#and she's like why the fuck were you going eighty in a fifty and he's like

[paigemathews]

I know it’s not exactly definite as to when the whole world went to hell in the unchanged future, but I feel like it’s a safe bet to say that Chris definitely did not have his license before it happened. We see him steal and drive a car in season six though, so I am, in fact, suggesting that Chris learned to drive by stealing a car in the unchanged future. He doesn’t know anything about traffic laws. He speeds like crazy and is an absolutely unhinged driver. His experience with driving was either fleeing or chasing people in a car. What the fuck does a yield sign mean

[its-an-obsession]

Labyrinth

Stranger Things Masterlist | Full Masterlist

Summary: Being Billy Hargrove's ex-girlfriend wasn't something you'd like to be known for. Thankfully, after finally recovering from the relationship with Billy, you and Jonathan Byers found one another, and he's a constant reminder that he is the opposite of your ex.

Notes:

Y/N/N: Your Nick Name

Y/L/N: Your Last Name

Y/F/E/M: Your Favorite Eighties Movie

Charlie -> Your Sister

Warnings:

Slight language

Toxic relationship (doesn't go into detail)

Jonathan Byers x-readers

(Third Person View)

Y/N and her grandmother sat on the couch, watching her little sister for the evening. Her parents were gone for the weekend to attend some high school reunion. Billy and Y/N were to go to the movies later after Billy had a shift at the mechanic shop. Y/N's grandmother would stay for the rest of the night while Y/N goes out with her boyfriend.

A honk sounded from the end of the driveway. Y/N stood up from the couch to grab her purse beside the couch. "Have fun, love. We'll be here," her grandmother said. Y/N smiled and hugged her before kissing the top of Charlie's head. Y/N quickly left and headed to Billy's Camero.

She knew he'd get impatient if she was even one minute past their pick-up time. Billy didn't even meet her at the front, nor did he open the passenger door for her. "What movie are we seeing?" she asked, setting the pocketbook on her lap. He shrugged and pulled out of the neighborhood. Y/N held onto the armrest as he sped down the street.

Billy wasn't one to obey the speed limit. He often blamed it on the different limits in California. Y/N sighed, looking out at the sun. "What was that sigh for?" he asked. "Nothing. Just tired," she answered. He whipped down another street after surprisingly waiting at the light.

He never seemed to care about Y/N's feelings. She sometimes wondered why she was even dating him. Though, you can't blame her. At the beginning of their relationship, he appeared harmless. He presented himself as most guys she's dated before. He even had that smile that charmed every mom that came across him.

A fifty-five speed-limit sign caught Y/N's eye. She looked at the dashboard. The speedometer said he was going seventy miles. A few minutes passed, and he pulled into the parking lot of the theatre. "Oh, Tommy and Daniel are going to join us," Billy grabbed his wallet from the console.

He stepped out of the car, preventing her from answering. "Wait, What?" she said. He rolled his eyes and fixed the collar of his jacket. Tommy and Daniel got out of their car. Both of them were laughing to themselves.

It only hurts this much right now That was what I was thinking the whole time Breathe in, breathe through Breathe deep, breathe out

Y/N's so-called boyfriend walked over to his two friends. One of which used to be Steve's friend, up until Steve broke it off with Tommy and Carol. "Look at this pretty little thing," Daniel smirked. Billy put an arm around Y/N's shoulders, pulling her roughly against his chest. She faked a smile.

The four of them walked into the theatre and chose Fright Night. Billy's girlfriend wanted to watch Y/F/E/M, but neither of the boys wanted to. Billy sat between Tommy and Daniel while Y/N sat on the end. She glanced to her right to see Billy pull a blunt from his pocket.

Since the teens were sitting at the very top, Billy thought he could do anything. Tommy reached over and handed Daniel the lighter before giving it to Billy. Y/N rolled her eyes with crossed her arms. She looked at both exits to see if anyone would be coming through.

"You want one?" Daniel gestured the blunt towards Y/N. He held the lighter in the other hand. She shook her head and looked at the movie screen. "Bitch doesn't smoke. I keep telling her it won't fucking hurt her," Billy scoffed. She watched him as he ignored Tommy and Daniel's loud laughs. Y/N looked around the crowd to see if she could find someone she knew.

She hoped her best friend, Jonathan Byers, was in the audience with his brother Will. They would frequently see horror movies together. The trailers appeared before the movie actually began. Y/N hugged her arms, snacking on her favorite candy. She desperately tried to ignore the strong smells coming from the three boys.

I'll be getting over you my whole life You know how scared I am of elevators Never trust it if it rises fast It can't last

Y/N leaned forward to see what Billy was doing. Of course, his attention was on the blunt and the screen. Y/N glanced down at her watch, seeing that it was 5:30.

If she could sneak out, she'd be able to call one of her friends to swing by. The credits began playing, an eerie and unsettling melody in the background. Tommy snickered at something Daniel or Billy muttered. Y/N slipped her arms through the sleeves of her soft cardigan. She grabbed her purse and set the strap around her shoulder.

The boys were facing the opposite direction of her. She crouched and walked down the steps. Thankfully, the darkness of the theatre covered her figure. She sighed in relief when she exited. Y/N looked behind her every once in an awhile before spotting a phone booth.

She dropped some coins into the slot and dialed the Byers' number. Y/N leaned against the side. Her fingers fiddled with the long cord, her eyes focusing on the theatre door she came through. "Hello?" Jonathan greeted.

"Johnny, it's Y/N/N," she said. She heard him tell his mom that it was me calling. Y/N could already picture that cheery smile on her best friend's face she loved. They've known one another since they were in fifth grade. "What's up? Everything okay?" he questioned.

"Yeah," she replied, "Could you come to Hawkins Theatre and pick me up? I'm not feeling well and just want to come home."

Jonathan said of course and hung up the phone. She escaped through the theatre's entrance. It didn't take long until Jonathan appeared. He parked the car beside Y/N with a smile on his face. She noticed Will sitting in the back. He wore his favorite blue and red shirt.

His older brother glanced at him and then up at Y/N. He raised his brows and smiled. "Hey," he greeted (GIF Above), "Sorry. Will wanted to see you." Y/N waved to Will and sat in the front seat. When she stepped in, here came Billy and his uninvited buddies trailing behind.

Y/N shrunk in the seat with a hand covering her face. Jonathan glimpsed at the rearview mirror to see Billy heading over. Jonathan tore out of the spot and headed straight to Y/N's neighborhood. Y/N couldn't help but smile at Jonathan's constant reassurance that everything would be okay.

Uh oh, I'm falling in love Oh no, I'm falling in love again Oh, I'm falling in love I thought the plane was going down How'd you turn it right around

During the entire ride to the Y/L/N household, Jonathan told Y/N that he wouldn't let Billy bother her. He knew the two of them had been in a rough spot lately. Will would chime in occasionally with a witty joke or a cute story about DND. Afterwards, the two hung out in her room while Will and Charlie played some card games.

______

(Y/N's Point of View, a few months later)

My back rested against the thick tree with my legs bent. After school, I decided to relax outside and catch up on some reading. My grandmother challenged me to try and finish six books by the end of the year. Jonathan had joined in as well, claiming that he could beat me. I was on my fifth book, and he was on his fourth.

So, it's pretty clear who's going to win. The wind brushed against me, causing goosebumps to rise. Charlie laughed as her Barbie 'flew' through the air. She ran around the yard singing to herself or speaking to her dolls like they were real. It's been a few months since the breakup with Billy.

After I left him at the theatre, it was difficult to even get a word in when we spoke the next day. Jonathan insisted on being there when I broke up with Billy, but not in the same room. He actually hid in my room while Billy and I spoke outside. My reading was interrupted by a car pulling up to my house.

It only feels this raw right now Lost in the labyrinth of my mind Break up, break free, break through, break down

I pulled my attention away from the book. Jonathan parked his car in the driveway. He had on his favorite green polo and tan khakis. "Hey," he greeted, plopping down beside me. "What're you reading?" Jonathan shrugged off his jean jacket. He folded it beside him and leaned against the tree with me. I kept a finger on the page, showing him the cover.

"Homecoming by Cynthia Voigt," I replied, "Nancy recommended it."

He nodded and took the book from me. Jonathan flipped it to the back to read the summary. "She's always got good recommendations," he said. I nodded in agreement and looked out at my sister. Charlie had made herself comfortable on the tree swing. She pushed her legs back and forth.

I had to tell her to not jump off a few times. Just a few months ago, she broke her arm from jumping too far. Even though she vowed to not do it again, we knew she would eventually. Charlie was eight, after all, and eight-year-olds don't typically listen. I set the book beside me when Jonathan handed it back. He set an arm around me. I smiled and rested my head against his shoulder.

You would break your back to make me break a smile You know how much I hate that everybody just expects me to bounce back Just like that

I noticed Charlie lean back on the tire swing. "Ah, don't!" my voice was loud as I pointed a finger at her. She smirked mischievously and stared at me as she launched herself off the swing.

Her knees met the ground before jumping up. Her hands sat on her waist, her green eyes staring back at Jonathan and me. "Oh, you little...." I cut myself off when I jumped up from the ground. Charlie screamed and began running around as I chased her.

"Don't let the monster get you, Charlie!" Jonathan hollered, cupping his mouth. I turned to him with narrowed eyes. He grabbed his jacket and hid underneath it. Charlie looked up at me, her blonde hair slightly covering her eyes. I knelt before her and pushed the strands away from her pale face.

I tilted my head towards Jonathan. The corners of her mouth lifted when she caught on. "I think Johnny wants to play Duck, Duck, Goose," I said quietly. Charlie gasped and ran over to him. "Goose!" she screamed and whacked his head. "Ow-What!" Jonathan replied.

Charlie was a blur as she ran around the tree. You could practically hear her giggles from down the street. The two of them began chasing one another around the yard.

Uh oh, I'm falling in love Oh no, I'm falling in love again Oh, I'm falling in love I thought the plane was going down How'd you turn it right around

A smile crept onto my face while I watched Jonathan play with my sister. Other than Steve, Jonathan had a way with kids. It made sense why our parents would pair Jonathan and me when someone needed to supervise their kids. Charlie squealed when he picked her up.

She was covered in grass. Her blue overalls were stained with mud and whatever she had for a snack. I noticed a few sticks and leaves stuck in her hair. Jonathan set her back to Earth and took the sticks out of her tangled locks. "Mom's gonna hate brushing her hair later," I commented, walking over to the two of them.

Charlie wrapped her arms around my waist, rubbing her head against my stomach. Jonathan looked at me with a wide smile on his face. "What?" I asked. My sister rested her chin on my stomach, gazing up at me. "Nothing. You just look really cute," he replied.

I felt my cheeks turn to a light shade of pink. Charlie shifted her eye line to me, then Jonathan. "Grody," she muttered. She took her arms off me and stepped over to the Barbies that were left on the porch stairs.

My mom walked out of the front door, wearing a pink and white apron. "Jonathan, care to stay for dinner? We're making your favorite," she winked. He opened his mouth to say something, but Charlie interrupted and claimed he'd love to. My mom ignored my sister's response to see what his response was.

"Yes. I would love to stay for dinner," he spoke for himself.

Charlie cheered. She waved her doll around, falling back. I could hear my mom curse when Charlie's hair collided with the grass. "Charlotte, why don't we get you cleaned up for dinner?" she called, using my sister's full name. My curly-haired sister sat up straight and shook her head in disagreement.

As on cue, my grandmother barged through the front door and grabbed Charlie by the arm. She shook her head as Charlie tried to get me and Jonathan to save her. "I'll call you two when dinner is ready," mom said, "Y/N, your dad should be here soon." I nodded and sat down against the tree.

The two of us grew quiet. We listened to the birds sing and the crickets chirping. The sun was just beginning to set. I could feel the Summer wind coming in for the night. Jonathan draped his jacket over me once he saw me tense up at the gust. "I think Charlie has a crush on you," I mentioned.

He laughed and shook his head. I turned to him with a grin on my face. "She does not," he denied. "Oh, she totally does," I argued playfully. Jonathan shoved my arm before covering his head so I couldn't hit back. Our laughing died down, which left the two of us just staring at one another.

Uh oh, I'm falling in love Oh no, I'm falling in love again Oh, I'm falling in love I thought the plane was going down How'd you turn it right around

My mind immediately went to how my life was complete hell before Jonathan and I had gotten closer. It was weird. It was almost like one bad thing made us come together. Of course, the monsters from hell intervened at some point, but that's besides the point.

This whole thing reminded me of how scared I was of falling in love again. But I also knew that the person I loved was different from the first. I knew that Jonathan was the complete opposite of Billy. He reminded me of that every day. Jonathan would go out of his way to get me things he'd thought I'd like.

I mean, the other day he bought me my favorite candy and tickets to one of my favorite movies at a local drive-in. "I think I'm falling in love with you," I said. Jonathan smiled. His hand sat on the side of my face. He leaned forward and kissed me on the forehead before lightly kissing me on the lips.

"I'm falling in love with you, too," he said.

Taglist: @b-ritney @ramaalkayyali @midnightstar-90

[eseria-writes]

I'd always been one for human lovers. I didn't have anything against elves, honestly, they were prettier - it's just - I was big into the trappings of married life. I wanted to have a wedding and share married life together. The only elves who were into that sort of thing wanted to share eternity together, and eternity wasn't something I was there for. I didn't want that. It's not that I was scared of commitment. I just wanted to leave my options open.

I could have gone without the way the elders would talk about it, though. There was just a sort of sense that they had decided that I was going to fall in love with some elf or other eventually. Ugh. That's not to mention the mischief-maker Kallas - he'd taunt me when we played games, when I mentioned the beginnings and middles and ends of my relationships with each new human lover. At least he wouldn't assume I would get with an elf like the elders had been. He didn't say anything would change at all, really. He just said it'd be so funny to see the look on my face when I fall in a love that'll last forever.

It had been a few centuries since Aria passed. Since half-elves inherited the logic of elven lifespans, their lifespan is based in part on perspective. The children I'd had with her lived her hectic human lifestyle, so they didn't live much longer than her. They'd passed very recently, only a few years ago. In the parlance of some of the sapphic romances I'd borrowed from human libraries, though, they would want me to move forward.

That's when I met her. Kallas, my beloved brother, told me he'd met a girl I'd like the moment I met her. As he introduced Maria to me, she said, 'It's nice to meet you, Lorla. Kallas didn't even try to do your beauty justice.' She winked, and I knew she was clearly saying it like that just to spite him. With a common interest like that, it was easy to fall in love with her.

Everything was beautiful, at first. We went on dates - there were some ups and downs, some little hiccups, like always - we always seemed to land together on our feet. We - well, she was incredibly hot. I really enjoyed our nights together.

Eventually we got married. We both agreed that we didn't want exclusivity. Otherwise, though, it was a human-typical marriage. I settled in for sixty anniversaries, for another human lifetime of domestic bliss.

Then sixty.

Then seventy.

Then eighty.

Then ninety. Did humans adjust their aging for perspective, too? She was more integrated with the ancient elders than any lover I'd had before.

Then one hundred.

Then one hundred ten.

Then one hundred twenty.

Then one hundred thirty. I knew humans didn't live for a century and a half. That night, I wandered out confused and lost. I came across Kallas in the woods.

"What's with that face? I want to punch it." "I just like seeing your lasting love, sister."

One hundred forty.

One hundred fifty.

"Could I ask you a sensitive question?" "Yes, tree-heart?" "Why are you alive?" "I'm a witch. Like elves live on perspective - we live on emotions, fulfillment, excitement. I'm fueled by our domestic bliss. Did you not - know? Kallas-" "I thought you were human. Just human. I just assumed-"

You don't say a word for the rest of the night. Your beloved understands and doesn't either. You let her hold you. You want her to know that everything is going to be alright for the both of you.

One hundred sixty.

Immortals can procrastinate important decisions with the best of them. She doesn't press.

One hundred seventy.

"Look, you love her, so keep her." "Thanks, brother."

One hundred eighty. "I'm glad you're not going anywhere. I'm terrified, but it's going to work." "Lorla, tree-heart, I'm so happy to hear you say that. -Everyone in the village has known you felt that way for decades, though."

One hundred ninety.

Two hundred.

"I was right. It really was funny to see you all happy in everlasting bliss."

"Fuck you, asshole."

"I love you, sister," he says, singsong.

God thrice damn him. I should want to strangle him. I should just wring my hands around his neck. But I don't do that, I don't do that, instead of hiding away with violence the truth spills out of my mouth-

"I love you, brother. Thanks for introducing me."

For elves, the neat part about taking human lovers is the relatively short time of commitment. After reaching 300 years of marriage, you’re starting to get suspicious of your spouse.

[ridestomars]

An alt!reader who also has an affinity to classical music, I can only imagine Eddie’s face when he hears her playing classical music at the store or when she answers Beethoven when he asks who she thinks is the greatest musician but he’s confused because he’s never even heard of that guy? Which band is he in?

And when classical music plays at the store, he’d be like um? Where’s the guitar? Where’s the singing? What’s going on? But it’s calming he enjoys it but he would never admit it

i think i've said it before but i will say it again, eddie almost never listens to anything besides heavy metal. if the song doesn't have screaming guitars and pulsing bass, then he's absolutely not interested and won't give it a chance if it's up to him – i'm sure that he and wayne have had countless fights on who gets to choose the radio station when they go out together. to be honest, he's a very "modern" guy (because we are talking about 1986 eddie), so he almost exclusively listens to seventies and eighties music and is very selective with the sixties and fifties music he consumes.

so he couldn't care less about violins and pianos, and he does not care to learn any of those wig-wearing men from the days of old. in fact, he always passes right by the classical aisle of the record store, and you, much the opposite, spend most of your time searching for rarities and collector's editions. even your enjoyment of classical music isn't enough to spark his interest... at first. since we're talking about your music taste, it's important for you to know that eddie will never, ever, admit that you actually have an amazing music taste; and it was only because of you that he started to listen to other things outside of metal, like new wave and even goth.

so, eventually, you know you'll break his tough exterior. and that's exactly why you're blasting tchaikovsky's the nutcracker on the record store's sound system – and because your boss isn't around to reprimand you for that. of course the music choice made your customers look at you with curiosity, as if they were silently asking you why the fuck did you put old-people-music on?, but their reaction didn't interest you too much, since you were just waiting to see what eddie had to say.

and boy, you were honestly expecting him to walk up to you and tease you for the lame choice of music, or maybe to pick on you for choosing something so extraordinarily old, but never in your wildest dreams did you think you'd have to explain to him that tchaikovsky wasn't an alternative russian band.

"i mean, they sound pretty boring, to be honest", eddie absentmindedly commented as he went through some of the records splayed out through the store's counter. and from the other side of the wood table, all you could do was gawk at him, shocked by the word that left his mouth.

"i'm sorry?"

"these tchai guys are terrible. it would be so much better if they put a guitar in it instead of the bell sounds".

"they're triangles, eddie. and what do you mean tchai guys? d'you think they're a band?" you couldn't help but sound amused when you asked.

"yeah? what, aren't they? for a band called tchaikovsky they sound pretty lame".

"jesus christ", you murmured as you took the records from his hands, leaving the counter to put them in their place.

"what!?"

LIKES, REBLOGS AND FEEDBACK ARE APPRECIATED! main masterlist | navigation

[the-soliloquies-of-sadists]

#214

“Get in boy. We need to get on the road. No, no. Sit in the passenger seat. We are going to have ‘the talk’. Let me ask, how many loads did you get in there? What? You’re not going to answer me? You were in there sucking cocks through a glory hole. Even though I am doing my logs, I can see a number of other drivers walk out with their cocks still hard bulging their pants or with a wet spot. That shithouse is known for its glory hole. I stopped here to see if you were a fucking faggot whore, something I have suspected for some time....

“You pretty much confirmed that we need to have this talk. And when I say we need to talk, it’s just me. So shut the fuck up. OK here’s the deal. Your mom knows you are a fag. She went through your browser history on your laptop this weekend. She called me in to look at it. She told me that she wanted you out of the house, and that I should do it. She told me to take you on one of my trips and leave you in the middle of nowhere, and to tell you that faggots are not welcome in her home.

“Oh fuck, don’t you start crying. Faggot what I have to say, needs to be said. There will be plenty of time for crying later. There’s more. While she just saw the pages, I read them. Yes, I saw what you posted to some of those discussion groups. Damn fag boy! Your facial expression went from crying to shock to terror in just one second. Yup.

“You know what my favorite post was? Oh you know what I’m about to say. It’s the one that’s titled, ‘How do I seduce my truck driving step-dad?’ Yup, read that one a number of times. So, you’ve been swiping my dirty underwear and jerking off to the smell of my crotch and ass hunh? I also liked the part where you said that you wished that I would smack you around like I smack your mother around. Now faggot, if I had known that you wanted to get smacked around, I would have been taking my aggressions out on you instead of your mother.

“But that’s not going to happen. Your mother was so disgusted, and she never wants to see or hear from you again. Besides, you are eighteen, you need to be on your own. You need to figure out what you want to do with your life. Do you want to be locked up in your mother’s basement plotting ways to get your step-dad’s eight inch long, eight inches around, with a foreskin that over hangs by about a half inch dick?

“Yes, I read the countless posts where you go through various ways to figure out how big my cock is. I can’t get over how fucking fascinated you are with me. Oh yes, you’re a not only a faggot, but a twisted little kinky faggot to boot. Apparently, you want to drink my piss from the tap and eat my shithole too. Ok, my favorite, my absolute favorite part is when you were with me on a short run, and I had to piss like a race horse. I pissed right behind the tractor. And while I wasn’t looking you got a paper towel to soak it up to enjoy later. Faggot, that is some serious pig shit. Ha ha!

“Now for the second part of the talk. What? You don’t like having every little twisted jerk off fantasy exposed to your stepdad? Oh yes, there’s a second part. Again, how many loads of cum did you swallow at that rest area?… Don’t remember? Sure you do…. Four? You fucking whore. How many loads of piss did you swallow?… Just one? Wow. Let me ask this, was the cock that pissed down your throat about eight inches long and eight inches around with a foreskin overhang? That’s right faggot, you finally got to blow me… Ah! That’s the first time you are smiling. What you think I don’t play with faggots along the way?

“I promised your mother when I married her, that there wouldn’t be any other women. I said nothing about using faggots. The number of faggots I have bred in that cab back there is over a hundred. That’s just this year. Hell, I had this Mexican boy back there just two nights ago.

