#i think i'm like... halfway through the book but this is what stuck out and what i remember for a fact about the book

[they-didnt-last]

anyone interested in talking about the iconic 2000's middle-grade-bordering-on-ya book series gallagher girls??

[sassysnowperson]

How Not to Read Terry Pratchett's Discworld Novels

With the very exciting fantasy books poll bracket going on Discworld and how to read it is in the zeitgeist again. I figured I would take a crack at adding to this important topic with a guide drawn from my own chaotic mess of a reading journey:

Learn that Terry Pratchett is a fantasy author that several people whose reading taste you admire enjoy. He apparently blends comedy, good plotting, and a world that is both grounded and satirical and you're a big fan of all those things.

Fabulous! Decide to read some of his work.

Go to your local library. Love a good library. You're new to the area, so you're also exploring the library for the first time, too.

You have found Terry Pratchett! Points to you! Pull a book off the shelf at random. It's called The Dark Side of the Sun.

Start reading. Realize that this feels more like sci-fi than fantasy. Sigh in smug superiority about people who get the two confused.

Realize about halfway through that this is not, in fact, a Discworld book.

Nobody warned you the guy wrote other things!

It's still good, tho. Maybe a little rough but this was an older book and the author clearly has potential. Let's try again.

Review his works. The vast majority are Discworld. You are highly unlikely to grab another non-Discworld book. Go back to the Terry Pratchett section of the library.

Oh hey he wrote a book with Neil Gaiman! You've hears of that guy!

Grab Good Omens off the shelf.

Take it home, realize, much sooner, that this is also not a Discworld book. Still enjoy yourself thoroughly. You should read more of this Gaiman dude, too.

But okay. For real this time. Go back to the library and don't leave without *CONFIRMING* you have a Discworld book this time.

Grab a book. Look at the cover. Read the back Discworld! Ha HA! You've done it!

It's called Thud.

You are utterly gripped by a story of a man wrestling with himself, his growing child, the political tensions of a city and extremism that echoes reality beautifully while still being entirely true to itself. It's a story of responsibility and love and building communities and Fantasy Chess. You are driven nearly to tears by the sentence *WHERE IS MY COW?*

You emerge from the book fundamentally changed as a person, and finally understanding what all the fuss is about. You are now a Terry Pratchett reader for life.

You realize Thud was in the middle of a series. That was a part of another series. That explains why there was a feeling that you were supposed to know some of these people already.

You finally find one of those flowcharts and figure out a more sensible reading order.

I always sort of laugh when people ask where to start reading Discworld, because Thud would be first on absolutely nobody's sensible Terry Pratchett reading order. I'm still tempted to recommend it though!

(My actual advice: Going Postal if you love con men being stuck doing the right thing, Wee Free Men if you like YA and smart angry girls owning their own power, Guards! Guards! *and* Men at Arms if you like crime shows with heart and are okay giving earlier work a try (the quality gets better and better, but I think it needs at least two books to get you into it), and Monstrous Regiment if you like gender and queer feelings, anti-war books told in the middle of a war, and/or would prefer a stand alone novel...and, you know, Thud if you want a great read and don't mind some chaos.)

[apollabarnes]

part one // part two // part three // part four // part five

"i slept with evan."

tommy's staring at the table so he doesn't have to look at her, but he knows athena heard him when she stops drinking her milkshake. he winces suddenly. bobby is like evan's dad and athena is married to the guy that's practically evan's dad. this is probably crossing a line. it's too late to take it back now.

"and?"

"and what?"

"how'd it go?" athena blinks at him once, slowly.

tommy wrestles the urge to bolt back under his ribs and grips his coffee cup a little tighter in both hands. "i'm having my post-shift breakfast with you," tommy says, bitchy and grumpy and happy to take it out on the person closest to him. he wrinkles his nose. it's not athena's fault he's a fucking idiot. "sorry. not great."

she arches an eyebrow in disbelief and tommy chokes.

"um, i mean, that part was. fine?" he can hear his voice arcing up into a question and regrets whatever impulse had him open his mouth in the first place.

"are you asking me or telling me?"

tommy catches the smug little grin at the corner of her mouth as athena takes an obnoxious sip of her milkshake, the straw rattling against the bottom of her glass.

jesus. "why didn't you tell me maddie got kidnapped?" tommy asks instead. they have a thing about not talking about evan, but this seems like the kind of thing you break the rules for.

"tommy, a detective turned out to be a serial killer and kidnapped a dispatcher," athena drawls, picking at her fruit salad, "excuse me for thinking you'd already heard about it."

that brings tommy up short. he has heard about that, but no one he'd talked to knew who the dispatcher was. he should have known. it's so crazy it could only have happened to the 118, and there's only one dispatcher attached to them.

that explains why howie's been distant the last few weeks.

"how do you even deal with that?"

"i put a tracker in bobby's arm."

he's… shit. he can't tell if athena is serious or not.

"sounds like you both had a chance to catch up before you caught up."

"i regret this entire conversation," tommy tells her, slouching lower in the booth.

"you started it, i'm just being a supportive friend."

"how are may and darius doing? he's moving in soon, right?"

"they're just fine, and that attempted redirect was blatantly obvious. you're lucky you're not in my line of work."

"i fucked it up," tommy says, shrugging and glancing out the window.

"i assumed if it went well there would be at least two more people at this table," athena says finally, and tommy sags like his strings have been cut. he presses the heels of his hands against his eyes, blinking furiously.

"ah, shit. fuck." everything is hot and prickly behind his hands and he knows he's about to cry. "damnit."

athena gives him a minute and tommy could kiss her for it. "deep breath," she says finally, sliding a glass of water in front of him. her hand is tight on the back of his neck, keeping him grounded.

"i'm okay."

athena ignores the blatant lie. "give me your keys, i'll drive you home."

discretion's the better part of valour, so tommy doesn't argue. he digs his keys out of his pocket, handing them over. athena puts on some low jazz and follows tommy's croaked directions home.

athena looks around his house and tommy wonders what she sees. tidy, spartan, the only things out of place are the things that evan left behind. he's never going to read a history on the barrel riders of niagara falls, but evan had been almost halfway through. tommy's stuck a bookmark in it and closed it, but it's still in the middle of the kitchen table. who the fuck leaves a book there. tommy blinks, looking up at the ceiling.

athena putters around the kitchen, starting the kettle and digging through tommy's cupboards until she finds the tea, making them both a cup. "i'm not about to break any confidences," she says, sitting down across from him. "but i know that whatever happened, it was on the both of you. not just you, not just him."

[pandora-writes-one-piece]

Hello!!

I really enjoy and look forward to your works!! I'm always excited when i get a notification of yours jaja.

My friend and I are planning on beginning a fanfiction of our own. I was wondering if you could give any tips on the writing process or maybe things you wish someone had told you when you had started.

I hope you're having a lovely day!!!!

Hello @frizzothehobbit thank you so, so much for the wonderful ask! I've been thinking about this, and I wanted to consider it properly before I answered, because there's so much to talk about regarding this subject. But I can't be thinking about this for all eternity, so here it is, my answer!

First off, I feel like a dinosaur because I started writing fanfiction more than 20 years ago... dear lord, I'm ancient! And if everything feels daunting when starting out, it's because it is! But it doesn't really have to be. Why, you ask? Because if you've decided to write fanfiction, there's already passion behind your intentions, and that is SO important! So, first off, and everybody's favourite:

WRITE WHAT YOU WANT!

Which is basically the same as saying: write for yourself. And as overused as this expression is, it's still true. Obviously we, authors, thrive on comments and feedback: it makes us grow! - And when I say this I'm not just talking about positive feedback, but constructive feedback! - But if you write what you want and love it, you're already halfway to writing a good story. Next:

INVEST SOME TIME IN YOUR STORY!

We, as authors, all wrote (and will write) drabbles at one time or another. Or mindless one-shots that we just needed to get out of our heads and onto the page. It's sooo valid. But my advice if you want to write a longer story: plan it! It helps avoid the 'oh-so-dreaded' plot holes (and this is actual advice I would have loved when I started... it would have saved me a lot of unfinished fics!) And of course, no two people plan the story the same way. I, for one, just think it through in my head (mostly in the shower, before falling asleep or doing mindless tasks such as cleaning), but I know other authors who plan every chapter and every step of the way so, here's another one:

FIND WHAT WORKS FOR YOU!

Be it in storytelling (first person, past tense, present tense, different POVs...), in planning (plan every single detail, just plan the direction of the story or don't plan at all...) or in deciding how much of a canon character are you willing to change. And this brings me to another point:

DON'T BE SCARED TO WRITE OUT OF CHARACTER!

Nobody is going to crucify you for that! It's fanfiction, people, it's not a history paper or a thesis. If you find yourself constantly thinking about this, you'll always doubt your work, so try to avoid dwelling on it, if possible.

CHECK FOR TYPOS

Mistakes are going to happen. You just can't avoid them. Unless you find yourself a Beta (and even then, it happens!). Typos, grammar and spelling mistakes fly by us authors when we're excited about our storytelling, so re-read what you wrote as many times as you want/need! I know I must have my fair share of mistakes (alas, I apologise for English not being my native language in every fiction I write), but I re-read my chapters a lot of times (I'm not even going to say how many - it's unhealthy!) and trust me, it shows if you don't give your story at least a good thorough read! Speaking of reading...

READ! READ! READ! READ A LOT!

Devour books, fanfiction, papers... whatever you can get your hands on. It's another cliché when it comes to writing tips, but it's overused for a reason. Reading a lot helps build a great vocabulary! And it helps you avoid annoying repetitions... Which brings me to another awesome tip:

USE A THESAURUS!

Suuuuuuuch a big help! Especialy when you're not a native speaker! Sometimes I find myself so stuck on a word that a thesaurus truly saves my life! Also:

DON'T BE AFRAID TO EDIT!

The scene isn't turning out the way you wanted it? CUT IT! It doesn't move the story forward? CUT IT! It doesn't fit the character? CUT IT! I've cut entire 1k+ scenes from some of my fanfictions because they made the story take a turn that I didn't like! Which brings me to another important tip:

LET THE CHARACTERS DO THEIR THING!

Sometimes your character just runs away from you and starts doing stupid shit. It's a known fact amongst all authors. Just let them be. Run with it. If the scene doesn't suit the story (say it with me...) CUT IT! But I've found so many times that the best plots in my stories come from characters who just decided they didn't give a flying f**k about me and went rogue! Last but not least (and because this is becoming a thesis in itself):

DON'T BE DISAPPOINTED!

Not all fics get comments. Not all fics get a lot of views. Not everyone who reads and likes, will comment. It's alright. We authors are used to it. And although it's a known fact that many authors have praise kinks (me included), and love to know people read and like their stories, don't expect too much and you won't be disappointed.

I really didn't want to end on that sad note, and maybe some people will disagree with me, but it's astounding how big the difference is between views and likes (or kudos on AO3) and comments. #CommentsMatter!

Also, and here's an extra:

DON'T COMPARE YOURSELF TO OTHERS!

We all have favourite authors, and we all wish we could write like someone we idealize (Oh, Edgar Allan Poe, how I adore thee!), but it's not fair to compare yourself to another author. You're not more or less than another writer! YOU'RE YOU! And that's already awesome!

Oof... maybe I could have gone on longer than this... maybe I could've added more tips. But this is what I thought of, and I do hope you, and other people, find them somewhat helpful! Thank you again for the wonderful ask!

Love you! ❤️

PS: Engage with the community! Not only is it heartwarming, comforting, and rewarding, but as a commenter myself, I love having little debates with authors about why they wrote a scene in a specific way, or what they have in mind for what's coming next! Whatever it is, I guarantee you'll have a good time!

[estellan0vella]

Absolutely Fucking Perfectly Imperfect: L.F Lee Felix x fem!reader (College AU)

WC: 10.9K

CW: Guns, robbery, Felix uses the word cunt, inappropriate reactions in the face of danger

General Masterlist SKZ Masterlist Part I

The room is steeped in the low thrum of Felix's game. A constant, chaotic melody of clacks, pings, and loud swearing. His three monitors shift between shades of brilliant neon, painting the walls with flickers of pink, green, and blue. Felix is leaning forward in his chair, elbows braced on his desk, the hood of his oversized sweatshirt falling halfway off his head. His messy blonde hair sticks out at odd angles and his jaw tightens as he glares at the screen.

"You absolute blind fuckwit," he growls into his headset, his Australian accent sharp with irritation. "I pinged the gank five fucking times! What do you cunts even do when you play? Draw fucking pictures?"

The venom in his words makes you snort softly, but you quickly press a hand over your mouth to stifle the sound. You're sprawled across his bed, one leg hooked under you while the other bounces idly in time with the lo-fi beats playing softly from your phone. Your paramedic science textbook is open in front of you, drowning in sticky notes and highlights, and yet you've barely absorbed a single sentence in the past fifteen minutes.

Felix slams his mouse against the pad, his free hand running through his hair as he mutters to himself. "Goddamn trolls. How the fuck am I still stuck with people like this?"

You bite your lip, trying desperately to keep your focus on the diagram in your book. But when Felix groans, loud, dramatic, and utterly exasperated, it's impossible to hold back the laugh bubbling in your chest.

"You're not fucking slick, sweetheart," Felix says, his voice cutting through the space without warning. He doesn't even glance your way, still hammering keys with laser-sharp precision. "I can hear you giggling."

You glance up from your textbook, feigning innocence. "Me? Laughing? At you losing? Never."

"Bullshit," he shoots back, finally pulling one ear of his headset off and swivelling in his chair to look at you. The glow from his monitors casts soft shadows across his freckled face, highlighting the sharp line of his jaw and the mischievous tilt of his grin. "You live for my fuck-ups. Admit it."

You raise an eyebrow, sitting up straighter. "I live for many things, Felix, but your decade-long inability to climb out of bronze isn't one of them."

Felix's eyes narrow, his grin widening. "Oh, you're fucking bold tonight, aren't you?" He spins back to his screen as another ping echoes from the game. "Just remember, sweetheart, payback's a fucking bitch."

You snicker, flipping a page in your book with deliberate slowness. "I'm not worried. You're too busy getting carried by your teammates to ever come up with anything clever."

"That's rich," he fires back immediately. "Coming from someone who cried over her med math assignment last week."

Your mouth drops open in mock offence, a highlighter frozen mid-air. "I did not cry. I had a moment of academic distress."

Felix laughs at that, the sound loud and warm, cutting through the tense clicks of his keyboard. "Right, sure. You were so distressed you fucking threw your pen across the room and yelled, 'Fuck it, I'll just die.' Real professional of you, future paramedic."

You chuck a pillow at him without thinking, laughing when it bounces harmlessly off his back. "Eat shit, Lix."

"Gladly," he shoots back, not missing a beat. "But only if you're cooking."

"Oh, fuck off," you retort, biting back a grin. "I wouldn't trust you to boil an egg without setting the kitchen on fire."

"I'm insulted," Felix says, slouching back in his chair as the death screen flashes across his monitors. He peeks at you over his shoulder, an exaggerated pout on his face. "You've eaten my fucking food, Y/N. Tell me it's not amazing. Go on."

"It's okay," you say, shrugging nonchalantly as you highlight another passage in your textbook. "Like, solid six out of ten. Very edible."

Felix gasps, spinning his chair around to fully face you, his hands flying to his chest in mock betrayal. "Six out of fucking ten? Are you kidding me? You fucking licked the plate last time I made pasta!"

"You're delusional," you say, fighting a laugh as you flip another page. "Maybe I was just really hungry."

Felix leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees, his grin sharp and unrelenting. "You talk so much shit for someone who can't even scramble eggs without making them look like roadkill."

Your jaw drops again, this time with genuine indignation. "Okay, fuck you, those eggs were fine. Rustic, even."

"Rustic?" Felix repeats, his laughter spilling out before he can stop it. "They were burnt. I had to scrape them off the pan with a fucking chisel."

"Fuck off," you mutter, but you're smiling, the textbook in front of you momentarily forgotten. "At least I can make coffee without putting half a kilo of sugar in it."

"First of all," Felix says, holding up a finger, "I put exactly the right amount of sugar. Second, that's fucking rich coming from someone who adds four sugars to hers and then drinks it like it's a health tonic."

You open your mouth to argue, but he cuts you off with a smug grin. "Yeah, sweetheart, I fucking count."

You glare at him. "You're the fucking worst."

"You love it," Felix says smoothly, leaning back in his chair and spinning slightly, his grin turning softer as he watches you pick up your highlighter again.

"Debatable," you mutter.

For a moment, the room falls into a comfortable silence, broken only by the faint hum of Felix's PC and the soft rustling of pages as you flip through your textbook. Felix glances over at you occasionally, a small smile tugging at his lips as he watches you scribble notes in the margins.

"You know," he says eventually, his voice quieter now, almost tentative, "you look kinda cute when you're all focused like that."

You glance up, surprised, and find him watching you with an expression that's softer than usual, his teasing grin replaced with something more genuine. The glow from his monitors cast warm shadows across his freckled cheeks, and you feel your heart stutter at the sight.

"Don't be fucking mushy," you mumble, burying your face back in your book.

Felix laughs, soft and low, his chair creaking as he leans back lazily. "Fine. I'll save it for when you're crying over your next quiz."

"Fuck off, Felix."

"You're so fucking cute when you're mad."

You're elbow-deep in your notes, eyes scanning a particularly dense passage about hemorrhagic shock, when Felix lets out a groan loud enough to rattle the walls. His voice is full of pure, unfiltered frustration as he slams a hand onto his desk.

You glance up and it's almost comical how over-the-top his expression is. Head tilted back, eyes shut, like the world has personally wronged him.

"For fuck's sake," he mutters, dragging a hand down his face. The League of Legends screen vanishes from his screen with a decisive click, the rage-quit both swift and inevitable. He swivels his chair slightly, his freckled face twisted in a mix of defeat and irritation.

