#fic friday except its saturday

[em1989ts]

𝒔𝒍𝒂𝒔𝒉𝒆𝒓 𝒎𝒂𝒓𝒂𝒕𝒉𝒐𝒏

ghostface! steve harrington x reader x ghostface! eddie munson

word count: 2.7k

summary: after a long night of slasher tapes you'd picked up from family video, you get a couple eery phone calls, leading to a frightening break in from two masked figures.

warnings: strong language, knife, suggestive content, honestly i might just make a part two of this where it's just smut cause i totally set it up

author's note: i'm so back in my steve harrington era so here's the fic i've been wanting to write for like two years now

~

It was a windy Saturday night in the middle of October, 1986. You heard your house creak with every chilly gust that hit its walls. It was getting colder and colder in Hawkins. 

You were laying on your side on the couch, wearing an old pair of plaid pajama bottoms and a loose fitting t-shirt, with a throw blanket covering you from your shoulders to the tips of your toes. The light from the television set illuminated your face as you stared intently at the screen, rewatching Friday the 13th for the hundredth time. A stack of tapes you’d picked up today from Family Video adorned the coffee table in front of you as you reached the end of your horror marathon. 

It had been a few days since your parents had left for their business trip, leaving you as their free-of-charge housesitter. As they were heading out the door, they had given you a firm set of rules: 

Lock the doors and don’t leave the house at night. 

You didn’t exactly have the most exciting nightlife so that rule was easy to agree to. Lazy horror marathons were your favorite activity this time of year. You had already carved two jack o’lanterns and placed them on your front steps, one displaying a toothy grin whilst the other grimaced with a fangy frown. You had toasted the pumpkin seeds as a snack but those were gone halfway through A Nightmare on Elm Street which you had seen previously in the night. 

As you lay sideways on the cushion of the couch, your eyes drooped with exhaustion. You unraveled yourself from the blanket and sat up to turn your head to read the analog clock on your wall which let you know it was now one thirty in the morning. A dark blur quickly entered your vision as you looked out the window behind the television. The streetlights lit the quiet neighborhood as leaves blew down the road, nothing else in sight. Although you could’ve sworn you’d seen a coyote or something.

Deciding to call it a night, you stand up to shut the television off but you didn’t see the remote anywhere. Sticking your hand between the cushions, you felt around for the plastic device yet it wasn’t there. You picked up the bundled blanket and shook it around which caused the remote to fall to the floor and under the couch. Tipping your head back in annoyance, you signed and crouched down, getting on your knees and sticking your arm under the couch to fish for the remote. After a few seconds, your hand felt the warm remote and pulled your arm back and as you were still on your knees, you leaned against the couch and pressed the power button on the remote. As the screen faded to black, you stood back up, placed the remote down on the coffee table, folded the blanket neatly and placed it on the couch.

The living room was dark except for the warm lighting that peaked through from the connecting kitchen. You walked across the cold tiled floor with your warm wool socks to make yourself a cup of tea before heading up to bed. Placing a small kettle of water onto the stove, you turned around to reach for the cupboard handle as a sharp ringing gave you a fright. 

You jumped and turned around quickly, although you already knew the noise had come from the yellow telephone hanging from the wall. 

Who could be calling at this hour? 

You picked up the phone and immediately put it back down to stop the ringing. Whoever it was could wait until the morning. Maybe it was just Nancy asking about an assignment due this week, surely she could ask you in homeroom on Monday. 

Turning back around, you went over to the cupboard and pulled two bags of chamomile tea from a box then went over to the cabinet that held glassware as you grabbed a mug you made freshman year in art class. You picked it out specifically for its orange and red glaze, matching the autumn foliage. 

The mug in your hands almost went crashing to the floor as another ring from the telephone reverberated through the kitchen. You tightened your grip after the initial scare and placed the mug gently on the countertop as you went over to pick up the phone. 

Two calls in a row, this must be urgent. 

You weren’t exactly thrilled to have to converse with someone at this time of night but if this was an emergency then you’d have felt awful for ignoring it. You picked up the phone and leaned against the wall.

“Hello?” you asked into the speaker by your chin.

“Hello, sweetheart,” a low voice snickered into your ear. 

You furrowed your brows in confusion. What kind of joke was this? 

“Why are you calling so late?” You were too tired to be playing any games.

“Why are you answering so late?” The voice worried you. It didn’t even sound real, yet the lack of a serious tone made you feel like this phone call could have waited till morning. 

You could hear the kettle of boiling water start to whistle as you started to lose your patience. 

“Listen, I don’t know who you are or what you want but I really don’t care,” you said into the phone, hanging it up back onto the wall as you turned to the kettle to take it off the stove to pour it into your mug. 

As you ripped the tea packets open to begin steeping your chamomile, the phone rang once more. In your mind, the ringing almost sounded more aggressive than the last two times it rang. 

You dropped your tea bags into the mug as you stomped your way to the phone as you ripped it off the wall and held it by the side of your face.

“What the fuck do you-” you started angrily into the phone before you were abruptly cut off. 

“I’ll tell you exactly what we want, sweetheart. Once we get you.” 

“What?” You said into the receiver. Your shoulders slumped with fear as your heart rate quickened. That was not the response that you were expecting. 

You looked towards your front door. You had remembered to lock it right? No, of course you remembered. You double-checked it. Triple-checked it. 

Then why was it cracked open? 

And who was that figure visible through the fogged glass? 

“You might want to run,” The voice suggested. 

Abandoning your tea, you dropped the phone, letting it hit the wall and swing by its curly cord. 

You didn’t know where to run, you were frozen. How could they be calling you from your front door? Who was this person and what were they after? Were they going to hurt you?

As you quickly tried to come up with any plan for evacuation, you heard a creak coming from the door. You looked over to see the figure reach out a gloved hand and grasp the edge of the door, slowly opening it until it was wide enough for them to step in. 

You now saw them in full. A tall, black-cloaked figure wearing a white mask with drooping eyes and a long, open mouth stepped in and stood staring at you. Not making any advances, but not looking friendly either. 

That mask.

Shielding the identity of the intruder, the horrified ghastly expression perfectly reflected the way you felt as your heart sank into your stomach.

Your flight instinct finally kicked in as you skidded down the hallway trying to get away. Since the invader was blocking you from exiting through the front door, you could try to run out the back door, or possibly a window if you had no other choice. 

As you quickly turned the corner at the end of the hallway that led to your dining room which had a door to the back porch, the tall figure suddenly appeared in front of you as you crashed into their chest. The wool socks on your feet caused you to lose your balance and crash land onto the wooden floor in front of them. Your head ached as it smacked against the hard planks. As you regained vision and remembered your situation, you dizzily lifted yourself up enough to lean on your elbows as you looked up at the figure who was now standing menacingly above you. The hallway was dark except for the small nightlight which illuminated the horrific expression displayed on the mask which mocked your lower position.

Before you could scramble away towards the other end of the hallway, the harsh force of a boot stomping down on your hair caused a yelp to escape your lips. Your scalp was on fire from the pain as you looked up with teary eyes to see a duplicate of the masked figure. 

A glint of silver caught your eye as a blade was slowly brought into your line of sight. It made your heart sink further. A blade that was spotless and clean, which meant they either took great enough care to properly clean up after themselves or it had never been used, meaning it was just for show. 

The scuffed leather boot was lifted from your hair which released the sharp tension on your scalp, yet your head still throbbed with pain. Your vision was blurry and your heart continued to beat rapidly and unevenly, causing you to worry whether you could stay conscious to fight for your life. 

The figure with both hands free lifted you up off the ground, grabbing you by your upper arms, and standing you up on your feet. The neck of your tee shirt slipped off your shoulder as you tussled, revealing the skinny strap of your bralette across your shoulder. They turned your body forcefully to have you face their companion as they pressed their chest against you, pinning your left arm behind your back whilst wrapping a bicep around your neck tight enough to keep you in place. 

A gasp left your lips as their muscles closed you in. Your right hand was free which you used to try and pry their arm away from your throat enough to allow you to inhale without a struggle. The mask in front of you stared down at you, inching closer, almost mocking your pathetic position. When the arm would budge, you brought your hand out to rip that smug mask off, you couldn’t take that look any longer. A rough, gloved hand wrapped around your wrist to stop you from revealing their face but it was too late. Your fingers wrapped around the long chin and as their reflexes snatched your hand away, the mask went along with it. 

Steve. Fucking. Harrington. 

Was this a fucking joke? 

His brown eyes gazed into yours with a dark look yet he wore a smile that would forever taunt you. He leaned in closer till his face was inches from yours. 

“Gotcha.”

Your eyebrows scrunched in utter confusion before your expression turned to one of annoyance and anger. You couldn’t believe this. You tried thrashing around in the arms of the unknown accomplice before you remembered your legs were free and started kicking. His face turned impatient as he pulled his hood off, the unknown figure moved their bicep from around your neck and let your arm free from behind your back, only to hold both of your arms to your sides and wrap their own around you. 

You were seething, “What the fuck is wrong with you, Harrington? Do you seriously think this is funny?” 

“Oh definitely, but don’t give me all the credit,” he chuckled as he looked over your head and winked to whoever was holding you in place, giving the okay to unmask. 

An arm left from its place around your torso as it was lifted to remove the ghost mask, revealing Eddie Munson, who placed his grinning face on your shoulder. 

You were disgusted. Why did they even think it was okay to do this, even as a joke? You could have gotten seriously hurt, the cops could have gotten involved. If your parents found out they did this you’d never be allowed to be left home alone overnight ever again, even though you followed their rules perfectly. It was now two in the morning and you were two tired to deal with their antics any longer. 

You knew Steve and Eddie had been getting closer recently, courtesy of Dustin trying to get his two older male friends to bond, which clearly might now have been a good idea. They were both whispering with each other over the counter yesterday when you went to Family Video for your movie night. You had been friends with the both of them individually for a while now but you’d never thought they would pull this shit on you. 

You sighed and tilted your head back, pursing your lips in annoyance as you tried to pick the right words to gently parent them from the angry scoldings in your mind. 

“Okay, you got me,” you said in the most unamused tone you could muster, “Guys, this really isn’t funny. I don’t know what made you think it was okay to do this to me but you can both go home now.” 

You tried to escape Eddie’s hold but he only held on tighter, before nuzzling his face into your neck. Sure, Eddie was very comfortable around his friends, but this was new. 

“We can’t go now, sweetheart. The fun was just getting started,” he mumbled into your neck. 

“What?” you said quietly, confused at what he meant. 

Steve quickly brought the knife up to your face, causing you to flinch and lean your neck further into Eddie, prompting him to lightly bite. 

He traced the silver, curved blade across the silky skin along your chin as he peered down at you with a look that made you shrink. 

“We came here to scare you,” he said darkly, “hoping to get a little more than a laugh.” 

You looked up at him, cautiously aware of your slight movements as to not knick yourself with the edge of the blade. You’d never have thought either Steve or Eddie would think of you like that, yet you couldn’t say you’d never thought of them. 

Eddie removed his face from your neck as he matched Steve’s persuasive look. 

“Come on, sweetheart, you feeling something other than fear? Maybe a heartbeat somewhere else?” He joked with a dark laugh, his hands going lower as you scoffed. 

There was no way you were considering this. Breaking into your home, the frightening phone calls, the knife, the slasher costumes. It was just too ridiculous. 

You’d be lying if you said you weren’t intrigued, weren’t enjoying the attention. The knife on your face with just enough pressure, daring to draw blood, was a thrill you weren’t used to but you weren’t opposed to it either.

Biting your lip as you consulted with your pride, the boys watched you with anticipation and a growing need. 

You lightly laughed at yourself, entertaining the idea, as you gave them a look and nodded. Eddie smirked widely, placing his mask back on before he threw you over his shoulder, Steve following suit. 

They made their way back into the living room before Eddie roughly tossed your body down onto the couch. As you landed, you looked up at the two masked men who stood tall, staring down at you which was quite intimidating but you definitely weren’t as mad as you were five minutes ago. 

In fact, you were looking forward to continuing your slasher marathon, even if it was a little different than what you had in mind. 

