#how it became the 'cringe' instrument for some people

[ramenwithbroccoli]

really sad that ukulele became that coleen ballinger/2020 cringe/can't-play-guitar instrument in the public eye, because they're really nice! small and portable! easier to start for absolute begginers! you can play songs you like by alternating guitar chord charts! the instrument has it's own history and varying techniques of playing it!

beautiful girl uke deserves more love from the world

[romanshomeonwattpad]

Girl in New York | 3

pairings - art donaldson/reader | challengers au! |

“ _ _ “ = Y/N

next chapter | masterlist | last chapter

sypnosis — Art can’t stand to see another man’s touch on you, so he covers you with his instead in the backseat of his car.

warnings — choking, messy kissing, filthy words, cheating, angst, miscommunication

word count — 2.5k

© elliotsblunt 2024. do not repost, modify or translate.

Your arms were interlinked with your cousin’s. He was spotting some guys he could potentially make bad decisions with, and you were anxious to see—

“Hi, guys!” A voice screeched.

You and Patrick raise your brows, spinning around to find Art and his girlfriend in hand. Your heart had been racing like you smoked ten cigarettes in one sitting. His eyes instantly met yours, but you tore yours away, settling on the bimbo beside him. “I’m Tiffany. We’ve met before.”

You swallowed thickly. “Yeah. Hey.”

Art had been burning holes into you, all behind his girlfriend’s back. Pat and him threw their arms around each other as Tiffany eyed you down, the four of you going up the steps.

As soon as you reached the top, deafening club music blared in your ears. Flashes of lights in all directions set off as crowds of half naked people danced amongst one another. The air was thick and your breathing became uneven. Tiffany giggled as if she’d never been in a club before, making you almost roll your eyes. “You dance, Tiffany?”

“I did balet when I was nine.” She admitted, making you raise your brows. Pat laughed before whispering in your ear, “Behave.”

You chuckled, raising a brow at her. “Let’s go dance. Leave these losers to do what they want.”

“Ouch,” Pat once again threw his arm around Art’s shoulder. His blonde curls weren’t styled, falling over his eyes. It made him look more charming. You hated the affect he had on you. You realized he still hadn’t said anything to you, but only looked at you with narrowed eyes and an irritated expression.

Tiffany sent you a weirded out look, “I’m good. I don’t think provocative dancing is appropriate in front of other men when I have one.”

You blinked at her, sending a look to Pat before nodding. “You’re so right. Good thing I don’t have one,” you pulled off your green sweater, revealing a black lace crop top. It showed off your waist, feeling eyes from all sides burn into you. “—now if you’ll excuse me.”

Making your way to the dance floor, you grabbed your hair and shook your hips to the music. Arching your back, to make your waist look thinner, your figure began to tune with the music like an instrument. Those five shots of vodka you took on the way to the club were hitting you right about now.

Dopamine soared through your blood. You had been so stressed this week with school work and contemplating how you felt about Art.

Your eyes fluttered shut, goosebumps littering your skin.

A pair of hands slither around your waist. It causes you to jolt, bursting them open again before pushing them off. “C’mon beautiful. I don’t bite,” a middle aged man said in a faux sweet tone. Sickenly sweet. You internally cringed as he reached for you again, the wrinkles in his face deepening as you struggle against him.

He grabs your wrists, “Come over here.”

His tone was authoritative and sharp. You resisted, grunting out, and felt someone shove his figure off yours. Art delivered a kick to the dude’s abdomen before grabbing his collar and punching him right in the jaw. His blonde strands were frazzled and messy. He ground out his jaw as the man’s face scrunched.

“Fuck off, creep.”

Taking in deep breaths, your eyes caught the blood on his knuckles. Tiffany screamed and hugged Patrick, whose face twisted together at the action. Art wiped his nose before storming off out the club, his girlfriend following him out and calling his name.

Your lips shook for a moment—and then you went after him.

By the time you reached the bottom of the steps, it was only Art. His back was leaning against the wall, cigarette hanging off his lips, his white button up now half unbuttoned. His half lidded eyes set on you as you plucked one of your own between your lips.

“Got a light?”

He didn’t respond, nor make a sound, digging into his jeans and pulling out a red one. But his eyes didn’t part from yours. They became smoky as he lit your cig. The orange slowly burnt the tobacco as it burned the back of your throat.

The cold wind contrasted against the heat of the cig. “Thanks.”

It was a beautiful night. So beautiful—for the moment, you forgot about getting groped. Everything shined in your slightly drunken mind. Cara quickly passed by as randoms walked past the both of you on the sidewalk. Taking your bottom lip between your teeth, you didn’t notice the icy pair of eyes staring at you.

You wondered why he saved you. It was clear before that he didn’t care, but now—you were confused.

“I waited two hours for you on Thursday.”

You knit your brows at his sudden words, meeting his gaze. He was already staring at you.

“What?”

The tip of his nose was pink from the cold, eyes squinting into a glare. “You didn’t show up for our lesson. I waited two hours for you, but when you didn’t show—I left.”

Confusion swirled in your brain.

“I thought your girlfriend told you?”

He frowned, hitting his cigarette. “Told me that you were going to ditch me?”

You rolled your eyes. Jesus—this guy was a smart ass. “No. She told me she would let you know that my dad won’t allow me to come on Wednesdays. I have school on those days,” his brows knit even deeper, blinking quickly at your information.

You flicked the end of the cig, watching ash fall to the ground. “You then texted me that you couldn’t make another time for our lessons and wished me well in life.”

“That literally doesn’t make any sense.”

“It does. Don’t act like you feel bad now. I always knew you were going to drop me eventually,” you mutter, taking a final hit. You let it fall from your fingertips, stepping on it with your heel, and shrugged your shoulders. “We should’ve stopped them anyways. But I must say, you were very harsh—“

“_ _, I don’t know what messages you’re talking about.”

Your eyes trailed off the ground and back onto his. “Besides….I wanted to apologize about what I said last time. Y’know—about us not being friends.”

Your breath hitched, pulling out another cigarette. “Another one?” He questioned, but lit it regardless for you. You hummed.

The cigarette wouldn’t light. “Shit,” you curse beneath your breath, backing into an alleyway with him. There was less wind back here. A spark finally emitted from the gas. “Where’s your girlfriend?”

He looked around the alley, scratching the back of his neck. “She left. Said this place was too sketchy for her,” he muttered, putting out his cigarette as well. “She was pretty mad that I punched that dude. She like—hates violence.”

“I see.”

Drips sounded from random places. Footsteps from around the corner were heard nearby.

You leaned against the wall, not wearing a coat, so your hard nipples began to poke through your thin shirt. Puffing out your chest a bit, earning some confidence with the alcohol, you decide it’s time to prove his girl a lesson. His eyes landed on your breasts, bottom lip instantly getting caught between his teeth.

His hair was slightly damp the moisture in the club. His hooded eyes filled with desire. It was a bit breathtaking how good he looked. It began to ache how turned on you were. You wanted to tug on those strands so badly.

“Art,” you spoke softly, looking over at him. As usual, his eyes were already trained on yours. Standing on your feet, you stood before him, face inches apart from his. You could smell his faint cologne and the scent of mint on his lips. “I like spending time with you. Is that weird?”

His jaw clenched. “Back up, _ _.”

Voice calm and tone, you decided to push his buttons a little. You always teased him. But he sounded particularly stern.

A smirk pulled onto your glossed lips, “Make me.”

“I said back up,” he sneered, growing close to you. You tripped and fell on the floor. You gasped as your palms land on the ground, looking up at him with rounded eyes. His hair covered his eyes like a madman, something flipping in them, and then he was on the ground with you. Dropping to his knees, grabbing your face, and smashing your lips onto his. Like you were his only source of food and he was a starved predator.

It was like craving a sweet your mother wouldn’t let you have. The taste melting on your tongue was unforgettable. In this case, it was his lips. Soft and plush, moving against yours in a rhythm that was addicting. His hands scrambled to cup your breasts, leading you to push your chest against them. His hands grabbed your waist, pulled you off the ground, and slammed you against the brick wall.

His long, skilled fingers tore your top down in half. Your eyes widened, “My sh—“

“Shut the fuck up,” he spat, grabbing your jaw and kissing you once again. You couldn’t help but moan into the kiss, fingers desperately running through his hair as his large hands tightened their grip on your flesh. He was so rough with you—aggressively reaching back up to your tits, beneath the fabric of your top, and squeezing your entire breast with his one palm.

It felt like a pleasurable, warm electric current shocked you in your core every time he stroked the sensitive flesh. The situation was so morally wrong, and people would most likely call you two horrible people, but you didn’t care. You had a craving…

…and you needed to satiate it.

“I can’t fucking concentrate with you that close to me—“ he grunted against your lips, his hands grabbing your bare tits and grinding his hips against yours. His jeans deliciously rubbed against your pussy, which was covered in a thin pair of panties. It was a total mess.

“Get the fuck off me,” he sneered, pushing you off him. His lips were slightly swollen, from just a few seconds of kissing. Both of you breathed heavily as you felt something catch in your throat. His eyes narrowed at you, “What the fuck is wrong with you? Why are you doing this?”

You blinked, still putting together what just happened. He kissed you. Art kissed you.

“You kissed me. This isn’t my fault.”

“I hate how you make me feel. You’re like a parasite for fucks sake—“

Rolling your eyes, you held together the torn ends of your shit. “I can’t do this shit anymore. Later.”

This dude couldn’t make up his mind. And quite frankly—your patience had struck thin.

Without a second glance, and feeling like you just got cockblocked, your heels clicked as you left the alleyway. It had just so happened to begin raining, much to your luck. Perhaps there was a bus stop or something nearby.

The winter night was unforgivable. You shook in the piercing cold, completely drenched and freezing. No one was out right now. All cars had most likely pulled over due to the storm. Lightning caused you to release a shriek, the purple electricity momentarily sizzling in the cloudy night sky.

After you crossed a few crosswalks, a beige Honda pulls up beside you with hazards. You grew a bit suspicious, but when you spotted it was a familiar blonde, you didn’t know whether to keep walking or flip him off. The window rolls down as Art squints his eyes through the rain, “Get in! You’ll get sick or some shit.”

You rolled your eyes, ignored him, and kept on walking down the concrete. Art groaned before putting honking his horn. Your eyes widened, since this neighborhood was particularly scary, and shushed him. “Stop that. It’s late—!”

“Get in the car,” he repeated, and you sent him a glare. He smile was boyish. “Or I’ll continue to honk.”

Oh fuck you, Art Donaldson.

Silently you got into his car, mentally cursing him out. You slammed the car door shut and instantly got hit with the smell of clean leather. You didn’t know they made Hondas with leather. Huh.

There was a keychain of a tennis racket that hung from his mirror. It jingled as he put the car in drive and shutting off his hazards. You swallowed thickly, his arm bulging as he steered the wheel with a locked jaw. “Where are we—“

“Shut up.”

Your eyes bulged. Heat blossomed in your cheeks as anger boiled within your blood. “Excuse me,” you say up in your seat, but the side of your head hit the window as he made a sharp turn on purpose. A brief pain ached your temple, and you shot him a glare. “Stop this fucking car, Art. I’m not playing with you right now.”

“I’m already here,” the car parked randomly, causing the car to break erratically. His eyes flew to yours as his hands shifted the gear into park. “I can’t fucking do this anymore, _ _. It’s exhausting.”

You swallow deeply. “I have to go.”

“You should…but now you’re in here with me,” his tone was low. Your eyes stared at the windshield, making out silhouettes of trees in the distance. Raindrops rolled down the thick glass as it pattered against the car. “It’s impossible to be a gentleman around you, _ _.”

His words sunk into you. Your mouth went dry, noticing how vulnerable and longing he looked. His hair was damp from the rain, sticking to the skin of his forehead—baby blue eyes hooded and high on lust. They flickered to your lips, “Your taste is addicting. And I need more….”

You leapt off your seat this time to grab his face and connect your lips once again. He inhaled sharply, hands landing on your hips. You crawled into his lap, his teeth sinking into your bottom lip. A moan escaped you, vibrating against him, causing him to then suck on the same area.

Everywhere was steaming hot.

He desperately took off the remaining bit of your shirt you were still holding together. Your tits were revealed to him, and his lips desperately began to suck on one. Tongue swirling around the bud made your eyes squeeze shut, grinding your soaked pussy against his knee. His breath hitched as you begin to palm him through the fabric of his pants, his lips moving to press kisses against your neck.

“Fucking dreamed about this,” he groaned, watching you cry out as his teeth pierce the flesh of your nipple. Something flashed in his eyes at the sound—grabbing your throat with his hand and looking you dead in the eyes.

“Get in the fucking backseat now.”

[kxlitz]

★ Growing up with Tokio Hotel (Devilish) ★

AN: It is no secret that I adore the childhood friends trope with all of my soul. This is very self indulgent and I have zero shame about it.

!! Some if not most hcs are based off events from Bill Kaulitz’s book “Career Suicide” !!

Part 2

Warning! Underage drinking and Smoking, small mention of bullying, some sexual themes briefly addressed. Friendly reminder it’s Tokio Hotel we’re talking about

How did you end up in Magdeburg or Loitsche is up to you, but there is no denial in saying that you were at the right place, at the right time when you met a little boy with spiky black and red hair at your new school playground

Little Bill Kaulitz thought you were cool from the second he saw you. There weren’t many people in the school that he had an interest on or that even payed any positive attention to him. With you it was different. You looked kind and unique!

Quickly he introduced you to his brother Tom, him being a kid with a bit of an inflated ego it would take him some more time to warm up to you.

In the meantime, you and Bill became inseparable. You were basically glued to each other’s hip. His mom would drop him off at your place every Saturday for you guys to play with your Polly Pockets, Power Rangers, dressing up in some ridiculous outfits that were the highest of fashion for your little selves.

Bill’s mom genuinely loved how her son was not scared to be himself around you. She would often ask how you were doing and when you would come over next.

You started to grow on Tom thanks to his mom’s faith in you. If his beloved mom trusted you then so could he.

Tom was getting into skating at the time, he would offer you to learn with him or watch him do tricks.

He loved the attention.

He probably tried to charm you up but gave it up when he saw of how much worth you were. You guys did not bring it up again, only in interviews later on when you wanted to dirt on Tom.

Unfortunately you wouldn’t always be shielded from the chaos in their childhood. One way or another you would probably end up trashing a train or smoking blunts behind the school bushes very early on.

It wasn’t uncommon for you to show up to class totally high.

On the evening you guys would grab your bikes, or you would ride with one of them, and head down by a lake to smoke, chat and unwind. Throwing rocks in and seing how many times it bounced.

With time the twins found their one true love, music. They dreamed big, long gone were the school talent shows and weddings. They wanted to reach the world.

For that, their little singer, guitarist duo with a keyboard that played bass and drums wouldn’t work.

One morning right before class the boys came up to you, literally sprinting and blabbering at the same time. You only understood “band, you, join, casting”

From that moment on you were doomed.

If you didn’t play an instrument already the twins’s step-dad would happily accept you into his music school for free.

Through his acquaintances you guys found a drummer. He was immature for his age according to Tom. He wore glasses and a little shirt with a cow skiing.

When the day of the “casting” as the twins called it came, Gustav played some Phill Collins and solos for you guys. Clearly it wasn’t a real casting and you were fully aware that this boy was your best bet at getting a drummer for your newly formed band. Yet, the boys took it very seriously.

Tom replied “alright good you have the job” and rolled with it.

What were the odds that at the same music school Gustav attended there was an aspiring bassist.

Again, it was your best bet so you took Georg in.

If your first language was english it could’ve gone two ways when the twins came up with the name “devilish”. You either loved it and thought it was sick or you cringed yet had to tag along with it for the boys.

Now you guys had the time of your lives with the band.

Weekdays after school would be spent entirely at the garage jamming out and drinking. You all sucked at the beginning, barely mastering your instruments but your charm stood out.

Georg and you became friends right away. His energy jumped right at you and you both became such a comedic duo.

He started the fire and you just added fuel to it.

You loved to prank your friends so much.

And innuendos. So many innuendos.

Once Tom joins into your madness, it’s over for everyone else.

It wasn’t rare for you three to come back home all messed up and pass out on Tom’s couch.

Gustav baking and making little snackies for the band while you rehearse !!

Well, you drank and lazied around more than rehearsing per say.

Tom, Georg, Gustav and you playing video games all coddled up on a couch together.

Thank god Bill is there to kick your asses so you actually play music.

Tom and You developed a habit of playing back to back. You thought it looked cool.

Gustav is the glue that keeps you all together, and away from major trouble. Half he time at least.

Quickly enough you gained a little fanbase in town.

At school you might’ve been the outcasts still, but the older and “cooler” kids took you in happily.

Not much changed, it was the same old story of drinking, smoking, trashing shit down but now with the slight change that everyone around you was discovering their sexuality.

You walk in and Georg’s wanking in the corner? Throw a blanket over him and continue with whatever you were doing.

Being around four young boys and their friends surely set you up to become just as shameless as them.

You guys got very familiar with one another and could not care less about changing in the same room or sleeping in the same bed.

You guys were starting to become a set of quintuplets.

You were probably one of the first if not the first person that Bill ever talked to about questionning his orientation and the little romance he had with his old friend.

If you happen to be a part of the community as well, Bill was your confidant as well. It was you guys’s little secret before coming out of the closet.

Needless to say, when Bill got the confirmation that he would be attending “Starsearch” he jumped right into your arms. You were one of his biggest supporters and he wanted you to be there for him.

Bill might’ve not won the competition, but it opened a door for your little band.

[macabremayhem]

Ahem. How can I start the conversation? OK, I'll try. How do you do, fellow humans?

Tonight I would like to talk about the setting of the Arcana game. Or, more specifically, its atmosphere, about background illustrations that people usually don't notice and/or don't usually talk about.