"Done with your self-imposed torture?" you ask, leaning back against the wall behind Felix's bed.

Stretching your arms overhead, you feel the hem of your black lace-trimmed camisole ride up slightly, and you tug it down absentmindedly. Felix's gaze flickers toward you at the movement, but he quickly turns back to his screen, pulling up another game launcher.

"Fuck League," he huffs, opening Call of Duty with a few sharp clicks. The new interface floods the room with aggressive reds and blacks. "Let's play something where I can actually ruin other people's days."

You smirk, tapping your pen idly against your notebook. "You mean something where you let other people ruin yours?"

"Oi," he snaps, spinning his chair to point an accusatory finger at you, but the grin tugging at the corner of his lips betrays him. "Shut the fuck up. You don't get to talk when you're the one who cried over a fucking dosage calculation last week."

"I didn't cry," you shoot back, glaring at him. "I had a moment. And don't deflect, we're talking about your fragile gamer ego right now, not my future as a paramedic."

"Fragile?" Felix snorts as he throws on his headset, the mic resting against his cheek. "Sweetheart, I'm about to emotionally destroy some poor cunt in a CoD lobby. You're about to see mental fortitude at its finest."

"Oh, this I have to see." You close your textbook with a snap, crawling to the edge of the bed to get a better view. Felix raises an eyebrow at your movement, his grin widening.

"Come here," he says, patting his thigh with one hand while the other adjusts his mouse sensitivity. "Sit in my lap and listen to me eviscerate these dickless pricks."

You roll your eyes, but the grin you try to suppress betrays you. "You're a fucking idiot," you mutter, standing up and crossing the short distance to his chair. "You know that, right?"

"Yup," he says cheerfully, grabbing your waist as you climb into his lap and his arm wraps around you like it belongs there, securing you against him. "But I'm your idiot."

"Unfortunately," you mutter, but you're smiling as you settle into him, your legs dangling off one side of the chair. Felix's fingers fly over the keyboard as he queues into a match, his in-game mic already unmuted.

The game loads, and almost immediately, Felix's shit-talking begins. "Oi, you camping piece of shit!" he shouts gleefully as he sprints across the map, his character firing wildly. "You gonna spend the whole fucking match in that corner, or are you gonna grow a pair and actually play the fucking game?"

You laugh before you can stop yourself, the sound light and genuine. Felix's grip on your waist tightens slightly as he leans back, turning his head just enough to smirk at you. "What's so funny?"

"You're deranged," you say, shaking your head. "It's just a game."

"It's not just a game," he retorts, spinning back to face his screen. His tone is dramatic, dripping with mock sincerity. "It's about principle. I will not let this dipshit out-insult me. Watch and fucking learn."

You nestle closer, resting your chin on his shoulder as the match kicks into full gear. Felix's hands are a blur on the keyboard and mouse, his voice rising above the chaos of explosions and gunfire. "Oi, you fucking rat bastard! How about you aim for once in your goddamn life, you useless cunt?"

The other player doesn't miss a beat, his crackly voice shooting back through Felix's headset. "Says the guy who sounds like he's 12 and still jerks off to hentai."

Felix barks a laugh, sharp and incredulous, his arm tightening around you. "Hentai? Bro, how about you crawl out of your mom's basement and maybe speak to a woman for once, you dickless clown?"

You burst out laughing, burying your face in Felix's shoulder to muffle the sound. His shit-eating grin only grows wider as he continues. "Yeah, you hear that? That's the sound of a woman's laugh, mate. I know you wouldn't recognize it, but that's what it fucking sounds like."

The other player falters, and Felix pounces on the silence like a predator. "What, got nothing to say now? That's what I fucking thought. Bitchless loser."

You're practically crying at this point, clutching at Felix's hoodie as your laughter spills out uncontrollably. "Oh my fucking God," you manage between gasps. "You're insane."

Felix chuckles, clearly pleased with himself. "And you fucking love it."

"I do not," you shoot back, though the warmth in your tone betrays you. "You're a menace."

"Yeah," Felix says, leaning back slightly as his character reloads. "But I'm your menace."

The other player finally speaks again, his voice wavering with frustration. "Whatever, man. You're fucking dogshit at this game."

Felix snorts, aiming down sights and taking the guy out with a single headshot. "Dogshit, huh? That's funny, coming from someone I just fucking clapped, you silly cunt."

You shake your head, still laughing as Felix adjusts his grip on you, his cheek brushing against yours. "You're the worst."

"And yet," he says, his voice dropping to a teasing murmur, "you're still here."

You glance at him, and for a brief moment, the chaos of the game fades into the background. His dark eyes meet yours, full of mischief and something softer, and your heart stumbles over itself.

"Shut the fuck up," you mutter, looking away quickly, but the smile tugging at your lips is impossible to hide.

Felix laughs, low and warm, and you feel the vibrations of it through his chest. "Whatever you say, sweetheart. Now, let me go ruin someone else's day."

A familiar voice cuts through the channel. "Felix, you absolute cockwaffle, why the fuck are you yelling at strangers again? I can hear you down the fucking hallway."

Felix groans audibly, leaning his head back against the chair in a dramatic display of exasperation. "Jisung, what the fuck do you want?"

Jisung's laugh crackles through the headset, bright and unrelenting. "Just wanted to check in on my favourite blond bitch and remind you that you're dogshit at this game. Like, the kind of dogshit covered in flies and left to bake on hot pavement."

Felix's entire body stiffens, his character spinning wildly on the screen as he slams his fingers against the keyboard. "You silver-haired dick, I will walk down the hall and fight you right fucking now."

Jisung doesn't miss a beat. "Do it. You won't, you spineless sack of kangaroo shit."

"I fucking will," Felix growls, his free hand tightening slightly on your waist. The motion makes you glance up at him, amused. "Or better yet, I'll send Y/N to fight you."

"No fucking way," you chime in, leaning your cheek against Felix's shoulder as you observe the escalating chaos. "I already spend too much time patching up Jisung. Why the fuck would I make more work for myself?"

"That's valid," Jisung says immediately. "See? Y/N's on my side."

Felix turns his head slightly, just enough to send you a mock glare. "She's not on shit, mate. She's just smarter than to waste her energy on a little gremlin like you."

"You blond fuck," Jisung snaps, his voice rising in indignation. "You're the gremlin here! I swear to God, if you call me that again-"

"What?" Felix interrupts, his tone full of fake concern. "What are you gonna do, huh? Cry about it? Piss your pants, maybe? Shit and cum? I'll send you a fucking diaper, Jisung. Express delivery to your room."

"Oh, you absolute wanker," Jisung fires back. "When's the last time you even fucking did laundry, Felix? Your room probably smells like a mix of week-old pizza, gamer sweat, and poor life choices."

"Oh, fuck all the way off," Felix snaps, though he's grinning widely. His hand flies to the mouse as he takes another shot on screen. "At least I don't dress like I raided the wardrobe of a discount backup dancer from fucking Step Up."

"Big talk coming from someone whose entire wardrobe is just oversized hoodies and sweatpants," Jisung shoots back with a laugh so loud it nearly crackles in the headset. "If it weren't for Y/N, you'd look like a fucking hermit."

Felix huffs, his fingers smashing against the keyboard as his character goes down again. "Eat my entire fucking ass, Jisung. I swear to God, if you weren't such a liability, I'd uninstall this game just so you'd be forced to suffer alone."

Jisung cackles, his voice full of smug glee. "Do it, you coward. But remember, when I kick your ass, Y/N's not saving you."

"Oh, I'm not saving either of you," you chime in, giggling as Felix mutters something under his breath about teammates being actual horse shit. His hand slides against your waist again, almost as if grounding himself, while he waits to respawn.

Jisung picks up immediately, his tone back to chaotic energy. "See, Felix? Y/N doesn't even like you."

"Shut the fuck up, Jisung. At least I don't break my toe every other month running into fucking doors."

"You blond fucker," Jisung yells back, his indignation almost comical. "You're never gonna let me live that down, are you?"

"Nope," Felix fires back, leaning forward slightly to hammer out a kill in the game. "You're a fucking hazard to yourself and everyone around you. If Darwinism were real, you'd have died out years ago. Society would have culled you for the betterment of the world"

You can't hold back your laughter anymore, leaning into Felix's shoulder as the insults continue to fly. The absurdity of their exchange, Jisung calling Felix "a gutter-dwelling kangaroo-shagger" and Felix responding with "a fucking mosquito with an inferiority complex", leaves your stomach aching from the sheer ridiculousness of it all.

By the time Felix wraps up the match, somehow pulling a win out of his ass despite the nonstop shit-talking, you're practically breathless with laughter. He yanks off his headset, tossing it onto the desk with a loud sigh of satisfaction, and leans back in his chair, pulling you back against him.

"See that?" he says, grinning smugly as he glances down at you. "Told you I could emotionally destroy those bitches."

"You're ridiculous," you reply, shaking your head even as you fight to suppress your smile. His hand rests warm and steady against your waist, his hoodie soft against your skin.

"And you fucking love it," Felix counters smoothly, his grin widening as he presses a quick, teasing kiss to your temple.

You roll your eyes but let the moment linger, warmth blooming in your chest as Jisung's voice cuts through again, indignant as ever. "Oi, Felix, you absolute fuckstain. I heard that kiss. Save the mushy shit for later, yeah?"

Felix laughs, his chest vibrating against you as he glances toward the door. "Shut the fuck up, Jisung. You're just jealous."

"Damn right, I'm jealous," Jisung shoots back. "Jealous that you're still dogshit at Call of Duty."

"Eat shit and die," Felix says, laughing as he rests his head against yours. "Fucking gremlin."

The soft hum of Felix's gaming rig dims further as his monitors finally shut off, plunging the room into a calm, muted glow from his LED strips. The clock ticks over to 4:00 AM, the hour dragging its weight into the air.

It's quieter now, the kind of silence that clings to the dead of night, thick and unrelenting. You're still perched in Felix's lap, scrolling idly through social media on your phone while his hand rests warm against your thigh. The stillness is comfortable until your stomach betrays you with a loud, unapologetic growl.

"Fucking hell," Felix mutters, breaking the silence with a groan as he nudges you off his lap. "Your stomach sounds like it's trying to summon a goddamn demon."

You shoot him a flat look as you stand, stretching your arms over your head. The hem of your black lace-trimmed camisole rides up slightly, and you catch Felix's eyes flicking down for half a second before he smirks. "It's called hunger, you dick. You wouldn't know since you've been surviving on Doritos and Monster like a fucking raccoon all night."

"That's a perfectly balanced diet, thank you very much," he retorts, leaning back in his chair and spinning lazily to face you. His hoodie is skewed from hours of sitting, the hem riding up just enough to reveal the faint lines of his abs. 

"I need food," you declare dramatically, hands on your hips like you're about to stage a protest. "Real food. Not this gamer bullshit you keep calling a balanced diet."

Felix snorts, pushing himself to his feet and grabbing his phone from the desk. "Good luck finding 'real food' at four in the fucking morning. What do you think this is, MasterChef?" He stretches his arms overhead, his hoodie lifting enough to give you another fleeting glimpse of his toned stomach. His voice pulls you back before your gaze lingers. "How about instant ramen? The convenience store is open, and ramen's practically fucking gourmet at this hour."

You don't hesitate, already grabbing your shoes. "Say less."

Felix chuckles, grabbing his sneakers from under the desk. He doesn't bother tying them, as always, the frayed laces dragging behind him like an afterthought. As he slips them on, you unlatch his window to test the air outside. A sharp gust of cold rushes in, making you shiver.

"It's fucking freezing," you mutter, pulling your arm back inside. Felix, now rummaging through his wardrobe, glances up with an amused smirk.

"No shit," He tosses a black cardigan at you, the fabric hitting you square in the face. "Here. Can't have my sweetheart freezing her ass off and bitching about it the whole way."

You roll your eyes at the nickname, but you slip the cardigan on without complaint. It's oversized, the sleeves swallowing your hands and the hem brushing the tops of your thighs, and it smells faintly of his cologne, a warm, woodsy scent that lingers comfortingly around you. "Thanks, Lix. I'd say you're a gentleman, but we both know that's a fucking lie."

"Oi," he shoots back, grabbing his keys and holding the door open for you with an exaggerated bow. "You wound me."

The hallway of the Alpha Phi house is eerily quiet, the usual chaos replaced by the occasional creak of the floorboards and the faint hum of the fridge down the hall.

Felix pulls the door shut behind him as you both tiptoe past the other guys' rooms, careful not to wake anyone. When you reach the front door, he holds it open for you as the cold night air hits you like a slap.

The walk to the convenience store is short, but the chill bites at your skin, making you huddle closer to Felix. The streets are deserted, bathed in the soft glow of streetlights, and the only sounds are the shuffle of your footsteps and the occasional rustle of leaves caught in the wind.

Felix's hand finds yours without ceremony, his fingers threading through yours with a warmth that contrasts sharply against the cold. "So," he starts, his voice casual but tinged with that mischievous lilt you know so well, "what's the game plan? Ramen? Energy drinks? Or are we going all out like the unhinged fucks we are and getting both?"

"Both, obviously," you reply, squeezing his hand for emphasis. "And chips. And chocolate. Maybe some of those prepackaged muffins too."

He snickers, pulling you closer as another gust of wind whips past. "You're gonna eat all that, feel like shit, and then somehow blame me."

"First of all," you retort, grinning up at him, "I'll feel fine. Second, I'm buying you snacks too, so maybe don't be such an ass about it."

Felix hums thoughtfully, his lips quirking up at the corner. "Alright, fair. You're forgiven."

"Oh, I'm forgiven?" you say, feigning disbelief. "Thanks so much, your majesty. Truly blessed to have your mercy."

"You're welcome, peasant," he replies smoothly, then, without warning, he spins you in a circle, his grip on your hand firm as he twirls you like a dancer mid-performance.

You let out a startled laugh, stumbling slightly as he catches you with both hands. "What the fuck, Felix?"

"Couldn't resist," he says, his grin wide and unapologetic as he tugs you back beside him. "You looked like you needed a little excitement."

"At four in the morning?" you ask, still laughing. "You're fucking insane."

"And yet," he replies, his tone smug as his hand squeezes yours again, "you're still here."

The two of you continue down the street, Felix twirling you every few steps just to hear you giggle. By the time the neon glow of the convenience store sign comes into view, your cheeks hurt from smiling, and you've threatened to shove him into a bush at least three times.

The fluorescent lights of the convenience store buzz faintly, casting a sterile glow over the shelves stocked with instant noodles, candy, and cheap energy drinks. The air smells faintly of burnt coffee and plastic, a strange but familiar comfort to you and Felix.

 It's the unspoken backdrop of your late-night snack runs, the kind of ritual that feels absurdly sacred at this hour. The automatic doors shut behind you with a quiet whoosh, and you grab one of the red plastic baskets stacked near the door.

"Alright," Felix says, clapping his hands together like a man on a mission. "Let's stock the fuck up, sweetheart. We've got a long night of doing absolutely nothing ahead of us."

You smirk, shoving the basket into his chest. "You're in charge of drinks, chef boy."

Felix salutes you mockingly before strolling to the refrigerators, his sneakers scuffing against the tiles. He doesn't even hesitate before yanking open one of the glass doors and grabbing cans of energy drinks like he's on a game show and every second counts. Red Bull, Monster, Rockstar, the classics, pile into the basket with abandon.

"Jesus fucking Christ, Lix," you mutter as he lugs the basket back toward you, the drinks rattling ominously. "You planning to die of caffeine overdose or what?"

Felix grins, his freckles dancing as he shrugs. "Fuck it. If I die, I die. At least I'll be wide fucking awake when it happens."

You roll your eyes, but your lips twitch in amusement as you grab a handful of chocolate bars and throw them into the basket. Felix matches you tit for tat, grabbing sour gummy worms, chips, and a suspiciously large bag of candy-coated chocolates. By the time you reach the ramen aisle, the basket is teetering on the brink of disaster.

"We're going spicy," Felix declares, grabbing a red-and-black packet of ramen and holding it up like a trophy. "You game?"

"Always," you reply, grabbing your own packet. The two of you quickly stock up on more, just in case the apocalypse hits and ramen is the only thing that will save you, and Felix carefully balances the new additions on top of the precarious pile in the basket.

You're halfway through debating the merits of sea salt chips versus barbecue when the automatic doors behind you whoosh open again. A loud, frantic voice booms through the store, tearing through the quiet like a gunshot.

"Everyone on the fucking floor!"

You whip around, and sure enough, there's a man standing in the doorway, a gun clenched in his shaky hands. He's wearing a black ski mask that's slightly crooked, revealing part of his sweaty face, and his body language screams desperation. The store clerk lets out a strangled yelp before diving behind the counter, leaving you and Felix standing frozen in the snack aisle.

Felix meets your gaze, his expression calm but incredulous, like he's just been inconvenienced by the universe itself. "You've got to be fucking kidding me," he mutters under his breath.

You can't help it, a disbelieving snort escapes you as you glance at the gunman, then back at Felix. "Of course this happens while we're here."

Felix sighs dramatically, setting the basket down on the floor with a deliberate thud. "Fucking typical. Can't even get some fucking ramen without some prick trying to play GTA in real life."

The gunman notices you and Felix standing there, clearly unimpressed by the gravity of the situation and waves the gun in your direction. "I said get on the fucking floor!"

You exchange a look with Felix, then slowly lower yourselves to the ground. Felix lies down with all the enthusiasm of someone forced to participate in a group project they didn't sign up for, folding his arms under his head like he's on a beach. "Of all the fucking convenience stores," he mutters under his breath, "he had to walk into this one."

You shoot him a look, biting back a laugh as you settle onto the dirty tiles. "Shut the fuck up, Felix."

"I'm just saying," he whispers, propping his chin on his hand like he's bored. "This guy couldn't pick a different store? A bank, maybe? Literally anywhere else?"

