#i know hes probably just named after that kite guy but let me have this moment

[catboyhawk]

something something everyone refers to Hawkeye like thats his Actual Name but. something about his real name being Benjamin. its such a vulnerable name its almost youthful. hes not ben anymore, he has to be the Hero. sometimes you still see Benjy crack through

[porcelana-r0ta]

The Curse of Sight, Part 6

DCxDP

[Part 5] [Part 6] [Part 7]

[Ao3 Link] (locked for Ao3 members only)

Summary: When Wes Weston meets Tim Drake-Wayne, the dots start connecting. And those dots form a bat. 

xxXxx

The screen focuses on a woman with her hair pulled back in a braid. The wall behind her is just a blank gray. She smiles into the camera, half-nervous and half-calm. She says, “We are five minutes into active lockdown at WE. Everyone is taking bets on which villain is holding the CEO captive.” 

Off-screen, someone says, “We’re going to be fired for this.” 

“No way, Mr. Wayne will probably think it’s funny.” The woman looks into the camera, “Anyway, my name is Rebecca, and I think that Poison Ivy is holding Bruce Wayne ransom until he personally solves the climate crisis.” 

The camera switches to a black woman, “My name is Kourtnie and I think Mr. Wayne is being held captive by The Joker.” She waves a scolding finger at the camera. “He never got over the electric car thing.” 

The next person is an older man who clears his throat before speaking, “Ahem, I’m Johnny. I think Mr. Wayne is being held by Two-Face, and he’s just angry that our boss skipped out on poker night, or something.” He turns to someone off-camera and asks quietly, “Will I get fired for that? Or will Two-Face shoot me for saying that?” 

Someone answers, “Just hope it’s a quick death. And if you’re fired, you get unemployment.” 

Johnny looks into the camera with a deadpan expression, “Party.” 

The camera is switched from employee to employee, each placing their predictions and theories. Finally, the camera is handed to Wes, who just sighs. 

“I’m Wes, the intern. I think Mr. Wayne is being held captive by no -name villains with guns, and that he’s just getting the typical American public school experience.” 

A few moments of silence. Then, off-screen, Johnny quips, “Good to hear I won’t be the only one called into HR tomorrow.” 

When the TikTok is somehow approved and is posted, it is captioned, “It was Kite Man #onlyingotham.” 

xxXxx

Wes is relieved when he finishes his fitting, and is secretly excited with the idea of seeing animals. He knows that Damian Wayne is a little tetchy, but he’s pretty sure that Dick Grayson will be all too happy to let him pet his dog, Haley. 

It’s basically free zoo time, like going to a pet store just to look at the animals. And he’s getting paid for it! 

When they get to Wayne Manor, Wes blinks at the grandeur of it all, especially the imperial staircase in the interior entrance of the Manor and the crystal chandelier hanging from the high ceiling. 

Ugh. Eat the rich. 

“Do you guys want any snacks or drinks?” Tim asks as they walk in, the butler (introduced as Alfred Pennyworth, but everyone knows he’s basically the Wayne Grandpa) closing the door behind them. 

“I think we’re good,” Wes says. 

“Yeah,” Rebecca agrees. “We should mic up everyone who’s gonna be talking. Thanks for asking, though.” 

“I’ll have cookies and refreshments ready after you come back from the barn nonetheless,” Mr. Pennyworth says. “It is hot outside, after all.” 

Before Wes or Rebecca can say anything, Tim says, “You’re gonna want to try Alfred’s cookies. They’re legendary.” 

“You flatter me, Master Tim.”

“Well, we gotta have legendary cookies,” Rebecca laughs. 

Tim leads them into a sitting room where Dick and Damian are petting each other’s pets—Dick petting Titus and Damian petting the three-legged Haley, and Alfred the Cat overseeing her common citizens from the top of the sofa, her tail flicking imperiously behind her. 

“Guys,” Tim says, clearing his throat. He motions to Wes and Rebecca, “This is Wes Weston, my friend. And PR intern. Oh, and, uh, this is Rebecca Grey, social media support specialist.”

“Thanks for remembering me, boss!” Rebecca chimes, then silently mouths, “support specialist” to herself, as if she’s never heard herself referred to as such. 

Tim rolls his eyes, an action that Wes copies, and finishes the introductions, “And these are my brothers, Dick Grayson and Damian Wayne.”

“It’s great to meet you!” Dick says, jumping up from his crouch. He shakes hands with Rebecca, winking—always a performer, not just as a Flying Grayson, but also as a Wayne adoptee and the first Boy Wonder, surely. Rebecca nevertheless giggles. 

Then it’s Wes’s turn for a handshake, and Wes wants to think he’s imagining things. He really, really does. But, Ancients curse him (as Danny and his group would say), he’s too observant to be making things up. So that means that Dick Grayson’s smile really does widen upon making eye contact, and his eyes really do narrow in what Wes hopes is interest and not suspicion. 

When can Wes retire peacefully in the Maldives? Fifteen going on sixteen isn’t too young to consider early retirement, right? 

Dick’s handshake is blessedly done with normal strength on his end, and Wes is just a puny basketball player from Amity Park, disregarding the minor ectoplasmic contamination that most Amity teens have. It’s not enough for superpowers like it is for Danny or his older sister (and that last bit is just a suspicion on Wes’s part, given that she lives above the damn ghost portal and all). The Fentons had officially proclaimed any contamination below 20% a “non-issue,” which isn’t as reassuring as they think it is, but it’s enough to keep the GIW off the average Amity Parker’s back, so there’s that at least. 

At the intrusive thought of the Guys In White, his hands break out into a sweat, and he’s glad that he’s not shaking the first Robin’s hand anymore. That would be humiliating. 

“Okay, so we should go ahead and mic you guys up,” Rebecca says. “Mr. Drake, do you want to be in this? We have enough mics.” 

“Oh, yes, sure,” Tim says, and before he can say much else, Dick cheerfully says, “Great! I’m so excited to be in a TikTok with my little brothers. Hey, Wes, why don’t you mic up Tim? I’ll take Rebecca—” he throws her another wink, and Wes already knows from her dress specifications that she’s not straight, but she still flushes and giggles—”and then help her mic up Baby Dami, yeah?”

“Call me that again, Grayson, and Haley will have a new owner.”

Tim is also slightly flushed, so maybe it’s just hot in here as he responds, “Yes, yes, excellent idea!” 

Dick just laughs while Rebecca pulls out the mic packs from one of the smaller AV bags meant for travel. She hands one of the packs to him, and then winks at him. 

“Why did you—” But she’s already walking away to Dick, giving him a high-five before asking where he’d like the mic. 

What the hell was that? What just happened? 

Perplexed, Wes turns to Tim, but the other won’t look at him. 

“Uh, Tim? You good?”

He coughs, “Ye-yeah! Yeah! I’m great. Fantastic. So. Miking up?”

“Uh, yeah. Where do you want….” Wes waves the mic in the air. 

“Oh, just on my collar is fine. It’s not like I have to hide it, right?”

“Right.” Wes steps closer so they’re face to face, gently clipping the mic to the white collar beneath his work suit. He’s so close that he can feel the heat of Tim’s face, and when he’s done clipping the mic on, he smooths the clothes down with his palms. 

Then, he makes the mistake of looking at Tim’s eyes. 

Blue. Very blue and vibrant, like the sky while up in the airplane on his way. Not like the sky here in Gotham, sick with desperation, or in Amity, where it was more green most days now. No, Tim was alive, in a way that was foreign to both this city and Amity Park. And those blue eyes are focused squarely on him. 

Wes’s heart stops. Then it starts running. 

Tim bites his lower lip, and the movement jolts Wes into looking down. He’s never looked at another guy’s lips before, but Tim’s are pink and soft. He probably uses some kind of fancy rich people chapstick. 

Wes wonders what it tastes like. 

“Umm… Wes?”

“Yeah? Oh! Sorry, Tim.” Wes suddenly feels the heat that Rebecca and Tim must have been feeling this whole time, every part of his body burning in embarrassment. He takes a step back, clearing his throat, “Sorry, sorry… I got lost in thought.” 

“No, it’s okay! ….I did, too.” 

Wes can’t look up at him, fidgeting with the transmitter that now has to go onto Tim’s waistband. 

“Um, can you turn around? I need to, uh, hook this up to your belt….” This was humiliating. 

“Yeah, yes! Of course.” Tim turns around, and Wes makes quick work of slipping under the suit jacket and clipping the transmitter to his pants, refusing to accidentally draw out any unnecessary contact. He’s grateful that the Waynes are absurdly wealthy because at least there’s no wire to worry about threading beneath any shirts….

“You’re done now,” Wes says, and in unison, they both jump away, leaving five feet of space between them. 

“Unbelievable,” Damian Wayne mutters, glaring at them, and Wes looks up from his embarrassment to see that Dick and Damian are already both miked up, and Dick and Rebecca are looking a little too happy with the situation. Rebecca is even already wearing the headphones that will catch the audio. 

“Shut up, Demon,” Tim says, but it lacks any bite. Damian rolls his eyes. 

“Let’s do a mic check,” Rebecca says. “Mr. Drake, we’ll start with you. Say anything.” 

“Anything,” he deadpans. 

“Good. Mr. Grayson?”

“Just Dick, please!”

“Got it. Mr. Wayne?”

“Sound check.” 

“We’re on a roll, it looks like! Here, Wes, you take the headset to keep monitoring the sound, I’ll actually handle the camera.” 

Wes dutifully takes the headset from her and puts it on, adjusting the connected mic so it wasn’t so close to his mouth. 

“Alright!” Rebecca grins, delighted, and says, “Let’s get down to business!”

xxXxx

They wrap up filming at the barn where Wes can’t look away from the cow’s face. 

She has a goddamn Bat symbol painted across her forehead. She is named Bat-Cow. Sure, Tim told him about her, but seeing it?

How do these people have secret identities?

Wes thinks about that time Brucie Wayne went viral for not knowing how much frozen garlic bread cost, or that time Dickie Grayson did an acrobat routine from a chandelier at a Wayne Gala when he was a child, and he understands.

Right. Some of them pretend to be idiots.

Wes is just the idiot who can see through it, for whatever accursed reason. 

“Are cookies still on the table?” Rebecca asks, breaking through Wes’s internal thoughts. 

“Yes, always!” 

“Awesome! Let’s head back inside and remove the mic packs, then snack.” 

“A woman after my own heart!” Dick pretends to swoon, and she laughs. Tim makes eye contact with Wes and rolls his eyes pointedly. Wes has to smother a chortle. 

Damian gives one last head scratch to Bat-Cow before they start moving back up to the Manor, Tim falling in line with Wes farther back from the others. 

“Hey,” he says.

“Hey,” Wes says back. 

“I was wondering….”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, do you wanna just stay the night and ride in to work with me tomorrow? Would your mom be cool with it?” 

His mom would be more than cool with him staying at a friend’s house. Because that’s what Tim was, right? Just a friend. And his mom used to be so worried about his social development. 

“Yeah,” he says. “She knows who to hunt down if I end up in Gotham Harbor. I’ll text her.” 

Tim smiles and elbows his ribs, “Scaryyy.”

“Yeah, well. Moms.” Moms who were Amity Park natives transplanted to Gotham City? A different breed of terrifying, probably. Even if his mom moved to Gotham before the portal opened, there was always something unsettling about Amity Park, Illinois.

“True,” Tim notes. 

As casually as he can, he says, “I’ll need to borrow clothes.”

“Right, obviously. You… can borrow mine, if that’s cool.”

“Super cool. Obviously.” Wes takes his turn to softly elbow Tim, even though he knows that he could put all his strength into it and it would be nothing more than a light brush against Tim’s Red Robin vigilante muscles. 

Tim’s smile is soft and kind and his eyes are blue and alive. 

Wes’s heart pounds. His skin prickles. He feels hotter, hotter than he did a few seconds ago, but surely it’s just because he’s under Gotham City’s June sun.

Still… he kind of likes the heat. 

xxXxx

Taglist: @theamazingfox @quietlyscared @lumosfeather18581   @blankliferain @amercurio @gin2212 @starscreamlover @hoarder-of-gender @the-ghost-trader @iariinay @ectoplasm024 @theblackcatscratchpost @chaos-n-kindness @overtherose @roseinbloom02 @jaguarthecat @i23432i

If you want to be added to the Tag List, just ask in the replies! 

Ao3 is updated first BUT I upload onto Tumblr 10-30 minutes after uploading on Ao3, so don’t worry about missing out on early content or anything. Everything is updated within the hour :)

[an-idyllic-novelist]

Queen Bee-zlebub with gender neutral!reader platonic headcanons

warnings: alcohol and drug usage, non-consensual behavior, explicit language.

This is a fictional story, therefore the behavior portrayed here is not acceptable in real life. If you do not feel comfortable venturing further, please push the 'back' button on your mobile device or computer and find something else much more pleasant to read.

You are responsible for your Internet consumption!

Hey guys, and welcome to my first Helluva boss fanfic! I'd like to thank @thatstonedwriter for not only reading the draft of this piece, but also giving me feedback on the parts I initially struggled with writing out. Definitely check out their Hazbin Hotel/Helluva Boss content guys, it is amazing!

So with that being said, sit back, relax, and let's get this party started! :)

Being Beezle-bub’s friend definitely makes life in Hell interesting for you. Not only is she the Deadly Sin of Gluttony, but her parties are legendary; you never leave on an empty stomach, or feel dissatisfied.

 Her power comes from her guest’s good vibes, so she knows if they are enjoying themselves or things are getting out of control, leaving her no choice but to step in and remedy the situation before the party’s mood goes sideways in the worst way possible. Case in point with Blitzø at Bee’s last party. He drank in the name of the sin of pride, instead of indulgence. 

You met Queen Bee in her mansion during one of her weekend parties; nothing special, really. You were having a good time and challenged her to a friendly drinking contest. Loser would buy drinks next time they met. You didn’t win, but you came pretty damn close and thanked the Deadly Sin for indulging your whims, promising to buy her a drink when you met each other next time. 

Polite, easygoing, and cheerful without a stick up your ass? You definitely won some brownie points with Queen Bee. More kudos would be earned if you’re honest with her. 

Before the night was over, she invited you to a more exclusive party she’d be hosting in the following weeks. She will immediately follow you online if you have any social media accounts. Sinstagram is her main one to advertise her Beezle-juice and other products. Party invitations? Nope. Sorry, but those are her rules. You gotta know someone to come to her events, or know her to get permission to set a single foot on her property. She can’t keep stealing large quantities of drugs from Belphegor or else that asshole will keep changing the locks on her. 

When you weren’t getting drunk or high as a kite with the Deadly Sin, you’d meet up somewhere in the Gluttony Ring and grab a drink. That’s actually what happened first, since you did promise to buy her shots after losing the drinking contest with her. From there, you’d either trade gossip at the local coffee shop that’s known for their killer frappuccinos, or just go window shopping.

If you see something you like, clothes, booze, or anything else? She’ll buy it as long as you come to her next party like you said you would. If you can’t make it because of work? She gets it, but just let her know as soon as you do, okay? She is a busy lady after all. 

She’s all for fucking and getting fucked at her parties, but she shares Ozzie’s philosophy that consent makes it an art form. Non-con shit like drugging drinks or pushing someone into something they aren't down to doing? And someone pulls that kind of stunt on you, her bestie? Yeah, that son of a bitch is yeeted out of the goddamned window faster before anyone can blink and the party's over. 

Vortex would definitely be happy to see you around the dance floor. Other than himself, you’re probably the only person that can calm down Bee if she’s super upset or angry. If you have time before you go home, you help him out with cleaning up the place or getting some hangover remedies prepped up in the kitchen for the the guests that were too fucked up to go home. 

 She’s definitely trying to reign in her temper, but it can be hard for her. When she gets in one of those dark moods, you’re only a phone call away, like you always tell her. And when she does call? You’re there in a heartbeat, or talk to her until she can finally relax and fall asleep. 

Yeah…she’s really glad she met you. 

Taglist:

@myafterlifeisbetterthenyours

@nunezs-stuff

@mitra555

@isuckatwritingsobenice

@nixie-writes

@vikkirosko

@abelheilonwife

@puffy-bangs

@technikerin23

[serosluv2]

classy

<i got this idea after i saw this tiktok & spent an hour in cold bath water writing this so 😐>

c/w: bkg calls reader feminine names (pretty girl, girly), reader is in a dress, no body type mentioned. food is mentioned.

when katsuki first asked you out, he told you to "meet me outside the dorms at 7:30, look classy if y'a want." assuming you were probably going to a nice restaurant you dressed just as he requested. a simple yet elegant black silk dress, with your favorite Avery 100 Jimmy Choo's, and gold jewelry to complement.

as soon as you walked up to the door, it opened revealing katsuki in a dark grey button down and black slacks. he liked good. he smelled good too. you recognized the hints of vanilla, amber and spice in his cologne. it reminded you of some tom ford cologne. he's eyes widened and his ears perked up at the sight of you. "sorry" you said with a light laugh, "am i overdressed?" you asked. "uh- no. you uh. you look really good." there was no emotion in his voice but the look on his face told a different story. he held his arm out to you, which you took and you could feel him flexing just a little bit. (which he'd deny) he walked you to the kitchen and you were shocked to find the table lit with candles and his cologne circulating around you. "oh are we not going out?" you asked. "oh uh. no." he sounded sorry but you weren't disappointed at all. you always loved to idea of a cooking date. this was far more fancy than you ever fantasized but that made it better in a way.

you let go of his arm and walked into the kitchen where pots and pans were distributed out. "so what are you making for me, hero?" any doubt he had vanished at your question. you sound excited. or happy? he didn't really knew what you sounded like, but he knew you weren't disappointed that you guys weren't going out. "anything you want, pretty girl." he answered, following you into the kitchen. "i was thinking something italian but i can honestly cook anything." he said with that confidence bordering arrogance. one of the many things you liked about him. "mmm italian sounds amazing!!" and with that he started. he looked up italian appetizers put some brie in the oven and chopped up pears, green apple, and toasted some sourdough bread to dip. you didn't have the heart to tell him brie was actually a french dish. and hour and a half was spent of him cooking while the two of you talked. you didn't know bakugou incredibly well, you met him through your mutual friend, kirishima. however, at the end of the night you knew almost everything about him. how he dreamed of being a hero since he can remember, about his crazy ass mom and quiet dad. you knew that he learned to cook when he was in middle school, his parents were getting promoted a lot back them, which meant nights where he would cook for himself and sometimes them. you picked up that he came from a well off part of japan, or you assumed as much since he mentioned summering in paris and visiting new york a couple times with his parents. you learned how he thought of kirishima, denki, sero, mina, and even midoryia, to your surprised, as his first real friends. he told you about his AWFUL first kiss story, and the one time he had to cover for denki and sero, who were too busy getting high as a kite in some general studies girl dorm room. and how he had to carry the both of them out with the help of kirishima.

he opened up to you in the dimly lit kitchen. more than you thought. you honestly weren't expecting for tonight to go as well as it did. Sure he wasn't the same vulgar and closed off boy he was two years ago, but you still weren't expecting this. You weren't expecting to enjoy his company as much as you did. after the food was eaten, and a tired look plastered you and kats faces. he got up and began cleaning up the kitchen. you followed him and helped. the clean up was silent but it wasn't awkward.

at 9:45 he walked you out the door, putting one of his jackets on to walk you back to your dorm buildings. a thin skip dress with thinner straps was clearly the choice to wear now. the temperature dropped to 45 degrees since you arrived. "you cold in that thin little thing, girly?" "n-n-n-no." you said but the chattering of your teeth gave up your lie. he gave you a quick laugh through his nose as he slid his jacket off and draped it around your shoulders. his hand closest to you slid down your arm and hovered by yours. he stayed there for not a second before tailoring his finger around yours one at a time beige fully engulfing you hand in his larger calloused one. you walked like like, leaning into him hesitantly for warmth as the two of you reached your dorms building. "you know, this was actually really fun. i'm glad we didn't go out now." you said walking up the stairs to the great big door. "of course you are, my cooking is 10x better than some stupid restaurant." "you know i bet you're right." you said smiling. "thank you, for this. this was one of the best nights i've had." you said with the street light making your skin glow. "yeah yeah ofc. anytime really." he said looking down. neither of you moved for a short while until you spoke up. "i should head to bed, but next time maybe i can make something for you and teach you how to actually make a baked ravioli." his head shot up at you insinuating his cooking was in any way "bad". "well if that's what you want to do, than that's what we'll do. goodnight, y/n." he said biting his tongue and leaning in to kiss your cheek. "goodnight, bakugou."

[seasonofthewicth]

nobody does it like you do - act 1

I'm finally back with some more rowaelin! I started this fic in november last year and wrote the first 10k in 24 hours, but from then on this fic was a struggle... Thank you so, so much to @morganofthewildfire for sharing so much of your time to help me with this, this fic would not be here without you 💗 I'm so happy to have finally finished it and can share it on here. I hope you enjoy

CW: past drug abuse, minor character death, violence

7.7k - masterlist - ao3

--

When her agent sends her the script it’s not the first time she’s heard of Rowan Whitethorn, his name is written at the top under the heading director, which itself is under the big red text reading confidential. He’s been at this stuff for a while now, directed a couple of movies that popped up on her radar but that nothing ever came of for her, and he’s well known in the business.

He was even nominated for an Oscar a couple of years ago, and she watched the ceremony with Lysandra, slapping the bills into her outstretched hand when he didn’t win.

His movie had been far too fucking raw for him to have won, she knew that, a tale about a group of kids who witnessed a murder and how it stayed with them and fucked them up into adulthood, but it had stuck with her nonetheless and she’d put her money on him anyway.

She reads the section of script Dorian has sent her, tucked up in bed with a glass of sparkling water and her most comfortable sweater, leaning back into the mountain of expensive pillows she had Elide buy for her and pondering how so much money could end up so uncomfortable, and she knows it’s something special.

She realises she wants this role, almost to an uncomfortable degree, when she’s about five lines in. The heroine is bratty and rash, but serious and pained in a way that makes her completely fleshed out and Aelin wants to play her, wants to be her and embody her in a way that takes her out of the pit she’s in.

She hopes this could be what gets her out of it.

Aedion had tried to pull her out, gods bless him, dropping by her apartment every morning for weeks to check up on her with a coffee in his hand, topped with cream and two sugars the way he knows she likes. Each morning he let himself in with her spare key, the one she gave to him the day she moved in, wanting him to be able to let himself in whenever he wanted but also knowing there was no one else she wanted to give it to.

