#he’s never going to spell it out completely for people and he shouldn’t have to

[daddy-long-legssss]

I learned that you can make it to that kind of level and remain in tact as a human being. And I learned that Sheffield’s people are very similar to Irish people. We bumped into them at the same pub a fair few times. But I believe it goes beyond that.

— Grian Chatten from Fontaines D.C. on what they learned after touring with Arctic Monkeys [x]

[aloesarchives]

Birthday Special(JJK Oneshot)

TW/Warnings: Domesticity, AFAB/Female Reader, Family life, Slight self-coded Fem!Reader

Pairing: Toji Fushiguro x Fem!Reader

Pronouns: She/Her, Mom/Mama (Though no physical description, reader had some self-coded elements)

Word count: 1.5k words

Decided to write something because today is my birthday(May 3rd)! And I'm officially 21! Thank you all for you love and support for the past 7 months of me writing for JJK! Also, this is the Valentine's day I referred to.

“Papa, you’re thinking too hard about this. You know Mama doesn’t ask for much.”

“Yeah, Dad. It shouldn’t be hard to get mom a present. Remember that full-size green tea hand and body lotion you got her? She was way too happy about it and was on the verge of crying happy tears.”

Toji sighs as his kids are behind him trying to ease his stress. Once again, like Valentine’s day, he was struggling to get a present for you. But this time, the stakes are higher because today is your birthday. Not some holiday Toji remembers because it’s one of the many times of the year capitalism does a complete take over for the sake of consumerism, which he can never avoid every time he goes out.

Though his kids have a point, he always wanted to do or get something for you. While you do the occasional mall shopping, it wasn’t often. Maybe once a month if lucky. This always posses a problem for the three because you were the best gifter in the family. Knowing what to give to anyone but only hinting at minute items. Thus having to think outside of the box or really watch your eyes latch onto anything longer than seven seconds. 

Megumi and Tsumiki don’t blame Toji for struggling since your demands weren’t demands but rather promises. You have been nothing but good to Toji for almost two decades. Something Toji knows many people take something like that for granted. Unfortunately, becomes terrifying to know how easily many fall under a dark spell. And Toji fears himself on certain days for not giving what you deserved.

“I know, Megumi. But your mother deserves nice things for herself. She still wears the necklace I gave her when you two were young. That’s almost ten years. Now, you both do some scooping while watching the time. We have to get the cake at 3:45pm.”

The siblings looked at each other before shaking their heads in helping their father’s hunt for a perfect present. They looked around the vast sea of stores to give themselves for any ideas. They were overthinking this whole process because every idea was shot down at the reality that you did have everything you ever wanted.

You have everything you ever wanted is what you always said to them.

Perhaps there’s something else they can give you that reminds of that. The lightbulb above Tsumiki’s head went off as she asked Toji the jewelry store he got the necklace from. He becomes curious as she scans the windows for something until stopping and pointing. Toji and Megumi look over to a display of multiple charm bracelets. 

“If Mama has the necklace with us in it, why can’t she get a matching bracelet to go along with it? She doesn’t have one that does.”

Now, Toji and Megumi were seeing Tsumiki’s vision.

“Good eye, kiddo. Shame on me for not thinking about that sooner.”

Toji lets Tsumiki handle the bracelet creation, occasionally having him and Megumi to be on the same page. Once finalized, Toji goes to fish his wallet for his card to give to Tsumiki to pay. After printing the receipt, the lady gives the card back but it ends up dropping onto the marble counter. Megumi cringes at the metallic clanging it made so he grabs it for Tsumiki to give back to his dad. Everyone in the store glances over at them as Toji puts the card away. Megumi raises a brow at his father because Toji had a smirk plastered on his lips.

“Why are you smirking?”

Toji pockets his hands as he looks at him.

“Don’t worry about it, Megs. Just know there aren't a lot of people with metal credit cards. Anyway, we gotta get movin’ because we need to pick up your Mama’s birthday cake and food for dinner.”

Tsumiki joins them as they head off to finish birthday shopping. Once getting home, they set up everything for you to come home to. By the time you come home, they’re done. Making your presence known, you relax into your humble abode. You walked yourself into the kitchen to see what your family has set up for you.

“Happy Birthday, Mom!”

You're greeted by a hug from each of your kids. Chuckling at the surprise they always seem to do when the day is about you. You hold them close and kiss their foreheads as their hugs re-energize you. Once parting, they made way for their father as your husband stands over you. Holding that dumb grin that you fell in love with over these years.

“Happy Birthday, Doll~.”

Giving a forehead kiss of his own, he holds you ever so softly but with the affectionate firmness. You giggled at how Toji is when it comes to physical touch. He can’t seem to get enough of it. Before eating dinner, you wanted to blow out the candles so they could eat the cake afterwards. The kids say their part and end with “We love you, Mom. Always.” Toji cracks a joke that always makes Megumi roll his eyes before getting into his own sentimental speech.

“Thank you for spending almost 20 years of your life with me. Happy Birthday, (Y/N).”

Ugh, and that softness he had at the end. Made you want to kiss him with all the love and warmth. You thought it’s time to eat dinner when Toji pulls out a small pink bag and places it in front of you. Surprised, you looked around at your family.

“What’s this, guys?”

“It’s for you, Mama. From us.”

Though curious, you smiled as you looked into the bag and pulled out a small box. Upon opening it, you couldn’t stop the smile that took over. There, in the box, was a silver charm snake chain bracelet with a small (F/C) gem at the center of a beautiful silver heart charm. But that’s not make you smile. It came from when your eyes landed on the other three charms attached to the bracelet. Two of those were dangling charms, one of an elegant flower and the other of a small silver puppy. The other charm was a clip-on with the colors of dark blue and black. You recognized them to represent the three that ultimately fulfilled the word “family” for you. 

The flower is Tsumiki as it was her favorite color, the puppy was obviously Megumi, and the last one is Toji for sure. Your smile began to painfully pull at your lips because you realized Toji’s charm closely resembles his wedding ring. Clasping the bracelet on your wrist, you admired how it looked on you.

“It was the kids’ idea to do this. I just paid for it, Hon.”

You knew Toji’s lying but didn't have it in you to call him out. This gift was just too perfect. You go over to give your motherly affection to thank Megumi and Tsumiki, your two children that gave meaning to your motherhood. Once having enough, you go over to Toji. The man you undoubtedly cherish and completely devote yourself to, your husband and your other half. You hug Toji lovingly, taking in his warmth and presence. Nothing in this world brings you comfort and ease than the man you choose to love never made you regret giving your heart and soul to.

Toji just chuckles with his signature grin, returning the hug with the same amount of affection. Yet your children can see the adoration and tenderness in his eyes, knowing full well he never looked at anyone that way because you’re the only one to bring it out of him. Looking up at your Toji, your gaze softens but your smile still holds its homeyness. He stares down at you before he leans in for a kiss you gladly accept. Even Megumi smiles with his sister while watching their parents express their love for one another, seeing them pull away from the kiss.

“They’re truly your kids since they always knew how to give me gifts. It goes with my necklace now. Thank you for this.” Saying as you smile up at him.

“Ah~, they knew because they have  good eyes. Just like their mama. Happy Birthday, (Y/N). Thank you for your love…and thank you for being you.”

The absolute tender affirmation was unlike any other. Though your birthday was a reminder of how many years you’ve been on here, it also serves as a reminder of your milestones over the years. Looking at your life, you got the best out of it. A family of your own and the love from someone who’s been with you through it all. As you tell Megumi and Tsumiki to go ahead and eat, you lock eyes with Toji. Both filled with a love no one can feel except the two of you. Toji hugs you close from behind as you interlace your hands into his, feeling your bracelet pressed up against him. Gazing upon Megumi and Tsumiki, both of your creations born out of each other’s unmatched love for one another.

This will be added into one of your many best birthdays you had.

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[cloudcountry]

bend the rules for mc!

Genre/Tropes: No notable ones.

Summary: Someone shit talks Jack Howl in front of you—and you act accordingly. Only...acting accordingly inside of the Mostro Lounge is different than acting accordingly outside of it.

