#i’ve been angry almost a full 24 hours which is impressive for me

[gaudebo]

explaining to a 30 year old white man that it’s bad to be racist

[nikethestatue]

Depth of Your Eyes

Extreme Fluff.

Domestic fluff. Babies!

Elriel Month - Day 24

“Why do you hate me?” lamented the feared and exalted Shadowsinger of the Night Court.

Feared and admired, worshipped for his immense Illyrian power, for his stealth and strength, he, the great and mysterious spy master, the male who made enemies tremble and flee, and females swoon, failed utterly and completely at this one task—having his chunky newborn son open his eyes for him.

When his son was born, the first thing that shocked everyone—parents and healer and midwife—was his very impressive size. How the delicate, slender, elegant Elain even managed to bear him—without much difficulty too—was a mystery.

But the Cauldron loved Elain and strove to make Elain happy. It gave Elain an almost painless labour, though it was lengthy and uncomfortable nevertheless, and while Azriel was out of his mind with worry and trepidation, not knowing whether the baby’s wings would cause damage or even more serious issues, Elain was serene and happy.

The nightmare that was Nyx’s birth was still fresh in Aziel’s mind—the blood, the gore, Nyx’s tiny lifeless body in Mor’s arms, and Feyre, with a horrific gaping slash across her abdomen, bleeding out, Death hovering just above her. Therefore, Azriel dreaded Elain’s labour. For ten months he was a wreck. He was too happy, too elated, too content, too joyful in his life, and there bound to be repercussions for all that bliss.

The baby was conceived momentarily. “Let’s make a baby,” Azriel proposed a little drunkenly to the giggling and smiling Elain. They were enjoying a glorious sunset on the sea, in a tiny town with whitewashed buildings and blue roofs, in the Summer Court. It was far from Adriata, far from visitors and everyone else and they indulged in endless white sand beaches, fresh seafood and lots of local wine, swimming in the azure waters of the sea and enough lovemaking to leave them both sore and hoarse. “Now?” Elain kissed him. He shrugged, “why not now?”

And it happened—‘now’. When they returned from their holiday, she found out that she was expecting their baby.

Azriel couldn’t lie, but he was feeling rather smug.

“What the fuck kind of seed you got, brother?” muttered Cassian. “You just knocked her up in a day?”

Azriel only shrugged innocently.

As if this was to be expected. Of course he’d impregnate her in a day! But it wasn’t at all what he thought would happen—he thought that as with all Fae, this would be a lengthy process full of false starts, crushed hopes and nerves. But the Cauldron loved Elain and wanted to make her happy.

Now, he was holding his chunky son in his arms. Calm and peaceful, the baby took after his parents in temperament. He was mellow and not fussy, docile and good-natured. His appetite was monstrous though. He ate and ate and ate. At his already great size, Azriel muttered ‘you are going to be Cassian’s size by the time you are three’. And because he ate so much, he was rather plump, to put it kindly, which meant that his hamster-like cheeks obscured his eyes. At three weeks, their baby mostly slept and ate, so periods of play and interaction were minimal—hence, Azriel’s failure to actually see the colour of his son’s eyes.

Elain claimed that the eyes were hazel. Nesta insisted that they were ‘Archeron’ eyes. Cassian’s assessment was ‘I think brown. Like dirt’. Amren went with ‘I don’t know, I didn’t look closely’. Yet they all claimed that they’d seen his eyes.

Azriel was seated on top of the covers in their bed, propped against the cushioned headboard. His wing curled around Elain, who was sleeping next to him, pressed to his side, her arm thrown over his stomach. Their son, sturdy and large, almost the size of Azriel’s forearm now, was sucking noisily, eating like he hasn’t been fed in a week. He was fed less than three hours ago.

The bottle—a new invention from Dawn—wasn’t widely used just yet, but Azriel loved it. At first, Elain was reluctant to utilize it, preferring to breastfeed at all times, but then…well, then she came to accept how convenient this bottle invention was. Especially because Azriel was a nocturnal creature and had no issues with staying up or waking in the middle of the night. And with their gluttonous son demanding food all the time, she was still able to function and rest and sleep, since he didn’t really care which way he was getting his food, as long as he was getting it.

Azriel was looking down at the delicious bundle in his arms, and thought that his baby would end up looking very much like him, if he wasn’t so chubby. Right now, he was all round and soft and filled with folds that others wanted to bite and pinch.

Cassian, in fact, did bite his nephew’s little fat wrist, and Elain caught them, warning that Cassian wouldn’t be allowed to feed him if it happened again. “but it didn’t even hurt!” he defended himself feebly. “Just a little nibble…He is such a fatty!”

“No. Biting.” ordered Elain. “Or you’ll be off bottle duty!”

That was a serious threat that Cassian took to heart, because he absolutely adored feeding the baby with the bottle. He and Nesta were enthralled with him, quietly arguing and fighting about whose turn it was to feed him next. Elain and Azriel frequently overheard ‘you did it last time!” “no, but he likes me more…” “gods above, he does not like you more! He clearly prefers me!” “he was crying with you!” “yes, that’s because you made him cry!”

“We only have two choices,” said Azriel with a sigh, watching Cassian coo and babble to the baby one day, rocking him and singing him all kinds of bawdy Illyrian songs. “We either forbid them entry into the house,” at that, Elain frowned. “Or, we just let them be and simply assume that our son’s first word will be ‘fuck’.”

Adhering to the Illyrian tradition of not naming a child until he was one month old, the baby remained nameless. Well, Elain and Azriel knew what he would be called, but speculation ran rampant.

Elain had officially asked Cassian and Nesta to be the baby’s Guardians, a very important and respected position in the Illyrian society. It would fall on Cassian to start teaching his nephew how to fly—and when Elain formally requested for him to become the Guardian, Cassian shyly teared up.

“Yes, Petal, of course,” he nodded nervously, with aching sincerity, “it would be an honour. Are you sure?” Cassian still worried, “are you sure you don’t want to ask Rhys?”

Elain embraced the General gently and lovingly, and whispered, “I’ve never been more sure of anything, Cass. Only you. I’d only trust him with you and Nesta.”

It was Elain’s right as the mother to select the Guardians for her child, so while Azriel suspected who her choice would be, he waited for the official announcement along with everyone else. Eventually, the Guardian would present their son with his first sword, and begin teaching him to fight.

“Well, I want my baby to have the best,” said Elain, kissing Nesta’s flushed cheek. “Who is better than the Commander General of the Night Court armies and the Valkyrie herself? Will you two do us the honour of accepting him into your Guardianship?”

“Yes!” both of them almost yelled their acceptance.

Now, Nesta and Cassian was preparing something grandiose for the Naming Ceremony.

But first things first.

“Hey lovie, why don’t you look at me?” murmured Azriel, rocking his son gently against his chest. At first, the baby leapt towards his nipple, received nothing from it and gave an angry squeak of disappointment.

“Sorry, my friend, at this point, I think you should already know where the good stuff comes from,” said Azriel, as he offered the bottle. “I know, I know, not the same, but close enough. Believe me, I tried it straight from the delicious source and I agree, it is much better,”

“Stop being gross,” moaned Elain, and slapped his stomach.

He laughed.

“I am not being gross. Just honest. If I can suck on your titties,”

“Oh, gods, yes, I know. You’d rather suck on my titties than a bottle. I’ve heard this before,”

“And I stand by my opinion. So does my son. He has good taste. Now, go back to sleep.”

Elain ran a sleepy hand over the edge of his wing and turned around, pressing her lush ass into his thigh.

He drew his knuckles over her cheek and she reached for his fingers with her lips, kissing them, before tumbling back into her slumber.

Gods, he loved her.

The baby didn’t like all this jostling around him, and grabbed Azriel’s hand with his stubby fat fingers, steadying him and the bottle.

“Sorry,” Azriel murmured and looked down, stroking his baby’s soft brown curl that jutted out proudly on top of his head. “Mama is such a beauty…we can’t forget her either, even with you. I love you both very much.”

The baby nodded sagely, as if agreeing with his father. Yes, indeed, his mother was gorgeous and beautiful and very nice, and required his father’s attention. It was very understandable.

But this male, this father of his—he liked him very much as well. He was very kind and he fed him and changed him, and sang songs with him, and played with him, and…well, he loved him.

Azriel was smiling softly to himself, watching the baby, and then, suddenly, his son opened his eyes and grinned at him. Grinned a huge toothless smile—his very first one. He never smiled for anyone before, but this was it.

This was for his father.

This male, who’s waited for him for a long, long time, hoping against hope that one night, he’d have him in his arms and receive this huge, satisfied smile, which was meant only for him. An undeniable, glorious reward for centuries of suffering and sadness. He grabbed his father’s scarred finger in his fist and blinked at him with the depth of his Archeron eyes.

[vivithefolle]

Hermione has more complimentary traits with Harry than she does with Ron. Hermione is logical and thinks through her decisions while Harry is ruled by his emotions and follows his instincts. She's enthusiastic/cheerful he is more introverted and bitter. She motivates him to do better, and he reminds her that there are more important things than books and cleverness. Ron's humour gets on Hermione's nerves and her cleverness does the same to him. Their differences tear them instead of balancing.

HAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAH!!! HahahahahahHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHA!!! Oh that’s a good one, oh thank you dude, oh I haven’t laughed this hard in... in like 24 hours, I saw a pretty great meme yesterday, but oh thank you that was hilarious.

...

... wait you were serious?

...

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHONHONHONHONHONHONHAHAHAHHONHONSNORTHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHOHOHOHAHAHAHAHEHEHEHEHEHHEHEH HAAAAAAAAAAHAHHAHAHAHAHHAHAH HAHAHAH HAHAHAH HAAHAHAHAHAAAAAA AAAAAH HAAAWWW... oh my god, oh my god... seriously you could build a whole ass circus out of that.

Alright! Now that the hilarity’s over...

Hermione has more complimentary traits with Harry than she does with Ron. 

Prove it.

Hermione is logical and thinks through her decisions 

... and sometimes she also makes very illogical decisions and acts very rash, see how she sets Snape on fire in first year which could have hurt everyone around, how she forgot she’s a witch, see how the Polyjuice plan was total bullshit and relied 100% on luck, see how she acted completely thoughtless to Ron in POA, see how she was completely harebrained at the end of OOTP due to pressure, her very thought-out reaction to Ron and Lavender being together, and such...

Harry is ruled by his emotions and follows his instincts 

You realize you just described Ron too, pal? Ron’s role in the Trio is the Heart. Harry’s the Body, since everything revolves around him, Hermione’s the Brain, Ron is the Heart. That’s how they work.

She's enthusiastic/cheerful 

......... cheerful?

Hermione?

Cheerful?

HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHHAHA(...)HAWHAWHAWHONHONHONHONHONHAHAHAHAHA(...)HAHAHAHAAAAAAAAAAAHAHAhahahaha... haaaa...

Hermione may be enthusiastic about knowledge, but she’s not cheerful. She’s not the one who makes the jokes, she’s not the one who has a snarky comment on everything, she’s not the one who makes Harry laugh, she’s not the one who laughs at Harry’s jokes. That’s Ron’s job.

RON is the cheerful one. Sorry pal, better reread the books.

he is more introverted and bitter 

Pro tip: this can also describe Hermione to a degree. Though Hermione isn’t exactly an introvert, she’s more of a socially awkward extrovert. She’s not reading quietly in a corner and demurely asking “oh please don’t talk to me, I just want to read :(” she’s more like “I READ THAT BOOK ABOUT [social injustice] AND IT’S CLEAR TO ME NOW THAT [social injustice] IS UNACCEPTABLE, DO YOU HAVE A MOMENT TO TALK ABOUT [social injustice], I’M GONNA RAISE FUNDS TO PROMOTE AWARENESS AND EDUCATE PEOPLE ON THIS SUBJECT WILL YOU JOIN ME, WHY WON’T YOU JOIN ME, COME BACK WE’RE NOT FINISHED WITH THIS-”

... or, I could also... show you.

From your own dear and esteemed “Harmony Bible” that is Order of the Phoenix. *snort* “Harmony Bible”... oh my god, the delusion, the delusion...

“It’s lessons with Snape that are making it worse,” said Harry flatly. “I’m  getting  sick  of  my  scar  hurting,  and  I’m  getting  bored  walking  down  that  corridor  every  night.”  He  rubbed  his  forehead  angrily.  “I  just wish the door would open, I’m sick of standing staring at it —”

“That’s  not  funny,”  said  Hermione  sharply.  “Dumbledore  doesn’t  want  you  to  have  dreams  about  that  corridor  at  all,  or  he  wouldn’t  have asked Snape to teach you Occlumency. You’re just going to have to work a bit harder in your lessons.”

“I  am  working!”  said  Harry,  nettled.  “You  try  it  sometime,  Snape  trying to get inside your head, it’s not a bundle of laughs, you know!”

1. Example of Hermione not appreciating Harry’s humour

2. Example of Harry not liking Hermione’s “pushing him to do better”

Oooh, surprise! It’s not just Ron and Hermione that do the silent treatment to each other, Harry does it too! What a turn of events!

Hermione  nodded,  apparently  still  lost  in  thought.  Then,  quite  abruptly, she said, “But you shouldn’t have seen this at all, Harry.”

“What?” he said, taken aback.

“You’re supposed to be learning how to close your mind to this sort of thing,” said Hermione, suddenly stern.

“I know I am,” said Harry. “But —”

“Well,  I  think  we  should  just  try  and  forget  what  you  saw,”  said  Hermione firmly. “And you ought to put in a bit more effort on your Occlumency from now on.”

Harry was so angry with her that he did not talk to her for the rest of  the  day,  which  proved  to  be  another  bad  one.

Ah, lying, avoiding the subject, refusing to consider her opinion... how harmonious. *gigglesnort*

“But why haven’t you got Occlumency lessons anymore?” said Hermione, frowning.

“I’ve told you,” Harry muttered. “Snape reckons I can carry on by myself now I’ve got the basics...”

“So  you’ve  stopped  having  funny  dreams?”  said  Hermione  skeptically.

“Pretty much,” said Harry, not looking at her.

“Well, I don’t think Snape should stop until you’re absolutely sure you  can  control  them!”  said  Hermione  indignantly.  “Harry,  I  think  you should go back to him and ask —”

“No,” said Harry forcefully. “Just drop it, Hermione, okay?”

Hmmm, funny how Harry acts more like a teenager trying to sneak out of bed on Mama Ron and Hermione’s watch rather than as “Hermione’s perfect flawless soulmate uwu”!

He  had  ended  up  saying  to  them  truthfully  that  Sirius  wanted  Harry  to  resume  Occlumency  lessons.  He  had  been  regretting  this  ever since; Hermione would not let the subject drop and kept reverting to it when Harry least expected it.

“You can’t tell me you’ve stopped having funny dreams,” Hermione said now, “because Ron told me last night you were muttering in your sleep again...”

Harry  threw  Ron  a  furious  look.  Ron  had  the  grace  to  look  ashamed of himself.

Yes, she toooootally brings out “the best” of him... the best of all he’s learned at the Dursleys, which is avoidance, lying, deceiving... ha ha ha ha ha... oh, you guys, you’re so desperate, it’s almost cute. But then I remember that you keep bashing Ron and I stop feeling merciful.

“You are trying to block your mind, aren’t you?” said Hermione, looking beadily at Harry. “You are keeping going with your Occlumency?”

“Of course I am,” said Harry, trying to sound as though this ques-tion was insulting, but not quite meeting her eye. The truth was that he  was  so  intensely  curious  about  what  was  hidden  in  that  room  full  of dusty orbs that he was quite keen for the dreams to continue. 

Oh yes, he’s totally motivated to do better. He’s so motivated in fact he’s going to completely ignore her. And guess how that first date ends? With Sirius’ death. What a harmonious pairing.

“But Harry, you’ve just said it,” said Hermione fiercely. “Dumbledore  wanted  you  to  learn  to  shut  these  things  out  of  your  mind,  if  you’d done Occlumency properly you’d never have seen this —”

“IF   YOU   THINK   I’M   JUST   GOING   TO   ACT   LIKE   I   HAVEN’T SEEN —”

“Sirius told you there was nothing more important than you learn-ing to close your mind!”

“WELL, I EXPECT HE’D SAY SOMETHING DIFFERENT IF HE KNEW WHAT I’D JUST —”

And and and!! Hohohoho I’m not done!! Let me show you, I have SO MUCH to show you!!

As early as Goblet of Fire... Ah, and don’t say that this is “evil Ron’s evil influence of evilness :(” because Ron literally is harder-working than Harry in possibly every way because Ron doesn’t have the luxury of being the protagonist to promote him to, say, youngest Seeker in a century. Yeah, Ron’s not a Mary Sue like that. But I digress.

"It's Christmas, Hermione," said Harry lazily; he was rereading Flying with the Cannons for the tenth time in an armchair near the fire.

Hermione looked severely over at him too. "I'd have thought you'd be doing something constructive, Harry, even if you don't want to learn your antidotes!"

"Like what?" Harry said as he watched Joey Jenkins of the Cannons belt a Bludger toward a Ballycastle Bats Chaser.

"That egg!" Hermione hissed.

"Come on, Hermione, I've got till February the twenty-fourth," Harry said.

He had put the golden egg upstairs in his trunk and hadn't opened it since the celebration party after the first task. There were still two and a half months to go until he needed to know what all the screechy wailing meant, after all.

"I just thought you'd want to take advantage of the common room being quiet," she said. "Really get to work on that egg."

"Oh I - I reckon I've got a pretty good idea what it's about now," Harry lied.

"Have you really?" said Hermione, looking impressed. "Well done!"

Harry’s insides gave a guilty squirm, but he ignored them. He still had five weeks to work out that egg clue, after all, and that was ages... whereas if he went into Hogsmeade, he might run into Hagrid, and get a chance to persuade him to come back.

... but you know what makes Harry change his mind about lying about the egg? Or rather, who?

So you may argue that oh là là, Harry feels guilty for lying to his great soulmate Hermoanie and waah isn’t it so romantic...

Even though Harry can and does acknowledge that Hermione means well… it’s not enough for him. He will lie, avoid her, and go behind her back, like a child would with their parent, and even though he may feel guilty about it, it’s not enough to deter him.

Hagrid's miserable face broke into a wide, watery smile.

"Tha's my boy. . . you show 'em, Harry, you show 'em. Beat 'em all."

Lying to Hagrid wasn't quite like lying to anyone else. Harry went back to the castle later that afternoon with Ron and Hermione, unable to banish the image of the happy expression on Hagrid's whiskery face as he had imagined Harry winning the tournament. The incomprehensible egg weighed more heavily than ever on Harrys conscience that evening, and by the time he had got into bed, he had made up his mind - it was time to shelve his pride and see if Cedric's hint was worth anything.

And of course Half-Blood Prince, and if you try to tell me “buuutt hermoanie was ooc :((((” you can put a cactus up your rear you coward.

Welp. Not Ron, not Hermione. Hagrid.

Welcome to the world, Ha... Hagry? Harrid? Oh whatever. Here you go, Hagrid brings the best out of Harry, Harry feels more guilt at the thought of lying to Hagrid than anyone else. OTP.

She’s certainly not encouraging Harry to try new stuff. How is that supposed to help him improve? How is that supposed to make him do better?

“How are you doing that?” demanded Hermione, who was redfaced and whose hair was growing bushier and bushier in the fumes from her cauldron; her potion was still resolutely purple.

“Add a clockwise stir—”

“No, no, the book says counterclockwise!” she snapped.

Harry shrugged and continued what he was doing.

For or the rest of the week’s Potions lessons Harry continued to follow the Half-Blood Prince’s instructions wherever they deviated from Libatius Borage’s, with the result that by their fourth lesson Slughorn  was  raving  about  Harry’s  abilities,  saying  that  he  had  rarely  taught  anyone  so  talented.   Neither  Ron  nor  Hermione  was  delighted  by  this.  Although  Harry  had  offered  to  share  his  book  with both of them, Ron had more difficulty deciphering the handwriting than Harry did, and could not  keep  asking  Harry  to  read  aloud  or  it  might  look  suspicious.  Hermione,  meanwhile,  was  resolutely plowing on with what she called the “official” instructions, but becoming increasingly bad-tempered as they yielded poorer results than the Prince’s.

In fact

(dyslexic!Ron dyslexic!Ron dyslexic!Ron)

Well isn’t that fun? Harry is being the “best” at something... and Hermione doesn’t like it.

Incredibly, and to Hermione’s increasing resentment, Harry’s best subject had suddenly become Potions, thanks to the Half-Blood Prince.  

she seems

The only person who did not find these charms amusing was Hermione, who maintained a rigidly disapproving expression throughout and refused to talk at all if Harry had used the Muffliato spell on anyone in the vicinity.

to hate

Hermione's expression could not have been any smugger; she had loathed being out-performed in every Potions class. She was now decanting the mysteriously separated ingredients of her poison into ten different crystal phials. More to avoid watching this irritating sight than anything else, Harry bent over the Half-Blood Prince's book and turned a few pages with unnecessary force.

that Harry is doing great.

(Oh look. Harry is irritated at the mere sight of Hermione. Well that’s definitely a hint they should marry!!! /s)

“Are you telling me,” said Hermione, “that you're going to go back—?”

“And get the book? Yeah, I am,” said Harry forcefully. "Listen, without the Prince I'd never have won the Felix Felicis. I'd never have known how to save Ron from poisoning, I'd never have—”

“—got a reputation for Potions brilliance you don't deserve,” said Hermione nastily.

And then let’s remember Hermione still nattering about Occlumency through Deathly Hallows, or how she breaks Harry’s wand and Harry is “desiring nothing more than to get away from her”, and all that... ah but of course you won’t ever see that in all your “Harmony” analyses, because there’s no way to spin that positively... ha ha ha...

Accomplishing his mission from Dumbledore? Saving Ron’s life? Nah, Hermione is more concerned with one thing: having her top spot back.

*slow clap* Friend. Of. The. Year. Why does anyone like this character again? Selfish brat.

he reminds her that there are more important things than books and cleverness 

You have again stolen Ron’s qualities to pretend they’re Harry’s/Hermione’s.

And here they come... the receipts... all the receipts...

This happens right during the Firebolt fight. It’s still Ron who cares for Hermione, even though he’s angry with her, while Harry is like “oh ok but gotta finish Snape’s essay tho”. Priorities.

“How’s she doing it?” Ron muttered to Harry one evening as Harry sat finishing a nasty essay on Undetectable Poisons for Snape. Harry looked up. Hermione was barely visible behind a tottering pile of books. 

“Doing what?”

“Getting to all her classes!” Ron said. “I heard her talking to Professor Vector, that Arithmancy witch, this morning. They were going on about yesterday’s lesson, but Hermione can’t’ve been there, because she was with us in Care of Magical Creatures! And Ernie McMillan told me she’s never missed a Muggle Studies class, but half of them are at the same time as Divination, and she’s never missed one of them either!”

Harry didn’t have time to fathom the mystery of Hermione’s impossible schedule at the moment; he really needed to get on with Snape’s essay. Two seconds later, however, he was interrupted again, this time by Wood. - Prisoner of Azkaban

It’s Ron who understands that Hermione is driving herself mad. Ron, not Harry. Bye, can’t hear you over the canon facts.

“I don’t believe it!” Hermione wailed. “Was Professor Flitwick angry? Oh, it was Malfoy, I was thinking about him and I lost track of things!”

“You know what, Hermione?” said Ron, looking down at the enormous Arithmancy book Hermione had been using as a pillow. “I reckon you’re cracking up. You’re trying to do too much.”

“No, I’m not!” said Hermione, brushing her hair out of her eyes and staring hopelessly around for her bag. “I just made a mistake, that’s all! I’d better go and see Professor Flitwick and say sorry... I’ll see you in Divination!” - Prisoner of Azkaban

Later on...

Hermione looked down at her hardly touched plate of food, then put her knife and fork down upon it and pushed it away from her.

"Oh c'mon, 'Er-my-knee," said Ron, accidentally spraying Harry with bits of Yorkshire pudding. "Oops - sorry, 'Arry -" He swallowed. "You won't get them sick leave by starving yourself!"

"Slave labor," said Hermione, breathing hard through her nose. "That's what made this dinner. Slave labor."

And she refused to eat another bite.

[…]

"Treacle tart, Hermione!" said Ron, deliberately wafting its smell toward her. "Spotted dick, look! Chocolate gateau!"