She would have given it to Sam, would have given everything to Sam, but he’s gone and she’s left sitting here, wondering how to salvage what’s left of her reputation.

What reputation she had even managed to build after starring in one mediocre TV show and a handful of low-budget movies. She knows deep down, and in a way her brain likes to remind her of when she’s at her lowest, that the main reason she isn’t a complete nobody is because she’s Evalin Ashryver’s daughter. Her therapist tells her every time she bothers to go to a session that having a famous mother doesn’t mean she’s a failure and that she has to recognise each of her successes as her own. She nods along every time, but she doesn’t believe her. What has she managed to accomplish truly on her own?

It hasn’t been made public yet that Rowan Whitethorn is involved in the film, she only knows because Chaol wrote the whole script himself and texted her to let her know when he signed on to direct. She’s known Chaol since she was eighteen and took her first solo trip to Rifthold, drawn to the lights of the big city and the almost magnetic pull of the heart of the industry. He’d stumbled upon her in a club she was far too young to be in and had pulled her out, sending her home in a cab that he paid for. Looking back she was grateful for his attempt to avoid what she knew later was an inevitability.

She had cursed him when he told her she’d still have to audition, but she gets it. She hasn’t exactly behaved in a way recently that makes people want to take a chance on her.

Stumbling out of clubs, eyes as wide as saucers and high as a fucking kite isn’t the kind of star casting directors are desperate to hire, but she’s trying to be better. She’s promised those around her that she’ll be better, and she knows that the only reason she hasn’t ended up in rehab is that she has an incredible therapist and a highly persuasive manner of dealing with her friends and family. The only reason they’ve taken that chance on her is time, and she’s grateful for that mercy.

She turns the page, hitting the final line for the third time. Chaol’s script is so good she’s read the few pages she’s been sent over and over.

She only reads scripts in physical copies, takes the time to print them out using her shitty printer that belongs right back in 2008, and she knows it’s wasteful but she allows herself that small luxury of the crisp paper in her hand as she delves into each new world. Her character is in the middle of a teary monologue that she knows exactly how she’d do, the way she’d halt her breath and choke out the words-- it’s not her character. Yet.

The audition is next week, and she’ll work her ass off to make sure she’s ready. Her usual pre-audition ritual involves taking up far too much of Lysandra’s time to practice reading the lines and filming herself time after time, take after take, and watching it back in the unholy hours of night until she’s happy she’s made an improvement.

Or at least that’s how she used to do it, nothing has made her want a role like this in a long while. She worries as she bites her lip, that wanting something this much means she’s getting over Sam. That maybe one day she won’t think of him and hear the pounding in her ears, won’t feel the lightheadedness that comes with a memory of their time together. Worries that if she forgets the sounds of his screams she’s failing him somehow.

She takes another sip of her sparkling water. It’s poured into a wine glass so she can at least pretend she’ll get the relaxation she craves. Alcohol was never one of her vices but she finds it’s better to be safe than sorry. It’s unhealthy as far as coping mechanisms go, but she’s been worse so it’s going down as a win.

Chaol told her some guy called Brullo is casting this one. She’s never heard of him, which is kind of rare. She’s been on the periphery of this bubble for pretty much her entire life, following her mother around her own movie sets and sitting on the wooden directors chair when her legs still dangled off the side, but if he’s like any other casting director in Adarlan she knows how to impress him.

When she reaches the last line of the part of the script she’s been sent, her mind wanders again to Rowan Whitethorn.

He’s the kind of director up and coming actors can only hope to one day work with, even though she’s pretty sure he can’t be much more than thirty, he’s built himself to a level where he can be choosy with his projects.

It's a well deserved privilege. Each of his works has stayed with her after watching, his style is gritty and dark, but grounded in a way that leaves her empty each time after finishing.

She wants this, and she buries the guilt she feels for that. Sam would want her to want this. She deserves it, or at least she hopes she can come to.

Dorian books her a mid-morning flight so she doesn’t have to wake too early before the audition, he’s a damn good agent and one she definitely doesn’t deserve with his seemingly endless patience, but she’s continuously grateful for him.

Aelin styles herself for it, ties her hair back and leaves the makeup to a minimum in a way that she hopes shows them she’s right for the part, that she can be the insecure little girl who experiences far too much. She knows she doesn’t have the sheltered innocence the character has, but she’s an actress and this is what she does. Aelin pretends for a living.

He’s also booked her a room in a pretty nice hotel for the night, she’s not sure whether he’s used her meagre acting funds or the funds from the account she knows he mom throws money into every month. It’s an argument she and Evalin have had repeatedly, she wants to stand on her own two feet, but she never protests too hard. The account kept the roof over her head when she was too busy snorting her life away to consider where her next paycheck would come from.

Aelin throws herself backwards into the crisp white bedding on the hotel room bed and takes a deep breath. The only luggage she brought with her is a carry on slung somewhere by the door and the room feels too empty to sit here and wait for the car that’s arriving to take her to the studio in just over an hour. If she sits here and waits the nerves will only build, and then she’ll itch for something to take the edge off.

She picks her phone up to text her cousin.

Jet lag from a 2 hour flight. Who would have thought?

Aelin waits two minutes for a reply, locking and unlocking her phone as she sits there, but one doesn’t come. Aedion’s probably at a training session and not checking his phone. Aelin runs a hand through her hair, careful not to dislodge the pins she placed carefully in it this morning, she needs to stop using him as her crutch. She knows he doesn’t mind, but it’s not right either way.

She needs to get out of this room.

The streets of Rifthold are busy and crammed as she meanders down them, clutching the takeout coffee cup she bought from a vendor with a stall at the side of the road.

People pay her no mind as she walks, the oversized shades hide her eyes that she knows are a dead giveaway for her membership of the Ashryver line. Even if she didn’t wear them, everybody else here wants to be someone, and so far she can still blend in if she tries.

She sends a text to the assistant organising the audition, it’s kind of shitty of her but she keeps it brief because she can’t remember their name, letting them know the car isn’t needed anymore and that she’ll make her own way there. She needs the stroll through the streets to clear her head.

Aelin needs to nail it. She hasn’t felt the twisting of desire so sharp in her stomach for a long time and the only way she’ll manage it is with a clear head.

She alternates her breathing with sips of her coffee, the taste is bitter but she keeps drinking. She pulls her phone out to check the directions to the studio.

Spontaneous isn’t a word Aelin would use to describe herself anymore, any longing to go with the flow died the minute she lost control. It’s safer now to plan, to make sure she won’t lead herself astray.

Brullo is a man in his mid forties, with dashes of grey seasoned through his muddy brown hair, and kind lines around his eyes as he smiles and shakes her hand. Aelin wipes the sweat off her palm on her jeans before clasping her hand in his.

The audition goes about as well as she can hope for, she remembers every line, and the other casting director is fairly natural reading the lines for her to act against. Aelin swallows back her tears after she finishes, trying to keep what dignity she can to end the audition when there’s snot threatening to run down her upper lip. It was a brutal scene to start with, but if she can pull this off she can surely manage the rest.

Brullo’s expression is carefully guarded as she leaves, giving nothing away, but Aelin thinks she did a good job, which is all she could have ever hoped for.

She’s staring at the tiled floor, mulling over Brullo’s parting words, thanks Aelin, our people will be in touch, when she hits something hard and warm.

She’s too busy dissecting those eight words to register exactly who it is with their hands clamped around the top of her arms, steadying her as she stumbles, but she looks up and her gaze meets that of a pair of striking, green eyes.

The man gripping her is easily over a head taller than her, broad and strong enough that she fights back the shiver that wants to roll through her at his touch. He’s staring down at her, the strong planes of his face drawn into a deep frown, with his strangely coloured eyebrows pulled in.

They’re a kind of silver that matches his short cut hair, and it shines in the fluorescent light of the hallway in a way that it can only be natural, but she’s never seen a shade quite like it.

“Sorry,” she manages to stutter out, still thrown from the vulnerability of her audition.

“It’s alright.” His voice burns through the words, his accent rolling in a way that raises hairs down the back of her neck. He flashes her a dangerous grin and she steadies herself. She knows what that look means. She’s used to the male attention, and as much as she hates to acknowledge it, she knows her looks are an element of how she’s got as far as she has. That and her family’s name.

The decision of whether to register in the guild as Aelin Ashryver or Aelin Galathynius was one she had spent hours deliberating over. Did she want the level of independence Galathynius would give her, or the reputation being an Ashryver would bring?

The man releases his grip on her shoulders, but not before running his hands down her arms until he reaches her wrists which he releases with a light squeeze. She takes an almost imperceptible step back, leaning back to breathe some air into her lungs. All she ends up doing is filling her mind with this man’s smell, inviting and intoxicating, a delicious combination of pine trees and snowy winter mornings.

“I don’t usually go around slamming into people like this,” she tells him, letting some of her snark slip through. He’s said two words to her so far but she knows he can take it, and she wants to play.

His grin becomes even more wicked and it truly is a sight to see. This man is built like a god; broad, muscular shoulders stretching the white button up he wears and she spies the dark lines of a tattoo threatening to slip past his collar.

It’s been a couple of months since her last mindless hook-up, and this man would more than do. The mischief glimmering in his eyes tells her he’d know how to make her gasp and beg.

“Slam into me anytime.” His words are a sensual croon and her mouth drops open slightly, but he sidesteps her before she can manage to speak again, nodding towards the door she’s come through. “Good luck with whatever you were here for.”

With that he’s gone, leaving her to turn and watch the way his grey slacks pull against his thighs as he walks away from her.

Aelin tries not to think too much about the outcome of the audition, and flies back to Orynth in economy class with a sleep mask tucked over her eyes lest she be recognised when all she wants to do is curl up in bed and be alone for a bit. That or get fucking wasted, and she can’t do that.

She tries far too hard to forget about the man from the hallway, forget about the way his voice had rumbled deep in her chest and the tug in her belly that his words had sent through her.

She begs Elide to come to a bar with her, and she agrees. Aelin needs to pay her more, maybe change her title from publicist to publicist-come-part-time-therapist-and-life-saver. Aelin’s not sure she has the budget for that really.

Elide would smack her if she knew Aelin’s thoughts. Would scold her for looking at Elide just like an employee as if they weren’t childhood friends and Elide hadn’t been there holding her hand through the whole Sam thing. As if she, Lysandra and Aedion hadn’t been her only reason for being here now.

A bar might be a risk, but she can sip her sparkling water while she browses the small selection of men that Orynth has to offer.

She enjoys the easy conversation she has with Elide, chatting about what their friends have been up to, even though most of them are mainly Elide’s friends at this point. After Sam she stopped speaking to everyone but those who were necessary. She couldn’t manage any more than that.

“You should come with us next time,” Elide is saying as she sips her own lemonade. Aelin knows Elide would normally choose a crisp glass of white wine over a lemonade and her sobriety solidarity touches her heart.

“Maybe,” she shrugs, noncommittal.

The look Elide wears tells her she’s debating pushing the issue for the millionth time against the risk that Aelin would pull back again. She hates that she does this to her friends so she sighs.

“Text me next time,” she tries. “I’ll see if I’m free.”

Elide offers her a thankful smile, and Aelin returns it, trying to tell herself this is what she needs and that she shouldn’t just stay locked up thinking about Sam.

There’s a dark haired guy at the bar catching her eye, his jeans are far too tight and his shirt is ridiculous, but she can see the body beneath and his face is striking. Elide notices her stare and smirks.

She likely knows why Aelin invited her out tonight, but doesn’t mind. Lorcan’s probably waiting for her at the home they share, waiting for her to come back so they can be in love. Aelin hates the bastard, except she doesn’t. She introduced her friend to the tall, dark and grouchy hockey player at the wrap party for the shit teen movie she did a couple of years back, and she’s big enough to admit she wants what they have.

She had what they have.

What’s left in her glass slips down her throat easily in one mouthful and she promises to text Elide tomorrow before slipping out of the booth and over to the guy at the bar.

“You going to just stare at me all night?” She asks with a sly smile. “Or did you plan on doing something about it at some point?”

His smile makes him look even more attractive.

“Maybe I was waiting for you to make the first move, a beautiful girl like you can be intimidating.”

It’s a shit line and she rolls her eyes, but tugs him into a cab back to her place anyway.

“Please.” Her voice shakes as she begs. “Please don’t do this.”

The man in front of them scoffs and Sam squeezes her hand, his palm rough against her own.

“Aelin, baby. It’s okay, just do what he says.”

He lets go of her hand and turns back to the guy in front of them. His face is covered by a black mask, only two slits show her the dark brown of his eyes. She can barely look away from the knife he holds out in front of himself, it’s pointed at Sam but that doesn’t make her feel any better, it makes her feel worse in fact.

“Your wallet,” the guy demands.

Tears are rolling down her cheeks, fat and hot, as she fishes around in her bag for her purse.

“Just dump the whole thing,” the guy growls, irritated, but she’s pretty sure she’s going into shock and she can’t focus. Can’t breathe.

Sam’s voice is steady by her side as he throws his own wallet onto the street in front of them.

“Alright, man. We’re doing everything you say.”

“Hands up.” The mugger’s voice is sharp. “Don’t fucking move.”

She raises her arms straight in the air, trying to control the way her hands are shaking and the attacker ducks down to grab their things.

She lets out a tiny whimper and feels Sam spin to her, his eyes begging her to trust him. No, she shakes her head.

“I said don’t fucking move,” the guy yells and lunges for Sam.

His scream cuts the night air and she whirls, hands dropping into the air between them as he drops to the ground. The mugger takes off, sprinting down the empty street and she falls to her knees by Sam’s side.

In the dark, the pool spilling out across the floor by Sam’s side just looks black, but she knows that really it’s red. She’s not stupid. His face is twisted in pain and her hands flutter around his torso before she manages to pull back the flap of his jacket.

There’s a hole in his white t-shirt and now her jeans are wet where she kneels.

She needs her phone, needs to call someone who can make this all better, but her phone is gone.

She presses her hands against his side and his eyes shutter closed as he gasps. His breathing is stuttered and uneven.

“Sam. Sam, no,” she cries. “I’ll get help. You’re okay.”

“Aelin.” He raises a hand to press against her cheek, and the blood on it is sticky and warm.

“No, Sam. No, stay with me.”

The scream that tears through her throat will hurt tomorrow but now she barely feels it. “HELP!”

His breathing becomes much quicker as she presses on his side and screams again.

She knows abstractly that she’s crying, tears and snot streaming down her face as she desperately presses her hands against his side.

There’s a strong arm around her waist, tugging her back and away from Sam, and she screams one word over and over.

“No, no, no, no.”

There are people here now, leaning over Sam, leaning over his body.

“NO.”

Aelin gasps as she launches up in her bed. The sheets are stuck to her clammy skin and her head flies to the side. The guy is gone, the side of the bed he occupied when she fell asleep now cold. Good.

She lives it over and over in her dreams, sees the dark street more often than not, feels the phantom warmth of his blood down her legs. Wakes screaming herself hoarse just as she did that night. She doesn’t normally let people stay the night. Even when Aedion tried for the first few weeks after the fact, she couldn’t sleep, couldn’t turn her brain off for even a second. Every time she closed her eyes she was back on that street, begging and pleading for him to open his eyes.

She grasps at her side for the switch of her bedside lamp and flicks it on. Her room is cold and empty and she hasn’t had it in her to decorate past the basics so it’s plain and impersonal when she looks around, trying to calm her breathing.

She checks the time. 6:25am. Not bad, she must have managed about six hours of sleep last night, and it’s more than she usually gets.

There're a few texts waiting in her inbox, including one from Elide, and she expects it to be a request to let her know that she got home safe but it’s not.

Call me as soon as you wake up.

Sent at 6:02am. Elide is a chronic overworker, no matter how much Aelin begs her to stick to a 9 to 5 schedule, but she couldn't imagine her friend any other way. The smiling emoji at the end of the text lets her know it’s nothing she needs to panic about, so she takes a moment to scroll through her other messages. It’s unusual for her to wake up to so many.

She clicks on her conversation with Dorian, the only message she can see, his most recent one, just says Aelin. He has sent her nine messages while she slept, and she scrolls up to reach the first one.

Aelin, you did it. You booked the Rowan Whitethorn movie.

Her heart pounds in her chest, running into overdrive as she processes the words on her screen.

She got the part. She fucking did it.

This is one of those moments she knows she’ll remember.

Dorian has forwarded over a number of contracts and official things but she ignores them in favour of dialling Elide’s number.

“Aelin!” Her friend’s voice is breathy when she answers. “Congratulations, I knew you could do it.”

“Thanks, El.” A pause where she takes a deep breath in. “I can’t believe it.”

She falls back onto her mattress, pressing a fist to her lips as she smiles, eyes closed, almost giddy as she listens to her friend talk.

“They’re putting a press release out today at 12:30, announcing you and the male lead, who I haven’t found out yet but I will.”

“Oh my gods,” she sighs, covering her eyes with a clammy hand.

“I know,” Elide laughs.

She allows herself one tear as she stares up at the white of her ceiling.

This is big, she can feel it.

Later her phone buzzes as Elide sends her links to two different articles breaking the news.

Fenrys Moonbeam and Aelin Ashryver to star in new Chaol Westfall drama. More to follow.

Rowan Whitethorn signs on to direct The Crescent City, the latest project from Chaol Westfall (Throne of Glass, The King’s Hand & more).

She presses the phone to her chest as she lets out a sigh of relief.

It all moves pretty quickly from that point.

She’s on a plane back to Rifthold the next day and Chaol has sent over the whole script for her to read on the plane, bypassing Dorian completely even though that’s how it normally goes and she knows the two are like brothers.

Chaol was the one to introduce her to Dorian, and they kind of took her under their showbiz wings in the first few years she began to get really serious about acting.

They gave her the inside scoop, having been in the industry for a few more years than her. Chaol writing and making movies and Dorian doing all the background stuff like contracts and negotiations and exposure. They took her to their wrap parties that everyone knows are just networking events and introduced her to some of the big names in the industry without so much as batting an eyelid, and she knows she owes them a lot.

The script is phenomenal, and she has to try and hide the tears that form when she reaches the end, it probably wouldn’t be the best start to the project, being photographed crying on the plane on the way to start shooting. It really is some of Chaol’s best work, and she sends him a text when she lands that says fuck you, I hate it, but his reply lets her know he knows she’s joking.

It tells the story of her character, Feyre, and how she’s dragged into selling drugs to pay for her mom’s hospital bills. Along the way she meets Fenrys Moonbeam’s character, Rhysand, the glowering bad-boy who’s well established in the gang and together they see some shit and do some shit but manage to get out together. The topics are kind of cliché and over done, but Chaol has managed to add a level of originality to it that makes it really special.

It’s heavier on the romance than Rowan Whitethorn’s previous projects, but it’s gritty enough that she can see why he’s signed on. It’s going to be hard, she knows this, and it will really push her to her limits trying to embody the range of emotions her character goes through. But she wants it, and she will make her performance incredible if it fucking kills her.

There’s a niggling part of her brain that reminds her that she’s surrounded by some big names on this project, names that are big for a reason, and she can’t let them hiring her be a mistake.

She sends Chaol a follow up text, wtf are these names btw???

He ignores her.

When she’s in the car taking her to the apartment the studio is renting out for her while they film she decides to take a little trip through Instagram and look up her new co-star. Fenrys is a household name by now, a couple of years in after his debut, but it can’t hurt to know a little more about her leading man.

f.moonbeam01 comes up as the first option when the types the three letters f e n into the search bar and he has over eleven million followers.

Shit.

Not that she needs a reminder but it slaps her in the face that this is actually big. Aelin only has a few thousand followers herself and Elide has already told her to prepare herself for that to rise.

His Instagram is a mixture of mostly photos of himself, some selfies and some professional shots, and he’s obviously gorgeous. His deep brown complexion playing well against his golden curls with a straight strong nose and flawless white teeth. He’s definitely leading man material, and she can tell just how charming his grin is even through a screen.

There are also promo pictures for all the movies he’s involved in at the moment, there are at least three projects he has coming out this year. Damn.

His most recent picture is a screenshot of the article announcing their casting, and he’s actually tagged her in the photo along with Rowan himself. She hasn’t seen the tag until now, it’s normally Elide’s job as her publicist to tackle the professional side to her social media, but there’s 6.4 million likes on the photo.

Again, shit.

She can’t help herself from clicking onto Rowan’s account, rowanwhitethorn is a pretty simple handle. He only has 27 posts, most of them are behind the scenes shots from projects, one with his classic director’s chair that has his surname printed across the back in thick white lettering, and a few pictures of different cameras and pieces of equipment.

There’s only one picture of him on there, and it’s from 2017. He has his back to the camera and the sunset behind him lends a shadow that covers all of his features. Very artsy she muses to herself as she double taps the screen to like it, he probably won’t see anyway, the notification will probably get lost in the ones his account no doubt gets from his 2 million followers. The only thing she can gather from the photo about his physical appearance is that he has pretty broad shoulders.

She’s tempted to google him, wanting to know what he looks like, but she feels a bit too much like a stalker, and she knows she’ll meet him in a couple of days anyway so she leaves it and pulls up her emails to reply to the seemingly endless list of forms she has to fill out and send back to Dorian.

The apartment she’s living in for the next few months is modern and airy, with clean lines and bright decor. Aelin likes it, and while it’s not hers in the same way as her home back in Orynth, it’s far better than a hotel room that lower budget movies tend to shove actors in. Another reminder that this time is different, there’s a bigger budget than she’s used to, bigger names than she’s used to, and she can’t fuck this up. There’s more eyes on her now than ever before.

She sends Elide a picture of her new bedroom and her friend just replies with a bunch of exclamation marks and she forwards the picture across to Lysandra too. Aelin wanders through to the kitchen, wondering if anyone bothered to stock the kitchen, not that she can’t do groceries herself, it would just be nice. She’s delighted to find a fridge full of fresh produce and gets about making herself a dish of pasta and veggies.

She tucks herself in front of the big television, munching away as she watches some National Geographic documentary about whales and it helps to take her mind off the fact that this is her last night of peace for a while. She’s trying not to get too in her head about it, there’s a fine line between knowing it’s a big deal and freaking the fuck out about it, and she needs to stay on the right side of that line, needs to keep herself in check.

If she allows herself a moment to relax, a moment to sink into the situation and bask in the opportunity; she’s excited.

And depending on how well this movie does, she knows she may not have another night like this one. Somehow the thought doesn’t seem to scare her.

