#and then the whole of next week to do a poster for my campaign

[baeshijima]

"well, well, well," i say to myself, the phrases 'due 5th january 2024 14:00', 'due 8th january 2024 14:00' and 'due 15th january 2024 14:00' staring back at me, "if it isn't the consequences of my own actions. we finally meet."

[solxamber]

1800-Curse-Control || Lilia Vanrouge

You decide to open a hotline for curing curses with Lilia. It goes exactly how you imagined it would—maybe even a little better.

“Lilia,” you said, rubbing your temples as you leaned against the counter in Ramshackle’s disaster of a kitchen. “Grim’s eating me out of house and home, literally. If I can’t afford the repairs soon, the roof will cave in. But all he cares about is premium tuna! Do you know how much that stuff costs?”

Lilia, who was casually floating upside down for no apparent reason, looked entirely too entertained. “Ah, the plight of a homeowner,” he said, grinning. “Why not turn your misfortune into opportunity? I’ve been told I have exceptional customer service skills, and I’ve been dreadfully bored. Let’s open a hotline for removing curses!”

You blinked at him. “A hotline. For curing curses.”

“Yes, my dear beastie,” he said, flipping upright midair and landing gracefully. “Think about it! This school is crawling with fools who drink unlabeled potions, poke magical artifacts, and anger vengeful spirits just for sport. You’d be rich in a week!”

“…I hate how much sense that actually makes.”

“It’s a foolproof plan,” Lilia continued, already pulling a notepad from somewhere to scribble down ideas. “I’ll handle the exorcisms and the cackling, naturally. You, my dear entrepreneur, can be the charming face of the operation. We’ll call it—hmm—‘Curse-B-Gone.’”

“Absolutely not.”

“Fine, ‘Hex Hotline.’”

You considered it. On one hand, it sounded completely ridiculous. On the other hand, there was that third-year who accidentally swapped his voice with a frog’s last week and the freshmen who kept mysteriously sprouting feathers.

“…How much are we charging?”

“Ah-ha! I knew you’d come around!” Lilia said, clapping his hands together. “Let’s see, we’ll need tiers. Minor hex removal? Hundred thaumarks. Major curses—hair-growing hexes, spontaneous transformation curses—those will start at Five Hundred.”

“And what about something, like, really bad? What if someone’s whole body turns into a pumpkin or something?”

“That’s a premium package. One thousand thaumarks.”

You nodded slowly. “Okay. Okay, I’m in. But if this flops, you’re buying Grim’s tuna for the next month.”

Lilia smirked, his fangs glinting mischievously. “Deal.”

By the end of the day, you’d set up a magical hotline using some weird orb Lilia “borrowed” from the library, a vaguely threatening poster campaign across the campus (“Cursed? Hexed? A jackal-headed god show up at your dorm? Call us!”), and a suspiciously well-stocked supply of anti-curse materials Lilia claimed were “leftovers” from his youth.

You weren’t sure whether to feel excited or like you’d just signed up for the most bizarre mistake of your life. Either way, you couldn’t wait to see how this would go down.

The orb hotline rang for the first time, glowing ominously on the rickety desk in Ramshackle. You and Lilia exchanged glances.

“Answer it!” he whispered, like this was some spy mission and not a cursed customer service line.

With a deep breath, you picked it up. “Uh… Hello, this is the Cursed and Confused Hotline. How can we—”

“YOU HAVE TO HELP ME!” Ace’s voice screamed on the other end. “HE’S GOING TO KILL ME THIS TIME!”

You winced, holding the orb away from your ear. “Ace? What happened?”

“I DON’T KNOW! I WAS JUST TRYING TO MAKE TEA!”

“Okay, and?”

“And I might’ve…accidentally used that weird sugar in the Heartslabyul pantry, the one that glows in the dark? And now Riddle’s head is covered in, like…peonies. Big, pink peonies. They keep growing whenever he gets mad, which, uh, is always.”

You slapped your forehead. “You cursed your housewarden?!”

“I DIDN’T MEAN TO!” Ace wailed. “I thought it was sugar, not cursed fertilizer! Look, can you just fix this before he declares ‘off with my head’ for real?”

“Ugh, fine. Where are you now?”

“Hiding in the rose bushes. He hasn’t found me yet, but I think I heard him sharpening a guillotine.”

“Classic Heartslabyul,” Lilia said cheerfully, already packing his so-called emergency kit.

When you and Lilia arrived at Heartslabyul, it was pure chaos. Riddle stood in the center of the garden, his face as red as his hair—and also half-obscured by an explosion of giant pink peonies blooming out of his head like some cursed bouquet.

“TREY!” Riddle bellowed. “GET THE GARDEN SHEARS!”

Ace was crouched in a rose bush nearby, whispering frantically. “Please tell me you brought an anti-cursed-flower spray or something!”

You ignored him and approached Riddle cautiously. “Uh, Riddle? You’ve got—”

“I KNOW WHAT I HAVE!” Riddle shrieked, a few more flowers blooming on his head. “I demand immediate remedy! Or else—”

“We’ll fix it,” Lilia cut in, grinning like this was the most fun he’d had in centuries. “Now, let’s see…” He pulled a vial of glowing liquid from his kit. “This should do the trick.”

“Are you sure?” you asked, eyeing the suspiciously fizzing vial.

“Of course not,” Lilia said, popping it open.

He dumped the liquid over Riddle’s head without warning. The flowers immediately shriveled up and disappeared.

Riddle blinked, touching his head in astonishment. “…It’s gone?”

“You’re welcome,” Lilia said with a dramatic bow.

Ace peeked out from the bushes. “So…he’s not mad anymore, right?”

Riddle’s death glare answered that question.

“RUN!” you yelled, dragging Ace out of the garden as Riddle shouted about punishment for “sugar crimes.”

Back at Ramshackle, you slumped against the desk. “We’re never doing house calls again.”

Lilia just laughed. “Oh, but the drama! I live for it!”

The hotline orb began glowing again, pulsing with a foreboding, bluish light.

You groaned. “If this is Ace again, I swear—”

Lilia waved his hand. “Come now, it’s probably another entertaining disaster! Answer it!”

You reluctantly picked up. “Cursed and Confused Hotline. What’s your—”

“FIX. THIS. NOW!” came Azul’s shrill, panicked voice.

You blinked. “Azul? What’s—”

“I CAN’T EVEN DESCRIBE WHAT HE’S DONE THIS TIME!”

“Oh, come on, Azul!” Floyd’s voice cut in, cackling in the background. “It’s a masterpiece!”

“Masterpiece?” Azul screeched. “You flooded the dining room and filled it with—WHY ARE THERE EELS IN THE SOUP POTS?”

“Because it’s hilarious!” Floyd howled, clearly having the time of his life.

Jade’s calm voice joined in, oozing politeness as always. “To be fair, Floyd has a point. The eels are thriving in there.”

Azul sputtered like a broken faucet. “THRIVING?! THEY’RE STEALING PEOPLE’S FOOD!”

“Sounds efficient to me,” Floyd said. You could practically hear him smirking. “Dinner and a show!”

Lilia perked up. “Eels in soup pots? How creative!”

“Don’t encourage him!” Azul barked. “Do you know how much it costs to repair the water damage he’s caused? The walls are dripping! The chandelier is dripping! I AM DRIPPING!”

“That’s not cursed,” you said, trying to hide your amusement. “That’s just Floyd being—well, Floyd.”

“Oh, no, it’s cursed,” Azul hissed. “Every time I try to remove the eels, the water level rises. They’re like aquatic squatters! Fix it or I swear I’ll—”

The sound of something massive splashing cut him off, followed by Floyd’s uncontrollable laughter.

“HAHAHA! He slipped into the soup pot! Jade, did you see that?”

“I did,” Jade replied, his voice as smooth as ever. “It was quite elegant.”

“AZUL’S AN EEL NOW!” Floyd cried. “Eel bros for life, baby!”

The orb started vibrating violently.

“Get. Over. Here. Now.” Azul’s voice was barely a whisper, the tone of someone seconds away from an aneurysm.

You sighed and grabbed your bag. “Let’s go before he implodes.”

When you arrived at Mostro Lounge, it was exactly what you expected—and somehow worse. The entire dining area was flooded, eels swam lazily in the soup pots, and Azul was perched on a chair, drenched from head to toe and glaring murderously at Floyd, who was happily paddling through the water like it was his personal playground.

“Finally!” Azul barked, waving his wet hand. “Do something! Anything!”

Floyd, half-submerged in a soup pot, waved at you. “Hey! You wanna join the eel party? First rule—no rules!”

Lilia clapped his hands. “This is magnificent chaos!”

Azul groaned, burying his face in his hands. “I’ll double your pay if you fix this immediately.”

You glanced at Lilia, who was already pouring a suspiciously glowing liquid into the water.

“This should work,” he said cheerfully.

The water started to drain, the eels vanished in puffs of smoke, and the room returned to normal—except for Floyd, who now floated upside down in midair, spinning like a cursed top.

“Whoa, this is AWESOME!” Floyd laughed, twirling like a maniac. “I’m a flying eel!”

Azul sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose as you said “I’m charging you extra for emotional damages.”

The hotline orb flared up again, casting a frantic purple glow. You groaned, mid-sip of tea.

“I don’t know if I can handle more insanity.”

Lilia, perched upside down on the couch, grinned. “Nonsense! Chaos keeps the heart young. Answer it!”

Reluctantly, you picked it up. “Cursed and Confused Hotline. What did you do, and how bad is it?”

“It’s me! It’s Epel!” came the desperate, whisper-shouted voice of the Pomefiore freshman. “I need your help—immediately! I’ve got the worst curse of all on me.”

“Worst curse?” you asked, frowning. “What’s going on?”

“Vil,” Epel said, voice shaking. “And Rook.”

“...Epel, those are people, not curses.”

“They are when Vil finds out I repurposed his limited-edition face mask jars as apple cider mugs for the guys in Savanaclaw!”

Lilia burst into a delighted cackle. “Oh, that’s fantastic!”

“Not fantastic! Vil’s gonna flay me alive!” Epel hissed. “And Rook’s hunting me down like a rabbit in the woods. Please, ya gotta help!”

You tried not to laugh. “How exactly do you want me to help? I can’t exactly—”

A loud thud echoed through the call, followed by Epel screaming, “He found me! NO! PUT THAT BOW DOWN!”

“Bonjour, my friend~!” Rook’s voice came through, as smooth as velvet and disturbingly cheerful. “Ah, how beautiful the chase! Like a fox cornered by the hounds, our petit pomme has finally been found!”

“ROOK, NO! DON’T HAND ME OVER!”

“Oh, petit lapin,” Rook said, unbothered, “the punishment will only make you stronger. Think of it as a trial by fire!”

“I DON’T WANT TO BE STRONGER, I WANNA BE ALIVE!” Epel shrieked.

You sighed, pinching the bridge of your nose. “Rook, what exactly are you planning to do with him?”

“Ah, worry not,” Rook replied. “I am but a humble messenger delivering him to justice. Vil has been most patient.”

“HE CALLED ME A PEASANT AND THREW A HEEL AT ME, THAT’S PATIENT?” Epel howled.

Lilia leaned forward, thoroughly entertained. “Rook, at least let us have a word with Epel before he meets his doom.”

“But of course!”

“HELP ME!” Epel screamed the moment Rook handed him the phone. “Distract them, hex me, I dunno, CURSE ME INTO A TREE OR SOMETHING—”

“Epel,” you said firmly, trying not to laugh, “you’re going to have to face Vil eventually. What’s the worst he could do?”

“THE WORST? Oh, I dunno, exile me to a skincare bootcamp for the rest of my natural life?”

Rook’s voice floated in. “Imagine it, petit pomme: cleansing facials, detoxifying baths, and no more cider mugs. A new you!”

“YOU STAY OUTTA THIS!”

You sighed. “I can offer one thing.”

“Anything!”

“An apology. I suggest you start practicing now.”

“An apology?! I called Vil’s collection overhyped snake oil. I’m DOOMED!”

“Not if you run fast enough,” Rook chimed in cheerfully. “Shall we test your stamina?”

The call ended with Epel’s scream, followed by the distinct sound of someone bolting at full speed.

“Well,” Lilia said, smiling. “That was worth every second.”

Jamil’s voice crackled through the orb strained and absolutely done.

"Hi, yeah, it’s me again."

You rolled your eyes. "Let me guess. Kalim tried to throw a party?"

"And Cater," Jamil growled, the sound of something crashing in the background. "Do you have any idea how difficult it is to manage one chaos gremlin? Now imagine two. They’ve cursed half the dorm—random objects are coming to life, and singing. And I don’t mean pleasant singing. I mean like if a banshee and a kazoo had a love child."

Lilia leaned in beside you, eyes glittering with delight. "Oho, this sounds entertaining! What did they do this time?"

Jamil sighed deeply, as if he’d just aged ten years in the past ten minutes. "Kalim thought it would be fun to 'spice up' a party by enchanting the decorations. Cater encouraged him, saying it would make a great Magicam post. The result? The curtains are now tap-dancing, the chandelier won’t stop singing old sea shanties, and the punch bowl tried to bite me."

Lilia clapped his hands. "This sounds like an excellent way to spend the afternoon! Let’s go!"

You groaned. "Why do I have to go?"

"Because you’re the only one who can keep Lilia from making things worse," Jamil deadpanned.

Arriving at Scarabia was like stepping into a fever dream. The furniture was waltzing around the room, the ceiling fan was chanting, "Spin me right round, baby, right round," and the aforementioned punch bowl snarled at you as you walked in.

Kalim, of course, was having the time of his life, clapping to the rhythm of the furniture parade. Cater was filming everything, laughing as he tried to get the chandelier to do a TikTok dance.

"Do you see what I have to deal with?" Jamil hissed, his hair practically frazzled.

"Let’s fix this before someone dies," you muttered, pulling out the anti-curse toolkit Lilia had handed you on the way.

"Or before someone posts this to Magicam and the entire world sees it," Jamil added grimly, glaring at Cater.

It started smoothly enough—well, as smoothly as any curse-breaking session with Lilia could go. The two of you worked to unravel the enchantments while dodging flying pillows and shrieking party streamers.

Then, of course, you made the mistake of touching an enchanted lamp.

It burst into song—loud, off-key, and somehow extremely personal. The lyrics were all about your lack of a love life and questionable fashion choices. Before you could fight back, it tangled itself around your arms and legs, dragging you upward toward the chandelier.

"Hey, uh, Lilia? Little help!"

Lilia, ever the dramatic savior, leaped into action. With a mischievous grin, he sliced through the magical binds with a well-aimed spell and caught you mid-fall.

You blinked up at him, heart hammering in your chest. His crimson eyes glimmered with amusement, his fangs showing in a victorious smirk. He cradled you with an ease that shouldn’t have been possible given his stature.

"You alright there, my dear?" he asked, voice low and teasing.

"Yeah, I’m fine," you muttered, face heating up. "Just…you know…trying not to die."

But your brain wasn’t focusing on that. It was too busy processing the fact that Lilia was holding you like you weighed nothing, and you could feel your pulse quickening. Damn it, why is my heart beating so fast?

He tilted his head, studying you with an unreadable expression. "Are you sure? Your face is a bit flushed."

"Nope! Totally fine!" you squeaked, scrambling out of his arms as soon as your feet touched the ground.

Jamil, watching the whole thing from across the room, rolled his eyes. "Great. Now you’re cursed too."

"Shut up, Jamil."

It took another hour, but the dorm was finally back to normal—or as normal as Scarabia could be. Kalim apologized profusely, Cater promised to delete the footage (he didn’t), and Jamil looked like he might snap at any moment.

As you and Lilia walked out, you tried to calm your racing heart, but he leaned in with a knowing grin.

"Quite the adventure today, wasn’t it?"

"Sure," you replied quickly, hoping your face wasn’t still red.

He hummed thoughtfully. "I wonder what’s got your heart racing so much. You’re not catching feelings for your favorite partner-in-chaos, are you?"

"Not a chance," you lied, your heart betraying you with another treacherous thump.

Lilia just chuckled, and you couldn’t tell if he believed you—or if he was just letting you stew in your own embarrassment for fun.

The enchanted orb buzzed frantically, and you groaned as you reached for it. The second you accepted the call, you heard Deuce.

“HELP! WE MESSED UP BAD!”

“Deuce?” you asked, already dreading the answer. “What did you do this time?”

Jack’s voice came through, exasperated and growly. “It wasn’t just him. I was there too.”

“Great,” you deadpanned. “So, what kind of mess am I cleaning up now?”

Deuce gulped. “We, uh… were practicing some spellwork for exams—”

“Right by the Spelldrive practice field,” Jack added grimly.

Your eyes widened. “Please don’t tell me you—”

“Destroyed the field? Yeah,” Deuce admitted miserably. “But we didn’t mean to! The explosion was an accident!”

You heard a sharp, angry voice in the background: “AN ACCIDENT?! YOU DESTROYED HALF THE FIELD, YOU LITTLE—”

“Leona’s there?” you asked, already standing up.

Deuce nodded frantically. “He’s so mad. Please come before he kills us!”

“Stay put,” you said, grabbing your things. “And pray he doesn’t finish you off before we get there.”

The Spelldrive practice field was a warzone. One goalpost was completely obliterated, sand smoldered in random patches across the ground, and an entire section of the bleachers looked like it had been hit by a tornado.

Leona was standing in the middle of the chaos, arms crossed, glaring daggers at Deuce and Jack, who were huddled behind a tipped-over bench like it could save them. His team stood a safe distance away, clearly too smart to get involved.

You arrived with Lilia in tow, who was already grinning like he’d just stumbled upon the most entertaining show of the year.

“Oh, this is delightful,” Lilia mused, surveying the carnage. “It’s like an abstract painting of destruction.”

“Not helping,” you muttered, jogging toward the scene.

Leona’s sharp green eyes locked onto you. “Finally. You gonna fix this mess, or do I get to turn these two into sandbags?”

“Leona,” you said, stepping between him and the disaster twins, “We’ll handle it. Just… don’t murder them. Yet.”

Leona snorted. “You’ve got five minutes.”

Lilia hummed a jaunty tune as he began waving his hands over the destroyed sections of the field. Slowly, the sand settled, the goalpost reformed, and the bleachers stopped looking like they’d gone through a blender.

Meanwhile, you kept Leona from pouncing on Deuce and Jack, who were watching Lilia work with wide eyes.

“You two better hope I don’t find out about another ‘accident,’” Leona growled, looming over you.

“Relax,” you said, holding up a hand. “They’re idiots, not criminals. Save your energy for your team.”

Leona rolled his eyes but stepped back, muttering something about “babysitters.”

When everything was finally back in order, Lilia dusted off his hands with a satisfied smile. “That was quite fun. We should let those two cause chaos more often.”

You shot him a look. “Please don’t encourage them.”

Leona, arms crossed and clearly annoyed, stepped closer. “You’re done? Good. I’ll send Ruggie with something to pay you later.” Then he smirked, eyes flicking between you and Lilia. “Now keep your lovesick asses away from my practice field.”

Your brain short-circuited. “Wha—?! Lovesick?”

Leona just walked off with a lazy wave, leaving you standing there, half-mortified.

Lilia leaned in, clearly enjoying your flustered state. “Oh my. He really has a way with words, doesn’t he?”

“Don’t you start,” you muttered, your face burning.

But when you turned to walk away, Lilia was by your side, chuckling softly. He caught your wrist gently, pulling you to a stop for just a moment. “For what it’s worth,” he said, voice quieter and more serious, “you were quite impressive back there, keeping Leona from turning them into mincemeat.”

Your heart did a flip. “Uh… thanks?”

He let go with a grin, stepping back and returning to his usual playful tone. “Now, let’s see if we can avoid the next disaster, hmm?”

You weren’t sure if your face would ever cool down.

Potions class with the first-year gang was never uneventful. Today was no exception. The room smelled faintly of burnt caramel as Grim waved his tiny paws at Ace, who was leaning smugly on the table.

“I told you not to put that in!” Grim yelped.

“I barely touched it!” Ace shot back.

“It doesn’t matter who did it!” Sebek barked, slamming his hands on the table. “What matters is that our potion is—”

“About to blow,” Jack growled, pointing to the cauldron bubbling ominously.

“Wait—WHAT?!” you yelped, but it was too late.

