#i was sort of joking but sort of not. seeing that email on top of leaving work early to run home was too much for my brain in that moment.

[user-needs-new-hyperfixation]

You know how we joke about the array being like a group chat or social media? Well imagine if prayers went into a sort of heavenly email inbox. And when Xie Lian ascends for the third time, he expects his to be empty aside from the occasional spam from someone trying to schmooze up to every god they can think of, or the sadder chain emails from people desperate for help from anywhere.

Instead, he opens it and finds thousands upon thousands of prayers dating back throughout the entirety of his banishment, all from the same untraceable source. He opens random ones. Some are sweet little things, "Your Highness, wherever you are tonight, I hope you sleep well."

Others are more complex, "Your Highness, I find myself in a position where I must either seize power myself or risk it falling into other, more wicked hands. My own hands will inevitably be dirtied by wielding that power, but would they not be just as tainted if I did nothing, and let worse things happen? I know what I will choose, but I still wonder what you would do in my place."

Others still make him blush tomato red up to the tops of his ears, trailing babble still imbued with frantic eroticism and clearly never meant to actually reach him, cutting in and out like a poorly tuned radio as the devotee tries to keep thoughts from becoming prayers, panted strings of "Your Highness, Your Highness, please please please..."

The prayers date back to a few years after his second banishment, which makes sense because his inbox had been wiped when he was banished. He's surprised it's been allowed to gather all of this since: he supposes it's just that no one has even thought to notice. The centuries the prayers span makes it clear they do not come from a human, which is confusing and intriguing in equal measure.

And then, early on, he finds one that makes his heart stop and then take off again at a gallop.

"None of them are quite right, Your Highness. If I carve a thousand, ten thousand, will I eventually get it right? Will I ever be able to capture the kindness and the ferocity you radiate in something as base and cold as stone? I'll keep trying forever, or until I can see you again in the flesh. Your Highness has a believer here who still offers worship."

And that is how Xie Lian realizes that Wu Ming still exists.

(Insert long canon-divergent AU I'm too lazy to write here. I think there needs to be some kooky misunderstandings. Xie Lian is now aware that Wu Ming is out there and loves him and is looking for him and is so distracted by his determination to find him that it takes him 600k words of stubbornly denying his growing affection for Hua Cheng before he finally realizes Hua Cheng IS Wu Ming and has been desperately trying to court him for several volumes.)

[ghouljams]

Popping in to say your sandwich mafia au has got me really into sandwiches and I'm proud to report that for the first time in nearly a decade I'm not as scared or anxious to eat bread (in a homemade sandwich situation). The ED don't like bread, but I want to experience Simon’s sandwiches, so thank you dearly for your writing and the homemade reuban I'm gonna enjoy while reading your series 💜

As someone who has also struggled with an ED, WAY TO GO!!! We take every victory that comes to us even if that victory is a sandwich(good choice with the reuban btw those are my favorite). Here's some fic for you, as a little treat. Ghost being nice.

-

"I don't mean to be asking questions-" You start.

"But you're gonna push past the discomfort," "Simon" raises a brow, there's no danger in his eyes, just a sudden wariness that makes you feel a bit off balance. You expected his guard to raise immediately. You must not register as much of a problem, or he figures you're smart enough to know what not to ask.

"What are you doing running a sandwich shop?" You wave your hand to indicate his... everything. Not exactly what you think of when you think of a restaurant owner. A hit man maybe, but not a restaurant owner.

"I like food." Simon answers plainly. It's so simple it takes you by surprise.

"Oh."

"Sorry ta disappoint, no sob story here." He shrugs, "Why d'you come in here?"

Question for a question you suppose. "Food's good," You shrug, "and cheap. It's hard out there." You mean it to come off as a joke but you feel sort of pathetic telling a mobster that you're underpaid and counting coupons at the local shops.

"You know, uh," Simon clears his throat a little and you give him a look of horror.

"I don't need a job from you." You tell him. Simon makes a face, you can see his nose pinch under his mask, the exaggerated grimace made all the more unappealing by the zig-zag of scars pulling at his skin.

"Shut the fuck up and lemme be a fuckin' nice guy, alright? Shit." He shakes his head like you're being unreasonable about not wanting to join the mafia. "My girl-" You make a face, "-She ain't in the family, so quit complainin'." He points a finger at you and you shrink back. "My girl-" he looks to you for complaint, you give him a thumbs up, "-needs some 'elp with 'er-" he waves a hand, "-whatever she does, and she pays good." He stares at you. You're not sure if you're allowed to talk.

"You have a girl?" You don't think you can tackle the rest of it just yet, so you start with the part you find hardest to believe. Simon gives you a withering look and pulls his phone from his pocket. He swipes a few notifications from the screen and turns it your way.

Honestly the spiderweb cracks on his phone don't help, but that's definitely a woman on his lock screen. She's grinning ear to ear and holding up what appear to be divorce papers. You give Simon his look right back over the top of the phone. It's the same girl he threw out of the shop two months ago.

"Happy?" Simon grumps, locking his phone and shoving it back in his pocket.

"Don't people usually have a wedding photo as their lock screen?"

"You want the job of not?" Simon side-steps your question.

"I do not." You give him your best impression of someone completely disinterested, because you are.

"You're takin' the job," Simon tells you, he turns to go back to the kitchen grumbling under his breath about having money for food and raising the prices of his sandwich. God you hope not.

You get an email from a name you don't recognize inviting you to interview for a job you didn't apply for not even an hour later.

[lunarmoves]

through pixel eyes (chapter one)

pairing: DCA sun/moon/eclipse x reader

mentions: kinitopet/virtual au, gender neutral reader, general creepiness

a/n: ignoring that it's 3am where i am... ch1's finally here! yippee!! ending is rushed but im tired so excuse it LOL pls check out the masterlist for more info on the fic (tags & summary). hope u guys enjoy! :D

word count: 5.3k+

masterlist

ao3 link

Click. Click. Taptap tap tap. Click. 

You chew aimlessly at the bottom of your lip as your mouse roves over to the latest email in your inbox, opening it with another decisive click. Perking up slightly, your eyes skim through its contents, mindful of the zip file attached to it at the top. 

Valued employee, the email reads, thank you again for your decision to assist Fazbear Entertainment in the latest beta testing stages for our developing proprietary technology. Attached is the file you are required to download to begin testing. As always, be mindful of the documentation you have signed previously; a failure to comply will result in immediate termination. Located at the bottom of this email is the submission form you will need to populate each time you conduct a run. If you have any questions or concerns, feel free to reply to this email. Have a Faz-errific day! 

You hum and scroll back to the top of the email again so you can look at the attached file. FazPals1.1_DCA.zip, it says. You click the download button, then lean back in your chair as you wait. 

For being such a large company, FazCo has a rather small beta testing team. You suppose it makes sense, though; their technology is so unparalleled that you are sure they’d want to keep information as closed off as possible. Hence why you’d been forced to sign all matters of forms—contracts, an N.D.A., and waivers, of all things—before they’d signed you on. You’re sure they are even more restrictive with their information after the pizzaplex burned down all those years ago. You’re lucky you’d managed to slither your way into their ranks to make the beta team, though you figure it helps that your resume is stacked with experience. 

You are certainly curious as to what they’ve been doing while they parade assurances that the pizzaplex will return “better than ever.” You have a vague idea from your past emails with management as you were being incorporated into the beta testing team—some kind of interactive game of sorts, you think—but they’ve been rather hush-hush about it. Your answer resides in the zip file that’s just finished downloading to your computer. You navigate to your file explorer and begin the extraction process for the files. Luckily, it doesn’t take too long. You scratch idly behind your ear, shifting your headphones a little to rest more comfortably atop your head. 

Okay. File open. Where is the— There! You double click on the FazPals_DCA.exe file to run it and begin installation. A brief glance at the time shows it is a little after six in the evening. You have quite a bit of time before you’ll need to head to bed. You’ll see how far into the program you get before you hit a checkpoint or something. 

You watch as a tiny pink and white bear on the installation window flips a pizza over and over while the progress bar steadily inches its way to full completion. It is oddly hypnotizing. And when the program finally finishes installing, the window closes. An icon of a cool crescent moon tucked into the burning yellow of a sun appears on your desktop and is labeled as FazPals. Nice. Thank you, fast WiFi. Without much preamble, you double click on the icon. 

A small window pops up in the middle of your screen. You glance through the text quickly. 

Welcome to version 1.1 of FazPals, your very own virtual desktop friend based on the hit characters from Fazbear Entertainment's Mega Pizzaplex! They are able to walk, talk, joke, tell stories, give fun facts, adapt, and play games! FazPals are like no other with their innovative adaptive technology! You'll learn from them as they learn from you!

Click the button below if you are ready to meet your new FazPal!

Not what you’d been expecting, but it sounds pretty cool. It reminds you of the Tamagotchis from all those years ago—only with the A.I. of Fazbear-branded technology. Well! No time like the present! You click the ‘Proceed’ button and the window closes. 

In the center of your screen, a small music box appears. It’s an unassuming little thing, wrapped in yellow with a red ribbon crossing over it to tie into a neat bow at the top. A crank awaits your click, so you do just that, watching as it rotates around and around until— Pop! The box opens and something jumps out of it with a flourish and a jingle of bells that echoes through your headset. 

The box disappears and you’re left to stare curiously at the little figure swaying animatedly on your desktop. He seems to look around a bit, then a small dialogue box flashes over his head. But before you can read its contents, the box disappears in a static puff. You cock your head slightly. A glitch, maybe? You file that away for later and instead observe the tiny, taut grin of the program. Your FazPal, or whatever. 

You recognize him from the pizzaplex commercials you’d seen on the television years ago—the Daycare Attendant. A fellow—fellows?—modeled after celestial bodies. You’re looking at the sun, currently, though his design is a bit different from what you remember seeing.

Before you can get a good look at him, however, another dialogue box pops up over his head with text accompanying a voice that chirps into your headset. You are momentarily surprised at the sound; you hadn’t expected FazCo to incorporate their voice module into the program too. 

“Hellooo, New Friend!” Sun exclaims in a slightly pixelated manner—hardly noticeable, really—as he waves a small hand. “My name is Sun, your very own F-FazPal!” There’s a slight glitch on the word that makes his voice deepen slightly, but it passes easily enough. “What’s your name?” 

Following his question, a window labeled ‘Name?’ pops up to his side with a textbox for you to input your answer. Figuring he isn’t going to proceed with his script until you type your answer, you take the moment to properly analyze his design. 

Detached sunrays of white and gold hover around his head, framing bright eyes and an equally as bright smile on a face split into a crescent. He’s rather lithe, with a red sash tied around his waist that’s adorned with small, golden bells. Another bell is tied around his spindly neck with a red ribbon, and those same ribbons are tied around his wrists. His torso is bare and colored in different shades of yellow. Puffy red pants cover his legs—triangularly shaped with sharp lines and edges. They are decorated in a design that reminds you of the circuitry of a motherboard—dissecting lines connected by small circles that start from his waist and make their way down the length of his pants in a trickle. Pointy shoes with little suns on their sides finish the look. 

He is all angles and unforgiving points, with a digitized sort of look to him that fits the whole ‘FazPal’ aesthetic, in your opinion. It’s certainly interesting. You like the futuristic feel to it. 

Pulling yourself back to the present, you type in your name. Sun has his arms crossed behind his back as he waits, swaying gently side to side. You hit enter and the window disappears. 

“Lovely name!” Sun chirps, his rays spinning around his head eagerly that you eye in interest. They look like floating pieces of fractured, stained glass, dainty yet deadly. “I’m sure we are going to be the bestest best friends!” You snort at the declaration. 

“To start our little quest of friendship,” Sun continues on, his head moving towards the dialogue box that pops up near him like he’s looking at it, eyes narrow. It’s honestly difficult to tell with that blank gaze of his. He returns his gaze to the front, where his eyes upturn into little crescents. “Why don’t we get to know each other? Sound good?” 

Another window appears with two simple buttons sitting next to each other under it: A ‘Yes’ and a ‘No’. You click the ‘Yes’ and Sun gives an excited little clap of his hands. It’s cute, in a way. “Wonderful! Okay! To start, what iiisss your favorite color?” The open window closes, then reopens to a textbox again with the new question displayed at the top. You hum and tap your chin thoughtfully, then let your fingers fly across your keyboard as you type the color in. 

You pause, however, before you hit enter and decide to tack on a ‘hbu?’ to your response. If only to satisfy your curiosity and really test the limits of FazCo’s ingenious A.I. Hey, you’re a beta tester—it speaks for itself! 

Sun grins even wider, if possible. “That’s a good one! As for me…” He makes a thinking gesture, eyes narrowing like he’s contemplating it deeply, then brightens up. No, literally. A lightbulb appears over his head for a quick moment. “I like all the colors, it’s so hard to choose just one! Normally, I just say ‘rainbow’!” He makes a little semicircle gesture with his hands around his head. Little pixelated sparkles wink into and out of existence near his fingers before he clasps his hands behind him once more. You’ve got to hand it to FazCo—they certainly know how to add some flair to their characters. “Next question! If you could have any superpower ever, what would it be?”  

You chew at your lip again as you lean back in your chair and ponder his question. Why is it when people ask you these kinds of questions you always blank on the answers? Sun is ever so patient as he waits, moving in that idle animation next to the open window. 

Ah well, it’s not like you’re answering an interview question or anything. You wing it. ‘probably invisibility, or something. hbu?’ And enter. 

“Ooh! Invisibility!” Sun nods like he’s giving his approval. “Good in the right hands! I would want the power to read minds, I think! All the better for making fantastic friends!” 

You make a small sound at that. Well, you suppose that’s one way to make friends, albeit not a very… stable foundation to base a friendship off of. Sun proceeds with his next question. “This one’s a bit of a tough one! What’s your favorite word?” 

‘Tough’ is an understatement. You’re stumped. You rake through your mind for a word and draw up nothing but blanks. You’re certain you have one, but you just cannot think of it at the moment. Shrugging, you type ‘idk. i can't think of one rn, sorry. do u have one?’ 

His head cocks to the side, grin curling at the edges. “That’s more than one word, New Friend!” Sun replies amusedly, then laughs—a loud, tinkering thing that cuts off a bit strangely at its end. “Kidding! I’ll let you off easy for that one!” He is quite good at adapting to your responses, you note lightly. Very intriguing. You wonder how that’s coded. “My favorite word is supercalifragilisticexpialidocious!” You blink in surprise. The dialogue box is barely able to hold the word inside of it. You didn’t quite expect him to say that, of all words, though you guess it makes sense for him. Sun doesn’t elaborate, just transitions merrily through the next part of his script. “Now, for this question, I need you to be as detailed as possible, okay? It is”—he pauses for a second—“essential.” 

You nod, but it’s not like he can see you, so you end up looking like a fool. Sun stares straight ahead and it… it feels a bit like he’s looking directly at you. You shift uneasily in your seat and watch his eyes go dark along with his white rays and wide smile. Abyss-like. Something drops in the pit of your stomach at the abrupt switch. His smile widens. It cracks like he’s on the edge of something hysterical. And when he speaks, it’s in a low, garbled voice that grates at your ears. 

“Where.” He grits out. “Are—” 

He doesn’t get the chance to finish. A glitch encompasses his body that makes his rays twitch erratically and his limbs to jitter about like he’s being electrocuted. You jerk back out of surprise and consider exiting the hell out of the program. But then he’s back to normal like nothing had ever happened. White eyes stare up at you with an equally as white smile. 

“Oh!” Sun exclaims cheerfully, swaying about gently. You’re taken aback and, quite frankly, confused out of your goddamn mind. “Silly me, look at the time! I’m afraid our friendship will have to wait! There’s someone else who’d like to meet you!” 

“What.” You utter the word mindlessly, eyes flicking down to the time on your computer. 6:59 P.M. Time sure did fly by through all of… that. You’re not entirely sure what to think of it. 

“Talk to you soon, New Friend!” Sun waves a hand in farewell, then spins himself around in a little animated tornado. You can only stare, oddly transfixed and still utterly flummoxed, as he spins around, and around, and around until the clock changes to 7:00 P.M. and he slows to an elegant stop. 

Only, it’s not Sun you’re looking at anymore. 

The rays are gone, replaced with a nightcap covering his head that’s adorned with twinkling stars and a little bell at the end. All the yellows have shifted to greys, blues, and blacks, though he still retains the golden bells, red ribbons, and red sash. His pants are a midnight blue with the same circuitry design, and his shoes now have little moons etched into them instead of suns. 

This must be the moon, you conclude once you’re done observing him. The other half to the Daycare Attendant you remember seeing via advertisement—the one who’d been in charge of naptime. 

You watch as Moon seems to look around. You’re not sure what he’s looking at, but you can only wait. Gentle ruby eyes move from your desktop icons to the open window that Sun had been standing next to. His smile turns jagged like the outline of a mountain. And then—

And then he slinks away, disappearing straight off of your monitor without a second look. You’re left staring at the open window, the cursor still blinking in the textbox and awaiting your input. What… just happened? You blink at where he’d disappeared off screen and wait a few moments. But he doesn’t come back. 

What the hell?

Five minutes turns into ten, which turns into fifteen and then twenty, but he truly does not return. You’re stupefied. 

Maybe you should restart the program? You nibble at your lower lip and right click on the FazPals icon so you can end it and then boot it back up again. Your mouse turns into that loading circle of death, and you swear you’re not holding your breath in anticipation or anything, but it sure does feel like it. 

Loading… loading… loading…

…

Nothing. Zip, zilch, nada. Moon does not appear. You groan and scratch at your ear again, shifting your headphones. Day one of testing and you’ve already run into a problem. Great. Well, it wasn’t like you’d expected everything to be smooth sailing. Still annoying, though. Just in case, you try restarting your computer. 

It doesn’t yield any results either, and you end up just watching some videos as you wait to see if the bug will magically fix itself. Spoiler alert, it doesn’t and you eventually give up as the clock ticks closer to midnight.

But well—you think as you slowly pull up the submission form FazCo had sent you for your job to fill out—you suppose this is why the program’s still in the testing phase. It obviously has some kinks that need to be ironed out. Hopefully it’ll get fixed up in the next patch update. Until then, you’ll just have to deal with it. 

A benefit of working from home? You get to set your own schedule. A blessing, at times. 

That unfortunately means you have to stick to it while ensuring you’re properly taking care of yourself, and going outside to get fresh air, and also getting all the necessary work done on time, and also— 

Well, you get the point. 

You wake up groggy the next day and stumble your way out of your room, just barely managing to step over the little Roomba aimlessly bumbling down the small hallway. At one point it was another product you were testing, but then it was given the green flag for mass production and admission to stores. The company let you keep the one they sent you. It was a little finicky, but it worked just fine. You named it Chicken Nugget a while ago—Dr. Nugget for short, because a Roomba with a PhD was just too amusing to pass up. You’re still musing over what area its PhD is in.

There is much to be done. Dishes from last night need to be washed, food needs to be prepared to last you a few days, timesheets need to be filled out before you forget your hours. It’s easy to multitask on household chores while you do your job. You're on the beta testing team for quite a few companies, so you’re kept busy evaluating their programs and products while you julienne onions and clean plates. You earn enough to live comfortably, and it’s all you can ever ask for, really. 

Eventually, after a long day of being a responsible human being and submitting numerous evaluation forms for various applications, you plop down in front of your computer with your headphones and turn it on. Evening has just started to creep in, turning the sky into a picturesque gradient of burnt mandarin and dusty magenta. Your desk is right by a window, so it’s nice to draw the curtains back and let fresh air circulate around the room from it.

Alright, computer on. You type in your password to log in and wait as it finishes booting up. First thing on your list—check your email. There’s nothing of importance, not that you’d expected anything, really. Oh hey, you’ve got a discount code for your next purchase at your favorite pizza store. Sweet. You save it for later. 

All you have to do is test FazCo’s program and then you can relax for the rest of the night. You preemptively open up their submission form and minimize the window, then double click on the FazPals icon. Hopefully you won’t run into any problems. Code is weird like that—working perfectly fine at one moment and doing fuck all the next. And it’s always a pain filling those surveys out when there’s an abundance of bugs and glitches to point out. It’s simple, but oh so tedious. You guess that’s what you’re getting paid for, though. 

Blinking back to attention, you squint at your empty desktop then double click on the FazPals icon again. Ah, there you go. Loading symbol. 

Instead of the little music box like you’d been expecting, Sun comes into view by cartwheeling in from the side of your monitor. It’s silly and you smile slightly as he jumps up to his feet and splays his arms and a leg out wide like he’s about to fall into another cartwheel. 

“New Friend!” he exclaims loudly alongside the text in his dialogue box, rays spinning rapidly about his head in delight. You wince slightly and lower your volume a bit. No need to kill your eardrums. “You’re back! It has been twenty-two hours, nine minutes, and thirty-seven seconds since we last interacted!” 

Your brow raises at his precision, but what else did you expect from a computer program? Sun relaxes into his normal stance and leans forward eagerly. “So! What do you wanna do?” A small, labeled window pops up next to him for you to type in. One of his rays twitches slightly. “For a list of activities I can perform, type ‘/help’!” 

You’ve already forgotten what he can do other than walk around and talk your ear off, so you do just that and the window disappears. You didn’t even have to hit enter. 

Sun beams. “For your present and future reference, I can tell jokes, give fun facts, play games, and storytell! Pick your poison, New Friend!” 

You ponder for a bit, then type ‘can u tell me a fun fact?’ in the new window before it pops out of sight, again before you can press enter. Huh. You make a note of it mentally. The back and forth with the windows is going to take some getting used to. 

