#but why is her sense of style completely gone

[emloafs]

so when are we gonna talk about how the costuming for the teens in cobra kai is actually heinous

[dcxdpdabbles]

I loved Summon AU, is it possible that you make more Summon AU?

The aftermath of the summoning leaves the Wayne Manor in a strange sense of foreboding. No one really knows what the Ghost King has done with their list or what it means for them that he has accepted.

Everyone tried to go about their daily lives, attempting to act like they weren't looking over their shoulders. Bruce had nearly broken a blood vessel when he heard about them doing a stupid online trend when they knew magic and gods were real.

They couldn't think of a better excuse for why they did besides "it seemed funny at the time."

Bruce had been so unimpressed with them all that he broke out the big guns.

That night, Alfred grounded them. He really sat everyone- minutes Cass because she had escaped through the window after Danny called- and told them they would not be allowed to use any form of technology unless it was related to their nighttime job.

They would also be given a chore list to complete every day until their punishment was over.

Even though neither Dick or Jason lived at home anymore, they too were grounded and didn't bother to even try to argue with the aging butler. Cass was informed of her own punishment through a text, and she returned about thirty minutes later, ready to face her punishment.

She reorganized everything in storage- and in Wayne Manor, there was a lot in storage- without a single complaint, but she did seem somewhat nervous. And excited?

Like a child waiting to open a present.

That was out of character for Cass, but no one was brave enough to ask her about it. Life before the manor was a taboo topic when it came to Cass.

A week later, her restless behavior finally came to light.

When the doorbell rang, Alfred was just looking over the wood polishing job Tim and Damian had been assigned. Confused- as there were no expected guests and the kids were all still grounded- he approached the door cautiously. Tim was on standby in case things went south.

A young adult, likely barely eighteen, with pretty blue eyes, a vast, charming smile, and a gorgeous winter-themed dress, was on the other side of the door. Their hair is short but styled to have one side longer than the other, framing their face perfectly.

A spinnable circle pin on her dress read Gender Fluid in the unmovable part and "She/Her day" in the spinal part.

"Hi there," She chirps, a dimple on full display. "I'm Danny."

"Good afternoon, Danny. My name is Alfred. How can I help you?"

"I was wondering if Cass was home?" Dany starts surprising Alfred and Tim -who were eavesdropping around the corner- as the girl carefully plays with her hair. "I was hoping to talk to her."

"Miss Casandra is currently not allowed guests." The butler starts slowly. He watches her face fall dramatically before humming. "I can, however, pass along a message to her."

"Oh yeah, that be great. Please let her know Danny was wondering if she would like to go with me to see a ballet tonight. Um if she's allowed to go out."

Tim's eyes widen. A date? Danny had come here in person to ask Cass if she wanted to go on a date? Then had the courage to ask Alfred, to his face, if she could take his grandaughter out?

Who is she? Tim thinks amazed. He wants to text the rest of the group chat, which would invade Cass' privacy. He waits a few minutes until Alfred responds.

"Miss Casandra is currently grounded. Unfortunately, she and her siblings cannot leave until their punishment ends."

Tim winces. Hopefully, Cass being nineteen and still being grounded at her age didn't scare off Danny. Some people didn't understand how much power Alfred's word had over the manor and frankly, those people didn't deserve Cass anyway.

But it would make her sad.

"Oh, that's okay. Thank you for letting me-"

A scream makes everyone jump. Tim whirls around to find Damian pressed against the main stairway. His face has gone three sheets of white, staring at Danny with horror.

"Y-you!"

Danny tilts her head. "Me?"

"Y-you!" Damian gasps and Tim is highly alarmed that his voice is tinted with fear. "Why are you here?!"

"I came to ask Cass if-"

"You will not take Cain from me, Ghost King! I will destroy your core before you try to get near her!" Damian screams, hand suddenly holding a glowing green sword, but his threat doesn't hold much because he is literally shaking in his boots. "You have your summon payment already! You shall leave Cain alone!"

What.

"Oh! You think no, no. I'm not here for her soul or anything. Cass and I go way back when she lived on the streets. " Danny- the ghost king they summoned using a list of their gay awaking apparently- laughs, waving her hands as if to calm the young child. "I liked her for a while but thought she didn't feel the same. Until the summoning, where I saw my name on the list. We talked it out, and I was hoping to take her on a first date, you know?"

"You lie!" Damian races down to point his sword at Danny, looking just as wild as a cornered animal about to fight for its life. "Why would the strongest being in the multiverse live on the streets?!"

"Well....it's not like they pay to rule the dead....I had a rough patch, but Cass helped me get back on my feet." Danny muttered, slightly embarrassed. Then she squits at Damian. "Wait, are you a al Ghul?"

Damian breaks into a sweat as Danny gasps, "You are! You're family owes me so much money in backed up taxes for the healing pool! We cut off contamination maintenance because Ra's refused to pay years ago! Kid, do you know I can get into contact with your family member about the Lazarus pit?"

Damian screamed again, turned around, and ran, leaving a stunned Alfred, Tim and Danny. "Guess not. Anyway, sorry to be a bother Mr. Alfred, I'll come back when Cass can go out. Bye!"

A familiar portal rips under Danny as she falls through with a cheerful wave. Alfred and Tim watch it close in a moment before Tim turns to the butler. "Did I inhale too many polishing chemicals? Am I hallucinating?"

"No, my dear boy, I saw everything as well."

"Oh, good. " Tim pauses. " One of us needs to speak to Damian and Cass."

Alfred closes the door slowly. "I'll find Master Damian. You go for Miss Cassandra and Master Tim?"

"Hmm?"

"The next time, Mister Conner sends you a fun trend to try. Don't."

"Yeah, that's fair."

[ineffable-suffering]

Why Aziraphale is an unreliable narrator

Part 1: The Story of Job

I'm absolutely not the first one to talk about this on here and I probably shan't be the last either. Alas, here's my take on why all of the minisodes in Season 2 should be enjoyed with great care – and taken with a grain of angelic salt.

I'm gonna split this into 3 parts, aka the three minisodes we are shown, since I tend to get a bit waffley in my posts and want to still be able to include all the little details. Once I've written them, I'll link Part 2 & Part 3 here as well!

Alright, let's get into it under the cut of doom.

Episode 2 opens with the Story of Job. Right off the bat, I noticed that it sort of looks like an old film playing. At first I didn't read that much into it, but once we see the cut-away to Aziraphale at the bookshop, currently reading that part of the Bible (presumably), I immediately thought: "Oh! It's because it's his memory. He's remembering how it went down and therefore it plays like a figurative film in his head."

This, I then came to realize, is a very crucial difference to all the flashbacks of S1, which were exclusively told and narrated by God. May her intensions be as ineffable as they are: She did tell us all of these stories from an objective outsider's point of view. Now, however, it's Aziraphale who's re-telling those stories to us from memory.

And if there's one thing that's for certain, it's that a memory is something entirely different to an objective narration of a story. Just think about how you yourself remember things. Especially things that happened years, maybe even decades (or, in an angel's case, millenia) ago. What is it, that you really remember? Can you know for sure, that a conversation was held with those exact words? Are you 100% certain that the clothes someone wore weren't different? Had it really been snowing or would that make very little sense given what you're remembering happened in May? And did it even happen in May? Or does that just happen to be your favourite month, the current weather, your preferred style of clothing and what it was that you would imagine someone would have said to you?

What I'm trying to say is: The further away it is that something happened, the more your brain has to fill in the gaps. This is why, for example, your parents will remember the family summer holiday entirely different when you ask them about it 20 years later.

"No, it was Sarah who puked on the car ride home!" "Nonsense, Sarah never puked as a child. Bobby had that gone-off pizza, he's the one that was sick the whole ride long!"

We've all been there. Bobby made it out alive. Don't buy gas station pizza.

Alright, back to the plot: Naturally, Aziraphale is not actually human, so it is a pure assumption on my part that the way his memory works is similar to ours. However, the whole topic of "memory" is actually quite a recurring one on Good Omens.

Crowley seems to have lost his in the Fall, yet somehow managed to get most of it back. Not all of it, though, he clearly has some major gaps ("You used to jump on me back, little monkey in the waistcoat!"). Beelzebub helps Gabriel store all his memories in their little fly container before they get wiped entirely too, by the Metatron and/or Saraqael. Crowley and Aziraphale (and possibly Jimbriel) perform a miracle together that makes everyone in Heaven and Hell forget who Garbiel is or what he looks like. And we know that the Book of Life apparently has the ability to completely erase someone from existence – ergo also erasing them from everyone's memory and making it is as though the person had never been in them at all.

So, clearly, angels and demons being able to remember, forget, reconstruct and, if you're the Metadork, wipe memories, is very much canon. Apart from that very last one, it does make them quite human-like in a way. We too can forget or (wrongfully and incompletely) reconstruct memories, due to things like trauma, illness or simply a lot of time having passed.

So, just like Crowley remembers going into battle but doesn't remember Furfur being there, or just like Jimbriel has entierly forgotten who he is but still remembers the tune and lyrics to Buddy Holly's song Everyday, and just like archangel Michael was miraculously made to forget Gabriel and yet says "Don't I know you?" when seeing him again – just like that, Aziraphale's memories of the story of Job, the story of wee Morag and the story of the magic show in 1941, might not actually be the whole truth.

So, time to look at where the furniture isn't.

Now, it could very well be that the costume designers of S2 thought: "Fuck it, let's go crazy" – but given that this show has a track record of meticulously making sure to stick to accurate and cohesive character design, doesn't it strike you as odd that Crowley would go from this look at the Flood in Mesopotamia, 3004 BC:

... to the (very iconic, don't get me wrong) Bildad the Shuhuite drip in 2500 BC:

... back to this at the crucifixion of Jesus Christ in 33 AD:

I mean ... I mean– come on, that seems like a bit of a far stretch, even for someone as enthusiastically experimental with fashion as Crowley.

And it's not just that: Where did the sunglasses come from, all of a sudden? And why do they look like some sort of obscure, ancient optometrist's device? It's a known historical fact that the Romans were the ones to have invented sunglasses, somewhere around 50-ish AD. Which actually matches perfectly with when Crowley and Aziraphale meet again in Rome 8 years after the crucifixion (51 AD).

So, where do the weird spectacles come from, over 2000 years too early? Maybe from Aziraphale's brain filling in some gaps? Hasn't Crowley always worn those ridiculous sunglasses? Was it Rome? Or Golgotha? Wessex? Oh, blimey, what does it matter!

And it's not just Crowley: Aziraphale's own clothes, as well as the other angels', seem to be very different from the rather plain linen we see him wear before and after the story of Job.

They're laced with golden embroidery along the neckline and sleeves. The remind almost of the clothes angels are depicted wearing in biblical and historical drawings. Ornate and decadent. Not at all like we see Aziraphale in the other flashbacks of S1.

Even Bildad the Shuhite's hair within the minisode keeps changing, going from all pouffy and voluminous to rather deflated and straight-looking:

The costume department either had to fix up two seperate wigs or manually straighten out the volume of the one again to give it a more sleek look. I'm not a professional in this field, but if there's anything I've learned from watching hours of behind-the-scenes material of movies and shows, it's that very little about costume, character, prop and set design is purely coincidental.

You know what it could be, though? An accurate representation of how memories aren't linear, historically correct and objective representations of a certain event, but rather an ever-changing, jumbled mess of impressions, emotions and exaggerations.

More specifically: Aziraphale's impression, emotions and exaggerations.

Like "remembering" Crowley with sunglasses because he's been wearing them for so long.

Like "remembering" himself wearing more luxurious, angelic clothes because that's how he thinks of the difference between Heaven and Hell.

Like "remembering" the permit as a ridiculously long scroll that folded out over an entire valley.

Like "remembering" Job's children to be weirdly sassy in an almost Aziraphale-esque way (Enon: "Don't be silly!") for the fact that Job would have probably taught them to be more humble and obedient in the presence of a literal angel.

Like "remembering" eating an entire fucking Ox after having just one bite of it while Crowley watched him lustfully, sipping on his wine.

Like "remembering" Crowley calling him 'angel', despite them having barely known each other back then.

There's a reason why the flashbacks in S2 seem so much more alive, quirky and, at many points, confusing and all over the place. Because they're not objective stories being told by a third party. They're Aziraphale's. So much of his own thoughts and feelings at the time get projected onto them because that's simply how memory works!

It's subjective. It's unrealiable.

It's not that I'm calling Aziraphale a liar. He's no more a liar than your parents are, mixing up Sarah and Bobby. Or you, remembering snow instead of sunshine. Memories aren't lies. They can simply be faulty, focus on things that you thought were more important and leaving out or changing things that weren't, to you.

The real challenge in all of this, is trying to filter through Aziraphale's stories to see what it actually is they're telling us. Where it is that the furniture isn't. And I think in this case, that's 6 main things (eff you, God, I know you like sevens, but I don't care):

God and Satan (still) talk to each other We see that Aziraphale is quite surprised when Muriel mentions that the whole Job thing is God's bet with Satan. But clearly, despite having made him and the rest fall, God still converses with Her number one traitor about whether or not the humans simply love Her because she gives them nice things or because they truly believe in Her.

God and Satan (and Heaven and Hell) can and do collaborate with each other when they feel like it So much for choosing sides, huh? Truthfully, this is not the first time this is shown to us, but still. It's another piece of evidence on the growing pile.

Aziraphale understands the World and humans way better than any of the other angels "Well, you see ... Citis is 58 ..."

Aziraphale, despite having troubles voicing it, absolutely disagrees and even condemns God's plan of destroying Job's children (and goats and camels and––)

Aziraphale is willing to lie and thwart the will of God Also not the first time we're being shown this but again, piiiile of evidence.

Angels don't automatically Fall simply by doing the above To me, this is one of the most important take aways. It's already hinted in S1 as well that 'Falling' seems to have been a one time even back when the first war broke out in Heaven. And I actually believe that ever since then, no other angels have Fallen again. Aziraphale is the best example for this. He has gone against God's plan numerous times and even lied to her very face (voice?) about it. And yet, nothing ever happened to him. Why exactly that is the case remains a topic for another meta (that I might or might not be working on already, teehee).

Alright, that concludes this first look at the Job minisode! If there's anything I missed, feel free to share it with me. I'll try and add Part 2 (the story of wee Morag) and Part 3 (the magic show of 1941) soon.

Update: Part 2 and Part 3 have officially been written, you can find it them right here:

Part 2: The Story of wee Morag

Part 3: The Story of the Magic Show in 1941

Hugs and kisses, (God)!