“So, here’s the deal. That was a test. You know how to handle a big cock, and you do it very well, surprisingly well for an 18-year old. I agreed to take you on this drive. And yes I am going to leave you. Unlike the middle of Wyoming, like your mom wanted, I was going to do it in a gay city. But that has changed.

“While you were working on cum loads three and four, I contacted Dirk, a bud of mine from way back. We used to team drive together. He and I also tagged teamed faggots. There’s not much room back there in these lower bunks. And we used to spit roast faggots all the time, spinning them around several times before we would nut.. We’ve gone our separate ways, but we still connect. And when we hook up, we usually tag team a faggot. I’ve worked it out so that for tonight, you will be that faggot.

“Then I’m passing you over to him. You’ll like him. Hell, if you lusted over me, you are going to melt over him. Remember I looked through your laptop including your saved pics. You definitely have a type, big burly trucker sums it up. You also like the daddy type that will smack the shit out of you. He’s definitely that. He’s in his mid-fifties. He’s a couple inches on my 6′1″. He’s hairy like me, I know you like hairy men. Last time I saw him naked I would say he’s around two eighty, with a driver belly, but not obese. His cock is a little longer than mine, but also a little narrower, and he’s cut. He’s got huge balls, probably the biggest I have ever seen. He’s rougher and way more of a pig than I am. He will require you to drink his piss and eat his shithole. He wouldn’t take you if you didn’t do that. He’s horny 24/7. You’ll probably be kept naked all the time.

“The thing is that he will care for you. Seriously. While he has a bunch of drivers lined up to use your holes, he will be there to make sure you are ok and completely and safely under his control. He’s very possessive, but I think that’s what you need.

“Kid, if things were different, I probably would have taken you instead of your mom. Oh well. At least I’ll see you when Dirk and I reconnect. So that’s the talk. Why don’t you crawl in the bunk and strip naked. Jerk off as much as you can. Dirk doesn’t like his faggots to cum, your pecker will probably be caged while you are with him. I don’t care one way or the other. If you reach in the corner of the bunk, you will find a pair of my old undies that I prepared for you. Piss stains and skid marks, just how you like them. You can take them with you to remember me.”

This story is followed up in Story #250.

[ragingbookdragon]

What If The Love You Deserve Is Love You Never Find?

Jason Todd x Reader

Word Count: 3.6K Warnings: Explicit Language, Slight Angst

Author's Note: I spent like an hour going through my music to find the perfect song lyric for this. Love me people. Enjoy! -Thorne

**********************************************************************

It’d been complete fate that she’d even met him. A chance of looking up when she was fixing a shirt on a display, gaping as he browsed the racks along the wall, very so often picking something up to examine it before folding it and returning it to its original position.

But even from halfway across the store she could tell he was drop-dead gorgeous, and she slapped the back of her hand across her coworker’s chest. “Dibs.” It was all she said before hurrying towards him, grinning when she heard her friend groan something along the lines of, ‘No fair!’

She cleared her throat as she neared him and he glanced over, giving her a smile. “Good morning,” she greeted. “How are you today?”

“I’m good,” he replied. “How are you?”

“Well, every day is a new day.” She grinned when he laughed. “Is there anything I can help you find, or are you just looking around?”

“Oh, I’m just looking around.”

Nodding, she said, “Alright, well since summer break just started our sales are everything along this wall,” she gestured to the side next to her. “It’s buy one get one free, and so is that wall over there.” She pointed to the other side of the room. “Everything in between is buy two get one free.”

“Sounds good.” He murmured.

“And I’m (Y/N). So if you need any help with anything or want an opinion on anything, just come find me!” she smiled at him and wandered off back towards the registers where her coworker was, and was promptly slapped in the side, causing her to gasp slightly.

“What’s his name and how much money does he make?”

(Y/N) huffed a laugh. “I didn’t ask.”

“You didn’t—you didn’t ask? Why not?” she griped. “That guy’s wearing a Rolex! He’s probably loaded.”

“It could also be a knockoff,” she shot back. “Besides, you gotta wait it out.” (Y/N)’s eyes followed him as he looked up and down the wall of shirts and jackets. “If he comes and asks for help, then he’s interested.”

Her coworker rolled her eyes. “You say that about everyone and they’re only always coming to ask for purchase.”

(Y/N) shrugged. “It’s gotta work one day.”

“You’re hopeless.”

“Probably. But at least—”

“Excuse me,” someone interrupted and they both spun around to see him standing there, a smile on his face as he looked at (Y/N).

“Yes?” she chirped, flashing him a pearly white grin.

“I was wondering if you could help me pick out an outfit?” he asked, and she nodded.

“I’d be glad to help,” shooting her friend a wink as she followed him back towards the wall. “So, is there a particular event you’re going to that calls for a new outfit?” she inquired, taking in the sight of him.

He nodded. “Yeah, I’m hanging out with a couple friends later tonight.” He glanced at her. “Wanna show off, you know?”

(Y/N) giggled. “I totally know what you mean.” She crossed her arms. “Alright, well, let’s start with the easiest thing. Favorite colors?”

“Red, white, black, gray, and teal.” He replied.

“Hmm…boots or sneakers?”

“Boots.”

“Jeans or khak—”

“Jeans.” He interrupted with a scandalized expression.

She giggled again. “Just being thorough.” (Y/N) looked him over. He was tall, extremely built and God, his face was beautiful. Strong jaw and cheekbones, tanned skin and dark hair with a small white patch in the front. And his eyes, oh, his eyes were the prettiest teal.

“See something you like?” he flirted with a smirk and she rolled her eyes.

“Oh, don’t be cocky, I was just beginning to enjoy this.” He chuckled and she hummed. “I can see you like wearing jackets in eighty degrees so I’m gonna assume you’re more of a ‘suffer the pain for the aesthetic of the look’ type of man?” he nodded. “Okay, you a hoodie or sweatshirt guy?”

He paused, eyeing the displays and remarked, “I’m more a leather jacket type of man.”

(Y/N) nodded. “I can work with that.” She started up the wall. “Based on your body type I’m going to assume you run between a large and an extra-large.” Pausing, she eyed his hips. “Your pants size is probably a large.” She handed him a pair of dark blue jeans and he looked them over.

“Did you just give me jeans with bedazzled-shit on the back pockets?”

She cracked a grin. “Embrace your inner punk rock star, babe.” Shoving a crimson V-neck in his arms, she followed it with a pair of matte-black military style combat boots. “Black or tan leather?”

“Mmm…I have a tan at home,” he murmured, and she nodded.

“Black it is then,” (Y/N) decided, handing him a black leather jacket that closely resembled a bomber style jacket with a gray hood attached. She spun and stepped up to him. “Do you wear jewelry?”

“Mhm,” he said and turned his head. “Got my ears pierced a while back.”

“Have anything against religious imagery?”

He gasped. “And be blasphemous? I would never!”

She chuckled and wandered around a display, picking up a set of small silver earrings with crosses dangling on them, then she handed him a silver block necklace with the engraving, ‘Stay the course, for horizons are chased, but never caught’, and a silver wallet chain. “Your belt is black but I’ve half a mind to find a silver belt buckle to go with it.”

“But I digress,” she said, waving her hand before coming behind him, gently shoving him to the dressing room. “Off you go!”

He laughed, disappearing into the dressing room and she looked over at her coworker, giving her a mouthed, “Oh. My. God. He’s. Hot.”

“Tell me about it!” her friend mouthed back.

“And he smells like heaven!” (Y/N) returned, smiling when the curtain shifted, and he stepped out. Immediately her jaw dropped, and she breathed, “Holy shit.”

He chuckled, sending shivers down her spine and ran a hand through his hair, an action that made her stomach flip when he looked at her with those gorgeous teal eyes. “I take it I’m looking good, huh?”

All she could do was nod and mumble, “I’ll say.” She walked over and gently drug him to the giant mirror on the wall and turned him round so he could see himself. “You’re gonna knock your friends and half the people in this city dead the second they lay eyes on you.”

He reached up and adjusted the silver necklace before tugging at the jacket. “I like it.”

“I’m glad you do,” (Y/N) said, internally sighing in relief. “You’ve got everything for the deals, so let’s head to the register and make this happen, if you’re ready.”

“After you.” He replied, and she waltzed around, tapping at the register when he held up a hand. “Gimme just a minute.” She nodded, watching as he wandered to the displays and plucked a black backpack off the rack and shoved his old clothes and shoes in it, then he picked up a silver ring and slipped it on his finger. He walked back over. “Had to finish off the look.”

(Y/N) smiled. “Well, you’ve picked up two items, so you’ll have to find one more for the deal.”

He leaned his hip against the counter and shot her a flirty grin. “How ‘bout I buy the backpack and the ring and I get your number for free?” she blinked in shock and he added smoothly, “Never know when I’ll need help with another style.”

Her coworker was nudging her in the ribs but all she could do was try and horribly fail at hiding the grin as she rang up his total and flipped over the receipt, quickly scribbling her number down. She handed it to him, and he took it. “Thank you—”

She tugged a little and murmured, “You are going to let me style you for beach days, right?” her eyes followed down his body. “I’d love to help you pick out a nice pair of swim trunks.”

He smirked. “Well I was hoping to ask about underwear too, but I could probably throw in swim trunks as well.” Pulling the receipt from her fingers, he said, “Name’s Jason, by the way.”

“Well, have a good day, Jason.” She flirted, waving as he walked off.

Her coworker shoved her elbow into her ribs, and she gasped. “Holy fuck, it actually worked, and you just scored a really hot fuck.”

(Y/N) sighed dreamily. “Yes, I did.”

***

One “styling” turned into multiple “stylings” and many, many phone calls which turned into brunch and dinner dates with Jason. Which she strictly went to under the belief of styling said man, because falling in love with him spelled heartbreak and she knew it because there was no way someone like him was interested in her at all.

And yet, no matter how much she tried not too, (Y/N) found herself slipping deeper and deeper for him. It scared her, but she figured the easiest thing to do was to get him out on a date of her own and set the line before it was crossed. Which was how she found herself dressed in a 1950’s style floral dress with matching flats with her hair and makeup done, waiting underneath the cherry blossom tree in the Gotham City park.

She brushed her fingers over the fabric at her knee for what seemed like the millionth time, heart fluttering in her chest as she watched the people walk by. A few people had come up to her, either to compliment her outfit or ask her who the picnic was set up for. Jason had texted that he’d be there soon and (Y/N) hoped it would be right then because if she had to tell another guy to scram, she was going to pick everything up and haul ass.

Shaking her head, she focused on the poetry book in front of her, reading over another prose when she heard, “(Y/N)!” She looked up, seeing Jason hurrying towards her, three books in his arms.

She laughed and stood up, meeting him halfway. “Jay, I said bring one book not three.”

“I couldn’t pick. I love Emily Dickinson just as much as I love Walt Whitman and John Keats.” He retorted, setting the books down on the blanket before taking her hands in his, pushing her out to take in the sight of her. “Wow,” he breathed. “You look beautiful, doll.”

(Y/N) flushed, smiling shyly. “Yeah, well…you said something about the fifties, and I had this in the closet.” She nodded to the blanket. “I hope you’re hungry.”

His stomach rumbled in response and his cheeks tinted pink as he sat down. “You didn’t hear that.”

“Hear what?” she repeated with a grin, opening up the basket. “Okay, so I went a little overboard with the food, but who cares.” He chuckled, watching as she pulled out a couple bowls and a tray, then set out two plates for them and some silverware.

“What’s in these?” he asked, opening the lid to one of the bowls. It looked like some kind of pasta salad.

“That one is a BLT pasta salad and the other is fruit salad.” She started unraveling the foil from the platter. “And these are chicken Caesar pitas.” (Y/N) put one on his plate. “I made four just in case you wanted more to eat.”

Jason’s face lit up at all the food and he met her gaze. “You did all this for me?”

(Y/N) smiled and nodded. “Yeah…I hope it’s not too much though.”

“Not at all.” He looked around. “But I do hope you got something to drink in there.”

She giggled and handed him an insulated, stemless wine cup before pulling out a bottle of rosé. “Of course.”

“Thank you, doll,” he said as she poured them their drinks, then he raised his cup. “To us.”

(Y/N) clinked her cup to his. “To us.”

And that slowly turned into the food being eaten and the wine being drunk which ended up with Jason’s head in her lap as he read them his favorite poems, her fingers gently carding through his silky hair. At one point, he’d rested the book on his chest and simply closed his eyes, enjoying the feeling of her massaging his scalp. And (Y/N)? She was trying to keep her heard from beating out of her chest.

“Jason?” she murmured softly, and he hummed in return. “Is this real?”

He huffed a laugh and opened his eyes. “Yeah, (Y/N), I think the sky is real.”

She didn’t laugh, merely offering a halfhearted smile towards the open park. “No, Jason, this…us…how you are towards me. The flirting and the touching.” Her eyes were trained on the grass because she could feel his teal gaze boring into her, and if she looked down at him, she knew she’d lose her edge. “I…feel like you care about me…more than a good friend would.”

Swallowing, she assured, “It’s okay if it’s a no…but I wanna know now just to be sure.” (Y/N)’s voice quieted considerably. “It’ll get messy if we don’t figure this out here.” She went silent, refusing to look at Jason as he rose out of her lap and shifted until he was sitting beside her, their thighs brushing against one another.

His hand gently cupped her cheek and he murmured, “Yeah, it’s real. How we feel for each other.”

“Really?” she blinked. “Because you and me? I didn’t wanna assume but I—”

Jason pressed his lips to hers, effectively silencing her and she all but melted into him as she looped her arms around his neck. He smiled against her lips and with his free hand, gently pushed her down onto the blanket, the right side of his body resting on hers as he kissed her.

When they pulled away, he rested his forehead on hers, quipping, “I think you assumed rightly, doll.”

“Jason?” (Y/N) asked.

“Yeah?”

“Kiss me again.”

“Yes ma’am.”

***

That single date morphed into something deeper between them, and she could tell Jason was holding back a bit. He was open to love, to having a relationship, but something told (Y/N) that all of the ones he’d ever had either ended in disaster or mutual termination.

That being said, Jason was nothing but a loving boyfriend to her. He was everything that romance books and movies were based on. The guy every girl wanted to be with and (Y/N) had no idea how she got so lucky, but she wasn’t going to question it for fear of waking up from whatever dream this was.

And the first time Jason invited her over to his apartment a few months after they got together, she wasn’t sure who was more nervous about it, but she could tell they were both walking on eggshells around one another, all throughout dinner and when they finally decided to turn in for the night.

She opened the door to the bathroom, letting the steam escape as she stepped out. “Bathroom’s yours.” Jason gave her a quiet ‘thank you’ and moved inside, shutting the door rather quickly.

(Y/N) sighed and sat down on the bed, staring at the door. She couldn’t, for the life of her, figure out why he was uncomfortable with her there. Not wanting to keep the atmosphere going, she rose from the bed and wandered to his closet door, shooting a quick glance towards the bathroom. The shower was still going, and she smirked, opening up the closet.

Jason’s wardrobe was a mixture of T-shirts and leather jackets and suits, and his shoes were either boots or sneakers. All dark, all silk or cotton. She stepped inside the walk-in closet and drew her fingers along the fabric, stopping when she felt a thicker jacket. Bingo. (Y/N) tugged it off the hanger. It was Jason’s red sweatshirt he wore all the time. She practically had to beg him to get out of it when she wanted to put him in something new—he wore it like it was his second skin.

Slipping it on, she slipped back into the bedroom and quietly shut the door just as the shower shut off. Momentarily panicking, she hurried over to the window and leaned against it, staring out at the traffic below. The bathroom door opened and (Y/N)’s heart slammed into her rib-cage when she heard Jason’s breathing stutter when he saw her.

“I hope you don’t mind,” she murmured. “Got a little cold.”

His footsteps padded behind her and his hands rested on her hips. “Didn’t your mother ever teach you that snooping in people’s personal belongings isn’t very nice?”

(Y/N) leaned back against his chest, head propping on his shoulder giving her enough space to see his face. “No, but she did teach me to put my big girl panties on when my boyfriend won’t grow a pair.”

Jason cocked a brow, fingers digging into her hips as he challenged, “Is that so?” he tugged her back, pressing his front into her back. “And what exactly am I not growing a pair about?”

“I dunno,” she shrugged. “But something’s bugging you and it’s really screwing with our mood.”

He held her gaze for a moment, then he sighed and wrapped his arms around her, resting his chin on her shoulder. “I…gotta tell you something, doll.”

(Y/N) blinked and spun around in his arms. “Please don’t tell me you cheated on me.”

“What? God no!” he blurted. “No, I didn’t sleep with anyone.”

“Then what’s the problem?” she asked, reaching up to cup his cheeks. “You can tell me anything, Jason. I’m not going to get upset.” They stared one another down and he sighed, pulling away before heading to the bed. “Gonna show me you’re a eunuch or something?”

Jason barked a laugh. “You’re hilarious, doll.” He reached under the bed and pulled out a locked box. Setting it on the bed, he pressed his thumb to the little printer, and she watched as it flashed green and the locks flicked. He opened the case and (Y/N)’s eyes widened when she saw the gear inside, the guns on either side of the box, the suit in the middle, and the red helmet sitting on top of it.

“I wanted to tell you sooner, but I wasn’t sure how.” He whispered. “I guess I was scared what you’d think.” (Y/N) said nothing but she reached for the hood and picked it up, taking a seat on the bed as she flipped it over in her hands, examining it.

“Scared of my opinion…or scared of you?” she hinted, and he looked at her from where he knelt, a mix of emotions crossing his mind.

He shook his head and shrugged. “Both.”

She held the hood and with her free hand, gently caressed the lines of it, explaining, “Four years ago, my life was saved by Red Hood.” Jason’s head shot up and he gaped at her. “I was still in high school, coming home from prom when I got in a car accident with my best friend. We were hit by a drunk driver.”

(Y/N) looked at him. “The other driver was DOI, and my friend was unconscious and bleeding severely…I was awake but had broken my femur and clavicle…I couldn’t move, and I was scared.” Her fingers twitched along the cheek of the hood. “And then this mysterious masked man broke the lock on the door and cut my seat-belt. At first I thought he was going to hurt me because he looked menacing.”

She smiled. “But he grabbed my phone in the floorboard and called nine-one-one and then held my hand until an ambulance showed up.” (Y/N) gazed at him. “He kept saying I was going to be okay and that he wasn’t going to leave until I was in a bus and on my way to the hospital.”

Picking the hood up, she leaned over and put it on his head, watching as it beeped and lit up. “Later I heard on the news that he’d been responsible for the gang war between Black Mask and the drug dealers…but he’d successfully managed to get some of the school areas out of poverty and drug usage. And he’d killed a lot of bad people who didn’t deserve to be around.”

(Y/N) pressed her lips to the forehead of his helmet. “I was never scared of you, Jason. Then or now.” He put his head down and she merely smiled softly when he reached out and grabbed her hand, squeezing tightly.

They stayed that way for a while until he shifted and pulled the hood off, setting it back in the box. “Thank you, (Y/N),” he whispered, and she nodded, gently brushing her fingers through his hair.

“Of course.” She tugged at a strand and he looked over at her, seeing her eyes solemn. “Just promise me you’ll be careful from now on, and that you’ll come back in one piece.”

Jason snorted. “Will do, doll.”

“Good,” she nodded, then happened to look back in the box. “So…this might not be the best time but…how do you feel about I don’t know…putting the suit on when we go to bed?”

He huffed a laugh and rose, shoving her back onto the bed. “Well, well, Miss (Y/N), aren’t you a kinky vixen.”

“I can’t help it, Jason. Red Hood’s a pretty sexy guy.” She winked. “Say…wanna play cops and robbers sometime?”

“You’re something else,” he purred, and she wiggled underneath him.

“Don’t I know it, babe.”

[makeste]

BnHA Chapter 296: Ngl, This One Pissed Me Off

Previously on BnHA: Deku was all, ���p.s. I actually activated yet another quirk several chapters ago when Kacchan got stabbed.” Compress was all, “[gets captured and passes out].” Spinner was all “[rifles through Tomura’s pockets and slaps a random Charbroiled Hand onto his friend’s unconscious face].” Tomura was all, “SOMEHOW THAT ACTUALLY WORKED” and woke up again, except it wasn’t really him, it was everyone’s favorite Final Villain, AFO. AFO was all, “time to escape finally” and summoned a bunch of Noumu and Absconded with Spinner and the DabiMarble in tow. Skeptic was all, “Horikoshi forgot I existed, but I’m actually Absconding in marble-form as well.” Deku was all, “ATTENTION WORLD, I WOULD LIKE TO ANNOUNCE THAT I OFFICIALLY WANT TO SAVE SHIGARAKI TOMURA.” And then the arc just sort of ended lol.

Today on BnHA: Horikoshi is all, “but when you think about it, do we really need literally any female teachers at U.A. at all?” and for whatever reason doesn’t stop to wait for an answer. Midnight, who absolutely did not need to die, Dies, and I’m pissed about it. Ochako wanders the ruins of Jakku for what feels like hours, rescuing small children while her adult hero compatriots fall to pieces around her, because apparently the U.A. kids really are the only people who have their shit together. The citizens of Japan are all “damn that’s wild, wonder how fucked we are now,” but are actually super casual and chill about it which is oddly realistic. The chapter ends with AFO in Tartarus being all “lol time for the prison break arc,” without giving us so much as a chance to catch our breath, like holy shit. Are we on the clock or something now, goddamn.

lmao it’s like 7pm on a Sunday night and this is out already. this is like the worst possible timing lol. there goes my nice, relaxed evening. unless of course this turns out to be a nice, restful, soothing chapter, as chapters coming on the heels of traumatic, earth-shattering battles so often are. yeah, break out the Pina Colada song and the little drink umbrellas, I got a good feeling about this one

(ETA: I mean, I was obviously being sarcastic here but damn, Horikoshi.)

-- fff why did I laugh

it’s the crumbling city ruins in the background that really does it, I think. JUST LOOK AT THIS MESS THAT YOU HAVE MADE, EVERYONE. FOR SHAME

also, the title is dramatic af and I am so fucking excited you guys, like holy shit. BnHA’s In-Between arcs have always been my favorite part of the series, because it’s when all the character development and angst and/or catharsis happens. just, those little breathing spaces in between the action when everyone gathers to recuperate and compartmentalize their fresh new traumas lmao. bring on that angst!! but also, let’s please have some Comfort to offset all of this Hurt too, please and thanks

blah blah blah so the survivors were evacuated, good good, can you actually show us though?