~

author's note: i'm finishing this up right before i go to sleep so it's not editing so please ignore any grammar/spelling mistakes lol i tried to get this out as soon as possible, thank you for reading!! hope you enjoyed!! comments/notes/reblogs are soooo appreciated

[mediumgayitalian]

fic rec friday 10

hi!! welcome to fic rec friday. every week, i pick five fics i have bookmarked and rec them with a little review. check them out!

something borrowed by @rosyredlipstick

In the Solace Wedding Planning agenda, on the fifth page into their summer schedule, there are carefully scrawled out notes reading this: Bride and Groom - Hazel Levesque & Frank Zhang Best Man & Maid of Honor - Percy Jackson & Piper McLean Wedding Court - Annabeth Chase & Jason Grace Mellie & Gleeson Hedge Reyna Ramírez-Arellano & Leo Valdez Ring-bearer - Chuck Hedge Flower-boy - Nico di Angelo - Will plans wedding and now, apparently, Nico stars in one. Except...sometimes there's a bit more confusion on that last part. AKA the AU where Will plans weddings and thinks Hazel and Frank are going to have to cutest, gap-toothed ten year throwing flowers down the aisle, all while wondering why this 'Neeks' guy is always hanging around, and what business he has looking that good.

yes i am back on my rosyredlipstick (dude she's GOOD okay). however this one is my favourite i think. this is the kinda story you could use to explain to people what dramatic irony is bc LORD i wanted to SHAKE THEM 😭😭 will falling like deeply in love with nico and being intensely stressed about everything the whole time is so real and on brand. i love him and i love the fond exasperation that just bleeds from this fic its GREAT

2. Rental Love by @rosyredlipstick

*Read Terms & Conditions - Male/22/Long Island N.Y.C. Tired of showing up stag at holiday events? Want your family to stop thinking there’s something wrong with you? Just want some arm candy for a work event? Look no further. Your solution is here! I will attend holiday events with you as your paid date. Accepting all genders as applicants. Email solace.w@fastmail.com if interested. Interview & application will be set up there. - Nico di Angelo has been telling Hazel Levesque about his boyfriend for weeks. The bad part? Nico doesn’t have a boyfriend, the holidays are coming up, and not all of Jason’s ideas are horrible. They’re all a bit surprised about the last one.

THE LEVEL OF STUPID THAT THEY ARE...😭😭 kills me fr. like this whole fic is just a manifestation of truly one of the best tropes of all time…..like what if we took a hallmark movie and made it gay as all hell. iconique indeed

3. A Match in the Making by @coconutcranberries-blog

“You’re a morning person,” Nico muttered, rubbing his eyes with the heel of his palms. He ran a hand through his black hair, which stuck up in disarray, the same way it did every morning. He was a mess, and Will Solace looked annoyingly put together, and Nico didn’t even care, really, he didn’t.

friendship is the core of romance!! it is!! every time!!! and it's such a core in this fic....which is fucking??? ten years old??? im just realising?? jesus christ??? anyways. "Nico had the sudden, warm feeling that Will Solace had never bought his act." i YELLED

4. Perception by scorchedtrees

In which everyone thinks Nico and Will are together.

i love this trope i love it SO BAD. both ways. when your love is so obvious that no one misses it.....love to see it truly. and will can have one second of beingn smooth and not a dweeby loser. as a treat

5. the world is brighter than the sun now that you're here by @finalizer

It was hard, Nico eventually concluded, to maintain one’s air of spooky otherworldly detachment with a blinding ray of sunshine trailing one step behind him every minute of every day.

grouchy nico my beloved truly. honestly hes such a bitch i love him like "Seriously, give the guy a perm and a few cats and he’d be that weird aunt that everybody avoided around the holiday season." why does he ALWAYS have something vile to say 😭😭 hes a mood fr

thank you for joining me this saturday friday!! happy reading!!

[ladykailitha]

December Schedule

Hello! So it is that lovely time of year again when it starts to get colder and people start putting out Christmas decorations. And I write Christmas fics.

I wasn't sure I was going to do one, but Dragon Slayer is getting to the point where I can't share what I'm writing (it's VERY spoiler-y), so because I don't like only having three stories on WIP Wednesday, I am doing a couple of different things.

The first is cutting back to the usual four days a week posting schedule. This almost daily has been stressful for me, but I had so much backlogged, it needed to be rushed out in a gush for a bit and then back to it's normal flow.

Then next week, Of Butterflies and Backstrokes will release the rest of its story on Sunday, Monday and Friday with Caged Bird as usual on Saturday so that all my completed works will be out before Dec.

The reason for this is because I am planning two holiday events for you.

The first is the (fingers crossed) eight part Christmas long fic (name to be decided): Steve Harrington hates Christmas. Well, maybe hate is too strong a word. All his life it's been nothing but fake everything; even the smiles. Well, all except the tree. That's always real. This year, his dad's company is going the 'rent-a-tree' route and needs three of them for the office. There he meets Eddie, who with the little help of the Party and the magic of Christmas, teaches Steve what Christmas really means.

I will start posting it on December 1st. Then depending on how many chapters it takes, I'll either double up, releasing two a week or I will come up with some other schedule taking into account how many there are.

Then on the 11th, a special Twelve AUs of Christmas snippet. You'll send in a number between 1-12 and I'll write a little bit from an AU list that I want to do Christmas stories for but don't have ideas for full fics.

Plus, I have some trouble doing the whole short thing. So the goal is no more than 1500 words per AU. And if the number you ask for is completed, then I pick a different one. Then from the 12th to the 24th, I will release a Christmas snippet like an Advent calendar.

There will be no WIP Wednesday on the 25th due to it being Christmas day, but I will be back on 1st to spread some more holiday cheer.

As for the other stories Spellbound (Himbo Witch) and Dragon Slayer will alternate on Mondays, with The Au Pair Boy (Nanny) on Fridays, and Caged Bird on Saturdays as per usual.

Then when December is over with, Dragon Slayer will move the Sunday slot.

Happy Holidays everyone!!!

[butchdiaz]

ok its 4am on saturday but i was just possessed by a demon who forced a fic idea into the crevices of my brain and made me start writing before i could sleep so in the true spirit of fuck it, here's my fuck it friday ! thank u for the tags <3 @eddiebabygirldiaz @jeeyuns @try-set-me-on-fire

(again, its 4am and this is straight from my notes app. if there are mistakes, well, fork in the kitchen)

it's been three days since maddie and chimney exchanged their life-altering vows under flourescent hospital lights.

bobby and athena's backyard is lit up with fairy lights and lanterns, littered with wildflower-stuffed mason jars and leftover confetti. buck thought the original wedding venue was beautiful, sure, but it's got nothing on this.

maybe that's because, this time, it's just their little family -- buck's parents already flew home with a half-baked excuse -- and there's no pressure to get it right after getting it so, so wrong. athena helped maddie hem her dress where it got ripped down the middle of the train (much to josh's dismay) so it sits just above her ankles. and buck -- begrudgingly helped by chris -- bedazzled chim's boot with the eclectic selection of rhinestones that were available at the dollar store this morning.

chim's a little unsteady on his feet as he sways with maddie on the dew-soaked spring grass, etta james crooning from a speaker somewhere, but if buck could hear his heartbeat, he knows it would be beating sure and steady, in tandem with maddie's. they both have tears in the eyes and eyes for nobody but each other and buck's heart is just about fit to burst.

it's absolutely perfect.

an hour ago, bobby had pulled him into the bathroom to fix buck's tie and tell him that he was proud of him. fifty-six minutes ago, buck had walked maddie through the glass doors onto the patio while jee waddled ahead, flowers petals spilling in clumps from her tiny hands in an attempt to throw them. maddie had forgone the charade and swooped chimney in for a kiss right away, cradling his neck when she dipped him, just a little, a pink blush flooding his cheeks. tommy didn't come in a helicopter this time, but he still swooped in with that impeccable timing to open the car door for buck, like a goddamn high schooler at prom. an hour and a half ago, he held buck's hand as they entered the house and buck tried not to think too much about how sweaty his palms were getting. twenty one minutes ago, he placed a fresh beer in buck's hands before buck had even realized he'd finished his last one. twenty minutes ago, buck had kissed him on the cheek in thanks, easy as anything, and snaked an arm around his waist. and now? now he's dancing with tommy -- beautiful, sweet, charming tommy -- at his sisters wedding, and it's absolutely fucking perfect.

except buck can't even look at his best friend.

again its not friday anymore + i have no idea who's done this so i'm just gonna tag the besties! consider this a share anything u want/seven sentence sunday/i love u tag!

@usereddie @chronicowboy @shitouttabuck @911onabc @ilostyou @goldenbcnes @exhuastedpigeon @canonbibuck @diazly @evankinard @buckttommy

[toomanyrobins2]

Our Manhattan

Summary: An orphan all her life, Y/N is simply too old to remain at The Bowery Home any longer. That is where an anonymous patron has swooped in to send her off to college and all he requires…a monthly letter of her academic progress.

Based off the book and musical “Daddy Long Legs”

Pairing: Bruce Wayne x Reader

last part // series masterlist // next part

Notes: I'm finally getting around to updating this fic! If you would like to catch up and get more consistent updates to this story and others I would go to by AO3!

24th March, maybe the 25th

Dear Batman,

I don't believe I can be going to Heaven—I am getting such a lot of good things here; it wouldn't be fair to get them hereafter too. Listen to what has happened.

Y/N Abbott has won the short-story contest (a twenty-five dollar prize) that the Monthly holds every year. And she's a Sophomore! The contestants are mostly Seniors. When I saw my name posted, I couldn't quite believe it was true. Maybe I am going to be an author after all. I wish Mrs. Lippett hadn't given me such a silly name—it sounds like an author-ess, doesn't it?

Also I have been chosen for the spring dramatics—As You Like It out of doors. I am going to be Celia, own cousin to Rosalind.

And lastly: Harriet and Barbara and I are going to New York next Friday to do some spring shopping and stay all night and go to the theatre the next day with 'Master Brucie.' He invited us. Harriet is going to stay at home with her family, but Barbara and I are going to stop at the Martha Washington Hotel. Did you ever hear of anything so exciting? I've never been in a hotel in my life, nor in a theatre; except once when the Catholic Church had a festival and invited the orphans, but that wasn't a real play and it doesn't count.

And what do you think we're going to see? Hamlet. Think of that! We studied it for four weeks in Shakespeare class and I know it by heart.

I am so excited over all these prospects that I can scarcely sleep.

Goodbye, Bats.

This is a very entertaining world.

Yours ever,

Judy

PS. I've just looked at the calendar. It's the 28th.

Another postscript.

I saw a street car conductor today with one brown eye and one blue. Wouldn't he make a nice villain for a detective story?

 

7th April

Dear Batman,

Mercy! Isn't New York big? Worcester is nothing to it. Do you mean to tell me that you actually lived in all that confusion? I don't believe that I shall recover for months from the bewildering effect of two days of it. I can't begin to tell you all the amazing things I've seen; I suppose you know, though, since you live there yourself.

But aren't the streets entertaining? And the people? And the shops? I never saw such lovely things as there are in the windows. It makes you want to devote your life to wearing clothes.

Barbara and Harriet and I went shopping together Saturday morning. Harriet went into the very most gorgeous place I ever saw, white and gold walls and blue carpets and blue silk curtains and gilt chairs. A perfectly beautiful lady with yellow hair and a long black silk trailing gown came to meet us with a welcoming smile. I thought we were paying a social call, and started to shake hands, but it seems we were only buying hats—at least Harriet was. She sat down in “front of a mirror and tried on a dozen, each lovelier than the last, and bought the two loveliest of all.

I can't imagine any joy in life greater than sitting down in front of a mirror and buying any hat you choose without having first to consider the price! There's no doubt about it, Bats; New York would rapidly undermine this fine stoical character which the Bowery Home so patiently built up.

And after we'd finished our shopping, we met Master Bruce at Sherry's. I suppose you've been in Sherry's? Picture that, then picture the dining room of the Bowery Home with its oilcloth-covered tables, and white crockery that you can't break, and wooden-handled knives and forks; and fancy the way I felt!

I ate my fish with the wrong fork, but the waiter very kindly gave me another so that nobody noticed.

And after luncheon we went to the theatre—it was dazzling, marvellous, unbelievable—I dream about it every night.

Isn't Shakespeare wonderful?

Hamlet is so much better on the stage than when we analyze it in class; I “appreciated it before, but now, dear me!

I think, if you don't mind, that I'd rather be an actress than a writer. Wouldn't you like me to leave college and go into a dramatic school? And then I'll send you a box for all my performances, and smile at you across the footlights. Only wear a red rose in your buttonhole, please, so I'll surely smile at the right man. It would be an awfully embarrassing mistake if I picked out the wrong one.

We came back Saturday night and had our dinner in the train, at little tables with pink lamps. I never heard of meals being served in trains before, and I inadvertently said so.

'Where on earth were you brought up?' said Harriet to me.

'In a village,' said I meekly, to Harriet.

'But didn't you ever travel?' said she to me.

'Not till I came to college, and then it was only a hundred and sixty miles and we didn't eat,' said I to her.

She's getting quite interested in me, because I say such funny things. I try hard not to, but they do pop out when I'm surprised—and I'm surprised most “of the time. It's a dizzying experience, to pass eighteen years in the Bowery Home, and then suddenly to be plunged into the WORLD.

But I'm getting acclimated. I don't make such awful mistakes as I did; and I don't feel uncomfortable anymore with the other girls. I used to squirm whenever people looked at me. I felt as though they saw right through my sham new clothes to the checked ginghams underneath. But I'm not letting the ginghams bother me anymore. Sufficient unto yesterday is the evil thereof.

I forgot to tell you about our flowers. Master Bruce gave us each a big bunch of violets and lilies-of-the-valley. Wasn't that sweet of him? I never used to care much for men—judging by Trustees—but I'm changing my mind.