The cauldron erupted, spraying a shimmering pink mist over everyone. The class erupted into chaos as Sebek shouted about “inferior techniques,” Epel coughed dramatically like he was dying, and Deuce tried (and failed) to douse the sparks with his coat.

You, unfortunately, caught the brunt of the potion to the face.

You thought the effects were mild at first—just a faint warmth in your chest and the echo of the sugary-sweet scent in your nose. But when you sat down at lunch with Lilia and Malleus, the symptoms became impossible to ignore.

Lilia was chatting animatedly, laughing at his own jokes and waving his fork in the air, while Malleus nodded thoughtfully. But you weren’t hearing a word.

Your brain had decided that the only thing worth focusing on was how kissable Lilia’s lips looked.

Wait, what?

You shook your head, trying to clear it, but it only got worse. Now you were noticing how nice his voice was. And his smile. And the way his hand brushed yours when he passed the salt—

Oh, no.

“Child of man,” Malleus said, pulling you from your internal meltdown, “you seem… distracted.”

You blinked rapidly. “Uh. Yeah. Distracted. Totally fine. Definitely not—uh—totally infatuated with Lilia or anything.”

Lilia looked up, smirking. “Oh? How flattering.”

You nearly choked on your drink. “IT’S THE POTION!”

Malleus watched you pace back and forth in the hallway, his expression somewhere between amused and curious.

“You have to fix me,” you begged, grabbing his shoulders. “This has to be the potion talking. There’s no way I just—randomly—started thinking about Lilia like that!”

Malleus tilted his head, his eyes studying you intently. “You truly believe you are under an enchantment?”

“Yes! Of course!” You gestured wildly. “I mean, it’s Lilia! He’s my partner in crime! He’s—he’s—”

“Kissable?” Malleus offered, a faint smirk tugging at his lips.

Your hands dropped to your sides. “You are so not helping.”

He stepped closer, his presence calm but commanding, and placed a hand on your shoulder. “Very well, child of man. Allow me to assess your condition.”

Malleus leaned forward, his magic swirling faintly around him as he studied you with eerie precision.

After a moment, he straightened, folding his arms. “The potion you were exposed to was a failure. Its intended effects are nonexistent.”

You froze. “What are you saying?”

Malleus raised an eyebrow. “I am saying that you are not under a spell. Your feelings are entirely your own.”

You stared at Malleus in horror.

“So… you’re telling me… I’m not cursed?”

“Precisely.”

“And this… this whole… wanting to kiss Lilia thing…” You paused, voice dropping to a mortified whisper. “That’s just me?”

Malleus nodded sagely. “Indeed.”

You covered your face with your hands. “No. No, no, no. This can’t be happening.”

Lilia’s voice drifted from the next room. “Are you done conspiring with Malleus, beastie? Lunch is getting cold!”

You peeked through your fingers at Malleus, who looked like he was thoroughly enjoying your suffering.

“Good luck, child of man,” he said, patting your shoulder.

You groaned. “I’m going to die.”

And yet, as you returned to the table and sat down next to Lilia, who greeted you with his usual teasing grin, you couldn’t help but wonder if maybe—just maybe—this wasn’t such a bad thing after all.

You didn’t think it could get any worse than being late for class, but that was before Grim decided to experiment with potions unsupervised. Now, you and Lilia were sprinting through the halls of NRC, dodging a cursed army of flying spoons.

“I told Grim not to use the potions lab as a snack bar!” you gasped, barely ducking as a spoon zoomed past your head with terrifying precision.

Lilia, running beside you, was grinning like this was the most fun he’d had all week. “I must admit, this is an impressive level of chaos. Even I wouldn’t have thought to curse cutlery!”

“Glad you’re enjoying yourself,” you panted, grabbing his arm as another wave of spoons turned the corner. “Hide!”

The two of you dove behind a nearby tapestry, pressing against the wall as the spoons zipped past, their metallic clinking fading into the distance.

For a moment, it was quiet—except for the pounding of your heart.

Your breathing slowly steadied, but your heart didn’t. Not when Lilia was so close, his eyes gleaming with excitement and his cheeks flushed from the chase.

You couldn’t take it anymore.

“Lilia,” you blurted, voice trembling but determined, “I’m in love with you.”

Lilia blinked, his surprise evident for a split second before a soft smile curved his lips. “Ah, I see. Was it the spoons that gave me away, or my undeniable charm?”

You groaned, burying your face in your hands. “I’m serious!”

He chuckled, gently pulling your hands away to meet your eyes. “So am I. I’ve felt the same for quite some time.”

Your breath hitched. “Really?”

“Really,” he murmured, leaning closer. His lips brushed yours, soft and fleeting, but it sent your heart racing like you were being chased by a thousand cursed spoons.

He pulled back, his grin mischievous. “Now, let’s survive this first date, shall we?”

He grabbed your hand, pulling you from your hiding spot just as the spoons began circling back like a swarm of metallic bees.

“Run!”

You laughed despite yourself, sprinting hand-in-hand with Lilia as the chaos erupted around you once more.

And yet, as you glanced at him—his hair wild, his smile unshakable, his fingers warm around yours—you couldn’t help but think:

I want this forever.

Masterlist

[ladykailitha]

Oh For a Muse of Fire! Part 12

Thank you so much for the love this story has been getting. I love every comment and tag. You guys are the best!!

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6  Part 7  Part 8  Part 9 Part 10  Part 11

*

“They want us to record a demo?” Jeff asked for the hundredth time since the agent had talked to them.

They were in the garage they used for practice the next day. They still were on the high of suddenly having an agent. Something that they certainly wouldn’t have had without The Queen’s Crown.

“Holy shit!” Gareth said, his voice high from the excitement. “They want us to record a demo.”

“Hell yeah, they do!” Eddie said clapping a poor stunned Brian on the shoulder.

They sat in stunned silence for a couple of minutes.

“This doesn’t mean we’ve made it,” Brian said softly, barely above a whisper.

“No,” Eddie agreed. “But making a demo to shop around to all the labels is a hell of lot closer than we were two weeks ago.”

Gareth let out a shuddering breath. “I thought that song would do it for us, you know. That it would put us on the map.”

“Hey,” Jeff said. “It still might. We just have to knock the recording out of the ballpark too.”

“Think of it as a campaign,” Eddie suggested. “You found the magical item, now you just got to get to the final boss. There’ll be other adventures along the way, but we’ll get there.”

They all nodded.

*

Steve was set to start his painting. Eddie was strewn out on a bed of red satin, his hair a halo around his head, his body beautifully stretched. Steve yearned.

He yearned to press his lips on the indent of Eddie’s collar bone. To taste the line where hip met leg. To run his fingers through those dark locks. To bring a flush to those pale cheeks.

Steve bit down on his lip. He couldn’t fuck this up. Not like what he did last year. He had to paint the whole thing. His face, his thighs, his cock. Steve couldn’t cover anything up or place anything in the frame that cover any part of Eddie.

Everything else? Was completely up to interpretation. He could Lucifer fallen from heaven (if you wanted to torture yourself with painting wings). He could be fair Lysander asleep from Puck’s flower. He could be from any myth, legend or story.

Steve had chosen Eros asleep when Psyche comes to him the first time. Because if there was anyone who fit the god of desire and love, it was Eddie.

He got to work on sketching Eddie’s outline. Choosing the scene carefully. And then when he was home he would work on painting the bed, using an old catalogue as reference for the four poster bed he wanted.  

Every time Joyce walked by when he was painting Eddie, she would nod her approval and walk on.

*

“Fuck, Chrissy!” Eddie cried, burying his face into the throw pillows on her sofa. “The way he looks at me makes it very hard not to get aroused. And I cannot get aroused. I’ve tried thinking of horror movies, cataloguing my band t-shirts in order of when I got them, or even Jeff in a tutu!”

She patted his head gently. “Is this beer, ice cream, or Chinese food freak out?”

Eddie raised his head thoughtfully. “Chinese food.”

Chrissy nodded and went to go make their order. She squeezed onto the sofa between his head and the armrest. She began threading her fingers gently through his hair.

“Do you think he’s doing it on purpose? Like to fuck with you?” she asked softly. “Or you think he has the hots for you so bad it’s leaking out all over the place?”

Eddie slowly sat up next to her and put his head on her shoulder. “I want to believe it’s the latter. But we really haven’t done much except grab the occasional coffee. We text and call all the time, but I don’t know what means.”

“Have you told him you’ve had a crush on him for awhile?” Chrissy asked. Her and Pearl spent most of their shifts together complaining about how their best friends were morons that kept making googly eyes at each other.

“No...” Eddie said with a sigh, dragging his hands over face. “Because of the nude thing.”

“What’s up with the nude thing that prevents you from going after what you want?” She shifted on the sofa to prop her head up on her fist, her elbow on the back of the sofa.

“It’s already hard enough keeping everything down,” he gestured vaguely below his waist, “but add actually knowing what he tastes like, knowing what his skin feels like under my hands, my lips, my tongue? It would take all of two fucking seconds of him looking at me with those bedroom eyes and I’d be harder than that god damn concrete floor.”

Chrissy giggled. “Yeah, I could see how that would be a problem. That’s the best part about being a woman, when we get aroused, it’s a lot harder to tell.”

Eddie scoffed. “Which also makes it the worst part about being a woman because then it means the other person is fucking clueless.”

“Mostly guys,” she agreed.

“Are you glad you’re a lesbian?” he teased, going into tickle her sides.

She squealed with laughter and batted him aside. “Knock that off.”

Just then the doorbell rang. “That’s our food. Saved by the bell.”

Chrissy hopped up to get the food and paid. She set their food on the coffee table and began going through the boxes.

“You didn’t have to do that,” Eddie said. “I could have at least covered the tip.”

Chrissy laughed. “Babe, you’re working part time as model and getting paid by the gig. Save your money. I get paid $15 an hour plus tips. Believe me when I say, I’ve got this.”

He kissed her cheek. “I’m glad the Queen’s Crown is working out for you, sweetie. You seem so much happier since you’ve started working there.”

“Yeah,” she agreed. “And Diamond is thinking of hiring a third bartender things are going so well. It used to be that they only needed the one on week days and two on Fridays and Saturdays, which is when Diamond would step in and help. But with how well Garnet and I get on, we have more people coming in on the week days and we’re getting better tips, too. So Diamond wants to bring in a third so that Garnet leaves we’ll still have two at the bar.”

“Wow,” Eddie said. “I’ve been stuck in the same place for so long...” he spread out his hands, “I forgot what freedom was. We’ve been in the studio recording the last couple of weeks working on our demo to be shopped around.” He sighed heavily. “I’ve writing every moment I can. Hell, most of my best lyrics come from me just lying there for three hours. Well...the ones that don’t have Steve in them, anyway.”

Chrissy laughed. “Oh, I’m sure the lyrics that come from those classes are way to risque for radio.”

Eddie blushed and shoved hair in front of his face. “Shit, Chris. I don’t know.”

She ate her food thoughtfully watching Eddie push his food around. She nudged his shoulder with hers. “So what’s the real problem?” He looked up at her confusion. “I know you. There is something else that’s bothering you, love. You’re wound up so tight.”

Eddie shrugged. “I don’t know.” He set his food down and clasped his hands together, looking down at his feet.

She bumped him again. “You just talked about the freedom to write music, to get the chance to really do something with your life. But I don’t see it in your features, babe.”

“What happens to Steve if I do get a record deal and have to start touring?” he muttered mournfully. “What happens if we’re more than friends when we leave? I just feel torn apart. Having to chose between the life I’ve always dreamed, and my man of my dreams. I don’t know if I would chose touring with the guys if it came down it.” He threw his arms around her. “I would chose Steve every time and that scares me.”

“Oh.” She set her own food on the floor and wrapped her arms him. “Oh, sweetie. That’s why you have to talk to him. Because it sounds to me like those questions have answers only he can give.”

Eddie let out a sob. “What if the answer is that he doesn’t want to try because he doesn’t want to be left behind?”

She kissed the top of his head. “How would you be leaving him behind? Just because he stays in one place while you tour, doesn’t mean you’ve left him behind. It just means you’ve given yourself a home to come back to.”

Eddie looked up at her in awe. “Oh.” He snuggled in close. “You’re the best friend an idiot could ask for.”

She poked his side until he squirmed. “You’re not an idiot, Eddie. Anymore than you were an asshole about Steve. You can only work with the knowledge you have. And yeah, maybe some of your choices were pretty fucked up, you were able to move past it and become friends.”

Eddie let out a shuddering breath. And then another. “I love you, Chrissy.”

“I know, sweetie,” Chrissy murmured, kissing the top of his head.

*

“You wanted to know who Garnet is,” Jonathan snapped. “So that’s why we’re here.”

Nancy sighed. “Doesn’t this go against the bar’s rules or whatever?”

Jonathan threw his arms in the air. “I don’t care at this point. They all know who I am and I know who they are. Because shit happens outside of work sometimes and it gets revealed.”

Nancy rolled her eyes. “I’ll just go to the bar tonight like Onyx suggested.”

Jonathan furrowed his brow. “No. Absolutely not. Because if you do, you’ll get upset and if you get upset, you’ll make a scene and if you make a scene Diamond will ban you.”

It was Nancy’s turn to throw her arms in the air. “Can’t you just tell me who it is?”

“Because you wouldn’t believe him,” a warm, gentle voice said behind her.

She whirled around and gasped. “Steve!”

Steve smiled sadly. “Hey, Nance.”

She looked back and forth between Jonathan and Steve in shock. “He’s Garnet?”

Both men nodded.

“Pure coincidence,” Jonathan said. “I had been working at the bar for a year when we needed a new bartender. Steve came in with Robin and they were both hired.”

Nancy’s eyebrows shot up. “Robin works there too?”

“Yup!” Steve said with a smile. The smile slowly slid from his face. “Look. I know me turning out to be gay was hard on you. Especially with how it all came out. But just remember, I didn’t come out because I wanted to, it was because I forced to.”

Nancy buried her head in her hands, she looked up at him, anger sparking in her eyes. “If you hadn’t tried to be a hero...”

“I’m going to pretend I didn’t just hear you say that it would have been better for a girl to be raped and not realize I’m gay over what I did,” Steve snarled.

She opened her mouth to refute him but no sound would come out.

“I’m sorry it ruined your life, Nancy,” Steve said. “But it wasn’t just your life that was ruined. Do you know long it took for me me to walk down the street without people whispering behind their fingers? How long it took to be able to look at myself in the mirror because of the scars around my neck? I’m sorry I’m the reason you can’t trust Jonathan, but fucking hell Nancy, you aren’t as big as the victim you are making yourself out to be.”

Jonathan touched her elbow. “I didn’t know you felt this way. You need to talk to someone, Nance. That was some pretty messed up shit I just heard.”

Her lip began to quiver. “I didn’t mean that. I swear I didn’t. Because you’re right, that was so mess up.” She let out a shuddering breath. “The newspaper has someone...I’ll give him a call.”

Steve reached out and held open his arms to her. Nancy wavered a moment, looking to Jonathan. He nodded and she ran for Steve’s arms. He wrapped her up in a fierce hug.

“I’m sorry, Steve,” she whispered. “I’ve just been so angry for so long.”

He kissed the top of her head. “You’ve got a good boyfriend there, Nance. Take advantage of that, okay?”

Nancy nodded. “Okay.”

He gave her a brief squeeze and let her go. “I’ve got to get to class. But you take care of yourself, you hear?”

She smiled and let Jonathan lead her away.

Part 13  Part 14  Part 15  Part 16  Part 17 Epilogue

Tag List: @artiststarme @allbymyselfexceptformycactus @spectrum-spectre @estrellami-1 @swimmingbirdrunningrock @gregre369 @itsall-taken @m-owo-n @zerokrox-blog @runyousillydetective @grimmfitzz @wonderland-girl143-blog @sapphirecobalt-1 @scheodingers-muppet @victor-thee-corvid @apricottree @bookbinderbitch @sleepyboosstuff @biatcgh @pixiefallingupthestairs @grtwdsmwhr @thepainisspicy @carlyv @eboyawstenn @bisexualdisastersworld @bidisastersworld @abstractnaturaldisaster @evix-syne666 @nerdsconquerall @lololol-1234 @goodolefashionedloverboi @chaoticlovingdreamer @a-little-unsteddie @val-from-lawrence @i-must-potato @elluminis @tailsfromthecrypt @danili666 @plyerice27 @alittlegreyfish  @n0-1-important @no-upper-limit-to-stupidity @maya-custodios-dionach @cinnamon-mushroomabomination @heaven428 @thedragonsaunt @ceaselessly-watching @imfinereallyy

[pensat-i-fet]

A bonding trip, Part 1 (Mason Mount x Reader)

*I wrote this little enemies to lovers story for a friend who’s a big Mason fan and she has allowed me to share it with all of you now. I hope you like it as much as she did ❤️*

Part 2

Word count: 2956

Masterlist

Wattpad

“We don’t want to let you go, but we have to. There isn’t that much money invested in the women’s team and this transfer will fund half a season. I’m so sorry”.

Hearing my coach's words, I feel like crying. Why is this happening to me? I don’t want to leave Arsenal. I love this team and always have. And I certainly don’t want to go to play for Chelsea.

But I also understand the team has to sell me. I just wish a miracle could happen to prevent this transfer.

“It’s ok. Thank you for everything. I’ll miss you all”, I tell him, genuinely meaning it.

“Well, we are still in the same city. Don’t be a stranger”.

                               **

“Turn to the left…perfect. Now one smiling”.

I have been doing press stuff for Chelsea for the last hour and I’m so done with it. But I still need to do more interviews and videos for social media. 

“Oh, look who it is!”, I hear someone say so I turn to see them. “The new superstar!”

Of course, it’s Mason Mount. God, I hate him. 

“Well, the team clearly needed one. It’s not as if you could fit in that category”.

“Always a pleasure to see you”, he says, flicking my nose and making me move back.

“What are you doing here? I’m busy”.

I then notice everyone has stopped working to look at our interaction. 

“You have to do a photoshoot together”, says one of the media people.

“Why? It’s my presentation”.

Why does he have to be part of everything I do?

Mason and I have been “enemies” for a while. Both of us have always been the poster boy/girl for our clubs and national teams, which means we’ve had to spend a lot of time together in events for brands and whatnot. 

And it was on our very first event together that I realized what a douche he was. He spent the whole time ignoring me and making the whole thing about himself. And to think I had a crush on him before that…my taste needed to improve and it thankfully did.

“It’s not for your presentation, silly”, he says, laughing at me. “It’s for a few campaigns and interviews that’ll come out in a couple of weeks”.

“Amazing”, I say, making the sarcasm very clear.

A few minutes later, I’m standing next to Mason posing for more photos. 

“Blue looks good on you”, he whispers, making me frown.

“Shut up!”

And he does, shaking his head.

                           **

“So, is it nice to come to a team where you already have friends? It must be hard leaving Arsenal after so many years”, asks the journalist.

If only you knew how hard it is.

“Yes, absolutely. Some of the girls have played with me for the national team and were making sure I felt welcomed from the minute I stepped foot in Cobham. It’s really nice of them. But it will take a while to get used to picking the blue shirt instead of the red one”, I try to joke. 

“And you have Mason too”, she says.

I look at Mason, who is staring at me with a big smile on his face. He’s loving this.

“Actually, he’s really annoying but thankfully I don’t play with him so I’ll be alright”.

The journalist thinks I’m joking and starts laughing. She’s joined by Mason, but I can tell how fake his laugh is. 

By the time we are done with the interview, I’m desperate to just leave. Today has been way too long. 

“Hey, wait”, I hear Mason say when I’m about to leave to get changed.

“What?”

“That, exactly that”.

“You make zero sense once again, Mount”.

“Why do you always have to be like this with me?”, he asks, as if he didn’t know. “You’re so nice to everyone but so rude to me. Even during an interview”.

“You were rude to me first”.

“Are you 5?”, he says, rolling his eyes.

Instead of answering, I just leave. It’s impossible to reason with someone like him.

                               **

“We are leaving on Monday at 8 am. Please be on time. The boys will hopefully be there by then so we can leave”, tells us Emma, after explaining the trip we’ll be doing alongside the men’s team.

“Why do we have to be on time but for them it’s hoping they are on time?”, I say. I don’t like double standards.

“Oh, they’ve actually been told we leave at 7. That’s why we’re hopeful they’ll be there by the real leaving time”.

Literal children. And…a bonding trip? Why do we behave like it’s summer camp? I just want to train.

