#i've missed having one twice so third time was the charm

[saikkunen]

Save point acquired

[bokutosbabe]

I Can Fix Him (no really, i can)

a / n — this is his song and you cannot convince me otherwise

content — otoya eita x fem! reader, cheating eita (canon i fear)(kinda on reader), nicknames such as ‘princess’ and ‘pretty’ used, tbh delusional reader (me too tho), ooc eita (this man wouldn’t change for anyone really), lmk if i missed anything!!

synopsis — Otoya Eita has a reputation for cheating, leaving a trail of broken hearts in his wake. When he starts dating you, everyone warns you it'll end the same way. But you believe you can change him, convinced your love is different.

✿.｡. “ but your good lord doesn’t need to lift a finger, ” .｡.✿

The whispers started the moment you and Otoya Eita made your relationship public. "He's a cheater," they said. "He'll break your heart just like he did to the others." But you were determined. You saw something in him that others didn't, a man who just needed the right type of love to fix him.

Everyone’s mutterings of “god help her…” when you told them that you were dating eita only gave you more encouragement. You’d prove them wrong, you could fix him- you really could.

Eita wasn't just a star player at Blue Lock; he was also notorious for his charm and the string of girls he left behind. Even in elementary school he had kissed 75% of the girls and 50% had confessed to him!! (with a bowl cut like that, you weren’t sure why,but lest we forget).

Yet, when he was with you, he seemed different. More genuine, more vulnerable. You could fix him. Maybe to anyone else this would seem like a project you were doing, but really, you could change this man.

It was a rainy afternoon when the first real test of your relationship came. You had planned a quiet evening together, but Eita was late. Very late. Your phone buzzed with a message from a friend:

Saw Otoya with another girl at the cafe. Be careful.

Your heart sank, but you pushed the doubt aside. This was your chance to prove everyone wrong. You didn’t need their mutters for a savior to keep your feelings safe. You didn’t need to prove them wrong, really their opinions should’ve meant nothing, but you wanted to. Eita wasn’t like that, you thought.

You called him, your voice steady despite the strange doubt you’d had building inside of you. After the third ring he’d finally picked up, and before he could even say hello you were interrogating him, "Eita, where are you?"

"I'm on my way," he replied, his voice casual, almost too casual. As if he’d been preaching this same lie to every girl he’d had waiting on him for the longest time.

When he finally arrived, you could see the raindrops clinging to his hair, his usual confident and cool demeanor slightly off. "Sorry, I got caught up with some team stuff," he explained, avoiding your eyes.

God help you.

You took a deep breath. "Eita, were you with someone else?" He paused, then met your gaze, his eyes clouded with something you couldn't quite place. You’d had many talks with him about lying. all you wanted from him was the truth.

“Well…yeah. but she’s just a friend, really.” The old you would have believed him without question, but now you needed more. You’d been together for half a year now, and this conversation had happened twice too many times. "I need you to be honest with me, Eita. If we're going to make this work, you have to let me in and be the only girl you’re seeing. or else this isn’t going to continue.”

For a moment, he looked like he might argue, but then his shoulders slumped. "I don't want to hurt you. But I don't know if I can change. It's who I've been for so long." To anyone else, it may have sounded like a lame excuse, but eita had never said something like this to you before. the look in his eyes was something that no one could deny: guilt.

You reached out, taking his hand. "I need you to meet me halfway in this relationship. We can fix this. No other girls, and i’ll stop talking to anyone else.” (you hadn’t been talking to anyone, but you wouldn’t let eita feel like you were his judge, jury, and executioner)

Days turned into weeks, and the effort was exhausting. There were moments of doubt, moments when you wondered if you were fooling yourself. But there were also moments of tenderness, of breakthroughs. Eita began just waving to fan girls instead of flirting with them. He’d stopped winking at waitresses in order to get a discount. This was progress, you’d thought.

You were scared he’d mess this up, prove you a fool to everyone you’d cared for. But you wouldn’t give up. Not on this relationship, not on helping eita fix this streak of cheating, not on eita in general.

The road was long, and the whispers never truly stopped. But every day, you and Eita took another step forward. It wasn't perfect, and there were setbacks. But there were also victories, small moments that proved love's transformative power.

And as the seasons changed, so did Eita. The boy who once broke hearts now cherished yours, holding it with a care that made all the struggles worth it. Because in the end, it wasn't just about fixing him. It was about growing together, finding strength in each other's flaws, and building a love that was uniquely yours.

✿.｡. “ i can fix him, no really i can…or maybe i can’t ” .｡.✿

likes , comments , and reblogs are always appreciated!!

[ronearoundblindly]

Love of My Life (a RoAR drabble)

Flufftober Day 10, Ransom Drysdale x rich!Reader (see series)

This is it, gang, the moment Ran has avoided for soooo long... No warnings, and I even avoided cursing (there is one 'damn' and some taking the lord's name in vain lol). Hopefully, it still seems like Ran then! 🤣 Unedited, short.

"Watch out!"

Ran yanks his foot off the gas and swivels the beamer to the right, missing his chance to merge up the ramp to Drop Offs.

"My god, Hugh, what is wrong with you? Should I have called Dubois?"

"No," he bites back, "I just didn't see that guy in my blindspot."

Ran is utterly distracted while driving you to the airport. You're on your way back to Beijing for who knows how long, and since everything changed two days ago, he's struggled to focus.

Now he has to loop around the entire place to get back to your departure door. That gives him time, but he hasn't used that wisely so far. Why would traffic be different?

His head pivots back and forth, triple-checking his mirrors.

Your hand lightly lays on his arm. He can't feel the warmth of your skin through his sweater sleeve, sadly.

"Hugh," you soothe, "we'll figure out the money and get you back out to visit soon, I promise."

For once--for one bizarre and shining moment in Ransom Drysdale's life--this isn't about money, so he huffs in annoyance.

"That's not... Let's just get you there."

He takes only a split second to look at your soft smile before overly attending the road. He's not thinking about the heated conversation in this very car the other night, he's ignoring the elephant in the back seat with a tattooed forehead that reads "marriage," and he's definitely swallowing three gigantic stone words.

His car pulls up to the busy curb, and you start for the door handle.

"Wait," he shout-whispers, unable to figure out what his voice should sound like. If he speaks deeper, will that be more serious? If he's quiet, will it seem gentle and genuine? He has no idea. Ran's never told anyone this before, not deliberately, not for real.

You squeeze his hand sweetly when he reaches out.

"I promise I charged my phone."

"No, that--"

"And I've CC-ed you on all my itinerary emails."

"Great but--"

"Yes, I ordered more night cream for the hotel, and I'll keep up with--"

"Just SHUT UP for a--" Ran covers his mouth "--sorry. I--I just..."

He can't finish the damn phrase. The pressure in his chest is topping out the meters and he can't do it.

Patiently, you sit back in the front seat, sighing, eyes darting between him and the airport security guard keeping the flow of cars steady. You bite your lip instead of prompting him.

He has another false start.

By this point, Ransom might cry in frustration.

This is not supposed to be so difficult. Why has he made this so difficult? You two have shared far more intimate things than this. Christ, he's proposed already! It's a good thing you've asked him not to tell anybody because he can't even say I love you.

"I know you do, Hugh. It's okay."

Did he? Did he just blurt that out in the middle of thought?!? That's twice now then, but perhaps the first instance you've truly heard. Third time's the charm maybe...

