#god this is like... two years old or more

[corvidae-quills]

yeah that's not true even if they don't touch it in religion class (unlikely but not impossible so maybe that did happen with your mom) Catholic schools are usually connected to a parish and the school takes the kids to mass on holy days (and sometimes more frequently, at mine it was once a month on first fridays) where they will hear one Old Testament reading, one psalm, and two New Testament readings (epistle and gospels), if they are paying attention (not something the school can control). They should also be going every Sunday but that's not something the school can control either, that's on the parents.

Anyway a lot of this is the same thing that fuels those "we didn't learn about this in history class/they hid this from you in school!" posts (we did and they didn't you just weren't paying attention) and the fact that like other schools, all the other classes in Catholic schools are tailored to prepare you for standardized testing rather than actual understanding of the material. There's no standardized testing for religion class, obviously, but the teachers who teach it are trained to teach for standardized testing so I think they get kind of lost without that goal. Also a lot of the parents who send their kids to Catholic schools do really care about the standardized testing/their kids being prepared for a good high school/college, so religion class, which has no affect on that, falls by the wayside.

I went to Catholic school for 9 1/2 years and the actual reason I walked away knowing next to nothing was because religion class was basically just "Bible story hour" (with a liiiiiight smattering of Church history/a tiny bit of stuff from the Catechism) that plateaued in complexity at around fifth grade. We didn't actually learn any theology or even that there are logical arguments for the existence of God.

So yeah there are problems with Catholic schools but that ain't it. And I've seen enough of those "I went to Catholic school and-" statements to know that 99% of the time those are bc people didn't pay attention.

"well i went to Catholic school and -" means you are about to hear the worst take on Christianity of your life

[sl33pyn1ght]

The Pumpkin rabbit. ( Ft. A Witch sheep plushie ) Doodle page!🐇🧡

[auclairedetoru]

“This has been y/n and Satoru, thank you so much for watching, bye!”

The moment they reached the greenroom, y/n's smile drops. God, her cheeks hurt, nobody talks about how hard it is to fake a smile all day, it's like a workout for your face except you gain nothing at the end.

Her co-star walks in behind her, a cocky smile on his face. If she was him she would get tired of herself. How can someone be so egoistic? He loves himself more than his own mother loves him. Every second she's in his presence, she feels herself losing brain cells and getting gray hair, and as much as she loves silver locks on other women, she does not want the cause of it to be Gojo Satoru.

“Great job today, everyone! Y/n you could've been a little more cheerful toda-”

“Shut the fuck up.”

She plops down on the sofa and rests her head against the back of it. They still have one more interview left to do, so she's forced to tolerate that dumbass for a couple more hours, and it's a recorded one so she has to pretend she likes him too.

Why did she choose to become an actress again?

Right, childhood dream, worked hard for it, blah blah blah.

“Whoa! Careful there, tiger! Someone might be filming and you don't want to ruin the season before it even starts.” Gojo smirks, eyes glinting with mischief as he continues to push her buttons.

The people in charge decided to promote the filming of the new season of their show to remind people of it and get them excited, not that anyone was able to forget the last two seasons. According to the statistics, people love a slow burn story, especially when it stretches over multiple seasons. Yes, that does mean y/n has been stuck with Gojo as her co-star for three years now, as known as the longest three years of her life. Everyone around her tells her that time is passing by too fast, but it's been the opposite for her.

She's dreading this season the most. It might be the last, but it means the story will finally reach its long-awaited climax, which means her character and Gojo's will become more than friendly.

She doesn't even want to think about it.

“Leave her alone, Satoru. You still have one interview left.” his manager scolded him making the bright blue eyed man pout like a four year old not getting the candy he wanted.

The fact Gojo and y/n can't stand each other is something known only between them and their close staff, not even the director and producers know that the "chemistry" between them is something they make up on the spot and doesn't come naturally at all. They're surprised no one has figured out they don't like each other in any way, but y/n takes that as a compliment because it means that she's a really good actress who has perfected her craft and is able to fake getting along with a menace like him.

After touch ups, she goes to where the interview is being held, greeting the staff on her way and telling them she's excited to be working with them. Gojo smirks at her from his seat as she makes her way to sit on hers next to him. She mirrored him to keep up with the "we're best friends behind the scenes" thing they somehow built for themselves.

“Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Can't a man admire his friend and co-star?” he teases, milking the hell out of the act they put on for the camera. Y/n wanted to roll her eyes but instead she forces out a laugh and takes her seat.

She ignores the way her heart flutters at his words. No need to focus on that.

A few months into filming...

“Alright, everyone!” the director calls out as he claps his hands, “Cameras rolling, sound is up, let's do this.”

Ah yes, the most important scene of the entire franchise. The first kiss scene. This is what the show has been leading up to, this is the moment everyone has been waiting for, this is the thing y/n has been looking forward to the least, in fact, she has not been looking forward to it at all, she wishes it wouldn't happen.

The scene takes place at her character's apartment, a place the set design team has made so cozy looking she wishes she could curl up and take a nap on the couch. Gojo's character is her coworker and he's coming to check on her because she disappeared from the office party after seeing him flirt with someone. That's when she confesses that she's been pinning over him for years and he confesses back before pulling her into a kiss.

��Okay you two,” the director looks at them, “not to put you in any pressure, but this is the most important scene of the entire show. All your hard work has led up to this moment. Satoru, you're the one leading the kiss, remember that she's very vulnerable and heartbroken, so you need to be gentle and soft, she's the person you love most so you're gonna handle her with the most care. Alright? Here we go!”

The apartment door closes between y/n and Gojo as the clapper loader steps in and holds the slate in front of the camera, “episode 11, scene 45, take 1!” they call out before snapping the clapper shut and stepping back.

The director pauses, glancing around one more time to make sure everyone is ready.

"And... Action!”

Y/n steps into character and hesitantly opens the door. Her expression shifts to shock as she sees Gojo standing across from her, hair and clothes disheveled. “What are you doing here?” her voice is a mix between surprise and hurt, just as the script calls for and just as they rehearsed. Gojo's eyes soften, exactly how he was instructed.

Yes, she can't stand him, but that doesn't mean she won't admit that he's really good at his job. He's not one of the most sought out actors for no reason.

“I was worried about you, you left so abruptly.” he says, letting his eyes dance all over her face only to catch her wet cheeks and red eyes, and no, it isn't makeup and fake tears, she spent half an hour before filming started watching "soldiers reuniting with their dogs" videos to get to that point.

He moves to cup her cheek, but just as scripted, she steps back, her expression flattering. She starts to remind herself of things that make her emotional to start tearing up, “I-I'm fine, you can leave.”

Gojo stares at her a bit longer than he's supposed to, but she blames it on his love to suddenly improve, and not that he's admiring her or anything, not like she wants him to admire her, that would be crazy on her part.

"You don't have to hide from me," he says with the same soft tone.

She tries to hold back the tears to keep up the strong and always optimistic personality her character is known for, and after a moment she allows a couple to flow down her cheeks. Gojo's face morphs into a concerned expression.

“I don't like seeing you with someone else,” she mumbles, her voice breaking with every word that slips out of her lips, “it hurts me, right here,” she taps on her chest with a shaky hand.

Gojo's eyes widen to feign surprise, a perfect mix of confusion and disbelief on his face, playing the oblivious character to perfection, “you... You like me?”

“For the longest time,” she sniffs, her voice thick with emotion as she starts opening up, “I held back, I tried not to make it obvious, but i can't anymore.” She drops an octave to deliver the last line, showing as much vulnerability and pain as possible.

There’s a pause, and everyone on set is on the edge of their seat. They could feel the tension between them, the two playing their roles better than what everyone imagined from reading the script. Gojo goes to take a step closer, stopping half way.

“Can I kiss you?” he asks, his voice shaking to show that his character is feeling nervous. The director looks intensely between the scene in front of him and the one on the screen, making sure that the intensity they feel in the room is accurate on camera to what's happening in real life.

It's her turn for her to be surprised, playing unsure and hesitant, not expecting those words to come out of his mouth, “w-what?”, her voice trembles as her eyes search his face like she's trying to find any uncertainties.

“can I kiss you? Please?”

Gojo takes the step forward. His voice is soft and his gaze holds hers, intense yet tender, leaving no doubt that his character has been lounging for this and wanting it for just as long if not longer than her.

Y/n takes a deep breath. This is it, she's about to kiss Gojo Satoru, the person she despises the most. She hopes it won't be awkward, the scene was going smoothly and the last thing she wants is a retake from the top, she also doesn't want to embarrass herself in front of the whole crew and become the topic of their gossip.

After a small pause, just as instructed by the director, she gives Gojo a small nod. Gently, and hesitantly, he cups her cheek as he brings his face closer to her. The nervousness on her face is mostly real and she doesn't know why she's feeling that way, she wants the scene to end already.

The moment their lips touch, something surged within Satoru and his free hand quickly grabs her waist to pull her closer to him. Did she always smell so... Devine? Why are her lips so soft? Is her lip balm candy flavoured? Why does she taste so sweet? Why can't he pull away from her?

The kiss is supposed to be gentle, a tender moment of affection, yet the way his hand was gripping the pajama top she's wearing betrays his character's intentions. But the way his thumb caresses her cheek is the opposite, grazing the warm skin softly like he's handling a little kitten. He knows he’s supposed to pull away now. He wants to. He needs to, for the sake of this scene. But something holds him there and it's making him not care about the script anymore.

It’s only when he feels a gentle squeeze on his arm that he finally pulls back. He looks down at Y/n, her lips slightly swollen from the kiss, her wide eyes bright with a spark that stirs something deep within him, making him want to lean down and kiss her again.

“cut !”

The pair jumped away from each other. They both forgot they were on a set, filming a show, and not in the comfort of their own homes.

“that was just... Wow,” the director shakes his head with a smile, “Satoru you went a little out of what I told you with the kiss, huh?”

“yeah, sorry,” he smirks with fake confidence, acting like his heart isn't beating faster than a racing car, “I just thought the moment needed that intensity, ya know? He's been waiting to kiss her for so long after all.”

“No I agree, you did the right thing. Go ahead and take five, everyone. This is one of those rare times when there's no need to do multiple takes, the first was perfect.”

Y/n lets out a breath she didn't realise she was holding and quickly leaves to go grab a water and get some fresh air. She can't believe what just happened. That was definitely not a normal kiss, it felt too real. What was Gojo thinking!? Why didn't he stick to the script and kept it short? And why did she like it so much? She's not supposed to! She's supposed to hate him and everything he does.

“Y/n? Can we talk in your trailer, please?”

Fuck... Please don't let that be Gojo, please let her ears be mistaken and it's not his voice asking her to talk in private, please-

She turns around, and it's him. He stands there, hands tucked into his pockets, looking a little... Shy? Since when does Gojo Satoru feel anything less than bold and confident? There's an unusual softness to his expression, one she only sees when he's playing his character, but without the little voice in the back of her head reminding her that he's just acting.

Despite not wanting to talk to him, she still nods and follows him to her trailer that wasn't parked far away from where they stood. She lets him in first and closes the door behind her to ensure no one can hear whatever they're about to talk about.

As they stood across from each other, Gojo's eyes dart everywhere except to her face, something he has never done before. His usual bravado is gone and replaced with an unusual hesitance. She watches him with a puzzled look on her face. Why is he acting so out of character? It's as if he's nervous to talk to her.

Eventually though, he opens his mouth.

“I apologize for going out of script during the kiss. I didn't plan it to happen and I'm sorry if it made you uncomfortable.”

Now he's apologising? Okay, something is definitely wrong. Gojo has never apologised to her in the three years they've been working together. She is starting to feel nervous herself.

“It's okay, really,” she crosses her arms across her chest, “like you explained to the director, it's what you felt the scene needed, and I respect you as an experienced actor to know what you're doing.”

“That wasn't my reason, though.”

Her eyes nearly bulge out of her skull. Huh?!

“what ?”

He takes a step closer to her, a look on his face she couldn't describe, “that's just a lie I made up on the spot. I felt a pull when our lips touched, I don't know what happened to me and it's driving me mad,” he runs a hand through his hair, a habit his manager told her he does when he's anxious, “I couldn't stop myself, so I just let whatever it is take over, but I still couldn't stop, I tried but I just couldn't pull away and I— I want to kiss you again! I want to kiss you right now!”

“Gojo, calm do-” her words fall on deaf ears.

“No! You don't understand! I want to kiss you, but you hate me! You can't even look at me without being disgusted, and I keep making it worse! I keep showing the worst version of myself around you and it makes you hate me more and-”

“Gojo! Stop!”

The look on his face is breaking her heart. He seems so desperate, struggling to put his feelings into words, but every attempt only makes him more anxious, his words stumbling over each other as he tries to make her understand.

“I don't hate you, Satoru”, his heart flutters at the sound of his first name coming out of her lips. Even in interviews, she always used his last name, this is the first time he hears her call him Satoru, “I hate how you act when we're together behind the scenes. You're always so sweet to everyone but I'm always the one you tease, and sometimes your teasing hurts.”

“I'm sorry, I'm so sorry. It's just- I've liked you, as a person, before we even started working together, and I treated you how I treated my close friends. I didn't realise I was overstepping boundaries.”

Why is it so easy to forgive him? It must be something to do with the blue I'm his eyes, it holds some sort of spell that makes everyone want to be on his good side.

“It's okay, as long as you own up to your mistakes and don't repeat them, I'm willing to see past it all and start new.”

A huge smile takes over his face, content with her answer. He is so happy, he's been wanting to do this for so long. He knew he wronged her and needed to apologise for his actions, but he never knew how to approach it.