But Hermione gave him a look so reminiscent of Professor McGonagall that he gave up. - Goblet of Fire, chapter 12

Dinner was a subdued affair that night. Harry and Ron did not talk much, but ate with gusto, having studied hard all day. Hermione, on the other hand, kept putting down her knife and fork and diving under the table for her bag, from which she would seize a book to check some fact or figure. Ron was just telling her that she ought to eat a decent meal or she would not sleep that night, when her fork slid from her limp fingers and landed with a loud tinkle on her plate. - Order of the Phoenix, chapter 31

Hmm, now it looks to me that Harry is mostly oblivious to Hermione and it’s Ron who’s taking care of her. But hey, “hArMoAnY” I guess!

Ron's humour gets on Hermione's nerves 

Fake news, it’s actually Harry’s humour that Hermione doesn’t like.

Really, just read this essay, written by someone who actually read the books without cherry-picking them, it should show you how blatanly wrong you are.

her cleverness does the same to him. 

*deep breath*

WHY YOU ALWAYS LYIIIIIIN, WHY THE FUCK YOU LYIIIIIIN, OH MY GOD STOP FUCKIN LYING

Again, a comprehensive list of BOOK QUOTES because I’ve dedicated too much time to proving you wrong: https://www.quora.com/How-many-times-has-Ron-Weasley-supported-Hermione-and-told-her-how-amazing-and-talented-she-is/answer/Issy-Dodds

Anyway Anon...

Your ‘Harmony’ is built on a pile of lies, blatant Ron Weasley erasure and a creepy fetishistic obsession with making a teenage girl look like she’s the ideal life partner for a guy who blatantly does NOT want her to be his life partner. Yall have issues.

[amtwst-tls]

Scary outfit Jade Personal Story Translation Part 2

Jade Scary Outfit Part 2

Would you please teach me?

Where the 2nd years all talk about the Halloween traditions back at their places.

Classroom

Jade: Would you mind teaching me about the many different ways you all celebrate Halloween?

Riddle: ...Halloween, huh.

Riddle: In my hometown, typically young children would gather in the plaza and hold a 'Fun Party.'

Jamil: Why do you sound so detached?

Riddle: That's because I've only ever attended it once. So I can't speak much about it.

Riddle: The one thing that left an impression on me was the 'Apple Bobbing.'

Floyd: Goldfish-chan, what's that...Apple....whatchamacallit? That sure sounds real tasty~

Riddle: It's a traditional game that is played in the Rose Kingdom.

Riddle: You fill a large tub with water, and some apples will be tossed in, floating on the surface, which you have to try and catch with your mouth. Of course, you can't use your hands for this.

Jade: That... certainly sounds like a game to be played on the surface.

Azul: Indeed, the moment one lets go of the apple under the sea, it would immediately try to rise to the surface.

Jade: I suppose chasing after the apple could be a game in itself.

Floyd: That actually sounds real interestin'~

Silver: However... is it even possible to catch an apple with one's mouth?

Riddle: They normally use smaller apples rather than the regular ones... but even then it can be difficult.

Jade: Children with bigger physique would have the better advantage in trying to capture the apple in their mouth.

Riddle: Certainly, one would need good jaw strength to match the size of their mouth as well.

Ruggie: In this school, Jade and Floyd definitely have the advantage here.

Ruggie: They're dang huge. With sharp teeth to boot.

Jade: Fufufu, I wonder about that. I would be too shy to open my mouth so wide with people staring at me...

Jade: And I just may not be able to catch the apple in time while bumbling around...

Floyd: I mean, how do ya even decide on who wins in this kinda game?

Riddle: According to our rules, I think the one who manages to catch an apple the quickest would be considered the winner.

Riddle: There are regions in the Land of Pyroxene that play this game as well.

Riddle: Cater said that in his hometown, the winner was decided by who got the most number of apples.

Riddle: I was never able to grasp the technique, and would end up drenched from head to toe...

Riddle: Thinking back on it now though, I suppose the result was never the important part.

Riddle: Having fun, laughing at each other as we all struggle to catch that apple... I think such joys are important.

Jade: Certainly, to be able to see Riddle-san desperately chasing after an apple with his mouth wide open would be quite amus-

Jade: -I mean, would be worth seeing, yes.

Riddle: Just what were you trying to imply...

Kalim: I get what you were trying to say Riddle! It's not about winning or losing, it's all about whether you had fun or not!

Riddle: Yes... that's right.

Kalim: It's kinda different from the Rose Kingdom, the Halloween over at our Land of Hot Sands is real fun too!

Jade: Oh? Does the Land of Hot Sands have it's own peculiar recreational activity as well?

Kalim: Nope! When you say Halloween in the Land of Hot Sands, we mean 'Feast'!

Kalim: That's because in our homeland, to spend time together as we enjoy a splendid feast is what we consider to be the most fun!

Kalim: That's why, when Halloween comes around, the tables are almost overflowing with all kinds of delicacies!

Jamil: We do this so the ghosts that come back can also eat to their heart's content.

Jamil: Sweet, salty spicy... from small appetizers to large platters, we prepare a wide variety of dishes.

Jamil: When Halloween is close, the kitchens are always on full overdrive from the meal prepping alone.

Jade: Someday I would love to feast my eyes on such a sumptuous dining table myself... Are there any staple dishes for the tradition?

Kalim: The star of the Halloween Feast... it's definitely gotta be that dish.

Kalim: What was it again? That dish we bake with vegetables and sauce...

Jamil: Who knows?

Kalim: Ah, your face tells me you know it. C'mon, it's that one! The one with potatoes, eggplants and tomatoes!!

Jade: Is it something like... a lasagna that had the pasta replaced with vegetables instead?

Kalim: Ahh that's actually pretty close to it. It's super delicious when freshly baked.

Azul: I see, it certainly sounds like a dish that would be popular with people who prefer a healthy diet.

Jade: Jamil-san, would you mind telling us the name of the dish?

Jamil: Ha... It's a local specialty called 'Moussaka.'

Kalim: Yeah that! That's the one!

Kalim: When we were younger, even if there was no banquet or feast going on, I'd still ask Jamil to cook it for me time to time!

Jamil: It was quite the mess back then... my parents, and even the other servants would always scold me, telling me that children shouldn't handle fire by themselves.

Kalim: Eh!? That happened??

Jamil: We were still in elementary school after all.

Jamil: It's not like I was already great at cooking from that age... It would've been a big problem if I accidentally set a fire.

Jamil: I can now understand why my parents and the people around me used to get angry whenever I tried.

Kalim: Oof... I'm really sorry about that.

Kalim: But the moussaka you cooked back then was also super delicious! I can still remember the taste...

Kalim: Talking about it got me hankering for it again. Jamil, you gotta make it for me soon!

Azul: I would like to request it as well. It may be a good addition to the Mostro Lounge menu....

Jamil: No.

Kalim: Aww, don't say that Jamil~

Jamil: Moussaka is a very time-consuming dish that needs a lot of ingredients to make, it even needs two kinds of sauces to be prepared for it

Jamil: I don't believe such a dish is a good fit for a cafe.

Jade: From the sounds of it, it seems to be a dish that requires an oven to bake it.

Jade: The oven back at the Lounge isn't quite big... it would be quite difficult to bake enough of it.

Azul: I'm sure there are a number of ways to increase the turnover rate if you cook it all in one big platter.

Ruggie: Octanivelle's the same as ever.

Jade: Fufu... I suppose we can have a nice, long discussion about this once I have tried Jamil's cooking myself.

Jamil: Wait, I never said that I would make it- ...sigh...

Silver: *snore*

Jamil: See, you've bored Silver to sleep while you were hyped up about making profits.

Jade: Oh my, this won't do. My apologies for derailing the conversation.

Jade: Excuse me for a moment, Silver-san, Would you please wake up?

Silver: ...ha! I apologize. You want to know the traditions of Halloween at the Valley of Thorns, was it.

Jade: Yes, if you would please.

Silver: Halloween... all I can remember is my fath- I mean, Lilia-senpai going all out on dressing up for the occasion.

Riddle: As I recall, both of you are from the same province.

Jade: I see, so even the people from the Valley of Thorns would have costumes... It seems to be a standard custom no matter where you are from on the surface.

Silver: Do merfolk not have costumes?

Jade: We do not have a habit of wearing clothes in the first place.

Jade: But it is precisely because of that fact that I find wearing the many different kind of clothes from the surface quite interesting. Silver: As a matter of fact, it is quite difficult to say that dressing up was a fun memory... I shudder even now when I recall it.

Floyd: Ehh~ Wasn't pancake devilfish-chan even smaller back then?

Silver: Oh, there is not much of a change in terms of appearance, however...

Silver: It was the one and only Halloween that I had seen Lilia-senpai in such a fearsome visage....

Jade: My, that does sound very curious indeed, since he prides himself on being quite cute, and it's hard to disagree.

Silver: Lilia-senpai's threatening demeanor when dressed up like that...

Silver: Sebek who had witnessed the horror with me was also trembling in fear...

Silver: The two of us were so afraid to fall asleep that we promised to stay up all night together.

Jade: Oh my, if I were to be exposed to such horror, I would surely let out a loud scream myself...

Floyd: Ehh~ What the heck, I wanna see that too~ We've been together since the day we were born and I haven't got 'ta see that even once!

Ruggie: So~? Did you both end up greetin' the dawn with tears?

Silver: No, I ended up falling asleep at some point.

Riddle: As I thought...

Silver: Apparently, Sebek had to hold off on going to the toilet the whole night, so the next morning he was angry at me and called me a traitor.

Ruggie: Wow~ Even Sebek had such a cute side to him huh.

Jamil: Well then Ruggie, how is Halloween over at your place?

Ruggie: Me? I don't think our Halloween over at the slums would make much of a reference for ya.

Jade: Now now, I find any and every aspect of culture on the surface to be interesting, so please do enlighten me.

Ruggie: Well, I don't mind tellin' ya, but don't go gettin' all weirded out after hearin' it...

Ruggie: "Trick or Treat" is where ya get pranked if ye don't hand out the candy yeah?

Ruggie: But back at my place, it ain't anythin' as cute as that.

Ruggie: If candy isn't handed over, you'd be marked until ye do... it's a 24 hour candy collectin' endurance event! ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ Wow that was long, really long, I almost died but I did it for y’all ;-; Note: Jamil and Kalim actually call the dish “Munazzara” but I believe that is another term for ‘Moussaka’ in jpn, I changed it so it’s easier to place. Part 1 Part 3

[granddaughterogg]

What’s death’s reaction to his s/o referring to him as their husband? Like maybe they go out somewhere and s/o has to introduce death to a friend they ran into in public and the first thing that comes to mind while they’re all frazzled is “Oh! This is my /husband/!”

It was Friday afternoon - the worst possible time for a grocery haul.

You've tried to communicate this to your Nephilim a few times before, but the message bounced off them. The Horsemen were perceptive people, but they've spent most of their lives under very different stars (or sometimes under no stars at all.) Never before had they to fit their undertakings within a 24-hour timetable. The intricate ways in which human society works were also all but lost on them. Repeated explanations that certain stuff has to be done at certain hours probably hacked a few good years off your lifespan.

 Maybe one day they'll finally learn, you thought, slowly and tenderly losing your shit. Until then - your shared home life was a path full of organizational hiccups. Chaos often took over.

Anyway, you lived with four oversized individuals who didn't really have to eat, but they sure enjoyed it - and three of them consumed heaps. This week it just so happened that Strife went MIA (as he often would), Fury was having a Hair Maintenance Day and War really needed some bonding time with his steed. Or something.

Thankfully Death remained the reliable one. He grabbed you, summoned Despair from his pocket dimension (Death really wasn't the man for cars) and off to the supermarket you two went.

What you faced was a typical Friday after hours stampede. Tired, frustrated consumers teemed the aisles, filling their enormous shopping carts, crashing their carts into other people's backsides and running them over other people's feet. The air was stuffy, filled with maniacally upbeat music and high-pitched wailing of children. 

It was sheer hell.

"Let's make this quick", you pleaded into your companion's ashy ear. "I don't know how long I can take it. Can we split the shopping list? I'll grab the groceries, you go get all the cleaning stuff and we'll meet here, okay, love?"

Death nodded, straightened himself to his whole impressive height and stalked away. You watched his wide frame part the sea of busy heads. No matter how thick the crowd, people always seemed to just naturally skip out of Death's way. A sensible instinct. Many heads have turned, the expression on their faces something between dumbfoundedness and awe. You've heard quite a few stifled "Damn!"s.

You reached for packaged rice, smirking. Your man was seven and a half feet tall, his skin the shade of bone, and no, he wasn't wearing a shirt.

You managed to persuade him to leave all his jangly ironmongery at home. That's enough Fitting In for one trip.

Death's dark head finally disappeared behind the shelves and your thoughts refocused on filling the cart. You were picking up some broccoli in the produce aisle when a high-pitched voice uttered your name.

You jumped.

"No way!!!" Something big and bright filled your field of vision. You picked up the dropped broccoli, blinked a few times, and the yellow shape refocused into a head of hair - a shiny lob dyed sunny blonde. Not one hair stuck out of place.

"It really is you!!!" squealed the head in glee. It belonged to a rather attractive woman in big rectangular sunglasses, her lips very finely painted fuchsia pink. She always looked like those ladies portrayed in the so-called ladies' magazines. Thin and poreless, exuding easy confidence that comes from not being broke even once in her whole life.

"Hi, Julianne", you groaned. There was no escaping it now.

"Honey!!! So glad to see you!!" professed the woman, eyeing you shrewdly from head to toe. She probably calculated the price of your whole outfit in her head right now - and the contents of your cart while she was at it. Drawing conclusions. Always have been good with maths. Fucking Julianne.

"I wrote to you on Facebook so many times!!" Multiple exclamation points have been her thing; apparently, this hasn't changed since high school. "Why did you never answer, silly? We had so much fun during our class reunion..."

"Uh, I bet", you murmured. You wouldn't step back within your old school walls even if they paid you. "Sorry for going no contact. I've had a lot on my plate recently, you know -"

"Like what?" the woman tilted her shapely head, her attitude playful, but also slightly accusatory.

It made you angry. 

Remember the Apocalypse, Julianne? Remember when you slipped into non-existence among most of the human race? I bet you don't. I bet you decided to forget this ever happened. Like so many others did. Well, I didn't die, so I can't forget. Someone saved me and I got to traverse many different realms side by side with a Horseman of the fucking Apocalypse. And then he gave his life away, and later got brought back to life by his brother, who is also a Horseman - and we've been living together ever since...

Of course, you didn't say any of that out loud. You stood there, fondling the lush green broccoli in your hands. What even was the point?

"Oh, you know. I got into a relationship..." 

"You did?"

You looked her dead in the eye - blue and suddenly wide under the swanky shades - and could tell that this was a direct hit.

"Well, yeah." You smiled at Julianne. "Those things happen, you know."

"Sure, sure!! But frankly, out of all of us, I'd never suspect you to settle with a man and all..." 

"Excuse me?"

Julianne held at a strand of her perfect, shiny hair and then let go. "You were always quite the feminist after all..."

"What does this have to do with - " you blurted out and stopped mid-sentence because Death emerged from behind the shelves. His arms were full of various cleaning stuff.

"I've got everything from the list", he said. "I've also got at least partially deaf. Are we done here?"

A wide smile upturned the corners of your mouth - this time a genuine one because Julianne looked like a startled fish. She stared at you, then at the ashy, muscular, hulking giant at your side, then back at your beaming face.

Pettiness is the dish of the gods. 

"Death, love, meet Julianne", you said gracefully. "Julianne, this is Death. My husband."

The words slipped out of you on their own.

You tossed him a panicked, beseeching look, but your Nephilim was game. Maybe his eyebrow quivered a little; it happened so fast that Julianne would never notice. She was too busy ogling rocky abs of this man you've settled with.

"Pleased to make your acquaintance", said Death in his most velvety, bordering-on-indecent tone. Julianne just nodded back stiffly, as if submerged in a trance.

You left the supermarket soon after that.

A strange, playful little smile twirled your Horseman's lips while he loaded all the groceries into Despair's saddlebags. Thankfully those operated on the principle of magic, not physics, or the horse's spectral back would break.

"I assume that wasn't a friend." You spent all the way to the parking lot trying not to look him in the face. The words startled you.

"Hell no. She's a bitch."

"Ah." That was his whole answer. Finally, all the groceries have been stuffed into the magic pocket space. Death turned around, clasped his hands to your waist and lifted you onto the saddle. His movements bore such effortless grace. It happened so many times and you still weren't over how inhumanely strong this man is.

He sat right behind you. You clasped both hands on the saddle's horn, discreetly basking in this soothing feeling that being surrounded by Death's powerful physique gave you. 

His torso pressed into your back, his strong thighs almost touching yours. This bliss would never get old.

"You know, I can't help but wonder." Death's deep voice was like a silky needle, injected into your frayed nerves. "Why did you call me this word?"

"It...just felt right", you said, staring at Despair's pointy ears, wreathed with spectral discharge. The horse turned his humongous head as if asking: Can we go now? But your companion wasn't done yet.

"Do you wish for me to take your hand in marriage?"

You almost keeled over.

"Damn, D! Well...I...I don't want to force any more human stuff on you, you know?"

He leaned over; long, black strands of hair grazed your mouth. Death looked you in the face. You'd rather he didn't.

"Do you or do you not?"

"Damn, I do. I'd absolutely love to. But you have to live in this human world with me and you're constantly surrounded by alien stuff and alien customs which don't hold much meaning to you, and that would just be...another one of those things, right?" you murmured, lowering your head.

"I'm surrounded by alien stuff wherever I go", said Death softly. "I don't have a place I'd call home."

"I know! But it's hard!" you admitted. "You're always asking me what is it that I want. But marriage is one of those things that have to be desired by both people equally, or it means nothing..."

You suddenly felt very small and rather sad.

"I don't want you to get entangled in something that you have no use for", you whispered, pinning your eyes to the worn-off leather of the saddle. "Not just for me."

Death didn't answer for a good while. Then his big hand covered yours and squeezed it slightly.

Before you've met him, you always imagined that Death's touch must be freezing cold. That was not true.

"I understand", he said, "and I am grateful for your candour."

He nudged the horse and off you went, both unusually quiet.

[youbloodymadgenius]

Stuck with you (Modern!Ivar x reader)

wA/N: This is for @lisinfleur‘s Quarantine Challenge. Thanks love 💖

I’ve been very inactive lately, my mind filled with worries... Stuck with you is not my best work, but at least I’ve been able to write again. Writing sex is not my strong suit. Sorry.

the gif belongs to @honestsycrets​ 🌻

@inforapound 🌺💐🌺 Thanks my friend ❤️

Summary: Your roommate swearing and screaming at the top of his lungs, you end up coming out of your room and going to see him. What happens next is... out of control.

Warnings: explicit sex; swear words; no plot AT ALL.

Words: 2745

"FUUUUUCK!!!"

Exasperated,you roll your eyes before immersing yourself again in the captivating historical novel you're reading. 

Less than five seconds later, your attention is drawn away by a heavy thud – no doubt some kind of object crashing into the wall – shortly followed afterwards by another loud "FUUUUUUCK!"

Sighing deeply, you place a bookmark between the pages of your book, put it on the night table and eventually get out of bed, checking the time on your clock.

7:45am. Certainly too early for you to silently tolerate your rommate's screams.

Crossing hastily the room dressed in nothing but your panties and a long t-shirt, you take in a big gasp of air before opening the door.  

"FUCKING BULLSHIT!!!"

Your hand still on the doorknob, the door ajar, his scream this time causes you to jerk. 

Reaching the living room, the first thing you notice is the remote control, or maybe it's a phone you're not sure, on the floor, shattered into a thousand pieces. The next one is that Ivar is screaming again. "FUUUUUCK!! I JUST CAN'T FUCKING STAND IT! FUCK FUCK FUCK!!!"

You then spot him, sitting on the couch in gray sweatpants and a withe t-shirt. Furrowed brows, clenched jaw, tensed features… If you still had any doubts, you don't have any now. He's angry. Very angry. 

Taking two cautious steps forward, you know better than to get too close to him, so that you can avoid any unexpected flying objects. Hands on your hips, the strong breath you release gets his attention. "FUCK Y/N!"

Knowing his outburst isn't actually directed at you, you keep calm, speaking softly. "What's wrong, Ivar?"

"WHAT'S WRONG?? YOU'RE FUCKING ASKING ME WHAT'S WRONG, Y/N?? I'M SURE YOU FUCKING KNOW WHAT'S WRONG! FUCK!!!" He spits at you, his hands waving all over the place, and you can physically feel his wrath. You’ve never seen him like that. Of course, Ivar is often quick-tempered, but that… that is something else, and it's quite unsettling.

Still, you force yourself to stay calm, inhaling deeply before answering, your voice gentle. 

"No Ivar, I don't." 

You're not exactly lying. Of course, you have some idea, but you can't be sure. The truth is, you two barely know each other. If you've been living under the same roof for almost six months, it's not really by choice. You were desesperate to find a room and Ivar was looking for a roommate. Or more specifically, Ivar had to find a roommate. He lived alone for two years, but after a nasty fall that put him back in a wheelchair for weeks, his overprotective mother decided it was her job to interfere. The deal was this: find a roommate or come back home. When you met them – yes, his mother was there, after all, she owned the apartment – your conversation sounded weirdly like a job interview. After two hours and a lot of nosy questions from Aslaug, you got the job, huh sorry, the room, the fact that you're a nursing student surely helpful. 

And frankly, living here turned out not so bad.

The huge apartment is perfectly equipped, its furnitures luxurious, the fridge always full, thanks to  Ivar's mother, and your room probably bigger than your parents' house. Ivar is certainly not the most congenial person but he's mostly never around. Between his doctoral thesis and his unofficial involvement in the family corporation, he leaves most of the time at dawn and doesn't return until late at night, except on days when his legs hurt too much. On those days, he usually locks himself in his room. The few times you run into him in the apartment, he barely acknowledges your presence, doesn't really talk to you – you're well aware that he'd prefer to live alone – yet he's never directly hostile. 

Plus, you would be lying saying he's unattractive. Truth be told, Ivar is a sight to behold. Gorgeous blue eyes, strong features, sharp cheekbones and high forehead, sign of his obvious intelligence. Ivar is, plain and simple, stunningly handsome. 

So yeah, all in all, living with him isn't hard. Ordinarily. But now, the ordinary is not part of your lives. Because of this virus, schools, theaters and shops have been closed for two weeks and you and Ivar are mostly stuck at home. He's been grumpy ever since, but you've managed to keep him pretty calm, at least enough for your new shared meals to go well.

Right now, you're not sure there's anything you can do to avoid the upcoming storm. 

As Ivar glares at you, eyes wide open, obviously bewildered, you simply repeat, "I don't." Grabbing his crutch, you think for a moment he's going to stand up, and maybe that's what he was going to do, but finally he just throws it angrily accross the room, still being careful no to aim it at you, shouting again,

"FUCK YOU DON'T!!! HAVEN'T YOU HEARD THE FUCKING NEWS, Y/N???" 

You give him a confused look. "What news, Ivar? It's not even eight in the morning, I woke up not long ago and I was reading." Explaining yourself is useless but you feel compelled to do it, for whatever reason.

"YOU ARE FUCKING STUPID, AREN'T YOU? YOU SLEEPING WON'T STOP EARTH FROM FUCKING SPINNING, YOU KNOW THAT?" His tone scornful, pointing to his temple with his index finger in a universally obvious gesture, he's slowly getting on your nerves. 

Getting closer, you take advantage of the fact that he's sitting and you're standing, hovering over him, one eyebrow raised. He's clearly not impressed, but it feels good anyway. Small victories are victories nonetheless. "Don't give me shit, Ivar. I'm not dumb and you know that. Just spill the f–", biting your tongue, you stop before saying what seems to be his favorite word today, "spill the news Ivar!"

"TOTAL LOCKDOWN!!!" 

Shocked, you fight the urge to take a few steps back while his screams don't stop. He doesn't notice your discomfort, caught up in his own anger. "THAT'S WHAT THE FUCKING STATSMINISTER ANNOUNCED LATE LAST NIGHT!! A FUCKING TOTAL LOCKDOWN! FOR AT LEAST THREE FUCKING WEEKS!!! CAN YOU BELIEVE IT? WE'RE NOT ALLOWED TO GO OUT AT ALL, EXCEPT FOR GROCERY SHOPPING. WHICH DOESN'T CHANGE ANYTHING SINCE I DO IT ONLINE, I KNOW! STILL, I WAS SUPPOSED TO FLY BACK AND FORTH TO LONDON THIS WEEK BUT THE PLANES ARE GROUNDED. ALL THE FUCKING PLANES! CAN YOU BELIEVE THAT? WE'RE FUCKING STUCK HERE, Y/N, 24/7!! ALL BECAUSE OF THIS FUCKING CORONABULLSHIT!!"