"I love you," he says, no chance to be mistaken. He hears it, he knows you hear it, and he means it. His voice sounds normal yet foreign, changed but unchanged, kind. He sounds kind. Ran isn't sure if he likes it.

"And I love you, too," you return easily.

The true and enormous grin that blooms across your face is something he definitely likes though--loves even.

He smiles but quickly reins it back in, aware that stupid guard is eyeing their immobile vehicle with no one unloading.

"Come 'ere," he breathes.

You're on him in a flash, tender lips kissing his, and just for luck, he mumbles it a few more times. Practice. He'll need practice. You told him he would to lead a new life with you. One day it will seem as normal as swiping his credit card.

"I love you. I love you. I love you."

He gets his favorite giggle in response. He really is a sucker for that silly noise. How he used to hate it...but oh, how he loves it now.

There's a bracing tap at his window.

"Hey! Let's get moving, you two. Other people need this space."

Yeah, whatever, Ran thinks. I don't care about anyone but her.

[Main Masterlist; Root of All Ransom Masterlist; Ko-Fi]

@supraveng @1950schick @patzammit @whiskeytangofoxtrot555 @yiiiikesmish @ashesofblackroses @starkleila @brandycranby

[whatsa-bi-as]

first time

GN!reader x Haku Shota (Soul)

song; first time - Hozier

plot; a young couple talks about whether it would be worth trying again to make a relationship work

genre; angst

warning; none - let me know if I've missed any

word count; 1.4K

networks; @kflixnet and @k-labels

proofread; by the wonderful @gyumibear go check them out they've been a lot of help!!

a/n; I'm thinking of doing some stuff inspired by songs and this was kind of a test run :)

masterlist is here

“Do you think that this could have worked? You and me?”

It was a risky question, but one you hadn’t been able to get out of your head for weeks. It was eating you up inside, and if you didn’t ask it now, you probably never would. The silence that followed filled the air around the both of you and it was deafening.

“I don’t know. I mean, we tried. We tried twice, and Keeho always says 'third times the charm'. So maybe we would, maybe we wouldn’t.”

This was your ex-boyfriend, but your first love. This was the boy you had loved with all your heart, the boy you had watched grow into who he is now, the boy you had always supported with everything you could give.

“One of my mates tells me about this philosophical idea she read about. She thinks it’s just to make people have hope that things could have turned out differently. It’s the idea that there are different versions of people in different universes. ”

He smiled, but he didn’t say anything. He just let you keep talking and listened to you, like he always had, whether you were together or not.

“Which means that in one universe there's a version of us that never met, in another you were always my best friend but nothing more, and in some far off universe it worked out the first time. We never had to wonder if it would work because we… we knew we’d be together forever.”

“So we’re in the one where we tried, but it never happened.”

“Pretty much, yeah. That sucks, doesn’t it. Out of all the universes to be in, we got this one.”

He took a second to think about it. The idea of alternate universes was a lot to take in, especially when it was randomly presented to you late on a Wednesday night.

“What do you think we’re like in that last universe, the one where we never broke up? Do you think we call each other every night and put our beds together in Minecraft?”

You couldn’t quite tell if he was joking or not, but that was typical of him, always trying to make you laugh, even in the middle of a semi-serious conversation. Once he told you that he did that because he thought your smile was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen, and deep down you still hoped that was the case.

“I like to imagine that we’re planning our future. I’m stressed about university applications and you're telling me to relax, that I’ll be fine. We’re also bickering over what colour the rug should be in the living room because you think it's the perfect shade, but I am convinced that it’s too dark for the colour palette we chose.”

“If we would bicker over anything, it would be over what mugs we have on the side and which ones go in the cupboard. You want the ones we use everyday to be on display and I think that glass ones would go better with the decor."

You could picture that argument, and try as hard as you might that one did make you laugh.

“That's the only right answer! It’s not only practical, but a house isn’t a home unless you add some personality to it, and what better way to do that than with mugs!”

“I guess one thing that doesn’t change between that universe and this one is that I know you better than you know yourself.”

The wind was not the only thing that sent a shiver down your spine. It was the fact that he was right, this boy could read you like a book, you didn’t have to say anything for him to know that you were upset, or happy, or stressed, just anything. He always knew exactly what to say or do, and although you used to love that about him, now it just leaves a bittersweet taste in your mouth.

“It's way too cold for us to be out this late.” He stood up and held out a hand to help you up. “Let’s get you home.”

“Do we have to go just yet?”

This night felt perfect. It was like a bubble had formed over the two of you, blocking out any fear and anxiety, but you knew that the moment you walked through your front door, you’d have to deal with all of it.

“You hate the cold. I’m honestly surprised you’ve lasted this long without complaining.”

You just looked up at him silently pleading for him to say no. For him to sit next to you again.

“We can walk slowly, but it’s late, it’s dark and it’s cold, so I’m walking you home whether you like it or not. And I’m not taking no for an answer, so..."

This was a situation you’ve been in before. He's not going to give in. You wouldn’t either if it was the other way around, so you take a deep breath and take his hand. The feeling sends a sense of nostalgia and hope deep into your soul. There's something about holding his hand that just feels right, like it was made to fit in yours.

The walk starts off in silence, the previous conversation soaking in like winter rain into a jumper. It was comfortable but as you got closer to your house and the seconds began to tick away, there was so much that you had to say, but so little time.

Passing the bench where you spent plenty of late nights when you first started dating you just let it out. All the things you'd been meaning to say over the last few years came out all at once.

“I did love you, you know. Sometimes it's hard for me to realise that I love people because in some ways it just comes so naturally. I know I love my family and my friends, because I mean that's a given, but when it comes to like, romantic love, that's a bit harder to realise. I don’t think I truly realised I loved you until I knew it would never be the same again. You’d never put your arm around me while we talk to our friends, you'd never pick me up for late night snack runs, or send me stupid pictures when I’m having a bad day, and I really, really miss that. I miss you.”

“You love me?”

“I did.”

“Do you still love me?”

“I think a part of me always will. You were my first love. I don’t think I’ll ever stop loving you completely.”

“You were my first love too.”

You had reached your front door. The night was over. You had said everything you wanted to say, so nothing should really stop you back from going inside. You weren’t together, in theory you owed him nothing.

In reality, this boy was the first one to hold your heart in his hands and try his hardest not to let it break. He was your first love and it felt impossible to leave him. His hand in yours warmed your heart more than any blanket ever could. It just felt right to be with him, but you had to leave. This doesn’t work and as painful as it is, you just have to admit it. It would be for the best if you could find the strength to turn away.

Instead, you just look at him, admiring how his eyes shine like the stars, how he’s so young but already has laugh lines, and he doesn’t care because it means he’s lived a happy life. He was perfect, and the fact that it wasn’t meant to be broke your heart into smaller and smaller pieces every time you thought about it.

He was the one who broke the silence first.

“Can I kiss you? One last time to say goodbye?”

“Yes. Yes, you can.”

Breaking apart neither of you really knew what to say. You were both so different from the people you were when you first met, but the moment after you broke away it was as if nothing had changed. You were back to being those nervous kids again, whose cheeks got warm every time you held hands because it was all so new.

“I love you.”

“I love you too, Shota.”

[whataperfectwasteoftime]

Common Grounds / Chapter 6

Pairing: Marcus Pike x f!Reader

Rating: T (for now... you know me, this will go up)

Word Count: 1.9k

Warnings: Food mention, slow burn, yearning, flirting, overly charming Marcus, seriously the man is a menace in this chapter, so much unresolved sexual tension

Summary: ...Is it Friday yet?