[shadow4-1]

(Part 2 of this post.)

After letting Soap set everything up, on his next leave of absence, Ghost finally gets to meet the plus size escort he's been having fantasies about.

However, she's only interested in laying down some ground rules.

-

To show he was serious, for their first meeting she made Ghost rent out the smoking section of a privately owned Café. It's a quaint little joint; part bookstore, part coffee shop. Cost him less than two hundred quid for the whole hour. Ghost likes the privacy and the better service - his coffee cup hasn't gone unfilled. He wonders why he's never thought of doing it before. Plus, he can have a fag without someone bothering him about the smell. The booth is in the back of the store, so leaving his face completely uncovered doesn't feel nearly as uncomfortable either.

For anyone else the mask stays on. Well, at least some form of mask. Nowadays, when deep in public territory, he sticks to a surgical mask. Still attracts some curious gazes, but after the new-age plague passed he's been left well enough alone.

Besides, the bird's a civilian through and through. She's probably used to white collar Johns with soft hands and faces. He's decidedly the opposite and doesn't want to scare her off. At a time like this he knows hiding his face would make him seem less trustworthy. She should at least be allowed to see what she's working with. He knows he's not wholly unattractive, but if compared to Soap, well he wouldn't blame her for sticking up her nose. Hell, it'd be no skin off his back.

He's early as per usual. Doesn't want to keep her waiting on him. Time is money and all that. The coffee shop staff seemed relieved at the lack of customers. Behind him, he can hear one of the servers taking an order from a customer. That's when he hears a sound that makes his ears prick up.

The sound of heels against the tile.

Subconsciously, he straightens himself. Consciously, he makes no move to attempt to preen or better his appearance in any way. What she sees is what she gets and vice versa. That's what this meeting is for anyway. It's a time to lay it all on the table.

"Hello."

Her voice is soft and sweet. He releases a breath he didn't realize he was holding. When he looks up he's taken off guard by the quality of her facial features. In Johnny's pictures she looked average. But now, he realizes that perhaps the flash really dulled down her beautiful features - mainly her delicious looking lips. He swallows hard at the thought of his cock maybe getting inside that blowjob perfect mouth.

"You must be Simon."

She places down a mid-size purse on the booth seat across from him. She's dressed in business casual - a white button up and some form fitting slacks. Her makeup is subdued, her hair lightly styled. She looks completely natural. Ghost finds she's checking off all the boxes he didn't even realize he had.

She offers her hand and he shakes it. Her nails aren't painted but have a natural sheen and length. And while her palms are soft, her grip is sturdy. It's obvious that she knows how to uphold herself professionally. He already starts to feel good about this impending arrangement.

She introduces herself as a "Miss Care". It's a fake name designed to give her a simple, yet recognizable trait. He supposes her self-chosen moniker isn't far off from a callsign. Not that she'd have any idea what that even is.

"S' a pleasure." He bows his head at her in respect.

He doesn't miss the way she blushes for a second before taking the seat across from him. She opens her mouth to say something, but is rudely interrupted by a server placing a menu down in front of her. At least, he finds it quite rude. She just beams at the server and politely declines the menu. She orders a hot Chai latte with a slice of banana bread. She's obviously a regular at this place. It makes sense she'd chose it as a meeting spot.

The server scurries off, and for a second both he and her take each other in. He admires the softness of her upper body, the curvature of her breasts that are cradled lovingly by her brassiere. She seems to be reading his face, for what he can't say. Whatever she finds she seems to like based on her more confident smile.

"Johnny wasn't lying when he said you're built like a brick shithouse." She giggles.

Despite himself, Ghost can't help the flood of heat to his face. He could throttle that boy. He likes her laugh more than enough to quell that urge though. He finds himself already admiring her confidence to even speak to him like that. He knows he's intimidating.

"If you don't mind me asking," She offers before pausing. He looks at her expectanly, silently urging her to go on. "What are you looking for exactly? Not to be rude but, I'm a little shocked someone as handsome as you would be interested in my services."

A long beat of silence fills the air. It's a bit awkward but Ghost needs a second to think of his response. Not only is he caught off guard by her admonition, but how could he tell this girl he can't find it within himself to build relationship anymore, much less with a woman? Another beat of silence passes and she offers him a sheepish smile.

"Sorry. I-"

"Don't have time for a bird. Jus' looking fer a distraction." He admits, cutting her off. "Johnny talked a big game 'bout ya. Figured I'd give you a shot."

She stutters out a chuckle. His words have caught her off guard. He knows he sounds full of himself. He is full of himself. Her admitting she thinks he's attractive helps alot with his ego.

"Well, has he told you anything about my services other than I'm good at what I do?"

"No."

She goes into her purse and pulls out a semi-thick docket of paper. The headline on top let's him know exactly what it is.

"A rental agreement?" He muses.

"Mhm. I'm sure you're aware my services aren't exactly...legal on their own. So, just to stay on the right side of the law, I make sure my contract states you're renting my villa for the weekends you decide to visit." She says, flipping through the papers. "Besides, you are renting out my villa. It'll be just me and you."

He admires her business plan. A contract like that keeps her from getting scammed, and it has the added benefit of running off losers. Normally, if a John decided not to pay her for her "services" she'd be shit out of luck. This way, she'd be legally able to receive his funds under the guise of being just a landlord.

"Smart."

"Thank you."

She pulls out a pen, uncaps it, then marks on certain lines throughout the packet. She then offers him the pen.

"Wait, sorry."

He places the pen down.

"What experience are you interested in having?"

Ghost just stares at her. He doesn't really understand her question.

"Are you looking for the full girlfriend experience? Or something else?" She asks.

The server comes back with her tea and snack. She thanks them with a bright, beautiful smile Ghost wishes was directed his way. She tries to go for a sip of her hot drink but it's too hot. She licks the foam off her lips with a crinkled nose. Ghost can't help the way his lips quirk up in the corners at the sight.

"Thought that's all you offered." He admits.

"Oh, no, not at all. I offer quite a few services. All vanilla of course." She says as she goes for a piece of banana bread. "The girlfriend experience is the most popular but I can also play the part of a wife, step-sister, or mommy. Most of my clients like to start off our first session with the best friend experience. Just so we can to get used to each other without any weird tension."

Ghost is a bit taken by her straightforwardness. He knew she'd be open and honest, but hearing her talk about what role she'd be willing to play in his sex life makes him swallow hard. He doesn't know what character he wants her to play either. Every fantasy but "mommy" sounds terribly appealing. The "bestfriend" approach does sound like a good place to start. He wants sex, needs sex, but he also knows he himself might not feel the most comfortable to start with it right away.

"Friends first."

She finally gives him that stunning smile. It falters after a moment and she gives him a bit of an apologetic look.

"One last thing before we sign. We've got to go over our boundaries." She says. This time she's finally able to drink her tea. She swallows down the liquid and places it on the table. "What are some of the things you aren't comfortable with me doing."

There's another long beat of silence as Ghost thinks. He really can't think of a damn thing he wouldn't want this fuckable, pretty girl to do for him. He keeps thinking before realizing maybe he's wrong.

"Nothin' anal. N' no kissin'."

She seems confused.

"No kissing? On the mouth or all over?"

He was only thinking about the mouth. Not that he doesn't want to tongue fuck her mouth, but he thinks a degree of separation would be good to start with. The idea that she'd be willing to kiss him other places, well...the it excites him more than it should.

"Just the mouth."

"Okay." She nods. "No anal play and no kissing on the mouth."

She snacks for another moment.

"And you, Love?" He asks.

"Ooh, I like it when you call me that." She blushes again, wiping crumbs off her bottom lip with a napkin.

Ghosts lips quirk up again. He's starting to really like her attitude and sense of humor. And but of course he would. Johnny recommended her.

"Well, my boundaries are as follows:" She begins, her voice even and measured as if she's given this spiel more than enough times. "No choking, no leaving bruises - that includes hickies, no anal without lube or having told me beforehand, and no slurs or degrading names."

Ghost finds her list a little long but he understands it. He feels a bit of righteous fire in his belly at the thought of her Johns pushing her to the point of even having to make those discretions.

"Understood." He nods.

She smiles up at him and then opens the packet again. She points to the already marked lines and has him sign. As he goes along she tells him about each page of the docket. Once everything is signed she hands him a small business card.

"That's the amount for our first session. Please wire the funds to the account listed on the bottom before Friday night at the latest." She says. "If you don't, I won't be able to get everything ready for Saturday."

He nods, taking in the information on the card. Her prices would be exorbitant for a normal man, but Ghost is no normal man. He makes more than enough money to see her every weekend if he wanted to.

"Please don't be late." She taps the section of the card with the time listed. "And make sure you bring a copy of your up to date physical."

Ghost reaches into his jacket pocket and pulls out two sheets of paper stapled together. She mulls over the document before grinning at him.

"Well, well, look at you. Already prepared. I think you and I are going to get along just fine." She flirts. She bats her lashes at him and it takes every fiber of his being not to reach over the table and shove his tongue down her throat.

With that she continues to snack on her drink and bread. She offers no more conversation until she's done. Ghost is more than okay with that. He's content to watch her body. He finds he really likes the way her breasts shift with her every breath.

"I'm sure you don't like surprises, so I'll give you an idea on how I schedule my visits. If you want to change anything up let me know." She says. "I'm flexible."

The flirt is not lost on Ghost. He shifts in his seat, feeling heat trickle into his cock. This girl wants to play with him, test his resolve. He hates that it's already cracking.

"When you arrive I'll greet you at the door and bring you inside. I always like to have a meal waiting for you. Afterwards, we can watch TV on the couch together or play some video games? Or I can read to you, if you'd like." She offers. "If you want, I can give you a massage. Or we can always call it a night if you get sleepy. I'll show you my room."

Her excitement is palpable, almost conspiratorial. She sounds like a girl going over her plans for her first sleepover. He supposes she's not far off. It would be their first sleepover. It would also be his first sleepover. He's never had one.

Her excitement is replaced with a nervous smile. It takes Ghost a second to realize why. He didn't realize his facial expression had changed into something a bit more pointed. He curses himself internally, tries to soften his gaze, but the damage has been done.

"If you want to have sex at any time, just say so. The first time around, I usually like for us to get a shower together." She hums. "It'll give me a chance to give you a little onceover before we start. Also, it's just really great foreplay."

While he adores the idea of a sudsy fuck in the shower he also feels like a fool. He's so used to his face being covered he's unused to controlling his facial features. He's used to letting his emotions show because no one can see. He realizes that he needs to be more careful from now on.

"We'll play it by ear." He mutters, his own mood soured. For her credit she doesn't seem to take it to heart.

"Well, no matter what we get into on Saturday I just want to let you know I'm excited." She smiles. "It's been so nice to meet you, Simon."

She tucks the paper docket and the pen back into her purse. She then cleans up her plates and napkins. Just before she readies herself to stand she looks up at him with her pretty little eyes.

"Can I kiss you goodbye on the cheek?"

Her request takes him off guard. He hasn't paid for anything yet. His heart thumps.

"Yeah."

She then stands and leans over the table. Her blouse isn't lowcut but she has enough tits to fill it out. When she leans over he has to stop himself from trying to grope them.

She kisses him sweetly. It's barely a brush of her lips against the rough skin of his cheek. His cock twitches to its full length in his trousers. If he was any farther gone he'd fuck her right there over the dishes.

She smiles down at him, lashes fluttering, purse in hand. She gives his shoulder a comforting squeeze.

"See you Saturday."

[dadsbongos]

i eat your skin - f.megumi

part of the jjk movie marathon event / movie selection … warnings - cunnilingus (fem reader), title sounds like vore smut but it isn't i promise word count - 3.7 K / rating - R

Megumi braces his hands on his knees, brows pinched tight in preemptive annoyance. Satoru spindles over him, shadowing the younger man almost completely - and it only serves to irritate Megumi that he’d refused to sit down. Furiously determined to forever humiliate his former pupil, Megumi assumes.

Or, he would, if Satoru hadn’t actually agreed to give him advice about a little… situation.

“Alright, now when you see her, look at me- seriously, look at me, Megumi,” Satoru’s face is lethally drawn, usual bright grin tugged low and serious with furrowed brows to match, “Megumi, you cannot let her intimidate you,” Megumi opens his mouth, a vile retort slithers back down his throat when Satoru interrupts, “No, I know you, and you’ll feel all sick,” he mocks a frown, even pretending to wipe tears from his eyes, “You’ll get all nervous. But you cannot let her intimidate you out of it.”

“I’ll hardly die asking her out,” Megumi rolls his eyes, one hand lathering the sweat in his palms against his sweatpants and the other scratching the back of his neck, “Maybe this just isn’t a good idea…”

“And what? Be a miserable wimp the rest of your life?” Satoru folds his arms across his chest, “You’ve liked her since you were first years.”

“And?”

“You’re graduates now!”

“So?”

“‘So,’” Satoru mimics Megumi’s sulking nature, voice deep and neanderthal-ish in nature, “Be greedier, kid!” he flicks the younger man’s forehead, “You’ll die one day. You’ll die. Whether it be on a mission, or in your hospital bed as a diseased old man - you can’t stop it. So, why deprive yourself of something you really want when it all ends the same?”

Megumi can’t exactly pinpoint the reason he even came to his old legal guardian for help over, say, Nanami. He definitely should’ve gone to Nanami, at least he could’ve given Megumi genuine advice that isn’t some children’s show morale of “just tell her how you feel!” - he could’ve done that any day.

When Megumi opens his mouth to protest, Satoru flicks him again.

“You think your special one,” Megumi gags loudly at the title, and Satoru pays it no mind, “is gonna sit around her entire life not having fun and being young? Getting dates?” Satoru nods to himself when Megumi doesn’t reply, “Duh.”

“I want this to be special,” Megumi insists, both hands coming to rest in his lap now, he squeezes them together, lacing his fingers and imagining how yours would look with him instead, “I want- “

He wants and wants and wants and does nothing.

He needs to be someone you simply can’t fathom saying no to, he needs it so bad his stomach churns just like Satoru said it would.

“Alright, I know it can be difficult for you - not being me, after all,” a large hand claps on Megumi’s shoulders and he looks up to see the beaming face attached, “But trust me, kid, this whole idea of a ‘special’ confession is archaic bullshit compared to just being yourself.”

“I thought girls liked special confessions?”