Lysandra calls her as she’s waiting for the car to arrive to take her to the studio, it's day one of their table read today and she’s tired. She spent all of last night tossing and turning, unable to shut her mind off and panicking over every single detail of how this day could go.

She’s lucky it’s only a table read, she’s not sure even a professional make-up artist would be able to cover the dark circles under her eyes.

“Hello, you.” Lysandra’s voice is cheery through the phone and Aelin smiles, she’s really missed Lysandra and hasn’t taken nearly enough time to seek her out during her recent whirlwind. “I hear congratulations are in order.”

They had texted since the news dropped, but with Lysandra shooting a campaign for a brand she can’t remember somewhere over in the Southern Continent they haven’t had time yet for a call.

“Thanks Lys,” she says as she gets into the back of the sleek black car that the studio has sent for her, tucking her small black backpack onto the seat next to her. It’s all she can use at this point, any other bag just makes her think of that night.

“How’s it going? Have you met everyone yet?”

Lysandra runs in these circles of A list celebrities and Aelin wouldn't be surprised if she already knew Fenrys. She met Lysandra when they were teens; years before her first show for Victoria’s Secret, years before she was walking for people like Gucci and Prada, and they stayed close when they were both living off cheap ramen and thin strands of hope. Aelin likes to tease her about hanging with a lowly C-lister like herself but Lysandra is always quick to quip that she’s maybe a G-lister at a push.

That could change.

“I haven’t met anyone so far, but I’m literally on my way to meet everyone now.”

“That’s exciting, you’ll have to let me know if Fenrys Moonbeam is really that good looking in person.”

“So you don’t already know him?” she asks, teasing. Maybe Lysandra doesn’t know quite everyone.

“Oh you know, apart from every week-end when we hook-up, we’re not really that good friends.”

Aelin laughs, mostly to herself, knowing that somewhere out there that probably is a story that’s cropped up in some cheap tabloid. She knows there’s probably some dating rumours about herself and Fenrys already even though she’s still yet to meet him. It’s just how it is, she knows this, has known this since she was old enough to read the stories about her parents’ messy divorce.

“What does Aedion have to say about that, hm?”

“Oh, he joins us obviously!” Lysandra’s laugh is bright and loud through the grainy speaker.

No-one is more desperate for Aedion to propose to Lysandra than Aelin, not even the magazines, desperate for a scoop of the golden couple, quarterback for the Rifthold Ravens and the world-famous supermodel.

“I think I’ve heard enough, thanks,” Aelin laughs as the car pulls through security checks at the studio. “Lys, I have to go, I’ve just got to the studio.”

“Okay, good luck! Promise you’ll call me later though and let me know how it goes.”

She needs to make sure she puts aside a minute to catch up properly with Lysandra, she’s been slacking recently and she knows her friend misses her. She misses Lysandra too, and Aedion. Maybe she’ll stay with them for a couple of days when she gets a break from filming, she can probably see them far more often now that she’s in Rifthold too.

“I promise,” she agrees. “Tell Aedion to make sure he spoils you from me.”

Lysandra snorts, “Oh he does, I’ll pass it along anyway though.”

“Means a lot. Love you, got to go.”

Lysandra’s returning love you is sincere, but she cuts off the phone as the car comes to a stop outside the plain brick building.

She readies herself in the back of the car, pulling down a deep breath to center herself, she can do this.

The girl leading her to the room doesn’t speak other than to tell Aelin to follow right this way, and she’s grateful, she’s not sure she could speak right now without vomiting all over the dated linoleum flooring.

She needs to get a grip, and fight the urge for a hit that strikes her when she’s nervous like this. It could make her fears disappear, at least for a moment before they all came crashing back down ten-times worse the minute the high faded. There is a reason she packed that shit in, and she knows her nerves will pass. It’s been a while since she’s done any of this, her last movie read was pre-Sam and no matter how hard she tries to push it down, there’s a lot of pressure on her for this to go well.

The girl pauses outside an unassuming white door and holds a hand out to gesture for Aelin to go in. She rolls her shoulders back, holding her head high before she steps into the room. If all else fails she’s still Evalin Ashryver’s daughter and to some people that is something to be proud of.

Fenrys Moonbeam is the first person to catch her eye when she steps into the room, and it seems he’s done some stalking too because he ends his conversation by the food table with some others she doesn’t recognise and bounds straight over to her with a grin.

“Aelin Ashryver,” he says, his voice deep and smooth like velvet. “I’ve heard of you. It’s a pleasure.”

“You have?” She’s both surprised and not at the same time as she holds a hand out for him to shake.

He bypasses the hand she holds out and tugs her into his chest, wrapping both arms around her and knocking her backpack off her shoulder.

“I have,” he says as he bends down to pick her bag back up. “Sorry about that.”

She shakes her head. She needs to stop acting like a bewildered school girl meeting the Queen, she needs to remember that she has second billing for this movie thanks to Dorian.

“Don’t worry about it.” Aelin finds a smile and plasters it on.

Someone calls for everyone to take their seats and she notices the name placards spaced out in front of each chair. She locates her own and it's surreal to see her name printed there, Aelin Ashryver, between Fenrys and another actress playing her sister called Manon Blackbeak. She’s even less known than Aelin, and she only feels slightly guilty for how much that relaxes her.

Aelin knows how this goes down, they sit opposite the production team, the director and all the executive producers and she realises that she’s opposite the sign that reads Rowan Whitethorn.

She slides into her seat, Fenrys and Manon chatting over her head as she does, and she spots a male slipping into the chair opposite her. He’s wearing a slim-fit forest green henley and dark jeans, his shoulders are just as broad as they were in his Instagram photo and here there’s no shadow across his handsome features.

She can’t deny that he’s attractive, she knew it the first time she saw him. Her stare locks onto the man from the hallway after her audition and he smirks at her as if they have a secret. And maybe they do, but now she’s realising that he’s her boss, and a little voice in her head that sounds suspiciously like Elide is whispering to her that opportunities like this don’t come around everyday.

She owes it to Sam and she owes it to herself not to fuck this up, but the look that Rowan Whitethorn is sending her across the table makes her think she could risk it all.

It takes them three hours to run through it in full, and she’s happy to see she’s not the only one with a tear in her eye at the end. Rowan doesn’t cry, but he hasn’t looked at her since before they started and each time she read a line she avoided looking at him. She knows there were a couple of times where he nodded along with her expression of the lines. She’s ignoring it.

This is what she lives to do, they’re not even filming yet and she feels like she’s right where she needs to be. It’s cliche but she breathes easier when she acts, the air feels lighter when she takes on a new personality and feels all the things she’s told to feel.

It takes away the restlessness she feels when it’s all just down to her, being told how to feel is far easier.

Her therapist tells her she has both anxiety and PTSD, but she feels like giving it a name doesn’t make it any easier to deal with. She knows a diagnosis can be a relief for some, but to Aelin, what she feels is far too messy to be summed up in four letters. Her life has simply become the before, and the after, even though what each of those contains is a complete fucking shit show.

There are two Aelins; pre that night and post that night.

The Aelin from before that night doesn’t exist anywhere but in her own memory.

Once the run through is completed and basic notices are given by the producers, things like call sheet distributions and health and safety, the occupants of the room begin to mingle. She sees him make a beeline for her, and she swallows. She’s not ready for this.

“You look surprised to see me.” His voice is as hot as it was the last time she saw him, the slight rasp in his throat and his accent. Gods, the accent.

“You don’t look too surprised to see me.” She tilts her head at him because she feels way thrown off, like he has all the power here. Which he does. But like, she can play it cool. Fake it ‘til you make it, right? “Maybe had a little google search?”

He shakes his head at her, biting his lip kind of like he wants to laugh, and she bristles. She needs to level the playing field.

“Says you.” He’s definitely laughing now. “I saw you liked my photo last night.”

“What about it?” She shrugs, hoping her acting skills are up to it. He only tilts his head to the side as he takes her in.

“Do you think I didn’t know who you were in the corridor? I’m the director.” And fuck him for saying it like that, full of an easy confidence that in any other situation would have had heat pooling in the floor of her stomach. “Brullo discussed the casting with me.”

Right. Of course.

She’s not sure what to say next. Honestly? She kind of wants to flirt with him, but fuck.

Instead she hums a laugh, not really caring whether he thinks it’s sincere or not, and looks absentmindedly around the room instead of back up at him. He reaches a hand out to brush his fingers down her arm, looping them round the bones of her wrist and squeezing slightly like he did the last time before letting go. Her eyes snap back to his.

“Just between you and me?” he asks and the smile he wears is far too hot for her to deal with right now. “I think we made a good choice.”

“Thanks,” she says, but it’s a little too breathy. A little too dazed for having spent such a short amount of time in his presence. She’s aware that she needs to be careful, they are very much not alone in this room right now, and she doesn’t need to start any rumours that would destroy her chances of escaping this without a scandal.

She’s here to do a job, and she’s going to do it well. She doesn’t need any distractions.

He leaves her soon after that, and his parting remark of “have a good first day, Aelin” sticks with her, and she tries not to replay the way his voice had wrapped around her name.

Manon Blackbeak is watching them from across the room, and she arches one perfectly shaped eyebrow at Aelin. She ignores her; let her think what she wants, she’s surely professional enough not to gossip to any press, and stomps over to where Fenrys is chatting with one of the producers. It seems like a good enough place to start.

[whitehotharlots]

A true story about rehab from 2007

Names and places changed, dates slightly fuzzy, yada yada

This all starts with Chris.  Chris might be a good example of how things are objectively broken.

Two summers ago, Chris and his girlfriend moved from everyone's old hometown, Alton, to everyone's current home, Garden City.  I had known Chris briefly when I still lived in Alton, which was up until about 8 years ago.  In high school he was friends with my sister, a year behind her, I think, only he had some legal trouble and didn't graduate until two years after her.  The first arrest came during his junior year, when police found some marijuana in his car while he was in class.  "Apparently Alton is a utopia," he said years later.  "No robberies need solving, no cars need ticketing, no fences need mending, fuckit nobody's house must've been dirty because if there was anything else even remotely worthwhile that those cocksuckers could have been doing they wouldn't have taken a drug dog through the high school parking lot."  

The ironic part was that he was, honest-to-god, holding it for a friend.  Hadn't touched the stuff until then, hadn't even drank more than a beer or two.  Cops came in and pulled him out of class.  Cuffed him right there in class, in front of everybody.   From what I've been able to piece together that marked a very strong loss of innocence for young Chris.  No rules were worth following, after all, if The Bastards could punish you for nothing.  This was greatly exacerbated by the fact that, according to several of the best lawyers Alton had to offer, the search of Chris' car was unconstitutional as it was not actually parked in the school parking lot, or even on school grounds, at the time of the search.  The juvenile court judge would hear none of it though—all the police had done was break Chris' constitutional right to privacy.  He had committed the much greater crime of having an eighth ounce of marijuana in his glove compartment. 

His claim of having his rights violated incensed the judge, who sentenced our poor Chris to 72 hours in county jail and 12 weeks of rehab.  Were it not for his successful, stable family, he would have been sent to juvie. 

It was his first offense.  He was 16. 

Jail, he said, wasn't that bad.  He got to do it over a weekend. The guard was an old lady and even though she was kind of a bitch she let him bring in his homework.  She said she was surprised to see someone his age in here, with the adults, but whatever he had done it must have been pretty bad or else he wouldn't be here, would he?  They kept him away from the drunks at night and the only other people who came into the "pen" (his word, not mine) were guys who got bailed out within a couple of hours and were too pissed off about their own bad luck to give him any shit for his. 

What really fucked with him was rehab.  It didn’t matter that he'd never smoked a single joint (or even a cigarette) at this time:  he was an addict and by gum he had to admit to being an addict before the obese, shit-smelling overseer would sign the form saying that Chris had attended his sessions.  Every weekend for three months he was legally forced to lie.  Yes, he said, he was an addict.  Yes, even though it made no sense in any grammatical or even symbolic context, he was forced to say "my name is Chris and I'm a narcotic."  His personal habits were picked apart—why was his hair so long (it wasn't that long, really)? Why did he wear the same pants on Sunday that he wore on Saturday?  Who were these "Dead Milkmen" that his T-shirt spoke of?  Ohh… and surely this is a good-tempered, Christian punk band, right?  No?  Well you see right there that's a part of the problem.  Have your mother sign a note saying you've thrown out all of their CDs and any other enabling you might own.  No—you can't sell them, you must throw them out. 

"We had to go in a day and a half every weekend.  All day Saturday and then Sunday from noon until 4.  It took me five weeks, when I was starting to get comfortable, before I asked if I could come in Saturday afternoon and all day Sunday.  It worked out better for me that way, since the place where I worked wasn't open Sundays.  The fat guy just opened his mouth and would not close it.  'When would you go to church?'  he said. By then I knew enough to laugh and say 'oh yeah what was I thinking.'"

A few of the people had actual problems.  One guy got caught with meth, was beating the shit out of his wife and his two little girls, and seemed genuinely remorseful.  Another guy had to drink a sixer every morning or else he'd get the shakes so bad he wouldn't be able to drive to work.  But most of the people there were more or less normal and had either fucked up once or else been fucked over once—got into a bar fight while legally drunk, blew .02 over the legal limit at a roadblock, smoked pot once every few weeks and got narced on by a snitch, that kind of stuff. These people were split over how much they believed the bullshit they were being fed.  Those who believed, as the official literature did, that being hungover once in your lifetime or ever drinking more than 4 beers in a sitting two or more times in a month are both signs of hardcore alcoholism, they became repentant and preachy. 

One such lady was a thin, tan, well-dressed soccer mom who would snitch on the others when they didn't pay close enough attention to the instructional videos or else would appear in any way to not be taking things seriously enough.  If you were bad you got demerits, credit card-sized pieces of construction paper upon which frowny faces and intimidating biblical verses were printed. The overseer would also scribble something down in his notebook, which must have had some kind of official weight because it was on his person at all times.

Most people have an innate desire, however illogical it might often be, to please authority figures, and so Chris and the rest of the doubtful "addicts" thought the embarrassment of getting their reprimand literally handed to them was punishment enough for resting their eyes or letting a stray giggle break loose when the acting in an informational film was especially bad. Chris made only one such mistake.  During a lecture, the overseer kept making the point that it wasn't the drugs that people get addicted to—oh no, it's the high that keeps you coming back.  Chris smiled—remember at this point he still probably hadn't ever been high, not in his whole life—because it seemed like such a stupid, nonsensical thing to say, because even though he was only 16 he could appreciate moments like this, when the moronic essence of a big, scary process could concentrate itself into a single sentence. 

"It's not the drugs:  it's the high," the man said.  He was very clean shaven, dressed like a detective in a 70s cop show, his hair was combed so straight it was like wire, his glasses were round and cruel looking and he had this, this look on his face, this air about him like he thought he was a genius.  He nodded a little bit after the repetition of his idiotic point. Proud—he was actually proud of the things he was saying, proud of his position, proud of getting to fill the heads of desperate or else unfortunate people with nonsense.  And this made Chris smile—not laugh, just smile, and the soccer mom pulled on his ear really hard, so hard it made his eyes water, and then she raised her hand to snitch on him.  The proud overseer was still proud, looked like a king in an old movie, and with the most serious air Chris had ever seen, the fat man called him up before the entire room.  His eyes were still watery from the shock of having his ear nearly yanked up and so he looked down, towards the ground, so people wouldn't think he was crying.

"You ashamed of something," the fat overseer asked.  Chris didn't say anything. "Look up," said the overseer.  Chris kept looking down.  His chest moved in and out heavily and his fists were clenched, and he wasn't sure but he may have been crying normal tears by this point, but they were out of rage, not sadness.  Or—no…really what's the difference between those two, and it's impossible that the immense hopelessness of his situation and the utter retardation of his surroundings hadn't saddened somewhat.  If it were just rage making him cry then he would have also lashed out, punched the overseer or at least called him a name. No. No, the hopelessness must have stung enough to make him sad.  But his tears were out of rage primarily, and out of nothing even close to shame.

"Look up.  Now."

He did.  His jaw was clenched and his eyes were tightened into red little slits but he looked more defeated than mean, more helpless than threatening.

"I want you all to look at this face.  Soak it up.  Take it all in.  Done?  Give you another second.  Okay, now you're done.  This, people, is what failure looks like.  Some of you will see it again, right here.  This is what it looks like when you don't take yourself seriously, when you don't care enough about yourself to appreciate the chances that are being given to you."

He extended a demerit card towards the Chris’ face.  It was accepted without a whimper.

Weeks later, it came time for Chris and the gang to "graduate" from their classes.  By this point, Chris had gotten drunk several times (even puked, once) and tried to smoke pot a few times but it hadn't done anything to him.  Maybe he was just too drunk to feel it or he wasn't inhaling right, who knows.  Anyhow he figured a few bong hits wouldn't hurt before he had to show up to the ceremony, right, since he hadn't felt anything yet.  And, man, it was a blast because he was high as a fucking kite at the graduation, must have shoved 20 inches worth of the party sub into his mouth and downed at least 7 flutes of sparkling grape juice.  

His mother and stepfather—both stinking rich, by the way, disheartened by the lad's sudden fall from grace and more than a little pleased to see him making such a fast and exemplary recovery with the aid of such a caring and competent program—were dressed to the nines.  His mom was making time with the addicts.  This was her wont, the irresistible, flirty friendliness that drove her from the dregs of society (Chris' biological father) all the way to where she was today. While this was going on, Stepfather gracefully let loose to the riffraff around him all those little signs that showed that he was a kind man, but of great consequence.  He'd talk about sports while stretching him arm just so, just far enough to let his fancy watch fall into view.  He'd offer to lift heavy objects as an excuse to show off his bed-made tan, his gym-toned arms and back.  All of your jokes made him smile, but only just long enough for you to get a glimpse of his perfectly straight, snow white teeth. Both of them kept making their way over to Chris, who had stationed himself near the concessions table, to whisper into his ear how proud they were of him for pulling himself around and hint bluntly at him still receiving for his birthday a new car.  All the while, through this bleary, more-or-less with it haze, feeling content and calm with his surroundings and his high, Chris kept thinking about how much he had it made.  Everyone was a sucker, it seemed, but him.  Really, wow.  Everyone is stupid but me.

The soccer mom cut quickly around the room, stopping alongside each cluster of people and telling them that something important was about to happen,  it was time for everyone to walk into the little classroom where they normally met.  "You're not gonna want to miss this" she said, looking right into Chris with a mean little smile on her face that she knew would scare him.  Oh god, Chris though, she knew that he was high.  What was she in here for—ooh shit man, you've heard her talk about it 100 times.  Vicodin, right.  Vicodin and wine, passing out while one of her kids started a fire.  That's right.  Calm down. She wouldn't have known what someone looked like when he was high on pot.  Mom and Stepfather couldn't even tell and they saw Chris every day.  Calm down.

Chris shoved a few more bites of party sub into his mouth.  His mom laughed and said "getting better must make you work up an appetite, huh?"  Stepfather laughed.  Chris couldn't say anything, not even by the time they had walked all the way into the classroom and sat down on little folding chairs, because there was so much sandwich in his mouth.  Things began to quiet down within a couple of minutes. The overseer, smiling, poked his head out of his office and waved to the small crowd.  People clapped a little bit.  Chris noticed that "AWARDS RECEPTION" had been written on the blackboard with colored chalk, the letters alternating blue to red, blue to red.  A stack of certificates sat on the table up front.  The overseer waddled to the table and gestured towards his office and a large, black policeman walked from office to the entrance.  He looked all business.  There was another one who poked his head out from the office and then the overseer was still smiling, like the soccer mom he was wearing big, mean, fake smile and Chris sunk into his chair and moaned a little bit because he knew he was about to get arrested, again.  Arrested in front of his parents. 

Mom asked stepfather what the policemen were hear for the stepfather said—ahh the great rational bastard, it was all Chris could do to stop himself from hugging him—that since this was an official presentation, court mandated and all that, they must have some cops come and witness it.  That's all it was.  Nothing to get too upset about.  Still—gotta stay calm.  If the cops took no notice of Chris then they wouldn't take any notice of his being so incredibly fucking high. 

"Well," the overseer began.  Chris was hyperobservant and noncritical and he realized for the first time how long it took the overseer to get through sentences, because of all of his fat.  He'd pause every few words and take in a deep breath from his gut.  When he spoke it was in these bursts that were effeminately condescending but still bulky and powerful.  Like, if being told you were bad by a sharp-tongued gay man didn't hurt you then maybe being yelled at by an abusive gym coach would. Only he wasn't a gym coach and probably wasn't gay, either.  Talked about his wife and kids all the time.  This was an act.  He had measured out this persona for himself.  This was some kind of cruel professionalism.

Jesus, Chris thought to himself.  Pot fucks up the way you think about things.  How long had it been since they sat down?  How long since he'd been scared by the cops?  When was the guy going to start talking—ohh, wait he's already talking.  Might want to listen:

"And this is what this program is supposed to achieve: smiling faces.  Not just the smiling faces of those who are on roads to recovery—their own personal roads—but of their families and their friends.  The selfishness might end here.  The pain they have caused you, that they are sorry for, might end here.  But it's up to everyone here to make sure that all of these faces keep smiling."

He paused—too long.  Wanted people to clap for him.  They did.  Then they finished.  He continued.  His tone was different.  He had sounded like he was reading off a card.  Now he sounded more like he normally did, during classes.

"But it would be… hypocritical of me to let everyone who came here leave here, especially… if I knew that they would be making people start… to cry sometime soon.  Two of our friends will not be graduating today."

Oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck.

"The first… Rup-ERT Donwiddle."

Ahh.  Okay.  That guy—white guy, lots of scars—never even showed up after the first day.  He wasn't even here.  Chris sunk his head into his lap, like he was stretching or about to puke, while the overseer mumbled about how Rubert had squandered his chance for recovery and blah blah blah. 