Author's Comments: I was going to make this Floyd centered for one of my friends but it kinda just turned into Floyd/Jade/Azul protecting Reader from stupid people. Also excusing their outburst because they like them. Bias.

~~~~~

You could barely hide your shaking shoulders, avoiding eye contact as you took their empty glasses. They weren’t paying attention to you—of course they weren’t, you were just their server—as they yapped away about Jack Howl.

You confirmed a while ago that they were indeed Savanaclaw students, coming to visit the Mostro Lounge to unwind on a Friday night. You wanted to go back to your dorm and hang out with Ace and Deuce before the weekend, but you knew that the Mostro Lounge was chaotic on Fridays. You didn’t need to ask Azul for a day off to know that he’d say no.

“I can’t believe that inconsiderate wolf ruined our fun.” one of the students cackled, slapping one of his companions on the back.

“Exactly! It’s not like we ruined his cacti or anything. Geeze, he’s up uptight.”

“I know right. He’s such a wimp for getting pissy about such a little thing. He doesn’t know how to have fun.”

“If you’re going to talk all this big game, why don’t you back it up?” you slammed one of their refills on the table, finally fed up with their shit.

“Hey, what gives?” the student you dubbed Savanaclaw Student A stood up in the booth, glaring at you.

“If you’re going to talk shit about my friend, then at least say it to his face.” you stood your ground, glaring at him.

“Ehhh, Shrimpy? What’s going on?”

A shadow loomed over you and the students, spelling out nothing but doom. The other two Savanaclaw students that had stood up to defend their friend now shook in the spot, baring their teeth at the person behind you.

“Floyd.” you acknowledged his presence but did not turn around, refusing to break your gaze away from Savanaclaw Student A.

You were not going to lose.

“Come on, Shrimpy. What’s happening over here? Jade saw trouble.” you felt an arm wrap around your right shoulder and a chin rest on your left one.

“They were insulting my friend. That’s it. It’s my business, you and Jade and Azul shouldn’t get involved.” you tried to shrug him off to no avail.

“Yeah, they’re right.” one of the students piped up, “Even if we did cause trouble, the bitch had it coming anyways. It’s improper for servers to do anything but serve.”

“Do not call me that.” you seethed. You were ignored.

“Yeah! They shouldn’t have been eavesdropping.” another student argued, his voice raising in volume.

“Aaagh, shut up.” Floyd groaned, slowly tucking you behind him, “You three are so loud. You’re acting like you want to get squeezed.”

Your anger could have softened to a simmer because of the responsibility you felt for the possibility of Floyd strangling someone in the middle of the Mostro Lounge (oh, Azul would have your head for that.) However, fate had other plans, since the students apparently didn’t know when to quit.

“That’s all they’re good for anyway. Snatching up information and delivering it to Ashengrotto. Were you going to get that slimy octopus to rope us into one of his contracts?” Student A sneered.

“Don’t talk about Azul that way either!” you yelled, unable to hold your volume back any longer.

“Oh dear. Someone has kicked up quite a fuss, haven’t they Floyd?” Jade hummed, swooping in beside you.

“Yeah. They’re giving me a headache.” Floyd grumbled.

You couldn’t see Floyd’s facial expression, but there was no way he wasn’t glaring right now. Leave it to a bunch of shitty customers to completely tank his mood.

You could tell Jade’s face was as serene as ever, though there was an underlying amusement in the antics of bad customers. From working there a few months, you knew Jade never showed anger or caused a scene within the Lounge. He always handled things quickly and quietly.

“Come with me, dear. Azul wants to talk with you.” Jade offered you his hand, still smiling.

“With all due respect, I don’t want to leave until they apologize for what they said.” you turned away from Jade, once again being held back by Floyd.

Jade blinked before chuckling lightly, turning on his heel back towards Azul’s office.

“Heyyy, you wanna fight?” Floyd turned up his nose, staring down at the students like they were vermin, “Nobody hurts Little Shrimpy’s feelings and gets away with it, ya know?”

“My feelings aren’t hurt! I’m angry! Don’t make it sound like I’m crying and depressed!” you shot back.

“Come here.” someone hissed, grabbing your wrist and pulling you away from the fight.

“Hey!” you yelled, whipping around to face the culprit.

Azul was scowling at you, his glasses crooked on his nose as he marched you to the VIP Room. You didn't say anything else but refused to staring at the floor like a kicked puppy. You glared at the Savanaclaw students until Azul had dragged you into the VIP Room. You finally turned to face him with your arms crossed and eyes narrowed as the door slammed shut behind you. Azul didn't look at you either. He simply pulled out a chair and motioned for you to sit. Preparing for the scolding of your life, you sat down without saying a word. He sat down after you.

“Ahem. I’m sure you’re aware that you caused a scene out there. Which is not something Mostro Lounge employees are supposed to do.” Azul adjusted his glasses, staring into you with his cold, blue eyes.

You shifted uncomfortably in your seat.

“However.” he cleared his throat, pulling out his desk chair and sitting down, “Jade brought it to my attention that the Savanaclaw students…antagonized someone important to you first. Because of this, they antagonized you, and you were simply defending yourself.”

Azul paused for a moment, shooting you a soft smile.

“It would be a shame to lose such a good employee. We all like having you around.” Azul hummed, standing up once again to approach you, “And as I’m sure you know, The Mostro Lounge is an establishment for gentlemen.”

The words from your escape from Scarabia rang throughout your ears as you realized what they meant.

Mercy. You weren't going to get fired, and he was even bending his policy for you.

You did nothing as Azul placed his hand on your head, gently rubbing circles to calm you down.

“Those students caused a ruckus that you were trying to control by defending your classmate, and me in the process. Since this was a direct verbal attack on the Lounge’s faculty, we are within our rights to throw them out. Jade and Floyd will do the honors.”

“Great. Wonderful. But I'd rather throw them out myself. I’m still angry.” you looked up at him, the anger still simmering in your chest.

“Well, darling.” his eyes shone with mischief, “We can always make a deal.”

[atinyniki]

Hihihi<3 I was thinking of Seungmin or Lee know (you can chose) with a idol!Gf that gets hurt during a award show.. maybe falling off a wobbly platform 8ft in the air? (We don’t brear our back). What would his reaction be? I know it’s kinda cruel but Its been on my mind for a week.. if it makes u uncomfy ignore this and forget u ever read it<3 Ty in advance<333

i'll take care of you.

group: stray kids !

pairing: idol!kim seungmin x idol f!reader

genre: hurt/comfort, angst, fluff

warnings + additional info: reader is referred to as y/n, crying, reader fractures her ankle, kissing, play fighting, seungmin wants to murder someone, reader falls from a platform, lots of petnames, just rlly cute and fluffy at the end, seungmin is really scared, injuries, established relationships, munhee is a member of y/ns gg.

authors note: ik this was supposed to be more angsty but im literally head over heels for softie seungmin so here you go :P thank you for the ask annonie !! this is also not proofread. english is not my first language, so please excuse any grammatical or spelling errors. happy reading :)

wc: 1344

“hey hey hey, don’t be nervous my love… you’ll do amazing, i know it.”

“i’ve never done this in front of such a crowd before… what if they don’t like me, min?”

“oh baby… they’ll love you, i promise. and if anything happens on stage, your members will be there to back you up, yeah?”

you give him a hug, he always knew how to calm you down in moments like these. you suppose it’s because of his own experiences, especially considering the amount of award shows he’s been at. 

“i love you, seungminnie…”

“i love you too, baby. now go! you don’t wanna miss your cue. i’ll be in the audience, i promise.”

you give him a quick kiss, shooting up from the seat to go meet your members. seungmin leaves too, sitting down at stray kids’ respective table.

“excited?”, jeongin asks from beside him.

“of course i am! i’m so proud of her…”

his eyes stay fixed on the stage, waiting for your performance to start. the lights dim, and he sits up straight. it’s time for your performance.

there’s no point in recording, he knows they’ll have a fancam. right now, he just wants to watch his baby shine. 

and you do. you look absolutely gorgeous on stage, the lights hitting you at the perfect angles. the track starts, and the crowd starts cheering.

so many people, just for five girls performing. the first song is a ballad, something slow to set the mood. it’s one of your favorite songs from the comeback.

though munhee wrote the song due to her own experiences, your voice carries the same amount of emotion hers does, and it makes the lyrics sound so much more authentic.

seungmin watches from the crowd, he truly thinks he might cry. the rest of the boys are in awe too, some members of gidle clasping their hands over their mouths in surprise.

everyone is used to you doing intricate dances with upbeat music, and they’ve truly never been able to appreciate your vocals.

then it hits the climax of the song, ending with a high note you must complete. as scared you are of heights, you know it’s inevitable. the platforms will go up, whether you like it or not.

its a small space that you have to maintain, but you try your best to focus on the song. and now, you have to sing.

you close your eyes, letting out your voice, and it sounds absolutely angelic. and then you open them again once you hear the low whirring of the platforms.

they all go up. 

except for yours.

nonetheless, you continue singing, determined to keep your professionalism throughout the entire bridge. and then the song ends. the platforms finally lower back down, and all of you wait for your cues to leave.

once you see it, you take a step.

you shouldn’t have.

all of a sudden, your platform shoots all the way up. eight feet in the air. before you have time to process, it wobbles side to side and you fall off.

thud.

seungmin stands up instantly, rushing to get backstage. he doesn’t care how many people hes pushed and shoved, but he needs to know that you’re okay.

and then a shrill scream fills the air, and his heart stops. it feels like your entire foot is about to fall off, the pressure from your fall crushing it under your weight.

he continues running as fast as he can, getting backstage before you can even blink. “baby? oh my god…”

you’re still crying from the pain, being set onto a stretcher for your leg. “it hurts…”

“i know baby… i know. you’ll be okay…”

they finally get you onto a comfortable bed, evaluating the damage to your ankle. luckily there’s no blood, the medics assume that it’s broken.

“seungmin… you’re on soon.”

“i’m not performing. jeongin’s filling in for me today.”

“what? but you practiced…”

“please… let me stay. i just want to help you feel better…”

you grab onto his hand, trying your best to reassure him that you’re okay. he doesn’t budge, so you just give up on it. 

“you did amazing, angel.”

“thank you…”

“no, really. i mean it. you kept it incredibly professional out there. plus the song was way outside your comfort zone, it was just amazing to hear you sing like that.”

“seungmin…”

“i’m going to kill whoever fucking did that to you. normally they’re more careful with these things… i should’ve had them double check or something. i’m sorry”

“hey, it’s not your fault. please don’t worry… it’s just my ankle. i’ll be fine, really.”

“but you’re hurt. if we had done a test before to check… maybe you wouldn’t have to be here…”

you smile, grabbing onto his hand and bringing it up to your lips to plant a small kiss over his wrist. “it was just a malfunction. it was out of our control, min.”

he clutches onto your hand tighter, his heart fluttering when he looks at you again. the black lightning-like streaks paint your face, eyes still slightly glossed over and nose red.

you’re so worn down, but you still look beautiful as ever. he prefers you like this, natural and authentic. you still look just as beautiful, but the black streaks have his heart clenching.

suddenly, he gets up, picking you up and moving you to the side a little. he’s extra careful not to apply any pressure to your ankle. he knows you’re in enough pain already.

he sits down in the empty space next to you, pulling your head to his chest. “you promise you’re okay? no discomfort?”

“it hurts of course, but other than that, no.”

“i’m so sorry…”

“baby, it’s really not your fault.”

he rubs up and down your arms, more so to soothe himself rather than you, and you smile up at him. you place a small kiss on the corner of his lips, as far as you can reach without moving your legs.

“i’m okay…”

“i love you, gorgeous.”

“i love you too, minnie.”

the medics finally come back, telling you that it’s only a fracture. you’re lucky you don’t need a cast, but you still need to heal for a little while.

“thank god you’re okay…”

“seungmin—“

“you’re not going anywhere without me for the next couple days, okay? i’ll take care of you, i promise…”

“seungmin, you really don’t have to—“

he cuts you off again.

“but i want to.”

you giggle again, you didn’t think he’d react this way. but of course he was going to be overprotective, what did you expect?

you lean over to plant one more kiss onto his jaw, and he pulls you onto his lap. “seungmin, i think you’re more upset about this than me…”

“of course i’m upset! they hurt my baby…”

“it doesn’t even hurt that bad anymore… im fine. you don’t have to worry about me.”

he pulls you flush against his chest, nuzzling his face into your neck. you giggle at him, a little confused as to why he’s licking you, but you stop once you realize that it’s not saliva.

they’re tears.

“it could have been so much worse…”

you wipe the tears from his face, smiling once you see him clearly again. “why are you crying?”

he sighs lightly, giggling when he realizes how he’s acting. “nothing, i’m just… glad you’re okay.”

you smile at him, holding his hand again and trying to sit up. it doesn’t work of course, seungmins arms are wrapped tightly around your waist.

“let me go!”

you thrash around in his arms, but he only holds onto you tighter, giggling as he watches. 

“seungmin!”, you whine.

“they said you needed rest!”

“that doesn’t mean you have to be completely attached to me!”

he rolls his eyes playfully, planting a kiss onto the top of your head. “actually, thats exactly what it means.”

“i hate you, kim seungmin.”, you grumble. you turn to look at him, scoffing once you see him wink.

“love you too, babe.”

<3

[dreamsontheirway]

Lemon & Honey | S.R.

Summary: The reader has postural orthostatic tachycardia syndrome, or POTS, and suffers from fainting spells. Warnings: POTS, fainting Word Count: 2.1k

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Growing up, you always had awful menstrual cycles. They were heavy, you were emotional, and black dots danced in your vision each time you stood up. When you became a teenager and started the birth control pill, your cycles became better, more consistent. But that was also when the fainting started.

In your teenage years and into young adulthood, you fainted multiple times a week, sometimes more. At first, the doctors had no idea what was wrong and they thought the worst. It was a scary time for you and your family, not knowing what was causing these debilitating fainting spells.

Finally, a couple months after your twenty-first birthday, you went to a new doctor. You soon learned that your extreme menstrual cycles and your fainting spells were connected. You were diagnosed with POTS.

You recalled the memory, your brows furrowing in confusion as your mother’s hand held yours.

“Postural orthostatic tachycardia syndrome,” the doctor furthered. “Your fainting is caused by an extreme change in heart rate, particularly when changing from a seated to standing position.”

“Fainting isn’t always a common symptom,” the doctor continued, looking at you with kind eyes. “But it can happen more than people realize. There’s nothing wrong with you, Y/N. We will get you on a medicine to manage this.”

You liked to think that miracle doctor saved your life that day. If it weren’t for him, you may still have these debilitating fainting spells. If it weren’t for him, you would have never found a medicine that reduced your fainting to once in a blue moon. If it weren’t for him, you would’ve never joined the FBI and met the love of your life, Spencer Reid.

You and Spencer have been dating for several months, but he has yet to learn about your diagnosis. With how managed it is now, it merely feels like an afterthought for you.

However, that doesn’t mean Spencer hasn’t picked up on a few things over the course of your relationship. He noticed how awful your periods messed with you; the cramps and the depression. He noticed the way you gripped the side of the table until your knuckles turned white upon standing up from your desk.

Spencer knew that there were a multitude of reasons for these behaviors. Maybe she has low iron levels? Could it be orthostatic hypotension? Unfortunately for Spencer, there was never a way to fully diagnose your symptoms. He was forced to sit and witness, and take care of you, with your struggles. Spencer probably would’ve figured out your diagnosis, if it weren’t for the fact that you’d never fainted around him, yet.

That fateful day came on a Wednesday in the middle of October. The trees were transforming, swirling colors of red and orange and yellow. You walked into the bullpen, preparing yourself for the mountains of case files you knew you had to complete.

You had woken up feeling the symptoms. The pounding in your chest, the dizziness. You could often tell when it was going to be a bad day in terms of your diagnosis, but today you brushed it off. It had been months since you fainted, and you were beginning to hope that you never would again. You realized that was likely wishful thinking, but you continued your morning as normal.

Well, somewhat normal. Upon sitting at your desk, you realized you probably shouldn’t have coffee today. You probably shouldn’t have tea, either, but you needed something. The caffeine from the drinks spiked your heart rate, making fainting inevitable on a day like today. Your thoughts were interrupted by the kind voice of your boyfriend.

“Good morning, I picked this up on my way in.”

A tea bag was draped over the side of the cafe take out cup, and you grinned. Somehow, Spencer always knew what you needed, despite you having yet telling him about your POTS.

“It’s a green tea with a splash of black, with lemon and honey.” Spencer smiled goofily, his mouth straight, but outstretched and downturned. You always thought he looked reminiscent of an amphibian, in the cutest possible way of course.

“You are literally the best thing to ever happen to me,” you spoke, a hint of playfulness in your tone.

Even though you were joking, a part of you really meant it. Sometimes it felt like Spencer read your mind when it came to the things you needed, especially when dealing with your symptoms. Of course, there were many other things that Spencer was a bit clueless about. When it came to your symptoms, though, he somehow just knew.

Spencer occasionally brought you coffee, too, but he had noticed your behavior being off yesterday and last night. He noticed your white knuckles gripping the desk almost every time you stood up yesterday. Last night, he noticed your exhaustion. You two had been sat on your couch, watching a movie. Your head had rested on his shoulder, but you fell asleep nearly twenty minutes into the movie.

Spencer had a hunch, but he wasn’t sure. He was starting to wonder if there was something wrong with your heart rate. If he was correct, coffee was the worst possible thing you could be drinking. In all seriousness, you should only be drinking water, but he knew you needed something to be able to function. So, he decided on your favorite tea order.

Several hours ticked by, the pile of files on your desk slowly but surely decreasing. Your tea was long gone, but your eyes kept fluttering closed. You needed more caffeine or you were going to fall asleep at this desk and probably get written up. The thought of getting in trouble stirred you to a straightened sitting position.

You stood, your head pounding along with your quickened heart rate. Your hands gripped the desk for a few moments, enough time for your vision to clear from the black veil. You continued towards the kitchenette to find something to keep you awake.

Spencer had witnessed the entire ordeal, and he quickly stood and followed you to the kitchenette. If his hunch was correct, any more caffeine would surely make you feel much, much worse.

“Y/N,” he spoke, and you whipped around to look at him. “What’re you doing?”

Your brows furrowed in confusion at your boyfriend’s concerned face.

“I am looking for more tea?” You said, a questioning tone lacing your words.

“I don’t think you should have any more.”

“Excuse me?” You asked incredulously. Spencer had never made any sort of remark about what you should or should not be eating or drinking. Luckily, he typically knew better than that.

“I noticed that you get dizzy when you stand up. If my hunch is correct, any more caffeine may make you more dizzy and potentially lose consciousness.”

You gaped at him, wondering how he had merely hypothesized a diagnosis that had taken years for you and your doctor’s to figure out. He is a doctor, you thought, but not that kind of doctor.

“I don’t see how what I drink is any of your business.” You muttered, more harshly than you intended to.

The continuous pounding in your head paired with the frustration of not having more caffeine just pissed you off. You grabbed a water bottle and stormed back to your desk.

Spencer wasn’t upset at your anger towards him, especially when he saw that you chose a water instead of more tea. He was just glad that you were taking care of yourself. In addition, he knew you’d most likely feel bad about your outburst in a few minutes and everything would be fine. Even if you didn’t, he didn’t care all too much.

You stormed back to your desk, the tips of your ears red with anger and embarrassment. You felt bad for lashing out at Spencer, but frankly, you wanted your damn tea. Now you had to resort to the classic way of waking yourself up, cold water and the stinging on your arms. You pulled a hair band that rested on your wrist above the flesh before letting it ricochet back to your skin, leaving a red mark. It hurt, but it did the trick.

Another hour or so passed, and you had to go to the restroom. Once again, upon standing your vision blackened and you waited a few moments before continuing out of the bullpen.

Of course, in typical Spencer fashion, he noticed it all, but there was something different this time. Not only did the time it took you to regain yourself take much longer, but your eyes were squinted as you left the bullpen. It wasn’t that bright in here. He wondered if you had a headache, or if there was still blackness clouding your vision.

He didn’t have time to decide before he hopped up and followed you. Upon seeing you, he was extremely glad that he did. You were leaned against the hallway wall, starting to sag.

“Y/N!”

He rushed to you then, either hands gripping your waist to hold you steady.

You mumbled something incoherently, your vision almost completely masked by unconsciousness. You felt hands on your waist and it was the permission your body seemed to need in order to let go.

Spencer felt your body go limp, and he pulled you into him before lowering you to the floor.

“Shit, shit, shit,” he muttered frantically, as his hands hovered above you, unsure of what to do.

He reminded himself that most fainting victims will wake up within the minute. He knew he had to be patient, but that was fucking impossible at the sight of his girlfriend unconscious and crumpled on the floor.

He was about to get up and call for help when he heard you groan.

“Love,” he cooed, falling to his knees, his hand softly grazing your flushed cheek.

“Spence?”

“Yeah, beautiful, it’s me. I’m right here.”

“Did I faint?” Your eyes were still closed, presumably to shield yourself from the harsh light of the hallway.

“Yeah, love, you did.”

You slowly nodded and started to sit up. Spencer started to protest, but he decided to help you lean against the wall instead.

“I’m sorry, Spencer, it’s my fault. I should’ve been more careful like you said.”

His brows crumpled. He felt guilty for making you feel as if this was your fault.

“You didn’t do anything wrong.” He kissed your temple, his heart fluttering with thankfulness that you were alright.

“Spence, I have to tell you something.”

His heart fluttered in anticipation, worried of what you might say. He nodded, encouraging you to continue.

“I have POTS, it’s,”

“Postural orthostatic tachycardia syndrome,” Spencer finished for you, a guilty smile playing his lips when he realized he interrupted you.

“Yeah,” you smiled at him, thankful that you wouldn’t have to go through the spiel of explanation. Of course, not that you expected you’d have to with Spencer, the resident genius.

“I’m sorry, Y/N,” he started, rubbing your cheek again. “It seems like you have a bad case of it.”

She paled at the memory of what she had gone through growing up.

“It used to be worse, if you can believe it.”

Spencer’s jaw tightened, bothered that you’d had to go through any of this. The fact that it used to be worse pulled on the strings of his heart.

“What can I do?”

You smiled at him, thankful for his understanding and willingness to help.

“If I’m being honest, I should probably go home, but all those files,” you paused, groaning at the thought of your continuous mountain of case files.

“No, we’re going home. I’ll bring your case files and work on them.” Spencer stated matter-of-factly.

You didn’t protest; you knew how fast his reading skills were, and you were at the point where you’d appreciate any help.

“Will you tell Hotch? I’ll grab my stuff," you spoke and started to sit up, but Spencer softly held your shoulders down.

“No, you stay here. I’ll grab your stuff and be right back. I don’t want you fainting again.”

“Spence,” you began to protest, but he was already gone.

You smiled lovingly, sipping at the water from the bottle that he had brought with him when he followed you. You felt so thankful to be with a man like Spencer, someone who looked after you and knew what you needed when you needed it. You loved Spencer Reid, you realized, and you would tell him as soon as he came back.

-----

Part II (?)

A/N: Wow, this was the longest single-shot fic I've written! It sort of was just at the tips of my fingers and wrote itself. I really love it and I hope you do, too! Please let me know if you'd like a part 2!

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[soft-persephone]

Hangover at a Bookstore

Doug Renetti x Fem!Reader

T // WC: 2.2k // fluff. first encounters. love at first sight // masterlist

Doug was. . . Somewhere. 

He put the heel of his hand against his head. The other he used to block out the sun from his eyes as he walked. 

He needed to stop drinking. 

Not completely, but it was time to stop letting it get on top of him. It was almost a problem, so he shouldn’t have to self correct too much. 

A few people were walking up to him for a laugh and a farewell. 

“Alright,” he smiled, clasping someone’s hand and giving a quick pat on the back, “yeah, see you tomorrow.”

They were never going to see each other again, but that’s what you do when walking out of random bars at who knows what time the next day. 

He needed to find his car. 

Jingling his keys in his pocket, he continued on his quest. 

Right turn it is. He has time. 

It was at the end of the block. Lucky him. 

He pulled out a cig, lighting it as he made his way down to curb the headache. 

Before he could even pull at the door of his car, he saw you walk by. Your nose deep into a book as you walked along the street. Your hair was big and curly but not too big, framing your face perfectly. The sun casts a dewy glow on your skin. Your jeans fit your body just right in all the right places. He didn’t get a good look at your shirt or the rest of you, the jacket you so stylishly wore, kept the rest of you hidden as well as the knitted bag you carried on your shoulder. 

He put out the cigarette, stomping on it. With a quick  look at his reflection in the car window, he ran a hand through his hair, a just as quick breath into the palm of his hand, and an even quicker sniff under his arm, he followed you.  

Keeping at a pace where he could see you but not close enough for you to notice him. 

It was too early for a lot of people to be about. Just old married couples making their way to a quick Saturday breakfast, plenty of time to beat the morning rush. There might have been a pastry shop somewhere around here that just flipped the open/close  sign on its door. 

Where could you be going?

The eyebrows on your head scrunched together before you looked up. Apparently satisfied, you continued walking, and reading. Determined to continue with whatever story you were lost in just as much as you were with getting to your destination. 

He paused, stalling at the corner of someplace as you crossed the street. 

He watched as you finally put the book in the bag at your shoulder and walked into a shop. 

The sign was worn but he could figure out one of the words on the window spelled books. 

A bookshop.

He grinned and made his way across the street and into the shop. 

The little bell jingled above his head. 

He  gave the clerk a  quick nod. He didn’t wait for their polite response as he usually would. He’s  too anxious to find you. 

The isles were close and crammed together, the smell of the store was diary dusty and papery, but not a paper paper smell like Tina’s Family's stationary shop. It smelled like whatever it smells like when a bunch of books in a room. 

Shouldering his way into one particular isle, he could see you on the other side. 

As if by fate, a book he’d already read was staring at him from above. He grabbed it and made his way in front of you. 

You were so enamored with looking at the books on your side, you didn’t notice him. 

“You should read this one,” he stuck it out from between the shelves, “it’s really good.”

You bewilderedly blink before letting out a surprised laugh, but the smile on your face was oh so worth it as you looked at the book and back to him.

“What? Who is that? Why would I read a book about,” you grabbed it, scanning over the back and then the front, “a coach of some sport?” 

“Well that's just rude,” he quickly made his way over to you, more than aware of the fact that he didn’t know what to do with his arms. Should he lean against the shelf? What if it  falls?. “It’s my favorite, and you should know better than to judge a book by its cover.”

He put one hand in his pocket and pointed towards the book with his other hand. 

“Well excuse my surprise,” you smiled at the book and looked back up at him, but thinning your lips, just a tad to hide it from him, but he saw it the first time. He’d make you smile at him for real next time, “I just don’t typically go for memoirs or biography-self-help-life-books from basketball?” You flipped the book over, “football coaches?”

“I’m not helping you out with that one. I guess you’ll have to read it.”

You tapped your fingers on the book. Still trying to hide that smile. God, he needed you to stop doing that. 

“Well, if you really want me to read it. I think you should sell me on it better. I just. . . “ you put a finger on your chin, “I don’t think it sounds like something I’d be interested in. I’m not sure.”

You push the book back into his chest with a thud. The sound resounded around the little shop. 

He could work with that. 

“It’s not the sports that makes this book worth reading or about the team he coaches, whatever kind of team that may be,” he slyly added, making you bite your lip with a nod, “but about the drive.”

“The drive?” You animatedly interrupted with a rose eyebrow. You were really listening to him. He grinned. 

“Yes, the drive, the work ethic, the grind, doing what it takes to stay the best.”

You huffed out a laugh.

“And what’s so funny about that.” He crossed his arms as you picked up a book before putting  it back down.

“I don’t think I need a book about moxy and hustle.”

“Well I very much think you do,” something about that made you laugh. It wasn’t a full laugh like he wanted, but you were smiling now, not hiding it, and it was because of him. He chuckled with you, “everyone needs some more hustle in them.”

“Keep telling me about the book.” 

So he went on and on, giving you  his best pitch.  Probably the greatest pitch he’s ever had all week, and the hardest, but he got you. 

“If I read this book will you leave me alone.” So it wasn’t the best sale, but it was a sale. He could still be proud of it. 

“Debatable,” he said without hesitation, “but if you have to give me a book to read, we’ll call it even.” 

“Okay,” you held out your hands towards him, “Wait here.”

He rolled back and forth on the balls of his feet. More than aware of the watch on his wrist and how he’s had it for years. The lone old and pathetic ring on his right pinkie, barely shining. He needed to get it cleaned, polished or something. His frumpled polo and the wrinkles at the ankles of his pants. 

Did he still smell like yesterday?

“Here.” You gingerly placed the book into his outstretched hands. Your smile almost  bashful as you did, but as he blinked it looked made up. That it might not have actually happened.“it’s my favorite.”

You abruptly turned. Done with the conversation, the interaction, with him. 

Fuck. 

You made your way to the clerk and he followed after you. It was over already. The unfortunate turn beginning in his mind, when would he see you again? How soon should he come here to see you? How to not look so pathetic or desperate as he did?

“Just these?” The clerk asked you, stamping a pocket in the back of the book. 

“And this one.” You tapped the biography Doug gave you, making a smile pull at his lips. 

“You sure?” He squinted in disbelief, “Where did you even find this?” 

“It was on the shelf.” You said it matter of factly, but nothing could hide the smile on your face or the twinkle in your eye. 

Doug couldn't pretend there wasn’t a growing sense of pride swelling in his chest as you smiled. 

Taking your books, you put them in your bag and walked toward the door, before you walked out you turned towards him. 

“I hope you like the book.”  You said it with such finality. Your face was changing. It was something unreadable. The smile he’d grown to love seeing on you was becoming a distant memory, almost a dream.

“It’s okay,” he licked his lips, fighting the sudden wave of nerves, “ I know where to find you if I need something else to read.”

With the smallest hint of a smirk, you walked out the door without a word. 

Fuck, he needed to see you again. 

-

“You can read?” 

Doug peered over the top of his book at Richie with a frown. “Very funny,” he drawled sarcastically, “a makeup artist, photographer, and now comedian, maybe I should give you a raise.”

Richie scoffed and went back to whatever he was doing. 

“Looks like he’s not the only one with jokes.” Tina added in out of nowhere. 

Good ole Tina. He can count on her for anything. 

“Why are you reading,” she pushed the book towards him, so she could read the title on the cover, “is this poetry?” She questioned disapprovingly. 

“No,” he defended, “it isn’t. It’s a book.”

“About what? And since when do you have time read?”

“It’s about regular book stuff.” He tapped his fingers along the spine in thought, “except it’s super depressing and shit, but. . . It’s good. I like it.”

Tinna nodded. 

“That’s really good.”

Doug couldn’t help but smile. 

“Maybe in between chapters you can find the time to do your actual job.” 

And there it was. Classic Tina. 

It wasn’t a big book by any means. The thin little paperback was anything but intimidating, but that didn’t stop the little guy from trying. The depressing little book packed a punch. 

Sure he could follow the story, know it was sad and that the racist shit was bad, but the overall meaning of the thing? The conversation it was supposedly starting. He hadn’t the slightest clue. 

He might need a few days to think about it. 

Did he have time to think about this book after he read it? 

On any other day for any other reason he would have read the damn thing and been done with it, but as far as he was concerned, this book was his key to you. If he could understand this book, find someway to get all smart or emotional or whatever the fuck and impress you, he’d be set. 

He’ll think about it as much as he possibly can. Hell, he’ll think about it in fucking sleep.

The book’s spine was cracked beyond imagination. He had to be careful or else it would probably snap apart. The little paperback had seen better days. There were highlighted lines of yellow, faded away and barely recognizable, but still there. From the looks of it, they had to be from a college student who definitely didn't pass whatever class they read this book for. The halfhearted lines of black that followed held terrible notes and obvious observations even a High School dropout like him could notice on the first crack. 

Poor kid. 

But there these notes and passages annotated by an illustrious navy blue ink. For every heartbroken event that happened, there was little sentence that made it hurt that much worse. Every sentence underlined in that color felt that much more important to read. Could it be you?

Or were you the really smart one in red? Those striking lines and notes felt beyond him, leaving him more confused about the book. They made him feel like he wasn’t reading the right one or reading the book wrong. 

Were you a teacher? Were you somehow this pretentious? He hoped not, but he would be lying if he said it wasn’t a deal breaker. Tina was smarter than him on her worst day. What’s it mean to have another smart woman around?

“Why did you make this order?”

He turned the last page he was reading, an index card falling in his lap. 

“Because we needed it.” He folded the ear of the page he was on, picking up the card in his lap and reading it. 

“We don't have the money for this.”

“It's a problem when the check bounces and they call, Tins. I won’t worry about it until that day. We’re good for now.”

In neat little writing, in navy blue ink: 

Let me know what you think.

 And your number.

[artists-ally]

{Only Me and the Devil Know} Azriel X Reader TEASER

oh BOY HAVE I BEEN EXCITED TO POST THIS. I want to build a little bit of hype for this because I've been working really hard on it so give a like or comment <3 (p.s. you should lmk if you wanna be tagged tehe)

WARNING: This will contain graphic smut in the future. Like- a lot of this stuff is just flat out wrong but that's why we use out ✨imaginations✨ and fantasize about them instead.

Read at your own discretion.

*psssstttttt I posted it

