#but the fact is that they then proceeded to live on stolen land

[tiarnanabhfainni]

It’s incredible how everything I learn about Irish, Welsh and Manx history makes me wish the entirety of the parliament would collapse into a sinkhole and flood from the Thames with all those cunts in it and that Buckingham would collapse with that entire lineage of shit inside

yeah basically 👍

[cheesus-doodles]

I’m kind of curious now how Izana and Hanma would react to reader shrinking to the size of their palm. Would they react differently to the toman boys?

Link to relevant Toman Ask

Masterlist

‎

i-izzyy....

Izana’s first thought upon finding you shrunken among your clothes in your classroom would be how much easier it would be to keep you to himself now that you were literally the size of his palm; this boy didn’t quite think about where he found you or that you were very much naked if not for the hankerchief you had been carrying around that you were now clutching to yourself for dear life. All that was passing through his head was you, you, you; you were all his. No more worrying about you being stolen away by some walking trash heap if you couldn’t run from him, no more anxious calls and texts to make sure you were safe if he could bring you everywhere with him. Almost crushes you by accident with how hard he was squeezing you in his grip much like one would hold a plush, and you would have been completely crushed (since your tiny voice can’t quite reach him in his excitement) if not for Kakucho coming to investigate what the commotion was and rescuing you with a swift, well-placed chop to his friend’s head, and then proceeding to grab a panting you and stuffing you into his shirt pocket. Of course Kakucho would already know what was coming next, and keeping you safe and sound despite your muffled protests was the most important thing on his list. The next thing that Izana would think about, as expected, would be that all your classmates had seen you naked. Well not exactly, given you had unexpectedly disappeared into your pile of clothes and no one quite dared to even look in your direction to figure out what happened, but such details are very unimportant to the Tenjiku boss. Didn’t matter that it was the middle of class, if this white-haired boy wanted to dish out punishment, bodies were going flying. Kakucho on the other hand was already starting to figure out how to get you clothes in your size having migrated to leaning on a wall outside your classroom, with the mere thought of you being butt naked in his pocket was turning his face beet red too quickly, with you poking your tiny face out of the top of his pocket and cringing at every scream of pain or hits landed.

As long as you were physically and mentally the same person, Izana would hardly be concerned about how you got into this situation; barely thinks about it in fact. Never lets you leave his side now that you were even more fragile than before - absolutely no school, no leaving your room without him, and actually, you are moving in with him now. Buys you a nice comfy dollhouse for you to live in right next to his fishtank, complete with miniature furniture for you to use, as well as a little travelling pouch that he can carry you around in when he needs to go out. But get use to having Izana’s face right next to yours for extended periods of time while you lean against his cheek or nose, or sprawl across his hair, watching you and spending as much time as he can with you. Got you all the cute clothes he dreamed of so that you could wear them for him, bringing you out to wherever you wanted to go at anytime of the day. Though this boy also start to desperately miss your cuddles when he sleeps; he didn’t dare to risk accidentally squishing you if he tried to snuggle, and a cranky Izzy is a nasty, mean Izzy (never to you though, you were you after all), but at least Kakucho tries to help bridge that gap by cooking your signature dishes and Izana’s favourites with your help and directions. As much as he likes you tiny and easy to bring around with him, not having you to hold him was becoming inexcusable - he would think about how to keep you around more, but he needed you back to normal and he needed it now. Vaguely orders his Tenjiku gang to “research it and find a cure for you immediately” without telling them exactly what happened. No doubt it caused quite a bit of chaos in the ranks, given Izana was the toughest taskmaster they knew and was known to react very badly to being told “no”. Especially when it came to you. All they could do was hope and pray that you would return to normal soon so that their boss could get back to normal.

Hanma on the other hand would be definitely more intrigued than worried about the situation you were trapped in compared to the Toman boys - I would say in fact that he’s just purely curious. This boy is more the sort to just go with the flow of things, so when one day he comes round to pick you up on your motorbike and instead finds you shrunken and patiently waiting for him amidst your pile of clothes on a chair, the first thing that pops into his mind would be that you were absolutely naked under there. Would cheekily try and sneak a look, repeatedly poking you in the side, but ultimately throw his hands up and surrender when you start to shout at him to stop that in that adorable high-pitched voice. Would continue to poke you around with the tip of his finger and wonder out loud about how you got yourself into this situation until you put your foot down and tell this boy to stop that and go get you some clothes immediately first, and that the two of you could talk after - you knew that your friend was laidback and risk-loving, but even he wouldn’t outright ignore your needs given someone could one, see you naked if you tried to go get some yourself, or two, the very real risk of getting flattened under someone’s shoe or getting kidnapped as a novelty). Though it does still take you quite a good deal of promising and bargaining before Hanma relents and wanders off to get you what you need - you don't ask where or how he gets it. Very relaxed about the entire shrinking cahoot, excited even; a new situation breathes fresh risks into his life, even better that it was you of all people.

This boy would be absolutely fine with letting you wander outside by yourself if you wanted to go, but would also be equally happy to follow you around. Since walking anywhere or taking public transport is now such a hassle for you, would glad you ferry you to your intended destination via motorbike and his pocket; you don't have to wear a helmet if you don't want to. Living on the line like him is why you two became friends to begin with. Invested in seeing what comes of your new, unique situations, so don't be too surprised if Hanma still insists on following you around everywhere, including to school. Ultimately he doesn't want to see you get irrepairably hurt on his watch, so occasionally scoops you up and puts you on his shoulder (or in his hair) where you would be safe from any danger, perceived or otherwise. Would keep you even safer from other guys now that you were as tiny as you are, Hanma definitely isn't afraid to just put you in a fishbowl and keep you there if you don't listen to him when he does get serious.

[jbreenr]

𝐅𝐨𝐫 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐓𝐡𝐫𝐢𝐥𝐥

Pairing: Ransom Drysdale × Reader

Summary: You wanted to meet Ransom's family, he wanted to make sure you'd never want it again.

Word count: 3k.

Warning: Poorly written smut (+18 only, please), public sex (prompt 11), fingering, unprotected sex (don't do that, kids. be responsible), a bit of dirty talk, the Thrombeys being the Thrombeys. And I think that's it.

A/N: So, after finding out one of my stories was stolen an translated in Wattpad, I did not know if I should post this just yet but, what the hell? Let's do it. Anyway, this is for @stargazingfangirl18 and @navybrat817 's Shameless Hoes for Chris Challenge so, happy belated birthday! Yaaay. 🥳 Hope you like this at least a little and that it's not as bad as my paranoid brain thinks it is. Also, I just love how the prompts fit perfectly together, don't you? As always, lack of vocabulary and grammatical mistakes abound. *apologizes in español*

Wheel results (just attaching evidence):

ᴹʸ ᵍⁱᶠ

Draining, tedious, exasperating. Those were some of the adjectives Ransom associated with Thrombey family reunions. He'd arrive late, have some sort of conversation with his grandfather and leave early to do whatever that took him away from that big house.

Today though, he had a reason to stay for more than half an hour.

If it was up to him, you two would have stayed at home, happy, relaxed, and most importantly, naked in his bed, having a more pleasant time than the one you were most likely about to have. 

He tried to persuade you. Of course he did! But your insistence and puppy eyes made it impossible for him to say no to your request. 

So, here you were, getting out of his car, cake in sweaty hands and an excited smile on your lips, an expression so different from Ransom's, who seemed to be ready to get back behind the wheel and drive straight to Canada.

He didn't knock; he simply opened the door and held it for you to enter. If the three floor house was imposing from the outside, you felt impressed by the inside. Extravagant sculptures, apparently expensive paintings and other kinds of pieces of art were scattered everywhere, telling you just how wealthy and eccentric Ransom's family were. 

“That's Harlan Thrombey! ” You exclaimed as you stood in front of the portrait of your forever favorite author holding a knife and a book.

“So?” Ransom asked, unconcerned.

You turned to him open-mouthed, the cake almost slipping off your palms as you went to playfully slap him in the arm.

“How come you are related to Harlan Thrombey and you didn't tell me?” Your question was more of a shock than an accusation.

The carefree gesture he did with his shoulders only accentuated his next words. “I did not think you would be interested in knowing.”

“I wouldn’t be interested?” Incredulity, flowing out of your lips. “He’s the best thriller author of all time! He’s like today’s Edgar Allan Poe!”

To say that you didn't believe him was an understatement. He knew for a fact that you liked Harlan Thrombey's books, just taking a look at the bookshelf in your apartment was proof enough of that.

“We call him grandpa here.” Said a femenine voice. A brunette walked in your direction, her pretty features hardening as she looked at your boyfriend. “Don't we, Hugh?”

He seemed to be ready to say something but decided not to. Instead he inhaled and placed his hand on your back.

“This is Y/N, the only reason I’m not telling you what you need to hear right now.”

Her eyes rolled in irritation and then turned to you. “I’m Meg. Let's introduce you to the rest of the family, shall we?.” And she dragged you to the room where more people were gathered together, discussing something, not before sending a deadly glare at Ransom.

Given the distance between you and him, you didn't listen to the heavy sigh he let out before waking behind.

“Everyone!” Meg called, making everyone leave whatever they were doing to look at her –and you, in consequence. “Meet Y/N, Hugh's new friend.” She then proceeded to introduce every single member of the family, including the housekeeper and the nurse, except for the grandfather, who apparently had a moment of inspiration and left them momentarily to put his ideas on paper.

None of them left their seat to go and shake your hand except for Meg's energetic mom, who hugged you and expressed how much she loved your coat even though it was soooo last season.

Sitting on a couch next to Ransom, you half expected someone to ask you about how you two met or how long had you been dating or what was it that you did for a living. Nothing. As fast as their attention was on you, it fell from you to their previous discussion.

You now understood why Ransom jokingly suggested deep cleaning the house instead of attending that reunion.

What you weren't aware of, Ransom thought, was that all of them were behaving wonderfully compared to previous times.

You didn't know if you felt more disappointed or uncomfortable. Ransom had left your side to go to the studio for a second and you had barely had any interaction with his family. All of them, dipped in their own matters to even notice your presence. 

Fran, the housekeeper, was kind enough to take the cake to the kitchen and offer you a glass of water, but after giving it to you, she disappeared along with Meg and the nurse. 

“So,” All at once, the room went quiet as Ransom's uncle spoke. “Have you read any of dad's books, Y/N?” Only until you heard your name was that your head snapped up.

“Oh, uhm… yeah. I'm a big fan.” Taken by surprise, you simply answered.

“Really? Which one have you read?”

And to that question, you felt suddenly included in the conversation since you had knowledge of the topic.

“I'm like fifty pages from finishing 'The Needle Game' and intrigue is eating me alive.” As you heard the excitement in your voice, you tried to compose yourself and said “Though 'Nick Of Time' is my favorite.” You smiled at him, hoping that your answer was a good one.

The woman that was introduced to you as Ransom's mother nodded as she licked her lips. The light of the fireplace, reflecting on her glasses as she moved her head up and down.

“Have you read 'Ultimatum' or 'Drop In The Pocket', dear?” Her tone was curious, but the look on her face said differently.

You responded anyway. “They're not bad. I feel like the ending of 'Drop In The Pocket' was a little vague and out of line but it can always be interpreted as an open ending so…” The change in their expressions told you that you had to add something else to that answer. Maybe it was not time for literature humor yet. “But I enjoyed both.”

She hummed and took her drink, detaching from the talk that continued with courtesy questions until it morphed into a heated discussion between Ransom's father and uncle, who would repeatedly ask for your opinion to back up his own.

The discomfort you felt, dispelled to be replaced by the disturbance of being bombarded with dozens of questions at a time, each louder than the other until they changed to a completely different topic to which you were occasionally included as a neutral point of view.

“She knows what she's talking about!” Said Richard at some point when you confirmed one of his arguments. “Thank you, dear.”

Ransom came back from his obligatory argument with his grandfather to find you nowhere to be seen. 

“She's using the bathroom.” Informed Jacob, who did not take his eyes off of his cellphone. 

Thinking that you went there to hide, he started his way to your potential direction until an overheard observation from his mother stopped him halfway through. 

���… Did you hear how she talked about dad's work? Oh, I assure you she won't make it to next week with Ransom.”

Her and Richard's backs were to him, both of them unaware that their son was listening to their share of opinions.

“And did you see her hands?” Joni joined the criticism contest. “She could use some moisturizer, I tell you.”

As usual, they ignored her attempt to fit in and kept going.

“I know it's contradictory to say this,” Richard paused, as to make his point clear. “But he could do better.”

Despite their whispering, Ransom heard every single word and was glad that you were not there to see what was about to happen… 

Ransom's words stuck on his throat when he saw you making your way out of the bathroom, fixing the skirt of your dress, with such niceness and warmth directed to him as you smiled, oblivious to the fact that the people you were trying to get to like you weren't going to. 

His parents were right. He could do better. He could determine to not see them ever again and it would be the best thing to happen to him… Besides you, obviously.

“What's wrong?” Your concern was evident, just as his annoyance was undeniable.

Cold hands caressed his cheeks and Ransom thought of going back to Joni and tell her to fuck off. Your touch was soft, comforting, and gave him the greatest idea he'd ever had.

“I want to show you something.” Was his answer. It was better if you were the one who decided to never step on that house for the rest of your lives. It didn't matter if it was out of embarrassment.

Taking your hand in his, he guided you up the stairs to the first landing. The creaking sound of the old structure, probably alerting everyone in the other room that you were going to the next floor.

“Are you okay?” The sweet giggle that you let out when he abruptly stopped, almost making him feel bad about what he was seconds away from doing. 

“Better than ever.” And he stamped his lips to yours. 

Taken aback, it took you a second to respond. Hands on each side of his face as his own explored your body. When his fingers lifted your dress to caress your ass cheeks was when you ended the kiss. 

“What are you doing?” You asked in a breathless whisper. “Not that I'm complaining.”

You were cornered against the wall with Ransom towering in front of your smaller frame.

Trying to escape from whatever he had in mind was useless, you knew that much. Though, you were not sure if you really wanted to escape.

“What I've been wanting to do ever since you got a shower without me this morning.” His lips found your jaw and descended to your neck where he sucked to create a bruise. Your eyes closed to the sensation.

“Wait. No, wait.” His fingertip that had started rubbing your still clothed bud paused it's motions as his eyes focused back on your face. “We can't do it. Not here.”

Ransom's finger went back to work, bringing a soft moan that you tried to suppress. “Why not? No one's gonna come here.” His other hand moved up your thigh to lift it. “Even if they did, they wouldn't notice.”

With an expert swing of his wrist, he moved your panties aside, letting the cold air that wandered inside the house hit you before his skilled middle finger entered you while still managing to rub your clit in circles with his thumb.

Adrenaline ran through your veins, fuel activating every nerve in your body and shaking away fear from your brain, replacing it with lust and boldness.

“I'm blaming you if we get caught.” Your hips jolted forward wanting to feel more of his hand, the contradiction between your words and actions, making him smirk.

He added a second finger. Knuckles deep and his cold ring slowly warming against the inside of your thigh, he said, “I'll take responsibility, sweetheart.” Pumping his fingers in and out, he felt your slick running down the back of his hand to his wrist, wetting his overly expensive watch and the cuff of his cozy sweater .“But I can't assure you we won't get caught.”

His words, instead of working as a bucket of cold water as one would expect, increased your need to be touched by him, the yearning for him to take you right there and then. 

“Damn it, Ransom.” One of your hands flew to his shoulder to hold onto him for dear life. “I'm close.”

“You're not cumming unless I'm inside you, pretty thing.” At what point did he unfasten his belt and unzipped his trousers, you had no idea. The friction of his digits was gone in a second but the feeling of his already leaking tip rubbing against your most sensitive parts was enough to make you forget about those trifles.

Your lips opened, ready to tell him to keep his voice down when he suddenly thrusted home, stretching you out so deliciously that you had to cover your mouth to muffle the moan that threatened to inform everyone of your current activities.

Ransom's breathing hitched. Being inside you was a dream come true, feeling your walls enveloping his cock so fucking good… it was like you were made for each other, and he was going to prove it, even if his family didn't really get to know.

