#i feel so stupid for hoping it will get fixed

[bloggerspam]

A little treat, from the other side of the glass!

===

Steph and Jason stand there in silence after the natural disaster that they just witnessed dipped like bats out of hell.

Steph's mouth is dry, and she feels deprived of a hunt she only just started.

"So, did you hire her because you guys match?" Steph finally says, after watching Jason moon after his new boytoy for a couple seconds to make herself feel better.

Not that Jason keeps boytoys, but really, he should. Danny can be his first.

"What?" Jason blinks at her in confusion, no doubt still suffering the effects of lovesickness. Ugh.

"Val." Steph clarifies, enunciating because she likes the way it sounds on her tongue, "y'know, yay high, hot as sin, hair like—" she twirls a finger towards her own bangs, signifying the two starkly white dreads the other woman had framing her face.

Jason scoffs. "No, she's good. Knows her shit." Jason gives her a look. "I wouldn't hire someone who couldn't do the job."

"Figured," Steph placates, picking up a random nut on the table "She work the weekdays?"

She doesn't know who she's kidding. They both know Steph's panting after Jaybird's new mechanic like a dog eyeing a particularly tasty looking bone.

Two minutes ago, she watched Val suplex Danny in picture perfect 4K, and lost control of her own goddamn mouth.

"Gods, I wish that were me." Steph had said then, out loud.

Thankfully, Jason was too preoccupied watching a basically shirtless Danny pinning Val to the ground and saying "Satan, I wish that were me." to really make fun of her for it.

But Steph's not stupid, and for all the violence and muscle Jason's made up of, that doesn't mean he's stupid either. Or deaf.

They both heard the other, and are pointedly not talking about it.

Who the hell says "Satan" instead of "Gods" anyway? Jason literally worships the ground Wonder Woman struts on, and she's basically a God. Goddess. Whatever.

Power positions shouldn't be gendered. It's all the same.

"She works when she works." Jason finally says, not at all fooled by her innocent demeanor. It hasn't worked for years. Not since she was still dating Tim, but it won't stop her from trying.

She gives up.

"Come on Jaybird, you saw her!" Steph immediately whines.

"I did. And I am not letting my very talented, very valued employee fall into the clutches of a harpy!" Jason throws his hands up, strolling back to her car to get it sorted. He's no doubt under the impression that the faster he fixes it, the sooner she'll leave.

They both know it's a lost hope.

"I am not a harpy," Steph sniffs, ignoring Jason's responding scoff, "And I just wanna get to know her, is all."

"Know like what, her three sizes and what she looks like on a bed?” Jason snarks.

She kicks him in the side. “First of all, crude. What would Alfie say?”

Jason pointedly ignores her, but she’s used to that treatment from him. “Plus, it’s not like you’re any better!” 

Jason stands up abruptly to glare at Steph. “You met Val today. I’ve met Danny a handful of times this week and yeah, I like what I see,” Steph feels a triumphant glee take over her, but Jason shuts her up by pointing a greasy hand at her threateningly, “but I like how he's funny and smart more.”

Steph lets that percolate for a moment, trying to keep a straight face, before a shit-eating grin takes over her face. “And it doesn’t hurt that pretty boy can throw down.” 

Jason rolls his eyes, but he can’t fool Steph. She sees his get a little red as he turns back to sink into the hood of her car. “He made that bike, y’know.” 

That surprises her. “He did? By himself??”

“His friend Tucker tricked it out with him—Danny can code, but his friend’s a certified genius apparently.” Steph feels warmth flood over her as Jason continues to talk about Danny, about the handful of things the two men have talked about during the scant moments Danny’s there waiting to pick up Val. "We're only three years apart, and he's already got a lot goin' on for him."

"Hey, you got this place all on your own, without Bruce's help, and got back on your feet." Steph jabs a threatening finger at him, "You're barely legal to drink, and you have what, 6 employees?"

Jason sniffs, muttering something about college and pit madness. Steph rolls her eyes and promptly tells him where he can shove that kind of talk.

Namely: where the sun don't shine and Gotham smog don't go.

In truth, she’s happy. She’s never seen Jason this relaxed about meeting someone new, though she’s sure it’s not the first time. She and Jay have never been too close, despite the fact that he tolerates her more in casual hangouts than the rest of the bats and birds. 

They trust each other with their lives, of course, but Steph wasn’t exactly there when Red Hood first made his debut, and she’s one of the few in the Batfam that didn’t know Jason before. 

Sometimes she thinks that the only reason he can tolerate her as much as he does. Can't make comparisons to a dead boy if you didn't know the dead boy, after all.

So she listens to him redirect the talk back to Danny, to the shop, and when Jason runs out of things to say they sit together in comfortable, familiar silence. The only noise being the city ambience and Jason tinkering around in the guts of her car.

Steph basks in it, breathing slow and deep, contemplative.

"So. Vigilantes?" Jason finally utters, Steph's eyes snapping open so she can point a finger at him frantically.

"Right!? Phantom?" She asks, watching as Jason turns toward her with a wrench from god knows where.

"Huntress?" Jason counters.

"Cujo????" Steph almost screeches.

There's another silence, as Jason and Steph stare at each other, confused beyond measure. It's the kind of pause that people who've just been through a baffling moment together can commiserate in, a moment that really takes one aback, rare for borne and bred Gothamites like Steph and Jason are.

"Tim?" Steph offers.

"Babs?" Jason pleads.

A long moment, and Steph nods, pulling out her phone.

She pretends not to notice Jason's shoulders slumping in relief as he turns back to her car—probably thinking he's just dodged a bullet on brotherly nosiness. Tim might be able to lie to Batman's face, but he's still a sucker for Dick Grayson's pouty whines.

Jokes on him, last she heard Dick is hanging out with Babs today, so he'll find out anyway.

The second she presses send, she belatedly remembers that she's also probably going to be subjected to the nosy.

Gods damn it all.

Mechanic!Val AU, but make it gay and sapphic.

ya'll can thank the HH discord for this one. Specifically the menace known as @clockwayswrites (and @impyssadobsessions for the art that inspired the damn thing)

Dead on Main and with some future Val/Steph >)

also @belfry-ghost did a doodle for this AU and everyone should go love on his art. Val's so unf.

===

Val’s pretty sure her new boss Jay is actually a crime lord.

She’s pretty sure he’s The Crime Lord, actually. She’s like, 98% sure she works for Red Hood now, and she’s low key mad about it. She squints at the man now, with his white streak and almost imperceptible green sheen to his eyes. 

The problem is that Val did perceive it. Because she used to date a guy whose baby blue eyes changed ever so slightly in the same way. Thinking about Danny makes her even madder.

To be clear, she’s not mad about Red Hood himself. 

She’s just mad that, of all the mechanic shops in all of Crime Alley, she just had to work for her ex-boyfriend’s third place Hall Pass pick. It also makes her miss her friends way more, and Val is hardly what one would call a well-adjusted woman, so she’s mad about it.

She huffs as she lifts the hood of the second car she’s working on today. Being a mechanic wasn’t really on the docket for Val’s life goals, nor was being in Gotham, but she got a full ticket ride on Wayne Foundation scholarships, and honestly? 

Gotham is Amity Park Lite: Gargoyles and Furries Edition. 

Between a full ride to Gotham U and being stuck at Elmerton Community College? The choice was easy. 

So here she is, working for the resident Crime Lord in his civvies. 

Jay pays good, teaches her what she needs to know, and bonus: he sometimes helps with her English Literature class. He’s flexible on hours, and she’s even got rudimentary insurance. 

All in All?  It could be worse—she could still be working for Vlad, after all. 

It's the little things.

[icallhimjoey]

Almost, Always

♥ ♥          Joseph Quinn x Fem!Reader 

Summary: Happy endings aren't for everyone, so it seems, but that doesn't mean that you can't stop trying for one. Question is, are you actually star-crossed lovers that can figure something out, or just absolutely blind to reality and really fucking stupid?

CW / disclaimer: rpf, fem!reader, language, adult themes, smut, cheating

Author’s note: it's monday! and fake joe's here for you! he's... not exactly the best, for which i apologise, but, he's all for you, so please, enjoy him fictionally and respect him privately (too much to ask? i hope not?) ok great talk everyone, love you <33 xo

Wordcount: 6.3K

part one - part two - part three - part four - part five

Four days of silence.

Four days of not looking each other in the eye. Of no physical touch. Of not saying a single fucking word.

You moved around each other in a shared space until you had the thought that you were probably better off avoiding each other completely for a little while.

Joe was convinced he had every right to wait for an apology before he’d speak to you again. You, however, obviously heavily disagreed.

You had just been honest.

Joe had asked for you to be honest and so, you had been, but apparently, you’d done it wrong.

It started with an evening of not speaking after an outburst. A silent night routine where you completely avoided one another. Acted like the other person wasn’t even there. You’d thought then that you’d speak in the morning. That you’d talk things out after getting some sleep, because maybe that was the problem.

You slept with your backs facing each other and dreamed of better moods in the morning.

But then the next morning, Joe had gotten up and only made one coffee.

One singular cup of coffee.

He drank it at the kitchen table, looked at you all bitterly like a disappointed parent would look at their child who was ruining their potential, and then left the empty cup there for you to grow even more annoyed at. More than you already were.

That one evening of silence had slowly turned into four days.

You bit your tongue, though. Kept quiet, because Joe did too. Stored the annoyance away. Swept it under the rug, and even though this metaphoric rug was starting to look really lumpy, you pretended you could walk over it fine still.

You then also ignored that this is precisely what the fight had been about. About you shutting up about all the little things that annoyed you. All the small things that didn’t feel worth the effort to say anything about in the moment, because you didn’t want to be a nag.

Things built with you.

Being bothersome was your worst nightmare, so you wouldn’t say anything for ages until then suddenly, on a random afternoon, a teeny tiny drop made the bucket overflow and you’d fall apart at something so stupidly insignificant which would take everyone by surprise.

Would take Joe by surprise.

And it made sense that Joe’s first reaction to your fire would be to light his own. You’d snap and shout, so Joe’d snap and shout right back.

“Babe, you never fucking communicate! It’s always– I’m always guessing with you! Just tell me when something upsets you!”

“I am!”

“Yea now you are! But you’re telling me about shit I said three months ago! What do you want me to change about something I did three months ago?!”

“I don’t want you to change anything– my God! You asked me what’s wrong, so I’m telling you what’s wrong!”