I love the Arcana background CGs so much. To be honest, those CGs are what got me into the game.

A little story: 4 or 5 years ago I saw an advertisement of the Arcana for the first time. And when I saw those ads on Instagram, it was so horrible and tasteless, imho. These cringe ads rather repelled me instead of attracting me. I saw it and forgot about it, but then…

Some time later, I started looking for background references for my text-based roleplay and found some beautiful illustrations. I didn't use these illustrations for my text roleplay. Besides, I soon forgot about my roleplay. :D and, in Google, I looked at the descriptions under the illustrations I found: "the Arcana game". I was intrigued. Then I downloaded the game. A few moments later I remembered those stupid ads, but I decided to take a chance.

And then, after the Prologue, I was absolutely fascinated. It had nothing in common with those commercials. The game itself was more beautiful than I'd ever imagined. And here I am :D and here we are.

Back to the background graphics. I am personally humbled and grateful to the original artists for these backgrounds. We love the characters – there's no doubt about that. But this setting and atmosphere wouldn’t be what it is without these illustrations.

I usually refer to photos that I think have "the same vibe" or "this place fits the world of Arcana" when I want to expand the world of the game on my own. Like headcanons, fanfiction, et cetera, you know.

Next I would like to show my selection of such photos. All photos from Instagram, not the Pinterest, as this is the most convenient method of attribution.

And all of these images, you know, I am NOT using for any commercial purposes. Crediting is in the order of the images.

⏬

Okay, let's go. It's not that I'm HCing any specific locations. I can only give a very rough idea of the "location area". You'll see the notes, I hope. Credits and links below. Credits are clickable.

graciousopulence (the main source)

1. clivenichols

2. nationaltrust*

3. bonvoyagecleo

4. gamma_f

5. rcmccloskey

6. designboom*

7. amarosanchezdemoya

8. curly.beard

There are some images that conjure up more specific associations for me.

© devonchurchland*

To be honest, this photo became the indirect reason for this post.

I saw this today and the theme song from the game immediately started playing in my head (can you guess which one?). At the same time, I remembered some of the scenes that take place in our storyline. A lot of the action takes place in the Temple District. Just because… why not? especially when you and your co-author are historians obsessed with religion, lol.

I imagined this picture very vividly:

One of the churches in the Temple District. Silence. Julian sitting in an empty church, deep in thought. Watching how the strip of light from the stained glass window slowly creeping across the floor and the benches, then how the flames of the candles flickering.

He reflects and looks away, shyly, from the instruments of passions and the images of martyrs.

No, he is not religious at all. Just... impressionable. He is only impressionable in that he probably thinks most of the time that he has not yet been struck by lightning because of his impure intentions. Poor boy… 🫀

Ahem. Sorry. I think I got carried away. :D Just look at this last item.

© dumbartonoaks*

Leave your comments and share your thoughts, requests, etc. Ask is open.

[prettiestst4r]

A way too long post about the differences in Shadowhunters show and The Mortal Instruments books.

⚠️Shadowhunters universe spoiler warning⚠️

I'm rereading The Mortal Instruments and I'm just cringing and how much the Shadowhunters show mixed up the whole storyline, LIKE IS THERE ANYTHING FROM THE BOOKS YOU LEFT IN THE SHOW.

But also, I love the show so much because it's absolutely iconic and the scenes and the characters and it's really just so iconic (I'm actually just down bad for Malec scenes and also just Katherine McNamara and Emeraude Toubia and Matthew Daddario ARE SO HOT AAA, DYING. And also the bloopers on the YouTube channel. And every time Alberto Rosende sings. And also who doesn't love Harry Shum Jr. And I love Isaiah Mustafa as Luke AND MY GOD, there are so many more hot characters, basically everyone is so aaaaaa in the cast.)

I JUST WISH YOU KEPT THE STORYLINE BECAUSE SOME THINGS ARE JUST SO WTF.

LIKE WHO DECIDED TO DELETE SIMON'S WHOLE BAND, CHANGE MADAME DOROTHEA LIKE THAT, MAKE THE INSTITUTE A PLACE WITH A SHIT TON OF PEOPLE IN IT, WHO THE FUCK IS HEIDI.

OR WHO DECIDED TO COMPLETELY CHANGE THE CAMILLE STORYLINE.

OR WHO DECIDED THAT JOCELYN SHOULD DIE.

OR WHO MADE AMATIS AN IRON SISTER (actually, 10 out of 10 decision, I love you)

OR WHO DECIDED TO LINK CLARY TO JONATHAN WHEN IT WAS JACE IN THE BOOKS. LIKE THEY WERE LITERALLY LINKED BC IF A PERSON FROM THE LIGHT COMES BACK TO LIFE THEN A PERSON FROM THE DARK ALSO HAS TO BECAUSE BALANCE AND THEY WERE LINKED TOGETHER BY THE CEREMONY AND ALL THAT SHIT LIKE ARGH.

OR THE BIGGEST "WHO DECIDED THAT" IS MAKING CLARY FORGET EVERYTHING, WHEN IT WAS ACTUALLY SIMON WHO FORGOT EVERYTHING AND HE WAS UNVAMPIRED AND HE WAS TRAINING TO BE A SHADOWHUNTER AND HE BECAME CLARY'S PARABATAI.

And the whole Jonathan line was kinda meh.

I love everything about the show tho, except for the storyline.

[charcoalstardust]

okay just spent hours doing nothing but drawing elbelion so uh here he is in my attempt to draw his armor (and not drawing torment in the damn slightest so it looks like shit)

still haven't drawn the helmet which is a problem but i'll get there eventually

gonna be honest used this here to get a grasp on posing bc uuhhhh i don't have the mental energy to spent hours focusing on that

for the text on the drawing w/ extra additons (warning: biiig text wall. i ramble. i do not shut up.)

also now that i look at this i drew torment on the wrong side of his body.

(here's a link to his toyhou.se page if you're curious)

Elbelion Bluepool (also called Elb by friends & family and Elbe by Bryn)

The Last Dragonborn

— Commonly known as The Steel Soldier on account on having Peladius' enchanted armor. He usually wears the helmet when he's not in a hold save for the rare occasion he takes it off outside of a hold.

— Basically blind due to reading two Elder Scrolls (albeit very spaced out) as there's a period of time that passes before Dawnguard events start. I stole his plot armor

— Herma-Mora's (unwilling) Champion & the unwitting instrument of Mehrunes Dagon. Considering the Skaal & Bosmer both say Herma-Mora, Elb's gathered that Hermaeus Mora & the Woodland Man are similar enough if not literally the same entity. Also after dealing with Mora during Discerning the Transmundane and Dragonborn, he shoved the black books in a chest and hid said chest hoping the books would just vanish from there eventually. All of these events thoroughly messed him up

— For whatever reason, people love using him for their nefarious plots. This has contributed to his current attitude .owards strangers outside of the holds. Some argonian tried to turn him into a blood sacrifice and he felt a little used by the Blades (not to mention Arch-Curate Vyrthur, Mora, and the Mythic Dawn) so it's not like he can be blamed exactly.

— Socially awkward—bad at persuasion. Got through Season Unending with the most anxiety an elf will ever have. He also got snappy at both sides of the war.

— Somehow VERY intimidating despite being a Bosmer. He's tiny compared to most people. (based off the fact I regularly fail persuasion checks but pass intimidation checks with flying colors. it's really funny imagery)

extra things not on there:

In order of what events happen, he goes through the main quest, the mini quest involving Ironbind Barrow, Dawnguard, Dragonborn, a bunch of Solstheim questlines, and then The Cause.

(points to the entire Bosmer race) Sharp canines and strong jaws—for eating meat or biting a hole in your enemies' arms

Has Auriel's Shield

Had a cheatnut horse named Glade for a while up until he went to the Soul Cairn where he gets the conjuration spell for Arvak. Then he lets the guild use Glade. Occasionally summons the Daedric Horse by accident.

(Saying now that I imagine followers hopping on the back of whatever mount you're on. They deserve to be able to do that.)

Does the first two alone, then from Dawnguard to before The Cause he's with Serana. Then they talk about if she ever considered curing her vampirism and by the end of the conversation she decides to go through with it. During that Elb gets a letter and he decides well it shouldn't be that bad so he won't need the extra help right? and because cringe culture is dead Bryn decides to go with because something seems off and they eventually learn that it's that bad

Had about one friend for the longest time—an Argonian who was also crossing the border around the same time. That argonian is the Dark Brotherhood Listener, Zane (@noah-moth-cursed-chaos' oc) and that was about it before he wandered into Riften and got wrapped up in the Thieves Guild.

Only time he became a Thane was just because he helped the Jarl of Falkreath, Siddgeir. It just kind of happened and then slipped his mind.

Due to how active he is with traveling (and the high respect he gets) it's very easy for him to sneak a job or two for the Thieves Guild. Not something he expected to find himself doing but uuhh he met Brynjolf and that just sealed his fate /j

Public Thalmor Enemy #1. They hate him so much. /hj Like—both Elenwen and Ancarion have had encounters with him and he is, again, fairly intimidating for a little guy.

[dosiracexmachina]

17 questions

tagged by @mr-dyketective ​ 🤍

nickname: I had some throughout life, but rn I can only remember Кирпич (Brick) from middle school days, because my pencil case resembled one in a way and I used to beat up boys w it lol and also kinda similar to my surname, Доширак (instant noodle brand popular here) because I used to eat it all the time and, again, kinda similar to my first name, and derived from this one -> Доша (Dosha) - mispronunciation of my first name’s short form

sign: Leo, every time I say it people point out my hair

height: 5′ or 153.5 cm (yes, that half of cm IS important to me) hate being a womanlet

last thing i googled: arhangel да нет (archangel yes no) a site with a spinning wheel that gives you yes or no answer... this is how I make decisions in life...

song stuck in my head: mania by the Blake Robinson synthetic orchestra... it’s kinda cringe and edgy but awfully catchy (T_T)

number of followers: 78 it is greater than I expected lol

amount of sleep: depends

lucky number: don’t have one, mom once said it’s 16 because of some numerology stuff or whatever, but idk, I have one of those wallpapers w angel numbers for home screen and lock screen on my phone

dream job: I wanted to be a translator when I was a kid and currently study linguistics in college, but along the way I became disappointed in this profession, so my dream profession would be being neet

wearing: im in my bed so just my pink nightgown w black lace (sounds kinda cringe when I have to type it out, but I look pretty normal actually)

movies/books that summarize me: oh boy I can list off my favourite movies and you can make up your own mind: Full Metal Jacket, Metropolis, But I’m a Cheerleader, Cloudburst, Alien and Aliens, Jennifer’s Body, Marie Antoinette, I Shot Andy Warhol and Funny Games. From childhood: Bambi, Sleeping Beauty and The Golden Compass. In terms of literature L.N. Andreyev and M.A. Bulgakov are authors who stick out to me, though it probably doesn’t summarize me

favourite song: can I just give my favourite band? I’ll just give my favourite band Гражданская Оборона (or Егор и Опизденевшие, there’s same person behind them though the latter is more trippy)

favourite instrument: I don't play any, but I like bass guitar’s influence on the tune or whatever

aesthetic: I used to switch aesthetic or -core like every week, but now I kinda settled on femcel messy French girl female manipulator c*qu*tte type of shit (sorry for using this word I hate it, though sorry for using all of those words but they’re kinda close to my style now 😔)

favourite author: well shit guess that’s answered lol

facourite animal noise: my old Maine coon cat used to have the most high-pitched meows, they were hilarious coming out of a giant cat’s mouth, I miss her greatly

random: I want to rename my blog to goatswoman, I didn’t like the word girl even when I was younger and made this blog why did I name it like that, but I also want to change my layout and what if my mutuals won’t recognise me or smth... I still love goats though, my favourite animals along with spiders

I don’t have anyone specific to tag and everybody probably did this thing anyway during these couple of days I wasn’t logged in

but

if you didn't do this thing and you want to then I tag you!

[jmsntv]

I noticed at this point that the web could showcase a re-combination of retro, present, and future. I had been uploading the afore mentioned musical ideas onto early streaming sites and thought it might be interesting to introduce certain aspects of 1980s pop culture to people who may not have lived through it. Interestingly, some of the 80s culture I referenced were things I had not experienced.

The y2k chip tunes and micro music scenes of the time featured circuit bent electronic instruments, gameboy sequencers, and 8 bit graphics. I found this intriguing as it deconstructed electronic music down to its roots--sort of second generation electronic junkyard reincarnation of Kraftwerk. Even though the instrumentation was retro, this felt like a reboot. Eschewing what electronic and synth music had become in the post-electronica era, and starting over. Fresh and new. Visceral and deceptively rudimentary.

The retro tech took centerstage in this scene. I wanted to create, as I did with SinTex, an entire world for the song stories to take place in and to inspire new plots in a generative manner. I also wanted there to be a real world feel. The low-tech unpolished vibe appealed to me. I just wanted add more human experience.

Around the same time, I regularly hung out at a store on Melrose called Blue Demon (and later Barracuda and de la Barracuda). In retrospect, an entire decade of influential synth-based musicians, promoters, and fashion creators from around the world found themselves involved with this store. It was through that store that the promoters of largest retro synth music festival of the time tracked me down to invite Le Mans to headline Chicago's Cabaret Metro in 2005. And by time I had retired from music and moved into a behind-the-scenes fashion career, the space was hosting Ed Rec parties featuring the late 2000s artists who had continued the Le Mans lineage and would provide the runway for the post-"Drive" producers in the early 2010s.

Another fun fact is that in the late 2010s, I found out my neighbor Tim, who I had known from walking our dogs around the block, was making 80s synth-based music. He was wearing a Smart Bar shirt and mentioned he had traveled to Chicago to play the intimate space underneath the Cabaret Metro. His band is The Midnight. I consider them the forefront and standard of the genre's third wave/evolution.

Back to the early 2000s.

On rotation were bands like Avenue D, Peaches, Electrocute, Dirty Sanchez, etc. Their DIY sounding groove box approach and often talky drag queen style vocals appealed in the same way the chip tunes orchestrations did. I became friends with Holly, one of the Blue Demon staff. Upon reviewing each other's music projects, we decided to collaborate. We created a few unfinished tracks using the store's dj set up and later at a practice space in what is now the "Arts District" and as of a couple years ago, the new home of Warner Brothers records. Since most of the bands we were fans of were openly gay, we thought it would be exotic to portray a novel-within-the-scene hetero viewpoint. Though I wrote it last, and Holly had been out of the picture by the time I was writing Coldlife in the Fastlane, "Motorlove" is the Le Mans track that captures the spirit of what we were doing. We had a song called "I'm in love with a girl in a fast car" that I was paying homage to with "Motorlove". And seeing how this time period was concurrent with the burgeoning indiesleaze era, something must have been in the air.

It was Holly who named the band. First he wanted to call it "Jamisin", but that felt kinda cringe as prefer not being the focal point of a project. He drove an old 1970s Pontiac Le Mans and as we were standing next to it one day, he offered as his second choice, "Le Mans". Obviously, it stuck as I wanted to continue the driving through line that had existed in my previous music. I wanted to add vintage cars, motorcycles, and all kinds of 1980s action television and movie aesthetics to the Le Mans lexicon so the name fit perfectly. It is a Commodore 64 vintage computer game, a Steve McQueen racing movie, mistranslates to "The Mans", and implies a French aesthetic.

[parttimepuff]

If you have a means to contain dark matters why not just get Beep into it? Problem solved, and then you can talk about how you lied and how everyone on the planet besides like five people have a problem with her being alive

Metaknight froze up as he was taking out the first document from his folder. If he was even going to tell the king about knowing Beep, this was not how he wanted to do it. Glancing at the penguin, he hoped he would give him something to work with. "Ah already told ya it ain't that easy. Even if someone managed to catch her and bring her here, not sure the old containment field would work." Dedede explained.

The knight blinked. "...ah. Yes, I'd almost forgotten you had that." Metaknight admitted. "Is it still in the room?" He asked, looking about. "Nah, it's in storage." Dedede replied, waving it off. "Thing is, while it worked with Dark Nebula, might not work with another Matter. Ah'm not entirely convinced that thing was a Matter. Y'ever seen a star-shaped one?" The king questioned.

"The generals could be a variety of different shapes, but I certainly hadn't until then." Metaknight confirmed. It was strange that he'd never heard anything about a general like them. If Dark Nebula had been a Dark Matter... well, they were hostile, but he'd still assisted in its death. He was rethinking his actions more and more lately.

And he couldn't help but get hung up on the rest of what was said. Five people. As far as he knew, it was only himself and Beep's father who were on her side. It did bring him some hope that there may be more. "Anyway." Dedede continued. "Go ahead n' say what you were gonna say." He said, grabbing the knight's attention again.

"Ah, yes, apologies." Metaknight started, finally bringing out the document. "The first thing I discovered was some insight into how exactly the hivemind functioned." He stated, handing the page to the king who looked it over. "Drones were clearly capable of sharing information through it, but rarely seemed to do so consciously. They acted more as instruments than individuals."

"If their connection to the hivemind was disrupted, they became significantly less hostile." Metaknight continued, bringing out another paper. "For the most part, they were stationary, not particularly inclined to do much of anything. Sometimes, though, they seemed to slowly become, more aware. They would begin exploring their surroundings, start to build memories. And the longer they were prevented from reaching the hivemind, the longer it took them to become hostile again if they were allowed access to it again."

Dedede silently scanned the pages, finding it really difficult to read some parts. He go that people were desperate back then, but... Shaking his head, he looked back at the knight. "So... why is that? The hivemind just, made 'em angry?" He asked, confused by what he was implying. "Not entirely wrong." Metaknight replied. "The running theory at the time, and what I would agree with, was that an overwhelming influence connected to that hivemind made them particularly dangerous. Something that made them much more prone to aggression than they would be otherwise."

