#and was halfway into his sales pitch before i even realized

[happiestpenguin]

people that want to sell me things fuck off challenge

[fictionadventurer]

Press Gang moments that I spend too much time thinking about given how long it's been since I watched that show:

The episode where Colin finds out a girl at school is being sexually abused by her father. And he has a crisis, because he's so far been a one-note comedy relief side character whose entire personality is being a fast-talking sleazy huckster who'll do anything to get rich quick. He is the last person on Earth you'd come to for help in a situation like this--yet he's the only one who can help here. So the other kids are like, "Okay, play to your strengths. Pretend this is a sales pitch. How do you convince kids in these situations to reach out for help?" And the kids bring up reasons why someone might be reluctant to speak up, and Colin spins his sales pitch to address each issue, and we're halfway through the scene before you realize this is exactly like one of those Teens Talking About Big Issues PSAs, but it's so perfectly in-character for everyone involved that you didn't even notice they were directly preaching to the audience.

The episode title "At Last a Dragon" (which is one of the most romantic titles ever), where Spike finally gets a chance to do some big heroic action for Lynda that should make her ready to fall into his arms, but when his chance arrives, the horny teenage boy shows restraint and doesn't take it and it's the first moment of real romance.

The episode where there's a new teenager working on the paper that keeps screwing things up, and finally Lynda shows up at his home with a bunch of her friends and chews him out for being such an awful human being, and then as they're leaving he goes off-screen and shoots himself. In a story for teenagers! And of course Lynda is crushed by guilt, and an adult has to tell her, "Look, this kid had tons of other issues that drove him to suicide, he would have done this anyway, but this is why we have to be careful what we say to people--you never know when it's going to be the last thing they hear."

[erodasfishtacos]

Curious Gazes

prompt: [CEO!Harry] four times harry has been spotted by employees being very unlike his demeanor at work.

word count: 4.3 k

warnings: harry is an asshole to everyone but is wife and baby.

**** <-- click for visuals throughout the story. ( because i love showing off how dumb rich harry is - i mean he’s a billionaire ffs)

notes: thanks so much for the love on the first part. I will be writing quite a bit for this trope. the next addition will be all smut. love you, enjoy.

PART ONE

----

RESERVATION RUN-IN

Harry has over a hundred-thousand full-time employees. He has nearly ten-thousand at his London office at all times. The skyscraper was beautiful with clear glass, a reflective grey tone, and the structure screamed modern. It has eighty-three floors.

So with that being said, Harry does not know even one third of the people who work in the building nor does he want to. He couldn’t pick them out of a line-up if he tried. 

However, having so many employees in the city means his staff members are bound to catch sight of their boss pretty often outside of the office.

Sarah, Lucielle, Jack, and Anya - all from the customer service department of Styles Media and Marketing Inc. - are all out to dinner. They decided to go all out and dish out a hefty amount to eat at Il Nascondiglio Segreto. It was a reservation they had made nearly a month ago.

As they’re enjoying their appetizer, Lucielle nearly chokes on her oyster, “Holy shit. It’s Harry,” She whispers, nodding her head in the direction she was staring with bulging eyes.

They all can’t help but turn subtly, a perfect vantage point from where they’re sat right across the way from the group of employees. Their boss was dressed in a bit more casual - not by much - attire than he’d worn to the office earlier that Friday afternoon.

He had an open blazer with a white, nearly see-through button up. Their eyes nearly jumping out of their skulls when they spot his butterfly tattoo sitting on right below his sternum. Jack’s hawk eyes catch that he has a name in cursive on his left pec. 

Plus his normal tailored suit trousers were replaced with tight skinny jeans that hugged his crotched - making it unmistakable that he was well….endowed. Hair was no longer as styled and curled. Laying more carelessly on his shoulders. ****

But what was the most absurd thing they saw him wearing was a smile. His lips were curled up in a large, white grin that was big enough to cause little wrinkles around his eyes. 

His hand intertwined with his wife’s until they arrived at their table, pulling out her chair for her, landing a soft kiss on her cheek before sitting down in his across from her.

He automatically puts an open palm halfway across the table and his date places her’s right on top of it. Her large engagement ring and wedding band sparkling in the low lighting in the restaurant. They were holding hands over the table.

The group had never actually seen the women they deemed Cruella Deville. They had envisioned his wife with bleach blonde hair, fake tits, and fish lips complimented with botox that made it so her forehead didn’t move.

But they were met with a beautiful, natural one instead. She had gorgeous curled locks trailing down her back, light neutral makeup with normal sized lips, small creases where they should be. 

Her body was natural as well, breasts pushed up in a bra but obviously not manufactured by the way they sat, a bit of a pouch around her midsection - a telltale sign from her recent pregnancy, and a radiant smile to match her husband’s. 

They looked so happy and in love.

She was dressed short, polka-dotted black dress with a pair of simple black shoes. She complimented with with a bright red lip which stood out against the dark fabric. ***

It’s not that they didn’t look like a match - she was absolutely stunning. It just wasn’t who they imagined for the boss they despised ninety percent of the time.

The group can’t keep their eyes off the couple - subtly, of course - for their whole time at the restaurant.

Harry was laughing loudly - different sound than when he laughed without a humor at bumbling, nervous employees.

It was light and higher pitched - but still gravely low; smooth like honey as his wife matches his laughs.

At one point, after their meal arrives - Harry offers her a spoonful of his food, playfully complaining that she took too big of a bite - but then immediately offering her more right after.

When she excused herself to the bathroom, Lucille catches Harry’s sneaky hand reaching out to give her backside a quick grope which earns him a warning glance that has him snickering.

Anya who was in the restroom nearly runs into her, Y/N apologizes instantly, “I’m sorry! Wasn’t watching where I was going! Are you alright?”

Anya nods, a bit at a loss of words, talking to Harry Styles' wife, “I’m okay, thank you.”

“I swear I have two left feet,” Y/N jokes, complimenting her dress before disappearing into a stalls. A completely lovely girl.

It’s pathetic but the group lingers around to watch their boss’s full dinner date. It was creepy but they were just so stunned at the man that was sitting by them.

The couples behavior had turned more flirty by this point, Y/N’s eyelashes fluttering at little bit more at her husband, her giggles flowing more often with licks to her lips. 

By the clenched fist on the table, Harry seems to be falling prey to the teasing. 

But when his wife whispers something - that must have been filthy - and leans forward so her cleavage is displayed more, Harry’s pulling out his wallet, pulling an absurd amount of bills out and throwing them carelessly on the table.

Y/N’s eyes are twinkling in victory as her husband stands and helps her out of her chair - ever the gentlemen.

It doesn’t seem very gentlemen like though when his hand comes to the very lowest point on the small of her back -  pushing her into him. He leans down to murmur something into her ear before landing a damp, way too intimate for public kiss to her jaw and then throat.

In turn, she looks up at him with a mischievous tilt of her lip and a challenging raised brow. You could cut their sexual tension with a knife.

Y/N lifts up on her toes to kiss him before grabbing his hand and guiding him out of the establishment quickly - his eyes glued to her bum the whole time.

Jack breaks the bated silence, with a bewildered chortle, “What the fuck was that?”

Sarah sips her wine, “Maybe he has a twin? Like a good twin? And he’s the evil one.”

They all laugh and finish up their desserts. 

---

MOTHER’S DAY SHOPPING

Kasey and Tom - from Human Resources - are out for the day. It was a week before Mother’s Day and they were both scrambling for a gift at the shops.

Harrod’s was nearly empty as they had came in a few minutes after the store opened. Kasey had gotten distracted from her mission and was trying on shoes. 

There was a 40% off sale and she wasn’t passing that up.

Tom had wondered off to the electronics department very soon after the first five shoeboxes arrived next to her chair.

“Pink!” Kasey hears a high-pitched baby voice squeal with utter delight. She looks up to see a curly haired toddler pointing at a pair of pink baby shoes.

The little girl had the cutest denim dress on with white stripes ***, white tights on, and white Mary Janes. When Kasey looked closer she realized the Gucci emblem was on the dress - holy shit, she didn’t even know Gucci made baby clothes.

“Daddy, please?” The toddler asks in a sweet, small voice looking to the approaching man who scoops her up in the crook of his elbow.

“Ivy, y’can’t run away from daddy. Do you understand me?” 

Kasey’s eyes widen as she recognizes that deep, raspy voice. It was her boss, Harry Styles, and with his little mini who looked like a cherub angel.

“No run, daddy,” Ivy grins up at him, looking for approval.

The slightly stern look dissipates from his face into a softer, relaxed smile at his daughter’s words. He kept her close against his chest.

“Daddy, please?” She piques up again, pointing at the small shoes on the wall.

“Y’want those shoes?” Harry asks, nodding towards the pink sneakers.

Ivy nods before pointing at the other shoes next to it, “All, please?”

Despite her father not having any manners in the slightest, his daughter seemed to have excellent etiquette.

Harry chuckles, smoothing a stray curl down from her forehead, “Y’want a pair of all these shoes?”

Ivy nods with wide doe eyes and one of her dimples popping in her left cheek. 

“Y’mother’s going to kill me,” Kasey hears Harry mutter before waving a sales associate over.

“Good to see you, Mr. Styles - I’m Tracey. What can I help you with?”

Of course they knew him by name. He was by the looks of it one of their most appreciated customers, figuring he rarely wears the same thing twice.

“Can I please get a pair of all these shoes in a toddler’s size three? And can you please ring them up for me? Thank you,” Harry asks, his voice taking on the executive and firm tone with the associate who nods and turns on her heel.

“Daddy? Kissy?” The girl asks her father, her little palm patting his cheek and she’s puckering her pink lips.

“Yes baby,” Harry obliges, giving her a peck before blowing a raspberry on her cheek. He tugs down her dress that’s ridden up in true parent fashion.

As they’re waiting, Harry continues to talk to his daughter, “Y’know pet, we came here to shop for mumma for mother’s day. Y’always manage to get something out of it, hmm?”

“Mummy?” Ivy squawks, repeating her father’s word. 

“Yes, mummy. I think she’s really going to like the necklace we picked out,” Harry taps at her nose, his eyes just read love and amazement for his little girl.

Kasey was dumbfounded. 

This man had literally stormed into their offices yesterday, frustration seeping into his loud tone as he asked the room of employees if it was a lady's brunch club or a place of employment when he hadn’t gotten a report on his desk at a certain time.

They’d all stuttered and apologized but Harry had already slammed the door of his way out - the doorframe shaking. A nasty email being sent to their inboxes mere minutes later.

“Mr. Styles? We are out of two of the pairs,” The saleswoman appears and tells him, tablet now in hand.

Harry’s voice is calm but he looks her dead in the eye, “Do you not know how to ship them to a house? I don’t have time for this nonsense.”

She begins to apologize, pulling up a page of her tablet, “Your total comes to £6,309.45 for the shoes.”

Kasey’s eyes nearly pop from her head at the total but Harry merely blinks and states, “Charge it to my Amex on file.”

“Would you like me to add on the items you picked up downstairs? That would bring your total to £ 213,088.79. The necklace *** will be shipped within the next two weeks and will need to be signed for at your doorstep by an authorized person of your choosing, they’ll need to provide identification to certify their identity.”

“I need the necklace by next Sunday- it’s my daughter’s Mother’s Day gift to her mum - hence the pink diamonds,” Harry states to the woman like she’s stupid.

Did that woman just say that amount? And did Harry not even bat an eyelash at it. 

Kasey’s brain couldn’t really comprehend it.

“Expedited shipping on this item would be…” Tracey looks down at her tablet and taps a few buttons, “It will be an extra £3,219 for expedited shipping as it’s coming from Swittzerland.” 

Harry is distracted for a moment as Ivy is wriggling until Harry puts her down. Kasey didn’t see that he had a plush doll tucked in between his jeans and belt on his back.

“Baby doll,” Ivy pokes at her father’s thigh, too short to reach her toy. 

Harry tugs it out and hands it to her, “Stay right here, Vee.”

Ivy unceremoniously plops on the ground next to her father’s leather boot while he confirms the purchases and signs off on them.

It was cute - the plush baby doll she was playing with was ratty, worn, and very visibly loved. It seems as if it’s been her favorite toy for a while.

After finishing up with Tracey, Kasey sees him slip her a few bills for her trouble and lugs Ivy back up onto his hip.

“Shake, daddy?” Ivy lisps hopefully, green eyes sparkling up at her father’s. 

Harry lets out a chuckle, “No, baby. It’s only ten in the morning, y’can’t have a milkshake. Let go home, maybe mumma will make us some blueberry pancakes if we give her lots of kisses?”

“Mummy,” Ivy agrees happily, her plush held tightly against her chest.

“She’s going to love your gift, darlin’, even though y’the best gift we’ve ever got,” Harry murmurs lovingly, pressed a warm kiss to his daughter’s cheek.

Tom has wandered back to the shoe department, eyes unfortunately meeting his boss’ right away - widen with surprise.

Harry’s eyes narrow when he finds Tom staring, “Can I help y’mate?”

“Uh-no! Sorry, just, erm, I work for you?” Tom stutters stupidly at his annoyed employer who currently has his toddler trying to pulls his sunglasses off the top of his head.

“Then I’d recommend, if you’d like it to stay that way, you mind your own damn business,” Harry bites out with a warning tone, unnecessarily rude.

Ivy doesn’t seem bothered, delighted when she tugs the shades off his head and attempts to put them on. She begins huffing as she struggles and Harry gently takes them and slides them on for her.

Tom nods, still baffled, and scurries over to Kasey. 

They both glance back when their boss isn’t looking. He hears him murmur softly, “Let’s go see mummy.”

“Pancakes?” Ivy chirps, looking at her dad for confirmation.

“Anythin’ for you, my little love,” Harry agrees, starting to walks to the elevator to the entrance of the store. 

Tom and Kasey look at each other with unexplainable expressions as they watch their asshole of a boss clearly wrapped around a toddler’s finger. 

—-

THE PARK

“Hi! Is anyone sitting here?” Savannah hears from beside her on the park bench. 

She looks up to see a beautiful, young woman looking to be around her age looking at her expectantly. She has a backpack on her shoulders and a curly-haired toddler on her hip.

“Nope! You’re good!” Savannah replies kindly, moving over to make room on the bench for her to sit.

“Awesome, thank you. I’m Y/N and this is Ivy. Say ‘hi’,” Y/N prompts her daughter with a nudge.

Ivy puts on a beaming smile, white little blocky teeth on display, “Hi.”

“I’m Savannah and the little brunette boy in the green shirt is mine - his name’s Flynn.”

“Tell her how old you are, baby,” Y/N smiles, always trying to get her daughter to socialize as much as possible.

“Two!” Ivy giggles before impatiently squirming, “Mummy, play.”

Y/N laughs, “Just as impatient as your father. Go on, stay where mumma can see you, please.”

Ivy nods before speeding off towards the little jungle-gym to automatically start playing with the little group of kids.

“I wish I had their energy,” Y/N sighs, tugging a water bottle out of her backpack. 

Savannah was obsessed with everything gucci - even though she couldn’t afford anything - so when she spots the flashy bag, she can’t help but ask, “Is that a custom Gucci monogram multipack?”***

Y/N takes a sip before answering, “Yeah, my husband gave it to me as a gift on ‘national stay at home mum day’ - which I don’t even think is a real thing. He just knows I’ll chew him out if he buys me things like this without reason.”

They both laugh, Savannah can’t help but glance over the woman a little bit closer. She had a ratty, vintage tee on, plain black leggings, and a pair of black Nikes on - nothing that screamed over the top.

But then she spots the engagement ring *** on her finger. Savannah thought it looked so extravagant it almost looked fake. But the way the faucets reflect so magnificently in the sunshine makes her sure it’s real.

“What was that?” Savannah snaps back, realizing she hadn’t heard what Y/N was saying - too busy deciding how much money she had which wasn’t right when the girl was being so friendly.

“Oh, just - do you know any mum groups around here? I was in a group but all they liked to do was gossip and bitch. And I think Ivy heard the word ‘cunt’ one too many times from them.”

Savannah barks out a laugh, Y/N turns out to be extremely funny and friendly. She has a bit of a foul mouth and a quick wit but is a good listener.

“And so I said to the dude -“ Y/N cuts off when her phone rings, digging it out and answering, “Hi H, yeah. The one with the big purple slide, okay.”

When she hangs up, she tells her new friend, “My husband is stopping by really quick. He has a business dinner later and won’t see Ivy before her bedtime. Or me before my bedtime,” Y/N laughs.

“That’s so nice of him!” Savannah says, knowing her husband enjoyed when everyone was asleep by the time he came home. Would never go out of his way like Y/N’s husband would.

Y/N says with a smile in her eyes, “Yeah, he’s really good to us.”

They continue to chat until they hear a loud engine revving into the car park, Y/N rolls her eyes and mutters, “Of course, he brings the loudest car today.”

A vintage car swings into a spot and Savannah nearly gasps at who exits the car and begins to stride towards them. No one other than her boss. 

The man who had her doing her job by the book and when one hair fell out of place he knew right away. 

The man who she avoided at all cost possibly - taking the stairs so she doesn’t have to be in the elevator with his intimidating presence.

It took her a minute to connect the dots. Y/N was married to Harry? Harry was Ivy’s dad? It through her through a loop - Y/N was just - so nice. 

But it does explain all the gucci and the massive diamond ring. She did happen to work for a fucking billionare. Y/N didn’t come off as a billionaire or a billionaire’s wife.

‘Holy shit, this is wild,’ Savannah thought.

Harry makes his way over to the bench, Y/N standing up to hug him. Harry kisses her softly with a large palm coming to slip under the back of her shirt to rub at her bare back.

Uh - this man was being loving and affectionate? Proving all Savannah's preconceived notions about him wrong. Mostly that he was a robot.

“Hi darlin’, have a good day?” Harry asks his wife, still holding onto her and tugging her into his side - looking to Ivy who was obliviously - playing on the swing.

“Mmm, don’t want you to go tonight,” Yn/Ngroans dramatically, squeaking when Harry playfully pinches her side.

“Tell me and I won’t go,” He murmurs with surprising sincerity against his wife’s cheek, smiling when Ivy lets out a loud, carefree giggle with her new friends.

“Oh! I’m being rude. This is Savannah, Savannah this is my husband Harry,” Y/N introduces the two, unknowing of their connection.

Savannah swallows harshly and gives him a timid wave, “Hello.”

Harry shows no recognition that he knows her but gives her a curt nod and rasps out a “hello.” 

Y/N rolls his eyes at her husband, patting his toned stomach, “He’s always a little crabby after work,” She jokes as he smirks at her - he’s rarely ever crabby with his wife and they both know it.

After work? How about from the time he stepped foot through the lobby doors everyday? He only had one mode at work - crabby.

“It’s ok-“

“Daddy!” A squeal interrupts them, a blur of brunette curls crashing into her father’s legs - full force with excitement.

Harry is bending down and tucking her into his arms for a hug, “Hi baby, y’bein’ so good for mumma?”

His tone had shifted into a low, relaxed drawl that Savannah had never heard. His words are kind and caring towards his daughter.

“Good for mumma,” Ivy parrots her father, dimples popping as she pushes at Harry’s face when he attacks her with kisses.

“You taste so good I could eat yah!” Harry growls playfully, Ivy giggling delightedly at her fathers antics until her cheeks are flushed pink with laughter.

“Swings, daddy,” Ivy motions with green doe eyes. Grass and mud stains the outfit her mother had dressed her in - cute striped overalls with a white tee underneath  *** and little sneakers ****.

“Oh dove, I wish I could. I have to go back to work,” Harry frowns, his thumb coming to caress her sweaty cheekbone.

Her brows furrowed and her full pink lips turned down - Savannah has to contain a laugh by how much she looks like her father with the displeased grimace on her face.

“No, no, Daddy,” Ivy argues adamantly, her eyes brimming with sad tears.

“Vee, c’mon, my love. I’ll be home later,” Harry soothes, starting to rock her from side to side to calm her.

But Ivy is in her terrible twos and doesn’t like the word ‘no.’

Y/N comes up to her husband’s side, tucking a hand into his back pocket to rest. 

“Ivy Elizabeth, we need to let your father go. Come to mummy now, please,” Her mother asks in a soft but firm tone.

“No!” Ivy absolutely shrieks with a awfully high pitch, “No mummy, daddy swings!”

The couple shares a look before Y/N is gathering her backpack on her shoulder, looking back to Savannah, “Hey! Text me, it’s about nap time for this one.”

Savannah agrees and gives them both a wave off as Harry totes his tantruming toddler to a sleek, teal SUV. It takes her a moment to scoff internally - off course it’s a Bentley ***.

And because Savannah can’t help but be nosey she googles the price of the car and quickly locks her screen when she sees the base price is £ 210,000.

Harry is planting little pecks on his daughter’s face and murmuring to her until her tears have dried up and she’s laughing at her dad once again.

After Harry straps her into the car seat and shuts the door, he gently pushes his wife back against it. His body is crowding hers, arm over her shoulder against the car.

The talk for a moment before Harry’s ducking down to pull a few kisses from her lips before she’s giggling and pushing him off.

Savannah couldn’t wait to tell the old women at in her customer relations department tomorrow.

— 

THE GAME

Cassie didn’t mind Harry actually. She made his coffee nearly every morning and she secretly knew he was the one who left those hefty tips.

She’d fumbled over his orders a few times when she’d started and apologized profusely but Harry had just looked up from his phone and said, “S’fine.”

Yeah, that’s not much but compared to some of the horror stories she hears, but she was grateful for another reason.

—-

One day he had found her crying in a empty corridor that he used to walk to his car at the end of his day.

“Y’alright?” Her boss asks gruffly, pausing to look down at her - no clear emotion on his face.

Cassie nods sheepishly, “M’sorry, I’m just really stressed out.”

Harry’s eyes flash a tad darker, “Is Carole giving you trouble?” 

Carole was her manager.

“N-no. I got declined for my school financial aid. If I don’t come up with the money I’ll have to drop out. I-I have a son and I do-don’t have the money to go without help.”

Harry doesn’t say anything, rustling into the inner pocket of his suit and fishing out something - a checkbook.

He clicks the pen and moves his hand quickly across the pad before ripping it out and handing it to her, “Good luck and use the extra on your family. Don’t go spreading it around that I did this.”

Cassie goes to thank him or refuse it but when she looks back up from the check he’s already striding away down the hallway away from her.

She lets out a loud sob as she sees a check written for £150,000 right in front of her.

—

Cassie still works at the Starbucks part-time while attending college with the help of her secretly kind boss.

The extra money she’s stowed away in an education fund for her son after he graduates. 

Anyways, she was at Man U football game that she got invited to with her boyfriend - Jacob. His dad won tickets for box seats from his work in a raffle.

Cassie soon realized that their box was right by the Styles Media and Marketing one. The way they were placed, she could see right into their area.

It was just Harry and a woman in there. 

They were obviously a couple and this was the Cruella Deville. Cassie didn’t refer to her as that as she had a bit of a different perspective of the man.

His wife was sipping on a water bottle and cheering loudly with the rest of the fans. Harry watched her with amusement at her excited behavior, at one point pulling his photo out and snapping a picture of her.

When the exciting bit is over, she seats herself on his lap and wriggles until her back is against his chest - comfortable and cozy.

His large palm comes to cup at her stomach, Cassie now seeing that she is clearly pregnant as he cradles the noticeable bump protectively.

For most of the game, his hand never leaves her belly - rubbing circles with his thumb. His head came to rest on her shoulder to watch the game.

They seem so happy together - giggling and talking animatedly throughout. His wife constantly tilting her head back with her lips puckered requesting kisses that Harry happily supplies each time.

At one point, Cassie witnesses Y/N eat two huge corndogs in a row while her husband watches her with humor in his eye. Then goes on to order her a massive spool of candy floss that he feeds her throughout the game.

It was a late game and it was now in overtime. The clock reads nearly eleven at night. Harry’s wife has dozed off against his shoulder and when he notices he gently rouses her.

As she blinks her eyes open, Harry shucks his jacket of his shoulder and helped her slip it on. They must decide to call it a night because he’s helping her up, wrapping an arm around her shoulder, and guiding her out of the box.

Cassie never tells anyone that she saw him that night or what he did to help her family.

The End.

Hope you bubbbies enjoyed. Send me requests for this verse. Smut is up next for this trope.

[clanwarrior-tumbly]

Spamton with an s/o who’s half magpie and is very adventurous and loves collecting things, wanting to take spamton (who they thought was was regular doll) on a bunch of fan adventures!

For funsies I wanna relate this S/O to the Bird (That Carries You Over A Disproportionately Small Gap)

........

For most of your life, you've been a collector of many things in the Light World. Whatever you found that was disowned and looked appealing was kept on nice shelves in your home

Like your distant cousin from another timeline you were always determined to see the world and expand your collection. Even if you found nothing for hours you didn't go home till you had something.

One thing led to another and you soon found yourself in the Dark World. But besides gaining protective gear and resilient wings, you also had a backpack that can hold infinite items!

This was absolutely going to be fun!

So you fly around the Cyber World, finding a lot of cool tech and gadgets. Heck, some nice shopkeepers called "Addisons" even let you take their samples.

But when you ventured to quieter parts of the city, you happened upon a weird blue egg with a pink bow and....

A damaged male ventriloquist doll hanging halfway out of the dumpster.

Now this was one of your most interesting finds, so after getting the blue egg thing you lift the lid and pick the doll up with your talons-

Only for him to jerk to life and start spouting his name and sales pitches, like he was running on a script. You dropped him out of fright and immediately had regrets as he landed face first on the concrete.

Yet he springs up like nothing happened, gawking at the realization you're a Lightner.

"THANKS FOR THAT, LIGHT n er!! I REALLY NEEDED THE PICK UP [The Phone And Call This Number Now] LINE!!"

"Oh no I didn't mean to do that...Spamton, right? I-I just thought you were a regular doll and not a Darkner."

He would've been offended..had he not realized Ms Pipis was missing. "MS. PIPIS??? WHERE ARE YOU?? I CAN'T FIND YOU!!!" He screams as he leaps back into the dumpster.

It takes you a full minute of him yelling "MS PIPIS" without further explanation before you realize he meant the egg with the bow.

So you take her out and handed her back to him, once more feeling guilty bc you stole her. Fortunately Spamton didn't think so.

"OH YOU'RE A REAL LIFE SAVER, LITTLE BIRDIE. THANKS FOR KEEPING MY [Beautiful Pipis] SAFE AND SOUND. HOW CAN I EVER REPAY MY [Crippling Debt] TO YOU?"

"Well..um...I've just been flying around collecting stuff and I've always been kinda lonely. Care to join me?"

"OH BOY OH BOY WOULD I!! BEATS LIVING IN A GODDAMN [Garbage Can], THAT'S FOR SURE!" He jumps into your bag no hesitation with a toothy grin, keeping himself halfway out so he can talk to you without vanishing into the abyss.

Welp, it seems you got a travelling companion for life now.

And a smelly one at that, but you didn't mind.

[syllvane]

muscle memory pt. 3- sylvie x reader

a/n: i said i was going to post tomorrow but i couldn’t help myself. anyways, spoilers for episode 2 and 3 of loki, minor spoilers for the beginning of episode 3. final word count is 1.7k words!

read the previous part  read the next part   read the series  

“How is Loki doing?” You asked Mobius, walking with him to the mess hall.

“He’s doing great. Making real progress, I would say.”

“Didn’t you have to have a meeting with Renslayer this morning because of his actions?” You asked, raising your eyebrows. His face scrunched up for a second.

“It’s like every time he is making progress, he takes two steps back.”

“That sounds more believable. You still think he’s worth all the trouble though?”

Mobius sighed slightly. “I really do believe in him. It’s not just an issue of whether I believe in him though, it’s whether Ravonna and the Timekeepers do.”

“Oh, you’re on first name basis now, with Renslayer?” You turned and grinned at Mobius, who immediately flushed after realizing his mistake.

“Not a word of this to anyone.” He said strictly, although there was a smile on his face as well.

“Yeah, yeah.” You said, standing in line with Mobius as he ordered his lunch before sitting down at a two-seat table. “Ravonna and Mobius-”

“C-7.” Mobius said strictly, although you could tell he was partly amused by your antics.

You continued in the same quiet, sing-songy voice as before.

“-on a jet ski. K-I-S-S-I-N-G.”

Mobius finished taking a sip of his drink and then applauded quietly, so as to not draw attention.

“Has anyone ever told you that you truly have all the originality of a grade-schooler?”

Before you could answer, you were interrupted by a tall man with long dark hair speed walking over to where Mobius and you were sitting.

Although he seemed to be in a hurry, you could tell that he was sizing up everybody in the room, including yourself.

“I found- oh, sorry. Didn’t see you there. Would you mind moving so that me and my partner could discuss something?” He asked politely, even smiling.

You locked eyes with him, smiling back at him.

“I’m good, thanks. You can just pull up a chair.”

His smile wavered and he maintained eye contact for a couple of moments longer before breaking it, going to a different table and pulling over a chair.

(You ignored the pointed look Mobius shot at you, like he was asking you to be the bigger person here. Unfortunately for him, you had no such intentions.)

“Right. I know how the Variant is hiding.”

Mobius leaned back.

“Talk about burying the lead. How?”

Loki smiled slightly, this smile much different from his last- he was proud of himself.

“He’s hiding in apocalypses.” 

There was a moment of silence. You and Mobius exchanged a glance.

“Which one? There’s like a million all across history.” Mobius pointed out and Loki took a second to compose himself before starting his explanation.

You sat back as he explained his reasoning, watching with amusement as he put more salt and pepper into Mobius’ salad, handing him your own drink when he realized that Mobius’ drink was empty.

He gave you a nod of recognition and Mobius sent you another, even more exasperated glance as Loki poured your drink into the salad (although, in your opinion, seeing Loki grin like that made it worth it).

                                                             —— “How was Pompeii?” You asked, not even having to look up from the apocalypse case files to figure out that it was Loki who was approaching you.

