#but i really do think this could be my next research project; at least the seeds of one

[leonardcohenofficial]

working on putting together a longform playlist of music created by incarcerated black musicians; while my focus i think will ultimately be in the 1970s when a lot of soul/funk/R&B was being produced, i'm including music from a lot of different genres and eras that inform the long history of black music in prisons as performance of resistance; notably a lot of this music has not been officially digitized and thus is not on spotify but i look forward to cratedigging physically and on the internet to find more music

[occamstfs]

Ni Hao!NYC

Morally conflicted journalist puts off questions of ethics until it's just too late. Finally assigned to put his name next inflammatory content Sam finds himself more than appreciating Chinese culture.

Various white to Asian Muscle growth and racial change ahead!

Like many, I saw the final pictures on twitter and had to do something with them haha! Ended up with a piece just a tad different than usual! Hope you all enjoy! -Occam

Samuel Johnston knew he worked for a rag but as long as the checks cashed he could afford to mute his conscience. They made money not from sales so much as some rightwing think tank who wants their views affirmed in any way they can get it. So he lays low and pens little puff pieces, avoiding anything too controversial and introduces himself as an accountant to anyone he cares enough to lie to.

He’s quite adept at staying out of sight and mind when it comes to the doling out of any especially charged or problematic issues. Making sure to bury his own work any chance he gets, even using a pen name in case someone accidentally stumbles on his writing. It’s gone well enough so far he thinks! Sam tells himself that really working for NY:Red isn’t that bad, surely it’s even good that he’s got the job rather than anyone who believes the shit they write. Right?

No job is without its problems, he tells himself. So far he’s done a commendable job keeping his nose down with an almost supernatural ability to duck away from bigwigs or management. That is until now as he’s summoned by name to his boss’ side. His proficiency at staying off the radar of management has kept him from a one on one with the man in charge for some time, but now he is sitting on the top floor outside of Mr. Howard’s office, surely waiting to be assigned some horrible project.

“Come in!” Sam hears the surly man shout before promptly stepping into the gaudy office. He’s immediately taken aback as somehow the editor looks almost younger than he does in the many pictures Sam has seen. Sam hides his shock at the man’s jet black hair as well as he hides the general fear and disdain that begins to send adrenaline pumping towards his mind. Mr. Howard doesn't notice at least, getting straight to business, “I can tell from yer writing that ya like the city Sam, can I call ya Sam?”

Samuel opens his mouth to reply but the chief just continues on, “Anyway I love all yer little toilet paper stories but how do ya wanna write with the big leagues?” This time Samuel stays strong and gets a word in before being steamrolled again, “Actually I-” “I’m puttin’ you on the most important case we have Sam. Surely ya’ve noticed all this, what's da word, influx? Invasion? Bah. All the Asian shit that’s startin’ ta creep in on our city’s culture!” Samuel makes an awkward face as despite knowingly working for the racist, it’s different to hear the words out loud.

He holds his tongue out of shock or fear and his boss continues on his diatribe, “The last couple a schmucks I had on the beat just up’n left me high and dry can ya believe it! Old friends I thought!” He grumbles as he scratches his chin, moving away his hand it seems his beard thinned? He shakes his head in irritation and Sam would swear he saw his jowls tighten and wrinkles smooth over. “Anyway kid. Go out and do some prelim research. Have something on my desk by Friday or yer out just like those galoots!” Samuel stands for a second unsure if he’s allowed to leave before his boss looks up to glare with eyes Sam would’ve sworn were blue when he walked in.

Sam rushes out the door and to the elevator, riding it back to his floor, debating between writing a preemptive resignation or keeping mum and keeping on payroll for one last week. Profiteering from a culture war he may be but he’s not about to regurgitate genuinely racist talking points. He taps his foot impatiently as he thinks about just how cushy this gig is though. “Fuck!” He decides to call the only other confirmed decent human being he knows here, his friend Nick who works in the fashion dept.

The two go to grab coffee at a chain next door, Sam tries not to notice how they’ve started selling Vietnamese iced coffee. “Fuck man I can’t do it! Literally just one conversation alone with Howard was a wake up call.” Nick smiles like he has no problems with working for the dirtiest rag in the city, “Chill out Sam. Huward had my manager on the same beat and he, uh, Hidaka said that is said to just look busy for a bit and we won’t need to worry about all this racist shit anymore.” Sam squints his eyes at his friend, he’s not usually so easy breezy about work. He also racks his brain trying to figure out who Hidaka could possibly be. That can’t be his boss. No way Howard would let someone not white lead a department.

Seeing Sam lost in thought Nick reaches out and grabs his hand in a way Sam couldn’t imagine him doing before this second. In fact as the second drags on he stares down in the hand in shock, feeling the warm hand squeeze his forearm. He looks up to his friend’s face searching for any clue to the cause of this odd behavior. Sam smiles awkwardly and half-jokes “Hah hah, uh- Who are you and what’d you do with Nick… Hah.” Nick bursts out laughing, patting him on the arm jovially and leaving a hand larger than Sam remembers resting on his own. “Hidaka-san just showed me how to worry less about this job un?”

Sam inspects him closely for anything amiss, it looks like he’s picked up a bit of a tan? His hair is messier than usual and definitely a little darker, his skin is alluringly smooth and Sam can feel the heat his body is generating despite sitting across from him. Looking at his clothes Sam finds another surprise, his shirt almost looks strained! As if Nick has been hitting the gym for sometime, maybe it’s just been a while since he’s seen his friend in person? 

Assuaged in the slightest, Sam ignores the glowering red flags and follows this lede, “Woah Nick have you been working out?” Nick blushes and Sam at the very least sees his friend is as shy as ever. He goes to scratch the back of his head straining his shirt almost to its ripping point as he responds, “Ah a little haha! どうぞ(please) don’t you worry about me. Since you have no desire to write the article, why don’t you go ahead and check out the little Asian market down the street for fun? It was quite a good time when Hidaka-san brought me earlier this week!”

Sam awkwardly smiles as he wonders why on Earth Sam is suddenly referring to his boss like this, it’s almost like he’s performatively speaking Japanese. Taking a second to pause Sam looks at the haircut as hands unseen style it into something fashionable he puts two and two together. Thinking to himself, ah! Nick must just be a weeb! Tension disappears from his body with a sigh of relief as he wonders how he didn’t notice before now. He gets up to follow his friend’s advice, what better way to stick it to the man than support the people he aims to malign right?

He bucks up and grabs a Vietnamese iced coffee for the road, tossing a “Sayonara,” at Nick with a wink to which he perks up and slightly bows. Man, how did he not notice before Sam thinks yet again. Blissfully unaware, leaving just as kanji symbols appear on Nick’s keyboard and his friend responds to an email in a language he didn’t know this morning. Blue eyes growing coal dark as his tanned, increasingly muscular arms tap away at the keyboard.

Sam spends the bulk of his day at the little Asian street fair and has an absolute blast. Any residual stains on his mind from his unpleasant morning absolutely fade away as he goes from booth to booth sampling cuisine and chatting with diasporic cultures the world over. Time flies as he goes into journalist mode and basically interviews first gen Chinese immigrants about their time in the city. He finds himself beyond immersed in the conversation, continuing to learn from the couple as the tables around them begin to pack up for the day. 

He offers to help the older couple pack up and they happily take the aid, striking him bashful as they talk of what a sweet young man he is. “Wa! 哇强 (strong) Too!” The wife chuckles as she jokingly feels his less than impressive arms. He was having a better time at this little fair than he ever could’ve imagined, enough so that he thinks about going to stick it to Huaward then and there. Huaward? Whatever. His mind slightly off put by whatever that was, in an uncharacteristic act of transparency, Sam lets it slip that he works for NY:Red. The expressions on the kind couple’s faces immediately sour and Sam is quite shocked that they even know what the paper is.

There is a glint in the husband’s eyes as he starts to motion Sam away from any further aid, “谢谢 (Thank you) for your help, Sam. There have been a few, hm, bad men wandering around from that paper and I uh-” He looks around his table and grabs some miijiu they hadn’t put away yet. His wife nods, her face somewhere between rueful and hopeful as she watches her husband offer Sam the glass. “Again, 谢谢, er thank you for your help young man, enjoy this for the road 好的? (Yeah?)” The two turn to each other and begin talking to each other in mandarin alone and Sam takes the hint.

Kicking himself that he fumbled the capstone on such a pleasant afternoon, though finding solace in the rice wine he’s walking away with. He is blissfully unaware as the couple watch him drink and head down the street debating if everyone from that paper really is an asshole. Grimacing as they think about the vitriol spewed at them by NY:Red readers they decide they had no other recourse. Pleasant as he seemed Sam was consciously working on the side of hate and that could not be simply overlooked.

Sam quite enjoyed the rice wine the couple left him with, it immediately smooths over any lasting regret or concern about his interaction with the couple. They don’t know anything about him! He’s nothing like his other coworkers. It feels as if he’s had far more to drink than the small container they left him with should allow, but every time he looks down there always seems to be more mijiu to entice him. It would be impolite not to finish their gift he thinks; his confident stride quickly shifting to a stumble as he wanders home. 

His phone goes off as he gets an email from his boss, Mr. Huang?  Can’t be right. He squints at the email, deciding he must really have overdone it on the mijiu and stuffing his phone back in his pocket. Beyond the obvious difficulties in ambulation being drunk, Sam is unable to notice as his proportions slowly begin to shift. His ever-so lanky body begins to feel dull and heavy as the warmth of the wine fills his chest to capacity and then some as he leans against his apartment door, wiping his feet on an unfamiliar doormat. 

He kicks his shoes off by the door on some new instinct and immediately goes to collapse on the couch. His small sofa creaking as he puts more than his usual dead weight on it. His legs that usually hang off the end lengthen even further as his thighs grow meatier. Pecs press into the cushions as he snores. He is swiftly ushered into an unfamiliar dreamscape, the jubilee of the fair and the bewildering amount of wine he drank produce a vivid carnival of culture in his subconscious.

He sees the old couple at their stand and begins to speak with them in their mother tongue, seeing the delight as a load is taken off their shoulders. His dreamself seamlessly conversing with a fluency unearned. Sam stirs in the waking world as his mind existentially changes to match his morphing body. His blond hair grows thin and longer as its tint stains darker. Twitching in REM the green eyes that he prides himself on speckle with brown before they are entirely overtaken, becoming a rich cacao like the thick eyebrows framing them.

The discomfort of a new language forcing itself into this memory begins to wane as he prides himself on how fluent he is in both Chinese and English. His hand goes to scratch his pecs and he smirks in his sleep as they pulse larger, knowing pride is not the only thing surging within him. At the edges of his mind he feels the memory of learning a language, words written on a blackboard in chalk, English and Chinese both. For the life of him he cannot recall which of the two he’s learning second. An alarm set on his phone blares and he jolts awake to get ready for work.

Throwing on a shirt, Sam freezes as he sees his reflection. Hundreds of little questions seize his mind, those aren’t his eyes are they? Did he dye his hair last night? Are those abs? God his arms look good don’t they!? As they race through his mind and grow rampant they fixate on how attractive he suddenly feels. Rubbing his pecs and feeling them bounce he cries out to himself, “该死！Uhhh, Damn I look good!” He poses in the mirror and takes in every new angle of his powerful body. Taking note as his body hair seems thinner, and decidedly darker wherever it remains. He looks close at his pit seeing his once dense bush of curly hair thin out and straighten, before the memory of even having dense body hair is washed from his mind.

His phone goes off again and his work is immediately brought to the forefront of his mind. “Fuck I didn’t read Huang’s message!” He finds email after email from his boss, only the first few mention the wretched assignment they last talked about. Sam’s eyes widen as he continues to skim through the emails as the topic lines quickly show some drastic re-prioritization from his boss. Only then does he realize that he’s been reading his boss’ name as Huang. His boss is white. Rather his boss’ whole identity is based around being white! Huang isn’t, right? Incredibly he clicks the last email, subject line Vacation, and is immediately greeted with a mouth watering picture of a powerful man. Everything comes to a stop as he can’t help but gawk at this man’s body.

Ni Hao Sanuel- take the day off shi de? Still only half dressed Sam balks at just how bizarre this is, rereading the name Sanuel he is thrown for a loop as his mind reconfigures this. Tearing his eyes from the man’s torso he finally looks at the cocky face and sees a thread he recognizes,  “天啊! (Holy Shit!) That’s Mr. Huang!” He shuts his mouth before he drools like a dog at his boss’ arms. God, this is unlike him though right? He tries to dig through his memories of the editor in chief as the caustic racist he was yesterday, but with each uncovered the image of Huang changes as this dreamboat playboy overrides more of what was.

Sanuel readies to just stay in for this day of assigned vacation before he gets another notification, this time from his friend, Nobu? An image of Nick flashes through his mind, a handprint burns on his arm, and the taste of Vietnamese coffee dances on his lips. “Meet me on the boardwalk うん？” Sanuel rolls his eyes at his friend tacking on Japanese like that, willing his mind not to think about how his friend’s contact ID now says Nobu. Must be one of those, uh, his own thoughts trail off as he successfully abandons concern to head to meet his friend.

Nearing the meeting spot he looks for his usually cleancut friend, the only body present however is a massive Japanese man awkwardly flexing at himself in a reflective surface. Sanuel shyly speaks up, “Ni Ha-, uh Hey? Have you seen a guy named Nick around here?” The apparent bodybuilder beams and goes to engulf Sanuel in a hug shouting, “Oi! Shan! took ya long enough!” His eye twitches hearing the name, as this man effortlessly lifts him off his feet in a hug far too intimate for colleagues, and certainly from whoever this stranger is!

Shan pushes against the massive man, his body heat broiling him on this already warm day. He strains his eyes looking at the man grabbing him and suddenly it hits him, “Nobu?” The man promptly lets him go and pats him on the back with a laugh he would’ve never expected to come from his sheepish friend in the fashion department. “Wanna go have some ice cream or something Shan?” He feels the need to push back against his friend calling him Shan but as he hears it a second time he can’t recognize the names as anything but his own.

Shan pauses as he sees Nobu stop to chat with some Japanese tourists and something about the picture doesn’t sit right. God it’s that talk with Huang getting him all worked up again that,uh, racist? He clutches his head as contradictions between his past and present collide in his head and he slams his eyes shut as he cannot determine what is true about his current reality. Shan falls to the ground with a deep thud, slightly hyperventilating, his body grows larger as he takes deep breaths from the stress.

Hearing him collapse Nobu runs over to help him up, this time with more effort as his friend’s comatose body continues to put on muscle and grow heavier. Still, having the impressive figure he does, Nobu rather easily gets him on a bench and sits next to him, “クソ野郎？(Fuck dude?) You alright?” Shan slowly nods as his friend throws an arm around him. Looking down at his own arms as they pulse with muscle, he feels his eyes strain as the structure of his face begins to change.

Shan's jawline sharpens and his skin smooths. Stubble that has been a cornerstone of hiding his facial blemishes vacates as his hair stains black and flops longer. He feels clarity grace his mind as he stares at large hands on the ends of pale, hairless, muscular arms and he wonders if he is even himself.

He voices these concerns to Nobu who just laughs them off. “Hah! Of course dude, same Shan I’ve always known!” “那- that’s not my name Nobu.” His friend grins shyly in concern for his friend's mind. “It can't be my name. I’m-” grimacing before he continues as it takes everything in his power to speak against the realities in front of him. Memories of a world quite far away, moving to New York long ago, the youngest in a family of Chinese immigrants, “I’m white aren’t I Nobu?” 

Nobu can’t help but laugh again at the beyond bizarre statement. He jokes about Shan hitting his head when he fell. “You’re the most 2nd Gen Chinese わるがき(brat) I know bro! Imma go get us some ice cream while you chill out.” Shan stares at his friend as he abandons him, feeling his eyes tighten as they shift into the monolid eyes that his memories swear he’s always had.

Shan retreats into his mind racing against his changing memories to find a pillar of truth to grasp on. He sees himself at the gym with Nobu, his black mop of hair flicking sweat into the air as he poses with his bro. He sees just yesterday at the Asian fair, helping an elderly couple pack up their table, twitching as he would’ve sworn that went differently. He remembers sitting at the office getting no work done as he plays on his phone, 是的！that’s it! His job. There’s something there, if only he can remember what the problem was there.

He sees Nobu begin walking back with sweet treats, Nobu works at the paper too. Oh 呃/Duh! He smirks as he goes for his wallet to grab a business card. His eyes see the obnoxious red logo he knows before they read text that will send him irrevocably forward, Shun Jiang - Ni Hao!NYC. His body fills with warmth like a machine overworking as his mind races with information about his new reality. Sweat drips from his hair as he can no longer even struggle to recall his claimed existence as a bystander at the vile paper they produced. His brown eyes steep to a dark black as they glaze over.

“Shan-baka! Here’s a popsicle!” Nobu shouts as he returns to his overheated friend who immediately bursts from his stupor. “混蛋!(Asshole!) It’s Shun- thought we were close!” Nobe smirks as he starts to eat his own ice cream. Unable to recall anything too in depth he feels a pause as he wonders what his Japanese friend is doing working for a Chinese newspaper, before he answers it himself. Clearly his subconscious is more at place in whatever new reality he faces. Their paper is for all NYC’s Asian immigrants. Nobu works writing, or more often modeling, for Konnichiwa!NYC! Huang really was a genius for the idea.

Shun smiles, thinking fondly of his boss as he enjoys the short break from the summer heat that Nobu brought him. Back at the headquarters of their paper everything shifts from the rag it was and into a paper connecting the disparate Asian immigrants of the city, printed in any language they can find translators for, Ni Hao, Konnichiwa, Annyeonghaseyo, Namaste!NYC. Each day striving for a better, more inclusive New York City. Shun beams with his new face, no longer burdened with the just concern of his peddling vitriol, instead possessed with a desire to spread his culture far and wide.

———————————————————————————

As I was writing I remembered a similar series by the now gone Dumb-and-Jocked!

If interested do check out Horizon Zero: One, Two, and Three for quite a different take on a journalism themed Racial Change!

[jacevelaryonswife]

You Really Got Me | Professor!Michael Gavey x student!fem reader

summary: With a perfect CV, Michael Gavey was on top of the fucking world and mediocrity has never seemed so inherent to you before. The new Professor of Number Theory awakened inappropriate feelings that could become risky if they were reciprocal.

a/n: well, it was quite difficult to write this because I’m not familiar with the Oxford environment and I hope that my research has made this story as credible as possible.

tags: slight slow burn, smut, p in v sex, power imbalance, swearing.

word count: 5.7k

ewanverse masterlist | next part

Michael Gavey was... many things.

A lot of things, definitely.

Michael, or rather, Professor Gavey now, aroused conflicting feelings in you.

Admiration, fear, fascination and another whirlwind was felt when it was the new and brilliant Professor of Numbers Theory. He took over the discipline of a dear veteran and great name of mathematics in Oxford, his advisor in the master’s and PhD. Obviously great expectation formed around it, around him, wondering if he would be able to overcome the grandeur of his predecessor.

And apparently he was causing a certain commotion with his above-average intelligence and his eccentric personality.

Obviously you started a search for the CV of your next professor and the finding was surprisingly extraordinary. Speaker of the 2010 class, several projects carried out, postgraduate (also in Oxford), articles published in journals with high impact factor and experience at McKinsey & Company for 2 years.

Michael Gavey was on top of the fucking world and mediocrity had never seemed so inherent to you before.

Saying that you were intimidated by the first contact with him was an understatement- you were fucking terrified. The rumors of an alleged above-average intelligence proved to be untrue. Above average? No shit, he was far beyond everything you experienced. Your eyes didn’t dare to move away from him and the painting during the following hours, too fascinated by what was happening in your fucking front. You felt a current of pure mathematics run through your body and camp in your brain, illuminating all the neurons.

What the fuck had just happened?

You learned that every class he taught was a learning experience rarely experienced before. The passion he conveyed when teaching overflowed in all his expressions so intensely that it made you orbit around him slowly.

And that was the beginning of a problem.

A big problem.

But you hadn’t noticed yet.

“If I ever thought I was smart, forget it! Michael Gavey is the epitome of everything I want to be,” your good friend Miranda said before taking a sip of her latte.

