#but I was so proud of the fact that I managed to refresh at exactly the right time that I didn't think of it

[pelahnar]

I don't understand why people are still reblogging this after I got the most perfect screenshot months ago:

Nah one straw is no problem bro. I'm the strongest camel ever, I'm carrying like TEN THOUSAND straw right now. If I can handle ten thousand straw then what's one straw gonna do? Stands to reason. Just chuck it on bro, it'll be fine.

[venmondiese]

A PRINCE’S FAREWELL

masterlist ✧works in procress ✧ AO3

-ˋˏsummary: As Prince Aemond prepares to fight at Rook Rest, you accompany him before he departs.

✧Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x Female Reader.

✧word count: 2.3k

✧Warnings: : MDNI 18+, oral (f), aemond being a pussy eating champ (canon), and he lowkey gets hard from his own arrogance.

✧NOTE: i saved these from drafts, this was supposed to come out after episode 4, so all the events are from ep 4.

AEGON'S PARALLEL ONE SHOT: A king's farewell

“He is an imbecile” Aemond states, as he places the eyepatch carefully on his head. He has finished putting on his riding clothes, and after coming from the council, he seems more than upset.

“He is the King” you say to your husband, sitting on the bed as you watch him get ready. Your right leg was above the other, bouncing your feet softly in amusement, your skirts moving with the motion. “Imbecile or not”

“We made him the King.” Aemond remarks sharply, clearly upset. You could see it in how he moves. How his jaw clenches and he sighs, almost growling in annoyance. “He doesn’t appreciate it”

You hum, looking at him get ready. He was meticulous, getting every detail good. Making sure his riding clothes were well clasped, and would support the movements of the wind. 

“Are you sure some of Rhaenyra’s dragons will go there? I mean… it sounds risky”

“Blacks are stupid like that” he murmurs. “Predictable” he says softly. “Lord Staunton sent a cry for help to his whorish pretender of a Queen” 

You look at him; he speaks as if he was an omniscient god, who knew exactly everyone’s steps in a war. It was kind of arousing.

 “It isn’t too hard to guess. Dragonstone will be trapped, an isle among loyalists of the True King. Only threat is Meleys, Caraxes is far… at Harrenhal. And the rest of them? Spoiled little dragons that never had seen any war. A very good food for Vhagar” He says confidently. “And yet that so-called Queen has to find allies.” He says, almost in amusement.

You watch him move, taking the gloves as he stands before you, putting the gloves on.

“He froze, like a stupid deer in a hunt” he says, the slight smirk on his lips are a sight of his amusement of the whole deal. “He doesn’t recall the last time he took a High Valyrian class from the Maesters…” 

“Aemond” you say, smiling and tilting your head as that humiliation gave him a sense of smugness. 

“It is true. He just babbled some words. Our little son can speak better and he is just babe” 

You nod, appreciating the fact. Your son was probably the thing that Aemond was most proud of. He doted on Aerion always, and you kept thanking the gods that when the murderers of prince Jaehaerys were in the castle, you had been with the maesters, as your baby was sickly, and he didn't manage to be healthy for long. 

“He is two, and he's starting to make some sense in common tongue” you remind him. “He babbles some Valyrian words”

“He is still better than that… idiot” Aemond murmurs. “It was… he deserved it. After he has done” he murmurs, turning away as he fetches the scabbard, and his own sword. 

“You mean…?” you ask, moving your legs to place both feet on the ground, witting more straight up.

Aemond stops a bit on his tracks. Imbecile, you imbecile. He thinks, as he turns to you. Your eyes look at him with curiosity, following his every movement and you didn’t miss a thing he spoke. It was as refreshing as frustrating. 

It wasn’t that he isn’t fond of you. It’s just that there are things that you are better without knowing, and after all, he was not above the temptations of the flesh and the need of being vulnerable. He couldn’t be that with you. 

“What did he do to deserve this cruelty?” you ask softly, standing up.

“What hasn’t he done…?” He murmurs, trying to not make obvious his coldness. 

“You mean… when he teased you as kids?” You ask, as it was the only occasion you recalled.

“Hm” he hums, not really wanting a reminder of that. Less the night at the brothel, when Aegon found him with the Madame. He tried to play it cool, but he walked rather quickly to the castle, and to your shared chambers, instead of his personal one, slipping in his side of the bed, and leaving his sword near. If Aegon tried anything with you near, Aemond would have cut his head. And his drunkard King’s guard would have not been able to stop him.

And he smirks at that. Who would stop him now? Cole was away. His mother didn’t speak to him. His grandsire away. Aegon could barely rule the Kingdom, and his King’s guard was useless. More and more with idiotic people like him.

If Aemond was on his place– 

He would have done things differently. Would have not underestimated traditions, and would have not changed something as vital as white cloaks. He has to do, instead, all of the work to get castles and strategic support on war. All by himself. 

“Let's say Aegon will not underestimate me” he says, as you take the leathery scabbard from his hands, moving the strap to place it on his shoulder, moving delicately to help him put it on.

“He is your brother. He is… hurt. His son just died” Aemond sighs, as he had confided in you the knowledge of how Blood and Cheese were meant for him.

“Yes. I know” he murmurs.

“And he called you the best sword and his closest blood” you remind him.

“Those are not compliments” he murmurs. 

You look at him, and smirk, knowing what he thought “Are facts, as you say.” you finish for him. “Still, my love, you are serving him in the greatest of ways” you say making sure the scabbard won’t fall or isn’t well secured.

He hums; you are praising him and encouraging him to follow his own strategies for war, instead of asking the whole council. You nuzzle his cheek, kissing softly there.

“Hm.” He says, a bit delighted by your presence. Soothes his need for destruction. 

“Just like I like to serve you in the greatest of ways as a wife” you murmur, pressing soft kisses on his jaw.

His hum comes up is raspy, as he places a hand on your lower back, gripping softly there as he enjoys your pampering.

“Stop delighting yourself in the memory of humiliating Aegon” you say, as if you could read his mind. He was not thinking of that, but the smirk on his lips was one of amusement.

As you turn back to sit on the edge of the bed, he takes his sword, moving closer to you, as he stands in front of you on the bed, leaving the sword on the table nearby. 

“You should have seen it.” he murmurs, smiling. “Poor idiot” he says. “You speak High Valyrian better than he does”

You, of no Valyrian heritage as Targaryen’s, knew some words, but only thanks to him. He insisted, for you to know a bit. You could speak it, but read it in its raw form? Horrible. You could understand some books, only if High Valyrian was romanized. 

“Sepār mirrī” (just a little) you say, a bit messy, but he smiles at your words. 

He was much more fluent at High Valyrian than anyone else you knew. You had heard Princess Rhaenyra or Prince Daemon, rawer. Aemond took it in the time to learn it more fluently. You thought that perhaps it was the difference of teachers. Still, it sounded delightful.

To have him whisper in High Valyrian was a taste of heaven. 

“Iēdrosa, sȳrkta. Issa iā mittys” (Still, Better. He is a fool) he murmurs, as he knelt in front of you, his hands on your thighs as he accommodates.

His hands move down, as you look at him, his face at the height of your clavicle. His eyes are deep, looking at you with calculating moves. That has been your husband since the war started. He was always looking with careful and almost cold eyes, slightly smug and drunk on the excitement and promise of war. 

“Ao'll ūndegon.  Kesan ērinagon bisa vīlībāzma, syt kesan daor sagon iā mittys dombo.  Gaoman bisa syt īlva lentor.” He murmurs, sweetly, as he moves his hands under the skirt of your dress, smiling a bit. 

You raise your eyebrows, a bit in confusion. He was obviously advanced in High Valyrian, probably fluent as the natives back in the day. You didn’t understand much, barely the words war and win. 

“What are you doing?” You ask curiously as his hands slide up under your skirts, and he looks at you, as his lips curl into the faintest smirk. 

“I think I need luck before going and killing a dragon” He murmurs. “If this plan is to work.”

You indulge him, as he moves your skirts all the way up, he is quick to accommodate between your open legs, and he moves your underclothes rather quickly, and much more when you are wearing so many cloth layers. 

“That is so silly….” You say, as he eagerly pulls down your underclothes “This will not make you win–”

“It will. A proper farewell too” he says, his only eye feasting on your glistening folds, seeing how you made no attempts to refuse him. “Hm.” He hums before pressing his mouth to your cunt.

His tongue snaked out, moving it up all the way in your folds as he heard your satisfied sigh. He loved all the little sounds you let out while he pleasures you. Aemond was a lustful man, not openly, but rather a subtle yet passionate lover. 

His tongue laps on your cunt, relishing on the taste that he has neglected as of late. He used to do it often, making you cum two or three times, depending on his mood. He would stay hours, if permitted, eating you out. 

He closes his one eye, pure bliss on his expression as his hands wrap around your thighs to scoop you closer and he also presses his face closer to your cunt. 

The whimpers you leave, feeling the tip of his nose tease on your folds, drives him insane. He is rock hard on his pants, his tongue moving more at the idea of fucking you. His nose slightly presses more into your cunt, searching a bit blindly to where is your clit, just to hear the loud moan you leave, and how your hands grip the edge of the bed as you do so.

“Valzȳrys…”  you whimper, legs moving a bit more open as he has to groan. Fucking tease, he thinks, with your perfect Valyrian that turns him on so much.

His tongue works double after that, as if it was a little incentive for his own delight. The jaw moves, tensing a bit as his tongue keeps on working, delving deeper into her dripping pussy. He feels the slickness of your arousal, as his face is buried and he can only feel the heat and wetness of it all. 

You feel how his hand grabs yours, interlocking your fingers together as he keeps on feasting on your cunt. It was driving you mad. Each little stroke with his tongue made you roll your eyes and re accommodate your hips closer to his head, almost grinding to ride his face, needing the comfort and pleasure that only he brings you.

“Fuck, Aemond…” you moan, and she gives a small slap on your thigh with his other hand, as you curse. 

Aemond groans as he feels one of your legs, which were above his shoulder, pressing down on his back as your feet seem to push him closer and closer, trying anyhow to keep him eating you out until you cum. That's his wish as well, as he hears your pretty moans and feels your legs quivering a bit. 

“I could eat you…” he is obscene as he slurps, on purpose, trying to be as lewd and loud. “For hours… for years” 

“Don’t tease” the way the weight on your feet on his back gets more evident, he knows you are desperate. 

“Not teasing” he says, moving your skirts, better said, crushing them down so he can look at your face, his lips, chin and even his nose are shiny from your arousal, and the image is obscene. “I’m dead serious. Once I come back-, as a winner, you’ll sit on my face for hours.”

He is a man possessed, as he just keeps going and going, occasionally spitting over your cunt and moving his nose over it, as if he was nuzzling like a cat. His hands are firm, he was not making any effort to allow you to move away, just to remain there and allow him to have his own delight before going to battle. 

He nips at your clit, making the filthiest sounds fall from your mouth, almost making him go insane. His jaw goes slack, lapping at your cunt as he can feel the flesh clenching greedily at something that isn’t there. He just knows you crave to be fucked.

His fingers, with some of your own dripping arousal, move to caress your clit as his tongue is busy with your hole. You feel the circular movements around your little clit, and you moan loudly.

“Fuck, Aem-!” You cry out loud “I’mgonnacum” your words come slurred, as your legs try to squeeze his head, yet he isn’t one to coward. 

He allows you to cum on his face, soaking his mouth and skin, as he relishes the taste of your cum. He is greedy, and he intends to swallow every bit that he can. 

The aftermath is a bit dizzy as he accommodates your dress, and he watches your face as you reincorporate on your seat, trying for your lungs to remember how to breathe properly, as you pant from exhaustion.

“Come back” you say softly, looking at him. “Please.”

Aemond hums, standing up, moving to accommodate his clothes and eye patch, along with his hair. He was not one of much affection; they were always strange to him yet he did his best to please you with little kisses and such. 

“I promise you.” He says simply, grabbing his sword with a determined expression. “I will come back alive, and all of them coward traitors to my kin will die. The throne and the victory shall be ours, and for good.”

thank you for reading!! reblogs, likes and comments are not necessary but well appreciated ♡

[penny00dreadful]

Okay, okay, okay listen.

Remember when we were all obsessed with Steddie Legally Blonde a while back? Yes, I’m still thinking about it, leave me alone. And I adore everything I’ve read. It’s all so fantastic.

But I had a thought because what if we switched it up a little? I’m going mainly off of the musical here, so bear with. 

So what if instead of having Steddie as Elle and Emmett, we instead have them as Paulette and UPS Guy/Kyle??? Like??? It fits, right???

But then, but THEN who do we have as Elle/Emmett?

Buckingham.

No, but just think of it! 

Or I guess you don’t really need to because I’ve thought of it enough for all of us and it goes like this:

(OMG you guys I blacked out and when I woke up this thing was 3.1k long written over a few hours. I haven't edited this at all so please be gentle about typos/tense changes etc. The fever just took me.)

Chrissy is your quintessential girly girl. She is Elle Woods. She’s blonde, pretty, cheerleader, very feminine and happy where she is in life, President of her Sorority with her besties by her side and her guy who is… well he’s as good as any guy could be, right?

Jason is handsome, rich, well connected, he treats her with affection and he humours her when she has some pretty wild, out there ideas. 

But then it happens and they break up because apparently having a girly girl for a wife just wouldn’t look good if he’s gonna live his life the way he wants to. Lawyer, his own practice, running for office. 

Apparently her blonde hair and boobs would hold him back which, what the fuck??? 

What does that have to do with anything?

They love each other, right? That surface stuff isn’t supposed to matter. At all! They’re supposed to be together no matter what because they… they love each other?

Well fuck that noise, no one tells Chrissy Cunningham she’s too fucking blonde to do anything which is a hypocritical ass thing to say because has Jason looked in the fucking mirror recently?

Different fucking rules, apaprently. 

Well, no more.

She’s gonna fuck up law school right along side him and she’s gonna wear fucking pink while doing it too!

And like, everything is going fine. 

Chrissy’s not stupid, she knows how she’s perceived by people before they get to know her. 

Vapid, bimbo, perky, blonde.

Like that’s an insult.

It’s just harder now that she’s away from her girls, gays and theys back home. And everyone here seems to think that the best way to live their lives is to look boring as shit while doing it along with tearing each other down.

She fucking hates it, but she’s determined to see it through. 

It helps that she seems to have found the one person on the whole of the fucking east coast who actually listens to what’s coming out of her mouth rather than just paying attention to the hair on her head or staring at her tits.

Robin is so strange.

She’s different in such a refreshing way, it’s like being able to breathe clean air for the first time in years.

And she’s fucking sharp. And sweet. And so, so comforting. 

Chrissy would have never managed to survive the depression of those first few weeks without her.

And like, she’s not ignorant to the fact that Robin sometimes does look at her boobs but at the same time it just feels different coming from a woman than it does a man. It doesn’t feel so objectifying.

Instead of putting Chrissy on edge it makes her feel a little smug. A little proud of herself, it makes her feel attractive and desired in a way she hasn’t felt in a very long time. 

Is that sexist? To prefer the attentions of a woman over a man when both do it just fine for her?

Chrissy’s not exactly sure, but she knows she enjoys it when it’s coming from Robin.

So maybe it’s a Robin thing. 

Chrissy honestly thinks things are looking up for her. 

Until Jason introduces Nicole. 

His fucking fiancee???

It’s been, like, four months since they broke up.

Nicole hates her guts, she can tell. She thinks she’s some two braincelled idiot who got into Harvard on daddy’s dime and needs to be babied through the simplest of tasks while not understanding how condescending everyone’s been the whole time.

Chrissy fucking understands. She’s been through it all before, but back then she had people by her side. It’s all so fucking childish. The world already hates women enough, Chrissy desperately doesn’t want to be at another womans throat, over a man no less, but Nicole doesn’t seem to feel the same way.

She’s ambitious and cut-throat and dedicated and a little bit terrifying. 

Apart from Robin, she’s on her fucking own out here.

And she needs something. 

Something of home to bring some light back into her life.

So she gets in her car and just drives around the streets hoping something will catch her eye. 

And it does. 

Some tiny little hole in the wall salon with a pride flag out the front that she’s immediately drawn to because god damn it she misses her friends. The girls, the gays, the theys.

As soon as she pulls over she feels both simultaneously like she’s come home and she definitely won’t fit in here, but she’s so emotionally raw at this stage it all kinda ends up converging on her and now she’s standing in front of a mostly empty salon and there’s a guy looking at her and she’s just fucking crying.

Through her blurry vision she can see the guy approaching and she really fucking hopes this isn’t gonna turn into a thing because she just does not have any spoons left to deal with some creep right now. 

But he seems to sense how he’s coming off because he becomes a little more effeminate from one step to the next.

“You okay, honey?” He asks, big brown eyes wide with concern and a hand covered in rings hovering over her shoulder, not touching. He has a cigarette in the other hand, held away to keep the smoke from reaching her, his arms covered in ink but Chrissy wants nothing more than a cigarette right now.

Or, that’s kind of a lie, but she’d love one in all honesty. She hasn’t smoked in so long. 

The guy spots her eyeing it, sticking the cigarette back between his plush lips and needing to use both hands to pull his carton from his pants considering they’re so tight.

“Bad day?” He hands her one and Chrissy ends up breaking down all over again.

She tells him that it hasn’t just been a bad day, but a bad half a year, really. She tells him all about Harvard and Jason and her professors and Robin and by the end of her ranting they’re sitting back in the breakroom of the salon. They guy’s name is Eddie, she learns and despite his mean and scary exterior Chrissy thinks he might be the gentles person she’s met in this whole god forsaken city.

He holds her hands between his and listens to her. Actually hears her talk and pays attention and is concerned and attentive and she loves him for it. 

He helps her find her confidence again, at least for the rest of the day. They commiserate about how they both stick out like sore thumbs in their communities and how people need to just kinda get over it.

He encourages her not to let the normies win, do go hang out with Robin, to go kick ass and she’s just wondering how on earth she can ever repay the favour when they hear

“Knock, knock.” 

Coming from the front of the salon.

Eddie’s whole face drains of colour before immediately turning red and he bolts up from his chair, stumbling out of the staffroom and moving back behind the receptionists desk.