Without warning her, he lifts her up in a hug. A squeal left her lips followed by a melodic laugh as she hears him thank her over and over again. She allows herself to enjoy the warmth of his hug. His fans didn't lie, he is really good at them.

He pulls away enough to look at her face without unwrapping his arms from around her, “Can we start new by allowing me to take you on a date? I promise I'll treat you like the princess you are.”

She feels her cheeks heating up with a blush as she nods, unable to hide the small, shy smile tugging at her lips. Gojo grins wider, his eyes lighting up with an unmistakable spark of excitement and something tender, “can I kiss you again? Please?”

She barely finishes nodding before his lips are on hers. He’s smiling into the kiss, unable to hide the joy bubbling up inside him as he realizes his newfound feelings are reciprocated.

And yeah, she did like him more than she let on. The small crush she had on him before they met definitely didn't disappear like she thought it did, instead it stayed hidden away and came back out when she felt his lips for the first time.

She never expected this nor planned on letting herself fall for The Gojo Satoru Charm™, but with him here, holding her close, and pressing a kiss filled with passion on her lips, she realises maybe, just maybe, she’s been wanting this all along.

The ending looked way better in my daydream lol. Hope y'all liked it still 💕

[temilyrights]

43) “god you’re so emotionally constipated.” for Emily x Reader please.

history smothers us

emily prentiss x gn!reader

summary: years of unspoken words and misconceptions threaten to destroy what remains of a once close relationship. you couldn't imagine your life without emily. now you look at her and feel every part of the ocean that destroyed you both. featuring prompt "god you're so emotionally consitpated" from my prompt list.

word count: 2.3k

warnings: angst with a happy ending. mention of blood. no use of y/n. set in season 12. unit chief prentiss.

a/n: thank you so much for the request <3 sorry it took me a while I struggled to find the right idea. I imagine this wasn't what you had in mind but I do hope you enjoy it anyway. also side note: i've deleted my taglist, i'm restarting because it was years old so if anyone would like be re-tagged or anyone new would like to be added pls lmk!

The police lights flash in the midnight sky. Agents and local police spread across the farmhouse. And you, sitting in the back of an ambulance, blood dripping down the side of your head, the beginnings of a headache making itself known.  

The bright torch shining in your eyes makes you wince, but the EMT clears you of a concussion and hands you pain meds to swallow. You drag your hand through your hair, a frustrated sigh leaving your lips. 

The unsub had come out of nowhere and whacked you over the head with a metal pole, and he probably would’ve done a lot more if it wasn’t for Tara being two steps behind you. 

Honestly, you were fine. A little banged up, with a nasty bruise already forming, but the blood had been wiped away and it was almost like it had never happened.

Well, apart from the very angry Unit Chief Prentiss stalking towards you. 

You wish this was an unfamiliar sight, but god she’d been back months now and you don’t think her smile had been pointed in your direction once. 

“What were you thinking?” She scolds, voice sharp and eyes narrowed. You don’t miss the shaking of her hands as she holds them tightly on her hips or the rising flush of her cheeks, both she would blame on the cold but you knew they were born out of concern, not that she’d ever admit it. Not anymore.

“I’m sorry I didn’t realise the FBI now required its agents to have the abilities to see through walls.” You roll your eyes, the half-joke an attempt to fix her glare, but you know even as the words pass your lips it’s futile. Your shoulders slump, already tired for the fight ahead,  “He came out of nowhere, Prentiss.” 

Her lips purse, “They require you to be able to clear a room. It seems you might need a refresher course. Maybe until you can be trusted and I deem you requalified it’s best you stay back in quantico.” 

“What?” You ask incredulously. Of all the dumb things- “Let me get this straight, you’re benching me over nothing? Tara was through that door seconds later. I wasn’t defying your orders. You have no reason to do this!”

“I want you to redo your basic training so I know you can be trusted in the field.” She demands, stoic, serious, and so far away from the soft woman you used to be able to reach out to. 

You laugh, but the noise is sad and wild. You shake your head in disbelief, watching the woman in front of you that years ago used to be the person you were closest to in the world. Now you stare at her and feel every part of the ocean that destroyed you both. “God, you’re so emotionally constipated.” 

“Excuse me?” 

You push yourself off the end of the ambulance, bringing yourself to your full height and meeting her gaze. You knew the day she accepted the unit chief position this wouldn’t end well, there was too much history, too much the two of you had left unsaid, hurt and anger smothering any possible relationship left. 

“Let’s not pretend this has anything to do with my performance.” You begin,

words low enough that if she didn’t listen the words threatened to disappear with the wind, “It’s because I got hurt and you’d rather damage my career and ruin the tatters of our relationship than admit that me getting hurt scared you.” 

Emily steps backwards, face stricken. Her hands fall from her hips, her mouth opening and closing as she struggles for words. 

You decide there’s nothing left she can say. You excuse yourself and grab a lift with Luke, happy to leave the crime scene and your boss behind. After everyone’s finished at the farmhouse and packed up at the police station it’s nearing two am and everyone is ordered back to the hotel to catch a few hours of sleep before the flight in the morning. 

Your feet are dragging by the time you make it to your room. The meds have done their job though and your headache had faded away, but nothing but sleep was going to help your heavy and aching bones. You wave a tired goodbye to Tara, who unlike Emily had no issues checking in and making sure you were okay, and then retreat to your room. 

You slump into the chair at the desk, telling yourself you’ll find the energy to get ready for bed in one minute. But so thankful to finally be off your feet. Your reprieve lasts only minutes before a knock sounds at your door. A withered sigh leaves your lips and you consider ignoring it but still find yourself pushing yourself upright and making your way back to the door. 

When you open it, you wish you’d listened to your thoughts. 

“Hi?” You say hesitantly, staring into the tired face of Emily Prentiss. There’s no anger, her shoulders are almost slumped, defeated maybe? You look away, too scared to analyse further. 

“Can I come in?” 

You open the door further allowing her entrance. She smiles, tight lipped at you, nodding her thanks. You close the door and wait for her to speak, pondering how in the hell you both got to awkward silences and forced tight lipped smiles when years ago you two could share looks across the room and know what the other was thinking, spent hours talking and laughing together, how you had built a life and never thought there would be a day that she wasn’t in it with you. 

“We can’t go on like this.” She starts eyes meeting yours before flickering away, “Things between us have not been right since I returned and I think maybe we should clear the air. I want to be the Unit Chief, I want to be back here at Quantico but that only works if we can be a team.” 

You scoff. It slips from your mouth, uncontrolled and harsh. Emily’s gaze snaps to yours, her surprise at the sound clear. You shake your head, “What is there to say?” Where would we even begin?

“I-” She chokes, blinking as the emotions claw at her throat. “I’m sorry for hurting you.”

Your brows draw in confusion as you shake your head, “What are you talking about?”

“After everything that happened with Doyle-”

Your eyes bulge, “You think I'm still upset about that? God, do you think I’m a monster? You survived. You lived. That’s all that matters.” 

Tears pool in her eyes, but she blinks them away, her gaze shifting to the wall as her fingers pick at a hangnail. She looks back at you, still picking, gaze more open and lost than you’ve seen in a long time. “Then why? I hurt you. I can see it in the way you can barely stand to be around me, like it hurts you to even be in my presence.” 

You blow out a breath, eyes moving around the room before they land back on her and then away again. “It’s not your fault.” You breathe, emotions lodged in your throat and heart beating wildly against your chest as you try and force the words out. “You didn’t hurt me, I hurt myself. There was never going to be a life I led that you weren’t right with me, you know?” You laugh, wet and broken. 

Emily’s mouth falls open, her eyes emotional pits that you don’t dare hold. 

“And then you left for London and I couldn’t exactly be upset because I had no say in what you did with your life. We were just friends. I knew it’s what you needed and I don’t resent you for that. I just…” You take a breath, “I was so angry at myself for missing you, for thinking that I could be someone you would stay for.”

And there it was. The truth. Because at the end of the day, you’ve always just wanted to be enough for the woman in front of you. For her to see you as more than just your friend. To one day have your feelings returned. 

She’d left and you’d both been busy and you’d deliberately tried to separate yourself as well, drawing back from the painful reminder that you weren’t enough. And since her return, all those emotions have been resurfacing, however much you tried to keep them buried. Because falling out of love with Emily Prentiss was just not something you were capable of, and you’ve spent years trying too. 

Emily approaches you, the space between you closing ever so slightly. Your gaze sticks to the ground, scared to see the easy to read emotions across her face. She takes a breath, the sound muffled by the beating of your heart.

“After I came back from Paris, I used to find myself looking at you and knowing I couldn’t be that woman you remembered, the one you sought for. I wanted to. Desperately.” Her voice hitches, and then lowers to a hoarse whisper, “I wanted to be the woman you fell for.” 

Your eyes finally rise, against your will. Tears make their way in delicate paths down her cheeks, she looks every bit as lost as you feel. The only thing stopping you from falling apart is the fear that if you let go you may never recover. 

“I didn’t need you to be anyone. I just wanted you to be yourself. I wanted you to trust me.” You respond gently.

She shakes her head, “No, everyone was looking for that version of me that I couldn’t grasp onto.”

“Emily,” You sigh painfully. Her face crumples, eyes squeezing shut at the sound of her name from your lips. It’s been so long, you know. “You were healing from a trauma. I’ve always wanted the authentic you, whatever that includes. Why would that suddenly change?” 

She nods, a deep frown on her face as she accepts your words. Then a wet laugh, as she wipes away her tears. “I’ve missed you. Every day. I hate being in the same room as you and it being awkward. I used to be able to look at you and know what you’re thinking. I want that back.” 

A small smile curves your lips, “Me too, more than anything.” 

“Yeah?” She questions. Her teeth run across her lip, as she dares to hope. “You think we could get back there?” 

Your heart hammers. “I just need you to be really clear here. What exactly are we getting back to?” 

She steps forward, finally close enough to touch. Her hand hesitantly reaches out and touches yours, her cold fingers intertwining with your warm ones. Your body remembers her touch, relaxes and leans into it automatically. You eat it hungrily, tracking the movement before your eyes rise to meet hers and find soft, open eyes watching you. “I want to make you fall in love with me again.”

Your breath catches in your throat, tears pooling in your eyes as your hand shakes in hers.

“And this time, I promise, I’ll be there to catch you.” 

“We might have a slight problem with that plan.” You laugh, trying your hardest not to sob.

She frowns, nose wrinkling in the way you adore. “What’s that?” 

“It’s pretty difficult to re-fall in love when I never stopped loving you in the first place.” You huff, and Emily laughs, rich and free and bright. Her face joyful and happy, and with the wide bright smile you’ve waited months to feel pointed in your direction. God the sight makes your head spin.

“Is that so?” She asks, hand moving up to cup your cheek, eyes full of love and pointed at you. 

You can only nod, dizzy from her attention and the emotions coursing through your body. 

When her lips find yours it feels like finally coming home. Soft and delicate, both too scared to push too hard, exploring slowing even as her hand holds your cheek and yours fists in her shirt. You’ve waited years for this, and if you get more of these than it will be worth it. Everything is worth it for the feeling of Emily in your arms. 

When she pulls away, it’s too soon. You follow her mouth and she concedes and gives you a couple more slow kisses before she stops herself, resting her forehead against yours.

“I just want to say sorry for earlier.” She whispers into the safe space you’ve built. “You were right, I was scared when you got hurt. Dave’s already kicked my ass for my response, you won’t receive any disciplinary action.”

You nod slightly, her forehead moving against yours, “Thank you.” 

“It won’t happen again.” She promises, sealing the words with a kiss to your lips. 

“I know.” You kiss her again, but this time you break out into a yawn midway through. Your momentarily forgotten exhaustion, making itself known. 

She melts against you, caressing your cheek. “Oh, you need to sleep. We can talk more tomorrow. I’m taking you out for dinner.” 

You bite your lip to hide the smile threatening to take over your face, “A date?” 

She chuckles, rolling her eyes. “Yes, a date. But only if you sleep first.” 

“Your wish is my command.” You can’t stop the grin from taking over your face anymore. You press a peck to her lips and lead her back towards the door. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” 

“Tomorrow.” She agrees, eyes fluttering over your face as if she’s committing every aspect to memory. “Sleep well.” 

“You too.” 

She presses one last kiss to your lips before she opens the door and makes her exit. You close the door quietly behind her, sinking back into it and allowing the giggle to finally escape your mouth.

What the fuck had just happened. 

Emily Prentiss kissed you. 

Emily Prentiss has feelings for you. 

You weren’t alone.

You bite your lip and push off the door, finally ready to get ready for bed and praying come morning that this would still be your reality.

taglist: @aburman03

[fortuneforsaken-if]

What is a King to a God, and what is a God to a non-believer?

DEMO ☥ PINTEREST

This game is geared for mature audiences and as such is strictly 18+.

Ancient shackles bind you to the mortal realm, a soul severed from a home lost to the sands of time. A curse on you, a blessing for those who take command; Who wouldn't like to own a God?

You're the highly revered deity of fortune. Or you were, five thousand and eighty-two years ago. Now you're nothing but a glorified plaything to one of the most powerful families in the world. Every demand you must fulfill, no matter how vile or self-serving. The illusion of choice is all but shattered, there's nothing you can do to change it.

Or is there?

It takes a simple thing for something to shift. A fragment from the past, an ageless, flickering hum of power that unfurls the hands of fate and unearths buried sparks of hope. No one would've thought that an ancient sherd would hold the first hint to your freedom, a warm, familiar sensation of your soul locked in a tomb somewhere where no mortal has stepped in well over five thousand years.

Let's hope the decay doesn't take you before you find your way back home.