His hips started moving. Back and forth, back and forth. Delicately at first, letting you adjust to his size but the second he felt you throbbing around him, he increased the pace. Little by little his pounds gained power and energy.

Your whimpers –stuck in your throat, leaving only soft snuffles that crashed against Ransom's cheek, soon became more rapid, erratic and as his fingers dug in the flesh of your thigh to keep you still while he accommodated to go even deeper you heard a creaking noise.

Your boyfriend's blue eyes met yours, his movements never faltering despite the alert given by the dark wooden floor under your feet.

There was a conflict in your head, and Ransom could tell. The way you tightened and the pleading look on your face told different stories, yet Ransom knew they had the same ending.

Shaking your head, your eyes asked him not to do it, but you knew Ransom well enough to be sure that not even begging could stop him. 

“You love it, don't you?” His smile grew bigger as his change of position allowed him to hit your sweet spot on and on, ripping high pitched whines from you and obligating you to close your eyes. “The thought of getting caught. The image of someone seeing how good I make you feel.” The placement of his foot, making the landing creak repeatedly each time he pushed up accompanying every word. “Fuck, you're talking me so well. Such a dirty girl, uh.”

His big hand yanked the strap of your dress down, exposing your left boob. Your already hard nipple was soon attacked by Ransom's fingertips. He'd pinch and twist it slightly, just enough to make your back arch in search of his touch.

Pleasure was overflowing your senses, you could feel your heart thudding in your ears and your legs losing strength. Your hand left your mouth to grip at the back of Ransom's neck to keep you from falling.

The sight of your lower lip trapped between your teeth didn't please Ransom. In other circumstances, he would've let you stay that way, as quiet as possible so no one would walk on you. This time though, it was his intention to rip the most delicious sounds from your lips so you thought of the possibility of his family listening.

And so, he lent to kiss you, passion and desire transmitted through his breath. His tongue asked for a permission that was not really required, but as you let it in, Ransom took the opportunity to bite down your lip.

With your lips forcefully parted and Ransom's restless hand traveling back to your bundle, you had no other option than to moan with each quick circle his digits drew.

A series of laughs and undistinguished words were heard from a distance. Both Ransom and you turned to see what they were about, stopping in your tracks with him still buried deep inside your needy cunt.

“Guess dinner's ready.” Unbothered about the information he just gave, he hid his face in the crook of your neck and resumed his movements.

A shaky oh, fuck fell from your lips as you felt the familiar knot in your stomach forming. Your head flew back, hitting the wall with a soft thud. 

“Careful. We don't want to be obvious, do we?” You knew you were about to explode, and by the way your walls were clenching and your trembling body tried to separate from him, Ransom knew as well. “Let go, sweetheart.” A roar erupted from him as he felt you tightening around his length. “Cum for me.”

With a last, powerful thrust of his hips, you let out a silent scream. The coil snapped, making you see a kaleidoscope of colors behind your eyelids and listen to a loud ring in your ears. 

Ransom followed right after, cursing as he finished inside of you, coating you with every last drop and making sure everything would stay there.

He slid out, leaving you with a feeling of emptiness as he zipped his trousers and took a step back to let you fix your appearance.

You managed to accommodate your dress just in time for Ransom's family to walk out of the room they were in to see you. Your agitated breathing and blushed cheeks, getting everyone's attention. 

“Are you okay, dear?” Ransom's dad asked.

“She's fine.” Your boyfriend answered for you. “She's feeling a little sick. I better take her home.” He took you by the hand and helped you down the stairs to the door, which you thanked. Had he not done it, you would have tripped taking the first step.

“But she hasn't met grandpa yet.” Meg noted, furrowing her brows.

“It'll be next time.” And with that, Ransom took you out of the house and in the passenger seat of his car without giving anyone the chance to say goodbye.

When you were at a considerable distance, you sighed, letting out the air you didn't know you were holding.

“Just so you know, there won't be a next time.” You informed him, against your want to meet his grandfather.

“Why not?” He asked with a chuckle, already knowing the answer. 

“Cause embarrassment won't let me come back in the near future.”

Behind an eye roll and a tap on your thigh, Ransom hid the triumphant grimace his perfectly carried out plan gave him.

[robininthelabyrinth]

Prompt: Wei Wuxian has achieved time travel! He's gonna fix so many broken things. Unfortunately, WWX has miscalculated a teensy tiny variable and instead of arriving in his original 15yo body in Lotus Pier, he's crash landed in MXY's tiny 7~8yo body at Mo Manor. But no problem, he can fix this if he can just find his real body. (Meanwhile, Yunmeng Jiang's head disciple is acting the wrong kind of childish, aka, Mo Xuanyu is having the weirdest day of his young life.)

Switcheroo - ao3

Mo Xuanyu thought that this Wei Wuxian person whose body he’d stolen must have been a really interesting person, mostly because he’d been here for three days so far and nobody’d noticed the switch yet.

Possibly it had to do with the fact that Mo Xuanyu still wasn’t exactly sure how he’d stolen the body – he’d just gone to sleep in the shed, same as always, and then he’d woken up in the softest bed he’d ever encountered in his life…no, softer than even his dreams! He’d thought it over and concluded that he must have died from cold out in the shed, turned into a fierce ghost out of resentment, grown powerful (somehow), then stolen some rich young master’s body when they weren’t paying close enough attention and, once he’d possessed the body, promptly lost all his memory of being a ghost.

It seemed like the only logical course of events.

He was very sorry about it, though. Wei Wuxian seemed like a nice, if very unusual person.

The first day, Mo Xuanyu had barely even noticed the body-switch, being quite so enamored of the soft bed he was in – he’d refused to get out of bed at all, declaring that he was going to lie in and sleep for a century or more, and the people who’d come to the door to get him didn’t beat him or anything over it, but rather just laughed or rolled their eyes and then left him to it. Luckily, at the time, he’d just assumed he was dead or something and proceeded to ignore everything in favor of napping.

He only acknowledged that he was alive later in the afternoon, when his stomach started growling – it seemed like a very unlikely thing for a dead man’s stomach to do.

Mo Xuanyu had by that point figured out that he wasn’t himself anymore, which was fine since he didn’t much like himself; he’d also figured out, through looking himself over, that he was old now. At least fifteen or sixteen, which was twice the age he last remembered himself being. That was fine, too, though: being older meant that he was stronger and faster and would be better able to handle it when people wanted to beat him or something. Most importantly, though, it meant he was old enough to enter the kitchen on his own!

Mo Xuanyu already knew that he wasn’t allowed to eat at the main table, being only the bastard son of the younger daughter, and the cook back at home was a fierce woman who didn’t allow anyone under the age of ten into her kitchen; as a result, he had to wait for his mother to bring him back some food, and it was always cold and not quite enough. Now, though, since he was older, he figured he might as well try to go to the kitchen and fill his belly that way.

Luckily, while his current body’s house was much bigger than the Mo house, all houses were generally built along the same lines, so it wasn’t hard to find the kitchen. Everyone there laughed when he showed up, even though he’d tried to be very quiet and sneak in and then screwed it up by tripping over his own feet – it seemed like everyone thought he was doing it on purpose to be funny – and then the cooks gave him a meal of his own that was hot and fresh and wonderful.

He'd wolfed it down.

“Honestly, Wei Wuxian, you eat like a hungry ghost, you’d think the Jiang clan starves you,” one of them scolded him, but with a smile, and from that Mo Xuanyu learned that the rich young master was called Wei Wuxian and that he lived with the Jiang clan. The different surnames confused him a little, but he didn’t dare ask any questions about it, so he just stuffed his mouth and pretended that was the reason he couldn’t answer.

No one questioned it.

No one questioned it when he went wandering all around instead of doing whatever chores or duties he’d been assigned, either. Someone had actually seen him hovering by a door and asked him to bring back a pheasant when he returned, so out of lack of better options he’d headed outside to try to go find one.

He had a pretty good time walking around the forest, then remembered what he’d been asked and chased the pheasants for a while, without success . Fortunately, he then got lucky and stumbled over an old snare that had three pheasants caught inside, so he’d picked up the whole box and carted it back home.

“Three,” one of the boys in purple-blue marveled as he saw Mo Xuanyu walking towards the kitchen. “You know, people say that the birds around the Lotus Pier have gotten too smart to be caught easily, but look at our da-shixiong; he makes it look easy!”

From this, Mo Xuanyu could figure out that Wei Wuxian was (apparently!) part of a cultivator clan, apparently located at a place called the Lotus Pier, and that he was the oldest or at least head disciple, to boot. He knew all about cultivator clans from his mother, since apparently his father had been a sect leader, and that meant he knew enough to call the other boy ‘shidi’ as he passed, making the other boy beam happily.

It also meant that when he chanced a guess and called the young woman in a pretty pink dress who waved at him ‘shijie’, she smiled and nodded, which meant to him that he’d done the right thing.

“I heard you slept even more of the morning away than usual,” she told him, but didn’t seem too upset about it. “I bet that means you’ll be skipping dinner and staying up all night, hmm?”

Mo Xuanyu had no intention of skipping dinner if it was anything like what the kitchens had given him earlier, actually, but while he was still trying to figure out a way to say that, she said, leaning in close to whisper, “It’s probably a good idea, anyway – Mother and Father are fighting again. Just go to the kitchens to grab something…I promise I’ll make it up to you with some soup tomorrow, pork ribs and lotus roots, your favorite. All right?”

“Shijie, you’re the best,” Mo Xuanyu said effusively, willing to die for her at once, and she laughed and tousled his hair.

“I am,” she said, looking happy. “And if my little A-Xian stays good and obedient, I may even feed him.”

She did, too, the next day when he finally tore himself out of the beautiful wonderful soft bed and went to go find her. She’d made him soup, just as he’d promised, and laughed and laughed for some reason: apparently, she interpreted him being quiet and not talking too much as his efforts to be ‘good and obedient’, which was apparently so out of the ordinary as to be a deliberate joke.

From this, Mo Xuanyu concluded that the young master he’d possessed, Wei Wuxian, was a jackass.

Well, perhaps that was a bit harsh. Arrogant and self-centered, talented and brave and probably brilliant, definitely charming and maybe even kind, but also spoiled and inclined to step on other people to get where he wanted to go, if Mo Xuanyu had to guess – why else would everyone constantly react as if him not being obnoxious was the world’s biggest stunt?

No one seemed to expect anything of him at all: he didn’t do any chores, and no one batted an eyelid; he didn’t go where he was told, and everyone just sighed…at one point the sect leader himself came and patted him on the head, scolding him in a joking tone that he hadn’t seen him leading any of the training the way he was supposed to – but when Mo Xuanyu quailed, he’d burst out laughing, telling ‘Wei Wuxian’ to stop pretending to be a scared little rabbit, that it was fine if he’d gotten distracted by some clever new invention or whatever, that someone else would handle it, that he should take as long as he needed.

Mo Xuanyu had pasted a great big smile on his face through force of effort and agreed cheerfully.

The sect leader had accepted it.

Probably a jackass, but clearly a beloved one, Mo Xuanyu thought to himself as he packed up clothing and a few small treasures that no one would miss, a little wistful. The scare of the whole encounter had put things in perspective – he wasn’t going to be able to keep up this sort of façade for long. In fact, he was shocked he’d managed it so long already; surely, no matter how many pranks this Wei Wuxian played, no matter how childishly he behaved, surely someone should’ve noticed that he was actually an eight-year-old masquerading as a sixteen-year-old?

Mo Xuanyu couldn’t decide whether it was sad that no one paid too much attention or something that this Wei Wuxian fellow had brought down on his own head by being so consistently annoying.

Either way, there was nothing for it – he was going to have to leave.

Now that part was really sad: he’d never in his life had such good food, or such a soft bed, or even so many people that just seemed plain old happy to see him as since he’d arrived in this place. But he wasn’t the one all those things were for; he was just a sad ghost possessing a person, and if he stayed, the cultivators would eventually figure out something was wrong and exorcise him.

Probably violently.

Mo Xuanyu probably deserved it, too, but despite that he wasn’t willing.

So he packed up what he could and headed out.

He got all the way to the gate before a new purple-clad disciple – about his age, if he had to guess, and holding a pack like he’d just come back from a trip, with a scowl on his face – called out for Wei Wuxian.

Mo Xuanyu waved a little, hoping that that would be enough.

For the first time, it wasn’t.

The boy’s face settled into an even deeper scowl.

“Hey, what’s wrong with you?” he demanded. “Wei Wuxian! You’re acting all weird – hey! Where are you going?”

Mo Xuanyu was running away, obviously. He wasn’t about to get tied up and exorcised, no thank you.

He didn’t think he’d make it, but it was still worth trying.

Sure enough, the purple-clad boy who was probably called Jiang Cheng, based on what everyone was calling out as they ran by, got tired of running and jumped on his sword, and there was no way Mo Xuanyu would be able to outrun a sword, not even if he tried as fast as he –

Someone picked him up.

It wasn’t Jiang Cheng.

Mo Xuanyu turned his head and stared.

It must be some sort of yao, he thought. Humans were definitely not that pretty.

“Lan Wangji!” Jiang Cheng howled. “What are you even doing in the Lotus Pier?! Put my shixiong down!”

The rescuer, Lan Wangji, frowned a little at Mo Xuanyu.

Mo Xuanyu didn’t know exactly what expression he ought to be making in return, and was a bit too dazed to even dare to guess. He’d just noticed that they were flying – flying! on a sword! – and he was clutching onto this Lan Wangji’s shoulders for dear life.

“You are not Wei Ying,” Lan Wangji said. His voice sounded very definitive.

“Uh,” Mo Xuanyu said. “Sorry? Please don’t drop me.”

“I will not. What is your name?”

“Mo Xuanyu,” Mo Xuanyu admitted, and Lan Wangji’s eyes widened as if that meant something to him – except it couldn’t, of course, because Mo Xuanyu was sure he’d never met anyone even remotely like this Lan Wangji fellow in his life. “I don’t remember taking his body. I’m sorry. Can you not exorcise me? I don’t want to die.”

Lan Wangji was silent for a long moment.

He was still flying very fast, and Jiang Cheng was still following, shouting out curses and demands that he stop, not that Lan Wangji was listening.

“There will be no exorcism,” he finally said, and Mo Xuanyu exhaled in relief. “We will, however, fix this.”

“…we?”

“Wei Ying and myself.”

Mo Xuanyu nodded. That sounded more likely than anyone relying on his participation.

“Where are we going?” he asked. Jiang Cheng was falling further and further behind.

“Mo Village.”

Mo Xuanyu tensed up at once.

“You will not be left there,” Lan Wangji clarified, and – how did he know that Mo Xuanyu didn’t want to be left there? “But we must collect Wei Ying, who I suspect is currently in your body.”

“In my…I’m still alive?”

Lan Wangji was quiet again, and then said, “Yes. And you will remain so.”

That was reassuring, mostly.

“Okay,” Mo Xuanyu said, and found that he mostly felt relieved. He’d be very happy to have his normal body back again, if possible, especially if he didn’t have to stay in Mo Village…“Wait, if I don’t have to stay there, where will I go? I don’t have anywhere else to go, unless my father comes back for me. He's a sect leader –”

“He will not, and even if he did, you should not go with him. Once Wei Ying returns to his body, you will be able to stay at the Lotus Pier. If you do not wish to stay there, I will bring you back to the Cloud Recesses – that is my home – instead.”

“Oh,” Mo Xuanyu said, feeling bewildered. That was an awfully nice offer, even if Lan Wangji was feeling guilty about Wei Wuxian stealing his body by accident – which seemed like what had happened here rather than Mo Xuanyu being the one who did the stealing. Maybe he should go with Lan Wangji instead, he seemed much more responsible than Wei Wuxian was, rushing over to rescue him and explain things instead of throwing him into a body and leaving him all alone in a strange place. But on the other hand… “Is the Cloud Recesses…I mean…no offense, but…does it have…”

“Yes?”

“Does it have soft beds, too? And – and hot food?”