A/N: Sorry for the delay! I'm so used to writing behemoth chapters that I panic and worry that anything less than 2k isn't worth posting and that I should make it longer, LOL, but I like where this ends. Next chapter they FINALLY go out to dinner <3

Masterlist | Series Masterlist | Previous Chapter

"Shit!" 

Steaming milk sloshes over the rim of the coffee cup, running down the sides and creating a pool on the counter. Sighing, you grab a replacement cup, pour the overflowing contents into the fresh one, and hand it to the customer.

"That's like the third time you've done that this morning," Sam remarks. "Are you okay?:

"I'm great," you answer quickly. 

"I'm glad," Sam answers, "but you should get out of outer space and back to the coffee shop before we run out of milk. And cups."

"I ran into Derrick yesterday," you say abruptly.

Sam drops the scone they're holding, sending crumbs scattering around your feet. "Excuse me? You're just going to blurt that out?" They whirl to you, grabbing your shoulders and staring into your face. "Are you okay? What did he say? Did you punch him? Can I punch him?"

"No… no punching," you say, trying to squirm out of Sam's hold. "It's fine, he just came to rub some million dollar deal in my face."

"Hey," the customer at the counter says weakly. "Um, can I–can I have my… scone?"

"This is important," Sam announces, barely turning around to acknowledge them. "Babe, you were supposed to call me if he ever showed up."

"It's fine, Sam. Besides…" you say casually, knowing you're about to drop an even larger bomb on them. "...Marcus was there."

You grab a scone from the shelf, put it into a white pastry bag, and hand it to the befuddled customer. 

"Marcus?" Sam shrieks, before schooling their face into the most ridiculous, overexaggerated customer service look you’ve ever seen. “Welcome to Common Grounds! What can I get started for you?” 

"Mmhmm," you hum an affirmative to Sam as you pour the woman’s requested iced coffee.

"Excuse me," Sam begins indignantly, but you interrupt.

"Guess that's what happens when you miss a day!"

"I'll keep that in mind next time and come vomit in the cookie dough."

"Sam," you scold, laughing. 

The next customer is eyeing both of you warily. "They're kidding," you tell him. "It's a bit we do. Can I interest you in a cookie? Chocolate chip."

The man grimaces and shakes his head. "Can I get one of those… lavender lattes?"

You smile and ring the man up. That reminds you–Marcus should be in any minute. You're giddy–even more so than usual. Marcus had asked you on a date, hugged you twice, kissed you on the forehead, and suggested that he'd like to do much more than just that. You're vibrating with excitement at the prospect of going on another date with the man on Friday. 

"Hellooooo," Sam says in a sing-song voice. "Why was Marcus there?"

"He was um," you stammer as you pull the espresso shot, "he came back to the cafe to uh, ask me on a date?"

As Sam's jaw drops, you suddenly remember something. 

"Hey! You owe me two months of opening up shop!" you exclaim, a wide grin on your face. 

"First of all, I fucking told you," Sam says, bumping you with their hip. "Second of all, when is your date?"

"He took me out for ice cream yesterday," you say, "after the whole Derrick debacle and a shit morning at work–Lavender latte!–and we went for a walk and talked for like, an hour."

"Oh. My fucking. God," Sam deadpans. "I'm dead. I've passed away. Who takes someone out for an ice cream and a walk in the year of our lord two thousand twenty-two? That's a date straight out of the fifties."

"I guess Marcus does. And he's taking me to dinner on Friday, too," you tell them, just before taking another order. 

"Did he kiss you?" Sam asks as you pour an americano with room for cream.

You avoid making eye contact. "On–on the forehead. Once."

"No way. I refuse to believe that," Sam says, shaking their head. 

"It's true! He's very…" you trail off, searching for the correct word. Just as you decide on 'chivalrous,' Sam chooses another one for you. 

"...chaste."

You shrug. "He's really sweet. Americano!"

"Oh, I cannot wait to see this," Sam says gleefully. 

You turn to them, confused. "See what?"

"He's here."

Your head whips comically to the front doors, where Marcus is just entering. You're sure that your startled, hopeful expression gives everything away, but for the first time, you don't care. Marcus is looking right back at you with poorly-disguised excitement. As he approaches the counter, his smile grows so wide that his eyes crinkle. 

"We're closed," Sam says.

"Perfect," Marcus replies, not missing a beat, "then you're free to come to breakfast with me."

"Ha! I wish," you say emphatically. "What's for breakfast?"

"Hmm," Marcus scratches his chin thoughtfully. "Chocolate chip pancakes? Or no–how about something savory. Eggs benedict?"

"If you're going to come in here and make me hungry, I'm going to ban you for life," you tease. 

"Fine, fine," Marcus sighs. "Well, if you're open, I'll have my usual–" he winks at you, "–and a pastry of your choice. Surprise me."

"I know just the thing," you say. "Carrot date muffins. There's a whole serving of vegetables in each one, but they're so sweet that you'd never even know."

"You know I have a sweet tooth," Marcus comments, except this time he says it, there's something far more flirtatious in his tone, blatantly so. He says it while looking not at the muffin, but at you, with a little glint in his eye. 

Oh, fuck. You aren't going to make it to Friday.

"Hi."

Both of you jump slightly, the tension not exactly dissipating, just… morphing into a different kind of awkwardness as Sam stands right next to you, looking between the two of you with obvious amusement. 

"Hi Sam!" Marcus exclaims. "Feeling better today?"

"Yeah, guess I missed a lot yesterday," they say pointedly.

"Should I have asked for your permission first?" Marcus asks, smiling. 

"Maybe you should," Sam says, crossing their arms. "I'm very protective of her, you know."

"Sam," you exclaim, embarrassed at both of their antics. 

"I promise I have only the best of intentions," Marcus announces, standing up straight and taking on an overly formal tone. "I have a reservation for two at Osteria Morini on Friday and I plan on treating the lady right.”

You can’t stop giggling at Marcus’s antics. You’re in that wonderful place where everything your crush does is absolutely hilarious, no matter how dorky, and you can’t help but find his playfulness exceedingly funny and charming. 

“Are you going to buy her a dessert?” Sam asks, raising one eyebrow. 

“If the lady wishes,” Marcus says, syrupy sweet, with a little wink in your direction. 

“Okay, I’m out,” Sam says, throwing up their hands.

“Giving up that easily?” Marcus accuses. “I could be anybody!” 

You thrust his cup of coffee into his hands. “Out, you menace.”

Marcus is ready. His fingers wrap around yours as he takes the drink, and your hand is engulfed by his larger one. “Text me tonight,” he says softly. “If you want.”

“I will,” you promise. 

Marcus pulls away, his fingers lingering on yours until the last possible second. Your eyes follow him out of Common Grounds until he disappears from view outside.

“That. Was. Disgusting,” Sam remarks, coming up behind you. 

“Uh huh,” you breathe, not really listening. 

Sam hands you an empty cup. “Hazelnut almond milk latte, one extra shot.”

“Mmhmm.”

“Dude.”

“Okay!” You grab a shot glass and press ‘dispense’ on the machine. 

You let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding.

Wow.

– – – –

In the evening, just after eating dinner, you text Marcus.

Beep Boop. Will my texts go to some government database somewhere?

The reply comes almost immediately.

Only if you text my work number. Which you DON’T have. 