“I sure can!” Sun does a little wiggle and stands at full attention with his arms crossed behind his back. “Did you know that neutron stars spin six hundred times per second? Pretty cool!” He seems very cheery today. You’ll have to keep an eye out for any more of that strange glitching from yesterday. “Want another one?” 

Eh, you don’t see why not. You shrug and click the ‘Yes’ button when it appears. Sun gives a little salute. “The most water ever discovered surrounds a black hole about twelve billion lightyears away! It has the equivalent of one hundred and forty trillion times the volume of Earth’s oceans!” You’re starting to see a theme here with his fun facts and it honestly checks out. Sun’s rays spin a little to the right as he tilts his head slightly. “That was two facts in one, technically. Just for you! Don’t tell anyone!!” And then he winks, accompanied by a little star spinning out from his eye. It’s a small detail, but it still makes you smile. Consider you charmed. 

“Alrighty! I have an idea of what we can do next!” Sun says as he skips away to the edge of your monitor. You watch him curiously as he sticks a hand beyond your desktop—somewhere offscreen?—and starts pulling over a large open window from it. Like he’s unraveling a spool of paper. He drags the window over to the center of your screen, then wipes his face with his arm and takes an exaggerated breath. “Phew! That’s heavier than it looks! Luckily, I’ve got these to help me!” He flexes his stick-like arms dramatically, posing this way and that like he’s a pro wrestler. 

You notice, as he poses, that another small window pops up—indistinct and unlabeled this time with a simple textbox for you to type in. But he… didn’t really ask you a question or anything of the sorts for you to respond to? You eye it for a moment, then decide to type a little ‘hi’ in it to see if it’s a bug or something. After waiting a few seconds to see if the window will close again without you hitting enter, nothing really happens. Oh, is it fixed now? You hit enter and the text disappears, but the window stays. You guess it is. Code, man. So finicky. 

Sun stops flexing to shoot you a bright beam with a spin of his rays. “Hello!” 

Okay, maybe it’s not a bug if he can still process your texts. Shrugging it off easily, you turn your attention to the window Sun had pulled over from who-knows-where. It looks like your computer’s Paint app. How did he open that? ‘what’s that for?’ you type into the textbox.  

“This is for us to play some games, silly!” Sun brandishes his hands towards the Paint window like he’s presenting a masterpiece. “How does Tic-Tac-Toe sound?” 

Well, not like you have any other ideas for what to do. ‘sure, let’s play.’ 

“Faz-tastic!” Sun claps his hands, then reaches into his pocket and pulls out a comically large wooden pencil from its depths. Seriously, it’s nearly the length of his arm. It’s like something right out of a cartoon and you grin at the silliness. He steps closer to the Paint window and draws four perfectly straight and intersecting lines—each of them the same length and splitting into the same sized boxes and everything. He then draws a perfect circle in one of the corner boxes and steps back. “Your turn!” 

You crack your knuckles and roll your shoulders. Okay. Time to lock in and kick this program’s ass. 

Except you don’t. 

You lose horribly. Seven times in a row, in fact. 

‘r u cheating? ur cheating, aren’t u,’ you type into the open textbox, which had remained in place all throughout your games. Unusual, but you’re not too bothered by it. After you lost the first few rounds, you started complaining to him using it. You figured you might as well. It’s almost like having a conversation with him and you’re pretty impressed by his verbal versatility. 

“Cheating?!” Sun squawks, offended. He splays a hand across his chest as he somehow manages to twirl his giant pencil in his hand like a baton. “A rulebreaker, I am not! I think someone is getting a little grumpy!” He gives you a pointed grin. 

You should have expected you’d lose to fucking A.I. software. You run your tongue over your bottom lip, where you’d been incessantly troubling it with your teeth throughout the rather merciless Tic-Tac-Toe beating you’d just received. You’re considering mentioning in the submission form that the program is too difficult to beat at games, but maybe you’re just that bad at them. Your ego’s definitely going through it.

‘i’m not grumpy,’ you grumble. Sun shakes his little digital head in good mirth, seeing right through you, of course. You switch topics. ‘let’s play something else. got any other games?’ 

“I sure do, Friend!” He uses his pencil eraser to clear the Paint canvas and starts drawing what looks like a game of Hangman. He gives you a sly smile. “Think you’re up for a real challenge?” Cheeky! 

After some rounds of Hangman and Pictionary (which, to your pleasant surprise, you’re not too bad at, but maybe Sun’s taking pity on you), Sun eventually closes the Paint window and makes a show of stretching languidly. “My time’s almost up, I’m afraid!” Sure enough, a quick glance at the time shows it’s nearing seven o’clock. Time flies when you’re having fun. “Make sure to stretch your back and arms out, Friend! Hydration is also important!” 

‘yes boss, u got it, boss,’ you reply before stretching out your arms. You have a water bottle on your desk that you take a quick drink out of, the liquid inside of the insulated material still cool and refreshing. You shiver a little and eye your window still letting the night air into the room. You should close that soon. And maybe turn on the lights so you’re not sitting in the dark illuminated only by your bright screen. 

Naturally, you do neither. Too much work right now.

Sun wiggles a little, then clasps his arms behind his back. “This was fun! I will talk to you tomorrow, Friend!” His grin widens, curling at the edges. “Don’t keep me waiting too long!”

And before you can really process the tone of that, he pulls out a red curtain from somewhere behind him. Shaking it out slightly, he pulls it up in front of him to block your view of his little figure entirely. You raise an eyebrow as the curtain wiggles and protrudes out like he’s changing into new clothes, before eventually it falls down and reveals Moon. His nightcap is pulled down to partially cover his glowing ruby eyes.

You lean forward in your chair, attention instantly grabbed. Will he work properly this time? You consider him for a moment as he simply stands there—sullen and, dare you say, annoyed. His eyes are narrowed and his mouth is pulled into a scowl. He shifts like he wants to move or leave, but something keeps him rooted into the same spot Sun was just in. His hands are tucked into the pockets of his pants (he has pockets??) and he slouches like a puppet cut from its strings.  

He’s not saying anything. Only glares off at a point somewhere on your screen. You bite the inside of your cheek and decide to take one for the (nonexistent) team. 

‘hi moon,’ you type into the textbox that’d remained even after Sun left. Pressing enter, you watch curiously as something tense seems to line Moon’s small shoulders and he moves his glare to the open window instead. 

His head twitches. “Hi,” he replies slowly in a raspy voice. It’s not what you’d expected, low and murmured like he’s speaking to someone in a dark and quiet corner. His gaze darts to the dialogue box that pops up next to his head and seems to narrow even farther. 

Oookay. He doesn’t say anything else. Is he still bugged or is he just programmed to be much quieter than Sun? You’re not sure if that makes sense for this type of program, though. You try to nudge the conversation again, thinking back to the list of commands Sun gave you earlier. ‘can u tell me a joke?’ 

Moon seems to look at you and it’s just as creepy as it had been when Sun did it. His scowl deepens. “No.”

You’re taken aback. No? Oh. Well. Maybe you should try something else? ‘can u tell me a fun fact?’ At least you know this command works for certain.

“No.” 

It’s like pulling teeth over here. 

You’re determined, however. This is your entire job. ‘what about a story?’

“No.” Moon bares knife-like teeth at you in aggravation and you’re tempted to do the same thing back. He doesn’t want to do anything! Something is definitely… off. You make a note of it to include in the submission form later. At least he hasn’t left your screen. You’ll take the win where you can. 

You’re stumped on what to do. The only thing you can think of is to keep inputting commands until something gives. Maybe things will sort themselves out? You try asking for a fun fact or joke again, but Moon still just scowls and answers in that same clipped manner. His fidgeting seems to increase. 

You’re getting close to calling it quits. ‘why don’t we play a game or something? tic-tac-toe?’

“P-Persistent little thing,” Moon growls into your headset and it’s such a reprieve from the constant rejections that you’re not even offended. You perk up slightly only to deflate at his following words. “Didn’t anyone teach you that ‘no’ means no?” 

‘no,’ you type as a response—partly in annoyance and partly just to be snarky. Moon twitches again, and then in the blink of an eye—he glitches. 

Similar to Sun, it spreads down his body in a wave and makes him jitter until he snaps back into place like a rubber band. He flexes his hands and takes a step to the side—tentative and exploratory. The window with the textbox pops out of existence and Moon gives you one final, narrowed glare before he just… leaves offscreen. Again. What the fuck?

You scrub a hand down your face and groan. You don’t expect him to return, but just in case you wait around a little and kill some time by filling out the submission form. Name, program version, strengths, encountered issues, and so on. You submit the form when you finish and roll your shoulders. Yeah, he doesn’t come back. At least there was some progress compared to yesterday. 

You end the day with a final squint at the FazPals icon and a shrug of your shoulders. Things could be worse, you suppose as you power off your computer and stare at your reflection through the dark screen of your monitor. Hopefully tomorrow brings more improvement. 

part two

[sage-green-matcha]

MAROON - ETHAN LANDRY PT. 2 🍷🥀🔪

“Laughing with my feet in your lap, like you were my closest friend. "How'd we end up on the floor, anyway?" you say. "Your roommate's cheap-ass screw-top rosé, that's how" I see you every day now” - Taylor Swift

Content Includes: Alcohol, andddd I think that’s it!

PT. 1 of Maroon | PT. 3 of Maroon | PT. 4 of Maroon |

<3

<3

<3

You found yourself in class the next morning, not sure if you should even be there. Tara And Sam were attacked last night and you knew it was only a matter of time before Ghost Face came after you next.

"Hey...you okay?" You jumped at Ethan's hand on your shoulder, the room empty. You didn't notice but you had zoned out the entire class, your mind on everything else that was going on. Nevertheless, you also had a headache, the alcohol from last night messing you up. "No...shit, I just zoned out for the entire class, I don't even know why I'm here right now" You picked up your bag, Ethan following behind you. "What did we go over...? Was it important?" "Uh yea... it's stuff that's gonna be on the final" "Shit..."

"You can borrow my notes if you want uhm, we can go back to my dorm...Chad should be there" You probably shouldn't be anywhere but in the comfort of your own home, but you agreed, desperate for any sort of company. Sam and Tara had been at the Police station all day and the loneliness was starting to get to you.

They were suspects in the case, which you thought was stupid since they used to be the targets of a closed one. They were there for hours, interrogated over and over but none of the facts changed. They brought out ghost face masks and DNA samples, getting finger prints and DNA from them just in case.

"I'm sorry, that this is all happening to you again. I didn't get it at first, but now that I'm kinda sucked up in it all... it's really scary" You looked down at the floor as you walked. "Yea...it never ends" You played with the sleeves of your sweater, Ethan opening the door for you to the boy's dormitory.

You weren't sure if you could completely trust Ethan, he randomly showed up one day but what would he have to do with Ghost face? "Hey uh, I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable yesterday. I'm kinda unfiltered when drunk" You smiled up at him. "Oh...uh no it's fine I know you were just joking"

You got to the floor, Ethan struggling to open the door as you looked around. You knew boys were gross but seriously? “Sorry about Chad's mess...he doesn't clean" Ethan's side was nice and shiny, a map and small Polaroids hung above his bed. It didn't have any direction but it was cute, unlike chads side where there were unfinished takeout containers and water bottles that piled up on his desk.

"We went over quantitive analysis, he also made a slide show you can look at. Should be in your email" he hopped onto the bunk, helping you up the tall bed. "We didn't have notes but I took some anyways...better safe than sorry" "yea...thanks" You pull out your notebook, taking his into your lap and copping down the words.

"Uhm, do you want something to drink?" "What you got? Chad's beer stash?" "Well yea...he also drinks fancy wine which I find kinda strange" you laughed. "He drinks wine?" You scrunched your nose, Ethan nodding with a smile.

He hopped off the bed, kneeling in front of chads desk, pulling open the drawer to grab two wine glasses. You opened your mouth in shock. "Damn, Chads a classy man" Being with Ethan made you forget about everything, he was like the male version of you, shy and secluded till you got to know him.

After a couple of glasses of the pink rosé, you two were laughing on the floor, your feet in his lap as you cracked jokes about the friend group. "God, how'd we end up on the floor anyway?" He asked and you took another drink, pouring more of the beverage into your cup. "Chad's cheap ass rosés, that's how" you smiled.

"Also...random but I can't with Sam right now, you know I feel bad for her but it's kinda all...her fault" You had never admitted that to anyone. You knew it was her fault, but you defended her when anyone said it. She brought the killer to Woodsboro, to Tara, and all her friends. That included you.

"Really? But aren't you always defending her about that?... You've seen the rumors about her online right...? I mean it kinda makes sense" You turned your head, Ethan's eyes meeting yours. "Well, I know she didn't kill anyone, and I know she wouldn't unless it was to protect herself. But the people who got killed when Ghost Face was only after Sam and Tara...that's her fault"

Ethan couldn't believe you were opening up to him so easily, Chad told him you were closed off and quiet, but maybe he couldn't crack the code for you. But he did it, and he was gonna take advantage of that. "Yea...I guess" "Don't tell her I said that, she'll kick me out of the apartment" You rolled your eyes.

"Have you ever thought about being Ghostface...?" He was serious but the smirk on his face made you brush it off. "Me as Ghost Face? Yea no, I'm not gonna kill my friends. I literally have no motive. No one has a motive to be ghost face other than fame...which is dumb really, it's not like we're getting paid to get hurt" You were drunk and telling him all your thoughts, it was really dumb of you.

When you should be closed off and careful you're the opposite. But when it's safe, you watch your words and actions, making sure that you'll be fine. "What about you? Am I just casually hanging out with my potential murderer?" "I don't think I'd be able to, I mean killing anyone in general. It would haunt me forever"

"Oh my god yea! Like I am way too sensitive of a person to be carrying that on my back" you sighed, your head now positioned on Ethan's shoulder. "Thanks by the way, for making me feel included in the group...Mindy hates me and everyone trusts her so... I'm kinda in an awkward position" he played with his hands. "Don't thank me, I know what it feels like" You took one of his hands into yours, you could feel his heart beat faster as he looked at you.

You could feel his soft breath on your face, his lips slightly agape as he leaned forward. You waited for him to make the first move, your lips craving his. You always wondered what he would taste like, how his lips would feel. They looked so pillowy, so soft. He placed his hand on your neck, his thumb rubbing over your skin gently. The sky was a deep Maroon and orange, lighting up the room in its bold color.

"Hey! Oh..." you pulled away quickly, Chad with a case of beer in his hand, a shocked expression on his face. "Oh! I'm so sorry. Did I just cock block you?" "Chad!" "What? Quinn taught me...damn Ethan! My man!" You covered your face in embarrassment, standing up from the floor. "I'm going home, Thanks a lot Chad" you grumbled. "What! What? I'm sorry..." You swung your bag over your shoulder, giving Ethan a small wave before you left. "Ill see you tomorrow"

[bathomet-writes]

bursting at the seams

summary: When Raph reveals that he's been wanting a super exclusive, super expensive plush, it's up to you to go on a journey to a not so distant land of horrors to retrieve it for him...New Jersey. Contending with secret crushes and unspoken feelings should be a cakewalk.

relationship: Raph x GN!reader

warnings: romantic, fluff, humor, love confessions, allergic reaction and epipen/needle use (raph eats a peanut..he’s fine tho), sfw

word count: 4,785

author's note: it took a hot sec but here’s the gift fic for @/casualjagodek!! thank you so much for giving me the opportunity to write this adorable fic, i hope u all enjoy!

“That’s it?” You squint your eyes.

Raph looks at his phone screen then back to you. “Is the brightness too low or somethin?”

You breathe out a chuckle. “It’s just that I didn’t know you were getting all worked up over…that.”

It was some kind of stuffed animal of indeterminable origin. It had the head of a cow and the ears of a rabbit. Unconventional, but cute.

You knew Raph had a large collection of stuffed animals. Some from childhood, some he bought only months ago. Recently, he had been subtly dropping clues about how excited he was about something. He’d frantically check emails and ask you what the date was occasionally. Asking him about it outright just made him retreat back into secrecy.

Just last week, you caught him on your way out of the lair. The two of you passed each other in a particularly narrow subway tunnel. You stared expectantly at him while his eyes were glued squarely on his phone screen. You’d never seen Raph this…distracted? Whether he liked it or not, you paid attention to stuff like this. He was your best friend, acting cagey and suspicious for no reason.

You try clearing your throat and kicking at a random piece of trash on the ground to rouse his attention. “Texting someone hot?” You joke.

“Yeah.” Raph responds nonchalantly before blinking his eyes down to you. “Wai— No! No, I wasn’t—“

With a quick wave, you turn to head out again. “See ya.”

You figured even Raph kept a secret or two of his own, so you didn’t pry after that. Living with four brothers and Splinter, you’re sure he never got to have much of a private life.

When he finally (inevitably) let you in on the secret thing he’s been obsessing over, you tried to go in with an open mind. It could have been anything, so the potential of Raph confessing that he had been texting someone hot was miniscule. Maybe they were only sort-of attractive, or better yet, less attractive than you.

You didn’t know why, but the possibility of this hot mystery person existing just didn’t sit right with you.

“Let me see—“

Grabbing his phone from him, you scroll through the webpage. The image of a strange stuffed animal made you mildly more interested. The quality was actually really good, as far as stuffed animals go.

“What is it?”

“It’s, y’know…” Raph hums to himself, trying his best to cover up his embarrassment. “I just thought it was cute.”

“Huginn and Muninn.”

Your eyes widen as you scroll to the top of the page. The logo proudly displayed little gargoyle mascots that you knew you recognized from somewhere. Excitement replaces the jealousy that was festering in your mind just a few seconds earlier.

“Yeah! They started their own company a couple of years ago. I didn’t think they were still around either.” He shrugs.

“That’s crazy!” You hand the phone back to Raph and ramble on enthusiastically. “Well, now I see why you were so nervous. It’s expensive as hell.”

Without thinking, you grab at Raph’s wrist and use your other hand to zoom in on the plush. Once Raph got to the third digit, his heart dropped into his stomach. You were right. Even for his budget, it was steep. Raph didn’t like to splurge too often on himself, but this was a rare exception.

“You’re right, it is crazy,” he chuckles. Your grip on his wrist was also starting to dampen his spirit.

Not because he didn’t like you holding his wrist, or his phone, or his hand for that matter. He actually liked it a lot.

Which was the real problem.

Raph has been massively infatuated with you for months. He lost track of just how long it had been. Whenever he was around you, he felt off. Usually it just involved a lot of fumbling over words, being generally clumsier. He knew he wasn’t as confident as Leo, or smooth like Donnie, or even as honest as Mikey. He was just him.

While Raph anguished internally, you were practically none the wiser. You don’t seem to notice how sweaty and flustered he was all of the sudden, but you go back to innocently staring at him.

You raise your eyebrows. “So?”

That familiar, playful lilt in your voice makes all time stop for Raph. It really wasn’t fair— the amount of power your smile and your presence had over him.

Raph tosses his phone away into the far reaches of the lair before crossing his arms defiantly. “No, don’t try to convince me. It’s literally the most expensive one.”

As you calmly move your head to miss the flying phone, you smile to yourself. “Come on. This is what you’ve been obsessed with for months now. When was the last time you did something just for you?”

“Even if I did have the money, why would I spend it on something so impractical. I mean, I’m not embarrassed about liking stuffed animals or anything.”

While Raph continues ranting and pacing around, you’ve secretly pulled out your phone and looked up the plush. Without hesitation, you add it to your cart and type in your credit card.

“Sure,” you lazily nod. “You’re very secure in your masculinity.”

“Exactly!” Raph spins around to face you again. “I knew I made the right decision.”

“Funny, I was just about to say the same thing. Boom!” You take a confident step forward and reveal the check-out screen to him. At first he seems similarly excited, if a little confused.

“What?” His tone is light at first, before he realizes what you just did. “You didn’t.” A small frown tugs at his mouth.

“I did. Consider it an early birthday present.”

Raph winces, wringing his hands together. “Awesome! No, that’s great. Thank you.”

You purse your lips. “What happened? You were just all—“

What was the big deal? Did you accidentally offend him somehow?

“No, it’s not that. It’s just that the plush is…kinda not in New York.”

“Right. There’s this thing called mail, where people can send you stuff from all over the world.” You smirk, giving him a friendly pat on the cheek. “Don’t worry about it.”

“Didn’t you read it?” He shakes his head ruefully. “It’s pickup only.”

You glance to the side. “Oh. Well, then I’ll just grab Leo’s anime swords— I mean, Leo?”

Shit. You didn’t mean to let that slip out.

“You’ve been using Leo’s odachi to portal places again, haven’t you?”

Feeling cornered, you give a quick nod.

Silence.

You knew Raph must be giving you the most disapproving look right now. You turn around and find yourself to be correct.

“It was just to pick up food! And I am not buying a car.” You huff, trying to hide your shame.

Your shoulders tense up and relax as you give up. “Fine, I’ll just do it the old fashioned way.”

Your compromise doesn’t seem to ease Raph much. In fact, he seemed sad. You stop to watch him fall face-first into the couch. A couple pizza boxes stacked beside it topple over and fall as he lays there.

“Raph!” You frown. “It’s my treat. Is that what you’re worried about? Money?”

With his head buried deep in a pillow, he groans pathetically. “No.”

If only you knew.

Carefully, you kneel down to be eye-level with him. “If you’re worried about travel, it’s fine. I’ll just go to…” You check the email for the shop’s address. “New Jersey.”

Raph shoots up from the pillow with a seriousness that surprises you. “Absolutely not.” Grabbing your shoulders, he gives them a protective squeeze. “I wouldn’t let you do that.”

Because I like you too much.

“Then what?” You mimic Raph by placing a hand on his shoulder and shaking gently. “It’s not that big of a deal, okay?”

“Yes it is! Just—“ He moves away from your hand and sits up.