That idea alone was shocking to the penguin. Was he saying their default state wasn't the parasitic monster he thought them to be? What was different back then? ...well, he could guess that much. "Yer tellin' me the only reason they were so dangerous was cause of Zero?" Dedede summarized. Metaknight cringed, the name carrying much more weight to him. "That does seem... very likely."

[z34l0t]

Michael’s cruddiness as a boss fed into a simple truth that initially defined The Office’s outlook but which the series gradually lost sight of over the years: Even the best of jobs have a tendency to grind you down. They put your livelihood at the mercy of companies that don’t care about you. And they sometimes lay your professional fortunes in the hands of people that must be flattered and endured. The Office, in other words, was a workplace comedy all about how much work sucks.

That idea was instrumental, of course, to the original, British version of the series created by Stephen Merchant and the show’s star, Ricky Gervais. Their Office offered a particular vision of the 9-to-5 as a gauntlet of boredom and minor humiliations. Eight hours a day, five days a week, spent doing something that doesn’t necessarily bring you satisfaction, with people you wouldn’t necessarily choose to share your time with. Here, playing pranks on the company kiss-ass and flirting with the receptionist were both ways to fill the endless void, a blessed distraction. Joy was fleeting on the original Office, found in the small ways the characters reclaimed themselves — and their time — while punching the clock in maddening perpetuity.

For a while, the American Office tapped that same rich vein of tragicomedy. And as on the U.K. version, its cringe hinged on the specific indignities of the boss-employee dynamic. Michael, the walking demonstration of the Peter Principle, was both protagonist and antagonist, inflicting his crisis of confidence, his childish whims, and his amateur stand-up comedy routines on an exasperated staff. The show’s best season, its second, got great mileage from his blunders. You didn’t need to have a boss as bad as Michael Scott to find something painfully relatable in the way the rest of the Scranton branch navigated around his fragile ego and dealt with the fallout of his bad decisions.

[...]

Maybe there’s some emotional truth to that arc of acceptance. People do, after all, find partners and friendships through jobs, even soul-crushing ones. Some find meaning in work they didn’t always love — or make peace with working to live instead of living to work. One key to the show’s enduring popularity as rerun fodder, a full decade this summer after it ended, is the feel-good spin it puts on the purgatory of working a job that doesn’t pay you enough and thinks of you as inherently disposable. The Office says that you really can find happiness and fulfillment, or at least companionship, working for The Man.

But who does that fantasy really benefit? The idea of a staff becoming “family” has always been a useful motivational tool for management. Get those on your payroll to see their job that way and they’ll have fewer qualms about spending all their time at work — and maybe feel a greater sense of personal responsibility to the job, as though not meeting quotas set by corporate were the same as letting down their parents or siblings. The Office may, on some level, realistically depict the way people become attached to their jobs and romanticize them, but it ultimately lacks the bite to satirize that inclination. A portrait of existential workplace malaise becomes a kumbaya around the cubicle.

[dream-a-little-bigger-x]

A Touch | Reggie Peters

Request: Hi!! I saw you were looking for Reggie requests so I was wondering if I could request one where the reader is related to Luke and has a major crush on Reggie and Reggie likes her too but doesn’t show it and that night she does with them and when they get to 2020 and Reggie flirts with those girls she gets jealous and goes off and meets another ghost and starts hanging out with him and Reggie gets really jealous and admits his feelings for her

A/N: Tweaked it a little bit cuz otherwise this would’ve been even longer! Hope you like it! :) 

Pairing: Reggie Peters x Patterson!Reader 

Warnings: minor swear words, angst 

Songs used: Touch - Little Mix | Bright - Julie and The Phantoms

Words: 5,672

1995

“Sunset Curve, are we ready to rock?!” you run into the garage, holding up rock signs whilst yelling. This is the place you’ve spent every summer with the four boys you call your best friends. Every first of July, your parents would drop you off at your Auntie Emily and Uncle Mitch’s house while they were off doing work-stuff, or so they said. But you didn’t mind, really because those boys made your summers so amazing. Especially Reggie. 

You’d met the boys years ago when they first started the band and your parents had dropped you off at the Pattersons over the summer. Alex quickly became your go-to for any problem, and you were the first person he ever told about his sexuality. Bobby turned out to be the person to prank the other boys with. And Reggie… Reggie is just Reggie. Amazingly goofy, really smart -- though people would say otherwise -- and the sweetest, kindest gentleman to ever grace this planet. He’s the sole reason you really came back this year. Your parents had given you the option to stay home alone this year since you’d become seventeen, but you insisted on going back to Los Feliz anyway. You didn’t want to spend an entire summer in your house with no friends to hang out with since they all went on holiday at the same time. No, you wanted to stay with the Pattersons and have a Reggie-filled summer. He didn’t know you had a crush on him, and neither did Luke. It’s better if they don’t know. The group dynamic would’ve been disturbed and that’s about the last thing you wanted. Only Alex knew, and that was enough. At least now you could blab about how cute Reggie was that day or about that funny thing he said to you. Alex had told you to tell him, but you refused to. That would be the worst thing you could do. 

Besides, Reggie doesn’t even like you like that. And he has other things on his mind right now, like playing the Orpheum tonight. It’s been a long, winding road with lots of ups and downs, and trials and errors, but they finally did it. Sunset Curve is having a showcase tonight at the Orpheum. THE ORPHEUM. To say you’re proud would be an understatement. 

“Someone’s excited,” says Alex with a smile as he comes out from behind the drum kit. They’d just finished rehearsing their set one final time before their soundcheck. 

“Yes! My favorite band is playing at the Orpheum, you guys!” you’re jumping up and down all the way to the blonde boy to wrap your arms around his neck in a hug. “I’m so excited for you guys!” you sigh before letting go and turning to the other guys. Two out of three boys in front of you smile at you endeared, whilst the third one scowls at you. “What’s gotten your panties in a twist, Patterson?” you ask your cousin. “Aren’t you excited you’re playing the Orpheum? This has been a dream of you since I can’t even remember when!” he chuckles sarcastically while zipping up his guitar case. 

“I would be more excited if my little cousin would be a little more covered up,” he grumbles. The boys look at your outfit, as do you. You’re wearing light blue jeans with a salmon pink off-the-shoulder cropped top. You thought it looked cool, but now that your cousin seemingly doesn’t love it, you begin to have your doubts. 

“Really, Luke?” Alex chimes in, shaking his head, “I think she looks cute.” 

“Yeah, but you’re gay, you’re not gonna be lustin’ after her,” Luke mutters. You chuckle at his lame excuse. Of course he would say that. You cross your arms at him, and purse your lips. 

“No boy is ever gonna be lustin’ after me, Patterson, because you scare them all away,” you snarl at him with a raised eyebrow. This shuts him up right away. Or at least for a moment. 

“Good. You’re too young for a boyfriend anyway,” he says instead. 

“I’m one month younger than you, Patterson!” you scoff. For a second you think he’s being serious, but then that teasing smirk tugs at his lips, reminding you that he’s only playing. 

“Just looking out for ya, cous,” he wraps an arm around your shoulders, guiding you out the garage with his guitar case in his other hand. “I need all them boys to know that if they ever hurt you, I’ll kill them.” Little do you know that Reggie’s behind the two of you, carrying his bass out the garage, and hears your entire conversation. He’s once reminded of why he can never act on his feelings. Luke would kill him if he even tried. 

At the Orpheum, you help the boys set up their instruments and then sneak backstage for a while as the boys are talking to the showrunner at the venue. You walk through the labyrinth of corridors that give out on the dressing rooms left and right. But for some reason, the room at the end of the hallway screams at you. You don’t know why you’re pulled towards this particular room, but you find yourself opening the door cautiously. A creek echoes through the empty corridor, making you cringe a little. You hastily slip through the door and turn the lights on. The artificial blaze blinds you for just a moment. When your eyes have finally adjusted to it, you let them wander around. Over the seating area with the sofas and the couch, and then finally landing on the piano against the far left wall. As a smile tugs at your lips, you walk over and let your fingertips grace over the keys before pressing one and letting a note ring out through the room. The single note reminds you of the summer you’d spend teaching Reggie how to play. He’d constantly mess up and giggle, and then he’d watch you for a while as you showed it again, only for him to mess up again because he was looking at your face instead of your hands. And every now and again, your hands would brush over the keys, and you’d feel all giddy and warm inside. Especially when he gave you that look. That one look only Reggie can give you. You’ve tried to explain it to Alex, but in vain. There was no way to explain the way Reggie looked at you that summer. That was two years ago. That unexplainable look of his faded away, as did the brushing of the hands. He never asked to play piano with you ever again, which made you wonder what you had done to chase him away like that. You cried to Alex about it or stayed awake for hours wondering what happened. 

Though there were no touches and no glances left this summer, you still remember the feeling it gave you. You remember it enough for you to get dizzy just thinking about it. With that dizzy feeling welling up inside of you, you sit down on the stool and make up a melody on the piano. Satisfied with how it sounds, you play it again and start making up words as you go. Something you and Luke did all the time whenever the other boys were busy in the summer. 

“Just one touch, just one touch Just a touch of your love is enough To knock me off of my feet all week Just a touch of your love, oh Just a touch of your love, oh Just a touch of your love is enough To take control of my whole body Just a touch of your love, oh Just a touch of your love, oh”

“Ah, here you are!” The voice coming from behind you makes you jump, and you let out a squeal as you turn around hastily. Reggie’s standing in the doorway, an amused smile on his face. You clutch your heart as though it’s going to pop out any moment. 

“Fucking hell, Reg. You gave me a heart attack!” He chuckles before walking up to you and joining you on the stool at the piano. Your heart skips a few beats while you’re trying to calm it down from getting startled so badly, which does not make it any easier. 

“Sorry,” he mumbles and nudges your shoulder with his. “What were you singing? Sounded good.” A blush creeps up your cheeks, heating you up from the inside out. 

“Just something that came up,” you reply as nonchalantly as possible. 

“It sounded great,” he compliments once more. You look up at him for a moment, finding him looking down at the piano. There is something so calming and peaceful about him, but you could never say what it was. Maybe it's the vibe he gives off or the beautiful green orbs that could stare right into your soul. “Let’s see what I remember from your piano lessons,” he then mumbles before touching a couple of keys, letting a shrill sound come out. 

You scrunch up your nose as he looks over at you with a nervous smile on his face. “Guess you should start teaching me again.” The sound of his laughter reminds you why you loved hanging out with him. Not because he’s the most beautiful guy you’d ever seen, but because he makes you laugh. There’s never been a day he didn’t make you laugh your ass off. 

“Maybe you should just give up on the piano,” you say teasingly, which makes Reggie’s mouth drop open in fake shock. “Stick to the bass, Rockstar,” you pat his shoulder before getting up and making your way to the door. You turn your head to see if he’s following you, only to find him charging towards you at full speed. Your reflexes aren’t quite on point. Before you can run away from him, he already has a tight grip on you and throws you over his shoulder. You shriek at the sudden rush of adrenaline coursing through you before you burst into laughter, flailing your limbs about to try and get him to put you down again. 

“Patterson, your cousin is being mean to me. Permission to throw her out?” You stop moving at his words. Of course, you’ll always be Luke’s cousin to Reggie and nothing else. Instead, you place your head in your hand, your elbow resting against Reggie’s back while the other hangs down. A big sigh leaves your body, and when Reggie feels this, he puts you back on your feet. He gives you a worried look first but after you offer him a convincing enough smile, the worry makes room for his happy-go-lucky personality again. “Don’t test me next time, Patterson,” he whispers before turning and heading to the stage where the other boys are. Alex gives you a knowing look, to which you just roll your eyes and go to the back of the venue where a girl is wiping down tables. 

“We’re ready for soundcheck, Gil,” Bobby tells the sound guy. He gives the band a thumbs up and gets to working. You sit back on the bench, watching as the boys play a couple of songs from their set for tonight’s showcase. They sound wicked. But they always sound wicked to you. These boys are crazy talented and tonight’s going to change everything. For all five of you. They’re going to land an amazing manager that’ll help them climb the charts and get the best tours around the entire world, and you’ll still be Luke’s cousin, left at either your parents house or your Uncle and Auntie’s. Thinking of Emily and Mitch reminds you that you need to tell Luke to come back home soon. His mother is pretty much going crazy and it’s driving you crazy not being able to tell her where her missing son is. You keep telling her he’s okay, that he just needs some time. He’ll come back. You’ve been promising her for months now and he still hasn’t returned. You’ll force him tonight, after the show. 

“That was the tightest we've ever played! Too bad we wasted all that energy on soundcheck,” you hear Bobby say as you approach the stage once they’ve finished. 

“Alex, you were smokin’!” Reggie compliments the drummer as he steps down from his stage.

“Eh, I was just warming up. You guys were the ones on fire!” The blondie deflects humbly. 

“Can you just own your awesomeness for once, Al?” you shout at him, a smirk tugging at your lips. All four boys look at you for a second before Reggie, Bobby and Luke turn back to Alex.  “All right! I was killing it!” His answer makes you very happy.  “To fuel up before the show I was thinking…” Luke starts, and you know exactly what he’s going to suggest.  “Street dogs,” the two of you say in unison. “We’re thinking the exact same thing, cous,” you say with a smirk as Bobby hops off the stage, landing beside you. You turn your head, following him with your eyes as he moves to the table you were sitting at earlier. The one that girl was wiping down.   “Hey, Bobby, where you goin’?” Luke asks, jumping down too, followed by the two other boys. You make your way to the table with them.   “I’m good,” Bobby says over his shoulder in response, then turns to the pretty girl. “Vegetarian, could never hurt an animal.” You roll your eyes at the obviousness of his flirting. The dude isn’t even that strict a vegetarian. You’re pretty sure he had a hamburger for lunch earlier today.  “You guys are really good,” the girl compliments, her accent thickly enlaced in her words. “Thank you,” Luke retorts with that flirty smile on his face. Another earned eye roll.  “I see a lot of bands, been in a couple myself. I was really feelin’ it.” Luke pats Bobby’s back.   “Ah, that’s what we do this for,” he says, then pushes Bobby back with his shoulder. “I’m Luke, by the way.”   “Hi, I’m Reggie,” the bassist says, pointing at himself.  “Alex,” he raises his hand while a smile tugs at his lips. Bobby then nudges Luke back, forcing his way in front of him. Even though they’re the best of friends, you have noticed Bobby getting jealous of Luke on more occasions than one. Mainly when it’s about the ladies.  “Bobby,” he says in a deep voice. The girl then looks over at you as you’re standing between Reggie and Alex, leaning on each of their shoulders, but haven’t introduced yourself yet, thinking it was a band introduction.  “Oh! I thought we were only doing the band,” you say, making the boys and the girl chuckle. “I’m Y/N. Luke’s cousin and band therapist.” The boys give you a questioning look. “Self-proclaimed,” you quickly add.  “Nice meeting you guys. I’m Rose,” the girl introduces herself then.  “Oh!” Reggie then starts and hands over the CD he’s holding. “Here’s our demo.” He hands her a shirt next. “And a T-shirt, size beautiful.” You remove your arm from his shoulder whilst biting the inside of your cheek, trying to withhold yourself from reacting badly to his obvious attempts at flirting. Alex scoffs and shakes his head in disappointment. The girl holds the shirt in front of her for a moment before flinging it over her shoulder with a smile.   “Thanks! I’ll make sure not to wipe the tables down with this one,” she jokes, which makes you chuckle slightly. Mostly at the fact why these boys -- except Alex -- are so enthralled by this girl. Not only is she really gorgeous, she’s funny too.  “Oh! Good call!” Alex starts, “Whenever they get wet, they kinda fall apart in your hands.”  “Don’t you guys have to go get hotdogs?” Bobby asks, clearly wanting to get rid of all of you, so he can flirt with Rose without being disturbed or embarrassed by his friends.  “Yeah,” Luke pushes Bobby away as he leans forward to Rose.  “He totally had a hamburger for lunch,” you say in unison with your cousin, once again. Rose laughs lightly, but you’re not sure whether it’s at the two of you exposing your friend or at the fact you said it at the same time. Might be both too.  The four of you make your way out of the Orpheum and onto Sunset Boulevard, chatting about that night whilst making your way to the hot dog vendor you’ve been to a couple of times. You try your hardest to ignore Reggie flirting with some fans at the door and focus on the  night ahead. The  night that’s going to change everything.  And it does, but not in the way any of you had expected. That night, the four of you die from eating tainted hot dogs. At first, it just tasted a little off, then you began to feel a little queasy until the lights went out completely. The next thing you know is a dark room and hearing Alex’s soft sobs echo through the darkness. So… That was it for the four of you… 