"Rufus failed… due to lack of initiative.  He didn't come.  But every time we have this course, it seems… there is someone who does come…  but who shows such disrespect that he might as well not have"

The overseer's tone changed, again, abruptly but not in a way that seemed unplanned.  He was talking somewhere in between the rehearsed tone he'd used earlier and the mumbling, jumbled tone he used during regular meetings.  The air shifted around Chris.  It felt like strategy, men moving into position in order to accomplish some kind of task or anticipate some kind of resistance.  The bigger cop stood by the door that led to the outside, blocking it.  Meanwhile the guys who had missed the most class and been handed the most demerits began to shift in their seats a little bit while their wives looked at them in white fear, the sterile blank walls felt like they were closing in—that's what  expression actually meant, when it actually feels like the room you are in just got smaller, more oppressive—and the big fat fuck who ran the place worse the biggest fatfuck smile Chris had ever seen and he if had dropped dead of a heart attack no one with a mind or soul would have gotten up to help him.  In spite of all of this, the synchronization was such that Chris couldn't work up any fear.  He was too busy admiring the evil of the whole process. 

Chris took to talking to the soccer mom, a few months later, as part of some revenge scheme that never quite materialized.  He had first planned on sleeping with the woman and ruining her marriage.  When that didn’t work out he thought about maybe figuring out the vulnerabilities of her home and passing that knowledge on to some unseemly sorts who, god willing, would have raped, robbed, and kill her.  He didn't do that, though, for the same reason he didn't speak up during the meeting when the police were blocking off the door and overseer was smiling the very worst smile the world had ever seen:  because the woman's evil was so immense that he could barely process it, could do little else, in fact, aside from sitting back and admiring it.  What he learned from her, after she had opened up to him and filled him on all the details, was that if you didn't pass the rehab course it counted as either a violation of your parole or else as a violation of your court sentence, so your failure was akin to skipping bail trying to escape from prison.   That's to say it was a Very Serious offense, one that could put you in prison for a long, long time.  And what the overseer hadn't told to anybody but the soccer mom, who was his favorite, was that his policy was that out of every class there had to be at least one addict who failed to pass in spite of showing up, one person who because of this or that reason simply did not deserve to consider his or her self cured of their addiction.  That's what the demerits were for. Whoever got the most failed the course.  You couldn't tell the whole class about this since then the people who got the most demerits early on would have stopped coming all together.  On top of that, if you got into a situation where a few weeks in one guy had racked up 20 or 30 demerits, then that more or less lightens the stakes for everyone else.  They'll start mouthing off or falling asleep since they know they'll never make up enough demerits to catch the worst guy, and then by the end of it you'd have been better off not doing any sort of demerit system at all.  No—no, the trick was to keep it a surprise.  That had two positives:  one, you catch the guy by surprise and make sure he gets what's coming to him.  Two, you put the fear of god into the others who are all sitting around watching.  That's when they got taught what happens if you don't respect the things you should.

All Chris knew at the time of meeting was that the balding factory worker, Hank was his name, was getting pulled up really unnecessarily roughly by the cop, had his arms thrown behind his back, and was getting cuffed and pushed out of the room while his teenage daughter was screaming in abject terror and his wife was burying her head in her hands and then the two women sat there while the smiling overseer berated Hank, talked about how he needed to learn how to accept help and how this was for the good of him and his family and You two ladies should stop crying, it's pointless, what you need right now is strength, loyalty, and conviction.  Hank had blown .02 over the legal limit at a road block.  He insisted he hadn't had a drop to drink in months, not since his first DUI, that he couldn't perform the heel-to-toe sobriety test successfully because of a fully documented injury he had sustained during Desert Storm and that the alcohol on his breath—which came up on only one of the 5 breathalyzers he was given��must have been from gum or mouthwash or cologne or something.  His parole was zero tolerance, though, and so he found himself at the meetings.  Every week he told the overseer that something he had said was bullshit.  He wouldn't say "My name is Hank and I'm a narcotic," he said, because that is just fucking stupid.  He wouldn't apologize for hurting anybody because he hadn't hurt anybody.  He wouldn't lie for the sake of lying because goddamn it that's not what this country is about.

And for that he went to prison.

Coming face-to-face with the reality of just how cruel and unfair the system is can, especially for a teenager, lead to a distrust so strong and all encompassing that it borders on despair.  This distrust can, sometimes, be healthy and inspire you to try and change things.  More often, it can grow into full-blown hatred, a maniacal desire to change things or to right wrongs that leads you to do something rash or destructive.  Still more often, it leads to a sense of defeatism, a feeling that you can't win since the system is so fucked so why the hell should you even try.  At least, that's what I gather from hearing Chris talk about it.  That's probably what I would have done if something like that would have happened to me.  I would have given up and failed.

And for the longest time Chris had given up and had failed. He drank and drugged and destroyed.  This made him a blast to hang out with.  This was when he still lived in Alton and I would see him once every few months, when I was at home visiting my family.  My sister moved to Garden City to attend the university at which I now teach.  Most of her friends soon followed suit.  He was left behind.  As I am self-absorbed to the point where I don't care about my friend's lives except for when their stories are particularly miserable or amusing, I don't know much about this time period except that it saw Chris turning things somewhat around.  Not by much.  He still drinks far too much.  But he's in school now—he's at the school where I teach, actually, although I've never had him for a student. 

[canary3d-obsessed]

Restless Rewatch: The Untamed Episode 19, part two

(Masterpost) (Other Canary Stuff) (Previous Post)

Warning: Spoilers for All 50 Episodes!

The Man Comes Around

Over at the Wen Indoctrination Tower, which seems to exist just to torture Lan Wangji with stair climbing, Lan Wangji is climbing the stairs. Too bad his cultivation level is too low to be able to just jump up. At least this time his leg isn't broken.

This is the first vengeful stair-climb in the show, but not the last. (Parallel gifset here).

The Wen guards are stationed all the way at the pinnacle of this tower to guard...what? Why are they not at the bottom of the stairs? What is this location for, actually? This is further up the stairs than the scenes with the indoctrination lectures. Anyway, it's been three months since Wen Chao threw Wei Wuxian into the burial mounds, so naturally these guards are talking about that exact thing as Lan Wangji approaches.

Lan Wangji knocks them all down with a blast from his guqin. Did you know his guqin is named Wangji, by the way? It is. A guy who is that lazy about naming his quqin maybe shouldn't feel so superior to a guy who named his sword "whatever." 

(I'm suddenly remembering a plush lamb I had as a child, whose eyes were orange, that I named "orange eyes.") (I, however, was three. And I had a lot of plush lambs. Little ones. Grown-ups found it hilarious to give them to me.) (Native speakers of English can probably guess what OP's real name is. Hint: it rhymes with Canary.) (Everybody else: there is a kid's rhyming song called Mary Had A Little Lamb. OP's name is Mary.)

Anyhoo, after Lan Wangji is finally finished with his dramatic entrance, Jiang Cheng comes flying in from wherever he's been hovering for the past 20 minutes of stair time. A bunch of Lan sidekicks also flood into the frame from wherever they were hiding during the wide shots of LWJ on the staircase.

In case you hope that CQL Lan Wangji is as much of a top (offscreen) as MZDS Lan Wangji is (on the page), here's a gif for you.

(more after the cut)

He uses the patented Lan string attack to choke this guard.  Lan Wangji doesn't have to hold a guqin string in his hands to choke someone with it. He doesn't even have to tighten it, judging by how absurdly not-tight this string is.

Or maybe this guy is choking on the chin strap of his helmet. This is exactly how OP's son reacts when OP sticks a bike helmet on him. (Note: it's GOOD that they are following choking safety protocols on set. Very good. However, they could have just left the string out and pretended, and it would look better, in this instance)

The Wen guard tells Lan Wangji and Jiang Cheng about the whole "thrown into the burial mounds" thing.  Team Let's Find Wei Wuxian is not happy to hear this.

A Vengeful Ghost

Meanwhile, in some Wen office somewhere? Where the hell is this? Yiling, we get an ominous shot of the rooftops where Wei Wuxian is lurking and then we see Wang Lingjiao trying to sleep and having a nightmare.

Wang Lingjiao has gone to sleep with a full face of makeup on instead of washing her face before bed. She has forgotten the important maxim, Go To Sleep Pretty, Wake Up Zitty.

She leaps out of bed to go cling to Wen Chao and freak out about Wei Wuxian's ghost. Wen Chao is trying to read the sports section and has clearly had enough of this crap. This has presumably been going on for a little while now.

Wang Lingjiao is in a new outfit, which is...pajamas? It has the feel of a 1930's French peignoir set, and it's much more softly colored than her usual bright red-purple combo. If this is her pajamas is it weird that her day clothes are a lot more aggressively sexy-looking than her nightgown? A freak in the streets but a lady in the sheets.

Wen Chao rants about the Sunshot Campaign and talks some smack about Wen Qing, and then leaves to go to the bar and watch the game with Wen Zhuliu. After he leaves Wang Lingjiao freaks out for a bit and then looks at the notice he was reading.

The notice basically says that the Sunshot Campaign is kicking their ass. She should be proud for inspiring the name of the campaign with that kite-shooting bullshit she made up at Lotus Pier. Before slaughtering everyone.

No Matter What You Do, I Only Want To Be With You

Back at the Indoctrination Tower, Lan Wangji and Jiang Cheng are having feelings about Wei Wuxian. Jiang Chang does all the talking but Lan Wangji's thoughts are louder because a sad violin is playing Wangxian while they talk.

Jiang Cheng tells Lan Wangji about their meetup plan and says he thought WWX had dumped him to go find Lan Wangji in Lanling. Lan Wangji telepathically indicates that this didn’t happen. This means two things: 1. Lan Wangji has been hanging out in Lanling, where Jiang Yanli has been hanging out, so maybe they have bonded over the past 3 months and 2. This is the first time Jiang Cheng has talked to Lan Wangji since Wei Wuxian disappeared. 

Much as my fic-loving heart would like to believe these two spent three months on the road together looking for Wei Wuxian, in fact they are both important high-level fighters in an active military campaign, and Lan Wangji was busy taking back the Cloud Recesses while Jiang Cheng and Wei Wuxian were having elective surgery. They probably both were assigned to the "Indoctrination Bureau" mission and this is the first chance they've had to talk about Wei Wuxian.

Is it heartbreaking that, while Wei Wuxian was helplessly getting his ass beat because he'd sacrificed his golden core for Jiang Cheng, Jiang Cheng believed Wei Wuxian had abandoned him for Lan Wangji? Yes. Yes it is.

For some reason Jiang Cheng is hesitant to believe that Wei Wuxian really was thrown into the Burial Mounds. I mean, I understand not wanting to believe Wei Wuxian is dead, but given that Wen Chao is the dude who oversaw the massacre of all of the people at Lotus Pier, including kids, why would Jiang Cheng think his guards are wrong? Maybe he just feels like Wei Wuxian is invincible, since so far he kinda has been. 

The Sword is Mightier Than Not Having a Sword

While they've been chatting, the Lan disciples have found their swords. One disciple is holding Bichen (LWJ's sword), Sandu (JC's sword), and OP consults wiki Suihua (Jin Zixuan's sword). Another disciple is holding Subian (WWX's sword).  

Jiang Cheng grabs Sandu while the Lan disciples, who apparently know their gongzi’s heart, offer Wei Wuxian's sword to Lan Wangji. 

Lan Wangji takes Subian (Bichen: What am I, chopped watercress?) and immediately tries to draw it. Like you don't do. It's sealed itself, which apparently means that it's upset. It's unclear if it's upset because Wei Wuxian is dead or if it just misses him, however.  

Lan Wangji definitely misses him, and wonders, out loud inside his own head, where Wei Wuxian is. Um, he's in the Burial Mounds, dude, they just told you. Well, I guess he's actually in Yiling proper at this point, haunting Wang Lingjiao as he promised her he would.

Twa Corbies

The scene shifts to Qinghe, where there are about 12 dead bodies lying around, which in this show means that there are really a few hundred. In fact, per Jiang Yanli's statement "nothing can be seen but corpses covering the plains." The camera can't see most of them, is all.

Wen Xu's head is hanging in the doorway, and the Jins talk about how Nie Mingjue killed him, cutting his head off with just one swing. Is this foreshadowing anything, like perhaps someone else's head being cut off by Baxia in just one swing? Nope, definitely not.

A couple of crows are perched on a body, totally not eating it, but Jin Zixuan gallantly zaps them with a talisman to make them fly away anyway.  It might be noteworthy that nobody used to use talismans but gradually more and more people are using them - particularly people who have spent time with Wei Wuxian.

With mony a lock of his golden hair-o, we’ll theek our nest when it grows bare-o

Asshole cousin Jin Zixun says “scavenger rights,” so Jin Zixuan puts him in charge of collecting all the bodies. 

Since OP just finished watching fur-collar-happy Nirvana in Fire, these crows look to me like they are wearing luxurious fur collars. Where OP lives, crows are not this fancy. 

A Romantic Corpse-Filled Interlude

Disaster het Jin Zixuan goes to help Jiang Yanli get out of the carriage but she rejects his hand just like he rejected hers back in Gusu.

Jiang Yanli is extremely shocked when she sees Wen Xu's severed head, and turns away in horror, preferring to calmly rest her eyes on dozens of crow-pecked corpses.

Jin Zixuan tries to comfort her and she tells him she'll be going now, thanks for the hospitality. He tries to say that he has to personally deliver her to a representative of the patriarchy one of her brothers, but then one of her brothers shows up.

Lan Wangji and Jiang Cheng arrive, having presumably flown there from Qishan. They show that they are flying by blowing a fan on the ground and then jumping off of a box, which is better than the effects we were subjected to earlier in the episode.

Jiang Cheng rushes over to have an emotional reunion with Jiang Yanli, while Lan Wangji rushes over to have an emotional reunion with Wen Xu’s severed head. Jin Zixuan kind of spoils it for him by talking about Wei Wuxian's absence while Lan Wangji is trying to have a moment.

The whole time Jin Zixuan is talking to him, Lan Wangji appears to be gazing into the middle distance but in fact he is staring at Wen Xu's severed head. This is the guy who led the burning of Cloud Recesses, killed a bunch of disciples, and personally broke Lan Wangji's leg. Lan Wangji stares at his head for more than a full minute before glancing away.

Jiang Yanli hasn't seen Jiang Cheng since they were in Wen Qing's clinic, and she is happy he's recovered. When she asks about Wei Wuxian he gives her the bad news in the classic Jiang fashion, which is to say nothing, but look stricken until your interlocutor figures out that something is horribly wrong, but not precisely what.

Four Angry Men

Inside the fortress, Nie Mingjue is slapping the table and saying, this bad boy can hold so much resentment and vengeance. They're having a mini war council and we're getting a better sense of Nie Mingjue's anger management problem. Note for those who don't get the gif reference: this is a The Godfather joke, not a sex joke, but it can be both, if you like.

We're also getting a little more info about Baxia, who seems to be eager to go fight even without anyone wielding it. (Her? Him? Them? do swords have gender? I don't know). Well done, person below the camera frame whose job is to rattle Baxia in a menacing manner.

They've got a giant model of the battle targets, which looks like it was carved out of real rock (I mean, as much as any of the rocks on this show look like real rocks) and has its own table and everything, decorated in Nie colors. Where was this before they took Qinghe back? Has Nie Mingjue been traveling with it? 

Anyway, I'm assuming Nie Huaisang made it, because it's pretty nice. Hopefully they will keep it around for tabletop gaming after the war is over.

Jiang Cheng is upset but is using his anger management mantra to help control his temper while Jin Zixuan and Lan Wangji talk with Nie Mingjue. 

Lan Wangji talks by leaning forward meaningfully, mostly not by using any words, but he asks for a battle assignment and Jiang Cheng immediately joins in. They both want to go find Wei Wuxian. 

Nie Mingjue says Yiling is too difficult of a target, but Lan Wangji puts on his determined face, which is apparently very persuasive.  

After Team Find Wei Wuxian leaves, Nie Mingjue asks Jin Zixuan to hang back so he can ask him how Meng Yao is doing. This is the first time he finds out that his ex didn't go to Lanling. Jin Zixuan tries to delicately remind him that Dad's got, like, SO many bastard children, they really don't have space for all of them. Nie Mingjue dismisses him immediately and abruptly. 

Nie Mingjue might invite the straights to his party but he isn't interested in actually socializing with them.

Unconditional Soup is Only for A-Xian

Jiang Cheng can't sleep, and takes some time, now, to be sad about Wei Wuxian. Presumably he spent the prior 3 months being mad, not sad, because he really thought he just buggered off without saying anything for all that time. Which is sort of fair, but sort of not. One thing about these two bros is that for as close as they have been and as much as they love each other, their mutual understanding has some big, messy gaps.

Fortunately while he is feeling sad, Jiang Cheng does not try to draw Subian from its sheath, because wouldn't THAT be awkward.

Jiang Yanli can't sleep either, and comes to sit with him. Jiang Cheng feels bad that she's wearing herself out with worry and she says "As your sister, I have nothing to do but to worry about you." Jiang Yanli isn't one to complain but she doesn't like being inactive or helpless. In Lanling she was far from the war, but now that she's in Qinghe she'll make herself useful by tending the wounded, and later she'll help Jiang Cheng shoulder his responsibilities as he takes over the Jiang clan.

At the moment, however, all she can do is fret and make soup. As she gives Jiang Cheng a bowlful she reminds him that he absolutely has to rescue their brother who has, according to his captors, been reduced to bone dust.

With all the impossible shit that Jiang Cheng is expected to achieve - and in many instances, does achieve - he is absolutely the embodiment of the Jiang Clan's motto. Fuck his father for disrespecting him because he hadn't figured out how to do everything by the age of 16.

Definitely Not Chilling in Yiling

Back in Yiling, Wen Chao is hearing the news that the Qishan Indoctrination Bureau has fallen and that he's being called back to Nightless City. Wen Chao says he shouldn't need to go back because his dad has a new right-hand man. That new right-hand man, we will eventually learn, is Meng Yao. Wang Lingjiao, meanwhile, is hiding under the bed covers and deciding it's time to dump Wen Chao.

She locks the door and goes to pull out her jewelry box, which is locked and hidden under the bed. Maybe this is Wen Chao's jewelry box, because she acts kind of squirrely about opening it. Upon opening the jewelry box, she doesn't find jewelry but a pair of bloody fake eyeballs staring at her.  She screams and freaks out and then the wind picks up and we hear the sound of a flute, playing the "I'm here to fuck your shit up" tune that Wei Wuxian likes.

Wang Lingjiao runs to the door and pulls down the protection talisman that's pasted above it, and pastes it directly to her chest instead, which is, we will learn in the next episode, the worst idea she could possibly have at this point.

Then she uses a poking stick to go flip the jewelry box open and finds it's full of ugly-ass jewelry again, plus an improbable number of weird round paper-mache biscuits that have been painted gold. None of this jewelry looks anything like the exquisite accessories people wear in this show, which means this stash was put together by the practical effects department, not by the costume department.

Anyway, Wang Lingjiao apparently thinks she can sell this fakeass stuff for a good price, so more power to her. But then we get a short glimpse of the menacing eyeballs again, this time on the floor, having moved out of the box and brought their little blood pool with them. Screeching ensues.

Next episode: Lady in Red!

Soundtrack: Twa Corbies, by Steeleye Span

[satoruvt]

wait till the feeling’s right

pairing → kim mingyu x reader

word count → 1192

genre → fluff ↳ tags: college au, a vaguely mentioned party, seokmin is drunk, flirting that makes you say “please get to the point already,” thats pretty much it <3

song inspo → deep burn blue by the paper kites!!!

warnings → mentions of alcohol (but i don’t think i even used the world alcohol HAHA)

a/n → if my college experience doesn’t end up being hanging out with mingyu on a balcony while a party rages inside i don’t want it. i’ll sue someone.

You don’t know why Mingyu is out here.

In general, sure, but also - with you, of all people. You like parties but sometimes they get to be a little overwhelming, so you end up in an empty room or out in backyards or, like tonight, on balconies, just to take a breath from the noise and the people. Mingyu, though… Mingyu likes parties and doesn’t get overwhelmed, he thrives. He’s an extravert, he finds it easy to talk to strangers. You think half - more than half, actually - of the reason you’re even friends with him is all on his actions, from sitting next to you in class on the first day of last semester and talking to you after that.

But he’s out on the balcony with you, breath fanning out into the air, despite having his close friends inside and despite the entire party itself. It’s cold out here (you would know, you forgot your jacket) and there’s no one else except for you. The door had opened and Mingyu had walked out, said hello like it wasn’t weird that he was out here and not in there.

(And, well, it’s probably not that weird to anyone else. But for some reason you just can’t let it go.)

“So,” Mingyu says after a minute. You take a sip from your drink as you look at him. “What brings you here?”

That eases a gentle laugh from you, whisked away by the sound of distant cars on the street below. You hum, subconsciously avoiding his eyes and choosing to look over the balcony. “To the party or to the balcony?”

“Both.”

“The party because it’s a party,” you say, nodding your head like you’re thinking. “And the balcony because it’s a party.”

It’s Mingyu’s turn to laugh at your poor joke, his face lighting up. It almost makes you physically warm. You take notice of the half step he takes closer to you as he speaks. “You don’t like parties?”

“They’re alright,” you say, setting your cup by your feet so you don’t have to hold it anymore. You tug your fingers into your sweater. “Just a lot, sometimes. What about you?”

Mingyu leans on the balcony railing, head laying in his hand as he looks at you. “Party because Seokmin wanted to come,” he starts, and you vaguely remember him mentioning a Seokmin in class before - roommate, maybe? “Balcony because this is a small apartment and there are a lot of people.”

The way Mingyu looks at you as he speaks throws you off. He likes parties - he told you himself, invited you to a few. An apartment being stuffy and hot is a well enough reason, you suppose, but… he’s looking at you like there’s something else. Like that’s not the truth - or, at least, not the entirety of it. But you don’t know why he’d bother lying about anything.

All you do is nod at him, looking over the balcony again as you cross your arms like it’ll keep you warm. A small gust of wind pushes by and you feel your nose burn, eyes water. You can’t help the shiver that runs down your spine.

“Cold?” Mingyu asks, and of course he notices, because he’s out here with you. You look back at him and before you even have a proper chance to respond he’s shrugging off his jacket. “Here, take this.”

He steps closer to you (again) and drapes his jacket over your shoulders. You refuse to move. He’s close enough that you can smell his cologne and faint laundry detergent, and when he’s done adjusting his jacket around your form he doesn’t step back. You’re looking at him and he’s looking at you and you’re close, because he’s usually in there but instead he’s out here -

“Why are you out here?” You hear yourself asking. You both know his previous answer wasn’t completely true. Mingyu’s voice is quiet when he speaks.

“Because you are,” he tells you, and his hand is warm where it rests on your jaw. You blink, swallow, try to remember how to breathe properly when his eyes drift from your eyes to your lips and then back up again.