Don’t make me say it.

Okay, now you were officially worried. You quietly watch, only a little hurt that Raph pulled away from your touch.

Raph sighs, similarly ashamed at how he retreated from you. Slowly, he scooches over and silently invites you to sit beside him. You look at him, then back at your phone.

“I’m sorry. I don’t know what got into me,” he frowns. “It’s just hard to talk about this kinda stuff sometimes.”

Politely, you ease your way onto the cushion next to him. “It’s okay, I get it.”

“You do?”

You finally force yourself to meet Raph’s gaze. As you turn your head to look up, you nearly fall over at the sight of him mere inches from your face.

“Ah, yeah,” you manage to get out. Covering up your bashfulness with a half-hearted smile doesn’t make you feel any less vulnerable though. You really didn’t know what the hell he was talking about, but you want to understand.

You felt lightheaded and nauseous, like the moment right before a roller coaster plummets you into the earth at 80 miles per hour. You didn’t like roller coasters very much.

You also didn’t like it when you were so moved by Raph’s handsomeness and kindness that it rendered you speechless.

Raph searches your face as you sit dumbstruck. “I just don’t want you to go through all this trouble to get me some silly stuffed animal or anything.”

He smiles at you, but you can tell he’s still holding something back. You don’t know what it is, and you don’t know what you could say that wouldn’t ultimately embarrass the crap out of the both of you. All you can do is smile back.

“If that’s what you want.” You reel back and push yourself off of the couch. “Honest?”

Raph pauses, feeling torn. He wasn’t being honest, but now didn’t feel like the right time to crack open that emotional can of worms.

Nodding resolutely, he smiles again. “Honest.”

“So, I’ll just get a refund and we’ll pretend this whole thing never happened?” You feel a bead of sweat fall from your brow, and you pray Raph doesn’t notice.

“Perfect.” Similarly, he gets up and turns to hide the remnants of blush coloring his face. “I gotta go…punch a wall or somethin’.”

And like that, he disappears into the shadows of the lair, leaving you bereft with his departure.

“Well,” you announce to the empty room. “Good thing I’m a liar.”

How bad could Jersey be anyway?

—

It was worse.

“Next stop for Hackensack. All passengers for Hackensack.” A canny voice chimes in through the speakers. They seemed just as thrilled to be here as you did.

Like the genius you were, you decided to go over Raph’s head and book a train ride to the store. You’d used the subway plenty of times before, so slow-ass public transportation was no stranger to you.

But this…this was something else.

What was supposed to be a simple round trip turned into hours of sitting still on the tracks, waiting for other freight trains to pass by. The sweltering heat of the summer also made any sort of travel as slow as molasses. ‘Go to Jersey,’ you said, you’ll get together with Huginn and Muninn, have a few laughs.

A few passengers file down the aisle to exit the train. It takes your brain a few extra moments to register that this was also your stop. As you lean up from your spot against the window, a careless businessman bumps against your knee trying to get out with all his fuck-you suitcases and laptop bags.

You’ll have to apologize to Raph for unfortunately being right.

Oh yeah, Raph. You almost forgot why you came here in the first place. He’d been texting you about this and that today, and you usually responded to his texts immediately.

A frantic buzzing in your pocket makes your heart nearly stop. A phone call? You fumble around trying to grab it and your things as you try and get past a large family blocking the aisle.

You unlock your phone and bring it to your sweaty face. “Yello?”

“What kind of pizza do you want for later? Mikey said you just like plain cheese, but that didn’t sound right, so…” Raph’s voice is light and casual. You do your best to mimic it.

“Oh, yeah. He’s right, I’m kinda boring— AH!” A loud kid from earlier runs by you, barreling right over your left foot. It takes all your willpower not to scream directly into your speaker, but it’s no use.

“Ey, are you alright? What was that?”

After a second of quietly fighting back the manly tears, you recover. “Just…dropped my laptop on my foot. Ouch, ow.” Not your best performance, but it seems to do the trick.

“Ah.”

“Listen, I’m gonna call you back. Now’s not a good time.”

Before you realize it, the train lurches forward in earnest. A cold chill runs up your spine as you nearly trip backwards when the floor shifts again. “Fuck!”

You missed your stop, of course you did! A stern attendant ushers you back to an open seat, and you flip down defeated.

Raph’s voice cries out from your phone again. “Are you okay? Hello?”

“Would you like a complimentary snack?” The attendant’s annoying voice only frustrates you further. “We have pretzels, peanuts–”

“Thank you,” you spit, grabbing at the baggie in her hand. With one last terse smile, she finally leaves you be. You don't even care about the couple of peanuts that explode from the bag as you tear into it.

“Sorry. But actually, I’m gonna be a little late today. Y’know, busy with…” You glance around to try and find a worthy excuse. “Stuff.”

All of the sudden, Raph seemed strangely undeterred by your obvious lie. “Oh, sure. Stuff!”

“Yeah, but I should be back–”

As you turn your head back to the empty seat to the left of you, your heart nearly stops. It seems that in the time it took for you to come up with your phony excuse, Raph had just used Leo’s sword to portal himself directly beside you. On a train. The blue glow of the mystic portal illuminates your shocked expression.

“Ha! I knew it!” Raph points an accusatory finger as he ducks through to sit across from you.

“Uh– I…” Your voice stops in your throat. You wish you could say this wasn’t what it looks like. He doesn’t seem to be angry, more so just vindicated. You imagine he probably knew all along.

“Wait. You just used–”

Raph, for a brief moment, becomes sheepish. “W-Well, Leo was out doing–” He waves at the air. “Not the point. You’re out getting that plush, aren’t you? You lied.”

Raph clutches at his chest with both hands in a purposeful show of melodrama. He knew from the second you two parted ways that day. Sometimes it got a little frustrating dealing with how stubborn you could be. But then again, he was just as bad. Maybe even worse.

In all honesty, he wasn’t even mad. Mad that you lied to him, sure. But ultimately, it just made him flattered. It almost made him want to confess right then and there, but he holds his tongue.

After mulling around your answer, all you can do is shrug. “I’m…sorry?”

“Wow,” Raph smirks, leaning back against the uncomfortably tiny seat.

“What?” You blush. “You want me to apologize for getting you a gift? A gift that’s all the way over there now?” You point vaguely into the space behind Raph before burying your face in your hands. You don’t really know if it’s more from the embarrassment of getting caught or the fact that there was no denying it anymore.

You liked Raph. You liked him enough to travel to the most wretched hive of scum and villainy there was, apparently. You didn’t really mind Jersey, but at this point it was sort of a weird in-joke. You’re sure if you and Raph just took a trip out here yourselves, without all the deceit and unspoken awkwardness, you’d have fun.

Just tell him. It’s so obvious, isn't it?

“What, you mean…?” Raph turns to follow your hand, and puts all the pieces together. “Oh, Y/N. You didn’t have to–”

You interrupt. “Didn’t have to what? Buy a stupidly overpriced train ticket to get a stupidly overpriced stuffed animal? From some stupid little gargoyles? For some stupid, dumb…” You stand up suddenly, trying to get out all the pent up energy you evidently had bubbling just beneath the surface. You pace around the empty area at the back of the train for a second, ranting and babbling to yourself.

“For some stupid, dumb turtle dude. For a turtle dude!” The slight absurdity of the whole situation seems to dawn on you, and you can’t help but smile a little. The small smile widens into a grin and you start to chortle. You turn back to Raph and finally collapse back into your seat, absolutely spent from just that momentary show of emotion. Life would be so much easier if feelings didn’t get in the way, or turtle dudes. But, here you were, a pathetic, bumbling human trying their best not to make their amazing, strong, talented, funny, sweet best friend know what’s so blatantly clear.

You love him, idiot!

While you fall back down into your seat, Raph takes the opportunity to really analyze the situation from all angles. Leo was always better at this kind of stuff than him, but he needed to think carefully about this. He was usually prone to jumping headfirst into everything, for better and worse. Right now, his gut feeling was telling him the same thing as yours.

Just tell them. They went through all this trouble for you, so what’s the problem? What a loser…

Absent-mindedly, Raph picks up the bag of snacks you had and starts popping a couple into his mouth. Eating usually helped his brain slow down enough for him to focus up again.

You look up and stare out into the rapidly-changing environment outside of the train. You always liked sitting near a window whenever you traveled. To stay still while the world moved at a break-neck pace, it felt euphoric to watch the trees and buildings zoom by. It made you calm for a moment. After a charged couple of seconds, you catch your breath again. You didn’t realize you hadn’t been breathing.

“I really am sorry. I just wanted to do something nice–” You force yourself to turn your body back to Raph, and you look up in slow motion. You stare on in horror for what feels like hours as you watch him swallow a singular peanut.

Raph looks down at you curiously. It seemed like you were about to say something important. He leans down instinctually to get more eye-level with you. “What? What is it?”

He bites at the inside of his cheek, waiting for you to say what was just sitting at the tip of your tongue.

In a panic, all you can think to do is slap the bag of poison from his right hand and scream. “AAAH–!”

“Wha–?” Raph’s hand opens up. Lying on the ground, he reads the letters slowly, speaking them aloud. “Honey roasted…peanuts.”

“YOU’RE GONNA DIE! RAPH!”

“Spit it out! Throw up!” You don’t really know what you’re saying at this point. All you see is Raph and the panic in his eyes. “Stop the train!”

“S-STOP–! Choking–!” His voice comes out broken and frantic. “The pen!”

His hands move immediately to his belt, fumbling around for the epipen he’s never had to use until now. How could he be this spectacularly dumb? Not only were you probably about to pour your heart and soul out to him, he was about to do the same. In the background, a small crowd of confused employees and passengers turn to look at the weird scene unfolding at the back of the car. The same passive-aggressive attendant creeps up slowly next to you to try and de-escalate.

“Excuse me, is there a problem folks?” Her sickly, saccharine smile makes your blood boil.

Without thinking, you turn and snap back. “Yes, there’s a problem– My boyfriend’s freaking dying and you’re standing there handing out peanuts? Are you insane?!”

Raph’s eyes somehow go wider than they already were.

Glancing back down, you realize that he’s been trying and failing to communicate to you that you need to stick him with the pen. You snatch Raph’s belt clean off of his waist and riffle through all the annoying little pockets until you find it.

“Here! Here it is Raph!” You nearly cry from relief. Smiling, you grab ahold of his right hand and close his fist around the pen. “You’re not gonna die!”

Thankfully in doing so you release Raph’s neck, allowing him to speak again. “G-Great! Thank you…”

In the background, you can already hear the employees start to circle around you and Raph. You might not ever get to ride a train again after this, but you didn’t care. Fuck trains.

Raph’s hand stills, suddenly overcome with fear.

“Raph?” You frown at him.

“I’m scared.” He peeks over at you, his face twisted with shame.

“UGH! Fine!” You take the initiative and grab the pen, removing the cap with your teeth like a badass. With all your strength, which you figure you’ll probably need to fully pierce Raph’s thick, leathery skin, you reel back and stab it into his upper leg.

You close your eyes, content with having finally ended the nightmare. “Phew…”

Meanwhile, Raph waits rather impatiently. “Sometime today would be nice!”

Oh, you didn’t actually do it. “Right.”

You repeat the same motion with your hand, pulling back before jamming it in. Surely you didn’t chicken out a second time.

“Y/N!” Raph shouts, exasperated and confused.

“Goddamnit!” You grit your teeth and pull back again, looking at him tearfully. “I can’t do it! I’m a liar and a coward.”

Looking at your utterly terrified face, Raph can’t help but comfort you. Even as he feels his throat begin to tighten up, he takes his free hand to lay it over your trembling one. “No you’re not, you’re–”

“No, I am a liar. I lied to you, I’ve lied to Leo and Donnie and Mikey, I’ve lied to April and Splinter.” You try to wipe away the tears before looking back at Raph’s leg. “I lied because I was scared.”

While nobody’s come to you per se and asked you to your face, you know they knew. They all knew. Maybe you could have gotten over yourself for once and just come clean to everyone, but you knew you couldn’t. The idea of potentially ruining a friendship that’s been built for years with one awkward confession or less than charming moment, it made you absolutely terrified. You thought you would rather die than confess.

But, if all this secrecy and denial was going to literally kill him, that terrified you even more.

“Raph…” You swallow your pride and steel yourself.

To both of your surprise, the train comes to one final stop. The breaks screech to a halt, making the car lurch forward and back with incredible force. You lock eyes with Raph just as the train launches you forward, forcing your hand to push on the epipen’s plunger and jam it into his leg.

“Woah–!” Raph then catches you as you land squarely on his broad chest.

The pain of the needle didn’t even phase Raph. Though the effect of the pen took an immediate effect, his throat still felt tight. His heart was thundering in his chest, his hands felt cold and clammy. Was this still an allergic reaction?

“Sorry for the delay folks. We just have a minor…mutant medical matter to…mediate.” The canny voice of the speakers makes everyone else on the train groan in annoyance.

The two of you continue to stare at one another. Weirdly enough, neither of you feel the anxiety or weight of the unspoken words you both felt before. The feelings you both shared that forced you to stay silent, to laugh off the odd comments or blushes that threatened to expose you to each other. There was no fear anymore.

There was just you and him.

–

Raph gives one last ‘thank you’ and ‘sorry’ to the conductor and the ambulance people who were brought in just in case. The train dumped the two of you off at a random stop before moving on, leaving you both in the empty indoor waiting area of the train station.

You stare blankly ahead as you feel Raph sit next to you again. The bench you’re both on feels cold on your hand as you drum your fingers against it.

You guess you’re the one who needs to talk first. “So…”

“I like you,” Raph finishes.

You blink, raising your head up slowly. “I...like you.”

For a moment of silence, you each look off into the distance and melt into laughter. It’s an enormous relief to finally realize that the two of you have been harboring the exact same feelings and being afraid for the exact same reason.

But at the same time, it all seems so silly now.

“Why did we wait this long?” You chuckle, feeling the tears coming back.

Raph bumps your shoulder affectionately as he tries to fight back his own. “Why was I such a coward?”

You gather yourself and look up at him. “I can just see the obituary. Raphael Hamato, death by 1 (one) peanut.” You hold up your index finger.

Raph guffaws and breaks out into a full-belly laugh, and you can’t help but egg him on.

“I should’ve known. Only in Jersey.”

The two of you exchange a heartfelt smile as you unintentionally lean in. Raph’s concentration gets interrupted however when a couple of unexpected figures fly by outside. It looked like a weird, fat bird or something.

“What the…” Raph stands up to investigate.

As he pushes open the doors to look around, he almost trips over a mysterious bag sitting on the ground. He leans down and picks up a sticky note attached to the handle.

Here you go Red! Hope this makes up for all the times we helped Draxum try to kill you and your family. Also, how’s he doing? He won’t answer our texts, calls, or letters. Love, Huginn and Muninn <3

Raph smiles and shakes his head. “No way.”

Sure enough, inside the bag was the weird cow-rabbit plush that kicked off this whole crusade in the first place. He supposed he should be happy to finally have it.

Sneaking up behind him, you peek around Raph’s shell. “Wow, what service.”

“To be honest, I don’t really know if I want it anymore.” Raph smiles down at you warmly, putting the plush back in the bag and handing it to you.

“Oh no, don’t do that.” You grin and push the bag back to him.

“Come on, you deserve it.” He hands it back.

“You almost died from a peanut.” You push it again.

Raph’s sunny disposition doesn’t falter. “I want you to have it.”

Your eyes darken and you give the bag one final push into his stomach. “Just take the damn plush.”

Raph’s pouts bashfully before he relents. “You really are stubborn, you know?”

Smirking, you grab your bag and sling it over your shoulder. “And you’re so perfect? I sure know how to pick ‘em.”

Before reaching for his phone to text Leo, Raph watches on curiously as you change your mind and grab for the plush. “Hm?”

In an impulsive move, you hold the plush up to your face to give it a good once over. It was even cuter in person. You close your eyes and give its snout a tiny smooch before handing it back to Raph. You don’t try and hide the deep red your cheeks have turned.

Picking up on your invitation, Raph gingerly takes the plush into his hands and plants a kiss of his own on the same exact spot.

Though his heart felt full to the point of bursting at the seams, he didn’t mind the feeling. He felt bigger, more complete.

I love you too.

taglist: @saspas-corner

[idkthisisjustforfanfic]

TEMPORARY THINGS, chapter 3

Your first few weeks on set go by in a blur of learning the ropes. You follow Briony around a lot and listen to her use words you’ve never heard, like striking and dolly grip. You learn the difference between a first assistant camera and second, though it doesn’t seem to make much sense when Maggie points around nonchalantly and gets interrupted by a joke coming from the walkie-talkie on her hip. 

It was going well! Aside from whatever whirring now thumps in your chest when Brett comes up beside you. You’re still in good impression mode for another, like, 3 weeks.

“Hi,” he says, a smile and nod when you look up to see him. “Hopefully you’re liking this lot so far?”

“So far,” you nod, appreciative of his inquiry. “But I also heard it takes a few weeks for you all to turn into divas.”

He pulls a hand to his chest in mock offense. The jacket he’s wearing belongs to his character, but the color suits him well. “I usually wait until at least halfway through!”

“Hellooo,” Maggie sidles up and smiles at both of you. Jason’s right behind her and when the four of you stand in a make-shift circle, you’re acutely aware of the way Jason angles himself toward you. 

“We’ve got a lot to get through today--wanted to have you hear all of this as well,” Jason says this to you in particular before Maggie launches into some sort of schedule. She’s listing numbers and tasks and referencing scenes by shorthand lingo that only makes half sense. 

It’s weird, you realize, that while you’re here on set and working alongside them, your job is different in almost every way: it’s focused entirely on him. Which is maybe a bad thing, seeing as your stomach still does this little flip when you notice the dimple on his cheek that you remember from Day 1. 

Lucky for you, though, most of your time on set is spent in Jason’s office. Scheduling his travel and handling his emails and pulling the strings behind the scenes so his actual job here was easier. You’re in constant contact with his manager, his nanny, even sometimes seeing messages from his ex or his friends come through before you pass them right up the ladder.

Briony pops in and out, often passing messages from Jason to you and then in return. She was the coffee kid, still young enough to be excited by that type of task and good enough to never mess up an order.

Poppy hurries by and after you commit the entire shooting schedule of the day to memory, you return to Jason’s office to actually get your work done. Today, primarily, was to be spent going through emails and calendars, plugging in meetings and finalizing his schedule for the next two weeks before filming really picked up.

But there’s a knock on the door that grabs your attention before your inbox is even open. Brendan’s there, a binder in hand and a hesitant smile when you both realize you’ve never been alone in a room together. 

“Hi,” he says a bit awkwardly. “Y’know where Jason is?”

“He was with Paul and Jenna near Rebecca’s office,” you hoped you were getting the names right, blending real people with characters in the same way that didn’t trip up the rest of them. “Anything I can help with?”

He holds your gaze for a second, almost skeptical, but then decides he’ll at least give it a shot. 

“I’m looking for a list of scenes we’re shooting today. Not the actual schedule that got sent out but the list of ones Jason wants to do if we can move more quickly than everyone thinks we can.” 

You stand from your spot on the couch and nod thoughtfully, walking towards his desk as your eyes start to scan the piles of paper. You’ve learned his system bit by bit: the pile on the left is Lasso-related but not urgent. The pile on the right is more personal, with a higher level of urgency. Work-related urgent things get put on top of his laptop, or, if he seems to think it’s really important, sometimes he takes a picture of it and emails it to himself. 

As of now you find it mostly adorable that a guy in his mid-forties is sending himself emails with picture attachments so he doesn’t forget stuff. You’ll have to give him a crash course in the reminders app at some point.

You locate the piece of paper you saw him scribbling on yesterday, the red ink of the pen he clips into his pocket smudged in the corner. Today’s scenes are listed out in the same shorthand code you’ve heard Maggie use, Jason’s chicken scratch is in the margins in red ink.

You hold it up before you look back towards Brendan. His brows are arched when you take a step over and deliver, what you assume, is exactly what he was looking for. 

He scans it. Nods. 

“Three extra scenes sounds ambitious to me,” you try to crack a joke, feeling weird about the fact that you’ve yet to bond with Brendan. 

“You can read his handwriting?” He looks up at you again, more quickly this time, surprise on his face when you nod. 

“Yes--yeah,” you stammer like this is an embarrassing admission. “Should I not be able to?”

“Jessie always complained,” he shrugs, eyes back down to the piece of paper you’d handed over. 

“It’s messy as shit but I figured if I can’t read his handwriting then we’re all fucked.”

The corner of Brendan’s mouth flicks into a smile, a tiny laugh before he salutes you in farewell and his footsteps fade down the hallway.

**

April 2022

The end of March sputtered more rain onto the London streets than you’d ever seen in Los Angeles. Maggie promised it wouldn’t be like this the whole time, but now, on the third rainy Friday in a row, you were beginning to think your friend was a liar. 

“It’s bad luck,” Jason comments as he looks out the window into his backyard, “not bad weather.”

Thunder booms overhead and the British Airways website logo keeps flickering on the page, please be patient while we locate your booking!

“You’re beginning to sound like a London apologist,” you look up at him from your laptop screen, eyebrows arched to challenge his statement. The backyard gets lit up again, the line of trees overhead is visible in the flash of lightning that cracks open the sky.

He smirks at your retort, “forgive me for not wanting you to hate the place you agreed to move.”

His hands are in his pockets but he moves to sit on the couch across from you. You showed up 20-minutes ago, laptop in tow after he heard you mention something on set about your travel plans to Amsterdam. 

“London could have been on fire and I would still have come,” you think aloud as the page blinks back to life. “Okay, here,” you sit up. “Booking 1430-3925-098, business class to Schiphol.”