Yours always,

Y/N 

 

10th April

Dear Mr. Rich-Man,

Here's your cheque for fifty dollars. Thank you very much, but I do not feel that I can keep it. My allowance is sufficient to afford all of the hats that I need. I am sorry that I wrote all that silly stuff about the millinery shop; it's just that I had never seen anything like it before.

However, I wasn't begging! And I would rather not accept any more charity than I have to.

Sincerely yours,

Y/N Abbott

Bruce stared down at the check. He had barely thought about it when they had been out in the city and once Y/n had sent the letter, he’d dispatched the check without a second thought. 

Clark Kent, who had been present during the discussion about Y/N's shopping woes, entered the study with a knowing expression. "Having trouble with the whole 'helping' thing?" Clark quipped, a  smile playing on his lips.

Bruce sighed, running a hand through his hair. "I just wanted to make things a bit easier for her. She didn't have to return the check."

Clark leaned against the desk, crossing his arms. "Bruce, you know Y/N at this point. She's independent and proud. Accepting help might not come naturally to her, especially from someone like you."

Bruce frowned, the frustration evident in his eyes. "But I want to help. She shouldn't have to feel lesser than her peers."

Clark nodded, understanding Bruce's genuine concern. "Maybe it's not about the help itself, but how it's offered. Try sending her a letter with a short note explaining why you sent the check. Make it personal. Sometimes, a few carefully chosen words can make a big difference."

Bruce considered Clark's suggestion, recognizing the wisdom in his friend's advice. "You think that might work?"

"Y/N's a writer, Bruce. Words matter to her. A thoughtful note can make the gesture feel less like charity and more like a friend looking out for another," Clark explained.

Taking a deep breath, Bruce reached for a pen and paper. 

Miss Abbott, I go against my rules by penning this letter but I find myself unable to let this matter go. This check is not charity but a gift from a friend who wishes to see you excel in all matters. I wish you to be able to experience all that your peers are able to. I have never sponsored a woman before and I confess that I lack the knowledge to ensure that you are equal to your peers.  I kindly request that you keep this cheque as an apology for my own failings as your patron.  Mr. Smith

As Bruce sealed the letter, he handed it to Alfred, who was passing by. "Alfred, make sure this gets to Miss Abbott. And let's hope this time, she accepts it."

[numberonecodwomenfan]

Konig is a bagel with ALL the toppings kinda guy. Cream cheese. Capers. Lox. A pickle if he's feeling fancy. Eats it like a sandwich. Horks one of these fucking beautiful breakfast masterpieces down every chance he gets (Horangi is ever so slightly disgusted by this but then he tries one and is Immediately Converted. Horangi eats the same thing except he delicate chews his way through every bite while Konig is very obviously having a religious experience per meal)

Yes on the gefilte fish being gross. Will absolutely knock your socks off with matzo ball soup. Konig's got the works. Chicken, carrots, onions, celery that melts in your mouth. Noodles. Massive matzo balls. Richest broth you've ever tasted. He makes a giant pot every Friday night for the KORTAC crew and you get to watch people literally draw blood in an attempt to score a bowl.

Somehow can eat his breakfast bagel sandwich without spilling a thing but tries to enjoy sufangoyit and is utterly unable to keep jelly off of himself. It'll be Somewhere. It's Inevitable. The price he must pay.

On his days off I know he absolutely fucks up a bowl of charoset. He's just munching and dipping with his left hand and in the other he's got the bottle of wine he used. Obviously manischewitz.

One time Horangi tried to give Konig wine bc Konig said he liked it and Konig just stares at the Distinctly Not manischewitz bottle in his hand like "oy vey what is this"

Keeps a mezuzah in the pocket most soldiers put alcohol or cigars. Taps it against the door of whatever barracks hes sleeping in when he enters the first time but never leaves it there.

Always has little tea lights that he lights on Fridays when he's deployed. Exceptionally gentle anytime a mission is on a Friday night or Saturday. He knows he has to do his job, but he's less... Bloody. On those missions. Something about putting enemies to rest rather than "taking them down" makes it. Easier.

His real name is like, something Obnoxiously Jewish. My personal true Konig name is Melech which means "king" bc it's funny if he just. Chose a codename that means his actual name.

Very rarely gets a chance to go to Temple because Job but always keeps his face Uncovered no matter how uncomfortable it makes him while there. All the Rabbi's love him because he's so willing to learn. His Babushka's rabbi refers to him as "my boy". Konig is a full foot and a half taller.

im sorry, a PICKLE???? i have never in my life seen someone put a PICKLE on a bagel. pickles are so wet??? wouldn’t it just make the bagel soggy???? i am baffled by this sorry. but also könig is a freak and a strange guy so he probably would put some crazy shit on his bagels. im a simple girl, cream cheese and lox for me (on the rare occasion i even have bagels in the house, honestly goldbergs is antisemitic for making bagels like 25 bucks a dozen. in this economy??)

gefilte fish they could never make me like you 🙏 my mom says its just a vessel for horseradish to her but then just find something better to put ur evil vegetable on

he’s so me fr (can’t eat food without spilling it because i have the coordination of a newborn giraffe)

also now im just imagining all the kortac operators fighting over soup 😭 i just know hutch is first in line, that man gives off major foodie vibes for some reason. and tbh theyre real for that, i too would fight a war for some good matzo ball soup

i didnt know people actually ate charoset (which btw i had to look up because i didnt recognize the spelling 😭 my family spells it with an h, why can none of us decide how to spell anything) outside of passover?? but tbf i dont like walnuts so i probs wouldnt anyway. but yes i agree. this man EATS. he is LARGE. HE EATS.

“oy vey what is this” HELP 😭 i think it would be so funny if someone wrote a fic where instead of randomly dropping german words into sentences, he just starts speaking yiddish 💀 i am not old enough to drink alcohol but my mom is a big fan of manischewitz so 👍

shoutout to the mezuzzah on my back door that at some point got the landlord special (we?? own the house??? and dont have a landlord???????) and is now just built into the wall. im sure thats Not Good but i didnt do it and also i never claimed to be a good jew lmao

the shabbat one :((( why would u say this to me now i’ll never get that thought out of my head 😢

i personally went with lukas for his name, but i was considering jacob before i chose (side note, can jewish parents be a LITTLE more creative when naming their kids??? i went to a jewish summer camp for a few years and you could yell “sam!” and probably 20 heads would turn). i love the idea of him having an obnoxiously jewish name though thats so silly 😭 especially because you KNOW no one would pronounce it with the throat sound at the end and it annoys him to no end

MY BOY IM SOBBINGGG 😭😭😭 i wrote a fic about könig’s childhood where i mentioned that i hc his dad left (L) so every time the rabbi calls him that he has an internal breakdown like “bro dont be weird this guy is NOT your dad”

thank u for these i have been FED

[inceptiversary]

Weekly Bulletin: July 30 and beyond!

Thank you so much to everyone who has participated in this year’s Inceptiversary! We hope you all had as much fun as we did!

Even though the end of the month has arrived, there are still events running into August! Then below the cut is a list of confirmed upcoming Inception fandom events to look forward to!

Be sure to follow @inceptioncentral if you haven’t already, to keep up to date on all Inception fandom news outside of Inceptiversary season!

Sunday, July 30

@inceptionwatchparty​​ - Glass Onion, 8PM EDT / 12 AM GMT

Monday July 31

@inceptionpositivity​​ posting ends

Inception Quiz closes

Tuesday, August 1

@aeldws​ drabbles due, voting opens

Thursday, August 3

@aeldws​ voting closes, 7PM EDT

Friday, August 4

@aeldws​ final prompt posted, 1AM EDT

@inceptionwatchparty​ - Venom: Let There be Carnage, 8PM EDT / 12 AM GMT

Saturday, August 5

@inceptionwatchparty​ - Brick, 8PM EDT / 12 AM GMT

Tuesday, August 8

Final @aeldws​ drabbles due, voting opens

Thursday, August 10

@aeldws​ voting closes, final results posted

Upcoming Inception Events:

InceptGen ( @inceptgen​ )

September 1 - November 31

Coming back for its third year, a fest to celebrate any and all gen fanworks! There are no signups needed and no rule except one: whatever you create, a romantic relationship cannot be the focus of the fanwork.

Inception Trick or Treat ( @inceptiontrick-or-treat​ )

October; Posting Day October 31

A free for all content extravaganza where artists and authors create fun-size works for the fandom. We actively encourage and welcome doodles and drabbles. It was always a blast to find the house giving our full size candy bars, so longer fics and more complicated art are also accepted. Halloween and fall themes are encouraged, but not required. All pairings and gen are welcome.

Arthur’s Anonymous ( @arthursanonymous​ )

December

An anonymous multifandom AO3 comment-giving and -receiving gift event!

Secret Saito ( @secretsaito​ )

November - December; Posting Day December 31

A fun fandom gift exchange! When you sign up, you provide a prompt and a list of pairings, genres, etc. you would be open to receiving. Then you list pairings, genres, etc. that you would be willing to create. Once signups have closed, Saito shuffles all the responses together and pairs everyone up with someone else (but secretly!). On posting day, you can unveil your fanwork to your giftee and spread some love!

Inception Gen/Rare Pair Drabble Contest ( @igrpdc​ )

March - April

An event to highlight gen and rare pair fic in a friendly, non-elimination drabble competition!

[bi-bats]

Hey! Just so you know I’m waiting with baited breath for jtw to see all your works because I’m going to go feral for all of the words you are blessing us with, like that’s so so many words. Im in love with your writing and if I’m even a little reasonable about this it will be a lie. I’m ready to lose all coherency and just bask in the writing that you’ve worked so hard on to share with everyone. 💜💜💜💜💜

For the word ask thingy: breaks

Oh my gosh!!! Hi!! Thank you so much!!!!!! 😭😭😭😭😭 That’s so sweet and also I KNOW ITS LIKE MAYBE TOO MANY WORDS IVE BEEN WORKING ON THESE SINCE THE PROMPTS DROPPED IN MARCH!!! I hope you enjoy it all!!! Also saw your tags on some of my posts so I'm gonna respond to those real quick: mochaccino fic is Monday's post actually!! Sunday's post is... so angsty. Like, enemies to incredibly fucked up lovers. This is the snippet for sunday. I'm obsessed with it and I don't usually post darker stuff but I just love writing it so probably more darker stuff like this will come in the future too!!

Thing two: even if you don't comment on my fics, getting an ask like this means just as much!!! or seeing people interact with my posts on tumblr because I know it means they like my writing enough to keep an eye on me over here!! Seriously, I appreciate it any time someone says anything about my writing, even if it's just a reply or a tag, because I crave validation attention. Anything is amazing!!

And okay, this prompt was actually such a challenge for the word breaks because like EVERY SENTENCE WITH THAT WORD WAS A SPOILER I DIDN'T WANT TO REVEAL 😭 except for this one, which is for my thursday fic and I haven't posted any snippets of yet!!

Dick’s mouth pressed into a thin, disappointed line. “Damian isn’t the one who’s going to ruin the night, at this rate.”  “So I’m right.”  “Tim.” “Dick,” Tim narrowed his eyes at him, “I know what you’re doing.” Dick sighed, raking a hand back through his hair. “Look, I know you’re allergic to things like fun and breaks, but those are things someone has to make you do so you don’t become one with your computer!

Dick is SUCH a character in this, I love him so dearly. This one is going to be fun and silly which we'll need because of all the angst coming on Sunday, Tuesday, and Friday (and a little bit on saturday) 😂

Great job giving me a challenge!!! and thank you so much for the ask ❤💚💖

(Send me a word and I'll post a snippet from one of my jaytimweek fics that has that word in it)

[phanfictioncatalogue]

Author/Writer!Phil Masterlist

7 Years - neutralhowell

Summary: Loosely based on the song ‘7 years’ so I’d recommend listening to that when reading this. Phil is a writer and Dan is a singer, they grew up together and both made it big, usually, time tears childhood people apart however for Dan and Phil, this wasn’t the case.

A Comma After Dearest (ao3) - niennaerso

Summary: Phil writes as a hobby. Dan has a favorite writer, and it happens to be Phil, but he doesn't know, yet.

and we're out here in plain sight (ao3) - orphan_account

Summary: Phil's an optimistic author whose science fiction novel is well on its way to becoming a film. Dan's an actor whose cynism toward love is nothing short of infuriating. It takes a while, but they find something to agree on.

Broken Like You (ao3) - TearDrop1234

Summary: Dan and Phil meet at a theater in a nowhere town. Their friendship is instant, but the rest not so much.

Cerebrate - dantiloquent

Summary: An ace and aroflux!phan fic in which they are both writers and the lines of their relationship blur but they’re always happy with how they are.

Coffee and Calligraphy (ao3) - brookwrites

Summary: (TW) Dan’s a barista at the local cafe where writer!Phil decides to sit with his journal. Dan likes Phil. A lot. But things change when Dan finds something out about Phil that breaks his heart.