“Stop frowning”, says Fran.

“Tell me you also find this trip ridiculous. And if it’s bonding we need to do, why are the men there?”

“I don’t know. It’s always done like this”, she shrugs. “Just don’t make it too obvious how much you hate Mount so you two aren’t paired together for literally every activity”.

“What?”

The look she gives me says it all. Of course, they’ve all noticed.

                              **

8.20 am on Monday and we’re all waiting for Mount and Havertz. What a surprise!

Well, actually Havertz being late is surprising. Aren’t Germans supposed to be very punctual? I guess it’s Mason’s bad influence.

“There they are”, I hear someone say and we all lift our eyes to see the car approaching. 

I just shake my head and roll my eyes. They are still taking their time leaving the car and approaching our bus.

“Hurry up, Mount!”, I tell him when he finally makes it to the bus.

“Good morning to you too, beautiful”.

“It’d be good if I didn’t have to spend it with you”.

The coaches are coming closer to us and I see Mason smiling at me as if he has just listened to the little demon on his shoulder.

“You want to sit with me on the plane? I don’t know. I usually sit with Kai but since we’re supposed to be bonding…”.

“What are you talking…”.

“Oh, that sounds brilliant”, says Potter. Should I tell him I’m a Slytherin?

“No, he’s joking”, I say with a fake laugh. “You know our Mounty. He’s a comedian. But he wants to sit with his bestie, of course. I’ll sit with one of the girls”.

“No no no”, says Mason, putting his arm around my shoulder and making me feel very uncomfortable. “I’ll do anything to make the new star of the team feel at home”.

Will they send me back to Arsenal if I punch him?

                                   **

“You are going to spend the whole camp fighting, aren’t you?”, asks Pernille when we’re on the bus. But she doesn’t look annoyed. She looks amused.

“I’ll ignore him and hope he ignores me too”.

“I think he likes you”, she says.

“Well, even if he did”, which he doesn’t, “...not interested”.

Thankfully, the conversation is interrupted by others players asking if we want to play Uno to kill some time. And so that’s what we do.

Out of the corner of my eye, I can see Mason sitting next to Kai and looking at something on their iPad. They keep on laughing every couple of seconds. God knows what childish thing they are watching.

                                  �� **

“Emma, honestly. I rather sit with the girls”.

I’m trying really hard to avoid sitting with Mason for two whole hours, but nothing I say is convincing her.

“It’s a bonding trip. If someone needs to bond, it’s you two”.

I guess they all have really noticed what’s going on. Great.

“Hello, travel buddy”.

I close my eyes and sigh when I hear his voice.

“I want a coffee”, I say.

“No one is stopping you from having one”, answers Mason, confused.

“Get me a coffee. If you want to sit next to me, get me a coffee. And a toastie. And a muffin. And maybe a smoothie. Check if they have any with blueberries”.

“You’re serious”.

“I don’t joke when muffins are involved, Mount”, I say, giving him a 20-pound note. “Get yourself some sweeties too”.

I can see him staring at the money in his hand and then he just leaves and walks to the nearest Starbucks. I actually can’t believe he’s going to buy me food. I was just trying to make him uncomfortable so he would leave me alone.

“We’re going to board now. You coming?”

But I don’t know whether I should wait for Mason or not. I can’t believe I feel bad about leaving him behind. 

“Here you go, bestie”, he says, passing me the cup of coffee and putting a bag on the floor next to me.

“Thanks”.

And because I don’t really know how I’m feeling right now but I do know he’s making me uncomfortable again, I just take the bag and start eating. Even though I’m not really hungry.

After taking a couple of bites of my toastie, I hear a weird noise. What was that?

And then I hear it again.

“Mount? Is that your stomach?”

“Eh…yeah. I didn’t have breakfast today”.

“Why didn’t you get something for you when you were at the coffee place?”

“I don’t know”, he shrugs.

“Here”, I tell him, cutting the toastie in half and giving him the bit I didn’t bite on.

“You don’t have to. It’s your breakfast”.

“I’m not even that hungry”.

“Then why did you make me buy all of that for you?”, he asks.

“I don’t know”, I say, shrugging and copying his expression from before, which makes him smile.

He takes the toastie and devours it in no time. He really was hungry.

So when I take the muffin, I do the same.

"You don't…".

"Just take it", I say, eating my half of the muffin quickly so I can get my Kindle out and do some reading.

Mason eats the muffin just as fast as he ate the toastie and starts to look at what I'm doing.

"What kind of iPad is that?", he asks, moving closer so he can read what's on my screen.

"It's not an iPad, it's a Kindle. You know? To read books".

"I don't read".

"I'm not surprised by that fact", I say under my breath.

"Maybe you can read to me so I fall asleep. You have such a soothing voice".

That makes me choke on the coffee I'm trying to finish.

"I have a what?"

My voice can be described by many adjectives but I don't think soothing is one most people will use.

"Yes", he says, feigning seriousness. "I love it. But I'm still wondering when it's that I like it better. When you call me an asshole or when you order me around?"

I have to turn around so he doesn't see my smile.

"I never called you an asshole", I say.

"You said it with your eyes".

"Oh yeah? Were my eyes soothing too?"

"No, they are just beautiful".

This…I don't know how to do this. Whatever this is.

"Well, I'll use them to read now".

And the conversation is over.

                                   **

By the time we are about to land in Scotland, I've managed to make a lot of progress with my book. I love a good thriller.

And Mason…well, he did fall asleep. But didn't need me to read to him in order to do that. 

Every time I turned to look to the left, I saw his head getting closer to my shoulder. Until it found its destination. 

I couldn't help but look at him. He was definitely prettier when he was asleep. The less he talks, the better. 

"Sir, we are going to land", tells him a flight attendant and that finally wakes him up.

"Oh, yes. Sorry".

It's then he notices me.

"Sorry".

"It's ok. At least you didn't drool".

He laughs and keeps staring at me. I'm not usually a fan of people doing that. And it's especially weirder when Mason does it. The way he looks at people is so…intense.

"You need to fasten your seatbelt", I say and turn to busy myself putting everything back in my bag.

                                   **

When we reach the place we'll be staying at, I'm lost for words. It really is a camp.

"Is this a joke?", I ask, not being able to stop my shock.

"What? It's fun!", says Azpilicueta.

"I'm actually shocked that you primadonnas can stay in this type of place without throwing a tantrum. I love camping".

“You aren’t worried about Jason coming out of the woods to murder us all?”, laughs Fran.

“No, she’s got enough dealing with Mason. No need for a Jason”, jokes Kai, making everyone laugh.

Everyone but me. I just leave them there and go find my cabin. I’m tired and I want to get changed.

“Ignore them. They just love to always take the piss out of each other”, tells me Emma while she walks towards the cabin with me.

“Oh, I don’t care. I’ll just stay with the girls most of the time anyways, since Connor isn’t here”.

“Are you friends with him? I didn’t know”.

“I am. We actually met years ago and became quite close”.

I was actually hoping to be able to do a bit of catching up with him, but he’s nowhere to be seen.

“He’ll be here in a couple of days”.

“Really?”, I say, happy to know that. “I thought he was missing the whole camp because of his injury”.

“No, he’ll join you soon”.

                                 **

Once we leave our cabins, I feel the need to explore right away. But the team is allowing some free time for everyone to settle here and no one wants to come with me. So I go by myself.

I don’t dare go inside the woods, since I’m not familiar with this place yet but I go around it, enjoying the stunning views. Wifi doesn’t seem to work well here, or at all, but the camera doesn’t need any Internet to take photos. So that’s what I do. The place is truly breathtaking.

While I’m focusing on getting the right angle for a photo, I notice something moving. Was that an animal? They didn’t tell us about dangerous animals being around but one can never be too sure.

But then the animal gets closer and I see it’s a very dangerous one. One called Mason Mount.

“Are you following me?”, I ask.

“You think too highly of yourself. Why would I follow you?”

“To murder me?”

“It’s should be me who worries”, he says, sitting next to me. “I don’t hate you. You hate me”.

“I don’t…hate you”.

“You do a pretty good hating me impersonation then”.

I sigh and shake my head. He just doesn’t get it.

“Mason. I just don’t like people like you. When we first met you were so arrogant. Every question we both got was answered by you. You ignored me completely”.

“I did?”, and when he turns to look at him, he seems genuinely confused.

“You don’t remember that day?”

“No, I do remember that day. But I didn’t ignore you. I was…intimidated by you”.

“I was intimidated by you”, I say, annoyed at the misunderstanding that took place.

“Then we are both stupid”.

“Yes, but you are more stupid than me”.

I get up to look at one of the trees in front of us. The leaves are so beautiful.

“Do you want me to take a picture of you?”, asks Mason.

“What?”

“With the tree. I can take pretty good photos you know”.

“Sure”.

I give him my phone and go back to the tree.

“Smile”, he says, and I do. “Look at you smiling at me. Miracles in Scotland!”

                                   **

When we are walking back to the camp, I feel…strange. It’s nice to sort of have fixed things with Mason but it also confuses me. I’ve always felt conflicted by the mixed feelings I have whenever he is around. 

And even though our attitude has definitely changed, we still are paired together for every single activity, which doesn’t help.

We are taught how to shoot an arrow and I end up pretending I don’t already know how to do it. Mason, of course, thinks he already knows how to because he is Mason Mount and he knows how to do everything. But instead of being snarky, I let him think that. And I let him “teach” me because I guess it’s quite nice to have him so close to me.

When it rains, we are taken inside to do a painting class. And we have to paint a portrait of our partner. My one is actually pretty decent but Mason’s is…it’s a portrait. Of me? I’m not sure. The face he did doesn’t look particularly human but maybe he’s an abstract artist.

What I do know is that by the time I go back to my cabin, I have smudges of paint all over my chin from the times he touched it to move my face and get a better look at it. Judging by the final result, it wasn’t very helpful. But I also let him do it because I guess it was quite nice to feel his fingers caressing my face.

On day 2, we are finally going to the woods. I cannot wait!

Mason is my partner, again. And the girls won’t stop joking during breakfast about how friendly we looked yesterday. 

“Didn’t you want us to get on well? Well, I’m trying”.

“Yes”, says Fran, “you seem to be suffering a lot with the effort made”.

But I just ignore them and get ready for the day, making sure I have my camera with me. Today is going to be such a great day.

[shc2c]

The Mysterious Case of Sonic Movie 3 Marketing

An Op-Ed by Malzilla

Let me say this right off the bat, I am not an expert in marketing. I took Marketing classes in college for my business minor but most of it was pretty entry level but it gave me a solid foundation to understand most companies' marketing plans. Or at least try to see the method or goal behind the madness to get a scope of what they’re trying to do. But Paramount’s treatment of Sonic 3 is bizarre. We got toys, plushies etc out in stores before the first trailer. 

Sonic Movie 3 has me utterly baffled. Because here we are exactly four months/120 days (122 days at the time of this writing) and do far zip zilch nada. 

The last OFFICIAL news we got for the movie was back on Feb 2nd when the twitter released a little teaser showing the logo as well as some of the additional human cast members. Sure Jon Campea on his Podcast YT show announced that Keanu would play Shadow and was pretty much confirmed by official Hollywood outlets in April but no official word from Paramount has been given. They’ve been radio silent for months know, save for a few weeks in April to promote the Knuckles TV show

So why the wait? Some folks I have talked to may think there may be some internal stuff going on, but I doubt it. Yes Paramount is getting ready to merge with Skydance and some layoffs have happened but I don’t think that would affect much of the Sonic movie day to day. 

So here we are at four months till release and we’re all wondering “It’s go time right? RIGHT?” 

I would think so. And so has the rest of the Sonic Fandom. But alas we’re still waiting for the green light to go. So when is that green light coming? 

Soon.

I hope.

Honestly, I don’t know. But looking at two other films marketing that run some parallels to S3 as well as some key dates in the next  four months. I'm going to throw some ideas out there. 

First off let's look at the marketing on Sonic 2. Movie was released April 8th 2022, and its first official trailer was released on Dec 9th at the 2021 VGAs (it also had a poster released the day prior on the 8th). So right at the four month mark. They followed up with some TV spots and a special Pre Super Bowl TV spot in February AND then the final Trailer March 14th. So a fairly dense four month marketing campaign. 

The other film to look at is Spider-man No Way Home, which like Sonic 3 had a December release date. NWH after months of rumors and lack of promotion (sound familiar) debuted its first teaser trailer on August 23rd 2021; roughly four months prior to its Dec 17th release date. It also had another final trailer on Nov 16th; roughly one month prior. 

So if we look at both of them we see a very similar four month marketing campaign. So what does that mean for Sonic 3? Let's work backward from the release date till now. The following are dates of significance, IMO to both Paramount, Pop/Nerd/Game culture etc: 

Dec 20th - Release Date 

The Long Wait will be over and we all bask in the Living and Learning of it all 

Nov 28th - Thanksgiving - Possible 2nd Trailer.

Given that Paramount has put Sonic TV spots before Football games before, I would not be surprised if we got the 2nd Trailer during Half Time of the CBS game that airs in the morning of Thanksgiving. This also aligns with the roughly 1 month prior benchmark as seen with both S2 and NWH. 

NYCC Oct 17th-20th - TV Spots/Behind the Scenes/Movie Clip

While this date kinda is little too soon for a second trailer, it would be a great time to bring out the whole cast and do some promotion with the masses and maybe some TV spots or a small clip. 

Transformers One Release Sep 20th - PONR for First Trailer 

I think I can safely say that the absolute LATEST we can expect a trailer for Sonic 3 would nex month with the release of Transformers One. Paramount would have to be utterly brainless NOT to have a trailer for Sonic playing in front of their other Family Nerd Oriented IP.

Gamescom 2024 Oct 20h - 25th - Trailer Release 

Kinda funny how the Opening Night Ceremony for Gamescom just so happens to fall on both the four month till release mark AND a Tuesday (Paramount usually releases trailers on Tues/Thurs)? We KNOW SEGA will be there with more SonicXShadow Generations, but really the movies are more Paramount’s game than SEGAs so there is no guarantee it will be released. BUT Paramount has passed on both Summer Game Fest AND San Diego Comic Con. Everything seems aligned for a reveal on Tuesday. I guess we’ll know if we get a poster revealed  tomorrow. 

Now personally I would have started ramping up the marketing with SDCC. Because right now the two biggest competitors that Sonic 3 is going to have in Dec are Kraven and Mufassa. And both of these movies have had TWO trailers released for it.  With Kraven it makes sense since it was originally supposed to be released back in 2023 but then got pushed back 3 times. So I guess Sony thinks it can rack up a solid week one before the family holiday push. Mufassa on the other hand is going to be the big one to beat as family’s will no doubt flock to the much anticipated origin of Mufasa! That last part was sarcasm but this part is not: they need to get the word out to the casuals. I’ve talked to a lot of Non Sonic who are genuinely excited to see Keanu play Shadow. And the time is right to get them hooked. 

So in the end, I will say that I’m like Jon Snow and I “know nothing” but I do know we're getting to the point where it’s time for paramount to lace up its sneakers and get going. Whether it's this week or the next or maybe till the opening of Transformers One. But I would recommend Paramount not dilly dally. Sonic Fans are easily frustrated and can turn rabid quickly. 

[pikmininaplane]

Hello dear mutual LB lanuel Bals third of its name, i do not know a SINGLE thing abt d20 i only rbed because a mutual drew that and i thus extend the official invite to feel free to info dump to me abt it (PLEASE !!! only if u want ofc peeposhy) and also where should i start if i were to try to get into it (asking for me)

thank u and have a great ballsy day <33 uwu

Oh em gee it’s Moo Peng my beloved tumblr dot com mutual haiii ^w^ And thank you SO much for giving me an opportunity to talk about this >:D This might get long tho

D20, aka Dimension 20, is a RPG (mostly D&D) show that you can watch on Dropout (smaller American streaming service, but it has really good content <3), though some seasons are on Youtube!

There are 21 seasons in total so far, but each one is its own campaign (well, except for the 3-4 sequel seasons), which means you can absolutely jump right into a later season and still get what’s going on :] Also the seasons range from 20 episodes to 4, so you don’t always need to find the emotional resolve to sit through 20 2-hours long episodes lol

The fanart you reblogged is of Ayda, a character from Fantasy High, which is basically the poster child of D20 – it was the first season, and it later got two sequel seasons, Sophomore Year (which is the exact one Ayda is from) and Junior Year, the most recent season, as well as two spin-off seasons with locations/characters from its world (Pirates of Leviathan and The Seven (it’s kinda funny actually because I know you’re a PJO fan and, well, I often see posts about it in that season’s tag because of the name X))) Mostly it’s about a bunch of teenagers in a fantasy 80s-esque high school trying to solve mysteries and going on adventures!

Fantasy High is not my personal favorite, however – the medal of honor goes to A Court of Fey and Flowers and Mentopolis, respectively the "fey regency/romance" season and the "Inside Out but as a film noir" season <3 But there’s plenty I love!! There’s a space opera season, a "Game of Thrones but with food" season, a heist season, a furry murder mystery season, a fairytale horror season… the list goes on! It even featured a bunch of drag queens on a season :D

There’s only four seasons available on Youtube, unfortunately, but they’re all really good so here they are:

Fantasy High

I’ve mentioned it before, so I won’t elaborate, but I’ll add that it’s 17 episodes long!

Fantasy High: Sophomore Year

Also mentioned before, but I’ll add that this season was recorded live on Twitch so while it’s a lot of people’s favorite, it has occasional problems (especially audio-wise). 20 episodes long

Escape from the Bloodkeep

Lord of the Rings parody – the villain lords find themselves scrambling when not-Sauron suddenly dies and they’re forced to work together to bring him back :3c 6 episodes long, features Matt Mercer of Critical Role fame

The Unsleeping City

Urban fantasy, turns out there’s a whole magical side of New York that regular people can’t see, and a group of unlikely heroes band together to face the bad parts of that magical side >:3c 17 episodes long, there’s also a second season of it but it isn’t out on Youtube unfortunately :(

The next season, Never Stop Blowing Up, is coming out in like a week and a half, based on the trailer, it’s going to be a Jumanji-like 80s action movies parody and I am!! Very excited!! :D

[birdegilbinlercesineasigim]

In order not to use Tumblr only friends tag as whatsapp, here are my thoughts;

-Seconds into watching and I see TopMew? I. could.not.care.less

-You are changing for someone else, but not for yourself top? Yeah I dont see why this would be a problem in the future.

-Could Mew be more shrewd that I give him credit for? Perhaps.

I seriously wanna entartain the idea of Boston's heart melting for someone, but I dont think this show is striving towards that, any other show I would be like yea thats exactly what is gonna happen, but I feel like that would be too easy for this show.

How have I not realized before that boston is seriously ripped? Cuntiest of cunts have body definition. Nice.

Nick, my sweet summer child, can you stop being a slut for boston? can you please?

If I was a good guy you wouldnt like me? God damn it, he might be right Nick, for fucks sake!

So someone records you and you are upset, but when you do it, it doesnt count? Stone houses bitch.

We know NickBoston is gonna end in catastrophe, but god damn if they dont have chemistry.

I stole your ex but fuck it lets be friends. Are you for real Top?

Sand, my absolute favourite, my love, you know there are better methods than to smash your phone if you want people to not reach you right? You could just, I dont know, destroy your sim card and get a new one? Just a thought.

Nick what the fuck my dude? Like seriously? You are not a coupplleeeeeeeee!

Sand my love, I have never doubted you, I knew you had a plan about that phone. (I totally doubted and judged you).

sand baby did you delete the audio? Or you sent somewhere and Nick clocked it immeadiately?

Okay Im confusion. What is the reason for Sand to send audio to Mew? What is his gain? He hates Top and wants him to lose his boyfriend? Okay seems legit. But doing so could potentially send Mew to Ray's way? He has feelings for Ray right? So why would he want that? What is he gonna gain from stirring the pot?

Okay is sand manipulating the shit out of ray or is it me because I see everyone as manipulators in this show?

Campaign poster? You make that using paint or some shit? That is terrible :D

Nick for fucks sake just once can you just stand your ground

I dont hate Mew at all. Yeah bitch I truely believe you, you dont hate anyone, you just want to see the world burn. I appreacite that about you. Even though I wanna punch you all the time.

Okay Ray but like Boston did not lie now did he? You hope they would break up eventually :D

can you please get over yourself Mew? Your Hollier than thou attitude is giving me a headache

I cannot watch ray self destruct. Like I can not. This is physically painfull.