☥ FEATURES ☥

Two separate sides to customization; The one mortals perceive, and your true form. Choose names, appearances, gender, pronouns, sexuality, romantic orientation, and more.

Shape the personality that starts to re-emerge after being dulled for the better part of history. Reconnect with yourself, and get in touch with memories and feelings you lost so long ago.

Experience a character-driven story full of twists and turns that eventually determine how each of the three endings play out.

Romance one (or two) potential love interests from a cast of characters; A shunned archaeologist, a primordial God, the reincarnation of a priestess, or the mysterious man you can't quite place. Or don't, it's up to you.

And last but not least: Don't let the decay reach your heart. Every change of fortune has consequences, and mindfulness is encouraged. This game does have bad endings.

☥ CAST OF CHARACTERS ☥

Zain/Zaina Tharset ∆ M or F, 28

"You're my birthright, and I'd sooner have you dead than let you make a fool out of me."

Z is your charge. Loud, obnoxious, and entitled; They don't care about your feelings or protests. Every desire that leaves them only serves them alone, and it's on brand for most of the charges you've had before. In simple terms, Z is not a good person, and the more time you serve under them, the less you believe they have any redeeming qualities.

Like everyone in the family, Z has warm brown skin with golden undertones, and eyes in light shades of brown. Their hair is naturally curly and shaved on the sides, leaving a strip of hair on the top and back, like a fashionable mohawk. Zaina's hair reaches the middle of her shoulder blades, while Zain's stops at the nape of his neck.

Being bound to them is painful, but you have no choice. Trying to retrieve your soul will be an ordeal, and it might not be worth the agony.

Rami Tharset ∆ M, 28, RO

"Just because the world has forgotten you, forgotten them, doesn't mean I will."

Rami is the twin brother of your current charge. Kind and humble, it's difficult to imagine him a part of the Tharset family on count of how different he is from that pit of vipers. He keeps to himself, usually holed away in a library or study where he digs into the history of, well, you. Or the ancient world you came from. This has caused the rest of the archeological community to shun him, the name of your old empire nothing more than a myth and a glorified fairy tale.

Rami shares his family's warm brown skin tone, and the black curly hair that's usually a messy mop that sits on top of his head, unstyled and naturally chaotic. It reaches just the stop of his ears, and is shaved in the back. Light brown eyes that are quite blurry without his glasses, but the gold-tinted pilot-framed lenses fit him nicely.

He's one of the few friendly faces you face in the Tharset circle, and you curse your misfortune that you couldn't have him as a charge instead.

Maluset ∆ M, N/A, RO

"For all I am, all I have controlled, still I could not keep you safe. Forgive me, old friend."

The God of the Night, and everything that you have left of an age and life long forgotten. While the rest of your pantheon faded one by one, he remained. You've always known Maluset as a calm presence, a steadfast and unperturbed God that never let himself be shaken, by mortals or his siblings.

While Mal prefers manifesting as his animal motif - a jackal made of black marble and eyes like consolidated galaxies - he does have a human form too. If he must appear mortal, his skin takes the color of what the mortals of your time had; bronzed, medium brown with a golden undertone. His hair would be jet black and curly, medium length, and he likes it naturally tousled by the winds. If necessary, he'll let his eyes appear dark brown in color, but he prefers the starlit skies in them instead.

He's been a constant in your life, at least until he disappeared three centuries ago. You know he's still out there since the realm where you take shelter is his, and it hasn't yet disappeared.

Rory Ewing ∆ F, 23, RO

"I can't remember, but your face, it stirs something in my heart. Why? Who was I to you?"

Rory is a new acquaintance to you, but there's something very familiar about her. She might just be a student now, her curiosity bringing her close to you, but you can feel an old connection whenever she's close by. Her voice reminds you of prayers long ago, even if her modern vernacular is closer to 'damn, that shit's the bomb' than hymns sung in your praise. Then again, reincarnation has a way of changing people.

It doesn't, however, change appearances. Back in your day, Rory's vessel was a traveler from the north; Her skin was light beige, rosy in its undertones. Her hair was thick and a subdued red, woven into an intricate braid that hung over her shoulder, reaching her midriff. Her eyes were also uncommon to you; pale green, vibrant but ghostly.

She doesn't remember you, and maybe that's for the best. Her new self is a stark contrast to who she was, and you don't think she'd enjoy the idea of donning priestess garb over the punk-rockish getup she wears now.

Taz Arian ∆ M, 34, RO

"Funny, isn't it? How some people seem familiar, even when they shouldn't be."

Taz is... Someone. He appears out of nowhere to join your journey, his knowledge of old ruins and tombs handy but somewhat worrying when he shouldn't even be able to see you. There's a strange thrum of power coming from him whenever he speaks, and you swear you've met him before, but where? It might be easier to find out if he didn't deflect and flirt his way out of things, but it does help with mortals that can't see you.

His appearance is nothing extraordinary; Dark brown hair that's held up in a bun, and you could assume it reaches his shoulders when loose, the loose curls pulling it a tad shorter. His eyes are light in color, almost golden in the right light, glinting with mischief. His skin is weathered, and golden bronze in color, with an intricate tattoo of an eagle spanning across his chest. He also sports a short beard, which gives him a rogueish look.

There is something about him that tugs at your memories, but you can't catch that thread of remembrance for long enough to recall him. Still, he doesn't seem to mind and resorts to teasing you instead.

[hannahssimblr]

Winter. 

When did this happen? Was I looking away for long enough for the season to change without my notice? I haven’t spent enough time here watching time, from this old velvet seat by the window that overlooks brutalist blocks, each building identical to the next. These utilitarian slabs might stand like this, grey cubes jutting from the asphalt, for five hundred years. I’m here for five months now. Thoroughly settled, used to this place, this apartment with the tarry flavour of cigarettes clinging to the furniture the landlady never took away. 

Jonas says she’s strange, this woman who has left all of her old things for us to live around. Her lamps, with sun-faded shades, her record collection, the chenille bedspreads stuffed into a closet, and the ancient television I replaced the day after I landed. I’ve never met her. Sometimes, I slip a dusty bottle from her wine rack in the cellar and serve it to my friends at dinner. Surely, by the time she ever notices, I’ll be long gone.

Through the vignette of condensation, the snow drifts, white flecks, across the beam of the streetlights. Kreuzberg is quiet. Sunday. 

I refocus my eyes to look into my face, a mirror reflection in the black window. I look older, perhaps, than in the photographs Jen posted to me in September, the ones from the summer, where the light is hazy and our noses are sun blushed, from that time that feels like another lifetime already, or like fiction. At Christmas, I returned to Ireland, and it rained for two weeks without stopping, and it felt something more like reality.

My grandmother told me that my hair was straggly, and she’s right. It’s been too long since I’ve cut it, but the ends of my hair spent the summer with me. Even though my skin cells have replaced themselves, the parts of my hair touching the collar of my coat and curling around my ears hold the memories that the rest of me is slowly losing. 

I haven’t stayed in touch with my friends from there as much as I would have liked. These days are busy, with friends, with college. I draw and paint more than I ever have, lashing out piece after piece, sketchbook after sketchbook, building a tower upon the desk in my cold little bedroom, though the women in my pieces don’t have green eyes anymore. Now, I choose blue.

The door buzzes, and I stand to answer it. 

My finger on the button, “Yeah?”

“Hurry! Open up, it’s fucking cold.”

I buzz her in, then stand waiting by the open door as she ascends the stairway. Three floors. I hear her the whole way, the snap of boot heels against tile. There’s an elevator in her building, and I feel acutely guilty about my building’s lack of one, despite being entirely powerless to do anything about it, as I am an art student, not an engineer, and was not yet actually born during its construction. 

She appears on the landing, shivering, with snowflakes clinging to her hair, and sitting on the structured shoulders of her trench coat. 

“Ugh, oh God, those stairs. I hate them.” She says. She unzips her boot and tosses onto the pile of shoes next to the door, and I notice immediately that she’s barefoot, toes balanced on the tiles like a ballerina. 

“You didn’t wear socks?”

She’s not wearing tights either. Her long, pale legs poke, completely exposed beneath the beige gabardine. 

“Did you take the U-Bahn like this? It must be five below zero.”

Her second boot hits the tile with a clatter, and she backs me into my apartment. As the door clicks shut, she pulls on the tie of her coat.

She’s wearing nothing but black lingerie. 

“Ah,” I am enlightened. This now makes perfect sense to me, in much the same way it does to her. Astrid has a way of bringing me around to her way of thinking. 

This was actually an excellent idea. 

“I was bored,” she says, which makes sense too. She is always bored. This is why she does what she’s seen people do in films. It’s a way to keep herself entertained. An unwelcome thought flashes into my mind, as I wonder if she has done this specific thing for previous boyfriends. I hop off that path. With Astrid, it is important to dwell only upon the present. Anything before this, now, me, us, is nothing worth worrying about. 

I slip my hands under her coat, onto the soft, downy velvet of her skin. 

“Nice and warm,” she murmurs. 

“Astrid, you shouldn’t have gone out like this.”

“It was only thirty minutes.”

“I know, but,” Her hands are freezing between mine as I heat them with my breath. “It’s too cold.” I’ll have to give her something of mine to wear when she goes home, but begin to worry that nothing is clean. I have been avoiding taking my dirty clothes to the basement since I flew back in ten days ago, too cowardly to face the seizing cold of the communal laundry room and that ever present leak in the ceiling surely turned to an icicle by now. 

These are not sexy thoughts. 

It’s like she can tell just by looking at me. “The point is, you will heat me up,” she says, a bit slowly, like I’m thick.

I don’t want to be the guy that lacks spontaneity. That would make me anxious. She pulls her hands from mine and pouts at me, as though at a little dog. “Look at you, you’re so nice.”

It’s not intended as a compliment, and I understand I should be doing something a bit wilder, like, I don’t know, taking my own clothes off already. Why on earth haven’t I started to do that?

Ah, because I am nice. 

“Okay, fuck your hands then. They can freeze.” Often, jokes are a mistake around Astrid. She rarely laughs at them. In fact, she rarely smiles at all, and only indulges us when she feels like doing it. It’s never to be polite. She knows her own mind. I’m obsessed with her. 

I’m obsessed to an ever greater extent now, because, once again, she’s not laughing. She’s not trying to please me. It’s me, always, trying to please her instead. I tug on her coat and it pools to the floor, then I kiss her. 

“God, I love you.” 

I murmur it, the truth. 

I knew it the third or fourth night we spent together, in November, as the last stubborn leaves clung to the branches. She wasn’t like anybody I had ever met before. She reminded me of nobody, and that was the point. 

I felt it, that weakness, my molten insides, and the deep fear of it in the early hours of one morning as she lay on the sheets with moonlight spilling across her back. She has a tattoo between her shoulder blades of a heart pierced by three daggers. She says it’s from a tarot card, and she was younger and stupider when she got it. That night, as she slept, I uncovered some kind of symbolism in it that moved me, but in the morning light I had forgotten all the profound thoughts I’d come up with except one: That I loved her. It surprised me. I ignored the tiny pang of sadness I felt, like mourning for a part of my life that was already long gone. It was useless to miss it.

I chose Astrid instead. 

I choose her now, love her in the same way I kiss her and touch her and fuck her, by doing what she wants me to do. It’s not a submissive situation. I’m not into that stuff. I am a man clocking in and doing as he's asked, thoroughly, diligently, excelling at his job. Eager to please. Employee of the month.

“Will you put your hand on my throat?” She breathes. Beneath me, her hands claw the bedsheets. 

Yes, I think. That would be nice. 

I am interested to discover that I like it too. I don’t think the other girls I’ve slept with would have let me try the things that Astrid does. They couldn’t picture themselves doing it, I’m sure, and neither could I. Back then I didn’t think about sex the way I do now, but Berlin has been bringing it out in me. 

She comes first. That’s mandatory. Then afterwards, when I have, and thoughts return to my brain, I’ll lay here, haunted by the years I didn’t know about this golden rule, and all the time that I thought I was good at sex but wasn’t. Dwelling on the disappointment I brought upon women and girls will make me spiral a bit, I’ll feel it rising, but I’ll feel better when I fuck Astrid again, in some new, fascinating position, and she’ll tell me I’m pretty good, in fact.

She’ll be loud enough about it that Klaus from downstairs may complain, and point out that such volume levels are forbidden on Sundays. He’ll threaten to raise it with the building management, so I’ll bring up the fact I know it was he who put cat food containers in the recycling bin. Neither of us will do anything, and the cycle will repeat until one of us moves or dies.

“Klaus is a miserable, jealous old fool,” Astrid says. “He probably doesn’t have sex, so he’s furious at people who do. I think it’s basic psychology.”

“He lives with his wife, you know.”

“Oh, that doesn’t mean he’s having sex. Married people don’t do it. Or at least hardly ever. That’s why I’ll never be tied down like that.”

“I don’t think that’s true.”

“You think Mr and Mrs Klaus are fucking like rabbits down there?”

I scrunch up my face. “I’ve never heard them. Maybe they do it very quietly while I’m out of the apartment.”

“They never do. I bet they hate one another. Surely they sleep in separate rooms and only speak when they have to.” Astrid invents this story with glee. She is describing what is to her an indisputable fact of life. Her parents, and her mother’s relationship with her stepfather, too. I think she believed these things about marriage before meeting me, but the confirmation that my parents are the same has solidified it. 

“I don’t like to think about things in such a black and white way,” I say, and hold my palm against hers. Her fingers are long and slender. “Just because a lot of marriages are bad, doesn’t mean they’re all doomed. I believe some people are happy.”

“Trapped,” she whispers. “Like canaries in a cage. Maybe they don’t know any better.”