Chrissy gets to watch in real time as all of Eddie’s incredible confidence and easy lightheartedness disappears into a vat of nerves mostly hidden by cheeky flirtation as he twirls a lock of hair around his finger and bats his eyelashes at the Hot UPS Guy who looks equally as charmed. 

When the guy, Steve, has to get back to his route, Eddie practically melts against the desk as soon as he’s out of sight. 

“Looks like I’m not the only one who needs help.”

Eddie rolls his eyes at her but smiles anyway. “I had that handled just fine.”

Over the next few months, she and Eddie get closer, Eddie and Steve stay exactly where they were that first day and she and Robin are quickly approaching best friends level.

But Chrissy is starting to come to terms with the fact that maybe she wants a little more than to be best girly-girl friends with Robin and maybe she wants to stick her tongue down her throat about it. 

The two of them are practically attached at the hip, spending all day at classes together, alternating between their respective rooms to study late into the night, ending up in the same bed together and waking up together in the morning. 

Chrissy is almost, completely, entirely sure that this is all very not platonic but it’s so difficult to tell.

She’d be constantly sleeping over with her friends back home, hugging, kisses on cheeks, cuddling in bed or when watching movies, just girly things.

But this feels different. Is it different?? Or is this just how Robin is with all her female friends, the same way it’s always been how Chrissy was with her friends back home. How can she tell if it’s going from platonic to romantic??

And all of that needs to go on the backburner anyway because they’re being put on a real life, for realsies you guys case. And if they fuck up this case they could be at fault for someone spending the rest of their fucking life in prison for something they didn’t do??

Unacceptable.

And after Chrissy finds out their client used to be on the same cheer team as her? It was all over. No way was she gonna let her go to prison just because everyone thinks a pretty young woman couldn’t possibly love someone a little older than her. 

Not on Chrissy’s watch. 

But first she has to deal with Robin’s wardrobe because they professor is insistent that all the women wear skirts and tights and Robin is not having it.

Neither is Chrissy to be fair, so she takes Robin out to the most lavish place she can, decks them both out in the fiercest looking pantsuits they can get their hands on, refusing to back down.

It comes as a surprise to both of them when Nicole stands with them in solidarity as well and now their professor is both outnumbered and losing his arguments with only Jason on his side about this and they fucking win.

It’s only a small win but it still feels fantastic. 

Riding her high of winning that small fight, she bursts into the salon and informs Eddie that he is going to either kiss or ask out Steve the next time he sees him and when Eddie reacts like she just said she was going to shave all of his hair off she refuses to hear it. 

Because the thing is Eddie is pretty, really pretty and she knows that Steve knows it, but she doesn’t think that Eddie himself is really aware of it. And despite his prettiness, he’s all awkward elbows and knees. 

So she gives him some tips and shows him how to highlight certain things about himself, the long legs, the tattooed arms, the hip bones. Even his cute little bum. She teaches him how to subtly pull at his clothes in conversation so some skin is exposed or his tiny little waist is highlighted. She teaches him how to use his eyes to go in for the kill.

He doesn’t seem to think it’ll work but she is almost certain it will. 

And it’s confirmed for her when she gets a call later that night from Eddie who sounds fucking over the moon and completely bewildered by the fact that Steve likes him back??? Has done for months?? And they had some incredible dirty nasty sex in the salon after it closed for the night and how they’re going to the movies tomorrow??

Eddie swears he’s gonna send her the biggest fuck off fruit basket he can find. 

Everything is looking up for her, especially after she has such a major win in court, figuring out one of the prosecutors witnesses had perjured himself on the stand (without outing him to the whole damn court, thankfully).

Or at least everything was looking up for her until she found herself alone in a room with her professor and she felt the energy in the room shift before it happened. 

His hands were on her before she could do anything about it and she cracked him across the face for it before she could even think about what this could do to her legal career going forward. 

Because that was the reality of it, wasn’t it? 

Either allow herself to get assaulted or destroy her career before it even started. 

She didn’t know when her priority had shifted from getting Jason back to actually pursuing this as a future career. But she had found to her own surprise she loved it. She adored it actually. 

And now…

Now it would all be gone. 

Jason had seen, of course he had and he was less than kind about it because apparently it made more sense that she had fucked her way into Harvard than had actually been smart enough to get there on her own. 

She couldn’t stomach anything Nicole could possibly have to say to her but if the way she was glaring at Jason with barely concealed rage after that comment was anything to go by, Chrissy didn’t need to worry too much about that.

She just wanted to go. To get out. She needed to get out. And she would have gotten away scott free if Robin hadn’t been hanging around waiting for her.

Robin’s face broke into a bright smile but that quickly slipped away when she saw the state Chrissy was in. She was all sweet concern and care and affection but Chrissy couldn’t fucking deal with it at that moment, she couldn’t face her.

She couldn’t face Robin who would find out what a fool of herself she’d made believing in Chrissy, when Chrissy had thrown all of their hard work away.

Because no one would ever fucking see her as a person. She was just a piece of ass.

So she ran.

She didn’t even realise where she was running to until she was standing outside the salon doors again. 

It was late, they were closed, of course they were, why was she here?

She was standing outside the door crying again like she had been the first time and it was all just so fucking stupid-

“Chrissycakes?”

She was enveloped in Eddie’s arms before she could even blink, being ushered inside and steered back to the staffroom, same as that first time. 

There were beer bottles and take out containers over the table and Steve sitting at the table and oh, she’d interrupted something hadn’t she? 

What a fucking way to officially meet one of her best friends new boyfriend right?

But they were so sweet. 

They sat and listened while she spilled the whole thing, offering at different points to hunt down her professor for her or slash his tires or lose all of his mail or whatever and she was forced to giggle through the tears.

But she shook her head in the end. She was tired. She was sick of having to defend herself constantly. 

She needed… she needed to go back to where she belonged. 

And she was about to. 

She was about to leave the salon, swear to keep in contact with Eddie because god damn it she loved him now and she was ready to run.

But then there was a hammering at the door and Chrissy poked her head out to see Nicole standing there looking like she was on a fucking crusade. 

And… was that…?

Robin was standing behind her, looking like she was just trying not to get in Nicole’s way.

Eddie grumbled to himself about changing the damn salons opening hours if this was to continue but he unlocked the door anyway.

Nicole burst in all fire and determination, shoving her finger directly in Chrissy’s face.

“I hated you. But god fucking damn it if you didn’t prove to me that this is the career you belong in. And I refuse to stand by and see an admirable woman of your smarts and calibre get run over by some small dicked professor with a receding hairline. You’re so much more than that. So c’mon. We’re breaking through that fucking glass ceiling if it kills us.”

Holy shit.

Robin pulled her into a tight hug, warm and comforting and a little too long to be platonic, running a hand through her hair. 

“We’ll do whatever you’re comfortable with Chris, but… you deserve to be in that courtroom.” She muttered into her ear and Chrissy could do nothing but nod into Robin’s neck.

She heard Eddie sigh behind her. “Okay if we’re doing this then… I need to make a few calls.”

A few days later Chrissy made her triumphant return to the courtroom. Everyone was there to support her. Eddie, Steve, her besties from back home that Eddie had called, telling them it was a friend emergency and so of course they all came right away along with Robin and Nicole bracketing her on each side. 

And while she could tell the court wasn’t taking her rants on hair care very seriously, when she finally came out with the verbal crackdown, proving the witness was actually the murderer, the gasps from the gallery were enough to feed her for years to come. 

When all was said and done at the celebration later that night, she found herself being approached by Jason.

He told her it was a mistake to let her go, to discard her the way he had and she agreed that yes it was. But his mistakes weren’t her problem anymore. And from the look of it they weren’t Nicole’s problem either. 

Jason surprisingly took it well enough, mentioning that he never really felt the same passion for law that she so clearly possessed. 

She wished him luck with finding what he wanted to do.

But now.

Now she needed to find Robin. 

Chrissy couldn’t take it anymore.

So weaving through the people around her, she grabbed at Robin’s hand, dragging her away from Steve who she had become inseparable with and pushing her into the hallway.

Robin didn’t even have a chance to ask what was happening before Chrissy was on her, pressing her into a wall, holding her close with her hands on either side of her face, kissing her with so much longing and elation and joy and happiness that when she pulled away Robin looked completely dazed. 

Robin blinked slowly a few times before her face broke into a wide grin. 

“Me too.”

[sayakxmi]

Finishing chapter 6 in Reverse1999:

Thoughts under the cut. Including spoilers, obviously.

Boy do I have thoughts. Most of them already shared with Yudja, as usual, but I felt the need to post them, too, lmao.

These bitches weren't lying, when they were saying that the writing of this chapter [6] elevated R1999 to one of the best written gacha games, because, man. Don't get me wrong, R1999's writing is fantastic in general, but the last chapter especially had me go through such a rollercoaster of emotions and opinions that I found myself changing my pfp to Kakania on discord out of respect. It sounds funny, but after going on and on as to why I liked her, I thought, you know what? Time for a change. I don't think I've ever changed my Sayaka pfp there, lmao.

Anyway. Silly thing first is that I was super proud of myself, bc in the 5th chapter when that plane appeared, I guessed that it was around 1914. And kept guessing until I had it confirmed in the 6th chapter. Listen, if it was stated earlier, I overlooked it, and I just went on my history knowledge & I'm very happy with myself.

Which also kinda made me go "uh oh" when I checked the date under some of the parts early on, and saw 1/7... and then I realized it was the USAmerican date format, so it's just January. Lmao.

Anyway, the chapter was a ride, and the sheer amount of dread it had caused me was something else. You just things were about to go horribly wrong, but I had no idea how and what exactly would happen.

Also, funny thing is that aside from the fact that it was supposedly super well written (turned out to be a fact), I also got spoiled on two things, Hofmann's death (I just knew she was going to die, not how), and that yuri was doomed.

Man, was that yuri doomed.

Honestly, I'm super glad I got spoiled on this factTM, bc I ended up with assumptions, which ended up being compltely wrong in the best way.

Ngl, maybe it was some internalized ableism from me, but I kind of expected Isolde to be the "victim" in the doomed yuri, as in, Kakania doing something that would cause Isolde to turn away from her. But I was wrong in the best possible way, because I think it managed to write a tragedy for the both of them that wasn't some form of character assasination.

I think the writers took a bit of a risk with Isolde that ended up paying off. I mean, they wrote a mentally ill character who causes lots of deaths, but managed to do it in a way that didn't demonize her, but also didn't excuse her actions. Imagine stricking that kind of balance these days... And aside from that, you can even understand what led her to that kind of state of mind. I mean, aside from curses and expectations and being deemed hystric, she was a medium for ghosts, which included ghosts from the future. I'm fairly certain she references both world wars when she explains things to Kakania, and all in all, it's difficult not to sympathize with her. And it's easy to see why Manus sought her - she was suffering, especially from her mental illness, and aside from Kakania, nobody really treated her with respect and gentleness she deserved (no wonder she fell for her), so she made an easy prey for them.

But, you know, she still got a bunch of people killed.

It's as good time as any to talk about my favorite character of this chapter, Kakania - it took me by surprise. The media made me really distrustful of fictional doctros & psychologists, huh. But anyway.

What I loved about Kakania is that she wasn't fine with any of this. Even if Isolde said she'd done it for her, to realize her dream, it was so refreshing to see a character be genuinely horrified by another character's actions, regardless of the intentions or mental health.

It's such a popular trope, accepting somebody who'd done awful things because of love, and I do like it (when it's well written), but it was so incredibly refreshing to see R1999 not go for it. Reverse1999 really said that it was still awful, and there was no justification for that.

By God it was all so painful - it was painful for Isolde, because she just wanted to make Kakania happy, and it was painful for Kakania, because she was essentially betrayed by her dearest friend, and indirectly caused so much pain and destruction. You'd truly want nothing but for these two to make up somehow, for Kakania to hold Isolde close and tell her everything's gonna be alright - but Kakania doesn't do that. And you know what? I fucking respect her for it. She values human life too much to budge out of love. Even if it hurts. Isolde has simply caused too much pain and destruction to swipe it under a rug.

And, god, the last part, the hypnotism. As if I wasn't in enough pain already. It hurt to see Kakania, who hates hypnotism with burning passion, use it on somebody she cares so deeply, and it hurt to see Isolde in the end just accept that. Even if it gave the Foundation a fighting chance against the Storm, it was still hard to watch. It still meant Kakania crossing the kind of boundary she'd never wanted to cross, and for yet another person to take Isolde's agency away from her. But in the span of this entire chapter things changed, they changed. And Kakania was willing to do anything to help, after indirectly causing that hell.

I think in a way that ending... honestly this entire chapter speaks volumes about the dangers of "idealism" and "meaning well". There's a reason why the saying "the road to hell is paved with good intentions" exists. Idealism alone can lead to a catastrophy, and at the same time, sometimes something that goes against your principles might be more helpful in the long run.

As Madam Hofmann had said.

Honestly, moving to another character - Madam Hofmann. Not gonna lie, if I didn't spoil myself that she's gonna die, there's a chance I would've grown more attached to her... but watching Marcus beg her not to die was still heartbreaking. In general, her death was painful to watch. For most of the chapter she was so composed, but in the end she was stil just a person, and being in so much pain naturally broke her. Seeing her fight with her thoughts, clinging to her more rational side was painful.

I also loved her relationship with Marcus, especially since at first I was a bit unsure, given her rather cold demeanor, but, again, that one was on me and my assumptions. Hofmann was a great mentor. [*] A few quotes that I especially liked:

I think I like this one especially, because it manages to explain the problem, reassure Marcus, and at the same time doesn't bagatelize the issue. Like, that's how people your age are, but that's still not great and you need to get your shit together eventually.

A different quote, from Kakania's monologue this time:

But anyway, last but certainly not least, Marcus. I'm gonna be honest, I don't care about her all that much, but that is to no fault of her or her writing. Sometimes you just don't vibe with a character the right way. That being said, watching her growth throughout the entire chapter was a fantastic experience, and by the end I felt proud of how far she'd come. You did it, Marcus, you saved that mission. Madam Hofmann is definitely proud of you, too.

What a banger of a chapter.

[wirewitchviolet]

A Refresher on the Whos and Hows of Harassment Campaigns

The other day someone said something that reminded me of a particularly good work from a friend of mine, so I said "hey, you might like this," and was met with, roughly, "that does sound good, but ooh, I recommend that name, I don't want to support that person at all." Now, perhaps you'd think I'd be taken aback by this, and curious why the person I was talking to had such a huge problem with my friend, but I knew exactly why.

The friend in question has been the target of a massive life-ruining harassment campaign for something like 15 years, primarily rooted, as these things always seem to be, in DARVO tactics. That's an acronym for Deny, Attack, Reverse Victim and Offender. Or put more plainly, painting the target as an evil monster who needs to be stopped. But there's a difference in knowing that this is ubiquitous for victims of harassment campaigns, and KNOWING how it works.

I don't want to say anything identifying about any of the many friends I know in this situation, so forgive the vague details, but let me walk through the major points of one of the clearest cases I've seen so you can hopefully learn to spot this crap.

Years ago, someone I knew messaged me out of the blue to alert me that A Bad Person had responded to some social media post of mine, which was just a perfectly nice pleasant little response. This was the first sign that this was not, in fact, A Bad Person, but a DARVO victim. The first rule to completely destroying someone's life is really aggressively cutting off any possible support network they might have, and making sure either through personal actions or more often establishing some weird sort of perceived norm that all good people need to be mindful of these things, one way to do that is jump in there anytime the target is being introduced to new people they could maybe become friends with.

Personally, I'm not inclined to avoid people just because someone tells me I should, even if it's someone I know and trust, and I encourage this as a value to others. Being an evidence demanding sort though, I was shortly presented with Some Evidence. This is another general truism with DARVO campaigns. Everyone pursuing them tends to have ready access to Some Evidence in the form of a link to, in most situations, like a 30-100 page long blog post, filled with links, images, and detailed date stamps presenting someone as an evil monster. And here again, my personal and professional experience with this has lead me to the possibly surprising conclusion that when someone shoves a link like this in your face, you can just go right ahead and assume the subject of it is the innocent victim of a hate campaign.

First of all, when someone is ACTUALLY a monster, it takes basically no evidence to prove it. Like, take J.K. Rowling. She's one of the most horrifically evil people on the planet. Hates trans people. Wants to see us all dead. She'd rather not have that as her public image, so she'll loudly object to any accusations along those lines and insist she's all puppies and rainbows, but in spite of that, she can't go more than like 10 minutes without an unhinged rant about how much she hates trans people. Like, she'll do it in written defenses against how she does that. You can glance at her social media pages and see just outright clear cut hate speech, or how she follows an astounding number of out and proud fascists. You can look at any news coverage she's tangentially involved in. Life is not a detective novel or a cheesy thriller where evil people manage to keep it completely hidden from everyone except one brave reporter.

So part of he deal with Some Evidence is relying on the reader being familiar with this sort of big info dump as really important in fiction and subconsciously viewing it through that same lens. The substance of Some Evidence is generally irrelevant. A Bad Person, you see, is guilty of a Crime! Whoever put together this very very very long blog post has clearly gone to a Herculean effort to expose this. They have a detailed timeline, they have all these links and screenshots to forum posts. They've hunted down every single user name A Bad Person may have ever used, and provided documentation to prove it all! Look how many links they have! How many bullet points! Look how passionate they are about the seriousness of this matter, and how terrible a thing this Crime is!

And the weirdly insidious thing about this is it isn't just about spamming you with so much text you aren't going to actually bother reading it. What they're hoping is that you DO read all of it, and in the process of doing so, you get so swept up in the narrative they're presenting that you internalize the fact that whatever Crime they're accusing this person of is exactly as evil and terrible a thing as their breathless recounting is portraying it to be, when in reality, I'm having a damn hard time thinking of any time I've seen one of these where the Crime is... anything really. You'd think if someone was going to accuse someone of a crime they didn't commit and make a big deal over it, they'd pick one of the real big ones like murder or defrauding a charity or terrorist bombings or something, but no. Real serious stuff is way easier to prove didn't happen if anyone cared, so the go-to strategy is to make a mountain out of a molehill so small that skeptical types won't even bother checking if it even happened, but make such a stink about it that the people who get suckered in still treat it as the most serious of things.

