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charliehoennam · 7 months ago

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karma's kiss

a/n: @harmonity-vibes requested a smutty lil fic with anthony because he is foooooine so here it is

Pairing: Anthony Saint Claire x F!Reader

Summary: Anthony finds himself swindled by a con-artist and tracks her down to get his own justice.

Warnings: 18+ ONLY, dark themes like rough sex, asphyxiation, stealing, dub-con, smut (let's remember anthony is not a nice guy like our sweet little adorable professor so read at your own risk)

SHARING IS CARING SO REBLOG IF YOU LIKE IT

The bar you’re in is far different compared to the dive bars you started in your early years.

Your job isn't the kind you include in resumés, but it's paid your bills since college and you've managed to work your way up to a more high-end clientele.

Sitting at the bar, you can feel eyes boring into your side as you sip your daiquiri.

You smile at the bearded man, waiting to see if he'll approach you first. And, indeed, he does taking your smile as an invitation.

"Staring isn't very polite, you know" you smirk setting your drink on the bar as he sits next to you.

"Well, can you blame me? A beautiful woman like you in a dress like that is bound to get some attention, right?" he smiles slyly.

You smile pretending to be flattered by his compliment. It's nothing you haven't already heard before. It might be just bait that he tells all the girls he meets to get what he wants out of them, but you have to admit it feels a little nice coming from someone as attractive as he is.

In order to hide your real name and identity, you give him a fake name as you hold your hand out to shake his.

"Anthony," he smirks shaking your hand lightly before lifting his whisky for a sip. "Are you here with your husband?"

He glances down at the fake wedding ring and band on your finger. There is no husband. You just wear the rings because you've found it makes you more intriguing to most men.

You never really understood why, but if you had to guess, you'd guess it must have something to do with the chauvinistic idea of conquering something that's not theirs or that belongs to another man.

It doesn't exactly surprise to see a gold band on his finger too.,

"Are you here with your wife?" you retort.

"Touché," he smirks raising his glass to your witty observation.

"I'm not here with my husband, but he does know I'm here."

"Your husband lets you go out alone dressed like that?"

"We have an open relationship."

Anthony's smile stretches from ear to ear. Attending underground sex clubs, he's no strangers to forbidden kinks. They arouse him. Your beauty attracted him, but now, you have his full attention.

"That's interesting. You don't hear that every day," he smirks. "Tell me more about this relationship. I'm intrigued."

"Well, once a week, he allows me to go out on my own. I like getting to meet new people and he likes watching me get fucked by other men."

Your bluntness has his cheeks turning pink as he beams with amazement.

"So it's a kink?"

"I prefer the term alternative modern lifestyle," you smile mischievously at him. "Keeps the marriage spicy."

"I can imagine. And how's it work huh?"

"I go out, find a very attractive man," you explain glancing at his lips and making no effort to hide it. "We talk, drink, kiss and I take him home to fuck me in front of my husband."

"Seems simple enough" he smirks catching your glance at his lips. "How do you choose the man?"

"Consent is the most important factor, of course. If he's not alright with that, then everything stops. But I tend to gravitate towards those that are more pleasing to the eye."

"And are there candidates yet?"

"The night is still young. This is still my first drink and I'm already interviewing one," you reply with a cheeky smile.

"Oh, my. I am very flattered," he chuckles pretending to be surprised. "I'm very interested. Although I've never done anything like this before."

"You'd be surprised at how many have."

"I'm guessing a lot?"

"More than you think. Open relationships are becoming more and more common and accepted nowadays."

It hardly takes him any further convincing. You can tell by the way his legs and hips squirm in his seat he's turned on by the sole thought of it.

Moving to a more private table, you sit in the corner of the high-end bar sharing details about what you and your husband enjoy.

Anthony is up for anything. Just the thrill of fucking you in front of your husband already his dick leaking with anticipation.

The hardness in his pants is noticeable when you place your palm on his crotch after he tells you how big he is when you ask about his size.

Granted he is perfectly sized and thick, it doesn't change any of the plans you have for him.

You invite him to come back to the motel you're staying at under the guise you and your husband always go out of town for your escapades to avoid running into people you might work who wouldn't understand your lifestyle.

A sexual deviant himself, he knows just how well it is to have to hide your sexual fantasies and desires from others.

In the backseat of a taxi on the way to the motel, his lips are all over yours mauling yours as his head tilts to the side. His tongue wrestles for dominance between you. The thumb on the hand on your neck strokes your cheek.

His touch warms you from the inside. You can't let yourself give in, but it doesn't mean you can't enjoy it while you can.

You have to focus. This is our opportunity to get what you need.

Your hand glides down his chest under his leather jacket towards his crotch. With a firm unexpected squeeze to his cock, he moans into your mouth.

The driver can't help but glance at the rearview mirror, torn between stopping you from getting too heated and letting you go on to enjoy the show.

You palm Anthony's cock over his jeans. You have to admit, the man does have a nice size that makes your panties wet.

Reveling in your touch, his knees spread to invite you in as his torso adjusts to face the front.

"You like that, huh?"

"Can't wait to get my mouth around it."

"Why wait?" He smirks darkly.

Taking a glimpse at the driver, he immediately looks away and back to the road when your eyes meet his in the mirror.

You smirk back at Anthony as he unbuttons his jeans and pulls his cock out.

Lowering into the darkness of the backseat, you lean down to take it into your mouth, letting your tongue swirl around his tip to lap at his precum.

Anthony closes his eyes as his head dips backwards at the welcomed warmth of your mouth. With one arm stretched along the backseat, he uses the other to rest his hand against your bobbing head.

Too lost in the sensation, he doesn't notice or feel your hand sneaking into his pocket to steal his wallet.

The thrill of accomplishing your mission excites you enough to add a little more enthusiasm into the blowjob until the driver clears his throat to get your attention as the car rolls to a stop.

"We're here. That'll be 8.50."

"I got it" you say quickly to stop Anthony from looking for his wallet.

Taking a 10-dollar bill from your bra while Anthony tucks himself away, you hand the money to the driver and thank him telling him to keep the change.

Climbing out of the cab, you lead him to your room fumbling for your room key.

Anthony follows you inside and takes a look around. The room is nothing fancy as expected but it has a double bed which is all you need. Or so he thinks.

"My husband is on his way. He'll be here soon. Why don't you get comfortable while I freshen up real quick? I'll be just a minute."

You smirk sliding your hands up his chest to gently push at his black leather jacket.

“Don’t mind if I do,” he smirks down at you with lustful eyes.

As he shrugs off his jacket, you walk to the bathroom. While he takes his shoes off, you quickly race to the back wall of the bathroom to open the high shower window. You pop off the bug screen and let it fall to the ground. The collision makes an echoing noise and catches Anthony’s attention.

“Fuck,” you whisper to yourself.

Using the ledge of the dingy tub, you pull yourself up into the window and see-saw on the sill. You planned the escape; should’ve also planned the landing of it.

Your heart races when Anthony knocks on the locked door.

“Hey, sweetheart. Everything ok in there?” he questions growing suspicious.

Your legs flail in the air, knocking the shower rod and one of your high heels down. The clattering encourages him to throw his shoulder against the door to bust it open. Pushing yourself forward, you hold your arms out to soften the drop to the ground outside just as Anthony is able to break inside, catching a quick glimpse your feet just before they slip out of view.

“Hey! The fuck are you going?!” Anthony shouts bewildered as he pats his pockets for his phone and realizes his wallet is gone so he darts to the window, standing on his toes to pop his head outside.

It dawns on him that this is a set-up. Everything you told him was merely a lie to get him alone. And now he’s stuck in a run-down motel with no way to chase after you.

“Hey! Get back here, you little fucking thief!”

Giggling to yourself with his wallet in hand, you quickly limp toward the car you’d left in the alleyway behind the motel specifically for your get-away.

He tries to climb out through the window and, although he’s much better at it than you, you’re already speeding down the alleyway and onto the road when he stands up. He tries to run after you, but he knows his feet are no match to your car.

“Fuck!” he shouts angrily as he pants.

Standing in the alleyway, he quickly whips out the cellphone you thankfully managed to leave behind and types in the digits of your license plate in his digital notes before he can forget them.

Once they’re saved, he goes through his list of contacts which – unfortunately for you – is rather long and full of assorted figures. Some, which thanks to his night job in an underground sex club, happen to be people in powerful positions. Judges, lawyers, law enforcement. You name the job and he’s guaranteed to have someone of the area in his pocket.

Cashing in a favor with a sketchy local sergeant of the police department, Anthony asks him to notify him as soon as they get a hit on your plate. The sergeant doesn’t ask any questions. Anthony wouldn’t answer him with anything other than a threat of blackmail if he didn’t, but the less he knows, the better.

It takes a few days, but Anthony eventually gets a call informing of the car’s whereabouts and original owner. He’s not surprised to know it’s not you.

Assuming you live practically on the run, moving from motel to motel, he knows he has to act fact but still cautiously. There’s still quite a bit that he doesn’t know about you like if you work with any other parties or if you impose any danger. And if so, what level of danger could it be?

With a recently purchased gun tucked into the waistband of his jeans, he sets his helmet on and speeds off to the illegally given address. He lurks from a distance and waits until you finally leave the room.

He keeps his distance from you, but decided to stalk you as you go about your day, buying groceries and clothes with his money. There wasn’t much pocket money, but you were able to clone his cards and identity to cash up a couple thousand.

He could’ve stopped you and cancelled all his cards, filed an official report. But you’ve would known and been caught before he’s had the chance to make you pay. And a couple thousands aren’t going to cause a lot of financial troubles for him, thanks to his fairly wealthy income from the night job.

As you go about your day, you can’t shake the feeling that someone is onto you. You keep looking over your shoulder, but there’s no one there. No one that you notice, at least. But then again, you always get this feeling after a theft.

You head back to the motel where you’d left your car. After a theft gone right, you always opt to get around on foot with the most important things in your bag at the slightest sight of a cop. That way, if anyone is onto you, it could provide you some time to get away.

Assuring the motel is safe, you head to the room you’d paid to stay at for the night and unlock the door. But just as you open the door, you instantly feel cold metal press against the side of your head. Your groceries drop and scatter on the ground as you hold your hands up.

“Don’t get smart again. I found you once and I can find you again.”

You can’t see the face of the figure, but you can tell it’s a man and you’re almost certain who he is.

“Close the door and step away from it.”

You don’t have much of an option. Run away and he’ll find you again. Or worse, shoot you down in the parking lot of this crappy motel and that’s not how you want to die.

With your hands carefully raised, you slowly close the door with your foot and walk deeper into the room just as ordered. You keep your back turned to him as he locks the door and face him only after he says you can.

The newfound power intoxicates him. It swells him with an authority that he's never felt before. You, on the other hand, are filled with fear. You try to play it cool to avoid letting him know that you're actually scared.

"I want my money and my documents back."

"I can give your documents back and all the copies I've made. But the money is already gone. I already spent it."

"Well, it seems like we got a bit of a predicament here, doesn't it?"

"I can pay you back, but it's gonna take some time."

"I don't have time," he lies. "I want it back now."

"I don't have any money now. Why do you think I do this?" You sigh. "Look, what if... I paid you back some other way?"

"What other way?"

You lower your hand to unbutton your white shirt and reveal your lacy bra.

"This is what you wanted in the first place, isn't it?"

His eyes lower from your face down to your chest. He stays silent, considering your offer but his gun stays aimed at you.

"It was.. it still is."

"So why don't you put that away and take what you want?"

A sly smirk grows on his lips. His eyes darken with a sudden and familiar lust that revisits his being.

"I'm gonna keep this, just in case." He stated walking over to sit on the bed, manspreading his legs as he keeps the gun pointed at you.

"C'mere. On your knees."

Glancing at the weapon, you take slow steps to approach him and kneel between his knees.

"You know what to do. You did it so well before. Don't be shy now."

You nod and raise your shaky hands to unbutton his jeans, pulling down his zipper.

Feeling the end of the barrel rest against the side of your head, you carefully release his dick from it's confine. It's not quite hard as before, but its getting there with you under his will.

You hold his dick up to take him into your mouth, lathering his member with your spit.

"Eyes up here, sweetheart."

His order is your command which you obey. You don't know what he's capable of and you don't want to find out.

Looking up at him, he relishes in the contrast of your teary eyes and dirty mouth full of his dick. He takes his free hand and threads his fingers into your hair, holding it back to keep it away from distracting you. How thoughtful, you think sarcastically.

Anthony's moans and groans fill the room as he breathes heavily, cock twitching with every bob of your head.

The grip on your hair tightens with every twitch. After forcing himself to the back of your throat, you buy yourself sometime to breath by licking up the backside of his heavy cock and swirling your tongue around his dome, putting your saliva pool against your plush lips.

"Fucking Christ" he groans deeply as he watches your mouth working its wonders, his angry cock throbbing with desire.

"Take them off" he orders nodding at your clothes.

Obeying his command, you slowly stand between his knees and unbutton your pants. He tisks as you move too fast.

“Slow… and turn around for me.”

You turn your back to him and slowly push your pants down, gliding your palms over your cheeks as you undress just to tease him a little. You figure you might as well enjoy it.

