#but my goblin brain is of course saying that he doesn’t want to fuck me bc my body is gross

[eversncenewyork]

more yupdates

[cowpokeomens]

I think Davis would be very into cosplay in the bedroom, not to be pointing out the obvious but he's a comic book guy and to add on to that, we've all seen the fireman outfit photo by now right?

Also I think he's the type to let you dominate the fuck out of him in private. He wants you on top, setting the pace. In public he'll have his arm around you making sure nobody comes close. Idk though I ha e t thought about it that much...

Davis has been heavy on my spirit since yesterday

Here are some of my thoughts:

Davis

- tits guy. Likes how they move when he fucks you hard (the only way he fucks you, because he likes how they move)

- soooo into role play. So into it. You don’t need to method act or anything, putting on whatever outfit he’s dreamed of is perfectly effective!

- softie :-/ very very soft, probably draw pictures of you/for you, wants to cook you dinner, likes having you sit in his lap because he’s a Big Strong Man

- definitely lets you dom him, is more than happy to hand over the reins for you to bounce on his cock in his lap, he’s not stupid of course he’ll let you do that!!!!!

- definitely the sort to be proud of what he pulled. He’s never gonna say “that shirt is too revealing” because he’s like “yeah my baby’s tits are out I can’t believe she’s gonna come home with me this is crazy everyone look what I pulled!!!” Like has zero fear that other people seeing you is gonna make your eye wander.

- if you’re also the creative sort it gets him rock fucking hard. Art, writing, music, whatever- if you’re into any kind of creative endeavors he’s promoting your work and bragging about your accomplishments and skill to anyone who will listen

- if you’re also into comics, he’s proposing. If you’re not into comics but want to be, he’s sending you home with a stack of his recommendations (I also have a stack of recommendations feel free to ask for them) and then he’s asking your opinions on each of them because he likes your brain and how you interpret and understand things :-/

- I don’t think he’s a munch, but he does have Cum Goblin energy for sure. Like he will give you head, but it’s definitely more of a service to you than a thing for him. Let him cum on your tits though and you’re locked in, he’s deleting the dating apps and asking if you want to be exclusive :-/

- probably gets really really shy when any of the guys ask about you before you’re officially dating. Doesn’t wanna jinx anything :-( but they see him smiling at his phone and they notice him disappearing on the weekends! He’s not subtle!

- yeah :-/ I want him to raw me *long suffering sigh*

[squishmallow36]

Aro Dex Fic I don't feel like Titling

Word count: 2333

Tw: swearing, murder/near death experience mentions (i promise it's fluffy tho)

Taglist (lmk if you want to be added/removed!): @stellar-lune @gaslight-gaetkeep-gayboss @kamikothe1and0lny @nyxpixels @florida-preposterously @poppinspop @uni-seahorse-572 @solreefs @the-blender-of-the-genders @rusted-phone-calls @when-wax-wings-melt @immersion-blender @good-old-fashioned-lover-boy7 @dexter-dizzknees @abubble125 @hi-imgrapes @callum-hunt-is-bisexual @xanadaus @callas-pancake-tree @hi-my-name-is-awesome @katniss-elizabeth-chase @arson-anarchy-death

And of course a HUGE thank you to @synonymroll648 for giving me the motivation to write this thing. It'd still be rotting in my google drive if it weren't for you and I hope it lives up to your expectations from that one snippet. Sorry it took an extra day; I got distracted playing factorio in true Dex fashion

On Ao3 or below the cut!

    A knock at Dex’s bedroom door cuts through xor blaring music. Xe’s fully prepared to wage all-out guerilla warfare against whichever one of xor siblings dared to interrupt one of the few times xor brain isn’t being a little bitch. 

    One of the very few times xe isn’t worrying about seventeen thousand different productive things xe has to do and is instead simply able to ignore them. 

    And that’s exactly why xe’s spent the last two and a half hours coding a game of bingo. Sometimes that just kind of happens. It’s not like there’s anything xe can do to change it. 

    Dex pulls out his earbuds, calling, “Come in!” 

    Sophie’s head pokes through a small gap in the doorway as she greets, “Hello!” 

    Awfully cheery for someone who has a near-death experience once a week. I wonder what Keefe’s done this time. 

    “Oh, hey.” Dex smiles. “I didn’t know I still existed in your mind.” 

    Sophie closes the door behind him as he points to his temple, giggling, “Photographic memory.”

    “Ah. That explains it. What sort of project do you have for me this time?” Despite what she may claim and what Dex wants to admit to xemself, Sophie has a…tendency to only come see xem when she has a project for xem. That’s just the way it works these days.  

    “Hide me from Sandy. I don’t want to deal with him today,” Sophie answers, smooshing into the bean bag in the corner. 

    Dex sighs. “If you get murdered under my watch, I better not get blamed.” 

    Xe may mean it in a joking way, but history has shown it’s a possibility that shouldn’t be immediately discounted, and then it would be all xor fault if something happened to him. 

    Sophie makes a disgruntled noise. “You sound just like Sandy.” 

    A smile pulls at the corners of Dex’s mouth. “...Maybe I’m part Goblin. That would explain a lot.” 

    What exactly it would explain, xe doesn’t know. But there’s probably something somewhere. 

    “Like the fact you’re seventeen feet tall?” 

    Note to self: learn the US customary system of measurement. 

    At least, the way she says this implies that this is a large number even if the Elves don’t measure things in feet. Feet--as in, the attached appendages--vary in size too much for their pretentiousness because everything has to be standardized. 

    But not the same way humans do. The human metric system isn’t good enough either. Why that is, nobody knows. 

    “I’m a normal height. You’re just short.” 

    Actually, xe’s half a maik taller than the average elf, but that’s close enough for the sake of argument. 

    “You know what? Fuck you.” Sophie replies, getting up from the bean bag and burrowing into Dex’s bed. 

    Or at least that’s what it sounds like he says. The blanket muffle factor is very high. 

    He pauses for a second before mumbling, “I live here now.” 

    I really hope you can breathe in there. 

    “Mood.” Dex turns to go back to xor Bingo project, but xe has a thought--wasting xor only one for this week on a Tuesday--

    Why do Elves use the same Gregorian calendar as humans do anyway? Eh, whatever. That’s an issue for another day. 

    --and asks Sophie, “Why didn’t you choose to go brother Keefe?” 

    “More time before Sandy finds me. He’d check there first. Or maybe Everglen. Either way, it’s high up on the list.” 

    Dex shakes xor head. “So you’re trading my life for what? Ten minutes of being buried in a blanket cocoon? Can’t you do that at home?”

    “Well, yeah, but I don’t have Gwendle at home,” she replies, crushing the fluffy pink pig’s head in with her elbow. 

    “If something happens to Gwendle, I swear to fucking Exile the Neverseen are going to look like a bunch of Level Twos.” 

    “Level Twos are vicious, my dude. I hope you can bring it.” 

    “I know. I live with three of them. Send help.” 

    Sophie does not seem to take this as an actual plea for help. Or actively chooses to let Dex suffer. 

    “Wait, the triplets are Level Twos? They’re still supposed to be like,” Sophie pauses, “seven.” 

    “They were nine the first time you met them!” 

    “That’s both wrong and incorrect.” 

     No, unfortunately, it is neither of the above. And Dex has learned from the most obnoxious of Level Twos, so any sort of punishment xe creates is certain to be horribly painful. 

    Sophie recovers quickly from this revelation, asking, “So what’s new in your life?”

    “Not much. I have a random bruise on my arm and I’m not sure how it got there.” Xe tries to show her, but his head is buried in the blanket cocoon and has no chance of appreciating the yellow blob.

    Is it weird my bruises don’t really go through the bruise-looking purplish stage and instead go directly to yellow-green? I should Google that at some point.

    “How about you,” xe tacks on after a moment because that is the correct next step of the social contract. 

    “I’ve been experiencing gay thoughts for Keefie. You know how it is.” 

    Dex laughs nervously. No, I don’t, Sophie. 

    It’s not that Keefe isn’t objectively attractive, all Elves are, but that’s part of the problem. If all Elves are gorgeous, then none of them are.  

    Don’t blame me for getting my philosophy from The Incredibles. There’s only so much I can do. 

    “Oh, and, uh, by the way. I’m not exactly straight,” Sophie mentions casually. 

    Dex sees flashbacks of one of the last times xe was trying to procrastinate, trying to find Amy on human Social Media because that seemed like a good use of his time. 

    Incidentally, he found both Amy and Sophie, who stated in his description that he’s bi. Also the gender thing. That should also count for something although that hasn’t been updated in a while and still included they/them which has since been blacklisted for reasons.

    “I--I know. I stalked your Instagram page.”

    Sophie sits up, blankets puddling around her, hair standing on end from static. “You found that?”

    “I’m a Technopath with too much free time so…yeah.” Dex shrugs. “Spent some time trying to look through every single Sophie Foster but then I figured Amy would probably be following you and somehow she managed to find me a while ago.”

    “Why the fuck do you even have an Instagram?” 

    “I’ve got to keep up with the chocolate man’s bullshittery,” Dex replies like it’s the most obvious answer in the world. 

    Sophie clearly has no clue who Dex is talking about, but doesn’t bother asking. There are some days when going to a lecture is almost tolerable, but she’s not going to waste her free time away from Sandor to learn. “Fair.” He pauses, falling back into the bed with a huff. “You’re smart. Can you explain something to me?” 

    “I can try?” Dex replies, attempting to mentally prepare for whatever he tries to throw at xem. 

    “Elves are fucking stunning, yes?”

    Xe was not prepared for that. 

    “Yes?” Objectively, of course, but yes. 

    “So can you explain to me why my gay awakening was caused by Grace O’Malley? Like, what the fuck, brain? She’s been dead for centuries. I don't understand this. And this postdates moving to the Lost Cities by the way. This was two months ago.” 

     I could’ve told you two years ago, but I was oblivious to myself so I’m not going to be like that. Not today. 

    Dex nods like xe understands what she’s saying, but despite xor human studies, xe has no clue who this is, but there’s reasoning behind it. Just like the entire conversation they had ranking all the US presidents by how attractive they were. 

    That Franklin Pierce won by a large margin.

     Why that was a conversation, xe couldn’t tell you. Why Grace O’Malley is causing Sophie so many gay thoughts, xe couldn’t tell you either. 

    “You have no clue who I’m talking about, do you?” Sophie asks. 

    “No but that doesn’t mean I don’t have Wikipedia…but, please be my Wikipedia for this. It’s sure to be more entertaining than normal Wikipedia.” 

    “I see you’re enjoying my suffering,” Sophie mutters, but before Dex can reply, he’s off on a rambled explanation. “Grace O’Malley, also known as Granuaile, was the baddest bitch that ever lived. I mean yes she was documented to have a husband at one point and a boyfriend at another point but then he was killed and she absolutely fucked his killers over so, yoou know, that comes out even. She’s known today as the pirate queen of Ireland and, gods, I wish she’d step on me.” 

    Are the Allos okay? 

    “None of my little gay thoughts make any sense. By any rational means my gay awakening should’ve been Biana or Marella or Linh. Oh gods, Linh is so pretty. Isn’t Linh so pretty?”

    “I…haven’t really thought about it I guess.” 

    “What the fuck do you mean, my dude?” Sophie asks, sitting up once again to stare into Dex’s soul.

    Dex shrugs. “I mean it just hasn’t really crossed my mind.”     

    Sophie buries his head in his hands. “What do you mean it hasn’t crossed your mind‽ I can’t seem to have any other thoughts even when I’m literally in the middle of getting murdered.”

    Dex takes a breath. “Would you like a possible explanation to this whole dilemma?”

    Cranking sarcasm up to eleven, Sophie replies, “No. I enjoy suffering this anguish. Teach me your ways.” 

    “Yeah, so, um. A couple of weeks ago I might’ve come to the realization that I’m aro…”

    Smiling, Sophie asks in pretend anger, “Why the fuck did I kiss you then?” 

    “You see, what I believed was romantic attraction was really just a wonderful combination of a squish and comphet. So yeah. That happened. I’m sorry.” 

    “Oh, don’t be sorry. Elves being painfully blind to the obvious is just simply a genetic trait we all seem to share.” 

    “...I thought I was part goblin.”

    “You inherited the worst of both worlds. Obliviousness and being tall,” Sophie laughs.”So how’d you overcome your predisposition to obliviousness?” 

    Dex begins, “I was laying in bed one night at about, let’s say three a.m. because that’s better than the actual time, refusing to sleep because sleep is for losers--”

    “Mood,” Sophie interrupts.

    “--and out of nowhere the realization hit me like a sack of wet mice. Looking back, the lack of heart palpitations should have been a very telling sign. And there was some sorting out and reclassifying what I previously believed was romantic attraction but everything can be explained away pretty easily,” Dex finishes. 

    “Palpitations? Is that related to Emperor Palpatine? Dex, are you gay for a crusty old Star Wars dude?” Sophie jokes.

    Dex laughs. “That would be so on brand for me but, sadly, no. You know when your heart gets fluttery during a panic attack? It’s the fancy medical word for that.”

    “Why do you know this? You aren’t a healer; you don’t like people enough for that.” 

    “Partially because Merriam-Webster offers a word of the day calendar and partially because my brain just sometimes decides to store the most useless shit. Like the periodic table. Can you tell me the molar mass of copper off the top of your head?”

    “63.55, of course. But you don’t have a photographic memory. This makes no sense to me.”

    “You see, to make room for all that extra storage, I forget an equal number of things. Often the victims are remembering to eat and sleep and which way is left and right.” 

    “Mood. Do you know the left hand right hand trick?”

    “...no?” Dex answers. 

    “If you hold out your left hand, it looks like an ‘L’ which is the same letter that starts the word left. And the right hand is backwards,” Sophie explains. 

    “I hate to break this to you, Soph, but that might be the case in the Latin Alphabet--I should really get back to Duolingo--but that’s not how it works in Elvin runes. And I have a feeling it would take more brain power to remember the rule than to remember left and right so I think I’m just not going to know directions ever. I’ve resigned myself to my fate.” 

    Before he can craft an elaborate mnemonic device to help both of them with a skill they probably should have learned in elf-kindergarten, Dex’s mom yells up the stairs for xem. 

    Half a second later, she’s followed up by a chorus of slightly-off-timed “DEX!”s from the triplets. 

    Xe cracks the door open, replying, “Yeah?” 

    “You wouldn’t happen to know where Sophie might be, eh?” 

    The triplets attempt to also repeat this, to vastly more disastrous results as Dex and Sophie have the shortest staring contest in recorded history. 

    ‘I’ll send her right down!” Dex says, trying to keep any sort of emotion from xor face to no avail. 

    Sophie’s gaze hardens into a glare with the fury of an incredibly cliche but still somehow accurate thousand suns. 

    “You can go and fuck yourself,” he says quietly. 

    Dex pretends to consider. “Nah, I’m too ace for that. Now. Begone before Sandor comes and destroys my room. Everything has its assigned place and I’m not in the mood to reorganize. Not today.” 

    “Bye! If I never get to leave the house again I’ll hail you when I get bored.” 

    Please don’t. I’d rather not have a panic attack and avoiding calls is a very good way to do that. 

    Dex waves as Sophie escapes xor room and down the stairs. If she gets kidnapped by the triplets on the way down, it isn’t xor fault. 

    Xe collapses back into xor chair, leaning too far back and scaring xemself before sighing. 

    That was…less painful than anticipated. Still not telling my mother any time in the next thousand years though. Even with a society constructed around the arospecs we call the council. That’s not happening. Not under my watch. 

[womanlives]

THESE BRAIN BUGS REALLY KNOW HOW TO FUCK UP A PERFECTLY NICE MOMENT. One second Mercy’s trying her best to illicit a laugh; the next she’s in the middle of a city on fire. The whiplash is excruciating as two traumas erupt simultaneously and collide. Panic, fear — hers, and yet not hers at the same time — family? Then someone’s boot crashes down on her skull and the vision splits in two. Her mind reels. In front of her, Bethany winces and folds in two.

“Waukeen’s — tits.” It comes out as a strangled gasp. Mercy? Not being able to curse? Truly, a horrifying first. She does her best to be cavalier, trying to summon up a nonchalant little laugh with a wave of her hand. This? Oh, happens all the time! But the fear’s still there. It’s transformed, see, and it’s growing ever stronger.

First fear, worst fear: what will you do, little girl, if Bethany sees? She shies away from the answer, and her tadpole takes full advantage. The connection’s still closing, see; there’s still a crack.

In the wake of the stampede, the dust rises. It takes the shape of a wizened, bony man with the longest fingers you ever did see. He has a kind face, but that doesn’t change the fact that he’s got you by the throat. You’re small; those long fingers wrap all the way ‘round and squeeze. What did you see, Girl? The press of a blade against the flat of your starving stomach. What did you see?

Reality crashes back with an audible snap. And with it, a revelation. Mercy’d been lackadaisical about the threat of the tadpole before — if it wanted to flay her skin from mind, it would have gotten on with it, already — but not anymore. A whisper, from somewhere long-forgotten in the dark: our secrets die with us.

Redirect; cover. Pretend, pretend, pretend. Mercy finds the end of Bethany’s sentence and clings to it like a drowning man to a piece of driftwood. “Baldur’s Gate?” Gods be damned. Of course it’s Baldur’s fuckin’ Gate. “Oh. Well. It’s a nice enough city — ” lie “ — and I’m sure your uncle’ll be more than happy to take you in — ” lie “ — and who knows? Maybe you’re right. Maybe we will meet ‘em somewhere along the way.”

Lie, lie, lie.

Mercy rubs at her forehead. Searching for anyone?

“Yeah,” she says, and it’s so depressingly easy to keep the wheels turning. She grins at Bethany, then lifts a hand to hover about a foot or so above her head. “Someone tall. Brooding, but with a sense of humor. Buff, so they can carry our shit. Patient, kind, yada yada, but most importantly: rich. Really fuckin’ rich. I mean, buy a godsdamned town-level rich.” Money is power. Money will always be power. She wiggles her eyebrows. “Thoughtful — the sort that gets you presents, and not just when they’ve fucked up. With dimples, maybe. Should I add dimples to the list? Or am I setting my standards too high?”

A faux pout. Then she shrugs, and brightens.

“Whatever. We’re probably better off looking for your people. Since, y’know. They actually exist.” Mercy nudges Bethany’s side with a wink. There’s a moment of silence as she looks back down at her pack. This isn’t what she’d intended it for, but — fuck it. She reaches in and pulls out a small, beautifully ornate box. Unlike a lot of shit she carries around, this has been treated with obvious care: cleaned, polished, loved. It’s a music box — the very same as the one that’d been nestled behind the goblin trader in their camp. Now it’s clear why Mercy’d started that game of ‘spin the bottle’ with all those drunk goblins a few days prior.

“Here.” She passes it to Bethany. “Kinda outta tune, but.” A shrug, albeit a sheepish one. “I dunno. Struck me as odd, to see such a pretty little thing in that camp. Survived the burning of Waukeen’s Rest just like you survived the shitshow that was — whatever that was. So.”

She scratches her cheek. There’s a week-old cut that’s healing, and it’s starting to itch something awful.

“Maybe before we head out, we check back in with the druids, yeah? They got powerful magic. Maybe one of ‘em can do that thing where they look from afar. Scrying, yeah?” A small crack in the façade: this isn’t common magic. At least, not to the average thief. That she knows about it all speaks to powerful friends — and, perhaps more truthful, powerful enemies.

The good old 'infinitely disarming' trick. Always a fun gag. Bethany had seen something similar once from her friend Isabela when she had taken her out to The Bent Helm. The amount of knives that 'bela could conceal on her person was inspirational, quite frankly.

But Mercy's joke nor the nostalgia of memory are quite enough to pull her mind completely back from that clouded feeling of being so utterly and unpleasantly adrift that hangs in her skull like an unseen weight. The companionship of those she's met who all share a tadpole'd fate is nice, bonds of circumstance strengthening with each new battle and twist in the road both literal and metaphorical, but the absence of her twin -- of all her family -- is like a cold shard in her innards every time she thinks about it.

Solution: Try not to think about it. Which has even worked some of the time, but it fails her now.

An odd throb in her temple is provoked by Mercy's question, a sensation that has been growing uncomfortably more familiar of late. The tadpole wriggles in her skull as if tapdancing upon her misery, and unbidden it searches for connection with Mercy's as the last memory Bethany has of Carver begins to unravel and threads between them.

Screaming in the streets. Fire. The smell of sulphur and death. Pained cries. A crowd surging in every direction all at once, chaotically. A brief glimpse of Carver and mother Leandra as bodies part then slam together again as people attempt to flee, making a wall separating them. Her own scream, drowned out in the cacophony. Slipping on blood-slicked streets. Almost being trampled to death by a stampede and barely making it out intact.

"Shit. Sorry. I didn't mean to do that. I don't know HOW the worm did that. Fuck." An innocent question, no doubt conversationally meant, didn't warrant a front row to a horrific snapshot of the descent. Bethany's issues and pain are her own and should not be inflicted on others. "Sorry," She repeats. "But that's the last I saw of them. If we got separated and made it out alive we were to meet in Baldur's Gate, I have an uncle there. Who knows, maybe we'll even meet them on the way." There's a forced inflection of hope in her voice, mustering a force of positivity that she doesn't fully feel.

"What about you, you searching for anyone?"

[kagejima]

Oh-kay so I just spent the last however much time catchin up on your blog from the last week and a half —cause I usually have your post notifs on but I’ve been not on here in a minute.

BUT all this to say that I’m thinkin bout some nsfw Ushi things and since Wakatoshi Wednesday is upon us I thought I’d share with ya

—so I guarantee it’s been though of before but it’s fine lmao

Wakatoshi who doesn’t really acknowledge the size difference between you at first, because most everyone’s smaller than him so yeah of course his new partner is smaller that’s not abnormal

Wakatoshi who doesn’t pay attention until Tendou meets his partner for the first time and makes some comment like “they’re so small compared to you!” and “jeez that’s quite the size difference” and “you’re careful with them right?” in a teasing tone as he’s wagging his eyebrows “knowingly”

Now it’s “knowingly” in quotations because y’all haven’t done anything yet because Ushijima is respectful and the relationship is still on the newer side

But Ushijima is slowly becoming more aware of how much smaller you are than him—he thinks it’s … cute? Thinks you’re adorable

And when he finally decides to put you between him and a flat surface, caging you against the wall, with Tendou’s words hot in the back of his mind he realizes just how small you are. Just how much he towers over you and how much bigger he is.

Ushijima who can lift you off the ground like its nothing, like you weigh nothing. Who can twist your body to his liking and have you hovering over his cock that you think won’t fit. Because you’ve been aware of how much bigger he is than you.

Ushijima who encourages you with soft kisses and praises calling you his “pretty baby” and “you’ll be good for me right?” but still pauses and checks in with “you okay baby?” and “it’s okay if you want to stop” as he splits you open on his cock.

Ushijima who can’t help but get even harder as you whine about how big he is inside of you. Who can’t help but feel pride swell in his chest when you complain about being “so full” and he’s not even bottomed out.

Ushijima who watches as your eyes glaze over and jaw goes slack when he does bottom out.

Ushijima who realizes maybe he has a thing for how small you are compared to him. Who uses you like his personal fleshlight, bouncing you up and down on his cock as he praises you “how cute you look taking all of me” “look so small in my arms baby” “look so adorable all stretched out around me” “so pretty when you cum for me, do it again baby?”

Ushijima who fucks you until your whole body goes limp and you can’t do anything but babble his name and about how big he is.

Ushijima who now, every time he’s reminded of how much smaller you are than him, has to refrain from picking you up and manhandling you into whatever position he deems fit at the moment to have you babbling about him all over again.

…anyways. THAT WAS WAY LONGER THAN I MEANT— it’s 2245 for me…I need to go to sleep smh

Hope you have a good day !! <33

KAZE!!!! KAZE???!!!?!??! KAZE!!!!!!!!!

KAZE, HELLO????? HELLO???????????

im sendING YOU MY FUNERAL BILLS BC THIS TOOK ME OUT.

MY SIZE KINK JUST GOT FED SO WELL ohmyFUCKINGGOD!!!!!!!!

YOU GOTTA COME TALK TO ME MORE OFTEN, OHMYFUCKING GOD!!!!!!! MY BRAIN IS BROKEN HOLY FUCKING SHIT nobody look at me right now i am exPERIENCING

also my apologies for having notifications for me and expecting quality stories and its just text post goblin nonsense LMAOOO NFJSNFNSN 🙇🏻‍♀️🙇🏻‍♀️ also when did tumblr start doing that, i gotta start doing that for moots!!!!!!!

[thecarnivorousmuffinmeta]

What would happen if you were sent back and ended up in the orphanage with Tom Riddle—and say you also had magic?

Oh boy.

Well, there's a lot to question here. Judging by the... spirit of this ask, I presume I'm... pretty much reincarnated. I'm in the orphanage, I'm much younger than I am now and a child, I'm pre-Hogwarts age, and I retain my current knowledge.

For the purpose of this ask I suppose I also retain my current mental faculties. Despite being in the body of an eight-year-old, I'm not The Carnivorous Muffin at eight.

Welp, there's a lot to consider here.

First, I probably don't realize I'm in Harry Potter for quite some time and instead assume I've been reincarnated to some parallel universe. It's the 1930's, I'm in England in the depression, WWI has occurred and the vast majority of major historical events I know about seem to have happened in the right order, and this Earth is eerily similar to the Earth I left behind.

Strange that I appear to remember everything of my past life with my adult mental abilities, but alright universe, I guess that's how we're going to play this.

What I do know is that I'm dirt poor, presumably still a woman which does not bode well for my career prospects, and if I want any prospects in life period I'm going to have to fight tooth and nail for it. It'd be great if I got adopted to help with this, and might be nice to have people in my life who love me, but there's a lot of orphans in the world and a lot of orphans who are much less weird than I am.

The orphanage is the orphanage and not great, Mrs. Cole is overworked, the orphanage is chronically understaffed, and the kids are running wild beating the shit out of each other.

Being a girl, I probably don't have to worry about getting the shit kicked out of me quite as much, but I still probably try to keep my head down and don't aggravate the particularly beefy looking orphans.

Yes, there's some very angry gremlin named Tom Riddle around who will shove you down the stairs in retribution, but that's just a weird coincidence. And then supernatural shit starts happening. Billy's rabbit hangs itself, people get injuries when Tom is nowhere near them, and I start wondering if this is really the Tom Riddle.