~~~~~~

“Do you remember when we went to Summer? After the wedding?”

That was totally not what I was preparing for. “Yes? Of course I do.”

“Well, when Tarquin let us into those fields, and you were just picking flowers… I couldn’t help but think about how delicate you looked. You looked so peaceful and alone and I couldn’t stop thinking about how vulnerable you were. How easy you would be to overpower with your back turned. You’d be defenseless and- gods I sound ridiculous.”

“No, no you don’t. Keep going.” “Yn it doesn’t get better,” Azriel clenched his jaw. “I shouldn’t have these thoughts and I know it’s wrong-” “There is nothing wrong with having a fantasy and expressing it to me.”

His eyes were wide, lips parted. Azriel’s grip tightened on my hips. “I wanted to do nothing but force you to take me. To just- completely control you and have my way with you. You looked so innocent and perfect in the sundress and I wanted to ruin it. Ruin you. All over again. But with this animalistic part of me that I’ve never met. And then I just kept thinking about chasing you. Hunting you down and capturing you and tying you up. Fucking you senseless and forcing you to take whatever I wanted to do to you.”

I stared at him. And stared at him again. Fucking fuck… Azriel wanted to hunt me? To do things that most certainly shouldn’t have me writhing against him. He was already hard just talking about doing it. And I definitely shouldn’t have found it so hot. 

He was right, it was a little... out there, but it was such a thrilling idea. 

Azriel had this presence about him. Everyone he passed on the street was afraid of him. He drank it in. He loved when people were afraid of him. Well, everyone except me. He couldn’t stand the sight of seeing me scared, or at least I thought. 

Images flashed in my mind: running through the woods, unable to escape him as he chased me. Hunger written all over his face. Azriel effortlessly overpowering me. Forcing me to his hands…

“Oh, I see,” he startled me out of my daydream. Shit, I must’ve sent those images down the bond. “My little dove enjoys that thought, doesn’t she?”

“I don’t dislike it, if that’s what you mean,” I rasped, looking at him through half-hooded eyes. 

“You want me to hunt you, don’t you?”

I shouldn’t nod. I really fucking shouldn’t. But he already had me under his spell, and I could not say no. The idea was so tempting, so profound and beyond anything we’ve ever done that I couldn’t think of anything more exhilarating. It would be terrifying, he would be terrifying, but there would be this primal fear coursing through me… secretly wanting all of it.

[caramel-covered-apples]

the issue with drarry

before you get angry, hear me out.

[ has mentions of sex, although not explicit; don’t read for younger audiences ]

i am a huge drarry fan. i’ve always loved the rivals-to-lovers trope (if you wanna call it enemies-to-lovers, go ahead, the line between rivals and enemies is so blurred in fanfiction) and drarry sets it up perfectly - draco, a normal boy (not some sort of miniature devil baby) who grew up surrounded by bigoted views and a controlling father (not entirely abuse, although i’m not defending lucius here, I’m just saying we don’t automatically have to make lucius abusive because he was on the wrong side) and ended up biting off more than he could chew. he joined the wrong side, and we know that draco sees this, particularly in deathly hallows and the cursed child. then we have harry, the golden boy who was automatically born into the light side, who was forced to believe the world is either inherently evil or inherently good; a black-and-white picture, if you will. either way, draco is the supposed ‘enemy’ and harry is the ‘hero’.

and while this works perfectly fine - both are compelling characters, although harry, in my opinion, isn’t as well-thought out as draco - the way the fandom pushes them into certain characterizations drives me insane.

draco is almost always the mastermind, the trickster, the feminine sub, the one who doesn’t need anybody else because they’re lesser than him, the smooth one, the one who always apologizes to the golden trio when the golden trio did some shit things too, the one who’s despicable but also has a great heart and ‘my dad told me no’, the one who never grows out of insulting harry and his friends. why is draco portrayed like this? why does he always, post-war, suddenly join the golden trio and get on his hands and knees to ask for forgiveness? where are his slytherin buddies? i thought draco saw the slytherins as his friends, not the shit image of them that dumbledore painted when the bastard was alive. yet, he almost never spends time with them in fanfictions, especially post-war. he IMMEDIATELY runs to the golden trio and gets wrapped up in the whole weasley family. what happened to his family? i do know that his parents (or just lucius) are thrown into azkaban, and half of his family is shit, but that doesn’t mean he has to completely dump them, or his friends.

speaking of family, why does harry have SO much more family lore (especially with the Blacks) than draco? draco’s the one who’s related to them! shouldn’t he have some memorable experiences with his family that aren’t just outright abuse? it drives me insane.

and why are draco’s sectumsempra scars sexualized? harry fucking outright attacked him with a spell he didn’t know how to use (kudos to hermione on this one) and then 19 years later, they’re fucking each other and moaning about how pretty his scars look. harry ATTACKED him. draco somehow ALWAYS forgets about his scars until they’re in bed together, and then when harry sees them, he’s like “oh sorry” and draco IMMEDIATELY forgives him, or doesn’t even say anything. What? this also leads towards the helpless, overdramatic princess draco who needs everything done for him. no. draco might’ve been helpless when he was younger, but that’s because his parents - especially lucius - were so controlling. he literally couldn’t do anything. draco knows how to take care of himself.

now. harry. harry is always the masculine golden boy who can’t determine his broom from his glasses, who always needs draco to apologize to him and doesn’t see the world beyond black and white, even after the war. and while harry was forced to believe this by a whole number of people (mostly the order), he never grows out of this. but at the same time, draco is always the one exception to this. draco’s the one who “isn’t like the other girls” and who harry somehow manages to forgive every time. I’m not excusing harry and the golden trio for their behavior, as they did some fucked up shit too, but draco also wasn’t a great person either. he called hermione a mudblood on several occasions, but for some reason, it’s always ron and draco who can’t get along. why is hermione so willing to forgive? in the books, ron should be the one willing to forgive, and hermione the one who doesn’t like draco. and dramione is a whole other post, along with how women are portrayed in the hp universe and in the fandom.

harry is also always putting up with draco’s shit behavior. draco calls his friend a racial slur? well, he doesn’t mean it because that’s how he was raised. draco insults his intelligence every other word he speaks? well, that’s just one of his quirks. no. canon harry would get up off of his ass and say something, but for some reason in the fandom, he’s always this doormat who can’t get over draco’s fucking nose shape when draco is actively insulting him. fanon harry never stands up for himself. he’s always saying how draco is just trying to change, he doesn’t mean to call hermione a mudblood or actively insult the weasleys and the fact they can’t afford a whole fucking mansion like draco can.

and then, for some reason, harry’s always this himbo quidditch jock. while harry isn’t the brightest (“why is roonil wazlib written on the inside of your textbook?” “ah, that’s my nickname” WHAT 😭) he certainly isn’t a complete and total idiot. he’s the chosen one, and i would like to think that harry had to learn a great deal of things to protect himself. maybe harry never studied in school, but god, did he learn expecto patronum quick. just because harry was never really seen traditionally studying doesn’t mean his brain is smoother than ice. give me a harry that is constantly looking for more protection spells to protect himself and his friends, even if it isn’t through traditional means (think hermione the bookworm, if you want an example). give me a harry who spends time with neville studying the healing properties of plants in case he doesn’t have a potion on him. give me a harry who could list out how to brew a polyjuice potion off the top of his head. while i don’t like auror harry that much, i can certainly see that aurors need to have some level of intelligence if they’re actively fighting dark wizards. they need to know the aftereffects of this spell and the cure to fix it.

anyways that’s it for today because my post is so long wtf. i need sleep.

[thatfeelinwhenyou]

HANDS ON YOU — 026

IN WHICH; ILAND 2 happened and you debuted first place as the leader of LUMIÉRE. Having been told that your group is involved in a lore crossover with ENHYPEN, you navigate work, friendship, and love while trying to make it in an industry filled with animosity and condemnation. When life throws you lemons, you gotta make lemonades chuck it right back!

smau + written (0.3k words)

❥･• chapter 26 — way back home

"Lee Heeseung." He freezes in his tracks upon hearing his full name, a name that come to think about, had never left your lips before.

"Yes?" He turns around sheepishly to face you. The two of you are standing in front of his dorm, and he nervously fidgets with the number pad behind him. "You're hiding something." You squint, and Heeseung mentally curses at your keen leader instincts.

"No, I just want to show you my room!"

"What are you, twelve?"

"Don't ask so many questions." He hurriedly punches in the code to his dorm, opening the door to find the apartment completely pitch black. He gestures for you to enter first, and though suspicious, you don't refuse. "Aren't you off today? Where's the rest of your mem—"

"SURPRISE!" You jump as the lights flicker on, revealing the living room adorned with string lights and balloons spelling out "Sorry" on the wall. It takes a moment for the scene to register—the entirety of ENHYPEN is there, along with your own members, every single one of them.

You stand frozen in the doorway, speechless, as if the whole world has come to a standstill for a moment while you take in the sight before you—your members, who somehow made up while you were away, holding each other with open arms extended to you.

"My arm is starting to hurt. Are you going to bring it in or not?" Ray breaks the silence, flicking her wrist as a sign for you to quickly join in on the Lumière group hug. Just then, you feel two hands rest on your shoulders, relieving them from the tension that had built up over the past two days.

"Go on, they're waiting for you." Heeseung's gentle voice cuts through the white noise filling your ears. In an instant, tears well up in your eyes as you rush into the arms of the people you'd give everything for.

"But how did…?"

Realisation dawns on you, and you whirl around to face the culprit. "So that's why you were acting so strange! You were distracting me!" You point an accusing finger at Heeseung, who shrugs and pouts at the same time.

“I’m sorry Y/N, for being the whiny and childish bitch I am. I shouldn’t have taken out my anger on any of you like that, I hope you know I care about you too, truly.” Ray speaks out and you swear you almost burst into a fit of tears.

“Ray, you already know I’m basically immune to all the shit you say right?” You light-heartedly joke and you heave a sigh of relief when you notice Ray deflates into herself, relieved that she didn’t completely lose you. You’ve always knew that Ray has a soft spot for you and the members, she just never really knows how to express it. Realising maybe that’s why Ray finds confort in Sunghoon and vice versa. They see themselves in each other and no one can understand Ray better than the man who fought 1 vs 6 with his own members. You smile to yourself when you catch him smiling solemnly at the girl, proud of how far she’s come.

"Whose idea was this?" You point to the gigantic balloon-spelled "Sorry," and they all collectively point toward Aejeong, who scrunches her nose.