Waiting to make sure he's done with his rant, you give him a disapproving look. "Ivar, this is not fucking bullshit. This is a life-threatening virus. People are dying all over the world and the quarantine is the only way. You know that. We knew it was coming. You can't be selfish, not in such circumstances."

You know he knows you're right. Ivar may be mad right now, but he's still smart enough to undersand the urgency of the situation. Yet, he's not quite ready to admit it, at least not entirely. 

Even so, his voice is soft at first. "Yeah, yeah, of course you're right." Running his fingers through his dishelved hair, he sighs before getting carried away once again. "But fuck Y/N!!!" Ivar takes an heavy breath and releases it loudly, shaking his head frustratedly.

And here we are again. Three-two-one-zero… Go!  "BUT FUCK Y/N! FUCK!! IT FUCKING SUCKS, CAN'T YOU AGREE? WHAT ARE WE GOING TO DO, HUH? WHAT ARE WE GOING TO DO? WE ARE STUCK HERE, LIKE WE ARE IN A FUCKING PRISON!! WE ARE FUCKING STUCK HERE TOGETHER AND THE FUCK IT SUCKS!!"

Hearing his words, you're not sure if you should be amused or rather offended, finally opting for irony. "Sure, it's true that's I'm so lucky to be living with you, while you're stuck with the most boring rommate. I guess this is the part where I'm supposed to apologize for existing, right?"

Ivar freezes, speechless. Wow. It's not something that happens a lot. Small victories blah, blah, blah… Nervously wiggling his fingers, he gives you a constrained, almost apologetic look while biting his lower lip. "Fuck Y/N," his voice speaks softly, "I didn't mean it like that." He lowers his gaze, his hands now rubbing his thighs. You can tell he tries very hard to stay calm and you can't help but think it's adorable. "You know that… Fuck! Y/N, I'm not good at that, and we both know that we didn't choose each other, but I'm fucking grateful it's you who's living with me, and not some dumbass. And even though I'm a spoiled brat and probably a fucking pain in the ass, I know being stuck here with you won't be hell on Earth. Still, just being stuck here sucks. IT FUCKING SUCKS!!!"

That's the exact moment when something switches in your mind. It all comes up out of the blue and you're suddenly aware of the warmth in your lower belly, of your increasing heart rate, of your clammy hands… You have to make a prodigious effort not to lick your lips. Ivar is… flustered, akward, still angry and cocky yet soft and almost sweet and seeing him like this makes you feel things. Unexpected things.  

You can't think straight anymore. Maybe lockdown is driving you crazy too, after all. Or maybe it's because it's been months since you've… Or it's all Ivar's fault. Yeah, that's it, it's got to be his fault. Because with is huge blue eyes, his reddened cheeks, his chiseled upper body and the anger still flowing out of him, he's… he's… he's…

… insanely hot. So FUCKING insanely hot.

Checking discretely with one hand that no drool is leaking from the corner of your mouth, you go on right after. "Maybe you should stop talking about it and just do it, Ivar. You know, to take the pressure off." Your words are rushed and you know you're blushing, but you can’t control your brain anymore. It's probably not really functional right now anyway. 

Baffled, Ivar looks at you without understanding. "Wh- What? What are you fucking talking about?" His scowl is back, and you realize it makes him even more attractive. 

“Oh Ivar, don't play dumb, you know what I'm saying, don't you?  Fuck and fucking… Those are the only words you seem to know. Stop saying them. Do it. Just do it. I bet you'll be more relaxed after." Okay, you're obviously out of your mind. You couldn't care less though, your only focus at the moment being the sparkle in your inner core. 

"What-?" His chocked voice gives away how stunned he is. "But… with… with whom, Y/N?"

The answer is an obvious one, right? At least to you, but probably to Ivar too, since he's stuck there with you and only you. You can see in his eyes that yes, he knows what you're implying. Still, the bewilderment written all over his face a clear indication that he can't bring himself to believe it. You don't blame him. The impression you give is always that of a (too) serious person. Ivar doesn't know who you really are. You're not even sure you know it yourself… And right now, it doesn't matter. 

Because yeah, disbelief is obvious on his face, but lust even more so … oh gods… Gods… Slightly confounded and blinking a few times, but looking at you like you're a prey, Ivar is, if at all possible, even hotter than before. And that's what matters.

 Winking at him, you quickly take off your t-shirt, swinging it accross the room. His mouth ajar, his gaze is that of a toddler, sitting under the tree, contemplating his gifts on Christmas morning.

"What do you think, Ivar?" His eyebrows furrowed, you don't allow him time to respond, straddling his lap. You're not sure he's breathing, clearly incredulous, almost skeptical. And gods, how beautiful he is. You can't resist. You won't resist. When you crash your lips together, you stop thinking. 

The akward moment disappears quickly, replaced by a shared eagerness. Ivar kisses you back, his need now as great as yours, his tongue invading and claiming your mouth. You can't help but moan while feeling him growning against your clit. "Fuck Y/N!", he mumbles as you rock your hips purposefully against his. Rewarded with a loud growl, you smile, never breaking the intense kiss. 

All off a sudden, you don't know how he manages to do so, you're lying on your back on the wide couch, Ivar's body all over yours, warming you from the inside out. His shirt gone, his callouse hands are everywhere, roaming your body – your jaw, sides, belly, neck, navel, even squeezing your cheeks as you raise your hips – his mouth on your tits, nibbling and sucking. Digging your fingers into his back, you release a gasping breath before kissing each and every part of exposed skin he has to offer, his taste so overwhelming, you can't get enough, moaning and panting endlessly, your heart already pounding hard in your chest.

As he slips his fingers under your panties, your breath stutters, your whole body jerking and tensing when his fingertips brush over your clit. You can feel him smile against your skin, proud and smug, huffing a small snort just before parting your folds.

Slipping a finger inside you, a low moan rattles in his throat, his wonder at how wet you are obvious in his eyes. When his middle finger begins to glide in and out, you grab his wrist hard, a frustrated growl escaping your mouth.  

"Stop it, Ivar." Muttering against his neck, you put your free hand on his chest, pushing him back slightly, his gaze an universal what-the-fuck-gaze. Without loosening your grip on his wrist, you let your fingers run down his chest, your hand grabbing his waistband. 

"Don't waste our time with foreplay." Rushing your words, you give him a short yet rapturous kiss. "Save it for later, will you? We'll have a whole lockdown to do that." Yanking his pants and briefs down his hips, you then slip off your panties, Ivar leaning on his forearms, his biceps flexing. Looking at you with desire in his blackened eyes, he releases a husky whimper of yearning as you grab his hard length. "Fuck Y/N!" he hisses, panting and shivering. 

"That's it, Ivar! Do it. Fuck me. I need you inside me. Now!"  Your breath coming in shallow gasps, you squeeze his cock, brushing it against your core.

That's all it takes for his control to snap as he drives into you, stroking you from the inside. He thrusts straight away into you, hard and heavy. It's not gentle, it's rough and primal, exactly what you need. Grasping and squeezing handfuls of his ass, your hips snap upward and you groan against his skin and into his mouth as he hits you from all angles, going deeper inside you than you thought possible. Your body jerking back, your hands cling to his shoulders, allowing you to feel his quivering muscles under your fingertips. Your skin feels like fire as he keeps pumping relentlessly, his tongue thrusting into your mouth. 

Your breathing uneven, you know he's as close as you are as your walls clench around him. Pushing your hips upward and back, faster and faster, his thrusts become erratic. "Fuck!", he roars once more, your hands back on his ass again, your body starting to shake. 

Crying out, your body bows upward. The muscles of your inner walls constrincting tightly around him, you scream his name, exploding all around him, his thick and hot seed spilling inside you, your orgasm hitting you in strong waves as his mouth seeks yours for a final sloppy kiss.

Sated to the point of exhaustion, Ivar falls heavily onto you, shaking and sweating. Not letting himself slide out of you just yet, his hands lazily stroke your sides as your fingers run along his back. 

Out of breath, you both need a few minutes to come down from that high, Ivar being the first to talk, his voice still shaky. "There's no fucking way we're not fucking doing this again!"

Bursting out laughing, you give his cheek a peck before leaning on one elbow. Rolling your eyes playfully, you gently push a strand of hair away from his forehead. "You're fucking right. But for now, Ivar, you know what?  Give it a rest and just fucking shut up!"

🛡⚔️🛡

@honestsycrets @saldelys @waiting4inspiration @lisinfleur @hecohansen31 @a-mess-of-fandoms @gearhead66 @readsalot73 @lonewolf471

[wings-of-a-storm]

So there’s a scene in ‘Love, Victor’ that I can’t seem to stop thinking about. It just fascinates me to a ridiculous level (probably more than it warrants, to be honest). It’s when Benji sings ‘Call Me Maybe’ to Victor at Battle of the Bands.

Yes, this moment! I have yielded to its power.

Like where the hell do I even begin to start unpacking the existence of this kind of moment so early on in the show?

To start with, I used to be haunted by the question: Was Benji actually singing to Victor with that intense eye-contact for the whole song or was the entire thing just “Victor Vision” and symbolic of what Victor wishes was happening?

And at first, my answer was: There’s just no wayyyy Benji could have actually done that! For the simple reason of HOW THE HELL WOULD HE HAVE BEEN ABLE TO JUSTIFY THAT TO HIMSELF? Singing a love song inspired by another guy, to that guy’s face, while the boyfriend he is super committed to is literally standing beside him, dropping phat beats on his bass to help the song come to life?

And yet…over the course of the performance, Benji starts to look almost angry/bitter/sad as he’s singing.

And as soon as the performance wraps up, Benji’s eyes are still locked right onto Victor’s as he steps off the stage. Like there is no searching, he knows exactly were Victor is and heads straight to him. And even more telling, once his Singer Persona drops off, he is nervously fiddling with his hands as he walks to Victor, like he’s waiting for Victor’s verdict of the performance. Kind of like: “Did you like it? Because I know how much you love that song and I sang it for you.”

I mean… Excuse me, sir? Consider me convinced that Benji really was singing it while staring at Victor the whole time, and Victor Vision just embellished parts. And you know what, that suddenly turns a fairly tropey scene into something so much more psychologically stimulating. Welcome to the holy trifecta of burning questions:

- Why did Benji make a cover in the first place? - Why did he sing it staring at Victor the whole time? - How did he justify it to himself?

The beauty of Benji's enigma is that the answers to those questions can be anything you want them to be. So many reasons fit, and so many overlap. It’s really rather fun to try and figure it all out, especially when there aren’t really any wrong answers.

So I guess here are mine:

WHY DID BENJI MAKE A COVER IN THE FIRST PLACE?

Fact: After sharing a fun Moment with Victor (dancing together like no one but Victor’s mother was watching, hah), Benji went home inspired to turn that song into a cover of his own. Why? Looking at it logically, their time together must have meant a lot to Benji, more than anyone could have realised. It affected him to the point where he had to preserve that moment, live in it for a bit longer, and also unpack it in his own mind in a way he’s most familiar and comfortable with: a creative outlet.

I love the idea of Benji listening to ‘Call Me Maybe’ over and over again when he got back home. At first just to relive the high he got from sharing such an uninhibited Moment with Victor (a rare occurrence after spending so much of his time walking around egg shells with Derek?). But then, after the nth play, getting the inspiration to make his own slower version of the track to better explore his feelings about that night and the way Victor makes him feel. Then finally re-listening to the song over and over again but this time to get the right chords and the right splicing/arrangement of lyrics that could convey his feelings but not completely cross the line into full on romance…

But Benji making that cover could have been inspired by so many tangled up reasons, like:

- He realised the lyrics were mirroring his own thoughts and experience, so singing it out loud was helping him process the harmless crush he seemed to be developing

- He wanted to preserve the memory of their dancing Moment because it gives him a dose of happy feels to relive it

- He may have partly intended to make the new version as a sort of gift to Victor that he’d one day play for him (maybe even at Battle of the Bands if Victor changed his mind and showed up). A gift that would further tie them together and cement their friendship, be a way to show Victor how much their friendship already means to him, and give back a little to Victor for trusting Benji with personal/embarrassing information about his guilty pleasures. Like a pre-Drawing gift, with similar energy

And let’s be real, also to try to impress Victor so that Benji can feel a little cool and desirable since it seems he doesn’t often get to feel that way around Derek. Like seriously, who can forget the lingering looks of anticipation Benji gave Victor when he first told him he was a Lead Singer in a Band. He wanted to impress Victor so badly. And who wouldn’t crave Victor’s sweet brand of attention?

Okay, so now Benji has a cover. But…

WHY DID BENJI SING IT STARING AT VICTOR THE WHOLE TIME?

Well firstly, how passionate must Benji have been behind the scenes if he was able to arrange a cover in less than 24 hours before the contest and prioritise it in band practice so that everyone was on board with his musical whim? (And how did he convince Derek to play such an unpretentious song?)

But I imagine the Intense Staring was probably a mixture of:

- Benji had probably spent a lot of the night hoping that Victor would miraculously show up after all (that mood of secretly looking through the crowd every so often throughout the night just in case…). And then when Victor actually did show up, Benji made the band play CMM even though they were still workshopping it, and got so caught up in his excitement and determination, he zeroed in on Victor hard and forgot to reign it in

- Because Benji feels something for Victor (even if he can’t name what exactly that is), and performance is a safe way to express the things he’s not meant to be feeling. It’s a safe space because when you’re performing something, you have the creative freedom to be someone else, to become another version of yourself, a persona, with the license to use whatever emotions you have in your arsenal to tell a story. Benji could express his yearning and fascination (etc) for Victor with the distance of a parallel universe or alternate reality. Stage Benji is allowed to stare

- Because Mia was there with Victor and Benji felt compelled and determined to win Victor’s attention back. You know, some good old fashioned jealousy born of insecurity -- that feeling of being a little insecure and protective of a new friendship, of wanting that person to just see you as special, of feeling like you have something to prove or you’ll end up forgotten in the background. (And maybe he was also a little sick of straight(?) girls having it so easy with the cute guys…)

- Because Benji subconsciously wanted to telegraph to Victor that he is interested in him (and is bitter that it’s not that simple) and wanted to see if Victor bites back. For science

- Or maybe because Benji saw a perfect chance to perform the song as a cute gift to Victor since he actually showed up, but then his intentions quickly unravelled into the prior points, haha

And that leads me to…

HOW DID HE JUSTIFY THE INTENSE* STARING TO HIMSELF?

(*Because even if the song was meant to be something innocent like a homage to an in-joke with Victor or a harmless means to process his feelings on this new and exciting friendship with an attractive boy, the intensity with which he sang it felt like something else entirely. It transcended friendship into a very ambiguous zone. And there was so much yearning in it. Particularly by the end...)

I think Benji probably justified his behaviour by thinking:

- It’s okay for Lead Singer Benji to stare at his muse while performing a story. (It’s just a persona, there’s no need for guilt!)

- It’s normal to be excited by a new friendship and it’s okay to want to sing a giddy song about that experience. And at worst, it’s just a harmless crush that will eventually fade once the novelty wears off. It’s not like he has any intention to do anything further with it since he is committed to Derek. It’s just fun to feel the tingles of a teeny crush…….

Alright, that’s it. I’m out. I’m done. I’ve got nothing left. Thanks for the ride, Benji, you mysterious, complicated, hopeless romantic.

[winryofresembool]

Things We Lost in the Fire, ch 4

aka Caleo uni au

Fic summary: Calypso starts studying at a new university, but to her annoyance her new flatmate is a loud mouthed mechanic who also likes to sneak his dog in whenever. But as she learns to know him better, she realizes they might have more in common than what she first thought. Eventually, even the darkest secrets come out…

Chapter summary: Leo makes a deal with Piper and Jason.

A/N:  Time to introduce more characters! I'm currently reading The Burning Maze (yeah, wish me luck) so I'm not gonna lie, I'm feeling for Jason and Piper more than before and that will probably show in this fic too. But worry not, no body is dying in my story (yet). Anyways, I had a lot of fun with this chapter and Leo's pov and I hope it shows! As usual, thanks to the lovely Cris for noticing my silly mistakes! Feedback would be really loved as it's the only way for me to know what you guys think of this (and it really motivates me!)

Characters in this ch: Leo, Piper, Jason

Words: 2100+

Genre: romance & hurt/comfort (in the future chapters)

Warnings: none

previous chapter / next chapter / AO3

...

“You know, when you told me you’d be moving out of our flat, I didn’t realize you’d be switching our modest mancave to… basically a mansion.” Leo whistled. He was visiting Jason and his girlfriend Piper’s new home for the first time, only to find out that the place was a new two-floor, 5-bedroom house with a big yard and a garage. Leo knew Piper’s dad was a famous movie star but even so, he couldn’t help but be surprised by the size and the fanciness of the place.

“Yeah,” Jason agreed, ruffling his short, spiky hair awkwardly. He knew about Leo’s background, the part about no biological parents and having to live on the streets for weeks between different foster homes until the police finally picked him and made him go to another family. That’s why Jason didn’t like to make a big number of living in such a place and about the fact that both his and Piper’s dads were rich and well known. As a matter of fact, Jason has moved away from his childhood home already at 16, living with his sister Thalia and working after school to pay for his living because he didn’t get along with his father well. Having Piper’s dad fund the new place had not been an easy thing to swallow for him and Jason swore that once he had gotten a job, he would pay him back. “I told Piper’s dad that we’d be perfectly happy with something smaller, but he refused to listen,” he told Leo too.

“Must be pretty great to have a father like that,” Leo mumbled under his breath, and Jason didn’t miss the tone of his voice.

“I know what it sounds like, but believe me, both of us have had our own issues with our parents.” It wasn’t a lie. Jason’s mother had died of a severe illness when he was young, and his father had always expected him to take over his business when he got older. However, Jason had never wanted that, which led to a huge argument and his father telling him he’d disown him entirely if Jason didn’t listen to him. 

Piper’s dad again was almost never home, being busy with his work, and her mother had left her family when she was a young kid. Piper had visited her occasionally until her teenage years, but these days she only saw her about once a year. From what Piper had heard, she was constantly running after new men and busy with her beauty business. All that meant that Piper was basically raised by a nanny, and she was suspecting that her dad had gotten the house mainly out of regret. 

Either way, even though Jason and Piper’s experiences hadn’t been quite as traumatic as Leo’s, perhaps the problematic family backgrounds had been an important uniting factor for the three of them when they learned to know each other. It was also a big reason why Leo wasn’t actually bitter towards his friends about this new luxury. He knew they deserved to have good things in their lives after what they had gone through.

“Yeah, I know,” Leo replied to Jason. “Don’t worry man, I was just surprised, that’s all. Now you have some space to invite Uncle Leo over sometimes too, right?”

“As long as you remember to pull your head from your machine clouds sometimes,” Jason jabbed back. “It’s been a while since I’ve heard anything from you. How are things going?”

“Busy busy,” Leo answered. “You know, the usual: the profs being a huge pain in my ass, people lining up to get me to fix their things that in reality would take them like 3 minutes to fix and… oh, I have a new flatmate.”

“You do?” Jason asked curiously. “What’s he like?”

“First of all, she’s a she and it’s a long story so I’d prefer to tell it when Piper is hearing it too so I don’t have to tell it twice,” Leo said, so that Jason wouldn’t ask more questions. The blonde boy simply nodded and gestured towards the entrance of the house. After that he gave Leo a quick tour on the first floor. 

“You have this much space here and no workshop? Holy Hephaestus, dude, you need to sort out your priorities!” Leo exclaimed once he had seen most of it. 

“Hephaestus? That’s a new one,” Jason said with amusement. 

“Yeah, well… my new flatmate is into Greek mythology… and Hephaestus is the god of blacksmiths… so that’s kinda cool,” Leo explained as nonchalantly as possible. 

 “Yeah, but did you really pay attention to the mythology lessons? I thought you only care about sciences and handicrafts,” Jason pointed out.

“Fine, you got me. Everything I know about Greek mythology is through my childhood nanny.” Jason couldn’t help but snort at that. 

Leo had to admit he was rather impressed by what he had seen even though the house was still lacking a workshop. Besides, Jason had already promised the guest room would be open for him any time he wanted, which was an offer he would definitely be using soon enough.

“Hi, Leo!” a brown haired girl greeted him happily as soon as he reached the living room. 

“Pipes, hi!” Leo greeted back, throwing her a high five as was their usual habit every time they met. “Would your dad be willing to buy me a place too so I could move away from that old, dusty building?”

“He’s a nice guy, Leo, but he has his limits too,” Piper noted, knowing that Leo wasn’t asking seriously. “Trust me, Jason and I don’t like owing him either. But I thought you liked it in your current flat? What’s the issue?”

“I guess it just isn’t quite the same without you guys hanging out there all the time,” Leo shrugged. “And my new flatmate seems to think after 10 PM is not an appropriate time to fix people’s machines. Go figure.”

“Yeah, why would anyone want to sleep at night?” Piper replied sarcastically but then smiled at him. “So, you do have a new flatmate?”

“Yeah,” Leo nodded, not elaborating more.

Jason couldn’t help but tease a bit: “And it’s a girl and he refused to tell me anything about her.”

“Oh,” Piper said, a curious gleaming in her eyes, “Is that so, Leo?”

Leo punched Jason on his bicep, which however only made him laugh. “Your boyfriend here is changing facts. I only told him that I’d like to tell the full story when you’re hearing it too because I don’t care about going through it any more times than necessary.”

“You’re being quite grumpy about it, though,” Jason retorted. “C’mon, we’re curious.”

“Fine.” Leo sighed. “Her name is Calypso and she’s a history student,” he said simply.

“Wow, I feel I basically know her already,” Piper replied sarcastically. “There must be something else too,” she urged with an encouraging tone that usually never failed to make Leo talk. “What about the long story?”

Suddenly Leo blurted the whole story from their meeting to her cold attitude to Festus breaking Calypso’s desk and to him fixing it and finally cracking her shell a bit. Not much, Leo felt, but at least she greeted him now when they were in the common area at the same time and didn’t seem quite as angry at him anymore. She had even smiled at him the other day. Briefly. Leo tried to shake that thought out of his head. Damn it, why did he always have a thing for girls who were way out of his league (and who hated his guts)?

“Tough luck, man,” Jason said when Leo finished his story. “Maybe she will come around, though.”

Piper, who was very good at reading people’s emotions, though, reacted quite differently.

“Try to think about it from her point of view. She has, based on what you just said, just moved to a new town where she knows no one, and then the first person she meets was – don’t take this as an offense - maybe a bit different than what she expected and then he also breaks what little she owns… I’d probably be pissed off too. So instead of firing back – if she’s still angry – you could try a different approach. You know, actually being nice to her and not making jokes at inappropriate moments.”

Leo frowned. “Hey! It wasn’t like I was intentionally trying to be rude or break anything! I did apologize and fix the desk! She just makes it so easy to be snarky sometimes…”

“Have you really tried to get to know her, though?” Piper asked. “She could be happy if you showed some actual interest in her.”

Leo blushed a bit at the word ‘interest’. “I’m really not so sure about that… To me she seems the happiest when I just let her be.”

“But you’re gonna live together for a while, you can’t just avoid her forever,” Piper pointed out.

“I hate it when you’re right, beauty queen,” Leo rolled his eyes at her. Jason decided to change the topic.

“Hey, how about a card game? If Leo wins, we’ll let you withdraw into your tinkering cave for one more week. If you lose, then we are challenging you to talk to her within the next 24 hours.”

“Sounds like a pretty unfair deal,” Leo muttered. “But knowing you guys you won’t be giving me a choice. However, if I win, I demand to get to live here from next Friday to Sunday, free food and foot massages included.”

“I’m not gonna touch your dirty feet!” Jason protested.

“But if I’m gonna have to talk to her either way, I feel it’s a fair deal.” Leo grinned as if he had won already. 

“Alright. You can spend here even a whole week if you want and we will buy your food BUT we are not gonna massage your feet,” Piper tried to compromise.

“Bummer. I was really looking forward to that. But fine, I’ll accept the deal.” Leo shook both Piper and Jason’s hands to seal it. “Now, let me show you what a real card master can do!”

…

Leo turned out to be an amazing card mixer (his hands always fiddled with something so he had definitely practiced card mixing too) and a good strategist (his main strategy was trying to distract his opponents with bad jokes) but Piper and Jason weren’t bad either. After playing for over 30 minutes, the winner still hadn’t been decided so the trio decided to go all in, the next round would decide the winner.

Piper dealt the cards this time, Leo and Jason taking theirs. A wild grin spreading to Leo’s face when he checked his cards.

“Woah. Sorry, Grace, but I’m afraid I won this game.”

“Is that so, Valdez?” Jason asked, rather confidently as well. Leo glanced at him with confusion only for a moment before he smashed his cards on the table.