I'm in Wool's Orphanage, my matron is Mrs. Cole, Tom Riddle is running around lighting things on fire. It's possible, though it could all be a strange coincidence.

Now, how things go from here depends on how controlled my own magic is. Since accidental magic typically does manifest at least once or twice, it probably does manifest for me for.. something. If Tom Riddle's there to witness it then...

Well, I imagine he's very offended. Here he was, special, different, better than everyone else, and then some girl in the orphanage (who dares to get very good grades on her assignments in school) has it too.

And I just stand there, smiling, going "Tee hee".

He probably confronts me to prove that he's better at it than I am, and he probably is unless the universe hates both him and me, but having someone else with the Shining around probably prompts him to take me as his protégé (in part so he can show off and in part because he's genuinely excited to be able to share this super cool talent).

I am now apprentice to eight-year-old Tom Riddle. Whoop de doo.

Well, I don't remember this part of Harry Potter, so now I'm probably confused as to where I am again. Regardless, I try to advise Tom on how to tone it down and not, say, traumatize Amy and Dennis for life and antagonize all the other orphans forever. He probably doesn't take me seriously. What do I know, I can't even light that patch of grass on fire?

Hanging around Tom Riddle gets me a reputation to, given the difference in genders, probably a fairly nasty one at that. When Dumbledore arrives he's undoubtedly told hot gossip about how eleven-year-old Tom and I have had sex in a ritual to summon Satan. Dumbledore takes this seriously.

Dumbledore probably meets us both at the same time and it's a disaster. I tried my best to prep Tom without revealing I'm a prophet, Tom first doesn't believe there might not be others, then doesn't believe they would be antagonist/anything but amazed by how awesome he is.

Well, Dumbledore lights his wardrobe on fire while I sit there. Dying inside. Dumbledore probably also does something to me too, to teach me some kind of lesson about something.

I imagine he temporarily disfigures me/makes me appear very ugly, then sticks a mirror to the wall, that way I realize that looks aren’t everything/being a whore is wrong. Tom, still traumatized over the wardrobe, is no help and my magic’s probably not controlled enough to do a thing about it.

I spend a day looking like a pig, Tom and I are given just enough money to buy new wands and second hand/barely functioning everything else and given the world’s worst directions to Diagon Alley. Thanks, Albus.

Well, months pass, we get our wands, Tom gets excited for Hogwarts and I... start seriously considering the future. WWII is coming, the Blitz is coming, Tom and I live in east London and must be able to evacuate during the bombing of London (which went on well past the Blitz to the end of the war). I also start considering my future in the wizarding world. Do I now actually have career prospects?

Probably not because I’m muggle born and a woman. My best bet is doing very well in useful subjects and finding employment with the goblins, I can’t imagine they have the same hang ups as the wizarding world.

Tom wants to go to Slytherin, of course, I tell him this is a bad idea. “Gee Tom,” I say, “Not sure how I know this but I have this feeling that Slytherin is filled with people who loathe our very existence and will shank us. Why don’t we pick Ravenclaw or Gryffindor instead?”

No one shanks Tom Riddle! Tom says. Tom is still eleven and while he admits that sometimes I may, in retrospect, have been right about certain things that doesn’t mean he wants to go to the house known for hard work. That’s code word for everyone there being a moron and having no other redeeming features than tenacity. As for the other two, Ravenclaws sound like smug, elitist, nerds and Gryffindors like dumb jocks.

Better to be known for ambition, cunning, and actually being competent.

Well, there’s no talking him out of this one, and goddamn it we’re all each other has.

I’m the closest thing Tom Riddle has ever had to a friend in all these years and in the orphanage the only one who could hold a decent conversation with him. And while it’s not my moral obligation to keep Tom from becoming a domestic terrorist, and there’s no guarantee I even can, dumping him for one of the other houses and drifting apart won’t help.

Not to mention that, after all these years, I’m undoubtedly lonely, I’m in this foreign land, and he’s now the closest thing to a friend I have.

Looks like I’m going to Slytherin, YOOOOOLLLLLLLLOOOOOOOOO! I shout as a battle cry as tears run down my face. I may have to convince the hat to put me in Slytherin, but like all human beings I am a mixture of many qualities. I’m not cunning in the least, mind games exhaust me unutterably, but I’m full of ambition. 

This confirms every bad opinion Dumbledore had regarding me and Tom.

For the next several months, Tom probably beats the shit out of dormmates who steal his things/harass him. He beats up mine too because feminism (TM) means that he should treat all people equally when guilty of the same crime. I... am not sure I can win that fight so I just resign myself to having to adopt some of Tom’s tactics to make sure I’m not shoved in lockers, have tampons thrown at me, or pig’s blood dumped on me at the prom.

Once again, everyone thinks Tom Riddle and I are dating. I don’t even know if they’re wrong at this point.

Well, being in class with eleven year olds who seem to have had little to no prior education, Tom and I are undoubtedly blazing through class. I imagine I’m bored out of my mind (the Hogwarts curriculum sounds unbelievably boring) and Tom is... well, probably devouring the library but probably also bored. I decide to try and see if I can find some real history texts on this world (there are probably none, the wizarding world seems to only have two historians and both... have a different approach to history than current modern thought as I know it) and discover what magic even is. That shit is fascinating: wingardium leviosa is not.

Dumbledore likely gives neither me nor Tom points in class, I think the house cup is stupid, so I really don’t care. I have no interest in playing quidditch, neither does Tom, so that doesn’t happen.

The second world war starts up, Tom, me, and the muggle borns are the only ones who give a flying fuck. I work harder on figuring out how to get lodging during the Blitz/the bombing of London. Unfortunately, Mrs. Cole hates me too for being the Bride of Satan, so that’s a no go. Third year, 1939, I probably write her in earnest anyway telling her to PLEASE FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, send Tom and I instructions for the summer/where the orphans are staying/how they’ve been dispersed to the countryside. As a back up plan, I try desperately to shmooze shopkeepers in Hogsmeade during every Hogsmeade weekend to get myself and Tom part time jobs and lodging over the summer. As a back up back up plan, I spend my time badgering Tom to become very good at survivalist wandless magic and if the Lord has pity on me gain some ability in it myself.

Hopefully, either Mrs. Cole or one of the Hogsmeade shop owners take pity on us. If not, then Tom and I are going extreme camping. Given Mrs. Cole (and the brain damage brought on by Dumbledore erasing memories left and right) and the likelihood of Hogsmeade shop owners just not getting it, Tom and I probably go extreme camping.

(Tom, meanwhile, asks Dippet and Dumbledore if we can stay in Hogwarts over the summer. He’s told no exceptions. London’s being bombed, you say? No exceptions. Toodles. Tom is never the same.)

Me, Tom Riddle, a tent we made ourselves, several rabbits we had to catch and skin ourselves, and the pitiful fire that we can keep going through pure will alone because if we try to use real people spells then we’ll get arrested. It has the benefit of making Tom feel very manly and impressive, catching his own food, but both of us are well aware that this sucks.

But hey, we aren’t dead.

Well, I’m sure Tom doesn’t appreciate that and this is where I imagine he seriously starts talking about violent revolution. I imagine much of my time is spent discussing the merits of not violently overthrowing our ant overlords. I imagine a thirteen-year-old Tom isn’t impressed by my pacifism, but he’s not married to Voldemort yet (probably).

Then I imagine the horcrux thing comes up and... Well, I will argue hard against it. Humans die, it is a truth of the universe, and simply something we have to accept. Horcruxes are not a measure against that, they can be destroyed, given infinite time they will be, and the sacrifice they require is too high: human life as well as the very essence of who you are.

What is a soul? I’m not sure, we never really learn in HP canon, but whatever it is, it is in some way the essence of yourself. If you take half of it and throw it somewhere else, you will cease to be you, someone or something else is walking around in your body while the other half of you exists in endless agony.

If you must chase immortality, create a philosopher’s stone (as I darkly wonder why it was that couldn’t be replicated and what Flamel had to do to make it in the first place). On second thought, maybe we should search for the Holy Grail.

Whether I can talk Tom out of this or not is... unclear. I’m going to say that I can, in part because I imagine he’ll want to show the chamber off to me, tell me when he realizes he’s Heir of Slytherin, and in doing so I can prevent the basilisk incident from occurring. Without that, there’s no dead Myrtle, which means no first victim. That summer, when he goes to the Gaunts, I’ll go with him and convince him that it’s not worth it. He can just turn around and leave these people alone, I hopefully can talk him down. Which means no second victim.

I start writing Flamel to see if Tom or I can get an apprenticeship (Dumbledore probably beats us to the chase and poisons him against us, but it’s worth a shot).

Then, should all go well, I can convince Tom to find employment with the goblins rather than shady antique dealers on the bad side of town. Hopefully, I can convince him to never become Voldemort, and instead we travel the world together looking for the origins of magic or something.

Dumbledore goes around taking people’s memories of us in preparation for when Tom becomes a dark lord and I his lady of the night darkness.

TL;DR Apparently my life would become an SI/Tom Riddle fic. So, thanks anon.

[leonhardt-simp]

AOT girls + Hange reacting to ‘deez nuts’ jokes.

[modern AU]

this isn’t a request but it’s funny so, here you go as my first post. Requests are open ! reblogs are okay ! this is a repost since I moved acc !

cw/ kind of suggestive on yelena’s

Annie Leonhardt: She would look at you with a whole lot of judgment for making such a joke in the first place. Expect a light punch in the arm or a pillow thrown to your face after said joke.

“what do you want to eat?” Annie asked, looking down at her phone as she proceeded to scroll through her phone. You both had been out all day and had both arrived at her house bit late.

Just as you were gonna answer, you suddenly had a grand thought come to mind.

you moved your body back to rest against the back of the couch, crossing your arms over your chest as you let out a light hum.

“hmm, how about DN?” you smiled at her, her expression suddenly turning into one of confusion as she looked up from her phone.

“what’s DN?”

“DEEZ NUTS ! HAH !” You laughed in victory.

Annie wouldn’t even respond. She just looked at you, her eyes squinting and eyebrows furrowed down.

She even tilted her head a bit, trying to understand how the joke was funny.

“Really-?”

“Sheesh, tough crowd.”

Mikasa Ackerman: she would be genuinely confused at first because she didn’t understand who candice was. poor girl would actually think someone named candice was an actual person in your life. you would have to explain the joke.

Mikasa and you both would be hanging out at the library with connie and sasha when the opportunity had risen.

Connie had been joking around with you and sasha as Mikasa had been studying with the small chaos, using it a background noise.

it was actually also Connie telling you to make the joke in the first place, he had been getting everyone else with it but he hadn’t had the opportunity to catch mikasa off guard yet.

So, you did. “Mikasa.” you leaned over to her side, Connie and Sasha were already laughing and giggling like idiots across the table.

“hmm?” she asked, looking up from her laptop and over to you with a the most genuine expression. “what is it?”

You couldn’t back down yet !

“Do you know candice?” Her expression faltered a bit and look a bit confused.

“You never spoke of a candice to me before- Who’s candice?-“

“CANDICE DIC-“

“Lower your voice-“ Mikasa would interrupt you, your confidence almost instantly dissipating in the little pause between you both.

“Now, who’s Candice-? Is she someone from your class-?”

Connie and Sasha bursted out into laughter when the joke couldn’t even come out of your mouth. How could you continue now?

Sasha Braus: You can’t outplay her in these jokes, she knows them like the back of her hand. She always manages to flip the joke onto you. almost always ends up with her laughing at you.

You both had gone to go out to eat so you both had been just sitting in her truck, her hand resting in yours as you both waited in the drive-thru line.

You had been trying for a good minute to catch her in these jokes. It’s not like you would do it all the time but, you knew you were getting close to getting her back. So you found your chance.

Casually, you began to start up on another conversation. hoping, you could catch her finally.

“Sasha, You never really did tell me. Do you prefer tapes or cds?” you asked as you turned to her, playing with the wristbands she wore. Sasha didn’t take the bait.

“Oh? I thought I told you on our first date. Remember? I even told you I was huge fan of D.” She responded casually.

This was what suddenly caught you off guard.

“I never even heard of a singer named Dee-“

“DEEZ NUTS”

“god fucking damn it, sasha-“

Historia Reiss: She would just let out the biggest groan and just be like “Reaaaaally?” it’s funny. She later try to get you back but she would fumble on her joke and say it wrong. Eventually, she would get frustrated and just go “Man, whatever-“

it was an easy opportunity with Historia, especially now. She was more focused on playing animal crossing than anything else really at the moment.

She was resting comfortably in between your legs, the back of her head just resting against your abdomen as she ran around her virtual island.

“Hisu.” You couldn’t help but start laughing at your girlfriend’s impending doom.

Her hand movements paused slightly to tilt her head up to look at you. “hmm?”

“I heard you had a little crush on Venessa Paradis?” you questioned.

“I- what-?” Historia immediately sat up at the sudden accusation. “who the hell said that? who the fuck is Vanessa?”

“Pair a deez nuts !” You caught her and with that, you suddenly got a pillow to the face.

“REALLY? THAT’S LIKE THE THIRD TIME THIS WEEK-“

“YOU SHOULD’VE LEARNED FROM YOUR MISTAKES, DARLING-“

Ymir: Ymir doesn’t even give you the satisfaction of even answering questions. it’s usually gonna be like “If it’s another deez nuts joke, I swear-“ sometimes she will just tease you for the fact you still make those jokes.

Ymir often took you out for lil drives at night, since usually during exam season you both barely get to see each other. Just some light music playing and you both just enjoying each other’s company.

Of course, though during your usual catch-up conversations. You decided to pull another joke on her.

“Connie has been telling me you’ve been into imagine dragons lately? what’s up with that?” you questioned.

Ymir just looked at you, she let her lips press together in a little thin line as she just let the silence grow between you. she just looked at you as if you already knew the answer.

“you know, I’ve laughed at funnier jokes hisu’s niece had told me.” she said, looking back at the road ahead.

“low blow, ymir.”

“blow on deez nuts.”

“YMIR-!”

Pieck Finger: She just kinda looks at you with a lil doe eyes. Sometimes she conflicted between saying “wow, you really said that.” and “wow, that was actually kind of a good one.” isn’t one to ruin your fun but doesn’t mean she can’t judge.

Pieck had just gotten out from her exhausting classes. She wanted nothing more than to just visit you and lay on you, let you just hold her as she napped for a bit of the day.

When she had arrived to your dorm, you could easily see that the day had taken a toll on her energy.

After tossing her bag to the ground, Pieck made her way on over to your side of the dorm room and crawled onto your bed to take her spot on top of you.

“Pieck, my love, darling. move a bit, I’m watching the Yankees vs Expoz game.” You asked, finding a more comfortable position. You would let your hand rest on Pieck’s lower back as your eyes turned back to the small tv you had.

Pieck’s head lifted up to look at the tv, somewhat interested. “Who are the Expoz?”

“EXPOZ DEEZ NUTS.” Without saying, she would just get off of you and go take her nap with her back turned to you.

“I- babe I’m joking-“

“nope- lost your chance.”

Yelena: Yelena doesn’t really care for these kinds of jokes. Sometimes they will just kinda fly over her head or she will just roll her eyes and continue on with what she was saying or doing.

Yelena and you had been getting both getting ready for a small gathering that she wanted to go to. Just her, you and some friends. It was to celebrate for finishing off exam season strong or something like that.

“Do you think this top would look nice with these pants?” she asked, holding up a white and blue stripped button up and some black pants.

“it’s just casual wear, right? then definitely, but make sure you don’t leave it unbuttoned like you usually do. I’m tired of seeing waitress ladies look at you.” You answered. You stepped closer to her, letting your arms wrap around her waist.

“Ah- is that jealousy I hear in your tone, babe?” she asked, her tone teasing as she leaned down to gently press her lips against the corner of your mouth.

“I don’t know, maybe it’s Ligma.”

“Well, whatever it is. I kind of like how it looks on your face.” she whispered against your lips, her hand dropping the button up onto her bathroom counter before letting it hold your jaw.

“I- ahaha- We have a gathering to go to, love.”

“hmm.. we have some time before then.”

Hange Zoë: They finds them absolutely hilarious. Kinda like Sasha, sometimes they will turn the joke onto you. Won’t actively make them but they will catch you sometimes.

You both were at the grocery store. Hange had a always had grown into a habit of forgetting to buy groceries so, when you came over to their house and saw that their fridge was borderline empty- you had to pull them to do some shopping.

“Ah- WHY IS MILK SO EXPENSIVE NOWADAYS?” They would groan out loud as you stayed by the grocery cart.

You watched them come back with a gallon, putting it in the cart with the other produce you both had gathered.

You knew hange didn’t like shopping so, to lighten the mood, you decided to joke around with them a bit.

“Milk is expensive but have you seen the price of fermented succondese?” you asked, leaning on the bar of the cart.

“What the hell is that?”

“SUCK ON DEEZ NUTZ !”

It was always pleasant to see Hange’s face go from surprised to laughing after the joke finally processed through their brain.

“AHAHAHAHA, THAT’S A GOOD ONE, Y/N. HAVE YOU HEARD THE ONE ABOUT GOBLINS THOUGH?”

[izusun]

My brain: Bakudeku but they've been dating since middle school

Me: Oh! That's sweet-

My brain, thriving off of pain only: Imagine that they're dating when the sludge villain happens. When All Might makes Izuku promise to keep One For All a secret. When the USJ happens. During internships and the encounter with Stain. During the training camp, and the Overhaul arc and-

Me, crying but also well fed:

- Goblin anon

goblin not you out here making me sad /j

nevertheless, THIS IS SUCH A GOOD AND PAINFUL AU!!!

izuku leaves earlier than katsuki. he still crosses the same bridge on his way home, still gets attacked by the sludge villain, still gets saved by all might, and still gets his hopes shattered.

he planned on telling katsuki a tidbit of the incident. something along the lines of, “i met a hero today, but they told me that i can’t be one because i’m quirkless.” because he doesn’t hide anything from katsuki, but something about all might’t gaunt form pushes izuku to not tell even katsuki about the truth regarding their favourite hero. but the telltale of familiar explosions ring around the area and izuku feels like something had slashed his heart because when he whipped to look at where the explosions came from, all he saw were pools of red shining in terror.

izuku remembers thinking no for a quick second, before he was moving forward. when he reached out to katsuki, katsuki reached out back.

when all is said and done, both katsuki and izuku go home together. they hold hands on the way home, not mentioning the way izuku’s kept trembling. all might, in his small form, stops them both. he sheepishly asks if he can talk to izuku alone but izuku refuses.

“sir, i don’t want to-” leave kacchan. let go of kacchan. walk away from him after what happened. talk to you anymore.

“just go,” katsuku says and when izuku tries to refute, he sees the look katsuki’s giving him–almost pleading. izuku hesitantly agrees and they part ways in that street.

all might apologizes for everything then offers his quirk. when izuku agrees, eyes glossy from unshed tears, all might asks him to not tell a soul. and that includes katsuki.

izuku thinks it’s unfair because they never hid anything from each other, but all might’s begging him, probably saw the way hesitation crossed izuku’s face, and izuku reluctantly agrees.

izuku doesn’t say anything to katsuki and katsuki doesn’t ask in return, but the way he eyes izuku shows that he knew that izuku’s hiding something from him.

they still don’t talk about the incident, and later don’t talk about how their time together decreases because of izuku’s training. izuku at least told katsuki that he still would be trying out for the hero course, quirkless as he is. katsuki voices his concern (of course disguised as angry tangents) but doesn’t stop izuku.

they meet on the day of the exam, wishing each other good luck. when iida told izuku to shut up, katsuki screams at him. it took both present mic and izuku to calm him down.

they part ways later since they’re on different testing grounds. there was a minute of silence between them as though katsuki’s waiting for izuku to confess up now about what happened with yagi and the training sessions that katsuki’s not allowed to go. but izuku still doesn’t say anything and katsuki leaves after.

izuku tells everything later when he woke up in the nurse’s office, saw katsuki’s crumpled state dozing off beside him. he thinks of katsuki’s trust, the way he never pushed izuku to tell him what’s up and recognizes that katsuku trusted him to tell him when he’s ready, and now it’s his turn to trust katsuki because katsuki never failed him.

so he pokes katsuki awake and chuckles lightly at katsuki’s worrying (disguised through scolding), and tells him. katsuki listens and doesn’t stop izuku. waits for him to tell his piece. when izuku finishes recounting, katsuki pulls him to an embrace, arms encircling tight.

“stupid deku,” katsuki whispers, void of any malice, “always making me worry.” he kisses izuku’s lips and helps izuku to his feet.

they don’t tell all might that izuku told katsuki about everything.

battle trial of bakugou/iida vs midoriya/uraraka passes with a bang of excitement and less injuries. the hero team still wins and izuku lets katsuku simmer in rage (not at izuku but at himself, always thinking he’s not strong enough) before hugging him. katsuki returns the hug.

when the villains infiltrate USJ, katsuki thinks his heart is shot twice. izuku still can’t handle ofa and then he’s separated from katsuki. katsuki finishes off the villains with kirishima and starts hounding for izuku. when he sees him, it’s to a bloody aizawa and an injured izuku. he is moving, aware that kirishima is marching with him.

“kacchan no!” he hears izuku scream and he jumps back away, heart hammering loudly when he sees the thing that was standing over aizawa almost attacking katsuki. and with the way their teacher is bloody and bruised, katsuki knew that had he been hit, he probably wouldn’t have survived.

all might arrives soon and hope blooms in his heart.

when he thought that they’re finally saved, he sees handy mcfuck reach out to all might and watched as izuku jumped up to intercept the attack.

snipe’s bullet sails past them and into shigaraki, thankfully giving katsuki the time to yank his boyfriend out of danger’s reach.

“nerd, what the fuck.”

he probably should have known that his boyfriend is prone to attracting danger.

when they receive a message from izuku, relaying his location, katsuki knew that he was in trouble.

he tried calling izuku back, but when his call was redirected to voicemail twice, he headed to best jeanist’s office.

“how fast can we go here?” he asks, showing the pinged location that izuku sent. it’s been ten minutes and hosu is less than an hour’s away. anything could happen to his nerd within that time frame.

“bakugou,” best jeanist says, “we can’t go. we have to patrol around the area. endeavour is in charge of hosu as of the situation right now, and unless there is a call for backup, we can’t move.”

katsuki doesn’t argue despite the worry and anger gnawing at him.

when his shift ends, mitsuki calls him. “hurry home, we’re visiting izu-chan.”

katsuki doesn’t waste time.

when they get there, izuku tells him about what happened. they were told to never disclose stain’s attack but katsuki and izuku long disregarded those rules. katsuki glares at him when he finishes, worry bubbling at the fact that both stain and a winged noumu attacked his boyfriend.

when izuku passes out once again, he plants a chaste kiss at izuku’s forehead and glares at half-and-half who was watching them the whole time.

IT’S GETTING TOO LONG AND MY HEAD’S FLYING AWAY BUT JUST KNOW THAT I AM IN PAIN!!

this is such a good au!! i love love childhood sweethearts bakudeku and katsuki so whipped and in love <33

[saturdaysky]

hello! i hope you don't mind a message, but i am just excited to see someone else who liked AMCE and would love to know if you have recs for books that are similar, because i've been thinking about it for like a month straight since i finished reading it and would love something else to occupy my brain the way that it did. no pressure to answer ofc, just happy to share good vibes over a book :)

I do not mind it at all! <3

I do have some books that scratched a similar itch as A Memory Called Empire! I looooved the thoughtful focus on culture and language and identity within an intricate setting, so these recs follow that pattern somewhat.

Under a cut because this got kind of long.

The Imperial Radch trilogy by Ann Leckie

Liked the exploration of culture, identity, and imperialism in AMCE? You will probably like these books, since they also grapple with those themes. Also present is the exploration of personhood, who has it, and who does not -- because our main character is a person who used to be a starship. Or well, sort of. Wikipedia has a decent blurb:

The novel follows Breq—who is both the sole survivor of a starship destroyed by treachery, and the vessel of that ship's artificial consciousness—as she seeks revenge against the ruler of her civilization.

These books are honestly some of my favorite books ever. They combine a really thoughtful and deliberate focus on all the stuff mentioned above, fascinating plots and world-building, and characters who absolutely made me Feel Things. Highly recommended if you like, say, emotionally closed-off and damaged characters learning to care and be cared for while also skillfully navigating an intricate web of power to pursue their goals and reckon with the harm they've caused. But with bonus smart thoughts about robots.

The Foreigner series by C.J. Cherryh

I haven't fully made my way through this series, but it's rewarding every time I sit down to read another book. The books follow Bren Cameron, diplomat to an alien court, as he negotiates the intricate web of politics and intrigue involved in making sure the crash-landed colony ship he represents doesn't get obliterated or obliterate anyone else, despite humans making some monumental fuck-ups in the recent past.

And when you live and work and eat among one people, how much do you really belong to the people you came from? Of course, neither side really trusts someone who straddles both worlds, and to cap it off, the atevi people he lives among are different from humans in a fundamental way: they have no word for friend or love because those are alien concepts to the atevi. They do not feel such things. Instead, they live by an intricate web of obligation and favors. Trust is something a little more practical and a lot more deadly, for the atevi.

But these are not heartless novels -- part of the joy is watching the main characters grow meaningful relationships, even though the form is fraught and strange and never quite means the same thing to the people on either side.

If you like slow and thorough explanations of culture where meeting with your friend's grandmother is a potentially perilous activity (because the tea might be poisoned, because she might take you on a hunting trip you won't come back from, because she's a formidable political power and might be trying to assassinate your friend, because your friend might know all of this and have sent you anyway, also your friend is the king) these are books you might like.

The Goblin Emperor by Katherine Addison

If you like deep dives of culture, language, identity, and loyalty within the deadly intrigue of a fantasy court, I hiiiiighly recommend this book. The book follows Maia, the youngest and least-favored heir to the throne who gets unexpectedly crowned when everyone else in line dies and must quickly learn to survive the cutthroat politics. But Maia isn't cutthroat by nature; he is kind and must negotiate how to keep that kindness in the face of pressures that would be easy to solve with cruelty, as well as people keen to take advantage of what they think of as a weakness.

This book'll hit you with a lot of fantasy language at first (it's a focus of the book), but if you stick with it you'll be fine. You're learning all this intricate court language at the same time as our protag; he too is a little out of his depth at the start.