So Ray just took a page from Gossip Girls book and decided to air out everyone's business? I'll be damned. I- I cant.

I am literally covering the screen just reading subtitles. Y'all Im not made for this amount of stressssss

Did just Ray say to Sand to basically be his whore? Or was I tripping?

No I was not tripping, he literally called him a whore. Im at a loss for words honestly. I guess Im finally realizing there are no happy endings in this show.

April might be the only sane character in this show.

Nick come onnnn!!!!! Snuggling with Boston? Did you really think he would be okay with that

Ummm what? Wait? Iam confusion. He knows about the audio? The whole fight was a lie? Why would it be a lie? Im sooooo confused.

Trying to gaslight while he is shouting at you Top? Real mature guy you are.

I dont even know what is happening in the next week's episode, what the actual fuck?

I wonder if Mew is gonna self destruct or destroy everyone?

[advancedimagesblog-mel]

Blog Post #9

"Series of 2-3 blog posts discussing your creative process..." This is going to be the first blog post in the final series. I wanted to start with discussing my creative process. My creative process is a little odd. Sometimes idea just come to me while other times I really have to work for it. In the next blog post I'll talk about my creative process in the class, but this one will be more of a general gloss over. On a really great day, when people are talking to me or I read a brief/RFP, ideas just come to me and I write them down so I don't forget them. I also like to add some sketches. Specifically with school, on my walk to the streetcar, I find I can come up with different ideas. Maybe it's ADHD, maybe it's just creativity, but my brain genuinely never stops thinking. Most of the time it's to my detriment as it can be quite distracting, but when I'm feeling inspired or creative it really works out for me. My mind totally goes blank when I'm trying to force creativity though. On days where nothing comes to me, I like to school online (specifically Pinterest) and look at visual aids. I love being inspired by others designs, and although my work never looks like my references, the visual queues help aid me in my research or just over all idea generation. An example of a 'bad' day is in my intro to design management class, as I didn't know exactly what I wanted to do for my Toronto Public Library redesign. I actually have already designed stuff for the TPL in another class, but when I went online to refresh my memory, the whole website was down (and still is). Because I didn't know what I wanted to do, I went on Pinterest and just looked up the work library. I ended up being inspired by vintage libraries and the colour brown, which lead me to design a logo/ad campaign based on the Toronto Public Libraries archives. The TPL has an amazing archive of images online, so I ended up grabbing a few of those and including them in my posters. It was also super cool to see how much is archived at the library, and sad to see how little they promote it in their advertising (although their advertising is quite poor to begin with). An example of a good day...well, I'm not too sure it's happened this semester. Looking back I've been a little too stressed out to have a simple design process. I found my Jellycat Annual Report design for Corporate 2 to be quite easy, but it also took weeks of work to get right. Some other things I do is listen to music, and talk to people I know. My sister and my boyfriend both help me generate great ideas, especially because they are both semi-connected but also detached from my realm of art.

[kfh-fiction]

The Fan - Chapter 1

November 8, 2016 - Lea

I turned on the TV in my bedroom, feeling cautiously optimistic about what was to come.  It was Election Night of 2016 and I’d spent the past year working for Hilary Rodman, a candidate who I’d really liked from her time as First Lady, then as a Senator and finally as Secretary of State.  She fought for things I believed in, like abortion rights, better education, affordable health care, strong international relations, marriage equality, gun control and building more jobs.  So I was thrilled when she decided to run for president and got involved in her campaign right away.  

My wall was decked out with a Hilary for president sign and a “Love Trumps Hate” sign, along with posters from other campaigns I’d been involved with. The newest addition to my wall, though not political, was from last week, when my favorite baseball team, the Brooklyn Chargers, won the World Series. Hopefully, I’d soon have Hilary Rodman victory posters to put on the wall.

Before Barack Obana was elected president eight years ago, the country was in the midst of two wars and the worst economic crisis in a century.  Over the past eight years, unemployment had dropped, the Affordable Care Act had passed and marriage equality had become a reality.  But there was still more to be done and I was sure Hilary Rodman would continue that progress. The warmer-than-usual-for-November weather felt like a good omen for things to come.

As an individual, my life had been full of ups and downs over the past eight years.  The first campaign I’d really been actively involved with was Obana’s, when I was a high school senior, too young to vote by one year.  So I spent my weekends at the Obana office making phone calls, stuffing envelopes and entering data. I did this again for his re-election campaign four years ago.

Then college started. It was a disaster. My whole life, I’d struggled with anxiety and depression, and the large college campus with lots of people and lots of noise didn’t mesh well with my anxiety. I’d never done well on exams, and since exams were such a big part of college, my grades were consistently low. At least in high school, even though I hadn’t been close to very many people, there were a lot of people who I liked who I also thought liked me. I struggled to make friends and I’d struggled with exams my whole life. After three and a half years, I decided to take a break and got a retail job. After two and a half years at the retail job, I’d gone back to college. While I was doing better this time around, it was hard balancing school and work and the exams were still giving me trouble. I was doing homework on the bus between school and work so that I had more free time during my limited time at home. I didn’t even get to do as much volunteering for Hilary’s campaign as I would have liked.

There had been one bright spot during my first college stint: I started watching the TV show Glee as a freshman, and as a sophomore, I began writing fanfiction about the Finn/Rachel pairing, or Finchel, as it was known.  I’d made friends online through my fanfiction writing and gotten all sorts of positive comments.  Finchel had gotten me through my early college struggles, my trouble with finding a job before I got the retail job I had now, through anxiety and depression spells... then the actor who played Finn died, and the writers killed Finn rather than hiring a new actor or giving Finchel an offscreen happy ending.  That had been devastating for me, but the Hilary Rodman campaign and the Chargers World Series win helped me feel better about the loss of Finchel.  I looked at my wall, where I still had a Finchel poster, right next to the Chargers World Series Champions poster.

The first thing I saw when I turned on the TV was the Republican presidential nominee, Donald Drumpf. Just the sight of the obese man, with the overdone spray tan and the blonde hair that looked fake, made me cringe. Drumpf was a bully, narcissistic, immature, ignorant, racist, homophobic, sexist, anti-Islamic, anti-immigrant and anti-disabled.  He constantly threatened and mocked people. He had no experience. 

I remembered the day I’d been at the gym and seen Drumpf mock a disabled reporter and asked the person on the bike next to mine how anyone could support someone like that. I remembered watching TV the day after the Democratic National Convention and Drumpf had attacked a Gold Star Family who’d spoken on Hilary’s behalf.  I remembered leaving class one day and a classmate told me that a recording had surfaced of Drumpf talking about how he could just “grab (women) by the pussy.”  

Yet, the horrible things Drumpf said were garnering more and more attention, and no matter how horrible the thing he said was, it couldn’t lose him supporters.

But Hilary was up in the polls.  She did better in the debates.  She had more endorsements.  Even a few Republicans were backing her, or at least refusing to back their own nominee.  And although I was worried, all the prediction markets were predicting that she would win.

I scrolled through my social media feeds.  Most of the people I followed were posting pro-Hilary statuses.  One thing stood out - a post from my favorite player on the Chargers, Colton Krenshaw, encouraging people to get out and vote.  I felt a connection to all the Chargers because they made up the team I loved watching, but he was definitely my favorite. He was one of the best players in the league, a great catcher and a great hitter, yet he was very humble. He did a lot of great work in the community. I’d wanted the World Series title for all of them, but especially for him. I’d met him a few times and he’d always made me feel special and so appreciated.

My thoughts were interrupted when CNN announced their first calls.  They were calling Indiana and Kentucky for Drumpf and Vermont for Hilary. Drumpf had 19 electoral votes and Hilary had 3. Oh well, the states Hilary was expected to do well in weren’t closing until later. She would win this election, right?  After all, in 2008 and 2012, Obana was behind at first because of the states that closed early and won by a huge margin.

My computer beeped. I had a new email. Another failed exam. I’d never been very good at school. I wasn’t sure what it was, but no matter how hard I tried, I never managed to pass exams.  Every time I took an exam, it went the same way. I’d go into the test-taking room in Iowa University’s disability service office with those stupid sight blockers surrounding the desk. My mind would go blank when I was handed the exam, and no matter how hard I studied, all the information would be forgotten when it was handed to me. The time seemed to pass slowly, but in reality, it would go by quickly. I wasn’t even sure how I’d gotten into IU, which was supposed to be the best university in the state, after three and a half years of doing poorly at another state school. Maybe because of my essay about my history with anxiety and depression and how I was able to live with them.

The 8 p.m. polls closed. Hilary won New Jersey, Massachusetts, Delaware and Maryland and had 44 electoral votes now. She was up by 10 points in Ohio, up by 7 in North Carolina, up by 7 in New Hampshire and up by 1 in Florida. This was amazing! Maybe all those panic attacks and sleepless nights had been for nothing. Hilary was winning. Drumpf had picked up West Virginia and Oklahoma, but Hilary wouldn’t have won those states anyway.

The deep south polls were starting to close. Now Drumpf had picked up Alabama, Mississippi, Tennessee and South Carolina. He had 66 electoral votes to Hilary’s 48, as she’d only just picked up Rhode Island.  But she was still up in Ohio, Pennsylvania, Michigan, North Carolina and New Hampshire... couldn’t the networks just call these states for her? My heart was starting to beat fast.

I remembered when I went to go see Hilary speak about a month ago. I’d barely slept the night before because I was so excited and went pacing around my apartment in hopes of wearing myself out to get some sleep, but that didn’t work. I got to the rally’s location, IU’s football stadium, early so I could get a good place in line. It had been a long wait.  There had been lots of people and they’d played loud music. I didn’t like crowds, noise or music at all, so that hadn’t been pleasant. I wanted to go to a quiet place to wait, but I knew if I did, I’d lose my place in line and not get a good glimpse of Hilary. 

More than once, I found myself wondering if it would be worth it. What if I couldn’t even see her from where I was standing, and if people were standing too close to me, and the music got too loud?

Once Hilary came out, it was all worth it. I had an amazing seat in the 100,000-seat stadium and didn’t need to look at the projector to see her at the podium. She was even more impressive in person than she was on television and online. I didn’t think it was possible for someone in such a stressful position to have so much energy and be so happy, but there Hilary was, in her signature pantsuits, talking about all her ideas for the country. It made all the difficult times I had gone through worth it.

Wait. What was happening now?  Why were Hilary’s leads in the swing states shrinking?  Now Drumpf was up in Wisconsin, Michigan, New Hampshire, Virginia, North Carolina, Georgia, Florida, Ohio - and Iowa. Iowa. My home state.  The state I’d done so much work in. Yes, Hilary had just won a few states and had 104 electoral votes now. She’d picked up Illinois and Connecticut, and to my surprise, she had won New York, Trump’s home state. But he had 129 thanks to Arkansas, Texas, North and South Dakota, Nebraska and Kansas and was halfway to 270. That didn’t even take into account all the swing states he was up in. This was bad.

I was strongly reminded of Election Night 2004. I’d been a thirteen-year-old at my parents’ house. My family was optimistic that John Carey would become president and my parents had a party snack tray for me and my brother, who was six at the time. My parents had also gotten us each a map to color in as the states were called - blue for the Democratic states, red for the Republican ones. There were times when John Carey had a lead, like Hilary Rodman had less than an hour ago. But the clock ticked on that night, and I’d colored more states in red than in blue. 

Eventually, I felt  like I could fall asleep on the couch in the living room, but I’d wanted to stay up so I could be there when the news anchors announced my idol had been elected president. At around midnight, my parents sent me to bed. I had school in the morning. That morning, it was revealed that the incumbent president had won the election. I couldn’t remember that morning well, but I did remember breaking down crying at school and losing motivation to do anything. I remembered stabbing myself with my mother’s knitting needles with plans to kill myself because I didn’t want to continue to live in a world with George Walker as president. I remembered the trip to the ER after I’d been caught and being lectured by a psychiatrist about how self-harming and suicide weren’t the answer, that he wouldn’t be president forever and that things would get better.

The night before that election, I had gone to see John Carey speak, and it had been absolutely incredible.  Back in 2004, my struggles with school were beginning and I basically had no friends, had just been diagnosed with anxiety and was even having trouble with figure skating. But one thing made me smile - the Carey campaign.  I’d gone to his website every day to watch videos of his campaign events and his ads and had been convinced he’d defeat the incumbent president and put a stop to the Iraq war that I thought was pointless.

That hadn’t happened.  But certainly the United States had learned something, right?  They wouldn’t elect someone even worse than George Walker, would they?

My phone went off.  It was a text from my dad.  “This is bad.”

My parents had a feeling this wasn’t good either. They’d reassured me a lot when I talked to them about my fears about the election. If they thought it was bad, it must be bad. I replied to the text.  “I’m scared.”

My dad texted back. “Germany survived Hitler.  Russia survived Stalin.”

I didn’t even know how to respond to that. Millions of Jews died under Hitler. The people who survived were the people who didn’t have to be afraid in the first place. I knew I probably wouldn’t be alive without my antidepressants and anti-anxiety meds, which were covered by Obana’s healthcare plan. If Drumpf won, he’d certainly repeal that plan, and my anxiety and depression would probably kill me.

I felt like I was going to throw up. I ran to the bathroom and tried to throw up, but nothing came out. I wanted to cry. It wasn’t over yet. But these leads weren’t going away. Drumpf had picked up Montana, Wyoming and Louisiana and was more than halfway there now at 140, and had added leads in Georgia and Nevada. Hilary had leads in Minnesota, Colorado and New Mexico, but that wouldn’t be enough.

My phone went off with another text from my dad. “We have each other. That’s what matters most.”

I considered calling my parents, but often they got annoyed when I had one of my freakouts. I hated my freakouts, too. I always hated them. But I needed support during them.  Still, it wasn’t fair to burden my parents. I was an adult now. I couldn’t force myself on them. I started crying now, not even bothering trying to stop myself. 

My roommate had gone to a bar with friends to watch the results, so I was at the apartment alone and didn’t have to worry about my roommate hearing me. I was sure there were green boogers on my face. My stomach hurt and I could barely see clearly. This was one of the extreme ones, ones that regularly happened after the 2004 election and the loss of Finchel, ones I didn’t even bother trying to stop because they came anyway. This was a mixture of the physical and emotional extremes, not just the extreme thoughts, fast heartbeats, soreness, chest pain, saying bizarre things, and inability to stay still that usually led to pacing around wherever I was at the time when I had my more mild freakouts.  All I could do now was hope that things got better - and cry. I was lucky the people in the apartment upstairs didn’t hear me. It was dark and rainy outside, as if that was an omen for bad things to come. My phone went off with a text from my mom. “Do you want to come home for a few days?”

My parents seemed to think this was over.  Whenever I talked to them about my fears about the election, they talked about how they were sure Hilary would win. Did they really believe that? I replied to the text.  “I can’t put my life on hold.”

I logged on to her computer again. The people I followed were getting nervous, too. There were lots of “I’m nervous” and “why is this happening” type posts rather than the earlier posts of anticipation and optimism. 

These posts made things even more confusing. Practically everyone I knew was voting for Hilary. From the town I’d grown up in, to college, to my various jobs, I’d spent most of my life in liberal settings. But posts didn’t get people elected, signs didn’t get people elected, endorsements didn’t get people elected. All that mattered was who got out to vote. Drumpf’s supporters called themselves the “silent majority.” Maybe that was what they really were. They didn’t talk about it or put up signs or put posts on social media, but they did go to the ballot box and vote. I’d done whatever work I could fit into my busy schedule, as had so many people in other swing states, but that hadn’t been enough, clearly. I wished I could have done more.

Now I got another text, from my brother, Johnny.  “Love you!”

Iowa was called for Trump. I collapsed to the floor, feeling like I was having a heart attack now and sure I’d have a carpet burn soon. Iowa, the state I’d worked so hard in for the past three presidential elections. I got out my phone and texted my parents and brother: “I’m just so sad.”  What else was there to say? I was more than sad. I was terrified. I was angry. I was hurt. I was sick.

The 11 p.m. polls closed, and Hilary added Washington, Oregon, California and Hawaii to her column. But this all likely wouldn’t be enough. The leads in the swing states weren’t going away, and the red Iowa stood out like a blister. Why? Why was this happening? How had all those polls been so off?

I saw that I had new text messages from my parents and brother. I wasn’t going to burden them right now. If I talked to anyone, I’d likely start hyperventilating and crying. I couldn’t believe I was watching someone I looked up to being beaten by who I thought was the worst person I’d even seen.

In a way, I could believe this was happening.  The people and things I was a fan of ALWAYS went up in smoke. The one exception was the Chargers winning the World Series last week. Of course there was what happened with John Carey twelve years ago. Three years ago, Finchel had been destroyed. After both the 2004 election and the loss of Finchel, I had been furious and depressed, not wanting to do much of anything and spending much of my time crying in my room. My family and friends hadn’t understood why I was so upset. I was attached to the people and things I was a fan of because I had so much trouble forming close relationships, but people didn’t get that. It only made sense that Hilary Rodman would meet the same fate as other things I loved.

Florida was called for Drumpf. Colorado and Nevada were called for Hilary, but Drumpf was still up in electoral votes. Even worse, the gaps in the swing states were shrinking. Now Georgia and Ohio were called for Trump. Would any of the swing states come through? Hilary was up in New Hampshire, but that was only four electoral votes.

Time passed. The news anchors were supposed to be bipartisan, but I could tell they were confused too, and scared. The country was at risk. My feeds on Facebook, Instagram and Twitter were full of posts of panic, posts about how Hilary didn’t deserve this and how it was unfair that all of Obana’s progress would be undone.

Then Pennsylvania was called for Drumpf. He had 264 electoral votes now. Only six more were needed. This was over. He would definitely win Alaska, which was three, meaning Hilary had to win all the states that hadn’t been called yet, and Drumpf had leads in Arizona, Michigan and Wisconsin.

It was clear to me now.  The universe didn’t want me to be happy.  Every time I was happy, a huge blow came and destroyed it.  Sure, there were periods of my life where I’d managed myself well enough, but I was tired of this. I was tired of anxiety. I was tired of depression. I was tired of Colton being with Helen. I was tired of the things I liked getting ruined. I was tired of failed exam after failed exam. I was tired of being on my feet all day at my retail job and still being criticized there for every little thing. I was tired of Drumpf.

But I wouldn’t be getting rid of Drumpf. Alaska was called for him and so was Arizona.  He’d won.

The internet was appalled - well, the people I followed on the internet were appalled.  But clearly, there were people out there who weren’t appalled.  People thought all the horrible things he said and did were okay.  Hilary wasn’t perfect, but who was?  This was so disgusting, so sickening, so upsetting.  I didn’t want to deal with it.  It hadn’t even happened yet and I was tired of it.  I was tired of Drumpf.

And maybe it would all be better if it was just all over.  I was going to die if Drumpf repealed Obana’s health care act, which he certainly would.  Maybe I should just get it over with and not have to suffer through the Drumpf presidency. I scribbled a note to leave on my dresser that I couldn’t live in a world where Drumpf was president. I headed to my car. The night felt endless. I wanted to drive and didn't care where I ended up, only for there to be an end.

[kfhfiction]

November 8, 2016 - Lea

I turned on the TV in my bedroom, feeling cautiously optimistic about what was to come.  It was Election Night of 2016 and I’d spent the past year working for Hilary Rodman, a candidate who I’d really liked from her time as First Lady, then as a Senator, and finally as Secretary of State.  She fought for things I believed in, like abortion rights, better education, affordable health care, strong international relations, marriage equality, gun control, and building more jobs.  So I was thrilled when she decided to run for president and got involved in her campaign right away.  My wall was decked out with a Hilary for President sign and a “Love Trumps Hate” sign, along with posters from other campaigns I’d been involved with. The newest addition to my wall, though not political, was from last week, when my favorite baseball team, the Cleveland Spiders, won the World Series. Hopefully, I’d soon have Hilary Rodman victory posters to put on the wall.

Before Barack Obana was elected president eight years ago, the country was in the midst of two wars and the worst economic crisis in a century.  Over the past eight years, unemployment had dropped, the Affordable Care Act had been passed that gave more Americans health care and marriage equality had become a reality.  But there was still more to be done and I was sure Hilary Rodman would continue that progress. The warmer-than-usual-for-November weather felt like a good omen for things to come.

