonna tell me what this is about?”

For a minute, he thought he wasn’t going to.

Then Hotshot took a wavering breath and spoke, still staring over the edge of the fire escape.

“Ya once asked how many kids I’s beat up for no reason,” he said quietly, “I don’t know. I get in fights a lot. I get angry and... and usually, Spot tells me where to aim it, but it ain’t always enough. I always have more and if I don’t put it somewhere, it’ll just build till I... till I explode.”

Ike nodded. He understood. He already knew this about Hotshot. He’d figured out that anger was his drive a long time ago.

“I... I learned that from my folks.”

Ike froze. In all their conversations over the last few months, Hotshot had never shared any personal information beyond the fact that he saw Spot as an older brother.

“They’d get angry,” Hotshot said shakily, “And when they’d explode, they’d...”

His voice faltered, and Ike touched his arm with his free hand, trying to ground him. He could read between the lines and though it made him angry and sad as hell, he knew there was nothing he could do about it.

“I... I got myself out when I was 12,” he mumbled, “Finally just couldn’t take it anymore and ran like hell—ended up here. And I know it’s been a couple years, now, but... but I still go back there some nights, when I’m sleepin’.”

His voice was shaking a little, by the end of that, and Ike tugged on his arm gently so he could turn Hotshot to face him.

He wasn’t sure he was going to allow it, but to his relief, Hotshot hugged him back, leaning down to bury his face in Ike’s shoulder.

“You’re here,” Ike whispered, “They can’t hurt ya here, Hotshot. You’re safe.”

Hotshot wasn’t crying, but he was shaking a little in the cold. It was winter, for crying out loud. Winter at night. And though the Brooklyn kids did wear sleeves like reasonable people in winter, most of them didn’t sleep in their shirts.

“Can we take this inside?” Ike asked, knowing that he was cold, even being a little more dressed for the weather than Hotshot was.

The taller boy nodded shakily and they went inside, curling up together in that bunk, the closeness for comfort as much as warmth.

Feeling brave for a minute, Ike leaned forward and planted a soft kiss on the Hotshot’s forehead.

Hotshot went rigid, but the expression on his face was pure surprise, not any kind of disgust, and he didn’t pull away.

Ike offered him a small smile before rolling over, so as not to push things.

He definitely wasn’t complaining when Hotshot pulled him against his chest to sleep for the rest of the night.