“Cancel it.”

“You’re sure?” You look up at him now, finger hovering over the trackpad. 

“Positive,” he stands and nods. “Red or white?”

“Hmm?”

You click the button, Yes, I’m Sure!, but then notice he’s waiting for you to reply. 

“Wine,” he laughs. “Red or white?”

You pause, is this a test? Is having a glass of wine with him on a Friday night in his living room crossing a line? No, you decide when he holds your gaze for a moment. If it wasn’t crossing a line with Kyle or Reese or any other boss you’ve had, it’s not crossing a line with him. 

And besides, he’s not your boss, technically. 

“Red.”

He smiles at your answer and makes his way towards the kitchen. “So why would a fiery London not be a deterrent?” 

You set your laptop on the coffee table, a few steps over to stand in the doorway as he pursues his wine rack.

“Sorry?” You’re confused now, still watching when he scans the label of a bottle before he sets it on the Island. 

It was a long week. You’d been on set every morning at 6:30am. Most days you left work around 4 or 5, and Jason was good about making sure you took lunch breaks and had enough coffee and knew all the good places to hide for five minutes of quiet when the set got too crowded. 

“You said London could have been on fire and you would have moved here still,” he reminds you, his eyes watching for your reaction as you lean against the door frame. 

You nod slowly and let your eyes flutter shut in embarrassment. What’s the most professional way to say: I got dumped and fired in the span of two weeks and my life felt like a living hell, so surely London ablaze would be manageable?

You decide there isn’t one, so you bend the truth as he searches for a wine opener. “I was in desperate need of a change of scenery.”

“Christmas in LA does suck,” he nods. 

“Luckily I didn’t have to withstand that torture,” you walk over to the drawer on his right, the one that Jessie’s binder said had miscellaneous kitchen tools and utensils. You open it and pull out an opener and hand it over. “I was in New York for the holidays, left LA right after Thanksgiving.”

He opens the bottle and nods sympathetically. “Something about December in LA always feels…depressing.”

“Yeah,” you let out a breath at that word, one that circled and swirled in your brain for days and weeks before you figured out what the fuck you were going to do. Your parents were worried and your sister was three-seconds and a text message away from booking a flight out there to beat the shit of your ex, as she so kindly offered.

He pours the first glass, stealing a peek in your direction when he thinks you aren’t looking. You are. 

“So--yeah, Los Angeles, change of scenery, back to New York. Now London.” He pours his own and then brings them both over, clinks his wine glass against yours before you both take a quiet sip in the kitchen. “What on earth made you take this job?”

You smirk, sure you can’t say what pops into your mind: a new city, a penchant for spontaneity after a crisis, the chance to work for your friend’s hot boss…

“Oh god,” he laughs, taking in your expression when your cheeks flush. “Did someone make you come here? Have you been kidnapped? Forced against your will?”

“No,” you roll your eyes at his playfulness and laugh. “I just--I really needed a job and a fresh start, I guess.”

He nods in understanding, takes another sip in the quiet. “Yeah, I get that.”

You’re not sure why it suddenly comes out, honest, blunt, a thud on the fancy tile of his kitchen. 

“My boyfriend and I broke up--we lived together--then my job kind of exploded, well, Kyle’s life did too, so, Maggie took pity, I guess, when she realized my life was a shit show.”

He’s a little caught off guard by your confession, his eyebrows are slightly lifted and you can’t read: is it curiosity or concern? Like, did I hire a psychopath concern. 

But that must not be it, because when you take a loud slurp of wine to drown out the awkward silence, he swallows and nods. 

“Just because it feels like a shit show doesn’t mean it is,” he offers, a small smile before he continues. “My fiancé of a decade left me for someone 15 years younger a few years ago and then decided to give a fuck ton of interviews about it,” he smirks. “So--I get the whole shit show feeling.”

Your lips pull into a smile at his show of humanity, but then he gestures for you to follow him back to the living room. You’d known about his failed relationship, saw headlines and heard murmurs but didn’t pay much mind. You didn’t think in a few years time you’d be drinking wine on his couch on a rainy Friday.

“And now you’re single?” He asks over his shoulder, more of a follow up on your recent disclosure than the flirtation you wish it was. He sits down and you watch the way his knees knock together in khakis. 

“First time in 6 years,” you say over the rim of your glass, returning to your spot on the sofa. 

He’s watching you, like you’re throwing him off somehow or he’s intrigued. You realize you like it.

And then you remember why you’re here, tonight, in the first place: Amsterdam. The location shoot for the temp gig. Your temp gig job. Your job, him sitting across the room from you as not the man who writes your checks but still the one who generates them. Your laptop on the coffee table pulls you back to reality. You should probably not flirt with him.

“It’s canceled,” you nod towards the computer and then lift your Apple Watch as proof. “Confirmation email came through a few minutes ago.”

He shakes his head but smiles. “I can’t believe you thought I’d make you fly business class if I’m on a jet!”

You remember Maggie’s words from January, facetime a thousand miles away. Something along the lines of he’s amazing, Y/N, he’s so chill!

“You’d be really disappointed to hear what it’s like to work for Tom Cruise, then.”

He laughs, shifts on the couch and takes another sip. “I think it’s really shitty when people treat their EAs like regular assistants,” he shrugs. “Here’s this person who manages your whole life…arguably that means you’re more competent than I am,” he thinks aloud, a playful glance in your direction. A compliment? Maybe. Flirting? You hope.

Is that shitty? Is that weird and inappropriate or—worst of all—are you fully delusional? 

“I’m going to pocket that for future reference,” you admit with a smirk. 

He sips his wine and smiles, eyes you seriously from behind the glasses he puts on at the end of the day. “Just…know from here on out that you can book yourself as nice of a hotel room as you want, you know, within reason.”

You let your eyes bug out of your head. “Reason, like, the Presidential Suite at a Ritz Carlton, or?”

“Jesus,” a short laugh escapes, a comedic hint of suspicion is his eyes after he checks a text on his phone. “Maggie wasn’t kidding when she said you’ve been primarily A-list.”

“I would never,” you call back, a quick confession to make sure he knows you’re not that type of…employee? Temp? Whatever.

“Great, but still--we’re there for work, but you deserve to enjoy Amsterdam,” he gestures toward your laptop, like the British Airways website itself was a symbol of the upcoming business trip. 

Maggie’s been excited for weeks. She babbled about it in the car on the way from Heathrow and Poppy’s been shouting out nightclubs and restaurants and places she wants to go most mornings in the makeup trailer. 

You’ve never been to Amsterdam, but you’re excited nonetheless for a chance to see a new city in a new country. The last time you and Maggie were in Europe together was on your study abroad trip when you were both 21. Now it’s ten years later.

She bounces in one April morning to Poppy’s trailer while you’re sipping a hot coffee. One from the catering table because the one you sipped on your way here wasn’t enough. 

“You’re exactly who I wanted to see,” her face lights up when she spots you in a chair beside Juno. 

“Good morning,” you coo, grateful that Poppy’s trailer has become a bit of reprieve for you. You were right, a few weeks ago when you went out for your first Friday in London: Maggie and Poppy are tight, Juno and Briony and Hannah and the rest of the make up crew seem to be their own little friend group within the larger cast and crew. Ladies who stuck together.

Luckily, you were beginning to feel like a part of it. 

“I’m thinking pubs and clubs,” she dumps a tote bag on the counter, contents spill out but Poppy doesn’t seem to mind. 

“What?”

“We need to start planning for Amsterdam, babe.”

“It’s a work trip, babe,” you remind her with narrowed eyes, a quick glance around the room to see if anyone else was aware of Maggie’s scheming. 

“Work trip, hah!” Juno pipes up from her chair. She’s got curlers in, eyes still sleepy since the sun’s just made it above the horizon. “Someone tell Y/N about Lasso work trips.”

“Work trips,” Poppy turns to see you--she’s getting a palette ready for Juno, all of her brushes and tubes of lip gloss are organized sociopathically by color, size, and brand. “Are only half work.”

A woman after your own heart, though the results of your organizing episodes usually only last a few weeks. 

“Half work? How does that…work?” You ask, thankful that you don’t have to get mascara swiped on your lashes before your eyes are fully open. 

“We shoot long days and we’re busy,” Maggie nods honestly, she’s strapping her walkie-talkie onto her waist, snaking the wire of her headset up and behind her ear. “But when work is over, it’s playtime.”

You watch your oldest friend closely. “Sounds oddly sexual,” you comment around another slurp of coffee. 

“It can be sexual if you want it to be,” Maggie wiggles her eyebrows now. “If you’re feeling up for getting down and dirty!”

Oh boy. You blink at her a few times, memories of your last trip to Europe come flooding back. Maggie writing your number on the bathroom stall of a club in Rome, encouragement at every hour of the day to get loose and get laid. Unfortunately for you, this trip might be oddly reminiscent. 

“Yeah?” This pique’s Juno’s interest. “Someone in need of a little hanky-panky?”

They all giggle, you choke down more coffee but wipe your mouth when there’s a knock on the door. It opens, the whole trailer goes quiet when Jason’s on the other side.

“Morning,” he nods, a few steps in before he slinks down to the chair next to Poppy with an amused smile. “You know the gossip’s good when it goes completely silent.”

“Not gossip,” Maggie locks eyes with you in the mirror and smirks. “Just some chatter about Y/N’s lack of a love life,” she smiles, an apologetic but excited one.

“I work more than I sleep,” you defend loud enough for the whole trailer to hear—-all six of you in there.

True. Until, about, six months ago.

“Lack?” Jason’s eyebrows are arched in the mirror.

You hope Maggie doesn’t see the way your cheeks flush, a moment where his eyes find yours in the reflection above Poppy’s drawers and drawers of makeup. You wish you could vanish into thin air.

How—in only a few weeks—does it feel like you and Jason are in on your own little secret? 

“This is only my second cup of coffee so why don’t we talk about Maggie’s childhood obsession with webkinz?” You propose, a loud slurp and a ghoulish look in her direction to show her you mean business.

You had just as many years of ammunition as she did. If embarrassing each other was the goal, you could at least play the game. 

“Weren’t you a bit old for that, babe?” Poppy asks with a teasing smile, fingers focused on the curlers in Juno’s hair. 

“I didn’t give a shit that I was 16 and still into it,” Maggie defends, a dismissive eye roll when she picks up her phone from the counter. “The heart wants what it wants.”

A dodged bullet, for sure. You’re able to excuse yourself shortly thereafter to make sure Jason’s got what he needs for the day. Briony did the check of his office, grabbed breakfast and delivered a bagel to the makeup trailer. Which means you’re free to move about in search of the people you need today.

Joan from the location department, Tom from Post-Production—Maggie said he’d be easy to find because he always wears hats but is impeccably bald. 

You get the write-up you need from Joan and that’s when Briony falls into step beside you. She shows you the way down the maze of halls and through the lot to an office where Tom sits at a desk. Once you’ve got what you need from him (a firm answer to a question of Jason’s he’s been dodging all week), Briony sits with you on the sidelines of a scene in the locker room. 

Jason, Phil, Brendan, and Brett are shooting, the set’s loud before someone calls for quiet. 

Briony silently breaks her granola bar in half and offers you some, Greg--who works in sound--offers you both a warning glare: I better not hear rubbish. 

So you munch quietly side by side, feeling somewhat mesmerized by the way that when the camera’s rolling, Jason and his scene partners feel like the only people in the room. The scripted jokes they’re cracking are so good, it makes you regret never finishing season 1. 

You don’t remember finding him nearly as attractive back then as you do now, sitting behind the cameras and the boom, a walkie-talkie on your own hip and a pit in your stomach when you realize this isn’t even a thought you should be having.

But you can’t help that warmth pools in your belly when he rolls up his sleeves or laughs from across the room. Okay, so, maybe this isn’t just jet lag. 

CUT!--the room buzzes back into motion, Maggie’s zipping around the set and shouts to Greg, can we start again at line 47? Poppy goes to powder Brendan’s forehead, Briony’s on her feet and then the whole thing starts again. 

That happens another three times before there’s actually a break. Props weren’t delivered on time and so a different scene is getting staged but it doesn’t mean much to you. You’ve checked your own inbox eight times today and Jason’s twelve. 

But today was quiet. Showing up and making a stellar impression in the first few weeks was definitely a good thing, but had you been…too productive? Had you accidentally fucked yourself over because now you’re sitting here looking like a moron because you didn’t have something to do?

You booked a zoo tour for him and his kids next month, finalized the rest of his schedule for this week, arranged his travel to see friends in Spain later this summer. You’d organized his home office last week, updated his business accounts spreadsheet and even managed to book him an appointment with an eye doctor after he told you it’d been three years (ridiculous). 

Jason walks up and says something to Greg, who’s pretending to give Briony shit about the granola bar. Briony’s smiling up at him like he’s just told her Christmas is coming early.

“Hey,” you greet Jason with a smile, hand him his cell phone that’s been tucked into the bum bag around your shoulders. 

“I saw the tickets to the zoo at Battersea Park--thanks for putting that together.”

You nod, glad you were able to come up with something he could do with his kids next weekend when they’d be in town. An advertisement on the tube is what led you to buying three tickets on a whim, just in case.

You smile and look to your left, for some reason nervous that someone will see how awkward you’re being and misread it. It doesn’t matter, though, because he reaches forward and his hand’s on your elbow in a way that makes your face feel warm. 

“I mean it,” he says, a nod to himself and to you, one that lets you know he’s touched by the gesture. 

“Yes, yeah, sure,” you nod like an idiot, immediately embarrassed by the way his touch leaves your mouth unable to form consonants or vowels.

“Jason, go talk to Mark about camera angles,” Maggie appears and slaps him on the shoulder, a smile on her face when she playfully barks the order. 

Phil’s hand is outstretched suddenly, a reminder that time on set moved faster than anywhere else. “Y/N, could you take a picture of me in this for my mum?” 

You accept the phone and snap a photo, Maggie’s answering a text and then gets tugged away by a PA.

You turn to face Jason when Phil walks away, you’re ready for a request or a task or anything. But he just holds your gaze for a second, a pleased smirk spreads across his face. 

“Anything I can get you?”

He shrugs, “I’m good.”

It dawns on you, right then, that he walked over here to talk to you. Well, maybe not you. Maybe you were just in his way. Maybe he was looking for someone else but he saw you and it reminded him to say thanks. 

But either way, right now it’s just you and Jason standing here and it feels good to think that maybe he just likes being around you. Maybe the smirk on his face is because he sees the way your brain is short-circuiting. Luckily, he pulls you out of your crisis. 

“Can you come to my trailer later, around 3? Before I have to help them shoot at Keeley’s office later? I can text you.”

You’re nodding and agreeing to it as you visualize your own calendar in your head. You’re supposed to get off at 4pm today, an evening to yourself and the idea of a glass of wine on the couch sounds especially nice now that you’ve realized your social skills are such shit. 

“Perfect, great,” he says. “Apparently I have to go talk to Mark.”

You nod, he nods, and then he turns to leave you by the huddle of sound guys handling wires and knobs. You meet him in his trailer and handle the emails and errands he needs, grab a tea on the way home and you’re in the door at 4:49pm--and that’s with afternoon traffic. 

London’s been sunny this week, you had wine with Maggie and Brett and Phil one night and you didn’t feel new. You felt normal.

Winter was fading into spring over the last ten days, it was starting to feel like you were your own little piece in the big puzzle you got thrown into. Brendan knew he could always count on you to laugh at his jokes--especially and specifically when they were aimed at Jason. Brett knows your childhood nickname and threatens to tell Phil every time you get dangerously close to calling him out for flirting with Maggie. 

You don’t always feel like a transplant anymore, you feel like someone who’s starting to have a place. A tiny one, maybe off in the corner, but still, a place.

And when you left Jason’s trailer that afternoon, you thought it’d be the last time you saw him. 

So, naturally, your eyes go wide when you find him beneath the light of your front door this evening. You’re in a sweatshirt and bike shorts, completely unprepared for company. 

“Hi!” he says quickly, almost like he’s startled by the opening of the door, like he didn’t know if you’d be home or expected someone else on the other side of the knob. There’s a smile on his face that mirrors yours almost immediately. “Hey, sorry—to just show up here, like this.”

“How do you know where I live?” You narrow your eyes, a teasing but confident tone. All that does is give him a cheerful smugness that you regret immediately, one that makes his eyes scan your face before he shrugs.

“I know I’m not your boss, but I’m, like, not not your boss at the same time.”

You hold back a laugh and watch him, “what a blurred and confusing boundary…”

He smiles, “Which, all I mean by that is that Maggie sent the listing to me when she found it, I’ve actually known where you live since before you lived here,” he admits casually.

“Got it,” you step aside and he comes in, shuts the door behind himself before he meets your eyes again. 

“How are you?” You ask, intrigued by his surprise visit but also not wanting to scare him off. You like the way he’s looking at you, your heart does a flip at the thought that he wants to be around you. Just like earlier today. Fuck.

“I’m good,” he says, you walk towards the kitchen and wave a bottle of wine in the air and he nods. “I got stuck late at work, I was walking and it started to rain.”

“You live like, two minutes from here…” you’re smiling despite the challenging statement, you grab a glass from an overhead cabinet.

He shrugs when he slinks into a barstool at your counter, apparently unfazed by your accusation when he comes off it easily: “yeah, I just wanted to say hi.”

You reach for a glass in the cupboard overhead and tease him over your shoulder. “Curious to see how Maggie allocated the living stipend?”

He sits up straighter now and plays into the bit, pushing his lips out in thought when he looks around your open concept kitchen and living room. “That and…”

He looks around the room again, his words hang in the air as he buys time. But his hair’s a mess and his watch isn’t on--so you know something’s up.

It clicks. He’s got something on his mind or something and he’s…trying to talk about it? To you? 

Men! Sheesh. You try to relax your forehead as you pour him a glass so your confusion and shock isn’t misread as displeasure. Realistically, you’re touched he feels comfortable enough and the thumping in your chest is a dead giveaway if he can hear it when you deliver the wine.

“Shit day?” You ask, watching as his fingers wrap around the step. He takes a sip and shrugs. 

“Yeah, shit day…shit month, shit year.”

You giggle into your own glass, take your first sip before nodding. “I know the feeling.”

“No, I shouldn’t--” he pauses and stumbles for a second, “I don’t mean to complain or sound like a dick.”

You shrug and offer a smirk. “You’re not a dick if you have a human emotion.”

He nods, watches the wine in his glass as a smirk crawls onto his face. He looks up at you. “My ex could argue that statement for two hours.”

“Could she?” You smile, nodding when you tell him: “I’m a pretty patient person.”

“Are you?” 

“I am,” you laugh, “I like to think so.”

He lets out a tiny laugh at your comment, quiet for a second before he lets out an exhale. “I’m just stressed, really. Being showrunner this season is harder than I thought and it’s not even hard, it’s just more than I’m used to.”

You nod immediately. That makes sense and you see the fatigue on his face. You’d heard Maggie talk about it before: long hours, late nights, location shoots, freezing days, rewrites and props changes. TV wasn’t easy and you were already aware of that, only a few weeks in.

“I get that—but I think it’s normal to notice the learning curve when you’re doing something new.” 

He nods, accepts it and holds his breath for a second. “Yeah, that’s…a good way to say it.”

He smiles at you softly, eyes coming up to meet yours quickly before he shrugs. “I know I’ll survive, it’s just—been a rough go of it, lately.” 

“So what’s your release?” You ask.

His brows furrow together and the crease in his forehead lights something up inside you.

He says it like this hasn’t occurred to him at all. “My release?”

“How are you dealing with your stress?” 

The confusion on his face turns into amusement when the corner of his mouth twitches toward your ceiling. 

“So, nothing?”

He laughs. “I hadn’t thought about—doing anything, really.”

“Men,” you roll your eyes, moving towards the couch with your wine in hand. “The wine’s a nice place to start, but certainly not enough.”

He makes a face for a second, like he’s judging himself or imagining the terrible things you must think about him now that you’ve heard his feelings, but he stands to follow and listens intently when you almost open up.

“When my boyfriend dumped me and Kyle let me go, I stayed in bed for a good…two weeks,” you admit, a grimace on your face because you know it makes you sound like a loser. “But then my sister suggested I go to a rage room and it was amazing.”

“A rage room?” He laughs. “One of those places where you just break shit?”

“Smashing a TV to pieces is surprisingly therapeutic,” you tell him seriously.

He thinks on it for a second, nodding like he’s giving it real thought when he plucks at his lower lip. You can see the smirk he’s fighting, a sip of wine when your eyes dare him to say whatever he’s thinking.

“You don’t have to tell me--”

“But,” you say at the same time as he says it. A flash of embarrassment on his face when you raise your brows, reading him like a book,  just spit it out. 

“Why’d you get fired?”

Right. You knew it would come up at some point and even if Jason wasn’t really your boss, he definitely had the right to be curious. 

“I only ask because I read her reference letter--she loves you.”

“She does love me,” you nod. “But she was having family issues and I wanted a raise and then I found out that her daughter was sleeping with my boyfriend.”

His lips form an ‘o’ involuntarily, the response you got from most people when they hear how the dominoes all fell at the same time.

“Yeah,” you shrug. “Fired might be a strong word, but, certainly how it felt.”

“Well, her loss,” he nods confidently. “I’ve seen the way you organized my desk drawers and it’s either witchcraft or psychoticism and I’m okay with either if it’s always this easy to find shit.”

“I’ll keep it up then,” you smile and take another sip. 

“Sorry to just…show up, by the way,” he looks down at his own glass in hand, “and drink your wine.”

You had been looking forward to a shower and a night of watching trashy reality TV (though now you’d sworn off all of the Real Housewives). Other than that, your night was likely to consist of facetiming your mom and plucking your eyebrows. 