The gunman slams his fist on the counter, yelling at the clerk. "Hurry the fuck up and open the register!"

You glance toward the counter, then back at Felix, who has now rolled onto his side like he's posing for a calendar. "Do you think it's real?" he murmurs, tilting his head toward the gun.

You stifle a laugh, clamping your hand over your mouth. "Felix, shut the fuck up."

He grins, his voice dropping to a low, amused whisper. "I'm just saying, what if it's, like, a water gun? Or some shitty BB gun he got off eBay?"

You shake your head, trying to suppress the absurd giggle bubbling in your chest, but it escapes anyway. Felix shoots you a triumphant look, clearly pleased with himself.

"Oi, you two!" the gunman barks, his voice cracking with frustration. "Shut the fuck up back there!"

Felix doesn't even flinch. "Sure thing, Mr. Criminal Mastermind," he mutters under his breath, just loud enough for you to hear.

"Felix!" you hiss, your voice a mix of a scold and a laugh. "You're gonna get us killed."

He shrugs, his grin unrelenting. "Doubt it. He's all talk."

To prove Felix wrong, the guy fires a shot into the air. The deafening crack makes you flinch instinctively, your hand flying to Felix's arm. He stays completely unfazed, his expression almost bored as he mutters, "See? Terrible fucking aim."

You choke on a laugh, burying your face in your arms to muffle the sound. Felix, ever the shit-stirrer, grins like a Cheshire cat.

"Shut the fuck up back there!" the guy yells again, his voice higher now, tinged with panic.

Felix leans his head closer to yours, his voice still low and dripping with amusement. "Think he's ever been laid?"

"Felix," you whisper, biting your lip to stop another laugh. "For fuck's sake-"

"What?" he says, feigning innocence. "It's a valid question. He's got serious incel energy."

The gunman stomps toward the back of the store, still yelling at the clerk, and Felix lets out another exaggerated sigh. "Fucking rookie," he mutters, shaking his head like he's genuinely disappointed.

You glance at him, half-laughing, half-mortified. "I can't take you fucking anywhere, Lee Felix."

"And you fucking love it," he replies, his grin widening. "Now, let's see how this plays out."

The guy spins back toward you and Felix, his gun raised and pointed directly at the two of you. His posture screams tension, shoulders hunched, chest heaving, hands shaking slightly.

But you and Felix? You're fucking useless. The absurdity of the whole situation has a death grip on both of you, and neither of you can stop laughing.

"You think this is fucking funny?" the guy barks, his voice vibrating with equal parts rage and disbelief.

You're clutching Felix's hoodie sleeve as your shoulders shake. The laughter bubbles uncontrollably out of your chest, your face pressed into Felix's arm in a desperate attempt to muffle the sound. Felix isn't helping. He's snickering like a teenager in church, his lips twitching upward every time he glances at the guy.

"Funniest shit I've seen all week," Felix mutters, wiping at his eyes like he's genuinely emotional about the comedy of it all.

"Stand the fuck up!" The guy waves his gun wildly at you, his voice cracking as he shouts.

Felix lets out a long-suffering sigh, tilting his head back as though this is the greatest inconvenience of his life. "Alright, alright, keep your fucking panties on," he mutters, nudging you gently with his shoulder. "C'mon, sweetheart. We wouldn't wanna upset Mr. Very Serious Crime Guy."

You both get to your feet, but the laughter doesn't stop. It's fucking ridiculous, and neither of you can find it in yourselves to take this seriously. not when Felix's mouth is twitching like he's fighting back the punchline to a bad joke.

The guy points his gun directly at Felix now, his knuckles white against the grip. "You wanna get shot, pretty boy?"

Felix blinks at him, utterly unfazed. "Not particularly, but thanks for the offer. Generous of you."

The sound that escapes you is half-snort, half-laugh, and you slap a hand over your mouth immediately. The guy's eyes snap to you, his glare sharp enough to cut glass, but you can't stop the way the giggles keep bubbling out of your throat.

"You're really leaning into this whole 'angry criminal' vibe, huh?" Felix says, tilting his head at the guy. His tone is light, conversational, like they're discussing the weather. "Bit cliché, though, don't you think?"

"What the fuck are you on about?" The guy's voice is rising now, his frustration palpable.

"Oh, you know," Felix says, gesturing vaguely toward the gun with a casual flick of his wrist. "Big scary man with a weapon compensating for some deeply-rooted insecurities. Classic projection."

"What the fuck did you just say?" the guy spits, his stance bristling with barely-contained rage.

"You heard me," Felix smirks, his voice laced with mockery. "Screams small dick energy."

Your laugh bursts out of you before you can stop it, loud and breathless, and you double over slightly, gripping Felix's arm to steady yourself. Felix looks down at you, grinning like the cat that caught the canary. The guy's face, what little of it is visible beneath the ski mask, flushes an angry red.

"You little shits," the guy growls, his voice trembling with rage. "Keep running your mouths, see what happens."

"Oh no," Felix deadpans, leaning closer to you like he's letting you in on a joke. "He's threatening us, sweetheart. Whatever will we do?"

"I don't know. Maybe if we laugh hard enough, he'll rethink his life choices."

"You're fucking insane!" the guy shouts, taking a menacing step forward. His hands shake harder now, the barrel of the gun wobbling slightly as he points it between the two of you.

Felix raises an eyebrow, his grin widening. "Us? You're the one waving a gun around at four in the fucking morning. You might wanna reevaluate some things."

Before the guy can reply, there's a sudden, sharp crack from behind him. The sound echoes through the store, followed by a guttural thud as the guy stumbles forward and crashes face-first onto the dirty tile. The gun clatters to the floor, and behind him stands the cashier, gripping a battered wooden baseball bat like it's his lifeline.

The cashier's eyes are wide, his chest heaving as he stares down at the unconscious man. For a moment, no one moves. Then Felix lets out a slow clap, each exaggerated smack of his hands ringing out in the silent store.

"Fucking hell," Felix says, his tone downright cheerful. "Didn't think you had it in you. That was beautiful. Poetry in motion."

The cashier glares at him, his grip on the bat still tight. "Nice job distracting him with your dumb fucking jokes and fake giggling," he mutters. "Really helped."

"Oh no, that wasn't a distraction," Felix replies, shaking his head with a shit-eating grin. "That was one hundred percent real. Funniest fucking thing I've ever been part of."

"You're kidding," the cashier deadpans, his face a mix of exhaustion and disbelief.

"Not even a little," Felix says, grinning wider. "You're a goddamn hero, though. Iconic. Sweetheart, wasn't that iconic?"

You nod, still laughing as you lean against Felix for support. "To be fair," you say, your voice breathless, "who even robs a convenience store at four in the fucking morning? Deserved it."

The cashier stares at you both like you're clinically insane, but his shoulders sag as he lets out a heavy sigh. "You're both fucking crazy," he mutters. "Anyway, whatever you want? It's on the house. Just take it and get the fuck out of here before I have to call the cops."

Felix's eyes light up like a kid on Christmas morning. "Oh, sweetheart, you heard the man. Free shit. Quick, grab more ramen. And vodka. Lots of vodka."

"Lix," you groan, though you can't keep the laughter out of your voice. "We don't need-"

"Sweetheart," Felix interrupts, grabbing another basket with one hand and slinging his free arm around your shoulders. "This is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. You don't say no to free snacks."

You roll your eyes but let him lead the way, watching as he raids the shelves like a man on a mission. Chips, candy, booze, more energy drinks, instant ramen, it all goes into the basket with reckless abandon.

You grab a few more chocolate bars and a pack of cookies for good measure, and by the time you're done, the two of you are weighed down with enough junk food to survive a nuclear apocalypse.

"Thanks, legend," Felix says as he carries the overloaded basket to the door. "You've earned that Employee of the Month title."

The cashier doesn't even respond, too busy dialling the cops as you and Felix step out into the chilly night air. The faint wail of sirens carries in the distance, and Felix glances down at you, his grin softening slightly as he balances the bags in his hands.

"You alright, sweetheart?" he asks, his voice quieter now.

You nod, leaning into his side as you start the walk back. "Yeah. You?"

He hums thoughtfully, then smirks. "Honestly? Best fucking night of my life."

The streets are eerily silent, save for the occasional rustle of leaves in the faint breeze as you and Felix stumble your way back to the Alpha Phi frat house. The neon-lit chaos of the convenience store feels like a fever dream now, the vodka in your systems the only tangible evidence it even happened.

Both of you are giggling like fucking lunatics, swigging from your bottles with zero regard for the fact that it's nearing five in the morning. The night air bites at your exposed skin, but the vodka burns hot in your veins, a liquid fire keeping you both upright. Barely.

Felix pauses mid-step, his sneakers scraping against the pavement as he takes another long drink from his bottle. His cheeks are flushed a warm pink, and his eyes gleam with sloppy amusement as he holds up the now-almost-empty bottle like it's the fucking Holy Grail. "Fuck me, this is some good shit. Tastes better 'cause it's free."

You laugh, tipping your own bottle up for another swig. The sharp sweetness burns your throat, but it's the good kind of burn, the kind that makes everything seem a little funnier. "Cherry vodka might actually be the love of my life," you say with a contented sigh, lowering the bottle. "Sorry, Lix."

Felix gasps in mock offense, clutching his chest like you've just personally betrayed him. "Sweetheart, how could you? I thought we had something special. Something real."

"Not as real as this vodka," you tease, stumbling a little as your foot catches on a crack in the sidewalk. Felix reacts instantly, one arm looping around your waist to steady you.

"You're fucking hopeless," he mutters, grinning as he tugs you closer to his side. "You fall for vodka faster than you fall for me. What the fuck is that about?"

"It's vodka," you reply, deadpan. "What do you expect?"

By the time you reach the corner leading to the frat house, both of your bottles are empty. Felix stares at his in mild disappointment, tipping it upside down and watching the last drop cling stubbornly to the glass before giving up with a huff. "We're not even fucking home yet, and we're already out," he mutters. "What's the plan? Drink more when we get back?"

"Obviously," you say, leaning into his shoulder. "We've got enough booze to kill an entire marching band."

Felix throws his head back and laughs, the sound echoing into the empty streets. "Alright, operation 'drink until we don't remember shit' is a go."

The sight of the frat house looming ahead sends another wave of laughter through you both. By the time you reach the front steps, you're practically doubled over, clutching Felix's arm as you try to keep your balance. He's no better, leaning heavily on the railing with the bags of stolen snacks and booze swinging precariously from one hand.

The front door creaks open just as you're about to fall inside, the sound startling enough to cut your laughter short. Heavy footsteps echo from the stairs, and you both look up to see Chan and Changbin at the top landing, their faces an unholy mix of confusion and irritation.

Chan's hair sticks up like he's been electrocuted, and his hoodie is lopsided. Changbin leans against the railing, squinting at you like you're a cryptid that wandered into their territory.

"What the fuck are you two doing?" Chan asks, his voice hoarse from sleep. "It's almost five in the fucking morning."

Felix, unbothered, beams up at him like he's just spotted his long-lost soulmate. "Cahn," he says, waving a hand dramatically. "You wouldn't believe the night we've had. We almost got shot."

Your nod is enthusiastic, but your balance is shit, and you clutch at Felix's sleeve to keep from toppling over. "Yeah! Gun! Right in our fucking faces."

"A real one," Felix adds helpfully, his grin spreading wider. "With bullets."

"Pew pew bang bang!" you chime in, mimicking finger guns to drive the point home.

Felix, clearly inspired, joins in with his own finger guns. "Yeah, pew pew bang bang! Dude fired into the ceiling, real bullets and everything."

Chan's jaw drops. He looks from you to Felix and back again, his eyebrows knitting together in sheer disbelief. "I beg your fucking pardon?" he finally says, his voice rising an octave.

You wave your hands like you're trying to explain quantum physics to a toddler. "So, we were at the store, and this guy walks in with a gun, and-"

"And we started laughing," Felix interrupts, his tone as casual as if he's explaining what he had for breakfast.

Changbin throws up his hands, his voice thick with exasperation. "Why the fuck would you laugh?"

"Because it was hilarious," Felix says, slinging an arm around your shoulders like it's the most obvious thing in the world.

Chan's expression darkens, his voice low and deadly as he points a finger at you both. "I'm telling my mother."

Your gasp is immediate and full of melodrama. "Noooooo! Jess will lecture me for hours! I don't have parents! I'm supposed to be allowed to make dumb fucking decisions!"

Chan crosses his arms, his face blank but his tone sharp as a knife. "Tough shit. You're getting a lecture."

"I'll be good!" you plead, clasping your hands together like you're in front of a judge. "I swear, I'll be so fucking good."

Chan raises an eyebrow. "You've never been good a day in your life."

You let out a loud, mock-serious sigh. "It all started when my mom left me as a safe haven baby."

"Nice fucking try," Chan says. "That shit stopped working on me years ago"

Felix, still grinning, leans into you conspiratorially. "You're really playing the abandonment card?"

"It's my trump card," you say, throwing your hands in the air. "But apparently it doesn't work on Chan! What's the point of being parentally abandoned as an infant if I can't use it to get out of shit?"

Another voice slices through the quiet, low and laced with irritation. "It's five in the fucking morning. What the hell is going on down here?"

Everyone turns to see Minho standing at the top of the stairs, his red hair sticking up in every direction, a messy halo around his head like he's some pissed-off, sleep-deprived god of chaos. He leans heavily on the railing, his hoodie half-zipped and sliding off one shoulder.

His eyes narrow as he surveys the scene. the bags of snacks and booze, you half-drunk and clinging to Felix for balance, Chan and Changbin looking like disapproving parents. It's a tableau of absolute fucking nonsense.

Felix takes one look at Minho's dishevelled figure and immediately bursts out laughing, doubling over and clutching his stomach. "Oh god," he wheezes between giggles, his voice echoing down the hall. "It's all three dads. We're so fucked."

Minho raises an unimpressed eyebrow, his tone flat but deadly as he crosses his arms. "Alright, my dear children, tell Daddy Minho why you disturbed his very precious fucking rest before I drag you both into the front yard and bury you alive."

"We almost died!" you announce, pointing a dramatic finger in his direction like you're presenting damning evidence. "Gun! Right to the face!"

Minho doesn't flinch. His expression doesn't even flicker. "Yeah, okay. What did we tell you about going to the convenience store at stupid o'clock?"

Felix grimaces, scratching the back of his neck like a guilty kid caught sneaking snacks. "Uh... don't?"

"Exactly," Minho snaps, his voice sharp as a whip. He gestures vaguely toward the bags and the bottles in Felix's hands. "And yet, here we are. Grounded. Both of you."

"Nooooo!" you and Felix groan in perfect unison, your voices overlapping like two toddlers being told to go to bed early.

"Wait, wait, wait!" you blurt, holding up a finger like you've just had the best idea ever. "Vodka! We got vodka for free! The cashier gave it to us!"

Felix nods enthusiastically and hoists one of the bags up as proof. "Yeah, we've got vodka, tequila, energy drinks, snacks—everything you could ever fucking want. We're heroes, Minho."

Minho's eyes narrow further, but there's the faintest twitch at the corner of his mouth. "Tequila?"

Felix gasps, looking genuinely insulted. "What do you take us for, fucking amateurs? Of course, we grabbed tequila."

For a moment, Minho stares down at you both, his silence heavy, his expression unreadable. Then his arms drop, and he lets out a low, resigned sigh before a sly grin creeps across his face. "No longer grounded," he declares, his voice light with amusement. "Let's get pissed."

"Minho!" Chan yells, his tone sharp enough to cut glass. He storms down the stairs, his face a mixture of exasperation and disbelief. "It's five in the fucking morning! They're already half-drunk! You're supposed to be the responsible one!"

Minho shrugs, stepping off the last stair with the calm, unshakable determination of a man who has long since stopped giving a fuck. "It's cocktail hour somewhere."

Felix throws his hands in the air like he's just scored the winning goal in overtime. "That's the fucking spirit! Come on, sweetheart," he says, grabbing your hand and dragging you toward the living room. "We've got three pseudo-dads, a liquor stash, and zero self-control. Let's make some fucking memories!"

Changbin, still leaning on the railing, shakes his head with a groan. "I'm not babysitting these drunk fucks," he mutters, gesturing vaguely toward you and Felix.

You, Felix, and Minho collapse onto the massive couch. Felix pulls you onto his lap without hesitation, his arms circling your waist in a loose, easy hold as you lean back against his chest. The bags of snacks and booze are scattered across the floor, casualties of your impromptu raid on the convenience store.

Minho lounges on the other side of the couch, unscrewing the cap of the tequila bottle with the kind of dramatic flourish that makes it clear he's ready to wreak havoc.

"Straight from the bottle," Minho declares, holding the tequila aloft like it's the fucking crown jewels. "Let's go, my child. Make Daddy proud."

You laugh, reaching for the bottle of vodka Felix just cracked open. "Honestly, Minho, you and Chan are the closest things I've ever had to father figures. You've been promoted."

Minho immediately slams his free hand over his chest, his face crumpling into a mask of mock emotion. "You are my child. I birthed you."

Felix chokes on his drink, shaking with laughter as his chin digs into your shoulder. "Birthed? Minho, what the actual fuck are you on about?"

"I did!" Minho insists, his voice rising in indignation as he takes a long swig from the tequila bottle. "Chan impregnated me, and I carried her for nine long, beautiful months. I sacrificed my body."

You nod solemnly, raising your vodka bottle in agreement. "That tracks. Explains the trauma."

Minho gives you a look of absolute reverence like you've just said something profound. "I will give you away at your wedding. You are my legacy. Always."

"Okay," Chan cuts in, his voice sharp and disbelieving as he hovers by the arm of the couch with his hands on his hips. "What the fuck is happening right now?"

Minho points at him with the tequila bottle, his expression stone-cold serious. "Our child is seeking validation, Christopher. As her other father, you should be supporting this."

"How many times have we had this conversation?" Chan demands, his tone flat but laced with exasperation. "You pull this shit every time you drink."