Dear Dan, (ao3) - archangelgaybriel, kazimpala

Summary: Phil Lester is a writer-slash-barista who works ridiculous hours in a small coffee shop just around the corner. Dan Howell is an aspiring pianist with a keen interest - it’s not a crush - on a certain cute barista working at a coffee shop just around the corner, who also turns out to be the hottest one-night stand that he never intends to see again except in his fantasies. But then again Fate is cruel and the million dollar question is whether love can transcend Dan’s past into something much bigger.

Essential Meet-Cute (ao3) - husbants

Summary: Audiobook narrator Dan Howell finds himself embarrassed when he encounters a handsome man named Phil in the romance aisle of his local bookstore. Luckily, he and Phil get along quickly and both enjoy a certain queer romance author named Zack Striker. Still, Dan can’t help but think that Phil might be hiding something…

Every Saturday Morning (ao3) - croissantbleu (orphan_account)

Summary: Dan's life was uneventful, working at a law firm, trying (and failing) to stay on top of his work despite his ADHD getting in the way, and playing the piano on Saturdays. But things changed when he found a phone number in a book, and finds someone who makes him want to follow his dreams.

friday night placebo (ao3) - kishere

Summary: Phil Lester never thought that he was going to be here in his life: successful, healthy, a little lonely, and helping produce his own Netflix show. Dan Howell, YouTube fanboy and food aficionado, just wants to get a job in television acting. One audition could help both of their problems.

I Can Feel Your Pulse in the Pages (ao3) - coldtea (orphan_account)

Summary: Phil is a writer who can’t seem to stop including Dan in everything he writes.

Of Written Feelings and Words With Meaning - likhaless

Summary: Recently, Dan’s become addicted to this writing blog. He’s so addicted to it in fact, that he might as well be in love with it. The writer seems to say exactly how it feels and he finds himself wishing he had someone who was so deeply in love with him to write for him like that. Little does he know that there is already someone doing that and he’s closer than he thought.Phil, on the other hand, has his own feelings and secrets to keep.

On Skin - grooveyle

Summary: Phil is a writer. Dan, his muse. 

Out of this skin (ao3)- serconstance

Summary: Phil Lester breaks up with his boyfriend Charlie and moves to London to start a new life, hoping that this change will allow him to finally get rid of the ghosts he carries on his shoulder. What he didn't expect was for the boy he sat next to on the train to keep popping up into his life – at Starbucks, on the bus, at the movie theatre and, mostly, in his thoughts.

Paperback Writer - auroraphilealis

Summary: Phil Lester’s novel is still riddled with errors and mistakes, but he hates the whole editing process because it results in nothing more than re-written scenes and a bad taste in his mouth, because he’s never quite satisfied with what he’s written. And then he meets Dan, the cute guy at the coffee shop who makes sure Phil knows he could help him edit his novel.

Pretty Guy (ao3) - Archive (Curlylinguist)

Summary: Phil stumbles across a Pride rally and a certain curly-haired queer activist catches his eye.

Scripts And Stars - lovebuglester

Summary: Dan is an actor, auditioning for a new role in a film written by a revolutionary young writer by the name of Phil Lester.

Seven days of sushi (ao3) - Portia331

Summary: Phil Lester is a well-regarded sci-fi author. Well, post-apocalyptic sci-fi zombie survival horror, if you're being technical about it. After an epiphany-inducing series of life events, he decides he wants a break from robots and gore and to step into the non-fiction world. His agent and publisher are on board, but there's a catch - he has to give up his artistic integrity and make his work * scholarly * ... within the next week. Is Phil up for the challenge?

song and story (ao3) - kay_okay 

Summary: In this universe, Dan, a music composition grad student working on his thesis, and Phil, a novelist trying his best to get over his sophomore slump, book the week before Christmas in a bed and breakfast nestled against snow-covered mountains in France. They're tapped out creatively and need the week to work on their projects.

In this universe, Dan and Phil don't know each other. At least, that's how it starts.

The Brown-Eyed Barista (ao3) - tahliaisnotonfire

Summary: Dan Howell worked as a barista at a small corner coffee shop where he meets an author called Phil Lester; and he’s begun working on a new book.

What I Wouldn't Do (ao3) - wordsofphandom (KathleenCaitlyn)

Summary: At a book signing, Phil, a succesful author of children’s books, meets the five-year-old Dylan and his gorgeous single father Dan. Though they are instantly drawn to each other, certain issues, let alone a lively five-year-old complicate things for Dan and Phil, and they have to find out just what they would - or wouldn’t do, to be together.

[northerngoshawk]

Happy FFWF on the last Friday of 2022! What did you enjoy the most about writing fanfic this year? What are three fics you read this year that you would recommend to others? Don't forget to include links to fics, including your own!

happy ffws on the last saturday of 2022 haha! and daaaaangggg, choco, that's a great question!

i think one thing i enjoyed most about writing fanfic this year is expanding my array of fics and delving deep into intropsection and other various themes. i mean, i most definitely had a few fics from last year that were introspection, but this year i had waaayyyy more of these fics, most of which are based upon Aang's grief of the Air Nomads because for some reason that's my favorite thing to explore (lol...). but i also began exploring more niche themes that i don't think many people in the atla fandom tend to explore, such as Katara's changing perception of Aang as the avatar (gods don't bleed (except you do)) and Zuko's guilt on his role in the Fire Nation's imperialism (dreamless dreams).

this year, i also learned that i enjoy writing other relationships that aren't Kataang! i really did enjoy writing Iroh's and Lu Ten's relationship in leaves let go (to fall from the vine) and Hakoda's and Aang's potential father-son relationship in these sleepless nights we spend (waiting to come home). even in my current in-the-works multichap see the sky and sea (and remember me), i love writing Sokka's and Katara's sibling relationship just as much as the Kataang. these things are definitely something i enjoyed the most when writing these fics this year, and i'm waiting to see what next year will bring!

now, three fics i read this year... hmmm....

Monarch by @itsmoonpeaches. it's a sin to say i've only read this amazing fic this year (and yes it's still a Work-In-Progress) but OML this is so good!! the court intrigue, the characterization of Azulon, the various nefarious motives everyone has, the backstabbing... ugh i would most definitely recommend it to the atla fandom!! this deep dive into the imperialism of the Fire Nation through the eyes of the royal family would be one that's very very tricky to do well, and Peaches wrote it masterfully!

Unspoken, Undeniable by @flameohotwife, which is her fake-dating au for Kataang. there’s a lot of amazing fluffiness and pining and even a little bit of angst as Katara and Aang dance around each others’ feelings HAHAHA. would definitely rec it for a good ol’ fluffy romantic time! (also yis there is a sequel to that if you’re horny LOL)

and finally, your fic Drag You Down, which was just completed this past thursday! this is a kind of Kataang fic i have seldom seen in the fandom, a Kataang fic that’s more than a Kataang fic! it addresses Aang and Katara as who they are, down to their core, and their flaws and fears as the reason why they had to split up--and not because of a “simple miscommunication problem” either. it weaves in a storyline that is not just about Kataang, but it works in such a way that it affects how Aang and Katara each navigate the barrier between them before they can finally get together. in essence, the fic isn’t putting Kataang as the sole focus, but as the foundation of the story, with each event affecting it in some way, even if it’s not directly related to the relationship. it also addresses themes of The Guru and The Crossroads of Destiny that i rarely see in the Kataang fandom, and it’s done so well and so in-character for the both of them! overall, such an amazing fic i would definitely recommend to anyone who wants to bite into its themes and character-building!

thanks for the ask, choco!

[thepaintedlady00]

So, a couple questions about your Nightshade fic: What does your update schedule look like? Whenever you can, or Fridays? Have you read the Sweetbitter book as well as watched the show? If so, what from the book/show do you want to expand on more in the fic? Good luck with future updates, & take care of yourself!

I'm still trying to figure out what days work best for final edits and posting, but as it stands I'll likely be posting Burden (the Sandman mini fic) on Fridays and Nightshade on Saturdays. Burden has about 3 or 4 parts left and once it finishes I'll probably bump Nightshade updates to Fridays.

I have not read the books, but I do try to get a good summary of the book and its main themes to kind of help me stay true to both worlds. Of course, as happens a little in fanfic a lot of things get changed, some stiff gets forgotten or just doesn't fit within the writers story. But I'll definitely be trying to find a happy middle ground between book, show and Nightshade.

The biggest thing I want to expand on from the show at least, is the growth and even healing of Jake and other characters like Sasha and Scott and so on. In Nightshade my plan is to give Sweetbitter a kind of happy ending for a lot of the characters we meet, whether it's accomplished with them fulfilling their dreams or finding new dreams, simply moving on, or even just staying where they are.

One thing I felt needed to happen with the book after getting a summary of the ending as well as the show since it was canceled was kind of a payoff of change. A lot of the characters are stuck in places they don't particularly like, so I'm hoping I'll be able to offer up a few changes through the series that gives each of them a bit more of a resolution and prospects for a brighter future.

The biggest themes of the book/show that I gathered were revolving mostly around trauma and how individuals cope with it as well as obvious power plays within the restaurant, favoritism and cliques within the community of the workplace. I hope Nightshade and Lena as the character she is will be able to explore these themes deeper as well as mend some bridges, fill in the gaps between groups and usher in something that I think everyone (except Maddie and Simone) can agree the restaurant needs: change.

Thank you so much for your questions! 🥺 I love every chance to answer questions and even just discuss things with y'all. 🥰 I hope everyone continues to enjoy the series. Have a great day/afternoon/night all of you! Thank you so much for your support, your likes and comments and reblogs. You help me find inspiration to keep pushing and I love you all! ❤

[wolfsbanesparks]

Okay so I've gotten a few questions and I'll do my best to answer them with a brief walkthrough of how this exchange works.

All this information (and more details) can be found here if you still have questions! (The link is to the Yuletide 2023 profile page)

Full walkthrough under the cut.

Eligibility

This exchange is for small fandoms only! Your fandom is eligible if it has <1000 completed fics on AO3. Fics are counted towards that total only if they are in English, complete, and at least 1000 words long. So if your fandom has more than 1000 works but only half of them meet the criteria it may still be eligible!

There are a few exceptions and if your fandom is borderline you can provide evidence for why it should be included (Check out this post for more info on that)

Since a lot of my followers are comics fans: a fandom can be a single title or run of a comic if it's distinct enough. For example I nominated the We Are Robin comic run. Even though characters (like Duke Thomas) are in multiple comics and exist in larger fandoms, this run is distinct and self contained enough to be it's own fandom.

Nominations (Open now until Thursday Sept 28)

Nominations are optional, so you can still sign up even if you don't do a nomination. Just be aware that if your favorite small fandom isn't nominated it won't be included as an option for this exchange.

If you follow the link at the top of this reblog it will bring you to the top of the Yuletide Exchange profile page on AO3.

Once there click the "Yuletide 2023 Tagset" link.

Once you click the link it should take you to a new page. Click on the "Nominations" button to be taken to the nomination form.

The Nomination form looks like this:

Just fill it out with the fandom(s) you'd like to nominate and the characters from those fandoms you'd like to see.

You can nominate up to 4 fandoms with up to 4 characters for each fandom. Use the canonical tags for the fandom/characters. If there is no canonical tags just enter it as you would expect to see its canonical tag. For example I nominated the "Monkey Prince" fandom even though it does not have a recognized fandom tag.

Under Characters you can also add "worldbuilding (fandom)" for fics that expand on the world/lore/etc. without focusing on characters themselves.

Once you hit submit the mods will review the submission to double check that your fandoms are eligible and if they are they will be added to the list of fandoms for the exchange.

Sign Ups (Friday Oct 13-Saturday Oct 21)

To sign up all you need is to be 18 years old and have an AO3 account!

I'll add photos once Sign ups are open in October but I'll give you the rundown of how it works here. (And here's the AO3 tutorial on signing up for events like this with visuals)

On Oct 13, a sign up link will appear on the Yuletide 2023 profile page (linked above). It will also be linked on the Dreamwidth page. I will also try to link in this post.

The link will take you to the form where you can fill out your Requests (what you would like your gifted fic to be) and Offers (what you are willing to write)

Requests: Select 3-6 fandoms that you would like a fic of. For each fandom select from the nominated characters (up to 4). If you don't specify characters then your writer can choose any of them.

There will also be a space for "Optional details" where you can specify what you want to see in a fic and what you DON'T want to see. This is where you can put ships, genre preferences, triggers, squicks, prompts etc. Including Do Not Wants (DNW) like triggers and squicks will make sure that there is nothing in your gift fic that will upset you.

Offers: Select 4-10 fandoms that you are willing to write for. For each fandom select 2-20 nominated characters that you would be willing to write (Or you can chose "Any" if you are comfortable writing all nominated characters).