As an individual, my life had been full of ups and downs over the past eight years.  The first campaign I’d really been actively involved with was Obana’s, when I was a high school senior, too young to vote by one year.  So I spent my weekends at the Obana office making phone calls, stuffing envelopes and entering data. I did this again for his re-election campaign four years ago.

Then college started. It was a disaster. My whole life, I’d struggled with anxiety and depression, and the large college campus with lots of people and lots of noise didn’t mesh well with my anxiety. I’d never done well on exams, and since exams were such a big part of college, my grades were consistently low. At least in high school, even though I hadn’t been close to very many people, there were a lot of people who I liked who I also thought liked me. I struggled to make friends and I’d struggled with exams my whole life. After three and a half years, I decided to take a break and got a retail job. After two and a half years at the retail job, I’d gone back to college. While I was doing better this time around, it was hard balancing school and work and the exams were still giving me trouble. I was doing homework on the bus between school and work so that I had more free time during my limited time at home. I didn’t even get to do as much volunteering for Hilary’s campaign as I would have liked.

There was one bright spot of my first stint of college: I started watching the TV show Glee as a freshman, and as a sophomore, I began writing fanfiction about the Finn/Rachel pairing, or Finchel, as it was known.  I’d made friends online through her fanfiction writing and gotten all sorts of positive comments.  Finchel had gotten me through my early college struggles, my trouble with finding a job before I got the retail job I had now, through anxiety and depression spells... then the actor who played Finn died, and instead of recasting and continuing the story, the writers killed Finn rather than hiring a new actor or giving Finchel an offscreen happy ending.  That had been devastating for me, but the Hilary Rodman campaign and the Spiders World Series win helped me feel better about the loss of Finchel.  I looked at my wall, where I still had a Finchel poster, right next to the Spiders World Series Champions poster.

The first thing I saw when I turned on the TV was the Republican presidential nominee, Donald Drumpf. Just the sight of the obese man, with the overdone spray tan and the blonde hair that looked fake, made me cringe. Drumpf was a bully, narcissistic, immature, ignorant, racist, homophobic, sexist, anti-Islamic, anti-immigrant and anti-disabled.  He constantly threatened and mocked people. He had no experience. 

I remembered the day I’d been at the gym and seen Drumpf mock a disabled reporter and asked the person on the bike next to mine how anyone could support someone like that. I remembered watching TV the day after the Democratic National Convention and Drumpf had attacked a Gold Star Family who’d spoken on Hilary’s behalf.  I remembered leaving class one day and a classmate told me that a recording had surfaced of Drumpf talking about how he could just “grab (women) by the pussy.”  

Yet, the horrible things Drumpf said were garnering more and more attention, and no matter how horrible the thing he said was, it couldn’t lose him supporters.

But Hilary was up in the polls.  She did better in the debates.  She had more endorsements.  Even a few Republicans were backing her, or at least refusing to back their own nominee.  And although I was worried, all the prediction markets were predicting that she would win.

I scrolled through my social media feeds.  Most of the people I followed were posting pro-Hilary statuses.  One thing stood out - a post from my favorite player on the Spiders, Cory Hudson, encouraging people to get out and vote.  I felt a connection to all the Spiders because they made up the team I loved watching, but he was definitely my favorite. He was one of the best players in the league, a great catcher and a great hitter, yet he was very humble. He did a lot of great work in the community. I’d wanted the World Series title for all of them, but especially for him. I’d met him a few times and he’d always made me feel special and so appreciated.

In the photo with Cory was his wife, Haley. I didn’t like her at all. She reminded me of the mean girls I’d gone to school with and of the girls from the religious cult whose meetings I briefly went to in college to meet new people. Haley always seemed smug and full of herself in interviews and on social media and was constantly spouting religious bullshit. It was clear from the book they’d written together that she’d manipulated him into being with her because his dad had left, his mom had to work late a lot and she let him spend lots of time at his house. He often came off as being uncomfortable with her when they made joint appearances. He’d always been so sweet when I met him and I knew fans who she’d been rude to. He’d had to apologize to those fans for her behavior. I didn’t understand why someone like him was with someone like her.

My thoughts were interrupted when CNN announced their first calls.  They were calling Indiana and Kentucky for Drumpf and Vermont for Hilary. Drumpf had 19 electoral votes and Hilary had 3. Oh well, the states Hilary was expected to do well in weren’t closing until later. She would win this election, right?  After all, in 2008 and 2012, Obana was behind at first because of the states that closed early and won by a huge margin.

My computer beeped. I had a new email. Another failed exam. I’d never been very good at school. I wasn’t sure what it was, but no matter how hard I tried, I never managed to pass exams.  Every time I took an exam, it went the same way. I’d go into the test-taking room in Iowa University’s disability service office with those stupid sight blockers surrounding the desk. My mind would go blank when I was handed the exam, and no matter how hard I studied, all the information would be forgotten when it was handed to me. The time seemed to pass slowly, but in reality, it would go by quickly. I wasn’t even sure how I’d gotten into IU, which was supposed to be the best university in the state, after three and a half years of doing poorly at another state school. Maybe because of my essay about my history with anxiety and depression and how I was able to live with them.

The 8 p.m. polls closed. Hilary won New Jersey, Massachusetts, Delaware and Maryland and had 44 electoral votes now. She was up by 10 points in Ohio, up by 7 in North Carolina, up by 7 in New Hampshire and up by 1 in Florida. This was amazing! Maybe all those panic attacks and sleepless nights had been for nothing. Hilary was winning. Drumpf had picked up West Virginia and Oklahoma, but Hilary wouldn’t have won those states anyway.

The deep south polls were starting to close. Now Drumpf had picked up Alabama, Mississippi, Tennessee and South Carolina. He had 66 electoral votes to Hilary’s 48, as she’d only just picked up Rhode Island.  But she was still up in Ohio, Pennsylvania, Michigan, North Carolina and New Hampshire... couldn’t the networks just call these states for Hilary? My heart was starting to beat fast.

I remembered when she went to go see Hilary speak about a month ago. I’d barely slept the night before because I was so excited and went pacing around my apartment in hopes of wearing myself out to get some sleep, but that didn’t work. I got to the rally’s location, IU’s football stadium, early so I could get a good place in line. It had been a long wait.  There had been lots of people and they’d played loud music. I didn’t like crowds, noise or music at all, so that hadn’t been pleasant. I wanted to go to a quiet place to wait, but I knew if I did, I’d lose my place in line and not get a good glimpse of Hilary. More than once, I found myself wondering if it would be worth it.

Once Hilary came out, it was all worth it. I had an amazing seat in the 100,000 seat stadium and didn’t need to look at the projector to see her at the podium. She was even more impressive in person than she was on television and online. I didn’t think it was possible for someone in such a stressful position to have so much energy and be so happy, but there Hilary was, in her signature pantsuits, talking about all her ideas for the country. It made all the difficult times I had gone through worth it.

Wait. What was happening now?  Why were Hilary’s leads in the swing states shrinking?  Now Drumpf was up in Wisconsin, Michigan, New Hampshire, Virginia, North Carolina, Georgia, Florida, Ohio - and Iowa. Iowa. My home state.  The state I’d done so much work in. Yes, Hilary had just won a few states and had 104 electoral votes now. She’d picked up Illinois and Connecticut, and to my surprise, she had won New York, Trump’s home state. But he had 129 thanks to Arkansas, Texas, North and South Dakota, Nebraska and Kansas and was halfway to 270. That didn’t even take into account all the swing states he was up in. This was bad.

I was strongly reminded of Election Night 2004. I’d been a thirteen-year-old at my parents’ house. My family was optimistic that John Carey would become president and my parents had a party snack tray for me and my brother, who was six at the time. My parents had also gotten us each a map to color in as the states were called - blue for the Democratic states, red for the Republican ones. There were times when John Carey had a lead, like Hilary Rodman had less than an hour ago. But the clock ticked on that night, and I’d colored more states in red than in blue. 

Eventually, I felt like I could fall asleep on the couch in the living room, but I’d wanted to stay up so I could be there when the news anchors announced my idol had been elected president. At around midnight, my parents sent me to bed. I had school in the morning. That morning, it was revealed that the incumbent president had won the election. I couldn’t remember that morning well, but I did remember breaking down crying at school and losing motivation to do anything. I remembered stabbing myself with my mother’s knitting needles with plans to kill myself because I didn’t want to continue to live in a world with George Walker as president. I remembered the trip to the ER after I’d been caught and being lectured by a psychiatrist about how self-harming and suicide weren’t the answer, that he wouldn’t be president forever and that things would get better.

The night before that election, I had gone to see John Carey speak, and it had been absolutely incredible.  Back in 2004, my struggles with school were beginning and I basically had no friends, had just been diagnosed with anxiety and was even having troubles with ice skating. But one thing made me smile - the Carey campaign.  I’d gone to his website every day to watch videos of his campaign events and his ads and had been convinced he’d defeat the incumbent president and put a stop to the Iraq war that I thought was pointless.

That hadn’t happened.  But certainly the United States had learned something, right?  They wouldn’t elect someone even worse than George Walker, would they?

My phone went off.  It was a text from my dad.  “This is bad.”

My parents had a feeling this wasn’t good either. They’d reassured me a lot when I talked to them about my fears about the election. If they thought it was bad, it must be bad. I replied to the text.  “I’m scared.”

My dad texted back. “Germany survived Hitler.  Russia survived Stalin.”

I didn’t even know how to respond to that. Millions of Jews died under Hitler. The people who survived were the people who didn’t have to be afraid in the first place. I knew I probably wouldn’t be alive without my antidepressants and anti-anxiety meds, which were covered by Obana’s healthcare plan. If Drumpf won, he’d certainly repeal that plan, and my anxiety and depression would probably kill me.

I felt like I was going to throw up. I ran to the bathroom and tried to throw up, but nothing came out. I wanted to cry. It wasn’t over yet. But these leads weren’t going away. Drumpf had picked up Montana, Wyoming and Louisiana and was more than halfway there now at 140, and had added leads in Georgia and Nevada. Hilary had leads in Minnesota, Colorado and New Mexico, but that wouldn’t be enough.

My phone went off with another text from my dad. “We have each other. That’s what matters most.”

I considered calling my parents, but often they got annoyed when I had one of my freakouts. I hated my freakouts, too. I always hated them. But I needed support during them.  Still, it wasn’t fair to burden my parents. I was an adult now. I couldn’t force myself on them. I started crying now, not even bothering trying to stop myself. 

My roommate had gone to a bar with friends to watch the results, so I was at the apartment alone and didn’t have to worry about my roommate hearing me. I was sure there were green boogers on my face. My stomach hurt and I could barely see clearly. This was one of the extreme ones, ones that regularly happened after the 2004 election and the loss of Finchel, ones I didn’t even bother trying to stop because they came anyway. This was a mixture of the physical and emotional extremes, not just the extreme thoughts, fast heartbeats, soreness, chest pain, saying bizarre things, and inability to stay still that usually led to pacing around wherever I was at the time when I had my more mild freakouts.  All I could do now was hope that things got better - and cry. I was lucky the people in the apartment upstairs didn’t hear me. It was dark and rainy outside, as if that was an omen for bad things to come. My phone went off with a text from my mom. “Do you want to come home for a few days?”

My parents seemed to think this was over.  Whenever I talked to them about my fears about the election, they talked about how they were sure Hilary would win. Did they really believe that? I replied to the text.  “I can’t put my life on hold.”

I logged on to her computer again. The people I followed were getting nervous, too. There were lots of “I’m nervous” and “why is this happening” type posts rather than the earlier posts of anticipation and optimism. 

These posts made things even more confusing. Practically everyone I knew was voting for Hilary. From the town I’d grown up in, to college, to my various jobs, I’d spent most of my life in liberal settings. But posts didn’t get people elected, signs didn’t get people elected, endorsements didn’t get people elected. All that mattered was who got out to vote. Drumpf’s supporters called themselves the “silent majority.” Maybe that was what they really were. They didn’t talk about it or put up signs or put posts on social media, but they did go to the ballot box and vote. I’d done whatever work I could fit into my schedule, as had so many people in other swing states, but that hadn’t been enough, clearly. I wished I could have done more.

Now I got another text, from my brother, Johnny.  “Love you!”

Iowa was called for Drumpf. I collapsed to the floor, feeling like I was having a heart attack now and sure I’d have a carpet burn soon. Iowa, the state I’d worked so hard in for the past three presidential elections. I got out my phone and texted my parents and brother: “I’m just so sad.”  What else was there to say? I was more than sad. I was terrified. I was angry. I was hurt. I was sick.

The 11 p.m. polls closed, and Hilary added Washington, Oregon, California and Hawaii to her column. But this all likely wouldn’t be enough. The leads in the swing states weren’t going away, and the red Iowa stood out like a blister. Why? Why was this happening? How had all those polls been so off?

I saw that I had new text messages from my parents and brother. I wasn’t going to burden them right now. If I talked to anyone, I’d likely start hyperventilating and crying. I couldn’t believe I was watching someone I looked up to being beaten by who I thought was the worst person I’d even seen. 

In a way, I could believe this was happening.  The people and things I was a fan of ALWAYS went up in smoke. The one exception was the Spiders winning the World Series last week. Of course there was what happened with John Carey twelve years ago. Three years ago, Finchel had been destroyed. After both the 2004 election and the loss of Finchel, I had been furious and depressed, not wanting to do much of anything and spending much of my time crying in my room. My family and friends hadn’t understood why I was so upset. I was attached to the people and things I was a fan of because I had so much trouble forming close relationships, but people didn’t get that. It only made sense that Hilary Rodman would meet the same fate as other things I loved.

Florida was called for Drumpf. Colorado and Nevada were called for Hilary, but Drumpf was still up in electoral votes. Even worse, the gaps in the swing states were shrinking. Now Georgia and Ohio were called for Trump. Would any of the swing states come through? Hilary was up in New Hampshire, but that was only four electoral votes.

The time passed.  The news anchors were supposed to be bipartisan, but I could tell they were confused too, and scared. The country was at risk. My feeds on Facebook, Instagram and Twitter were full of posts of panic, posts about how Hilary didn’t deserve this and how it was unfair that all of Obana’s progress would be undone.

Then Pennsylvania was called for Drumpf. He had 264 electoral votes now. Only six more were needed. This was over. He would definitely win Alaska, which was three, meaning Hilary had to win all the states that hadn’t been called yet, and Drumpf had leads in Arizona, Michigan and Wisconsin.

It was clear to me now.  The universe didn’t want me to be happy.  Every time I was happy, a huge blow came and destroyed it.  Sure, there were periods of my life where I’d managed myself well enough, but I was tired of this. I was tired of anxiety. I was tired of depression. I was tired of Cory choosing Haley over me. I was tired of the things I liked getting ruined. I was tired of failed exam after failed exam. I was tired of being on my feet all day at my retail job and still being criticized there for every little thing. I was tired of Drumpf.

But I wouldn’t be getting rid of Drumpf. Alaska was called for him and so was Arizona.  He’d won.

The internet was appalled - well, the people I followed on the internet were appalled.  But clearly, there were people out there who weren’t appalled.  People thought all the horrible things he said and did were okay.  Hilary wasn’t perfect, but who was?  This was so disgusting, so sickening, so upsetting.  I didn’t want to deal with it.  It hadn’t even happened yet and I was tired of it.  I was tired of Drumpf.

And maybe it would all be better if it was just all over.  I was going to die if Drumpf repealed Obana’s health care act, which he certainly would.  Maybe I should get it over with and not suffer through the Drumpf presidency. I scribbled a note to leave on my dresser that I couldn’t live in a world where Drumpf was president and headed to my car. The night felt endless. I wanted to drive and didn't care where I ended up, only for there to be an end.

[myhockeyworld87]

What Happens In Vegas...Doesn’t Always Stay There - Jacob Markstrom - Part 3

Word Count: 4,050

POV: Reader

Warning: Language

Notes: Well I’m finally at home for a night and I definitely owe you guys a story. So since I had the next part of this one ready, I dediced to post it. When last we saw these two, they had decided to divorce, and our reader had signed the papers and sent them back to Jacob. Who had forgotten to sign them. Let’s see what happens now, though I think some of you have an idea. As always feedback is welcome. Happy Reading!

What Happens In Vegas…Doesn’t Always Stay There Masterlist

It had been almost seven weeks since Jacob met you. For six of those, he’d talked to you every day, sometimes two and three times. It was just these last few days that you wouldn’t answer his calls or texts. Jacob was confused, to put it mildly. He wracked his brain trying to recall the last couple of conversations that you’d had, wondering if he’d said or did something to anger you, but nothing came to mind. In Jacob’s mind, he thought the two of you were actually starting something. Sure, it had been one of the most peculiar beginnings to a relationship ever, but the last several weeks' things had been nice, better than nice actually. He thought the two of you might have a chance at a real relationship. Of course, the distance between you played a part, but he thought the two of you could work that out; apparently, he was wrong.

 Jacob knew the moment he stepped poolside, that you were something special. The longer he talked to you the more he knew he’d been right. If he was being honest, it was probably one of the reasons he suggested marrying you, even though that marriage would be over soon. Just like lightning striking in the middle of a storm, it hit Jacob then why you were pissed. He’d forgotten to sign the divorce papers. He’d had them for well over two weeks now. Rushing into the office, he started rifling through all the crap on his desk looking for the manila envelope that you’d mailed it to him in. He was just in the process of opening it when the front doorbell rang, so back on the desk it went, as he headed to the door to answer it.

 Jacob was shocked to see you standing there. “(Y/N), what are you doing here?” He didn’t mean for that to come out the way it did. It took him a moment to recover before taking you in. There were dark circles under your eyes that made it look like you hadn’t slept in days, not to mention how puffy they looked as if you’d been crying. Jacob wanted nothing more than to take you in his arms and make whatever seemed to be causing you this much pain go away.

 “Hey,” you mumbled out weakly. “Can I come in?”

 “Of course.” He stepped aside, letting you into his home. It was your typical bachelor pad. Walls stark and devoid of any real character that you knew Jacob possessed. He led you over to the couch in the living room, an enormous piece of furniture designed for his large frame. It almost seemed to swallow you whole. “(Y/N) is everything ok?” There was concern in his eyes and you knew he was probably questioning your presence there after you’d been radio silent the last few days.

 “No.” The one-word answer was hard to push out without tears falling down your eyes. You could see how Jacob’s fingers itched to touch you and honestly that’s all you wanted right now, for him to just take you in his arms and somehow have all the answers, but he had to know the problem first. You took a deep breath trying to steel yourself for what you needed to tell him. “Jacob, I don’t know how to tell you this.” At that moment Jacob grabbed your hands and engulfed them in his giving you his support in just that simple touch. It gave you enough courage to blurt out the last part. “I’m pregnant.”

 You felt his hands slip a bit on yours at the shock of the news; his mouth working trying to form a sentence yet nothing coming out. It took a minute but he finally found his words. “Wow, um…ok…I hate to ask this…”

 This was the part you knew was coming, expected it really and you didn’t blame him at all. So, to spare him, you found yourself answering the unspoken question. “It’s yours.” He nodded but you felt the need to explain more. “I haven’t been with anyone since Vegas, and even before that, well, work was really busy, and…well let’s just say it had been over a month or longer.”

 “You don’t have to say anymore, (Y/N). I believe you.” His hands tightened on yours, the shock of everything starting to wear off. “Plus, we didn’t use protection.” It was something you didn’t give much thought to when you were with Jacob, which was odd because you’d always been extra cautious with hookups, but then everything with Jacob was different than anyone else. “Do you…do you know what you want to do?”

 This time you couldn’t stop the tears from flowing. “I tried, Jacob. I really did.” He looked confused, unsure of what you meant by that. “I went to get an abortion yesterday.” He blinked hard but other than that showed no expression. “I was sitting there on the damn table in a gown just waiting for the doctor to come in and then I looked around. There was this damn chart that showed what the size of your baby is every week compared to fruit of all things. It’s a blueberry by the way. A damn cute little blueberry, like the kind they put in muffins and stuff.” Why it had to be an adorable little fruit like that you didn’t know. Why couldn’t it be honeydew? You hated that fruit. Well maybe not hate, but it wasn’t your favorite that’s for sure. “Anyhow, I was just staring at that poster and looking at each week and I don’t know. I couldn’t breathe.” Kind of like now, even telling him brought back all those feelings. “I started thinking about the doctor telling me that I could hear the heartbeat next week when she did the ultrasound, and I’m not sure what happened, but I couldn’t go through with it; so, I left. I’m so sorry.”