Steerswoman series by Rosemary Kirstein

I dearly want to go back and read these -- it's been a few years, but they absolutely sucked me in. The books follow Rowan, a steerswoman, as she tracks down the mystery of a strange and incongruous gemstone. In-universe steerswomen are basically traveling scientists and naturalists who have taken an oath of truth.

The books start out in what seems like your fairly typical Standard Fantasy Setting with wizards and dragons, but as Rowan learns more about the strange gem, it's clear that this Standard Fantasy Setting is...not as it seems. There are three things that I loved about these books: the sense of wonder and discovery as our fantasy scientist protag reasons through problems and begins to discover she lives in a sci fi world, the interesting relationship between the main characters, and the excitement you as a reader have when YOU realize exactly what mysterious object Rowan is describing and what the implications of that are for the setting.

The Broken Earth trilogy by N.K. Jemisin

Riveting series -- brutal and beautiful. Straddles the line in some respects between sci fi and fantasy. Follows characters who live on a far, far-future Earth plagued by catastrophic climate events called "Seasons" that last generations. There are some people born who have power drawn from the earth; these people are alternately hated and ruthlessly trained to hone their powers to attempt to prevent another Season. (This sort of sounds like the setup to a YA coming-of-age novel, but it is really really not.)

The world and fantastical aspects are fascinating (cyclical post apocalyptic societies! geology magic!), and the books themselves explore family bonds, racism in both a personal and systemic sense, and broken systems and the wounds they leave upon the people within them even as those people wound others. The series is not a light read, but it is a good one.

Literally anything by Ursula K. Leguin

All of her work could be recommended if you liked AMCE. Her writing spans fantasy and science fiction, and includes thoughtful and moving explorations of some similar ideas: culture and cultural exchange, gender, different societal setups, you name it.

If you're looking for a good novel, The Left Hand of Darkness is a classic for a reason. If you'd like a sample platter of interesting short stories, The Birthday of the World and Other Stories is wonderful.

[captain-mcdavid]

alternate ending - pt.1

it’s been two years... josh and y/n have moved on and started new lives. but what happens when they find themselves in the same city working side by side? can they move past their previous games and reconnect? or will old habits die hard?

word count: 4.9k

smut: yes | no

warnings: swearing, alcohol

“Oh my god, please Thomas.” You groan, “Please, can you just be serious for one second. One second!” 

He raises his hands in defeat, “Okay, fine.” 

“Thank you,” You sigh, “Now go.” 

“Wait, what am I supposed to say again?” He asks, and you and the videographer share a look before you roll your eyes. 

“Bienvenue à nouveau, fans des habs.” You remind him. “On three, okay?” He nods, and you count down, smiling when it finally goes off without a hitch. “Alright now one more time, in English and then we can all go home.” 

He nods, and then shoots you a wink. You shake your head at him, counting up to three for the last time.

“Welcome back, habs fans!” Thomas says, and Ted, your videographer smiles.

“Done.” He turns off the camera, and you give him a pat on the back.

“We really appreciate you coming in Thomas,” You say, “Thanks again.”

“Anything for you, Y/N.” He smirks, and then he heads out.

“Alright, Ted. I’ll see you soon,” You say, gathering your things. “Have a good night.”

With that you wave and head out of the arena. Setting your things in the front seat of your Range Rover, you grin, taking a minute to admire your new car. This was something that would have taken you five years to save up for with the pay at your old job.

It’s kind of ironic, where you were two years ago to where you are now... You didn’t like your job back in Ohio but you couldn’t say you ever saw yourself coming back to Canada, let alone working for an NHL team. 

You thought you had it all figured out back in Columbus. But after your life took a nose dive you realized you really didn’t. A fresh start was what you needed, and luckily with your vast experience in media, you were qualified for a position that Seth recommended to you. A position as head of media operations for the Montreal Canadiens. 

You were weary at first, because why would you want to work in the NHL after you had a huge falling out with one of the players, but the more thought you gave it, the better the offer seemed. It was in Montreal, one of the most beautiful cities in the world, the pay was double what you were getting in Ohio, and it would be a lot more fun.

Not to mention, there were 31 teams in the NHL, and if the one guy you were worried about did ever leave Columbus, there was a ninety three percent chance he wouldn’t come to Montreal. (Literally, you calculated.)

And now it’s been two years, arguably the best two years of your life. You have everything you didn’t have in Ohio; Stable friendships, a job you actually enjoy, a great support system. You’ve gained in every aspect of your life.

You’ve just walked in your front door, when your phone rings. You pull it out of your purse, laughing when you see your bosses name lighting up the screen. “It’s been ten minutes, Reid.” You say, and he laughs. “I’m off the clock.”

“I know, I know.” He responds. “I’m sorry, just this and I’ll leave you alone.”

“Okay, shoot.” You tell him. 

“Tomorrow, media day, I split the players in half for you. We’ll do the first half tomorrow, and then the rest Friday.” 

“Sounds fine to me.” You shrug, “What changed?” 

“We have two new players flying in tomorrow, but they won’t be in until Friday. I figured instead of saving just the two newbies for Friday and rushing you tomorrow with the rest of the guys, we’d just split it evenly.” He explains. 

“Oh,” You say, usually you found out rather quickly when there were trades and new acquisitions, but you hadn’t heard anything today. “I didn’t know we got any new players, trades?”

“Yeah, two trades. I don’t know much, it just happened. New guys are, uh- let me see...” There’s a fast beating in your heart that you haven’t felt for at least a year. When you first started, every time you heard about a trade you’d get a little nervous, cause what if it was him? Eventually those nerves went away, but they seem to have made a comeback all of the sudden. 

You shake out your jitters while you wait for Reid to give you the names, “Here they are, first guy: Joel Edmundson, from Carolina.” You nod, it’s a name you’ve never heard before. 

“Second, Josh Anderson, from Columbus.” 

But that one? It’s a name you’ve heard all too many times. 

Thank god you’re not driving anymore, because you’re sure you would have swerved into oncoming traffic after hearing that. You can feel a chill spread all the way out to your finger tips, a unsettling nervous feeling sitting on your shoulders like a goblin. This can’t be happening. 

He can’t be coming here. 

“Y/N?” 

The phone is still held to your ear, but you can barely breathe let alone get a word out. 

“Are you there?” Reid asks, and finally you manage to just murmur out a noise of acknowledgement, and then you’re hanging up, nearly collapsing onto the couch. You’re in full blown panic mode. 

Within thirty minutes you’ve already fully played out scenario in your head where you quit your job and leave the city, move back in with your parents like a loser and remain single for the rest of your life. And it sucks, but honestly, it sounds better than actually dealing with this. 

If you stay, and let everything play out, you’ll have to see Josh. You’ll have to talk to him, interview him, all while acting as professional as possible so no one figures out that you have history. Now that, that seems just about impossible. 

In a haze you grab for your phone, searching for a specific contact you haven’t used in a while.

“Y/N, nice to hear from you! It’s been a while!” He says, but there’s a note of nervousness to his voice. 

“Seth.” You scold him. 

“I’m assuming you found out about Montreal’s recent acquisition?” 

“Yup, sure did.” You say sarcastically. “Twenty nine other teams that he could have gone to, Seth. Why here?”

“Yeah, yeah I know.” He says, “Ninety three to seven, the odds were in your favor, but apparently you’re just really unlucky.” 

“Super fucking unlucky.” You whisper, and you can hear Seth sigh on the other end of the phone. “Well, know of any other teams that are looking for media op managers? Columbus would be great,” You ramble, “There’s a really small chance he’ll come back, right?”

“Y/N, come on.” Seth says, “Last time I heard from you, you were loving it over there.”

“Yeah,” You admit, “I do, I love it here, but that’s all gonna change now.”

“It doesn’t have to,” Seth says. “You said you guys ended things on okay terms, if there’s no bad blood it shouldn’t be weird?” 

“Okay terms is not good terms. He told me he’d wait for me to figure my shit out, and then I basically pushed him out the door.” You explain, “We haven’t spoken since then, there’s no way that this isn’t gonna end terribly.”

“You can both learn to be civil and professional,” Seth tries, “You shouldn’t have to give up your job because of this.”

“Yeah, well...” You sigh, shutting your eyes tight. When you open them again you’re kind of hoping you’ll be anywhere but where you actually are, with any other reality, but you’re just stuck. “I don’t really see another way this can go.” 

“Don’t say that,” Seth whispers, “Promise me you’ll at least try. Try to make things work, don’t just give up before you’ve even tested the waters. This might end up being not even half as bad as you think it will be.” 

When you don’t respond, Seth continues, “You love your job, you love the city, you have friends... You’ve built a life for yourself there and you can’t give that up over this.”

If it weren’t for those things you would have quit the second you heard Josh’s name, but Seth is right... You’ve worked for everything you have here. You owe it to yourself to at least try to make things work here before you give it all up. 

You rub your temples with a deep groan, a dreadful feeling that you’re gonna regret this sinking in. But you sigh and agree anyway, “Okay. I’ll try.” 

“Yes!” Seth says, “You got this.” 

“Does he know?” You ask quietly. “Where I am? What I do?”

“No,” Seth answers, “I can tell him... If you want me to.” 

“No that’s okay-,” You decide, “He should probably hear it from me. Thanks, Seth.” 

“You’re welcome,” He answers, and you can’t help but smile a little. He was probably the one thing you actually missed from Columbus. “Will you call me in a few days? Let me know how things are going?”

“Yeah, of course.” You answer, “I’ll talk to you soon, okay?”

He confirms, and then says a short goodbye. 

You hang up the phone, and then head straight for your wine fridge. There’s a fancy bottle of white wine that you were saving for a special occasion, and while it’s not the type of celebration you were thinking, it definitely is an occasion. You pour yourself a tall glass, grab a chocolate bar, and head to the couch to start overthinking. 

Then you decide within the first ten minutes that thinking is going to do you no good, so you turn on the TV and grab another glass of wine, praying the alcohol will knock you out, because without it, there’s no way your brain will shut off. 

After the third glass and your sixth episode of Schitt’s creek, you finally start to feel tired. Instead of going upstairs and going to bed, you just flop over on the couch, pulling a blanket over your body before closing your eyes, avoiding all the thoughts bumping around in your head. 

They’ll still be there tomorrow you tell yourself, and then you’re out. 

••••••••••

friday

You’re basically tiptoeing around the arena, sneaking players here and there to get their headshots, all while trying your best to avoid him. 

Your plan is working quite well, you’ve manage to go over half the day without a run in. You’ve just finished with Shea, and you only have a few guys left, so you go for another stroll around the main concourse, looking for Brendan so you can get his goal animations done. You’re turning your head side to side, looking out for a short guy when you hear a familiar voice. 

It’s been two years but you’d recognize it anywhere. 

You freeze for a short moment before you’re all but throwing yourself into the room closest to you, which true to your luck, happens to be the men's bathroom. You twist the deadbolt behind you, staring at the door in pure horror. 

It wiggles against the hinges, and then you hear him, “This one’s locked, man.” 

You wait a good five minutes before you finally tiptoe out of the restroom, sneaking back to your office on extreme lookout. You sigh with relief when you’re in the constraints of your office. You’re finally safe now. 

“Y/N,” Reid announces, opening your office door as usual, without knocking.

You give him a small smile, “Hey, Reid, what can I do for you?”

“I found the new guys for you,” He grins, and the smile drops from your face almost immediately. “They’re ready for their close up!”

You kind of feel like there’s a camera that you can look into like you’re on the office or something, because wow, what stupidly perfect timing. 

Normally you’d have the mind to fake a laugh at his dumb joke, but you just shake your head in panic, standing from your chair as you flail your arms. “No-,” You start to say, but it’s too late. 

“C’mon in guys,” Reid moves further into your office to clear the door way and you swear you could literally throw up on the spot right now. 

“Reid- I asked Ted to do their media stuff-,” You try, but it’s too late. 

They walk in, and you slap a hand over your mouth to keep from swearing loudly in front of your boss. That doesn’t stop Josh though, you can’t even look up at him, but all that comes out of his mouth is, “Holy shit.”

You nod your head, your hand slides up from your mouth to the side of your face to act as a shield, while you give Reid your fakest smile. 

He furrows his brows at you, “Everything okay, Y/N?” 

“Yeah, yeah...” You murmur, and you finally drop the awkward hand, crossing your arms with a huff. Your eyes stay trained on Reid, “I just um, I had asked Ted if he would do their media shots and he said he’d take care of it.” You explain, and your boss makes a face at you. 

“Oh how come? Are you not feeling well?” He gives you an out before you can even think of one, and you jump on it immediately, nodding your head quickly. 

“Yeah, just like splitting head ache,” You say, “Nausea, it’s gross. I don’t know what’s going on.” 

“Why didn’t you say anything?” He asks, and you feel terrible because you know he genuinely feels bad, Reid is one of the nicest guys out there. “You can go home, you don’t need to stick around.” He tells you, and you give him an appreciative smile, refusing to even let your eyes wander to the right. 

“That’s great, Reid. Thank you, I really appreciate it,” You’re about to drop, grab your bag and run out the room like the coward you are, but Reid motions to the boys and the overwhelming urge to throw up is stronger than ever. 

“I’ll just introduce you, and then I’ll send them over to Ted, you can get going.” He suggests, and you nod, sucking in a deep breath. “You’re looking quite pale actually.” Reid notes, “Poor thing,”

“Anyway,” He starts, and you force yourself to turn your body to the side, but you still can’t find the courage to look up at him. “This is Y/N, our head of media operations. She deals with all the social media, the interviews and that kind of thing. She’s great, she’s a huge part of our organization.” You give him a short smile in response, thanking him with a light tap on the arm. “Y/N, this is Joel and Josh, they’re gonna be great additions to the team.” 

“Joel, and Josh...” You respond quietly, extending a hand to Joel first, forcing yourself to make eye contact. “Nice to meet you,” You say, and then you move to Josh, holding out your hand to him too, repeating your earlier words firmly. “Nice to meet you,” 

It’s like your body goes cold when you look at him, he hasn’t changed one bit. He looks kind of confused, but accepts your handshake anyway, nodding with an unsure stare. He doesn’t make any move to let go, so you do it for him, pulling your hand from his grasp in a hurry while you grab your bag from behind you. 

“Sorry, Reid. Thanks again, I’ll be in tomorrow.” You tell him, and then you give Josh one last look, before heading straight out of your office. 

Reid looks a little bemused, but watches you leave anyways. You’re basically speed walking out of the arena, trying your hardest to make it to the parking garage in record time, because you actually feel like the air in the massive building is getting thinner. 

“You forgot this.” 

And just like that your heart rate spikes back up. When you don’t turn, or acknowledge him, he whispers your name and there’s a second where memories come flooding back. 

Your body is nearly frozen, you don’t think you could move right now if you wanted to. Josh comes to stand in front of you, and for the first time you’re forced to look at him. Really look at him. 

It’s been two years but you’d still know that expression anywhere. He’s hurt. 

“You work here.” He says, almost like he’s trying to convince himself. 

You bite your lips sheepishly, and you can feel your resolve starting to crumble. You can’t pretend you’re not completely overwhelmed anymore. 

“Were you ever gonna tell me?”

You find the strength to nod your head, but then a second later you’re shaking it to indicate that no, you weren’t. You hadn’t decided what you were gonna do yet, you knew he was gonna find out at some point, but you also knew deep down you were never gonna be strong enough to outright introduce yourself to him this way. You were just hoping when he did find out it wouldn’t be that bad... But here you are. “I was kinda hoping I could just avoid you.” You say honestly. 

He looks tense, like he’s holding back words. When he speaks he’s quiet, and you almost miss the way he scoffs quietly at your response. “Avoid me... Are we really that-,” He stops, leaving the sentence open, because he doesn’t know what word comes next. Neither do you, but you understand. 

You just look at each other for a moment, and it’s now that your emotions finally get the better of you. Tears well up in your eyes, and you just shrug at him, because you have no idea what to do. 

“I love this job,” You say weakly, “And I love living here, but-,”

Josh shakes his head and you stop, waiting for his interjection. “But nothing.” He starts, and then he’s moving one step closer to you, and him simply subtracting another inch shouldn’t affect you as much as it does. You feel your knees start to shake, the tears getting a little bit harder to ignore. 

“This doesn’t need to be weird.” He says quietly, “I don’t want it to be-,” Once again the words are left unsaid but you nod anyway, understanding. “We’ll figure it out, okay?”

You nod quickly, meeting his eyes. You can’t tell if the feeling is warm or cold, but it spreads through your body like wildfire within seconds. You wonder if he feels it too, if there’s anything still here after so long. He drops your gaze and holds your jacket out for you, you take it and then offer him a small smile, “Bye, Y/N.”

And then he walks away.

••••••••••

3 weeks later

“Habs reverse retro, um absolutely, I love these jerseys I think they’re really really cool, so I’m gonna swipe right on these.” Josh says, toying with the tiny phone in his big hands. 

You step in with a chuckle, waving a hand at Ted so he cuts the video. “Alright, you’re done! Perfect,” You say with a laugh, and Josh finally looks up from the phone. You share a glance with your videographer, both of you exchanging a knowing grin. 

“What?” Josh says, and you shake your head with a smirk. 

“Nothing,” You murmur. And Ted starts to laugh. 

“The camera loves you,” He says to Josh, “Almost as much as you love it,” 

He raises his eyebrows at you, “Was I not good?” The corners of his mouth turn up slightly and you just shake your head, trying to hide your wide grin. 

“No, no,” You stop him, and he looks at you skeptically. Finally you shrug and say, “Just maybe next time we do one of these you could like, I don’t know look up at the camera a time or two?” 

Josh starts to laugh, and he shakes his head, looking down bashfully at his feet. “This is not my thing, you know that.” 

And just like that, that stupid feeling is back. Out from the center of your chest all the way to your finger tips. It’s dull this time, but it’s there. You freeze, you’re really hoping Ted didn’t catch on, because you shouldn't know that. 

You change the subject before anything can come of it, and thank god Ted carries on as normal. He didn’t seem to notice, he just flips through his camera bag as usual, murmuring about Shea’s video being even worse. 

You’re not gonna give this anymore time to boil though, so you turn to the culprit, “You’re uh, you’re good to go, thanks Josh.” You say, scratching at the back of your neck. 

He just nods, looking worried at first, but and then half smiles before heading out the door. Once he’s out of ear shot you sigh, grabbing your bag off the chair. 

“Time for a lunch break, Ted?” Cause, wow do you ever feel like you need one. “We’ll film Brendan after?”

“Sounds good,” Ted smiles. 

You nod and then head for the hallway, making sure to go the opposite way Josh did. If you have to walk the whole concourse so be it. 

You shouldn’t be so skittish, you know that... But things have been good the last three weeks. You’ve managed to talk without it being horribly awkward, and no one has found out about your history yet. However, you’re not going to take any chances. The longer you’re in the same room with him, the more likely someone is to slip up, like Josh almost just did. You don’t need to spend a bunch of time with him, just enough time to get your job done. So that’s what you’ve been doing, the bare minimum. Talking only if you absolutely need to. 

The habs were having a great start to the season, not to mention Josh was a huge part of that. He was having the best start of his career, and you weren’t going to ruin it. 

You take a seat at one of the tables in the common area, pulling your book and salad out of your bag with a huff. You would really rather a burger and fries, or something not made up of 90% water, but it was in the fridge and it was easy so you grabbed it. 

You stab the fork into the lettuce, pulling it up one time before you just shake your head and leave it in the container, prodding around at it while your stomach grumbles. 

You look up from your book when your name is called, Joel and of course, Josh are sitting down at a table across from you, an obscene amount of boxed food in their hands. 

Your heart is thumping rapidly in your chest, and you try your best to talk through it, raising your hand in a wave, “Hi, guys.” 

“What’s going on?” Joel asks, “Hungry?”

“No but you sure look it,” You lie, nodding to the boxes they’re holding. 

Joel smiles giddily as they start to open them up, you just grin and then go back to poking at your salad, trying not to pay attention to how good their food smells. You try to distract yourself with your book, but yet again, that doesn’t last long. 

“Hey,” You look up, eyes meeting a complete stranger this time. “I was just wondering if you could tell me where the opposing team locker room is?” 

“Oh, yeah!” You say, standing from your chair to direct him down the hallway. “You’re a player?” You clarify, just to be sure, and he nods. “It’s just down the hall and to the left. Past the equipment room.” 

“Okay...” He says, and you stare oddly as he looks down at his feet and then back up at you. “Thanks,”

He has longer blonde hair, what these stupid boys would probably call a flow, and a long one at that, but he pulls it off. He’s got a nice face with a trimmed beard, and you can tell just from one look at him, swedish. 

He stares at you for a moment and then chuckles uncomfortably, “I’m sorry, worst conversation starter ever.”

Your stomach knots when he says that, and you want to believe that the reason for it has nothing to do with that fact that Josh is sitting right there, watching all of this. You just smile awkwardly, “It wasn’t terrible? More the follow up that could use some work...” You joke. 

“I just saw you sitting here and I thought you were really beautiful, I’m William. I play for the Oilers.”

Your heart is pounding in your ears, and although this guy is really sweet all you can think about is Josh sitting right there and hearing all this, but you try your best to smile anyway, not wanting to be rude. “That’s really sweet of you, thank you.” Maybe at a different time you’d give this guy a chance, because he seems quite nice. You briefly remember seeing a name on the Oilers roster for tonight, William Lagesson.

He’s about to open his mouth again, when a whistle from behind the both of you catches your attention, you turn to see a red head with a toothy grin. “Leave that poor girl alone, Laggy.” The red head snips, and William runs a hand through his hair nervously. 

You laugh, trying to make him feel better, and he chuckles with a shake of his head, mumbling an apology for his teammate. “Can I maybe just get your number?” He asks, and you try not to look as surprised as you really are. 

It’s been ages since someone asked you for your number, and apparently it’s been a long time since you said no too, because you completely forget how.  

Your overwhelming urge to be nice all the time fails you here, and you find yourself saying yes even though you really don’t want to. He’s sweet and all but, you’d rather not do the hockey player thing again. 

At the last minute you finally have the mind to put a fake number in, and you feel bad momentarily as he smiles and says bye, but as soon as you see the empty spot at Joel’s table, you just feel panicked instead.

Josh is gone... Does that mean he didn’t hear?

You pack up your things and then stop beside Joel, he side eyes you and then makes a face and you just frown. 

“Coach texted Josh, so he wasn’t lucky enough to hear that whole thing... Me on the other hand?” He takes an obnoxious bite of his food as he shoots you a wink, and all you can do is roll your eyes, and walk away. “That was hilarious!” Joel calls behind you, and you just wave him off, but really, there’s some relief setting in when you find out that Josh missed that last part. 

When you arrive back at your office, there’s a note from your boss, and a box on your desk. 

“Head home early today. Boys will be preparing for the game. We can finish up on Monday. -Reid” Is written in his chicken scratch on a bright pink sticky note. 

You do a happy little wiggle, and then reach for the box. It smells amazing, and your stomach grumbles at the thought, but then when you open it and realize what it is, you’ve suddenly lost your appetite. 

It’s pad thai and spicy yam chicken... Your favorite. 

You know instantly this isn’t from Reid... There’s probably only one person in the world who knows what your order is. You used to go to that thai place by his house all the time, and you’d always order the same thing. 

You don’t even put your bag down, you just leave the food on your desk and turn the light off before walking out. 

You try your best not to think about everything that happened today on your way home, because it felt like a huge step back after three weeks of progress. 

You stop for some groceries, and take a look in a little boutique, anything to keep your mind busy. When you arrive home you play music almost as loud as it can go, hoping it will drown out your thoughts. Over the last three weeks you’ve done enough thinking about this, you’re tired. 

So you workout, shower, make some dinner, and then you sit down to watch the game, pinching yourself every time you find your eyes lingering on number seventeen a little too long. 

The game is pretty slow, the boys aren’t playing their best, Edmonton is on their game and you just know they’re not gonna come out of this one with the two points, but you watch anyway. You kind of want to turn it off and switch to something else after the second period, but you give in and stick around for the third. 

All is fine and normal until the five minute mark ticks down on the clock. 

The camera spans to the right to follow the players going up the ice, when you hear the commentator say, “Big battle, in front of the net...”

And your heart just about stops, because you have a feeling you know exactly who it is. Guess Joel was wrong... He did hear the whole thing. 

“Anderson, and Lagesson, they’re still tied up together. Anderson is hot.”

[xbunnybunz]

WEAK HERO UNIVERSITY (3/?) [READER X WEAK HERO]

Summary: I know you assholes are crying now that the first season of Weak Hero is over. But you’ve got other things to focus on, like where the fuck you’re going to live after getting kicked out of your old dorm. Luckily, you’ve found one last open room on the other side of Weak Hero University. What could possibly go wrong?

Genre: Romance, Humor, Slice of Life

Date: 7/12/2021

You’re dully unaware of how many people are allowed into a cramped dorm room before it becomes a fire hazard, but you are almost completely sure that the rule has now been broken.

Gray pushes through the mass of bodies wedging themselves between your bed and the desk, a damp, cold rag in his hands.

“Let me see.”

You grit your teeth and stare up at the ceiling, holding back the urge to toss yourself out the window. Of course this would happen, you don’t even know why you’re surprised! It was just your luck to completely obliterate your toe in front of cute guys you had just met.

You reach down towards your sock and then freeze, eyeing them wearily.

“Wait… You guys aren’t like, feet people… Right?”

Eugene furrowed his eyebrows and looked to everyone else. “What do you mean? We all have feet.”

Gerard made a face, or well—as much as a face as you can see, and you fluster, immediately regretting asking the question.

“Shit. Never mind. That was a stupid question, just pretend I didn’t say anything.” What? No one can blame you, too many years on deviantart would make anyone paranoid!

You hook your fingers onto the elastic of the sock and pull it off your right foot.

The moment your sock comes off, both Ben and Alex rattle your eardrums with a shriek. Alex covers his eyes and Ben dramatically falls onto his knees beside the bed.

“The whole thing is purple, Ben, you dumbass!” Alex cried, peeking out from between his fingers. “She’s going to need to amputate her toes!”

Ben clasped his hands together in front of you, bowing his head to the floor. “I’m so sorry! I’m terrible! I’ll take full responsibility! I’ll even give you my toes!”