“I know right? Every class I feel that my brain will explode,” you said while leaning your head against the table, “but I can understand what it teaches, at least a good part of things. I know I already have an advisor and our work is almost published, but I think I’m thinking of getting out of Algebra and trying something with Gavey,” you looked at her.

“Woah, are you fucking sure? I mean- if that’s what you really want, that’s fine, but I think it’s too mind blowing for me,” she said.

“For me too, but it’s fucking interesting, I really want to do at least one research in this area.”

“... hmm,” Miranda smirked, humming.

“What?”

“Nothing,” she superficially drank her coffee, “hmm.”

“Cut the bullshit,” you complained as you looked at her impatiently.

“It’s nothing, it’s just that from a certain angle he’s quite cute,” she said in a thin voice.

“Who? Gavey?”

“Yeah. He’s... different from the guys you usually date or are interested in but he’s not bad looking,” she explained.

“Come on, do you really think I’m interested in him? He's our professor and a big nerd to boot!” The last thing wasn’t totally the end of the world.

“And? It’s not like students and professors have never fucked before, although I don’t think he’d risk that much, he seems to be quite methodical,” she said calmly, “and most importantly, he’s clever as fuck and that automatically makes him sexy, if he’s not an idiot.”

That was absurd, you weren’t interested in Michael Gavey!

... right?

You thought about it for the rest of the day.

Was Michael Gavey, in addition to his bestial intellect, physically attractive?

Suddenly, you began to notice how his lips were perfectly drawn and pink as he explained the most beautiful things you had ever heard in those years at Oxford. Damn it. It was Miranda’s fault, obviously. You tried to convince yourself of that while elaborating a way to approach you about the possibility of a research project without embarrassing yourself. Obviously you tried to impress him before that, answering questions whenever possible and redoing all the examples and notes he passed around. When your own mind couldn’t assimilate some details, you looked for him to ask questions and oh Lord, he was more than attentive.

The proximity also made you realize how blue his eyes were under the glasses, and how his hands were- no, wait, what were those veins? Those long and thin fingers? You know what they say about guys with big hands... And his fluffy dirty blonde hair and those soft and ugly sweaters, his height, his waist-

DAMN IT MIRANDA!

That afternoon you gathered the courage to introduce the subject after your classmates left, using your best words to make a good impression.

“I have some interesting ideas that would yield good research, but before recruiting someone, I evaluate performance throughout the term; grades, posture, commitment, everything is observed.”

“Oh... sure, professor.”

“You’re doing well so far, you have good chances, keep it up.”

You wanted to scream. You’ve been recognized.

If your previous efforts were continuous to make a good impression, they would now be compulsive to stand out from the others. You needed to have him as an advisor. And all the eagerness to please him, all the competitive desire to excel, all that fervor triggered a fire that consumed every stretch of your body silently.

And that was a problem.

It shouldn’t be, but it became without you noticing.

“Do you know how many people would sacrifice everything to sit on these chairs? Walking through these corridors? Breathe this air? All of you have an obligation to achieve more than perfection, especially if you are here because of mommy and daddy’s money.”

You knew that very well. Gavey was very demanding about the quality of his students, always reinforcing the privilege of being in this environment, which in itself would make his discipline one of the most important of that term, but your current disposition made you demand almost all attention for him, for the test that was coming, for what you aspired to in the future.

And the result couldn’t be better.

You had a 100% performance in the first test. Excellent, handwritten next to the note. “Good work, keep it up,” he said with a subtle smile.

“Thank you, professor.”

So that’s what the butterflies in your stomach were from.

You smiled, satisfied as you reaped the fruit of weeks of hard work, too numb in your own pride to feel a close eye to follow your steps to the exit, although you had not gone unnoticed by Miranda.

“I think someone caught Gavey’s attention,” she hummed low, approaching on your side to lightly nudge your body with her hip.

“I know right? I need this opportunity,” you celebrated, oblivious to the implicit tone of her voice.

“I didn’t mean that way, babe. It's just he’s keeping an eye on you constantly, literally checking you every- I don’t know, three minutes?” She said it as if it were obvious.

“What? No, I don’t think it’s in this sense, he uses everything as a parameter of choice, he’s just observing my posture.” What? To believe that Gavey had ulterior motives? Too unreal.

“No, sweetheart, he was staring at you when no one paid attention, or almost no one, and he spent most of his time looking at you,” she insisted.

“You don't really thi-“

“I totally think so!”

Oh fuck.

“I’m not saying he’s in love with you, but he's interested, hell yeah,” she explained as you slowly processed her words.

“Fuck,” you said, “do you really, really think so? I mean- he doesn’t look like the type who stays with students.”

Definitely not, he seemed too methodical for that, methodical enough to separate the spectra of his life into compartments.

But what if there was the possibility? You couldn’t reproduce that question audibly, but in the comfort of your bed, you allowed yourself to daydream.

If there was some possibility?

Well, there were pros and cons that needed to be analyzed meticulously, of course.

In the event that Michael was a systematic monster, there wouldn’t be problems in a relationship since he wouldn’t mix romance with studies, theoretically. On the other hand, if he didn’t know how to differentiate the staff from the professional... well, you’d be fucked up if something went wrong. And that was the main point: the mistake.

The consequences would be drastic if something bad happened, especially to you, whose life was still under construction and a scholarship in Oxford could not be negotiated. The cost was too high.

However, over the weeks, you could only think about how attractive your professor was.

And now you know it’s a problem.

And with that, the end of year 2 was near when you received an email from Michael Gavey requesting to send your notes and certificates of everything you had done and participated in so far. Jesus, that man wasn’t kidding.

Neither were you.

That same morning you attached the documents to the e-mail and forwarded a response, as a result, your presence was requested at his office as soon as possible. I’m available in the afternoon, you send to him.

It was complicated to make your legs stop shaking along the way, practically jumping through the corridors while trying to stay calm. It was your chance, one where nothing could go wrong. You wore your best clothes, put on accessories that you used to wear daily and a subtle makeup to make a good impression, nothing that drew too much attention.

Stopping in front of his door, you took a deep breath and announced your presence with a light knock against the old wood, receiving immediate permission to enter the space. You would've liked the time and the absence of an observer to analyze all the details, but instead your eyes locked with his as he walked back to his chair.

“Good afternoon,” he said, a polite smile illuminating his beautiful face as he pointed to the chair in front of you, “have a seat. Please.”

“Good afternoon, professor, thank you,” you greeted him back, shaking your hands anxiously as you sat down.

With no time to allow your eyes to wander through the objects on the table, Michael cut straight to the point. "So, what aroused your interest in Number Theory?" You, to begin with.

"Well, I chose Maths at the age of 17, but things were difficult when I started the course. I was disenchanted considerably, but I always remained active. When your classes started I felt the same thing that motivated me to join here, it was as if everything had made sense again and I really fell in love with it."

“I see,” he said, crossing his hands over the table with a soft smile and a slight pink to his cheeks. Did you make him blush? No way. "I’m happy to have contributed positively to your training. I really appreciated your performance during classes and the analysis of your CV. The activities you have developed are also good but they can improve, I believe you also aspire to it. I seek a high level of quality in my students, after all we are in one of the best universities in the world and excellence is the least expected, I believe we agree on that. Have you already decided where you would like to specialise within Number Theory?"

"To be honest, no, but I would like to find out in-"

"I have some ideas that I’d like to be executed, I can show you now, if you don't have something in mind," he interrupted you with enthusiasm.

"... yes, I’d love to," you said, "but first, thank you for the opportunity you’re giving me, I admire you so much from the first classes and I feel really happy to receive this chance, I know there are many successful veteran professors, but I believe that a current view of a person as impressive as you can bring interesting results."

And if he had blushed with your previous statement, now he was red as a tomato and all disconcerted as he looked down with a shyness never witnessed before by you. It was deadly cute.

Gosh, you were really fucked.

═════════════════════

Working with Michael was exciting.

Terrifying too.

You felt constantly intimidated by his intellect, which caused a mix of sensations that varied according to the day. There was the pride of collaborating with him, the fear of failing, the paranoia of not being good enough and the satisfaction of achieving good results. It was a real roller coaster.

The passing of the months dissipated the initial strangeness and made living more comfortable. On the other hand, the proximity made you watch him for longer. It was pathetic.

Michael spent most of his time in front of his computer, correcting things, creating things and participating in events. You weren’t the only one under his guidance, there was Paul, a recent entry in Maths who was too inert in his own world to notice any non-standard deviation. Paul was a reminder and a barrier for nothing to come out of your daydreams, although he didn't seem very interested in what you were doing.

Still, you couldn't feed those thoughts, your relationship should be strictly professional.

It didn't matter how discreetly he approached you to help, or how close he leaned towards you- more than what was considered respectful. Or how good he smelled and looked so comfortable with his cheesy sweaters and old shoes. Or when you looked at him closely while he explained something.

How it was happening at that very moment.

“You're wasting time trying to demonstrate this equation, it's not so important for the project,” he said when analysing your latest advances.

"I know, but I'd like to understand better and I'm not getting it, it seems too abstract," you said with a frustrated pout, bothered by being stuck in something so simple.

"You've already solved more difficult things," he stressed, looking at you consciously, "can I?" he asked, referring to your notebook and the pen next to your laptop.

“Sure.”

Your attention focused on the numbers and symbols scribbled on the paper, trying to keep up with the speed of his thought. Watching it has always been fascinating.

“Some things are more difficult when we make them like this,” he said as he sketched on the paper.

"It's easy to say that being you," you replied, lamenting the failed attempt to absorb some of his knowledge.

"But it's true."

Unconsciously, you leaned your shoulder against his arm. "Some things are naturally difficult, not everyone can visualise like you."

"I know, it's a natural advantage," he smirked, looking at you over his shoulder, face closer than usual. "But you have a good brain, you shouldn't make it harder than it is."

So close.

"And how should I make it easier?" You held your breath, not daring to look beyond his beautiful blue irises.

"Find in the problem points that are favourable to you, try to demystify them, make them palpable," he replied slowly, taking a deep breath.

Really close.

"And if there's nothing to be explored?"

"You can always call me."

"… I know."

So close.

═════════════════════

After that, you don't know what or why, but something has changed in your relationship with Michael.

His looks became more persistent, his presence seemed closer, almost palpable. Maybe it was a daydream of your own mind, but it looked different, inexplicably different. The air seemed heavier when there was proximity. He seemed comfortable when he touched your shoulder while you read your results. It was nothing, you thought.

There was something not said and that was enough to bring out fears and expectations.

Why not? You thought repeatedly, knowing the reasons very well.

But, maybe...

Maybe you needed to get him out of your head for a few hours, meet some nice guys, drink a little, it was a good idea.

That's why that Friday night you decided to go to one of the nearby pubs with Miranda. It was a good plan, you would leave the lab at 5 PM and get ready to meet her at 7 PM. It was in fact a good plan... until the data analysis program decided to crash in the middle of your work and a malaise affected your friend, in addition to a grotesque rain that started to fall recently. Well, at least you tried.

After collecting the material from the bench, you stretched your arms above your head to ward off the hours of agonizing stress and got up from the chair. It was already late and your view was tired, more than your own body when Michael showed up with his keys in his hand after closing his own office. He spent the afternoon by your side trying to solve the damn problem in addition to his chores as a teacher.

"Everything worked out?" He asked.

"Yeah, at least that," you grumbled, picking up your backpack, "thank you for the help," you looked at him before going to the switches to turn off the equipment.

"You’re welcome," he said simply, in a softer tone than usual. Thunder echoed when you turned off the lights and made you retreat briefly in fright, making himhim laugh softly. "So, what does your generation do to have fun Friday night?" He asked casually after leaving the laboratory.

"Considering that these pubs are older than you and me, I think the same thing your generation did," you replied humorously, looking at him with a small smile, "Unfortunately not with this rain."

"Did you have plans?" He asked.

"Yes, my friend and I’d go to MacLaren's pub, but she's sick and the world decided to fall suddenly and I didn't bring my umbrella," you said faster than you intended, a brief irritation about how your night was totally destroyed. “And you?”

“No plans,” he said, adjusting his sweater. His car was close, but the rain prevented him from advancing a lot. "Are you walking?" He asked.

"Yes- I mean as soon as the rain passes," you crossed your arms and hugged yourself.

"I can take you," he said, his words beginning to make your heart beat faster.

It's no big deal, it's just a polite gesture.

"Oh no, you don't have to, honestly. I can wait," you said, although the twinge in your heart meant the opposite. Why the fuck did I deny it? Damn it.

"It's no big deal, besides we don't know when it will pass," he said, "we can wait in my car, I'm fucking freezing here."

"Sure." You tried not to freak out at the idea of being in such a restricted and warm environment with him, but Michael didn't seem to share the concern, since he basically ran in the middle of the fine rain to reach his car. Okay then. You went right behind, putting the backpack above your head to protect yourself from the water and closing the door harder than you intended. “Sorry, I wasn't expecting that,” you said with a light laugh.

"I just needed this heater," he said with a small smile on his lips, messing with things on the panel, "I also didn't bring an umbrella."

Avoiding making him uncomfortable when analyzing his every movement, you took your cell phone to try to distract yourself, relaxing when the hot air became present. It was almost 6:45 when You Really Got Me filled your ears and made you look at him.

"Do you like The Kinks?" You asked.

"I'm a fan, what about you?"

"My friend is a big fan."

“And you?”

"I like some songs."

"My grandfather was a great vinyl collector, he left everything to my father but he was never into rock in general," he said as he adjusted his glasses, looking at you with soft eyes.

You looked at him with interest. "I started listening to rock to get the attention of a guy I liked. It didn't work but I really liked the songs, although I don't listen to the same bands as I did when I was younger."

Michael laughed. The sound was carefree, almost relaxed even, a facet you didn't see often. He looked soft, cozy, in that burnt orange sweater he wore. "And what do you listen to?"

“I listen to a lot of Oasis, but that's not really 60's stuff. But I also like Led Zeppelin, Pink Floyd, The Strokes...”

“Big fan of Oasis,” he said.

“Really?”

"I have all the vinyls and I went to a concert in Manchester before the separation." He paused, "Would you like to see them?"

There was an intensity in his look that made your breathing fail, making the air heavy. The casualness of the situation did not seem so natural all of a sudden. He meant-

“In my home.”

Shit shit shit shit

You couldn't, you shouldn't.

“Yes.”

═════════════════════

And so, contrary to all the possibilities of the night, you were in Michael fucking Gavey's house.

A veiled restlessness endured in the air and in the way your heart beat as you were taken by the unknown path. You couldn't believe you had agreed to that, but here you were, looking at every detail of his flat with curiosity. It was large, clean and almost minimalist in design, some thematic objects of mathematics scattered around on the shelves, walls and table. Nerd.

A short silence was maintained while your eyes eagerly explored his place. "Do you want to drink something?"

"Water would be great," you tried to keep the modesty, while watching him go to the kitchen and approach with your request with his gaze locked on yours.

You couldn't be imagining things, there was something there, a different glow, an unspoken truth that caused chills to run through your body.

"You can sit down, I'll get the vinyls."

Your heart was almost exploding since the invitation. You couldn't believe he brought you here, much less that you agreed to come. What the fuck should you do? Let him show you the records and then go? That was stupid.

You forced a conscious smile when he appeared with the records in his hand, watching with a certain curiosity.

“Here,” he said with what you assumed to be a nervous smile, “This is definitely my favourite, although What's the Story? Morning Glory introduced me to the band-“

Your brain wandered when he started digging non-stop about the albums, not giving a damn about Noel and Liam Gallagher's drama, all that mattered was that you were next to Michael Gavey, on his couch, at his house. Michael, the man who took away your sleep and made you constantly daydream. The man who fascinated and intimidated you to the same extent, who made your body warm up when it was close and imagined what it would be like if he got closer.

With his beautiful eyes, nose and lips, big hands and long fingers, soft and beautiful dirty blond hair.

You've wanted it for a long time.

You wanted him.

Wanted to fuck him.

You wanted to fuck your own professor.

And you're tired of denying it.

"I know I shouldn't do that, but it's all I've been thinking about for months."

You interrupted him, touching his cheek as you slowly leaned against him. He froze in place, not preventing your advances as your faces grew closer and closer. Your lips gently brushed against his before pressing harder, starting a fearful and shy, almost chaste kiss.

He didn't reciprocate.

Your heart sank, panic blooming in your stomach.

What did I do?

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't-"

His lips silenced any doubts that dared to emerge, holding the back of your head while kissing you experimentally. You didn't waste time in moving your lips at the pace he set, holding the back of his neck and smoothing his beautiful face, tasting the taste of his lips.

You couldn't believe it, you couldn't! He was kissing you!

Michael Gavey was kissing you!

"I'm sorry, we shouldn't-" he said as he walked away abruptly, but you didn't care.

You attacked his hungry lips and made him move the discs away when he leaned against his body, climbing on his lap and holding both sides of his neck. His hand went down your back and held your ass firmly while the other grasped on the back of your neck, pulling your body closer and asking for access to your mouth with his tongue. You kissed, sucked, and bit his pink lips, taking advantage of everything you could before moving away to look into his eyes, looking for any sign of reluctance.

“I've wanted to do this for a long time,” he confessed.

“Me too,” you said.

And then you were kissing him again, and again, and again until your lips were red, wet and swollen. Your body warmed up when a bulge emerged below your thighs, instinctively grinding against it.

“Fuck- I can't, we can't do that, I'm your fucking professor,” he said out of breath, holding your arms and briefly pushing your body away. "This can ruin everything- fuck up our relationship-"

He was red, dilated pupils and heavy breathing, a fucking vision.

“I know, I know. But... just this time, we can forget just this time... what do you think?"

He held firmly one side of your face and looked into your eyes. “Are you fucking sure about this?”

“I'm fucking sure.”

Just this time.

"... just this time."

He leaned over to kiss you quickly, moving his hands under your blouse to take it over his head, groping the exposed skin of your arms, waist and belly with his big hands while drinking from your body with lascivious eyes. "Beautiful," he whispered.

His lips traveled to spice up moist kisses on your neck, sucking the conjuncture with his shoulder, licking your throat, making you melt and close your eyes when he found your sweet spot. Who knew he had that fire? He nibbled and sucked the sensitive skin, holding your waist firmly when he raised you and put you on the floor, leaving you stunned as he guided you by the hand to the room.

Michael didn't have time for your reasoning to come back when he gently pushed you against the door with both hands next to your head. “You're fucking gorgeous.”

“And you're handsome,” you removed his orange sweater, touching the skin of his torso.

"... you don't have to reciprocate the compliment."

Your chest hurt when you heard that, which made you touch his cheek instinctively. "I'm not saying out of courtesy, Michael, you're fucking attractive," you traced his lips with your thumb, looking at him firmly. “Fucking handsome.”

A slight blush took over his cheeks and he captured your lips with passion, holding your waist while kissing life outside of you. Your head was spinning and your stomach warmed up by intimacy, straightening his soft hair. You were in the damn clouds.

His hands moved to unbutton your pants and lower them, kneeling before you to remove your shoes and jeans, kissing the stomach trail to the top of your panties and shamelessly touching your drenched pussy.

"Mmm," you shuddered and closed your eyes when he started rubbing your clitoris, increasing the moisture between your thighs. Fuck. Your goddamn professor was kneeling in front of you. If you weren't wet before, now a river has accumulated in your center.

"Is that good?" He asked.

“Yeah,” you whispered, holding onto him for better support, watching him continue to massage your clit now directly into the skin while leaving kisses on your belly. You leaned dramatically against the door when he stuck a finger in your entrance, pumping slowly, feeling you, teasing. “Fuck.”

Michael removed his finger and stood up, unbuttoning his belt quickly and taking off his pants and shoes, leaving you warm and needy and following him like a puppy when he went to the headboard near the bed and opened the upper drawer to take off a condom. Damn it, he was so fine. Before his hands were on your body, you slowly pushed him on the bed and took control, removing the bra and discarding the panties. You couldn't believe what was about to happen.

Your body trembled when he pulled you by the waist and clapped your breasts as you sat on his covered cock and ground over it.

"Fuck," he grunted, sucking one nipple.

"Michael," you moaned, panting. 'Professor,' that's what you wanted to shout, pulling the hair from the back of his neck. He moaned when you kept grinding against his erection and hoisted your hips to lay you on the sheets.