 You weren’t quite sure if you were apologizing to him or yourself. This was something you didn’t want, at least not right now, or at least that’s what you always thought. Now, you didn’t know what you wanted anymore. You took a deep breath, composing yourself. “I booked a flight once I got home. I couldn’t tell you this over the phone or text. You deserved to hear it in person.”

 “Thank you for that.”

 You slipped your hands out of his, distancing yourself from him for this next part, but also pulling out the envelope you brought. “I’m going to keep the baby.” As if that part wasn’t obvious, but you somehow felt it needed to be said. “I had Aaron draw up some papers. They absolve you from any obligations to the child both financially and emotionally. All you have to do is sign them. You won’t even have to be listed on the birth certificate.” He took the envelope from your hands, glancing briefly at the contents inside. “I’m sure you’ll want to have your lawyer look it over.”

 Jacob didn’t know what to think. Ten minutes ago, he was wondering if you were ever going to speak to him again and now you were telling him you were having his child. A child you apparently didn’t want him to be a part of. But did he even want a baby? He certainly hadn’t wanted a wife, yet here he was still married to you. He should come clean right now and tell you that he hadn’t signed the papers yet. That some indescribable feeling had taken over him, and he wasn’t entirely sure he wanted to sign them anymore. And now, well, now he felt like he shouldn’t sign them. Maybe this was all some force in the universe steering his life in a different direction; a route he hadn’t planned on taking until later, yet here he was on it. “And what if I don’t want to sign them?”

 Well, that certainly wasn’t what you thought he’d say. You didn’t think this was something either of you wanted, but you couldn’t be certain. It wasn’t like the two of you had had this long talk about where you saw your life in five years. Hell, this wasn’t where you saw your life in five months, but here you were, on the verge of being divorced with a baby on the way. “Well, I guess we’ll need to figure things out then.”

 Jacob got up and started to wander around the living room. You weren’t sure if he was trying to decide whether or not he wanted to sign the papers or how he was going to be part of his child’s life. “Do you want a drink or something? I need a drink. Oh shit, you can’t drink, can you?”

 “It’s not advised, but please don’t let that stop you. Though if you have a water that would be great.” He headed towards the kitchen, which gave you a chance to just breathe. The hardest part was telling him, all the rest you’d figure out. He was back quicker than you expected, a bottle of water in each hand. He handed one over to you and sat back down beside you. “You know, you can think about this if you want. You don’t have to sign or not sign them right now.”

 He nodded and pursued his lips before answering, though not how you expected. “How long are you here for?”

 “A few days. There’s a movie being filmed not far from here. I offered to drop off some of the specs for the campaign, as long as I was here, but it also gives you some time to make a decision.”

 “I already have. I want to be in our baby’s life.” You don’t know why but it felt like a thousand pounds had been lifted off your chest. It was nice to know that you weren’t in this alone. “But there’s a lot to figure out.”

 “Yes, there is.”

 “(Y/N), this is going to sound crazy, but I want you to move here.”

 Pregnancy did weird things to the body and maybe your hearing things was one of them because you were pretty sure Jacob had just said he wanted you to move to Vancouver. “I’m sorry, you want me to move here, as in Vancouver?”

 “Well, yeah but I want you to move in here, like in my house.”

 He seemed dead serious and you weren’t sure how to take his suggestion or him at the moment. “But my life and my home are in LA. That’s where my job is.” Couldn’t he see that?

 “I know, but moving here just makes sense. I’ll be able to help you then, not just after the baby is born but before as well. I have plenty of room in this house. There are three spare bedrooms; we can turn one into a nursery for the baby.”

 How could go from finding out you were pregnant to a full out plan of attack in less than a half-hour? God, it took you a day to wrap your head around it when you found out and then another to make the decision about the abortion, and even then you still didn’t figure out you wanted to keep the baby until you were sitting in the doctor’s office. Jacob seemed to be processing everything much better than you were.

 “I don’t know Jacob, just because we’re having this baby together doesn’t mean we have to live together.” Everything with Jacob was still in this weird transition phase like you went from being wildly attracted to each other, to being married, to getting a divorce, to now having a baby, and now he wanted you to live together under the same roof. You didn’t even know if the two of you would get along that great. Sure, the sex was amazing, well really better than amazing if that was even a thing, and you seemed to get along if your conversations over the last several weeks were any indication, but to live together; that could just be a whole other problem altogether.

 “Look I know it’s a lot to ask and believe me if I could, I’d be willing to move to LA. It’s not like I can just ask to be traded there though. But I don’t want you to have to do this on your own.” It was awfully sweet of him to want to be there for you, and not just the baby. You’d just assumed that he’d want to see the baby on some weekends and maybe an extended time during the summer when he was off. “You don’t realize this yet, but there’s going to be a whole hockey family here for you. That’s just the way it is in this sport.” He grasped your hands then, the gesture one pleading in and of itself for you to see his side of things. “We can do this (Y/N), together.”

 Together, it sounded so nice. You knew that if he had decided to sign the papers that being a single mom was going to be tough, but now knowing that he wanted to be there every step of the way eased some of the burden you felt. It was just hard to think about giving up the life you’d built for yourself in LA. You were already giving up so much as it was. “I get what you’re asking, I really do. I just…it’s a lot.” His thumb started to run back and forth across your knuckles, softly urging you to his side without him even knowing it. “Can I think about it?”

 “Of course.”

 “I mean we don’t have to decide everything tonight.”

 “No, we don’t.” He smiled at you. The same one he gave you when you’d been in Vegas. It gave you butterflies in your stomach back then as it did now. “How are you feeling?”

 “Pretty good, I get a little queasy now and then; mostly when I’m hungry. I’ve learned to carry crackers with me everywhere.”

 “Well, I could make you something or we could order.” The fact that he even offered scored points in your book and was definitely a check on his side of the box for moving to Vancouver, and you were kind of hungry.

 “I mean, I haven’t really eaten.” He gave you a disapproving stare and you felt the need to justify why you hadn’t. “I was too nervous before.”

 “Well, then let’s get you something to eat.” Jacob led you out to the kitchen, where he took out some chicken along with some vegetables to stick in the oven. The two of you worked side by side getting dinner ready. You were midway chopping up some zucchini when Jacob brought the baby back up again. “You mentioned something about the heartbeat. Were you able to hear it?”

 “I have to schedule an ultrasound when I get back but they said that I should be able to.”

 “Mmm.” You weren’t exactly sure what that little hum meant. Was that a good hum, or a bad one? You stayed silent waiting for him to say more. “Do you think you could record it for me?”

 Why did your heart just flutter when he asked that? Was it because he wanted to hear the baby or was it because you were realizing how much he would be missing when you went back to LA? “I will,” you finally told him, but then had an even better idea. “Though you know, I’m here for four more days. Maybe we could find a doctor that would be able to do it while I’m here.”

 His face lit up, like a little boy on Christmas morning. “You would do that?”

 “Yeah. If we can find a doctor to squeeze us in.”

 “I’ll take care of it.” He pulled out his phone, you weren’t sure if he was searching for gynecologists or texting someone, either way, it was adorable how he just jumped in at the first mention of being a part of this whole pregnancy. Again, he was showing you just how nice it would be to share this with him. Ten minutes later he had an appointment all set for you in two days.

 During dinner you talked about how you had found out you were pregnant, telling him the story of how Kennedy was the one to point out your nausea wasn’t normal and that you should take a pregnancy test. She was the only one that knew you were pregnant. You swore her to secrecy, hoping that she wouldn’t spill the beans this time like she had about a certain movie star. Surprisingly, he wanted to know everything, though there wasn’t too much to tell. By the time you got the mess cleaned up from dinner, you were starting to feel the weariness of the day.

 “I think I’m going to head over to the hotel. I still need to check in. Hopefully, I’ll be able to sleep better tonight, now that you finally know.”

 “Stay.” The word fell out of Jacob’s mouth in almost an authoritative manner, which belied the puppy dog look on his face. He cleared his throat and tried again. “I mean you could stay here if you wanted. Sort of like a tryout or something.”

 “You mean trial run?” Leave it to his athletic side to call it a tryout. It made you laugh.

 “Yeah. We could just take the next few days and see how we do together.” It wasn’t a bad idea. “You call and cancel the hotel and I’ll go grab your bag from the car.” He was halfway to the door before you actually agreed.

 As Jacob went outside, he contemplated with himself as to where he should put your things. Did he just bring your luggage to his room or should he give you one of the spare rooms? Despite the fact you were carrying his child, his body still wanted you as much, if not more, than when you were in Vegas. He just wasn’t sure where you saw things going.

 You were just hanging up the phone when he walked back into the house and unbeknownst to him, you were wondering the same thing. However, your head kept telling you that if the two of you were going to make this work, you needed to keep things out of the bedroom, at least for now. Jacob must have had the same thought as you, for when he came in, he said, “Here, I’ll show you where the spare bedroom is.” The room was spacious but again, it wasn’t that homey, and occurred to you that if you decided to live here, you’d definitely need to make some changes. “Did you maybe wanna watch a movie or something, or are you tired?”

 You could see he was struggling in this unchartered territory as much as you were, and while you were exhausted; you still wanted to spend time with him, to see if moving to Vancouver was even an option. “I’d love to watch a movie. Do you mind if I change first?”

 “No, not at all.” He fidgeted with the back of his neck a bit, before turning to leave. “I’ll meet you back downstairs.”

 You really wanted to take a hot shower and crawl into bed, but instead, you opted for just washing up quickly and slipping on a pair of pajamas you’d brought. It was still warm in LA, though the nights were a bit cooler. All you brought to sleep in were a couple pairs of shorts and some comfy t-shirts, thinking that you’d be in a hotel room by yourself. Now, you were wishing that you’d thought about it a little more and packed something a little warmer, if not more modest. Why you cared, you weren’t sure, considering this man had seen you completely naked several times.

 Jacob had changed into some sweats by the time you got downstairs. He had bottles of water for you both along with a pack of crackers laying on the coffee table, and you had to admit your heart melted a little bit when you saw that. “So, what kind of movies do you like? I remember you saying no horror.”

 “We don’t have to watch a movie. I know the Bruins are playing tonight and that you play them tomorrow. Why don’t you just turn the game on?” He looked surprised that you knew his schedule, but you did a deep dive finding out as much information as you could once you found out you were pregnant. He was going to be the baby's father, even if he would've decided not to be in your child's life, though now that he decided he wanted to be, the information was even more useful.

 “Are you sure?” You nodded giving him the go-ahead to watch his opponents’ play. “Speaking of that, would you be interested in going to the game? I mean I know someone who could get you a ticket on short notice?” He looked so adorable when he asked you couldn’t tell him no.

 “I’d love to.” You’d watched very few hockey games live, though ever since Las Vegas, you’d been following the Canucks, well, more like Jacob. It would be fun to see him in action.

 “Great, I can leave you a ticket or have Erik’s fiancé come and take you. You’ll love her.”

 Jacob really wanted you to jump in with both feet, didn’t he? You weren’t quite sure if you were ready to meet all his friends and teammates, but you supposed that if you moved here this would be a part of your life. “If she wouldn’t mind that would be great.”

 “I’ll text him now.”

 “Jacob,” you stopped him, just by saying his name. “Can we keep the baby our secret for now? I know Kennedy knows and I don’t expect you to keep it to yourself, but I don’t want to broadcast it either. At least until we know what we’re doing.”

 He took your hand in his, the gesture reassuring. “Yeah (Y/N), we can do that.”

 It wasn’t long before your attire got the best of you and you found yourself tucking your feet underneath you on the couch trying to keep them warm. You thought that Jacob was fully absorbed in the game, but he caught the subtle movement. “Are you cold?”

 “A little.”

 He scooted your closer to him, his large frame wrapping around yours. You weren’t sure if it was his body heat or him just holding you, but it was definitely warmer in seconds, though Jacob still covered you with a throw blanket that was on the couch. “Better?”

 “Much.” It wasn’t long before you found yourself dozing off. The stress of the day and travel wearing on you. Your head fell softly against his shoulder and you sighed in contentment.

 Jacob felt your body relax against him and he savored the feel of it. He’d honestly missed this closeness to another person in a completely non-sexual way and having you in his arms just felt right. He should’ve been paying attention to the game, scouting out his opponents but instead all he could do was watch you, even before you fell asleep. His fingers were idly stroking your bare arm under the blanket, slowly inching their way down to your wrist. He didn’t realize they’d made their way to your midsection until they were there; just lightly caressing you, scared he would wake you, but he had to touch you there. He’d been dying to all night but been afraid to ask as if it was almost an invasion of your privacy even though you were carrying his child. His child. The thought both terrified him and thrilled him. Jacob always wanted kids; knew that someday he would have them. He just didn’t think it would be this soon. He always assumed that he’d start his family after hockey was over, but here he was with a wife and child on the way. It was something he hadn’t bargained for and never saw coming. Apparently, what happened in Vegas was a lot more than he gambled on.

 taglist: @iculyrea​  @fiveholegoal​  @raysofcrosby @leafs-lover​ @sexysidney87​ @lovethepreds​  @miranda0102​  @stbluesbrat21  @perrieeloise  @mandypants95​  @hockeyunits​  @liz96893  @golfergirl1982​  @princessphilly​  @ajstylesworld​  @zinka8  @dontworrybeekappy​  @hiimana  @meishaabae​ @heatherawoowoo @beauvibaby @hockeybabe87 @leafs-forever

.

[giorno-plays-piano]

Not good enough

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader

Warnings: yandere, obsession, implied stalking and kidnapping, kinda home invasion, reader is struggling with anxiety.

Words: 2055.

Summary: The stranger you had been texting for a few months is worried about you not taking care of yourself.

P.S. Yes, some more soft!dark!Steve because I need it 😣

__________________

“Tell me you love me.” 

Rubbing your eyes and trying to wake up, you stared at the screen of your cellphone, reading the message Cap sent you at 3 am. You hadn’t heard from him during last two weeks, but you knew it had something to do with his job, as always. Even if it wasn’t though, it was none of your business. He was just a stranger you had been texting for the last few months.

“Good morning, Captain.”

You hit the send button and sat in bed, yawning and stretching. You still felt exhausted, but mornings were always much better than evenings. Then you typed one more message, thinking whether the man (you supposed he was a man) had time to sleep tonight.

“I love you.”

Watching the three dots appearing on the screen, you realized he probably had insomnia or was forced to go to work despite returning late. You smiled, waiting for his reply before finally leaving your bed and absentmindedly dropping your phone on the desk when you headed to the shower. When you returned with a big white towel wrapped around you, you saw three more messages - Captain wasn’t really patient, but you couldn’t blame him for that.

“I love you too, little star.”

“How have you been doing? Are you taking good care of yourself?”

“I missed you.”

Your lips curled in a smile when you read all his messages. No, you weren’t taking good care of yourself, but you could do little about it. Your anxiety and panic attacks were still making your life pretty difficult. Well, not that Captain needed to know about it, considering he probably had a handful of his own problems just like everybody else.

You didn’t reply him right away, getting dressed first and applying some makeup before heading to the kitchen with a phone in your hand. Despite being hungry, you didn’t have strength to cook something, so you simply cracked two eggs into pan and turned the stove on, proceeding to make yourself some coffee after that. You were still proud you started eating any breakfast at all.

As you finally settled, a plate with fried eggs in front of you, your phone buzzed again.

“Please send me photo of your breakfast, honey.”

You laughed at that but did as he asked you before proceeding to eat. A part of you was happy at least someone still cared. Sure, sometimes Cap could be a bit weird and maybe even controlling, but he was the only one who wanted to see what you ate, not your naked boobs or ass. This was probably one of the reasons why you still kept in touch with him after all those months.

“No fruits or vegetables? This is not good. Your doctor wanted you to eat better.”

True, you thought, sipping your coffee. You couldn’t tell Cap you just had no strength to go shopping because he definitely wouldn’t like it. You simply needed to get yourself together and order delivery this evening after returning from work.

“I’m sorry, Captain. I’ll try to do better.” You sent him after finishing the plate.

“Are you alright, little star?”

No, you weren’t. But he didn’t need to know that.

“I am, thank you. I hope you are alright, too.”

With that you left your empty plate and cup in the sink, heading to the hallway and grabbing you bag before leaving for work. With or without Captain, it was just one more useless day you had to get through.

The office was busy with people making thousand phone calls, talking to each other about that new marketing campaign or a contract with an advertisement agency or what they brought today for lunch. This constant noise didn’t bother you anymore as you sat at your desk and put on your headphones - you didn’t have to deal with people as your job was to finish that damn sales report you’d been struggling yesterday and the day before. If only your boss was willing to buy a better software, you’d be done in a matter of two hours the most, but the man was the cheapest cheapskate you had ever met. 

Well, you were grateful to have a job, anyway.

“Are you taking your meds?” Cap probably had the day off today as he kept messaging you again.

“I do. Thank you for asking.”

He was really lucky he didn’t need any, though, of course, you didn’t know whether he lied or not. You knew well some people weren’t comfortable talking about such private things. Actually, you weren’t either, but Cap had somehow gotten pretty close to you comparing to all those strangers you were talking on the web from time to time. You knew you had no reason to trust him, yet again he had no reason to gain anything from it. You were no one. You had no money, no valuable possessions, no network, nothing special at all. You were just one more no one.

In fact, Cap was the only one generally interested in you and your wellbeing, and it was the one and only reason you kept messaging him despite his long absences. You suspected he had some kind of a hero complex because you had no other explanation whatsoever. 

“Thank you for everything, Captain. I really missed you.”

“I’m glad you did, little star.”

With that you hid your phone in your bag and tried concentrating on those endless numbers in Excel columns. Your eyes were already hurting from just a quick look on the report.

By the end of the day you were totally drained again, barely having strength to take a ride home. Did you promise yourself to order food from the nearest store? Nope, not today. You thought you couldn’t even lift your finger when you threw your bag to the floor along with your shoes and went to lay on the couch, not even taking off your clothes. It felt like you ran a marathon - despite the fact you weren’t doing any sports for at least a year, your body failing to engage in whatever activity but just get you moving from one place to the other.

Captain once mentioned he needed to be in a pretty good form to keep doing his job, and you were a bit jealous. You really wanted to be able to just wake up and not feel like you were working the whole night, so remembering him talking about jogging in the morning was making you jealous. Why couldn’t you have what he had? 

“I feel like you’re not completely honest with me, honey.”

You barely smiled, looking at your phone. Cap was always so perceptive.

“I’m sorry. I’m not good, but I’m trying my best.”

“I know you do. Can I help you? Do you need money?”

Huffing, you rubbed your nose. It wasn’t the first time he offered to help you, though you had never accepted this kind of help. You felt like it would make you obliged to him, and you wanted none of that. 

“No, thank you, Captain. You’re too nice, you know? I’m worried someone will eventually take advantage of you.”

“I promise to be careful.”

Laughing, you got up and went to your room: you never knew whether he was joking or dead serious. Captain admitted once he just didn’t get how to use emojis. Thinking of him writing something like “I’m too old for all this”, you burst out laughing again.

“Are you sure I can’t help?”

“Yes, thank you. You’re already helping me. Sometimes I don’t even know why you keep doing it since I’m not the most responsive person on the Internet.”

“Because I love you.”

Dropping your phone to the bed, you just pushed your face into your pillow. You wished he was serious, but your knew he wasn’t. Anyway, who would? He had never even seen or met you. Only teenagers believed they could truly love some strange dude they’d been talking to on Twitter.

You wished there was someone, anyone, who would be by your side. Maybe then it would be easier to go through all this and finally recover. However, you couldn’t be sure Captain was as good as you pictured him. It could be all a lie.

Forgetting to take your meds again, you drifted off to sleep still wearing your suit. It was only 7 pm, and you were so tired as if you were carrying rocks on your back the whole day. 

Nonetheless, you weren’t given time to sleep properly - in an hour you woke up from your door chime ringing and hurried so much you almost fell of your bed. Damn. Who could it be? You didn’t remember inviting anyone. Hell, you didn’t even have anyone who would want to visit you now. 

Forgetting about how you looked in your wrinkled suit and blouse, you ran to the door, opening it without even checking who had come. It must have been a mistake, you thought. Or could it be your neighbor who came to talk to you about something?