Actual examples of the Crimes I've seen in this sort of thing, off the top of my head: Sleeping with several men, just you know, at some point or other. Disliking A Good Person. Having once spoken to A Bad Person, or just being vaguely associated with them in some vague way. Criticizing a work of fiction over how it handled a subject (bad trans rep, colonialist values, weird depiction of another culture, whatever), drawing fan art or writing fan fiction where someone is off-model or not in character or, anything at all romantic or sexy happens, dressing up in a goofy costume, and standing near A Good Person in a photo who clearly wouldn't want to be seen anywhere near A Bad Person (and yes that last one DOES involve more circular logic than usual). Some of the most effective campaigns I've seen have had Crimes that go past not being any sort of offense to anyone from a rational perspective but are outright good things for someone to be doing. Spin is a hell of a drug.

It should also be noted that while Some Evidence generally puts a huge emphasis on noting the exact dates when the Crime and various other data points occurred and how great and terrible an offense this was to The Real Victim In All This, you basically never hear about this from someone who has even the most tenuous connection to The Real Victim In All This, and it tends to be presented as breaking news, even when Some Evidence pretty clearly points out that if the Crime even happened at all, it did so anywhere between 1-20 years ago. I don't know that I've ever seen one of these campaigns even get started over something in recent memory. Picking or inventing something far enough in the past that nobody who was allegedly there is going to have really clear memories one way or the other is ideal for the key point of making it both difficult and a low priority to actually get a first hand account of the Crime from anyone.

Also I really have to stress that this sort of thing doesn't tend to all come down to one crank with a grudge personally pushing the whole hate campaign. The goal is to execute all this in such a way that the overwhelming majority of harassment, isolation, and reputation tarnishing isn't done by whoever set it all into motion, but by well-intentioned rubes who get swept up enough in the narrative not to question any of it. They don't know the first thing about the target here, but they're going to go around saying things like "I had no idea this person was A Bad Person until someone sent me this link. They stopped me from maybe getting involved with someone really scary, so now I'm just paying that forward as much as I can by warning other people."

So hopefully if I'm succeeding here in getting you to think critically about this sort of thing, you're maybe thinking hey, if the random accusations people write these novel-length blog posts about generally boil down to the sort of stupid crap that'd maybe get a person banned from the cool kids' table in high school rather than anything that would actually spurn efforts to completely destroy a person's life, what's the real reason they do this crap? Well, sometimes, it's just going to be some completely irrational thing like deciding someone represents a vague threat to the orchestrator or someone they're weirdly stalking, or good old fashioned bigotry, but I think honestly the number one true motivation for this sort of thing might be that whole bit about isolating victims from any possible support network.

Stripping away support networks is, if I recall, literally the first thing suggested by the abuser's handbook. It's an actual guide, I have a copy of it that was getting shared around to help nazis coordinate back in 2014, but I... don't want to actually double check the ordering of bullet points. It's important though. If you want to end the life of Susie, you need to make sure Susie is completely alone, with nobody to turn to for aid or even just basic emotional support. And so if you notice that Robyn is out there defending Susie from your mass harassment campaign, and every effort you've made to drive a wedge between them or intimidate Robyn out of defending Susie, that means Robyn's gotta go. Time to write a new novel-length blog post, get as much of the world as you can convinced that Robyn is a monster. Hell, it's even worth it to try and convince Susie.

A weird little quirk that results from this is that honestly some of the most horrible, longest lasting attacks of this nature I've seen have been against people who otherwise seem like they'd be impervious to this sort of hate-mobbing, but they make an active point of standing up for trans people. Now like, obviously, I know a truckload of trans people literally driven out of public life by this crap because the average person is just entirely too willing to accept that any given one of us is some sort of evil shapeshifter if given the slightest push, and we'd probably be more prominent examples if we didn't just kinda get disappeared, but yeah if you're cis and it's known in the right circles that you've used your platform to give me a shout-out or treated me to dinner odds are pretty good you're in the top 10 of people I personally know that people have been trying to bring down with total BS for the past decade or so, and you know, we see you, we support you, thanks for fighting that good fight.

If this has all been a bit much to read, here's the short version. Do not ever go around talking crap about someone you don't know just because someone told you they suck. I don't care how much you trust the person you're hearing it from. I don't care if they show you Some Evidence that it'd take you three days to read through. If you can't (or don't want to bother to) look them up directly, on your own, and see them doing evil crap out in public, leave them the hell alone. Don't go spreading rumors. Don't say you've "heard some things." There are no acceptable casualties in this. Be 100% sure or mind your own damn business. ACAB still applies when it's self-appointed community policing. Oh and it should go without saying that obviously this doesn't apply to stuff like a friend telling you they're in an abusive relationship or they've been assaulted or whatever. I'm talking about crap like warning people not to read books or watch reviews or whatever from people you have no personal connection to here.

And of course here's the point where I remind you that I have been out of work for years and have had to change my name and address multiple times to avoid being freaking murdered thanks to the sort of campaigns I'm talking about here, and it would really do a lot to help me continue being alive if anyone felt like maybe heading over to my patreon and throwing some cash my way.

[thedissociatives]

hello quinn i don’t know anything about the tragedy chanting debacle but i am intrigued!

hello rickie !! i'm glad you're intrigued so i get to explain it to someone who has no stake in this conversation (so is less likely to try and pick a side). but also it is really fucked up and not something i am proud of one bit. explaining it below the cut because there's no way this is going to be short

if you couldn't tell from the name "tragedy chanting" is the catchall term used when fans at a football game start chants about a tragedy involving the other team. i don't pay too much attention to if this happens with other teams but it is prolific at man united-liverpool derby matches because both teams Hate each other and have really dark moments in their history. because my knowledge on this is limited completely to it in this context i'll only be talking about it from this viewpoint as i don't want to step on anyone's toes more than i probably already will be (will explain these below so you can follow along with how bad all this actually is)

man united (munich air disaster): back in 1958, united had a very young and promising team who were expected to absolutely dominate european football. the average age of the team was something like 22— very young. They were playing in the European Cup and were returning home after knocking out Red Star Belgrade. The plane stopped to refuel in Germany. Two takeoff attempts were abandoned before the third, and final, attempt happened. Really, there shouldn't have been a third attempt that day. Due to the weather, during this third takeoff attempt, slush on the runway slowed the plane down too much and it crashed. 20 people died at the scene, with another 3 dying later in hospital— the fatalities included coaching/management staff alongside journalists as well as players.

liverpool (hillsborough disaster): in 1989 at an fa cup semi-final game against nottingham forest at hillsborough, police failed massively at preventing overcrowding in the central pens in one of the stands allocated to liverpool fans. the overcrowding led to horrific crushing, which killed 97 people and injured hundreds more. it's widely regarded as the worst tragedy in british sports to this day. i'm trying to refresh myself on what exactly happened that day but i can't read it because it's making me feel physically sick. so many fuckups that day caused something that was preventable. i can't imagine what it would've been like in there, as either a liverpool or forest fan.

(if you can tell where this is going already rickie— i'm sorry)

i imagine the tragedy chanting started before hillsborough, not only because munich happened about three decades earlier, but because my dad remembers going to games where he heard it and most of the games he went to were in the 70s and 80s. basically, when these two teams have played each other in subsequent years, fans of each team have a disgusting tendency to start chanting about munich (my dad remembers hearing "who's that lying on the runway who's that lying in the snow" being chanted from liverpool fans) and hillsborough at each other— who starts it each time doesn't matter to me because doing it back "because they started it" doesn't make it any better. to me, the fact that man united fans started doing this at all is beyond disgusting; if we assume i was right and this started pre-hillsborough, that means there were plenty of years when the chanting was done by liverpool fans about munich. maybe it's because i'm not actively in the stands at one of these matches, but why on earth would you do it back, full well knowing how it feels when it happens to you ?

i have got to say, the fa has made several attempts to stamp this out over the years. fines and bans have been handed out countless times (at last year's fa cup final between man united and man city a united fan received punishment for wearing a shirt with "97 not enough" on the back— which not only is absolutely abhorrent, but to do it randomly ? fuck you) but afaik it hasn't fully stopped tragedy chanting and fans of both teams still demand a stop to it all. even though they both still dish it out. again, maybe because i don't quite have the same stake in this as others (come from a united family but mainly support swindon), but if they're so desperate for it to end how about stop partaking in it ? clearly we all agree it's wrong and shouldn't be part of the game (at least i hope so) so why are some so fucking adamant on carrying it on. personally i'd give anyone caught getting involved in tragedy chanting a lifetime ban from the derbies at a minimum, but i can't see the fa taking that hardline of a stance anytime soon. but something needs to be done— mocking the deaths of fans and players has never been and will never be acceptable or okay in any capacity

[imthebadguyyy]

Loved your first fic of Lewis!💛

Can you make one where Lewis Hamilton and Y/N have a fight and have been living separately and then Lewis comes to meet Y/N one evening and makes an excuse that his toothbrush is with Y/N? And then Lewis confronts Y/N that he knows Y/N still love him but won't admit?

..

* I know this is a very specific prompt. Bare with me. I just wanted more Angst/ Fluff with Longing for each other and Deep feelings and keep it Non-explicit. *

A/N - I'm so glad you liked the fic 😊

We're Meant To Be

Pairing - Lewis Hamilton x Reader (female)

Fandom - F1

Summary - After a messy fight, you don't know where your relationship stands. But when love is that strong, an argument can't stand in the way.

Warnings - Angst, fighting, swearing

Angered shouts. Tears of frustration. White noise. Desperate pleads. And then silence. That's what your neighbours would describe if they were asked to describe what they had heard from your house. An argument that seemed to have started over nothing, had blown up into a full scale fight. When had it become this bad? Only yesterday, you two had had a date night at home, with movies and wine. Everything was perfect. But then, suddenly everything seemed to go down a downward spiral.

Your relationship with your boyfriend had always been calm, it had been the type of love where you just loved each other with all your hearts, where fights were an incredibly rare appearance. You were both working, and he was away at races most of the time, so usually, you didn't waste time fighting, something that was an unnecessary waste of time in your opinion. But then, something had just switched for a second. It was after the race in Baku, and it hadn't gone well. Lewis had been heartbroken, after coming P15, and had heavily berated himself for it. To make him feel better, you had taken a couple of days off work. to just be with him and give him company to feel better.

It had been on the third day of you spending time with him that he had made an offhand comment that had struck a nerve with you. "I wish you could be there at race weekends more often. It's like you don't care enough about the races" The comment had pissed you off, to put it lightly. "What do you mean, I don't care about the races? I watch all of them Lewis, I'm always supporting you" you had practically seethed at him. "Don't get all huffy, darling, all I'm saying is that the other girlfriends and wives come quite often, but you only come to like three races a year" he had said, already regretting his words. "Maybe that's because I have a job?! I work for my living, and I love my job. I don't have time to fly around the world to accompany you to your races, and its damn hard to get leave off of work anyway, I was lucky to even get a week off of work, and you want me to be there every weekend? It's not possible for a working person, Lewis" you had said, anger bubbling in your voice, pulling away from him to sit up straight. "I know, I just meant-" "No, I know what you meant. I'm sorry I can't always be there, and don't you think I feel bad when I can't be there for you ?" "I know you do, I shouldn't have brought this up. But can you come for the next race?" He had asked, not looking at your eyes, regretting the answer. "I... can't. I have a really big meeting coming up and-" "And you can't come I get it"

And he had just left. You had felt your heart shatter, hating yourself for being so harsh with him. But it was true, you were a very hardworking person, and you had worked damn hard to get to where you were, successful at your job, one of the best in your field. It took years of hard work and perseverance and you were proud of it. But a part of you also knew that Lewis didn't deserve any of the crap you had given him, and you also knew that he was right, the other guys had their partners to support them during various race weekends, and you only showed up to one or two of them. He was well in his rights to tell you that. And you hated how it had ended.

You all alone, in your house, in a cold and empty bed, in a quiet house with silence that was much, much more deafening than words ever could be. It was heartbreaking, to see a future you had dreamed of just shattering in front of your eyes, dreams of having a family of your own with him fluttering away like wisps of smoke, the burning flames leaving only a heartbroken mess of a human being behind. Was that what it felt like? To be burned and left to turn to ashes, when a person that knew exactly how to ignite your flame just left you to burn away? To have someone who could ignite your all consuming passion, and turn you to putty in his hands, who could mould you back into shape, leave you to melt into a liquid through his fingers to just lay on the ground, a sad, broken, person.

And here you were, lying on your bed, the sheets that had warmed the both of you on cold nights, or been home to your pleasure laced activities now offering only some of the warmth it used to, cold and unforgiving, as you turned your pillow for the fifteenth time, neither side cool anymore. Even the pillow didn't want to forgive you, the sweat settling in on your neck again, beads of sweat running down your forehead again. The pulled curtains shielded you from the over bright sunshine, your damp hair sticking to your shoulders and neck. Your eyes, red rimmed and tired, shut to protect them from the faint light in the room, the tiredness not permitting you to even open them to look in the dim light of your room.

Somewhere near you, your phone buzzed again, for what felt like the hundredth time in three days. It had been three days, three long, painful days since you and Lewis had fought and not seen each other, and those 72 hours had ripped a part of your soul out. You had spent those three days in bed, your leave days still saving you from getting out of bed and dragging your body to office. Was your relationship over? Were you never going to meet the love of your life, the man you were destined to be with again? Sighing, you rolled over, pushing the damp strands of hair away from your face. Using strength you didn't know you had, you pulled yourself up, feeling your head spin.

Slowly, you made yourself walk into the kitchen, grabbing a piece of bread and popping it into the toaster. Then you splashed some water on your tired face, shuffling over to the bathroom to brush your teeth. After finishing your toast, you peeled off the sweaty shirt you had pulled on when he had left, realising with a pang that it was Lewis's nightshirt you were wearing, a purple one he loved. Dropping it into the laundry basket, you turned on the shower, stepping under the warm shower. The warm spray untangled the knots in your matted hair, as you soaped your body and hair, fresh tears rolling down your cheeks as memories of your showers together with Lewis came flooding back, as heartbroken sobs wracked your form again.

An hour after the not so great shower, you found yourself in another shirt belonging to Lewis, the bed in fresh sheets and covers, your pillow finally cool on both sides. You were clean and refreshed, albeit heartbroken, waiting on your takeout Chinese food and ice cream. Just as you lay there, scrolling through your Netflix account to watch some episode of FRIENDS to help you keep your spirits up, the doorbell rang. The thought of flavourful Chinese food and ice cream was enough to lure you out of your bed again, bare feet padding across the wooden floor to go to the door. You grabbed your wallet, opening the door, to find not your dinner, but Lewis, at the door, in one of your favourite sweatshirts on him. Did the clothes make you feel better? No. In fact, it just shattered your heart further.

"What are you doing here?" was the predictable line that left your lips. "I um, I left my toothbrush at your place. Can I have it back?"

"I beg your pardon? You left your toothbrush? You came back for a toothbrush, but not for me? Is that all I mean to you?!" you said, anger and a hint of sadness creeping into your tone. "You do mean a lot to me" he replied in a sigh. "Look, I didn't actually leave my toothbrush. That was a lie, and wow, I'm just realising how stupid that sounded, I'm sorry" His words were met with silence. The sadness in your eyes said it all. You were upset. Of course you were. "I don't have any toothbrushes except mine, so please leave" Before you could shut the door in his face, he pushed it back open, stepping into the house on his own.

"No do not come in here, please just get out!"

"No" was his frustrating reply. "What do you mean no? I said get out of my house!" "Not until we stop fighting and talk about what the hell happened!" Lewis yelled back, matching your tone. "Why the hell do you care?!" "Because I still love you damn it, I always have, and this stupid fight cannot, and should not break us apart!"

Your burst into tears. Sliding down against the wall, you buried your face in your hands, the sweatshirt arms covering your face as you sobbed. In an instant, Lewis was walking across to you, strong muscled arms wrapping around your shaking frame. "I'm sorry" you managed to blubber out, "I thought it over, and I don't go to support as often as I feel I should, and I'm sorry"

"No my darling, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said all that to you. You work so hard baby, and I'm so proud of you. And I know that you try to come whenever you can, and I love you so much for that. I'm sorry, and I never shouldv'e asked you to prioritize my passion over yours" rubbing your shoulders softly, he let his chin rest on top of yours. Sniffling, you let your head rest on his shoulder. The soft hiccups that left your lips broke his heart even further, something he hadn't thought possible.

The last 3 days had been pure hell for him. He had missed you, God, he had missed you. He had missed having you in his bed in the morning, tracing patterns on your bare skin. He had missed leaving kisses on your soft cheeks and hands and on your cute nose, missed smiling against your skin as you giggled. He had missed you playing with Roscoe, the doggo following the both of you around the house. Even Roscoe had missed you, sniffing around the house for your familiar smell, cocking his ears up and looking at his dad questioningly.

He had missed your perfume, the scent filling his senses, intoxicating him in the best way possible. He missed you curling up to him, playing with his hair or tracing his tattoos, leaving little kisses around the compass tattoo, tracing his 'Still I Rise' tattoo, missing the goosebumps that would rise on his skin when you traced Michelangelo's Pieta on his skin, and kissed the family and faith tattoos on his sternum. He missed you everywhere, and it had taken three days for him to realize that your presence grounded him. Your presence was something he needed, not to survive, he had done that before, he needed you for his happiness.

And having you in his arms, crying over what he had said? It shattered his heart. And he wanted to just fix everything, to bring everything back to normal. Stroking your hair softly, he kept his lips pressed to your ear, whispering soft "I love you's" and "I'm so sorry baby's" and "I'm here for you's" into your ear, feeling his heart lighten ever so softly when your sniffles decreased and your grip on yourself relaxed.

Moving up to meet his eyes, you moved so you were at eye level with him. "So we're both idiots who are sorry?" You murmured, running your hand up to his collarbone. With a soft laugh, he nodded taking your hand into his, rubbing his thumb over yours. "Fighting sucks" he mumbled pushing a stray strand of hair behind your ear. "It really does" your replied, moving so you were straddling his waist. "Let's never do that again, and let's just make a schedule. We can figure out when you can come and visit me, and I'll just deal with the fact that my ethereal girlfriend won't grace the race tracks every race weekend-" "It all sounds lovely but all I want right now is your lips on mine" you interrupted, bringing a smirk to his lips.