It was always the same fight. And usually, you’d end up saying something so stupid to your own ears it would break the tension and make you laugh. It’d be easy to apologise in those moments, because you knew this was on you, and the warmth coming off of Joe as he’d turn soft at your laughter would always sort of fix things.

“Stop being so silly,” he’d say as he’d hug you. As he’d kiss you on the cheek until your embarrassed grimace, aimed fully at yourself, disappeared.

“Got some moaning left in there?” he’d ask, tapping the side of your head with a finger, making you giggle despite yourself. “Want to go shout into the air from the balcony? Since you’re here now, this is the time to get all of it out.”

That was how it usually went.

And he was right; you could definitely communicate better. Express feelings in the moment rather than hold on to all the negative shit for ages.

Easier said than done, but at least you were aware that you had to stop saving things for another day.  

This time the fight had been different though. There was no eventual humour slipping through any cracks. No secret smiles hidden from each other until you stopped being able to conceal them. No apologies. Zero kind words. Just… anger. And silence.

Joe was waiting for you to break first. For your wrath to turn into something a little softer that he could mould into something more to his liking.

And you were waiting because Joe was waiting. Simple as that.

It didn’t feel fair that every time you’d share negative feelings, Joe would end up calling you silly.

It didn’t feel fair that Joe never apologised for anything.

It didn’t feel fair that, just because you were quiet for a moment as you collected your thoughts, Joe spat, “Silent treatment? All right.” at you.

Four days.

Four days of Joe making a morning coffee just for himself, actively choosing to ignore, and therefore, hurt you.

Four days of his lone empty coffee cup left on the table, which you then didn’t clean, because why the fuck would you, but the sight of it was eating you alive.

You spent four days witnessing petty, childish behaviour from the man who you started believing you needed some space from. A little breathing room. Just until he’d miss you enough to reach out and say sorry, you know?

You wondered if he was thinking the same.

If the silence was also letting his mind wander into those same dark corners yours was exploring.

But then, Joe broke it.

A glass of wine on that fourth night broke it.

It wasn’t exactly an apology, but… it felt like one. You decided it was an apology.

You were sitting on the sofa, tapping away on your phone, talking to Emily about your stupid boyfriend, and she was a good friend, made fun of him effortlessly which really did a good job of making you feel better.

Then, Joe placed a glass of wine down on the coffee table in front of you.

It didn’t fully register at first.

You saw the glass, but assumed it was Joe’s wine that he poured for just himself, and if you were going to want some, you’d have to go and fetch you own.

Mid-typing out a message to Emily about it, you felt Joe sit down next to you, and when you chanced a quick glance, you saw that he was holding a glass of wine himself as he got comfortable and turned on the TV.

Slowly, your phone lowered into your lap, and you stared at that glass of red wine on the table for a moment.

Without warning, your eyes welled up.

He poured that for you.

In the effort to not let Joe notice how this gesture hit you right in the gut, you held your breath until you were shaking, and then a heaving sob burst out of you.

Shit.

You shattered.

Split right down the middle, and burst into pieces with such vigour, you surprised yourself, but surprised Joe more.

He had expected you to pick up the glass and empty it in the sink, or whatever.

Four days was much longer than he thought you’d let this go on for.

His girlfriend was stubborn – he knew that. But four days? Four days was a really fucking long time. And, apparently, four days was long enough for a simple glass of red supermarket wine to make you cry.

The astonishment rendered Joe useless for a moment.

He just looked at you for a moment as you sat with your phone in your lap, head dropped down, and your face covered by both your hands.

This was really fucking embarrassing.

Your legs felt the want to escape the situation before your mind got the chance to catch up. You were up on your feet and wanted to bolt it to the bedroom when you heard Joe put his glass of wine down.

You hadn’t even taken two steps before you got taken hold of by an arm. Pulled into a chest. Held firmly into place.

Going from four days of moving around each other like you didn’t exist to one another, to the very sudden tightest hug you’d received in ages was a lot.

And then Joe placed a hand on the back of your neck and squeezed you gently, making you fucking bawl.

No one apologised.

No one said a word, actually.

But you took whatever that glass of wine was as enough of an olive branch to let yourself be hugged.

Be shushed quietly.

Be gently kissed and softly touched.  

It shouldn’t have counted as an apology, but you’d taken it as one, and Joe had conveniently let you.

Saturday night.

You’re out.

Alone.

You know Emily would have come if you had asked her to, but you hadn’t, because she would’ve likely asked a bunch of questions you didn’t want to answer.

“Where are we going?” “That’s not where we usually go...” “Why are we going there?”

Couldn’t tell her. She’d try her best to talk sense into you. Would try to convince you that this behaviour wasn’t serving anyone in the long term.

And she’d be right.

But you currently don’t really care about the long term.

Short term is where it’s at.

Where all the fun and the excitement lives.

So you’re out. Having drinks at a bar by yourself, and you do your very best fending off any trickle of doubt at your life choices until you see him walk in.

Jackpot.

You fucking knew it.

You pretend you haven’t seen him at all, of course. Continue your chat with the girl behind the bar, until suddenly–

“You know you’ve got the worst timing?”

Joe sneaks up on you.

His voice is low in your ear, and you do your very best to sound as surprised as you possibly can when you gasp a small breath, all innocent. You turn your head to see him over your shoulder, both his hands on your sides as he looks down at you.

“Fancy seeing you here.” You say it like you truly didn’t expect to run into him.

Oscar worthy.

Well. It would have been, had you not both been very aware that you’re exactly where you are for this exact reason. Wearing what you are wearing, drinking what you are drinking. It’s more than a lucky guess that he’d be here tonight.

Joe’s predictable like that.

Men in general are easy like that.

“I’m here with a whole group.” Joe’s making excuses he already knows aren’t going to stop either one of you.  

“Do I know them?”

“No.” Joe answers as he scans your face from the side. God, you look all… glossy.

“Good.” Would’ve been a bit awkward otherwise.

“You better hang around for a bit.” Joe gives you a face, sort of stern, and it’s so comfortable to frown at him. To act all offended. Like it’s not exactly what you want to hear.

“Excuse you, I’m–” you start all aghast, and want to add, I’m seeing someone, which is a lie, but you get cut off by a strong squeeze into your waist from both his hands.

“I’m not joking. Give me… maybe, like, an hour and I’ll come get you.”

You scrunch your nose at him and he gives a small nod, his grin spreading wide, before he turns around and finds the people he came in with.

You’re alone. Single, and having drinks in a bar by yourself, which has every opportunity to feel a little sad, but instead you feel giddy. You predicted you’d run into him, and then you did.

Perfect.

You’re a genius.

After last time, you kind of want Joe to think that you are seeing someone. Just to make you feel like you’ve got the upper hand. Not that it matters. You’ve both made the same wrong choice in similar situations before. But, still. You just don’t want him to win.

Joe joins his friends, and he throws a quick glance back to see you smile into your drink as you take a sip.

Yea. Glossy is the right word, he thinks. He could stare at you all evening.

Fuck.

A whack to his shoulder by one of his friends pulls him into a conversation and momentarily, he shifts into the evening he had planned to have.

He forgets about you for a minute, but never entirely.

It’s like there’s a constant little buzz in the back of his head, and he keeps wanting to look over. See what you’re doing. Who you’re talking to. Who’s talking to you.

Joe’s in trouble.

You do things to him that he can’t entirely comprehend, and that no one before or after you has ever really managed. He doesn’t know what to make of that most of the time, except that the feelings he’s got for you are sort of… big. And scary.

You’re still devastatingly gorgeous to him, he can objectively look at you and think, yea she’s fucking hot, but you also manage to make him laugh. Manage to him feel heard and cared for. Manage to make him forget about all current worries life has on offer for him.

And Joe is generally, just, doomed.

Whatever he had with you had worked for a while and then suddenly it hadn’t anymore. You’d suddenly wanted out, but now… it feels a little like you both want to start over. Like you both want to forget about that chapter of bullshit. Pretend it never happened.

And what’s the problem with that?

Is whatever you are doing now a problem? If it works?

If it doesn’t hurt people, Joe thinks there’s no issue.

But he knows it actually does hurt people. It’s another truth he ignores. Tries to, at least.

There’s no denying the gravitation pulling the two of you closer and closer together until eventually you end up a tangled mess. Like a pair of forgotten earphones left in a coat pocket, too annoying to untie, so instead someone will pull at both ends until the earpieces reach both ears, leaving the wire tangled up even tighter as it sits under their chin.

Even though Joe appreciates the poetic beauty he can find in all of that, he knows he’s got to fucking stop hurting people all the time.

He can’t help his feelings.

But he can help how he treats others.

If he is going to choose to let the general ache of a bad week be soothed by the balm of your presence, he can at least have the decency to not let others presume they’re dating him. Because generally, that’s always been his problem. Joe’s vague and avoidant and all about surface level fun – he never defines anything if he can help it, and he lets others think what they please.

It’s easier that way.

For him, at least.

It’s both a shame and a godsend that this is a part of him that you know through and through. That you see. He doesn’t have to try to hide it, because he knows that it’s of no use with you.

And apparently, it’s fine, because here you fucking are, aren’t you?

He remembers when he thought you were just the same, and remembers how he felt so lucky at first.

A perfect match.

He’d learnt over time, you’re actually very much not the same. But! You had at least some of the same tendencies, and you showing up in this particular bar tonight was enough proof of it.

Joe’s in his group of friends, and they’re all chatting and laughing, and this was meant to be a fun night out, but he might as well just leave right now. His mind is with the girl at the other end of the bar, sat on her own, smiling and chatting to whoever had the courage to strike up a conversation.

Yea.

He’s got more problems.

Forget not wanting to define anything with anyone.

Joe also has to stop banking his entire future on the idea that you want him too.

There’s… there’s a lot of things to ignore.

It should foreshadow that the path he’s going down isn’t good. Isn’t the right one. But... it’s so fun and exciting, he kind of has to know where it leads.

He sighs loudly, a frustrated grumble originating from sheer defeat, and he gives the glass he’s holding a glance. He’ll finish this, and then he’ll fetch you and leave.

About fifteen minutes later, he’s got you under his arm and is leading you outside. Asks, “Yours or mine?” because there’s no need to act coy with you.

You answer, “Yours.” a little too quickly for Joe not to raise an eyebrow at.

You’re walking together, and you’re still fixing your scarf, but your steps are too determined. Too rushed for your quick answer not to hide at least some secrets.

“What, you got anything to hide from me?”

“No–”

“Let’s go over to yours. It’s closer.” he challenges without the intent to actually do so, footsteps still carrying him in the direction of his own flat.