"I hate all of you."

"We love you too, AJ," Ray laughs, throwing an arm around Aejeong, who looks like she's about to cry.

"I mean it, Y/N. I am so, so sorry for what I did to you. I’m not even going to give you any excuses, I just hope you can find it in your heart to forgive me." You exchange glances with each and every one of your members, knowing deep down that no matter what happens, you’d go to hell and back with them over and over again.

"AJ, how can I forgive you when I never blamed you for anything in the first place?" You pull her into a hug, and the rest of the girls slowly join in, surrounding you with the love and affection that you had missed over the past few days.

“How did this happen?” You pull away, looking back and forth between Ray and Aejeong, their arms tightly wrapped around each other. “We kissed and made up. What about it?" Aejeong playfully pecks Ray's cheek, causing the later to pull away with a jerk.

"Ayo, back up," Sunghoon appears behind Ray, protectively pulling her away from Aejeong. His own members coo at him from the back, finding his protective gesture adorable.

The room erupts in laughter and playful banter as Sunghoon and Ray exchange teasing glances. "Oh, look who's getting all protective now," Jake teases, nudging Sunghoon's shoulder.

Sunghoon tries to maintain a serious expression but fails as a smile tugs at the corners of his lips. "Someone's got to keep this girl in line," he says, giving Ray a mock stern look.

"Hey, I can handle myself just fine," Ray retorts, but her playful tone gives away her amusement. She looks at Sunghoon with a fond smile, appreciating his protective nature.

The members continue to tease Sunghoon and Ray, adding to the lighthearted atmosphere in the room. You can't help but smile as you witness the playful interaction. Seeing your members and ENHYPEN getting along again brings you a sense of relief and happiness.

It's evident that the tension and misunderstandings have been resolved, and now the focus is on rebuilding their bond and enjoying each other's company. Amidst the chaos, you lock eyes with Heeseung who offers you a reassuring smile of his own.

Heeseung's presence in your life is a constant reminder of the importance of empathy, forgiveness, and growth. That no matter how chaotic your surroundings are, even in the middle of the most busiest street, that you’d still somehow find your way to him.

Having taught you that mistakes are opportunities for learning and that unity and understanding can mend even the deepest wounds. With Heeseung by your side, you felt supported and ready to face any challenges that lay ahead, whatever they may be…

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♡。·˚˚· ·˚˚·。♡

authors note: stayc girls, it’s going down(2) btw i apologise for the increase in written chapters. istg i’m trying to avoid writing them but it’s so difficult 🥲

taglist! open. @softiehee @annoyingbitch83 @hoon0logy @aernx @lhees01 @flower0930 @harperwasstaken1 @haechansbbg @renjunoya @heeheesang @spilled-coffee-cup @jwnghyuns @ocyeanicc @neozon3nha @pshchives @casualzo @captivq @suvgs @iea-tsand @yohanabanana @wonyoungsvirus @shinsou-rii

[multixsposts]

Valentine’s Day

Context-> This is a Valentine’s Day SHORT story about Gojo Satoru getting his heart b r o k e n by the reader :)

Fandom-> Jujutsu Kaisen

Ship-> Gojo Satoru x Reader

a/n the reader is female in this story and there isn’t mild sexual content but minors please stay away nonetheless

~forgive me if there are any spelling errors~

enjoy and happy Valentine’s Day ;)

This is story is for 18+ ONLY minors DNI

Satoru sighs as he lies on his sofa, phone in hand while he scrolls through social media seeing nothing but this Valentine’s day nonsense.

It’s ridiculous how people can even call this a holiday. It’s pointless in his opinion.

Because this time he didn’t have you to share it with and pained him to his core.

The two of you broke it off months ago. just enough time for you to find someone else to spend this ‘holiday’ with and that hurt him even more. Sure he tried to save the relationship, but you couldn’t take it anymore and wanted to be free of only seeing him when he wasn’t busy with work which was rare.

Sometimes you worried if he’d make it home in one piece and not in half.

But you knew..you how dangerous his job was and how much he worked and yet you still chose to be with him and stay as long as you did, only to use that as an excuse to leave him in the end.

His eyes started to tear up at the memory of you telling him you couldn’t do it anymore. He didn’t want to cry over it anymore..he needed to stop all of this sulking.

it was getting him nowhere.

So he decides to get off of his oh so comfortable couch and go out. Maybe eating out would get his mind off of things?.

It should. Shouldn’t it?.

but as he continued to walk along the sidewalk he couldn’t help but notice his feet had taken him to your favorite restaurant..the one he’d take you out to all the time.

The one he got bored of but did it for you because you were so happy to come here and he liked seeing you happy.

So..what does he do?. He releases a sigh and walks in.

He could at least imagine you were here with him and he swears after this meal-after today- he will be completely and utterly over you.

He gets his food and he eats quietly and alone while the people around him chatter away with their dates.

Some even laughing at the most horrible jokes he’s never even heard of, and you know it’s bad when Satorus never even heard of the joke because he’s a jokester himself and by god you loved it.

Your laugh was the most beautiful thing he’s ever heard. Music to his ears.

What’s crazy is that he can still hear it perfectly loud and clear still to this day..

loud and- wait.

no. He immediately straightens his back and looks around the restaurant.

You’re here, but where?. Fuck there are so many people here.

He continues to scan the place until his blue eyes finally find you.

God you were so perfect..especially in the dress you were wearing…it matches you so well. It hugs your body perfectly.

He stares at you. His food going ignored and getting cold, but he couldn’t take his eyes off of you.

All of a sudden your head snapped in his direction, your gorgeous eyes staring right back at him.

He puts his head down quickly. Hoping you didn’t notice him but he knows that you did.

A tap on his shoulder brought his attention to the person standing next to his table and his heart started to race.

“y/n..h-hey” he said with a nervous smile

“meet me in the bathroom we’ve gotta have a chat” you tell him bluntly as you make your way towards the back of the restaurant, your hips swaying in the tight dress you had on.

He quickly gets up from the chair and follows you to the bathroom.

“what are you doing here, Gojo?.” you huffed out as he walks in closing the door behind him, his heart aching at you using his last name.

“i just came here to have a meal..” he replies back to you

“bullshit” you fold your arms over your chest, your breast pressing together from the action.

Him being the man that he is

he couldn’t help but glance down at them.

“it’s true..i was hungry and needed to get out of the house.” he tells you

“every where i go you’re there. It’s like you appear out of thin air.” you whisper/yell trying to keep your voice quiet.

but he sighs. That’s true..but it’s not his fault. He couldn’t get you off of his mind his feet take him where they want to go and he doesn’t fight back.

So he doesn’t say anything..and just looks at you.

You know the reason why he’s following you.

He’s still heartbroken and so are you but only a little.

Of course you still thought about him and the good times you’ve had together, but him doing this is only making it harder on himself and you.

You sigh and hug him and when you do you didn’t miss the way his arms immediately flew around your body to hold your waist and pull you closer so he can hold you tighter.

but you didn’t say anything. you let it be, but only for now.

“Gojo-”

“don’t. don’t call me that. please just..use my first name..” he bends down a bit more to put his face in your neck, taking in deep breaths of your perfume.

Not wanting to forget what you smell like.

“Satoru..you’ve got to move on” you tell him quietly.

He shakes his head.

“cant.” you freeze when you feel a small peck against your neck.

“won’t.” he does it again.

“satoru-”

“one last time..it’s all i need. please.” he pulls his face away from the crook of your neck and stares into your eyes, you’ve never seen him this way..

your heart aches for the man in front of you.

The one you promised to love forever.

so..what do you do?..

you give in.

“nngh~ f-fuck, toru” you moan out quietly as he has you on the counter in the bathroom his hands underneath your thighs and your legs wrapped his waist.

“i l-love you..” he whispers into your ear, but you don’t say it back. you can’t.

You wrap your arms around his neck.

“say it..” he grunts out while his pace slows down not wanting this to end so quickly.

“t-toru..” you look at him while shaking your head, but he wasn’t having it.

He roughly thrusts into you making you squeak out a moan

His pace is harder, faster, it was to much for you

“s-slow down!” you beg him.

“say it.” his voice lower than when he said it the first time.

“say it and i’ll slow down.” it was getting to much it was starting to hurt, but saying the words he was longing to hear would put him in so much pain afterwards. It hurt your own heart to say it but you said it..for him

“i-i love you t-toru.” you got out in between moans of pleasure and pain and he immediately slowed down and his lips found yours.

Kissing you passionately as he slowly thrusts into you not wanting to forget the way you felt and the way you sounded when you said his name. How soft your lips felt against his..

he pulled his lips away from your and stuffed his face into your neck to hide the tears that started to fall from his eyes.

This will be the last time he’d actually be able to be close to you like this.

The pain in his chest wouldn’t go away but being like this with you even for a little while helped it become bearable.

Because he was able to share Valentine’s Day with the one he loves the most.

[daylighteclipsed]

@generatedreflection Hope you don’t mind if I respond to your tags this way, since my og post is already kind of long! So running on the assumption that KH is a video game, or at least fiction/a story, in-universe and the characters are waking up and changing when they’re not “supposed” to…

I guess it depends on when the initial divergence from fate/the narrative/the program happened and how much it affected. Was Riku supposed to be our player character? If so, did Sora and Riku only swap physical places/external roles, or did their writing or programming adjust their personalities to fit their new places in the story/game so as to keep the narrative from diverging too much? Is this the first run through the story, or have there been multiple past loops we’re not privy to and that the characters don’t consciously remember but which still affect their hearts?

I’m thinking of ReCoded specifically, when Data Sora and Data Riku go on this whole adventure that’s similar to KH1 but different enough to shape them into their own people. Even after they’re reset to follow what’s written in the Journal, we know those memories remain in their hearts and in the hearts of their newfound Disney friends from the ‘real’ world, Mickey, Donald, and Goofy. So data KH1 will never truly reflect KH1 as we know it.

If ReCoded is spelling the big picture out for us, do Sora and Riku only start awakening during the one run of KH1 that we play… or have they been waking up because of one or more resets before that we haven’t seen? Is fate, destiny, the narrative, the program trying really hard to make this story play out the way it’s “supposed” to, but the boys keep swerving, developing more awareness and free will with every reset? Or is this the first run where things are different because of something the Master of Masters most likely set in motion? Or maybe what he set in motion has taken all these resets to come to fruition?

It’s a lot to think about. And I don’t have any answers. Certainly it’s interesting to consider all the different ways the story could go/is maybe “supposed” to go… If Sora and Riku’s roles are supposed to be flipped, with Riku as the champion of light and Sora as the one who falls to darkness… then it’s kind of ironic that they seem to be circling back to that now. Like rather than completely changing or swapping destinies, they just took a detour. They took the long way around, but the road still leads to the same place. Fate is fighting to correct course.

But I also think, you know, Sora could’ve always been meant to be the Hero and embody that archetype even if the Keyblade was not “supposed” to be his. I don’t think the one who wields Kingdom Key Light is synonymous necessarily with the Hero of the story or even the main protagonist. It’s also possible for Riku to pass on the Keyblade to Sora without falling to darkness.

Either way, the idea of Riku giving his crown/destiny to Sora, rewriting the story and essentially acting as the narrative for Sora in this sense, usurping fate, is interesting. Especially when you compare this to Data Riku’s role in ReCoded. He’s the vessel for the Journals, for the entire digital universe they create, and he protects it. He protects Sora’s story, the one we see in the games, which plays out how it does because Riku gives Sora the Keyblade.

The one thing I feel for sure — a lot of this, the story changing and characters waking up/coming alive, comes back to Riku. From what we see of him as a little kid, Riku’s always been more “awake,” it seems, than his peers. Always questioning things and possessing a wisdom beyond his years. It’s like he almost knows (or remembers) things he shouldn’t. As Sora puts it, Riku says “some weird stuff sometimes.” And I think Riku is the one who starts waking Sora up. He encourages Sora to think about things that it doesn’t seem Sora would think about on his own. To ask questions. To see their world differently. And to consider worlds beyond their own.

I think he’s why Sora’s first line in the series is about awakening. “I’ve been having these weird thoughts lately. Like — Is any of this for real or not?” And I think Riku’s why Sora’s able to connect with and awaken/bring to life so many characters in the story. That might even be canon, actually, if Riku encouraging Sora to open his heart to Ventus when they’re little kids is what teaches Sora how to... By empowering Sora, Riku is the catalyst for a ripple effect of change that defies destiny and universal law. And it culminates in his KH3 sacrifice which allows Sora to rewrite how the Book of Prophecies ends.

I think that’s what Riku has always represented: Awakening. Truth. The outside world — whether that means adulthood, reality, new perspectives, or lands yet untraveled. He makes the darkness conscious by bringing it to light. Especially for Sora. Riku quite literally wakes Sora up after CoM and in DDD, and his light pulls forgotten/repressed memories up from the depths. Riku’s often associated with the sun — the kind of bright, harsh light that hurts to look at. That makes it hard, if not impossible, to fall back asleep.

Riku’s the sudden light in your eyes that has you groaning and rolling away when someone has to get you out of bed in the morning lol He’s the rude awakening. The truth is often not pleasant or easy. It often hurts. But inevitably, it becomes known. Inevitably, the sun rises and illuminates the dark. Dawn breaks, and the day and all its challenges must be faced. No slacking off. Chop, chop. It’s time to wake up, Sora. Destati!

Even Data Riku in ReCoded is the one who lifts the curtain for Data Sora and ‘reveals the matrix’ so to speak. “It’s time for you to learn the truth.” Riku offers the truth, perhaps quite literally sometimes if that’s what his iconic outstretched hand gesture represents — and it definitely seems to given how KH3’s tutorial/awakening parallels Sora’s dream in the KH1 opening. But it’s up to Sora to accept the truth. To face it. To take Riku’s hand and awaken. It’s Sora’s choice.

Anyway. Whether Riku is “supposed” to be the Hero or was always meant to be the Rival, he’s not supposed to love Sora as much as he does, and certainly not in the romantic way the games suggest he does… I understand your hesitation about gay intent in KH… But it really feels like the “missing”/unspoken piece here that makes so many people scratch their heads over Riku’s character arc. For Sora, it’s less clear (especially in English), but I do think Riku is in love with him. And I truly believe so much of “destiny” changing and characters awakening, Sora awakening, comes back to that.

Destiny in this case would be the typical formula of Disney fairy tales and the expectations of our heteronormative society. And awakening would be developing awareness of these limitations and smashing them… Perhaps reflected through Riku and Sora exposing the flaws in the Light and Dark binary that’s dictated Keyblade society and caused many of the problems their generation has to contend with.

Perhaps the door to the light, to truth, to awakening IS the closet door, then (insert joke here about Riku literally being the gay awakening)… But it’s a lot of other things as well. Awakening is discovering any truth. Every truth. It’s knowledge of the systems that limit and control you, of any unseen force that holds you back. It’s power to see through illusions and lies, distortions and distractions. It’s free will and independent thought. It’s self-actualization and true freedom. After all, you cannot break free of chains you don’t know are there.

That certainly makes the Master of Masters an interesting fellow… It seems like he wants change. He wants the characters to deviate from the script, to awaken, to develop free will… But at the same time, he’s pulling all the strings. He’s the eye always watching them... Does he truly want freedom, or does he want to be the one who decides what freedom looks like?

[five-rivers]

The Soul Trade(ing Card Game) Chapter 2

As was dictated to me by the poll, I have delivered.

(AO3)

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.

.

“So, uh, Batman,” said Constantine, hating everything about this, “I’ve gotta ask you something.”

“Hn,” said Batman, and Constantine understood he had the man’s whole attention, even though he didn’t look away from the screens arrayed before him.  Monitor duty.  Constantine was glad the Justice League Dark didn’t have to do that.  

(At least, he thought they didn’t.  If anyone had ever told him they did, he had promptly forgotten about it.)

“I need you to look into whoever left me this letter.”  He dropped the letter on the desk next to Batman and flexed his hands.  Yeah, the magic in it was sure something, but it was passive, as far as he could tell, traces picked up from being around something infinitely nastier.  It was safe.  Probably.  It hadn’t blasted any of the people who had handled it between the desk in the Hall of Justice and the Watchtower, anyway.  

Batman glanced up only briefly before taking the letter.  He read it, quickly, without his posture changing at all.  

“Hm,” he said, the tone of the grunt just slightly more contemplative.  “Are the claims in this letter legitimate?”

“Well,” said Constantine, “let’s just say that reading it felt like…”  His face twisted as he tried to find the words to describe what it had felt like.  “Yeah.  Even if this bloke doesn’t have everything he says he does, he has… a lot.  There are traces on the letter, magically speaking.”  

“What’s the effect of that?”

“God if I know,” said Constantine.  “I didn’t even notice this.  At least, he could go ahead and cast whatever spells on me he wants.  Soul’s a lot more intimate.”

With a press of a button, the screens went dark.  “You shouldn’t be up here if you’re compromised.”

“Hey, I didn’t even know about this until ten minutes ago!”

“Return to ground.”  Batman stood and loomed over him.  “I’ll look into who sent this letter and tell you my findings.”

That was probably the best Constantine was going to get.  Honestly, he didn’t even want to be on this glorified deathtrap in the sky.

He didn’t like the feeling of getting kicked out, though.  