“Sexist: not all girls automatically like the same things,” his former teacher shakes his head, sighing out each disappointed fiber trapped in his soul, “And if she doesn’t accept a plain, Megumi-style date proposition, then her shock and awe over a sick-as-hell graphic novel confession isn’t going to make for a healthy relationship.”

“Hm,” Megumi bites back frustrated curses, taking the words and molding them into a more conventional way that actually makes sense. He nods, “Okay.”

“Exactly,” Satoru stands back, giving Megumi room to rise from his bed, “Oh, but one thing that does help?” the older man grins wickedly, “Eat her out. Direct line to a woman’s heart is through eating her pussy.”

“Shut up,” Megumi huffs, pointing at his wide-open bedroom door, “Shut up. Shut up and get the hell out.”

“Jeez,” Satoru yanks at the already loose collar of his plain black shirt, “I thought we left teen angst behind. Just give it some thought! And also, I wanted to ask- “

Megumi huffs, falling back onto his bed, still pointing at the door.

“If,” and in true fashion, Satoru continues, maybe even a little louder (just to prove a point), “you wanted to watch a movie?”

“No,” Megumi immediately answers.

“C’mon! It’s this or paperwork I have to do.”

Megumi’s eye roll gives Satoru no more room for pleading, and so he stalks back to the living room. Dragging his socked feet over a shaggy black rug towards the door, he takes a final peek over his shoulder at the boy on his bed. Stupid mouth in a stupid pout and stupid nose forcing stupid crocodile sniffles, Satoru acts out a picturesque performance. And if his blindfold were off, Megumi is certain he’d catch big blue eyes framed by batting white lashes.

“No, “ Megumi rolls his eyes again, “‘m going out.”

…

Blushy top with faded blue bell bottoms and a shiny, thin chain that dangles across your chest, Megumi’s eyes flit away from your figure just as quick as they’d found you. Everything’s a little murky under the purple LEDs, but he thinks you’ve worn that before. He thinks you’re somehow more beautiful now. He looks away, snaking through a narrow, picture-framed hallway at Yuuji’s back to this house’s kitchen. There are no light strips strapped across the kitchen walls, simple and plain and unflattering fluorescent bulbs send a gentle cream wash over the walls.

With only a handful of straggling bodies leaning against peeling-edged faux wood cabinets and spotted countertops, there’s more room to breathe than in the hall. Red Solo cups from every teen movie nightmare decorate hands and unnerving corners. Some more anxious part of him wants to reach out and push every precarious ruby further back into secure landing, but he doesn’t.

Two women in complimentary spaghetti strap dresses flounce out of the kitchen with looped arms. They’re sunk into the plum tank until Megumi can’t see them at all anymore.

“Oh, like that!” you muse, nudging your chin towards a pair in matching floral print dresses that reach about mid-thigh, “Exactly my point.”

“That’s hardly 70s influenced,” the man in front of you - Jirou? Junto? Jouji? you don’t really recall - shakes his head, “Just flowers.”

“No, no, look at the trim,” you’re trying your hardest not to point but this guy just cannot pinpoint the details in your mind to save his life, “It’s flowy and mesh. Sort of. That’s a little more flower child era, right?”

“I guess, if your only experience in that fashion was movies,” you huff at the response and he laughs in the face of such exasperation.

“Whatever! You’re so difficult.”

“Hobby,” it’s so plain out of his lips. Like you should somehow be expecting that snark.

“Oh my God…” you can hardly believe someone could be so obtuse. A contrarian just for the fun of it, “And are you normally invited to parties for that?”

“Oh, no,” his tone, again, betrays some delusion that you should already know the answer, but this time you do already know. Who invites a conversation killer to an event? “I got dragged here by a friend. Don’t even know who the host is.”

You snicker, one hand smothering the sight of your mouth, “That makes more sense.”

Megumi can see the hand that binds, you usually don’t string it up around those you’re close with. Like Yuuji and Nobara and Maki and Miwa from Kyoto and your friends that live closer to the coast and the friends that don’t and your parents and him. So you’d think he’d know better than to let a big, gangly, clawed, green beast sprout and grow and suck away at his gut.

Even though that hand is a sign of some rising desire to be out of that conversation, he still hates being across the room when it happens. Because that’s still some semblance of a shining star behind the flesh. Some laugh or smile he’s not next to.

And it isn’t like he hates when you’re out with others. What he hates is being in the same room with someone potentially more captivating than he is.

He hopes you like him best because he’s the most familiar and drawing, and it’s disturbing when someone else might be more homely and more charming and more absorbing. He hates the curdling illness of jealousy and he hates to be this way when you two aren’t even together, but most of all he hates that maybe you’ll prefer someone else simply because they’re better at his craft than he is.

So Megumi watches and rots quietly with thick, spindling vines spreading and tangling him to the kitchen doorway as you talk to a guy whose name he doesn’t know. It’s pathetic and waning most unbearably.

“Stop staring, it’s weird,” Yuuji chastises, chunking part of his weight against Megumi’s side, an elbow shelved on Megumi’s shoulder, “Just go up and say something, if you wanna talk to her.”

“Yeah, it’s that easy,” Megumi jerks through the vines and into the hungry waters of a living room party with a snapping, starved crowd before finding the optimal spot: a plain wall with no posters or pictures to snag and smack down.

Yuuji trails after, his white shirt reflecting a blinding shade of lavender from beneath his puffer jacket. Much easier to track down than Megumi’s gloomy, funeral-grade attire. Yuuji capitalizes on the empty space so ugly at Megumi’s side, staking claim to the wall with a huff, “It is, by the way. You two are friends. Go tell her you’re here.”

“But then I’d have to,” Megumi’s mouth zips shut, head tilting as he snakes a hand through some imaginary crowd.

“I guess,” Yuuji wants to shake Megumi at times like this. He wants to shake you too, sometimes. But mostly he imagines squeezing Megumi’s shoulders and smacking him around, but he never does.

Maybe just the first part.

All out of love.

“Okay,” so Yuuji pivots, swerving in front of his best friend and taking one shoulder in each hand, “You need to do something or you’re going to sit here and be pouty, dude.”

“I’m not pouty.”

“Biggest lie in Tokyo, brother,” Yuuji purses his lips, eyes flitting to where you are, “I’ll get her over here if you really don’t want to.”

“Hm?” Megumi’s brows furrow, neck craning closer as if he could somehow mishear the man.

“Just pretend to be busy or some shit and I’ll brave the crowd,” Yuuji goes to walk away, suddenly pausing and placing a hand over Megumi’s heart, “And if I don’t return, sing songs for me by a nice lake every anniversary.”

“Whatever,” Megumi knocks away the hand but is already pulling out his phone to perform the charade. His eyes lock onto the screen and he soldiers on to not rip them away and give slight that this was planned.

…

“Do you think I could maybe get your number?”

“Oh!” no, God no - you wish you were better at saying that, “Uh,” it’s not even as if you dislike this guy, you just don’t think any conversation with him could amount past what it has.

Wow, you’re a pain in the ass! Yeah but it’s funny, right? Not if it’s on purpose. Especially if it’s on purpose! Sure, if that’s what you think. You do think it’s funny, right? Sure. Come on, it is! Sure.

And dry replies make you want to claw your eyes out more when you have to give them than when you receive them.

So when the bony fingers of Yuuji creep upon your side, it’s like the first drink of water after sifting through thick bowls and hills of sandy desert. He leans his head down into your peripheral, grinning brightly, “Miss me?”

“Yuuji!” you cheer, turning to… Junsei? and laying a flat palm under Yuuji’s chin, “This is my buddy, who I didn’t know was coming.”

“I texted you,” he pinches your side, “Fushiguro’s busy, so I’m fetching you for the night,” and you wonder if he might feel the stiffness of your muscles and the rigid air, “Sorry, man, but she’s got serious business tonight!”

“Oh,” Junzo! Junzo’s forehead crinkles, nose wrinkling at the bluntness of this cocky new stranger, “Uh…”

“See you around,” maybe it’s a lie, maybe it isn’t. You wave and let Yuuji keep you pressed to his side. You wait until you’re certain the surrounding affairs of other people drown whatever you could say to Yuuji, “Thank you for that. He was asking for my number and I just didn’t know what to say…”

“No,’” he shrugs.

“Oh, like you could’ve done that.”

“I could’ve!”

But Yuuji can do anything, so that isn’t fair.

“‘gumi!” you cheer upon getting close to the boy, arms splaying wide before wringing yourself around his neck, “I was worried you weren’t coming!”

He hesitates before having the misfortune to hear Satoru’s words once again. Be greedier. Be greedier. So he gently settles both hands on your back, pushing you chest-to-chest, “Yeah, well, Itadori wouldn’t let me stay in.”

“Poor baby,” you step back, and Megumi takes notice in how you maintain your hands’ position over his shoulders, nails picking at fluff on his shirt.

Megumi, regrettably, can still hear Satoru in the back of his head. Greedier, greedier, greedier. It chokes him up, the idea of selfishly taking you for himself. But what really grips him is the terrible way your gaze flits from his face to other men - unintentionally, he’s sure. But it drives him wild all the same.

“I hate big parties,” Megumi boldly cradles the bend of your waist with his hand, fingers splaying wide over the curve. He tugs you closer, thighs nearly brushing, “Crowd’s a pain in the ass.”

“Ah, no, c’mon, what’s that Great Gatsby quote?” who’s to say, he hasn't read that book, “‘I like large parties. They’re so intimate…’” you shrug, bottom lip tugging between your teeth when he doesn’t show any recognition, “‘At small parties there isn’t any privacy.’”

“You actually remembered that shit?”

You titter coyly, “Maybe I saw it on one of those book quotes videos. Maybe I remembered it.”

“Well, it’s a stupid quote. There’s too much noise at big parties, it’s hard to hear people.”

“You hear me just fine,” that’s just because he’s leaning closer and trying harder than he does for most people, “Besides, I like it. At big parties you can just fuck off and do your own thing, you know? At small parties there’s this expectation to be around everyone and interact with everyone and be having fun with the group.”

Finally, it seems to click, he nods slowly, “You like to get away from the crowd?”

“Yeah,” you scratch the side of your arm, then your neck, and it’s so odd how just thinking about how uncomfortable your skin is that you can get so itchy, “Hard to do that when the crowd’s five people and a dog.”

“Well,” Megumi can feel Yuuji’s stare, and it takes everything in him to not knock the kid up his skull, “If you wanna get away, I’m sure - uh,” he’s suddenly humiliated by his own hubris, “I’m sure there’s room… upstairs…”

You grace him with a patient nod, hands lowering from his shoulders to lace your fingers together, “I’m sure there is.”

…

“So…”

“So…”

Megumi nods, head slowly tilting so he’s staring up at you through his long lashes, “So.”

You lean closer, shoulder pressing and nose bumping against his, “So?”

The heat from Megumi’s cheeks wavers over you, his flesh ripe with crimson. You want to bite him. Leave a terrible mark that he couldn’t possibly cover up; maybe he’d let it bleed through his dark shirt. Maybe he’d let you lick it clean.

“You look nice,” he tucks his face down, heated skin now flush against your top. His brows furrow, uncertain, “Really nice.”

Megumi wonders what Satoru or Yuuji would do. They’re greedier than him by nature. More outgoing.

They would’ve done something years ago.

Suddenly, you grin. All sharp teeth and nails pricking over his thigh, through his pants. Your eyes stare down at him over the bridge of your nose, and you lean closer - smothering any space he’d initially put between your bodies.

“Are you gonna do something about it?”

Megumi’s eyes widen, warmth beating over his face and the back of his neck. He flails for a response, trapped under your piercing gaze, before finally settling on a response that he hopes pleases you.

“Do you want me to?”

You frown; something in his chest stings, a chord pulled awry. The tug of your lips is all a ploy, a mesmerizing color to disguise venom, “Don’t you want to, ‘gumi?” you pull away, leaning back with your hands pressed to the mattress below, “Don’t you want me?”

A cold breeze from this stranger’s open window takes up residence across Megumi’s sweltering skin. He hates it. He wants to get up from the bed altogether and slam the window shut. He wants to take you in both hands and sink himself into the softness of your skin. He thinks you’d be savory.

He wants to be certain.

So both of his hands mold to your hips, melting his exposed skin to yours.

Fingers dipping into the waistband of your bottoms, he bats his eyelashes and tucks his lower lip between fangs. He may draw blood. He cares not.

The oxygen is thin; hardly refreshing.

Megumi swallows the pooling want on his tongue, his fingers twitch against you, “Can I- “

“‘gumi…” you flatten yourself onto your back, hips tilting up into his palms, “Show me you want me.”

“Okay,” Megumi nods, air forced out of his throat through swollen hunger, “Okay.”

Once he’s gotten your pants off, Megumi presses open kisses against the inside of your thighs, following the swell to its natural apex. He digs the jab of his nose into you, lips impolitely fluttering against the seat of your panties before dipping his tongue out. Lolling the soft, soaked muscle over the clinging fabric, he feels his chest clench at how you rock your hips down into his face.

He feels one of your hands wind into his messy hair, carding through the softness. He wants to make you tug it - pull cruelly and grind against his face. Take what he gives and selfishly demand more.

Megumi groans heartily into your clothed cunt when the slickness of his saliva pulls your wetness from the cloth; when the unabashed taste of you meets his tongue.

He nearly rips your panties down your legs, settling it in a ball at his side. Heart leaping up into his jaw at the mere thought of getting his tongue into you.

Laving his tongue between your folds, Megumi licks up to your clit and circles the bud - his hips jerking down into the plush mattress when you jolt up and tug his hair. He pulls his head back only to pucker his lips and drool onto your hole, adding to the sloshing wetness before steadying his shaky fingers against you.

Sucking your clit into his mouth, Megumi begins softly. Caressing the bundle of nerves with his warm tongue, blending flat, broad strokes with precision dances of the muscle over you. Meanwhile, he slicks his middle finger into your hole and moans in response to your gasp.

When he’s sure you’re wet and stretched enough, he adds a second finger and curls them both upwards. The muscles in his arm will be aching tomorrow, but he shoves that to the back of his mind. He presses and scissors and dips inside you until the pads of his fingers find sponge, and he hits there, and there again. And again. And again. And again.

He hits there until you’re fully babbling, gushing against his swollen, pink lips and chin. And he’s starting to babble back.

Vibrations are loosely strewn together as ‘yes’ and ‘please’ and ‘cum on me’ are bound against your clit as he nuzzles closer into your heat. Burying himself between your thighs and finding himself releasing a moan into your cunt when your thighs clenched tightly around his head. The fat of your thighs snug over his ears.