He smirks at the sight of your matching panties and admires how they perfectly hug your curves. As you bend forward to push your pants down to your ankles, he takes advantage of your position and trails the edge of his gun down the split of your cheeks.

Your body tenses at the touch of cold metal. You remind yourself to take calming breaths to keep yourself together.

“Nice fucking ass you got here, sweetheart,” he simpers, poking the barrel at your clothed cunt from behind. “Bet you got a cute pussy too…. Show me it.”

You gulp and lift your trembling hands to slide your panties down to reveal yourself to him. Although Anthony is undoubtedly attracted, you don’t trust him. The fact that your life is essentially in his hands is still in your mind. You comply to his orders, but you pray that he doesn’t hurt you too much. Not enough to be fatal at least.

“Atta girl.” He says removing the gun from between your legs. You quietly sigh in relief.

“Now come on over here.” Anthony stands behind you and presses the gun into your side.

“On the bed. Face down.”

Accepting your fate, you climb onto the mattress and lay on your front. Out of your view, you hear the jostling of his belt as he removes it with one hand and climbs on top of your legs to lock you in place. Setting the gun beside his foot, he takes the belt and tightens the leather tightly around your wrists.

You wince as the leather pinches your skin, but he doesn’t seem to care if it hurts you. You can feel his emotionless eyes on you, so you turn your head to the side to avoid look at him.

He climbs off of you and the bed, but he stays close. You try to zone out as you listen to him undress.

Walking around the bed now completely naked, he kneels down to pet your hair and wipes a tear from your cheek.

“Listen, sweetheart. I’m sorry for the scare. I’m not gonna kill you, alright? I’m not a monster.”

You nod looking up at him confused.

“I’m just gonna fuck you. Really, really hard. I think I deserve to get my money’s worth, right? Even you gotta agree with me on that.”

His words don’t exactly ease you, but the promise that he won’t shoot you dead is enough. After all, he doesn’t have to. It’s not like you can simply go to the cops to report him anyways.

“Ok,” you agree. “C-can you just please put the gun away?”

“I can do that. But don’t get smart. Deal?”

“Deal.”

He walks back around the bed and takes his gun to set it on the nightstand. You feel like you can finally breathe after what seemed like hours holding your breath.

You feel his weight on the mattress as it dips beside you again. He pulls you up by your arms and stands you on your knees.

“I want you to do something for me first. Sit on my face. Can you do that?”

You’re almost surprised by his request and the contact on your wrists as he unbuckles the belt, letting your wrists go just to bind them again but in front of you this time. He wants to…. pleasure you?

“I’ll make you cum if you’re a good girl.”

Once he’s on his back on the bed, you straddle his head carefully and lower your hips down to meet with his hungry mouth. With your ass spread by his hands, you lean forward to place your hands on his taut abs for balance.

You can’t hold back the moan you release as he licks a long-wet stripe from your hardening clit to your puckered ring of muscle. The hands that keep your cheeks apart squeezes into your flesh when his tongue begins its work on your pussy.

Anthony just can’t enough of you. Your taste is wonderfully delicious to him that he just has to fuck you with his tongue. And the position allows him to flick at your sensitive nub, making your walls slick.

“Jesus, fuck!” you gasp as he toys with your clit bringing you closer and closer to the brink. You’re so turned on although you feel like you shouldn’t be. He held you at gunpoint. This is wrong. So wrong, but it feels so fucking good.

His beard heightens the sensitivity between your legs as his nose pokes at your asshole. He pulls your hips down against his face harder, restricting himself of air.

“T-That feels so good!” you whine with tears prickling at your eyes feeling the pleasure snaps in waves throughout your body.

You’re not sure what comes over you, but you find yourself leaning forward to wrap your mouth around his cock again. The burning heat that bubbles from your core provoking yet another orgasm has you so hot for him that you need to suck him off.

He chuckles surprised by your sudden urge as he lifts your hips up to hiss out in pleasure. It doesn’t take him long to start thrusting his hips violently up, shoving his cock down your throat. He stops suddenly and pushes you off him, feeling himself close.

Shoving you onto your back, he spreads your legs and eagers aligns his dick with your hole before pushing himself into your wetness.

His hips relentlessly thrust against yours as he pounds you raw. The sounds of your wet cunt squelching around him make your cheeks warm as you realize how wet you really are for him.

The lecherous stare down at your body proves he’s getting closer. He pants as he watches your breast bouncing free from your bra. Eager to feel them, he stills and tear the bra in half to expose you completely.

He growls dipping his head to grope and maul at your breasts. Your skin burns with his prickly beard and rough teething kisses.

With one hand squeezing your breast, the other sneaks around your neck. He squeezes your neck and throat, choking you as he restricts your oxygen. His hips drill you into the mattress as you watch him, slowly losing your conscious.

Anthony looks like he’s been possessed by something else and it scares you a bit. You claw at his wrists as you feel the pressure in your head weighing heavy. Your eyes roll to the back of your head from the combination of pleasure and pain.

You gasp for air as he finally releases your neck and fills you with his heavy load, spilling into your pussy in hot ropes.

He pants as he eases his cock out and into you again, admiring how his cum trickles out from your hole and coats his cock.

“We’re gonna have a very long night.”

“Night?” you question. Could you even last a night with him?

“I told you. I want my money’s worth.”

#anthony saint claire #anthony saint claire x you #anthony saint claire x reader #anthony saint claire x y/n #anthony claire #anthony claire x reader #anthony claire x you #anthony claire x y/n #adam bell #adam bell x reader #adam bell x you #adam bell x y/n #enemy #jake gyllenhaal #jake gyllenhaal fanfic #jake gyllenhaal fanfiction #jake gyllenhaal smut

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edennill · 2 months ago

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Namo headcanons since we seem to be doing an interrompu Namo week round here:

While the Ainur can obviously look like they want to so it's not a given, the chosen appearance of the Fëanturi (Nienna included) makes them easily recognisable as siblings. This is in part because there are certain patterns that a spirit might naturally gravitate to and none of them feel the need to make a conscious choice to diverge from that (i.e. it's also a mirror to some similarity on the primary level) and in part because they like it that way.

He doesn't have a scary "aura" or anything; most elves might feel certain unease around him because of his office (the disembodied are another matter yet because the soul perceives other beings differently), but at most he has a deep and serious one.

He can be scary if he goes all into a "wrath of the Valar" mode, and coincidentally he's also the Ainu that the largest number of Eldar have seen that way.

He does have a sense of humour; he doesn't really laugh often.

In so far as he does represent a "Dark Is Not Evil" vibe, it's not that his aesthetic is entirely black either. Clothing is something slightly different to the Ainur than to the Children, but in any case he always wears grey robes that look the same, with an alternative slightly fancier design of dark blue on the great feasts.

It's not that he doesn't understand wearing a fana, but he's pretty austere about it. He doesn't find any of it unpleasant or uncomfortable, but he will never eat or drink outside of a few drops of wine on the feasts, and rarely uses physical senses; he just doesn't feel the need to. It may have something to do with spending more time around the disincarnate Children than the living

Outside of the Fëanturi and Vairë, his closest relationship among the Valar is probably with Manwë. On his part, the other trusts him completely, enough to ask him to pronounce a judgement all will abide by without yet knowing what he thinks (this part is canon, cf. the statute).

Manwë being the only other person in the world to know where the souls of Men go has also become something that ties them together. They discuss from time to time.

...I have no idea how a certain Maia's certain... detour near the end of the Third Age (meaning there now are three such people, although their knowledge might be in different degrees of fullness) might impact this balance; Namo is certainly going to have thoughts about it.

It is my self-indulgent headcanon to imagine that however bothersome a bored philosopher king with copious theories on the one subject you're not allowed to discuss with him might be in the Halls, Finrod does still regularly talk philosophy with him after he is reembodied. In any case, those who have passed through the Halls tend to be less jumpy about the whole "Lord of the Dead" aspect as a general rule.

That post I reblogged recently has gotten me thinking: to be honest his "Judge" and "Prophet" personas are two facets of the same coin — he is the one who proclaims what shall without doubt be.

#my post #namo #namo mandos #valar #Silmarillion #silm #spontaneous namo event

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zee-nith · 6 months ago

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I Watched the First 15 Minutes of MHA Movie 4: You're Next

I just went to Anime Expo 2024 in Los Angeles today and watched the MHA panel! The seiyuus of Midoriya, All Might, Giulio (red-haired guy with the eye patch), and Anna (blonde girl with the red headband) talked to the audience for a bit, and we got to watch the first 15 minutes of the new MHA movie! Here's my breakdown of what we saw:

Dark Might watches the fight between All Might and All For One (S3 E11) on his TV in a room by himself. It's the same video as we see in the anime rather than the helicopter footage that was broadcasted to the MHA world. This could just be a recap for us, but it could potentially also be hinting that Dark Might lives in some alternate universe (though the latter seems unlikely)

When All Might points to the camera and says "You're next", Dark Might answers as if that message was for him, saying he will take over All Might as the new Symbol of Peace

Two men carrying guns discuss the kidnapping of Anna, and how Giulio seems unfit to find her (his objective seems to be to assassinate Anna). Meanwhile, Giulio is preparing tea a ways away from the two men. I'm assuming they work together, though it's never explicitly addressed

An emergency alarm is sounded, warning that Tartarus jailbreakers have been spotted, and Giulio speeds away on a red motorcycle

Class A (minus Aoyama) has split into 3 teams to detain all jailbreakers. Team 1 includes Midoriya, Jiro, Uraraka, Hagakure, Ojiro, and Sero. Team 2 includes Bakugou, Ashido, Tokoyami, Koda, Sato, and Kirishima. Team 3 includes Todoroki, Tsuyu, Iida, Shoji, Yaoyorozu, Kaminari, and Mineta. Team 1 captures 2 or 3 jailbreakers (I forgot), Team 2 captures 4, and Team 3 captures 6

(midoriya uses float, air force, full cowl, and blackwhip to capture the jailbreakers and it's so badass, we love to see it)

After checking in with each other via radio, they're alerted of another jailbreaker who I cannot remember the name of. All teams converge to that location, with Midoriya splitting up from his team using Float to pursue the jailbreaker

The jailbreaker is running away with Anna as his hostage, monologuing about how he's unstoppable with Anna by his side

Midoriya catches up to them and tells Anna to grab his hand, and she immediately tries to stop him. He grabs her hand regardless, and is suddenly surrounded by flower petals. His body erupts in pain, nearly leaving him prone

We also see a flower fully bloom on Midoriya's back, but it wasn't addressed again in the preview

The jailbreaker breaks into a building and tries to take another hostage, but Midoriya restrains him using Blackwhip

Something?? happens?? Idk I think I got distracted because the seiyuus were IN THE AUDIENCE but. anyways

Somehow??? they end up outside and it's nighttime. As Midoriya continues restraining the jailbreaker, Giulio catches up and begins shooting at Anna using his prosthetic arm that apparently turns into a gun. We also notice that the roots of Anna's hair are turning black

As the bullets are about to hit, a man creates a force field that drastically slows movement around Anna and the jailbreaker

Midoriya tries to restrain Giulio using Blackwhip, but Giulio begins aiming to shoot Midoriya. Despite this, Danger Sense doesn't activate in response

Meanwhile, the rest of Team 1 catch up, and ask what's going on. Midoriya says he has no idea, which honestly same

I'll post the rest in a reblog because I'm reached the image limit hhh

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batsupes-community · 2 years ago

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Omega Superman 2024

Greetings! Welcome to the Year of Bottom Clark 2024.

This blog is dedicated to Bottom Superman from all DC universes. That includes the DCAU, DCEU, Comics, and Elseworlds! Whether you ship him platonically or romantically with another character,, we welcome you to join our event! Please read the event’s rules before you join, much appreciated! You'll find them below.

We’ve also got a server. If you’re interested just message to this blog and we’ll answer your questions and then get you an invite. When does the event take place? It begins January 1, 2024 and ends on December 31, 2024.

Where might I find the prompts? You can find the prompts right here.

Which universes are allowed? American Alien, Crime Syndicate, DCAU, DCEU, Elseworlds (e.g. Distant Fires), Injustice, Justice Lords, New 52, Post Crisis, Rebirth, Young Justice, etc. Wikipedia mentions other Superman universes.

How Can I Join? That’s easy! Once you’ve had a gander at the prompts you can then create content to be posted on the day’s you’ve set your sights on. There happens to be three different prompts for each of the 365-366 days of the year. You may choose only one, but you’re more than welcome to do all three. That is entirely up to you. Furthermore, you really don’t have to join for each day. That’d be way too much, but kudos to you if you somehow manage it. Still, this is just for fun, so no stress, no rush, and please enjoy yourself!

RULES 01. All fanwork types are acceptable. This includes not only fanfiction and fanart, but also gifs, graphics, fanvideos, speed paints, podcasts, meta, essays, sims recordings, and cosplay. All works however must be finished. Please do not post sketches or drafts, thank you!

02. Use warnings correctly. Please do tag your kinks and themes which could make others uncomfortable.

03. Please tag all entries as “omegasuperman2024” within the first 3 tags so that we can track the tag and see your posts.