He stopped for a minute, almost taken aback by your observation, before continuing and taking a seat in front of you.

“I was right, naturally.”

You scoffed slightly.

“Naturally.”

You looked up at him to find that his piercing eyes were already looking at you, almost curiously.

“You’re already sorting through the apocalypse files.”

“Naturally occurring disasters with no survivors, cross-referenced with the candy that Mobius picked up. You were confident that you were right so I figured I should start looking.”

Loki raised his eyebrows and smiled slightly.

“You’re smarter than you look. Could’ve saved me and Mobius some time.” 

“He forgot to cross-reference?”

He nodded, hesitating for a moment before he grabbed some of the files that you hadn’t started looking over yet.

You looked at him appreciatively, though he wasn’t looking at you anymore. 

The two of you sat there, looking at the case files in a comfortable silence for a couple of minutes before Mobius walked into your office as well.

“What’s this?” Mobius asked, taking a cursory glance at the file on top.

“Kablooie.” You said simply and Mobius sighed slightly, frustrated that he hadn’t thought of it.

He grabbed a couple of files as well, standing up as he started reading.

“I think I have something,” Loki said a couple of minutes later, splaying the case out on your desk so that everyone could see. “Class ten apocalypse. Alabama, 2050.”

You looked it over and even just with a cursory glance, you could tell that this is where the Variant was hiding- you looked over at Mobius and saw pride on his face.

“You’re gonna take my job if I’m not careful.”

“Now to pitch it to Renslayer.” You said and Mobius nodded, already halfway out of your office. He closed the door behind him and you looked at Loki. “I don’t think I’ve seen him this excited in a while. In fact, the last time I saw him this excited, I think we saw a jet ski on a mission.”

Loki smiled to himself, though the expression disappeared when he looked back at you.

“And what about you?”

“Hm?” You tilted your head slightly, caught off-guard by the question.

“What excites you?” 

You held his gaze for a couple of moments, feeling uncomfortable with how he looked at you, as if he knew something about you that you didn’t know about yourself. 

You finally looked away, standing up.

“We should go meet Mobius. We’ll be heading out as soon as he gets the approval.”

“You say this like it’s a sure thing.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen Renslayer say no to him. Come on.”

                                                          ——

The rain sounded a hundred times louder when you were listening to it hit the roof of the Roxxcart, so loud that you could barely hear the sound of your own voice above the noise.

“What are you doing here?” You asked, positioning your reset baton defensively. The man standing by the plants seemed to hesitate slightly, although he was still much too calm for this kind of weather.

“Hurricane sale. Azaleas are half-off.”

“Could that be you?” You asked Loki, your eyes never leaving the man. Although his eyes continued to look between you and Loki, his gaze lingered on you longer.

“I… mean… I would’ve worn a suit, but it could be.”

You took a couple steps towards the man and he backed up, looking at you pleadingly.

“I don’t want to do this.” He said quietly and you tilted your head slightly, confused.

You took another step towards him.

“What-”

He grabbed your arm and a warm feeling came over your body.

A woman’s voice in your head lulled you to sleep, promising to bring you home and then everything went dark.

…

“Sylv, why are you acting so weird?” You asked, taking another sip of wine.

The blonde woman across from you smiled, although you could tell that she was forcing it for your sake.

“Another one of my suitors came and visited me today.” She said. You made a face and she laughed slightly.

“Complete fools, every one of them.”

“Fools for being deeply in love with me?” She asked, raising an eyebrow, almost as if she was allowing herself to play the part for a couple of brief moments.

“No, I’m above self-flagellation. They’re fools for thinking that they could ever win your heart.”

She laughed.

“And why is that?”

You leaned back in your chair.

“I have it on very good account that someone already has it.” You said and Sylvie‘s smile faded and her gaze didn’t quite meet yours, almost as if her mind was preoccupied elsewhere.

She looked back at you, her look apologetic.

The scene around you grew distorted, nothing quite clear anymore.

“I’m sorry.”

Her words repeated everywhere around you like you were in an echo chamber rather than…

Rather than…

Where were you?

The blonde woman that had been there a moment ago disappeared and with her, everything else.

…

When you came to, Mobius was kneeling beside you, waiting for you to wake up.

“C-7… are you okay?” He asked slowly, looking at you with more concern than you think anyone else ever has.

You propped yourself up and you looked around wildly for Loki or for the blonde woman- Sylvie- who had been in your head.

“Where are they?” You asked and you hated how desperate your voice sounded.

“They escaped. Take it easy, the Variant did a number on-”

“Mobius, I have to find her.” You said, trying to stand up only to be overwhelmed with nausea and dizziness.

Mobius supported you, keeping you from falling back onto the ground.

“I know. And we will, but we have more pressing issues right now. Come on.”

You didn’t protest, knowing that you wouldn’t be able to convince Mobius even if you promised to get him a jet ski afterwards.

What you had to do now, you would do alone.

He helped you through the portal back to the TVA and the rest of your team followed, all of them being immediately assigned to different Nexus events that were happening simultaneously.

You, being injured, were given the pass to stay back at the TVA. 

You wondered if the Timekeepers knew what you were about to do, if they could’ve predicted it- after all, they were the ones who had made you, right?

You headed to the sector of the TVA where they issued TemPads, looking at the data of where all the TemPads were jumping to and from when you stumbled upon something odd- there was a TemPad that only had one jump registered in its entire history.

TVA to Lamentis-1, 2077.

Huh.

The Variant- Sylvie- whatever her name was, must’ve found out a way to stop the TemPad from feeding data into the system, but it must’ve reset when she jumped to the TVA.

You grabbed one of the TemPad’s that were out of commission for charging, unplugging it. 

It was low on battery, but it would have to do.

You opened a portal for yourself using the exact same coordinates and time that they had put in and without any hesitation, you walked through.

[popculturebuffet]

Of Moons, Millionares and Mothers Part 3: Storkules in Duckburg! aka THE INCREDIBLE STORKULES TERRIBLE BUT WELL MEANING ROOMATE OUT OF MYTH

Hello all you happy people! And welcome and welcome back to Of Moons, Millionares and Mothers, my look at the season 2 arcs of Ducktales! This arc was paid for by WeirdKev27 and I truly enjoy his support. if you want to know how to commission your own reviews or to get a guarnateed review of me of your choice from me a month, stick around to the end. I realized that shoving all my plugs in up top may be driving people away and while I DO make them because I want to make a living off this, i’ts not fair to those of you who simply can’t afford to buy a lot of extra shit like myself to keep shoving it in your face. 

Previously on the Louie Inc Arc, Louie, after believing he had no skills and it was a matter of when not if he ws going to die, found his talent: seeing all the angles and thus being Sharper than the Sharpies. With newfound confidence and a chip on his shoulder from Scrooge saying he could one day be a bigger success than Scrooge himself, founding Louie Inc as a result. But what is Louie Inc? Does he actually have a plan or a bunch of buzzwords. And what does STORKULES, MANLY GAY OUT OF MYTH have to do with any of this? Join me under the cut to find out. 

We open with Louie giving Scrooge his sales pitch that is essentially...

Naturally Scrooge buys none of it. I mean he’s somewhere in his hundreds, he’s probably seen about 80 thousand pitches that amount to “I have no plan but give me money anyway”. There’s a reason there’s a Butch Hartman shaped crater on the lawn from where he threw his ass out. 

Scrooge does mentor the lad, or at least attempt to pointing out he needs an actual product or service (Louie rejects the idea of a lemonade stand as too easy), or as he puts it “Find a problem and create a solution”. 

While the basic PRINCIPAL isn’t bad, find something people want or need and provide it, phrasing it that way sounds like “find a problem people are having and exploit the shit out of that problem for fun and profit.” Granted that IS a guiding principal of business, it’s just not something an uncle should be teaching his kids. They should be teaching them about the anime and cartoons they grew up with as I do with my niece and nibling. 

He does show him a valid example of this in action in the form of Donald. Turns out Donald has found a good way to make money while he looks for a job, can relate: since Duckburg is facing a housing shortage, likely because several square blocks probably get destroyed by Scrooge’s Adventures, Glomgold’s Schemes, Superhero Battles, whatever creation went horribly wrong for Gyro, etc at least once a week. So he’s taken it upon himself to offer up the spare room to whoever can rent it.. and to steal Scrooge’s chandelier which even when caught he still takes anyway. Scrooge.. you called the guy a god-damn moocher in the season premiere, despite the fact he lives there soley because YOU offered and because he’s you know, being responsible and staying by his boys so they have their father figure around. So yeah I feel he’s doing this partly out of spite as is the McDuck way. I mean if your going to call him a freeloader just for being a responsible parent, then he’s going to take it up a damn notch.

Scrooge proceeds to laugh off Louie wanting a million dollars and gives him a dime instead because of course he was. Seriously Louie there are two other billionaires in town who are FAR dumber and far more easily swindled. Just go get star up capital from them. Hell with Glomgold all you’d have to do is tell him it’d upset scrooge and he’d literally throw money at you. Or give you a shark full of money. He needs the shark back though. He’s family. 

Meanwhile Donald prepares for his new tenant and finds.. THE INCREDIBLE STORKULES! Who to his mounting horror as he realizes it, IS the new tenant. And who throws him into the sun. Cue credits. 

So after Donald somehow survives being thrown into the sun, Storkules explains why he’s here: Zeus responded to his son playing the lute a lot like any rational reasonable 

No of course he responded to the “crime” of “playing his instrument a lot” with sending a swarm of harpies on the town then blaming Storkules for it and casting him out. What’s most shocking is not the action, this is honestly him staying the course of being a fucking disgrace, but that Zeus somehow ISN’T the biggest asshole i’ve dealt with this week. No that honor is reserved as always for this bitch:

Keep in mind she manages to be this obnoxious in only TWO scenes. Also keep in mind I had to put up with Julie for a MUCH larger chunk of the previous two volumes I covered before volume 5 yesterday for my Scott Pilgrim Retrospective and she is ALWAYS like this and you now feel my pain. 

This does create a problem though: Zeus casts Storkules out until he’s a responsible adult.. and thus paints Storkules as the bad guy... in a situation where the only other person in the story sent a swarm of HARPIES down at him for simply playing his music too loud. It just dosen’t work as a catalyst: Storkules objectively did nothing wrong. The only person he annoyed was a person who clearly dosen’t love, respect or like his son in any way shape or form anyway and essentially assaulted him and a bunch of innocent people via harpie and then cast him out. Zeus is an abusive asshole and i’ts weird the narrative sides with HIM and not our well meaning doofus. Zeus being an asshole with harpies is not a bad catalyst for the episode, and the harpies being unleashed is used well.. it’s just not a good catalyst for THIS story to try and portray an abuser as in the right. And make no mistake Zeus is a domestic abuser: he had his son mind controlled to try and MURDER innocent people, something Storkules begged him not to do, sent a swarm of creatures after him for the crime of playing his music too loud and in his next episode manipulatives Storkules sad emotional state for personal gain. Why would you try and paint THIS jackass as in the right?

Speaking of painting this jackass in the right sadly.. this episode does not do my boy donald justice. In most episodes he’s pretty nuanced and i’ts fair enough he’d be frustrated by Storkules as a roomate. Storkules has little sense of personal space, breaks his stove thinking theirs hydra in it, makes a mess of the kitchen making them a meal, and in general clearly dosen’t know how to live with a roomate much less in modern society. He has valid concerns and the episode COULD have used it that way.. but he’s also horribly impatient with Storkules. He refuses to get the guy just hasn’t had to live in a modern society and dosen’t know HOW to function in it and instead of helping him just gets mad again and again and gets really pissed when it’s clear Storkules dosen’t have a job and didn’t consider paying rent. He’s not WRONG to want him to pay Rent, despite what ironically the musical Rent would try and have you believe, but he dosen’t have any patience with the guy. And stork isn’t nearly coming on as strong as he normally does. The worst he does is cook the guy lunch and bring his donald fan art with him. Which we don’t see but I am assuming is mostly naked. What i’m saying is for once that while still bombastic, Storkules isn’t trying to force a relationship/friendship on him and simply wants to learn t be an adult from his best friend.. and Donald isn’t bothering teaching him.

Asking for rent or for him not to destroy the stove is fine, but not explaining WHY he needs either of those things or why he needs boundaries, he makes a roomate list, isn’t helping the guy. And this would be fine... but the episode dosen’t call Donald out on it for no real reason. It feels like it’s setting up for a “you should learn to wokrk with someone instead of just screaming at them aseop” that never comes and like with Zeus takes his side because shutup. I’d also LIKE to say this is the only time the writers reduced one of the cast to a caracture of themselves.. but I can’t.  Several episodes in season 3 forgot Louie’s character development and another episode in season 2, The Duck Knight Returns!, somehow reduced both Scrooge and Dewey to parodies of themselves with Scrooge SOMEHOW, despite Della as stubborn as she is being in his care and by his side for decades and Movies bein ga huge business, not having seen a movie since the 1920′s and not knowing how they work and Dewey being reduced to just hyperactive moron. It isn’t as common as other shows like say Regular Show, The Loud House or, for the exact reason I lost intrest, Rick and Morty, but I still expect better, especially since they went into this season KNOWING Donald would be gone for half of it and this would likely be one of his only spotlight episodes. 

Back at the good part of the plot, Louie is having a company meeting aka already treating Huey and Webby like his employees. Webby of course is glad to sign on, if little help in actually coming up with a product while Huey just wants to nope out. And if your wondering why Dewey isn’t involved Louie outright says he’d make a bad employee and while Dewey rises from his bed to object.. he stops halfway to opening his mouth and concludes he has a point. Best gag of the episode. Louie being louie easily cons Huey into staying by making Webby his charts officer. 

So the three have a corporate retreat at Funso’s... granted they don’t have a product but Louie figures this might help. Huey.. still wants out of this and suggest since they already spent what they had on ski ball “Company over?”. It’s clear that Huey just sees this as another one of Louie’s short sighted schemes... and while he’s not ENITRELY wrong, Louie has genuine ambition.. he just has no earthly idea what he’s doing and is shooting way too high.. but for understandable reasons. 1) He’s 11 at this point. 11 year olds aren’t great at business strategy or reinging it in. 2) he wants to live up to what Scrooge said to prove he can be successful and really be worth something like his mom was. 

But sometimes fate throws you one and the harpies bust in. And while Louie wants to do nothing and hope they go away Huey and Webby spring into action.. as does Storkules, who had to leave but warns donald there’s Orzo in the slowcooker and to not open it “LEST THE PASTA FAIL TO ABSORB THE BROTH!” Which is just.... Chris’ best line dleivery the episode. He says it like he’s saying the title of an old Stan Lee and Jack Kirby comic, i’ts wonderful.

So our heroes defeat them and Louie steps in to charge for the service and quickly comes up with a company idea and name “Harp-B-Gone” (A Subsidary of Louie Inc). Louie hires Storkules on the spot. Storkules proudly tells Donald he has a job the next day and goes off to it. What follows is our heroes hilarously shooting a commerical with Storkules playing a baby to promote themselves so they can help who needs it. They just need to find out what they want.. and thanks to the JWG and the harpies stealing it find out they go after people’s most treasured posessions   Cue Ghostbusters-Style Montage

And this isn’t just me saying thing. The Rewriting History Entry (Which as a series weirdly stops around mid-season 2 and I don’t get why frank hasn’t gone back and finished it since) states they specifically based this whole operation on ghostbusters and the entire sequence of our heroes cleanin up the town reminds me of it. The highlight of it is a glomgold cameo where he’s kidnapped.. and refuses to pay so Louie just lets him go. And were this an innocent person who couldn’t afford it, i’d call him a monster.. but it’s glomgold. he brought this on himself.. and also sues himself for it. Wonder if he won. 

So with their stars rising, our heroes get booked on the hottest show in town: Dewey Dew-Night! I had honestly forgotten there was a Dewey Dew-Night segment in there, and delighted I get to talk about this recurring bit.  It’s one of the shows funniest runners and just perfectly FITS Dewey: of course the most egotistical and energetic of the kids would not only want to be a late hnight host but make up his own show. I also love the slow evolution of it: it started as something everyone clearly knew about but he stlill tried to keep hidden, slowly escalated to him allowing the rest of his siblings (Webby very much included) and the giant man who stalks his uncle in, and by later this season he’s putting the show online in the web shorts and gladly shooting it into space, with Season 3 having him spend the first half of let’s get dangerous making a documentary that includes an episode of the show featuring Darkwing. It’s a small thing sure, but it’s the little things like this that make the show special. 

The show does reveal a problem though as it turns out they’ve GOT all the harpies and while Storkules merely wanted to help, Louie points out they need more to keep a buisness going and naturally never bothered to ask Storkules just how many there were. They need SOME plan to get going. Webby submits a legitamte and great idea, training the harpies as she’s been trying to do in the background of the episode and aside from a hole in the floor they are starting to listen. But Huey is an ass about it and not only shoots it down saying let’s keep the dangerous creatures contained, even though A) he has no idea WHERE they’ve been kept so he can’t verify it’s safe, and since i’ts Donald’s Closet no no it’s not. and B)There’s no where he knows of to keep them. He isn’t aware of the other bin till next season. and C) it’s not ehtical to keep creatures locked up forever epsecially since while the harpies are dangerous they arent’ MALEVOLENT and are clearly acting on instinct. oh and for D) at least she has a plan to keep the company going instead of just wanting to end this and cash out. 

Which Huey tries to.. but naturally Louie spent all their money on...

So their broke.. and Storkules has no rent money and feels like a failure despite having done NOTHING wrong. We do get a clever little nod to Disney’s hercules though “I”m not a hero, i’m a zero”. Webby rightfully glares at Louie who decides to fix it... by sneaking into Donald’s house that night to free the harpies. 

Though to the shows credit it’s a VERY bad idea, and Storkules coming in mid attempt and congradulating Louie when he lies about checking the door gets the kid to come clean. And it’s a nice character moment: He could still go through with it.. but it’s clear he realizes just HOW low he was about to sink to save his own skin and that as much as Storkules WANTS a paycheck and deserves one, it’s not worth hurting people to get it. Louie tries to justify after this.. but can’t. 

Unforutnately Donald took a lot of stupid pills this episode, yells about his no pets rule and frees them instead of you know, THINKING for five minutes.

So yeah NATURALLY Donald is an angry shit about it , refusing to actually TALK to Storkules about this or maybe admit this is partly HIS OWN FAULT. Yes their both at fault, Storkules shoudln’t of shoved a bunch of harpies in a closet. That’s a classic blunder. But Donald still opened it and isn’t called out on taking zero responsibility. Huey sees the fracas and just takes down their days without an accident placard, good stuff and he and webby arrive to help. Donald fights with Storkules and Storkules worries about loosing his friend.. lead to them going after the thing he values most aka donlad and hyjacking the house boat, though the kids manage to get aboard. 

As Storkules saves Donald, Louie realizes the most precious thing he has is  his merch and willingly gives it, and his buisness up to save everyone. It’s good character stuff and shows that despite his problems with greed, Louie IS a good kid and will do the right thing. It’s what seperates him from the Rouges Gallery the family faces: He has FLEXIBLE morals but he has morals when it comes down to it. So everyone tosses the stoff to help direct the hapries and make it home tying them up. Donald has a heart to heart with Storkules and agrees to help him find another place, but still considers him a friend and they hug. Awww.  One intresting thing I DID find out from rewriting history is they originally fully intended to have Storkules STAY on the houseboat. He was going to be a permenant member of the household, at least as far as Season 2 was concenred and plans were made for several episodes down the road: the whole bit with him in “The Golden Spear” was simply because he lived there, he was going to be the one Della met in the houseboat, obliviously guilting her about what she’d missed, and he was going to set off the kids subplot in “Whatever Happened to Donald Duck?”

This ended up not happneing for logistical reasons: Frank, and I swear this was the term he used, felt they already had the perfect Himbo in Launchpad and it was just too much HImbo energy for the two to coexist without one taking the others screen time or neither getting a lot. 

The next reason was having a god around simply broke the story: He cited the gilded man from “Nothing Can Stop Della Duck!” as a specific example. There were just too many hoops to jump to have him not break any story he should be around for.  Finally with Della being added to the cast soon there simply wasn’t room in the main cast. Della brought it up to 9, Storkules would make it 10, and as i’ve gone on about the show already had trouble ballancing it’s cast, something Frank admitted to. Adding him would both be too big a stiatus quo change and be one on top of the massive one of Della joining the cast. So he was dropped back to recurring and only showed up one more time. And while it was the right call I am dismayed he didn’t show up for the whatever happened to donald duck subplot and it does feel very weird he never adresses Donald being gone despite, at least for season 2, apparently living in Duckburg. Otherwise though as funny as this wouldv’e been.. yeah it was the right call. 

Scrooge returns... having been absent all episode because otherwise it wouldn’t work and easily saw Louie loosing it all coming.. but gives him a can of lemonade for his troubles and comforts the boy. The heart of htis arc and what makes it work at it’s best.. is these two. Scrooge GENUINELY wants to help Louie see his potetial successor in buisness: oh sure adventure wise he’s throughly covered.. but Webby, Dewey and Della all are more focused on the addventure part and that’s where their passion and talent lies, Huey’s better at science and given his close frinedship with fenton and how much that part of things seems to truly inspire him, i’ts what he was born for, and Donald just wants a regualar life and can’t manage his own life much less a company. 

Louie is the only one in his family whose the right fit to inhereit that part of his legacy and I feel that’s why he takes a special intrest in him and webby over the other two: While he loves all of them and will clearly again leave a piece of his fortune and empire to all of them, Webby is the most like him, as we later find out not coincidentally in the slightest, when it comes to adventuring and curosity and a love of exploration. But Louie is the most like him in other ways; He’s cynical, money driven and passionate. Scrooge simply wants him to be as good a person and buisnessperson as he can be and is trying to push him in the right direction. And does so here by pointing out that failure isn’t a huge problem..it happens, comes with the terriotiry and as we’ve seen with life and times, even with portions of it clearly not happening in this universe, he failed a LOT to get here. What matters is that he tries and tries to do it the right way. 

Scrooge also sympathizes as he was buying a lemonade company in cape suzette, giving Louie the can as a present... but laments there’s no cheap effective way to deliver the lemons. Louie notices the harpies going after the can after he throws it and Webby controlling them with it and muses that theyd idn’t think about what THEY wanted.. nad rightfully gets punched across the lawn by Webby, whose had to spend an entire episode having her surrogate brothers talk down to her and ignore her valid ideas. She dosen’t even open her eyes she just bops him one.

So we end with Scrooge having enlisted the hapries, Louie trying to take credit again and both realizing they might just steal the lemons instead of work for them. Ha ha ha their going to get so sued. 

Final Thoughts: This one was mediocre. It has some good points, Louies arc continues to fascenate me, Huey’s done with this shit attitude is hilarous, and Storkules is at his best in this episode: his crush on Donald is toned down from this..

To this

To the point I could see shipping them off this one if Storkules episode didn’t have him do eveyrthing short of .. well see above.  So it’s not WITHOUT merit: I love me a ghost busters style plot, there are great jokes and Chris Dimatopolis is a gem as always. Glad he’s getting work after this show on Invincible and hope he gets to play Darkwing again some day. But the Donald stuff and the fairly predictable plot drag this one down. I’ts fairly obvious they’ll run out of harpies, Louie will have spent the money and they’ll somehow get free. It’s not a terrible episode but it’s it’s sandwiched story wise between two straight up classics on both sides: the previous two episodes were even better than I remembered and the next two are incredibly good: Whateve Happened to Della Duck?! is one of their finest hours and The Outlaw Scrooge McDuck, while not making my best of list for the series as a whole is still one of my favorites for the season.  It’s just disapointing this one wasn’t nearly as good as I remmebered and it’s understandable why I forgot almost all of it, unlike the previous two episodes. Thankfully as I said better’s over the horizon.

NEXT TIME ON OF MOONS, MILLIONARES AND MOTHERS: I’m taking a break for a week. One of two weeklong breaks for the arc, the other being the first week of July where i’m on vacation anyway (Though i’ll be doing the episode I would’ve done for that week the week before to keep the pace up, so no worries),

 As for why, it’s my utmost honor to announce GOOF WEEK! Goof Week is a weeklong celebration of Goofy’s birthday. The idea came about because as I do for the big three, I intended to just do a shorts special. But Kev , the guy who made this very review possible, suggested doing the two part Goof Troop pilot. And since kev pays for a house of mouth episode a month anyway and thaks to you lovely people I hit my patreon stretch goal to review the goofy movie, I figured “why not make a week out of it. Hence Goof week. So next week we’ll have a review of the two part pilot for Goof Troop, the special Sports Goof, the House of Mouse episode Super Goof, your regularly schedule shorts spectacular, with The Goofy Movie for the grand finale! yaaahoooooieeee! 

When we come back i’ll be shuffling episodes around slightly so I can do the Della comics from the Ducktales Tie-In Comic before her debut and in time for Donald’s own theme week in June, i’ll be saving “Whatever Happened to Della Duck?” for the week after Donald Week. Instead next we get a fun wild west adventure as Scrooge tells a story of his outlaw days, his tension with goldie and his encounter with a certain robber baron as John D Rockerduck FINALLY makes his screen debut. Yee-Haw!

If you liked this review, subscribe and follow for more and consider joining my patroen, patreon.com/popculturebuffet. I have exclusive reviews, my most recent duck based one being an obscure carl barks story about wigs and the boys attempting to murder a guy with a blow gun, and your contribution helps me reach my goals and thus gets everyone, patreon or not, a bunch of neat new reviews. If you get me to 20 dollars a month, i’m currently at 15, EVERYONE will get a monthly darkwing duck reviews, reviews of the two remaning ducktales 87 mini series including the origin of GIZMOOOODDUUUUUCCCKKKK, and a review of the Danny Phantom movie The Ultimate Enemy. And with the month running out NOW’S the time to join. YOu’ll also get to pick one of the shorts for my Donald Duck birthday specail next month, so if you want to join in NOWS the time. But wether you can or you can’t, thank you for reading, i’ts been a pleasure. 

[anonniemousefics]

Hello! I absolutely adore your writing, especially your writings of kanej! Anyway, I would love to see you write something about jealousy from either kaz or inej, I just think it would be interesting to see your take on it! Obviously you don’t have to, I love your work! You’re a great writer!

❤️ Thank you so much!! This was so sweet to receive, and I’m so sorry it’s taken me so long to get this to you! So, hopefully you’re cool with this, but I decided to apply this idea in a modern AU because I have another request I’m also working on for a modern AU and this felt like an opportunity for some more practice. 😊 (And it just made it more fun for me -- idk, my brain just needed to do something new with these characters to make this work.) 

Samples - Modern AU

Fandom: Six of Crows | Kaz + Inej (ft. all the other Crows)

Word Count: 3,545

Rating: Teen And Up (Language)

“Who did this?”

All of Kaz’s friends were doubling over in laughter around the round hand-me-down table in Kaz and Jesper’s apartment. There were black and white Cards Against Humanity prompts spread across its surface – the most offensive combination of which had Inej, well, and everyone else, in fits.

What made my first kiss so awkward? had been the prompt Inej had drawn.

To which Kaz had submitted the following, randomly-selected card for her consideration – Announcing that I am about to cum. And then kept his poker face locked in place.

“Who did this?” Inej was demanding again, clutching her stomach.

Kaz wasn’t sure why he was hesitating -- something strange was happening while all of this was playing out. Nina had one hand on Inej’s arm while she was fairly screeching with laughter. Inej was slumping against Jesper, like the laugh was shaking her boneless. In fact, everywhere he looked, he was noticing how they were each exchanging these casual, unconscious touches in the midst of their mirth – Matthias turning his face against Nina’s shoulder, Wylan slapping Jesper’s shoulder.

No one was touching Kaz, though – which, that was good, though, right? That was because they were his friends, and they were thoughtful, and they knew all about The Very Sad Thing that had made him the way that he was.

And yet --

Kaz couldn’t find it in himself to laugh. He should be laughing, though, he realized. A normal person would be laughing, given the infectious nature of laughter. And also it was genuinely a really funny card – that’s why he’d played it. But all he could do was force a smile, and that was it.

He suddenly felt like an alien among them.

“Was it you?!” Inej was exclaiming, waving the card at him. Kaz designed what he hoped was a coy smirk for her.

“Are you saying that’s your favorite?” he asked, quirking an eyebrow.

“It was you.” Inej looked appalled, which only made everyone around the table hoot louder. Kaz was still smirking as she threw his winning card back at him with a mischievous, red-faced grin on her face.

“Oh, my God, Brekker.” Nina was wiping the tears off her apple-red cheeks.

“Why does that make it so much worse?” Matthias wondered, since he evidently could never not take a jab at Kaz. He scrubbed his eyes like he needed to wash them out.

And still not a single laugh out of Kaz’s body – this was disturbing. How long had he been this way? And why did he care so much all of a sudden?

“Guys, I’m pretty sure he won,” Wylan was saying, pointing at Kaz’s stack of wins. Had he? Everyone turned to count their cards.

Jesus Christ, he hadn’t even been paying attention to winning? But Kaz loved winning. It was the only reason he tolerated his roommate hosting these raucous game nights – because it meant Kaz could win things. And usually a lot of things. It was especially choice winning things off of Matthias Helvar, Nina’s latest lughead boyfriend she’d met at the gym, who now had to be invited to everything even though he sucked. He was always cuddling close to Nina, putting his arm around her, whispering gross things in her ear that made her giggle insufferably. It was so fucking uncomfortable.

Kaz never acted that way around Inej, and they’d been together for years. Sort of. Not always officially. It really had only been officially lately, but Kaz had always told himself he wasn’t one to need to put labels on things. Inej knewhow he felt – he knew this. (Did he, though?) He definitely knew this. (No, he didn’t.) There was no need to be like Matthias fucking Helvar and canoodle her in front of everyone on game night.

Oh, God. Kaz was suddenly having a realization, right there in the middle of counting his cards.

Oh, God.

He was jealous of Matthias Helvar.

Oh, this sucked.