“Quads!” he exclaimed happily as he spread the cards on the table for the others to see. Jason’s mouth twitched.

“Not bad, Repair Boy,” the blonde boy said, using the nickname Piper had come up with. “But I’m afraid that won’t win this.”

He showed his cards, revealing five hearts, numbers 4, 5, 6, 7 and 8. Leo’s face paled a bit and the grin disappeared.

“Straight flush! That’s impossible!” he yelped.

“It’s not!” Piper said. “But don’t worry, I think this is a win for both of us. We don’t have to buy your food and you get to stop being stubborn a bit faster. C’mon, this could be a good thing. You might have formed your opinion on her too fast.”

“Hmmph. But fine. I’ll talk to her. Tomorrow. Today, my pride has been wounded.”

Jason and Piper both muffled their giggles. Not much later, Leo decided to go home as he supposedly had homework to finish (in reality, he had already finished his physics exercises in class while bored of listening to the professor talk about something that was way too obvious to him) but the other two knew he was simply making excuses. When Leo had decided he didn’t want to do something, it was /really/ hard to get him to do it, because he was that stubborn. And clearly talking with that girl was one of those things.

Once Jason and Piper had waved Leo goodbye and watched him strut farther on the road, Piper asked quietly: “Should we have told him that the dealer may have been a bit partial and she’s also good at card tricks?”

“Nah, let him think it was a fair game. Otherwise we’ll never hear the end of it.”

“Yeah, you’re right there,” Piper admitted and the two burst into laughter.

[lindsaylouus]

7 Swans a-Swimming 🏊‍♀️🏊‍♀️🏊‍♀️ (Monsta X - I.M)

A/N: Back to the inaccurate emojis. Can you believe there isn’t a swan? (Spoiler for the 6th day, there’s not a goose either).

Just wanna say, I love Changkyun, you love Changkyun, we ALL love Changkyun

Boxing Day is always a weird one, right?

You’ve had Christmas Day, and all the build up before it. Now, there’s this massive come down. 

But usually, you’re still super festive, refusing to let the Christmas spirit leave you and gripping onto it for dear life.

This year though, was different. You didn’t feel like holding on to that joyous nature, and Changkyun had noticed.

You sat on the park bench, staring into space. You could feel the Christmas hangover in the cool air, hear children excitedly chatter to each other about what they got the day before and see loved up couples on swan boats, sailing carefree along the river.

However, when usually you’d be filled with other people’s joy, all you could focus on was your own pain.

Ugh, brooding much? But you couldn’t help it. 

Comes to something when you’re looking at the real swans paddling away in the water, and you’re jealous of them for not having relationship problems, or no relationship at all, now.

Your boyfriend had left you on Christmas Eve. Yeah. Christmas Eve. For another girl. It was still so raw, you’d been going out for almost two years, and out of the blue this happens. Well, not exactly out of the blue.

Changkyun hadn’t heard from you in almost 24 hours, which was very out of character for you, and instantly knew something was up.

‘Y/N, what the Hell, where have you been?!’ He’d finally tracked you down, knowing you always came to the park to clear your head. 

He figured he’d find you here at some point. He even thought about heading to your house on Christmas Day, but he thought better, leaving you to spend time with your family, and him.

You looked up at your friend, and slowly turned away again. You didn’t want to talk about this with him, yet there was no one else you’d rather talk to about it.

It didn’t take a genius to work out that your best friend was not the biggest fan of your boyfriend, and never had been. It wasn’t without good reason, either. 

Not long after the two of you began dating, Changkyun and his friends invited the both of you to their New Year’s Eve party. They wanted to meet your new man, and size him up, as friends do. Especially Changkyun. He was always wary and protective whenever you started dating someone new. 

You wanted to confront him face to face while you had the chance. You loved him, but he just never seemed to approve of your choice in men. 

He was retrieving beers from the fridge before the party kicked off, just you and him in the kitchen, this was your chance.

‘You’re young and naive, Y/N,’ Changkyun had said in response to your question.

‘I’m older than you, dumbass,’ you retorted, pinching his cheek. You were forever winding each other up, ever since you met a few years ago. A chance encounter involving a shopping cart and a rather angry shopkeeper.

It’s a long story.

‘Maybe in years, Y/N, but not in mind,’ he continued, lecturing you like a rebellious teenager, ‘I’m just doing my job as a friend, and filtering out the dogs for you.’ He winked and gave you a look that screamed, you’re welcome.

‘What does that even mean?’ You pinched a beer from his arms.

‘See? Where would you be without me?’ He tried to make a get-away, but you blocked his path.

‘Why do you always talk in riddles when I ask you about this? Do you not trust me? I could really do with your support, instead of your judgement for once, Im Changkyun.’ Oh yeah, you pulled out the big guns using his full name.

Changkyun’s tongue was firmly in his cheek, before he responded.

‘It’s not you I don’t trust,’ he began, ‘and I am supporting you, by making sure you’re not being taken advantage of!’ His voice started to grow in volume.

‘Another lover’s quarrel?’ A voice said from the kitchen doorway. Kihyun had appeared behind you. ‘Why don’t you two just kiss and get it over with?’

He began to gather up a variety of covered plates to take through to the living room, as per, enough food to feed an army. Or seven hungry mouths.

‘Not you as well,’ you rolled your eyes and knocked your beer bottle on the kitchen counter, opening it.

‘So you’re the reason we have dents in this!!??’ Kihyun stopped in his tracks, extremely unimpressed by yet another small nook on ‘his’ counter. You froze, but at least it took his mind off teasing you and Changkyun.

He huffed and left the kitchen in a flurry, tutting at you both.

You giggled at each other. One thing that united you more than picking on each other, was picking on Kihyun. 

‘Changkyun, can you please, just try to be nice. Just this once, for me. I really like this guy and I don’t want to screw it up.’ You’d resorted to begging.

Changkyun saw the pleading in your eyes, ‘OK,’ he huffed, ‘but I’m doing it for you, because you asked so nicely.’ He mimicked you and swayed out of the kitchen. You wanted to both laugh at him and strangle him, all at once.

The night had been going pretty well, laughs, jokes, pleasantries, you were impressed. Especially with Changkyun, he really was trying. He’d been chatting to your boyfriend for a while now and they seemed to be getting along. Just the idea of him liking your new man, put a huge smile on your face.

If only it lasted. That same night, whatever positive thoughts you had, were eradicated.

‘I SWEAR Y/N, I wouldn’t make this up!’ Changkyun grabbed your wrist, as you tried to turn away from him.

‘ENOUGH CHANGKYUN! I don’t care what you think you heard, OK? I don’t care, I’ve literally had enough!’ You escaped his grip and stormed down the stairs.

‘Y/N, please! You have to believe me!’ He rocketed down the steps after you. Both of your voices were reaching volumes that others were noticing, including your new boyfriend.

You turned suddenly, stopping him in his tracks, your voice lowered, almost as a warning. ‘Just stop, Changkyun, please. I can’t do this with you anymore. Something always comes up, there’s always a reason. Always. I don’t want to lose you. But, I can’t do this.’

With that, you and your date left.

You couldn’t help but cry that night. You just couldn’t win. Since when did this friendship become so hard?

As time went on, you and Changkyun reconciled. You couldn’t not be in each other’s lives. You agreed to turn the other cheek, and not force Changkyun to get on with your boyfriend. In turn, he agreed not to talk about him at all when he was with you. 

Not an ideal arrangement, but it was worth it if it meant you two could just hang out.

Now you were both sat on the park bench, trying and failing to think of what to say.

‘I’m sorry, Y/N. It was a long time ago now..’ Changkyun was sat about a foot away from you, legs stretched out, hands in his lap.

‘But you were right. All that time I thought.. I don’t even know what I thought. I guess part of me always knew you were right, that he was seeing someone else. I just didn’t want to believe you.’ You sighed heavily and finally looked Changkyun in the eyes.

Those eyes. Eyes that you trusted more than anything else in the world. Even if you didn’t act like it. 

Looking back, he’d always been right. Whenever he had an inkling, a hunch or any kind of negative vibe about someone, he’d always been right. So annoying.

He let his mind wonder back to that party two years ago. He’d overheard your new boyfriend talking to another girl on his phone. Changkyun had stuck around long enough to know for sure and immediately relayed it to you.

He knew what would happen. He knew he’d been quick to judge your other dates in the past, but this was different. But he had to step back, it was the hardest thing he’d ever had to do. It’d been a long couple of years. But it confirmed one thing for sure. He was completely in love with you.

Shocker.

Changkyun finally met your eyes, and neither of you looked away.

‘I’m so sorry, Changkyun,’ you meekly said, as tears were brimming in your eyes.

He quickly wrapped his arms around you, saying nothing, not needing to. He was your friend first and foremost and he wouldn’t let anything threaten that. He also knew that there was only one way to react in this situation.

‘I don’t want a lot for Christmas...’ 

Your eyes shot open, was he singing?

‘There is just one thing I neeeeeed.’

Oh Lord, he’s singing.

‘I don’t care about the presents, underneath the Christmas Treeeee.’

Why is he singing?

‘I just want you for my own, more than you could ever knowwww.’ 

He was getting progressively louder.

‘Make my wish come truuuuuuuuuuuueeee, ooooh ooo ooooh.’

He’s too into it, you’ve lost him.

‘All I want, for Christmaaass, iiiiiiiiiisssssss YOOOOOOOOUUUUU.’

You wiggled out of his grip, and before he could utter another note, your lips were on his.

Changkyun’s eyes opened, his arms were out by his sides. He couldn’t quite process what was happening. As your hands held either side of his face, he decided to just go with it. He relaxed and closed his eyes, but placed his hands on his own thighs. 

He didn’t want to kid himself that this would go further than a park bench.

To you, something about this felt right, yet so weird at the same time. I mean, this is Changkyun, your friend, the dude who sings loudly in public to make you laugh, he was your confidant, your emotional support...

Wow, he’s everything that other guys hadn’t been. Woah, serious lightbulb moment.

You broke the kiss and pulled away, but still remained close enough, that you could feel his warm breath against your face.

‘I’m so sorry Changkyun, I.. I.. I’m so freaking stupid!’ Realisation had hit you like a tonne of bricks.

‘Can I get that in writing please? Or I can record it on my phone, if that’s easier?’ The smallest of smirks appearing on his face. A face that you had forced yourself to be blind to for the last three years.

You hit him on the shoulder and he dramatically fell back on the bench, feigning injury.

You smiled for the first time in two days.

‘I don’t deserve you,’ a solemn truth in your words, hung in the air.

‘No, Y/N,’ Changkyun lifted himself up to look at you once more, ‘you deserve better than what you’ve been settling for.’

You stared at your friend, wide eyed, things continuously falling into place.

‘Ahh, I’m so cheesy,’ Changkyun giggled, there he was, forever unchanging, ‘but it’s the truth.’

‘So.. what now?’ You looked at him expectantly, everything was so up in the air.

He takes a deep breath, ‘I’ll be your friend for as long as you need me to. And, if you ever need more than that from me, I’ll be right here.’ 

You couldn’t believe how lucky you were. The friend who’d stuck by your side, who loved you, who had to sit and watch you make a complete fool of yourself for years, still wanted you.

‘But for now,’ he continued, ‘we go on one of those.’ He pointed to one of the large swan boats you’d been looking at earlier.

‘Really?’ This guy was just full of surprises today.

‘Yep, you’ve always wanted to go on one of these, but all your previous suitors were all scrooges. Not this guy. Consider it a Boxing Day gift.’

Changkyun stood up and offered his hand to you.

You take it, and don’t let go. Before walking off to the boats, you place a soft kiss on his cheek. You never felt worthy of someone like Changkyun, you didn’t think you’d be good enough for him. He was such a special guy, you felt like you had nothing to give in return.

And yet, settling for others was what could’ve torn you apart. Turns out you were the dumbass, not him.

He smiles at you again, before saying, ‘let’s not tell Kihyun about this, we’ll never hear the last of it.’

‘Agreed,’ you replied whole heatedly, good old Kihyun, reuniting you once again.

[lovelyshawnn]

Nervous: CEO! Reader x Intern! Shawn Part 2

After the steamy interaction between me and Shawn and his abrupt disappearance, I was left in a flurry of emotions. I felt sad and angry and embarrassed and disappointed all at the same time. But was I just in over my head? Did I really think anything good could’ve come from this ‘relationship’? Not knowing what else to do, I decided to brush the whole encounter off and act like it didn’t happen. However, I had to admit that it did dampen my mood for the rest of the week.

Maybe I should just give up on men all together, I thought as a I huffed a breath of frustration as the elevator doors opened to my office floor. Arlene was quick to greet me at the entrance, immediately going over today’s schedule. My mind was preoccupied, recalling that event with Shawn, which caused me to space out. Arlene’s voice sounded muffled as I continued to space out completely, until I heard a specific name that snapped me back to reality.

“Stella should be sending you reports at 10am, I’ll print out all your copies by 11am, and you have a lunch meeting with Harry Styles here at 2pm. Should I get bagels or sandwiches? Or both? You’re right, I should get both,” Arlene rambled.

I immediately stopped dead in my tracks, stopping right in front of my office as I turned to Arlene and grabbed her shoulders. My eyes were widened as I spoke, “Wait, what? Did you say Harry Styles? As in, CEO of Styles & Co?”

Arlene’s grin widened ear to ear, “Yup.”

“Shut up. No way! How did you do that?” I fangirled like a hormonal teenage girl. Harry Styles was one of the most successful young entrepreneurs in the world. He was also insanely hot and charming, so it was understandable that I was totally geeking out about him right now. Harry was one of my biggest icons ever as I was starting my career off, and to actually meet him in person was a dream come true.

“I have some connections with his assistant,” Arlene smirked. Holy shit, I gotta give this girl a raise, I thought before engulfing her in a bear hug.

“Thank you thank you thank you!” I repeated. She laughed before releasing me from her tight embrace, “Its no problem, love. You’ve been lookin’ a little down lately, so I thought this might cheer ya up! I gotta get back to work, but I’ll have Shawn send in your iced coffee soon alright?”

I nodded eagerly, excitement still coursing through my bloodstream. If it wasn’t for the meeting with Harry today, the mention of Shawn would probably bring my mood down, but I couldn’t even care about that right now. I chewed my lip nervously as I tried to bite back my happy smile while entering my office. I’ve never really felt this way before, being excited and nervous to meet one of my icons. I was always used to being the icon, being the one people get nervous to meet, so this was an entirely new feeling to me.

I couldn’t help but do a tiny little victory dance,waving my arms and legs in the middle of the room. A cough interupted my dance as I halted my movements.

Shawn stood by the door, iced coffee in hand as he was noticeably trying to contain his laughter from my terrible dancing. A crimson red blushed appeared on my cheeks as the embarrassment hit. But just as fast as embarrassment hit, so did irritation.

I rolled my eyes. “Don’t you ever knock?” I sassed him in an annoyed tone.

His smile instantly disentigrated once he heard my harsh tone. “Oh, uh, your door was open and I just- I-I’m sorry,” he babbled before taking long strides to place the coffee cup in my outstretched hand.

“Its fine,” I waved my hand at him dismissively, “Just don’t do that again.”

He nodded frantically. “So whats got you dancing by yourself in your office?” Shawn asked teasingly.

I groaned, closing my eyes and pinching the bridge of my nose. This only added on to Shawn’s amusement as he chuckled in response.

“I have a lunch meeting with Harry Styles today,” I said confidently with a bashful smile.

“Oh?” Shawn’s eyebrows raised.

“Yeah,” I giggled slightly, “I can’t believe I’m meeting a 24 year old self-made millionaire!”

“Wow,” Shawn muttered, “I’m really happy for you.” He lied through his teeth with this statement, he wasn’t feeling happy at all.

Seeing you meet Harry, someone with a lot more in common with you than Shawn, only confirmed his doubts. Shawn didn’t feel good enough for you. You were a smoking hot CEO that knew everything there was to know about running a business, and he was just... your intern. Thats why he left in such a hurry last night. Watching you make important business phone calls in the middle of your intimate moment made him overthink...what if he couldn’t give you everything that you deserved? But maybe Harry could.

I was fidgeting the entire day, excitement bubbling throughout my body as the clock clicked closer to 2pm. I adjusted and readjusted every piece of furniture in my office almost a dozen times in hopes that it’ll impress Mr. Styles.

Shawn peered through my offices wide open door every once in awhile, watching my electrified state. He thought it was adorable how thrilled you were, but he just wished you would feel that way about him.

Once the clock striked exactly 2pm, there was a ding by the elevators that signalled a person’s arrival. There was Harry Styles, black suit and all, strutting through the premises. His curly hair was perfectly styled and there was not a single crease in his suit. His clean shaven face flaunted his chiseled jawline that was sharp enough to cut. The whole floor fell quiet, he had the same effect on the office as Y/N did. Arlene introduced herself politely before escorting him to Y/N’s room, where the door was shut closed and the workers went back to their usual chatter.

But Shawn didn’t go back to his usual talkative self. He sat there, typing out his assigned paperwork as his mind tried to imagine what you two were doing in there and what you two were talking about. His couldn’t keep his mind off of you, couldn’t stop thinking about what would happen if it was him in Harry’s position. Couldn’t stop thinking about what he’d like to do if it was just you and him in that same office that you were alone in with Harry right this moment.

Shawn’s jaw clenched as he heard the sound of your laughter coming from your office. The same laughter he heard when you two were at the pier, looking through many of the gift shops. The same laughter that he grew infatuated with. But this laughter was different. This laughter was caused by another man.

It was odd, really. Shawn had never felt this captivated by a woman before he had met Y/N. And he only met Y/N just last week, so he had no idea what overcome him. Shawn was never really the jealous type either, but the thought of Y/N with Harry irritated him to no end.

After a few minutes of silently fuming by his desk, curiousity got the best of him. He wanted to get inside that office and see what you two were doing, what was causing your angelic laughter.

As if on cue, Arlene walked through the elevator doors, juggling a box full of assorted bagels, sandwiches, and drinks in her arms. Shawn shot up out of his seat.

“Let me help you with that! Here, I can take it in for you,” Shawn insisted as he took the boxes out of Arlene’s arms and into his big strong ones. Arlene thanked him before returning to her cubicle. Shawn made his way to your office with your 20 different types of catered food and drink, knocking briefly before swinging the door open.

Harry and Y/N were sat across the desk from each other, both leaning towards each other with their elbows planted firmly on the table. Y/N’s hand was placed on Harry’s bicep flirtaciously before she quickly ripped it away at the sound of Shawn’s knock.

Shawn walked in smugly, pleased with himself for interupting their friendly meeting. “Foods here!” he chirped happily while walking over to my side of the desk.

I thanked him while helping him unpack all the to go containers and placing them on my desk. Shawn eyed my bare thigh that was exposed when my grey pencil skirt started to ride up. My tight skirt did a great job at distracting Shawn, which caused him to clumsily grab onto a mini cream cheese cup and accidentally spill a small amount on to my thigh.

I gasped at the feeling of the cold cream hitting my leg while Shawn gasped in absolute horror. “I’m so sorry Mrs. Y/L/N, let me clean it for you.”

He grabbed a napkin before leaning down under my desk, kneeling eye-to-eye with my lap. Suddenly, a lightbulb flickered on inside his head. He dragged his thumb along the cream that rested on my inner thigh, scooping it up and sucking the white cream into his mouth all while maintaining eye contact with me the entire time.

I watched as he brutally teased me. I could feel my panties grow wetter as I took in the sight in front of me. Shawn was on his knees, under my desk, licking off cream while looking up at me daringly with his big eyes. I bit my lip to contain my moan. Oh how I wanted so badly for him to have his mouth on me at the moment.

Shawn quickly got up on his feet again, not wanting Harry to get suspicious over their little moment. I coughed awkwardly before tearing my eyes off of Shawn and back to Harry, who was completely oblivious to us while he stuffed his face with one of the sandwiches.

“Go.” I said sternly and waved Shawn out of my office. He saw through my hard exterior, smirking as he walked out, knowing damn well how wet he was getting me.

Harry and I continued our casual conversation and even mentioned a possible collaboration. We talked for hours, much to Shawn’s dismay. However, he didn’t feel the need to barge in again after he saw the way my eyes trained on him as he sat between my legs. He knew I wanted him just as badly as he wanted me.

I escorted Harry out around 6, which meant the office was nearly empty at that point of time. We shook hands before leaning in for kisses on the cheek and speaking promises to keep in touch. I had a huge childish grin on my face as I watched the elevator doors close on him, completely esctatic to know what one of my life goals to meet him was finally accomplished. I waltzed back into my office happily when I walked past my trashcan that held the mini cream cheese cups. Those reminded me of that little incident that occured earlier.

“Shawn,” I stated urgently and assertively, “In my office. Now.”

Shawn rose from his seat in his cubicle with a smug smile, anticipating the same kind of treatment he received when we were last in my office alone. He was thinking about your body pressed up against his the entire day today, and he was ready to continue what you two started a few nights ago. But boy, was he wrong.

You didn’t push him up against the wall and plant your lips onto his. You didn’t flirt with him or trail kiss along his jawline. You didn’t even smile at him once.

You stood there angrily, “What you did today was highly unprofessional. I expect you not to partake in such behaviors for the rest of your internship, or you will be terminated.”

a/n: cliffhangeeer!! KEKEKEK stay tuned for part 3 (: pls leave feedback

taglist: @vxidnik @justjustyncase @onemorekissisallittakes @kindadefinitely-fucked @hollandechart @imfreefallinall @ashwarren32

[survivingthejungle]

hopeless wanderer ii

   You awoke to the sensation of being nudged.

   “(Y/N). Wake up. It is daybreak.”

   “Five more minutes,” you grumbled, burying your face deeper into your pillow. The voice refused to grant you this wish.

   “No. You must get up! After you go to the Seer, Ragnar will send you home.” This made you open your eyes and begin to sit up and stretch.

   “Ah, home. My mother is gonna grill me when I get back.” It happened to be that the person speaking to you was Ivar, characteristically seated on the ground next to your makeshift bed.

   “What, you think she is going to be angry with you?”

   “Oh, absolutely,” you responded. “I went for a walk yesterday and never came back; I never texted or called her to tell her where I was, and when I come back completely fine with no explanation she’ll actually kill me. It was nice knowing you.”

   “You could always stay,” Ivar offered, looking at you with his ocean blue eyes. “Become a Viking.”

   “Hm… Thanks for the offer, but I have to pass. I have a pretty good life back home, I don’t feel like relinquishing it just yet,” you explained.

   “Good morning, time-traveler!” Ragnar greeted as he entered the Great Hall.

   “Good morning,” you responded, trying to sound as chipper as possible, but failing miserably.

   “I suppose you are ready to visit the Seer this morning? And when that is done, you are free to go home,” he told you.

   “Gladly. Lead the way!”

—

   You arrived at what appeared like a terribly dilapidated shack, but upon entering it it was evident that someone lived there. There were various bottles filled with various substances all over the walls, and handfuls of altars dedicated to different gods. In the center of the hut-like edifice was a shallow—very shallow— pit, and in it laid a body completely adorned in black. Upon further inspection, you noticed that the man’s face was very disfigured, and he didn’t have any eyes. Huh, I guess that’s why they call him the Seer, then. Irony.

   “I’ve been expecting you.”

   “Oh. Um… What for? What did you want to say to me?”

   “You must know something,” he told you, “You have a gift. One that many desire, but do not believe exists. The ability to travel through the ages has always been fantasized about, but never achieved; not until you came along. We hope that you will use this gift for the betterment of our great kingdom, and not to wage war against us with our enemies.”

   “I don’t wanna go to war with anyone,” you assured, “I’m a pretty avid pacifist. No worries there. But, what do you mean I have the ‘ability’? Like I can just come and go whenever I want?”

   “More or less,” he verified. “The bracelet that I gave to Ragnar will act as a link of sorts, to your present and to ours. You can come and go as you please, you need only envision where you want to be.”

   Oh, dope, you thought. Your voice was slow to catch up with your brain, however. “So, I can just… go?”

   “Yes,” he clarified. “But please, try not to stay gone so long. The Gods only know how much the Lothbroks need guidance, especially the Ragnarsons.” You guessed that Lothbrok was Ragnar’s family name, and that meant that all the brothers you’d met were his kids— hence their last name.

   “Oh, sure,” you told him, “I’ll be around. Thank you so much for your help. Can I… Can I get back home, now?”

   “Go. Ragnar has what you need.”

—

   “This is the bracelet I was instructed to give you,” Ragnar said, fastening it around your wrist. You were glad that it seemed to be relatively simple; it wouldn’t draw attention to you for being ancient. He and all of his sons sat at the long table in the Great Hall, while you were standing.