Classified?

Nah, just too risky. Don’t want to mix business and… you know ;)

Lord help you, Marcus is using winky faces.

Business and… what?

Don’t make me say it. 

Is the time still not right? 

No, the time is not right. 

Don’t tell me you’re a “only kiss after the 3rd date” kinda guy

I guess you’ll have to find out. ;)

Fuck. Fuck fuck fuckfuckfuckfuck—you scrub your hands down your face and groan loudly into the room. He’s going to kill you. 

Maybe so, but I’d still kind of like a preview, you type out, your heart in your throat.

I’ll tell you this. You are so damn pretty that waiting until the 3rd date just to kiss you is going to be completely out of the question. 

Oh really!?

Yes. Believe me, I’ve been sorely tempted more than once. 

Do tell.

Before it was remotely proper. 

Your eyes widen. How long has Marcus been interested in you? 

Okay, tell me this. When IS the right time?

Hmmmmmmmmmmm

I’ll have to think about that. 

You wait. You wait until you’re blue in the face. In reality, it’s probably only a matter of minutes, but you’re nearly vibrating out of your skin before you see the next text from Marcus.

Ideally? It’s after dinner on Friday. I’ll walk you back to your place, of course. When we get there, I’d take your hand in mine and tell you I had a really nice time. You’d agree, looking up at me. Your eyes would be begging me to kiss you. I’d cup your cheek with my other hand, slowly lean in…

You wait. And wait, and wait, and wait. The story doesn’t continue. Eventually, you text back. 

MARCUS!

Yes? ;)

It’s going to be a long couple of days if you’re going to play it like THAT.

Is that a problem?

I’m going to want to skip dinner, at this point.

Another pregnant pause as Marcus apparently deliberates his response.

That’s good to know. Although dinner might be a good idea.

You take the bait.

Why’s that?

…keep your strength up?

Jesus fucking christ. 

Okay, I’ll stop. 

You press your face into the pillows and groan again. When you don’t respond, Marcus texts again. 

I’m sorry if I was out of line there.

You weren’t, I’m just… frustrated?

I know the feeling. I’ll leave you alone after this: I’m VERY much looking forward to Friday. 

Me too.

See you soon, beautiful.

You resist the urge to throw yourself onto your stomach on your bed and kick your feet into the air. You’ve never felt this way about anyone, let alone someone you haven’t even kissed. Marcus has this ability to stir up feelings you didn’t even know you had. A deep seated longing settles in your stomach, an overwhelming need rising in your core. 

You scroll up and read the longest message again. ‘Your eyes would be begging me to kiss you. I’d cup your cheek with my other hand, slowly lean in…’

Your eyes flutter shut as you imagine the scene he’d painted, shuddering as you picture Marcus’s hands on you. You remember the way his fingers had encircled your wrist the day before. They’d overlapped. He had huge hands. If one of them cupped your cheek, you imagine, his fingers could touch the nape of your neck as he pulled you in close. 

You conjure up the feeling of his breath ghosting across your lips. Would he linger there for a few seconds? With the two of you mere inches apart, would Marcus stop and savor that moment just before your lips connect? Or would he be impatient, immediately capturing your mouth with his, all of the tension that had built up over the past few weeks making it unbearable to wait another instant? 

Thoughts of kissing Marcus after your date on Friday lead you to another, bigger question:

If you invite him up, will he say yes?

[angelica4equity]

"About the Blogger" Meme

Thanks to @currymanganese for tagging me 💕

Star Sign(s):

Aries Sun, Leo Moon, Gemini Rising

Favorite Holidays:

Christmas because it's coldish and I am finally not sweaty 😭

Last Meal:

Two pork tamales with a sunny side up egg on a bed of Mexican fried rice 🤤

Current Favorite Musician:

Spanish band called Shego. I know I know, I hate the ethpanyoles most of the time but damn I love whiny rock music that tells men to go fuck themselves 😍

Last Music Listened To:

Love Me Like You Do by Ellie Goulding ( yes I was watching a fanvid that's the only song legally allowed as a background)

Last Movie Watched:

Mr Monk's Last Case. SO GOOD I literally cried. I loved USANetwork so much as a kid and I grew up with these shows. Yes the treatment of OCD wasn't totally accurate but Mr Monk did make me feel seen as someone who, because of their brain, just can't stop themselves even when they know everyone is frustrated. When I heard they were making a movie I was so excited bc I love the Psych movies so much and I was thrilled Monk was getting his sequel too 😭.

Last TV Show Watched:

The Bear. On my third rewatch 😍👌🏽

Last Book/Fic Finished:

Get a Life, Chloe Brown! By Talia Hibbert. 1, I am a slut for well written romance, 2 I love books about marginalized bodies and 3 I love supporting Black women. This book is part of a series called The Brown Sisters novels and each book focuses on a different sister's romance. It's so good! I accidentally read the third one first but now I've read 2/3. Funny and a lil freaky. I love it!!!! 10/10 would recommend but I also recommend checking it out at a library to boost circulation markers.

Last Book/Fic Abandoned:

I tried reading another romance book called the Right Swipe but so far it hasn't grabbed my attention so I haven't really finished it.

Currently Reading:

Take a Hint, Dani Brown by Talia Hibbert (second of three in Brown Sisters novels)

AND

Falling Twice by Myst867 this is a Harry and Hermione Fanfic don't @ me

Last Thing Researched for Art/Writing/Hyperfixation:

Pegging and how to do it, SPECIFICALLY for my fanfic although I'm sure I'll need that info in my life eventually 🤭

Favorite Online Fandom Memory:

Probably the DashCon Ball Pit fiasco

Favorite Old Fandom You Wish Would Drag You Back In/Have A Resurgence:

Elementary 😭😭😭😭. I love and miss this version of Sherlock Holmes and Joan Watson so gutturally. It was tender, it was loving, and goddamn it was FUNNY.

Also Charmed (Original) bc if we had ao3 when it was airing it would have been OVER

Favorite Thing You Enjoy That Never Had an Active or Big "Fandom" but You Wish It Did:

There's too many to write but I will start with

Legend of the Seeker a show based on the Sword of Truth novels which was game of thrones-y without the rape scenes being showed and a smaller cast. Loved the chemistry between Craig Horner and Bridget Regan 😭

Pitch This show was done so dirty, I LOVED the concept of this which was the first woman baseball player in the MLB and Mark Paul Gosselaar with Kylie Bunbury dynamic was INSANE. I loved how they tackled certain issues 😭.

Tempting Project You're Trying to Reign In/Don't Have Time For:

Starting another Regency Era fanfic (as if I don't already have one I haven't finished lol)

[xx-the-phoenix-witch-xx]

Phoenix Witch: Pass this to the others if you can. I wasn't sure how else to get this around -K

The Letter:

Dear Joys,

I don't regret to inform you that when you read this, I will be dead. I don't regret it. I've tried it twice. Maybe I should've taken the two failed attempts as bad omens.

The first, most of you know about. Took half a bottle of pills and ripped my arms to shreds. Somehow, some way, they kept me alive.

The second, you may not be as aware of. Well, you’ll know half of it. How I killed Cherri Cola. I had my blaster. I was gonna shoot myself in the head, get it over with. And he stopped me. Grabbed the blaster. We both pulled too hard and I pulled the trigger on accident. I held him till Kobra found us. Acid took my blaster.

So I'm hoping third time's the charm. I know you all hate me right now. Even my favorite record. Don't miss me, though I know you won't. And give Spider Sun a good welcome for me.