Releasing your clit from between his lips with a soft ‘pop’, Megumi flays his tongue onto the exposed nerve. Hot puffs of air leave him with each groan and whimper as his desperation to make you cum hammers over him.

Finally, you yank his hair again and snap your hips into his tongue; cunt sucking his fingers in even deeper. You squeeze around him, back arching, and his name singing from your lips.

Megumi unfurls his fingers as your cum splashes out onto his waiting tongue and chin, riding you through the hurls of pleasure until your twitching legs crash back onto the mattress. Slowly, he slides his fingers out of you before licking up your excess release from the divots in your thighs and your cunt.

Unwinding your fingers, you settle for soothing his stinging scalp with gentle pets.

Eventually sitting up, Megumi gasps for air as you do, staring down at his fingers. Shining with your wetness.

“Still hungry?” you tease, voice ripped at the edges.

“Actually?” Megumi shrugs, “A little.”

The cocky air has dissipated from your body. Once tense and lively limbs were now useless against the bed.

Megumi jams both fingers into his mouth and sucks off your cum.

“Insatiable!” you huff.

Rouge has overtaken Megumi’s cheeks - worse than before - and he can’t meet your eyes after having swallowed what remained of your soak. He leans over onto his elbow to avoid crushing you, “Only when it’s you… I don’t,” he waves his hand around, “do this often…”

“Really? Could’ve fooled me.”

Megumi has to hide his grin, almost embarrassed to enjoy being praised, choosing to take up time looking around the room you’d shoved him into.

Idol posters with one constant member litter the walls. Pink concert tickets cover the desk. And many pictures with the same two people overwhelm Megumi’s sight. He feels an unsettled chill scrawl over his skin.

“Todo is going to kill me,” he grimaces.

“Was it worth it?”

Megumi doesn’t take long to respond, already trying to think of where and when he can get you under him again, “Definitely.”

Megumi’s proper death is drowning via punani tsunami *thumbs up emoji*

[rosyrosethings]

CEO Harry and assistant goes to a wedding

Summary: Harry and His Assistant Y/n

Get ger invited to a wedding woth his mom and sister.

Fluff

On an ordinary Wednesday, Harry and his assistant were working from his home office. Harry had opted for remote work that day, and Y/n was busy sorting through the day's mail. As she sifted through the envelopes, one caught her eye, addressed to Mr. Styles. She hesitated, wondering if opening it would be an invasion of privacy. However, she justified it by comparing it to her access to his emails and decided to take a peek. Inside, she found an invitation to a wedding.

The invitation read, 'Join us to celebrate the wedding of Lou & Cindy.' Y/n quickly scanned the details, noting that the wedding was scheduled for the upcoming Friday and that Mr. Styles could bring a plus one. Excitement surged through her, prompting her to dash upstairs to Mr. Styles' office.

"Mr. Styles!" she exclaimed, walking in and slightly startling him.

"Y/n, first of all, no yelling. Secondly, I've told you to knock before entering," he reminded her. She nodded, giving a quick pivot and leaving his office.

"Sorry," she mumbled before knocking on the door frame and stepping in without waiting for an invitation, taking a seat on the right side of his desk. Her legs crossed.

"I was going through your mail, and..."

"Isn't opening someone's mail an invasion of privacy?" he interjected, setting down his pen and turning his chair towards her. Giving her his full attention.

"Yes, but then I thought, as your assistant, I have the right to go through your emails. And then I thought, isn't mail and email basically the same thing? Yes, they are. So, I opened the mail, and you have an invitation to Lou and Cindy's wedding," she explained, slapping the invitation on top of his paperwork.

Harry picked it up, his brows furrowing as he examined the invitation. He had completely forgotten about the wedding.

"Who's Lou? Why haven't I heard of him? I know everyone you know. I schedule everything you do," Y/n inquired.

"Lou's my childhood best friend. I haven't seen him in years, ever since I moved and became CEO. I completely forgot about this," Harry confessed.

"Well, it's on Friday. I can reschedule everything. I can even arrange for Bridget to attend," Y/n suggested, though she wrinkled her face slightly because she wanted to go to the wedding herself. Plus, she wasn't particularly fond of Bridget.

"I actually can't go with Bridget. If I take her to a wedding, she might get ideas about getting married, and besides, she's gone to America for a business trip," Harry explained. He glanced at Y/n, who was sitting on his desk with a hopeful grin.

"So, that means you need someone to go to the wedding with you?" Y/n asked with a smile.

"Yes, it does," Harry confirmed with a nod.

"You know, I've always loved weddings, and I've got the best dance moves," she teased. She said hopping off the desk.

"Really? Such as?" Harry inquired.

"Mhmmm. My go-to moves are the Milly Rock and Shakira's hips. Everyone loves those moves," Y/n replied spinning her hips in circles.

"Do you want to come to the wedding with me?" Harry asked, chuckling slightly. Y/n clasped her hands together in excitement.

"I thought you'd never ask! I'm going to find our outfits. I'm so excited; I love weddings!" she exclaimed before jumping off his desk and rushing away, the sound of her bare feet echoing in the room, leaving Harry chuckling behind.

***

Harry and Y/n found themselves in the car, approximately 20 minutes away from the wedding venue. As they cruised toward their destination, a sense of anticipation filled the air.

"Oh, Harry, we're actually early! We're going to get some fantastic seats," Y/n exclaimed, her excitement evident in her voice.

"My mum and Gemma are already there. They saved seats for us next to them," Harry replied casually.

"Gemma and Anne are there too? You didn't mention that," Y/n said, her excitement growing.

"They don't know you were coming with me. I'm pretty sure they'll love the idea of us attending together," Harry chuckled, the corners of his lips curling upward.

"Not to mention, we're matching!" Y/n pointed out, highlighting the fact that her lilac dress perfectly complemented Harry's silky lilac button-up shirt. She couldn't help but steal a glance at him, noticing that a few buttons on his shirt were undone, revealing a glimpse of his chest tattoos. He looked even more attractive than usual.

"Oh, Harry, we have to dance together," Y/n insisted.

"No," Harry replied bluntly.

"Why not?" she pressed, her disappointment evident in her tone.

"I'm not much of a dancer," Harry confessed with a sigh.

"You asshole," Y/n mumbled under her breath.

"What was that, Ms. Y/L/N?" Harry inquired, a playful smirk tugging at his lips.

"Nothing," she pouted, refusing to repeat her remark. They continued the journey in a comfortable silence until they finally reached the wedding venue.

Upon arrival, they found their seats next to Anne and Gemma. Harry settled into the aisle seat beside his mother, while Y/n moved to sit in the empty spot next to Gemma.

"Where are you going?" Harry asked, reaching out to grab Y/n's wrist. She glanced at him before turning her attention back to Gemma, who was watching their interaction closely.

"I'm sitting next to Gemma, if that's okay with you," Y/n replied, now standing in front of him. Harry shook his head.

"It's not okay because I have space for you right here," he said, nodding towards the seat next to him. Gemma couldn't help but smirk at the exchange.

"Besides, you can use my handkerchief when you start sobbing," Harry added, a teasing glint in his eyes. Y/n rolled her eyes but ultimately relented, taking the empty seat next to him.

"Harry honey, if you wanted Y/n to sit next to you, all you had to do was say that. No need to embarrass the poor girl," Anne chimed in.

"Right, he just wants her all to himself, even though he bloody lives with her," Gemma added with a playful grin. Harry didn't respond to their teasing; instead, he focused on his phone, trying to ignore the banter. As the sound of music filled the air, signaling the start of the ceremony, they all settled into their seats, ready to celebrate the joyous occasion.

The groom made his way down the aisle, accompanied by the sweet melody that filled the air. Y/n couldn't help but feel a sense of anticipation as she glanced at Harry. She reached over and gently nudged him, trying to bring his attention back to the moment.

"Harry, the ceremony is starting," she whispered, her voice filled with excitement.

He looked up from his phone, his eyes meeting hers. There was a softness in his gaze that made her heart flutter. With a small smile, he pocketed his phone and turned his focus towards the front, where the bride would soon make her grand entrance.

As the music swelled, everyone in the room rose to their feet, their gazes fixed on the glowing bride. Y/n marveled at the sight before her—the radiant bride walking down the aisle, the proud groom waiting at the altar, and the joyful atmosphere that enveloped the entire venue.

Throughout the ceremony, Harry stole glances at Y/n, smiling at her beauty. Y/n and Harry made eye contact him during the heartfelt vows, finding solace in his presence. They were witnessing a beautiful union, and in that moment, their own connection seemed to grow even stronger.

When the couple exchanged their vows and sealed them with a kiss, the room erupted into applause. Harry joined in the celebration, clapping his hands and offering his congratulations to the newlyweds. Y/n couldn't help but feel a warmth spreading within her, grateful to be a part of this special occasion.

As the ceremony concluded, the guests began to make their way to the reception area. Harry and Y/n followed the crowd, their steps light with anticipation. The reception hall was adorned with elegant decorations, casting a magical ambiance that filled the room.

They found their designated table, joining Anne and Gemma. As they were talking and mingling. The Lou the groom approached Harry.

"Harry! Lad! Im so glad you made it." Lou exclaimed, engulfing him in a hug. Harry just as excited hugging him back.

"Congratulations man! I wouldn't miss my best mates wedding for the world." Harry said back as they pulled back from the hug.

"Thanks mate, and who's this beauty you brought with you?" He said, looking over at y/n. He took her hand and shook it softly. Y/n smiled at the compliment.

"Hi, I'm Y/n. Im Harrys assistant!"

"Ohh the assistant?" Lou said, y/n nodded.

"We are hoping she becomes more than an assistant." Gemma said laughing with Anne. Harry rolled his eyes at them. Quickly dismissing them.

"Dont pay attention to them. Take me to meet the Mrs." Harry said as him and lou walked away together.

"That wasn't funny. Mr. Styles doesn't like me in that way you guys. Now im embarrassed." Y/n said as looked at them both.

"Whatever you say Y/n." Gemma responded giggling.

The rest night unfolded with laughter, heartfelt speeches, and joyful celebrations. Y/n couldn't resist tapping her fingers to the rhythm of the music, her feet itching to hit the dance floor. Harry watched her from across the room. Harry was off mingling with people he hasnt seen in years. When a guy approached Y/n.

"Hi, I couldn't help but notice how beautiful you are. I was wondering if I could get your name?" She looked up at him and gave him a slight smile.

"Im Y/n, whats your name?" She said

"Im Joshua, did you come alone?"

"No I came with my friend."

"Oh, friend? Does that mean you're single?” He said, she nodded. Harry watches their interaction intensely from across the room. Not even listening to the woman talking to him. He mumbled a quick excuse me. Heading toward Y/n. Harry interrupted the interaction.

"Lets dance." Harry said to Y/n. She looked at him skeptically. Not paying attention to the guy in front of her. Placing his hand out.

"With me? Are you sure?" She said as she placed her hand in his still skeptical of his question.

"Yes you Y/n. Do you see me anyone else?" He said taking her hand as the current song was going off and the next somg was transitioning on. She followed him to the dance floor. She quickly said Sorry to Joshua.

Then thinking out loud by ed Sheeran came on. She felt nervous. Mr. Styles is her boss and he has a girlfriend why does she love him so much? She thought to herself. She wrapped her arms around his neck. Keeping a distance like they were at middle school dance. Causing Harry to chuckle.

"Scared to get close to me?"he said with a smirk. He placed his hand on her lower back. He pulledd her body closer. So there no space between them. He leaned down and whispered to her. Y/n scared

"You look beautiful by the way if i haven't already said that. " he said lowly, his voice radiating through her body. She basically melting in his arms. She whispered a 'thank you.' as their feet moved step by step and beat by beat. Moving slowly around. Only focusing on each other. Harry did not want to be anywhere else.

While Anne and Gemma we're watching in the distance.

"And she says he doesn't like her." Gemma mumbled to her mother. As they watched both of them dance

[feroluce]

Boothill doesn't pull his hair back very often. Dan Heng can count the times he's seen him do it on one hand. The man's right eye is gone completely but his left is a cybernetic, and it means Boothill can "see" whether his hair is in his face or not, so there's simply never much need for it.

So it surprises him when Boothill asks if he can put his hair up for him Xianzhou-style.

"Do you even own a hairpin?"

"Ya got chopsticks around here, don't ya?"

Which is how they end up awkwardly sat on the floor of the archives, Boothill sitting criss-cross and Dan Heng knelt behind him to make up for the differences in their height. Boothill doesn't say why he wants this done, but Dan Heng can guess: long life species are rarely allowed to leave the Xianzhou ships. It's not as rare as running into an actual, real-life Galaxy Ranger, but it's still pretty uncommon. Boothill is just trying to indulge his curiosity about little cultural things like this while he's able. Dan Heng can never say no to that kind of curiosity.

When his own hair was long, he never put it up. But there are memories, just little bits of things that nip at Dan Heng's ankles in the night when he's alone in the dark. And he remembers something like this, something similar. Dan Feng's hands with a hairpin, long hair grayed with age flowing in rivers between his fingers, quick and easy practiced motions revealing ears and nape and soot from the forge.

Boothill hands him a chopstick when he asks for it, because Dan Heng finds he needs both hands to keep his hair in place. He's not quick enough the first time, and the bun unravels, and the second attempt is better but it's messy and held so loosely that he goes at it for a third.

Boothill doesn't comment on it. Instead he just sits there and admires the picture of it that Dan Heng shows him on his phone, chatters a bit about what he knows of Xianzhou culture, how he'd met a Foxian woman not too long before Penacony with elaborate decorations done up in her hair and he'd wondered how anyone could even do that. A hairpin maybe would have been easier, but really the chopsticks probably fit him better, pretty little things like that don't suit me, anyhow.

Dan Heng catches like. Half of it. He's too busy staring at his hands.

Dan Feng had been good at doing other people's hair for them. He'd had a lot of practice. Dan Heng had seen it. But in the molting rebirth, his body had reset. The simple knowledge could be inherited. The experience could not.

That skill, that muscle memory, belongs to Dan Feng, and to Dan Feng only.

There is no mourning, no sense of loss with this realization, just relief. An extra confirmation of something he had already known.

But Dan Heng looks up at Boothill, who is running his curious fingers over the back of his own head, and he thinks about how there are some things he can have just for himself, too.

[blood-starved-beast]

Something I haven't thought about much since the Technical Test but occurs to me now a month later is how I initially assumed Eris was working like vigilante style with the Chronos fight. It seems strange but it was based only on the dialogue between Hecate and Nemesis where she tells Nem that if she doesn't like her job she can do whatever Eris is doing. Which makes me think.