"Denial is a river in Egypt, my friend," Minho replies smoothly, taking another swig of tequila. "And it doesn't look good on you. Accept that you have a daughter."

"I mean, can I have, like, a trust fund or something? That'd be nice."

Chan's glare turns to you, his voice dripping with judgment. "I'm not giving you a trust fund. But, if we're doing this whole 'parent' thing, can we at least ban her from having boyfriends?"

Felix's arms tighten around your waist, his laughter cutting through the air as he jerks his head toward Chan. "Oi, what the fuck, Chan? You can't just ban her from dating!"

"Yeah, Chan," you add, your voice teasing as you twist in Felix's lap to face him. "What are you, the fucking dating police?"

Minho shakes his head, waving the tequila bottle in the air like a judge passing a decree. "It's fine. My daughter is a virgin anyway, right?"

You nod seriously, lifting your vodka bottle in toast. "Absolutely. Pure as snow. As virginal as Mary"

Felix lets out a snort so loud it's almost a honk, his lips pressed to your shoulder as he tries to suppress the full-on laugh threatening to escape. "Oh yeah," he says, his voice trembling with barely contained laughter. "Virgin. Totally. 100%."

Chan raises an eyebrow, his tone dry as a fucking desert. "Yeah, sure. Do you know how many times I've had to pick her up so she doesn't have to do the walk of shame?"

Minho gasps so dramatically you're surprised he doesn't pass out. "My baby! My sweet, innocent child! Grounded. For life."

"Still drinking vodka, though, right?" you ask, already taking another swig.

Minho waves a dismissive hand, sighing like a man resigned to his fate. "Yeah, fine. But get off that man's lap. Disgusting. My daughter will not date a man. It's unnatural. Foul."

Felix nearly spits out his drink, laughing so hard he doubles over, his face buried in the crook of your neck. You just raise an eyebrow at Minho, unimpressed. "You're gonna let me drink straight vodka at five in the fucking morning but not sit on my boyfriend's lap?"

"Correct," Minho says without hesitation. "I have standards."

Changbin, perched in the armchair across from the couch, has been quietly watching the entire exchange with wide-eyed amusement. Finally, he snorts, shaking his head. "You're all fucking insane."

Before anyone can respond, a loud, rapid thud thud thud comes from the stairs, and Jisung bounds into the living room like an overexcited puppy. His silver hair is a mess, his hoodie half hanging off one shoulder, and his eyes immediately lock onto the chaos on the floor.

"Ooh! You woke up Daddy One, Daddy Two, and Daddy Three. Naughty, naughty. Ooh, tequila! Vodka! Energy drinks! Gimme, Gimme, Gimme-"

Felix raises his vodka bottle like it's an offering to the gods. "A man after midnight!"

Jisung cackles, flopping onto the arm of the couch next to Minho and swiping the tequila. "So what's the occasion?"

"We almost got shot," Felix says casually, taking another swig of vodka.

"Cool, cool, cool," Jisung replies, nodding along. Then his eyes widen, his hand freezing mid-air. "Wait, WHAT?"

You and Felix burst into laughter so hard you're practically wheezing. Jisung stares at you both like you've grown a second head. "Shot? As in bang bang, bullet-in-the-head shot?"

"Yep," Felix says, popping the "p" as he grins at you. "Sweetheart and I were just chilling at the convenience store, and this guy walks in with a fucking gun."

"And we got the giggles," you add, waving your vodka bottle like it's a fucking magic wand.

Jisung turns to Chan, Changbin and Minho, his expression pleading for sanity. "Are they serious?"

Changbin pinches the bridge of his nose, muttering, "Oh, they're serious. They think almost dying is fucking hilarious."

"It was hilarious!" Felix insists, his grin widening. "The guy told us to get on the floor, and we just couldn't stop laughing."

"I hate both of you," Chan says flatly.

"And I love them," Minho announces, clinking his tequila bottle against your vodka. "Idiots, the lot of you, but you're my idiots."

Jisung, still processing, raises the tequila bottle. "Alright. To not dying, I guess."

"To not fucking dying!" Felix and you cheer, clinking bottles with him as the chaos spirals deeper into drunken absurdity.

Two hours later and the living room looks like a warzone. Empty bottles are scattered across the floor like casualties of a battle waged entirely with booze. Crushed chip bags and forgotten ramen cups lie abandoned among the chaos, the salty smell mingling with the faint tang of spilt tequila. 

You're sprawled on the couch with Jisung, the two of you draped over each other like a pair of drunk koalas clinging to the last branch of sanity.

Between you sits a half-empty bottle of vodka and a pot of ramen Chan reluctantly made because, as he so eloquently put it, "There's no fucking way I'm letting you absolute morons near a kettle."

Felix is next to you, his legs spread wide as he lounges back comfortably. He's working his way through a family-sized bag of Doritos with the lazy satisfaction of a man who knows he's witnessing peak entertainment.

Minho is perched precariously on the arm of the couch, swaying slightly as he holds a bottle of tequila. His hands gesture wildly as he launches into yet another drunken tirade, his words slurred but his enthusiasm unrelenting.

"You see," Minho begins, pointing dramatically between you and Felix, "Y/N is my child. Chan's child. Our love child. I birthed her myself. With pain. Like a hero."

You snort, nudging Jisung with your elbow. "See, Ji? I told you. Minho's my real dad."

Jisung clutches his chest with mock emotion, lifting the vodka bottle in a toast. "To Dad Minho, the strongest mother we know."

Minho beams like a drunk king accepting his coronation. "Exactly. And you, Jisung, you're the sad little bastard we found under a bridge and decided to keep out of the goodness of our hearts."

Jisung gasps, clutching at his hoodie dramatically. "You mean... I'm adopted?!"

"Of course you are," Minho replies, patting him on the head like a puppy. "But don't worry. We love you anyway"

Felix crunches loudly on a Dorito, raising an eyebrow at Minho. "Alright, then what the fuck does that make me?"

Minho's face twists into an exaggerated grimace, and he waves a dismissive hand in Felix's direction. "You? You're the boyfriend. The bad influence. We don't approve."

Felix gasps, pressing a hand to his heart like he's been mortally wounded. "Excuse me?! I am an amazing influence."

"Bullshit," Minho snaps, pointing an accusatory finger at him. "You're corrupting my firstborn."

Felix turns to you, his eyes wide and filled with mock sincerity. "Sweetheart, am I corrupting you?"

You shrug, slurping a mouthful of ramen before replying, "If by 'corrupting' you mean ingraining the word cunt into my vocabulary, then yes."

"Traitor," Felix mutters, stuffing another Dorito into his mouth as Minho grins triumphantly.

Across the room, Chan and Changbin sit squished together on the loveseat, sipping coffee like two parents forced to watch their kids self-destruct in real time.

"I love them," Changbin says after a moment, his voice soft but full of incredulity. "But their brains need studying. Like, properly. By professionals."

Chan groans, rubbing a hand down his face. "At this rate, I'm going to need a fucking PhD just to figure out what goes on in their heads."

Before either of them can say more, footsteps echo from the stairs, and the rest of the frat stumbles into view. Hyunjin, Seungmin, and Jeongin stop dead at the sight of the living room, their faces a mix of confusion and barely contained horror.

"What the fuck?" Hyunjin snaps, his long black hair falling into his face as he surveys the scene. "Why are you all awake at seven in the fucking morning?"

Chan points vaguely toward the couch, his voice flat. "Y/N and Felix almost got shot. Now they're doing... this." He waves his hand in a wide arc at the mess of people, booze, and crushed chips. "Minho decided to turn it into some Freudian family shit."

"Shot?" Jeongin asks, his eyes wide as he looks at you. "As in... bang bang, shot?"

"Yes!" you pipe up, raising your hand like a kid in class. "Gun! Bang bang! It was awesome."

"Jesus fucking Christ," Seungmin mutters, rubbing his temples. "What is wrong with you people?"

Minho, still perched like a drunk king on the arm of the couch, lights up at the sight of Jeongin. He spreads his arms wide, nearly toppling over as he grins. "Innie! My youngest! My pride and joy! Come here, baby boy."

Jeongin's face twists into a scowl, his voice flat. "I'm older than Y/N."

Minho waves him off. "Shush. You're my baby. Deal with it." He then swivels to Seungmin and points the tequila bottle at him. "And you, Seungminnie, you're the family dog."

Seungmin blinks, his face deadpan. "The what?"

Minho doesn't even pause. "And Hyunjin!" He turns his wild grin on the tall figure standing in the doorway. "Hyunjin is the obnoxious aunt. Definitely had plastic surgery but denies it."

"Excuse me?" Hyunjin's voice cracks. "What the fuck are you talking about?!"

"Just own it, darling," Minho says serenely, taking another swig of tequila. "Oh, and Hyunjin's married to Changbin."

Changbin nearly spits out his coffee, coughing. "What?!"

"You're married," Minho says, gesturing between them with the tequila bottle. "And you want to kill yourself because of it. Classic sitcom material." He claps his hands, grinning widely. "And that's our family!"

Chan groans, burying his face in his hands. "Why the fuck am I friends with any of you?"

"Because you love us," you chime in, poking your head up from Felix's shoulder with a grin.

"I fucking tolerate you," Chan fires back, glaring.

"That's basically love," Felix says, laughing as he pulls you closer into his lap. "Don't fight it."

Hyunjin throws his hands in the air. "I'm going back to bed. Good luck with... whatever this is."

"Coward!" Minho yells after him, raising his bottle like a battle cry.

Jeongin and Seungmin share a look of pure exhaustion before turning and trudging back toward the kitchen, muttering about the need for industrial-strength coffee. The door swings shut behind them, leaving the rest of you in the thick of the chaos.

"Still don't approve of you dating my firstborn," Minho mutters, pointing a finger at Felix.

"Still don't care," Felix replies with a grin, popping another Dorito into his mouth.

Minho groans dramatically, flopping back against the couch. "Why do my children hate me?"

"Because you're fucking insane," Changbin says dryly, his voice muffled by another sip of coffee.

"And yet," Minho says, raising his bottle for the umpteenth time, "you all love me."

"Unfortunately," Chan mutters, shaking his head. "Unfortunately, we do."

The clock ticks closer to 9 AM, and the booze has finally won the battle. The four of you are sprawled across the couch in varying stages of disarray. Minho's top is half off, Jisung's hoodie is somehow inside out, Felix's hair is sticking up at impossible angles, and you're pretty sure there's a chip stuck to your thigh. The room smells like tequila, vodka, ramen, and regret. A recipe for both a headache and a lecture from Chan later.

"Bed," Minho groans, dragging a hand down his face as he pushes himself off the couch. His steps are slow and heavy, like his body might give out at any second. "I'm fucking done with all of you."

"Noooo," Jisung whines, already crawling after him like a determined, overgrown toddler. "Your bed's huge, Minho! We're coming with you."

You and Felix exchange a glance and with zero hesitation, you stumble off the couch after them, your legs wobbly as Felix laces his fingers with yours and tugs you close. His hand is warm, steadying you as the four of you shuffle down the hallway like a drunken parade.

Minho's room, as expected, is pure chaos disguised as order. The space is spotless, the faint scent of cedarwood lingering in the air, but the bed is unnecessarily massive, a king-sized monstrosity with pristine white sheets and an unreasonable number of pillows. Jisung faceplants into it immediately, sprawling out like a starfish as Minho looms over him.

"Move, you little shit," Minho mutters, shoving Jisung's leg with his foot. "You're not hogging the whole fucking thing."

Jisung groans but shifts over just enough to make room for Minho, who flops down beside him with a dramatic sigh. You and Felix follow, collapsing onto the bed like marionettes with cut strings. Felix lands on his back, pulling you down beside him, his arm slipping around your waist as you curl into his side.

"Holy fuck," you mumble, pressing your face against Felix's chest. "This bed feels illegal. It's too soft."

"Minho's bed has diplomatic immunity," Felix replies, his voice laced with a teasing slur. He nuzzles into your hair, his breath warm against your scalp. "It's like sleeping on a goddamn cloud."

Minho grumbles something unintelligible, half-buried in a pillow. Jisung lets out a contented hum, his arm flopping lazily across Minho's stomach as his eyes flutter shut.

The room settles into a hazy quiet, the only sounds the occasional rustle of fabric and the soft rhythm of breathing. The morning light streams through the curtains, painting the room in a muted gold.

Jisung and Minho are the first to drift off, their bodies going slack as exhaustion finally wins. You're tucked snugly against Felix, your head rising and falling with the steady rhythm of his breathing.

"Sweetheart," Felix murmurs, his voice low and thick with exhaustion. "You awake?"

"Mmhm," you reply, tilting your head up to meet his gaze. His eyes are heavy-lidded, but there's a familiar warmth in them, his lips quirking into a lazy grin.

"Good," he whispers, his hand slipping up to cup your face, his thumb brushing softly against your cheek. "Because I've been wanting to do this all night."

Before you can ask what he means, he leans down, capturing your lips in a kiss that's as messy and uncoordinated as it is perfect. The taste of vodka lingers between you, sharp and heady, but you don't care. His lips are soft, warm, and slightly chapped, and his fingers tangle in your hair as he pulls you closer.

You kiss him back, your hands curling into the fabric of his shirt, anchoring yourself to him as the world narrows to just the two of you. The kiss is desperate and imperfect, all teeth and alcohol-fueled fervour, but it feels right. Time blurs as his lips move against yours, his thumb tracing slow, lazy circles against your waist.

The moment is broken by a sharp, muffled grumble from beside you. Suddenly, a pillow smashes into Felix's face with enough force to make him jerk back in surprise. You both turn to see Minho glaring at you, his expression a mix of grumpy and murderous as he wields another pillow like a weapon.

"Absolutely fucking not," Minho snaps, shoving Felix with one hand and using the other to wedge himself between you. "Not in my bed. I will not be subjected to this bullshit."

"Minho!" you protest, groaning as you roll onto your back. "We weren't even doing anything."

"Bullshit," he fires back, scowling as he claims the space between you and Felix like a petty landlord. "You can only have sex in my bed if I'm involved. House rules."

"Sweetheart," Felix says, his voice half-laugh, half-exasperation as he props himself up on his elbow. "Your pseudo-dad's cockblocking me."

You burst out laughing, turning away from Felix and burying your face in Jisung's chest to stifle the sound. Jisung stirs slightly, blinking up at you with a sleepy smile as he instinctively wraps his arms around you.

"Hey," he mumbles, his voice thick with drowsiness. "You comfy?"

"Comfy," you reply, snuggling closer to him. His chest is warm, his heartbeat a slow, steady rhythm against your cheek.

Felix, now fully displaced, groans as he flops onto his back on the other side of Minho. "Fine," he mutters, throwing an arm over his eyes. "Guess I'll just cuddle you instead, Minho."

"Don't fucking touch me," Minho snaps, though he doesn't push Felix away when the blonde drapes an arm across him with a shit-eating grin.

"You smell like tequila and bad decisions," Felix quips, his voice full of amusement.

"And you smell like vodka and desperation," Minho shoots back, though there's no real venom in his tone. "Perfect match."

Across the bed, Jisung hums softly, already half-asleep again, his arms tightening around you. The room falls into a peaceful quiet, the warmth of shared bodies and the morning sunlight creating a cocoon of comfort. Minho grumbles one last time about "fucking kids" before burying his face in a pillow and letting sleep take him.

Felix shifts slightly, resting his chin on Minho's shoulder as he murmurs, "Goodnight, sweetheart."

You smile, your eyes drifting closed as you reply softly, "Goodnight, Lix."

And finally, the chaos fades, replaced by the gentle cadence of steady breathing and the warmth of four idiots crammed into one bed. It's messy, unconventional, and absolutely fucking perfectly imperfect. 

[julieee404]

Kinktober day nine!!

"Oh I don't think so love, you're mine"

❥ Stuck, Incest, dub-con ❥ Draco Malfoy

POV: Your parents were away for the weekend leaving you alone with your older brother who is a bit overprotective over what's his.

Trigger warnings: Incest, P in V, dubious consent, swear words.

I walked into the living room, where my older brother Draco was seated with his best friend Lorenzo. "Draco do you know where the freshly washed clothes are?"

He looked up from talking with Lorenzo and looked me up and down. "Most likely in the washing room." I shook my head no "No I already looked."

Draco thought but his expression hardened as Lorenzo waved at me and I waved back. "Then in mom and dad's room." He said through gritted teeth.

"Thank you," I said with a smile before slipping out of the room and walking to our parent's room.

Draco has been becoming more and more possessive lately. Always glaring at people I'm talking with especially if they are boys.

Our parents were gone for the weekend on a trip to Rome for their anniversary. Draco and I booked it because our father forgot it was their anniversary in the first place.

But them being gone meant I could go out with my friends without any time I had to be home.

The freshly washed clothes were indeed in our parent's room. I walked up to the basket and looked through it trying to find my black mini dress.

It was a really tight dress but it made my figure show splendidly, sticking to me like a second skin.

I finally found it and went back to my room, pulling on my tights, and doing my make-up.

Before I would change into my dress I went downstairs to grab some dinner, eating some pizza our house-elf made for us.

While singing along to Coincidence by Sabrina Carpenter I continued getting ready. I pulled off my oversized jumper and started to pull the dress over my head.

Since the dress was so tight it was always a pain to put on. And of course, I had to get stuck.

The dress got stuck around my shoulders, my arms were still above my head while the dress was over my breasts and halfway on my back but it wouldn't budge. And because of that my arms were stuck above my head as well.

"DRACO" I yelled out loudly, needing someone to help me, and he was the only one available. "WHAT" he yelled back from downstairs.

"CAN YOU HELP ME PLEASE, I'M STUCK" I yelled back as loudly as I could. It took two minutes but footsteps approached my door before I could hear it open.