04. Late entries are acceptable. We will check up to a month for anything late. Should we miss an entry, feel free to inform us so that we can reblog it. We will also have a collection on AO3.

05. You do not by any means have to create something for every day. This is supposed to be fun, not stressful. Only create for the prompts that resonate with you the most. You could choose to do one prompt a week, or one prompt a month, etc. Or you could choose a single week in the entire year to concentrate on. It’s all up to you. We’re happy just as long as you’re having fun!

06. Side ships and side characters are welcome. However, focus must be mainly on Superman. 07. Fem!Superman and Non-Binary Superman is more than welcome! We’d love to see your version of Superman. Be they female, non-binary, human, kryptonian, or some other iteration.

08. Any iteration of Superman is welcome. Clark Kent, Jon Kent, Calvin Ellis, Kong Kenan, Sunshine Superman, Ultraman, Val-Zod, Kal Kent, etc.

09. We have zero tolerance for ship bashing. Please note that this blog is a safe place for shippers.

10. Be respectful to the participants. Everyone is here to have fun, ergo hate of any sort is prohibited. Note: We will be adding alternate prompts so if you have any ideas feel free to send them in. There will also be 31 Free Days where you can write/draw/etc whatever you want if it's not available as a prompt already.

#Batsupes #Superbat #Omegaverse #Omega #Bruce Wayne/Clark Kent #Omega Superman

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theharrowing · 1 year ago

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A Very Harrowing Halloween

after much deliberation, i have decided that i am going to make an attempt to accept drabble requests, headcanons, and games for the spooky season! i will only honor requests that are sent in a very specific format, so be sure to read below before popping into my ask box.

first, some disclaimer stuff:

you must be over the age of 18 to submit, and your age or age range must be displayed in your bio. i will not write for you if it is not, even if you are not asking for a smutty drabble. for this reason, anon is turned off through the month of october, so if you need to make a burner account to display your age and participate, please do so.

i will only write about members of bts and a reader character. i am not accepting requests for any other groups or celebrities, nor am i making up original characters.

you absolutely must fill out your request the way it is specified below. copy and paste into the ask box. asks sent without these specifications may be deleted or ignored until i feel the urge to write in another 6-12 business months.

just because you submit, does not mean i have to write. i have no idea how stressful the next month is going to be, and i may end up fulfilling only half of them, or only one of them. if something seems fun, i might hold onto it to fulfil it another time. (i still have headcanon and drabble requests in my inbox from god-knows-when i was asking for them.)

now onto the fun part...

drabble request details:

your request must contain the following information:

pairing: (can be member x member, member x reader, multiple members x member, multiple members x reader.) genre/au: (any type of relationships, tropes, or alternative universes; smut, angst, fluff, crack. if you want to leave this open for me to decide, just say so!) what makes it halloween themed? (vampires, werewolves, black magic, horror film tropes, etc. you must include something that makes the fic scary, but if you are undecided and want my assistance to decide, just let me know!) are you okay with dead dove? (graphic violence, murder, etc. if yes but there are things you are absolutely not okay with, let me know!)

you may provide a summary of no more than 20-30 words. keep all details out; this is a drabble request and will not be a very detailed piece of writing.

i will not be posting your original ask, so you can divulge things to me that you may not want the public to know, especially in the dead dove area. i will tag you in the post once the request is fulfilled.

headcanon request details:

headcanons are pretty straightforward. just be sure it is somehow halloween themed or it will be ignored!

i will be posting your original ask attached to headcanons.

game request form:

this-or-that games that are somehow halloween themed are accepted! those not on theme will be ignored! here is an example of one of my past this-or-that games! (i am currently working on some carnival/circus ones, so no need to ask if that is something you are into!)

all you need to tell me is what the topic/theme is and whether you would like it to be explicit or not! i will take care of the rest.

i will not be posting your original ask. you will be tagged in the post once the request is fulfilled.

no other kinds of requests are accepted!!!

i reserve the right to change this information at any time, and i will be sure to reblog with updates if i do! if you have any questions, feel free to sound off in the comments or shoot me a dm!

#a very harrowing halloween #please don't make me regret this lmao

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leftistscum · 1 year ago

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I AM CURSING YOU FUCKBAGS TO 1000 YEARS OF OWOFIED NONSENSE. I HAVE TO SUFFER, NOW YOU HAVE TO SUFFER WITH ME.

Update:

All this effort and it doesn't even work. I'm not mad, just disappointed. Current theory is that I didn't include an important part of it in the while loop. The bot scans new posts, and I'm not gonna re-post this for the second time. It's only been actually tested two or three times including this try, and I'm keeping this as a sort of devlog. Update 2:

I restarted the OAuth apps that I made earlier today (an OAuth callback server to catch the keys, and another OAuth thing to generate the Authorization verifier). I worked almost all day to get these two to work together. The API ended up sending this error, and I don't know what it means, but it doesn't throw any errors client-side. Here's the error it throws. {'meta': {'status': 429, 'msg': 'Limit Exceeded'}, 'response': [], 'errors': [{'title': 'Limit Exceeded', 'code': 0, 'detail': 'Minor hiccup. Try again.'}]} Like, okay, great. Now I gotta actually look at the documentation and find out what this magic gibberish means, because this could relate to all those times I tried to authenticate, OR I hit the daily limit on posts seen by my bot, which I highly doubt. Update 2.5 after some research, I've learned absolutely nothing. That error code is a giant ball of nothing that basically says I exceeded a rate limit, but doesn't give any explanation as to which rate I exceeded. Thanks, Tumblr. At least Reddit threw client side errors that you didn't have to go to a broken API console to see. Fuck all of you, and I'll see you tomorrow.

Side note: I am surviving off one breakfast pizza from Casey's, one Pipeline Punch, one grape flavored 3D, 4mg Estradiol, 50mg Spironolactone, and I currently have 100mg Progesterone dissolving in my stomach, which at this point, might actually kill me. It's only 9:36 at the time of writing this, but it feels like I've been working on this for days. This is to say that I may have missed something super obvious, and if that's the case, well, I'll leave tomorrows problems to tomorrow's me.

Update 3

Just woke up and re-ran all the assorted programs just to get a fresh start. I'm still getting that error code, but more importantly, my access token and secret changed? I'm not expert when it comes to stuff like this, but I though tokens and secrets are constant and specific to apps. I can't actually test this thing until the API lets me through. Update 3.5

Found the error code. It wasn't way too hard, but it means my bot probably did something way too much yesterday and I have no idea what. It works on the server's clock and goes by callendar day. This means that if a bot hits the error code at 11:59 PM, it can hit it again at 12:00 AM. For an error 429 to happen, any one of the following has to trigger it.

300 API calls per minute, per IP address.

18,000 API calls per hour, per IP address.

432,000 API calls per day, per IP address.

1,000 API calls per hour, per consumer key.

5,000 API calls per day, per consumer key.

250 new published posts (including reblogs) per day, per user.

250 images uploaded per day, per user.

200 follows per day, per user.

1,000 likes per day, per user.

10 new blogs per day, per user.

20 videos uploaded per day, per user.

60 minutes of total video uploaded per day, per user.

So I can't test this until the server's calendar deems it a new day Update 4

It still doesn't work, but I am one step closer. Because of Tumblr's broken-ass console, I've had to find an alternate way to get an OAuth key. It turns out I was using a temporary access key, which is why it changed when I re-ran everything. I had to do this by using two other scripts. One of them is Tumblr's interactive console on Github , and the other one was a Yaml parser because boy do they like to encrypt. This has been my morning so far. Day two and 5 scripts later, just to finally have something that I should've had at the start.

Update 4.5

I FINALLY GOT AN API RESPONSE!!! LET'S FUCKING GOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Update 4.5.5

I have implemented a feature that makes the thing wait for a second then search for any comments with a timestamp older than the last time it waited and has the right keyword in the 196 tag. I have obviously accidentally wasted all my API tries today, but testing begins again tomorrow. You will fear my wrath soon enough. Update 5

Decided to check up on the bot, and ran straight into this wall of text. It looks like blog info? Some of those links take me to profile headers. This isn't a static thing either, it updates every 20 seconds like clockwork. Because I made it update every 20 seconds like clockwork. I think this means it's testing time. Wish me luck. Breaking News. Didn't work, but we're a lil bit closer. Again.

#I figured out how to get access to the API #and now you have to deal with my bullshit #This would have taken no time at all with Reddit's API #196 #r/196 #rule

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the-artist-of-chaos · 1 year ago

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Lmao, help, my brain decided to be a bish—

OKAY. SO. Ive been listening to a SH!TLOAD of music as of recent. And problem is, if I listen to a song long enough, an idea or an alternate universe or a something forms in my stoopid little brain.

And now, I have an idea for an AU. AUGHHH-

What kind of AU? Well, I don’t necessarily know how to describe that. But I might have an idea for a name. I’d call it..

The Haunted AU

So for basic explanation, a majority, if not, the whole group of grumps (including my grumpus OC, Gollie) end up falling into an odd dimension where 1. They get reverted to young adult/teenager age, and 2. They gotta hunt down ghosts! But not just any ghosts. Ghosts of people that have negatively impacted that specific grump’s life one way or another. (From parental figures, to bad friends, to scrappy exes, the range can go ON!).

Now, do I know when I’m gonna make this AU official? Nope :). BUT. I’ve got an idea on how im gonna develop it so I don’t actually give up on it like I do with everything else :>

Im thinking about posting a chapter, each chapter having a title picture, and about 2-4 additional pictures in the story. If im correct, Im estimating about 15-25 chapters total?

Obviously, I’ll have to make the designs for these gay ass losers, but I think I might have motivation to do it! :D

But now, for a question.

I will answer questions if asked, and I’ll make a commonly asked question thing so if anyone wants to ask a question, but is too nervous too, they’ll have a chance of getting their answer! :3

Oh! And remember!

REBLOGS >>> LIKES. (Likes are still nice tho)

#bugsnax #bugsnax au #bugsnax oc #random shitpost #im being silly

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bi-widower-dads · 2 years ago

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F. A. Q.

~~~

What is Barduil Month?

Barduil month is a month-long celebration of the relationship between Bard the Bowman and Thranduil Oropherion from JRR Tolkien and Peter Jackson’s The Hobbit! This will be our second year running this event, originally inspired by the 30 Days of Barduil promptlist from several years back.

When is Barduil Month?

Barduil Month will take place between 1 and 30 April 2024.

How do I participate?

Simply create a fanwork of any kind for Barduil, add it to our AO3 collection, tag us here on Tumblr! This can include art, fic, gifs, edits, playlists, cosplay, crafts - you name it! This year we are running four themed weeks, each with a set of prompts to spark creativity, but you are welcome to submit any fanwork with Barduil as a focus. Be sure to use the tag #barduilmonth2024, and feel free to @ our blog, @bi-widower-dads so we can see it and add it to our queue for reblogging.

Do I have to participate every day/week?

Nope! Only participate as much as you are comfortable with. If that means one prompt, some or all of them, any and all participation is very welcome, as are late submissions!

Can I combine prompts?

Absolutely! You can create one work per prompt, one work that hits several prompts, one work that hits all of them...it’s up to you!

What if I don’t like the prompts?

While we’ve provided a set of prompts for each week, these are more guidelines than strict rules! If something else inspires you to create fanwork for Barduil, we still would be thrilled to see it!

Can my fanworks feature other ships?

Barduil should be the focus of your work, but if other ships make an appearance, that's absolutely fine.

Can my fanworks feature OCs?

As with ships, the focus of the work should be Barduil! However, the presence of OCs is perfectly acceptable.

Do my fanworks have to be canon-compliant?

Nope! Canon-'verse or any kind of canon divergence, alternate universe, or other change of setting are all very welcome.

Can I contribute a work in progress (WIP)?

Absolutely! Just use the tag #barduilmonth2024 or tag @bi-widower-dads, and/or post to the AO3 collection.

What if I don’t finish my fanwork in time for the event?

You can submit it as a WIP before the event ends, or else you can continue to use the tags after April 30th! However, the mods may be slower at reblogging once April is over. The AO3 collection will also remain open after the end of April.

How do we view other entries?

We will be reblogging all entries to this blog throughout the event! You can browse by fanwork type (e.g., fic, art) by looking through our tags. We will update this tags list as new ones are found, but for the moment: #art #fic #edit #gif

Why haven’t you reblogged my post?

Posts will be added to the queue once a mod sees them! If your post has a like from any of the mods (@scary-grace, @piyo-13 or @nocompromise-noregrets) it's in our queue. Please allow for up to a few days for it to be reblogged. If you think we might not have seen your post, however, please do drop us an ask or message!

Is there an AO3 collection?

Sure is! Here is a link. If you post fic, art, or other fanwork to AO3, please feel free to add it to the collection! (here is the link to the collection for our two events in 2023!)

Are there any other rules?

Yes.

No bigotry of any kind (racism, homophobia, transphobia, aphobia, ableism, etc.) will be tolerated.

No ship bashing of any kind will be tolerated.

Do not repost content by other creators without their explicit permission. This includes using fanart in graphics without credit and consent from the original artist.

Violation of these rules will result in you being blocked.

I have another question!

Feel free to send an ask to this blog! We mods (@scary-grace, @nocompromise-noregrets, and @piyo-13) will do our best to answer questions promptly.