Your mouth opened when he discarded his underwear - not even in the wettest dreams did you imagine that size. He was fucking fine. Tall, thin, defined and with a beautiful cock. Fuck-

Michael Gavey was really a box full of surprises. He barely had time to adjust his glasses and put on the condom before he was pulled by you to take over the top, caged by your legs.

He captured your lips in a sweet kiss, leaning on his elbow as he adjusted between your thighs. The next thing you felt was the welcome intrusion into your folds, stretching you open deliciously. The initial stretch was a little painful, it's been a while since you've been with someone, but he was slow and careful when sinking into your core, making your toes curl up and a relieved moan come out of your throat when he was totally inside.

"Are you alright?" He asked with his face above yours.

"Yes," you held his back, "just wait a minute, please."

“Okay,” he said with a red face, hoarse voice and almost breathless.

Your walls were pulsating when you finally received it, relaxing when the slight discomfort passed. “Move.”

His thrusts were soft, but firm, looking at you closely. You couldn't believe that, yes, Michael was fucking you. Finally.

You leaned up to kiss him while holding your back, groping his wrinkles around your eyes. He was fucking handsome. His hips went further and faster when your body was totally receptive, the moisture and heat surrounding him and making him slip without hindrance. He leaned his forehead against yours and held your hips when you dug your feet on the bed, hitting deeper than before, making you moan loudly and your pussy squeeze instinctively.

A hoarse moan was his response, almost a whining that was swallowed by your lips.

You were in the fucking clouds with the intimacy of the moment, tracing patterns on his back and pulling the blonde strands from the back of the neck when the thrusts became more intense, deliberately repeating his name. Michael attacked the conjuncture of your neck and lifted your thigh even more to go deeper, deliciously hitting your core.

"Michael- fuck-" You could only think of how good he felt, how big his cock was and how his bulbous head brushed your sweet spot whenever he moved. You needed it too much. Holding his shoulders and pushing him away a little, you looked at him panting, making his eyes widen.

"Did I hurt you?" He asked with a tense body.

"No, no, It's just-" and then you moved to take control, resting your hands on his chest, "this." You wanted to ride him since the time you called me in your office. You rubbed your hips against his groin in an addictive rhythm, loving the friction against your clitoris and the feeling of being totally filled.

"Fuck," he grunted, squeezing your ass, groping your hip, holding your breasts, covering every piece of skin available.

You started moving on his cock, touching his chest gently. You felt it all over your core and that burned your whole body, especially when your spongy spot was being brushed rhythmically. Michael pulled you to a scorching kiss full of tongue and teeth, leaving your movements sloppy, but constant, almost frantic, your moans and whining became higher and higher, your velvety walls squeezing his thick axis more and more.

"So fucking good," he moaned against your mouth and leaned his feet on the bed, holding your buttocks and hitting his hips against yours.

“Fuck-“ you almost screamed, resting your head against his chest when he started pushing quickly into your hot pussy, creating lascivious sounds that echoed all over the room.

“You're squeezing me so fucking hard - you're close, aren't you?” He asked, almost breathless.

“Y-yes,” your eyes closed when the family tingling intensified and your juices lubricated it even more.

"Come for me baby," he grunted when your folds pulsed around him, "cum in my fucking cock."

Shit.

Your orgasm hit you hard; hot and sudden as lightning, making your body tremble and a flash blind your vision as the air disappeared from your lungs and your mind went blank.

"Fuck," you heard him moan far away, feeling his cock pulsate and the squeeze on your ass increase when his erratic movements stopped, leaving only a few slow pushes on your sensitive pussy.

You melted completely when the orgasmic euphoria spared, coming out of it unwillingly so as not to deprive you of the air and stabilize your own breathing. Your mind was tired although very aware of the fact that you had just fucked your professor.

You can't fucking believe it.

Fucking finally.

"Are you okay?" He asked, all red and sweaty as he looked at you with crooked glasses.

“Absofuckinglutely,” you looked at him tired, panting, attracted by how cozy he looked. “And you?”

He smiled softly, pushing away some strands of hair that had stuck to your forehead, fingering your face with his thumb. “I'm fucking great.”

Michael pulled you to rest on his chest when a comfortable mist hovered between you as you recovered. None of you said anything for the next few minutes, just enjoying the calm silence before reality starts to come back. You fucked your professor.

You fucked your professor.

What did you have in your head?

You tried to convince yourself that nothing would change after that, that your relationship would not be affected, but you were not sure of that

Just this time.

═════════════════════

taglist: @venmondiese @re-per @anukulee @slytherincursebreaker @tulips2715 @rhaenyslay @angelinap09 @cupidelocke @aegonswife @fan-goddess @thenightmistress @deliaseastar @scarletbedlam @delightfulbluebirdstarlight @arcielee @aemonds-holy-milk

my lovely beta reader: @moris-auri 💙💙

[prael]

Kinktember 2024 - A Retrospective

What. A. Month. I want to start with my gratitude to every single person who read, commented, liked, reblogged, sent asks, discussed, and otherwise interacted in any other possible way with this whole shebang.

To close it all out, I want to give some of my thoughts and peel back the curtain a little on Kinktember.

Some Facts

168,396 words. One hundred and sixty-eight thousand, three hundred and ninety-six words. Averaging at 5,155 words per fic. Wow.

52 unique idols made an appearance and four were featured on more than one occasion; Wonyoung, Karina, Chaewon and Sakura are the four idols who hold that prestige.

Writing time on these pieces varied heavily, while I attempted to constrict myself to writing each fic in a single day, some of them got far beyond initially planned, with the most amount of time being spent on day 18, the IU fic. That one took roughly a total of 20 hours including editing. The quickest was as short as a 2-hour turnaround on days 14 and 15 (Chaewon and Youngeun).

Special Thanks

I’d like to take a moment before giving my personal thoughts to make a special token of gratitude to certain people. While there has been so much support from so many people and I would love to shout everyone out, I’m limiting myself to just a few.

Firstly, to @maemisnippets for the message on 14/07/2024 that was simply “Stand and carry” in reference to Youngeun. That single simple message became the catalyst for this entire Kinktember.

Secondly, to @midnightdancingsol for taking the time to help me make the initial plan for all the days of Kinktember and making many great suggestions that spawned a lot of these fics. Also thank you to everyone else for your suggestions and ideas.

Finally, to @capslocked for a great many things, from discussing details as small as how to format my posts to everything else you did.

Your Questions

Did you set yourself a time to do each one like a challenge to finish each to make it manageable? I gave myself 1 day per fic, whatever time I could spare during that day would be all I had to complete it, I think for around 27 of them, I managed to stick to this schedule. Some of them did spill over into a second day, such as the longer ones like IU.

How the hell did you find the motivation/inspiration to complete the whole thing? Honestly, I found it incredibly fun. I think I often get stuck in bigger projects and my brain gets all foggy, but with all of these fic being quick and snappy, I never got that feeling. Things kept being fresh and exciting and I was pretty much always looking forward to jumping into the next fic.

How did you approach choosing your kinks? / How did you come up with more of the exotic kinks? First I started with the obvious ones, the ones that instantly came to mind, and just threw them into a list. There are some niche ones that I always wanted to write too, but never had a reason to, such as electrophilia and vicarphilia. So even the more ‘exotic’ choices, I was acutely aware of. Then to round it out I did a little research online and pulled together a list of ‘potential’ kinks, which allowed me to fill out the missing slots.

Did you find varying each entry to be easy or difficult? What went into your thought process when it came to setting up each of the entries and the kink involved? Collecting a list of varied kinks was rather easy, at least initially, once I cut that down to the ones I would like to write, I ended up with a few spaces, and those final few became really difficult. But that’s why it’s great to have a community to lean on and ask for ideas. The thought process wasn’t really anything special beyond that. I just created a list and then picked out what I wanted to write, and then decided on idols to feature in each one. This leads nicely onto the image below, I scraped this initial list from a DM with another writer. As you can see, the initial list I put together on day one contained a large number of the ideas that made it into the final cut. This also serves as an answer to the questions on what ideas I decided to drop.

How did you match the featured idol(s) to the kink you have planned? Was it based on their idol personality? Or was it just random? I approached it in a similar way to how I would with most other fics, where if I think an idol’s personality lends itself to the fic, then I will do just that. Of course, it’s impossible to be really accurate and I had to take some creative liberties where needed. Although, on some occasions, I did just throw an idol in there and write her without thinking about her actual personality too much. This usually happens with idols I know less about.

I'm curious how you went about writing some of the more nicher kinks like electrophilia? The simple answer would be to say that I approached it the same way as I did every other fic. None of the kinks required me to do any further research as they’re all kinks that I’m familiar with and am interested in. So in the end I just wrote what felt right.

Was there an idol that you started liking after finishing writing her? For the sake of my own enjoyment/motivation, I only chose to write idols I already liked. Though I would say that writing the Shuhua fic made me a lot more attracted to her than normal. I could also possibly put IU here too, since she’s not really on the forefront of my mind, but became much more so after writing her.

Was there an idol in particular that you 'wanted' to write, but ultimately switched it to a different idol instead? REI. How did I not write REI?! She was in the original draft list where I was going to do some form of bondage piece, but ultimately all the ideas I had for it were absorbed into other fics.

This feels like a good point to share this initial list I completed with Sol while planning. A lot of this remained true to plan, but you may spot some changes.

Now that it's done are you glad you did it or did you end up regretting your decision at some point? Overall, I’m happy and proud and think it was 100% worth it. I relished the challenge and it took me out of my comfort zone. Right now, the only regrets I have are the fics where I know I could have done more/better but I know that I have to accept that I did the best I could in the time constraints. There were times along the way when I had my regrets and wondered if I should even have bothered, particularly when a fic wasn’t well received, but I know now I had just to accept that.

Do you feel more familiar with your style/voice as a writer, if so: what have you discovered? Did you learn anything from this writing-wise? Discovered some new writing styles and possibly improved some? I think the most important thing I took away from this is how important it is to just get words down on the page. I have spent time previously stuck in my own head and grinding to a halt in a fic when trying to make things work. Kinktember simply wouldn’t allow that, so I had to adapt. I learned to be ruthless by deleting the things that didn’t work and pushing on without trying to be overly perfect. I don’t think I developed my ‘voice’ or style too much because I believe it did have to take a backseat at times in order to maintain pace. However, I did get the opportunity to try new things, such as FxF and writing for a gender-neutral reader and also varying the pacing within the fics. Fics such as the Kkura one where I cut together four short, connected scenes really suited the concept and were very fresh to write.

Which fic do you think the idol and the kink are a 'perfect' match? Maybe in terms of reader reception or how quickly you got into the flow state when writing it? Well, I wasn’t sure at the time, but I was told that Karina and dressing up as a maid worked really well. I also think there were a few really obvious combinations that I leaned on, such as spanking Chaewon and having Ryujin and Yeji scissor, or having Minju be a doll. Those are ones that just instantly clicked for me and I thought to myself it was a perfect match. I would say I entered the biggest flow state when writing the Moka x Yunah, I found it incredibly hot, so much so that I finished the fic and then when going to edit, I wrote the second scene. Idk I’m just really down bad for Moka rn. Also, I hear that I really nailed the Yunjin/Kkura/Chaewon dynamic, so probably that one too.

Is there a fic that you would have written regardless but just so happened to be included in kinktember, if that makes sense? I never really know what I’m going to write next until I’m writing it, and I never know if it will be posted until I post it. This makes it hard for me to really guarantee that anything in Kinktember would one day come to fruition. The closest to it would be part 2 of the Minji fic, How Sweet To Be Alone. I always wanted to follow up on it, so being able to add it as a kinktember fic became a bit of a perfect storm. There are other fics too that I always wanted to write, and maybe I would have one day, but kinktember made it a reality.

Would you do kinktember(or any other variant) again? Would you recommend writers to try it at least once? I would say I’m more likely to do it again than I am not, but I can’t guarantee it. As for recommending it to other writers… the honest answer is no. I feel that it goes against so many of a writer's natural instincts. It takes over your life. It consumes your time. You’re forced to work unnaturally hard and you’re forced to reduce your standards. I don’t think it’s healthy for anyone to push to do something like this.

Finally, throughout the month I had so many nice asks that I couldn't respond to, but I read them all and appreciated them all so much.

[angelsdxmise]

ORPHIC

𓆩ᥫ᭡𓆪 when Bakugou is paired with a girl that’s not spared a glance for a project, he wants to explode. Why does his mind keep going blank when he looks at you then?

Contains: g/n reader, profanity, midoriya trying to be ur friend 😭. if I forgot anything, tell me please ❤️

a/n: oml 2.3k words. doesn’t seem like much but this is actually my longest fic and im debating a pt 2.. btw, send requests please! 💕

PART TWO

Monotone. Dead. Bored. Creepy?

When Bakugou thought of you, he thought these four words exactly. Unable to even recall the last time you smiled, laughed, or even spoke really. 

Not like he found any interest in you. He didn’t think of you on the daily, which is why he let out a groan at the announcement from Aizawa, saying you two would be paired for a research project on each other's quirks.

Which means you two are required to talk. Adding onto that, today was the only day you could work in class since there was no time or reason to put project hours into valuable class time.

“You have 10 minutes before the next bell. Go meet up with your partners, and no, I am not switching anyone.” Aizawa grumbled in his constantly tired state, slumping down in his sleeping bag and knocking himself out.

Bakugou huffed as he spotted Kirishima and Kaminari throwing a thumbs-up his way, smiling and winking at him. He was already thinking of how to kill them but set it aside as he made his way over to you.

Uninterested is an understatement. All you did was stare at your notebook with your head resting on your palm. Occasional sighs came out if anyone was lucky that day.

Bakugou took the seat in front of you and faced you in his chair. “L/n, are you dead or something?” Fury built up inside of his head as you didn’t even spare him a glance.

He slammed his palm against the desk, and you flinched at the sound, finally looking straight at him. Of course, it filled his ego in the slightest when he scared someone. “Meet me at my dorm at 5:30. Don’t be late, extra. I’ll tell Aizawa you’re slacking if you even dare giving me extra crap.” He grunted. 

“Ehh.. mkay.. I guess.” You muttered. Your eyes turned away from him and looked out the window as if you just wanted to get this over with. It wasn’t necessary to look at Bakugou anyway, you could feel the wrath coming from him. Did I just make him more mad?.. What did I say? You pondered as you avoided his hellish and terrifying gaze to say the least.

Bakugou scoffed before he could get to screaming at you for no reason. He stood with his hands in his ridiculously baggy pants and sulked away as you sighed and thanked your guardian angel.

Unfortunately, 5 came faster than you had thought. You wanted to cry as you put your face in your pillows, really not wanting to deal with someone like him.

He was unfit for you. You distanced yourself from everyone for a reason, there’s too much noise, unnecessary excitement, and a waste of your time. These were the things you thought to justify your actions.

The truth was, you wouldn’t be lonely if you chose to. The most insistent ones were Mina and Hagakure, a friendship that you believed the devil brewed up in hell just so they could annoy the absolute shit out of you.

They did seem truly disappointed when you continuously declined their advances.

I guess I do feel a little bad..

The clock hit 5:24, and you groaned as you sat up in bed to grab your laptop and notebook, stuffing it in your bag. You let out a strained sigh and made your way to his dormitory.

You hesitantly raised your fist up to the door, quickly knocking and awaiting a response.

Is he not here? you stared at the door, a bored expression on your face although you wanted to rip all your hair out at what was lying on the other side.

 

“Door’s open.” A raspy voice came from within. The handle turned and you were met with Bakugou and his materials to get the project done sprawled out on the bed. You felt like a lost puppy.

“Are you gonna stand there or work on this?”

“Sorry.” You mumbled as you took skittish steps toward his bed. You carefully moved a few things out of the way and put your back against the wall, and took your laptop and notebook out. You nearly died when you forgot your pencil and came to the conclusion that you’d have to ask for one.

It’s just a pencil.. I’m fine, right? Oh god.. I’m gonna jump out the window. You sprawled deeper into your demise. A voice snaps you out of it and you realize sweat is forming on your hairline. “I already added you to the slides. You’ll do the bottom half and I’ll do the first including the introduction. Got it, extra?” 

“Sure..” You gulped, taking a deep breath. He wouldn’t get mad at you for just a silly pencil, right? Surely that’s ridiculous.

“By the way, do you have an extra pencil? I kinda forgot mine just cause—” You felt something hit you right in the forehead, thankfully on the eraser side. “Are you kidding? Can’t even bring a pencil. I’m failing this for sure.” He growled, a hint of malice in his tone as he glared at you.

“It’s just a pencil.. relax.” You shot back at him.

“Don’t tell mE TO RELAX!!” 

“Oh my god, you’re turning red from how angry you are.” You snickered. Why are you entertaining this? “I know practically enough about your quirk, so I’m clear for my slides. No help needed.”

“Hah? How? I’ve never spoken to you a day in my life.” He asked. A bead of sweat glided across your cheek as that was one of the worst questions he could’ve asked.

What actually happened was that you had asked Midoriya for his notes on Bakugou. Truthfully, you thought you had said, “Hey Midoriya, can I see your notes on Bakugou?” but you assumed that Midoriya must have thought you were going to stab him to death if he didn’t give you what you wanted, due to how monotone and serious your tone and voice was.

You debated between saying Midoriya or no reason at all. If you went with the second option, he would probably think you're a stalker. You cared about your reputation even if you didn’t have many people around.. which made people assume things about you without anyone telling them what was true or not.

“Don’t get mad because I know he’s your absolute nemesis. Midoriya gave me his notes on your quirk and how it works.” You muttered out, a little stammer in your voice as you realized Bakugou was giving you an, “I’m going to kill you and that damn nerd” look. 

Your eyes wandered away from his as he tried to keep his cool when he realized he was staring a little and observing you.

You did have emotions and weren’t a robot. In fact, you were kind of charming. You were expressive when you spoke to someone too. He blinked out of his trance when he saw you take your notebook and open it to underline the most important details about his quirk. 

“Are you gonna explain your quirk to me or not?” He growled, trying to forget the fact he was just crushing on you for a moment.

You fought back a dramatic sigh “Right..”

You stretched your back and cracked your knuckles as you came to a realization.

What time even is it?

You look down to the corner of the screen. 7:42 PM. Good enough. I’m not surprised we haven’t talked for 2 hours despite the fact we’re sitting next to each other.. You close your laptop and it seems to bring Bakugou’s attention to yourself. 

“What’re you doing? There’s still more work to be done, extra!” He hissed, a deadly look sent your way. “I’m.. leaving? We’ve been at work for over 2 hours straight.” 

“And?” Bakugou toned down a little suddenly. Wait, why the hell am I trying to get this random to stay? He thought.

“And I just so happen to have the desire to leave, so bye.” She quickly got up and closed the door while leaving before he could protest further. 

A sigh of relief left your lips upon being free from his room. God, talk about being nervous. You walked back to your room, set your bag aside, and flopped face-first on your bed. 

You rolled over and could feel sleep creeping upon you, and you accepted it although you realized you hadn’t changed into your pajamas. Oh well, tomorrow was the weekend anyway.

The sun rose and you could hear the birds singing a familiar tune, as they did every morning. Light peeked through your drapes as you let out a tired groan. You could hear the chatter of your classmates downstairs. A yawn left your lips as you sat up to stretch your back.

Deciding between passing out again or showering and starting your somewhat lazy day, you choose to freshen up and wear pajamas for your day. You wanted to finish the project quickly so you could have the rest of the day to not worry about due dates or grades, so you decided to tinkle your slides a bit on your own time.

You also worried about Bakugou’s aggression and malice while drying your hair some more. “Wonder who put a stick up his ass.” You chuckled to yourself as you applied your skincare.

Your classmates didn’t seem to spare you much of a glance when you walked into the kitchen, as per usual. You did want it this way, right? Even if it hurts you a little when you realize they were spending time together. Even if it hurts when you realize they made breakfast for everyone.

Bakugou, Asui, and Koda weren’t downstairs but you had seen leftovers for them on the counter with their names on it.

You did not find yours, and when you realized a bit of embarrassment dared to show on your face. As you were sulking off to spend your day in your dorm, bored, you felt a tap on your shoulder.

