#and you people voted for the long ass posts… or at least three to six of you did

[unfortunate-arrow]

𝐇𝐨𝐠𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐬 𝐋𝐞𝐠𝐚𝐜𝐲: 𝐅𝐚𝐧𝐤𝐢𝐝𝐬 | part 1

part 2

A/N: A really long post

𝙲𝚘𝚗𝚘𝚛 𝚁𝚢𝚊𝚗 𝙻𝚢𝚗𝚌𝚑

Nicknames: None

Name Meanings: Conor → Irish, “lover of hounds” ; Ryan → Irish, “little king” ; Lynch → Irish, “mariner.”

Date of Birth: March 29, 1900

Gender: Male ; he/him 

Sexuality: Heterosexual 

Hogwarts House: Hufflepuff 

Faceclaims: Colin Ford & John Wesley Shipp 

Parents: Cillian Lynch and Orla O’Rourke

Wife: Ciara Mary Mallon

Children: Doyle Brannigan Lynch (Dec. 13, 1925-1998) and Ailis Ciara O’Donnell née Lynch (Mar. 24, 1936-July 25, 1974)

Grandchildren:  Cian (Jan. 18, 1965-Dec. 2002), Ryan, Cara, Sara, and Conor O’Donnell (b. Aug. 18, 1973)

Great-grandchildren: Theodora “Dora,” Declan, Michael, Keira, Violet, Winifred, Brendan, Seth, Naomi, and Ciaran

Patronus: Leopard 

Favorite Subjects: Charms, Defense Against the Dark Arts, Transfiguration, Study of Ancient Runes

Least Favorite Subjects: Flying, Potions 

Extracurriculars: Prefect, head boy

Hobbies: Reading, gardening, playing the piano, stamp collecting, coin collecting 

Personality: Reserved, loyal, hardworking, has a sarcastic side, kind, friendly, gregarious, a slightly skittish nature, intelligent, stubborn, introverted, loving, cautious 

About Conor: The first Lynch to be sorted into Hufflepuff in over a century, Conor is both very similar and very different to his parents and has a very complicated relationship with them, as they both overcorrected in their attempts to not be like their own parents. This means that Conor learned to be independent at a younger age than most of his peers. However, that never affected him too much as Conor has always had a rather serious bend. He’s quite a private person, but he is very kind, friendly, and has a gregarious nature around people that he is comfortable with. He does enjoy being around people, even though he’s got a slightly skittish nature. He’s also quite intelligent, stubborn, and cautious. 

Conor never really has a good relationship with either of his parents and in the Tadhg Lives AU, he runs away at the age of 12 and begins living with his uncle and aunt. His relationship with his parents never gets the chance to heal either, as they both pass away before they could. However, in the Tadhg Lives AU, he does reconcile with his mother shortly before she passes away and he gets the opportunity to introduce her to his two children, Doyle and Ailis.

After graduating from Hogwarts, Conor becomes a healer like his daughter and youngest granddaughter. He also marries Ciara Mallon, a muggleborn from Derry in Northern Ireland. He falls for Ciara quite quickly and is surprised that they never ran into one another while at Hogwarts. He has two children with Ciara, a son named Doyle Brannigan who was born on December 13, 1925, and a daughter named Ailis Ciara who was born on March 24, 1936. Conor loved both of his children, but he ended up feeling quite wary about the direction his son was heading. The boy was acting much like Conor’s father had and he found that concerning, but his son ignored everything that Conor said causing a rift to form between father and son. His relationship with his daughter was much better and he was quite happy to give her away to a muggleborn man from Donegal named Seán O’Donnell. Sadly, Conor never gets the chance to meet any of his grandchildren as he contracted a fatal case of dragon pox in 1964, while his daughter was pregnant with his first grandchild. 

Trivia:

Conor’s youngest grandson is named after him. His middle grandson is also named after him, but more indirectly and it also honors his grandson’s paternal grandfather. 

Conor’s relationship with his son went downhill after an argument during the Christmas holidays of 1943. It was bad and nothing was ever the same again. Conor was very heartbroken by their falling out and did try to reach out to his son a few times, but Doyle never replied.

Conor’s relationships with his parents were always rather rocky. They didn’t always get along and well, Conor found himself being a bit of a black sheep in the family. In fact, Conor pretty much sets a new precedent for the Lynch family and it’s his children that end this particular branch of the Lynch family. 

𝚂𝚊𝚘𝚒𝚛𝚜𝚎 𝙱𝚛𝚒𝚐𝚒𝚍 𝙻𝚢𝚗𝚌𝚑

Nicknames: None

Name Meanings: Saoirse → Irish, “liberty” ; Adelia → German, “noble, nobility” ; Lynch → Irish, “mariner.”

Date of Birth: October 10, 1912 (at 5:09 pm)

Gender: Female ; she/her

Sexuality: Bisexual 

Hogwarts House: Gryffindor 

Faceclaim: Raegan Revord 

Parents: Tadhg Lynch and Niamh Kelly 

Siblings: Aisling Maeve and Oscar Oisín Lynch

Patronus: Lion

Favorite Subjects: Flying, Charms, Transfiguration 

Least Favorite Subjects: Potions, History of Magic, Herbology

Extracurriculars: Chaser on her house quidditch team starting in fourth year 

Hobbies: Quidditch, football/soccer, reading, flying, horse riding, writing

Personality: Kind, friendly, outgoing, optimistic, impulsive, spontaneous, brazen, gregarious, disorganized, intelligent, stubborn, relaxed 

About Saoirse: As the younger daughter, Saoirse has always felt like she needs to compare herself to her older sister, which couldn’t be further from the truth. She might be similar in personality to her sister, but she’s also very different and her parents have always avoided comparing their children. In fact, Saoirse takes after her mother more so than her sister does, although she does have a lot of her father’s impulsivity and spontaneous nature. She’s an outgoing girl with a lot of intelligence and is quite fond of quidditch. She also has a very close relationship with her twin brother, Oscar, and her relationship with her sister is occasionally contentious.

Upon starting her education at Hogwarts, Saoirse was sorted into Gryffindor just like her father had been and found herself right at home there. Perhaps it was because she had grown up around a lot of different Gryffindors and had a lot of good role models to look up to from that house. She also discovered a true passion in quidditch, earning the position of chaser in her fourth year after she spent the summer practicing with her father and some of her “cousins.” 

Despite her passion for quidditch, Saoirse’s ambition had always been to follow in her mother’s footsteps to become an auror. As a child, she had grown up listening to stories about what her mother had done during her early years as a field auror and she had always been completely fascinated by the stories. After graduating, Saoirse made that dream a reality, joining the auror training program as one of five girls in the class of thirty-five. 

Trivia:

Saoirse’s middle name is after her godmother, who is basically the closest her father has to a sister.

Saoirse loves to hold it over Oscar’s head that she’s five minutes older than him.

𝙾𝚜𝚌𝚊𝚛 𝙾𝚒𝚜𝚒𝚗 𝙻𝚢𝚗𝚌𝚑

Nicknames: Os, Oz

Name Meanings: Oscar → Irish, “god spear or deer lover or champion warrior” ; Theodore → Greek, “gift of God” ; Lynch → Irish, “mariner.”

Date of Birth: October 10, 1912 (at 5:14 pm)

Gender: Male ; he/him

Sexuality: Heterosexual 

Hogwarts House: Ravenclaw 

Faceclaim: Iain Armitage 

Parents: Tadhg Lynch and Niamh Kelly 

Sisters: Aisling Maeve and Saoirse Brigid Lynch 

Patronus: Irish wolfhound (like his father)

Favorite Subjects: Flying, arithmancy, study of ancient runes  

Least Favorite Subjects: Herbology, potions

Extracurriculars: Seeker on his house quidditch team in his third year ; prefect

Hobbies: Hiking, reading, flying

Personality: Reserved, logical, practical, rational, stubborn, intelligent, curious, kind, observant, quiet, hardworking, determined, overthinker

About Oscar: As the only son, Oscar tends to take after his father more so than his mother. However, he lacks his father’s interest in mischief. He’s a quiet, reserved person with a logical and rational nature that’s accompanied by a kind and curious nature as well. He’s always felt like an individual, likely because he is the only son and that he’s never felt a desire to compare himself to his sisters… aside from in a competitive sense but that’s mostly reserved for the quidditch pitch. He has a close relationship with his twin sister, Saoirse, and a good relationship with his sister, Aisling, and his parents. 

Upon starting Hogwarts, Oscar was sorted into Ravenclaw, where he excelled in many of his classes and found himself at home in the house. He liked the connection to his mother and he also had a few “cousins” in the house, so there were some familiar faces to turn to. He also truly found quidditch and fell in love with it, just like his sister did and like his sister, he didn’t devote his life to quidditch. Unlike his sister, though, Oscar became a prefect in his fifth year and he found the position to be interesting. He learned that he preferred to work by himself and he didn’t want to be one to have too much power. Instead, after graduating, Oscar found himself inheriting the Kelly farm after his grandfather passed and he became quite the magical farmer… something no one ever expected from him.

Trivia:

Oscar is named after his mother’s late older brother, Ronan Oscar Kelly who passed away as a very young child. His middle name is after family friends. 

𝙷𝚎𝚗𝚛𝚢 𝙶𝚊𝚛𝚎𝚝𝚑 𝙿𝚎𝚖𝚋𝚛𝚘𝚔𝚎

Nicknames: Harry, Hank

Name Meanings: Henry → German, “estate ruler” ; Gareth → Welsh, “gentle” ; Pembroke → Welsh, “from the headland or rocky hill.”

Date of Birth: January 1, 1906

Gender: Male ; he/him

Sexuality: Demisexual 

Hogwarts House: Ravenclaw 

Faceclaims: Cory Gruter Andrew & Nicholas Ralph

Parents: Maxwell “Max” Pembroke and Ivy Anders (@kc-and-co) 

Siblings: Colin Jeremiah, Andrew Lucan, and Margo Francine Pembroke 

Love Interest: Lucretia Josephine “Lucy” Devlin

Children: Dorothy “Dot” Pembroke ; Eamon Pembroke ; Rosemary Pembroke

Patronus: Lynx

Favorite Subjects: Astronomy, charms, transfiguration, history of magic 

Least Favorite Subjects: Study of Ancient Runes

Extracurriculars: Astronomy club

Hobbies: Reading, chess, star gazing 

Personality: Reliable, reserved, kind, intelligent, competitive (mostly with his siblings), sarcastic, curious, well spoken, hardworking, stubborn, quiet, dry wit

About Harry: As the eldest son, Harry generally has a rather serious demeanor. He takes after his father a lot in temperament and demeanor, although Harry has never felt the weight of the world on his shoulders. He’s much more uptight than his siblings, although he does have a close bond with his younger brother, Andrew. In addition, Harry is a bit closer to his mother than he is his father. There’s no real reason, aside from the fact that Harry spent a bit more time with his mother than he did his father. 

Upon starting his education at Hogwarts, Harry was sorted into Ravenclaw. He was a hatstall between Ravenclaw and Gryffindor, though. He didn’t join the quidditch team, though, as he had a slight desire to rebel against his family’s quidditch passions. It wasn’t big, but he found his own passions and interests, although he did continue to support quidditch teams. 

After graduating from Hogwarts, Harry became an astronomer. He had always been fascinated by space and paid close attention to the advancements that the muggles were making. In addition, Harry fell in love with Lucy Devlin, a magiczoologist and fellow Ravenclaw alumn. Together, they had three children: Dorothy Josephine “Dot,” Eamon William, and Rosemary Ivy Pembroke.

Trivia:

Harry’s middle name is after his late paternal grandfather, Gareth Rhys Pembroke. 

Like all three of his siblings, Harry knows the sign language that his Aunt Aoife uses and has learned it since birth, more or less.

Harry doesn’t really respond to the name “Henry.” He mostly hates being called it. Lucy is the only one he really allows to call him “Henry,” though. 

Harry is the great-grandfather of Sophia Josephine “Sophie” Pembroke and her two siblings, Rhys Andrew and Emmeline Daisy “Emmy” Pembroke.

𝙼𝚊𝚛𝚐𝚘 𝙵𝚛𝚊𝚗𝚌𝚒𝚗𝚎 𝙿𝚎𝚖𝚋𝚛𝚘𝚔𝚎

Nicknames: None

Name Meanings: Margo → French, “pearl” ; Francine → French, “from France or free man” ; Pembroke → Welsh, “from the headland or rocky hill.”

Date of Birth: June 8, 1911 

Gender: Female ; she/her 

Sexuality: Heterosexual 

Hogwarts House: Hufflepuff 

Faceclaim: McKenna Grace 

Parents: Maxwell “Max” Pembroke and Ivy Anders (@kc-and-co) 

Brothers: Henry Gareth “Harry,” Colin Jeremiah, and Andrew Lucan Pembroke

Patronus: Borzoi

Favorite Subjects: Charms, herbology, potions

Least Favorite Subjects: Transfiguration, astronomy 

Extracurriculars: Seeker on her house quidditch team 

Hobbies: Quidditch, pranks, reading, 

Personality: Intelligent, stubborn, hardworking, modest, kind, warm, loyal, athletic, friendly, reserved, anxiety-prone, athletic, mischievous 

About Margo: As the only daughter and youngest child, Margo takes after her mother a lot. She has her mother’s warm and friendly nature, but it’s coupled with her father’s reserved and anxiety-prone nature. These balance each other out, though. In addition, Margo has a close relationship with her father and with her brother, Colin. Colin is her favorite person to prank, because Colin will get involved and enjoy them.

Upon starting her education at Hogwarts, Margo was sorted into Hufflepuff, just like both of her parents had been. She found her footing in Hufflepuff quite quickly, feeling at home early on in her first year. In her third year, she made the Hufflepuff quidditch team with the position of seeker. She enjoyed the position, but hated the way everyone immediately compared her to her father. Therefore, when the opportunity to play other positions emerged, Margo jumped at the opportunity, but she always came back to seeker.

Despite her passion for quidditch, Margo never went professional. She enjoyed it as more of a pastime or hobby. Instead, she went on to become a quidditch journalist, reporting on the different games throughout the British and Irish league. She also dabbled in other writing pursuits like fiction, but never took them professional during her lifetime. 

Trivia:

Like her father, Margo is allergic to cats. 

Margo inherited her mother’s ability to change her hair color. However, she also inherited her mother’s limitations, meaning that the only colors she can change her hair to are blonde and brunette.

One of Margo’s favorite pastimes is pranking her brothers. She loves to mess with them, especially when they start getting on her nerves. She has started more than one prank war with Colin, as he’s the brother that willingly goes along with it.

𝙻𝚞𝚌𝚛𝚎𝚝𝚒𝚊 𝙹𝚘𝚜𝚎𝚙𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚎 𝙳𝚎𝚟𝚕𝚒𝚗

Full Name: Lucretia Josephine Devlin 

Nicknames: Lucy, Lu, Lucy-Lu

Name Meanings: Lucretia → Latin, unknown meaning ; Josephine → French, “Jehovah increases” ; Devlin → Irish, “unlucky.”

Date of Birth: April 7, 1909 (at 7:38 pm)

Gender: Female ; she/her 

Sexuality: Bisexual

Hogwarts House: Ravenclaw 

Faceclaims: Kyla Matthews & Clemence Posey 

Parents: William Devlin and Josie Edwards (@slytherindisaster) 

Siblings: Samuel Oliver, Emmeline Shannon, Sebastian Liam, and Matilda Grace “Mattie” Devlin 

Love Interest: Henry Gareth “Harry” Pembroke 

Children: Dorothy “Dot” Pembroke ; Eamon Pembroke ; Rosemary Pembroke

Patronus: Robin

Favorite Subjects: Care of magical creatures, herbology, charms 

Least Favorite Subjects: Transfiguration, divination

Extracurriculars: Care of Magical Creatures club

Hobbies: Baking, cooking, reading

Personality: Kind, intelligent, thoughtful, compassionate, self-conscious, curious, modest, patient, reliable, passionate, friendly, loyal, sincere, hard-working, sensitive, reserved

About Lucy: As the younger twin and middle daughter, Lucy struggles to find her footing. She’s the middle child, in every way, and while she definitely doesn’t feel like a middle child, Lucy struggles to understand her own role in the family. She is her mother’s daughter, though, and they share many similarities in personality. Lucy takes great pride in their similarities. Aside from her twin, she’s closest to Mattie, although she has never truly shared her sister’s desire for creative pursuits.

Upon starting Hogwarts, Lucy is sorted into Ravenclaw after ten minutes of the hat debating if she would fit better in Ravenclaw or Hufflepuff. She became comfortable in Ravenclaw quite quickly, which was likely helped by the fact that her twin had also been placed there and so, Lucy had a familiar face to turn to. Luckily, the students and people around them were able to understand that Emmeline and Lucy were different people, even if they were quite similar.

After graduating from Hogwarts, Lucy followed her mother’s footsteps into the field of magiozoology. She became fascinated by moon calves and augries, in particular. In addition, Lucy also fell in love with Harry Pembroke, an astronomer and a fellow Ravenclaw alumn. They had three children together: Dorothy Josephine “Dot,” Eamon William, and Rosemary Ivy Pembroke.

Trivia:

Lucy’s family are the only ones who call her “Lucy-Lu.” Harry Pembroke is the only one who calls her “Lu.” Everyone else calls her “Lucy” and that’s the way that she likes it. 

Lucy’s middle name is in honor of her mother.

As a child, she would bring home all sorts of injured animals that she found while exploring the land surrounding the family’s home.

As an adult, the Devlin-Pembroke house is home to many different creatures, most of which Lucy had brought home. 

Lucy is the great-grandmother of Sophia Josephine “Sophie” Pembroke and her siblings, Rhys Andrew and Emmeline Daisy “Emmy” Pembroke. 

𝚂𝚎𝚋𝚊𝚜𝚝𝚒𝚊𝚗 𝙻𝚒𝚊𝚖 𝙳𝚎𝚟𝚕𝚒𝚗

Nicknames: Seb, Bastian

Name Meanings: Sebastian → Latin, “person from the ancient city of Sebastia” ; Liam → Irish, “resolute protection” ; Devlin → Irish, “unlucky”

Date of Birth: November 22, 1916 (at 1:12 am)

Gender: Male ; he/him 

Sexuality: Heterosexual 

Hogwarts House: Hufflepuff 

Faceclaim: Will Tilston 

Parents: William Devlin and Josie Edwards (@slytherindisaster)

Siblings: Samuel Oliver, Emmeline Shannon, Lucretia Josephine “Lucy,” and Matilda Grace “Mattie” Devlin 

Patronus: Great Grey Owl

Favorite Subjects: Charms, history of magic

Least Favorite Subjects: Potions

Extracurriculars: Seeker on his house team, starting in his third year

Hobbies: Quidditch, fencing, reading 

Personality: Reserved, cautious, compassionate, kind, loyal, hardworking, intelligent, strong sense of fairness, practical, athletic, modest, reliable, humble, helpful, stubborn, conscientious 

About Sebastian: As the younger son, Sebastian is the child that takes after his father the most… at least in terms of personality. He also is, perhaps, the closest to William as well. They just click quite well. In addition, aside from his twin (of course), Sebastian is probably the closest to his big brother, Samuel. He absolutely adores his big brother, in a way that happened due to their ten year age gap. He doesn’t feel the need to rebel against their parents the way that Samuel does, though.

When he started his education at Hogwarts, Sebastian was sorted into Hufflepuff. For the first time in his life, Sebastian found himself separated from Mattie, which left him panicked for the first few weeks. Slowly, though, Sebastian found his place within Hufflepuff house. He joined the quidditch team in his third year, earning the position of seeker. He wouldn’t pursue it as a career, but he quite enjoyed the sport. 

Perhaps unsurprisingly, given his similarities to his father, Sebastian ends up becoming a wandmaker after he graduates from Hogwarts. He never became a big name like Ollivander’s or Gregorovitch. Instead, he kept a small practice and preferred it that way. 

Trivia:

Sebastian is ten minutes older than his twin sister, Mattie. 

His middle name is after both his father and great-grandfather. His great-grandfather was named Liam, which is an Irish variation of William.

Born seven years after Emmeline and Lucy, Sebastian (and his twin sister) was a surprise baby. 

His siblings are the only ones who really call him “Seb” or “Bastian.” He prefers “Bastian,” but would really just like to be called Sebastian.

He is a very good fencer, besting all four of his siblings quite often. 

𝙼𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚕𝚍𝚊 𝙶𝚛𝚊𝚌𝚎 𝙳𝚎𝚟𝚕𝚒𝚗

Nicknames: Mattie, Tilly 

Name Meanings: Matilda → German, “battle mighty” ; Grace → English, virtue name ; Devlin → Irish, “unlucky.” 

Date of Birth: November 22, 1916 (at 1:22 am)

Gender: Female ; she/her 

Sexuality: Heterosexual 

Hogwarts House: Slytherin 

Faceclaim: Florence Hunt 

Parents: William Devlin and Josie Edwards (@slytherindisaster)

Siblings: Samuel Oliver, Emmeline Shannon, Lucretia Josephine “Lucy,” and Sebastian Liam Devlin

Patronus: Basset hound

Favorite Subjects: Care of magical creatures, astronomy 

Least Favorite Subjects: Potions, transfiguration 

Extracurriculars: Keeper on her house team

Hobbies: Painting, music, reading, games

Personality: Intelligent, cunning, musical, creative, resourceful, hardworking, reserved, compassionate, ambitious, kind, thoughtful, modest, reliable, stubborn, can be inflexible, troublemaker, confident, practical

About Mattie: As the youngest daughter, Mattie is the only one of her siblings to have a creative passion. She is quite fond of the piano and can often be found playing a piano during gatherings. In addition, she’s quite fond of painting, although she’s not interested in making a career out of it. Aside from her creative passions, Mattie has a close relationship with her siblings. Besides her twin, Mattie is probably the closest to her sister, Lucy.

When she started her education, Mattie was sorted into Slytherin. Finding herself separated from Sebastian for the first time, Mattie found her footing surprisingly quickly. She joined the Slytherin quidditch team in her fourth year, earning the position of keeper. She enjoyed the sport, but not as much as either of her brothers.

After graduating from Hogwarts, Mattie became a tutor/governess. She wasn’t thrilled with the job, struggling to find things that felt fulfilling. She found fulfillment, though, when she began to teach music to young girls. It was a satisfying move. 

Trivia:

Mattie is ten minutes younger than her twin brother, Sebastian. 

Her siblings are the only people who ever call her “Tilly.” They only do it when they want to get on her nerves. Sebastian tends to do it the most often, but she’ll call him “Seb” in return.

Born seven years after Emmeline and Lucy, Mattie and her twin brother were surprise babies. 

Aisling Maeve Lynch

Colin Jeremiah & Andrew Lucan Pembroke

Samuel Oliver Devlin • Emmeline Shannon Devlin

[tanoraqui]

There actually are enough good fics about postcanon tentative reforging of assorted pairs and even the whole of the Gusu Summer School No Brain Cell Trio to satisfy my niche itch, so pls enjoy these stray snippets of a fic I don't have to write:

Nothing would've happened if the cultivation conference wasn't at Cloud Recesses. But it was, Cloud Recesses with its pale stone and gracefully winding walkways and too many memories, including Lan Xichen sitting the whole thing out in seclusion somewhere... If it'd been at the Unclean Realm, Nie Huaisang would've been busy and if it'd been at Carp Tower the memories only would've been manageably bad, and if it was Lotus Pier or one of many smaller sects, it would've been...fine. Just fine.

But it was Cloud Recesses this year, this first conference since Jin Guangyao's downfall, and specifically it was half past ten at night, and Nie Huaisang was wandering the elegant pathways with a mostly full jar of wine in one hand. The previous jar, now entirely empty, had been left back in his room. He was a Nie, so he was only half as drunk as he'd always used to pretend at these things - but at least twice as drunk as he'd ever actually been.

After da-ge's death, of course. Before that, he used to get plenty drunk. Playfully drunk. With friends.

It would be a terrible idea for him to go appear on Lan Xichen's doorstep. Neither of them was ready for that yet.

So he appeared on Jiang Cheng's.

[ . . . ]

"Fine." Nie Huaisang pouted and turned. "I'll go ask Wei-xiong - "

And Jiang Cheng was easy, he was so easy, he'd always been easy, the only new thing is the faintest edge of wariness to his fury -

He grabbed Nie Huaisang's elbow in a flash and snapped, "Ugh, fine, I'll go - but I'm holding the wine."

Nie Huaisang laughed and handed it over. Jiang Cheng immediately took a deep swig.

[ . . . ]

It must've been a quiet night at the Jingshi. Wei Wuxian's sleeping robes didn't look the least bit hastily pulled on, and his lips were only the slightest bit red and puffy.

[ . . . ]

[for the record, this takes place in a book-show postcanon fusion wherein immediately post-Guanyin Temple, WWX and LWJ ran off to fuck in the bushes at least once a day for as long as possible, but in their absence, various sect leaders voted that Lan Wangji should be Chief Cultivator now, and alas some messenger caught up with them about six months into their honeymoon. Definitely caught them in flagrante delicto. Tragic for all. I’d probably communicate all this hereish somehow. It was definitely NHS who finally tipped someone off on how to actually find them.]

[ . . . ]

"Yes, yes, I'm coming," Wei Wuxian said, with a lidded look at Nie Huaisang, and Nie Huaisang burst into a giggles because the two most unequivocally lethal people he knew were afraid to leave each other alone with him, and it was satisfying to be recognized but also what's he going to do, personally? Cry at them? It'd taken him years to destroy Jin Guangyao, and at this point it'd take him months, if not years again to re-destroy the Yiling Patriarch, much less Sandu Shengshou. Especially when they both kept doing things like watching each others backs while pretending they weren't.

[ . . . ]

"Of course we need more!" Wei Wuxian declared. "This isn't even Emperor's Smile!"

[ . . . ]

"It's just a rat or something," Jiang Cheng scoffed.

"So?!" Wei Wuxian cried grandly. "Are we not noble cultivators? Is it not our duty to investigate this woman's complaint, and to slay whatever monster plagues her good inn’s wonderful cellar, whether deathly or monstrous or rodential it be?" He turned to Nie Huaisang and begged, "Help me out, Nie-xiong. You agree with me, right?"

Nie Huaisang clutched his cup against his chest, eyes wide, and shook his head in sharp jerks. "I don't know! I don't know!"

Wei Wuxian laughed and elbowed him in the side.

[ . . . ]

[while waiting for Wei Wuxian to send some sort of signal]

"You know I don't bear any grudge against Jin Ling, right?"

Jiang Cheng's impatient glare snapped to him, darkening with threat; his hand shifted on Sandu's hilt toward a drawing position. "What?"

"I don't bear any sort of grudge against Jin Ling," Nie Huaisang repeated, holding only the last jar of Emperor's Smile. "That's why you've been side-eyeing me all night, right? All conference." He took another sip (it really was the best!) and added recklessly, "If I wanted Jin Ling dead and disgraced, or all Carp Tower burned to ash, they already would be."

Sandu slid an inch out of its scabbard and Nie Huaisang watch it with fascinated curiosity. From a greater distance, he wondered if that was entirely healthy.

"What about Lotus Pier?" Jiang Cheng asked abruptly.

It took Nie Huaisang a blinking moment to focus on him.

"What about Lotus Pier?"

Jiang Cheng sat beside him on the cold earth and yanked the jar out of his hands, cruelly before Nie Huaisang could take another sip.

"Where's your grand terrible vengeance against me and mine? I get it, but if you're being honest for once right now, you could at least tell me when it's going to hit, and how."

"What?" Nie Huaisang pushed himself against his tree trunk, genuinely confused. "Why would i have a terrible vengeance planned against you?"

"I benefitted from Nie Mingjue's death, didn't I?" Jiang Cheng took another swig of wine of his own, and swung the jar illustratively. "My disciples have hunted in your territory while you 'weren't paying attention.' I absolutely fleeced you in that trade deal four years ago. And I worked with that bastard as much as anyone but Lan Xichen, especially on those damn watchtowers, and you broke him. So when's it my turn?" He pointed at Nie Huaisang, finger only wavering slightly. “If you fuck with Jin Ling, Wei Wuxian, or my sect, I will fuck you back.”