~~~

Thank you to arofili’s Tips for Hosting Fandom Events for giving us an idea of how to create this FAQ!

#barduilmonth2023 #barduilmonth2024 #barduil #bard the bowman #thranduil #bard/thranduil #the hobbit #the hobbit fanfiction #the hobbit fanart #the hobbit fanfic #the hobbit fanworks #barduil month faqs #otp: bi widower dads

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thebreakfastgenie · 2 years ago

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I am sending this on anon because I’m not sure how you’ll take this but if you’re open to a discussion about it I can PM you also. Also I know it was a reblog but I am sending this to you rather than OP as I do not follow OP.

The post you reblogged about feminism, gender studies and trans people really rubs me the wrong way. The idea that “dudes” need feminism because they think being trans means they understand gender could be interpreted in a few ways that I can see and none of them are good. Maybe there’s another way that I am missing. Either it is misgendering trans women and suggesting that they need feminism because they think just being trans means they understand gender (with the implication being that they are wrong, and need to learn feminist theory to set them straight) or it is implying that trans men need feminism because they think they understand gender as they are trans (and the only implication I can draw from this is that if they knew more about feminism, which is for women and not for trans men, that they might just be women?? I hope this is not what this is implying.)

There are a LOT of different branches and ideology within “feminism”; not all of which have historically been inviting or comfortable for trans people of any gender or assigned gender at birth. The idea that trans people need feminism is a loaded statement that could be championing feminism as a political ideology that is inviting of all gender minorities or it could be a veiled insult.

Cis feminists have done a lot for a lot of causes including trans rights and especially for the political successes and social understanding of women. However, I think it’s troubling at best to suggest that feminist theory is going to be better at understanding gender than trans people.

If you think I’ve misunderstood something here or that there is something that I’ve overlooked that would provide different context I am open to hearing it. Alternatively if you would like to discuss my views more please let me know.

Well, I think the context you're missing is OP's bio. I'm the biggest advocate of checking bios not being required on tumblr, and please don't take this as a criticism, but if I were in your shoes I would definitely try to get that context for myself if something rubbed me the wrong way.

OP is a trans nonbinary butch lesbian.

I'm happy to discuss this with you more, but I think that by itself changes the context significantly, so I want to give you a chance to revise your points.

I will add a little bit about why I reblogged it. I have been thinking a lot lately about how in certain spaces, feminism is almost treated as something that's solved. This has led to things like a long twitter thread satirizing deadnaming trans people by writing a hypothetically situation about a married cis woman who didn't take her husband's last name. The situation was meant to be blatantly absurd, but the OP did not seem to realize that it was literally reality for women who keep their own names. I've also seen tumblr users assert that cis women don't experience oppression because of their gender and while I can take that in good faith and assume they were talking about kinds of gender related oppression that are specific to trans people, the blanket statement was still incorrect.

This intersected with another thing I've been thinking about a lot, which is people, many of who were raised with conservative beliefs, coming out as queer and thinking the work ends there. No one is automatically an expert on gender because of their identity. That's what I resonated with in that post. Trans people don't inherently understand the structural hierarchies at play in a patriarchal society. They often have unique insights because of the way they experience those systems, but that doesn't mean they don't need to consciously think about feminism. We all do.

That post doesn't mention feminist theory and I wasn't thinking about any school of feminism or particularly about theory. I was thinking about, truly, the very basics, which are increasingly lost.

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batbirdies · 3 months ago

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Ah, ok yes, the prompts here are definitely better options to me than the original short version of “do you need a moment?” Which I think I would interpret as “you should take a moment” rather than an offer/question.

Offering both options of “do you want to take a break or keep going?” is definitely better because it doesn’t feel like your answer has to be yes. Not sure why I didn’t think of it myself.

I feel like I’ve probably been in situations where the original question was asked in a judgey and patronizing way and it only ever made me feel worse. But yes, the alternatives offered here are good options.

While I, yeah, would still prefer it be ignored it’s true that with people you don’t know well it’s always a good idea to check in. I find I’m WAY more likely to cry in conversations with people I know well than with those I don’t since we’re much more likely to talk about personal topics, which is where I was mostly coming from plus the earlier anecdote of husband and wife.

But yes to all the above, I would simply emphasize that the second version of the question “do you need a moment or would you rather keep going?” is a much better option than the first. And maybe that’s just a me thing but I can’t imagine I’m the only one who has experienced feeling heavily judged by someone supposedly offering a kindness in this type of situation. And since this all has a lot to do with societal expectations and how we were raised affecting how we feel about crying in front of other people - I think the distinction is important.

I will also add, because i saw it in another reblog of this post - sometimes the other person crying is actively triggering for you because you were heavily manipulated by someone who would cry every time you tried to enforce boundaries etc and would do the whole “I’m a horrible person thing” until you start back pedaling/apologizing etc etc.

As mentioned above all situations are so different, and I don’t want to only consider the easy criers in this situation because indeed it can be a problem for the other person outside of their control too.

Once again if you’re in a relationship with someone you should talk to them about this specific thing. If you’re not, and the person is a workmate or just not someone you have a close relationship with, it’s tricky. I would try not to assume that the crier is being manipulative but if their crying still puts you into hyper anxiety mode regardless - I don’t think it’s bad to ask for a break yourself. Obviously these things can’t always be done perfectly and when emotions you can’t control get involved it’s messy. This suggestions will sound very level headed for situations that make you feel potentially explosive but it’s just something to consider.

You might say something like “do you mind if we take a break? I feel like we’re both getting kind of worked up and it would be good to reset.” This avoids making it about the other person’s crying and includes you as feeling worked up too.

Hopefully they will be understanding about it and might even be grateful. If they aren’t understanding about it, they may indeed be manipulative and learning the art of “gray rocking” is probably in your best interests if you can’t end the relationship.

Everyone is so weird about people who cry easily. Fellas, is it evil and manipulative to *checks notes* have an involuntary stress response?

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tokcshie · 4 months ago

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1. My portrayal of the muses on this blog will be portrayed like original characters and with my own headcanons/ideas. Do not interact with this blog is that’s not your cup of tea .

2. Do NOT interact if you’re a minor or a personal blog, please. The posts on this blog are meant for roleplay purposes and roleplay only. My personal blog is open for any one of age to interact with. If you kindly ask, I do not mind sharing my personal blog. Please respect my wishes, thank you very much. I do not feel comfortable interacting with anyone who isn’t of age because I am older than 25. Please do not lie about your age. Lying about your age will result in a hard block. This blog will be interacting with mutuals only. Meaning I follow your blog, you follow mine. Please don’t take it personally as there are some fandoms I’m not familiar enough with to interact your blog if I don’t follow you back. Original characters are welcome and encouraged as long as have a bio up to work something out. But for now, the interactions will be limited to the demon slayer and/or the legend of Zelda verse. I’m also selective with who I follow back. If I follow you back, it’s because I’m interested to interact with you. I don’t follow blogs just to follow.

3. This blog will touch on dark topics such as death, murder, suicide and sexual themes. If any of these themes make you uncomfortable, this may not be the blog for you. Regardless, I’m still going to include warnings just in case. If there’s any other things any of my writing partner would like me to tag, let me know. It’s important that you’re also comfortable.

4. Shipping. Due to some of these muses being canonically cruel to their partners, I’m still unsure whether if they’ll be open for shipping. It’ll definitely need A LOT of development if anyone would want to ship with demons. Do not be afraid to ask though like I said above, it’ll take a while for the ship to develop. Should we end up shipping eventually, any nsft content will be exclusively written only with the muses my characters are shipping with. No exceptions. I will NOT write anything sexual with characters who are canonically minors. For instance Sabito. I don’t care if I write an alternate universe where he lives, it’s just not going to happen.

* this blog will be multi ship but only with one version of a muse.

5. This is a zero drama tolerance blog so leave me out of the whole he said, she said stuff. Unless someone did something that's actually wrong, I don't want to hear it. Along with that, I won't be allowing any kind of hateful and/or problematic content. Absolutely NO RACISM, homophobia, pedophilia, or incest will be tolerated on this blog. If you condone such acts, you'll be blocked and reported. As a Hispanic person myself, this is a safe space for people of any background and identity.

6. My muses actions do not reflect my own. I cannot stress this enough that some of these muses are cruel and will stay that way. After all, they are demons. But if you’re uncomfortable at any point and you’d like to drop the thread, let me know. There won’t be any hard feelings.

7. Do NOT take my edits, headcanons, writings, metas, please. My portrayals are my own based on my own interpretations/headcanons. And I don’t take too kindly to my creativity being stolen and I’ll make it known so people can be aware. I’m not the best editor on here, but if you’d like something edited, just ask. Chances are that I might say yes.

8. Memes. I fully encourage my mutuals to send prompts/memes to break the ice. No matter how long ago I reblogged an rp meme list, please feel free to send ‘em my way!

9. Activity. My activity here will fluctuate. After all, tumblr is not a priority but rather a hobby. That being said, I also have another blog @devotedsheikah , where you can find me at. And on top of that, I have a big girl job which I love very much so sometimes I may be able to get stuff done, other times I’m just lurking. But just know that I’ll eventually get back to you. Just please, don’t hound me for replies.

* discord is also available upon request for mutuals only.

#demon / hashira laws #tokcshie’s guidelines

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spiltscribbles · 4 years ago

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Oooo it’s my birthday today and I neeeeeed my sweet boys, is it too greedy if I ask for you to write something absolutely adores like you always do. I can wait there’s no rush. It would really make my day a whole lot better

~Notes: HI HI BABY!!! I’m so so fucking sorry this is like two days late 😭😭😭 I am a piece of shit and I had an idea and then I scrapped it and then I came up with this crack shit! But I included singling like you wanted!! And ILU endlessly!!! I hope your birthday was at least filled with sunlight and friends and all the adoration you deserve🎉🎉🎂🥳🎈🎈🎈🎊🎊🥳🎁. And I hope this isn’t a shitty gift!😭😭

Send Me A Prompt<3 | A Reblog is like a hug!!!!

The 4 Times People Suspected About Remus and Sirius, and The One Time They Called It By Name

~I~

Peter notices it first.

He doesn’t know quite what it is, or what it means— Peter doesn’t understand what it entails when he’s watching the way Sirius gently thumbs at a high patch on Remus’s cheek while he’s sleeping on the hospital bed after the first full moon of fourth year, a fraught look in his stormy eyes. Or how Remus’s gaze always search Sirius out first after he’s made a wry comment in the expense of the Slytherins, going alight with the other boy’s laughter. Peter doesn’t comprehend the way it sometimes seems like he’s caught in some sort of static— a negative space that makes him feel out of bounds— when he’s alone with only the pair of them. When they’re all huddled around the common area or their dormitory while James is probably skulking in search of Lily Evans or cajoling the other chasers to have another lap around the court. With Remus lounging on his fourposter, or the sofa, reading one of the infinite books he’s got tucked away in his trunk, and Sirius is quietly sat by his feet, toying with a non-magical contraption he’s found in Muggle London after sneaking out from his ancestral home while his folks were having a row. And Peter is ordinarily just fiddling with a scroll he has to finish for one of the tougher courses from a bit away, intermittently glancing at them side long, just waiting for an excuse to leave the suffocating ambiance that feels like it’s been fitted for just the pair of them and not another soul.

But the most peculiar part about all of this is that Peter is accustomed to feeling like the spare, the cast off who’s clinging to the glimmering forms that are James and Sirius, and their ravenous appetite for any and all attention that’s given over because that’s the sort of boys they are— affluent and prominent and radiating with a sort of spark that’s all there own— the sort of boys that others find doubtless that they are something miraculous. But when Peter’s around just the pair of them, in the corner of the galaxy that the marauders have carved for them to rule like kings— It never feels quite so stilted, so weighty. Sirius and James have a gift of making everyone in the room feel like they’re in on the joke, that they could be showered with that same granger just as long as they play in the tableau. Remus and Sirius together feels the contrary of that, like there’s something pregnant lying between them, waiting to pounce. Like there’s an understanding that no one else gets to glimpse at, and no one else should try. An understanding that’s personal and private and crackling with an energy that is far beyond anything between mere friends, beyond anything Peter could fathom with all his fifteen years.

Idly, over supper after an entire two hours being stuck between that strange tension simmering beneath the surface of Remus and Sirius, Peter wonders for the umpteenth time on whether he should ask James about this development in their small brotherhood, should ask him if he’s detected the difference there. And if he has, Peter will listen to James’s plan to ensure this doesn’t ruin anything. How whatever is brewing under the surface won’t absolutely ruin them.