“No, I–”

“Or has Jasper left all of his things strewn about?” Joe couldn’t finish the question before having to twist his mouth in a bid to hide his smile.

You stop walking for just a second, and give him a dead pan stare that transitions into an eye-roll before you flatly say, “All right, good night.” and pretend to turn around to leave.

It makes Joe throw his head back in a laugh, both his arms grabbing at you and pulling you close.

“Mine, okay. Mine.”

And you fall back into step, smiling into your scarf at how you just made Joe’s laugh echo down the street.

Feels good to make Joe laugh.

It’s quiet for a bit, just a short few seconds. Just footsteps on the ground amongst the noises of the city. Somehow, it feels like it drags on, like every second lasts a whole minute, and you can’t help filling it with awkward chat. “No,” you start. “Jasper’s put all of his things where they’re supposed to go.” And you give Joe a pointed look after.

He bites immediately.

“Wha– I always put my things where they’re supposed to go!”

He doesn’t.

You know he doesn’t.

He knows you know he doesn’t.

It’s impossible to forget all of the little things that made the rug look all lumpy. You’d always keep things under there for ages, which gave you a lot of time to quietly lift up corners to examine all the mess.

So you snort, and he stutters through beginnings of words he never finishes to find excuses that don’t exist until you’re both laughing.

Then he says, “Here. I’ll put this thing where it’s meant to go.” And you think it’s just about the cheesiest innuendo ever, but then he takes your wrist in his hand and lets his fingers intertwine with yours.

You look up at him with a pursed smile, but Joe’s already looking right ahead, making sure you don’t bump into anything.

You’re lucky it’s cold enough to blame the flush of your cheeks on the cold wind.

You hold hands all the way to Joe’s flat.

It’s nice.

You also talk about Jasper all the way to Joe’s flat.

That’s less nice.

Joe asks what else Jasper does that he allegedly doesn’t. If he lets you keep your heating on. If he lets you sleep closest to the door. Every question comes out with disdain, like this loser doesn’t know what he’s fucking doing.

And you answer every question with lies. Paint a very pretty picture.

Jasper doesn’t even fucking exist, but you like that Joe thinks you’re taken. That you’re off the market, and that he shouldn’t be taking you home, but still chooses to. You think maybe he wouldn’t have held your hand if he thought you weren’t already spoken for.

However, it doesn’t feel so nice to remember all the things that ruined your relationship with Joe. He just keeps listing a bunch of shit you’d once yelled at him for, and you don’t think he fully understands how it’s bringing the mood down.

Presumably, you’re meant to think it’s funny, so you smile, but all of it sits wrong in your gut. It leaves you with a bitter taste in your mouth that uncomfortably sticks to your tongue and sours your mood a little.

The short-term fun with Joe is meant to be just that. Fun. You don’t want to be reminded of all the reasons why you shouldn’t be going home with him right now. If you did, you’d have taken Emily with you tonight.

You refrain from saying anything, though.

You’re still you, after all.

You just smile and tell Joe that Jasper actually does do all the things that Joe never did, and hope it sparks enough jealousy in him to maybe do something about it.

“Hmm,” Joe says when you turn the corner and his building comes into view. “Jasper sounds... he sounds kind of perfect, doesn’t he?”

He does.

You’ve created the image of a perfect boyfriend. One who you know you’d never actually gel with; you need someone who pushes back a little.

Problem is... Joe knows that too.

Just when the thought crosses your mind that maybe Joe knows you’re making everything up, that you’ve been lying this whole time you’ve been holding hands, Joe confirms your fears.

“Almost too um... almost too good to be true, wouldn’t you say?” he narrows his eyes in suspicion, a smile still playing on his lips.

“Yea, well. Some people are.” you shrug, but know Joe is reading your unsteady body language just fine.

“Sure, sure. Yea. I guess so.” Joe says, and then falls silent.

He knows you’re lying.

Well, fuck.

And then, he lets the silence linger.

Joe doesn’t say anything as he fishes his keys from a pocket and lets you into his building. Doesn’t say anything as he pushes the lift button. Just gives you a little smile, like he’s trying to hold in a chuckle, thinking secret thoughts.

It gets in your hair.

“What?”

“Nothing, it’s... no, it’s nothing.”

Joe lets his small smile turn into a fat smirk and it’s starting to get on your nerves. The lift doors open, and you assertively step inside before Joe can give you a small ladies-first gesture.

Joe watches you press the button to his floor before he shakes his head a little and follows you in.

“What?” you ask again, and to that, Joe finally lets a barking laugh out.

“What?” he mimics, feeding off of the brooding bit of bite he can sense growing underneath your skin.

“If you’re trying to piss me off, it’s fucking working.”

“I’m not trying to do anything.” Joe patronises, joy very much still visible in the lines on his cheeks.

He knows you’re single.

He knows there’s no Jasper.

“Hmm.” It’s your turn to narrow eyes at him. “Yea, no. Of course not. You don’t have to try to piss me off, you’re right. You’ve got the skills to auto-pilot your way–”

In a lightning-speed quick move, Joe shuts you up by suddenly getting close enough for you to stumble back against the mirrored panel or the lift. He’s got two hands touching your sides over your coat, firm enough for you to feel them through the thick layers of fabric.

It startles you into silence, and makes you audibly swallow.

You can see from up close how Joe smugly pushes his tongue against the inside of his cheek, eyes roving over you slowly, and, fuck.

Yea.

Yea. Okay.

It shifts.

All of it is shifting.

The annoyance and slight anger transfers into something else.

Into something a little more raunchy.

You feel a sudden rush down your body from the way Joe’s eyes blaze with intention.

Joe knows you. Bit rash of you to forget.

Just before the lift stills and the doors open behind him, Joe lets his body sway forward a bit to press himself up against you entirely. It makes your breath hitch and stutter. Makes you want to grab hold of the large collar of his coat to pull him down enough so you can kiss him.

But then, in a blink of an eye, he’s gone. Pushes himself off, quickly moves away, walks out of the lift, and leaves you there to catch your breath for a second.

Fucking hell.

Oh, tonight is going to be interesting.

You don’t leave the lift until the doors start closing and you have to quickly launch yourself across to get an arm in front of the sensor. Down the hall you see him disappear into his flat, leaving his door open, and you take rushing steps to follow him inside.

You don’t want to waste any more time.

You want to undress right there on his doormat, despite the bitterly cold temperature you’ve just stepped into.

You want find Joe, who you can hear is already opening and closing cupboards in his kitchen, and just... you don’t know. Jump him, you guess.

That lift moment has made you want to devour him. Made you want to be devoured by him.

But then you close his door and step into his kitchen, and find him at the counter. He’s got his back turned, and is super calmly pouring two glasses of wine.

No urgency.

Zero haste.

He knows what he’s just done to you. Knows the effect that likely must have had. He’s toying with you. Fucking playing.

You drop your coat where you’re standing, right onto the floor. Toe your shoes off to make a pile. You cross your arms and grab hold of the bottom of your top, ready to pull that over your head next, but you pause to watch Joe’s shoulders move under his shirt as he carefully twists and pushes the cork back onto the bottle to seal it.

When he turns around, he leans against the counter, one hand on the edge of it, and in the other he’s holding a nice fat glass of red.

Glass.

One glass.

For a moment you just assume that there’s another hiding behind his back, though it doesn’t even fully register.

You make eye-contact as he takes a slow sip of his drink, and then you slowly pull your top off. It reveals a lacy bra you’re convinced Joe likes the look of.

And you’re right.

Joe halts, and openly stares. Mouth in his wine. Hypnotised. Frozen on the spot. Mind slowly turning to mush.

He’s predictable like that.

Men in general are easy like that.

You take a deep breath, inflating your whole chest, and Joe groans at the sight. The glass of wine gets put back down behind him, and you don’t even think he has taken real sip. Then he takes a few steps to pull a chair from his table.

He holds a hand up that means, one second, and pulls at the fabric of his trousers to give himself a bit more space before he sits down. He shifts a little, settles in, and then leans back with his legs spread wide, both hands behind his head, fingers folded and elbows sticking out.

He takes a deep breath before he gives a small nod that says, carry on.

You bite your teeth into your bottom lip as you smile, because Joe is an idiot, and you let your hands find the button to your trousers to take off next.

Then, suddenly, it lands.

There’s one single glass of wine on the counter.

One.

You stop your movements as you look at it and watch the red liquid inside softly swirl from when Joe put it down.

It takes a second for Joe to follow your gaze, and for him to understand what you’re looking at.

He frowns in confusion a little, looks back at you to see that you’re still staring, and then looks back again, and–

“Oh...”

Your expression has gone cold.

And Joe thinks that maybe he gets it. He isn’t entirely sure, but he’s smart enough to know that the show he had just settled in for is probably going to get cancelled if he doesn’t do anything.

“Did you...”

But he’s not sure what to say. Doesn’t know how to finish that sentence. When you start moving, he thinks maybe he doesn’t have to.

It’s crazy how this feels like it used to feel, before.

But, it’s a little different now, because… there’s nothing at stake. There’s no you to protect. No you two as a couple to preserve.

That stupid single glass of red wine.

You fucking hate it.

And you know it’s sick, you know that you’re not meant to enjoy this, but the feeling of rage bubbling up within you honestly feels kind of good. It’s been a while since you’ve gotten to experience full-body resentment, and have the immediate source of it right there to take it out on.

You want to feel this dark, sticky displeasure.

Feels fucking good.

Joe’s been reminding you of what a shit boyfriend he was to you, which was meant to be ha-ha funny. Joe thought enough time had passed. You had gone from no-contact to two people that bickered for a bit, and then would end up in bed together. It had happened twice already, and you had all the right ingredients to keep this going. The recipe had proven itself delicious, and Joe thought he could just... serve the same meal again.

It’s self-destructive, you know it is, but… you are hungry for it too.

You take a few slow steps and walk over to look at this glass of wine more closely. Joe watches you from his seat, entirely unsure of what to do, and then, without warning, you slowly push the whole thing into the sink.

Red splashes everywhere, and the glass clatters loudly, but it doesn’t break.

Next, you take the bottle into your hands. Look at the label for a moment. Pretend to read it. It’s still pretty full.

Too bad, you think. Such a waste.

You remove the cork, turn around to look Joe directly in the eye, and then tip that over as well. The whole sink colours blood read as you drain the whole thing, and all Joe can do is watch on from his seat.

He doesn’t stop you.

Doesn’t say anything.

Just watches you and feels the energy of the room build.

He’d forgotten how things always build with you.