I don't expect to be back.

Lots of Love and Warm Regards,

Look Alive and Burn Bright,

Krashqueen Motorbaby

(( ooc, please make sure to TW tag this if you post it. Sorry for the mass angst Soup <3 ))

- @krashqueen-motorbaby

Sending letters to me won't get your message anywhere, the only ones who hear me are the dead. And Cherri Cola. You're better off finding yourself a radio, or sending things to Dr Death.

Your time is not yet up Krash, if you were to come here I'd have no choice but to send you back.

Death is cheap in the desert. People do it twice a day. Joys get pixelated, I put them back, and they don't even notice. It means nothing. Living is harder. It's brighter, it's nastier, it's got all the colours. Here in purgstory there's only purple and grey. You wanna say fuck you to the world? Living is more of a rebellion. You killjoys say you're trying to fight better living. They want you dead. Don't give them the satisfaction.

[january31st]

In coming and going... (Pt.1)

Cruella (2021) x reader

This is a request from the lovely @cosmicbrownies7 “a cruella fic where she’s obsessed with the reader since the reader has been with her since they were little. And after Cruellas success the reader tries to leave but cruella won’t “let” her. Or something along those lines.”

yes i had fun procrastinating and making this cover, now look at it.

A/N: I’ve already apologised a thousand times for how long it’s taken, but thank you for your patience as well as everyone who’s been waiting for me to drop something. Here it is! This is the first half of this fic, the second half is coming very, very soon, I promise, and it is considerably longer than this one. Also, I might have gone off the request a bit, but this was what I managed to come up with.

Uni has been keeping me busy and mentally unstable, as it does, and the holidays never fail to make me spiral, followed by the adorable, cute and lovely exam season for which I can only seem to be able to blink and breathe, AnD! to make things better right in the middle of exam season (had 2/4 exams done) MY ROOMMATE GOT COVID :') I'm still negative and I've switched rooms but we're always together so I do believe it's just the incubation period. fun! today i'm missing an exam that i'll take on the 18th feb instead (considering that my classes start on the 21st…..) and on monday i have calc (for which i am utterly lost and I have to study bc i've failed a subject already but I still don't know if I'm positive and get to miss it or if I have to take it on monday kdjjdksksdj). life rant aside, that is why things. yes. the tiny amounts of time i've had to write have been like little nuggets of sanity, so i very much enjoyed writing it, and very much hope you enjoy reading it <3

warnings: parent death, generally traumatic childhood, yall know me, i don’t do cute backstories. let me know if there's anything else i should add.

|| Masterlist || ... who have you become? || Wattpad Link || AO3 Link ||

~3000 words

Knowing her past, of course it pained you to have to leave, just like everyone else did in her life, and unfortunately that included you, all those years ago, twice. And now you sat here contemplating your options, and leaving again was the most likely outcome.

Third time would be the charm, she thought, and you knew it, you could tell by the sparkle in her eye and the way she held your hand. Her grip on you was always tight, and it got tighter every time you went away and came back.

It's destiny, she would argue. It's fate, that the two of you should meet again and again. But you knew it to be a coincidence, you knew you would always come back to London, even if for a short time, just like now. You had to be rational, since her feelings would always cloud reality. Because your own feelings couldn't mean that much. Of course you liked her, of course you cared about her, but you couldn't let her mean too much to you. As kids it didn't matter much. Later on things got a bit more complicated.

Your own mum worked at the bakery near where Estella and her mum lived, so, in your free time as a little kid (which was basically all of your time) you would go play with her on the street, in her house, in the kitchens of the bakery. Making clothes, drawing each other, and doing all the things kids do.

And of course time could not allow that to go on forever, so the tragic day came.

You didn't know the details of it, and you never cared much to do your research, because thinking too much about it felt like torture to you. But you knew that one day your mum died in an accident at the bakery, something about getting crushed after some of the heavier supplies fell down.

And then you were left to the world.

You could have stayed, you knew in your heart that Katherine would have taken you in, you could have lived with them, but you didn't really have much of a choice.

The orphanage came for you that very day, your mum's employers at the bakery knew that your dad was completely out of the picture, so they reported the issue right away.

You were little, you didn't know anything else. And it wouldn't be until you were both fifteen that you would find Estella again.

Well, let's say that she found you.

Or, Jasper did.

You had been rather unfortunate with your foster families. You weren't a particularly troublesome kid, in fact, you'd like to believe that you were perfectly normal. But your first family consisted of a drunk couple who wanted the money from child support. The second one was almost the same, only worse. They weren't drunks, they were drug addicts. And the years in between consisted of this unlucky sorting of families, until you ran away at last, now fifteen, and found yourself in London somehow, face to face with this boy who tried to steal a little plushie that used to be a pin cushion for sewing, and that you wore dangling from your backpack's zipper.

Jasper thought your watchful eye would be useful to them, since no one else had ever realised they stole something, and he also spotted right on that you didn't really have a family to go home to. So in his mind he offered his family, and his home, but he offered much more without even knowing. A couple hours later you would meet a red haired girl who claimed that she had a plushie like that as a kid. You told her a childhood friend gave it to you, her name was Estella. And that was when the two of you realised that you did know eachother, and even now, after all the time that passed, she never forgot that you kept the stupid plushie.

That was one of the days you would never forget. Finding her again. The way her face lit up and the way it felt to you, no longer being alone in the world. You took your time to study her, the way she had changed, or just grown, essentially, as you knew you had too, just not quite as much as her this time. Both of you explained what life had been like for the past few years, her story flowing out with the addition of your own tears. It warmed your heart that you had found her, it was a relief, a feeling of returning home, though you’d barely known what that word meant at all, but it also broke your heart to know what had happened to her mum, and to know (to know! oh you knew it too well) what she had to live through.

And you loved her, from her box dyed red hair, to her smudged eyeliner, to those small habits she shared with the boys, but you also loved how she was exactly the same person you had to leave before. With her gentle heart and caring soul, and how she always made sure you felt safe, and always listened to your rants about society and general social critique. You knew she got defensive sometimes, but never with you. All the trouble she had made in school seemed perfectly reasonable since you knew who she was in her heart.

☽◯☾

The four of you lived along like this for almost two years. Passing each day through your little robberies. Jasper and Horace would roam the streets to see what places would be more profitable, getting Wink to sniff out small entrances to places, as you and Estella poured over the outfits. When the four of you were together, there wouldn't be a moment of quiet, each joke coming after the previous in rapid fire, reenacting the day's job, the warehouse was alive with laughter.

But you and Estella? There was no need for talking. You worked to the sound of whatever vinyl you'd stolen last, both of you too focused on your tasks to even bother with exchanging useless words. The right glance was all it took, and whatever the message was, it would be received. But it wasn’t always silence filling the room, because when you weren’t working there was plenty to talk about, how both of you viewed the world and wanted it to change, and that was something else you agreed on completely. Polite society was too dull, and it seemed a waste to just follow the rules when they did more harm than good. Making up your own rules always felt right, because you were kids, and there wasn’t much to keep you from it (how terrible it is that it all had to change- again).

And she stuck to her rules religiously, always had the plan in mind, she knew where she would look and what way to turn to. You worked best by feeling out the atmosphere, reading the people around you, observing their moves. You spent nights upon nights thinking about how she felt when you had to leave again. How she must hate you. You could have just followed the plan, any damn plan, and nothing would have happened that day. Did she even have any idea of why you left? Well she had to, she's the smartest person you've ever met! You were left with no choice but to swear to never see those three again.