“I’m going to need the letter back.  I’ve got my own tests to run on it.  Get an idea of what kind of nasty we’re dealing with.  Magic stuff.”

Batman handed it back.  “I’ll walk you to the Zeta Tubes.”

.

“What do you mean someone bought your soul?” asked Zatanna.  “I thought you’d already sold it ages ago.”

“Yeah, but I guess souls can be resold.  Should’ve realized that demons would try to replicate the whole banking hellscape we have here.”

“Pardon?”

“Nevermind,” said Constantine, letting himself sprawl backwards in the chair.  It leaned dangerously, the weak leg bending.  “I did sell it.  I sold it a bunch.  Got it set up so no one could really claim it without the others freaking out.  Set some time limits on a few earlier ones, that worked pretty well, but, eventually, that didn’t work anymore, no one would bargain for that, and I figured my soul was pretty much a lost cause anyway…”  He tucked his hands in his pockets and fingered the lid of his flask.

“Don’t you dare start drinking while I’m here.”

He hauled himself forward.  “Far as I can tell, what’s written in the letter is true, as far as the owning part goes.  The whole sorry bit and the let’s meet bit, I’m less clear on.”

He did have some thoughts on how to deal with it.  But he wasn’t sure how well it’d work, and the guy - if it even was a guy - was a complete unknown.  

He shrugged.  “I was hoping for a second opinion.”  And maybe a bit of… comfort.  Something.  It felt like the only time he saw Zatanna anymore was if the Justice Morons were poking at stuff no one sane would come close to with a ten foot pole.  

(He missed her.)

(He missed when they used to be an item.)

(Which was stupid of him.  But he’d never claimed not to be.)

(She wanted to keep things professional though, so.  He’d try.)

Zatanna paced around the table.  It was clear except for the letter, Constantine having expended much effort into cleaning it off (dumping it onto the nearest alternate flat-ish surface, the seat of a sagging armchair).

“I don’t know how much more I can tell you.  There’s magic here, but it’s traces, and it’s… muddled.  Do you mind?”

“Go ahead, love.”  So much for being professional.  Sue him.  Some things just slipped out.

Zatanna nodded, evidently not even noticing.  “Laever ruoy sterces,” she said, staring intensely at the letter.  She shook her head.  “Laever sesruc.  No, no curses, at least.  That’s a relief?” 

“Yeah, I guess.  But he doesn’t exactly need to curse me through a letter if he’s got everything he says he’s got.”

“Don’t give up just yet.  Let me try a few other things.  Ezylana eht snigiro fo eht lacigam secart no sight retter.  Wow, huh.”

“What?”

“Well, like I said, there are all sorts of magical traces on this thing.  Demon magic, which is expected, bits of yours, some of the ambient stuff the Watchtower picks up… but there’s also a lot of spirit magic.”

“You think we’re dealing with some kind of shaman?  A summoner?”  In addition to demons and whatever else, that was.  

“Maybe,” said Zatanna.  “There’s death, here, too, but I can’t tell if it’s outright death magic or necromancy.”

Constantine groaned.  “The difference is academic.  I’m screwed.  S’pose I should be grateful or something he didn’t hit me with a compulsion to show up and grovel in front of him, felt the need to give me a heads up before he tortures me for sport or whatever necromancers do for fun.”

Zatanna made a face, but it was very telling that she didn’t deny it was a possibility.  

“Just promise me you won’t go looking for this person on your own.”

“Yeah, I’ve got the Bat on it.  You know him.  Tall scary guy.  World famous detective.  About as boring as he is scary with all his rules.”

“That’s not what I meant,” said Zatanna.  “You’re going to need magical backup for this.  Call me.  Or at least someone who knows what they’re doing.”

The opposite of what he wanted to do, really.  People died often enough around him without actively dragging them into his problems, and this was a massive problem.  

“Can’t make any promises.”

.

Because Constantine couldn’t really do anything else about the letter or its contents (besides scream inside his head and swear at himself), he decided to go about business as usual.  Exorcisms, investigations, a touch of vampire stabbing, a few (disappointingly dry) ghost hunts.  Normal stuff.  

At least, it was normal until the demons started to run away from him.  They didn’t usually do that, not even the weak ones.  He did have a reputation, but not one like that.  His reputation was that of a cheat and a con… and someone who got people close to him killed.  None of that really put off bloodthirsty demons, who were a right pain to genuinely kill, and who often as not had some connection to old Lucy.  

But they were running now, and not just the weaker ones.  They weren’t even fighting him.  Not getting hellfire tossed at him was nice, but demons were not nice.  Ever.  

So, what could he do but catch one?

He walked around the circle, double checking to make sure the scuffle with the little imp hadn’t scuffed any lines.  He’d made mistakes like that before, and they were never pretty.  

“So,” he said, lighting a cigarette, “what’s a demon like you running from little old me for?”

The demon, predictably, hissed at him.  Constantine rolled his eyes.  Typical.

“I’m going to ask you again, and if you don’t answer, things are going to get real unpleasant for you.”  He pointed at those circle.  “Read ‘em, if you don’t believe me.”

The demon arched itself like a cat, which was an interesting choice seeing as it wasn’t at all cat shaped.

“You were chasing us, John Constantine,” it said in a deep voice that belayed its size.  

“Yeah, and that’s usually your lot’s cue to turn around and jump me.  What’s different?”

The demon laughed, unpleasant and high-pitched like a teakettle coming to a boil.  “What’s different?  What’s different?  John Constantine, you know what’s different.”

“Humor me here.”

It chuckled and started pacing around the inside of the circle.  “Who owns you, John Constantine?” it asked in a silky voice.  “Where is your soul, John Constantine?  Not with you.  Not with the First of the Fallen.  Not with any of the princes of hell, or any god in its palace.  Who owns you, John Constantine?”

“What, you’re saying that just because Lucy doesn’t have dibs on me when I die anymore, none of you are interested?  Try the other one, it has bells on it.”

“Fool!” shouted the demon, now sounding disturbingly human.  “Fool!  Fool!  A fool you are, but we are not, oh, no.  No, no, no, we are not.  What manner of thing could steal from them?  What manner of thing could satisfy so many demons?  What manner of thing could have such essence that it clings to you even now?  Who owns you, John Constantine?”

Those were some good goddamn questions.  “You’ve got a name for me, or is this you saying you don’t actually know, you’re just so freaked by the idea of it you’re shaking in your boots?  Scales.  Whatever.”

“Do not mock us, John Constantine,” it said, back to sounding properly demonic.  “We are no fool!  We know you will suffer.”

Yeah, well, that was just the natural state of the universe, wasn’t it?  In any case, it didn’t look like this little punk had any idea what it was talking about.  They didn’t tend to be very bright, just smart enough to parrot what they overheard from more powerful demons and dumb enough to give up information when threatened with basic binding spells.  

He banished the imp back to Hell with a twist of his fingers.  

So.  Whoever or whatever had gotten their hands on Constantine’s soul, they were scary enough that demons didn’t want to draw its attention by getting involved with Constantine.  Which was.  Yeah.  Not great.  Story of his life.  

He’d known that they’d have to be nasty, sure.  They’d have to be, to get all of Constantine’s contracts.  Constantine hadn’t sold his soul to just anybody.  Those first three bastards especially had power.  Hell, they’d cured his terminal lung cancer.  Partially to avoid a war but mostly to be petty.   

Admittedly, after that, he hadn’t been quite so discerning.  Or careful about the wording.  But he knew that so long as old Lucy had his eyes on him and a finger on his soul, no one would dare collect.  

A lot of good that did, in the end.

Who would Lucifer trade with?  Why would he give up the right to torture Constantine eternally post-mortem?  

Constantine was getting sick of not knowing.  He was tempted to just go to that meeting spot, but without more information, that would be unforgivably stupid.  Constantine was not stupid.  Usually.  

His Justice League communicator (foisted on him by the Bat) pinged obnoxiously at the bottom of one of his pockets.  He’d forgotten it was in this coat.  He sorted through his pockets crossly as it pinged again.  It had better be important.  He found it under a crumpled bag of crisps and yanked it out with a spray of crumbs.  

“What?” he said, shortly.  

“Constantine,” came Batman’s deep, gravelly rumble.  “I have news.”

Well, crap.  “You gonna share that news this century?”

“It would be better to discuss this in-person.  You do not have a secure computer.”

“Jesus,” said Constantine.  He would have argued, but, technically, Batman was doing him a favor.  “Fine, you paranoid maniac.  Where?”

.

‘Where’ turned out to be a low-risk interrogation room in the Hall of Justice.  Constantine was not a fan of this arrangement, but he understood it.  He was compromised, or whatever, and the interrogation rooms were private and had video screens.  

On the other hand, it was in America, and even Zeta Tubes couldn’t help with jetlag.  And, worse, it was nonsmoking.  

Batman personally escorted him to the room, and turned on the main screen with a remote control.  Pictures of a pale-skinned teen with blue eyes and black hair sprung up.  School pictures, mostly, but some looked like ID pictures, one was on the cover of a magazine, and another looked like an avatar in a video game.  

“Do you recognize this boy?”

“One of your kids?” asked Constantine.

“Answer the question.”

“No, I don’t know him.  Should I?”

“He’s the one who dropped the letter off.”  

“You’re joking.”

In answer, Batman clicked the remote again, bringing up surveillance videos of the Hall of Justice’s main desk taken from various angles.  The clips started off looking normal, the overly clear, expensive footage characteristic of an organization associated with Batman.  

But then, static swam over them.  Not enough to fully obscure the figure walking into the frame, but enough to be obvious.   The boy from the pictures.  He walked to the desk, had a short conversation with the receptionist during which he handed over the letter, and then left, taking the static with him.  

“Well, hell,” said Constantine.  It had been a while since he’d seen a demon take a form like that, but he supposed this one must have learned that he had a soft spot for kids.  Or maybe this was a kid.  A demon kid.  He’d thought he’d taken care of all of his, but wouldn’t have been the first time he’d screwed up, and this whole situation was a collection of screw ups.  

“Do you know what could cause the static?”

“Whole range of spells, but I’m gonna bet you already knew that from Zatanna.”

“Hm,” said Batman.  “The name of the boy is Daniel Fenton.  He is fifteen years old, and his major claim to fame is discovering that a purple-backed gorilla on loan to his local zoo was female.  He also makes an occasional appearance on the leaderboards of the video game ‘Doomed,’ where he is a well known player.”

“A demon playing video games.  Now I’ve seen it all.”  It wasn’t so much that demons couldn’t have hobbies, he just didn’t care to learn them, if they weren’t relevant to beating the crap out of them or tricking them into taking a holy water shower.  Then again, there was an outside possibility that ‘Daniel’ wasn’t a demon.  “Any of this have a point?”

“Establishing facts,” said Batman.  “It is possible that you had encountered him via the internet.”

“Do I look like the kind of guy who plays video games?”

Batman clicked the remote again, a map appearing on the screen, a blinking dot appearing in the middle of nowhere, US.  “Daniel lives with his older sister, Jasmine, and their parents Drs. Jack and Madeline Fenton in Amity Park.”

“Amity Park?” repeated Constantine.

“Is it familiar to you?”

“I think I looked into it once.  Supposed to be haunted.  Veil there is maybe a little thin, but nothing on the Tower of London, or, hell, the British Museum.  You wouldn’t believe what all those stolen grave goods can get up to together.  Your permanently overcast city is more haunted.  It’s a dead end.”

“Maybe not.  The Drs. Fenton are friends with the billionaire Vladimir Masters, but primarily derive their income from their patented inventions, which include customized ‘branding’ toasters, high-efficiency toilet paper, ultra-lightweight camping gear, various treatments for radiation poisoning, and several items that have been marked classified by the Department of Homeland Security and the Department of Energy, for their use of dangerous energy sources.”

Constantine’s eyebrows went up.  Mad scientists mucking about with radiation were generally not in his wheelhouse.  Or even riding the same tracks, for that matter.  “You think they went poking around in the occult for their ‘dangerous energy sources?’”  

“Possibly,” said Batman.  “In addition to their inventions, they are moderately well-known in ghost hunting communities, which explains their presence in the reportedly-haunted Amity Park.  However, everything they’ve written on the subject indicates that they believe ghosts have a strictly scientific explanation.  They also,” continued Batman, the corners of his mouth pulling into a slightly deeper frown, “believe that ghosts are nonsentient and nonsapient.”

“So, they have no idea what they’re talking about.  Just some big brains that got sucked in by the kind of fraudsters who started the seance craze.  Great.  I’m sure Deadman’d love to have word with them.  If they could even see him.”  He rubbed his chin.  “But the must’ve run into something real if their kid’s doing all this.  Or if what looks like their kid’s doing all this.”

“You don’t believe Daniel Fenton is the one in the video?”

“Lemme put it this way.  Odds of a random kid pulling one over on the demons I sold my soul to are about the same as you developing a sense of humor.  Best case scenario, he’s just possessed, or he’s some kind of freak like Klarion.”  

Batman grunted in acknowledgement.  “Approximately six months ago, Jack Fenton purchased an ‘authentic demon soul contract’ from Ebay.”

Constantine opened and closed his mouth several times.  “You’re joking.”

“As you are aware, I have no sense of humor.”

“Jesus Christ.  Ebay?”

“The seller was a man named Eric Chambers.  Zatanna investigated him earlier this week.  He is, apparently, an amateur demonologist who wanted to ‘get out of the game’ and was in the process of selling off all his magical paraphernalia.  He had sold several additional versions of your soul contract to another buyer in Amity Park.  A known associate of Daniel Fenton named Samantha Manson.  Are any of these names familiar to you?”

“Not exactly,” said Constantine.  “But… Ebay?”  He’d never thought his soul was anything special, but at least he’d thought it was worth enough to not be resold on Ebay.  “And how did this Chambers bloke get them?”

“Apparently, the demons he’d summoned no longer wanted them, and he was under the impression that he could ‘put you under his thrall’ if he collected enough of them.”

So the guy who had his soul wasn’t even the first one to have the idea.  Brilliant.  

“And that’s it?”

“I could tell you Daniel Fenton’s grades and internet habits,” said Batman.  “As well as those of his close friends and associates.  Apart from his parents and his recent involvement with you, he is ordinary.”

“The thing with the gorilla is ordinary, then?”

“Most people have at least one outlier event in their lives.  It would be of greater concern if he did not.”  He paused, staring long and hard at Constantine.  “What are your initial thoughts?”

“That I’m about to get screwed up the–”

“Regarding how Daniel Fenton got involved in this.”

“Like I said, it’s probably not Daniel Fenton.  I’d guess…  If I had to guess, I’d say that after Fenton’s dad got hold of that contract, he went and played around with it.  Something like a genuine contract can be used to do a lot.  It has the magical signatures of both the original demon and whatever sorry bastard signed it.  If you’ve got that, you can ring up the demon.”  He raised his hands, miming a scale.  “Demon, inexperienced idiot teenager…”  He tilted to one side.  “You get the picture.”

And, yeah, wasn’t it great that he could cause people to die just by leaving his junk everywhere?  He hadn’t learned anything from the dream sand.  

“You believe Daniel Fenton summoned a demon that possessed him, which then proceeded to collect your soul contracts?”

“Yeah.  Can you pull up a pic of the contract Jack Fenton bought?”

Batman briefly examined the remote, then flicked quickly through several slides, stopping, finally, on a very classic demonic soul contract.  Constantine had signed several like that, so he had to squint at it and read through it line by line.  It wasn’t like he memorized the handwriting of every demon he’d ever made a contract with.  In fact, he’d memorized the handwriting of exactly zero demons.  They didn’t precisely write a lot, and you either got illegible chicken scratch or equally illegible ornate gothic script.  

He got to the name and swore.  “That guy doesn’t have the power to go up against the First of the Fallen.”  He rubbed his chin vigorously.

“It’s possible that Chambers sent a different contract to the Fentons,” said Batman, “or Daniel was… infected after receiving the other contracts.”  More pictures popped up on the screens.  “However, there is a problem with this theory.”

“Yeah?” asked Constantine, already scanning the contracts.  The Bat didn’t like Constantine’s ideas.  What else was new?  

“Daniel’s behavior has had no significant changes in that six month time frame.  But if we go back by just over a year, to when he was entering high school, his grades took a steep dive and several disciplinary actions were noted on his record.  His close friends’ grades took similar, but smaller, hits at the same time.”

“You think he could have been possessed earlier.”

“I believe that something happened to him at that time.  I am unconvinced it was possession.”

Constantine shook his head.  “None of these guys are strong enough to begin with.  Maybe if they were working together…  Nah.  None of them could work together.  That’s why I picked them.”  He rubbed his eyes.  “Then again, I thought no one could get all my soul contracts, so who knows?”

“Are you sure possession is the only solution?”

“God, no.  Hell, we could be dealing with a cabal of homo magi, or someone back from the grave who seriously hates me, that’d explain the death magic on the letter, at least, or maybe there’s a god hanging around getting their kicks poking at me.  It’s just a giant blank.  I’ve never heard of this kid.  I’ve never heard of his family.  I’ve barely heard of Vlad Masters.  I’ve got nothing.”

“Hm,” said Batman.  “What are you planning to do?”

“I’m guessing ignoring it forever isn’t something you’d let me do?”

“No.”

“I guess I’m gonna have to go investigate, then.”