Leaning forward, he pressed his lips to yours, hand moving to maneuver your head closer to his, your hands moving up to cup his cheek, as your traced his jawline, his thumb running over your waist. Breaking apart softly, he let his forehead rest on yours. "I love you" he whispered softly. "I love you too" you mumbled back. Before he could lean back in, the doorbell rang again.

"Damn it. That's my chinese food and ice cream" you sighed, smiling when he laughed. "Was it that bad?" He asked, letting you get up to open the door. "Like you wouldn't believe it"

After getting the food and paying for it, you set two plates on the table and put enough on your plates. "You know what the worst part was about fighting?" "What was?" "Not waking up to you tracing my tattoos" "Aww that's what you missed?" You giggled, walking up to kiss the tattoos on his hands. "I really did. You're cute and adorable and you're all mine. That's why I don't wanna fight. Let's keep it that way" "I love you so much" "I love you too"

***

A/N - I'm so, so sorry I took so long to write this, I really suck at angst, and I hope this is what you wanted, the last thing I want to do is give you subpar work 😭😭

Anyways, have a great day 💙

[harfanfare]

I saw this post and I was wondering if you write Malleus' too, is okay for you to make that?

How to win a heart of Malleus Draconia?

a/n: I started posting my writings here because I want to improve my English — so I technically wouldn't make this request. But! Someone on Wattpad (where I take requests) asked for the same thing, so I rolled up my sleeves and wrote this guide today in both languages. Enjoy~

1. Don't be afraid of him.

It is said that the first impression is the most important.

So when you first saw this guy walking through the corridor of Diasomnia, it was hard for you to get rid of that view from your head.

Illuminated both by the green magic flames set in the lobby, as well as by the moon, which eventually managed to break through the dark clouds and with a bright glow appear in the windows of the dormitory, he seemed... lonely and beautiful.

You shuddered as you took a step down the hallway and the dark-haired man turned to you. He measured you with his emerald eyes. And then you recognized him; all the conversations about the mysterious and fearsome Malleus Draconia flew through your head.

Everything told you to rush towards the hallway and run as far as possible, but a piece of you found it inappropriate. Or rather, no one would want to chase everyone away from themself... right?

When you realized you were looking at him for a while, you took a deep breath and nod slightly.

"Good evening, Draconia-san," you said quickly. After a while you added, "The moon is beautiful today, don't you think?”

 2. Smile a lot.

Today was a really wonderful day: the test was postponed, your favorite dish was given in the canteen, and for some reason, the last two lessons were canceled – your class had to make just a quick note about a topic and it took less than fifteen minutes.

"Something happened?" Malleus asked, seeing how almost in the jumps you walk past him. When you looked at him, he added, "You smile a lot.”

"I can stop smiling if you want," you made a sad face, but after a while, the corners of your mouth began to tremble uncontrollably and twisted up again. "Oops, I can’t. Today... it was such a good day... that I think I'm slowly using my life's happiness.”

"I didn't say that smiling is bad," he said. "You look so much better when you smile.”

"Oh," you sighed with apparent surprise. "Is it a compliment?"

"It’s rather a fact..?"

 3. From time to time visit him during club activities.

"Is this a class of the ‘Gargoyle research society club’?” with a deaf knock you opened the door. Malleus turned to you, making a break from browsing through the materials gathered in the library about the history of each of the gargoyles on the school grounds. And there were a lot of them.

"Yes," he replied briefly, getting up. "Do you need something, [Name]?"

"Not at all, my club don’t have a meeting today," you said, closing the door behind you.

You looked around: the room was as clean as ever, except for one desk, where were laid several huge volumes about statues in NRC.

“Are you here alone?” You said before you thought. You lowered your eyes to see Malleus nodding unconcerned slightly. You blinked several times trying to think of what else you could say. "This room... could be a secret base," that was the first thing that came to your mind. Malleus turned his head to one side, uncertain of your response.

“A secret base..? Why?”

"I have no idea," you admitted quickly. "But the very existence of a mysterious point is interesting, isn't it? Doing normal things, such as watching movies or just talking, seems more interesting in places like this,” After a moment of silence, you sighed. "You know what, this idea with the base is stupid”

"We can try," he replied with serious tone. You raised your eyes to see how he looked around the room. "But you'll just have to explain this idea to me in more detail. We can also tell Lilia, Silver and Sebek about it...” he smiled as if seeing your five together in his thoughts was a pleasure. "It will be surely... fun.”

 4. Get yourself a Tamagotchi.

"Look!" you spin a new key chain on your finger. You finally stopped and showed it to Malleus. "Now they are matching!”

A small electronic toy, in a dark green screen that, when it flashed, showed a virtual, pixelated animal. You were impressed with how good quality it was made, especially since you only gave the Shroud brothers a sketch of a toy that Malleus owned.

Your keychain was exactly the same, just a different color and with another pet.

Malleus pulled out his own device and put it on the table. He pressed one of the buttons and a small pet appeared on the keychain – a dragon.

"They can now be friends," you brought your toy closer to so-called Gao-Gao Dragon-kun.

"Do you think so?" He asked in a very surprised tone, but it sounded as if in a moment he were about to burst out with an inexplicably joyful and surprised laugh.

"Of course. Everyone needs a decent friend, no?”

 5. Gain the trust of Lilia, Silver and Sebek.

Lilia, one of Malleus' closest people. It is much more likely that you will meet him before Malleus. He will be very proud when he learns that Malleus has found a friend. If you become a taster of Lilia, in terms of his pastries, he will 100% like you, and at 20% you will leave the kitchen alive and well.

Silver, who has mastered the art of sleeping in any conditions. It's easy to get him into your plans, although with the craziest ones he will hesitate. Rather well-disposed towards everyone, he can cover for you when you are not in class— but he usually inadvertently falls asleep and both of you often have penal assignments after school.

Sebek, faithful to Malleus, if he doesn't like you, you won't have too many opportunities to stay by Malleus's side without a thunderous glances at you. He will recognize you if you will listen carefully to his monologues about his master and as a sign of your friendship, he will teach you by heart of all the titles and achievements of Malleus so far.

With this trio by your side, you can get a lot further than you might have imagined...

 6. Be a master in hide and seek.

You’d give your right arm that your breath was too loud.

You pressed your hands to your mouth as you crouched in the corner of the room.

From whose voices you already heard, you knew that Lilia had already found Sebek. This meant that you or Silver would still be helping cook dinner since Malleus didn’t come at the start of the game.

This may seem silly, but the ability to play classic games was one of the elements of the art of survival in Diasomnia.

It was thanks to games like ‘stone-paper-scissors’, hide and seek or tag that household chores fell on the shoulders of the losers. Lilia loved the idea, and there was always a proud smile on his lips when he saw his beloved children play together.

You heard the steps behind you and shivered.

Very slowly you turned around and looked up to see Malleus standing over you and wondering what you were doing, crouching in the darkest corner of the room.

Puns were also included in the survival pack.

Fearing that Lilia would hear your whisper, you put your finger on your mouth, asking him not to say a word. You put a begging eye into it – all but not cooking with Lilia. Not again.

Malleus nodded, recognizing the gravity of the situation, although he smiled.

Really, no one would want Malleus to be an enemy.

Or at least in such a situation.

 7. Do not hesitate to ask him for help with learning.

"In theory, you should focus on the space around you," Malleus pulled a wand in front of him. It flashed, and almost at the same time, a thin but incredibly strong protective barrier was created around him. “Weaker spells can be reflected. In turn, the stronger ones are better to block”

You nodded understandingly.

Defensive magic was not something easy to understand. Most depended on the person against whom the counter spell was being prepared. And there are countless people who walk on this Earth and want to start fights.

"Unique spells block or avoid physically," he continued. You nodded at every subsequent sentence, slowly feeling like all the lessons are eventually gaining transparency. “Using unique magic against unique magic, the stronger will win, both will lead to explosions or completely reduce.

He looked at you when you wrote down the last sentence in your notebook.

"I sincerely hope that you will only need this information in class," he said with a sigh. "If you need help, call me. I will come. I promise.”

 8. Sometimes be persuaded to wear extravagant clothes.

"Do you really think it suits me?" you turned around, looking at yourself from every possible angle in the mirror.

You were going to the theater in a few classes to see some era-related play that you've been discussing now in history lessons. Everyone, respecting the reputation, actions and achievements of theatre, dressed in their best clothes.

Malleus stood next to you.

He was already wearing a black and white outfit with green accessories. They all worked so well together and fitted him like a glove that you were sure that the whole outfit was made especially for him.

"Yes," he replied. "Everything you put on today suited you very well.”

Once again, with critical eyesight, you looked at the outfit, face and hair, before you quickly turned off the lights in the room and closed the door behind you.

Then you smiled at Malleus.

"We can go now," you said. You made your way through the portal to the main NRC building. "And... thank you for your help.

"My pleasure," he said. Under no circumstances was it just a polite formula. He really loved looking at you.

 9. Invite him to your birthday/party.

"Another break from school soon, huh?" — you muttered, leaning against the railing.

You took a deep breath and let the fresh, pleasant air refresh you.

"Are you going to home, [Name]?" Malleus asked. Green lights were still flying around him, so you guessed he’d just appeared here.

"I haven't decided yet," you sighed. "It would be nice to go home, but the break won't be very long... Ah, that's right!” you straightened up and turned to him. "How about spending another break together? As soon as I can, I will contact my family... although I cannot promise anything.”

Though he did not show it, Malleus' heart beat a little faster.

Spend free time? With someone? With someone he likes?

"Of course," he sounded less calm than he thought. He wasn’t often invited anywhere, even for the things he should have been on, so there was a lot of excitement growing in his body. "I don't see anything against it.”

 10. From "The Great Malleus Draconia-sama" to "Love".

"Ah, The Great Malleus-sama!" you sighed theatrically, taking from him a box of chocolates with a joyful smile. You could promise that because of this dark-haired boy here, you slowly become pampered. "Thank you for your generosity!”

Malleus frowned.

"The Great Malleus-sama"..?” he pondered, putting his fingers to his chin. "Did Sebek told you again to call me with this title?"

"No," you laughed softly at his reaction. "I did it out of curiosity. Maybe I could call you some cute nickname, hmm?" you smiled mischievously.

"For example?"

"By adding ‘-chan’ to your name?” you turned on your phone and typed something related to the nicknames. You started reading suggestions and struggled to hold back from laughing. ” ’Sunshine’, ‘star’, ‘flower’, ‘sweetheart’, ‘love’...

"I like the last one," he said, and the invisible force stung you to the ground.

"Would you like me to call you like that? Out of curiosity or out of love?" You laughed, but your cheeks were all red with blushes.

He smiled sincerely at your reaction.

"Hmm, I wonder..?"

[let-me-luve-you]

Dr. Holland

Tom Holland x Sister

Summary: Tom’s big sister is the hardest working person he knows. He is extremely proud of her and he can’t stop himself from talking about her during an interview.

Warnings: Overworked, maybe some angst, loving siblings, mentions of doctor work

MASTERLIST

Tom sighed as he got a text from you saying that you were scheduled to work the one week he was home. Another message followed saying you only had to work three days instead of the normal five. You were an emergency room doctor and you worked a lot. Tom was proud of his older sister. She worked her but off through medical school to get where she was. Now she was working her butt off to get the position you really wanted, Pediatric Oncologist.

Tom had been filming Spider-Man in America when you were going through medical school. You would call him to keep you company while you were studying. And when time was on his side, he would quiz you. Tom never thought he was smart enough to become a doctor, but he knew enough to get by now.

It was early Wednesday morning when you pulled up at Tom’s house. You had gotten off work at 6am and stopped by your house to shower and change clothes. Tom had texted you last night that he had a few Zoom interviews this afternoon that would take a few hours of his time. Tom told you that you were free to sleep in his room after breakfast. But with only a few days with your brother, you decided you could sleep at night when they sleep.

You took the key Tom gave you for when you house sit and let yourself in. The house was quiet so you knew everyone was still asleep. You moved towards the kitchen. You sat your purse down and went straight to the coffee machine. Normally you would drink tea, but after a long night and soon to be long day, you needed all the help you could get to stay awake. While waiting on the coffee to be made, you took out all the pans and ingredients you would need to make breakfast. You decided to make breakfast burritos since those were your favorite and you didn’t get them often.

Halfway through cooking the sausage, bacon, and eggs, Tom walked in rubbing the sleep from his eyes, his hair flying every which way. He walked over to you and gave you a big hug. You smiled into his chest.

“Still short, I see.” Tom said with sleep lacing his voice.

“Still rude, I see.” You said back.

Tom squeezed you tighter, “I missed you.”

“Missed you to bubs.” You pulled back and watched him walk towards the coffee pot. You gave a small laugh and turned back to what was at hand.

“How’s the hospital been?” He asked as he sat on the counter next to the stove so he could see your face while he talked to you.

“It’s been good. Being in the ER means inconsistent hours and long shifts. Dr. Hamilton is planning on retiring in the next few months and he's told them my name as a replacement. Hopefully that works out so I can finally be a Pediatric Oncologist.” You said.

“I know you’ll get it and you'll be the best at your job.” Tom said matter of fact.

“Thanks. I hope I get it. If not, I may have to switch hospitals. I don’t think I can stay in the ER. I had night shifts this week. Day shifts last week. I went from day to night on Sunday. I had six hours off to rest since they made me work this weekend. They messed up the schedule but if I asked for Sunday night off, they were going to make me work the rest of the week.” You said taking all the food you just made to the island. Tom followed you and sat at the counter. You started fixing his burrito.

“I can make my own you know?” He said with a laugh. “But honestly. Stick it out. No one is more deserving of that position than you. You care for the kids and you know exactly what you are doing. Everything will work out. I’m so proud of you. Don’t know if I tell you that enough, but I am.”

“Thanks Tom.” You smiled at him. After making your burritos, you continued to talk about everything in your lives. He caught you up on the movies he was doing. He explained what the interviews were for. You just stared at him in awe as you saw the passionate look in his eyes when talking about acting.

A few hours after breakfast, you went to sit with Tom in his office. You laid out on the couch joking with him before his interview. Tom’s phone rang and he saw that it was his manager so he answered. Ten minutes later when he hung up he looked at you asleep on the couch. He stood up and grabbed the blanket and laid it across you. He knew that you would be out the whole time he did interviews as long as he didn’t make any sudden sounds. Tom was grateful the call through his computer rang through his AirPods. That sound would have woken you up and he knows you need sleep. Tom clicked the green answer button and was met with a smiling reporter.

“Hello Tom. How are you today?” The reporter asked.

“I’m doing great. How about yourself?” Tom asked back. Talking quieter than he normally would for something like this. His eyes drifted up to you to see if you moved and he didn’t even see you flinch.

“I’m doing great. Thank you for asking. So my name is Gerald. I’m with Buzzfeed. And I wanted to start this interview off asking what you’ve been up to these last few months.”

“Well, I’ve been in Germany working on a movie. Can’t go into detail just yet about it, but news will be dropping soon.” Tom checked one more time on you before he moved his full attention onto Gerald. “Sorry if I’m talking quieter than usual. My sister is asleep on my office couch. She’s been working like crazy lately so I didn’t have the heart to wake her.”

“Your volume is perfectly fine. If you don’t mind me asking, what does your sister do? We know about your other brothers since they are more involved in your line of work. They even travel with you. But we don’t really know a lot about your sister.” Gerald asked.

“My sister is amazing. Her name is Y/N. She’s a few years older than me. She is currently a doctor at one of the hospitals here in London. She’s been an emergency doctor but she is working towards becoming a Pediatric Oncologist.”

“That sounds fancy. What is that?” He asked.

“It’s a doctor that treats children with cancer. Y/N has worked so hard to get to that point. She’s so caring and loving and knows so much that I think she would be the perfect fit in any hospital in that position.”

“You sound proud of her.” Gerald said, pointing out the fact.

“I’m incredibly proud of her. She is just so amazing at everything but I was in the front row watching her work to this point. I wasn’t ever great at school and she was always working for those perfect grades. She would let me study with her so she could help when I needed it. I was her first call when she was accepted into med school. I remember crying when she told me that because I knew the work she had put in during undergrad to get there.” Tom said as he looked up at you. You were still sleeping soundly and Tom smiled at that.

“When I was filming Spider-Man: Homecoming, she would call me. It would be six or seven o’clock at night where I was and so I knew it was around midnight her time. She just wanted my company while she studied. She was so used to us working together she needed me there to help concentrate. She would email me her note cards and I would spend hours quizzing her. We were close before that, but we were almost inseparable after that. She’s my big sister and I love her and I’m so, so proud of her.”

“It sounds like it. It’s refreshing hearing you say such great things about your sister. I bet the whole family is proud of the both of you.” Gerald added.

“I know we are all proud of Y/N. For me, I know my family is proud, but what I do doesn’t even come close to what she does. After not seeing her for months due to COVID, any good I do, will never compare to the good she does.” Tom said thinking of those awful months you refused to see your family so you didn’t put them at risk.

“Well, tell her we appreciate the work she does. We would love to meet her sometime. You should bring her around a set or press tour sometime.”

Tom laughed. “I’ll have to try. She always turns me down though. Maybe if I film in London. But she does always make it to my premieres. Thankfully we almost always have one here in London, so it’s easier for her, but she’s made the trip to LA a couple of times.”

“Can’t wait to meet her one day.” Tom smiled at Gerald. “So you said you’ve been in Germany…”

Gerald continued with his interview. Once he was finished with that one he went right into the next. He spent three hours doing interviews and you never woke up once. He was grateful you were getting rest. When the final interview ended, Tom went over to you and gently picked you up. You stirred in his arms.

“Tom?” You said tiredly and confused. “Where are you taking me?”

“My room. You need more sleep and I need a nap. We can go out for dinner afterwards.” He said as he sat you on his bed. He walked to the other side.

“Okay.” You said rolling over towards him. “I love you bubs.” You whispered. Tom wrapped you in his arms and kissed you on the head.

“Love you too y/n/n.” He whispered back before you both fell asleep.