But then, from the corner of his eye, Peter sees Sirius— none to gently— piling Remus’s plate with an abundance of the potatoes that Moony likes best, dipping down to whisper something in his ear— something surely lecherous— before tousling his curls in that brash, bombastic way of his that he does with Peter and James too, even if he ends it by gingerly cupping the nape of Remus’s neck with a surreptitious squeeze that ends just as quickly as it began, falling back into conversation with James and Marlene about the Wasps’s chances against the Harpies this Friday night as if it was just an innate action, even if it’s one Peter’s only ever witnessed him doing to Remus.

And even though there’s another full in two days, and even though Remus looks like a walking inferi— pale faced and exhausted posture and circles the color of midnight smudged beneath his eyes— Peter watches the ends of his lips quirk up into the best approximation of a smile Peter’s ever seen on him so close to the wolf breaking through the surface of his body that’s all skin and bones, and he isn’t sure if it’s a trick of the light or not, but Remus actually looks like he might be glowing over the strange attention that Sirius’s only ever paid to him.

So no… No, Peter doesn’t think he’ll ask James quite yet, reckons that if anything can help his moon plagued friend, that it must be something good, something that shouldn’t be tempered with.

They can figure out how the strange string pulling Remus and Sirius together will alter their brotherhood later on, there’s still time. There’ still a possibility that it won’t devastate everything.

~II~

Lily’s suspected for a while.

The thing is that she’s known about Remus since the end of third year, when he rebuffed the advances of an eager Heleen Abed, and Lily found him on the ledge of the largest window in the vacant common room— the same one that they regularly commandeer with Mary McDonald to discuss the finer points of Muggle politics and current events, separate from the melting pot of their Gryffindor class that’s composed of either pure bloods or those with their closest Muggle relative being a long dead grandparent. And it was definitely a dangerous, knife’s edge she was playing at, but Lily had sat besides the boy who she’s cultivated a real and true friendship with— one beyond pleasant platitudes and fodder about their course work— and she told him about her cousin Joey with green spiked hair and a mischievous smile adorned with a sparkling stud and how she and Petunia had caught him holding hands with one of his friends from sixth-form in the garden of her Aunt’s cottage, and how even the sneer on her older sisters lips hadn’t deterred Lily from thinking anything but mild indifference about the situation. Only wanting her cousin to always live in that easy effervescence she’s always known when it came to him.

And nothing else was exchanged between them, but Remus had grinned in that barely perceptible way of his, and Lily had nudged his shoulder with her own and then fished out her final handful of chocolate frogs for them to share while they revise their notes for the transfiguration exam coming up.

Two summers have past since then—they’re in the midst of their final term of fifth year now— and she thinks that they’ve become even closer, that the frequent late nights in the library for their impending OWLs and their countless prefect rounds has helped forge a real and true bond— especially that whole snag earlier in the year when they had realized they were both snogging Leon Bennett on alternating nights behind greenhouse three. But all of that withstanding, Lily knows that there are still secrets Remus keeps tight to his chest, ones that Lily’s analytical mind— the mind of a potions expert and future healer— has suspected to do with the thin, silvery scars running down his strong hands that are all tapered fingers and slender wrists, and another across his right bicep that she saw when he had changed his robes for a jumper in front of her, and the one cutting down from the bottom of his ear and nearly across the entire length of his neck, ending at the corner of his sharp collarbone. But Lily suspects he’ll tell her about that soon enough, what she isn’t so confident about is him admitting that particularly dazed look he gets when around Black, of all people. The way he stammers his words occasionally and the way he worries on his bottom lip while averting his glance when Sirius is chatting up a very pleased looking girl, and the way he flushes when Lily is ribbing about him in particular. And Lily knows that the foursome of Gryffindor boys had a falling out of sorts before winter hols, that there’s a hairline fracture between them and Remus now— one that she’s sure no one else can pick up on after the way they had seemingly come back together in late January, right before her birthday funnily enough. But Lily’s always been the analytical sort— the sort to absorb the barebones of a situation so she could conjure a hypothesis that she could prove after careful study.

So Lily knows that it’s something deeper, and she can see how Remus is reticent around them in ways she’s actually worried won’t be shaken off anytime soon— which is all levels of bazaar considering she’s been telling Remus for years that he needs to shrug off his rowdy mates like a snake shedding an old coat. But before, when she’d barb as much he’d only stick out his tongue and tell her what happens to busybodies, and how she doesn’t really know them at all. But now days, he just looks particularly hurt, and more than a bit put out, and Lily catches him flickering over to wherever Sirius was holding court, longing in a way she couldn’t possibly articulate out loud.

Honestly Lily thinks it’s really quite gracious of her to have dropped the subject completely, rather, she takes up the mantel of his friend that can distract him from all those sorts of woes, biting her tongue over his lingering feelings for Sirius that are more than likely far beyond a passing fancy. And she thinks that maybe that’s a good call, maybe it’s good for Remus to beat down those sorts of emotions that he’s harboring for the wanker. She knows Remus, and she knows he wouldn’t hold a grudge— even such a quiet one— for no reason at all. Besides, she doesn’t really think it’s her place to tell him how when he’s glancing away, Sirius is holding vigil to him with that same sort of fervor. That Sirius is the one who collects the notes for all his classes on those conspicuous absences of his when Remus is feeling poorly in the infirmary. That Sirius occasionally looks so very gutted when Remus is wilting away from them, when he seeks Lily’s company instead.

She has a heavy suspicion that Remus might already know all of those things— that maybe they’ve already discussed it at length, that maybe the falling out in December has caused a full stop of anything that could’ve potentially blossomed between them. And she just wishes she knew the entire story so she could decide on whether she should be jinxing Black’s face to a putrid orange color, or pushing Remus to actually give him a chance.

Lily just wishes she could read Black as easily as she can Remus, maybe that would help in this experiment she’s testing, because for now she’s just confused as all hell over what exactly Black feels towards him. Well that is until it’s a fortnight before Remus’s birthday, and she’s being bodily dragged into a closet on her way to charms.

“Oi— What the bloody—“

“Language, Evans,” the annoyingly familiar baritone of Sirius Black tsks, lighting up the cupboard with his wand and smirking in that jagged way she’s heard countless girls tittering over, and the one that makes her want to pop him one right against his ridiculously smug face.

“Black,” she says, caustic as all get out with her fists clenched against her sides and her brows making a really resilient effort to meet in the middle. “You’ve got thirty seconds before I hex your bollocks off.”

“Pff, and Jamie thinks you’re some sort of saint.”

“Twenty-eight. Twenty-seven. Twenty-six.”

Sirius pulls a face at her, but must understand the credence in the words, because it’s not another moment more before he pulls out a bedraggled looking slip of paper from his robe’s pocket, and thrusts it at her face. So with an indignant huff, Lily opens it up and begins scanning the words— becoming all the more confused when she sees measurements and things like coco powder and melted butter, instead of whatever the hell else she was preparing herself to read.

“I’m being pranked, aren’t I? You’re trying to distract me so you and Potter can do something horrid to the Slytherin’s common room.”

“We’ve actually already done that today,” Sirius jeers, raising up his hands in concession with a cluck of the tongue at her scowling face. “’s from Moony’s mum, all right. I asked her to send me the recipe of this chocolate cake she use to make him for his birthdays before Hogwarts— I just thought… It might be nice is all, and you can sod right off if you look at me like that, Evans, with the soft eyes and all that rot. Are you going to help me or not?”

Lily resolutely ignores the pang to her heart, because God, this really is such a sweet gesture. “And what? you thought I could help you because I’m a bird?” She asks in the most scolding inflection she could muster in the face of this incredibly soppy gift he wants to give Remus.

“None of that, blimey, Evans.” Sirius snarls, obviously diffident, and combined with the faint flush to his cheeks, Lily suddenly realizes why he’s considered one of the best looking blokes in the entirety of their school. “There’s a whole load of Muggle mumbo jumbo, so it was between asking you, or McDonald, and I adore Mary and all, but she has got such a mouth on her.”

“You should know,” Lily counters with a leer. “She couldn’t stop going on about your date back in October.”

Sirius’s brows hike, and he actually smiles at her— one that’s vacant from all his bravado from his upbringing in his pretentious, pure blood home, and one that isn’t trying to show off. And Lily can’t help but favoringly liken him to an excited pug. “Oh you’re wicked, Evans!” He shrills delightedly. “Oh this is great, you’re just as depraved as Remus, are all prefects like this?”

Lily snorts, shaking her head at him, indulgent. “Never mind that, Black. Most of this stuff can be found in the kitchens below, I’m sure the house elves won’t mind us borrowing anything.”

“And the ingredients that won’t be down their?” He asks worriedly.

“Well, good on you planning this so far ahead of time, we’ll just have to experiment.”

Sirius groans in retort, muttering things about Muggle potions and James thinking he’s getting off with his future wife and other ridiculous things that Lily doesn’t bother to stay and listen to. Though, when Remus’s birthday does roll around, and she sees his countenance go a thousand shades brighter as he bites into the pudding, and Sirius’s grin stretch just that much more across his face in response— their eyes meeting across the room and past the crowds— Well Lily suspects Sirius never really minded any of the things he was whinging on about, not at all, not as long as the result was a beaming Remus.

~III~

Regulus hears about it in the halls.

He’s not much for gossip or that sort of dribble, doesn’t have much patience for anyone outside his house if he’s being at all frank— and even then, it’s not as if he doesn’t frequently find himself escaping to his fourposter for a moment’s quiet. It seems that everyone in this bloody castle are just dimwitted, daft idiots, and Regulus’s never been the sort to offer allowances for that kind of behavior. He’s been raised in the home of a family as close to royalty as Wizards permit, a prince among men. And he was told that he should have patience for the dull folks beneath him, just as long as they have the correct ideals, but sometimes he can’t help but wish they would all just let him be, sometimes feels like he’s being carted around Hogwarts as the perfect pure blood, like he was nine years old again and being shown off in the parlor of his home when guests came to call, watching from the sidelines while his mother rave about how splendid of an heir Sirius is turning out to be. How his tutor calls him a genius for any age, and how darling he looks in Slytherin green, and how he’s already mastered three romance languages to help in his spell work.

And Regulus can’t help but scoff at those contemplations now, thinking of the past summer when his dramatic and brash brother had made a whole production of leaving behind the values that gave him everything he has. How he escaped to that Potter git’s home the way he’s been doing for nearly every holiday since his second year, how he offered Regulus to come along as if he’s a trader just like him. What a risible excuse for an heir.

But Regulus won’t commit such follies, he’ll make his parents proud— even if his father is nearly never paying much mind and his mother goes from raving to sickly in a blink of an eye. It doesn’t matter, because he’ll carry on the Black legacy, something that his oh so perfect brother never could’ve done. Regulus is only a fifth year, will be turning sixteen in only two months after Sirius’s coming of age, and sure, this might mean he’s still young enough that the Death Eaters don’t find him adequate to fight on the line of fire, but he’ll do it eventually, feels the weight of the letter from Bellatrix praising him for as much resting heavy in his pocket. And if Regulus finds them all a bit too vicious or a bit too excitable and completely lacking a deft hand to make the changes they’re searching for, he shrugs it off. He knows what he must do, and as he stares at his brother from across the valley cusping the lake, he’s only that much more steadfast in the conviction of the fact.

Sirius is sitting and laughing with a group of his Gryffindor mates, the mudbloods, and blood traders that had warped him from the brother he knew to the stranger he is now. And there’s a dark skinned Ravenclaw bird— Meadowes if he remembers correctly from his prefect meetings— and she’s telling some sort of long winded tail with hand gestures and loud cackling coming from the group as she goes on. And Sirius is tossing around a quaffle with Potter— the glint of a handsome, silver watch on his wrist catching in the dying sunlight. And Regulus wonders who had gifted him such a personal passage to adulthood, but is soon distracted by spotting the way Sirius nearly gets smacked in the face with the ball because he was too busy gawking over at Lupin in such a stripped down, cautious way that it makes Regulus squirm.

He doesn’t know much about the elder Prefect, only that his name had come up nearly as much as Potters during that first year when Sirius would send him correspondence on a frequent basis because he knew how lonely Regulus would get while stuck in Grimmauld all by himself. And then when he began attending Hogwarts, Regulus never could get a good reading on him. He knew Potter because of how his family is infamous for their liberal views and nouveau riche attitudes, and Pettigrews family owns a hokey herb shop in Diagon. All he’s found out about the Lupins is that his father is the son of half-bloods and his mother is a Muggle, and that this mudblood is a reserved, carefully aloof bugger, and that somehow he’s seemingly captured all of Sirius’s attentions that he’s not giving Potter or the clinger ons who follow him around like mindless fools. Beyond that, Lupin and Regulus have only traded a hand full of words whenever their roles of prefects would force them to intermingle, and it’s always been punctuated by Lupin giving Regulus a witheringly cold look anytime they were in close proximity, which is admittedly impressive considering that half the time the sickly bastard looks like he’s about ready to keel over.

So no, Regulus doesn’t know much about him, but he’s heard the rumors. He knows that it’s basically an open secret between the Gryffindor class and selected friends. The fact that his brother is probably shagging the mudblood, convincing Regulus that Sirius really has never given a toss about the decorum and standards befalling them as the only two Black males of their generation. And he hates his brother so scathingly right then, hates his little munblood lover probably even more.