You’re quite the sight, face reading thunder, standing in his kitchen in your bra, breath deepening with every second that passes.

Joe hates what it does to him inside of his trousers.

When the bottle empties, wine clattering in the sink, Joe sees your face change. Something more… calm seemingly overcomes you. You look... pleased.

“Does that feel justified?” Joe asks, eyes blinking at you.

“Fuck you. Yes it does.”

“Do you have any idea how expensive that was?”

You don’t give a shit how expensive that was, but just because you know Joe does, you want to know.

“Tell me.”

Joe scans your body all the way down and then all the way back up.

“Come here.” Joe holds an arm out and reaches for you.

“Shut up. Tell me.” You’re already making your way over.

“That’s a class A premier grand cru...”

You take Joe’s hand and let him pull you to sit on his lap. To straddle him, thighs spread wide, one leg over each one of his.

“That was a class A premier grand cru.” the words mean nothing to you, you know fuck all about wine, but there’s something glorious about correcting Joe.

“Hmm.” Joe hums as his nose nudges yours, and he lets both hands slide up your thighs until he finds the bits he likes holding most. He uses his grip to pull you in closer and continues, “A blend of merlot, and cabernet franc...” Joe’s French accent is awful. “An award-winning Château Angélus from... from 2016, I think...”

That’s fairly recent, you think. Can’t be that expens–

“Cost me over 500 quid.”

Your eyes darken.

Good.

You wouldn’t pay much more than a tenner for a bottle of the same size.

“Should’ve poured me a glass.”

And it’s only then that the penny drops. That he gets it. You can see it in his eyes. The flush of memories suddenly making it to the forefront of his brain.

The silent treatment.

The coffees he didn’t make you.

The wine he eventually did pour for you.

That one glass of red that temporarily had fixed everything.

Shit.

Joe grimaces. Groans. Squeezes his eyes shut. Feels like an idiot.

“Should’ve poured you a–”

You kiss Joe.

Hard.

Breathe him in, and move in enough for it to almost make the chair tip backwards. You’ve got both your arms around his neck, hips moving over Joe’s lap in a desperate grind, all needy and in search of feeling something.

Fire.

You want to feel the fire.

Momentarily, you think it’s working. That something is catching aflame. You can feel how Joe spreads his legs even wider, bucking his hips upward as he presses himself into you.

Joe is straining in his trousers, and he groans as you figure out the right rhythm to make it feel good with every hip roll, with every back and forth.

You break the kiss to let a moan escape you, head dropping back, and Joe’s mouth finds the skin of your neck to taste. His teeth graze before he kisses as you fiercely move against each other. Louder noises escape you when Joe lets a hand curl around and grab you by the back of your neck.

“Yea? That feel nice?” he pants, and all you can do is bob your head in a barely there nod as you keep moving.

It does feel nice.

Feels really nice.

Not exactly fire, though. You’re both in trousers, fabric rubbing together furiously, dry humping each other like a pair of horny teenagers who haven’t passed third base yet.

So, not fire, but nice none the less.

In contrast, there’s a lot of things Joe’s feeling, and he kind of wants you to know about all of them. Needs to speak them into the air in order to fully process what’s happening inside of his brain.

“Did you know I um… I broke everything off, the next day?” Joe starts, and stops to curse under his breath. “Fuck. Yea, keep going. Shit. Ah... A-after you left, I mean, remember? I had a lot of m-missed calls, so I called her back, and I–”

You shut Joe up with a kiss.

Try to at least.

“We could–” Joe starts again after turning his head and pushing you aside with his nose, both hands spread wide over your thighs as he helps you move over his lap. “Remember, how we really were something?”

You squeeze your eyes shut. Try to focus on the feelings inside of your body instead of on the words you don’t want to hear.

“We could be something still.”

“N-no.”

You refuse to acknowledge what Joe’s trying to tell you, but don’t stop your movements. You can’t stop, head dropping back. This all feels too good.

It’s still not fire, though.

There’s no stakes.

You’re both single, and every decision you have made this evening turns out to have been inconsequential.

It’s... it’s almost boring.

But it’s good enough.

You just need a couple more seconds, you can feel it building already.

“We c-couldn’t be somethinhgh...” you choke on your words, unable to finish the sentence.

“Yes,” Joe insists, voice low and breathy, your bodies still moving in tandem. He then uses one hand takes hold of your face by your cheeks, tilting your head down so he can make eye-contact with you for a second.

“Yes we could.” He sounds hopeful as his eyes search yours. “Don’t you get it?”

But your eyes are glassy. They flutter and want to roll back.

Joe knows this look.

Know what this means.

And it’s not like Joe thinks his kind words will really fix anything, but, maybe they will, you know? Maybe. He’s glad he has said them anyway, even though you look like you haven’t even properly heard him.

“You close, baby?”

He switches gears.

“Yea? Come on.” He helps you move with strong arms that press you down a little more, and your arms scramble behind his back in your want to hold onto him tightly.

“There you go.” he coos into your ear, and, it’s not fire, but you come anyway.

Joe should have poured you a glass of wine.

Shouldn’t have brought up bad memories, shouldn’t have tried to be funny about it, and absolutely should have simply gone and poured you a glass.

You pretend that a glass of wine would’ve made a difference tonight.

The difference that you had hoped to find.

That would’ve lit the fire.

Deep down you know that’s not it, but still. The empty bottle is right there, watching you come down from your high, Joe still hard beneath you, and it’s easy to use that as the excuse.

You decide on the spot that Joe’s going to have to deal with what resides inside of his underwear by himself.

You’re done.

Sitting up, you look him in the eye for a short moment and softly but definitively say, “Should’ve poured me a glass.” and press a small kiss to his cheek which Joe gladly accepts.

Because he knows you’re right.

“Should’ve poured you a glass.”

---

The Taglisted

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add yourself

[kookiestiddies]

1 | first sightings

Pairing: Jeon Jungkook x female reader

Genre: Enemies With Potential | Fluff, Angst & Smut

Word Count: 2k

Warnings: swearing, mild injury, reader is grumpy, mentions of flashing (???), attempted humour, if you see any typos and grammatical errors no u didn’t

A/N: there'll be no fixed schedule for this bcs I have commitment issues rip so good luck to ya'll honestly. happy reading! feel free to lmk your thots :8) 👍🏼

°˖✧◝(⁰▿⁰)◜✧˖°

3 years ago...

Fuck my life! 

That’s what you think to yourself as you try to catch your breath; an impossible feat considering the fact that you’re lugging along 3 monstrous and overpriced textbooks. And not to mention the fact that you’re racing across campus because it’s only the first day of your college career and you happened to be late.

Sure, maybe it could be considered your fault because you hit the snooze button too many times over the course of an hour before your class actually started. Maybe you only further sealed your fate by taking too long in the shower. However, in your defence, it should be decreed a social injustice for classes starting earlier than 11 am to be acceptable. Rest and hygiene come first about all else, yup yup. 

You were so focused on reaching your destination that you missed to sound of the bell ringing overhead the campus coffee shop entrance on your side, signalling someone’s rushed exit.

So imagine your surprise when you find that your race to the class that’s 2 minutes away from starting is brought to a halt when you’re suddenly sent flying perpendicular to the direction you were going in by an unseen force only to land harshly on the lawn in front of the coffee shop. 

You see it all happening in slow motion: you’re rapidly reaching the ground but not before you jut out your arms to hopefully prevent your face from getting too intimate with the muddy ground. Your ultra-premium textbooks leave your grasp to land in- 

Oh NO! 

A puddle.

While you sit there in shock, barely processing what just happened, you hear someone swearing nearby from the direction of the coffee shop. You look up towards it to find a pair of doe eyes looking back at you. The owner of said doe eyes is crouching ahead of you; a boy.

Before you can take a good look and process him, he’s already up on his feet and quickly picks up a bag scattered haphazardly next to him. You snap out of trance and call out to him as he makes a move towards the main campus buildings. 

“HEY!”

He hesitantly stops and looks around at you. “What?!” 

What’s with his tone?! 

“What do you meant, What?! You knocked me down! My textbooks are ruined!” you say as you get up haggardly, brushing off the mud on your elbows.

“I’m sorry, but I’m already late for my class, I’ve got to go,” he replies quickly and starts scurrying away. 

“WHAT?!” you yell to his retreating back to no avail. Oh, now you’re mad. 

The boy’s hurriedly retreating figure comes to a sudden halt and turns around, speeding towards you with his hands in his pocket. 

That’s more like it. Get your ass over here and apolog-

“I’m sorry about your textbooks, hope this covers it!” he rushes out and shoves a wad of cash in your hands. He doesn’t wait for your response before he darts back towards the campus building. 

You’re too stunned. You are simply. Too. Stunned.

An angry pout forms on your face as you mull things over and count the cash that he generously thrusted to you. A whole 50 bucks. The sheer audacity of that stupid boy. 

What the heck were you supposed to do with 50 bucks?! Each textbook cost atleast 90 bucks!

You pick up your bag and your now wet, smudged and ruined mammoth of a textbook set with a groan and angrily huff your way towards class, which you are now officially late for.

Imagine meticulously planning out your first day at college from hour-to-hour, only to end up becoming the loser that shows up to class late with a set of muddy textbooks, ruined hair and shockingly dirty clothes.

Operation Have A Positively Impressionable First Day of College: FAILED.

You would continue your run to class if it weren’t for the fact that your knee was sore as a result of you getting to 2nd base with the grass which led to you limping the rest of the way. 

Maybe people are kind, maybe it was the fact that your anger and annoyance were monstrously visible to anyone passing by, but thank fuck, everyone moved away from you as you stormed your way to class. Thanks to your encounter with that fuckhead of a boy earlier, your mood is now at its lowest setting and you simply cannot tolerate anyone else for the rest of the day probably. You curse him under your breath the whole way.

It can’t possibly get any worse, right? Wrong.

When you finally make it to class, you were 4 minutes late and three significant things happened one after the other:

#1 You had to face the embarrassment of 200 pairs of eyes, plus the lecturer’s, witnessing your walk of shame as you cautiously entered the class like a gazelle amongst a pack of lions. 

2# All the seats towards the front were taken up so you had no choice but to find an empty seat towards the back of the class. 

3# By your luck, you realised too late that you were seated right in front of an annoyingly familiar face.

He tried to hide from you. 

You know this because he looked at you straight in the eyes, visibly panicked and lied his head on the table with his hoodie and arms shielding him, pretending to be asleep. 

Tch, pathetic!