"You- oh, gimme that. Gimme. Gimme!" Nie Huaisang leaned forward and tried to grab the wine jar, and more importantly whined until Jiang Cheng handed it to him.

He stared at it for a moment, thrust it back and ordered, “Drink,” without letting it go, and once Jiang Cheng had dutifully tilted it back, pulled it back and slugged down the last swallows. He needed more alcohol for this much honesty, and so did Jiang Cheng.

He set the jar down very carefully, because the ground seemed to be moving, and leaned forward with even more care. He enunciated clearly, “Everyone fleeced me, and hunted in my territory, and I acsh- ass- let them. Why would I expect you to go looking for trouble with Jin Guangyao, when he had your heart locked in a box in his treasure room?”

Jiang Cheng, who was a respected master of all five arts but probably hadn’t actually read poetry for fun since an instructor had officially declared him as such, and who was himself at least a full wine jar in, squinted in angry confusion.

Nie Huaisang rolled his eyes. “He had final say over where and how Jin Ling spent his time, and could’ve tried to poison him against you. What would you have even have done if I had come complaining?”

Jiang Cheng’s face only fell further, with the very sort of drunken moroseness Nie Huaisang was out here to avoid.

Nie Huaisang attempted to swap him sharply. He failed on both the swap and the sharpness. 

“Stoppit! Stop thinking you’re not useful! You weren’t! I needed to pry er-ge away from him and for that only Lan Wangji would work, and I needed someone to watch his back through thick and deadly thin, and to be so disruptive that even Meng Yao couldn’t...circle, sneaky, planning...”

They were waiting for the pulse of a light talisman from the other tunnel entrance, half a mile away. There was a small but very bright explosion. laced with resentful as well as spiritual energy.

“Motherfucker!” Jiang Cheng cursed, leaping to his feet and drawing Sandu in one hideously coordinated motion. 

“Just Lan Wangji, I think,” Nie Huaisang said, because Nie Mingjue himself couldn’t have stopped him. He groped for his own weapons - fan, check; wine jar - 

“Oh no!” 

“What?”  Jiang Cheng snapped, as he bent and dragged Nie Huaisang to his feet with one hand. (Hideously coordinated. Sword people, honestly...)

“He’s going to be so mad that we finished the wine without him!”

[ . . . ]

[three grown-ass men, two sect leaders and one Yiling Patriarch, flying at high speed through Caiyi Town on one sword, all screaming. Nie Huaisang is clinging to Wei Wuxian; Wei Wuxian is flinging to Jiang Cheng, a little bit to Nie Huaisang, and most importantly to a chicken, Jiang Cheng is flying the sword. There is a bedsheet draped over all of them from where they ran into a laundry line. It’s 2am. Again I say, all are screaming]

[ . . . ]

[it probably wasn’t a rat - not just one, at least. Wei Wuxian does something incredibly clever, possibly including a creative use of that bedsheet; Jiang Cheng singlehandedly defeats something in combat, probably after he and Wei Wuxian shove each other out of the way of blows without either of them acknowledging it. Nie Huaisang shoves them both under cover and then with perfect professionalism tells whoever came to check on the ruckus that they handled the problem exactly as planned with absolutely no involvement of alcohol, and the Chief Cultivator will foot the bill for the unfortunately absolutely necessary property damage. Overall, they did handle the problem, but the local cryptid they were chasing will only have its reputation swelled and its continued existence assumed by all locals. it is possible that they themselves made this cryptid up two decades ago, but idk how heavy-handed we want to be.]

[ . . . ]

Nie Huaisang was leaning heavily on Wei Wuxian by the time they got back to the guest quarters. He could hold his alcohol, he was a goddamn Nie, and frankly he’d had it adrenalined out of him at least twice this evening. But he’d also had rather a lot, and he didn’t have Jiang Cheng’s golden core or Wei Wuxian’s blithe lack of sleep schedule. 

“I missed this,” he admitted, head on Wei Wuxian’s (Mo Xuanyu’s) shoulder while Jiang Cheng opened the door.

Wei Wuxian leaned his head on Nie Huaisang’s. “Me too.”

“You’re both fucking annoying,” Jiang Cheng grouched, which meant, Me too.

Wei Wuxian stripped off Nie Huaisang’s muddy outer robe and tucked him into bed, and Jiang Cheng poured a glass of water from the pitcher by the door, drank it, poured another, scowled at Wei Wuxian for a moment, and set it on the bedside table. Wei Wuxian glanced at him out of the corner of his eye, finished with Nie Huaisang and started backing out of the room.

Nie Huaisang sat up more or less abruptly. “Both of you have got to stop that bullshit. I miss my brothers, okay? I’d I had a second chance...” He sagged back down with the plural, and flung an arm over his damp eyes. There was a glimmer in the sky; it’d be morning by Lan standards soon. “I fucking miss them.”

“...Ah,” said Wei Wuxian, who always spoke even when he didn’t know what to say.

“Yeah,” Jiang Cheng said abruptly, and, “Drink your fucking water.” And the door slammed behind him as he walked out.

[...a few lines of dialogue later...]

“Seriously, you can go.” Nie Huaisang flicked a few tired fingers in dismissal.

“Are you sure?” Wei Wuxian added with an audible smirk, “Because if I stay up for another half hour, I can wake Lan Zhan with a morning...big ol’...loving...”

Nie Huaisang finally adjusted his arm to crack one eye up at him.

“People usually cut me off before I get that far,” Wei Wuxian admitted.

[ . . . a bit more dialogue and the end.]

[fantastic-nonsense]

I posted 2,532 times in 2021

577 posts created (23%)

1955 posts reblogged (77%)

For every post I created, I reblogged 3.4 posts.

I added 1,647 tags in 2021

#dc comics - 408 posts

#personal - 201 posts

#tim drake - 195 posts

#dick grayson - 174 posts

#star wars - 166 posts

#batfam - 111 posts

#asks - 108 posts

#cassandra cain - 99 posts

#long post - 97 posts

#damian wayne - 88 posts

Longest Tag: 104 characters

#👌👀👌👀👌👀👌👀👌👀 good shit go౦ԁ shit👌 thats ✔ some good👌👌shit right👌👌there👌👌👌 right✔there ✔✔

My Top Posts in 2021

#5

the moral of the Bad Art Friend/Kidney Donation story is that if you're going to talk shit about your incredibly obnoxious and narcissistic acquaintance behind her back, you should maybe not steal her recognizable life event for a short story you intend to publish, plagiarize her words, and then gaslight her when she comes around asking for an explanation

Because said obnoxious and narcissistic acquaintance WILL, in fact, recognize that shit and focus all of her time to the point of legitimate obsession making sure you regret that decision

In other news:

2923 notes • Posted 2021-10-06 01:04:43 GMT

#4

STUPENDOUS NEWS EVERYONE

TRUMP’S TWITTER ACCOUNT HAS BEEN PERMANENTLY SUSPENDED

WE ARE FINALLY FREE

3289 notes • Posted 2021-01-08 23:38:13 GMT

#3

SCREAMING CRYING SOBBING ON THE FLOOR AT THIS PHOTO

4835 notes • Posted 2021-10-16 19:55:00 GMT

#2

I really want to emphasize the slightly ridiculous timeline of Bruce taking in children and how funny this has the potential to be re:Dick being the eldest, because I think it's really important that people understand that Bruce basically only has Dick around for like...11-12 years. Dick formally moves out when he's around 19 or 20, and roughly six months to a year later, Bruce picks Jason up. Dick and Jason never live in the same house at the same time, and three years later, Jason dies. So he gets 2 kids over a 15 (ish) year period, which doesn't sound too ridiculous, right?

Except then his adoption tendencies accelerate, because he picks up Tim and Cass within 2 years of each other (and Steph came as a package deal with both of them) and then finds out about Damian 2-3 years after that. Then we've got Duke, who (when you vaguely fit together timelines) enters stage left about 2-3 years after Damian.

So after a 15-year period with two kids, Bruce manages to pick up 4 1/2 others (counting Steph) within the 7-8 years afterwards. The sheer missed comedic potential of Dick being a grown-ass adult and then his dad decides to adopt a pack of kids within 5 years of him moving out is incredible. Dick went from being essentially an only child for his entire life to being eldest of 6, only one of which he's ever actually lived in the same house with, all because Bruce got Empty Nest Syndrome and went "well I raised one child to adulthood successfully. What's another 5 or 6 at the same time?"

7751 notes • Posted 2021-07-18 20:24:32 GMT

#1

In the past 7 days alone: 

Trump election fraud tape where he tries to convince the Georgia Secretary of State to “find him 11,000 more votes” comes out

Warnock & Ossoff win their Senate run off races in Georgia, making the US Senate a 50-50 tie between Democrats and Republicans and giving the Democrats an effective government trifecta

an armed mob incited by multiple GOP officials (including Donald Trump, Ted Cruz, and Josh Hawley) storms the Capitol building, resulting in at least 4 deaths, thousands of dollars of property damage, and the first time the Capitol building has been breached since the War of 1812

2nd impeachment proceedings against Trump are announced while multiple high-ranking government officials publicly urge Pence and the Cabinet to invoke the 25th Amendment

Elaine Chao & Betsy DeVos resign from Trump’s Cabinet

Daily coronavirus deaths in the United States top 4,000 for the first time

Trump gets permabanned from Twitter & tries to use the official POTUS account as a burner, gets immediately locked out, & runs through multiple other apparent burner accounts (which all get suspended). Meanwhile, multiple other social media sites preemptively issue statements that any account he tries to open on their platforms will be instantly suspended

Steve Bannon’s Youtube channel gets taken down

Parler gets taken down from the Google Play Store and Apple gives it 24 hours to enforce content moderation or face removal from the App Store

Rush Limbaugh deactivates his Twitter account

SNL's going to have an absolute field day tomorrow night

30318 notes • Posted 2021-01-09 02:26:14 GMT

Get your Tumblr 2021 Year in Review →

[sanderssideswriting]

Youtuber Life Chapter 4

Ships: familial sleepxiety and eventual Prinxiety

Words:???

triggers: attempted suicide mention

first  last  next

Summary: Remy Sanders is a famous beauty vlogger and just moved to LA with his teenage son Virgil after their location was leaked by fans. Remy AKA CoffeeAddiction has several million subscribers. Virgil also has a secret Drama channel, where he doesn’t show his face and uses a voice modifier. He just hit a million subs and grows more everyday because of the level of production his videos have, the mystery around who he is and the fact that he ALWAYS has the latest information regarding youtube drama.

“Welcome back to another episode of “the fuck did she say now? I have a DID drama update. I’ve been waiting awhile to gather information to do a long segment. Since she first came out about having DID which has been disproven time and time again she’s tried to make it more believable in the stupidest way possible. By reviewing Chick-Fil-A’s spicy chicken sandwich, five fucking times. I watched all those videos plus others to see if she’s trying to keep up the lie. She’s really not. I swear every time I have to give her my views to tell you all what’s going on I die a little inside.”

“Who are you talking about?”

“DAD! Read the fucking sign! I’m recording!”

“Are you talking about Trisha?”

“Yes dad, now let me tell them about her.”

“She’s a total bitch! I fucking hate her!”

“WE KNOW! Damn it, now I’m going to have to edit all this out.”

“I’ve been looking into DID. And it’s actually a very interesting topic, and I encourage everyone to learn more about it. There will be links to videos and article on DID in the description. DisociaDID has not been on social media very much since all of this. I know they attempted suicide. Not because of Trisha or atleast only partly. Nin the systems host was dating someone in another system called Team Piñata who was discovered to be doing some shit I will not mention because it’ll get demonetized. I actually feel really bad for they system, it seems like they have been going through a lot recently. Now for all the OTHER shit Trisha has said and done over the past few weeks.”

Virgil edited the video and posted it, making sure to edit out the bit where his dad interrupted him and called Trisha a bitch.

Roman texted him.

Roman: You’re a meme Virgil: I’m well aware, fucking Jake Paul Roman: I thought you hated the guy, why are you fucking him? Virgil: I’m so fucking done with you

“VIRGIL!”

Virgil rolled his eyes “What?”

“I have in idea for a video get your ass down here!”

Remy was in front of the camera “K, so what if I mixed all of my eyeshadow together into one?”

“First of all Cristine did that with nail powder and polish and Safiya did that already in one of her weird make up science videos. Second, scraping the eyeshadow would kill you to watch.”

“UGH! You’re right, what else could I do?”

“A Bob Ross painting on your face. you could use only drug store products for something,”

“Bob Ross painting with drugstore shit!”

Virgil shrugged “yeah sure, you could also get lip gloss mix it together and try to make something really fucking weird, or do that with gel polish”

“I refuse to touch lip gloss, it’s fucking gross.”

“Bob ross painting not on your faces with lip gloss and other lipsticks.”

Remy nodded “thanks Virgil, you’re helping my buy it later.”

“No, people at school could see me, you can order it,”

“that’s less fun though,”

Virgil rolled his eyes “fine dad, I just need to make sure that no one can recognize me.”

He was ready pretty fast, with a light brown wig and blue contacts he also had close that where black and purple reserved for the occasion.

“Hello everyone! We are in the car today at our local Walgreens because we’re going to be buying lipstick, lip gloss and lip liner to make a Bob Ross painting!” 

“Not on your face.”

“Not on my face, fuck lip gloss.”

“I wasn’t aware that was a kink or whatever.”

Remy glared at Virgil “smartass, you can walk home.”

“Gladly, I’ll be laughing when I see you trying to film and carry everything and talk and pay the cashier. You’ll be a meme.”

“You already got memed once this week, I’ll meme you myself if I have to. Or I could turn you into an E-Girl, you did lose that bet.”

“I absolutely despise you,”

Remy laughed “no you don’t.”

“I really do, and you can’t make me e an e-girl.”

“No, but the people can, there’ll be a poll right here, vote should my intern be an e-girl for the day?”

Virgil groaned “times like these make me wish I was aborted.”

Remy laughed.

The rest of the video went ok and no one recognized Virgil.

Raccoon: I hate life Dukey: I saw, I voted yes, you’d make a wonderful e-girl hiss hiss motherfucker: so did I, suffer bitch Raccoon: you’re both traitors  hiss hiss motherfucker: at least we’re not going to be an e-girl

Virgil was pissed the whole week. “What’s up with you Dr. Gloom?” Roman asked.

“Made a bet with Remus, and lost, I’m going to commit toaster bath.”

Roman made a face “why would you make a bet with my brother? nothing good comes out of it.”

“I thought I’d win, turns out he’s totally willing to eat deodorant if it means I’ll have to dress like an e-girl for a day and make a tiktok.”

Roman laughed “I cannot wait to see you dressed as an e-girl.”

“I can, I’ll be locking myself in my room all day.”

“I’m surprised Remus didn’t say you’d have to walk around in public like that.”

“He did, but he can’t see me, so I’ll be in my room.”

Remy was in front of the camera. “Time for you to become an e-girl!”

“I’d like to say a very special fuck you to everyone who voted yes and that after this I’m going to commit toaster bath,”

“It’s one day, you’ll be fine.”

“One day in my room with the door locked and curtains closed.”

Remy laughed “oh no gurl, you’ll be going out, I suggest you make plans.”

“WHAT? That wasn’t part of the deal!”

“I thought it would go without saying you’d have to go outside.”

Virgil just glared, happy his face wasn’t in frame.

The makeover took well over an hour. when it was over he looked almost unrecognizable, thankfully.

Virgil: Hey, anyone want to hang out, my dad’s kicking me out of the house for the day says I need to be “social” whatever the means Princey: So you do need to go out as an e-girl Virgil: unfortunately, anyone free? Logan: I have to study and Patton is out at the animal shelter volunteering, Roman? Princey: I’m free, meet you at the mall? Virgil: Sure

“Dad! I’m going to hang out with Roman see you later.”

“Have fun on your date!”

“dad! It’s not a date!” He slammed the door and left.

Virgil waited in a café for Roman. He got an iced coffee as always.

Someone shoved him while he was waiting in line.

“What are you? A boy or a girl make up your mind,”

Virgil didn’t look up from his phone “gender is a spectrum and gender norms are fake and I refuse to give into toxic musicality and if you have a problem with that you can leave because I already ordered and payed for my drink and am not leaving until I get it.”

“You can’t change your chromosomes, it’.” the guy said in a feeble attempt to get back at Virgil. basic biology

“How about you stop relying on basic biology and come back when you can argue the same statement with complex biology. If you really knew anything about biology more then the basics you’d know that scientifically there are at least three genders according to chromosomes. Male, female and intersex, and that once again biology isn’t fucking basic otherwise everyone would be a biologist. I can wear a skirt if I want to.”

He grabbed his coffee and left, Roman had arrived a few minutes prior.

“Damn emo nightmare I didn’t think you’d go all out on the E-girl look.”

Virgil shrugged “go big or go home, and I was kicked out for the day so I had to go big. Dad said I needed to go outside. For some reason, no idea why. I mean last time I left the house of my own free will not for school was only six months ago.”

Roman looked at him in doubt “I’m pretty sure you’ve been outside of your own free will sooner then six months ago.”

“Outside? Yes, of my own free will? not so much. Oooh hot tpic.”

Roman laughed.

“Shut up princey, they have cool stuff, including gay stuff.”

Roman shrugged “could be gayer.”

“You’ve been in hot topic?”

Roman shrugged “a few times with Remus, he makes me go, bribing me with Disney.”

Virgil smirked “why am I not surprised you can be bribed with Disney?”

He started looking around at My Chemical Romance t-shirts and other things. He also grabbed some purple hair dye.

“Where to next princey?”

Roman shrugged “Game stop?”

“Sure,”

They hung out at the mall for awhile longer before guess what another youtuber came.

It was Safiya doing a weird makeup science vlog.

“Virgil, planning on becoming a meme again?”

Virgil rolled his eyes “no, besides Safiya’s cool, I like her make up science videos. I just hate vloggers who do shitty content and make to much money through it.”

They left shortly after going their separate ways.

“How was your date?” Remy called from the basement.

“Not a date! You made me get out the house!”

“Come down here and finish filming!”

“So, how was your day of being an e-girl?”

“Got harassed about my gender and whatnot, I fucking destroyed the idiot, that was fun.”

“And who did you hang out with?”

“I told you and again, it wasn’t a date, everyone else was busy.”

Remy looked towards the camera in doubt.

“Well I’m never doing this again, I’m going to go change.”

The video went viral when it was posted several days later.

I saw a kid at the mall dressed like an e-girl a few days ago. They got harrassed at the Starbucks.

[openheart12]

I Did Something Bad

A/N: Today is my lovely adoptive mom’s @burnsoslow birthday! I never thought me making a post about yk what would lead to our friendship and Kryce! I hope you have the best day ever and that it is every bit as amazing as you are! I’m so thankful for your friendship and how you make me laugh until I cry or pee fvhujskdghfn and you’re the only one who could ever make me into a Drake stan. I love you so much! Eat all the cake you can for me! Happy birthday, love! I hope you know how much I adore you ❤

A/N 2: This is very much full of Donald Trump hate and despitement because who wouldn’t hate him anyways jkhkdjgh there’s also quite a bit of cussing 

Word Count: 2,613

Thank you @rigatonireid for pre-reading!! 

“This is bullshit,” Kurns exclaimed as Bryce and Dick were watching the events unfolding at the United States Capitol. “This is why you don’t vote for oranges.” She said while rolling her eyes. 

“Agreed,” the two men replied in unison. 

“Jinx!” They replied again at the same time that led to twenty minutes of them saying “jinx again” in response until Dick finally gave in and let Bryce win. 

“You win, Bryce-y poo,” he had said. Kurns had kept her attention glued to the television during their little game. 

“You okay over there, banana flavored moonpie?” Dick asked, directing his attention over to Kurns. 

“No, look at all those turnips. And the cult leader himself told them to do this shit. People actually voted for this moron? They should all get head CTs to check for brain damage which they undoubtedly have.” 

“Would it make you feel better if we overthrew the government while kidnapping Donnie?” Dick asked seriously. 

“Yes, actually,” she answered with a wide grin. 

“Okay, let me make a few phone calls and can you download some episodes of My Little Pony on Netflix for Bryce?” Kurns nodded her head in response, she also took the liberty of downloading Among Us on their phones so they wouldn’t be bored on the flight. 

The flight from North Delanois was a little over eight hours and being on a plane that long with a toddler, well Bryce, was going to be a challenge. 

It was a private jet so hopefully it would be more bearable, but just in case she also downloaded a few episodes of Max and Ruby and Yo Gabba Gabba. She also downloaded some episodes of Parks and Rec and Friends for herself. 

After packing the essentials; clothing, toiletries, handcuffs, whipped cream, ice cubes -who knew- and My Little Pony gummies, they were off to the airport.  

“Dick Kock,” Dick said introducing himself along with Kurns and Bryce. 

Kurns was decked out in a Taylor Swift 1989 t-shirt and a pair of leggings with her trusty white vans whereas Bryce was dressed in a rainbow colored polka dot shirt, black and white striped pants, one blue croc and the other was yellow, and socks with weed on them. Him and Kurns had forgotten about meth since it already landed them in jail one. Chris P. Bacon was still a sore subject for the pair. 

They boarded the plane and Bryce immediately went to find his gummies. Kurns took a seat next to Dick and pulled up CNN news to get an update on the attack on the Capitol. 

Suddenly breaking news flashed across her phone screen: Taylor Swift set to release her tenth studio album later today. 

“OH MY GOD! BRYCE LOOK!” Kurns exclaimed, jumping up out of her seat to show Bryce. 

“OH MY GOD! TS10! TS10! TS10!” He chanted. 

“Oh wow, that sure is exciting!” Dick chimed in. 

“By the way, D, I think we should call this Operation ‘I Did Something Bad’ in honor of Taylor’s new album.” 

“That’s a spectacular idea, Kurnel Mustard!” Bryce said with a smirk, it had been a new nickname he had given her after the three of them had played Clue one night.

“Shut up, Apple Bottom Jeans, Boots with the Fur,” she retaliated, mocking the Little Pony named Apple Jacks. 

“Stfu,” he said, crossing his arms over his chest. 

“You must be really mad if you’re talking in text.”

“Dick,” he pouted, “she’s doing it again.” 

“Be nice you two, we have a long flight ahead of us.” 

For the first two hours, they each did their own thing; Dick was reading a hunting magazine, Kurns was watching the news, and Bryce had already finished the entirety of My Little Pony. 

“Do you guys wanna play Among us?” Kurns asked out of the blue. 

“Hell yeah! I just bought the baby crew mate and I’m dying to use it,” Bryce responded. 

“I’ve never played before but sure!” 

“Okay so you’re either a crew mate or impostor and if you’re a crew mate, you have to do these tasks whilst trying not to die and if you’re an impostor, you go around killing other crew mates trying not to get caught in the process. You’ll get the hang of it eventually,” Kurns explained. 

“Thanks love bug,” Dick placed a quick kiss to the side of her head. 

The three of them found an open lobby and talked in the chat box waiting for the game to start and when it did, Dick asked the question of, “why is my name red?” 

“Oh my God, Dick! Don’t say that. It means you’re an impostor,” Bryce explained at the same exact time Kurns called an emergency meeting. 

“It’s purple,” Kurns typed in the text box, referring to Bryce’s color. 

“What the frick! It’s so not me. I’m not playing anymore,” he pouted, turning off his phone and crossing his arms over his chest. 

“Now, children, can you two not get along? Think about the bigger picture,” Dick intervened. 

“True, but I’m still not going to play with her.”

His statement didn’t affect Kurns in the slightest and she went back to playing the game. Dick joined her while Bryce was running away from an imaginary dragon and he ended up colliding into one of the seats, face first. 

“Ow,” he rubbed his forehead that was now bright red. 

“That’s what you get for being a baby,” Kurns said, not looking up from her phone while Dick went to go check on his blueberry muffin. 

“You okay, strawberry flavored fig bar? That’s quite a hit you took.” 

“Yeah, a kiss would make it feel better though,” he said, using his puppy dog eyes. Dick smiled softly at him before kissing his forehead all better. 

The three of them spent the next six hours playing games, eating, and watching movies from the age of the dinosaurs that Kurns had saved since she was over 10,000 years old. 

After landing in Washington D.C., the trio headed straight to the Whitehouse, if people could storm the Capitol, how much harder could it be to kidnap the president? That was Kurns logic at least and as it turns out, it wasn’t that much harder. 

Kurns went to the Oval Office while Dick and Bryce went to the bunker since that apparently seemed to be Trump’s favorite place in the Whitehouse. But unexpectedly, Kurns found the Donald Duck under the office in the Oval, tweeting away on his iPhone 4s. 

“Mr. Racist,” she called and he immediately turned to look at her. 

“What? I’m tremendously busy if you can’t tell.” 

“I see that, Mr. Pigman.” 

“That is hugely racist towards me. I happen to be winning very bigly at the moment. I’m trending on Twitter!” He said proudly, he then proceeded to show Kurns his crusty ass phone. 

“Come on, I have some candy for you if you come with me,” Kurns coaxed him out from under the desk and led him to the white van they had brought with them, you know, the kind your parents warn you to stay away from. 

“Fake news!” Trump exclaimed with a huff. “You must be friends with sleepy Joe.” 

“You’re right,” she winked. 

“You know, frankly, this doesn’t make America great.” 

“I disagree, I think this definitely makes America great again,” Kurns retaliated. 

“Does Mikey know about this?” 

“Yeah, we planned it with the fly,” she snickered. 

“Well, it’s fake news, believe me.” 

“What?” 

“Nothing you libtards wouldn’t understand it anyways. Anyways, what's that thing on your face?” 

“My mask?” 

“Yeah, what’s that for?” 

Kurns shook her head, not even being surprised by the question. “We’re in the middle of a pandemic, Donald Dump.” 

“What’s a panoramic?” 

“Don’t worry about it.” She got out her walkie talkie to talk to the boys. “The orange has expired. Over,” she said, their code word for getting Trump out. 

“Okay, bet, we’re on our way out. Over.” 

“Good job, K!” Dick said. 

“See you soon and thanks! Over.” 

Fifteen minutes later, Dick and Bryce arrived with a six foot cutout of Donald. 

“What the fuck is that?” 

“Hey, that’s me!” Trump chimed in. 

“Shut the fuck up,” Kurns said, she was quickly losing brain cells being in his proximity. 

“That is rude, quite frankly.” 

“We found it in his bedroom… along with some other, uh, questionable things,” Bryce explained. 

“Like what?”

“Like a, uh, dildo with Pence on it.” 

“Ew…” they all turned to look at Trump who was looking away and whistling, trying to pretend he wasn’t there. 

“Oh, um, about that. That was a tremendous invasion of privacy.” 

“Shut the fuck up,” they all said in unison and he pulled an imaginary zipper over his lips and threw away the key like a literal child. 

“I can’t be near him anymore,” Kurns said suddenly, getting out her phone to call someone. 

“Who are you calling?” Dick asked. 

“Joe, I was gonna invite him to go get some ice cream.” 

“OMG! I wanna go too!” Bryce exclaimed. 

“And me!” Trump said. 

“No, to both of you. You two have to keep an eye on Don and make sure he stays off of Twitter.” She was explaining when Joe picked up the phone. “Hey, Joe, do you want to go get ice cream somewhere?” 

“Duh! Taylor is actually here right now and you don’t care if she comes do you?” He asked to make sure. 

“Of course not! You can bring Champ and Major too! I know Jill is busy right now.” 

“Okay! On our way!” He said before hanging up. 

“Where are you going to go?” 

“Probably McDonald’s or something, Taylor is also coming with us, he said.”

“YOU MEAN THE TAYLOR?” Bryce asked in shock. 

“Yeah, him and Taylor are like BFF’s.” 

“I still like her music 25% less, okay?” Donald brought up. 

“Shut the fuck up,” Kurns said again. 

“Fine, fine. But could you make sure Barron is fed?” 

“Oop,” Bryce slapped his hand over his mouth. 

“Yes, now shut up.” 

Kurns was getting ready to go meet Joe and Taylor when Melania walked up to the van. “You have Trump?” She asked quietly. 

“Yeah, why? You need him?” 

“Yeah, could you make him sign this?” She placed some papers in Kurns hand. She read them and wasn’t shocked after realizing they were divorce papers. 