Bucket Offers can be made if there are many fandoms where you are comfortable writing Any characters. You can offer 9 fandoms plus one Bucket Offer of additional fandoms. (I wouldn't recommend doing this for your first exchange but it is an option)

Once you submit your sign up form it will appear on your AO3 profile.

You can click on this button and edit your sign up form at any point before the sign ups close.

Assignments (Sent out by Monday Oct 23)

Once sign ups close you will be matched up with another person based on your Requests and Offers. Matching is done by fandom and by character to find the best match.

When Assignments go out you will get an email with the details of your assignment. This will essentially be the Request portion of your match's sign up form. If you don't get an email or if it gets deleted/eaten by the Spam filter, the Assignment (and all the details) will appear on your AO3 profile.

The person you are writing a fic for will most likely NOT be the person writing a fic for you. It's like a Secret Santa/White Elephant gift exchange--It's supposed to be a secret!

Posting (deadline is Monday Dec 18)

When you finish your story you can click on your Assignment tab. Beside the assignment will be 2 buttons: "Fulfill" and "Default".

Default is for if you can't complete the fic in time (Pinch Hitters will then take over to ensure the person you were matched with still gets a gift). The Default deadline is Dec 11.

If you click the "Fulfill" button you will be taken to the posting form. Just add in your story and metadata as you usually would when uploading a new story, but just double check that it is included in the Yuletide 2023 collection and that your recipient's name is correct (both should be autofilled if you do it this way).

You may also click "Post a New Work" on your main profile page and add in the story that way. Just make sure that it is included in the Yuletide 2023 collection and that your recipient's name is correct.

When you hit "Post", the work will go up but it will be an unrevealed Mystery Work. Others will not be able to see it on your Works page but you will. You can still go in and edit it anytime before the deadline, but no one will be able to read it until the collection is revealed on Dec 25.

Reveals (Story reveal on Dec 25 and Author reveal on Jan 1)

On Christmas morning all the stories will be revealed, though the author will remain a mystery. Recipients will get a notification that they have a gift and they will be able to read it as a special gift to them. It will be available for anyone in the fandom to read and comment on at that time.

On New Year's day, the authors will be revealed. This is when you can finally chat about your story, crosspost it, and show your enthusiasm for what you've written!

And that's everything! This got super long but I hope it helps demystify the process for anyone new to the exchange! Good Luck and I hope you enjoy Yuletide!

@cerealboxlore and @zorilleerrant I know you both mentioned maybe being interested so this one's for you!

Yuletide 2023

Hey y'all!

So I have (perhaps foolishly) been thinking about doing the Yuletide fic exchange again this year and thought that I should share it with all of you!

What is it?

Yuletide is a multi-fandom fic exchange that takes place every year around the holidays. It's for small fandoms with less than 1000 completed fics on AO3. (Find out if your favorite fandom is eligible here!)

When is it?

Nominations are open now! If you are a part of an eligible fandom you have until Thursday September 28 to nominate them. It's very simple, just list the fandom's name and up to four characters from that fandom you would like to see in a fic. You can nominate up to four fandoms if you have multiple that fit the criteria!

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[enchanted-prose]

#12 A Bloody Ballad

and with this fic, I have officially crossed into the 60,000 word count territory. I've also decided that I will finish this ficlet series by July 14th and submit it to Jennifer Nielsen’s fan content competition.

Word count: 5,715

Characters: Jaron, Mott, Jolly (Original character who deserves lute rights), Lord Thomas Row (a babey and original character), Merry (Original character), Commander Regar (Original character), Roden, Tobias, Renlyn (Original character), Princess Amarinda, Imogen (this one’s a reAL party)

Notes: This was creepy even for me to write, so that’s your warning. Edited and ready to be read!

Enjoy!

The sneezing never stopped.

Always sneezing.

And it was all that cat’s fault.

Jaron rubbed his eyes. It wasn’t the cat’s fault, it was his. He should’ve thought about his reaction to the cat when Renlyn managed to sell it to him. Cat hair was everywhere.

But by the Saints, nothing could best the smile Imogen had when she held that kitten on her lap.

He didn’t mind silent suffering if it meant Imogen’s happiness.

Her secret smiles filled his head. The way her hand sought his whenever they were near each other kept his feet planted on solid ground. Jaron knew that Imogen’s mere presence gave him the focus to solve every puzzle at his fingertips.

However, it went deeper than that.

Imogen insisted on looking him over each time he got into trouble. She had no qualm about staying up until the early hours of the morning when memories of Avenia plagued him. Her love came in gentle forms; she brought him deftly spun bracelets, a spoonful of sweet pastry dough, ruffled his hair with flour covered fingers.

He could sneeze for a millennia for her.

With each passing day, his stance seemed more and more likely.

Did the Saints sneeze?

Energy burst through him without a warning. Jaron stood up, nearly knocking his chair to the floor. He snatched the letter he’d been reading and began to pace. King Kippenger was sending a representative to discuss the situation Avenia was in.

There was nothing Jaron wouldn’t do to assist an ally, save abdicating the throne and a few other atrocious acts of course. He was prepared to give aid to Avenia in any shape.

He was prepared to send his best military leaders to action if needed.

His mind instantly began thinking about what news Kippenger’s representative would be bringing. The path he walked was familiar. It gave him space to think outside of his normal routine. To the corner, to the door, to the shelf, back to the desk.

Thomas Row, that was the representative’s name. A farmer raised to nobility after demonstrating his loyalty not only to Avenia, but to Kippenger during the first months of his reign.

Carthya’s harvests over the past four years had been wondrous, and a new push for education thanks to Amarinda and Tobias. Feall was working with Roden, and Jaron was confident that Feall would make a capable temporary replacement should Roden be sent to Avenia.

The pieces were in place. Jaron could play this figurative chess game and win.

He was juggling what would happen if Avenia wouldn’t accept his help and what he would have to do to protect his own people.

Would it really be worth it to keep a Carthyan influence in Avenia if it only forced Avenians even further away from good relations?

Decisions, decisions, decisions.

To many outcomes, not enough stable variables.

Think, think, think.

What could he do if Avenian relations soured?

Bymar would come to help, Jaron was certain of it. Mendenwal would likely come as well, and maybe even Gelyn, though the latter would likely have ill intentions. He could always completely withdraw Carthyan aid as a last resort.

A very last resort.

Why, oh why couldn’t Thomas Row be there, knocking at the door?

Jaron rubbed his watering eyes, and returned to his desk. One letter down, countless others to go. He inched his chair backwards, inched his chair forwards, and wished he had a chair that spun in a circle.

Saints, it wasn't even noon and he was already bored.

He’d managed to read through ten letters when somebody finally came to check in on him.

“Mott!” Jaron stood up, this time successfully knocking over his chair. “Thank the Saints, I wanted to ask you if-”

“No, I will not let you use a shield as a sled and ride down the grand staircase,” Mott’s brows lowered into a solid line.

Jaron broke into a wicked grin, “Good idea, but that’s not what I was going to ask. You read Kippenger’s letter, no?”

“Haven’t had much to do but read since the attack.”

“Do you have any- oh.”

During the Avenian war, Mott had received a wound that would’ve killed him if not for Tobias’s skill as a doctor. The wound prevented Mott from fighting his way through a battle.

The wicked grin Jaron sported faded into a deep frown. He wanted to be a good king, a just man who sought out justice rather than revenge.

It was a well kept secret that Mott’s ghost wound flared up. A well kept secret that the fight with the Faola who attacked Feall was responsible for the ghost pains.

But Jaron knew, he knew about Mott’s pain.

And if it weren’t for Imogen and Tobias, he would’ve taught the Faola a lesson they’d never forget.

“Is there anything I can do to help?” muttered Jaron, tossing through the emotions pulsing through his veins.

Anger, grief. Anger, grief. Anger, grief, and frustration.

Did nobody care how hard he was trying? Was that why there was still crime plaguing the streets of Drylliad?

“Not exactly, but I do appreciate the sentiment,” Mott shifted on his feet. “I did read Kippenger’s letter, and I dispatched a series of spies to try to locate his representative.”

“Did you find anything out?”

“As a matter of fact, I did, although the information came from someone who’s not one of ours.”

Oh?

Jaron motioned for Mott to continue, “Is it reliable information?”

“From a friend’s perspective, yes. However, from a ruler’s perspective there’s a series of holes in the story,” explained Mott. “My informant, ah, has a history of lute playing, colorful clothing, and pursuing every vice he can.”

“Please don’t tell me-”

“Jolly is my informant.”

He didn’t mean to snicker. He didn’t mean for that snicker to turn into a fit of laughter. Jaron coughed into his fist, trying his best to mask his grinning, “Jolly is your informant? The man who sings about floral crowns and otherworldly romances?”

Mott was all too serious as he nodded. “Considering that he not only found Thomas Row in Avenia, he also managed to bring him here, I’d give him a bit more credit.”

“Lord Thomas Row is here!? When did he arrive!? Why wasn’t I informed!?”

“He requested to stay at an inn rather than in the castle, said he wanted to be with the army that accompanied him.”

“By the toes of every Saint, I have to meet with him,” Jaron bolted to the door, froze as his hand hovered above the handle, and turned back to face Mott. “Would you like to come with me?”

“Perhaps,” Mott said. “I have several things that require my attention, but I don’t suppose you’d be opposed to helping me with my duties.”

More chores?

More papers to read?

Jaron shrugged, “You can’t tell anyone, otherwise they’ll always come to me to help push papers around. I have duties of my own.”

“As do I.”

“To the Devils’ with duty then, I’m the king, my word is law.”

With a few catches, of course, but Jaron didn’t need to explain that. It would’ve diminished his perfect excuse for abandoning the papers on his desk.

All he needed was a quick stop at his chambers to change his clothing. He’d be able to blend in with the crowd well enough in a pair of shabby trousers. It was a slight miracle that he hadn’t been recognized yet.

He was feeling more comfortable once he’d dressed in a patched shirt and ragged shoes.

Although when he stood next to Mott, who was still dressed plainly according to the royal court’s ridiculous standards, he looked like a pickpocket.

Once a thief, always a thief.

The courtyard was bustling with life. Horses were being led to shadier pastures outside the castle. Sheets and sheets hung on lines as they dried in the sun. Roden was yelling at a group of soldiers.

Everything was as it should be. Jaron was grateful for the false security the routine brought.

He would be a fool not to acknowledge that there was something not quite right anymore.

Like a right shoe being ever so slightly bigger than the left. Like a spoon and fork sharing the same engraved design, only the spoon was missing a line.

Quiet yet obvious once found.

“Tell me about the army Thomas Row brought,” Jaron asked, stepping over a laundress’s large bar of soap.

“It’s a hired army,” Mott wiped his nose. The smell of heavy duty soap wasn’t the sweetest scent. “The army’s lead by a man called Commander Regar, I suspect his men are mostly Bymarian and Gelynian.”

“Ah, mercenary armies. They’re too unpredictable for my taste.”

“One could argue that you’re also too unpredictable for  different peoples’ tastes.”

“I don’t give my loyalties to the highest bidder; mercenaries do.”

In fact, Jaron didn’t think the mercenary armies so favored by nobility were worth their cost. The mercenaries were little more than bandits who could play the game of life a little smarter.

It was far better to find men willing to fight for something they loved rather than men who fought for coin.

“Market day should be a success,” Mott noted, gesturing to the various stands that had popped up overnight.

Jaron shrugged, “I’m hoping for a large supply of peaches this time. The peaches at last market day were full of worms.”

“I suppose you’ll just have to wait two days to see the peaches yourself.”

“Think I should have Roden pray for my peaches and their health?”

“Don’t be sacrilegious.”

Ah, market day was a thief’s dream. Hundreds of vendors came with their goods to sell, and security could only protect so many. Jaron had taken advantage of market days as a child. He rarely returned to Mrs. Turbeldy’s Home for Disadvantaged Boys with his hands empty after market day. Sometimes, he got lucky. Sometimes he was able to steal enough food to feed himself for a few days.

Though the anxiety that constantly tugged at his lungs made him wonder.

Made him think.

Made him realize that maybe this market day would be unlike the others.

Perhaps he should get somebody to pray about it.

Thomas Row was staying at the Traveler’s Inn, which meant a short walk for Jaron and Mott. . . If Thomas was there. And as fate would have it, Thomas wasn’t. He was at the Dragon’s Keep, catching up with a certain brightly colored troubadour.

Jaron could hear the lute playing long before he saw the Dragon’s Keep. Jolly’s clear tenor voice sailed through the tavern’s open windows.

There was blood in the kitchen

And blood in the halls

Blood in the bathtub

Blood on the walls

There was no way that tune was Carthyan, Jaron would’ve remembered a ballad that violent.

“After you,” Jaron said, holding the door open for Mott.

“On the contrary, after you Jaron.”

“No, after you.”

It took several more ‘after you!’s before Mott finally conceded and walked into the Dragon’s Keep with Jaron trailing behind him.