“L/n?” 

You turned around and were met with Midoriya's face as he held a plate of food. Wonder what he needs me for. “Yeah..?”

“I saw when you were coming down since you came a little after I did, and the class left me some of the food but I wasn’t really hungry and didn’t see any out for you so.. are you uh.. hungry perhaps?” Midoriya stammered out with a small smile. You had the tiniest smile on your face. 

“Sure I am. Thank you.” You chimed. You never would’ve thought Midoriya was paying attention. But, that’s what he did right? He paid attention to every little detail. What you and Midoriya had both failed to notice was when Bakugou came down to get food and was staring directly at you from where he stood with his friends.

He felt a hint of jealousy at the sight of Midoriya being able to get you to smile. A small hint of regret at not coming down earlier and being the one to offer food. But, Bakugou doesn’t do that nice crap. It’s a waste of time.. right? So…

Why did he start to get a desperate desire and drive to make you smile like that at him? To show any sort of emotion? And why is it that he wanted the specific emotion to be happiness?

Walls of anger dissipated when he looked at you. He was staring. Again. Have you always been this enchanting? You made him question his thoughts. No way he was falling for some extra who barely even had emotions.

He didn’t know if you were opposites or similar in some ways. 

He snapped out of his trance once again, attempting to focus on the conversation his friends were practically begging for him to join. You started walking away a little while after having a little chat with Midoriya. 

And boy, did he look really happy after he spoke to you. Bakugou has never felt more.. irritated. Midoriya was getting another thing that he wants. Another accomplishment and doing something Bakugou can’t dream of doing.

God, what was he saying? Why was his mind so hyper-focused on you?

Little did he know, you’d been sweating because you could feel his eyes practically burning your flesh away. You had to admit to yourself, you were growing to enjoy Midoriya's presence after that meeting.

He sighed and dismissed his friends as they groaned and Sero barked out a “Did you really think he cared?” as he left for his room.

Finally, upon his arrival, he closed the door behind him and sat on his bed, lost in his thoughts. He thought of how you would be in fact, meeting later today. A growl left him as he denied his emotions. Of course, he could never care for some extra who just so happens to be attractive and in the same class and just so happens to be similar to him in a way.

Of course not. A waste of time is all it is. He doesn’t have time for you. 

Right?

7/4/24 ~ Thank you for reading, please consider reblogging/liking/following, or if you want a pt. 2. 🫶🏽

[demonsinmywindows]

okay so we all know saiki is a genius. we all know this. I’d love to elaborate.

Saiki can pretty much passively absorb everything he learns, and it seems like he doesn’t really forget anything. Even when he has those ‘uh oh’ moments that we’ve seen, it’s always been because of a distraction and not because lack of knowledge. Bc he absorbs so much information from his direct surroundings, it takes almost nothing for him to learn what’s required of him. ie; how he’s expected to act, the best route to get somewhere, what he learns in school etc.

Consequently, it takes him very little effort to accomplish the ‘regular’ academic expectations for his age. We’ve seen him do a years worth of homework in the blink of an eye… (here comes my hc)

Thus he has a lot of time on his hands. And Saiki is innately curious. To bide his time, he likes to delve into obscure topics, to learn things that are completely unfamiliar to the average person. So Saiki knows a lot, and Saiki reads a lot. At the very ~least~ he knows all about advanced quantum physics, from Kusuke’s mind. Now this MAY be me projecting, but I like to think that Saiki loves to research all things history and philosophy (the average person is not often thinking about these things beyond the surface level).

As a result, his classmates often see him reading about some of the most random and specific subjects ever (after all, what exudes ‘don’t talk to me’ more than reading a dense book?). They come to know that Saiki is the one to go to if they have any questions about ANY general knowledge (see also: kaido asking saiki for homework help even though his own class rank is much higher)

And maybe some of them wonder: why? Why does Saiki perform averagely at school, when he seems so interested in learning? Maybe someone finally asks him about some miscellaneous inconsequential fact…. and the next thing they know Saiki is spouting facts at a mile a minute. Oh you’re asking about Alexander the Great? Did you know that he died so young because he became paralyzed from contaminated wine and then was buried alive? Did you know Alexander’s lineage supposedly traces back to Achilles himself, suggesting that the events of the Trojan War have basis in truth? And if that is the case, what could have caused the decade long Mediterranean sea journeys of Odysseus and Menelaus who were descendants of the Minoan sea experts?

Okay anyways. Moral of the story, Saiki is a secret NERD and you cannot take that away from me. I live by the fact that he is just a random scholar of all things.

Plz expand, I would love to know ur thoughts/reactions

[thursdaygxrls]

Infrunami

summary — peter’s memory is really good (no it’s not)

pairing — tasm!frat!peter parker x fem!reader

disclaimer — i don’t own tasm or peter. i’ve also been listening to infrunami on repeat for 4 days and had to do something about it.

warnings — mentions of drinking/alcohol, possible ooc, and this is (let’s all say it!) unedited

The frat house was just about as clean as it could be. It was rare for a house full of boys to be spotless, especially with weekly parties like the one going on right now. Surprisingly enough, this particular party had been relatively chill--no broken glass, no body shots. Maybe it was the pungent haze of weed in the air that floated from the mouths of those with sloppily rolled blunts and dying pens. Instead of a blunt, Peter's fingers were wrapped around a red solo cup.

"...and honestly, it's sort of weird because, y'know..."

There was a girl attached to his arm. He wasn't drunk enough to forget her name—well, he wouldn't have forgotten it if he even knew it in the first place. She seemed nice enough: a giggly blonde majoring in poli-sci...or was is psych? Honestly, her introduction was all sort of fuzzy. One minute, he was alone, the next, he was hearing about a research project that was 'sort of weird.'

"Hey, you mind if I go grab another drink?" Peter interrupted her rant, his voice low.

"Oh, yeah, sure," she nods in response, glossy lips stretched into a smile.

He gives her a closed-lipped grin of his own before picking himself off the wall and heading to the kitchen. He weaves his way through the house in an eerily graceful fashion. Upon reaching the kitchen, he looks down at his full cup.

Peter wasn't a dick. At least, he liked to think he wasn't a dick. He wouldn't just tell a girl to piss off if he wasn't interested; he'd make excuses and slip out as fast as possible. Maybe in the long run it was sort of a dick move, but he rarely ever saw those girls again (and if he did, he'd look the other way). There was the fact that he was bound to forget a few faces as well.

“No lady-friend tonight, Parker?” Zack—one of his frat brothers—chimed in his ear. He slipped past Peter and to the keg they’d set on ice in a plastic kiddie pool. Never once did he think he’d see a Sonic the Hedgehog themed kiddie pool next to the oven.

“It’s like, ten, give it a rest,” Peter shot back, sipping at his beer.

“I saw you talking to that blonde.” Zack smiled and made a gesture of approval as he filled his cup.

“Eh,” Peter shrugged.

“‘Eh?’” Zack’s eyes widened, “I’d say she’s at least three tiers up from ‘eh’ category.”

"Eh," Peter repeats, leaning his head back. It wasn't as if he had a girl wrapped around his arm at every party, but it also wouldn't be surprising to see it. Between his freshman and junior year of college, his body count had increased significantly. He had regular hookups—at least one every week and rarely ever with the same person more than once or twice. It was easier to just love 'em and leave 'em. At least, that's what he told himself every time he was ordering an Uber for the girl in his bed.

"Well, if you're gonna 'eh' her, mind if I give it a try?" Zack asked, taking a gulp of the beer, swiping the foam off his lip with his thumb.

"Be my guest," Peter waved him off casually.

"I'm gonna go full Zack-Attack," he grinned widely, shooting Peter a thumbs up.

"Never say that again," Peter called out, though, Zack had already turned his back to approach the blonde. And so it was just him and his beer. His beer and him. A cup and a hand, a drink and a tongue, a—damn, he was bored. Normally, he really liked these parties. He could get a decent buzz or high and usually end the night with someone going down on him. Tonight, though, was so dull. He felt (ironically) like a fly on the wall, watching the world around him through a vignette filter. The boredom was almost comforting. Nothing was happening, but then again, nothing was happening. He could bask in the fact that he had nothing and no one to do—

Thump.

Karma was real, and it was a total bitch. Right when Peter had decided that his night was going to be one of peaceful indifference, he watched an obviously inebriated boy stumble past him. He saw it all happen in slow motion: the way the his feet dragged into one another, one shoe catching the lace of the other. Before the realization that he was falling could hit, Peter grabbed the boy's shoulder and righted him. Unfortunately, the drink in the boy's hand hadn't been so lucky. It slipped from his hands and splashed out beyond him like amber rainfall. If Peter hadn't had much to drink, he probably could've caught it. But his senses were somewhat dulled, and the liquid was already pouring from the lip of the cup.

"Oh, shit."

Karma actually wasn't that bad, Peter thought, as his eyes flashed ahead of him. Instead of splashing onto the floor, the beer had landed on an innocent bystander. An extremely attractive innocent bystander.

Her face was crinkled up like a disappointed mother who just came home to see her kid shoving stuffed animals down the toilet. Though her jeans were nearly beer-free, her shirt was entirely soaked, Splash Mountain soaked. Her gaze first landed on the boy, then on Peter. Okay, so karma was actually really cool.

"I am so sorry!" The boy slurred, his eyes drawn open in horror.

"Yeah, I figured," she sighed. She didn't sound condescending—she just sounded like she was already over it. The ends of Peter's lips twitched, but he suppressed the smirk.

"I can't believe I spilled my drink on you!" The boy was much less over it than she was, "I'm so sorry! I—oh, man—"

"Hey, bud, I heard they're doing Jägerbombs out on the porch," Peter whispered to the boy. The guilt was gone from his face almost instantaneously, replaced with an almost childlike sense of wonder.

"I fucking love Jägerbombs!" He exclaimed, his empty solo cup forgotten as stumbled off and out of the kitchen.

"I've never seen someone move on so fast," Wet Shirt Girl spoke up, watching the boy nearly fall again.

"The power of Jägerbombs," Peter suggested. He slipped his windbreaker from his arms and held it out to her, offering a smile along with it.

"Here," he said, "It doesn't exactly fix the wet shirt, but it works for now."

"Thanks," she nodded, grabbing the jacket. She slid it on with an almost exhausted sigh before speaking again: "I’ll only smell horrible now."

Peter laughed at that. He watched her zip it up, he watched the way it strained against—

"I'm Peter." His eyes connected with hers again. A brief look of shock took over her face before it melted back into the same neutral expression she held before. He almost wondered if it was a brief stroke of imagination that made him see her widened eyes.

"I bet you are." Was her reply. Oh?

"That's usually the cue to introduce yourself," he said, a hint of a smile still on his lips.

"Usually is," she nodded. There was a brief moment of silence, an awkward pause at which they stood at a stalemate. Peter took her in again. She was cute. Really cute. Even if she had been weird about introductions, he couldn't help but admire her. So, he spoke up, his voice splitting through the silence but not the tension.

"Do you want to borrow a shirt?" He asked, "My room's right upstairs." When she didn't immediately reply, he quickly added: "I swear I'm not trying to pull anything, I just figured it would probably be pretty uncomfortable wearing a beer shirt."

She watched him for a moment, her eyebrows crinkling in a way that made Peter fight off another smile. He knew he'd won when she let out another sigh, the tired, over-it kind that he was already becoming familiar with it.

"Alright," she nodded. Peter chose not to hide his grin as he mimicked her nod. He led her away from the kitchen and towards the staircase, peering over his shoulder every once in a while to make sure she was still in his tow. Sure enough, every time he looked, she would be there, pulling the windbreaker—his windbreaker—around her.

His room wasn't messy, exactly. There were scattered papers and rogue socks, and of course his flannel sheets were crinkled at the foot of his bed, but it wasn't disgusting. Their entrance was nothing less than unceremonious.

"This is my room," he stated the obvious, gesturing around.

"I would've never guessed." She shook her head. He gave her another small smile before he crossed the room to his dresser. He searched his drawers for something baggy and stupid, something he wouldn't miss. After a few seconds, he landed on a gray shirt with a smiling pterodactyl on the front. Faded words words under the creature read 'You're Dino-Soaring!' Good enough.

“Hopefully this shirt isn’t too provocative,” he grinned as he handed it over.

“Hm, I’ll have to make it work,” she said, inspecting the shirt in an overdramatized sort of way. While she looked at the shirt, Peter went right back to looking at her. She’d be a welcoming sight to wake up to next morning. He wouldn’t even mind paying for her Uber—hell, he might even walk her out of the house, make sure she gets in—

“You got a bathroom I can use? To change?” Her voice interrupts his thoughts, and he shakes the clouds from his eyes.

“Yeah, of course,” he nodded. A few doors down and they make it to the bathroom. Peter goes first, checking for drunk bathtub dwellers, before slapping the doorframe.

“All yours,” he announced, leaning against the wall next to the door. She gives him a salute before entering and closing the door behind her. It only takes a minute or two before she’s emerging again, extending the discarded windbreaker to him.

“It’s a little sticky,” she warns as she hands the jacket back to him. Peter’s eyes wandered down to her shirt.

“Oh, look, you’re ‘Dino-Soaring!’” He chuckled, the low, throaty kind that says he’s holding back an actual laugh.

“I’m always Dino-Soaring.” Her laugh accompanies his. His lips curl up in another smile.

“Do you wanna get something to drink? I can promise this one won’t end up on you,” he suggested, holding that same grin.

“Alright.” Her nod makes his lips quirk up higher. In a reverse of moments prior, he leads her down the stairs and to the kitchen when the sticky remnants of the spill have dried to the floor.

“What’s your poison?” He asked as he tucked the windbreaker under his arm.

“Just Coke—I think I’m gonna tap out for tonight.” Her eyes travel over the sticky floor and the stained shirt in her hands.

“Two Cokes, coming up,” Peter nodded. Two red cans are procured from the fridge in an instant.

“Thanks,” she hummed as she took the drink from his hands, “And thanks for the shirt, too. It really would’ve sucked to have to wait until I’m home to change.”

“Don’t mention it.” He waved her off, cracking open the tab of the Coke.

“Living in a frat must be…sticky.” She can’t seem to peel her eyes off the spilled patch of beer.

“Sometimes,” Peter chuckled, “But it’s not all bad. I get to give out dinosaur shirts.”

“Oh, don’t tell me that I’m not the first girl to ever Dino-Soar around these parts,” she gasped in mock surprise.

“No, no, trust me, I’ve never seen someone Dino-Soar quite like you,” he grinned in reply. He liked her. She was a little awkward, but so was he. He liked her smile, her laugh. He’d probably like her name, too, if she would ever give it to him.

“You never told me what your name is.” His head cocked to the side in a questioning manner. Her expression twisted in a way that told him she knew that was coming.

“That’s right,” she hummed, “Never told you it. Before I do, can I ask you something?”

“Shoot,” he nodded approvingly.

“Do you not recognize me?” Her lips curled in a small smile, “Peter, we’ve had classes together since freshman year—and not just the lecture hall ones, like, the ones where there’s only twelve people in the room. It’s sort of a statistical marvel. I’m honestly less offended and way more impressed that you don’t know me.”

The words hit him like a semi-truck. Really? She’d been in his classes? She had to be joking—no, she wasn’t joking, the look on her face told him that much. He immediately searched through his memory for her face, combing through classes. Peter never took himself as someone with a bad memory, but he was starting to change his mind. She had to be lying—she wasn’t lying.

“You’re—”

“Where have you been? What the hell are you wearing?” He’s interrupted by another voice. Sliding onto the scene (and effectively ruining Peter’s chances of salvaging the situation into a hookup) is a girl with puffy red hair. Freckles dot her olive skin and scrunch with her as she brings her nose up.

“Long story,” Dino-Soaring Girl responds with a smile, the one she’d been giving to Peter only a moment ago.

“Okay, okay, we’ll come on,” the redhead grasped her arm gently, “I’ve been looking everywhere for you. Liv threw up after doing a Jägerbomb and we’re gonna head out. I don’t wanna leave without you.”

“The power of Jägerbombs,” Dino-Soaring Girl shook her head. Before she was dragged off, she turned to Peter for one last look.

“See you in class?” She suggested with a smile. He didn’t get to respond before she was gone, the redhead threading through the masses of people. Peter watched her go, unsure whether he should be confused or smiling. He chose the latter.

Peter Parker wasn’t dumb, but he was stupid. And, he was out of a dinosaur t-shirt.

[livesworthlivingau]

Behind the Vale Chapter 34

You know the drill, Spoilers for all of ISAT, etc. CW: Confused Pining? Sparring Scene/Consensual Violence. I SHOULD NOTE THAT THE PINING AND CONSENSUAL VIOLENCE ARE NOT RELATED!!!

"So, how was your little chat with Eclipse last night~?"

"It went well actually," [Blind it!] "how was sharing a tent with Nille for the first time~?" [STARS BLINDING CRAB!!! You immediately feel your face begin to burn.]

"You could at least humor me when I try to tease you, you know!"

"Hah! Not so fun on the other end, is it~?" [You cross your arms and pout. It wasn't fair how difficult they were to fluster now.]

"... Wait... what do you mean it went 'well'?"

"Well... I talked about what I was going to talk about back then... a-and uhh... they weren't... against it." [His face begins to darken instead. Hah! It's working!... Wait what is he talking about?]

"Against, what exactly?"

"Uhm... M-Maybe we shouldn't really talk about this! Th-That was a whole loop ago, it never really happened technically, j-just forget about it!"

"Hah~! I haven't seen you this flustered in a long time~. If I didn't know any better I'd think you were falling for me, Stardust~." [His face burns darker as he falls silent.] "... This is the part where you refute that, Stardust."

"... W-Well... the thing is... uhhh..." [Your own face grows just as dark.]

"... Truce to never speak of this again?"

"Y-Yup! Truce!" [You both stop acknowledging each other as you break off. Stardust heads off towards Eclipse and the Housemaiden, while you head towards Nille, Flare, and, ugh, the Researcher... Fantastic. Nille perks up at your approach.]

"Hey Vay, what were you and Sif talking about?"

"Absolutely nothing~! Next question~!"

"That bad, huh? Alright, I won't pry. Though speaking of, Dile here was hoping to get some info out of you." [Of course she is...]

"Yes, Petronille has informed me that you're a paper type now. I've never heard of someone changing their craft type before, but there's a lot of topics that would apply to in the last few months. I was hoping you might like to spar sometime." [Wonderful, here comes the interro-wait what did she just say?]

"You... want to spar with me?"

"Yes. In Ka Bue, it is believed that there's no better way to understand someone than by the way they Craft. I may not believe in all the sentimentality behind it, but watching someone Craft can make for quite an impression. Perhaps it could even answer some questions you have about yourself."

"... I don't think that would be for the best. I'd rather not hurt any of you."

"I don't doubt your time in the loops has given you an advantage when it comes to experience, but I'm sure I could hold my own long enough to get what I'd need. Besides, Mirabelle can help ensure nothing goes too far." [Your expression does very little to hide your hesitance about the idea.] "So you don't want to prove how different you are from Siffrin now?"

"What?"

"I've seen how Siffrin Crafts for months now, I'd be able to spot it in a moment. So why don't you show me just how different you are now?" [You know exactly what she's trying to do... yet her goading still succeeds in spite of that.]

"Fine, then spar we shall~."

"DILE'S GONNA KICK VALE'S CRABBING BUTT!" [Flare shouts as Nille chuckles with a shake of her head.]

"Can't say I'm not excited to see how this plays out."

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

[You stand at one end of a clearing, the Researcher at the opposite end. Everyone else eagerly gathered into a little group nearby to watch. You perk up as Nille calls out.]

"Go easy on them, Dile! They've only been in a fight or two since the Change!" [Excuse us?!]

"Thanks for the vote of confidence?!"

"Hah! Well it's true!"

"Vale seemed rather worried about hurting me earlier, so I don't intend to hold back. Besides, if they do then this whole research project would be null and void. I need to see you at your best, so don't pull any punches!" [The Researcher calls out in a demanding tone, one similar to a teacher encouraging a student. You're unsure why, but it starts to light a fire within you.]

"Alright." [You draw your whip and hold out a paper sign with your other hand.] "Ready when you are, Researcher!"