Thankfully, the rest of the class went by as smoothly as can be, though you did feel the heat of someone staring at you at the back of your neck. You tried your best to ignore it by forcing all your attention toward the lecture. 

When the end of the class came around, you were quick to exit the class. 

Frankly speaking, you’ve had enough of today.

As you turn down the hallway, you bump into Nayeon, a friend you’d made during the freshmen orientation. 

While you were still deciding on whether you should project a more introverted or extroverted personality onto all the new people you’d be meeting in college, Nayeon made the choice for you by taking up your neighbouring seat and starting a conversation with you about the shitty AC in the hall. In less than an hour, you’d already gotten to know all about her eight exes and how two of them almost gave her STDs and one of them almost gave her a whole baby. You were still contemplating which one would have been worse.

“Y/n! Oh, thank god you’re here! Y/nieee, today has been such a nuisance and it’s barely 12 pm!” she cries while sliding her arm in yours as you both start walking in sync towards the college cafeteria.

Hah! 

“You know, Mercury must be in retrograde or something because my day has been awful so far as well,” you say with a downward tilt of your mouth. 

“Oh? Does that have anything to do with your whole ��I’m 27 years old with no prospects’ cosplay thing you’ve got going on? Lovin’ the limp by the way. It really adds to the whole vibe” she retorts with a cackle. You can’t help but giggle along with her until you remember the reason for your haggard get up.

You haughtily recount your morning’s incident to her and heave up your textbooks, now reduced to a damp and muddy stack of papers.

“Ew, what was his problem?!” she asks and you giggle at her disgusted look. You’re both quiet as you reach the cafeteria and get some food on trays. “C’mon, the gang’s over there,” Nayeon says as she leads you to a table that seats her friends whom you had also briefly met during orientation. 

You take your seat and set your food on the table along with your ruined textbooks. Hoseok peeks a curious look at them, you notice, but he doesn’t say anything. But his curiosity is abundantly loud, so you answer it for him anyway.

“Some turdball knocked me over this morning on my way to class and they dropped right into a puddle,” you say with a pout. 

“Oh? Does that also explain the Mother Nature cosplay you’ve got going on right now?” he replies with a cheeky grin and reaches out to you to pluck out a piece of grass that you hadn’t realised was in your hair

Geez, this is so embarrassing.

“Uh-huh, totally. It’s avant-garde baby.” you retort which sends the table in a fit of giggles, including Hoseok, whose laughter rings louder than the rest. 

“Also, what’s up with you guys and cosplays? Nayeon made a comment earlier too,” you bring up. Somehow, it causes Jimin to spiral into a choking fit and the rest of the group starts knowingly laughing. 

“Oh, you’re gonna LOVE this!” Chae bellows towards you. 

She’s interrupted by Jimin who whines “Chae, for the love of God, can you please shut up about that? It’s literally not even funny anymore!” 

“Oh yes it fucking is! Go on,” Nayeon urges Chae on.

“It’s an inside joke right. When we were in high school, he took part in a random Joker & Harley Quinn cosplay competition with one of our other friends. This idiot here was Harley and he flashed the whole audience with his ass hanging out from under his skirt the whole time!” 

The whole table hollers with laughter, except for a violently blushing Jimin. In between your giggles, you ask Jimin “Did you guys win though?” The table erupts in another round of laughter as Jimin mutter an angry “No.”

“Oh my god, there’s even a video! Nayeon, where’s that video Jungkook took?” Hoseok yells. 

“STOP!” Jimin yells but it’s too late. 

In lighting speed, Nayeon whips out her phone and shows you what truly is Jimin’s ass hanging out from under a skirt as he prances about the stage in true Harley Quinn fashion. There’s another handsome boy next to him dressed in a Joker costume. “That’s our friend, Taehyung, by the way,” Chae adds. 

“Jesus fuck, do you have that video on standby or something? You pulled it out so fast,” Jimin whines at Nayeon. “I have it saved as my live wallpaper babe,” Nayeon replies and sends a flying kiss towards Jimin which earns her a swear thrown at her face in return.

“Hey, where’s Jungkook? His class should have ended by now, right?” Hoseok asks Chae.  

“Hmm yeah, he was in the same class as Y/n actually. Did you see him?” Chae turns to you. Your attention is still focused on the phone in Nayeon’s hand as you reply, “Sorry, I was a little preoccupied to notice. Besides-,” you lift your head to look at her.

“-I don’t even know what he looks like,” you say with a smile.

“Look out for someone who looks like me, duh. I may be cooler than him, but we’re still twins,” Chae teases.

“Well, speak of the devil, here he comes,” Hoseok says and shifts his attention to look over your shoulder. 

“Hey guys, sorry I’m late. I had to sort something out with my lecturer,” an eerily familiar voice says behind you. 

No. 

Fucking. 

Way. 

You don’t want to turn around.

“We gotta head out soon for the . By the way, say hi to Y/n, she’s watching your video of Tae and Jimin at the comic fest,” Hoseok says with a bright smile. 

“Huh? Hmm, kinda weird that you came over just to watch Jimin hyung’s ass reshaping the world’s seat,” the new guy acknowledges you and you feel him approaching from behind. 

“You’re all horrible,” Jimin says.

The table erupts in a fit of giggles and you suddenly feel a warm hand on your shoulder. 

Fuck.

You have to turn around now. 

You’re turning around.

“Hi, I’m Jung-” he stops halfway and his eyes widen as he realises who you are. 

You fake a wide smile and say “Hi Jungkook. I think we’ve met before,” you say harshly and look at him straight in the eyes. You’re pouring every bit of spite you have crawling around your body into this look. And it seems to pay off with how Jungkook gulps loudly and looks at you with doe eyes.

The whole table has turned to witness your interaction now.

“Oh, so you have? Small world huh,” Chae chirps.

What a small world indeed.

Your moments away from blowing a fuse and cussing him out in front of your friends who are watching your interaction, when the unthinkable happens, too fast to be stopped.

Jungkook immediately gets down on his knees in front of you, brings his palms together and shrieks out, “I’M SORRY!”

(∩｀-´)⊃━☆ﾟ.*･｡ﾟ

[hextechmadelesbians]

Caitlyns path to destruction is really intresting in how it shows how people get pushed in to extremist thinking via grief and fear.

Historically speaking, the way fascist movements gain followers is by preying on those who have suffered recent tragedy or trauma (often as a result to social injustices or soical unrest) and basically use it to create a common false enemy. They take complex problems and emotions and say "all your problems can go away if we just get rid of those guys." This is particularly effective against dominate social groups who have almost always already been socially conditioned to think lesser of marginalised groups, whether or not they consciously realize it or not.

Caitlyn was learning the inherit injustices done by piltover and was trying to fix things by using her connections to the council. And even then when everything went to shit cause of jinx she still defended the people of Zaun. She even admitted to jayce that she understands why people are so quick to hate them all cause she was starting to feel that way, and at that point she was able to acknowledge and address it.

But then the attack at the memorial seems to confirm those negeative beliefs. For as much as caitlyn was sympathetic to the zaunites she seems to have had this idea that if you get rid of silco and jinx then suddenly all their problems will dissappear. But with an attack that had nothing to do with either of them, and with her preexsisting implicit bias, shes left with no one to blame but the collective.

Theres also the whole thing regarding the whole "i had the shot" issue. Caitlyn feels personally responsible for her mothers death because she didn't take out Jinx when she had the chance, all because Vi asked her not to. This mixed with her implicit bias becoming exceedingly more explicit, makes for a dangerous concoction for someone very open for extremist messaging.

(Sidenote: This isnt the first we've seen this in the show, back in act 3 Jayce did something very similar with the whole "you didnt tell me they were from the undercity" "im from the undercity" conversation with viktor)

This is also the thing that causes her to ultimately betray Vi, because once again she stopped her from taking the shot that she believes would of solved everything. Not only that but while Vi isnt necessarily wrong by comparing Caitlyn's actions to Jinx, saying it that way outloud was not the correct move qnd i think its what ultimately led Caitlyn to hitting her. Comparing Caitlyn to the person who murdered her mother, regardless of how true it is, was never gonna get a level headed response. Mixed with her growing fear of Zaunites now effecting how she sees Vi, it was inevitable she was going to do something impulsive shes gonna regret.

Cutting ties with Vi is also in itself going to bite her later because Vi was both her only remaining emotional rock and the one whos willing to openly criticise her. Vi will tell Caitlyn when she thinks shes wrong or doing something stupid which helps keep Caitlyn grounded. With her gone theres not really anyone who she trusts to stop her from doing something apprehensive.

This has all primed her to be the perfect target for Ambessa Maddarda, because shes emotionally impulsive enough to take rash action and vulnerable enough to manipulate, She now has access to the most powerful vassel she could hope to get (especially since Mel told her to fuck off). Ambessa has the power to manipulate the situation to make Caitlyn feel more and more justified in her paranoia of Zaunites and Ambessa can act like a yes man to all her worst impulses. Shes already fed into Caitlyns sense of personal responsibility for the council blowing up, immediately telling her that her mother will be avenged.

If im honest im not sure how Caitlyn is gonna come back from this one, i absolutely think shes gonna back out sooner than later much like jayce did. (Honestly she parallels S1 Jayce a lot which is why its kind of surprising to see people react to her going down this route with so much more vitriol than with Jayce.) Its definitely going happen but the question is if Ambessa will ever coerce her into staying in the hot seat or if she'll straight up try to kill her.

Either way this is going to be an extremely entertaining train wreck to watch.

[lostsyren]

Could you do.....maybe Sofia canceling a date with Rafe because her paycheck got delayed, and she feels to embarressed to go on dates in the same clothes and had plan to buy new things. She tells him that she is sick, but then he sees her at a bonfire party. He feels heartbroken thinking she lied because she is tired of him while he is head over heels, he walks off, she runs after.....ANGGSTTT <3

˚⊱🪷⊰˚ date night

{a/n: sorry for taking so long to get to my requests but I hope it was worth the wait!!}

{summary: sofia can’t make it to date night, and rafe’s not happy about it…}

꣑ৎ˚⊹ 🍥 ｡𖦹꣑ৎ˚⊹ 🍥 ｡𖦹꣑ৎ˚⊹ 🍥 ｡𖦹꣑ৎ˚⊹ 🍥 ｡𖦹꣑ৎ˚⊹ 🍥 ｡𖦹꣑ৎ˚⊹ 🍥

“You really like that dress don’t you?” Ruthie said with a slimy smirk across her face.

Those words echoed through Sofia’s mind as she stared at her closet trying to figure out what to wear with her date with Rafe.