   “Huh. It’s cool, I like it,” you noted. “So I guess I just… go, then?” you asked out loud. You were met with a cluster of unsure nods and ‘uh-huh’s. “Alright. Cool. Well… I’ll be seeing you all around.”

   The king and the princes all wished you farewell as you closed your eyes and clasped one hand around the charm on the bracelet.

   You felt a rush of wind wrack your body and almost stumble for a moment, as if you were on a subway that had abruptly stopped. Opening your eyes, you found yourself back in the forest you’d come from. It was still early in the morning, so you began making your way back home. Now that you were on familiar terrain, you had no problem navigating. Better start getting my story ready, you told yourself.

—

You finally made it back to your neighborhood and made a beeline toward your house. There were two cop cars parked outside, and you felt your heart drop down to your stomach. Oh shit. Oh, shit. You picked up your pace, jogging all the way up to your front porch, and you locked eyes with your worry-stricken mother. She immediately rushed outside, embracing you in her arms, before she began to scold you. “Where the hell have you been? Do you have any idea how worried I was? And your father? We were trying to file a missing persons report! We thought you’d been kidnapped or murdered! Explain yourself!”

   “Mom, I’m so so sorry,” you began, meaning in genuinely. You hated seeing your mom upset with you, and about you. “I was on a walk, and I didn’t have my phone—”

   “Of course,” she scoffs, “The one time you don’t have that damn thing on you.”

   “I know, I’m sorry. But I took a wrong turn in the woods and I couldn’t figure out how to get back, and I couldn’t find my way home… There was little cliff with an opening in it, and I fit, so when it got really dark I just slept there for the night. And as soon as I woke up and it was light outside I just started walking again until I got out of the woods, and then I just headed home.”

   “Oh, my God. Oh my God, my ditzy daughter,” she responded, exasperated, but hugging you once more all the while. “Don’t ever do that again. No more walking in the woods, and you better keep that phone on you at all times.”

   “I will. I’m sorry. I love you.”

   “I love you.”

   The police officers as well as your father finally made their way onto the porch. “Is this her, ma’am?” one of the officers asked.

   “Yes,” she told them, “She’s fine. She got lost in the woods last night without her phone, that’s why she didn’t come home or call.”

   “What the hell, (Y/N)?” It was your father’s turn to scold you. “I mean, what are you thinking, walking out into the woods without your phone and getting yourself lost? You’re damn lucky you aren’t dead in a ditch right now, sister! Do you know how many creeps live in the woods and could’ve taken you and killed you?”

   “I know, Dad, I’m sorry—”

   “Yeah, you better be sorry,” he told you. “Don’t ever let this happen again, or you won’t be so lucky next time.”

   “I know, I know, I’m never going to do this again,” you promised.

   “Sir, ma’am,” the cops interrupted, “If there’s no issue anymore, we can get out of your hair. Your daughter’s clearly unharmed and not missing; there’s no need to file a report since it hasn’t been a full 24 hours.”

   “We’re so sorry, officers. Thank you for being so accommodating,” your mother told them.

   “Thank you so much, I’m sorry for causing so much trouble,” you apologized.

   “It’s no problem,” the other officer responded, the both of them returning to their squad cars. “Glad you’re home safe.”

—

   Later that afternoon, after you’d showered, eaten lunch with your family—a rare occurrence—, and gone back up to your room, you were itching to go back to visit your new friends. Hardly thinking it through, you grabbed an overnight bag and stuffed it with a pair of pajamas, a toothbrush and toothpaste, water bottles, your glasses and case, and two cameras. One was an old polaroid that you’d found in your basement one year; miraculously, it still worked, and you liked to use it every once in a while. You also packed your more modern camera, so that you could take pictures while you were in the past—God, that sounds so weird— and get them developed at home. You also threw in the bag two different things of chapstick, as well as a scrunchie, a hair clip, and a handful of barrettes. Looking around your room to check that you had everything you’d want to spend the night, your eyes locked on the top drawer of your dresser. I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to bring my pocket knife. In the same little drawer, right underneath the knife, was your passport. You grabbed that as well, to show your new acquaintances as many things as you could from the modern age. In the back of the drawer was a box of bandaids— you figured it wouldn’t be a bad idea to bring them; God only knows how much they’ll probably need them.

   In your school backpack you had all of your necessary notebooks, textbooks, and folders, as well as your calculator and a sketchbook you would work on whenever you were deathly bored. “(Y/N)!” your mother called from the kitchen. “Do you want to help me make cookies?”

   “Yes, please!” you yelled back. They can wait a few more minutes, you told yourself, leaving your bags on your bed and rushing down to the kitchen. Besides, I can always bring them some once they’re done. People go ham for cookies.

   —

   Half an hour later, the cookies were all baked and cooled— you and your mother had gone a little wild and cooked forty, which probably wouldn’t last through the next two days— and you were back up in your room, bag of goodies in hand. You told your mom you were going to get your homework done and go to bed early and please do not disturb tonight. The pillows and blankets were fluffed up just enough to give off the impression that you were sleeping in your bed; that way, if your parents peeked in, they wouldn’t see that you weren’t there. You slipped some shoes on, threw the cookies in your overnight bag, and slipped both the bag and the backpack on each one of your shoulders. You grabbed the charm of the bracelet with your free hand, closed your eyes, and thought of the Great Hall where you had slept last night. You felt jolted again, and a light breeze swept over you; you opened your eyes and you were back where you had been that morning. It was empty, something you thought was probably unusual, so you decided to leave and walk around, hoping someone would know where your people were.

   Almost immediately after walking outside, you spotted a familiar face—it was Floki! “Floki!” you called, waving your arm up high to catch his attention. He glanced around for whoever called his name until he saw you. Immediately his face lit up, and he walked over to greet you.

   “Well, if it isn’t (Y/N)! What are you doing back here? I thought you left this morning.”

   “I did,” you told him, “But I’m back now. Just to hang out with everyone. Do you know where they all are?”

   “The others have just returned home,” he explained, “everyone is down at the docks to greet them. Ragnar’s oldest, Bjørn, has come back with them. You two would like each other, I think,” he noted. “I am going down to see them now, you are welcome to join me!”

   “Sure thing!” you responded; the two of you headed in the direction of the docks and, by extension, just about the entire population of the village.

   As per usual, you got a few strange glances from passersby; but since you were accompanied by the best friend of the king, they left you alone. Down at the docks, you caught sight of the princes, Ragnar, and a woman standing beside him that you’d had yet to meet. The queen, I guess? Floki guided the both of you to meet up with them, and they lit up upon seeing that you were back.

   “Well, if it isn’t our little friend, the traveler!” Ragnar greeted you, his mood obviously in a positive place. “I see you are dressed for the weather, now.”

   “Well, now that I know where exactly I’m going,” you agreed. “A girl can never go wrong with a good fleece jacket and a turtleneck.”

   Hvitserk, sitting on a post like Ivar, grinned at you before speaking. “Hello, (Y/N). Bring anything for us from the future?” he teased.

   “Funny you should ask,” you responded, smiling, “I actually did bring some snacks that you all might like.” You reached into your overnight bag and pulled out the little plastic baggie, opening it up and handing one to your new friends. Rather than reacting like everyone you knew—devouring it— they each inspected it carefully. “They won’t hurt,” you assured them, before grabbing one of the extras and taking a bite as they all followed suit. Floki spoke up first, a mouthful of cookie muffling his words.

   “These are good! What are they?”

   “Chocolate chip cookies! My mom and I make them all the time, we’re addicted.”

   “Mmh, I can see why,” Ubbe responded, taking another bite. “These are amazing. But so sweet—how much honey is in this?”

   “Uh… to my knowledge, none? I dunno, we usually just use sugar. Do you guys have sugar?”

   Sigurd joined in. “Some, but it’s very expensive and very sought after.”

   “Oh,” you nodded, “That makes sense. Where I’m from, it’s a pretty typical kitchen commodity. There’s a big industry for it. Anyways, who is it that we’re all waiting around for?”

   “There are a fleet of ships returning soon,” Ivar pointed out to the sea, and your eyes followed the direction in which he was pointing. “Bjørn Ironside is coming home; he is father’s oldest.”

   “Aw, like your big brother?” you clarified.

   “You could say that,” Hvitserk verified.

   “He is my son,” Ragnar informed you, “But he is not Aslaug’s. This is my wife,” he introduced you to her.

   “Hello,” you said to the woman, the both of you smiling. You turned to Ragnar, quietly asking, “How am I supposed to greet people? I don’t know your customs.”

   “Do not fret,” he assured you. “We all know you are new to all of this, and unfamiliar; just as we are unfamiliar with your world.”

   —

   A tall, very handsome blond man with a long braid stepped onto the dock as Ragnar proclaimed, “My son, Bjørn, has returned home!” Everyone in the crowd was cheering and celebrating, and you couldn’t help but join in and clap as well.

   The two of them made their way down the docks and back to land when the blond’s eyes landed on you. “Who’s this?” he asked, open for anyone to answer.

   “This is (Y/N),” Hvitserk responded, putting a hand on your shoulder and smiling at his half-brother. “She’s… New to Kattegat,” he explained.

   “What are you, a Saxon?” Bjørn asked you.

   “No… Not really,” you told him. “I’m from… a lot farther away than that.”

   “How far?” he questioned you, looking skeptical.

   “We will explain it all later,” Ragnar told his son, coming up behind him, “But for now, we celebrate your journey!”

—

   Vikings knew how to fucking party. Three hours after you’d showed up, and people were drunk beyond reason and could barely stand upright without needing some support. Most people at the feast had stumbled home already, and the last of them were struggling to leave through the two main doors currently. You’d placed your two bags—one for school and one for overnight— next to the fireplace and were keeping a close eye on them, not sure how a bunch of drunkards from a thousand years ago would react to them and not wanting to risk anything getting stolen. Once everyone had gone home, and your hosts were happily buzzed, you took a seat and the long table and pulled out your homework.

   “What is this?” Ubbe asked, picking up your math notebook.

   “Homework. For school,” you responded.

   “You are educated, then?”

   “I mean, I hope so!”

“Your parents must be wealthy, then, to be educating their daughter.”

“Where I’m from, it’s legally required that everyone—male or female— gets some form of formal education until they’re eighteen. Then it’s optional to continue, but most people I know choose to do so.”

   “What do they teach you?” he wondered, taking a seat across from you. The rest of the family, who were all wandering around the hall bored, began to listen in.

   “Oh, a bunch of stuff. You’ve got your math, English, history, and science, and what they teach specifically depends on how old you are. So the older you get, the more complicated and detailed the lessons are. Plus, you also get more choices on the classes that you do take as you grow. So if I know I’m really good at English, I can choose to take an advanced-level class as opposed to a general level class.” He nodded along, vaguely understanding all of the information you were throwing at him. “Then you’ve also got your arts classes, like visual ar, and then there are foreign language classes; then you have theatre and music classes. Recently they’ve offered a lot more STEM classes— that stands for science, technology, engineering, and math— and a lot of people where I’m from are really interested in that stuff, so that’s what they tend to focus in on.”

   “That seems… very busy.”

   “It does, doesn’t it?” you agreed. “But I’m used to it; it’s how I grew up. And where I’m from, it’s also different because it’s mandatory. In a lot of other places around the world, education isn’t emphasized as very important. And it’s required for boys and girls to go to school, too— and we all learn the same things.”

   “Your home sounds strange,” Sigurd noted.

   “It sure is,” you agreed, “But it’s not that bad. Besides, I like going to school— Well, I like learning, at least.” You grabbed your notebook back from Ubbe, who was flipping through it confusedly. “Anyways, I need to focus. This is all due soon.”

   “What do you mean?” Sigurd asked you.

   “It’s homework. Teachers assign it, and then you do it, and then they grade it. And everyone has a score in their classes that are anywhere from a hundred to zero… Sometimes more than a hundred, if you do extra credit or take higher level classes. Really there’s a whole lot of other things that I can’t explain right now because you all are distracting me.” Opening your textbook and notebook to get started on your calculus homework, you grabbed a pencil and a calculator and got to work, scribbling down numbers and answers and typing in formulas.

   Bjørn soon entered the room, giving you a confused look which you didn’t see because your back was turned to him. “Alright, I’m waiting— Someone explain to me who she is.”

   You raised your arm up and waved your hand at him half-heartedly. “Hi, I’m (Y/N), I’m from the future. They can explain it,” you called out, still focused on finishing your work. Ubbe stood up and moved toward his brother.

   “She appeared out of the woods yesterday. The people thought she was a witch, and a spy—but the Seer told Ragnar that she was from the future, and she is. Look,” he pointed at your calculator, sitting on the table. “Have you ever seen one of those things?”

   “No? What is it?”

   “It’s— Uh, what is it called?” he asked you.

   “A calculator. Technology from the future.” Bjørn still looked slightly apprehensive about the validity and truthfulness of your origin, but nevertheless, he conceded.

   “Alright. So she is from the future. So now what?”

   “Great question, friend. At this point? I’m just visiting because it’s fun. How many people do you know that can just jump through time whenever they want?” He paused a moment and shrugged. “You all can bet your bottom dollar that I’m gonna be visiting as often as possible.”

—

   Not long after you finished your homework—calculus and English, nothing too difficult— your new friends decided that it was time to go “train”. This, of course, just meant going to a clearing in the woods and throwing weapons around a fighting each other to prepare for real battle. It sometimes shocked you how deeply important preparing for battle was for them. You were fully aware that as a civilization of Vikings from a thousand years in the past, it was all they really had to do to exert their energy; Still, it came as a culture shock to you, a girl who had grown up with all of her nation’s wars fought overseas and prepared for miles and miles away from her home, that the entire community were all warriors who dedicated copious amounts of time to training.

   It was shocking to the Ragnarsons, as well, that you were so unconditioned to this particular lifestyle. They were as mesmerised by your society as you were with theirs. “So, you’re telling me,” Hvitserk commented in disbelief, “That instead of swords and bows, your people fight with pebbles?”

   “No, no no no, not at all,” you laughed, preparing to clarify. “We have guns, which shoot bullets—at a very high velocity, enough to pierce the skin and bone— and they’re typically the same size as small pebbles. And we don’t fight on battlefields, anymore—at least, not to my knowledge—we fight from opposite sides of ‘no man’s land’ and shoot at each other ‘til one side gives up or dies off. And we have naval and aerial warfare. Boats and planes—planes fly in the sky like birds, but they’re a lot bigger— shoot bombs and bullets at the enemy and blow up and kill people. It’s…” you paused, “It’s very aggressive.”

   “I would like to see one of these guns,” Ivar noted.

   “No. Absolutely not. I never plan on touching a gun in my life.”

   “Why not?”

   “Guns are for killing. And I have no intentions to ever kill a person, ever. I’m not that kind of person.”

   “Huh,” Ivar laughed, “Maybe you are not fit to be a Viking, after all.”

   “You got that right!” You suddenly remembered that in your purse, hanging off of your shoulder, you’d brought a camera with you. It was an old Polaroid, one from your parent’s younger years, but it still worked, and it even had film ready to go. “Hey,” you said, “Do you guys wanna see something cool?”

   “What are you talking about?” Sigurd asked. You pulled your camera out and they all stared in confusion. You’d finally all arrived at the clearing with the weapons ready to go; Ivar seated on his tree stump and the rest of them standing.

   “Everyone, stand close together,” you ordered, miming the action with your hands. They obeyed begrudgingly. “Smile!”

   “What?” asked Hvitserk.

   “I’m serious! Smile! You’ll see what I’m talking about in a second.” They glanced at each other before smiling nervously. You clicked the button down and the light flashed, taking them all by surprise.

   “Woah! What was that?” Ubbe asked. The picture rose up from the top of the camera and you grabbed it, beginning to shake it back and forth.

   “You’ll see in a minute,” you promised cryptically.

   “Did you curse us? Maybe you are a witch,” wondered Hvitserk.

   “No, I didn’t curse you. I just took a picture. Like a painting, but it’s instant. Here, look!” you exclaimed, holding the now-developed Polaroid out for them to stare at. Sigurd grabbed it from your hands to inspect it further.

   “That’s us? Just now?” You nodded. “How is this possible?”

   “I’m from a thousand years in the future, Sigurd; almost anything is possible. This is pretty common, actually. Pictures, I mean.”

   “I would like to see your home one day,” Ivar mused. “You have seen ours; Why don’t we visit yours?”

   “Can we do that?”

   “We could try. Later,” Ubbe responded.

   “Alright,” you shrugged. “But first, I kinda want someone to teach me how to fight.” They all shared a knowing look with one another before looking back to you. “What?” you questioned.

   “Are you sure you can handle it?” Ubbe asked you.

   “Uh… Well now I’m not so sure,” you admitted. “But I’ll never be able to handle it if I don’t start somewhere!” you reasoned cheerfully.

   “Ah, you’ll be fine, (Y/N),” Hvitserk smiled at you, “We’ll go easy on you. Grab a sword.” So you did; almost dropping it because it was heavier than you anticipated.

   “Holy moly this is heavy!” you exclaimed. “I’m gonna be jacked!”

   They all shared a laugh with you in your enthusiasm and fervor, and Hvitserk and Sigurd both began to instruct you on how to properly wield and swing a sword as well as how to use it to block yourself from oncoming attacks. These miniature lessons lasted until the sun was beginning to get very low on the horizon, when you all assented that it was time to go back. You soon arrived back at the Great Hall where Ragnar and family were all preparing to eat dinner. They offered you a seat at the table, as you were a guest in their home while visiting Kattegat. “How fared you all today, my boys?” Ragnar asked.

   “Good. We taught (Y/N) how to fight,” he mentioned, some meat dish being shoveled into his mouth. The boy was always hungry, you mused.

   “Well, tried to,” Sigurd laughed, “She could barely hold the sword!”

   “Hey!” you exclaimed, laughing along with everyone else. “It’s not my fault! I’ve never had to hold a sword before!”

   “Yes, because all your people fight with little pebbles,” Ubbe smirked into his cup.

   “They’re not pebbles!” You and the boys erupted into laughter while Ragnar and Aslaug looked on, smiling. He was still not sure how exactly you were meant to help Kattegat prosper, but he could tell that your friendship with his sons was growing stronger. Perhaps by uniting them all would the kingdom flourish? he wondered.

   Later after dinner was finished, and everyone was up and about going about their normal routines, you were provided a small barrier to change into your pajamas. They consisted of a simple pair of plaid pajama pants and a Jimi Hendrix shirt that once belonged to your father, as well as a dark green sweatshirt in case you got too cold during the night. “Hey,” you mentioned offhandedly, while stepping out from behind the barrier and slipping on your fuzzy socks, “Tomorrow do you guys wanna go see where I live? I bet I can figure out how to get us there.”

   Ivar was the first to respond, shrugging at his brothers. “I would like to see it.”

   “Oh, yeah? How do you plan on getting around, cripple?” Sigurd antagonized. Ivar’s fist tightened and he gave his brother a cold, hard death glare.

   “Hey. Knock it off. Don’t be an asshole,” you chided the blond. “We have a spare wheelchair in my basement from when my mom had surgery a few years ago. I can get it for you,” you assured Ivar. “And I can get you all clothes to blend in. My dad doesn’t have the best style, but it’s enough to not make people think twice.” In the morning, you all decided, you would get up, flash back to your home, get everyone situated, and then you would introduce a group of thousand year-old Viking boys to the future.

ugh im sorry for adding these i know u probably dont care about them but i just need to keep them all organized somewhere with their proper works attached! thanks bye lemme know what u want next loves

[thenovelartist]

Don’t You Think You Skipped a Step?

This is for @rainmaker221 who was one of the winners of my “TV show” contest. It was based of this post.

~ AO3 ~ Fanfiction ~ Support me on Ko-Fi ~

...

“I’m going to give him up, Alya.”

Alya snorted. “Yeah, right. You’ve been in love with that boy for five years. There is no way you’re giving him up.”

“I’m serious,” Marinette said, her tone a little too weak for Alya to believe it. “I’m going to give him up.”

Alya shot her a challenging smile. “Girl, you remember the last time you said that? You ended up chasing after his car.”

“I mean it this time,” she argued, tapping her fist on the table. “Really. I’m going to give him up.”

Alya rolled her eyes “Sure. Two weeks, tops.”

…

Week three had rolled around, and Alya was ready to drop dead at the staunch lack of anything Adrien in Marinette’s life.

No plans to make Adrien fall in love with her. Posters, all taken down. Even his schedule, gone. Alya really didn’t know what do to at this point. “Girl, I really don’t know how you’re doing it.”

She shrugged. “I’m just tired of wasting my time with someone who I know isn’t going to recognize me.”

“He would have.” Eventually. After someone took a bat to his head.

Marinette gave Alya a small, pitiful smile. “I doubt it.”

Alya couldn’t do anything more than pull her friend into a tight, comforting hug.

…

A month later, and Marinette was back to her old self. Which was good because Alya hated seeing Marinette so down in the dumps.

But the conversation that was taking place in the seats ahead of them made Alya fear that all that progress was going to disappear rapidly fast.

“She’s amazing, Nino,” Alya heard Adrien say. “Like, she’s perfect.”

“Dude, you’ve got it so bad.”

Adrien simply shrugged and looked off at the front of the classroom with what Alya was going to guess was a love-struck look on his face.

She glanced over at her friend, hoping she didn’t hear the conversation that Adrien had obviously found someone. However, Marinette seemed oblivious to it all as she doodled happily in her sketchbook, meaning Adrien Agreste would live to see another day.

…

It was a rare Saturday that everyone was free, so four teenagers found themselves sitting in a café for lunch.

“Babe, you okay?”

No, Alya was not okay, mostly because she didn’t know what to make of the scene in front of her

“I just have no idea how to impress this girl,” Adrien was saying as he tugged at his hair.

“First, take a breath,” Marinette instructed. “Then you should tell me about her so I know how to help you.”

That only launched Adrien into a rant about who he deemed to be the most incredible woman on the face of the planet.

“Honestly, Nino,” Alya said, looking back at her boyfriend. “I have no idea.”

…

Five months had passed since Marinette had set her foot down and resolved to give up Adrien.

“Girl, I need to get you a new addiction,” Alya teased. “I don’t know what to do with you anymore.”

Marinette giggled.

“I also can’t believe you’re giving him girl advice.”

“He’s hopeless,” Marinette defended with an amused grin. “Like a little lost puppy.”

“No wonder he never noticed you.”

Marinette shrugged. “At least he’s happy.”

“I guess,” Alya relented. “Now, let’s get you happy.”

Alya prided herself on being a great reporter, someone who could put two and two together very easily. However, despite being Marinette’s friend for five years, Alya could not peg that gleam in Marinette’s eye. “Trust me, Alya,” Marinette said, her voice almost—almost—taking on a dreamy quality as she turned back to her sketchbook doodle of… a cat? “I am.”

…

It was the first summer night after graduation, and Marinette was the happiest girl in the world. Oh, not because she was going to her first pick of colleges.

But because the love of her life decided detransform in front of her and propose to her.

How it all started, Marinette couldn’t say for sure. But she remembered being tired of Adrien not noticing her—and after five years, he’d have ample time to see her as a love interest—and ranting to Chat about it. Then somewhere close to that, her superhero partner decided to stop flirting and instead, picked up Adrien’s slack and began treating her the way she wished Adrien would have treated her. Flash forward several months and not wanting to go home after a patrol in favor of spending time with her partner that ended in some pretty memorable kisses goodnight became the new thing.

Now she had a ring on her finger and was going to be called Mrs. Agreste within a few months. She could squeal from the rooftops out of happiness.

However, before that could happen, Marinette and Adrien had one very important matter of business: craft a story of how the best friend duo Marinette and Adrien became engaged seemingly overnight.

She supposed it was easier than introducing someone completely new to everyone and saying she was marrying him. That didn’t mask the fact that Adrien had been mooning over a girl for months and she’d been giving him advice.

However, the irony of her giving him advice on how to woo, well, her was not lost on Marinette.

They agreed to meet up at the park across Marinette’s house. Marinette promised to bring the snacks, so she gathered a picnic basket and blanket and a box full of goodies. She swore to her maman she would bring home the guy she was seeing—Maman was too preceptive for her own good—then scampered out of the house with an excited squeal.

She was quick to arrive at the park, though she could have done it without nearly running in front of a car in the process. Still, she made it in one piece and barely had time to set up the blanket before Adrien swooped her up into his arms. She squeaked but surrendered to his embrace.

“My bugaboo,” he murmured against her hair.

Her heart couldn’t keep calm at the possessiveness in his tone. “My kitty.”