“In that case,” said Batman, pulling a fat folder of papers out of his cape somehow, “you will need to know more about Daniel Fenton, his associates, and Amity Park.”  He dropped the folder on the table with an audible thump.

“Great,” said Constantine.  “Just what I wanted.  Homework.”

.

Constantine and Zatanna zeta’d to the nearest tube near Amity Park.  Batman had arranged an ‘untraceable’ rental car for them, paranoid bastard.  Demons didn’t usually have the skillset required to trace license plates.  

Then again, there might be more than demons involved.  Even if necromancers generally had no skillset outside of necromancy.  

There could be shamans, though!  They were well known for their technological acumen!  

Yeah, right.  It was possible, but not bloody likely.  

“I could teleport, you know,” he told Zatanna.  “We could both teleport.”

“Into the home turf of an unknown magic user?”

Constantine rolled his eyes and knocked his head against the car window.  “I’m surprised the ol’ Bat isn’t coming with us.”

“You know he is,” said Zatanna.  “I’d give even odds that he’s already there, if I had any desire to gamble with you.”

“Hey!  I could be good for it.  I have steady work now!”

Zatanna shook her head.  Constantine huffed.  

“I’m going to take a nap.  Might be my last one, after all.”

“John,” said Zatanna, “you’re not going to die.  Don’t you think this is a little… excessive, considering all the stuff you’ve gotten out of before?”

“No one’s owned my whole soul before.  Now, I really am going to go to sleep.  Wake me up when we get there.”

.

Death.  

That’s what pulled Constantine out of his dreams and into a nightmare, and from there into wakefulness.  The feeling did not dissipate.  Instead, it grew stronger.  

He looked over at Zatanna, who was still driving.  Her knuckles were white, her shoulders stiff.  

“What the hell,” croaked Constantine.  

“It’s been building as we get closer to Amity Park,” said Zatanna.  “It doesn’t feel… actively malicious…  More like a massive haunting.  It’s been building slowly.”

Constantine swallowed and tried to rub sand out of his eyes.  “That’s– Where are we?”

“About ten minutes out of Amity Park.”

“No.  I’ve been to Amity Park.  It doesn’t feel anything like this.  It’s boring.”

“Well,” said Zatanna, strained, “something’s changed.  At least we know where the letter picked up all that death magic.”

Constantine breathed in deeply through his nose.  “Yeah, there’s enough of it here for me to feel it, God.”  It was making his skin prickle.  He shook himself all over.  “Might as well stay awake now.  Do you mind if I set my wards?”

“Knock yourself out.”

.

Constantine walked into the diner and looked around.  It was very American.  Retro.  Quiet.  Not entirely clean, but Constantine had been in way worse.  The air smelled strongly of cinnamon, coffee, and hot chocolate.  Not the kind of place he generally bartered for his soul, or away his soul, as the case might be.

An aggressive ‘No Smoking’ sign was positioned prominently next to the cheery ‘seat yourself’ sign.  Constantine scowled at it.  Sometimes it felt like there was nowhere to smoke anymore in the whole world.  

Daniel Fenton, easily recognizable from a legion of school photos and a junior astronaut camp photo ID, was sitting alone at a booth, a cup of hot chocolate with whipped cream in front of him.  He swung his legs back and forth and scribbled in a notebook.  A few tables away, not nearly as sneaky as they clear-ly thought they were being, were his friends Manson and Foley.

Zatanna had entered the diner before him, of course, and Batman was most likely… somewhere.  God only knew where.  Constantine knew people who could turn invisible and shapeshift that weren’t as good at it as Batman.  

Before coming in, Constantine had finished setting his wards.  His pockets were full of all sorts of tests, charms, and apotropaics.  As he stuck his hands into them, a spray bottle fit easily into his hand.  

Walking to the table felt like walking to his execution.  He made the comparison with confidence, because he had the relevant experience.   When he stopped next to the table, Fenton looked up.  His expression was confused at first, but in less than a second he lit up, clearly delighted.  

Constantine also had relevant experience in spritzing demons with holy water.

Fenton flinched, but he didn’t start howling or melting.  More’s the pity.  

“Did you just spray me with holy water?” asked Fenton, blinking up at him with a realistic expression of befuddlement.  

“Guy’s gotta know what he’s dealing with,” said Constantine.  

“Well, I’m not a demon.”  A slight furrow worked its way between his eyes.  “Or a devil.”

“What are you, then?” asked Constantine.

Fenton shrugged.  “I don’t know.  An amateur demonologist?  I don’t have any training in this kind of stuff, which is probably why all this happened.”  He reached to the side and grabbed his hot chocolate.  “Oh.  You got my whipped cream with your water…”

“You don’t have any training?”

“Not in this,” stressed Fenton.  “I go to school and stuff.”

And astronaut camp, assuming this really was Daniel Fenton and not something possessing or impersonating him.  

“Anyway, are you going to sit down, or…?”  Fenton looked him up and down.  

Constantine scowled and slid into the booth.  Then he threw some salt (purified) at Fenton.  

“Hey,” complained Fenton, “you’re going to ruin my hot chocolate, jeez.”  He picked up the mug, pulling it towards himself.  

Constantine took the opportunity to grab his notebook off the table and flip through it.  

“Maths?” blurted Constantine.  

Fenton set the mug back on the table and leaned over to snatch the notebook back.  “Like I said, I do have school.  That’s why I can only hang out here on Saturdays.  You did miss the last few meeting times.”  He huffed.  “I know this isn’t ideal, but can we work together here?  I don’t actually want to own your soul.”

“Oh, yeah, amazing way of showing it, mate.  I know who and what I sold my soul to, and I don’t believe you bartered with them without any training.”  Or that he was human, but as long as he was invested in the facade, he probably wouldn’t eat Constantine’s face off.

“I didn’t say I didn’t have any training.  Just no training in this.  I don’t know exactly what you can do beyond make bad demon-related decisions, but you had weeks to do research.  You’ve got to know about the ghosts.”

“Might.  What about them?”

“My parents research them.  Fight them, sometimes.  It’s a whole thing.  Demons weren’t any harder to deal with.”

“I sold my soul to archdemons.”

“Yeah, they kind of sucked, to be honest.”  Fenton bit his lower lip.  “Look, I know you don’t trust me.  I wouldn’t trust me, but what I did to get your contracts wasn’t anything anyone couldn’t do.  Most of them didn’t even want them anymore.  The first batch I bought off of a random dude on Ebay.  One of them paid me to take the contract, because they hated the doll you wrote it on so much.  A lot of the others just wanted me to give you problems, which I think I’ve succeeded at, actually.”

Constantine had forgotten about the doll, actually.  “And the archdemons?  I know for a fact they’ve been looking forward to torturing me forever, so I doubt they’d just hand the contracts over in exchange for ‘giving me problems.’”

“Oh, yeah.  For those guys, I just robbed them.  There were also a few people I just beat up.”

“Demons aren’t people, they’re demons.”

“Sure they’re people.  They’re just evil people.  But they used to be angels or something, right?”

“... No,” said Constantine.  

“Okay, well.”  Fenton shrugged again.  “They still are thinking beings, right?  So, they’re people.”

Constantine honestly didn’t know where to go from that.  

"Fine," he said instead.  "You aren't going to tell me how you got the contracts or what you are.  Is it too much to hope you'll deign to tell me why you did this?"

"I'm a teenager, why do we do anything?"  Fenton sipped at his hot chocolate.  "Mostly, I thought it'd be funny."

"Excuse me?"

"I thought it would be funny.  I mean, Dad bought the first one, because he thought it'd help with his ghost research, but it didn't, so he let me have it.  I asked Johnny about it, and he told me about your contracts, so I–"

"Who's Johnny?" interrupted Constantine.  "Some demon friend of yours?"

He did have a strategy, here, sort of.  Most ultra powerful magical beings had a limit to how much annoyance or disrespect they'd tolerate, even when disguising themselves.  Constantine had a knack for finding those limits.  

Also, just possibly, the hapless teenager act was throwing him off.  It was remarkably believable.  

"No, he's dead, to begin with, not–"

"Oh, so, you took advice on dealing with demons from someone who turned up dead right after telling you about me.  That sounds brilliant." 

"He's a ghost.  He's been dead since at least the nineties, and I doubt you had anything to do with it.  Johnny died in the eighties.  I think.”

“A ghost told you about me?”

“Yeah.  I don’t know what wizards or magicians like you can do or sense, but if you looked up anything about Amity Park at all, you should have seen there are a lot of ghosts here.  It’s not just tourist trap stuff.  That’s… actually one of the other things I wanted to talk to you about, if I managed to get enough of your contracts to get you to come.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, not all ghosts are nice.  I meant it when I said your demons sucked.  That’s compared to the ghosts.  And sometimes to the people who come to hunt the ghosts.”  Fenton drummed his fingers on the table, nervous.  “It’s a toss up which group causes more damage.  The Guys in White are especially awful.  It would be nice if the Justice League took a look into them?”  His voice took on a hopeful lilt.  

“You bought my soul to tip off the League about…  Guys in White.”

“They’re with the government.  Presumably.  No one knows what they’re really called.  And they chase people around screaming about lots and lots of painful experiments.  Direct quotes.”

“You know the League has a tip line.”

“Tried it.”  Fenton took a huge gulp of hot chocolate.

“I don’t believe you,”

“If you hang out here for very long, you and your friends will be able to see the ghosts for yourself.”

Constantine could already feel the ghosts.  Or at least the pervasive, overwhelming sense of death permeating this city.  He didn’t doubt that something requiring Justice League Dark attention was going on here.  Beyond just whatever was going on with Fenton himself.  

But his attention was taken by two other points.  

One, what he didn’t believe was that Fenton did all this for only some combination of kicks and giggles and wanting Justice League attention.  Contacts with ghosts or not, burglarizing archdemons wasn’t something anyone sane blew off as nothing.

Two, Fenton had said friends.  He’d understand if he’d made Zatanna, but the plural implied that he’d spotted Batman, too.  

He didn’t let himself react.  “No one rips off archdemons to call in a tip.  Or just for fun.”

Fenton looked guilty, a blush creeping across his cheeks.  “I didn’t want to bring it up, it didn’t seem appropriate anymore.  And the other thing isn’t… relevant.”

“Why don’t you let me decide what’s relevant?” asked Constantine, despite how all his senses were screaming wrong wrong wrong at him.   “This is my soul we’re talking about, after all.”

“I know, I know,” said Fenton.  “But you didn’t exactly…”  He trailed off.  “The other thing was that some of my friends thought you need an intervention.  We also wanted to see your face when we… intervened.  Yeah, we thought it’d look kind of like that.”  Fenton pointed at him.

Constantine slapped away the hand.  He was almost convinced Fenton was… Well.  Not normal, but maybe not homicidal, or particularly interested in enslaving Constantine or torturing him for all time.  A step up from some of the other things he’d sold his soul to in the past.  Possibly.  

(The whole ‘teenager’ thing was definitely an entry in the negative column, though.  As well as the whole humiliation and mockery angle.)

“What else?” he demanded.  

Fenton’s face twisted with embarrassment and jealousy.  “You get to go up to the Watchtower, don’t you?” he asked.  “You get to go to space.”

“So?”

“So, I want to go to space.  I was, um.  I was going to… ask you to take me up there.  Just to look.”

Infiltrating the Watchtower was a much more obvious motive, but… Constantine remembered the space camp ID.  

“I mean, I’m never going to get up there with my grades.  Fighting demons for it seemed… feasible.”  He shrugged, then started to slump.  “I was going to give them back, you know.  Your contracts.  I didn’t want to keep them.  Or your soul.”  He pushed himself up.  “Anyway.  None of that matters, now.  We've got a problem to solve.”

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Well, as I explained in my letter, the contracts sort of… exploded."

"No, back up, what do you mean it doesn't matter?"

"Well, if this doesn't make you stop selling your soul, I don’t know what will, the Justice League knows about Amity now, I'm not going to make you take me to the Watchtower when I can't trade your soul back to you, and the funny boat sailed at about the same time my friend told me this might be permanent."

"Is this friend also dead?" drawled Constantine. 

"No, he's more in the never alive category."

Which possibly explained some of the spirit magic Zatanna detected on the letter. 

"He thinks it's because some of your contracts said after death instead of when you're dead, so, because there weren't any competing claims, they all came due at once.  Since there were so many of them…"

"Repetition makes magic stronger, yeah, yeah," said Constantine.  "I read the letter."

"I was hoping you'd have some solutions.  No offense, but I don't want to own you.  You're, like, an entire person."

Constantine wouldn't have been offended if Fenton hadn't prefixed his statement with no offense.  

“You should have thought about that before buying up my soul.”

“I was going to give it back.  No strings.”

“Except for a trip to the Watchtower.”

“If you really didn’t want to, I wouldn’t have made you,” said Fenton.  

Somehow, Constantine believed him.  Which was crazy.  He’d have to check in with Zatanna to make sure he wasn’t being enchanted somehow.  Charm person should not be a real thing magicians could do, and yet…

“Look, do you want me to swear it on the Styx or is there something else I can do to convince you I’m telling the truth?” asked Fenton.  “The ghosts seem to like the Styx, anyway.”  He sighed.  “Tell me you have something that can fix this.  I don’t know what kind of side effects there are for owning a person’s soul.  It’s not like this happens all the time.”

Hell if Constantine knew.  The only way he knew to get out of contracts like this was loopholes exploited before they were collected on.  “I’m… going to have to do some research.”

“Well,” said Fenton, “let me give you my phone number.”  He slid a piece of paper across the table.  “You can call me if you figure anything out.  In the meantime, if you’re staying in town long, you should look into the ghost thing.  Talk to my parents, even.  Maybe don’t mention all this, though.”

“Why not?”

“I love my parents, but they must have skipped out on the day they teach scientists that just because you can do something doesn’t mean you should.  Anyway, I’ve got to go.”  He started to shove things into a purple backpack he’d pulled into his lap from under the table.  

“What?  Why?”  As far as Constantine was concerned, they’d only just started to scratch the surface of the problem.  

“Me and my friends have tickets to a movie.”  He hooked his thumb over his shoulder at Manson and Foley, who, apparently, were not trying to blend in or be subtle.  “You did miss the first few meeting times.”

.

“Your impression?” asked Zatanna, later, sliding into the booth after Fenton and his friends were thoroughly gone.  

“He’s… surprisingly believable.  Claims he ‘doesn’t have any training’ in magic, though, which sounds like crap, unless his parents are much more legit than what they look like on paper.”

Zatanna crossed her arms and drummed her fingers on her elbow.  “He wasn’t lying.  Not that any of my spells could detect.”

Constantine huffed.  “That doesn’t seem possible.”

“He doesn’t seem like he could take on archdemons, but with help from ghosts or spirits?  We don’t know who’s backing him.”

“God,” said Constantine, “that’s not something I was thinking of.”

“Because you were fixated on the demon theory.”

“But if he’s being backed by someone powerful, why wouldn’t they buy up my contracts themself?  That doesn’t make sense.”

“I’m not saying that his… patron, for lack of a better word, put him up to it.  Just that he might be getting extra support.”

A waitress came up to them, smiling cheerily.  “Hello, there, sorry for the delay.  Have you decided what you’re getting?”

“The hot chocolate looked good,” said Zatanna.  

“Knock yourself out,” said Constantine, standing.  “I’m going to see what Fenton’s parents are like.”

.

“John Constantine?” repeated Jack Fenton, inquisitively.  “Ha!  That’s the same name that was on that fake demon contract thing I got on Ebay!  What a wild coincidence, huh?”

.

“You could have mentioned the portal to the astral plane in your basement,” hissed Constantine into the phone.  A tiny voice in the back of his head warned him that he shouldn’t take that tone with someone who owned him, but he ignored it handily.  

“Would you have believed me if I told you?” asked Fenton, genuinely curious.  

Constantine wouldn’t have, but it was the principle of the thing.

“Also, what did you call it?  I’ve never heard anyone call it that.”

.

Batman’s deep voice rumbled through the communicator.  “What did you learn?” 

“I learned this place is a nightmare and a half.  There’s a portal to the astral plane in that kid’s basement, did you know?”

“I ran into a ghost while Constantine was talking to the Fentons,” said Zatanna, leaning sideways while keeping her eyes on the road.  “It was much more powerful than any other ghost I’ve ever seen.”

“That is not good news considering what I have learned about the so-called Guys in White.”

.

“Have you found anything?” asked Fenton.  Wherever he was, his reception was crap.  His voice crackled with enough static that he might as well be calling from the early nineteen-twenties.    

“No,” said Constantine.  It had gotten him excused from the Justice Club meetings, which meant that the failure was almost worth the headache the idea of his soul being owned by a teenager caused him.  

“I didn’t find anything either.”

“Then why did you call?”

“Uh,” said Fenton.  “I’m really grateful you guys got the GIW out of Amity, you know that, right?  And that you guys put someone on watch here for bigger threats?”

“Yeah,” said Constantine, slowly.  “Sure.”  It had been mostly Batman managing that side of things, as Constantine was banned from decisions regarding Amity Park, but if Fenton was going to give Constantine credit, who was he to deny it?

“So, um.  That was really great of you.”

Constantine was not liking where this was going.  But, apparently, this was his life, now.  Getting tips and awkwardly phrased requests from… God.  The creepy necromancer brat was sort of his warlock patron.  