She hadn’t even thought twice about the clothes she wore in front of Rafe and his friends before– having enough confidence in her sense of style. Sofia had carefully curated a wardrobe from lucky thrift store finds and the occasional designer splurge when she had some of her pay check left over.

So when Ruthie had teasingly poked fun at her favourite dress (a satiny, floral slip that she adored), her cheeks flushed red with embarrassment.

“It’s so cute though, if you like that sorta thing, I can understand why you wear it so much,” Ruthie had continued, hiding her bitchy words under a guise of tooth-aching sweetness.

She hadn’t thought about it again until Rafe had asked her to come out to dinner with him a couple nights later. Sofia enthusiastically accepted– it was only when she got home to get ready, seeing her limited selection of clothes, did the stirring regret begin to overwhelm her senses and Ruthie’s words begin to engulf her brain.

She still had time to go out and buy something new, something Rafe would like (and something that would shut Ruthie up), but when she checked her account balance, she realised she didn’t have enough. After the bills for her siblings tuition and the chunk of her wage she’d spent helping her parents fix the car, she was left with nothing. And she wasn’t getting paid again till a couple weeks.

Sofia huffed exasperatedly, sinking into her bed. She hated feeling like this…feeling inferior. What if Rafe through the same thing? That he was taking her to all these flashy places, driving her around in his shiny car and she couldn’t even dress up a bit for it?

With a sinking heart, Sofia grabbed her phone to call him.

It went through instantly.

“Hey baby, everything ok?” He asked, his voice eliciting somersaults in her stomach.

“Hi Rafe, I just…I don’t think I can do dinner tonight, I’ve got this horrible headache and I think I’m just gonna go to sleep,” she fibbed, biting her lip.

“We don’t have to go out, I can pick you you up and we can just chill at mine– order from that place you like?”

Sofia didn’t like lying to him, it almost physically pained her, gnawing at her bottom lip and playing with the dead skins around her thumb. “I think I just needs some rest.”

“Ok then, get well soon yeah? And text me if you need anything alright? Goodnight Sof,” he said, disappointment toning his words.

“Night Rafe.”

She ended the call quickly, burning hot with guilt– she hated lying. Especially to her boyfriend of all people.

And now she had nothing to do for the rest of the night all because she was too embarrassed to wear the same thing twice…it was honestly so stupid. Sofia huffed and turned around in her bed.

As if sensing her impending boredom, her phone buzzed with a text from her friend, talking about a bonfire party at the Boneyard.

Sofia smiled too herself, slipping on her worn trainers and getting ready to head to the beach.

She didn’t have to worry about what to wear there.

꣑ৎ˚⊹ 🍥 ｡𖦹꣑ৎ˚⊹ 🍥 ｡𖦹꣑ৎ˚⊹ 🍥 ｡𖦹꣑ৎ˚⊹ 🍥 ｡𖦹꣑ৎ˚⊹ 🍥 ｡𖦹꣑ৎ˚⊹ 🍥

Rafe, along with Topper, Kelce and Ruthie drove down to the Boneyard. He wasn’t supposed to tag along, but with Sofia cancelling their plans, he had nothing better to do.

As they rolled down the rocky beach in Topper’s jeep, Rafe pulled out his phone, sending Sofia a quick text.

R: Hope that headache goes away soon then maybe we can reschedule? :)

Rafe was surprised at how disappointed he felt after she said she couldn’t make it. All he could think about sitting in the back of the car, watching the Stygian waves roll onto the coast, was how much he’d rather be with her right now.

“Yo Rafe, I thought you were busy tonight?” Kelce pestered with a smirk.

Topper chuckled lowly, “oh yeah, wasn’t it date night tonight? What happened to that?”

“She wasn’t feeling too good so now I’m stuck with you idiots.” He muttered.

“Oh come on, you’ll see her again the club. I’ll make sure to ask for doubles so she’ll come by our table twice, yeah?” Ruthie goaded, twisting her body around so she could see him.

Rafe brewed with a dull anger– he always thought Ruthie was a bitch.

“Two drinks Ruthie? You sure about that? Aren’t you a lightweight?” He scoffed.

“Hey hey hey, let’s have fun tonight yeah?” Topper mediated, parking up the jeep next to the arsenal of vehicles.

The four of them hopped out, heading to the kegger, quickly getting pulled in by their kook friends, enveloped in the heady flow of gossip and conversation. Rafe just stood quietly, sipping at his third cup, enjoying the warmth of the fire on his face and salt of the air on his tongue.

His vision strayed over to the other side of the beach, where all the pogues had congregated. And that’s when he saw her. Dressed in her favourite shorts and sunset coloured hoodie– she looked gorgeous bathed in the glow of the bonfire.

Rafe felt his heart sink into the cavern of his ribcage. She lied to him.

Settling his solo cup down on to the kegger, he pulled out his phone and rang her number, watching her like a predator eyes its prey, his dilated pupils honed on to her unassuming figure.

She excused herself from her friends, walking off to a quieter area before she answered his call.

“Hey baby,” she cooed with a smile, Rafe seething in silence as he watched.

“How you feeling? Still got that headache?” He asked bluntly, his molars grinding down on each other.

“Yeah- yes, still hurts.” She said. Rafe saw her eyebrows furrow as she bit her lip furtively.

“You at home? It sounds kinda loud over the phone?”

“Yeah my siblings have the TV on,” she blatantly lied. Rafe breathed in deeply through his nose.

“Oh so you’re not at the bonfire at the boneyard?”

Rafe watched her face drop, her gaze darting around the beach as she stayed silent on the phone. She locked eyes with him from across the sand, her mouth parting slightly, lips forming a little ‘o’ shape, something that he usually found cute, but now it just irked him.

“Rafe,” she said, voice bordering a whisper.

“You fucking liar,” he hissed, before ending the call, and heading over to the cars, ready to call an Uber for himself and head home.

He tried to regulate his lurching breaths, anger beginning to flow hot through his veins, but it was hard to do when a heart rending sadness slammed into his nervous system, catching him off guard.

Sofia? A liar? No. She wasn’t like that. She wasn’t like everyone else.

His fingers struggled to order an Uber, shaking with the aftershock at seeing her deceive him with such disregard.

“Rafe! Wait please I can explain.” He whipped his head back to see Sofia approach him.

“Stop it Sofia, explain what? Huh? How you lied to me?”

A pang of regret reverberated through him when he saw her glassy, tear filled eyes, her quivering lip. Was he being too harsh? No. She was the one who was in the wrong– not him.

“I’m sorry, I just, it’s ugh it’s going to sound so stupid Rafe, but I promise I didn’t mean to hurt or lie to you.”

“What’s going to sound so stupid? Why you made an excuse to get out of being with me? You hate me that bad huh?”

“No no! Of course not. Look, Ruthie said something the other day…” she began, her cheeks red and tear stained.

“Ruthie? What the fuck does she have to do with this?” He yelled. They were on the outskirts of the party, away from the crowds and crackle of firewood.

“She was making fun of how I wear the same thing all the time, you know? And it made me get self conscious…and tonight when I was getting ready, I just got in my own head, thought you would want me dress up more, not just wear the same things every time.”

Rafe’s face contorted in confusion. She couldn’t be serious right now?

“And I can’t just buy a new dress like that, I have bills to pay and stuff so I was just feeling sorry for myself and lied because of my own stupid feelings.” Sofia’s lips began to quiver, another bout of tears quickly approaching, before she shrouded her face with her hands, muffling her soft cries.

“Sof…” he said, tone gentle and kind, feeling like shit for shouting at her. He should’ve know Sofia had a reason for lying and he should’ve know Ruthie had something to do with it.

“Ugh it was so stupid, and I feel like an idiot.” She laughed mirthlessly, as he pulled her into a hug, letting her cry against his chest.

“Baby, you know I don’t care right?”

“Yeah I know. I care though.” She mumbled against his warm embrace.

“Come on, let’s get out of here yeah?”

“Yeah, ok. I’m sorry again, I feel terrible.”

Rafe slung an easy arm around her shoulder, leading her up to road where their taxi was going to meet them, “well don’t, otherwise I’ll feel like shit for shouting at you.”

“Fine. Truce?”

Rafe chuckled softly, looking down at her with a soft smile, as she gazed up at him with her glossy eyes.

“Yeah, truce.”

꣑ৎ˚⊹ 🍥 ｡𖦹꣑ৎ˚⊹ 🍥 ｡𖦹꣑ৎ˚⊹ 🍥 ｡𖦹꣑ৎ˚⊹ 🍥 ｡𖦹꣑ৎ˚⊹ 🍥 ｡𖦹꣑ৎ˚⊹ 🍥

A couple days later, after Sofia had slept over at his place, she woke up to the birds singing on Figure 8, a sound lost amidst the cacophony of building work and barking dogs on the Cut. She sighed contentedly, turning around in the sumptuous sheets ready to nestle up against Rafe, to find the bed empty. She hummed in dismay, forgetting it was Sunday, the day he needed to go down to the office.

Eventually, after letting her eyes flutter shut for a couple more blissful minutes, Sofia rolled out of bed, slipping on Rafe’s shirt, a habit she was getting increasingly used to.

She pattered across the hard wood floors ready to get into the shower, before her eyes snagged on something resting on the drawers. It was a cream coloured bag, one from those fancy stores in Kildare Town Centre, the straps made of black silk.

On it was a sticky note, Rafe’s familiar scratchy writing scrawled across the paper.

Now you don’t have an excuse to miss dinner with me :)

Sofia’s eyebrows quirked up in curiosity as she read the cryptic note, rifling into the bag.

Inside was maybe a dozen items of clothes, from satin dresses to cashmere shirts, all in shades of her favourite colours– blooming pinks, soft oranges, cherry reds. She adored every single one.

Her heart soared with excitement and warmth, her cheeks tinged with a rosy blush. Rafe could sometimes be so sweet it left her weak-kneed and gooey, her insides alight with joy.

A creeping sensation of guilt arose– these must’ve been expensive. Sofia noticed he’d removed all the tags off them, probably anticipating her qualms about the price. But she put it aside, ready to first try them on. She’d pay him back, she told herself, running her hands over the silken fabric.

Carefully unpacking each item, she laid them out on the bed, until her fingers skimmed the final one.

Pulling it out, she rolled her eyes with a small smile when she saw the two piece lingerie set Rafe had nestled at the bottom, comprised of black lace and gossamer.

Sofia laughed softly, as she put the piece along with the rest of her gifts– maybe she already had a way to pay him back, one that was much more fun than working double shifts at the club.