AHHHHHHH

PIXIE BOB SURVIVED!!!! WASH IS STILL ALIVE LMAO HOW. THIRTEEN’S FACE, OMG SHOULD I LOOK AWAY. IS IT LIKE MANDALORIAN RULES. IDK HOW IT WORKS

HOW THE FUCK ARE THEY ALIVE. LOLS ANYWAY I’M HERE FOR IT. FEEL FREE NOT TO KILL ANYONE ELSE HERE HORIKOSHI, I THINK WE’RE GOOD

(ETA: it’s like talking to a brick wall.)

oh my god do we really need exposition about how the heroes tried to stop TomurAFO from escaping and OF COURSE failed completely because they suck lmao. oh my god I am shocked, that is such shocking news

wow they only managed to defeat three of the Noumus. holy shit. again, all of the Not-Kid Heroes are only slightly more useful than cardboard cutouts of heroes at this point, MORE AT ELEVEN

so Tomura may have lost the PLF, but he still more or less has an army then, huh. I really don’t know how anyone could expect a timeskip with that threat looming over everyone’s heads

oh nvm lol there are only seven Noumus left. wait so you’re telling me there were only ten Nearly High Ends in that last chapter?? felt more like fifty but whatever lol I’ll take your word for it

COMPRESS YAY YOU’RE ALIVE TOO

MAYBE THEY CAN EVEN REATTACH HIS ASS. I’M SERIOUS LOL, BECAUSE HE STILL HAS IT, DOESN’T HE? OR IF NOT, THEY CAN REBUILD HIM WITH A PROSTHETIC ASS. he’ll be more powerful than ever

WHAAAAAAT YEAH BOIIIII

WOOO, EDGESHOT, WOOOOO. THAT’S HIS WAY OF THE NINJA

YEAHHHHH SUCK IT, PLF

(ETA: for the record I don’t think Cementoss is dead here, just badly wounded. if he had died he would have been included in the forthcoming In Memoriam page along with the others.)

GET BENT LOL. TRUMPET I FOR REAL FORGOT YOU EVEN EXISTED. I NEVER WANT TO SEE ANY OF YOU LOSERS AGAIN PLEASE. ONLY INTERESTING CHARACTERS MAY PROCEED PAST THIS POINT

dsflksaldkh;l

that’s... holy shit. that’s a bigass mansion, that’s what that is. also so does this mean there are still eighty thousand PLF members still at large, because that’s a plot line I very much do not care about in any way whatsoever lol. can’t we just retcon to say that Re-Destro was exaggerating? I mean hell, a CEO criminal pulling some Enron-type bullshit is pretty believable, isn’t it? those poor bamboozled shareholders

“makeste, here’s an idea, what if you scrolled down to read the rest of the page” lol gtfo of here with your logic and your sense

well those 132 people have made it onto my enemies list, but at least it sounds like they more or less took care of the rest. good riddance

and Toga escaped, as we knew already, and is now on the lam. hopefully she reunites with the League again at some point. although her doing her own thing could also be very interesting. idk what I want lol

anyway so there’s another big panel showing how fucked up the city is, just in case it hadn’t already been hammered into our skulls yet. there’s a car dangling off a roof somehow. how does that even happen. did Machia pick it up and put it there or

NOOO OMG RANDOM SMALL CHILDREN IN PERIL WHAT IS THIS

OCHAKO PLEASE SAVE THEM OMG

“if it falls on me, I want you to have my Endeavor pouch” OH MY STARS. HIS MOST PRECIOUS POSSESSION. NO MY CHILD YOU CAN’T GIVE UP HOPE YET

LMAO

“FOR THE LAST TIME NOBODY CARES ABOUT YOUR DUSTY-ASS POUCH, KYLE” fffff these children are dying and I am cracking up so hard my eyes are tearing up what is wrong with me

YAY THEY SAVED THEM

but listen. not that I don’t love seeing the girls kick ass, because you know I do. but I also really, REALLY need to know what’s going down with the Musketeers, and I’m not looking forward to waiting three whole weeks for that so please Horikoshi. please hurry this along so we can get to them

goddamn it Tsuyu is saying she’ll take the boy to the shelter to get first aid, and I was all “okay great because that’s probably where Kacchan and the others are too”, but now someone else is shouting for help and Ochako’s all “I’ll go” and it’s like OKAY BUT PLEASE? this chapter is already more than half over omfg. ‘bout to start wringing some hands here

oh my god

is this Toga again??? WHAT THE HELL, THIS CREEPYASS HALF-DEAD DUDE BETTER BE LEADING UP TO SOMETHING INTERESTING, I AM REALLY GETTING IMPATIENT

OR, I GUESS, WE COULD DO THIS INSTEAD

“SO AS IT TURNS OUT, NOT EVERY CHARACTER WHO NEEDS HELP SAVING THEIR SPOUSE FROM FALLEN RUBBLE IS ACTUALLY TOGA IN DISGUISE” HUH, OKAY. DULY NOTED. FILED AWAY FOR FUTURE REFERENCE

but fucking... okay, look. I love Ochako, I do. but I like her a whole lot more when she’s interacting with other characters I actually care about, as opposed to running around in the rubble rescuing random people while the fate of my other children is still up in the air. like okay, I get it, shit’s bad, now if you don’t mind we really don’t have to spend all day here though

...anyways but nope, we’re still staying with her. she’s bouncing around rescuing all of these other people. omg. I literally have no patience here at all and it’s terrible, I know, but oh my god

omg finally something interesting is happening!!

look at that, an adult hero standing around being useless while the kids are busy getting shit done. why is this becoming a recurring theme

MY DUDE, THIS IS SERIOUSLY NOT THE TIME THOUGH

I GET THAT IT’S OVERWHELMING AND THAT YOU’RE TRAUMATIZED AND SHIT, BUT GUESS WHAT, SO IS EVERYONE ELSE. THAT’S WHAT YOU SIGNED UP FOR. JUST LOOK AT OCHAKO! SHE’S SO EXHAUSTED HER HAIR HAS EVEN LOST ITS FLOOF, AND YET SHE’S STILL OUT HERE DOING HER BEST. ONE SAVE AT A TIME MY MAN. GET IT DONE. LITERALLY A SMALL CHILD IN THE BOTTOM RIGHT CALLING FOR THEIR MOMMY AND YOU’RE JUST STANDING THERE ALL “WAHH IT’S TOO MUCH” LIKE COULD YOU PLEASE POSTPONE YOUR CRISIS UNTIL AFTER YOU SAVE THEM PLEASE

OH MY GOD

MAYBE YOU SHOULD!! oh my god I really cannot, like wow. oh no I actually have to save people and do my job, god forbid. jesus christ, at least the other heroes tried. but Moping Hero: Bellyache here is just throwing in the towel and fuck everyone who still needs his help I guess. you are like the anti-Deku my dude

OH MY GOD OH MY GOD NO OH FUCK

THAT’S MIDNIGHT’S HAND OH FU -- SHE BETTER NOT -- HORIKOSHI I SWEAR TO GOD --

I’M GONNA LOSE IT I REALLY AM!!!!

HOLY SHIT HOW INTENSE OF A RAGE DO I NEED TO BRACE MYSELF TO BE FEELING HERE. THIS CHAPTER WAS ALREADY TRENDING TOWARDS DISAPPOINTMENT, DO WE REALLY NEED TO GO AND COMPOUND THAT

WHAT THE FUCK IS GOING ON

you’re telling me Tomura wasn’t brought back by that electric shock, but by his “fuck you” attitude? why are you explaining this to us now, again??

......

HEY, SO UM, FUCK ABSOLUTELY EVERYTHING ABOUT THIS, THOUGH. (: OH MAN. OHHHHHH MAN. I HAVE... I HAVE GOT A LOT OF WORDS FOR THIS AND HERE ARE SOME OF THEM

FUCK

THINGS THAT SHOULD BE IN THE DICTIONARY NEXT TO “SOME BULLSHIT”: THIS

FUCK

GET FUCKED HORIKOSHI

AND ALSO PLEASE FUCK RIGHT OFF!!

AND SERIOUSLY THOUGH FUCK YOU

NO BUT YOU KNOW WHAT THOUGH!! YOU COULD HAVE KILLED OFF ANYONE. LITERALLY ANY CHARACTER. YOU HAD TWELVE FEMALE PROS. TWELVE. YOU COULD HAVE MADE MORE OF THEM. PROBABLY, IF THERE ACTUALLY WERE SUPERHEROES IN REAL LIFE, THERE WOULD BE MORE THAN TWELVE OF THEM IN AN ENTIRE NATION. BUT NO, YOU WERE ALL “TWELVE IS MORE THAN ENOUGH.” AND THEN WHEN IT CAME TIME TO KILL PEOPLE OFF, YOU WERE ALL “WELL ALL RIGHT THEN, LET’S SEE, I PICK... THESE 18 RANDOM SIDE CHARACTERS WITH LITTLE TO NO DIALOGUE, PLUS THE ONE SINGLE FEMALE U.A. STAFF MEMBER WE ACTUALLY HAD. YEAH THAT OUGHTA DO IT”

AND BY THE WAY, HORIKOSHI, I PICKED SOMETHING UP FOR YOU ON MY WAY HOME, HERE IT IS, ┌П┐(・＿・) do you like it it was on sale. I saw it and was like, “Horikoshi would really like that.” so there you go. sorry it wasn’t gift-wrapped

p.s. I hope y’all can tell that that’s supposed to be a middle finger and not... something else lmao. er. anyway

(ETA: so I got a few asks from people who were really put off by this part of the reaction post, and so I’m just adding an extra note here to make it clear that I do not actually wish harm on Horikoshi in any way or even particularly dislike him. I wasn’t happy about Midnight’s death and I wanted to convey that, and so I went with my usual LOUD CAPSLOCK REACTION tone, but looking back on it I can see that it’s kind of a lot, lol. 

so just to be clear, the “fuck you” stuff is almost entirely tongue-in-cheek. that’s on me, I forget sometimes that there are people who share these sentiments unironically and so I didn’t think to make sure my intended meaning here was clear. anyways, killing Midnight was still a really problematic decision for numerous reasons but it is what it is. Horikoshi is not perfect, the story isn’t perfect, and I’m not gonna pretend like it is, but again just to be clear, I don’t harbor any actual ill will toward Horikoshi here.)

shit. and wow this man really went and killed off fucking Mystic too on top of that. have you ever seen a character fail so spectacularly at living up to their hype. r.i.p. Mystic you were like the Star Wars sequel of characters

(ETA: I have no fucking idea why I keep thinking Majestic’s name is Mystic lol. rest in peace you old scarecrowy bastard.)

and poor Momo, though. fuck. lost two mentors in a single day. and do not even get me started on Aizawa holy shit

so now we’re cutting to some random townspeople who are gossiping about the Todoroki drama. this is actually interesting in spite of my newfound determination to hate this chapter lol

ngl I am kind of heartened to see that not everyone fell for Dabi’s bs hook line and sinker though. Jeanist returning from the dead literally two seconds after Dabi was all “I SWEAR ON MY HONOR AS A VILLAIN THAT HAWKS MURDERED HIM” probably helped with that a bit! but there will doubtless be many other people who do believe him, or are at least still inclined to side-eye the heroes in general either way given how much they sucked in this arc. very, very interesting

so it seems though that even more than the whole Endeavor reveal, at the end of the day it’s going to be the heroes failing to live up to their end of the “put your faith in us and let us use our quirks and in return we’ll protect everyone and keep them safe” implied social contract that’s going to have the biggest impact on people’s opinions moving forward. basically this was always going to be a disaster no matter what

OH MY GOD FINALLY AHHHHH

Horikoshi really tapped into some of the real-life political energy of the past few years huh. Fuck Him Still for killing off Midnight, but I will admit that so far this is hella intriguing and I am really, really curious to see where things go from here

OH MY GOD THE LITTLE KIDS FROM THE BABYSITTING ARC

“FIVE PEEPEE MAN WOULDN’T LIE TO US” YES CHILDREN YOU’RE ABSOLUTELY RIGHT. at least the little ones still have faith

UM

 ( •̀ へ •́  )

that’s great. that’s really keen. all we need right now, amirite

GOOD FOR YOU, YOU PIECE OF SHIT

let’s just wait for him to explain what he feels. you know he likes to drag it out

is that Dabi crouched down there next to Spinner? looks like they got him out of the marble after all. but why has his hair changed colors again lol what

anyways. your turn to what??

:’) excuse me what

hahahaha are you fucking kidding me. and that’s where we’re going to end the chapter then. lol okay

so let’s recap. Midnight died. we spent ten hours watching Ochako dig people out of rubble for no apparent reason and were then introduced to my new least favorite character, and because Ochako is so nice she didn’t even punch him in the face even though she really should have. we did not get any Kacchan or Shouto. we got one panel of Deku, who is Finally Asleep. and the chapter ended with AFO ordering his Noumus to go set free, AND I QUOTE, HIS “MAIN BODY.” and now I gotta wait an entire week for Caleb’s translation to confirm that last part. omg

but it sounds like a prison break is imminent, which is very, very interesting. ...and actually, is it weird that I’m actually rooting for it to be a success? I have no idea what this guy is planning, but I do know that as long as the main part of his soul is still residing in Tomura’s body, Tomura’s chance of surviving the series is close to zero. and villain though he may be, I’m still rooting for his redemption (nice to have Deku on my side now too), and so yeah. so like if AFO feels like using some latent Exorcism Quirk or something that he’s been saving for just such an occasion, be my guest lol

meanwhile this doesn’t bode well for All Might though. or anyone else aside from Tomura, really. shiiiit

anyway. [slaps roof of chapter] this baby can fit so much bullshit in it

[mellometal]

ATTENTION: This is some recent information about the current events with Chris Chan that I've been able to find, plus additional information that I couldn't find anything on that is now public knowledge.

ALL videos about any updates will be linked so you can watch them for yourself, if you wish.

Again, OBLIGATORY trigger warning: This post will be going into very sensitive subject matter, including r@p3, s3xual assault, elder abuse, and inc3st. I will also be mentioning the site Kîwî F@rm$ and the person who runs it (Null). DON'T go onto Kîwî F@rm$. Just stay away from there. It's like 4chan (another site full of REALLY fucked up shit, depending on which forum you go to), but worse.

If anything I mentioned is triggering for you or makes you otherwise uncomfortable in any way, you don't have to read this post. It's not worth putting yourself in a bad state mentally. Take care of yourself, please. Consume media that sparks joy for you.

ALRIGHTY, LET'S GET TO IT. Because there's quite a lot of bullshit that happened since the first post I made about the current events. And some more information that will most likely be the nail in the coffin for Chris. I'm patiently waiting for more updates as they come and I'll share them here as soon as possible.

The person Chris was in a call with was revealed to be a troll under the name "Bella". The screenshots of messages and the audio from the call have all been confirmed to be real.

It's also been revealed that Chris confided in Null about her having a girlfriend, having s3x with her, all that. Here's a list of things to describe this "girlfriend" below, which I will compare to Barbara in bold:

This woman is "in her over fifties". (Barbara is eighty years old. Most people would assume that someone's in their late fifties when this terminology is used. Eighty is well over fifty.)

Her favorite person was the late Adam West in the 60s, as it was "for her son back then". (I don't know if Chris is referring to her half-brother Cole Smithey [he does movie reviews, and he's most famous for being one of the only people to give Toy Story 3 a negative review] here, or if she's referring to herself before she came out as trans. I'm adding this here anyway.)

Chris has known this woman "for a long time", offline and in-person. (OBVIOUSLY she's known Barbara her whole life, since she's, AGAIN, HER MOTHER! DUH.)

They've been having s3x "every three nights". (Like how Chris admitted to doing to her defenseless mother. PRETTY FUCKING FISHY, IF YOU ASK ME.)

They began having s3x on June 27th. (The same day that Chris admitted to doing to Barbara.)

This woman was an accountant when she was younger. (Barbara's job was EXACTLY this.)

Chris said she feels grateful to "enlighten" her girlfriend with s3x play that she (the woman) "missed from even her exes". (I didn't mention this in my initial post, but if you chose to watch the videos that were linked, Chris mentioned that Barbara's boyfriends and ex-husbands "have never been able to make her 0rg@$m" like Chris did. SHE EVEN MENTIONED HER LATE FATHER. THAT'S FUCKING DISGUSTING AND DISRESPECTFUL.)

Chris has been "keeping her girlfriend safe" too. (She had been "taking care of Barbara" since Bob, her late father, passed away. This right here is proof alone that she was talking about HER MOM!)

Her girlfriend "didn't want to do it at first", it was "very painful" for Chris's girlfriend in the beginning, and it took a few tries for them "to get going". This included Chris doing it FOR her because she thought her girlfriend would "feel better" due to her lack of mobility and lucidity. (Chris said all of this exact stuff TO "BELLA" during their call.)

Null initially thought that Chris was lying about sleeping with her mother to cover up the fact that she had a girlfriend and having s3x with her. Why? Because apparently people would believe Chris would have s3x with her mother than some other unknown woman. Chris told Null to keep her girlfriend's identity secret because she was afraid her girlfriend would get trolled and she'd end up losing her.

What Null realized was that what Chris told him completely matched the description of Barbara. Note that before he looked into this, he was unaware of the context Chris was giving him about her "girlfriend".

It's extremely possible now that Chris admitted to s3xually assaulting Barbara to Null and "Bella", but she wanted Null to keep it confidential. Chris wanted NULL to keep the fact that she admitted to committing a VERY serious crime A SECRET.

If Chris WAS actually lying, she'd use a lot more CWCisms (her own phrases) or say that she was "using her psychic powers" to have s3x with Barbara's fictional counterpart in another dimension. But no, Chris was VERY straightforward and talked about it casually like if you were to talk about the weather.

Chris, according to Null, slept in a parking lot in her car the other night. At least for a few hours, though I don't remember where the FUCK else she slept (maybe a hotel room eventually), considering she had -$200 in her bank account. I believe some people who are in contact with Chris sent her some money to get food too.

Null revealed that he set up a GoFundMe previously for Chris to attend a Brony convention, which was a test to see how Chris would be able to handle commissions. The GFM was successful, to say the least. Chris fulfilled commissions successfully, DESPITE NOT WORKING ON THE FUCKING COMIC. Y'KNOW, THE THING SHE'S PAID FOR ON PATREON TO DO!

Well, due to recent events, he has since taken down the GFM and is refunding all the money to all the donors. He was debating on sending Chris money (the GFM money, since Chris isn't able to go to the Brony convention), but he decided not to do so. He told Chris to sleep in her car, spend the night under the stars, and reflect on her current situation until the morning, when Null would help her find a temporary roof over her head until August 5th.

Barbara tightly manages Chris's finances. Those are Null's words, not mine. You want to know why Barbara's been having trouble with the house and shit? CHRIS HAS BEEN STEALING MONEY FROM HER FOR YEARS. HER CREDIT IS ALL SORTS OF FUCKED, SHE'S BURIED IN DEBT, AND IT'S CHRIS'S FAULT. THE PERSON WHO'S SUPPOSED TO BE TAKING CARE OF HER.

How did we find out about Chris recently getting more money, specifically $750? Well, Null has had access to Chris's emails for the past few years (Chris knows this), and he found an email that Barbara had sent Chris money.

That's a violation of the EPO (Emergency Protective Order) that was put into affect for Barbara. Chris was NOT supposed to contact Barbara in ANY way, shape or form.

Null asked Chris about this and told her that this was a violation of the EPO. He asked her if her mom sent her money. Chris denied it at first, and then went into the whole goddess bullshit she goes into. She then admitted to accessing Barbara's banking account online and wiring the $750 to HER account. Chris also said that she'd pay her back the $750 after receiving the $1000 that Null was supposed to send to Chris. Null was obviously upset with what Chris had done. Who wouldn't be?

Guess what Null did in reaction to what Chris told him? HE BLOCKED CHRIS AND REPORTED HER TO THE POLICE. I'm honestly surprised he stuck with her this long. He genuinely wanted to see Chris become a better person.

It's only a matter of time for Chris's arrest. With all this information that's out there now, more information probably coming very soon, plus people close to Chris confirming all of this....I feel it's safe for me to say that Chris did s3xually assault her mother.

I don't feel bad for Chris anymore. I have no sympathy for Chris. Any ounce of respect for this person has been long since gone. I don't feel comfortable even referring to Chris as a person. She's a monster.

I talked about Chris a few times a few years ago on Instagram, and I got yelled at for tearing this motherfucker apart. Because apparently I was an "ableist bully" for having my grievances with Chris, despite the fact that I'm autistic too and I've never "bullied" Chris for being autistic. Not even once. My grievances had more to do with Chris using her mother and their animals to exploit them for her own monetary gain INSTEAD OF TRYING TO FIND A JOB. I've even tried to suggest that she go work through a temporary work industry and get paid daily. (At that time, I didn't know that trying to interact with Chris wasn't a very good idea. I've since learned, obviously.)

Here's a link to Gibi's video:

Dillon Thomas's video:

The stream with Null:

Geno Samuel's stream:

Here's Rogue's video and live stream he did about the situation. Rogue is one of my FAVORITE YouTubers, as edgy as his content is.:

Thank you for your time.

[thetravelerwrites]

Dr. Mael Halvorg (Finale) Lemon

Rating: Explicit Relationship: Male Part-Fae/Female Part Fae Additional Tags: Exophilia, Monster Boyfriend, Fae, Reader Insert, Genetics Content Warnings: Children, Pregnancy, Incubation, Birth, Babies, Surgery, Male Infertility, Mention of Cancer Words: 4233

The finale of @ivymemnoch​‘s commission! The reader takes Dr. Halvorg on a weekend trip for his birthday and changes his life forever. Please reblog and leave feedback!

The Traveler's Masterlist

The plus sign on the stick had taken you by surprise. You don’t know why, though; you knew this was probably going to happen eventually when you decided to stop your birth control. Of course, you didn’t expect it to happen so soon, since he was still recovering and potentially wouldn’t necessarily be any more fertile than he had been before, but considering how prolific your family was, it shouldn’t have been a shock.