“No problem, hold tight real quick. Dick, make him sign these!” 

“Of course, ladybug.” He took a hold of Trump’s hand and wrote his name for him since he wouldn’t do it himself. 

“Here you go,” Kurns handed the papers back to Melania and she left without looking back. “Okay, I’m leaving. Be careful with that moron and for the love of God, don’t let his supporters know you have him.” 

“Roger that!” Bryce responded. 

“Don’t worry, vanilla brown sugar! We’ll hold down the fort while you’re gone. Have fun!” He called after her. 

She met Joe and Taylor at a local McDonald’s and greeted both of them with a hug. “Congratulations on winning the election and congratulations on album number ten!” She reached down to pet both of the German Shepherds who happily wagged their tails. 

“Thanks!” They replied in unison. 

“So how are the boys?” Taylor asked. 

“Good! They sent their regards. They’re actually, uh, holdingtrumphostage,” she said fast enough so hopefully they couldn’t understand but they are actually educated. 

“WHAT?” Joe exclaimed. 

“Miss gurl, how did y’all pull that off?” Taylor asked while hysterically laughing. 

“It was easier than I thought! Either security sucks or they wanted Trump gone and I can’t blame them for that.” 

“Amen sister!” Joe replied. 

“Can we see him?” Taylor asked. 

“I mean, yeah if you want!” 

“Okay let’s go!” She went to get up when Joe gently grabbed her arm. 

“But the ice cream…” He reminded her. 

“Of course, how could I forget?” She playfully rolled her eyes. They all ate their ice cream before heading back to the Whitehouse. 

Once arriving, Taylor and Joe headed straight to the front doors while Kurns stood there like 🧍‍♀️. “Hey guys, he's actually right there,” she said, pointing to the white van. 

Taylor opened the door to find Bryce half asleep on the ground, Dick was listening to ‘Girls Just Wanna Have Fun’ and dancing in his seat meanwhile, Donald had his lips glued to the side of the door, making out with it. 

“What the fuck?” All three of them asked at the same time. 

“OMG TAYLOR! HI! HOW ARE YOU?” Bryce shouted, jumping up off of the floor and pulling her into a hug. 

“Hi!” 

“Hello, Ms. Swift,” Dick greeted, gracefully bowing. “Mr. President,” he nodded. 

“How did you all meet?” Don asked. 

“We actually just met, our hate for you is what we bond over!” Joe explained in terms he would understand. Hopefully. 

“Oh,” was all he said and started to play with his fingers. “I don’t know if you knew this, but Washington D.C. is actually the capital of the United Stats. Did you know that?”

“What did you think it was? And it’s the United States, not… Stats.” Kurns asked in a surprisingly concerning tone. 

“I thought it was like a stat… or well state. Whatever it is.” 

“Oh,” Kurns said while Taylor called him an idiot under her breath. 

“That’s embarrassing miss gurl,” Bryce chimed in. 

“ARE YOU TALKING TIKTOK TO ME? I WILL BAN YOU,” Trump threatened. 

“Please, these empty promises you keep making are getting really old just like your term,” Dick said, making the others die of laughter… no literally, some Trump supporter that had been walking by had just collapsed and died. 

“And I oop-” Kurns and Bryce said at the same time. 

“IFHCBXNZNZ, HAHAHAHA,” Bryce barked out. 

“Can we get something to eat? I really want some Dino nuggies 🥺,” Trump pleaded. 

“No,” they all replied. 

“So what are we going to do with him?” Taylor asked. 

“I don’t know, what do y’all want to do with him?” 

“Excellent question, K, I say we feed him to some alligators!” Bryce exclaimed, flapping his two arms together to make an alligator jaw and started running towards Donald who jumped back in fear. 

“That’s not nice,” he pouted, a lone tear trickling down his cheek. 

“Fuck you, but not literally or physically,” Taylor said, making sure to explain what she meant. 

“I want some My Little Pony gummies!” 

“Me too!” Donald said with a smile now on his crusty, orange ass face. 

“No,” they replied again. 

“Fine,” he crossed his arms over his chest and turned his back to them, like the toddler he is. 

“Anyways, y’all want to go get Cookout?” Kurns suggested. 

“Yeah, of course!” Joe responded. 

The five of them headed to the nearest Cookout to get food and milkshakes, leaving Trump behind all alone. After hanging out with Taylor and Joe, it was unfortunately time to head back to North Delanois. With promises to meet up soon, the trio were soon enough taking off at the airport. 

“What ended up happening to Trump?” Bryce asked seriously. 

“He went to prison.” 

“As he should, period,” Kurns said with a smirk. 

“What are we going to do when we land?”

“Sleep!” Kurns and Bryce said. 

“Of course, my love doves. I’m going to try to do that right now, so please try to get along.” 

“Promise!” Kurns said, holding out her pinky finger which he took and kissed. The rest of the flight was surprisingly peaceful, Kurns and Bryce were able to get along while Dick slept. It had been a fun trip, one they hoped they would actually never have to make again. 

Tags: @burnsoslow @ao719 @callmeellabella @rigatonireid because no one else should have to read this :)

[peachyteabuck]

treason against kingly youth, pt i of ii

summary: somehow, you survived the 2020 election. now, all you have to do is get a know-nothing white man into the senate. should be easy enough. 

pairing: chris evans x reader

words: 3223

trigger warnings: rpf, white dudes doin White Dude Things

ask box / masterlist / commission info / ko-fi

For a moment, just a moment, you allow yourself to breathe, really breathe. One, big breath in that clears the stress from your muscles, drops your shoulders, lets your whole body sag against the decade-old chair that you’re surprised hasn’t crumbled under the weight of your ever-tense body and its corresponding sins.

It’s a mere six feet away that everyone else you’ve worked with for the past three years with – the people you went through sleepless nights, long road trips, greasy food from mom and pop diners with the middle of assfuck nowhere, registering voters and writing up another plan for every fucking thing wrong with America (low teacher pay? Check. Electoral college ruining democracy? Check. Criminalization of homosexuality? Check. Private school sucking the life out of public schools? The monopoly artificially inflating prices on glasses up to 400%? The disparity between the number of men’s and women’s bathrooms in federal buildings? Check, check, check) – each and every person celebrates with wine and whiskey and any other alcoholic beverages they can get their underpaid hands on. It’s not even the cheap stuff, no, this is top shelf liquor. This is D-Day, “we’ve got an hour before the nuclear missile hits” liquor.

There are two times people go this all-out on their spirits – the end of the world, and the end of an election (though, to some, they’re the same thing).

But not you. Never pitiful little you. Pitiful little campaign manager you doesn’t rest, doesn’t get to stop pulling rabbits out of hats and money from single moms and votes out of college students.

There’s three TVs in front of your desk, each playing a different news station and each anchor drowning the others out. It’s a cacophony of white noise, and not because

The only voice, the only singular voice that has cemented itself into this far, previously blissfully unattended corner of your brain. You can hear her, feel her own on your shoulder – you can see her leaning against her old desk nestled in her home back in Massachusetts.

“I want you to be my chief of staff. You ran my campaign better than I could have asked for, and I would be incredibly lucky and blessed to have you run my White House.”

Your own voice rings next, always shakier than the time previous.

“I can’t do that,” your sigh gets deeper each time, too. “You know I can’t.”

Somehow, her voice always gets more confident. It’s one of those things about her, about the way she carries herself. If she’s faking that confidence you’d never know. “I know, but I’ll always tell you that there’s a place for you at the White House as long as I have something to say about it.”

In the sea of blue and red and white confetti and streamers and all the other shit people use to celebrate when their party wins an election, the thick, bleached white of your laptop screen stares back at you more menacingly than any Republican – winning or losing - you’ve ever met.

You’d like to think you are the kind professional that is never caught off guard, the kind of woman who can expect anything. But as the email that’s derailed your plan for the next four years stares back at you, the all-caps subject line feels more like the headlights of an 18-wheeler to a deer in the middle of a highway than an excellent career opportunity.

Still, with malt liquor in hand, you allow yourself a moment to breathe. Maybe, just maybe, it’ll make all of this just a little bit easier.

A little less than five hundred miles away, Christopher Robert Evans is the drunkest he’s ever been, surrounded by the same men he’s known since his freshman year of high school, yelling nonsensically as one of his current senators becomes the president-elect of the most power country on Earth.

The only coherent thing to leave the man’s mouth the entire night is oh so wonderfully caught on a friend’s iPhone and will – quite likely – be posted to some social media site by the next morning.

The video (which you will eventually be seeing at your first meeting with the Boston native) shows him in a Harvard sweatshirt (a university he did not attend), deep blue skinny jeans, and a Patriots hat balanced just enough to show his (possibly) thinning hairline. There, between his two best friends, he screams in his played-up Boston accent at the top of his lungs:

“I’M GOING TO BE A SENATOR, BITCHES!”

But you, back in D.C., are blissfully unaware of the long road ahead of you. So, you enjoy your malt liquor, and your small bit of quiet on election night – a sign of the muted calm before the political shitstorm ahead of you.

You end up not replying to said email the next morning (see: seven hours later after falling asleep in your chair for about five hours and then browsing angry GOP Twitter accounts while cackling into a cup of the blackest coffee you’ve ever tasted for the other two), confirming you’d be willing to work for Christopher Robert Evans’ campaign to run for the current president-elect’s soon-to-be open senate seat.

Or, at least confirming you’d speak to the Evans family to talk about running the campaign of the whitest man under the age of forty you’ve ever seen. Whether or not you ended up attempting to control what is likely another dumpster-fire campaign in a series of dumpster-fire campaigns. Harris is the one that comes to mind, but drawing any parallels between that woman and this man feels borderline offensive.

Plus, her senate run was successful. And she held elected office before that.

Why did you agree to do this again?

Right, you need money. So much money. All of the money. At least enough money that you can be bought from straight under the White House, which just so happens to be the amount the Evans estate offered you in exchange for your services.

Maybe that’s why you’ve found yourself in a conference room in an expensive office building, looking up at Chris Evans as his face turns red and your heart rate picks up.

“I’m Massachusetts’s best choice!” he screams, slamming his hands onto the table – a rich brown you sort of wish you could afford to have in your own home back at the capital. Your estate sale table, even with the coat of white paint you gave it after buying it, still can’t hold a candle to the beautiful grooves and smooth top.

But this isn’t time to yearn for better interior design prospects. Now is the time to put this moderate democrat man-child in his upper-middle-class place.

“Chris, you’re the best choice for an internship for the fucking EPA,” you nearly hiss. “You’re in the intern in Vice who watched Dick Cheney make deals with those fucking oil businessmen. You’re the shiny faced bastard who watched the world burn while listening to a Walkman. Do you understand me?”

His teeth are barred like he’s about to bite at your face; luckily that man comes with an electric collar and you’ve got the controller.

“Your biggest qualification is you got a five on the AP Gov exam. You have a single living family member who has held elected office in the last five years, and he was in the House of Representatives. The House! He wasn’t even in the chamber you’re gunning to be a part of. You were an econ major with a minor in, what? Poli sci? At a mid-tier university because your family doesn’t have Kushner money to bribe your acceptance letter out of a better one. Your main job after college was working as an accountant for old fraternity because they get audited so often the IRS had to release a public statement saying they were changing their processes for such matter on college campuses. You’re so moderate you’re in the aisle playing legislative mad-libs while everyone fawns over your B+ facial hair and C- chest tattoo. You’re a cute puppy at a for-profit rescue, you’re eye candy on a political television show.

“You’re the type of person who didn’t think that Gillibrand was done for before the second debate. That’s the problem with you. I mean there are lots of problems with you, but that’s the one I’m most annoyed with right now. It’s not that you can’t understand patterns or see what’s going on around you. It’s that you were never forced to. When you walk outside in the dark, I bet you don’t look behind you, you don’t clutch your keys like claws to protect yourself. You know how much pepper spray costs? Do you know what a noisemaker does? No, you’ve never had to. You’ve never had to shield yourself from danger because the rest of the world did that for you.”

It’s then that you realize you’re both standing, your finger jabbed into the Windsor knot of his tie. Still, you don’t stop.

“You are the shell of an actual politician; you represent a safe option for right-adjacent Democrats and moderate Republicans who hate the president’s coalition and women. Especially women of color. You’re the perfect option because you stand for nothing of substance, you do nothing on your own. You’re a cover for old racist white men and moderate white women who need something to attatch their lack of political knowledge to during dinner conversations. Either you shape up, or I’m leaving this campaign and watching your inevitable fall from my office in the White House. I will drink a martini in the West Wing the day you lose, I will release a glowing endorsement of the first liberal who so much as whispers about taking your ass down. Do you understand me?”

The longest few seconds of your life pass with bated breath as you two stand there, chests rising and falling in a synced rhythm with your jaws set. It’s a stand off, neither of you willing to look away from the other’s eyes.

“Do you understand me, Evans?” you bite, getting angrier at each passing Chris says nothing. It’s not the self-reflective kind of silence, it’s the generic peanut butter when you’re too broke to afford the real stuff. It’s pasta before a marathon. It’s ads the radio station plays when they’re out of loops of the latest rape-adjacent pop hit.

It’s a filler. And it’s a bad one.

“¿Te comprende?” You’re almost yelling now, screaming in his face louder than you’ve ever screamed before. “¿Me necesitas para decirlo de nuevo?”

Another heavy pause. Chris’ voice is rough as he speaks, like ten grit sandpaper. “Yeah, I get it. I fucking get it.”

And with that, he grabs his side bag and stomps out of the conference room, grumbling something about high school Spanish and Despacito. You ignore his tantrum – unlike his father, who moves to run after him. You shoot daggers into the silver-haired ca, and he sits back down.

You push the too-sweet aftertaste of canned fruit to the back of your mouth. The thick resume paper slides out of your laptop-case-slash-important papers-folder with ease, the heavy five-hundred word essay on why you hate your job detailed in 12-font Times New Roman, pristine black letters nearly shining in the low light.

“That’s my letter of resignation,” you say, looking your boss dead in the eyes. With his jaw set the way it is, you expect to hear his teeth cracking before you could leave the boardroom.

“You know we can’t accept this,” his father says with a tone that’s much too close to a laugh. A nervous laugh, but one that makes you feel like he’s treating you as if you were a joke nonetheless. “You’re our only hope for this race.”

The second sheet of paper - or, rather, the small stack with a staple in the top right corner perfectly perpendicular to the nearest corner - hits the table next. “Then, these are my demands. Let me know by midnight tonight if you can meet them or not so I know whether or not to accept a job somewhere else.”

With that, you pick up your coat and leave.

The driver, a single mom in her mid-forties who is helping put her only son through college, laughs when you enter the backseat of her vehicle. It’s not condescending, not something you feel offended by. Rather, shame paints your face.

“Did Mr. Evans-Junior snap?” She asks as she pulls away. Her tone is knowing, too knowing. How long has she worked for the Evans anyway?

You sigh, then scream into your hands. The woman in front of you doesn’t flinch, doesn’t move a muscle as she waits for your reply. “He’s an idiot.”

The woman laughs. “That’s not what I asked, and I know you know that.”

You’re tempted to scream again, only a little louder. You don’t. “He snapped. I snapped,” you sigh again as you watch out the window. It’s late, too late for traffic to be like this. Fuck Boston. “Now I want to go home and take off my bra and wash off my make up and ger super drunk and shave all my hair off and quit my job and become a sheep herder in Iceland.”

The woman doesn’t disagree, doesn’t negate. She gives you the wonderful gift of silence until she drops you off, waving you goodbye.

“You have a good night,” she calls.

“I’ll do my best,” you shout back.

You’re alone in your apartment, dressed in the most comfortable (and expensive) pair of pajamas you own with red wine and some playlist titled an artsy version of “my life is very sad and my world is falling apart so I bought a $200 bottle of alcohol and hope I cry off my name-brand make up before I have to reemerge into the eyes of polite society,” when you get the text you’ve been dreading. It’s Chris, with his perfect capitalization and punctation and lack of emoji use. You’ve seen the way he texts the rest of the team, his family, his friends. He only pulls that shit with you.

Fuck, you think as you open the message. That kid’s really gotta loosen up. Isn’t weed legal in Massachusetts? He’s a Democrat, there’s no excuse.

He’s asking if he can come over, because of course he is. You’re just lucky the message is something closer to “I feel bad and wish to speak about it with you in person” instead of the crass “u up” you expected. Still, when the three dots at the bottom of the screen appear once again, you assume it’s going to be a picture of his junk that loads.

“Please,” is all the text says.

You acquiesce, sending him something akin to a “Fine but if you step out of line again your ass is going to be explaining why you fucked up to the cold-as-fuck pavement outside.”

You hear the knock at your door thirty minutes later (you often forget how shitty Boston traffic is), opening it to reveal the saddest white boy you’ve ever seen in your short life.

His chestnut hair is disheveled enough to indicate he’d had half of a sleepless night. This is the most casual you’ve seen him – basketball shorts with another Godforsaken Harvard hoodie with Nike sneakers – bags under his eyes completing the “sad frat boy who probably just flunked a chem exam” kind of look.

“Can I come inside?” he asks.

You sigh, trying to figure out how your life came to this. A jerk of your chin allows him entry into your small apartment, every surface littered with physical copies of presentations and a map of Massachusetts covered in stickers and sticky notes and scribbles of poll numbers from past campaigns. To Chris’ untrained eye it all looks like the homestead of a serial killer, but to anyone else on his campaign it’s his ticket to the senate. Politics is a game, a game with very public winners and losers and those who fall between; anyone who doesn’t study all of those outcomes is destined to find themselves either a) in a vacation home in the hills of Vermont drunk as hell, or b) running for president.

(You’ve considered how likely both of those possibilities are, and part of you fears he’ll do both).

There’s a heavy, awkward silence that falls over the room as you both sit down, facing each other.

“So,” you ask awkwardly. “Do you want, uh, a beer…or something?”

Chris shakes his head. “No, I’m, uh, I’m alright. Thanks.”

You sigh a little, relieved. “Good, because all I have is very expensive red wine and judging by our past interactions it is not worth having it spilled all over my white carpet.”

For a moment it’s obvious he doesn’t realize that you’re kidding, but after a few seconds of a facial expression that’s a perfect blend of concerned, rejected, and confused – he lets a little smile get past his façade.

“Yeah, uh,” he laughs. “That sounds like a bitch to clean up.”

What follows is a few minutes of incredibly awkward silence as he looks around your house once more and you take the opportunity to look at him.

It’s weird to see him in this state – it’s weird to see him as something human.

Still, you want to snap at him when he breaks the quiet.

“I want to do better,” he says, voice small. He avoids meeting your eyes, wrings his hands while he looks at the floor. “I thought about what you said and I,” he sighs. “I’m sorry. I want to do better…for you.”

You sigh, placing your red wine on the side table next to you before clasping your hands together. “Look, if you’re winning this election for me-“

“I’m not,” Chris says way too defensively. You let it slide for your own sanity.

“If you’re doing this for me, you’re going to be disappointed. Mostly because what your father wants and what I want are two very different things,” Chris opens his mouth to speak again but you hold you hand up to silence him. “Listen, I have a few rules with my clients. The first one is don’t lie to me. We can talk around this all day outside the boundaries of this home, but if you can look me in the eye on my couch while I drink my wine and tell me you’re doing this for a love of the people or whatever, I’m going to need you to leave.”

Chris gives you a single silent nod.

“But, if you want to win this shitshow…” you drink the rest of the glass in a single gulp. “Then, yeah. Let’s fucking do this.”

Chris lights up.

“But, I have some rules.”

He nods silently, allowing you to continue.

You count off on your fingers. “Don’t lie to me. When I ask a question, answer it. If I don’t ask a question, answer it anyway. I want to know everything, got it?”

Chris nods.

“The only time I don’t want you to speak is when I tell you to shut the fuck up. You got that, too?”

Chris nods again.

“Good, then I have a sneaking suspicion this will work out just fine.”

[rigmarolling]

Five Things Abe Lincoln Did That Prove He Was A BAMF

I love Lincoln. You probably know this if you’ve listened to me talk for more than two seconds. I have a literal entire bookshelf filled with Lincoln stuff. I teared up in Great Moments With Mr. Lincoln at Disneyland. I cried so hard when I watched Lincoln (2012), that I almost started dry-heaving. I was Lincoln (sort of) for Halloween.

Is it a problem? No. It isn’t a problem, Mom. Because Lincoln was a 100% USDA-certified badass.

Don’t believe me? Here are ten things Abe did to prove he was absolutely a BAMF.

1. That time he jumped out a window to prevent a vote.

In 1840, the Illinois legislature was voting on whether or not to fund the state bank. Lincoln was a member of the Whig party, which did not require members to wear wigs, contrary to what the name suggests, but which did support saving the state bank. The opposing party, the Democrats (different political beliefs from modern-day democrats, do NOT come at me, Reddit dudebros) wanted to shut the State bank down.

It all came down to a vote...and it looked like the anti-state bank democrats were going to win. Abraham Lincoln, then a 31-year-old legislator who looked like the pioneer version of a Tim Burton character, was getting nervous. 

Above: Jack Skellington, 1840.

“Shit,” he thought, probably, “We Whigs are screwed if we lose this vote. And we don’t even get to wear wigs.”

The bank-hating democrats scheduled a vote to adjourn the session, which would effectively be the nail in the state bank’s coffin. Abe was panicking. He was the de facto leader of the Whigs; he had to do something. 

“Prove your mettle, boy,” he probably thought to himself in a folksy, backwoods kinda way. “Show ‘em you ain’t gonna give up.”

So Abe did what any self-respecting legislator would do when stuck between a rock and a hard place:

He jumped out the window of the legislature to stop the vote.

To be fair, Lincoln wasn’t the only one to opt for a morning act of defenestration: a bunch of the other Whigs joined in, too. The rationale was, essentially, this:

Which is peak Internet comedy, but unfortunately, it was 1840 and the Internet didn’t exist yet, so nobody appreciated the gesture and the democrats eventually wound up closing the bank, anyway. 

But at least Abe showed the entire state that he appreciated Looney Tunes-esque escape tactics.

2. That time he roasted a guy during a debate with good-old self-deprecating humor.

You ever rely on self-deprecating humor to beat people to the “yes, I KNOW I am offensive” punch?

So did our 16th president, Abraham Nicole Lincoln.

(Not his real middle name.)

When Lincoln was campaigning, his biggest rival was Stephen Douglas, the Democratic contender who was nicknamed “the little giant” because he was short but a heavy hitter in politics, and also because he looks like the kind of guy that just wouldn’t shut up at parties:

Above: “Actually, I’m not racist, BUT--”

In 1858, Lincoln and Douglas held a series of seven famous political debates called, brilliantly, The Lincoln-Douglas Debates, coming to you LIVE at Rockefeller Center, with performances by the Rockettes, Anna and Elsa on Ice, AND with special guest, Seal!

These debates were THE go-to political show of the season. If you were super into who would be elected to the Illinois Senate in the mid-19th century, then holy shit, you have got to watch these two men go at each other, man, it’s like watching a tree and an angry little dog slap each other across the stage.

During the debates, Lincoln quickly became famous for his one-liners, and also because no one had ever seen a talking tree in a suit before.

In one of the debates, Douglas accused Lincoln of being two-faced. Without missing a beat, Lincoln, who had been mocked his entire life for his ungainly, scarecrow-like appearance in the same way that I just mocked him a few sentences ago, whoops...

ANYWAY.

Lincoln turned to Douglas and went, “Honestly, if I were two-faced, would I be showing you this one?” 

And then the audience did this:

And then Lincoln was like:

Check. Mate. 

3. That time he was so strong and such a good wrestler that nobody messed with him.

When I say “wrestler,” what do you think of?

Is it this?

Maybe this?

What about this?

Huh? What’s that you say? “What the hell is...is that Lincoln? What...what the hell is Lincoln doing in a list of wrestlers?

“Um,” I answer, “Being a wrestler.”

Because Abraham Lincoln, 6′ 4″ and all of 150-something pounds, was, in fact, an incredibly talented wrestler.

So talented, in fact, that when it came to wrestling matches, he went undefeated for most of his life.

See, Lincoln grew up in the middle of butt crack-nowhere, out in the sticks of the American frontier. Ain’t no room for sissies out on the frontier. This here’s hard-scrabble country, see, rough-livin’; you gotta spit to live; you gotta live to spit; Neosporin? I think you mean weak-ass bitch cream.

So how did rootin’ tootin’ frontier folk blow off steam? Well, when they weren’t dying of dysentery or tuberculosis or minor infections that could today be cured by steady application of Neosporin, they were wrasslin’. And when it came to the act of picking someone up and throwing them back down, nobody wrestled like 21-year-old Abraham Justine Lincoln.

(Not his real middle name.)

One look at the guy and people were like, “The hell? What’s this ancient Egyptian mummy doing in the ring?”

But the second he got going, everyone shut up. Because this guy was nuts. He was a berserker. He could defeat a guy three times his size in seconds. He could bench the Rock, probably, and not even break a sweat.

He was the nicest guy in town. But nobody--and I mean nobody--messed with Abraham Ashley Lincoln.

(Not his real middle name).

One time, Jack Armstrong, the local heavyweight champion who was the Big Bad in town and undefeated in the wrestling and “I’m a giant asshole who smashes my way through problems” arena, challenged Lincoln to a match. 

“Uh oh,” everyone in the little town of New Salem, Illinois thought, “That’s it for ol’ Twig Legs Abe. He might be good, but there’s no way he can defeat Jack Armstrong. Nice knowing you, kid; it’s a shame, because you might have made a solid president.”

But Lincoln, who knew no fear and ate chains forged in the heart of a dwarven cavern for breakfast, was like, “Bring it on, bitch.”

Above: Playin’ with the boys.

Jack and Abe started sparring and Jack threw insult after insult Abe’s way. I don’t know exactly what Jack said, but it was probably the 19th century equivalent of, “You may have 2,300 Facebook friends but nobody cares about the pictures of your homemade Shake ‘N Bake chicken that you post, eggwad.”

Abe didn’t relent. 

See, he was getting angry.

Really angry.

So angry, in fact, that in one fell swoop, he suddenly slammed big Jack Armstrong to the ground so hard that Armstrong passed out, cold.

Abe had won. Everyone stared at the panting, growling, 6′4″ pine tree man in reverent awe. 

A fun epilogue to this story: after Jack Armstrong recovered from getting his ass handed to him by a guy who looked like an extra in a movie about the Amish, he and Abe remained steadfast buddies for the rest of their lives. 

Jack just never ever insulted Abraham Jessica Lincoln again.

(Not his real middle name.)

4. The (many) times he went off into long, rambling stories during Cabinet meetings to illustrate a point.

You know how grandma and grandpa sometimes go off on tangents and you’re like, “okay, okay, get to the point.”

But grandma and grandpa don’t even respond and just keep talking about that one time in 1953 that Anne-Marie told George that no, she hadn’t gone to the corner store, why do you keep asking, George? And then I said to George, I said, George, you need to listen to Anne-Marie because she knows that the corner store is the only one in town that sells fresh-laid eggs and Butterick circle skirt patterns, but did he listen? Did he listen to me? No, he didn’t, so I went to---

You get it.

So did every single member of Lincoln’s cabinet. Because Lincoln was a consummate storyteller, for better or for worse. 

(Sometimes for worse, depending on who you asked.)

Above: “One time, at band camp...”

Lincoln would interrupt important meetings about, you know, saving the Union and the soul of the country itself with anecdotes that started something like this:

Lincoln: You know, Sec. Stanton, that reminds me of a fur-trapper I knew back in Illinois--

Stanton: Great, except, Mr. President, everyone is dying--

Lincoln: Now this here fur trapper was the best fur trapper in the entire state. Not the entire country, mind you, on account of we didn’t really have a way of measuring fur-trapping skills nationwide--

Stanton: *neck turning purple* Mr. President--

Lincoln:--but definitely the best fur trapper in Illinois. Now one day, this fur trapper set out to do what he did best: shoot some raccoons, or maybe a bear, or a wolf if he was lucky, or a deer, or some moose, or a beaver, or a mongoose, or maybe a possum--

Stanton: OH MY GOD--

Lincoln:--or a cat, if times were desperate, but not a dog, never a dog, because this here fur trapper loved dogs; had six of ‘em himself, all hound dogs, loyal to a fault, see, because this here fur trapper--

Stanton: JUST STOP--

Lincoln: --this here fur trapper could be short-sighted. See, he set his sights one day on shooting the biggest bear in the mountains--and this bear, why, this here bear was a Goliath of a bear, the biggest bear anyone ever did see, the biggest bear in the state; not the biggest bear in the country, mind you, on account of we didn’t have a way of comparing bear sizes nationwide, but--

You get the gist.