"Would you mind counting us down, Boniface?" [Flare jumps to their feet eagerly. A very excited grin across their face.]

"One!" [Wait...]

"Two!" [We just remembered...]

"Three!" [WE DON'T HAVE ANY CRAFT SKILLS OF OUR OWN!]

[You begin to panic as the Researcher starts to rush towards you. You see her hands move in a familiar way, and without thinking to go to copy it. You need every advantage you can get as you both SLOW IV each other with the exact same method. She raises a brow as she realized what happened.]

"Huh. No, no that would make sense. You must have seen me use that craft countless times, of course you'd learn how to emulate it. This still isn't exactly helping this experiment though, show me your craft, Vale!"

"I... don't really have any yet..."

"Then you best come up with something fast!" [She threatens and makes a scissors sign, slicing a streak of SCISSORS III towards you. You barely manage to dive out of the way thanks to that heavy feeling slowing you down, leaving you wide open for the next attack.]

[She swings her open palm down towards you just as a PAPER III blast slams down onto your back.] "GAH!" [It stings, but no where near as much as that earlier strike would have. You shake off the craft weighing you down and quickly get back to your feet. You notice she still has the SLOW on her, you have an opening!]

[You crack your whip a few times, sending waves of Paper Craft towards her. She only manages to block one, taking the full brunt of the other two. She slides back across the dirt and falls to a knee. Despite this, a grin crosses her face as she looks back up at you.]

"Now we're getting somewhere, keep it up Vale. Show me what you're capable of." [She commands yet again, getting back up and flashing another scissors sign. The Craft comes flying at you quickly, slamming into your stomach and causing you to fly back, slamming into a tree.]

"Ugh... Oh you'll pay for that one Researcher!" [You're injured now, but it only strengthens the fire within you. You focus your intent into the tip of your whip before lashing it out, sending an intense wave of pure Creative Craft towards her. Even as she blocks it, it manages to deal a good amount of damage. You don't let up, you snap your whip again and again, sending smaller blasts but trying to overwhelm her. She evades the first few only to stop in her tracks and SLOW IV you yet again, taking a couple hits to do so.]

"You're getting desperate, good! You're showing your true self now!" [You grumble as you feel that same weight again, like your whole body was moving through sludge. You can't take another big hit, you look around to find some sort of advantage... You crack your whip once more, and as she goes to defend, it swings upwards and blasts the tree behind her, sending an explosion of leaves to surround and distract her. You move as quick as you can in this addled state to hide behind a tree until it wears off.]

"Clever. You fight like a cornered animal, yet you still manage to find and use any advantage you can." [Why do we feel like a book being read right now?...] "I haven't had a good fight since Dormont, I appreciate you indulging me with this." [You take a few breaths to help shake the craft off of you.]

"My pleasure, I just can't wait to wipe that grin off of your face~!" [You call out, whip ready as you focus your craft into it again. Just as expected you feel a heavy blast of Craft slam against the tree you hid behind. You tuck and roll back out into the open and prepare to strike!... Wait, where did she go?]

WHACK [You're suddenly smacked upside the head with another PAPER III, knocking you over as you grip your head.] "OW! CHEAP SHOT!"

"You think you're the only one who can use tactics?" [She smirks, stepping out from behind a very different tree than you expected. She holds her free hand in a paper sign.] "Now time to finish this."

[You prepare to defend, you're weak but you could take another hit of PAPER III if you're ready for it... until you notice her hand moving different than usual. You glance over at her hand holding her book, which was hiding the Scissors sign she was actually using to power the craft! By the time you realize her trick, the piercing energy was already heading directly towards you.]

[You panic, without thinking you act, a wave of Craft flowing out of you and into your whip. LION TAMER! You lash out your whip, coiling around the attack itself. You guide it off course, and hold on tightly as it spins around your form, releasing it as it flies directly back at the Researcher. She was too surprised by what you did to even try blocking it, landing a direct hit with her own attack and leaving her K.O.ed across the grass... You blink a few times as you still aren't even sure what you just did.]

"M'dame!" [The Housemaiden quickly hops up and rushes over to her side, starting to pump healing craft into the downed Researcher. Flare is close behind with the pack of tonics in case it's needed. You look down at your hands and whip, still just lost in the shock and adrenaline of what you'd just done. You stumble as a heavy pat hits your back.]

"Holy crab! Where have you been hiding that one, Vay?!"

"I... I have no idea... Is... Is she okay?" [You look back over to her, Flare and the Housemaiden are helping her up to a sitting position. She looks spent but otherwise awake and aware. You hesitate before walking over.] "I-I'm sorry, I didn't realize I could even do that, are you-" [You're interrupted as she raises a hand to stop you.]

"That was exactly what I asked for, thank you for assisting me with this experiment. I think we've both learned a lot from it, Vale." [She has a satisfied smile painted across her face.]

"Yes, that was... certainly an experience, thank you for helping me find myself like this, Comet." [She raises a brow at the end of your statement.] "A nickname, if you don't mind me using it..." [She shares a look with you, understanding the importance you give to these silly nicknames. She smiles and nods.]

"Of course, now go enjoy your victory, I need to rest and gather my thoughts properly." [She says with a huff, trying to play off the feelings much like you do.]

"Of course, rest well~." [You head back to Nille as you hear Flare begin shouting behind you.]

"Diiiile! I can't believe you let Vale beat you! What the crab!"

Huge thank you to @itstheval for inspiring the fight scene and coming up with Craft Skills for Vale!! His fan chapters are wonderful and the skills he came up with are so goooood!

[eden-writes-stuff]

Hi, I hope you're doing well!

I was wondering if you could write something about Luna and Harry coming up with a plan for their moms to fall in love, and for they can be siblings.

It's an idea I've had for a while and I think it's really fun.

OMG I love this idea. So cute!

Tags: fluff, comfort, kids being silly, setup, Regulus being a great parent / uncle side ships: wolfstar, jegulus

Luna spread the paper on the couch table and placed her crayons beside it.

"Operation: bring Pandora and Lily together so we can be siblings - BPALTSWCBS." 

Harry pulled out his glitter pens. "I did my research over last week."

Research, in this case, being a Romance-movie-marathon with his uncles over the weekend. They had very much supported him when he'd confided in them and told them their plan. Or at least the general idea which they needed the plan for. 

 "Great. Tell me what you've learned." She pulled the cap off of one of the glitter gels and got ready to write.

"Well, most of them were with a man and a woman, but I think it works either way", he started and Luna nodded. "So, there was one where they were working on a project together and then they got locked in at their office and had to cuddle to keep warm." "But our moms don't work together." Harry hesitated for a moment. "we could get them to organise your birthday party together?" Luna thought about it, then wrote it down.

"There was another one with two men where they got locked in together in a room and then some woman threatened their lives unless they kiss." The six-year-old grinned and put it above the other idea.

"For the next one we'd have to wait until yule, but maybe you can convince your grandparents to ask your mum if she has found someone yet and then she freaks out and brings my mum as a fake date, so they stop annoying her." "She doesn't really care about their opinions so that probably won't work..."

"Alright. The one where the woman wants to get married before her sister is also out because aunt Petunia is already married..." "So our only option to make them be happy together is to threaten their lives?", Luna summarised. "Yeah, I think so."

"Great. But we need to make them believe it. Maybe we could get a dragon from somewhere." "Or a serial killer. Hey, papa." Harry looked up from their plan on the table, as Regulus walked in. "What do you need a serial killer for, mon coeur?", he asked, one eyebrow raised.

Harry and Luna shared a glance. "You need to promise not to tell anyone. This is a top-secret mission." Harry leaned in a bit and Regulus nodded slowly. "We're trying to get mom to go out with Panda, so they fall in love and get married and then we can be siblings", he half-whispered. 

"But we're not sure, how to do it yet. Our best idea is to threaten their lives so that they kiss", Luna added, shrugging.

Regulus nodded. It was best not to question a child's logic, not to mention that it sounded like something that might actually work if executed properly. Plus, as Pandora's confidante, he knew that she had fancied the redhead since they were teenagers.

Harry looked up at him. "How did you and dad get together?" The pale man attempted to answer a few times, but eventually just shook his head. "I think that's a story for another time. I do have an idea, however. Do you want to hear it?" They both nodded excitedly.

"Maybe you need to approach it from the other side. You tell them you want to spend a sibling-day with your favourite moms. You know, go to the park, have a movie night... That way you force them to spend time together and see how adorable you two are."

The children shared a few looks. "But then we don't get to threaten their lives..." "We can still do that if plan A doesn't work." "Hmmm.... okay."

Luna wrote it on the paper with a crayon. "Thank you, uncle Reggie. You can leave now. We need to work out the details."

[mimi-is-so-horny]

okay, so... you know how sometimes a day starts lovely, and then it goes to shit? and sometimes, you feel like you've done this to yourself? actually, you have done it to yourself. anyway.

i made a point to wake up early today to make Sir and Anna breakfast and to write them a note thanking them for fucking me so well yesterday, and for being pretty much the best thing in my life right now. i felt very grateful and i know i'm very lucky. i think they appreciated that, too.

i blew the candles on my birthday cake naked on Sir's lap - i've been 25 for a couple of days, and i usually hate my birthdays, but Anna insisted we should do the whole birthday thing properly. Sir wrote me a birthday card that almost moved me to tears. He groped my tits as i blew my candles.

for context, i used to want to enter academia in combination to committing to a totally different career path. what i'm doing right now isn't even my Plan C, so of course, i feel a bit like a failure. i'd written a chapter in a book that discussed some recent developments in my field and placed them in a behavioural/institutional context - the book was published this year, and the complimentary copy they sent to authors arrived on my birthday. i should be happy, right? but i feel so defeated, and so dumb, and like this is the first and last good thing i got to do before giving up on my aspirations completely. sure, i'll still apply to enter a more commercial side of my field next year, but that's still just more "sustainable", financially, and more difficult than i thought it would be. all this effort for something i won't really value or enjoy, yuck. and what if i fail, again? anyway. Mimi's whiny ass.

so Sir asked me to read my chapter, and i said yes, sure. He wanted to "see how i think". why not, right?

He fucked me yesterday, and this morning, and at noon, and it felt so good. and now He came to my room, to tell me He read my chapter, and while i felt vulnerable i tried to look cool asking Him what He thought of it.

and He showered me in compliments, and asked me why am i here, and not at a Big Prestigious University™ doing research? i told Him that's why i tried, and the Big Prestigious University™ didn't do shit for Mimi in a post-covid job market where she had to care for her family and couldn't work Prestigious Unpaid Internships™. and still, with no network or real mentors that cared more about guiding me than fucking me, or plagiarising me (lol), my options narrowed. and He knew that, so why was He asking me? and then He asked more questions, and i got increasingly angry and i cried and told Him to leave my room, please. well, at least He did.

so now i have to go downstairs and apologise for lashing out at Him for essentially caring. that was just me projecting - how mad i am at myself for failing, and for giving up, and and for being too lazy to try again - on Him. but i also don't want to do that, because i can only taste how i'm not working in the city i want, and how the people i work for are surprised when i can introduce better corrections than them, and how i am a grown woman that is already bitter about not being where she wanted to be. how i pretend to have given up, when in reality i'm still kind of grieving the people i thought i could be, and realising it can always get worse. am i making myself into a victim: poor-me, poor-me? or am i entitled to my anger and sadness? i don't know, and Sir knows something sad happened to me without my consent, a long while ago - so what if He sees me as a victim, too? am i really that stupid and that passive? what if i'm wasting His time, too?

i don't think i use kink as a coping mechanism or as a distraction; i'm just happy it's an area of my life i'm currently getting exactly what i want, exactly in my own terms and limits - i've rarely gotten that much respect and reciprocity in "vanilla world" - be it work, or education, or friendships. but that fact also makes me sad. why can't i have some of the things i want, sometimes? why was it "Rejection Letter"+"Your Flatmate Lost Your Cat And Now Won't Help Or Speak To You"+"Your Supervisor Wants To Fuck You And He's Angry Now!"+"Your Family Is Asking For Money, Again!!!", and not, like, slightly better? it's hard to feel empowered now. that sad six-year-old is here again, and she wants good stuff i don't know how to give, because i'm out of fucking candy (or, y'know, drugs. because i don't do that shit anymore).

anyway, that will be a difficult conversation. and i feel sorry for Him, for having to deal with me.

well, that was a very self-centred ramble by a fairly self-centred person, so i'm sorry if you read this? but also it was your choice to do so, meh. drink water, wear sunscreen.

[bitletsanddrabbles]

But What If I Wasn't Rich?

Right. So. With revisions on Stolen Child going well, I've tried to start gearing up for my next big project, which is what I'd planned on working on this month. It's a very different tone - lots of zany hijinks with a group of idiots going through the jungles of India looking for biologically impossible flora - so I figured it shouldn't need too much in the way of research, especially since I'm avoiding politics like the plague. Don't know how much I'll manage, mind, since the only reason I can think of for Thomas's cousin to be in Bombay is military, but I'm pretty confident I can just say that and let my historically well informed audience fill in their own blanks while I concentrate on more important things, like cobras that spit hydrochloride acid at people*.

For all of that, though, I am having problems right off the bat with the research. Why? Because I need to get a disgraced-with-no-reference Thomas from Downton Abbey to Bombay, and I need to do it via a land route (or mostly at any rate), because he needs to start the whole thing off by crashing into someone in a train station. I suppose it could technically be at a port, but the train station just seems more likely given that the person in question is trying to get to the Congo.

This should not be difficult to figure out, right? A couple of Google** searches and you're done.

Well, not so much. When I search for how to get from England to India in 1920, the search engines seem to think I'm curious about immigration in the late 1800s. The closest I've come is an article that outlines the sea route around Cape Horn that was utilized the early 1900s...and stops there.

There was one (1) Reddit thread that popped up from someone with a similar problem who had the route mostly mapped but was just missing a bit in the middle. It started with the Orient Express.

Okay! Time to look up the Orient Express! And we get...

An absolute ton of information on the very big, very famous luxury liner of trains! Yes'sir, the Orient Express got you from Paris to Istanbul in style like you wouldn't believe! All of the rich people were lining up to bask in the lap of luxury as they made this cross land trip!

...

...which was probably beyond the budget of a newly sacked valet...

Pretty certain.

So we start looking for other ways to get from Paris to Istanbul in 1920 and apparently you could...walk? Or something? Maybe hitch hike?

Yeah, there's nothing. I can not come up with a search that does not tell me about the Orient Express, but unless Thomas ties himself to the roof, I don't see him getting aboard that one.

So! Are there any travel experts out there who have insight? Or people who have faced this issue in their fanfiction? Researchers with a hyper fixation on Agatha Christie? Banana cream pie? I'm kinda hungry, I could go in for some banana cream pie.

Heck, I'd settle for a less politically volatile reason for Thomas's cousin to be in residence, although I'm going to have to at least touch on the BEF*** for plot reasons.

*our fauna is as biologically impossible as our fauna

**or, well, Duckduckgo, but that doesn't roll off the tongue as nicely

***at least I assume that's who was stationed there. Again really, really not interested in politics. At all. Ever. Plague on the planet.

[wishful-seeker]

How to Make Your Own Spells

(Or at least this is how i do it)

What makes a spell?

In my opinion, a spell or ritual is the physical act of manipulating the energy around and within us to achieve a specific goal. A spell can look like anything from a few spoken words, like a prayer, to weeks long complicated rituals. You can attempt to cast a spell with nothing but your voice and some intent, or a whole pile of ingredients and tools.

How do spells work?

If we look at rituals in folklore there are a few characteristics that most spells share, but every one is unique, and spells have worked for a looong time even with no set rules for them. In folklore, witchcraft has reoccurring traits, like the number 13 "dance around X 13 times", dancing is also mentioned often, and black animals like black hens, black cats, and black goats. But times have changed, we aren't okay with harming animals for spells, and thousands of people don't use the number 13 or dancing. So why do spells still work even though they all look completely different?

I like to think we as humans have innate power within us that we can choose to utilize in our own unique way. Some spells work really well for the people who made them, but don't do squat for others trying to cast them. I think this is because the act of making a spell or ritual personal, whether you made it from stratch or altared someone elses, is similar to signing a piece of your artwork. You create a bond with those specific actions with you energy, like putting a spiritual signature on it. I think this allows us to utilize our personal magic easier.

I think spells work no matter how they look because the one thing each spell has in common is that we are making a petition to the world and ourselves that we want to make something happen, and because we all have a little bit of magic in us, we can make these things happen.

It doesn't hurt to get friendly with the land spirits of your home, or your ancestors or what-not to help you preform magic. Its very likely outside help will increase spell success.

So how do i make a spell?

You can either be simple or extra with this.

First decide your goal or intent. The more specific, the better. I believe magic follows the path of least resistance so if you aren't very specific with your ask, things might happen in unpredictable ways. Saying "I want a promotion in my current job and enough money to move to a better place." Is better than "i want a better life."

Secondly decide if you want ingredients or tools. This could be herbs that you research correspondences for or crystals you research the metaphysical properties of. This could be items like a skeleton key, a feather you found, maybe a letter someone wrote. I find spells to be more powerful and easier to enjoy and connect with if you use sentimental items you feel particularly drawn to. You don't always need ingredients that have set correspondences, its okay to use things just because you have a good feeling about it or to put your own personal correspondence on things including trinkets, herbs, and crystals. When it comes to tools, like a pendulum, wand, or scrying mirror, you can use these if they feel fun, but they are not always necessary. Some tools can be very helpful in spells, pendulums and scrying mirrors can be used to speak with spirits during your ritual.

Next figure out what you want the spell to look like. This is where your creativity shines. You could do the classics everyone knows: spell bottles, spell candles, and sachet spells. Or you can do what intuitively feels right to you. I personally arrange my ingredients in a pretty way intuitively on a plate then light a candle on the plate, but spells can look like anything. Like i said before, in folklore there is a lot of dancing. A spell could be a dance you do around a fire, or for astral travel dance until you fall and leave your body. A spell can be an art project, perhaps a collage of pictures of things related to your spell. A spell could be something you cook and eat. Let your imagination go wild.

Next thing is optional but i feel like it helps. Im sure you have heard of wiccans casting a circle before each spell to trap certain energies in for the spell. You can do this but i personally like the opposite: creating a liminal space and thinning the veil to really open up to all the energy around me. You can create a liminal space either by being in one ex: at a crossroads, in the woods, at midnight, dusk, and dawn. Or you can make one by creating a 3 or 4 crossroads shape like you would cast a circle. These are both optional though.

Next lets talk about charging your spell and how to actually put energy into it. Again, you can do anything you want. You can charge by dancing, moving clockwise, singing, playing an instrument, meditating, visualizing energy coming from your hands or wand, anything you feel drawn to. For me personally i have to speak my intent allowed and imagine what it'll look like when my spell succeeds to charge it.

If you need inspiration for spells, folklore, fairytales, and stories in general can give you a good idea on what would be fun to do.

Hope this helps, stay punk.

[lesbicosmos-writes]

@deadboyween day 11

the day we've all been waiting for!!

day 11 prompt: halloween

summary: the girls wonder if the boys have ever done anything for halloween. they convince them to have a mini party at the office - including costumes.

notes: this fic brought to you by my love of comic!crystal being a nerdy cosplayer <333

also on ao3!

the case of the halloween party

“Do you think Charles and Edwin celebrate Halloween?” Niko asked, lounging on the floor of the office while Crystal was on the sofa, her laptop propped open on her lap.

The boys had gone out ‘to the library’ to do what they called ‘private ghost research’ – but both Crystal and Niko knew that was just their code phrase for a date – leaving the girls to their own devices back at the office. Niko had been reading but her attention span had depleted several minutes ago, while Crystal was trying to win a bid for a cursed teacup someone was trying to sell on eBay.

“I dunno. Wouldn’t that be a bit weird? Spooky supernatural beings celebrating a human-made spooky supernatural holiday?”

“I think it would be even better as a ghost,” Niko commented. “You could actually, properly scare people.”

“True. I wouldn’t exactly have taken Edwin for a Halloween kind of guy though.”

“Maybe we can try and do something with them! We’ve only got two weeks left! I think we can convince them to dress up, at least.”

“Good luck with that,” Crystal chuckled.