This really fucking sucked. Kaz thought no one in their right mind should ever be jealous of that big dumb fuck, with his protein shakes and his weirdly popular fitspo Instagram page. The guy looked like he ate nothing but wild-caught salmon and organic broccoli. He wasn’t funny, and he’d say weirdly spiritual shit at socially unacceptable times. He probably spent his weekends doing annoying, on-brand fuckery like being one with nature and brewing his own kombucha, that asshole.

And this was the guy who felt comfortable enough to kiss a girl’s ear in a total stranger’s apartment. (Well, not a total stranger, Kaz would relinquish that – Nina had been dating Matthias for three months.) Matthias Helvar was doing all that nothing with his life, and he wasn’t the least bit self-conscious.

Ugh. Kaz hated that guy. Worse! Kaz wanted to be that guy. Minus the kombucha and the religious stuff. And the gym membership. And probably the protein shakes.

Ok, fine, Kaz was only interested in the PDA. This was so fucking awful.

“What number were we playing to?” he heard himself ask. He wasn’t even paying attention to card counting. He was going to have to start again.

“Can’t count that high, Brekker?” Matthias asked, smirking, and there was always something Kaz took as halfway serious in the way he tried to joke.

“Die in a fire, Helvar,” he said, with a smile that was as good as a middle finger.

“And on that note!” Nina sung out, standing with a hand on Matthias’ shoulder. “It’s almost midnight. I have an eight a.m. class. We gotta call it a night.”

“Matthias drove us,” Inej explained to Kaz’s questioning look at the word “We.”

Inej and Nina were roommates, too, like Kaz and Jesper, but the two girls lived on campus in the dorms at Ketterdam University, where all but Matthias attended. (Fucking Matthias, who was a personal trainer and got money from wellness companies to tout their shit on his Instagram. Ugh.) Wylan, Jesper’s boyfriend, was also living in the dorms this year, after spending his freshmen year commuting from his dad’s enormous house. Wylan had been the one with the car before Kaz had finally scraped together the money for one, but his dad had cut him off over the summer. Kaz didn’t know much about that beyond what little Jesper had told him, which, in summary, was: goodbye, car; hello, dorm life.

“You should have said something – I could have picked you all up,” Kaz said, mostly to Inej, as the others were standing from the table.

Nina reached a tentative hand out to gently touch his shoulder, well-protected by the fabric of his black v-neck.

“Kaz,” she said, gingerly, “we love you, but Matthias has functioning air conditioning.”

Kaz slid his glance toward Inej, who gave a little confirming nod, pressing back her amused smile.

“My thighs don’t stick to the seats in his car,” she explained, softly, which may as well have been a knife to the gut. He loved driving her around in his car. And, to top it off, she was in a pair of really adorable denim cut offs, her legs deeply tan from the summer sun, and he hadn’t even had the nerve to try to touch her exposed knee all night. (Meanwhile, Hands-On Helvar over here had been sitting with his palm all over Nina’s plentiful thighs all night. God, he was so gross. Couldn’t Kaz be just a little bit gross?)

“Are you okay?” Inej was asking. She was stepping a little closer to him away from where everyone else was putting on shoes, preparing to leave. She had her arms wrapped around herself and her loose, purple crop-top, and her long, dark braid was pulled over her shoulder – just mercilessly cute all over. And he hadn’t touched her all night.

“I’m fine,” he replied, but he kept his hands in his jeans pockets. Inej’s dark brows knit together.

“You’d tell me if you weren’t?” she checked. Kaz huffed a laugh – how was he supposed to answer that? Realistically, he should lie.

“Probably not,” he admitted anyway, and gave a shrug. Inej opened her mouth to reply, but Nina called to her from the doorway of the apartment.

“Sorry! Eight a.m. class! She’s going to text you from the car anyway!” Nina was shouting.

“She’s not wrong,” Inej shrugged with a smile. And reached out to barely brush her hand against his spine, like the first attempt at a hug. But Kaz could only bunch up his shoulders, hands stuffed deeper into his pockets. Why was he like this?

There were a few more awkward goodbyes at the doorway, including Matthias’ one-more last-minute sales pitch on the recent CBD-infused green powder drink he was hawking online. (“I’ll bring you some samples next week. They say it’s excellent for chronic pain.” Kaz had flipped him off when his back was turned.)

But then, once they’d all gone and the apartment was quiet, Kaz felt like he was rolling in regret.

“You doing ok?” Jesper asked him, gathering up the empty Solo cups for the trash. Jesper was a really good roommate. They’d been randomly assigned the same dorm room at the beginning of freshmen year, and it just worked. Jesper’s high energy plus Kaz’s insomnia were meant to be. They liked all the same things: strong coffee, getting paid dirty money to write other people’s papers for them, and occasionally clearing the mind by playing Call of Duty all night. They’d moved off campus the following year (a better move for the plagiarism operation), never even really having a conversation about whether or not to room with someone else. It was not even a question, and who else would Kaz even want to room with?

“You’ve seemed off all night,” Jesper was pointing out, and if Kaz had half a brain, he knew he should have been asking Jesper for advice about PDA long before it had reached envying-Matthias-Helvar-levels. Jesper and Wylan were normal in public. When they held hands or hugged or traded kisses, it wasn’t some fucking scene.

But how was he even supposed to bring this up to Jesper?

“Helvar’s such a dillweed,” was all he could find to complain. Jesper snorted.

“He is not that bad,” he said, dumping a stack of Solo cups into the trash.

“He’s the literal worst,” Kaz objected. “I can’t believe he unironically called himself an influencer.” And at that, Jesper pretended to barf into the trashcan.

“Yeah, no, you’re right – that was dumb,” he said. “I commend you for not cutting off your own ears when he did.”

“We are not buying his stupid fucking green juice,” Kaz said, pointing at Jesper to show he meant business.

“Good!” Jesper agreed. “Nina says it gives him the shits.”

And that brought Kaz some comfort. He found he could smirk about it while he loaded up the dishwasher. He was starting it up when his phone buzzed on the counter. He leaned over to read it.

Inej: You seemed sad tonight.

Inej’s contact photo in his phone was one he’d snapped when she wasn’t looking – she was leaning her head back with her eyes closed, taking in the sunshine. It had made her brown skin glimmer and dazzle.

Kaz stared at her text for probably too long. Long enough for Jesper to peer around the corner of the kitchen doorway at him.

“I’m going to bed – everything okay?” he said, and cocked his head. “Is it another last minute job?” Those kinds of jobs – the ones where a student was giving up the night before something massive was due – paid the most, but for good reason. They were absolutely fucking miserable to pull off.

“No,” Kaz shook his head. “Just Inej.”

It was never “just Inej” – and Jesper nodded like he knew that.

“Hey, Kaz,” he said, as he began to leave for his bedroom. Kaz looked up at him sidelong as he mouthed, barely audible: “Tell her what’s wrong.”

“Thank you, Dr. Phil.” Kaz rolled his eyes. And heaved a heavy sigh.

And started typing.

Kaz: I guess I was a little.

Whoa, pressing send on that was unpleasant. He wandered over to his preferred recliner in the living room and flopped back in it. Shoved the footrest up to elevate his bad leg. Ugh. Just ugh to everything and everyone. He looked down at his phone again.

And Inej had been quick to respond.

Inej: You can tell me these things, you know.

Inej: I know I won’t always have the right thing to say, but I want to be there for you.

Inej. Why are you being so perfect so far away?

Why are you wasting your time with a boyfriend who struggles to touch you?

Inej: Are you writing a novel?

He’d been writing and rewriting the same sentence twenty different times. She’d probably been looking at those ominous three bobbing dots for way too long.

Ugh. God. Fine. Kaz drew in a long deep breath, staring up at the ceiling like it could intervene and come to his aid. And then fucking wrote.

Kaz: I wish things were different

Kaz: I wish I wasn’t so fucked

Kaz: I wish I knew how to be a better boyfriend – how to make you blush and laugh and make that one smile that’s like you’re telling secrets with your eyes

He pushed the recliner back as far as it would go. Maybe it would tip and dump him on his head and he’d have to go to the hospital, and that would at least delay Inej inevitably breaking up with him for being this pathetic wet blanket. The phone buzzed again, and he almost didn’t want to look.

Inej: Um, where were you all night? You literally had me doing all those things all night

Huh. That wasn’t how he remembered it.

Kaz: On the opposite side of the table from you

Kaz: Watching basically everyone else be able to touch you but me

Oh, fuck, oh, fuck, oh, fuck. That sounded so petulant, and he’d already pressed send. That sounded so needy and disgusting. Who said that kind of shit? Not even Matthias Helvar said that kind of shit. He wanted to throw his phone across the room. No, out the window. No, out into the sea.

Now he was on the receiving end of the three bobbing dots of doom. Fuuuuck.

Kaz: Can we just forget I said that?

More dots. Then nothing.

Then dots.

Inej: I don’t know. You’re kind of cute when you’re jealous.

At that, Kaz raised his eyebrows.

Kaz: I am not jealous.

Inej: You’re a little jealous

Kaz: No, I feel insufficient.

(Oooof. That was like trying to throw an anvil. Painful.)

Inej: Oh

Kaz was watching the texts come in from beneath his arm now, holding the phone high over his head. Like watching the slasher scenes in a horror movie.

Inej: I mean

Inej: It seems like you’re just splitting hairs here

Inej: Since you must think others are sufficient in ways you are not, so you envy them

…

Kaz: Touche, Ghafa.

And he couldn’t help smiling to himself when Inej sent him a gif of a swashbuckling cartoon Robin Hood brandishing a sword. Then another text bubble appeared.

Inej: You are not insufficient to me, Kaz.

He really wanted to believe that.

Kaz: Even if I’m not hanging all over you and amassing a truly staggering number of Instagram followers with my six-pack abs?

Inej: O.M.G.

Inej: Kaz

Inej: Brekker

Oh, God, what had he done?

Inej: Are you *jealous* of Matthias?

Uggghh, he was going to be sick.

Kaz: Fuck no

Kaz: It was just a hypothetical

Kaz: It was an exaggeration

Kaz: I could do the same thing with any one of our friends

Kaz: And we all know the abs are photoshopped anyway

Inej: OMG

Kaz: What now

Inej: You called Matthias our friend

Kaz wanted to stab himself in the brain.

Inej: I’m gonna tell him

Kaz: Don’t you fucking dare

Inej: I already did

Kaz: What? How? How are you that fast?

Inej: Still in the car

Kaz: ????

There was no reason for that – the dorms were hardly a 10-minute drive. Now Kaz’s brain was assaulting him with a thousand reasons things his girlfriend could still be doing in a car (A nice car! With working air conditioning!) with a personal trainer/amateur Instagram model, and none of them were pleasant or welcome thoughts. The phone buzzed again.

Inej: I asked him to bring me back to you. :)

At that, Kaz straightened the recliner, rising to his feet as fast as his stiff leg would allow.

Kaz: You did? And he did? Why?

He was limping toward the front door.

Inej: Because he’s not terrible, Kaz. And because I guess I missed your car after all ;)

Jesper and Kaz’s apartment was the third floor of a wonky old Victorian home that had once been something grand and only recently had been split into three different abodes – which was definitely the worst decision the two of them had made as roommates. Kaz was leaning hard against the railing as he took to the steps when the front door of the building banged shut below. And then there on the landing below was Inej, wearing a sheepish smile in the yellow, buzzing fluorescence of the hall light. She was holding her phone in one hand, her tan leather purse slung across her slim body.

“I thought you looked like you could use a hug,” she said, as she pocketed her phone.

Kaz took the last two stairs carefully, coming to stand in front of her. She smelled like vanilla and coconut oil – like something he wanted to wake up to every morning.

“You came all the way back for a hug,” he wanted to clarify. His hands – he should do something with his hands. What would Matthias do with his hands?

No. What do I want to do with my hands?

So, he looped a couple fingers through her belt loops. Tugged her a little closer. And she smiled.

“Technically,” she said, “Matthias came all the way back so I could bring you some samples.” She patted her purse, which did look a little bulkier. “They were in his car the whole time.”

“Mmmm.” He pretended to look tantalized. “Hot car samples. Delicious.”

Inej was twisting her fingers in the t-shirt fabric at the crest of his hips. Tugging him a little closer, too. God, it was so good. She’d been so right. He had wanted a hug.

“I know that’s how I want my protein powder,” she teased. “Piping hot, right out of the oven.”

“Just how Ma used to make it,” Kaz added, with a good bit of feigned nostalgia. Inej blurted out a laugh, tipping forward until her forehead bumped his sternum.

At that first brush, it was like his hands knew what to do from there. They slipped around her waist while her hands slid around his. And she pressed her cheek against his chest while he held her close.

“You are not insufficient,” Inej said against him.

“I would really like to pretend that never happened,” he said with a sigh, resting his chin on top of her head.

“Too late,” she hummed, happily, and gave him a light squeeze. He smiled against her hair.

“You know I wouldn’t want you to be like Matthias, right?” she asked.

“You shouldn’t even want Matthias to be like Matthias,” Kaz grumbled.

“Hey,” and Inej pulled back to look up at him with her big, soft brown eyes. “I mean it. I just want you to be you. I don’t want all the handsy stuff. That’s what Nina likes. I just like you.”

Kaz carefully pushed back a few strands of her hair from her forehead.

“Not even a little handsy stuff?” he checked, which made Inej give her coy little smirk, his very favorite.

“Maybe a little handsy stuff,” she said.

If there were ever going to be a time to kiss her, it would be now. But when he thought it, Kaz felt his heart make an enormous leap into his throat, seizing in panic. If he touched her mouth with his, if he closed his eyes and felt her face so close to his, would he just end up floundering in The Very Sad Thing again? What if it happened while he was kissing her? Would every kiss after that be tainted? Could he risk it – could he ever?

So, he didn’t move to meet her lips. He let his hands fall to the small of her back, though, and kept her close for another moment. Like a sample of physical affection, and she seemed okay with that. He would will himself to believe it was not insufficient.

“Drive me home?” she asked after a moment, with a kind of sweet, eager anticipation that made Kaz believe in magic. He nodded, of course.

“I’ll go up and get my keys,” he said. “And you throw away those samples.”

Inej laughed, following him up.

“Deal,” she said.

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

Tagging: @annejulianneh111, @loveyatopluto, @ireallyshouldsleeprn, @whosanxiety, @raging-bisexual-alert,

[wonderlustlucas]

four - hwang hyunjin

⇢ prompt They say good things come in fours. Who? Couldn’t tell you, but they especially do during Christmas. Maybe that’s just Saint Nick. ⇢ pairing hyunjin x female reader ⇢ word count 11.7k ⇢ genre fluff ⇢ warnings swearing. mentions of alcohol & s e x. teenagerz being teenagerz. insane amount of fluff & stupidity. kind of ends w a smutty cliffhanger. ⇢ summary After suppressing how you felt about Hyunjin back in high school, you thought you were done going back on your feelings. Turns out, a little time apart, the spirit of Christmas, and an accidental nap is the perfect cocktail for falling in love with your best friend.—friends to lovers!au ⇢ a/n hello & merry christmas! here is a gift for you all on this very merry day. also, thank you for 1,000 followers! that in itself is one of the best presents i could ask for. thank you for all your kindness & support on my blog & for following me in the first place! it truly means so much to me. i hope you enjoy reading! ♥︎

big tiddy jinny🍯🧸🌟🖇[now] Sorry! I just woke up

big tiddy jinny🍯🧸🌟🖇[now] Whats wrong fool

big tiddy jinny🍯🧸🌟🖇[now] Did u rlly think 12 texts were gonna wake me up?🤦🏻‍♂️ godt damn u on some WACK shit

You roll your eyes in time with each consecutive text that Hyunjin sends, waiting for the lock screen of your phone to blacken after reading them. He’s about as useless as pedals on a wheelchair, you think, ignoring the texts and forcing the device into the snug back pocket of your jeans before transferring the last two excessively packed grocery bags into the trunk of your car with an exhausted huff. Christ, if the bagging lady put one more item in those bags, she would be the one to blame for six cans of soup rolling about the parking lot.

The license plate rattles when you slam the trunk lid closed before hurrying around to the driver’s side and anxiously hopping inside to start blasting the heat. It is obnoxiously chilly for the first of September. Well, not really. Your body is just beginning to get used to the ungodly wrath of summer’s sweltering heat leaving you in a constant state of sweat and nausea for the past three months. Not that you’re complaining, of course. You nearly did somersaults of joy when the morning news reported a temperature of sixty-one degrees with some wind gusts and welcomed the beginning signs of autumn with open arms.

You would never admit to Mom who told yo uon the way out to change out of a tank top or at least wear a jacket, but yes— you are, in fact, cold. But now you have godsent warmth blowing from the vents and the seat warmer on its highest setting beginning to thaw away the goosebumps painted on your skin. Giving your arms one last rub, you lean up enough to retrieve your phone and open the conversation with Hyunjin.

[2:37 PM] YN: please. smell my balls

[2:37 PM] YN: nothings wrong btw. i was GOING to ask if u wanted any specific snacks for tn buttttt someone didn’t answer

[2:37 PM] YN: and excuse u i called too. i may be an idiot but im not stupid

[2:38 PM] YN: ik u would never hear a text when ur having wet dreams of yeji

You stop there with a smug smirk when the three dots on his side appear, knowing you’ve hit his funny bone with this one.

[2:38 PM] big tiddy jinny🍯🧸🌟🖇: Bruh

[2:38 PM] big tiddy jinny🍯🧸🌟🖇 :I’ve literally never have had a wet dream ab Yeji pls stop

You cannot fight your shit-eating grin, thumbs circling over the keyboard in thought as he apparently deletes whatever other text he was going to send when the three dots disappear.

[2:38 PM] YN: mmhmmmm

[2:38 PM] YN: because last time you slept over you weren’t whimpering her name in ur sleep

[2:38 PM] YN: sureeeee

You decide to end your teasing there and continue once you’re home. It is starting to get late, after all, and Mom will begin to worry that the creepy employee always in aisle sixteen has abducted you. Plus, you’re cruel and like to watch Hyunjin suffer. Switching the ringer off, you throw your phone into the cupholder and drastically lower the heat and turn off the seat warmer. It’s starting to feel like a sauna in here, and not in a fun way. Can’t understand how anyone enjoys hanging out in a sauna to begin with anyway, but to each their own, you guess.

In the five-minute drive it takes until you are pulling into the driveway, Hyunjin calls three times. He is incredibly peeved at your lack of a response to his distressed texts and still wound up from your text about Yeji. As if! You’re already a clown not realizing his ever-growing affections for you, but to think he had a crush on Yeji? You’re the whole damn circus!

By the time he calls a fifth time, now sat up on his elbow in bed and strumming an annoyed beat of his fingers at his thigh because he really just wants to yell at you for being the most annoying person alive (and maybe to hear your voice, too), you have brought in the last of the bags and look to Mom who has started to put the groceries away and expects you to half-heartedly do the same.

“It’s Hyunjin. He’s having an existential crisis because I haven’t answered his texts,” you explain to her, unenthusiastically holding your phone as it vibrates against your palm. Half of you wants her to ask to finish putting everything away first just so you can torture him even longer. Alas, such extravagant wishes are denied, because when it comes to Hyunjin, your parents would undoubtedly throw you under the bus just to keep that boy happy. And so, just like any other time, Mom’s undying love for Hyunjin has her dismissing you from the kitchen with a hearty laugh.

“Jesus Christ! What?” You hiss, halfway up the stairs when you tap to answer his call on the last ring.

“Wow! Look who finally decided to answer!” Hyunjin shouts back, the swoosh of his sheets once he finally falls back against his pillow again rustling all too loudly through the phone. “I was driving,” you spit, marching into your bedroom and collapsing against your bed, the same rustle of your blankets sounding loudly into his ear. “There’s a thing called the speaker, ___. Ever heard of it?” He retorts, evidently shutting you up and he knows he won this round if your silence is anything to go by.

“Whatever,” you groan, using all your toe strength to kick the sneakers off your feet by their soles, “what was so important that you couldn’t wait and had to call me five billion times?”

“I had a question. And you hurt my feelings.” Well, shit. You can practically hear and see his pout through the phone and your heart positively swells in your chest at how undeniably, unjustifiably cute he is. You sigh.

“I’m sorry for making fun of you about Yeji. I’m going to do it again but next time I promise I won’t pull the wet dream card,” you apologize frankly; because, in all honesty, it would be worse to say you are not going to do it again when you most certainly will. Bullying Hyunjin is fun, what can you say?

Hyunjin heaves an exasperated breath from his lungs because he knows there is no point in arguing with quite possibly the most sarcastic human he knows and that’s the best form of an apology he’s going to get. Whatever. He’ll make sure to wipe his morning snot and droll on your shirt in the morning. “Anyway,” he grumbles, in the background you hear Kkami bark from a few rooms over, “I was going to ask if you wanted to come over my place instead? I know your parents probably want to see me and stuff but mine are out of town for the night so we can sleep in my bed until like three without Mom waking us up to force feed breakfast.” You roll your eyes. Of course your parents want to see him.

“Plus, Mom just put that grey comforter I know you really like on my bed so we can cuddle all night and watch stuff on YouTube,” he quickly adds as a convincing afterthought. He’s really got his sales pitch going on this one. Truth is, you have only slept in his bed with that stupidly soft blanket twice last winter break, but it’s still sweet that he remembers how much you loved it (aka how quickly you fell asleep and how grumpy you were being woken up because it’s just that darn cozy). Either way, you would never pass up an opportunity to snuggle up with Hyunjin in the comfort of his own bed with his citrusy, floral scent on the pillows luring you to sleep.

“My Mom is going to be heartbroken, Hyunjin,” you tease, “but who cares. You had me sold at sleeping until three. Do you still want me to bring the snacks I got?”

“Oh, thank God. I love your Mom’s cooking but I haven’t left bed all day and I really want to keep it that way. And yes, please. I’ve been eating dry cereal for the past two hours.”

“Hyunjin, have you brushed your teeth yet?”

“No. Didn’t you just hear me? I said I’ve been in bed all day. Eating cereal. When would I have brushed my teeth?”

“You’ve officially taken breakfast in bed to a whole new level, Jin. I’ll see you in a few hours. Oh, and please, you have no concept of personal space so make sure you brush your teeth before I come over.”

“Yeah, yeah. Whatever. Love ya, bye,” Hyunjin promptly hangs up, probably eager to get back to binging whatever drama he’s watching before you lecture him about his hygiene again. Not that it matters, anyway; chances are, it went in one ear and right out the other and you’re going to drag him out of bed later to brush his teeth.

Damn. You didn’t even get the chance to say love you back. Not that it matters.

It doesn’t, you quickly shut down the pesky thought that keeps you up at night and force it back into the storage part of your brain labeled ‘Deal with Later,’ because, really, you’ll have to think about that later. It’s not that you don’t want to think about it yet… you just don’t have the time to stop and really figure out what your feelings toward Hyunjin actually are. Yeah. That’s it.

And now isn’t the time, you tell yourself, scooting up the mattress in order to bury your face in the pillows to suffocate the pounding throb in your head. Hyunjin is nothing special.

Well, no. That’s a lie. Everything about Hyunjin is special. Anyone with eyes, ears, even a nose can sense that. You had quickly found out just how wonderful he is when you met him freshman year of high school. At the time, he was everyone’s sweetheart by the first day, but it just so happened his eyes were all on you.

He was obviously adorable, and every class you had together he always made a point to talk to you and returned your sarcasm with an impressive level of expertise. So, when it came to him asking you to the first homecoming, the answer was yes without a second thought. But during the last slow dance of the night, with his hands gently holding your waist, he at last listened to his conscience and revealed that as much as he liked you, he truly did not want to date in high school. Or right then, at least. And honestly, you were glad; Hyunjin was quite possibly your favorite person you had met thus far, and you would have rather kept him as a friend than commit to a relationship the second month of school and risk losing him later down the road.

And boy, keep him as a friend you did. As it turned out, Hyunjin grew to be your truest, best friend in high school. Sure, you each had your own friend groups, but the two of you were the iconic pair everybody knew. But strictly platonic, despite the rumors and wishes that went around for the next four years. You like to think that neither of you ever developed feelings past what everyone feels toward their best friend— an innocent, wholesome sort of love.

But when had things changed? Hormones, as always, were definitely a big part of it. Hyunjin was always a cutie, but it wasn’t until he grew into his own skin and developed a newfound confidence did you start to see him differently. Until everyone saw him differently. Neither of you missed the way people stared him down, pupils dilating every time he ran his fingers through the black tufts of his hair, hearts aching for some sort of interaction. Or when you started attending parties, groups of girls would fling themselves at him in a blundering disarray, most of which he would turn down with a gentle dismissal that flew over their heads, too drunk to actually care.

But then there were times his dick made the decision for him, desperation and deprivation weighing in on him and you’d watch with a tight jaw as he’d leave the room with the pretty girl of the night skipping after him. You never realized it was only on those nights did you wind up in the back seat of Han Jisung’s car.

But even after the physical attraction sizzled out over time, things were not the same. Hyunjin wasn’t your hidden little treasure anymore. All eyes were set on him and it took more than a glass of water to swallow your jealousy. But why? Why were you so resentful all of a sudden?

It’s hard to share Hwang Hyunjin, you decided. Once established that you were his main hoe and he was yours, it became a significant burden watching others try and get in between. Not that they did it with a malicious attempt to separate you, but it still hurt. You’re selfish, and you admit it— Hyunjin, quite frankly, is the love of your life. Romantic or not, nothing could change your feelings toward him. It goes beyond his unfathomable beauty and spunky personality. Everything about him from his nose to his hands, to his distaste for onions and the way his face scrunches up when he lets out that giggle of his and even to the way he prefers to sleep against the wall but will force you to when you’re over so he can “protect you in case there’s a monster” all mount into this big, giant section of your heart set aside for Hyunjin.

So despite your efforts to ignore the pang of jealousy each time he would find a potential someone or the joy whenever he’d find his way back because “they kept wanting to hang out in the morning even though I said I don’t wake up before noon,” this Hyunjin-shaped hole in your heart seems to only grow the longer you ignore it. Kind of like every medical condition out there: the longer you ignore it, the worse it gets. So, basically Hyunjin is your heart disease.

Yikes. Sounds a lot worse when you try putting it into words.

Well, he won’t be your heart defect for long if he keeps ruining those pearly whites of his by only brushing once just before bed, you chuckle to yourself, rolling to your side at the sudden lack of oxygen between your face and the pillow. There’s a fleeting moment without thought when you unconsciously reach for your phone to check for any notifications before the fattest revelation of them all falls from the ceiling and smacks you right upside the face.

Shit. Looks like you’ve gone right ahead and totally dissected each and every fiber of your feelings for Hyunjin.

Blinking up at the ceiling, the weight of your emotions isn’t as heavy as you expected them to be. Instead, it’s more of a breath of fresh air, as if you have finally accepted the way things fell instead of ignoring them. Your feelings for Hyunjin have always been there. It just took a little effort to get them out.

Nevertheless, it is going to be difficult hanging out with him in a few hours with your exposed emotions still needing to be processed. Especially when he will pull you to his side and keep you nestled there the entire night. Rubbing your temples, you realize it will take some serious self-control to put everything on the back burner and just enjoy the time spent with Hyunjin.

Sighing, you check the time on your phone again. 3:21 and a text from Hyunjin asking if you could bring green tea.

“Mom!” You yell, defeated. “You were right!”

You used to think Hyunjin lived far away. Truthfully, he’s only fifteen minutes away if you go ten over the speed limit. But the only way to get to his house entails driving through the chaos of the mall and town center, which adds an extra ten minutes sitting through traffic no matter the time of day.

Now, Hyunjin’s college campus is two hours away. Well, technically five from you, since you’re almost three hours away in the opposite direction. So you’re lucky if you get to see him once a month with how hectic school becomes and how difficult it is trying to plan to come home the same weekend. Fortunately, it has worked out this semester. And while you should spend this time with your families, they know how much you crave one another’s company as the weeks drag on. The twenty-two minutes it takes getting to each other’s homes is totally worth it.

You expect Hyunjin to tell you to use the key hidden underneath the resin meditating frog statue in the front garden to unlock the front door when you text him you have arrived, but to your utmost surprise, he’s there, awake, to open the door for you.

“Stinky!” You yell, dropping your things on the floor to burry yourself in his embrace, standing on your tippy toes to wrap your arms around his neck in order to really get the full experience of hugging your favorite giant. “Poopy!” He shouts in return, long arms winding tightly around your waist and even going so far as to lift you up a few inches. God. Hate when he does that.

“Why are you up? I thought I’d have to let myself in with you sleeping all your problems away,” you ask, smiling gratefully when he bends down to pick up your bag. “I realized Kkami hadn’t been out all day, so I came down to let him out and find actual food,” Hyunjin explains as he makes way into the kitchen, opening the back door to let said dog back inside. “Aw, poor thing,” you pout, squatting to scratch at Kkami’s neck when he zooms faster than the speed of light to you, “does that mean you brushed your teeth?”

“I did, actually,” Hyunjin snorts right back, scrunching his nose at you before turning away to open the fridge. Sitting on the floor with Kkami in your lap, you take the opportunity to finally get a good look at Hyunjin now that he’s distracted. And of course, he looks good. Really good. Last time you saw him he still was a brunette, a look he rocked during the spring and summer months. This is the first time you’ve seen the freshly dyed black hair in person. Even though he always looks handsome, something about Hyunjin with black hair completely changes his aura. Brings back memories of how badly you wanted him in high school. You shiver at the thought.

And, to top it all off, how he manages to stay in such disgustingly good shape despite his atrocious eating habits never ceases to amaze you. Like, come on. The boy eats worse than a raccoon seven days out of the week, lives off boba, works out maybe five times a month, dances in his free time and still keeps his body in tiptop shape. God, you hate him. His pediatrician probably hates him, too. You even go as far as to sniff the fries in your dining hall and you gain five pounds.