“If I was married, it’d be because I loved that person completely. I wouldn’t do it unless I was sure, and if I loved someone that much, I think I’d still have sex all the time. I can’t really picture that changing. When would I ever not be doing it, you know?”

She hums gently. “So you would never join a monastery.”

“Ugh.”

“And if you married me, you’d want me like this forever?”

This isn’t a serious question about marriage. That would be ridiculous. This is a test for me to pass, and am about to, with flying colours.  

“Yeah, you’re so appealing in every way. I can’t imagine not being completely crazy about you forever.”

“You definitely wouldn’t get over me if I left you.”

“Nah, probably not. In my grief, I might even refuse to sign the divorce papers or some shit.”

She nods, satisfied, and rests her head on my chest. It slots nicely beneath my chin. “I want to go to sleep,” she says.

“Alright, me too.”

I switch off the light and listen to the pitter patter of the snow on the window, drifting slowly away with it.

Astrid shifts, restless. 

“Tomorrow, I have a lecture at eight.”

“Unlucky.”

“I don’t have any clothes.”

“Ah, yeah, probably because of the lingerie stunt.”

A pout. “It was a gift for you.”

“And I loved it. I can find you something to wear.”

“To my class? Your clothes? I’ll look ridiculous. Can you get me a taxi to my house so I can change?”

“Yeah, of course. If you wear my clothes in the taxi.”

“I won’t be naked under my coat in front of a strange man, Jude.”

“Okay. Good. I’ll arrange a taxi, then.”

“That’s sweet of you.” She adjusts her position again, and the subtle contact of our bodies sets off a chain of sensation. I rake my nails lightly over her back, and she shudders. 

“You’re so pretty,” I say. “Did you know that?” I know she does, but I like the smug way she always says yes. 

“It’s okay if I leave my underwear here?”

“If you want to, yeah. Why? Do you think I wanted to carry it around in my pocket or something?”

“So you can wash it for me.”

“Yeah,” I press my lips to the back of her hand. “I’ve been meaning to go to the laundry basement for too long now. I’ll just add them to the pile.”

“No, you need to hand-wash them. They’re made of lace.”

“Oh right. So like, in the sink, or something.”

“I thought you might have known that.”

“Nah, see, in Dublin, we had a cleaner who washed all of my lace underwear for me.”

“Mm…”

“... That was a joke about the lace underwear. We did actually have a cleaner, though.”

“You’ll take care of it? They were quite expensive. It’s not as though I have a lot of that kind, so if it got ruined…”

“I will.”

She slips a hand into my hair and seeks my lips in the dark. She kisses me with such affection that I melt into her. “I love you, Jude. Thank you.”

“I love you too.”

A low chuckle as I bite her earlobe. “You really would never be a monk, would you?”

“Oh, my God. The thought makes me sick.”

I roll over her, and we give Klaus one more thing to complain about.

Beginning // Prev // Next

[lulublack90]

Prompt 11 - Home

@jegulus-microfic November 11, Word count 563

Previous part First part

Regulus cringed internally as he followed James, Sirius and Remus down the flight of stairs and out into the pouring rain. He had no idea what had possessed him to suggest the art show, but here he was clambering into the back of James’s car— apparently, Sirius had called eternal shotgun years ago—and on their way to the gallery on the other side of town.

“So when did you get into painting then?” Remus asked pleasantly while James and Sirius argued over what music they would put on. 

“Oh, er, I think I always liked art. Our house was full of dusty old oil paintings, and I was fascinated by how the artists had made it look like the eyes were following you. Took me years to figure out how to paint them.” Regulus answered, going into far more detail than he usually would with someone who was basically a stranger, but something about Remus made him want to spill his guts. He was so calm and sincere that Regulus had a hard time not trusting him. 

“Wait!” Remus gasped excitedly. “You know how to do that?” Regulus nodded. Remus grabbed both of Regulus’s hands in his and earnestly asked, “Can I commission a portrait of myself with the creepy eyes? I want to put it in Sirius’s office to freak him out.” Remus leaned conspiratorially. “He’ll hate it, but he won’t take it down in case he upsets either of us,” Regulus decided there and then that he was going to be very good friends with Remus Lupin. 

“You pay for the supplies, and I’ll do it just for the knowledge that Sirius will wig out every time he sees it.” 

“Deal,” Remus grinned at him mischievously and then grabbed the phone Sirius had plugged into the car’s speakers and put on NSYNC, to which two unhappy moans chorused from the front seats. “They both hate them, and I take great joy in singing the songs word for word as loudly as I can, so I’d cover your ears if I were you,” Remus warned before launching into ‘Bye Bye Bye’. Regulus grinned widely, loving how Remus was torturing his brother, not so much James, but this was just too much fun. He did something he never thought he’d do and he joined in. 

“I know that I can't take no more. It ain't no lie. I want to see you out that door. Baby bye bye bye.”

“Oh gods, there’s two of them,” Sirius complained as he put his hands over his ears. Remus leaned forward and prised Sirius’s fingers away from his head as the last verses started playing and sang loudly into the gap he’d made. 

“Bring it home Regulus!” Remus beamed, still holding Sirius’s hands away from his ears. So, Regulus did what he was told. He shuffled forward and scream-sang. 

“Don't really want to make it tough. I just want to tell you that I've had enough. It might sound crazy, but it ain't no lie. Bye bye.”

“We’re here,” James said as he pulled into the car park and found a parking space. He turned to Regulus with the most dazzling smile. “You have the most beautiful voice, my love, shall we go look at your beautiful art?” Regulus felt the blush coming before the heat even hit his face. James was a total menace.  

Next part

[1toreyouapart]

The Lies We Tell

***FANFIC THAT INVOLVES REAL PEOPLE. 18+ ONLY. MDNI. DO NOT READ IF YOU DON’T LIKE FANFIC THAT INVOLVES REAL PEOPLE***

Summary that tells you nothing: Sometimes everything you ever wanted has been right there, within reach, all along.

CW/TW: Angst, fluff, swearing, friends to lovers, jealousy, smut, fingering, PinV, pet names, friends with benefits, more to come as I actually get things written out.

Just Friends

It's funny how life works sometimes. Someone can tell you they love you in one breath and in the very next shatter your entire reality. One wrong move while driving down the road can alter yours and another person's life forever. A brief conversation with a stranger over a drink and exchanged phone numbers can bring people into your life that you now can't imagine life without them. The latter was exactly how Quinn now found herself in this house, surrounded by the best friends she could have ever hoped for, their banter in the living room bringing a smile to her lips as she dumped snacks into bowls.

The boys had all gotten home from tour a couple days ago, and as always, they had to have a movie night. It sort of became tradition even before Noah had invited her to move in with them. After every tour there was a big family dinner, followed by a movie night where none of them actually paid attention to the movies they chose, too caught up in catching up on everything that happened while they were gone.

"Quinn! Hurry your ass up! I'm starving here!" Folio hollered from the living room.

"Untwist your panties! You're welcome to come help, ya know!" She hollered back.

Truthfully, she should have had someone come help her. The downside to living in this particular house full of guys was that they all were much taller than her. Well, all of them that actually lived there. Which meant everything was up high and she had to climb to reach most things. Meaning it took her longer to get even just snacks together.

"Fucking tall ass motherfuckers," she grumbled, climbing up on the counter to reach some more bowls. She probably should have actually counted how much she needed before starting. Her fault, really. A long tattooed arm wrapped around her waist, hauling her off the counter.

"I swear to God, Quinn. You're going to break your fucking neck one of these days. What do you need?" Noah's voice behind her, somewhat panicked, almost made her giggle.

"Well, if you didn't put shit up so high I wouldn't have to climb to get it! And some more bowls."

Noah shook his head, chuckling. Her best friend and roommate. The person that found her in that bar seven years ago, drinking away the pain of her boyfriend at the time breaking up with her, and somehow took all those broken pieces and put her back together.

When Noah was home they quite literally did everything together. From rock climbing to going to gigs for small local bands. Movie nights up in his room, just the two of them. Shoot, when he was home she barely slept in her own room. Every night, without fail they would fall asleep in his room. It was enough that Jolly had asked them more than once if there was something else going on. And was never satisfied when they told him that they were just friends.

"You could also use the step stool I bought you."

"Step stools are for old people and children. I happen to be neither."

"You're impossible."

"You love me!"

Noah glanced down at her with a smirk as he grabbed some of the filled bowls. Quinn ignored the way her stomach flipped as his dark eyes met hers. Ignored the way her heart began to race. He was her best friend. That she definitely had a crush on. But he could never know that. It would make things weird, and she was happy with the way things were. Truly.

"Come on, my little terror pixie."

Huffing she followed him into the living room. Noah had called her a terror pixie from the night they met. However, the calling her his little terror pixie was something new. And she absolutely hated how warm and fuzzy it made her feel inside. Best friends weren't supposed to feel like that towards the other.

"Fuck off, Bigfoot."

With fake indignation she found her spot on the floor with him, settled right between his legs. Long arms wrapped around her, pulling her back against him, settling loosely around her waist. Quinn didn't miss the look everyone shared, or the way Jolly smirked at them. Like they all knew something she didn't. Or maybe they were, once again, reading too much into the way her and Noah were together.

[badplayerana]

Current favorite cherik fics - pt2

part 1 here

See what I mean when I say 'current'? lol anyway, heres some more. I will probably keep updating this every other week or so

To Know You Forever by sadbigchungus (Star Wars AU!!!)

High-raking Mandalorian Erik Lehnsherr is, much to his chagrin, assigned on a protection detail to solidify the new Jedi/Mandalorian alliance. His charge? None other than renowned scientist Jedi Master Charles Xavier. What he thinks will be a standard mission quickly devolves into something where the stakes are much higher, with the fate of Mandalore and the Republic hanging in the balance.

The stars incline us, they do not bind us by ikeracity, Pangea (top tier stuff, highly recommend - mind the tags!!!)

Intergalactic Federation pilot Lieutenant Charles Xavier is assigned last-minute to a high profile mission: transporting over two thousand prison inmates from an old and overfilled prison complex to a newer, higher-capacity prison stronghold located on the outer reaches of the galaxy. Just as he's settling down for a long and uneventful ride, things take a turn for the worse after the inmates riot and stage a hostile takeover of the ship, leaving Charles to find himself at the complete mercy of cold-blooded killers and facing the chilling prospect that he might not ever make it back home alive.

Special Topics in Mutant Studies by populuxe

The trouble with Charles Xavier isn’t just that he teaches genetics and holds terrible views about mutant rights—it’s also becoming increasingly clear that everyone but Erik seems to love him.

The Eldest of the Gods by lapetitesinge

It's 1928, and sixteen-year-old Charles Xavier is intrigued by the new boy joining him at Eton College. He's thrilled to realize that they may be alike in more ways than one, but there's more standing between them than he can possibly guess.

Playing House by ClarkeStetler, Goosenik

Erik Lehnsherr has been 'fighting for mutant rights' for the last couple years. Some might call it terrorism, but those people were narrow-minded. Unfortunately, this means that when Magda Maximoff died, no one was able to locate him to let him know that his children were without a guardian. Charles Xavier was selected as their foster parent instead, and had been doing an excellent job for the past year. Erik is back now and has no intention of being separated from his children, but working together for the kids is easier said than done. In a different situation— some anonymous bar in some overpopulated city, perhaps— Erik would absolutely have been interested. He was slender and looked about Erik’s age, but his eyes took up the majority of his face and were almost alarmingly blue. His dark curls looked like they were made for a hand to fist in. His anger was nearly palpable, sparking off him in waves that Erik could physically feel. Under any other circumstance, he’d be attracted, would have immediately started things working to get the pretty little Englishman back to his place. Not this circumstance. “You will not,” the Brit snarled at Erik, “Not be taking custody of my children.”

[lazyjellyfish300]

Hey Jelly! May I request a Drabble for your Fall/Autumn Flufftober event?

It involves Miguel O’Hara and [Reader] [Gender Neutral] experiencing a “haunted house” as part of their date. Miguel would especially be protective of [Reader] throughout the attraction, despite being aware they’re just props and scare actors doing their jobs. While doing so, Miguel is “holding hands” with [Reader] to not lose one another at the house.

SWIFT!! OFC this is such a cute idea 😭😭💕💕 so sorry it took me forever but hey spooky season isn't over til I say so 😁🖤🎃 thank you for requesting 💕

a haunted house with miguel 🏚️🖤🎃

Warnings: xGN!READER , fluff, crack, joking reference to monsterfucking.

Words 1.5k

The shivering bite of October nighttime was starting to get to you, but with Miguel close by, it made the seconds more tolerable as you stood outside the haunted attraction.

Michael Myers' theme music blasted in speakers with green and purple flashing lights, the smoke from the bonfire in front and the chalky smell from the fog machines joined together to make a spooky concoction that filled your nostrils while the distant shrieks from other guests made your stomach twist with the anticipation of what ghoulish tricks awaited you inside.  

"Ready for this?" Your boyfriend, Miguel, asks with his charming lopsided smile, one of his arms around you pulling you into his gray hoodie that blessed you with sandalwood every time he brought you closer. 

You smile at him from where your chin is lightly resting against his chest. "I mean I'm ready, I don't know about you though."

"I'm ready." Miguel answers, raising his eyebrow at a thrift store looking Leatherface targeting a group of 14 year olds with his fake chainsaw. "Seems a little intense." 

"For $80, I sure hope so." You hummed, tsking your teeth, all the while you hoped your phony nonchalantness wasn't betraying you. "They better kill us for that price." 

"Don't say that." Miguel nudges you. "Then I won't know if Melissa was really set up by Teresa and Kim D. or if Teresa was innocent." 