“Uhm, you guys—” Eugene lifts a shaky finger but is interrupted by the earth-shattering slap Alex lands on the back of Ben’s head, eyes teary with emotion, “Dammit Ben, no one would want your big ugly goblin toes!”

Absolutely flabbergasted at their reactions, you flinch back, eyes wide as Ben clasped both his large hands over yours, bottom lip quivering.

“Please forgive me (Y/N)! You’re too pretty to be missing toes!”

What the fuck does that even mean?!

Mind working in overdrive and face burning hot, you swallow and try to stutter out an explanation, nearly going cross-eyed at the insane amount of pressure suddenly thrust upon you. Did Alex just give Ben brain damage? Did Ben just call you pretty? Were those two things related? What the hell was going on!?

Gray pulls a sobbing Ben off of you, lips pressed into a thin line.

“You two are freaking her out. You need to calm down.”

“But—!” Ben starts, voice trembling, “Her toes! I crushed her—!”

Gerard sighs, turning his face away from the scene, clearly too tall and cool and in need of a haircut to be suffering from secondhand embarrassment. “You guys… That’s just nail polish.”

Ben turns to Eugene for confirmation and Eugene rubs the back of head sheepishly, an awkward smile plastered on his face. “I tried to tell you guys.”

Alex approaches Grey, peeking over his shoulder and almost sounding a bit disappointed. “Wait, so… We don’t need to call an ambulance?”

Grey shakes his head, no. His pale hair catches the light and you suddenly notice how incredibly pretty he is. “It won’t be necessary. But we still might need to speak to the Hall Assistant…”

A slender hand reaches up and delicately turns your foot towards him, revealing a nasty reddish-purple bruise forming just under the ball of your feet.

The group behind Gray cringes back simultaneously.

Alex lets out a low whistle, clicking his tongue. “That one’s gonna be hard to walk on, (Y/N).”

Eugene sighs, eyebrows knitting together. “Yeah, last time I got something that bad, I needed to use a wheelchair for a week.”

“Dude, wasn’t the wheelchair because Teddy accidentally threw a coke bottle at your crotch?” Alex asks.

Eugene turns to him sharply, whispering something reminiscent of “girls” and “not now” while gesturing to you avidly.

“We’re going to need to get ice.” Grey says, ignoring the arguing in the back.

He lowers the damp rag onto your foot. You wince and flex all the muscles in your leg, trying not to contort your feet in pain. Lavender eyes meet yours and you begin to wonder if you had misjudged him for side eyeing your ziplock baggie of waterlogged notes. “How are you feeling?”

Well, to be honest you were feeling pretty damn good right now. You’ve never had so many attractive guys paying attention to you at once, even if it was because of a fucked-up foot. You, one. University? Zero!

Of course, you weren’t about to say this. Instead, you gulp, wiggling your toes just to make sure nothing was broken.

You turn to Grey with doeful eyes. “Well, everything is still connected. I think I’ll be able to walk, maybe with some… Extra support?”

He lifts the damp rag off your foot and contemplates a bit, placing a finger under his chin.

“Why don’t you try standing up?”

He moves to give you some space and you swing your legs off the bed, moving quite feebly to put on a show and hopefully getting the world’s hottest crutch out of it.

Unfortunately, you were so preoccupied with putting on an act that you forgot which foot was actually injured. You place all your weight onto one foot before you realize you’ve gone and fucked yourself and feel the shock of pain immediately.

Your knee gives out, sending you flailing like a circus monkey on a tricycle, except you weren’t a circus monkey on a tricycle because at least those were cute, you were just a clumsy buffoon with one foot, too lazy to pick up her own belongings and finally paying the price for it.

“Shit!”

You’re entirely prepared to just give up life and become a fully concussed vegetable at this point, but instead of the sweet embrace of death, you get the sweet embrace of a himbo instead. An arm catches you by the waist before you can hit the floor and pulls you back up to his chest, the scent of a woody cologne punching you in the face.

When you look up, you’re met with Ben’s gaze. His reddish brown hair and chocolate eyes are a lot more overwhelming up close, and it doesn’t help that you suddenly recall him calling you pretty while he snotted over your bed. You stiffen like a board.

“Uhm. Hey.” You say, definitely not awkwardly at all.

He flusters, tips of his ears turning red. He swallows thickly and his adams apple bobs up and down.

“Hey.”

He averts his eyes and looks anywhere but at you, doing what you think is an attempt at whistling nonchalantly. It was in no way nonchalant. In fact, you weren’t sure if he even knew how to whistle, he was kind of just blowing spit out of puckered lips. With both of you distracted, neither of you realize his grip was becoming slack with his inattentiveness.

“…Ben.” Grey warns, albeit softly, but alas, he’s too late and too damn quiet.

He drops you like it’s hot and everyone else watches in horror as your head connects like deadweight with the metal frame of the bed, a loud and resounding “CLING!” bouncing off the walls and reverberating in the room like a haunting testament to assured braincell loss.

Your vision swims and darkness begins to bleed into your periphery. The last thing you hear is Gerard’s voice echoing in your brain,

“Hey man, is that my shirt you’re using as a rag?”

[scribbleb-red]

i like your face - a morning au

“I’ll get the drinks,” Neil says as soon as they walk into Eden’s.

Andrew raises an eyebrow.

“No one needs to get stabbed tonight,” Neil says. “It’s Hapless Sam on the bar.”

“Spoilsport,” Andrew mutters, but doesn’t move with Neil when he heads to the bar.

Hapless Sam is the new barman helping Roland, stepping in for a few months whilst Ebony, the usual yin to Roland’s yang, is off to have surgery.

Hapless Sam is also the bane of Andrew’s life. He never gets a drinks order right. He constantly peppers them with bad one liners. He also once tried to pick up both Neil and Nicky and Aaron in one night - only stopping when Aaron suddenly duplicated and Andrew stuck a blade under his chin. After that, Roland stepped in.

But the bar was overrun tonight and if Andrew had to so much as look at Hapless Sam - well, someone is going to prison and someone is leaving in a body bag. And you don't need to be a genius to figure out which.

So Neil goes to the bar and Andrew keeps an eye on him - on the red of his hair, the sway of his hips, a new quirk that he had to know drove Andrew crazy. It should be illegal for someone like Neil to have any kind of rhythm - but Neil wasn’t a bad dancer. He was sinuous and unreal, if a little self conscious, and Andrew really really needed a drink before that happened again.

Because it will, promised the voice in his head. Nicky will never rest until Neil dances again. Even if it killed Andrew. He suspected it was partly because Nicky wanted him to dance too.

Neil came back an achingly long time later. There was something odd about the way he looked at Andrew, half a question hovering right beneath his skin.

He set down the tray and Nicky chitters, Aaron glowers, Kevin reaches forward expectantly.

But there’s a yell from the bar and Andrew looks up to see Roland’s furious face, Hapless Sam’s horror.

He catches Roland’s eye and the frantic look there - the way he's turned to stare at Andrew tells him everything.

“Don’t fucking drink anything,” he says to his table.

Aaron puts his glass down. Kevin looks torn but relents under Andrew's stare. Nicky frowns and leans back.

Neil however sways on the spot. His eyes are blown wide, two black pools ringed with the finest circle of ice blue. Andrew reaches for him and Neil reaches back. He looks sad and confused.

"N'drew..." he slurs, "Did I do su'thin bad?" There's a tinge of British in there, a twirl of French.

Andrew tugs Neil down beside him, stomach hollowing because he doesn't know what Neil's taken but it's clear he's taken something. Rage pools in the empty cavern of his chest. He goes to push Neil at Nicky - Roland clearly knows something and he wants answers - but Neil makes a noise in his throat and catches hold of Andrew's sleeve. Even high he's not crossing lines. Andrew aches with that knowledge.

"What did I do?" Neil asks again. "I don' have none secrets."

It takes a moment for Andrew to realise Neil thinks this was his fault. That in some part of this idiot's head, he believes Andrew would drug him again.

"It wasn't me," Andrew says, voice low. "You're okay Neil."

"Stay with Nicky, I'll talk to Roland." And probably gut Hapless Sam, whose fault it inevitably is.

Neil makes that whining noise again and Andrew wishes they didn't have an audience. "Don't wanna kiss Nicky."

"Who said anything about kissing?"

"Not Nicky. Only you."

Nicky's guilty look sets Andrew's teeth on edge.

Andrew needs to talk to Roland but can't leave Neil with the Monsters. Fortunately, Roland comes to them bearing a new tray of drinks and a harried expression.

"Fucking hell guys, I'm sorry. None of you drank those, right?"

"Don't worry Sammy's been banished to the kitchen, he's not doing anything like this again and--"

Andrew is up and in his face within seconds - pinioning Roland against the wall, arm across his throat, knife pricking his side.

"What has he taken?"

Roland notices Neil, gulps.

"It's a new syrup - they call it Goblin Juice and it looks just like lime cordial - Sam thought it was lime for the soda. Fuck Andrew do you need the knife? Ow fuck fuck fuck okay stop, it's made using shrooms. Non addictive. Just meant to make you happy - kinda soft."

But of course Neil was the one who drank it. If it had been any of the others, perhaps no one would have even noticed - maybe even celebrated the free high.

But Neil...

Kevin and Aaron are helping themselves to the new drinks when he lets Roland go. Nicky looks pale and nervous and is holding a shot but not drinking. Neil has flopped back on their sofa and is staring at Andrew, a wide smile on his face that Andrew immediately hates.

"I really like your face," Neil says when his brain catches up and realises Andrew is paying attention again. "You have a good face."

Andrew shoots daggers with his eyes at Roland and the barman flees, promising free drinks for the night and the next, forever, whenever.

Neil smiles and reaches for Andrew again as he comes back.

Andrew is not drunk enough for this shit, especially when Nicky coos. "Oh he's so cute. He should have gotten high sooner."

Andrew wants to warn his cousin to back off but Neil has wriggled around and nuzzled his face against Andrew's shoulder. It's heedlessly distracting. It's dangerously adorable.

"Do yous like my face Nyandrew?" Neil says. "I really really like yours. Look at your face. Hey is my head still attached?"

Andrew sees the way Neil is teetering, wraps his hand across the back of Neil's neck and tugs him close. It's not a hug. It's for the idiot's own safety that's all. However, apparently for sky-high-Neil, silence and gestures isn't an answer.

"You don't like my face?"

The slight tremble in Neil's voice is what makes Andrew swallow his frustration and reply. He can't stand that tremble. "I like your fucking face." "I like yours too." And then Neil's finger boops Andrew's cheek.

"Nose," he says. "Good nose."

For. Fucks. Sake.

But it's kind of hilarious (and ruinously cute) as Neil - gentle as a moth wing - strokes over Andrew's cheek and along his temple, finds the bridge of his nose and the swell of his lips.

"Good face."

Andrew contains himself by a miracle. He's fairly sure Aaron is filming this.

"If that footage goes anywhere but the trash, I'll fucking stab you."

"If you were going to stab me, you would have done it a long time ago brother."

"No stabbing," Neil says. "Too many witnesses. Oh hey, look at the fireflies."

Neil lifts one hand to the empty ceiling. There are no fireflies. This is Eden's. Andrew wants to take Neil home but doesn't think putting him in a car is going to do much good right about now.

"You like my face," Neil sighs and sits back. "Even all of this."

"Yes," Andrew says. "Because of all of this."

It's not the scars, it's because Neil survived. That he should have broken and yet still held himself together by tooth and claw.

"I didn't drug you," Andrew says, close to the shell of Neil's ear. "I promise."

"Okay," Neil says. "Good. I don't wanna kiss Nicky."

And there it is again, the second time Neil has mentioned this. Andrew looks at his cousin, who has escaped with Kevin onto the dancefloor.

They'll have a little chat later, when Neil isn't on another planet.

"You're the best," Neil says. "I'll kiss you."

"Not tonight."

Because even if Neil is warm and flush against him. Even if Neil is soft and pliant and willing. This is a man who has been drugged and cannot give consent. Hell, he's watching fireflies that don't exist and stroking Andrew's chin, like he's forgotten Andrew has teeth. Neil is not okay.

Aaron leans back in his chair. "If it's molly, he could be flying for hours."

"It's some kind of shroom shit."

"So even longer then."

Andrew's fingers tighten on Neil's shoulder. "So we can't wait this out?" He should have asked Roland that.

"Probably not, no. Take him home. I'll bring the others."

And for once Andrew decides to trust his brother. He gathers Neil and his loose limbs and leaves Aaron to manage Kevin and Nicky. It’s a one of the hardest things he’s ever done but Bee’s buzzing voice tells him it's time to let Aaron prove himself, standalone.

Neil is awful as they leave - smiling at everyone and everything, even things that aren’t there. His eyes shine and every time he looks at Andrew, there’s a draw of breathe like he’s never seen him before.

“You are,” Neil says, “the best thing. The abs’lute best thing. Hold me up and keep me sage, no safe. Mean safe. You me safe.”

And Neil cannot sing but his voice is sing song and full of wonder.

Andrew is going to gut Hapless Sam like a fish from chin to pelvis.

They drive home - slowly because Neil keeps getting distracted by things Andrew is doing, like blinking (your eyelashes are so white, like snow flakes Andrew) and breathing (but look how you move, so amazing). But Neil is so soft and happy and obsessed, it’s hard to be angry.

Columbia is dark, their house musty with absence. They’ve not visited for a while and Andrew had been hoping for something slightly different tonight.

Neil apparently had too. “Yes? Andrew? Yes?” He says.

“No,” Andrew says. And he never thought he’d hate seeing Neil obey - not with this - but there’s hurt and confusion and concern and a thousand layers of emotion on Neil’s face when he hears it this time. All the feelings Neil must usually keep tucked away when it isn’t always yes for Andrew.

Andrew relents, “Just this,” he says as he settles onto the sofa, guiding Neil down with him. Neil’s reaction is instant - dopey smile and arms that snake around Andrew in a loose but escapable hold.

“Warm,” he says. “Strong.”

The hours tick by in highs and lows - Neil is happy in phases, then almost crying in others. He tells Andrew things that cross his mind, about Andrew, about the Foxes and exy. He hides in Andrew’s hoody when he sees shadows crawling and is convinced they’re from his father.

Andrew does his best to soothe and protect - it’s all in Neil’s head and Andrew isn’t a soft man, but he keeps Neil close and lets him talk. A few years ago he couldn’t have done this. But a few years ago he and Neil were new and still cutting each other on their sharp edges.

Aaron herds an unhappy Nicky and an almost paralytic Kevin inside. Aaron seems sober but that could just be in comparison.

“Our cousin,” Aaron tells Andrew, “is a fool. But you care about him and shouldn’t kill him for doing what you asked.”

“What did he do?”

Aaron shrugs. “Just a kiss I believe. But might explain a bit more why your nut-job boyfriend knocked himself out that time.”

“That was cos imma liar,” Neil chimes with all the confidence of the truly seshed. “Liar liar liar.”

“Not anymore.”

“Yeah. Not with you.”

There's water and toast and Neil naps at one point but Andrew doesn't because he knows what's next - and he's right. Neil is sick for what feels like hours but isn't. Aaron brings more water. A small part of Andrew wonders if his twin actually likes seeing Neil so ridiculous.

Turns out he's right about that too.

Aaron tells him when Neil is hurling up his guts that seeing Neil like this, seeing Andrew with him like this, makes more sense than anything he's seen prior.

"You're everything to him." Aaron doesn't say that Neil is everything to Andrew but the implication is there.

And when Neil is finally in their bed, safe and asleep, Andrew calls Roland and leaves a warning. Hapless Sam had better be fired or there wouldn't be an Eden's Twilight.

He stays awake and stays awake. He falls asleep around 6am.

Neither of them stir until well into the afternoon and when Neil does, he buries his face in the pillows and groans.

"Oh my god. Andrew I'm so --"

"Shut up." Andrew doesn't want apologies for this. He sees the embarrassed pink of Neil's ears, the flush on his neck. "Stop."

Neil groans again and Andrew knows he must feel like shit right about now. That he's mortified. That he's worried. That Andrew has the power to make it right.

Something wicked flickers in his gut.

"Hey junkie," he says. "I like your face."

-The End-

Notes:

[wonderlustlucas]

jack pot ; part 2 - hwang hyunjin

⇢ prompt You know it’s bad when you’re high as a kite and he’s still on your mind. ⇢ pairing hwang hyunjin x female reader, bang chan x female reader ⇢ word count 7.5k ⇢ genre fluff, angst (not heavy, just in a slow burn kind of way), smut ⇢ warnings (18+) drug & alcohol use, explicit sexual content (fingering & thigh riding) ⇢ summary College is a matter of working hard and playing hard. It’s an opportunity to start fresh, to grow as an individual and to blossom with those you befriend. People come and people go, leaving their mark on your life and showing you all the parts of becoming an adult. Some, however, do more than leave their mark. Some take just as much as they give. Things become complicated once they take the entirety of your love because you outright offered it to them.—college!au ; stoner!au ; friends to lovers!au ⇢ a/n don’t kill me </3

⇠ part 1

three.

Student Mentor Program dinners aren’t the same without Maddie.

While she’s off in like, Panama, or something, studying treefrogs and whatnot for the semester, you get to spend almost two hours every other Wednesday night at the same restaurant, with the same people, eating the same food. You don’t even know half the kids who signed up this year, and with Maddie away and Seungmin deciding to just not show up anymore, you are beginning to think maybe you’re not cut out for the whole teamwork-planning-collaboration thing. Free Italian food is nice, but even the chicken parm is mediocre. How do you fuck up chicken parmigiana?

This is the last time you will ever bother making yourself look so formal, you tell yourself when you stop halfway up the stairs to take your heels off. Maybe it will be the last time you even bother going to the meeting, especially when fucking Dan likes to plop his ass down next to you and talk your ear off about his Mom’s dating life back at home.

When you enter your apartment, the silence is startling. Jisung is usually sprawled out on the sofa when you get home on Wednesday’s. Maybe he’s still hanging out on campus; he’s recently become a goblin for the new pho bar they built in the alumni cafeteria.

Throwing your shoes haphazardly toward the closet, you make a beeline to the kitchen, mouth watering for the pink lemonade Jisung has been so keen on making since the day you moved in. After drinking nothing but water for the past two hours, you have never been so grateful for his newfound addiction, grabbing a glass and filling it, chugging that, filling it again, and then taking steady sips. Speaking of Jisung, you jump when you hear a burst of laughter from his room. And he definitely isn’t alone.

Slowly making your way over, you hesitate before knocking on the door. “Jisung, I’m home.”

“YN!” Someone shouts. You’re not certain who.

“Come in! How was it?” This time, it’s definitely Jisung, and you suck in a deep breath before cautiously cracking open his door considering you have no idea who or what is with him.

“It was,” you stall, brows furrowing in confusion when you find him, Hyunjin, and Jeongin all huddled around his laptop, “terrible. What the hell are you guys doing?”

“Nothing,” Jisung snickers, lowering the hood of the laptop, “why was it terrible?” You pretend you don’t see Hyunjin looking terribly cute with his head tilted as he regards you.

“Food sucks. I miss Maddie and Seungmin. I don’t like people,” you grumble. Then, with a hand on your belly, “Did you get dinner?”

“My leftover wings are in the fridge. You can have them,” Jeongin offers with a smile. “Did I ever tell you you’re my favorite? I love you, thank you,” you gasp, excited at the prospect of actual good chicken. Before racing back to the kitchen, you make sure to blow him a kiss.

You don’t know why Jeongin hangs out with these nerds you call friends. As an incoming freshman, he first met Hyunjin at some soccer club recruitment event, and before you knew it, he was part of the group. You can’t understand why, considering they treat him like their slave (especially Seungmin); always asking him to do this, do that. But Jeongin is too much of an angel to argue. He’ll give a snarky reply, but then do whatever his friends ask him to. So, you try to shower him with genuine affection whenever he’s around since the others show it in peculiar ways.

You have just opened the styrofoam container when Jisung’s door opens and closes. And of course, none other than Hwang Hyunjin makes his way into the kitchen.

Hyunjin and his girlfriend broke up in August, a few days before classes started. Better yet, she broke up with him. And you have yet to know why. Since then, though, you have substantially grown closer. Against your better judgment, of course. You were hurt, yes, but summer gave you time to forget all that happened; at home, spending time with your family and friends from town, you didn’t have to worry about Hyunjin and your feelings. Changbin, maybe, but he’s studying abroad, too, and the whole friends-with-benefits thing was fun while it lasted. It’s all behind you now, and with November approaching at an alarmingly fast rate, part of you is convinced that what happened that night was just an impulsive show of hormones and weed. It’s better this way—you have your feelings better under control, and even if being around Hyunjin every day makes your heart hurt at times, you wouldn’t trade your friendship and his constant need to be close for the world.

“If you’re here to steal some wings, go away,” you grumble at him, glaring as he steps closer. He frowns. “Just one?”

“No!” You snap, smacking his hand when he reaches for one. “You try wasting two hours at one of those meetings and you would understand.”

“Maybe I will,” Hyunjin challenges, crossing his arms over his chest. Huffing loudly, you move further down the counter and finish a wing clean off the bone. “Don’t,” you deadpan, waving it at him, “I’d rather have smegma than do this anymore.” Hyunjin wrinkles his nose in disgust. “That’s – ew, YN. You’re gross.”

“Then leave me alone,” you counter, eying him scornfully, “go back to your group masturbation.”

Hyunjin lunges for the wings, but you are quick to grab them, stumbling past him and retreating back toward the refrigerator. “Stop!” You yelp when he comes after you again; this time, you duck under his arm and back against the sink. “You already had dinner!”

In one last effort, Hyunjin manages to trap you against the counter. “You’re so mean,” he whines, arms caging you in, “Jeongin wouldn’t share, either.” You desperately want to brush the ruffled strands of brown hair out of his eyes, but lucky for you, your hands are preoccupied hiding the container behind you. The fact that he even had to go and bleach his hair and dye it a light shade of brown is just another factor leading to your insanity.

“Well,” you scoff, freeing one hand to jab a finger into his chest, “it was his dinner. Maybe he didn’t want to share.” Hyunjin pouts at this, lower lip jutting out much to your dismay. His puppy eyes alone are enough to break your resolve. “Fine,” you huff, bringing the container from behind you, “just because you’re wasting my time and I want to take this dress off.”

“Why?” He asks, visibly brightening once you let him take a drumstick. “You look gorgeous,” he mumbles like it doesn’t leave you week in the knees, clean hand tugging at the skirt of the yellow sundress you wear. “Thanks,” you hum, trying to ignore his use of the hefty G word and the sincerity in his eyes, you focus on your food, “but it’s uncomfy and I’m ready for bed.”

“You’re not going to hang with us?”

“Well, if you guys were doing something fun and totally not suspicious, maybe. But my brain is fried, so no. I need sleep,” you say, licking residue hot honey sauce from your fingers, “tell Jeongin he can come snuggle.”

Hyunjin gasps, beginning to panic when you turn on your heels. “What?” He screeches, shoving the leftovers back into the fridge and following after you as you head toward your room. “Why Jeongin and not me?”

“Because Jeongin is my favorite,” you tease, pressing your back into the door because you refuse to let him be in there with you, “and naturally, next is Jisung. So you’re shit out of luck.”

Hyunjin deflates in front of you. Like, actually, full on like a balloon; shoulders sagging, chin jutting, soft eyes clouding with disappointment. “I’m kidding, Jinnie,” you giggle, leaning up to wrap your arms around his neck, “you’re all special to me.” This seems to make him feel better, brown irises flickering golden and arms wrapping around your waist. “Promise?” He whispers into your hair, swaying your body with his to a silent song. Pressing your cheek to his chest, your heart seems to give a single, solid thump as you try to etch this moment into your mind forever. Maybe in another universe, you would have this dress on for something else, and the two of you are slow dancing not in the corridor of you and Jisung’s apartment, and the heavy weight on your chest was from a different overwhelming emotion.

Yeah. You definitely have your feelings under control.

“I promise.”

Jisung straight up pulls an AirPod out of your ear like a monster.

“I hate you so fucking much,” you hiss, trying to keep your voice quiet so as to not disturb the fellow bus passengers. You go to take the earbud back but he only holds it up over his head like a child. “Jisung.”

“You owe Jeongin an apology,” he replies, gesturing to the younger boy beside him who looks up from his phone with eyes widened in shock.

“I literally have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Jisung, you don’t—”

“Shush,” Jisung interrupts Jeongin’s rushed protest, “I don’t know what you and Hyunjin did last night, but he was real weird around Jeongin for the rest of the night.”

“Again, I don’t know what you are—”

“Do you like him still?”

“YN likes Hyunjin?”

You suck in a sharp breath, unsure of who to address first; a very flabbergasted Jeongin or a very annoyed Jisung. “Please,” you snap, snatching the AirPod from his grip now that he isn’t paying attention to it, “just announce it to the whole fucking bus, why don’t you.”

“I didn’t know you liked Hyunjin…” Jeongin mutters, clearly puzzled by the revelation. “That’s because it’s a secret,” you look to Jisung with a pointed glare, “but some people don’t know how to keep their mouths shut.”

“Oh, come on YN,” Jisung scoffs, “I thought we were over this. I thought you were over this. When are you going to stop?” Nibbling on the inside of your cheek, you momentarily look away to gather your thoughts. If only it were that easy. A snap of your fingers and you miraculously would not be hopelessly in love with Hyunjin.

“I’m not,” you sigh, “I’m not going to get over him, at least anytime soon. It’s… it’s complicated. You wouldn’t understand it. Your head is too far up your ass and sometimes Minho’s ass to know what it feels like.”

Jisung frowns at this, crossing his arms over his chest because he knows you’re right. “Is this like,” Jeongin waves his hand between you, “something that’s been going on for a while?” Jisung barks out a laugh at this, and even you can’t help but crack a smile. “Yes,” Jisung chuckles, “YN has been all heart eyes for him since they met.”

“Have you told him?” Jeongin asks. Totally serious. Eyes sparkling hopefully.

“I – well, no. Not with words.”

“Hyunjin and YN had a little wink wonk night last year,” Jisung whispers like it’s some sort of secret you don’t know, jabbing Jeongin in the side with his elbow. “Yeah, and then he met what’s-her-face and forgot about it, apparently,” you grumble, slouching in your seat. “YN! How many times do I have to tell you that you left in the morning before he woke up? He was upset! You left him!”

“Then he should have talked to me about it!” You bark, shriveling in your seat when a sea of heads spin in your direction. “Instead, he went to cry to his boba bitch and get his dick sucked or something while I had to clean up Maddie’s vomit for two days.”