Above: “So I’m sitting there, barbecue sauce on my tiddies--”

Eventually, Lincoln would get to the point of his story; in this example, for...um, example...maybe the moral was, “Don’t get so focused on one goal (shooting that big bear) that you loose sight of other objectives in the war (getting rid of the wolf pack killing all the sheep or whatever).”

I would like to explain to you why telling long, rambling grandpa stories was such a power move:

Abe Lincoln was the president. 

So his whole Cabinet had to listen.

And Abe Lincoln knew it.

They had to listen to this backwoods guy go on and on about how that one time the local long boatsman fell into the river actually serves as a metaphor for Gen. McClellan’s inability to take control of the troops; or how the rabid raccoon that lived in the local blacksmith’s shop can serve as a metaphor for acting too hastily when trying to take down the South. 

Or, like, whatever.

Above: “All here in favor of me performing the entirety of Les Mis starring me as everyone, raise your hands.”

Apparently, Lincoln was also the kind of storyteller who, if there was a funny punchline at the end, took forever to get to the punch line because he’d start laughing hysterically at his own joke, and while many people thought it was incredibly endearing, others were like, “Boy, I wonder what it would be like if I dumped this entire fucking bottle of ink over the president’s head to get him to shut the fuck up.”

Spoiler alert: Lincoln did not, in fact, shut the fuck up. He was determined to teach folks a lesson through the the power of storytelling and also to help break the tension of a legitimately horrible war with the power of laughter.

Monopolizing the conversation to prove a point with anecdotes about frontier living that no one can escape?

Power. Move.

5. Those times he let his kids run amok in the White House and thought it was hilarious.

Lincoln had a four kids, all boys, who moved into the White House after he was elected president.

And these boys were little terrors.

To be fair, a vast majority of boys are terrors. Kids are terrors. They are small harbingers of chaos and discord with little regard for their fellow humans, which means they fit right in in the White House EYYYY POLITICAL COMMENTARY.

But Lincoln’s kids, apparently, were especially out of control.

Above: “Alright, enough pussy-footin’ around, Pops, fork over the dough and no one gets a kick in the nuts.”

Lincoln adored his boys, partly because he was a good dad and partly because he’d already had one child die tragically, so understandably, he was like, “Life is short and antibiotics haven’t been invented yet so we’re all going to die from getting paper cuts, probably; I’m just gonna let my boys do whatever the hell they want.”

And he kind of...did.

Willie and Tad Lincoln, his two youngest, brought tons of pets into the White House. Dogs, cats, birds...when people objected, Lincoln just sort of shrugged. He, too, was a huge animal lover and didn’t really care if ponies were clomping around the Oval Office. “My White House, my rules, my indoor ponies.”

The two Lincoln boys would dress up in military uniforms and have fake military drills and stage fake (LOUD) battles all over the White House, including when Dad was in a Cabinet meeting.

What did Dad do, you ask?

Laugh his head off.

While his kids would burst into Cabinet meetings, crawl under the table and kick important Senators’ legs and feet, generally causing a grade-A ruckus, Abe would try and fail to stifle his laughter.

Which, you know. Objectively isn’t the best parenting, but for Pete’s sake, they were at war, can’t they have a little fun? Jesus, lighten up, folks, they’re kids.

The Lincoln boys particularly irritated Sec. of War Edwin Stanton, but to be fair, almost everything irritated Sec. of War Edwin Stanton.

Above: “I have never had fun once, ever, in my life.”

Once again, Lincoln’s rationale was, “Life is fragile, one of my children already died, the country is at war, and kids make me laugh, so if they want to punch Sec. Stanton in the balls under the table, who am I to stop them?”

Also, Lincoln was the president, so nobody thought it was appropriate to go, “Um, hey? Mr.--Mr. President? Maybe you could tell your sons to, you know...not crawl under the table and interrupt, um...important...war strategy meetings?”

ALSO, Lincoln once wrestled a man twice his size to the ground without batting an eyelash, so you go tell him to make his kids behave. I dare you.

[softforcal]

Floral : Tattooist!Cal

Summary: Renowned tattoo artist Calum Hood doesn’t take apprentices often, but when he does, he tackles the challenge like everything else in his life: with the utmost professionalism. Until he meets Lily, a learning artist, and Calum falls head over heels before he can help himself. 

Warnings: there’s smut. but its super slow burn.

Cal Mood Board: Lily

Word Count: 13.3k

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

     The young, heavily tattooed man sat at the receptionist desk in his parlour. His head was bowed, chiseled jaw set, eyebrows furrowed as he studied the papers scattered in front of him.

     Art littered the sheets and after a good, long look, the man would either add the paper to a pile on his left or on his right.

     The stack to his left was large and separated in two with a combined paper count of well over three hundred.

     The stack to his right was substantially smaller, containing only five or six hand picked sheets.

     Buzzing filled the space, one of his workers and friends, a man named Michael, was finishing up the last client of the day. His words didn’t even register to the focused man at the front as Michael wiped off the skin carefully, put a bandage over it and then walked the client to the reception desk. The woman paid and left, leaving the two large aussies to silence.

     Michael looked over Calum’s shoulder, hands reaching out to pull at one of the last few sheets yet to be judged, “this is nice.” Michael stated.

     Calum cocked his head, taking the paper gingerly from his friend.

     He had to admit, there was something interesting to the style.

     It was floral, which Calum usually shied away from, but something about this piece just captured his eye. The lines were thin and delicate, precise and deliberate, they caught his attention and drew his gaze along each light, flouncy, petal. It was realism, which was Calum’s specialty. As much as he enjoyed the more cartoony things, Calum had a reputation for making tattoos that seemed to jump out of the skin.

     And this piece definitely did that.

     He added it to the pile on his right.

     Michael helped him decide on the last few and finally he was done, having finished with six sheets of paper that Calum then carefully picked up, “now for the hard part.” he stated.

     Michael’s laugh echoed through the tattoo parlour, “those all look sick man, i don’t know how you’re going to choose, glad I don’t have your fucking job.”

     “You going home for the day?”

     “Might go to a bar, wanna drink?”

     “Hmmm.” Calum sighed, “I need to finish this up.”

     “Well I’ll tell you one thing, if you don’t choose whoever the fuck did that flower piece, I’m going to break into your application file, find them, and get them to tattoo me. Girly or not, that shit was fire.”

-------

     Calum’s dog Duke padded around his feet as Calum walked through his apartment. His fingers held the glass of whiskey loosely by his side as he approached his work desk. Letting out a long sigh, Calum collapsed into his plush, slightly worn, work chair, setting his drink down.

     The final six contenders were all in front of him.

     Two of them were animal sketches, one was more geometric, and the final three were florals. As much as he tried to give each one the same amount of time and attention, his eyes kept going back to that one floral one.

     Calum was very specific about taking on apprentices.

     He’d only ever had two, and after he was done with them, they were almost as renowned as he was.

     Thinking about the artists brought a smile to his face. His hand absentmindedly rubbed at the triangle on his forearm, just under his horse shoe tattoo.

     The idea had been Michael’s originally, and it had been a joke. No one thought Calum would actually do it. So when Calum had allowed his first apprentice to graduate to full tattooist stature by taking a gun and putting whatever he wanted onto Calum’s body, everyone had been shocked.

     But, his first apprentice had been kind, opting for a geomorphic animal hybrid tattoo. It was medium sized, a black triangle with a wolf face inside. Calum hadn’t looked the entire process, putting his complete trust in the man he’d just spent over a year training.

     Everyone had been shocked. His friends had filmed most of it and it had gone viral.

     Calum was known for his tattooing skills but he was also known for his tattoos, he could be very particular about who took a needle to his body so this was the ultimate show of confidence in his teaching abilities.

     Whenever Calum found himself retreating into himself he’d look down at the lone wolf tattoo on his forearm to remind himself to open up a little, to enjoy his pack and welcome new members.

     New apprenticeship applications had been abundant after that, with Calum getting at least three or four hundred applicants whenever he announced that he would be taking on someone new.

    The second apprentice had gotten Calum on his stomach with his shirt off and had began to wipe down a very large expanse of Calum’s practically unmarked back when it was decided that Calum’s apprentices would have to run their final tattoo idea by Calum’s senior artists first.

     Michael voted yes to having a massive dragon on Calum’s back but Calum, Ashton and Luke had vetoed that idea.

     The dragon had been substantially shrunk down to a red and black little reptilian creature on Calum’s shoulder, its tail wrapped protectively around his upper arm. Whenever Calum wore shirts that showed off the intricate, very real looking piece, Michael would always joke and pretend to talk to the dragon which he had since named “lil Sebastian.” Calum had denied this name but that never stopped Michael.

     Calum enjoyed the application process.

     He enjoyed looking at all of the art which he insisted be sent in with a coded system that he didn’t know, that way, he had no idea of the age, gender, ethnicity, or background of any of the applying artists. He wanted to make it fair. He wanted to choose the best because their art was the best, not because of any other possible side reasons.

     The floral piece made him want to know who had drawn it.

     Which was odd. Usually Calum was okay with not knowing. But there was, as Michael had pointed out, something about it.

     Calum took a deep breath, picking up the sheet one last time.

     He wasn’t the type to ever let his heart make decisions for him, but he knew that this choice was backed by his eyes and his mind as well. Whoever this artist was, they had talent, and Calum wanted to be there to take that talent, which was already spectacular, and somehow make it better.

     The decision had been made. Now all that was left was for his receptionist (who for the time being was Ashton since their receptionist was on mat leave) would call the artists.

     It was a Friday, and by Monday, if the artist accepted, his parlour would have a new apprentice, and Calum would once again embark on a year to three year teaching mission that at the end he would have a new tattoo and an artist to show for it.

-----------

     Lily waited for the coffee. The long sleeves of her oversized denim were perfect for fidgeting and she took full advantage, rolling the worn fabric between her fingers.

     A strand of blonde hair had fallen loose from the messy bun atop her head, dangling in front of her face, but Lily was too wired and distracted to even notice.

     “Black coffee and a frap for Lily?” the cute barista guy said. Announcing her name was just a formality, the barista had flirted with Lily at the till, he knew who she was and his eyes were bright as he handed her the drinks.

     She offered a small smile before rushing from the shop.

     She’d had a last minute spur of anxiety about showing up to her apprenticeship the first day without anything. She’d rather be on time with coffee than early and empty handed.

     Lily dodged around people on the street, her small frame making it easy, the large black denim flaring out behind her like a flag. She slowed down as she approached the parlour.

     Her palms were sweating and she could feel her heart practically beating out of her chest. She took a few deep breaths. When she’d applied to the apprenticeship she didn’t think she’d actually get in.

     Lily had always loved drawing and somewhere along the way she’d realized that the doodles in the margins of her textbooks could become something more. She’d been accepted to a pretty high end arts school and one of her teachers had brought up tattooing in a class.

     Lily had immersed herself, and a month later, had already given herself a stick and poke but it was nowhere near as pretty as she had wanted it to be.

     She’d become addicted to tattoos.

     By the time she’d finished at the arts school, she’d had numerous tattoos done, all floral, of course.

     Lily had found HoodTats on instagram in her second year and had been following his posts religiously since then. He only ever posted his art which was something she always appreciated, knowing that whenever that notification popped up on her phone, she’d be able to see a new piece from the artist as opposed to pictures non-art related.

     When he announced his apprenticeship reopening, Lily had worked her ass off, but had accepted the fact that she wouldn’t be chosen.

     When she’d gotten a call on Saturday morning and an aussie accent had told her she’d been chosen, Lily had dropped her phone to scream. Scrambling to grab her cell again, she and the man had exchanged a light hearted chuckle, and he’d given her info on what she needed to do. It had seemed so surreal, Lily was shocked she’d even been of sound mind enough to be able to jot down the information on her drawing pad.

     And now there she was, standing in front of the parlour.

     She stood there for a moment, just looking at the doors.

     “You going in or what?” a voice asked.

     Lily jumped, grip tightening on her coffee as she turned to look at the man who was standing next to her. She took in his strong jaw and golden skin, and she wet her lips absentmindedly, “yeah, sorry, I uh… fuck, I’m a little jittery today.”

     He hummed, eyes scanning her too, then he reached out and opened the door to the parlour for her. Lily offered a small smile and walked in, the gorgeous man following her inside.

     “Hey Cal.” the guy at the main desk said, looking up.

     The guy from behind Lily grunted in response, and Lily furrowed her eyebrows, Cal as in-

     “Hey!” the happy blonde grinned, drawing her thoughts away.

     “Hi.” Lily forced a smile, taking a deep breath, “I’m Lily-”

     “Right! The apprentice! You’re early!” the blonde said, “I’m Ashton!” he held out a hand and Lily haphazardly set the coffees down, wiping her hand on her pants to rid of the condensation that had marred her skin from the frappuccino.

     She shook Ashton’s hand, making an awkward face, “sorry, my skin is cold.”

     “No worries, you brought someone a coffee?” he asked.

     “Uh… I figured i should bring something so I bought a frappuccino-”

     “You mean the black coffee is for you?” the guy laughed.

     “Yeah-”

      “Offer Calum the black coffee, trust me.”

     Before Lily could respond a new guy came into the parlour from the back room and he walked over with a grin, “who’s this?” he asked.

     “Calum’s new apprentice.”

     “Lily.” she extended the hand to the pink haired guy.

     “No shit?!” the pink haired man grinned, “fuck, your art is amazing! I’m Michael!”

     He shook her hand aggressively but the light in his eyes told Lily that he was just excited, genuinely excited, to meet her.

     “I saw your florals? Damn, if you ever want a canvas, I have a whole leg that’s free and you can just fuck it up-”

     “Michael you’re scaring her.” Ashton tutted, nudging his friend.

     Michael looked between Ashton and Lily, “no I’m not! I’m not scaring you am I?”

     “You scare everyone.” the gorgeous guy from before had returned, and he leaned his hip against the counter. His leather jacket was gone, revealing a black v neck that was pulled tight against his strong chest. His arms were crossed, biceps bulging, arms littered in tattoos exposed and proud on his beautiful skin.

     “This is Lily, she’s your new apprentice.” Ashton stated.

     Lily’s eyes met Calum and she nearly swore in front of him… again. She’d just said fuck to him outside. To her new boss. She’d said fuck.

     Fuck.

     Calum looked her up and down again, taking in the oversized denim that nearly hid her tiny frame. Her jeans were black and ripped at the knees and her blonde hair was in a messy bun on top of her head, one haphazard strand in front of her face. She had high cheekbones and soft looking lips, eyes that were a molten chocolate brown peered up at him and freckles splattered her cute button nose.

     “So you’re the floral girl.” he said before he could help himself.

     She opened her mouth then shut it, grabbing the black coffee from the counter she held it out for him, “i got this for you.”

     Calum looked at it for a moment then accepted it, turning it over in his hands to look at what was written on the side.

     “Who’s Greg?” he asked.

     “What?”

     He showed her the cup. Written on the side was a phone number,  a heart, and the name Greg. “fuck.” Lily breathed, her eyes widened, “shit, I mean- fuck, not fuck, shit.”

     She hid her face with her hands and all three men grinned at her.

     “We don’t fucking care if you swear sweetheart, just as long as you keep it to a minimum in front of clients.” Michael assured her.

     “So who is Greg.” Ashton asked.

     “He’s the barista I guess. I don’t know, he was flirting with me but I didn’t check the cup.” Lily groaned loudly.

     “So… do you want the number?” Calum asked, offering the cup back to her.

     Lily grabbed the frappuccino, stepping back as she took a sip, shaking her head, “no fucking thank you.”

     Calum tried to stop himself from grinning.

     He liked her already.

-------

     Calum had to admit, Lily learned fast.

     He found that he only had to show her something once, and just like that, she knew what she was doing. The first week had been kind of rocky. Calum was a quiet guy by nature, and he could tell that it was making Lily anxious, although she never said anything.

     The first day in particular had been interesting.

     Every time she took a sip of her frappuccino, she’d make a face and Calum had found it amusing, until he found out from Ashton after she left that the black coffee that she’d given him had initially been for herself. The poor girl had been so worried about making a good impression that she’d forced down one of those too-sweet coffee monstrosities that Calum, an avid coffee drinker, would not have been caught dead drinking.

     Lily got flustered pretty easily which was endearing to him given the whole edgy look she was rocking like it was nobody's business.

     Wearing almost strictly black clothing that set off the gold of her hair, Calum may have described Lily as goth, but due to her lack of make up, maybe that was the wrong word. She was tiny, Calum always had to look down to meet her eyes, and she tried to hide behind oversized sweatshirts and jackets. She’d roll up the sleeves into large  bunches at her elbows while drawing, and she never seemed to be able to sit like a normal human being.

     Even on a stool, she’d find a way to tuck one leg underneath her, or use something nearby to rest a foot on.

     Calum had always been the type of guy to be quiet and watch, noticing the small things other people wouldn’t notice. Like the way Lily would focus entirely on a drawing, hands almost as steady as Calum’s, but the moment she was done, her long sleeves would be rolled down again and she’d begin to fidget.

     Lily was quiet too. Something Calum appreciated.

     She didn’t ask many questions which Calum enjoyed, but it did concern him a little. As her teacher, he wanted to make sure that he was actually teaching.

     He found himself asking “did that make sense?” or “do you understand?” more than he ever had in his life, always earning a small “yeah” or curt nod.

     He’d also noticed the small dimple, just one, on her left cheek, that would appear rarely but it always made him want to smile back whenever it did.

     Michael spent most of his free time talking to Lily, which Calum enjoyed, he was never one for small talk. Through Michael’s chats with Lily, Calum had learned that Lily had actually gone to art school. She’d been doodling all her life. She adored flowers, only partially because of her name (she wasn’t that pretentious.) But, the discussions were usually limited to art and tattoo related things, which Calum was beginning to find quite dry.

     He wanted to ask questions, but Calum wasn’t the type to pry. He was never appreciative of people asking him unwanted questions and Calum didn’t fancy himself to be a hypocrite.

    Besides, Calum was, in a way (in a lot of ways) her boss. And Calum was never the type to toe the line of professionalism. Which is why, when Michael suggested that Lily grab a drink with them after work, Calum thanked god for his best friend. 

     Lily had agreed and Calum was sure that it was for Michael’s sake, definitely not his own. After all, Calum hadn’t spoken two words together to the girl that weren’t work related.

     Besides, one of Calum’s artists had been traveling for a month and was finally coming home, so it would be a good chance for Lily to meet the guy outside of the parlour.

     Michael spent the entire day ranting about Luke and hyping him up to the point that if he wasn’t a six foot four, curly blonde, rockstar looking, douche bag, then Lily would have been very let down.

     After closing up the parlour, the three walked down the street to the bar. Calum opened the door for them and as they went inside, all of Lily’s expectations were met.

     Luke had already grabbed them a booth, and as they walked in, he leapt to his feet, coming over with open arms. He immediately engulfed Michael in a hug before turning to Lily, “you must be Cal’s new whipping girl!” he grinned, wrapping his arms around her next.

     Lily was small next to Michael and Cal but with Luke? She was absolutely miniscule. So Luke had no issue simply picking her up off the ground in a hug.

     A small squeal left Lily’s lips and everyone laughed.

     “Fuck. You’re not a hugger are you?” Luke asked, setting her back down. His hands went to her shoulders, bending down to meet her eyes as he looked at her with concern.

     “Uh… that was a hug?” she asked, laughing awkwardly.

     Michael laughed, “don’t mind Luke, he’s just a big teddy bear.”

     “Fuck off.” Luke said, shoving at Michael who grinned, throwing his arm over Luke’s shoulders as the two walked back to the table.

     “Wow, fuck Calum then.” Lily said, voice quiet.

     But Calum heard. And Calum laughed, “Luke can be a bit forgetful.”

     “I uh-” Lily flushed red and hid her face with her oversized sleeves, “I didn’t mean for you to hear that.”

     “It’s alright.” Calum assured her.

     “I just… he didn’t even look at you.” Lily stammered, “god, I would be so worried if one of my friends snubbed me like that-”

     “He didn’t snub me.” Calum said a tad too sternly, and it made Lily shut her worried, anxious, stammering mouth. She looked at him with wide eyes and Calum sighed, seeing the hurt in the chocolate brown irises. “Sorry I snapped at you I-”

     “No it’s fine.” her eyes had widened and her hands were up and waving, sort of distracting Calum actually, as she ranted about how she always swore too much and needed to learn not to always say what was on her mind, even if she whispered it and didn’t expect anyone to hear, not that Calum was being nosey, he was standing there anyways so he was definitely not being nosey-

     “Do you drink?” Calum asked, rubbing the back of his neck uncomfortably as he looked down at Lily.

     “Are you offering to buy me a drink?” Lily asked.

     Calum stared at her for a moment and that's all it took for Lily to freak out again, getting even redder as she hid her face, “holy fuck! Shit! You see? I have a problem. That was way too flirty. You’re my boss! Wow. I am way too anxious to function, this is such a mess-”

     “I’m going to get you a drink.” Calum stated before she could continue, moving past her to the bar and leaving her standing there wanting to die.

     “What’s the deal with that?” Luke asked, tilting his chin towards where Lily and Calum had just been standing.

     “So the new girl Lily is an anxious little muffin nugget and Cal is…”

     “Cal.” Luke finished for him, making them both laugh, “she’s cute.”

     “Yeah, and just wait till you see her fucking art!” Michael grinned, “she’s talented, just Calum’s type.”

     Lily had managed to contain herself again, walking over to the table where Michael made room for her, “who’s Calum’s type?” she asked.

     “No one-” Michael began to say as Luke stated “you.”

     Lily’s breath caught in her throat as she looked between the two men sitting in the booth. Michael was gaping at Luke but Luke was grinning, attention deliberately entirely focused on Lily.

     “That is very inappropriate Luke.” Michael tutted.

     “Why?”

     “He’s her boss-”

     “Not really.” Luke said.

     “Sort of though.” Michael argued.

     “Eh, is he really though?” Luke narrowed his eyes at Michael.

     Before Michael could answer Calum came back, a Guinness in each hand. He set one down in front of Lily, “hope you like-”

     “Guinness!? My favourite!” Lily smiled.

     “Yeah, figured you like black coffee-”

     “You like black coffee?” Luke made a face at Lily, “wow, you and Cal really are meant to be.”

     “Luke!” Michael screamed.

     “What?!” Luke threw his hands on the air.

     “You left for a month and you have no filter!” Michael shouted.

     “I never had a filter!” Luke pointed out.

     Michael groaned, “fuck, it’s true, you got me there. Damn it.” he turned to look at Lily, “I’m so sorry, Luke’s not used to being around girls.”

     “Yes I am!” Luke insisted, “all the girls love me-”

     “Oh yeah? Then why the fuck are you still single?” Michael asked.

     Lily and Calum both grabbed their drinks in unison, watching Luke and Michael fight.

     “I’m single because a man like me shouldn’t be tied down!” Luke stated.

     “Pfff, sure it has nothing to do with the whole ‘oh I don’t believe in love’ thing?” Michael asked.

     “If you want to talk not believing in love, go fight Calum!” Luke said, motioning towards the silently sitting artist, “he’s the douchebag who thinks that shit doesn’t exist, not me!”

     All eyes went to Calum.

     He set down his Guinness, tattooed, ring clad fingers sliding along the condensation covered glass, a moment passed, “so is someone going to ask me something or are you all just going to stare at me?”

     “You don’t believe in love?” Lily asked.

     “Well when you put it like that-” Calum sighed.

    “How else would you put it Cal?” Luke smirked.

     He thought about it for a moment then grinned, bringing his drink to his lips, “touche.”

     “How about you flower baby, what’s your vibe on that crazy little thing called love?” Luke asked.

     “‘Flower baby’ I like it!” Michael grinned, turning his gaze to the only girl there.

     “Well that’s a loaded question.” Lily said, shrinking under their gaze.

     “You’re single right?” Michael asked.

     “Michael.” Calum warned.

     “What? I can ask her that sort of thing, I’m not her boss, plus we were all thinking it.” Michael said.

     “Michael, this is bordering sexual harassment.” Calum stated, “Lily if you’re uncomfortable-”

     “I’m always uncomfortable.” she interjected.

     “You don’t have to answer their questions.” he told her.

     Lily took a deep breath, “no, I should try to not be so shy all the time.”

     “Good for you, cheers to that.” Luke said, lifting the bottle of beer he’d had since before they’d arrived, “so tell us all your secrets.”

     “My money’s on single.” Michael stated.

     “Why?” Lily laughed.

     “Cuz if you had a boyfriend there’s no way in hell he wouldn’t have already come to the shop to check us out and make sure none of us are threats.” Michael answered.

     “And then, he’d show up and fight Calum-” Luke continued.

     “Can you both leave me out of this?” Calum interjected.

     “But Cal-”

     “Maybe just stop saying my name how about that?” Calum sighed.

     Luke groaned loudly, “you’re lame.”

     “So you two are friends right?” Lily asked.

     “Yeah, why do you ask?” Luke said, taking a sip of his beer.

     Lily grinned and Michael laughed, “they have a very complicated relationship.” he assured her.

     “Your mom and I have a complicated relationship.” Luke quipped.

     “How long have you been here buddy?” Michael asked.

     “A while.”

     “How much have you had to drink?”

     “A lot.”

     Michael groaned, “man, I haven’t even had a beer yet and I’m already going to have to take you home aren’t I?”

     “I’m fine.” Luke laughed.

     “That’s your awkward ‘I’m totally not fine’ laugh.” Michael sighed, “okay man, lets go.”

     “But we can’t leave Cal and the flower child.” Luke groaned.

     “I’m sure they’ll be fine.” Michael said, pulling Luke to his feet.

     “But I like flower girl.” Luke whined.

     “And you’ll see her at work on Monday when you’re sober.” Michael pointed out.

     “Promise?” Luke asked.

     “Promise.” Michael said, Luke finally allowing himself to be dragged closer to the door, he turned back and looked at Calum and Lily who were both watching him, “tell them to use protection Michael, we don’t need a tattoo parlour baby.”

     “I’m sure they’ll be fine.”

     Luke was not satisfied with this answer, turning to look at Cal and Lily he screamed “use protection!” and half the bar turned to look at the two still sitting in the booth.

     Lily flushed immediately and Calum sighed, “we can just finish our drinks and go.” he suggested.

     Lily took a sip of her Guinness, “eager to get rid of me?” she asked.

     Calum’s grip tightened on his glass, “look, this was probably a mistake, I’m your teacher and this feels inappropriate, especially with how Michael and Luke have been acting-”

     “Have you taken your other apprentices out for drinks before?”

     “Yeah-”

     “So it’s because I’m a girl.” Lily stated.

     Calum groaned. He was not a sexist guy. He wasn’t. Which is why he even did applications blind, so that he wouldn’t treat people differently. And now here he was, treating his apprentice differently because she was a woman. A cute woman. Fuck.

     “Shit.” Calum said, “I feel like such a jackass.”

     “Is it…” Lily sighed.

     “Is it what?”

     Lily covered her face in her hands, “fuck, now I’m making this awkward.” she peeked at Calum, “I’m going to just say it and we can pretend it never happened, we should pretend this whole night didn’t happen to be honest, like, I don’t know what the fuck has come over me today but… Luke and Michael are throwing me off big time, and, shit, is it… is it because I’m your type? Is that why you’re being so weird? Like, Michael said you’re a quiet guy but this feels more personal you know?”

     “I’m just… i haven't had a female apprentice before and I guess I’m not used to it.” Calum studied her and then realized that he’d pretty much just stated that she wasn’t his type, which was a lie, and if there was one thing Calum Hood wasn’t, it was a liar, “not that you’re not my type, you are, I mean, shit, I’m your boss, sort of, and being professional is kinda my thing-”

     “You’re very professional.” Lily assured him.