 2020

Or that’s what you thought. After a while of being in that dark room and you holding Alex as he cried, you suddenly feel something pulling at you. It’s this weird force that keeps pulling at your skin, which makes all four of you scream until you finally land on a hard floor with a loud thud. Groaning and coughing from the impact of the fall, you get up, looking around at the very familiar surrounding you find yourself in. “Woah! How did we get back here?” Luke asks, realizing the exact same thing. You’re back in the garage, in the exact same spot you were this morning. All of a sudden, a loud, ear-piercing scream startles all four of you, sending you into a huddle of screams too. You just about catch a flash of yellow running out, the screaming fading away as the color did too. Long story short, apparently this girl Julie played the boys’ demo and pulled them back into the ‘real world’ but as ghosts. You’re a little weirded out about the whole ghost thing, and you don’t really know what to think of it. At least you still have the boys. “Hey! Let’s go check on Julie!” Luke suggests one day. He had suggested Julie to just perform a song for her teacher to earn her spot back in the music program with a song the four of you had written together back in the day. You’re stood at the sidelines with the three boys next to you, looking at the girl on the stage as she plays the keyboard, playing the notes you’d come up with way back when. “Sometimes I think I'm falling down I wanna cry, I'm calling out For one more try to feel alive And when I feel lost and alone I know that I can make it home Fight through the dark and find the spark” You and Luke both mouth the words along, shooting Julie encouraging glances as she continues. “Life is a risk, but I will take it Close my eyes and jump Together, I think that we can make it C'mon let's run” Suddenly, the boys poof away from you and onto the stage, instruments at the ready, to support Julie. You’re a little confused at first, but then a smile tugs at your lips as they, once again, start rocking out.  “And rise through the night, you and I We will fight to shine together, bright forever And rise through the night, you and I We will fight to shine together, bright forever” The kids from Julie’s school have now all gathered at the front of the stage, confused and excited noises erupting from the mass of people. The boys seem equally as confused as you are. Those kids can see them. You decide to go around the crowd to get to the front of the stage. You catch Luke and Julie conversing, both of them looking out on the crowd with both confusion and exhilaration.  “What’s happening, Reg?!” you shout at him, but he just gives you a confused shrug whilst Luke sings the next verse.  “In times that I doubted myself I felt like I needed somе help Stuck in my head with nothing left I feel somеthing around me now So unclear, lifting me out I found the ground I'm marching on” You glance at the group of students, the couple of jocks closest to you are headbanging to the music, clearly enjoying themselves. All but one. He’s looking at you with a flirty smile on his face. Your eyes widen at this. He can see you too? Goldilocks -- his hair looks nearly gold -- nods at you curtly in a “what’s up?” kind of way, which sends a blush right to your cheeks.  Reggie skips to the other side of the stage, not noticing anything of the interaction between you and the very alive and very attractive boy.  “Life is a risk, but we will take it Close my eyes and jump Together, I think that we can make it C'mon let's run” “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you here?” the boy asks as he walks up to you.  “I uhm… I’m with the band,” you reply pointing up at the boys on stage. Reggie skips all the way back to his microphone, your eyes locking as he shoots you a smile.  “They’re really good! Where are you guys from?” You stutter and stumble, unsure of what to tell this boy. Your eyes dart from this boy to Reggie and back.  “I’m not allowed to tell you,” you finally manage to come up with. “Management rules.”  “Okay, can I at least get your name then?”  “Y/N. Y/N Patterson,” you reply. There’s no use in lying about that part. Though Julie told you about Google and this boy might be able to look you up on ‘the Google’ and find out you died… But why would he do that?  “That’s a pretty name,” he says flirtily and licks his lips. For a split second, you look up at Reggie to find him already looking at the scene unfolding before his eyes. “I’m Chad. Chad Avery.”  “Nice to meet you, Chad,” you reply very politely, a smile tugging at your lips.  “In times that I doubted myself I felt like I needed some help Stuck in my head with nothing left And when I feel lost and alone I know that I can make it home Fight through the dark and find the spark” Your eyes widen when you catch Julie walking through your cousin. How in the holy hell is she going to explain that to the school? You quickly look up at Chad, who’s too busy with his buddies to be able to ask you what that’s all about, so you take that opportunity to poof away from him, and get your ass to the very back of the gym.  At the end of the song, the boys vanish from the stage, which earns a loud uproar of confusion from the students and faculty of Los Feliz High witnessing this. You find them at the side of the stage again, and decide to poof next to Alex.  “That’s crazy! They could see us when we were performing but not when the music stopped!” Luke exclaims excitedly while Reggie shoots you an annoyed glance, but it disappears quickly as a thought pops into his head.  “Oh! Maybe we should check!” he runs up the small flight of stairs and starts gyrating his hips. No reaction from the crowd whatsoever. “Yeah, I don’t…” he runs down again, “I don’t think they can see us.” You chuckle at his antics. That’s the Reggie you’ve fallen in love with.  “I wish I couldn’t see you,” mumbles Alex under his breath, which makes you laugh even louder. Reggie glares at you, raising his eyebrows before turning around and walking over to the girl in the purple wig. Even though she can’t see him, he still attempts to flirt with her. The entire interaction makes you feel queasy and not at all at ease.  “Ugh, please, kill me,” you mumble, earning a raised eyebrow from Alex. “Oh, you know what I mean,” you snap, annoyed at Alex for even trying to minimize how terrible you feel about the scene unfolding in front of you. But even more annoyed at Reggie for flirting with other girls even though you’re not a couple, nor will you ever be. He’s allowed to flirt, it just hurts.  “Y/N,” Alex is going to try and reason with you, but you simply shake your head at him before poofing out of the school and back to the garage.  The silence wraps around you like a comforting blanket, and that’s when the tears start streaming down your cheeks. You know you shouldn’t feel like this. Reggie can do whatever he pleases. You don’t own him. But it still hurts. It’s been more than twenty-five years of having a massive crush on him. That didn’t wash away with death. That burning, aching feeling you get whenever you see him is still there. And you doubt it’s ever going to go away. It’s there for eternity.  “Thought I’d find you here,” Reggie’s voice startles you once again. It’s almost like a déjà-vû. You’re sat at the grand piano, delicately caressing the keys, but not finding the strength to write a song. No words could ever describe how you feel right now.  “Fuck, Reggie…” you mumble, clutching your heart. In your mind, you’re scoffing at how familiar all of this feels, and you think Reggie realizes it too. He walks up to you and takes a seat next to you. Your shoulders are pressed together, and you’re trying your hardest not to show how nervous you feel.  “Why’d you leave so suddenly?” he asks, twisting the hem of his flannel around his finger.  “Just--needed some air…” you lie. You know you should tell him the truth. You’re literally going to spend an eternity with him as ghosts, might as well just come clean about everything.  “Alex told me something different…” You scoff at his words. Of course Alex had to blab. “He didn’t tell me what it was, but he did say you were annoyed at me?” He pronounces his words carefully as if trying not to overstep. “What did I do wrong, Y/N? Tell me, so I can start apologizing because I’ve tried to wrack my brain to try and find a reason for you to be mad at me, but I just can’t…” he chuckles and shakes his head, “I can think of a few, but you’d never be annoyed about those.” You can’t help but laugh at that too. As the weight of the looming truth lands on your shoulders, you exhale slowly. There’s no way around this anymore.  “I just--I couldn’t handle you flirting with that girl… I’ve watched you flirt with girls for years, biting my tongue not to say anything, but today was just… Too much…” you admit with your voice barely above a whisper. Reggie huffs beside you.  “You’re kidding, right?” You look up at his furrowed eyebrows and darkened eyes. “You can flirt with whoever you want but I can’t?!” 

You open your mouth to say something, but no words come out. He gets up from the stool and walks around the piano, halting on the other end. “I saw you flirt with that jock guy at Julie’s school and plenty other times when we were alive, Y/N! You think that didn’t hurt me?!” Frustration wells up inside you as you shoot up from your seat, leaning your hands on the keys, a distorted note echoing through the studio.  

“I barely flirted with anyone when we were alive because you guys chased every fucking boy away, Reggie! You can’t blame me for flirting with one boy after being dead for twenty-five years!” He scoffs, now leaning forward on the piano too. 

“Ever thought there might be a reason for us chasing those boys away, Y/N? Luke had his own and didn't know about mine but Bobby and Alex did! I told them to make sure no boy could ever touch you until I plucked up the courage to ask you out!” You’re stunned at his words for a split second, but then go back to the screaming match you were holding. There’s no time to properly realize he’s confessing his mutual feelings for you.  “Maybe you should’ve just, I don’t know, Reggie, just a thought, asked me!” you yell at him, seething through your teeth. You’d much rather crawl across this piano right  now and kiss him, but you’re frozen to the floor.  “You try and ask Luke Patterson’s cousin out, Y/N! That man is impossible to get through! He’d never agree to me dating his little cousin!” Your tongue glides across your teeth as you mull over the next words in your mind. Back in 1995, you would’ve never dared to speak these words out loud, but so far in 2020, you’ve learned it’s okay for a woman to come up for herself.  “Ever think about the fact that I am my own person, Reggie? That I make my own decisions about my life, my body, my heart? I decide who I love and who I date, not Luke. ME!” Your voice raises and your confidence gets a sudden boost after finally saying those words that have been written down in diaries multiple times, but never been said out loud.  “Luke would’ve killed me if I ever told him I was in love with you, Y/N!” His voice matches yours now, which is equally as terrifying as it is extremely hot. You’ve never seen Reggie like this, he’d always been the guy that shrunk whenever someone would yell at him. He’s the one that would mutter an apology rather than come up for himself.  “Well, you’re dead now, Reginald, what are you still waiting for?!” The words have only left your mouth about a second ago, but Reggie’s already charging up to you. He grabs your face and presses his lips forcefully to yours. You kiss back immediately, returning the passion and hunger he’s exhorting. This is what you’ve been waiting for, for years. You’ve dreamt about kissing him for so long, and now that it’s finally happening, you realize it’s even better than what you ever dreamt it would be like.  “I can’t believe I waited this long,” he pants when you take a break from the intensity.  “Yeah, me neither,” a very familiar voice chimes through the garage. The two of you look up to find Alex and Luke at the door, smirks on both their faces. “I had a bet going with Bobby how long it would take for the two of you to finally confess your love for each other. Guess neither of us won…” he explains nonchalantly while walking over to his guitar to grab it.  “Wa-- Wait, you knew?” Reggie asks, his eyes darting over to you and then Alex.  “Yeah, man. It was pretty obvious,” Luke replies, chuckling, whilst strapping his guitar around. “I mean, I heard you crying in your room about how much you loved him and how much it killed you not to be able to tell him,” he points to you, and a scarlet red colors your face immediately.  “You were listening in on our phone calls?!” Alex asks, knowing the exact conversation they had that night. They talked about boys constantly, especially that one summer when Alex found himself falling for the lead singer of his band and best friend. They dated briefly, but figured out they were better off as friends, for the sake of the band.  “Our walls were pretty thin, man,” Luke shoots him a teasing grin, “And you, Reggie,” he points at the boy next to you. “I caught you staring at my cousin all the time, and I just knew you didn’t shield her from flirting boys to protect my little cousin, you shielded them because you were jealous. It was so obvious, you guys! You’re not going to tell me this is the first time you realize the other’s in love with you too, right?!” Your cousin could get excited and passionate about a lot of things, but your love life was never one of them.  “I was scared you’d kill me before I could even utter a word about my feelings for her,” Reggie mumbles, looking down at his shoes. “So, if anything, this is your fault, Patterson!”  “Yeah, cous! All of this is your fault!” you agree, chuckling slightly at the widening of his eyes. “But you’re cool with this, right?” you ask, “I mean, he is your best friend, Luke…” His smile widens, the flicker in his eyes reappearing.  “Of course I am, Y/N. I just want you both to be happy,” he replies with a shrug. “Now, let’s get rehearsing!” He plugs his guitar into the amp while Alex goes behind his drums. Reggie turns to you again, glancing down at you with that look of his he always used on you two summers ago.  “Will you stay until after rehearsals? I wanna take you somewhere after.” You simply nod your head before leaning up and pecking his lips sweetly. He turns around to join the boys, grabbing his bass from its stand. Your teeth dig down into your bottom lip as a smile etches its way to your lips. Even though it’s taken you this many years, it finally happened, and you couldn’t be happier about it. You could finally kiss him and hold his hand and touch him. That electric touch you longed for, for so many years. His touch. 

Taglist: @hannahhistorian92​ @marinettepotterandplagg​ @thequirkybookaholic​ @bookdealer5​ @tenaciousperfectionunknown​ @hemmingsness​ @iainttakingshitfromnobody​ @ifilwtmfc​ @angryknightstatesmantrash​ @kiss-themoongoodbye​ @rudysbay​ @thedarkqueenofavalon​​ @caitsymichelle13​​ @calamitykaty​ @wiselight​

[boop-le-snoot]

If life gives you melons...

Ship: Loki x F!alt! reader

Rating: Explicit / word count 5,5k

Summary: You've heard about meet-cute, how about meet-ugly? Reader has tattoos and a tongue split. There's this joke that "bisexual alt girls go looking for a girlfriend and end up with sad, tall and skinny white bois" and boy did that hit home. Inspired by this cringy video of Hiddles [youtube link].

During a panel at a comic con, Loki notices reader and they go on a date, reader gets railed: top!Loki, choking, rough sex, unprotected sex, all the good stuff. Open ending, with a bonus of reader and Loki pranking Clint.

x. I usually fancy they/them pronouns for Loki but seeing as it's a smut-shot, I decided to go along with he/him for the sake of simplicity. Loki's at least 6'4 tall and you can fight me on that. Also, I write like a Tony stan - I feel the need to apologize to Loki stans for that. I love you guys! 🥺👉🏻👈🏻

The long line of people appeared to be neverending. Loki was an enhanced, as the government recently had adopted a politically correct term for Earth's non-human inhabitants, but even his enhanced endurance had begun waning due to sheer amount of people wanting a piece of memorabilia signed by The God of Mischief. Loki had gained a considerable amount of fans after doing his part in killing the mad titan Thanos and by extension, saving the world. It turned out, humankind was a sucker for a good redemption arc.

Loki's hands ached where they wrapped around the pen that he'd been using for nearly 4 hours to neatly place his name, written in neat runescript, on various pieces of merchandise that his fans (and wasn't that a strange thing!) presented to him. He used to think that he would have actually succeeded conquering the earth if he had a grasp on how to use social media and his charm; now, he just wanted the torture to end. An involuntary sigh left his mouth when he saw another print of himself in full battle gear being placed in front of him by a reasonably attractive young woman.

"Um, thank you," She stammered, giggling softly, and Loki spared her a painstaking smile, scribbling his name once again. The woman briefly caught his eyes. "Um, you're the reason- the inspiration for me. I became a stripper."

Loki blanked, feeling his eyes widen and blink on their own accord a few times. He wasn't sure if he heard the woman correctly, as the unusual statement made his brain freeze.

Loud snickering from behind the blushing woman interrupted the system error that he was experiencing in his head. It wasn't often that somebody managed to render him speechless. It looked like whoever was in line behind the stripper woman had taken advantage of that. Loki's eyes snapped to the short-haired person, who looked torn between cringing and breaking into embarrassed laughter.

The stripper left without a word, and as Loki picked up the cursed writing instrument once again, the short-haired person smiled at him kindly. "That was a little weird," They snorted, "And thanks, have a nice day Mr. Loki."

"When life gives you melons, you might be dyslexic," Another woman, that appeared to be the short haired person's friend, deadpanned and gave a cynical side-eye to the departing stripper. Loki heard snickering coming from the short-haired person and quietly joined himself. The woman noticed it, winking at him as she collected the newly signed t-shirt. "Bye," She smiled kindly.

It was a split second decision, really. Something about the cheeky way she addressed the situation sparked Loki's interest. "Wait, you forgot something, darling," His baritone called out to the departing woman. She turned around, confused, and hastily grabbed the standard issue photo that he was holding out to her. With a final grateful nod, she smiled and left.

If Loki's smile had returned for the time being, none of his teammates made any remarks on it. Only his brother, Thor, gave a couple of knowing looks to the Asgardian sorcerer.

The woman in question didn't think twice about the photo that she stashed in her backpack along with the signed t-shirt. The Comic-Con had been full of people and the lines were unfairly long. The sheer exhaustion after attending a 3-day long convention had set in and she was eager to simply come home back to her apartment and crash on the nearest soft flat surface. Upon arrival, she did exactly that, flopping down gracelessly on the couch, her backpack landing next to her with a careless thud.

Unloading her trophies was a short time affair: a single white tee with a dozen signatures on it, written in what she hoped was waterproof Sharpie; one mug, shaped like an Iron Man helmet; one poster, showing Spider-Man on a picturesque NYC horizon and a signed photo of one Loki. Strangely enough, she did not remember requesting it - not that she was complaining. Free merch was free merch.

The front side wasn't signed whatsoever. Overcome by curiousity, she turned it around. A phone number was written on the back of it, the handwriting neat and the letters obviously being inked out by a thinner, more sophisticated pen than the one Loki had used for scribbling on the tee. The woman gaped silently, not believing her eyes. Did Loki himself had given her his phone number?

One margarita and a hefty helping of Chinese takeout later, the numbers persisted staring back at her mutely, the neat cursive being almost mocking in its quiet. The woman's smartphone had found a comfortable place right next to the photo, equally mum regarding the unusual situation.

An additional margarita was needed to gather the courage required to actually type out the number in the receiver box. Fruity alcoholic concoction in one hand and phone clutched in the other, the woman's eyes squeezed shut tightly as soon as the dreaded "Hey, got your number today! :)" read delivered. She'd typed and erased the message several times, groaning in embarrassment. How the hell does one approach an alien god?

"Hello! May I ask your name?" The response came after a brief moment - a moment the woman had suffered through by taking too haste sips of her drink, her common since screaming her to not overdo it and wait at least a full minute before replying. Everything felt awkward and misplaced.

In no time, she was sending the screenshots of the conversation to her girl-advice group chat that consisted of her closest friends. Chatting with Loki turned out to be surprisingly easy and he was great at upholding conversation, something that couldn't be said about all those Tinder matches she had had back in the day.

Even if using proper grammar during a text message conversation was something she had to reacquaint herself with, she was glad he wasn't just another boring, shalllow, condescending-ass white boy. Despite the cultural differences and his lack of knowledge of things like pop culture and music - something he said he was working on since New Asgard became a sovereign state on Earth - they bonded over music and tattoos and generally being rebellious against society's standarts.

The invitation to dinner didn't come as a surprise for the woman. She agreed happily, looking forward to continue their conversation outside of the internet - if Loki's part of the chat was anything to go by, not only was he charming, but also quite intelligent. And easy on the the eyes, too. They had traded selfies at some point and the Asgardian didn't look any worse in a hoodie and sweatpants than he did in his battle leathers. Loki had appeared to truly have had integrated into Earth's society.