“Oh my god! We could go as Mystery Inc.!” Niko sat upright, clearly already making plans.

“Ah, um…I’d love to Niko, but I kind of already had my costume planned.”

“Oh. Do you already have plans for the day?”

“Not really. A lot of the clubs around here do Halloween nights so I was probably just gonna go to one of those if we weren’t busy. I’d rather do something with you guys though, clubs are no fun on your own.”

“What’s your costume plan, then?” Niko asked.

“Well, I used to be really into cosplay and-”

Niko cut her off.

“You were into cosplay?” she asked incredulously.

“Yeah?” Crystal shrugged.

“I thought you were like…a typical mean girl?”

“Well, I was a typical mean girl who happened to love cosplaying characters from video games.”

Niko stared at her girlfriend open-mouthed, her eyes wide.

“I’m in love with you,” she said simply.

Crystal laughed.

“I think you’ve mentioned that before.”

“How have you never told me you used to cosplay?”

“It just never came up, I guess,” Crystal chuckled.

“So, who are you dressing as?”

“Oh, just this character from a pretty niche game.”

“What game?”

“Yonda.”

“You play Yonda? I love that game!” Niko had moved forwards and was sitting beside Crystal on the tiny sofa.

“Really?”

“Yes!” Niko replied excitedly. “Ayumi was like...my lesbian awakening!”

Crystal’s face morphed into a smirk. “Well…”

“No. You’re not.”

“Mhm,” Crystal hummed, teasingly.

“Oh my god Crystal I need to see this right now,” Niko all but shrieked.

“You’ll just have to wait til Halloween babe,” Crystal said, leaning forward to press a kiss to Niko’s lips.

“Ughhhh,” Niko groaned, just as the mirror rippled and Charles and Edwin stepped through it.

“What’s going on?” Charles asked, perching himself on the arm of the sofa next to Niko.

“Oh, Crystal and I were just discussing Halloween costumes.”

“Costumes?” Edwin asked, the tone of his voice somewhere between confused and ever so slightly judging.

“Yeah? Don’t tell me you’ve never dressed up for Halloween!” Niko sat upright on the sofa.

“I’ve been trying to get him to for years but he just refuses,” Charles complained, shaking his head slightly.

Niko jumped up from the sofa and stepped towards Edwin.

“Edwin, you have to!”

“I was under the impression that this strange tradition of dressing up was only for events like parties. I’m afraid I don’t see the point of it when we have no party to attend,” Edwin explained.

“We can have our own!” Niko waved her arms in the air a little, turning to face the others to see their reactions.

Crystal had a smile on her face but reluctantly asked, “Who would we even invite, Niko?”

“Jenny!” Niko said, pointing to one finger as though counting.

Everyone looked at her expectantly, waiting for the rest of the hypothetical guest list. Jenny had moved her shop to London but she was still about the only person any of the group really knew.

“Okay I guess it’s just Jenny but still! I could bake! We could decorate the office! It’d be fun!”

Who could resist Niko Sasaki when she looked so excited and full of joy? Sure, it wouldn’t be much of a typical party, but it could be a celebration in their own way, so everyone eventually agreed that they would have a gathering on Halloween night. Edwin still insisted they kept the agency open just in case – there never had been a Halloween without a strange new case to crack in the many years they had been working together.

As expected, Niko got very into the party planning. She was planning on baking enough snacks to feed a small army – including finding a recipe and enchantment for biscuits and sweets ghosts could eat thanks to Tragic Mick. She and Edwin had been crafting decorations while Charles and Crystal went out to buy supplies.

“So what do you want to dress as?” Niko asked, cutting out skull-shaped bunting.

“I’m not sure. I don’t think I want to dress too differently, if possible. The idea is still a little silly to me, I must admit.”

“Everyone dresses up on Halloween, Edwin. It’s the one day a year where cosplaying is normalised – expected, even! But if you want to keep your style as much as you can, I think I have an idea.”

“What is it?”

“That’s a surprise,” Niko grinned. “You trust me, yeah?”

“Of course,” Edwin replied sincerely.

The surprise didn’t last very long. Merely one day later, Niko returned to the office with inspiration for Edwin’s outfit to show him, and he wasn’t as against the idea as she expected him to be. Crystal was there too, and was as excited about the costume as Niko was. But they all agreed to keep it as a secret from Charles – who was being very secretive over his own idea anyway.

Soon enough, Halloween arrived. The office was decorated with a mixture of lovingly crafted handmade decorations and ornaments bought from shops. Niko’s paper skull bunting hung across the doorframe and across the blank wall between the games closet and the desk. She had also made bats to hang from the ceiling by string. The four of them had carved pumpkins the day prior, to varying degrees of precision, which all sat along the windowsill. Edwin had intricately folded several little origami pumpkins and placed them on the bookshelves, while tiny plastic ornaments of skulls and bats and witches’ hats sat amongst them. A string of brightly coloured lights shaped like skulls were suspended across the window.

The largest of the decorations were two plastic hanging skeletons, which hung either side of the door. They had been plain when Crystal bought them, but she and Niko had crafted a tiny bow tie and book for one of them, and an earring, backpack and cricket bat for the other. Edwin seemed sceptical about the mini him-and-Charles, but grew fond of them after seeing Charles’s grin when Crystal hung them up.

The office looked different, but somehow the atmosphere hadn’t really changed – after all, it was the permanent residence of two ghosts in the first place.

It was 5pm, and the girls were currently both in the bathroom getting into their costumes, while the boys waited in the main room of the office, both still in their usual outfits.

“So like, you really never did anything?” Charles asked.

“Charles, I’ve told you several times over the years. When I was alive, Halloween wasn’t as much of a deal as it was now. It was a childish holiday. A few of the boys at school would sneak out to the cemetery at night, or play games in the dormitories, but people rarely dressed up or had parties like you do now.”

“Right. Sorry. I mean, it wasn’t like a huge thing when I was alive – not for my family, anyway. My dad thought it was stupid, so even if my friends did have a party I could never go. It always looked so much cooler in America, like it is in films and stuff.”

“Hmm,” Edwin hummed.

“So…what’s your costume?” Charles asked.

He’d been trying to get Edwin to tell him for a week, but he didn’t budge, insisting it was a surprise.

“I’m not telling you,” Edwin replied, a smug smirk on his face.

“You’re evil.”

“Oh really? Because I seem to remember you saying something different when you were kissing me ten minutes ago.”

“Oi!” Charles grinned.

The sound of giggling echoed through the bathroom door, and both ghosts turned towards it.

“Seriously, what are they doing in there?” Edwin asked, folding his arms.

“I dunno, mate. Girls and bathrooms, innit? They always go in pairs and take forever and come out giggling like maniacs.”

“So strange.”

“Yup.”

“How long does it take to change clothes? They’ve been in there for nearly an hour.”

Charles stepped forwards and knocked on the door.

“Hey, uh, are you two good in there? You’ve been in there ages,” he said.

“We’re fine,” Niko laughed.

“You better not be snogging!”

“Charles you can’t say anything, we know you were making out with Edwin like ten minutes ago.”

Charles opened his mouth to argue but ultimately gave up. “Okay fine, shut up,” he said instead.

More laughter erupted from the door, and Charles gave up, walking back over to the desk.

It was several minutes later when the door to the tiny bathroom finally opened. Charles and Edwin stood up straight, ready to see the girls’ outfits…

…only to find the two of them standing there with white sheets over their heads, holes cut out of the faces so their eyes could be seen.

Charles snorted, but Edwin didn’t seem as amused. Perhaps if you looked closer though…maybe there was a slight smirk hidden there on his face. Maybe.

“Very funny,” he said sarcastically.

“We’re ghosts!” Niko said, giggling.

“Yes, I can see that, Niko.”

“Come on, it’s a little funny!” Crystal argued.

“Fine,” Edwin gave in, letting that tiny smirk be more obvious on his face.

“Anyway, these aren’t our real costumes. Don’t worry,” Niko said, and both she and Crystal pulled the sheets from their heads and threw them onto the sofa.

Niko had the more recognisable costume of the two – a bright orange turtleneck and matching socks, along with a short red skirt. What with her usual bright monochromatic wardrobe choices, the other three had seen every main part of the outfit before many times. What they hadn’t seen before were the large-rimmed glasses that rested on her nose, or the short brown wig she wore that seemed to conceal her bright white hair so well, it was as if it wasn’t even there beneath it.

“Velma!” Edwin said, smiling.

“Yeah!”

Then the boys turned to Crystal, and both of their faces morphed into confusion.

“You guys have no idea who I am do you?” she laughed.

“I’m afraid we don’t.”

“Wasn’t expecting you to, don’t worry. I’m Ayumi from Yonda.”

“Are those words?” Edwin asked, one eyebrow raised.

“It’s a video game,” Niko explained.

“Oh, nice! Well, you look great. Both of you,” Charles said.

“Thank you,” Niko smiled.

“Right, now it’s your turn,” Crystal turned to the boys, a smile on her face.

“Do we really have to?” Edwin complained.

“Yes!” Niko exclaimed, ushering him into the bathroom and closing the door behind them.

Since the boys didn’t exactly get changed into their costumes, each had one of the girls there to help them alter their appearances, especially since they also didn’t have reflections. So, Niko joined Edwin in the bathroom whilst Crystal helped Charles in the office.

Edwin managed to get his costume right fairly quickly – Niko had made him practise whenever they got the chance and were away from the other two. Niko looked him up and down, smiling to herself.

“Perfect!” she grinned.

He was dressed as a traditional vampire, and thanks to some convincing from the girls (otherwise known as Niko’s puppy eyes – Edwin really ought to learn to say no to her), he’d also manifested a pair of fangs. He couldn’t alter his own body, but he’d managed to create a pair of plastic ones that fitted perfectly to his canine teeth.

“Oh my god you look so good!” Niko said, using a finger to dab some fake blood onto the corner of his mouth, so it dripped down his chin.

“Niko, is this strange sticky concoction really necessary?”

“Yes! How will anyone know you’re a spooky vampire without fake blood?”

“I think it’s fairly obvious from the rest of the outfit. And the fangs,” Edwin chuckled.

“Oh well. It looks cooler.”

Edwin wasn’t going to argue with her. Niko shuffled around him in the tiny bathroom before she reached the door. She knocked on it a couple of times.

“Hey, is Charles ready?”

“Nearly, just finishing up his…nearly!” Crystal replied from the other side of the door.

“Yay!” Niko grinned, placing her hands together in front of her like she was running some evil scheme. Edwin had come to fear that look.

“Ready!” Crystal called.

Niko opened the bathroom door, and both of them stepped out.

Edwin froze when he saw Charles. Charles seemed to freeze too, the two of them just staring at one another open-mouthed.

“Pick your jaws up off the floor, you two,” Crystal said, her arms folded in front of her.

“Shh let them ogle,” Niko said, that grin still plastered across her face.

In terms of style, Edwin’s costume wasn’t too dissimilar from what he usually wore; the blue sweater vest was replaced by a red waistcoat, and a frilly collar took the place of his bow tie. His trousers were black instead of pinstripe grey, and his brown coat was now black and had a higher, upturned collar. It was different enough to be considered a costume, but similar enough that it wasn’t too uncomfortable, and he wasn’t revealing any more skin than usual.

The same could not be said for Charles’s costume. He wore what appeared to be a teal surgical gown, only unlike actual surgical gowns, this one cut off halfway down his thighs. Under it, he wore fishnet tights and boots that resembled the ones Edwin usually wore. He had a pearl necklace around his neck, and bright pink rubber gloves on. And that wasn’t even mentioning the make-up. Of course, Charles always wore eyeliner, but this was different. His eyelids were painted the same teal as his outfit all the way up to his eyebrows, and he wore lipstick.

“He wouldn’t wear the heels,” Crystal tutted, shaking her head at him in disappointment.

Edwin recognised the costume from a movie Crystal had made them watch a few weeks prior. Charles had already seen it, had snuck into the cinema to watch it with a girl when it was playing on Halloween the year before he died. It hadn’t been a date; Charles was sure to tell them. They were just the only ones who wanted to watch it - all their other friends had claimed it was for queers. Charles had brushed it off at the time, but now saw the ironic truth in their claim, given both his recent revelations and the fact he knew that girl he snuck out with was now happily married to a woman.

“Mate, you look…” Charles began.

“Charles…” Edwin breathed, unable to tear his eyes away from Charles’s legs.

He’d seen Charles’s legs many times by now, but never like this and never in this context. It was overwhelming and he couldn’t figure out how to look anywhere else.

“His face is further up, Edwin,” Crystal teased. “Jeez, now I’m glad we didn’t go for the corset,” she muttered to Niko.

“Do you guys want us to leave you alone?” Niko smirked.

Edwin cleared his throat, finally managing to look somewhere other than his boyfriend’s legs in those fishnets.

“No, that won’t be necessary. Besides, Jenny will be here soon,” he said, hoping no one noticed the way his voice cracked a little.

Everyone noticed.

As Edwin and Niko headed over to the desk to lay out the food, Crystal stepped towards Charles – who was still silent and staring.

“Are you okay there, buddy?” she asked, the amusement clear in her voice.

Charles snapped out of it, turning to face her.

“Yeah. Aces, why?”

“Hmm…sure,” Crystal smirked.

It was nearly twenty minutes later when Jenny arrived. She was also dressed as a vampire, wearing a dark red corset top over a flowy white long-sleeved shirt with black trousers and a collared cloak. The shirt had several small bloodstains on it. She brought in a tray of pastries that were made to resemble severed fingers.

Niko came running over to her and took the tray from her hands.

“Oh my god! You and Edwin match!” she exclaimed, pointing between the two of them.

Jenny looked up to Edwin, who appeared to be looking for a book on their many shelves.

“Dracula. Neat,” she said.

“Just a generic vampire, I’m afraid,” Edwin corrected. “Although, I suppose it could be Count Dracula.”

“Right, okay.”

“Are you a specific one?” Crystal asked before biting into one of Niko’s decorated cookies.

“Yeah, I’m meant to be Carmilla.”

Everyone looked at her blankly.

“Carmilla Karnstein? From the book Carmilla? Like one of the first pieces of vampire literature?” Jenny asked, bewildered.

“I cannot say I have ever read it,” Edwin apologised.

“Well, you should. It’s a classic. And it’s really gay, so…”

Jenny turned around once more, taking one of the skull-emblazoned paper plates Crystal had found in a shop and moving onto the food.

“Is that blood…real?” Charles asked her, pointing out the stains on her shirt.

Jenny just raised her eyebrows and took a bite out of one of Niko’s cookies. Charles didn’t want to think about that too hard.

“Nice Frank-N-Furter costume,” she said. “Good to know you’re not entirely uncultured.”

“Thanks,” Charles replied. “So, what food is enchanted?” he asked excitedly, practically bouncing over to Edwin.

Edwin and Niko had successfully baked some foods that the ghosts could eat, and Charles had been incredibly excited about it for days. He really missed food.

“Aptly enough, the cookies shaped like ghosts. And also, the white marshmallows. Not the orange ones, though,” said Edwin.

“Brills,” Charles said, already reaching across the desk to take one of the cookies.

He took a bite, and the satisfied sound he made gave Edwin flashbacks he’d rather not be thinking about with other people in the room.

“These are so good, Niko,” he said, giving her a playful punch to the arm. “God, I missed food. Can you do this to anything?” he asked Edwin.

“I believe the enchantment will need a few tweaks depending on what item it is, but yes. Don’t worry Charles, you’ll get your enchanted spaghetti,” Edwin laughed, practically reading Charles’s mind.

“I love you, you know that right?”

“I do believe you’ve mentioned it once or twice before.”

“Are you guys just gonna keep flirting all night or are we gonna do more party things?” Crystal asked from where she was sitting in Edwin’s usual chair.

“We can multitask,” Charles argued, throwing an arm around Edwin’s shoulders and kissing him on the cheek.

Crystal was beginning to regret her involvement in getting them together. Niko walked over and perched on the arm of the chair beside her, leaning in to kiss her. Okay, maybe she could multitask too.

“Wow you guys, way to make a woman feel single,” Jenny said from the other side of the room. “You two are literally dead and you’ve got more game than me,” she looked over at the boys.

“Don’t worry Jenny, we’ll find you someone!” Niko reassured.

“Preferably someone who isn’t a psycho murderer who stalks me this time.”

Niko nodded, looking at the ground. Enough time had passed now that they could make light-hearted jokes about the Maxine situation, but it still left as much trauma as expected for Jenny. Niko still felt guilty, even though she’d been mostly forgiven.

The vague tension in the room was interrupted by a knock at the door.

“Do we really have to take a case?” Niko groaned.

“I don’t think it is a case, Niko, don’t worry,” Edwin said, walking to the door while Charles reached into the games cupboard and pulled out a large green bowl, filled with what looked like tiny little trinkets.

Edwin opened the door.

“Trick or treat!” came the small voices from outside.

There were three small children: a young girl around nine years old dressed as a witch, a boy around the same age with a werewolf mask, and another girl who looked no older than about two wearing a pumpkin outfit. All three of them had similar burn scars on their faces and arms.

“Hey, you three! Happy Halloween!” Charles said, offering the bowl out to them.

They all took two tiny curios each. A green feather, an engraved brass ring, a chunk of amethyst, a tiny brooch with a leaf design, a small bag of pink dust, and a wishbone. All small harmless items the boys had picked up over the years but had no use for – but always brought joy to the faces of the young ghosts in the neighbourhood.

“You’re dressed up!” the older girl said, surprised.

“Yeah, thought we’d give it a go this year,” Charles said.

“What are you meant to be?” the boy asked him.

“Uhhh,” Charles stammered.

“Shouldn’t you three be running along? The night won’t last forever, you know. I heard the fortune teller down the road is giving out magical coins!” Edwin cut in.

All three children gasped.

“Really?”

“Yes, but they won’t be there forever so you’d better go quick!”

“Thanks Edwin!” said the girl.

“Bye Charles!” said the boy.

Charles gave the youngest a high five before all three of them leapt down the staircase excitedly.

When they closed the door and turned back around to face the room, they were met with looks of confusion from Crystal, Niko and Jenny.

“What-” Crystal began.

“The ghost children in the area come around every year, we always make sure we have trinkets to give them since they can’t eat sweets.”

“Hey maybe next year we can actually give them enchanted sweets!” Charles suggested.

“Wait, those three were ghosts? Did they all-” Jenny trailed off.

“The James siblings. They all died in a housefire a couple of years ago. Their parents were out shopping so they had a babysitter, but none of them survived the fire. Death came for the babysitter, but the children were all hiding in the rubble,” Edwin explained.

“Shit, those poor kids. I bet their parents feel horrific, oh my god.”

“That is precisely why we haven’t reported them to the Lost and Found Department,” Edwin said sternly. “The parents got into a terrible car accident upon getting the phone call about the children. They both survived, but only barely. They can see ghosts now, so the family is reunited.”

As Edwin spoke, Charles walked over to the window.

“Their dads are just outside, look,” he pointed across the road.

Everyone gathered around him and looked down. They saw the three children running over to two men stood on the opposite side of the road. They all showed their buckets to their parents excitedly, then pointed down the road. Their parents laughed, and the family all headed off down the road together.

“That’s sweet,” said Niko. “They’re still all together.”

“Precisely. It’s nice to know tragedy doesn’t always end in entirely pain.”

The others didn’t miss the way Edwin looked towards Charles as he spoke.

Unsurprisingly, it didn’t take long before the boys insisted on a game of Cluedo.

“Not fair, you guys always win!” Crystal argued.

“Well, we’ve got thirty-four years on you, Crystal.”

“Also, it’s more a game of luck than one of skill. If you get a good hand of cards to mark things off, you’re already further ahead than other players.”

“Yeah, yeah, fine whatever. But if you guys win, you owe me, like, the entirety of the payment for the next case.”

“Deal,” Edwin agreed, and they shook on it.

“Hey! What about me?” Niko pouted.

“You win almost as often as they do, babe.”

“I keep telling you! You should watch more Scooby Doo,” Niko shrugged, leaning her head on Crystal’s shoulder.