Mo Xuanyu didn’t need much, not really. He looked eagerly at Lan Wangji, who had an odd expression on his face briefly before wiping it back to neutral and nodding in confirmation.

“Okay,” Mo Xuanyu said, and curled up in Lan Wangji’s arms. “Then I’ll stay with you. You can take care of me.”

“I will,” Lan Wangji said, sounding strangely serious. “In return for the gift you last gave me – I will.”

[wickedgamesoyaoya]

hello self - tumblr continues to hate us so let's just post this way #yolo

Can the past truly be rewritten? Can one simply erase the thunder and rain, leaving behind only the rainbows and sunshine? Can the imperfections be ushered away with the eraser shavings? Or will they remain engrained into the page – its presence serving as a reminder that no one can escape their past.

The answer of course, is that the past cannot be rewritten.

Recently, there were three people, connected by destiny, who struggled to accept this fact. Unfortunately, you were included in said group. But instead of surrendering, you chose to wield your stubbornness as a sword, refusing to accept reality, and refusing to accept defeat. The truth of the matter was… you could not afford to concede. As if you did, you would never be able to return to the love that bathed your world in colour. And the world has stolen far too much from you – could you really survive if it stole him?

You needed to rewrite these last few months, if you didn’t, every moment you shared with him would be tainted in a blinding crimson. The warnings issued by your best friend and sister were true – you knew that what your relationship needed was time. But you were absolutely terrified that time would not be enough to mend the damage. And so, your mind remained clouded with thoughts of fantasy and seized by fear.

“I’m leaving now, Tooru. Have fun at practice later.” A faint smile was presented in the setter’s direction, as you shoved your right hand into your jacket pocket.

“Have fun, y/n-y/n! But not too much fun.” The mocha haired male ripped his gaze away from the cellphone screen, before tossing a playful wink.

Rolling your eyes, a gentle laugh was pushed past your teeth. You were thankful that he remained oblivious to the surge of emotions thrashing against the thin mask you prepared for him. It was better this way – fake it until you make it, right?

As you began down the hallway, the clicking of your boots with the surface soon syncretized with your breathing, forcing it to a slower pace. Once in the elevator, you removed your hand from your pocket, analyzing it for any defects. The caffeine consumed earlier prompted tremors to claim your fingers. It was a miracle you were able to complete your texts without any mistakes. But it appeared that after steadying your breathing pattern, your limbs returned to regular functioning.

Maybe it would be okay. Everything would be okay.

The mantra was repeated internally until you reached the lobby, providing a boost of confidence to your step. Within a few seconds you were able to locate the one responsible for your frazzled mental state. The familiar black-haired male was stood outside the glass barriers with his eyes glued to the cement below. Dressed in blue jeans and a thin corduroy jacket, he sincerely outshined any models you were fortune enough to collaborate with. The sight flooded your senses with adoration, drowning out the remaining anxiety that inhibited your veins. When he caught onto your presence, a smile warmed his features and you found yourself unable to maintain a frown.

At the end of the day, he was still the same man you fell in love with. The same one who filled your days with love and happiness.

Perhaps that would be enough to override the scarlet rain that loomed over you.

“Hi there.” When you joined your fiancé outside, a teasing smirk tugged at the ends of your lips. “Look at you, lookin’ like a whole ass snack.”

“Well, hello to you too. I’m glad you approve of my outfit.” Joy glimmered in his grey irises while a low chuckle was expelled. He was skeptical in asking his brother for fashion guidance earlier, but it seemed that his twin’s advice was useful once again.

“Are you sure you’re not the model, and I’m the cook in the relationship? I mean, I do make some mean onigiri.” Proceeding a step closer to him, you trailed the tips of your fingers along the sleeve of his coat, permitting your fingers to linger when you reached his wrist.

His eyes flickered to your wandering hand, and without missing a beat, he caught your fingers with his, weaving them together naturally. Truthfully, he wanted to embrace you or obtain some form of physical contact the second he laid eyes on you, what he was searching for was permission. He was unsure what boundaries were required under the circumstances, but he was thankful that he was still allowed to hold your hand.

“You do. I have a lot to learn from you, chef.” With his gaze returning to yours, you were quick to notice how the physical contact eased him.  

“You’re so cheesy.” Clicking your tongue, you shook your head, feigning disappointment. The theatrical response served as a distraction from the heat flowing from his skin and the little tingles spreading along your arm. But when Osamu squinted at you with an adorable pout fixing onto his lips, your resolve to continue the performance was completely obliterated. He was only playing along with your charade, and yet his response had led you to shift tactics. “Good thing I like cheese!”

Amazing save, right?

“Yeah, good thing.” The forced retort granted the cook a surge of confidence, and in a surprising movement, he leaned forward, pressing a small kiss to the tip of your nose. The exchange forced an imaginary clog to immediately form inside your throat. Needless to say, you did not see that coming.

In an attempt to dismiss the swirl of emotions his action instigated, you pushed away from him, before beginning down the pathway. Issuing a cough to clear your passageways, your attention was forced onto a random building. “Okay, come on. We’ve got a fifteen-minute walk to go. Follow me.”

Exhaling a laugh mixed with a sigh, he nodded, trailing close behind you.

“I’ll follow you anywhere, y/n.”

The journey to the botanical garden was mostly filled with playful banter, and half-hearted laughter. Somehow you had successfully managed to fool yourself into thinking that everything was fine – that your relationship was not littered in punctures. It was peaceful; the fantasy you had created. It was safe.

The botanical garden that Osamu had selected for your first stop was laid out in the style of a French garden, with a green house that resembled a crystal palace. Breathtaking was surely an understatement, and for the first time since you joined him, Osamu found himself entranced by something other than your presence. Tightening his grip around your hand, he gently brushed his thumb against your skin in a soothing manner.

“This is incredible.” The proclamation was accompanied by a wide-eyed expression. He was never into gardens; but even he was in awe at the sight ahead.

Humming in agreement, you shifted your attention to the centre fountain. It was your favourite spot on the land, and consequently where you took a picture of teddiursa for your Instagram page.

“It feels like a fairy-tale garden, huh?”

The suggestion forced him to return his gaze to you, prompting you to raise an eyebrow quizzically.  

“With you here, it sure does.” He was evidently pleased with the corny statement, a fact that could be ascertained by the little twitch of his mouth. He was clearly attempting to suppress his laughter.

“You better not be saying I am a princess, because you and I both know that is not true.” Contorting your features in artificial irritation, a little huff was discharged. But the theatrics were dismantled when he voiced his explanation, replacing irritation with surprise.

“Oh, of course not. But even demons need a place to live.”

“Demon?!” Halting abruptly on the path, your mouth opened and shut twice as you struggled to find a suitable response.

“Not just a demon, the prettiest demon.” Finally releasing the laughter, he stored inside his chest, he tugged you into his embrace, before pressing his cheek against your head. A growl erupted inside of your throat as you begrudgingly rested your forehead against his chest.

“Yeah yeah. Nice save.”

A comfortable silence blanketed over you two as you began along the pathway, observing and admiring the flower-filled beds and impeccably manicured geometric lawns. However, comfort slowly morphed into distress as you wandered deeper into the vined arches that connected the greenhouse and the “garden of senses”. Without the distraction of conversation, it was straining to drown out the whispers issued by the little voice inside your head. The whispers gradually increased in volume until you could no longer differentiate your own voice from the creatures fuelling your anxiety.

It won’t last – this isn’t real. It is solely a fantasy you have forced upon yourself to cope. He doesn’t love you like he did – no matter what you do now… your love will always be infected with a fatal disease.

The featured attraction hosted only two other visitors; a couple.  The happiness emanating from the couple stole the tiniest bit of sanity you were clinging to.  And when the stranger knelt down on one knee, reaching for an item in his jacket, nausea bubbled inside your stomach. The sight should have not twisted your guts, tangling your organs – but it did. And it hurt. God, it hurt.

“Hey, come here.”

Despite the waves of agony that came packaged with the sight ahead; you could not stop watching. Not until your fiancé’s voice broke you from your trance. As you rubbed away at the tears hanging onto your lashes, Osamu guided you along the path until you reached an isolated portion of the garden. Once you were alone, and no longer in earshot of any others, he released your hand, then brushed through his hair in frustration.

“I know what you’re doing. You don’t have to act okay, y/n. You don’t have to force yourself to be happy.” The frustration was aimed at himself, for inadvertently pushing for some sense of normalcy. It was selfish for him to have wanted it – to have hoped for it.  

“Well shit, guess I blew my cover.” The comment was coated in sarcasm, though you intended for it to sound lighter than it did. The tears resting upon the pads of your fingers did not also help the tense atmosphere.

“I need you to know that you have every right to be angry. You’re allowed to hate me!” The latter of the sentence was vocalized in a lower octave, a detail that only brought you to feel defeated. Because you don’t hate him, and you can’t hate him. “I deserve it all. But if we really want to move on, it can’t be like this.” Unsure what to do with himself, he shifted on the spot uncomfortably, tugging at his roots.

“You idiot. I don’t hate you. I hate this situation. I hate that it got to this.” Dragging a palm down your visage, a groan was muffled. “It’s fine. Can we just enjoy this, please?”

Just keep pretending that it’s okay. Keep pretending. Please. Let me keep pretending.

“No. I can’t enjoy it when you’re hurting.” Shaking his head, sorrow crossed his face, molding his features. “Talk to me. Tell me what I can do to lessen the pain.” A small step was advanced closer, he was seconds from capturing you in his arms once more, desperate to fix the pieces he damaged.

But his ambitions were momentarily abandoned when rageful sentiments ripped from your throat. “I want to start over. I want to erase what happened! Can you do that, ‘Samu?! Do you have a damn magic pencil and a magic storybook that can fix everything?!” Clenching your teeth, your eyelids narrowed into daggers. Of course, your question was unreasonable, you knew that. But you were exhausted, so damn exhausted and you didn’t care.

You genuinely expected him to point out the flaws in your request, yet instead you were met with laughter. Pressing a palm against his stomach, the cook laughed loudly, even stumbling a step back in the process. At this point it was impossible to tell who was the insane one – him or you.

“Are you laughing at my pain, you sadistic gremlin?” Your mascara heavy eyelids fluttered open and shut as you strived to comprehend what was occurring.

Osamu raised a finger, silently requesting that you abandon your accusations as he composed himself.

“No. I’m laughing at the fact you’re screaming at me and referencing a tv show at the same time. It’s the most you thing you’ve done in a while.” Resuming his mission to eliminate the space between you, he caught your face with both of his palms, before aligning his forehead with yours. His reasons for breaking into laughter held some logic, but a pout still registered onto your mouth. And even with your foreheads connected, you averted your stare, unable to maintain eye contact. “Listen to me, y/n. I don’t have a magic pencil, or a magic storybook. And don’t even think of asking if I have a hot tub time machine. But I will do whatever I can to make this right. Just tell me… something reasonable.”

For a moment, you chewed on the inside of your cheek, contemplating what answer to bestow upon him. In the end, your heart took reign of your vocal cords, leaving your brain face palming in shame. “I wanna redo these last three months.”

Woops, you said it.

Osamu blinked down at you, mulling over your strange request. If he could snap his fingers and go back in time, he would. But maybe there was another way to accomplish this goal. Inhaling a breath, he nudged his nose against yours in effort to gain your wandering attention. “Okay. Let’s do that. I’ll reset our phones, and calendars. We can do it right. You can do more gigs and I’ll follow you around the world. I won’t miss a single thing.” The proposal did not contain a single hint of humour, he needed you to know that he was serious.

“Really?” His words impelled a fluttering sensation to bloom inside your chest. The fact he was even entertaining your bizarre request was astounding. It was enough to nourish the seed of hope that was planted with his arrival.

“Yeah. Really.” Lowering his face, he guided his mouth to yours. The tenderest kiss was applied to your lips, lasting barely a minute. You loved how you could taste the sweetness of the tea he had earlier in the day. How his lips fit against yours perfectly. And mostly, you loved that this time, the action did not fill you with fear for the future.

You were simply… hopeful, and maybe a little bit excited.

“So what do you say, y/n? Let’s do it again, shall we?” 

Let’s do it again, shall we - let’s do it again 

Masterlist - Previous - Next

A/N: after battling with tumblr for days, I AM OVER THIS. :( BUT THANK YOU GUYS FOR YOUR PATIENCE AND STAYING BY ME EVEN THO I POST SO SLOWLY ;-;-; YOU GUYS ARE WONDERFUL. 

taglist: @idiot-juice-enthusiast @vicassa @yourstarvic @suna-r1n@newfriendjen  @hikarichannn @anime-simp @tsukkismamagucci @laughingismorefun @astronomyturtle @shegrewupwithoutafather @hyskoa1998 @deephumandragonperson @pretty-setter-bois @raenebalgaire @sugawarabby @justanotherfangirl2 @keijisworld @90s-belladonna @momoinot @sempiternal-amour @cherryblosom111 @yqshirov @haikyuufairy @volleybloop @bloody-bella @4fterh0urs @seikamuzu @namyari  @toaster-stick @coconut-dreamz @roseestuosity @prcttylittlcthing @uzumakioden @nerdynstoned @kenmasgameboy @unstableye @ouijaeater15 @aquariarose @fandomtrashpandasposts @helloalex80 @stfucanunot @envyusshades @cuddlesslut @seijohiseliterambles  @meiikuki @cuddlejeongin @tchalameme  @elianetsantana @hxked

[etherrealoblivion]

Chapter Nine: Wanna Bet?

Table of Contents

Fic summary: Owning a bookstore in downtown D.C. came with its fair share of downsides. You never thought that being the target of a serial killer would be one of them. Luckily, a nice FBI agent by the name of Spencer Reid is assigned to watch over you. What's the worst that could happen?

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Reader

Words: 1,713

Content Warnings: Risque content. Alcohol. ;;))

MASTERLIST

~

The man’s name was Benicio “Benny” Sallow. He worked at a seven-eleven near the restaurant. He had seen you and Spencer leave the restaurant, clocked out, and followed you for a few blocks with the intent to steal your purse and his wallet. Apparently, he wasn’t even planning on injuring you, just using the knife as leverage. 

So the killer was still out there, presumably keeping very close by, according to Spencer. It took you a while to explain why that didn’t make you feel any better.

The day after the incident, you’d had to go back to Quantico to be briefed. It was getting tiring having to go back and forth all the time. But you supposed it was good to be kept in the loop.

Now, you were confined to your apartment 24/7. Groceries now had to be delivered, Spencer answering the door each time, gun in hand, exchanging a verbal password with the delivery person.

Sure, it was safer, but the danger felt even more real now. Luckily, your protector was taking extreme measures to keep you distracted.

“Now throw it!” he shouted, prompting you to chuck the pillow towards the empty trash can, now on the third round of a game Spencer had dubbed “pillowball”. 

It landed just shy of the basket and you groaned as Spencer laughed.

“Oh, I’d like to see you do better, glasses,” you teased, shoving him another pillow.

“I don’t even wear glasses anymore!”

“Just throw the pillow, dork.”

He reared back, squinting, looking all around. You had to stifle a laugh as you pictured little mathematical equations floating through the air around his head.

And he threw the pillow, soaring through the air towards the basket and . . .

. . . landed on a shelf just above the basket, knocking over a broom.

“Ha!” you jumped on the couch, jostling the broom. “Might wanna get your eyes checked again.”

“Sure about that?” he said, a little too cocky.

Your face fell, looking at the pillow. As you had sat on the couch, you’d made the broom hit the wall, making the shelf move, tipping over a large book that bumped the pillow. It fell forward and landed perfectly in the basket.

Awestruck, you looked at Spencer and he bowed low, shooting you a mischievous look.

“Lucky shot,” you said, forcefully switching your facial expression to an unimpressed one.

“Oh come on!” he whined, sitting across from you on the couch. “That was cool, don’t deny it.”

“There was no way you could’ve known I was gonna sit and knock the broom!”

“Couldn’t I have?”

“No!”

“You know,” he took the pillow from the basket and turned it over in his hands, “jealousy usually manifests itself in denial.”

“Hey! I am not jealous!”