Three months after Maël’s surgery, his test results had been not quite normal but favorable, and he was already talking to you about perhaps finding a surrogate and in-vitro fertilization, getting your opinion and making sure you’d be okay with it. You told him to wait, perhaps, and give himself more time to allow his… swimmers… to get stronger. You hadn’t told him you were already prepared to carry his child for him. You wanted it to be a surprise. A gift.

But now, after dating for six months, there it was. Right there on the ultrasound screen: a tiny little baby belly bean, no bigger than your thumb. Whatever doubts you had were always drowned out by one sentence.

He’s going to be so happy.

You went into his office after getting home from the OBGYN, having told him you were simply going in for your normal bi-yearly check-up. He was working, like always, but he looked up when you came in and smiled.

“How’d it go?” He asked you.

“Totally normal and healthy,” You replied. The both of us.

“I’m glad to hear that,” He said, putting down his pen. “No lunch with Amai? It’s Wednesday.”

“I know,” You said. “But I wanted to spend time with you.”

His smile widened and he opened his arms. You went over and sat in his lap, giving him a kiss.

“So, you’re birthday is coming up,” You said nonchalantly.

He snorted. “I haven’t celebrated my birthday in over one hundred years.”

“All the more reason to do it now!” You insisted. “I want to take you on a weekend trip. There’s somewhere special I want you to see.”

“And what would that be?” He asked, smiling at you fondly.

“A surprise,” You said, twitching his nose. “It’s in New York, though.”

His head rocked back. “That’s a ways away. Why are we going so far?”

“You’ll see. Do you want to go? Please?” You looked up through your lashes at him, being playful, hoping you weren’t being too weird and that he didn’t suspect anything.

“Well, alright. I don’t really have much work to do right now.”

You sat up and looked at him in shock, laughing. “I totally didn’t expect you to agree!”

He hugged you close and laughed too. “Well, there’s no reason not to, I suppose. And I’ll do just about anything for you if you ask nicely enough. God, it’s been ages since I actually took an actual vacation.”

“See? Perfect timing.” You bit your lip and looked at the door slyly. “Does the door lock?”

His eyes flicked to the door and back to you, narrowing them. “Yes. But the room isn’t soundproof.”

“I can be quiet. Promise.”

You thought he’d decline and say it was inappropriate to be intimate in his office, that he’d see you after he was done working and then the two of you could play back at his massive suite. Which was now your suite as well, as you’d moved in with him about a month ago.

What you didn’t expect was him to grin sinfully at you and get up, closing the blinds. He went around to lock the door and sat on the couch on the opposite side of his desk and patted his lap. Smirking, you joined him.

Climbing into his lap slowly, straddling him, you went in for a deep, probing kiss, dragging your fingernails down his chest over his shirt. He groaned against your lips and put his hands on your legs, petting under your skirt and slip, raking his fingers against the lip of your stockings. You’d taken to wearing stockings because he rather liked them. It seemed to do a lot to turn him on, especially when they were all you were wearing. He also had a corset fetish, too, but you couldn’t wear a corset all the time, especially around the children, so stockings were a happy medium.

He kneaded your buttocks under your skirt as you reached between the two of you and unbuckled his pants, unzipped the zipper, and reached in, fondling him over his underwear. His groaned deepened and he squirmed underneath you, his head falling back onto the cushions.

You started kissing his neck, pulling up his shirt and running your hands up his back. He had large, curious scales on his back, an artifact of his fae heritage. They were a lot like pangolin scales: wide, brown, and ridged. He often wore special padded shirts, because normal shirts were shredded by the end of the day. You thought they were adorable and loved grooming them for him, which he greatly enjoyed and made him almost purr, though you could cut a finger on them if you weren’t careful.

He reached under you and pulled your panties aside, lining himself up with your entrance. You sank slowly down onto him, drawing it out, and he hissed in a breath, biting his lip to keep quiet. You began to move on him, and he moved under you, thrusting up as you thrust down. He was always a very active, enthusiastic participant during sex, even if you took the lead. One hundred years of celibacy might have had something to do with that.

He flipped your skirt up and tucked it into your waistband so that he could watch himself go into and out of you, watch your thighs flex and contract, and run his thumbs up the straps of your stockings. You pulled the tie from his white-blonde hair and shook it out of it’s neat braid, letting it fall around his shoulders so that you could play with and tug on it. His pace quickened, and you matched his rhythm, the both of you beginning to pant and moan, quickly suppressed.

There was a knock on his door. “Dr. Halvorg? I need your signature on these invoices.”

He pulled you against his shoulder, muffling your sounds of pleasure, but he didn’t stop thrusting. You bit into his shoulder to keep yourself for crying out.

“What are they for?” He called through the door, his voice remarkably even-sounding.

“For the medical equipment from Broadchurch,” The assistant said.

“No, no, we never got the product, we’re not paying that,” He said, for all the world sounding like he was sitting as his desk staring at paperwork and not railing you on his couch.

“I’m going to cum,” You whispered into his ear.

“You promised to stay quiet,” He told you just as silently.

“I can’t!” You responded desperately.

“You promised.”

“So what should I do?” The assistant said, seemingly none the wiser that you were about to explode.

“Call them and ask where our equipment is. Until they locate it, they’re not getting a penny.”

You balled up his shirt in your hands and gritted your teeth as you came, gushing on him and holding your breath to stay quiet. You made a squeak, and his hand closed on your throat.

“Shh, shh,” He hushed.

“I’ll call them back, but I don’t think they’ll be very helpful,” The assistant replied. “They haven’t responded to any of the emails. The only communication is from emails.”

“Send them an email, then. I’m busy, though, so get on with it,” He said impatiently, staring at your face as your orgasm crested and ebbed, keeping a firm grip on your neck.

“Yes, sir,” The assistant said. You heard their footsteps recede.

“Oh, fuck,” You breathed.

“You did well,” He said, allowing his breathing to go fast and shallow. God, he had amazing self restraint. “Good girl. Stay still, I’m almost there.”

His pace became frenetic and bounced you high on his lap. He let go your your throat and gripped your hips, slamming you down upon him. He grunted, getting a little red in the face as he smacked his body into you.

You felt him release inside you, pulsing against your inner walls. When he was done, he flipped you over and lay you down on the couch, watching his seed well up and out of you to drip down onto the vinyl couch. He always did that, and you weren’t sure why.

You went to the en-suite bathroom to clean yourself up and brought him a wet towel so that he could do the same. When you were both done and had straightened your clothes, you spent a few minutes making out against his desk before he sighed.

“I should help my assistant contact the supply company. He’s a bit of a pushover, the poor kid.” Maël smiled down at you. “That was nice. We should do that more often.”

“We almost got caught!” You objected.

“Hey, it was your idea,” He said, grinning. “I’m looking forward to whatever you have planned for our trip. I’m sure it’ll be amazing.”

“It definitely will be. I promise.” You kissed him one more time, lingering for a moment, before unlocking the door and letting yourself out.

Next week, Saturday morning, you took a plane out to Albany, New York, and drove a rental car to a house in Glenmont. When you stopped in the driveway, Maël looked at you with confusion and a little bit of apprehension.

“I don’t understand,” He said. “What are we doing here?”

“You’ll see,” You replied. “Come on.”

You walked him up to the front door and knocked. A young woman in her forties or fifties answered.

“Hello?”

“Hi, are you Mrs. Winston?”

“Oh, yes, you must be the young woman I spoke to over the phone!” She said. “Come in, come in. He’s in the parlor.”

“Thank you so much.” You stepped into the house with Maël following. You could feel the curiosity and confusion radiating off of him.

You were led into a sitting room where a man in a wheelchair was reading a paper at a table. He was quite old, by human standards, in his mid-eighties perhaps. He was hooked up to an IV and had an oxygen cannula in his nostrils.

“Dad?” The woman said softly. “You’ve got visitors.”

The man looked up at the two of you. Despite his advanced age, he seemed completely within his faculties.

“Are you the woman I talk to?” He asked you.

“Yes, sir,” You responded. “Thank you for agreeing to see us.”

“It’s no problem,” He said. He was staring at Maël.

You pulled him forward. “Dr. Maël Halvorg,” You said to Maël. “I’d like you to meet Dr. Maël Halvorg. Robert’s son.”

Maël’s eyes widened and his mouth dropped in shock. He seemed unable to speak. You smiled at him encouragingly and nudged him forward.

He cleared his throat and held out his hand. “It’s a genuine pleasure to meet you, sir,” Maël said in a small voice. “May I sit down.”

“Please,” The man, Dr. Halvorg, said, shaking Maël’s hand and gesturing toward the chairs. You and Maël took a seat.

“Do you know who I am, sir?” Maël asked tentatively.

“I do,” Dr. Halvorg responded. “You raised my father.”

“Yes,” Maël said, smiling in relief. “I loved your father very much.”

“I know you did,” Dr. Halvorg replied. “My father spoke of a lot when I was growing up.”

“Is he… is he alive?”

“No. I’m afraid he died about eleven years ago,” Dr. Halvorg said sadly.

Maël sighed and hung his head a little. “I suspected that might be the case, but I hoped.” He looked back up at the older gentleman. “Did he grow up okay? What kind of man was he? I apologize, but I just have so many questions.”

Dr. Halvorg chuckled. “It’s no trouble. Honestly, I was hoping I might get to meet you one day.”

Maël smiled. “You were?”

“Oh, yes. May father told me so many stories about you when we kids were growing up.”

“How many children did he have?” Maël asked earnestly.

“Four sons,” Dr. Halvorg replied. “He was a great father and a brilliant man, though he said he had a rough start.”

Maël nodded. “Yes, Robert had some learning disabilities that made certain things difficult.”

“He told me that many people said he was lazy and stupid, and that you were the only one who believed he could learn. You dedicated much of your time to helping him.”

“Yes,” Maël said. “Being in school made him quite frustrated and sad, so I took him from school and taught him myself at home. He seemed to respond positively to that.”

“Indeed, he did,” Dr. Halvorg replied. “It was because of you that my dad became a teacher.”

“Robert was a teacher?” Maël asked delightedly.

“Oh, yes,” Dr. Halvorg responded. “He taught children much like himself, the ones who needed special attention and care. He was well respected in his field and much loved by his students. He didn’t want to retire, in fact. It was age and illness that forced him to stop.”

Maël held a hand to his chest. “I’m so proud to hear that. Robert was always a determined boy, so I’m so pleased to learn he kept at it.”

“He struggled, I’m afraid,” Dr. Halvorg admitted. “After his mother, my grandmother, left you for his biological father, things changed quite a bit. His father was not as understanding or as patient as you had been and set him back rather badly.”

Maël frowned. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

“As far as my memory goes, he never called that man ‘father.’ As far as he was concerned, you were his dad. But his biological father insisted on wiping you out of their lives. That’s why he had to hide that.” Dr. Halvorg pointed to a picture on the mantle. “Young lady, could you kindly retrieve that?”

“Of course,” You said, standing up and going to the mantle, where there was a black-and-white photograph in a frame. It was Maël, wearing fine early twentieth century clothes, his hair cut short and wearing a flat cap. He was standing with his hands on the shoulders of a young boy, perhaps eight, wearing similar clothes. You took it and handed it to Dr. Halvorg, who gave it to Maël.

Maël stared at the picture, his eyes bright and glittering with tears. “I never thought I’d see his face again.”

“Keep that,” Dr. Halvorg said. “He’d have wanted you to.”

“Oh, I couldn’t!” Maël said. “This is yours!”

“I have digital copies,” Dr. Halvorg said dismissively. “In any case, I won’t be needing it much longer anyway. Stage four lung cancer, you see.”

“I’m so sorry,” Maël said mournfully. “Can anything be done?”

Dr. Halvorg shook his head. “I’ve lived a good life. I have children, and grandchildren, a beautiful wife, a wonderful job. The one thing I wanted was to meet my father’s father. Not that other man who did his best to tear my father down. The man who did his best to lift my father up. You. And I’ve done that. I can go now content.”

Maël’s restraint cracked, and he wept. “I appreciate that very much,” He said in a strangled whisper.

Maël and Dr. Halvorg talked for hours, recounting stories from both Robert’s childhood and adulthood. Dr. Halvorg showed Maël pictures of his siblings and children. Maël told Dr. Halvorg about his life’s work in reviving dying races. You watched the two of them interacting, and it made your heart swell with gladness. You’d never seen Maël so happy and excitable.

Finally, nearing sundown, you realized that Dr. Halvorg was becoming tired. His daughter came in to give him his evening meal and medication, and the two of you said goodbye.

“It has been an absolute joy, Dr. Halvorg,” Maël said, shaking Dr. Halvorg’s hand. “You lovely daughter has my number and my email, so please keep in touch.”

“My pleasure,” Dr. Halvorg said. “You have a nice trip back with your lady, Grandad.”

Maël laughed and teared up again. “I will.”

Outside, before you could get back in the car, Maël pulled you into a tight, warm hug.

“Thank you,” He whispered into your hair softly. “Thank you so much. I love you. I love you. I can never repay you for this.”

“What about a diamond ring and a pretty white dress?” You asked, wiping his tears and smiling up at him.

He laughed. “It’s a deal.”

Back at the hotel, he sat on the bed and stared at the photograph, pointing out little marks on Robert’s face and telling you stories about them. You listened with your head on his shoulder.

Eventually he stopped and placed the frame carefully in his suitcase.

“Are you hungry? I’m starving. Let’s order something.”

“Before we do,” You said. “I have a birthday gift for you.”

He chuckled incredulously. “Honey, I appreciate that, but honestly, there’s no possible way you could have topped what you gave me today.”

“Are you sure about that?” You asked, going to your suitcase and pulling out a small rectangular box. “Here, open it.”

The second he saw the pregnancy test, he fell to his knees, sobbing loudly, his head pressed against the floor. You knelt next to him and rubbed his back, letting him get it all out. Years of despair, pain, and sadness being released. You’re sure he was overwhelmed, so you waited in silence and lay your head against him.

“Is this real?” He choked.

“It’s real,” You assured him. “I have an ultrasound picture.”

His head popped up, tears streaming down his face. “Can I see it?”

“Of course,” You said, pulling it from your purse.

“Oh, my God,” He wept, staring at the small bean in the picture. “Oh, my God. It’s mine?”

“Yes, honey, it’s yours,” You said. “We can do a paternity test if you want, but I promise you it’s your baby.”

He stopped being able to speak and just cried. He cried for a very long time. You picked him up and laid him in the bed and ordered some food. While waiting for it, you climbed into bed and held him.

“Are you okay?” He asked after some time.

“Me? Yeah, I’m completely fine. Are you okay? You were crying pretty hard there. I’m surprised you haven’t fallen asleep. I’d be exhausted.”

“That’s not what I mean,” He said, lifting your chin so you were looking at him. “Are you okay with having a baby? I know I’ve been talking about wanting to have a child for as long as we’ve known each other, but is this what you want?”

“Yes, it is,” You told him. “I stopped my birth control months ago.”

“You didn’t tell me you’d done that,” He said.

“I wanted it to be a surprise,” You said, stroking his cheek.

“You. Are. Amazing,” He breathed. “I am so happy. Happier than I have any business being, and it’s all because of you.”

“You deserve to be happy, Maël,” You said. “Don’t ever thin’ otherwise.”

He pressed his forehead against yours. “I love you.”

“I love you back.”

Yenuno and Amai we’re overjoyed to hear the good news, and the children also seemed to be happy to have a new playmate coming. Maël seemed unable to stop smiling. He took time off from work to take care of you during the worst of your morning sickness and was present for every doctor’s appointment, every ultrasound, every time you even texted him. If you asked, he’d drop anything he was doing to come and help you.

His little girl was born in the spring, and he named her Roberta. He took her everywhere with him, rarely putting her down for any reason, even keeping her on his shoulder when he was working. The joy that radiated from him was infectious, and everyone near him couldn’t help but smile at his brand new attitude.

You planned your wedding for fall that same year, and afterward, you and Maël were able to take Roberta up to New York to meet Dr. Halvorg. He passed away a few weeks later. You and Maël attended his funeral, and as Dr. Halvorg was buried in the same family plot as Robert, Maël got the chance to visit his son’s grave for the very first time.

“Hi, Robert,” He said softly, kneeling down in front of the headstone. You waited with Roberta asleep in your arms a few paces back.

“I’m sorry,” Maël said, his voice breaking. “I’m sorry I didn’t do more when your mother took you. I wish I had fought to keep you, but I didn’t think I had any right. I just wanted to know where you had gone and if you were safe, but she told me nothing about where you were going and disappeared. I bribed the men at the train station and the docks to look through the ledgers, to try and find your name, but I never found it.

“I will always blame myself for not doing more, for not stepping in and making sure we could keep in contact. I should have taken it to the courts and let them decide, but I… I was scared they would determine I trying to hold on to something that wasn’t mine.”

Maël sniffed and wiped his eyes.

“I just wish I had one more chance,” He continued. “I wish I could have had a phone call, at the very least, to talk to you and hear your voice and tell you what I should have said back then. That it didn’t matter whose child you were biologically or legally. I was your father. You were my son. Nothing would ever change that.” His voice cracked further. “You will always be my son.”

After a moment silent tears hitting the grass where Robert lay sleeping, Maël straightened up an took a deep breath.

“I know where you are now, and I’ll come visit again, you and my grandson,” Maël said. He laughed. “I can’t believe you named your son after me. I’m honored more than I can tell you.”

Maël turned to you and opened his arms for the sleeping form of his daughter, his face wet with tears, and you passed her over.

“You have a baby sister, Robert,” He said, smiling. “I named her after you. She’s always smiling and happy. She reminds me so much of you when you were little that it’s kind of scary. I think the two of you would have been best friends. I’ll make sure she knows all about you.”

You put a hand on his back and rubbed gently. He kissed Roberta’s forehead and tiny little ear.

“We have to go now, Robert. You’re baby sister is going to wake up soon and be hungry. But I’ll come back to see you again, I swear. This time, I promise I’ll come back.”

As winter crested into spring again, Roberta was walking and had said her first word: “Daddy.”

You were still teaching at the facility, and had taken up the job permanently. Yenuno and Amai’s little girls were Roberta’s favorite playmates, though they had been warned to be careful, as Roberta developed more slowly than they did.

“Can we have another one? Please?” Maël asked one night as he watched gleefully as Roberta used her fat baby fists to shove raviolies in her mouth.

“Give me another year, but yes,” You replied.

“A year!” Maël whined. “That’s so long!”

“Don’t sass me,” You told him. “A year and no sooner. Besides, you still have more work to do. Did you get in touch with the Celtic Fae Council?”

“Yes, finally,” He replied, picking up his fork. “I didn’t realize how much red tape was involved. Genetic testing is underway. So far, there have been three men with similar blockages as mine. There are also a few women who were born missing one or both ovaries. We’re trying to trace back when this infertility spike started, but it could have been a millennium ago.” He laughed as Roberta threw a ravioli across the room. “I think she’s done, she’s just smashing them into her tray now.” He stood up and swept her up out of her seat, not even caring about the marinara stains on his shirt. “Come on, sweet pea, let’s take a bath. Eh? Eh, princess?”

He bounced her and she squealed.

You got up from your seat and came up behind him, circling him around the waist with your arms.

“You’re a good dad, honey,” You told him. “Roberta’s lucky. We both are. And so is our future children.”

He turned in your grip and kissed you. “If luck exists, you brought it with you. None of this would have happened without you. You are a miracle.”

You kissed him again and pushed him toward the bathroom. “She’s putting ravioli in your hair.”

He belly laughed and headed for the bathroom. You followed and marveled at how much had changed, wondering how it would change again. You looked forward to it.

Since my work is no longer searchable, please do me a favor and reblog this story if you enjoyed it. Help me reach a wider audience! To help me continue creating, please consider becoming a Patron or donating directly to my PayPal!

Thanks for reading!

My Masterlist

The Exophilia Creator’s Masterlist

[ask-spidersisters]

Moral Battlefield (4)

Tangle scoffed, exhaling sharply through his fangs under his mask,

“Or maybe Daredevil is just making you soft,”

He inhaled sharply, standing tall again with his head low, rolling back his shoulders and opening his palms to his side, his claws covered in stains of blood,

He inhaled slowly and muttered something under his breath, “One batch, two batch…” he trailed off.

Though, when he said it, all Tangle could hear from his own mouth was Castle’s voice leaking through his own.

Why was he saying this? It had no value to him as it did to Castle. He remembered Castle reciting it often. Castle even taught it to him, as if wanting him to say it back, But why? The words felt wrong, and in that quick moment, he vowed to never say it again.

(+)

Vaguely through her super hearing Scarlet could pick up the phrase Tangle had muttered. It sounded awfully familiar. But at that moment she couldn’t pinpoint why. She set her jaw under her mask, ignoring the taste of her own blood in her mouth.

“So it’s soft to help people because you genuinely want to? And not because you need a living punching bag?”

(+)

“What makes you think I don’t want to help the way you do?” Tangle asked in a hushed tone,

“What if you're doing it all wrong and you can’t admit to your own faults?”

He inhaled sharply in delayed laughter, “New York’s friendly neighborhood Scarlet Spider. Face it, you can’t get everywhere by being friendly. Why let them go unpunished when you can stop them for good? That’s letting a wound fester and infect until it spreads around the body,”

He let out a shaky breath, “I’m getting rid of the disease. You’re just a poster boy for New York, something they can make money off of,” He spat.

(+)

How fucking dare you! Scarlet somehow managed to restraint herself despite the pure disgust and anger at the notion Tangle Web had just spilled. Her hands clenched into fists at her sides. She was not a poster boy like Stark or Rogers or any of the Avengers who simply dealt with world ending events. She worked her ass off every day to make it out into the city, to check up on everyone, to keep tabs on the crime, to get into places authorities couldn’t or wouldn’t go. And it had almost gotten her killed so many times.

“I don’t risk my life out here for someone to try and say I’m a fucking faker.”

She started, a hiss building up in her throat as she continued.

“You think you’re so much better. Well let me ask you this. How many people do you know? Huh? Do you know the names of the people you ‘helped?’ Do you know the community you're working to ‘save?’ I saved a man’s restaurant from being robbed a year ago. We still talk. He has brother who lives on that street you murdered those criminals on last night. His nieces and nephew haven’t been able to sleep since then. They heard everything. You don’t help people. You instill fear into an already scared community.”