Eventually, they separated, but only so they were able to sit down on the blanket. Adrien didn’t hesitate to place his head in her lap, immediately settling down and letting his eyes close.

Marinette couldn’t help but smile as she looked down at her fiancé. Nor could she resist the urge to run her fingers through his perfect, blonde hair.

He cracked an eye at her, and green caught blue. The world disappeared for a moment.

“What’d I miss?”

Marinette jolted in surprise at her best friend’s voice, one slightly tense. Somewhere in the back of her mind, Marinette was disappointed that Adrien sat up, head disappearing from her lap. However, that thought was quickly put on the backburner as she looked up to lock eyes with Alya.

“Looks like the cat’s out of the bag.”

She could have smacked him for that. And considering the way he shot her a quick smirk that was filled with far too much glee, he knew it, too.

Marinette turned back to Alya, who looked like she was going to pull an explanation out of Marinette one way or another. Painfully, if need be. “Um…” Marinette stuttered out, finding words did not come easily. She held out a finger in a “wait” motion. “I can explain.”

Alya’s glare narrowed on Marinette, though when it suddenly widened and her jaw dropped to the ground, Marinette felt the desperate need to run and hide away in a hole safely out of Alya’s reach. Preferably on the other side of the world. “And just what is on your finger?”

Marinette looked down at her left hand, the one she was holding out.

She hadn’t even had the ring a full 24 hours, yet she was suddenly very angry at the large, glittering stone and gleaming white gold band.

As a reporter, Alya was good at two things: making connections very quickly and jumping to conclusions. In this case, it wasn’t hard, but Marinette was certain Alya made the correct connection in half the usual time. “Girl, unless you’ve been hiding that ring from me, you only just got that last night.”

Curse her inability to shrink into nothing. It would have been better than facing the Alya inquisition with cheeks redder than her Ladybug suit. “Yeah.”

Alya’s gaze bounced like a pinball between her, Adrien, and the ring. “And don’t you think you guys, I don’t know, skipped a step or two?”

Marinette struggled to find the courage to answer that question.

She wasn’t sure if it was better or worse that Adrien answered for her. “What are you talking about?”

The fire that roared to life in Alya’s eyes was scary. “You know, the dating phase.”

“We had that phase.”

How was it possible for Alya to get scarier? She only rose a single brow. “You mean this,” she pointed at the two of them, “has been going on for some time?” The tightness in her tone was unmistakable, meaning Marinette was up to her ears in trouble and it was entirely possible that she would be deaf by the time Alya finished yelling at her.

“Wait…” Alya’s eyes screwed shut for a moment. “What about that other girl, Adrien?”

His brow furrowed. “What other girl?”

“The girl you always talked about,” Alya accused. “The love of your life?”

Adrien was still for a moment, but slowly, he reached out to squeeze Marinette’s knee.

Alya caught the movement, and she placed her hands on canted hips while her expression grew fiercer.

“How long has this been going on?” Alya demanded.

“A few months,” Marinette weakly defended.

“And you’ve been hiding it from me?” Alya asked, her voice loud with shock and… probably hurt. “The co-author of every single ‘Secret Garden’ plan?”

If Adrien was confused, he didn’t show it. Or Marinette couldn’t see it with his face turned toward Alya.

She hoped he never asked.

“I was planning to tell you,” Marinette said. Because she had, but it was hard when there were secret identities that needed to remain secret.

“When you got engaged?” Alya clarified.

“Well, I didn’t think it was going to happen so quickly,” she rambled, her old school habit slamming back full force. “I mean, we fell pretty suddenly.”

“What are you talking about?” Adrien said, turning to look at her. “I’ve been in love with you for years.”

At the confession, Alya literally froze for a second, eyes wide and jaw on the ground. The next second, she was throwing her hands in the air in completely, totally, and utterly exasperated surrender. “I give up!” she cried, spinning on her heel and marching off. “I’m done. I can’t. Alya. Out.”

Marinette bit her lip as she watched her friend go. That was going to be a hard rift to repair, she knew it. She’d hated lying to Alya time and time again, but it had to be done. Maybe some ice cream and a big, fat apology would be a nice place to start.

She looked back at Adrien, who was pouting in confusion. “Was it something I said?”

Despite being bewildered and worried, she sighed at her darling but totally oblivious kitty. “Something like that.”

[shipmistress9]

FTLOAP - 32.5 - Interlude 3: Chaos Squad

Title: For The Love Of A Princess

Fandom: HTTYD

Theme: Hiccstrid - Medieval-style AU - Romance - Angst/Hurt/Comfort

Summary: Reduced to little more than a stable boy, Hiccup, despite his noble birth, has few prospects for more in life. But when he meets a girl who came to look at the horses, being a stable boy might not be enough anymore. Together, they have tough choices to make and great risks to navigate if they want to survive and be together.

Rating: Explicit

FF-net  -  AO3 -

Discord-server for discussions and questions

Prologue; Chapter 1; Chapter 2; Chapter 3; Chapter 4; Chapter 5; Chapter 6; Chapter 7; Chapter 8; Chapter 9; Chapter 10; Chapter 11; Chapter 12; Chapter 13; Chapter 14; Interlude 1; Chapter 15; Chapter 16; Chapter 17; Chapter 18; Chapter 19; Chapter 20; Chapter 21; Chapter 22; Chapter 23; Chapter 24; Chapter 25; Chapter 26; Interlude 2; Chapter 27: Chapter 28 ; Chapter 29 ; Chapter 30; Chapter 31; Chapter 32

Alpha/Co-author: @athingofvikings

. – * – _ . o O o . _ – * – .

AN: Okay, when we originally considered putting this part into the story, it was meant to be a joke. A bit of relief from tension and feels. Pure fun. And then the boys decided that, nope, we're gonna do it like this. And this. And this too. *shrugs helplessly* So don't blame me for anything, it was all them!

. o O o .

As it turned out, carrying four big mugs of beer at once wasn’t easy, but Eret thought he managed it sufficiently. That being said, the mugs were heavy, solid pewter with a lid on top, which was the only reason he’d avoided splashing anyone as he had to dodge other customers in the big tavern’s room. They’d dressed down for this pub crawl, which had the pleasant advantage of not having everyone bowing in obsequiousness – but also the distinct disadvantage of having the people around him not exactly putting in much effort to make way for him. But it wasn’t more difficult or exhausting than reining in one of his House’s untamed horses either, even less so if one considered that the mugs weren’t actively fighting against him. So, all in all, he didn’t think that getting drinks for them had taken that long, but when he returned to their table in a calmer and slightly detached niche, Dagur already awaited him eagerly.

“Oh, thank the Gods, you’re back,” he exclaimed, and directly reached to claim one of the big mugs. “These two are driving me insane!”

Eret’s eyes wandered to the other side of the table where Daniel and Hiccup sat side by side, their heads bowed over a notebook on the table between them. A relieved smile tugged at his lips at that sight; they were obviously deeply engrossed in yet another technical-looking sketch, and didn’t even react when he placed their mugs down in front of them. That was a good thing, he mused as he sat down in the last empty chair. Last night, during the festivities for the grand blot, Hiccup’s bold move to help Astrid on Markor’s back had worried him, and then there’d been Astrid’s hug and Daniel’s strange reaction to it… For a moment, Eret had honestly been afraid for his cousin. The war had hardened Daniel noticeably, and with the repeated assaults on Astrid, his sense of protection for his little sister had hardened as well.

And Hiccup… Well, Eret would vouch for Hiccup’s integrity. Tyr, he had! But no matter how well his cousin fit into their group and how fond Daniel seemed to be of him, none of that would matter when it came to Astrid. So it was good to see them like this again, with the tension from last night entirely gone. They were just getting excited over scholarly crap, together, once again, and even though Eret hadn’t thought it possible, the sight gave him a good feeling.

But it was too much fun to tease Dagur, so he let out a theatrical sigh. “Welcome to my life. They’ve been like this ever since my accolade, drifting off into technical conversations no sane person can follow. You’ve only endured this for a week now, but believe me, it’ll only get worse the longer they talk.”

Dagur cackled, amusement sparking in his eyes, and with Daniel thoroughly distracted he felt safe enough to throw his lover a warm smile. It wasn’t like they deliberately wanted to keep Daniel in the dark or lie to him… But they knew the Prince well enough, knew his sober attitude toward love and marriage. He wouldn’t get angry at him and Dagur for loving each other. But he also wouldn’t understand it, would only lecture them on how they couldn’t keep their relationship up forever. The good of the Kingdom was more important. And they knew that! But they didn’t need to be reminded of this fact every day again…

For another minute or three, they watched Hiccup and Daniel, how they kept bouncing ideas back and forth, both having a pencil in their hands now to simultaneously add to their sketch. It was funny in a way, though not why anyone visited a tavern.

“And here I thought we’d come here to have fun tonight,” Dagur commented after a while, disbelievingly shaking his head. “You know, after spending nearly the entire day at the Temple to help tidy it up again, I thought we’d earned a reprieve now. Laugh, chat, get a little drunk…” He paused, shaking his head again. “Is this going to keep going on like this? Or is there a chance they might reach another topic at some point?”

“If you can provide an interesting enough topic, that’s possible. But otherwise? Nope. It only gets worse.”

Dagur gave him an almost comically pleading look. “And if we just… leave? I mean, not necessarily to you-know-what. Just, I don’t know... Do something else? Maybe join the men over there? I’m pretty sure I’ve spotted some of this year’s recruits; we could teach them a lesson. I mean, beating them in an arm-wrestling match won’t make as much of an impression as Swanja’s performance with her bow would have made, but it surely would be better than nothing?”

Eret glanced over into the main room. Dagur was right, in all points. There were some recruits out there, also revelling in their liberty before heading off for war, and teaching them some respect surely would be helpful for their further training. Some of them were insufferable this year. But he let out an exasperated snort, and shook his head. “No, we can’t leave,” he said dryly, then nodded back to Daniel and Hiccup. “We can’t leave them alone. Believe me, it’s better to keep an eye on them before they go overboard. Again!”

“What, you think they’d slip away when we turn our backs on them? Maybe run riot?” Dagur laughed again, loud and true. “Oh, wait, I get it. Maybe they’ll go over to the armoury and test their theories from the other day. Which angle and distance is best to tear down a wall.” He laughed again at his own joke.

Eret just raised his eyebrow though, and gave Dagur an ‘Are you certain this is just a joke?’-look that made him choke on his next laugh. Sure, they hadn’t torn down any walls. Not yet! But it certainly wouldn’t be that much of an escalation to previous experiments either…

Leaving Dagur to get a grip on his laughing fits on his own, Eret reached for his beer and took a big gulp. Dagur was right, however. As happy as he was to see Daniel wasn’t against Hiccup… this was their last night before they’d all meet up in Westhill come summer. And selfish as it might be, he’d rather they would all chat together.

He was just scouring his mind for something – anything – to change the topic to, when a boy in the uniform of a courier appeared at their table.

They all looked up at the boy, wearing the sash and badge of the king’s messengers. He appeared to be a little self-conscious in the loud tavern, where a lad his age would normally be shown the door, as he glanced from one to the other. “Sir Eret?” he eventually muttered, settling to look at him. “I have this note for you. From your father.” The boy handed him a sealed letter, and Eret accepted it reflexively, even as a frown formed on his face.

A note from his father? That was strange. What would be so important that it couldn’t wait until the morning? “Thanks,” he said to the courier, and made attempts to stow the letter away into the pocket of his vest for later.

But the boy shook his head, looking highly uncomfortable as he raised a hand as if to stop him. “I-I’m sorry, Milord,” he stammered. “But I have orders to wait for your answer and deliver it back to his Grace directly. Just… just something about whether you… approve or not?”

Eret’s frown grew deeper, and he noticed that his friends around him all had looks of equal confusion on their faces. Even Daniel and Hiccup had interrupted their conversation for now. “All right,” he sighed, and got up. “Then I’ll see whether I can find a more private place to read it, and get right back to you.”

The boy nodded and stepped to the side, making way for Eret to leave their niche. He looked around, then decided to go outside to read. The light falling through the windows would be sufficient, without the noises of a full tavern to distract him.

Inside the letter were two pieces of paper. One was just a short note, the other another formerly sealed letter addressed to Grand Duke Eret of House Jag’r. Blinking in confusion, he first read the note, written in his father’s messy handwriting.

Son,

This letter from Eastervale arrived an hour ago, and I want to send back a reply immediately. But, as the future head of our House, it is your right to give your opinion as well.

His father wanted his opinion on a matter that affected their House? What could it be, some new trading contract maybe? Frowning even deeper, Eret read the note again, but couldn’t make any more rhyme or reason to it than the first time. Since when did his father need his opinion on such matters?

Shaking his head in bewilderment, he turned his attention to the letter. The seal was broken, but since it had been addressed to his father, that wasn’t surprising. What surprised him, however, was that even though it was broken, the seal was easily recognisable. It was the same as the one on the note the courier had just given him: The seal of a family member of House Jag’r. Even more confused, he opened the letter, and read it.

Dearest Father,

I send this letter to you in the hope that it might reach you soon. If my calculations are right, then I hope you had a wonderful Midwinter’s Night yesterday.

You might be wondering why I’m sending you this letter now instead of waiting for your return in a few weeks. You see, there’s been a development during the last weeks, and even though I know that the final decision only can be made once you’ve returned, I’m eager nonetheless to know your opinion on the matter.

Isku, Baron Hammond’s second son, asked me to become his wife. I know that his father already sent an official proposal, and that it is not my decision to make. But dearest Father, I want to let you know that, if it were my decision, I would gladly say yes.

So I’ll be waiting to hear from you, hoping for your approval.

In love,

Ester of House Jag’r

Gulping, Eret stared at the letter, and let his fingers glide over his sister’s name at the bottom. This didn’t come as a surprise, not really. Baron Hammond’s second son, Isku, had been a regular visitor during the summer months and had been one of the few that hadn’t been a nuisance but a real help instead. His genuine interest in Ester had been an open secret, and even though she’d tried to hide it, Eret had noticed that the interest was mutual.

No, this letter didn’t come as a surprise, and there was no real question whether their Father would approve of the union either. Baron Hammond was an influential and loyal vassal, and tying them tighter to their House would only strengthen them both – even if Eret the Elder would whine and complain about how it was a less than optimum dynastic union, given that Isku was only a second son, and the Hammonds were already vassals, and they should have held out for a first son of a Duke.  

But the irony...

Eret shivered. His sisters would marry out of the House. Ester would join House Hammond if this was approved, as the law stated.

And Dagur’s siblings were all in the Temple. Even though they were acknowledged by Oswald as his children, they were still Ástir-born bastards, meaning that, by law, none of them could inherit in Dagur’s stead. So, for both him and Dagur, the ‘line of succession’ was a noose around their necks, strangling their love. This letter was just a reminder that nothing had changed. No, if anything, it made everything more real.

He couldn’t tell for how long he stood out there staring at the letter, his thoughts chasing around and around. But when his fingers started to turn numb from the cold, he returned back inside. “You can tell my father that I approve,” he said to the still waiting courier, who nodded and then hurried out of the tavern. Eret gazed after him, then sighed.

He was happy for Ester. Marrying for love was a rare luck, and he was glad to know that at least one of those around him would have that luck. Without his help, his eyes wandered through the crowded room, to their niche, to Dagur. Yeah, it was rare luck indeed, one he himself would never have.

With a heavy heart, Eret weaved his way back to their table, hoping to find some comfortable distraction among his friends – but paused in his steps when he finally noticed the change. Daniel and Hiccup had stopped talking about their sketch, as it seemed. In fact, they weren’t talking at all anymore, and instead laughing cordially. All in all, that wasn’t that much of an unusual sight, except that something about them seemed off.

As if–

. o O o .

With a satisfied grin, Dagur leaned back in his chair and watched the other two men laugh about the silly joke he’d just made. Yep, this was definitely more fun. Not that he begrudged Daniel and Hiccup having this common interest, not at all. But this was their last day together, so this was really not the best time for such discussions. In addition, a tavern also wasn’t the right place for it, given that who knew who might be listening in on them discussing defence plans and such.

“What in Loki’s name happened to them?”

Dagur turned at the exasperated tone in Eret’s voice, and grinned up at his disbelieving expression. “Oh, I just got tired of all the technical terms. So I… helped them to relax a bit. See things in a different light.” It sounded good in his own ears. Sophisticated.

But Eret wasn’t fooled. His eyes turned into slits, then he leaned forward and sniffed at Hiccup’s beer. The big mug was half-empty by now, but with how people outside of Southshore brewed their beer for taste and not alcohol content, that didn’t mean much. Or… usually wouldn’t mean much.

“I can’t believe it,” Eret muttered. “You–” He broke off, then hastily rounded the table to take his seat, but pulled it closer to Dagur to speak quietly. “Are you out of your mind?” he hissed. “Please tell me you didn’t lace their beers with your Gods-damned Skullcrusher.”

Attempting to look innocent, Dagur schooled his expression and reached for his own beer. “I didn’t lace their beers with my fantastic self-brewed booze,” he repeated dutifully. But Eret knew him too well, obviously wasn’t buying it, and it only took a couple of seconds before Dagur broke. “No, it’s true,” he snickered. “I didn’t lace them. It was more of a liberal swig. Very liberal. But look how good it did them.” He pointed his round chin at the two men on the other side of the table, still laughing about Odin-knows-what. “We’re here to relax, Daniel specifically. And I understand that he enjoys talking about all this theoretical stuff. But he gets enough of that. Today, he should let go. Only the Gods know when he’ll get the chance to do so again.”

Dagur knew that he was right, but Eret still didn’t seem convinced. “Maybe,” he grumbled. “But this was still not a good idea. You do realise that their alcohol tolerance is not quite as high as yours or even mine, right? Freyr, you only would have needed to wait maybe another half an hour, and the beer alone would have been enough already. Now we can only hope that Daniel won’t suffer from a hangover when he starts his journey tomorrow. And we better make sure Hiccup safely gets back to the stables and doesn’t end up in some stream.”

Okay, maybe Eret had a point. But Dagur wouldn’t let such neglectable facts deter him. “I still say it’s more fun this way. But don’t worry, my Skullcrusher doesn’t cause hangovers, it’s too good for that.” Eret snorted at the blatant lie. The drink was aptly named, after all, for all that Dagur had named it after Eret’s uncle’s horse when the poor beast had been returned from the Tribes two years ago. “And as for Hiccup; stopping by the stables to make sure he gets there isn’t even much of a detour, so that shouldn’t be a problem either. Calm down, Chippy. Relax! We’re here to forget all worries for a night, remember?”

He could practically see how the anger flowed out of his lover, though whether it was due to his reasoning or to the use of his usual nickname – short for Chipmunk, a reference to his striped chin – Dagur couldn’t tell. Maybe he would have gotten an answer to this question as Eret was about to reply, his mouth already half-way open. But he never got the chance to actually say anything as his return had apparently finally soaked into Daniel’s alcohol-laced mind and the Prince looked up at him, beaming.

“Heh, Eret! When did you come back?” he asked cheerfully. His voice was a little too loud and there was a slightly glassy shimmer in his eyes, but in Dagur’s opinion, that wasn’t cause to be worried yet. “What did your old man want that couldn’t wait?”

Eret threw him a last meaningful look, but then turned toward Daniel. “He wanted to ask my opinion,” he explained, immediately catching Dagur’s interest too. “About… well, it’s not really a secret anyway, I guess. Apparently, my sister is getting married.”

There was a tightening on Eret’s face, Dagur noticed, and, knowing where it was coming from, he wished he could reach out and squeeze his hand to offer comfort. But that would have given away too much… Sometimes, Dagur really hated having to keep secrets.

“Your sister is getting married?” Daniel and Hiccup asked almost simultaneously.

“Ester or Mirja? Wait, how old were they? Aren’t they… still toddlers, or something?” Daniel looked positively perplexed, frowning as he tried to remember. His question made Dagur snicker. With all his additional duties that had come with growing up, it obviously had been a while since Daniel had been to Eastervale.

“‘s got to be Ester,” Hiccup muttered, voice slurring heavily. “She turned seventeen a few months back. And Mirja is almost fifteen, by the way. Hardly t-toddlers anymore. So did that–” he frowned a little, “–uh... son of a baron ask her after all? Wha’ was ‘is name? Isker?”

“Isku,” Eret corrected, nodding. “And yeah, apparently he did,” he added with a grimace.

“And… that’s not good?” Daniel asked hesitantly, reacting to Eret’s tense posture. “Didn’t you say something about how you wouldn’t mind–”

“Oh, it is good,” Eret interrupted quickly. “Isku is a good man. Reliable. Digilant. Not above getting his hands dirty. And he truly cares for Ester. No, I couldn’t hope for a better man, for her and for the stud farm in Sunhill alike. It's just…’ he trailed off, eyes cast down at his hands. He took a big gulp of his beer, and didn’t even grimace even though Dagur was sure he must have noticed the Skullcrusher he’d put in there too. “It’s just… weird, I guess? It’s as if we’ve really grown up now, you know? I mean, sure, we’re knights now and all, but this…”

“Yeah, I get what you mean,” Daniel muttered as Eret trailed off. He took a swallow of his beer as well, before gesturing around from one to the other, starting with Dagur. “Heather is married, but she’s older anyway, so it’s not that strange. But now Ester marries, and… And it makes one wonder where we will end up, doesn’t it?” He laughed, a little shakily, then shook his head. “I mean, could you imagine getting married anytime soon?”

Next to him, Eret chuckled and shook his head, and Dagur was quick to follow. No, he couldn't imagine it, didn’t want to imagine it. There was only one person he wanted to spend his life with, but it could never be. Having to actively fight glancing at Eret, he turned his head into the opposite direction – and halted when his eyes landed on Hiccup instead.

A bemused expression crossed his face. He wasn't sure what kind of reaction he'd expected to Daniel's question from the boy. No, Hiccup wasn't a boy, Dagur reminded himself. He was just as old as he and Eret, and it was just his slighter build and serving demeanour with the underlying humour that made him seem younger. But that wasn't the point.

Dagur cocked his head. Hiccup's eyes had an undeniable glassy gleam in them, the alcohol clearly affecting him more than Dagur had anticipated. But what really drew his attention was the fact that Hiccup was grinning like an idiot. His lips were stretched, teeth showing a little, and his eyes were unseeingly cast to the table between them. There was an absent-minded and dreamy look in them that somehow fit to the way his left hand rubbed a spot at his chest.

“Hah,” Dagur laughed out loud. “Maybe you can’t imagine that, but it looks like there’s someone here who can.” Both Eret and Daniel looked at him in surprise, then turned toward Hiccup when Dagur nodded at him.

“Uh... what?” Hiccup muttered. When he looked up at them all staring at him, he had an undeniably caught look on his face, yet the dreamy grin was still there somehow.

“Hiccup?” Daniel asked, disbelievingly. “Don’t tell me, you–”

“Oh, don’t dare to deny it,” Dagur interrupted Daniel gleefully. He propped himself up on his elbows and leaned over the table to look at Hiccup more intently. “That look on your face just now said it all.”

Hiccup made an unintelligible noise somewhere between a whine and a groan as he looked from one to the other.

Dagur grinned. “So? Tell us everything about her. Who is she? I guess it’s a ‘she’? I want to know everything!”

Hiccup, having finished looking around the three of them for rescue and finding none, let his shoulders slump. But then a shy but dreamy smile once more spread across his face. Again, his left hand reached for his chest, and this time it looked as if he was toying with something beneath his tunic. A charm maybe? Glancing at Hiccup’s neck, Dagur noticed a leather cord peeking out at the hem, one he was relatively certain hadn’t been there before. So he actually already wore a token of his love? Oh, this should be interesting.

“You’re right,” Hiccup eventually muttered, not meeting anyone’s eyes. “There is someone, and she’s…” he trailed off, shrugging helplessly.

The show was highly amusing to Dagur, but Daniel seemed more confused. “I thought… Didn’t you say something about never having been in love like that not so long ago?”

The smile on Hiccup’s face grew a little sheepish now as he looked up at Daniel. “Was the truth back then,” he affirmed. “But… So many things happened since then, and–”

“No humming and hawing now, Hiccup,” Dagur probed further. “We want all the details.”

When Hiccup turned his attention toward Dagur, there was a bright spark of excitement in his dazed eyes. He’d apparently made a decision, and it seemed as if he’d only waited for an opportunity like this, because once Hiccup started to talk there seemed to be no end. “She’s amazing!” he began. “I only met her after we got here, but it already feels as if we’ve known each other forever. She’s so beautiful, her eyes gleaming as bright as the sky, and her hair… her soft skin, and those sweet lips. I could spend all day kissing her. But she’s so much more than just beautiful, also kind and funny, witty and smart, strong and brave. So brave…” he trailed off for a moment, his eyes gazing into the distance as he kept playing with the charm beneath his tunic. “And I love her. Gods, I do. I love her so much.”