"Oh my God, you're more invested in that freaking show than I am." You fake offense and poke playfully at Miguel's stomach of steel while his hands followed yours, defending against your attacks. "Not even concerned that I'd be dead, just mad your ass can't watch the ending of Real Housewives of New Jersey!"

"Haha, yeahhh cause we'd both be dead, genius." Miguel shakes his head, finally spinning you around and nudging you forward as the line drew closer to the entrance. "They don't have streaming services in heaven." 

"Oh I don't think we're going to heaven, sir." You examine your nails. "I mean, I am, I dunno about you though, it's a lil toasty where you're headed.." 

"Oye, watch your step." Miguel chides as you almost trip over your own feet. 

"Greeeeetings, mortals! Party of two?" The worker dressed as the bride of Frankenstein inquires, fake vampire teeth practically falling out of her mouth. 

"Yeah." Miguel clears his throat as he looks at you sideways. 

The worker goes off on her spiel, 'don't touch the actors and they won't touch you, stay on the designated path, take note of the emergency exits should you need to exit the haunt early but beware there is no reentry upon leaving, most of all be safe, have fun, hope you make it out alive or some sort of painful joke at the end', blah blah blah

Your attention is snapped back to Earth when she gives you and Miguel the green light to go ahead, and the invisible magnets in your hands find and seize one another as you clasped each other's hands in the dark as you sauntered cautiously forward. 

"Having fun already?" Miguel teases. "Your hand is sweaty like you've run a marathon and we're not even two minutes in." 

"Man, shut up, I am not-aaaAAHH!" You jump and cling to Miguel at a loud thump on the wall from one of the actors behind you. 

Miguel chuckles. "This is gonna be a long ride." 

-----

"Oh helllllll nah." 

You start to turn around at the sight of the giant clown sitting in a chair at the end of the dark stuffy hallway holding an axe. 

"Baby, this was your idea." Miguel halted you in your tracks, spinning you around to face the front. 

You gulped as you studied the menace, pinstripes with an eerie grin and all. "That thing is gonna jump, just watch." 

"I'm pretty sure it's stuffed." 

"No, babe, that is a living breathing killer clown from outer space." 

"For the love...just get behind me." Miguel inches down the hallway, his broad back obscuring your view.

"Mig, what's happening? I can't see shit." You turn to your right and at that very moment lock eyes with Chucky, letting out an unholy scream which makes you smack into Miguel which causes him to nearly fall on top of the clown.

The teen underneath the clown mask saw all 15 years of his life flash before his eyes at the 6'9 tank about to crush him, realizing his final thoughts would be that the $7.25 an hour for this gig truly wasn't worth it. 

"Jesus!" Miguel gains his bearings, flustered as he turns to you. "You alright?" 

"Yeah, course I am." You lie. 

Miguel takes your clammy hand again. "Alright this time, don't let go of my hand." 

"Right." 

You two make the rest of your way through the haunted circus, the black light illuminating your clothes with the neon paint splatter on the walls, navigating through the eclectic fun house atmosphere with the unsettling music box tunes blaring overhead. 

Miguel remains stoic for the most part. Although you try to thug it out, every now and then a sudden noise or bang or obnoxious cackle behind you will make you jump. Miguel responds by bringing you closer protectively, cracking a joke to make you feel more at ease. 

"This man thinks he's Pennywise but he's really Krusty the clown." He nods in the direction of another menacing clown with sharp teeth that tries to get all up in your face. You burst out laughing and the guy underneath the mask low-key feels his hopes and dreams get crushed in the same sentence. 

The rest of the haunted house isn't so daunting with your protective boyfriend guiding every step. You get scary dog privilege without even trying, as most of the actors are intimidated by Miguel's large size alone, if not his sarcastic quips everytime they get too close. 

"Welllllllcome to my shop of horrors!" A butcher covered in fake blood with a crazy look in his eyes and a leather apron tries to get you to eat his human brain casserole. 

Miguel looks unimpressed. "I burn water but I can make a lasagna more edible than that." 

You cackle as Miguel leads you away, leaving the butcher equal parts baffled and clutching his invisible pearls. 

---

You come to a part of the haunted house that leads back outdoors, with fog all around you and a werewolf that comes running up to you on all fours, snarling and foaming at the mouth. 

You startle for just a moment then smirk as you turn to Miguel, 

"Hear me out..." 

"Absolutely not." Miguel figures he's gonna have you lay off the dark romance novels for a bit as he drags you away. 

-----

Once you get to the final section with the vampires, your fears have all but disappeared, playing along and smiling when Dracula with his cult of vampire wives waltzes up to you and asks to suck your blood. 

"Just warning you, Vladdy, I'm anemic." You flirt as you take his arm. 

"Alright, that's it." Miguel grumbles as he drags you away yet again. At first you were scared of the monsters, now he has to stop you from banging them. 

"But he's hot, and he has fangs!" You protest, giggling as Dracula dramatically bids you farewell, inviting you back to Transylvania anytime while Miguel carries you to the exit. 

"We have fangs at home." Miguel reminds you with a smirk before flashing his prominent canines at you. You have to stifle a giggle as you lay your head on his chest. 

 ----

"Well that was fun." You cuddle next to Miguel a short time later on the couch in your shared apartment, sighing as you lean forward, using your sweater as heat pads to pick up your mug of hot cocoa while he peruses for a Halloween movie to watch. 

"It was fun." Miguel hums. "But we're not doing it again." 

"Why not?!" 

"I'm not paying nearly a hundred dollars for you to practically leave me for Edward and Jacob from Twilight." 

"Oh my God, you actually got their names right!" 

"In other news, the movie's starting, so..."

"Baby, you're not really jealous are you?" You get closer and plop in his lap, Miguel letting out an overdramatic pained grunt. "Oh, stop it, you." 

Miguel doesn't crack at first, remaining tight-lipped while you shower him with little pecks. "You know I could never leave you, Migs." 

Miguel finally reveals a smile, "Oh, I know, I just like hearing you say it." He pulls the blanket over your shoulders as Coraline begins playing.

"Man, all you had to do was ask!" 

"Ssshhhh....Coraline's on." Miguel winks as he silences you once more. 

"Mhmm, love you too." 

You grin and feel any cold from earlier disappear altogether as Miguel's prescence warms you from the inside out as you watch the movie together, hot chocolate in hand, cookies in the oven, candles lit, all the while the chill of outside remains where it belongs in the October night in Nueva York. 

[sky-scribbles]

Okay, I'm a couple of hours into Veilguard, so I thought I'd share all the things I've really loved so far:

The combat is so much more dynamic and fluid! There were things I liked about the previous games' combat, but I do remember Inquisition often feeling like 'select enemy, then mash buttons until they die.' I love that I can duck and weave around monsters! I love being encouraged to swap between weapons (however much I have to suspend my disbelief about Rook putting away two swords and grabbing a bow in a single second)! It's just really fun!

Maybe I'm imagining it, but I feel like the camera is a bit closer to Rook, and it makes so much difference. Sometimes in Inquisition, and often in Andromeda, I felt really far away from my character, and it creates this sense of distance. It's a tiny thing, but I do genuinely think being that bit closer has made my experience a load better.

I cannot describe how affirming it feels to have an NPC point to my character and casually say 'they.'

Holy shit I love the gang's casual looks. Harding's embroidered florals and Neve's colour scheme?? Also, both of them changing their hairstyles in the field? God I wish I could show this to my 16-year-old self as they stewed in frustration over the women in Mass Effect having to go into battle with their long hair down.

The aesthetics of Arlathan! I made such a delighted noise when I realised they ancient elves had power crystals and magitech-looking devices; sci-fi like elements being introduced into fantasy is my jam, and it works so well to make clear how advanced Elvhenan really was. It reminds me of how cool it was in Critical Role when the characters went to the ruins of Aeor and found a bunch of advanced magitech: that same feeling of 'holy shit, this world we've spent so much time in and treated like a normal fantasy world is post-apocalyptic.'

Being able to give my Rook so many freckles.

[whataboutsimple]

Just LET me see freaking MCSM X Horror mods.

Pleeeease I need this for my mental health (idk how it'll help but yes).

Each group dealing with who the hell knows what? They don't.

And add there respawn without telling them too.

—

Jesse: OH MY GOD LUKAS NO-

Lukas was killed by Siren Head.

Jesse: Lukas! Bud..

Three thousand years later.

Jesse: Okay, so in case we want this trap to-

Lukas: Hey guys.

The gang screams.

Jesse: Lukas?! I- we thought you died!

Lukas: I did, but, apparently there's a respawn system, just like the one in Old Builders' games, soo..

Jesse:

Lukas: I also died like two more times trying to get here and each time I respawned in absolutely random place, so if we lost anyone else — I have no idea, where they are.

—

So fucking hilarious.

[ki-kink]

I got a strange package in the mail today. It was a purple tracksuit kit and a pair of white tube socks. I would never wear something like that so i thought i got someone else's package but my name was written on the box.... I have a weird urge to put it on......

Dude, did you totally miss that invite in the rad purple envelope chillin' in the box? It's the premiere of a sick new action flick. "Rock that violet swag, bro" is added in handwriting. You've got zero plans that night. So, why not, right?

You're kinda hanging back. People are struttin' down the red carpet in a freakin' flash of lights. You're feelin' a bit out of your element. That's when you spot the dude who's just as clueless as you are. Rocking a purple tracksuit. You go up to him and strike up a convo. Turns out, he got the same package too. You both feel kinda silly. But you muster up some courage and hit that red carpet together!

Oh my friggin' God, it feels so freakin' awesome in the spotlight, like YAS queen! You're gettin' more and more confident. "Dude, unzip those dang zippers!" You don't gotta tell me twice, bro. You and your homie are damn proud of those hard-earned muscles. And your tats cost a freakin' ton of cash. It'd be criminal to hide 'em. Owen is a friggin' poser. He's makin' his pecs dance and flexin' those rock-hard abs. Well, you ain't gotta tell me twice, gonna follow his lead, BAM!

Oh my god, like, seriously, this pre-fight showdown is, like, totally part of the gig. Owen and you, you guys are, like, total pros. Flexing those muscles, spitting out aggressive one-liners, hurling insults like there's no tomorrow. Who cares if you end up screwing each other later or sucking each other off. Before the fight, you gotta put on a freakin' show. Two ultimate jerk-off fantasies, oozing testosterone from every pore. And you're the freakin' stars of the fight cage. People want a show? Well, people are gonna get a show, baby!

Yo, Owen and you have been straight hustlin' since y'all were four years old. Y'all met in the orphanage, ain't nobody handed you nothin' in life. But whatever you needed, you took it. Sometimes legit through grindin' hard. Sometimes, not so much, who even cares? Today, y'all are the ultimate icons of the Mixed Martial Arts scene. And purple is your signature swag.

[southtopaz]

PSYCHO KILLER - SCREAM

Summary: in which Iris Morris has to navigate her personal relationships while surviving a psycho.

Warnings: Fem!reader, angst, mention of violence, swearing, mention of death, Tara Carpenter x Fem reader, multiple parts, slowburn.

Word count: +6,5k

A/n: this part will follow the events of Scream 6 but it will take place two years later from Scream 5. English is not my first language, so I apologize for any grammatical mistake.

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9, Part 10, Part 11, Part 12, Part 13

Iris winced, hissing softly as the antiseptic stung against her busted lip. Mindy was gentle as she dabbed the cotton against the wound, her brow furrowed in concern.

"This fucking hurts," Iris muttered, unable to mask the discomfort.

"I know it does," Mindy replied, her voice soothing yet firm. "But look at the bright side: that guy probably has a broken nose because of you."

Iris couldn't help but let out a small, reluctant laugh. "That made me feel strangely better."

"As proud as I am of you for punching that asshole, maybe next time you could avoid the whole bleeding thing."

"He deserved it,"

"Totally, but you've got to stop acting like a rabid dog. You can't fight everyone that annoys you" Mindy said, setting the used cotton aside and crossing her arms.

"Yes, I can,"

"Jesus, Iris," Mindy replied, exasperated. "We really need to talk about your anger issues."

After a moment of silence, Iris finally broke it, her voice filled with worry. "Do you think Tara is pissed at me?"

"Oh, definitely," Mindy replied, her tone teasing. "Are you going to talk to her?"

"I'm not apologizing for punching him," Iris declared, crossing her arms.

"You definitely shouldn't," Mindy said, nodding vigorously. "That bitch deserved it! But maybe you two could talk about what happened before?".

"Before?" Iris's brow furrowed in confusion.

"Yeah! I'm pretty sure she's more upset that you left her dancing alone than about you fighting that guy," Mindy explained, a smirk creeping onto her face. "Knowing Tara, she probably thought it was hot,".

"What?" Iris exclaimed, her mouth agape.

"Not you acting surprised". Mindy snorted. "Are you having a stroke right now, Ris?"

"I'm just... confused," Iris admitted, shaking her head as if that might clear her thoughts.

"Want me to clarify the situation?" Mindy offered, her eyes gleaming with mischief. "I'm talking about when you two were dancing, definitely not thinking about sleeping with each other!"

"What? We weren't looking at each other like we wanted to do that. Don't be stupid!" Iris shot back, but she couldn't help the flush creeping up her cheeks.

"Then stop eye fucking each other for one second."

"What the fuck? That's ridiculous. We don't do that."

"So you never thought about it?" Mindy pressed, her eyebrows raised in challenge.

"No," Iris replied defiantly, but her tone wavered slightly.

"Oh, come on! You fucking liar, Fifteen-year-old you has a lot of things to say right now,".