[ameliterature]

Writer's Block Cont. (AnderPerry ficlet)

Continuation of Writer's Block

It was a breezy evening downtown and Todd hasn't been at the Coffee Shop since he'd kissed Neil. For obvious reasons, this made the coffee shop barista extremely worried.

"Why the long face?" Charlie asked. He propped himself by the counter beside his brooding friend. Charlie was one of Neil's best friends and the actual manager/owner of the coffee shop (this way he could play his saxophone every Friday night without any objections).

"Todd... He hasn't been here in three days, Charlie, and he's almost always here." Neil buried his face more onto the linoleum counter.

"Oh Todd, ah yes, your big time author-crush-person." Charlie recalls Neil always gushing about him during his break time. He always insisted making all of Todd's orders too. "I mean, today could just be another busy day for him. I'm sure he doesn't necessarily have a reason not to go here." He chuckled.

Neil fell silent.

"... Neiiiilll? What did you do?" Charlie glares at his direction. "Why do you think Todd Anderson wouldn't go here for three days straight?"

Neil fiddled with his thumbs. "I-- I may have... maybe- uh... k-kissed him last weekend."

"YOU WHAT?!" Charlie blurted out, alarming some of the customers and their other barista, Meeks. Unlike Charlie, Meeks was already aware of this situation but he didn't exactly want to stop making his latte art at the moment.

"SHHHH, pipe it down, Charlie- I... Okay, so the other day uh..." Neil huffed before pulling Charlie into the back office to talk more privately-- naturally leaving Meeks in charge.

"Details, Perry, I. NEED. DETAILS." Charlie shook Neil by his shoulders.

"Okay, okay! I'm getting to it-" Neil rattled Charlie off of him. "So- The other day when I was closing up shop for you, Todd was the only one left and- well, long story short- He needed kissing experience for his book and I gave it to him and now I think it was a mistake and he is most likely avoiding me." Neil buried his face into his hands this time. He whined as Charlie comforts him with a pat on his slouched back.

"Neil- Come on! I'm sure he's just shy and all. Hey maybe you gave him the wrong phone number- remember that time when you sent me the wrong one-"

"OH MY GOD-- THAT'S IT-" Neil face-palmed.

"What?"

"I FORGOT TO GIVE HIM MY NUMBER--" Neil sounded both relieved and hysterical. "Of course he wouldn't just come back here- He couldn't just... talk to me in person after what I did- and- and..." Neil sunk to the floor.

Charlie looked down at his distraught friend. "Who am I kidding, Charlie... I ruined it... The one time I got to meet my favorite author and I blew it by kissing him."

"You sure that's blowing it? I'd say it was the best thing you could possibly get from any famous-person-interaction." Charlie smiled, trying to pick up Neil from the ground.

"Just let me die in peace." Neil says to the cold floor. "That kiss might've been the first and last time I ever got to know Todd Anderson in person and I didn't even ask about his other books. He probably thinks I'm just a floozy."

Just as Charlie was about to complain about Neil's focus on Todd's writing than Todd's kiss, someone knocks on the door.

Meeks opens the door to see Neil lifting his head from the floor with tears in his eyes while Charlie is grabbing his arm.

"Uh.. Neil, there's a guy looking for you. He said his name's Todd Ander-"

Neil instantly perks up and immediately bolts to the counter.

When Neil arrives by the cash register, he sees the same dark-blonde author he kissed mere days ago. Todd had eye bags yet his expression was one of breathless excitement. Still beautiful to Neil's eyes.

"T-Todd..." Neil greeted him.

"Neil... When... When do you get off work?" Todd asked fervently yet it was polite to Neil's eyes. "I... I need to talk to you about something."

Just as Neil was about to say 'Around 10pm' Charlie appears from behind him.

"Thank you for your work, Mr. Perry! I see you're done with your shift for the day! I'll see you tomorrow!" Charlie beamed, making quick eye contact with both Neil and Todd. Neil picked up on what Charlie implied and immediately took off his apron.

After a short while, Todd guided Neil to his car parked right outside the coffee shop. "D-Do you mind going with me to my apartment?"

It was a non-question for Neil. As much as he wanted to scream from the rooftops and YAWP in excitement, he kept his composure and followed Todd. "Sure, I'd love to."

The drive to Todd's apartment was silent and short. Todd lived incredibly close to the coffee shop and this fact made Neil grow even more fanboy-y. Oh my god Oh my god Oh my god.

He wanted to respect Todd's privacy so he purposefully didn't take note of the floor number or the apartment number before he entered Todd's home. (In turn, he kept his eyes on Todd the whole time).

As they entered the apartment, Neil could only stare at how neat Todd's living space was. It wasn't exactly neat as it was mostly barren. The most "decoration" you could find was Todd's various bookshelves. A good portion of the area was his own books while the rest were a plethora of Classics and collections of multiple pieces of literature. Todd was a well-read author after all.

"D-did you want anything to drink? Unfortunately the coffee I have here isn't as good as the ones you make so-"

"Wait, Todd... I'm- I'm sorry for what I did... If I made you feel uncomfortable. I- I was worried the past few days-"

"Huh, What- You're sorry?" Todd, bewildered by Neil's apology, let out a chuckle. "Neil, if anything, you helped me, remember?"

Neil looked at him with an intrigued look.

Just then, Todd took Neil's hand and led him to his office. Unlike his perfectly neat living room and kitchen area, Todd's office was a chaotic room full of papers and notebooks. In the back part facing away from the windows was a desk with a computer, multiple stacks of papers (and paper balls), and emptied out paper cups marked on the inside with coffee stains.

"Our little uh- field research actually got me out of my writer's block and I've been writing my book like crazy for the past three days." Todd confessed. "I'm basically almost done with it."

"Wait- Three days?" Neil wheezed. He didn't think Todd could get even more impressive than he already was. "My kiss got you to finish your newest book in three days?!"

"Well... yeah-" Todd scratched the back of his head in humility. "Can't say I've ever done that before. It'll need a shitload of editing and proof reading perhaps, but it's mostly done. Thanks to you."

Neil didn't know how to respond to Todd's words. Neil's favorite author, the person he's been following for several years now, was inspired by his kiss, and finished an entire book in THREE DAYS.

"Todd- I... F-from my kiss?"

"Yes. Well of course it was also the caffeine, but yeah mostly your kiss. I just wanted to personally thank you for getting me through one of my toughest works yet." Todd sat by his desk, pulling up some of the papers he already printed.

Neil walked up to his side, staring at the tentative manuscript- one Todd's editor has yet to even see. (Cameron was not gonna have an easy time).

"Did you want to read it?" Todd asked, instantly making Neil swoon.

"Todd, you're gonna kill me- OF COURSE I'D LOVE TO READ IT-" Neil gushed, looking at both the papers and a blushing Todd.

Neil held the loosely bound papers in his hands, then back at Todd who looked incredibly proud of himself and yet still very reserved.

Neil couldn't tell if he was looking at Todd as an author anymore by how close he was this time. Their arms were brushing against each other, the sound and smell of papers filled the room, Todd was so close.

Neil carefully places the manuscript down by the table. "Before I read it... do you mind if... If I asked you something?"

Todd blinked a couple of times before nodding. "S-sure."

"Do... Do you think it's weird that I... kissed you? I know I said I was helping you for research but... I think a part of me did it because I really liked you. And I'm not sure if it's because I really admire you for your work or if I think you were as beautiful that night as you are now."

Todd looked at him, flustered and speechless. "Y-you sure do know exactly what you want to say..."

"Yeah- I'm sorry."

"And I'm envious of that." Todd responded. Not that Neil needed another reason to gush, but Todd being envious of him is another strike for Neil's humility.

"Usually, when I write my books-- the surrealist ones, they're usually the ones so weird and detached from reality, I usually didn't need to put myself into the protagonists' shoes. But with this book, a book where it's a journey of romance and discovery, I didn't think I'd ever find the right words to describe how the character felt, let alone myself."

"So my kiss gave you existential clarity?" Neil chuckled softly.

"For a short while, yes. I'm all out of it, currently. It's been a draining past few days." Todd leaned back by his office chair.

Neil smirked at him with allurement. "I mean, I'm here. I wouldn't mind giving you a refresher."

Todd raised his eyes at him, blushing even more. "I-"

"I'm just kidding- relax. I'll only kiss you when you want me to. If you ever need anymore field research, that is. I wouldn't mind being your primary source."

Todd bit his lip, gazing upon Neil as he sat over his desk nonchalantly.

"W-what if... say, I wanted a kiss for other reasons?" Todd's voice was like a mumble.

"Excuse me?" Neil felt like he was playing the most intense game of chess with their interaction.

"Like, what if- I thought you looked really handsome right now and I wanted to kiss you, is that a good enough reason to ask for a kiss?"

Neil was enthralled by this interaction. Was it Todd being forward? Or was it his lack of sleep making him this way.

"I... Yes... That's a great reason, actually."

"So... to answer your question earlier: I didn't think it's weird that you kissed me because, right now, another kiss wouldn't seem to bad. And this time, I won't need it for a book."

Todd stood up to meet Neil at eye level, catching him by surprise.

"You're still gonna have to credit me for that book- do you know about royalties-" Neil joked before Todd planted a kiss on him.

Their second kiss was full of small bits of laughter before it turned into something more. It was no longer about Todd's lack of experience or motivation to write, nor was it Neil's admiration as a fan anymore. It was in their second kiss they realized the person they were kissing would be someone to rid them of their woes and inspire them for the rest of their lives.

Aside from that, Todd's career as an author had a new component to it, the skill to garner inspiration in the form of kisses from Neil Perry.

[kylejsugarman]

wow i wasn't expecting so much kind feedback from that post :’) below the cut is the fic, “love will not break your heart”. PLEASE remember this was written five years ago and i wasn't expecting to fall back into moral orel but here tf we are ❤️ 

i. idolatry

"Who does that cloud look like?"

"Umm…" The brunette tilted her head pensively, tracing the arbitrary peaks and valleys of the cloud in question with a critical eye. Her expression of solemn concentration buckled under a luminescent smile as she finally identified the cloud's likeness. "It's Joshua! See the beard?"

"Oh, wow, you're right!" He pointed to an adjacent puff of condensation on the verge of dissipating under the snowy glare of winter sun. "And there's the city of Jericho!"

She giggled in agreement and rolled onto her side; verdant streaks of earth branded her baptism-white cheek. A strand of sandy hair had escaped her new red headband (he had nervously presented it to her and promptly melted at the sight of her grateful beam) and now unfurled down the length of her pearly face. He brushed it back into place, then blushed.

"Uh, sorry."

"It's okay, Orel," she said with an adoring laugh. His timid eyes--coppery pools into which one's best qualities were inevitably reflected--found her own, then flicked downwards in humility. Though she appreciated his respect for her, the reverence with which he treated her was slightly disquieting. There was something to worship in both of them, something she felt she failed to adequately express. "Orel?"

The eyes, lit dreamily by a refulgent sky. "Yes, Christina?"

She touched a hesitant hand to his face and waited for the momentary tension of his form to abate as he recognized the tenderness of the gesture. There was the inexorable flutter of panic in her gut, as if her father were crouched behind one of Inspiration Peak's many bushes waiting to snatch her and drag her back into the study, but she quashed it readily. Her love for Orel was stronger than her fear of her father and with its pristine power she could have demolished that study with a single fiery glance.

But Christina had always favored creation over destruction, so she leaned over and pressed a soft, pink kiss to Orel's mouth. She tried to whisper "Happy Valentine's Day" to establish her motive, but was immediately silenced as he braced himself up on an elbow and shyly reciprocated the kiss. He tasted like candy heart chalk and mint.

"I love you," he said after he had bashfully withdrawn his head.

The world was shiny and new, the clouds morphing cheerfully behind him into benevolent figures who would shelter the tender bloom of their love. And Christina Posabule reached up to frame Orel's face in her gentle hands and said "I love you too" for the first time.

.

.

ii. respect

"Ugh. I never did understand the appeal of French toast."

Dottie scrutinized the buffet offerings, her angelically-proportioned visage contorted into a rictus of disgust. Her plate was sparsely garnished with a serving of greens and a mimosa, which she had already taken a drag from. As she eyed the decadent bricks of syrup-drenched toast, Florence calmly forked an omelet onto her own plate and waited for Dottie to make a decision. The Valentine's Day brunch was rarely an extravagant affair, but there were certainly enough dishes to satisfy even Dottie's impossibly high culinary standards.

"I think French toast is wonderful," Florence said. She expected this remark to be met with a haughty sniff or snide comment, but Dottie abstained. She even summoned a mordant grin.

"Well. I suppose the French are the superior culture for a reason." The blonde delicately pronged a lone slice of French toast onto her plate, taking care to select the most lightly-sugared piece on display. "Alright, I'm done. Quick, before I change my mind."

Florence led Dottie back to their booth, which had been denoted by the placement of their respective pocketbooks on the table (Florence's sturdy handbag looking markedly haggard next to Dottie's designer clutch). The two women supped here together after church, a tradition that had been inaugurated shortly after the Reverend's Easter sermon. Dottie had apologized to Florence in a rare fit of humility and promised to stop berating her roommate for her figure; Florence, ever the victim, dutifully accepted her apology. However, Dottie had surprised her by making a noticeable effort to curb her cruel commentary and even started contributing to the community by taking on sewing projects. Her lovely dresses soon filled the closets of every woman in Moralton--including Florence's. The rather flattering candy-pink wrap dress that Florence was wearing now was Dottie's handiwork, a fact the blonde managed to work into every conservation.

"Darling, that dress is absolutely divine on you," Dottie said, lighting a cigarette.

"Yes, thank you." Florence smoothed down the collar and smiled at the sight of her freckled hands. A modest diamonded band adorned her ring finger.

Dottie noticed her admiring of the piece of jewelry; she pursed her polished lips expectantly. "I really think you should've sprung for something bigger."

"Oh, I think this is just lovely the way it is," Florence insisted. She elevated her hand in order to demonstrate the diamond's iridescence. A slant of noon light caught the mineral and fissured apart into chromatic prisms; diamonded specks twinkled across the laminated tabletop. It was a rather appropriate expression of Florence's own appearance, something the ring's buyer had obviously taken into consideration. "Aren't you happy with your ring?"

"Me? Why I'd rather die than have this ring taken off my finger." Dottie inspected the arrangement of jewels gracing her own finger, which were independently lustrous and set into an ingot of platinum. The colors matched the sheen of her blonde curls perfectly.

An inexorable smile pressed dimples into either of Florence's cheeks. "You really like it?"

Dottie flicked her cigarette ash into the table's decorative vase with an insouciant tap of her manicured finger. Her expression was characteristically enigmatic ("you can't let them think you're interested," she had lectured Florence as she practiced looking jaded in the mirror), but the favor with which she regarded the ring was unmistakable. Finally, she said "I love it" in an emphatically decisive voice tempered with genuine affection. An affection that Florence reciprocated with an echoing of the sentiment before cutting into her omelet and watching Dottie slice willingly into a piece of French toast.

.

.

iii. requited

"Um, anything else, Steph?"

The tattooed, pierced, and freshly dyed vision of beauty glanced up from her book, eyes lightly glazed from an hour of reading. She had salvaged a rather intriguing volume of essays about evolution from a seedy bookshop in Sinville and was determined to complete the tome before it could be snatched and tossed on the literary pyre. Forghetty's wasn't exactly the ideal location for intellectual pursuits, but Stephanie had abandoned the shop at the mere notion of Karl and Kim Latchkey requesting some disgustingly romantic apparel for the holiday and decided that she deserved  some discounted Valentine's vodka for soldiering through the week unscathed.

"Another vodka would be great."

Dolly smiled warmly. "Coming right up."

As the blonde scooped ice into a tumbler, Stephanie became suddenly and acutely aware of the candy-pink heart branding the small of Dolly's neck. Despite having stitched ink into countless arms and sides, she was shocked by the heart's symmetry. It was absolutely flawless.

"One vodka," Dolly said, sliding the glass across the condensation-varnished bar. Her fingers were impossibly long, slender--piano fingers. Stephanie could not fathom why these trivial details fascinated her so, but she was suddenly pressed to learn more about the daisy-pretty bartender who had dutifully refreshed her tumbler for the past hour. Starting with that immaculate tattoo.

"Thanks. Uh, Dolly? Where'd you get that ink on your neck?"

"Ink on my--?" She palpated her neck in befuddlement before remembering the previous night and giggling wanly. "Oh, it-it's just pen. My friends thought it would be funny if I actually got a tattoo, so they had the guy draw it on, but I… I chickened out, I guess."

"Oh."

"It's not that I don't want a tattoo," Dolly quickly amended, tipping Stephanie's colorful arms an appreciative nod. "I'm just kinda chicken about needles."

Stephanie quirked an amused eyebrow. "So you would get a tattoo?"

"Well." She sheepishly wrung a damp cloth out over the bar top and made a concentrated effort to appear occupied by the menial task. "Maybe."

"That heart's pretty cute. I think it would look nice back there."

Roses bloomed in Dolly's porcelain cheeks. Though her friends had never abstained from making passively nasty comments about Stephanie's unusual appearance and proud deviance from Moralton's constrictive status quo, Dolly had always fostered a secret respect for her. There was something alluring about Stephanie, something that begged back story: Dolly longed to read the text that accompanied the illustrations trellising her arms like ivy. "You think so?"

"Definitely. And if you're scared of needles, I've got an assistant who could probably distract you," Stephanie added with a playful smirk. Orel had curbed several customers' needle anxiety with breathless sermons about the incredibleness of Jesus and anecdotes about his occasionally distressing adventures ("and then I died! Three times! It was neat!")

"Would you really give me a tattoo?" Dolly asked, equally hopeful and horrified.

"If you're up for it."

Dolly twisted the cloth in her hands for a moment. The yearning to know Stephanie--to know every corner, every fold--was blossoming urgently in her chest. She wanted more than a tattoo. She wanted to familiarize herself with the inky mysticism enshrouding Stephanie Putty and if that meant romance, if that meant public scorn and disappointment and disgusted looks, so be it. She wanted Stephanie. She wanted all of her.

"Doll?"

"Y-Yes," Dolly sputtered, visibly flustered. Then she grinned cautiously and set down her hands on the bar top, allowing Stephanie to admire their delicate whorls and pearly nails at a closer proximity. "I'd love that."