(+)

“And how many criminals have you stopped? Did they ever stop doing crime? Causing havoc? Don’t they always return?” He scoffed,

“Being afraid is what keeps us alive, that’s what you don’t understand. You think I give a shit that you know a man’s name and his family?”

He titled his head, slowly,

“You know that man that you stopped who stole a car? You sent him to jail? He bailed himself out,” he started,

“He stole another car and packed it with explosives, running into a hospital building. Eighty people dead, hundreds wounded, the building was in shambles,”

He let out a long hiss that he couldn’t hold back anymore.

He continued, “You remember that group of men a year ago who were trying to mug a store clerk at a gas station? They got out three months later. They went to a mall and started shooting. They shot and killed twenty kids under twelve. Twenty children.” He punctuated those last two words,

“They killed ten adults. They wounded fifty,”

He titled his head upward, “The crime rate downtown ever since I started went down by forty percent,” his head turned back down, “the crime rate in your area went up by ten percent. What is this shit? A petty freak show? All of these villains on your tail coming back for a rematch? They only want attention and you're giving it to them,” he hissed through his teeth, pointing a stiff and accusing finger at the other, looking down at her.

“I was supposed to be like you,” his hand was shaking, “all my mom wanted was a friendly neighborhood Spider Boy so everyone could watch on TV and love and adore. He’d be just like Scarlet Spider and share her success,” he swallowed the bile in his throat, trying to keep his voice level,

“They made me a freak, all to be like you! I lost my friends, my childhood-“ he pointed finger curled back into a fist with the rest of his fingers, “because they wanted me to be a part of the show. They barely even acknowledged the crimes you fought because that’s how forgettable they are. They only care about the show you put on, not your statistics or if you’re getting rid of danger,”

His fist was shaking, “But I’m not doing this to be like you. I’m doing this to help them and keep fuckers like those you let lose at bay,” he exhaled sharply with a shaky breath,

“Keep up these shows all you want. Let them fear me. Keep your pretty speeches and save them for when a massacre breaks out because of the people you let loose and they’re all waiting for their Friendly Neighborhood Scarlet Spider to stop them once and for all.”

He slowly set his fist down to his side, standing stiffly.

He didn’t wait for another word, Tangle turned around and pointed his hand to a nearby building,

“One batch, two batch, penny and dime.” he gritted through his teeth, not knowing why.

He launched a web and jumped off the edge, swinging away and out of sight.

(+)

Scarlet Spider found herself frozen in place as Tangle Web swung out of view. Her mind started buzzing.

Snap!

The man screaming in pain at Tangle Web’s feet.

Whoosh!

The Vulture grabbing her with his metal talons and soaring hundreds of feet up into the air.

Zap!

Electro’s electricity crashing into her body when she moved to put herself between him and the terrified scientist.

Crash!

Kraven dragging her through the glass roof of a mall, his claws sinking into her flesh.

“Please!”

Mysterio, begging from the ground holding his broken nose.

She held the sides of her head, bending over as if she'd been struck again in the stomach.

The spider bite, the week of bedridden pain as her genes mutated. The weight of the building The Shocker had dropped on her. The Taskmaster stabbing her with a second anesthetic dose, then the feeling of them dragging her away. The Widow whose arm she dislocated and broke in the alleyway breath stopping after an electric current activated in her suit.

“Scarlet breathe!”

She snapped upright, quickly turning around. Familiar red and black body armor filled her vision as it cleared. She opened her mouth to address him, nothing came out.

“I heard most of it.”

Daredevil answered for her. He walked forward, quirking his head to the side.

“You’re bleeding.”

Scarlet found herself taking a step back. Daredevil stopped.

“Kid. He doesn’t know what he’s talking about. Neither of them do.”

“Don’t they?”

Scarlet Spider took in a shaky breath. Daredevil sighed.

“Showing mercy is not a flaw Scarlet. It’s one of the traits that separates us from the people we face.”

Slowly, Daredevil continued to advance towards the younger vigilante. His tone firm but gentle.

“You inspire people to be better, to help one another. To be kind.”

Gently he placed a hand on one of her shoulders.

“That’s not a failure.”

——————————————————————————

Collab w/ @the-tangle-web

[ecto-american]

The Bachelor

Phic Phight oneshot for @skellagirl: To help raise money for education, Vlad lets a date with himself be auctioned off. To his surprise, Harriet was quite a persistent bidder, and to his bigger surprise...he actually had a good time. Vlad/Harriet

On FFN and AO3

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

"I don't need help getting a date, Jack," Vlad told him shortly. Why did he even come over to FentonWorks? He couldn't even remember why. At least he had some coffee to sip on. If Jack was actually good for anything, it was brewing good coffee.

"Oh come on, V-man! It's not like that! It's to raise money for education!" Jack tried to persuade as he was pouring himself his own cup. Vlad made a small face at the idea. "There's going to be lots of bachelors up there with ya, it won't be just you!"

"I don't think so." He had much better things to do than be paraded around.

"Please Vlad?" Jack nearly begged.

"You know, Vlad, you'd be quite the crowd-drawer," Maddie finally spoke up. Vlad glanced over at her. She was focused on some ectoplasmic samples that were on the counter, dangerously close to some chicken that was marinating for dinner. Mental note; do NOT stay for dinner tonight. "You're likely Amity Park's most sought after bachelor." She looked over her shoulder at him, and with a clearly fake smile, she added, "It'd be really good for you to have a nice woman who's interested in you."

Vlad frowned at her emphasis. He took another drink. It would look good if he showed up for appearances, got it over with and wowed some whatever woman into helping his media image. Election season was coming up, and he was up against the ex-mayor. Doing something for the children would definitely boost him.

"...It is for charity," he said slowly. "And after all, a man like me could fetch for a nice price."

"Of course!" Jack boomed excitedly. "You were voted sexiest billionaire by Cosmopolitan this year!" Oh god, why the hell did Jack know that? And say that? "Trust me, the crowd'll got mad for you!"

Vlad forced a smile.

"I cannot wait."

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

He really could have waited. Friday night had come, and he found himself very reluctantly walking around the Casper High gym, looking at all the silent auction items up on display on cheap collapsable tables. Vlad mentally thanked himself for making sure Daniel would be too busy all night with Skulker to even have the time to come around to laugh at him.

Ugh, nothing really that good was around up for auction in here. Except for him, obviously. He could tell who was a bachelor for auction just by seeing who else was way overdressed to be standing around in a public high school on a Friday night, and Vlad already knew that he was the best option. He spied another one of these men as the individual picked his nose and wiped it on one of the tables. Vlad made a grossed out face. Easily, the best option.

He glanced around more, boredly trying to waste another twenty minutes before he had to go to the auditorium for the bachelor auctioning. This was the worst. Why did he agree to this? His eyes scanned for any familiar face.

"Harriet!" Vlad instantly recognized the journalist. She turned to face him, giving a small smile and wave when she realized who it was. He took a few steps over towards her. "What are you doing here?"

"My niece goes to Casper High," she replied. "So I decided to come around." She nodded her head at the silent auction she was seemingly considering. It was a high end camera bundle, including not just a high end camera but extra lenses, batteries, the case, the whole works honestly, donated by a local electronics store. "Check it out. Maybe even buy a date so that my mother stops asking me about when I'm getting married," she lightly joked. Vlad chuckled.

"You should consider just buying me," Vlad half-joked back. "I'm by far your best option." Harriet gave a hum as she raised an eyebrow.

"Oh really?" she inquired. Vlad motioned to himself as if it was obvious, flashing a smile.

"Of course. Self made billionaire, tech industry pioneer, scientist, mayor of this fine city, and that's just the beginning," he bragged. She lightly shook her head with a smirk.

"Part time Dairy King worker that somehow caught the ice cream machine on fire, Skunk Punks lead singer whose voice cracked every time he sung anything and guitarist who couldn't play guitar," she listed off. Vlad rolled his eyes with a frown. "Idiot who kept sticking his head into the lab equipment machines and lost his eyebrows for six months. Skater wanna-be that broke both of his ankles trying to do tricks on the campus fountain." Vlad scowled.

"You can stop now," he complained. Harriet laughed.

"Oh, I almost need to buy you purely so that I can remind you that you're not all that and a bag of chips," she replied. "And I can finally corner you into an actual interview. You keep pushing me off." She faked a pout. "It's almost like you don't wanna be around me."

"Don't you have to be nosy somewhere else?" he asked.

"Hmm, not tonight." She glanced up at the clock on the wall. "I should go find a seat for the auction. You should probably get up on stage, make yourself look all nice and presentable."

Vlad rolled his eyes, waving her off.

"I need to use the restroom first," he replied. "You head on out."

"See up on the stage. Too bad this isn't Chippendales," she joked. Vlad felt his cheeks flush, and he glared at her. She walked off. Vlad glanced down at the camera bundle she had been eying. He glanced at the auction sheet, and he could tell by the handwriting that she had put in a bid that he knew somebody would eventually counter-offer. Vlad wrote his auctioning number down, and a bid he knew nobody would go over before he made his way to the auditorium.

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

Finally, it was his turn. They put him last, which he completely understood. Always save the best for last. He nearly had dozed off in boredom in his seat while everybody else was auctioned off for barely a hundred dollars.

"We'll start the bidding, as always, at fifty dollars," the overly enthusiastic host said. Vlad mentally scoffed. He was definitely worth more than that. Ugh, this was the last time he did anything to help children. Fuck those little brats. "Fifty-five!"

A bunch of the auction fans shot up in the air. Vlad smiled in satisfaction.

"Oh wow! Okay, well how about sixty-five?" None of the hands went down. "Seventy-five." Two hands went down. "Eighty-five?" Three more hands reluctantly went down. "A hundred?" Most of the hands kept on standing. "Well!" the host chuckled, before directing his attention to Vlad. "You sure are a popular fella!"

No shit. He was a billionaire.

"Let's jump up a bit! One hundred fifty!" Finally, a good amount of the hands went down, leaving only a handful up. "One hundred seventy-five!" No hands down. "Two hundred!" A few reluctantly went down, leaving only four. "Okay, okay! How about-"

"Three hundred!" one of the women called out. The auctioneer looked surprised.

"Oh! Oh um. Okay! Does anybody wanna go higher than three hundred?" he asked.

"Three twenty-five!" Harriet's voice was instantly recognized by Vlad, and he stared in surprise.

"Three-fifty!" the first woman rebutted. Vlad studied her, only to quickly notice that this was a woman he really hadn't ever met before.

"Three seventy five!" Harriet wasted no time putting in her counter offer.

"Four hundred!"

"Four twenty five!"

"Four fifty!"

Vlad watched Harriet as the reporter's jaw clenched. She was staring at the competition with a hard stare.

"Five hundred!" she finally spoke. The other woman studied her, before giving a defeated sigh.

"No counter offer," the unfamiliar lady finally spoke. The auctioneer grinned, pointing to Harriet.

"Well! Looks like our highest prize of the night goes to bidder number seventy-four!"

Harriet met Vlad's eye, and she smiled. He smiled back.

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

"So," Vlad asked, giving a coy smile. "You sure were an insistent bidder." Harriet flushed.

"I did it for the schools," she argued. "My niece goes to Casper High, remember?"

"Oh, I mean, if you did it just to help the schools," Vlad lightly teased. "Then we don't have to go out on the date." Harriet scoffed.

"No way, dude. I spent five-hundred dollars on you, and I'm going to get my money's worth." She poked him in the chest. "Which also means that you're buying me dinner, and some nice wine." Vlad rolled his eyes.

"Alright, alright," he reluctantly agreed. "What time shall I pick you up?" Harriet smiled.

"Uh, depends. When are you free? Tomorrow around seven? Ah, who am I kidding." She smirked at him. "You're probably free whenever. What else do you got going on? Be honest."

Vlad flushed red, scowling.

"Okay, I do happen to be free tomorrow night, but normally I'm not!" he insisted. Harriet snorted. "So you need to make sure you check with me before you schedule something."

"You got nothing," she teased in a sing-song voice.

"Oh? And what do you do?" Vlad challenged. She hummed.

"Well, typically on Mondays I visit my grandmother, Wednesday is girls' night with my friends, Thursdays I have my yoga class, and on the weekends I normally get friends with friends or co-workers, go hike, short trip. Whatever I feel like," she replied without missing a beat. Vlad hated Jack for convincing him to do this stupid auction. "And of course, several days a week I go to the gym."

"I go to the gym too," Vlad insisted. Harriet raised an eyebrow at him. "I do! I'm in excellent shape."

"Are you going to the gym, or do you use a home gym in your mansion?" she pressed. Vlad didn't reply. "Thought so. Guess we're on tomorrow at seven?"

"...Tomorrow at seven."

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

Vlad had opted to simply drive himself in one of his flashy, yet more modest cars. It was honestly kind of hard to go to many places in a limo anyway, and not very intimate when there was an unintentional third party hanging out in the car. Harriet had texted him her address earlier, and he showed up right on time, pulling his car up to the curb of her house. A gentleman was never late, after all.

He parked, not bothering to lock his doors as he stepped up to her house. It was a typical small home in a decent little neighborhood. Not one that Vlad could ever imagine himself living in however, but it was cute. He stood at her front door. He exhaled harshly, mentally preparing himself.

He'd be lying to himself if he said that he wasn't nervous. It was one thing to date a new woman he had just met, but this was Harriet. She knew him when he was still a broke college student that worked part time at Dairy King and was in that terrible punk band with Jack.

Vlad rang her doorbell. He absentmindedly wondered if he'd have to wait on her for long, but thankfully, Harriet answered the door fairly quickly.

"Hey! Look at you!" she greeted cheerfully. Vlad knew he flushed a bit at the compliment, which made him...feel weird. That never happened before. "You really cleaned up for me." Okay now he had to roll his eyes a little. Vlad was in a nicer suit compared to normal, with a darker shirt collar and cufflinks, more polished shoes and the like.

"Ah, I'm nothing compared to how lovely you look this evening," he returned the compliment, and he could see Harriet's cheeks brighten a bit under her porch's poor lighting. They had texted each other about their plans, and so she had dressed appropriately for the five star restaurant; a black dress with dark green detailing that came to her knees, matching shoes and her hair done up. She had a formal black jacket over her arm, as well as a clutch handbag. "Are you ready?"

"Uh, one second!" Harriet turned to her door, checking to ensure it was locked. Once she did so, she turned, slipping her arm into his. "Now I am."

"Well, off we go," he smiled. "I think you'll like where we're going. It has the most divine sushi in Amity Park."

"I can't wait," Harriet replied. "I love sushi. Remember that campus sushi bar?"

"Absolutely," he replied. He walked her down the porch to his car. "Maddie worked there. She used to sneak us huge takeout boxes of leftovers."

"Oh I nearly forgot about that," Harriet laughed. "I'd help her smuggle out the boxes in my backpack."

"And you got soy sauce all over your bag four times," he chuckled. Harriet grumbled.

"Yeah, I had to re-print my final paper," she complained. "And eventually get a new bag that didn't smell like sushi all the time."

Vlad opened the car door for her. She slipped her arm out, giving him a thanks as she slipped inside.

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

Naturally, he had made a reservation for the best seat in the house; a table in a more private area of the place, indoors but near a large window that had a good view of the beautiful landscaping in their limited yard-area.

After giving his car to the valet and getting seated, Vlad glanced at the menu, immediately spying his favorite, rock shrimp tempura. However he looked around to see what else was available. Hmm, he was somewhat in the mood for BBQ Unagi…

"What do you normally get?" Harriet questioned as she looked over her options.

"...Know what? Since this is your first time, maybe we should just get morimoto omakase," Vlad suggested. He gently pushed her menu down so that he could look at it, and he pointed to the option. Harriet scanned the description. Essentially a dish with a little bit of everything.

"Ooo, that sounds good," Harriet mused.

"It's delicious, and it pairs well with white wine," Vlad told her. She smiled.

"Let's get that then," she agreed.

When the waiter came by, they ordered just that. Quickly, the waiter had come back to bring them the bottle of white wine, pouring them their first glass for them before leaving the bottle at Vlad's request. They each took a sip.

"Mmm, this is pretty good," Harriet spoke first. "I typically just get a red wine."

"I do too," Vlad replied. "But white wine goes well with fish." Harriet gave a surprised hum before taking another drink. "You probably know too much about me though. Tell me about your work. Amity News." She nodded.

"Yeah, I'm one of the main news anchors," she replied.

"Oh trust me, I know. I get to watch you tell me the news every day, it's a highlight of the day," Vlad complimented. Harriet rolled her eyes with a flush.

"Alright, cheesehead," she teased. "But yeah, I really love it. When I was younger I really enjoyed investigative journalism, since it let me go all over, but I'm really liking being in one place. Though I occasionally go out on the scene, but it's kinda dangerous to cover ghost fights here. And what we have Lance for."

Vlad snorted. He knew the news man too well. He was, as the kids called it, a meme at this point. He knew Daniel and his friends constantly posted these memes of Lance Thunder on social media, making fun of his on the scene appearances.

"What do you make of all these ghosts?" Vlad questioned. Harriet shrugged.

"Well, they certainly exist. Honestly thought Jack was stupid to try and build that one ghost portal in college. Even though. Ugh, Jack is such a buffoon sometimes," Harriet grumbled. "I still haven't forgiven him for costing me my job in Milwaukee, especially since I used him as a reliable source. Ugh!" She stopped herself to finish off her glass of wine. She exhaled deeply as she put the glass down, half-smiling apologetically. "Sorry. I know he's your friend."

"No, no no," Vlad replied eagerly. "I understand. After all, it was my home he destroyed, remember?" Harriet nodded.

"He had to have done thousands in damage," she said sympathetically. "Especially to your library. Oh, and it was a beautiful library too."

"It was one of my favorite rooms in that house," Vlad sighed. "I rebuilt the room, but it just wasn't ever quite the same. My new library, however, it's simply gorgeous."

"Oh?" Harriet questioned. Vlad took it as a sign to continue.

"It's a two story library, for once, like a true two story library. The lighting is fantastic, but also on a dimmer so the mood can be truly set," he began to describe. "I managed to slowly rebuild my collection of the classics, and there's a wood burning fireplace. Oh and of course, my favorite, the small reading nook with the most comfortable chair you will ever sit in next to a huge window. It's simply perfect."

"Oh, I would probably sit in that nook and read forever," Harriet sighed dreamily. Vlad smiled, picking up the bottle of wine with a raised eyebrow. Harriet picked her glass up, holding it for him to pour her some more. He did so, before refilling his own glass. She took another long sip of her drink.

"I would more often, but unfortunately, it's also the cat's favorite spot, and I can never bring myself to move her," he confessed. Harriet beamed.

"Vlad! You never told me you had a cat!" she exclaimed. "What's his name?" Vlad felt a cold sweat hit him. Wait.

"Maggie," he lied. "When I adopted her, that was what they called her, and it didn't feel right to change it." Harriet nodded understandingly. She set her glass of wine down to dig through her clutch, and she pulled her phone out.

"I have the most handsome little guy, his name's Taggy. Short for Maytag," she said. She showed Vlad her phone, exposing a picture of a grey and white cat stretched out in a cat hammock near a window. But that name...

"...Maytag? As in the company?"

Harriet flushed a bit.

"When I moved into my first apartment, his previous owners had left him, and so my old roommate and I began calling him Maytag after the refrigerator, since he came with the apartment, and we put food in him," she explained. "Then my roommate got married, and her husband's cats didn't get along with Taggy, so I just kept him, and he's moved six times with me since then." Vlad cracked a smile.

"Mad-ggie's name has kind of devolved into me just calling her Princess," he admitted. "I've bought so many luxury cat things for her and beds, the drinking fountain water bowl, wet food, the best vet in all of Illinois. Only the finest."

"I do the same for Taggy, much as I can afford. He's my special guy."

The waiter shyly interrupted them, bringing them each a huge plate of food. Harriet eyed hers hungrily, thanking him cheerfully.

"Oh, this does delicious," Harriet beamed. She took her chopsticks, and grabbed a bite. Vlad took another sip of wine before he did the same. "It tastes great too!"

"You think I'd steer you wrong?" Vlad lightly bragged.

"Who knows," Harriet shrugged. She gave a sly smirk. "You're the one who steered us all so wrong that you got the van stuck in a snowbank." Vlad glared at her, making her burst into snickers.

They ate in silence for a few moments, savoring their meal. Harriet took another long drink of her wine, and Vlad refilled it for her. She gave a smile.

"Thank you," she said. "Do you like your food?"

"Very much so, it's delicious," he replied. "How's yours?"

"Great, I never had such delicious food!" She ate another chopstick full of food. "I guess this is how five star dining is, huh? I made a good date investment. But next time I gotta take you to a diner."

"Oh?" Vlad raised an eyebrow.

"Yeah, I get the feeling that you eat too fancy," she explained. "Sometimes you just need the greasiest burger and saltiest fries that you wash down with cheap soda."

"Hmm, wouldn't you prefer I take you to a five star steakhouse?" he questioned.

"You can take me there on our third date," Harriet replied. Vlad raised his eyebrow again. "But for date too, I think you need a greasy burger."

"Third date?" he echoed. He took a drink of his wine, finishing it off.

"Yeah, I think you'll wanna take me out again," Harriet hummed. She reached for the wine to refill his glass for him.

"Thank you, dear. But really?"

"Absolutely, I'm a catch," she replied. "I've travelled the world, I'm very educated, financially stable, have my own house, am very pretty." She jokingly flipped her hair.

"Ah, I'd say you're more of a beauty than just very pretty," Vlad mused. Harriet smiled.

"Aww, thank you cheesehead," she replied. "But yes. So naturally, I think you're not going to be able to resist asking me to accompany you out again. I did you a favor by bidding on you, actually."

"We'll see how the night ends, and who's wanting a second date more," Vlad said. "I mean, yes you are quite a catch, but I think you're forgetting who was voted as sexiest billionaire by Cosmopolitan magazine." Harriet nearly choked on her wine from laughter.

"Oh my god, you read Cosmo?" she giggled. Vlad flushed red.

"N-no, I was told this," he insisted. "When I got voted as such." Harriet had to put her chopsticks down, covering her mouth as she tried to contain her laughter. Vlad slammed back the rest of his wine, refilling his own cup.

"Oh man, you really haven't changed all that much." She took a deep breath to get her laughter under control. "Same ol' cute Vlad." This peaked his interest.

"You thought I was cute?" he asked. Harriet flushed, picking her chopsticks back up to continue eating.