That's such an interesting line from Hecate. Cause when we meet Eris for real in the game, she is doing everything in her power to stop Melinoe. It's the complete opposite of that erroneous impression. Unless, it's not completely wrong.

Eris's whole deal, as is in the mythology, is that she wants to keep conflict ongoing as much as possible. She thrives on strife, and never picks a side but instead baits all involved to fan the flames. She's on everyone's side and at the same time, no one's. That likely carries over to Hades 2.

So what was Eris doing when she was gone from the Crossroads? It's entirely possible she was fighting Chronos forces, if only to cause more strife and prevent him from re-establishing his Golden Age. Cause then the Strife would actually end and a new order is established (which she hates). She only stops cause Melinoe becomes a larger threat to that Strife and decides that she needs to tip the scales in the opposite direction.

Alternatively, she was baiting whatever was attacking Olympus. There's a convo where she mentions that things were finally getting interesting, after all. Which coincides with Melinoe going to the surface to stop the attack there. Granted, this doesn't necessarily negate the earlier theory. The attack could've easily happened as Eris was "helping" the Unseen with Chronos's forces.

Either way, if Eris was "helping" the Unseen at that moment, it sort of makes sense why she's regarded the way she is in the Crossroads. Treated as an annoyance despite actively preventing Melinoe from achieving her goal. Cause much like her keepsake, Eris is a "tool" that can be beneficial with a high risk. If the conflict is tipped against you to the point that your opponent might win, Eris would likely aid you. But if the reverse is true, then she'd be againist. Very risky, not an ally in the true sense, but can be useful in certain circumstances, which a tactician such as Odysseus might consider.

[always-andromeda]

𝐢 𝐬𝐚𝐢𝐝 𝐢𝐭 𝐚𝐥𝐦𝐨𝐬𝐭

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 ⟡ Joel Miller x F!Reader

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 ⟡ 2,896

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 ⟡ When Joel and Ellie return to Jackson, you learn that Joel might not be telling the full truth about the pair's journey to Salt Lake City.

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 ⟡ this thing is rough. and terrible. but I've had seeds of this in my drafts for the last year and I really wanted to embrace some angst for a hot second. so enjoy my first fic post-finals season lmao. also. I'm experimenting with styles so excuse the hot mess of a title card. divider by @saradika-graphics <3

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 ⟡ no smut but regardless, minors do not interact. post-outbreak universe. angst, little bits of fluff and banter, but mostly angst. some sweet Ellie interactions. allusions to past relationship between reader and Joel. mentions of alcohol. descriptions of canon-typical blood and violence. nothing else I can think of but please let me know if anything else should be added!

THIS ACCOUNT STANDS WITH PALESTINE ⟡ HOW YOU CAN HELP PALESTINE ⟡ DAILY CLICK FOR PALESTINE

Part of you hadn't expected Joel to come back. The snow melted away and the flowers had begun to bloom once more but he was still gone. And in this world, gone is as good as dead. So that's what you assumed.

While Tommy held out hope – talking about what he had to show Joel when he got back – you didn't even dare to speak his name. You couldn't fathom what had happened to him or the miracle girl he'd ridden into Jackson with. But you hoped it was quick. Though you knew full well that men like him rarely ever earned merciful endings.

You allowed yourself to wish for it, though only for a few seconds at a time. Then it was back to reality, going on patrols, lending a hand wherever it was needed, and keeping the community alive. Anything to get your mind off the fact that he probably wasn't coming back.

You hadn't known Ellie long during their initial visit. Even still, her personality wasn't one that could be swallowed lightly. She had been inquisitive, skeptical, and sarcastic; a bundle of anger and hope so bright that you could see why Joel was so drawn to her. It made complete sense that he would see her deliverance to the Fireflies through.

Which is why you were shocked when Joel Miller and the miracle girl waltzed right back through the gates of Jackson. But they were both different; both fragmented versions of the people who had passed through the prior winter.

For one, he smiled. When Joel first locked eyes with you upon their homecoming, he fucking smiled. It was this crooked, delicate thing that seemed to waver once it reached his eyes. And that's when you knew that something was wrong. He didn't even have to say it. The unspoken truth was solidified with Ellie's silence.

There would be no cure.

You'd shared a weary look with Tommy then. And he'd pursed his lips at you before returning Joel's smile; a quiet acknowledgement that you were both aware of the uncanniness in both Ellie and Joel's behavior. Then he led the two off, probably to get them something to eat and then to confer with Maria on where they could stay.

The two of them adjusted well to the community. You’d heard from others about how large of a help Joel had been on patrols. His experience in taking down infected was invaluable. Ellie, on the other hand, had thrown herself into helping with the animals. At first she struggled to adapt to the early morning schedule of the other handlers, but otherwise she took to the tasks quickly. She seemed the most at peace around them and you understood it.

Jackson was the closest thing to friendly that you’d encountered in years. But it still got a little suffocating at times.

Outside of the animals, Ellie was quiet; mostly keeping to herself with her nose buried in a notebook.

This was another one of those instances. You took a step back from your current task: repairing part of a fence that had been kicked in by one of the horses. As you wiped the sweat from your forehead, you couldn’t help but notice the girl sitting crossed legged atop a bale of hay a few feet from where you stood. 

Making your way towards her, you saw she was drawing again. And as you peeked over her shoulder, you spotted a sketch of the horses as the riders were taking them back into their barn. In the half hour since they’d ridden past she’d managed to capture their swift movements in each rough figure. On the next page over you identified a portrait that was immediately familiar to you.

"Is that Joel?" you'd asked, gesturing to the open book in her lap.

She seemed startled from a daze upon hearing your voice. "Hm?"

"That drawing. It's Joel, right?"

"Oh, yeah," she answered. "I guess I'm getting better, huh? Since you can actually tell who it's supposed to be,” she huffed.

"With those eyebrows and that nose? Who else could it possibly be?"

Sure, he and Tommy shared some similarities. But Tommy’s wrinkles weren’t quite that deep. And though Joel had grown his hair out a bit more since coming to Jackson, it hadn’t quite reached his shoulders the way that Tommy’s did.

Right away, you were sure it was Joel. You could already envision the wrinkle between his thick brows that seemed to perpetually haunt his face. His lips were a thin line – almost pursed – and topped with a slightly overgrown mustache. Yet it wasn’t an angry expression. More…vulnerable, perhaps. As if Ellie had asked him to stand still for a minute before scribbling a rough outline of his features for reference.

"Well..." she trailed off. "The first few times I tried...he just looked like a constipated potato."

You snorted, which immediately made the girl start to smile, "It's true!"

Relieved to see her in such a good mood, you pushed a little further, "One day I'd like to see these angry potato drawings. Because I bet they're just as true to life as this one." You pointed towards her drawing.

Thankfully, she laughed. A few seconds passed and her voice went small, "Do you really think it looks good?" She stared up at you with those dark brown eyes, searching for your approval.

You nodded. "I wasn’t an art critic before the outbreak. But I am an expert on that man’s face. And I think it's pretty damn good. I’m sure you’ll only get better the more you practice.”

She murmurs her gratitude before falling back into a trance. Hair blowing gently in the wind around her face, you can’t help but notice the way that light gradually fades from her eyes.

“You alright?”

“Has he been acting…weird…to you?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean that you’ve known him longer than I have,” she sounds hesitant to admit. “You used to know him, I mean.”

You didn’t want to tell her the truth and further her worries. But something tells you that if you attempted to lie, she’d see right through it anyways. She’d find some way to get to the truth.

“He’s definitely been a little quiet lately. Just don’t know what for. Then again, he’s never been the type to share his feelings with anyone.”

“Not even with you?”

You snort, “Especially not me.” Remembering years of passive aggressive arguments and wordless apologies, it was unlikely that that part of him had changed much since those days. 

“Could you at least try to figure out what’s up with him?” for a moment, you detect a palpable anxiety in her tone. But she brushes it away swiftly before adding, “At least so we can rule out the possibility of dementia. Or whatever the fuck else it is that old people get.”

You roll your eyes at the attempt of a joke. “You’ve got it. I’ll see what I can find out.”

Turns out that saying you’d talk to Joel was a lot easier than actually doing it.

But then again, it had once been like this. All those years ago when it was just you, him, Tess, his brother, and the rest of the group that was moving through to Boston. Back then you’d always been at least a little afraid of him. Not only was he physically imposing and regularly proved the violence that laid just below the surface of his fingertips, but there was also the way he’d look at you like with that fucking face.

Like he was playing out how he’d get rid of you the moment you fucked up. Like he knew just how soft you were inside; how it was a wonder you’d even lived long enough to be standing in front of him looking as dumbfounded as you did. It was an expression that made your skin burn and your hands shake, only you were too stubborn to outwardly show it bothered you.

Slowly but surely, he’d mellowed out then. Surely, it would happen again.

If he was going to make any actual friends in town, it’d have to happen. He was already popular in his own right. The people of Jackson always got curious when someone new settled. It certainly didn’t help that this new someone happened to be Tommy’s brother.

They seemed to believe that Joel would be just like his bright eyed, bushy tailed little brother. And boy, did you get a kick out of seeing them realize how wrong they were.

Joel was polite, of course. But he wasn’t quick to cozy up with every person who came to his doorstep offering a housewarming present. No matter how many times you or Tommy assured Joel that it was all just friendly, he was reluctant to accept it.

You understood it. You’d had nearly as difficult a time acclimating to Jackson’s genial climate. Places like these just…couldn’t exist. It all felt like a mirage that would melt away in time. However, you came to discover that despite the close quarters and the occasionally nosy neighbors, you liked the place. To explain it simply, you liked belonging to something. The world would never be the way it was before, for better and for worse. But right here…people weren’t just surviving. They would live. 

And ever since he returned, you intended to show Joel just what that felt like.

The sun’s setting and the citizens of Jackson are already settling in for the evening, save for a handful of teenagers lingering in the streets. You pass by them, making your way towards the house at the end of the road. It’s a path you’ve become familiar with in the weeks since you started visiting Joel on an almost daily basis.

They aren’t always frivolous visits. Sometimes you help move furniture around. Sometimes you bring food when he’s been working all day. And sometimes on nights like tonight, if you manage to trade for a particularly good bottle of whiskey, you bring it straight to him to share.

It’s a good routine. One that makes you believe that you and him can bury the hatchet and start anew. If anything, it proves that though much time has passed since you and him had first met, you still know damn good and well how to push his buttons.

You knock on his door and are met with an obviously exhausted Joel. It’s hard to stop yourself from giving him a quick once over. When you do, you notice his hair has gotten the tiniest bit shaggier. Tufts of curls spill over his forehead and under his ears. He’d always cut it before it ever got the chance to grow like that.

The sight makes you smile. Joel Miller will never admit it, but living in Jackson is really starting to look good on him.

He rolls his eyes, “You again?”

“Oh, hush, you’re thrilled to see me,” you say before inviting yourself inside and heading straight towards his kitchen to deposit your alcoholic spoils.

“Thrilled is one hell of a descriptor.”

“Says the man who I’m sharing my liquor with.” You hold the bottle up before setting it down on his kitchen counter. “Besides, I’m just trying to get you a little out of your shell.”

Joel mumbles, “I’m doin’ alright on my own.”

“By fine you mean you’re fine trailing behind Tommy for the rest of your life? Because that’s the direction you’re headed in.”

He lets out an exasperated chuckle, “You know I made friends just fine before you came along, right?”

“Then you should have no problems with surprise visits from an old friend.” You intended to sound smug saying it. Instead it came off more longing than anything else.

Perhaps because you aren’t entirely sure what you and Joel even are anymore. A long time ago there was something more. But now? You look in his eyes and see apprehension brewing in them. He could go back and forth with you all day. Sincerity, on the other hand, was an entirely different matter.

Joel clears his throat before changing the subject. “You seen Ellie today? Tommy and I were up early for patrol this mornin’ so I didn’t get to check in with ‘er.”

“Oh, yeah, she was at the farm earlier. She’s been a real big help.”

“She doin’ alright?”

“Uh, she seems…nervous…to say the least.”

His brow furrows as his eyes meet yours. “Nervous? About what?”

You laugh awkwardly. “Are you even aware of all that she’s been through?”

“Is that supposed to be a joke?” The challenge in his voice is apparent.

“I just mean–” you stumble over your words before stopping to take a breath. You close your eyes and see Ellie’s face all over again; her features the embodiment of white noise. You’re swiftly moving into dangerous territory. But it still needs to be traversed. And there’s no going back after this.

“She’s been through a lot, Joel. One minute she’s being pushed around at some FEDRA boarding school. The next thing she knows she’s traveling across the country with the world on her shoulders. Now she’s here.” And there’s no cure, your mind whispers.

“Your point is…?”

You snap, “My point is that that’s a lot to fucking deal with, Joel.”

“She’s resilient,” he replies with an equal amount of grit.

“She’s a kid.”

He’s quiet. He can’t refute that. 

“And she saved your life,” you add.

He scoffs, “More times than I can count.”

“Don’t you think that entitles her to a little better than what you’re giving? A little more support? She’s living in that garage all alone and she’s–” His expression remains steely. Almost out of desperation, you bridge the gap between your hand and his.

“Please, tell me what happened. Why are you—”

“Don’t,” his tone is jagged and low; the growl a wounded dog gives when you step towards it. That’s when it hits you. Something about this terrifies him. And the shreds of trust leftover between you and him are the only thing keeping him from showing his teeth.

It’s been a long time since you’ve seen him look that afraid. The closest memory you can grasp is one from nearly a decade before when you and Joel had strayed from the group to scavenge a nearby grocery store. You’d never been very good at checking your surroundings. You hardly saw the haggard man coming at you. But you saw the flash of his knife. Felt the blade slash the side of your arm as you struggled with him. Felt a store shelf jab you in the back.

It had taken seconds after hearing the sound of your scream pierce the air for Joel to fly over and bring the man to the ground. A guttural yell in his throat, his fist fell continually. Over and over and over until the man was audibly choking on his own blood. You heard a small, strangled please. Then there’s one final, wet thunk; the sound of his own blade being buried into his flesh.

You remember Joel’s shoulders sagging when you got back to camp with the others. His knuckles were bright red. You gently wrapped them with cloth as he squeezed your knee with his uninjured hand.

You were exhausted that night but sleep wouldn’t find you. Joel would though. Through the quiet you’d realize that Joel was the only person you trusted to do so.