The deal however, never got resolved. Halfway through the game, there was another knock on the door, and this time it wasn’t ghostly trick-or-treaters; it was a case. And surprisingly, it was a real one. Usually on Halloween, their cases were less often genuine supernatural encounters and more often paranoid older ghosts misunderstanding typical Halloween living-people things. But this one was real. It wasn’t difficult, and only took them an hour or so to solve, but it was real.

Someone nearby had been having their own ghostly Halloween party, but their decorations had all been possessed by mischievous imps that had begun causing havoc. But the Dead Boy Detectives had dealt with imps dozens of times before; they arrived, set a few traps, Edwin cast a few spells, Charles swung his bat a few times, and the job was successfully jobbed.

By the time they got back to the office, Niko had already beaten Crystal and Jenny at Cluedo twice, and they were currently tied one-all in a very intense Uno tournament. When Crystal won the fourth game, they decided to wrap it up.

Then, Niko suggested – well, insisted, but no one can resist her puppy eyes – that they play Monopoly. Her argument was that it was thematically relevant since the box they had was Beetlejuice themed.

The game was as loud and chaotic as anyone would expect, and Crystal and Jenny both nearly flipped the board twice each in the first half an hour. Charles was the first to go bankrupt, closely followed by Edwin. The other three swore they planned it in advance, since they used it to their advantage, sneaking off into the games cupboard for a snog and locking the door whilst Jenny was in the bathroom, Crystal was clearing away the empty food trays and Niko was distracted watching fireworks outside the window. They were in there for the entire last ninety minutes of the game, and when they finally stepped back into the room, both had incredibly messy hair, and both Charles’s lipstick and Edwin’s fake blood were smudged over both of their chins. Crystal had never been happier that they put a silencing spell on the cupboard a few months prior. But then again, it meant they had an excuse to disappear into there whenever they felt like it. God, she and Niko needed to get payback at some point.

“Could you guys not have waited until after everyone else left?” Crystal asked, her eyebrows raised at them.

“Hey, don’t look at me,” Charles put his hands up in defence. “It’s not my fault this one couldn’t keep his eyes off my legs.”

“It absolutely is your fault for wearing those tights.”

“And on that note, I’m leaving,” Jenny butted in, standing up from the sofa. “This was great, but it’s nearly midnight and unlike you guys who don’t seem to have a schedule, I have a shop to open at nine o’clock tomorrow.”

“Understandable. Goodnight, Jenny,” Edwin said, reaching to readjust his bow tie only to remember he wasn’t wearing one.

“Yeah, Niko and I should probably head off, too,” Crystal said.

“Do we have to?” Niko complained, but her face changed when she turned and saw that Crystal was giving her a look. “Oh. Yes. Definitely. We should go.”

“We’ll see you tomorrow, yeah?” Charles said.

“Yep. ‘Night guys! Great party, we should definitely do that every year!”

“I must admit it was…much more enjoyable than I anticipated,” Edwin admitted.

“See! Told you you’d like it.”

Niko hugged Edwin before she was practically dragged out of the room by Crystal.

“Oh! I forgot my jacket,” Niko realised when she and Crystal were halfway down the road, and she had begun to shiver.

“Here, take mine,” Crystal said, taking hers off and placing it around Niko’s shoulders. “I highly doubt we would wanna go back in there.”

Niko snickered, locking her arm with Crystal’s.

“Seriously, they’re insatiable! At least we’re more subtle about it.”

“Give them some slack, they’ve got over thirty years of built-up sexual tension to resolve!”

“I really don’t wanna think about those two resolving their tension,” Crystal practically gagged.

“Maybe you wanna think about me in this turtleneck instead?” Niko said suggestively.

“I-” Crystal stammered.

“Don’t think I didn’t notice you staring at my chest all night,” she teased.

“Okay, shut up.”

“Hey, it’s allowed. I’ve been staring at you all night, too. I told you Ayumi was my gay awakening, and I was not kidding.”

“Glad you thought my costume was a success, then.”

“I think tonight was a success! I don’t think we’ll have any trouble convincing the boys to properly celebrate dress up again next year. Maybe we can even get Charles to do the full corset look!”

“I’d rather not be in the room, or even anywhere near the room, when Edwin sees that.”

“Fair,” Niko giggled.

Illuminated by streetlamps and the soft glow of pumpkins and decorative lights from nearby apartment buildings, the two of them walked back to their flat.

Maybe it was a little strange that two supernatural beings began celebrating a holiday that turned them into novelty ornaments or silly stories. Or maybe it made perfect sense: two ghosts, their psychic best friend, their other best friend who had literally died once, and reluctant older sister figure who just happened to have been possessed by Crystal’s demon ex-boyfriend one time and got herself involved with everything – celebrating Halloween as a strange little family.

[0-amateur-writer-0]

Lines

Characters: Stan Pines, Ford pines.

Tags: Angst, Hurt no comfort, Character study.

Wordcount: 1,810

Summary:

“You really don’t understand why I want this place to be shut down, do you?”

Stan sniffs. “I think I got some ideas.”

Ford narrows his eyes. “Do you?”

#

He’s home. He’s actually home. Back in his Earth—in Gravity Falls, Oregon.

Hard to believe that a few days ago, he was at the precipice of life and death. About to end things once, and for all with Bill. That’s how it was supposed to be. One way or another, everything was supposed end that day. But now he’s honest to God walking through his house. Opening cupboards, and drawers. Studying every nook, and cranny. Observing how much has changed, and how much has stayed the same.

The house definitely had seen better days. Everything was aged, and weathered. You could even spot some awkward patch jobs here, and there. The ones you do on your own to save money, instead of by someone who actually knew what they were doing.

Indeed, Stan must’ve been a stingy on the upkeep. He could hear a lot of new creaks, and sounds now. But…the house is somewhat neat, and tidy at least.

He supposes he should be thankful if for that. That his home is still here after all this time. Still standing. Still livable. When he already made peace long ago, that his house would be left to rot—reduced to a pile of would-be firewood.

Ford rounded a corner, and stops in his tracks. Any feelings of gratitude he had had quickly went down the drain.

Now this is a change he could really do without.

The house doubles as a hokey tourist trap now. One that’s entire gimmick was based on showcasing a variety of very made-up anomalies.

Being in this room is already starting to royally piss him off. Though for some reason that escapes him, he decided to stay and look around. Making his way the first exhibit that caught his eye.

Ford glares at the taxidermized monstrosity before him. It was obviously meant to resemble sasquatch, or even bigfoot. Brown fur, big feet, and ape-like features, though a striking difference could be seen on how it’s…wearing an underwear.

(Why even? What evolutionary need could it possibly fulfill by wearing one?)

“Sascrotch,” He sneers. “I can’t believe people actually—"

“Yeah, ya don’t like the Shack. We get it. Keep steppin’, and move on already.” A gruff voice piped up from his left.

Ford turns his head to the source of said voice, to find Stan leaning against the counter—counting the money he made off from the last group of tourists.

(Has he always been there?)

“You really don’t understand why I want this place to be shut down, do you?”

Stan sniffs. “I think I got some ideas.”

Ford narrows his eyes. “Do you?” He challenges.

Stan muttered something under his breath, but otherwise did nothing but continue to count the money in his hands. The sound of paper bills being shuffled seemed to fill the empty gift shop. It grated on his nerves. Then again, everything that Stan does seem to grate on his nerves these days.

Ford made his way to the next set of exhibits. The Six Pack O’ Lope. The Cornicorn. He swears some of them looked more like one of Mabel’s arts and crafts projects.

“I have spent most of my life studying the weird. Trying to make sense of the nonsense. Trying to prove their existence to the scientific community.”

“I had to take on twelve PhDs to get people to take me seriously. Twelve. And that wasn’t even accounting the number of favors, and good standing I had to build up just so I could get my grant approved by the committee.”

Of course, I could’ve avoided all that if I had gone to West Coast Tech instead. He almost wanted to say, but quickly bit his tongue.

“Well, that’s kinda’ dumb.” Stan comments.

(If his ears weren’t mistaken, Ford could’ve sworn there was a note of genuine sympathy in Stan’s voice.)

Ford just shook his head. “The committee didn’t see my want to research anomalies as top priority. Especially when compared to things like researching the cure for cancer, or alternative energy, or artificial intelligence and whatnot.”

“But one way, or another. I managed to show them my worth. I gave them reason, after reason as to how my research could be beneficial. And eventually, they decided to give me a chance.”

Ford wrinkled his nose when he passes by some shelves filled with tacky souvenirs. One lined with snow globes, another with Mr. Mystery bobbleheads, and another filled with…ugh, those horrific Burpin’ Stanford Pines figurines. Though he stops when he comes across a nearly empty shelf lined with empty glass jars. A sign nearby tells him that these are ‘invisible fairy companions! Only $35!’.

His attention wasn’t on the obvious scam in front of him. Instead, Ford watches his face being reflected on the glass jars.

“I thought,” he says. “If I did all of that, then…maybe I could finally change the way people view them.”

“I wasn’t hoping to change everyone’s minds, but if I could get a few people to stop looking at them like something to be afraid of. Like something to be pointed, and gawked at…” He pauses, and then turns to look at Stan. “Do you see where I’m going with this?”

Stan just stares at him with a blank expression on his face.

(Dear Tesla, does he really have to spell this out?)

Ford took a deep calming breath, before saying: “What you’re doing here with the Mystery Shack. Not only is it a mockery of my life’s work, it’s a mockery of me.”

Stan narrows his eyes. “What are you talkin’ about?”

Ford could feel the threads of his self-control being cut. “Do you really not realize what you’re doing here!? You’re bringing all sorts of people in here, and teaching them it’s okay to point, and laugh at things they don’t understand. You’re teaching them to point, and laugh at things like me!”

Ford clicked his tongue. Whether Stan’s earlier confusion was genuine, or an act mattered little to him at the moment. The damage was done. To his house. To his reputation. To his life’s work.

--You’re a six-fingered freak!

And they would be right. That’s all he is. All he will ever be.

He’d lost the chance to ever prove them wrong.

“Be honest,” Ford demanded. “All those times you told me that I wasn’t a freak was a lie, wasn’t it?” He gestures towards the various exhibits in the Shack. “This is how you actually feel about me.”

“Do you also have stuffed six-fingered hand lying around? I’m surprised I haven’t seen it yet. An exhibit like that will surely—"

“You think I’d do that?” Stan asks.

Ford pauses, and then turns to Stan. And once his eyes landed on his brother, the red mist that clouded his vision seemed to dissipate at that moment.

Stan was staring at him, and though his expression was blank—there was a gamut of emotions swirling in the depths of his brother’s eyes. Raw and honest emotions that Ford didn’t want to look too closely into.

“You really think I’d do that to you?” Stan asks again. His voice quiet.

Ford opens his mouth, but he quickly finds that no words could come out. Something in Stan’s eyes. Something in the way his brother spoke, seemed to sap all the remaining fight and anger in him.

“I used to beat up every single punk who bad-mouthed you when we were kids. And ya really think that I’m gonna’ turn around, and start doin’ all that crap they did to you?” A pause. “You really think that I’m no better than guys like Crampelter?”

Ford’s looks down—suddenly finding it hard to look Stan in the eyes. “That isn’t what I…”

He tries to find something to defend himself with, but nothing kept coming up. After all, that was essentially what he had just implied wasn’t it?

The silence hung between them until Stan took several steps forward, only stopping when he’s at an arms-length in front of Ford.

“…Y’know,” Stan says. “I got a lotta reasons for starting the Mystery Shack. And that thing you just said… You think that folks come through here to point and laugh at all these arts and crafts rejects. But the only thing being pointed and laughed at in here…is me.”

“Cause you wanna’ know something?” He jabbed a finger onto Ford’s chest. “Just because you got no problems callin’ me worthless, that doesn’t mean I’m gonna’ stoop to your level and start callin’ you a…”

It took everything in him to not look away—to return Stan’s glare head on. On the outside, one might mistake him for being the picture of indifference. The only thing anyone could see was a mask of cold, hard disapproval plastered on his face

But on the inside, in the deepest parts of him where no one was privy to—part of him dreaded of what’s to come. The part of him that used to go on adventures with Stan on the beach. The part of him that used to spend whatever free time available, to work on an old derelict sailboat. The part of him that used stay up to the late hours of the night talking, and planning about the places they’d sail away to one day.

That part of him was terrified of his twin brother calling him that word.

But he knew it was coming. It’s only a matter of time. He braces himself and…

…nothing happened.

Stan just looks down, his hand falling limply back to his side. And Ford found himself letting out a breath he didn’t even knew he was holding.

Both men stood at the middle of the empty gift shop. Stan kept looking down at the floor, and Ford couldn’t seem to peel his eyes away from his brother—at how tired, and defeated he looked. His right-hand twitches, and then starts to lift and inch itself closer towards Stan.

He didn’t really know what he was trying to do. He just…has a sudden urge to reach out. But before he could make any contact, Stan took a step back from him.

“Believe it or not, I actually got lines I ain’t never gonna’ cross.” Was all Stan said to him, before he made his way outside.

The front door slammed shut.

Ford watches the door for a moment. Before his gaze, inexplicably, wanders back to the shelf lined with those Burpin’ Stanford Pines toys. It was an insult. It was his name being printed on those boxes, but looking at those figurines again—at how it was wearing a bright red fez, and a black tuxedo…the similarities that he somehow hadn’t seen before became so clear.

It was Stan.

Ford pinches the bridge of his nose. “What the hell am I doing?”

[literatureaesthetic]

a life/academia update?? i'm not sure if anyone is interested in these, but i know a lot of you follow me because i was a literature student. i thought an update, post-grad, could be valuable?

i graduated in July (still insane to me), and i honestly really miss studying. i'm an academic at heart, and there's so much to learn. taking a year away from studying was definitely the best course of action for me, though.

i would like to do my Masters, and i think next year will be the year. there were many reasons why i took a gap year, the main one being that Masters are expensive, and i definitely need at least a year to save money for it.

in the meantime, everything that's happening in Palestine has reminded me of how important my research is. if you didn't know, i wrote my dissertation on post-colonialism (with a specific focus on Palestine-Israel, and also drawing parallels to Native American colonisation - specifically the Aniwodi clan of the Cherokee people). post-colonial research is definitely gonna be my life's work, with a specific emphasis on how the past informs the future and shapes our environment and ecologies.

i've decided to finally revisit my dissertation, do some self-guided research, and slowly build upon my knowledge in the area i specialise and am accredited in. i'm also looking to publish whatever work i produce (i'll definitely post and share on here, if that happens).

if anyone has any questions, by the way, about life as a literature student or graduate life, etc. feel free to shoot me a dm/ask!! it feels like a huge weight has been lifted, now that i've figured out some kind of plan. post-grad depression is REAL, and i'm finally feeling some kind of enthusiasm about my projects/work again, which is a huge relief.

[hoedamn-eron]

baby, please - part 16

You wake up in the middle of the night and something doesn't feel right...

Warnings: This is a very sensitive chapter. If you are uncomfortable with anything involving being with doctors/in hospital, or miscarriage/pregnancy loss, please do not read. There's lots of mentions of blood. Medical jargon, I've done my best to research as much as possible but it still may be inaccurate. Mentions of unsupportive parents/family. Holiday talk (Thanksgiving - I am British so I’m just going off research on this). Mention of being sick, so emetophobia warning. Wine drinking (not you, obviously). Little swearing. Accidental Addison Montgomery cameo - I like to think it was a little nod to the original writing of Baby, Please. LONG chapter, and barely proofread. Word count: 5,317 F!Reader, no use of Y/N.

Part 15 ● Series Masterlist ● Part 17

You try not to jump in and take control of the meeting about the next launch; the project had been passed over to another team leader, who did things…not wrong, but different. Different to how you would do it anyway. You sit back in your chair, biting your tongue, as Kelsie, the other team leader, signifies ‘how little time we have on this launch’, that ‘original plans are out the window’ and ‘all hands need to be on deck’. This newest client wanted their product advertised - and on the market - as soon as possible, or at least advertised before Christmas. 

It was going to be tough. And with Thanksgiving coming up, everyone was trying to get as much done in the week before the long weekend. 

It was your first holiday without your family. Normally you would have booked a flight over to your parents’ house and spent Thanksgiving there, but no-one had contacted you, and it wasn’t from lack of trying on your end. You’d gone into the family group chat (that had been quiet since you revealed your pregnancy – you had the suspicion that a new chat was created without you) and sent a message to everyone, just checking in and wishing them a ‘happy holidays’. You figured they’d all had enough time to cool off and get used to the idea that you were pregnant, and you were doing okay, that they would love to see you and catch up, where you could tell them all about the babies you were growing. But no. You'd heard nothing back. They’d probably made a new family chat without you. 

You did have a slight breakdown to Beth and Courtney about it, and that was when Beth invited you to her and Georgia’s for Thanksgiving dinner. You insisted you’d be fine, that you’d have dinner by yourself, but she wasn’t hearing any of it. So, thankfully, you had somewhere to be and someone to be with, since Santi had plans in Panama City with his sisters, who he had recently contacted again. They gave him shit for essentially disappearing but invited him back into their lives without even blinking. 

You hadn’t expected him to invite you along, since it was a reunion of sorts, and he was telling them about you and the babies. He didn’t want to throw everything on them at once. Also, you didn’t expect him to invite you, because things had been a little awkward since the almost-kiss on Halloween. Neither of you had said anything about it, you chalked it up to the alcohol he’d been drinking. Santi was a flirt with everyone; it was probably just a blip, probably not even worth mentioning. He didn’t feel the same as you did about him. 

It was fine. Everything was fine. 

The meeting finished after another gruelling half an hour, and with a sigh, you grab your empty notebook (you really needed to start paying attention and taking notes) and stand from the chair. You were hungry, and tired, and your feet were hurting. In fact, everything was hurting. You were, honestly, feeling miserable. You needed to pee all the time, and you had a constant foot stuck under your ribs, which also hurt, and made it hard to breathe. 

“What are your plans for Thanksgiving?” Emily asks you as you sit at your desk. 

“I’m going to my friend’s,” you reply, huffing as you sit at your desk, already out of breath. Jesus, you’re the size of a whale. And you’re just going to get bigger. 

“Oh,” Emily said. “You not going to be with your...baby daddy?” 

“No, he’s visiting family,” you reply, turning back to your emails. “He’s not seen them for a while, so...” you then give her a look. “Don’t call him my ‘baby daddy’.” 

“Well what else do I call him, you haven’t given us any information!” Emily cried, rolling her eyes in exasperation. 

You grin as you type out an email to the clients regarding their wants and needs for their advertising. You found it funny that Emily hadn’t put two and two together; that it was Santiago that was the father of your kids. That she was the one who set you both up together in the first place. She knew you were due in February; she could do the math. She lived next door to him, for God’s sake, how had she not seen you coming and going? 

“My private life is separate from my work life...for once,” you say. “I’d like to keep it that way, for a little while.” 

“So I eventually will know who he is, then?” Emily asked. 

“Probably. Maybe.” 

“Boo, boring,” Emily called, before turning to her own computer. 

Maybe you’d throw her a bone. You needed some entertainment since you’d taken a few steps back in work. “Fine. What do you want to know?” 

“His name?” Emily asked, looking back at you with wide, hopeful eyes. 

You shake your head no. “Ask for something else.” 

Emily groans before looking at you. “Fine. Are you guys like, dating, or anything? Or is it just a...” 

“A what?” you ask. 

“Well, are you dating or are you just...keeping him around?” 

“’Keeping him around’?” 

“Look, I don’t know how sensitive this is!” Emily cries, throwing her hands up in surrender at the look on your face. 

You tut and roll your eyes at her theatrics. “No, we’re not dating. We’re, like...friends now, I guess. He’s sticking around for the kids. It’s nice.” 

Emily hums in thought before turning back to her computer again. “Okay. Cool. It’s nice to know you’re not alone in this, you know?” 

“I wasn’t ever going to be alone; I have my friends.” 

“You know what I mean.” 

“Single mothers get along just fine without the fathers,” you mutter. “Now let’s drop it, okay? We’ve got a lot of stuff to do and not an awful lot of time.” 