But it wasn’t an elderly man who lived in the apartment next to yours. It was someone else. Someone you only saw on TV and a few promotional posters you stumbled upon in the subway.

“Hello.”

Steve Rogers smiled at you as you struggled to understand whether you were still sleeping or awake. Steve Rogers? Captain America? At you door? Oh, you should have taken your meds.

Staring at him with your mouth half open, you couldn’t utter a single word. It just didn’t feel real, you thought when he watched you with such kind expression it could make you cry. Why was he here? What for? Looking at him glowing with a euphoric grin on his face, you suddenly realized you were still dressed in that suit, and your makeup was probably smeared by now. Damn, what a great coincidence.

“Why are you looking at me like that, little star?” The man asked joyfully, entering your apartment and almost pushing you away, a big grocery bag in his hand. “Are you alright?”

Little star. It was a username you had when you started texting Cap a few months ago. You had changed it multiple times after that, but he always called you that, saying it really suited you. But how did Steve Rogers know about that, and, more importantly, why would he need to know that?

Cap. Captain. Captain America.

Oh shit.

“It can’t be.” You muttered, gripping your phone in your hand. “This just can’t be happening.”

Watching the man smiling at you, you felt nauseated and starting slowly losing control over your body, sliding onto the floor. Captain left the bag full of fruits and veggies immediately to help you to stay on your feet and guide you to the couch. Feeling his strong muscular arms holding you carefully, you started chewing your lips: apparently, Steve Rogers standing in the middle of your living room was real, and your meds weren’t at fault.

“You’re making me worried.” The man said as he helped you lay down on the couch and loomed over you, watching your face. “I see you’re not taking care of yourself at all. Do you want a glass of water? Do I need to call the doctor?”

You shook your head, staring at the hero intently while he bowed lower, touching your forehead with his lips.

“No fever, that’s good.” He mumbled and made you open your eye wide, then got back a little, giving you space. “I know you’re not talking your medication properly. Little star, this is no good.”

“How did you find me?’ You whispered, rubbing your eyes and smearing what was left your makeup completely.

Steve smiled. “It’s not as hard as you think, but you shouldn’t worry about it. I hope you are sorry for lying to me all this time.”

“W-what?”

“I see you can’t look after yourself like you should. Don’t worry, I’m not mad. I know it’s very hard for you, so I’ll be taking care of you instead. Give me just a minute to gather your belongings, dear.”

With that he smiled again and disappeared in your room as you stared at the ceiling in horror.

You certainly should have taken your meds.

_____________________

Tags: @finleyjayne​​​ @alexakeyloveloki​​​   @helenaeisenhower​​​ @villanellevi​​​ @hurricanerin​​​ @void-hoechlin​​​ @abyssaint​​​ @heeeyitskay​​ @chris-evans-indian-fanfic​​​ @navegandoaciegas​​​ @rosalynshields​​​ @brattycherubwrites​​​ @sllooney​​​ @angrythingstarlight​​​ @lovelydarkdaydream​​​ @soleil-dor​​​ @lookiamtrying​​ @buckysbunny​​ @stargazingfangirl18​​

[xwing-baby]

Impulse: The Beginning (Javier Peña x Reader)

Summary: Top of your class, the DEA have sent you to Colombia to be the poster child for their new ‘placement program’. You’re thrown in at the deep end into the drug war. With Agent Peña as your mentor, what could possibly go wrong? 

Warnings: Nothing much! Mentions of misogyny/sexism, tobacco and alcohol use, show level violence, swearing 

Word Count: 3.8k

A/N: BACK TO THE BEGINNING LADS LETS SEE WHERE THIS SHIT SHOW STARTED 

*Spanish translation at the end of the fic*

Have you read Part 1 yet? // Masterlist // Next Chapter -->

---

As one of only a few female agents in the DEA academy at the time, you had fought tooth and nail for your place from day one. Most of the men in your class thought you were useless and had campaigned on multiple occasions to get you taken out of the academy. This was mostly due to your success. You were a great agent already and were itching to get into some real action.

When the agency announced that they would be sending a couple of the highest achieving students from the graduating class out on a new placement program, you knew it was your chance. Incredibly, before you even got a chance to apply you were pulled aside by a professor and told you’d be selected. You were going to Colombia.

The fight in South America was all anyone spoke about. The tonnes they were hauling out was unmatched, it made Miami look like a small fry. A chance to go down there and help, maybe even take down some Narcos yourself, was one everyone dreamed of. Colombia alone had two of the biggest players, Pablo Escobar, and The Cali Cartel. Placement in that country would no doubt be the best learning experience you could ever get! Who knows, maybe you would be the one to catch Escobar!

It took a little convincing to your parents to let you go. They’d seen the news; they knew how dangerous it was and weren’t too keen on you going. Eventually, after a meeting with your coordinator they were convinced, you packed a bag and you flew down to Bogotá.

You were picked up at the airport and driven to the American embassy in the city to meet your mentor Agent Javier Peña. You hadn’t been told much about him other than he was from Texas and had been in Colombia for a while. Not a lot to go off. In your head you imagined some old cowboy, grumpy and hardened by the horrors of the world he had seen. He wouldn’t believe you when you appeared, would probably ask to have you removed immediately. You sighed, already resigning yourself to hate the man you were now forced to spend the next year with.

Your escort took you through the embassy, to the DEA’s office and promptly abandoned you at the door without another word. This was it. You pushed open the door and were instantly greeted by a cheery woman’s voice from behind a desk. Denise, according to her name plate, was filing her nails when you approached. She set the file down and smiled sweetly.

“Hey there, darling! What can I do for you?” Her voice had a strong southern twang to it, a quintessential southern belle with curled blonde hair and bright blue eyes.

“Hi, I’m here to see... Agent Peña,” You looked at that note in your hand to check you had the right person.

“‘Course sweetie, what’s your name?” She asked. You gave her your name and she told you to sit down in a seat opposite her desk for a moment while she called him. “So, you’re working with Peña?” She asked when she put the phone down again.

“Yeah,” You nodded, “What’s he like? I don’t really know what to expect,”

Denise giggled, “You’re certainly in for a treat darlin’. He’s something else,” You turned when her eyes watched someone through the window, “But I’m warning you now, don’t flirt with him,”

“I’m not-,” Your jaw dropped when the man in question walked past the window. Denise giggled, “Jesus Christ,” You muttered. He certainly was not the old man you had expected at all. He entered the room and you quickly shut your dropped jaw.

“Javier! Nice to see you,” Denise smiled at the man. You were shocked. Javier Peña was older, yes, but he was incredibly handsome. Tall, dark hair with dark eyes to match. He had a blue shirt on, unbuttoned just one too far. In such a professional environment it almost looked obscene. He smiled and your heart flipped.

“Denise,” Javier smiled charmingly at the assistant before turning to you, “who’s your friend?” Denise introduced you, “You’re the new kid?” He asked briefly looking you up and down, he shook your hand. Still a little dazed you smiled and nodded. “Quiet huh?”

“Sorry, uh it’s nice to meet you,” You pulled yourself out of your head, stumbling over your words as your brain caught up with what was actually going on.

“Let me show you round,” Javier chuckled, “I’ll see you later Denise,”

“See ya Javi,” She waved as you followed Agent Peña out of the office and down a new corridor.

“She’s cute. Is she your girlfriend?” You asked. Javier turned to you and shook his head.

“Never seen her before,” He smirked. You were glad he was walking ahead of you, as your jaw dropped. If he was like that with someone he had never met, what in hell was he like he was someone he liked?!

Javier took you around the office, showing the different places and meeting different people you would need to know. It seemed most people were exasperated by Javier; he was cocky and liked to get a rise out of people. He obviously didn’t really care for the bureaucracy of the job, much more an action guy than a paperwork guy. Despite your track record with these types previously, you got on well with Javier. He was easy to talk to and his confidence wasn’t arrogant.

You followed him around from room to room, making small talk about where you were from, how you’d been enjoying the academy and such. All the while you were trying to remember where everything was but ultimately failing. The place was a maze. Eventually you came to a small office tucked away in the corner of the building.

“And this, is where we live!” Javier said as he opened the room. The room was small, barely enough room for the two desks and row of cabinets inside. Behind one desk, engrossed in a manila file was a blonde man. He looked up when you entered, giving Javier a questioning look, “This is the Rookie,”

“Y/n,” You added. You were pretty sure he had forgotten your name, introducing you as Rookie to the last three people you had met.

“That's what I meant to say,” He replied, waving you off.

“Nice to meet you Rookie,” The blonde man grinned and chuckled, “Steve Murphy,”

“Nice to meet you sir,” You reached over the messy desk and shook his hand.

“Sir? I could get used to that! Bit of respect round here would be nice,” Steve laughed. “Steve will work just fine,”

“Or pendejo, he does respond to that too,” Javier added.

“Real funny Peña,” Steve snapped back. You chuckled. You stood in the doorway for a moment, watching as Javier chaotically cleared a space for you at his desk by moving a pile of paper from one surface to another.

“We’re moving out of here soon,” He explained, you nodded. He offered a chair, and a cigarette. You took both. “Did you have any trouble at the airport?” Javier asked. You shook your head.

“Nope. Bat my eyelashes and they don’t seem to worry,” You laughed to yourself. Javier raised an eyebrow.

“You get a lot of things done that way?” He asked. Your smile dropped quickly.

“No. I got here on credit, didn’t fuck my way to the top of that’s what your asking Agent Peña,” You said seriously, “Get that straight now. I’m just as good as any man, in fact I’m better. I don’t deal well with sexist assholes,”

“Out of line, I got it,” He threw his hands up in defence, leaning back on his chair. You turned to Murphy, who shrugged.

“All good,”

“Good,” you confirmed, “I don’t want you to think I’m rude, I just have to make it clear,”

“Crystal,”

The rest of the day was a blur, shipped about from one office to another getting badges and meeting important people. You were exhausted. Despite the copious amounts of coffee, you consumed, you had to force your eyes to stay open during the car ride home with Javier. You had been awake for more than twenty-four hours and added to the stress of a new job; you were ready to crash.

You said thanks to your mentor and dragged yourself up the stairs to your own apartment. You had only been inside your apartment briefly to drop off your bag earlier in the day. You could barely remember what it looked like.

The apartment was small and dark. There was a good-sized living room with a lumpy looking couch and a tv set. A small kitchen sat next to the entry door, separated by a half to the living room. Three doors came off the living room walls, one to a small closet, one to a tiny pink tiled bathroom and the last to a bedroom. The bedroom had a large window looking out over the street and the city beyond. There was a dresser with handles that were falling off and a double bed. The covers were old, and the colour had faded, the whole structure creaked when you sat down. The whole apartment seemed faded and old, but it would do.

You lay down, fully clothed, and smiled up at the ceiling. You had made it. You had done it! You were in Colombia, working for the DEA fighting Pablo freaking Escobar! You had succeeded beyond anyone’s expectation and you were excited to prove everyone who had ever doubted you wrong.

--

You hit the ground running the next day. Between moving the office to a new location, learning the ropes of the job, and catching up on ongoing investigations you felt like you never stopped. You had been home only to sleep for a few hours. You’d change your outfit, shower, and head straight back to work. You had quickly learnt that Javier was not going to be what you imagined your mentor would be, he was much more of ‘do as I say not as I do’ kind of teacher. In one week, you had already seen things that would have you kicked out of the academy if you were caught doing it. You had realised this experience would be much more of an experience to reflect on later than learn any real textbook things from day to day.

Friday was here. You knew you could get at least a few hours rest tomorrow, hoping that you wouldn’t be called in. You’d steadily been making your way through case notes, trying to make some sort of system so the immense amount of information through your desk wouldn’t get lost. You hadn’t noticed Steve and Javier call you, until Javier tapped on the desk next to you. You looked up.

“Rookie! Come on,” He motioned over to Steve who was waiting at the door, Kevlar vest in hand. You were going out on a raid!

“Seriously?” Your eyes lit up and you jumped up. You rushed to get your gun from the draw and raced after the two agents. Finally, you were getting to see some action. You were itching with excitement to finally be able to go into the field. All your training was leading up to this! A moment which for most agents didn’t happen for years! You ran to the courtyard and jumped into the backseat Javier’s truck

Javier fiddled with a radio on the dash until audible orders could be heard, barked through the walkie-talkie giving the plan for the raid. It was the house of a known sicario, not a big player in the grand scheme of things but they would have valuable information. 

“When we get out there, you’re staying in here, got it?” Javier said once the orders were given.

“I don’t want to be left on the side-lines and watch! How am I meant to learn anything sitting in a truck?”

“You can stand outside the truck,” Javi offered. You

“Come on!” You begged, “Steve?”

“It’s not my call, Rookie,” Steve shrugged. You sighed.

“So, I’m meant to stand around and watch you have all the fun?”

“Quit whining,” Peña replied, glancing at you in the rear-view mirror. You frowned and settled back in your seat, your excitement dying a little.

After a few minutes of driving through the city, the convoy stopped outside a large house on the corner of a street. Javier parked and the two men jumped out of the vehicle slipping on their vests as they did. You took a deep breath, calming yourself, before stepping outside to join them.

Men started piling out of the cars and taking their places cordoning off the area. Steve was the first to get stuck in, immediately walking over to the man you assumed was in charge. You followed him, just to hear how raids were set up. Not so you could get involved, of course.

“Where are you going?” Javier asked as you walked past him.

“With Steve?” You replied cautiously, motioning over to the blonde a few paces ahead. Javi raised a brow.

“Rookie…” He warned.

“Javier…?” You replied in the same tone, as if you didn’t know exactly what he was going to say.

“Stay,” He said firmly, holding his hand up like a command given to a dog. You frowned.

“I’m not a dog,” You argued, Javi grinned and patted you on the head.

“Good girl,” You scowled at him, making him laugh again before he walked away to join his partner.

“Jerk,” You called after him. You complied, reluctantly, leaning back on the hood of the truck and watching from afar. You knew that it was a dangerous situation and you didn’t have much experience yet; you weren’t going to be seeing any up-close action for a while. It was for your own safety and everyone else's.

But it was boring.

After a short while of preparations and what seemed a lot like just milling about. The team entered the building. Those who were left outside visibly relaxed. Now any superior officers had gone out of sight, the soldiers huddled in groups chatting amongst themselves keeping one eye on their post but mostly watching you.

None of them spoke to you, but you could hear them. They assumed you didn’t speak Spanish, like Steve, so spoke without a filter whilst within earshot. How attractive they thought you were, wondering about how you got your role and whether you’d show them how you got it if they got you drunk. It was disgusting, but not new. Men are the same world over, it seemed.

You leant against the hood of the truck and turned your attention to the matter at hand. You weren’t here to make friends after all. You were here to learn, here to work. If you couldn’t follow into the raid you could learn as much as you could from the outside.

Gunfire and shouting erupted from the building suddenly, making you jump in surprise. Nobody else seemed to take any notice, barely looking up. You watched intently following shadows in the windows. Then, out the corner of your eye you saw a man race from the building. You looked over at the men, still stood around, and back to the man from the building who had started to slow down, and nobody was chasing him. They didn’t see anything. This was your chance. Before anyone could stop you, you ran down the street after the escapee.

He spotted you instantly and began to run faster down the hill and around a corner. You kept up well until the corner revealed a large crowd of people between shops. Market stalls lined the streets and your target disappeared in the blink of an eye. You followed into the people, making sure to keep your gun down to avoid mass panic. You didn’t need more of a scene to let the guy escape

You skidded to a halt and looked around, immediately overwhelmed by the amount of people and directions the man could have gone. You walked to the middle of the intersection and looked left, nothing unusual, right, nothing. Your heart hammered into your ribcage as you tried to collect yourself. It was hard to concentrate under the sun. He couldn’t have gone far, you lost him for two seconds! Losing hope of a dramatic first arrest, you looked up another street, and couldn’t spot your target. You moved to slip your gun back into your holster until you turned and saw a man leant against a wall heaving for breath halfway back up the hill you had just run down. He thought he’d lost you.

You collected yourself with a slow breath and pursued the man again, this time slowly so you didn’t catch his attention. He hadn’t spotted you as you exited the crowd of the market and walked up the hill opposite side of the street, dipping your head so not to catch his eye. You reached for your gun, just ten feet away from him when he finally noticed and jumped up.

“Fuck!” You cursed out loud as you chased him once more. The steep hill made your legs burn, but unlike the man in your pursuit you could bare it. He was visibly flagging and by the time he reached the top of the hill he had given up and you had caught up.

You shoved him against the wall, keeping your gun to his back and leg round his to keep him still. Your heart was hammering in your chest, you laughed to yourself as the adrenaline swept you up.

“Te mataré,” The man spat at you, “puta,” You swiftly lifted your knee, kicking him in the balls making the man yelp.  Was it necessary? No. But it felt brilliant.

“Shut up,” You replied. You smugly smiled until you realised you were now stuck. You had no handcuffs so had no way to move him. You had not thought this through at all. You looked around and to your surprise you had just run around the block and ended up on a few feet from where your chase had begun.

You watched the raid exit the house, dragging a few men in cuffs with them. You spotted Murphy and Peña, who quickly noticed that you were gone. You watched them look for you for a minute before calling out. 

“Over here!” You called loud enough for the men to hear you. Murphy was the first to spot you and ran over quickly, with a few soldiers in tow.

“Thought we told you to stay by the truck,” He said.

“You missed one,” You replied. You removed yourself from your prisoner and stuck your gun back into the holster on your hip.

“Good job,” He praised you, clapping you on the back. “Bring him up,”

With handcuffs on, the two soldiers took the man into custody. You followed Steve back over to the trucks. You beamed with pride. You’re first ever arrest! You spotted Javier watching you as you approached, a smirk set on his lips and an eyebrow raised. Your pride wavered a little. Just as you got back to the truck, prepared to get berated by your mentor, a man in a green uniform stormed over to you. You dropped your smile quickly.

“Quien es ella?!” He asked, spitting out the words at Javier. “Porque esta ella aqui?” Despite him asking about you, the man never looked at you. His attitude immediately aggravated you and before Javier could open his mouth to reply you jumped in for him.

“Yo trabajo con Murphy y Peña,” You replied for him, a sarcastic smile on your face, driving home the point that you did understand what he was saying and that he couldn’t ignore you so blatantly.

“Carrillo this is Y/n L/n, Rookie this is Commander Carrillo,” Javier introduced you to Carrillo. Javier gave you a warning look, as if that was going to stop your temper. Carrillo looked you up and down then sneered.

“Eres un poco joven?” He turned to you. You scoffed.

“It’s a new placement programme the agency is trialling,” Peña jumped in again, “Don’t worry about it,”

“Oh, so my war is a place for you to test your kids huh?” Carrillo rolled his eyes, “Fucking gringos. I don’t want some girl here,” He waved you away, turning on his heel and walking away. You scoffed, anger taking over.

“Sir, with all due respect. Fuck you,” You called after him. Carrillo stopped walking, half turned back, shocked at the audacity of what you were saying, “If I wasn’t here that guy would have run off and it would have taken you another month to find him again. Personally, I think a thank you is in order,”

“Okay! In the truck, Rookie,” Steve finally stepped in, before Carrillo could reply. He grabbed you and pulled you out the way and back to the truck. Javier stood in the way of Carrillo, so he didn’t follow.

“What a jerk,” You grumbled as you slammed your door. You glowered in the backseat, watching Javier and Carrillo talk.

“About sums it up,” Murphy agreed.

“He looks pissed,” You commented as you watched Javier part with Carrillo and join you and Murphy ready to leave.

“He always looks like that,” Steve replied, making you chuckle. You were still nervous; you had completely stepped out of line saying that stuff to the commander. No doubt Javier was going to be just as mad. You picked at the loose thread on your shirt, staying quiet when Javier opened the door. “Good?” Steve asked.

“All good,” Javier replied as he shut the truck door. Steve started up the engine and pulled away from the scene.

“Seriously?” You were shocked.

“Oh no he hates you now, but he hated Steve for a while there too so don’t take it too personally,” Javier said, Steve chuckled. “You certainly know how to make a good first impression,”

“I’m not in trouble?”

“I’m a little worried you might be insane; I don’t think I would even say that shit to Carrillo!” Javier said, “But I will say you did a good job with that sicario so, I’ll buy you a drink to celebrate the occasion when we get back,”

Javier turned to look at you quickly, giving you a cheeky smirk. You grinned back. You’d done awesome today, a week into this placement and you’d already made an arrest. One bad guy off the street, all by yourself! You’d pissed off Carrillo, and while you were sure it would probably bite you in the ass further down the road, you had made an unforgettable impression and you couldn’t really bring yourself to care that he hated you.