“I mean even though you’re not capable of a shot like that, there’s no reason to be jealous,” he gave you a sidelong glance, slight smile on his lips.

“Not capable?”

“Well, you aren’t!”

“Wanna bet?”

Having to prove him wrong, you snatched up your pillow and went back to the doorway.

“Bet? Y/N, I’m from Vegas. I never lose a bet. You might want to think twice about that challenge.”

“If I don’t make this shot, I’ll watch that five-hour long movie that you won’t stop talking about.”

All of the cockiness was wiped from Spencer’s face.

“You’ll watch Solaris with me?”

“If I fail this shot, I will,” you said, smiling at the fact that he’d added ‘with me’ to the odds. 

“What if you make it?”

A wicked smile spread across your face.

“If I make it, we pop open the 20 year Jim Beam I've got in the cabinet.”

Spencer unconsciously glanced at the kitchen cupboard, then shook his head.

“I really don’t think that’s a good idea, Y/N. Becoming intoxicated could lower inhibitions, making us less aware of—“

“—so you admit it’s a possibility I make the shot?”

He opened his mouth, hesitated, then closed it, shooting you a frustrated look.

You held out your hand for him to shake, knowing he despised handshakes.

“C’mon, Mister Vegas. I thought you never lose a bet?”

His eyebrows twitched but the hint of a smile ghosted over his face.

“Deal,” he said, shaking your hand, only slightly twitching at the contact. 

Sparing a quick glance at the ceiling, then the clock, you threw the pillow towards the basket, but it missed, landing just to the right on the arm of the couch.

Spencer beamed. 

“Oh, well. I hope your study for that linguistics doctorate involves Russian. Great try, but like I said, I never lose.”

You cocked your head.

“Sure about that?”

A whirring noise caught his attention, turning towards the air vent right over the bedroom door. The gust caught the pillow and pushed it forward, making it land right in the basket. Spencer’s jaw dropped.

“Landlord always clicks on the A.C. at 8:25 on the dot.”

As you bragged, you walked over to the kitchen cabinet, standing on your toes to reach the bottle of bourbon and bringing it back to the couch where Spencer sat.

“How . . .”

“Face it, Vegas, you lost. Now, drink up!”

You took a swig from the bottle and handed it to him. 

“We really shouldn’t—“

“Spencer.” All joking gone from your tone, you stared at him, silently begging. “Please. I need to feel . . . something else.”

Waiting a moment to speak, presumably going through possible outcomes and scenarios in his head, he finally sighed and took the bottle from you, pressing it to his lips and drinking.

As expected though, he proceeded to cough heavily, handing the bottle back to you.

“Jeez! You made it look so easy.”

You laughed, taking another drink.

“Years of practice.”

“Years?”

Shit. He definitely knew you weren’t that far from drinking age, making the word years rather compromising.

“Not years per se.”

“Uh-huh,” he said sarcastically, taking the bottle from you and downing the smallest sip so as not to cough. “You know, alcohol might actually help you get through Solaris. If we’re going to be living together for a while I will make you watch it.”

You paused, trying to clock what he meant by ‘living together’.

“I am not watching that movie willingly. How ‘bout double or nothing?”

Intrigued, he watched you carefully, moving to sit on his legs.

“Go on. . . .”

You smiled, getting more comfortable on the couch.

“I’m gonna make an assumption, and if it’s true, you drink. If it’s not, I drink.”

“Is that a Game of Thrones reference?” 

Shocked, you nodded.

“Doctor Reid, I’m surprised.” Then, thinking about his love for Doctor Who, Doyle, and strange sci-fi films like Solaris, you figured you should have seen this coming. “Actually, not all that surprised. So yes! It is a Game of Thrones reference and I’m gonna wipe the floor with you.”

“I think you’re forgetting, I’m an FBI profiler. It’s my job to read people.”

“So you accept my challenge?” You jumped up, grabbed two glasses, and sat back down, pouring the bourbon into each glass evenly, handing one to Spencer.

After thinking a moment, he took the glass and said, “I do. Provided I get to go first.”

You nodded, gesturing for him to go.

“You . . . have a complicated relationship with your parents.”

Scoffing, you said, “Seriously? Everyone has a complicated relationship with their parents! Thought you were a big shot profiler.” And you took a small sip.

“I’m starting off easy,” he said, reclining a bit more and stretching out his legs towards you. “Your go.”

“You . . . you were bullied in high school.”

He shrugged and took a drink.

“You don’t join the FBI without some childhood trauma,” he said it so casually but there was something more in his tone that he couldn’t hide. That no one could.

“My turn,” he said, pulling you away from your thoughts. Right. That was the goal of all this. Distraction.

“Go,” you said, sitting up and moving a bit closer.

“So,” he said, gazing around your apartment and swirling the liquid in his glass, “there’s no photographs in your apartment, at least none that I’ve seen. But you’re not unsentimental judging by your attachment to the locket that was stolen from you. So you just don’t have any photographs to hang up.”

“I’m not hearing an assumption, Doctor.”

“You don’t have a lot of friends. Probably only a few close ones that you rarely get to see.”

Normally, if someone commented on your lack of friends, you’d lash out and walk away, probably calling them various unkind names. But when Spencer said it, there wasn’t any judgment. Only sympathy. Like he knew exactly what not having a lot of friends felt like.

It was true, you didn’t have a lot of friends. The only person you really considered to be a friend was Steve, and you hadn’t spoken to him in weeks. You wondered if he was worried about you suddenly cutting off contact, staying home from school and work. You wondered if he even noticed.

So you took a sip, smiling sadly at Spencer. And he smiled back. Neither of you had to say anything else about it.

“Alright, get ready to get drunk.” 

He snorted at you, alcohol starting to affect him.

“Guess away, I’m an open book.”

“You, Spencer Reid,” he laughed a little when you said his name, dropping his head to the back of the couch. “You . . . cannot handle your alcohol.”

He giggled, raising his glass to his lips but you stopped him.

“Ah! That wasn’t my assumption. I was just making an astute observation. Now, as I was saying. My assumption is . . . you are a virgin.”

He was struck, clearly not expecting such a personal guess. You waited for him to drink, but instead he just stared at you. Then, he blushed, looking away and rubbing the back of his neck, still not making any move to drink.

Aw. Maybe you’d crossed a line. Maybe he was embarrassed by the fact that—

Wait. 

He still wasn’t drinking, just looking at you sheepishly, like he was waiting for something.

Waiting for you to drink.

So you did, keeping eye-contact with him the whole time, watching as he fidgeted nervously.

Your assumption had been wrong. Interesting.

~

A/N:  ;)

~

@aperrywilliams @mjloveskids666 @dolanfivsosxox @criesinreid @fanficsrmylife @racerparker @sammypotato67 @lukeskisses @reidcrimes @you-had-me-at-hello-dear @l0ve-0f-my-life @thatsonezesty13​ @yourmisosoup @queenofthebees003 @pinkdiamond1016 @eu-solidao

[scribeofred]

Thanks to @onereyofstarlight for the tag!

 1. What fandoms have you written for?

This is embarrassing but I actually had to look at both FFnet and AO3 because I couldn’t remember all of them. TRON: Legacy, Assassin’s Creed, Star Wars, Lord of the Rings and the Hobbit, Sherlock, Final Fantasy VII and XV and Kingsglaive, Voltron: Legendary Defender, Merlin, Skyrim, and, of course, Thunderbirds. I have a couple other fandoms that crop up in various wips, including a Tom Swift/Thunderbirds crossover that I really should finish.

2. How many works do you have on AO3 &/or FFNet?

FFnet has 45, and AO3 has 41. There’s also a couple stories lurking on tumblr, notably a final chapter for Reflection.

3. What are your top 3 fics by kudos on A03 &/or Favs on FFNet?

AO3 dominates in this area, if I can use a word like “dominates” for stories that have less than 125 kudos each haha. Oh well, the numbers don’t matter!

1.     118 kudos on tell the shades apart (my world is black and white)

2.     94 kudos on Reflection

3.     91 kudos on The 43rd Hour

4. Which 3 fics have the least kudos & Favs?

Again on AO3:

1 kudos on I Am You (And You Are Me)

5 kudos on The Dragonborn Chronicles

6 kudos on cynosure

5. Which Fic has the most comments and which has the least?

Reflection has the most at 29 threads, and I Am You (And You Are Me) has the least at zero.

6. Which complete fic do you wish had gotten more attention?

Lodestar, definitely. Sure, it’s for something of a rarepair, but they aren’t that rare, and I just really really like the way the story came together. On the other hand, of course my unfinished Merlin fic has gotten probably the most attention, because that’s just the way it goes, eh?

7. Have you written any crossovers?

None that I’ve published! I have various crossovers lurking in mostly unfinished states, including the aforementioned Tom Swift/Thunderbirds crossover, and an Assassin’s Creed/Thundeerbirds crossover that is very good and I should also finish. There’s an Expanse/Thunderbirds fic lurking in my brain that I may or may not ever commit to paper, who knows. I’ve also very vaguely toyed with a Batman/Thunderbirds crossover, in the sense that “nebulous” is too strong a word for the kind of toying I’ve been doing.

8. What is the craziest fic you’ve written?

I don’t really write crazy or crack or humor in general, so probably the closest thing to “crazy” is On the Lam, which was the result of wanting to throw Scott and Penelope toward an Egyptian stud farm. It ended up being the host for a bad joke about that, courtesy of one @thebaconsandwichofregret, who consistently gives some of the best dialogue advice I’ve ever encountered.

Actually, the true answer is probably a chapter in Glimpses into a Supernova, maybe the one about blood? It seems bonkers when I think back on it now, but I admittedly haven’t read it in many years. Possibly I am misremembering. Glimpses has some weird ones, though.

9. What’s the fic you’ve written with the saddest ending?

It’s a tossup between The Painting and a place where the water touches the sky. The former deals with a prior off-screen death; the latter is (maybe??) an on-screen death. People seemed upset by it, at any rate. I said it was ambiguous!

10. What’s the fic you’ve written with the happiest ending?

“Happy” is probably a matter of perspective? Depends on the overall reading experience and the ending within that context. Either septet or Three Towels and a Tracy, they’re both pretty fluffy overall.

11. What is your smuttiest fic?

protoinstincts, which I completely forgot I wrote and then rediscovered like a year later and realized “hey, this is actually pretty good” and you know what, despite it not being overly spicy, it is pretty good.

12. Have you ever received hate on a fic?

Not hate, per se, but someone left a review on Less Than Nothing saying they “didn’t like” that I “wrote the story as a series of drabbles.” Cool, I didn’t write the story for you, random guest reader, and the back button exists, friend 😂 It didn’t bother me on a personal level because I wrote the fic for an audience of one (incidentally, not myself and rather the recipient of a secret santa event), but I was mad because the reviewer had no way of knowing where I was at as a writer, and I know from longtime observation how that kind of comment can crush less experienced or confident writers.

Don’t leave flames, kids, you don’t understand the power your words have. Don’t like, don’t read.

13. What is the nicest comment you’ve received?

The nicest? Goodness. Hmm. I’d have to go hunting to find the nicest, but in recent memory, @ayzrules sent me a couple passages from Spanish texts she’s been studying that reminded her of my writing, and I was honestly so touched by the fact that she even thought to make such comparisons, much less mention them to me. Taking the time to familiarize yourself with someone’s style until you can make comparisons between it and someone else’s work is so much more meaningful to me personally than a basic “Nice story!” or “Loved this!” type of comment ever could be. <3 Ayz <3

14. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Not that I’m aware of, but I’ve never gone looking on any sort of copycat site or whatever either.

15. How many fics do you have marked as incomplete?

Two. First is The Dragonborn Chronicles, which is a retelling of Skyrim from Lydia’s perspective via her journal, to complement the in-game journal. It’s a slog of a style to write, though, even for someone who loves writing first person and doesn’t really want to write a lot of dialogue, and the outline is huge, and the story will be many times more huge, and just. Some day. Some day.

Second is tell the shades apart (my world is black and white), which has always been unfinished because the outline itself is over seven thousand words and the fully written story would undoubtedly land between 100,000 and 200,000 words, and there’s no way I’m writing that. I’ve always meant to upload the outline, but I got kind of self-conscious about the way I formatted it, and ugh I just haven’t bothered. One day, one day, right?

Moral of the story is I’m intensely a short story writer, and I’ve really found myself settling into that role over the last couple years. Better a clipped, punchy short story than a bloated slog of an epic.

16. Which of the WIPS will most likely be finished first?

Literally no one knows that. I wrote 95% of the observable entropy of a closed system over five years ago, and then I proceeded to pull it out roughly once a year and write and rewrite various endings until last month, which was when I finally figured out how I wanted to end the story. septet, too, languished for about five years before I finally remembered it existed and managed to wrangle an ending. Endings are hard, man. So are those third plot points. Terrible creatures, those, bog me down every time.

17. Which WIP are you looking forward to finishing?

Uh... mm. See. If I were looking forward to finishing any of them, I’d be actively working on them. At this moment, writing fic isn’t exactly high on my list of priorities, but I am also coming off a four-day idle game bender, so I still feel like I haven’t quite reengaged with myself as a living person. Give me another few days and I might have an answer.

(I am always most looking forward to finishing this ridiculous Ignis-drives-the-Audi-R8 fic that’s been languishing in my wips for literal years. As mentioned above, third plot points. Killer, man.)

(oh and also the working-titled the art of murder. Scott and Penny attend a private art auction. Things don’t go to plan. It, too, is stuck at the third plot point. I know, I know I have a problem, shush.)

18. Is there a WIP that you’re considering abandoning?

Any wip has the potential to be revived—this year and the old wips I’ve unearthed, dusted off, finished, and posted have been proof of that. I don’t intentionally permanently abandon anything for that reason, some stories just probably will remain dusty old wips forever because I didn’t actually need or want to write the full story for one reason or another.

19. Which complete fic would you consider rewriting?

Now that’s an interesting question. Hmm! Honestly? None of them. Once I finish a story, I’m not inclined toward rereading it again any time soon, to the point of years in some cases, and I feel like I’ve moved on from the stories I wrote one, two, five, eight years ago in the actual writing sense. They’re finished stories, and on top of that are relics of their time, which doesn’t mean the stories don’t have any ongoing significance on a reading level—I just don’t have any interest in rewriting those particular stories. I’ve gotten them out of my head, to the point of not remembering at least a third of them on demand anymore, and I don’t have any desire to “retell” those exact stories. I do tend to tighten the wording and fix perceived errors/weaknesses whenever I do end up rereading an old story, and I usually silently update the AO3 version if I make any significant changes because AO3 makes it a breeze to update a posted fic. I might do FFnet too if I’m feeling up to it or have the time.

20. Which complete fic is your favourite?

Once upon a time I would’ve said Holding On, but I honestly find it kind of unbearably melodramatic now. the observable entropy of a closed system is equally melodramatic, as it was written in the same era, but at least it has the excuse of being told in second person and via a style that is a half step away from being poetry. Possibly I will reread it in a few years and find it equally obnoxious and overly dramatic, but it received some shockingly positive comments, which I wasn’t expecting at ALL, and I’ve been honestly blown away by the amount of praise it’s received. <3 to everyone who’s said anything about it!

21. What’s your total published word count?

141,000 on AO3, 160,000 on FFnet, but technically the light of my life SS wrote fifty thousand words of each. It’s too late for math.

 I tag @velkynkarma, @lurkinglurkerwholurks, @writtenbyrain, @thebaconsandwichofregret, and anyone else who wants to play!

[alltheglowingeyess]

hi! i love your fanfics, do u have any headcanons/fics with connor x malcolm in it??