He barely uttered a word for a day or so afterwards. Part of you had expected to hear him chastise you for paying such little attention; to tell you that you were lucky he’d saved your ass again. Strangely, those words never came.

The next night he stared intently at the gauze covering the cut on your arm. In the cold, dark, dead of night while everyone else slept, he was fixated on you. Something about that look of his scared you more than his judgment ever did. 

The only words he ever spoke of the incident would come out of his mouth as the fire crackled and reflected in his dark eyes, “Don’t scare me like that ever again.” That was the moment you saw how much fear this world had instilled in him. Even more, you finally understood that his love language was violence.

That’s how you start to understand why he practically snarls at you now. But it doesn’t mean you agree with it.

“You have to tell me at some point or another,” you say slowly and carefully, trying to make it clear that you mean no harm to him. “At the very least, you have to tell her. She’ll never forgive you if you don’t.”

Joel sighs. You can tell that he knows this; knows it better than anyone else in the world. He’d probably run the notion over in his mind dozens of times at that point. “I will. Just…just not now. Just—”

Though his eyes will no longer meet yours, you hope that he’s telling the truth. 

“Alright,” you reply softly.

Eyebrow raised and lips pursed, he looks skeptical. “Alright?”

“Yeah. You–” There’s so much more you wish you could say. But you doubt he’d really hear any of it. After all, he’s just as wounded and stubborn as you.  “I believe you.”

“Okay.”

[sunshineandspencer]

Coffee dates (Iridescent, Part 3)

A/N: I don’t know how to enemies to lovers, why can’t we all just be friends. Again, I haven’t seen past season 10, I don’t know how it works or who is present so if there are mistakes you can blame showrunners for making me too nervous to keep watching <3

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!BAU!OC.

Summary: Their last coffee date before finally getting back to the office, he’s bored and wants to find out what she’s been working on. 

Word Count: 1k

Warnings: swearing, spencer is an ass™

Parts: Pt1, Pt2, Pt4

Let me stress, this is not Maeve from the show, but my own Maeve just named the same to send Spencer into hell whenever he thinks about it.

They’re getting close to the end of his probationary period now, and the thought of getting back to the office, and back to catching psychos was intoxicating.

Sure, she enjoyed his lectures, but not nearly enough to deal with him for longer than she had to.

There’s only one of his lectures left, and yet she still finds herself completing the last assignment he gave just like all the rest. It’s due today and mostly completed, but she just wanted to tweak a few things and add some more references. Working quietly next to him in the campus cafe as always.

He’s realised before, but now that his time was coming to a close, he was properly aware of the fact that she was always working. On all their little coffee dates - he refuses to call them that, and she only does it to piss him off - between their lectures, she’s always writing.

So far that’s been perfect, because he didn’t want to talk to her unless absolutely necessary, neither did she. The two of them avoid conversation like the plague and have silent coffee dates in his breaks.

However, he has no marking left, and finished his book, he is bored and wants to annoy her.

A quick text told him that it’s paid leave for her, which he didn’t know until now but makes the fact that she actually put up with him make sense, and means that she isn’t going over casework. He’s dying to know what it is.

When he sends her off for another round of coffee, he barely even waits for her to turn the corner towards the till to reach out and snatches the page she had been writing on.

Surprise turns him cold to find that it’s his work, set in the lectures that he expected his students to complete. Not only that, but he recognises the writing style, and she had been giving in work as someone called ‘Maisie’, lying about who she is.

Of all the people attending his lecture, he certainly didn’t expect her to do the work, much less under a different name.

Especially when the writing is so.. Good.

Maeve finally came back, sitting down and sliding his coffee across to him, not even batting an eye that he had her work in his hands. Sipping her coffee and feeling the immediate bitter tang of caffeine. Setting her own mug down and shrugging at his questioning tone.

“You’re completing the work I set?”

“Yeah.”

Part of him wondered if she would try to lie, wanting to determine what he could get from profiling her if she did. Expectedly, however, expected her to tell the truth, it’s definitely on brand for her. Suck up.

“Why?”

“I’m not allowed casework when I’m with you, in case you try to involve yourself.” Glaring at him, considering they had proved Emily right by inserting himself uninvited into her work the minute he got bored and she turned her back. Cons of working with profilers, he supposes. “I needed something to do or I would’ve gone crazy. Besides, I felt like you’d want someone completing the work because they enjoy the lecture, not because they think you’re pretty.”

He stared at her for a moment, really using all 187 points of his IQ to take in what she said, then shook his head. Placing the sheet back on the pile and picking up his coffee.

“My students don’t find me attractive.”

Honestly, he’s a little offended by the way she scoffed at him.

“The room is 80% women, they don’t even pay attention half the time, they just stare at you and your hands.” His hands? Now it just feels like she’s projecting, but she doesn’t stop talking yet. “One of them didn’t even complete your last assignment. She just handed in an A4 piece of paper with her number on, it was titled ‘Call Me’.”

He remembers, and he didn’t even look at it long enough to remember the number. The past minute of conversation feels like it shouldn’t be real. Blinking softly in confusion and trying to subtly glancing down from her to his hands and then back again.

Deciding to just hum softly, as if it wasn’t actually something new to him. Picking up his coffee to finally take a sip, irritatingly perfect - God he wished she didn’t try so hard.

“And you?”

“Me?”

“You’re a woman.”

Lifting her head, the look on her face was a picture. Feeling that, had he spoken in Dutch, he probably would’ve gotten the exact same facial expression.

“Am.. I supposed to congratulate you for correctly identifying that I’m a woman?”

He scowled over at her, and that’s a lot better. Their little coffee dates over the last 30 days had been spent mostly silent aside from snide comments and scowls, she wasn’t used to all this conversation from him. So getting him back to scowling again felt like progress.

Until he leant in, a smug grin settling on her face again that she was quickly coming to hate.

“No. But~ surely, if you’ve noticed them finding me attractive, doesn’t that mean you think I’m pretty as well? Hm, little assistant?”

Thankfully, she doesn’t even miss a beat.

“I’d rather make out with a pencil sharpener than you, Doctor Reid.”

Spencer couldn’t help the scowl on his face, even though he was still very smug on the inside. She so gets off on calling him that.

But she got up, and that startled him slightly, watching as she started to pack away her work into her bag. Eyes darting to his, meeting his scowl with a smug grin of her own for managing to get back at him again. Hoping, desperately, that he doesn’t notice that she didn’t actually answer his question.

“Your last lecture is starting soon, hurry up.”

Of course she thinks he’s pretty, but that doesn’t mean she likes him. And she certainly isn’t going to admit it to his face.

Want more?! Good!

[mikasa-imadebiscults]

Protecting You Forever

(A/N- We need more comfort fanfiction about RL so I’m here to provide. Also I’m proofreading this late at night so misspelling is probably there)

RL! Bela Dimitrescu x FEM! Reader

(Warning: Mild NSFW mentions about you and Bela, partying, alcohol, swearing, sexual harassment but nothing major, BELA COMFORT)

Now playing: “Everything I Wanted” by Billie Eilish

You and Bela have been dating for a few months now but it feels like it’s been forever. Bela was perfect for you, always treating you well, taking care of you, you name it. Before dating you Bela just worked on paperwork, she had no time to have fun. It’s not like she cared though, when it comes to the school counsel what has to be done, has to be done no matter what. Then you came along and became her world.

She had promised herself that she’ll take some time off for you. To make sure that you feel loved and treasured like a priceless gem. Usually she’ll take you on dates or spend time in her dorm and it leads to other delightful things. Though today you were invited to a party by one of your good friends Angie and wanted to bring Bela along.

Bela is not the party type and she rather spend one-on-one time with you but if this party is another way to make you smile then she’ll go.

....

You’ve been at the party for about an hour now, chatting with friends and acquaintances, doing chaotic shit with Angie while Bela almost has a heart attack for y’all’s recklessness. And of course a Angie-style party is never complete without alcohol. With a bunch of drunks in a large room together stuff is bound to go down.

Everything was all good until this girl came up to you when Bela wasn’t around. At first she started some small talk asking your name and how your day’s been. It was clear that she was drunk from her movements to her speech. She was close to you, a bit too close for comfort. During your conversations she would pat your back and hit your thigh multiple times. The first few times you brushed it off and ignored it but as time went by you began to feel uncomfortable.

You could tell that the touches wasn’t just a casual friendly gesture, it had an ulterior motive to them. You can just sense it. You wondered where Bela was at, she couldn’t have gone far right?

All the sudden you hear loud footsteps coming from behind, in no time you see someone appear in front of you. It was the goddess herself, your girlfriend Bela with fury burning in her eyes.

“What the hell is wrong with you. Can’t you see that she’s uncomfortable?” Bela says to the drunken woman with such hostility.

The intoxicated woman stood straight up and clenched her fists, trying to intimidate Bela. Which failed and only made her even more pissed. You quickly grabbed Bela wrist, turning her attention to you and softened her gaze a bit when she saw the discomfort in your eyes.

“Let’s get out of here, I want to leave.” You say, hoping that Bela will listen and not catch a charge for beating a bitch to a pulp.

She thinks for a moment before exhaling, turning to face the woman behind her. “If you ever fucking think about touching her again I will make sure you’ll regret it.” Bela states with pure disgust evident in her eyes. She can’t wrap her head around why someone would commit such an act like this. It’s disgustingly inhumane.

The woman huffed in annoyance before walking off, leaving the both of you. Bela turns and holds out her hand for you to hold, in which you do so and she swiftly leads you through the crowd all the way to the exit. As soon as you got outside, a breath of relief came out of your mouth.

Thankfully there wasn’t anybody close by, finally some peaceful and quiet.

“Are you okay? I’m sorry I didn’t get there sooner.” Bela says, she wants to pull you into a tight hug but she doesn’t want to make you even more uncomfortable considering what you had just experienced.

As Bela patiently waited for a response, she saw you come closer to her and wrap your arms around her waist. “Yeah just a bit uncomfortable. I can still feel her touch linger on me, but I’m fine now that you’re here with me.” You say as you nuzzle your face into the crook of her neck.

After you spoke those words she reciprocated the hug and rubbed your back up and down in a comforting way. The two of you stayed there for a moment, enjoying each other’s warm and comforting aura, while the cool midnight breeze hits your skin.

Bela pulls away to look you in the eyes before speaking, “It’ll be practically impossible to protect you from all of the cruelty in this world, but listen to me, no matter what you experience I’ll always be here to save you from it.”

You gave her a small smile before saying a quiet thank you just above a whisper. A light blush appears across Bela’s cheeks and pulls you back into her comforting embrace, kissing your temple.

“It’s no problem, I’ll protect you forever my love.”

Masterlist

[thequeensjester]

Thoughts on Galadriel's Hair

I'm back with more conjecture disguised as meta and this time, I'm exploring Galadriel's hair design. Hair is an integral part of Galadriel's character and story in the lore. When the early s2 promo shots of Galadriel wearing her crown braid came out, fans were excited because of its direct reference to Tolkien.

For me, I'm more interested in what her hair design expresses in the current story beyond 'it's just hair' or 'it looks pretty.' I was surprised to see how short-lived the crown braid was until I realized that it tells us so much about where Galadriel is in her story.

Galadriel's bound hair shows a controlled but darker self. Galadriel's loose hair shows her freer, if not wilder, self. I think this could even go back to s1 so let's have a look.

(I know there are practical reasons to have tied hair. I've heard that some action productions will put actresses with loose hair because it's easier to swap between stunt doubles but I'm also having fun here.)

When we're first introduced to Galadriel in the present day, she's wearing her hair loose. She's deep in her pursuit and is already at odds with her squad.

Again, in Numenor, she roams with confidence and arrogance, clashing with anyone that challenges her. "There is a tempest in me." As much as people snark about this line, this line perfectly reflects how fast and unrelenting she approaches her self-appointed task.

This is the wildness we see. As much as she's weighed down by her trauma, this is Galadriel's truer state at this point in the story.

Note when I say true self, I mean Galadriel being the best version of herself; freer, in the light and upholding the values of her kind.

The braid in the battle for the Southlands is an interesting choice because she boards the Numenorean schooner with loose hair. When this happens, it's framed as a glorious moment for Galadriel, in what appears to be her most powerful moment but it's just an illusion.

Because Sauron was here the whole time. She holds her hand out to Halbrand, thinking that it's an alliance between the two when it was an elaborate ruse. In her time with him, Galadriel showed all her cards to Sauron and he used it to lay breadcrumbs.

So why the braid?

I think the braid here represents Galadriel trying to stay in control of herself. She admitted to Sauron how her pursuit has worried her friends and what it's doing to her. Her confrontation with Adar nearly pushes her over the edge of losing control.

Then with the Mt. Doom eruption, Galadriel is confronted with darkness in an unexpected way. The way that even a young child, Theo, who is should be free and happy but instead, is affected by the darkness. Galadriel trying to guide Theo with hope is also a call to return to her true self.

Speaking of her true self, we have this from the raft sequence which was all about temptation. Galadriel could let go everything but she resists. Her neat, loose hair is from a begone time that she longs for but the truth is that it's gone so she has to fight back.

Her bedraggled hair on the raft, in a storm no less, again is that wildness which Sauron completely underestimates. He can't turn her no matter how dark things get because Galadriel isn't someone to be controlled. She will find her way back.

This brings us to s2 where Galadriel's hair design is mostly partially bound. On the left, it's a simple but formal pulled-back style. Galadriel is now back with the elves and in Lindon, no less. Galadriel cannot act however she wishes but she also has the backing of Gil-Galad so she's not completely restrained.

On the right, we have some braiding again. This entire episode, we see Galadriel troubled—by her visions, her conflict with Elrond and even with how much Sauron affected her. So while she has Gil-Galad's support, she's constrained and struggling with her sense of self.

This finally brings us to the mission with Elrond, where the two are at odds. Galadriel's ego is hurt that Gil-Galad doesn't trust her to lead. She's hurt from Elrond's mistrust. Elrond sees Galadriel as completely compromised, even though her visions from Nenya later proved to be correct.

To me, Galadriel's crown braid symbolizes how cut off and restrained from the others' mistrust. She cannot be herself because she's not allowed to and so she plays the part as expected.

Only when she's proven right that Galadriel sheds the crown. Her hair is still loosely braided, for what I think is practicality with the night orc sequence stunts but notice how the front is loose and only the back is tied back.

This tells us that Galadriel is ready to break from Elrond's command because she's unfortunately vindicated with the dangers of the south path. Here, Galadriel places trust back in herself.