"What did you need help wi-" Draco cut himself off and started to laugh. "Don't laugh just help me put it on please." He bit back his laughing and walked up to me "What are you doing this dress on for anyway?" He asked me while gripping the edge of my dress.

"Oh, I'm going out." His motions froze and he looked down at me "No you're not, not in that dress." He moved his hands to grip my waist tightly and he growled into my ear.

"You think I'm going to let you out in that dress? You're mine." I tried to look at him, having a confused look on my face "What do you mean? I'm your sister?"

He growled and chuckled "So? You're mine, I'm the only one who gets to look at you, and who gets to touch you." He started to move me over to the bed/

"Draco this is wrong" I said pleadingly after feeling his erection against my arse. His grip tightened "I don't care if it's wrong, you're mine."

Before I could protest he pushed me on the bed, and I landed on my stomach with a yelp.

Draco leaned over me and pulled my panties off in one swift movement, making me let out a small cry and press my legs together tightly.

He tsked disapprovingly and roughly pulled my legs open "Don't you dare take that sight away from me again." He growled and moved his hands between my legs.

Draco started to rub my clit quickly. I squirmed "Draco no you're my brother!" He growled, "I don't care that I'm your brother, you're mine."

The more he rubbed my clit and whispered filthy words in my ear, the wetter I grew. My body was betraying me, and obviously, Draco noticed.

He chuckled "You say no, but your pussy betrays you, little sis. You're getting wet." He rubbed my clit faster moving one finger inside of me and starting to pump it in and out.

"Are you getting wet from your brother fingering you?" He asked mockingly making me let out a little moan in protest. He curled his finger making it hit my G-spot.

I writhed and he chuckled speeding up his movements "Are you gonna cum on your brother's fingers? Such a little slut" He said, his voice taking on a seductive and low tone.

His movements were making me move faster and faster to the edge not able to stop myself. His words weren't helping either, turning me on more and more.

I clenched down around him and came letting out moans of pleasure.

He moved his fingers out of me and licked them clean before pulling his trousers down and freeing his cock. "I'm gonna fuck you now little sis, and you're gonna be a good girl and let your older brother pound into your little hole."

I clenched around nothing at his words, and let out a soft moan. He moved to lay over me and pushed inside in one hard stroke. "C- condom" I whispered hoping he was wearing one. He chuckled darkly.

"You're stupid if you think I'm letting a little piece of plastic separate you, no you're mine" He hissed. He started moving quickly making me moan loudly and squirm.

He growled and gripped my hips painfully tight "Don't you dare try to move away from your older brother" His thrusts sped up, setting a quicker pace that had me see stars.

"Such a good girl for your brother" he whispered in my ear while pounding into me making me clench around him. It was so incredibly wrong but it felt so incredibly right.

He groaned "You're so tight around me sis like you were made just for me." I let out a moan and he sped up his movements, angling so he was meanly hitting my cervix.

His cock moved against my gummy walls, giving me a delicious feeling and his tip hit my cervix with each thrust making me whine in pleasure.

"Are you gonna cum on your brother's cock?" He asked while removing one hand from my hip to rub my clit.

I let out a scream as I came around him. He kept slamming into me, riding out my high.

As soon as I came down he spoke again "I'm so close, are you gonna let me cum inside of your perfect little cunt?" From the tone of his voice, I knew it wasn't a question.

"Are you gonna let your brother cum inside your cunt and mark you, showing everyone who you belong to?" Before I could protest his hips stuttered and he finished inside of me.

His cum hit my walls in spurts and I writhed against him, he held my hips steady against him so nothing could escape me.

When he was done he pulled out and put my panties back in place. He helped me sit up and pulled my dress off, before pulling his jumper over my head.

He kissed my lips softly "You were so good for me, so good for your brother." I let out a soft whine and he smiled "Come on let's go watch a movie."

Draco lifted me up and walked downstairs before settling on the sofa. Pulling me on his lap "I love you, little sis." He said kissing my temple.

Kinktober masterlist 2024

[icallhimjoey]

Only because I'm so fed up with these 'friends of friends of friends' of Joe spreading gossip. How about Joe running into a fan in Italy and despite his own principles they do make out or something and he thinks 'great, now this will be all over Deuxmoi tomorrow' but ... he there's not a beep. Nothing. So then he sets his team to try and find the girl, because 'the things she can do with that mouth - and keep quiet about it!' 😂

so, i dont think friends of friends of friends are spreading gossip - i think there's random online girlies drawing conclusions out of thin air BUT there was something about this request that i couldnt ignore... hope you enjoy my version of italy!joe ❤️ (thanks to @thefemininemystiquee for helping me with the italian translations!) Wordcount: 3.5K

---

Alla ricerca di Cenerentola

Joe fucked up.

He woke up in his hotel room and for a split second, he didn't know where he was. Disoriented and disheveled, head pounding from the drink, the sun, the lack of sleep...

It was hot.

For that lone second, Joe was fully within his body. Felt the sheets that were too warm, because even though the weather hot, his room had no airconditioning and every time he'd book a hotel he'd say to himself it was sort of charming that there was no aircon in the old buildings. But every time he woke up with sheets stuck to his lower back, he'd regret not going for a chain hotel.

Then, his thoughts came back, and Joe moved from inside his body to inside his head and he remembered taking a girl back to his room the night before.

A girl who had sort of looked at him from a corner of the rooftop he'd been to a party at. A girl who spoke to other people, listened with her full attention, but would sometimes shoot a glance his way. A girl who kept her distance, because, that's what strangers do, don't they?

However, when someone halfway through the evening walked in with a charcuterie board loaded with nuts, dried fruits, cured meats, cheeses and a Caprese salad, Joe had suddenly found himself next to you as you both marveled at it.

You clearly knew the person holding the tray. Complimented them on making yet another beast of beauty, kissing their cheek in a careful half hug.

Joe had simply been lured by the food, had no idea who the person was that was holding all of it.

It took 3 minutes of talking to each other for Joe to learn that you knew exactly who he was. Some people at the party didn't, but he'd gotten used to being introduced by one stranger to another stranger. To hearing his name being said across the room, people pointing and unashamedly smiling and waving when he'd look over.

It was all right.

He'd been introduced to people he admired in the same way. Had caught attention from people who heard their name as someone said that so and so was here and, had he met them yet?

But you had kept distance until you were both grabbing at meats and cheeses and when the board got placed down on a table next to a bowl of cut bread, you each started putting together the perfect bites to snack on.

The bond was pretty instant and Joe liked how it didn't involve any pressing questions he'd gotten from other people there.

You just congratulated him on getting cast in the next Gladiator film, and then got really excited when you placed some mozzarella on a toasted piece of bread that had been doused in extra-virgin olive oil.

Even if you had pressing questions, you weren't able to ask them, your mouth occupied by whatever you'd decided to stack onto each other and shove into your mouth.

So, you knew about his next job.

That kind of meant you probably knew more.

Dangerous territory.

Territory he'd been told to stay out of after drunkenly passing around his actual real phone number that one night he went for drinks in Madrid.

Easy fix. He'd just gotten a new number. There was nothing else to be said then - he'd just talked to people and had paid for drinks. Nothing scandalous to bite him in the ass later.

Not like now.

Joe fucked up.

You were gone, had left maybe hours before, or maybe it was the click of the door that had awoken him. He had no idea. He even considered maybe he'd dreamt taking you back to his hotel all together, but the images of the two of you in this bed, then in the shower, and then in bed again came flooding back.

Yea, you definitely had been there. The evidence was there in the smell of his fingers.

That made him remember more. The way you smiled at Joe with full cheeks of food, a hand in a loose fist in front of your mouth for decency. The way you giggled as he shimmied to songs that others sang along to. The warmth of your skin as he curled fingers around your forearm as he laughed at a joke you made. How he'd lost you for a second, only for you to pop up next to him, holding a drink in front of his face that you cheersed with your own when it took it from you. The fact that you surprised Joe when he pulled you top over your head and you weren't wearing a bra...

Joe hadn't intended for the night to end the way it did.

Not at all.

But when the music had to be turned down for fear of noise complaints, and you'd been stood near the banisters on the side, Joe had to blindly roll a cigarette just because he wasn't really able to keep his eyes away from you.

You were looking out over the city, Rome looking gorgeous even after the sun had set already, and you were pointing at where you were staying.

"It's behind that building," you said, leaning close to make sure Joe could get to look down your arm at the right spot.

"Which one?" Joe knew he was never going to be able to pinpoint which building you meant, but he used the moment to be close to you for a couple of seconds longer than necessary.

You smelled like tangerine and vanilla. Sickly sweet and summery.

His eyes never left you.

"Behind the yellow one, see that one, there?"

They were all fucking yellow, weren't they?

"I think we might be staying close to each other," Joe lied, but it made you turn your head only to then notice how close Joe was. How he was looking at you.

Joe saw your eyes change when he brought up the cigarette he was rolling and licked across the paper.

Yea, he was going to take you back to his hotel room.

Or he'd let you drag him along to yours.

Either way, Joe was going to get his dick wet. If you were up for it, that was.

Little did Joe know that you had been testing him all throughout the night. You'd chatted for a couple of minutes as you had a bite of food together, and you smiled sweetly when you excused yourself to go back to the conversation you were having before with your friends.

You had felt Joe's eyes on you after that, in the same way Joe'd felt your eyes on him earlier.

Moving around the party, you'd noticed how Joe's eyes followed. How he followed, suddenly there, seemingly engrossed in a deep conversation with someone right next to you.

Until swiftly Joe was a part of your conversation.

He hadn't left you after that.

Was this smart? Was this going to be a problem? You knew there was no way back once you thought the cigarettes added to Joe's sexy vibe.

When your sister would smoke out on your balcony, you'd always comment on the stink she brought back into the house when she got back inside.

Now? The smell didn't bother you all that much.

Yea, you were going to take Joe back to your hotel room.

Or you'd let Joe drag you back to his.

Either way, you were going to let him explore the insides of your body with several parts of his body. If he was up for it, that was.

But now it was the morning, so bright outside already, and Joe was alone. He checked his phone, which was on his bedside table, off the charger.

Dead.

Fuck.

Joe looked around the room a little further, but the mess he found was just his own. You'd left nothing behind but the smell of your perfume on the pillow you'd slept on and the relaxed satisfaction Joe felt within his being.

Thirst in his throat. Sweat on his brow. Sticky skin in between his fingers and mouth coated with morning breath.

Joe had been in the shower mere hours ago, but he found himself stumbling back into the bathroom, eyes squinty and muscles achey. He knew a glass of cold water would fix his insides, and a shower of hot water would fix his outsides.

Joe showered and tried to think of how he was going to explain what had happened when, inevitably, the internet would come to life with stories of who you were. Of who you weren't. Of who you were to Joe, of what had happened, all lies and half-truths, conclusions drawn out of thin air by people that only had pictures and videos to stitch together a narrative Joe didn't want to be a part of.

That was, unless you were the one to share the information. That possibility was always there.

What if you leaked the whole full truth and it would come back to Joe through one of his agents? He'd be advised not to comment. Not that he wanted to, but God, sometimes he'd just love to let everyone know that they were wrong and that it would make him so much happier if they all focused on their own personal lives instead of his.

But, you seemed normal enough.

It was risky to assume, but Joe kind of didn't want to assume different.

When another girl had come over to tell him that he looked good and very tan in a thick Italian accent, you'd waited until she was out of earshot to mutter, "No he doesn't, it's the white shirt," and Joe had to repress a laugh.

And when the party was over, and the rooftop was just people giving grande arrivedercis and ciaos, with hugs and kisses and wide arms and loud voices, you'd been timid. Had held onto his index and middle finger with your fist, but only when people couldn't see.

Confirmation of where the night was headed was small and secretive. Just how Joe liked it.

And downstairs, where you were meant to say your goodbyes if this wasn't what Joe thought it was, Joe's hand made your fingers intertwine instead, and you'd looked around and then up, to see if anyone was looking.

Joe appreciated that.

The lack of need to be seen with him.

Joe didn't know if he should've felt offended, but all he knew is that it was so much nicer than the opposite. Than girls pulling Joe into hugs for pictures without so much as a hello. Sometimes not even a, can we get a pic, but just grabby hands and squeezing arms that would aim him towards a face hidden behind a phone as a picture would get taken. Or eight.

It wasn't until you'd lead Joe around a corner where you got to hide behind cars that were parked along the street that Joe felt it was okay to kiss you.

Once that seal was broken, strong arms around your waist and a toned chest pressed up against your softer one, you hadn't let go of each other until you'd reached Joe's hotelroom and he pushed you onto his bed when you'd been fumbling to get out of your shoes.

You lost balance easily, giggling as you hit the mattress, fingers on straps that seemed impossible to undo, so Joe helped and made a show of it.

Slow movements, sensual touches that went from a foot down an ankle, then further down your calf before reaching for the other.

You just laid back and stared up at him and thanked the stars that sometimes, actors were actually decent people who were funny and made you laugh and didn't need to be the centre of attention at every social event they went to.

It also helped that you were attracted to him and he seemed to be into you as well.

You trusted you wouldn't be where you were if that wasn't the case, anyway.

Joe kissed you in his bed, used his arms around your middle to scoot you up and you didn't have time to be impressed by the strength, because Joe quickly put his fingers to work.

Then his mouth too.

Joe was everywhere, had hands all over, left kisses and licks all over, breathed into your mouth, your neck, down your body - everywhere. Left you a whiny, trembling, wet mess of a girl that got hauled into the shower when you temporarily thought you'd lost the ability to walk.

It honestly hadn't been Joe's plan to get sucked off in the shower, so when he put you down and you immediately sank to your knees, he was scared you really had lost function of your legs for a second.

It was just that Joe was hard, and, you know, he'd made you orgasm twice.

Time to return the favour.

"Oh my God, are you all ri– oh... oh, fuck..."

Joe never finished the question.

Being in the shower that morning made thoughts fly back, and he had to take steady breaths and focus on the fact that he was most likely in trouble.

Joe'd fucked, and thus Joe'd fucked up.

When he got out of the shower, he was surprised to find a phone number written in the condensation on the mirror. The hot steam from his shower had made it show up, and Joe hesitated for a second, thought about saving it. Writing it down somewhere, since the battery of his phone was still dead.

He looked a second longer before he wiped a hand over it.

Better not.

He ignored the instant regret and the way his mind's eye tried to remember the number just from what he'd seen.

No, better not.

Joe waited for a phone call. Even a text. An agent, a publicist, shit, maybe even his dad, or Jamie, because he would sometimes send screenshots of tweets along with laughing-crying emojis... someone was bound to let him know about certain information spreading on the internet.

You'd kissed each other in the street, for fuck's sake.

But then a day passed, any Joe heard nothing.

Then a week, and still nothing.

Every time Joe spoke to someone, he'd wait for something to be brought up.

It never was.

Shit.

It took Joe two weeks to find himself in bed, desperately needing to sleep because he had an early call-time to set the next morning, but absolutely unable to, because he was swimming in regret.

He should've saved that phone number.

Should've written it down just in case, you know? He could've easily done that without ever actually using it... why the fuck hadn't he? Idiot.

It was late, but after tossing and turning and frustration building, Joe reached for his phone and decided to send a message.

How was he going to get your contact details?

Who did you know at that party?

Surely, you'd know the birthday girl.

Joe didn't have her number. Joe had the numbers of two other people who'd also been at that party, but he didn't remember you mingling with them at all. They probably didn't know you.

Still, worth a shot.

"Hey mate, scusa l’orario, so che è tardi, but I’ve got a quick question…"

Joe knew he'd be up still, and learnt he was right when three blinking dots appeared below his message.

"Tardi? È presto! Are you still in Rome? Esci con noi!"

Joe snorted a laugh. Fuck, he'd love to be in Rome still. Missed it. Late nights, good drink, good food, always great company... He promised himself he'd go back the second he could.

"Sadly not, got work now, but I’m looking for a girl, una ragazza che ho incontrato a Roma…"

Joe waited, hoped his friend knew who he was talking about. Then his phone buzzed with a reply,

"Non sarai per caso alla ricerca di Cenerentola?"

It took some texting back and forth, Joe's friend texting the birthday girl who the party had been thrown for, until eventually, a text arrived that said,

"Ti farò sapere when I hear from her, Romeo"

Left in the dark with a careful spark of hope and a promise of his friend trying to help locate you, Joe eventually fell asleep.

The next day, a cast mate commented on Joe's bouncing leg. Said he'd been buried in his phone which seemed uncharacteristic. Worried eyes asked if everything was okay, and Joe sighed. Smiled. Explained he was waiting to hear from someone.

Who?

Joe didn't even know your name, but was hoping to find out today.

"...you don't know who you're waiting to hear from?"

Yea that sounded weird no matter how he tried to frame it.

Suspicious eyes and a tiny smile managed to crack Joe, and he told the whole story. Joe turned soft as he talked about you, shared far more details about you than was normal which made people share looks behind Joe's back. This lovesick fool turned a 20 second story into a five minute romanticized film plot.

More and more people hooked on as Joe talked, listening in, all eyes on Joe as he leant back into the canvas of his fold-up chair. By the end someone said,

"This story sounds familiar... did she, perhaps, leave a shoe behind? Like, a glass slipper maybe?"

It earned snickers from the group. Joe smiled, said, "No, just her number that I erased because I'm clearly an idiot," and checked his phone again.

Still nothing.

"That's too bad... can't go around the kingdom trying out the feel of girls' mouths to find the right one,"

People smacked each other's chests and shoulders as they laughed. Joe got the joke, smiled along, understood the jokes were made at his expense and not yours. They obviously didn't get it. They hadn't seen you shake your shoulders in a silly dance. Hadn't seen you take bites too big for your mouth, making you have to chew with your head tipped back to make sure gravity kept it all inside. Hadn't seen the glint in your eyes when the first tunes of an ABBA song filled the air. Hadn't felt how soft your skin was. How plush your lips were. The taste of you...

No.

They just didn't understand, and that was fine. They didn't need to.