“YN,” Jisung deadpans, looking at you with an unamused expression. “I’m done talking about this,” you sigh, looking away once more. When you go to put your earbud back in, it’s Jeongin who stops you this time.

“YN, you two are really close. This whole time I thought it was Hyunjin who liked you. You seriously need to talk to him. Whatever happened last year was awhile ago and I’m sure it’s all just a big misunderstanding. We’re around you guys every day, and we can all see that there’s definitely something going on between you.”

“But what if he doesn’t feel the same? What if it just fucks everything up all over again? I can’t live with that kind of rejection,” you whimper, wincing when your voice cracks. Jisung takes it as his cue to wrap his arm around your shoulders and pull you close. Reaching for your hand, Jeongin squeezes your knuckles. “You won’t know unless you try, right?”

“I guess,” you mumble, cheek pressed to Jisung’s shoulder, “why can’t he just make the move?”

“Well, I don’t know, YN. Maybe because you were off fucking Changbin every day?” Jisung teases, comforting arm turning into a chokehold when you go to move away. “We were not fucking every day.”

“It sure felt like it,” he snickers, finally releasing his grip when you punch him in the gut, “Binnie got a big dick or something? Were you crazy for Changbin’s chode?” You scoff, mirroring Jeongin’s own mortified expression. “I – he does not – never mind, I’m not talking about Changbin’s dick,” laughing to hide your embarrassment, you send a thanks to the heavens when the bus slows down at the first campus stop, “this conversation ends now.”

Following them out to the sidewalk, it isn’t until silence settles over you do you realize just how lucky you are to have such supportive friends, even if Jisung is a little shit about it. “Hey,” you pipe up just before you have to head in a separate direction, “thanks for listening. I appreciate you guys.”

“Does that mean you’re going to talk to him?” Jisung gasps, excited. Adjusting the straps of your bag on your shoulders and rocking on your heels, you can only offer them a shrug. “If it comes up, maybe. But it probably won’t, so I’ll just have to deal with you guys being shitty wing-men for now.”

“Hey!” They both shout in protest, but you’ve already spun around, laughing to yourself.

Jeongin’s right; things are different than how they were in May, but you are not ready to dig your own grave again. Besides, now that you’re living with Jisung, you get to spend way more time with not only Hyunjin, but all your friends. And even if you fall asleep making up cute scenarios with Hyunjin every night, you aren’t about to make things awkward all over again. So if you must suffer in the meantime, suffer you will.

four.

“What’s the point of smoking at a party if it’s just going to turn you into a slug?” Maddie whispers next to you, vaguely gesturing to Lia passed out on the recliner. Even you aren’t sure how she does it. No matter how high you may be, something about a good party only seems to heighten the experience; maybe it’s the music that now rattles your brain, maybe it’s your reputation, or maybe it’s just the combination of weed, alcohol, and friends.

“Lia can’t handle what she smokes,” you laugh, taking a sip of beer. Christ, it’s fucking nasty, but you’re not about to start with the heavy liqueur when you are only two hours in. You still have a long night ahead of you. “Weed just has a different effect on her.”

Maddie hums in agreement, whipping her head to look behind you at the sea of people when “A Thousand Years” starts playing and everyone cheers. “Jesus, what did you do without me?”

You laugh, turning to watch the crowd as well. Your university may not be big on Greek life, but the upperclassmen who rent houses as a group really know how to throw a good party. After time, though, they start to lose their appeal. They definitely can be fun, but it all depends on who you are friends with, who else is there, and what you make of it on your own. Personally, you’re not a ‘let’s dance!’ kind of gal (it’s kind of hard to dance to crazy rap songs from Meek Mill and Kendrick Lamar, anyway), preferring to chill, drinking and maybe smoking with your own friends, and that’s about it.

“I told you, I became a master at beer pong,” you grin, waggling your eyebrows at her, “we should play later.”

“Is that why everyone was saying hi to you when we came in?” Maddie gasps, connecting the dots. “Damn, girl. Ms. Popular now, aren’t you?”

“No!” You try to object, but then someone is leaning over to hug you from behind. And of course it has to be Jeon Jeongguk, of all people. So much for proving that you aren’t as ‘popular’ as she’s made you out to be.

“YN! What’s up?” The older boy shouts way too loud in your ear, chin resting on your shoulder. He winks at Maddie and she has to look away just to hide the way her cheeks bloom pink. “I’m good!” You yell back, leaning your head affectionately against his. “Are there any good drinks tonight?”

“Yes! Do you want me to get you one?” He offers, standing up but leaving a hand dangerously close to your neck. “No, thank you” you smile, tilting your head back to look at him, “I’ll check it out in a bit. Go find your friends, you look lost.” Realizing he is, in fact, lost, Jeongguk only flicks your nose before disappearing in the sea of increasingly loud students.

“Was that—”

“Yes.”

“Isn’t he—”

“Yes.”

“Christ, who are you? What did you do to YN?” Maddie fake-cries, burying her head in her palms. “Chin up, princess, your tiara is falling,” you attempt to joke but only earn an unamused glare in return. “Alright, I think it’s time for one of those drinks Mr. Jeon was talking about,” Maddie decides, standing up and tugging the hem of her skirt down. “Unless you still want to ‘vibe?’” She mimics your previous words with air-quotes.

Laughing, you chug what’s left in your cup and stand with her. “No,” you beam, “I need to find Felix and make sure he’s not dead, anyway.”

Following Maddie around the crowd ‘dancing’ in between where you were and the kitchen, you are delighted to find not only Ryujin and Chaeryeong standing around the island, but the rest of your friends, too. “You may want to check in on your roommate,” you say to Ryujin, wrapping your arms around her and resting your chin in the crook of her neck, “she’s knocked the fuck out.”

“Aw, man,” she sighs, definitely not the most sober one around either, “I told her not to smoke if she was going to drink.”

“YN, I just think it’s funny how Maddie comes and gives me a hug, yet I don’t think you’ve even said hello,” Seungmin barks at you from his stance against the sink, eyes bloodshot and frown deep. “Dude,” you laugh, making your way over to him and opening your arms wide to give him a dramatic bear hug, “please forgive me, my friend.” Swaying side to side just for the extra measure, you then pull back to cup his face in your hands. “How are you?”

“Good,” Seungmin beams, “take a sip out of Hyunjin’s cup. It’s so good.”

You step back to look at the older boy who’s too busy playing rock-paper-scissors with Felix and Jisung. “Why?”

“Trust me.”

Shrugging, you step around a shrieking Felix to snatch Hyunjin’s cup right from his hand. “Hey—”

He stops once he realizes it’s you. “Seungmin told me to,” you confess, handing it back once you’ve taken a sip. Shit, that is good. “What is that?”

“Want me to make you one?” He offers, ignoring the initial question. You nod, unable to give him a verbal answer because Felix is already yanking your hand to get your attention. “Are you high?” He asks, spinning you in a circle until you end up in the corner of the kitchen. “Yeah, a little,” you hum, watching curiously as he reaches into his pocket and pulls out a chocolate bar. Leaning closer to hide it, he whispers, “Don’t have it tonight, but this is the best edible I’ve ever had. I was actually seeing different dimensions earlier.”

Laughing, you take what’s left and turn it over to inspect. Looks like chocolate. Smells like chocolate. “Alright,” grinning excitedly, you shove it into your wristlet, “thank you.” With a wide grin, he then spins on his heel to join Jeongin shouting at Jisung about something you don’t quite catch.

Smiling to Maddie across the room as Minho chats her up, you look beside you and realize with much joy you are right next to the chip bowls. Bingo. Fueled by munchies, you hop up onto the counter and dig your hand into the potato chips, listening in on Chaeryeong and Seungmin discuss what law schools they are looking into. Kudos to them for having their shit together.

“One beverage for m’lady,” Hyunjin appears next to you, proudly holding a red cup out to you. Laughing, you happily take it and take a careful sip. Definitely not as strong as his, but he can probably tell you already have a buzz. “Thank you,” you smile, finally eyeing him to see what attire he chose for the night. As discreetly and not-sexually-attracted as you can, of course.

Black button-up with a cute peach pattern tucked into black jeans and black Vans, he looks nothing short of incredible. It’s so easy for him, though; he could wear a trash bag and still look good and that really makes you angry. With soft brown hair messily parted to the side, he actually has you salivating. He’s crazy.

You definitely are not as slick with your checking-out as you thought you were, and he easily catches on. He’s tipsy, but not that tipsy. Hands coming to grip your thighs, Hyunjin pries them open just enough so he can slot in between, keeping his hands where they are. Suddenly you wish you didn’t wear jeans tonight.

“So,” he hums like he hasn’t just sent your blood pressure skyrocketing, “what did you do today?”

“I – well,” you stammer, brain actually rendered to mush as he rubs up and down your thighs, sometimes drawing way to close to the inside, sometimes brushing up to the curve of your hip. Drunk Hyunjin is always touchy, drunk Hyunjin is always touchy, you try to convince yourself. “Uh, I went shopping with Maddie and then we, um, we got milkshakes.”

“Yeah?” Hyunjin hums, completely invested in your short recall. He’s dangerous. Like, actually a danger to your life; no man should ever be equally cute as he is hot as he is sweet. Jail! “What flavor did you get?”

“Cookies and cream,” you whisper, beginning to panic now that he most certainly is leaning in closer and your brain is screaming to wrap your arms around him, “Maddie got strawberry and I got Jisung a, uh—”

“Is YN here?” Someone shouts in the middle of your sentence. Hyunjin frowns, mere inches from your face and moves his arm to slide possessively around your waist. “She’s right here,” he answers for you, turning and finding with much surprise Bang Chan twisting back around. Dear Lord. You grab your drink and guzzle half of it just to get some feeling back.

“You.” Chan beans, full dimples. He points directly at you.

“Me?”

“You.” “That would be me.”

Chan laughs heartily at this, stepping closer and Hyunjin’s fingers twitch against your side. “I need you,” Chan admits. You practically choke. “Yugyeom and Woojin think they’re the best beer pong players and I laughed in their face, so now I’ve been challenged to play vodka pong and I know with you, we can win.”

Geez, how dramatic. You wrinkle your nose at the whole vodka part, but you promised Maddie a game, so what better game to play than with the one and only Bang Chan.

“Sure,” you agree much to Hyunjin’s disappointment, “since you made it sound like such an honor. I’d be happy to.”

Grinning ear to ear, Chan waits for you to hop off the counter. “You gonna come?” You ask Hyunjin, finding his hand and giving it a squeeze. “Yeah,” he hums, seemingly annoyed and it makes you wince, “just need to get another drink and I’ll try to get everyone to come with.”

“Okay,” you smile, hoping to get one in return. And you do—except it lacks every aspect of a whole-hearted Hyunjin smile and an annoying thought bubble pops up to say that he’s jealous. Christ, if that’s the case… You can’t help but smile at the thought before releasing his hand and approaching Chan.

“I don’t think we’ve ever formally met,” he chuckles softly, hand on your back as he leads you toward the back door. “I don’t think so either,” you laugh, grateful that the mix of marijuana and alcohol in your body has left the anxiety that comes with talking to cute boys on the low, “only through Jisung and Changbin. And beer pong, I guess.”

“Definitely,” Chan laughs, nodding to Yugyeom and Woojin at the far end of the yard, “I think they were shocked when I said I was going to get you.”

“Oh, doubtful, are they?” Clinging closer to Chan, your brows raise as you near the senior and unfairly tall junior. “All bark and no bite.”

“What was that, YLN?” Yugyeom yaps, rounding up on you as if you would ever actually feel intimidated by him. “You wouldn’t switch up on your Olympics partner like that, would you?”

“Actually,” clicking your tongue, you poke him in the middle of his chest, “my Olympics partner is the whole reason we lost in the final four. So yes, I am switching up on you, unless you beat us.” Behind you, Woojin whistles, offering Chan an impressed nod. “And for you, I’ll pay double for my next order.”

“Deal,” Woojin beams, giving your hand a solid shake when you make your way over, “you win, next order is my treat.”

“Damn,” Chan frowns playfully when you return to his side, this time at your end of the table, “I guess nothing is in it for me besides my ego.” Laying your hand on his arm and giving it a comforting pat, you can’t help but laugh. “Don’t worry,” you reassure, “we’ll figure something out when the time comes.” What you mean by that, you’re not sure.

Maddie goes absolutely berserk when you and Chan both make your shots and get balls back. Felix, on the other hand, seems torn. While Woojin is his friend and weed plug, he realizes that you winning means not having to spend money for a good while. Which also means a disgruntled Woojin. When you miss your shot, you turn back to your friends who have crowded around the table, returning a thumbs-up to Jisung and Seungmin before frantically searching for Hyunjin.

You realize you are way more intoxicated than you thought when a troublesome idea pops in your head. It’s a close game, after all; two cups on your side and two on theirs. And right now, you don’t care about winning when the only thing you’re after is but a few feet away. When he manages a soft smile, just a shy quirk of his lips that has your heart doing somersaults, you really, truly think you may just confess. It’s now or never. The alcohol in your veins tells your heart and your head that you will just march right on over and kiss him, kiss him hard and kiss him long enough for him to know how you feel, and fuck, if he doesn’t understand you’ll tell him. Tell him how long you have wanted to do that and how badly you wish to do it again. How much he means to you and how you truly—

“Yes! Woojin, yes!” Yugyeom shrieks, loud enough to break you from your trance. Vodka pong. Winning. Bang Chan. He must have missed, as well as Yugyeom. But now Woojin made a cup and its one to two.

“Shit,” Chan sighs next to you, hand slipping away from your hip. It’s found its way there awhile now, you realize. “You got this,” you tell him, wincing as he downs the shot, “I’ll close my eyes. No pressure.” Covering your eyes with your hand for extra measure, it feels like an eternity goes by before something happens. And then, “Yes! Shit, YN, we got this!” Ah, shit. Now the pressure is on you. Of course, Mr. Perfect made the shot.

“Aw, man,” you huff, giving him a pained smile and rolling the cheap pong ball between your fingers. Your mind is a little fuzzy to focus on the singular cup and that alone, and your muscle coordination is certainly not at its best shape. But you think you have a good shot. You think. Sucking in a deep breath, you let the ball fly and bite your lip hard as it arches over the table, nearing the cup, hits the rim, bounces back up vertically, and… plops back into the cup.

“YN, you crazy son of a bitch!” Chan hollers, and you are momentarily blinded by joy as he wraps his arms around you and squeezes you in a tight hug, spinning in a circle and ever so gently lifting you from the ground. “You did it!”

“I – bruh,” steadying yourself against him once he sets you back down, you glance between his bright smile and a sulking Woojin as he drinks from the last cup, “we won!” Laughing, you squeeze him into a second hug because fuck yeah, winning feels nice.

“Man, good game,” Woojin sighs, making his way over to you, “I think you two are the crowned champions.”

“You had us sweating though,” Chan confesses, wiping said sweaty hands on his thighs, “that was really fun.”

“Stressful, but fun,” you agree, offering Woojin a sympathetic smile. “You don’t have to give me free weed, by the way. It was just fun setting the stakes high.”

“No! A deal is a deal,” he beams, “just text me whenever, yeah?”

“Alright,” you laugh, “whatever you say.” Finding Felix in the crowd, you grin proudly at him. Free weed for all! “You’re going to use this against me forever, aren’t you?” Yugyeom pouts, appearing in front of you. “Well,” you pause, pursing your lips at him, “as long as you don’t give me a reason to, no, I won’t. You were my pong partner at some point, right?”

“Hell yeah!” Satisfied with this, Yugyeom pats your head before wandering off, probably to go drink all his worries away.

“Well,” beside you, Chan reappears with two bottles of water, “that was pretty amazing.”

“Truly,” with an appreciative smile, you take one and down half of it, “did you hear what Woojin said? ‘Crowned champions!’ We’re a great team. Truly unstoppable.”

Chuckling, he nods in agreement, leaning against the table next to you. “You’re stuck with me now, though. Anytime I’m playing, you’re playing too. That’s just how it is now.” Laughing, you nod and hum in agreement, glancing at him briefly. “You know your paparazzi aren’t going to be happy about that.”

“My what?” Chan sputters and you quickly take another sip of water to hide your smirk.

“You know,” gesturing vaguely to the boys and girls gathered in the yard you’ve noticed send envious glares your way, “your fans. I’m sure someone out there is a gold star beer pong player waiting to play with you.” Chan scoffs, pressing closer and you would be lying if you said your heart rate didn’t pick up. “But I don’t want to play with anyone else.”

“Woah,” scrambling to get your cool, you turn to him and are shocked to find just how closer he has gotten, “how many girls have you used that line on?”

“None,” Chan admits, chuckling and you desperately want to press your finger in his dimple, “but I figured since we still have to figure out my prize for winning, I would try my luck.”

“Oh,” you hum, understanding. You turn to face him fully, heat working its way up and down your body as he reciprocates the movement, stepping closer and anchoring his hand to your hip. “Did you have anything in mind?”

“A few things,” Chan whispers, other hand coming to hold your jaw, tilting your head to meet his eyes. This is when you come to your senses.

Not even ten minutes ago were you convinced you were going to confess to Hyunjin, and here you are now, with not Hyunjin. You cannot help but pull back, frantically searching for the taller boy. Beside Yugyeom, Hyunjin is definitely one of the easier people to find. Could just be your Hyunjin tunnel vision, though. But as you look all around, to the left and to the right, behind Chan and behind yourself, you cannot find him. He’s not here to remind you where your heart truly belongs.

But yet again—why would he? Why should he stick around and watch as you are mere centimeters and seconds away from kissing someone else? Perhaps a part of you thought he would fight for you. Perhaps you were wrong for ever thinking that was a possibility.

And here you are, leaving someone waiting who has succeeded in making you forget about Hyunjin for the time being. Leaving someone waiting who is hot, and not in the sex appeal, six-pack all muscles type of hot. (Well, maybe a little of that, because you have been to enough swim meets to know what Bang Chan looks like underneath all his clothes.) But hot not just physically—he’s the whole package. Sweet, humble, and nothing like most of the guys who look the way he does.

“YN?” Chan asks, brows furrowed and concern clear in his voice at your prolonged hesitance. “Sorry,” shaking your head and making a final decision, you wrap your arms around his neck and lean in closer, “I was just thinking of where else we could go.”

Chan surprises you with the force he uses to kiss you, tongue skillfully wrapping around yours and hands hurrying to press you closer. Whimpering against his mouth, you slowly but surely lose yourself in the feeling, clawing at the fabric of his shirt and aching to have him closer. It isn’t until he has you bumping against the edge of the table you were just playing pong at do you realize where you are, certainly drawing attention in the middle of the yard with Chan’s hips rolling into yours and your hands tugging at his hair.

“Chan,” you shakily pull away, taking a necessary breath and cupping his face in your palms. This close, you realize just how beautiful he is. This close, you pray this could be the start of something new. “Somewhere else?”

Chan swallows heavily, Adam’s apple bobbing as he brushes blonde hair away from his forehead. “Yes,” soft smile greatly juxtaposing to the lust that leaves his eyes heavy-lidded, he takes your hand in his and leads you back inside, “not out here.”

Wordlessly following after him, you keep close, holding onto his hand for dear life as the desire pooling in your abdomen grows the farther he takes you into the house and finally up the stairs. “Sorry,” he mutters, maneuvering around the few people waiting to get into the bathroom, “seniors typically get the best rooms.” Opening one of the last doors further down the left corridor, Chan finally releases your hand once you have entered a very tiny, very cramped bedroom.

“I mean,” you pause, scanning the room with just a full-sized bed, black desk littered with music equipment, and dresser just barely squeezed next to a small closet. “At least you have your own room.” Humming in agreement, Chan regards his room too, wincing at his unmade bed and wires tangled in a heaping mess over his desk and onto the floor. “I wasn’t expecting to have someone over, everything’s a mess, I’m—”

“Hey,” you reach for his arm, stopping him from fixing the comforter that hangs halfway off the bed, “stop worrying. This is fine, you’re fine.” Smiling softly, Chan allows you to pull him back, stopping before you and caging you between himself and the door. “Are you sure?” He whispers, tilting your head up with a finger under your chin. “Yes,” unable to fight your smile at just how sweet he is, you finally lean up and press a quick kiss to his reddened lips. “Now please, do something.”

Chan does not hesitate, hurriedly returning to your previous business; this time, not holding back. His hands skirt down your body, one curling to cup your neck as the other slides down your spine before giving your ass a good squeeze. “Shit,” you hiss, head thudding against his door when he journeys down your neck, plump lips pressing random kisses against the soft skin before sucking a dark mark above your collarbone. When his fingers fumble against the buttons of your jeans, you offer him a hand, hurriedly popping the four open and sighing happily when he gently touches your clothed core.

“Are you sure?” Chan checks one last time, forehead pressing into yours and you nearly scream. Half because what a gentleman he is but half because every nerve is begging to be sated. “Yes,” your voice comes out more as a croak, quickly kicking your shoes off by the soles and tugging your jeans down to your knees to give him extra room.

Chan wastes no time, fingers quickly disappearing beneath the waistband of your underwear and drawing a teasing line up your slit. “Chan,” you groan, squeezing his arms at the subtle touch, “please.” Chuckling at your expense, he softly circles your clit with his thumb, reveling in the way you tremble and whimper before him.

“I’ve never been so turned on playing beer pong,” Chan admits, middle finger moving to prod against your entrance, “I kept missing my shots ‘cause all I could focus on was you.”

“Fuck,” you sigh blissfully, rolling to meet the gentle sway of his finger as it reaches deep within you, “you’re going to make be blush.” Chuckling, Chan quickly adds a second finger and makes sure to grind his palm against your clit until you are a whimpering mess. “I’m so glad we won. This would not be as enjoyable if we were doing this to make up for losing.”

“For sure,” nodding frantically, a high-pitched whine escapes your lips when he moves his fingers in a come-hither motion, brushing deliciously at that sacred bundle of nerves, “this is better than winning.” Sensing your impending orgasm with the way your walls begin to flutter around him, Chan suddenly pulls his fingers from your heat and takes the overwhelming pleasure with him.

“What are you doing?” You gasp, breathless and confused as he plops down on his bed, leaning against the wall and quickly tugging you to join him. “Want you to come on my thigh,” he grins, totally not fitting for your given circumstances, but the thought is tantalizing enough to convince you. Fully stepping from your jeans and shakily sitting over one thigh, you glance back up to him and feel a fresh wave of arousal simply from how godly he looks; cheeks flushed and eyes dark. Pressing down, it isn’t until his hands find your hips and guide a subtle back-and-forth movement do you find just how amazing it feels.

“Oh, god,” you cry, eyes squeezing shut as you rock desperately over his thigh, relishing in the way the fabric of his jeans rubs against your clothed core and directly to your clit. In the midst of such a frenzy, you make out the shape of his cock tented painfully within his pants and release your grip on his shoulder to pop open the button and slide the zipper down. “Shit, YN,” Chan sighs shakily, finally receiving the same treatment as your hand tugs the waistband of his boxers down just enough to wrap your hand around him.

“God, sorry, I’m gonna come,” biting onto your lip, you try to keep the momentum stroking his cock but with one final rut against his thigh, the pressure against your clit causes the knot within you to snap. High on the intensity of your climax, it takes a few seconds for you to come back to reality, mind swimming and limbs shaking with the aftershocks of such ecstasy.

Looking up to meet his eyes, you realize your hand has gone limp by his thigh and offer a shy smile. “Sorry,” wincing, you lean forward and press a grateful kiss to his lips, “that was like, insanely amazing.”

“I’m glad,” Chan purrs, cradling your jaw and finding himself content with just kissing you for now. Until your hand finds his still very much hard cock and brushes against the tip.

“Wait,” he stops you no matter how hard it hurts him to do so, breathing shakily as he reaches for your wrist. “I hope this isn’t going to make things complicated for you.”

“What?” You laugh in disbelief, pulling back with brows raised in confusion. “What are you talking about?” Chan frowns, helping you settle comfortably on his lap like his dick isn’t standing tall and proud between you. “You were looking for someone earlier,” he says, eyes soft with sympathy, “I hope you being here with me doesn’t mess things up.”

You scoff, truly amazed at his words. Here we go again. “I – no, it doesn’t. Well, things are already complicated. Actually,” the haze of alcohol and post-orgasm bliss suddenly clearing from your mind, you move to stand up, “never mind. This was a mistake. I should go.”

“Wait,” Chan stops you, hand softly reaching yours and tugging you back. Just the sadness in his expression alone is enough to soften your resolve. “I know we’re not best friends or anything, but you just came on my thigh. You can tell me what’s wrong. I think I deserve to know.” Well… he has a point. Swallowing past the lump in your throat, you contemplate turning away and leaving. But even if it’s not his business, he has given you something special tonight. Maybe telling someone like him will help.

“You’re right,” you sigh, quietly returning to sit beside him, “I was looking for someone. I was hoping he would be there to remind me who I’m really after, but he wasn’t. And then I realized I was wasting time. And now I’m here with you.”

Chan’s hand finds yours, thumb swiping softly against your skin. “Why didn’t you go find them?”

“Well – I… it’s not like we’re dating. It’s just a stupid crush, and I was hoping maybe he somehow feels the same, and when he saw me with you, he would get jealous… I’m sorry, this makes it look like I used you,” frantic, you struggle to find the right words, “I promise I’m not. I like you, you made me forget everything and I—”

“Hey, stop,” Chan interrupts, cupping your face so you look him in the eyes, “I didn’t think that at all. I really like you and thought maybe something could happen between us, and even after I realized you were looking for someone else, I was selfish and wanted you for myself.”

“No! Stop, please,” laughing to hide your disbelief, you squeeze his hand to assure him. “I was hopeful because you made me forget about him. But I don’t think I ever will fully forget.”

“You need to tell him, then,” Chan says, “or else you’ll never be able to move on.”

“It’s not that easy. Confessing just how much you like someone is a big deal,” you point out.

“No, it’s not,” he argues, brows furrowed, “you just told me you like me. Just do that again but to the one you really feel that way for.” Sulking, you look away, focusing on his desk’s clutter. “I guess you’re right,” sighing, you rest your head against his shoulder and squeeze your eyes shut, “but for right now, I’m with you. And you still didn’t get a prize for winning.”