Even now, he looks unnecessarily regal in the baggy material of his sweatpants and flannel. And the warmth of his kitchen’s ambient lighting does nothing to suppress the heavy thumping of your heart. So casual is his dress, yet how immaculate he looks rummaging the cabinets for a snack.

“Are you hungry?” He asks, the familiar softness of his voice shaking you from your daze as he closes the refrigerator door after his unsuccessful search. Here’s the thing: you really aren’t hungry, but Hyunjin clearly is, so if you say no then all he will be thinking about is food until you decide that you are hungry. “Yeah,” is what you say, nudging Kkami off your crossed legs to stand, “I brought green tea and a few snacks, but we could order Chinese food or something. The place near Dunkin’ and the gas station makes bubble tea now, too.”

Hyunjin’s brows shoot up, flashing his boxy smile. “Is it good?”

“I mean, I’ve only had their pork dumplings and mango tea before, and it was pretty good. I don’t know about their noodles or anything, though,” you shrug, moving to stand beside him at the kitchen island. Distracted by Kkami trying to jump onto the sofa in the living room, you don’t look to Hyunjin until the poor dog is successful in doing so. Startled to find him already gazing down at you, your heart truly is not prepared for him to go right ahead and wrap his arms around your waist, resting his chin on your shoulder. Totally not freaking out or trying to overthink his need to constantly cling, you justify his actions by quickly recalling the time he said, “My head is too godtdamn big for my godtdamn body.” More like his head is too heavy because instead of a brain it’s just a chunk of cement up there. He just needs to rest his head sometimes.

Yeah.

“Mm, I don’t know,” Hyunjin hums, swaying your body with his to an unheard tune. By now, any coherent thought has dissipated into thin air and all you can do is melt against him. “Why?” You manage.

“’Cus if we order anything that means I’ll have to get up and get it.”

“Oh my God, Hyunjin, really?” You laugh. Your hands naturally glide to where his are linked at your stomach, pressing to interlock your fingers overtop his. “If that’s the only reason for your uncertainty than I could always come get it, idiot.”

“No! It’s okay,” Hyunjin says, jumping back before you can even process it, “I’m not that hungry anyway.”

“Ohhh ‘kay,” you laugh breathlessly, whiplashed by the whole thing. Good thing you aren’t hungry, because when was the last time Hyunjin turned down food? Blinking at him precariously, he doesn’t seem to notice until one too many seconds of silence pass by.

“C’mon,” he demands excitedly, jumping back into reality, “my roommate told me to watch this anime called Soul Eater but I wanted to watch it with you.” Once again, before anything can even register past every single That Was Cute™ alarm ringing in your brain, Hyunjin is grabbing your bag and reaching for your hand, leading you out of the kitchen and upstairs.

You and Hyunjin binge aforementioned anime until he falls asleep first around 2 AM, only stopping to order food an hour in (he’s an indecisive man indeed), to get up to retrieve it, and to actually eat while catching up. For most of the night, you are able to forget the way his heartbeat against your back mirrored your own in the kitchen. But then, a little while after you fall asleep yourself, Hyunjin unconsciously shifts closer and you spend another hour blinking at his relaxed hand twitching against your abdomen, trying to keep the hurricane inside your heart at bay.

You can’t make it home October. Hyunjin texted you to let you know he was going to be the third weekend in, and you tried desperately to manage your time in order to make it work. But one group project in chem lead to another paper in psych and before you knew it, your roommate was listening to you sob over a boy and curse out your classes.

September left you emotionally wrecked, to be totally honest. You hate Hyunjin and you hate the way he makes you feel and you especially hate how realizing you have a crush on him makes you unsure if everything he does is his way of hinting he feels the same or if he’s always been this touchy and you are just now recognizing it. So, missing a month of seeing your favorite human being essentially means missing another day of trying to decipher which actions of his go in the Friend list, and which go in the Questionable list. And that, my friend, is unacceptable.

You absolutely cannot not go home this month. November is the calm before the storm (the storm being exams looming the second week of December), and while it would be beneficial maybe staying on campus to continue preparing, you tell yourself going home will be just as helpful. Mental breaks, and stuff. Totally not just to see Hyunjin.

Either way, Hyunjin asks you if you would join him on the seventeenth to go to his second cousin’s christening and you absolutely cannot say no when you know how bored Hyunjin gets at family events when they aren’t for him. And so, fast forward to the third Sunday of November and you are ready to pass out ten minutes after entering the church.

“I’m so happy for you two! I always knew you would last into college,” one of Hyunjin’s aunts exclaims, pinching your cheeks but the only pinch you feel is that of your heart.

Clearly she is misinformed, or just prone to jumping to conclusions but yet again, you can’t really blame her with how couple-y you and Hyunjin are. Past the single tunnel vision of your gaze, you watch her smile falter when Hyunjin goes rigid beside you and oh my God this is the most embarrassing moment of my life, his whole family thinks we’re dating and here we are still stuck in each other’s friendz—

“I’m glad you think so, imo,” Hyunjin suddenly picks up, sneaking an arm around to rest his hand on your hip, tugging you close, “I don’t know what I’ll do if she ever decides to leave me.”

It’s nice to think that he means it, to imagine that you are here not as a tag-along but to join him in a family ceremony because you are part of the family. The thought turns your blood to sugar and everything surrounding you falls apart; you listen to the rest of their conversation without processing it, the precise detailing in the marble pillars blurs into a mass of white, and you still feel his strong hold on the curve of your waist yet you are lost in the swam of possibilities.

How lovely it would be to live up to her assumption. To ‘last into college’ as a couple, not as best friends. To be able to call him yours even when you’re not together, to come home and kiss his lips, to sleep in his bed and it mean more than the laziness of blowing up the air mattress. At some point, he leads you into the third pew to sit beside his parents, and when you greet them with a hug all you can think about is them viewing you as more than their son’s friend.

God, you hate it.

You’re not as religious as Hyunjin and his family. But for the first time in years, you find yourself looking to the crucifix during the service and praying to whoever is up there to give you some strength and patience, because Lord do you need it.

Hyunjin is a funny guy.

Or so he thinks.

It’s not that he isn’t funny. It’s just— compared to your friends Minho or Changbin, he isn’t at the top of the list. When you think of Hyunjin, the first words that pop up are soft, loud, and dramatic.

It’s not that he isn’t funny. He’s just weird.

Insanely, ridiculously weird. For example, the time he called Jeongin a vitamin. Or the time he slapped half a bottle of sunscreen on his face. Or his random bouts of dancing at inappropriate moments. Just to name a few.

After the Baptism, Hyunjin acted like nothing happened. Didn’t even bring it up. Not even a joke. After the ceremony, you joined his family for a luncheon, which just involved the two of you being weird and making peculiar dancing videos on SnapChat with the swirly filter and complaining about school for a few hours until he drove you home. Obviously you stopped for food again on the way.

But that was it. Things went on as normal, and you returned to campus later that night and forced the whole experience to the back of your brain. It was officially grind season, and grind season meant studying for exams. No parties. No boys. And certainly no Hyunjin.

You both were home for winter break in the blink of an eye. And in normal Hyunjin style, he sort of vanished for the first week. Probably catching up on his strict sleeping schedule, you presumed, and accepted the fact that it was going to be a few days before you saw or even heard from him. The only anticipation you felt was wanting to give him his Christmas gift.

After what seems like an eternity away from Hyunjin, you get out of the shower on this fine Saturday before Christmas to find a slew of texts from him.

[5:52 PM] big tiddy jinny🍯🧸🌟🖇: Aloha mamacita

[5:52 PM] big tiddy jinny🍯🧸🌟🖇: How do u feel about getting froyo tn

[5:52 PM] big tiddy jinny🍯🧸🌟🖇: We can get fat and then u can sleepover aaaand

[5:52 PM] big tiddy jinny🍯🧸🌟🖇: We can stare at the wall for a few hours

[5:52 PM] big tiddy jinny🍯🧸🌟🖇: And

[5:53 PM] big tiddy jinny🍯🧸🌟🖇: *cough*

[5:53 PM] big tiddy jinny🍯🧸🌟🖇: Exchange Jesus gifts

See? Weird. Who wants froyo when it’s thirty degrees out?

[5:53 PM] YN: “aloha mamacita”

[5:53 PM] YN: uHmmmMMM

[5:53 PM] YN: im down mr president

[5:54 PM] YN: why do u want ice cream in winter tho. don’t u want like

[5:54 PM] YN: hot chocolate or seomthing

Obviously not. Two hours later, Hyunjin arrives to pick you up for froyo despite all your efforts in convincing him maybe you could take the train to the city and watch a light show, or simply drive around and swoon over the rich people houses and their Christmas decorations. He didn’t budge. This leads you to your second question of the day: why is it that when you threw on sweats for the occasion you called yourself a hag, but upon entering Hyunjin’s car you make a mental note of how hot he looks when he’s wearing the same exact thing? You groan at the thought. It’s because it’s Hyunjin, of course.

“Bonjour, mademoiselle,” he greets, flicking your forehead once you settle into the seat of his Subaru WRX because he’s a hotshot and likes to flex that he can drive a manual. Not really— the car is absolute garbage by now, having been his Dad’s old car (his Dad likes to flex too, apparently). However, Hyunjin takes care of it enough for it to seem five years old instead of ten, and, either way, watching him work the stick shift is unexplainably hot.

You swat his hand away. “Drive, bitch,” you huff, twisting to buckle yourself in. Once he’s reversed out of your driveway, you glance back to find him fighting against a devilish smirk.

“So,” you start once he has navigated out of your neighborhood. His brow twitches up. “Are you taking Hawaiian and French at school? You’ve been throwing quite a lot of languages at me recently.” Hyunjin shoots you an unamused look. You return it with a wrinkle of your nose.

“Anyway,” he ignores your teasing, pausing to switch gears for whatever reason so he can make it through a yellow light, “how did your exams go?”

“Well, you know…” You trail off, looking to your window. It feels a lot later than eight o’clock. With it getting dark so early in the evening nowadays, it feels as if nighttime is always following you.

“You know… what?” Hyunjin interrupts your daze, concern laced in his voice. “They were fine. I passed everything, I’m just worried about my major,” you explain sadly, barely glancing at him before you are turning back to the window to stare at the moon. Must be nice being a moon. Just get to hang out in the sky watching everyone and being watched.

“I mean, if you want to switch, now’s the time. Better do it now before the second semester,” Hyunjin advises, wise as always. Not really, but he’s right. “What are you thinking of going into?”

Yikes. He’s going to kill you.

“Nursing,” you blurt.

“Oh my Lanta, ___, are you serious?” He groans, stopping at a convenient red light presenting the perfect opportunity for him to smack his forehead on the wheel. Dramatic. “How are you gonna manage that? You’ll practically be two years behind everyone else!”

“I know,” you sigh, throwing your head back on the headrest, “that’s the problem. Bio just isn’t doing it for me. I don’t think I can spend the rest of my life in a lab watching mitosis. I need something more rewarding, so theoretically nursing is a perfect start. I don’t know, though.”

“Why don’t you switch to interior design or something? We could get our own HGTV show, ___,” he says, but you don’t meet his gaze when he glances over because beneath his words, you can sense some serious hopefulness. Interior design would be cool, but you’ve never considered that as a career choice. You once helped your parents pick out everything when they redid a bathroom at home and that turned out great, but as a major?

“I don’t know, man. I’ll have to talk to my counselor about it, I guess,” you shrug, pulling the hood of your sweatshirt over your head and tightening the drawstrings until the material covers your eyes, “why can’t you audition to be a K-pop star or something? I could be your manager. Heck, even your makeup artist. I’ve done your makeup before, remember?”

Hyunjin laughs, loud, and the sound sinks deep into your heart and makes you feel warm all over. Stress? Gone.

For the next few minutes or so, the ride is comfortably quiet. At some point, he turns on the radio and Mariah Carey’s “All I Want For Christmas Is You” floods your brain and reminds you to look forward to exchanging Christmas gifts later. God, you hope he likes it. You really went out on the sentimental gifts this year.

Hood shielding your vision, you jump when his large hand suddenly comes to grab the top of your head, squeezing hard and you imagine he’s trying to press some hopefulness into your brain. “Hand on the penis stick, Hwang,” you bark, blindly reaching for his own head across the way and pulling his ear when you do so. Good Lord, you hope no one can see into the car because… what.

Hyunjin lets out a giggle this time, reaching to pull you into a headlock and even though he’s got your head shoved up against his sturdy chest and goes on to give you a noogie, you’re stuck being all high and loopy on the sound of his happiness. And hey, it’s nice to know you’re the cause of it.

“We’re literally parked, idiot. If you had your hood down you would’ve realized,” Hyunjin snickers, releasing you after watching you struggle for a few seconds. Jerking away from him, you swiftly pull back your hood. “Oh,” you laugh, reading the flashy Yogo Factory sign above the building in front of you, “you could’ve just told me instead of watching me bask in misery.”

Hyunjin suitably ignores your moaning and groaning by getting out of the car and standing in front of the car, illuminated by the headlights. Why? Why must he look so scrumptious in his black hoodie and grey sweatpants and four-year-old white Nike sneakers? He has no gosh darn right!

After fixing the mess he made of your hair, you at last join him outside the car, shooting him another glare and moving ahead of him to open the shop’s door without waiting for him. “From now on, we have to start texting each other what we’re wearing before we go out, ‘cus this looks a little ri-donk-ulous,” Hyunjin whispers in your ear as you make your way to the cup selection, trying to ignore all the stares you— no, he is getting along the way.

“What do you mean?” You ask, plucking two medium sized cups up before turning to look at him. Then you look down at yourself. Oh. Looks like you’re both wearing the hoodie from junior spirit week. “Nice.” Just Couple Things™!

Back to Hyunjin being weird— why did he drag you all the way out here just to get a cup of chocolate frozen yogurt and maybe half a scoop of peanut butter chips?

Meanwhile, he watches in absolute disgust as you blow through your own dessert. Vanilla yogurt with probably every topping offered because you physically cannot make a decision, especially when they have chunks of cookie dough up there.

“So,” Hyunjin starts, trying not to look you in the eye considering you look like a goblin shoveling globs of diabetes down your throat, “have you talked to Jisung recently?”

You choke on a Fruity Pebble at his inquiry, prompting him to reach across the table and slap your back a few times until your esophagus is cleared. “Ugh,” clearing your throat one last time, you take a few sips of water while shooting him a glare. Jisung? Really? “How dense are you?” You hiss unintentionally.

Hyunjin raises his hands in defense. “Just a question.”

Yeah, just a question. Dumbass. “I mean,” you laugh awkwardly, “not really. We have a streak on Snap and sometimes we’ll talk occasionally but I don’t text him every day or anything. How about you?”

He shrugs, concentrating instead on stirring his yogurt into a goopy mess. “Eh. We still use our group chat a lot but that’s it. He’s too busy making music in Malaysia.”

You chuckle at this, picking out the boba from your own cup and leaving the rest now that it has started to look like something sold at the Chum Bucket. “That sucks,” you offer, not the best at giving him consolidation, you opt for linking your feet around his own in some weird act of intimacy, “isn’t he coming home for the holidays, though? I’m sure you can all have a reunion soon.”

“Yeah, he is,” Hyunjin hums, suddenly too focused on trying to escape your trap under the table. Annoyed Hyunjin is cute. “Stoooop,” he whines, kicking at your shins before breaking into boisterous laughter at your relentlessness, “I will not hesitate to throw this cup at your face.”

“Yeah, right,” you scoff, “I’d like to see you try.”

At this, Hyunjin drops his stupidly long arms beneath the table and easily captures your foot by the ankle, pulling hard enough for you to slip down your side of the booth. “Hyunjin!” You shriek, panicking slightly at your sweaty hand’s insecure grip against the leather. You’re going to fall. You’re going to fall flat on your ass underneath a table at a frozen yogurt place because the boy you like pulled your foot too hard. Fantastic. Ignoring you, he starts to wiggle your shoe off your foot no matter how hard you try to squirm out of his relentless grip. “Stop trying to eat my toes in the middle of Yogo!”

Finally, he releases your foot, letting it fall limp against his thigh.

“God,” you huff, breathless as you squirm back up your seat, cheeks burning ferociously, “you are such an ass.”

Behind the playful smirk he fails to hide, something darker glints in Hyunjin’s eyes and it makes your heart skip a beat. Then, “We should go.” The suggestion makes the heat of your blush scorch even hotter down your neck and you instinctively turn away, only to find the customers on the other side of the shop watching you with just as perturbed looks. Fantastic, part two.

“Okie,” you squeak out, blinking after him in complete and total bewilderment as to what just happened when he gets up to throw his trash away. Whatever. Following after him, you too toss your cup out before quickly finding your hand engulfed by his larger one as he leads you back outside, the sudden sharpness of the cold air bringing tears to your eyes. You desperately want to ask him what that was about, or why he’s acting so sneaky, but you stay silent, too afraid your voice will come out shaky and vulnerable. Instead, you let him tug you into his side and try to keep up with him no matter how badly your knees threaten to buckle with each glance you sneak up at him.

It’s silent when you enter the car, watching warily as he reverses out of the parking spot and maneuvers through the lot. Your heart rate seemingly cannot slow itself down, adrenaline taking the place of oxygen the longer you stare at him, at the concentrated scrunch to his face, at the cute tip of his button nose and at the swell of his lips and you distantly wonder what would happen if you pulled him into a kiss at the next red light.

In the midst of your daydream Hyunjin clears his throat, bringing you back to reality and you realize with a startle that he has caught you. Jesus Christ! What has gotten into you? You mentally smack yourself upside the head, instantly turning away from his cocky little gaze and staring straight ahead in search of something else to focus on. “___,” he sing-songs, slow and sensual and entirely demolishing the walls you have built around yourself. It is at this red light you wish to simply open the door and run.

“Yes?” You manage, wincing at how small your voice sounds and while looking out his window instead of into his eyes, you notice him grip the steering wheel hard enough to turn his knuckles white. The tension is insurmountable, weighing in heavily on your chest and you desperately wish to arrive home, even though that means having to survive the next twelve hours with him. Anything is better than the small confines of his car.

“What do you want to do when we get home?” He asks, cool as a cucumber. You pale. It is a dangerous question and you do not know if he realizes that. “Um,” you cough, scooting to sit up straight, “whatever you want.” You whisper the last part, genuinely petrified because you have absolutely no idea if your brain is twisting everything to make it seem like Hyunjin is flirting or if things are totally normal. No idea.

“Hm,” he offers, tilting his head in thought, “we shall see.”

Yeah. We shall.

The rest of the ride is quiet, comfortably or uncomfortably you cannot say because you are too busy trying to calm the Spongebob burning office scene occurring inside your own head, hopelessly telling yourself that everything is fine, Hyunjin’s fine, you’re fine. Just pretend like nothing happened, you tell yourself when Hyunjin pulls into his driveway with practiced ease. “Ugh,” he groans after retrieving your bag from the back seat, and you watch with a raised brow as he skips up to his porch, yelling, “I have to pee!”

“Begone with you, piss boy,” you tease, holding the screen door open for him as he struggles to unlock the storm door and pulling on one of his hoodie’s drawstrings just to annoy him. “Stop,” he growls, low and playful but nevertheless sending a swarm of butterflies to your tummy. You ignore him. Finally unlocking the door, Hyunjin shoves the keys into his pocket and seizes your wrist, yanking your arm down with enough force to nearly topple you into him. “Why are you being so annoying tonight?” He frowns at you, nose and brows scrunched in irritation and it is only because of his proximity do you finally soften up.

“Sorry,” you pout back, bringing your other hand up to boop his nose, “I just missed ya.”

“Ew,” he snorts, stepping past the threshold and kicking off his shoes. You follow suit, closing the door behind you and clicking the lock into place as Kkami comes sprinting over. “B-R-B,” Hyunjin announces, presumably bouncing away to the bathroom.

“Oh, boy,” you huff, squatting to pick up the fluffy little dog and hugging him close to your chest, “your dad is making my life very difficult.” Pressing a quick kiss to the top of his head, you put Kkami back down and grab your bag before heading upstairs, knowing Hyunjin is going to take his grand old time and probably take a shit while he’s at it. Plus, you’re impatient and dying to take your bra off.

Aside from what light his Gudetama nightlight offers, Hyunjin’s room is ultimately left dark. Here’s the thing: he used to have a lamp on his dresser, but then he took it with him to college and only brings it home for summer because he’s lazy and sleeps the majority of the time he’s home, anyway. Instead, he put up his little remote-controlled Christmas tree in addition to the lava lamp he has beside his bed. Perfect. For Hyunjin, at least.

Switching both of these on, their subtle glow offers just enough to keep you from banging your toe against something. It’s happened one too many times. Hyunjin’s room isn’t messy— he really isn’t a messy person to begin with, but he will reorganize the furniture in his room fifty times a year and you never know where the crooked leg to his bedside table will be to ambush your pinky toe.

Setting your bag onto his bed, you excitedly fumble past all your layers and unclasp your bra, maneuvering out of it with a delighted exhale just as Hyunjin begins his ascent up the stairs, steps creaking loudly under his heavy trudging. “I’m an idiot,” he grumbles, leaning against the doorframe to catch his breath.

You don’t bother to look at him, opting to quickly retort instead, “We been knew.”

“Ugh,” Hyunjin groans, exasperated, and you finally turn to him after successfully jamming aforementioned undergarment into your bag, “anyways. I don’t know why I didn’t just come up here, because I have to wash my face anyway and you do too and now we’re both going to have to share a sink.”

“Aw,” you coo, tone dripping with sarcasm as you pat his arm, “poor baby has to share the bathroom.”

“I’m actually going to strangle you,” he sighs, nevertheless following after you into the bathroom.

“Kinky.”

Hyunjin glares, unamused as he opens a drawer for his pink bow hairband and your striped pink and blue one that he bought for you, but keeps here for sleepovers. Yeah. He throws it to your face. “Sorry,” you offer, pulling the soft headband up to hold your hair back, “I’ll try to stop. I’m just so used to annoying you.”

“Clearly,” he scoffs, flashing his stupidly cute teasing smile and in your head, you imagine raising a white flag in surrender— he’s got you, he’s won, it’s over. Time to call it quits and head home. Evidently shut up (for now), you offer him a roll of your eyes before turning on the sink to wet your hands before pumping out some of his scrumptious watermelon face wash. Maybe if you scrub hard enough, you’ll manage to rinse away all the overwhelming thoughts of the night, too.

Barefaced Hyunjin is immaculate. Well, Hyunjin is immaculate twenty-four hours out of the day, but barefaced, freshly washed, hair messy, ready for bed Hyunjin is immaculate, and you are one of the few people lucky enough to see this eighth wonder of the world as often as you do.

Now, maybe it has something to do with the unexpected ambiance the light from his laptop, Christmas lights, and lava lamp have created together that makes him look so unfairly beautiful at this given moment. Or, you’re just insanely pussywhipped and looking for an excuse. You try not to think about it.

“Why are you so squirmy tonight?” He asks, frustrated enough to interrupt Kermit singing ‘Shawty I don’t mind’ playing from his laptop. “I’m not,” you defend, a weak argument indeed, given that you have just finished adjusting your position beside him for the umpteenth time.

“I mean, four female Ghostbusters? The feminists are taking over! I’m an ad—”

“___, you’ve touched my dick like four times. Don’t try and tell me you’re not squirmy. What’s wrong?” Hyunjin interrupts a second Vine, and even goes on to talk over ‘I have the power of God and anime on my side!’ like a lunatic. Oh Christ, you have? Surely you would have noticed. “Sorry,” you mumble, embarrassed as you bury your face into the curve of his pectoral and instinctively move your leg settled between his away, “I’m just hot, to be honest.” Technically, it is not a lie. Hyunjin’s family definitely keeps their thermostat at a higher temperature than yours and you always manage to sweat your ass off every time you come over. This time, however, you are certain it has more to do with the assault your heart is facing rather than your sweat glands.

At the sound of his tap against the spacebar to pause the video, you wordlessly and reluctantly sit up from your comfortable spot beside him in order to rid yourself of your heavy sweatshirt. Now, here lies the problem. Sweatshirt: off. Nipples: out. Realistically, Hyunjin has seen your boobs a number of times over the past few years, and even if he hadn’t, he probably wouldn’t even bat an eye. But right now, your heart is on the line, you’re embarrassed and you’re trying to play it extremely safe.

You toss the hoodie to the floor and nestle right back where you were anyway, slinging your right arm over his torso and ignoring his sharp intake of breath when you snuggle closer. “Better?” He asks, voice strained and it literally makes you nauseous. “Yep.”

He resumes the video. You had started early in the night watching Pom Poko, which unsurprisingly ended with the two of you crying at the bittersweet ending, then moved to TikTok compilations on YouTube to cheer up before moving on from them and onto the classic Vine compilations. You paid good attention for the most part, chuckling along with him to ‘What up, I’m Jared, I’m nineteen and I never fucking learned how to read,’ ‘Bruh chill, I don’t know why you in a big time rush,’ and all the other absolute comedic masterpieces. But after the fourth or fifth video of the same six second clips with an occasional rare one, you began to grow bored and decided to do what you do best: admire Hyunjin.

Sure, ‘Come get yo juice!’ followed by the loud smash of the oven made you smile, but you found the flashing lights casting shadows beneath Hyunjin’s eyes and lips much more fascinating. Of course, this is not the first time you have been held so close to him. But it is, however, all too easy to get lost in the sight of him and you’ve noticed recently that you are in desperate need of a map. Whether it’s due to your time away from him or simply an appreciation for untouched beauty you do not know.

Even now, your gaze flickers to his laptop once you hear ‘Get to Del Taco,’ but having already watched it five thousand times you tilt your head upward to catch Hyunjin’s silent giggle at ‘free-sha-voca-do.’ It’s a vicious cycle, really, going back and forth between wanting to simply enjoy the night and realizing enjoying the night lies totally in Hyunjin’s presence. And so, you continue to fall into this trap each time until you pay no mind to the videos at all, basking in the brilliance of Hyunjin’s joyous smile and the warmth his happiness makes you feel. It is this thought that slowly tugs you to sleep, a fight to keep your heavy eyelids open lost until finally, you give in to the comfort and allow yourself to drift off to the sound of ‘Step the fuck up, Kyle.’

You think you are dreaming.

You think.

“___,” the softness of Hyunjin’s voice at the crown of your head eases you from the clutches of sleep and you stretch your locked limbs before curling further into his side. “We didn’t open presents.” Even though you can’t see him, you can hear his pout, and you realize you must be awake to hear the disappointed words caught sluggishly between his lips so vividly. You hum, hesitant to open your eyes because you really want to go back to sleep. Just for a little while. And so, you ask, “What time is it?”

“Just past two,” he whispers.

You hum again, trying to formulate a sensible sentence in the parts of your brain still asleep, “We can… wake up at four. And open gifts. Okay?”

“Okay, weirdo,” Hyunjin chuckles to himself, sliding lower down the mattress after shutting his laptop.

You think you are dreaming.

You think.

You can’t remember ever falling asleep facing each other. But yet again, your brain is clouded beyond capability and now, you know for certain you are dreaming. Hyunjin never faces you.

Blinking slowly, it takes a few seconds for your eyes to adjust to the impenetrable darkness and you struggle to make out the features of Hyunjin’s face. You know you are dreaming, and so you tug him closer, throwing a leg over his thigh and an arm over his waist. Even in your sleep, you feel the sadness pricking at your heart, for even it knows this is only what dreams are made of. You like to make the best of it.

“You know I love you, Jinnie, right?” Your voice comes out funny, drawn out and mumbled like your tongue is numb and you fight the urge to feel for yourself.

“Of course I do. I love you too.” His reply surprises you. You thought he was asleep and, either way, hearing such fond words from him puts your heart at ease. He must be misunderstood.

“No. I mean like… I like you, love you. Like I want to kiss you… kiss you good morning and before bed love you. Send you hearts and take stupid couple pics and�� go on dumb dates love you. You know?” Your words feel garbled and incomprehensible the longer you go on, trying to express how you feel when nothing is real proving to be increasingly difficult. God, if only you could do it when things are real.

You start to feel yourself slipping as he mutters a reply, mind in free fall and fuck, fuck, fuck, he’s whispering and you can’t hear him but you are too tired and helpless to wake yourself up to hear it. No, too lost in the next dream to go back. You can’t tell what is real and what isn’t. Christ, were you awake? You can’t tell. All you know is that you are warm, so, so warm and letting sleep take over you once more is the best answer to all your questions.

Hyunjin always says he hates waking people up. Because he’s normally the one needing to be awoken, whenever the roles are swapped he doesn’t know what he’s supposed to do.

This time, however, he takes it upon himself to repeatedly smack your face with his pillow. Not a fun experience when it’s coming from someone who fails to recognize his own strength. “Jesus, fuck! Okay!” You hiss, the cloud of sleep abruptly ripped away from you with the slap of his pillow against your skin. Arms raised defensively in front of you, you catch his next swing and tear the pillow out of his grasp to shield yourself all before you have even opened your eyes. When you do so, with the blatant intention just to find where he is and hurl the pillow at him, you are met with the harsh light from his ceiling fan and have to squint past the stinging white light to see his shit-eating grin.

“Was that necessary?” You groan, undeniably annoyed and wanting to glare at him more but needing to rub the ache out of your eyes. “Yes,” is all he says, reaching for your bag and catapulting it to you. He is incredibly lucky you are quick enough to catch it before it thumps against your head. What has gotten into him? Did he eat an entire bag of Pixy Stix while you were asleep? You watch, still dazed from sleep and reeling from the whole pillow smacking attack, as he flings open his closet door and turns back around with two neatly wrapped boxes. You squint to make out the dancing Santa T-rex wrapping paper.

“Oh,” you chirp, understanding, and you unzip your bag to retrieve the large box taking up the majority of space, “thanks for waking me up. I’m surprised you remembered. Did you stay up?”