꣑ৎ˚⊹ 🍥 ｡𖦹꣑ৎ˚⊹ 🍥 ｡𖦹꣑ৎ˚⊹ 🍥 ｡𖦹꣑ৎ˚⊹ 🍥 ｡𖦹꣑ৎ˚⊹ 🍥 ｡𖦹꣑ৎ˚⊹ 🍥

[seitmai]

It is Halloween night, and the Hard Deck is all decked out – and yeah, pun intended – with the best decorations the local stores had to offer. And then a few more that young Amelia Benjamin ordered online with the credit card in her wallet that definitely wasn’t for emergencies only. 

Definitely an emergency to not have enough Halloween decorations 🤷🏻‍♀️

She did, however, have to draw the line upon catching Amelia on top of the bar, trying to stick glow-in-the-dark skeletons into the model planes. 

That would have been so good!!

(He tried to save a few bucks here and there by ordering off Amazon and not from the Etsy store that designed the rest of the suit. Never again. He should’ve known not to cheap out on perfection.)

I get it, authentic stuff like that is hella expensive

“I’m not Boba Fett. I’m the Mandalorian. He’s like… a whole different character, dude.” He gets a dismissive cigar wave in response. “It’s all Star Trek, innit, mate?” 

If looks could kill haha

“You pulled me away from the girls, man. I was this close.” He shifts his helmet from one hand to the other and pinches two gloved fingers, this far apart. “This close, man. They all wanted pictures with me.”  “You can get back to the mask kink brigade later.

I'm dead 😂😂😂

“‘Ello there, love, I’m Tommy Shelby. This good man over here is one of those… what’d ya call them? Stormtrooper lads?” “Reuben, I swear – ” 

Mickey is over his antics haha

[And some time later, after Federal Fire San Diego cleared the premise and declared it to be a false alarm, probably faulty wiring with all the string lights, Hangman and Coyote make their way back to the bathroom.]

Not the fire department having to come lmao

(And yeah, Phoenix, Jake is wearing briefs underneath the shirt. It’s not a free show after all.)

😂😂😂

“Well now, I’m certified MILF Angelina Jolie from the iconic 2005 classic Mr. and Mrs. Smith, only gets better with age. I’ll let you guess whether I mean her or the movie.” A dashing wink at the camera. “And Coyote here is…” Coyote is adjusting the white boxer shorts that keep riding up his muscular thighs – skies out, thighs out and all that – and wonders if Brad Pitt ever had to deal with having such incredible thigh strength on set. Probably not. He flashes an overly proud grin, and Jake wonders if perhaps, Jake might need to cut off his access to the flask tucked into his left galosh.

I can't 😂😂😂 every sentence of this made me crack up harder!

..slow... …nepotism pick...…fuck with a stupid-looking mustache… …can’t have the flask, go buy a beer, Coyote!

I have a feeling that Mrs. Smith wants to kiss Magnum PI but doesn't want to admit it 🤭

[Midnight arrives, and Yzma and Kronk from The Emperor’s New Groove enter the bathroom. Holding the miniature trophies that Penny awarded them for a well-deserved first place in the annual Hard Deck Halloween Costume Contest.]

Deserving winners in my opinion

Fixing the neckline of the purple dress (and after definitely flashing a nipple on stage out there), Bob wipes at his drooping eyeliner and puts in another splash of eye drops. Contacts make his eyes so dry.

And the gender swap makes it even better!!!👏🏻

A frown wrinkles her brow. “Well, I still vote Mrs. Smith because Bagman’s a douche, and I want him to have a violent hangover tomorrow. I want him to spend his whole day downing Gatorades and fruitlessly wishing for his suffering to end. How’s that?” 

Fair 🤷🏻‍♀️😅

Sweat pricks at Bob’s brow. He likes Phoenix. He really does. (But sometimes, Phoenix scares him a little.)

Also fair 😂

 [And now alone, in the backseat of the Bronco, Magnum PI absentmindedly wipes at the lipstick print on his cheek and lets out a loud snore. Humming a tune in his sleep that sounds suspiciously like Great Balls of Fire.]

I truly hope the lipstick stain is from Mrs. Smith 🤭

end note: then, amelia benjamin uploads this to her secret daggersafterdark tiktok account and goes viral. the end.

As it should be!! 👏🏻

I had a blast reading this, I truly loved it so much!! 🫶🏻

baby, it's halloween (and we can be anything)

synopsis: since TGM takes place around Halloween, the Daggers would definitely dress up and go to the Hard Deck Halloween party, right?

pairings: none but many a couples costume

warnings: explicit language, bad irish accents, drinking and mentions of alcohol, anachronistic tiktok trends, all fluff all the time, too many pop culture references, not edited

note: inspired by this ask i sent to @theharddeck. all of the excellent costumes were her idea because i couldn't stop thinking about the mr. and mrs. smith costume all day. for you, darling!

(top gun: maverick is a halloween movie, pass it on. and yeah, i did use a phoebe bridgers lyric for this incredibly unserious fic. title from halloween.)

It is Halloween night, and the Hard Deck is all decked out – and yeah, pun intended – with the best decorations the local stores had to offer. And then a few more that young Amelia Benjamin ordered online with the credit card in her wallet that definitely wasn’t for emergencies only. 

Purple lights adorn the wooden pillars, wrapped carefully around the faded stickers and other memorabilia, casting the whole bar in an eerie glow after the sun goes down. Two dozen or so balloons float against the ceiling, black and orange, and any available inch that isn’t blocked by a balloon is expertly covered in more fake cobwebs than Penny has ever seen in her life.

She did, however, have to draw the line upon catching Amelia on top of the bar, trying to stick glow-in-the-dark skeletons into the model planes. 

It looks great. And the whole Top Gun team shows up in full costume – including the ones that Penny knows Pete favors for the mission, even if Maverick would never say it himself.

This, for Amelia Benjamin, is simply an opportunity too good to pass up. 

[Penny Benjamin enters the single bathroom at the end of the Hard Deck’s back hall, the one that Amelia marked with a HAUNTED BATHROOM sign that made patrons think it was out of order. She sets the phone on the counter and clicks over to the camera, starting the video.]

“Okay, well, I don’t really know how this all works, but I’m Sarah Williams from the movie Labyrinth, and I think…” 

She adjusts the too big skirt of her bejeweled ballgown, damn the appeal of authentic poofs and ruffles, and tosses her hair over her shoulder, trying to remember what Amelia told her to do. 

“Ahhhh… What was it? Drunkest?” 

She has an answer, but unfortunately, Pete had a prior commitment to fly in that Halloween Airshow this weekend. Otherwise, Penny knows Maverick would be here, giving the young hotshots a run for their money.

“Who is here tonight?” A light bulb goes off in her head, probably purple to keep things in theme. “Well, from prior experience, I think Peaky Blinders will be the drunkest tonight. He still owes me $20 for knocking those planes off the ceiling back at Top Gun.” 

Gathering up her skirts, Penny gets to thinking, “He still owes me for the two steins last week too. Dammit…” and huffing, exits the bathroom in a whirl of skirts and jewels. 

[After a surprisingly intimidating shakedown from Penny Benjamin, Payback makes his way to the out-of-order bathroom. Not before grabbing his WSO by one of the many, many straps on his costume and pulling him away from the gaggle of fawning women in sexy alien costumes.]

“Hello,” Payback says in the empty bathroom, feeling stupid. He digs his cigar out of a vest pocket and re-lighting the end, takes a thick puff. An atrocious Irish accent comes out the other side. “Right, govunah, name’s Tommy Shelby from Peaky fooking Blinders, and I tink that – oi, are you taking the piss then, mate?

And Fanboy smacks him again just for that, knocking the newsboy hat right off his head with a flat palm. “What’s your problem?” 

“Can’t hear you, mate,” Payback says, smoke curling from the end of the cigar. He flashes him a good-natured grin around it. “Better pop that helmet off, right, Boba Fett?” 

“I’m not…” comes from under the helmet, all garbled. 

Damn battery must’ve died in the voice modulator. 

(He tried to save a few bucks here and there by ordering off Amazon and not from the Etsy store that designed the rest of the suit. Never again. He should’ve known not to cheap out on perfection.)

Damp curls spring from underneath the helmet as Fanboy pulls it from his head, wiping them across his forehead. They stay there, plastered from the heat and condensation inside the helmet. 

“I’m not Boba Fett. I’m the Mandalorian. He’s like… a whole different character, dude.”

He gets a dismissive cigar wave in response. 

“It’s all Star Trek, innit, mate?” 

“Star Wars. And your Tom Shelby accent needs some work. You’re starting to sound a little Australian now.” 

“Can’t sound proper Irish without my cap, and you, sir,” Payback jams a finger into his WSO’s shoulder, then pulls it back when it actually hurts. God, how much did Mickey pay for that suit? “Nicked it from my fooking head, mate. Explain yourself then.” 

“You pulled me away from the girls, man. I was this close.” He shifts his helmet from one hand to the other and pinches two gloved fingers, this far apart. “This close, man. They all wanted pictures with me.” 

“You can get back to the mask kink brigade later. Penny sent me back here, upon threat of death, mind you. Her daughter wants us all to do some TikTok trend for the Halloween party.”

“Fine,” Fanboy huffs, still pouting over the Star Trek comment. He knows Payback knows the difference. “But I’m putting the helmet back on. Need to get my money’s worth, now that I’ve given up my retirement fund to buy this costume.” 

“Whatever you say, Darth Vader.”

“I am not – ” 

Payback knocks the helmet the rest of the way down with a closed fist, ignoring the disoriented Mickey that flails around in the background of the video. He puts on his best movie star smile and blows a perfectly round smoke ring at the camera.

“‘Ello there, love, I’m Tommy Shelby. This good man over here is one of those… what’d ya call them? Stormtrooper lads?” 

“Reuben, I swear – ” 

“And I think,” Payback continues, unperturbed as his WSO makes another grab for the newsboy. “Now I’d bet my life that Mr. and Mrs. Smith are the most binned tonight. I’ve got it on good authority that Mr. Smith’s got a flask in those short shorts of his.” 

Smoke curls up from the cigar, and Mickey spots a blinking dot on the ceiling.

“Hey, Payback, d’you want to maybe put that out? It’s getting a little smokey in here.” 

“Chill out, Mando. It’ll be – ” 

[And some time later, after Federal Fire San Diego cleared the premise and declared it to be a false alarm, probably faulty wiring with all the string lights, Hangman and Coyote make their way back to the bathroom.]