Bellowing out a laugh, Chan snuggly wraps his arms around you. “Well, if I can help take your mind off things without ruining any relationships, I’d be happy to do so.” Smiling against your hair, his palm lays flat against your bare thigh and gives it a firm squeeze, bringing your attention to his slowly softening dick.

“That sounds like a great plan,” you agree, littering kisses over his neck before resituating yourself over his lap, “I’ll figure the rest out tomorrow.”

⇢ part 3

[redladydeath]

jhgfdfghjkhgf i was going to just post this in the video’s comment section but for some reason that’s not working so here’re act one of the william and mary play:

Mary: Look, you’re my best friend, okay? And, um, best friends tell each other everything, right? Oh my god. Excuse me. Oh, Maria Regina, it was awful! He was awful, William, my Dutch cousin, or as father likes to call him “the Dutch Dog” *laughs*… I had the honor of being forced to dine with the extended family. My little Dutch cousin William– and was he rude! Oh my god. He spent the entire meal either staring at me or grimacing at the food. No manners. And he’s old too, like, at least thirty, not that you’d know by looking at him, he’s very short, but old enough to know better, and all that I could hear the entire time was his breathing– no, no, no– wheezing, with his tiny little child-sized mouth. *imitates wheezing* [indecipherable] –cause he had [indecipherable] big monster of a nose to use, but I guess that was out of commission. And King Charles II– God save him– and all twelve of his spaniels, seated at the table, eating off of the plates– how am I related to these people?

Anne: Mary!

Mary: Shh! Shh! My sister! We’re fighting! Oh god. Uncle Charles– God save him– William... ew. I’ve never fit in with this entire family and now I find out that my sister’s been ta… my sister– No, no I will not stand here and idly gossip. My sister– no. Sh– no. Sh– no. Sh– nope! Betty!

Betty: Yes, your ladyship?

Mary: Um, take Maria Regina will you?

Betty: Yes, your ladyship. Anne has been screaming for you, your ladyship.

Mary: Yes, tell her I’m dead.

Betty: Yes, your ladyship.

Mary: No, don’t, that’ll get her hopes up. Tell her that I’m resting– exhausted from a fascinating dinner with our exotic Dutch cousin.

Betty: Yes, your ladyship.

Mary: And I can trust you all? Oh, um, and would you bring me an ink, pen, and paper?

Betty: Yes, your ladyship.

Mary: How’s this? Dearest, dear, dear, dear, dear, dear... girlfriend– no, no, no... lover– no, too saucy– um... husband? Yeah… it’s a woman, but we’re gonna call her a husband. Don’t get confused! Um, dearest husband, after my prayers to all-mighty God, I’ve come to make peace with you, for it is a strange thing for a man and a wife to quarrel. What more can I say to prove that I love with more zeal than any lover can? You are loved with a love never known by man–

Anne: Mary!

Mary: You are loved more than can be expressed–

Anne: Mary!

Mary: By your ever-obedient–

Anne: Mary!

Mary: SHUT UP!! –wife. But to my great sorrow, I find out that you’ve been corresponding with *whispered* my sister!

Anne: Mary!

Mary: Shut up! Oh, to be your humble servant! To kiss the ground where you go–

Anne: What are you doing?!

Mary: Shut up! Oh, to be your dog on a string, your fish in a net, your limber trout–

Anne: She writes me too, you know!

Mary: No, she doesn’t!

Anne: Yes, she does!

Mary: Shut up! [indecipherable] If my letter has made the effect, dear “husband”, on your hard ear, I may without scruple call you my dearest, dear, dear, dear, dear, dear, dear, dear husband.

Anne: She is not your husband and your letter to her are weird. Also, she sends me letters and calls me her husband and loves me more than she loves you and you’re a lesbian!

Mary: That word doesn’t even exist yet, Anne!

Anne: Lesbian!

Mary: Keep your voice down!

Anne: She writes me more letters.

Mary: Our love is forbidden.

Anne: Get over yourself!

Mary: She knows unlike you I’ll be queen!

Anne: Whatever. I don’t care. I don’t even want to be queen.

Mary: Oh, good, cause you never will be.

Anne: Of course I will! When your head gets so damned big from all the bullshit praise, even your ugly, masculine, lesbian neck won’t be able to support its weight. Snap! And your head will fall off, like our poor headless grandpa Charles–

Mary and Anne: God save him!

Mary: To imagine the death of a monarch is treason, I could look you in the Tower.

Anne: You couldn’t!

Mary: When I’m queen.

Anne: You wouldn’t!

Mary: I could!

Anne: Nu-uh!

Mary: Uh-huh!

Anne: You wouldn’t be the first queen to do that to a little sister.

Mary: Well, you came in here and started it.

Anne: I know. I have something to tell you.

Mary: You could’ve waited!

Anne: I have a memory. About mummy.

Mary: Did you? Really? Would you tell me?

Anne: When we knew she wouldn’t make it much longer, she asked me to come to her bedside. She had just got her blood let, so she was speaking very openly.

Mary: It’s okay, Anne!

Anne: She asked me “Do you know why I named your older sister Mary but named you after me?”

Mary: Why?

Anne: Mummy said… “Because prefer you to that bitch older sister!”

Mary: Leave!

Anne: Mom liked me more!

Mary: I was named after a queen!

Anne: Yeah, Bloody Mary! “Oh, look at me! I’m named after a fat, bloated Tudor Catholic!”

Mary and Anne: *spit*

Mary: Leave!

Anne: I just came in here to ask how dinner went.

Mary: It was lovely. Leave!

Anne: Was it? I bet it was boring.

Mary: Only for a child but when you’re fifteen years old you appreciate stimulating conversation!

Anne: [indecipherable]

Mary: Good!

Anne: Was he… stimulating?

Mary: Ew! I mean… yes.

Anne: What was he like?

Mary: Tall, dark, handsome.

Anne: Really? Tall, dark, and handsome?

Mary: Mmyeah.

Anne: I’m jealous.

Mary: You should be.

Anne: Did he stare at you?

Mary: What? No.

Anne: I guess he wouldn’t. Not after what I have heard.

Mary: Oh, I don’t even want to hear your idle gossip– what did you hear?

Anne: Oh, it’s just that father told me that Uncle Charles–

Mary and Anne: God save him!

Anne: –Tried to marry you off to him.

Mary: What?

Anne: For some Dutch alliance.

Mary: What?

Anne: Yeah. He turned you down though.

Mary: He turned me down?

Anne: Three times.

Mary: What?

Anne: And here I was going to come in and make fun of you! I thought William was a tiny little goblin man. That would’ve been so embarrassing!

Mary: Right…

Anne: If you were turned down by an ugly little goblin man.

Mary: Right…

Anne: Three times!

Mary: Leave!

Anne: Why?

Mary: Leave!

Anne: I thought he was stimulating!

Mary: I want to be alone!

Anne: Mary the Martyr, you’re so weird! Maybe you’ll actually fit in if you didn’t lock yourself in your room all the time writing creepy letters. Some queen you’ll be! You’re friends with a fish!

Mary: Well, I will be queen whether I want to or not!

Anne: Mary the Martyr, you’re engaged to Louis the fucking XIV, what right do you have to be mad at me?

Mary: ...Have you seen the latest portrait of Louis?

Anne: Yeah!

Mary and Anne: *squee*

Anne: He’s fucking gorgeous! Even for a Catholic!

Mary and Anne: *spit*

Anne: Milky skin, so fucking rich! Full deep eyes, tight little French ass…

Mary: Anne! God is listening!

Anne: [indecipherable] I’m just appreciating the work! Those portraits are rarely accurate though. You saw the portrait of Uncle Charles–

Mary and Anne: God save him!

Anne: –He looked like a Roman god dipped in oil.

Mary: What?

Anne: He glistened Mary! Like a buttered up Roman statue! In reality, he looks more like butter. Well… butter with syphilis.

Mary: Oh my god, you can be quite cruel Anne.

Anne: I’m destined to marry one of our fat, inbred cousins, so I’m allowed to be.

Mary: Sorry.

Anne: Yeah, it’s whatever. Well, I’m going! Unlike you I actually have friends to hang out with.

Mary: Oh, bad company ruins good morals.

Anne: Fuck you! See you at dinner.

Mary: That’s why that little Dutch dwarf was staring at me. Oh my God, could you imagine that tiny, wheezing little man crawling into your bed every night– oh my god, it’s an offensive thought! But the most offensive part? He said no! He said no to me! Oh my God, the man is a slug! William of Orange– blegh! And Uncle Charles– God save him– tried to make me marry that, not that I would’ve! No! I would’ve told him off, right to his face. I’m not afraid of him! I will not be made a sacrificial lamb. I would’ve told him off to his face! Right to his tiny, regal, little mustache: “No, Uncle! You may be king, but I will not marry that creature! Put me in chains; lock me in the Tower; feed me to the ghost of Cromwell; I absolutely refuse to marry that creature!” I would’ve told him off. I will not be made a sacrificial lamb!

*fanfare*

Mary: Oh, Jesus Christ.

Betty: Your uncle, King Charles II– God save him– is here your ladyship.

Mary: Okay, send him in.

Betty: Yes, your ladyship.

*dogs yapping*

Charles: Quiet, quiet, quiet! [indecipherable] Good doggy-woggys! Now, niece!

Mary: Oh, Uncle, God save you–

Charles: Rise dear! You’re one of the few girls at court I’d rather not see on her knees.

Mary: Oh– ew.

Charles: Oyster?

Groom of the Stool: Yes, your majesty! *grunting*

Charles: I’ve just come from your mother and father’s apartments.

Mary: She’s not my mother.

Charles: Charming lady, your new mummy. She’s got those bovine hips, so I assume she’ll be plopping out heirs as soon as James’ dousing rod directs her away from foreign [indecipherable].

Mary: Oh my God.

Charles: Oyster?

Groom of the Stool: Yes, your majesty! *grunting*

Charles: If God is good– and we know he is– she’ll give birth to a few boys before she’s spent. Women are quite fragile, as you know Mary. It’s especially hard with our good Stuart stock and– Oh, Dicky, no, no hump, no hump, daddy has a [indecipherable]. Might we can hope for a few younger brothers– you’d like that, wouldn’t you Mary?

Mary: Oh, yes, dear uncle. How I love being an older sister to our dear, simple Anne and how I’d revel in the opportunity to be an older sister again.

Charles: Oyster?

Groom of the Stool: Yes, your majesty! *grunting*

Charles: [indecipherable] England [indecipherable] worry that another woman would take the throne.

Mary: Yes, poor England.

Charles: Yes.

Mary: Ah, ah, ah, ah!

Charles: Dicky! If that heifer can squeeze out just one little boy, England is saved! Oh, Mary, you see it’s not that women shouldn’t be involved in politics, it’s that they can’t. Their brains aren’t built for it! I don’t even know if you can comprehend what I’m saying to you right now!

Mary: I’m lost.

Charles: Yes, I assumed so. Oyster?

Groom of the Stool: Yes, your majesty! *grunting*

Charles: *chocking, spits* [indecipherable] Go on, up! [indecipherable] Now, where were we? Yes– women are not fit to rule.

Mary: Sorry, once more.

Charles: I am king.

Mary: You are king.

Charles: I am a great king.

Mary: You are a great king.

Charles: Women… cannot be kings.

Mary: No, they’re queens.

Charles: …Very good Mary! I’m very proud. That’s a real thought you just had!

Mary: I’m lost again.

Charles: So, if I am king and women…?

Mary: Can’t be kings.

Charles: Then women…?

Mary: Can’t be great kings?

Charles: Exactly! I am very impressed with your understanding of Restoration politics. As king, I’ve found it requires tremendous subtlety. OW! Dicky, get off! Dicky, don’t let–! God, you bastard! Bite that hand that feeds you, ey? Groom of the Stool!

Groom of the Stool: Yes, your majesty?

Charles: Lock him in the Tower!

Groom of the Stool: Yes, your majesty.

Charles: You made a big mistake, Dicky! No [indecipherable] bites a sovereign.

Groom of the Stool: Yes, your majesty!

Charles: Now, let us break our conversation into greater areas regarding your sex.

Mary: Ah, like needle crappy gossip.

Charles: And… boys.

Mary: Ah, yes, boys.

Charles: And… marriage.

Mary: Ah, yes, my purpose in life.

Charles: You a beautiful Stuart girl– Protestant– a large Protestant wedding to a regal, Protestant husband.

Mary: No, ha, Louis’ Catholic.

Charles: Louis? Yes, he’s Catholic.

Mary: Right, but you just said–

Charles: You, a beautiful Stuart girl– 

Mary: Oh no!

Charles: A large Protestant wedding–

Mary: Oh, god!

Charles: To a regal–

Mary: No!

Charles: Protestant...

Mary: Please!

Charles: Did you enjoy dinner last night? You [indecipherable] to impressed your cousin.

Mary: No.

Charles: William! Were you taken by him, Mary?

Mary: *bahing*

Charles: He was very taken by you.

Mary: *bahing*

Charles: Your first cousin, so you’ll have a lot in common!

Mary: *bahing*

Charles: My dead sister’s boy! She was a real bitch.

Mary: *bahing*

Charles: And you’ll have the line of succession, so you won’t have to worry about being queen, Mary. William can handle it. Sorry he’s such a cold, ugly bastard.

Mary: *spluttering*

Charles: Your Catholic father *spits* is pissed. Not surprising, but I ordered him to shut the fuck up about it. The wedding is next week. La~!

Mary: Wait! Anne!

Charles: Oh, you’re too thoughtful, dear girl! Anne will be fine on her own.

Mary: No, no, no, marry Anne off to William!

Charles: Certainly not! You’re next in line after your idiot father. We’ll marry Anne off to one of the fat, inbred cousins.

Mary: But I learned French!

Charles: And now you’ll get to learn Dutch! It’s not a beautiful language, but it matches the people. The king exits!

Mary: *sobbing*

*church music / exert of “Aria” by Marco Rosano*

Priest: Gathered! His Royal Highness Charles II!

Ensemble: GOD SAVE HIM!

Priest: The bride’s father James (the eventual second)– what? Your father refused to attend!

Mary: *sobbing*

Priest: We are gathered today in the eyes of our Protestant God to witness the eternal joining of two people, and more importantly, two nations. Our beloved England and our at-least-for-the-time-being-not-enemy Holland.

*fanfare*

Priest: The Dutch Stand Stadtholder! ...William? ...The Prince of Orange!

William: *violent coughing*

Priest: William? You good?

William: Ja.

Priest: Do you need a minute?

William: [indecipherable]

Priest: Okay! So… the, uh… the Dutch Stadtholder! The Prince of Orang– William?

William: *violent coughing* [indecipherable]

Priest: We are gathered– we are– we’re gathered– we are gathered– gathered– and we are gathered–

William: [Dutch word]

Priest: Pardon?

William: [Dutch word]

Priest: Sorry, I–

William: [Dutch word], stepping [Dutch word].

Priest: Oh, yes. *groaning* NOW! We are gathered for the joining of two people, two nations, and one [indecipherable] faith. Do you, Mary, take a solemn vow to obey and honor William until you’re parted by death? Okay, good. Do you, William, take a solemn vow to take Mary as your bride and treat her with whatever respect you happen to feel like showing her? Alright, whoo! You’re all good in here. You may kiss the bride.

William: *violent coughing*

*retro dance music* / exert of “Oh! Oh! I'm Goin' Home” by The Peppers

Mary: Wow. Midnight. Where did the time go?

William: Time for bed.

Mary: Right. Yup. Time for bed. It’s late and… it’s late and… it’s late and… it’s time for bed and there’s the bed, it’s time for bed and… we’re married now.

Charles: Now, nephew! To your purpose! God save Saint George and England! *giggling*

Mary: Right, historically, um, all of that actually happened. Well– oh, sorry, I was talking to someone else. Well, I guess it’s late, right? It’s late and it’s, um, time to go do– time to do– time to go do do do do do do do do doing of it. Ah! Wow. A ring… Is it for me? …Should I take it? …I’ll take it. Wow… a ruby… yes, ruby– rubies are very– rubies are red! Red. Rubies are… pink actually, now that I look at it. Funny, they’re really much more pink. Everyone always says “ruby red” but they’re much more pink when you look at it, oh look at that, it’s–

William: My mother’s.

Mary: Your mother’s? Wow. Beautiful. Ring. That was your mother’s. Ring, ruby, ring, ruby, ring–

William: She’s dead.

Mary: What? Oh, I’m sorry. About that– that she’s dead. What happened? Sorry! No, none of my business. Poor Mum! Um, my mom is dead. Died when I was a child so… I know what it’s like. To have a dead mum. *awkward laughter*

William: You don’t have to smile for me. You don’t have to pretend.

Mary: Dearest dear, dear, dear, dear, dear, dear husband– this is the woman again, um... You’ll find a pair of horns on your front door for… it appears I’ve taken another husband. Hm…

*whistle*

Anne: I brought you a going-away present. It’s another goldfish.

Mary: Thank you, sister.

Anne: I knew you already that one, so you’d like it. I hope they don’t eat each other. Do goldfish eat each other? Is it a long trip to Holland?

Mary: I don’t know!

Anne: You seem glum. Story time! When Aunt Catherine–

Mary and Anne: God save her!

Anne: Married Uncle Charlie–

Mary and Anne: God save him!

Anne: She had to leave Portugal in order to marry him. She hadn’t even met him yet, so I guess it could be worse.

Mary: Yes, but she came to England, I’m leaving it!

Anne: Yeah, fair. Just trying to help.

Mary: I don’t need your help, dear sister, this is my cross to bear.

Anne: Saint Mary the Martyr of English diplomacy! If only you were Catholic.

Mary and Anne: *spit*

*whistle*

Mary: I’ve never left London, that’s what scares me the most. God be with thee, sister. God be with thee, England.

William: …Two.

Mary: Oh. Yes, Anne got me one as a going-away pr– okay.

Anne: I hate him.

Mary: Well, he’s your brother now.

Anne: Please, I hated him when he was my cousin. I think you should be the first Protestant saint just for sleeping with him. I can’t even imagine!

Mary: …Neither can I.

Anne: WHAT?! TELL ME EVERYTHING!!

Mary: Well, considering we haven’t, that’s everything to tell!

Anne: Oh my God! You’ve been married a week!

Mary: This stays between you and me, Anne!

Anne: Oh, but Mary, I have to tell my friends!

Mary: I don’t like your friends!

Anne: Fuck you! The court would die if they knew!

Mary: No!

Anne: But Mary, you can’t tell something this juicy and force me to hold it inside!

Mary: Shh!

Anne: But it’s not you Mary, it’s him. That puny prig.

Mary: No.

Anne: But you don’t even like him!

Mary: What wife likes her husband?

Anne: He’s so gross and I used to think you were gross, but he’s like, super gross. Oh thank God you’re not screwing! Your kids would be so gro– I didn’t realize Papa hadn’t told you the truth about him!

Mary: Oh, what did father say?

Anne: He buggers boys. Said he buggers boys. Said if he takes the throne, England gets two queens.

Mary: …I’ll have nothing to do with silly, irreverent myths, Anne… And tell my other husband I’ll send her the new address.

Anne: Gross! [indecipherable] each other!

*Dutch folk music* / exert of “Klompe Dans” by Camerata Trajectina

Citizen: Welkom in Nederland!

Mary: Oh, yes, thank you.

Citizen: Welkom in Nederland!

Mary: Ah, yes, thank you.

Citizen: Welkom in Nederland!

Mary: Thank you.

*fanfare*

Mary: Oh, good day William!

Citizens: Welkom in Nederland!

Mary: Life in Holland. It’s beautiful. It’s very, very clean.

Citizen: Welkom in Nederland!

Betty: Your ladyship?

Citizens: Welkom in Nederland!

Mary: Thank you! Please keep talking, Betty.

Betty: Your ladyship–

Citizens: Welkom in Nederland!

Mary: Anything in English– thank you!

Betty: *whispers*

Mary: Dank u.

Citizens: Ooo!

*fanfare*

Betty: Supper time!

Mary: I’m not hungry.

Betty: Not you, your ladyship.

Citizen: Welkom in Nederland…

Mary: …Dank u.

Citizens: Ooo!

Mary: I must grin when my heart is fit to break, I must speak when my heart is so oppressed I can scarcely breathe.

Betty: Oh, that’s real pretty. The Bastard, your ladyship.

Mary: The Bastard?

Betty: Your half-cousin, King Charles II– God Save Him–’s bastard son, your ladyship.

Mary: Here?

Betty: Uh-huh.

Mary: Whoo!

Monmouth: Cousin!

William: Let me not interrupt your reunion. Continue this.

Mary: How’s home?

Monmouth: England is good! The family not so much. My father, Charles II–

Mary and Monmouth: God save him!

Monmouth: –seems ill. Parliament hates your father, James (the eventual second) since he’s decided to be Catholic–

Mary and Monmouth: *spit*

Monmouth: –since we just had nine years of civil war, ugh! People would rather avoid any foreseeable royalist drama, so Parliament wrote the Exclusion Act to keep your father off the throne.

Mary: Oh no!

Monmouth: No! Charles II–

Mary and Monmouth: God save him!

Monmouth: –refused to sign it.

Mary: Oh, good.

Monmouth: No! That’s why [indecipherable] is shit! Charles II–

Mary and Monmouth: God save him!

Monmouth: –dissolved Parliament, hoping to form a more moderate one.

Mary: Oh, good!

Monmouth: No! Bad! A group of Protestants then tried to blow up my papa Charlie–

Mary and Monmouth: God save him!

Monmouth: –on his way back from a race to [indecipherable]!

Mary: Oh no!

Monmouth: Oh yes!

Monmouth: –[indecipherable] watching the race, ALL OF NEWMARKET CAUGHT ON FIRE!!

Mary: Oh no!

Monmouth: No, that’s good! Charles’– God save him– house in Newmarket was destroyed, so they had to leave the race early, thus foiling the plot to kill him!

Mary: Oh, God is very generous to our family. And how’s Anne?

Monmouth: Married.

Mary: Oh, to one of the inbred cousins?

Monmouth: We’re royal! Inbred cousins are the only dignified option! How’s life in the Dutch court?

Mary: Um… clean, it’s very, very clean.

Monmouth: Ah, thank God you have William.

Mary: *hysterical laughter* ...Yes. No, I do see William from time to time. He likes to walk from stage left to stage right to stage right to stage left.

Monmouth: Incredibly generous man– looking forward to our dinner tonight! He invited me to hunt tomorrow and all the rest of next week! Very charming!

Mary: You’ve only been onstage for a minute and a half!

Betty: There are more officials for you to meet, your ladyship.

Monmouth: See you around, cuz. Ch-cha! …Ch-cha!

Citizen: Welkom in Nederland!

Mary: Dank u.

Citizens: Ooo!

William: …Welkom in Nederland! *laughter, interrupted by violent coughing*

*fanfare*

Citizen: Welkom in Nederland!

Betty: Alright! Her ladyship has another engagement she must prepare for, so sorry!

Mary: Ugh, what’s next Betty?

Betty: Nothing, your ladyship. I just think you’ve been gawked at enough today.

Mary: Oh, thank you Betty!

Betty: What’s a lady-in-waiting for?

Mary: But I’m afraid William might be cross once he finds out I didn’t finish all the state greetings. I guess I’d actually have to spend time with him for him to be cross with me.

Betty: He’s not one to get cross about things; he’s quite charming actually if you get past the hermetic silence.

Mary: I suppose he prefers the company of *whispered* his men?

*fanfare*

William and Monmouth: *laughing*

William: *starts coughing violently*

Monmouth: I love this guy!

*fanfare*

Betty: You’ve heard that already, have you?

Mary: Is it true?

Betty: Rumors, your ladyship. I also heard rumors of a girl who wrote letters to a woman she called her husband. And I now know a woman who still writes these letters!

Mary: Dismissed!

Betty: Your ladyship.

Mary: Wait. Put the children to bed, will you? Wait– wait, wait wait– just [indecipherable]. Don’t judge me! Dearest, dear, dear, dear, dear, dear– stop!– husband… Let me start again: Dearest, dear, dear, dear, dear, dear husband: You’ve not responded to any of my letter as of late!

Anne: Dearest sister!

Mary: Oh good God, Anne! Still able to interrupt me from across the English Chanel!

Anne: It is with good nice that I write. Since we last spoke… I’m pregnant!

Mary and Anne: *squeeing*

Anne: I know! I know! I fucking know! Ah, someone has to produce some heirs in this family!

Mary: Hey…

Anne: What have you been up to? Oh! My friends are here! Thank you, sis!

Mary: Anne is pregnant. My younger sister is pregnant …I’m jealous! Ugh!

*fanfare*

William and Monmouth: To hunt!

Monmouth: ♪ I’ll sing you eight, O! ♪

William and Monmouth: ♪ Green grow the rushes, O! ♪

William: ♪ What are your eight, O? ♪

Monmouth: ♪ Eight for the April Rainers! ♪

William: ♪ Seven for the seven stars in the sky! ♪

William and Monmouth: ♪ Six for the six proud walkers! ♪ Five for the symbols at your door! ♪ Four for the Gospel makers! ♪ THREE, THREE THE RIVALS! ♪ Two, two the lily-white boys! ♪ Clothed all in green, O! ♪ One is one and all alone! ♪ And evermore shall be so! ♪

*fanfare*

Mary: Betty!

Betty: *imitating the song*

Mary: Stop!

Betty: Oh! Yes, your ladyship.

Mary: My cousin, the Bastard, and Prince William have been spending an awful lot of time together!

Betty: William loves the hunt.

Mary: How do you know?!

Betty: He told me!

Mary: You’ve spoken with him? Am I the only person in the entire world who’s not had a single conversation with my husband?!

Betty: You just need to catch him in the right mood.

*fanfare*

Mary: Dearest, dear, dear, dear, dear, dear– Oh my God, you’re pathetic! Two husbands and neither one replies!

Anne: Okay, so I wasn’t pregnant. Well, I was, but I’m not anymore.

Mary: Oh… Anne I’m so sorry!

Anne: I know. But I will be again. Maybe tonight! God be with me!

Mary: I don’t have to be Mary the Martyr. I can fix him. I can make it work. It’s a job, right? I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I’m just doing my job!

*fanfare*

Mary: Oh, William! Um, I was wondering–

William: Nothing!

Monmouth: The hunt did not go well!

William: Ugh!

Anne: Yup, pregnant!

Mary: Again? Wow!