Jason sitting at your counter with a smirk on his face didn’t bother you at all, but you certainly couldn’t tell him you were flattered that he came here.

You nodded to let him know it was no nuisance. “I’m always up for a glass of wine and talking you off the ledge.”

“That shouldn’t be part of your job description, though.”

“Do you know how many times I listened to Kyle complain about her friends or had to send gift baskets to them after fights?”

“I’m guessing a lot?”

“You venting about work stress is a walk in the park,” you reassure.

“Well, I’m glad,” he says solemnly, a moment when he holds your eyes and you feel your cheeks get warm. 

You clear your throat, don’t be stupid, and force out a joke to act like whatever moment this was wasn’t problematic or weird or worse, enticing.

“So unless you have a daughter that will sleep with my boyfriend, we’re probably good.”

“My daughter’s seven,” a beat when he shrugs a single shoulder. “And you don’t have a boyfriend.”

You take a loud slurp from your wine--partly for comedic effect and party out of your own awkwardness--and smirk over the rim to match his. “Right.”

table of contents | talk to me + join the tag list

AN: WOW! HI! It's been a hot minute. I'm so glad to be posting this chappie and so appreciative of everyone's patience as my life evolves and writing has taken up a smaller portion of my time. I would love love love to hear what you think of this chapter and the story so far, I've been writing a lot the last few days as feb turns into march and I'm excited to share more!!!!

taglist: @babysugar02 @daydreamgoddess14 @endlessblasphemy @hart-kinsella @shanefilan @bookoffracturedghosts @cavillsim @the-fanfic-fangirl @tegan8314

[beardedmrbean]

Volusia County Sheriff Mike Chitwood announced the arrest of an 11-year-old boy who he said had a kill list and was making threats at two different schools.

Chitwood took to Facebook on Monday to say:

"As promised, we just arrested a Creekside Middle School student who made threats to commit a school shooting at Creekside or Silver Sands Middle School. He had written a list of names and targets. He says it was all a joke."

He said deputies recovered airsoft rifles, pistols and fake ammunition along with knives, swords and other weapons he was showing off to other students in a Facetime call.

Some said they could not tell if the weapons were real or fake. The boy also allegedly created a hit list. Deputies found a paper with several names that also appeared to have stab marks.

"Makes you not want to send your kids to school," said Steven Alkire, Creekside Middle School parent. It really does. And, you know, unfortunately, you can't stay home, can't homeschool them. So, you know, we're sort of forced to send them to school."

The boy will be charged with a felony for making a written threat of a mass shooting, Chitwood said.

When questioned by deputies, he allegedly said it was all a "joke."

"It's pretty scary," Alkire said. "Definitely scary. And with everything that's going on in this country, you know, it really makes you nervous. "

"P.S. I can and will release the names and photos of juveniles who are committing these felonies, threatening our students, disrupting our schools and consuming law enforcement resources," Chitwood said in the post.

WESH decided to not disclose the boy's identity because he is a minor.

The sheriff also reminds parents and students these threats are disrupting schools and consuming law enforcement resources. It's costing the department thousands of dollars to investigate all threats, including those that are fake.

In an email a district spokesperson said:

While VCS does not comment on individual student discipline matters, safety is our top priority, and this situation exemplifies how the security measures in place at our schools, as well as our partnership with law enforcement, ensure the safety of our students and staff. Thank you to the students who spoke up and submitted a tip when they heard something suspicious. We take all reports extremely seriously and work with law enforcement to ensure they are thoroughly investigated. We continue to encourage our students that if they see or hear something, they should inform an adult immediately or submit a tip to Fortify Florida.

Related: Sanford police arrest 15-year-old who allegedly threatened to commit a school shooting

Florida plagued with threats of school violence

Schools across Florida have been plagued with threats of violence since school resumed last month. In the last week in Central Florida, a 15-year-old was arrested in Sanford for making threats, and a student was found with an unloaded weapon on campus in Altamonte Springs.

Two students were arrested in Orlando after a loaded gun was found in a backpack.

In a video on Facebook on Sept. 13, Chitwood said 54 tips had come about shooting threats. All of them were deemed bogus, he said, adding that the hoax cost more than $20,000 in resource response.

"Starting Monday, your little cherub, we're going to start publishing his name, and we're going to start perp walks with them when we take them into custody," Chitwood said. "And we're going to show pictures of you, the parents, because you don't want to raise your kid; Sheriff Chitwood is going to raise him."

[triptychgrip]

If the Katsuki-Nikiforovs ever took GQ Magazine's Couples's Quiz game...

...it would be an utterly sappy and unhinged rollercoaster, as I cover in Chapter 7 of my post-canon, Olympic-Games-focused Yuri!!! on Ice fic (which only has 4 chapters left until completion!). Yuuri, understandably, feels the need to profusely apologize to the GQ production staff for putting up with him and Viktor (plus the friends they'd invited to watch the filming, which includes Yurio and Christophe, among others).

Indeed, as I note Reddit user r/OohYouMakeMeFeel_369's reaction: "I laughed my ass off when I saw Yuuri's tweet a few hrs ago where he tagged the filming crew and promised to buy them some strong sake for putting up with them. And then, omg Viktor followed up by inviting them to Yutopia. My fav Russian continues to be #NumberOneHasetsuTourismAmbassador"

If you've watched any of the actual Couple's Quiz game series, you might note that they usually end the quiz with some form of the question: "What does your partner love most about you?"

Even though my fic is currently over 200K words, this scene is definitely in my top 3 favorites I've written, because it allowed me to try to capture how Yuuri and Viktor -- who, at this point, have been together for over 5 years, and married for nearly three -- perceive the other's love.

In particular, it allows you to see the traits that they've come to appreciate about themselves by way of the other's vantage point: something that was particular gratifying to create headcanons around as it pertains to Yuuri's increasing confidence through canon, which continues to grow as he and Viktor face life's challenges together. All in all, this chapter will give you the warm-fuzzies, and I believe you can still enjoy it even if you don't want to read the larger fic (though I do hope you'd give it a chance, especially if you are interested in seeing how their relationship might have evolved).

Below is an excerpt that I hope piques your interest in checking the story out. Note: as it gets closer to completion, I'll probably post more excerpts from the first 10 chapters, because I sort of sucked at promoting this fic when I first started posting it to ao3 back in November...lesson learned!

------

“Never mind their gross kissing,” Yurio loudly complained, throwing them a look of disgust as if they’d just insulted Potya. “What I want to know is what the score is now that Katsudon got all 3 right.”

Jamie answered almost immediately.

“Ok, remember: there’s still a final question for you both, which are big multi-pointers,” he called out, flipping a few pages of his clipboard. And, since neither of you have used your three hints, you could each get an additional three points when everything wraps up, if you decide not to use them. So with that disclaimer, Yuuri is currently in the lead, up by 1.5 points.”

Before Yuuri could outwardly celebrate his small leg-up, Chris piped up with a predictably suggestive comment. 

“Hmmm, I wonder if dear Yuuri will be able to maintain his lead? I believe he can, he’s always had such excellent stamina, after all…”

As his voice trailed off, Yura turned to face him with a pronounced scowl on his face. 

“You need new material, Giacometti. These two have been together for years: it’s time to show some damn evolution.” 

He then began to mutter under his breath, saying something that sounded like “resting on his fucking laurels, what a waste,” which made several people nearby laugh. The Ice Tiger had a bit of a point: stamina jokes were so 2017.

While Yuuri was pleased with his lead, he was slightly nervous around what Jamie and Tarneka had selected for their final questions. There had definitely been some bizarre ones nestled within the ‘bank’ of options the two co-producers had emailed them a few weeks back. As he’d filled out his answers and allocated the points for the thirty questions he was supposed to submit – having to eventually move to a different room away from Viktor, as they’d kept distracting one another with their snickering – he remembered barking out mildly hysterical laughter at a few of the options in the last category. 

“What might your life be like in a parallel universe?” had stumped him, and he wondered if his husband had been brave enough to pick that one out; it was the kind of wacky, philosophical question he adored.

“Only 1.5 points behind…that’s nothing,” Viktor spoke up, with a gleam in his eye. “Don’t get too comfortable, Mr. Katsuki-Nikiforov.”

“Sure thing, Mr. Katsuki-Nikiforov,” Yuuri lobbed back, only a split-second later, before slipping into focus mode and reaching for the last notecard.

Before he could lay a hand on it, however, his spouse called out to Tarneka and Jamie.

“Are you able to dock points for intimidating the competition?” he asked, sounding put-out. 

Yuuri blinked, unsure as to what he was insinuating.

“You have on your very eros nothing-can-stop-me face, and I won’t be able to concentrate if I’m too distracted by how hot you look,” Viktor continued on in Russian, furrowing his eyebrows, cutely. 

Powerless against the giggles that burst forth, he clapped a hand over his mouth as he watched his love’s eyes begin to narrow. 

“You can’t be serious, Vitya,” Yuuri wheezed, following Viktor’s lead and switching to Russian. “This is just my face! It’s not like I’m doing anything on purpose.”

Yuuri missed the ensuing retort amidst the sound of Tarneka’s ask to Yura for a translation of their back-and-forth: a request the Ice Tiger very firmly denied.

“Trust me, you’re better off not knowing,” he griped, before marching over to stand near them, just out of the camera frame. 

“Get a grip, old man!” he hissed in Russian, staring daggers at Viktor. “This thirsty idiot act may have been acceptable a few years ago, but the time is long past for you to realize that the person you married is just a man. For fuck’s sake, Katsudon isn’t some god.”

Viktor visibly bristled at these words, and Yuuri mentally prepared himself to intervene.

“I resent that, Yura,” his husband replied, loftily. “My Yuuri is divine; he’s not ‘just’ anything! Did you even see his Sports Week magazine cover? When I saw the final proofs, I almost fainted: all the blood in my body began to rush straight to m– ”

“Mmmmmph!”

[kira-ani-mcgrath]

Your commission advice is all very practical and helpful, but how can I avoid saying "contact for pricing" when my offerings and the potential requests are so diverse? I understand that pricing schemes can be rather formulaic for character portraits, but I don't want to limit myself.

Note for others: This is referencing my "Commission Tips" post, specifically this part:

Public Pricing I've signed my name to more vehicles than I care to count over the years, which means I've done quite a bit of car shopping. I am a researcher, and I've had times where I have many browser tabs open, pouring over the various listings and comparing all kinds of factors - such as mileage, gas mileage, safety rating, features, and, of course, price - in an effort to narrow down my choices and arrive at the best deal possible. Sometimes in these searches, vehicle listings will say "contact dealer for pricing" for various reasons. That instantly knocks the vehicle down a slot in my rating system. I have enough anxiety dealing with certain things even when I have all the facts and know exactly what I want. It's even worse when I have to cold-call for a very important piece of information and risk getting roped into a conversation I don't want to have. Yes, I have a point to this anecdote. I have many times compared commission shopping to car buying, even joking that I put more research into my commission purchases than I have into our last few vehicle purchases. "DM/email me for prices" is an artist's equivalent of "contact dealer for pricing," and thus is an instant back-button for me at this point. It's just not worth the hassle when there are so many other options out there that give me all the information I need front-and-center.

Admittedly, this point is probably the least universally-applicable, given that there are buyers who have no issue with these sorts of inquiries. However, I'd presume I'm not the only one who avoids this, especially online. So, if you'd like to catch the consideration of a customer such as myself, there's a few options:

1) Include examples with approximate prices in your commission information. These examples can be personal works or past commissions you've done (and the example price doesn't need to be what you actually charged for that particular commission, but what you would charge if asked to repeat it - useful if you raise your rates or if the cost of materials increases). You can also stress that the priced pieces are examples and final pricing is determined by the exact specifications the potential buyer sends in for consideration.

2) Utilize base + add-on pricing. With this pricing method, you have a minimum price for a basic service, then additional charges for increased levels of work. This method is similar to the flat pricing you typically see for artwork commissions, but it gives a little more flexibility in accounting for the differing detail levels of requests while still giving people the ability to calculate an accurate price for themselves. Example 1: base of grayscale half-body = $10, add full-body +$5, add color +$10, add complex details +$10, add basic background +$10, add complex background +$20 or more depending on details Example 2: base of 24-in scarf 1 color of basic yarn = $10, every additional color +$5 ea, upgrade to premium yarn +$10 per color, add an extra inch +$2 ea

3) Utilize ranged pricing. With this pricing method, you advertise a minimum charge for a basic commission but also state that the price increases with complexity and the actual price will depend on the specifics of the commission. You don't specify all the minutia of what increases the cost. While this is less information upfront for the buyer, it's still some information while allowing for more nuanced pricing control by the artist. You can also have different levels of ranges. A top-end price cap isn't necessary, but I have seen it used in tiered ranged pricing or if the artist just wants a cap for their own sake. Example 1: grayscale portrait $50-$150, color portrait $100-$200, color illustration $300+ Example 2: acrylic scarf $15+, wool scarf $50+

On the back-end of things, I would recommend having some type of cost breakdown of what goes into your craft(s). Overall, have a general idea of how long it takes you to create pieces at different levels of quality/detail/size/etc. If the commission is a physical item, the costs of materials and tool wear-and-tear should also be factored into the final price. If you have at least a mental guideline for that sort of thing, it will be easier to price your examples and any incoming inquiries.

I understand the appeal of just saying "contact for pricing" is the artist being able to tailor a quote to the exact specifications of a request, but I think this method is inefficient. There's unnecessary extra steps that can be eliminated with the artist giving potential customers a minimum baseline expectation front-and-center through one of the above methods.

Thanks for the compliment and the question! I enjoyed being able to expand on that point, and I hope it's useful. :)

[hsfan94]

Dress

Y/n and Harry had an interesting friendship. They were best friends sure but people always suspected they were more. At first Harry brushed it off and laughed about it even but as time went on the jokes got old. Simply because he could no longer tell where the boundaries were anymore either and he didn’t need outsiders putting their two cents in.

The first time he felt the shift in their relationship was a little over three years ago.

Dancing around the kitchen in the middle of the night Harry realised he'd never had a friend like her before. They'd been friends for a little over two years. He couldn't remember what it was like before her and he didn't want to imagine a time without her.

They were in his New York apartment. After going out to dinner and getting chased by that stupid TMZ guy that's obsessed with him, he suggested she stay at his place since it was closer. That's how they ended up drinking three bottles of Rozé and dancing around like lunatics. Her drunkenness caused her to take a wrong step which sent them both to the floor. He landed on top of her in somewhat of a compromising pose and they both bursted out laughing.

"I've never been this drunk on wine before." She confessed. She wouldn't have told anyone something like that before but his eyes had some sort of truth serum in them.

"Oh yeah?" He could have stared at her for hours.

"That's probably because I don't usually have more than a glass at a time." She impulsively reached up to brush a stray curl out of his face. "You're a bad influence, Harry Styles."

"Where have you been all my life Y/n?"

"Waiting to be a part of it." She wasn't even sure what she meant.

He almost kissed her. If she hadn't swatted at his butt and said, "move I gotta pee," he would have crossed that line. He spent the rest of the night thinking about what it would be like if he had. What else might have happened? Maybe eventually she would even live in the very flat they were in.

He was beyond prepared for the badgering he would get when he told his friends they were doing a joint birthday celebration this year. Their birthdays are so close together and they’ve always talked about celebrating together out of convenience and this year it was happening. And sure enough the teasing had been endless.

“So, H, is it like a coming out party? Are you and the missus finally taking that step?” Jeff asked, sipping his coffee. They were having a meeting about his birthday shows when Jeff read the email invite from Y/n.

The design she went with was adorable and so perfectly her that Harry couldn’t find it in him to make changes when she asked him to edit.

“Come on, Jeff. We’ve been over this.”

“Seriously I think it’s a cute idea. I just wish you two would stop fucking around and get together.”

He received texts from Mitch, Sarah and Ben that day as well all stating something similar. Harry kind of hoped it would be that kind of party.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Y/n was nervous. She knew what she wanted for her birthday this year and she wasn’t going to let anything get in her way. She had been trying to cross the line with Harry for so long. Unfortunately for her, they had horrible timing. One of them was always taken. That night in the kitchen when he almost kissed her she had to run away because she was seeing someone. She would have had sex with Harry right there on her floor if they had kissed and she didn’t want to be a cheater. When he got cast as Jack in ‘Don’t Worry Darling’ they had been staying together and she thought for sure that would be it. Then he came home drunk one night proclaiming love for Olivia and she was proper annoyed. She hadn’t expected it to go on for two years either. So when they broke up, she wanted to give him time to process, but she was ready to go for it as soon as she thought he’d had enough time. And what better way to do that than at their birthday party?

“I don’t know about this one,” she said, looking herself up and down. The black silk gown adorning her body not quite living up to expectation.

She had decided to buy a new dress for the party for the sole purpose of it aiding in her confession.

“I think you look stunning.” Julia stood behind her looking at it from all angles.

“I don’t know Jules. I want his jaw to hit the floor.” She turned around to grab the other one she picked out.

“You say that like his jaw wouldn’t hit the floor if you showed up in sweats.” Julia rolled her eyes as she exited the changing room.

“Shut up. You know what I mean. I’m just scared” Y/n said.

“Why?”

“Because what if he’s just a big flirt. Part of me feels like if he really wanted me he would have done something about it already.” Y/n knew her and Harry were meant to be but she couldn’t figure out why it hadn’t happened yet. So she couldn’t help but worry she was wrong sometimes.

“And I think you severely overestimate men. They don’t always know what they want. Or what they need.”

Y/n opened the curtain and showed Julia the dress.

“This is the one,” they spoke in sync and then they laughed.

“Okay babes get changed and we can get lunch and game plan some more.” Julia ushered her back into the changing room.

She looked over herself in the mirror and sighed happily. It really was the one.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Harry hadn’t actually seen Y/n in a long time. They emailed and texted or called everyday, but she hadn’t been around as much lately due to conflicting schedules. At least she claimed it was her schedule. He wasn’t an idiot. He knew she did not like Olivia and to be honest he hoped it was cause she was jealous. He’d never actually admit it though. Since it had been months since a proper Y/n and Harry moment he could not contain his excitement at seeing her tonight. In fact, he was staring at the entrance to the venue with utmost concentration waiting (not so patiently) for her arrival. Y/n loved being fashionably late. So, Harry was nodding along pretending to be listening to whatever Niall was telling him waiting for his best friend to finally show up.

When Y/n walked through the door, everything stopped. Time stood still. At least Harry thought so anyway, until Niall noticed he no longer had his friend's attention.

"Ah I see. Go talk to her mate."

Without another word Harry all but stormed up to her.

"Hi," he said smiling down at her.

"Hi, Harry. How are you?" She gave him a hug and upon pulling back she stayed attached to him, looking up at him from within his embrace.

"A lot better now."

After another minute of just staring at her, he noticed Julia who had come in beside her.

"Miss Michaels, how are you this evening?"

"Great," Julia replied, "Everything looks fantastic you all did a good job."

Julia and Y/n exchanged a look that Harry couldn't decipher and then she spoke again.

"I'm going to go catch up with Niall. I'll see you lovebirds later."

She skipped away before Harry could say anything about her comment.

“Lovebirds?” He questioned Y/n who was just staring at him, dare he say starry eyed.

“What’s wrong? Is that not accurate?” Y/n was playing with fire. She wanted to really test him.

“What do you mean, lovie?” Harry’s heart started beating faster.

She didn’t want to lay it all out just yet so she leaned up to whisper in his ear, “I don’t want you like a best friend.” Then she cheekily squeezed his left ass cheek and scampered away.