The night of the date, the continuous text exchange did very little to calm her nerves. Loki texted as much as an overeager teenage boy: every now and then he would double-text and grossly overreact to her sending a simple meme. In fact, he smugly conveyed the fact he'd single-handedly started a meme war between the Avengers and even Steve was forced to participate; something that was, allegedly, out of character for the blonde man.

She didn't mind. Not like she had many friends to have so much fun with. Even if it took her twice the time to do her favourite eyeliner style, it was worth it. She hoped Loki would appreciate the bold, but classy make-up and the dress and shoes combo that accentuated her assets. Her date expressed curiousity about her tattoos and the difference between her preferred style and the humans he spent most time with. She guessed secret agents were not particularly fond of anything that made them memorable so she held out quite the hope for... Showing off some of her tattoos in a more private setting.

In other, simpler words, the woman came in prepared for both a friendly, leisurely stroll and a quality night. Either way, it would be a time well spent.

Loki's shiny, raven hair was impossible to miss as he towered over the rest of the people waiting by the restaurant's entrance. He wore tailored black trousers and a simple cashmere sweater, perfect for the evening's damp, cool air. Tall and lithe, Loki was mouthwateringly handsome.

"Come here often?" She wormed her way through the crowd, causing the man to smirk down at her. Her cheeks flared from the tiny gesture alone.

"Just waiting for a friend," Loki uttered lowly, extending an arm towards the woman, which she gracefully accepted as they made way towards the entrance. "Reservation for Loki," The Asgardian stated to the hostess, who, after a rapid doube-take, led them to a private, secluded area in the back of the restaurant.

Loki shouldered the slightly awkward interaction with grace, paying no mind to the girl. His focus was solely on his date and he was nothing but gallant as he took the woman's purse and held out the chair for her to comfortably sit down. As a prince, he was taught well, she mused.

"Usually I would ask 'what brings you to our little ball of water and dirt?' but I think we can skip that part," The woman stated with a sheepish grin, idly flicking through the menu and curiously eyeing the items that were unfamiliar. The desire to try something new fought with the possibility of accidentally ordering something too far out - like snails or other things that rich people fancied, for some reason.

Loki's greens briefly appeared over the top of his menu, grateful and sparkling. "I think it's best if we do just that," For a second, he looked away, before returning to the menu. "I can think of better things to discuss. I recall you didn't finish telling me about that college friend of yours, who was an anarchist... I'm dying to know..."

The waiter came and went, barely noticed by the pair, as they both poked at something that sounded the most familiar for both of them. Stoically, Loki admitted that Tony Stark did the booking for him and the woman reluctantly acquitted she wasn't very familiar with upscale establishments, being of middle-class background and working a middle-class job.

Interrupting the story she began telling hours ago, the woman took the time to point out the things she was familiar with on the menu and advised Loki to stay away from - like the aforementioned snails, and other things, slimy and salty things that she considered to be 'disgusting but rich people liked it for some reason'. The conversation slowly progressed into Loki telling her the mischief he got up to at the feasts Odin threw. The Asgardian shared the woman's disregard for influential people doing gross things to show off.

The food was good - it was really hard to miss with a traditional Italian lasagna - and seeing Loki shovel an obscene amount of food was an experience, but she didn't comment on it, tactful enough to consider his alien biology might have different dietary requirements that her human one. It was great, really, that she could order dessert and not feel guilty about it.

The gelato melted in her mouth like sweet ecstasy and she moaned with her next bite, only partly aware of how obscene really was the noise.

Loki's hand stuttered on it's way to his mouth. Wide-eyed, he stared at her lips, at her mouth, where her tongue lapped up the small drops of dessert from the spoon. "Why the split tongue?" The Asgardian finally gathered his wits, having had a good look of what he was sure was a trick of the eye at first.

She grinned, acutely aware of the effect that particular body modification had on men. "I like being different. I embrace the weird." She giggled, not at all ashamed, sticking out her tongue and wiggling both parts of it teasingly.

Loki's Adam's apple bobbed; "Weird?" He raised his eyebrow, fighting to maintain his previous cool composure.

She nodded. "Weird," She retorted coyly. "I usually don't divulge the details at least until the third date. Wouldn't want to scare my potential suitors off," The playful wink was the proverbial cherry on top. He was hooked, his eyes darkened, following the plump arch of her lips as she took another spoonful of the treat and savoured it, closing her eyes for a brief moment.

It was pornographic.

"Obviously, Midgardians don't know what's good for them," Loki scoffed in his usual bored monotone, fully aware of how fitful his attempt to conceal his excitement was. He sounded needy even to his own ears.

"And you do?" She pushed away the empty plate, chastely patting her mouth with a napkin. The raised eyebrow and the little smirk spoke volumes.

The grin he wore was hardly anything but feral; he asked for the waiter's assistance by flicking his wrist in an impatient fashion. Once the bill was paid and the woman's cardigan found its rightful place on her shoulders, Loki once again took hold of her arm, this time holding her smaller body against his larger one, taking care to slow down and keep his strides shorter.

She found the coolness of his presence refreshing in the moist, heavy air of the New York city.

"Where to, milady?" Loki asked her, looking down at the woman fondly.

"My place is a block away. Walk me, good sir?" She gave a delightfully easy smile in return.

He nodded, letting her lead the way, allowing himself to get a little bit lost in their shared presence, a little bubble of them in the middle of a busy city. It was as if someone had quickly turned down the volume of the honking cars and noisy pedestrians around them, leaving the soft breeze and the sun slowly descending below the skyscrapers. It felt far too short, partaking in the comfortable silence together, skin tingling under the thin layers of cloth where they were touching.

The sun was trapped in the strands of her hair as she smiled at him from her doorway, worrying her lip between her teeth. It was a bittersweet moment.

"A kiss good night for the good sir?" She asked hopefully, eyes darting between his face and his mouth.

Loki obliged, resting his palm flat on the door frame, towering over the woman as he gently slotted his thin, cool lips against her warm ones. The woman stood on her tippy toes, eager, placing a hand on his chest. The pair melted into the kiss - it had no business being this mind-blowing, brain-freezing for two people that have not met until that very day. The woman didn't refuse when Loki probed with his tongue, requesting entrance to her mouth; she licked into his own with fervor, fisting her hands in the soft fabric of his sweater.

With the hand that was free, Loki pulled the woman flush with himself, feeling the heat of her start a fire of its own inside of him. Her breathing rapid, the gesture only served to tighten her hold on his sweater, until a soft, barely audible moan slipped into his mouth, causing his brain to quickly reassess the situation.

Regretfully, Loki pulled away, clearing his throat. "Perhaps we should take this elsewhere," He meaningfully looked at the array of doors around them.

"I thought you'd never ask," She retorted with a fond eyeroll, tightening the grip on his sweater once more, to pull him inside her apartment and shut the door behind her. The awkward moments were few and in between; neither knew who reached for the other first, mashing their mouths with less grace than before, clutching at the other's arms and hips with hunger.

This time, Loki didn't hold back his own muted groans of satisfaction, shivering when the woman's hands snuck under his sweater and the simple tank top he wore underneath. Blunt nails scraped along his abs.

Step by step, she pushed him further inside her apartment, determined in her small quick strides. There was no mistake of their destination; no mistake in her desire: she was as hungry and as impatient as him. The crease between his eyebrows deepened, long arms extending to unzip the top of her dress to reveal a simple but tasteful black lacy bra covering her breasts. The woman barely noticed the action, stepping out of her dress as soon as it hit the floor.

He admired her. Inches of soft skin covered by intricate ink, some patterns bizarre and complicated, some beautiful in their simplicity. Loki couldn't wait to find out about the meaning behind every one of them, to trace the lines with his tongue and sink his teeth into the heated flesh.

The hands that were holding onto him for dear life tugged on his sweater and he chose to simply vanish it, too preoccupied with looking at the view in front of him. She gasped and her eyes met his: uncanny, magnetic emeralds shone with magic and power and desire.

"Fuck," She more mouthed than said, walking backwards in a trance until her shins hit the bed.

Loki grinned, advancing on the panting woman with the grace of a predator. "Darling?" His tone was innocent; his expression was anything but. His large hand encompassesed the side of her face, thumb running over her bottom lip in a possessive gesture that had her squirming in her place. He loved the way she just melted into his touch.

Their lips met again, slower this time. The kiss was once again graceful and unrushed, allowing them to explore the softness of each other's skin, mapping the arches and valleys with gentle strokes of their palms. The broad expanse of Loki's back was uneven, riddled with scars and blemishes, and she mapped every single one, blunt nails raking down it as she pressed into him, arching into his hands where he held her.

The soft flesh of her ass, barely covered by a scrap of black lace, was shamelessly grabbed - the woman didn't doubt there would be marks left - letting her feel his arousal pressed against her belly, hard and twitching. She didn't resist her desire to ge handsy and palmed it, taking note of the gasp and the twitch coming from the man occupied with the clasp of her bra. In no time, it flew away, forgotten somwhere the very moment Loki's palms took over her breasts, running a careful thumb over each nipple.

"Fuck," She parroted her previous statement, equally breathy and considerably more aroused.

"That's the plan," Loki's chuckle was hoarse.

She huffed, biting her bottom lip before reaching out to swiftly pop the button of his trousers, smirking at the hiss the friction of her palm produced against his cock. It shouldn't have surprised her that Loki was a commando kind of guy, but still, she gasped, partially from the ministrations of his clever fingers, partially from the mouthwatering sight in front of her. The thick, flushed length made saliva gather in the corners of her mouth.

He must've heard the audible swallow. "Not so haste, darling," He tutted, giving her relaxed body a gentle push, causing her to land on her back, heated skin against the soft duvet of her bed. "Let me taste you," A thud; Loki had dropped to his knees, using his large palms to spread her legs, opening her up to his eyes.

If his previous work hadn't made her so pliant, so aroused, she'd have been rendered speechless; instead, the woman arched her back, presenting herself and the desire that had pooled down below. The Asgardian chuckled, fingertips soft against the scratchy lace.

"Tease," The woman moaned, outstretching her arm to guide him but quite unable to reach him. She had to settle for squirming in her place, receiving a fraction of the desired traction against her swollen lips.

"Am I, love?" Loki asked her sweetly, caving enough to dip a single finger to run along the outside of her slit. It glided easily thanks to all the moisture gathered there, lips parting easily before his touch. The panties were vanished away promptly, another finger joining in immediately to rub slow, precise circles around her clit.

She keened low and long, fisting the fabric in her hand until her knuckles turned white. Loki knew what he was doing. It didn't take him very long to slide his long digits to the welcoming heat of her opening, dipping them inside until she began to make the noises he so craved. His mouth followed after that, long agile tongue drawing senseless shapes on the inside of her labia and dipping deeper, where her clit stood out engorged and slick.

He could smell the bittersweet of her arousal, mouthwatering and hot.

"Loki, fuck," She moaned, only half-coherent and partially aware of her own hips following his every stroke, every flick. He only advanced, hitting that sweet spot inside her with every stroke; the sparks traveling up her spine quickened with each time she changed his name like a prayer. "Loki, Loki, Loki..."

He growled, attaching his mouth firmly to her clit, and she arched for the final time, coming undone, squeezing around his fingers and gushing in his mouth, the obscene sounds covered by her own scream of delight and his impatient growling. The growling that sent shivers of aftershocks throughout her body.

"Darling, you taste so sweet," Loki groaned, still panting.

She took the time to open her eyes: Loki looked comically out of place in her bedroom, he dwarfed her bed and made her feel small, but it didn't matter at all at that very moment. His erection stood out hard and proud; despite the leg-shaking orgasm just moments ago, she wanted more, she wanted to taste him, she wanted to feel him inside-

With unsurprising agility, one swift motion was all it took for her to rest comfortably against the pillows, his throbbing member resting against the juncture of her thigh. She tasted her own release on his lips, however brief, whispering a weak, "Please," aching to feel the emptiness.

"As my lady wishes," Loki's cool breath ghosted over her cheek. She waited with baited breath until the tip of his manhood breached her, exhaling a moan into his neck and immediately wrapping her lips around a patch of skin as he stretched her so sweet.

Loki's arms shook slightly as he waited for her to adjust. He kissed her, soft and sweet; there was something vulnerable in him, something as sweet as the ache he'd taken away. Once he began to move, slow and fluid, all there was left was an all-consuming need to feel. As graceful as dancer and with a deadly precision, Loki pounded gasps, moans and screams out of the woman's slack mouth, kisses turning hungrier and sloppier by the second.

"So sweet," He cooed, relishing in the snug grip of her cunt around him.

She only keened in approval, too far gone and unused to the intensity of the feelings from a man with centuries of practice and the power of a god.

His thrusts slowed gradually until he was rutting into her, grinding his pelvic bone into her clit. The gasps and screams turned into drawn-out, longing moans; her hips followed his, meeting in a slow, sensual motion.

Loki was not a patient man. He withdrew - she gasped in protest - flipping the woman over on her fours with ease, taking but a split second to admire the curve of her body presented on display for him. Just for him.

With that thought burning in his mind, Loki sheathed his cock deeply inside her spasming cunt. It was nearly unbearably stimulating and only his own desire to prolong the bliss held back his own impending orgasm. That, and his own ego; he was naught if not a generous lover.

She slurred something, quiet and incorrigible, fucking back onto his cock as eagerly as he was plunging into her heat. The hand he'd placed on her shoulder promptly wrapped around her throat in hopes of lifting her close enough for him to hear the words but instead, it sent a full-bodied shiver throughout her. Loki grinned, tugging her that much closer.

The arch in her back looked quite uncomfortable yet she didn't mind; it was the exact opposite, in fact, her cunt tightened around him, drenching his shaft down to his balls. Her fingernails dug into the flesh of his thigh, the sting of pain going straight to his cock-

"Loki, I'm gonna, I'm gonna-" She slurred, gasping for air.

He weakened his hold on her throat enough to let her gulp the so-needed oxygen. It was her undoing: was it the rapid pace of oxygenated blood traveling to her brain or was it his cock, mercilessly pounding against her g-spot - she was violently spasming around his cock, much like she did around his fingers not too long ago.

It felt like ages, her crescendo coming in waves with no signs of stopping any time soon. Loki's continuous thrusts, his hips slamming into hers, her skin feeling like molten lava.

"Gonna fill your sweet cunt with my seed," Loki moaned lowly, holding her up by the throat, the other hand leaving fingertip-shaped bruises on the outside of her hips. "Mark you from the inside out," His voice had gone into primal territory, growling filling up the room.

"Please..." The woman rasped, oversensitive.

And he pleased, with a series of sharp thrusts, he buried himself to the hilt in her, the force of his release making her shudder and moan once against, going limp in his arms. Loki kept her in her place until every drop was inside of her cunt. Nothing was sweeter than that.

The Asgardian didn't bother with getting under the covers to hold her, conjuring a soft, comfortable throw in modest green, to cover their nudity. He didn't need the extra warmth but his companion was by far more fragile and sensitive to these things- Loki's fingertips traced the array of bruises he'd left in the wake of their passion, expression surprised as he found the woman smiling.

"Feels nice," She supplied meekly, eyes half-lidded, face trusting and open towards him.

He gave a small grin in return, placing a chaste kiss atop her head. "Yes, it does, darling."

Time after time, she didn't expect much out if their date. The sex was nice, nice enough for both of them to want seconds and thirds after their rushed first time - but it wasn't like she expected him to hand around. It was a pleasant change from the usual mutual ghosting she'd done with her previous partners, but Loki had texted again and they had resumed their conversation via text like nothing had happened.

No, that would be incorrect. Now, she had a wonderful friend who was a great conversationalist and an even better lover. There was no pressure to put a label on their relationship so the woman didn't bother with it; it didn't seem like Loki cared about the label, either, so she left the topic alone and enjoyed things the way they were. It wasn't like she had a line of suitors anyway.

She couldn't help the smile that creeped onto her face when she unlocked her phone and saw a video call request from other than Loki himself. She still had thirty minutes worth of lunch break to waste and this was a wonderful time to chat with a friend.

"Stark, hand it back or I swear to Norns-" Loki's voice sounded agitated and far away, accompanied by sounds of a struggle; the bearded, smug face on the screen was not who she expected at all. Only years of customer service and low bullshit tolerance combined stopped her from freaking out seeing none other than Tony Stark smirking at her from the screen of her phone.

"Yes?" She arched an eyebrow, taking note of the anger of Loki's tone.

"Hi, I don't think I need to introduce myself," Stark babbled, eyeing her - disheveled and with a wall full of sticky notes and miscellaneous items acting as the background to her video. "Reindeer games refused to show you to us so we decided to persuade him," Tony's grin grew wider, muted whispers being rapidly exchanged in the background all the while Loki screeched "BROTHER!" and various expletives at the top of his lungs.

"You could've, I dunno," She paused, unimpressed. "Asked me to dinner, like a normal person. Instead of stealing, you know, like a thief," The eyeroll that she performed had the team worried her eyes would fall out of their sockets.

"I merely borrowed his phone, don't be dramatic," Stark huffed, and for a moment, she could see various other people trying to look at the screen and by extension, at her. "So, what is it that you do? Because Smurf over there wouldn't..."

"Oops, bad signal. Sorry, can't hear you properly," Her side of the call suddenly shook and in a moment, she ended the call, not at all willing to deal with people that lacked boundaries. Sure, it might have been Iron Man, but if he was planning on being a snooping asshole, she wasn't gonna go down with that easily.

Exactly five minutes after she had clocked out, an incoming call from Loki had her equal parts excited and mortified. What if..? But he was apologetic. And very angry, swearing in his native language - something that he'd promised to teach her at some point.

"So, Clint did it?" She sipped her beverage, strolling home with the phone pressed snugly against her ear.

"Most of it was his fault, yes," Loki grouched on the other end of the call.

"I vote we get back at him. Invite me over, if he's so inclined to see me, and watch him get humiliated in front of everybody," It wasn't a secret she had her own mischievous tendencies.