*fanfare*

Mary: Oh, William! I’d love to talk with you!

William: …but–but–but we’re going to the hunt?

Mary: Yes, but I’d really like to talk with you.

William: …Okay?

Mary: In private.

William: Um… After the hunt?

Mary: Yeah, okay, sure.

*fanfare*

Anne: Okay, that pregnancy wasn’t meant to be, but tonight, THIS IS THE ONE!

Mary: Tonight, this is the one!

*fanfare*

Mary: Oh, William! I’m so looking forward to our evening!

William: Not in the mood!

Monmouth: The stag got away!

*fanfare*

Mary: The stag got away…

Anne: Pregnant!

Mary: Ugh!

*fanfare*

Mary: William, wait! Tonight?

William: Eh!

Mary: Wait! Here, for good luck!

Monmouth: *retching*

*fanfare*

Mary: Tonight! Tonight!

*fanfare*

Mary: Oh, husband! How was the hunt?

William: I got the stag!

Mary: Oh, you must be very merry!

William: I… uh… I’m exhausted. Ugh…

Monmouth: Come on. Shake it off.

William: *violent coughing*

*fanfare*

Mary: I will force myself to love this creature.

*fanfare*

Mary: *screams* ...Oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh! It must have been a chill!

William: [indecipherable]!

Mary: Oh, oh no! Oh no! Oh, my slipper! Oh, I–I’m so sorry to, uh, keep you from you duties!

William: I’ve been meaning to schedule a time for our talk.

Mary: Oh, you remembered?

William: What was the subject?

Mary: Us. You and me. Us and our… duties.

William: Ah. Our political duties are not as rulers, but as first citizens. Stadtholder means “the first citizen.” It is very different from life in England. For example, no Dutch citizen kisses my hand. In the Netherlands, we are all equals. Calvinists, Protestants, Jews– even the Jews Mary. [indecipherable] Do you like Holland?

Mary: Oh, it’s very, very clean. I’m not, um… I’m not sure if I’m fitting in.

William: Well, I don’t fit in and I was born here.

Mary: I feel the same way about my family.

William: Our family.

Mary: You’re very close to the Bastard, you know. Hunting and… actually talking and I was thinking, now that we’re actually talking, Anne is pregnant… again.

William: Ja? ...Yes? …This life is not the life you wanted, is that a true thing I just said? Bastard! Where is [indecipherable]?!

Monmouth: *whispers*

William: Your uncle, Charles II–

Mary: God save him!

William: –he’s dead.

Charles: …Oh.

Anne: I had a miscarriage. Oh, and Daddy’s the king now. God save him.

William: To his newly crowned majesty– James II– I send you greetings–

*evil music / exert of “Allegro” by Marco Rosano*

James: James II! Boy, you’re the husband of my eldest daughter, the heir apparent to the throne of England, my father’s grandchild, my son-in-law: it’s King James II!

William: Ah. From one very close ally to another very, very close ally– that is what we still are, right?

James: Say it! Say my name, William!

William: King James II?

James: YES! That’s me, the king! Say it again!

William: King James II, I first wish to send you condolences on the death of your brother, God save hi–

James: I was at his bed when he passed.

William: Surely, you provided much comfort to Charles–

James: Oh, “surely provided much comfort to Charles,” yes! He converted, on his deathbed, to Catholicism!

William: *spits*

James: I’ll never forget his final words to me: “Make sure my whores don’t starve!” Men of power keep mistresses, you know… Do you know that, William?

William: …Well, uh, the reason I write is because, well, I have an offer for you. You see, here in Europe we have a little club. I call it “a league”. Not everyone is allowed into it, actually, but England most definitely would be allowed in “the league”. It is what may be described as “exclusive”. A lot of really great countries have joined: uh, Austria, Spain, the Netherlands, even Savoy.

James: Which countries are not allowed?

William: France.

James: Oh, don’t like Louis, do we?

William: No, I don’t! Louis wants to be king of Europe and he– he is routinely invading us here in Holland. Your son-in-law: who is that? That is me! Which I know you aren’t thrilled about, but your daughter is the Princess of Orange. Louis XIV is invading not just my country, but also her country.

James: Please. Mary’s country is, and always will be, England!

William: And as the future Queen of England, you should protect her.

James: I wouldn’t be so sure about Mary. While she is the eldest, she’s still a woman, and unlike you, William, I plan to perform kingly duties with my queen.

William: I just wanted to invite you to our league.

James: I’m very important, I’ve got to go.

William: France is at our borders as we speak!

James: That’s not my problem. Mary was betrothed to him for years, you know, before she married you. My idiot brother made that happen against my protests but I’m the king now! I wasn’t supposed to be, but God wanted me. God needs me! Sixty years of second-fiddle to King Syphilis and now I’m calling the shots, William! I don’t need you, you need me, and frankly, I don’t really like you.

*evil music / exert of “Allegro” by Marco Rosano*

James: Shh!

William: Why you do that?

*evil music / exert of “Allegro” by Marco Rosano*

James: Shh!! Thank you. Ooo, ooo, how they all loved my brother Charles the Pervert– forced me to marry my daughter to that Dutch abortion! Now, I’d like to speak to the court! You all like… gossip, don’t you? Let’s talk about William.

*retro music / exert of “O Samba Brasileiro” by Walter Wanderley*

Mary: They’re laughing, Maria Regina. They’ve been whispering all morning and I don’t– I don’t want to sound paranoid but… I hear my name. I hear William’s name and I hear… Betty’s name.

Messengers: God save him!

Mary: Hello?

Messenger 1: Your father sends us–

Messenger 2: God save him!

Messenger 1: James II–

Messenger 2: Long may he reign!

Mary: Oh, Father sends you?

Messengers: God save him, yes!

Messenger 2: In his infinite and divine wisdom, we were sent to you–

Messenger 1: His oldest daughter–

Messenger 2: Possibly the future queen–

Mary: Possibly?

Messenger 1: Your mother, the queen–

Mary: She’s not my mother.

Messenger 2: Is hoping to reward England with many sons–

Messenger 1: But one’s eyes are to the future–

Messenger 2: He hasn’t forgotten his eldest.

Mary: Oh, we haven’t spoken–

Messenger 1: He thinks of you often.

Mary: Well, he doesn’t write.

Messenger 1: It’s not that he thinks of you as you are–

Mary: Okay…?

Messenger 2: More for what you could be.

Mary: Well, I’m just happy that he’s thinking of me.

Messenger 2: He’s thinking of your soul.

Messenger 1: Your eternal soul.

Messenger 2: Your eternal, everlasting soul.

Mary: Yup, those both mean the same thing.

Messenger 1: Since Jesus was crucified–

Messenger 2: [indecipherable], mind you–

Mary: Yes, I’ve heard.

Messenger 1: A church was born–

Messenger 2: The Catholic Church!

Mary: *spits* Oh, sorry, habit.

Messenger 1: James–

Messenger 2: King James–

Messengers: God save him!

Messenger 1: Has sent us–

Messenger 2: In his infinite and sacred judgment–

Messengers: To convert you to Catholicism!

Mary: …Yeah, no, I’m good.

Messenger 1: It’s the true faith.

Mary: Yes, next time he could just write.

Messenger 2: [indecipherable] reading materials!

Mary: Right, or even visit–

Messenger 1: [indecipherable] all the celebrities are Catholic.

Messenger 2: Wow, really?

Messenger 1: Really!

Messengers: Like who?

Messenger 2: The pope, you ever heard of him?

Messenger 1: Of course! Wow, the pope is Catholic?

Messengers: Who else?

Messenger 2: God!

Mary: Debatable.

Messengers: Who else?

Messenger 2: Louis XIV.

Messenger 1: Whoah, he’s a heartthrob.

Mary: Yes, okay, I’ve heard enough!

Messenger 1: But Louis’ such a hunk!

Messenger 2: And Catholic!

Messenger 1: And… He’s Catholic?

Messenger 2: You better believe it!

Messengers: A Catholic hunk!

Mary: Okay, I’m married!

Messenger 1: For now.

Mary: …Excuse me?

Messenger 1: Hard to ignore the rumors–

Messenger 2: Naughty rumors–

Messenger 1: Everyone’s tittling–

Messenger 2: A-tittle here, a-tittle there–

Messengers: Tittle everywhere!

Messenger 1: That little Dutch devil–

Messenger 2: Evil Protestant pervert–

Mary: Oh, no, no, no, him buggering boys– that’s just a rumor!

Messenger 1: Boys?!

Messenger 2: Buggering?!

Messenger 1: Boys?!

Messenger 2: Buggering?!

Messengers: Buggering boys?!

Messenger 1: More like buggering the help.

Messenger 2: Dutch devil!

Mary: With the help?

Messengers: Buggering the help.

Messenger 1: Yes, everyone knows–

Messenger 2: Knows her name even.

Mary: Do you know their name?

Messenger 1: Well, I’ve said everyone–

Messenger 2: We’re part of everyone–

Mary: So, yes?

Messengers: Yes!

Mary: What’s his name?

Messenger 1: His name?

Messenger 2: His name?

Messengers: Squinty Betty!

Messenger 1: Squinty Betty’s a man?

Messenger 2: I didn’t know she was a man!

Messeger 1: No, I bet Betty’s a man.

Messenger 2: No, man, she’s a wo-man.

Messenger 1: Wo-man?

Messengers: Wo-man, she’s a wo-man!

Mary: Wait, Squinty Betty?!

Messenger 1: And the Dutch devil!

Messenger 2: Evil Dutch devil!

Messenger 1: Evil!

Messenger 2: Evil: that’s not good!

Messenger 1: No, it’s not good!

Messenger 2: That’s the opposite of good!

Messengers: And what’s the opposite of good?

Mary: Evil!

Messangers: *scream*

Mary: *screams*

Messenger 1: [indecipherable] James–

Messenger 2: King James–

Messengers: God save him!

Messenger 1: Has the fires burning.

Mary: Fires?

Messenger 2: To feel the heat.

Messenger 1: Ow!

Messenger 2: Careful.

Messenger 1: It’s the heat.

Messenger 2: I feel it.

Messenger 1: [indecipherable] King James [indecipherable] our beloved England [indecipherable] burning more evil people than Charles ever did.

Mary: Wait, he’s burning people?

Messenger 2: [indecipherable]

Messenger 1: Evil people!

Mary: He’s burning people?!

Messenger 2: [indecipherable]

Messenger 1: Evil people!

Mary: Father’s burning people?!

Messenger 2: [indecipherable]

Messenger 1: Evil people!

Mary: Jesus!

Messengers: Praise him!

Messenger 1: Praise Jesus!

Messenger 2: Praise God!

Messenger 1: Praise the pope!

Messenger 2: And above all, praise the king!

Messengers: God save King James II, long may he reign!

Mary: …William and Betty– no… No, I’ll have nothing to do with silly, irreverent myths… Betty! Um, throw these away. And, um, put the children to bed, will you? Oh– oh– oh– oh– oh, um… question: how is it you always to find William in such a talkative mood?

Betty: I just run into him.

*laid back retro music / exert of “Rain” by Walter Wanderley*

Mary: It’s late. No, you don’t have to leave. You were in Betty’s room. Do you know how I know that? Maybe because the entire court is talking about it! No, you don’t need to talk! I have tried to get you to talk for months, you do not need to talk now! Fuck off, Betty! The longest I’ve ever spent with you is [indecipherable]. You’re impossible! You’re thick! Uncaring! Cruel! My life here is suffering and now you make me the fool? To my father, to the court, and to myself! I’m the fool! You know, it was better when I thought you were gay; I thought “Well, at least it’s not my fault” but now I know, “No, it is my fault!” You turned down marrying me once before, why did you have to say yes this time? I was engaged to Louis XIV! I could’ve been in Versailles, in the most beautiful place on Earth and I would’ve been happy– no, I would be happy! And I would be liked and my family would love me and I would’ve done everything right, but then you came along! And ruined it! And everything! And me! And– this isn’t right! No! This is not how this was supposed to go! It was supposed to be me and Louis and it would’ve been right and normal and then I would be normal and happy and I don’t know– I don’t know why you had to say yes this time! Louis– Louis– Louis is– Louis– Louis– Louis– Louis– Louis– Louis– Louis’ the king! Right? Right? And he’s beautiful! I assume. I’ve seen the portraits– which are rarely accurate– but I’ve always wanted to marry him! Well, I was always supposed to marry him– but at least he’s nice! Yes, I’ve not met him, but at least I’ve heard that he’s ni– well, I guess I’ve actually not heard anything, but I was alway supposed to ma– Well, I guess I always– Okay, well, I guess I’ve never really actually thought about it! Well, I guess I never actually like Louis, or men… Men in general. I mean, I write to a woman who I call my husband, and I’ve always had a crush on her, but she’s not very nice to me, and she writes to my sister more than she writes to me, AND I DON’T KNOW IF I’M A LESBIAN, OKAY?! I don’t like men! But I don’t know if I like women either– historically speaking, there’s some things we just can’t know about me, okay, historically speaking– but personally speaking, you know what? I’M FIFTEEN YEARS OLD!! How am I supposed to know?! You know what? No! I didn’t want to marry Louis, now that I think about it, because, well, I never actually thought about it because, well, I’M NEVER SUPPOSED TO THINK! But I am gonna think! Like you said, we’re just first citizens here, right? So I’m allowed to think! So I’m gonna think! So I’m gonna think! Right, let me think! …Okay. I have something to say. I’m fifteen years old, William. Do you have any idea how scary this is? Leaving my country, marrying you, a stranger, I… I don’t speak the language, I don’t have any friends, and you, my husband, are still a stranger. You don’t have to love me. You don’t have to like me. But please don’t be cruel to me. I… I do not know how much… more a fifteen year old girl can take.

William: …Betty’s a spy. Before I married you, I had asked her to inform me about you.

Mary: Yeah, a spy, that’s the best you could come up with–

William: It’s true.

Mary: Yes, my lady-in-waiting is a spy! …Well, what did Betty the spy say?

William: She said you weren’t like your family.

Mary: Well, I tried to be like them.

William: I never tried.

Mary: Well, I think that makes you honest.

William: But not liked.

Mary: Well, they don’t like either of us. We share that at least.

William: I need to say something.

Mary: Okay! Good! Yeah! Okay! I’m here! I can listen! …Is it a problem? Is it personal? Is it about what I think it’s about? I know what it is, William.

William: You do?

Mary: Yes. It’s about–

Mary and William: Your penis / Your father

William: Wait, what?!

Mary: What about my father?

William: He terrifies me.

Mary: Oh, yeah, me too.

William: The balance of peace in this world is a delicate thing and James isn’t.

Mary: You can talk to me about these things, William. I know who my father is, you’re not going to hurt my feelings.

William: Yes… My penis?

Mary: Oh, um, well, I mean… why haven’t we…?

William: I’m uncomfortable around–

Mary: Me.

William: …people.

Mary: Oh, yeah, well, same, haha... But, um… It’s just a job, right? We would just be… doing our… our job.

*classical music / exert of “Zadok The Priest, Hwv 258″ by the English Chamber Orchestra*

William: *panting*

William: *panting*

William: *panting*

Mary: I HAVE NEWS! …I’M PREGNANT!! I did it! William did it! We, um… well, obviously, we did it. Oh my God, I feel a strange thing!

William: Are you okay?!

Mary: No! Yes! No! …I feel… happy.

*cheerful folk music / “Bransle de Bourgogne” by Brisk Recorder Quartet Amsterdam*

Anne: I have news!

Mary: Hello, Anne!

Anne: Hello, Mary.

Mary: You’re pregnant?

Anne: No, Mumsy is.

Mary: She’s not our mother.

Anne: They say if it’s a boy, God has chosen to make England Catholic again, but that’s only a 50-50 chance.

Mary: No, he wouldn’t baptize him Catholic, Anne.

Anne: I wouldn’t be so sure.

Mary: But we’ve just had nine years of civil war, why would he lead us into another?

Anne: To save us from the Dutch Devil.

William: Me?

Anne: I prefer “the Dutch Abortion” but “devil” isn’t bad. Gotta go!

Mary: God be with thee, Anne.

Anne: P.S. I may be pregnant, not sure.

*cheerful folk music / “Bransle de Bourgogne” by Brisk Recorder Quartet Amsterdam*

Mary: Ohhh!

Messengers: Glorious day!

Messenger 1: Tra-la!

Messenger 2: We’ve been sent to you by your father, the king!

Messenger 1: God save him!

Messenger 2: Long may he reign!

Mary: Again, he could always just write.

Messenger 1: He has his own pregnancy to attend to.

Messenger 2: His future son!

Mary: Are you certain about that?

Messenger 1: God ordained it!

Messenger 2: A Catholic England!

Messengers: Tra-la!

Messenger 1: We’ve been sent to beseech you.

Messenger 2: Consider your child’s–

Messenger 1: Everlasting soul!

Messenger 2: Baptize your child in the Catholic faith!

Mary: *spits* …morning sickness.

Messenger 1: For your child!

Messenger 2: For your father!

Messenger 1: You must respect him!

Messenger 2: Honor him!

Messenger 1: It’s in the Bible!

Messenger 2: “Honor thy father”!

Messengers: The Fifth Commandment!

Messenger 1: Honor the king of England!

Messenger 2: God save him!

Messenger 1: Long may he reign!

Messenger 2: For England!

Messengers: Make the baby Catholic!

William: Mary?

Mary: Yes?

William: Honor is not obeying.

*cheerful folk music / “Bransle de Bourgogne” by Brisk Recorder Quartet Amsterdam*

Anne: I have news!

Mary: You’re pregnant.

Anne: Besides that, Mary, but yes.

Mary: Oh, congratulations!

Anne: Yes, same to you!

Mary: Thank you!

Anne: Thank you! I have news: people are talking about Mother’s pregnancy–

Mary: Ah, she’s not our mother.

Anne: –And they think it’s all a big fake! Everyone is saying how [video skips]

Mary: Who’s saying that?

Anne: The court, Parliament, everyone! Oh, they don’t like Papa; they say every nineteen out of twenty want him gone.

Mary: Yes, but not likely cause the king does not–

William: Mary–

Anne: Ew!

Mary: Anne!

Anne: Sorry… Hello, William… glad you got my sister pregnant. *retches*

Mary: No. No, it’s not right for me to dance… No! No, I can have this moment! I can be happy! Yeah, nothing’s gonna stop me– *claps* –from enjoying this moment! Go ahead!

*cheerful folk music / “Bransle de Bourgogne” by Brisk Recorder Quartet Amsterdam*

Monmouth: Ah! I thank you for the generosity both you and William have shown me over the last undetermined period of time, but I must leave.

William: Oh, where’re you going? I was going to plan another hunt.

Monmouth: There comes a time in every mans life where the cruel, [indecipherable] eye of destiny looks upon him! The hero of every story has his moment of action! [indecipherable] standing on the precipice of glory to see the apotheosis of my journey’s end on that glorious mountain green! Today I sail! This story shall no longer wander unguided like an orphan clinging from one vague historical anecdote to another! No! Search no longer, poor play, for you have found your hero! And that hero… it’s me. Someone has to save our England! I have a mighty army of almost one hundred men! Eighty two to be exact!

Mary: Wait, with eighty two men you’re planning to–

Monmouth: Invade England, seize the crown, depose your father, my uncle, and save England from Catholic *spits* tyranny?

Mary: You’re planning on doing this with…

Monmouth: Eighty two men! Historically, this is what I did, so yah. [indecipherable] sweet cousin, it will be a Protestant England! ALL HAIL KING BASTARD THE FIRST! CHA-CHAH! Ah! He-yaaaaaaaaaaaa!!

Mary: Eighty two men can’t overthrow the king of England!

William: He’s hoping the people will rise.

Mary: What would they do to father?

William: Kill him.

Mary: Ah! Ah!

William: Okay, okay, okay! The Bastard doesn’t have any support, your father will be fine! You can have this moment; you deserve to be happy.

Mary: How? I may not like my family, but I love them. Yes, I-I deserve to be happy, but Father doesn’t deserve to die!

William: He won’t, he’ll be fine!

Mary: You can’t know that for sure.

William: I do! …I-I promise you– I-I… I promise on the life of our child that nothing will happen to your father. I’ll see to it.

Mary: You will?

William: Mmhm.

Mary: …Okay… Okay, yes, okay… I’m happy.

William: Rest. Nurse? Take my wife to her bedchamber. Make sure she doesn’t want for anything.

Mary: Ooo!

William: [indecipherable]. James?

*evil music / exert of “Allegro” by Marco Rosano*

James: James?! Use my full title!

William: I have grave news.

James: Oh, has France invaded you again?

William: Your nephew, the Duke of Monmouth–

James: Who?

William: …The Bastard.

James: Oh, why didn’t you say?! How is the lad?

William: He’s leading an army to depose you and take the crown for himself.

James: *laughs* You’re having a laugh! …Shit! How dare he! Doesn’t he know who I am?! I’m the king! I’m very well respected and loved– everybody loves me! *gasps* Why doesn’t he love me?! Oh, he’s just a little shit bastard, I’ll crush him! How dare he not see how awesome I am! How powerful and strong and– oh! I am so mad right now! It was a good day too, it was going really well, I had just finished telling the queen “I’m gonna make it a good one today, you know!” Ugh, I am so mad right now I’m literally shaking! *gasps* I need to eat something!

William: I hope you now see that our relationship is very…

*execution drums / exert from “March to the Scaffold” by Paul Edward*

Headsman: *giggling* For your crimes against the crown, you are sentenced to death!

James: Say hello to your father for me, boy. Any last words?

Monmouth: Fuck off!

James: How dare you! Kill the bastard!

Headsman: God save the king!

James: No one questions my authority!

Monmouth: Piss off!

James: Bastard?!

Monmouth: I have still a few [indecipherable]

James: How dare you! [indecipherable]

Headsman: Thank you. One more!

James: Who’s the douchebag now, huh?

Monmouth: You are!

James: Bastard! [indecipherable] I am not a douchebag, I am the king of England!

Monmouth: Douche of England more like it!

James: Cut off his head!

Headsman: [indecipherable] does anyone want to take over, huh?

Monmouth: It takes– ugh! –and this is all true– ugh! –five blows! Ugh! King Douche II! Ugh– *splutters*

James: Who’s the douchebag now, huh? Not me. I am not a douche! You hear me, Bastard?! I am not a douche! You hear me, England? I am not a douche! I am King James II! Not King Douche II! King James II! Charles didn’t respect me, and you, you didn’t respect me, but my people will. OR I’LL FUCKING MAKE THEM! They will fucking tremble in love and adoration– ohh! I want hundreds to pay for this bastard’s actions! I don’t care who they were, if they even so much as saw him walk by, they are to be executed. Churchyard trees are to be littered with corpses, the military men will be order to play in time with the twitching of their feet! And if you think that this is too much, too cruel, I’ll remind you: One, I am just being historically accurate, and two, I am the goddamn motherfucking King of England! William!

William: …your majesty.

James: Oh, I couldn’t’ve done it without you! …But I know what this is. Scared to lose a few more windmills to Louis, huh? What, you thought that you could bribe me with this little quid-pro-quo?

William: I didn’t do it for you, I did it for Mary.

James: Mary? Don’t you dare bring my daughter into this. What? You thought that I was so stupid that little nugget of information would have me on all-fours like a whipped bitch begging to do you any favor you asked? No! That little shit was nothing! I could have fought him off while wiping my ass! I owe you nothing! France may be at your borders, but England could join them just as easily! God knows Louis and I talk about it. *laughs* Tip-toe around me, William. Now, I’d like to speak to my daughter. Now!

William: Mary, could you come here, please? I have a letter for you from your father.

Mary: He’s safe! Thank you, William!

James: Mary, my eldest daughter! *laughs* You know, I fought your uncle Charles about you having to marry that–

Mary: [indecipherable] William’s wonderful, actually. Yes, I–I miss my home very much, but Holland, it’s very, very clean.

James: [indecipherable] they tell me you’re considering a Catholic baptism.

Mary: Oh, no I’m not, Father.

James: You have a responsibility to me, Mary. Biblically, I am your father and you must honor me.

Mary: Well– I do honor you.

James: Then you must obey me.

Mary: Well, honor is not obeying.

James: From King Douche II to you now?

Mary: King Douche?

James: How dare you! I am very [indecipherable] you talk back to me. I am your father and you must honor me!

Mary: Enough of this.

James: You will make the child Catholic!

Mary: Stop!

James: We all know you have no choice. You’re a prisoner.

Mary: Please…

James: [indecipherable], Mary, there’s hope in the distance!

Mary: What are you suggesting?

James: Just because you… lie with the Dutch Dog doesn’t mean you need to get its flees.

Mary: He’s my husband!

James: *laughs* William isn’t long for this world.

Mary: What are you planning?

James: Oh, come now!

Mary: What are you plann– ah! Ah!

James: *laughs* You look like him. Can’t even walk without wheezing, spits blood; your time in the tower is almost over, Mary.

Mary: He is the father of my child. William, could you come here, please?

James: *scoffs* Is he the father? Last I heard, he couldn’t perform.

Mary: You’re one to talk!

James: My performance isn’t to be questioned!

Mary: I know the rumors of the queen’s great belly!

James: [indecipherable] rumors: just a few!

Mary: Nineteen out of twenty! That’s what– ah! Ah!

James: Make the child Catholic!

Mary: *spits*

James: Your mother–

Mary: She’s not my mother!

James: No, your real mother! Remember the day she died?

Mary: Please, Father, I’m in pain! I don’t want–

James: The day she died the priest came to administer her last rites, to cleanse her soul. Without it, your mother would be damned for all eternity! Her skin would scorch, blisters would form– weeping blisters!

Mary: *voice breaking* …William?

James: A priest came… and she refused him.

Mary: William! …That’s a lie!

James: After my counseling she refused the Protestant priest. The Catholic bishop was called in and all was confessed. So, in your philosophy, Mary, is it your mother or your child who’s damned to unfathomable pain and suffering? Which is the one true faith? If you baptize that child Protestant, it means you believe it’s your mother suffering, right now as we speak. Have you ever considered hellfire, Mary? *laughs* It’s something to think about. Oh! Your new mummy’s in labour now. Got to run.

Anne: Mary– and William *scoffs*– the queen’s had a baby. It’s a boy. They’ve baptized him Catholic *spits* toldja so. But there’s something else. I have some gossip! All of London– they think it’s a changeling! They think it’s not a real child. They think she snuck a child into her bed to pass off as our brother! Oh! Papa’s going mad. Something’s going to happen. Something bad.