“I didn’t mean to offend - “ 

“You’ve...” you start to say she hadn’t, but you stop yourself, because you might snap at her, and it isn’t her fault for your bad mood. You take a deep breath before shaking your head, trying to give her a soft look. “You haven’t offended me. I just feel like I have a lot going on at the moment. Work is busy, it’s the holidays and I'm not spending it with my family, and I'm pregnant. I constantly need to pee, I’m always hurting somewhere, and...” And I'm in love with Santiago and I can’t do anything about it. “And I’m just feeling it at the moment.” 

Emily nods, giving you a sympathetic look. “I’m sorry. The holidays are always a tough time of year.” 

You nod and turn back to your emails. “Yeah.” 

“If it’s any comfort, I think you’re handling everything like a champ,” Emily says. 

“Thanks,” you say, giving her a small smile. “It means a lot.” 

And you meant it.

You stand outside Beth and Georgia’s house, holding a box of brownies and a bottle of wine, your contribution to the Thanksgiving dinner (you’d attempted to make the brownies yourself, but it almost, almost, ended in tears and they had tasted awful when you were done; you ended up buying a Betty Crocker mix from the store where you only needed to add an egg and some oil and water). You’d been feeling a little off all day, woozy and just generally unwell. You put it down to holiday jitters and anxiety (your family still hadn’t contacted you, and Santi was a little quiet – but you couldn’t blame him, he was still at his sister’s house). So, you made yourself get ready and vowed to enjoy yourself at Beth’s house. 

Which was where you were now. You stood outside on the porch. You can hear the muffled chatter of family and the laughs of children as they play through the house, and it reminds you of Halloween at the Morales’s. You feel your cheeks warm at the memory of the kitchen. Shaking your head, clearing the images from your brain, you ring the doorbell. You swallow down the urge to vomit, shaking your head and putting on a smile. 

You wait a few moments before Beth opens the door, smiling widely at you. “Hey, you!” 

You greet her back as she moves aside, letting you in. You loved Beth’s house. It was always warm, and inviting, and full of sentiment, even when her day-to-day work meant that her client’s want modern and minimalist living spaces. “Thanks for letting me come today. It’s been a tough week.” 

“Oh my God, don’t even thank me, you’re welcome any time,” Beth said, closing the door behind you. “Here, let me take those.” She grabs the wine and the brownies from you. “Ooh, Châteauneuf-du-Pape, very nice.” She gives you an impressed look. 

You take off your jacket and hang it in the closet by the front door. “I hope you enjoy it because I might just cry about not having any.” 

“I’m taking a leaf out of Gabs’s book, I’ll not drink tonight out of consolidation,” Beth says, leading you into the kitchen, where you take a deep breath and inhale the smells of the turkey and vegetables in the oven. Despite your upset stomach, the food did smell amazing. She places the brownies and the wine on the marble countertop. “Stocked up on Diet Coke for you.” She grabs a can from the fridge. 

You thank her as you take the can, but you don’t open it. You both go through into the living room. You take a deep breath before slowly letting it go, giving a smile to Georgia as she approaches you, giving you a hug. You then thank her for letting you join their Thanksgiving, and, like Beth, tells you to ‘stop being silly’, and that you ‘were always welcome, holiday or not’. 

Dinner goes well. You mingle and meet some of Georgia’s family, who talk to you about the wedding and what plans had been made. They ask about your pregnancy, which you were happy to answer, but one of Georgia’s older relatives - quite rudely - asks why you’re alone on Thanksgiving. You’re taken aback at the question, and before you can even remotely five some sort of answer, Beth quickly steps in and shuts down the relative with an overenthusiastic smile. You still feel queasy and just...not right. 

You wish you could drink that bottle of wine you brought. 

By the time the food is ready, you feel worse, and you try your best, but you just can’t eat. Your stomach isn’t settling, and you’re having terrible Braxton Hicks; the worst you’ve ever felt. And the rude relative, whose name is still escaping you, is still looking at you with judgement on her face. You swallow what you can, but once everyone starts talking about dessert, you have to decline. 

“I’m sorry, Beth, I’m not...I’m not feeling that great,” you mumble to your best friend after dinner, following her with some dishes into the kitchen, your almost full plate at the top of the pile. 

“Is it because of what Aunt Rose said? Because you can ignore her, she still thinks Reagan is president,” Beth said, rolling her eyes as you both place the plates down by the sink. 

You shake your head quickly, taking a step back, wincing a little at yet another tightening in your abdomen. “No, no, it’s not that. Really. I just don’t feel very well. I think I’m gonna go home.” 

“Are you sure?” Beth asks, her brow furrowed at you. “I can drive you home if you’re not up for it.” 

“I’m fine, really. I’m not too far.” 

Beth looks at you with a little uncertainty before nodding. “Okay.” 

You give a small sigh through your nose as you try and give her a smile. “I really appreciate what you’ve done for me today. Really. I would have been sat at home, sulking and feeling sorry for myself otherwise.” 

“You’re too badass to do that,” Beth said before giving you a hug. “Get home safe.” 

“I’ll let you know when I’m home,” you say, giving Beth a final squeeze before you let her go. 

After grabbing your coat, you say goodbye to Georgia and thank her again for the dinner. She insists you take some of the Diet Coke they had in the fridge, and eventually, leave, a box of cans in your hands. You place them in your car, but you take a moment to leave against the frame, taking a few deep breaths as more Braxton Hicks hit you. 

“Come on, you’re fine,” you mutter to yourself, trying to keep the vomit down. “It’s just practice contractions; you’ve dealt with them before. The books said they’ll be more frequent around now.” 

You eventually make it into your car and drive home. You don’t bother carrying the box of cans up to your apartment, opting to leave them in the car. You slowly make your way to your apartment, sighing in relief at you close the door behind you. Although not as comfortable as it once was, since you had started packing some of your stuff away for the move in a few weeks, your apartment was still your safe space, and right now, you needed to relax. You send Beth a text, thanking her again for inviting you to Thanksgiving, and apologising for leaving so early. 

Then you strip and run yourself a bath, tossing your phone by the sink. You go all out, using candles and bubble bath, and some pregnancy safe bath salts that Courtney had gifted you. You sigh as you sink into the warm water, closing your eyes and slowly stroking your bump. The twins were quiet, not kicking as much, but maybe because the Braxton Hicks don’t feel as intense as you settle into the water, letting the bubbles float around you, the floral aromas from the salt filling the air. 

You must have dozed off, because when you open your eyes again, most of the bubbles had gone, and the water was considerably cooler. You sigh as you sit up and check the time on your phone. Yup, an hour had passed since you got home. You groan as you climb out the bath and grab a towel. You wrap it around yourself, then make your way to your bedroom. You get into your pyjamas, fully intending on crawling into bed and sleeping the rest of Thanksgiving away. 

However, as you turn to get into your bed, you wince again as there’s another tightening in your abdomen; so much so that you stop yourself again, having to lean against your chest of drawers. 

It’s fine. It’s normal. There’s not enough room for them both, so I will feel more uncomfortable. 

“I just need sleep,” you mutter to yourself. 

After a few more deep breaths, you climb into bed, leaning against your headboard as you stare at your bump. They were still quiet in there. You poke at your belly, trying to prompt a reaction. The twins were usually so active at this time, when you’re about to go to bed. It was as if they knew you would be going to sleep, and they decide to have a party in your uterus. 

You find yourself caught in the web of overthinking, a maze of thoughts that seem to have no end. Anxiousness creeps in like a silent intruder, casting shadows over your mind. Every thought, no matter how trivial, becomes a tangled mess of possibilities. The more you try to untangle the threads, the more they seem to multiply, creating a web of uncertainty. 

The weight of uncertainty is bearing down on you, and the fear of making the wrong choice paralyses your ability to think logically. Your mind refuses to quiet down as you wonder what was going on. 

You take in a shaky breath, before closing your eyes and counting to ten, twice. You try not to worry. You’ve been overthinking a lot, and you’re not feeling fantastic. They might just be feeling your uneasiness, about the holidays, about Santi, about your family. And you’d been socialising a lot with new people; maybe you just needed a break. 

Yeah. You just need a break. Maybe you could look into a ‘babymoon’, something Gabrielle had desperately wanted but Matthew couldn’t get the time off work, for both Theodore and Luna. Maybe you could take her along. Or would Santi want to go? It would make more sense to take Santi. But was that too forward? Too…couple-y? 

You’re overthinking again. 

With a one final pat to your bump, you send a final text, telling Santi goodnight, and you hope he’s had a good Thanksgiving with his sisters and their families. He sends you back a goodnight, and that he’ll see you when he gets back. He also mentioned his sisters were excited to meet you and become Tías. You smiled at the thought; at least Santi’s family were excited about your pregnancy. 

You put your phone on the side table, closing your eyes and letting sleep overcome you. 

However, hours later, you wake violently, gasping loudly at the pain. You sit in your bed for a moment, hands on your bump as you take a few breaths, before letting out a small cry at another rush of pain. No, something was wrong. You needed to go to the hospital. 

Shakily, you turn on your bedside lamp, and the room was illuminated in a warm glow. You throw back the covers and let out another loud cry at the sight of the blood on the sheets, and between your legs. 

I should have gone earlier; I shouldn’t have waited. 

You go to stand, but the pain was too much. You let out a sob as you grip your abdomen, leaning forward as you try and breathe. You reach out blindly for your phone, not really checking the time, before you scroll through your contacts and finding Beth’s number. You quietly sob as you wait for her to answer, the phone ringing out, feeling like a lifetime. 

When you were about to give up, she answers with a groggy, “Hello?” 

“H-hi,” you sob. “I’m s-s-so sorry i-it's late, and - “ 

“Are you okay? Are you hurt?” she asks, suddenly alert. You can hear shuffling on the other end of the phone. 

You sob again. “There’s some-s-something wrong, I-I-I need the hospital.” 

“We’ll be there in five minutes, stay on the phone with me, okay? Don’t move.” 

You give a shaky “okay,” down the phone. Everything sounds fuzzy as you focus on the pain, almost frozen to your place in your bed. You vaguely hear Beth talking to Georgia down the phone, sounding frantic, and you can soon hear the sound of a car engine. All you can do is nod as Beth talks down the phone to you. You were shaking, both in pain and at the sight of the blood seeping into the sheets. 

They were tainted. You need to throw them out. 

True to her word, Beth soon arrived, using her spare key to your apartment to let herself and Georgia in. You hang up your phone, but you don’t feel all there when Beth is kneeling down in front of you, talking to you gently as Georgia goes around your room, you’re assuming she’s packing a bag for you. 

“Let’s get you cleaned up, okay?” Beth asks, gently taking your hands and lifting you from the bed. You hear her hiss through her teeth at the sheets. 

You let out another loud sob. “Is it bad?” 

“No, honey, it’s not a lot, okay? It just took me by surprise. Don’t worry about it right now, okay, let’s just get you to the hospital.” 

You nod, and you let her guide you to your bathroom, where Georgia had tossed in some clean clothes. You luckily had some pads still sat in your medicine cabinet, so Beth situated one in your underwear. 

Georgia knocked on the door, but didn’t come in. “I packed a bag. I have a change of clothes and your phone and charger, some slippers. I can pack your toothbrush and a towel. Do you need anything else?” 

“N-no, no. Thank you,” you say. 

Beth grabs your toothbrush and a towel and tosses them to Georgia before turning back to you. “Come on, we’ll get in my car.” 

You sob again, looking at her as tears stream down your face. “What if - “ 

“Let’s not think about ‘what if’s right now, okay? Let’s talk to a doctor.” 

You make it to Beth’s car, slowly and carefully, and soon you’re on the way to the hospital. You're still cramping, but the pain wasn’t getting any worse. You can hear Beth talking to Georgia but you’re not sure what about before Beth turns to you. “Do you want me to call Santi?” 

Oh God, Santi. What do you say to him? You didn’t want to worry him. It’s almost four in the morning, he’s probably asleep. You don’t want to impose on his time with his family, especially since he’s not seen them for so long. He’s five hours away, and you could just see him speeding down the highway in that stupid truck of his. 

“No, no, I don’t want to worry him,” you say, shaking your head. 

Beth sternly says your name, causing you to look at her with wide eyes. “These are his children. He needs to know.” 

“He’s five hours away, Beth, what am I supposed to do? I’ll ruin his Thanksgiving!” 

“You are not ruining anything,” Beth says sternly. “I know you’re scared, and you feel like you need to handle this on your own and not be a burden, but you’re not alone. You’re not a burden. Now do you want me to call Santi?” 

You look at her, fresh tears pooling in your eyes. You suck in your lips and nod wordlessly. 

“Okay,” Beth said, digging in your bag for your phone. She knew your passcode and had no problem getting to your contacts. After a few moments, she puts the phone to her ear. It takes a while, and Santi doesn’t answer. Beth leaves him a message, introducing herself and giving him a quick rundown of the situation. She ends the voicemail with telling him to call back as soon as he could. 

Beth continues to calm you with soft words and promises that you’ll get through this, that you’re not alone and they were there for you. 

All you could do was nod at her. 

You arrive soon at the hospital, Beth clambering out the car before Georgia could even stop the car. Beth helped you out gently as Georgia grabbed your bag, and the two brought you through to the front desk, where the nurse behind the station didn’t even hesitate to call in a doctor and get you a wheelchair as Beth spouted off what was wrong. 

You were wheeled off to obstetrics and gynaecology and placed into an examination room. You settle yourself in the bed as a redheaded doctor, a woman, comes into the room with a dark-haired nurse, also a woman, and introduces themselves as Dr Montgomery and Alisha, as they set up some bands around your bump. Dr Montgomery asks you what happened, and you fill her in as best as you could, telling her that the twins weren’t moving as much and when the pains started, you had bled. Beth had to take over a few times as it becomes too much for you, her hand tightly squeezing yours. You weren’t sure how long you’d been holding it. 

Dr Montgomery nods and writes it down on her clipboard before she gives you a gentle look. “Has anything like this happened before?” 

You shake your head. “N-no. I’ve not had any issues before.” 

“And this is your first pregnancy?” 

You nod again. 

Dr Montgomery nodded, writing down the notes before she gives you another smile. “We’ll monitor your tightenings, and we’ll examine the bleeding. We’ll also schedule in an ultrasound and take a look at your babies, okay?” 

Dr Montgomery was nice. She had a kind smile, and she was calm, and you felt safe. You nod at her. “Okay.” 

Dr Montgomery looked at Beth and Georgia. “Are you two...” 

“We’re her friends,” Beth answered. “Her family is out of state, and the father is visiting family for Thanksgiving.” 

You appreciate Beth keeping a level head and not going into too much detail. 

Dr Montgomery nodded. “Usually we only allow family, but we’ll let it slide for now. Although one of you might have to leave later today.” 

“’I’ll go,” Georgia said. “I have my family at home anyway, I’ll need to keep them busy when they wake up.” 

“I’m so sorry – “ 

“Stop apologising,” Beth said, giving you a stern look. “This isn’t something you can control, okay? It’s not your fault.” 

Georgia nodded, placing your bag on the chair. “Keep me posted, okay?” she gives Beth a kiss, and then leans down to give you a tight hug before pulling away and telling Beth she’ll text her later before leaving. 

Alisha checks the monitor on the babies’ movements, before nodding and looking at Dr Montgomery. “Movements detected; we’ll monitor over the next hour.” 

“Good,” said Dr Montgomery before turning to you. “Are you okay with me examining you?” 

“I don’t have a choice,” you say. 

Beth gave your hand another squeeze. 

“Okay,” Dr Montgomery said before talking to Alisha, before they examine you. 

It was intrusive, and painful. You hated every second of it, and you sobbed even more, not knowing what was going on and what was happening to your babies. 

“Everything will be okay,” Beth whispered to you. “It might not seem like it now, but it will be.” 

“How heavy was the flow?” Dr Montgomery asked. 

“I…uh…I don’t know,” you say, your breathing shaking a little. “I didn’t…it was enough for me to panic.” 

Dr Montgomery nodded before she appeared from your legs. “Well, it looks like it’s subsided. We’ll come back in an hour and check out your states. In the meantime, I’ll arrange an ultrasound.” 

“Thank you, Dr Montgomery,” Beth said, giving a closed lipped smile as Dr Montgomery and Alisha walked out the room. 

You throw your arm over your eyes and lay back on the bed, trying to calm your breathing again as your heart thuds heavily in your chest. 

“Hey, don’t panic, okay? We’re here now, Dr Montgomery is gonna look after you.” 

You couldn’t answer her. Now that you were here, laying in a hospital bed, hooked up to monitors, it all became very overwhelming. You sobbed quietly, Beth holding your hand before leaning over and holding you, letting you cry into her shoulder. She strokes your hair, and murmurs comforting words as she lets you sob loudly, soaking her jacket with tears. Beth says nothing about it. 

After a while, you lift your head, and wipe at your eyes. “I got snot on your jacket.” 

She snorts in amusement. “I’ve had worse on me.” 

“I don’t want to know,” you say, giving a weak chuckle, tears still slowly running down your cheeks. 

Beth gives you a light swat on the arm, giving her own small laugh before passing you a tissue from your bedside cabinet. You take it gratefully before wiping your face. You both go into a lull, listening to the general sounds of the hospital room. 

Beth is first to break the silence. “What do you want me to tell the others?” 

You shake your head. “Nothing, yet.” you take a deep breath. “I feel awful. Physically and emotionally.” 

“You don’t have to share if you don’t want to. Not right now.” 

You merely nod at her, before going silent again. 

You manage to get some sleep, but it wasn’t long after that Dr Montgomery comes back to check on you. She checks you over, and is glad to say the bleeding had stopped, and the monitors have detected that there has been a decrease in tightenings, and the babies seem to be moving a little more. 

“But I would still like to get an ultrasound,” she had said. 

It was arranged for 9am, which gave you a few hours to rest. You told Beth she could go home, but she told you to not ‘be silly’, that she was ‘going to stay right here’. You were thankful for her support. 

Santi eventually calls just before you go for the ultrasound, when Alisha was setting you up in a wheelchair. 

You answer the phone after Beth passes it over. “Santi - “ 

“What happened? Are you okay? Are the babies okay?” he throws question after question at you, and you barely can get a word in until he calms down. 

“I had a scare,” you tell him gently. “I’m in the hospital now, about to go for a scan. Dr Montgomery is positive that everything is okay - “ 

“Shit, I can be there in...if I go faster than the speed limit, I can get there in a few hours - “ 

“Santiago, do not kill yourself trying to get down here.” 

“I’m leaving right now,” he says, and you can hear him shuffling in the background; he must be packing his bag. “I can be there in five hours, okay?” 

“Santi, listen to me,” you say. “You don’t...you don’t need to come down, okay?” 

Beth’s eyes widen at you, but you wave her off. 

“It’s Thanksgiving, you haven’t seen your sisters for years, I...you don’t need to come.” 

There was silence on the other end of the phone for a while before he finally asks, “Do you want me there?” 

Your heart breaks. He sounded so unsure. “Santi, of course I do - “ 

“Then let me be there,” he says. “These are my kids. This is you.” 

You bite your lip before nodding. “Okay,” you whisper. “I’m sorry.” 

“This isn’t your fault,” he says. “I need you to know that.” 

You talk a little more, asking how his Thanksgiving was (“How are you asking me that right now?”), and what else he had planned for the day (“Nothing, I'm coming home to be with you.”). You felt lighter talking to him, that he didn’t blame you for what happened, that he was just happy to hear that you were in the hospital and getting checked out. You told him to prepare for bad news, if Dr Montgomery found anything. 

“If anything comes back...bad,” he starts. “Then...we’ll deal with it. We’ll make a plan.” 

You hesitated for a moment before muttering back the affirmative. You wanted everything to be okay. You needed everything to be okay. You needed these babies healthy, and happy. 

"I have to go,” you say to him. 

“I’ll be there as soon as I can, okay?” he says to you. 

“Okay. Bye, Santi.” 

“I’ll see you soon, cariño.” 

You hang up the phone with a shaky breath before handing it back to Beth, who placed it back in your bag. “Is he coming?” she asks. 

You nod. “Yeah, he’s leaving his sister’s now.” 

Beth nods. “Good,” she says, before you both turn to look at the door as it opens, and Dr Montgomery steps through. 

Dr Montgomery smiles softly at you from your place in your wheelchair. “Are you ready?”

Tagged - @khonsulockley, @bluenredndeath, @superficialfeelings, @othersideoftheparadise, @beezusvreeland