     “I just bought you a beer, probably shouldn’t have done that-”

     “I won’t tell the head of the tattooist apprenticeship board or whatever if you don’t.” Lily sighed, “Look. don’t treat me differently. I don’t want this to be so awkward, i want to be friends, after all, when this is all over i will legitimately be putting a tattoo of my choosing on your body so we should be friends don’t you think?”

     “I just don’t want to make you uncomfortable-” Calum winced.

     “If you do, I’ll tell you, how about that?” she asked.

     He considered it, “deal.”

     They finished their Guinnesses quickly, standing and walking to the entryway to the bar, “well, how far from here do you live?” Calum asked.

     “A little ways away, why?”

     “I mean, should I offer to walk you home?” Calum tested.

     “Would you offer that to your other apprentices?”

     “Probably not.”

     “Then no.”

     “Okay well uh… get home safe then yeah?”

     “Will do. I’m a big girl.” Lily grimaced immediately, “wow that sounded so weird. I’ll uh… I’ll see you at work on Monday.”

     “Yeah.”

     Calum almost went in for a hug. His brain was so frazzled. Whenever he took a girl out to a bar they were usually on a date and normally, if he wasn’t interested in taking them home, he’d give them a hug just to say ‘goodbye, never gonna call you again.’

     Lily also awkwardly looked like she was about to go in for a hug and they both kind of stumbled awkwardly until Lily thrust out her hand and Calum laughed, shaking it, “uh, have a good night.”

     “You too.”

     As they both turned and went opposite ways down the street they were both cringing. It was very obvious to them that she was his apprentice and they were two weeks into an apprenticeship that could take more than two years.

     They were fucked.

-------

     On Monday, Lily and Calum showed up to work fully intending to stay true to their agreement to forget the awkwardness of Friday ever happened, and have Calum treat her like every other apprentice he’d had.

     After a bit of small talk with Luke, Michael and Ashton, Calum’s first client arrived and he called Lily over to watch. Calum was very focused when he tattooed, staying completely silent as he worked, which left it up to Lily to make conversation with the clients.

     Calum enjoyed listening to Lily chat with clients. She was always so anxious around him, but she relaxed a little bit more around other people. She almost seemed easy going, and if Cal didn’t know her, he would have even gone as far to describe her as an extrovert.

     She’d make a great tattoo artist. Always calming down and distracting clients.

     Calum almost began getting critical of himself because damn, did he not talk enough with clients? No one had ever complained before so Calum pushed the thought aside. 

     Calum realized that if he simply didn’t look at Lily, he could teach her better, not get distracted by her pretty freckles or her gorgeous brown eyes-

     It worked for a week.

     But because it worked, Lily got more comfortable.

     It had been a full month when Lily finally got so comfortable that she took off her oversized, black denim jacket for the first time.

     It was getting hotter outside, summer quickly approaching, and Lily was wearing a black tank top that exposed her arms and shoulders. As she slipped the the denim off and put it on a chair, Calum’s breath caught in his throat. Delicate tattoos littered the skin from elbow to shoulder, two beautiful half sleeves that he had no idea she’d had.

     In classic Lily fashion, the tattoos were all black.

     As Calum studied them he realized, “wait, did you… did you tattoo some of these onto yourself?” the art was undeniably Lily.

     Lily’s skin flushed, “yeah, iI uh… I bought a tattoo gun a while ago and figured I’d test it on myself.”

     “So that’s why your lines are so good already, you’ve literally been practicing on yourself.” Calum would have laughed if it wasn’t so hard core.

     “Yeah.” Lily laughed, “I mean, I think they turned out alright.” she looked down at the flowers on her left arm, “the ones on this side are better because I’m right handed, I practiced with my left for ages with paper but it just wasn’t the same so only this peony is mine,” she motioned to a small, delicate flower on her right arm, “everything else was done by other artists I’ve been into for a while.”

     Calum recognized the artwork on her right arm, “that was done by Cole.” Cole had been his second apprentice.

     “Yeah, he managed to convince me to get a full half sleeve from him so this is all his.”

     “Sounds like Cole.” Calum grinned, pulling up the sleeve of his shirt to the shoulder to show her the dragon, “he gave me this one, originally he wanted to take up my whole back but I had to draw the line with that one.”

     “Yeah, he wanted my whole arm but I told him just above the elbow.”

     “Would you ever get your forearms done?”

     “Hmm, probably not, but I have an idea for my thigh-” before she could go into more details, Calum’s client arrived and the conversation was cut short.

     That day was particularly difficult. Calum just wanted to gawk at her tattoos. She had been a ten before but now? Wow. Calum had a thing for tattoos and the whole thing about Lily tattooing herself was… well, Calum’s pants were getting a bit tight just thinking about it.

     It was around one o'clock when Ashton got a cancelation call from one of Calum’s clients. Calum didn’t mind, there was a deposit for half the cost anyways and it meant he had an hour of free time. Calum sent Ashton for lunch which meant he and Lily were manning the reception desk.

     Lily was drawing flowers while Calum watched. He didn’t have any floral tattoos and he had been curious from day one what they would look like on his skin. “Do you want to try drawing that on me?” he suggested.

     “Uh… are you sure?” Lily asked.

     “Yeah, you need practice drawing on people, last time you did, the woman said your hands were cold after.” Calum pointed out.

     “Shit.” Lily immediately put down her pencil and began rubbing her palms together to warm them up.

     “Here.” Calum handed her a black sharpie.

     “Do you want a floral tattoo?”

     “I’ve never wanted one before but... I dunno, your flowers are really nice.”

     “Thanks.” Lily flushed, “so your forearm?”

     Calum arms were pretty tatted as it was but his left was more covered than his right so he offered up the arm, gesturing to medium sized unmarked patch, “yeah, probably here.”

     “Any flowers in specific?” she asked.

     “What’s your specialty?”

     Lily chuckled, looking up at him for a moment as she twirled the sharpie between her fingers, “a lily. But I do a great chrysanthemum or peony.”

     “I only know what lilies look like so surprise me with one of the other ones.” Calum said. He liked surprises.

     “Well I showed you my peony so-”

     “So the other one.”

     “A chrysanthemum.”

     “Yeah. That.”

     Lily took Calum’s offered arm, putting it on the table as she took the top off of the sharpie. “Free handing is okay?” she clarified.

     “Go for it.” Calum said, watching as she too the first swipe of black ink over his arm.

     “So you mentioned earlier you had an idea for your thigh?”

     “Yeah, I was thinking of getting a few big chrysanthemums actually, but I haven’t found anyone who can draw them right.” Lily explained.

     “Why don’t you just do it yourself.” Calum teased.

     “Cuz it would hurt like a bitch.” Lily answered, “oh, you were joking.”

     “A little.”

     He watched her drawing the petals, “you know, not to rain on your parade or anything but I feel like I could probably draw a… whatever flower that is.”

     “Chrysanthemum.”

    “You know maybe if you wrote that down I’d be able to pronounce it.”

     Lily grinned. She made it look so easy and Calum studied how she drew each delicate petal. Calum Hood didn’t do flowers, but there was something endearing about how delicate and deliberate each petal was.

     After a few minutes she finished, “there. What do you think?”

     It did look really good. And again, Calum Hood did not do floral. “yeah.”

     He pulled out his art pad and began to try to copy her work and Lily watched, “more curve here and here.” she said, correcting his lines.

     Calum grinned, “so the student becomes the teacher.”

      Lily flushed, “well, I mean, it’s always been a dream to have you tattoo me, which sounds way awkward saying that out loud but you don’t do floral.”

     “I’m doing floral now.” Calum pointed out.

     “Still not curved enough.” Lily corrected another petal.

     Calum groaned, pulling out another piece of paper to draw a new flower. As he drew, Lily only corrected it twice, and on the third drawing, not at all. Calum held up the paper smugly.

     “It looks great.” Lily said.

     “So you’ll let me tattoo it on you.”

     “Uh…” Lily laughed awkwardly, “I mean, you drew one but I’m going for something a little bigger-”

      No one had ever turned down a tattoo from Calum Hood, it was a challenge and Calum liked challenges, “how about this, by the end of the week if I can free hand a bunch of these flowers-”

     “Chrysanthemums.”

     “If I can freehand a bunch of these cruh-san-the-memes-”

     “Nice try.”

     Calum groaned loudly, “if I can draw them and you like them you’ll let me tat you.”

     “Aren’t I supposed to be the one tatting you when this is all over?” Lily asked.

     “Are you seriously going to turn down a tattoo from me?” Calum laughed.

     Lily considered it, “fine, but I’m not going to say yes just because you’re you.”

     “Fine.”

--------

     In secret, Calum spent an embarrassingly copious amount of time looking at pictures of chrysanthemums online. He’d even trained on how to say ‘chrysanthemum.’ He’d drawn so many god damned flowers over the week that it almost annoyed him that he actually enjoyed drawing them.

     On Friday morning, Calum showed up to work with with his top three ideas. He was anxious his entire first client, wanting time to show Lily his work and see if she liked them. As soon as the man had paid and left, Calum took out the art to show Lily.

     “Okay, what do you think?” he asked.

     He was never worried about what people thought of his work.

     People always adored his designs. Hell, people flew in from all over the world to let him free hand an original design on their body to be permanently inked forever.

     Lily scanned the flowers, “wow, these look super real, did you look them up?”

     “No.” Calum said immediately.

     Lily smiled and Calum knew that she knew he was lying.

     She looked at one of the sketches, “this one is so pretty.”

     It was one of the bigger ones but Calum supposed that's what she’d asked for, “so… you’ll let me tattoo you?”

     Having Calum tattoo her had been a dream for years so of course Lily knew she was about to say yes. Especially since she had wanted something outside of his comfort zone and it was obvious that he’d put a lot of effort into making something she’d like. It was making Lily’s heart beat faster and she nodded, “you can tattoo me.”

     Calum’s eyes lit up, “great, after work?”

     “After work?”

     “Yeah.”

     “That’s kind of sudden isn’t it?”

     “Well, I mean, if you want another time-”

     “No, after work… works.” Lily said, giggling awkwardly, “I don’t have cash on me-”

     Calum’s eyebrows furrowed, “I’m not charging you.”

     “You have to charge me.”

     “No I don’t.” Calum insisted.

     “Cal, I know how much people pay for your tattoos.” Lily sighed.

     “It’s on the house.”

     Before Lily could argue further, Calum’s next client showed up.

     The next six hours were busy, with Lily and Cal speaking barely two words to each other. Lily’s adrenaline was pumping. She always got excited before a tattoo and this was exciting. More exciting than she wanted to admit.

     As the clock ticked down to closing, Lily got more and more fidgety.

     It was just her and Cal left in the shop, not that she spent much time with the other artists since she stayed glued to Calum’s side, watching him work, all day every day.

     After collecting payment from the last client, Cal turned off the open sign, walking back to Lily, “you still want the tat?”

     “Yeah.”

     “Okay, you get ready and I’ll grab the shit.” Calum walked to his work space in the back corner of the shop.

     Lily followed, taking a deep breath before she began to unbutton her pants.

     “You still sure on the-” Calum turned and his voice trailed off, “placement?” his eyes went to where Lily was unzipping her jeans and pushing them down. Lily felt awkward but when did she not? Plus, Calum had tattooed many people in his life so this wouldn’t be much different.

     Calum’s breath was caught in his throat as his eyes traced over the black lacy panties she was wearing.

     “So I’m thinking here.” Lily said, motioning to her upper thigh, “I want it to curve in just a little inner.”

     “Right.” Cal coughed, “let me draw it on and if you don’t like it we can move it-”

     “Calum, I know the drill.”

     “Right.” Calum grabbed his sharpie as Lily kicked off her shoes and pants, taking off her jacket and rolling up her shirt a little. Calum returned and got onto his knees, looking up at Lily one last time, “ready?”

     “You’re just drawing it, this isn’t even the hard part.”

     Calum nodded, “so under the underwear line or-”

     Lily flushed, pulling up her panties a little, “just under the hip bone.”

     The sharpie pressed against her skin and Lily tried to look anywhere but at the gorgeous tattooed man on his knees between her bare legs.

     Calum was right handed and working on her left leg, so to steady her, he had to place his other hand on the inside of her leg, delicately moving the skin a little when necessary. His fingers on her bare flesh was making Lily dizzy.

     Calum traced the lines across her thigh, trying to focus all his attention on working and not on how pretty her skin was. And how close he was to-

     “So you must see women half naked all the time right?” Lily asked.

     “Yeah.” Calum said.

     “What’s the nudest you’ve ever done?”

     “This one girl wanted something on her pubic bone which I told her was a bad idea but she really wanted it, we were in a back room for privacy and when I came in she was completely naked-”

     “Then what happened?”

     “Well, I gave her something to cover herself up and she was super awkward the whole time.”

     “I can imagine.” Lily laughed.

     She could feel his breath on her inner thigh and Lily’s skin involuntarily broke out in goosebumps, “you cold?” Calum asked.

     “Yeah but it’s fine.” Lily lied.

     Calum hummed and continued working until the drawing was done, “okay, go look in the mirror.” he said, standing up and following Lily to see if she liked it.

     Her eyes scanned over it and Calum waited patiently, arms crossed over his chest.

     “It’s beautiful.” Lily breathed.

     “Chrysanthemums are beautiful.”

     “How long did it take for you to figure out how to say chrysanthemums?”

     “Too long.” Calum admitted.

     “Okay, lets do it. You’ll get the basic lines done today and then shading after work on Monday or something?”

     “Do you want to split it up into two parts?” Calum asked.

     “Don’t you think this will take a while if you try to do it all today?”

     “Yeah.”

     “I figured you might have plans tonight-”

      “Why?”

     “Well, its a Friday night.” Lily pointed out.

     “So?”

     “So maybe you have a date? I don’t know-”

     “Do you have a date?”

     “No-”

     “Great, so let’s do this all tonight.” Calum stated, “we can order take out half way through or some shit, or after, it's up to you.”

     “Take out after sounds good, there’s this place down the street with amazing-”

     “Shawarma, fuck, love that place.”

      “Me too.” Lily grinned, “okay, I’ll sit down then.”

     She got onto the chair and set herself up so Calum could access her inner thigh while Calum pulled on some gloves, sat on his stool, and picked up the tattoo gun.

     Lily looked at the ceiling as the sound of buzzing began.

     The first feeling of the needle piercing her skin made her sigh and Calum smirked, “you good?”

     “I uh… kind of like the pain, that sounds wild, shit, I didn’t mean it in like a sexual way or anything-” Lily began to stammer.

     “No, I like it too.” Calum said, cutting her off.

     Lily wanted to distract herself from the flush that she knew was creeping over her skin, and It was going to take a while so she pulled out her phone, “can we listen to music?”

     “Go for it.” Calum said, focusing on his lines. He didn’t talk during tats anyways so music always helped.

     Some old rock music began to play from Lily’s phone and Calum smirked, “nirvana.”

     “You like Nirvana?” Lily asked.

     “All the old stuff is great.” Calum said.

     “Nine inch nails is pretty good, Nirvana, Guns and roses-”

     “Where have you been all my life.” Calum teased.

    ��Lily smiled, a tingly feeling in her stomach almost distracting from the needle.

     A particularly sensitive spot made Lily grab at the side of the chair and Calum noticed. His jaw clenched. Pain was part of tattooing and he never felt bad about it but there was something about Lily being in pain and him being the direct cause, even though it was his job, that was hurting him.

     “Deep breaths sweetheart.” Calum said before he could help himself, the term of endearment slipping out before he could stop it.

     Lily sighed, “can you distract me?”

     “The music isn’t distracting enough?” he asked.

     “Not really.” Lily winced, “shit, why did I think the inner thigh was a good idea? I knew it would hurt like a bitch-”

     “It will look great.” Calum assured her.

     “It will.” Lily agreed.

     She could feel his breath again and she tried to focus on that but as she felt the butterflies in her stomach, she realized maybe that was not the best idea. Having him so close to her, just inches away from where she was positive he could just bury his mouth and send her over the edge in seconds-

     “What the fuck?!”

     Calum pulled the tattoo gun away, looking at Michael who had just entered the shop, “Michael! Jesus fuck man you can’t just be surprising people who are in the middle of giving tattoos!”

     “Shit, sorry,” Michael apologize, “it just… it looked like you two were… well, Calum it looked like you were-”

     “Michael. Don’t say it.” Calum warned.

     They all knew what he was implying.

     “I’m going to continue alright?” Calum asked, drawing Lily’s eyes to his. She nodded.

     He started up the gun again and pressed it to her skin, again Lily winced and Michael walked over. “That looks sick already.” he stated.

     “Hold her hand.” Calum instructed.

     “What?”

     “Hold her fucking hand.” Calum said again.

     Michael reached out and took Lily’s hand which she immediately squeezed. “So Cal, flowers, since when did you start doing flowers?”

     “It’s what she wanted.” Calum answered.

     “I just didn’t know you were a fan of flowers.”

     “Chrysanthemums are dope Mike.” Calum said.

     “You’re wild.” Michael laughed.

     Michael pulled up a chair and sat with the two of them for the next three hours, successfully distracting Lily while Calum worked quietly. It was nice to listen to Michael talk because Calum could feel himself straining against his pants and he needed a turn off, like Michael’s voice.

     Calum was finishing up when Michael had to go, once again leaving Lily and Calum alone.

     “So do you have a skirt or something?” Calum asked.

     “No?”

     “Oh.”

     “Girls don’t just carry around skirts.”

     “Right.”

     “I mean, you’re going to be really sensitive and your jeans might hurt-”

     “Fuck. How come I didn’t think of that? I’m such a shit tattooist.” Lily groaned.

     Calum wiped her skin to get the remaining ink away, cleaning the area, “let me put the bandage on then I might have a shirt in the back you can wear as a dress because you’re small.”

     Lily stayed quiet as Calum smoothed the see through bandage over her skin. He stood up and went to the back, returning a minute later with a shirt that he handed to Lily, “here.”

     She looked at it, “Zeppelin, you have good taste.”

     Lily stood up on wonky legs, grabbing the hem of her shirt as she lifted it over her head. Calum looked away but the brief glimpse of a matching black lace bra made his breath catch again.

     “Okay, I’m decent.” Lily said in a quiet voice.

     Calum looked at the way the shirt hung like a dress down to her mid thigh. She looked adorable slipping on her adidas. She could make any outfit work.

     “Still hungry?” she asked.

     “Yeah.”

     “You’re sure I can’t force you to take money for this?” Lily sighed.

     “No way. How do you feel?”

     “It hurts a little but you were right about not having the added pressure of jeans.” Lily said, “so… let me grab my stuff then we can get food.”

     Calum cleaned up the station while Lily put all her clothes into her bag, taking one look at the tattoo in the mirror and admiring his handy work. She couldn’t wait till she could take off the bandage and see it clearly but she knew it was beautiful.

     Calum met her at the front of the shop and locked up. The night was warm, the first breath of summer having swept over the city that day, lingering in the air.

     They walked in silence down the street to the shawarma place.

     They both ordered the same thing, once again proving how much they had in common. When Calum pulled out his wallet, Lily thrust a twenty at the man at the till, “I’m paying for all of it.” she stated.

     “Don’t take her money-” Calum warned the guy.

     But Lily glared him down, “sorry man.” the vender said, taking the twenty.

     Calum sighed and the two of them waited for their wraps to be made. When handed the warm food, Lily stated: “there’s a park close by and we could sit on a bench and eat or something.”

     “Good idea.” Calum said.

     They began to eat their wraps as they walked, staying mostly quiet but Lily was oddly okay with that. She usually got fidgety with silence and at first, that had applied to Calum, but sometime in the past little while, the awkwardness that usually came with lack of conversation had disappeared.

     They sat on the park bench and ate, chatting a little. Easy conversation about apprenticeships. Calum was confident that Lily wouldn’t need as long as the others had which made Lily’s heart race. “You’re really talented.” he assured her, “wouldn’t surprise me if you’d be good to go in under a year actually.”

     “I didn’t realize you could just choose how long the apprenticeship is.”

      “Well, I mean, usually there are rules, but I think at the end of the day it’s based on my decision. And I could offer you a job at the parlour so that way, its sort of still like an apprenticeship.”

     “You’d hire me? Just like that?” Lily asked.

     “You’re really good Lily.” he stated, “I knew it the second I saw your application. And so did Michael.”

     They chatted about how he got into tattooing.

     They chatted until it began to get cold and Lily began to shiver. She pulled out her large denim jacket and seeing her in two things that were way too large was almost too much for Calum in some odd way.

     He tried not to look at her but it was very difficult.

     Especially her legs. God, he adored her legs already.

     “So I should get going.” Lily said when it got to be around ten.

     “Yeah me too.” Calum said as they both stood.

     Again, there was an awkward moment of whether or not they should hug.

     Calum’s self control disappeared as he wrapped his arms around the smaller artist, pulling her against his chest. She hugged back, cheek pressed against his front for a moment before they both pulled away, “get home safe.” he said, voice low and crackly as he cleared his throat.

     “I will.”

     They turned and went their separate ways with smiles on their faces.

----

     On Monday, Lily walked into the shop with a short little leather skirt that, once again, had Calum’s pants getting insanely tight. She breezed in with a smile and a wave to Ashton and Michael who were gawking at her from the reception desk, walking straight to Calum. “So I took the bandage off!” she grinned.

     “Let’s see.” Calum said, scooting forward on his stool with a smile. And then, Lily simply lifted up her skirt, completely flashing him a new, adorable, red and black lace thong that took Calum’s attention a moment too long before he had to force his eyes to the tattoo.

     “How’s your aftercare?” he asked.

     Lily rolled her eyes, “my aftercare is on point Hood.”

     He chuckled, “stop flashing me.”

     “Fuck, right.” Lily pulled down her skirt, red spreading over her delicate collar bones.

     The first few hours were insanely difficult for Calum. It was like every spare moment, his brain would think about those god damned lacy panties.

     Instead of taking a lunch break, Lily went up front with Ashton. Calum’s gaze was on her, watching them chat.  He didn’t even notice Luke pull his chair over to be next to Calum as Calum waited for his next client.

     “So you shouldn’t be looking because in a way, you’re her boss but I can look for you.” Luke stated.

     Calum rolled his eyes but tore his gaze away, knowing Luke was right about some things and unfortunately this was one of them.

     He had to be professional.

     He had to be.

     Another week passed and Calum managed to keep his eyes away from the gorgeous blonde and her little skirts. He was almost too good at keeping it professional and his friends noticed.

     Luke, Ashton and Michael were at a bar after work when Michael brought it up, “so we need to do something about Lily and Cal.”

     “What do you mean?” Luke asked.

     “They need to fuck.” Michael stated, “like, I can’t focus with all the sexual tension.”

     “Cal won’t act on it.” Ashton said, and they all knew he was right.

     Michael groaned, “fuck, I know, we need to make him act on it.”

     “How?” Luke laughed.

     And that's how Michael's mission began.

     His plans were never good.

     He took Lily and Cal to a bar then excused himself to go to the bathroom ten minutes in.

     He never came back.

     Calum had sighed when it became obvious Michael had dipped out, coming up with the only thing he could think of to talk about, “so… netflix.”

     Turned out they were both horror movie fans and they’d sat and chatted and agreed about everything for two hours before Calum finally suggested they head out, it was obvious that the yawning girl in front of him was tired from her long day at work.

     Calum caught onto Michael’s plan pretty fast and Michael spent many hours coming up with new ways to get Lily and Cal together outside of work.

     It was another month before Michael suggested that he needed a workout buddy.

     Calum had cocked an eyebrow at him, “you want to work out?”

     “Yeah.” Michael tried to sound excited about it but it lacked conviction, “hey, Lily, do you work out?”

     “I go for a run every now and again.” she answered, focusing on her drawing.

     “A run! That sounds…” for a moment he looked like he was going to try to be enthusiastic but then he broke, “I mean it sounds like torture but I need one I think.”

     “Thats something I’d like to see.” Calum chuckled.

     “We should all go for a run.”

     “I’m in.” Lily said absentmindedly.

     Calum’s gaze flickered to her then to Michael who was waiting expectantly. He knew it was another ploy but he couldn’t pass up the opportunity to see Michael in workout gear. “Fine, I’ll come too.”

     “Great! Sunday morning?”

----

     Michael did not show up on Sunday morning. He sent a text saying he’d meet the pair half way through their run at the park and that they should go without him.

     It was a beautiful morning. The day promised to be hot but the morning was cool, sun shining against the morning dew on the grass.

     The two began to jog and stayed quiet as they ran.

     It wasn’t a surprise when Michael didn’t show up at the halfway mark.

     In fact, neither of them even noticed.

     As the morning began to get warmer, they were both sweating and Calum finally suggested they stop. LIly collapsed onto a park bench pulling out her water bottle as Calum took off his shirt that was practically soaked.

     He groaned at the feel of the air on his newly revealed skin and Lily nearly choked on her water at his gorgeous chest which was covered in tattoos, and perfectly muscular.

     “Your tattoos-” she began.

     Calum looked down at her, “you like them?”

     “They’re beautiful, can… can I-” she began to ask awkwardly.

     “Yeah, look as much as you want.” he stepped forward so he could be closer, giving her a better view as she began with the tattoos just under his collar bones.

     He explained each one as she went down, watching her focus completely on the black marks that littered his skin.

     By the time she got to his abdomen, Lily was surprised she wasn’t drooling. Completely bewitched by each tattoo and the story that came with it.

     There was one particular tattoo, just above the waistband of his shorts, and it was so delicately intricate and beautiful, she couldn’t even help herself as she reached out and brushed her fingers against his skin.

     His abs immediately flexed, Calum having not expected her prying digits, Lily pulled away immediately, “oh my god I’m so sorry-”

     “It’s fine.” Calum assured her, knowing another anxiety ridden stammering rant was coming on, “I just wasn’t expecting that.”

     She was already blushing like crazy and Calum was sure it wasn’t from being hot from the run, “hey, would you look at the time!” Lily said, pulling out her phone, “I have places to be.”

     “Yeah me too.” Calum lied.

     “Well! Nice run!” Lily stood abruptly. There was no awkward move for a hug, they both simply turned opposite ways and ran.

     Lily’s heart was racing in her chest. She hadn’t meant to touch him, she just hadn’t been able to help herself. God. He was so fucking hot. She couldn’t even deal with it anymore.

     She’d had recurring dreams for over a week of having Calum between her legs like when he was giving her the tattoo, but in her dreams he always had a very different reason for being there.

     Likewise, Calum had been so god damned close to letting her explore him with her hands. Her fingers had felt so good. It was insane that her touch had brought electricity coursing through his body like nothing, even the sting of a tattoo gun, had ever done before.

     As soon as Calum got home he ran a cold shower, letting the water run over his body but even the shock of the temperature couldn’t distract him. He was in deep already, and he knew it.

----

     The others all watched as Lily and Calum interacted the next day.

     “The sexual tension is so thick you could cut it with a knife.” Ashton pointed out.

     “Do you think anything happened?” Luke asked, taking a bite out of his cucumber.

     “I am one hundred percent confident my plan worked.” Michael stated.

     “You wanna put money on it?” Luke grinned.

     “Fuck yeah, twenty bucks says they fucked.” Michael scoffed.

     “Deal.” Luke pushed off of the reception table and walked towards Cal and Lily who were going over the client list for the day. “Cal, I need to ask you something.” he said.

     “Go for it.” Calum said, not even looking up.

     “Privately.”

     Calum sighed, standing and following Luke to the reception desk, “what do you want?”

     “We want to know if you finally made a move yesterday.” Luke whispered.

     “Fuck are you guys serious?!” Calum groaned, “I am not talking about this.”

     He turned and walked back to Lily.

     “You owe me twenty.” Luke stated.

     “What? No I don’t!” Michael screamed.

     “Nothing happened. He’s all wound up still. Nothing happened.”

     “He’s got you there.” Ashton pointed out.

     “Whose side are you even on you traitor?” Michael glared at Ashton while pulling out his wallet. He handed Luke a twenty.

      It had to be, by far, the hardest day for Calum (in more ways than one.)

     All he could think about was getting her fingers on his skin again.