"As much as I appreciate your vigour, darling, I doubt the Widow will appreciate you verbally castrating the Hawk in public," He replied sourly, his voice still betraying the faint notes of interest.

"I have a backup plan!" She stated without a hitch. "He'll embarrass himself and I'll be your alibi."

"I'm listening," Loki perked up immediately.

They decided to not to stall and schedule the 'family dinner', as Thor himself dubbed it, for the next available weekend. Loki had made sure Tony's AI had been made aware the trickster would be gone all day, and it took him very little magic and effort to pop in and out of the tower for the five minutes that were needed to execute their prank.

His friend barely managed to keep the snickering at bay as they ascended the elevator to the common floor where the dinner was being held. Not only that, but the woman spouted an area of dark purple love marks, barely obscured by the low turtleneck of her blouse.

She made her introductions and they made theirs. "This affair could use some background noise," She remarked off-handedly, casting a meaningful glance at the TV.

Tony Stark was known for being a great host so he entertained her wishes, flicking on the huge flat screen with a flick of his wrist.

The team froze.

"I... -" The woman stared at the screen, mouth hanging wide open at the scenes that played out. "... am not going to kinkshame, but please turn it off," She stated in a small voice, seemingly unable to tear her eyes away from the mass of tentacles commencing erotic assault on a woman's body.

Wordlessly, the TV shut down, immersing the room in stunned silence. Loki face-palmed, the slap of his palm against his face echoing in the eerily quiet room.

"Loki!" Captain America, red as a tomato, instantly accused the most obvious person.

Except, he had forgotten one thing. "Loki was with me all day," The woman replied, unkindly. "Do you need more proof?" She tugged on the hem of her turtleneck, exposing an inch of skin marked blue.

The good Captain's face changed the shade once again, venturing very well into beetroot territory. "Who was the last one to use the TV?" Rogers asked, now with a hint of anger, as he stared at a guffawing Bucky.

"I believe it was Mr. Barton," The AI piped up, mechanical voice sounding almost insinuating. Or, perhaps, it just appeared that way.

[beautiful-and-terrible]

dazed ‘n’ confused (part 1)

A/N: Literally this is just a combination of frustration and gender envy I have for rodrick heffley. both characters are 18 :)

Ship: rodrick heffley x OFC

Warnings: none in this part, probably NSFW in later chapters

---

Nicole had never had a more boring summer.

She and her family, (Mom, Dad, and two younger sisters) had moved to this rinky-dink town in April, and Nicole squeezed in two months of school without making any friends before summer hit in a disgusting, sweltering mess of dry lawns and humid nights.

She managed to get a job life-guarding, and that was the highlight of her days through July and August. Her initial blistering sunburn on the tops of her feet and legs turned into a nice tan, and she usually walked the two miles from her house to the pool, so she stayed in good shape (minus the five or six ice-pops she would eat during her shifts).

Mainly, the reason she enjoyed life-guarding so much was because her neighbor, Rodrick Heffley, would come to the pool almost every day and stay until closing time (which also happened to be the end of Nicole’s shift). She tried not to think too much into it.

Nicole wouldn’t usually be attracted to boys like Rodrick. He was loud, and generally harassed the other kids in the pool, and splashed the old ladies when he cannon-balled off the diving board. He and his friends were always goofing off and violating pool rules. Nicole blew her whistle more times for him than she did for anyone else. Every time she did, she would point at him silently, and slowly give him a thumbs down.

And every time, he would give her a salute back and a shit-eating grin. It made her heart flutter funnily, and she would glower at him from behind her sunglasses.

Still, Nicole only worked at the pool four days a week - that meant her Fridays, Saturdays and Sundays were all abysmally, utterly free. Nicole tried to do things that made her happy - she practiced bass, and even a little guitar, and learned a few songs by heart. She redecorated her room, twice. 

From her window, she could occasionally see Rodrick pass by in his attic room - never anything indecent of course, but it always made her tummy feel funny to think of him, in his room, doing Rodrick things. She knew he was in a band, and played the drums - the whole block could hear their band practice on Friday nights. It was a little cringe, she knew, but she moved her bed under the window so she could glimpse his shadow when he walked by, coltish and gangly as it was.

She wanted to know more about him though - his favorite song, what he put on his burgers, even what his sheets looked like (which she blushed to think about. Get a grip.)

One blisteringly hot Thursday in August, Nicole decided to bike to work instead of walking. It would take less time, and would hopefully generate a little breeze to cool her off instead of trudging along on the soft asphalt. And, of course, right as she was about to turn off her street, her tire blew.

“Are you shitting me?” Nicole said under her breath, moving her long hair out of her eyes to look at what could’ve possibly punctured her tire. 

As she knelt down, a voice called “Need some help?” from behind her.

She turned to see Rodrick on his own bike, standing on the pedals and arms braced in front of him on the handle bars. He was wearing cargo shorts and a DIY tank top, obviously an old t-shirt with the arms cut off. Nicole’s eyes were drawn to his toned brown arms and the slip of torso she could see. She swallowed heavily before replying.

“Yeah, stupid tire blew out. Do you have a spare?” she asked, not really thinking about it. She didn’t know why she felt so comfortable asking Rodrick for help. They had never really talked before - only passing on the street, raising a hand to each other in greeting. The only other consistent interaction they had was Nicole reprimanding Rodrick for pouring cherry slushies in the kiddie pool.

“For sure - follow me. I'm Rodrick, by the way,” he said. "I know who you are - everyone at school told me to stay the hell away from you," Nicole teased, and began to follow Rodrick back toward his house, Nicole carrying her gimp bike over her shoulders and Rodrick walking his bike beside her.

"And all my friends said to avoid Nicole Tagliaferi like the plague,"

"It's Tagliani, dipshit. It's Italian."

"Sure, sure, whatever," Rodrick said teasingly, before turning to look at her, “You like lifeguarding?”. She could tell he was trying to make conversation, and it made a small secret smile appear on her lips.

“It’s alright - when you aren’t making trouble for me,” she replied, looking at him out of the corner of her eye. She saw his signature devilish grin appear, white teeth flashing.

“But otherwise, you’d just be sitting in the hot sun all day, watching old ladies do aqua-cize or whatever they call it.”

“Do you mean water aerobics?” Nicole laughed, trying not to let her mirth get away from her and let out a snort of amusement.

“Exactly. At least I bring something good-looking to the table,” Rodrick preened, jumping on his bike and riding it up the last leg of his drive way. Nicole followed him into the open garage - it smelled as most garages do, of rubber and dust and wood projects that the men of the family have yet to finish.

Nicole watched as Rodrick moved some boxes aside and reached up to grab a spare bike tire off the wall - her gaze slipped down to see his shirt ride up over his hip bones, revealing a flat stomach and a dark happy trail. Her mouth went dry, and she became increasingly aware of how hot the back of her neck felt, even in the dim shade of the garage.

“Let me grab a wrench and I can get started. You want anything to drink? Coke, lemonade?”

“Coke sounds good - thanks,” Nicole replied after a moment, still recovering from her earlier lapse of concentration.

While she waited, Nicole decided it wouldn’t be the worst thing to look for some music - she found an old radio in the corner and found her favorite classic rock channel. Luckily, they happened to be playing Led Zeppelin, and one of Nicole’s favorites, too. The slow, wailing guitar guided her hips as she started to dance a little around the garage. Being the nosy busy-body she was, Nicole had no qualms about letting herself get comfortable in other peoples houses. She was always looking in boxes and admiring little trinkets, imagining what it would be like to live there. Not that there was anything particularly interesting in the garage besides Rodrick’s drum set.

She swayed over to the shiny instruments and picked up the sticks, sliding around the back to the seat and beginning to try and replicate the beat from the song. 

“Sorry, neighbor, there's only room for one hot drummer in this band,” Rodrick said as he came back in the garage. Nicole stopped playing immediately, feeling flustered at being caught and simultaneously being called “hot”.

“Is that the noise I hear coming from this garage? You call that music?” 

Rodrick rolled his eyes, handing her the ice-cold coke. “You sound like my Dad. Let me guess - you listen to Taylor Swift?”

Nicole shrugged, taking a sip of her coke. “Taylor Swift is fine. So is classic rock, and nu-metal, and Mozart. I’m not picky.”

Rodrick gave her a funny look, wandering over to her bike and beginning to unscrew the washers from the flat tire.

“So what's your favorite classic rock band, then?”

“The same as many others, I suppose. Zeppelin, AC/DC, the occasional Metallica. My dad raised me on Rob Zombie and Bob Marley, and my mom learned more toward The Beatles and Carly Simon.”

Rodrick stopped what he was doing to look back at her, his mouth slightly agape. Nicole felt a swell of smugness at flooring this over-confident boy with her knowledge of music he obviously thought was “superior”. 

“Loded Diper was originally a Motley Crue cover band, did you know?”

Nicole hid a laugh behind another sip of coke. “No, I didn’t know that. I’m assuming now you write your own songs?”

Rodrick blushed, turning his gaze back to the task of fitting the new tire onto the frame of the bike. “Yeah, I dabble in song writing. Mostly the chords, I’m shit with lyrics.”

“That’s a good skill. It takes practice to learn how music sounds good together. You can’t just throw random chords together and expect it to sound good.”

“You talk like you know music,” Rodrick said, looking over his shoulder at Nicole. 

“Yeah, I dabble.” Nicole replied, throwing his own words back at him. Rodrick tightened the last screw on the tire and reattached the chain.

“There. Good as new,” he said, swinging the bike back around toward Nicole. She reached for the seat and the handlebars at the same time, and without thinking about where she placed her hands, ended up putting them right over Rodrick’s. It only lasted for a moment, but she swore she could feel all the air leave the room. Her eyes met his liquid dark ones. 

“Thanks,” she said breathlessly, and hopped on her bike without another word, coasting down the driveway and pedaling as nonchalantly and quickly as she could toward the pool. 

Rodrick didn’t follow her. She wished that he had.

[eggtoasties]

Chapter 2: II. Adagio

Read Chapter 1: I. Allegro

Pairing: Kuroo Tetsuro x Reader

Word Count: 3.7k

Summary: Kuroo used to think the best sound in the world was a volleyball hitting the court on the other side of the net. Now, he has other things on his repertoire.

They were both called to the music room during study hall. As Kuroo walked towards Jouda-sensei, he watched as their teacher tried to cajole her into something, unable to catch their words at a distance. Arms crossed, she sent Kuroo an unimpressed stare making him respond with a nervous grin as he came to a stop.

“I was hoping to set you two up for lessons during study hall,” Jouda-sensei said, nodding between the two of them.

“No offense,” she said, quickly glancing at Kuroo, “but I’m paid to do this outside of school. Also, I don’t really have time to meet every single day—shouldn’t Daisuke be doing this? I’m sure he,” she jutted her chin towards Kuroo, “and I will both get called to other teachers and clubs during study hall so I don’t know if this’ll work out,” she huffed.

Eyebrows raised high, Kuroo said, “Wow, didn’t realize I was dead meat to you already, first chair,” resulting in a pout from Jouda-sensei and a glare from her which made him nervously snicker. He put his hands in his pockets, subtly wiping away at the clamminess of his palms.

“Aw, come on now, you know Daisuke-kun isn’t…” Jouda-sensei trailed off, trying to find the words, “the best at teaching. But,” she said brightly, “you’re the leader for a reason! And it doesn’t have to be every day—just coordinate with each other and other people to set up a rotation. I just want Kuroo-kun to be set up with good habits from the start.”

Sighing wearily and nodding, she faced Kuroo as Jouda-sensei left them.

Slouching in what he hoped was a nonchalant pose, he flashed a grin.

“So, are you gonna charge me by the minute?” Kuroo arched his brow. “Because I don’t really have the funds for that. Plus, I’m pretty sure you’re not allowed to sell anything on school grounds.” Readjusting his backpack straps and slightly loosening his tie, his eyes met hers quickly before finding a place over her shoulder. “But, if you don’t have time or whatever that’s--” he stumbled over his words, “I’m sure I can figure something out.”

Rolling her eyes, she loosened her school tie. “Yeah, I’m going to charge a thousand yen a minute and if you don’t pay up, I’ll have my goons knock your kneecaps in.”

“Didn’t realize being captain,” she shot him an amused grin and he bookmarked it for later, “of the orchestra came with your own henchmen. Maybe I should’ve started way earlier,” he drawled.

“Yup,” she said cheerily, popping the ‘p.’ “They do all my coursework and bully people out of their lunch money so I can add it to my secret treasury in the cave underneath the school,” she said conspiratorially. “Also,” she began, facing fully towards him. “It’s nice to meet you—I really don’t mind helping you out, it’s just that with my last year of high school things are hectic with exams and applications and I really can’t commit to everyday,” she explained.

His shoulders relaxed with a breath he didn’t know he was holding, previous tension dissipating with her explanation. Kuroo nodded and held out his hand. As she grasped it, he raised a brow at the strength of her small grip and brightly painted nails.

“I get it.” Kuroo finally said. “I’m a third year too and it’s hard enough as it is without having to teach a newbie every day,” he said, semi-fondly thinking of Lev, “—all good.”

“Alright, well,” she said, swaying on the balls of her feet, “let’s get started.”

She had him play open strings so she could assess his posture and Kuroo was not accustomed to being the center of such intense concentration. Sure, he’s served a million times in games where he knew every eye was on him, but she seemed to scrutinize every aspect of his body. The distribution of his weight on his legs, the angle of his shoulders, the slope of his wrists, finger placement, and even his face—there was something to adjust. To be fair, she did say his face looked like he was constipated, but he figured it was because one should always look serene during such a cultured activity.

A gentle tap to the shoulder, a tap to his left inner wrist, her hands guided his body as he became accustomed to the instrument. She stood slightly behind him to his side at one point and gently held his right arm and set another hand on his shoulder to show him how the bow should move. He’s used to his body—Kuroo would say he has a better understanding of what his body is capable of than most people but, gentle movements to work with a foreign object was completely new territory. She’s not teaching him how to read a volleyball midair and figure out what the best millisecond worth of contact is. She’s not grabbing his lanky arms to show him how to position for a block—this is completely different.

He figured it’s one thing to adjust to new innovative plays mid-game and another to feel so entirely helpless and clunky. Although she’s only been patient and gentle, he can’t help but feel unsure and awkward in his body as he tried to follow her instruction. Maybe, Kuroo thought to himself, I should cut Lev some slack.

“Can you feel how your arm hinges at the elbow, but the elbow itself stays still?” she asked, lightly grasping his elbow and guiding his forearm. His skin tingled at the contact through his shirt and he repressed a shiver.

He’s used to physical contact—from his teammates. High fives, hugs, and fist bumps. But from a stranger…it’s different. He’s hyper aware of the calluses of her left hand when she taps the bare skin of his wrists and although each touch is light and fleeting, a part of him wished they’d linger for a little longer.

After a while, she grabbed her instrument and mirrored his movements, showing him the angles of her body in relation to the violin and bow. He stood in awe of the confidence of her actions, drawing a rich deep sound from the strings unlike the scratchy wobbly sounds he’d been producing.

She taught him two scales, explained basic music concepts he vaguely remembered from piano lessons and before he knew it, study hall was coming to a close. Head full with new information, shoulders a little tense, he absentmindedly fixed his tie while they packed up.

“Don’t feel discouraged during class,” she said. “Everyone around you has been playing for years longer. Just keep practicing and you’ll get there.” Adjusting the books in her hand she asked, “Why’d you decide to take orchestra?”

“I needed art credit. Can’t sing, can’t draw, didn’t want to do something on the computer and I didn’t know what band music was,” he shrugged. Immediately, he internally cringed at his explanation.

“Wait, actually--” Before he could try and amend his previous statement, he’s cut off by her laugh.

“You chose well,” she said. Then leaning towards him, she dropped to a faux whisper, “orchestra’s better than band.”

Kuroo felt heat creep up the back of his neck while she laughed so he tilted his head to the side and covered it with a smirk. “I don’t know about that,” he said cockily.

She snorted which did little to calm the confusing beating of his heart and he couldn’t help but feel disappointed that she didn’t take the bait. Oh well, he thought, better try harder.

“You’re the one who enrolled in or-ches-tra,” she said, over enunciating the syllables. “Unless,” she sing-songed, “you feed into the stereotype that athletes are,” she pouted and batted her lashes, “stupid.”

He guffawed at her boldness but revelled in the glint in her eyes and the smug way she held her head.

“It wounds me that you would insult my intelligence without even knowing me,” he sniffed and wiped away a fake tear while she stifled a giggle. “I cannot believe my music teacher—my classmate—my captain has a bias against athletes,” he frowned and tilted his head. Pausing for a beat in contemplation, he sighed and continued lazily, “You must have been one of those kids in elementary school who always got picked last in gym.” He shrugged before delivering the final blow, “So you had no choice but to turn to music.”

He kept his face neutral as he studied her reaction. Her eyes narrowed at him and he broke out into a grin.

“It’s okay to admit it, I promise I won’t ask you to do something impossible like catch a ball or something,” he said, waving a hand placatingly. He caught the corner of her lip twitching despite the deadpan stare she tried to maintain.

“Give me your number,” she said, pulling out her phone.

“Woah, woah,” he said, dodging her attempts to force her phone in his hands. “If this was all an elaborate ruse to ask me out,” he dodged a jab to his side, “you didn’t have to get Jouda-sensei in on it too, who would’ve thought our little prodigy had it bad for the volleyball captain?”

“First of all, study hall is ending, but it seems that you were too preoccupied with trying to flirt with me to notice,” she said as Kuroo crossed his arms indignantly. Was he trying to flirt, he wondered. “Also, you’re forgetting that you’re the one who needs violin teachers,” she explained impatiently, finally getting him to accept her phone.