Harry was left speechless watching her walk away. And damn did that dress look good from the back.

~~~~~~~~~~

Y/n wasn’t avoiding Harry per se but she was definitely putting space between them. She was currently talking to Jeff about future projects he could help her with and her and Harry kept meeting eyes. She couldn’t tell how well received her ass grab and best friend remark were and it was driving her crazy. So crazy she decided to just ask his friend.

“I hate to interrupt your thought J, but I have to ask you something.”

“No worries what’s up?” Jeff was always so understanding.

“I’ve been sending all these signals, I mean for years, and I feel like I get nothing in return and it’s driving me crazy.” She started to ramble.

“Y/n. Breathe. Get to the point.” Jeff chuckled at her frustration because he knew what the question was.

“Ok. Umm. How do I put this? Does Harry ever talk about me? Like in a romantic way?”

“You mean is he in love with you?” Jeff asked.

She nodded. He looked over at Harry only to find him shamelessly staring at Y/n. His eyes were traveling all over her body, completely ignoring Mitch and Sarah who were stood beside him, and Jeff had to end it.

“Yes he’s been madly in love with you for years, but between you and me,” he looked between Y/n and Harry, “he’s a big pussy.”

Y/n cackled. She had never heard Jeff say that word and it was fucking hilarious, especially in the context of describing her silly best friend, her love.

“Thank you. So much. Now if you’ll excuse me I’m going to go make an announcement.”

Y/n scurried over to the stage they had set up for toasts and karaoke.

“Excuse me everyone.”

The crowd went silent and all eyes were on her.

“First I want to thank you all for coming. It means so much to Harry and I. We love each and every one of you.”

She looked at Harry and saw how confused he looked.

“I just umm. I have an announcement to make and I don’t know how to form my own words for it. The irony is not lost on me as a songwriter.”

The crowd laughed.

“But I’ve tried to write songs about this in the past few days and I’ve just had major writer’s block so, if it’s okay with you, I’m going to borrow words from my friend Taylor.”

She looked at Taylor who gave her a thumbs up.

“Alright then. This song is called Dress.”

The music started playing and everyone except Harry seemed to understand immediately.

“Our secret moments, in a crowded room. They got no idea about me and you.” She made eye contact with Harry as she sang.

“Made your mark on me, a golden tattoo. All of this silence and patience. Pining and anticipation, my hands are shaking from holding back from you.”

She lifted up a shaky hand and everyone laughed including Harry who had seemed to catch on a little.

“Say my name and everything just stops. I don’t want you like a best friend. Only bought this dress so you could take it off.”

On that line she got bold. She pointed to her dress and then to him and his eyes shot wide open. Then she gestured him closer with her finger and he complied, slowly approaching the stage himself.

“Inescapable, I’m not even gonna try and if I get burned at least we were electrified.”

He was on the stage now.

“Everyone thinks that they know us but they know nothing about.” She held the mic out to him and he sang, understanding it was meant to be a mutual announcement.

“All of this silence and patience pining and anticipation my hands are shaking from holding back from you.” He lifted his hands up hovering them above her face but not touching to animate the line. Everyone laughed again.

They sang the rest of the song loosely but Y/n finished alone with the line “Only bought this dress so you could take it off.”

The music ended and the crowd cheered. Then, somebody (Y/n swears it was Jeff immediately followed by Taylor) started chanting “Kiss, Kiss, Kiss”. And they did.

Harry’s hands finally found placement on her cheeks and their lips met delicately. It was a perfect first kiss. When they broke away but he was still so close she whispered “I love you,” and he kissed her again.

“I love you too.”

A/n: I thought about writing more (maybe what they do after the party), but I also wanted to post this before it had been too long after his birthday. So I hope you like it. Comment if you want more from this universe.

[clickerflight]

Muir: Part 1 - Warehouse

A bit of a treat for ya here! A two parter about how Muir became a vampire. The second one will be up as soon as I have it edited. Enjoy!

Master list

Part 2

Content: human police whumpee, gun violence, mentions of cults and what happened to Joseph, hidden injury vibes

........................................

Muir spun his chair back and forth impatiently, watching Granger work her way through her paperwork for the week. She kept eyeing him, annoyed. 

“Isn’t there something you should be doing?” she asked, typing away at her keyboard. 

Muir clicked his tongue. “No.”

“Paperwork?”

“You know how I am about paperwork,” he replied. “It’s all done.”

“How do you even manage that? I know how many cases you take at a time, on top of your bondmate.”

Muir gave her a side eyed look when she said bondmate. She always said it with disappointment, like he’d made a bad decision in bonding with Joseph as a human. He personally was fine with it. He was pretty sure that it gave him some sort of extra energy somehow, and it was comforting knowing someone would always know where he was. “Maybe I sold my soul for paperwork powers.”

She didn’t even roll her eyes at his terrible joke and just gave a long, long sigh. 

“I don’t know, Granger. I just work on it when I have a spare minute here and there,” he said with a shrug. 

“Isn’t there research you can do?” 

“I’m out of leads till my warrant goes through.”

“You could help someone else get their work done. I wouldn’t mind help with my paperwork.”

“Nah,” Muir said, going back to spinning. “I’m enjoying watching you do it.”

Granger flashed her fangs at him, but there was no real fire behind it. “Okay, whatever. But if the chief sees you sitting on your hands she’ll find something for you to do.”

“Oh, I know,” Muir replied. “But she’s in a meeting with the Fire Inspector right now.”

Granger groaned at Muir’s grin. “Yeah, and he comes in and wastes her time. What could he possibly need to talk to her about that oft-” She spotted the look on Muir’s face and her eyebrows shot up in a rare show of surprise. “No. No!”

“Yes,” Muir said, deeply amused. “They’re being responsible and making sure they have their work done just so they have time for little meetings.”

Granger put her face in her hands with a groan. “That is so wrong.”

“I think it’s cute,” Muir said, spinning a full circle before he pulled up a screen on his computer and started typing so smoothly that Granger almost didn’t notice as the chief’s door opened and the Fire Inspector backed out, holding up a hand in goodbye. 

Muir waited till the man had left and the door to the chief’s office was fully closed before he went back to spinning his chair back and forth, practically taunting Granger. 

She sighed, shaking her head and going back to her paperwork. 

Muir scrolled through his computer, occasionally refreshing his emails and chatting with a couple of friends. 

Then, he refreshed his email again and he rushed to click on the link and print out the warrant. “I’ve got it. I’ll call the guys together. Be at the cars in 10 minutes, Granger.”

With that, Muir was off with his fresh warrant to let the chief know where he was going and how many officers he needed to take with him. 

Granger sighed one more time as she worked to finish what she was working on. This should at least be fun. Until it gave her more paperwork afterwards. 

……………………………..

The warehouse the warrant was for was attached to the new cult formed out of the ashes of the previous one that have been involved in killing David and causing harm to Joseph. Muir had been investigating it, reopening the case. He had quickly discovered that the previous case had actually been connected to a lot of missing person’s reports. It seemed that on the same night of the ritual,every single cult member had completely vanished, and the only living witness to the incident was buried in a box in the ground and unable to know what happened. 

Muir had been worried that would be the end of it, chasing dead end after dead end, looking for unclaimed bodies to see if they had performed a mass suicide somewhere else, but he had found nothing. 

Nothing except for a record of a new cult starting soon after, using the same name and locations with different people involved, though some of them were friends and family of the missing cult members. 

This warehouse would hold even more information. Muir had worked his tail off to get enough evidence that something shady was going on here to get himself a warrant. If they could just get inside, they might actually find out what has been going on here. Even if he couldn’t put the original group in jail for what they did, he could keep this group from doing any more harm.

And they had already done plenty of harm. There had been some vampire disappearances in the area since they had established themselves again. Muir had got the warrant based on some illicit potion deliveries he managed to confirm at this address, though he was fairly certain they would be finding some vampire ash inside, if not the whole cult all high on it. 

Muir got his gun ready, flashlight in the other hand as he and the group of officers approached the door, Granger at his shoulder ready to intercept any attack thrown his way. He had to admit he envied her abilities as a vampire. He would love to intercept attacks for the others without too much concern for his own life. 

He looked around and nodded at Officer Blaire. He had the loudest voice and was the best at kicking down doors. His eyes lit up at the chance as he made his way to the front of the group. He banged on the door and shouted, “Police! Open up!”

There was a long long moment of silence, counting out the seconds legally required before continuing, before Officer Blaire smiled like a kid on Christmas as he stepped back and slammed the door in. 

It opened easily enough and officers moved in quickly, flashlight beams swinging around in the darkness beyond. 

The place was fairly dusty, and smelled of drugs and potions. 

Muir carefully made his way forward, clearing spaces and calling out to the others, listening to the others shout out ‘Clear!’ to make sure no one went down without his noticing. 

There didn’t seem to be anyone here. There were old style coffins lined along the walls, some of them nailed shut, others with free swinging lids. The old warehouse was filled to the brim with crates and boxes and a quick peek in a couple of them assured Muir that his warrant had certainly paid off. 

“We’ve got Vampire Ash here!” 

Muir made his way through the crates over to a set of long tables where there were boxes of vampire ash along with the equipment to make it into a potent drug. The process had been discovered fairly recently and the drug was beginning to spread like wildfire through the streets of most major cities because of its addictive and healing effects while the authorities tried to figure out where all the vampires were that were being mutilated, mistreated, and killed to make the stuff. 

“Alright, the Icky guys should be here soon to deal with this,” he said, referring to the Illicit Substance division that would come through to help them clear the place out safely. “Let’s just make sure this place is empty.”

“Yes sir.”

Muir continued on into the dark, searching for more leads. He had to have another lead. This was a lot, but he wanted to find where the cult kept some of their files, maybe even see where they got the vampire ash from and bust a few drug rings.

He found an office space towards the back of the warehouse and whistled sharply to let Granger know where he was. He found the door to be unlocked and quickly swung his flashlight around the office. It was empty besides a couple of computers and some files piled haphazardly around the room. 

Delighted by this, he stepped into the room, looking around at the files and picking one up to see what was on it. 

Before he could really see what it was, he heard movement behind him, though he wasn’t that concerned. That would be Granger catching up to him and keeping an eye out while he poked through all of these papers and computers and happily picked out lead after lead like he was foraging cheerfully through a forest for mushrooms like he did with his dad when he was younger. 

He was abruptly jolted from his satisfaction as a terrifyingly loud sound lit through the room and he felt something impact his body. 

He managed to keep from falling forward into the papers and turned to find a pale, wide-eyed human staring at him, a gun in their hand and long greasy hair in their eyes. 

Muir jumped forward, his blood rushing in his ears as he pushed the gun to the side and shouted as he fought with the person. The attacker scratched at him and screeched like a wild thing, struggling to get away no matter the damage to their person. 

Grager shot out of the darkness, grabbing the human and forcing them to the ground on their stomach and cuffed their hands behind their back, kicking the gun away. 

“Are you alright? I heard two shots. Were they yours?”

“Two?” he asked, still jittery from the surprise. He must not have processed the other one in his shock. “Yeah, no, I’m fine. My armor caught it, I think.”

“You’re sure.”

“Yeah. I’m alright. 

More agents and officers hurried over to see what had happened and Muir was quick to explain the situation. Afterwards, he said, “Officer Blair, if you could get the suspect out to the…. To the car that would be… be… ummm.”

Muir started to sway, the blood draining from his face. What was going on? He should probably sit down. He slowly took a step back towards a crate, leaning against it as Officer Blair stepped forward. “Sir? Are you alright?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine,” he said weakly. “I’ll be alright. Just the shock of being shot at, I think. Here, Granger, you take over. I’m going to get some air and water really quick.”

Granger nodded, giving a bit of a side look as he made his way out of the warehouse. The pain where he’d been shot started to register and he groaned. The armor kept you alive but it still hurt like nothing else. He’d have a bruise for a week. He felt something wet drip down his arm and realized the suspect had scratched him with their long jagged nails where they’d untucked his sleeve from his glove. He’d have to remember to get it cleaned. He hoped it didn’t get infected. He wondered how long that person had been here. Long enough to go pale and hollow and…. And…..

Muir stumbled, and then he fell, pain blazing out through his stomach and back. He tried to take a breath to shout for help, but all he could do was lay there in the dust as it gradually dawned on him that something was very, very wrong. 

Part 2

From Dust to Ashes: @honeycollectswhump @writereleaserepeat @tragedyinblue @hyrules-sleepiest-knight @why-not-ask-me-a-better-question @thecyrulik @gt-daboss @currentlyinthesprial @pigeonwhumps @not-a-space-alien

[lonelynpc]

ooh i have some questions too if that’s okay? i heard that as an anaesthesiologist, after actually putting together the anaesthetic, your job is (ideally) boring and you basically just have to sit and supervise in case it goes wrong, is this true? and if so, what do you generally do during long surgeries??

along with this, have you ever had a patient react completely unexpectedly to anaesthetic, or does it all generally fall within certain parameters? and is it true that redheads need more anaesthetic than other people?

hi! awesome questions

so, ideally my job is very boring. we top up meds, keep an eye on the patient, teach and learn. during long cases where there's nothing to do, i like to catch up on emails or play solitaire. it's sort of a joke that all anaesthetists have to choose one mobile game or one physical game like sudoku to play for their entire career.

as for unexpected reactions, we have a few. so specific to anaesthetic we sometimes see anaphylaxis, local anaesthetic toxicity. there's also a reaction called 'malignant hyperthermia' which is genetic, it's super rare but it's a specific anaesthetic emergency that we're all trained in. it's a severe reaction to certain agents we use that causes hypermetabolism in the skeletal muscles. basically, the muscles release calcium ions and cause the muscles to contract, resulting in hyperthermia and a host of other problems. i've only seen it happen once and i've only met one patient who was positive for it, a lot of anaesthetists have never even heard of it happening. it's not super common here but i guess we might have more incidents of it because we're next-door to a country where it's more common.

as for redheads needing more anaesthetic, there's not absolute rule or evidence for it but experience is part of how we assess this and some redheads do report requiring more. one of my consultants is a redhead and says that he's never needed more, studies have shown that it mostly seems to just be variations in anaesthetic requirements similar to people with different hair colours. what works for one person might not work for another, it really depends on medical history, drug/alcohol use, age, sex, etc.

[elfboyeros]

Brier's Three

Raining Academics

So I didn't expect this to come out at all, but I did it. Yes, I did give away the plot of Bridgehidien Forest, I'm sorry. This is a start to Brier's Three the little story about Indigo and Calvin's children and their Shenanigans, please and enjoy and of course, read about the nerds!

“Come on! Come on!”

“Simon, give it a break!”

“No! I need to see if I’m at the top of the dean's list!”

“It’s just a list.”

“It’s not just a list—”

“If you two are going to argue, can you please do it outside of the rotunda!”

Three students within the glided rotunda, one an academic, one a sportsman, one a child of worship. Simon, Mallory, and Bridget.

“AH! HA HA! FINALLY!” Simon exclaimed quickly clicking the email that had just arrived in his inbox, “Couri… Couri… Couri-DAMN IT!”

“I take it you didn’t make the dean’s list,” Mallory laughed.

“The Bookstone kid is at the top of the list!” Simon groaned.

“Which one? There are three of them.” Mallory remarked.

“Can you two not do this while, I’m praying,” Bridget muttered, kneed in front of the largest statue of the goddess Bridgehid in the cupola used to hide the entrance to the catacombs under the store as sort of an open secret, but also as a capital of worship for the more religious students on campus.

“How did Alexandria get to the top of the list! They barely pay attention in class!” Simon groaned.

“I will never know peace,” Bridget sighed.

“They're probably at the top because of Mrs. Bookstone,” Simon huffed through gritted teeth.

“Oh, come on!” Mallory groaned, “They are not on the top of the dean list just because their mom is the dean!”

“Then how did they end up at the top, Mal? They do nothing in class, how are they an academic genius?” Simon vented.

Bridget huffed and finally got up dusting off her skirt before heading toward the exit and passing her friends on the way, “Are Aurora and Finnegan on the list?” she asked quietly.

Simon quickly skimmed the list, “Not that I can see.”

“Then there is no favoritism,” Bridget retorted as her friends followed her out of the dome and across the paved walk to the main campus under cloudy skys, “Alexandria, regardless of what you believe, must be a rather distinguished academic if they are at the top of the list.”

Simon groaned pulling at his hair, “I don’t understand!”

“Maybe it’s something you don’t need to understand,” Mallory chuckled, following him into the main building.

“GOOSE!”

While slinging into the main foyer, passing their fellow students before hearing that familiar voice piercing their ears, the small dean’s list with the goofiest smile ever waving at the person who seemed to be their academic rival.

“My name is Simon,” he grumbled, passing Alexandria and their siblings and leaving Bridget and Mallory behind to go to there respective classes.

“What the hell is his problem,” Finnegan asked mumbling.

“Simon’s always been standoffish,” Florian mentioned, an arm around Aurora’s shoulders, “Don’t take it personal, brother.”

“I wonder why he never wants to talk to me,” Alexandria muttered with a frown, “I just wanna be his friend.”

“Maybe you could ask Aunt Georgia, how to make friends,” Aurora mentioned.

“Good idea!” they yelped, before running down the mage hall, “Thanks Aurora!”

“This isn’t going to end well, is it?” Florian asked, looking to his girlfriend to which she shrugged.

“It’s a gift from the goddess,” Finnegan joked, before heading down the hallway to his class, “they’ll leave us alone for the day.

Alexandria checked Georgia’s office, unable to find her there she searched through the mage wing of the college to find their magic genealogy teacher.

“Auntie Georgia? You here?” Alexandria entered the great mage’s classroom seeing their mother’s former student and their adopted sibling’s partner socializing, “UNCLE ELIAS!”

“Hey Alex!” He exclaimed as Alexandria ran up to him and hugged him.

“Where’s Rowan?” Alexandria asked with stars in their eyes.

 “In the infirmary, along with Nemo and Elle.” Elias sighed shaking his head.

“Did something happen?” Alexandria asked concerned.

“The normal hunting trio shenanigans,” Georgia giggled, “Do you need something, Alex?”

“How do I make friends,” Alexandria asked.

Elias and Georgia both laughed, “You’ve never had a problem with making friends before, Alex, what makes this any different?” Elias chuckled.

Alexandria let out a little groan, “It’s this guy named Simon—”

“Goose?” Georgia asked.

“Yes Goose,” Alexandria nodded, “I think I’ve done something that makes him not want to be my friend and I have no idea what to do.”

“I have found it easiest just to talk to other when trying to make friends,” Georgia mentioned, “If that isn’t working you may want to talk to Elle or Rowan.”

“Huh?”

“That does sound like Elle and Rowan,” Elias stated, with a little laugh.

“Aunt Elle and Rowan didn’t get along?” Alexandria asked, a confused tilt to their head.

Elias and Georgia nodded, “when they first met, yes.” Elias explained, “All over something that seems so trivial to them now. I bet if you asked them what to do, they would both say to just ask him what’s wrong.”

Alexandria nodded with a smile across their face, “Just talk to him, okay, I can do that I can talk!” they remarked before running toward the exit, “Thank you both!”

“See you later Alex,” Elias called.

“Describing Elle and Rowan as simply not getting along is an interesting choice,” Georgia remarked.

Elias shrugged, “How else would you describe it,” he chuckled.

“The terrifying summer when Elle was still processing her abuse with Duke caused her to pull Rowan into a dream state to conferment them about not remembering her when they were not experimented on as children and put us all in danger in the forest,” Georgia relayed.

“Yeah, they didn’t get along,” Elias joked, with a chuckle.

With the advice from Auntie Georgia and Uncle Elias, they marched to their Magical Chemistry Lab and immediately found Simon there, “Simon!” they exclaimed, approaching him at his little lab table.

“What do you want?” he scoffed.

Alexandria sat down next to him, “I’m sorry if I have done something, or offended you somehow,” they apologized, “But I would like us to be friends so if we could restart and become friends—”

Simon laughed, “You think we can just restart? Re-introduce ourselves and everything can be fine!”

“I was kinda hoping—”

“How do you expect me to be friends after everything?!”

“Everything? What did I do?!” Alexandria questioned.

Simon scoffed out a laugh, “What didn’t you do!”

He left the lab table moving to one in the back of the room, before class started leaving Alexandria upset, confused, and unwilling to pay attention in class. With the summer semester giving them only one class for the day they sat dejected with their brother at a cafeteria table as he ate his lunch.

“I’ve been trying to think about what I have done, and I’m just lost!” Alexandria sighed, head resting against their arms, “I mean what could I have done!”

“Been annoying?” Finnegan questioned.

“Finn, you’re not helping!”

Finnegan swallowed the food in his mouth, “Look I doubt you did anything—”

“Then why is he mad at me!”

“Because you are you!” Finnegan retorted, “You are friendly and caring to a fault, you are tremendously talented, you are the child of Indigo and Calvin Bookstone-Corals, your brother is an asshole, and you are powerful. Simon probably hates you for many reasons and no reason at all.”

“You sound like mom,” Alexandria giggled.

Finnegan rolled his eyes, “she would probably say the same thing,” he remarked, “I don’t get why someone would hate you, but I’m not Simon and if he doesn’t want to be friendly with you then it’s a lost cause.”

Alexandria huffed chin still digging into her arms crossed in front of her, “and his loss,” Finnegan added.

Alexandria smiled, “You’re a good little brother, you know that.”

“Did you have to add the little part?”

“Yes, because you are my little brother!”

“We’re twins!”

The pair bickered back and forth before Mallory approached the small cafeteria table, “Hey, Alex, congratulations,” she remarked, sitting down with them.

“Congratulations for what?”

“The dean’s list,” Mallory answered.

“What about it, it’s just a list,” Alexandria remarked with a shrug.

“Alex you’re at the top of it.” Mallory added.

“Wait really?!”

Finnegan sat his phone in front of his sibling, humming in agreement. Alexandria looked at the PDF in front of them seeing their name at the top of the Dean’s list for the spring semester and Simon’s name right below it.

“Shit,” they muttered, “Mal, where is Simon?”

“He was going to the dorms, I think,” Mallory answered.

Alexandria jumped up and raced out of the cafeteria running through the grass as it started to drizzle, “SIMON!” they yelled as they reached the dorms, while he was descending the steps small porch connected to the entrance.

Panting with their hands on their knees, Simon looked at Alexandria in disgust, “What do you want?”

“You’re mad at me, I get that—”

“Clearly you don’t, you are still attempting to talk—"

“Will you shut up for five seconds and stop interrupting me!” Alexandria bit back still panting looking up at Simon, “I’m sorry that I made the dean’s list, I understand that school is important to you, and I never wished to upstage you in any way. I would like nothing more than to sit down and chat with you and get to know you better beyond just knowing that you are an intelligent person who deserves to be on the top of the dean’s list. We don’t have to be friends, but I hope we can get to that in the future.”

When Alexandria finally straightens up, they aren’t greeted with the empathic gaze from Simon rather he looks at them with angry eyes, a defined scowl, and narrow eyes clearly angrier than when they started talking.

“You’ll never understand,” Simon tsked as it began to rain, “This is more than just not being the best! I don’t hate you because you are the best, I hate you because you clearly don’t try—”