Now it doesn't mean that she's entirely correct because Galadriel still makes mistakes.

"I stand alone," she said before her stand against the orcs.

In this sequence, Galadriel could have fought with the group to make a clear escape together. However, Galadriel seizes the chance to do things her way, alone. She fights like an amazon with an explosive rage that we haven't seen in a while but it falls apart.

I do think she intended to keep the ring safe just in case by giving it to Elrond because I also don't think she intended to get captured by Adar, which is the consequence of running without thinking clearly.

Given the trailer, this is likely going to be Galadriel's hair style for the rest of the season. I'm interested in how her character evolves while wearing this style.

As a closing note, hair and costume in pop culture generally gets treated as -aesthetic- but there is a reason it's considered design and not just a wardrobe. It's another way of visual storytelling for the character. In media set in the modern day, there is still styling choices in hair and costume to show you who the characters are; eg A Most Violent Year, Barbie, Ready or Not.

[verfound]

FIC: "I Have Your...Cake" (MLB; Lukanette; LBSC Lukanette Month 2024)

@lovebugs-and-snakecharmers is doing a Lukanette Month for September 2024, and we all just kinda tossed some prompts in the disco to compile a list?  We ended up with 71 prompts, so I decided I’d roll some dice to pick a prompt, do a twenty minute (ish, bc we all know sometimes they run away from me) sprint, and try to get some short fics out this month?

(Rated M for Bachelorette Party-style shenanigans)

Read on Ao3

05 September 2024

Prompt 27: Opposite

The man who answered the door was the exact opposite of what Marinette had been expecting, going from the pictures.

For one thing, he wasn’t blond.  For another, he wasn’t…he was…that is to say…

He had a face, for one.  The pictures she had been sent for ‘reference’ were not of her client’s face.

(…but she wasn’t sure you could actually dye…where the pictures were, so again: she had thought the client was blond.)

And from the few phone calls they’d had – because most of the correspondence had been through Rose, because she didn’t normally do this sort of thing but Rose was a dear friend and she was doing her a favor – she hadn’t expected him to be so…well.  Cute.

…which was an entirely unfair thought to have, because this man was getting married the next day – she was holding the baked proof that he was very much getting married the next day – and was definitely not someone that Marinette should be considering ‘cute’.

(…panty-dropping, Alya would probably say, because good Lord those eyes and shoulders and…down, girl.)

“Yes?” he asked, and if her brain had still been functioning she might think it weird that his voice sounded deeper, too.  Less accented.  Less manic.

The voice from the phone had bee grating at best.  This voice…oh, she could spend hours listening to that voice.  She wondered what her name would sound like wrapped in it.  How other things would sound wrapped in it.

…she was perhaps just a little gone, which, going back to the fact that he was completely and utterly unavailable, was a big problem.

“Mademoiselle?” he asked, and she shook her head as she (mostly) came back to her senses.  She was making an absolute fool of herself – she had to get it together!  She straightened her back and thrust (…goddammit phrasing!) the bakery box out at him.

“I-I-I have your penis!” she actually yelped, and dear God just kill her now.  There was a beat that passed between them as her words seemed to sink in, and then his eyebrows were lifting into his hairline and an adorable little flush was coloring his cheeks and Down, Girl!  “I-I mean  your cake!  Your penis cake!  The cake of your penis!  For your party?”

He blinked again as realization seemed to sink in, and the flush on his cheeks grew darker as a strangled little chuckle left him.  She groaned and hung her head.

“…kill me now,” she moaned.  She glanced up at him, her head still bent over the box, and bit down on her lip.  If she hadn’t been in the middle of dying from mortification, she might have noticed the way his eyes seemed to focus on that.  “I am so sorry.  That was so unprofessional, M. King.  It’s just…I didn’t expect you to be so hot.”

His eyes widened again, and she almost dropped the cake.  She jerked up, her back ramrod straight, and squeaked.

“I-I mean cute!  Attractive!  I mean you’re not – you’re taken!  Engaged!  Affianced!” and God, now she was rambling.  Why wasn’t he stopping her?  Why was he grinning like that?  She groaned again and pushed the cake out a little more.  “…please take this and put me out of my misery.”

“…I think I like your misery,” he chuckled, his voice sounding more than a little strangled, but he still took the cake.  He winced as he glanced at the box, distinctly not opening it, and put it on a table behind the door.  He turned back to her with an easy smile and folded his arms over his chest as he leaned against the frame.  “And for the record.  If it makes any difference.  I’m not M. King.”

He glanced back at the box as she sucked in a breath, his eyebrows furrowing.  His expression turned wry as he looked back at her.

“…that’s not seriously a cake of his junk, is it?” he asked.  She nodded, and he grimaced.  “I was really hoping he was joking about that.  Bri’s gonna hate…shit.  Fuck.  Fuck, fuck, fuck!”

“…sorry?” she squeaked, her eyes widening again.  He turned back into the flat, his expression suddenly furious, but she was more than a little distracted by the way his ass looked in those jeans.

“Dingo, you jackass – you didn’t actually order strippers for your party, did you?!” he shouted, and her eyes grew even wider.  Ordered what now???  When no answer came, the man’s jaw clenched.  “I am not going to jail for you, asshole!”

“…um…” she coughed, and he jumped as he turned back to her – like he had completely forgotten she was there.

“…shit.  Sorry,” he said, shaking his head.  “It’s just…Dingo – the groom – is a fucking moron.  I didn’t think he’d actually ordered the stupid cake – his fiancée, Bri, told him multiple times she didn’t want it, but he kept joking about…”

There must have been some kind of expression on her face – there had to be, from the heat she could feel filling her cheeks and the way her eyes were stinging – that made him wince and look away.  His hand came up to rub at the back of his neck, and his own blush had spread to the tips of his ears.

…he had no right to be that hot and that adorable.

“…sorry,” he said again, wincing.  “That’s…that’s not actually your problem.  Sorry.  They…um.  Fuck.  They paid you, right?  For the cake?”

“Y-yeah,” she said, nodding.  She cleared her throat and nodded again, a bit stronger.  “Yes.  I was just dropping it off on my way home.  I…sorry.  So you’re not Dingo, then?”

“God, no,” he laughed, shaking his head.  He held out his hand, his smile softening.  “Luka.  Luka Couffaine.”

“Oh!  Juleka’s brother, right?” she asked, snapping her fingers.  He lifted his eyebrows.  “The musician?”

“You know Jules?” he asked.  His hand was still held out awkwardly between them.  She nodded.

“And Rose,” she said.  “We’ve been friends since collège.  I’m Marinette.”

“Oh, right!  The designer!” the man – Luka – said, nodding.  “They talk about you all the time.  It’s nice to finally have a face to put with the name.  Your parents are bakers, right?  Is that how you ended up making…”

He glanced back at the box, and she giggled nervously.

“Rose and Juleka are really good friends, and I never turn down a good friend,” she said, shrugging.  “…even if it makes me really uncomfortable.  I’m chronically helpful.”

“Your stuff’s incredible,” Luka said.  He rolled his eyes and smiled.  “Never thought I’d say this, but I’m almost looking forward to eating Ding’s junk now.”

She choked on a laugh, clapping her hands over her mouth, and his smile grew.  When she had better gathered herself, she looked up at him with an almost giddy smile.

“…hey, are you doing anything tomorrow?” he asked.  Her eyebrows lifted, and he grinned.  “I’d love to…well.  I’d love to buy you a coffee, but I’m kinda supposed to be in this wedding.  I may have promised the groom I’d be his best man.”

She giggled at the way he rolled his eyes, and his smile grew.  He dipped his head towards her.

“Care to be my plus one?” he asked, grinning.  “I’m told the cake’s going to be amazing.”

She choked on another laugh.  She knew it would be – her parents were making it.

“Isn’t it bad form to invite someone to a wedding for a first date?” she asked.  “Besides.  I’m already going to be there – I have to help the bakers set up the cake.”

“Perfect!” he said.  Something moved in her periphery, and she noticed he was wiggling his fingers at her.  He was still holding his hand up between them.  “You have to be there.  I have to be there –best man, remember?  Why not be there together?  I’d say I’d buy you a drink, but it’s going to be an open bar.  Maybe I can buy you some cake instead.”

“…the cake’s free, too,” she laughed.  His grin grew.

“Perfect,” he said.  “You can buy me cake.”

He wiggled his fingers again, and she rolled her eyes as she raised a hand to clasp his.  She was momentarily dazed by how…warm his hand felt around hers.  Like it was made to hold hers.

“It’s a date,” he said, squeezing her hand.  Her smile warmed, and she nodded.  Suddenly she didn’t really care if it was bad form, asking someone to a wedding for a first date.

“I can’t wait.”

[pricefi3ldz]

pricefield—a jealous max caulfield oneshot

summary; chloe doesn’t expect her teasing jokes to actually make max jealous. but they do.

a/n: this was a random idea i had that i wanted to quickly get out. my bad for any errors, hope you like it!

——

“i think i’ve hooked up with every friend i’ve ever had.” chloe chuckled, gazing against max’s back who was busy robbing chloe of her clothes.

max turned around, raising her eyebrows at chloe’s words. “uh, you cereal?” the joke wasn’t hitting if it was supposed to be one.

“yeah,” chloe sat up on her bed, “now that i think about it, i guess i’m not exactly good at staying friends with people.”

max rolled her eyes, “you never tried anything with me.”

“course i did? look at us! we’re dating dumbass.” she smacked max’s side, making the girl shudder at the contact.

“you didn’t make any moves on me first.”

chloe couldn’t argue with that, since it took max to kiss her first for any progression between them to take place.

“mm thats because you couldn’t wait to kiss me!” chloe teased, biting her lip in amusement as max scoffed in denial.

“not true.”

——

if it weren’t for chloe’s comment yesterday, maybe max would’ve been more chill.

but now, as she waited out behind frank’s rv waiting for chloe, her stomach turned at the sight ahead.

there chloe stood, talking to a girl resembling someone she’d assume was the girl’s type. long blonde hair with purple highlights, tatted arms, and a sick septum piercing. somebody completely opposite of max’s style, but not so far off of a certain old flame who chloe had lost.

shit, she felt guilty for even dating chloe sometimes. the two probably seemed worlds apart, even if they were bonded with their shared memories.

lost in thought, max didn’t even notice as chloe walked back to her side, swinging her arm around her.

“yo super max, what’s with that face” chloe chuckled, leaning in to kiss the girl’s lips which snapped her out of the daze she was in.

“oh you came back” max sighed, giving her a small, yet uncomfortable smile.

“uh yeah,” chloe could sense the weird vibe around max. “did something happen while i was gone?”

max shook her head and sat in the car without another word.

for the remainder of the car ride, chloe tried to get max to cheer up, but max was busy in her head, ruminating over her thoughts. chloe hooked up with every single one of her friends huh? max couldn’t wrap her head around what she could’ve done with this new girl.

for the rest of the day, max felt pretty snappy, but insisted to chloe she was just on her period. not in the mood to talk.

chloe knew max too well for that though.

“so max, you gonna keep icing me out?” she sighed, standing over her while max looked down at her phone.

“i’m not” max mumbled, not making a very convincing argument.

“don’t give me that” chloe took max’s phone and set it down. she pulled max’s head up and pouted. “you’re scaring me.”

max shook her head out of chloe’s hand and looked up at her, leaning back against the bed. “fine fine i’ll stop.”

chloe smiled and sat beside her happily, propping her arm around max who flinched slightly.

“whats this? you don’t even want my touch now huh?” she was half sarcastic in her tone, but also genuinely looking for a response.

“chloe,” max started, looking down at her own hands while she fidgeted, “was that a friend of yours while we were at frank’s?”

chloe raised an eyebrow and nodded, “yeah, her name’s leila and she shows up sometimes. why?”

max stayed silent again, trying to collect her thoughts before she said something that’d make her sound like a possessive psychopath.

chloe’s eyes widened at the realization. “oh shit, you jealous or something?” she smirked, watching as max’s features visibly tensed at her words.

chloe laughed, she knew max was more jealous of a partner than she was, but the pettiness was unexpected—and adorable.

“well if you won’t say anything, i guess i’ll head down to leila’s.” max’s head turned to look at chloe now. “i’m sure she has plenty of words for me.”

max’s eyebrows furrowed, “very funny chloe” except, chloe genuinely found this entertaining.

“oh i know. leila reminds me of that everytime we speak” she taunts, giving max a wink. the teasing would kill max if she heard anymore, so she snapped and pulled the back of chloe’s head in, meeting her lips for a kiss.

chloe made a surprised sound at the sudden contact, feeling the blush that crept up on her cheeks. she was all talk until max’s lips were against hers and she felt her heart melt.

chloe moved her arms around max’s waist, hoisting the girl onto her lap to take some control of the kiss. she dragged her fingers over max’s skin peeking from her shirt, which max clearly seemed to be enjoying.

max was pretty easy to please. give her completely undivided attention, and the girl was content. but only if it happened to be chloe’s attention.

chloe pulled away after a few minutes, gazing at the flush on max’s face before chuckling. “so that was it? you’re a jealous little freak huh?”

max shook her head, noticeably flustered. “i’m not.. but yesterday, you know what you said.”

chloe’s face twisted in confusion as she traced everything from yesterday she might’ve said. eventually, she recalled what she said about her friends and let out a small ‘ooh’.

“oh max, you know i meant that about my past, right?” she spoke sincerely, “after you.. why would i need anybody else?”

max smiled slightly in delight, “well, what i said about you never making the first move on me still stands.” her voice came out thick with embarrassment.

chloe sighed and rubbed her hands along max’s back. “i just didn’t wanna fuck things up with you” a grin crept on her lips, “and you know, it was so hot for you to seriously kiss me.”

max felt another stupid blush painted on her face. “i thought i might’ve forced you into something and you started dating me out of pity.”

chloe shook her head, “fuck no. you’re my girl for life.” she pulled max closer “i’ve had things in the past, but i don’t regret that they’ve led me to you.”

max giggled in delight, “you’re speaking all softie like.”

“hm? you want me to give leila this softness instead?” max lightly smacked chloe’s arm while she laughed at her own joke in amusement. “you can’t lie, that was funny.”

max rolled her eyes playfully in response.

“but seriously, you know i wouldn’t dare to try anything with anybody else, right? i have you, you make me happy as fuck.”

max nodded, feeling finally relieved.