Heya! First of all, thank you!!! And sorry for taking a bit to respond lmao. For fics with Connor x Malcolm, I don’t have anything (mostly because all I write revolves around Solangelo lmaoooo), but I did try to write some headcanons! IDK how good they are; I kind of just started ramble-writing this at like 2 AM last night lol:

they met when they were 12

Connor was at Camp first at age 10

was a year-rounder with Travis for most of his time

Malcolm showed up a year later

his dad was killed after trying to get him to Camp, so he automatically became a year-rounder

they didn't get along originally

during the winter when they were 12, Connor dropped fake spiders on Malcolm and coated them in a sticking substance

Malcolm freaked out, obviously

it was the most upset Connor had ever seen him

he wanted to apologize but he didn’t know how, so the two didn’t talk about it and had weird tension between each other

by the time Connor tried to talk to him, Malcolm just blatantly ignored him

it became a matter of pride now, so Connor ignored him too

after Luke betrayed the Camp and everyone found out, Malcolm was one of the kids who still trusted Hermes campers

his reasoning was always “Being a Hermes kid and being a traitor are different things. It could be anyone at this Camp.”

the two didn’t interact much, but Malcolm made an effort to tell him that he knew Connor was a good person

even through all his pranks and mistakes, he wasn’t ever intentionally malicious

it was kind of a make up between the two; they didn’t ignore each other any more

Connor never told him, but it really meant a lot to know someone was in his corner

the two became friends after this

they actually had some things in common

when Annabeth left for the school year (TTC) and Malcolm was in charge, the Hermes and Athena cabin would pair up for Capture-The-Flag almost every time

both were excellent at strategizing

Malcolm enjoyed working with Connor because he could be serious and gave critical feedback on his plans

his feedback was usually him explaining how he would bypass their defenses or something, allowing Malcolm to revise until they came up with the perfect plan

both also enjoyed seeing the other person’s different sides

Malcolm could be really funny; he wasn’t some “stick-in-the-mud” as Connor had thought

Malcolm actually liked to help out with pranks

his plans helped the Stolls’ pranking have at least a 12% increase in success

he also was a good guide to telling Connor where he should draw the line sometimes

it saved him from getting his ass kicked multiple times

Connor was actually a lot gentler than he seemed on the outside

he also enjoyed learning and proved to be a really good debate partner

he got really into whatever they were talking about and always offered different perspectives on the matter at hand

the two kind of began to crush on each other, but it was more of a back-burner crush

especially because they had a war to fight

after the Battle of Manhattan, Connor dated Will Solace for a bit

Malcolm would be lying if he said he wasn’t thrilled when they broke up after a few weeks

Will had a good idea that Connor liked someone else; the two still remained good friends though

Connor had stolen the land mines from the Ares Cabin (BoO) for Malcolm

Malcolm mentioned in passing how it would be good for some sort of plan he had, but Clarisse shot it down

Connor proceeded to rope Travis into stealing some of the live landmines and bringing them to Malcolm

to this day, NOBODY has any idea how the two pulled it off

Malcolm’s reaction was a mix of shock, amusement, and endearment because of how far Connor was willing to go to help him work out his plan

he still lectured the son of Hermes for an hour about self-preservation and thinking about consequences as Connor hid from an angry Clarisse in the Athena Cabin

during the first Three-Legged Death Race (pre-TOA), the two paired up together

the two were definitely underestimated

both don’t seem really imposing at first glance, but the Hermes/Athena combo is pretty lethal

Malcolm did a good job strategizing, Connor managed to get his hands on various items to give them a leg up

they finished in second, behind Holly and Laurel from Nike

Connor almost knocked them into a random pit when he was laughing at Malcolm after the typically collected son of Athena threw a well-aimed ink bomb at Nico and sent him and Will tumbling into a different direction of the Labyrinth

this let them grab their third apple and win

Connor didn’t stop bragging about that to everyone because of how badass he considered it to be

Malcolm pretended to be annoyed, but he was secretly flattered

he always felt second to Annabeth, like any other child of Athena, so it was nice to be exalted for something like that

the two actually ended up getting together a little while after the rac

Connor showed up at the Athena Cabin completely flustered, talking a mile a minute about asking him out on a date

cut to Cecil, Julia, and Alice all face-palming at his awkwardness

Malcolm found his awkwardness endearing and said yes to a date

Connor managed to get Chiron’s permission for them to go out to the city for a date

they first went Metropolitan Museum of Art

Connor was surprisingly on his best behavior

Malcolm was having fun, spouting random facts he had read about the exhibits

they went to eat in a surprisingly high-end restaurant

Malcolm had no idea how, but Connor managed to talk his way into getting them a nice booth and all

when they were heading back to Camp, they had their first kiss

they didn’t realize it, but a bunch of other campers saw them

Cecil insisted on throwing them in the lake just like Connor had suggested for Percy and Annabeth at the end of TLO

Were these any good? I doubt it lmaoooo but I tried. I might try to write something between the two though, to put my rambling list of headcanons to use.

(Also, the formatting completely flopped lmaooo; I still have no idea how to post a list properly on here.)

[plaidandwhiskey]

The Lost Wolf

Chapter Six: The Change

Warnings: This story will contain mature content such as gore and violence, alludes to nsfw, as well as mentions of alcohol and weed, some chapters may also contain mentions of abuse

Word Count: 1.7k

The boys led Michael down the rickety stairs that led to the gated off entrance to the cave that they called home. Christina held Paul’s hand as they descended the stairs, both Paul and Dwayne grabbing one of the torches they had. Eloise made sure Michael wasn’t looking before lighting them with her magic, the flame springing to life and burning brightly. The two flames illuminated the cave entrance as the group proceeded in, Star holding Laddie’s hand to make sure he didn’t fall as they walked down the rocky slope to the main part of the cave. Paul climbed down, putting the torch in one of the barrels. He turned back to Christina and grabbed her hips, gently lifting her down. He pressed a quick kiss to her lips, his hand in her own. 

“Get the rock box bud.” he told Laddie, hopping up on the fountain and walking around the edge. He helped Christina up onto the fountain ledge. Taking the stereo from Laddie, when he walked over, him and Dwayne lifted the boy up with ease. Music soon filled the cave faintly. 

“This used to be the hottest resort in Santa Carla about eighty year ago. Too bad they built it on the fault. In 1906, when the big one hit San Francisco, the ground opened up and this place took a header straight into the crack.” David said, smacking her hands together, “Now, it's ours” 

“So check it out, Mikey.” Paul said with a laugh as he got out his lighter, lighting the joint that was pressed between his lips. 

Michael looked around the place with eyes wide and amazed. From the paintings, that had survived, to the furniture and random accumulation of things the boys had stolen, the cave was something else. 

Paul and Christina were too busy giggling to pay attention, the two of them and Dwayne were currently trying to push one or the other off the fountain. Christina laughed as she finally got the brunette to lose his balance and jump down to catch himself. As she was distracted, Paul grabbed her waist, spinning her around. She let out a high pitched squeal before laughing as he spun her around, eventually jumping down from the fountain. He wrapped his arm around her shoulder, letting her take a puff of the joint. 

“Marko, food.” David said. 

Marko nodded, letting go of the pigeon he had grabbed and making his way out of the cave. There were a few of them that lived in the cave. Paul walked by, giving David the joint he had. 

“Appetizer?” he asked, offering the joint to Michael. 

Christina was curled up on one of the worn couches, slightly buzzed from the joint and pressed into Paul’s side. His jacket was still on her and her legs were draped over his lap. The music played from the stereo box, the boys watching as Dwayne rode his skateboard, attempting a flip with the board and landing gracefully on the board. 

“So, where are you guys all from?” Micheal asked. 

“We’re from right here.” Paul said. 

“I mean, where do you live?”

“The girls live out by the boardwalk, but we live right here.” Dwayne answered as he landed another trick. 

“Your folks are okay with you living here?”

“Is he talking parents?” Christina said with a chuckle, seeing how confused Michael seemed at the fact that none of them seemed to have to worry about their folks. 

“What are those?” Dwayne said sarcastically, laughing as he walked over to the other couch, sitting beside Eloise. 

“We do what we want Michael, we don’t have folks to tell us what to do. We’re as free as it can get.” Christina explained. 

Marko reappeared, jumping down and carrying a box of what looked and smelled like Chinese food. 

“It's feeding time, come and get it boys!” He called out. He walked over to David, handing him a cartoon of the noodles. 

“Chinese, good choice,” he said. 

“Over here bud,” Paul called out, catching the two cartons of food Marko tossed over, handing one to Christina who happily took it and opened it, starting to eat the contents. She was hungry from not eating all day, not realizing how hungry she was till she had smelled the food. 

“Guests first,” David said, offering the carton of rice to Michael. 

“No, I’m good.” he said, as if not wanting to trouble the gang that had brought him to the cave. 

“You don’t like rice? Tell me Michael, how could a billion Chinese people be wrong?” David asked, his hand still outstretched to him with the carton in hand.  The rest of them laughed a bit at David’s remark, David laughing with them. 

“Come on,” he said. 

Michael caved and took the carton of rice from him, eating a spoonful of rice. Marko handed David a box of the noodles before he sat on the arm of one of the couches, eating his own food. 

“How are those maggots?” 

Michael gave him a puzzled look, wondering if he had heard David right. 

“Maggots, Michael. You’re eating Maggots, how do they taste?” 

Christina and the boys laughed as Michael grew more puzzled, looking down at the carton in his hand. She knew David was having fun, playing mind games on the poor boy. Michael’s expression turned to one of horror and he spit out the rice, tossing the carton to the floor. The others laughed loudly as the illusion was stopped and Michael realized that it was only rice he had been eating. 

“Leave him alone,” Star said sternly, though there was a hint of pleading in her voice.  “Sorry about that, no hard feelings though?” David said. 

Micheal shook his head slightly, uttering a soft “no” as he tried to wrap his head around what had just happened. 

“Why don’t you try some noodles?” 

Michael leaned closer, looking into the box and making a slightly disgusted look as he pulled back a little. 

“They’re worms.” 

“What do you mean they’re worms?” David said, pulling the box back and grabbing some of the noodles and taking a mouthful. 

“Don’t eat-” Michael said, puzzled as he realized they were in fact noodles.

“They’re only noodles, Michael.” 

Michael grabbed the box from his outstretched hand, seeing that what he could’ve sworn had been worms were in fact only noodles. They laughed again, loving to watch David use his mind powers to mess with people, getting a kick out of it. 

“That’s enough.” Star said sternly. 

“Ah, chill out girl,” Paul said as he finished off his box of food. 

David whispered to Marko, telling him to bring the wine. Christina watched as Marko went and grabbed the bottle, though it didn’t contain any wine. Star’s face grew worried, walking over to Michael’s side as Marko came back, handing David the bottle of wine. He uncorked the bottle and took a long sip, his blue eyes closing as the blood flowed down his throat. 

“Drink some of this Michael, be one of us” he said softly, holding the bottle out to Michael. 

Michael hesitated before he stood, taking the bottle from him. The boys started chanting his name softly, growing louder each time they said it. 

“Don’t Michael, you don’t have to,” Star said. “It’s blood.” 

“Yeah, sure, blood,” he said, rolling his eyes before he took a long sip from the bottle. 

“Bravo!” David cheered, clapping as the boys chimed in with their cheers. 

The rest of them cheered, though there was a feeling of uncertainty in Christina, that perhaps they were making a mistake. She was pulled from her thoughts though as Paul pulled her up from the couch, joining the other’s as they danced around the cave, celebrating Michael’s first step to becoming one of them. 

She held onto Paul as they drove towards the railway bridge, riding alongside the train tracks. She got off, sticking close to his side as they walked on the tracks, both stoned as they followed David and Michael. 

“Perfect time”

“What’s going on?” Michael asked as David put his arm around his shoulder, leading him onto the bridge. 

“What’s going on, Marko?”

“I don’t know, what’s going on Paul?”

Paul laughed as he and Christina stepped from plank to plank, the girl giggling as she looked over to Marko.

“Wait, who wants to know?” he said with a laugh. 

“Michael wants to know.” Dwayne chimed in, his own arm around Marko as he followed David and Michael. 

“I think we should let Michael know what’s going on.”

David stopped, turning him and Michael to face the others. 

“Marko.”

The blonde smiled his half creepy grin, doing his little wave to Michael.

“Goodnight, Michael,” he said before he stepped off, disappearing. “Bombs away!” 

Michael gasped a little at the sight of him stepping off the bridge and disappearing into the mist. Paul was next, pressing a kiss to Christina’s temple before he stepped up. 

“Bottoms up man.” he said with a laugh, snapping his fingers before he too stepped off. 

Dwayne went next, silent as he pointed two finger guns at the pair. Christina laughed as she watched him too disappear. It was her turn next. She stepped up, smiling at Michael. 

“Live a little Michael,” she said teasingly before she too stepped off. 

She caught one of the metal bars with ease, hanging beside Paul. She glared playfully at Marko as he swung and kicked her leg gently. She joined in and messed with him as well. David soon joined them. They cheered and shouted as they looked up, seeing Michael staring down at them with a startled expression. 

“Michael Emerson, come on down,” David yelled out. 

They cheered as Michael climbed his way down, hanging with them. 

“Welcome aboard Michael,” Paul said with a laugh. 

The train whistle screeched loudly and they could start to feel the vibrations of the train coming down the tracks. They held on tightly, Christina laughing as they cheered above the noise. 

Paul was the first to fall into the mist below them. 

“Jesus Christ!” Michael shouted. 

“Don’t be scared Michael,” Marko called out before he too fell. 

Christina let go, falling down the mist below them, everything around her becoming gray. She felt two strong arms catch her, looking up into Paul’s grinning face. He kissed her softly as they stayed floating in the mist with the others. 

“You did good, Sugar,” he praised.

[agentnolastname]

Stolen Time

Pairing: Adam Du Mortain X Irene Sinclaire (MC)

Summary: They could have been through so much together, holding each other's hands. But they didn't have the chance to do so, and Adam blames himself for that.

Song Inspo: You're gonna live forever in me // John Mayer

Warning: Death, Mentions of Death

Taglist: @mrs-raleighcarrera @anotherbeingsworld @bisexualdumbassstuff @starrystarrytrouble

***

"Adam? It's time."

Nate turns to him, wearing that same sad smile painted on his face since yesterday. Adam barely looks up at him and gives a stern nod as he tightens the tie around his neck once more. He looks beside him and noticed how even Mason wears a soft frown on his face. Felix's eyes that are usually beaming bright are now red and brimming with tears. The gloomy aura surrounds them as if it's the air they breathe. At this moment, it feels like this is the end to everything. And yet they all stood there, unable to escape the reality they're in.

A few minutes later, a pair of uniformed men walked to step between them and the casket that sits on the altar. Adam's eyes once again traveled to where he could see her face. He wanted to remember how she looked like, taking in every single one of her feature. His eyes flutters closed as they land on her now closed eyes. Even at this moment, she looks so strong, brave, and peaceful. Irene once told him she wanted to be remembered that way, and that she'd be glad if people will still know her even after death.

There will always be someone who will remember. I promised you that.

Adam closes his eyes, ignoring the ache that is lingering in his heart right now. The moment was soon interrupted by a hand landing on his shoulders. He looked up to see Rebecca with a sullen expression on her face.

She sighs as she speaks, "You don't have to do this, someone can drive to the cemetery instead."

Adam's hands unconsciously balls into a fist as he sighs. "No, I have to do it." He says, standing up and returning to his usual stoic self. His eyes burning with the tears he had been trying to hold back since the morning, but he brushes the feeling off with a subtle cough as he makes his way outside with the rest of Unit Bravo. Nate immediately comes up to him and pats his back.

"Are you alright?"

"I will be."

Those were the last words he spoke before he entered the van, inserting the key and turning. As the engine roars to life, Felix knocks on the window, so he rolls it down, "Take care, Adam." says the younger and moves back.

Adam looks at them before he nods.

"We'll meet you there." Mason says, prompting him to leave.

Adam rolls the window back up and revs the engine. Driving her to the end of her journey.

***

A few days after the burial

Adam thought that living through nine whole centuries and experiencing a lot of losses will have made him tougher. However, here he is, sitting inside his room, with just the tick of the clock and the brush of the wind distracting his senses from complete and utter melancholy. Through the course of nine hundred years, it's the first time he'd ever felt this way, only to be taken away from him so fast.

So fast he wasn't even able to savor the feeling.

So fast he didn't even have the chance to tell her everything.