And when he watches Lupin straying his gaze from the novel he was reading while that red haired Muggle born was resting her head in his lap, and Regulus saw the way both of their expressions went a peculiar sort of tender— well that’s the last straw, so he stands up in a huff— so unlike himself— and he cuts the story Mulciber was crowing on about, and he tells them he needs to complete a scroll for Slughorn.

And while he prowls away from the sight of his brother continuing to ruin everything, Regulus plunges a hand into his pocket, and crunches Bellatrix’s letter in his grasp, promises himself to write her back soon, and ignores the ache in his chest that’s only been growing larger since Sirius had left permanently.

~IV~

James’s always known.

Perhaps that’s an over reach, but it’s true enough. He’s known for years, on some level, that the thing between Sirius and Remus is something completely foreign to him. Something completely separate from how Sirius licks his face when James is over sleeping and he wants to be a general nuisance. Separate from how he and Remus have begun discussing anything and everything in the wee hours of the morning, with a spot of tea between them and a blanket on their legs, because Remus can’t sleep from the moon and James has never been able to sleep through the whole night without feeling guilty over it. He thinks it stemmed from when he was younger, when his parents were feeling sickly, and before they were gifted a house elf by a family friend who recognized that the elderly Potters needed just a bit more assistance.

James never knew whether it was obvious to him because he’s always considered Sirius as his bastard brother since Christmas of first year, and that he’s always trying to make sure that Remus is all right after finding out just how impressively the bloke can keep secrets once Sirius figured out his furry little problem. So he’s not sure what others know, or even what Remus and Sirius know of what’s happening between them, honestly, there have been so many almosts that James has picked up on over the years. And he still shutters thinking about the near total break that happened with the prank, still isn’t quite sure what had past between them to get Sirius and Remus speaking with each other once more, but he does know that Remus staying with James, Sirius, and Peter the past summer after Sirius escaping the twisted place he was suppose to call a home, is what helped indefinitely. And now, a year separate from the prank, things finally feel normal between them.

Well— Erm, not normal per se. Those idiots are still blustering and bumbling and bashfully avoiding one another when anything close to romantic comes up in a discussion or when their hands touch over the Great Hall table or whenever James makes a pointed remark when he catches one of them staring a bit too slack jawed at the other in the midst of something totally bloody innocuous in the eyes of a normal person— EG: Sirius gathering his hair— that’s nearly to the bottom of his neck now a days— into a small knot on the back of his head, or Remus sucking idly on a sugar quill while he’s revising. And sure, James has to deal with the kicks at his ankles, or a spare jinx if one of them is especially pissy, but Lily’s come to join him in the ribbing, so it kind of makes everything all right. Especially when she levels her beautiful, forrest green eyes with his own brown ones, and she actually looks sort of endeared.

Yeah— that’s a fucking amazing feeling all right, and it’s probably the memory of that happening only a few hours ago that has got James all jittery now, far past midnight. So with a tired sigh, he slides open the drapes of his fourposter, is ready to go downstairs for a kitchen raid if Remus isn’t awake— Though once he sets his glasses on, and blinks a few times over to get acclimated with the dark, he’s only a bit stunned to find the shapes of Remus and Sirius crowded on the former’s bed— and they’re really not much more than suggestions beneath the shadows, but it’s enough for James to see Sirius’s head bent low, resting it against the crook of Moony’s neck and shoulder, while the shorter boy has got his arms wrapped around Sirius’s torso. And it’s nothing obscene, not really— it’s not like they’re nude or anything— but Sirius is shirtless, and Remus does have this blissed out expression painted over his features, that James would bet good money is the same one Sirius has got on if most of his face wasn’t covered by his hair.

And in another breath, Remus’s honey colored eyes flap open, widening exponentially when he catches sight of James, and wiggling around as if he wants to move away from Sirius completely, which is of course stunted when Sirius makes a low noise under his breath, and presses closer so that his mouth is quite literally right against Remus’s neck, and his arms tug him closer.

And James is definitely convinced that he’s the best mate any bloke could ask for when instead of chuckling at the obvious show of territorialism, he just shakes his head indulgently at them, mouthing an “About time plonker,” to Remus, who replies in kind with a hefty, two fingered salute.

This time James has to bite down to prevent his chuckle from spilling out.

“And here I was, about to offer you a snack from our dear house elves.” He whispers, hopefully quiet enough so that only Remus could hear.

“Oh, just bugger off,” Remus retorts, smiling with such mirth that James can’t even feign to be affronted over it, only follows the playful command and tries figuring out just how to give the ‘If you hurt him I’ll hurt you’ talk to the pair of them without it coming across insincerely.

~+I~

Millie was bored until she saw them.

The only reason why Millie got this boring job in this beyond posh restaurant is because her folks reckon that she needs to learn some form of responsibility before university, and she hates it. The pay is absolute shite, and most of her coworkers are all levels of boring, and the patrons are not nearly entertaining enough to try and make up some secret back story of tumultuous affairs or secret agents from the MI6, or a royal from some country on the continent meeting their star-crossed lover.

It’s all just painfully ordinary, and she’s cursing her parents while she chomps on her gum, reading some stupid note by an ugly old fart who left her his number on the receipt.

Scoffing while she bins it, Millie glances over to the newly occupied table in her section, heart immediately leaping once she gets a good look at the pair of blokes sitting down.

The sandy haired one is definitely cute in that reserved way her best friend Claire would definitely be mad over— the guy who could read you poetry in French or Italian and then gently kisses the back of your hand. And that’s all and well, but Millie’s every attention is laser focussed on his mate, the one that looks like he can be bloody James Bond with those smoldering eyes and that ink black hair, and God, those cheekbones! Definitely one of those beautiful, Public school boys who’s born and bread by the patrician. And while she takes their orders, she tosses him her most flattering of grins and slips in her giggle that an ex boyfriend compared to silver bells, and is sure to flip her long, chestnut hair enough times so he’d notice, even if she’s pretty sure he’s either pissed or probably more than a bit stoned. (Truly, where the bloody hell would he come up with pumpkin juice? How horrid must that taste).

Millie may or may not spend an unreasonable amount of time spying at them from where the cooks drop off the completed plates to be sent away. He’s just so bloody good looking, and she can’t believe this awful job has finally brought her such an amazing distraction, and the arse doesn’t even pay her much mind, leaving the ordering and the conversing to his fair haired friend.

Maybe he’s sensitive, she thinks to herself. Maybe he’s just a shy soul. And yes, that must be it! The poor, beautiful sod. She’s sure to make her intentions clear next time she thinks it’s appropriate to top off their waters, because she’s so very gracious like that.

“Enjoying yourselves?” Millie asks in her most light hearted of cadences, filling up the shorter one’s glass but smiling fully and exclusively to the boy who looks like he should be starring in some sort of Brook’s Brothers advert.

“Ta,” the sandy haired boy says, sounding a bit amused at her dilemma, but it’s kind enough so Millie doesn’t feel brassed off over it. “Do you mind pointing me to the loo?”

“Oh of course!” She crows, suddenly ecstatic as she directs him, finally getting a chance to be alone with the model. Though when she turns her attention to him once the other one leaves to take a leak, she’s kind of confused how he’s staring after him with a glance she vividly remembers on the face of her ex whenever she’d peer back around to ensure he was watching her go— Though, if Millie’s being honest, the model somehow looks simultaneously eager to watch the back of him, but also already disheartened not to have him around in ways she doubts anyone she’s ever gone out with has ever exhibited. “He’s a nice chap,” she states, instead of marinating on the strangeness of this development.

The practical model starts, seems to have forgotten about her presence all together, but then he glances over towards her with those impossibly flattering, pale gray eyes, and he nods disinterestedly. And yeah, yikes. That is a total hit to Millie’s ego.

“Ahem,” she clears her throat, begins twisting her free hand into the material of her apron. “’S nice you guys came for dinner, you don’t see much friends considering how bloody expensive it is here, hah.”

Millie feels herself going absolutely scarlet at the impassive way he drags his gaze up and down her form before taking a swig of his Bellini. “He’s not my friend.”

“Oh,” Millie practically squeaks out, suddenly wonders if maybe he’s a tutor from his class or something? Maybe the model is just taking the cute one out to dinner as a thanks for helping him pass his A-levels? Maybe this is considered cheap in the circles that the model keeps.

“’S our one year anniversary actually,” he tells her, still in that methodical, blasé way of his. And oh. Oh wow! Suddenly everything is snapping into clarity.

The way the two boys had brushed the back of their hands before being seated, how model had trusted the other boy to order for him, how model never looked away from the cute one’s mouth or collarbones or hands as they spoke. How whenever she came around to ask if they needed anything else, it felt like she was intruding on more than just a couple of mates catching up.

Oh Jesus, she feels like such an idiot, and Millie tells the model just as much.

“I’m sorry, I’m an idiot! I didn’t even put it together.”

Remarkably, the model’s rigid posture goes a bit loose at her apology, and the corner of his thin lips quirk up into a grin. “’S fine, he didn’t want to make a fuss out of it, but yeah— Just feels good telling someone.”

Millie nods eagerly, she can’t understand exactly what he means, obviously not, but she can definitely try to, and if it feels good for him to tell a random bird about something so important, then she’s more than happy to help. “Well the point stands, yeah? He seems like a good sort, you’re lucky to have found each other.”

The model’s grin goes elastic at that, and he looks actually approachable for the first time tonight. “I’m the luckiest bloke in the world that I get to be with him.”

Millie flushes at the intensity embedded into his statement, but thankfully doesn’t have to answer when she hears the sandy haired boy walking closer now, smiling so brightly that there’s a dimple popping up on the apple of his cheek that Millie’s only just noticed— The mirth is a good color on him, she reckons. Makes him look as gorgeous as those boys on the telly dramas her Mum is always gushing about, even his eyes turn more golden than light brown. “You pestering our waitress Padfoot?”

“You know I keep my devilish tongue for you and you alone Moonbeam,” the model—Padfoot cannot be his actual name for heaven’s sake— retorts.

“Lucky me,” the sandy haired boy says wryly as he takes a seat, and while Millie walks away— intending to get them a pudding that’s on the house to celebrate the milestone of their relationship— she peers back around only once and it’s enough to see the tips of their fingers kissing across the table, and their smiles looking like a secret language not meant for anyone else to read.

My Full Wolfstar FIC Masterlist💜

#WOLFSTAR #REMUS LUPIN #SIRIUS BLACK #WOLFSTAR FLUFF #REMUSXSIRIUS #SIRIUSXREMUS #HARRY POTTER SERIES #MARAUDERS #Spilt Ink #I'm sorry if you hate this sugarplum #Like legit #idk what I am on #JFC #I suck #flksadjgaklsgjoewiajfsg

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industria-adastra · 1 year ago

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Man, I can't believe "Dark History of the Reincarnated Villainess" actually made its way here.

This reblog is also a manga recommendation to the people who follow me? If you're into villainess isekai, this manga series might not seem like much at the beginning, but it's a relatively well-executed (uncommon) idea of reincarnating into your edgy self-insert power fantasy. Which— I suppose isn't exactly spoilers, means that it translates to a rather horrible reality to live in if you're our main character. The villainess.

Also, you'd die of cringe. And of the embarrassment you'd feel for your younger self.

I will have to say, "The Dark History of the Reincarnated Villainess" is genuinely goofy and there's lots of wacky hijinks involving our main character Iana... Then things start to get a lot more serious (and really sad tbh) when the church/saint selection arc hits. So while it is a hilarious series, as someone who's basically caught up with the manga in its full—prepare tissues when you get further in.

Spoilers below as I further discuss this shoujo that sucker punched me in the kidneys (I really thought it was only gonna be a goofy "fix your bad story yourself" fic but NO). And honestly it just really sucks for Iana at the point of the plot that I'm at.

Essentially, when your edgy story becomes a world needing legitimate reasons for our MC to be so vilified that everyone hates her, suspects her for anything bad and has no problem throwing her under a bridge for things she's not responsible for + her sister being the saintess who'll defeat the demon king—that leads to an actual cult (in a sense) who will do anything to keep their desired status quo. That includes murdering innocents and pinning the blame on Iana. Or murdering people connected to Iana, thus making people (who are in another league of good god your heads are all empty vases) think that Iana (a literal child when these incidents happened), was somehow connected to it. We all love forcibly creating conditions for child neglect and an environment devoid of affection for someone so you can mould them into the role you desire, amirite? It all brings a question: Is the plot the ideal path? Or is forcibly sticking to it when there are possible alternatives with less sacrifice needed just making a shitstorm for yourself?

Oh, and apparently actually prophecies about Iana basically being made for the sake of awakening her sister's powers. Yikes.

This is all for the sake of a presumed ideal reality that Konoha—Iana/Our MC's older sister—will purify/defeat the demon king and thus bring peace to the land. The author is particularly ruthless when it comes to people even remotely connected to Iana (the hand of doom comes very fast for the technical "extras" of the world, who are typically unrelated to the "Dark History"/plot middle schooler past life Iana/Konoha Satō wrote). So prepare to get set up for what was genuinely one of the best pairings (I was robbed of Iana/Isaac so hard I had to cry for a good bit) in the series and then get shot in the aorta.