"Shut up, Mindy, you're really pissing me off," Iris snapped, crossing her arms like a petulant child.

"Can't handle the truth?" Mindy teased, winking.

"We are friends," Iris insisted, her voice firm.

"Are you though?" Mindy countered, leaning closer. "I'm your friend, and you definitely don't look at me like that. Thank God, by the way!" She rolled her eyes dramatically.

Iris opened her mouth to retort but was interrupted by the sudden appearance of Sam in the doorway. She paused, her expression a mix of curiosity and confusion as she took in the scene: Iris with a look of disbelief and Mindy with her signature smug smile.

"Mmm, what is going on here?" Sam asked, her head tilting slightly as she crossed her arms.

"I was just telling Iris how she should talk to your sister so they can stop eye fucking each other," Mindy declared, her tone cheeky.

"WHAT THE FUCK"

Mindy just laughed and winked at them as she left the room, her job clearly done.

A moment of awkward silence settled between Iris and Sam before Sam finally spoke up, breaking the tension. "So..."

"Don't listen to Mindy," Iris quickly interjected, trying to wave away the earlier conversation. "She's on crack"

Sam chuckled softly, stepping closer to her friend. "I just wanted to thank you for today. Seriously, what you did for Tara..."

"It's nothing," Iris replied, shrugging it off.

"Yes, it is! Who knows what could have happened to her if you weren't there?"

"I'll always be there,"

"I know." Sam paused, biting her lip nervously. "But do you think she's right about... you know, the things she said?"

"I mean, Sam..." Iris hesitated, choosing her words carefully. "I can't blame you for wanting to protect your sister. God knows I'm just as paranoid. But Tara has a point, at least to some extent."

Sam looked down, nodding in agreement. "I just want her to be safe. She means everything to me."

"I know, but you have to let her live, too," Iris replied gently.

"You think she hates me for being so overprotective?" The vulnerability in Sam's voice didn't go unnoticed.

"You're her sister; she loves you. You two just need to talk it out," Iris reassured her, pulling her into a warm hug. Sam hugged back tightly, grateful for Iris's support. When they finally released each other, Sam turned to leave.

"Oh, and you should also talk to her," Sam added, pausing at the door.

"Yeah, I'm aware," Iris said with a sigh.

"Because you know Mindy was right," Sam said playfully, a smirk spreading across her face. "You two are tiring me out with all this will they, won't they."

"WAIT, WHAT?"

Iris felt a knot of anxiety tightening in her stomach as she prepared to talk to Tara.  The tension in the air had been palpable all night, as things had taken a weird turn between them and she knew she had to address it, even if it made her uncomfortable. She tried to block out Mindy and Sam's words; they weren't helping her anxiety at all.

Knowing Tara had likely sobered up but would soon be grappling with a headache, Iris grabbed a bottle of pain relievers from the kitchen. Taking a deep breath, she headed toward Tara's room, her heart racing with each step.

As she reached the door, she knocked lightly, announcing her presence. Tara was reclining on her bed, half-propped up on one elbow, deeply engaged in a conversation with Quinn. The moonlight streaming through the window illuminated Tara's features, casting a warm glow on her expression, but Iris could see the fatigue lurking beneath her surface. When they both turned to her at the sound of the knock, Tara's surprise was evident, and Quinn, sensing the shift, quickly rose to her feet.

"I'm gonna go, let you guys... chat," Quinn said, her voice soft as she headed for the door. As she passed Iris, she exchanged a meaningful glance with Tara, a silent communication that Iris couldn't see before the door clicked shut behind her.

"Figured you would need these," Iris said, holding out the bottle of pills and giving it a gentle shake. She stepped into the room, placing the bottle on the small table in front of the bed, feeling the weight of the moment settle around them.

"Thank you," Tara replied, managing a tight-lipped smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. "You can go back to your room. I'm pretty sure the fighting is done for the day."

Iris couldn't resist a playful retort. "That's a shame; I was ready to throw some more punches." She flexed her arms dramatically, trying to lighten the mood, before sitting next to Tara in the bed.

"Oh yeah? Everyone better start fearing for their lives then,"

"What can I say? I'm just too cool,". They exchanged a silly smile, the kind that made the world around them feel a little brighter. For a moment, they stood in comfortable silence, both of them trying to find the right words.

"Thank you," Tara finally said, her gaze drifting down to her feet, the weight of her words hanging in the air. "For not letting me go up those stairs."

Iris shifted closer, their shoulders brushing lightly. She could feel the warmth radiating from Tara, and it gave her a sense of comfort. "It's no problem really. I would gladly punch him again if you asked me,"

"Yeah, but then you got hurt," Tara replied, tilting her head to study Iris's face more closely. Her eyes dropped to the small bruise on Iris's lip, a reminder of the confrontation.

"It's okay, I don't mind. It was just my lip," Iris said with a shrug, trying to brush off the concern. But there was something deeper in Tara's gaze that made her heart race, a mix of gratitude and something else she couldn't quite put her finger on. The air felt charged, as if the silence between them was waiting for the right moment to spark into something more.

Tara glanced down at her white shirt, noticing the faint, dark stains that marred the fabric now that she had gotten rid of her tie and suit jacket. A hint of panic crept into her voice as she asked, "Is that blood?" It seemed the mess wasn't limited to just the cut on Iris's lip.

Iris's eyes widened for a moment. "No?" she replied, trying to deflect.

"You're not supposed to answer with a question, Ris," Tara teased, a grin tugging at her lips. Iris laughed quietly, and Tara felt a rush of warmth at the sound. There was something magical about being the reason behind Iris's smile, a feeling that made her heart swell.

"I think I was more messed up than I realized," The shorter girl admitted, the weight of her words sinking in.

"What happened? You don't usually drink like this," Iris probed, concern threading through her voice.

Tara looked away, unable to meet Iris's gaze. It felt as if the truth was etched across her face—how she had drowned her worries in drinks, all to forget the sight of Iris leaving with that boy, Damon. The memory stung, and she forced herself to swallow hard. "I just... had a lot of things on my mind,"

"Anything you wanna share?" Iris nudged her gently in the shoulder, her touch lingering just long enough to send a shiver down Tara's spine.

"Not yet, if that's okay," Tara replied, her voice barely above a whisper.

"I respect that," Iris said, her understanding evident. "I have a lot on my mind too." The air between them shifted, Tara felt the walls she'd built around her emotions start to crack, and for the first time, she considered sharing the weight of her feelings with Iris. But for now, she simply held on to the fleeting connection they shared, hoping it would be enough.

"Did you have fun?" Tara asked, her voice light, but there was a hint of curiosity behind it.

"I did, especially when I got to dance with you." Iris locked her gaze onto Tara's, the sincerity in her eyes making Tara's heart skip a beat.

"Yeah? You weren't that bad,"

"Maybe we can do that again sometime. I think I still need some practice." Iris wiggled her eyebrows exaggeratedly, and Tara couldn't help but nudge her playfully, a warm laugh escaping her.

"You didn't dance with Damon?" Tara inquired, raising an eyebrow.

"Damon?" Iris laughed, shaking her head. "He would rather die than dance with me. Not even his boyfriend gets him to do it."

"Boyfriend? Oh," Tara said, her surprise evident.

"Yeah, why?" Iris asked, tilting her head slightly, curiosity piqued.

"I thought... maybe you two..." Tara trailed off, her voice softening.

"What? No way! He's just my friend, and besides, he is gay,"

"Sorry, that's embarrassing." Tara instinctively put her hands around her head, trying to shield her blush, but before she could hide, Iris gently grabbed one of her hands, intertwining their fingers in a warm clasp.

Iris looked down at their joined hands, the softness of Tara's skin grounding her. "Besides, even if he were into women, I wouldn't go for him either," she said, a teasing glint in her eyes.

"Too picky?" Tara asked, her heart racing with an unexplainable thrill.

"Maybe," Iris replied with a slight shrug. "I guess I'm more into brunettes."

Tara's heart raced so fast she thought she might faint. The implication of Iris's words washed over her like a wave, leaving her breathless. "Good choice," she whispered, her voice barely above a breath.

After a moment of silence, where the only sound in the room was the rhythm of their breaths, Iris finally spoke up, her voice gentle yet firm. "You know, don't be mad at your sister. She loves you and she's just trying to protect you."

Tara sighed, her shoulders slumping slightly. "I know, but still, sometimes it feels like too much." The weight of her words hung in the air, thick with unspoken emotions.

"Maybe," Iris replied, rubbing soothing circles on Tara's hand. "But she's just trying to keep you safe. So am I." The warmth of Iris's touch sent a shiver of comfort through Tara. "Even if we both still live with the fears of the past."

"I'm sorry for that," Tara muttered apologetically "I didn't want to be rude. I know how much better you got after therapy."

"It's okay," Iris assured her, a soft smile breaking through. "And yeah, I did. Perhaps you should consider it too." At the look on Tara's face, Iris snorted softly, the sound lightening the mood. "Geez, I'm not saying now, but maybe in the future if you ever need it."

"Is Iris the psychologist talking or Iris my friend?"

"Both?" They both laughed, the tension easing further. "I didn't want to go either, but now I see how much I've improved."

"I see it too," Tara replied, sincerity in her tone.

"Before, I would've never gone to that party," Iris continued, her gaze turning introspective. "I remember being constantly on edge, like someone or something was out there just waiting to attack me." She paused, taking a breath to steady herself. "Don't get me wrong, sometimes I still feel like that, and I think it had become a part of me. But I've learned to embrace it."

"I never told you this, but I'm really proud of you," Tara said, her voice steady.

Iris took a deep breath. "It also helped me not to be scared of love or feelings anymore," she admitted, a thoughtful expression crossing her face. "It's funny; I almost thought I would never be able to feel again."

"And do you?" Tara asked, leaning in slightly. "I mean, feel again? Are you still scared of it?"

"I haven't been scared for a while," Iris said, her eyes reflecting a vulnerability that was hard to ignore. "Not when it's the most beautiful feeling." They locked eyes, unable to look away, and the moment felt charged, almost electric. Tara had to look away, her heart pounding, she didn't want to get her hopes up.

"So should I be worried about the line of people that are probably waiting to date you?" Tara teased, trying to deflect the intensity of the moment.

"I highly doubt anyone would wait," Iris replied, a hint of laughter in her voice.

"You'd be surprised," Tara shot back, her heart skipping a beat as she realized they were moving closer to each other, the space between them shrinking without conscious thought.

"It's more probable that I should be the one worried about the people waiting to date you," Iris countered, her tone light but her eyes serious.

"Believe me," Tara said, her eyes tracing every movement Iris made, captivated by her "There's nothing to worry about."

"Good, because you can do so much better than date that perv Frankie,"

"You think so?" Tara whispered, her voice barely audible, as if she were afraid to disturb the delicate moment they were sharing.

"Tara..." She breathed out, struggling to find the right words to convey the depth of her feelings. "You're—" She paused, the weight of her emotions pressing down on her, making it difficult to articulate just how much Tara meant to her. "Everything."

"Anyone would be lucky to have you," Iris finished, her voice filled with sincerity. The words hung in the air, causing Tara to hitch her breath, her heart racing as if it were trying to escape her chest. She took her time looking at Iris, the warmth radiating between them making the world outside seem irrelevant. Her gaze slowly shifted to Iris's lips, a magnetic pull drawing her in. Gently, Tara brought the hand that wasn't holding Iris's to brush against her wounded lip, her fingertips caressing it with a tenderness that made Iris suppress a whimper. The soft touch sent a jolt of electricity through them, both feeling the intensity of the moment.

"Does it hurt?" Tara asked, her eyes searching Iris's for an answer, only to find Iris staring intently at her lips, mirroring her own longing.

"Not really," Iris breathed out, the words escaping in a whisper that felt charged with meaning.

Their foreheads pressed together, the warmth of their skin mingling as they both tried to steady their breaths, the air thick with anticipation. "I'm not messed up anymore," Tara whispered, her voice soft but firm. "Just to let you know."

"Okay," Iris replied, her heart fluttering in response. They leaned in, their faces inches apart, the world around them fading into nothingness. Just as they were about to bridge the gap between them, the door swung open.

"I forgot... my phone," Quinn said, her voice cutting through the moment. But then she stopped short, taking in the scene before her. The two girls, so close together, made Quinn's eyes widen in surprise. She grimaced in apology, Iris and Tara pulled back quickly, their cheeks flushed with embarrassment.

"Shit sorry, um—did I cockblock you?" Quinn questioned, her voice cutting through the charged air, making both girls look at her in surprise.

"What did you just say?" Tara blurted out, her tone a mix of disbelief and annoyance. "God," they both exclaimed simultaneously, the embarrassment radiating off Iris as she pressed her hand against her forehead, while Tara's expression shifted to irritation.

"I cockblocked you" Quinn said, her eyes wide as she assessed the situation.

"No," Iris insisted, shaking her head vigorously, desperate to stop Quinn from digging herself into a deeper hole.

"I cockblocked you, didn't I?" Quinn pressed on, oblivious to Iris's attempts to ease the tension.

"Quinn if you continue saying cock im going to kill myself".

"Immediate no," Tara interjected, her voice firm, but Iris stood there uncomfortably, not really knowing what to do with herself.

"Quinn," Tara sighed, looking down at the floor as she tried to gather her thoughts. "What did... what did you need?" Her brows furrowed in disbelief; she couldn't fathom how her day had taken such a turn.

"My phone," Quinn replied, her tone casual as she bent down to pick it up from Tara's desk.

"Don't ever enter a room like that," Tara told her seriously, her voice low but laced with anger.

"I won't," Quinn promised, shaking her head earnestly, though a hint of sheepishness crept into her expression.