“Plus, if anything this just shows that you’ve been planning to confess to me for the past three years, but you were too nervous so you used your arts credit as an excuse to talk to me when everyone knows there are easier ways to get the credit,” she rambled as he punched his number in. “Also, you have a stand partner and a section leader—both of whom are not me, so I bet you,” she pointed an accusatory finger, “roped Jouda-sensei into this cozy little arrangement,” she said triumphantly.

Kuroo stuttered. “Maybe you should be a writer—what is up with your imagination?” he asked disbelievingly.

“No, no,” she said breezily, waving a hand absentmindedly, “I just figured you out, no need to feel embarrassed.”

Shifting his weight to one foot and running a hand through his hair, Kuroo’s lip quirked. “Guess you caught me,” he shrugged nonchalantly, extending their jest, “I’ve been in it for the long con, but,” he dropped a little lower to her height. “I never lose.”

Kuroo wanted to stab himself. It’s one thing, he mentally berated, to say those lines in the shower. Another thing entirely to say them to a human being? So used to provoking people just before they really got annoyed, he figured he got too comfortable. While his friends were used to his sarcastic quips and little agitations, not many people threw it right back at him. Should I apologize? Am I going to fail orchestra? Yamamoto was right, I should’ve taken sculpture I should’ve—

He was broken from his internal panic when she gently pushed his shoulder. “Well, seeing that the volleyball team has never won nationals, that seems to be a lie.”

Completely forgetting his previous anxieties, his mouth gaped open. “W-we’re definitely making it to nationals and we’re definitely going to win this year!” he nearly yelled. “A-and since when do you keep up with the volleyball team! This is more evidence that you’ve been trying to get my number for the past decade!”

“Who said anything about the past ten years!” she screeched. Kuroo watched his phone in her hand with concern as she waved her arms in disbelief. “And Yaku’s in my homeroom, idiot. He talks about the team constantly,” finally shoving his phone back to him.

Sighing a little in relief he checked his messages. “If I’m so wrong about you lusting,” she rolled her eyes so hard all he saw was white, “after me for all these years, what’s this!” he exclaimed, presenting his phone screen to her face.

It was a message from her that read: “Tetsu-chan, I think you’re so, so, so, so, sO cute!!” with several brightly colored heart emojis trailing after the message.

She immediately lunged for his phone to which he responded by smugly holding it above her head, pouting a little when she wouldn’t try and jump for it.

“Y-you planned this!” she yelled, making a move to grab at his sleeve.

“Nope,” he said languidly, smoothly side stepping her advances. “You just think I’m so, so, so, so, cute!” he said brightly as he placed his phone in his back pocket.

“I’m going to break your kneecaps in your sleep,” she grumbled.

As the bell rang and study hall ended, he sent her a little wave as he walked to his next class.

“Looking forward to it!”

.

Nearing his next class, he felt a short buzz in his pocket. Pulling out his phone he grinned at the texts. Nothing like riling people up on a Tuesday morning to get his blood pumping.

After he had left her standing in the music room, cheeks tinged pink and arms crossed, she sent him several texts. Many of them listed the ways she was going to abuse his kneecaps—he wasn’t quite sure why she was so fixated on them—poking fun at athlete stereotypes, and how he’d better practice every day.

They spent the day sending each other sporadic insults without heat which eventually devolved into actual questions about each other.

How did you start playing the violin? When did you start volleyball? Do you play in orchestras outside of school? What’s your position? How should I practice? What are sports practices like? What class are you in? What’s your favorite food? What’s your favorite color? What do you mean you bought a chemistry set for fun?

Kuroo was in his history class when he realized he was barely paying attention to the lesson. Expecting his usual meticulous notes when he looked down at his notebook, he saw he had hardly filled half a page of information. Too preoccupied with the little thrill of excitement that came with each text, he couldn’t help but discreetly check his phone every few seconds. He tried paying closer attention to the lecture, but tapped his foot restlessly, itching to see how she responded.

.

The school day ended in a blur and he found himself in front of the club room door. Violin case in hand, he swung open the entrance and proudly stated, “I learned scales today.”

“Fukunaga and I took choir last year and learned scales too,” Yaku responded. “Stop looking so proud about it, it’s literally a basic,” he commented offhandedly as he put on his uniform.

Chest still puffed, Kuroo didn’t let it deter him. “I’m reading music!”

Kenma grimaced over his phone when Lev seemed impressed and Fukunaga tried to stifle his laughter behind his hand.

Pulling top from behind, Kuroo asked, “Yaku, do you know the concertmaster?”

“The, huh?”

“The first chair violinist. Our year, in class 3-B?” Kuroo clarified. “She’s about this tall,” indicating with his hand, “her favorite color’s blue and she really likes fruit tarts?”

Ignoring the questioning glances from his teammates, Kuroo waited expectedly. Yaku paused. Eyes widening in recognition he brightened.

“Yeah! She’s been in my homeroom for the past three years, she’s nice. Smart, big on music, does a bunch of music competition thingies!”

“Thingies?” Kuroo mocked. “How old are you?”

“Shut up you glorified bean pole! I don’t know what she does in her free time, why are you so interested all of a sudden?

“She’s my violin teacher! I just wanted to make sure she wasn’t a serial killer or something,” Kuroo mumbled, tying his shoes a little forcefully.

“Okay,” Yaku drawled out, not believing his teammate. “I know the theatre club always asks her to be in their pit orchestra, but man their funding really got cut over the years, I wonder how they’re going to build the set this year, I mean they’re really trying to out-do themselves and—”

He stopped when he noticed the rest of the team staring at him in varying states of confusion and disbelief.

Yaku sniffed. “I have other interests and friends outside of volleyball, thank you very much…” he said, turning his head.

“Wow,” Yamamoto said, slowly shaking his head from side to side. “Yaku-senpai doing Shakespeare or something, could you imagine?”

“Yaku-senpai would definitely play the jester or something,” Lev chimed in. “But he’s so small would the audience even be able to see him on stage?” He wondered out loud.

Facing away from his bickering teammates, Kuroo hid his flush in the collar of his warm up jacket and willed for the heat to subside. He thought about what Yaku said—not about him being secretly into theatre, which Kuroo would definitely use in the future—but about having other friends outside of volleyball.

He knew he wasn’t as shy as he used to be, thank god, but he realized he had always kept his inner circle small. Not entirely on purpose, but those he spent the most physical proximity to tended to also become close friends—thinking fondly of his parents forcing him to meet Kenma.

He remembered how he nearly threw a tantrum when his Tou-san told him they were visiting neighbors down the street and that they had a son his age that he could play with. The thought of leaving their home—which hardly felt like home at the time of their move—to meet some stranger had filled him with such trepidation he had promised he’d practice the piano harder if he could just stay home.

However, his Tou-san gently grasped him by the shoulder and made him carry the box of oranges to Kenma’s. Multiple hours of awkward stuttering and silent game playing finally bloomed into a tentative friendship with the introduction of a volleyball and Kuroo figured that now Kenma’s more of a brother than anything else.

Outside of his team and casual school acquaintances, Kuroo thinks of Bokuto. A pleasant surprise when they met at a Tokyo training camp. With Bokuto came Akaashi and with Kuroo came Kenma and Kuroo never felt the need to expand beyond his core group. But meeting her—is different.

Different in that she stumbled into his life outside the court and he’s not sure if his fingers had ever been this sweaty from texting all day. He wondered if she’s a sign that he should actively try and meet new people but he quickly discards that idea and chalks it up to serendipity.

“—hey cut it out!” Kai yelled at Yaku lunging for Lev who was holding a volleyball in one hand, “To be or not to be, will Yaku-senpai ever grow again?”

Snapped out of his musings, Kuroo raised two hands to the group, “Alright, alright,” he tried to placate while Kai held Yaku back and Yamamoto cried tears of laughter.

“Keep going, Lev!” Yamamoto egged on.

“Too sleep, perchance to dream,” Lev continued, “that Kuroo-san will finally fix that rooster’s head of his.”

Amidst the collective roar of laughter, Kuroo snatches the volleyball from Lev’s hand and throws it at him.

.

Head lolled back against the train window, grimacing at the pull of his worn muscles, Kuroo stretched in his seat. Next to him, Kenma absentmindedly scrolled on his phone, sporadically showing Kuroo funny tidbits to pass the time on their nightly commute back home.

“Kuroo,” Kenma said as quick fingers typed out a text, “why are you taking this orchestra credit so seriously?”

Pausing for a bit, not-so-subtly reading Kenma’s text, he responded.

“I had a lesson earlier today and it seems like,” he ran a hand through his hair, “I don’t know, a disservice,” his voice rose up as a question while his brows drew together, “if I don’t give it my best shot when everyone else is so much better.”

Kuroo shrugged at Kenma’s contemplative nod.

“Anyways,” Kuroo continued, “she said thirty minutes of daily practice for a beginner will go a long way and she said we’d only really focus on the stuff for the concert so hopefully I can manage by then.”

Pausing his scrolling, Kenma looked up at Kuroo and blinked at him.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

Kuroo narrowed his eyes at Kenma, having a growing suspicion of where his friend’s thoughts were, but ignored it in favor of watching him scroll through his phone.

Other passengers shuffled around them, coming and going onto their train and Kuroo looked out the window, frowning slightly at the last remnants of sunset fading away to cool indigos.

“Y’know, Kenma, I don’t think I want to just do volleyball for the rest of my life,” Kuroo said softly, breaking the stillness between them.

“No shit,” Kenma responded instantly over the animated beeping of his game. “Your joints definitely can’t take it for the rest of your life.”

Scoffing, Kuroo rolled his eyes. “Please--I mean, I’m going to go to college and still play, but,” he shifted his gaze towards the ceiling of the train car, “I want to learn more things.”

“Yes,” Kenma said slowly, “that makes a lot of sense.”

“I like learning new things, I always want to know more and I don’t know,” he pulled at his shirt collar. “With violin--it feels like I haven’t sucked at something for a while.”

With that Kenma snorted, thinking of when Kuroo tries to play video games with him or that horrendous volleyball club promotional poster Kuroo made that yes, he did take a picture of before crumpling and throwing it in the trash.

Kenma’s game pinged as Kuroo hugged his violin case between his legs.

“Plus,” Kuroo continued, “she said music is kind of like math with the rules and the counting, and when it all comes together like pieces of a puzzle it makes your hair rise and I feel like that’s kinda like volleyball too.”

“You get goosebumps when you solve a math problem,” Kenma repeated slowly.

“Missing the point there, but yes.” Contemplating a bit he added, “More when I balance a chemical reaction, but yeah, why?”

Kenma paused his game and set it on his lap, lips twitching.

“You’re not allowed to judge me,” Kuroo complained.

“I am,” Kenma responded quickly.

“Well quit it.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

Kenma popped the knuckles of his fingers and unpaused his video game.

“No.”

They sat there for a beat, each thinking about the unknowns--the unknown power of this new boss guarding the princess in the tower and the unknown of the near future, where game plays are traded for textbooks and the hopeful future of featherlight, fleeting touches and sweet, sweet melodies.

[cedric-stories]

A Royal New Year Party

Word Count: Around 2,400

Plot: After getting done planning a New Year’s Eve party, Cedric meets a man that makes the sorcerer question his relationship with you.

Warnings: Angst and language

Author’s Note: This just came to me cause people used to be such jerks to my ex about us being a couple. So, kinda personal and kinda just I adore Cedric and want my baby to know he’s loved.

Author’s Note note: Okay, so I had another fic like this but I’m finally gonna address it; the world is set in our time so there are cell phones and stuff. I know I changed it from the show, but it was just easier for me. Also, this is gonna be the last fic for a few days. tbh, I haven’t even started the next ones, but I do have outlines. Hope you enjoy and happy New Year!!!

Reader pronouns: she/her

                                       A Royal New Year Party

Here it is, the greatest party of every year. The royal family’s enchanted New Year’s Eve party was only a few hours away.

           “Cedric, could you please conjure another bouquet of roses?”

“Cedric, can you please just conjure one more turkey? The chef ran out of bird, so he is begging you to make one; but please don’t tell the King!”

           “Cedric, can you put the floating plates over here?”

“Cedric, can you conjure a few more chairs?”

           “Cedric, where is god’s name is that turkey!?”

           Yes, these were the sounds the poor sorcerer had been listening to all day. Everyone and their chef have been pestering him. He was in the middle of all the bustling and rustling. Things at been nonstop for hours and he was getting sick of it. The past day, he had been conjuring plates, chairs, ovens, instruments, and everything in between to make this party amazing. King Roland expected the very best to wow his guests, so he wanted Cedric not only to create dozens of items, but to enchant everything.

The King wanted enchanted chairs that could sway with the music, enchanted instruments that could play on their own to give the orchestra a break, and enchanted silverware that could dazzle the guests with dancing and singing. It was quite complicated to cast spell after spell (especially enchanted ones) and it was beginning to tire the man.

           Cedric was finishing up one more spell when he heard footsteps behind him.

“Well done, Cedric!” The king boomed from behind the sorcerer, scaring him out of his wits.  

           “Thank you, your majesty. I am honored.” He said, turning and bowing his head.  

“You’re very welcome, things are coming along nicely. Now, since you’ve been working all day, have you given any thought to what you have planned tonight?”

           Cedric lifted his shoulder in a half shrug.

“No, I haven’t really thought of anything.”

           “Well then,” Roland paused, gesturing to all the gold and black decorations, “why don’t the two of you celebrate the new year with us? I’m sure y/n would love it.”  

“I-we would love to and I greatly appreciate the offer,” Cedric started, “but I think we are going to celebrate the new year just the two of us.”

           Roland gave Cedric a disappointed look.

“Alright, if you insist. We will all miss you and y/n. If you change your mind, you guys are welcome.”

           “Thank you, your highness.” He said, beginning to walk out of the ballroom through majestic, golden doors.

Cedric trudged through the halls of the castle. He came across the coffee shop on the corner of the ballroom and royal dining hall and scurried into line to get a cup.

           Workers of all types stood back to front. One man wearing a blue vest, top hat, and holding a scepter in his hands was in front of cedric.

           “Hello, sir. The name’s Jonathan” The man greeted the sorcerer. His eyes seemed warm and inviting enough to talk to.

“Oh, hello.” Cedric answered, barely shaking his head to try, and come to consciousness.

           “What do you do around here, fine man?”

“I’m the royal sorcerer for Enchantcia. You may know me by Cedric the Sensational?”

The man looked perplexed for a minute, then, as if realization came down from the gods, Jonathan’s face turned up and Cedric could see the lightbulb come on.

           “Oh yes! You are the one who tried taking over the kingdom a few years back!”

Cedric cringed.

           “Yes, I am.” He said, trying hard not to recall those memories but nevertheless, remembered them vividly.

           “My, I was sure good old Kind Roland would have you executed for that!”

“Oh yes, didn’t we all?” Cedric rolled his eyes.

           “And the way the towns folk talked about you, it musta been hard to show you face around them parts for a while, eh?”

“Eh.” Cedric sarcastically parroted back.

           “Why, never in my wildest dreams would old Winnie and Goodwin’s kiddy ever try a stunt like that.”                        

“Yes, quite,” Cedric paused, narrowing his eyes at the man, “foolish of me.”

“You know, your father saved old’ king Roland’s daddy from a few monsters like yourself!”

           “yes, yes, I know. Oh look, you’re at the counter, time to order now.” Cedric rushed.

“Oh, look at that. Hi, ma’am, I’ll have a…”

           Once the man had finished ordering, cedric got up to the counter and ordered a cold caramel frappe. After, he went to sit down and wait. The bustling of people became a background noise and Cedric finally got some peace. While he sat and tried to unwind-

           “There you are good buddy!” The same talkative man said, jostling over to Cedric.

“Here I am.”

           After a long talk about Cedric’s wrongs, the man began to inquire about Cedric’s personal life.

           “So, I doubt after your long, ungrateful journey back to civilized living hadn’t brought you company of any kind?”

           Cedric believed the man meant a significant other but wasn’t really sure.

           “Pardon?”

“A woman! Have you gotten yourself a woman?!”

           Cedric gave the man a blank stare and leaned away from his sudden enthusiasm. Why in god’s name does this man want to know so much about him? He thought about telling him or not. If I do, he’s going to go on how I don’t deserve someone, or not believe me entirely. And why does he just presume I have a woman? Has the man never heard of two men living happily together? Why does this man care so much about my life?

           “I do have a significant other.” Cedric finally let out.

“Well for heavens sakes, how the hell did you get one?”

           “Well, we met over a year ago and- “

“No one in her right mind would want you. You’re so unstable compared to others your age. Eh, she’s probably just waiting’ on someone better anyways.”

           Cedric was now completely offended and didn’t really know how to answer. Without saying another word, he rose to get his coffee from the counter and left.

On his walk home, Cedric began thinking.

I have been with Y/N for almost a year. I don’t deserve her. Does she even want to be with me? Maybe I’ve just fooled myself into thinking she really loves me when all this time she’s only stayed around cause there’s no one else. Maybe he’s right, maybe it was just weird I found her. She probably is just waiting for someone better to come along and leave…I’ve done so much wrong, maybe she doesn’t even want me?

           After his long debate, Cedric headed upstairs to his tower. The stone walls felt cold against cedric’s fingers as he guided himself up three floors of spiraled stairs. He looked out one of the windows to see the sun turning orange as it set over glistening red trees. It was beautiful in Enchantcia tonight. After looking for only a minute, he started back up the stairs.

Once he had made it to the door, he took a big breath and he walked in to find his girlfriend sitting crisscrossed on a table. You were wearing Black lacy shorts with flowers embroidered along with a spaghetti strapped top that matched. Trying to pick up your phone off the floor, you were dangling from the edge. You grabbed your phone and looked up to see your boyfriend.

           “Ceddy! You’re finally home.” You smiled, jumping off the table onto your sorcerer. Your hair was in a messy bun and fluffed up into his face when you grabbed onto him for a hug.