A rosy blush burns its way across his cheekbones. Odd. “I, um— yeah. No, actually,” he stutters, really odd, given he was bouncing off the walls not even thirty seconds ago, “I set an alarm. You made me sleepy.” Hyunjin sits beside you once you have scooted over, leaning against the wall and crossing his long ass legs. He keeps his eyes trained on the boxes in his hands. “Oh,” you hum, looking to your own gift and suddenly wishing for the mattress to swallow you up, “sorry. I haven’t gotten as much sleep as you on break so far.”

“I don’t think anyone ever has,” he jokes and you finally look to him, sharing a cheeky smile before he gets all shy again, tongue darting out to wet his lips, “um, Merry Christmas, ___.”

It’s a simple phrase, but it makes your heart swell. “Merry Christmas to you too, Hyunjin.” Leaning over, you wrap your arms around his shoulders in an awkward side hug, but still end up feeling all drunk and loopy on love when he eagerly returns the gesture, arms curling around you.

“Okay,” you huff, sitting back, “me first.” You dramatically hold your gift out to him, jittery and nervous all over. Buying for Hyunjin is always hard. He’s just so easy to please, but when you want to do more than just please him it’s a constant battle trying to decide how far out you are going to go for him each year.

You watch impatiently as he tears the wrapping paper open first, and then finally lifts the flaps of the box up. “Aw,” he whimpers, pulling out the quokka plushie and attached certificate, “you adopted a quokka for me?”

You grin when he hugs the soft stuffed animal to his chest, the weight on your shoulders partly lifted from his positive reaction. He reaches back into the box, brow scrunched in thought as he regards the framed picture. “The First Day…?” Hyunjin asks, perplexed as he reads the title above the constellation poster. You scoot closer, leaning over to look it over once more. “This was the constellation of stars on our first day of freshman year. The day we first met.”

“Oh,” Hyunjin sniffs, “that’s really awesome, ___. Thank you. This is coming with me to school.” At this, he hugs you again, probably to hide the tears you know are threatening to spill because Hyunjin is Baby and cries every year. “Anything for my favorite fake Aussie,” you smile, leaning your head on his shoulder as he reads through the quokka adoption letter.

“Okay! Your turn!” He exclaims, setting his gifts back into the box and passing you the smaller one of his. He catches your curious glance to the second one he keeps by his side. “We have to open this one together.”

“Christ, okay. Looks like I’m gonna be crying tonight, too,” you sigh sadly. “Ooh,” jumping ahead of yourself, you wiggle your eyebrows at the white box before you, “Hyunjin if you bought me a Fitbit… I swear to God. How many times have I said I am not working out with you?” However, once you finish tearing open the wrapping paper you find it is not, in fact, a Fitbit.

“It’s not a Fitbit, idiot,” Hyunjin scoffs a second too late, waiting for you to slip the lid off the box. “They’re bond touch bracelets.”

“Explain,” you murmur, enamored but confused at the two little house arrest looking bracelets.

“So basically, we each wear one,” Hyunjin starts, taking one of the bracelets out and a burst of color blooms across its small screen at the motion, “and if you touch it, mine vibrates and I ‘feel’ your touch.” As he explains, he buckles it around your wrist, twisting it so it lies correctly. You silently take the second one and help it on him, brain too caught up to actually say anything.

“Try it,” Hyunjin whispers, suppressing his excitement.

You gingerly bring a finger to the little screen, tapping it once, twice. Nothing happens. Frowning, you try again, tapping and holding, then a second time, and finally— a strip of pink light appears and the bracelet gently vibrates as you tap and hold a random pattern. In response, the bracelet on Hyunjin’s wrist lights up blue, buzzing in the same pattern.

“Oh, Hyunjin,” you sniffle, fighting back your own tears because you refuse to let yourself ugly cry in front of him, “this is amazing. Now I can annoy you year-round. Thank you so, so much. I love you so much.” He hums, pulling you close when you turn to give him a proper hug. To your utmost surprise, however, instead of letting go he curls one fist into your side and helps swing your legs over to straddle his lap. “Oh.”

“___,” Hyunjin sighs thoughtfully, fingers playing with the sleeves of your tee, “I love you, too.”

You nearly spit up your coffee. If you were drinking coffee. Instead, you’re left with a dry mouth and a slack jaw at his words. Huh?

Glancing to the constellation picture peeking out of his box, and then to the matching bracelets you both wear, you find your mind reeling trying to make sense of it all. Yeah, you say the forbidden L-word to each another all the time, but most certainly not with you on his on lap and his lips mere centimeters away. The answer is so obviously clear as day you have trouble believing it.

“Fuck,” you laugh all of a sudden, as soon as the realization hits you, “I wasn’t dreaming, was I?”

Hyunjin lets out a joyous giggle, hands linking behind your back. Unable to hide his smile any longer, he clarifies, “You were not, madam. We literally just finished talking about when we were going to open gifts and then I got ready to sleep. Two seconds later you dumped your heart out to me, but when I answered, you were asleep.”

“Bruh,” you wince, hiding your face with your hands, “I am so sorry you had to deal with that.”

“No, don’t be,” Hyunjin comforts, reaching to tug your hands away. Your gut does somersaults when he intertwines his fingers with yours. “I was actually, uh, planning on doing some sort of confession to you anyway, but then you went right ahead and did it for me. So thanks for that.”

“Wow,” you chuckle, trying to wrap your mind around it all, “does that mean you, ahem, perhaps like me too?”

“No, I just got us really couple-y long distance relationship bracelets, pulled you onto my lap, and kissed you because I just want to be friends.”

“You didn’t kiss m—”

The sly little fucker interrupts your retort by quickly dipping down to press a fat smooch to your lips, missing miserably and you don’t know if he did it on purpose but you quickly fix the problem, releasing his hands to cradle his jaw and tilt his head the right angle. Finally, finally you kiss him, breathing in the smell of him like some sort of aromatherapy and whimpering into his mouth when his tongue swipes against your own. It is like nothing you have ever experienced, the taste and feel of him making you tremble and igniting a burst of electricity through your veins. You could kiss him forever, you think, sucking on his plump bottom lip greedily until he finally pulls back, desperate for air or trying to reel himself in you can’t say.

“You have to open your other gift,” Hyunjin reminds, chest heaving, and your gaze follows his long fingers as they comb his hair away from his forehead. Automatically, as if kissing Hyunjin once grants you some kind of free pass to do the same, you brush a few stray strands away from his face before leaning back to admire him. “Stoooop. You can’t do that and not expect me to kiss you again. Open. Your. Gift.” Hyunjin whines, squishing your cheeks and turning your head away.

“Okay, don’t blame this on me,” you huff, reaching for the second box before jabbing a finger into his chest, “you, sir, need to stop being so beautiful for like, two seconds.”

He scoffs, helping you rip off the wrapping paper, “You’re the beautiful one here.”

“Ew,” you wrinkle your nose, most certainly not used to Hyunjin dishing out such compliments, “this is too Hallmark Christmas movie for me. Let me open my gift in peace, ugly.” This box, unlike the bracelets’, is simple cardboard and when you lift open the lid, a brown leather book looks back at you. “You remember Up?” He asks.

On the leather, it reads Our Adventure Book in mismatched colors. “Yeah,” you whisper, flipping open the cover to find two baby pictures glued on the paper, one of Hyunjin, and one of you. At the top, it’s labeled ‘Before Shit Went Down.’ You laugh.

On the next page, there are random photographs from middle school, and then finally each other’s eighth grade graduation portraits. Then, written at the top is ‘Here It Begins,’ followed by a selfie he randomly took with you a few weeks into school freshman year, and then some from homecoming. Silently flipping through the rest of the book, your tears flow freely now, touched beyond comparison at all the photographs and all the memories accompanying them. Some are from large events like prom, others from random moments you don’t even remember, but each and every one comes together to form a special mold fitting perfectly into that Hyunjin-shaped hole in your heart.

The last picture is from the christening last month. Of course, it isn’t one of the nicer photos his mom took of the two of you, but a SnapChat selfie with the flaming sunglasses filter. He’s mid-laugh and you’re pressing a kiss to his cheek. Funny thing is, you don’t even remember taking it.

The page next to it is blank, aside from what’s written at the top of the page. “Togetha Foreva,” you read aloud, voice choked up and God, you cannot fathom how gross you look right now. “What the fuck, man!” You sob, punching Hyunjin’s shoulder before wiping your nose and cheeks with the back of your hands. “I didn’t sign up for this cock and ball torture.”

Hyunjin laughs loudly at this, pulling you into a hug and giving you a few seconds to recover. “Hyunjin, this is like… seriously the best thing anyone has ever done for me, holy shit. God, you Pinterest son of a bitch, this is such a good idea,” you groan, flipping back through the pages and getting teary-eyed all over again, “I can’t express how much this means to me, Jinnie. Thank you, really.”

Flashing that toothy grin of his, Hyunjin tugs you to lie back down with him and tilts your head up to press a much more accurate kiss to your lips. “I meant what I said before, ___,” he murmurs, “I don’t know what to do without you, and I know we only get to see each other once a month but I can’t keep living as just friends. You’re so much more than that. And I hope all the pictures we add from now on will show this new chapter of our lives. If not, well, then I guess I’ll just burn the book.”

“Are you asking me to be Kkami’s official poop-picker-upper?”

“Yes. Wait— what? No!”

You break into a fit of laughter, only to be interrupted with him pinching your side and causing you to let out a yelp. “Hey!” You bark, jumping closer to him and away from his hand until, finally, you give in to your self-indulgence and go right on ahead in swinging a leg over his hips and pinning him beneath you.

“You ruined my serious love speech, ___,” Hyunjin pouts, face scrunched up at you.

“I’m sorry, baby, go on.”

You pause, blinking slowly at him. He blinks back, the silence in the air weighing in heavily as both of your two brain cells bounce around trying to figure out what did you just call him?

“Never mind,” Hyunjin says, voice a low rumble of thunder as he reaches for your hips and easily flips positions, “I think you’re on the same boat.”

You laugh, tilting your head back and eyeing him indignantly. Fuck, he looks unfairly delectable hovering above you.

“Okay, how many more times do I have to tell you I love you for you to formally ask me to be your girlfriend, stupid?” You scowl, bringing your hands to cradle his neck, thumbs brushing delicately against his jaw.

“Call me baby again and we’ll see about making that happen.”

You raise a brow, tugging his face closer by the chain of his necklace. “You’re lucky it’s Christmas, baby.”

[thetomorrowshow]

i will make the sky collapse ch. 6

First  -  Previous  -  Read on AO3!

Last chapter, but don’t fret--there is a sequel in the works! So far, it has just surpassed the length of this one! Expect the first chapter in a few weeks! It isn’t finished yet, so if there’s something particular that you want to see in it, let me know!

cw: blood, claustrophobia, violence, broken bones, depressing thoughts of death, hallucinations, slight gore within a hallucination, doctors

~

Crutchie wasn’t sure how long he had been locked in this closet. It was always pitch black, unless Snyder was in his office on the other side--then some light peeked in through the crack under the door.

For a long time, Crutchie had just cried, scared to death and certain he was going to die alone in this tiny space. Eventually, though, Snyder had enough of it, and had opened the door just to scream in his face and kick him a good few times. Now Crutchie just lay there, curled up on the floor, arms wrapped around his knees. He watched under the crack with tired, red-rimmed eyes, occasionally seeing a pair of shoes walk by, mostly seeing nothing but the legs of the stool and the beginning of Snyder’s desk.

Crutchie was alive, but exhausted. He’d slept for some amount of time, but surely not long. He still felt sticky all over, coated in blood and sweat as he was. He’d made a big deal over how small the space was, but he wasn’t sure that he could move anyways. His legs felt permanently affixed to his chest, his arms impossible to move from where they were curled. His stomach complained every couple of minutes--now that he’d gotten some food into himself, it was all offended that it wasn’t regular. Not that he thought he was ever going to see food again--or water, for that matter. Crying had left him immensely dehydrated. Every bone in his body was in complete and utter agony (he was almost certain his left arm was broken in some way). All of these ingredients added up to overwhelm his senses, making it so that Crutchie was unable to react to anything, motionless and barely present.

Still, he tried to hold onto the thought that he was alive. It had been his mantra this whole time, he couldn’t let it slip away now. Not like all his other thoughts. All that existed in Crutchie’s world right now was pain and discomfort. Even trying to discern whether or not Jack would have signed that paper was too much to handle. So instead, Crutchie stared at the small bit of light through the crack, and repeated the same phrase over and over--I’m still alive. I’m still alive. I’m still alive--until his brain turned to mush.

-

Every time Crutchie was conscious of his surroundings, not much varied. Each time, he wondered how long he’d been out for. Then he’d slump against the floor and stare into the office, if the light was on in there. If not, he closed his eyes and went back to nothingness.

Everything felt so . . . slow. Feverish, almost. He couldn’t have been here all day, right? Not that Crutchie could really remember what a day felt like. He must’ve got his head knocked pretty good.

Even his vision was blurry at this point, causing everything to seem shimmery and even less real than before. He tried to call out once or twice--even if he was coming to beat him, Snyder would at least break up the monotony enough to keep him safe--but his throat couldn’t make a single sound. At some point, he was certain that he’d been gagged. Reaching up, though, the only thing sealing his mouth was the same tacky blood as was covering the rest of his body.

When, at some point, the light in the room had been off for a very long time, Crutchie thought it might be nighttime. Or it might only be an hour later, just Snyder had left. Or maybe he just forgot what light properly looked like. It could be any of those, but Crutchie tried to believe it was nighttime. If it was night, it was another day he had survived the Refuge. Another day he was alive. Another day the strike continued. Another day Jack wasn’t found.

He could sacrifice himself for that.

-

Even though it was maybe-night, Crutchie didn’t sleep. He didn’t even close his eyes, except on occasion to blink. He just lay there, feeling the life drain from his body with every rattling breath. He’d been proud of how he’d smiled through the punishments so far, but now he wasn’t sure that he would ever smile again. He couldn’t even move his mouth. It had been so good for sales, too.

Not that it would matter, he reminded himself. Unless he gave Snyder the information, he was going to die in this closet. Assuming he was here until Snyder decided to beat up on him again, or until he talked. Maybe he was left for dead here, or maybe in the morning, he would be dragged out and put back to work. Even if he was sent back to work with the other boys, he wouldn’t last longer than a day after this. He hoped he’d be released to go home, as unlikely as it was. Not that it really mattered.

Crutchie had lost everything in the strike. Both his life and his position as a newsie had been forfeit as soon as the cuffs had closed around his wrists. His pride had vanished then too--there was no way he could make it with the other boys when they’d seen him taken down so easily. He’d barely been able to fight back, so even if, by some miracle, he found himself in the lodging house again, they would never take him seriously.

His crutch was gone, somewhere, presumably either broken or on the side of some street. Jack had first found it for him in a garbage can outside a pawn shop, then helped him clean it up and add padding made of an old shirt. Without that crutch, well-loved and useful, Crutchie would never walk out of here--and that was assuming he could get the other things back.

Last of all, Jack. If what that paper said was true, Jack was already halfway to Santa Fe. He had always promised Crutchie that they were family, brothers, would die for each other. Well, here was Crutchie, ready to hold up his end of that deal. Where was Jack? Gone. Probably.

Without anyone to shout against, Crutchie was finding it easier to believe that Jack would leave him. This closet was crowded with his demons and he couldn’t escape, could only blink slowly as the despair teamed with his physical agony to take him down. This closet teemed with torment, and Crutchie couldn’t even move.

A silent sob rose in the back of his cracking throat.

-

Crutchie was drifting.

Sometimes he wasn’t sure what was real and what wasn’t--was he in a closet? Under the floorboards? That felt more accurate, with all the thundering footsteps coming from above. He had been forgotten, stuffed into a coffin under the floor like he was already dead, like his body was something shameful that had to be hidden away even before he breathed his last.

Other times, he thought he could hear voices. So many boys, and even a few girls, all just talking over one another: fast and then slow, excited and then scared, angry and then joyful. Sometimes it grew so loud that Crutchie put his hands over his ears, crying and begging for quiet, before the darkness snapped into clarity and he realized that not only were his hands still curled against his chest, but there was no noise, not even from him.

Sometimes colors danced before him, flashy purple and green and orange, then slowly became dogs, colored strangely and barking and growling and attacking him, tearing his body to shreds right in front of him. He couldn’t help but laugh, though, even as their fangs dug into his flesh and pulled out great chunks of it. They were dogs, and funny-looking ones. He’d always loved dogs.

Every once in a while, though, he was conscious enough to tell real from not. In those moments, the closet was dusty and suffocating and made his spine itch under the white noise of pain. The office was silent, maybe dark, the stool that was visible under the crack still and shadowy. In those moments, Crutchie could feel his forehead burning, practically radiating heat, could feel the chills that wracked his entire body. In those moments, Crutchie felt relief, mixed with disappointment. Relief, because at least there was no floor above him, no screaming voices, no silly dogs devouring him. Disappointment because he was still here. Disappointment because Jack hadn’t come for him. Disappointment because he hadn’t faded away.

Those moments never lasted. The clarity was gone as soon as it had come, and Crutchie was back to whatever feverish dream was next. Every time he began to drift again, though, he sent out a prayer to whoever was listening, just asking that all the boys would be fine and the strike would succeed. He needed his brothers to have a better life, a better fate than his own. They had to survive, even though he wouldn’t. They had to.

-

When Crutchie woke next, it was back to the dark room. The voices from his last hallucination seemed to have bled over into reality, which was honestly frustrating. Why couldn’t this just end already?

Until the light switched on, and Crutchie realized that the voices might be real.

He blinked once or twice, his swollen eyelids sticking, trying to figure out what they were saying. Even in his mostly-dead, delusional state, he could’ve sworn he’d heard one of them before.

“--No idea,” one of them was saying. “At least--doesn’t--where--Snyder?”

Crutchie repressed a shudder, knowing it would sap him entirely and he wouldn’t hear another word. What were they talking about?

“No,” the other one--older, he thought--said. “If--somewhere--ought--him already, eh?”

“I don’t know,” and that was definitely the familiar voice. Was it . . . a . . . Crutchie actually . . . couldn’t remember. Who he would know, that is.

“Wait!” the person continued. There was a little bit of noise that Crutchie couldn’t discern. This was exhausting. Couldn’t he go back to being under the floorboards? “He took--why, if--can’t--out his crutch?”

His crutch?

“--believe--you certain--alive?”

Was he?

For some reason, Crutchie had to prove it to himself. He was alive. He cracked open his mouth, blood flaking off, trying to say something. Nothing came out. He ran his dry tongue over his split lips, and the taste of blood, the sensation of something, anything, brought his world into slightly sharper focus.

“He has--be,” the voice said, and--Katherine? Wasn’t she--what? “Crutchie is strong--just give up!”

They were looking for him.

Sure, Crutchie was dying, but he had to get out of this closet. Maybe if Katherine was here, Jack was too. Then they could go to Santa Fe together, with all the rest of the boys waiting for them there. All of them, even those who had left.

He just didn’t want to die alone.

Crutchie reached down deep within him, past exhaustion and nothing and non-existence and agony and despair and into the last reserves of hope. And with it, he pushed, pushed as hard as he could, to make some sort of sign appear. Something to show he hadn’t given up.

His right hand fell from curled around his chest to the floor.

“--was that?”

Silence, in which Crutchie continued to stare and see nothing. He barely even processed the sound of footsteps moving closer, until something was rattling the door his knees were pressed against.

“Locked,” a gruff voice said, “but something--in there. Find the key, Miss Plumber?”

Something began to bang against the door, making them shake even harder and so loud, and Crutchie wished the dogs were back. The loud voices were always the worst--he just wanted to go quietly. Instead, this awful noise rattled his brains around. He opened his mouth again, meaning to ask it to stop. No sound came out.

Then a click from the doorknob, and then--

This time, Crutchie screwed his eyes shut, unable to handle the intense amount of light that was now bathing him. He vaguely registered a gasp, so he did his best to squint up at whoever was there.

That was definitely Katherine, but he had no clue who the man was. Wasn’t Jack, wasn’t Snyder. Didn’t matter.

“Oh, Crutchie!” Katherine said, her mouth slightly behind her words. Her face was filled with horror; the man beside her had disapproval etched into every line of his face. That was bad, very bad. Crutchie shut his eyes again.

He opened his mouth for a third time, trying to say something normal like Katherine, what are you doing here or wow, am I pleased to see you or goodbye, but again, nothing came out.

“Water,” the man said, “and quickly, Miss Plumber. I’ll get him out of all of this . . . blood.”

Crutchie couldn’t even flinch as someone picked him up, with a bit of trouble--his clothes were stuck to the floor. He tried to focus on the air--fresh, open, with room to think. He pried open his eyes again to see the man leaning over him.

“Can you tell me your name, son?” he asked, not unkindly, but just sternly enough that Crutchie felt an unpleasant shiver run through his body. He couldn’t speak though, and couldn’t move, so instead he blinked twice--less as an answer, more as an acknowledgement. Adults hated it when you didn’t acknowledge them.

The man’s mustache bristled, and he pulled a handkerchief out of nowhere. Crutchie realized he had water now, as he dipped the cloth into it and rubbed it across his face. Crutchie let a bit of breath release through his nose in a sigh, his eyes rolling back and closing. Where had such cool water come from? He was happy to die now, it felt so good.

“Crutchie, please stay awake,” Katherine said, and Crutchie frowned a little bit. He was just relaxing, not taking a snooze. What was her problem?

A hand took his and he hissed as his bruised and broken fingers were made to move, but opened his eyes when the hand left. It was so strange, having a soft touch on his face and in his hand. He wanted it back.

Crutchie met Katherine’s eyes, silently begging to have her hand back in his. Instead, she began to pull off what was left of his shirt. “Oh, Crutchie,” she said again, peeling it away from his skin. “Sir, we need a doctor.”

The man brought a cup of water to his lips, pausing in his ministrations. Crutchie opened his mouth obediently, was too tired to choke when it spilled down too fast. It felt nicer than it had on his face--bringing moisture to the cracks in his throat, spreading relaxation to the rest of his body. For the first time, Crutchie properly realized that he’d been arranged so that he was lying flat on the floor, arms and legs spread instead of curled up.

“Send one of my men,” the man said, and Katherine was gone in a moment. Crutchie lifted his chin slightly, trying to show that he wanted more water. The man noticed, tipping some more into his mouth.

Something touched his neck and Crutchie flinched back, remembering Snyder’s hand gripping his throat so tightly he couldn’t breathe. It immediately left, and Crutchie looked up to see the man holding the cloth away from him, staring at Crutchie’s neck like it had personally offended him. Where was Katherine? She was good at talking things through, maybe she could explain who this was and what was happening.

“A doctor is on the way,” Katherine said, coming back into Crutchie’s field of vision. A doctor? He grimaced, shying away from the nearly empty cup of water. He couldn’t afford a doctor. Why would he need one, anyway?

Crutchie swallowed a few times, trying out the noises he could make. The cloth was back to rubbing his face, sometimes ghosting through his hair. Crutchie coughed lightly, then grunted. He grunted again, shaking his head minutely.

“What is it?” Katherine asked, and suddenly she was right in his face. He only continued to shake his head, making the motions larger until it hurt his head too much. He grunted once more, not quite able to move his tongue properly to make words.

Katherine understood though, somehow. She rolled her eyes. “You need a doctor,” she said. “Stop being difficult about it. I’ll pay, or Governor Roosevelt if he’s willing.”

Crutchie wasn’t quite sure who that was, but he closed his eyes and sighed as deeply as he could. Why was Katherine here? Shouldn’t she be helping with the strike? Why had Snyder even let her in?

He must have been making some sort of noise, because Katherine shushed him gently, once again holding his hand. He relaxed a little bit, allowing the man to wipe away some of the dried blood on his chest and Katherine to gently rub life into his fingers. He was alive.

-

The doctor’s examination was far too long for Crutchie’s comfort, and happened on the floor of Snyder’s office. The doctor prodded him all over, frowning and muttering. He said something to Crutchie--incomprehensible, of course--then gripped his left arm tight and--

Crutchie’s world exploded into pain; he was sure he would be screaming if he had a voice. Instead, he distantly was aware that he whimpered. His hearing and sight had cut out completely, his head was spinning, his arm suddenly numb.

“--set. Nothing much can be done--ribs, but rest. Is it--turn over?”

Katherine was up close again, smiling tensely, breaking through the non-sight. “Crutchie, the doctor needs to see your back. Is that all right?” she asked loudly, her words slow.

Crutchie stared at her floating face. Why was she talking like that? It wasn’t until after she nodded that he realized she was waiting for an answer. What had she asked?

He nodded a little too, then panicked as she and the doctor took him by his shoulders and pushed him onto his stomach. His ribs ached, back spasming painfully. He choked out a few tears.

A hiss of a breath came from behind him as someone cut what remained of his shirt off his body, using water to loosen it enough to come unstuck.

“Stitches, on a few of these,” the doctor said. “The others are too old. They’ll scar badly, but these that are still bleeding should leave nothing but a tiny mark after I’ve stitched them.”

Crutchie grimaced. He’d gotten stitches once, hadn’t he, from an older newsie several years ago after falling onto a particularly sharp stone. This was different than that, though--for one thing, it was probably going to be more than four stitches. For another, this was a person he didn’t know or trust working on a part of his body that he couldn’t see. Instead of pushing himself away with non-existent strength, though, Crutchie just gritted his teeth and closed his eyes.

It was over after several long, agonizing minutes, at which point the doctor turned Crutchie back over, handed Katherine a bag of bandages, and told her to wrap his entire chest and any other part of his body that he would allow. Crutchie looked down at himself to see that he was mostly clean, and shuddered at the multitude of ugly gashes in his flesh. The doctor also gave her a bottle of something, then tipped his hat and left.

The other man was also gone, but Crutchie wasn’t sure how long ago he had vanished. Now it was just him and Katherine: her dabbing a warm, soapy cloth on his wounds, him making little choked noises in the back of his throat at each stinging touch.

He looked down to see his left arm--the one that had hurt so much when the doctor wrenched it--was wrapped up heavily, barely moveable. Was it broken?

Crutchie blinked, and there was a cup of something hovering in front of his mouth. He let his mouth fall open, catching the bitter drink as it trickled down, bringing relief to his throat but a bad taste to his mouth. He coughed a few times as it was pulled away, then steeled himself for speaking.

“K-Kath?”

Instantly, Katherine was there, patting the cloth at a cut on his face. “Yes? What is it?”

Crutchie thought for a moment. There was so much he could say. Did he want to ask how she was here, what was happening, who the other man had been? How had Snyder let them in? Where were the boys? How long had he been in the shadowy closet? What day was it?

“W . . . did . . . we win?”

Katherine smiled, and Crutchie couldn’t find the energy to even move his mouth in response. “Yes. Yes, we won. You won.”

Crutchie closed his eyes, twitching when Katherine poured some of the stinging water onto that bad cut on his chest. They won. His sacrifice hadn’t been for nothing. Maybe he’d even been a catalyst. Maybe, because they were thinking of him, they won.

Crutchie let himself bask in that selfish dream, feeling the present fading away. He could sleep properly now, now that there were no walls forcing him into a tiny ball, no thugs kicking him around, no boys coming to the window in the middle of the night. He could sleep. They won.

[bts-babyjoonie]

Potion Witch- Namkook AU CH1

Pairing: Namjoon X Jungkook

Tags:  M for mature, Witch Jungkook x Witch Namjoon, fluff, clumsy Namjoon, eventual smut

Word count: 1,676

Summary: Namjoon is a potion making witch. He's also very clumsy and prone to making mistakes. Probably not the best thing when your job is to handle delicate substances. Every two weeks Namjoon goes into town with a wagon full of his potions. He delivers them to his buddy and closest business partner Jungkook. Lately, Jungkook has been having trouble falling asleep so he turns to Namjoon to make him a sleep remedy. Of course, Namjoon agrees and makes it for him, but he accidentally mixes up the potions and gives Jungkook the wrong one. The next thing he knew, Jungkook was a bunny.

 He’s done it now hasn't he….

Namjoon was a clumsy witch. Which was not something to aw at considering the fact he was a potion maker. It was a very delicate process and a long-limbed creature such as himself would need to be extra cautious.

Namjoon made his potions in his own cabin home located in an isolated part of the dark forest. The human villages were terrified of what horrible things lay imbibed deep, but as a witch, Namjoon did not mind. When his potions were ready he would stack them up on a wagon and make a trip to town where his good witch friend Jungkook lived. None of the humans there knew Jungkook was a witch of course. He owned a hidden magic shop in the middle of the large town. It was hidden from all non-magic users.

Aside from being close friends, Namjoon and Jungkook were also great business partners. The reason for his weekly trip to town was to bring Jungkook the potions he ordered. Jungkook would tell him what he needed and Namjoon would go home and conjure up a batch. All for a price of course.

One calm morning, a day before Namjoons bi-weekly trip to town, a crow landed on his bedroom window. The loud caw startled him awake and he frantically turned his head towards the sound. It was the ebony bird perched on the window sill with a letter between its beak. Namjoon sighed in relief. It was just a messenger crow. Jungkook had most likely sent it to him. Perhaps he needed another potion added to tomorrow's delivery. He got out of his cozy bed and scuttled over to his window. Namjoon tried his best to gently open it, but the house was so old that it got stuck not even halfway. He tugged on it a bit harder and the window rolled up so quickly that it crashed into the top startling the poor crow.

“O-oh I’m so sorry little birdie, forgive me”, Namjoon apologized. The crow seemed annoyed but it did not mind him. The dark bird let the letter fall into the large palms of Namjoon's hands and flew away. Namjoon sighed, he didn't get to feed the crow the seeds he had been storing from the times he went foraging. He opened up the letter that was sealed with a red wax stamp and on it was a message from Jungkook.

Dear Joon,

I apologize for getting this to you so late but I have a request to make.

I’ve been having trouble sleeping lately and I was wondering if you

could brew me a sleep potion. It would be much obliged and I’ll make sure

To pay you a good sum as always.

Sincerely, Jungkook.