.

.

iv. infatuation

"I know you think I'm stupid, Marionetta."

They had cloistered themselves away in a small clearing that provided some margin of protection from their schoolmates' scorn. A mild sky opened above them, achingly empty, painfully wide. As he stared into its doleful depths--oppressing himself not to betray the shame making dewy his eyes--he recalled the passages he had studied about the atmosphere. His old teachers had refused to teach the subject, citing the lack of a Heaven in the textbook's diagram of the Earth's atmosphere. He imagined it was sandwiched between the mesosphere and thermosphere, an impossible realm illuminated by auroras and burning space debris. But in the absence of substantial evidence that such a place existed, he was content to call the clearing Heaven, as long as Marionetta was there.

The girl smoothed imaginary wrinkles out of her dotted skirt. Even

[littlenahsstuff]

In love, I swear.

A/n Literally my first time writing actual fanfiction. This might be a flaming dumpster fire idk. I will persevere and cringe later, but for now, enjoy.

supreme!Cordelia Goode x reader

TW:nothing much, just a big old fluffernutter sandwich. A little angst. Swears I guess.

Synopsis: Cordelia has just recruited you to be a counselor at Robicheauxs and it's safe to say you are head over heels for the supreme. Unfortunately, you aren't the one to tell her.

You always thought that you weren't too special of a witch, you had the basic witchy spells down and specialized in the people who struggled on the inside... but in a more witchy sense. You also helped the witches who needed to get their powers more developed or who ones that are just behind in school. A sort of glorified counselor you suppose. It's sorta funny, especially since you aren't the most confident, how you can talk to all of the girls. When it boils down to it you are just a witchy gal searching for love. Specifically Cordelia's. It could never happen though.

Your love life wasn't the only area you lacked in before Robicheauxs, you had been struggling to find a job suited for your interests. Let's just say that you have a lifetime ban from one of the Mcdonalds in Louisiana. Fire and grease doesn't mix.

Of course, if it wasn't for dear, sweet, precious, Cordelia, you would be living on the streets. Luckily that didnt happen and so here you are today, three months in to your teaching position at Robicheauxs.

Oh, the moment, "You're hired. I look forward to expanding the academy's family and getting to know you better especially," left the Supremes lips, the better off you were.

And yet, even with all of the joy that comes with finally getting paid, there were the challenges as well. For starters, everyone was extremely nice to you, even though you kept mostly to yourself, there was this one person that made this heaven more hellish. Madison the bitch witch Montgomery.

You had been warned by Zoe, your closest confidante in this new place and also Madisons freaking girlfriend, that she was no pleasant peach. Never in all of your doubtful thoughts, had how bad it actually was crossed your mind. It was never the cockiness that got to you, you had a different appreciation for it than most. Found the confidence refreshing almost. No, no no no no. It was in fact, that she was constantly trying to dig up dirt on you.

"You're too much of a goody two shoes y/n," she once stated with a glare. The same day you had heard Zoe squabbling about something and your name came up. Your name and the fact Madison had stolen your wallet to look at your license. It turned up later on your bed stand.

Madison's a lover of Zoe and drama you've come to find out.

It's harmless though really, you dont mind the extra bit of attention that comes with it. Its flattering so no need to complain to anybody, especially not Cordelia.

Cordelia, mmm, yeah now shes the biggest threat here. She is the reason you got this job and might be the reason you lose it.

She once caught you with your doodle journal. It was a harmless question,

"Y/n, what're you drawing?" She looked over your shoulder. You almost jumped out of your skin and your sketchbook went flying.

"Oh dear, are you alright?" She worried her lips a bit. Her big, plump, kissable lips. Come on Y/n, get out of it.

"Yes," you squeaked. Sinking farther into the sofa. She chuckled her beautiful chuckle and sat on the couch arm.

"So, what was my favorite school counselor drawing just then?" She questioned. Glancing to the thrown book.

Your face went red.

"Uh-" you paused, come on you're making it a bigger deal than it has to be, "you." You couldn't look into her eyes.

She gazed at you at you and it felt like a hole was being burned into your skull.

"Okay," Cordelia said, leaving it at that. Stood up and made to walk away.

"Wait!" She paused and turned back to you, seeing you scramble to get your sketchbook.

"Yes?" Her eyebrows raised in surprise.

"I- don't you want to see it?" You said and you slapped yourself mentally for about the hundredth time she walked in.

She smiled softly at you, "Of course, I thought you didn't. You looked scared to death, like bambi."

"Okay," you flipped back towards the page and cringed. It wasn't your best peice. You could never capture her beauty right.

Her eyes scanned over it, widening before squinting with her grin.

"It's so good!" She gasped.

"Yes, that is Cordelia Goode," you joked in a monotone manner. She slapped your shoulder jokingly, making you snort.

"You nerd, I didn't mean it that way. Either way, you did a fantastic job! I wished I looked as good as you make me seem," she muttered the last bit, bit you heard it. It saddens you to remember the damage Fiona did.

"Hey, Cordy," you started. You realized that you used a nickname that Madison did, but she doesn't seem to care.

"You know what I think? I think that you're wrong. You see I just can't for the life of me get your soft proud loving smile right. Your eyes aren't as warm and glowing as they are in reality. I couldn't manage to picture the right placement for those worry lines or crowd feet you have. You might not like them, but to me they show that you worry and care and that you laugh at the stupidest of things, which is a trait I adore. You are more perfect than any Davinci or Van Gogh," you say. You don't like when your friends feel bad about themselves.

Cordelia's tearing up a bit and wiles it away. "Didn't know you were a goddamn poet too?" She joked with a giggle, "thanks y/n, sometimes I need to hear something like that."

"No problem Cordelia," I can't help it, you're my muse, is what you want to say.

"Well, I have some paperwork, but it was nice to see ya," she hurriedly excused and rushed out.

Unbeknownst to you, Madison was watching. She knew exactly how to get dirt on you now. She had something all along.

The next week you spent daydreaming about Cordy...elia, you couldnt help but go back to that conversation. You needed to be more discrete, way more descrete.

So you made sure to draw your crush no more. That didn't change the fact you forgot to destroy the evidence in writing.

You had slept in a little too late, so in a rush you were to get to your office. The reason you had being you daydreaming about Cordelia and yours faux life together a little too long.

A bunch of new juicy stuff for Madison as she snatched it from your bedside table. It was too easy really.

She opened it up to the first page. It acted like a normal diary, just stating checklists of things to do and things you did. The size was fairly large, so skipping a few pages till she got to the juicy stuff and the part where you actually did know Cordy wasn't harmful.

It was a barf fest of emotion. "Oh Cordelia is so awesome, oh I'm so lucky to work with Cordelia, oh my, I won't ever get a chance with Cordelia, she's the supreme!"

"Ew," Madison groaned, whipping out her phone.

Then she found it, the goldmine of confessions. It was all the way in the back, meaning you had wrote it recently.

"Dear, myself

Cordelia today caught me drawing a picture of herself and said something I didn't particularly enjoy listening about herself. I can't believe Fiona would send her into such a deep hatred of herself that even with her gone she's hurting. She's no mother. Cordelia is the love of my life, even if I'm not hers, she deserves all the love I can give. She's not broken, but she just needs someone to love her and I do. I promise to give her as much love as possible without her finding out what kind it really is, I'm in love, I swear.

Sincerely, Y/N."

So she snapped a picture of the page.

After school was over Cordelia was not expecting Madison to barge into her office. Let alone with something regarding YOU of all people.

"Cordy, I've got something to tell you about y/n!" Madison sang out, waving her phone in front of Cordelia's face as she sat on top her desk.

Madison was just careless with others and too carried g about herself. It was the perfect storm. The only person who could ever take it too far to just prove a point. That there was something wrong with you.

If Madison Montgomery had taken one moment to actually think about it, she was just jealous. Jealous that another person at the coven was better than her to Cordelia. She was one spoiled bitch growing up. Guess it backfired.

"What?" Cordelia questioned in concern, "Is she okay? Madison what did you do to her!?" Her thoughts raced, Madison's pranks often went a little too far. She did kill Misty.

"Now now Cordy, don't get your panties in a twist. Here read this," Madison demanded to her supreme, she shoved it into her face and Cordelia grabbed it.

Her eyes expected headlines on the news or a mugshot, but she realized it was just your writing.

"Madison," she warned.

"Come on, I know you can read!" Madison poked Cordelia's forehead, prompting a slap from the Supreme.

Ms. Goode exhaled, "Fine."

Her eyes fluttered over the words, brows furrowing with every sentence. She couldn't comprehend, could she read?? It seemed to her as if her brain was creating what she wanted to see, but no, you wrote it. Unfortunately.

Everything's silent. Then the thought flits across her head, you like her back.

"In love, I swear."

Oh she's mad. Not at you, no, she could never. Madison on the other hand better,

"Get out of my office right now," Cordelia whispered. Madison's smile faltered.

"What, didn't you want to know your feelings are reciprocated? Come on, I'm just trying to get you two to speed up the process." Madison hopped of the desk and sauntered out.

What has she done.

Cordelia was wracked with guilt for awhile, with no way to tell you either. How does one even go about telling someone they read their deepest darkest secrets. How!?

She couldn't, so she did what she could. She pulled away from you and into her work. All of those lunches spent together stopped. The nights in the green house gone. Reading together on the weekends by the fire, gone.

And it left you empty. You had no idea what you did, but you must've done something.

So you decided to confront her, you hadn't gone much sleep since, so you were literally and figuratively tired of all of this shit.

Your knock on the door startled Cordelia, but your presence startled her even more. Both of you looked like wrecks.

"Oh, Y/n! Please, come in," Cordelia gestured and you did, closing the door behind you.

It was then that you finally broke down.

"What did I do Delia!?" You sobbed, falling to your knees. Yes it was dramatic and not even you expected it but you were holding your emotions for so long.

"Oh," Cordelia briskly moved over to you, concern painted on her face. She was watching you carefully, you looked so fragile. Just like she had felt at times.

"I'm sorry," you whimpered, "What did I do?" Her hand tilted your head towards her, but you still couldn't look into her brown eyes, opting for the floor. If you did, you probably wouldn't be able to look away.

"Y/n look at me sweetie," the nicknames never failed to make your heart soar. It was your weakness, your eyes met and they were glued there.

"What did I do?"

"Nothing nothing!" She took a deep breath, "I saw a page from your journal."

You froze, terror crept up your spine.

"Oh my god. Um Cordelia I am so sorry, you, wow I- god I'm so creepy! It's perfectly fine if you want to not be my friend or fire me. I didn't do it to be weird, it was how I expressed myself. I was trying to hide it I promise, i dont even know what happened!?"

"I'm gonna kill Madison, faster than my mother did," Cordelia groaned.

"Wh-" your brain malfunctions. Is-Is Cordelia kissing you? Right now?

Indeed she was and just like you dreamed about, her lips were so soft and her kiss gentle.

Maybe Madison could be forgiven... but not without a harsh talk.

"In love, I swear," she repeated in a whisper against your lips.

[beomglocks]

sk8ter boi ; c.bg

summary : he was a boy, she was a girl. can i make it anymore obvious?

pairing : skaterboy!beomgyu x reader

warnings & other : reader already has a child with yeonjun ok, beomgyu still pining after all these years, based off queen avril lavigne’s sk8ter boi song, listen while reading if you want 

w/c : 2.1K (i may have gotten carried away)

"where'd you get that note and roses from?" your friend maria asks you when you get into class. you wipe away your smile quickly, already knowing who the mystery person was. "i don't know."

yeah, of course you knew. how could you not when the boy oh so clumsily shoved them in your locker while you were literally turning the corner. he tried to act like he wasn't doing anything but he was clearly caught. he tried to play it off in the best way possible and smooth talk his way into a conversation with you but you shut him down due to the bell ringing.

"oh- oh ok sure...yeah," beomgyu stumbled over his words, nervousness eating away at him with you being here. "yo gyu you coming? i just finished fixing my drum kit," his friend, jeongin, calls him over, interrupting your already over conversation.

"you should go...but thanks for whatever you just threw in my locker," you laugh. he nods hesitantly, rubbing the back of his head with his hand. "dude," jeongin now stands in your vicinity. he looks at you and beomgyu before pulling away his best friend to where the spare band room was.

"well open the letter, we wanna know who your little secret admirer is," maria says, leaning onto your desk. your other friends agree, eager to know who was pining over you. you laugh nervously before opening it. you're not sure how they'll react to finding out that it's beomgyu.

you see, you wouldn't exactly call yourself the prettiest girl in the school but hell it sure was close. almost everyone would compliment you every day even if it was something minor like a change in your nail color. you kind of prided yourself in that, not to gas yourself up or anything.

someone like beomgyu...well. he wasn't exactly the ideal guy, to put it simply. he was a skater boy, he hung out with the "simple boys" who skated and did music and hung out around the skate parks after school. he wasn't the scholar type like soobin or the athlete type like yeonjun, he was simple.

you liked simple but your friends didn't. they had preferences for people like soobin and yeonjun, not people like beomgyu. you could probably guess they felt like beomgyu was the bottom of the barrel, like a roach on their foot not worthy of their time.

you pull the letter out of the envelope. for some reason without even trying, you could smell his cologne all over it. you want to smile at the obvious try hard gesture but your friends don't allow it. "what the fuck is that smell, it's so strong," maria gags. you roll your eyes at her dramatics. "it doesn't smell that bad."

"yes the fuck it does," she retorts. "just see what it says." you read over the letter, smiling at certain parts where you could tell he'd done his research on the things you liked. "it's from beomgyu," you say when you finish the letter. you already knew this anyway but maria's eyes go wide and she suddenly snatches the letter from your grasp. "hey!"

"CHOI beomgyu?" she asks while she reads the letter herself. "yeah?" you confirm.

your other friends mumble amongst themselves and you can hear some snicker. "y/n you could do so much better. beomgyu is like a street rat or something. don't do that to yourself," she laughs like it's the funniest thing she's ever said. you don't think beomgyu's that bad but you also don't stand up for him, simply biting your lip as she continues.

"he barely comes to school and when he does all he does is sleep. he skates with those other weirdos and thinks he's gonna make it big with his shitty guitar playing- i mean have you heard him?" she rolls her eyes, throwing the letter back on your desk. "you should go out with yeonjun, i think yall would be a cute couple. the prettiest girl with the coolest guy, your babies would be so damn cute."

"babies?!" you laugh at her ridiculousness. "yes! have you seen choi yeonjun?" she sighs in content. "anyways, don't pay beomgyu any mind because he's not gonna make it in life. go for someone like yeonjun and please for the love of god throw that letter away!"

you never did throw the letter away. you sigh as you think back to your high school years. you had just found it hidden behind one of the closet drawers while you were looking for valkyrie's binkie. she was crying so much since her father had gone out for the day and you were stuck taking care of her, as always.

you wonder how beomgyu was doing. you both talked after the fact but fell off during college since he had gone off to do his own thing. you didn't know what that thing was but you were proud of him nonetheless. you finished high school, went to college, got a good paying job, and were now married with a kid. all at the young age of 21. the typical life, you figure.

you're snapped out of your thoughts when you hear your child crying in the next room. "shit," you mumble to yourself. you leave the letter in your drawer and head back to the living room with the binkie. "valkyrie~" you sing song.

she continues crying, not giving a fuck about your efforts to calm her. she was usually a bit of a daddy's girl. "val please stop crying," you exasperate. "daddy's not coming home until late today. cut me some slack babygirl."

you slip the binkie into her mouth but her shrill cries go right through it. "let me go see if you need a diaper change," you mutter.

before you can even get up from the couch you hear your phone ring from somewhere in the couch. "shit where did i put my phone?" you put valkyrie down to look for your phone but it stops ringing before you can begin searching. you wait for it to ring again you find it between the cracks of the couch.

"oh hey mari," you say in confusion. after high school ended, you and maria kind of fell off along with all your other popular friends. you still had that clout all throughout college given who you were dating but you kind of strayed away from her. you guys were still on speaking terms though but this call was odd since it had been months since the last time she called.

"GIRL-" she pauses for a moment, still as dramatic as ever. "what it is mari? val won't stop crying she needs attention," you sigh, looking over at your daughter. her cries had gotten softer but she was still grumpy about not being with her father.

"girl turn on your tv to MTV right now- like right now before you miss it!" she says hurriedly. "this better be good you know i dont watch those shows," you say into the phone. you place the phone between your ear and shoulder so you can hold valkyrie while watching whatever it was that maria wanted you to watch.

then you see it. "is that-?" you begin. "CHOI beomgyu! yes girl!" maria finishes your sentence. she's right. there he is, the boy you were just thinking about was on your tv screen. "he's famous?" you ask.

maria sucks her teeth, "apparently after high school and like a year or two of college, he dropped out to pursue a music career and i guess it worked out for him." you nod even though she can't see you. "he signed with a label and now he's in like some super fucking famous band, look at him," she continues.

you stare at your tv screen in silence, watching beomgyu have the time of his life on the MTV stage. he really did get good on his guitar. the camera pans to the drummer and your eyes go wide when you see jeongin. wow, they really stayed together this whole time.

"he's fine as hell," you admit. you hear maria cackle on the other side, "you said it, he looks so attractive playing guitar like that, look at his fingers."

"ok alright maria, i have a child right next to me," you say. she laughs again, "anyways, i got tickets to their next show. you wanna come with?"

you're not sure how you managed to convince yeonjun to stay home with the baby while you went out with maria to this concert, but you did it. he was skeptical of letting you go out with what you were wearing which is why you both argued before you eventually stormed out to go anyways.

when you met up with maria outside the venue she looked up and down with a knowing smile. "i thought that pussy belonged to mr. choi yeonjun? what're you all dressed up for?"