Estella was always cautious about sticking to a good plan. The days before a big hit she would stay at home and study the place, think about all the outcomes. Jasper used to lend her some of his wisdom too, sketching out different paths to run off, debating what time was best to strike. Horace did sit around as well, suggesting things none of us could ever come up with, because he always had his mind on what Wink and Buddy could do. But you got stressed out looking at their maps and schedules and lists of things to do. And that was okay, because you were more of a hawk on the spots, quick to tell when something was off and when it was time to go. You were best at looking out, keeping your sacred watch as they did their craft.

Each day after the heists you would go out on your walk, check people out, get your news, eavesdrop on what gossip was going around town. It was how you kept your mind going, by keeping on the move as well. On most days you would bring one or both of the dogs with you, sometimes getting one of the boys to come as well.

She wasn't much of a walker, she had better things to do. When she did though, it was the fountain at Regent's park that she would always go to. And it pained you to know why. To know that someone as lovely as Estella had to live through something that terrible.

The two of you shared a room, with two beds on either side of the big table that was always cluttered with sewing supplies and magazine cutouts. On the chill nights when there was nothing to plan, the boys watched TV and you two spent your alone time doing all sorts of things. Playing cards, drawing things, talking about the most recent fashion show. Sometimes you'd be reading in your bed, lying to one side as you waited for sleep to catch on earlier than usual, and she would come up behind you, spooning you to try to get a glance at your book. She always fell asleep faster when she was next to you, and you would put the book down and follow after her, matching your breathing to the one you felt on your back.

Whenever either of you would have nightmares you knew you could join the other, despite the bed being too small. You would hold on to each other to keep you from falling off, her head on your chest, your legs tangled together.

You never thought much of it because it just felt right. Of course you wouldn’t mind her closeness. Her skin was soft and her perfume was sweet, fruit-like. Her embrace made you feel safe and content. Things stayed this way for those two years. To you this life was perfect, there was no need to change it because there was nothing complicated about it. Not the way you felt nor the way your days passed. But that was to you of course. And in your childish oblivion- more of a purposeful blindness really- both the boys and Estella felt this way as well.

While that might have been the case for Jasper and Horace, it wasn’t for Estella. She’d always been ambitious. And you couldn’t argue that she didn’t have the right to be either. Not with all her talent. But then there was the part you didn’t understand at first. Not until the day you left.

It had never occurred to you that a girl could feel that way about another girl, and it had certainly not occurred to you that she could feel that way about you. Or that what you felt for her, the way you never felt for any guy, could be that.

And it wasn’t until the day you left that you realised.

That day had started off as usual. A chaotic morning of getting ready, everyone getting dressed with their costume, yelling back and forth, disputing the one bathroom you all shared. A rushed breakfast as was also usual, Horace running after Wink with his crispies in hand, Jasper leaning on the kitchen counter with his tea, reading the news as his toast lay forgotten, you with your sandwich.

“Jasper, your toast is getting cold, don’t forget it.” you said to him as you went to wash your dishes.

Estella was still adjusting something, like she always did, a perfectionist through and through. You followed her into the “planning” room on the floor above with an apple in hand, like you always did.

“How many times do I have to tell you to not skip breakfast? We won’t be done with this one for a couple hours.” you said to her, tossing the apple her way when she looked at you from behind the mannequin.

“You worry too much darling. We’ll be having lunch at that nice restaurant today, we should get enough from our work to go there.” she said to you, smiling widely before taking a bite of the apple, then keeping it in her mouth as she resumed her task.

“I worry too much? Yeah, tell me about it” you said while laughing, and she answered with a furrow of her brows.

You had started to leave for the elevator, but then you felt the urge to look at her again. She looked a lot more stressed than usual.

“Is it because it’s the fancy watch store?”

“What?” she said, putting the apple down on a table.

“You’ve been messing with the cuffs on that shirt forever. You never second-guess your cuffs.”

“Well it’s because it’s satin. This one’s more slippery than usual” she answered without looking at you.

You stepped closer to her, taking her hands into yours to keep her from unpinning those cuffs again.

“It’s going to go just fine. Like it always does. This one’s just a bit more luxurious than usual, but nothing we haven’t done before”

She looked to the side as she huffed in frustration “But this one has a Police station right outside”

“We’ve done that too!”

“I don’t know, I just have a weird feeling about today.”

“The plan you guys came up with is just as good as the ones before, it’ll be fine!” you whispered the last part, tugging on her hand so she would look at you. Her jade eyes fixed on yours before she hugged you like she knew it would be the last time. Tight and long, and you hugged her back, naive as you were. Eventually she started to let go, only to stop and touch her forehead to yours. Your arms were around her waist, and hers had rested around your shoulders before she put one hand over your collarbone, and cupped your head with the other, just behind your ear. And then she leaned in to kiss you. Shy and sweet, her lips barely touched yours before Jasper shouted from underneath, making you two separate at once.

“Girls we should leave in five”

You looked at her, surprise etched all over your face, and she grabbed the apple and made for the elevator, not looking at you at all while it descended.

Then all of you left for the store, separating a couple streets before getting there. You would be the first to get in and the last to leave. Then Estella and Horace, and Jasper at last.

You'd barely paid attention to where you were walking, it was impossible with all those thoughts on your mind. If you hadn't slammed head first into some lady on the street you would have just kept on walking, not realising you'd missed the store already. You turned back around and got into the store, taking your sunglasses off as you did.

You tried very hard to keep a cool appearance, but distress was all you could convey. At this hour, the store was it's busiest, since it would be easier to get things done in the chaos. You tried to melt into the crowd until Estella and Horace walked in, their arms linked together.

You looked everywhere but at them. That was probably one of the reasons why everything went to shit. That and the fact that the Police saw you slam into the woman before getting in, they had an eye on you already.

They went on with the plan, started to talk to an employee the moment Jasper walked in. As Estella said her lines, as convincing as always, Jasper bumped into people to get their wallets, stole things from displays and what-not.

"Well, my husband here came to buy this watch the other day, but I just don't think it matches his eyes. I would very much like to see other options." she said.

You pretended to study a particularly ugly watch, just because it was the one that was displayed with the clearest view to where the pair of them stood.

"Oh absolutely not, that is the ugliest thing I've ever seen." and she went on, saying every watch was ugly, or wouldn't go well with his complexion, buying Jasper the time he needed for the employee to be distracted.

As it was getting time to leave Jasper went to you, as planned, dropped his findings onto your open bag and left. Estella said her last lines, ending the show with a banger.

"Well honey, you picked the lousiest watch store in England, I'm afraid this won't do."

"Ma'am, this company has been selling watches for nearly three centuries! We make watches for the royal family! There isn't any other company with comparable quality!" said the employee, offended.

"I'm afraid that the royal family's standards might be shamefully low. Now, I would like the money back for this watch. We are not keeping it, I might be ill if I have to look at it again."

And the employee begrudgingly gave them the money, so upset that there was no opportunity to check that the watch was real at all, and not a replica.

They left with no troubles, the mission had gone perfectly smoothly until then. And besides your twitchy behaviour, nothing else would have gone wrong if you hadn't messed up at the last moment.