He sighs once again, leaning back on the chair and thinking about every opportunity he got and passed up. He feels stupid. The feeling of regret is eating him up so bad, and the only thing that's worse is the fact that he can't do anything about it anymore. He hates himself for that.

A few minutes later, he heard a soft knock on his door before Felix comes in, holding an envelope in his hand. Eyes still as tired as they were ever since the day Irene died.

"We were cleaning Irene's room and saw this on her drawer. We thought it might be yours." The younger says, holding out the envelope to him. He looked at it and saw what's written on it.

To the one who replaced my empty dream

Adam heaves a heavy breath. He finds himself wanting to shed tears again but he holds it. Instead he looked up to Felix and gives a timid smile, "Thank you."

The younger smiles at him before he turns to leave.

"Felix." He calls out, drawing the attention back to him. Although confused, the younger marched back to him. "Can you... can you stay for a while?"

"Of course."

The younger vampire takes the seat in front of his bed. Adam sighs as he started opening the envelope. Once he did, he was greeted with his picture with Irene, although he wasn't looking at the camera. Irene had her usual grin, her lips the usual red, there's she looking as beautiful as ever. Adam had to purse his lips to stop himself from crying. He missed her so much. He misses the way she always teases her, and the way she isn't afraid to tell everyone what she thinks.

He lived through the whole of nine centuries, yet this is the most pain he felt in forever. And there's nothing that could top this. He sighs, holding his breath once again as he proceeded to take the folded paper out of the envelope, opening it right after.

Hey, Agent Du Mortain!

I am writing this letter, hoping that the day you let me in your life fully will come soon. It really isn't much, I just never wrote a letter and thought that I wanted to try one in this lifetime. If you find this ridiculous then I hate you. I'm not big on romance, too but what can I do? You make me want to do things differently, Adam. Anyway, I just wanted to tell you everything, so here it is.

When I met you, I wasn't actually sure how I'd get along with you. I thought, yeah we're gonna be professional all the way. Well it was like that, or at least for a very long time. Thanks to Murphy I realized that I see you differently. It's something about the way you hold my gaze, or something about the way you always gives me the barely there touches. It makes me yearn for you, so much. And I wasn't really sure if you will let me in your life, but you told me i'm your everything and I just... I just can't let it go, A.

So i'm writing this letter to you, in case you finally stop denying that you love me, okay. It's because I hate being mushy as much as you do, and I wouldn't be able to say all of these to you. You can just read it instead and blush in your room, or whatever your face always does whenever we have a moment.

Adam, I think I love you. And even if I won't live forever unlike you, I want to grow old with you. And then live forever in your heart. Thank you for replacing my empty and selfish dreams.

Love,

Irene

It took him a few minutes to even have a reaction, his tears just falling. Felix went to his side and comforted him.

"It's alright to let go, Adam."

It was then that he noticed the tears streaming down the younger's face, too. Adam lets go, sobs coming out of his mouth continuously. The pain in his chest now intense more than ever.

If I had only known that it will be the last time, I'll tell you I love you just like how you wanted me to.

His mind goes back to every single time he held himself back from taking her hands in his, every single touches he denied the both of them, and every single words he bottled up in his chest.

I love you, Irene. I always did.

And now she's gone. If only he knew, if only he saw all of it coming, maybe he could've done something to avoid it. Maybe if he hadn't kept his walls up so long they could've been something so much more, and that none of this will happen.

Maybe if he held her just like how he always wanted to, she'd still be here. She'd still be lying in his arms, not lifeless, and burried six feet deep into the ground.

He had always wondered how it'll feel like to tell her everything, and how happy they both would have been if they're actually together. If they go to missions holding each other's hand. He always had a thought about giving her all the good things in life, and how it would feel to be with her freely.

I guess I'll never know now.

And suddenly, having all the supernatural benefits feels useless. And living forever is a curse.

Don't worry, Irene. You'll live forever in me.

END.

Note: Hello! This is my first time writing something for TWC and this is a very self-indulgent fic 😭 I hope you all liked it;;

[bigscaryyanderewriter]

Idea there is a horrid beast that terrorized the villiage, Every night killing the live stock, demolishing buildings, killing villagers. But luckily they found a way to stop the beast. Every few generations there is a ritual held to sastify the beast and leave the villiage alone. The ritual is the offering of someone who fits the description of the beast's old love, for the beast to take away to his den. 1/2

The beast (bakugo) was cursed to roam the lands forever and have his love ripped away from him. His love's soul is reincarnated every few years to live life again, growing up, looking the same when they first met bakugo but no longer holding the memories of their past life. I can only imagine the utter confusion of being locked away with someone who claims to know who you are and yet you have no recolection of who the heck the person infront of you is 2/2

So um, I took creative liberties, but omg... I really liked writing this.

Tw: Implied Sexual Assault, Yandere Themes, Captivity, Restraints

1.5k words

You were the beast’s. Marked untouchable from such a young age, that you couldn’t really remember anything else. Your family ripped from you. It was tradition for your bloodline at this point, but you didn't know that. Once you started showing the true signs of what you were to be to the village, they forced the mantle of being the next sacrifice onto you. It started when you were very young. Daily lessons on how to act and drilling. They taught you what your place would be from the day you first bled.

That's why you were going to run away. 

Originally? You accepted it. You knew no other way for yourself. Only the future as the wife of a beast who wanted the you from the past. A dead woman who was dust at this point, taken back into the earth. 

It didn't change suddenly, but something in you questioned it. Questioned why you had to do this when everyone else made their own choices. They got to marry or court whoever they wanted. Bringing this up resulted in a talk about duty and the future of the village. Why should you care for the future if you may not live to see it? No one truly knew why the beast wanted girls like you. It could be companionship, a snack, or just to have fear control the village.

Though, it was also the things people didn't think you hear when it came to what they actually thought on your situation. About how they pitied you and how you were unfortunate. No, you weren't going to sit idly by and just be someone they told you to be. The beast could get over himself. Nothing could convince you to go with him. You had even forgotten your true family due to being separated at a young age. You were deprived of a childhood by the priests of your village. Everything had to be for the sake of the village and it sickened you. It wasn't your place, no matter how much they tried to train you. 

It all clicked, the unfairness of it. The fact you wanted out. You wanted to run farther from here, to the other side of the earth. Anyway to escape this fate.

So you came up with a plan.

 

You crept through the dark night and into the forest to see the woman who would save you. The Gorgon. An old crone who took in girls who seeked to escape arranged marriages and abusives husbands. Even saving girls slavery and prostituting. Medusa was her name. Your mission was to find her. You heard whispers from servants at the temple of this to women who had blackened eyes and cuts from glass that their husbands caused. No one would protect anyone here, but you could leave. 

No one would know who you were there. You would be free. Free to be happy for once. 

You didn't know where the crone lived, but you knew the way to go. The trails to follow. You packed for a three day journey and took the golden coins from the offering to the gods to pay for your safe haven. Hopefully the gods would smite you if this didn't work out and you would be in no shape to marry the beast. 

The snow fell, it was the week before you were to be sent to damnation. Darkness hugged the earth like a thick blanket, but warmed nothing. The cold cut through your layers like a knife and chilled you till your fingers shook as you avoided the eyes of others. The hood of the cloak you had stolen was up, hiding your face as the frost crunched beneath your feet. 

The forest you could see was taller than anything you had ever known. It would be dense and full of danger. The danger kept the men and others who would seek to harm the sacred home of Medusa away… Wolves and cougars, things that could haunt your nights for years lurked there. With the right intent though, you could survive the journey. Just follow north and look for the creek with five heads of marble. You would be fine. 

Before you could step through into the forest. You heard the alarm bells sound, torches were lit and chaos broke the village behind you as you proceeded to run.

They knew you were gone and the howling dogs called you back to your cage as you heart thumped in your ear like a war drum. It was the cold wind slapping your face and the fabric flying behind you as you sprint. You would never outrun the dogs. You needed to though.

This was so you could live!

The weight hit your back though and the wind escaped you. Everything turning frozen as time seemed to stop. You couldn't move. The freezing paws chilled you through the cloak as you laid in the snow. The dogs whining and yelping, barking as the swarmed you. You could feel the tears rolling down your cheeks as you looked at the dogs who were too kind to even bite you, pulling on your cloak. Snarling when you would try to get up though. 

The horse hooves as the townguard brought you back, hands tied and lifted onto the horse. Being led back as you sobbed, finding yourself filled to the brim with nothing but despair. A warm bath waiting for you and a proper scolding like you are a petulant child. 

"Don't you know what you could have done? You could have doomed us all. If it wasn't so close to the festival…"

The high priestess hissed, giving you a scowl. If she were given the chance to be a sacrifice, you know that she would in a heartbeat. She seemed to want to marry the beast far more than you ever would. Not that she could, she never showed any care though about that fact though. Or the fact she could be ripped limb from limb by it. You knew the horror stories of the blood running through the streets and the livestock being ruined… The town left ablaze and many other things that happened.

After more yelling, you were sent back to your room. A small bed with a comfortable mattress and a warm blanket you've had forever. The dress from the ceremony was hung on the wall, prepared for the festival. Prepared to be worn by you. It was white with red accents, a hair piece ready to adorn you and everything was set for it to happen. 

The week of the ceremony was filled with ritual fasting, feasting and everything between. There were ribbons binding you to your seat. Food you hated, food that was her favorite, colors that were HER favorite, flowers that she had loved. You hated every single thing present. Gifts and offerings laid before you as you sat on the altar. An offering yourself. Not a person, but an object for the beast to take. They fed you and you could feel yourself getting fatter with the rich delights that left you vomiting after they took you back to your chamber. You would be locked in there now. The priests knew you wanted out and they would not lose the power they had over you, claws in too deeply for you to struggle against their wishes. It was hell. This was hell. 

The night before the last day of the festival, they gave you wine and made you drink until you could barely stay awake. The high priestess whispering in your ear, only you could not understand. You could feel as her cold, porcelain colored hand ran up your thigh, other followers watching with fascination and laughter. The games that they made you play. How they trained you.

You heard the growl. The screams. The High Priestess gasping as she stood, going to bow, but finding a red mouth opened on her neck. Crimson rolling down. Jewels of a ruby necklace covering her neck as she fell. You saw fangs and claws like steel flashed through the crowd. The torches fell from the motion and a bloodbath took place as you fell into darkness, still tied to the altar. Fear still possessing you through the haze of your inebriation. You swore you saw the red eyes of the beast staring at you. A demon's gaze.

It made you feel the hollowness within yourself.

The heat and the sweat feeling like you were being crushed.

Katsuki wasn't going to let anyone touch his soulmate. He would have never let you stay here this long if he had known.

"Don't worry… You're safe now and I'll never let them hurt you again." He murmured into your ear, a voice hoarse and deep that made a shiver run through your core. His breath was soothing as he lifted you, warmth radiating from his body. Calluses on his hands scraping against your soft skin as he held you to his chest, bridal style. Horns twisted through his hair and fur.

[roi-des-voleurs]

The Cats Out of the Bag || Self Para

Summary: Remy takes on a job to steal a package for a crime boss, and ends up with some unexpected new friends

Word Count: 2085

Warnings: A little violence and some allusions to animal neglect/mistreatment

Takes place prior to the travel ban being instated. Not that it would have applied to Remy, but after this, he definitely would have chosen to stay at home for a while!

Though he treaded the mostly straight and narrow these days, Remy did still do thievery jobs from time to time, if the money and the job was right. He would never steal from someone who could not afford or did not deserve it. But when one crime boss contacted him and asked him to steal from another crime boss? Yeah, that would work. And if they went at each other later, would that be a real loss? Remy did not think so. Besides, if any of them rubbed him the wrong way, he could always drop an anonymous tip to the police.

"So dis package? What's in it?" he inquired after agreeing to the job. He was aware it would be something illegally acquired, but he was not keen on picking up weapons or something else which could be used to hurt innocent people later on.

"I'm not paying you to ask questions, thief. Just do your job," snapped the crime boss.

Clearly Remy should not have expected civility, or an explanation. But most people usually let him know what he was going to steal, just to make sure he got it right. That made him more leery of what he was going after, but he was willing to give a little leeway for now. Hopefully he could get a chance to peek at the contents of the package before having to deliver it, and thus could choose not to deliver it if it was something too questionable.

"Pardon, pardon." Remy held up his hands, showing he would remain silent for now. "Jus' askin'. Ok, I'll have it here at ten tomorrow night."

"And not a minute later. Otherwise you'll regret it."

Hmm, definitely not a flexible customer. And probably up to more than just pissing off his rival. But Remy said nothing; instead he bowed politely and backed out of the office. Now he was quite curious as to what he was going to steal, and definitely ready to give the police an anonymous tip if things went south.

~*~*~*~

The target building was a warehouse, naturally. And it was guarded, naturally. But then the crime boss would not have hired one of the best in the business if this was simple snatch and grab, so Remy had expected no less. Still, unless there were guards stationed on the roof, things might still be pretty simple. 

Leaping from the roof of the building next door, he landed noiselessly on the roof of the warehouse and headed for the nearest skylight.

Equally quietly, Remy worked to slip the glass out of the opening, smirking to himself when it came off easily. As he set it aside, however, a shadow suddenly fell over him. "Ah, maybe not quite so easily, den," he muttered, correctly assuming a guard had come up.

"Stand up--slowly--and raise your hands. Otherwise I'll be kickin' you down into that hole," came the gruff voice behind him. 

"Don't t'ink I can argue wit' dat, homme."

Remy did indeed start to stand slowly...before halting and whipping his leg around to knock the man behind him off his feet. Caught off guard, he toppled backwards, mercifully not making as much of a thud as he could have. He was not quite knocked out, though, so Remy gave him a whack to the head, putting him out of commission. 

"Still not much o' a challenge," Remy commented before slipping into the open skylight and lowering himself down with a cable. 

Once he dropped down to the floor, he unhooked the cable and started off towards the office, where his client had assured him the package would be. Glancing up, Remy saw there were cameras around, but he was good at blending into the shadows, and he fancied he could make it to the office without getting noticed.

He was not wrong. When he was almost to the office, Remy smirked at having done so unnoticed--until he glimpsed into the window of the security room and saw the guard watching the video feed was sound asleep. Though he was glad that would make things really easy, he had to confess to being a little disappointed that he would never know for sure how well he had avoided the cameras. Oh well. C'est la vie.

Creeping towards the office, Remy found it was, naturally, locked. He did know how to pick a lock, but since there clearly was no one watching, he went for the quicker option--touching the lock, giving it a small charge, and opening the door once it sizzled and gave a small pop.

Remy had not been sure what he would find inside, so he was glad when he saw that his prize was sitting right on the desk. Without hesitation, he picked it up, though he paused when he thought he heard the sound of rustling within it. Yet he did not really have time to wonder about it now, so Remy strapped the box to his back and slipped out of the office. 

Judging by the sound of voices coming from nearby, the sleeping guard had woken either of his own volition or by someone else's, which meant Remy needed to go--and fast. Hurrying back to his cable, he climbed back up, pulling it up along with him. When he climbed out of the skylight, he could see guards gathering below, and he rolled onto the roof just in time to avoid the first shot. The initial guard he had encountered was still knocked out, so Remy waved at his prone form before taking off, getting away onto the other building before the rest of the guards had a chance to muster the search. 

~*~*~*~

Once back at his apartment, Remy set the package down and observed it. As he had made his escape, he became more convinced there were noises coming from within it, so he knew he was going to have to take a look inside. Gazing at it now, he could see small air holes cut into the box, which meant there was a living thing inside. And despite not being a weapon, that seemed like something he would have second thoughts about delivering.

Slowly, he opened the top and peered down into the box--and saw three small cats peering up at him. One white, one grey and one orange.

"Mon Dieu...chats?" Remy breathed. 

The cats did not move at first, but the longer they looked at him, the more curious they became, and soon all three were attempting to climb out of the box.

"Aw, you wanna come out, mes amis?" Smiling, Remy proceeded to take them out one by one, smiling more as they did not hesitate to start crawling onto him. "Hey, you sure a rambunctious lot! What were you doin' in dere anyway?" Were they valuable? He could not imagine why else the crime boss had been after them. But he was certain of one thing. Remy was not going to give the cats up without a fight.