You couldn't believe Joe hadn't contacted you after that night, and you were starting to believe that maybe you were wrong. Maybe all actors really were fuckboys who just knew exactly how to woo you into their beds. This one had really fooled you good, and you'd sulked for a few days after. Really sulked. Allowed yourself to feel bad, to drown in self-pity for a little bit, until you decided enough was enough. You could have that gorgeous night just be that; a gorgeous night.

Nothing more, nothing less.

Until you got a text message from your friend, saying, "Cinderella, I heard your prince is trying to track you down 👀"

Joe spent a few more hours bouncing his leg. Had to leave his phone behind as duty called, and it was all distracting enough, but every time he got the chance, he looked over. Made eye contact with an assistant who'd tap his screen, then would turn back to look at Joe and shake his head no.

That happened a few times.

Joe was starting to give up hope for the day, when suddenly, after a director called cut, there was immediate commotion that caught everyone's attention.

Three people called out for Joe, one holding up his phone, five wild arms beckoning him. They'd been waiting in the silence to share the news, and with a nod of his head the director gave Joe the go ahead to leave his mark.

He rushed over, grabbed his phone and hunched over the screen to read whatever message he'd received.

"Well, well, well... Emperor Caracalla, I heard you were looking for me?"

Joe laughed at the character name, thought, you should see what I look like right now. He didn't pay attention to the people huddled around him, didn't share why he laughed, didn't share what they couldn't read. Just texted you back instead.

"I was, does the glass slipper fit?"

Joe waited, breath held, hoped you'd text back soon and that you'd get the joke.

Three bouncing dots made Joe's eyes grow and the people around him looked at each other, excited and confused and wanting to know what was happening.

"Like a glove "

Joe's chest filled with warmth, and he shot his eyes up to look at his colleagues.

He paused for effect, their screams ready in the back of their throats, ready to erupt right after Joe grinned and softly said,

"Found her."

---

The Taglisted: 

@ghostinthebackofyourhead @dirtyeddietini @jasminearondottir @cancankiki @sidthedollface2 @dylanmunson @thefemininemystiquee  @alana4610  @emmamooney @thatonefan-girl @paola-carter @figmentofquinn @haylaansmi @thewondernanazombie @munsonmunster @kellyxo1 @chaoticgood-munson @sherrylyn628 @ohmeg @05secondsofsexgods @lovelyblueness @adoreyouusugar @nadixq @roosterisdaddy36 @alwayslindie @eddie-joe-munson @ali-in-w0nderland @pepperstories @phyllosilicate-s @thebellenouvelle @luvrsbian @joesquinns @choke-me-eddie @alizztor @frootvelvet @did-it-work @capricornrisingsstuff @quinnsmunson @frogers @kennedy-brooke @daleyeahson @harringtonfan4 @emma77645 @tlclick73 @eddies-puppet @mvnsoneddie86 @everythinghasafacee @a-time-for-wolvess @lucifers-side @barfightzanddiscolightz

(taglist currently full, sorry!)

[poppitron360]

Big “I’m Back, Bitch” post after my Hiatus.

Hello All!

This is kinda just intended for close moots or anyone who was worried about me or is interested in Poppi’s Personal Life Lore, just to keep you guys up to speed on how I’m doing after some time away and what to expect from me in 2025.

SO MUCH has happened in the two months I was away from Tumblr so for starters, here is a brief list of updates I have about My life/Fandoms/General shenanigans in no particular order

- The Ithaca Saga came out and it was AMAZING. I completely ignored my stockings that Xmas morning and instead just listened to it. By the time Christmas day was over I’d already listened to it about six times.

- Yes I was at the watch party along with 206,000 other people. It was truly historical.

- The Helluva Boss sinsmas special came out and almost made me cry. It’s been a while since I was posting about that show, but dw I still watch it

- I’m now on book 3 of Magnus Chase and YES YOU WERE ALL ABSOLUTELY CORRECT I LOVE ALEX SO MUCHHHHH. Expect some Alex Fierro/Fierrochase/Jack x Riptide content from me soon

- The Star Wars Disney+ shows are better than they’ve been since Mandolorian Season One.

- HAPPY 2025!!! This can’t be a real year. 2017 was still last year. No way we’re halfway through the 20s already.

- I had a BIG LIFE UPDATE that for personal reasons I can’t share online but it was BIG and also GOOD and I’m really proud of it. It was also unexpected and not the reason I took time off for. Idk why I’m including this bc I can’t really say anything about it but I need y’all to know that something good happened. It seems like when I vent about personal stuff here I only talk about the bad but good stuff does happen sometimes too.

- I got a weighted blanket for xmas. It’s so cozy and I love it.

- I have started getting into making OCs. Some for fandoms, some not.

- Penelope is now my favourite character in Epic.

- I’ve been writing this fanfic about the children of Percabeth, Solangelo, and Valgrace going on a TLT-style quest together so stay tuned to either read that or watch me give up on it and then just infodump about the plot I would’ve written if I’d had the energy

- I’m finally caught up on The Amazing Digital Circus

- I’m finally caught up on Agatha All Along (I still have the last episode to watch)- I think Joe Locke is stuck playing Sad Gay Baby-bois for the rest of his carrer now.

- Joel Smallishbeans won Wild Life and Grian is making 7hr Hermitcraft videos now.

- I performed in a play

- I have a 133-day streak on Duolingo!!

- Technically my one year Hyperfixation anniversary of Percy Jackson! I count it as the first Wednesday after Christmas as that’s when I watched the TLT musical for the first time. Because of this, whenever I doodle an SPQR tattoo on my arm when I’m bored, I will now draw two lines under it instead of one.

- Less than one month into 2025 and I can already predict that “The Challenge” is gonna be my top song of the year on Spotify

- Overall, I’ve just been trying my best to relax and take it easy, and I think I succeeded, which is good because that’s what I needed.

Now for the slightly less lighthearted stuff. I need to set a few things straight, for myself more than anything.

Firstly, I want to clarify that mentally I'm fine. I realise my leave was sudden and might’ve worried some people, and I apologise, but I am safe. You don't have to worry about my health or wellbeing.

This too will pass, and you'll get more dedicated, hyperobsessed Poppi back again once this has all blown over. Although, the aforementioned “BIG GOOD LIFE UPDATE” might complicate things.

Holidays are a stressful time for me, as I’m sure they are for you. With that on top of work and life stuff I needed to shed some mental load and unfortunately Tumblr was the first thing to go. And it will be the first thing to go again when something else stressful shows up. Adulting is hard you guys.

I've made it no secret that I've had some stressful stuff going on in my life these past few months. Yes, I am back from hiatus. Yes, I'm taking the time to rest and take care of myself. But I do not have the physical capacity to fully administrate a Tumblr blog on top of everything else right now.

So from now on, things are gonna be a little bit different around here. I won't be making posts every day and I won't be writing large fanfics or working on any complex fanarts.

I will need to take more hiatuses as things pile up.

I don’t know when exactly, but consider it a fact (unless I say otherwise) that this will happen again.

I know a lot of you will be understanding but I want to set these rules for myself so I don't feel any pressure from my brain to provide for you all. As I'm sure most of you will relate, I have a kinda all-or-nothing attitude to my interests, and as of this point in my life I can't afford to give my all to my blog. So expect a lot less from me these next few months.

Also, still nothing on the Autism Assessment Application stuff, in case anyone was wondering about that. This is the reality of living under the NHS. But by talking to people I’ve still been able to get the help and support that I need regardless of a diagnosis. And I also have a bunch of fidget toys now!!

Anyhoo, sorry for the ramble. I neither assume nor expect everyone will bother reading this so thank you for taking the time if you did. I wanted to put all of this in one post so I don’t need to keep talking about this and boring y’all with personal details in case you’re not interested. On with the fun fandom fiascos!!

I thank you all for your patience and being so kind and considerate while I needed some rest. I could not hope for a more awesome corner of the internet to exist on. Love you all. Stay safe. I’ll see you soon!

— Poppi <3

@lavenderfairiez @ginnyluna @groverapologist @echo-stimmingrose @demigod-shenanigans @keefessketchbook @sleepyycapybara @123letsgobestie @fairytalesociology @four-leafed-queer-gal @child-of-helios @puzzled-pegasus @ollieisanerd @twomanyfandomshelp @lokiwiiiiiii @yoshuko-ew @frayna-of-the-hollow @via-rant @hadeslegacyhephgirl @pjowasmy1stfandom @thetourturedwritersclub @m-for-now @inky-void @deciduowl

[queerbaitingbutikissgirls]

Part 2

Ship: Sevika x reader

Synopsis: Your second day at the clinic, sevika has technical problems with her mechanical arm and we learn more about our OC’s life.

Amidst the chaos of the clinic the break room didn't earned it's name. The charged schedule don't let place to much time.

Morning was to patch up of last night's patrol, midday was body modification something the lizard women seemed to be in charge of, afternoon left place to fighter care. I didn't knew but apparently a lot of the fighter in the ring where silco's man. They bring back part of the reward to silco and if I understood right they also work for him as patrol. I'm not sure how it work but anyway money is money in the undercity.

The day start to slow down as the alarm clock indicates 8pm. I was less exhausted than yesterday but nonetheless I felt like my feet were about to falter under my weight. "Do you wanna go home?" Asked Darius with a sorry gaze. But before I could answer I remembered her words from last night. You didn't last the night. I take a breath it before straightening my back. "No I'm good!" The doctor smiled proudly at me.

I turned around as I heard shuffling. It was the lizard women taking off her brown blouse. "I will then. You don't need two healers at night. I did enough night shift for a life time." She said before grabbing her bag and leaving the room without a goodbye. I turned toward the doctor a confused look on my face. "Don't mind the lack of manner she mean well trust me." I was about to answer him when the door opened stealing both of our attention.

"Right on time." The doctor said trying to hide the glimpse of fear behind his usual smile. She barely glanced at him making her way to one of the hospital bed where she sat making the poor wheel squeak under her weight. She really has no manners, I thought to myself. The doctor nervously followed her to the bed and I followed behind to assist him like I usually did.

The tall women even sat down was half a head taller than me. Darius inspected her mechanical arm carefully. The usual purple light coursing through the metal arm stopped halfway through it around the elbow region. "It seems to be stuck." Observed the doctor. "Find a solution." She said loudly making the poor doctor's shoulders jump. "I need to look at jinx's note." He answered anxiously as I roll my eyes at the brute that was this women. If I found her intriguing before I now only found her irritating.

the doctor walked away to find the shared note book but I kept my gaze on the mechanical arm as the light reflected on something in between two pieces. I suddenly saw a little screw in the inside of her metallic elbow here was the problem it probably belonged somewhere else and fell lose inside the mechanics. Without thinking I try to reach in between the metal to grab the screw but the metal almost close around the tip of my finger pinching the delicate skin. "Ouch don't tense yourself I'm trying to help you you idiot!" I said looking at her entire body flexing away from my touch. I shake my hand before looking at my painfully red finger and sigh. Her gaze seemed even more frustrated than usual. Maybe at the fact I just talked to her so carelessly, but in the moment I didn’t even noticed I had just called silco’s right arm and idiot.

I looked back at the arm where the screw had now fell a bit deeper. "Fuck, don't move I think I can still reach it." She listened and didn't moved but looked at me with an annoyed glance. "What are you talking about." I sigh already annoyed by my previous painful attempt. I didn't though she would be so chatty all of a sudden. "A screw got loose and felt between the mechanism. Now would you stay still so we can both get out of here with all our fingers?" I froze for a second and then looked back and forth at her and her mechanic arm as I realized what I just said. "You know what I meant." I shake my head before focusing back on the task trying to hide the subtle blush creeping on my cheeks due to my thought less sentence.

As I take the screw and put it back in the rest of the arm regained it's glow. I took a step back not sure of how that mechanic work and not wanting to risk any other injuries. "Good job y/n." The doctor said putting a hand on my shoulder and I almost jumped.

Sevika looked down at her arm flexing her fist a few times to make sure it worked properly. What did she expected that I broke it? I thought fighting the urge to roll my eyes again.

As I took another step back to let the doctor take care of her I let out a breath I didn't knew I kept in. another women entered the room with a big cut across her forehead so I left Darius take care of Sevika as I went to take care of the new patient.

____

The clock showed half past two and me and the doctor were both slumped over uncomfortable chair in the break room. "You did good kid you should go home it's late enough." He said before looking at the clock. "When do you go home?" I asked curiously and maybe slightly worried that I never saw him leave this place in the past two days. "I close the clinic around 3" he said with heavy eyes. So it did close I started to worry it was an endless clinic. So it was 10 to 3 quite a long shift.

I stood up from my chair to go grab my bag, he said I could go, plus he would close it in 30 minutes. So I made my way towards the door ready to enjoy a good night of sleep.

My hopes ended up way too high as my sleep was filled with nightmares. Scream and fire and death all of them polluting my brain setting an unavoidable curse on my mind. When I woke up in sweat it was already half past seven. I decided that going back to sleep was useless and stretched my arms before letting out a loud yawn. The house was already filled with footsteps and feminine voices. I climbed down my bunk bed to come face to face with an empty lower bunk. Not surprised at all I exit the room to the smell of cinnamon as two teenager giggling ran down the corridor. As I made it into the kitchen there she was sitting at the table kicking her leg as she put a big spoon of cinnamon oatmeal in her mouth.

"Don't eat so fast you'll choke on it." I say playfully putting a caring hand on her head. Her big eyes sparkled as she looked up at me. She wrap her tiny arm around me. "You're back." She said against my stomach. When she let go of me I get down on my knee to be at her height. "Of course I told you I'll always be there."  I said smiling at my sister.

[almostempty]

get to know your moots

thanks for the tag @yxtkiwiyxt, i can never resist a classic myspace about me bulletin survey throwback bc i yearn for the days of agonizing over finding the perfect profile song

what's the origin of your blog title?: it's too much pressure to create a witty name, i've used such gripping online usernames as waterbottle, casual-stapler, oldfruit, etc..

favorite fandoms: this is all i participate in actively! but i do enjoy being exposed to other fandoms through y'all here and there

OTP(s) + shipname: i just want all of the various fictional ppcu characters for me

favorite color: black n yellow 🖤💛

favorite game: nothing recently, but i enjoy zelda games, rdr2, elden ring, and roller coaster tycoon (1999)

song stuck in your head: listening to Sativa - Jhené Aiko, Swae Lee currently

weirdest habit/trait?: dissociating in car (parked)

hobbies: reading, writing, finding new/old music, making myself laugh over silly memes, swimming, solo adventures, people watching, going to da movies, etc.

if you work, what's your profession?: drug and alcohol counseling and juvenile justice advocacy

if you could have any job you wish what would it be?: obligatory i do not dream of labor, but like @yxtkiwiyxt, for my next trick i'd like to be a digital nomad somehow

something you're good at: i have a good picker for friends, i'm occasionally funny, dogs like me

something you're bad at: being concise, perception/management of time in any manner and remembering

something you love: music, all day, every day, non stop

something you could talk about for hours off the cuff: various rants about capitalism (i'm fun), movies i haven't seen but feel like i could accurately guess the plot of, my fav cursed double features

something you hate: my poor perception of time and memory issues, executive dysfunction, facing my demons aka doing IFS work in therapy

something you collect: concert vids, i think i'm the only one that rewatches them?, books, nearly dead peach ice Lost Mary's

something you forget: plans, texts, objects and people not in my line of sight, if a memory real or a dream/idea, if i've already told you the story i'm halfway through (but i still think it's funny so i intend on finishing it either way)

what's your love language?: i know it's an innocent question, but i have mad beef with the author of the book about love languages and the christian gender roles perpetuated in the book and lack of empirical research around the concepts, and the creator's homophobia, but i digress (i told y'all i'm fun)

favorite movie/show: some movies: office space, SLC punk, eternal sunshine, the thing, drive, bottoms; don't make me pick shows rn

favorite food: been unable to stop getting nachos and the poblano crema from the taqueria on my block for the last ~6 weeks

favorite animal: big time animal lover here, shout out to my dogs!! i can't choose a fav otherwise

are you musical?: i can play a couple instruments, i wish i could sing

what were you like as a child?: a pleasure to have in class

favorite subject at school?: art, but i pursued science

least favorite subject?: i never took chemistry because everyone complained about how hard it was and i figured out you didn't need it to graduate, but i suppose technically i didn't take it so can't confirm

what's your best character trait?: adaptability (i just took an updated personality test lmao to help me figure one out)

what's your worst character trait?: perfectionist (not with editing heheh)

if you could change any detail of your day right now what would it be?: a few interpersonal interactions

if you could travel in time who would you like to meet?: maybe an artist from the 27 club, just to see them perform

recommend one of your favorite fanfics (spread the love!):

two completed longfics i enjoyed <3, best kept secret- enemies to lovers/bodyguard din by luckbealincoln on ao3, vampire waltz - idiots in love/ max phillips by absurdthirst, wardenparker on ao3

obligatory free memes if u made it this far

tags, but no pressure: @auteurdelabre @gothcsz @lovely-vamp-princess

@slimybeth69 @swankyorange @syd-djarin @itwasntimethatdidit40 @probablyreadinsmut @thundermartini @ace-turned-confused

@persephone-girl @thischarmingmandalorian @pinkypromisepascal

@hoelaris @lilac-boo if u read this and i didn't tag you, tell me all ur secrets and tag me anyway <3

[orangesand-lemons-234]

Albert running into his art studio wasn't something Jack expected on a random Wednesday evening, but there he was.

He had a tattered notebook in his hands, and his fingers were stained splatters of different colours with what looked to be water colour paints. His face was red and puffy, showing that he must've been crying before he'd came over.

"Al? What's wrong with ya?"

"I need you to teach me how to draw and paint... right now."

Jack snickered, only to be met with Albert's face. "Oh, you're serious?"

Albert raised an eyebrow at him. "Why wouldn't I be? I'm serious as a heart attack."