           “Hello, Angel.”

“I’ve been missing you all day.” You said, snuggling in tighter.

           “I have too. Oh, this is for you.” He said, giving you a hot mocha.

Your smile widened. “Thank you!”    After grabbing the hot beverage from him, you look a sip, and placed it on the table.

“You look tired.”

           “I am tired.” Cedric laughed, hugging you. He was happy to be home to you until he started remembering the conversation he had with Jonathan.

Noticing him grow somber, you asked him if he was okay.

           Cedric hesitated, “Yes, just tired I think.”

“Okay, why don’t you take a nap?” You asked, still having a questioning look on your face.

           “I may.”

You kissed him gently on the cheek and made sure he got to the bedroom. Closing the door behind you, you decided to grab a book and read until he woke.

                                                                       …

After a few hours, you decided to check on Cedric. You wanted to make sure he was okay after what happened earlier.

Walking into the bedroom, you found your boyfriend already awake on his phone.

           “Hello.” You greeted, walking along the side of the bed.

Cedric nodded at you.

           Carefully, you made you way to the upper part of the bed and sat down. Noticing his standoffish actions, you scooted closer to him.

           “Babe, what’s wrong? Please, tell me.” You quietly pleaded.

He looked over at you with glassy eyes. His face was full of pain, but you just couldn’t put a finger on what upset him.

           “Did I say or do something?”

“No.” He answered, shifting away from you slightly.

           “Cedric, tell me what’s wrong.” You grabbed his hand and put it on your lap.

He ran his other hand through his hair, and you noticed his shoulders tense.

           “Y/n,” he paused, his voice almost choking, “why-why do you stay here?”

You became confused.

           “What?”

“Why do you stay here…with me?”

           “I don’t u- “

“You have been with me for almost a year, and for merlin’s sake I have no idea why you stay.”

           “I love you.” You said, without thinking twice.

Cedric’s eyes met yours.

           “I love you, but I just don’t see how you could love me.”

You could feel the sting of tears in your eyes.

           “Cedric, how could you not see- “

“Do you know what I am?”

           You stared at him, “Do I know what you are?”

“Yes. Do you know what I am?”

           You ran your hand up his arm gently, “You’re mine.”

“No. I mean, do you understand what I’ve done? I’ve tried overthrowing the kingdom, I plotted against the royal family for years. Everything had a terrible motive, everything I did was selfish, I dreamed of making others bow before me. I am not a good person.”

           “Cedric! Of course, I know that. I’ve always known all of that. I love you for you. You are a good person now, and I don’t care about your past, I love you for everything you are and once was.”

           Cedric looked down then he cocked his head.

“Once was?”

           You took a breath.

“Cedric, I’ve never admitted it, but I really don’t care you tried overthrowing the kingdom. It’s not healthy, I know, but sometimes I think my love for you is stronger than my morals.” You laughed nervously. “You are my person, my lobster, as some show would say, and no matter what, I love you. I’m not saying what you did was right, but because I love you, I overlook it easily.”

           He grabbed ahold of your hand and you wrapped your arm around him. He hugged you back tightly and you knew he felt better. You kissed the side of his cheek and laid you head on his chest.

           “What even made you think of that, love?”

“Nothing, I guess I just will never quite get used to you being mine.”

           The two of you sat in silence for a minute, then cedric turned towards you.

           “The royal family is having a party tonight to bring in the new year. I was wondering if you would want to go. The King invited us.”

           You beamed a smile.

“I’d love to!”

About an hour later, the two of you were walking down the hall towards the ballroom.

Once you arrived, you were greeted by a loud orchestra and babbling voices. The room was full of women in suits and dresses and men in the same attire. It was an extravagant gathering with gold and black streamers lining the walls and draping over the ceiling. At the front of the room sat the orchestra with its self-playing instruments and band members walking about. Some guests sat on floating chairs and plates that followed behind others walking. Workers hurried around, grabbing dirty, golden silverware.

           Cedric and you started over to the royal table when Sofia came running over.

“Mr. Cedric! Miss. Y/n! I’m so happy you guys could come.” She shouted over the music, running up and giving Cedric a hug followed by yours.

           “I’m glad we could. Please tell your father that we are very grateful.” You said to the young girl wearing the pink amulet.

           “I will. Are you guys going to sit down? There’s two chairs next to me.”

“Yes, we are. We’ll be over in a minute. Thanks again.”

           “No problem.” Sofia replied, running off to greet the other guests.

           You had almost made it over to the table when a loud voice practically yelled at Cedric.

“Cedric! There you are old buddy!”

           Cedric’s shoulders stiffened again.

“Hello, Jonathan.”

           “Who you got with you?”

“This is y/n, she’s my girlfriend.”

           The man looked you over and made you rather uncomfortable.

“Oh my god! She’s beautiful! What the hell did you have to bribe her to come with?”

           Your eyes flung wide open and you gasp.

“What?” You asked in a flat tone.

           “No offense to you ma’am, You’re beautiful! I’m just wondering’ how he got someone like you,” he glanced at Cedric, “with his past and all.”

You shot Jonathan an angry look.

           “For your information, I love this man with all my heart and want to be with him for who he is. If you can’t accept that then you can just kindly leave us alone!” You snapped.

           The man looked shocked.

           “Well, I guess if you’re happy- “

“I am happy. Thank you.”

           “It was nice seeing you again old buddy.”

“A pleasure really.” Cedric smiled, wrapping his arm around you.

           The two of you began walking away. You couldn’t believe how rude he had been. Before you had gotten too far, you were boiling over with anger and wanted that man to know you adored Cedric. Suddenly, you whipped around to make sure he was still watching. You grabbed Cedric by the collar and kissed him firmly on the lips.

           Jonathan looked horrified at you. You gave a sarcastic smile at him and turned back around.

           “Jackass.” You spat out under your breath.

“You have no idea.” Cedric agreed, placing his arm back around you tightly.

           “I truly do love you, y/n.”

“I love you too, Cedric.”

           Cedric and you made it to the table and joined the royal family. Later, the two of you along other couples shared a passionate kiss at 12am to welcome the new year.

[problematicfavesareproblematic]

Never Be Sorry, Not For This

It was just supposed to be two friends dancing. You should’ve known better: Eugene Roe + Dirty Jazz in a dark club on a hot Georgia night would be the death of you.

(i listened to Death Letter by Cassandra Wilson while writing this, in case you wanna feel the spice)

You giggle slightly when Gene’s hand presses hot on the middle of your back, the giggle graduating to an apologetic snicker when he shot you an impatient look.

“Really? Are you twelve?” Roe grumbles, holding your right hand up gently and keeping it close to their sides.

“And a half.” You wink, smirking as he rolls his eyes and shakes his head at you.

He looked stupidly handsome in the low light of the club, a light sheen of sweat on his skin catching the light and making him shine like some sort of angel.

Careful, a voice in your head whispers. Don’t read more into this than there is.

He had only brought you here because Bill fucking Guarnere was incapable on minding his own business and keeping his goddamn mouth shut for longer than two minutes and practically strong-armed Gene into inviting you. 

During a night of Sobel-assigned kitchens inventory with Gene and Guarnere, Bill had asked you about your recent birthday- what you’d done, who you’d heard from, if you’d gotten anything. 

“Paperwork, my dad and my sister and her family, and Sobel gave me an earful about controlling my facial expressions when he’s trying to establish his authority- Thanks for asking.”

Your answer was apparently incorrect, and Guarnere had turned to Gene and pointed at you with his thumb conspiratorial.

“That’s gotta be the saddest shit I’ve ever heard, eh Doc? Can’t let such an important day go to waste like that, can we, pal?”

Guarnere proceeded to bully Gene into inviting you to the jazz club the medic always flocked to on his weekend passes, the place he chose to escape to  in lieu of the bar favored by most residents of Toccoa. 

But before you’d had a chance to tell Bill to shut up and stop being weird, Gene had nodded and looked down at the inventory sheet in his hand.

“I mean, we could if you wanted to.”

You had a feeling that he was regretting extending the invitation now. 

When the two of you had entered the club you’d suddenly realized that this wasn’t the traditional, big band jazz you’d been expecting.

Oh no, you were pretty sure Gene had accidentally taken you to a sex club of some kind- and you became even more sure the moment your eyes had adjusted to the darkness and you’d been able to make out your surroundings.

The singer on the stage was lit with a red light, voice smokey and seductive as she crooned a slow melody, eyes hazy as her hands trailed up and down the microphone’s stand in a clearly suggestive manner. There were two men with instruments behind her, the one with the drum looking at her silk-clad body like he meant to ravage it.

Maybe jazz means something different in the south?

Couples were writhing to the drums rhythm, bodies draped over each other like some kind of Rodinian menagerie. 

Now, you were pretty confident in your capabilities as both a soldier and a human woman- you wouldn’t have gotten this far if you hadn’t been able to trust yourself and what you could handle.

And you knew for a fact that you were incapable of pulling this off.

Now, Gene was a patient man, but you could see in the set of his jaw he was starting to get frustrated.

 I don’t blame him, I’m acting like I’ve never been alone with a boy before. 

Clearing your throat, you bite the inside of your cheek to try and get your shit together.

He’s trying to do something nice for you and you’re ruining it….

”I’ll stop, I promise.” you plead, ducking your head to try and catch his gaze. “I’m just nervous, give me a break…”

“You’ve literally run out in front of a moving plane to get a piece of debris off a runway ” he interrupts you like you hadn’t been talking. “You stole Sobel’s car—”

“At least if those things went wrong I would’ve just been killed.”

Eugene snorts at that, and you hear him mutter something to himself in French.

“And now?” He asks, tilting his head towards the band on the stage and the other dancers around you . “You think this is worse?”

You fix him with a look of shock that you know will make him laugh again. “Death over humiliation, every time! Obviously. What sort of question is that? C’mon Genie—”

“I know you know how to dance. I’ve seen you and Nixon dance at Malarkey’s birthday dinner in last July—”

You cringed internally. You’d forgotten there had been witnesses to that.

“Ok, first off,” you tap one of your fingers against his shoulder for emphasis. “that only happened because I lost  a bet with Lewis. And to be clear-I know how to ballroom dance, and that’s different because the whole point is to be rigid and straight and precise. This is….proving to be a challenge.”

You’d always been good at those sorts of things- order and rigidity and accuracy. You were used to knowing what was expected of you and how you measured up to those expectations. But you were going into this completely unprepared. You hated it.

“Just think of this as a basic waltz step, just slower.” Gene supplied, and when you started to fall into the familiar step he immediately made it clear that he was going to be dictating the pace, meeting your quirked brow with one of his own.

“Much slower. Glacial. Frozen molasses sliding down a flat hill—” You chide lightly, trying to disguise the waiver of apprehension in your voice.

“I don’t think that’s a phrase. But yes- that slow.”

You sigh, letting him lead you in an almost unbearably slow box step, letting him take you through five box-steps before huffing and hooking your chin over his shoulder and rest your head there, groaning melodramatically like you were in pain.

“This is impractically slow.” you lament. “It doesn’t look or feel right—”

With a quick move of his arm he presses you closer into his chest, knocking you slightly off balance before moving you so his thigh is wedged between your legs. 

You flush at what you assumed was a mistake on his part, and when you go to step back down from his thigh he moves with you and holds you in place.

Eugene Roe, you saucy boy.

“Gotta let me have some of your weight. That’s why it feels like you’re doing it wrong….” 

His voice is soft as stone, and you know he can feel your breath catch in your throat. “C’mon, mon cher- I got you.”

You’re suddenly very glad that he's pulled you so close because you don’t have to hide the scarlet blush on your cheeks at the imploring tone in his voice.

It made you want to trust him. It made you want him, period. 

Full stop.

It’s dancing. People dance. Friends dance, it doesn’t mean anything unless you want it to.

Unless you let it.

You take a deep breath and let your knees bend slightly, allowing your hips to slot together and your heart thud against his. 

Just as he promised, he keeps a hold on you, the arm around your waist like a belt holding the two of you together, and your ribs jump in a quick inhale as his fingers curl around your waist.

If he notices your reaction, he’s kind enough not to mention it.

“Good,” he says under his breath, and you feel him nodding against your hair. “That’s good.”

Good God, had his voice always been so low?  Fuck he was good at this….

You hmm in reply, your self-consciousness put on the back burner in order to cope with the absolute burning electric currents seeming to run through your body, just beneath your skin. 

You’ve never been so overwhelmed by another person, let alone some boy as you felt at this moment in Eugene Roe’s arms- you couldn’t so much as breathe without him knowing, each inhale bringing with it the sweet, clean smell of the aftershave you couldn’t quite identify and the salt of his skin.

The steps of the waltz have melted into a rhythmic sway of your bodies, shifting weight from the ball of one foot to the other in time with Gene’s lead.

It’s everything you can do not to shake as his thigh flexes between your legs, your sex rubbing agianst it deliciously every so often and making you feel stupid with longing.

“You okay?” he asks quietly, and you realize that you’ve been holding your breath the whole time, a distracted chuckle escaping your lips before your nod softly.

“Yeah, course.” You wrap an arm around his shoulder and sway with him, giving the hand holding yours a quick squeeze of reassurance. “You?”

You feel him nod. “Yeah, me too.”

You hum, letting your eyes drift closed as you try to think about keeping your breathing even and touch light.

Which was proving harder than you’d anticipated— the slow curling beat of the new song beginning and it’s rumbling melody settling over your heads like the foreboding clouds of a storm that neither of you seemed too interested in seeking shelter from.

This whole place could burn down and all I’d see is him

After a few more moments you feel the hand at your back begin to knead at the knots along your spine, strong fingers rolling like revered thunder against your tense muscles.

“Give me some more,” he quietly demands. “You need to lean on me more….you’re still too tense—” and you bend your knees a bit so you can feel the pressure of his thigh where you’re throbbing for him the most. 

“Shhhhhhiiiiiit…” he hisses quietly, almost to himself. 

“Eugene,” you breathe before you can stop yourself, titling your head so your temples press together. “ We, uh…..We said we wanted to go by eleven...”

Your reminder is purely for show, arousal hot in your chest and stomach. 

When he hums in acknowledgement, you can hear the lack of intention behind it. The idea of separating from this man made you feel cold—a prospect you found unbearable despite the heat making your hair stick to the back of your neck.

Staying, we’re going to stay.

Part of this feels inevitable, like the two of you had always been destined to end in this sinfully filthy embrace with nearly every single part of your bodies touching, and you couldn’t find it in yourself to curse the humidity you so loathed.

A whimper escapes your throat when you catch your clothed clit on some bunched fabric from the leg of his pants, and his arms abandon their dancing position to wrap around your torso and smooth his hands up and down your back

“Like this, Doc?” you can’t help but whisper, sighing prettily when his grip digs into the meat of your shoulder blades. 

You know you aren’t dancing anymore, haven’t been dancing for a while. You feel your hips jump against his, a low groan rumbling in his chest as one of his hands flashes down to squeeze at your ass.

“Fuck darlin’....” 

You turn your head so your lips are at his ear, eyes nearly rolling back in your head at the sinful roll of his hips as he drops a bit lower, a growl in his chest at the breathy way you gasp his name.

“I’m sorry” he’s whispering. “I’m sorry—”

You know what he’s apologizing for.

He thinks he’s confirming Sobel’s horrible accusations— that you’re nothing more than a warm body in the eyes of the men of Easy Company.

Their CO had a special place in his heart for taking the time to remind you that you were a woman and insinuate that you were nothing more than a barrack whore who was a pretty good shot on a rifle. 

“Even pious Winters seems to find you distracting, Miss Y/N. Maybe we should send you ahead of the pack to give the Krauts something to enjoy before we show up.”

“Don’t be sorry,” you shake your head and bring one hand up to lightly touch his cheek, voice thick in your throat. “Never be sorry. Not for this— Shit, Gene....”

One of Gene’s hands slid up your neck and into your hair, holding your head as he turned to look at you, pupils blown wide beneath heavily lidded eyes.

You look at his lips, bringing your thumb over to smooth the furrow in his brow.

“Never?” he asks, and with one final look into his eyes you shake your head.

“Never.” you hear yourself say, 

You kiss the corner of his mouth first, not wanting to rush him, still worried that (somehow) you were misreading his intentions. 

As if he wasn't gyrating his hips with you in a way so dirty that you were surprised you hadn’t been asked to leave. As if you couldn’t feel the ghost of his hard cock against your hip….

Apparently Gene thought you were now the one moving too slowly, because he uses his hand in your hair to turn your mouth to his and kiss the breath from your lungs.

His lips taste like whiskey and a tiny bit like the candied pecans you’d brought him as a thank you for taking you out. 

You sighed against his mouth as you slid one of your hands down his chest, fisting his shirt as his tongue parts the seam of your lips and deepens the kiss.

“Embrasse-moi (kiss me),” he mumbles between the kisses he plucked from your lips. “Je pense toujours à toi, Je ne peux pas vivre sans toi….tu as besoin de savoir que (I always think about you, I can’t live without you. You need to know that.).”

You’re french is lackluster at best, but something in the way he’s saying the words that makes you feel as if he’s being unbearably sincere in whatever it is he’s telling you. 

“I dont…” you begin, but then something wicked and heavy settles in your lower belly that has you pulling back enough that you can look him in the eye.

HIs lips are pink and swollen, and you nearly forget what you wanted to tell him.

Debauched, absolutely lewd and lustful.

Your hands find his and with a reassuring nodyou put his hands on your hip and thigh, another curse slipping past his lips as his fingers bunched the soft fabric of your skirt in his hands.

“Show me what you said.” You know you’ve said it like a command but you’ve never felt more less in control in your entire life. “Please, Eugene—”

He nods solemnly, and when he replies you get the feeling he’s making you a deeper promise than you are aware of.

“I will. I promise.”

and he does.

(*throws fic at you and runs away* than you for reading bYE (p2?))