“Got something to say, Kim Mingyu?” You joke, small smile playing on your lips. Mingyu scoffs, a little more gentle and a little less condescending.

“I could tell you,” he says, and you feel his thumb and index finger cup your chin. “Or I could show you. Up to you.”

You barely breathe out show me before he’s leaning down to kiss you pliant, pushing against you like this is the only thing he knows how to do. He’s soft with his lips, never too pressuring or harsh. One of your hands comes to hold his waist as if to steady him, but you’re pretty sure you do it more to steady yourself. The world is spinning and you are standing still, kissing Mingyu on the balcony of some random student’s party because he is out here with you and not in there with them. 

You barely find the strength within yourself to pull away (and it almost fully depletes when you open your eyes and see Mingyu subconsciously chasing after you). A breathless chuckle slips past your lips. “Excellent demonstration,” you say, and Mingyu laughs too. “Would love to see it again sometime.”

“Anytime, sweetheart, I’d be happy to,” he responds. You have to will your heart to calm down at the pet name, and he opens his mouth to say something else -

“Mingyu!” A voice yells through the door of the balcony, making both of you jump. You turn your head and see a guy waving his arms frantically like he’s worried he won’t be seen despite being no more than five feet away. “Mingyu, I wanna leave! ‘M drunk!”

Mingyu sighs and you laugh, turning to look back at him. “I’m guessing that’s Seokmin?”

“Yeah, he’s…” Mingyu says, and then shakes his head. “Theater major. Dramatic.”

There’s a second of silence that follows, the “we just kissed for the first time, now what” kind of silence that makes you nervous. Seokmin is still waving wildly behind the door, obviously impatient, and you figure it’s time to say your goodbyes.

“Well,” you start, taking a deep breath. “You have my number. Text me when you get home so I know you’re not dead.”

Mingyu laughs but nods, takes a step towards the door when you realize you still have his jacket around you. You start to take it off and stop him to give it back, but he shakes his head and gives you a sly smile.

“Keep it, you look better in it than I do,” he says, and then he’s gone.

His words echo in your head for the rest of the night - from the balcony to when you and your friends finally leave to when you’re in bed, staring at the jacket where it rests on the back of your desk chair. If you focus hard enough you can still smell his cologne, still feel his lips. 

When your phone vibrates with a text, you don’t bother trying to hide your grin.

[deadpcnned]

the gamble of the heart | chapter 2 (r.l.)

chapter two: repression

series masterlist

previous chapter

pairing: remus lupin x potter!reader

chapter summary: y/n pursues her relationship with mason and sees the repercussions on remus. and herself. 

warnings: swearing, kissing, alcohol 

wordcount: 3.8k

a/n: new chapter! the next chapter is shorter so i’ll have it up sometime this week. 

“Stop,” Y/N drawled, but she made no effort to move the arms that were holding her in place. “I should probably say hello to my friends.” As Y/N used her fingers to comb through Mason’s blond locks, she couldn’t help the content smile that fought its way onto her face. 

“Probably - but I think I’ll miss you too much,” Mason mumbled against her lips. Y/N knew if she let him kiss her she would never get the chance to even glance at her friends. There was just something about Mason that drew her towards him. It was like whenever Mason Tomlinson was in question, Y/N was physically being pushed towards him and she would find herself doing things she’d never expected. It was a wonder to her how she fell for him as quickly as she had. 

There was no doubt that Mason Tomlinson was handsome and extremely charismatic, yet Y/N would have never guessed that she would feel as strongly as she did for him after only two weeks. She always considered herself to be a practical person, but when Mason looked at her with his big green eyes, she lost any pragmaticism. And Mason knew how to take advantage of that. 

“Mmm, Mase. You know I’ll stay if you ask me to,” Y/N pressed a kiss to the corner of his lips and they twitched slightly beneath hers. 

“I’m asking, love,” Groaning, Y/N placed her head against Mason’s chest before pushing herself away from his grasp. She looked through the doors to the Great Hall and could see all of the strangers she was so shamelessly flirting with her boyfriend in front of. 

“Nope,” She said, giving him a pointed look. “I am going to sit with my house today. You’ll just have to miss me.” 

“Will you miss me?” She would. That was the strange thing about her recent affair. It was like when she wasn’t with Mason she was floating purposelessly. It was as though she was a kite and he was the piece of string that was keeping her from floating out into space. Her independent streak was something Y/N had always valued, but since meeting Mason it was like she never wanted to be away from him. 

“You know I will,” An uneasy feeling settled in the pit of her stomach as she noted the jovial expression on Mason’s face. Why couldn’t she stay away from him? 

After departing from Mason, Y/N took the familiar path to the Gryffindor table. As she noticed three familiar boys, she smiled to herself. Suddenly, she was half walking and half skipping towards her best friends. When she reached she threw her arms around Peter from behind and squealed. 

Hi, boys,” she giggled, not noticing the dry expressions on their faces. “Did you miss me?” She took a seat next to Peter and surveyed their faces carefully. Who pissed in their pumpkin juice?

“Tomlinson busy today, Y/N?” Sirius accused. 

“No? I just wanted to sit here today. Are you guys mad?”

“Yes,” James shrugged. “You haven’t spoken to us in two weeks, because of your new friend.” Oh. Y/N had been so consumed in Mason she didn’t realize she was neglecting her closest friends. 

“I’m so sorry, you guys. I guess I didn’t realize I was doing that,” She offered, her hand reaching out to hold James’ hand from across the table. Upon feeling his hand squeeze hers, she let out a relieved breath. 

“We’ll forgive you on one condition, Y/N” Sirius mused, the shadow of his mischievous smirk evident. Y/N quirked her eyebrow at him, prompting him to continue. “You have to tell us everything.”

Y/N began to gush endlessly about her boyfriend and was so enthralled in the topic that she hadn’t noticed a fourth figure appear in the seat beside James. As Y/N finished explaining how Mason had asked her out after a few days of sharing a class, she looked up only to have the air knocked out of her lungs. 

“Remus,” His name had left her mouth just like it had a million times before, but now it was leaving a bitter taste behind. He nodded his head towards her before starting to fill his plate with some toast and meat. While watching him Y/N barely caught the rest of the boys telling Remus that they needed to finish morning detention and they’d see him in class. 

The last time Y/N and Remus had spoken was a few weeks prior when she had sent him an owl over summer vacation. She felt another odd ache in her stomach, but it sharply contrasted the feeling she had with Mason. This was different. It was like when she was with Mason she couldn’t help but want to be near him, but with Remus, she wanted to want him close. But that couldn’t be possible. She liked Mason immensely so why was she still experiencing residual feelings for Remus? 

Y/N couldn’t help but analyze every detail of the boy in front of her. He had cut his hair slightly shorter (which he did at the start of every school year) and it had become a slightly lighter shade of brown, likely due to the summer sun. She also winced as she looked at the new scar that trailed from the back of his hand and disappeared under his robes. 

“Rough full moon?” Remus looked up at Y/N, started for a couple of seconds, and returned his gaze to his food. Y/N looked around the Great Hall awkwardly before starting again. “How have you been, Rem? Been a few weeks since we last talked.”

Y/N was met with a deafening silence and a shrug from Remus, but she noticed that he had taken the luxury of rolling his eyes, as well. 

“Right, well… oh I’m not sure if you know, but I’ve got a boyfriend now,” Remus snapped his head up, an indecipherable look on his face. “Would you like to meet him?”  Remus looked away, but when he looked back at her, Y/N wished she hadn’t ever said anything. He looked furious.  

“No, not really,” Remus finally said, before getting up from his seat and storming off. 

Y/N watched him as he walked away and felt her head begin to spin. It would be idiotic for her to act like she didn’t know why Remus was so angry, but she never wanted to confront those feelings. She was terrified for the moment that someone would ask her what happened between her and Remus. Because the truth was she had no idea. What she and Remus had was real, she knew that. But ever since she met Mason it was like something had shifted. Suddenly the only thing on her mind was Mason, Mason, Mason. Seeing Remus had awakened something in her she hadn’t felt in weeks and she hated it. So she was going to do the only thing that made sense. She was going to repress her unwanted feelings so far down, she’d forget they existed. 

—

These days the word Quidditch could seldom be spoken at Hogwarts without someone associating it with the Potter name. That was for two very competitive and very proud reasons: James and Y/N Potter. The Potters had an aptitude for the game and everyone at their school knew it. 

Y/N and James often argued over which Potter was the most valuable asset on the team. “If it wasn’t for me being a seeker, the game would go on for ages. I literally win us the games,” James would argue to which Y/N would say, “You must be joking, James. If it wasn’t for me constantly throwing bloody bludgers at the opposing team’s seeker, you’d never catch that snitch.” 

But regardless, Quidditch was the thing that connected the cousins most. Growing up, Quidditch was all the pair knew and for Y/N it had become an escape. There was something about being so high in the air as the wind blew harshly against her skin that made her feel free. Maybe it was the fact that not many people could reach her when she was flying through the sky or maybe it was simply the thrill of the game. 

“Ready, Potter?” Marlene yelled as Y/N adjusted her helmet. “What about you, other Potter?” The two cousins grinned as they approached each other. 

“On the count of three,” James began. “1, 2 —” Before he finished his countdown the two Potter kids each raised their right hands and clasped them together. Laughing maniacally they thrust themselves into their pregame ritual (which was a very poorly executed handshake-dance combo), effectively filling the locker room with loud laughter.

“We are now, Mar.”

With that, the team began their walk to the Quidditch pitch. Y/N bounced on her feet as they approached the crowded arena, a habit she had when she got excited. It was the first game of the year and against Slytherin no less. She knew that if they won this game the party was going to be absolutely insane, which was, of course, all a Gryffindor could ask for. 

The game had gotten intense as soon as Madam Hooch had blown her whistle. The Slytherin Beaters were giving Y/N a run for her money, but luckily the Gryffindors had been able to hold their own. Regulus Black, who was the Slytherin seeker, was taunting James playfully as they each kept an eye out for the snitch. Y/N was close enough to James to see how his attention began to shift from Regulus’ face to beside his head and then back. He had seen the snitch. And it was right next to Regulus. 

Y/N could easily distract Regulus, who was too caught up in teasing his brother’s mate to properly prepare himself against a hit from her Bludger. She also knew that if James tried to grab the snitch, Regulus would have it in his hands in a second. The younger Black brother was known for his quick reflexes after all. The decision was easy.  

Making one lap around the pitch to gain momentum, she shot her Bludger right at Regulus who with a horrified look ducked the ball. At that moment James leaped forward on his broom and grabbed the snitch. The stadium erupted in cheers so loud not a single Slytherin’s disappointment could be heard.

“And the Potter’s have done it again! They really are a dream team.” With a triumphant smile, Y/N made her way down and was quickly thrown into a circle of people where she found James right in the center. 

“Nice one, cuz,” James winked, happily relishing in all the attention he was receiving. 

“Yeah, mate. You too,” Y/N followed James out of the crowd of excited Gryffindors but they were looking for two completely different people. Y/N watched James look around for either Sirius or Lily (she didn’t know who he’d look for first these days) and she found herself looking for one boy in particular. Mason. 

Instead of the image of a blond boy dressed in a repulsive blue (Mason had refused to wear the Gryffindor colors), she found herself staring at a taller boy who was donning her favorite colors. Remus had not only worn a scarlet cable knit sweater (which it was way too warm for) and yellow-gold scarf, but he was wearing a beanie that was meant to give the appearance of a lion’s mane He had also used muggle paint on his face. His left cheek had a red number seven and the right revealed a very badly drawn snitch. He looked utterly stupid. But the worst part of it all was he was dressed almost exactly as he had at the last Quidditch game of the previous year. 

In the past two years that Y/N had played Quidditch on the Gryffindor team, this game had definitely been her best. The Gryffindors had just secured the Quidditch cup, which Y/N thought was the best way to end her fifth year. Y/N’s performance in the last game of the year just made it that much sweeter. 

“I reckon you played alright, Potter,” Remus smirked. He had been right in front of her as soon as her feet had touched the grass beneath her. Waiting for her. Like he had at every one of her games. 

“You know I did a lot better than alright, Lupin,” She shoved his chest, but before she could move her hand he had flattened her palm against his chest. 

“Yeah, you did,”  She was only distracted from his intense gaze when she heard Sirius let out a wolf whistle at the sight. Remus let go of her hand, blushing slightly as he glared at Sirius. 

“Oh, shut it,” Y/N scolded. She nodded her head to the right, indicating for Remus to follow her. After walking a little while longer, they had found themselves walking on the outskirts of the Forbidden Forest. Remus had grabbed a hold of Y/N’s hand as soon as they were out of everyone’s sight. She glanced over at him deciding that he had dressed warm enough for the cold that was invading the new spring season. She stared a little longer to get a better look at his painted face and eclectic accessory. She wanted to laugh, but the sound died in her throat as she took a better look at his cheek. 

There on his right cheek was a big number five. Her Quidditch number. 

“You look utterly stupid,” Y/N insulted him, though she had intended to say something else that had been on her mind. She and Remus had reached a weird sort of limbo. They had gone from just being a part of the same friend group to being each other’s best friends in their fourth year and now they were here. In their fifth year, Y/N and Remus had spent the majority of it flirting and being affectionate with one another. However, they were still technically not a couple. They had spent so long being each other’s friends that it was second nature to make jabs at one another in good spirit. Y/N liked it that way. She liked the healthy balance of romance and humor they shared. Only at this moment, she wished she had told him how happy he made her. But Remus, like he always did, understood. 

“Wanted you to know that I’m your biggest fan,” Remus stopped walking and softly pulled Y/N closer, positioning them to be face to face. 

“Are you? My biggest fan, I mean?” Her voice had fallen to a whisper despite no one being near.  

“Without a doubt,” Remus said fervently, his voice just as low as hers. “I know your parents might disagree, but no one’s as big a fan of yours as I am. I promise you that.” Remus brought one of his hands up to her cheek and stroked her cheek with the pad of his thumb. Lowering himself slightly he placed a kiss on her cheek before hovering over her lips. Y/N’s heart was beating harshly against her ribcage and she felt like her feet were lifting off the ground. Remus had a way of doing that to her. Whenever he was this close to her, she felt like she was back on her broom floating inches above the ground. He had a way of giving her that freeing sensation even when she was trapped under his lustful gaze. Moving forward just a little more, Remus teasingly grazed his lips against hers. 

“Remus,” she whined, earning an innocent hum from him. “Just fucking kiss me.” And boy did he kiss her. No matter how many times she had felt his lips against hers, it never failed to amaze her how much better each kiss got. He kissed her slowly, probably to continue to tease her, but she found herself enjoying it more than he could’ve intended. His lips were soft, contrasting hers which were chapped from the wind but she didn’t care. The taste of mint and chocolate was intoxicating and she was losing herself in his touch. She hardly noticed when he pushed her against a tree, kissing her harder than before. Remus pulled back slightly only to dive right back to kissing her. After doing that a couple more times, he hesitantly kissed down her neck. No, please don’t stop, Y/N thought. 

With one last kiss on her neck, Remus mumbled against her skin, “We should probably get back.” Remus had one hand on her waist and the other pressed against the tree behind her, keeping her in her spot. 

“Don’t wanna,” She pouted and she felt Remus groan against her neck. “I wanna stay with you.”  Sighing, Remus pulled back and placed his hands on her cheeks. He used his fingers to warm up the apples of her cheek which were bright red from possibly more than just the stubborn cold air. 

“And I want to stay here with you, but you promised Lily that you would help her with some work before the party tonight,” Y/N laughed because that response was so Remus. Making sure that she kept her word and did what she had to. Taking care of her in an unconventional way. She gave him another peck and just looked at him with adoring eyes. “What?”

“Nothing, you’re just something really special. You make me feel elated, you know that, Remus Lupin?” Remus beamed at her and kissed her again. Just hard enough to express his bliss, but not get them stuck in the forest for another fifteen minutes. 

“I think that’s why we were put in each other’s paths,” Remus’ words caused Y/N to draw her eyebrows together in confusion. “I mean, call it fate, destiny, or just insignificant chance, but I think we were meant to know each other. Just for that. To elate each other. Don’t you think, Y/N?” 

“Y/N?” Y/N was drawn out of her trance and when she blinked Remus wasn’t in front of her anymore. Instead, she was staring at green eyes and a blue sweater. 

“Hm?”

“I said don’t you think?” Mason said, only now realizing Y/N had been completely lost in thought. “Here, you must be tired. Have some of my juice.” Finally blinking out of her daze, Y/N properly took in the boy in front of her. 

“Babe! I’m sorry I didn’t even realize you were there,” She immediately jumped up to kiss him and with each second she felt any thoughts of Remus disappear. Besides, they shouldn’t have been there in the first place. Repress. Repress. Repress. 

“I noticed,” Mason attempted to sound lighthearted, but there was an edge to his voice. “Uh, any way you wanna do something before the party tonight?” She nodded her head and let herself be dragged away from the bustling crowd around her. But not before she realized she could feel a smoldering gaze directed towards her. 

—

A crowded common room, the smell of firewhiskey, and deafening music was without a doubt Y/N’s second favorite feeling after flying. If there was a party at Hogwarts you could bet you’d find Y/N carelessly dancing or making a spectacle of herself for others’ entertainment. And the person right next to her? Always Sirius Black. 

There was no reason tonight’s party was any different. Sirius was downing Firewhiskey straight from the bottle with one hand and spinning Y/N in circles with his other. The music in the back was pulsing through their veins just as much as the alcohol was and they were horridly singing the lyrics of the song in the background. 

“Potter.”

“Black.”

“Don’t let that Ravenclaw make you into a drag.”

“Never,” she whispered her face inches apart from his. 

“All I need to hear.”

The two probably would’ve kept dancing if Mason hadn’t wrapped an arm around Y/N and pulled her away from Sirius. The alcohol mixed with the sheer excitement she had seeing Mason in front of her, compelled her to grab a hold of his collar and kiss him as hard as she could. Lost in his touch, she ignored Sirus’ drunken “gross” and continued to sloppily make out with him. Eventually, they had reached the corner of the common room and unabashedly deepened their kiss. 

The most surprising part? Y/N was doing the most kissing. She was leaving purple bruises along his neck and biting his ear. She was running her hands up his arms and pulling at the collar of his shirt. She didn’t know why and she didn’t know how she was doing this in a room full of people. All she knew was something about this boy was so spellbinding and she needed to feel him against her. But she was halted from fulfilling her needs by someone pulling her off Mason. 

Her eyes met Remus’ bloodshot ones, which she assumed were caused by the empty bottle of Firewhiskey in his grasp. Pushing him off her, she stepped back a bit trying to gather her thoughts.

“Remus, what-” She was cut off by Remus' discordant voice.

“No - no. I -” He hiccuped, pointing an accusing finger to Y/N. “You… you suck.”

“Remus, you’re drunk-” she started again, but to her dismay, she was cut off again. 

“NO. I - no, you’re going to listen. You said - you said you, in your last letter, you know what you said. So if it was true how could you be w-with him,” Remus growled as his eyes trained on Mason’s slowly reddening face. “How can you act like we never happened?” 

Y/N flicked her eyes towards Mason and gulped as she noticed how angry he looked. She had never really talked to Mason about her past with Remus because he had never asked, but judging by the look on his face he didn’t want the conversation to be prompted by Remus insulting him. Luckily, Y/N was saved by James.

“Remus, c’mon. Now isn’t the time,” He mumbled. He held a sympathetic look in his eyes as he looked at Y/N, but she had a feeling the sympathy in his voice wasn’t for her. 

“No, Prongs. She needs t - to tell me,” In his frenzied state, Remus had tucked his head into the bespectacled boy's neck.  

“Okay, mate, but not right now.” Y/N watched as James led a babbling Remus up to his dorm, her heart clenching. She had done this to him. She had betrayed him, his trust, his heart.  She betrayed him and when he asked her why she couldn’t even tell him. She wouldn’t be able to tell him or herself, because she truly didn’t know why. 

taglist: @chococerealmilk​ @rare-breed-of-human​ @rexorangecouny​ @messagesinthesky​ @theawkwardone-isme​ @kitkatkl​ @faceache111​ @peasantview @missmulti​ @666cookies​  @thetiredslytherin @wonderful-writer​ 

[rudysrings]

TEACH ME

The lifeguard at the beach yesterday inspired me to write this...y’all tell me that’s 👆👆👆not JJ!!!!

Summary: The reader has to train a new lifeguard, a certain blonde who can’t seem to stop hitting on her.

Word count: 4.1k (Holy shit what did I do)

Warnings: Uh mentions of drowning, weed, fluff? Not much this is really just a sweet oneshot

Credit to @alexa-playafricabytoto for the killer idea...I don’t think I did it justice but here we go anyways 😂

DISCLAIMER: I don’t know shit about lifeguards and was too lazy to do research so this it’s extremely likely that this is HIGHLY inaccurate and I’m sorry about that but just go with it for fanfic purposes, eh?

“Hey, Y/N!” Mr. Rodriguez, your manager called out for you from his office in the beach’s visitor center. You had just clocked in, still in your jean shorts and tank. 

You quickly walked over, popping your head in the doorway of his office. Seated in front of him, you noticed, was a blond in a red snapback, a Kildare County Marina T-shirt on. “Yeah, boss?” You asked.

He gave you a rare, sweet smile, gesturing for you to sit down. 

Confused, you cautiously walked over, sliding into the empty chair beside the blonde boy. You felt him glance at you but you looked straight at your manager.

“So Kyle’s out on some family emergency this week…” Your manager started.

You scoffed inwardly but didn’t say anything out loud for the sake of being professional. Kyle’s family emergency was most likely him passed out and hungover after a night of drinking, smoking and a shit ton of coke or molly or acid or whatever he was taking these days. 

“And seeing as he was your partner and was supposed to train the newbie,” Mr. Rodriguez continued, gesturing towards the boy beside you, “So meet JJ Maybank, your new partner until I decide he’s learned enough from you.”

Your beach’s lifeguards worked on a partner system, due to its size. There were always two lifeguards in every tower to maintain maximum security.

You tried not to groan. JJ Maybank? Of all the people in the world, you had to get stuck with the one notorious for recklessness, theft, and starting fights? Of fucking course, you did.

“Right,” You nodded, giving your manager a tight-lipped smile, maintaining your politeness while subtly letting him know you were not happy with the cards you had just been dealt.

Again, without looking at JJ, you stood up, your hands on your hips. “When do we start?” You asked.

“Right now.”