Stepping into the Dragon’s Keep was like stepping into a warm cloud.Men and women crammed around almost every table. There was no set uniform among them, although several people wore thick, knee-length skirts with knotted patterns. Jolly was sitting on a table flanked by a man playing a large set of pipes and a woman playing a tin flute. Jolly’s tenor voice took on a thick Bymarian accent; the chords he played turned sour:

There was blood in the kitchen

There was blood in the halls

Blood in the bathtub

Blood on the walls

And blood on her Majesty, Lady Ingrithay

A heart in her right hand, dagger in the other

Ye can’t outrun yer mother

She is yer judgement day

Jaron shivered.

Ye can’t outrun yer mother

She is yer judgement day

“That’s him, Lord Row,” Mott said, gesturing to a man in humble clothes sitting a few tables away from Jolly and the other musicians.

Lord Thomas Row was a plain man, save for his head of wiry, black braids. His white shirt flared down his arms and cinched around his wrists.

Cinched around one of his wrists.

One of his wrists?

Lord Row had a right hand, but the left one ended in an elegant, covered hook.

“Sir Mott! It is good to see you!” Lord Row bellowed, and he lunged to embrace Mott. “It’s been too many years!”

“Yes it has, Tom, yes it has,” Mott clapped Row’s back.

Jaron tried to stop the squirming unease that came when watching a pair of old friends reunite.

Once Row had broken off his embrace, he took a long look at Jaron. “Is this-?”

“It is, no need for names, my friend, I came here to make your acquaintance before rushing into talks of politics,” Jaron said, extending his right hand. “Sometimes they get messy, I’d rather be friends than enemies. And forgive my dress, I find it’s easier to slip through crowds when not wearing a jeweled tunic.”

“There’s no need for forgiveness, I wholeheartedly agree, and I sincerely hope you don’t become my enemy, your Majesty.”

“Please, call me Jaron.”

“I accept your invitation of friendship,” Row bowed his head. “Jaron.”

“By the Saints can he change this ballad?” Mott grumbled as Jolly launched into a new verse.

Ye can run, ye can run

But lady, o’lady

Yer time’s almost done

Sing like a bird, say what you say

O’lady yer the one

To stop dear Ingrithay

Blood in the-

“No! Don’t touch my lute you insufferable imp!” Shouted Jolly as he launched off the table.

Jaron let out a sigh of relief, “Find whoever stole the lute and bring them to me, I’ll give them a knighthood.”

“The ballad isn’t that bad,” muttered a man from Row’s table.

“On the contrary, I think it is.”

“Ignore old Regar, he’s sympathetic for Bymarian ballads,” Row waved his hook at the man who’d spoken.

Regar held up his hand in greeting, but chose to drink the contents of his tankard than say hello.

“It’s not exactly a song for dancing,” Mott pointed out. “It’s Bymarian, you say?”

Row nodded, “I’ve heard it multiple times on my journey here. Regar’s men are mostly from Idunn Craich, it’s been interesting hearing their tales, they’re much bloodier than tales from Bultain.”

“Only recent ones,” Regar said, having finally finished his drink. He dragged his hand across his bearded face and smiled, “Commander Regar, I am honored to be in your presence, Majesty.”

Jaron made a face, but nodded in return.

He hated it when people called him Majesty.

That’s what people called their prettiest mares, Saints be cursed.

“I’ve heard a lot about you,” Jaron said. “Sort of.”

“Thank you, I think.” Regar nodded his head. His eyes were elsewhere, and soon he was sitting again, nursing his tankard.

“See something you don’t like, Commander Regar?”

He didn’t answer.

“Regar isn’t the most spirited at this time, return in a few hours and he’ll be singing with our mutual friend Jolly,” Row said, setting his hook on Jaron’s shoulder. He steered both Jaron and Mott away from the table. “Jaron, may I ask how your day has gone?”

“Oddly average, if I must be honest,” Jaron said, still looking at Regar.

“Ah, I must say the same, as average as riding can be.”

Mott chuckled, “That’s good news, I’d hate to know there were troubles with your travels, Row.”

His head was racing. Put the pieces together, put the pieces together! Regar was several inches taller than Jaron, and from his standpoint, could probably see more than Jaron could. From Regar’s eye-level, he could see the other side of the tavern, which was much emptier.

Bar maids dashed to and fro trying to appease every customer they could.

One of them was serving drinks while keeping a lute free from Jolly’s hands. Green scarf in her bushy hair. Jolly’s ballad echoed through Jaron’s mind.

There was blood in the kitchen

There was blood in the halls

Blood in the bathtub

Blood on the walls

Something was staring at him, right in the face.

It plagued him as he sat at the bar, listening to the bloody Bymarian ballads, and trying to weasel his way into Mott’s conversation with Lord Row.

He rubbed his eyes, which had finally stopped burning now that he’d left his cat hair covered office.

Aside from Lord Row and discussing Avenian policies, there were other matters to take care of. Among that never ending list of problems to be solved was the Faola attack on Feall.

It took numerous questions from Feall, Roden, Amarinda, and himself to firmly conclude that the girl who’d been arrested wasn’t responsible. She was simply doing the wrong things, got involved with the wrong people, and got caught at the wrong time.

But Feall had suggested bargaining with her. Bargaining with Ayvar, a criminal.

It wasn’t the worst deal Jaron had to make.

He promised Ayvar her freedom and a pardon for banditry if she was able to help them catch the culprit. She swore on her own false grave in Gelyn that she would keep her word, and was prepared to act immediately if needed.

Ayvar would remain a prisoner but would be moved to a tower room. She would be given ample food, water, and blankets.

All she needed to do was be prepared for when she was needed.

It was a game, and Jaron didn’t mind playing games.

He only hoped that he’d win this time.

Too many times had he gambled and lost, resulting in disastrous consequences and a pile of innocent victims. This time, it would be different. He would catch a Faola, and in the process, drive away all the others.

There was blood in the kitchen

There was blood in the halls

Blood in the bathtub

Blood on the walls

Jaron rubbed his eyes. The words to Jolly’s song refused to leave.

It seemed that even thinking of Jolly caused him to appear. “Headache, sir?”

“No, no, I bought a cat from Renlyn Karise, turns out I don’t do well when cats are around,” Jaron confessed.

Jaron didn’t want to admit that he was thankful for Jolly’s company; he didn’t want to admit that Mott was talking to Lord Row much better than he was.

“Ah, Renlyn,” Jolly held a hand over his heart. “The envy of every man and their wives. A beauty and a wickedly intelligent woman.”

“Imogen mentioned that you knew her, how did the pair of you meet?”

Jolly’s blush matched the pink details on his blue jerkin, “Ah, well, I was one of the fools who chased after Ren for her golden curls. I thought I was clever by tricking her into a gambling game. . .”

“And?”

“And I lost everything. She gave it back, of course, but I learned my lesson. Karise is a force to be reckoned with, and a fierce friend. But she’s good at every kind of game.”

Especially the game of How Much Money can Jaron Waste on a Cat?

“And you know Merry, as well,” Jaron noted, gesturing to the girl in question as she dragged a box of dirty dishes to the back room. “How?”

“It’s not my story to tell,” Jolly scratched his mass of black hair. “I’m sure you could ask her about it one day, not sure how much luck you have.”

“I’ve heard plenty about her, believe me. Roden, ah, Roden gets easily excited when he’s on the bottle.”

“Yes, yes he does.”

“And how do you know Roden?”

“You know what,” Jolly made a face. “I’m not quite sure, we were speaking in a tavern and he’s always been a friend of mine. Wrote a ballad about him, and a ballad about Renlyn. I have a ballad I’m writing about-”

“Don’t say it’s about me and Imogen.”

“-you and Imogen.”

“By the toes of all the Saints,” Jaron pinched his nose. “At least make it a good one.”

“I can sing it right now!” Jolly bounced away from the bar, swinging his lute into action.

Jaron’s eyes went wide as Jolly began strumming each chord, tuning them all to perfection. He began plucking out the first few notes, which led to a series of slowly strummed chords. Jolly heaved in a breath, preparing to sing, when out of nowhere a pair of hands shot out and stole the lute.

“You’re in timeout!” Merry said, cradling the lute in her arms. “You sang Ingrithay too many times, you’ll lose your voice!”

“Merry, Merry, quite contrary, you tug my- that’s actually a wonderful rhyme,” Jolly made a face, nodding ever so slowly.

In silence, Jaron pressed his hands together and bowed his head, grateful for Merry’s interference. She winked at him in return.

She patted Jolly’s shoulder, “That’s right, my tortured artist, think about your songs, and drink something warm. Can I get anything for you gentlemen?”

“I’ve heard the lemon tarts here are very nice,” Jaron said, exchanging a sneaky grin with Mott.

That wasn’t the only thing they’d heard.

“And for you, Lord Row?” Merry cradled the lute in one arm, and set her free hand on her hip.

“I’m quite well, thank you,” Lord Row flashed a smile. “I’ll be certain to call for you should anything change.”

“I’ll do my best to answer that call, sir.”

There was blood in the kitchen

There was blood in the halls

Blood in the bathtub

Blood on the walls

No, no. Not the rhyme again.

He hated not having all the answers. He hated knowing that there was something lurking in his future.

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

“This stuff, really?” Tobias asked, gesturing to the bottle not far from Roden’s reach.

As much as he tried, Lord Thomas Row was more concerned with checking in on Commander Regar’s men, and opted to save their discussion for a few days later.

Meaning Jaron had nothing to do for an entire evening.

His first instinct was to snuggle up to Imogen, or do something silly like cover her eyes and guide her through the castle. However, his attempt to steal her away came too late: Amarinda had commandeered Imogen and Renlyn for an evening ride in the woods with Feall and Mott as chaperones.

His second instinct was to pester Roden into doing something fun, but when he entered Roden’s usually clean office, he knew he was gravely mistaken.

Pieces of fabric and at least one of Roden’s shirts were scattered about the floor. He and Tobias were arguing about something, but the argument came to a grating halt when Jaron walked in.

“Be quiet Tobias, you need loads of spirits to be a seamstress,” Jaron wrinkled his nose. “Let Roden embrace his dreams.”

“I’m not becoming a seamstress!” Roden crossed his arms, his frown rivaling the gargoyles on Drylliad’s biggest cathedral.

“Are too!”

“Am not!”

“Are too!”

“Am not!”

“Then why do you have a pair of shears in your hand and fabric on your lap?” Jaron sauntered over to Roden’s desk, sat in his chair, and kicked his heels up. “I can arrange for you to get more pretty things if you’d like.”

Roden perked up, “Really? I mean, no! That’s not what I want!”

“Oh he definitely wants pretty things,” Tobias pointed out. He’d picked up the bottle on Roden’s desk. “This is definitely stronger than what I’m used to trying.”

As Roden curled over his piece of fabric, Jaron looked to Tobias, and both exchanged a snicker.

If he couldn’t convince Roden to ride a shield like a sled down the grand staircase, Jaron would make fun of him till he reacted. That would be worth it.

Tobias looked at Roden, who was cursing his scissors, and made an outline of- of a bell?

Jaron squinted at him, shrugged, and shook his head. What could he do with a bell? What- oh! Tobias was making the outline of a skirt, not a bell. Ah! Jaron could work with skirt jokes.

“You know, I hear Bymarian women wear dresses with slits so they can move,” Jaron rubbed his nose. “I’m sure Amarinda can get you one.”

“No, no, that wouldn’t work,” Roden waved his hand, and didn’t bother looking back.

Looking for reassurance, Jaron looked at Tobias, who was sniffing the contents of Roden’s bottle of spirits. He made a face as the fumes escaped. No reassurance from him.

There had to be a way to upset Roden. “Are you more of a skirt person?”

He paused and straightened. “I suppose I am.”

Once again, Jaron looked to Tobias. This time, Tobias was prepared with a confused shrug.

“Are you- are you being serious?” Jaron leaned forwards. He’d heard of men wearing skirts into battle. By the Devils, even some of Regar’s men wore skirts. He just hadn’t expected Roden to suddenly take a stance on the trend.

“I don’t really mind what a girl wears,” Roden looked back to glare at Jaron. “Why are you asking me this?”

“I was talking about you wearing a dress, you oaf.”

Roden pointed his scissors at Jaron, “No. I’m not playing this game, I’m in a good mood.”

“Good mood? I’d like to change that.”

“Jaron, nothing you could do could change that. I have the evening off and-”

“Are you making dish rags for the kitchen staff?” asked Jaron, now resting his chin on his hands and his elbows on Roden’s desk. “No, Tobias, don’t drink that. I need somebody on my side in case Roden plays dirty.”

Unfortunately, Tobias was looking to do something foolish too. Jaron could hear him draining Roden’s bottle of spirits.

Dear Saints, he was causing a circus.

Good!

“I’m not going to fight y-,” Roden tried, but Jaron was eager to do something incredibly foolish.

“You’re making hair scarves for Merry, aren’t you?”

Aha! He’d hit a nerve!