     He managed to get through most of the day but as the others cleared out until it was just him and Lily, once again, he was in a tough situation.

     His last client listened to music with earphones the whole tattoo, leaving Calum and Lily to silence.

     He was hyper aware of her as she watched him do the more difficult shading.

     He let her wipe away the excess ink and put on the bandage, “you deal with this, I’ll be in the back, there’s a room that needs to be cleaned-”

     “The private room? Michael cleaned it after he did that girls tit tattoo.”

     “Like I said, it needs to be cleaned a little more.” Calum said.

     She watched him go into the back and took the client to the front, taking his payment. The guy left and she locked the front door, turning off the open sign before going to find Calum in the back.

     She found him in the private room, standing tall as he wiped down a table. She could only see his back but damn was it a pretty back.

     Her heart was thundering in her chest.

     She knew what she wanted.

     And the logical part of Lily told her that he wanted it too, but the anxious little nugget side wondered ‘what if he doesn’t and you’re about to straight up try to get  in your boss’s pants?’

     It was a risk.

     And Lily did not take risks.

     But shit, she couldn’t help herself anymore.

     Calum set down the cloth and turned to look at Lily, “you’re done for the day, you can go home.” he said, arms crossing over his broad chest, the tattoos covering his forearms looking absolutely delicious.

     “Can I show you my tattoo? Its healed so nicely-”

     Calum cocked an eyebrow at her, “go for it.”

     He could see the anxiety written all over her face. And she hadn’t tried to show him the tat in a while which he was almost grateful for. Almost. He wondered where this was going to take them.

     Lily hesitantly lifted up her skirt and Calum stepped closer to get a better look. Before he could help himself he was on his knees and Lily’s breath caught in her throat.

     His fingers brushed over the skin, so lightly that if it wasn’t for the shocks running through her body, she wouldn’t have even been sure if he was making contact.

     “Calum, I need to say something.” she said, shocked at her own voice.

     He hummed, waiting for her to speak.

     “This is going to be the most inappropriate thing I’ve ever said and I’ve said a lot of inappropriate things, fuck, I swear like a trucker half the time, and this is going to fuck me over so bad but I can’t just not say it anymore.” she ranted as Calum stood. At his full height, he towered over her and it distracted her momentarily, loving how he completely dwarfed her. She let out a shaky breath, eyes lingering on his lips momentarily, “fuck.” she cussed.

     Calum smirked, “say what you have to say sweetheart.”

     The pet name made her heart leap in her chest and she wet her lips subconsciously, “this is so unprofessional.” she groaned.

     “Sounds like you have to get it off your chest. And you’re off the clock.” he reminded her.

     “Fuck. I really like you.”

     That was all he needed.

     Calum cupped her face in his hands, pressing his lips to hers. She melted against him, her hands going to the front of his jeans to pull him flush against her. Calum bit down on her lip and Lily moaned loudly into his mouth. Calum was hard in an instant.

     His grip went down to her waist as he pushed her back until she hit the tattooing chair, the impact of her bum against the chair made her groan and Calum’s hands moved farther down, grabbing at the fabric of her leather skirt that he dragged up to her hips, exposing the black panties that had been haunting his dreams since he’d first seen them.

     His mouth was hot and needy against hers, teeth and tongues clashing in a fiery passion as her fingers went to his hair, grabbing at the thick, dark curls. Calum moaned into her mouth from the small twinge of pain, his grip tightening on her thighs as he lifted her and set her onto the chair.

     It was flat, making it easy for him to set her anywhere he liked as he pulled his lips from hers and tore her panties down her legs, shoving them into his back pocket. “Calum.” Lily whimpered, voice needy. His breath wafted over her as he got on his knees on the ground, putting her legs over his shoulders.

     Her fingers tangled in his hair as he studied the tattoo for a moment, pressing a soft kiss to the skin that he had marred forever. It was so hot, for both of them, but Lily was anxiously awaiting his mouth as if her life depended on it.

     “Please.” she said in the neediest voice Calum had ever heard. He nearly groaned at the sound, turning his attention to where she needed him most.

     Calum closed his eyes as he took his first testing lick, wanting to enjoy every moment, every sound, every motion. Calum loved eating girls out, he never got tired of the control, the power, that being between a woman's legs brought him.

     Lily shuddered at the first contact of his tongue against her and all of Calum’s self control that he had been so desperately trying to hold onto went out the window. He put his mouth on her fully, hands gripping her thighs as he sucked her clit into his mouth. A loud moan was music to his ears as he focused on the small bundle of nerves, sucking as hard as he thought she could handle.

     “Jesus fuck.” Lily moaned, tugging at his hair.

     He loved it when she swore.

     He loved being the cause of her swearing.

     He flicked his tongue against her clit and she cried out louder, both of their grips tightening on each other.

     “Fuck Cal I’m gonna-” but she didn’t get to finish her sentence. Calum sucked harder and Lily fell over the edge, moans and whimpers ringing through the small private room as he body convulsed and Calum helped her through it. She was still shuddering when he pulled away, licking his lips as he stood.

     She looked so beautiful, skin flushed, just as he liked it.

     He gingerly pushed the denim jacket from her shoulders and it slipped to the ground, then his fingers went to the hem of her shirt, pulling that off too. Lily’s eyes were still closed, still in a post orgasm haze as he slowly undressed her, taking his time as his fingers brushed over the tattoos on her arms.

     Lily’s eyes fluttered open and Calum enjoyed the beautiful chocolate coloured eyes that looked up at him with lust. Her hands were shaky as she reached out and began to unbuckle his pants.

     Calum pressed his lips to hers, reaching around to unclasp her bra. The second the fabric felt away, the slowness was gone, once more replaced by complete passion and lust as Lily pushed Calum’s pants down fully.

     She grabbed his hard on and Calum moaned loudly into her mouth as she pumped him a few times, “condoms-” he groaned.

     “Birth control.” she stated.

     Calum moaned again, “holy fuck.”

     He took off his shirt while she continued to work his cock with her hands but as soon as the fabric was gone, he grabbed her fingers, tearing them away and instead putting them on his abdomen, on the skin she’d touched the day before.

     He pulled her closer, teasing her entrance with the head of his cock.

     “Please.” she whimpered, one of her hands going up to play with the hair at the nape of his neck, pulling his lips to hers.

     Lily bit down into Calum’s lip and he smirked at the small spasm of pain coursing through his body. He plunged inside of her and Lily moaned, immediately releasing his lip from between her teeth as she gasped into his mouth.

     His hands found her waist, anchoring them both as he began to thrust in and out. His hips were buckling of their own accord, Calum completely enraptured by the small, tattooed, blond sitting on his private tattooing chair.

     He moved his lips to her neck, biting down against the skin as her fingers tightened in his hair, her lips near his ear as she whimpered loudly, biting down on his ear lobe.

     He sucked at her neck, teeth grazing the skin teasingly.

     One of her hands moved to his strong shoulders, nails digging against the skin so hard Calum was sure she would leave marks.

     But, as they both knew, they both enjoyed pain.

     He was getting too close to the edge and he knew it, pulling out of Lily, she whimpered in protest, only to be harshly dragged from the chair and turned around, hips slamming into the soft leather as his hand went to her back, pushing her front so she was flush against the fabric.

     He entered her from behind and they both moaned, the new angle hitting a new spot inside of her that was driving them both insane. His hands on her waist easily moved her body to meet every thrust.

    Calum was completely using her, and she was enjoying every moment.

    A hand wrapped in her blonde hair, tugging so she was standing, back against his chest. His hand moved from her hair to wrap around her front, briefly grabbing her boob and teasing the nipple. Her back arched and she moaned loudly as his hand moved higher still, tattooed fingers wrapping around Lily’s throat.

     Her heart was racing in her chest and with the added pressure on her neck, she was seeing stars. Whiney, high pitched whimpers were leaving her pretty lips and Calum was basking in the noise but fuck, he wanted to engulf them. He wanted to breath her.

     But the chair wouldn’t do. It was hot, but it wouldn’t work.

     This time when Calum pulled out, he dragged the two of them onto the ground, Lily landing on top. She straddled his waist, wasting no time before she sank down on top of him, her hands finding his tattoos chest to anchor herself as she began to move up and down on him.

     His hands went to her waist and he looked up at her in wonder as she found a steady rhythm. Little moans left her mouth as she collapsed forward, lips pressing against Calum’s as one of his hands found her hair.

     The hand on her hip tried tried to assist her, urging for her to move faster. It was amazing, but Calum was getting impatient again, wanting all the power. All the control.

     He flipped them easily and Lily hissed at the cold of the ground on her back but the feeling was immediately forgotten as Calum picked up the fasted rhythm yet.

     Her nails tore into his back and their mouths were close but their lips barely touched as they panted against each other. “Fuck.” Lily said, voice shaky, “I’m gonna cum.”

     “Me too.” Calum moaned, pistoning into her like a wild man. They were both on the edge and one more thrust engulfed Lily, her body fluttering and convulsing around him which made Calum reach his high too.

     He spasmed a little, giving a few more thrusts as their hands tore at each other, mouths hot and pressed together, tongues clashing.

     He slowed down and buried his face in her neck, holding himself over her with his forearms.

     Lily’s fingers traced Calum’s strong shoulders, “wow.” she breathed.

     Calum chuckled, placing one last kiss to her neck before he pulled out and rolled onto the ground next to her.

     They both stared at the ceiling, trying to catch their breaths.

     Calum sat up and Lily got a good look at his back. She’d broken the skin in three places but it looked beautiful.

     Calum groaned, pulling his jeans on. He stood up and buttoned them. Lily appreciated the beautiful man, clad in jeans, looking gorgeous.

     He walked to the sink, grabbing some paper towels. He got on his knees between Lily’s legs and cleaned her up, making sure the tattoo was completely wiped. “Birth control.” he smirked, “fucking love it.”

     Lily laughed, hiding her face with her hands.

     He tossed out the paper towels and came to lie next to her again, pulling her to his side so he could wrap his arm around her.

     “We are so fucked.” Lily groaned.

     Calum laughed.

     They were.

     “So… shawarma?” Lily asked.

     Calum laughed again, “that’s what I was thinking.”

     “Really?” Lily rolled over, hand going to Calum’s chest as she looked up at him.

     “We’re the same person. It’s kind of weird actually.”

     “If we’re the same person, then what am I thinking right now?” Lily asked.

     “You’re thinking that after the schwarma, you should come back to my place and we can trace each others tattoos, go a little slower, and I can make you cum more than just twice.”

     Lily laughed, “We must really be connected.”

----

     When Calum and Lily walked into the tattoo parlour the next morning, each with a black, iced coffee, it was obvious what had happened.

     She was even wearing one of his shirts, paired with the same skirt she’d worn the day before.

     There was a mark on her neck.

     “It’s like they’re not even trying to hide it.” Michael mused.

     “He’s so whipped.” Ashton giggled.

     He was.

     The guys waited until they could get Calum alone when Lily went on a lunch break to finally ask Calum what happened.

     “So are you two finally dating or what?” Luke asked blatantly.

     Calum turned to look at them and a flash of pain marred his face momentarily, “uh-”

     “You okay?” Ashton asked with concern.

     Calum’s eyes widened a little and Michael laughed, “did she tear up your back mate?!”

     “She did!” Luke laughed, “she totally did.”

     Calum blushed and everyone's eyes widened.

     Calum Hood never blushed.

     Ashton smirked, “So when’s the wedding?”

----

     They spend almost every waking hour together that whole week.

     Then the next.

     Then the next.

     The third week, cuddled in his bed, Duke tucked against Lily’s side, Calum finally asked the question: “want to be my girlfriend?”

     He didn’t do love. But he’d never met a girl like Lily before. The past weeks had made him rethink everything he’d ever known to be true. About love, life, happiness.

     Everything had changed.

     Lily looked up at Calum, finger tracing one of the tattoos on his chest, “yeah.” she said, a smile spreading across her face.

     Calum met her gaze, cupping her face to bring her lips to his.

     He smiled against her lips, “Thank god for your fucking florals.”

-----

     It was no shock that one month became two and two became three.

     Attached at the hip like twins, always together, they were the perfect fit. It got to a point where it was almost like they knew what the other was thinking.

     Lily was a year into her apprenticeship when Calum announced that it would be her last week. They’d gone out to celebrate, Calum and Lily had even disappeared to the bathroom to celebrate a little in private, much to the dismay of Ashton and Luke, and the glee of Michael.

     Calum didn’t even bother to ask Lily what tattoo she had planned for him. He trusted her completely.

     The day finally came and once the shop closed, everyone sat around with booze while they watched Lily and Calum. “Pick the place baby.” he smiled.

    Lily took his right arm and chose the spot she’d drawn the first chrysanthemum on all those months ago. Calum didn’t look as she drew the pattern, not wanting to ruin the surprise.

     He chatted easily, unflinching, with the guys as the buzz of the gun softly filled the room.

     “How’s it looking Mike?” Calum asked.

     Michael leaned over, looking at Lily’s marks, “looks sick.” Michael grinned.

     A little while longer and Lily was cleaning the skin, “okay, you’re all done.” she stated.

     Calum brought her lips to his for a kiss before looking down at the tattoo.

     He had accepted it would be floral, in fact, he’d been excited about finally having floral.

     And he wasn’t disappointed. In fact, his heart swelled in his chest.

     Two beautiful Chrysanthemums and a Lily. A little, perfect bouquet, just for him.

     “The chrysanthemums so we match-” she began to explain.

      “And the Lily because you’re you.” Calum finished for her. Lily flushed and Calum grinned, “Can’t get rid of you now can I?” he teased, “I love it.”

     And he did.

     But not as much as he loved the woman who had marked his body forever.

     Not as much as he loved his Lily.

[e1ana]

another... platform... (and also momojirou)

i have twitter now >:D i want to be able to interact more w/ other writers and yall and also share stuff i won’t post on here/ao3 as threads! my user is e1ana_ if you wanna come say hi :)

anyways below is some momojirou i put there recently because i felt weird just advertising my twitter and leaving hehe

“Momo,” Jirou says, one hand cradling her massive stomach and the other loosely holding a few umaibo. “You said you were coming to bed in a few minutes.”

Momo sighs and tucks her pen behind her ear. Work had been crazy today, which meant more reports. Nobody had told her the boring downside of being in the top ten. “Yes, love, I’ll only be a minute. I just have to finish up the paperwork.” 

“Said that twenty minutes ago.” Jirou mumbles and waddles her way back into the bedroom, the crinkling of another umaibo pack trailing behind her.

Jirou had been the one to vote for her being the one to get pregnant. Momo had just broken into the top ten, and her need for an unnaturally high BMI and rapid food consumption might affect the pregnancy. But the consequences of the journey had certainly taken its toll on both women. From rapid mood swings to extended morning sickness, it seemed like these kids really had it out for them.

Still. Neither thinks they would give it up if they could. 

Momo goes back to detailing her patrol, TV humming away in the distance. Taking on a four on one battle in a cramped alley had been exciting, no lie, but coming home to a stack of papers and a cranky wife wasn’t exactly the warm welcome that Momo would’ve liked. Stop that, she chastises herself. She’s ready to pop, and you’ve been away from home for nearly half the day. Of course, she won’t be greeting you at the doorway. The hero sighs and places her writing utensil on her desk. She can deal with this tomorrow - for now, she has a cranky partner to soothe.

She tucks the papers back into their clip and turns on the kettle. A cup of tea before bed had been routine for the past few years and it hadn’t changed with time. That was another thing - going from having one tea guzzler in the house to two had put a massive dent in Momo’s supply. Kyoka claimed that the babies like it and that it's probably good for me - all unbacked statements, but convincing nonetheless. If tea was what Kyoka wanted, it’s what she would get. Momo steeps the extra cup with care, adding the perfect amount of sugar and making sure no extra leaves are floating around.

Momo knocks on the door before pushing it gently open. Kyoka is splayed out on the bed, head propped up on a pillow to look at the TV from over her belly. She peeks over and makes room for Momo upon her entrance. One cup of tea is placed on the table next to her and the other clinks when Momo slides into bed. “I thought you finished Followers already.”

Jirou sips her tea before turning around to face her wife. “I wanted to rewatch it. You were taking so long I nearly got a quarter way through.”

Momo wraps her arms around Jirou and the pregnant woman worms her way into a more comfortable position. “Sorry, my love. You know how long papers can go on.”

Jirou snuggles closer and unwraps another umaibo and bites half of it off. She’s at the part of the show where a famous photographer meets an aspiring actress. She closes her eyes and leans her head against Momo’s chest. Her face is barely above the covers, thick blanket tickling at her bottom lip. Momo’s hand wanders to her stomach, rubbing the taut skin and warming it beneath her palm. Jirou hums and places her hand on top. 

There’s a flutter beneath her skin and Jirou hisses. Someone is deciding to be a little gymnast, it seems. Momo sighs and moves her hand, her aimless rubbing turning into a one-handed massage. “I love getting to feel them move. It’ll be any day now, I swear. How’ve they been treating you?”

“Like hell. One of them - I can’t tell who, but I think it might be Hisami - has been literally jumping on my bladder and doing flips for the past few hours. Little bugger.” She reaches up and cradles Momo’s face in her palm, opening her eyes to meet black. “I can’t believe I’m only a week overdue. It feels like a month, at least.” As if on cue, one of the babies kicks and nails Jirou so hard she swears she feels her rib crack. Momo coos and rubs the sore spot, letting her wife mumble irritated curses into her skin.

“They’ll be out soon. All that waiting, all the struggles, and we’ll get to see their pretty little faces.” She pecks Jirou on the cheek and turns her head into the pillow. She clicks off the TV and helps Jirou settle into her body-sized pillow. “I love you, Kyoka.”

“I love you too. Goodnight.”

***

It happens, ironically, in the middle of a bi-monthly class 1-A reunion. Jirou’s in the middle of a conversation with Kaminari and Mina, the pink girl yammering on about some insane romantic escapade. After graduating from UA, she may as well have been a professional serial romantic alongside being a hero. 

She’d thought that Mina had gesticulated into her cup and spilled water down her leg, but upon further notice (and further sitting in it), the liquid was coming from inside her dress. Kyoka’s breath catches in her throat at a harsh cramp and latches onto Mina’s arm.

“I hate to interrupt your story, Mina, but I think my water just broke.”

Her friend pauses, yellow eyes blinking slowly and processing information. Kaminari, the fucking idiot, takes the information through one ear and out the other. He’s off like a bullet train, wailing about “not being ready to be an uncle.”

“Man, right in the middle of my sentence!” Mina leads her over to sit down at a table. Oh shit, this is really happening. A few minutes give way to another clench in Jirou’s abdomen, solidifying the reality of the moment. She presses both hands to her stomach and breathes in deeply. Oh boy - well, girls. In a matter of hours, she’d likely be holding her children in her arms.

Another contraction hits, sharper and more insistent than the last time. “Momo,” she manages between breaths. “Where’s Momo?”

“Right here.” She slides next to Kyoka, ponytail swinging behind her. “Sorry, I was in the restroom for the big moment. Kaminari’s been very diligent in catching me up, though.” The man in question is heaving his ass off, sweat running down his brow and darkening the pits of his sleeve. He flashes Jirou a thumbs up before going back to his impressive wheezing.

Momo rubs her hand as they sit for the next half hour or so. The contractions aren’t even close to ten minutes apart, so there’s no rush in gathering the bag and designating a driver. Jirou almost wishes there was - though they are far apart, the contractions hurt pretty badly and make her gasp in discomfort. Being the only person not in some stage of panic, Todoroki offers to drive. Kaminari and Midoriya both head back to their house to get the hospital bag. All the while Jirou grips away at her wife’s hand and breathes in the direction of Mina and Shinsou.

“All right. We can go.” Todoroki whirls back around, swiftly walking back to the car with both Momo’s purse and Jirou’s handbag. 

Jirou is shaky as she stands, nails digging into both Momo and Mina’s skin. Neither makes any indication that they’re in pain other than a slight hiss that goes unnoticed. They walk to the car, Jirou wobbling half from the pain and half from her massive stomach. In all honesty, she couldn’t wait to be able to jog for more than three steps or touch her toes again. Even the short distance from the door of the building to the door of the car was practically making her work up a sweat.

She clips the seatbelt herself, shooing away the other people to have a moment of blessed silence in the completely closed car. That peace is dispelled when another wave of pain has her damn near doubling over. “Fuuuuck,” she hisses at nobody in particular. “Fuck.” She says again directed at her belly. A heel rams into her guts like one of the cheeky little ladies had heard her swear at them. “Fuck you. You two better get out fast, I'm already over this.”

Then the car doors are opening and far too many people are piling in. Todoroki takes the driver's seat, Mina the passenger, and Momo the backseat beside Jirou. Momo presses a slow kiss to her forehead and one to her stomach, rubbing her belly in an attempt at consolation. “Soon we’ll get to meet our daughters, Kyoka. You’re so strong. Going to give us two healthy little girls.”

Jirou nods and clenches her teeth tighter. A few more hours of what already felt like hell, but the payoff would be so worth it. She closes her eyes and leans her head back, open window sending hair flying into her sweaty face. She focuses on her pulse, and her breaths, and the grip of Momo’s hand in her own.

The news of the oncoming hero child is leaked fast and at the hands of a bewildered teenager driving by who happened to get a glimpse through the window. Thankfully the group manages to get to the hospital with only a little traffic trouble, meeting up with Kaminari and Midoriya to secure the bag.

Jirou’s gasps and groans escalate in volume, growing into full-on yelps of pain with every contraction as they become more frequent and intense. Momo stays with her the whole time, pushing her hair out of her face and rubbing her arm and whispering words of praise.

God. Kyoka thought she’d known pain, that the contractions were hard, but she hadn’t been mentally prepared for pushing out two entire babies. It had seriously felt like someone was ripping her snatch in half for upwards of six hours. 

But, when all is said and done, and the doctor places Hisami and Anzu on her chest it's so worth it. Jirou cries openly when their warbling cries meet her ears and their little bodies squirm to make themselves more comfortable. After a few minutes when Anzu falls asleep (it had to have been Hisami stomping on her bladder), Momo’s quiet tears join hers when she cradles and rocks the black-haired baby.

“Beautiful,” she whispers, switching Anzu into one arm to grab Jirou’s hand with the other. “Look how beautiful they are.” 

Hisami tosses and turns, trying desperately to break out of the blanket burrito she’s ensnared in. It had to have been her, stamping all over Jirou’s insides like that. She blinks open her eyes slowly, purple meeting purple as she stares at her mother. Jirou laughs and wipes her face. Yeah, pregnancy was hell. But if this is the payoff - if she gets to hold her two beautiful daughters in her arms with her wife by her side - it all was beyond worth it.

[bbrandy2002]

The Baby Shower Pt 1

Part of the Two Men Series

Book: The Royal Romance/Heir

Summary: Maxwell throws Riley and Liam an impromtu baby shower that leaves guests feeling...unwell.

Characters: Riley, Hana, Olivia, Madeleine, Maxwell, Drake, Bertrand and Liam. All of them belong to Pixelberry.

Profanity Warning.

Only tagging those who requested to follow the series, just in case this isn't your thing. If you want removed (I promise its fine) or added, let me know.

@gardeningourmet @dcbbw @crookedslimecreatorpasta @moonlightgem7 @katedrakeohd @emceesynonymroll @romanticatheart-posts @carabeth @kimmiedoo5 @ladyangel70 @burnsoslow @sirbeepsalot

You are cordially invited to celebrate in the upcoming birth of a little Prince. This Saturday at 7:30 PM-Beaumont Estate, Ramsford

Contact Maxwell Beaumont to RSVP

Riley looked over the invitation she received to her own baby shower, being held tomorrow. Hana had thrown an official shower last month, however, Maxwell, being Maxwell, wanted to throw one last hurrah with only friends and Madeleine.

Riley, propped up on pillows in her bed, places the invite back on her nightstand.

With a week left until her due date, the Queen was feeling anything but in the mood to party. Her feet were swollen, her back ached, insomnia kept her up most of the night, she just wanted to relax.

Maxwell, insisted, much to his chagrin, it would be fairly low key, or at least by his standards. She was hesitant, however, she has never been able to resist the pouty lips and puppy dog eyes of one Maxwell Beaumont.

While deep in thoughts, she places a hand on her tummy, watching her white, oversized cami contort in odd shapes. "You are rolling around a lot today...You should just come on out and give your mommy a break".

"Little guy full of energy today, Love?", Liam asks with a wide grin, standing in the doorway. He walks over to her side of the bed, removing his robe, before leaning in to kiss her.

"He's always a ball of energy, which I would love more if he would just come out". She raises her voice as she lays her head back with a huff, "...We've tried everything, spicy foods, herbal teas, walks....sex...what else is there?"

Liam climbs in bed next to her, cupping her cheek, "You still have another week, just give it time".

She rolls her eyes, Liam typically is her voice of reasoning and reassurance, however, lately she has been trying to figure out, more and more ways, to 'snip the berries' while he slept.

She sighs loudly, before going off on a tangent, "Time? That's easy for you to say, I've peed my pants twice this week already from sneezing, I'm fairly certain poor Mara won't be walking so closely behind me anymore after last nights supper, and Drake got an eye full when both breast started leaking during our walk this morning".

He starts to laugh, but, the evil stare she shoots him, stops him quickly. He composes himself, while massaging her thigh absentmindedly. The stare doesn't stop as she then moves her glare to his hand on her thigh....she's going to kill me...stop touching her now Liam...

Liam quickly moves his hand away and stretches while yawning, "Ahhhh, okay....I'm just going to move over here on my side, place a few pillows between us, and see you in the morning". He leans in for a kiss, but, the scowl on her face makes him hesitate, as he opts instead to just pat the top of her head.

Liam rolls over, places his hands between his legs for protection and prays silently to himself..."God, spare my life tonight and my...'you know", he says while gripping himself tighter," ...if there is anything you can do to get the baby out sooner, for me...I mean for her...it will be worth it. Also, sorry for using your name in vain three times today while talking to Neville and lying to Madeleine about not noticing the five extra pounds in her ass..err...butt...um..amen".

The next day....

"Do you have to do that?", Riley grunted, as she shook her head,  sitting next to Liam in the limo to Ramsford.

Liam looked at her quizically, trying to be patient with her, "Do what, love?" He knew she was about to tell him some ridiculous annoying habit, he was unaware of doing.

She reached over and placed her hand on his, "Tapping your hand on your lap".

-I wonder if exorcism would work on her?

He smiles back at her sympathetically, "I'm sorry, I didn't even realize I was doing it."

She removes her hand, turning away from him to look out the window, "Of course you didn't....I"m sure your loud ass stomach growling for the past thrity minutes was no doubt distracting you".

-Nope, she's too far gone.

The limo driver lowered the partition and yelled back, "Your majesties, we are pulling into the estate now".

"OH THANK GOD!", Liam suddenly yelled out with both fists pumping in the air, eyes closed, taking in a relieved breath. He then looked over at his wife who did not seem amused with his little outburst. He rubbed her arm gently, "Thank God for you, Love", he said with a sly grin.

The limo stops in front of the estate and the driver walks around, opening the door for them to step out. Maxwell runs out the door and greets them almost immediately. He starts to pull Riley into a hug, pretending he can't fit his arms around her. She laughs at him and swats playfully at his arm. Liam watches as his wife smiles and carries on with Maxwell, trying to figure out what happened to her between the limo and the door. Whatever it was, he was ecstatic there would now be six other people for her to berate besides him...of course...that could also mean six other people to annoy her and he would have to deal with it later. This baby needs out now!

The Beaumont Estate Ballroom was beautifully decorated with baby themed displays, a wide spread of delicate treats, sparkling lights and lovely floral arrangements.

Riley and Liam were impressed by the amount of work Maxwell had put into this baby shower, it was emaculate. They had feared, perhaps, this might turn out  similar to the birthday party Maxwell threw his brother two months ago. Bertrand was not impressed with the topless belly dancers, nor, the one named, Lusty Lawny, who insisted on giving the birthday boy a lap dance for 20 minutes as he was handcuffed to a chair.

Drake's birthday included a mud wrestling ring, where Maxwell's friend, Bertha cracked two of his ribs and gave him an atomic wedgie.

Hana's birthday was a seance in a local cemetary that gave her nightmares for six months.