Namjoon did not mind at all. Jungkook was the first person to make him feel welcome in the area and besides, he thought the younger witch was cute.

Since he didn't have anything else to do for the day he got started on Jungkook's request. He added dry lavender, chamomile flowers, oats, and a couple of other ingredients into the boiling pot. Before long it was done; so he bottled it and placed it beside tomorrow's delivery. He wasn’t paying much attention when he set the bottle down to another one of a similar hue. The next morning Namjoon rounded up all the bottles and carefully put them in crates. He loaded the crates onto his wagon and walked over to his horse to feed him an apple before leaving. The trip to town was about 30 minutes and it wasn't long before Namjoon had arrived at the magic shop. Jungkook heard the sound of the wagon wheels approaching so he left the shop to go and help Namjoon out.

“Morning Joon, you got what I asked for?”, Jungkook asked. “Yes I sure do, let me take these crates inside and I'll hand it to you then”. Namjoon swung his leg over the horse's body and hopped down onto the cobblestone road. Jungkook grabbed one of the wooden crates in the back and Namjoon grabbed the other. The door to the shop was closed but with just a wave of Jungkook's index finger, it slowly crept open. Inside the store were walls and walls filled with interesting Knick knacks, magical books, and of course potions of many colors. Green ivy grew in the cracks and crevices of the stone wall and spread over some of the shelves. Small objects like teacups and paper cranes floated in the air and led up the stairs to the area where the more powerful and dangerous items were stored.

Namjoon always stared in awe every time he entered the store. The vibe of it all was something else. “You can set those on that table, I’ll organize them soon”, Jungkook suddenly spoke, interrupting the silence. Namjoon almost dropped the crates. He was always a bit jittery when it came to Jungkook.

He set the crates on the wooden table. Usually, it would carry items for sale but today it was empty. Namjoon set the crate of potions onto the table next to where Jungkooks placed his. Jungkook yawned loudly and it reminded Namjoon of the bottle he needed to give him. He went over to the crate and grabbed the potion with the dark blue hue.

“Here Jungkook, I have the remedy to your sleeping problems”, Namjoon said while handing the bottle over to him. He smiled upon receiving it and Namjoon’s heart swelled at the sight.

“Oh, by the way, you should probably take this with some tea. I made it pretty potent so you could have some leftover for other times. All you have to do is add four drops into a cup of tea and tonight you will have a restful slumber”, Namjoon explained.

“Then… would you like to have a cup of tea with me Namjoon?”.

Namjoon nodded with a shy smile, his dimples showing on his cheeks.

“Alright follow me into the back, we can have our tea in my kitchen”.

Namjoon followed Jungkook behind the register and into a room hidden by a curtain of vines.

Inside was a daint little kitchen. The cabinets were a sage green color and the floor was a dark cedar wood just like in the shop.

“Please, take a seat at the table. I’ll go make the tea. Would you like mint or black?”, Jungkook asked. “Mint would be nice”, Namjoon said softly. Jungkook smiled and went over to the ceramic jar where he kept his mint tea. Namjoon looked to the corner of the room where the round table was. There were only two chairs but it was perfect. Namjoon took a seat and a couple of minutes later Jungkook came over with the tea. He placed the blue and white teacup in front of Namjoon and put some biscuits in the middle of the table.

“I have your payment in my room I’ll go and get it real quick”, said Jungkook already turning his body to head into the other room.

“Wait!”, said Namjoon. “You don’t have to pay me. It’s not like you’ll be selling it to others so you can think of it as a favor”, he grinned. Jungkook stared at namjoons crescent moon eyes and softly smiled.

“Are you sure Joon? I really don’t mind paying you for this”.

“Yes I’m sure, just take it as a gift”.

Jungkook sat down at the table with Namjoon and pulled out the sleeping potion. He unscrewed the top and held it over his teacup letting exactly four drops fall in. Jungkook looked at Namjoon for reassurance and he urged him on. He brought the teacup up towards his face and placed his soft rosy lips onto the edge of the cup. He took a few sips and placed the cup back down.

“Wow, N-namjoon it’s a little *ahem* s-spicy isn’t it?”. Jungkook coughed from the discomfort he felt in his throat.

“S-spicy? It shouldn’t be spicy”, Namjoon said concern laced in his voice.

Blue smoke started emitting from Jungkook’s body and the boys grew more and more worried by the second.

“Um, Joon what the hell is going on right now?! What did you put in this?”, Jungkook gasped. It was getting harder to breathe. It felt as if his body was beginning to fold into itself.

“I p-put in all the ingredients a sleep potion needed! I don’t know w-why it’s reacting this way!”

“Well think!”, Jungkook yelped.

Namjoon put his brain to work for a moment trying to remember if he had added another ingredient that could’ve caused this reaction when all of a sudden realization dawned upon him. That’s not a sleep potion that a transfiguration potion! His careless self gave Jungkook the wrong potion!

“O-okay don’t freak out Jungkook I know what’s happening right now”, Namjoon reassured the younger boy.

“Don’t freak out?!  IM FREAKING OUT NAMJOON”.

The smoke was getting thicker and it seemed like Jungkook was getting smaller. Namjoon knew what was happening. This was a transfiguration potion Jungkook had asked for that turns the user into their spirit animal. The problem is Namjoon made the potion extra strong, as per request. He wasn’t sure how he was going to get his friend out of this dilemma. God he should really stop going off of the colors of potions to identify them. Sometimes he had too much faith in himself.

The smoke stopped rising and as it dissipated Jungkook was nowhere to be seen.

“Umm, Jungkook? Where’d you go?”, Namjoon called.

“I’m on the stupid chair”, said a small high pitched voice.

Namjoon stepped away from his seat and looked under the table only to see a small bunny huddled where Jungkook had previously been sitting. He was completely covered in black fur and his eyes had that familiar dark shine.

Jungkook had turned into a bunny.

“I’ve done it now”, whispered Namjoon.

a/n: First fic on Tumblr woohoo! Not sure how many chapters there will be but we’ll see I guess :D.

[toplinetommy]

You Bring the Moon and Stars to Me (Part Two) - Tyson Jost

Synopsis: A Soulmate!AU where your soulmark only appears once you fall in love with your soulmate

Words: 4.8k

Part One

--

September 2017 - Denver, CO 

NHLers + 1 Tucker: heard you got a job in Denver Tucker: you know who else got a job there Y/N: what are you going on about Brock: tyson jost plays for the avs Brock: you should catch a game when the szn starts Y/N: he barely knows who i am Tucker: he thinks youre cute *Brock emphasized the message* Y/N: that was months ago Brock: whats the worst that can happen Y/N: hes literally a pro athlete Tucker: im a pro athlete and I still talk to you

You set your phone back onto the patio table, changing it out for your margarita. You were sitting on your new best friend and coworker, Caitlyn’s, back deck enjoying margaritas in the early Denver fall when she said a name you hadn’t heard in months.

“So, when were you going to tell me you know Tyson Jost?” 

You nearly spit out the alcoholic beverage, choking as it goes down the wrong pipe. “Uh, because I don’t? He played hockey where I got my undergrad, not a big deal.”

“Then how come I’m scrolling on Instagram, and Tyson Jost shared to his IG story a picture that you, my friend, are in?” She pushes her phone across the table to you and you look at the picture. Sure enough, it’s a picture Brock had shared to his story, that Tyson had reshared, from the 2017 senior banquet. You’re standing between Brock and Tucker in the back of the photo, barely seen as you were tucked in a large group of hockey players. You weren’t even tagged and yet, somehow Caitlyn had been able to pinpoint you, with none other than Tyson Jost standing right in front of you.

“I’ve had maybe three conversations with him? He only played the one year there and I wasn’t tutoring him.” You shrug, not getting what the huge deal was.

“You were a tutor?”

“Yeah, for athletes, but towards the end I was mainly tutoring the hockey team. That’s why I’m in that picture, I was pretty close to a few of the guys. That was their senior banquet my senior year and I went as one guy’s date, and no, it wasn’t with Tyson or Brock. It was with a guy named Tucker, he plays for the Jets actually.”

 Caitlyn asks a few more questions about your college life before the sun starts to set, and the hockey conversation gets dropped.

“Trust me, I’m not ‘immersed’ into the NHL community or whatever. I just have a few friends in the league that I don’t even talk to that much besides sending memes in a group chat.” You say closing out the topic, choosing to move onto something else.

“Anyways, tell me more about Jack! How come I haven’t met your soulmate yet, huh?” You ask giddly. Soulmates were one of your favorite things to talk about, mainly because you were a hopeless romantic at heart; always fantasizing about the day you’d meet yours and listening to other people share their stories about it.

“Well we met in March when we were at a tech conference while he was still going to school, but I had already graduated and moved here. He still has another year before he graduates and he plans on coming out once he does, depending on if he can get a job in the area.”

“Do you think he’ll move to Denver?”

“I think so, he loved it here when he came and visited over the summer. He loved this house, and he loves the outdoors. I don’t really want to leave, either. I mean, Denver’s my home.” She says, smiling at the thought of her current surroundings.  

Hearing others talk about their soulmates kind of made you envious, but you were happy for your friend. Watching her face light up as she talked about Jack was something you only wished for and couldn’t wait to experience for yourself.

--

Two days later, you’re back over at her place for your weekly Taco Tuesday’s - a tradition the two of you had started not too long after you met at your job a few months back. You hop out of your SUV, noticing the moving truck next to your friend’s house, and definitely not missing the large group of burly men unpacking it.

Walking into the house you shout, making your appearance known. Entering the kitchen you set the grocery bag on the counter. “Did you see that people are moving in across the street? Looks like it’s a group of guys.”

Caitlyn shrugs before continuing, “Took ‘em long enough to sell the house. That house was up for sale when I moved here in June.” She starts walking around the island, back towards the front of the house to further inspect the new neighbors, you close behind. A few of them have their shirts off, even in the brisk fall Denver air, and even with the distance, the both of you can tell there’s some serious man-candy going on across the street.

The both of you retreat back to the kitchen, getting ready to make your weekly tacos, catching up on work, friends, drama, and what had happened on this week’s episode of Grey’s Anatomy. As Caitlyn was finishing up the taco meat, you went to get beers from the fridge in the garage when you heard a voice other than your friends’ in the kitchen on your way back.

Walking into the room you’re shell shocked at the group of men in front of you. No, scratch that. Shocked at one particular man in front of you. Your jaw drops as none other than Tyson Jost looks right back at you.

He marveled at the sight of you, “y/n y/l/n?”

“In the flesh” You laugh lighty.

“You live here?” He inquired, with a hint of shyness in his voice.

“No, Caitlyn lives here, but I live in the area” you respond pointing over to the blonde standing in between the two of you. You look around at the rest of the guys, remembering that it’s not just the two of you standing in your friends kitchen, having what seems like a reunion of sorts.

A deep cough comes from next to you, pulling you out of your confused, yet awe-struck state. “Hey, uh, I’m JT,” comes from the burly redhead standing a few feet away from you, “This is Alexander, Nate, and then Tyson, who I guess you already know?” He points to everyone as he says their names, a hint of question in his tone when he goes over Tyson’s name. 

At this, Tyson jumps in, “She went to North Dakota, too. She knew the hockey team.”

“Oh?” JT asks, eyebrows raising towards his hairline in question.

“Uh, yeah, I was one of the tutors.” You explain briefly.

“You still talk to any of them?” Tyson asks, centering the conversation around you rather than the relationship between the two of you.

“I talk to Brock every now and then, and I’m still pretty close with Tucker.” You answer, not wanting to give too many details about your friendships with other NHLers. Tyson nods his head at you, before JT speaks up once again, steering back to the original reason of the conversation.

The boys had stopped by because they saw the open garage and needed a pair of scissors. Something you assumed a group of guys would have when moving into a new house. As the conversation came to a halt, and the boys started to leave, wanting to let you guys get back to your dinner, Tyson stops on the front porch to continue talking to you. 

“So, you ended up in Denver, eh?” He asks, shoving his hands into his short pockets.

“I did, and I like it a lot so far. I got offered a job as a project manager for a company that has their corporate offices here. Couldn't pass up the opportunity to move to a new city.” As you finish talking, you realize you had started rambling a little bit, a slight blush rising to your cheeks.

Tyson smiles widely, noticing the joy and passion in your voice. A voice in the distance calling out for Tyson breaks the moment you two are having. “I should probably get back, but, uhm, if you ever want to catch up or anything don’t hesitate to text me or something.”

“Uh, yeah, for sure. I’ll let you get back to moving.” You exclaim with a hint of nervousness. You weren’t sure if you should hug him goodbye, but you were a big hugger, so you awkwardly go in for a hug, to which Tyson happily consumes. The two of you go your separate ways as Tyson jogs across the street back to his house. 

Walking back into Caitlyn’s kitchen, you’re snapped back to reality by the look on your friends face. Dropping your shoulders, you groan, “What?”

“I don’t know Tyson Jost, she says. We just went to college together, she says,” she mocks in a high-pitched tone. “That interaction had way too much something in it for you two to have just been acquaintances or whatever you were.”

 “I promise you I barely know him. I just always thought he was cute like everyone else did and the guys loved to make fun of me for it. He’s also four years younger than me.” You reveal embarrassingly, a small smile coming to your face thinking back on some of the memories you had. “Like, my senior year, they made me show up to a jersey party at the hockey house wearing his jersey. I think I was the only one at the whole party even wearing something NoDak related, too. It was just dumb, little stuff.” 

“Aw, that’s kind of cute.” Caitlyn gushes, taking a sip from her beer. The two of you start to make your tacos, and sit in a comfortable silence while eating.

It’s halfway through dinner you realize you don’t even have Tyson’s phone number, contemplating on whether or not you want to text him. “Should I text him?” You ask. “I barely know him and now he’s an up-and-coming professional athlete.”

“You’re both new to the city, so I don’t see the harm in it?” Your friend reasons.

You nod in agreement, trying to figure out how you’re even going to get his phone number. Picking up your phone, you go to text Tucker.

Y/N: would you happen to have tyson josts number :-) Tucker: thought you didnt want it Y/N: yeah funny story actually Y/N: i guess he lives across the street from my coworker now Tucker: ur kidding Y/N: i wish i was Tucker: i knew you two would somehow find each other Y/N: whatever

Tucker ends up texting you Tyson’s phone number a little bit later, and after a lot of typing and retyping you finally settle on a simple “hey” with a simple smiley face, letting him know it’s you.

--

Once you had sent the first initial text to Tyson a few days ago, it seemed like the two of you had been friends all along. Conversation flowed easily between the two of you, only texting one another when you really had the time to. 

Part of you was nervous that the two of you had really never hung out, apart from those few occasions back at school, but even then it was never just the two of you. You had contemplated asking Caitlyn to come over in case it got awkward. In the end, you didn’t let your nerves get the best of you and you went through with going over to his house to meet up with him.

Knocking on the front door, you twist your hands together in anticipation. 

The large wooden door swings open to reveal a very smiling Tyson, “Hey!” He moves to the side to let you in but as you pass him he opens his arm signaling for a hug. 

You wrap one arm around him, half leaning into his side for a side hug as you greet him in return. “How are you?”

“I’m doing great, development camp just ended. I got the letter saying I made the opening day roster, so still trying to get used to that.” He answers with a small laugh. His hands are resting in his front hoodie pocket, and you notice how nice his posture is. You look over him, also noting that his legs look much thicker than you remember and his chest is much broader, even under the expanse of his hoodie.

“That’s great” You compliment, feet planted to the ground once you slip your shoes off. The two of you are still standing in the foyer of his home. The air around the two of you almost makes it feel like one of those ‘we met online and we’re now meeting each other for the first time’ moments. 

Tyson starts walking, leading the two of you to his kitchen before asking if you want anything to drink.

“Water would be awesome.” You answer, moving to take a seat on one of the barstools at the kitchen island.

Tyson closes the fridge, handing you a water bottle. “So how long have you been in Denver?”

“Since June, so three months?” You say, counting on your fingers. “I got the job not too long after I graduated but I went on vacation with some friends before moving. What about you?” 

“I actually came down in April after the UND season ended, but only for a few games. I just got back, like, two weeks ago.” He starts, leaning his elbows down against the counter in front of you. “I was in a hotel until you saw us moving in the other day, actually.”

“Why’s that?” You ask, knitting your eyebrows in confusion.

“So like, the way it works is that you have to make the team during development camp and if you don’t you’ll go back to wherever you were playing before. I already lost my NCAA eligibility when I left, so if I didn’t make the team I would’ve gone down to San Antonio where our AHL team is.” Tyson explains, hands moving around in the air as he speaks.

You nod your head as he speaks, starting to understand the process of how one makes the NHL. “Well, I think you’ll love it here. I’ve only been here for a few months and I can’t stop thinking about how perfect this place is.” You gush.

“Yeah, I’m really excited for the season. The guys are all really nice and welcoming already.” He muses. His eyes crinkle a little bit, a sure sign of happiness as he smiles.

You smile in response, “From what I remember back at school, you were pretty good, too.” 

A small blush rises on his tan cheeks and the tips of his ears. He pushes a hand through the curls on the top of his head with a shrug. “You majored in marketing?” Tyson asks, changing the subject. He was never one to talk about himself too much, even with all of his accomplishments.

“I did!” you exclaim, surprised he even remembered that about you. “I’m a project manager, so I basically manage a few different projects at a time at a marketing firm. I like it a lot so far. That’s how I know Caitlyn, the girl across the street.” You point in her general direction, gesturing to the house across the street.

“What part of the city do you live in?” He asks curiously. He stands up straight again, leaving his hands resting on the counter. 

“Over in Westwood, in a townhouse.” You answer, once again stunned at his ability to remember small details from previous conversations. “It’s just southwest of downtown and like, 20 minutes from here.”

“I haven't really gotten the chance to really explore the area too much, so I have no idea where that is.” He laughs. 

You laugh along with him, “We can always figure it out together if you want, because I haven’t done too much either.” You freeze up slightly at your request, not really knowing where your bravery came from. 

“I think I’ll take you up on that offer,” He agrees. “Being around a bunch of hockey players all the time can be a little much. Besides, it’s nice to have familiar faces around, eh?” He quirks his eyebrow at you.

“For sure.” You agree, taking another sip from your water. “You have any other plans for the day?”

“Other than this, no.”

“I was thinking,” you start, “we could order food or something? I can start showing you the best food places around.” 

“Yeah, I’m actually getting kinda hungry. What’re you thinking?” He asks, making a show to rub at his belly.

“I found a really good ramen place a few weeks ago that I really liked if you’re down to try that?” You suggest, pulling your phone out planning to pull up the menu for the two of you.

“Sure, I’m down to try anything.” 

You stand up from where you were sitting to move over to him, placing your phone on the counter so both you and Tyson can look at the screen. He moves closer to you, shoulders now touching as you both look down at the phone in front of you quietly. He’s comfortable enough to scroll on the website on his own, even with the newness of your friendship. 

As you move to fully stand straight up next to him, the brush of the side of your upper arm against his sends a sort of static through your body. You shrug your arm, moving a few inches away from the man next to you.

“Do you know what you want? I can call and place the order.” You suggest, gesturing towards your phone. He pushes the phone over to you, telling you what he wants before saying he’ll venmo you for his part. 

A little while later, once you’ve driven to downtown Denver and back, you have ramen in front of you as the two of you sit out on the back deck trying to enjoy the last of the warm weather.

The two of you sit across from one another eating in the quiet when JT walks out. “You guys got food and didn’t ask me if I wanted any? I’m hurt.”

Your eyes gaze between him and to Tyson, before Tyson speaks up, “Not my problem you weren’t around when we ordered it.” 

You chuckle lightly at the interaction in front of you as JT rolls his eyes looking for a response. Instead of verbally responding, he walks over to take a seat next to his roommate, giving him a shove as he passes by him.

“So, y/n, have you found your soulmate yet?”

“Bro, what is with you and your need to ask every single person you know that?” Tyson groans, dropping his fork into his bowl.

“What, it’s fascinating!” He exclaims, leaning back into his seat.

“Yeah, because you basically already know who yours is.”

“You already have a soulmate?” You ask, swallowing the bit of noodles in your mouth.

“Technically, no,” He starts, dragging out the ‘no’. “But I’m convinced I know who it actually is.”

“He met this girl over the summer and felt some ‘connection’ to her or whatever.” Tyson says, doing finger quotations around connection. 

“Shut up,” JT groans. “I swear the world stopped when we made eye contact and then we talked and I was just blown away.”

You look at him as he talks, but you notice Tyson next to him, mouthing the words JT is speaking. You giggle a little, causing Tyson to smile.

“I think that’s great, you’ll have to keep me updated on it all.” You say with a smile on your face. Tyson and JT continue to bicker like the best friends you're starting to see they are, as you sit and continue eating your ramen. The way Tyson easily chirps him and laughs makes your stomach do tiny little flips. 

January 2018 - Pepsi Center, Denver, CO 

“Have I ever told you that you’re the best friend ever?” Caitlyn exclaims with glee.

You laugh loudly, holding open the door to the Pepsi Center for your friend to walk through. “You mean have you ever told me that you love that I’m friends with NHL players so I can get good tickets? Once or twice.”

The Winnipeg Jets were in town, meaning Tucker would be playing Tyson for the first time at the NHL level. Tucker had let you know a few weeks ago that he would be in town briefly to play the Avs, and what he didn’t know was that Tyson had also told you the other day about the game. Tucker offered to get you and a friend tickets to the game, which you happily took.

Now, the both of you are walking around on the concourse level, looking for a good place to stop and get drinks before puck drop.

Caitlyn turns to you after you both get your drinks, “Does Tucker know that you’re talking to Tyson?”

“No, I’d thought I’d let him figure it out on his own. I mean, he was one of the guys that always pushed us two to get to know each other so I don't want to make a big deal out of nothing yet.” You shrug.

“Didn’t you say we’re all getting brunch tomorrow though? Won’t he know then?”

“He knows, yeah, but he doesn’t know that I know Tyson will be there. Just a little payback for all the pranks he pulled back in college.”

You guys finally locate your seats in the lower bowl, drifting your conversation to the game itself. You knew Caitlyn was a big hockey fan, her being from Michigan and all, so you were happy you finally got to see her in her element.

The Avs scoot by with an overtime win, not seeing too much action from either Tyson or Tucker on the official score sheet. As you guys exit the arena, you shoot a text to both Tyson and Tucker individually, letting them know they played good games.

The next morning both you and Caitlyn are running a little behind getting to brunch, catching an odd amount of Denver traffic on the way to the chosen restaurant.

Walking through the glass doors of the restaurant, you wipe your snow covered feet off on the mat before looking up trying to either spot the mop of curls atop Tyson’s head or Tucker’s broad shoulders.

You catch Tyson’s eyes before Tucker spots you, giving him a small wave and smile before you and Caitlyn make your way over to their table. Tyson stands to give you a hug before Tucker can and when you pull away, you see a look of confusion on Tucker’s face. You move to give him a tight hug, letting him know how much you’ve missed having him around.

Once Caitlyn introduces herself to Tucker, the two of you take your seats across from them in the booth.

“I feel like the two of you are all grown up! My two not-so-little NHLers,” You squeal jokingly. Tyson laughs with a slight blush at this, while Tucker, who’s across from you, rolls his eyes.

“No no no, we’re not doing that.” Tucker laughs. “You can see how we’re doing with one google search. How’re you? How’s work?” 

“Very good!” You exclaim, “Caitlyn and I have this really innovative project coming up that we’re super excited for.”

“The one with Finish Line?” Tyson jumps in, taking a sip of his coffee.

“Yeah that one!” Caitlyn answers. You can tell she’s about to explain it further with the way she leans forward over the table.

Tucker cuts her off before she can continue to explain it, “What the fuck? How did you know that?” 

“She was telling me the other day about it when I was at her place.” Tyson answers quickly.

“You were at her place?” Tucker asks, growing even more confused.

“Yeah, he was helping me with my new desk. Caitlyn was out of town so she couldn’t help.” You answer without hesitation.

“Oh! You got it set up?” Caitlyn asks the two of you. “You’ll have to send me a picture when you get home.” The way Caitlyn jumps into the conversation doesn’t help Tucker’s confusion one bit as he stares at the three of you blankly,

“So you’re telling me the two of you, like, hang out?” Tucker asks, pointing between the two of you. 

“Mhhm,” you hum with a tight-lipped smile. “Not too often, though.” Before Tucker can muster up a response the waitress appears to take your breakfast orders.

“We’ve only really hung out a few times since we reconnected a few months ago,” You continue once the waitress walks away. “Like, maybe two or three times?” You look at Tyson for confirmation to which he nods his head with a quick ‘yep’.

“So, you actually ended up texting him?” Tucker asks you.

“Uh, yeah? Why wouldn’t I have?”

“You literally avoided him all of spring semester.” Tucker states. Realization of what he’s talking about hits you and you sink back into the cushioned booth, your stomach tightening up with nerves.

Tyson, who looked like he was just checking something on his phone, whips his head up to look at his old teammate next to him.

“I did not,” You stutter, eyes shooting daggers at the Jets player across from you. “He drove me home from the bar once and then I didn’t see him again until a few months ago.”

“And you guys hooked up and then we never saw you in the same room again.” He says casually, reaching for his glass of water and bringing it to his lips. You choke on your coffee at his remark, going into a fit of coughing once you set your mug back down in front of you.

“Dude,” Tyson warns roughly and slaps at Tucker’s chest.

“What? No one knew where the two of you went and you wouldn’t really say anything about it when we all asked!”

“You told everyone we hooked up?” You ask, staring blankly at Tyson in disbelief.

“I literally told the whole team that some asshole spilled his drink on her and drove her home and then ended up going home right after instead of back to the bar.” Tyson says through gritted teeth. His stern gaze turns from Tucker towards your face, eyes turning soft when he sees your mouth slightly agape.

“I swear I never said anything happened between the two of us.” He promises to you, eyes locked on yours. Your eyes stay focused on him for a while longer. The breath you didn’t mean to hold in is let out a huff of air once you see the sincerity behind his eyes.

“Tucker, that was literally just a coincidence that we never saw each other, and besides, Tyson told me he left school to come down to Denver right after the banquet.” You say, turning your attention back to him.

“Okay, sorry about the assumption.” Tucker apologizes, moreso to you than to Tyson. A smirk plays at his lips and you know exactly where he’s taking this conversation. Before you’re able to derail him and switch the topic to anything else he opens his mouth once again. “Everyone knew you guys were attracted to one another so it wasn’t a stretch to think.”

Your previous embarrassment comes back full force with your cheeks heating up. You pick up your coffee mug once again taking a sip, this time to hopefully hide the pink tint on the apples of your cheeks. You take notice at how Tyson doesn’t move to discount Tucker’s comment this time and especially notice the tips of his ears turning pink.

It’s almost like you’re saved by the bell as the waitress walks up the table, arms full of your food. The rest of your brunch is spent catching up and telling Caitlyn all about what it was like at UND, while she shared stories about herself as well as her soulmate.

All throughout brunch, you couldn’t shake the feeling of the pull you felt towards the man that was sitting kitty-corner to you. Even as you and Caitlyn parted ways from the guys once you left, you swore you felt a part of yourself walk away with them. It may have been a feeling you couldn’t shake, but you still chose to ignore it as the two of you walked back to the parking garage Caitlyn’s car was located.

tag list: @REAVENEDGES-LIES (if you want to be added just let me know)

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Silent Night

Based on this: “You aren’t a big fan of Christmas and just want to get out of the city and away from the hustle and bustle. However the one and only Captain America has had his eyes on you and wants to spend a perfect Christmas with you whether you like it or not."requested by anonymous.

Warnings: noncon sex (fingering, intercourse)

Note: Okay, so I’ll be working on holiday drabbles over the next few days.  Hopefully one or two a day if I can manage! Thanks for all the requests so far and I’m working at keeping up.

Hope y’all enjoy. Like and/or reblog!! <3 Reblogs really help especially since I haven’t been getting many.

A quiet Christmas. A once in a lifetime occasion. Convincing your parents to let you skip the family dinner had been a task in itself, only exchangeable for your labour. The old cabin your aunt hadn’t visited since her fall down the stairs a year ago was far away that it guaranteed a holiday undisturbed. A favour, you negotiated, a gift for your aunt who would soon be in shape to once more respite to the northern forests. The place must be dusty, it would need a cleaning before that. Your selfish reclusivity disguised as generosity.

More difficult had been your departure from work for the two weeks that encapsulated both Christmas and New Years Eve. Stark was the festive sort and Nat was the talkative sort. She’d let slip just as you informed your boss you’d be away and unable to attend his respective holiday parties that you hated the time of year. You cringed and it told Tony all he needed to know. But, begrudging and with a vow you’d attend the next year, he approved the time away. You scowled at Nat and promised her payback.

The drive was peaceful. The further you drove along the single lane highway, the deeper the snows grew, the quieter the air. You thought of how nice it would be to be alone. Somewhere where even the howls of wolves were muted in the sheets of snow, completely serene. 

Not hiding in the corner of the room as others drank and made merry in the false spirit of the season. Not putting on a smile to assuage propriety. Not lying about your plans for the days of cheer. Only you and nature and silence. Well, maybe some non-Christmassy music too.

Then your mind strayed. You had tried to be covert. Tried not to let on your pending absence. FOMA was not an emotion for you, in fact you feared having to partake. You made Nat swear not to tell anyone else; not to let Wanda know until it was too late, not to goad Pepper into her nagging, not to allude to Peter that his “second aunt” would be miles away. 

It had almost gone to plan. You woke up early to leave. You lifted your bag, afraid the wheels would give away your escape. You crept to the elevator but when the doors opened, Steve was there. He didn’t miss the guilty frown or the suitcase. He stayed on the elevator, though he’d only just taken it up, and made the descent with you.

“You’re leaving us?” He wondered. “Without a goodbye?”

“I’ll be back. I just didn’t want a whole...thing,” You gripped your suitcase and his hand settled next to yours.

“Let me help you with your bag at least,” He offered. “A Christmas present since you won’t get mine until you return.”