“I work hard—”

“NOT AS HARD AS I DO!” Simon shouted, “EVER SINCE I WAS LITTLE, I HAVE WORKED SO HARD TO BE THE BEST, LIKE MY PARENTS WANT, I’VE GOTTEN THE TOP GRADES, I HAVE SACRIFICED HOURS OF MY TIME AND LIFE TO BE THE CHILD MY PARENTS CAN SAY THEY ARE PROUD OF! I WAS THE BEST AND I AM THE BEST!”

“Simon—”

“But that changed! I came to college like my parents wanted, and I met you and thought at first things would be fine, you wouldn’t be a threat, and I was still the best at one of the best schools in the world. Yet, you are not only one of the children from this untouchable family, but you are one of the most intelligent people in this entire school!” Simon clarified angrily before running his fingers through his hair frustratedly, “I first thought that Mrs. Bookstone or even Mr. Corals was pushing you to be better than the rest of us because you were their kid! Yet they don’t care! You don’t care! The work is secondary to you, what your grade is doesn’t matter, you sit in class day daydreaming, but still answer the question right if you are called on! I hate it! I hate you, and I hate myself for hating you! I have no logical reason to hate you! You are always smiling, you care about the people you don’t know, you are a friend to the world and here I am thinking with my emotions and hating you just because you are better than me! I’m supposed to be the best, that's what I’m for! My parents made me to be the best!”

His tears mixed with the rainwater soaking his skin, leaving Alexandria more upset than they had been. They only stared at him, shocked at his explanation, shocked at his inference, shocked at his hatred. They open their mouth, yet nothing is vocalized, before saying, “I’m sorry.” Before leaving him. They went home, without telling their siblings, and locked themselves in their room for a while. Simon's words repeat in their brain while also trying to think of some kind of solution.

Calvin sighed, in the comfort of their bed with his head in her lap as she carted his fingers through his long ebony curls, fingernails grazing his scalp, “Is there something wrong with Alex?”

“Not that I am aware,” Indigo answered, “Georgia did say there was a kid that they were trying to be friends and get along with, I doubt they didn’t come to dinner because of that. Knowing Alex they are probably studying.”

Calvin sighed once more turning his in such a way that allowed him to wrap his arms around Indigo’s middle, “I don’t like it when they don’t eat,” he mumbled like a toddler.

“I don’t either.” Indigo cooed.

There is a knock on their bedroom door before they can continue any kind of conversation, “Mom, can I talk to you?” Alexandria asked opening the door a crack.

“Of course, Alexandria,” Indigo cooed before patting a place on the bed, “Come here.”

Alexandria climbed into their parent's bed, before at their father and mother with a crestfallen gaze. Indigo placed a hand on their arm rubbing their skin with her thumb, “Tricker, what’s wrong.”

“Can you take my name off the dean’s list,” they croaked.

“Alex,” Indigo mused, sadly, “You worked and studied so hard.”

“Sunflower, you deserve to be on that list just like anyone else,” Calvin added softly.

“I know,” Alexandria choked, “but there’s this guy—”

“Is he bullying you?!” Calvin retorted quickly becoming a protective father with his chest puffed out before Indigo rested a hand on his thigh.

“Who is he?” Indigo asked calmly.

“Simon Couri,” Alexandria sniffed, “His parents wants him to be “the best” and force him to get the top grades, and I know because I’m not top of the list he’ll get in trouble for not being the best.”

Indigo and Calvin side-eyed each other before Indigo said, “Tomorrow morning, I’ll put him at the top, so it looks—”

“No! I want to be off it!”

“Alexandria?” Calvin sighed as Indigo wiped their tears with her thumb.  “I already know I work hard, and I know you are proud of me regardless of my grades, I have nothing to prove to anyone,” Alexandria explained between their crying, “Simon needs this, and I just wanna help him.”

Indigo and Calvin sighed, “I will take your name off the list first thing tomorrow,” Their mother replied, “Alright?”

“Thank you, Mommy,” Alexandria yearned, hugging her.

“We are incredibly proud of you Alexandria,” Calvin added rubbing their back.

“I know, Daddy.”

Revised Dean’s List

Apologize to all the original dean’s list for the past Spring Semester in the May 20th email shared with you. The revised dean’s list is enclosed with this email. For any other news or information about upcoming events is in the Bridgehid College newsletter sent out on May 19th on the Bridgehid College Website.

Regards,

Indigo Margot Bookstone-Corals

Dean of Bridgehid College for Magic and Alchemy.

“Look at that,” Mallory muttered in an extremely tired tone while sitting next to Simon on the porch of the dorms, “You are not the top now.”

Simon stared at his phone wide-eyed, his name was now on the top, as if that truly mattered in the grand scheme of things. Although Alexandria’s name is no longer on the list, however. He never expected them to go so far as to get his name moved up the list or even remove their own.

“Why did they do that?” he muttered.

“Why don’t you ask them,” Mallory mentioned pointing to them across the yard where Alexandria was talking to Professor Kowalski.

He got up from his place on the dorm steps and ran over to them as Percy dismissed herself off to do whatever she did when she wasn’t teaching, “Oh hi Simon,” they remarked as they turned around to face. Looking at him with a large, friendly, smile.

“Why did you—”

“To help you,” Alexandria interrupted, “And before you say: I don’t need your help.”

Simon looked at them with narrow eyes when they did an impression of him, “I have nothing to prove to anyone,” they added, “My mom and dad allow me and my siblings to pursue the things that we enjoy. They are proud of me yes, but if I were to get just average or even below average grades that’s not something they are concerned with.”

They describe the kind of parents he wishes he had, the parents that love their child and take an interest in their child’s happiness regardless of their accomplishments and achievements.

“It’s very obvious that your parents aren’t like mine.” Alexandria continued, “So I got the list changed. Not for you to be friends with me or for you to feel like you owe me, just because I know it would help you out.”

Simon let out a little laugh before letting out a genuine, “Thank you.”

Alexandria continued to smile at him before getting ready to leave him, “Hey,” he called making them turn around, “Do you maybe want to study together sometimes?”

“Sure.”

Simon was able to walk to the dorms with a smile, only to lose it once he was faced with Mallory lying unconscious at the bottom of the steps. “MALLORY!”

[elvisabutler]

I posted 1,130 times in 2022

That's 1,130 more posts than 2021!

301 posts created (27%)

829 posts reblogged (73%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@karamelcoveredolicity

@lindszeppelin

@blurredcolour

@sassy-ahsoka-tano

I tagged 1,041 of my posts in 2022

Only 8% of my posts had no tags

#austin butler - 347 posts

#elvis 2022 - 158 posts

#elvis presley - 132 posts

#austin butler x priscilla actress reader - 119 posts

#ally writes - 112 posts

#austin butler elvis - 104 posts

#austin butler x reader - 89 posts

#for reference later - 87 posts

#ally answers asks - 83 posts

#fic recs - 78 posts

Longest Tag: 139 characters

#and i know it's not for everyone. and some of y'all definitely didn’t follow me for it but it's one of those things that you write that are

My Top Posts in 2022:

#5

for my own private collection

summary: having a boyfriend who's a pornstar means everyone gets a piece of him. you request a piece all for yourself. fandom: austin butler rating: m pairing: austin butler x female reader word count: 1217 warnings: austin butler as a pornstar. edging. masturbation ( m and f ). orgasm control. mild daddy and mommy kink. mild dom/sub undertones. sex tape? me making one joke re: one night in paris. author's note: welcome to day 17 of kinktober, sex tape with austin butler. this was fun. everyone thank @dreamersparacosm for this being pornstar austin because i struggled a little with this because my previous attempt felt boring. this does not feel boring.

"You know you could just buy one of my movies, right? Or- I'm pretty sure I have them on my hard drive. At least one, you know the one with Liv and Luke-" Austin starts to say before getting cut off by your answering huff over the phone.

"Yes, because I enjoy watching one of my best friends getting railed by my boyfriend and one of my other friends. Makes total sense, babe." Your tone is biting and not for the first time Austin is reminded of why everyone nicknames you Viper after every time they're on the receiving end of this tongue of yours. "No, I want- everyone else gets to see you play with your cock, beg for mercy from Olivia all sorts of things. I just- I want to watch you. I want to only see you."

Austin sighs. "A personal tape?"

"I- I didn't think of it that way, but yeah. I wouldn't pay for it, obviously but you could give me that. One Night in Austin." You have to bite your lip at your own joke, it's not funny, really especially after knowing the details behind Paris Hilton's tape, but still you think it's a little funny.

"I was about to say yes, but I don't know if I can after that Paris Hilton joke." He pauses and tries to bite back his own laugh. "Give me a couple days, okay? Three tops, depending on the mail."

"You're sending it via the mail? Are we in the 90s?" You ask incredulously, shaking your head at the phone.

You can actually hear Austin's shrug and picture his face. "No, but if you want something private for only your eyes, I have to go low-tech."

After all, he's got enough of a following that he doesn't put it past anyone on the web to somehow hack into his email and get the video. He's seen it happen with his ex and he's seen it happen with so many people in the industry. Better safe than sorry. You hum in acknowledgement before letting the topic go.

When the mail arrives on Saturday you're excited, it comes in an unmarked envelope with Austin's looping handwriting writing out your address and the note attached simply says "for your eyes only".

It takes you a minute to set up your blu-ray player to play the DVD but when you do you settle onto your bed and watch your boyfriend wave at the camera, grinning his signature grin that he reserves only for you.

"Someone wanted a show, a private video without paying." He smirks, moving to show off how he's completely naked. "She's lucky I'm kind of in love with her."

You can't help but laugh at the comment before you focus on what he's doing. You notice he's already hard, leaking and that he almost looks like he had been playing with himself before he turned on the camera. Your hand moves to between your legs, slowly starting to rub at your clit, you think you should grab your vibrator but knowing how Austin is- how his cock already looks, you don't think this is going to be long.

"I've already been playing with myself, baby." His hand moves to stroke his cock, hissing as his thumb brushes the tip. "Been telling myself that my girl wants to get a show and I know what she'd like. What she likes when we're together." He pauses and grips his cock a little tighter. "Been wanting to come for a little bit already. If you were here you'd be edging me for hours, wouldn't you?"

He's not lying and you know it, as much as you enjoyed being edged by him- seeing his relief after you let him come was something else. Seeing how his mouth would fall open with whimpers and sighs did something else. Your breathing quickens as you feel your cunt getting wetter, feel your juices starting to pool as you watch him.

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621 notes - Posted October 19, 2022

#4

you read your lines so cleverly and never missed a cue

fandom: austin butler | elvis ( 2022 )

rating: M, though occasionally this just slides into X, honestly y’all this is a lot of smut with a plot. So minors, shoo shoo.

relationship: austin butler/reader, elvis/priscilla see the warnings. really read them, you need to for that last bit to make sense.

word count ( this part ): 5.1k. i don’t think they’ll all be like this. either that i’m going to write basically the war and peace of reader insert for this fandom.

warnings ( overall, just so you don’t start this and stumble into something several parts in ): daddy kink, age difference ( austin is his normal age during the time frame of the fic, reader is almost a decade younger, no one is underage ), character bleed, talk of poor treatment of subs, talk of sub drop and subspace with them also being entered, dom/sub, choking, collars, possessiveness, a pretty unhealthy relationship that likes to masquerade as a healthy one, zipper riding, slapping of various body lower body parts, bdsm, oral ( f and m receiving ), public sex, slight sugar baby/sugar daddy elements but it’s not quite that. ALSO THE BIG C VIRUS IS A PLOT POINT. i’m probably missing some but if i did they’ll probably come up later.

author notes: so eventually this fic gets to it’s original point which was that @floralcyanide saying something about ass slapping during the priscilla and elvis scene in the bedroom before he ends up going to the international and we all cry. @sassy-ahsoka-tano really wanted that fic and i was like I’M GOING TO DO IT. then @satninbeaulieu and i went a little buckwild. a lot buckwild. seriously if y’all saw our chat together. when i tell all of you that this fic is basically everything including a kitchen sink i’m not necessarily lying. but please, seriously don’t ignore the warnings, this fic goes places and i want to make sure everyone is having a good time. also if you want to be tagged for this, message me because i will probably forget otherwise.

also! credit to mpmarypoppins for the moodboard. i’d do it the fancy way with tumblr but as we’ve established i’m an old lady and would probably break something.

ALSO. because lord have merthy the lovie anon reminded me, this is definitely going to be a series and i'll link to the previous parts, all that jazz when the next parts come out.

You knew better than to fool around with co stars, you had seen enough issues crop up in the time you've been trying to slowly make your way into the industry that you know it's a bad idea. You swore to yourself after the last time you would never date or fool around in any capacity with someone you are starring in something with. Then you met Austin Robert Butler and everything changed. 

He was always on the outskirts of your knowledge, the guy who you've seen in all these shows but not someone you connected with a guy almost a decade older than you. The irony of your age difference didn't escape you, how could it, a nearing 30 year old would be pretending to be in love with an almost 21 year old when the real people had almost the same difference albeit in a creepier fashion. The idea of you getting the part is not one you considered in depth, you had seen your competition and when you arrived at the building you had actually run into Olivia Dejonge who looked like something had maybe gone wrong. You didn’t dwell on it, because you knew that way would lead you to messing up and this is important. You had to focus on the task at hand, because truth be told you were probably going to be crushed if you didn’t get this part. You might not look identical to Priscilla but then again, from what you remembered of Austin and from what you’ve seen even with dyed hair, he didn’t exactly scream Elvis Presley to you. In fact he kind of screamed the nervous unassuming guy that should be famous because all young girls love him but there’s also about fifteen of him that pop up every few years. He was pretty cute though and maybe that might have influenced your decision to audition. You wanted the part but were far too nervous until they announced the lead and what was the harm in shooting your shot.

You opened the door slowly and peeked your head in to see Baz and Austin talking about something. They both stopped and turned to look at you, Baz with a smile and Austin with a head tilt that you felt was mildly questioning, but with how his eyes roamed your body when you fully stepped into the room maybe you read the questioning look wrong, perhaps it was just initial confusion. You started to fiddle with your ring with a dove on it before anyone spoke.

 “Y/N!” Baz called, motioning for you to sit in the chair in front of him and Austin. “Come in, I was just telling him about you.” 

 Your lips quirked up into a small smile, “all good things, right? I don’t think I’ve done anything that embarrassing lately."

 “All good things, Y/N, I don’t think Baz has it in him to say a bad thing about any of the people who’ve come in today.” Austin answered before Baz really even had a chance to open his mouth. He still stared at you over his glasses as if you were the most fascinating person on the planet though and from what you had seen, that wasn’t usually his MO, honestly the whole thing was kind of weird. But you figured it might have just been the way he was sizing up his potential romantic leads. You had to shake your head for a moment before looking at Austin again. 

 “I don’t know if I should take that to mean a good thing or not. But if from what I’ve heard about you Mr. Luhrmann, I’m in for a bumpy ride if I get the part, maybe it’s just your way of buttering us all up.” You quipped, trying to not stare at Austin. 

 The director grinned and laughed slightly. “I’m afraid you might have caught me, Y/N, but with any luck I’ll still be able to show you that it’s not nearly as bumpy of a ride as some would lead you to believe.” 

 You couldn’t help the way you shrugged as you sat in the chair opposite of Austin. “I’m going to hold you to that if that’s the case.” You paused and raised an eyebrow at Austin. “Do I have something on my face, Mr. Butler? It’s a little rude if you didn’t tell me.”

 He opened his mouth once, twice, and then swallowed as he looked you up and down before he finally answered his voice sounding a little deeper than it had been when he previously spoke. “Sorry, you’re- You’re the first girl I’ve seen today that just made me pause. And your skirt rode up a little. If you want me to point out something that’s wrong.”

 Your eyes widened as you opened your legs just a bit to shimmy the offending fabric down. “I’m so sorry, this was the first thing I grabbed. Should have known better. Pants, always the better option.” 

 Austin for his part let out a low chuckle when he responded back that you swear sounds more like Elvis Presley than is necessarily possible for someone who you know regrettably is from California. “Not when you want something underneath them.”

 "Who told you that you had to take off pants if you want something underneath them, Daddy. I’d hate to see what happens when you can’t get them off.” You mouthed off quiet enough that Baz couldn’t hear you and but Austin could. You looked him up and down before settling on his lap to attempt to prove your point. This was weird. This feeling was weird, you’re not usually this mouthy to anyone, let alone someone who- no, Austin Butler is not a dom, no, you’re just being bratty to a sub or a switch or maybe someone who isn’t even the scene.

 Baz looked between his two potential leads and tilted his head. He knew he needed to give them a warning that they were about to start the chemistry test, but honestly, Baz felt he was already interrupting something between both of you. Still, you needed to not be in a chair, Austin could probably stay in his, but you need to be on the floor, he needed to see what exactly that would look like from a blocking perspective without the set at first. “Y/N, could you get on the floor, right where you are, just on the floor instead of the chair. Priscilla’s-”

 “Supposed to be on the floor for this, I saw.” You finished for him before slowly making your way to the floor. Austin eyes followed you and you shivered slightly. 

 You had felt kind of this way once upon a time when you had fooled around with your older costar right around the time you turned eighteen. He had been married and you really shouldn’t have but everyone always says that the girls with daddy issues always have a daddy kink and maybe you weren’t the exception to that fake rule. The thing was that your co-star had been a Daddy, or at least a dominant when he didn’t try to be your Daddy, whereas when you look at this idiot in front of you no part of him screams that. In fact he looks like at best a switch, maybe a pretty bratty sub, dressing like a boho Professor Elvis Presley, flannel on the top and fitted slacks at the bottom with glasses that wouldn’t look out of place on your mother’s face. Yet your brain was telling you the opposite, your brain zeroed in on how his thigh was tensing up and how you could see his hand and his foot stopped doing a nervous shake it had been doing for almost the entire time you’ve been in the room. Was he reacting like this because you got down on the floor? You shifted a bit, adjusting your skirt once again before settling on the floor, your legs folded off to the side underneath you and you looking up at Austin. You could see his eyes widen just a hair and you heard the exhale that forced its way out of his lungs but- no. No, he wasn’t a- he- he was always following Vanessa Hudgens around like a puppy of a man, there wasn’t a- no you were not going to follow your brain down this path. You were a professional, there was time to dwell on these thoughts when you weren’t at his feet and feeling more comfortable than you had in almost half a year. 

“Baz, does she have to be on the floor, I mean this is a chemistry test-” Austin started, staring at you with an intensity you do not want to place but your brain is filing away anyway. You played with your ring as you listened. 

“I want to see how this would look- go with it Austin.” Baz said, motioning for the two of you to begin. 

 All the lines in the beginning were yours, you knew this going into it but you had been prepared to just walk around saying them, you had a whole motion that you had planned. You adjusted it though, careful to not hit Austin as you did. But not hitting Austin required looking at him for an extended period of time and that was beginning to be a problem as your eyes wanted to focus on his fingers- God they were long- on his lips and was he always this attractive. Focus.

“He’s just really lonely and quite frankly so am I. And they didn’t really know what to say after that so I went to bed.” You leaned a little up into Austin’s lap when you said the line knowing fully well that wasn’t in the script but it felt right to do. Austin was looking at you in a way you weren’t too sure how to describe. It’s acting but there almost feels like there’s an added bit to it, that it’s just Elvis looking at Priscilla but it’s also Austin looking at you and- you could suddenly understand how she would fall head over heels for a guy ten years her senior. How she could be so obsessed with him and how even after his death she could still be so linked that she's not Priscilla Beaulieu she's Priscilla Presley. 

Austin huffs out a laugh as Elvis and leans down, almost close enough to kiss you and reaching out almost like he wants to pull you in for one. “I have never met anyone like you.”

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677 notes - Posted August 4, 2022

#3

good girls clean up their messes

summary: austin didn't used to have a housewife kink and neither did you. funny how life-uh- finds a way to change that. fandom: austin butler rating: m pairing: austin butler x female reader word count: 2100 warnings: housewife kink. unprotected p in v ( though can be read as committed relationship birth control situation ). cleaning kink? minor breeding kink. praise kink. brief mention of the pandemic and how austin was a recluse for a bit. author's note: welcome to day 25 of kinktober, housewife kink with austin butler. this was fun. truly i'd actually have written more but i had this view of cleaning in my head vs anything else. so honestly, anyone asks and i'll write a whole big long thing about it but for now, enjoy this little tiny thing. also thank you @pennyroyalcreep for being the one to ask for this. i had hoped someone would choose austin for this kink vs anyone else so i was pleased as punch about it when you did.

You were never made to be a housewife, you've told Austin this on more than one occasion. Even when you first met him and were first talking to him, you told him that despite how perhaps you looked it, all warm and inviting, it wasn't your sort of style. Life had a funny way of changing those things sometimes. It started out slow, after all you were the one with a faintly normal nine to five-ish job, he was the one who had to jet across the world half the time. It made sense that you would keep where you were living and he at least- stopped by clean. You weren't a heathen, you knew how to make your house look presentable. The first time Austin had come back from being away for a while was the Elvis press tour and he had been expecting to see the house in some sort of disarray, maybe you hadn't been keeping up with the laundry or maybe their were dishes piled up in the sink. Instead, what greeted him was his girlfriend- the woman he fell in love with when the world went to shit, he became a goddamn recluse for six months, and everyone had let things fall by the wayside- in her pjs doing the dishes with these stupid little green gloves that in your own words- "kept me from getting dirty while cleaning".

All Austin could think about when he saw you that way is making you as dirty as he could. His teeth bit at his lower lip, picturing you taking off those gloves, making a show of it as he just sank to his knees and showed you just how much he appreciated your effort to keep the place clean. In fact, that had been what he decided to do the moment he wrapped his arms around your waist and you had let out a small gasp at his clothed erection.

It got worse after that, with him finding every excuse to just watch you clean and you finding that you didn't mind. You wanted to show Austin how you could keep things going, wanted his praise telling you how good you were, how he had the best girlfriend that he'll marry when he gets just a minute to himself. How you made everything so clean only for him to dirty it up with you. How you clean up the kitchen when the two of you cook knowing fully well he wants to have his dessert on the table, spread out on the tablecloth, chasing your pleasure higher and higher until he has to suck on your clit just so in a way that has you almost breaking the table when you come back down to Earth with a thump.

Bikeriders is- complicated when it comes to him coming home and you hate it, it's led to you having to show him FaceTime videos of the clean bedroom and the dishes and him forcing them to let him take a break because he just wants to eat dinner with his girlfriend. It's led to praise being over text and over the phone with him stroking his cock and you curling your own fingers inside yourself or using that one vibrator Austin hates. You miss him and he misses you just as much if his moans are anything to go by, if his grunts and whispers of your name are anything to go by.