"Don' worry, garçons, I ain't gonna let anythin' bad happen t' you," he said, rubbing two of the cats behind the ears, "I'll jus' hafta have some words wit' a certain client, an' den we'll see if we can't find somebody t' take you in, hein?"

The cats he was rubbing purred, and the one who was not being rubbed promptly pushed his way in to try and get similiar treatment. Chuckling, Remy said, "Sacre, I only got deux hands! You'll hafta wait your turn, glouton!" His chiding did not dissuade the cat, who only started to rub his head against Remy's hand more in response. He chuckled again and started to rub him, making sure to give all of them a scratch in turn. They were such sweethearts. What did that connard want with them? Well, whatever had happened to put these poor little guys in his crosshairs, Remy was damn well going to get to the bottom of it. 

~*~*~*~

"So, care t' explain dis?" 

Remy was standing in front of the desk in the office of his "client," with the box sitting on said desk, open to allow the cats to peer out at the crime boss just as accusingly as Remy was doing.

"You weren't supposed to open it, asshole!" the man fumed, "I contracted you to retrieve it and bring it to me--no questions asked, and no looking at the merchandise!"

"Merchandise! Dese are livin' creatures!" Remy fumed. Ok, animals sold in pet stores were technically merchandise, but he was pretty damn sure no one who worked in a pet store would refer to them so callously. 

"They are merchandise. I make money off of them, and I don't appreciate when they are stolen from me. That fucker is lucky that I only had them stolen back, because I could have made things much more unpleasant for him. And I still might."

So that was it. Illegal animal sales were part of his crime racket. And obviously his rival's as well, if he had stolen the cats originally. And now Remy had delivered them back to a jerk who did not give a shit about the cats. He only cared how much money he could make off of them. That was not what he had been expecting when he had taken on this job.

"So you sell dem, den," Remy said, more a statement than a question.

"Uh, what did I just say, dipshit?" The crime boss frowned. "You keep asking questions and you're not gonna see any of the money we agreed on."

"Keep it."

"What?"

"Keep it," said Remy, more firmly this time, "I don' wanna get paid for havin' any part in somet'ing so cruel."

"Cruel? What, you worried about the poor widdle kitties? What the hell kinda thief are you?"

"De kind wit' a heart, homme. Lots o' dem, in fact." His cards were in his pocket, but if he charged any of them now, he might hurt the cats. "But tonight's your lucky night. You won' get t' see 'em, 'cause I'm gonna let you off easy."

The crime boss and his two thugs by the door all laughed.

"Oh, that's mighty generous of you, sir. So generous that I just might repay you in kind," the crime boss said, shaking his head.

Remy noticed the movement of the thugs, and he was quick enough to dodge the first. But the second landed a punch to his stomach, and when he doubled over in pain, the first landed a punch to his jaw. Remy fell backwards, but the thugs grabbed him and pulled him back to his feet as the crime boss approached them.

"Looks like you might get off easy too, because I'm going to let you live." Then, to the thugs he said, "Show him the way out."

They nodded and dragged Remy out of the office and out of the warehouse, dumping him unceremoniously on the pavement outside. He groaned at the fresh wave of pain from the fall, taking a while before managing to get back on his feet again. He glared at the now closed door of the warehouse, angry at the assault on him but feeling much worse about having been tossed out before he could retrieve the cats. There were a hell of a lot of mistakes he had made in his life, but this one at least he could correct. Smirking a bit despite his pain, Remy staggered off, muttering, "Maybe you...ain't gonna get off so easy after all, connard."

~*~*~*~

Later that evening, acting on an anonymous tip, the police raided the warehouse, arresting the crime boss and his thugs and confiscating hordes of stolen merchandise...except for a box containing three cats.

That was safely in Remy's arms as he watched the scene from a roof a short distance away. Hearing a meow, he looked down to see one of the cats trying to paw open the box. Chuckling, he lifted the flap and waved at them. 

"Don' worry, mes amis, you'll be outta dere soon." He had been planning to take them to a shelter, but the more time Remy spent with them, the more he began to change his mind. They were growing on him, and now he did not think he wanted to let them go. In fact, he knew he did not want to. Smiling down at the cats, he said, "Come on, garçons, let's go home."

[kneebleed]

Achillea Millefolium

Summary: Delicate yellow yarrows printed in their skin, preparing themselves to glow in the years to come; falling more every day that pass, this is them about to commit to the eternity and beyond.

Word count: 2784 

Note: Hi! So here's my entry to the @phandomreversebang of this year. This is the first time that I participate in one of this, and I enjoyed my time doing so. Special thanks to  @microoowave for being an amazing beta and pointing out the mistakes that I was doing (that were a lot), and to @jorzuela as well that did an awesome piece of art that you guys should check out.

AO3

PS: Please go to check out this post.

In all honesty, the flower of their wedding day has to be yarrows. Those flowers mean the world to them. They represent them in a way that no other flower could. Love, those flowers represent their love, and a flower with a meaning that's so beautiful and perfect can make the planning of everything so much easier.

Well, it kinda does.

"Look, it doesn't matter how much we want to decorate everything with yellow yarrows, we can't do that, Phil."

"But why not? The flower represents us, look at this," Phil unbuttoned his shirt to show Dan the flower that bloomed on his skin the moment that they met, "See? You have that one too, here," then he proceeded to put his hand under Dan's t-shirt to touch the exact place where the flowers were at.

"I know, but it will be boring if we do that," he took Phil by the hips to embrace him and play with his hair, "there's plenty of flowers that we could use too."

"Our flower won't glow as it deserves," Phil looked at Dan's chocolate eyes and saw that pure love that he always had expressed during those years that they have been together. And with that look into his lover's eyes, he knew that he had lost the battle already.

"It will, I promise," Dan kissed Phil's forehead then, and yeah, Phil gave up entirely into his arms.

✦---------------|•❁•|---------------✦

The first time that they met, Phil was searching for a composer. He was writing a musical; he had the actors, the scenography, but he didn't have the perfect music for all the acts. And then, he found Dan.

The way that they found the other was funny; it was in the street, Phil was going to the theatre and Dan was going there too. They ran into one another at the door of the building and they had a debate of who was going in first.

Phil then told him that he needed a composer and Dan said that he played the piano, and since Phil was feeling something in the bottom of his belly, he asked Dan if he knew how to compose music too.

Then, they touched the other's hand by accident, and that was when the yellow yarrows that are now on their chest bloomed.

✦---------------|•❁•|---------------✦

"Red roses," Phil said when they were watching a movie together that night.

"What?" Dan asked  in confusion by the words that left his fiancé's lips out of the sudden.

"The flowers," Dan made a face, Phil chuckled in response, maybe his phrasing wasn't clear enough, "For our wedding, I mean. We could use red roses too."

Dan felt something in his chest, a wave of love spreading all over his body. He knew why Phil wanted those roses at their wedding. The red roses became one of the most important things in their relationship a few months after they met.

"Yes, red roses are perfect."

✦---------------|•❁•|---------------✦

Seven months after their first encounter, Dan and Phil were planning to have a date. It wasn't their first one, but for some reason, Phil felt extremely nervous about it; he was planning to say the words, but he didn't know how to phrase it, and then an idea crossed his mind.

The majority of the people that lived in their world knew the significance of the different types of flowers; every single one of them had a different meaning, some of them were similar to one another, but they were never the same. The yellow yarrows that were printed by the universe in Phil's skin meant love, but there were plenty of other flowers that meant the same but different at the same time. And Phil wanted to say the three words to him, so he thought about flowers that meant that.

He bought a single flower at the store that was close to his house, smiling at it every time that the flower was in his eyesight. He hoped that Dan knew the meaning of the flower that he bought for him.

They met at a restaurant that serves that wine that they both enjoy, and the first thing that Phil did when they saw each other, was giving Dan that flower that he carried on his way towards the restaurant

"Why?" was Dan’s response.

"I don't know, search for the meaning and we will see."

"Ominous."

"It's not."

Later that night, when they were at their respective houses, Dan called Phil, and instead of hello, he went to the point straight away.

"I red rose you too."

I love you.

✦---------------|•❁•|---------------✦

They were making a list of the flowers that they wanted to have at their wedding. They wrote down the words "yellow yarrows" in big letters that Phil coloured, they wrote "red roses" too; they added "gardenias", "hydrangeas", "chrysanthemums" and "peonies" as well.

"This wedding will be so colourful that I will have to close my eyes every time I enter our house afterwards."

"So edgy."

"It's not that, I just enjoy minimalistic stuff."

"Our suits are minimalistic."

"I can live with that, I think," he kissed Phil's hair, and both of them smiled brightly.

✦---------------|•❁•|---------------✦

Most of the couples around the world told everyone about the flowers that bloomed in their skin, but Dan and Phil didn't tell anyone about them. It wasn't because they didn't have friends or family that wanted to know, they just thought that their flower was something private; the flowers on their skin were something personal for them, somehow.

Besides, they didn't meet each other's parents until a year into their relationship; their families knew that they found each other, yes, but there wasn't enough time in their schedules for them to meet properly. Phil's parents called at least once per week to know when they were going to visit, and Dan's parents called sometimes to ask if they were engaged already or not.

(At that time they weren't, but Dan's parents always made them nervous when they asked; Dan and Phil have talked about it, and both of them were waiting for the right moment to ask the other, the thing here was that they didn't know who was going to ask the other first. It was like a secret competition between them).

✦---------------|•❁•|---------------✦

"Child! I haven't heard from you for a long time!"

"Sorry, mum, things have been busy for a while."

"I can understand that, with the wedding plans and everything..."

"I should have called earlier, though."

"Don't worry, my child," Phil felt how his mum smiled at the other side of the line. "how's everything going with the wedding plans?"

Phil looked out the window and saw Dan watering some plants while he was calling the flower shop; Phil could see a little bit of the permanent flower tattoo that was on Dan's skin due to the exposing shirt that he was wearing (Phil loved that shirt so much), and Phil felt a wave of love spread through his whole body.

He loved that man so much.

"Yeah, we choose the flowers for it yesterday.”

"Oh, that's wonderful! Will I know about what's your soulmate mark, then?"

"You guys have to figure it out."

✦---------------|•❁•|---------------✦

When Dan met Phil's parents, he experienced something that he couldn't explain; they welcomed him with open arms and warm smiles, and Dan felt like he belonged there. The Lesters were the best people that he could have ever met in his whole life, and honestly, he regrets not making at least a little bit of space on his schedule to meet them earlier.

Phil's experience wasn't much different, besides the fact that he was scared to hear Dan's mom ask if he asked the big question to Dan yet. (She did that, in fact)

After those meetings, they realised why they wanted to be with the other forever, even ignoring the fact that they were actual soulmates.

✦---------------|•❁•|---------------✦

In all of those years that they have been together, Phil can't stop feeling waves of love running through his system every time that he landed his eyes on Dan. Just looking at him doing nothing can make him feel mesmerised with his presence. But even with that thing on his mind, he's unable to sit down and write his vows.

There's so much that he wants to say about Daniel Howell; how his chestnut hair glows under the sunlight, how his rosy cheeks are the cutest thing that he's ever seen and so many other stuff. He feels like some of the things that he loves the most about Dan are things that the world hasn't seen yet, and Phil doesn't feel prepared for that.

They built their relationship around privacy, and sharing certain things about their life as a couple doesn't feel right to Phil. He wants to keep all those cute yawns and stolen smiles for himself, but those things are the type of stuff that he would write down for his vows in the first place.

Phil feels trapped in a dictionary of different synonyms of the name "Dan", and all those words are things that he whispered into Dan's ear when they were cuddling or doing other things. He isn't sure about what to do with his vows and he doesn't want to ask Dan about what his vows say.

Maybe he could say what he said the day that he proposed to Dan, but more elaborated and smart.

✦---------------|•❁•|---------------✦

When they became fiancés, both of them felt like they were swimming in an infinite pool of happiness. It started when Phil knelt at the same time that Dan did. Both of them cried that evening, they couldn't believe that they were that type of couple.

"I wanted to do it, I hate you," said Dan while he was wiping his tears away.

"Then ask, I'm waiting."

"No, you do it."

"Okay then," Phil opened the box, revealing the delicate silver ring that it was keeping safe. "Daniel Howell, I know that in this universe that we are living, when two people are destined to be together is crystal clear, but I'm sure that even without those tattoos, I'd love you anyway; will you marry me?"

"Yes, always."

✦---------------|•❁•|---------------✦

Phil called the wedding venue since Dan was the one who called the flower shop. They decided that June 1st was a good date for the wedding, it's a good month and it's in spring, and since their wedding is going to be filled with flowers, it seems like it's the perfect time for them.

Phil felt nervous, which was something completely understandable, though. Having to call the venue where your wedding is going to be celebrated in a few weeks is something that is beyond imagination; everyone can imagine how their wedding is going to be. After all, having to decide what colour scheme the wedding itself is going to be something simple, but making the calls to contact the people that are going to work at your wedding is thrilling enough to make anyone respond in the same way that Phil is doing.

At least he can stay calm thanks to the hand that's holding his.

✦---------------|•❁•|---------------✦

When the musical that Phil wrote was at the display, he and Dan discovered how powerful a simple touch can be. Phil was shaking from head to toe when the play started, and the only useful thing that Dan found himself able to do was holding Phil's hand; it worked.

Phil was still shaking, yes, but he wasn't feeling that nervous knowing that Dan was right next to him. He wasn't going to leave him for anything else in the world. It didn't matter if Phil's musical wasn't successful, at the end of the day, he has a Dan, and he doesn't need anything besides him.

Their souls promised to never let go a long time ago, and they have plans on keeping that promise for eternity.

✦---------------|•❁•|---------------✦

Tasting the food and choosing the flavour of the cake was something fun, Phil liked the experience of it all. They even tasted vegan things. Phil was having a great time experiencing different flavours that he didn't even imagine could taste good together at all.

"Of course you're having a great time, how could you not?" it seemed like Dan wasn't surprised by Phil's remark at all.

"You are having a good time too, I can see it in your eyes," he touched Dan's nose, who made a cute face back.

"Maybe I am having a good time, who knows?" Dan smiled at Phil and kissed him.

"I love you."

"To the moon and back a hundred times."

✦---------------|•❁•|---------------✦

Trust. That was also something that has been playing a big part in their relationship. Being able to open up to each other and learn how the other was feeling was something that took a long time for them to work on, but when they did the bond that they were forming became even stronger than before.

At first, both of them were worried that they would lose the other. Because that was a possibility. If you don't put work in your relationship with your soulmate, you could lose them and live the rest of your life without them, and they didn't want that.

Thankfully, none of that happened, and now they can live happily ever after.

✦---------------|•❁•|---------------✦

Phil regrets suggesting to not see the other the day before the wedding. It was an awful idea and he can't comprehend why Dan accepted it in the first place. They haven't been apart from each other for almost 3 years now, Phil couldn't remember what sleeping without Dan by his side was like and now he's forcing himself to do that on purpose.

He wants to take a bus to where Dan is staying and run away with him anywhere in the world, but he can't do that since Dan didn't tell him where he was staying, and he didn't let Phil tell him where he was staying either. Phil doesn't have another option besides being patient and wait until tomorrow to hear anything from Dan again.

Or maybe he doesn't have to wait anymore since Dan was calling him at that very moment.

"I can't handle this anymore, tell me where you are," Phil let out the loudest laugh that he ever had, "Hey, don't laugh at me, I'm suffering."

"I know, but you sound so desperate, calm down."

"As if you're not."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Phil..."

"Okay, maybe a little, but don't tell anyone that I said that."

"Your secret is safe with me."

They kept talking for hours until Phil said that he wanted to sleep soon so when he woke up it's already the big day, and when those words left Phil's mouth, Dan felt like he loved the man on the other line even more than he did yesterday.

✦---------------|•❁•|---------------✦

Being around the other for such a long time made them realise little things that made them more fond of the other as if that was something even possible. But they managed to fall in love with the other every day for years, and they will keep doing that in the future.