William: May I see it?

Betty: There’s nothing to see. ...You should go to her, William.

*dramatic music / exert from “2020” by SUUNS*

♪ And what you see is really what you see ♪ ♪ What you, what you, what you, what you ♪ ♪ Do what you please, the thing what you see ♪ ♪ What you, what you, what you, what you ♪ ♪ And what you see you feel ♪ ♪ Coming real, take your way ♪ ♪ All through the way… ♪

~ Intermission ~

*guitar strumming*

Chorus: ♪ Good fortune [indecipherable] William and Mary [indecipherable]-tend ♪ ♪ May glories increase and their lives never end ♪ ♪ [indecipherable] daily successes our nation may find ♪ ♪ For England [indecipherable] they both are designed ♪

Mary: William?

William: Huh?

Mary: Why is there a Greek chorus?

William: [indecipherable] chorus now.

Mary: Yes, why?

Chorus: ♪ Over the hills and it must be done ♪ ♪ To England, Glorious Revolution! ♪ ♪ William commands and we will obey ♪ ♪ Over the hills and far away ♪

Mary: Shoot, shoot, shoot! What story with a Greek chorus ends well?!

William: It’s just a device, Mary, it doesn’t mean–

Mary: The letter! They’re here because of the letter!

William: We received a letter?

Mary: From England. They call themselves–

Chorus: ♪ THE IMMORTAL SEVEN! ♪

Mary and William: The Immortal Seven.

Mary: Parliament has invited us to England.

William: They’ve invited us to invade England.

Mary: Why would they do that?

William: I don’t know.

Mary: We can’t invade!

Chorus: ♪ Invade you must, there’s no time to waste ♪ ♪ James is a monster! Our country defaced ♪ ♪ Blood in the streets and corpses in trees ♪ ♪ Come and put our minds at ease ♪

William: Your father is in talks to invade with Louis. Where? Here! He’s–he’s had his boy and he’s baptized him Catholic and all of England is on the brink of Civil War again!

Mary: What does that have to do with us?

William: Um, well… They want us to depose your father.

Mary: It has to be us?

William: I don’t see another alternative.

Mary: Shoot, shoot, shoot! Is it right?

William: Right? We–we save England, we save the Netherlands, we keep Europe in balance– yes.

Mary: But is it right for a daughter to depose her father? It’s the Fifth Commandment, right? “Honor thy father!”

William: He doesn’t need to die.

Mary: Well, I know my history, William! You only depose a king by killing him. How many former kings do you see walking around?! But… He can’t invade Holland! It’s your country and you care so much for it and the people and it’s so very, very clean– Okay, yes! We should do this. But we have to do it a different way. No blood. No killing. If it’s an invasion, it has to be a bloodless invasion!

William: I don’t know…

Mary: Can you try?

William: Invade one of the most powerful countries in the world, other-throw its king, and not hurt anyone in the process?

Mary: Please?

William: …Ja.

Chorus: *gasps* ♪ What’s that you say? ♪ ♪ We prick up our ears ♪ ♪ [indecipherable] you come ♪ ♪ To end all our fears ♪ ♪ Think of what you both could be ♪ ♪ You’ll go down in history! ♪

Mary: We could, couldn’t we! Imagine all that “First Citizen” stuff here in the Netherlands– we could do that in England! You could bring all of your wonderful ideas to my country! Imagine: Freedom of religion!

William: Freedom of the press!

Mary: And no more torturing! Or bloody pomp and circumstance! And we do it bloodless! We ride into England and the people will rise with us and father will say “Oh wow, that’s what the people want!” And it’ll all work out [indecipherable] Why shouldn’t we be king and queen?! Neither one of us want the damn job so we’re the ones who should have it…

William: Would I be king?

Mary: Yes.

William: Who would you be?

Mary: The queen.

William: Right, but who’s the one in charge?

Mary: …Oh.

William: It would be you, you’re first in line.

Mary: Oh, me? No. 

Chorus: *murmuring in agreement*

Mary: No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no! I’d rather not.

William: It’s not up to you, you’re first in line.

Mary: Ah, but you! You–you are after me!

William: Right, but you still come first.

Mary: But I don’t want to be queen– okay, wait, wait! Let me think… Okay, solution. ….We’ll… both be king and queen!

William: It does not work that way.

Mary: [spluttering] Listen! We go to England; you raise an army and depose– aw– depose father and then we say “Alright! We’re both king and queen!” What’re they gonna do, say no?

William: Joint monarchs– it would be a first.

Mary: [indecipherable] I don’t know if it’s right. God says to honor thy father, but… that doesn’t feel right.

William: We can say no, Mary.

Mary: No… You okay?

Anne: Yes, quite, sister.

Mary: Okay, good.

Anne: Stop staring at me!

Mary: Let’s keep going. And my heart says to bother you.

William: Your heart says that? What do we want to do?

Chorus: ♪ To England, to England! We sail, we sail! To England, to England! At last, at last! A tempest, a tempest! Begins, begins! And [indecipherable], and [indecipherable]! [indecipherable], [indecipherable]! ♪

Soloist: ♪ To England, we sail / [indecipherable] / [indecipherable] / [indecipherable] ♪

Chorus: ♪ The men are afraid ♪ ♪ There’s no debate ♪ ♪ Revolution now must wait ♪

*storm sounds*

Mary: Ahh!

William: THEY’RE CALLING IT THE CATHOLIC WIND! WE CANNOT SAIL FOR ENGLAND UNTIL IT PASSES! WE’VE ALREADY LOST A THOUSAND HORSES! WE HAVE FORTY THOUSAND MEN WAITING TO INVADE– BUT THIS WIND!!

Mary: There have been so many omens! This wind; the miscarriage! Is it a sign from God?! Can a daughter who deposes her father be a Christian?! Can doing what’s right and God’s will be at odds?!

William: WHAT?!

Mary: CAN DOING WHAT’S RIGHT AND GOD’S WILL BE AT ODDS?!

William: Oh, it is over.

Chorus: ♪ [indecipherable] ♪ ♪ William and Mary, our God has ordained ♪ ♪ Rex and Regina, this we say ♪ ♪ Sail on the future king’s birthday ♪

Mary: Wait, really?

William: Ja. It’s my birthday. The fourth. Historically, that’s just how it happened to work out.

Mary: Oh! Well, that’s a good omen, right? Happy birthday to you!

William: Yes.

Mary: William, wait! Look… I respect you. And, under normal circumstances, I would never breach this, um, unspoken agreement, but, um, it’s his birthday– ah, could we– um, uh– you know– could we do just one round of “Happy Birthday”? Um, what’s a good starting note? *hums* Is that good? *hums* Ready?

Mary, chorus, and audience: ♪ Happy birthday to you! ♪ ♪ Happy birthday to you! ♪ ♪ Happy birthday dear William! ♪ ♪ Happy birthday to your! ♪

*cheering*

William: This is the greatest birthday present I’ve ever received. Thank you.

Chorus: ♪ William has come and we will defend ♪ ♪ To kick out the tyrant and and then will ascend ♪ ♪ His first steps on English soil ♪ ♪ Defender of faith and [indecipherable] ♪

William: Hello? Where the hell is everyone?

Peasant: *screams* Oh, it’s [indecipherable] Day. Everyone’s busy catching cats.

William: Ah. Well, um, I am William of Orange, Defender of the Faith and– wait, why are you catching cats?

Peasant: To [indecipherable] the pope.

William: Ah. Well, I am William of Orange, Defende– the pope?

Peasant: *sighs* Not the real one sadly, but yeah. [indecipherable] cats and set them on fire.

William: Why you do this?

Peasant: For God! It’s tradition! …You’re not from around here are ya, foreigner!

Chorus: ♪ Over the hills and it must be done ♪ ♪ To England, Glorious Revolu– ♪

Peasant: [indecipherable] you are making such a racket!

William: I am William of Orange, Defender of the Faith!

*cat screeches*

Peasant: [indecipherable] you scared the cat!

William: Good woman, have you not heard of our coming?

Peasant: …[indecipherable] in England?

William: I–

Peasant: [indecipherable] and whip em til their backs be bloody!! Ngyeehhhhhhhhh!!

William: *screams* I AM WILLIAM OF ORANGE! I COME FROM THE HAGUE BY INVITATION OF PARLIAMENT! Good lady! We come to overthrow King James II.

Peasant: *spits*

William: Progress. I am the [indecipherable]’s husband and myself, third in line. We come to bring stability and religious… freedom to this… country.

Peasant: Oh, you and what army?

Chorus: ♪ We are [indecipherable] ♪ ♪ Join is so you [indecipherable] ♪ ♪ [indecipherable] ♪ ♪ James will soon be overthrown ♪

Peasant: Oh, [indecipherable], sir! I don’t have anything of worth but… I’d be proud to give you my cats.

William: *coughs*

Peasant: Oh, must be the cat smoke.

William: Oh, this air is filthy. I need a little rest.

Messenger: ♪ One man tried to poison your food ♪

Anne: ♪ Some with bullets [indecipherable] ♪

Chorus: ♪ Mostly [indecipherable] ready to fight ♪

Charles: ♪ [indecipherable] horse was white! ♪

William: Let us move forward!

James: William! What the hell do you think you’re doing?!

Chorus: ♪ James was appalled by the sight that he saw ♪

James: ♪ I’ll have your head, boy, remember [indecipherable]! ♪

Chorus: ♪ Soon his generals started to fall ♪

James: ♪ Troops, make an example of him! ♪

Chorus: ♪ James’ troops then began to abandon ♪ ♪ Our glorious William now [indecipherable] ♪

James: Did you not all swear your loyalty?! You are all my subjects! *gaps* Mary! Ungrateful daughter! You must swear your loyalty to your father! It is God’s will! The Fifth Commandment! Consider the hell– *splutters* What the hell? Anne, Messenger, and Monmouth: ♪ Blood from his nose ♪ ♪ [indecipherable] to God ♪ ♪ James was denied ♪ ♪ His royal throne ♪

James: No! No! What the hell?! *spluttering* The Fifth Commandment– shit! This is terribly inconvenient

Anne, Messenger, and Monmouth: ♪ To James [indecipherable] ♪ ♪ His nose really bled ♪

James: WAIT, WHAT?!!

Anne, Messenger, and Monmouth: ♪ To France, King James ♪ ♪ Finally fleeeeeeeeeeee– ♪

James: STOP SINGING!

Anne, Messenger, and Monmouth: ♪ –eeeeeeeedddddd ♪

James: What, is this really historically accurate?! You’re just gonna let me go, William?! HA! Coward! I will return, William, I promise you that! Mary! Ungrateful daughter! You will suffer the fait of an unfaithful daughter. This is not how my story was… suppose to be told… To France.

Chorus: ♪ William has won now that James has fled ♪

William: *prolonged violent coughing*

Chorus: ♪ London is happy! ♪ ♪ With bonfires lit ♪ ♪ Willy’s lungs can’t take the smoke ♪ ♪ And all the fog just made him choke ♪ ♪ Over the hills and it must be done ♪ ♪ To England, Glorious Revolution! ♪ ♪ William commanded and now we’ve won ♪ ♪ Our new day begins with the rising of the sun! ♪ ♪ Of the sun! ♪

William: *groaning, gasping for breath*

[heeytwelve]

"That’s practically my type”

I remember someone really smart in internet was debating that Draco Malfoy has 100% chance to be Harry Potter’s boyfriend, cause he is, in fact his type. And if we look at Harry’s girlfriends, we kinda see the pattern (quidditch, outspoken, bravery, and have I mention quidditch? ).

But anyway, this post not about those, this post about how Chosen One of Carry On universe has his type too and why Agatha wasn’t just mistake of adolescence and how he changes his views on Baz when he become actively infatuated with him.

“I’ve wanted her since the first time I saw her—walking across the Great Lawn, her long pale hair rippling in the wind. I remember seeing her and thinking that** I’d never seen anything so beautiful.** And that if you were that beautiful, that graceful, nothing could ever really touch you. It would be like being a lion or a unicorn. Nobody could really touch you, because you wouldn’t even be on the same plane as everyone else. Even sitting next to Agatha makes you feel sort of untouchable. Exalted. It’s like sitting in the sun. So imagine how it feels to date her—like you’re carrying that light around with you all the time.

Let’s elaborate. He doesn’t fall in love with her - because of her academic success or because her parents rich or because she’s kind and caring. The type of attraction that works for Simon is so called - aesthetic attraction, attraction to beauty. 

And before you blame him for being shallow, I say, having strong preference for beauty is quite common among the artistic people, who grew up in desperate poverty, in small provinces, poor houses where beauty is rarity (for instance, famous ballet dancer Rudolph Nureyev was obsessed with beauty and collected a huge amount of beautiful things, because his poor childhood traumatised him). And, contrary to popular belief, Simon might have artistic tendencies, he sees beauty even dark creatures (goblins, *cough-cough* vampires), movements, colours and music.

Beauty for Simon is not a static thing to watch and enjoy the view, it’s not something he just want to own, it’s a force. Beauty protects him, it makes him untouchable, like nothing from of his previous (poor and mundane) life can touch him anymore, because he carrying the light, darkness will never reach him again. Agatha is not only his future, but also his shield. But - maybe it’s the same thing? Having future all sorted kinda shielding you from whatever you bump into.

He always mention her appearance whenever he talks about her - her clothes, her skin (”sparkles like she’s fairy”), her hair (multiple comparison with sun, light and halo). And when he decides to ignore the fact, that she quite possible betrayed him, it’s not only because he fear uncertain future but:

“She’s beautiful. And I want her. I want everything to be fine.”

Beauty as an attraction, beauty as a shield. Beauty is stability.

Now, before we talk about what all of this has to do with Baz, let’s bring up this quote:

“Like when I used to dream about becoming a footballer someday—or that my parents, my real parents, were going to come back for me.… My dad would be a footballer. And my mum would be some posh model type. ...

But we always missed you, Simon,” they’d say. “We’ve been looking for you.” And then they’d take me away to live in their mansion.”

I know, you probably roll your eyes now, like it’s stereotypical thing for poor kid in care to dream of, but isn’t that interesting, that Simon practically give us description of his future boyfriend and girlfriend as his dream parents? Now, don’t get me wrong, there is now perversion here, it’s just people he dreams to be with. People who potentially get him out of this awful reality and of course he will imagine them as the best people he can imagine - hence attraction to exactly those people. Now, we already know, that Agatha is beautiful as a model and she’s posh -Simon dwells how she good with regattas, polo matches, galas and he’s not posh enough for it. And right there, in next sentence, he mentions the only person who’s fit this interior - Baz. And let’s not forget about this:

“Baz walked into our room, much taller than me—and posher than everyone.”

There’s two interesting thing you notice when you will read Simon’s view for Baz. Simon never hesitates to use bold colours to describe how good Baz is. He never even doubts it, and Simon is not in submissive mode by any means. It’s just with Agatha - he sees the beauty and he admires it. But because Baz is evil, a threat (and potentially because he convinced that he’s heterosexual) AND Simon can’t just go in “I want him” mode, like he did with Agatha.  There’s a big quote above about how Simon met Agatha and here’s one about how Simon met Baz:

“and Baz was walking towards me. Looking so cool. Like he was coming my way because he wanted to, not because there was a mystical magnet in his gut.”

Though, it is looks, Simon talks about, I want to emphasise, that while Simon is not in active infatuation phase with Baz, he still unleashes his other attraction type, attraction to power/strength. Here and in quote below he indicates one of Baz biggest powers - ability to look unfazed and perfect no matter what. Power of composure.

“but he looked fine to me—not a hair out of place. Typical.”

Back to father being footballer. One might wonder, why violinist and person so into academic success went to be the lead player in sports team? All popular movies tell us that you either this (nerd) or that (jock), and Baz suddenly both. Because he’s perfect. And because he has his personality and vampire personality. One might also wonder, had Baz overheard Simon’s obsession about being footballer/football in general before deciding to enrol to the team and collect all trophies... Anyway. Baz as footballer:

“He’s the same on the field as he is everywhere else. Strong. Graceful. Fucking ruthless.”

If you ask me, this is where Simon shows a bit his infatuation. Yes, attraction to strength, even ruthlessness (Simon is a fighter, he does appreciate good fighter too). But graceful - is about beauty. You see, I think, maybe because Simon carries traditional values he kinda does that thing: women’s modus operandi is beauty, men’s - strength, ruthlessness. Same with his parents - mum is model, father is fighter footballer. That’s ok.  BUT when he starts to consider (even at the back of his mind) Baz as a romantic partner (it’s all starts when he sees that Baz is not a monster, that he’s a boy), he starts to notice his beauty more, than strength.

“He floats out over the moat and lands on the other side. It’s the prettiest thing I’ve ever seen.”

Infamous jeans scene, where Simon talking about Baz’ clothes (like he did w/Agatha) and literally checking out his arse:

“they do look like really expensive jeans. Dark. And snug from his waist to his ankles without looking tight.”

He starts to watch him aesthetically:

“I put my hand on his chest. I don’t have to step any closer to reach him. ... Baz swallows and licks his grey-pink lower lip. .. “he throws one of his pillows into my face. (It smells like him.)

“I’m watching him read—I swear he sucks on his fangs when he’s thinking.

The culmination of this development comes with “vampire club scene”:

““Every one of them must be so jealous of him. He’s everything they are, plus magic. Plus he looks the part, like he was born to be some sort of dark king.”

“Those vampires were in awe of you,” I say. “They wanted to put a crown on your head.

He has the skills AND he is royally beautiful. And Simon projecting his feelings to those night club vampires. The longer they in relationships, the more Simon dwelling on Baz beauty, just to show you this development, I’ll quote WS for a moment:

“I’ll be damned if he doesn’t look half glamourous. Like a boy Marilyn Monroe.… My brain gets kind of stuck on “boy Marilyn Monroe” for a while.”

...

“Baz casts his eyes down and smiles—girlishly, I would have said, but on him it’s not girlish. It’s, I don’t know, vulnerable.”

To elaborate, Marilyn Monroe is depiction of feminine beauty in popular culture and description of Baz as a bit feminine is something that would never happen in the beginning of “Carry On” setting. Of course, Baz opened up more to Simon (and this is important), but also Simon willing to see, no, he actually quite hungrily looking for this beauty. He is attracted to this kind of beauty AND I think, might be cause of his somewhat traditional views, he automatically looking for this in Baz, when he considering him as a partner. 

BUT. Again as in WS - Baz being powerful and strong AND that being attractive (and arousing) to Simon is not going anywhere.  So Simon’s type qualities - strength and beauty. (Not smartness and kindness, sorry Penny) though he does appreciate it.  And lastly, let’s go back to Agatha. We talked about her beauty, but she’s also an athlete. A competitive one. 

“I smile again and jump up off the bed, grabbing a pair of jeans and a purple sweatshirt that says WATFORD LACROSSE. (Agatha plays.)”

This sweatshirt Simon will proudly wear even in WS (Baz haven’t confiscated them yet :D ) - and if you think about it, it’s the way to show admiration too. And don’t forget the horse sports, she’s even more into sports than Baz (Baz would spend his summer practicing languages and violin - I believe his main passion, and football is just to unwind and fuck w/Simon, while Agatha would harvest prizes or skills in competitions). OK, no, he does play tennis :D So yes - as absolutely legit Simon’s type - Agatha do has these two qualities. They both do. Though not exactly in same proportions. Agatha radiates beauty, feminine beauty, you don’t have to watch closely to see it, it punches you in a face. But Baz is more powerful, as with Agatha, you don’t have to search for his power, it’s just there. And maybe this shift in quality proportions is what Simon needs at the end. But he certainly needs both. And let me finish this lenthy dwelling off with Baz quote, where he accidentally compares himself tells us this qualities proportions in Agatha:

“Wellbelove isn’t very powerful, but she’s gorgeous.”

There is interesting awareness between these two, but I will have a mercy and talk about it later.

[carnelianns]

Guess who’s back, back again. Hiya hun! Could you do a scenario where Arthur, Leo and Theo find out MC is a sensitive crybaby? Like most of the time MC is a cool calm and collected but there are just some days where the smallest comment will make her burst into hysteric sobs. Anyway please and thank you hun😊

aaa i love ur requests (≧◡≦) ♡

Leonardo da Vinci

Many times has Leonardo fallen asleep whilst working on a new invention, head resting languidly on his arms in the midst of the scattered papers and machineries on his desk. 

Many times has he also awoken to said papers and machineries neatly set aside, a warm, pink blanket now resting on his broad shoulders and a pillow nestled in between his face and the hard wood of the desk.

His thoughts have drifted long and wide in his journey to figure out who his mysterious benefactor is, but Sebastian’s confirmation only leaves him, well, awed, for lack of better terms.

Because never did he expect for it to be you. It’s not a question of kindness, more of warmth — what can he expect from someone so cool and composed, after all? It’s frightening, actually; how you remind him so much of a certain poised friend he happens to have.

Which brings his mind racing when he hears your soft sniffles, or feels the slight drip of your tears on his back as you lay the familiar blanket on him. Why were you crying? Is it an impostor? Did something happen? Arthur cause you trouble again?

His thoughts are thwarted when you brush stray strands of his hair out of his face, still sniffling as you say, “Why do you overwork yourself so often, Leo?”

… What. “Cara mia.. Are you crying… because I fell asleep?”

Try as he might, he couldn’t stop himself from lifting him up and out of his small act, incredulous look turning into a wide grin at your surprised look, and the way you make no move to wipe the still-flowing tears.

“Yeah.”

Your reply is simple, Leonardo struggling to pick between laughing out loud or gaping at you. 

So he decides to do both. With his mouth wide open, he laughs, messily ruffling your hair. 

“You’re adorable, bambina, but it’s fine.” His large, calloused hands move from your hair down to your eyes, wiping away the salty tears flowing down your face. “A little overworking won’t kill me.” Far from it. 

Shaking your head defiantly, Leonardo’s eyes widen when you pull away, crossing your arms with a slight pout that only seems to surprise him more. 

“Don’t do it again.”

His mouth is agape for a while, before he scoffs slightly, “Heh. You drive a hard bargain.”

When his eyes catch the slight tremble in your bottom lip and the tears gathering at the corner of your eyes, Leonardo is quick to straighten.

Clearing his throat, he nods, “I won’t do it again.”

It’s silent for a moment before you give him one last sniffle, nod, then proceed to walk away, leaving a very confused Leonardo alone in his library. 

The dim lights of the room only do wonders to outline the slowly growing amusement on his face, if the smirk he’s sporting doesn’t get the point across. An intriguing little thing you are, really. 

Arthur Conan Doyle

“Awh, is my wee, little baby sad? Is she going to cry, now?” 

You sniffle, “Yeah.”

And Arthur was then faced with a sobbing mess of a girl he didn’t even think could cry. Ever-observant is he, though he failed to have noticed how sensitive you actually are, all until he’s witnessing it first hand.

Sure, he’s been faced with a handful of weeping patients, or some blubbering, past flings who thought they could have something more, but never really an Ice Queen like yourself breaking down because of his mere teasing.

“C-Christ,” he mumbles under his breath before crossing the distance between the two of you, hesitantly placing his hand on your shoulder.

When you make no move, he continues, stammering slightly, “I’m so, so sorry, love. Do you, uh, want a hug? Or – or do you want to.. slap me? I’m fine with that as well. We’re good acquaintances; the female hand and I, y’know..?”

He’s then met with a light slap to his face — more of a tap, really. Arthur isn’t expecting for your arms to find purchase around his waist immediately after, leaving him as stiff as a scarecrow when they do. 

When the more logical part of his brain — the one that isn’t going haywire at the current events — finally kicks in, he’s wrapping an arm around your waist, his other hand softly caressing your head as he whispers nothing but sweet apologies into your ear.

Your name gently makes its way out of his lips, in a way you’re sure will be stuck in the back of your head.

“I apologise, I truly do, love. For the teasing, and for calling you a baby, and for, uh, everything else. Please forgive me?”

You pull away after a while, ignoring the lack of warmth in your body as you avert your gaze, hastily wiping away the remnants of your breakdown.

“No snitching, Arthur.”

He smirks, seemingly reverting back to normal as he pinches your cheeks like one does a child’s. “Of course not, darling.”

Arthur won’t admit that the image of you crying haunts him, or that he’s now awfully more cautious with his teasing jabs at you. 

Theodorus van Gogh

Theo woke up this morning to prepare for a journey to scout a place for Vincent’s newest exhibition — certainly not to witness you transform into a blubbering mess he has to clean up. 

In hindsight, he does admit the comment he threw your way was a bit harsher than usual — can’t help it, he’s stressed — but never did he expect you to actually burst out crying. 

Stiffness seizing his limbs, he awkwardly clears his throat, having thought three minutes is far too long a time to still be staring at you.

“Hon—” Stopping to recalculate his words, he nods slightly at himself, “Uh, girl…”

You look up at him, quieting down, his cerulean orbs meeting your puffy eyes. Okay. Now what the fuck do I do. 

“I’m sorry.. for calling you a troublesome shit goblin..?” 

You blink for a moment, inhaling. Then burst out into an even louder, blubbering mess that only has Theo wide-eyed and jaw slacked, distraughtly running his fingers through already-messy locks. 

Not once has he seen a crack in your unperturbed armour, and to see you like this, well — he feels horrible, if the regret coursing through his veins is anything to go by. 

“Hondje,” he lifts your chin up with his knuckle, moving both hands to cup your tear-stricken face. Wiping the tears away with long, lithe fingers, Theo looks straight into your eyes, “I’m sorry, okay? I hate seeing you like this, so… Stop crying? Please?”

The genuine concern in those bright eyes causes you to reduce your sobs to sniffles, the both of you staying in that exact position until you finally calm down, nodding in an attempt to ask him to let go. 

Theo’s hands linger on your surprisingly warm face for a few more moments before he retracts them, an awkward silence filling the room.

“... Don’t tell anyone what you saw today, Theo,” you utter, though he finds it hard to take your red nose and even redder eyes seriously. 

He scoffs, rolling his eyes and midway to snarking out another comment when he sees your fidgeting stance. 

Softening, he sighs, messing with his blowsy locks once more. “Of course not. Just leave already, yeah?”

He half-heartedly shoos you away, eyes following your leaving form all the way out of the living room. 

“... Kindje,” he mumbles to himself, proceeding to walk in the opposite direction of the one you left in. A complete and utter baby.