You were forced to run. And so you did. It wouldn’t be until a few years later, under different names, that you would find her again.

|| Masterlist || ... who have you become? || Wattpad Link || AO3 Link ||

if you want to be tagged for part 2 or future works please let me know!(and tell me which) please don't forget to eat and drink water, and stay safe :)

[kirisaki-daichi-scenarios]

a discussion of jabberwock with team interaction hcs + deeper nash analysis

for anon who asked "Can we get some headcanons for jabberwock members or like headcanons when they're together? (its okay if it was jason or nash only)" and made me realise it's about time i get these guys' personalities down

note before we start: cause i didn't know their names until i wrote this

zack is the bald one, allen is the one with a headband, nick is the other white guy apart from nash.

team hcs

nick gets bullied for being under 6ft, but not by jason

nah good old jason teases all of them for being short fucks, emphasising that they’re all 5ft tall in comparison to him

he 100% lifts things out of the others' reach and then laughs for ages after when they try get them

unfortunately though, they’re all used to this and now just ignore him. either that or nash stares at him so intensely jason actually repents and hands it back

zack’s another one with a very good glare, but he’s used it too often on jason and it’s since stopped working.

also jason gives me ‘straightens his back as much as possible when getting measured so he’ll measure in as 7ft’ vibes

oh and he thinks he could wrestle a gator and win. i’ve got no explanation for that except for the fact you can't tell me it's ooc.

allen’s very protective over his white headband - it’s his lucky item - but he’d never let anyone know that

he’s confident in his abilities like the rest of them, but there’s nothing wrong with wearing a headband just in case

(nash knows anyway)

they watch nba matches together and do not shut up once throughout the entire match - lots of jeering, booing each other if someone criticises a player they like, lots of “i could do that”, lots of “get your fucking hand out of my popcorn do you want me to punch you in the face” etc

they used to all live together, but nash has since moved out. he was sick and tired of trying to make people do chores, as the only one who kept their room clean.

yeah the others’ house looks like a heap of trash but also very much “where’s my toothbrush?” “it’s in the third coke can by the orange peel behind the sink” *silence* “yeah thanks” *a minute later* “who the fuck has been using my toothbrush”

they’re all “bro your dribbling sucks why are you on this team loser” to one another, but also very protective (aka arrogant for one another) if anyone else Dared to criticise one of their teammates

then again, what kind of person would criticise jabberwock

half of the time he spends with jabberwock, nash is a Single Mother TM trying to get a bunch of man children to behave; the other half of the time, he's just as bad as the rest of them

i talk about this a lot but i get the feeling nash is an exceptionally hard worker, but at least he gets to let his hair down around his teammates sometimes

nash is also the only person jason thought was truly ‘strong’ at first sight

and nash is also the only person who can beat jason in a fight, and also the only person who can get nash to train, and also the only person who can.. [etc. you see my point].

(n.b jason calls himself the ‘almighty me’, nash says that ‘even god can’t beat me’. point made.)

you know how jason silver’s motto is “I have never thought”

imagine him proudly stating that, before zack adds with a straight face, “yeah cause nash does it for you.”

in short, the team would fall apart without nash.

although the team’s communication and coordination is very fine tuned, nash is the guy who keeps everything in order off the court to prevent what is essentially a team of aces ('main characters', if you will) from falling apart

they hang out together a lot, but do all have other friend groups that do not overlap

team bbqs

unofficial rule not to criticise anchovies on pizza because the one time nick did, nash snapped

however pineapple on pizza is fair game, even though zack quite likes it

more than once, jason has brought a girl home and nick has stolen her attention away with effortless trick shots, funky ball manoeuvring etc

more than once nick has had to trek to nash’s place (with a black eye) at midnight to have somewhere to sleep

do you see a correlation?

oh and everyone in the team has been walked in on by nash when they were naked with some girl

nash has absolutely no shame

he apologises to the girl with a charming albeit insincere tone, and then remains standing in front of the bed/couch until his teammate does what he expected of them

usually it involves not having come to practice

allen learnt a few (emphasis on ‘few’) words of japanese before they travelled to japan and was disappointed that he never got to use them

that said, one of those words was hentai

and now a quick analysis of some panels

a) so there's at least one player who wasn't underestimating vorpal swords. if i were to overanalyse, i'd add that nick's wearing a hoodie (possibly athletic wear) whilst nash has a 'fancy' shirt on; perhaps nick wasn't expecting them to be going to host clubs instead of chilling/training?

b) i know what you're thinking: "how can you say nash is a hard worker when he didn't want to practice for the match". i reckon he was still pretty high on the complete and utter success of their previous match, that plus being around girls, encouraged him to have a more 'jason-y' personality. (either that or fujimaki didn't want to add too much depth/realism into nash's character bc he's unequivocally the villain, right? and obviously this helps with the plot and the jabberwock bad geniuses gom good geniuses rhetoric.)

earlier, i mentioned how nash is the only one that could keep the team together, and is thus the undeniable head of the team; here's a clear example. you can see both jason and zack have no interest in continuing - if anything, there's disgust in their faces, kinda just saying "we spat on all of japan, now we can go home". whereas nash won't allow for the slightest of possibilities that there might exist a team stronger than them, and hence agrees to the match. the key thing here is that the others do as he says without too much fuss.

another thing to note is nash's reference to harakiri. now what can we make of that, alongside his proficiency in japanese, in relation to his character? the way i see it, he's either a weeb or possibly has some japanese lineage. (you could spin that even further and say his mother was japanese, taught him the language, then abandoned him, and hence his almost excessive hatred/mockery of the japanese people.) (is that why he wanted to do another match in japan..?)

just a quick point. "thanks to him" - jason isn't so superior as to think that he could win this match effortlessly without nash's support. links pretty nicely with my earlier idea about how nash is the only person jason has always considered 100% strong.

yet another point about how nash is the strongest of the team in pretty much every way you can think of. you know how scary/powerful you have to be to shut jason up (after he's getting real pissed from being prevented from scoring?)

i personally think this is a pretty important panel, though i've never seen anyone mention it before. did nash grow up training in a professional basketball training situation, as opposed to growing up playing streetball like i suspect the others did? well, to answer that question, imma bring in another panel.

here we see visible rage on nick, zack and jason's faces - they can't accept their loss, which is fair enough. but i'd argue that nash's face seems to depict sadness more than it does anger like to rest of them, look at how downturned his mouth is - and he's looking away from the 'camera', as if hiding his shame.

when you combine that with what he says here, i have no doubt that this is someone who has experienced some proper lows in basketball - as would be expected from someone who's played 'properly'. he's possibly not even a prodigy like the rest of them - compare jason's motto with his. "i have never thought" versus "do not suppose opportunity will knock twice at your door".

there's various lines of thinking you could design with this - he might have been trained by alex (hence, himuro having heard of jabberwock, though he should have known of a team as popular of jabberwock regardless), he might have grown up with professional basketballer parents etc. but here's my own little theory:

nash received serious basketball training from early on - maybe because his parents were living vicariously through him, or maybe he always loved the sport and wanted to be no1. so there he was training away, but, as he grew older, it started getting all a bit too much.

he didn't want to dedicate his entire life to basketball. after all, his hobby is water sports and his speciality is boxing; that's a lot of different things to be keeping up with, whereas the pipeline for promising athletes demands people focus solely on basketball. as a result, nash become bitter: stopped attending practice regularly, got in trouble for trash talk of increasing severity, etc.

result was he was kicked out of the program.

only when he was no longer playing basketball again, did he realise how much he missed it. and hence he got into streetball, where he was tremendously successful as someone with so much training, 'elite skills', and the overly confident attitude to boot.

then, one fateful day, he met jason and the rest is history.