"dressed up?" all you were wearing was a black and white bandana for a top and tight leather pants and comfortable shoes. "do the pants really have to hug your ass like that though?" she jokingly slaps your butt and you glare at her. "that's what yeonjun said," you mumble to yourself.

the concert goes smoothly and you're glad you actually got to see beomgyu in person and playing guitar. one thing about choi beomgyu is that he will play guitar like it's his last day on earth. he plays with so much intensity that you almost feel bad for the guitar.

you could almost feel how the crowd's energy in this packed room transferred to the members. if it was even possible, they started to play with more vigor.

at some point, beomgyu was full on immersed in his own playing. his once fluffy hair was now soaked with sweat and covering his forehead and eyes. he kept headbanging along to the beat while skillfully moving his fingers along the strings of the guitar.

during the middle of one of their songs, beomgyu took the center stage for his guitar solo. it was a fast paced riff that just seemed to give the song more life. his head is down so that it's solely focused on the guitar but once he finished the hardest part of the riff he looked up smugly. the crowd went absolutely mad when beomgyu bit his lip during the rest of his solo.

you had to admit the boy had stage presence, you practically almost re-fell in love with him.

after the show, you and maria went to get refreshments at the nearby bar. beomgyu seemed to already be there talking to one of his members so you took this opportunity to speak with him. you wonder if he'll remember you after all these years but you take your chances.

"beomgyu!" you shout over the music that's playing in the background. he whips his head around to the sound of his name being called and smiles lightly when he sees you. when you get to him, he subtly looks you up and down, taking in your body and attire. "y/n is that you?" he says, his voice laced with something teasing.

"you remember me?" you ask him with a smile. "how could i forget a face like yours," he smiles, leaning back. you laugh and he smiles. "i just saw you on stage, i never thought you'd become this huge! congrats!"

he nods, "yeah, i always wanted to make it big you know." he trails off, looking over you again like he's entranced somehow. "so how's life? you still with-"

"yeonjun...yeah we um- we have a kid...now," you finish nervously. did he really have to bring yeonjun up right now. "a kid?" he says, surprised. "let me see."

you show him a selfie of you and valkyrie that you took at a time when she wasn't completely hating your existence and wanting to cuddle her father instead of you. he laughs and leans back once again, "she's cute like you, she definitely got her mom's features."

"yeah and she's got her dad's attitude," you say, mostly to yourself but beomgyu catches it. "oh yeah! i wanted to say, i really like that one song you played, uh- fairy?"

"fairy of shampoo? yeah we added our own little rock twist to it," he says. "you know the lyrics are actually about y-" your phone cuts him off and you apologize, turning away to answer it. "what is it yeonjun"

beomgyu sighs in frustration when he hears you say that. when you finish talking you turn back to him and he has his eyebrow raised in question. "looks like my fun is over," you laugh dryly. he nods in understanding, "before you go though, let me get your number so we can catch up sometime."

you agree, not wanting to pass up the chance to reconnect with your now famous friend.

"maybe we'll see each other around gyu," you smile, beginning to walk away.

he smiles at the old nickname, waving you off, "i sure hope so."

[nooneelsecomesclose17]

Daddy's first pride

This is probably terrible, if so I'm sorry. From the Ana'verse.

"Plain iced cupcakes with different flags or rainbow icing." Robert announced as Aaron walked in the door with Ana on his hip and Seb following, making a beeline for his toys, giving his Dad a half hearted wave, as usual too interested in playing than anything else.

"Is this a quiz or..." He sets Ana down on the floor having picked her up from Sarah. He just stares at his husband, surrounded by recipe books, tapping away on his laptop, Sara in her bouncy chair in front of him fast asleep.

"For Pride. I can't make my mind up. Which do you think would be better?"

"Can we go back to the beginning, because I feel like I've walked in halfway through the series."

"Charles came in the cafe today, he's organising Pride in the village and he asked me to get involved." Aaron hasn't seen Robert look so eager about anything for ages, not since he came out of prison and he smiles along with him. "He's asked all local businesses for sponsorship or to be involved. I'm doing refreshments and stuff."

"When is it?"

"Next month. He said he'd called at the yard but couldn't make you hear." He goes back to scrolling on his laptop. "What do you think of these?"

"Must've had the crusher going." He shakes his head and picks his way through the mess surrounding Robert before he can sit down, lifting Ana onto his lap. "I can't hear a thing with that going you know that. What am I looking at?"

"Cookies. Maybe Mum could ice them, you know, all the different flags?"

"Yeah, why not. You know I'm the wrong person to ask, all I care about is if they taste nice."

"Idiot." He leans over to kiss him, closing his laptop. "I've put tea in early because there's a meeting at the village hall at six."

"About?"

"Pride, Aaron! I'm on the committee so I have to be on time. So you'll have to do bath time and that. I'll be home before they go to bed."

"There's a committee?"

"Yes. It all has to be arranged. You can help if you want. Mum's already volunteered, and there's Matty, Ethan, Charles, Nicola and Vic, oh and your Gran." He couldn't help smiling because he'd not seen Robert this animated in ages even if he truly couldn't remember any conversation they'd had about any of this.

"I'm not one for meetings am I, but I can do heavy lifting and that." He hesitates, not wanting to dampen Robert's mood one bit.

"What?"

"Nothing, it's just...you've never really seemed interested in going to pride or 'owt." Robert looks down and he instantly feels bad. "Oi, it's not a criticism, I just wondered...you seem to be going at this hell for leather that's all. Did you want to go before or...?"

"Not really...I, nearly went once, in London. Chickened out at the last minute, worried someone from work might see me and just know which was daft I know, and when you and me got together, something always seemed to get in the way. I just thought...I know who I am now, and I'm happy. That's something to celebrate, isn't it?"

"Yeah, course. Be my first time too." He winks making Robert laugh. "Right, so, what else have you got planned?"

--------

"Robert!" It's only been a week and Aaron is wishing the days away so he can have his husband, and his house back. He's come home to a living room full of boxes.

"Oh, you're home. You're early."

"I thought I'd sack it off for the day and we could go to the pub for tea with the kids. I didn't expect to come home to...well this."

"Daddy look!" All of a sudden Seb emerges from behind the pile of boxes with what looks like a door curtain trailing behind him.

"Very nice mate. Robert what is all this."

"Ah...well..." Robert scratches his head as he untangles Seb from the decoration he's wrapped himelf in. "The thing is, I'm kinda in charge now."

"How come?"

"It was meant to be Andrea, although if you ask me she only agreed because she thinks it'll keep her in with Charles." Aaron nods, even though he really has no idea what he's talking about, but then Robert's always been more into village gossip than him. "Anyway she's cried off, I don't know, some kind of drama with Jamie again, and well Charles needed the help."

"And you agreed."

"He was stuck!"

Robert and Charles have struck up a kind of friendship since Robert came home, and Aaron knows that he's confided in him, stuff he doesn't want to tell Aaron, or things he needs to sort out before he does.

"Right, so basically the house is going to be a store room for the next fortnight?"

"No, I'm moving it all over to the village hall, but it needed checking, and Mum was going to help but then Ana wanted to go to the swings so she took her, and Sara."

"I'm helping!" Seb pipes up, with his head inside another box as Robert shook his head.

"Well how about you help me and Daddy move these boxes and then we can go and get some tea?"

"Chips?"

"If you get your head out of that box and stop spreading stuff everywhere then maybe."

--------

The next few weeks are a flurry of plans, of Robert having daily brainwaves or panics about one thing or another, and his phone is constantly lighting up with WhatsApp messages, but finally it's the evening before and he thinks Robert has calmed down. He's at one final committee meeting leaving Aaron in charge of the kids tea.

"You alright mate?" Seb's pushing his pasta around the plate rather than eating.

"Where's Daddy?"

"He's at his meeting, you know sorting things for tomorrow. He won't be long."

"What's Pride?" He says after pushing a few more bits of pasta around. He supposes he shouldn't be surprised Seb's asking, it's all they've spoken about for the last month or so after all.

"Well in some places it's like a big parade and it's full of colour and everyone's happy. Emmerdale's a bit small for a parade though ain't it, so it's just going to be like a big party with music and face paints and food and all sorts of things."

"Oh."

"What's up mate?"

"Oscar, at school, he said havin' two Daddies is weird." Aaron's never head of this Oscar, and he has to remind himself it wasn't the kids fault that he obviously hadn't been taught properly.

"Do you think it's weird?"

"No. You and Daddy both play with my trucks and take me on the swings."

"Exactly, some boys and girls have a Mummy and Daddy, like Eve, some have two Mummies like Moses and Johnny, and some like you, Ana and Sara have two Daddies. But all of you have fun, and everyone loves you, so it's not weird. Oscar maybe just doesn't understand hey?"

"But I had Mummy too." Aaron let out a breath, it'd been a good while since he'd mentioned Rebecca, other than saying goodnight to her photo every night. He wished Robert was here, he was always better at dealing with it than him.

"Yeah, well, Moses has a Daddy too doesn't he? A family can be made up of whoever, and still be the same as everyone elses. Do you understand?"

"I think so. And pride is like a party?"

"Yeah, celebrating the fact that people like me and Daddy can be together and stuff."

"But...why?"

"Because years ago we wouldn't have been allowed to get married or be together and some people still think we shouldn't."

"That's silly."

"Yes it is. Really silly."

"Can we go see Daddy?" Aaron smiles, and nods, happy that Seb's satisfied with his answer.

It's a bit of a struggle, managing the three of them, but eventually he gets Seb to push Sara in her chair, while he carries Ana, and they're heading towards the village. Suddenly Seb stops, mouth open and Aaron stops fiddling with Ana's cardigan to see what's wrong.

"Wow." Main Street is literally awash with colour and Seb's eyes are as wide as Christmas. "Look Daddy!"

"I am mate. Cool huh?" He can see Robert in the distance, with Charles and he nudges Seb to carry on walking, smile growing wider as they gets closer to his husband, seeing how happy he is.

"Daddy! Everything's pretty!" Seb all but abandons the buggy to run the last few metres to Robert who immediately picks him up and sits him on his shoulders.

"What do you think young man?" Charles asks him and Seb giggles. He likes Charles, had crazed them to be allowed to go to the after school club he'd set up in the village.

"I like the colours! Daddy said that Pride is cos he and Daddy are allowed to get married. Is that right?"

"Something like that yes. Do you remember we talked about it last week at after school club?"

"When we coloured in?"

"That's right. All of your drawings are hanging up in the church so maybe you can show your Daddies tomorrow."

"OK!"

"Come on chatterbox, let Charles get home."

"He's fine. I'll leave you to it. It looks really good Robert, you've done a great job getting everyone organised, especially last minute."

They take a slow walk home once Robert's done one last check of everything. Aaron's just happy to wait, happy to watch him. It's been a strange couple of years since he came out of prison, ups and downs along the way and he knows Robert's struggled with village events sometimes, feeling as though people are watching him, judging him. Seeing him taking such a delight in organising everything hopefully means he finally feels properly back at home.

"You ready?" Finally finished he kisses Aaron, Seb resting against his shoulder, suddenly tired. "It does look ok, right?"

"Yeah. Proper proud of you I am."

--------

"She's sleeping again." Aaron clicks off the light and slips into bed beside him, not getting any response from his husband. "You ok?"

"Hmm? Yeah. It's just..."

"What?"

"Charles asked me if I'd say something tomorrow."

"Ok, and...you don't want to? I'm sure he'd understand."

"No I do but...I don't know what to say."

"Just say whatever comes to mind. You don't have to make a big speech, just welcome everyone. He wouldn't have asked you if he didn't think you could."

"I just...it has to be perfect."

"Robert, it already is. Look at what you've done, the village looks amazin', and tomorrow is going to be brilliant and that's down to you."

"People helped."

"Yeah, but they wouldn't without you geeing them up. It's all set up now...you get to enjoy yourself."

"Mmm, love you, you know. I'm glad I didn't go that time in London, I'm glad my first pride is with you."

"Soppy git."

--------

"Right, I'm ready." He's barely set a foot on the bottom stair when Robert stops him.

"No."

"What do you mean no?"

"You are not wearing all black. I will suffer it the rest of the year, but not today."

"Why the hell not? Last I checked it was a free country and I can wear whatever I want."

"No Daddy. You has to wear colour! It's the rule." Aaron bends down to Seb who has his arms crossed, mimicking Robert.

"Oh is it? Well I heard that it's the rule to tickle little boys until they shouted me to stop!"

"No! Daddy, stop it! Daddy help me!"

"Seb's right." Aaron stops tickling his son to frown at his annoying husband. Robert's wearing a t-shirt with PRIDE emblazoned across the front in the colours of the bisexual flag and before he can ask what he considers colourful enough he's handing him a bag. "I got you this."

He glares at him a moment longer, pulling what looks like a t-shirt from the bag.

"I knew you wouldn't actually wear proper colour so I got it made up in black." The shirt has 'love wins' across the front made to look like rainbow paint splatters. "Will it do?"

"Fine." He sighs, but he's smiling.

"I, er, I also got these, for the kids." He hands him three more shirts each saying the same thing. "You like 'em?"

"Perfect. Right then, I'll get changed, you can sort them, and then finally we can go!"

Fifteen minutes they're off, Seb running ahead, while Aaron has Aaron on his shoulders, little hands clutching at his hair. Robert's behind them, stopping to adjust Sara's sunhat.

"Seb hang on mate." He stopped at the top of the drive until Robert catches him up.

"Oh my God."

Main Street was full of people, and Aaron couldn't wipe the smile from his face.

"Look what you did."

"Yeah." He sounds stunned.

In the crush, the lose each other after a little while, and it's not until he hears Charles announcing Robert's name that he knows where he is. Making his way to the stage that's been set up next to the church he stands to one side with Sara's pushchair, Ana still on his shoulders. He can see Seb at the side of the stage with Vic so he's happy to stay where he is.

"Um...I don't quite know what to say. When Charles talked about this, I don't think any of us expected quite so many people. Er, it took me a long time to accept who I was, that, um, that I'm bisexual, that it's ok...Fifteen years actually, and now I'm married to the most wonderful man in the world and we've got three kids, and I'm happy. It's been a hell of a journey but I'm truly happy. Anyway I guess what I'm trying to say is that it's ok to not know, to take your time, to go at your own speed...so, have a wonderful day everyone!"

Aaron can barely hear himself think at the cheer, the whistle as Robert steps off the stage, picking Seb up and kissing him as he goes.

It takes a while but eventually they find each other and he sees that Seb had convinced his Daddy to let him get his face painted, cheeks perfectly matching his t-shirt that proclaims 'my daddies love me' with both a pride flag and bisexual flag.

"Was it ok?" Robert asks as Aaron moves Ana so she's standing with Seb, holding onto his hand.

"Did you hear them? It was perfect." He kisses him before hugging him tight. "Love you so much."

"Love you too."

"Daddy I'm hungry! Can we get a cookie from Ganma now?"

He laughs into Robert's neck as the moment's broken. It didn't matter, the whole day has been perfect from start to finish.

[jaskierswolf]

The Grass is Greener Pt.1/3

Summary: Jaskier's mother is coming to stay and his garden is an absolute mess and his lawn mower has seen better days... luckily for him his ridiculously hot neighbour is there to lend a hand. 

Geraskier

CW: Shitty parents being shitty.

(Prompted by @alwenarin and based on this post by @infinite-mirrors)

________

Jaskier stared forlornly out at his garden. His mother was due to come over on her yearly visit and the next few days of his life were going to be hell. His mother was the sort to blast into his life like a fucking tornado, pull apart everything that he had built for himself and leave him broken, shattered into a thousand shards of glass. He wasn’t even sure why he still let her in, probably some childhood trauma that meant he was desperate to please her, to make her proud, but what did he know? He wasn’t a therapist, much to her displeasure. Anything would have been better in her eyes than a musician and occasional bartender.

He didn’t make much money. His band hadn’t taken off yet and only really had a small but dedicated following online that donated pocket money in exchange for small previews of new tracks or little poems that could be given to lovers or in greetings cards. Most of his rent was paid for in the tips he made at the bar. He was lucky to have the house at all really. He shared it with his housemates: Priscilla, his bandmate and ex, Essi, her younger sister, Valdo Marx, his former schoolmate, professional rival and absolutely twat face who lurked in his attic room and never really came out to talk to them, and last but not least, Regis, a kind scholarly type who had been living in the house before the other rooms had become available and most importantly made excellent homemade gin.

Said housemates had agreed to fuck off for the weekend so he could pretend that the house was his in a last ditched attempt win over his mother.

Of course, none of them had helped to tidy up before leaving and he’d spent the last twenty-four hours deep cleaning the house, and bolting the door to Regis’s bathroom shut. The gin in the bathtub wasn’t ready to bottle yet and he wasn’t exactly going to drain the tub of his elixir. He’d moved the furniture in his friend’s rooms around enough to make it look like they weren’t extra bedrooms, more… rooms that just happened to have beds in case he had company. Priscilla’s room now resembled a music room, Essi’s room had been turned into a makeshift study, Valdo’s he’d left a mess and claimed it was just an attic, and Regis’s room was sort of a library if you squinted hard enough.

That just left the garden.

“Bollocks!” He moaned.

None of them really cared much about the garden, apart from the box down the end which housed Regis’s herb garden for cooking. The rest of the garden a mess. The grass was practically a wild meadow filled with weeds. He quite liked it. He enjoyed looking at the dandelions, daisies and buttercups but his mother would have a fit.

Where was he even going to start?

Lawnmower. They must have one. He stumbled through his back door onto the patio and made his way to the shed that honestly barely lived up to its name. It was falling apart and leaked horrendously, but luckily inside was one rusty looking lawnmower.

“Bingo!” He grinned and pulled the mower out of the shed. It was heavier than it looked but luckily Jaskier was also stronger than he looked. Even so he wasn’t entirely how he was going to start the damn thing.

Perhaps Geralt would know…

Fuck.

Geralt.

Geralt had just adopted a newborn baby. Her name was Ciri. Most of the time Geralt just called her ‘Cub’ which Jaskier found to be incredibly endearing, a fact that had nothing to do with his teensy little crush on the mechanic.

He pulled up Geralt’s number in his phone. He’d been delighted when Geralt had given him his number, yes maybe it was because Jaskier kept turning up at Geralt’s doorstep after shifts at work because he’d forgotten his keys and none of his bastard housemates were answering the door and Geralt just happened to have a spare key, but the main thing is he had Geralt’s number.

After that they’d conversed a few times over text. Mostly if one of them was running to the shops and wanted to know if the other needed anything. Occasionally Geralt would text to ask Jaskier if he could watch Ciri for a short while if Geralt needed to leave the house. Once Geralt had even given him a lift to work because Jaskier’s bike had gotten a flat tire and he didn’t have enough time to walk all the way to the bar. So they weren’t exactly strangers but he wouldn’t really call them friends.