"It was rude," Tara continued, her irritation bubbling beneath the surface.

"I'm gonna go," Iris said awkwardly, signaling toward the door as if she were trying to escape the situation. "I think I left my... um, window open." The words tumbled out in a rush, and she turned to leave but paused for a moment. "Talk to your sister, okay? She heard what you said," Iris said, her voice softening just a bit before she slipped out the door.

"Okay," Tara smiled at her, but the moment Iris left, that smile vanished. She turned to Quinn, a steely resolve settling in. "I'm going to kill you."

Quinn's eyes widened in panic. "I'm so sorry, sorry!" she mouthed as she hurried out of the room, leaving Tara alone with her thoughts.

Tara sighed in disbelief, her mind racing with a mix of frustration and lingering hope. As the door clicked shut behind Quinn, she couldn't help but lay back on her bed, a smile creeping onto her face. She let out a giggle, the warmth of the earlier moment with Iris still tingling in her chest. Maybe, just maybe, she was finally on the verge of getting what she had always wanted.

Iris and Tara were sprawled comfortably on the couch, the soft glow of the television casting a warm light across the cozy living room, mingling with the faint hum of conversation from their group of friends nearby. Laughter bubbled up now and then, a lighthearted soundtrack to their evening as everyone made an effort to enjoy themselves, if only for a little while.

Iris leaned back against the cushions, her head tilting slightly as she glanced at Tara, who was curled up beside her with a playful grin. Tara's hair fell in soft waves around her face, and Iris couldn't help but admire how effortlessly beautiful she looked in the low light.

Tara leaned back against the cushions, "What do you want to watch?" she asked.

"Let's just see what's on the news," Iris suggested, reaching for the remote. She clicked through a few channels until the familiar logo of the news station appeared on the screen.

As the reporter started talking, Tara settled down next to Iris, their shoulders brushing together. Iris could feel a familiar warmth spread through her, a reminder of how comforting it was just to be near her. They exchanged a quick smile, but that moment of serenity shattered when the news reporter appeared, his face serious and his voice steady.

"And in other news, a recent investigation has uncovered troubling details related to the events of last year's incident of Woodsboro," the reporter said, his tone grave. Iris's heart felt like it skipped a beat, her stomach twisting as memories flooded back, memories they had tried to put behind.

Tara stiffened beside her, the color draining from her face as she listened intently. "No..." she whispered, her voice barely audible.

Iris's eyes were glued to the screen, watching as the reporter continued to speak. "I'm standing in front of the apartment building where the mutilated bodies of two students..." They heard the sound of Chad's footsteps thundering after the door, his desperation palpable as he raced to catch up with Sam. Just a few moments later, Sam and Danny walked in, their expressions full of concern as they approached.

"What's going on?" Sam asked, glancing around the room, her eyes wide and searching, with Danny trailing closely behind her, a look of confusion etched on his face.

Quinn, with a sly smile, couldn't help but comment, "Cute boy. Nice," pointing up at Danny, a playful glint in her eye.

But the levity was short-lived as the news turned grim. "Were discovered. Their names have just been released by police. Jason Garvey and Greg Bruckner".

"No," Iris heard Tara whisper in disbelief. In an instinctive gesture, Iris quickly grabbed Tara's hand, squeezing it tightly to offer comfort in the midst of the unfolding chaos.

"Holy shit, that's that chode from our film studies class!" Mindy exclaimed, her finger jabbing at the TV where the breaking news report was streaming. "The ones obsessed with Argento!"

The atmosphere thickened as the report continued. "Also found at the scene were various Ghostface costumes, a character popularized by the Stab movie franchise".

"No way," Iris whispered, her heart racing. Deep down, she had sensed something was off about Jason with his weird interest on Sam going to that party, she didn't want to imagine what was his plan. She could feel Tara's gaze burning into her, a silent acknowledgment that they are both thinking the same thing.

Sam let out a deep sigh. "Pack a bag. We leave in ten," she declared firmly, her voice cutting through the silence in the room.

"Sam! Wait, Sam!" Tara yelled, springing up from her seat to chase after her sister.

"We're getting out of the city," Sam replied, her tone leaving no room for debate.

"I'm not getting stabbed in the name of these fucking movies again!" Iris interjected, standing up with determination. "I'm buying the tickets." The fierce resolve in her eyes made it clear she was serious.

"What?" Danny blurted, confusion and concern mingling on his face.

Chad turned to Danny, gently but insistently pushing him backwards. "Thank you very much, suspicious new guy, but we got it from here," he said, waving him off with a quick flick of his wrist. "Have a good night. Get home safe. Go, go, go." His tone was urgent, he needed to protect their little group.

As Tara sprinted after her older sister, she watched as Sam headed straight for the knife stash, her hands deftly pulling knives from the holder. The glint of steel caught the light, and Tara felt a chill run down her spine as she realized what Sam was preparing for.

"Sam, just wait a minute here—" Tara exclaimed, her voice rising with anxiety. She could already sense where this was heading, and she hated it. "Let's just talk about this!"

"Sam, bring me one!" Iris shouted, her resolve unyielding.

"On it," Sam replied tersely, her focus unwavering.

"No, wait, Iris, not you too!" Tara pleaded, desperation creeping into her voice.

"No, we are leaving," Sam hissed, storming past Tara with two knives in her hands, she handed one to Iris, who accepted it without a question.

"No, wait, let's talk about this for a second!" Tara tried to reason with Sam, her voice softening as she attempted to pull her sister back from the edge of impulsive decisions. "This attack might not have anything to do with us!" Tara's words hung in the air, a fragile hope that perhaps they could find a different way out of this nightmare.

Sam spun around, the sudden movement stopping Tara in her tracks. "Are you serious?" she demanded, her voice a mixture of disbelief and frustration.

"It's Halloween! Everybody's wearing masks!" Tara countered, her tone defensive as she tried to make sense of the chaos spiraling around them. "You don't know"

"Tara, this isn't a coincidence!" Sam snapped, exasperation spilling over. "You knew those guys!"

"Barely," Tara shot back, her voice heavy with shadows of doubt and fear.

"You guys looked really friendly," Iris interjected, only adding fuel to the fire.

"Not helping, Iris!" Tara retorted, her frustration bubbling to the surface.

"There's no way you think that it's just a coincidence that the guy you met and got close to you, was found dead with a stash of Ghostface costumes" Iris pressed, her tone fierce, eyes blazing with intensity.

"Thank you," Sam said, shooting Iris a grateful glance "Chad, Mindy, back me up."

Chad hesitated, glancing at the floor as he searched for the right words. "It's a little bit..."

"Close to home," Mindy finished for him, still perched on the couch with Anika, who looked equally troubled by the unfolding drama.

"See?" Sam exclaimed, her frustration beginning to morph into a desperate plea for understanding.

"It's better to prevent than die in the process," Iris added, her voice firm.

Tara turned to Iris, hurt flashing in her eyes. "Why can't you be on my side for once?"

"I'm always going to be on your side," Iris replied, her voice steady but tinged with sorrow. "But not if it ends with you dead."

Tara turned around, her eyes landing on the ginger-haired woman perched on the couch. Quinn sat there, her expression a clear reflection of fear and confusion as she absorbed the tension radiating through the room.

"Quinn, your dad's a cop, right?" Tara asked hurriedly,desperation creeping into her tone.

"Can you call him and find out what's going on?"

She turned around once again to shout at her sister and Iris "Before you two make the unilateral decision to abandon my college education and flee the fucking state!"

Quinn hesitated for a moment before nodding, her brow furrowing with concern. "I'm calling him now," she said carefully, raising her phone to her ear.

"Thank you," Tara replied, her voice softer now, though the underlying anxiety remained.

Just then, the phone rang, and the atmosphere in the room shifted dramatically. Everyone seemed to freeze, wide-eyed and tense as they exchanged anxious glances, the ominous sound amplifying the dread hanging in the air. Iris reached for Sam's phone, her fingers shaking slightly as she glanced at the caller ID.

"Gale Weathers," Iris read aloud, a sarcastic laugh escaping her lips. "I think the fuck not."

With that, she hung up abruptly, placing the phone back on the table with a decisive clatter. Gale had turned their tragic story from the previous year into a sensationalized tale, cashing in on their traumas, and it got on Iris's nerves. She remembered how Gale had twisted their experiences into a narrative that painted Sam as a "natural killer" and Iris as a "naive lover." None of them held the older woman in high regard at that moment.

"Why did everyone just freak out when her phone rang?" Ethan asked, his brow furrowed in confusion.

"You gotta keep up, my dude," Anika replied, her tone dripping with incredulity as she shook her head at him like he was a dumb child.

"You've never watched the Stab movies?" Iris turned to Ethan, an inquisitive glare piercing through the boy. As he shook his head in denial, she stared at him for a moment longer, watching him struggle to maintain her gaze, his discomfort palpable.

"Sam," Quinn called out, worry etched across her features. "My dad wants to talk to you."

Sam looked up, her expression shifting from frustration to concern as she took the phone from Quinn. "Mr. Bailey, hi"

"Hey, Sam. I was actually just about to call you," he replied, his tone professional yet tinged with urgency.

"Well, my sister thinks I'm probably overreacting," Sam told him, a hint of frustration seeping through.

"No, unfortunately, you're not," he said, the gravity of his words settling heavily in the air.

"What do you mean? What's going on?" Sam questioned, confusion etching lines on her forehead.

"I'm afraid I need you to come down to the station," he said, his voice firm with concern.

"Alright," Sam replied, her mind racing as she processed the sudden shift in the conversation.

Hanging up the phone, she felt a knot tighten in her stomach. Without saying a word to anyone, she moved towards the door, her pace brisk and determined.

Tara and Iris exchanged a glance, a silent understanding passing between them. In an instant, they moved to follow Sam, urgency propelling them forward. "You guys stay here. We'll go with Sam," Tara called out. They didn't wait for a reply; they were already at the door, Sam poised on the threshold, ready to step into the night.

"Tara? No, get back inside. Lock the door," Sam called out, turning to face them, her expression unable to hide her frustration. "Iris, go with her and keep her safe."

"Are you serious? Now you don't want to stick together?" Tara shot back, disbelief lacing her words as she crossed her arms defiantly.

"She's right, Sam. You're insane if you think we're leaving you alone," Iris chimed in, her voice resolute as she stepped closer to Tara.

Sam hesitated, glancing between her sister and Iris, her resolve wavering under the weight of their insistence. "I just—" she began, but the look on their faces told her all she needed to know.

With a reluctant sigh, she finally relented. "Fine. Let's go." Together, they started walking towards the station, each step heavy with unspoken fears.

As The three of them walked down the street, Sam's phone began ringing once again. She instinctively glanced at the screen, and her heart dropped. The sight of the caller ID made her freeze in place, rooted to the pavement.

"Sam, what's wrong?" Iris asked, her voice laced with concern as she noticed the shock written all over Sam's face.

Tara, too, stopped walking, her eyes darting between Sam and the phone, a look of disbelief crossing her features. "What the fuck?" she asked, her voice trembling slightly. They all could see the name glaring back at them: "Richie Kirsch."

"I...I never deleted his contact," Sam confessed, her voice shaky. "This is coming from his number."

A chill ran down Iris's spine, her instincts kicking in. "Don't pick that up," she warned, urgency rising in her tone.

"Yeah, just let it ring," Tara echoed, glancing around as if expecting someone to jump out from the shadows.

But Sam, lost in a whirlwind of emotions, ignored their pleas. With a deep breath, she pressed the green button, accepting the call against her better judgment.

"Who is this?" Sam demanded as she gripped the phone tightly.

"Hello, Samantha. Did you miss me?" The voice was unmistakable, distorted by the sinister quality of a voice changer, sending shivers down their spines.

"Oh God, I hate this motherfucker". Iris muttered, burying her face in her hands in frustration. Sam, determined to face this threat head-on, switched the call to speaker mode so Tara and Iris could hear as well.

"I want you to think long and hard about whether you really want to do this because the last two people that fucked with us ended up dead" Sam growled into the phone, her voice low but steady.

"You should be thanking me, Sam. Jason and Greg were gonna kill you, your sister and all of your friends" Ghostface replied, his tone mocking and sinister. Just then, the three girls caught sight of a suspicious figure approaching them from down the street, a hood pulled low over his face, obscuring his features.

Instinctively, Iris stepped in front of Sam and Tara, her body tense as she faced the stranger. The man walked past them, his gait slow and deliberate, yet he didn't make eye contact. Iris's heart raced as she glanced back at her friends, trying to gauge their reactions while keeping her eyes on the hooded figure. The atmosphere grew thick with tension, each of them acutely aware that this was far from over. "I gutted them before they had the chance"

"Thanks dude for murdering people in our name".

"Hello to you too, Iris. I can't wait to formally meet you," Ghostface mocked, his voice dripping with amusement.

"I can't wait to meet you either," Iris retorted, her voice steady despite the quaking fear in her stomach. "So you can personally meet my knife" Her heart raced, adrenaline coursing through her veins as she spoke.

Sam sensed the tension building and quickly interjected, hoping to redirect the focus. "So what? You're protecting us now?" she questioned. She wanted to pull Iris back from the brink of confrontation, fearing that provoking him further might escalate the situation.

"Not quite," Ghostface replied, his tone icy and calculated. "I'm going to show the whole world who you really are. A liar and a killer. I'm going to punish you". Each word dripped with a chilling certainty, as though he relished the thought of punish them.

"You shouldn't believe everything you read on the internet, asshole" Sam shot back, her anger boiling over.