"Albert, you can't just learn how to paint overnight." He explained. "It takes years to learn- I've been doing it for ages, and I'm still learning."

"Well then, teach me the basics! Please!" Albert exclaimed. "Show me how to draw a person- it doesn't even have to be everything! Show me the easiest of the easiest skills you know!"

Jack stared at him for a moment before speaking again. "Right, Albert, where is this coming from?"

Albert huffed and slid the notebook towards Jack. "I saw you drawin' Davey, and I wanted to try it out myself and draw Race, but I couldn't- I didn't understand how to do it. Every time i did it, it just didn't look like Race."

Jack flipped through the pages and saw the countless drawings of Racetrack on each page. Some were just plain pencil doodles, while others were coloured or painted in.

They actually weren't half bad. Some were definitely a little rushed, while others looked to have genuine time put into them. But on every page, you could read Albert's aggravated annotations in the corner.

"doesn’t look like race."

"too shape-y."

"wtf am i even doing here"

"sketch looked so much better"

"too stiff"

"who even is that"

"why can't i draw my boyfriend???"

"Okay, are you stressed out over this?" Jack asked, holding the notebook up.

Albert nodded slowly, scratching at the skin around his fingernails. At this, Jack threw the book into a drawer and shut it. He got up and walked over to a shelf, pulling a plain sketchbook off of it.

"Right, c'mere." Jack said, signalling to Albert to sit on the seat at his desk. He then grabbed a stool from the corner and sat it next to him. "We're gonna forget about your other sketchbook, and we're gonna start a different one, 'kay? I got this one off of Denton a while ago, but I'monly halfway through my current one, so this can be yours."

Albert nodded again, rubbing at his eyes. Jack reached over into a small basket on the corner of the desk and pulled out a sticker. It was of Simba from the Lion King. He peeled off the back and quickly stuck it onto the front cover.

"There. Now it's really all yours. Got your favourite character and all."

This got a laugh out of Albert, which told Jack that they were free to carry on.

"So something you should know about drawing is that sometimes you just can't draw the people you love. It's odd- some sorta science behind it, I think, but I don't know the real cause." Jack explained. "For me? I think it's because you love that person so much that you don't know how to draw them in a way that does that admiration for them justice."

"But you drew Davey for his birthday?" Albert questioned.

"Albo, when's David's birthday?"

"May 18th?"

"I began plannin' that painting in December. It took me half a year to plan that and practice that and draft that properly."

"Oh."

Jack patted his shoulder and smiled a little. "You don't have to do all that, though, but I can teach you bit by bit how to get to a point where you'd maybe like to try that out?"

"Okay then." Albert smiled back. He wasn't picking at his skin now, and he looked excited to begin.

"So, first step: pick up a pencil. Seems pretty simple, but you wouldn't believe how many times I've accidentally picked up a paintbrush instead."

-

That night, Albert fell asleep the second his head reached the pillow. He'd left the sketchbook out on his bedside table, alongside his bracelet and his black stud earrings.

Race leaned over to give him a kiss before he fell asleep himself, only to notice the book, which he didn't recognise.

He picked it up and went to open it. If it's a diary or something, he'll put it right down, but he did wanna see what it might be.

On the first page, he saw a sketch of himself. There were a few notes in Jack's handwriting littering the page, but that's not what he was focused on.

He didn't care if it wasn't perfect or anything.

Albert had drawn him. And he loved it.

[moonacrefarm]

anticipating love

summary: your parents marriage didn’t survive the test of time and neither did you first love. 

contains: childhood friends to lovers to strangers, second-chance romance, angst, hurt/comfort, slight miscommunication, fluff, 18+ series, mentions of stalking, mentions of cancer, no mention of y/n

authors note: so...uh, here it is :D

series masterlist

next part | 02. never hesitating

01. watching, i keep waiting

It felt like clockwork. An annual phone call from your estranged father, asking for a few life updates before awkwardly ending the call. This time, the silence hung in the air longer than the usual three minutes, a quiet hesitation you stuck around for.

Beau "Cyclone" Simpson was known for being a stickler for the rules; strict and to the point. He wasn't a natural-made family man; your mom accused him of hiding in his work and neglecting his duties as a husband and father. It was the last argument they had before she stuffed you in the backseat of her car.

They hadn't seen each other since.

However, this time, the anxiety could be felt through the phone, "Dad? Is there something else you need?" You inquired.

He sighed, "How… How's your mother?" The edge that settled in his voice finally clicked. He knew. A few deep breaths later and you gathered the strength to speak.

"She's…getting better. The doctor said there's hope." Silence followed again. It felt as if time slowed before he spoke again, “There’s a doctor here in San Diego who can treat her. We never divorced so… if she wants to I can…” He went quiet for a moment. “I know the move would be taxing but you guys would be closer to family and—”

“I'm not sure if she would want that, dad.” You spoke softly, gently cutting him short. “I've tried to convince her to take the recommendation, but…you have to speak to her.” Further silence followed. You could almost hear his heart hammering over the phone.

Your parent's relationship was a mystery to you. They’d never divorced but you were uprooted and planted halfway across the country when they separated. Your father didn’t fight and your mom didn’t have it in her to keep up with him. He’d prioritized his career over his family, and you knew he regretted it following your and your mother's departure.

Sure, you’d seen him sparsely throughout the years, receiving birthday gifts and visiting for holidays, but the damage had been done.

"Alright. You're right. I'll try to talk to her as well." He conceded. You didn't respond, whispering a soft goodbye before pivoting towards the window.

Observing as your mother tended to her garden, humming along with the radio. You had made a home in Virginia, but was it home? Both of your mother’s and father’s families were on the West Coast and the state held bitter memories after a failed engagement.

She'd always been stubborn, and while you weren't your father's advocate, you couldn't lose her. You understood this was her best option, yet she refused to take it.

It felt like days they spent speaking over the phone. Your father fighting tooth and nail to match your mother.

“You can’t honestly expect me to move halfway across the country for a maybe.” She spat. You couldn’t hear your father’s response but whatever he said softened her, wilting as her eyes filled with tears. She glanced at you. “Fine. We’ll see you then.” Her shoulders slumped as she made her way towards you, plopping on the couch and leaning her head on your shoulder.

“Pack your swimsuit. We’re going home.”

Phone calls had been made, flights booked, boxes shipped and suddenly you were standing in your childhood room. Not much had changed, except for the piled-up boxes that had been pushed into the corner. Memories hung around like outdated decor, a bitter taste filling your mouth.

A light knock jerked you out of your stupor.

“I didn’t know what to do…so I left it as it was.”Your father stood at the door. His frame taking up most of the space.

You inhaled a shaky breath, “Do you think it will work?” The fragility in your voice was noticeable as he inspected your face with a crease in his brows, lips pursed. “I hope so.”

Not much else was said as you continued to unpack. Mentally running through your to-do list for the next month and a half. Your mom had a doctor's appointment set for next week, and all you could hope for was promising news in the meantime.

Your mother's illness put a hiatus on your life. Her diagnosis turned your axis on its head; stability gone in a wink. Now you were unsure. Unsure of your future, of time, of her future. You decided to take time off of work and dip into your savings, this move wouldn’t strain you. If you were lucky, you’d be able to find a job near base, hopefully in some clinic. You couldn’t focus on patients when you’d see your mother in everyone. Time lost in your career wouldn’t compare to the time you valued with your mother.

While strolling through the house, you noticed your old family photos hadn’t been moved. Not a speck of dust to be seen in the home as you glanced at your parents in the living room. The tension was easy to notice. It permeated the air and left a heavy feeling in your lungs.

Words were waiting to be said you didn't want to be around for the aftermath. Not only to spare yourself from the debris of their approaching fight but also to give yourself the freedom to reset. Your emotional turmoil was eating you alive you needed some time to breathe.

“I’m gonna go visit Penny, she said to head down the bar once we were settled.” A swift kiss on your mother's cheek while she murmured, “Send her my regards.”

San Diego was a time capsule, the neighborhoods aging while the city was ever-changing. Familiar streets diverging off to ones you didn’t recognize. It’d only been a few years since you’d last come down and somehow that was enough time to reinvent the city.

Hard Deck itself had seemed the same, the amiable environment and ocean breeze skimming your cheeks. You’d arrived before the pub opened, approaching with excitement and allowing the bell to signal your arrival.

“Here I thought you were gonna stand me up?” Penny glanced over you with shining eyes, “Looks like at least oneSimpson can keep a promise.” A grin filled her face as she embraced you, her hug providing the warmth and consolation you needed after a massive move. “Where’s your mother?”

“Having it out with my dad” She winced.

“No wonder you got here before the bar opened.” You two shared a knowing look. You knew Penny had questions. Your mother was private about her sickness and never disclosed details. She even attempted to keep things from you. “Mom is down to see a doctor who might be able to help. I don’t know how the hell dad convinced us to share a roof but here we are.” You shrugged, wrapping behind the bar for a waist-apron.

Penny understood, bouncing her head as she gave you a gentle smile, “She's a determined woman. I believe she'll beat its ass before it even thinks twice about getting her.”

A faint huff came out of your mouth, “You know, you’re not wrong…” Before you could continue, Penny chimed in.

“There's a reason they referred to her as Hurricane, not only to piss off your dad but being an admirals daughter made her tough. Hell, your grandfather could barely keep her in check. He said he could control your mother or do his job.”

Laughter filled the bar, resounding through the empty building. The two of you calmed down, and you nodded your head in mortification, arranging some of the spirits as she continued.

“Hey, there's a reason we call you a little spitfire. Your dad and your mom? Of course, they'd create a vixen.”

A delicate smile graced your face, "I missed you, Penny." You admitted, "And I you. It’s not every day I get to see my favorite niece.” She tapped your nose as she turned to clean the bar top.

“Penny, I’m your only niece.”

“Details, details..” She hitched a tub of glass cups on her hips, waving you off, “If you aren’t gonna get to work, I’m gonna have to throw you overboard. We got a boat docked today.” You giggled at your aunt’s antics, appreciating her ability to keep the conversation light.

Penny glimpsed at you curiously, “Have you talked to….anyone else since you got back?” You understood what she asking without having her clarify. “Just some family members.” She gave you the eye, “But no. Haven’t spoken to Bradley in eight years and counting.”

“I thought you guys reconciled after you both graduated?”

“Not really. We talked sure, but we hadn’t spoken between then and when we finally did, things went to shit.”

Penny bobbed her head in understanding. "Stick jockeys… the only thing that keeps them grounded is insubordination." A huff fell off your lips as you got busy moving between tables. The crowd came in all at once, hordes of uniforms tottering in, some with arm candy, others eyeing for arm candy. This kept you in constant motion; gathering up drinks, bringing refills, making cocktails, and dancing around the jukebox.

The throng kept you light-headed, and you were thankful for it.

Groups of locals, navy sailors, and aviators cheered, drank, and sang. You were grabbing a refill for someone at the bar as Penny flirted with someone who looked vaguely familiar; he flashed her a warm smile as you tried to place him.

The distraction was short-lived when you took a pool stick to the hip. Your tray tilting into the hands of an arrogant aviator, his grin cocksure as he glanced you up and down, “Sorry dove,” He started, restacking the glasses, “I didn’t—”

“Careful.” You warned. “Disrespect a lady and get the bell.” Your finger pointed as a mischievous smile graced your face, “I think a pool stick to the hip is reason enough, no?” Your hands had been itching all night to ring the bell, it’d be a while.

“What if I help you carry this tray of glasses to the bar and work on an apology for you?” His green eyes filled with mirth, both of you enjoying this small pissing match.

“Much obliged.” You dumped the tray in his unsuspecting hands and he stumbled to keep it upright. Some of his fellow aviators cheered you, amused by the exchange. You made your way behind the bar as he handed you the tray, “Sorry for sticking it ya...” He pondered off, massaging the back of his neck, “Didn’t know you were behind me, I wouldn’t have gone so far back if I did.”

“To be fair, I wasn’t watching where I was going.”

“If I ask for refills would that ruin the apology?” He grins sheepishly.

You barked out a laugh, “What if I charge you double for your beers and consider it even?”

“Sold!”

He skimmed you over one more time. “Can I get your name on the side?” Silence fell between you two as you reached for the beers. He leaned on the bar, relaxing as he drew everyone's gaze towards him.

You let out a small laugh, deciding to toy with him a bit. "Callsign?" He knotted his brows together, "Hangman." You bobbed your head. "Top Gun graduate?" He nodded once again. You leaned in next to his ear, your voice quiet, "Piece of advice, Lieutenant….” You glanced into his eyes, whispering, “You might not want to hit on the daughter of the vice-admiral."

You didn't typically pull out your dad's rank, but this time it was worth it. His mug slipped, paling slightly. "They call me little Simpson. But hush,” You dragged a finger over your lips, “This is a secret between you and me.” You gave a small smirk. "Here are your beers sir," He didn't say another word as he toddled back towards his table, his crowd hollering at his stupefied disposition.

The sun had just started to set, disappearing behind the horizon and you called Penny for your break. You tucked away your apron as she took over, pumping cocktails and drinks out with ease. “I’m heading down to the shore for a bit, I missed California sunsets.”

“Remember, I need you back in 15!” She called after you, too occupied flirting.

The sand was warm and the breeze was gentle. Allowing yourself to unwind as you sit in the sand, resting your head on your knees, you listened to the hustle and bustle of the bar in back of you. Your aunt had run the bell and someone just got thrown overboard. You watched as the same aviator from before was one of the few that carried the old-timer out.

You still couldn’t place him but decided to let it go. You could ask Penny about it later.

A familiar tune of piano keys causes your spine to straighten. Nausea twisted itself in your stomach as goosebumps peppered your skin. You stood up, listening for his voice as he started singing, still incapable to believe it unless you see him.

You peeked, treading cautiously towards the window.

And there he was.

Sitting at the piano bench, singing the same song Carole hummed in the kitchen when she babysat you. His fingers danced on the keys as he commanded the room, bobbing his head as he sang. He had a fuller build, aviators sloped on his nose with an open Hawaiian shirt. The same one Carole said he could wear once he was old enough for it to fit him.

Dread spread through your limbs as time stalled. Penny would understand if you left now. You’d just have to run in and grab your things. You’d be gone before he noticed you.

The hesitation only worsened when he raised his eyes and that confidence was taken over by surprise. It was only a second but it was enough to jerk you into action. Descending into the crowd, you concealed yourself between bodies as you escaped towards the back to grab your keys.

The song wasn’t quite finished yet. He kept up his performance and you didn’t have it in you to match him today. “Penny—”

“Go. I know now isn’t the time.” You embraced her tightly, swearing to drop by tomorrow and complete your shift, but right now you needed to go, and having a face-off with the man who broke your heart isn’t what you needed. Maybe later, but not now, it would be too much.

The air hit your flushed cheeks, catching your breath from the sudden intrusion. You glanced up one more time before trekking to your car, watching him bask in the ambiance of the crowd cheering him on, arms spread out to take in the energy. It didn’t last long before his gaze set itself on you, making his way through the crowd with a smile. Anyone would miss it, but you weren’t anyone. His face was tight and he walked stiffer than his usual gait.

You hadn’t seen Bradley Bradshaw since you were 26, and before that, since you were 18. You’d been raised together since you could remember.

It was now or never, you could spilt at the last moment and very evidently run or you could hesitate and let him catch up to you.

Whatever options you had evaporated as the door opened. It moved slowly, and you held your breath.

In that moment you felt foolish, why did you need to hide? He was the one that left you that morning. He was the one that didn’t answer your phone calls and refused to reach out. Outrage simmered in your throat as you felt it flush in your ears. Why hide when you could bury the hatchet here and let him have it?

He slowed as he got nearer as if he could never reach you no matter how far or fast he walked. He dangled his aviators on the neck of his tank, gathering himself. His gaze followed you up and down, leaving a burn wherever you felt his stare.

“Bradley ‘The Brave’ Bradshaw.” You spat.

He winced narrowly at your tone. Wonder steeling his bones as he was rendered speechless.

“How was the last…what? Decade? It’s been almost a decade since I’ve seen you. Phew time just flies. Doesn’t it?” You folded your arms over your chest, standing at attention as he just stared.

He didn't talk for a while. Breathing as he thought, chewing his bottom lip, just like he always did when he was unsure what to say.

“Good talk.” You headed for your car before he grasped your wrist, a gentle tug but one loaded with desperation. “I…” He paused again.

"Fuck, I don't know what to say." He rubbed his forehead, taking a swig of his beer. "I mean, I didn't have time to prepare a script and all." He motioned around, catching his failed attempt at a laugh.

"I'm sorry." He blurted. You both stood dumbfounded, just in surprise at each other's company. "I should've written, or texted, or emailed. I shouldn't have…." He trailed off as if shame carried his voice away.

“Oh wow. He thinks too. Isn't that convenient?” Your biting remark was followed by a snort, “Apology not accepted. It was shitty of you to leave me like that, knowing what was going on and deciding I wasn’t worth even a goodbye. You didn’t even say goodbye Bradley.”

Tears lined your eyes as bitterness warmed you, “I thought I wouldn’t be so mad at you after all these years. Believed that if I ran right now I could put it behind me but no…the years we spent together meant nothing when you left like that.” Your voice hardened with your resolve.

His grasp slackened on your wrist, “Then why did you come back? Thought you would’ve had the wedding by now.” He cocked his head to the side, aggravating you in the process.

“No.” You spit the words out, “Called the engagement off when he said my mother’s illness wasn’t worth the trouble.” Bradley stood dumbstruck, mouth gaping like a fish out of water. It wasn’t often Bradley lost his composure, he had to be able to keep his head on tight if he was flying a jet. In this moment, he felt ill. He didn’t even know.

“She’s…She’s sick?”

You puffed out air, understanding that while you may seething, Bradley still cared for your mother. She took him in when Carole passed and Pete left him with nothing but a dim future. As much as you hated him, you understood that hearing about your mother's illness hurt. He loved her like family and he didn’t have much of that left.