“So?” Roden grumbled, curling back over his fabric. “I like seeing her ears. One of them has this-”

“Boring!” Jaron jumped to his feet, and walked over to a fine square of red fabric. “You want to know what would make these all prettier? Tobias, you’re going to pass out.”

“I think I deserve a quick nap,” Tobias argued, setting down the now half-empty bottle of spirits. “Jaron, don’t do something stupid, remember what we said about being kind.”

Oh yes, Jaron remembered that deep discussion. Something about being considerate for others and not pestering people until they reacted in a negative way. During the conversation, Tobias pointed out that perhaps Jaron wasn’t used to receiving any verbal or physical attention, which was likely the cause of Jaron’s desire to punch Roden as hard as he could during the most obscure times.

Unfortunately, Tobias’s statements were too close to home. During the next large banquet, Jaron made sure to punch Tobias as hard as he could rather than Roden.

He’d certainly gotten an earful from Imogen after that.

“Don’t. You. Dare.” Roden growled, slowly rising to a stance to attack.

Jaron raised his foot above the red square of fabric, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I’m warning you. Don’t do-”

“What, this?”

His intention was to bring his boot down on the red square of fabric and leave a massive footprint, but he wasn’t sure if he accomplished his goal. Roden had launched himself right at Jaron, sending both of them careening across the floor.

“Hey, hey, hey! I’m a little guy! It’s my birth- hey!” Jaron cried out trying to wriggle out of Roden’s deathgrip.

“I told you not to touch the fabric!” Roden roared.

Jaron felt his feet touch the ground for a split second, and then he was hurled over Roden’s shoulder. Completely unfair. He refused to stand for it. Jaron kicked his legs like a fish, grabbed the back of Roden’s tunic, and tumbled to the ground.

He barely managed to roll away from Roden’s swinging foot.

“Oh, the fabric,” Tobias murmured. “It’s so pretty.”

“Quick-” Jaron dodged a flying fist “-question! What was in the bottle?”

Roden lunged, successfully grabbing Jaron by the left leg and dragging him to the ground. “It’s from Libeth!”

Now that wasn’t good at all. Libeth had some of the wildest alcohol brewers in the entire kingdom. Supposedly, they made a liquor strong enough to remove barnacles from sea vessels.

And how much had Tobias drank?

“He was-,” Tobias hiccuped and wiped his eyes. “Roden was making little hair scarves-,” another hiccup. “Making hair scarves for Murry. Little scarves, oh dear Saints, this boy can only wield a sword, bless him in these days as he-”

“Shut up Tobias!” Jaron and Roden yelled.

By the Devils! Roden had the upper hand again! Jaron was all too aware of Roden’s hand holding both of his wrists, which meant only one thing.

“Please, Roden, I beg you, it was just a joke!’ Jaron whimpered, trying to weasel out of his grip.

No, no, no.

The first time Jaron and Roden had gotten into a physical fight ended the same way, with Jaron unable to move and Roden prepared to deliver the finishing blow.

“I just wanted to cut up fabric!” Roden argued. “Tobias and I were doing fine before you barged in!”

“I was bored! Please don’t do this!”

“You could’ve helped with the fabric!”

“I wasn’t that bored!” Jaron squirmed again. “Please, Saints, no. No! Ah!”

The finishing blow was the worst part of the fight. Roden had licked his little finger, and shoved it into Jaron’s ear.

Although, now there was a third party involved.

Tobias flung his arms around both Roden and Jaron, tears streaming down his face. “I love you both with my whole heart, honest to the Saints. There’s nothing I wouldn’t do for you.”

“Can you get Roden to take his nasty hands off of my body!?” Jaron bellowed, yanking his head free from Roden’s little finger.

“Does the baby need a nap?” Roden cooed.

Oh, ho, ho, Roden was remembering old exchanged insults. Jaron unsuccessfully tried to escape, but to no avail. Roden hooked his arms beneath Jaron’s knees, and swung him up into his arms, while still keeping a drunken Tobias on his feet.

“Put me down!”

“Not until you apologize!”

“Roden?”

“Yes?”

“Rot with the Devils, you clotpole.”

Tobias’s quiet tears turned into sobs as he wrapped his arms around Jaron and Roden once again. “Little hair scarves.”

It was quite the scene to walk into: Roden holding Jaron like a baby, Tobias sobbing like he’d learned he would die soon, and bits of cut up colorful fabric covered the floor. It just so happened that Amarinda’s night ride finished early.

They didn’t look pleased.

The disappointment in Mott’s eyes was an all too familiar sight.

“I can explain,” Jaron croaked, finally realizing that he’d lost the fight.

A fight that he started.

“It looks like a dress shop in here,” Mott clasped his hands behind his back, Amarinda, Renlyn, and Imogen trailing behind him.

Roden practically dropped Jaron on the floor. “I was trying to make something, and then Jaron showed up.”

“Hey, you didn’t have to hit me,” argued Jaron. He grunted when Tobias set his head on Jaron’s shoulder, and refused to move. “Get off of me!”

The only answer Tobias gave was a new wave of silent tears, and a fresh set of apologies.

Mott’s face didn’t betray a single emotion. “Weren’t you going to meet with Lord Row?”

“He moved the meeting back, and I happened to finish my work this evening, and didn’t want to be alone.”

“So you picked a fight with Roden?”

Jaron scowled, he realized how foolish he’d been in starting the fight. A conversation wouldn’t have been enough for him, there was too much energy bursting through his body.

“These are pretty,” Amarinda held up an opaque piece of yellow fabric.

“Don’t worry, I’m not making myself a skirt,” grunted Roden, his hands full of different fabric squares.

“Were you putting something together?”

“I finished, so it doesn’t really matter.”

“He was-,” Tobias hiccuped. “He was making tiny, tiny scarves. For Merry, to wear.”

There hadn’t been a time when Tobias had been so drunk before, or at least there hadn’t been a time Jaron could remember.

Amarinda sighed, and transferred Tobias’s head from Jaron’s shoulder to her own.“Oh, darling, what did you do this time?”

“They were fighting, and I’ve had it.”

Amarinda patted the side of Tobias’s head, her eyes boring into Jaron’s very soul. However, she gave no biting remarks, she only wrapped her arm around Tobias’s waist. Together, they inched towards the door.

Her smile was forced. “I’ll be taking him to our chamber, I don’t want him doing something foolish.”

“Is that from Libeth?” Imogen asked, gesturing to the bottle on Roden’s desk.

However, before anyone could give a clear answer, Renlyn took a large swig from the bottle, set it down, and frowned. “That batch was weak.”

“You know what?” Jaron crossed his arms. “I don’t think I want to know. Jolly told me about your tendencies.”

“Is that an invitation for me to take over the kingdom through a gambling match?”

“Absolutely not, I’ve been warned, and I won’t ever concede to your money games again.”

“That’s what they all say.”

By the Saints! Jaron scowled at Renlyn, who had the audacity to remain completely placid. He knew deep in his heart that he’d have to do something worse than terrorize Roden to get a reaction out of the notorious Renlyn Karise.

Imogen raised her hands, “Ah, we should take the energy down a notch, don’t you think?”

“Jaron started it!”

“I know Roden, I usually start things, unlike you.”

“Jaron!” Everyone chorused, followed by Tobias’s slurred agreement.

“What!?” Jaron crossed his arms, screwing his face into the fiercest scowl he could.

He’d rather be lectured than think of those cursed lyrics.

There was blood in the kitchen

There was blood in the halls

Jaron would rather hear complaints and be tossed around like a child’s doll than consider what fate had in store for him.

He wasn’t ready yet.

He just wasn’t ready.

[fishandshesmygills]

don’t ask me my ideal spn ending because it literally changes daily

[narutorarepairweek]

Prompt List 2022

As per popular vote, the event will be running in September this year - specific dates being the 18th through the 24th. Each day will have two different prompts to choose from - as always, please keep in mind the following about the prompts and the event in general:

You can choose one prompt or both per day, or you can skip a day. There is no minimum or maximum participation requirement

You can take the prompts as literally or as loosely as you like

This is a tumblr event. We will not be making an AO3 collection, nor will we be on any other platform. You are, however, more than welcome to host your content on other platforms and share a link on tumblr for us to promote.

Please review our rules and regulations post - we've even made it cleaner for you this year

We've also updated our FAQ

No bashing of any kind, of ships, content, or people. Don't be a fucking bully, you'll get your ass banned and blocked so fast

Please review the unqualified ships list for this year before you start creating

Tagging rules will be below the prompt list, under a cut. Please remember to tag your content properly. The mod team is small, and the way we reblog/tag content is clicking OPs tags to quick add them - there is no way we could properly tag our reblogs otherwise.

By tags, we mean the actual tag section of a tumblr post. Putting everything at the top of your post is amazing and wonderful, and a practice we do commend, but it does not count in this regard. Use the actual tags section, or we will not reblog your content. If anyone has any questions about this, our inbox and DMs are open - we are here to help and want to promote your content.

Sunday 18th: Badass Kunoichi | Loss, grief, and death

Monday 19th: Role Reversal | Of Monsters and Men

Tuesday 20th: Song fic | Quote One*

Wednesday 21st: Fairytale retelling | Whump Wheel

Thursday 22nd: Enemies of the State | Fluff Roulette

Friday 23rd: Happily Ever After/No Happy Ending | Quote Two**

Saturday 24th: Free Day | Eternal Dreams

Quotes, as well as tag rules breakdown, below the cut

*"The new dawn blooms as we free it. For there is always light if only we're brave enough to see it, if only we're brave enough to be it." - Amanda Gorman

**"Of all the liars in the world, sometimes the worst are our own fears." - Rudyard Kipling

Tagging rules

Tag which day your content is for using 'day one', 'day two', etc. That should be its own tag

Tag which prompt you are using as it appears in the prompt list. Exceptions being the * and the ** in the quote prompts, please use Loss Grief and Death since the tags cannot have commas, and only use Happily Ever After or No Happy Ending depending on which fits your story. This includes the prompts Whump Wheel and Fluff Roulette - you do not have to put which specific prompt from the wheels you used.

Unlike previous years, Mods will Not be putting the content creator's name in our tags when we reblog this year. As the event grows and the mod team does not, this is simply something that is unnecessary and added extra work for us.

[niobe-loreley]

Heaven Is In A Shortcake {vi}

have another chapter/appetizer~

disclaimer: The Gray Man and the characters are NOT MINE, even the reader. I only own the plot and the reader's character lol. pictures are NOT MINE, only the edited version of it for the fic (msg me if you're the owner), credits to the rightful owners and to weheartit + canva. additionally, i am not a subic/zambales native so my apologies for any wrong, locations, or languages.

Six x F!Reader / Courtland Gentry x Fem!Reader

warnings: moderate swear words. some filipino words. slow burn. fluff. comedy if you use a magnifying glass. trust issues. culture shock. check word count.

CHAPTER SELECTION in the ✨Masterlist✨ Chapter 5 - c'mon vamonos, find me in the masterlist Chapter 6 - this is it [next chapter link will be posted below for suspense & convenience hehe]

word count: 2.9k (N/N) = nickname *Kiara = Claire *Kurt = Court *cover names | reader doesn't know (except you do know #wreck the 4th wall)

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It’s been a week since Claire furtively gave you a two-way portable radio. And because she had too much fun talking with you (verbatim), Claire has revised the schedule of your secret conversations.

[Mondays + Tuesdays] 15:00-15:30

[Wednesdays] 13:30-14:00

[Thursdays] 21:30-22:00

[Saturdays] 23:30-00:00

Claire has omitted the Friday schedule since that’s when they have dinner at the cafe. Except yesterday, which is Friday, the father-daughter duo didn’t arrive. You practically broke the rules and tried contacting Claire as soon as you got home from work, but to no avail. The girl was radio silent since Thursday, it made you quite worried— and you still are.

You glimpse down at your wristwatch, 21:58. Laughter erupts from the group of friends as they simultaneously rise from their booth, you instinctively regard them and then glance at the Betty Boop cat clock on the wall near the windows, still 21:58. The cat's permanent sneer appears to be mocking you, and you can hear it verbalizing its ridicule with every sideways tick of its eyes and tail—

Tick— why —tock— so —tick— wor —tock— ried?

Tick— you're —tock— just —tick— an —tock— acquaintance.

One of the customers catches your gaze just before you ignite the laser beam to destroy the feline clock. "Thank you!" she says, waving.

You stammer. "Oh, thank you! Come again!"

The rest of the group give their gratitude in scattered replies. You keep the toothy grin even as they exit out of the cafe, disappearing from view. 'They're probably the last customer this Saturday,' you sigh and immediately lift the corners of your mouth up. 'So what, right?'

You decide that by 22:15, if they aren't any customers yet, you'll close up shop. You grab a tray from its station, stride to the last customers' booth, and start cleaning up. Muro is in the kitchen with Mindy, he’s been there after the two of you served the customers’ order. You grimace bitterly and decide to intervene in the couple’s alone time. Opening your mouth, you’re about to holler for them, but something moves in your peripheral vision.