"Eh, kinda. In that nerdy sorta way," she confessed. "I tried getting your attention a few times, but you never seemed too interested. You were always really distracted by that portal project."

More like distracted by Maddie, as she was a huge reason why he was so interested in helping with the proto portal project. Remembering the woman of his dreams made him pause. He suddenly felt guilty that he was out on a date. And Maddie's college best friend of all people!

Of course, he had dated here and there. Maddie was, unfortunately, married, so he knew that rationally he had to somewhat try and move on. But nobody had ever truly clicked with him, or made him feel like she had. His mind was often distracted by her the entire time but...until now he had actually forgotten about Maddie.

"Ah yeah, I was...really focused on school," he half-lied, taking another bite of food.

"I could tell. Nerd," she jibbed. "Even now I can tell you're super busy with all your business stuff."

"Not as busy as you'd think, but also yes," Vlad corrected. "I have a lot of meetings to attend and business decisions to make, but I at least get a lot of help and feedback."

"That's true," Harriet said. "But I'm glad we're able to do something now. Even if we just never got around to it back then." She poked at one of her foods with her chopstick before taking the bite. "I mean, I've been kind of all over too. I don't think anything would have even worked out had we even tried something."

"Ah, yes. I remember Maddie mentioning that you were never in one place for more than two months for a long time," Vlad said.

"Yup!" she confirmed. "That's investigative journalism for ya. Takes you all over. But I really liked it. I'm glad I had that opportunity, and that I did it. Don't regret a bit of it."

"Business too," he agreed. "Especially when you're starting an empire. I don't think I was truly home for months at a time, I was going from place to place to oversee offices being built and products being made. Seeing how progress is being made on research. It was a busy first fifteen years or so. I don't think I was truly relaxing and enjoying what I'd made until the past six years or so."

"Yeah, I remember reading about your progress," she said. "Fascinating story. You had such amazing charisma to get all these companies to go with your plans." Vlad felt a bit of a nervous wave hit him, but he didn't show it, or really even have to reply. Harriet had already moved on. "Ugh, this was so good. I can't believe I was able to eat all of this."

Her plate was empty, and he had just taken his last bite.

"Would you like dessert?" he asked. She shook her head no.

"Nah, I'm good. I've eaten enough," she replied. Vlad just nodded, and he called their water over.

Instead of waiting to get a receipt book from the waiter, he simply handed him his credit card. Vlad never checked the bill when he went out to eat. The price tag never bothered him.

The waiter accepted it, soon coming back for Vlad to sign. Vlad quickly did, and for his trouble, he also handed the young man five hundred dollar bills as a tip. It made him nearly tear up and stutter as he thanked him, but quite honestly, it was more to show off to Harriet his generosity more than any genuine kindness, which, judging by her expression, absolutely worked.

Vlad gave him a half smile and waved him off, and the pair collected their things to leave, heading towards the front of the restaurant arm in arm.

"You know, the night's still young," Vlad mused. He opened the door for her, and Harriet slipped through.

"Thank you," she replied. "But oh? You don't have work?"

"Nothing that can't be rearranged," he replied. "Do you?" Harriet smiled.

"Nope, I have tomorrow off. So what are you thinking?" she asked. Vlad glanced at his watch. Hell, it was only ten-thirty.

"Have you ever been to the Amity Park Country Club?" he questioned. She nodded.

"Oh yeah. I've been there as a guest twice, for interviews," she explained. She glanced at her phone. "Doesn't it close soon though?" Vlad chuckled.

"On midnights on the weekends," he replied.

"Hmm, okay," Harriet agreed. "But we won't stay too long."

Vlad went up to the valet, informing him of his car make and model, and the young man nodded, jogging off to fetch it.

"My dear, I'm a high priority member. They'll stay open for me," he insisted. Harriet rolled her eyes.

"The workers wanna go home too, Vlad," she reminded him. "We should be respectful of their time and leave when it closes."

Vlad resisted the urge to roll his eyes. He was above having to follow those kinds of petty rules. When you had billions in the bank, you could easily just toss a few thousand out to make workers let you stay past the closing time with no issues. He had never heard a single complaint after he flashed a few thousand, a drop in the bucket for him. But what Harriet wanted, she would get. He supposed, anyway. After a few dates, she'd likely just begin agreeing with him and allow him to bend the rules for her.

After a few dates? Vlad thought on it. Yeah...after a few dates.

"Whatever you wish," he replied.

His car pulled up, and Vlad immediately opened the car door for her.

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

"And it just kind turned into a semi-permanent offer until I got kinda homesick," Harriet finished her story off as she hit another ball with the golf club. Vlad hummed lightly as her ball went off towards somewhere in the dark. "But it was amazing. I'd love to return to China sometime. Kinda unfortunately, Amity Park doesn't really cover international news like that. It's very local only."

"Maybe you should just come with me next time I go," Vlad offered. He grabbed another golf ball from their large bucket of them, setting it on the tee before lining himself up. With an experienced swing, he hit the ball, and it flew off. "To China, I mean. I go there about twice a year or so for business. Sometimes more."

"Ugh, that'd be awesome," Harriet agreed. She leaned over to pick up her drink, a pink margarita, that was resting on the tables that were set up near the driving range. Her jacket and clutch were on the table too, her heels tucked under the table. Vlad had also folded his suit jacket neatly to rest next to hers, allowing himself to also unbutton and roll his sleeves up to his elbows, and the top two buttons of his shirt. He also had his own drink, a rum and coke, that sat near hers. "I can show you all the local spots from my time there."

"Hm, that would be very nice," Vlad mused. He hit another ball. He was somewhat glad that Harriet had talked him out of doing the full course. While he didn't care (and Harriet very much did) that it would have taken far past closing time to finish a game, it was much more relaxing to just do this. Especially with nobody else being around. "I typically do only business."

"Oh boo, that's boring," Harriet said. She already had another ball on her tee, and she wacked it again. The ball went soaring. "What's the point of all your money if you're not enjoying yourself and your life?"

Vlad didn't reply. He focused on another swing. The ball stayed close to the ground, quickly rolling on and on and on before he couldn't see where it went anymore.

"You were married before, weren't you?" Vlad questioned. Harriet snorted.

"Oh, we're already at the 'let's talk about our exes' part of the relationship?" she teased. Vlad chuckled, grabbing another ball. "Eh, for about seven years. Nothing bad happened, we just realized that we weren't really as compatible as we thought. I enjoyed traveling the world and being out, and he was a big homebody that hated planes and trains. Started to realize that I wanted a family one day, he preferred it to be just us. We didn't see each other that much cause I would go cover stories all over, and it just felt like we'd be happier. So we just kind of had a mutual divorce."

"I can understand that," Vlad replied. He lightly tapped his ball twice before swinging the club as hard as he could. The ball straight up disappeared in a blink of an eye.

"So what's your excuse for never having a girlfriend before?" Harriet questioned. Vlad was grateful about the lighting, as he knew that his face was dark red. "Too busy with work, too nerdy, what?"

"I've had a girlfriend before!" he argued. "I've dated women plenty before. Don't you remember Stacy?"

"Nope," Harriet replied. She hit another ball.

"Yes you do!" he insisted. He took a break from swinging, leaning on his club. "I was with her for four years! Out of all the women I dated she was the one the papers and articles talked about the most. Don't you remember all the rumors swirling around about why we hadn't gotten married already?"

"Hmm, must have been a figment of your imagination," Harriet replied, and he exhaled dramatically. He finally noticed the shit-eatting grin, and that she was just pulling his leg. She giggled, grabbing another golf ball. She tossed it up into the air, catching it before putting it on the tee. "Okay, okay. So why didn't you?"

"Why didn't I what?" Vlad questioned. He took a step towards their table, grabbing his drink. He needed it right about now.

"Marry Stacy," Harriet clarified.

"Eh, it just wasn't really meant to be," he dismissed simply. He took a long gulp of his drink, sighing softly when he finished.

"Oh?" Harriet pressed. He frowned. He should have known that she was going to be nosy about it. Typical journalist.

"...I could tell that we didn't really like each other all that much," he confessed. "We were just both lonely. We would go places together but never actually be together. We lived together but never saw each other outside of bedtime, though towards the end, she began to just sleep in a separate room since our schedules would be so different. We talked about getting married on and off, but...I don't know when it clicked for me that this just wasn't what I truly wanted. I wanted a wife and children that I spent time with and that I loved being with. So we just kind of broke up, and she moved out."

Harriet nodded understandingly.

"At least you realized it before children potentially got involved," she said. "I'm glad I divorced with no children. I'd hate to put them through something like that."

"Agreed," Vlad replied. He picked up another golf ball. Instead of bending over to put it on the ground, he lazily dropped it and hit the ball on the bounce. "How many would you want?"

"Hm? What? Kids?" Harriet questioned. Vlad gave a 'mhm' noise to confirm. "At least two. A boy and a girl. What about you?"

"As many as possible," he said. He got another ball. "I always wanted a big family."

"Hmm, well I'm not a clown car," Harriet replied. "Regardless of how often I'd let a clown like you in." Vlad rolled his eyes. "Besides, you have Jasmine and Danny right? Maddie and Jack's kids?"

"Yeah, they're my godchildren," Vlad confirmed. He reached over for another quick sip of his drink. "I bought Jasmine her car. When Daniel gets his license I'll be getting him one too. And of course, paying for college. I have a few other godchildren too, same deal. I've gotten them all a car and paid for college. Can't let them have any of that dreadful student loan debt."

"Aw, you're just a big ol' softie," Harriet teased. "I'm not a billionaire, so I can't really do the same, but I'm pitching in to help my sister get my niece a decent used car next year. By the time her little brother's getting a car, I'll likely be doing the same."

"You're looking for cars for her?" Vlad mused. "I can get her one." Harriet shook her head.

"No, that's not necessary," she replied. "It's a lot to ask."

"Nonsense, I have the money to spare," he persisted. "A decent used car. Children don't need brand new ones, they're still learning." Harriet bit her lower lip as she pondered the offer.

"We'll discuss it another time with my sister," she said. Vlad nodded in agreement. He grabbed a ball. Their bucket was nearly empty now.

"I understand," he replied. Harriet picked up one of the last balls. She tossed it up in the air and swung her bat. She missed, but she quickly was able to redeem herself by hitting it on the third bounce. "I just hate to see children go without. That's why I was auctioned off, afterall. For the sake of the kids." Harriet gave a skeptical hum, getting another ball. "...Well, you know, if we're going to go out again, I need to make a good first impression on your family."

"That's better," Harriet replied. "If we're going to hang out more like this, we need to be open and honest with each other."

Vlad picked up the last ball. He stared at it for a moment, and he put it on Harriet's tee for her. She shot him a thankful smile, and she wacked the ball into the night.

"There'll be more, right?" Vlad asked.

"Well, if you're free next Friday, we can go see a show," Harriet suggested. She went back to the table, slipping into her heels again. She downed the last bit of her drink. "Local theater's opening weekend is soon."

Next weekend was terrible. Vlad had so much to do that following week that he'd have to spend all weekend preparing for. Many meetings, lots of documents to read and write and revise. Moving anything around would be an absolute headache.

But it could be moved around.

"Sounds lovely," he agreed. He finished off his drink before rolling his sleeves down again. He slipped his jacket back on. "Ready to head home?"

"We have to take the cups and clubs back up to the office," she said, nodding at the country club. Vlad made a face, and he began to protest, but a Look from Harriet made him shut up.

"Alright, alright," he sighed. Harriet grabbed their cups, and he took their clubs.

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

"Next Friday, right?" Harriet asked as they took the final step up onto her porch.

"Yes, I'll call you tomorrow to organize a proper time," Vlad told her. He paused as he suddenly remembered. "One second."

He did a half-jog back to his car, opening the backseat and pulling out a basket. As he returned to the door, it became clear as to what it was. It was the camera bundle she had been bid on at the auction, and she stared at it.

"Here, I had noticed you bid on it. I wanted to make sure you got it," he explained, handing it out to her.

"You bought that?" she questioned.

"Yes, I knew that you'd be outbid. So I just made sure that you could get it," he replied. Harriet smiled warmly, accepting it.

"Thank you," she said. She set it on one of the porch chairs for now. "This was honestly such a great night. Gotta admit, I was kinda skeptical, but you really impressed me."

"Of course, didn't you say yourself that you made a good investment," he joked. Harriet snickered.

"Yeah, but I think even I surprised myself," she said. "I thought I was just going to buy a nice, fancy one dinner, but I'm pretty sure I actually did buy somebody that I'm going to be introducing to my mom." She gestured to her front door. "Did you wanna come inside for a bit? Pretty sure you're too tired to make the long drive home."

"I don't live too far," Vlad replied. "It's about twenty minutes, I can easily get home."

"Oh?" Harriet lightly pressed. "You sure you're not too tired though? Don't need a coffee or anything? Or want to take a nap before you go?"

It finally clicked.

"Ah, you know, I think I would like to rest a bit before I go," he agreed. Harriet smiled, turning to unlock her door. Vlad grabbed the camera basket for her, and they went inside.

[louiseleblancdiggory]

omg can u write a second part to that secret rowaelin / aelins birthday party one shot, I NEED to know how that continues.. and maybe another one shot from when they realised that they're not actual just fuckbuddys but in love ahhhh I love this AU and u writing is so GOOD

I’m so glad you like it!! I was planning on writing the Halloween scene, so I feel like this will end up being a small AU maybe? Like I’ll write the main parts of their story? Who knows. But I will definitely post the Halloween scene and the scene from when things changed... For now, here’s how explaining to their friends went

This is the part one. You really need to read it to understand what’s going on in this scene. 

Birthday revelations 

--

Aelin was frozen.

She was staring wide eyed at all of her friends standing in her living room. Their faces were the picture of astonishment and disbelief. She knew she should go up to them and explain everything but this isn’t how she had planned it out, so she merely snuggled closer to Rowan, his arms tightening around her.

They were so fucked.

“What the actual fuck?” Lysandra said, her voice a mix of perplexity and slight betrayal. “You two… But.. How? When?”

“Aelin, you fucking snake.” Manon said, but Aelin could see the humor gleaming on her eyes and that her smile was genuine. She seemed like the only one not completely pissed. Even Elide looked a little betrayed.

“Bro, you’re banging my cousin?” Aedion’s face contorted with disgust when he looked at Aelin’s bare legs and undoubtedly saw the handprints. Vaughan gave him a slap on the back of his head.

“Aedion, please.” Yrene said, her voice calm but her face a mask of shock as everyone else. “Let them recompose themselves. They obviously weren’t expecting us.”

“What are you all doing here?” Rowan finally said, even though it was obvious what they were doing here.

“What are we doing here? What are you doing here, Rowan?” Fenrys replied, crossing his arms. When Rowan opened his mouth again, Fen raised a hand dramatically. “Don’t answer that truthfully. I don’t want details.”

Aelin’s cheeks were on fire, and Rowan’s arms hugged her a little more tightly.

“Can you guys it down so we can explain?” She said, her voice steady despite how fast her heart was beating.

She didn’t want it to be like this, neither did Rowan. They wanted to sit them all down and explain everything on their terms. Rowan wanted to talk privately with Aedion, and Aelin sure as hell didn’t want Lysandra feeling as if she didn’t trust her. And now they had waited too long and everything went to shit.

Each one of their friends found a place to sit. Manon was sitting on Dorian’s lap, Yrene and Chaol by their side on the sofa. Nehemia and Asterin were on the loveseat, Nehemia’s arm tucking Asterin close. Fenrys and Connall each sat on one of the loveseat’s armrest, Vaughan standing behind Connall.

Lorcan, Gavriel, Sartaq, Nesryn, Borte and Ren took up the chairs by the table. Lorcan pulled a stiff Elide to sit on his lap, whispering something in her ear that made her relax a little.

Lysandra and Aedion remained where they were, arms crossed.

Rowan nudged Aelin forward and they approached everyone. He sat down on an armchair, taking Aelin with him. She could have sworn Aedion flinched at that.

Rowan started to make soothing circles on her thigh, and she held one of his hands with both of hers, sweeping her fingers over his knuckles. Despite it all, Rowan seemed calm.  He was lazily leaning on the armchair, completely content to hold his girlfriend on his lap, play with her thigh and tell all of her friends and her cousin how he had been sleeping with her behind their backs.

“So, you guys are banging.” Asterin broke the silence.

Borte snorted. “Obviously. The girl looks like she just got railed, so unless they play some very wild type of boardgames in her room while in the dark, yes, they are banging.”

“Borte, for the love of god.” Nesryn murmured at the same time Sartaq said, “Borte, shut the fuck up.”

Rowan sighed, deeply and suffering. “Yes, we are…”

“Banging.” Nehemia added.

“Can we please stop using the word ‘bang’?” Chaol muttered.

“Pardon.” Nehemia looked at him impatiently. “Fucking, then.”

Chaol rolled his eyes and Aelin couldn’t help but snort.

“How?” Dorian asked, his voice dripping disbelief. After Lys, Dorian was probably the person who heard Aelin complaining about Rowan the most.

Despite herself, Aelin found herself saying, “You want to know how we fuck?”

Rowan, Vaughan, Manon and Asterin were the only ones that laughed.

“I thought you hated each other.” Fen said, his brows furrowing.

“They did. I remember High School junior Aelin running after Rowan with a knife with the full intent of killing him.” Connall looked at his brother. “Unless they’re together since then and that was some type of kink.”

“Please, I don’t want to know Aelin’s kinks.” Ren looked pained.

“Please, I don’t want to know about Rowan’s kinks either.” Lorcan added, but his voice was full of humor. The asshole must have been finding this whole situation hilarious.

“Stop using Aelin, Rowan and kinks in the same sentence for the love of god.” Aedion pleaded.

“Let them explain.” Gavriel, always the voice of reason, interrupted.

“It started on Halloween.” She started only to be then interrupted by Aedion.

“You guys have been together for six months and told no one?” His eyes widened. “Oh my god. It was when I told Lin to stay in the apartment, wasn’t it?”

“Yes, and we haven’t been together for six months.” Aelin could feel Rowan losing his patience as he explained their situation. “We slept together six months ago, but it wasn’t anything important. It was just sex then.”

“But not anymore?” Elide asked, her voice low. Something glinted on her eyes.

“That’s impossible. A relationship between them is unbelievable.” Chaol snorted and Aelin felt Rowan’s hand tightening on her leg.

“No.” Aelin shrugged, losing her patience just like Rowan. She could understand them feeling hurt because neither Aelin nor Rowan had told them anything, but acting like her relationship with Rowan was wrong made her stomach turn. “We fucked around a bit. Months, actually. We couldn’t stand each other when we weren’t fucking in the beginning, it was honestly just sex. We didn’t feel like telling anyone because once it ended, we didn’t want things to get awkward. We didn’t want the jokes, or suggestions that we should just date. It was easy and simple and telling other people would make it too real.”

Surprisingly, Lorcan, Nesryn and Connall nodded. Fenrys relaxed, and even Borte was smiling at them the way Manon had since the beginning.

“Lys and Aedion had just started dating then, and they spent most nights in our apartment, so I would come here to see Ace. In the first few nights I would arrive, we would fuck and I would leave. Slowly I started coming earlier and we would eat something. I would spend the night and we would grab breakfast together. We became friends.” Rowan shrugged.

“So you two are fuck buddies?” Ren asked.

“No, things changed two months ago after an… incident.” Aelin said and Rowan squeezed her thigh. Aelin didn’t have to look back to know he was fighting a smile. “But then we didn’t know how to tell you guys that we had been fucking for four months and told no one. Ro thought it was better for the two of us to just sit down and tell everyone at once.”

“Ace thought it would be better if she talked to the girls and I talked to the guys.” Rowan finished for her. The tension from her body had vanished, and she was completely resting her back against Rowan’s chest.

“We discussed it for a month and decided to go with Ro’s idea. But then spring break came and everyone went off to somewhere else. We decided to tell when everyone was back. We were going to do it this week after my birthday but you guys came here today.”

“So, basically, you guys have been together for six months. One way or another.” Vaughan asked and Aelin and Rowan nodded.

“Hum, good for you.” Manon said, looking at Aelin. Nehemia, Yrene and Asterin nodded, a small smile playing on their lips.

“Is that why you almost kicked me out of here earlier?” Lys asked, genuinely curious. She didn’t look as pissed as she had in the beginning.

“No. I didn’t even know Ro was coming until I opened the door an hour ago.” She sat up, crossing her legs. Rowan shifted slightly to accommodate her on his lap, his hands now on her hips. “I just didn’t want you to ditch a night with your boyfriend to stay home with me.”

Lys nodded, a small smile playing on her lips. Aelin didn’t fool herself in thinking that Lys wasn’t hurt about her silence, but it was good to know her best friend wasn’t majorly pissed.

“So he’s your boyfriend?” Aedion asked her, but his eyes were on Rowan.

Rowan’s voice was hard when he replied for her. “Yes.”

The room was silent until Manon started laughing. And then Yrene, Nehemia and Asterin. Borte and Nesryn cackled, and Lys and Elide shared a knowing smile. The men only grunted.

“Pay up, assholes.” Elide said.

“What?” Rowan and Aelin said in unison.

“Sophomore year of High School Elide said the two of you would end up together at some point. The tension would just build up to a point that the two of you would either cut all ties or would fuck.” Lorcan grunted, taking out his wallet. “The girls agreed with her. The men said you guys would simply start ignoring each other after college. We bet a hundred and fifty each. We would get the money and split so it’s equal to everyone in each team.”

Aelin’s jaw fell. Rowan sat up then, eyes narrowing. “You have a bet of six years on us?”

“Yes.” Elide replied, happily. “And although me and Ms. Galathynius over there will have a chat about your relationship later, I can’t say I’m sad about going home tonight a hundred and eighty seven bucks richer.”

“You have a bet of six years on whether or not we would bang?” Rowan repeated, dumbfounded.

“I thought we agreed to stop using the word bang.” Chaol said.

“Yeah, bro, it’s fuck.” Connall nodded solemnly as he handed his money to Asterin.

“And who says we only have one?” Manon chirped, counting the money Dorian had painfully given to her.

“I hate every single one of you.” Aelin grunted, resting against Rowan’s chest again. She could feel his body shaking with laughter and had to bite her own lip to fight a smile.

“You hate me? I’m a hundred and fifty poorer and my best friend is banging my cousin. This can’t get worse.”