"If I wasn't your destiny, would you love me anyway?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

"I don't love you because you're my destiny or whatever, I love you because you are you. And yeah, I cannot deny that maybe destiny was what brought us together, but something tells me that even if we weren't living in this universe, I could always find you."

✦---------------|•❁•|---------------✦

And finally, the big day arrived.

They bought tuxedos that had yellow yarrows printed on them and they adorned their hairs with yellow yarrows as well. Phil loved how they made Dan's hair even more perfect under the sun.

They walked alongside the other towards the altar; they refused to follow another stupid tradition except for one that they followed the day before. Besides, who needed to be carried to the altar anyway?

They read their respective vows; both promised to stay and share their life with the other. They used different words, but the meaning was just the same. Phil cried when Dan read his vows and Dan did too when Phil read his. The love that they expressed to the other was clear as the water itself; feeling emotional was something inevitable, Dan and Phil could tell, after all, they saw both of their parents cry as well.

We will be together in all the lives after and before this one, I promise.

[spaceandtimeuniverse]

Election Anxiety

Today is Wednesday, six days left until the election. 

This morning, I woke up to countless news in related with the election. My anxiety started the moment I got into the news. There are cases that the court took up in related with the voting such as the court uphold Texas governor’s order of having one drop in ballot in each county. It is unfair because in several of counties, there are thousands of people and they all need to send in their ballot in one box? There are several that were rejected in Texas that some officials are trying to stop a suppression of vote such as age eligibility requirement to be lived, allowing curbside voting and waive the witness requirements for mail in ballots in Alabama, or suspend the witness requirement in South Carolina. The Court has rejected those arguments. Although the Court has sided for Pennsylvania to have ballots to be counted if they arrive up to three days after election day, I am still concerned on more cases as this in several states in regarding to the election. 

It does not help that a Justice was confirmed early on Monday that has never supervised or argued a case and had little experiences with the court proceedings as Amy Barrett could use her conservative’ beliefs to overturn Roe vs. Wade, the 2008 LGTBA same-sex marriage, DACA and numerous of cases that the majority of Americans does not believe or would agree with if those court cases were overturned. The anxiety increased. 

While there are news all over the media that showed Joe Biden is leading in polls where Clinton four years ago would have been declined or gave Trump an advantage in the polls, I am still reminded by the memories of four years ago where all the national polls would claim Clinton to won the election but the world was shocked when the electoral college counted has gotten Trump to arrive to victory. No matter how many positive news about that, the flashback and anxiety would keep increasing. Memories of those past four years would keep coming back. 

Do you remember when our president mocked a disabled person? Do you remember when the leaked tapes revealed of Trump’s “locker talk”? 

Do you remember where there were protests in Charlottesville and Trump backtracked his condemnation on white supremacists and claimed there were “good people on both side”?

 Do you remember the countless, outrageous tweets that Trump tweeted sometimes in the middle of the night, sometimes four in the morning? That many of those tweets that if someone else would say those in public, those people would have been fired? 

Do you remember the handling of his first hurricane and procrastinated or never gave the aid to Puerto Rico? (Even if the news found later that it was stolen by local officials, why didn’t his administration double checked) 

Do you remember the family separation policy and Trump claiming it was his predecessors’s policy and refused to change the policy? How many families that were separtated? How many children that were locked in cages with “minimal” resources that they could provide to help those children? Remember when ICE was destructive and went to various states including sancturacy cities to take undocumented immigrants from their homes that they were supposed to be safe in? 

Do you remember how many people in his administration have ties or working with Russia? Or that they took advantage of their position for personal gain such as Scott Pruitt, Steven Mnuchin, Ben Carson, Betsy Devos, and so many numerous people who shouldn’t be on the job? Why did the Trump’s administration has so many people such as Flynn, Kelly, Sanders, etc. working and left. He has the highest vacancies or people who left his administration than any administration? 

Do you remember Trump’s ban on transgender in the military? Do you remember Trump mocking the late John McCain claiming that he wasn’t a war hero because he was captured? Do you remember when he called those type of people ‘losers’ that many veterans took offense because they served their country as well as they did? Do you remember when Trump question the soldiers who fought in Afghanistan and sacrificed and turned to John Kelly and said, “I just don’t get it” when John Kelly’s son died in the war? 

I could list so much more. So many more. What was even worse was that under Trump, our country never has been this polarized. This country has never been so divisible. Both parties are blaming each other. While we know that the facts remain about Trump and his administration, there are people who supported him all around the world, claiming “fake news” and refusing to double check those facts themselves. Why is it that lies are more believable than the truth? Is it because people are afraid of admitting they are wrong? Is it because people finally find like-minded people and are stubborn to admit they were wrong because they didn’t want to leave a group where they felt their opinions matter? Is it because people are indifferent to other people’s pain? Their opportunities taken away? Is it much easier for people to shrug off their shoulders and say “it is what it is”? Just as what Trump said during this covid pandemic and how he would respond differently to more than 200,000 lives gone? I am not even surprised that the president had covid, but it doesn’t change his views or his stance on covid. 

I am scared. I am scared for the soul of our country. I know our country have its dark history with breaking treaties with Native Americans, with slavery, with Jim Crows laws, segregations, wars, becoming a face of democracy and secretly rigging elections in third world countries because the outcome would benefits our country and so much more. I believe in the positivity of the country’s progress. We have grown up so far so that we could be in a place where we could finally have laws that matched the constitution that “all man are created equal”. All people are created equal and deserve the same rights and the same privileges as each other. So while we have made so much progress, there is this president that America voted four years ago that shred up all of those progress! Look what happened with gun violence, police brutality, voters’ suppressions, etc. Look what happened when the courts or other police stand by or supported the words of the officers over the victims because they were biased toward the police, laws that needed to be changed or there need to be more resources such as dash-cams needed to be installed, or even . Look what happened with the Keystone Pipeline that threatened our native lands! 

We even have a president who refused to do something about the climate change! Trees are dying, the ocean is in pollution of numerous of plastics, waste that we contributed to kill off other animals’ lives or that affected their habitat negatively. Trump was against alternative energy, claiming about wind power that is killing birds or that he claimed people are just fine in putting more waste in the environment. Because of his reluctance to helping our Earth, winter are getting more colder and dangerous with snow storms and hurricanes. Our summers are getting more hotter with the fires that devastated the west coast and that thousand of people are dying from heat exhaustion, heat wave, etc. The midwest are dealing with more tornados than before. 2020 has topped all previous weather or environmental records in several states or countries. It is just disastrous! All of those regulations that the president strapped off years ago have given more companies or corporations to gain profit, gain more equipments to do more damage to the environment every day. There was an article that it is not the matter of if anymore. Because the  consequences that the world would face has already happened and that it was the matter of now to prevent those consequences from being worse. 

Even in the election, we shouldn’t have the fear of what would happen if our president does not concede if he loses. That is something that should scare so many people. What would happen if the president does not concede? Would the Supreme Court sided with Trump about the election? Would there be an illegible recount in hopes for Trump’s officials to try to rig the election with more ballots? What if the recount cause Trump to win? What does that means? Would there be a revolution? A civil war? What if Trump does concede but his supporters would be outraged to cause a civil war? 

Whatever that means, all of this shouldn’t happen. A presidential election should just be boring and whoever the next president, the transition should be smooth. Our constitution is in crisis.  Our democracy is in perils. If there are something afoul with our government, our democracy, and our votes in this election, then come what may, we should do something. We should get our voices heard or our hands seen. We should go out and protest, revolt if we have to. If it leads to a constitutional crisis or to start off a new government in the process, so be it. 

But it doesn’t have to be this way. We should go out there and vote! Vote by mail or vote in person safely. Make sure you check if your vote is valid. The power is in our hands. What would you do with that power? Would you keep it for yourself like our president did? Or would you share it for others in need? 

[musicalhistory]

United States Immigration at the Turn of the Century (And How it Relates to the Newsies)

Inspired by several different posts by the blog @newsiepedia. This post will be composed of historical facts about immigrating to the United States in the late 19th century, followed by my own personal headcanons about how immigration relates to the different newsies. Let’s get started!

Ever since the first European colonizers, the United States has been a destination for immigrants from all over the world. However, in the 19th and 20th centuries, there was a massive influx of immigrants due to political, social, religious, and economic tensions all over Europe.

Immigrants arriving in the United States could be processed at several different points of entry, depending on where and when they landed. For those arriving in New York, they were often processed at Ellis Island before either settling in the city or moving on to other parts of the country. It is important to note, however, that Ellis Island was not opened until January 1st, 1892, so if your character or their family is immigrating before then they would not have been processed there. Instead, they would have been taken to Castle Garden (also known as Castle Clinton), an old military fort in what is now Battery Park originally constructed for the War of 1812. Castle Garden opened as an immigration landing depot on August 3rd, 1855, and served as the main point of entry into the United States until April 8th, 1890, when the federal government took over immigration processing from the state government. During the 34 years that it was open, over 8 million immigrants passed through its doors and 2 out of 3 immigrants to the United States during that period entered through there.

The actual process of making it through immigration was difficult for many. After disembarking from the ship they arrived on, immigrants would be ferried to Ellis Island (I was unable to find out exactly what the immigration process was like at Castle Garden, although it was reportedly very loud, chaotic, and confusing. There were also reports of immigration workers stealing from and cheating immigrants, as well as many unnecessary deaths. It is also important to note that only third-class passengers were required to go to an immigration center to be processed and questioned before entering the United States, first and second-class passengers were examined on the ship.) Once arriving on the island, immigrants would be led into the main building where interpreters were available for those who didn’t speak English. Before proceeding to the inspections, immigrants would be required to leave their bags in the baggage room and collect them later (though their things might have been stolen by the time they returned).

The first (and arguably most important) inspection was the medical inspection. Immigrants were encouraged to look energetic and lively as they climbed the stairs because the medical inspectors watched them for any sign of weakness. Once at the top of the stairs, immigrants waited in long lines to be quickly examined by a doctor (these examinations usually lasted about 6 seconds). If something was found to be wrong with them, or the doctor felt they needed to be more closely examined, a mark would be made on their clothing in white chalk.

There were also eye doctors, who used button hooks to flip the inside of a person’s eyelid up to check for eye disease. If an immigrant was found to be sick they were sent to the infirmary, and if it was serious enough back to the country they came from. Sick children under the age of 12 were required to return home with one parent, and sick children over the age of 12 were sent home by themselves.

If an immigrant passed the medical examination, they were sent on to the Registry Room to be questioned. The inspectors there would ask immigrants questions about their country of origin, name, age, religion, sex, civil status, job, political beliefs, etc. It was during these inspections that immigrant’s names were often changed to sound more “American” (although this was more likely to happen if an immigrant was Jewish than is they were some form of Christian).

If an immigrant passed this final inspection, they received their landing card (a ticket to a ferry off of Ellis Island) and proceeded to the Money Exchange to change the money from their home country to American dollars. Afterward, they collected their luggage and were then ferried off of Ellis Island to the mainland. For an average healthy person, the whole process took about 4 to 5 hours.

Now, here are some of my own personal headcanons!

Jack’s father and mother fled Ireland in 1881 when his mother was about 3 months pregnant with him after his father’s Irish Republican beliefs landed him under suspicion with the authorities.

Crutchie’s parents were both American citizens, born and raised in the United States, His great-great-great-grandmother immigrated from England as an indentured servant in the eighteenth century, and married his great-great-great-grandfather (who was also a revolutionary war veteran) shortly after arriving.

Davey and his parents immigrated to the United States from what is now Poland (there was no independent Polish state until 1918) in 1884 following brutal pogroms where they lived. He and Sarah were both babies at the time (Davey, Sarah, and Les are all half Polish, half Russian).

Race’s parents immigrated from separate countries and met and got married in the United States. His mother was from Italy and came to the US when she was 18 in 1881. His father was from Ireland and came to the US in 1864 when he was 5.

Spot’s parents were the same nationalities as Race’s, his mother was Italian and his father was Irish. His father was considerably older than his mother, however, and had immigrated to the United States as a toddler in the 1840s due to the Irish Potato Famine. His mother, on the other hand, was a recent immigrant when they met, having come to the US in the 1880s when she was a young woman.

Elmer’s parents immigrated from what is now Poland in 1879 when his oldest three siblings were young children. They came mostly for the promise of better jobs, but also to preserve their Polish language and culture. They are not Jewish, however, but Catholic (although Elmer is not very devout).

JoJo never knew his parents, but his mother was originally from Mexico and moved to New York when she was a teenager. She briefly worked as a maid for a wealthy family but was eventually fired when it was discovered that she was having an affair with the eldest son (JoJo’s father).

Finch’s mother was an American citizen, born and raised in New York City, but was of Irish descent (she named him Patrick after her father). His father was from Spain and immigrated to America when he was 18 after signing onto the crew of a ship bound for New York.

This is by no means an exhaustive list of all my headcanons for the newsies, but it’s all the ones relating to immigration that I could think of off the top of my head. If you’d like me to expand upon anything here, or post more of my headcanons in the future, send me an ask and I’ll be happy to oblige!

Sources:

http://www.ellisisland.se/english/ellisisland_immigration1.asp

http://behindthescenes.nyhistory.org/castle-garden-where-immigrants-first-came-to-america/

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Castle_Clinton

[prorevenge]

Scam us for €250.000? We will ruin your life!

Disclaimer: I am fairly new to reddit in general so please keep that in mind when reading this. It may also seem like I am bragging in this story at times, but this is not the intent and it is all important information. Also, English is not my first language.

So this is a story that my mother and father recently told me about and I thought I should post it here. I was between the ages of 6 an 10 at the time so this is their version of the events. This story turned out to be longer than I planned so buckle up.

Scammer: SC

Two years later the house is finished, my family moves in and we start to socialize with the neighbours. A few parties were thrown because the street was now finished with the project of building all the houses and everybody wanted to meet their new neigbours. At one of these parties the topic of construction comes up. Most people didn't encounter big problems, but one neighbour complained about how he had to move his house because the plot he was given was smaller than the plot indicated in the contract he signed and how it had cost him a lot of money. Other neighbours then looked surprised and said they also received less land than indicated in the contract. It turned out SC had pulled the same trick with EVERYONE in the street, giving them exactly 20 square meters less. As there were 25 plots in the streets, this meant the amount he stole was €250.000. Everybody in the street was livid when they realized this. So the entire street decided to get back at him.

This is where the fun begins

Did I mention that this was a small town? Well, that meant almost everybody knew each other and that nothing exciting happened normally. A new street being finished was thus a daily topic for at least the next 2 months. So everybody in my street started talking about their new houses, and would occasionally drop the fact about how SC had practically stolen a lot of money from them and their neighbours. This of course was told over and over again until the entire village knew these allegations, and being a small town, juicy rumours like this last for what seems like forever. SC knew this, so he contacted pretty much everybody living in our street, begging us to stop talking about it, threatening us with legal action, etc. He never offered to give the money back though. Not that it would have mattered, everybody had already cut their losses and just wanted revenge at this point. So, SC was avoided on the street (he also lived in town), lost many clients and money, etc., although he still made enough money to live in the town.

<

But the big blow had yet to come

The town council and mayor were quite satisfied with the fact that the plots of land were sold so quickly, and that the houses that were build looked so beautiful. They decided to make another plot of land available for another 3 streets with 70+ plots of land in total. Needless to say, every real estate agent from the surrounding area wanted to be the one to broker these plots. Initially, SC was the one who was appointed to do this. However, many people in the community reached out to the council and mayor, telling them to please reconsider their choice of appointing SC. The council and the mayor were sceptical at first, because they didn't know whether these rumours were true or not and they trusted SC, as the last project went so well. However, a few neighbours had friends who were members of the town council and they confirmed the rumours to be true. This eventually meant that SC was removed from the project. Being removed from such a big project was a huge red flag for everyone looking for a real estate agent, so eventually he stopped receiving new clients. 2 years after we had moved in he had moved out of town because of debts. His wife had also divorced him and he lost the custody battle of their daugther.

(source) story by (/u/Wout716)