… Curse his knowledge of Dungeons and Dragons.  It was definitely a detriment to his profession as a real mage, and everything he learned about it was against his will and usually the Flash’s fault.  

“What is it, Fenton?”

“Have you ever heard of the Showenhowers?” 

[f-imaginings]

how goes the next chapter of KMKY? i am super keen for more, but obvs take your time!

hi bud! I am 43 pages into the next chapter and it's going well! Here is a tiny sneak peak of the D&D scene!

Having set up a rudimentary game with the graph paper lying around in the lab, Stanford was having an excellent time.

Dipper had brought the board game downstairs, with the rule book, and several key decision cards scattered around the gridded board on the dirt floor of the lab. Having just completed their character sheets, the adventure was about to begin.

“Okay, so my character is a human wizard slash artificer - battlesmith and order of scribes respectively - with an archivist background and I’ve juuust finished my ability scores.” Dipper scribbled on his character sheet, before throwing the sheet down between them. “Boosh!”

“Is that what the kids are saying these days? Boosh?” Ford queried idly, picking up Dipper’s character sheet to read through it.

“Oh, uh, Wendy – I mean, someone really cool said it once and I guess I just kind of picked it up. It’s not like everyone’s saying it.” Dipper rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly, trying to play it off.

“It was hard enough keeping track of the popular slang back in the 80s.” Ford rubbed his chin, impressed by Dipper’s clever allocation of his ability points. “I guess a lot can change in 30 years. I like that you chose artificer for your class. My old friend Fiddleford used to choose artificer too, but he was always more of an alchemist than a battlesmith.”

“Huh. I guess that makes sense.” Dipper frowned, looking down at his notepad. “You two were really close then.”

“As thick as thieves.” Ford confirmed with a nod, filling out his own character sheet. “Before everything with the portal came to a head of course. And – there, that’s my character sheet done.”

Reaching over to read through it, all thoughts of McGucket set aside in favour of the game, Dipper blinked at Ford’s character sheet, surprised.

“Warlock/Fighter multiclass? Really?” He looked between Ford’s ready grin, and the character sheet, squinting at the details. “Shouldn’t your charisma stats be higher than intelligence if you’re playing a warlock. Charisma is the spell modifier.”

“I’ve never really understood why it’s not an intelligence class myself, but given the scope for multi-classing, I can leverage both classes and become an eldritch knight. There’s not a lot a good eldritch blast can’t take care of, in my experience. It’s just like a laser gun!”

“Fair enough.” Dipper shrugged, moving his character piece around on the board. “Great Uncle Ford, how did you get other people to play this game with you? I keep thinking Mabel would love to play this, but I just can’t convince her. I get the feeling she would be a bard, if she gave it a shot. And Wendy could totally be a Ranger!”

“Stanley mentioned Mabel is musically inclined.” Ford rubbed his chin, considering his past attempts to get others to play with him. Stanley never did, choosing instead to mock him, and the only other person he successfully coerced to play was Bill, but he never truly committed to the experience. “You could always try bribery, that sometimes works.”

“And bribe her with what?” Dipper shook his head, before sighing. “Never mind. At least I get to play with you.”

“Are you ready?” Ford questioned, bringing Dipper’s focus back to the board, picking up the 38-sided die and rolling it between his knuckles.

“As ready as I’ll ever be.” Dipper said gamely, crossing his legs more comfortably beneath him.

“Alright.” Ford waved his hand across the board, sitting behind the cardboard cut out of Probabilitor the Annoying, setting the scene. “The reigning monarch of the land of Mathematica has put out a call for mercenaries across the land to take up a quest to rescue his daughter, Princess Unattainabelle from the devious clutches of the King’s arch enemy, Probabilitor the Annoying, the worst wizard in all of the land. Your task, should you prove worthy, is to gather your party and venture forth into the Algebraic Swamplands, to Probabilitor’s castle deep within his dominion, and brave his radius of evil to find the Princess and rescue her from his sweaty clutches. Your quest’s probability of success is –“

Ford paused to roll the 38 sided die, the die landing on 21.

“Not bad. Could definitely be worse.” Dipper remarked.

“You’re telling me. Once Fiddleford rolled a two.” Ford barked a laugh, remembering the campaign fondly.

“Now that’s playing on hard mode.” Dipper grinned. “21 should be a walk in the park, comparatively.”

“I like those odds.” Ford shared a grin with his great nephew, delighted at their shared conspiratorial joy with the game. “So, you’re in the tavern on the edge of the Swamplands, your character has accepted the quest. What do you do now?”

[ladymarycrawley]

And I love you like never before - John Stones

Request: It’s your wedding day, but you’ve both agreed to see each other before the ceremony for a first look of your dress/his suit etc. and John asks you to tie his tie for him? And he’s just gazing lovingly at you whilst you tie it/he can’t believe how lucky he is? 

Warning: just one of the cheesiest pieces I’ve ever written. (I miss John sfm)

Tag list: @masonxomount​ @chelsealover​ @stonesyy​ @johnstonesfc @prideofpd​

What if your future husband asks you to do such a dangerous thing such as seeing each other the day of your wedding ceremony, before saying "yes I do", pushing your luck?

At first you were skeptical about it when John asked it, begging you to be more realistic, as he was dying to see you in your wedding dress before walking down the aisle. You would have preferred to avoid it mainly because of the popular belief that it would have jinxed the whole marriage but the thought of seeing your boyfriend looking flawless in his suit was stronger than any possible bad luck.

You had to do it on the sly though as neither of your friends nor family would have agreed on you doing that so you just met in one of the empty rooms of the nineteenth century manor you would have celebrated the ceremony at.

You both excused yourselves from all the people around you saying you would have liked to go and take some air as you were growing impatient and nervous within each passing minute.

To be completely honest you weren't that comfortable in doing that because you were somehow scared the bad luck spell could have affected you, ruining your perfect day and what you hoped to be, your perfect marriage. John,on his part, insisted on seeing you so bad, promising that was just a popular saying and nothing bad could ever have happened. 

You let out a final, deep breath before meeting his needs.

You were nervous, quite nervous, about the whole thing you were going to face and your shaking legs were there to witness it.

The sudden sound of someone knocking on the door of the room where the meeting should have taken place made you shiver and wince, as you said "come in". John's beautiful face, perfectly shaved just the way you liked him to be, just with a hint of stubble, popped out from behind the door with a big grin.

"Hello there"

You smiled, a nervous smile as he entered the room, closing the door behind him.

"Hey"

You didn’t know whether to gasp or cry when you took in his tall figure wrapped in that expensive, dark blue suit. He looked so handsome, god-like. The most beautiful thing you've ever laid your eyes on.

"You look gorgeous" You managed to say with a feeble voice, barely audible.

"Hey, are you okay? Where's your dress?" He asked, a bit concerned about your reaction and about the fact that you might have changed your mind.

"I'm fine, yeah" As an answer to his second question, you pointed at the white dress hanging on the door of the light wooden closet.

"It looks beautiful, wear it" His sweet encouragement made the first tears of the day roll down your cheeks.

"Damn John, you can't ruin my make-up yet" You giggled, your fingers tapping lightly on your face.

He giggled back, wrapping his hands around your wrists, pressing a kiss on your right hand first then passing to the left one before taking his lips closer to your forehead. 

"I didn't say anything. Too soon to cry, my love"

"I'm so nervous"

"You don't have too, everything'll go great"

"We shouldn't be doing this"

As the least superstitious person on Earth he was, he rolled his eyes. He just wanted to have you all to himself before anyone around would set their eyes on both of you, commenting on your dresses, how many kisses you gave each other and all of that that meant nothing to him.

"That's okay, nobody has to know we've seen each other"

You swallowed, getting lost in his eyes.

"I love you"

"I love you too"

He bent over a bit to reach your height and to meet your lips to kiss you but you moved your head to the side to dodge him, letting your lips graze against his nose instead. 

He looked confused by your gesture as you would never avoid his kisses.

"Don't wanna kiss you till we're husband and wife"

John scoffed, tucking a strand of your hair styled in soft waves, behind your ear.

"You're lucky I love you"

"You're the luckier one"

He smirked and playfully slapped your butt.

You smiled and finally took the dress from the hanger and went behind the room divider to put it on: a beautiful long sleeved one, with balloon sleeves, not too broad, and a square neckline making you look so elegant and sophisticated. 

"Let me see how gorgeous my future wife is with her wedding dress" The husky voice John said those words with made form a knot at the pit of your stomach. Maybe it was the infamous butterflies mixed with the nerves of the moment; a lethal mix you wouldn't recommend anyone.

"Do you want me to button it up?"

"I - I think I can do it" You stuttered while managing to adjust the dress over your body.

The moment you came in sight again, John couldn’t help but gasp: you were a vision in that dress that hugged your body perfectly, his beautiful princess. He let his eyes roam over your figure, biting on his lower lip while doing so.

"I know my make-up needs to be fixed and I still have to put the veil on" You justified yourself as if he could move some critiques towards your look.

"You're perfect"

"Thanks" You blushed, smiling shyly at him.

"You're my gorgeous baby" He cooed in your ear, kissing your temple "can't wait to call you my wife and take this dress off of you tonight"

"Well, maybe I'll change into another dress for the reception so you won't get the chance to take it off"

"Don't play with my feelings" 

You smiled, placing a kiss on his chin.

"We can have a quickie now, you know" He muttered as his hand was already making his way down your legs.

"JOHN!"

"It’s just a suggestion! Oh wait, you want to wait till we're married?"

"Yes"

"Aww, you're so sweet you want me to be your first and only one"

"You're such a dork"

"That's why you love me"

You mimicked his voice, brushing your nose against his. Behind him there was the pair of slingback heels you were going to wear on that special occasion and, even though the heels weren’t that high, you were still scared to fall and cause everyone to laugh at you. You kept your stare down on his white, immaculate shirt while running your hands over his light tie to adjust it.

"I'm afraid to fall though" You murmured under your breath. referring to the pair of shoes.

John chuckled, earning a glare from you.

"There's nothing to laugh about!"

"Yeah, I'd appreciate that"

"Oh you want me to say one of those things like "I'll be there holding your hand the whole time, if you fall we fall together" something like that?"

“Or “what if you fly?””

That line and the way he pronounced it, with a stupid, high pitched voice, made you burst out in a fit of laughter.

“Let me fix your tie, you dumbass”

“Yes please, it looks hideous” He asked  you in a chuckle. His look upon you was adoring as you were busy undoing the knot around his neck to make it look a little more neat. He felt the luckiest man on earth to get the chance to call you his, to have you as his wife for the rest of his life. Your children would have been blessed by having you as their mother as you were amazing, the most amazing woman according to him.

It was a matter of hours before you two would marry each other, you soon would get to call him, the love of your life, your husband. It still seemed unreal, too good to be true.

"Much better now" You muttered, placing your palms flat on his perfectly ironed light shirt.

He squeezed your face with his hand to bring your lips closer to his and left a peck on your wrinkled lips, due to his grip on your cheek "You're gorgeous" He whispered on your lips before kissing them.

"John! My make-up!" You whined about the kiss he just stole from you.

"I'm sure they'll fix it in a couple of minutes"

You giggled, rolling your eyes as they fell on the clock ticking, striking one hour closer to the fateful moment.

"You should leave, I have to finish getting ready"

John nodded, giving you one last look before walking towards the door.

"Do you love me?" You asked him all of a sudden.

"No"

"Dickhead"

He giggled at the way that foul word left your mouth, his head popping from behind the door, the only thing visible of his statuary body.

"I love you like never before"

You blushed madly as he closed the door with a soft smile on his lips before disappearing behind it.

When you entered the venue you were already a sobbing mess as your father was guiding you towards John. The City defender had a proud smile gracing his features, the look of wonder in his eyes as he took in your flawless figure covered in that white dress that looked amazing on you. Your soft and wavy hair would gently bounce over your shoulders with your make-up finally on point. Gladly the sheer white veil covering your face was covering your glassy eyes as well so you could hide your emotions a little more.

That last sentence you exchanged before meeting officially in front of all your loved ones wasn’t something he said just for the sake of saying some sweet words to you, it was from one of your favourite songs ever, Songbird by Fleetwood Mac, which happened to be the song you swayed to as your first dance as husband and wife. It was still something your mind was ignoring though, as you had to attend the whole ceremony first before finding out about John’s sweet surprise for you.

Your dad patted your hand lovingly and gave you a kiss on your temple before leaving you next to your fiancé who smiled and lifted the veil from your face.

"Hello there" He whispered, beaming.

"Hello to you" You whispered shakily, trying your best to stay calm and avoid fainting. Your fingers shaking against his.

"Everything’s okay" John answered back, in an attempt to calm you down, brushing his fingertips against yours in an almost imperceptible way.

The nerves were eating you alive but you were also the happiest woman ever, marrying your best friend and the love of your life.

When the moment of the exchange of the rings arrived you couldn’t control your tears anymore: when John promised to love you forever, in sickness and health till death do you part, warm tears started rolling down your face, making your soon to be husband smile as his eyes got watery too. The way he softly took your hand in his to slip the golden thin ring over your finger made you feel so loved, so lucky to have him in your life.

You did the same with his bigger, veiny hand and it was so soft and warm you didn’t want to let it go, you would have liked to feel his touch over your skin forever.

Gladly the moment when you were officially declared husband and wife arrived and he could finally kiss his bride.

"It was about time" He muttered over your smiling features before crashing his plumpy lips against yours in a sweet but passionate kiss.

The moment the reception was about to start, meaning you were finally about to find out what song you would've made your entrance to. As you entered the venue hand in hand with him, for the first time as Mr and Mrs Stones, everyone around was watching you both in awe, that same adoring gaze you had while walking down the aisle to reach him waiting for you at the altar. Your friends gushing over how beautiful you were, made you smile even wider, as your husband's friends and teammates would cheer on him. 

When you heard the notes of one of your favourite tunes playing in the hall, you freezed in your place as your body got covered in shivers and your eyes filled with emotional tears.

"I hate you" You giggled looking at John whom you knew was the only person to “blame” for the song choice.

In response he chuckled and took your hands to start swaying around, as if you were the only souls in the room, dancing as if you were in your own dimly lit kitchen by yourselves.

You turned red as tears started rolling down your cheeks again, hiding your head in John's neck. You were a really shy person after all so you being the centre of attention and being "exposed" like this made you want to hide and what better shield than your 6 foot 2 husband?

"Are you already regretting marrying me?" He asked ironically, alluding to your no-stop tears.

"Shut up" You chuckled, his cerulean eyes looking right into yours. The sight of his perfect face so close to yours made you feel the urge to graze your lips against his once again, ever so softly.

"How do I look as Mrs Stones?”

"Gorg, it suits you perfectly” He kissed your lips once again. You grazed your thumbs against his light stubble before complimenting him back.

“You are not bad yourself, you look quite good as Mr Stones”

"Can't wait to have you all to myself. I love so fucking much" He whispered against your ear, kissing your temple.

"We have all our life ahead of us and I love you so fucking much too"

"And I love you, I love you like never before"

[forgodsgoddamnsake]

Belly Dancer - 2

You stood there by the pool in a short black shorts and a red tank top, the water looked so clear. Jack had come to ask if you wanted to drink anything, and you asked him for a tea with milk. You felt Harry’s figure stand next to you, still in his black suit.

Your eyes never met his, or his figure and he hated having mixed signals like that. He asked in a soft voice, “Why did you break the theme of the party?”

You grinned, you thought he’d ask you that question.

“Because I like feeling special, if a hundred people are wearing black, I should wear red. I am the dancer; I should always be popping from the crowd.” You answered, truthfully.

The water looked so clear, but your mind didn’t. Like a million-fireball burning your mind alive. You felt heartache, something you tried to not feel, but failed terribly. And, you felt heavy, the only way to lighten up was to dance.

“Would you like to dance with me, Harry?” You asked, softly looking at him in the eyes.

He nodded, slightly taken aback. You put one hand on his shoulder and the other held his own hand, while your head rested on his chest.

He felt the softness of your skin with his hand that was on your waist. You felt him rest his cheek on the top of your head as you both swayed softly to the silence.

“You look sad, y/n.” It sounded more like he was spelling facts than asking the reason why.

“Because I am sad, Harry.” You mumbled.

He sighed, he kind of knew that he can’t ask you the reason why. The idea of asking you to dinner popped in his head again, “Y/N, would you like to go out with me for dinner tomorrow?”

You raised your head from his chest, “Is it like a date or what?”

“Yes, I want to get to know you.” He smiled when he saw a smile takes its way on your lips.

Jack had brought you your tea and that was when you stepped away from Harry just a little, “Thank you, Jack, you’ve been very helpful.” You said to Jack who gave you a smile and a nod and left.

“Do you use that pool or is it for decoration?” You asked Harry, looking at the tempting water.

“Actually, we do, maybe we could take a dive in on another day.” He answered, and quickly you pulled yourself away from him completely to sit in your chair.

Harry took a seat by you and without even asking, he took your tea cup and took a sip.

“Don’t drink it, it’s so hot.” He said putting down the cup and you smiled at him.

“Maybe I should just ask them to not make it so hot.” You said mostly to yourself.

“Don’t! I like tasting it for you.” Your smile grew wider at his words.

You swallowed the lump in your throat, “I’m sorry, Harry, I shouldn’t have snapped at you earlier. It’s just I’m not the kind of person to sleep around or anything like that. I don’t like male attention.”