“You’ll have to see them together every day now. And when Aelin spends the night on your apartment or Rowan isn’t home, you’ll know exactly what’s happening.” Fenrys said, his tone helpful.

Aedion merely groaned.

Aelin turned and gave Rowan a quick kiss, getting up to talk to the girls privately. Rowan gave her ass a playful slap, and she heard Aedion groan again. One look at Rowan and he was smiling like a fiend.

Oh he was going to have fun torturing Aedion.

Aelin spent the rest of the night apologizing for her silence and telling her friends what the last six months had been like. She had a feeling Rowan was doing the same with the guys, but probably with a lot less detail if Aedion hadn’t thrown up on the floor yet.

“You’ll have to make up for it.” Elide said, but she didn’t seem pissed. “We understand why you didn’t tell us, but it still hurts a bit.”

“True.” Lys said as the others nodded.

“I know and I’m so sorry. You guys have no idea how many times I wanted to talk to one of you about Rowan or about something I was insecure about, especially when I started falling for him.” The girls smiled softly at that, even Manon. “But it wasn’t my decision alone, and I couldn’t go up to Ro and say ‘hey, would you mind if I told the girls about us fucking because I think I’m falling hard for you and don’t really know how to proceed?’”

Nesryn snorted, and Yrene put an arm around Aelin. “So you really like him, huh.”

Aelin looked over to Rowan. He was smiling at something Fenrys had said and that had left Aedion scowling. “Yeah, I do.” She said softly.

“This is so strange.” Borte murmured to Asterin.

“So…” Nehemia started, and her tone made Aelin snap her eyes back to her friends.

They were all smiling in a scary way.

“Now that we’ve got the forgiveness part out of the way…” Elide continued.

Aelin’s brows furrowed in confusion.

“How’s the sex?” Lysandra finished and despite herself, Aelin felt her cheeks heating. All the girls laughed at that.

“Good.” She answered, then smiled. “Like really fucking amazing. Best lay of my life.”

“We agree with Fenrys and we do not want details but…” Manon said. “You can be more specific.”

All the women nodded eagerly and Aelin laughed.

She quickly looked at Rowan before telling her friends exactly how Rowan had discovered every bit of her body and soul in the last six months.

She told them of the fighting. The befriending. The falling. 

She told them how she was still falling, head first into the L-word zone. 

She told them how she couldn’t be happier she was falling.

Tags:

@in-love-with-caramel-macchiato @jlinez @courtofjurdan

[phoenixyfriend]

I am seized by a fatal need for courtroom ninja drama fic

But not serious courtroom drama. I'm talking Phoenix Wright style Nonsense.

(Some of this was provided by the folks over in @sloaners​‘ server, but the bulk of it was me spitballing nonsense at people who actually know the games, which I do not. I do paraphrase a few times to make it more feasible as a tumblr post/fic concept, rather than a rapidfire text conversation.)

Or one of those like. Reality TV paternity test things? But specifically in my mind the people involved in the actual paternity are a married couple and someone that joined them to be their third, and Clan Elders are throwing a fit about how the baby might not be the heir by blood! while the actual parents are like "I could not care less, this is our child, all three of us, please stop getting involved."

HashiMitoMada would be a VERY good option for the paternity nonsense, mostly because I can see Madara screeching at his own elders about how he already said Izuna would be his heir and he's not changing his mind!

Tobirama is just begging the paternity test to work faster off-screen because he's the only person with the machines to make it happen.

(Hashirama is just. Moping in a corner.)

"I just had to INVENT a paternity test that works before the birth! I had to figure out how to test amniotic fluid! If you assholes make me do something this stupid on such short notice again, I will be digging some shallow graves!" "...for who?" "I haven't decided yet."

Anyway, jumping back to like a Phoenix Wright-style murder investigation.

The victim was Danzo. Even the prosecution isn't actually that interested in making sure someone gets arrested, but they're legally obligated to do at least try. A bunch of people all acting really suspicious about who killed him. There is at least one shitty fake mustache-on-glasses disguise to provide a paper-thin alibi.

WAIT The other thing this gives us is ninjas in three-piece-suits but half of them wear the suits wrong. I’m talking mismatched buttons. The wrong way of tying their tie. Sewn-on-cufflinks. This is Naruto, for instance.

Tobirama would wear it properly, except he's rushing about in a lab coat, screaming at everyone to get out of his way because he's The Entire Forensics Team.

(This is the part where I have to confess that I have only seen the live-action movie of Phoenix Wright, as I don't game, so I just have the live action and tumblr osmosis.)

At this point, of course, we gotta ask: Who is the most Belligerent Witness And who is the Helpful™️ Witness that's super enthusiastic but entirely useless

I can see, say, Mito being a solid witness that both defense and prosecution are really thankful for.

Modern gen you have like... Sasuke and Neji are both incredibly belligerent witnesses. Neji at least is polite about it but pulls the "only answers with the absolute minimum of information."

Lee and Gai would have the over enthusiasm but forget to say actual vital testimony until pressed, and Naruto would love to help but might not be entirely sure what the case even is.

Shikamaru falls asleep when the lawyers consult their partners. Prosecution A consults Prosecution B for thirty-seven seconds, then turns around and the witness is asleep at the stand.

Tobi (as in Obito with mask) is an incredibly frustrating witness. They have to declare a recess just so all the lawyers can recover their blood pressure. "Can we please get someone up on the stand with this guy as a handler? I'm--I'm going to explode."

Gaara: Helpful. Polite. Answers with detail. Answers the spirit of the question as well as the letter. Includes more detail. That's too much detail. Gaara please stop telling us about the sounds that bones make.

His testimony just drags on forever.

Ninken can and will take the stand! Pakkun even enjoys it! Some ninken require translators.

ABURAME TRANSLATING FOR A RANDOM GIANT CENTIPEDE THAT WITNESSED A MURDER IN THE FOREST OF DEATH

There are arguments about whether or not the testimony can count since nobody else can confirm the translation except Other Aburame so how do they know the Aburame aren't part of the coverup.

"Okay, so this Danzo guy had like fifty shell companies but I think I found the route that leads back to him?" "Nah, that one goes to a guy that died eighty years ago that's still collecting pensions: his family lied and said he was still alive for the money." "Fuck!"

Also I just. I love the idea of Sasuke and Madara being the exact opposite kind of belligerent witness.

Also, Orochimaru answers with pretty much the exact kind of wording as Gaara, but where Gaara is trying to be helpful and provide detail for the sake of the case, and failing to see that it's maybe not necessary, Orochimaru just wants to see people squirm. ...similar thing happens with Sakura and Kabuto. Similar phrasing, very different energy.

I keep picturing all of Team Taka as part of Forensics and Evidence Collecting ajshakshjd

Juugo, holding up a rabbit: I found a witness.

Karin joins forensics and Tobirama nearly weeps from joy until he finds her criminal record "Shit, that was supposed to get thrown out when I turned eighteen."

Tobirama: I asked for an assistant, not a criminal. Karin: I'm on parole. Tobirama: That makes things worse. Karin: I know how to use a [concerningly advanced machine that I, a business major, cannot name]. Tobirama: ...never mind, I'm keeping you.

Karin: I know how to DNA sequence AND use LA-ICP-MS Tobirama: [weeps with joy]

Suigetsu would be great at blood splatter analysis. ...I think I read somewhere that blood spatter analysis is actually over in 'fake science that's pushed by cops and media but actually doesn't work' BUT apparently it’s in the Ace Attorney games so we’re going to ignore reality a bit. We’ve already got dogs and rabbits and centipedes as witnesses, what’s a bit of blood spatter?

He's also probably really good at cause of death stuff? Like looking at corpse and figuring out how long it took the victim to die, which blow did it, whether any damage was inflicted post-mortem, etc.

Sasuke is usually too busy playing Belligerent Witness but sometimes goes to join Taka for... uh... reasons.

Juugo: [takes the stand] Lawyer: Hey, uh, why's that Uchiha guy with him? The witness-- Judge: No, no, we need Uchiha Sasuke on hand when questioning Expert Animal Handler Juugo. Lawyer: ...why? Judge: Property damage.

(Sasuke as a work partner with Juugo, also moonlighting as a witness/suspect in Danzo's murder.)

One time they need Juugo but can't find him even though court is already in session and he said he'd be here, turns out he was lured away by Kakashi's army of dogs. Kakashi didn't notice until he turned to ask Pakkun if he could help find the missing expert.

Juugo is a decent lab assistant, I think?

Anyway.

Tobirama taking on Team Taka as his forensics team while Orochimaru is... hm... traveling the country to promote his new autobiography, which is outselling the newest Icha Icha to Jiraiya's ire.

Sloane suggested “a case where it's all the Sannin as suspects in a murder. They would be THE WORST, say... the murder of Hanzo.”

To which I suggested “The Sannin are all suspects but the people on trial are the Ame trio, maybe?”

Which garnered the response of “It could be a surprise upset IN COURT that the trio should be on trial.”

We love a court upset.

Suigetsu finds out that the cause of death was actually an entirely natural heart attack, but while he was determining this, the rest of the team and the lawyers found like eight conspiracies by Zetsu, three by Danzo, four by Orochimaru, and an entire network of nonsense by Sasori.

INO IS THE PSYCHIC. I know her thing in canon is reading minds but pls. Ino is Maya. The Spirit Medium.

Is the judge: 1. Hiruzen 2. Hashirama 3. Hagoromo 4. Mifune 5. The Daimyou

(Old dude with authority, optionally easily distracted/questionably competent. I'd have gone for impressive facial hair but only Mifune and Hagoromo have more than like... Hiruzen's weird soul patch.)

It's not a soul patch but I don't know what facial hair is called and I can't just call it a goat beard

Response commentary was as follows: The Daimyou would unfortunately be closer to the personality of the ace attorney judge, more blindly agreeing with things that sound good :joy: Hiruzen could be fun if only for the competing facial hair for a beard, yes xD Hagoromo would possibly be most buckwild tho WELCOME TO MOON COURT

I managed to get this far with like... NO idea who the judges were except “IDK maybe Kakashi?” but consider:

...HashiMada rival lawyers

Dropping over to Izuna vs. Touka for when Hashirama and Madara inevitably become suspects of something or other themselves and have to be witnesses.

(Tobirama's too busy running blood tests, Anija, let Touka handle it, she's better at people anyway.)

...Hashirama is like. Marginally more put-together than Madara, right? So that... makes him Edgeworth... somehow... That feels wrong but Madara as Edgeworth feels even more wrong.

Madara is very into screaming OBJECTION

ALSO consider: Friction when a doctor from a nearby hospital gets called in to provide expert testimony on something because Karin is like "no hey I should be the one doing this" and then she sees how cute Sakura is.

But also at some point Kakashi vs. Gai for a nonsense case. Their personalities are both VERY FUN for this sort of thing.

[gayenerd]

I just realized I didn’t post that 2007 Rolling Stone article I posted about here. 

Billie Joe Armstrong

The Green Day leader talks Bush, Britney and being a middle-aged punk for our 40th anniversary.

DAVID FRICKE

Posted Nov 01, 2007 8:19 AM

You have two young sons. What kind of America will they inherit?

This war has to finish before something new blossoms. There's no draft — that's why none of the kids give a shit. They'd rather watch videos on YouTube. It's hard to tell what's next — there is so much information out there with no power to it. Everything is in transition, including our government. Next year, it's someone else in the White House. There's no way to define anything. It's Generation Zero. But you gotta start at zero to get to something.

Is there anyone now running for president who gives you hope for the future?

Barack Obama, but it's a bit early to tell if this is the guy I like. I get sick of the religious-figure thing. People don't question their rulers, these political figures, just as they don't question their ministers and priests. They're not going to question George Bush, especially if he goes around talking about God — "I'm going to let God decide this for me. He's going to give me the answer." The fear of God keeps people silent.

When did you first vote in a presidential election?

In 1992. I was twenty. I voted for Clinton.

Did you feel like you made a difference?

Yeah. The Eighties sucked. There was so much bullshit that went along with that decade. I felt like Clinton was a fresh face with fresh ideas. There were times when he was dropping bombs, and I'm thinking, "What the fuck are you doing?" But he became a target. We have this puritanical vision of what a leader is supposed to be, and that's what makes us the biggest hypocrites in the world. We got so inside this guy's sexual habits. Now we have a president going around, killing in the name of what? In the name of nothing.

What did you accomplish with your 2004 anti-Bush album, "American Idiot"? He was re-elected anyway, and the war in Iraq is still going on.

I found a voice. There may have been people disenfranchised by it. People have a hard time with that kind of writing: "Why are you preaching to me?" It does sound preachy, a bit. I'm a musician, and I want to say positive things. If it's about self-indulgent depression or overthrowing the government, it's gotta come from my heart. And when you say "Fuck George W. Bush" in a packed arena in Texas, that's an accomplishment, because you're saying it to the unconverted.

Do you think selling nearly 6 million copies of that album might have an effect on the 2008 election? A kid who bought it at fifteen will be voting age next year.

I hope so. I made it to give people a reason to think for themselves. It was supposed to be a catalyst. Maybe that's one reason why it's difficult for me to write about politics now. A lot of things on that record are still relevant. It's like we have this monarchy in politics — the passing of the baton between the Clintons and the Bushes. That's frightening. What needs to happen is a complete change, a person coming from the outside with a new perspective on all the fucked-up problems we have.

How would you describe the state of pop culture?

People want blood. They want to see other people thrown to the lions. Do audiences want rock stars? I can't tell. You have information coming at you from so many areas — YouTube, the Internet, tabloids. Watching Britney Spears the other night [on the MTV Video Music Awards] was like watching a public execution. How could the people at MTV, the people around her, not know this girl was fucked up? People came in expecting a train wreck, and they got more than they bargained for.

She was a willing conspirator. She didn't say no.

She is a manufactured child. She has come up through this Disney perspective, thinking that all life is about is to be the most ridiculous star you could be. But it's also about what we look at as entertainment — watching somebody go through that.

How do you decide what your children can see on TV or the Internet? As a dad, even a punk-rock dad, that can make you conservative in your choices.

I want to protect them from garbage. It's not necessarily the sex and drugs. It's bad drugs and bad sex, the violence you see on television and in the news. I want to protect them from being desensitized. I want them to realize this is real life, not a video game.

The main thing I want them to have is a good education, because that's something I never had. Get smart. Educate yourself as much as you can, and get as much out of it, even if the teacher is an asshole.

Do you regret dropping out of high school?

Life in high school sucks. I bucked the system. I also got lucky. My wife has a degree in sociology, and there are conversations she has — I don't have a fucking clue what they're talking about. College — I could have learned from that.

But I was the last of six kids. At that point, my mother was fifty-eight, and she threw up her hands — "I'm through with this parenting thing." Also, I could not handle authority figures. But I wouldn't say I'm an authority figure for my kids. I provide guidelines, not rules.

What is it like being a middle-aged punk? Isn't that a contradiction in terms?

It's about the energy you bring with you, the pulse inside your head. I want to get older. I don't want to be twenty-one again. Screw that. My twenties were a difficult time — where my band was at, getting married, having a child. I remember walking out of a gig in Chicago, past these screaming kids. There were these punks, real ones, sitting outside our tour bus. One girl had a forty-ouncer, and she goes, "Billie Joe, come drink with us." I said, "I can't, I've got my family on the bus." She goes, "Well, fuck you then." I get on the bus, and my wife says, "Did that bitch just tell you to fuck off? I'm gonna kick her ass right now." I'm holding her back, while my child is naked, jumping on the couch: "Hi, Daddy!" That was my whole life right there — screaming kids, punks telling me to fuck off, my wife getting pissed, my naked son waiting to get into his pajamas.

There's nothing wrong with being twenty-one. It's the lessons you learn. At thirty, you think, "Why did I worry so much about this shit?" When I hit forty, I'll say the same thing: "Why did I worry about this shit in my thirties?"

What have you learned about yourself?

There is more to life than trying to find your way through self-destruction or throwing yourself into the fire all the time. Nihilism in punk rock can be a cliché. I need to give myself more room to breathe, to allow my thoughts to catch up with the rest of me.

Before Dookie, I wasn't married and I didn't have kids. I had a guitar, a bag of clothes and a four-track recorder. There are ways you don't want to change. You don't want to lose your spark. But I need silence more than I did before. I need to get away from the static and noise, whereas before, I thrived on it.

Are you ready for the end of the music business? The technology and its effect on sales have changed dramatically since Green Days' debut EP — on vinyl — in 1989.

Technology now and the way people put out records — everything comes at you so fast, you don't know what you're investigating. You can't identify with it — at least I can't. With American Idiot, we made a conscious effort to give people an experience they could remember for the rest of their lives. It wasn't just the content. It was the artwork, the three acts — the way you could read it all like someone's story.

Is music simply not important to young people now the way it was to you as a kid?

People get addicted to garbage they don't need. At shows, they gotta talk on their phones to their friend who's in the next aisle. I was watching this documentary on Jeff Tweedy of Wilco [Sunken Treasure]. He was playing acoustic, and he ends up screaming at the audience: "Your fucking conversation can wait. I'm up here singing a song — get involved." He wasn't being an asshole. He was like, "Leave your bullshit behind. Let's celebrate what's happening now."

We need music, and we need it good. I took it very seriously. There's a side of me where music will always send chills up my spine, make me cry, make me want to get up and do Pete Townshend windmills. In a lot of ways, I was in a minority when I was young. There are people who go, "Oh, that's a snappy tune." I listen to it and go, "That's the greatest fucking song ever. That is the song I want played at my funeral."

Now that you've brought it up, what song do you want played at your funeral?

It keeps changing. "Life on Mars?" by David Bowie. "In My Life," by the Beatles. "Love," by John Lennon.

Those are all reflective ballads, not punk.

I disagree. They are all honest in their reflection. The punk bands I liked were the ones who didn't fall into clichés — the Clash, the Ramones. The Ramones wrote beautiful love songs. They also invented punk rock. I'd have to add "Blitzkrieg Bop" to the list.

What is the future of punk rock? Will it still be a voice of rebellion in twenty years?

It's categorized in so many different ways. You've got the MySpace punks. But there is always the subculture of it — the rats in the walls, pounding the pavement and booking their own live shows. It comes down to the people who are willing to do something different from everybody else.

You are in a different, platinum-album world now. What makes you so sure that spirit survives?

I'm going on faith — because I was there. Gilman Street [the Berkeley, California, club where Green Day played early shows] is still around. And that's a hard task, because there is no bar — it's a nonprofit cooperative. It's like a commune — this feeling of bucking the system together, surviving and thriving on art. Punk, as an underground, pushes for the generation gap. As soon as you're twenty-five years old, there's a group of sixteen-year-olds coming to kick your ass. And you have to pass the torch on. It's a trip to have seen it happen so many times. It gives me goose bumps — punk is something that survives on its own.

[pettyprocrastination]

Rip Out Our Seams and Stitch Us Together

Chapter One Word count: 1.9k Warnings: Uhhh brief talk of race, some language.  Chapter summary: You’re a seamstress in dc, with a tiny but successful shop run by your and your spunky cashier. Today you get a visitor that is far out of your usual demographic.

tag list: @captainsamwlsn @ithinkhesgaybutwesavedmufasa @readsalot73 @zeldasayer

(yes that’s a marilyn monroe pic she’s a major look for Valerie alright.)

Many believed that the eyes were the window to the soul, your father disagreed with that. He believed the truth of somebody's character was in their hands. 

“Shows a lot about them, little bee.” your father showed his own hands to you, wrinkled and scarred with tiny nics from years of work as a tailor. You were nine at the time, just last week you had completed your first sundress! You spent your afternoons after school in the shop with your father, doing whatever he asked. “-If they're a hard worker or if they don’t do anything at all. These little fellas will show you just that.” He wiggled his fingers at you before poking at your stomach, causing you to burst into a fit of giggles.

Twenty five years later and his words still ring true. When you first meet somebody, you don’t look at their clothes, or their smile, or even their eyes. You look for their character in their hands. 

So the moment the tiny bell rang at your shop door, your eyes were taken away from the pinned gown in front of you and towards the lithe fingers wrapped around the door handle. 

Manicured nails painted a deep red, fingers daintily curled, skin unscarred and void of all blemishes. Absolutely perfect. 

Who would expect any less of Maxwell Lord’s wife?

Your only other employee, Cassandra, a sweet sixteen year old girl you hired to watch the register and sweep floors, squeaked. 

“Hello,” She lifted the sunglasses from her face and set them utop her blonde curls. Her eyes zeroed in on you with an analytical gaze. In comparison to her floor length  fur coat and satin blouse, you suddenly felt flushed in your ripped trousers and patterned button up. “Are you the owner?” She put such infliction on each word you couldn’t tell if she was judging your store or the fact that you owned it.

Either way you felt like you were supposed to be offended. 

“That I am.” 

She slid her coat off, looking at your coat rack with a wrinkled nose before finally setting it on the hook. She walked around your store, taking in the little knick-knacks that lined the counter and the racks of clothing with a judgmental eye. 

Her eyes flicked to Cassandra, who still stood behind the register with her jaw dropped open. 

Mrs.Lord smiled and tapped the underside of her chin and she snapped her mouth shut. 

“You made all of these yourself?” Her voice was smooth like silk, but had a sharp edge to it. You felt as if you were waiting to embarrass yourself in front of her. She took a white sundress into her hands, feeling the fabric between her fingers. 

“Most of them.” You answered. She froze and raised a sculpted brow.

“Most?”

You shrugged your shoulders. “Some of these are thrift store finds, just altered and restyled.” Her ruby lips bent into a frown, glaring at the dress she held with disappointment. 

“That one is an original though.”

She stared at the dress for a moment, face scrunched up in thought before she regained her cool composure and tossed it to you over her shoulder, which landed on your face. “Be a dear and hold that for me, would you?”

You didn’t get a chance to answer. By the time you lifted the lace that obscure your vision, she was already looking at another dress. You followed behind her. 

Why the hell not? You thought to yourself as she handed you a satin blouse. You didn’t have any other customers at the moment, and you aren't being met with for a design consultation for another three hours. 

Besides, how often is it that Valerie fucking Lord walks into your store like a frequent customer?

She continued to walk around your store, red heels echoing throughout as she stopped at certain dresses and tops (mostly those of silk or lace) to admire them, before either adding them to the growing pile in your arms, or setting them back on the rack with a sour look. The entire time she did, you wondered what it was that drew in her to your tiny shop. 