You nodded, turning on your heel and calling over your shoulder. “You coming, Maybank?”

You heard shuffling as he followed after your long strides. You grabbed a rescue buoy for yourself and tossed one to JJ, who caught it with ease. You walked toward the front desk, smiling at Cheri, one of the receptionists your own age who was always nice to you, letting you get away with things she probably shouldn’t have. Picking up two whistles, you walked out the door and finally greeted the boy.

“So you lifeguard now?” 

He shrugged. “I do whatever to pay for my pot.” 

You rolled your eyes, walking down the beach towards your assigned tower for the day. “I can respect that.”

“So there are a few things you should know,” You began, to which JJ listened intently.

“I figure Rodriguez has already been through the list of your duties?” You raised an eyebrow in question.

JJ nodded. “Thoroughly. He doesn’t think I’ve a single brain cell, that man. He tried to draw me a picture of the lifeguard tower.”

You held in a smile. “If you ask me, he’s right to think that,” you quipped, making JJ pout.

“Anyways, apart from that, you need to know a few other things that are kind of unwritten. For example, don’t bother telling people to get off the rocks, just be ready to save them if they fall.”

JJ wrinkled his brows. “The fuck kind of rule is that? Not even going to warn people?”

You shrugged. “Unless you want to make a scene with a bunch of Karens shouting at you for dictating rules on a public beach, then you’ll do as I say.”

JJ grumbled. ‘Yes, ma’am.”

“Bob your head every once in a while so you don’t miss the people right below you.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Keep the buoy on you wherever you go.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“And lastly, don’t ever think someone is faking anything. Doesn’t matter if your friend is pranking you, we gotta do what we gotta do. We have to save every last imbecile on this beach.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Frustrated, You turned towards him, stopping in the sand, one hand on your hip. “Oh, shut your trap with that ma’am nonsense, Maybank. Trust me, you lucked out with getting me as a partner over Kyle—”

JJ nodded. “I sure did, guy’s a total tool. Besides, hot girl over junkie guy,” he whistled low, “no debate there.”

You tried not to blush at JJ calling you hot, but you felt the tips of your ears turn pink.

“Right, well, you can’t be hitting on me while we’re working together, Maybank.”

“Why not?”

You stepped forward, poking him in the chest. “Because you’ve known me since we were kids, yet we’ve never spoken. So don’t go pretending that I’m not invisible anymore.”

JJ frowned. 

You turned, “Come on, there’s work to do.”

One the two of you climbed up the tower, you put on your whistle and gestured for JJ to lean forward, so that you could toss it over his neck. He did so, accidentally knocking his forehead on yours. “Sorry,” he mumbled, stepping away. 

As he settled in, you stripped your shorts and tank, now left in your ruby red lifeguard one piece.

Today was slow, being a Wednesday off-season, and JJ tried to start a conversation. He pulled out a joint and offered it to you. 

You gave him an “Are you kidding me,” look and he shrugged, unbothered, lighting it up and taking a long hit. “So what’s Keith really doing if he’s not having a family emergency?”

“Kieth? You mean Kyle?”

JJ nodded. “Right, him.”

You laughed dryly, “Probably wrecked after popping ten too many pills and sleeping with a few too many girls. Guy doesn’t know when to stop.”

JJ didn’t look at you, looking out at the sea. “So when did you two break it off?”

“What—We—” You spluttered.

JJ took another long inhale from the joint. “It’s easy to see, babe.”

“I don’t think that’s any of your business,” you snapped, pulling down your sunglasses from atop your head, hoping to hide the emotions that were most definitely swimming in your eyes. 

“S’not, I know,”

“Then why ask?”

“Just curious as to how a girl like you ended up with a douche like him.”

You were quiet for a moment, before you said, “He wasn’t always like this.”

“Only doing coke, not into molly yet?” JJ joked.

You chuckled. “No, not like that. He was incredibly kind, he had the biggest heart.” You fingered the wood on the arm of your chair.

“Then what happened?”

“Then his mom died, and I wasn’t enough.” Your hand retreated into your lap. 

“He dump you?”

Your eyes narrowed. “No, I dumped him. I’m smart enough to know when I’m getting less than I deserve.”

JJ hummed. “I think I have a chance then.”

You laughed. “You’ve got nothing more than wishful thinking, Maybank.”

“Come to the kegger tonight. I’ll show you wishful thinking.”

You almost gasped at his forwardness. “No, you idiot.”

He turned towards you, meeting your eyes, pleading. You didn’t relent. 

“Fine, miss, I’ll just let you keep that stick up your ass then.”

“I’m going to pretend you didn’t say that.”

When lunch came around, you let him go first, and when he returned, smelling of way too much weed, you asked, “You mind if I catch some waves? Think you can hold your own for a half hour?”

JJ gave a toothy grin. “Hell yeah, and watch you ride those waves? It’s going to be hard for me to watch anything but you.”

You smacked him over the head. “Do your job or we’ll both be in trouble, Maybank.”

You grabbed your board and climbed down, racing across the sand towards the water. Finally, you let yourself relax, sinking into the waves as they came. You even caught yourself doing a couple tricks, unconsciously trying to impress the blonde boy who was watching you from the tower. You felt high as a kite when you even managed to successfully execute several cutbacks in a row. You thought you heard a celebratory whistle from the direction of the tower and you jokingly gave a salute towards the beach.

As you climbed back up, JJ cheered. “Holy shit! I knew you were good, but god damn, Y/N! You gotta teach me how to do that Rodeo Flip! I’ve been trying to get it down for years!”

You laughed. “We’ll see, Maybank.”

His hands tugging at his hair in excitement, he asked, “How are you not going pro?!”

You shrugged. “I don’t do it for sport. It’s just something I do for me.”

JJ nodded, a renewed look of respect in his eyes. “Word.”

You spent the rest of your shift laughing at the ridiculous tourists on the beach, especially the ones that forgot sunblock.

You told JJ to go on ahead of towards the visiting center as you had a couple of things left to tidy up. 

When you returned, he was chatting up Cheri, a thousand watt smile on her face as she enjoyed the attention from the pretty blonde.

You rolled your eyes, shoving past them to dump your equipment and clock out. You didn’t know what that bubbling feeling in your abdomen was, or why your stomach lurched at the thought of Cheri and JJ, or maybe you did, but you chose not to think about it too hard, afraid of the conclusion you’d come to.

As you walked out of the visitor center, turning towards home, you heard JJ call your name. You stopped, closing your eyes and muttering a silent prayer for the patience to deal with this boy.

He jogged out, making his way to you. “Hey!” He greeted, out of breath.

“Here to give me another half-assed invite to some kegger?” You asked.

JJ frowned, shaking his head. “No, I just wanted to clarify something you said this morning. You-You said that I thought you were invisible, because we’ve never spoken.”

“And?” you didn’t see where he was going with this other than to insult you.

“We’ve never spoken because I had the biggest crush on you Y/N. I’ve avoided you everywhere. You were hardly invisible to me. If anything, I didn’t think you saw me.”

You laughed. “Sure, Maybank.”

JJ shuffled his feet, shoving his hands in his pockets. “It’s true,” he mumbled.

You smiled, “Have fun at the kegger, JJ.” You gave him a peck on the cheek before walking off into the night, the darkness hiding your flaming cheeks. 

You heard a celebratory whoop from behind you and bit your lip as you smiled. 

Your heart felt light all week as you got closer to your partner. He was actually great at his job, especially with the children patrons on the beach, which greatly surprised you. 

You remembered one day in the middle of the week, when you were dropping your equipment off, JJ didn’t have his whistle. 

When you asked about it, he simply laughed. “This kid near the docks kept pestering me for it. Little guy wanted to be a junior lifeguard. Couldn’t say no…”

It was at the end of the week when you met his friends, the infamous, self-proclaimed pogues.

The trio had shown up near the end of your shift, claiming to be curious of the job that JJ actually managed to keep for longer than a day. JJ saw them approaching and immediately swore, turning towards you to say, “I’m going to apologize now for what you’re about to experience.”

Before you could ask what that meant, he had left, climbing down the towers to stop his friends from reaching you. 

Confused, you made your way down, too, watching as a boy with shaggy brown hair clapped JJ over the back, ruffling his hair aggressively. “So this is what you’ve been missing out on pogue days for?”

A dark haired boy, who looked nervous about simply existing, added, “Not what, who,” nodding at you, standing with your arms crossed over your chest and an eyebrow cocked. 

JJ had a permanent blush on his face, but you couldn’t puzzle out why. Meanwhile, you received a slightly reserved smile from the girl holding hands with the nervous boy. She waved politely. 

The boy with shaggy hair marched forward, arms wide open to give you a hug. You thrust your hand out on instinct, which he looked at like a difficult algebra equation, before brushing it away gently and pulling you into his tight embrace. The boy gave great hugs, you had to admit. The kind of tight bear hugs you expect from your mom. 

You laughed nervously, patting him on the back and looking over his shoulder at the other three, who all laughed. JJ mouthed I’m sorry at you and you responded with I’m going to kill you.

When he finally let you go, he tussled your hair and said, “Nice to meet the girl who’s got my boy tripping over his own feet to get to work. I’m John B.”

You flicked your eyes over to JJ, who was as red as a tomato. He buried his face in Pope’s shoulder, muttering something. You snorted. “Hardly. I’m Y/N.”

The dark haired boy grinned, “Trust me, we know. I’m Pope and this is Kie,” he introduced himself and what you assumed was his girlfriend.

In the next hour, you learned that JJ’s friends were loud, blunt and lacked basic manners in some ways, but they were youthful and thick as thieves, clearly a family. 

There was something warm about Pope, something that allowed you to trust him immediately, completely. So when the other three were surfing, and he joined you on the sand, asking you, “So are you feelin’ my boy or what?”, you weren’t afraid to be completely honest.

Giving a short laugh at his bluntness, you admitted, “I don’t really know. There could be something there. There is something there, I think.”

“Then what’s stopping you?”

You would feel pathetic to confess this to anybody else, but Pope seemed like he wouldn’t judge you if you admitted to having three children. “I don’t know if we want the same things. I don’t see a guy like that in a serious relationship. Doesn’t seem like the type to settle.”

Pope grinned. “You know him well, then.”

Your heart fell as you thought that Pope was confirming your fears.

“But not well enough, I think. You’d be surprised. He’s kind of...obsessed with you. But not in the “Pokemon gotta catch ‘em all!” kind of way. He doesn’t see you as some sort of spiky eared Pichu…”

He trailed off and you looked at him, absolutely baffled. “I’m sorry...I don’t follow?”

Pope cleared his throat. “He likes you, Y/N, like really respects you and wants to make you happy. Any fool can see that.”

You were sure your entire body was on fire with how hard you flushed. “Oh.”

“Yeah, oh. Well, you keep him on his toes so we don’t mind. And it’s made him a little softer, a little more careful, which we definitely don’t mind. He needs to be checked, that one.”

Pope stood up, reaching his hand out and pulling you up. “Now, JJ tells me you have a killer cutback. Wanna show me?” He asks.

You give him a big smile, grateful for his kind words and ability to seamlessly bring you back to reality from that heavy conversation. “I’d love to. If you can keep up!” 

Laughing, Pope followed you into the ocean, JJ giving you an excited smile as you joined him in the water, content to see you getting along with his family.

Later that night, when his friends left, and JJ was helping you towel off your hair while shaking his own like a wet dog, making you giggle and shriek at the sensation, he asked, “You wanna actually catch some waves outside of this beach sometime?” 

It was your conversation with Pope earlier that gave you the confidence to say, “How about tomorrow? It’s our day off…”

“I’ll pick you up before dawn then?”

You nodded, “Sounds perfect.”

He tossed you your towel, casually throwing an arm over your shoulder as the two of you walked back to the visitor’s center.

The next morning, you were a mess. JJ had never seen you in anything aside from your lifeguard uniform and you nearly lost your mind trying to figure out what to wear. You felt like a middle schooler deciding what to wear on the first day of school to impress their crush. 

Eventually, you thought to hell with it, and just went with a blue romper over your swimsuit, letting your hair down for once.

You didn’t bother with makeup since you were planning to get soaked anyways. 

When you heard the distinct sound of a large engine approaching, you walked out of your house, curious.

When the image of JJ on a dirt bike came into focus, you couldn’t help the cackle that tittered out of your mouth. 

He slowed down to a complete stop in front of your driveway, swinging his leg over and walking up to you, spinning the key ‘round his finger.

“Hey, dude!” He greeted, sweeping you up in an unexpected hug. Still, you melted into his frame, letting your usually rigid spine relax, feeling JJ nuzzle into your shoulder slightly and sighing.

You pulled away after a moment and JJ rubbed the back of his neck shyly, shuffling his feet awkwardly. “Sorry, I-uh, I really needed that today.” This boy was touch-starved. 

You patted his chest as you walked towards the dirt bike. “S’alright, it happens to the best of us.”

JJ followed you. “You ever ridden one of these before?”

You cocked your head at him. “Oh yeah, all the time.”

He looked surprised, before handing you the keys and raising his eyebrows in challenge. “Prove it.”

You simply smirked and mounted the bike, pretending you didn’t hear JJ mumble “That’s hot,” under his breath. Instead, you started the engine and nodded at him to get on behind you.

JJ smiled before climbing on behind you, scooching forward until every inch of your back was flush against his front. 

“Let’s go, babe!” You said, before taking off down the street. 

JJ gave you directions, steering you into areas of the Cut you had never been, which was saying something since you knew this town like the back of your hand.

Finally, he pulled up to a small cove, where you saw a small patch of sand. It was the farthest land towards the sea, meaning you would probably find the biggest waves.

“Holy shit, how did I not know this place existed?”

JJ grinned, bringing you to a small shack where a couple of boards were hidden from view in the foliage. 

He handed you a board. “I’m full of surprises. Your hair smells nice, by the way.”

“Stop that!” You laughed.

“Stop what?”

You slapped him over the head. “Making me blush.”

“Don’t think I will.”

You rolled your eyes and simply unzipped your romper, ignoring the whistle from JJ as you stepped out in only your swimsuit. You laid the fabric over the handle of his dirt bike and turned towards him. He was still in his T-shirt and swim trunks.

“Aren’t you going to take your shirt off?”

JJ gave a shit-eating grin, “My, my, Y/L/N, at least take a guy to dinner first.”

You shoved at his chest. “No, you dumbass, I meant you can’t surf in that.”

JJ opened his mouth as if to say something before pausing and wrinkling his nose. “It’s just not a good idea for me today.”

“What did you eat a little too much? I can promise I’m not afraid of a food baby, Maybank, I can deal.”

JJ tried explaining before just giving up and pulling his shirt off, leaving you shocked and incredibly confused, not to mention concerned.

Bruises littered his body, beginning at his shoulder and ending far below his ribs. Involuntarily, your hand brushed his skin. “What the fuck happened, JJ?”

He shrugged. “S’my Dad, you know. Gets angry sometimes is all.”

You shook your head sadly. “You don’t deserve that.”

JJ laughed darkly. “That’s up for debate.”

You stomped your foot. “No, it’s absolutely not! No one deserves that, especially not you.”

JJ softened. “You really think so?”

“Of course I do.”

He gave a small smile. “So you won’t make fun of me for not being able to keep up with you today? It’s only because I got my ass kicked, otherwise I’d surf circles around you all day.”

His words made you frown, but you recognized the coping mechanism and simply said, “Oh sure, Maybank. You know as well as I do that there’s not a world where you can surf better than me.”

He shrugged, walking towards the water. “I can sure as hell try, babe!”

Surfing with JJ was an experience on some whole other level. Sharing a wave was something even the most experienced surfers didn’t attempt, but something in you trusted JJ and the two of you tried it out. It was absolutely surreal, until JJ didn’t resurface.

Your euphoric smile quickly turned into a panicked cry. “JJ? JJ?!” You looked around and caught sight of him hanging on to his board, eyes closed. You swiftly untied your board from your ankle and swam over to him, pulling him towards you. He was like dead weight. You dragged him over to the shore and dumped him there, immediately leaning down to check his pulse. 

You felt it clear as day, but tears filled your eyes. “JJ! Wake up!”

You began chest compressions immediately. Before you even got to ten, however, you heard a giggle. 

Bewildered, you looked at his smiling face, his amused blue eyes laughing at you.

You instantly flinched away, retreating from him. “You were faking?”

JJ nearly choked on his laughter. “You-you should have—” He tried to breathe through the guffaws “—seen your face! Priceless!”

You slapped at his chest with your fists as he sat up, ignoring his slight winces given his prior injuries. “Ay, ay what’s up with that! Stop it, Y/N!”

“You bastard! I thought you were dying!”

JJ softened, before holding the back of your neck and pulling you towards him, leaning in to capture your lips with his. It was sweet and short and he pulled away quickly, asking. “Was that alright?”

You shook your head, pouting. “No, another!” 

He smiled, but gave in to your pleas gleefully, his other hand coming over the front of your neck, pulling you closer to him by your throat. You bit his lip harshly, still angry from the stunt he had just pulled and his whined quietly, moving his hand down your spine, hands brushing the bare skin that your swimsuit exposed. 

He lay back, pulling you on top of him. You straddled him, allowing him to deepen the kiss. You didn’t realize how much you had wanted this until you were doing it. You were kissing JJ Maybank. And it felt right. It felt as right as surfing did, maybe even better, you dared to think. 

Maybe it was the fact that he kissed you like he had all the time in the world and didn’t care, because he was hungry right now. Maybe it was how he held you like he was afraid you would let go. Maybe it was how he managed to wordlessly beg for your skin on his, clearly touch-starved. Whatever it was, it solidified the growing feelings you had for the blonde, blossoming into something new, something stronger, something better, until you couldn’t hear any of your own thoughts other than his name--over, and over and over again. 

When you finally broke that time, you smiled into his neck, trying to catch your breath. “Wow,” sighed JJ, “That was some kiss, babe. If you kiss me like that forever, I’ll die a happy man.”

You giggled, but sat up slightly, flicking his nose. You knew you had to get this awful, insecure doubt of yours out of your mouth right now before you let it fester into something that could ruin this beautiful thing you were creating with JJ. “If you ever break my heart, JJ, I swear to God, you better not cheat on me.”

He frowned. “Wouldn’t dream of it. I’ve wanted this forever. Can’t fuck it up now.”

You smiled, bending down for another kiss. JJ stopped you. “Wait. While we’re making promises, let me just say, if you ever get back with Kyle, I will sue.”

You thought the whole town probably heard your laugh then.

K so not my best work but hope y’all liked it!

Tagging @rretrophilee @jjsbxtch @drewsephsmiles @uwubonebabie bc we talked about it! You don’t have to read if you don’t want to lol 💛

[spacenugget11]

Planetary

Chapter 4

Pairing: SasuSaku

Synopsis: AU. Sakura Haruno has never met Uchiha Sasuke, but she already has him All Figured Out. She has him analyzed, defined, and categorized in her head like one of the diagrams in her biology textbook. The taxonomy is obvious. Genus: Tall, Dark, Handsome. Species: Quiet Brooder.

Sakura starts seeing Sasuke everywhere: in the cafés where she did her work, on the streets, in the hallways of academic buildings, and at the bus stop; she didn’t realize that their lives overlapped on so many different planes. Sometimes she can avert her gaze before they make eye contact, or cross the road or, stare down at her phone while they pass each other. Other times she’s not so lucky, and she’s forced to strain a smile and wiggle her fingers in greeting as “the girl who slept on your couch that one night, hey thanks,” while he dips his head once in acknowledgement. They’re trapped in that odd purgatory between strangers and acquaintances, and it’s so gut-wrenchingly awkward that Sakura sometimes just wants to cram her fist into her mouth and scream.

Then, one night, while Sakura’s doing physics at The Leaf Café a voice above her asks, “Hey, do you mind if we study here?” 

She glances up from her flashcards to see Sasuke Uchiha and a blonde beaming over his shoulder. It’s March and their cheeks are ruddy from the bitter winds barreling through the streets. 

“There aren’t seats left,” Sasuke says before sniffing and rubbing a gloved hand across his runny nose. Sakura doesn’t need to look around to know he’s telling the truth because it’s midterms. 

“Yeah, of course,” she says, hurrying to clear the table to make some space. The blonde cheers, backpacks are unslung, coats unbuttoned, and the two extra chairs scrape across the floor as the boys settle in. Suddenly the table feels very crowded.

“Thanks,” Sasuke says. 

“Yeah,” Sakura says. “Of course.” Even if he had had plopped down without asking, she would’ve responded the same way—that was the nature of unpaid debts after all.  

“What’s up, I’m Naruto Uzumaki, nice to meetcha!” His friend says, folding his arms across the table and leaning towards her with a grade-schooler’s grin. His bright eyes and wide smile remind her of summer—open June skies and soaring kites.  

She can’t help but smile at his warmth. “Hi, I’m Sakura Haruno,” she says, and Sasuke files her name away in the cabinetry of his memory, finally filling in the space that had been left blank below her face: Sakura Haruno. 

“How do you and Sasuke know each other?” Naruto asks. “This guy’s a pretty crotchety old man and you seem like a really nice girl.” 

Next to him, Sasuke scowls—evidence to his friend’s testimony. 

“Oh, well I got stuck out in the bus stop a few weeks ago during the snowstorm, and he let me spend the night on his couch,” she explains.  

“What!” Naruto explodes and turns to throw his arms up at his friend. “You didn’t tell me you had a girl sleepover!” 

Sasuke pulls out his laptop and a book—The Tales of Heike—from his bag and does his best to ignore the flailing blonde. “She was stuck. It was late. I had a couch.” He opens his computer and stares pointedly at the screen, but Naruto bulldozes through his paltry defenses with practiced ease. 

“Dude! But you’re, like, practically celibate! I don’t think I’ve even seen you talk a member of the opposite gender once since coming to college! This is amazing!” 

“She just spent the night on the couch, idiot.” 

Sakura nods in enthusiastic agreement. “Just the couch.” 

Naruto ignores this fact, and swings his attention back onto Sakura. “You don’t understand, Sakura-chan, this guy is a freaking asexual blob!” 

Sakura wonders where she’s heard that before. 