Then, for Olivia s birthday, he took her skydiving, in which, he had to piss so bad. He thought it would stream downward instead of spray back up on her.

The last thing either of them wanted was something disasterous to happen. Liam pulled Maxwell aside, as Riley spoke with everyone else.

"Maxwell, I want your absolute word that you don't have anything strange taking place during this shower, and by that...I mean strange for me and not strange for you".

Maxwell wrapped an arm around Liam's shoulder with a serious look, "Liam, I give my word that I have planned no strange activities this evening, just good friends hanging out together before you two enter parenthood".

Liam let out a large exhale, still a little leery, but, hopeful Riley would leave happy and in one piece when it was all over with.

He leaned into Maxwell, speaking in a hushed tone, "It's just...Riley's a little on edge wanting the baby to come right now and I want to keep her as comfortable as possible...it would really help me a lot".

Maxwell nudged him slightly in his side with a smile, "Hey, it'll be fine Liam...plus, I have a really good feeling that tonight is the night the baby will be born."

Liam furrowed his brow, "why do you say that Maxwell?"

Maxwell started to say something when he notices that Olivia has arrived, "Hey!Everyone's here now, so lets get this par-tay started."

Liam tried to yell back at Maxwell, but, he was gone. Did he just call this baby shower a 'par-tay'.

Drake makes his way over to Liam, stands face to face with him, a look of confusion plastered on his face, "There's no booze here."

Liam gestures to his wife sitting at a nearby table, "Since she can't drink alcohol, she insisted no one else can....It will be okay Drake, it's just a few hours."

Drake's face scrunches up, "You've got to be kidding me? I can't do it man, that's how I survive these little Maxwell gatherings."

Liam gripped one a Drake's shoulders as they walked to a nearby table, "Hey, listen....Riley's really short with me right now and nothing can go wrong tonight. Will you just keep an eye out for me and make sure Maxwell doesn't have something planned that would...i dont know...cause me to miss the birth of my first child due to my untimely disappearance".

Drake wanted to laugh, but, he understood his friends plea when it comes to Riley. "I know what you mean, when we were walking the grounds yesterday, she was talking about how denim makes me look tubby. When I pointed out her her own stomach, she called me a son-of-a bitch and kicked me in the nuts. That got her breast leaking and I never want to see that again.... Trust me, I got your back, I'll keep an eye on Beaumont".

With a nod and a smile of relief, Liam sat down next to Riley.

All the guests seemed to enjoy their appetizers, non alcoholic punch, and scrumptous blue velvet cake. Maxwell planned games afterwards, in which, Hana guessed the exact number of 1285 tiny plastic babies in a jar. He had them decorate sacks of flour as babies and diaper them, Hana's was voted the best. Drake rolled his eyes, "of course she won, she's used to decorating socks to use as playmates".

Hana shifted in her seat taller" Well, at least I didn't just write Jack Daniels on the front of my baby in large letters....by the way...your baby is stupid".

One hour later....

Hana looks a little uncomfortable, her stomach is rumbling and she excuses herself quickly. Not to long after her, Bertrand has a pained expression on his face and is grabbing his stomach, he stands and shuffles with urgency out of the room.

Drake is sitting with Liam and Riley, she is continuing to call him a little bitch over his comment yesterday, but, he doesn't even realize it. He starts to sweat and feels a little flushed; his breathing becomes ragged as he clutches his stomach.

Liam notices his change in demeanor and becomes concerned, "You okay Drake, you're not looking so good".

Riley raises a brow, "See....I told you, you little bitch".

"I don't know what's going on", Drake says as he tries to steady his breathing, "it's my stomach".

Riley crosses her arms unconcerned, "....and a fat ass too".

Liam motions to Madeleine, "Sweetheart, I heard Madeleine telling Olivia you have cankles, you should really go talk to her about that".

Riley sat in up in her chair and glared at Madeleine. She started taking out her earrings, "Oh did she now, hold these earrings Liam, I'm about to shove a color coded binder up that bitchs giant ass".

Riley wanted to walk to Madeleine with an attitude, but, the most she could manage was a small waddle.

Liam leans into Drake with a sympathy, "Sorry about her...anyway, you really do look rough Drake, what's going on?".

Drake still clutching his stomach, "I dont know...like my stomach hurts really bad all of the sudden. The only thing I ate was a few tea sandwiches, cake and punch".

Liam thought for a moment, "Yeah, nothing that should cause you to feel this sick. You know...I saw both Hana and Bertrand leave out of here in a rush...neither of them have returned either".

Drake weakly lifted his head and scanned the room for Maxwell. He was at that moment, jumping up and down with excitement watching Riley yell at Madeleine.

Drake took a deep breath before yelling, "BEAUMONT!".

Maxwell stopped when he heard Drake call out his name, he skipped over to Drake and Liam with a big, giddy smile, "Man....she is really giving what for to Madeleine...Im so glad I invited her, Riley made her cry...hahaha!!".

"Maxwell", Drake muttered, "I think the food is making people sick...my stomach is killing me....wait...oh, I gotta go now!!!!". Drake stood up quickly, clenching his backside as he ran out of the room.

Liam looked at Maxwell for a moment. "Maxwell, there is something going on. Three people now have ran out of this room, holding their stomachs or in Drake's case, butt...you did something to the food didn't you?".

Maxwell glanced around the room, nervously. He didn't think his concoction would affect other people, only Riley. He remained silent, contemplating whether there was a connection. His gaze fell on Olivia, who was now looking a little distressed and reaching for her stomach.

"Maxwell, answer me", Liam demanded.

"I just thought it would help her go into labor", he said sheepishly.

"What did you think would help her go into labor?".

Maxwell hesitated, but, Liam grabbed his arm and gave him a commanding look.

He gulped, "Castor oil....I put it in the punch".

Liam, stunned, placed both hands over his face, before opening them again, "So they all have.....the shits?".

How will Madeleine handle her predicament?   Part 2

[newblood-freya]

It’s called falling

The Jurdan High school au also posted on ao3

Chapter one: It’s just a game

Dodgeball.

A typically fun game between friends and classmates, usually I would view it as such. But, not today. No, today….This is War.

Ever since Cardan and his court of assholes transferred into my gym class, it’s been constant torture. And, what was once one of my favorite classes quickly became one of my least.

For the last few weeks of autumn we had been having class outside, but today there’s a freak rainstorm and a lot of lightning. Which is why we’re indoors right now getting the “it’s just a game” speech. But, even now, as I pretend to pay attention to the coach, I can feel the eyes of my classmates shifting from me to the court of assholes. I can feel his eyes on me too.

The teacher calls for team leaders, and almost immediately Cardan and I are nominated. And the vote is completely unanimous. It seems the class is itching for drama to spill after the hour is up.

Cardan, of course, gets first pick. I try to hide my surprise when he picks Taryn, instead of one of his friends. One look at Valerians face told me that they had something particularly nasty planned.

I locked eyes with my sister and see her silent request: don’t react.

Taking a deep breath, I do as she asked and drop it. I don’t even give Cardan the satisfaction of looking at him, as I pick my first teammate, and very good friend: Bomb.

Bomb is the nickname she was given in the 6th grade for being a bit of a pyro, and it stuck. Since coming to this school I’ve never, not once, heard anyone call her anything else. Even the instructors stick to the unspoken rule of never using her given name. Same goes for my friends Roach and Ghost, who are coincidentally my next two picks.

Valerian, Nicassia, and Locke are, of course, on Cardan’s team. The rest of the class was divided evenly among us.

After the teams were finalized, the balls were placed in a line in the center of the gym. We were given a minute to strategize before hand. Now everyone is in place, with one hand on the wall, ready to run to the line. I look to Cardan, only to find his intense glare already trained on me. He flashed me that infuriating smirk of his, before raising an eyebrow and trailing his gaze to Taryn.

It took all of my self control to tear my gaze away from them, as opposed to marching over there and knocking that smarmy prick onto his backside, like I desperately wanted to. Instead, making eye contact with every member of my team, making sure that they were all clear on what to do. After a few head nods, I turned my attention to the coach, as did Cardan.

Noticing our attention, the man raised the whistle to his lips. When the whistle was blown, three things happened at once . Everyone on the princeling’s team rushed the line, the fastest runners on my team beat them there, and the rest of my team took up their positions.

The formation is simple: long distance throwers in the back, a row of catchers before them, then we have short range throwers, the front row of catchers, and a few people who switch between the levels. I switch.

I look across to the enemy team, they don’t seem to have any real plan. But, knowing Cardan, they might have some sort of ace in the hole. So, I decide to keep my guard up.

The battle was a chaotic frenzy and it seems like the opposition is running on Valerians rage alone. The bastard keeps throwing headshots, and if someone doesn’t get him out soon we’re dead.

When I said as much to Ghost he gave me a sharp nod as if I’d given him an order. Then, dashed across our side of the room, moving quickly and quietly, dodging and weaving as he did. When he stopped I noticed that he was in Valerians blind spot, and immediately knew what Ghost was planning.

To make sure he could get the job done, I switched in with the short rangers and took out the people protecting Valerian and anyone who might be targeting Ghost. I spared a glance at Bomb back with the long distance row, where she was whispering to the person next to her, probably telling them where to throw next.

I see something coming at me from my periphery and react immediately, catching the offending object. I look around the other side to see who might have thrown the ball and my eyes find a fuming Nicassia storming over to the sidelines. I send a little smirk her way and look around again to continue covering Ghost.

Just in time to see a ball nail Valerian right in the side of the head, I can’t help but grin as I watch him fall right on his ass.

And then the tide changed.

I guess with Valerian and Nicassia out on the sidelines, Cardan and Locke have decided to start trying, with Taryn on defense. You would think that two people and a handful of stragglers wouldn’t be that much of a problem, but they’re relentless. With Locke and Cardan throwing ball after ball, and Taryn and the rest of their team blocking anything that comes their way.

My team numbers have dwindled, at this point it’s just me, Bomb, Ghost, and Roach who, up until now, had been putting those thievery skills to use working defense. Out of the corner of my eye I see Bomb trying to figure out the weakest link in their formation, and judging by the look on her face I’d say she’s found it.

Bomb plucks one of the balls flying towards us out of the air, sending the thrower off the court, and throws it at a girl—Poesy—from Econ. The girl falls over and the remainder of the court of assholes are left wide open in one spot. Without any hesitation I take the shot and hit Locke just below the belt. He falls to the floor with pained grunt, and a timeout is called so Locke can be hauled off to the nurses office without receiving any more injuries.

Once he’s out, the game continues, and eventually it’s just me, Cardan and Taryn on the court.

And they have all the balls.

I look to Taryn and see the apology in her eyes as she picks up a ball, I just nod letting her know I’m not upset with her. I then turn to the princeling, he gives me a smug look and I can feel my insides boil with rage. I take a deep breath and relax my stance. Masking my inner hostility and schooling my features into a blank expression.

They start throwing balls and I’m using all of my reflexes, agility, and six years worth of hard earned gymnastics skills to avoid the balls. I can see Cardan getting progressively more pissed, and his throws are getting more reckless.

Perfect.

I catch Taryn’s next throw, and now it’s just Cardan and I. And I have most of the balls. I pick up the nearest ball and chuck it full strength at Cardan’s head, as planned he dodges and, caught off guard by the force of my first throw, doesn’t notice the second. Not until it bounces off of his four head.

He blinks at me, confused, as if he cannot fathom the notion that I’ve beaten him. And so, with that in mind, I plaster on the most innocent look I can manage, smile, and say, “Better luck next time.”

The other students in the gym lose their collective shit, and my team rushes over to tell me how awesome that was. Making my traitorous cheeks heat up, especially when Bomb shouts, “ALL HAIL JUDE, THE REIGNING QUEEN OF DODGEBALL!” I bury my face in my hands to hide the intense blush invading it.

The coach calls for us to hit the showers, I take a look at my sweaty clothes and make my way to the girls locker room.

When I get out of the shower, the room is deserted and all of my clothes are gone.

Just then, I hear a voice call from outside of the locker room, “Come on out Jude, don’t you want your clothes back?”

Nicassia.

Chapter two will be up in ten minutes 

 @queen-elain @elide-lochan-salvaterre @illyrianbeauty @sensitivehighlord @urbisie @dragonbound135 @howtotameyourillyrian @soap-is-cool

[keywestlou]

TRUMP WINS.....FOR NOW.....THERE IS ALWAYS LAS VEGAS

Trump won for the second time yesterday. The man is unimpeachable! He has one problem, however. People such as he get their just due at some later time.

So it will be with Trump. He has too many criminal and civil matters hanging over his head. In due course, he will be litigating them. Probably more than one at a time. Justice delayed will not be justice denied in his instance. He always has Las Vegas!

Recall O.J. Simpson. Many thought he was guilty of killing his wife and her boy friend. Yet he was acquitted. Thirteen years later Simpson was tried on criminal charges in a separate matter in Las Vegas. He was found guilty and sentenced to 33 years. He was paroled after 9.

Trump will get his.

Trump has his guardian angel. The one that comes from below. He played his most devoted supporters for suckers and insulted the intelligence of the rest of the American people.

Trump support by Senators and Representatives was nothing less than an abdication of responsibility.  Such abdication invites more lawlessness from Trump or those who follow who are of his ilk.

This episode in U.S. history carries a clear message. We cannot sit on our asses and turn our backs on national terrorism. It has come out of the shadows. It must now be defeated.

Fire should be fought with fire. The country cannot sit idly back and do nothing or very little. All out war is required.

Or, what happened January 6 will occur again. At a time when the terrorists will be successful in overturning the government.

No negotiation with terrorists. The necessary must be done. Intelligence and force the weapons. Wipe them out! Otherwise the Cruzes, Grahams, Hawleys, and Rubios will become America’s leaders.

Poor Ashley Judd. The movie actress and activist. She is going through an experience that would be even too much for a movie.

Judd almost lost her leg in the Congo. At the moment, she is in an ICU unit in South Africa.

Judd’s leg was “shattered” when she tripped on a fallen tree on a pathway in the jungle. She was walking fast and did not see it.

It took 55 hours to get her from the jungle to an operating table in South Africa.

She initially was stuck on the ground where she had fallen for 5 hours. Her leg was “badly misshapened.” Those with her had Judd biting on a stick. In between “howling like an animal.”

She was eventually taken to a trauma unit on a motorcycle while holding the top part of her broken tibia together.

Judd says during these times: “I was at the edge of my edge.”

Florida is a Covid nightmare. Governor DeSantis’ fault. He is inept and at the moment out of control. He is opening some places where the vaccine can be given. Supermarkets and drug stores. However, few if any have the vaccine.

The Governor speaks with pride when he tells of the many sites where one can be inoculated. He forgets to share there is little or no vaccine available.

All at a time when Florida’s coronavirus numbers are skyrocketing.

Syracuse beat Boston College yesterday 75-67. Syracuse’s record now 12-6.

March Madness is around the corner. I doubt Syracuse will play in the big tournament. Unfortunate since Syracuse had the manpower this year. Exceptional players. They rarely were able to come together for a whole game.

Day 2 in Mykonos is my report for today. I changed my mind from yesterday. I began liking Mykonos on Day 2.

DAY 19…..Greece the First Time

Posted on June 15, 2012 by Key West Lou

What a difference a day makes!

My first night on Mikonos I went to the action area. The Chora. Old Mykonos by the waterfront.

My first night was two nights ago.

I reported yesterday that I did not like Mykonos. Too many people. Too much hustle and bustle.

I went back to Chora. Deserted compared to the evening before. Small crowds. Easy to get around. Restaurants basically empty. No one rushing you.

Why the change? I asked around. A simple reason. The night before there were three large cruise ships dumping their passengers off. Last night, no cruise ships.

I sat at an outside cafe the first night by the water. A large place. Expensive. Just watching the people and drinking. Not eating. All the tables were full with cruise ship people eating. Spending big dollars. Last night I was the only person sitting at the same outside cafe. Still only drinking. The owner and staff fell all over me. Glad you returned, anything you want, etc.

Business is tough. It is the euro situation. A major election Sunday that will determine the economic future of Greece for the next 20 years. It could also determine the subsequent rise and fall of the euro.

The local merchants were available to talk with me last night. One retailer told me his business was down 70 per cent in the last five years. The restaurant owner where I was taking up space said his business was down 40 per cent.

They all speak with fear in their eyes. They all hate Germany and Merkel. For two reasons. Germany is the only nation eating big time under the euro. Greece hurting the worst. The other reason is World War II and the Nazi domination of Greece.

After last evening, I started liking Mykonos. So much so that I may be staying a few extra days. Fourni comes into the decision making process, also.

Again, the difference a day makes. Fourni excites me. I wanted so to visit Fourni and spend some time there. Like a couple of weeks. That is how good I thought it would be.

I have no firm schedule. I was told that Fourni was a short 2 hour speed boat ride from Mykonos.

I went to buy my speed boat ticket yesterday. No boat to Fourni. They discontinued the run a couple of months ago.

Alternative ways. I could fly to Athens. From there fly to Somos. Stay overnight in Somos. Take the morning boat from Somos to Fourni.

I want to see Fourni badly, but not that bad. Too much time and too expensive.

There are no flights to Fourni from Mykonos.

I took a walk down to the waterfront. Chatted with several fisherman. Small boat owners. Would they take me to Fourni with their boat. About a 4-5 hour trip in a small boat. All said no. Too dangerous and too long. We never even got to money.

So it is Mykonos for a few days.

The electric power goes off occasionally in Key West. Yesterday the water went off in Mykonos. A frequent occurrence I was told. No water for six hours! Key West power is never off that long.

Apparently a pipe broke somewhere. I, and I assume most other vacationers on the island, were all greased up from sunbathing and no way to remove it. When the water did come back on after six hours, it was rusty for another half hour.

I was not upset. Only sticky. Happenings such as water breaks come with island living.

I finally found Terri White’s old stomping grounds last night. The piano bar she worked in several years ago. I tripped upon it. A small two foot long sign over a door on one of the alleys said Piano Bar. In I went. The place opened up into a large bar and dining room. Overlooking the water.

I met Nikki, Terri’s friend who owns the bar. I met his partner. If his family was there, I would have met each and every one of them. That is how it is in Mykonos and the rest of Greece.

It was 7. I wanted to hear Bobby Peaco play. Not till 10. Said I would return. Doubting that I would as that generally is my bed time.

Nikki was obviously pleased with Terri’s successes over the past few years. He spoke of her and it constantly.

Mykonos has to be dengue fever paradise. The mosquitoes got in my room last night. I finished the evening with at least a dozen bites.

Super Paradise Beach was my destination yesterday. I never made it. I lay by the hotel pool. It was quiet and soothing. The breeze perfect. The water the right temperature. Why leave.

Perhaps today.

I enjoy doing this blog daily and the other things I do. Yesterday, I published a new article on Amazon Kindle. Title: Unpaid Taxes. A portion of the article deals with the Greek unpaid tax problem. No one likes to pay taxes period. No one pays taxes if they can help it in Greece. This is one of the problems affecting the euro in Greece.

When there is an election, no one is pursued or prosecuted for unpaid taxes. The vote is more important than the tax dollar! When finally apprehended and charged, the individual still is not too concerned. Tax Court cases take 7-10 years to finalize.

I will try again for Super Paradise Beach today. Tonight, I have no idea.

Enjoy your day!

TRUMP WINS…..FOR NOW…..THERE IS ALWAYS LAS VEGAS was originally published on Key West Lou

[misszarves]

timeline of my spiral for anyone who wants to laugh react

july 2019: hit a wall with sleep deprivation, anemia, gut problems and probably plain burnout, started having conflicts with my boss especially around my lateness (our workday started at 5:00 AM, he refused to simply write me up or suspend me but instead wanted to “talk about it” and this became extremely intrusive and uncomfortable fast)

also july: had my first encounter with an animal in a sticky trap, outside my apartment, a bird who I was able to rescue

also july: quit that job, went back to the golf course to bartend a couple of days a week

august: moved back in with my parents as a result of my changed employment situation

late august: read that shockingly graphic article in the NYT about child porn that some of you may remember (do I need to put a trigger warning or can y’all use common sense and refrain from looking it up). sharp spike in anxiety, making it worse than it had been in six or seven years

september: picked up more hours at the golf course, was able to make some investments in myself -- a new sewing machine and some singing lessons. had my two-year cake. 

mid-october: found out I was pregnant. on a friday (K, not J, was the father -- some people do ask). made the quick decision to have an abortion but was unable to get in touch with any abortion provider until the middle of the following week (due to phone/email tag, etc), giving me enough time to start Feeling Things about the pregnancy

november: continuing to live with my parents and work full-time as a bartender, succumbed to angst and anxiety as expected -- but family, friends and coworkers with the glaring exception of my mom (who still pretends she didn’t even know I was pregnant, lol) were very supportive. for a brief period, we settled on keeping the baby, and told my dad and picked godparents. when I changed my mind again, my boyfriend was devastated. that pretty much hasn’t changed

late november: in a last-ditch attempt to fend off the crushing dread, I took a trip north to see a friend and her husband (to be clear, I would have visited them anyway lmfao). it helped a little. on the way back, I stopped to see some of my mother’s cousins, who tried to rope me into a pyramid scheme.

november 28: abortion day! my aunt took me to the clinic and then out for burgers. while we were eating, one of the cooks, who my aunt knew, fell off a ladder and onto his back.

first two weeks following the abortion: the normal feel-like-shit-no-matter-how-secure-you-were-in-your-decision period

dec 3: relapsed! 

dec 3 onwards: since the relapse went on for about three months, I can’t nail down when that “two week” period actually ended. pregnancy hormones resulted in waves of anger and teariness, but no satisfying “mourning”. I drank more heavily than I ever did before, routinely got shitfaced or even blacked out while on shift. I told people about the relapse, but the actual inebriation mostly went unnoticed.

christmas eve: after convincing J to come spend christmas with my family, got drunk again, we got in some sort of argument. I don’t remember.

christmas morning: J left as soon as possible.

the blurry period between christmas and mid-January 2020: 

more drinking at work, and a peak in the mouse and rat problem my workplace had been managing badly for several months. saw and heard three tiny, dying, bloody mice on two separate sticky traps (two different days). on a slow ~pasta night~, knocked back a couple of drinks so I could ask one of the cooks at the pasta buffet to leave his post and euthanize the second and third mouse. which he did as humanely as possible -- with a shovel. at this point I wrote a letter to my GM telling him how unacceptable it was to make his hormonal, post-abortive employees deal with sentient animals in their dying agonies, and could he please come up with a different pseudo-solution. about a week later, he came up to me and, with great diplomacy and tact, told me to shove it up my ass.

powdered bait laced with rat poison was placed on the floor in and around the bar and kitchen. I called the health inspector, who brought the hammer down on both the poison and the sticky traps. the poison was cleaned up (part of that job went to yours truly, with no protection) as were some but not all of the sticky traps

I developed a small crush on a long-time coworker (cook #1) who began behaving in what I assumed was meant to be a flirtatious way (eye-fucking, going out of his way to talk to me in a way he hadn’t before, etc). this included some pointed questions about my mental health (the abortion and the relapse were public information at this point). bizarrely, he refused to tell me anything personal about himself. he started dating one of the banquet girls. he eventually told a mutual friend (cook #2, and our shovel-killer from above) that he “got [a] vibe” that I “wanted to fuck” but (as cook #2 gleefully reported to me) made a face and expressed disgust at the possibility of ever being involved with me in that way. (WHY ASK ME ABOUT MY FUCKING ABORTION THEN, YOU WEIRDO)

cook #2 started trying to fuck me. I did not reciprocate. he then told me he thought I was a “six” and that he wasn’t interested. a few weeks later he tried to fuck me again

early january 2020: got both a yeast infection and bacterial vaginal infection

january 6: J had a grand mal seizure on my kitchen floor. I had never seen a seizure and the tremors were so severe that my dad, who had seen many, thought he may also have been having a stroke (turned out, just a seizure). he was hospitalized overnight and kicked to the curb -- but the process was begun to get him back into rehab

january 7 (?): employee gift exchange at work. I was on shift and wasn’t participating, but there weren’t a lot of customers and my coworkers asked me to come join them. there were five-gallon buckets of old sangria to which we were given unlimited access (and remember that I was the bartender, so I took the trips to the fridge and back). I blacked out. cook #2 called my mother and I vaguely recall getting in her van.

the days following that “party”: cook #2 and several other coworkers told me I “didn’t seem that drunk,” ie was not a horrible embarrassment. however, cook #2 told me that I’d made out with him. then I started to hear rumours that I and a third cook (cook #3) had disappeared for half an hour to “go have sex”. let me be graphic for a moment: I was wearing a panty-liner that night because the spotting from the abortion hadn’t stopped, I had a yeast infection, and I hadn’t trimmed my pubic hair in about a month -- no matter how drunk I was, I cannot see myself agreeing to take my pants off around a random coworker. someone told me that I had a cheeseburger in my hand when we disappeared and was still eating it when she saw me again so she doesn’t think anything happened -- but I was suspiciously sore the next day. was it the yeast infection or was I sexually assaulted? I don’t know because I was blacked out and I never asked cook #3

january 10: actual staff holiday party. cook #3 introduced me to his long-time girlfriend. we all smiled and shook hands.

mid-january: mac miller’s circles album dropped. I decided I wanted to live. I continued to drink until the end of february, but stayed sober for much longer periods between much shorter binges

late january: I put in my two-weeks’ notice at the golf course and borrow some money from my dad. stinky came to live with us.

february 1: k, stinky and me moved into a small house my parents’ church is renting

most of february: fighting, gossiping, and faction-forming in my AA homegroup, culminated in a member being expelled and a series of “group conscience” meetings which involved yelling, fighting and crying. a relatively new arrival to our group (but a longtimer in the program) started to power-grab, which wouldn’t have fazed me except that she started openly singling me out as a “newcomer” whose vote did not count. this despite other members relapsing in the same period I did, and said power-grabber having been in attendance at my fucking cake five months previous. things got awkward.

mid-february: J went back to rehab

also mid-february: I got pulled over driving drunk in washington state. ironically, the confidence and ease I got from the alcohol kept me from being rude and short with the officer as I usually am, and he told me in a very friendly way that the speed limit would increase by 10 mph a little further down the highway, so perhaps I was confused, and I should take care out there. no ticket. a sign from god?

also mid-february: I got formally assessed for ADHD and tried ritalin for the first time. this did not end up working out.

mid-february: I was invited to dinner by the much older man who does the irrigation on the golf course, through one of the gardeners, a woman a few years younger than me with an established father-daughter type relationship with the irrigation guy. the three of us ate dinner at his house, and she proceeded to pass out from drinking too much. irrigation guy took the opportunity to feel me up.

end of february: I took my last drink and decided to start applying for jobs

also end of february: my ADHD symptoms as well as my anxiety began to spike, throwing a wrench in my resume-writing and hand-shaking plans

march: something else threw a wrench in my hand-shaking plans, as it did with all of yours. it goes without saying that I have been terribly anxious. the upside is that I know for certain that the abortion was the right idea.

also march: I switched to vyvanse and began to see better results.

mid-march, at the very beginning of shut-downs where I live: I see irrigation guy again and he takes the opportunity to pat my ass. 

end of march: J relapsed in rehab, was discharged and will see at least a ninety-day delay in his plan to complete the program and then get into secondary housing. he was briefly hospitalized, during which time the doctors did so little for him that he would have literally been just as well off in a drunk tank. service canada lost some of his paperwork so he still doesn’t have his medical EI money.

yesterday: J moved into my shed. he spoke to his counsellor, who will try to get him into a recovery house. I am confident that some things, particularly his EI money, will work out very soon. but whatever happens I have felt a reduction in the second-hand stress. as I said, and now he agrees: it’s a pretty nice shed.

[autumn-in-phandom]

“Did Dan get TOO TAN?”

(Sept 19th 2017 Dan liveshow timestamps)  

0:03 After an awkward pause and salute: “Hello cyber friends” (instant regret and reflection)

0:29 (Dear god, don’t grab your laptop by the screen like that Dan.)

0:44 Grimace #1

1:06 No Dan, you do not look *atol* different. That tweet, title and pic are all just clickbait.

1:10 (Bronze my ass.)

1:19 Hitting us with that meme.