“Present? You didn’t have to--don’t have to--”

“What is it? You hate us, don’t you? Just put up with us for the paycheck?” He kidded.

“Steve,” You rebuked and he subtly tugged the bag away from you. “You know that’s not it.”

“Family?” He asked.

“Well...not exactly.” You admitted as the doors opened and he waved you out ahead of him.

“Not exactly?”

“I’m doing a favour for my aunt. Cleaning out her old summer cabin.” You explained as he followed you across the lobby. “A nice solitary reprieve.”

“Oh, are we that chaotic?”

“Not what I meant,” You grumbled as you passed into the parking garage. “Really. I’ll see you after when the city isn’t so...shiny.”

“Alright.” He wheeled your bag to your car as you popped the trunk. “But I don’t think you realize how much we’ll miss you.”

“You’ll survive,” You scoffed as he lifted your suitcase into the car. 

“Mmhmm,” He nodded and you closed the trunk.

“Don’t,” You warned him. “I already got the guilt trip from Tony. You’re better than him.”

“Sure I am,” He shrugged and you shook your head. 

“Alright, enough. I gotta go.”

Your farewell was more than that. Steve was persistent, as always. You’d finally managed to get a final goodbye as you were halfway in the car and he blocked you from closing the door. Maybe he didn’t realize how often he was in your way. How often he was at your desk gabbing away as you tried to concentrate on Tony’s chicken scratch or how he always found you on your lunch and kept you from listening to the latest episode of that one podcast. Maybe he didn’t, or maybe he did. Maybe the golden boy was a bit more tarnished than he let on. Or maybe he was as oblivious as he seemed.

You tore your mind back to the road. To the dull lights that shone in your rear view. When had they shown up? You were the only car for the last little stretch, not many ventured into this area later than September. You squinted at the car, the specks of snow obscuring it enough to be just discernible, and looked back to the road ahead. 

You were almost there, hopefully before the snow made the way impassable. Before you were forced to park your car in the forest and trek the rest on foot. You’d done it once before, but without the feet of snow to slow you. You wondered if you’d even make it should it come to that.

You made it though. The headlights disappeared from your mind and when you turned off they passed smoothly. You continued up the winding path, just wide enough for your car. Slow, steady, safe. When you pulled up to the side of the cabin you sighed. You’d have to shovel your way in, and maybe out when all was said and done.

You awkwardly pulled on your snow pants in the cramped interior of your car. You hit your head and elbows several times before you were left out of breath but protected. You had to push your way through the snow and into the garage. The shovel was covered in frozen cobwebs, the dusty and undisturbed space smelled like snow and isolation.

You grabbed the shovel and turned back. The snow continued to fall, adding to your chore. A few paths, to the door, to the car, around the back. It’d tire you out and see you til the morning when the real work began.

-

Your first day was spent dusty and wiping down the tables and walls. The work carried over into the second when at last you managed to sit still for more than a couple minutes. There was wood left in the shed but you were nervous you’d be out in the drifts, almost taller than yourself now, chopping more. You didn’t use much in the summertime when it was reserved for evening fires. Now it was shoved in the stove to heat the front room where you huddled under a blanket and shivered.

The generator powered the 70s style fridge but little else. You were left to flashlights and even an old oil lamp your aunt had bought at a yard sale. It was close to evening, the sky a pale blue threatening to turn pitch black. You sat with a book open in front of you, the words bolder in the reserved quiet of the cabin.

Your cell held the pages down, lifeless and without signal. Your mom couldn’t remind you of your desertion, Tony couldn’t try to guilt you, Nat couldn’t send those weird memes that were frighteningly dark. You were entirely unbothered by the winter owls and the distant snowy creatures of the trees. Christmas Eve had never been so perfect.

The date was in the back of your mind. You’d barely take note of it if it wasn’t on the lock screen. You moved to the sofa and reclined to read another chapter, yawning and curling into a ball. You’d been sleeping there to stay close to the stove and feed it in the early hours to keep it from dying. 

Another half chapter and your eyes were closing against your will. You closed the book around your phone and set it on the floor beside the couch. You pulled the blanket to your chin and clicked off the flashlight. You nestled into the cushions, the fire crackling and coaxing you deeper. You fell asleep, a slumber unusually rapt on the night before Christmas.

You didn’t wake to stoke the fire though, not that you realized in your sleep. Undisturbed, unworried. Until you did wake and not of your own accord.

The old cabin was known for its creaks and cracks. First built in the thirties and renovated in the seventies, it was expected. But this wasn’t a groan of aged wood, or the wind battering the old shingles, it was a footstep, and then another, and another. Soft against the hardwood, the clink of dishes, the sound of living.

Your eyes opened and you saw the stove glowing amber; finely stocked and burning boldly. Your heart seized and you sat up so suddenly you had to keep yourself from toppling to the thin carpet below. Surely a bear wouldn’t be so tactful, so careful.

You turned and looked into the kitchen. You recognized the golden head, the broad shoulders as the intruder stood at the kitchen stove. The smell of pancakes filled the cabin and you shivered as the blanket fell from your shoulders. You stood but he didn’t seem to notice. 

You tiptoed to the fireplace and grabbed a log from the stack. Surely a meagre weapon against him but what the fuck was he doing here? Steve Rogers in your aunt’s cabin, uninvited and quite possibly, unhinged.

You neared the door of the kitchen and he turned back to you. You held the log at the ready to swing. He held a spatula and was entirely unfazed by your fearful approach.

“Did I wake you?” He asked as if all was as it should be.

“What--What the hell are you doing here?” You clung to the log as he stepped closer.

“You can’t spend Christmas alone,” He said coolly. “I couldn’t let you.”

“Better yet, h-how did you even--did you follow me here?” You pointed the log at him as he tried to step closer. “No. Don’t. Steve, this is weird.”

“It’s dangerous here. All the snow. Out here alone. You need someone.” He replied as he turned back and flipped the pancakes. “Go on and grab a plate, these are almost done.”

You flinched. What was wrong with him? This wasn’t the Steve you knew. Well, it was in that he was sweetly making you breakfast but he was also intruding on your privacy. You stepped closer with the log and poked him. 

“Steve, you need to go,” You said. “Now.”

“Now that’s not very grateful, is it?” He ignored the log and went to the cupboard. He pulled out two plates onto the counter and switched off the stove. He piled the flapjacks on them and went to the fridge to find the syrup. “I’ve come here to keep you company, to keep you safe, and I’ve even made you breakfast.”

“I didn’t ask you to.” You kept the wood in front of you as he opened the silver drawer. “You’re really freaking me out.”

“And you want me to go out? Into the storm?” He nodded to the window, white with the whirl of the blizzard just outside. “I barely made it here.”

“Steve,” You whined. “Steve, stop.” You jabbed him harder with the log. He dropped the cutlery on the counter and turned to you slowly. “What’s wrong with you?”

“Nothing is--” He grabbed the log and wrenched it from your grip. “Wrong with me.” He broke it in half easily and dropped it. “What is wrong with you?”

“You’re not supposed to be here.” You insisted as you backed away.

“Will you just sit down and eat your breakfast?”

“I don’t want to. I want you to go.” You said.

“Jesus,” He breathed and wiped his hands on his jeans. “You always do this. You’re such a little tease.”

“What are you talking about?” You felt around as you passed through the doorway backward and he neared slowly.

“I might be born last century but I’m not stupid,” He said. “Your blouses, that smile, the way you chew on your pen when we talk, that fake laugh you put on.”

“Steve, you’re wrong, I never--”

“I just want you to have a Christmas to remember. For us to make our first Christmas special.”

You gulped and peered around. You looked back to him and lunged for the poker leaned against the wall. He grabbed it before you and tossed it away just as he pulled you back. He spun you around and threw you against the sofa. You fell onto it with a painful bounce and tried to push yourself back up. He was on you in and instant.

“Steve!” You yelped. “Steve, please stop!”

You beat on his chest as he wrestled with you. You had to be dreaming. This was some sick nightmare. He was so strong, so decisive. You tried to wake up, hit him hoping you would suddenly jolt up and find the cabin empty, but your eyes were already open and this was just as real as it felt.

He soon had you beneath him, straddled and squirming as he held your hands beside your head. You kicked your legs helplessly and he squeezed your hips between his thick thighs. His blue eyes were dilated and sinister as he pinned you down.

“Shhh, calm down. Please,” He tried to soothe you. “Honey, you can’t open your presents if you’re bad.”

“Honey? Don’t call me honey!” You spat. “Get off of me.”

“I don’t want to hurt you,” He said. “Please, don’t make me.”

You stilled suddenly. You stared up at him, shocked. Was that a threat? From Steve Rogers? Well, he was on top of you and you felt the twitch in his jeans as he stared down at you.

“You wouldn’t,” You gasped.

“Only if you make me,” His voice was low and grimy. “Don’t make me.”

“Steve,” You pleaded in a whisper. “Please,” You tried to move and barely jostled him. “Let me go.”

He closed his eyes and huffed. He lowered his head and squeezed your wrists. He was angry, frustrated. You were terrified.

“You’ve already let our breakfast go cold,” His words were measured though his tone trembled. “You better start listening, honey, or you’ll ruin the whole day for us.”

“Steve, please…”

“Don’t.”

“Steve.”

“No. Don’t make me.”

“Steve, please, you’re scaring me.”

He let go of your wrists and for a moment, you thought he would get off of you. But he didn’t. Instead, he grabbed the neck of your loose sweatshirt and the tear of fabric was like a crack of lightning. The thin tank top beneath showed your nipples, hard from chill air, and he ripped it just as swiftly.

“No,” You tried to bat his hands away, tried to keep them from your bare chest. 

He pushed past your struggles and ground his pelvis into you. “You have to be good.” He hissed. “Or I’ll be bad.”

“Stop,” You sobbed. “Steve.”

You tried to shove him away but he didn’t relent. He bent over you, sliding back just slightly. He held your chin in his large hand as his other tweaked your nippled painfully. “Shhh,” He pressed his lips to yours and muffled your pleas. 

His hand continued to toy with you, kneading and pinching painfully. He groaned into your mouth and rocked his hips against you. His hand moved lower as his other threatened to break your jaw. You were forced to open your mouth and he quickly devoured you.

He tugged at the elastic of your sweatpants, hooked his fingers under your cotton panties as he pulled them lower. You reached down to keep them at your waist but he yanked them sharply from your grasp. He lifted his pelvis as he edge them down your thighs.  

He withdrew from your lip and held you down with a hand on your chest as his other worked at your pants. You grabbed his wrist, unable to budge him as your pants reached your knees. He got to his knees and you wriggled to get away. 

He caught you and pulled your legs out from beneath him. He leaned them against his torso, your feet at his shoulders. He pressed his thighs around your ass as he reached down between your legs. You squirmed and pushed at his hand. Kicked your tangled legs against him. He grabbed your ankles in one hand and held them to his left shoulder.

He shoved his fingers between your thighs and forced them between your folds. He shuddered and pulled his hand away. Your eyes widened, hopeful again. You tried to move your legs but he kept them firm against him. You looked down as he unbuttoned his fly.

“Steve.” You begged. “Steve, I’ll be good.”

“Too late,” He warned. “All you had to do was listen, honey. But you wouldn’t.”

You wheezed as he unzipped his jeans and you looked away as he revealed the head of his swollen cock. You felt him pull himself out entirely and you closed your eyes. You reached down to shove him away with just your fingertips. He ignored you, if he noticed your pathetic resistance at all.

He moved your legs. Pulled them as wide as they would go still caught in your sweats. Not much but enough. He held your left knee and guided himself along your most tender spot. You tried again to draw away but he had you trapped. He leaned over you, bending your legs just slightly as he rubbed his tip against your pussy.

He pushed inside just a little. You were too tight and too dry. You exclaimed and he pulled out. He sighed and you opened your eyes to watch him lick his fingers. You grunted desperately. “Please, don’t.”

He rubbed his slick fingers along you, wetted them again and forced them inside of you. He pressed his thumb to your clit and your body stiffened. Despite your fear, your body responded. He licked his fingers a third time, to taste, to add a little more, and shoved them even deeper.

He played with you a bit and then pulled his fingers out to spread your juices along his cock. He pressed his tip to you again, this time he slid in easily but not painlessly. He didn’t ease himself in. He pushed himself to his limit and past yours and you cried out.

“Ow! Ow! Steve, it hurts. Get off! You’re hurting me, please!”

“I told you,” He thrust once, sharply. “To be good.” He thrust again and you writhed in agony.

You gritted your teeth as you tried to hold back your yelps. He rocked against you steadily, each time you winced at the strain. His hands went to your thighs as he brought himself as deep as he could go. He leaned over you, your back curved as he curled your body beneath him. 

He planted his hands beside you as he raised himself over you. He lifted his pelvis and slammed it down, each time adding to the reverberations along your spine. He hammered you into the cushions as you whined. He watched your face as he worked against you, his pupils dark and wide. You grabbed his biceps and dug your nails into his skin.

“It really h--” Your breath caught. Surprised by the sudden tickle that crested the pain. “St-op...It--no.”

You covered your face with your hands as the coil wound tighter. You were ashamed and shocked at your response. The suddenness of the rise. The sounds of his cock gliding in and out of you added to the heat. Filled your head lewdly and carried you higher. You grunted as you were drawn thin and then the release washed over you.

He kept a hand beside you and pulled away your hands as you came. You closed your eyes and he carried on. Never wavered, only sped up. Didn’t let up as he chased another hill and you were forced over the edge again. You could feel his eyes on you, could feel his pleasure at stealing yours.

His groans grew louder and mingled with the sound of his body against yours. They sickening symphony reached its climax and you felt his release. Felt the gush within you as his hips jerked wildly. He emptied in himself inside you. Let forth all that he’d repressed. Anger, longing, resent; every ounce of it spilled out. He was left panting and weak, crushing your legs beneath him as he barely kept himself from slumping over you entirely.

He pushed himself back onto his knees. He pulled out and let your legs fall. Your body twisted as your knees hinged over the edge of the couch. You were shaking as you pulled your sweatshirt over your chest and his large hand settled on your ass. He caressed you, as if he cared, as if he had been sweet.

“We should eat,” He said as he drew away. The couch shifted as he stood and you heard his zipper. “Then we can start opening presents.”

[photiniainsummer]

A Little Audience Participation Can Tip the Scales (4/?): Curiosity Killed the Cat...

Genre: GenFic - Action, Mystery, Humor

Rating: Teen and Up

Story Summary: There’s a strange group living at the old Markiplier Manor.

They’re the villains of their tales, they’re looking for information, and they need your help putting Mark’s scattered egos back together to get their lives back.

And stop Mark and the Entity breaking reality.

Small goals.

(Second Person POV, vaguely fem-coded Reader)

Chapter Summary: The one where you almost die.

Word Count: 5407

Author’s Note: I promise we're almost to the real meat of things - let me know what you think!! :)

On Ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30510852/chapters/76436726

Curiosity Killed the Cat...

“Oh, come on,” you sigh, easily opening the metal door at the bottom of the outdoor staircase to Jonah’s apartment. He’s forgotten to lock it for the thousandth time, which always makes you slightly anxious - something you could really do without right now. His carelessness never ceases to amaze you; you’d gotten copies of the keys to both his doors early on in your friendship because the man could barely go a night out on the town without losing them. You’re the only reliable person that’s also foolish enough to go out drinking with him, so he dubbed you his personal keeper of the keys. At first it had been a mantle you bore begrudgingly, but it had been a big part of you two becoming so close - having to drunkenly help someone into their own apartment will really bond folks, you had learned. So far, you’ve never needed to use them without with him around, nor had you let anyone else borrow them, even for a bit of light pranking. Maybe it’s silly, but if you’re honest with yourself, the simple key ring feels like Jonah’s trust embodied. Nothing so far has proved to be worth more than that to you. Ascending the old stairs, you wonder if he’s noticed.

So far, your plan to check up on the crime reporter is not turning out to be the quick detour you had hoped. Lunch hour traffic had eaten into your hour and some change, and Thistle, the owner and proprietor of the downstairs combination health store/cafe had been no help. He had been busy serving up roasted halloumi paninis when you poked your head in a few minutes ago, and after investing time into waving off his concern about your busted-up face you’d found that he hadn’t seen hide nor hair of Jonah since he’d left for work yesterday morning. “I went out before he got back, I suppose, and I was horribly drowsy this morning - big night,” he’d said with a wink. “So he could’ve left this morning and I just didn’t notice.” When his lack of information only deepened the furrow you’d been carrying in your brow all day, Thistle had pulled an apologetic expression before trying to sell you a CBD tincture for wrinkles.

The bushy-bearded man could be like that - simultaneously thoughtful and mildly insulting - but he made a mean panini, so you had taken one at his insistence. As much of a bust catching up with him had been, given how long-winded and very intent his sales pitches can be, you’re glad that you at least won’t go back to the office hungry. The sandwich’s warmth leaks through the paper bag at your side as you knock on Jonah’s door. It’s a beat-up thing, paint-chipped and worse for wear. Its best feature is that it keeps a whopping three-quarters of the rain out. It looks even more crooked than the last time you were here, something you hadn’t thought possible, and you make a mental note to rag Jonah to have his landlord fix it properly this time.

You listen for the man’s tell-tale heavy footsteps, wondering if he had just taken the day off. Maybe he unplugged the landline and curled up in bed to mope all day about not getting to go on your great adventure to the Manor. It sounded like something he might do - although the thought of all you’d been through as a ‘great adventure’ feels like the most gross mischaracterization you can think of. But here you’d be, banging on his door, a nervous wreck under your extensively bruised surface, having run halfway across town because he hasn’t called you back. He’d look at you like you were nuts and tease you mercilessly, you know. How did people cope before cell phones, you wonder, knocking again. Regardless of what Jonah might say, you’d happily bear the embarrassment for the comfort of seeing him in the flesh. Something really isn’t sitting right with you about all this.

“Jonah? It’s me, I brought lunch,” you call for good measure. Maybe food would tempt him out, if he was wallowing around inside and being a big ol’ sad sack. As you wait a little longer, you lean over slightly to the nearby window. Against your better judgement, you check for wrinkles. It’s not so much that you mind having them, if you do, but you hadn’t noticed them happening. Is time really moving so quickly, ravaging you already? You twist a few errant bits of your curly bangs to get them to hang right and peer at yourself, raising your brows and lowering them, just to see. Sure enough, a few persistent, thin lines remain when you relax your brow. Then you furrow it, even as you know it’s counterproductive. Cool, cool cool cool. Next will be the gray hairs. Maybe I need to drink more water…?

You meet your reflection’s gaze properly. You look more tired than usual, that’s for sure, and your bruises don’t really lend toward a relaxed expression. Your brow is slightly drawn up, stuck in a constant flinch against the steady, low-level pain of your sore face. It draws a sigh out of you - either you’re exhausted by it or you’re relaxing now that you’re conscious of it, but which one isn’t clear. At least that deer-in-the-headlights look you’d caught in the shattered mirror at the Manor hadn’t stuck around. That memory alone is enough to remind you that these aren’t normal circumstances, that nothing about this is normal by any stretch of the imagination. You realize just how much you can’t wait for this all to be over, for the simple explanation to win out and for your nerves to take a breather. Once we get all this sorted out, I’ll take a serious couple of naps, eat at least one vegetable, and I’ll be good as new. The thought sounds a lot more optimistic than you feel.

Finally, realizing nobody’s coming and Jonah is probably out, you resignedly turn from your self-involved and low-key mope session and make to descend the stairs and head back to work. But your eyes catch something as they unfocus from your own reflection, and you turn back to the window.

You can see into Jonah’s living room, which is odd, since you’re certain this window had blinds the last time you were here. Looking up, you realize said blinds hang at a sharp angle, half-torn from their molding and revealing the inside of the apartment. It’s a complete wreck. Furniture is overturned and papers are everywhere, as if a bomb had gone off.

“Jonah?” Your voice sounds unfamiliar, distant and panicked, as you knock on the door more insistently. It swings loosely inward from the force, the deadbolt already having been snapped through the weak wood of the doorframe. What the busted door reveals is much worse than the snapshot the window provided. Nothing is where it’s meant to be - pictures lie shattered on the floor or hang at strange angles from their nails; books’ pages are torn from their spines and scattered around; the floor is covered in a thin layer of cotton and feathers, the guts of cushions turned outward and furniture torn open. It’s devastating and all-encompassing, and you can barely process the wreckage laid out before you.

I should go get Thistle, is your first thought. Get someone, call the police, get away and get safe, is your second. Whoever had done this could still be inside, and you are now a witness. They could walk out from the back at any moment. They could be armed. But what if Jonah’s still inside, is your third and most arresting thought. Thistle had said he never heard him leave this morning, and he’d been out last night -- how recently had this happened? Your mind works quickly. It would have had to be at least some time between yesterday evening and now, of course, but there was no telling for certain. He could still be in here. He could be hurt. He could be dead.

Stepping over the threshold, you work to steady your breathing, which has become shallow in the shock. Like hell you’re going to ditch without even checking if he’s inside, attacker be damned. The part of the wall where the deadbolt typically slides into place is now splintered outward, ugly and sharp, and as you shut the door behind you, the piece of metal easily but ineffectually returns home. The metal casing from the doorframe lies discarded on the floor among the rest of the wreckage. Nearby are bits of shattered plastic, and tracking them to their source reveals the remains of an old landline. The cord has been pulled from the wall, the body broken open so its wiring curls in sad gnarls. It brings a new meaning to the line being ‘dead,’ you think humorlessly, but you have at least one more answer than you did before - Jonah didn’t answer this morning because he couldn’t. And yet, this only leaves you with a whole new pile of questions.

You move cautiously through the ruined apartment, not wanting to disturb the wreckage more than you have to. You’re already considering the inevitable police investigation, and you are going to make damn sure the police have as much unsullied evidence as they can find to put Jonah’s attacker away. Or attackers. You stop by his CD shelf - something you had teased him mercilessly for having the first time you visited because, seriously, who still has a CD shelf? It lies bare, now, contents scattered on the floor, but thankfully undisturbed behind it is a baseball. Jonah keeps it for moments like this, you imagine. Although, the hypothetical scenarios he had prepared for had probably involved him being the one wielding it You lift the bat to your shoulder. Just in case.

You continue your search, into the tiny half-room Jonah generously calls his study. Despite the room being equally torn apart as the rest of the apartment, the blinds here are intact. You crane your neck to see through their slits, careful not to touch them, wondering if something lies behind. Past the fire escape on the other side of the glass, the side of the neighboring building fills the window’s view. Directly across is a large window, propped open, curtains dancing slightly in the breeze. Without the blinds here, whoever lives next door would have a perfect view in, if they had a care to look. Someone was careful. Turning around, you can fully take in both the study and dining area - and the scope of their destruction. Sunlight falls across it all, cheerily at odds with how the floors are barely visible for the wreckage. There’s a path where you picked your way through, but otherwise it is trashed. Every shelf is laid bare.

Suddenly, a realization makes the hair on your neck prickle. As chaotic and troubling as the scene is, it isn’t random. The destruction is consistent - there is no corner untouched. No book remains intact, no container or bit of furniture unturned.

This isn’t random violence. It’s too careful. Like with the blinds being left up to shield the wreckage from prying eyes. Someone had come here, intentionally, and they had been looking for something. They had no idea where it could have been, but they were thorough in their search.

Had they found it?

You’re getting distracted, you’re not a cop building out a crime scene. You’re here to find Jonah and make sure he’s okay. Readying your bat in case you’re about to startle his attacker out of hiding, you call out. “Jo…?” Your voice betrays you, shaking. You clear your throat and push on. “It’s me, are you here?” No response, so you move through the mess more quickly, now. If whoever did this had found what they were looking for, they would have left Jonah behind. What state they would have left him in, though, is what you’re not sure of.

You worm around his overturned drafting desk table and check the back rooms. His bathroom and bedroom are a similar mess, clothes turned inside out and dumped everywhere, his medicine cabinet hanging open and the floor a mess of pill bottles and half-used shampoo. But there’s no sign of life. And no blood, either, you note with not a small bit of relief. You poke around the piles of Jonah’s clothes scattered through the bedroom and hallway, just to make sure he’s not hidden under them and wounded before returning to the study.

You feel lost, pumped full of adrenaline yet without an outlet. There aren’t any obvious clues to where Jonah could be, or where he could have gone. Had they taken him? Moreover, who had taken him, and why? What could Jonah have done to warrant… this? Taking a steadying breath, you pull your phone from your pocket, deciding that getting the police involved is the next logical step.

Then, voices, footsteps on the metal staircase.

Your heart rate shoots up as you strain your ears to pick out the voices, but they aren’t familiar tones. Without thinking and with your panic rising, you dive under Jonah’s upended desk, crouching yourself into a ball in the small space it makes between a bookshelf and the wall. It’s close, a little dark, and your breathing seems to echo in it - too loud and too hot all at once. Ignoring how your knees protest against the sudden, tight position, you press yourself further into the corner as the front door creaks open again.

“Je-sus, they really tore the shit out of this place.”

“Yup. Had to make sure he wasn’t hiding anything else, apparently. Muscle found a couple copies of stuff he’d hidden in different places, trying to be real slick, so they went through with a fine-toothed comb for good measure.” The first voice, reedy and exasperated, sighs and shuffles their feet.

“Really doesn’t make our job any easier. How’re we supposed to make any of this look normal? It’s insane.”

“That’s out of my pay grade, and yours. They’ll… put a dog in here or something, say it went bonkers being locked up alone. Give it a few days, it’ll live the mess in. But we gotta get it at least kind of decent, first. Now c’mon, help me with this couch.” The apparent clean-up crew shuts the door behind them and begins to shuffle around in the mess of Jonah’s apartment.

Your mind reels - so Jonah had been snatched up by god knows who, had been hiding files in his apartment, and now they were going to make it look like the break-in was… what, an accident? Like he had disappeared and left everything a wreck himself? What were they going to do with him? Unfortunately, you can’t say that this is the first time he’s gotten his nose in too deep about something, but you would have thought he had learned his lesson after his brush with being harassed and the rigamarole of getting restraining orders in place.

As sleepy as your city can be, there are a few folks everyone knows not to mess with. Everyone, of course, except Jonah, at least in any delicate sort of way. You laud him for his commitment even when the police balk from digging deeper, for being so full up with righteous fury that he puts stories to print as soon as he can. Even on the politics beat, you’ve come across your fair share of illicit wheeling and dealing - but there are ways to sound them out, you’ve learned how to sit on things and work with authorities until the time is right and publishing your piece won’t put you in imminent danger. Jonah, despite having a good number of years on you, seems not to have picked up on the same lessons. That, or he’s too committed to care. You mentally flip through the last few cases he’s mentioned that could be possible explanations, but nothing comes close to deserving something like this. Except…

But it seems ridiculous, like a murder mystery novel. There is no way whatever is going on surrounding Mark could possibly warrant Jonah being straight up kidnapped.

A heavy thud shakes the floor, and the deeper voice of the second intruder curls itself around some colorful curses.

“My foot was there, dumbass-”

“Maybe you oughtta move it, then,” the first snaps. The second seems to lose whatever is left of their patience, grunting in frustration.

“What the hell is going on with you? You’ve an attitude all damn day, I’m not doing this job with you in a huff.” It goes quiet, and after a while, the first intruder sighs.

“...I dunno. Johnny was just. He was running off at the mouth, you know him. It’s nothing.”

“Like hell it’s nothing, got you all worked up like this.” Another sigh. Is this… are they really doing a debrief in the middle of covering up a crime scene? You try to keep your breathing quiet as they continue.

“Basically called me too dumb to move up to internal affairs,” the first mumbles.

“Oh, hell, I’m gonna pull Johnny’s head out of his ass just so I can shove it back up there myself next time I see him. You know that’s bull, they said you just needed that computer class, right? Come on, what is it Mark always says?”

There’s a pause, but finally the first answers in a tone not unlike a sullen teenager. “...life is ours to choose.”

“There you go. And he runs us on that, right? And you’re choosing to move up, right? So he’ll see that, and I bet he’ll promote you soon as you graduate. Now c’mon get that look off your face and let’s get this done, huh? Dinner’ll be on me, and so will Johnny’s next knuckle sandwich.”

The pair returns to their work, but under the desk, a coldness has seized you. This cinched it - as absolutely insane as it sounds, it couldn’t possibly be a coincidence that these goons were answering to someone named Mark, cleaning up the kidnapping scene of someone who had been secretly digging into the mysterious history of a dead man with the same name. That the kidnapped man had only gotten suspicious because he works at one paper out of many that have been erasing or squashing any mention of said dead man, despite him being a native and a once-celebrity. That said paper, despite its lead editor’s obsession with careful filing, was missing any of those nixed stories. And that same filing system had been hiding a thick file, seemingly addressed to the dead man himself. Maybe you’re taking too many liberties, too many leaps in reasoning, but… despite how tenuous it all feels, it’s too much to ignore anymore.

How long had all of this been going on, right under all your noses? You feel sick, like the biggest idiot in the world - like you’ve been going about your life blindfolded all the while walking dangerously close to a cliff’s edge. Jonah had been the only one to see it clearly, and still, look where that got him. You remember the men at the office, Walker’s scared gaze. Had they been there about Jonah? If they had been here first and not found what they were looking for…

The folder’s weight in your bag, still slung across your chest, seems to chain you to the lightly feather-covered floor. Your heart pounds against your ribs, thunders in your ears. And god, your head aches like hell, everything just too much as you try to keep your breathing quiet. No wonder the men at the Manor had been so paranoid about you. If Mark could pull off something like this, disappear someone and send people to both destroy their place and clean it up to make it look like something else, all for just digging around on him, you’d be paranoid of anyone who suddenly busted into your hideout.

Well. You’d be paranoid anyway. But doubly so.