"Don't be cute. You're gonna pay for what you did. And I'm not gonna stop until I butcher you. You and anyone who gets between us. You and Tara better watch your backs" Ghostface said. "As for you Iris? I'm going to have so much fun watching you beg to end you once I force you to watch the final moments of everyone else".

"You want me dead? Get in line motherfucker"

"You better watch your backs."

"You better watch yours." Sam snapped, her voice laced with venom.

"Tara, behind you!" Iris shouted, her voice slicing through the night air with urgency. The adrenaline surged through her veins as she realized the danger. She had been so consumed by the call that she hadn't noticed Ghostface stealthily approaching.

Before she could even process the situation, a gloved hand clamped around Tara's neck, getting ready to stab her right in the chest. Panic gripped Iris, but there was no time for fear—only action.

"No!" Tara screamed, her eyes wide with horror as she felt the presence of the killer. Iris lunged at Ghostface, her small frame colliding with his. The force of her impact sent them both tumbling into the nearby bushes, leaves and branches scattering in all directions.

"Run!" Sam shouted, her voice cutting through the chaos. She grasped Tara's arm, yanking her forward with a desperate urgency. The street stretched out before them, dark and foreboding, but they had no choice. They had to escape.

"In there!" Sam pointed towards a convenience store glowing dimly in the distance, its neon lights flickering like a beacon of hope. The three of them sprinted down the empty street, their hearts pounding in rhythm with their frantic footsteps.

"He's coming!" Iris yelled.

"Help! Somebody!" they cried out, desperation lacing their voices as they dashed for the store. Ghostface was close behind, his presence a looming shadow, ready to strike at any moment.

"Please help us!" Tara shouted once they were inside. They tried to get to the front of the line in order to talk to the owner.

"There's a fucking line here, girls" someone snapped.

"Someone is trying to kill us" Iris yelled defiantly, her voice echoing in the cramped space. "You think I give a fuck?" Just as the words left her mouth, the store door swung open with a jarring creak, revealing Ghostface, who entered with an unsettling calm, his dark figure cutting through the fluorescent lights like a shadow.

"You got a problem here" The guy who snapped at them bravely said as he approached the killer, who in response just tilted his head, the mask obscuring any trace of emotion, before stabbing him in the gut multiple times. Gasps of horror erupted from the other costumers, their panic palpable as they rushed toward the door, desperate to escape the unfolding nightmare. Another guy tried to stop him but that just resulted in him getting stabbed in the neck.

The three girls exchanged horrified glances, their eyes wide as they gasped in shock, instinctively backing away from the scene. The air felt charged with fear as Ghostface began to advance towards them, his movements deliberate and predatory.

"Hey!" The store owner yelled, popping up from behind the counter with a shotgun. He pulled the trigger but it wasn't fast enough as Ghostface dodge it just in time. The man looked appalled as he walked through his store to approach the killer only to find that he disappeared.

"Go out the back!" He shouted at them.

"Thank you!" Tara yelled in response, the three of them not wasting another moment before rushing towards the door.

"Fuck, it's locked," Sam cursed out as she and Iris continued to force the lock in order to open it.

"Keys!" Tara called to the man. "We need your keys!"

The man began searching for the keys and just when he finally found them, Ghostface appeared out of nowhere and used the fact that he was distracted to stab him in the chest. The owner fell into the floor grumbling in pain as he tried to escape the store but it was no use as Ghostface grabbed the shotgun that was on the floor and shoot the man in the head making all the blood splutter into the fridges.

Sam pushed both girls down onto the ground signaling them to keep quiet as they crawled to another aisle.

They could hear Ghostface's footsteps as he fired at the freezer behind them, glass shattering everywhere. He squeezed off a few more shots, but a quick glance told Iris that he was getting closer. Sam seized a can and hurled it to the far end of the store, hoping to divert his attention.

Unfortunately, it didn't buy them much time. They managed to get to another aisle in silence, but then Ghostface turned, locking eyes with Iris for a brief, chilling moment.

Before Ghostface could pull the trigger again, the three girls acted on impulse, shoving the shelves of food onto him with all their strength. Cans and boxes tumbled down, creating a chaotic barrier as they scrambled to escape the scene.

"Run, go!" Sam shouted, her voice laced with panic. The urgency in her tone snapped Iris into action. She grabbed Tara's hand, feeling the tremor in her friend's grip, and urged her forward.

"Tara, we have to move!" Iris cried, noticing how her friend stood frozen, eyes wide with fear. Sam was already darting ahead, glancing back to ensure they were following.

They sprinted toward the door, hearts pounding, Iris let out a sigh of relief when they were finally outside and they could hear Police sirens getting closer to them.The relief didn't last long as once they turned around to look back at the scene, they found the Ghostface mask laying on the ground, which could only mean one thing. He had escaped.

[earthearthearththearth]

here u go pronoun pop meant to post this first but posted it on my main whoops

🦢Swansea x Reader Headcanons (platonic, romantic)🦢

PLATONIC

-So first headcanon is completely unrelated to both platonic and romantic, but this man is so midwestern. You mean to tell me the Sam’s Club meat selection doesn’t hate to see him comin? Okay pal. He is so southern midwestern it is crazy.

-If you’re around his age, which I know you aren’t, thank god in theory. God, this man needs a normal person on this ship. Someone to complain about retirement years and ‘these damn kids’ with. 

-Either way, if you’re buddies with him, cool. Being close with Swansea isn’t really on a sliding scale-if you’re ‘in’ you’re in. For lifers. He won’t tell you, but you’ll know, even if he does tell you you couldn’t pour water out a boot with instructions on the heel. C’mon. C’mon, he likes you, I swear. 

-If you’re in the same boat as Daisuke, you know, young, you’re getting the same treatment as him. You could be the most precocious, intelligent little college student out there and he’s still waiting for you to fuck that up. The only way he’s gonna assume you won’t fuck up is if you’re in an iron lung, in which case, you’re taking up too much space

-I make him sound like an asshole. He is. But with a heart, you know? He cares. Or at least cares about your safety. And honestly if he had two interns to look over, at least yall can keep each other busy. 

-Not trying to like, intern!reader au you, but man if you were the other intern and Daisuke was busy being dead and all, prepare for the longest speech you’ve ever heard. Every. Pearl’s 8 minute monologue betting on losing dogs has nothing on this talk. 

-Anyway, in short, he’s just some guy, but aren’t we all……….

ROMANTIC

-oh yeah baby get ready to be underwhelmed!!

-He is going to feel so dumb having a crush at his old age. Like, this is marriage age, whatever. He never expected to find someone this late, especially on the Pony Express of all places. But hey, you must be the prettiest pony in the pasture you know what I’m sayin?

-Yeah, anyway, confession would be pretty simply. “Hey what do you think about seeing each other after this shipment.” I mean, not much has to be said. You get it. 

-Literally no one can tell you’re together. He would be more helpful with you and a bit more friendly, but mostly everything’s the same.

-Petnames. Nothing stupid like babygirl/babyboy, whatever. 

-He likes to compliment you on the sly, nothing huge, but stuff like ‘only you could make that uniform work’ or telling you to go bat your pretty eyelashes at someone else. Is that a compliment? You don’t know, but he’s not saying it to anyone else and you’ll take what you can get.

[hannahssimblr]

After eight, in the inner city, I hold the door for Astrid. We step inside the restaurant and heat hits our faces in a waft, warming our frozen skin. Astrid slips her gloves off, folds her hat and unzips her coat with ease as I struggle, suddenly far too hot in my hat, the zip of my coat slipping between gloved fingers. I’ve pulled it inside out by the time the cloakroom attendant takes it out of my hands. I have walked snow onto the carpet behind me, while Astrid, miraculously, has not. 

“They’re all here already,” she says. “We’re the last.”

“Yes, like always.” 

It’s a table for six, and there our friends sit in conversation, their menus already on the table. 

“Oh, Astrid! Jude!” Elias gets up from his seat at the head of the table to hug us. His smile, big and white, and his face flushed from the heat. 

“We’re late,” Astrid points out. She speaks apologetically, but doesn’t actually apologise. “But we have your gift.”

“Oh!” He takes the gift bag from her and kisses both her cheeks. “This is so nice, my God, Astrid.”

I bought it, actually; the scarf made with some kind of silk mohair something-or-other, but Astrid picked it out, so really it’s she that deserves the credit. He’ll think she wrote the card too, even though she didn’t. I’m the one with the nicer handwriting.

“‘Dear Elias, on your twenty-first birthday,’” he reads as we join him at the table. “‘Here’s hoping for a year as fabulous as you are. I hope I know you forever, and we can party together at ninety-one too. You won’t need the scarf in Bali, but we hope it keeps you warm when you touch back down in Berlin next month. With love, Astrid and Jude.’ Oh,” he holds it to his chest. “You two are so sweet.”

“You are not supposed to say happy birthday unless it is a person’s actual birthday,” says Leon, swirling his wine around and pretending he can smell notes of bergamot, or whatever the server said was in it. He takes a sip, then sends the bottle back to the kitchen. 

“Oh, okay, sorry,” I say. “We should have posted the card to Indonesia. That was really stupid of us, you’re right.”

His nostrils flare while Jonas, next to him, peruses a menu.

“Wow,” he comments, “Forty seven euro for the monkfish. It seems expensive.”

“Well, it’s an occasion,” Leon says, as the server returns with a second, hopefully more acceptable, bottle of wine. “We all agreed to eat at a nice restaurant.”

I raise my eyebrows, “Oh? What occasion is it?”

“Elias’ birthday, of course, what are you-” he breaks off to mutter to the server, who then circles the table to fill our glasses. 

“I thought we just agreed not to mention the birthday until the actual birthday, which is not today, right? What date is it, again?”

Dalia sighs from her end of the table. “Jude, oh lord.”

Leon rolls his eyes. “You are being immature.” 

What’s actually immature is a twenty-six-year-old man making an unnecessary enemy of someone who still has the word ‘teen’ at the end of their age, but Dalia is already kicking me beneath the table before I can open my mouth to point this out.

“I would love to see Bali,” Astrid sighs. “When it’s so cold like this, I feel I can’t stand it. I just want to be somewhere nice and warm.”

Elias smiles. “Well, maybe for your twenty-first birthday, your boyfriend will take you there.”

“Well, we’ve just booked tickets to Amalfi, actually,” I say. “We’re going in April.”

“Oh, I love Italy.”

“Me too,” Astrid clutches his hand in hers, a gesture of excitement in their shared love of, whatever, gelato or something. They converse about places they’ve been, and what they’ve seen, using the correct, Italian pronunciation, which is fine, because that’s how they’re supposed to be pronounced, and Astrid is fluent in Italian, but sometimes when I’m privy to conversations like this, I think of Jen, and the way she’d laugh if she ever overheard them. 

Whenever a natural gap opens up in their conversation, I consider adding in my own anecdote about the time I went to Rome on a school trip when I was sixteen, and the school was cheap, so they made us do the whole journey by bus, which was so boring that Fitzy and I started squeezing dollops of toothpaste into people’s hair as they slept and posing alongside them with our two fingers up. Our punishment took the form of the teachers revoking our passes to St Peters Basilica, so while the others were in there, taking zoomed in photos of Michelangelo’s tiny penis, we spent two hours roaming the streets in search of a Dominos Pizza, which we did eventually find. Mine slipped out of its box and onto the pavement before I had even taken a bite, and we posed for photos with our two fingers up next to that, too.  

But I know that if I tell the story, and Elias won’t react the way I want him to, but gasp, and look very sad as though it’s a tragedy, and then later, Astrid will ask me why I decided to share the story in the first place, because it was kind of awkward. When Elias asks me if I’ve been to Italy before, I simply smile, and I say no. 

“You will adore it, then. Will you hire a car?”

“I suppose we will, right? Makes sense.”

Astrid nods. 

“Well, then, if you’re staying in Amalfi, you might as well drive to Sorrento. Leon and I once stayed in this incredible hotel with a sea view. I can find out what it is called.”

“Oh, please.” Her thumb strokes the back of my hand. “We could add one or two more nights to our trip, do you think?”

I smile. “Yeah, of course we can.”

He tells her about a restaurant that does gnocchi in such a way that is notably different from other gnocchis in the region, and they continue, even as the food arrives. Tiny portions. I forgot the name of what I ordered. 

Across the table, Leon and Jonas listen as Dalia talks animatedly. 

“Right, and then, the woman, whose name is Martha, by the way, turns to me, and she says-”

She is halfway through a story that needs more context than what I have. I open my phone. 

Jen, just thinking about our school tour to Rome lmao.  Oh my God - the one where the teachers caught Ashling Duggan hiding you under her bed in the hostel? Hahahahaha yes!  I still tell people about that trip, like, it’s always my go-to story with new people.  Same, we’re just at dinner now, talking about Italy. I was just remembering all the stupid things that happened.  And didn’t Cian Hayes shit himself or something??? I’m always foggy on that specific detail. Yeah, and he turned his underpants inside out because he was too lazy to get out of bed. 

Omg sick. What do your friends think of the story?

My thumb hovers over the keyboard. 

Yeah, they laughed.  Show them that compilation of photos of you and Fitzy with all your sleeping toothpaste victims.   Oh, God, I don’t have those anymore. I think I left all my photos in Dublin.  What a waste! I’ll go dig them out someday, and take them with when I come to Berlin.  Okay! Come soon, please. I miss you. 

I miss you too, Judie. It’s honestly so weird that you have a whole new girlfriend I haven’t even met.   I know. It’s weird for me too, but you’ll love her. She’s amazing.  I bet. She’s beautiful. Understatement.  I don’t know how you keep pulling it off.  Well, I’d be stupid if I didn't go out with her, wouldn’t I? Yeah, probably. Lucky you aren’t stupid, then. 

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