However, I would not recommend this manga if you're not into the MC getting constantly blamed or forced to take the blame for everything. You will also really not like certain characters by the end. Especially the course-correcting cult that makes Miguel O'Hara's determination to let "canon events" occur look extremely tame in comparison. It's honestly pretty clear to the reader that they preach about following the plot but then proceed to have the most bloodthirsty individuals in there. It's like the whole "Destiny's Slaves" thing the Stellaron Hunters in Honkai Star Rail have tbh but focusing more on individuals involved in events rather than causing a chain of events to lead to the most desired outcome.

The Dark History of the Reincarnated Villainess | Akiharu Touka

Konoha Satou has a dark history. Although she’s not the only middle schooler who’s dreamed about romance and adventure, Satou takes it to the next level when she writes herself into a reincarnation fic as the main heroine. But little does she know, her fantasies will become reality when she wakes up in her Dark History! There’s just one small complication…Instead of playing the role of heroine, she’s the most despicable villainess—Konoha’s little sister, Iana. Which means if she wants to avoid tripping her own death flags, she’ll have to remember every last detail of her story…

—

I’ve been getting really into Isekai stories where women change their fate (whether it’s a “reborn in another world” scenario, or their life is reset to the catalyst moment), and this is one of the Funniest Fucking Ones I’ve read so far.

Imagine you’re reborn in that super edgy self-insert fic you wrote as a teenager. The one filled with all the weird dark shit you were into in your edgy, teenage, Not-Like-Other-Girls Phase. Except you’re not the saintly maiden protagonist, you’re the first villainess who tried to murder your self-insert. And you woke up after just attempting to murder her. So you desperately try to make things right and outwit your fate of being executed but everyone (except your beautiful kindly sister, the former self-insert) is suspicious as hell of you, because, frankly, you were kind of a Shit before regaining your memories.

So you have all this life-threatening drama with a side of “WHAT THE FUCK WAS WRONG WITH ME???!!!” as you slowly remember all the weird shit you put in a fic you wrote when you were 13/14.

“Oh yeah, I was super into elves at one point”

“My friend said all my characters looked the same, so I tried to make this villain more muscly and…oh gawd this is how my art translated into reality???”

“Oh, yeah, there was that whole murder-mystery subplot with the kinky sex dungeon…”

“Right, I wrote in vampires because I went through that phase where I thought being bitten and a thrall to a vampire was super hot.”

It makes for some hilarious comedy, and then (as of the 4th volume), what happens when the story starts “correcting” itself. Changes you made, lives you saved to try to make up for your teenage internalized misogyny, suddenly the story is forcefully being put back on track with elements that were never in your narrative to begin with. How do you correct a story you’re not the one writing anymore?

It’s fun, and an enjoyable ride if you can handle some darker elements (usually sex-related, because horny developing teenager…)

#reblog #the dark history of the reincarnated villainess #IT'S ALWAYS THE LALA MAGAZINE STORIES #what is it with me and lala magazine stories #ouro reviews #also some of the outfits for the characters are super goofy #but at least it was intended that way?#I'm reading the newest chapters on weibo because one kind soul has dedicated themselves to this particular story #I really don't know how this manga series is gonna end it seems so bleak for the main character rn

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bookishofalder · 4 years ago

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Celebrity Swingers Club

Request: @bbarton -hi!! could i request adam driver x reader <3 they are dating and one night they go out or something and someone starts hitting on the reader aggressively and he gets very protective and jealous :)

A/N: Honestly the idea for this stemmed from a random and hilarious conversation I was having with my friend the other day. I wanted to keep this one light and silly, so I hope it makes you smile! 🥰

Warnings: Dash of SMUT, language.

Adam was missing you today, even though he’d seen you mere hours ago, wrapped in his arms in bed at the hotel. And you were on set today as well, even. But this happened towards the end of filming, for a lot of actors. The inevitable mixture of melancholy, pride, restlessness and exhaustion. It was exacerbated by being on location, though he had to admit of all the locations he’d been to for a film, he had little to complain about here in Hawaii.

But nearing the end of filming meant that time became more constrained, and you and he saw less of one another. He supposed it was part of the honeymoon phase, after all, you’d only been married about 5 months before production started on this latest project.

Today, he just wanted to see you, even if just for a short while.

So when they called lunch, he was quick to depart the set and make a beeline for the cafe, where he had two orders of lunch preordered for pickup. He thanked the staff, having a brief conversation with the cafe crew about how much he had to bribe them for the recipe to his favourite meal (seriously, it was one of the best dishes he’d ever encountered, but they wouldn’t give it up!). With a laugh and a shrug of defeat, he said his goodbyes and started toward the makeup trailers.

He figured you’d be working with your assistant to tidy up from the morning, as many fake injuries were needed for the scenes they were filming. You complained that these left your workstations a disaster. But he knew you loved creating the wounds, a macabre alternative to the glamour or ‘regular’ looks you specialized in. It had been alarming the first time he’d walked in on you in the bedroom you shared at home to find you looking at horrifically graphic photos and making notes.

As he approached your trailer, your assistant, Bailey, was making her way hurriedly down the steps. Adam greeted her with a wide grin. “Hey Bailey, sneaking away?”

“Sneaking away is accurate, Carter is in there,” She replied, her lips set in a thin line, “Seriously, I know he means well, but he really is a bit much.”

Adam nodded in understanding, as he too found the young actor a little...obnoxious. And while Adam had no illusions to his idiosyncrasies and perpetual ‘asshole’ persona; he still made a point of not falling into conversation with Carter. It was tiring, as the kid would speak non-stop, jumping from topic to topic so quickly it gave his listeners whiplash, and when he’d finish, he’d merely take a breath and launch into another speech unless he was cut off.

But he was a good enough kid and a great actor. Someone that, professionally, Adam was happy to work with. Just like Bailey, however, he had his limits when it came to patience in dealing with Carter offset. And Adam knew his wife all too well, he knew you were in the trailer, abandoned by Bailey, being an absolute gem to the kid. Letting him talk your ear off while you no doubt worked to get your station fully tidied before being called to set after lunch for touch-ups.

“Well, I’d better go rescue her, I’ll see you later.” He sighed, and Bailey gave him a sympathetic, knowing smiling before running off.

You kept your trailer especially cool, which Adam had always appreciated. You said it was for your art, but he also knew you did it for him, as he always ran a lot warmer than most. Stepping inside, he first turned left toward the dining area and set the food boxes down on the table. When he glanced around and didn’t see you in the main room, he made his way to the door that led into the meeting room, which had a large sink that you used for cleaning off your palettes and brushes. The door was halfway cracked and as Adam stepped up, he heard Carter’s voice.

“Honestly, totally no big deal, (y/n). Married, single, divorced-whatever,” Adam was right at the door now, looking in he saw your back, shoulders rigid in a way that he knew meant you were uncomfortable, and pointedly washing off a palette with determined vigour. “You’re fit, and I’m an honest person, so I just wanted to put it out there. You could even ask Adam if you-“

Leaning against the door frame, Adam slid the pocket door the rest of the way open, his eyes focused on Carter. “Ask Adam what?” His voice low, he was trying to control his temper-he didn’t want to jump to conclusions.

Carter had broken off the moment he saw Adam in the doorway, mouth slightly open in surprise. “Oh, hey Adam!” He quickly rearranged his expression to a more pleasant one.

But when you spun around and Adam saw the genuine relief flush across your face, his heart rate increased. He crossed his arms, inwardly happy that he was still wearing only a t-shirt, his muscles flexing slightly.

“Ask me what, Carter.”

The kids’ eyes widened, “I was, well, I mean I was saying to (y/n)-“

Adam cut him off again, “My wife. You were saying to my wife.” Out of the corner of his eye, Adam could see you biting back a smile.

Carter stuttered, “Yes! Of course, I was saying-to your wife-that I’d be down for a, you know,” He shrugged, though his tense posture and wide eyes gave away how utterly not calm he was, “Some fun, Hollywood style, uh, fun.”

At this, Adam frowned with confusion, glancing between Carter and you, and you rolled your eyes, “He means sex. You know, like how all celebrities are here for a good time, so we can swap partners and have sex parties and all that fun stuff we do on weekends.”

Adam’s eyes snapped to Carter, who visibly paled. Gulping he watched as Adam stepped away from the door and into the room, his eyes narrowed. “You asked my wife to fuck? Are you kidding me?” Moving nearer to you, Adam pointed at the door, “Get the fuck out of here, stay the fuck away from my wife, and expect a call from my manager.”

Though his voice had been quiet, the message and severity of his words were all too clear to Carter, who uttered a quick apology before running out of the trailer at full speed. When the door slammed closed behind him, you burst out laughing, peals of giggles that brought a smile to Adam’s face despite his anger.

“Oh god, that poor kid actually thought we had like, celebrity swingers clubs,” You broke down in another fit of giggles, one hand clutching your stomach, and Adam couldn’t help but join in.

After a few minutes, he stepped closer to you and pulled you into his arms, where you rested your head on his chest, your arms snaking around his waist. It hadn’t been the first time he’d encountered someone unabashedly hitting on you, though this was the most unique proposition he thinks you'd been offered.

“That was the first time that one could interpret that I was included in the deal,” He considered aloud, causing you to laugh loudly again. “I’m not sure if I should be more, or less, offended.”

“Carter is a gullible fantasist. I’d put money down that someone told him there was a sex club he was missing out on.”

“If that’s the case,” Adam replied, pulling back slightly to look down at you, “Then whoever told him that is going to get a piece of my mind when I find out who they are. I fucking hate when men hit on you.”

Your gaze softened, a small hand reaching up to stroke his jaw in a soothing motion that always seemed to work on him. “I know, babe,” You whispered, your hand sliding from his jaw to grab the back of his neck, pulling him closer. With your mouth a breath away from his, you added, “I missed you today.” And then your lips pressed to his.

Without hesitation, Adam deepened the kiss, his blood rushing as your mouth opened for him and then he was licking into you, tasting you. A small moan escaped you as you pressed yourself against him, returning his fervour. One of the things he adored about you was the energy that you saved just for him. Every kiss, every touch, they were always fire, always intense and needy. You kissed him like it was the first time, every time, no matter how tired you might be, how hard you might have worked that day.

He broke the kiss, pressing his forehead to yours, each of you panting. “I love you, sweet girl.”

“Love you too, big.” You murmured, your lips wrapping seductively around the nickname you had for him. He smiled, reaching his hands up to cup your face, thumbs stroking the soft skin.

“I brought lunch, by the way.”

You pulled back further, leaning around him to look toward the dining table. Eyes lighting up upon seeing the take out containers that held your favourite meal, you glanced between Adam and the food a few times.

“Seeing you get all jealous worked me up,” Your words were thoughtful, brows furrowed in mock consideration, “I think we have time for a quickie before we ea-AH!”

You shrieked a giggle as Adam lifted you up, pressing his lips to yours before seating you on the table. He reached toward the door and quickly shut it, turning the lock, before looking back down at you.

With a dark look in his eyes, he stepped between your legs, hands gripping your shoulders gently, “Might need to leave a mark or two, remind everyone who you belong to.” And then his lips were on your collarbone, biting possessively before his tongue would lave out to soothe the mark. Your hands found his hair, fingers carding through the raven locks as you moaned in delight.

“All yours, big.” You sighed, and Adam smiled against the skin of your chest, his hands dropping to your hips so that he could ease your leggings off and bring your bodies together.

The food would go cold, but the trailer had a microwave. And really, neither of you were all that hungry at the moment, anyway.

Did you enjoy this story? Please consider reblogging or commenting to ease my inner turmoil as a writer. Likes are basically just a bookmark!

#reader insert #fanfic #adam driver x reader #adam driver #adam driver x you #angst #adam driver fanfiction #just for fun #requested #love

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nhl-stories · 3 years ago

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Don't Write An Elegy (part eight.two) – Ryan Graves

Masterlist

Part eight.one

Author's Note: In the end I couldn't make a decision so I'm giving these two fuckers alternate endings, hopefully one of the two endings satisfies you or maybe both. It would mean the world if you let me know your final thoughts in a reblog, message, ask, carrier pigeon whatever 🧡

Word Count: 3.2k

…I've been wasting all this time, Trying to keep you off my mind …

Being back in Yarmouth is strange now.

All the landmarks that used to just remind me of the childhood now reminded me of her.

Sure, the residents are happy to see me but their smiles were a bit more hollow than usual. The kind of small town smile you get when everyone knows something about you and thinks they’re being polite by not saying anything out loud.

Although, they might have been making the weird smiles because of the trade too. It hadn’t come as a complete blindside, the expansion draft had loomed in the horizon for a while, but I was too busy worrying about my marriage to really put much thought into it. But the location of the trade had been a bit of a shock, I never had given much thought about moving to the Devils.

My Avs teammates seemed more upset by it than me. I’d miss Denver, but after the year I had, a change of scenery sounded nice. New Jersey sounded nice. Though I’m not sure many people have ever thought that.

My mom was probably the most excited by the trade, she liked the idea of me being on the East coast. It was a 13-hour drive that included a ferry ride, but it made her feel like I’d be less alone. As if a team of men would really give me that much alone time.