You turn, expecting the bells to chime as a customer enters, you’re startled to see icy blue orbs piercing into your eyes. “Kurt?” you hesitantly wave a hand up.

Court glances away for a full three second, scrutinizing something at the parking lot, he then sidles in. If it weren’t for the bells, you wouldn’t have heard him, because the way he enters is very discreet: no extra movements, light steps, and guarded posture. He’s like a ghost.

“Good evening,” you smile, eyes flickering behind him. “Where’s Kiara?”

“In the car, sleeping,” he replies quickly and stands beside the door, glancing out the windows, he adjusts the cap on his head. You notice it’s navy blue with gold outlines instead of the usual black or gray.

You carefully approach him. “So.. it’ll be take-out, huh?”

“Yeah, here’s our order.” he hands you a piece of paper, along with 500 pesos.

“Alright, this will take about fifteen minutes or so.”

“That’s fine.”

“I’ll have Muro help me in delivering it to your car.

“No!”

You recoil, astonished that his voice can raise two octaves higher, and glance over to the kitchen doors. But your co-workers don’t seem to have heard Court. “Okay..?” you watch him swearing under his breath as he lowers his gaze, “I’ll just wave at you from here?”

He nods. “You can tell me through the radio if it’s done.” and lifts his eyes to look at you, and you spot remnants of remorse.

You furrow your brows. “Radio?”

“The walkie-talkie that Cl— Kiara gave you,” he pauses, “I found out about it.”

“Oh..” you blink, "Did you ground her? Is that why you two weren't here yesterday?"

"Yes and no. I only grounded her for two days, and then we went on a 3-day trip."

"Really? But when did you find out?"

"Monday morning."

'Oh.. Kiara found a way to get another radio, for sure.'

With the way Court is sighing after he sees the look on your face, you're sure that he knows what you're thinking, which means that it's true— and he did nothing to stop his daughter.

"A three-day trip, huh?" you say, grinning.

"Yeah, nothing special. Just a gesture for reprimanding her," he replies and shortly gives a polite smile.

You want to ask about their trip, but with the way Court is avoiding your gaze, you know he doesn't want to indulge you. 

"That's sweet of you," you chuckle, glancing at the paper containing their orders. "I'll go ahead and cash this in now."

"Yeah, yeah.. find me on channel 15, privacy code 11. Make sure no one sees you using it, are we clear?"

"Crystal!"

As you swivel around to march towards the cashier like those toy soldiers from Toy Story, you swear that you heard Court breathing a laugh. But you stop yourself from looking over your shoulder. Maybe it was just the wind— even though the door is shut.

You hear him exit the cafe as you reach the cash register. After typing in the orders, you head into the kitchen to give the paper to Mindy. She’s about to ask where the father-daughter duo is, but you’re already out the swinging doors. You then type in the payment, and when the device automatically calculates the change, you press ‘ENTER’.

The receipt noisily effuses out while you prepare everything needed for the drinks: two iced strawberry green tea with chia seeds. You decide to make them once Mindy announces there’s ten minutes left before the food is ready.

“Uy?— Hoy!” Muro shouts when you’re about to pass by him in between the swinging kitchen doors, “Sa’n ka pupunta? Saka asan yung mag-ama?”

Where are you going? And where’s the father and daughter?

“Nag-hihintay sila sa labas. Huwag mo muna gawin yung drinks, matutunaw agad yung yelo!”

They’re waiting outside. Don’t make the drinks yet, the ice will immediately melt!

You weave through the kitchen, arriving in the staffroom in no time. You can practically go in and out of the cafe blindfolded. The locker door creaks when you swing it open, the keys attached to the padlock swings with a silly jingle. Rummaging through your bag, you pluck out the portable radio from the case you’ve hidden it in.

Once your locker is secured, you hastily proceed into the bathroom and lock yourself in. You power the transceiver on, switch to channel 15, and insert the privacy code. “Hello? Kurt, do you read me? Over,” you say to the device in a hushed tone and put your finger off the button.

There’s a slight crackle, signaling of a nearby transmission coming through.

“Why is a raven like a writing desk? Over.”

You blink. “Because it can produce a few notes.. though they are very flat,” and pause to chuckle, “and it is never put with the wrong end in front… Over.”

“So, you’re a Lewis Caroll fan, huh? Over.”

“Not really. I actually hated Alice in Wonderland when I was a kid. Over.”

“Seriously?— Over.”

“Uh-huh! I hated getting lost, which annoyed me ‘cuz I had no sense of direction at a young age. And it frustrated me when Alice kept going deeper into Wonderland. Over.”

Court chuckles. “Well, that is what the story is about. Alice is venturing through an unknown world like a child progressing into teenagehood. Over.”

“I know.” you reply matter-of-factly, gazing down at your Chucks, you snort. “I can relate to Alice on a molecular level.. except the blonde hair, blue eyes, and complexion. Over.”

“What about the accent?— Over.” Court prompts.

“I can’t explain myself, I’m afraid, because I’m not myself, you see. Over.”

“I think I haven’t watched the animated movie in a while, because I think you sound just like Alice.” he snickers, “Over.”

“Well, then, I’ll take that as a compliment. Over.” you say, still with the British accent.

A moment of comfortable silence shrinks the distance between you two. You feel as though Court is right beside you, but when you turn, only your reflection in the mirror is with you. Clearing your throat, you push yourself off the wall, which you just realized that you were leaning against. 

“Hey, Kurt, I should go. I’ll keep the radio in my pocket, but it’ll be turned off. Over.” you say into the transceiver.

“Alright.. I’ll keep mine on, over,” he replies.

“Copy that. Over and out.”

You slip the walkie-talkie in the pocket of your shorts after powering it off. When you exit the bathroom, something flurries around your chest as though a swarm of butterflies have escaped your ribcage. Get it?— Joking aside, you shortly pat your chest in confusion and wonder about the funky feeling proliferating throughout it. 

You soon forget about the internal flutterings as you help Mindy with the meals. Before you and Muro whip up the drinks, you shortly excuse yourself to the bathroom and inform Court that their orders will be ready in ten minutes.

"Why are you getting that?" Muro loudly asks as he powers up the blender, mixing the green tea with ice.

After you put little strawberry slices in the bottom of the cups and spread whipped cream around the sides, you extract the strawberry shortcake from the display cabinet. "I wanna take one of the last slices of my cake!" you reply in the same volume, packaging a slice into one box while the remaining two in another.

Muro stops the blender. "What about the two last slices?"

"..." you murmur.

"What?"

"...for.."

"Anong sinasabi mo?" What are you saying?

"Basta…"

"Sabihin mo na kase!" he shouts.

Just say it!

You explode. "It's not for me, okay!? Bakit ba nangingialam ka?!" Why are you bothering me?!

Muro's face goes from shocked to teasing in 0.3 seconds. You ignore him completely as the two of you finish up the drinks, all the while the increased temperature of your face doesn't let up.

"Want me to help or do you wanna deliver it by yourself?" says Muro, grinning wolfishly.

You retaliate by making faces and mouthing incomprehensibly. Taking the cup carrier that holds the flavorful iced teas, the straws are taped on the side of each of the drinks, you grab the large paper bag and whisk away.

Muro jogs past you, chuckling all the way to the door, which he opens for you. As a thank you, you heavily step on his foot on the way out. You grin at the symphony of curses floating behind you.

Court climbs out of the gray SUV, and you quicken your gait, albeit carefully. "I told you to call me when it's ready, so I can pick it up myself." he says when you're two feet away.

"Sorry, but that's bad service for us." you sheepishly grin, handing him the cup carrier.

You nearly recoil. When his fingers brush yours, there's a momentary jolt through your arms as though you’ve touched an electric fence— which you have once.. twice.

Court quickly scans your face, taking the paper bag next, and you flush furiously, imagining ramming your head down through the sandy ground. Even though you only nearly recoiled from the brief contact of his skin, you believe it wasn’t obvious. 

‘Not to him, I guess..’ you mentally grumble.

“The change and receipt is in there,” you gesture at the paper bag, “I also put two slices of strawberry shortcake— on the house. I didn’t know what other flavors you two like.”

“Thanks.. but you didn’t have to,” he says with that typical, tight-lipped, polite smile.

You shrug. “After a sudden trip like that, I figured you two could use a taste of home.”

What?

Your ego is practically screeching at a corner, while your superego is shaking your id back and forth by the neck.

“Not that my strawberry shortcake tastes like home to you and Kiara,” you sputter, like you’re being framed for murder, but instead of blanching, your face brightens with scarlet. “It’s just that you two live here, or near here anyway— and I assumed the 3-day trip wasn’t in the vicinity of Zambales. But if you two went to Baguio, then the strawberry shortcake is just redundant—”

“(Y/N)!” Court cuts you off, laughing. “It’s okay. But to ease your anxiety, no, we didn’t go to Baguio. And once again, thank you.. you’re quite thoughtful. Which makes you sweeter than your strawberry shortcake.”

Whatdidhesay?!

You look away from Court’s calm face, coughing noisily, and you try not to pound your throat with a fist to knock your heart down back to where it should be.

But what you don’t know is that Court’s ego is digging his grave, while his superego is aiming a nuclear missile at his id, who’s tied up to the wall.

“T-The cup carrier and takeout containers are reusable. You can put your names on them if you wanna use them for future takeouts,” you say once you have the courage to turn back to him.

“That’s neat.” he glances down at the cup carrier.

“Yeah.. but we do advise to leave the takeout containers in Joy-infested waters for 5 hours. Or any dishwashing liquids or soaps. We can clean it again, too, on your next takeout.”

“Duly noted with much appreciation,” Court nods, like a cowboy tipping his hat.

You scratch behind your ear. “The food will be warm for up to 20 minutes. But if you’re going to have it for later, I suggest you leave it out open until it’s not even lukewarm before you refrigerate it.”

“Yeah, alright,” he glances at the SUV. “I’ll do that if Kiara isn’t hungry when we get home.”

“Okay.. oh! And I’m sorry for not telling you about the walkie-talkie.”

“It’s fine.”

“If you want it back, I have it here in my—”

“Just give it back next week. Maybe then, you can stop entertaining my daughter.”

You flinch at the chilling blast from his tone. It was rather abrupt, freezing you like Frozone’s swift, icy assaults. You manage to recover soon, the volcano of your short-temper bubbling, but you put a lid on it.

“Okay.. safe driving. Buh-bye.”

“Bye..”

You stride away, quite rigidly. And as you try to relax, Claire’s face when interacting with you swims up your eyes. The moments you have with her are genuine and precious, whether face-to-face or through radio waves, the budding relationship between you two is certainly not for either of your amusement.

That’s why putting a lid on a volcano is inadvisable. Because the magma will find its way to another opening , or even create numerous exhausts.

You find yourself staring at your reflection on the black-tinted windows of their SUV. The glass lowers, along with your mortified reflection, and you frown at Court with determination.

“What is it?” he asks, still looking straight ahead.

You quietly breathe in and out. “You may not know me well, Kurt, but I don’t make promises that I don’t want to keep.”

He looks at you now. “Shouldn’t it be ‘can’t keep’?” he quips with a scornful smirk.

“Well, if I say that and something happens that will inevitably make me not keep my promise.. then I would’ve dishonored myself and hurted the person I made a promise to.”

“That’s a first.” he remarks mirthlessly.

“You know what they say, there’s a first time for everything.” 

“So, what is it that you really want to say?”

You set your jaw tight. “I want you to know that I do want to exchange gifts with Kiara on Christmas.” you pause for a second, “You don’t have to tell me why you two look like you’re on a secret mission to chase after the Road Runner, only God knows why. But… If either of you find yourselves wanting someone to talk to, or you miss the food in the cafe.. leave me breadcrumbs and—”

“You’ll find us?”

“If you want me to find you.. then, yeah.”

“What makes you think we’re hiding?”

You snort. “You literally just said so.”

Court tightens his jaw, and even in the dim blackness of the car, you see the corner of his mouth twisting down. You realize the stubble adorning his jaw has thickened, he probably hasn’t shaved since last week. You dare a glance at Claire in the reclined passenger seat, she’s all cuddled up with a pillow between her and the door. 

The hum of the engine continues to fight against the tension in the air. A battle of vibration and reinforced stillness. You keep the anxiety in your teeth as you patiently wait for Court to speak. He's glaring at the windshield, probably imagining it's you, and briefly clenches the wheel before he expels out a sigh.

As if on cue, a cold gust drifts past you, making the bottom of your apron flap lightly. You’re glad that you have your hair in a dutch-braid, only a few short strands wave into your face as Court turns to look straight at you.

“I’m telling you this for your own good, (Y/N).” says Court, eyes as cold as its color and somehow colder than the sea breeze. “We’re not chasing after the Road Runner… Kiara and I are the Road Runner. So don’t go making promises you can’t keep.”

⚜🍰⚜🍰⚜🍰⚜

A/N: gosh, see that tension? it's so visible it slaps!

To proceed to Chapter 7, wait for the click this to enter the portal to open

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