“leila’s cool, but not cool enough for me” she winked at max “you on the other hand, you’re SUPER max” she began to cover max’s face in aggressive little kisses from chin to forehead.

“thanks chloe,” max chuckled, still enjoying the kisses she was receiving “i love you”

chloe pulled away, taking one of her hands from max’s waist to stroke the girl’s cheek. “i love you even more.”

——

not proofread <3

[akiranzee]

💓 • ° ` — “THAT FUNNY FEELING”

-> PAIRINGS: Muichiro Tokito x f!Hashira!Y/n -> SUMMARY: Muichiro was someone who never remembered his past. He didn’t know how to act, so he became emotionless. That was until… -> WORD COUNT: 1.6k+ -> CONTAINS: fluff, some fighting, & muichiro is 14 while reader is 15. -> A/N: this feels more like a shitwork ngl. (y/h/l) is “your hair length”, (y/b/s) is “your breathing style !!

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------------Complete!------------

Muichiro, a young demon slayer and a hashira, who constantly lived his life full of mystery, actions, and blood. But due to his current condition, he doesn’t know what kind of life he’s living in. He just know, that he has to try his best to survive in this world.

“CAW! CAW! REPORT TO NORTHWEST! REPORT TO NORTHWEST!” His crow, Ginko, called out to him and repeated twice, yet for another mission.

Muichiro softly sighed, and looked down at his blade, seeming to have forgotten the reason why he was doing this again.

But on the other hand, last night’s talk with Oyakata-sama surprisingly stayed in his mind, that wherever he goes, nor whatever path he chooses, the blood of a protector, a slayer, will always be within him.

Soon, he walked towards the direction of a forest; where his mission starts.

The dark sight seen within meters away inside the forest, the aura and vibe the darkness gave off, and the dying tweets and howls of animals were heard meters away from the forest’s depth.

They all sent chills down Ginko, but Muichiro still showed no emotion, nor worry.

He stepped a step, then slowly walked towards the forest, watching out for any ambush at this moment.

His crow, Ginko, shivered as she followed her master walk deep inside the forest, as it felt like they were slowly getting swallowed. But her trust on her master overpowered than her fear, believing everything will be alright, as long as her master is there by her side.

A sound of a twig snapping caught both of their attention, then Ginko went onto hiding, leaving her master to finish the job immediately.

Muichiro, in a stance ready to unsheathe his sword at any moment, breathed silently as his hearing sense heightened hundreds than normal.

Closing his eyes, he tried to feel the world around him, trying to locate just where this demon was.

Another sound of a twig snapping, and his eyes flicked open in an instant, evading the demon’s immediate attack.

He stepped backwards, and swang his sword to the demon’s neck, the demon could not even react as it happened so fast.

But that demon was not the main suspect; as the world around him didn’t change. It was still sinister, mischievous, and dark.

He leapt onto a tree, trying to see if he can find the demon. But even from above, all he could see was darkness. And he knew that it was in fact, intentional.

The main suspect in this is no ordinary demon, rather it might even be one of the 12 kizukis.

He jumped down from the tree, as the darkness slowly surrounded him. Slowly, it was getting darker and darker, but a faint scent saved and helped him.

A demon may hide itself, but never its scent, as the boy with black hair and burgundy tips always said.

The faint scent was slowly getting nearer and closer, as if it was planning to do a surprise attack, but now it’s no surprise as Muichiro was finally aware of the demon.

The footsteps were silenced, he can never hear them. His vision was dark, he can never see anything. The only thing that’s left was his olfactory sense, the only sense that could save him from this nightmare.

For a few seconds, he tried to get a whiff of the demon, but it’s scent was long gone.

Muichiro still felt neutral, even when he looked like a fool standing there and awaiting the right time. But this demon, seemed as if, it was experienced enough to know the pros and cons on dealing with a hashira.

The smell felt distant, but Muichiro’s sixth sense, which is mist, tells him otherwise.

Apparently, the demon didn’t seem to know what Muichiro’s breathing style is. It doesn’t even know the dark mist has been giving Muichiro the upperhand for quite some time now.

The mist tells him, that the demon was nowhere near distant. In fact, it was near him, or might even be, next to him.

As Muichiro spun around, orange eyes filled with hatred met his, eyes that one’s soul cannot be found, with something written on it.

“Lower Moon 3.” Muichiro read the writing in the demon’s eyes, and immediately jumped backward before things escalate to his own death.

The demon still looked at him with hatred, growling hungrily, seeking for its revenge. But Muichiro couldn’t care less, as his one and only mission was to eliminate this demon.

The demon, who was supposedly strong, vanished in one slash. The anger was too much that it blinded him, that it made him indifferent.

As the demon dropped to the ground and slowly turned to ashes, he could see the change of his surroundings. The dark mist was slowly turning white, and the trees of the forest were slowly becoming visible.

As he turned around to walk off, he felt a pang in his heart. The demon’s position, crawling to wherever hell brings him, without a left arm. For some reason, it made him feel pain and anger. He couldn’t understand why, but the sight of that demon reminds him of something. Or of someone.

~~~~~

As he reached the demon slayer base, he immediately looked for Oyakata-sama to report and finish this day.

“Ah, Tokito, it’s great to see you well and alive.” Oyakata-sama greeted him as they made eye contact, Muichiro then formally bowed down and reported today’s mission.

~~~~~

As the day almost came to an end, he laid down on a big rock, and looked up the sky.

It was dark and murky, but the stars sparkled amidst that darkness.

Time slowly passed, Muichiro slowly drifted off to sleep.

~~~~~

The birds chirped and tweeted sweetly, before he laid awoke seconds ago.

His eyes slowly flicked open, seeing the sky first, then the ground. Yesterday's event became a blur in his mind, the death of lower moon 3 were not found and remembered in his thoughts again.

Slowly, he stood up, the thought of going somewhere was absent as his foot dragged him to wherever it wanted. His mind was somewhere else, anyway. Rather — someone.

It’s a very blurry vision, but his heart pains as he tries to remember what happened, and what he saw that night. It was as if a heavy burden that he has long forgotten, but is never supposed to forget.

As his mind wandered off, he halted; realizing he had step foot in Oyakata-sama’s estate. He turned all over around to look at his surroundings; it was full of trees, flowers, and such.

But then; a lady with (y/h/l) hair in a demon slayer corps uniform, appeared in his sight.

He stared at her for a few seconds, wondering who she is and what was she doing here, specifically in Oyakata-sama’s estate. He slowly approached her, curious of such a new presence.

“Ah, Tokito-kun. Such a great timing you have.” Just then, he halted once again and turned around, to see Oyakata-sama beautifully smiling at him.

“That girl you were looking at a while ago is our new (y/b/s) pillar. She has just been recruited today. Tokito-kun, would you mind assisting her to such new things upon her sight?” Oyakata-sama asked Muichiro for his consent and decision, while he thought about it over and over again.

“She’s a year older than you are.” Oyakata-sama suddenly said, and that was enough to pull him out of his long decision-making.

Muichiro glanced one more time your way, but this time, your back was not faced to him. Both your eyes met, and that was when his heart started to thump loudly. It was as if he was finally resurrected to life, like he was back from the dead.

It was a new feeling; indeed. For all his life, all he ever felt were, well, to be honest, nothing. He didn’t care about the world neither. He only cared about how peaceful the sky looked like. But now seeing you, he finally sees a different point in life. A more meaningful point, that is.

Slowly, you walked towards Muichiro as Oyakata-sama waved you to come. He simply smiled and said, “(Y/n)-san, this is Muichiro Tokito, and Tokito, this is (Y/n) (L/n).”

Having an eye contact with you even if it was just 2 seconds felt like eternity to Muichiro. His heart thumped loudly, and he could feel the warmness of his own. He just couldn’t take his eyes off of you — it all felt so unfamiliar, yet he was comfortable with it.

~~~~~

Days passed, you and Muichiro’s friendship had grown to be closer. Yet Muichiro can never forget that funny feeling.

That funny feeling when you smile and talk happily with him, not giving a care to whoever hears you.

That funny feeling when you make eye contact to each other, that would make his heart thump alive and face flush.

That funny feeling when he feels happy whenever the hashiras — mainly Mitsuri, call the both of your ‘friendship’ as “young love”.

That funny feeling when he feels uneasy whenever you’re not around, or when he doesn’t know where you are.

That funny feeling when he feels angry just by seeing the smallest scratch or wound on a part of you.

Love, they say. Muichiro never believed, but now, just by seeing you from a distance, he feels complete.

He feels as if he was finally alive. His soul burning through, his heart screaming of his well-being, his mind only concentrated on you, his feelings overflowing.

That funny feeling was driving him to madness. He would always visit you in your estate; he would always bring you delicious foods, he would always be there. Because now, he could never imagine a world without you.

You became his everything. Watching the stars with you tonight was the best thing he could ever experience. It was peaceful, especially with both your hands holding each other.

[samgirl98]

Mending a Family 39/?

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What's this, two chapters in one day? Your comments gave me inspiration to write faster, so here's a second chapter as thanks

Jason snorted at the corny flyer he had just put up on the coffee shop’s bulletin board. What was even his afterlife?

Jason sighed and put down the few flyers he had left.

After his heart-to-heart with Jazz, Jason decided to try to fill his days (and lack of a complete family) with other hobbies.

Roy suggested that he pick up new hobbies.

“Maybe archery, Jaybird. I could teach you!”

Jason had scrunched his nose at that. He respected Roy, he did, but guns and bazookas were more Jason’s style.

(Not to mention, Bruce had ingrained Green Arrow disrespect deep in his bone.)

“Maybe start with something you already like. How about a book club?” Raven had suggested. “Find other like-minded people to discuss books with.”

“Yeah, that’s a great idea,” Roy said as he ate some of the brownies Jason had baked. “Then you can leave me alone about how the gothic elements of Wuthering Heights contribute to the selfish love between Heathcliff and Catherine and how Brontë showed their twisted love through the environment.”

“That’s because she did, you uncultured swine.”

Roy had smiled, a piece of brownie stuck between his teeth.

So here Jason was, putting up flyers for a book club. He had asked Ghost Writer if he could host it in his bookstore.

“Of course you can, Jay! I would be delighted. Oh, that means I have to set up a little area so that members have a place to sit. Maybe I can order some refreshments. Oh, do you know which book you want to start with? I can place the order.”

Ghost Writer’s words became muffled as he went deeper into the store.

Jason had designed the flyer and decided to put up a few in different shops and restaurants after getting permission from the owners. He doubted many people would show up, but at least one other person who had Jason’s love of literature would be nice.

Jason looked at the time and decided he had enough time to pick up Danny and relax at the coffee shop. He ordered a coffee and a chocolate croissant and sat down where he could watch the bulletin board. He saw a few people reading the flyer. Most of them were older or middle-aged women, with one or two guys thrown into the mix.

After keeping an eye out for a while, Jason felt pleased as punch that he would have a few people at his new book club come Tuesday. He couldn’t wait.

Soon after he left, a certain blond showed up and read the flyer. She took a picture of it, ordered her latte, and left.

____

Raven felt him before she saw him.

“Batman, to what do I owe this pleasure?”

She was alone in a rarely empty Titan Tower. Everyone else was either out or staying somewhere else.

“You know where Jason is,” he stated.

“Maybe. Why do you need to know?”

Raven turned and stared at white-out eyes glaring back at her. She could see how Batman could be terrifying, but she had fought against her father, Trigon. Batman was just a man to her. A man who was in emotional pain. She hardened her heart. She knew what Jason was also feeling, and most of the emotional hurt was caused by the man before her.

“I know Roy Harper is in contact with Jason. However, neither Dick nor I can find how he can travel to wherever Jason is without any vehicle. I did find something interesting, though.”

“Please, do share, Batman.”

“Whenever he goes, there is a surge of your signature power, and most of the time, you are also gone. I can’t seem to trace where your power signature ends up, and I only find out when you’re back because there’s a surge here on the West Coast. So, don’t try to deny you know where my son is.”

“Truly, you are a great detective. I don’t deny it; I know where Jason is. That doesn’t mean you’ll get his address from me.”

Batman glared at her.

“I wasn’t here to ask where he is,” he said through gritted teeth. Raven raised an eyebrow as she sensed the truth of Batman’s statement.

“Then why are you here, Bruce Wayne?”

Batman’s glare deepened, and he scowled when he heard his civilian name. Then, with some hesitation, he took off his cowl. Before Raven was a strong and formidable man, but one with deep bruises in his eyes from lack of sleep. One who’s shoulders curved under an invisible weight.

Bruce took out a recorder that was still in its original packaging.

“I know you can sense when someone is lying to you. There are no trackers, tracers, or anything else in this recorder that can lead me to Jason. I want to send my son a message; I want to apologize.”

Raven raised an eyebrow, incredulous.

“You expect me to believe that you gave up trying to hunt Jason down like a rabid animal?”

Bruce flinched at Raven’s choice of words. Good, he deserved it.

“You tell me. Am I lying to you?”

“There are ways to trick my senses. I do not doubt that the man with a plan for everything doesn’t know how to circumvent my powers.”

Bruce let out a weary sigh.

“The man who has raised me, who is like a father to me, has chewed me out a few times about Jason. I am not an easy man to get along with. I’m stubborn, and I have control issues; I know that, but I love all of my children. However, I tend to do more damage than good when I think I know what’s best for them. That can lead to fights—to estrangement. I’m sure you remember Dick when he was younger.”

Raven nodded. Dick had been a ball of fury and resentment.

“I want to tell Jason that I see the error I have made. I shouldn’t have pushed him out of the family. That was my fault. However, I also want to let him know even if he doesn’t want to speak to me now or ever, I will always be here, but I will respect his boundaries.”

Raven stared at Bruce. She felt no lies. This could be good for both Bruce and Jason. She sighed in resignation.

“Let’s get comfortable, shall we? I don’t promise Jason will hear what you have to say, but I can give him the recording.”

She held out her hand, and Bruce Wayne gave her the recorder. They sat down opposite each other. Raven opened the recorder.

“Let’s begin,” and she pressed play.

Bruce apologizing? What's the world coming to?

Anyway, I have a question for you guys. Do you want Avril and Jason to become kinda friends with a friendly rivalry and let them bond over books, or would you rather they stay enemies? Let me know in the comments. I could write it either way.

DISCLAIMER: I HAVE NEVER READ WUTHERING HEIGHTS, SO IF THAT PART DOESN'T MAKE SENSE, LET ME KNOW. I JUST GOT THAT OFF THE INTERNET!

Thanks for sticking by me so long!

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