That evening Javier kept his promise and brought you a drink at the bar after work. Sat with Murphy and Javier in a booth, listening as the two of them bickered like an old married couple, you couldn’t stop smiling.

“To Rookie!” Steve drunkenly called out, raising his beer up. “May you keep on ignoring orders and kicking ass!” You cackled with laughter and cheersed your teammates.

This was going to be a great year.

--

Next Chapter -->

See! I CAN be nice!!!

translations (as always i am learning PLEASE correct me if these are wrong!)

Te mataré - I will kill you 

puta - bitch

Quien es ella? - who is she

porque esta ella aqui? - why is she here?

yo trabajo con Murphy y Peña - i work with Murphy and Peña

eres un poco joven - aren’t you a little young?

Let me know if you want to be tagged in future parts!

tag list:  @beskar-tano @buckysbeloved @beskarbabs @all-hallows-evie @harrys-stan @themidnightsun-12 @wille-zarr @danniburgh @itsaisopodkillmepls​ @urbankaite2​ @whataloadofmalarkey​ @ahsofka​ @yeetus-my-feetus​ @sara-alonso​ @lesbianlena​ @xiao-lusi​ @all-good-things-have-an-ending​ @eternallyvenus​ @ajeff855 @mayangel19​ @1950schick

[blue-mood-blue]

Maybe they were all just haunted by the footage of Hyperion.

It was exceedingly normal, and not. The people looked happy, and blank. The news stations still showed the outdated footage of mindless, sudden attacks, of reasonable voices calling out reasonable appeals to the better half of human nature, but what was worse was when they showed recent footage. It was a city alive and happy so abruptly that it set everyone on edge. There were still normal, flawed people in there, somewhere. Hiding.

Juno was still in there. Nureyev hadn’t seen him yet. He’d stopped looking, not sure he’d like what he’d see.

They took turns staying up in case Rita needed them. It was always just to talk, and Nureyev thought that was probably the most important thing they were actually doing about this whole mess, keeping one person sane while she tried to escape a nightmare on her own. He liked talking to Rita, mostly about elaborate plots and tidbits of her own history that her surroundings reminded her of.

But even Rita couldn’t stay lighthearted forever, especially at night. The honesty of what was happening around her came out in pieces. The details poked through her words like little shards of glass, unexpected and biting, and Nureyev learned to handle those stories gingerly if he didn’t want to get cut.

Rita was not careful about where she put that glass. To be fair to her, she had no idea that her words were anything but.

The comms next to him beeped, and Nureyev put down the remote - turned to some awful home-renovation show, he’ll never understand why someone living on an ocean-covered planet needed a home pool - in favor of answering the call. “Anybody out there,” was Rita’s immediate response. It was joke and, secretly, it was a plea.

“Good evening, Rita. How is Hyperion treating you tonight?”

“Can’t complain, Mistah Ransom, except that I can and I’m gonna.” The annoyed huff made him chuckle. “I know all these people are still actually people underneath all that brainwashing they’ve got going on, and that means I should play nice and stay out of their way, but I’d sure like to give a few of them a good kick in the shin, let me tell you. Acting like I ain’t got no right to be out in public in broad daylight, the nerve -”

And then silence. Several long seconds of silence, and Nureyev could swear he heard his own heartbeat pick up. “Rita? Are you still there?”

There was a heavy sigh from the other end of the line, a held breath released. “I’m here. Thought someone was lookin’ in from a window or something but it’s just a leftover campaign poster.” Nureyev was about to make some kind of quip about the inevitability of politicians even in the middle of a citywide apocalypse when he was startled by the sound of paper tearing. And then tearing again, and again, in a slow and methodical way that could, in his mind, only mean careful and dedicated and shredding.

“Rita -”

“It’s fine, Mistah Ransom. Just givin’ someone’s face what it deserves.”

“The politician?”

“Mayor O’Flaherty.” There was a scuffling sound, and Nureyev could picture Rita kicking at paper scraps on the ground. “You ever heard one of his speeches? All about how he wants to clean things up, everything everyone wanted hear. Well he’s gone and made a pretty good mess of it now, hasn’t he? And him only in office for a few days, too.”

“Sounds like he’s going to have plenty of explaining to do.” Nureyev recognized the name from the news; reporters were a constant at city hall, and when city hall was too dangerous to stand outside of they were a constant over the phone lines. The answer was always the same: the mayor was not available to answer any questions about what was happening. “His office has done an excellent job of keeping him hidden so far, but that can only last so long.”

“He’s dead. Those people giving out excuses to everyone who asks, they just don’t know a nice way of sayin’ it yet.”

For a moment, Nureyev was certain he must have misheard her. If she’d decided to start talking conspiracy theories, there was none of her usual shift in tone from conversational to dramatic reveal. He opened his mouth to reply, and came up with nothing.

He hadn’t misheard anything, evidenced when Rita barreled ahead. “You’ll have to forgive me for sayin’ so, Mistah Ransom, but it’s not really any great loss. That man wasn’t any good, not for Hyperion and not for my boss.”

And suddenly he had nothing else to say, for a much different reason.

“Don’t know if you ever met my boss, Mistah Ransom - I guess just because he had a number to someone on the same ship doesn’t mean he knows everyone on the ship - but he’d been having a real rough go of it for a while. Got back from being missing for weeks with one less eye and stumbling around like something had been torn outta him -”

Nureyev didn’t want to hear this.

“But he’s tryin’ real hard, I think. Wanted to do something good, thought helping this O’Flaherty was how to do it, even let that guy put another eye in his head, you know? And for what?” She sighed. “Just a big mess of broken promises and a city full of brainwashing tech. I’d rip a dozen posters if I had ‘em.”

“Sounds like the ‘something good’ didn’t work out.” It was barely a murmur, and Nureyev didn’t want to hear this.

“The boss took that eye right back out the minute he got a chance, if that tells you anything. Same tech.”

He knew Juno well enough to connect those thoughts into a predictable whole. Nureyev wanted to be exasperated, to be angry - Juno Steel and his damn hero complex. Juno Steel, expendable for a good enough cause. Anger wasn’t the word for what he felt, though, and if it was there it was aimed at Ramses O’Flaherty.

Good thing O’Flaherty was already dead.

“Save a poster for me,” he finally said, voice barely louder than it had been a moment ago; he hoped Rita wouldn’t notice. “That sounds cathartic.”

[alexlacquemanne]

On this day in CM Punk History :

June 27th 2011

Monday Night Raw : Raw Roulette : CM Punk interrupted Shawn Michaels

Kane Def CM Punk by Count-Out live from Thomas & Mack Center, Las Vegas, Nevada

Pipebomb !

"John Cena, while you lay there, hopefully as uncomfortable as you possibly can be, I want you to listen to me. I want you to digest this because before I leave in 3 weeks with your WWE Championship, I have a lot of things I want to get off my chest.

I don’t hate you, John. I don’t even dislike you. I do like you. I like you a hell of a lot more than I like most people in the back.

I hate this idea that you’re the best. Because you’re not. I’m the best. I’m the best in the world. There’s one thing you’re better at than I am and that’s kissing Vince McMahon’s ass.

You’re as good as kissing Vince’s ass as Hulk Hogan was. I don’t know if you’re as good as Dwayne though. He’s a pretty good ass kisser. Always was and still is.

Whoops! I’m breaking the fourth wall!

I am the best wrestler in the world.

I’ve been the best ever since day one when I walked into this company. And I’ve been vilified and hated since that day, because Paul Heyman saw something in me that nobody else wanted to admit. That’s right, I’m a Paul Heyman guy. You know who else was a Paul Heyman guy? Brock Lesnar. And he split just like I’m splitting. But the biggest difference between me and Brock is I’m going to leave with the WWE Championship.

I’ve grabbed so many of Vincent K. McMahon’s brass rings that it’s finally dawned on me that they're just that, they’re completely imaginary. The only thing that’s real is me and the fact that day in and day out, for almost six years, I have proved to everybody in the world that I am the best on this microphone, in that ring, even in commentary! Nobody can touch me!

And yet no matter how many times I prove it, I’m not on your lovely little collector cups. I’m not on the cover of the program. I’m barely promoted. I don't get to be in movies. I’m certainly not on any crappy show on the USA Network. I’m not on the poster of WrestleMania. I’m not on the signature that’s produced at the start of the show. I’m not on Conan O’Brian. I’m not on Jimmy Fallon. But the fact of the matter is, I should be.

And trust me, this isn’t sour grapes. But the fact that Dwayne is in the main event at WrestleMania next year and I’m not makes me sick!

Oh hey, let me get something straight. Those of you who are cheering me right now, you are just as big a part of me leaving as anything else. Because you’re the ones who are sipping on those collector cups right now. You’re the ones that buy those programs that my face isn’t on the cover of. And then at five in the morning at the airport, you try to shove it in my face so you can get an autograph and try to sell it on eBay because you’re too lazy to go get a real job.

I’m leaving with the WWE Championship on July 17th. And hell, who knows, maybe I’ll go defend it in New Japan Pro Wrestling. Maybe…I’ll go back to Ring of Honor.

Hey, Colt Cabana, how you doing?

The reason I’m leaving is you people. Because after I’m gone, you’re still going to pour money into this company. I’m just a spoke on the wheel. The wheel is going to keep turning and I understand that. Vince McMahon is going to make money despite himself. He’s a millionaire who should be a billionaire. You know why he’s not a billionaire? Because he surrounds himself with glad-handed, nonsensical, douchebag yes men, like John Laurinaitis, who’s going to tell him everything he wants to hear, and I’d like to think that maybe this company will be better after Vince McMahon is dead. But the fact is, it’s going to be taken over by his idiotic daughter and his doofus son-in-law and the rest of his stupid family.

Let me tell you a personal story about Vince McMahon, alright? We do this whole bully campaign…

I've been silenced!"

[onetwosevensquad]

Dungeons and Dragons and... Love?: Dungeon Master

Mark Lee x Reader

Summary: the kind Dungeon Master who helps guide your team through your campaign also becomes your math tutor.

Warnings: none??

Rose: sorry this literally took forever to write. Hope your all still interested in this mini series. Next member is Renjun.

Main Masterlist

Series Masterlist

———

Why were you here again?

Oh right, cause you’re a giant nerd who needs an outlet.

The poster had caught your eye when you were headed to lunch one day. It was a beige poster with a 20 sided dice in the middle. That was what got your attention.

You had played Dungeons and Dragons with some of your friends before. It has been a few months since your last campaign and you didn’t know when the next one would start. So, in fear of not being able to escape to a fantasy world, you decided to check it out.

It was now 3:45 in the afternoon. School had ended 15 minutes ago, the hours ticking by slowly. You now stood outside of the AP Government classroom where Mr. Jung taught.

The poster, you remembered, said that Mr. Jung would oversee the club. He was your favorite teacher because he was funny and the class was enjoyable.

Finally, you slowly opened the door to the classroom and stepped in. In the middle of the room, a few desks had been pushed together to create a large table.

Sitting around the table were seven boys who were all staring at you. You awkwardly shifted your weight from one foot to the other, waiting for literally anyone to say something.

“Is this the d&d club?” You finally spoke.

“Y-yes,” the only boy who was standing said. You recognized him as Mark Lee. The cute, smart boy from calculus. “Yes, uh, grab a seat.”

You nodded and dragged a chair over to the only empty spot at the table. It was right next to Chenle, the loud basketball player you shared chemistry with.

“Well I’m pretty sure that we all know each other,” Mark said clearing his throat. “I’m not gonna make us do ice breakers cause literally no one likes those.”

“I do!” Haechan, the class clown that you also shared chemistry with.

“Only you,” Jeno, the star basketball player and probably the last person you expected here, commented. Haechan pouted and stuck his tongue out at Jeno.

“Anyway,” Mark said. “It’s my fist time DMing, but I have played before. Just so I know, who here has played before?”

You, along with Jisung, the quiet kid from history, Haechan, and Renjun, the kid from math who doesn’t do math but draws, raised your hands. Mark seemed to relax a bit when he saw there were at least a few experienced players.

“Well I guess this first meeting will be going over rules and how to play, then next time we’ll do character sheets,” Mark said.

———

It was now the third session and the first one of the start of you campaign. Last time, everyone made their characters, the atmosphere becoming less tense as time went on.

You made your character an Elf Wizard, something you’ve never played before. Everyone else had their own unique character combos, having fun coming up with the most ridiculous names for them.

Today, the party was slightly buzzing with excitement to finally start their campaign. You all gathered around the table giving character introductions, ready to get this show on the road.

Three hours, several rolls for initiative, and Haechan’s character almost dying later, Mr. Jung had to finally kick you all out of the building. The sun had already set and he was letting you way past what was allowed.

You realized how late it actually was and scrambled to get your stuff. You said a quick goodbye to the boys and Mr. Jung and sped off to get home before your parents killed you.

You get a ways down the hall when you heard someone running behind you.

“Y/n, wait up!” You turned to see Mark jogging to catch up with you. He stopped in front of you, breathing slightly harder. “Hi.”

“Hi,” you said back, smiling at the cute boy. You’ve never really had a full conversation with Mark. He’s quiet and, honestly, talking to someone attractive was a bit out of the realm of your comfort zone.

“C-can I have your number?” He said. Your eyes went wide and as did his when he realized what that sounded like. “So that I can add you to the group chat! Just in case anyone can’t make it or we cancel.”

“Yea, sure,” you said, slightly disappointed. You heard Mark exhale probably in relief that his save worked. You handed him your phone with your number displayed on the screen and he quickly put it in his.

“Thanks,” Mark said, handing you back your phone. You both stood there in the most suffocatingly awkward silence ever.

“Well bye,” you said turning to leave.

“Oh! Yea, uh, bye,” Mark said waving slightly. He turned back towards Mr. Jung’s room and you saw the other six boys crowded around. They were all giggling as Mark shoved that back into the room.

———

Six sessions and three weeks later, any morsel of awkwardness was gone. It was like you have known these seven boys your whole life.

The group chat blew up your phone with memes from that days session but didn’t you mind? No. Though sometimes at ungodly hours in the mornings, you still enjoyed the content.

On this particular day, you weren’t going to be able to join the session. Your calculus teacher was making you stay after school and retake a test that you failed miserably. You felt bad when you hand to text the group.

You: I can’t make it today

Haechan☀️: whyyyyyyy

You: I failed a calc test

You: I have to retake it

Lele🐬: thats stupid

Sungie: good luck Y/n

Injunie: yea gl

You: thanks boys

Marker: hey if you need any help studying for calc, I’d be happy to

jeNO: oh?

You: yea I’d like that, thanks

Minnie: ann I oop-

You laughed at Jaemin’s comment as you made your way to your calculus teachers classroom.

———

Considering the second time you took the test you barely past by the seat of your pants, you took Mark up on his offer to tutor you.

Today was the first day Mark was going to tutor you in the library. You walked in and saw him already set up at one of the tables in the very back.

“Hey,” you whispered. He smiled at you as you sat down next to him.

“Hey,” he said back. “Ready to get started?”

After about an hour and a half of Mark explaining different theorems to you, you were finally starting to get it. Whenever you asked a question, Mark would take the time to explain it to you carefully, making sure you got it along the way.

When he would give you a problem to solve, and you got it right, both of you would get excited, annoying the librarian. She ended up shushing you more than once.

“Hey, you hungry?” Mark asked.

“Not really,” you said. As if on cue, your stomach slightly growled, making Mark laugh. You looked down at your stomach, a pout on your face. “Traitor.”

“Come on,” Mark said between giggles. “Let’s get something to eat.”

You got your things and headed out of the library with Mark to get food.

———

For the next three weeks, this became your tradition. On the days the D&D club wasn’t meeting, you and Mark would study calculus in the library for about two hours, and then go get food. It always felt like a lot less time with Mark, him always making it enjoyable.

Today, you had a study session with Mark. As you neared the library, you noticed him standing outside the doors on his phone.

“Hey, what are you doing?” You asked. “I have a test tomorrow.”

“I know,” Mark said putting his phone away. “But you need a break.”

“Mark-“ you whined.

“No,” he said. “I think that you’re ready. You’ve made a lot of progress over the last couple weeks. Besides, they say you shouldn’t study the night before a test.”

“I don’t think that’s a thing,” you said crossing your arms.

“Maybe, I don’t know,” Mark said waving it off. “But, I do know that you’ve worked hard and whatever grade you get, I’m proud of you.”

You could feel your cheeks heating up at Mark’s words. You bit back a smile as he continued.

“So tonight we are not studying,” Mark said grabbing your hand and leading you away from the library. “We are going to the basketball game with the others to cheer on Chenle and Jeno.”

You didn’t protest as Mark led you down to the packed gym and over to where the rest of the boys were sat, waiting for the game to start.

———

After the game where your boys won, the party went out for dinner. Afterwards, Mark drove you home, the two of you talking about the game, D&D, or literally anything.

When Mark pulled into your driveway, he insisted on walking you to your steps. He said it was the gentlemanly thing to do.

“Hey,” Mark said when you got to your front door. “Good luck tomorrow.”

“Thanks,” you said.

“Tell me how it goes, ok?” He said. You nodded giving him a smile that he returned. “Good night.”

“Night,” you called after him as he went to his car.

———

At the end of the day, your calculus teacher had finished grading the tests. She told everyone to come pick them up before they left school.

When she handed your test to you, she had a big smile on her face. She made a comment about how nicely you did and how much you improved. When you finally saw the grade, you nearly passed out.

You practically ran to Mr. Jung’s room. D&D was today and you wanted to show Mark you grade. You arrived at his classroom, bouncing into the room.

“Well someone looks happy,” Jaemin commented.

“Did something mean happen?” Jisung asked. You stuck your tongue out at the younger boy making everyone laugh.

You made you way to Mark at the head of the table, him watching you with a smile. When you reached him, you slapped the paper with a big 90% scribbled at the top down in front of him.

“All thanks to you,” you said as he continued to stare at the paper.

“I told you so,” Mark said standing up. He caught you by surprise when he gave you a hug. “I’m proud of you.”

“Ugh, just date already,” Haechan commented from his chair. You and Mark pulled apart making a face at the boy, but avoiding each other’s eyes.

It’s not that you were entirely opposed to dating Mark. You just didn’t know if he felt the same way. And he didn’t. Right?

———

You and Mark continued your study sessions even after you proved you didn’t need to. You both agreed that it was to benefit both of you and not just an excuse to hang out.

One day, while walking out of calculus with Renjun, the boy made a comment that rocked your world.

“He likes you, ya know,” Renjun said.

“W-what,” you sputtered turning to him.

“Mark, he likes you,” He clarified. “I know like bro code, I’m not supposed to tell you or whatever, but I see the way you two look at each other. We all do. You should ask him out. He’d say yes.”

You stopped dead in your tracks thinking for a second. On one hand, this plan that you were formulating could embarrass you. On the other, you could get a date with your dungeon master / calculus tutor / crush.

“Y/n?” Renjun said turning to you. You quickly turned on your heel and made a mad dash for Mark’s locker. “Y/n!”

———

As you speed walked to Mark, you saw him in the distance talking to Jeno and Jaemin. Mark spotted you coming to him and waved at you.

“Hey, Y/n what’s-“

“Do you want to go an a date with me?” You said quickly.

“W-what?” Mark said.

“Jeno, I think that’s our cue,” Jaemin said dragging Jeno away.

“Do you want to go in a date with me?” You asked again, slower this time. Mark looked at you wide eyed, like a dear in headlights.

“A-a date?” He asked. You nodded, not trusting your voice not to shake. “Wow.”

“Wow?” You asked.

“Sorry! Sorry, I just never thought you’d ask and I’d have to do it,” Mark said. “But yes, I’d love to go on a date.”

“Oh thank god,” you said leaning against the lockers. Mark laughed at your dramatic reaction. He wrapped his arm around your shoulder and turned you around to walk to lunch. As you turned, you and Mark stopped and saw the six other members of your party standing there amused.

“God, finally,” Haechan said.

“Took you long enough,” Chenle said.

As the eight of you walked to lunch, the boys continued to tease you and Mark. But when you looked up at him with his arm still around your shoulder, the teasing didn’t matter when Mark smiled at you.

———