“I thought that was what belly dancing is all about, male attention?”

“No, Harry. It is not only about male attention, it is more about femininity, the way women were created, soft breasts, fleshy waist, silky bellies. Women were created in a way different than men and the belly dancing is something that shows off this difference.”

“But there are male belly dancers, at least that’s what I heard.”

“That’s true, but I don’t like watching them as much. They miss the feminine beauty, and that’s not their fault, but I like having an art that is only made by women.”

“But men could dance, too.”

“I’m not disagreeing here, but women have things that men don’t, women are sexier whether you like it or not. Belly dancing is about this sexiness and beauty, not just some muscles going around in circles, so leave it the fuck alone. If you want to wear a suit and dance, I’m not gonna stop you, but I won’t like watching because you’d take away something really critical from this art. I’ll just see a pair of balls running around.” You started getting annoyed, but he actually loved every second of you speaking your mind. Plus, he laughed at your last sentence.

“Okay, okay! I was just asking, you’re the pro here.” He grinned.

“I am! I’ve been busting my ass out to get where I am now.”

“Tell me about it.”

“What do you want to know?”

“How did you learn belly dancing?”

You sighed, “My home country is known for this art since the beginning of history, each ‘State’ has its own way of belly dancing, I had to watch a million clip of different types of belly dancing so I could do them all. Women there dance in every celebration, weddings, bachelorette parties, birthdays, any thing you could think of. I was actually pretty talented, when I was young like five years old, I used to watch authentic belly dancers in pretty suits and imitate them with my mother’s scarves. I started dancing in front of my relatives occasionally and everyone told me that I’m talented. By time, I felt more confident and knew that this is what I wanted to do. And here I am, a professional belly dancer.”

“And how old are you, pro dancer?” He asked giving you a warm smile as he took another sip of your tea, “It’s warm now, drink.”

You took your cup in your hands and sipped from the same place that had Harry’s lips.

“I’m 24. And you?”

“29. Too old, aren’t I?”

“Yeah, I can see your grey hairs from over here.” You answered, smiling. He knew by then that you were sarcastic and loved making sarcastic comments, and boy he loved every second of listening to you speak.

“Is there a party tomorrow?” You asked, drinking from your cup.

“No, tomorrow’s off. But I’d like you to know that tomorrow you’re going to have to give me a private dance.” He smirked.

“Is that an order? You know I’m not good with orders.” You smirked back. Two people could play this game.

“No, it is not an order, y/n. If you don’t want to, it’s fine.” He softened his smile a little which made you smile back.

“Then, I’m all yours tomorrow.” You finished the sentence and the ‘I’m all yours’ made him twitch a little in his pants.

You drank the last sip of your tea and stood up, “I should go to sleep,”

“Okay.”

When you were about to go away, he stopped you, “What did you mean by a lioness, y/n?”

You grinned, “A lioness in my country is a girl who could attract guys sexually so easily. And I like attracting you, Harry.”

His smirk widened and nodded at you, “Good night, lioness.”

“Good night, Gatsby.”

--

Harry sat in his office. His desk was wide and wooden, his chair was black leather. Behind his chair was this wide painting of Samson and Delilah, he loved that painting and every detail of it.

“The party you’re throwing tomorrow is the one where we need to get this deal done, Harry. Ray is going to be there; we need to make sure that we are the ones that take that deal.” Michael started; he was sitting at the couch.

“I know, Mike.”

“What are you thinking about?” Michael raised a brow, not trusting that grin that crept on Harry’s face.

“Nothing.”

“Bullshit! Is this about y/n? Oh my god did you fuck her?”

“What? No! She’s giving me a private performance today, that’s all. Plus, we’re having dinner. I’m kind of excited. She is bugging my curiosity, man.”

“I completely understand, H. But, please, we need to focus on getting Ray on our side. Stop getting so.. fluffy.”

--

You didn’t know where Harry was going to take you for dinner, but you thought that you were going to dress whatever you want, not caring if you were overdressed or underdressed.

You put on a black tight dress, it was a long one with your back on full display, it hid your cleavage but you were still too curvy for people to not notice your breasts. Your legs showed from behind as the dress had this cut so you could walk easily.

You felt comfortable leaving your hair as it is, but you had to put your hair in a high pony tail. Last thing was your clutch and high heels, you chose a red clutch and red shining high heels.  

Once you were done with your makeup, you heard ringing, you answered and it was Jack telling you that Mr. Styles is waiting for you outside.

You got out of the elevator and out the door of the mansion to find Harry waiting for you in a white dress shirt and black pants, his shirt had a few buttons undone, enough for you to see some of the tattoos he had, you felt overdressed a little, but you looked good so whatever.

On the other hand, Harry’s got his eyes fixed on you. He’d seen many beautiful girls before, it’s not something new, but how you attracted him made you a hundred times better in his eyes.

“You look beautiful, as usual.” He smiled at you, especially when he looked at the red lipstick you had on.

“Well, I know, but you look handsome, too, as usual.” You smirked and went for your car, without looking back.

“Where are you going, y/n? We’re driving my car.”

“No, I was thinking of taking a drive around the hill after we’re done with dinner, since there are no cops around, I can go as fast as I can.” You smirked, looking at him.

“Well, we can drive mine.” He raised the keys to his car and once you laid eyes on the logo and the car behind him that you didn’t notice until then, you walked towards him and stop just when you were about to pass him towards that car.

“You’re so convincing.” You playfully hit his shoulder with yours, enough to let his smirk widen. Then you went on your way to his car and opened the door to the passenger seat.

The drive was silent, but Harry had to break the silence.

“Did I tell you how beautiful you look?”

“Just once, not enough to be honest.” You smirked.

“Oh, so you like complements?”

“I do, who doesn’t?”

--

You sat at a table in this fancy restaurant, you couldn’t tell him that you hated fancy restaurants, but he felt it after you were done ordering your food.

There was this green plant on the table that you played with in silence, while he observed every little detail of you.

“Why the long face, love?” He asked, sipping from his glass of wine.

“You want me to be honest with you?” You asked back, sipping from your glass.

“Yes, if you don’t mind.”

“I don’t like fancy places.”

“Why’s that?”

“Because they make me feel so small. I used to go to fancy places and I always find the people there different from me.”

“So what do you like then?”

“I could show you when we’re done with our food, okay?” You smiled.

“Okay, only if you answer one more question,” He said grinning, “What do you like doing besides dancing?”

“Um, I like drawing, surreal drawings actually. Reading is something I’m incredibly fond of, as well. What about you?”

Just when you finished the food was there. You thanked the waitress and started diving in.

“I like art, too. But my job doesn’t let me focus on it, anymore.” He answered, diving in his food as well.

“What’s your job?”

He cleared his throat; he didn’t know if it would drive you away.

“Weapons.”

“Oh, cool, but not too cool.”

‘What?!’ he thought to himself.

“You’re not afraid or weirded by it?” He asked sipping from his drink.

“Should I be? No, Harry, I’m not. I think you should do what you love whatever it was, I just hope that you’re not making the world a worse place.”

He was amazed with how you sounded so cool with it.

“Do you have pictures of your drawings?” He asked, swallowing his food.

“OH, yeah!” You squeaked and pulled your phone.

You felt so enthusiastic and he noticed.

You swiped and showed him some of your drawings, “This was a project called ‘Faces’ I drew all kinds of creepy faces I could think of.”

“Wait, what does this one refer to?” He pointed at one drawing that had a sad smile and wide eyes.

“Uh, this was my face when I was 20. I had fallen in love for the last time then.” You answered locking your phone and got back to your food.

“What happened?” He asked, feeling more curious by the second.

“He was the person I loved most, I felt like there was no one like him. I felt loved, uh, and that was a big fat lie. He dumped me right after we made out. He didn’t tell me a reason why he wanted to end things. I kept calling him trying to know the reason why, but he wouldn’t even answer. I just wanted to know why, there was no red flag and then all of the sudden he fell out of love? That was not convincing at the time.” You sipped from your glass, “I kept screaming, crying, falling apart for over a year. Had nightmares about him every night, and I couldn’t take it anymore. I left the country and decided that I couldn’t fall in love again.”

He put his finger under your chin, “You didn’t deserve it, you only deserve beautiful things. I’m sorry that happened, but don’t push people away from you.”

It felt real, like someone could actually feel what you felt.

“What about you? Have you ever fallen in love?”

He pulled his finger, “I have, couple of times. But I can’t find someone that I like enough to stay with.”

When you were finished with dinner and stopped by his car you looked at him, “Why don’t you let me take you somewhere I like?”

You both smirked at each other and he threw you the keys. You got into the driver seat and took off your high heels, you noticed that he was looking at your feet, specifically at your golden anklet.

“What? I don’t like driving with high heels on.” You said, and drove.

You took him to a carnival that you knew and got out of the car without your heels.

“Let’s ride the Ferris wheel!” You said, taking off your hair tie, letting your hair fall down.

He watched you as you lifted the long part of your dress so it wouldn’t bother you. He widened his eyes as he saw you running towards the wheel, barefoot, hair everywhere.

You turned around to look at him and ran backwards, “C’mon, Gatsby!”

He grinned and took off his shoes and threw them somewhere and ran towards you.

You raced to the Ferris wheel and sat together. The lights were getting smaller and smaller, everything looked more beautiful from afar.

“I’ll ask you for something weird.” You said, out of nowhere, and he nodded. “I want you to teach me how to use a gun.”

“You want to kill me if I bother you again? No, I want to stay alive.” He laughed and you laughed with him.

“Okay then, I’ll promise you that if you teach me, I’ll think twice before killing you.”

He laughed and didn’t realize that he kissed your temple, you flinched a little but appreciated that kiss. He pulled away, your hair’s smell in his nose.

When you went down, you stopped at an ice cream cart, Harry got you chocolate cone and he got himself a vanilla one.

“Want a taste?” You asked him as you raised your cone to his mouth.

He took a little of yours and gave you his ice cream to taste.

“Mmm, it’s so good. But I prefer chocolate.” You said, “I think vanilla suits you.”

“You mean I’m vanilla?” He asked finishing his cone.

“Yes, you are.” You stuck your tongue out.

“You bitch!” He exclaims playfully as you hit his nose with the rest of your ice cream. You ran away laughing and holding your long dress so you don’t fall, he ran after you till you stopped at his car.

“Let’s take the impulsive drive you promised me.” You smile, opening the driver seat.

“Let’s do it!”

You drove around the hill, fast enough to get Harry to hold onto everything around him in fear for his life.

You rolled down the windows and let the wind take your hair with it. You screamed happily at the top of your lungs.

“You’re crazy, y/n!” He screamed, laughing.

“Shut up, wuss!” You laughed back.

You pulled over right in front of the mansion, got out, and when Harry got out you threw him his keys. You made your way to the mansion until he stopped you, “What about today’s performance?”

“What floor are you on?” You asked looking at him, hair a little fuzzy from all the wind.

“The third.” He answered getting closer to you.

“I’ll get into one of my suits and meet you.” Just when you were about to go in, he held your arm.

“I want you to dance in this dress.” He said, softly.

You smiled at him; you were thinking that you should give him what he wanted this time for a change.

“Your wish is my command.”

--

You both went to the third floor, his floor was a replica of your floor, but you didn’t mind. He made his way to the kitchen to get you both two glasses of wine.

You stood in the living room, observing the painting hanging on the wall. He stood next to you, looking at the painting with you after he gave you your glass. He was happy that he had fun, a different kind of fun he had never had in a long time. He didn’t stop you from doing anything crazy that day, and that attracted you to him, instead he did crazy things with you, too.

“Sit, Harry.” You ordered and he obliged.

He sat down on the couch, and you went through your phone to connect them with the sound system in the living room. You chose your song, you were barefoot. Probably threw your heels somewhere you didn’t know; he too left his shoes at the carnival.

The song started and you closed your eyes as one of the spaghetti straps fell from your shoulder.

You raised your arms over your head and started dancing with your belly in a slow motion. You gave him your back and got your hair out of the way and made a wide circle with your waist, your ass was right in front of him.

He sat there with a glass of wine in his hand, his dick getting harder by the second, his thighs are away from each other and he didn’t need to hide his boner so you could notice. He bit his lip when you held your hair in one hand and started getting closer to him with your belly going up and down.

You took one of his hands in yours and the other held his glass of wine. You rested the glass next to yours on the coffee table.

His chest was stuck to your back, he could feel your ass touching him from time to time as you swayed it.

“What does this song say?” He whispered in your ear as he was dancing with you with a hand on your belly.

“It says, ‘She was difficult, but with me she was easy’.” You said, grinning.

“What are you with me, y/n?” He asked, trying not to devour you.

“I plan on becoming easier with you.” You turned to look at him, not stopping dancing for once.

He got closer to you, held your figure in his arms which made you stop dancing but your smile never left your face.

The song ended, you stood there in silence, looking at each other’s eyes. His eyes were eating you alive.

“Are you gonna kiss me or what?” You asked hitting his chest softly.

He got his lips closer to yours, “Do you want me to?”

You sighed, “I do.”

[coraniaid]

OK, but what is the point of retconning Jenny Calendar’s background in Surprise/Innocence?

Setting aside for a second all the reasons it’s a bad idea - the lazy stereotypes about the Romani people and their supposed links to magic and fortune telling and curses it perpetuates, the fact the script has Jenny’s uncle explicitly say that the Romani are not like “the modern man”, the fact that the Kalderash are a real group of human beings (though not a “tribe” as the show insists on calling them), who probably shouldn’t be treated as fodder for a silly fantasy television show, the fact that later in the season (in Passion) it becomes apparent that the writers don’t know the difference between Romani and Romanian, the fact that neither Robia Scott nor Vincent Schiavelli actually have any Romani heritage, the fact that the show itself doesn’t ever use the word “Romani”, prefering instead to use a word that was recognized as a slur even in the 1990s – what does it actually add to the story that the show is trying to tell?

The “Janna of the Kalderash” retcon comes completely out of nowhere, so there’s nothing intentionally odd or ambiguous about her prior behavior that it can be used to explain.  Surprise briefly fakes that Jenny is going to try to do something to hurt Buffy, but no: she’s just taking her to the Bronze for her surprise party in a slightly weird way.  Jenny encourages Angel to leave town with the Judge’s arm, but: (1) this was actually a good idea which everyone agreed with and he should have done it and (2) he didn’t.  

And it’s made very clear over the course of these two episodes that Jenny doesn’t know anything about the curse’s loophole until after the fact.  The first thing she does on finding out the curse has been broken is to rush back to the school and help to save Willow’s life.  So her entire “betrayal” of Buffy (a girl she’s known for less than nine months and who she hasn’t ever been allowed to have any emotional connection with beyond both knowing Giles anyway) boils down to her doing … what, exactly?  All those times she tried to break Buffy and Angel up?  The ones that never happened?  Not telling Buffy that the people who cursed Angel to suffer for eternity secretly wanted him to … still be suffering in the present?  Not sharing her family tree unprompted with a teenage girl she doesn’t even know and who doesn’t seem to ever attend her classes?  I genuinely don’t understand exactly why Buffy is meant to be upset at her. 

Literally the only things I can see that this twist sets up are:

Providing another excuse for Giles and Jenny to break up (an excuse which we simply didn’t need! They only got back together at the very end of Ted, which was the most recent episode Jenny was in!  Just drop that subplot if you want to keep them separated!  Is it really so important that this time it’s Giles breaking up with her and not the other way around?)

Allowing for a scene where Buffy attacks a teacher in a crowded classroom, something that – while certainly a memorable and striking moment – is never followed up on despite the multiple witnesses and the fact the school’s principal is canonically always looking for an excuse to expel Buffy

Giving Jenny a reason to want to try to restore Angel’s soul later in the season, a reason that she 100% does not need.  You’ve already established that she knows magic!  That was part of her characterisation in her very first episode!  She could just be trying to help!  You know, the way Willow will do later on?  Why does she have to be doing this as some weird form of self-imposed penance? (Why does she not do any magic this season before the retcon?)

Introducing a means by which somebody can explicitly spell out to Buffy (and the audience) exactly how Angel’s curse was broken (first in her conversation with her uncle and then again in the computer lab with Giles and Buffy)

You don’t need to do the first three of those things at all, and you can do the fourth in practically any other way.  Have a flashback!  The Buffy writers and costume department love flashbacks!  Let Buffy learn about it in a dream – this pair of episodes is full of prophetic dreams!  Have somebody find something hidden away in the library – that works for literally every other bit of magical nonsense, doesn’t it?  Have Jenny find out by digging around on the internet, if it’s so important she be involved.  Use the fact she’s meant to be good at that!  Hell, have “Uncle Enyos” turn up and deliver his own exposition directly to Buffy, if you really must include a Romani character in the present day.

What does Jenny Calendar not really being “Jenny Calendar” add to the episode or the season arc or the wider show?  Why give her an uncle for Angelus to kill if she’s never going to mourn him or mention him again?  Why have her buried under the name “Jennifer” -- a name she never actualy uses while alive -- if you’re going to make a point of telling us it isn’t really hers?

(The frustrating thing is that I think that Surprise and Innocence are both very good!  Innocence in particular is probably the best episode of the show so far.  Maybe the best episode of the whole show.  Almost everything about these two episodes is really really good.  And then there’s … this.)