A fond grin played around Dagur’s lips as he listened to Hiccup’s outburst. When he and Eret had found him all those months ago in that roadside tavern, he’d been wrecked. There was no gentle way to put it, really. He’d been shattered and broken, both physically and mentally, more dead than alive. Later, during the weeks Dagur had met him in Eastervale and during this last week here at the capitol, he’d seemed better, healthier, but still so calm and cool, detached. But this now? This was undeniably a new spark of life, and Dagur was happy to see him like this.

He glanced at Eret, knowing that his lover cared deeply for his cousin and that he had been worried about Hiccup’s welfare too. It surprised him then when, instead of a fond smile, he saw a tense frown on Eret’s face. Was he still thinking about Ester and her marriage? He wanted to give Eret a nudge, maybe a questioning look, something subtle, but before he could actually do so, Daniel drew his attention again.

“That sounds great, Hic,” he said, placing a hand on Hiccup’s shoulder. “Honestly, I’m happy for you. Surprised you didn’t say anything before though.” Hiccup shuffled a bit, mumbling incoherently, but Daniel didn’t seem to notice. “So I was wrong after all... Are you really thinking about marriage already, even with how short a time you know each other?”

At that, Hiccup laughed, a little giddily. “Yes,” he gasped with a measure of confidence that surprised even Dagur. “Yes, I am. I want to marry her. And I will marry her one day. She’s the one for me, I know it.”

“So she feels the same?”

Hiccup turned to look at Daniel again, a sincere expression on his face now that only barely got dulled by his obvious state of drunkenness. “Amazingly, she does.”

Daniel nodded. For a moment, Dagur thought he noticed a rueful, almost sad expression crossing his face, but it was gone before he could be sure, replaced by an honest smile. “Then you shouldn’t wait. You never know what the future brings; you should go and ask her father for her hand right away. If you’re sure then there’s no point in waiting.”

“It’s… not that easy,” Hiccup muttered, his shoulders slumping. “First, I… I have to convince her father of my worth. And her brother, too…” The last words were barely more than a whisper, and Dagur wasn’t quite sure whether he’d understood them right.

“Oh, but why wouldn’t they?” Daniel went on cheerfully. “You’re a good man, Hiccup, and if they fail to see that then they’re stupid. If you think you need time then so be it. But know that I’ll be supporting you if that helps.”

Hiccup was quiet for a minute, and just stared at Daniel. “Thank you,” he eventually breathed, the gleam in his eyes almost looking like a hint of a tear. “That… that really means a lot to me!”

“Anytime,” Daniel grinned back. “That’s what friends are for, right?”

“Very true,” Eret chimed in, and lifted his mug. “To friends who stand up for each other. Which reminds me, I haven’t heard much from Snot in a while. Do you know what he’s up to lately? Last I heard was that his crush on Swanja’s maidservant got thoroughly destroyed by his father. The poor man. But seriously, what did he expect? As if Uncle Spite would let him marry a servant.”

“Also true,” Daniel laughed. “But to be fair, Rachel had already done a lot of destroying that crush by that time. No idea what her type is, but it certainly wasn’t Snot. Besides, from what I heard, he’s already well over her anyway.”

Grinning to himself, Dagur leaned back in his chair. Maybe Eret had been right and adding Skullcrusher to this party had been a little over the top, but he didn’t feel like it was doing much damage either. The atmosphere was definitely more to his liking now. He took another gulp of his own beer, by far the strongest mix on this table, then joined the others as they discussed Snot’s latest exploits. Yep, this was certainly more fun.

 . o O o .

*hides under rocks and enjoys the company there*

Here’s a reminder that there won't be a new chapter next week. However, there might be another bonus, possibly uploaded separately. Keep your eyes open :)

Next Chapter

[lattewithatwistoflemon]

I Don't Want to Go Home - A Harringrove fan fiction

A fluffy hurt/comfort fic

Warnings: mention of child abuse and homophobic slurs and other harsh language

In the boys' locker room at Hawkins High, Steve Harrington was getting dressed. Gym was his last class of the day, so once he put his clothes back on, he could go home. He put his shirt on and then froze. Something was different, he noticed. Billy hadn't bullied him today. In fact, he's been acting invisible ever since Max sedated him and made him promise not to mess with them again. That was about a month ago. Steve glanced over at Billy, who was about to put his shirt back on, and he noticed various bruises all over him. Come to think of it, Steve realized Billy hadn't played basketball shirtless today like he usually does. Was he trying to hide the bruises? Steve shrugged it off, figuring Billy just got into another fight, as troublemakers like him do.

The locker room cleared out, except for the two of them. Steve had brought a lot of stuff with him, including his nailed bat, in case of a demodog attack, but things have been peaceful since the Snow Ball. Nevertheless, he wanted to be sure that he didn't forget to take any of his things back home with him. As he was checking his bag, he felt a tug on the shoulder of his tee-shirt. When he turned around, Billy immediately embraced him. The gesture was firm, but by no means aggressive... which made Steve kind of frightened.

"I don't wanna go home," Billy sighed into Steve's shoulder. His hands gripped onto the slightly taller boy's back.

Steve might not be great at figuring people out, but it was pretty darn obvious that something was wrong. So, without further ado, he offered: "You wanna come over my house?"

The seventeen year old boys drove home in silence. They arrived at Steve's house. Billy could tell they had the house to themselves, since the driveway was empty and the lights weren't on. It made him feel strangely comforted to know that he didn't have to involve anyone else in his misery.

"Want anything to drink?" Steve asked once they were inside, "I've got coke, apple juice, water..."

"Got any beer?"

Steve smirked. "Yeah, I think so," he said as he rummaged to the back of the fridge, where his dad thought he wouldn't get to it. He brought out two cans and motioned to Billy to take a seat on the couch in the living room. They sat down; a full cushion space between them. Steve sat silently. He didn't want to pry. He figured it would be best to let Billy speak when, or if, he's ready.

"I fucked up," Billy said with a frown, after taking a few sips of beer. Steve's brown eyes looked at him, full of caring. "After our fight, I told myself to stop trying to impress my A-hole father. The brat can take care of herself. I shouldn't have to babysit her 24/7. My dad's gotta realize that sometime. So I gave up tryin' to obey his orders to watch over her and keep her from going out."

"So he hit you?" Steve asked a bit presumptuously.

"No, well, yeah," Billy mumbled, tossing his head from side to side, like the assumption was half true. "He did hit me after that, but that wasn't the worst of it. I'm used to a punch or two. But then..."

Billy froze. His Adam's apple bobbed in a swallowing gesture as his throat was having trouble forming the thoughts in his mind into words. His dark brows bunched together in distress.

"You okay?" Steve asked. He felt an urge to comfort Billy somehow... Place his hand on Billy's to steady him... but he fought it.

"Harrington," Billy addressed Steve for the first time since he had been there, and it made it apparent that Billy wasn't just talking to himself. It wasn't just anyone that he wanted to open up to. It was Steve. He continued, reluctantly. "Have you ever, I dunno, felt like you've been living a lie? Trying to be what others want you to be? And one day you just wake up and realize that isn't what you want? It isn't who you are?"

Steve thought of how he was before Nancy broke up with him. He was he king of the school who thought he could get away with anything. He was a bully like Billy, causing trouble for less popular classmates like Jonathan Byers. He was too self absorbed (and perhaps blinded by love) to notice his girlfriend's best friend get killed in his backyard. Too stubborn to try to see things from Nancy's point of view... Too vain to notice she didn't love him.

"Yeah," Steve reflected, "I think I know how you feel. I was too self absorbed to realize how much of a douchebag I was until the girl I loved broke up with me. And then I realized the person I was when I was with her isn't who I'm meant to be... And what about you?"

"I'm gay," Billy said bluntly. Steve's big brown eyes widened. It wasn't the response he was expecting.

Billy continued: "My dad knew. He called me a faggot almost every day. I kept shrugging it off. Kept trying to make him believe he was wrong. So I tried being as... straight as possible... acted more macho, deepened my voice around him, hung up pin-ups of women in bikinis in my room. I even went out with tons of women and fucked 'em... trying to convince even myself that I don't like guys. But yesterday, I'd decided that I had enough. I was done pretending. So I came out to my dad. So he beat me, and beat me... and beat me. Maybe thinkin' that if I get battered around enough, I'll 'come to my senses' and keep being what he wants me to be."

"Shit, Billy, I'm sorry," Steve said. He looked down at the floor, unsure of how to process this. When he looked back up, Billy was crying.

"Fuck," Billy exclaimed, wiping his eyes, "don't look at me! You better not tell anyone at school about this, or I'll rip your-"

Steve put an arm around Billy's shoulder and pulled him close.

Billy's blue eyes opened wide at his brown haired classmate, who was now only a few inches away.

"You can cry on my shoulder if you want," Steve said. It took some coercing, but Billy eventually did just that. He cried for a good hour, as Steve sat in silence, lightly rubbing his denim-sleeved shoulder.

They realized it was getting late, so they decided to call it a night. Billy asked about sleeping arrangements, and Steve replied: "You can sleep in my room, if you want." From that statement, Billy assumed that Steve would be sleeping in his parents' bedroom or the couch, so he was very surprised when Steve stripped off his pants and hopped into bed beside him. Billy's face turned 50 shades of red.

"Whoa, what the hell are you doing?!" Billy roared. He was embarrassed and flustered, but from his voice, Steve assumed he was angry.

"Sorry, man," Steve replied, his face looking dejected, "I just thought you wouldn't want to be alone tonight. You've been through some rough stuff. I thought I could be here to fight away the nightmares, y'know?" As he said that he suddenly pulled out his studded bat from underneath his bedside table. The unexpected sight of the weapon drew a laugh out of Billy. Mission accomplished, Steve thought with smirk. "But I can leave if you want me to," he added.

"Nah, it's fine, amigo," Billy replied, as his smile turned to a look of uncertainty. "I just thought that you'd be, I dunno, uncomfortable with sleeping in the same bed as me."

"Why would I be?"

"It doesn't bother you that I'm gay?" Billy asked in disbelief.

"Why would it?" Steve replied with another question. "Come on, amigo, we've bathed together. I think I can handle laying on the same piece of furniture as you." He got another, smaller laugh from Billy. Score 2!

As the young men fell asleep, they slowly, unconsciously, inched closer to one another... The one longing for a loving embrace that he could never receive at home, and the other possessing a nearly parental desire to protect those around him... by morning they found themselves awoken in each other's warm embrace.

[my-sweet-valentine]

Stranger

„Babe? If you could describe the first time we met in one sentence, what would that be?“ he asks her making her look up from the book she was reading. His eyebrows hovered over his peaceful blue eyes.

“Um, where is this coming from Luke?” she simply wondered. It wasn’t like him to bring up the things of the past out of the blue like this. Especially since it hasn’t always been smooth sailing for them.

“Well, I am writing this song, and I kind of need the other person’s point of view. So, can you help?” his smile alone, that was wider than it normally is, could make her do anything he asked her to. Well, maybe anything except this.

“You know I am not really comfortable sharing my thoughts like that, Luke.” her face clearly had please don’t make me written all over it. “Besides, you have been more than capable to write your songs without my input in the past. I think you’ll manage.” she said getting up to peck his forehead quickly.

“Oh, come on. Can you just tell me what it felt like when we first met and when you fell in love with me?”

“Sorry to burst your bubble baby, but when I met you I did not fall in love with you. Did you think I did?”

It hadn’t occurred to her that that’s what he thought their first meeting meant to her. She studied his face, while his once peaceful eyes were now not so peaceful. “I mean, I know you didn’t fall in love with me from day one, but you must have felt some attraction. Didn’t you?”

“Well, I mean, I felt a connection, yes. But I can’t really say I felt an attraction.” she said heading for the fridge to get anything really if it meant she could avoid Luke’s interrogation.

“Oh. A connection. Just that? Just a connection? You didn’t feel attracted to me? Not even a little? Babe, I’m pretty hot.”

“Okay, yeah. I think this discussion is over right about now.” Even though she couldn’t help the smile from appearing on her face, she tried to keep a stern look.

She wasn’t in her happy place right now. Sitting on a hotel bed with a noodle cup half empty by her side, and her laptop in front of her ready to finally start writing was definitely not her happy place. The problem was, her brain was full of ideas but no matter how hard she tried to put them into words, she couldn’t. Being in L.A. for a writing conference was supposed to fire things up, but so far there were zero major changes on anything except her credit card. Debating on whether she should keep trying or go downstairs to the lobby for a quick walk, she decided to just take a small break and go downstairs after all.

She grabbed her phone, and room key and took one last look at herself in the mirror. She was wearing the most regular pair of jeans she probably owned and her favourite T-shirt tucked into the jeans, but she didn’t really care. All she wanted anyway was to get some fresh air and maybe a bottle of water. Thinking that perhaps inspiration would strike in a somewhat different environment, she also brought her laptop.  

As glad as she felt that she was able just at 24 to support herself financially and to be able to get a room at a hotel like this, all on her own, she couldn’t help but be angry at herself for getting lost. How hard could it be to just find the elevator? Walking around for what felt like 10-15 minutes she finally managed to get to the lobby.

Looking for the perfect writing spot next to the window, she wished she was back to where she normally wrote everything. Back home, she had a special spot, next to her bedroom window. Something about watching people go on with their everyday lives. How some were rushing through the endless crowds, while others were taking their time simply just strolling through. It all made sense. And it all triggered a different idea, a different story. So maybe sitting next to the window again would help.

Writing always came easily to her. It wasn’t as if she was the best of course, but ever since she was a little girl, all she ever wanted to do was to become a writer. A few months ago when she was flying home from L.A. she had this amazing idea for a story. She had almost five hours to write everything that was on her mind. When the plane landed she didn’t even realize how fast the time had passed. And she was also quite pleased with the result. She pitched the draft to her writing counsellor the next day and he was very impressed.

So maybe there was something about Los Angeles that created the perfect flow when it came to her writing. Especially empty lobbies at 2 am, where it was quiet enough for her to pour her thoughts out. Searching for the perfect writing spot, she noticed a rather small couch by the window with a small table in front of it and an armchair next to it. Maybe the cute setting would help get things moving. So, cute setting it is.

After getting comfortable on the couch and looking out the window for a solid 20 minutes, she decided it was time to just start typing away. And she did. This turned out to be a good, but slightly boring idea after all. But she had made progress. Looking at the clock she realized that she been down here for almost an hour. And of course, writer’s block strikes once again. Well, maybe it was time to get to bed, she thought. It was enough writing for today.

Packing up her things to go upstairs to her room she didn’t notice the person walking behind her and she tripped over them and next thing she knew she was sort of lying on the floor.

“I am so sorry. Shit, are you okay?” she heard the person ask. It was a guy standing in front of her offering his hand to her, to help her get up. She took his hand not really paying any attention to his apology. She couldn’t help but feel angry at him for knocking her down. “I really am sorry. I was looking at my phone, and I’m really tired, to be honest. Which is not an excuse, at all, but I’m really sorry.”

“It’s fine. Don’t worry about it.” she simply answered, giving him the best compassionate look she could pull off right now. To be fair, he did knock her down.

“Still I’m so sorry.”

“I wasn’t paying attention too. It’s okay.” she offered him a smile this time, feeling kind of bad that she got angry over something so stupid. Perhaps it was the fact that her brain was drained and it was 3 am. “Don’t worry about it. Really.”

He nodded this time finally feeling a little better for what happened. This certainly wasn’t a great time for him. Walking around completely oblivious to his surroundings and knocking people over is just not who he is. And he felt really embarrassed about it. In fact, he wasn’t even hiding it. Life was just too much at that point. He was so tired to the point he couldn’t sleep. Lately, he thought that he probably developed some sort of insomnia since he was walking around the hotel at 3 am.

“Oh, it’s Luke by the way. My name I mean.” his words came out faster and slightly weirder than he was planning as he extended his hand to her. She looked pretty, was what came to his mind. Tired, but pretty. She didn’t have that hard look in her eyes anymore. Which was a good thing?

“I’m Skye.” her handshake was so graceful he thought. She was giving just that right amount of squeeze and it just felt like it was the right handshake. Also a weird thing to think of, he mentally said to himself. “Nice to meet you.” she said then.

“Yeah, nice to meet you too. Not so nice that I knocked you down, but you know...” he trailed off.

She gave him a smile this time. “Please, stop apologizing. It’s no big deal. It’s not like I got hurt.”

“Yeah, you’re right. Okay, I won’t say it again.” he said smiling back at her. “So, you’re a night owl too, huh?” gesturing towards her laptop he questioned.

“Not usually. But, since I couldn’t get anything done in the morning hours I thought that maybe the night would be my friend and turns out it was. I guess the quiet helps me write better.”

“Oh, you’re a writer?” he said taking a slightly uncomfortable seat at the arm of the couch.

“Barely.” she replied while sitting properly on the couch. Close -but not too close- to him. “I came to L.A. for this writing conference, which might have been a waste of time actually.”

“Why is that?” he asked her. “If I may ask.” he added realizing he was coming off a bit too strong.

“I’m not really sure I’ve figured out what my groove is if I’m being completely honest. But I’ve got some determination in me left, so let’s hope this doesn’t turn into a flop.” she said laughing at herself basically.

“Oh come on. Don’t be so hard on yourself. Finding your groove, your rhythm, your genre or whatever you want to call it isn’t always easy. And I think that if we didn’t have such a hard time finding it, it wouldn’t be worth it to call it ours. Don’t you agree?”  he told her, even though he knew that this was an advice he was also struggling to follow.

 “Um, I do actually. That was such an amazing way to put it. You seem to speak from experience? Or am I wrong?”

And that’s when he realized that she didn’t know who he was. It was so weird talking to someone who didn’t know that he was Luke Hemmings, lead singer of a worldwide known band. She was just some girl, in a hotel lobby, who he knocked down of course, but she was talking to him so freely. And that felt really different from how conversations with people usually went. So he decided to just keep it that way.

“Oh no, I wouldn’t know. I’m not really familiar with composing anything on my own. Which is weird, since I’m giving you advice on that exact same topic. I just thought that it was the right thing to say.”

“Well Luke, even so, your advice was probably the best advice I was given in a long time, so thank you.” she said giving him another smile.

“You’re welcome. It’s the least I can do. So, are you writing anything at the moment?” he proceeded to ask feeling as if he didn’t want the conversation to drop.

“Ugh, it’s probably too bad to even think of. It’s not worth writing further on it, but my studying coach gave this assignment with the purpose of leaving my comfort zone, so yeah...” she stopped for a minute looking at her screen. “It’s shit actually, I might have to start all over again tomorrow.”

“I could help you with that.” he offered, leaving her confused as to how he could be of help to her.

“How?” she asked him.

“Well, I could read it and tell you what I think. What kind of story is it?”

“Um, it’s a romantic short story, but I don’t think that would be a good idea.”

“Why not? I’m a complete stranger, who you’re never going to see again, so even if your story is that shitty it’s not like you’ll see me again tomorrow to remind you of how shitty it was.” he answered her, trying to persuade her realizing his comment wasn’t coming off as funny as he ought to. That’s it, he thought. First I knock her down, then I’m rude to her, she’s gonna start screaming, at best.

But instead, he heard her laugh. She got the joke, apparently. “Well, you do have a point. Plus, you made me have a not so wonderful collision with the floor so my shitty writing could be a way of punishment for you.”  

“There’s also that. Okay, let’s get some reading done. Come on.”

He noticed she was being a little hesitant for a moment. “You don’t have to do this, it’s okay. I could just delete it and start over tomorrow.”

“I think it would be a very bad idea to erase something you’ve created without sharing it with someone first. What you don’t like might turn out to be someone’s favourite.”

“Alright, fine. Here you go. Feel free to vomit. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

And with that, she handed him the laptop. He took a better seat closer to her, sitting properly on the couch next to her. Without saying anything further he dived into the reading and spent the next 40 minutes doing just that.

Skye definitely thought that a stranger was so eager to read something she wrote. She also found it a little weird, and it was, but for some reason, she was also expecting him to finish and listen to what he had to say. He was right, it wasn’t as if she was going to see him again tomorrow, so why not? Constructive criticism wasn’t something she was afraid of, anyway. Taking a moment to really look at him, she realized his eyes were blue and even though she looked at him while they were talking before, she didn’t really look at him. He also had his semi-long blonde locks falling over his forehead. Luke was a handsome man, no argument there. He looked like he was around her age. He had a unique sense of style, nothing like the guys she usually pays attention to.

At that point, Skye realized that she didn’t ask Luke anything about himself. Where is he from, what does he do for a living? He knew she was a struggling writer, but she didn’t know anything about him. He really was just a stranger.

“Alright. I think I’ve finished it. Is that where it ends?” he asked her pulling her out of her thought while also pointing at a specific spot on the screen.

“Yeah, that wasn’t clear, huh?”. Strike number one, she thought.

“Well, no. Overall, it was really good. I would definitely like to see how it would continue. But the ending was a little unclear.”

“It won’t continue. That’s the point of it being a short story. And for the ending, yeah I get what you’re saying. I just couldn’t think of something better.”

“Hold on, you mean there won’t be a next chapter? Come on that’s a little torture don’t you think?”

She laughed at how bold he turned out to be. “So, how would you continue this story then? If it was to turn into an actual book?” she asked him.

And maybe she shouldn’t have, because they spent the next couple of hours writing a continuation. What once was her short story, turned out to be the smaller part of an actual book. Poorly written of course, since it was just a bunch of ideas thrown into a white canvas. Skye let Luke take the lead because it looked like he was having fun writing it and sharing his ideas with her.

And after nearly two hours of bombarding her with his extremely creative and unrealistic ideas, and with his funny and smart remarks, they were finally content with the masterpiece that they’ve created. Which was yet to be named, but that didn’t matter.

“I think we’ve written a masterpiece. In fact, if we wait a couple hours more we might just be able to be there when the publisher’s office opens up.”

“Oh yeah, this baby is definitely going to the time’s best sellers.” she joked. “I think we’re gonna make a fortune.” Skye said earning a chuckle from Luke.

“Um, Nicholas Sparks who?” he answered making her laugh this time.

“On the downside, I think we have officially ruined the short story that I was supposed to submit to my writing counsellor.”

“This can count as a short story. A short part of a book isn’t a short story?”

“I’m afraid not, Luke. But that’s okay. I’m going to figure something out.”

“Well I am certain that you will.” he replied to her. It kind of busted up her confidence.

She couldn’t help but smile at his comment.

Skye definitely had a great time with Luke writing this “masterpiece”, but looking at the clock and realizing it was almost 6 am she knew it was time to call it a night.

“Wow it’s 6 am, and I’ve got a flight to catch in five hours. I totally lost track of time.” she informed Luke, even though he knew that this was going to come to an end at some point. But seeing her rush to gather her stuff and leave made him feel worse than he thought he would.

“You and me both. You’re going back home?” he asked hoping not to sound too eager, although he failed.

“Yeah, back to New York. What about you?” she asked still not sending a glance his way, while she continued to gather her things.

“Well, I’m not going back to New York, if that’s what you’re asking.” he simply said. Intending to sound a little bit rude. To be fair, Skye hadn’t asked him a single thing about him. And she noticed.

“I’m so sorry. This entire time has been about myself I didn’t ask you anything about you. Luke, I’m so sorry. I’m not normally like this.” Skye did her best trying to apologize.

“Well, that’s okay. There’s one thing you can do to make it up to me.” Luke told her.

“Of course. What is it?” she asked him.

“You can promise me that you are going to continue this story that we wrote together. You can extract the cheesy and really cringy parts that were mostly my ideas. But the original story was good and I would like to know how you would write the continuation. Even if you don’t pitch this idea to you writing counsellor.” he replied leaving her quite stunned. She didn’t expect that he would care so much for her story.

“Okay, so if I do continue this story, how are you gonna know?”

“Oh, right. Well, I guess there are two things. You..” he trailed off while pulling out his phone. “Are going to give your number.” he continued while handing her his phone. He noticed that Skye looked a little hesitant. No matter how much fun they had creating this short story, didn’t change the fact that they were simply just strangers. “All for the sake of the story of course.” he added which made her laugh.

“Of course. Smooth.” Skye replied, smirking at him.

She took the phone from his hand and saved her number on his contacts.

“Well, there you go.” she told him handing the phone back to him. “Although, I am sure this is going to be such a huge disappointment for you. I don’t think I am going to be so good at continuing this story without you.”

“I am sure you are going to be just fine.” he honestly replied.