Naruto continues the rampage. “All he does is sit hunched over his laptop while he glares at his stupid computer screen! Girls throw themselves at his feet and he just plows past them like they don’t exist—literally. This blonde girl in our philosophy class once grabbed him by the ankles and he just kept walking! What was that chick’s name again? Emo? Ino? Whatever—” Then Naruto leans in again real close and squints his eyes as he appraises her suspiciously. “Just who are you reeeeally—ow! Damn it! Relax, asshole, it was just a joke—a joke! Jeez, don’t have to get all uppity on me just ‘cause she’s your girlfriend.” Naruto clutches his gut where Sasuke had dug in with his elbow. He secrets Sakura a playful wink, and she realizes then the blonde could probably get away with anything, even murder. 

“Augh—I think you’ve ruptured my spleen! Oh, the humanity!”  

Sasuke refuses to look away from his computer screen, his fingers flying across the keyboard, immune to Naruto’s histrionics.  “She’s not my girlfriend so shut up and do you your work. You’re distracting Sakura.” 

“Oh, no, it’s okay,” she says with a smile, because she’s starting to enjoy herself.

“See! She’s fine! Stop acting like her dad—” 

“Work!” Sasuke slams his book on the table like a gavel for some goddamn order in his court. He then shoots Sakura a warning look—don’t encourage the idiot. 

Sakura obeys and looks back towards her flashcards, but she’s laughing and the world around her shifts imperceptibly, undwedging the ball, which begins its slow roll away from “acquaintanceship,” towards something new. 

[Chapter 3] [Chapter 5]

[tainted-wine]

Just gonna leave this here: a quirk that turns Hawks into an actual hawk version of himself that can talk, and his poor s/o must be his falconer until the quirk wears off. Alternatively, Dabi getting chibi’d. MANY LOLS TO BE HAD. And also burnt pants pockets, if I’m not mistaken.

If Hawks was a bird, I’d imagine his appearance would resemble a Brahminy Kite aka red-backed sea eagle. Yeah, I know they’re not exactly hawks but it’s such a perfect look for him. Though I’d imagine his front plumage to look more blonde than white.

The news reporters were already swarming him. At least give him a chance to breathe; this was probably more shocking to himself than it was to them. It’s also just a little intimidating to have so many people several times his height squatting down and shoving mics into his little beak.

“Did you see the villain that did this to you, Hawks?”

“How long will this quirk last?”

“Will you be able to carry on with hero work in this condition?”

“What do you have to say to your fangirls right now?”

“Would you be willing to have a photoshoot with us and promote our bird shop?”

He raises his wings (man, it’s weird when they’re your only upper limbs) and attempts to calm everyone down.

“Relax, everyone. I’ll have this all fixed up soon, I promise! And don’t think I’ll be taking a break from hero work just because I’m small enough to perch on your arm. You villains out there better stay put!”

The flashing cameras hurt. His eyes felt more sensitive than ever.

Of course, that was a bit of a lie. Hell no, he isn’t fighting any competent villain while he’s a literal bird, but he already knows that the Hero Commission isn’t going to let him sit back even while he looks like this.

-----------------

What the fuck were you watching.

A group of reporters were crowding a bird that had just hopped out of your lover’s hero outfit which was piled on the floor. And they were calling the bird Hawks.

And then the bird spoke. With Hawks’s voice.

No way.

A bit less than an hour after those surreal interviews, a rapping sound was heard at your window. Lo and behold, the same bird you’ve been looking at all over the Tweeter feed was waving at you as he waited patiently to be let in.

You didn’t know where to even start as he waddled in, unsteady on legs that bended in ways he wasn’t used to, and large talons that scratched every surface.

“Did ya miss me, baby bird?” Wow, he really just used his seductive voice. 

Your discussion with him about what he plans to do while in his current form is as awkward as you expected, with one extra curve-ball thrown in.

Your face looms over his smaller head. “What do you mean you need me on your patrols? Patrols that you shouldn’t even be doing right now?”

He shakes and puffs up his feathers. “You’ll be my partner in crime! Well, more like you’ll be the one carrying my goods around and answering calls while I take down bad guys. And I have to make sure I always have a good takeoff spot, since I’m not as quick and limber of a flyer as I usually am. It’ll be safe, I promise.”

-----------------

It wasn’t very safe.

Sneaking up on a villain in a sketchy ally was not safe at all. Hawks was unknowingly digging his talons into your skin as he kept his body low, his wings only half-folded in case he needed to fly at any moment.

With a signaling squeeze (ouch), you swung your arm as he leapt off and flew toward the unassuming criminal.

It was...ridiculous, watching what was an intimidating man make high-pitched yelps of surprise and swat at the hawk flapping around his head. All respect as a villain is probably lost if you’re subdued by a bird that isn’t even half your size.

“Now!” Hawks shouted while he had the man’s arms pinned behind his back.

You rushed in to click the handcuffs around his wrists. 

“That’s your third arrest, baby bird! You oughta try for a hero license!” He praised you with a wink.

“Thanks, but I’d rather have this entire fever dream end as soon as possible.”

His phone vibrated in your pocket and you withdrew it to see which sidekick or Commission member was calling him this time. Instead, a strange name popped up.

“Who is...‘Burnt Bitch’?”

Hawks swooped in and snatched the phone out of your hands before you could even blink.

“Aheheheh, sorry love! This is a personal call that I gotta take myself!” He flew out of your sight, leaving you to handle the humiliated and angry villain by yourself.

-----------------

Hawks swore when he scratched his screen as he attempted to answer the call. Dammit, Dabi sure was a master of contacting him at inconvenient times. 

Having finally pressed the button, he gave his usual greeting to the fiery villain. “What’s up, Dabs?”

“So you’re a literal birdbrain right now, are you? Pretty hilarious.”

That...was not Dabi’s voice.

“Um, why do you sound like a chipmunk?”

“...I’m just using a voice changer,” the squeaky villain said. “I shouldn’t make myself too obvious when talking to you.”

Hawks scratched his head, flinching when he nearly poked his eye. “You’re just now deciding to do that, and you couldn’t pick a voice that I’d actually take seriously?”

“Like you’re one to talk. I’m impressed you managed to answer the phone without any hands. You’re meeting up with me at the usual spot tonight.”

“...Tonight?”

Dabi groaned, which sounded more like those low meows that angry cats do. “Did I stutter? Those holes in your bird head work, right? And you better not laugh when you get here.”

Click.

Hawks’s inner eyelids blinked rapidly at the phone. What would he laugh about?

-----------------

Oh.

That’s what.

Hawks rested on a trash can as he watched Dabi emerge from the shadows behind the abandoned building. He was pretty far away, his form slowly getting bigger as he got closer. Although...Hawks is pretty sure that he should look a lot bigger from that distance. Maybe the angle of his giant eyes was screwing up his depth perception.

It was only when Dabi was right in front of him did Hawks realize that the villain was the size of a toddler.

He tried not to let any laughter slip past his beak, and failed miserably.

“What did I fucking tell you?” Dabi growled in his helium voice. Oh god he wasn’t using a voice changer on the phone.

That made the bird hero laugh even harder, wings outstretched as he tried to keep his balance. “Wh-wha...” He struggled to speak between wheezes. “What the hell happened?”

Dabi shuffled in his kiddie hoodie. “Some dumbass thug thought it would be funny to chibify me. I thought it would be funny to turn him into ash, so I did.”

“Really? Do you know if it wears off overtime or did you just kill the poor guy without asking questions?”

“......”

“Holy shit!” Another fit of squawking laughter. “You might be adorable forever!”

A blue flame appeared in his tiny baby hands oh my god he’s so cute!

“Unlike you, I can still use my quirk, so keep talking if you want to become the fried chicken you love so much.”

"You-” Cough. “You don’t even need your fire.” Hawks's feathers were fully fluffed out as he tried to breathe. “If you keep talking with that high voice, I’m gonna keel over!”

A tiny scarred hand around his neck finally silenced him with a startled screech.

“You tweety little bastard.”

Hawks cracked up again as he choked.

-----------------

Shouta Aizawa has come across many strange sights during his late night patrols. Some of them gruesome, some of them obscene, and some that are just too weird to even be questioned.

Finding a child concealed in an oversized hoodie in a bout of fisticuffs with a bird of prey was in the third category.

He couldn’t even tell who was winning. The kid would sometimes get a hold of the bird for no more than a few seconds before a sharp beak digs into his hand and forces him to let go. It was the strangest wrestle that the underground hero had ever witnessed.

“Aww, try again, little baby! You almost had me that time!”

Wait a minute. That voice...

Right, Hawks was still doing work even though he was a damn actual hawk. Well, he probably doesn’t need his help with an unruly brat. 

Aizawa walked away from the scuffle and continued his scouting. There are real dangers out here that need to be taken care of.

[terraf1rma]

RATING PEOPLE'S IDV MAINS: BY A THREE WEEK OLD PLAYER WHO GETS TERRORSHOCKED TO KINGDOM COME EVERY TIME I PLAY AGAINST SCULPTOR (HUNTER VERSION)

Galatea (sculptor): y'all terrify me. Like I could be breaking apart a chair and pop! There's a wild statue around me and banging me to death! And bam! A girl with dwarfism (according to the idv community??) in a wheelchair appears and makes you feel guilty about yoinking a pallet on her! Like man do you know how awkward I get when I see a kid in a wheelchair get hit by a pallet i threw down? Man. It's awkward, that's for sure. How do you guys even get through windows?

Jack (the ripper): now, I would get scared of you if it wasn't for the fact that your whole invisibility shazam got ruined by that weird red light thingy. Not sure what it's called but eh. Like you could've terrorshocked me while I was decoding but nope. Red light! Gotta go fast! Suddenly I am sonic and dying in a minute!!

Luchino (evil lizard man): ...I've only ever seen one Luchino and I felt so bad for the guy that I purposefully stayed behind and let him terrorshock™ me like the man couldn't get the jump on any of my teammates I wanna make a pun but idk how to fit it in help-

Mary (bloody queen): I'm stuck between running away screaming and respectfully asking you to marry and terrorshock me. Like that special carry where it looks like Mary is ballroom dancing with the survivors as she carries them to their doom? Exquisite I almost want to get myself killed just to do that it's simp culture shush

Joseph (photographer): the amount of costumes the Josephs have are...intimidating to say the least. I mean I'm saving up for this man myself because rn he's the only hunter I can figure out how to play. Many tasty terrorshocks await me me thinks. He's also very handsome 10/10 would let him terrorshock me. Oh, and midnight gentleman? That's straight up cat culture not wolf you furry-

Leo (hell ember): people say you guys take pity on Emma mains but I've yet to see one that didn't straight up go after me and me only for a whole march like sir please this is your daughter I'm playing as have pity when you see her riding a carousel at like half health let her enjoy this ride DO NOT TERRORSHOC- your skills are very cool tho and I respect you people a bunch

Ann (the herald/nun/apostle/something religious/idk man netease makes me confused): idk how people remember you for your cat when her neck exists- I mean your cat is pretty...lanky and evil as most cats are but like sir stop chewing on my ankles thank you very much. I have no idea how to kite Ann so uh 8/10 also is it Ann or Anne cause like ....?????????

Michiko (geisha): I respect you so much like sir/ma'am/they you have peak friendly hunter energy even when you're trying to cut me down and chair me but please calm down with your butterflies if you don't come around to using them also your so pretty help oh gosh I am ✨simping✨

Smiley face: I forgot his first name @_@. Uh y'all are cool I met one friendly joker main who watched the sea with me and a geisha in lakeside and it was peak bonding moment tbh if you look past the fact that I was bleeding to my death. I'm not even giving any opinions at this point I'm just sharing my experiences huh-

Grace (naiad): guys. Stop drowning people. Notice that there's an r in the word drowning. I'm fine with you downing me but my god STOP MAKING MINITURE LAKES AROUND CHAIRS PLeaSe if I don't die from the chair I'm going to die from the bathwater you're using to create mini lake naiad or not. Anyways I think I know how to kite you??? I'm getting close to figuring it out. I just gotta loop around stuff right? Fun. Until I die.

Violetta (soul weaver): I admire Violetta mains because I tried her out once and I swear she took up half of my tiny little mobile screen and I had no idea where I was going. The fact that you guys can cacoon (I can't spell help-) people to death is really cool too. You guys are probably ento fans too- maybe I think idk how I linked entomologist with soul weaver. Maybe it's the fact that they both like insects? Also does Violetta even have a face because I swear when I saw her for the first time I was crying my ass off because holy shit that's horror movie material right there sir

Yidhra (dream witch): you're clearly the thing jack the ripper mains aspire to be. Invisible- I have no idea how you guys work except for the fact that I should really find out if a character has a bowing emote because damn. At this point I might as well just join dream witch if I want to live through a match with her in it

Hastur (the feaster): when I heard the feaster part, I thought of some guy who really liked eating. Turns out it was just this tentacle abyss guy- I mean you guys are great when I'm not distracted by the thought of food- anyways slap me bitch I have my protection shield thing on that I got from hell ember hah

Gamekeeper: yet another character who's name I forgot. Probably some kind of canadian-american name tho like uh Alfred or um Sam. Abraham?? Washington???? Idk what classifies as an American/Canadian name bro all I know is this guy somehow got the head of the moose shoved into him and became a guy with a deer head. Wack. Your ability to yoink me back with that trap is really cool tho so props to you guys for that

Wu Chang (white/black guards): your hotbox is legendary. I was across the map once and a Wu Chang was on the other side and I suddenly got terrorshocked out of nowhere??? Like sir?? I wasn't even close to you and you still slapped the heck outta me? YOU HAVE AN UMBRELLA HOW IS THIS POSSIBLE- I- in conclusion? Wu Chang mains are hot as fuck but goddamn someone control that legendary hotbox or I'll hit them with the gardener's tool box INSTEAD-

Burke (mad eyes): I saw a decoder once and didn't know what it was so I tried it out. Didn't know it belonged to mad eyes. I was in a duo hunters map and I was having the time of my life watching everyone run before noticing that there the hunters (Burke and Mary) were together near a decoder and a survivor just casually watching them. So I looked around them and saw one person and I just thought to myself "wow, who's the oblivious dumbass who's next to them?"

And then I went out of it, looked around for a chair to dismantle and lo and behold.

I was the oblivious fuck next to them.

I got sent to jail via Burke's ability.

Robbie (axe boy): I feel so guilty about hitting Robbie mains with pallets so instead I just vault through as many windows as I can and pray for the best-

Bonbon (guard 26): fuck you and your bombs. I mean you're cute and all but goddamn that dance emote of yours-

Antonio (the violinist): this man could step on me and I would thank him. I radiate peak simp vibes around Antonio mains and I don't regret it. Y'all are so cool?? Like sir youre slapping people with music notes and they sound nice??? Like oh hey I'm at half health but at least I get to listen to nice music while running away from death-

In conclusion? Antonio mains are great I love them

Percy (the undead): fuck you I would rather be chaired than dying pathetically near one. At least let me have my dignity won't you? I mean you guys are cool but no💖

The Will brothers (the breaking wheel): what- what even are breaking wheel mains? Immortal? Inevitable ? I've only ever managed to outrun on and that was because I was near the church pews in the red church. You guys genuinely scare me and when I'm in a match with breaking wheel mains I just run upstairs and cry (in-game not in actual life though I have considered it once or twice-) I'm relieved by the fact that your faces are just masks tho. Y'all are dicks too✨💖

Phillipe (the wax artist): the amount of inappropriate jokes surrounding you guys- I swear no wonder y'all are so eager to chair people-

[ayzrules]

✶ 𝐇𝐗𝐇 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐌𝐄𝐒: 𝐋𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 & 𝐇𝐎𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐄𝐒𝐒, 𝐃𝐄𝐀𝐓𝐇 & 𝐃𝐀𝐌𝐍𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍   Long story short, I have been thinking about this for wayyyyy too long now and wanted to get some ~thoughts~ & analysis written down! This post is going to be...fairly long, lol. Apologies in advance :D

  Also, if you can’t see the last gif (the one for ‘holy’), click here. Tumblr keeps fucking up the image when i try to upload it :////

  This post is probably going to be about 2/3 yorknew & phantom troupe/kurapika focused, 1/3 chimera ants, maybe with some references to other arcs (including manga-only arcs) mixed in. so, ofc, tons of spoilers ahead! also, i realize that my blog theme is hard to read (and i’m p sure clicking ‘keep reading’ sends you to the og post itself), so i’m linking the post w/ full text copy/pasted in on my art backup side blog (which has a more legible font) here. 

✶ 𝐃𝐄𝐀𝐓𝐇   I’m sure absolutely nobody is surprised with me starting here - there is just. SO. MUCH. DEATH. in hxh. & right from the start, one thing I noticed that togashi really emphasized was the #4 and its connection to death. in japanese, chinese, and im p sure some other asian cultures the number 4 is pronounced like the word for death so it’s associated with death in general, and boy oh boy does the ‘deadly number 4′ thing show up E V E R Y W H E R E. we get to the hunter exam, and hisoka is applicant #44. kurapika is #404. i didn’t notice it at first, but this was so intentional holy shit. togashi is NOT SUBTLE.

  So pika & hisoka are, right off the bat, associated with death. okay. and then there are even more clues to drive the point home: hisoka is member #4 in the phantom troupe, kurapika’s birthday is april 4th (aka 4/4). 100% not a coincidence (!!). with hisoka, it’s pretty obvious why togashi’s throwing all this death 444444 stuff around - dude is a psycho murder pedo clown, literally gets off on killing people (and there’s also the fact that judas sits 4th from the left in the last supper painting, and he’s sort of the judas equivalent for the phantom troupe). with kurapika, though, it’s a bit more subtle and woven deeper into his characterization, which i LOVE. togashi puts the mans in blue & gold & white (traditionally ‘pure’ or ‘heavenly’ colors), makes him so fucking kind & so good-hearted.....when he’s not relentlessly pursuing his revenge, ofc. more on this in the next section, but pika = death. togashi has made that v v v clear.

  Backtracking a bit to hisoka, though, I also just wanted to point out the 4 is death symbolism in the fortunes too (GOD i love the fortunes): in one translation, he’s the false fourth moon, and in the og japanese (i think), he’s the false hare (4th in the lunar zodiac or w/e it’s called. i don’t know the japanese cultural influences here, but in the chinese legend that established the zodiac animals, they race across the heavenly river & the top 12 animals got zodiac slots. the hare finished 4th, so it’s #4 in the cycle). 

  And just as a final note, Tserriednich is the fourth prince of the kakin empire, and also another dude who has a hard-on for murder & other gory shit. again: togashi is not subtle with this, lmfao

✶ 𝐇𝐎𝐋𝐘, 𝐔𝐍𝐇𝐎𝐋𝐘   As probably everyone who’s gotten to yorknew knows, togashi is so 0 fucks given when he wants to be. I mean there’s the whole thing where he just. took New York and decided, Yorknew. LMFAO, but also, he made the main antag of that arc be named chrollo lucilfer, sit around in a ruined church, have a reversed cross coat, pale & dark-haired/dark-eyed, generally dressed in dark colors, very terrible murder guy. liiiike......chrollo x devil symbolism game is 1000/10 at this point lmaooo

  And i know absolutely nothing about christianity in general, but pt/kurapika & yorknew arc is just so full of christian imagery/symbolism! one thing that i L O O O O O O V E though is how togashi really blurs the traditional christian-coded good/evil, holy/damned boundaries.

  Back to kurapika: he wears gold and blue, his coloring is very stereotypically ‘angelic’, he’s precious and good and kind. his chains are all about ~judgment~ and ~healing~ - some of the chains are also in literal cross shapes, aren’t they? And the chain dagger in his own heart...the imagery is very startlingly similar to the immaculate heart of mary, where the swords stabbing thru the heart apparently represent seven sorrows. IDK much about this stuff other than the visual similarities; literally had to google ‘daggers through heart christianity?’ to even get the name of that thing LOL. anyway, at first, it seems like togashi establishes him as the ‘angel’, the ‘good’, the ‘holy’ in the angel/devil, good/evil, holy/damned dichotomy between him and chrollo.

  But that’s not the end of the story. his entire storyline is driven by a huuuuuuuge giant desire for vengeance, first of all, and then there’s the scarlet eyes, which canonically are seen as demonic/cursed/what have you (according to one of the movies or smth? where they show pika as a 10 y/o?), and then we also have red eyes in modern culture being associated w pretty much the same thing (vampires, anyone?). the fight scene with uvo has everything in b&w besides the blood on his face & his red eyes & the moon (<<< more fortune foreshadowing & symbolism, i love to see it), and there are tonssss of scenes where he has to suppress his rage. so all of that is obviously not very angelic of him i would say LOL. in fact, what i find super interesting is that the scarlet/red eyes (which are ‘demonic’) is actually the driving factor behind his super powerful nen abilities; this ties in so well with the fortunes & death associations imo! the fortunes call him the ‘death-bringer’ in one translation, or ‘half-angel, half-death’, so that’s one side of pika = red eyes = death, but there’s also the fact that emperor time is literally draining his life force. so pika = death for both himself and others namely the pt, question mark?

  Now for chrollo: togashi’s devil symbolism is EXTREMELY overt with him, but i love the subtler jesus references too. the church thing, obviously, and the st. peters cross which is cuz st peter respected jesus too much & didn’t think he was worthy to die in the same way as him (or something like that, i am the most atheist person in the world & hxh is literally my entire christian education pls) but is also used as an anti-christianity symbol these days. bandit’s secret looks like a bible, lbr, and mans has a cross tattoo.

  Other things beyond visuals - 12 spiders, 12 apostles; hisoka’s betrayal, where member #4 can be thought to correspond to judas sitting 4th from left at last supper. and this miiiiight be a bit of a stretch, but i think the meteor city being the place of origin may also play into the blurred line between angel/devil and holy/damned here; meteors are defined as space rocks that are in earth’s atmosphere, becoming incandescent in the process. meteorites are for the kinds that actually reach the ground. and idk, lucifer was cast out of heaven / sky too right? so i think there might be some subtle fallen angel imagery/symbolism playing into the pt as well

✶ 𝐋𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 (𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐃𝐀𝐑𝐊𝐍𝐄𝐒𝐒)   Last section yay! i don’t have as much to say about this, besides when i was making chimera ant arc edits & realized that there might have been some subtle gon/meruem parallels???

  So obviously, everyone knows that line killua says to gon - “you are light” - and then i was just remembering that meruem’s name means.... “light that illuminates all” (!!!!). maybe it’s a coincidence, but knowing togashi, i’m leaning towards nahhhh. there HAS TO be some kinda meaning there (!!).