1:25 (Didn’t need to be in your face thanks. Teasing angles?)

1:36 “Never say Trumpy ever again, in any circumstance.”

1:45 Lovely pores and freckles.

2:00 Obviously everyone subscribes to YouTubers for their freckle content.

2:30 Livestreams are “a mistake” because of the chat clinging on to one thing and spamming it.

2:40 No probing or questioning at airport, big grin.

3:01 “The broadband is terrible but the 4G is great.” Okay…

3:17 “The toasty Dan experience”, orangish filter.

3:26 Double rhyme: “I guess that’s a rhyme, yeah that’s fine” (okay it’s a slant rhyme)

3:47 “Buttered crumpet Daniel.”

4:02 “Went to an island in the Mediterranean.” (This is exactly the answer I expected and quite frankly the only one he should give.)

4:09 “Literally did nothing for about six days, it was great.”

4:15 ‘I am Pilgrim’ book recommended by his mum.

4:30 Tricked into reading 900 page book.

5:00 Holiday was incredibly relaxing.

5:10 “Ordeal” getting there, delayed flight, three hours “traumatizing”

5:22 “Haha long boye” “literally, shins driving into my chest, bleeding” alright hyperbolic humor Dan. “Tough.”

5:38 “Violated” on flight by guy’s elbows, “no respect for personal space”, “fully leaning into me”, “didn’t even care”, “honestly an icon for all of us.” (Was it Phil?)

6:03 3 am, old driver, mini bus, cliff roads, did pre-ritual preparing for death.

7:00 “So much yogurt”, doesn’t know why.

7:05 “Assaggetti” tweet, we can shame him, “has the worst sense of humor in the world”, check it out and unsubscribe, doesn’t remember the language (Italian), apologizes, “constantly problematic”.

7:55 “Got that D from the S up above” (vitamin D, or Phil…)

8:16 Phil came on the holiday in case anyone didn’t know.

8:18 “He went from like glass to pale ivory, which is good”, “Phil is someome who erupts in freckles whenever he goes outside, so it’s hard to tell if he tans or if your eyes are just kinda like drawing the dots between the space all the freckles are, if you know what I’m saying.” (Wow, I… I’d like to think you mean what I know, but I’m not sure. Wow.)

8:37 Someone in the chat: “Nice Ursa Major on that cheek boy”. Turn, pose, laugh.

8:41 “The Bigger Dipper of my self esteem.”

8:53 Good day: watched Bake Off and answered emails, “thrilling”.

9:13 Tumblr likes, fan art, “beautiful to celebrate the great people.”

9:43 “The internet is not here”, laughs, sighs, apologizes.

9:55 Some peer pressure advice.

10:25 Had to check what his video title is.

10:35 I don’t know why he bothers to ask if we watched either.

10:55 Accept that he does things by his British calendar.

11:11 Why he didn’t he talk about uni stories when it was happening. Ashamed? Yeah, processing turmoil at the time.

11:55 Now shares traumatizing, terrifying, shameful, embarrassing stories straight away.

12:15 Rowing club guy AU… (not what I was thinking)

12:46 Laundry story: Phil was nice, Dan didn’t ask, *literally* ordered a cab, turned up with suitcase, Phil assumed he dropped out and was moving in, “I’ve had a day and I’m going to wash my socks in your washing machine.”

13:13 “If you struggle to function as a person-” (I really wish he had finished this sentence)

13:15 Asda sponsor for crying in the cheese aisle?

13:23 Pasta burn shaming (were you just never in the kitchen with your mum Dan?)

13:36 Dropping laptop so much recently.

14:00 Never taught cooking, laundry, accounting.

14:18 “No one told me shit!” (in Dan’s face again).

14:33 “What happens when I’m 23?! How do I do a tax?!”

14:54 It was ravioli (pretty sure the instructions mentioned water Dan…)

15:15 Thick as in stupid, not thicc fat booty.

15:30 “Look Fatima, we all have different life experiences, okay?” (lol)

15:36 “Ravioli ravioli, give me the death I deserveioli.” Relates.

15:45 Rihanna livestream, forehead fetishist? Wouldn’t mind if anyone leaves for that.  

16:08 Not up on BTS, DNA.

16:33 Shames Eden for “let me see that pastussy” comment, “leave.”

16:45 “Love on the Brain”. He really loves Rihanna, amazing, blessing, doesn’t give a shit, casual, informal, etc. “Bitch Better Have My Money.”

17:25 Is sure BTS video with be “pure and beautiful”, expects “softly applied eyeshadow and very fluffy hair”, he’s sure he’ll enjoy.

17:38 Maybe new gaming video/livestream tomorrow.

17:45 Overcooked, ironic kitchen fire, foreshadowing.

18:08 Wasn’t sure if he should get into Chinese guy story again, but he has to.

18:13 Deep breath: “It was 4 am, I’d been you know, well hydrated that evening, but I decided I needed another drink” go into the kitchen, everyone else was asleep, guy had a whole chicken, with neck and feet, fine but surprising, tiniest pair of white y-fronts, hacked head off and made eye contact, just couldn’t, usually would awaken some kink in him…

19:39 Pool pic, shout out to friend, no consent, relaxing, absorbing sun like a lizard, *basking*, fell asleep, lucky it was a pool and he didn’t drift out to sea, sun stroke vid reference, “the bad tan”.

21:08 People saying “trying to be cute”, the double chins (really?!)

21:21 The least Dan-like photo.

21:33 Thought it would ruin his Instagram aesthetic.

22:10 Lack of other content: relaxing, reading,

22:24 Took a couple other photos, sunset selfie, “no one’s going to take a photo of me” (what the hell happened to your personal photographer?) but then people came (please post, please!)

23:40 Bake off is his life, “Noel Feilding is a national treasure”, caramel was torture while hungry, faves are Liam and not!Val (what did he whisper about Liam? Really wanted him to be…?)

24:30 *Maybe* Halloween Baking, they don’t think that far ahead about anything.

24:48 Phil’s role in Dan’s video, mugging scene took nine takes, afraid to punch him. Outtakes please!

26:03 (grimace #2) “Hello Grandma, my name is Daniel, I’m a wholesome person, that’s a very great influence”

26:16 Wachowski films

26:23 Dan floating in donut plushies would be very challenging.

26:33 Dan flips a bit at the idea that’s it’s weird to like people who don’t know who you are. Uses Ed Sheeran as example.

26:55 Scrolls past person who said they feel better when they have a dream about Dan and Phil.

27:17 Cared more about YouTube than university socializing and class, Pom Bear Massacre reference, made Tumblr account.

29:09 Chapped lips, season changed the moment he stepped off the plane.

29:42 “Okay Universe, I know I can be a bit of a downer, sometimes.”

29:51 Haley Barry Storm powers

30:08 Yes the furry blanket comes out, polyester, sad pimp, Marks & Spencer.

31:06 Ready for everything seasonal, autumnal Yankee Candle range, not haute, but fun themes.

31:31 Frisbee laptop across the room on to the bed, missed.

31:46 Candle haul, yes it is content we need right now!

32:26 Furry invasion on Splatoon, scaley, yiffing proposition, “this is a family game”, not shaming just concerned for kids, though it is hentai-esque…

33:27 Sonic: 2010 reminiscing, formatting of boxes.

34:04 Was stupid side kick, Phil being good, Dan trying to be helpful, actual just a cheerleader, Phil was disgusting, doesn’t know if Phil even knew what he was saying (of course he did).

34:38 Didn’t know uni vid was trending

34:52 Reflection (I think that’s the piano nook)

35:00 Weird because of swearing, someone at YT didn’t watch the vid, “Ah, keep doing that, don’t watch my videos, just know that I’m a good person…”

35:25 “I make great friendly content.” (grimace #3)

35:30 Explains why trending isn’t automatic. Yes, think of the children.

36:05 “But hey, I’m not bad, everything’s fine”.

36:45 “People of all genders do and don’t wear makeup”.

37:10 (I’m pretty sure that the no candles with birds is because of the fumes.)

37:25 What is with the nose touching when confirming Spooky Week? “Next video (nose touch) soon, don’t worry”…?

38:28 “Fans of everything are annoying, that’s just what happens when people are enthusiastic about stuff.”

39:19 Dan doesn’t get annoyed by different fandoms. Says more about the people being annoyed, part of their own insecurity, their lack of community, togetherness, celebration, shared experiences, jealous or sad, or maybe everyone just everyone’s annoying.

39:56 Dream Daddy: so dangerous saying Dilddy. Dan likes Damien, great taste, immaculate presentation, probably not Dilddy’s romantic soulmate.

40:31 Dan is in like ten fandoms (makes a face).

40:45 Chat: “Will Phil become a furry, what’s your fursona?” Dan: “Is it time to go?”

40:55 Has never thought about it, promises he’ll get on it soon, he knows what the internet wants from him.

41:31 Chat full of fursona suggestions. He’s going to start crying.

41:52 “A llama fucking hell.” “Look at the time.”

42:01 Going to go into a (not disturbing) hole later looking into axoltl fur suits.

42:24 Elf on a shelf meme, was going to post a Dan one, “old meme!” (Still don’t need to be up in your face Daniel.)

43:27 Really wants to go see IT, needs to see Mother.

44:04 Shut up! American Horror Story, makes him happy. Loves Sarah Paulson (is his life), feels represented by a lesbian with anxiety. Evan Peters is great, looks gross, or great depending.

45:25 His fursona should be a big bear, I agree. What a reaction.

45:46 Left comb on holiday, looks like a bush.

46:13 (grimace #4 at group chat names.)

46:20 “What is wrong with all of you?”

46:22 Glosses over diet ask. Indeed.

46:26 “Don’t call me Uncle Dan when we’re talking about fursonas.”

46:36 “If you live in Australia vote for marriage equality, we don’t need to have this conversation.” “Come on, come on Australia, sort your shit out.”

47:03 Going to “innocently Google things that are fine”.

47:22 “Me and Phil would love to come to Russia”.

47:27 Limitations of TATINOF.

47:44 Watch uni vid: “Don’t take it too seriously. Remember that most of the time I’m just trying to be funny, and if you ever want like my real feelings or opinions, just think about whatever the opposite of what I’m saying is, and that’s usually how to get to the sincere heart of whatever Dan’s talking about.”

48:13 “Stay calm, ask some senpais for some life advice and think carefully about what your fursona should be.”

[gospacegay]

LRTIHEW: Part Nine

The title stands for “Longest Rusame Thing I Have Ever Written”. Don’t mind the price quotes in rubles. This story is older and the dollar exchange rate is always in flux.

First Chapter: https://gospacegay.tumblr.com/post/165808913233/lrtihew-part-one

Previous Chapter: https://gospacegay.tumblr.com/post/165963456438/lrtihew-part-eight

There is swearing, fluff, eventual smut, insanity, and lord knows what else

Eight months. That's how painfully long it took for the USA to get it's act together. A new emergency election was hosted after a several brief debates. The other candidates didn't stand a chance, despite Kozlov not being on any ballets. People started writing his name on voting slips, then checking it off. The sheer number of invalid 'Kozlov' voter slips overwhelmed the highly televised voting process.

He unofficially won by a landslide for the democrat party. When the white house tried to place the official winner in power, the public took to occupying the white house lawn and burning down houses. The governing bodies were terrorized by their own citizens across every state, demanding their votes to be recognized. The senate inevitably caved in and put Kozlov back in power.

Ivan was pleased. His people were pleased. Once the Russian citizens discovered one of their own was 'running the USA', they celebrated. Fan letters from Slavic countries around the world inundated the white house. It was now a week before the inaugural party. Russia was browsing his extensive suit collection. He wanted to look stunning, but not overdone. This was the first time Ivan had been invited to such a party outside his own borders since... quite a long time.

He knew he was financially allied with America to some extent. Stroking the soft fabric of a hanging suit, Ivan wondered about things. Was he now friends with another nation? Alfred was inviting him over at least three times a year. They often did things that were admittedly fun and usually foolish.

The purple eyed Slav had only teased Alfred about being friends. It seemed to crawl under the tanned nation's skin easily. However, the actual idea of them being friends was appealing. Sure, the young nation was annoying, and loud, and flippant with his commitments. He was also terrifyingly strong. Ivan used to be that strong once, centuries ago. The stubborn Russian could keep up athletically these days, but resorted to mind games and sharp reflexes to keep his edge.

Sighing, he looked over his suits again. Perhaps this issue of friendship was one he was inventing. Russia was a... mostly... powerful and wonderful country. No. It was the best. He was superior above all others. And most of all, Ivan Braginsky did not doubt himself. Uplifted from his internal pep talk, the Russian finally picked a simple black suit and a blood red tie. He couldn't recall if it started off that burnt shade of red, which made the accessories an even better choice.

After picking out simple silver cuff links, Ivan was ready for the airport. The horrifying long plane ride was not going going to be fun. His cell phone rang as he locked up the house. He had been given express permission to attend this influential party. If work dared to call him... “Yes?” Ivan growled upon answering the phone.

“Oh man, no wonder nobody calls you! Sound like you shit out a pine cone.” A obnoxiously loud voice replied. Ivan froze, realizing it was America. When other nations called, it was always something bad. The worst came to mind immediately. Was Ivan not invited to the party anymore? “So, change of plans. Your planes suck and are never like, on time.” Alfred went on mindlessly. Disheartened, Ivan listened while waiting for the final words of rejection.

“... so yeah. I sent a jet over. It'll be six hours instead of a billion to get here. It's going to be at your place in an hour. The usual airport.��� the annoying nation concluded. “Yes, I will be there.” Ivan breathed, unable to stop a smile creeping over his features. “Aww you sound happy. It's almost like you're not an ass –” The Russian ended the call prematurely. Not only was he still invited, but the host wanted to cart him over on their money.

Russia was relieved. International plane tickets cost a hefty $36,000 rubles, or two months salary for a low end government worker. Ivan wasn't paid much more than that. In war, he had endless access to his boss's accounts, but it was only for battle expenses... Yes. Alfred sending a private jet was greatly appreciated.

[artificialqueens]

tinder's a shit show (trixya) (1/?) - ornacia

(A/N: hey all. this little thing is the product of exam stress, boredom, and my inevitable relapse into full-on rpdr fanfiction addiction. i’ve never written anything for this fandom before so apologies if it’s not the best. i might continue it if the response is good but if not, it was a lot of fun either way!)

“Galentines Day,” Trixie repeated incredulously. She’d been sitting in the library for almost three hours and had relocated six times either out of boredom or because someone nearby was giving her evil-eyes for taking up desk-space she didn’t actually need. As of now she’d found herself a table at the back of the cafe with a patchy signal and a couple of suspicious looking stains on the seat.

“Yeah, it’s from that one episode of Parks and Recreation.”

Trixie raised an eyebrow, taking a long sip of strawberry milkshake.

“Remember? It’s the one where –”

“I remember,” she said, pushing her drink aside and adjusting the screen of her laptop in the hopes of seeing her friend a little better. “Are you gonna make me a mosaic out of crushed up bottles of my favourite diet soda?”

“No.”

“Am I getting a personalised 5,000 word essay on why I’m the most awesome friend you’ve ever had? A needlepoint cushion with my face on it?”

Kim fixed her with a look, and after a beat of silence Trixie gave in and pushed her milkshake to the side of the screen. “Okay, okay. What are we doing?”

“Having a sleepover. You, me, Naomi, and Max. They’re staying the night and we’re watching 10 Things I Hate About You and ordering a take-out.”

Trixie raised a brow. “Eating your feelings isn’t supposed to be a group activity.”

“But it can be,” Kim argued. “So are you in? You know, you kind of have to say ‘yes’ unless you want to lock yourself in your room all night while we throw the Galentine’s day party without you.”

“Will there be wine?”

Kim smiled triumphantly at the camera, holding up one finger and clumsily shuffling upwards and backwards out of her seat. She disappeared for all of thirty seconds before reappearing in the frame with several bottles clutched against her chest, none of which looked particularly stable. “Lots,” she confirmed, lifting her arms a little so as to give a better view.

“You got me,” Trixie said, shaking her head and grinning at her roommate. “Now go put those back before you cause an accident.”

—

She was two glasses deep into the bottle of Grenache Rosé when someone said the word ‘Tinder’. Her ass was numb from having been forcefully relocated to the arm of the couch by unanimous vote and her attention was only half on the T.V, the other half being reserved for the last few slices of pepperoni pizza.

“Yeah,” Naomi said, legs splayed out across the other girls’ laps and a wine glass dangling between her fingers. “I know someone who met their boyfriend on Tinder. Like, an actual boyfriend – not some guy who takes you to the cinema one time and tries to bundle you into the backseat of his jeep. ”

Max, ever the sensible one, considered this information with a small frown creasing her brow. “Really? Isn’t that a little… you know, dangerous?”

“Not if you meet them somewhere public,” Trixie pointed out sliding down from her perch and onto the floor that she could crawl towards the pizza boxes and re-load her plate.

“Second wind already?”

“Fuck you,” she said, jabbing a mozzarella stick in the offender’s direction and licking the salt from her fingertips. “It’s been at least twenty minutes.”

“Sure,” Kim snorted. “Seriously though, what’s the guy like?”

“Not that weird. She could do better, but like if she’s happy I’m not going to say anything.”

“Does he have Instagram?”

“I didn’t ask.”

“Everyone has Instagram,” Trixie said. “It’s like Facebook. If you don’t have Instagram you’re probably not a real person.”

“Unless you’re forty years old, in which case you’ve probably got better things to do.”

“Yeah, right. Like bake a tuna casserole for the neighbours and spam inspirational minion memes on your fourteen-year-old daughter’s Facebook page.”

“Don’t come for my mother, Miss Mattel. You don’t know her like that.”

Trixie laughed and threw a ball of kitchen towel at the other girl’s face before scooting backwards to sit on the floor between the other girls legs. Max, to her credit, caught the hint immediately and picked a couple of blonde curls to start playing with.

“Why don’t you get it, Trixie?”

“Get what?” She half-turned her head to look up at Kim and Naomi on the sofa behind her.

“Tinder,” Naomi said, holding up her hands in mock-surrender in response to the flash of indignation that flashed across the blonde’s face. “Woah, hey, that wasn’t supposed to be shady. I just thought maybe you could do with getting some.”

“You are always complaining about how long it’s been since you got laid.” Kim chimed in.

As true as that was, her complaining was more for show than anything else. Trixie hadn’t ever been much of a dater, and the one time she’d been fingered at a house party in the eleventh grade was hardly memorable.

“You just said Tinder was full of creeps.”

“No,” Naomi said slowly. “Max said Tinder was full of creeps. Come on, it’ll be fun. We can toot or boot your potential hook-ups. It’s not like you’re actually gonna meet any of them in person.”

“Ooh,” Kim clapped her hands together lightly. “Sounds interesting.”

Trixie grimaced, shaking her head and pushing her phone protectively beneath her knees. “No, no way,” she said. “What if I run into someone from college or a neighbour or something?”

“Your neighbour is rather attractive,” Max mused, looking a little taken aback when three curious sets of eyes swivelled her way. “What? I’m allowed to find someone visually appealing. I don’t mean anything inappropriate by it.”

“Calm down, Maria,” Trixie snorted. “Nobody thinks you’re that kind of girl.”

“Nobody thinks you’re that kind of girl either.”

“So why am I being made to download it? Why not Max?”

“Because Max would never actually do it, and you’ve had way more to drink.”

Trixie made an affronted noise, placing her hand on her chest and and opening her mouth in a caricature of shock. For all her theatrics, she knew they weren’t wrong. All it took was ten more minutes of relentless pestering before she threw her hands in the air and gave into the pressure. It wasn’t as though she’d ever use it or talk to any of her potential matches. Besides that, a little ego boost never hurt anybody.

“Use that picture,” Naomi said, reaching forward to tap a perfectly manicured nail against the screen. “You’re giving beach-babe Barbie realness.”

“That’s so not a thing,” Trixie said, smacking her hand away. “And I can’t put that up, I’m in a Bikini!”

“What’s your point?”

She rolled her eyes, looking over her profile one last time before hitting ‘done’. It wasn’t as though she was trying to impress anybody. If a scantily clad photo with a margarita in her hand was what it took to keep her friends entertained then what was the harm?

“Set your preferences to ‘both’.”

“What? Why?” Trixie frowned.

“Because I want to see if the girls on Tinder are as weird as the guys,” Kim shrugged.

Apparently the answer was yes. There were a few cute guys here and there and a couple of girls that Trixie couldn’t help but linger on before passing, but the majority of people were pretty unsettling. There was a guy named Daryl with one too many innuendos in his bio and a selection of identical photos all taken from the exact same angle on his laptop. Then there was Jesus, Jesus in a nappy, and Jesus who’d dragged a random baby goat into his profile picture for the sake of looking ‘sensitive’.

“This guy just made a power-point on the pros and cons of swiping right,” she said, raising her eyebrows and turning the phone screen so everyone could see it better.

“Next.”

“I like her makeup,” Kim said, leaning in closer to examine the next potential match. “And her shoes are cute too.”

“Toot.”

They carried on like that well into the evening. When eventually it did get old, they resorted to watching an episode of Toddlers and Tiaras before calling it a night.

It wasn’t until the other girls had gone to bed and Trixie found herself sitting up alone on twitter that she opened it up again out of curiosity. The first profile didn’t disappoint. In fact, she found herself squinting to try and figure out exactly what it was she was looking at.

The girl in the photo was blonde and rail-thin with hollow cheeks that struck an odd contrast against the brightness of her eyes. There was a spot of red lipstick in her teeth and a slightly flushed and breathless look about her and, strangest of all, she was wearing a dress printed with screen-caps of Amanda Bynes in ‘What a Girl Wants’.

“What the…” she shifted her gaze to the bio section and snorted with laughter.

‘I’m the closeted High School make-out session that’s still got you sweating when grandma comes to visit, Katya.’

Curiosity piqued, Trixie flicked her way through the remaining photos. There was one of her hanging upside down from a goal-post with her underwear on full display and another of her photobombing a cute, ginger girl’s mirror selfie. She was grinning like an idiot in both of them and against all odds, Trixie found herself gravitating towards the green heart.

‘We probably won’t even match,’ she told herself, continuing on through the profiles out of sheer boredom. ‘And even if we did, it’s not like I’m not into girls.’

There had only been one openly gay student at her High School in Milwaukee. It wasn’t something anyone ever talked about, but she’d spied him getting roughed up behind that school canteen a couple of times and that was more than enough evidence for her to deduce that it wasn’t something you went around telling people.

And maybe it was naive of her.  She that it was different in places like California where people were open to new ideas and methods of self-expression, but she’d gotten more than enough flack for her sense of style over the years. Since moving away from home, Trixie had been able to start presenting herself the way she’d always wanted to; big hair, pink clothes, and a lot of makeup. That was enough. She didn’t need to embark on some journey of self-exploration or live out the ‘everyone experiments in college’ fantasy.

She didn’t.

Her train of thought was interrupted when a notification cropped up in the corner of her screen. Her heart stuttered a little in her chest a moment, but it wasn’t anywhere near as exciting as she’d first hoped. It was a message from some guy they’d swiped right on a couple of hours earlier - not that she was disappointed or hoping for anything else.

She didn’t bother reading it before locking her phone and struggling up off the sofa to grab herself a glass of water and follow the other girls to bed.

—

(04.33AM) i hear you’re looking for a stud. well, I got the STD and all I need is u ;))

Trixie blinked, reaching to rub the sleep from her eyes with her free hand. She could hear chatter from the kitchen, a sure sign that everyone else had been awake for a little while already, and the smell of pancakes was just starting to waft in through her bedroom door.

“Who the hell,” she murmured, keying in her passcode and scrolling through her apps until she found the little fire icon.

Of course.

The message was from Katya. A second glance at her profile confirmed that she was every bit as gorgeous as Trixie remembered and just weird enough for the pick-up to be funny instead of creepy or uncomfortable.

(10.53AM) No offence but that really isn’t how to sell yourself.

(10.54AM) Also why were you still awake at 4AM?

It wasn’t as though she was committing to anything by writing back. At least, that was what she told herself. If Katya turned out to be some sort of insatiable horn-dog or a sixty-five year old man with a thirst for women way outside the socially acceptable dating pool, she could always delete the app or block her.

The thought had only just crossed her mind when her bedroom door flew open to reveal a fresh-faced Kim sporting frilly, turquoise apron and some sushi-print pyjamas. “We’re making pancakes,” She announced. “Nutella and strawberries or peanut butter and banana?”

“Nutella and strawberries. Do we have any whipped cream?”

“Yeah.”

“That too.” Trixie said, flinching when her phone buzzed in her hand. It was from Tinder. She’d been a little on the fence about whether she’d be receiving a response at all, let alone so quickly. What kind of person stayed up till just before dawn and managed to resurrect before lunch-time?

“Who’s that?”

“Huh? Oh, nothing. No-one,” Trixie put her phone in her lap and played it off with a shrug. “I’ll be through in five, can you keep a couple warm for me?”

“Sure.”

She waited until Kim had left the room before re-launching the app to see what Katya had sent her. Vaguely, she wondered if Tinder notified the other person when she’d read their messages. That was something to figure out later.

(10.55AM) no, totally - the best way to sell yourself is to up the quality and put down the price :D

(10.55AM) Sounds like you’re talking from experience.

(10.55AM) i’m a wealth of wordly experience, mother.

(10.55AM) Mother?

(10.56AM) wrong number. it’s the russian supermodel you swiped right on last night ;DD

She rolled her eyes.

(10.56AM) Doesn’t ring a bell.

(10.56AM) :((

(10.56AM) how about a crazy flashing her granny-panties in the playpark?

(10.56AM) So this is my mother.

(10.56AM) ha ha

(10.57AM) for real though, you’re super cute!

(10.57AM) Thanks, you have a really pretty smile.

(10.57AM) twenty-one years of refined sugar and legal highs and i’ve never had a cavity

(10.57AM) Get out, I had braces for two and a half years!

(10.57AM) and didn’t put one of those pictures on your profile???

(10.57AM) I literally looked like Sharon Spitz.

(10.57AM) braceface!

(10.58AM) You got that reference?

(10.58AM) no, i googled it.

(10.58AM) why did the deer need braces?

(10.58AM) Oh no…

(10.58AM) he had buck teeth!

(10.58AM) That was awful.

(10.59AM) wanna hear another one?

(10.59AM) Hold on, let me… brace myself.

(10.59AM) ahhh!!!

(10.59AM) marry me. right here, right now

Trixie was fully aware of the fact that she was smiling like an idiot. She couldn’t help it. For someone she’d been speaking to for a little over five minutes, Katya was ridiculously charming and super easy to talk to.

(10.59AM) I usually don’t accept marriage proposals until after the second date.

(11.00AM) two dates for marriage?? who do you think u are

(11.00AM) A lady of class and sophistication.

(11.00AM) no way, me too

(11.00AM) I can tell.

(11.00AM) it’s an energy

(11.00AM) Oh, totally.

(11.00AM) cosmic, almost

(11.00AM) Cosmic?

(11.01AM) absolutely. the stars have aligned to tell you i’m one high-end, high-class piece

(11.01AM) That wasn’t what I was getting.

(11.01AM) you need to open your mind

(11.01AM) listen with your heart

(11.01AM) Paint with all the colours of the wind?

(11.01AM) yes!! thank you, pocahontas

“Trixie!”

"Coming! I’m coming,” she called, peeling the duvet covers off herself and feeling around the floor for her slippers.  

(11.02AM) I gotta go, breakfast is ready.

(11.02AM) aw :((

(11.02AM) ttyl?

(11.02AM) Sure.

(11.02AM) :D

Trixie huffed out a laugh, glancing at Katya’s smiling profile picture one last time before setting her phone face-down on the bed-side table and shuffling on through to the kitchen. Kim, Naomi and Max were all gathered around the counter in various states of wakefulness. Naomi looked as though she’d slept in her mascara, no surprise there, while Max had was sitting with a cup of tea clutched in both hands. All three of them turned when she entered.

“Someone looks cheerful,” Max commented, raising a brow. “What’s that about?”

"Oh, nothing.” Trixie said idly, swiping a plate from her cupboard and stacking it high with a smile still lingering on her lips. ”Nothing at all.”