You know there’s no way you can stay here. The two workers are busying themselves around the apartment, the first apparently comforted enough by the second’s threats of violence against Johnny to hop to it. Discussing how to organize their approach, you can tell they’ll move on to the study soon enough. But they’re between you and the front door, will definitely get a head start on you as you awkwardly crawl out from behind the desk to escape. You could push it suddenly toward them once they were close, psyche them out and make a break for it while they’re startled. Which will only work if they’re close enough together and don’t flank you…

As you fumble for another option, the blinds behind you bounce slightly against the windowsill. A soft breeze caresses your face. Turning, you can see that the window is slightly open. Backlit by the afternoon sun, the dark metal of the fire escape casts a shadow across your face. There. It’ll be tight, but you can definitely crawl through the window from where you are without having to reveal your presence. At least, you won’t before you have the window between you and the clean-up crew. Then it’s just get down the escape before they do and book it as fast as you can.

As it’s the only route you can think of that doesn’t involve having to fight the men off, you decide it’s your best bet. Quietly scooting yourself toward the window, you crane your neck to ascertain the workers’ lines of sight. They’re occupied in the living room, trying to wade through the mess of stuffing and ripped up pages, well enough away and not looking in your general direction. You take your chance. You slip your hand behind the blinds and push up on the window.

The squeak it emits as it sticks, then rises sharply as you push it harder could shatter eardrums.

You only vaguely note the exclamations of the pair as panic overtakes you. Pushing out from behind the desk and under the blinds, you fling yourself out onto the sun-baked fire escape. The sunlight crashes down around you, forcing you to squint as you land and immediately scramble back to the window to close it. You shove down on it as hard as you can and the old thing jams crookedly in the casing with barely a half inch of space open at the bottom. Panicked fingers poke out from under it, trying to pull it up to no avail. The men holler in frustration behind the trembling blinds. With no time to waste, you turn and begin descending the metal scaffolding at a quick clip.

You stop, though, as you recognize a pair of broad shoulders at the mouth to the side alley you’re perched above. Even from a distance, just from the way he holds himself, you can tell it’s one of the burly men from the office. The cold feeling of the scar-faced man’s gaze fresh in your mind, you spin on your heel and hurry back up the shaky steps. You’ll find another path down somehow, you’re sure of it. The workers are still desperately attempting to open the window as you pass, your fast steps rattling the metal beneath your feet and only inciting their ire. “Hey, hey, get back here! Get-- Laney, go get the guys, go-”

But your panicked pace has already alerted ‘the guys’ to your presence - the sound of the shaking metal echoing clearly in the tight brick alleyway has seen to that. As you take the next flight, you can see that the man at the entrance to the alley is already closing the distance to the bottom of the escape. Heart leaping in further panic, you will your legs to go faster as you climb, tightly rounding the bend on each flight of the stairs. The building is only a few stories tall, so you quickly reach the top. Your hands grasp your bag tightly to your chest to keep it from slapping against your legs as you start to run across the roof, just trying to put distance between you and whoever is making chase.

But you have no idea where you’re running to.

Jonah’s building backs up to another, slightly taller one, and so you cross the roof and scramble over the small wall that divides them. You check this building for a way down, swearing when there’s no obvious rooftop entrance to the building nor fire escape. The next building is too close to warrant one, but pushing yourself onward, you hop easily across to it. Nothing here, either, so you hurry across to the next, and the next, each time pulling yourself up the small walls or crossing the short gaps between the buildings. Your hands quickly get rubbed raw, chest aching with hard breaths. You hear yelling from behind you, now, multiple voices calling and the sound of pounding feet. The sun is hot, beating down on you as you force your legs to pump, to keep going, leaving off searching for an escape in favor of just trying to lose your pursuers. You cross building after building, thankful for a reason you never would have imagined before now that Jonah had decided to live near the densely-packed shopping district.

Your luck soon runs out, though. Now out of the dense, main collection of antique shops and specialty grocers, the buildings grow farther and farther apart. Your jumps leave you more and more startled when you land them, the last one far enough that you can’t even control your fall onto it, smacking into the roofing gravel hard. It finds you, but you’re in full panic mode at this point, run ragged, exhausted, and still having to push onward. From the dusty, gravely concrete, though, you see the scarred man steadily approaching, taking the jumps between buildings in stride. Whoever he was with before that you heard yelling must have peeled off, leaving just the two of you.

You push yourself to your feet, palms burning from being so skinned up and pushed into the hot, dirty roof. Your body hurts all over, something you’d think you would have gotten used to by now. As you turn to continue onward, you find yourself limping slightly, leg aching although it’s not clear if it’s just a cramp from your panicked run or something worse. Regardless, you find that the next gap between buildings is shorter than the last one, for sure. I can make it.

“There’s no point,” the man calls. “Even if you get away, I know you. Where you work… Where you live will be easy.” You turn now to see the imposing man, still on the opposite roof. He stands there, watching you with that same cold stare, his voice so assured it makes you sick. As if he knows you’ll give in, that he’s already won. “And I know you have something that belongs to my boss. So why not make this easy and just give it to me now.”

You edge back slightly toward the next gap, and the man’s face twitches. You still have energy left, air in your lungs. This isn’t over. But maybe if you can keep him talking… “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

He stares you down. “You’re familiar enough with our work, now, I think. Your friend’s car, his apartment... I just want the file, don’t make this harder than it has to be.”

“Just leave me alone, all I know is that you started chasing me--”

The man growls and suddenly rears himself back. He leaps, landing on the roof only a few short feet away from you. It’s freaky, nothing about the motion feeling real or like something any human could do. It’s like a movie. You stumble backward toward the edge, leg bumping against the ledge. It twinges painfully. The man rises up and begins to approach, one pale, thick hand extending toward you. His scar is so obvious in the sun, from this close. His eyes are so cold.

“Give me the file.”

“Get away from me, I don’t. I don’t have any file.” You’ve apparently run out of lies for the day - it sounds weak, even to your ears. You step up onto the ledge, ignoring how your leg protests, readying to jump. Below you is a steep, multi-story drop into a trash-filled alley below. If you took a leading step, you could make the jump, though, you’re certain of it. But your heart is racing, your thoughts spinning. What if I fall? What if he grabs me? The man is approaching quickly now that you’ve stepped up, and you wind back.

“Just give it to me, and we can make this all go away…” His powerful hand reaches out, within your arm’s length, looking as if he’s offering to take your hand. Time seems to slow to a crawl around you. The man’s hand continues toward you as you make for the edge. You turn to face the open air, but your body feels like lead moving through deep water. The next building over is so close - maybe he won’t make this one, and you can get away properly.

You take the last step and leap. Pain spikes through your leg as you shove off, but you push as hard as you can.

As soon as your ascent begins, you know you won’t make it. You didn’t have enough lead-up, your push-off hindered by whatever you’ve done to your leg. Gravity quickly reasserts itself, and you’re falling. You twist in the air, curling around your bag to keep it from being snatched. Turning to face the sky above, you see the man still reaching for you, the sun catching in every drop of sweat on his bulging face as he hangs over the edge. Even shaded from behind, his cold eyes, lit with fury, are still visible.

You shut your own then, the wind rushing up around you. You don’t want to see what it’s like when you hit the ground. Maybe someone will see you fall, find you and the file before the man can get off the rooftop. Maybe the police will get ahold of it (and your pursuer) and some random girl falling to her death will be the thing to blow Mark’s operation open. Maybe someone will find Jonah, if he’s still alive. How would that be for the end to a grand adventure? It’s so cheesy and stupid that all you can wonder, wryly, is this is really my last thought?

Your courageous self-sacrifice is rather rudely interrupted, though, as you’re seemingly hit by a freight train. Something solid going almost as fast as you are knocks the breath out of you, and the next thing you know, you’re tumbling across the ground ass over tea kettle.

When you come to a stop - surprise - everything hurts. It’s worse this time, though. Nothing feels like it’s in the right place anymore, your joints protesting like hell. You’ve never been hit by a car before, but you imagine this is what it might feel like. The sun is blinding you, and you wonder for a moment if what hit you was the pavement of the alley, if it had just knocked you out of your body and straight into heaven. Or whatever afterlife there might be. You’re no theological expert, but you feel like you recall that the afterlife isn’t supposed to hurt.

You groan, and a deep voice nearby echoes you, although it melts into a big belly laugh. Turning toward it and away from the sun, you blink your eyes open properly and relocate your limbs. Squinting past the spots in your eyes and the protesting of… well, every bit of you, you push yourself up and realize the owner of the voice is right here next to you, already starting to brush himself off. His dark hair is mussed and grass has stained his yellow button-up, but his crinkled-eye smile is the same as the night before. Another laugh bubbles out of Wilford, truly amused as you both come back to yourselves in the grass.

“Good lord, dear girl, you really don’t do things by half, eh?”

[empresspeacock]

Find the White Wolf Pt. 1

Summary: Geralt goes missing and you’re determined to be the one who finds him and brings him home

Pairing: Geralt x Reader

Warnings: Violence, language, slow burn? smut

A/N: I have only watched the show on Netflix, I have never played any of the games or read any of the books. If I break canon, that’s why. Plot based on my imagination, so you do not have to watch the show to enjoy.

Link to Part 2  Link to Part 3  Link to Part 4

Word Count: 1540

It had been what, five, six weeks since you first started looking for Geralt of Rivia? And you were hoping that your latest lead wasn't another dead end. While he was greatly revered for his monster fighting skill, he was also greatly feared by townsfolk. You couldn't ask just anyone if they had seen him in a while, and even if they had seen him and told you what he was doing in their town, no one ever seemed to know where he was headed next.

Geralt was first noticed as missing a few months ago, and given how elusive he normally is, it's quite possible he's been missing longer than that. Other members of his guild were the first one's to realize. They hadn't crossed paths with him in so long that it finally became unusual. Even the prostitutes that he frequented hadn't seen him in a while. Many hoped he wasn't dead. Few who had the privilege to see him fight, or better yet fight beside him, believed he could even be killed. But yet, his long disappearance still worried people.

That's where you came in. You come from a long family line of skilled trackers and this was your first major assignment. Sure, you've looked for other important people before, even by yourself, but usually they were just in the next town or so over or hidden away in their country house trying to evade their responsibilities or just sleeping with their lover. This one was different. This one was difficult, even for the most experienced of your family members. Finding a witcher or a sorcerer always was. Finally, a real challenge.

You approached the mountains that someone said they thought they had seen Geralt heading in the approximate direction of. Maybe someone else along the way had seem him passing by? It wasn't much to go off of, but it was better than nothing. The man was especially difficult to track. He never left evidence of making a fire, he never even left evidence that he had used the restroom. It's part of the Witcher training to leave no trace, to leave nature as it was, but he was especially meticulous. In the distance, you could see a castle coming into view. Great! Maybe someone saw Geralt while they were standing watch. Better yet, maybe he stopped there to rest and mentioned where he was heading off to.

As you got closer, immediately you could tell something was very different from this castle. Almost like something was off honestly. There were no signs of any weathering on the stones. Was this castle brand new? That couldn't be the case. But the person you talked to made no mention of a castle, which seems odd considering how unique this castle is. Maybe the nearby folk don't realize other castles don't look like this. But he should have mentioned a castle nonetheless. The castle looked spotless. You felt a tingling sensation as you began to cross the bridge over the moat. Were your spidey senses tingling?? But as quickly as the tingling started, it went away. You looked down into the moat to see if there were any creatures in there to guard the waters. They were murky, but you didn't notice anything offhand. Except- wait just a minute. There wasn't even moss on the walls where it met the waters. Something is definitely suspicious about this castle.

You stop halfway on the bridge to reconsider knocking on the gates. If you got into some trouble, would you be able to get yourself out of it? Is the moat deep enough for you to jump off the wall into relative safety? Did Geralt possibly notice this strange castle and decide to go inside to investigate? Against your better judgement, you continue across the bridge. Anyone watching you from inside has definitely seen you at this point, so you'd might as well keep going.

The gates are made of finely polished warm, dark wood, which is hardly a surprise at this point. They clearly never get attacked by even so much as an insect. You dismount from your horse and bang the knocker twice. A small window opens up.

"State your business" a gruff female voice said. 

"I'm travelling to Redania and I grew weary. I was hoping you would be willing to let me stay a night or two and then let me be on my way. I'm willing to pay a small fee if necessary," you quickly say. Not entirely a lie, if this castle or the mountains don't work out, you may try finding some witchers in Redania and asking them if they've seen Geralt.

"Very well," the voice said, and the gates began to open. Hardly even a creak came from them. Something is definitely off about this castle. You got back on your horse and rode inside.

If the outside was surprisingly clean, the inside was even more of a shock. Sparkling white marble floors and white stone walls. A beautiful five tiered fountain in the middle of the plaza and crystal chandeliers of different sizes. You couldn't help but gawk at the beauty. How had you never heard of this castle before? Surely everyone would know about it from far and wide, even if it was simply for the fact the walls were spotless on the outside.

A tall, gorgeous woman in a light pink chiffon dress approached you and you quickly dismounted out of respect. Her hair was perfectly coiffed without a single hair out of place, flawless makeup, and long beautiful nails. If you wanted to see what Aphrodite looked like, this woman was probably the closest to her.

"Thank you for your hospitality, m'lady," you say while making a slight bow.

"Oh don't thank me yet, I haven't even helped you!" she purred in her silky, sultry voice. "Tell me, what have you heard about the Castle of Rosodonia?”

You stood up straight and tried to look at her, but it was very difficult. Her eyes sparkled like the finest jewels in all the land and her lips were the perfect shape. You looked at her nose instead to try to maintain a semblance of eye contact. "To be honest, I have never even heard of this castle, much to my surprise. It is beautiful!”

"Mm-yes, we try to maintain a high standard of quality here. You might not have heard of it because we generally serve the elite of the surrounding areas.”

"Oh." you murmured. You had a decent amount of money on you, but certainly not enough to stay in a castle that only serves high-rollers.

"Don't worry about any charges for now, we've been wanting to get a contact into your family for a while now. We'd like to show you a selection of what we offer here in hopes that you will tell family members about us," she cooed. It was so clearly a sales pitch, but the way her voice sounded, you couldn't help but want to say yes. She mentioned getting a contact into your family? What the heck does that mean?

"What exactly do you mean by my family?" you venture. 

"That crest on your necklace, surely that means you are a member of the y/n family?”

"Oh, well yes, but-”

"Purrrrfect" she interrupted. "Now, what kind of drink would you like while I explain the Castle of Rosodonia?" She flashed a smile that was pleasant, but also meant business. Another pretty woman, a handmaiden perhaps, took your horse and the head mistress took your hand and led you to an area with plush low couches. "Your best ale is fine with me," you managed to say.

At some point you need to get a hold of yourself and stop being so easily persuaded by this woman. Sure, she's one of the most stunning women you've ever seen, but you have a mission to complete. You have to find Geralt. Could he have also been charmed by this woman to stay in the castle? If he did, was he unable to leave because this woman trapped him? Or did he simply know better than to knock onto the doors of mysteriously beautiful castles that you have never heard of before. You should not trust the ale this woman gives you.

"My name is Mera of Rosodonia. I am the duchess so to speak. Here we serve the finest food and drink, as well as entertainment of many kinds. Tell me, I know you are weary from your journey, but would you like a companion during your stay here?”

"Uhhhhh, a companion?”

"Yes, male or female?"

Aha, bingo. That's why they only serve the elite. This place is a fancy whore house. You're shocked that they offer male companions though, most places only offer female companions. "Can you show me the male companions please?" Normally you wouldn't do something like this, but if you don't have to pay since Mera said so, you'd might as well enjoy your stay while you're here. Maybe they'll even have someone that matches your type.

"Certainly!" Mera gestured to someone and they ran off. You take a cautious sip of the ale and settle in to enjoy yourself.

[thethingaboutmagic]

SUMMARY: Reader isn’t sure how to tell Thor how she feels, so she decides buying him something for Valentine’s Day will do the trick.

Hearts filled every available space in the kitchen, their round edges plump and pink like puckered lips waiting for a kiss. On the center of the island sat a poorly painted ceramic heart twice the size of a watermelon. Instead of pink, it was an angry red like blood, which was ironic to say the least. I pictured a giant somewhere clutching its gaping chest, wondering why someone would steal its most vital organ and use it as a cheap Valentine’s Day decoration.

“What is this?” I asked Tony. He faltered on the ladder propped against the sink. He was holding a ribbon, but he let it fall when he turned; gravity slowed as the fabric drifted toward the garbage disposal.

“Uh, Pepper said I don’t take Valentine’s Day seriously, so I figured I’d surprise her,” he shrugged, eyeing his handy work. Honestly, it looked like a convenience store holiday sales pitch threw up all over the place, but Tony looked a little too proud for me to burst his bubble, so I nodded and gave him a weak smile.

“You did...good.” I could’ve sworn I’d bitten a hole in my tongue trying to keep my thoughts to myself. I glanced down at my jeans to make sure they hadn’t caught fire. Surprisingly, they were the same faded blue as before.

“I know,” said Tony, and it’s the exact thing I was expecting to come out of his mouth because Tony loves himself too much to be imperfect.

I changed the subject. “Have you seen Thor?” I leave out why I’m looking for him; there’s no way in hell I’d give Tony a reason to talk shit. In my bedroom was a gift, something only meant for Thor and no one else. Amongst the Avengers, I’m better known for my lack of “understanding” and “compassion” and my “inability to connect with others.” So I stuck to the minimal questions and prayed that Tony did in fact know where Thor was.

“He’s training. You know, working on the big guns? Trying to...get that bread?”

“You’ve been hanging out with Peter haven’t you?”

“That’s none of your business.”

And like almost every other conversation Tony and I have had, it ended as soon as it began. I took two of Nat’s special shakes (a whole lot of vodka with a smidge of orange juice) out of the fridge and started heading toward the elevator. Unfortunately, I wasn’t the only one going down. One awkward ride with a newbie agent and a couple of swigs of one of Nat’s shakes later, I was stepping out onto the third floor. Across from the elevator was a giant wall of glass. Through the wall, I could see Thor going at it with an innocent punching bag. His black tank top was soaked through with sweat, and his standard grey shorts were hanging low on his waist. There was something about seeing Thor in anything other than his traditional Asgardian armour that always threw me for a loop. Not that he looked bad, he just looked off.

If I let my mind wander a bit I could almost imagine he was just another dumb jock, but I knew that wasn’t true. Though he looked like the average American football star and sometimes acted like an imcompetent child, he was smart. And strong. And brave.

And incredibly attractive.

I mean, he could turn any room full of women into the Atlantic.

I banged on the glass with my fist and watched as Thor nearly jumped out of his skin. “Hey, thunder. I brought booze!” I threw open the door and stepped into the gym. Thor met me halfway with a bone crushing hug; he smelled awful but I wasn’t going to complain. Being in his arms felt like literal heaven, all safe and warm and comfortable like nothing in the world could touch us as long as we stayed right where we were.

He pulled away, and my body immediately went cold. He took one of the shakes from my hand and shook his head.

“Dear friend, how many times must I remind you your Midgardian booze is like water to me?” he scolded, but he was smiling and so was I.

“So does that mean you don’t want to drink with me anymore?”

“Absolutely not.”

“Good. You’re literally the only person here I can drink with without me having to become someone’s babysitter.” Flashes of Clint attempting to shoot a fire hydrant with an arrow passed through my mind. I could practically hear Natasha now swearing on her life that she was the best at hide-n-seek; I’d spent half the night trying to find her. She’d been in one of the washing machines in the basement the whole time.

Thor’s booming laugh shook me out of my reverie. “I assure you a man of my nature needs no babysitter.”

“That’s good to know, Thor,” I said. “But, anyways, I actually came here to tell you I have something for you.”

One of Thor’s brows lifted as he took a sip of his shake. “A gift? What is the occasion?”

Fuck. I didn’t even take into consideration that he might not have understood earth holidays. Why, oh why, did I think this was a good idea? This is a perfect example of why I’m an Avenger and not a teacher.

“Well,” I started but had to stop and take a deep breath. “On earth we do this thing called Valentine’s Day where we sort of give gifts to the people we care about.”

“Ah, I see. Forgive me, but I did not get anyone anything.”

I peeled my eyes away from the floor to look up at Thor. He was frowning, the space between his brows pulled together.

“No, you’re fine,” I assured him. “Normally, people give people gifts on Valentine’s Day because they-well, they- uhm, they...maybesortofhaveamajorcrushonthem.” The last part came out in a rush, and I somewhat hoped Thor hadn’t been able to make out what I’d said, but of course he did. He was a god.

“But you say you’ve gotten a gift for me. Does that mean-”

I didn’t give him a chance to finish before I began rambling on about how sorry I was for pushing my feelings on him and how it was totally okay if he didn’t feel the same and how I kept the receipt and could return the gift if he didn’t want it. By that point, my face was the color of a ripe tomato and my hands were trembling. I hadn’t realized Thor was only a few inches away until he leaned down and pressed his lips against mine. My mind went into autopilot.

The walls began to melt and the dumbbells on the rack behind me were turning white and all the colors were melding together to form one big ball of blinding light and my body was on fire and I couldn’t feel my toes. Hands were in my hair, but I could barely register what was happening because my heart was thumping in my chest louder than I could handle and I couldn’t focus. My lips moved against his like petals desperate for rain. Somewhere outside thunder roared in the sky. Whether from the storm brewing in my chest or an actual storm, I would never know, but I wanted to drown in it and never come up for air because this was heaven.

All too soon Thor pulled away. His fingers were still tangled in my hair; he pulled my forehead to his, and I let him because I couldn’t bear not having a part of him not touching a part of me.

“Don’t apologize,” he whispered. I had no idea what I’d apologized for, but I nodded my head and promised I wouldn’t do it again.

He carefully moved his hand to my waist and smiled.

“I’d like to see this gift if that’s alright with you.”

I wanted to stay still. To press my thumb to my lips to hold his kiss in place. But Thor was tugging me toward the exit and into the elevator, and before I knew it, we were standing at the end of my bed and I was handing him the small, black box that I’d picked out two days ago.

He took the necklace out of the box and slipped it around his neck, the silver lightning bolt charm brushing against his chest.

As I stand here now in my white dress while Thor lifts the veil away from my face, I can’t help but look at that charm and remember that Valentine’s Day and that kiss and that fluttering feeling in my heart that I know will never go away.

I thank my lucky stars for those few sips of Nat’s shake I had in the elevator and say, “I do.”

[therisingsun777]

Book One; Chapter Six: Logic V Conformity

I stood in a room with thirty men, all seated at a round table with a hollow middle. I had been led into the middle of the round table, and was now standing at the judgement of all thirty men. Upon my neck, sat the pendant I had found last night, and all of the men were whispering in hushed tones.

For my part, I tried my best to calm the steady beating in my chest, that was slowly tempting itself to get louder. Almost all of the men in the room were staring at me, and it was hard to control the temptation to shoot out of the room. I breathed, looking down at the pendant that I had been given, studying the eye full of color. All I needed to do was not look into their eyes, and soon enough, a decision would be made.

Irashi had told me that there was no need to be afraid, that it was only a decision of council. Yet, with so many here, surrounding and staring towards me, I simply could not ignore the feeling that one of the men within here, would stand up, and claim that I was a fake, and that my dream had a been a lie, based off of some prior knowledge that I had no access to.

That, did not happen, however. What happened instead, was that some of the men stood up, and lifted their hands towards the sky, twirling into a turn, and then aiming their hands towards me.

Air swished around my body virulently. I got picked up in the great swarm of air, that slowly twisted into a tornado beneath my feet. To my utter surprise, I was lifted high into the sky by the tribe of airbenders, all who began to chant.

“The avatar has returned!” They said, cries so strangely filled with joy and wonder.

I looked down in a marvel, as my feet lifted into the sky. I made it halfway up to the ceiling, before I was carefully descended back down by the men.

When I fell back to the ground, the men were smiling towards me.

“We are happy to welcome you, young avatar,” He said kindly, “Now...As the Avatar, you have a choice as to who you shall learn under. It can be any in this room, or perhaps any of the masters outside of the room. Do you have one in mind?”

I almost said Irashi, but, that wouldn’t have been right. He might’ve been the airmaster, but from the looks of it, he had no intentions of taking in an apprentice, and I didn’t want to intrude upon his work. So instead, I looked around the room, and tried to find a face that I could relate with. Someone who looked at least mildly like the person I would want to learn under.

The doors to the chamber burst open, and a man walked in. Faces around the room scowled as he walked through with a lean ease. He looked towards me with cold, brown eyes, as he sat in a chair to my right.

“You are late.” One of the men said.

“Yes, you should presume I would’ve noticed that myself. There is no need to point it out.” The man said.

The one who had spoken began to speak out. I, however, spoke above him.

“Are you a scholar of sorts?” I asked, noticing a scroll in his hands, it seemed old, almost decadent and falling apart.

“Hardly. I scavenge through old texts and readings to find airbending techniques that I believe useful to me. I focus less on the art, and more on the practicality.”

That was intriguing. It was obviously a sales pitch of sorts, which meant that even as he answered, he was thinking of a way to sound more appealing to a young member.

“Now, young avatar, I do not think you shou-”

But the man cut him off, “Are you attempting to tell him that he should not choose me as his master? Am I not equal to everyone else in this room?” His voice was cold, calculative, careful.

I looked towards the others in the room. There was something about him that these other benders did not like. But what exactly was it? The phrase that he had just said, before the interjecture of the one man’s talking, was about using bending for practical usages. Which meant….Which meant the others took a more spiritual path to it. 

When standing in front of them, I had talked about my walk into the spirit realm, however, I had left out the part of it being a parallel universe to ours, purely out of the suspicion that they would not take it well. This new man, however, the one who had just barged into the realm, seemed like the only one who might believe me. That...That almost made it entirely obvious.

“What is your name?” I asked him.

“Arashi.” The man answered.

“Irashi?” I replied, confused.

“No, that is my brother. I am Arashi, with an ‘A’ to begin the name.” I blinked. That was, surprising. So the brother of the airmaster was an elder, and hated by all of the elders in the room. Within itself, that was a rather interesting dynamic. To have one brother hated, and to have the other be a leader of the tribe itself was...That was a pattern, wasn’t it? It was a pattern, I realized. It was an almost cliche pattern from some stories, where one brother would play the role of the hero, and the other would play the role of the villain. But, in this case, it was more along the lines that one brother would play the role of the tribes, and the other wouldn’t.

“Well, what is your decision young airbender?” The kindly man at the front asked.

I smiled. They were expecting me not to choose the man who seemed rather apt to teach me the best. All of the others that I could’ve chosen, would’ve decided to take a more spiritual approach, which quite simply was not of interest to me. Their religion could wait until I wanted to read philosophy books.

“Arashi.” I said, with a small, almost threatening smile, “I think I’ll choose him.”

Almost immediately, there was a small murmur moving around the room. The men whispered towards one another, and the person who had been about to tell me not to go with him, looked rather dismayed. However, after that dismay, came a face to show he was thinking.

“Arashi…” The man said, in an almost growling voice, “Do you promise to teach this boy our customs, instead of spouting the nonse-” “I promise no such things.” Arashi said with a cold calm, “And you can not overturn the boy’s decision, as it is his right to choose who will be his teacher.” His eyes were glaring, as he looked towards the old man, “Now, if you would excuse me, my apprentice here has much that he needs to catch up on.”

I nodded, and then, after a moment of thought, executed a semi formal bow, before leaving with the man. He stopped as we left through the entrance, and breathed in a small sigh, almost as if to himself.

“Those men would do best to learn that their customs are outdated. They will not help if a war breaks out, and they will most certainly only end up in yet another great massacre if they keep preaching pacifism as the only eligible answer.” The man then turned towards me, “Now, would you rather begin learning right away, or after a short break? I myself would love to have a stew after listening to the idiocy spouted by those men.” I hadn’t thought myself to hate them as much, but...When they had tried to make my own decision for me, it had set me off to some extent. I decided, that I would rather have something to eat. I looked towards the man, and told him as such. He smiled, and we walked towards a small restaurant on a corner.

The inside was a dull green, with slight reflections against certain parts of the room. There was a man, and only around three tables, one of which was occupied.

“I will have the house meal. My friend here will have the same.” He said.

“Well I mean, what else do they have?” “Oh, only minor variations of the same. This place is dedicated to making the same meal.”

“Why?”

“For people such as myself, who would rather have one thing to eat, so that they might get lost in their thoughts.”

“Huh…” I drawled, walking with him to a small table.

The man, as we sat, got straight into business, “Am I to assume that you know barely anything of your own element?” He asked.

“Um...I know some things. I can, apparently, create an incomplete version of Master Aang’s invented technique.”

“Ah, the Air ball. I believe it has an official name, but I cannot place it. And what does that incomplete version look like?” “Oh, it’s a disk. It requires a lot of energy to hold. A little bit less if I’m moving, but it still drains me rather quickly.” “A disk? So you are holding all of your weight upon a circular platform?” “Yeah, Irashi already pointed that out to me.” The man chuckled, “Have you ever thought of attack implementation with that ability?”

“Attack implementation?”

Arashi waved a hand, “We will get into that later. For now, let me point out the fundamentals of air for you. The first, as is with every element, is control. Every small bit of control counts, this includes your ability to mitigate air levels within one part of the technique you are preforming. You want the energy output of the entire foundation to be exactly the same, or else your technique could backfire, and perhaps harm people that you do not intend it to harm. The second…” He paused, as our food was placed in front of us, and then continued, “The second, is mastery. You do not use a complicated technique unless you are sure you have mastered it, this includes upon yourself. The pure basics, like moving a rock into the air, and throwing it, to not require such in-depth mastery. However, if you were to say, make a metal glove, and try to use it to traverse the environment, without in-depth mastery of the air and complications that might occur, you could either harm yourself or die. The only exception to this rule, of course, is if you are in a situation where such a thing might occur either way.” He stopped for a moment, as we ate our food. When he still didn’t continue for a moment after, I spoke up.

“Are there any others?”

“Yes,” He replied, “Although this third one, is of my own personal belief, and should not reflect upon you, if you yourself don’t believe it.” “What is it?”

“If you are to ever attack an opponent, you should attack not to harm, but to kill.”