In fact Geralt was still listed as Hot Neighbour in his phone. He meant to change it, it was just that you couldn’t argue with the truth. Geralt was his hot neighbour.

 J —Hey Geralt! Is it ok if I mow my lawn? I don’t want to wake Ciri if she’s asleep. :)

He stared at his phone intently until about an eternity later, Geralt replied.

 G — The child must not be an obstacle.

Jaskier snorted as he read the response. He read it aloud a couple of times trying to mimic Geralt’s rough husky voice and managed to give himself the giggles.

His phone buzzed again.

 G — I can hear you laughing at me.

“Oh shit!” He almost dropped his phone and his cheeks felt like they were on fire. “Sorry Geralt!” He called into the air.

 G— Hmm.

Jaskier scoffed. Who text back “Hmm”? And why did Jaskier still find that so attractive?

But never mind that! He had the green light. Operation Finally Make His Mother Proud, or FMHMP for short, and yes you could absolutely say that if you tried hard enough, was go! He was going to mow the lawn like a proper adult!

He tried for about six years to turn the mower on but without any success. He kicked the lawnmower in frustration and the whole damned thing fell apart.

“Fuck it!” He yelled as he hopped about on his good foot that hadn’t been battered by lawnmower.

He sulked back into the house and flopped down dramatically on the sofa. It was over. His mother was going to hate him and he would die as a disgrace to the Pankratz name and the Lettenhove estate.

He was half way through his pity party when the doorbell rang. He grabbed his phone to check the time. Strange, his mother wasn’t due for another three hours.

“What the fuck?” He mused and padded over to the door. To his surprise Geralt was standing on his doorstep with Ciri tucked safely into a baby sling on his chest and behind him was a shiny lawnmower. “Ah. Geralt!” He grinned.

Geralt turned to the lawnmower and back to him. “Thought you might need some help.”

Jaskier blushed. “Right. Yes. Of course. Come on in!” He stood back to let Geralt through. “Oh, actually do you want to come round the side gate? The lawnmower probably shouldn’t come through the house. I’ve just cleaned up.”

Geralt grunted but followed Jaskier around the side of the house and into the back garden.

“What the fuck, Jaskier?” He grumbled when he saw the state of the lawn. “I thought you said you were mowing the lawn, not trying to find it!”

“Ah, yes, well. That is an excellent point.” Jaskier stammered, pulling at the hem of his shirt nervously. “You see my mother is visiting.”

Geralt raised an eyebrow. “Your mother, how old are you? Twelve?”

Jaskier gaped at his neighbour. “Geralt!” He whined. “I’m twenty-nine! Mother is just a cow.”

“Hmm. Fine. Let’s do this.” Geralt pulled Ciri gently out of her sling and passed her to Jaskier. “Hold her. I need to grab her stuff. This will take longer than I thought.”

“Oh hang on!” Jaskier called after Geralt but it was too late and Ciri began to cry. “Umm. There there.” He cooed and rocked her gently. “Shall I sing you a lullaby, cub?”

She didn’t answer, babies rarely did, so he decided a lullaby would be fine and began to sing in hushed tones as he rocked her in his arms. Geralt wasn’t long but he seemed surprise to come back to Jaskier rocking his daughter to sleep in his arms.

“Hmm. She likes you.” Geralt noted.

He was carrying Ciri’s car seat and a bag was slung over his shoulder. In his other hand was a large electric contraption with some nasty blades at the end. He dumped the scary looking monster and placed the travel cot on the patio table. Once Ciri was safely asleep they got to work.

Or more accurately, Geralt got to work. Jaskier mostly just watched and made sure Geralt had all the refreshments he needed. He also kept the conversation going by listing all the grievances his mother had with him from her last visit, Geralt hummed and grunted but didn’t offer much in return but it didn’t matter. Jaskier was more than capable of holding an entire conversation by himself.

“And then she starts wittering on about how my sister has a perfect husband and a darling little angel.” Jaskier moaned. “So of course then it’s ‘Julian why don’t you have a wife?’”

“Julian?” Geralt asked.

Jaskier glared at his neighbour. “Don’t ever call me that, I beg of you.”

Geralt shrugged. “I won’t. Just asking.”

“And I tell her, for the hundredth time, to say partner or spouse or lover or you know… not gender specific because she knows! Geralt! She knows. I don’t know how many times I have to tell her.” Jaskier sighed. “Oh, umm I’m bisexual just to give you some context there.”

Geralt nodded. “Right.”

“So of course she starts complaining that I always have to make everything gay, and I’m like… ‘Mother, I am gay!’” Jaskier announced with wide arms.

Geralt looked up at him, pausing halfway down the lawn that was now starting to resemble a lawn. “So why not tell her you’re seeing someone?” He asked. “Solve both problems if you say it’s a guy.”

Jaskier put his hands on his hips and tilted his head. “Yeah.” He scoffed. “Until she asks to meet him.”

Geralt shrugged. “I could do it.”

Jaskier’s heart jumped in his chest. “You what? Geralt!”

“My ex has been bothering me about finding someone.” He grumbled. “Two birds, One stone.”

Jaskier narrowed his eyes at his insanely hot neighbour who was now apparently suggesting they… fake date??

“What exactly are you suggesting here?” Jaskier asked slowly. “You pretend to be my boyfriend for my mother’s visit and we what? Send a few photos to your ex to prove you’re moving on?”

Geralt smirked. “As long as you promise not to fall in love with me.”

Jaskier’s jaw dropped.

Well fuck. _______

Next

[pathofcomet]

'cause all that you are is all that i'll ever need

fandom: bridgerton series / bridgerton tv 

pairing: colin/penelope

summary: 5 times Penelope said ‘I love you’ to one Mr. Bridgerton, and one time it was out loud. (AO3)

There are many ways to fall in love, surely. It’s called a fall for a reason: mainly that it hurts and it comes at the most unnecessary moments and it’s an entirely ungraceful matter. Just as one might fall down the stairs after too many glasses of champagne, or fall unconscious after being punched in the face, or fall because one’s ankle decided to twist most rudely – so do people fall in love in a various of ways.

Benedict Bridgerton swears it was love at first sight, like being struck by lightning. Laying his eyes on his beloved that fateful day, and knowing with insane certainty that he was going to spend the rest of his life by her side. Then Daphne’s murmured admissions, that it’s like a sigh you didn’t know rested in your chest releasing, rush of comfort and certainty when touching the other’s hand. Eloise scoffs at all of this, but Eloise can scoff because she has refused six marriage proposals, while Penelope sighs, because she hasn’t had one caller in a decade of London’s most notorious seasons.

Romantic stories wouldn’t fit with Penelope, she agrees. Her mouth doesn’t really know how to work half the time during social situations, and her dresses are most painfully unfitting. And if those were her only problems, but she is, to put it delicately and kindly, definitely not what seasonal diamonds want in a friend, not what loving mamas wish for their sons and not what men desire in a woman. It stung only the first time around, afterwards it was most expected. So no, Penelope Featherington’s love story is not romantic because she’s not a typically loveable person.

It doesn’t make it any less precious in her heart. When her bonnet flies with the gust of wind, consequently covering one Colin Bridgerton’s face while riding, and consequently having him fall down his horse directly in a fresh puddle of mud, she is mortified, certain that she is about to ruin her life before it even began. But then he laughs – not to mock her, not in jest and not in anger, unlike any of her past experiences with a man’s laughter, especially thrown in her direction. He doesn’t even look angry, not at her anyway.

And Penelope falls, too, even if not quite literally as Colin. She’s not sure how she recognizes it exactly as love – maybe the desperate flutter of her heartbeat against her wrist, or the fact that she can’t quite unglue her eyes away from his face (though that seems like an overall Bridgerton issue). Regardless, the truth and weight of the moment hung deep in her chest. Instead, what she manages to say, between the warm blush and their mothers’ chatter, is just an apology.

“I’m the one who should apologize.”

But she has a meddling mama, and he’s nothing but a young man despairing at such nagging, and despite how much she cares for this first moment, she knows she doesn’t quite yet exist in his life. And then – with her debut, with her growing friendship with Eloise, she suddenly is.

***

“Enjoying the evening, Mrs. Featherington?” Colin asks, having materialized himself near the refreshments table.

Penelope chokes on her drink, her cheeks reddening, the fingertips of her gloves now stained.  She has been sipping at her glass for the best part of an hour now, wondering how much longer she can wait for everyone to get so drunk that they won’t notice her grabbing one of the cakes on the table. The answer is obviously an eternity, for a lady should never eat in mixed company, especially if she is a debutante. But although this is barely her fourth ball this season, Penelope has already learnt the most important lesson of her life: that she is not what others would necessarily call a catch. Just because that is true, however, doesn’t mean she can do as she pleases, no matter how incredibly tasty the chocolate cream might look to her right now.

Colin obviously seems to have no problem with such rules, as he pops a biscuit inside his mouth. This one Bridgerton son is known for his appetite in particular, and social circumstances seem to not make much of a difference to his need. And the amount of food he ingests seems to not make much of a difference on how handsome he is.

Penelope pushes her glass on the table, straightening her back, though she immediately hunches back, aware that she’s wearing one of her mother’s absolutely horrid choices, and hell-bent on making it as unobvious as possible.

“Absolutely entertaining,” she answers, though the enthusiasm in her voice most certainly does not match her words.

“I’d rather agree,” Colin retorts. “I haven’t been this bored since Anthony got drunk and drawled on about the responsibilities of the first son.”

“Mr. Bridgerton!” she says, raising her fan so she can hide her smile behind it.

“Keep it a secret, Mrs. Featherington, would you? The Bridgertons tend to be quite unforgiving about these things.”

She thinks of Eloise and her adorably brilliant tendency to throw a tantrum about every single thing that bothers her about her siblings, whom she loves very, very much at the same time, which only makes her smile even larger. They’re such a lovely family, and with time, they’ll only grow to seem even more so in her eyes.

She nods her head in agreement, meeting his eyes over the edge of her fan. He looks, suddenly, quite proud to have her on his side. From across the ballroom, Eloise spots them: sending a nasty look at Colin, and waving her friend over.

“And please, Colin,” he leans a bit to whisper this to her, as the orchestra starts playing another song. “As it seems we will be seeing each other quite a lot.”

“Then, Colin,” she breathes, the name still foreign in her mouth, the roll of it on her tongue so strange that she’ll test it out many times over, in the darkness of her room long after she’s supposed to be asleep. “You may call me Penelope.”

She tries not to fixate on the sound of her name in his mouth (or his mouth in general, that’d be a good idea as well), and fails immensely, everything Eloise tells her that night flying over her head.

***

Penelope isn’t sure when the habit actually started: serving her tea once a week in the company of the Bridgertons. Of course, the number always changes, depending on the day’s circumstances, but it’s always more lively than her own home, in the most pleasant sense. Even the gossip doesn’t feel as cutting in here, with the warm banter and somewhat friendly threats. Eloise is now entangled in a complicated conversation on the virtues of marriage with her sister Daphne, and they’re sure on two different sides on the topic. Violet Bridgerton, the matriarch, just sighs. She meets Penelope’s eyes over the heads of her children, and smiles in a kindest manner. Eloise just rejected her second marriage proposal, while her best friend is yet to receive even a caller in her drawing room.

She recognizes the smile as the pity it is, and yet even that doesn’t feel as bad in here. Penelope has always taken only what has been given to her and made the best out of it. It’s hard when that is actually nothing, indeed.

“Pen,” Colin greets, draping himself in an armchair close to the side of the sofa where she is seated.

He doesn’t yet know how incredibly appropriate this nickname of his is, which is why Penelope smiles so brightly when she turns towards him. Violet’s attention has already moved towards Hyacinth and George, her youngest children, fighting quite loudly over the same colour that they both want to use right now in their paintings. She fails exactly to notice Daphne’s on them now, maybe out of lack of familiarity with the eldest sister.

Colin hands her a piece of paper, and she raises her eyebrow at him before taking it. He’s immediately replacing it with a piece of cheese from the numerous platters on the table, and that’s how she knows he is, in fact, quite nervous about whatever this is about. So she opens the piece of paper.

“The itinerary for my Europe tour,” he provides, though it wasn’t necessary, as she obviously recognizes the most famous locations. “Wanted to know what you think.”

The paper almost slips from her hands, unfair as he is right now. Of course, he has no way of knowing that he’s asking the one who loves him what she thinks about having him away. Penelope manages to somehow smile in-between the thundering of her own heart.

“You’re asking the opinion of a soon-to-be-spinster who has never left London?”

Joking is safe, she can cover her misgivings so easily with some humour – and Colin is so good at picking it up, matching her in her banter.

“No,” he says, and his thumb is over his lips, where he’s licking a spot of jam, and Penelope is quite distracted by the sight of his tongue in-between his fingers. “I’m asking my friend.”

Her neck snaps with how quickly she moves to meet his gaze. There’s a warmth feeling spreading all through her body, overwhelming with how pleased she is at the simple fact that he considers her a friend, how shocked at such admission.

“Are we not? Friends, that is.”

“Of course,” she adds, a bit too fast, and he smiles.

“Then?” the tone of his voice now turns teasing again.

“Colin,” she says, and her mouth twists in a smile just at the syllables making up his name. “You’re a young man: if there’s a world out there you wish to see, all you have to do is go.”

Even if she has to say goodbye, even if she has to see him go, just because she knows it’ll make him happy.

***

Penelope can feel herself getting physically sick. It’s been years now, of her silent love growing and growing in her chest – and it would seem that this moment would destroy it all.

Colin, standing in-between his brothers, having just shouted at the top of his lungs that he will never marry one Penelope Featherington, looks quite livid now that the exact person has been standing in the doorway for long enough to have heard him. Their eyes meet, and she wishes, with all the strength she is capable of, that he would say something. She waits – five seconds: the eldest, Anthony, starts finding excuses for his brother, but there’s really nothing else she wants to hear right now.

She knows her hands are trembling, which is why she hides it by fisting the material of her dress. She knows her voice cracks, when she says his name, but that’s just because she will absolutely not cry in front of three perfectly fine gentlemen over something that is entirely her problem. All things considered, she thinks she handled the situation more gracefully than a lot of others would have.

And when the other Bridgerton men leave the room, and Colin is left stumbling through his apologies, she discovers how meaningless she actually finds them. Because even with her heart breaking exactly because of the one she loves, she finds herself unable to love him any less. Yes, her pride is wounded, but he has said nothing that she didn’t know so well so far.

“I assure you, it is quite alright.”

The pain is there, sharp and terrible – but she will play pretend and she will say whatever words he needs to hear right now, because while he was unnecessary cruel, he was never so in front of her, on purpose, and there’s no need for her to be mean in return. And most of all, because she loves him so desperately, she doesn’t want him to be pained over this, not like she is. Anguished, really, and when Colin shakes his head, knowing that whatever apologies he’s given aren’t enough, but certain enough that he can’t give more, she almost runs in her haste to get away from him.

To get somewhere where she can cry her feelings out. Though her love, as every time, always lingers.

***

Her mother should get an award for the most optimist person, seeing how even with two of her daughters married, she still insists on parading a third one through ballrooms and promenades, as unsuccessful as they prove each and every time, and as old as they both keep getting.

Her mother should also get an award for way less flattering awards, seeing how she insists on dressing her daughter in the most terrible, happy colours, and pointing at third-rate suitors even as they’re standing right in the middle of the ballroom and it’s incredibly embarrassing.

In her defence, once they’re there and once it’s obviously clear Penelope is as unsuccessful as during any other social gathering before, she is left pretty much alone the rest of the time. She’s a wallflower, so just standing on the side of the dance floor and looking awkward is what she does best. The worst part is that this situation puts one quite in the spotlight of everyone else present, especially those old enough to have no other occupation but gossip.

Violet Bridgerton elbows her son in his back, hard. Who knew his mother has such incredibly sharp bones, or such a demanding tone? Colin has been home for a total of two days before he’s been dragged to the first ball, and he’s allowed three sips of his drinks before all attention-seeking young debutantes and their sharp mamas accosted him (which included his own dear one). Colin balances his options, and without even hesitating, he walks across the room to join Penelope in her sulking.

“I imagine these fine gentlemen are all waiting for their chance,” he says, looking around at several old lords, twice her age, which he knows she would not consider an eligible match no matter how desperate, “but would you maybe do me the honour of the next dance?”

She snorts. “I see you’re back and as amusing as ever.”

“You find me amusing?” he asks, already grinning.

“Colin Bridgerton, I’m not complimenting you again, lest it gets to your head,” she retorts.

“I missed you too, Pen.”

And it’s true. He didn’t realise it until just this moment, when they’ve fallen to their usual dynamic with no bit of awkwardness, even after the past months with his absence. It shames him just the tiniest bit that it has taken his mother’s most unkind pressure to even come by her side.

The orchestra starts its next song, and he extends his arm to her, which she takes with a blush and a shy smile. He is in fact her first dance for the night, and she has no doubt it’ll be the only one as well, which is a shame, since she always quite enjoyed dancing. Dances with good partners are the highlight of a party. Dances with Colin Bridgerton are the highlight of the season.

“Thank you,” she says, and if Colin wasn’t already leaned quite close to her, he maybe would have missed it entirely.

***

Penelope really should have learnt better by now – that her heart is never entirely safe with Colin. Be it that he has a tendency to step all over it, or that it makes it beat so fast, that she starts understanding all the ladies who faint all over during a season.

Being engaged with him doesn’t really change the situation. Not when his kisses make her feel like everything that she’s considered so bad in herself is worth the entire world, and then more.

With his hands now swiftly unlacing her dress, the shadow of his room all around them – she finds she cannot keep another secret for this man that is to be her husband,

“I love you,” she sighs. “I have loved you for years.”

“I know.”

How unfair he is, to the bitter end. Even as he essentially accosted her in his carriage, even as he asked her to marry him, even as he defended her in front of her numerous family, getting offended on her behalf, getting worried on her behalf… Terrible man that she loves, terrible man that Colin is, he drags out his own admittance as long as possible.

And she loves him for it, too.