  Going back to the events of the chimera ant arc....ooh boy. let’s see: gon is optimistic & hopeful even in the face of kite potentially being dead, killua says he’s light, they find kite & dude is fucked up, gon is pissed. gets all angry & ~dark~, especially during the palace invasion when he’s staring pitou down as she fixes up komugi. then the actual fight against pitou: more darkness, more anger, but through it all there’s still light, namely his jajanken being very orange & fiery lookin.....and that final sequence, where he puts all his possible nen he’d ever have into his ~final form~ or wahtever & turns into a male version of true form!bisky but dressed in a crop top & short-shorts (i am SCARRED, btw. s c a r r e d !). there’s just huuuge flashes of light as that’s going on, and it reminded me of supernovas or dying stars when i was thinking about it, where the star is like, collapsing under its own weight? & burning thru its own fuel, until there’s nothing left except a dwarf or black hole or what have you. one final, extremely deadly burst of light & energy before death.

  On the meruem side of things: born into a dark cave, exhibits a traditionally evil/cruel/wicked/whatever personality/traits so that has ppl associating him with darkness. then he gets to know komugi, starts to appreciate other aspects of humanity, seems like he could have actually turned into a decent person who doesn’t want to eat everyone - so that’s a ‘path to light’, maybe? - and then the extermination team yeets themselves into the palace, netero takes him out to bumfuck nowhere, they fight. netero’s fighting is just ALL light, from his giant ass golden 100-type guanyin bodhisattva to the poor man’s rose. again, there’s the sense of finality to it all, in a similar vein to dying stars: netero comes in determined to kill meruem no matter what, and we all know netero doesn’t flake. then we see netero get destroyed after the zero hand, and he triggers the rose, and everything is burning & on fire before the flames are put out and all turns dark again.

  But wait!!! pouf & youpi revive meruem and all he does is play gungi with komugi, even with the poison of the rose. he eventually dies, and the gungi pieces in that final shot of them together (i am BAWLING just thinking about it holy shit) has one that’s all white, one that’s a black ring and white inside. i assume all white is for komugi, who has never done ANYTHING wrong in her LIFE, so i like to think that the 2nd one is for meruem - born “into darkness”, literally & figuratively, but he turns something like ‘good’ by the end. it’s interesting how togashi has sort of gone for a bit of a subversion here: the hero going from light to darkness, and the main antag from darkness to light.

✶ 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐂𝐋𝐔𝐒𝐈𝐎𝐍   AahhhhHHHHHhhh so if you read all the way down here through my LONG rambles, tysm! i would LOVE LOVE LOVE to hear what other people think about all this, and i’ve FOR SURE missed tons and tons of stuff - chimera ants is just. SO MUCH. and i don’t know it as well as yorknew eeek.

  I’m not sure if i’m really ~knowledgeable~ in any other areas relating to hxh, so this might be the only one of these that i do, but i definitely think about some of this - esp all the religious symbolism & #4 stuff - a ton! so in the meantime, if it’s of any interest, i’m just going to shamelessly plug my hxh x religious beliefs/superstitions edit series :D lots of love to all!!!

[goodlucktai]

Hi! If you're still doing prompts, would you do 69 with Nishimura? For once it's not a relative of Natsume's giving insults, instead the gang over hear conversation with Nishimura family/extended family when they go to pick him up after he never showed. Spinkle in Kitanishi if possible?

PROMPTS LIST

69. “I’m not going to leave you.”

ik i just did this prompt for tanunatsu but GOD if im not weak for kitanishi 🥺

x

Nishimura is flighty and breezy at all other times, constantly running late for school and doubling back on the way home for a forgotten school book or jacket, but it’s not like him to just not show up. 

It’s so much out of character that Taki knows even before Kitamoto says anything that something is wrong. 

“I’m going to his place,” Kitamoto says. “You guys can go ahead.”

Taki feels herself bristle, probably exactly the way Nyanko-sensei does when he’s denied a treat, but Natsume beats her to the punch. 

“We’ll come with you,” he says in his gentle, implacable way. He’s already standing, bag slung over his shoulder. He’s been checking his phone this whole time, too. 

Kitamoto hesitates, but just for a second. He’s always known when to pick his battles. 

So they miss the train as a group. But it’s fine, Taki thinks, because they can just catch the next one. Nishimura’s house isn’t so far away. 

When they get there, Kitamoto lets himself through the gate with the ease of long familiarity. He steps over a loose stone in the pathway up to the door without even looking. This time, when he waves them back and says, “Wait here,” Taki hangs back. She’s never actually been here before, and Kitamoto obviously has. 

And on top of that... 

It wouldn’t be fair to say his expression is grim, or even foreboding, but it’s a certain amount of expectant that makes Taki sort of nervous. Like he’s bracing himself for something. Like he knows more than the rest of them do. 

So Taki hangs back. 

When Kitamoto slides the door open, announcing himself as he steps inside, they’re greeted by the sound of raised voices. Muffled, as though someone is shouting down the hall and through a wall or two. 

All of Taki’s closest friends are a gentle sort, and she can tell right away that it makes Tanuma and Natsume both uneasy. 

She plants herself firmly in front of them, as casually as she’s able. She’s not very big or tall, but she won’t let that stop her. She doesn’t scare as easily as she used to. 

A young man comes to the door, with a “Sorry now’s not a good time” on the edge of his tongue, but he stops short when he sees Kitamoto. 

“Hey, Kiyoshi-niisan,” Kitamoto says. Now it’s fair to say he sounds grim. “We both know I’m not going home without him, so what’s the play?”

Kiyoshi-- a name Taki recognizes as Nishimura’s big brother’s-- looks tired, and angry, and maybe like he’d like to say something unkind. Taki doesn’t think he’s looking at Kitamoto like that, though, or she would have something to say about it.

“Aunt Niko is here,” Kiyoshi says at length. 

It’s all he needs to say, apparently, because Kitamoto is kicking off his sneakers and stepping up out of the genkan without another word. He must have forgotten his friends were here with him-- he doesn’t spare them a single backwards glance. 

Kiyoshi, with the air of someone resigned to watching the ship go down, says, “The three of you can come in, if you’d like, but I don’t think you’ll be here very long.”

“I have the same feeling,” Tanuma says faintly. 

Kitamoto slides a door open at the end of the hall. The sound of shouting intensifies for a split second, and then abruptly cuts off. Kitamoto steps inside, and he must not even say two words to that Aunt Niko, because he’s out again barely ten seconds later, dragging Nishimura behind him. 

And Taki finds herself hurrying inside, after all, blown in like a kite on a string, because Nishimura looks as though he’s been crying and Taki can’t bear it. 

She stops at the very edge of the genkan and stretches out her hands, waving them impatiently when Kitamoto doesn’t surrender Nishimura to her fast enough.

Nishimura’s hands are cold when Taki finally takes them. He staggers down into the entry way next to her like he has no strength left in his legs. But it’s okay now, Taki thinks a little frantically, because she’s got him.

“Shoes,” Kitamoto says tersely. “I’ll get his jacket.” 

They’re out the door again in an efficient manner of moments. Kitamoto says a quick goodbye to Kiyoshi and then closes the front door behind them with a decisive snap. 

None of them speak, hustling down the path and out the gate. Nishimura is still clinging to Taki’s hand like he’s afraid of what might happen if he lets go. 

All of her friends are a gentle sort. When she first met him, Taki wouldn’t have guessed that Nishimura was gentle, too. But since then, she’s seen him talk Tanuma away from the edge of a panic attack, and take Natsume’s hands as carefully as someone picking up a fallen bird’s egg. She’s seen the shape his kindness takes. 

He’s loud and silly, but he always shows up. 

“Nishimura,” Natsume murmurs, “are you okay?”

“Yeah,” Nishimura says, like a knee-jerk reaction. Then, “Actually, no,” with an honesty Taki finds admirable, considering how much emotional wrestling it would have taken to get Natsume to admit even that much. Then, “Wait-- you all missed the train.”

“We don’t care about the train,” Tanuma says, sounding pained. 

“You were supposed to meet up with Shibata tonight,” Nishimura insists. He’s getting worked up.

“He’ll understand,” Taki assures him. “I’ll text him right now.”

“This is stupid,” Nishimura blurts. He stops short, yanking Taki to a stop with him. His eyes are glassy with frustrated tears. “You ruined your plans for no reason. You should have just gone without me.”

“Why the hell would we do that?” Kitamoto snaps. “When have I ever done that?”

“Aunt Niko said-- “ 

“I don’t care what Aunt Niko said. Listen to what I’m saying.” 

Kitamoto takes Nishimura by the shoulders, not without care, and rattles him a bit. 

“I’m not going anywhere without you,” he says. “I’m not leaving you behind.”

There’s a lot of fond exasperation in there, hiding behind what looks like plain annoyance. If you didn’t know him very well, maybe you’d miss it. 

But Taki knows better. All of her closest friends are gentle people. She knows what their love looks like. 

[realityhelixcreates]

Beta, Theta, and Me Chapter 10: Territorial

Chapters: 10/?

Fandom: Thor (Movies), Avengers (Movies) Marvel Cinematic Universe

Rating: PG-13

Warnings: Relationships: Loki x Reader (But not right now),Drug Use

Characters:  Loki(Marvel) Additional Tags:  A/B/O, Sorta, More Of An Exploration Of  Life And Self Expression Within An A/B/O Framework, Loki Does What He Wants, But Loki Does Not Actually Do What He Wants, Antagonistic Bosses,  Loki Has A Throne Now, But It’s Not What He Wanted

Summary: You learn the reality of not being alone in the universe

You hunkered down in your soft, fold-out futon couch, shaken by what you now knew.

They were invaders. Loki, Thor, all  the Asgardians, an invading force.

But they weren't invading this planet.

You didn't think you'd ever forget the blazing triumph in Loki's eyes, as he explained the plan. He might as well explain it to you. There was nothing you could do about it. There was nothing you would do about it. And Loki knew it.

Rain slammed into the glass like stones, flung by screaming wind. It had been pouring all day, even before you'd served Loki his breakfast.

“Did someone piss off your brother or what?” you joked. Loki swiftly grasped your hand before you could crush his pill for the morning.

“Yes, and I would have my mind clear when he comes to visit. I will bear the pain until afterwards.”

Thunder cracked the personable atmosphere of breakfast.

“You should retire to your rooms for a while.” Loki said. So you gathered up what was left of your meal and returned to your apartment. You had a nice little table in front of a window, where you sat with your orange juice and pancakes, watching the sheeting rain.

The sound of the Bifrost roared down louder than the rain. Thor had come by to discuss things with Loki several times now, you hiding out in your room each time. You weren't sure why you were never allowed to be seen-perhaps servants in Asgard were supposed to be invisible or something. Or perhaps Loki wasn't actually supposed to have you. Oh well, it wouldn't be the first time you were living somewhere illegally.

The two of them talked very loudly, almost shouting, but it didn't sound like a fight. It sounded more like enthusiasm, rising and falling, the foreign words and unfamiliar cadence. Thor stayed for several hours, keeping up their lively discussion, but you didn't once hear either of them laugh. Whatever their enthusiasm was about, it probably wasn't a cheerful thing.

You relaxed in your apartment, reading a battered old book while they hashed out whatever they were working on, making yourself a light lunch while the rain weakened and petered out. The Bifrost roared again, just as the sun struggled out of the clouds.

Not long after, you heard Loki calling for you, always as if he were right beside you. He was waiting at the table when you exited back out into his miniature kingdom, eyes bright with the exercise of thought. He waited patiently while you prepared fresh tea for him, and mixed it with his medicine, drinking it without complaint. Thor's Alpha scent hung around the place, somehow harsher than Loki's. You were tempted to dampen it with a scented spray, but you knew Loki didn't like them. 'Stinking, chemical concoctions' he called them.

You did chores around the penthouse, as he went over the contents of a notebook. You knew his medicine was taking effect when he suddenly started talking.

“How do you feel about this building?” he asked abruptly, shoving the notebook at you.

“How do I feel about it? Uh, well, let me see.” You took the notebook, full of runes and sketches. The sketch of the house Loki indicated appeared to you like a man-made hill, a cluster of little domes around a large dome, with no windows but several doors. It had a vintage science fiction kind of look, as if someone had designed a Hobbit hole for the far future.

“It's cute.” you said. “Looks like some kind of earth house?”

“Not quite.” he said, smug amusement coloring his voice. “Would you live in such a house?”

“Sure, I'd live in any kind of house. A house is a house, and I'm never gonna be picky about that. I do wonder about the inside lighting, since there's no windows.” “Oh, it would be lit by magic. Magic light it so easy to make that many forms of magic create light as a by-product! It would be bright as day on the inside. There could be no windows, because the structure would be partially underground, and the outside walls would be about nine feet thick.”

“Wow. I knew earthworks need thick walls, but that seems like kind of a lot.”

“But would you still live in such a home?”

“Well yeah. Still a house, after all. Look, I know you're high as a kite right now, but this is about something, isn't it? Is it what Thor was here to talk about?” “Insolent thing. I'm not that high. Am I? No, of course not. But yes, this is about our meeting this morning. Twice has my brother come bearing distressing news about the future of Asgard, and this time, we began planning. These houses are a part of it.”

“Is something wrong with Asgard? Are you guys gonna be okay?”

“Oh yes, we will be fine. I foresaw something like this happening, and my brother's pride is sorely bruised, but our people are in no danger. You see, the government of Canada set aside some land for Asgard to settle upon-a handful of islands off the coast of the larger island of Nova Scotia. This seemed quite generous at first, and quite in line with the kindliness that country is famed for. I could have told Thor that it would prove somehow false. If not humanity itself, then the governing bodies of humanity certainly are the least trustworthy things in this whole great galaxy.”

“What did they do?” you asked. “Are they trying to bilk you? Make you pay for it all? Force you into debt?”

“No, no. They gave us the land so that the native peoples they stole it from could never get it back. Settler's laws, or some such.”

“That's awful!” The disillusionment led straight to disgust, and no small amount of disappointment. Because Canada did seem so nice, and maybe it was just a form of American wish fulfillment to believe that Canada was somehow 'better' than the States. But realistically, both countries had been formed in the same way: European settlers sweeping from one coast to the other. And the only way it seemed that they knew how to do that was to smash their way through whoever was between the Here, and the There.

“Indeed.” Loki sneered. “Thor is enraged at the sheer ingratitude. Many times he has been involved in the protection of your backwater globe, and these fools seek to use him as a pawn. I may occasionally want to stab his face off, but he is still a god, and we are all of us above the petty greed and power games that humans play against one another.”

“What are you going to do?”

“It's very simple. We are going to secure the land, build a legal cage so tight that it cannot be taken away, make it ours completely, and without question. Then, when we have gathered the necessary supplies, we will turn the land over to the people it was stolen from, and Asgard will leave. We will invite them to live among us in the interim, and likely leave a small garrison behind to guard against Canadian invasion.”

“Ha!” you burst out. “Good! Fuck those guys! But where is Asgard going to go then? I can't think of anyplace that isn't already full of people. Except maybe Antarctica? It'd be pretty hard to live there though.”

“Asgard has the technology to make practically any rock a paradise.” Loki bragged. “But we will not be moving to Antarctica, no. We will not remain on Earth. No, Earth had it's chance, and chose betrayal. We will be moving to the planet you call Mars.”

“What? Mars? Like Mars, Mars?” you sat, shocked, the notebook in your lap. “You can't just...”

Loki silenced you with a thin, smug smile.

“Whyever not?” he asked. “Who lives there? What lives there? Nothing, and no one. We would not be pushing anybody out of their homelands, nor posing a danger to any ecosystem. There is nothing there but remote controlled toys. No one has claim over it. I know there is at least one fool who fancies himself a genius, and has convinced many that he owns the place, but how is he going to get there? In one of his constantly exploding vehicles? No, Earth has no power over Mars, and soon it will be ours. We are the ones who can make it a livable land. Humans simply don't have the technology or experience. Can you harness Bifrost energy to get the core and mantle moving again, to create a magnetic field? You do not. Can you live safely on the surface for long enough to get anything done? You cannot. In fact, for humans to be safe on Mars, you would have to hide behind around nine feet of Martian soil.”

“Nine-like the house? That design is for a Mars house?”

“Clever thing. Yes, it is for a Mars house. Part of a community partially above and partially below ground, connected by buried roadways. A city adapted to the planets unique characteristics. We will alter the landscape, reignite the magnetic field, cleanse the soil of radiation, perhaps use that as a secondary energy source for a while. The planet is rich in water: this whole system is so rich in resources that it would absolutely be under attack at all times if more people knew about it.

But you have us now. We know how to render empty planets useful. Once we have made Mars into our new Asgard, we will turn our eyes to the great potential of the one you call Venus.”

“You're gonna take Venus too?” you exclaimed.

“Take? Again, who owns it? No one. There is no one to take it from. Imagine thinking that just because you see something, just because you name it, that somehow means you own it. No one lives there, and there are no habitats to destroy, so why does this offend you so?”

You couldn't really answer. Everything he had said was true. And yet, you still somehow felt a sort of proprietary nebulous collective ownership over the planetary system that was your species only home.

“Do you feel entitled to the asteroids as well? The comets? The moons and atmospheres of the giant planets? The very dust of the stellar cloud? Your species once shared this backwater world with multiple other human species, but now that you are the only ones left, you've forgotten how to share with anyone.”

“Is it sharing? You can travel around better than we can. Will there be anything left by the time we're able to travel like you?”

He chuckled, the condescension like a thick layer of butter over bread.

“Oh, I understand now. You're so used to the overarching greed and cruelty of your own people, that you can't imagine that we could be any different. We aren't going to lock you little humans away from Mars, or Venus, or any other place. Indeed, why do you think we've been studying how thick a wall is needed for human safety on Mars? It is all but certain that humans and Asgardians will live side by side throughout this star system. You will join us sooner or later. It is inevitable. The instant the perceived challenge is issued, your desiccated space programs will flare back to life. You humans are incredibly competitive, though in a different way than Asgardians. We are more individual, but you drift towards teams. It will be interesting to see how the competition plays out.”

“You're looking forward to this?” you asked.

“I am counting on it.” he said. “Now, do you think that house would be big enough for you? It will be roughly three times the size of your current apartment, and partially underground. Would that bother you? Would you need more space?”

The notebook slipped to the floor. “You can't mean...” you whispered.

“Give it some thought. It won't be for a while yet, but I'm pretty sure it will be within your lifetime. Would you like to be the first human on Mars? Beat that so-called genius to the red planet? See us kickstart the world?”

It was a fantastic dream. Impossible. Completely impossible. But could you? “I-I don't know...”

“Think on it. But for now, I think this medicine is making me weary. I am losing track of time and thought. Take me to the window, and sit with me there.”

You did, making yourself comfortable on your special cushion, as he rambled about Asgardian building techniques, methods of energy storage, and how to contain oxygen in their hypothetical underground cities while working on building a sustainable atmosphere. He talked about Mars as if it were no more than a challenge, explaining all the resources that made the planet such a likely candidate for the transformation process. How they could alter the thin atmosphere with Thor's power to create ozone, split molecules to create oxygen, how to decontaminate irradiated soil, and even enrich it with naturally occurring resources. You didn't understand much of it, but the gist was that they had done this before, and only lacked the resources to build the tools they needed. As soon as they had that, there were no limits. According to Loki, it could all be done very fast.

And he was very fixated on the idea of you coming with him, seemed to have a very romanticized view of the human drive to explore. In some ways, he wasn't wrong. The thought of being the first human to travel to the red planet, to walk on its surface, to live there-it was thrilling. It was a dream humankind had harbored for a long time.

On the other hand, as far as you understood, Mars was kind of a shithole.

Yes, Loki claimed that his people could change that, prattling on about groves, and grasslands, and even tropics. He was also high. He could just as easily be talking nonsense.

Atmosphere notwithstanding, Mars was farther from the sun than Earth was. Wouldn't it always be colder? You could envision, after a lot of work and change, the planet hosting the kinds of things that grew in Siberia maybe. Lichens and short, scrubby grasses, possibly even conifers. Maybe seaweed, in the great seas and lakes he described the icecaps filling up.

But delicate tropical flowers, and big, soft fruits, and plants that needed three hundred days of strong sun and sweltering temperatures to thrive? No way. Better to leave the jungles to Venus.

Which was apparently part of the plan. The thinning of the atmosphere of Venus, would contribute to the thickening of the atmosphere of Mars. It involved even more technobabble that you couldn't grasp, but Loki was very sure about the viability of transferring resources throughout the solar system. From atmosphere, to water, to metals, to trace elements, Asgardians apparently knew how to do it all. It almost made you believe it.

Loki babbled like a bird all through dinner and the evening, and you were almost glad to be sent off the warm his bed. Your brain was exhausted, but he was as energetic as ever.

Stripped of your uniform, you snuggled into his luxurious bed, still trying to resolve the image of Loki-lover of opulent baths, rich clothing, and indulgent bedding-with that of an excited, daring, and rough living pioneer. You drifted off to a daydream of him, in a pith helmet and beige jodhpurs, standing majestically in a jeep that kicked up the Martian dust behind it...

                                                                               ******

...And awoke to Loki sniffing your hair.

He was pressed all alongside you, snuggled up with an arm thrown over your waist. And he was sniffing your hair.

He must have noticed a change in your breathing or physical pliancy, because he withdrew his arm immediately.

“Ah.” he whispered. “The jig is up, as they say.”

You scooted quickly away from him.

“What the hell do you think you're doing?” you demanded.

“Forgive me.” he said, yawning. “You just seemed so peaceful. I thought it a shame to wake you.”

“Did you turn off my alarm?”

He had the grace to look mildly ashamed.

“That...might have happened.”

“And there was nothing you could do but try to cop a feel?”

“I prefer to think of it as a friendly cuddle.”

“Well don't! Don't think you can just do whatever you want with me!”

“I shan't, I promise. As your master, I promise, I will not again overstep the bounds of our agreement. As my servant, I ask your trust.”

“...Maybe tomorrow.”

Face burning fiercely, you exited the bed, and hurried for the door. Your clothing was on the other side of the bed-the other side of Loki. In the dark, he might or might not getting a good look at your underwear clad rear, depending on how well Asgardians could see in the dark, so you booked it out of his room, across the hall, and into yours before he could say anything.

You threw yourself onto your futon, huddled down in your nice new blankets, and shivered. Your trust? He asked for your trust? He asked you to leave everything you knew, your whole world, to walk the distant sands of Mars? Something you couldn't even safely do until the planet had been transformed? He dared to lure you into a false sense of security in his sweet-smelling bed, and then ask for your trust? How much of your life were you willing to give?