It's a Saturday and you find that there's more than a bit more dust in the house than you'd like, that and you've let the glass door leading out to the backyard remain a little too dirty for your liking. Austin had mentioned the possibility of being able to fly in for the weekend, something about an award or a round table discussion but he hadn't told you when he'd be coming in. You take a chance on him coming in early, choosing to be a little silly and wear a French maid costume you had bought for yourself last Halloween and turn on your cleaning playlist, allowing the mix of electroswing, rock and jazz fly through the air as you got started on your efforts. The door is easy enough, done in about thirty minutes and left to settle before you would go back and see if you missed any spots. Now came the hard part, the dusting that usually would have you sniffling by the end of it but you hoped it would be different this time.

Your wish is granted, just not in the way you planned for it as Austin opens the door to the house and walks in only to find you bent over, no underwear under the costume you're wearing and he has to bite his lip to swallow the groan that threatens to escape him at the image and the knowledge. He knows perfectly well how engrossed you get in your music when you're cleaning, having once snuck up on you and swayed to the beat of the music for what felt like ten minutes- it was only five- before you realized his presence and had abandoned your task. You're near the window you had just cleaned, dusting the bottom part of an end table nearby and Austin drops his bags quietly, allowing himself to sneak up on you until you feel his hands grip your hips. The gasp that leaves you is closer to the breath leaving your body, especially as Austin uses his grip to pull you into a standing position, feeling just how hard you've already made him.

"Hey baby." He murmurs into your ear, kissing the side of your neck and nipping at your earlobe. "No panties and you're dusting in this. You love painting such a pretty picture for me, don't you?"

The voice you have, the one that normally snarks at him leaves your head right in that exact moment knowing fully well you need to use it. Your answer is predictable because of it. "I have to make sure my hardworking man comes home to a nice clean house." You swallow and shake your head a little, ignoring how Austin's hands are sliding up your torso, making their way to your chest. "I've seen how messy his hotel rooms can get."

His laugh vibrates against your back and the noise slips into one ear only to settle in your brain, you missed hearing that laugh in person. "Low blow. Valid, but is that any way to treat me after all this time?"

A giggle leaves your mouth unprompted as you try and focus on dusting once more. "Yeah, maybe just a little."

He hums as an answer to your sass, cupping your breasts as he grinds against you slowly. "Want to fuck you, baby. Want to make a mess of you while you clean."

Your breath quickens just slightly as you grind back against him, allowing you to feel the roughness of the fabric of his pants against your bare ass before you pull away, smoothing down your skirt. "I've still got to dust around the door, Austin."

The noise that comes out of him when you moves sounds like a growl as he pulls you against him again. When he speaks it comes out almost as a whine. "I can just flip up that skirt while you're dusting, baby. Promise I won't make you smudge the nice clean window with your body. Just want to fuck you against the door."

You know your neighbors can likely see what Austin's doing, see how he's slowly pinning you against the door, the front of your body pressed against the cool glass, giving you some relief from how hot just having Austin pressed against you is making you feel. Your answer comes out in a pant.

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711 notes - Posted November 2, 2022

#2

treat me nice

summary: your boyfriend has a two new kinks he didn't quite realize until elvis. the pair of you explore them.

rating: M, once again minors, under 18 please go far away from this.

word count: 4450. we are not talking about it.

warnings: feminization to a point? it's austin in lace underwear, it technically applies. dom/sub dynamics. orgasm denial. use of the words baby boy, mama, angel, sweet boy and ma'am. squirting. oral (f recieving). use of the word snowman as a safe word. that might be it, i don't necessarily know what applies here.

author's note: this is @floralcyanide's fault through and through. basically i read just friends and was like damn i owe you the lace panties fic now. then it turned into inexperienced sub austin (because the efc server is a bunch of heathens!!) as well and i just went mildly feral. i guarantee i will write out scenes from this relationship in this fic at a later date because i'm very fond of this relationship i wrote in here. also yes i am aware of that this is a bit much but unless austin butler himself comes and tells me to stop i shall do what i want. also no beta we die like men, etc. oh and yes i am working on my other stuff promise. but 30 with a kid and like a job and a half. time is not my friend.

It starts out innocently enough, you notice Austin touching his lace top while playing as Elvis like it's a new sensation he doesn't know what to do with. You can't blame him though, you remember your first time wearing silk and finding yourself touching it over and over again to feel it against your fingertips. After a while though, and once filming is starting to get farther and farther away from those lace tops you start to realize that Austin takes his time with your lace underwear more than he used to. He'll slowly slide it down your hips and almost play with the fabric in between his fingers as he does.

You have a theory the more it keeps happening, a theory that just maybe Austin likes the feeling of the lace on his skin. You're not sure if it's sexual in nature until one night when Austin asks you to leave your lace underwear on for a second while you grind against his naked cock. He eventually ends up pushing them to the side, allowing him access to your core but you saw how his eyes rolled in the back of his head after every brush of the lace against his cock.

That night helped to put things in perspective for you in more ways than one. You and Austin share everything when it comes to kinks and your sex life because that's what you should do in a relationship, but he had never mentioned this one. It had to be new and that sent a thrill through you because the pair of you hadn't had a new kink to explore together and while you love Austin there's a part of you that missed all the times you had done it with an ex.

You both have the night off, him from filming and you from your own job and you suggest watching a movie in bed cuddled up. Austin's head is in your lap as you choose to watch a film that doesn't have Elvis in it for once because you had to put your foot down somewhere. Paying attention to the movie isn't exactly your strong point right now though, instead you find yourself just allowing your hand to run through his black hair, occasionally scratching at his scalp just to hear the pleased hum come from his mouth.

"Aus? You still with me?" You ask hearing his breathing settle into something you only usually hear when he falls asleep.

"Yeah, baby, it's just that your hand feels nice." He shifts to allow himself to turn his head to look up at you from your lap. "It's helping me relax."

Oh.

You have never asked Austin if he knows if he's a dom or a sub or if he didn't even consider that scene, but that statement leaving his mouth as casually as it did gives you a clue. You had a faint inkling but this was almost confirmation. This was going to make the gift be even better than you thought. You wouldn't just be giving your boyfriend a gift, you might be giving your pretty boy a gift.

Your lips quirk up into a small smile as you use your grip to pull his face up just a bit so you can kiss him. "Is that right? You needed to relax a bit, baby?"

He nods bringing his hand up to touch your face. "You know how I can get too much in my head."

"Mmhmm, I do. I think you're still a little in your head. But I've got something for you if you let me get up." You move a little, giving him a cue to move his head and allow you to get up. He obliges and you quickly grab the box you had hidden under your bed. It takes you a minute before you're back and you hand it over to Austin. "Open it."

He holds the box in his hands and shakes it like a little kid before he pulls on the ribbon tying it shut. The lid pops off and he's presented with a pair of pink lace underwear in a shade not entirely dissimilar from the lace shirt he wore as Elvis. His voice is a little tight when he speaks. "You got this for me?"

You nod slowly, your eyes searching his face for some sort of tell bht for once Austin actually manages a blank face. "Mama has to treat her baby boy right. And he's been so good lately and so stressed out."

"I'm not-" He inhales sharply, shutting his eyes as he starts to fiddle with his hands. "I'm not your baby boy."

"Are you sure about that? Do you think you want to be?" You question knowing very well that you're toeing a very thin line that can either make Austin bolt or achieve a goal you both want.

"No." He pauses before letting out a shaky exhale, allowing himself to play with the fabric of the underwear in his hands. "Please?"

"Oh honey. Come here, let mama touch you. I've got you." You open up your arms to have Austin come into them only to find that he's chosen a completely different route of being on his knees in front of you with the underwear brushing against his cheek. Despite knowing that he wants you to dominate him, in the moment your brain shuts off and you find that you wish you had a camera, wanting to commit the image to memory.

Instead, though, you find your hand just carding itself through his hair not pulling but allowing yourself to just feel it against your hand. Austin for his part takes it to mean that you want him closer to you and he ends up just nuzzling at your thigh while looking up at you. "Can I touch you instead, ma'am?"

His question is almost to quiet to hear but you do and it causes a smile form on your face before you crouch down and hold his chin, placing a soft kiss to his lips. "You can, but how about we take this to the bedroom?"

His answering grin was such a marvel you swear if you weren't already in love with him you'd have fallen right there.

And so it went that way with the pair of you exploring in ways you didn't think were possible. It was exhilarating to say the least, watching Austin fall apart beneath you, taking care of him and exploring this goddamn lace kink that the film had given him. It's not hard to get him into some lace shirt for a photoshoot or for an interview but you haven't had nearly as much luck getting him into a pair of lace underwear outside your home. That is until Austin surprised you one night a few weeks before the Met Gala was supposed to happen.

"I want to try it." He states with zero context with his head on your chest in bed after a particularly interesting session involving a strap on, an ascot stolen from the Elvis set and edging.

"Try what? I know I'm not- I know I'm not your domme in this moment but, angel, you've got to provide me with more than the word it."

"The-" He bites his lip before exhaling the next words. "Underwear. The lace underwear."

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938 notes - Posted July 27, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

she’d like to cuddle up to me

fandom: austin butler | elvis ( 2022 )

rating: M, honestly y’all this is a lot of smut with a big plot. So minors, shoo shoo.

relationship: austin butler/reader, elvis/priscilla.

word count ( this part ): just shy of 6k. this is apparently war and peace. i don’t know. it’s eaten my brain.

warnings ( this part ): daddy kink, age difference ( austin is his normal age during the time frame of the fic, reader is almost a decade younger, no one is underage ), dom/sub, choking ( implied ), zipper riding ( not quite, but sort of ), oral ( f receiving ), public sex. multiple orgasms but maybe not quite overstimulation. close but not quite.

author notes: so. once again, you want a tag, message me, i’ll tag you. or leave a reply and tell me and i’ll add you. beyond that, thank you to my partner in crime with this fic @satninbeaulieu  and anyone else who has put up with me talking about this. also, this will probably make it’s way to ao3 at some point, don’t know when. maybe this week. we’ll see, my schedule always looks at my plans and laughs. also i hate the ending line of this, but i removed a chunk of this to save for next chapter or something later on. this was already too long, y’all. and not betaread because i live on the wild side.

this is part of the you read your lines so cleverly and never missed a cue series. specifically it’s the second. the first part is here.

The first thing you do when you get home is stalk Austin or more accurately you looked at a few- no more than 10- gossip blogs to try and check the status of Austin's relationship to Vanessa. It should worry you that your reaction upon reading that they broke up a couple months ago is sheer relief. Yes, maybe once upon a time the idea of being with a guy in a relationship didn’t phase you but you learned your lesson like a good girl and knew that you were better than being the side chick. You also knew that most of the time when you were the side chick it was because the guy was an asshole, but truth be told that was honestly most men. Maybe including Austin, but your mind hadn’t quite decided on him beyond being mildly mortified at what happened. 

You had expected to hear something from Baz sooner rather than later but it took a full week before you got the call with him telling you that you had gotten the part.You put the phone on mute before letting out a shout of victory before unmuting it again and telling him thank you as he told you he planned on the first table read being about a week from now. Thankfully you hadn’t made any plans, so it was no real problem. The call ended without too much fanfare beyond your initial excitement and within about 5 minutes your phone dinged with an email containing the script. If you happened to dance while printing it out in your apartment no one could judge you. 

The week long lead up to the table read had you trying to make arrangements to stay in Australia for the foreseeable future instead of your New York apartment. In between calls to iron out all your tiny details of getting most of your life transferred clear across the world you’d read the script. Everyone knew how Elvis’ story went so it’s not like anything in it was too new to you but you still found yourself enraptured enough that you audibly gasped while on the phone with someone causing them to have to ask if you were alright. Not your proudest moment.

Soon enough though you found yourself on a plane to Australia and in a car heading to the studio. You weren’t nervous before but the closer you got to the studio the more you felt your brain buzzing and your foot becoming jittery, tapping to an unknown rhythm. You took deep breaths, trying to steady yourself as you toyed with your ring. There was no need to be nervous. You had impressed Baz, you were a phenomenal actress. So what if Austin was going to be there and he had known you were going to be there before you did. So what? It was fine, it was going to be fine. 

“That’s Cilla. That’s my Priscilla.” You bit your lip remembering hearing that through the door before- you weren’t going to think about that, you were not going to think about being on your knees in front of him, being on your knees with his cock in your mouth. You most certainly were not going to think about how you might have thought about it more than once since then. 

This was going to be a problem, you already knew it which is what has you groaning into your hands as your uber driver pulls up to the studio to drop you off. “You going to be okay, ma’am?”

You look at him for a second before answering, moving your hand from your mouth. “Yeah, I’m going to be fine. I’ll tip you in the app, I totally don’t have any cash on me. Sorry.”

The driver shrugs. “It’s alright, you’re not in the US, not required but thank you.”

You hum as you exit the car and grab your bag, pulling down your dress as you did. The walk into the studio felt longer than you’d have liked it to, but you figure that was just because of your outfit and nervousness all balled into one tiny bit of stress for you. You’re early to the read and you’re expecting to have no one in the room when you arrive only to hear the one voice you were mildly dreading hearing.

“Y/N.” Austin says softly and a little breathlessly when he looks up at the noise of the door opening. Your heart skips a beat when you look up to see what he looks like. It’s not a Boho Elvis look this time. No, instead he went with something more put together, a simple white shirt half unbuttoned and black jacket with black slacks. Of course, the headband on his head and the glasses made it seem a little more soft, a little warmer and more gentle than it had any right to be. Truth be told, it had the tension leaving your body the longer you looked at him.

“Austin.” You smile slightly before giving him a little wave and tilting your head. “You’re here early.”

He laughs. “Yeah, if you ever meet Denzel Washington- promise, not trying to name drop, Dove- but if you ever meet him he’ll tell you it's a thing I do because I did it during Iceman Cometh. Started when my mom would drive me to auditions and now that I can drive myself around or call an Uber, it’s just stuck. Allows me to meditate on things. Focus myself.”

For not the first time since you did the chemistry read, you’re struck by how your brain just finds Austin fascinating. You have had one view of him and here he was turning it on its head- turning you on your head. It’s strange but you feel as if you might have found a fellow actor who might understand how you are. It’s method acting, but it’s not, it’s just allowing yourself to fall into a role and allow yourself to be in the moment as this person. And while you were running late according to your own time table, Austin and you were the only people there for the read. Even if you hadn't been on your knees for him not even two weeks prior, you’d have found his dedication a little attractive. 

“I get it, Austin.” You twirl your dove ring as you speak. “I do the same thing. Though I’m normally the first person in the room. Didn’t know I’d have competition. Especially since I wanted the seat you’re sitting in.”

“You could sit next to me.” He pats the seat next to him with a grin as his voice pitches down just a bit. “Gotta have my best girl by my side. My ‘Cilla.”

You don’t normally laugh very easily but the sincerity in his voice makes you chuckle as you walk to take the seat next to him. “Your ‘Cilla. Guess that makes you my Elvis.” You pause and sit down, making sure your dress doesn’t ride up as you do. “My King?”  

Austin’s eyes are focused on your thighs and your ass when you sit down and you notice but you choose not to comment just yet. He might have been able to be a dom but that look- no self respecting dom looks at you like that when you can make fun of it. He bites his lip and shakes his head. “Elvis hated that name, you know. Felt there was only one king and it wasn’t him. I have to agree with hating the name but that’s mostly because that’s not what I want you calling me.”

You raise an eyebrow at Austin, as you hear the door open another person coming in whose name you feel like you need to know but you haven’t met everyone yet so you suppose it can be forgiven. Your response is softer, more murmured so that they couldn’t hear you. “What is that supposed to mean? Do you have something else in mind, Mr. Butler?” 

You’re teasing and you know it. You’re being a brat and you know it. You are suddenly aware that you have no underwear because you forgot it in your rush to get out of your apartment early. You feel faintly like an idiot with this knowledge but your face does not betray any of these things, instead choosing to remain blank, looking at the door as another newcomer comes in. For his part Austin’s only reaction is a slow inhale and exhale before he speaks. “Well it’s not Mr. Butler if that’s what you think. Something that starts with a d.”

The first response that comes to you is dick followed closely by dumbass and then Daddy. Your tongue darts out to lick your lips as you decide to throw him a bone. “Dumbass? Duke? Daddy?”

At the last word, his arm migrates to the back of your chair and he pulls you in a little closer. “Third time’s the charm little dove.Though, dumbass? I’m hurt.” 

Despite your better judgment you shift a little closer to Austin, scooting your chair over just a hair. “That’s the least offensive name I could call you, Butler. It’s also true if you think I’m calling you Daddy. Remember, we had this conversation the last time. Was my blowjob that good that you forgot everything before it maybe a little after it?”

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957 notes - Posted August 14, 2022

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[warmtoastedbread]

I doubt I'll finish it so here. Link to my bf crack version

A prodigy of your field, from the human realm. Everyone had high hopes for you and you delivered. You dedicated years of your life to your studies.

You were recognised worldwide as a prodigy so offers and sometimes begging came your way from educational institutes for you to study there. Today was the day you'd finally sort through them and see if anything was worthwhile.

You sorted the invitations into 2 groups of no and yes. You had set up a guideline to go through the stacks of information.

If it came across as begging or guilt trippy, If it seemed the school was just trying to use you to boost their statistics all resulted in instant no's. They were discarded into the recycle bin without a second thought.

When it came to the wax sealed parchment you now had in your hands, you were crying. Who would dare send you a joke like this? No institute with any dignity would send you this.

You should've dismissed it and added it to the pile but it was too humerus to not read through.

The cursive text congratulated you and offered to take you to 'The Royal Academy of Diavolo' for a year. You didn't believe it for a second.

What added to your suspicion was the "Please return this letter with your sign to confirm your participation." As if you wanted to sign a shady document to a fake school.

You especially laughed when a neat cursive signature reading Diavolo layed at the bottom next to another wax seal with R.A.D on it.

You needed a break. You informed your PA that you'll be out for a walk and left your personal office.

You made your way down the wide marble hallways. White, black and gold laced each crevice of the school including the uniform.

The air of regality following behind as you made your way to one of the schools private gardens while any other learners parted. Few tried to address you but your time isn't a privilege they get to indulge in.

Your break was short lived and soon you were in your ,all expenses paid, on campus room sorting through the admission forms again. You had settled on several places to study and you emailed each place to set up a date to tour their campus.

The next few days seemed to meld and you were back in the library reviewing the day's work. You were beginning to feel the stress of everything pilling on top of your shoulders. A soak in some hot water would be great right about now-

Story outline begin

Introduce Diavolo with barb next to him. He recognises you. Diavolo does his spiel about RAD (lmfao) andd offers to shake hands. Denied. Barbra doesn't like that.

It gets awkward. We're slightly hostile. Why are we here? We signed the doc. But we didn't. Here's the doc with your signature wtf.

Día carries on and tells you to relax while barb shows you around. Why's barb showing you around and not Lucifer? Cuz they wanna go drinking (Días idea.) Also why are you getting an option? They think of you as useful.

You note the fuckton of stairs in RAD

You get shown around. Buildings are cool af and the architecture eras are kinda cool. You note how old the city is. Why? Barely any roads it was built for people and bikes.

Briefly shows you the mausoleum where old kings go to rest. The library is fucking massive and has books thousands of years old. You can't read it tho it's in a different language.

You sit down with barb at a cafe for a break. You need out a little about the library and learning a language??? This is what you were looking for all along.

Barb is amused so you'll stay? Of course how could I not? Cue another nerdy rant. You ask engaging questions and things were you didn't quite understand.

Back at rad council you and barbs are having great convo. You two exchange contact. You ask if pa can come along. He can't ://

After you leave día comes back and asks knowingly if they had a good time. They did.

[astarioffsimpmain]

I have a funny professor addition to add.

I had a 9am music theory class with a pretty strict professor one semester. Not many students liked him because of his rigorous curriculum, but while I didn't really like or do well in the subject matter, I was able to look past it and see that this man just had a really dry sense of humor and would only crack a smile if someone understood that he was joking.

So I often would give sarcastic replies in class, get looks of horror from the other students, and then looks of absolute confusion when this professor would start laughing out loud and send a snarky remark back. Even so, he was still always very very professional and almost seemed uptight, in his own sort of way.

Well, one morning as I was getting ready for this class, I learned pretty quick that it was just one of those mornings where everything that Could go wrong, Did go wrong. I spilled milk on my top and had to change, I slipped on said milk in the floor and my socks got wet, etc etc. Well, the final straw was when I walked to my closet and realized that I had NO clean pants to wear. I'd forgotten to wash them the night before.

So you know how sometimes counselors recommend you write out your angry feelings and then delete them or tuck them away? Well, I was typing an email to this professor, telling him I wouldn't be in class that morning. I wrote one angry one to put in spam and one professional one. Guess which one got sent?

The email read as follows,

"Hello, Mr. _____

I will not be in class today because my morning has been shit and now I don't have any fucking pants!

I'll see you on Wednesday."

I didn't notice that I'd sent the wrong email until, to my utter mortification, my professor replied. I didn't know what to expect from his response, but I certainly didn't expect,

"Hi L,

Sounds like you've had a rough morning. I won't count you absent today. See you Wednesday. Please wear pants.

Mr. _____ "