The woman before you had been a big deal since she was born. Before she was Valerie Lord, she was Valerie Ackkerman. Her father had been a Hollywood director in the fifties who married an up and coming actress hot to the scene. The couple dominated the big screen and became a loved pair to America, that is until her mother got a baby bump, got demoted to supporting roles for the rest of her career, and her father continued to go on and  make films many to this day still consider iconic. 

You considered most of them to be a racist and misogynist, but you suppose they were simply a product of their time. 

And a shitty director. 

Valerie Ackkerman became Dr.Ackkerman, psychiatrist with multiple books surrounding a vast majority of subjects that can affect one’s mental state. Such as greed, fame, and the lack of proper paternal figures to shape your childhood.

Which made her choice in marriage all the more ironic. 

Maxwell Lord the fourth was a man as American as apple pie and the corporate greed that came as a table side. He’d taken over his father’s company at the ripe age of sixteen at his passing, having been groomed for the position since he was a child. 

Maxwell Lord was known as a ruthless tycoon, a tech mogul who will smile wide in his commercials before making a grown man cry in his boardroom. His wife was just as feared as him and seeing her before you now, you perfectly understood why. She was prettier than sin itself and just as rich. Which begged the question…

Why in God’s name was she in your shop?

“How long have you been sewing?” A floor length skirt with a slit up the leg was tossed in your arms. 

“Since I can remember.” Her fingers ghosted along the hangers before plucking a pink slip dress off the rack and holding it up against her body. “My father was a tailor. He taught me everything he knew.” She turned to the mirror on the other side of the room and looked at her reflection while smoothing out the fabric of the dress. “When he passed away I took over the shop, but I basically ran it already.”

She chuckled, shaking her head as if your father's death had tickled her so. “Sounds like somebody I know.”  Mrs. Lord turned to you, the dress pressed against her body. “Thoughts?”

Your eyes roamed over her body as you tried to form sentences, but nothing came out in fear of saying the wrong thing in front of a woman so powerful, she could burn your shop to the ground with a single call to her husband. 

Beautiful. You wanted to say. And terrifying. 

“It suits you.” 

She turned back to the mirror, her eyes focused on your reflection instead of her own. She tilted her head to the side and hummed. You felt like you were on display, being examined, picked apart and analyzed by the prettiest blue eyes you've ever seen in your life. 

“I know.”

When she walked past you to the register and you got a waft of her perfume, something sharp and citrusy, most likely belonging to a brand you wouldn’t dream of wearing. 

Cassandra rang her up in silence, nervously looking up from each item to the woman standing in front of her. Her hands trembled so bad you could see the fabric shake when she picked them up. 

You would have taken over for her, but  you were trying to ignore the burning sensation in your face at her judgmental gaze. You’d seen it all before, from women like her. Rich, white, beautiful, and privileged as all hell. You knew the way her eyes scanned your clothes, critiquing your curls, the cut of your jeans and the pattern of your button up that lay partially open against your chest. 

You wish you could say you were sick of it. But mostly? You just didn’t give a shit. 

Cassandra’s shaking hands dropped the bag into the floor before it reached Valarie’s, she looked about ready to cry before you stepped in. 

“Oh god I’m so-”

“It’s fine Cassie.” Her red lips snapped shut at your interjection and blase tone. 

You swiped the plastic bag and held it out to the woman with a neutral face.“Eighty-nine fifty.” You told her. She looked at you as if you had grown a second head. 

She must not be used to being treated like something other than royalty. 

But that look was replaced by a coy smile. She took the plastic bag full of clothes from your hands and handed you a thick wad of cash that was well over the amount she owed. Red, manicured nails trailing down your palm as she did. 

You suppressed a shudder. 

“You know-” She took the lace sundress out of her bag, thumb trailing along the seam. “-Your work is on par with some of the brands I wear.” You weren’t sure why the sight of her stroking something you made felt so damn intimate, but you felt like you needed to look away as if you were interrupting something.“-Maybe even better than them.”

Christ, you needed to get out more. 

“Well yeah.” You shrugged matter of factly and crossed your arms. “That’s because I’m driven by artist integrity. Not making some shoddy dress and slapping a fancy brand on it, in hopes that some trust fund baby will wear it to her next yacht party.”

The moment those words left your lips you realized you had said them to the wealthiest customer you ever had. 

Who laughed. 

Cassandra went pale as a sheet while you spoke, looking between you and the woman worth more than your entire store like she expected an explosion. 

Mrs. Lord smiled at you. “We’ll you're right about that. I have to agree.” Her hands ran down the side of the dress and stopped when she felt a fold in the white fabric. “Are these-”

“Pockets?” You grinned, like it was your greatest achievement. Honestly? It kind of was. “Sure are. Decently sized ones too, can fit your whole hand in and everything.” To prove your point, the heiress stuck her entire hand into the pocket and wiggled it with a laugh. 

“There’s still more room in it!” She sounded so in awe and excited, it reminded you of a child on Christmas. 

Her joy was infectious. 

“Every dress I make has pockets, it’s sort of like my signature.”

“Every dress?”

You drew an X over your heart. “Stitches guarantee.”

Mrs. Lord grinned. “You're certainly one of a kind miss...”

You told her your name, and she repeated it back. The way she said it made it sound like the brand name of a thousand dollar purse. 

“But you can call me stitches.” You said simply. “Everybody does.”

Cassandra looked at you with wide eyes, shocked that you went from accidentally insulting her to being chummy enough to share the silly nickname you got from customers. 

“Do they now?” She walked to the coat rack and slipped her jacket on. “Well tell me this, Stitches-” Mrs.Lord took the glasses off the top of her head and slid them over her eyes. “Do you do commission work?”

You blinked for a moment. “Well I do, but-”

She squealed and clapped her hands. “Oh perfect! We’ll be in touch then.”

“Wait-” You faltered, trying to run from behind the counter after her, but all you succeeded in doing was banging your hip against the corner. “Fuck! Who’s we?”

“Oh don’t you worry about that.” She opened the door and looked over her shoulder. “One more thing though, do you make suits as well?”

A/n:SHE’S HERE BABY WOOOOO. Iv’e been talking headcanons with @ithinkhesgaybutwesavedmufasa for like a week and a half now about this bad boy and im so excited to get the ball rolling! I love max and i love poly ships so HERE WE ARE Valerie lord owns my ass yall. Anyways please don’t feel shy to send me messages about these babes, asks, critiques or just come say hello! Let me know if you’d like to be added to the tag list, i hope you all have a good and safe day <3

[steppedoffaflight]

Summer’s a Knife - Chapter 15

Catch up on Chapter 14 here

You’re kicking yourself for taking these last months for granted, for thinking that that was what it meant to miss a busy Van. Pining and pouting over a Van that you basically saw once a week? That wasn’t so exhausted from back-to-back shows that he made time to call, or at least respond to your texts? Who spent enough time in one place that you could actually go visit him on tour?

or

You’re missing your best friend like crazy.

Word count: ~3.3k

A/N: I can’t believe there’s only two chapters left after this! Thank you from the bottom of my heart to everyone who’s taken the time to read this, and endless thank you’s to everyone who has reached out with feedback ❤️

Chapter Fifteen September 2019

Fall in California doesn’t look the same as it does in Michigan, but you wish it did. Although you’re glad winters here only involve mild weeks in the fifties and sixties, you do miss the atmosphere of gray, rainy September days, leaves shriveling up and falling off of the trees, and changing out your wardrobe into something cozier. Sure, the pumpkin spice trend is still active, but pumpkin spice lattes don’t taste the same with eighty degree temperatures and the shining sun.

Maybe you’re homesick because you’re desperate for your surroundings to match your insides. 

Van wasn’t kidding about the band’s workload this month. You’re kicking yourself for taking these last months for granted, for thinking that that was what it meant to miss a busy Van. Pining and pouting over a Van that you basically saw once a week? That wasn’t so exhausted from back-to-back shows that he made time to call, or at least respond to your texts? Who spent enough time in one place that you could actually go visit him on tour?

You had been so naive. So, so, fucking naive. And September was absolute torture to prove it. And it would feel much, much better to slog through this month on rainy sidewalks crusted with damp leaves, a crisp breeze trying to sneak through the seams of your coat.

But instead the world just spins on, leaving you behind. September is a new beginning for many people, who gladly chatter about it everywhere they go. UCLA students are starting to return to the area, bouncing around in their backpacks with iced coffees, and at work your co-workers are returning from their eventful summers refreshed and ready to end the year with a bang. There are back-to-school sales on everything, from spin classes to puppies in a petstore window, and the happier everyone is about the new season the more alone you feel.

Because that’s a great way to sum up how you feel, really: alone. It was the fucking worst. You’d never been someone who had a problem being alone! You’d purposely decided to live alone; you had practically skipped for joy down the sidewalks when you’d broken up with your last boyfriend. You had a nice friend group with the other girls at work, and of course you had Mary, so what else could an independent woman like you need? Certainly not a boyfriend or a girlfriend to make you feel fulfilled. Things wouldn’t even be different if Van was your boyfriend, you try to convince yourself. He’d still be busy. You’d still be rooted in L.A.. You’d still be just as depressed as you are right now.

You don’t believe that one bit.

\\

Got that reservation, Van texts you one night after a rare phone call. You’d asked him to try and get Mary and Theo a table for their anniversary, and apparently he’d pulled through. You beam to yourself as he sends another text with the reservation information, and then decide to give Mary a call.

“Where the fuck have you been?” Is Mary’s greeting. “Has Van kidnapped you?”

You don’t have the heart to tell her it’s the opposite, actually. You’re so trapped in your lonely self-pity you don’t really have the energy or desire to socialize with others right now. In your heart right now, it’s Van or bust.

“Maybe,” You joke, although you feel like you don’t sound very convincing. “Speaking of Van, he might happen to have a reservation next week that he can’t make…” You grin as your voice trails off, “And maybe he accidentally made the reservation under your name?”

Mary audibly gasps down the line. “He got us a table?” She squeals, but you can hear she’s trying to hold back her excitement until she knows for sure.

“I might have called in a favor from him,” You laugh as you listen to Mary’s excitement at your confirmation.

“He is an absolute angel,” She gushes. “You need to marry him, like, now.”

You’re sure that this time your laugh definitely sounds hollow. You’ve never admitted your love for Van, even though Mary questions you about it regularly and never seems convinced with your denials. While you usually tell her everything, your feelings for Van have always felt like a giant bruise, something best not exposed. You don’t think you could stand the teasing, or Mary’s typical meddling. And right now, considering your heart is one oozing wound, you’re thankful for your own secret-keeping.

“I just wanted to let you know,” You start to wind down the conversation. Your phone has pinged with another text from Van, and you don’t want to waste this opportunity to catch up with him. “I’ll screenshot the reservation stuff and text you.”

“Tell Van I said thank you! We said thank you. Like, seriously. He’s amazing.”

You two say goodbye and you relay the message to Van over text, before responding to the message he’d just sent. Sam Fender’s album was out tomorrow, and there would be a huge bash at his Hollywood house the following weekend, which the band wouldn’t be in the States to attend. Van was clearly bummed about the whole thing, and you were too. You wonder if Sam and his friends remembered you from the party, or if you’ve faded from everyone’s memory. You wish there was a way for you to reach out to him and congratulate him. 

Get your cheque yet? Van asks when the conversation about Sam has run its course.

Right. The insurance check. Yup, you respond, frowning to yourself in dismay. A whole $5,000. Yippee. 

You couldn’t believe that’s all you’d received from the insurance debacle. You’d purchased the car for $12,000 from a dealer, worked your ass to pay it off over the years, and now the insurance company had awarded you less than half of the cost of the car to somehow give you the means to buy a new one. And it’d be almost impossible to find something in good shape for that price that was also an automatic, because you grew up in Michigan, where people were not obsessed with driving stick shifts.

Least you’ve got the rover. 

Right. The Range Rover. The one scrap of Van you could cling to during this awful time.

\\

The next time you have to pass that stupid petshop with their stupidly cute puppies in the window on your walk back to the office after lunch, you decide to send a pic to Van: Yes or no to me getting a puppy.

Which one?

Holy fuck, he responded in less than twelve hours. It’s your lucky day.

I’m thinking that little fuzzy gray one.

I’d be supremely jealous. He’s cute and I love dogs.

Van is a terrible influence. You’re ashamed to admit you stall in front of the window for longer than necessary, looking at the little gray puppy with the pointed ears bounce around in the playpen before forcing yourself to move along. A puppy would probably be good for you, honestly, but that’s not a decision you should make on impulse.

Miss you, says another text from Van. Then another: Might be in town on Tuesday? Fingers crossed the flights work out. 

Unfortunately, they do not.

\\

The flights do, however, work out for Thursday. That’s a fact you only discover after coming home from work and heading into your bedroom to change, only to trip over two rolling suitcases and realize there’s a Van-sized lump sleeping in your bed.

“What’re you doing?” Van mumbles, peeking his head out from under the blankets as you swear up a storm.

“What are you doing?” You shout, your toes throbbing. You’d accidentally kicked one of his rolling suitcases across the bedroom hardwood, and your toes were aching from the impact. On its way across the bedroom that suitcase had bumped the other, causing it to fall like a domino. “Why didn’t you tell me you were here?”

A slow grin spreads over Van’s face. “I wanted to surprise you!”

“By making my room an obstacle course?” You huff, lifting the fallen suitcase upright and rolling both of them out of the way into a corner. 

Van’s sleepy state inhibits him from arguing, and he tucks his head back under the comforter.

“God, you scared the shit out of me,” You continue, your adrenaline still pumping from the fright and the pain. “I regret making you a key. I want it back.”

“Shut up,” Comes Van’s muffled voice.

“You shut up,” You bite back, but as the throbbing in your toes die down your irritation is replaced with the realization that this is reality, that Van is actually in your fucking bed at this moment. “I missed you,” You announce suddenly, your voice a lot softer.

Van peeks his head out again. His hair is a ruffled, oily mess as he beams at you. “I missed you more.”

“Bet you didn’t. Bet you forgot about me while you were doing cool band stuff.”

“Oh, did I? Wonder who I was texting Sam about, then.”

At this your jaw drops. “You did what?”

“I told him I was sorry I was leaving town tomorrow, and you said congratulations. And he asked how you were. Bond and him wanna do a celebratory pub night down in Newcastle.”

“No fair!” You pout, stomping your foot like a child. “You’re gonna celebrate without me?”

“Get your passport!” Van cries, throwing one of his arms up in exasperation before flopping back down on the bed. “Come with us!”

Getting your passport is a pain you’re reluctant to go through. You sigh. Maybe you’d try during the holidays back in Michigan, where the lines at the post office weren’t practically out the door everyday. Even if things with Van are over by then, Mary’s been trying to talk you into an overseas vacation for a while. 

“You’re leaving tomorrow?” You decide to narrow in on that fact, pushing passport thoughts aside.

“Tomorrow night,” Van confirms. “Drop me off after work?”

“Of course.” If you only had him for these twenty-four hours, you were gonna milk every second you had.

\\

Van is completely wiped from touring, and spends his entire time at your place in the same sweats. He gets out of bed the next morning to shower and have a cup of coffee with you, but other than that he’s glued to the mattress, getting some much-needed rest. 

But even when he’s tired, Van is fun to be around. When you’re exhausted from work it means that your job has sapped every last bit of joy from you, leaving you without any desire to be creative, go out with friends, or try to be in a good mood. With Van, it’s like he would keep going if his body allowed him. He talks about tour fondly, still expresses excitement about starting on the new album, and still manages to pluck at your guitar from his nesting spot in bed. He’s the same Van; the only difference is the constant yawning and the way the lines around his eyes are more defined. Oh, and the lack of energy for any fooling around.

That last part doesn’t even cross your mind until you’re on your way home from the airport. You were so content just to have him around that you totally forgot how much you’d been using your vibrator lately. 

But even with how content you were for that blissful twenty-four hours, as soon as you’ve stepped in the door to your empty house the aching in your heart returns. In your time apart all the little details about Van had gone fuzzy in your mind; his scent on your pillow, how it takes a cup of coffee in the morning for his voice to stop cracking. But remembering them makes everything sting with a vengeance, and you’re left feeling shittier than you have all month. 

There’s been a nagging feeling creeping around the edges of your brain like a fog, and as much as you’ve been trying to deny it, it’s hard tonight. It’s just that everything with Van has started to hurt, and you’re not sure it’s ever going to go away. His schedule over the summer was flexible, but even after this intense bout of touring he’d be busy with recording. And then the band would be vigorously promoting and touring that album, and so on, forever, because Van would never stop making music, you were sure of that. 

The tears well up in your eyes even thinking about not having him around. Despite your crushing adoration for him, he really is your best friend, and the idea of losing his friendship makes your heart clench in agony, the tears spilling over. But it’s not really a fair friendship when only one of you is crying about it, is it? Van doesn’t have to hurt like this, because his heart isn’t invested in you like yours is in him. 

You allow yourself an indulgent self-pity cry as you make your bed, rumpled from Van’s napping, and climb in. You figure if you’re going to have a pity party for yourself you might as well do it right, and switch your pillow out for his so you can smell the smoke he leaves everywhere he goes. You know that as happy as you are when he’s around, there’s no way you can keep crying over someone when leaving is as much of their job as sending emails is to yours. 

\\

That’s why when Van pops in for another impromptu visit the following Tuesday, you’re not as happy to see him as you usually would be. It’s the same way that the idea of next morning’s hangover can ruin a night out, except with Van there’s no magical way to handicap your brain from thinking about the future.

The sex comes close, though. As soon as you two get to your place after picking him up he tosses his backpack aside before cornering you against the front door. 

“I fucking missed you,” He practically growls in your ear, and holy fuck it’s been so long. You two rush for the bedroom, peeling off clothes as you go. Van is too impatient to worry about unbuttoning his shirt and simply peels it over his head, while you unclasp your own bra to avoid the delay. Before you know it you’re on your back, the blankets falling away from Van’s shoulders as he thrusts into you with all he’s got, your headboard banging against the wall so loudly you almost worry about damaging it. When you come it’s intensely satisfying, and you pull Van’s hair ridiculously hard to prove it. In retaliation he bites down on your shoulder as he comes, the same as he did the first time you ever slept with him. 

The whole world feels right for that magical half hour, and then as you both lay on your backs trying to process what’s happened it all starts to shift again.

“When are you leaving, again?” You ask the ceiling, your voice stiff.

“Thursday morning,” He croaks. “Gotta get to Salt Lake City.” 

You start to roll yourself up, heading for the bathroom. “Right.”

You feel Van’s body tense under the sheets next to you. “You alright?”

“Yup,” You tell him, emerging from the bed. You’re not convincing in the slightest, and Van can clearly tell. You don’t give him time to question you before leaving the bedroom.

“What’d I do?” You startle when you hear Van’s footsteps following behind you to the bathroom. 

“Nothing.” You almost laugh at how ridiculous you sound.

Van hasn’t even bothered to throw boxers on, leaning in the bathroom doorway with his softening dick on display. He sighs. “Wanna step out for a smoke?”

You’re actually craving the fuck out of a cigarette, but you’d rather just go to bed and have this night be over with. Maybe tomorrow you’d be more able to enjoy Van’s presence, rather than pouting over how it’s rapidly coming to an end as soon as it began. “I’m fine,” You tell him. Your voice sounds less sharp and more resigned. It wasn’t his fault, after all.

Van shakes his head. He uses the toilet when you’re done, tosses on the sweatpants he had rolled in his backpack, and heads out onto the porch alone.

In his absence you scold yourself for acting like this. What the fuck were you doing? Ruining the two nights you had him, because of something that wasn’t anybody’s fault? You remake the bed, mentally giving yourself a stern talking to.

“You wanna talk about what’s wrong now?” Van’s voice makes you jump out of your skin.

“Nothing’s wrong,” You insist again, but your voice betrays you. 

“Something is,” Van argues. “I’ve been watching you fluff that pillow for ages.”

At his words you realize your hands are still gripping the corner of your pillowcase, and you unclench your fists. 

Van steps into the room, and to your mortification you feel your eyes heat up with warm tears. 

“It’s been a long day,” You lie. It’s been a long fucking summer. “And I’m PMSing.”

Van frowns in sympathy, starting to climb back into bed. “Need a cuddle?”

A cuddle sounds like the equivalent of doing an entire round of shots by yourself when you’re already dreading the hangover. 

“Yeah,” You sniff. “I do.”

\\

On Thursday morning Van gets you up even earlier than your alarm clock, one of his hands nudging your thighs apart. You expect him to get on top of you once you’re more fully awake, yawning and wiggling around to get more comfortable, but instead you feel his calloused fingertip press against your entrance.

“Oh,” You sigh in surprise as he slips into you, searching out your good spots by touch alone. When he slips a second finger in, angling himself right, you clench down on instinct. “Yeah,” You breathe, blinking up at him sleepily. He’s watching your face intently, and if you were even slightly more awake you’d be horrifically self conscious. “You got it right.”

You can’t remember the last time you were fingered as the entree of the sex, rather than the appetizer. It’s appallingly intimate to have Van’s face so close to yours, breathing in any noises you make and watching every slight expression change in the darkness of your room. You’re also appalled at how you’ve been completely robbed of his talents; he can sense exactly where you’re throbbing for him, your clit twitching against the pad of his thumb when he applies pressure right where your body has been screaming for it. It barely takes any time with his thumb working in tiny circles and his fingers pressing into you hard before you’re gasping for air, drowning under the waves of your orgasm that feels like it’s radiating from both areas, whimpering Van’s name helplessly. 

As soon as you’re flinching from his touch he pulls his hand away, his fingers slipping into his mouth so he can clean them off. 

“Holy shit.” Your lungs are still desperate for air, but you haul him in for a sloppy kiss, paying no attention to the taste of yourself on his tongue. “I’m gonna miss you.”

Van lets out a deep, throaty laugh at that, but you’re already pushing him backwards so that he’s laying flat. You’re way too sensitive for sex, but you jerk him off and let him come on the soft skin on the inside of your thighs, as a treat. 

After you drop him off at the airport, both of you looking slightly disheveled due to having to rush to get ready, you sigh to yourself in the empty car. You hated how weak you were when it came to him. One minute you’re convincing yourself you need to stop hanging around him, and the next you’re telling yourself there is absolutely no way you can give up the best sex you’ve ever had.

It was quite the conundrum.

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