Hangman sniffs the air. “Do you smell that? It stinks back here.” 

“It’s a bathroom, dude.” 

“Not…” Hangman lets out a long-suffering sigh. “Never mind.” 

He finds the phone, still propped up on the counter and brimming with battery life somehow. Adjusts the crisp white button-down in the mirror, pulling it tight over his shoulders. 

It is several sizes too large, hanging loose over his firm torso and leaving a scandalous amount of thigh and calf muscle exposed, between the hem and the top of the ruby-red rain boots. 

(And yeah, Phoenix, Jake is wearing briefs underneath the shirt. It’s not a free show after all.)

“Well now, I’m certified MILF Angelina Jolie from the iconic 2005 classic Mr. and Mrs. Smith, only gets better with age. I’ll let you guess whether I mean her or the movie.” A dashing wink at the camera. “And Coyote here is…” 

Coyote is adjusting the white boxer shorts that keep riding up his muscular thighs – skies out, thighs out and all that – and wonders if Brad Pitt ever had to deal with having such incredible thigh strength on set. Probably not. 

His shirt is white and skin-tight, almost see-through, over his chest. “Certified bad-ass Brad Pitt from Mr. and MILF… wait…” He loses his balance a little bit from thinking too hard. “That’s not right. Mr. and Mrs. Smith. Nailed it!” 

He flashes an overly proud grin, and Jake wonders if perhaps, Jake might need to cut off his access to the flask tucked into his left galosh. He wanted to have a fake gun stashed in the other one, but Penny spotted him waving it around near the dartboard and confiscated it. 

“Right…” Jake deadpans, then turns back to the camera. He loosens the top button of his shirt, popping it open to reveal more of his chest. Metal winks from the gap, the chain of his dog tags. “And I think…. You know what? I think Magnum PI will be the drunkest tonight.”

Coyote looks skyward, shaking his head.

Drunken agitation leaks into his voice. “You know why I think that?” 

“Not again,” Coyote groans.

He reaches for the flask, and Mrs. Smith swats his hand away, pointing a stern finger at him, then at the phone.

“Because Magnum PI is slow. He’s not cut out for a real Halloween party. He’s slow in the air, slow on the ground, and slow to handle his alcohol. He’ll be passed out by midnight. I’d put money down.”  

And as the Haunted Bathroom door swings shut behind them, the iPhone mic barely picks up on the low mutterings. 

..slow...

…nepotism pick...

…fuck with a stupid-looking mustache…

…can’t have the flask, go buy a beer, Coyote!

[Midnight arrives, and Yzma and Kronk from The Emperor’s New Groove enter the bathroom. Holding the miniature trophies that Penny awarded them for a well-deserved first place in the annual Hard Deck Halloween Costume Contest.]

Fixing the neckline of the purple dress (and after definitely flashing a nipple on stage out there), Bob wipes at his drooping eyeliner and puts in another splash of eye drops. Contacts make his eyes so dry.

Phoenix holds the trophy over her head like a gladiator, grinning from ear to ear, flexing her muscles in the cut-off sleeves. “Hello friends and foes, winners and losers, I’m Kronk from Emperor’s New Groove…” 

It takes Bob a few seconds to notice Phoenix staring him down.

He straightens up, clearing his throat. “And I’m Yzma, also from Emperor’s New Groove.” 

“We think,” Phoenix leans closer, like Amelia’s iPhone is an old friend, and holds onto the edge of the counter with dignity. She probably could’ve left that last victory shot on the table. “that Mrs. Smith will be the drunkest tonight. He’s got a flask in his boot.” 

“It’s Coyote’s. I saw him with it earlier.” 

A frown wrinkles her brow. “Well, I still vote Mrs. Smith because Bagman’s a douche, and I want him to have a violent hangover tomorrow. I want him to spend his whole day downing Gatorades and fruitlessly wishing for his suffering to end. How’s that?” 

Sweat pricks at Bob’s brow. He likes Phoenix. He really does.

(But sometimes, Phoenix scares him a little.) 

His swallow is audible. “Yeah. Sure, yeah.” 

And Bob keeps to himself that Rooster has been MIA for over an hour now, after cashing in on three bell rings in a row and following a girl in a Sue Storm costume out to the parking lot. 

[And now alone, in the backseat of the Bronco, Magnum PI absentmindedly wipes at the lipstick print on his cheek and lets out a loud snore. Humming a tune in his sleep that sounds suspiciously like Great Balls of Fire.]

end note: then, amelia benjamin uploads this to her secret daggersafterdark tiktok account and goes viral. the end.

(making my fic debut with this one, so i would love to hear all your thoughts, and i gave danny's look both ways hair to fanboy just this once because i can.)

[pizzabox-box]

Ah this is cringe as heck for me, but screw it, the last ask you got about a person not feeling much sympathy all for Peppi-No really was great, kudos to the OP of that comment since it really got me thinking, why even if I agree what the dude is doing is awful... I actually feel pretty fucking bad for him XD.

Like, I think we can all agree we've done shit in our lives that wasn't great, and that doesn't diminish the harm done or the fact other people have gotten hurt from our own stupid decisions. I also just think sympathetic villains are so interesting. (when done right, and hell you could argue even if he is the protagonist of the DMW AU, Peppi-No is a bit of an anti-villian) it really makes you think about the fact its so normal for people do try to avoid the consequences of their actions. I'm sure everyone has done something bad and instead of admitting fault have doubled down and tried to save face because they were SURE they could "fix" it without getting hurt from it.

Sure most of the time, (...I hope) its not as bad as murdering a person and taking on their identity... I think there is something really human about wanting to not get hurt, and feeling like shit about regrets we've had.

I think that Peppi-No even if what he doing is wrong, still... I dunno I can empathize. I mean.. he's sooo sowwy 🥺, its kinda pathetic, like a more extreme version of a puppy that just destroyed something important to you. Like "awww... you asshole, you're so cute though but goddamn it..."

I both am loving the angst of this AU and know its going to be so cathartic to see Peppi-no finally deal with his lie blowing up in his face and suffering MORE >:). I feel sympathy yes but I also love angst hehe.

(sorry if that wasn't super well worded? I don't normally send things like these >//>)

I assure you, it’s not cringe! It’s nice to see both sides voice their opinions!

Personally, I’m pretty divided on how I feel about Peppi-no. Part of me wants to strangle him for what he did (and what he might still do*cough* ), but at the same time, he’s,like you said, a sad, pathetic "sowwy" puppy, and I can’t help but feel bad for him.

When he took a piece of Peppino, he may have gained a conscience but not emotional maturity. He’s like a kid who just realized he fucked up in the worst way possible and is terrified of the consequenses. And fear can drive people to do terrible things, after all. Before that, his entire existence was just scrambling around, making pizzas out of whatever he could find: pigs, other clones, pizza monsters. He ended many lives, that but never faced any sort of repercussions. Never got a chance to learn "murder bad" ,

Then he takes a bite out of one of the kind Peppino—bam! Conscience, coherent thoughts, and memories of the guy he killed flood into his head. Can you imagine the whiplash, the shock, the stress? I certainly can’t.

Obviously, I’m not some dough doppelgänger pretending to be someone I killed. That would just be silly… no, really, I’m not.. But I can relate a little to what Peppi-no’s going through.

And let’s be honest, how many of us would have the absolute balls of steel to admit we killed someone’s friend in cold blood? Sure, it’s the morally right thing to do, but… you know. I’m not sure I could. (Once again purely hypothetical scenario)

Peppi-no's actions are unexcusable, he should know better than this by now, but at the same time you can kinda understand why he acts the way he does.

[rat-rosemary]

You know, yesterday I was really excited for the qsmp. There was talk of some brasilian cc's I really really loved coming to the qsmp and I was so happy, me and one of my friends were talking about it

Now I feel all drained. I was planing on catching up to Quackity's vods but I sure can't do that now

[girlthativealwaysbeen]

it's not sinking in that today might be the last day in my house and town for many months to come

[miiiwu]

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[flokali]

Hi… sorry for dying again;; turns out my psychiatrist made a huge oopsie and gave me a bunch of sleeping pills that ended fucking my schedule for months and I had to go to a new doctor to get them checked out and only now (ish) I’ve been able to regain a little bit of self control over my schedule and what not… I’m super sorry for dipping but I haven’t really had the energy to even wake up past 3PM most days with how heavily medicated I was up until like last week;; I didn’t say anything because I didn’t wanna sound like a crybaby or like I was making excuses and I legitimately thought I was the issue but turns out taking like 2 types of sleeping pills in the morning is not good ? I won’t go into any more detail since it’s kinda useless and no one is really here for updates about me but hopefully with new meds and a better schedule (which I’m working on !! I’ve gone from sleeping at 6AM and waking up in the afternoon to sleeping at 12-3AM and waking up a little earlier!!) I’ll be more consistent once more :’)

[lighthouseshepard]

feels like. most of the past few months have just been me waiting in drs offices alone hoping for answers or a solution that will stick. and it sucks

[bioswear]

not to sound like some political bootlicker but i could cry honestly seeing a presidential candidate who can actually string a coherent sentence together and isn’t on the verge of having an aneurysm

[thehealingsystem]

i'm so fucking irritating with this but dear god I want to kill myself so bad. Day after day after day I am reminded of what I am and that I can't fix myself. It's getting worse again and everyday is getting harder to just live through. I don't even know why part of me still imagines things getting better, that people even still care, i'm an obsessive freak that deserves to be put down. Nobody cares if I don't show up the next say or ever again. I destroyed everything even in my attempts to preserve it. I don't do anything with my life, my cutting has gotten worse, I barely eat most days, I cry multiple times a day and cry myself to sleep many nights. I have nightmares literally just about what I experience every day. I layed down on the couch today and cried to myself how much I wanted to die. If I tell anyone this i'm just gonna get in trouble and not actually helped, because that's what happens every single time and no one's gonna believe me when I say there's something wrong with me. I'm trapped and there's no place to go other than hell. there's nothing anyone tumblr is gonna be able to do to help me but I literally have no one to tell. most shit just festers inside me and I can't even articulate what's happening in my head most of the time. even now

[lucyvaleheart]

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[dogearedheart]

8i've been thinking about the last asks i got today. and i think it's better for me to take a step back from this account. i know the anon didn't mean anything by it, but i still feel like i am being a negative presence on here and weirding people out with who i am is nothing i want. so, i am not deleting or anything. i am just gonna be less present with sharing personal things or leaving tags. I'll probably be more active on my second account where i don't have that many followers :)