“Bye Bradley.” You shook him off as he trailed after you, this time a bit brisk.

“What do you mean she's sick? Is it a cold, is it the flu?” Panic rested in his eyes as he scrutinized at you. Scanning your face for answers.

Your eyes bore into the asphalt. “It’s stage four Bradley.” You said feebly, the topic weighing you down as if sandbags had been placed on your shoulders, “The doctor said there might be a chance but we don’t know yet.”

He stood rigid, processing this information as grief seized his throat. Squeezing tight until he could barely speak. “I-I didn’t know or else I would’ve…”

“Would’ve what? Finally, called? You cut me off and I made do with it, but my mother? She loved you like one of her own and you just left.”

He rubbed his face. Palms shielding his eyes as he took a few breaths in, “At the time, I couldn’t have stayed. You may not understand why but I couldn’t stay.”

“Or you just didn’t want to.” His eyes shot up towards you, “You know that isn’t why I left. You know damn well.”

“No, I don’t. I woke up the next morning with nothing but your old pair of aviators and some dog tags. The bed was cold and I was alone.” You both had a stare-off, clearly oblivious of what the other was thinking.

You just puffed and watch as Bradley stood there, in all his aviator glory, allowing the anger that filled your body to tide you in. Electricity pooled into your palms and you tried not to slap him, all you could process was that anger, just anger anger anger. It was all you had that wasn’t grief.

Whether he was here or not, it didn't matter. You were too cross to articulate any of it. Years of bottled emotions popping open before you could process them. Stillness suspended itself in the air again, gripping both of you by the neck.

“I need to go.” You said firmly, “I just… I can't handle you right now. Not now.”

Slipping into your car, you give him one last look. He was impassive, closing himself off so he didn’t have to process it.

It wasn’t your problem anyway, you just needed to get home.

[cloudyskies-starryheavens]

Dork Diaries: Tales from a Not-So-Popular Party Girl

by Rachel Renee Russell

Basic Info

Book 2 of the Dork Diaries Series Year published: 2010 Page Length: 279 Genre: Realistic Fiction, Comedy Goodreads Link

Personal Info

Dates Read: 7/24/24-8/6/24 Read or Listened to?: Read How many times have I read this book before?: 1

Plot Summary (Spoiler Free)

Nikki Maxwell is back for October! She's still trying to make her way through eighth grade, and this month, she's excited to go to the annual Halloween dance! Maybe her crush, Brandon, will ask her to go with him?

Overall Impression

I liked this book! I think this was a great follow up for the first book, and we really get a chance to expand on the world and characters of Dork Diaries. MacKenzie is as mean and conniving as always, and you can expect a ton of drama in this installation. While it's not my favorite Dork Diary, this one still has a lot to offer!

Full spoiler review under the cut!

Plot Notes:

Character Notes: Nikki: - Bio: Nikki is an awkward, self proclaimed "dork" just trying to make her way through middle school. She loves art and writing in her diary, and would prefer to just keep her head down. She is our main character and we are reading from her diary. - How I Feel About Her: I like Nikki! I love her zany, drama-filled life and I love that we get to hear about everything through her voice.

Chloe & Zoey: - Bio: Chloe and Zoey are Nikki's best friends. They're also dorks in their own ways, and the three of them make a pretty good team! - How I Feel About Them: Chloe and Zoey are good supporting characters. They're both pretty silly and don't have a ton of depth or anything to their characters, but they still work pretty well for this kind of story.

Brandon: - Bio: Brandon is Nikki's crush. He's a sweet, handsome guy who likes photography and working for the school newspaper. MacKenzie also has a crush on him, but he doesn't return feelings for her. - How I Feel About Him: I also really like Brandon! He's just a totally sweet guy, and I can totally see why Nikki likes him. At the end, where he's comforting Nikki, is so cute! Usually I'm against shipping kids, but I do really like the idea of them having a cutesy little flirty, blushy relationship or something! I'm also totally here to watch their relationship develop!

MacKenzie: - Bio: MacKenzie is the most popular girl in school and also Nikki's chronic bully and sworn enemy. She's a stereotypical stuck-up blonde rich girl who delights in making Nikki's life miserable. She's the main antagonist of the series. - How I Feel About Her: I love to hate MacKenzie. The stuff she comes up with to thwart Nikki is always absolutely diabolical.

What I Liked/What Worked: I really liked that they didn't drag out the whole Brandon-asking-Nikki-to-the-dance thing. I was prepared for it to be a "will they won't they" kind of thing where Nikki is just totally oblivious to Brandon's attempts to ask her out and continue to find ways to stop him from actually doing it until the last minute. But I was pleasantly surprised to see that he does ask her out! And it's before the halfway mark, even! I can understand it from a narrative perspective, though, as Nikki needs a motivation to plan the Halloween party and go through with it. But yeah, it's just one of those tropes that I've seen so many times where the main character is oblivious to the love interest liking them back and the writer drags it all out for as long as possible. So I was more than happy for this change of pace! I also loved the way how the story flowed. I'd like to restate what I said in my review of the first book; "The story was paced incredibly well with a great mix of comedic slice-of-life scenes as well as holding a genuine plot." We're introduced to a bunch of ideas and they all come together naturally to form the climax of the story. It's really a very well written story! I also really like the comic on the back of the book, where MacKenzie steals Nikki's "lip gloss" only for it to be super glue! It has nothing to do with the story but it's always been my favorite mini strip of the series.

What I Didn't Like/What Didn't Work: The only issue I really took with this book was just how stressful the finale was. Nikki had to run to the ballet class for a few minutes, come up with an excuse, run to the dance and change costumes, hang out with her friends, run back to the bathroom and change again so she could hang out with Brandon, and then run back off again, the cycle repeats. I was genuinely so stressed reading that part, I was like, physically struggling. And the worst thing is that I kind of know how that feels? I mean, I've never literally been in a situation like that, but I have been noticing lately that I've been trying to bite off more than I can chew and just saying yes to everything even when I can't realistically do everything. So yeah. I know Nikki should have communicated better with everyone, but I also can kind of understand how she felt. Well, I can totally understand how she felt because we're literally reading her thoughts and feelings as she writes them down in her diary. But yeah, it did get to a point where I just felt like something had to give. And then MacKenzie stole Nikki's clothes?! Ack. Yeah, this one was just perhaps a bit too much for me. I just hope that Nikki actually learns her lesson and never does this kind of thing again.

Reading Experience: I love reading these books. They're very easy to just kind of breeze through, and when I actually sit down to read them (I take long gaps between reading bc I get busy with school and stuff), I can suddenly find myself having read a hundred pages. But I remember reading these in 5th grade when I had nothing else better to do than read. I was pounding out some of these books within a matter of a day or two. They're very gripping story-wise, and the font is very easy on the eyes. My short attention span also likes the way the text is broken up as much as it is. Overall it's easy to get sucked into these stories, and they're a pretty quick read if you set aside time for it.

Illustrations: Okay, I'll come out and say it. I'm not a huge fan of the original art style for this book. I love the take that it's Nikki's development as an artist, and that we could see her grow and change with her art style. It really does kind of look like this book was illustrated by a middle schooler. But reading these books with sort of random editions (I get 90% of my books from resale shops and the library) can be pretty jarring. I think I'm also very much used to the newer art style. I did the OMG All About Me Diary for a few years, and all of the art in there is in the newer style. Also I got into this series for the first time in 2015-16 when it had already been out for a while, so I'm sure I was seeing a lot of the updated art around that time. All that to say, I remember the newer stuff the best, so this art in this edition was a little weird for me. I just prefer the more streamlined, consistent style of the newer stuff. Still, I think it's pretty cool that I got my hands on an original copy!

Final Notes

Favorite Parts/Quotes/Passages: The Fairy Repellent scene was pretty funny, and I like the ending when Nikki's plan kind of comes crashing down around her but her friends are still there to support her. It was a nice breath of fresh air after all that stress and drama.

Enjoyability: 8/10

Would I Ever Reread This Book?: Yeah, I think so! It's a nice nostalgia fest as well as being a genuinely good story!

Do I Recommend This Book?: Yes! I recommend this whole series!

Who Would I Recommend This Book To? What Would I Like For Them To Take Away From It?: I'd recommend this series to just about anyone, tbh. I mean, some of the pop culture references may age the book in a way that makes it more difficult to get through with newer audiences (although to be fair I lived under a rock my whole childhood, didn't get hardly any of the pop culture references in these books, and still loved them), but I still think it's worth it. This book (and the series as a whole) is wildly entertaining for all kinds of audiences, and it even offers a few morals as well.

Overall Rating: 8/10

[meekmedea]

Time Loop - Reaper's edition

previously thought about a time loop with Clemmie reliving the events of the 10th game over and over, now thinking about Reaper in the same situation.

The first iteration goes down exactly as it does in the book. But instead of death, he wakes up back on the day of the Reaping. This time, when Coriolanus inevitably runs his mouth, Reaper manages to dodge the knee to his crotch and just shoves him to the ground. HARD.

He's got some beef with Lucy Gray. The memories of what she did with the flag are pretty fresh. And just maybe the second time around, Lucy Gray dies first.

`

From the time loops, he's starting to lose his mind. He's befriended a number of tributes over the loops, but nobody else save him remembers the past loops. Dill keeps dying. The snakes keep getting set loose. His mentor just disappears after that loud mouthed mentor (Arachne) dies and doesn't feed him till the very last day. Because of this, he and Clemensia don't really interact in any of the time loops.

Shoving Coriolanus into the truck wall gets boring after the 5th time. Sometimes, he lets the other tributes get a go at it - his fav iteration may have been when Bobbin took matters into hand.

And it doesn't matter if he wins or loses the games, he's always brought back to the day of the Reaping.

`

In one iteration he does finally talk to Clemensia - he's thinking, what have I got to lose at this point? Things don't go smoothly on their first meeting. She attempts to make conversation/fill out the questionnaire, he's annoyed by how it's nothing more than an assignment to her. It doesn't lead to anything physical, but the 2 are angry enough to go from petty jabs like - Reaper being reaped with a name like that, to the rights of those in the Districts vs Capitol. People are staring as they start shouting at one another.

Which is surprising that she appears at the enclosure that night, food in hand and an apology? He's baffled. Doesn't trust the food. They split the food and he watches her get halfway through the sandwich before he agrees to take a bite out of it.

`

They're not exactly friends in this loop. Just allies, who think the other is strange. They've promised to be honest at least. The night the loud mouthed mentor dies, she mentions something about a paper to submit on how to 'improve' the games, like betting as Coriolanus had suggested. He brings up the idea of 'gifts'. She still disappears after the loud mouthed mentor dies. He does ask about her, but all he gets is that she's not feeling well.

In this iteration, he makes his escape during the explosion. In this one, Clemmie manages to make it out of the hospital unnoticed and they run into each other. Shocked as they are by the other, they do quickly form an alliance as neither wants to be caught.

Reaper has better luck than Marcus in canon, given Clemmie is his unofficial guide around the Capitol. He feels a bit guilty having to steal certain things so they can blend in a lot easier with the population given his district clothes and her hospital attire.

One of the jackets stolen has a nice wad of cash within it. They get a room in a seedy motel while trying to figure out where to go from here. Clemmie has to do the talking since his accent will give him away.

`

She has a better grip on her emotions unlike the book when she finds Coriolanus in the hospital. Mainly because Reaper takes her a lot more seriously when she confesses that she thinks Gaul is going to kill her. He's lived through enough time loops to think, "Yeah, that's plausible." Better is also subjective, she's very tense and her emotions are everywhere.

He gets the snake story out of her, is a bit horrified. Does also wonder about her fate in previous loops. And figures - okay, we've gone this far anyway, might as well tell her about the time loop he's stuck in. She thinks he's joking at first, before realizing he's dead serious.

Is anyone else in on this? / No. / Oh. I'm sorry. / What for? / It can't be easy. / No. No, it isn't.

There is an attempt at plotting - she cannot do very much for him, but with the remainder of the cash, she does outline what she thinks possible methods are escape are, places to avoid, the train station etc.

She also tells him - if it loops again for you, and you want to convince me, this is what you can do. [insert fact or action that she in a normal scenario would have never told him about]

He still wants to get the other tributes out. Clemmie reluctantly agrees to help, even if she thinks this won't end very well.

And in this loop, he dies before the games have begun, and the last thing he hears is her screaming.

[ectonurites]

Now that we’re halfway through it what are your thoughts on Kon’s solo?

I've been enjoying it! I think it's been fun so far—I do think that letting Kon have a story where he's out on his own just doing a classic little adventure like this rather than... something super tethered to the greater DCU/its continuity messes is refreshing after the last few years he's had.

Like I definitely don't want him isolated from all his friends in space forever or anything like that, but I think him getting to do this on his own right now is cool. I think the thing Porter seems to be going for with Kon 'chasing after the glory days'/trying to find some shred of his old life to cling onto (even if it's just a space imitation of it) is definitely interesting and like... makes enough sense to me for him and where he's at after The Everything.

I just gave this 'how Kon has changed across the eras' post of mine from a while back (fall 2021, so written shortly after the whole Suicide Squad Match Ordeal™) a re-read and something I was talking about at the end was how after all the experiences he's had he has looped back around to embracing aspects of his old self (that he'd been pushing away for a long time because of 2000's-era Trauma And Angst) and I think this current book is definitely like, playing with that.

What I was talking about in that post ended mostly after YJ 2019 though—his state of mind at that point being more or less 'okay I'm back now let's goooooo!!!!!' before The Horrors of realizing he came back to a world that really had moved on without him for years really set in. Like, he knew about that by the end of YJ 2019, but I think he needed to sit on it for a bit and see it firsthand... also even though I know the book was a mess and not well received, I think we should still acknowledge Dark Crisis: Young Justice—where he got a firsthand taste of the olden 90's 'I hadn't died yet, I hadn't disappeared yet, I hadn't been replaced yet' days in Mickey's dream world. After experiencing that and getting some reality checks from the rest of the team, he knows he can't seriously just go back, you can't go back to the past like that... but...

The new understanding of himself he'd achieved just before/while stuck on Gemworld—where we saw he was making active choices about who he's gonna be based on what he wants rather than Clark-based expectations or anyone else's input, and where he was rolling with the changes and circumstances that had been thrown at him—has been thrown SERIOUSLY out of whack!

So rather than it being that 'he's returning to aspects of who he used to be while incorporating the experience and maturity he's gained along the way over the years' situation from YJ 2019, it's started warping into 'he's regressing back to the safety of being the Metropolis Kid/his 90's era self just out in space this time so TECHNICALLY it's DIFFERENT'. Which I think is an interesting approach! And him acting completely and totally in denial of that being what he's doing (even though it's clear he knows damn well it is) is also totally in line with classic Kon—thinking back to the Young Justice (1998) #7 camping trip LMAO.

But like, the thing is, Superboy: The Man of Tomorrow #1 started with an editor's note clarifying it takes place before Action Comics #1051 which began the new family-focused era of the book... that Kon is very obviously present for.

So we already know he's gonna figure out that there is a place for him back on earth and that he doesn't need to completely regress and try to relive his past somewhere else, he can just be himself and carve out his own path at home and have a place within the family. We're not stuck guessing about what Kon's fate is gonna be after the fact—instead, this book gets to focus on this journey he's going through and we're along for the ride to see how he's gonna finally reach that conclusion! Which is fun!

Anyways, that was a lot of word dumping—Kon just gets me going man, you know he always does—but in conclusion: I'm enjoying the book overall, it has definitely kept me as a Kon fan engaged, and I'm looking forward to seeing where it goes!

+ as much as ideologically I am opposed to DC Round Robin, I'm definitely (at this point anyways) glad that this book got to exist.

[mellori]

As you might imagine I finished Gideon the Ninth strongly motivated to read Harrow the Ninth immediately, and so I pretty much didn't stop listening to it non-stop until I'd gotten about halfway through and was suddenly struck with an overpowering impulse not to start the next chapter. I've forgotten what, exactly, happened but I'm sure Harrow had just spent a(nother) chapter suffering on the Mithraeum.

I was super confused, because I'd loved Gideon the Ninth so much, and now I was dreading starting the next chapter of Harrow the Ninth? So I sat down and really thought about it. Why did I suddenly seem to hate this thing I love?

My immediate, emotional response was basically "Well obviously Ms. Muir has lost the plot. She had a cool idea that managed to become Gideon the Ninth and now she's disappeared up her own asshole trying some avant-garde experiment in Harrow the Ninth because she thinks she's clever and is trying to outdo her previous work."

This is obviously incredibly, embarrassingly stupid, in hindsight.

But next, as I was interrogating my own feelings, I asked myself "but what if the same Tamsyn who wrote Gideon the Ninth also wrote this? (A shocking revelation, I'm sure.) What if this is just as cleverly crafted and wonderfully written? Why would I hate it then? Is it the second person perspective? (No? Maybe a tiny bit, but not really.)"

(At this point i also asked myself "Given this incredibly obvious assumption that Ms. Muir remains a genius writer, why would she choose to write these parts in second person?" and realised immediately that Gideon was narrating from inside Harrow's mind. This, I am sure, greatly helped me enjoy the rest of the book, because it made me feel clever and my biggest flaw is without a doubt how much I need to feel like I'm smart[er than everybody else], but that's neither here nor there.)

Essentially what I'm saying is it took me barely ten hours before I hated how trapped I felt being stuck on the Mithraeum.

IMAGINE TEN THOUSAND YEARS OF THIS SHIT.

Also shout out to Tamsyn Muir, so effortlessly evocative a writer that I didn't even notice how strongly and completely she was making me empathise with Harrowhark and her situation. I don't think I've ever connected with a character so profoundly, so deeply and so unconsciously before. I wanted out so viscerally I had to stop reading for a hot minute and remember that I'm not actually trapped on the Mithraeum, this is a book that I'm reading.