Ever since our talk during the playoffs my mom has tried to be extra sensitive to my situation. She gave me the okay to skip my usual beginning of the summer trip to Yarmouth, trying to spare me the immediate pain of seeing Gretchen.

But now it’s August and I had a hockey camp so I had to suck it up and show up, for the kids.

Nathan had offered to come down and help out, be a bit of a buffer in case of a Gretchen sighting but I turned him down. Mostly because I didn’t need a real NHL superstar being the focus of my own fucking camp.

It’s been five days but I still haven’t seen her, underneath the relief is disappointment.

Her brother/nephew was helping coach at the camp, but he told me he wasn’t going to talk about Gretchen with me; I respected his boundaries. I probably needed them too, we never had a big talk and I think at some point I’ll need the true closure of talking to her about the end.

My body seems to think the same thing. Camp is over for the day and I take to wandering the streets, for the most part everything is unchanged, but without thinking my feet lead me to the only bar in town.

A big talk doesn’t sound great but a drink does.

I take a big breath before entering the pub, it looks just the same, patrons and all.

Except for a baby grand piano in the corner where the upright one used to be.

The lid is closed but it’s clearly been used recently; it’s not coated in the thin layer of dust that it had in our home. My heart warms.

I had thought about selling the piano because it felt like a stab in the chest every time, I looked at the melancholy instrument in the living room. But instead, I shipped it to Yarmouth. I couldn’t imagine another person in the world loving it or appreciating it as much as Gretchen.

I sit down at the bar, worrying about who the bartender will be. Though I know I could pour myself my own drink and leave some money on the bar and no one would care.

I don’t even notice someone enter from the back room until they slide a beer in front of me. I look up to see Gretchen’s mom standing on the other side of the bar. I’m shocked by how far my heart drops because it’s not Gretchen.

“She’s not working today,” she answers the question I never verbalized, “But it’s good to see you sweetheart, you look good.”

Before I have time to try and read into ‘you look good,’ she comes around the bar and gives me a tight squeeze and a kiss on the cheek. I squeeze her back and try to hold back tears, there’s something so comforting about a good hug from a mother; and I’ve missed my second mother.

“And thanks for letting Chris help out with camp. I know it can’t be easy to have him around, but he really looks up to you and after the year he’s had he needs something for himself.”

In that moment I realize my past year has been a mess, but nothing like a high schooler having his whole identity upturned at the drop of a hat. The new perspective makes me queasy; I try and wash it down with a gulp of beer.

“Chris is like my own little brother,” I want to something more meaningful or profound but I’m pretty run dry of heavy emotions lately.

She gives me a pat on the cheek, “I’ll let you enjoy the drink, it’s on the house.”

I down the rest of the pint, I’m done with human interactions for a bit.

I leave a tip and head out the door and run into someone on my way out.

“Sorry I was–“

I’m stop in my tracks. It’s Gretchen. Her hair is now pitch black, if I remember correctly, it’s natural color though I can’t be sure. The tips of her hair are a fiery red. She looks like she’s seen a ghost, which is sort of true because she’s staring straight at me.

“I have to go,” I blurt before she can say anything, hauling ass down the road and away from my problems.

For the first time since Gretchen left, I give in and stalk her online. There’s not much evidence of what she’s been doing in the last few months, but I guess the same can be said for me.

There are a few pictures that have made it to the internet via other people: her playing keyboard in that Zenon getup, her in the back of a van looking very happy but very exhausted, and a picture of her and Tessa lobstering here in Yarmouth. I can’t tell if she’s doing well or terrible and go to sleep more confused than before.

The next day is the last of my camp. To celebrate I throw together a barbeque for the kids, their families, and the people who helped me put the whole thing together. That turns out to be almost everyone in the area. Not that I mind. It’s a nice to give back and nice to distract myself a bit.

Of course, that’s until I see who’s serving drinks.

Gretchen is there with a tray of Shirley Temples, handing them to a table of already over sugared kids. She’s wearing a flannel to block out the evening chill and a black dress. A new tattoo on her thigh peeks out and I have to fight away the thought of pushing up her skirt to get a better look.

She must feel my stare because she immediately turns when she’s done serving. I brace myself for her to walk over, but instead she gives me a little wave before walking away.

I spend the next hour in a mild panic. Should I be the bigger person and go talk to her? Should I wait for her to come to me? Do I just ignore her the rest of the party? The rest of my time in Yarmouth?

I know the last one is just childish, I do need to talk to her, get some things off my chest. Or bare minimum, have some concrete closure.

I end up not needing to make any decision.

I’m talking with her brother/nephew and some parents, going over how camp went and how their kids are doing when she comes up to Chris. He’s grown several inches since I last saw him, he’s almost eye level with me at this point, which makes him a few inches taller than Gretchen. This makes it harder to give him her usual noogie, she ends up just ruffling his hair at best.

“Sorry to interrupt an important coaches’ meeting but Chris the rents need help carrying some kegs.”

“Oh right, because you’re incapable of carrying a half keg.”

“I’m just a weak woman, you’re a big, strong growing boy,” she smirks and Chris rolls his eyes but relents.

There’s an awkward moment where she pauses, deciding whether she should stick around or bail.

But the parents thank me for my time, maybe they sense some weird tension, and then it’s just the two of us.

She angles her body towards me, “Hey.”

The simple greeting incenses me, I’m not sure why because I wasn’t expecting her to say something like ‘how’s the divorce is treating you?’ Those thoughts must be painted on my face because Gretchen looks concerned.

“If you’re not ready to talk, I’ll fuck off. I shouldn’t have ambushed you at your own party.”

She starts to back away.

“You’re bartending full time now?”

She stops in her tracks.

“Just helping out while I figure out my next steps.”

I bite my tongue, before I seem too eager to learn what her next steps are.

“Sorry about the playoffs, I really thought you guys would win it all this year.”

“It’s how the game works sometimes,” I shrug, the loss stung but nothing as bad as the loss of her.

“Still sucks.”

She rolls on her toes, she’s antsy; it could be because she has too much to say or that she wants to leave this awkward moment. It must be the former because Gretchen would leave if she wanted to.

“Do you think I’ll like New Jersey?” She finally says.

“What?”

“New Jersey, where you got traded, do you think I’ll like living there?”

I must be drunk. I only had two beers but they must’ve affected me way more than I thought because there’s no way my ex-wife is actually asking that question. It doesn’t make sense.

“I didn’t sign the divorce papers.”

I don’t have time to process that information before she’s talking again, “And I know I fucked up so much, so I understand if you never want to see me again, that’s fine, I deserve it. But if there’s a piece of you that still wants to try, I want you back so badly.”

Her words knock the wind out of me, I can’t find the oxygen to breath let alone the words to respond.

There’s a tug in my arm that pulls me out of this dream or nightmare, my mind hasn’t made up its mind quite yet. I turn to see one of the campers, Joey, and their parents.

“Coach Ryan, I want you to meet my parents before we go and say thanks for everything you taught me, I’m gonna play with you in the NHL with you one day,” I can’t help but smile at Joey’s excitement, it’s almost enough to make me forget Gretchen’s declaration.

“Sure, just give me one second,” I turn to see Gretchen is gone, typical.

Then I see her waving from the bar where she’s helping pack up with her parents, she mouths ‘later’ with a wink and some dread settles in my stomach.

It’s easier to turn back to Joey and their family, than to think about ‘later’ and all its implications.

Two hours later I find myself facing the dread head on.

I’m holding a six pack and standing below Gretchen’s bedroom window. She grew up in a medium-sized colonial house that is not quite as easy to sneak into as my childhood home. Thankfully, a tree branch had grown a little closer to her window in the past few years. It’s a relief because I would be very embarrassed trying to explain an injury to teammates if something happened.

It’s an easy tree to maneuver up and I knock on the window.

“Ryan?” I almost fall out of the tree when Chris appears in the window.

“Gretch is in my old room,” he has a knowing smirk and I can’t help turning bright red.

“Can you at least let me in, so I can just go through the hall?”

“Nah, it’s more fun if you struggle some more,” he laughs while he shuts the window and it makes me happy to not have my own little brother.

I’m about to have second thoughts about this cheesy teen romcom moment, but shove aside my embarrassment and head to the other side of the house. There’s at least the porch to help me crawl up to this window.

It’s already cracked open and I push it the rest of the way before crawling in the room.

She’s sitting on her bed, reading a book. I get closer and she looks up.

“Oh man, you beat me to it,” Gretchen smiles and all my words are left sticky on my tongue, “I was gonna sneak into your place in like an hour.”

The fresh tattoo on her thigh is now on full display, three mountain peaks. I have the sudden urge to use my lips to worship on the altar of her leg.

“I couldn’t wait much longer for later,” I finally manage to choke out.

I nervously move to the end of her bed, taking a seat and passing her a beer.

She gingerly takes a sip and I follow suit. I feel like the awkward teenager I was once was, unsure of what to do alone in a room with her. Thankfully, like most things in our relationship, Gretchen takes the lead.

“You know you could have just knocked on the front door, we’re adults who are still married, my parents wouldn’t care.”

“Seeing that I didn’t know we were still married until a couple of hours agon, this talk called for a big dramatic moment,” I bite my lip, “But it’s less dramatic since I knocked on Chris’s window first.”

She grins, “Sorry, it’s so unfair. Little shit finds out he’s not who he thinks he was and then gets to take my room cause it’s bigger.”

We both laugh a little before a silence sets in, the air in the room is thick with anticipation but it’s not clear if that’s a good or bad thing.

I grab a strand of her hair, letting my fingers run through to the bright red, “did you change your hair to root for the Devils?”

“Just a crazy coincidence. I went back the natural hair but plain black is so not me anymore.”

She moves a smidge closer to me.

“I’m seeing a therapist.”

“Really?”

“I don’t know if you know this, I have a lot of unresolved problems and toxic coping mechanisms that need professional help,” she lets out a snicker and I can’t help but join.

“And you don’t hate when this one writes down anything?”

“That’s the thing, she doesn’t write down anything.”

“And she’s helping?”

“Like she’s so good, I don’t even care about the commute to Halifax to see her.”

“You drive six hours round trip just for a therapist?” I’m impressed, she’s trying and not just for me but for herself.

“Sometime Nate let’s stay at his house if the appointment is too late.”

“Nate’s a nice guy.”

“If it makes you feel better, he makes me sleep on the couch. He’s mad I left you.”

“That actually does make me feel better,” a smile creeps onto my face.

“Although technically only you signed the divorce papers,” she quirks one brow.

“G,” I sigh, “I was tired of fighting for you and tired of trying to holding on to you if you were never going want me back again. It wasn’t fair to you and it sure as hell wasn’t fair to me.”

The ghost of smile vanishes from her face.

“I know. And that’s part of why I wanted to leave, to give you a chance to think about everything and get your own perspective, but I also know that basically every decision I’ve made for the past year has been pretty selfish.”

“Wow, that therapist really is working,” I smirk.

“I just want you to know if you really want the divorce, I’ll accept it because I know we’re not exactly on the same page anymore. But now that I took the time to actually work on myself, I’m ready to work on getting us back in sync. If that means we take it slow and just date each other or if we jump right back into it, I can always find a new therapist in Jersey and– “

I stop her with a kiss. Partially to get her to just shut up and partially because I can’t pretend I don’t still love her.

She has a shocked look on her face when I pull away.

“Was that a declaration of love or a shut me up kiss?”

“A little of both.”

“I missed us,” she whispers, “like it’s fucking weird not being around you and not knowing when I’ll see you next.”

“Now you know how I’ve felt.”

I don’t mean it to be unkind but no matter what tone I said it in, it would be a very pointed statement.

“I know I’m a rude bitch.”

“I’d prefer to say a rude cunt,” I try to hold back a sly smile and she rolls her eyes and grins.

“Shut up,” she bumps her shoulder into my side, before placing a kiss on my shoulder.

There’s a lot to be said, but I don’t want to dive in too deep tonight. We have the rest of our lives for that, I want to take it slow. I grab her and intertwine our fingers. We sit there for a while just enjoying each other’s presence, despite so little being said I feel a weight lifted of my chest for the first time in a while.

She tugs me down to lay on the bed with her, we’re laying facing each other and she gives me on simple deep kiss, all the electricity sparks back to life in my bones.

“Thanks for not giving up on me,” she says between more kisses.

“I could say the same thing,” I smirk into the ensuing kisses.

I pull her closer and soon we’re just the two teenagers who fell in love making out on a bed, in her childhood home.

Gretchen reaches behind her and fumbles around until she turns on some music, our old routine.

The opening chords of Bratmobile’s “Gimme Brains” ring through the room. It was off an essential album in Gretchen’s high school car so it wasn’t a complete mood killer, we had made out to it enough back in the day, but it coming on first made us both pause.

“Play this song at my funeral,” we both say at the same time.

On any other day those words might make us yell ‘jinx’ at each other or dissolve into laughter but today they held some weighty meaning about us, about our relationship and history, and the future we still had; suddenly we couldn’t keep our hands off of each other.

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