She nodded and suddenly realized that this was getting a little confusing for her, and of course she had a flight to catch in five hours and she also had zero hours of sleep last night. Although, sitting here, and looking at him made her feel weird but at the same time at ease, like she hadn’t felt in a very long time, she had to rush upstairs.

“I really have to go.” she told him.

“I know.” Luke answered.

“I guess, look forward to hearing from me when I have the next part ready?” she asked, mostly to herself. Was she really going to do that?

“You bet.”

“Great. Well, it was amazing. And I had fun, but I’m gonna go now. Have a great day, whatever it is that you are doing today. Since I don’t know what that is.”

“Oh, for starters I am going to get some sleep.” he simply said.

“Okay. Great. Till next time we talk?” Skye asked.

“Absolutely.” Luke replied.

She took a last good look at him since she didn’t know when and if she was ever going to see him again. And then just left. She made sure not to turn around as she was walking away. She didn’t need to embarrass herself more than she already had. But she felt his eyes on her back as she was leaving.

Skye hurried upstairs to her room, packed her bags and left the hotel in two hours. Since she was one of those people who wanted to be at the airport a million years before her flight was departing, after she checked-in, she sat at this little lounge and opened her laptop. And for as long as she was waiting, she couldn’t stop staring at the story that she and Luke, a stranger really, wrote. The almost five-hour flight helped her compose the second part to this awesome, fun but at the same time cheesy and extremely unrealistic story. She suddenly felt the urge to finish the next chapter as fast as possible, if that was the only thing that would allow her to speak to him again. Even just via text.

Luke, on the other hand, feeling some sort of warmness in his chest from this experience that gave him more than people would think, couldn’t stop thinking about the girl that he was so happy he knocked down. After he watched her walk away and disappear into the elevator, he checked his phone to see her contact. He wasn’t worried about her giving him a false number. Not at all. Actually, Luke couldn’t help but feel the smile spread further than just his face when he saw that she had put her number under the name Stranger.

All feedback would be appreciated. 

[flames-bring-a-ton-of-ash]

Showing Appreciation - Jim Hopper x Reader

So I binged both seasons of Stranger Things a few weeks ago, and quickly fell down a Hopper trashcan. Here’s hoping that this fic helps purge some of the consuming dirty thoughts I’ve been having about this man. 

Summary: A late night at the station with Jim takes an interesting turn. 

Characters: Jim Hopper x female reader

Words: 5,136

Warnings: nsfw, smut, language/dirty talk, a bit of size kink, unprotected sex, some dom Chief Hopper ;)

Showing Appreciation

The sun was starting to set and, except for the hum of overhead lights and the occasional flutter of a page turning, there had been no sound or movement at the Hawkins Police Station for the past couple of hours. You glanced up from the mystery novel propped on the desk in front of you, turning a cramped neck to look over at the large wall clock.

 6:23pm.

 Giving a sigh, your eyes trailed over to Chief Hopper’s office, where the door was still firmly shut. What the hell was he doing in there? You hadn’t heard a peep out of him in almost three hours, when he had stormed out of the office, grumbling to himself and pacing around a bit, before grabbing a folder out of a filing cabinet and secluding himself back in his office. Hell, he could be dead in there for all you’d know, with his lack of noise or activity.

 Debating for a few long moments before making up your mind, you marked the page of your book and put it down on the desk. Rising from the chair, you lifted stiff arms over your head and stretched out limbs that had been sitting in one position for far too long.

 While you weren’t an official employee at the station, you had recently starting helping out part-time on the weekends. Chief Jim Hopper had been putting in a lot of overtime lately, and Flo was exhausted trying to keep up with his late hours during the week. Hopper had said that he didn’t need anyone in the office with him, but Flo still worried and didn’t want him here alone.

 That’s where you had come in. On top of your main 9-5 job throughout the week, you had also spent the last three Saturdays here, running the front desk. The town of Hawkins rarely had any real emergencies, hence them not being open 24/7. And since the station was technically closed on weekends, there were rarely any calls and not much to do, so it was an easy way to make a few extra bucks and get some reading done, since Hopper mostly stayed holed up in his office. In fact, you tended to make random excuses to knock on his door, just to make sure he was still alive in there.

 Which was what you were doing right now. He had been radio silent for long enough to make you curious, and a tad bit worried, so you strode quietly across the tiles and lifted your hand to give a light knock. After a long pause where there was no answer, not even a grunt of welcome, you turned the handle and opened the door.

 Peeking inside, you saw, with a tad more relief than you wanted to admit, that Hopper was indeed still alive. He was staring intensely at the papers spread out on the desk before him, so focused on his task that he didn’t seem to realize you were standing there, and probably hadn’t heard you knock, either. You were just about to quietly back out and leave him be, when he seemed to sense your presence, his head lifting and eyes zeroing in on you.

 Irritable and aloof as he may be, you couldn’t deny that the chief was a very handsome man. His blue eyes looked tired, and his mouth was set in a hard line, but it still didn’t detract from the masculine features that always seemed to spark a little zing of awareness each time you saw him. His hat was off, and he ran a hand through his hair with agitation, before bringing it down to wipe over the front of his face. You suddenly found yourself jealous of the long, thick fingers that teased through his beard and stopped to rest lightly over his mouth.

 “What time is it?” he asked, his fatigue-rasped voice jolting you out of your wayward thoughts.

 “Almost 6:30,” you responded, prompting him to puff out an expletive under his breath.

 “Have you eaten anything since breakfast?” you asked, walking further into the room. He seemed grumpy, which wasn’t out of the ordinary, but he wasn’t snappy and had spoken in actual words, not just grunts, so you took this as a sign that he was in a fairly decent mode.

 He gestured to the far edge of his desk, where five empty styrofoam cups sat. “I had coffee.”

 Barely resisting the urge to roll your eyes, you moved forward, gathering up the cups and tossing them into the garbage bin by the door. You turned around in time to see him rub his brow and let out a sigh of frustration as he once again glared at the papers in front of him.

 “Maybe take a small break, then come back and look at it with fresh eyes?” you suggested. Hopper wasn’t the only one who hadn’t had dinner yet, and you were craving both a meal and a long, hot bath at home, neither of which would happen until he was ready to close up for the night.

 All you got in response to your suggestion was a grunt of disapproval. Frowning, you walked up behind him, curious to see what it was that held his attention so thoroughly. You expected him to move the papers out of view or tell you to leave, but surprisingly, he didn’t.

 The papers didn’t make much sense to you, a bunch of random typed up reports and numbers scattered in no particular order that you could see. They also were much less intriguing than the man sitting in front of you. With his head bent slightly forward, you could see how much tension Hopper was carrying in his shoulders and neck. He was like a tightly coiled spring, and it was no wonder he tended to snap out and rarely showcase an expression that wasn’t a scowl.

 Without even pausing to think about the consequences of such an action, you lifted your hands and rested them firmly on his broad shoulders, pressing in with your thumbs and instantly finding the hard knots of tension. He tensed up even more at your touch, jerking slightly and most likely about to ask what the hell you were doing. However, when your fingers dug into his flesh, he gave an involuntary groan of pleasure. Trying, and failing, not to think of other situations in which Hopper might let out a noise like that, you continued with your ministrations, finding each knot of tension and attacking it with gentle force until it disappeared. Your hands worked up the sides of his neck, before coming back down to where it curved into what were really quite impressive shoulders. You pushed along the back of his neck, then spread out along the breadth of him, the difference in your sizes even more noticeable now that your hands were on him.

 Clearing your throat and attempting to push the decidedly unprofessional thoughts away, you broke the silence in the room. “You keep up these long hours with no nourishment, and you’re going to give Flo a stroke or put yourself in the hospital.”

 When there was no immediate reply, you tilted your head, looking at his profile. His eyes were closed, mouth slightly parted as he lost himself in the sensations of your massage, and you couldn’t help but smile at the sight.

 “You’ve been breaking your back lately, trying to help this town, Jim. Don’t think we haven’t noticed.”

 He seemed to come back to himself at that, and gave a huffed laugh. “Yea, right. That’s why I’m fending off angry phone calls about destroyed pumpkin patches and strange child sightings almost every day from people who like to tell me that I’m not doing enough.”

 “Well, in case no one has told you lately, I appreciate all you’re doing for this town. You help keep us safe...and look pretty damn good while doing so.”

 Your eyes widened as you realized that you had indeed muttered that last part under your breath, rather than just thinking it. Praying that he hadn’t heard you correctly, or wasn’t overly paying attention, you dropped your hands from his shoulders and started rounding the desk, meaning to make a hasty exit and go hide your beet-red face at the front desk for the rest of your shift. What the hell had you been thinking, waltzing in and putting your hands on him, before letting slip that you found him attractive...really attractive. Okay, let’s be honest, you had it bad for the man, but that didn’t mean that you had to make a fool out of yourself around him.

 You only made it about halfway across the room before a large, rough hand wrapped around your wrist, effectively halting your forward movement. Turning your head with a soft gasp, you were surprised to find that Hopper had risen from his chair and followed you; for such a large man, he was still agile and quick to react.

 Trying to ignore the way your stomach flopped in excitement at his actions, you looked down at your wrist pointedly before quirking an eyebrow up at him in question. You had been expecting him to drop your hand at that point, and maybe even look a little ashamed for manhandling you, but it turned out that Hopper was full of surprises today. His grip tightened slightly for a fraction of a second before loosening again, and he took a step closer to you, pushing just enough into your air space to cause hair to stand up all over your body.

 His voice was lower than usual, as he husked, “You wanna run that last part by me again?”

 A tiny dart of fear raced down your spine as you tilted your head back and looked up into his face, his brow furrowed and mouth taut. He was so much larger than you were, easily dwarfing your shorter frame and reminding you how very alone the two of you were in this moment. Not that you believed he would do anything to intentionally hurt you...but just the thought that he could, the possibility of him using all that brute strength to do whatever he wanted to you, made you have to swallow down the whimper that had lodged in your throat.

 Staring up at him with wide eyes, you tried to backtrack, thoughts racing and body starting to tremble with a mixture of nervousness and arousal. Unfortunately, your brain had decided to take a vacation, and you were left gaping up at him soundlessly, the red burn of embarrassment creeping over your cheeks.

 He stepped forward, his body pressing up against your own, causing you to gasp and automatically take a step back. He took another step, and another, using his body to silently herd you in the direction that he wanted. You continued to back up, trying to reclaim your personal space, the movements like some deranged form of dance. The dance came to a sudden halt when your back came into solid contact with the wall.

 Reaching out, Hopper pressed his left hand against the wall beside your head, effectively caging you in on one side. His other hand twitched at his side, but he kept it there...for now. His chest was bare inches from your own, and you could feel the heat emanating off of him in waves. Looking up was a mistake, one you realized too late, as your gaze was trapped by his own. You were unable to look away as warmth trailed down your spine and settled low in your belly at the heat you saw flaring to life in his eyes.

 “As if it isn’t enough of a distraction having you here, knowing that you’re sitting just in the next room,” he huffed out. You struggled to keep up with what he was saying, shocked to realize that your attraction wasn’t as one-sided as you thought. “As if I don’t already have a hard enough time keeping my eyes off your cute little ass as it struts by in those jeans, or keeping my hands off those beautiful tits as they bounce with every step.”

 Your head was buzzing slightly and you were breathing heavily as his words coiled around you, mixing with the musky, masculine scent that was all Hopper and creating a concoction that left you speechless.

 “I’m curious to know just how far your appreciation of me goes,” he growled, the hand at his side finally rising to grip your chin, lifting until the line of your neck was exposed to him.

 You couldn’t contain the slight whimper that left your lips when he brought his head down and nipped at your jugular, before trailing his mouth along the smooth column of your throat. The rough brush of his beard caused you to break out in goosebumps, and your eyes fluttered shut as his mouth found a particularly sensitive spot behind your ear. He slowly traced the outer curves with his tongue before taking the lobe between his teeth.

 “I bet you’re already wet for me, aren’t you, little girl?”

 Moaning in response, you felt an instant rush of moisture that validated his claim. You almost fell to the floor when he followed this up with another question.

 “Shall I check and see?”

 Your eyes opened as he pulled back, and he was intently watching your face for a reaction. Staring back with lust-filled eyes, you bit your bottom lip and nodded. With that, he gave a guttural groan and fastened his mouth to yours, tongue thrusting past your lips without hesitation, as he thoroughly staked his claim on you.

 The fingers that had been resting lightly on the curve of your neck trailed downward, before he paused to cup the curve of your breast. You felt him smile against your lips when you arched your back, pushing your flesh closer into his hand, and you almost whined in frustration when he instead resumed his downward movement. You weren’t upset for long, as his hand traced a path of warmth down over your waist, before he moved to the front of your jeans and deftly unbuttoned them and pulled down the zipper.

 You moved your head to the side, tearing your mouth from his to sharply draw in air at the feel of his hand delving beneath your jeans and underwear. His fingers slid down over your pubic hair before he cupped your entire pussy in his hand, his mouth once more pressing kisses into your throat. He slid his middle finger back and forth between your lips, collecting the moisture that was waiting there and showcasing just how ready you were for him.

 “Damn, is this all for me?”

 When you didn’t respond, the hand that had been on the wall grabbed a fistful of your hair, pulling your head back forcefully so that you were once again looking up at him, as he growled, “Tell me, baby. Tell me it’s all for me.”

 “Yes...it’s all for you. Please, Jim…” your words morphed into a moan as he inserted the finger that had been playing around your entrance into your dripping cunt. He gave a few shallow thrusts before adding a second finger and pushing both of them as deep as they could go, causing your body to stretch slightly around his thick digits.

 “God damn, you’re tight,” he growled against your lips, his fingers and tongue starting to thrust in sync, a teasing preview of something else that you wanted thrusting inside your willing body.

 Just the thought of your current situation was enough to cause a guttural moan to slip past your lips. You could only imagine how this looked, with you pushed up against the wall by the large figure of Hawkin’s chief of police, jeans unbuttoned and open as his hand worked between your thighs. Your cheeks were flushed and mouth parted as you breathed in little gasping pants, while he whispered filthy comments in your ear. The brush of his beard was rough against your cheek, and you felt him smirk when a twist of his fingers made you give a particularly needy whine.

 You had one hand braced up on his massive shoulder, and the other reached out to wrap around his wrist, using his body as an anchor so that you didn’t melt into the floor. The slow drag of his rough, calloused fingers against your sensitive inner walls was enough to make you forget your own name. In fact, the sounds pouring out of your lips were definitely incoherent and lacking in any form of intelligence.

 Apparently Hopper wasn’t having the same issue, as he clearly whispered against your lips, “You gonna come all over my fingers, baby? That’s it, show me how much you want to be fucked.”

 His words, mixed with the sensations of his fingers in your cunt, served to push you up and over the edge of a glorious orgasm, one that flowed through your body and caused you to cry out helplessly as you trembled with the overwhelming pleasure. Your nails were digging brutally into Hopper’s wrist, and it took you a good minute to calm down enough to release your grip and let him remove his hand from your flesh.

 Leaning your head back against the wall with eyes closed, you struggled to catch your breath, a task which was made even more difficult at the feel of Hopper’s fingers running under your shirt and across your stomach, before he grabbed the hem and pulled it upwards. Obeying the silent command, you lifted your arms up so that he could remove the garment. He then reached around your back and released the clasp on your bra, removing it, as well.

 You opened heavy lids just in time to see Hopper slowly lick his lips while staring at your chest. Your nipples hardened from a combination of the chill office air and the heat of his gaze. Not wanting to be the only one rapidly losing clothing, you pushed away from the wall, finally able to stand on your own without fear of falling, and started working on the row of buttons down the front of his uniform.

 The beige material parted to showcase a broad chest with a spattering of dark hair. Unlike the lean and muscular men usually found on covers of the paperback romance novels that were so popular among the housewives around town, Hopper’s body was bulkier, thicker...stronger. His stomach might have seen more than its fair share of beers, but it would be a mistake to think that he was weak or out of shape. All one had to do was take a look at the massive shoulders and arms that were revealed as he pulled the shirt down and off. His biceps were thick with muscle that flexed slightly when he tossed the shirt carelessly to the side, and you gave a shudder of desire at the possibility of all that solid strength at your disposal.

 As if he had read your thoughts, he stepped forward, and without any hesitation or grunt of discomfort, promptly picked you up by the waist and turned to the side of his desk, setting you down on the cool, smooth surface. He took a moment to haphazardly stack the scattered papers behind you into a messy pile, before shoving them into a folder and tossing it to the floor.

 While he was distracted, you decided to take matters into your own hands, and pushed the undone jeans down your thighs and calves, before kicking them off with your toes. When he refocused on you, and found you reclined on top of his desk clad in only a pale green pair of panties, his nostrils flared as he gave a low growl under his breath.

 You automatically opened your legs when he came closer, allowing him to slip between your thighs, chest pressing down onto your own as he took your mouth in a kiss that was even more passionate than the previous ones. His hands skimmed down your sides, feathering over your ribs and spanning the width of your waist, before moving upwards and cupping your breasts in his large palms. And when his mouth left yours, trailing a path down over your chest to replace one of his hands, you were only able to pant and whine and arch up into him, as he skillfully used lips and tongue and teeth to work at your nipples and devour every inch of your curves.

 His hips were pressed up between your thighs, and he ground his hips into you, the pressure of his still-clad cock rubbing against the soaked barrier of your underwear and making you almost frantic with need. You pulled gently on his hair until his head lifted from your swollen, saliva-coated nipples, eyes moving up and locking with your own, his pupils blown wide with desire.

 “Please, Jim. Fuck me!” you begged, unable to any longer stand the emptiness that only he could fill.

 Giving a groan at your needy words, he straightened and reached down to start unbuckling his belt. You watched, mesmerized, as he opened his pants and pushed both them and his briefs down his thighs. His cock sprung forward, and in this arena, the romance novel stereotypes were true. He was long and thick and hard with desire, and your body clenched in anticipation of feeling every delicious inch deep inside you.

 Not even bothering to remove your panties, he hooked a finger in the crotch and pulled them to the side with one hand, then used the other to run his cock slowly up and down your outer lips, coating himself in your wetness and causing you to jerk and gasp each time the head bumped against your clit. Leaning down over you, so that his mouth was bare centimeters from your own, he husked, “Tell me how bad you want it, baby. Show me how much you appreciate me.”

 You should’ve been annoyed at his arrogant reference to your earlier comment, but you were too far gone at the moment to care. You wrapped your arms around his neck and lifted your mouth to his, running your tongue over his bottom lip; he tasted of a combination of cigarettes, coffee, and something that was pure Hopper. Arching your hips in silent plea, you decided to pull out a card that you hoped would break his last thread of control.

 “Yes, please, I want you...fuck me, Chief.”

 Your lips tipped slightly into a smirk when he gave a pained groan in response, his reaction to the endearment exactly as you had hoped. However, the smirk was quickly wiped off your face and replaced with an open-mouthed moan, when he positioned the tip of his dick at your entrance and gave one long, slow thrust until he was seated deep inside of you. Your walls stretched to accommodate his girth, the slight burn fading into an overwhelming feeling of fullness that took your breath away.

 “Holy shit...fuck!” he exclaimed from where his face had dropped down to hide in the curve of your throat.

 You both stayed like that for a few long moments, you trying to relearn how your lungs worked, while Hopper clenched his teeth and tried not to come, the feel of your tight, wet heat around him intense enough to drive him to the edge with just one thrust.

 Eventually, it wasn’t enough, and you wiggled your hips slightly, the movement constricted by his large form pressing down onto you. His chest rubbed deliciously against your over sensitized nipples, and you lifted your legs to wrap around his waist as, with a grunt, he finally started to move.

 He pulled back slowly, so slowly that you swore you could feel the brush of every vein along his cock inside you. He then thrust back inside with a quick snap of his hips that caused you to cry out and dig your nails into his shoulders. He continued at this pace, drawing back slowly before driving inside of you, then grinding hard up against your pelvis at the end of each thrust, providing friction on your clit and filling you so deeply that you swore you could feel him all through your body.

 Sweat ran down over his neck and chest as he pushed himself up on shaking arms and looked down at you, jaw clenched and hair disheveled as he fucked you steadily into the desk. His hands were wrapped around your hips, his fingers digging in hard enough that you’d most likely be showcasing bruises later, as he anchored your body so that it didn’t slide across the smooth wood.

 Sparks of pleasure darted from your cunt out along your entire body with each thrust and grind, as you roughly squeezed one of your breasts with one hand and clawed at the desk underneath you with the other.

 You could tell that he was close by the frequency of his grunts and the way his hips stuttered a bit, fighting to maintain their rhythm. Wanting to see him come undone, to feel that massive body let go and give itself up to the pleasure, you coaxed him along.

 “I want to see you come, Chief. Come right here, all over my tits.”

 Those were apparently the magic words, because he pulled out of you with a strangled moan, the twinge of disappointment at his withdrawal cut short by the sight of him grabbing his cock and giving it quick, hard strokes. After only a few seconds, he threw his head back with a soft yell, the muscles in his arms and chest clenched taut as he reached his orgasm, shooting creamy stripes of come along your breasts and stomach. His upper body fell forward, and he slammed one hand on the desk beside your hip to steady himself, his other hand slowly dragging along his cock a few more times to draw out a final shudder. He looked down at you with an expression almost of awe, and you gave him a soft smile in return.

 You hadn’t reached your own peak, but seeing as how you weren’t usually one for multiple orgasms, and had already had a mind-blowing one all over his fingers earlier, you didn’t mind. However, it seemed that Hopper didn’t agree with this line of thinking, and you were confused when he suddenly stepped back and placed his hands on your hips to swivel you 90 degrees, so that your pussy was facing the window behind his desk.

 You watched as he walked around the edge of the desk before sitting down in his chair. He reached up and pulled the pair of panties that were now utterly soaked in both arousal and sweat down your legs, before inserting his chest between your thighs and hiking your calves up so that they draped over his shoulders.

 You realized what he was about to do, and were unable to do more than give a needy sound of encouragement as he leaned forward and buried his face in your pussy. He didn’t start slow or work you up to it, he just dove right in, using every trick at his disposal to lick and nip and suck until you were once again, to your shock, balanced at the edge of orgasm. Your hands clenched at the hands that he had wrapped around your thighs, his strong arms keeping you immobile on the desk so that you couldn’t arch or twist away. And it was when he sucked your clit between his lips and quickly shook his head back and forth that you flew up and into the stratosphere, your body convulsing with waves of pleasure that utterly blew you apart with their intensity.

 You stared sightlessly up at the ceiling as your body collapsed bonelessly on the desk, little quivers of aftershocks shooting along your legs, which were still propped up on Hopper’s shoulders. You shuddered when he turned his head and kissed your inner thigh, the brush of his beard like a full-body caress to your heightened senses. He continued to kiss his way down your thigh, before turning his head and repeating the process with the other one, before you finally gave a groan and pushed feebly at his head to dislodge him.

 “You’re trying to kill me,” you rasped, causing him to give a deep chuckle that vibrated against your flesh.

 “As you mentioned earlier, I didn’t have dinner yet, so I was a bit ravenous.”

 Eyes which had just drifted shut popped back open, and your head lifted to regard him. Was Hopper actually joking with you? A bearded smirk and twinkling eyes met your gaze, and you realized that he was, indeed, teasing you. To think that all he needed to lighten up was a nice, hard fuck on his desk, you thought with a breathless giggle.

 “Speaking of, how about we make ourselves presentable and head down to the diner before it closes? I could really go for a burger right about now.”

 If his joking had surprised you, then this utterly smacked you upside the head in shock. It was well-known around town, thanks to the gossip of spurned lovers, that Hopper was the type to make a quick getaway after sex and decidedly not call the next morning. And he definitely didn’t take a woman out for dinner afterwards.

 While surprised at the gesture, it didn’t take you more than a split second to make your decision. Giving a nod down at him, where he was still sitting between your legs, you agreed, “A burger sounds perfect.”

 He gave one last kiss to your flesh, this time at the inside of your knee, before he gently removed your legs from his shoulders and stood up from the chair. He once again picked you up by the waist and settled you on your feet in front of him, making sure you didn’t sway or stumble before letting go. Smiling up at him, you reached up on tiptoes, arms looping around his neck to pull his head down to your own, as you kissed him long and deep.

 You were awfully proud of yourself that he was once again breathing heavily by the time you pulled away. You grazed one last soft kiss to his chin before letting him go and turning to gather up the clothing that was strewn around the office.

 “How’s that for appreciation,” you tossed over your shoulder with a wink, the two of you grinning like fools as you pulled on your clothing and closed up the station for the night, before walking arm in arm to the diner down the street.

~  ~  ~  ~  ~

Tagging my forever tag list (sorry if Hopper isn’t your jam) and some peeps who might be interested in this fic

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