[scented-morker]

h o t e l k e y

1.6k words chenle x fem!reader fluff, humour, suggestive based off of the song “hotel key” by old dominion (ik ik a country song gross)

“it makes her think of me, and that night we left our hearts on our sleeves and our clothes all over the floor”

You find yourself releasing yet another deep sigh as your father beckons you from across the ballroom, but you still put in your brightest smile as you make your way through the heavy throng of people, preparing to be introduced to yet another business associate who's name you'll forget way before the end of the night.

"This is my daughter, Y/N"

He was already gesturing and introducing you by the time you made it to the place next to him, and you accepted the hand of the older man standing in front of you.

"Oh she's grown very well, such a pretty girl"

"You aren't the only one to think so, she was recently crowned Queen of the Seoul Pageant, you're looking at a future Miss Korea"

You tried to keep yourself from cringing as your father blatantly boasted about you, hoping the other man would pretend not to notice.

He didn't, instead he did something even worse.

"Oh that's great, my son is about the same age, he just performed his third concert at the Golden Hall of Vienna"

You could see your father controlling his face as to not appear impressed, but when the other man turned around to find his son, you got the pointed look you knew meant 'be better than whatever his child is'.

The man turns back around and you pretend to pay attention while he introduces his son who isn't there yet, the exact same thing your father did.

At the end of his sentence a boy your age approaches, and it might be the first time you've actually been interested in something going on all night.

Because my goodness, he is gorgeous.

"Chenle, this is Mr.Y/L/N"

He shakes your fathers hand and you can't spot a single thing he does that is less than perfect.

"I was just telling him about your concert a few weeks ago"

There's a flicker of something in his eyes and you think maybe he feels the same thing as you, though he quickly recovers into the golden boy he's expected to be.

"Oh I hope you weren't bragging, it wasn't anything that special"

"Now don't be so humble Mr.Chenle, that is very impressive"

You laid on the charm you knew your father wanted, and his short nod of confirmation validated your thoughts.

It seemed that Chenle hadn't noticed you until the words left your mouth, and his eyes seemed to shine when he did.

"You are very beautiful Miss.L/N"

"She's going to be Miss Korea"

You made sure only Chenle could see your small eye roll as your fathers launched into another round of 'my-child-is-better-than-yours".

"How about I get the lovely lady a drink?"

Both of your fathers seem thrilled by the idea, and you weren't going to pass on an opportunity to get away, so you politely nodded and let him lead you away.

"You are an angel, thank you for saving me from that conversation"

He laughed at your immediate character switch, "I hope you weren't there for too long before I got there to save you".

"Doesn't even matter, as long as we're safe now"

He laughed at your dramatic phrasing, walking straight past the bar and towards the front door.

"You wanna get out of here"

"I thought you'd never ask"

He pulled you along with him out the doors, getting his car from the valet and driving out onto the main road.

You inhaled the scent of lemon and new car while you fiddled with the radio, Chenle tapping his fingers on the arm rest while he spoke out loud about ideas of where you could go.

By the time you pull up to some random fancy hotel, you're both laughing to the point of stomach pain, and you don't know why but you had never felt so comfortable with someone so quickly.

"Hello I'd like an executive suite"

You zoned out while he spoke to the woman at the counter, and was only pulled back in when he wrapped his arms around you and yanked you towards his body.

You looked up with wide eyes, but a quick scan of the scene told you what was going on, and your eyes narrowed at where the female worker had her hand still hovering over Chenle's chest, obviously having just been removed from an attempt at flirting. The current contact you had with the boy and the two pairs of eyes on you told you that he had used you as a cover, and he had obviously said something, something they were both waiting for you to respond to.

"I'm pregnant"

They both looked at you, the woman's eyes wide with horror, Chenle's wide with bewilderment, probably at why that was your panicked response.

You looked up to meet his eyes and you both immediately broke into loud laughs, Chenle swiping the key cards from the counter as you both ran towards the first hallway, his hand holding yours the entire way.

When you finally stepped out of the elevator and made it to your suite, there were tears dried on your face from laughing so hard, and Chenle was still teasing you.

"I'm pregnant," his words were once again cut off by his laughter and you smacked his chest as you inserted the card into the door and yanked it open, throwing yourself onto the bed while he came in still laughing.

He tossed himself next to you, turning onto his side and propping his chin on his hand to looks at your face.

"I told her that we had just gotten married and needed a room" he wiggled his eyebrows as you laughed, mirroring his actions as you turned to look at him in the same manner.

"Well I said I was pregnant, so at least she won't get the wrong idea about what we're doing up here"

"Oh yeah? What do you think she's thinking?"

His voice gets softer and he leans in towards your face, to the point where your lips are only centimeters away.

"You know"

"No I don't think I do?"

"The devils tango. The sideways salsa. The no pants dance. Hanky panky"

He had lost it by the first euphemism, but you kept going, although making him laugh that hard while being so close proved to be a bad idea, and you felt his head hit yours before you had the chance to move away.

"I was going to kiss you but after that I don't think I want to"

He barely got the words out between his laughs and you acted offended, although disappointment was the real emotion you were feeling.

"Why? Because I'm too funny?"

"Yeah, uh-huh that's totally it"

He had finished his laughing fit and was able to speak clearly, a smile on his face while he rolled his eyes, continuing his path back to your lips.

You were barely a millimeter apart when your phone started ringing, both of your groans echoing throughout the room while you blindly reached for the device.

"Where are you? I cant find you and Chenle's father seems to not be able to locate him either. You better be making smart decisions. I'll let you go this time but we've got another party next week and you will be there the entire time"

Your fathers voice was loud through the phone, and you were sure Chenle heard every word.

"Ugh" you let out an angry groan as the voicemail finished, throwing the device somewhere across the room.

"Why do they always do this?"

Chenle got a similar text from his father, and now both of you were mad, knees touching as you sat angrily on the hotel bed.

"What do you think they'd do if we just ran away?"

He looked at you in amusement, not a single ounce of surprise in his gaze.

"I've thought about it, leave the city"

"Maybe the country" you added, and chenle let out a melodic laugh, content to sit in some random hotel with you and talk about running away together.

But that wasn't what you wanted right now.

Right now the thought on both of your minds was to make you fathers mad.

“You better kiss me before we get interrupted again”

You don’t have to tell him twice, within a second his lips are crashing into yours, tongues clashing and hands grabbing at whatever they can reach, both of you trying to contain your smiles at the feeling of freedom.

When you woke up the next day the alarm on the side table read 3:00 and a laugh left you mouth as you woke up the boy next to you.

“Chenle we were supposed to check out three hours ago”

His eyes widen but he joins in your laughter anyway, both rushing around the room to locate your belongings.

The same check in lady at the desk from yesterday glares at you as you run through the halls, and since you paid yesterday you thankfully don’t have to speak to her, Chenle just throwing the key card down on the front desk and running with you in his arms towards his car.

He was too busy dismissing calls from his father and screaming along with the radio to notice the way you slipped the other key card into your small purse.

“we both know we can’t open the door no more, but she kept the hotel key”

[duskwood-by-daylight]

Distance

You finally join the team on a mission, but Bucky gets injured. Maybe you're letting yourself get a little too close to him. Also, the team discovers Naked and Afraid. Part of the Breathe Mercy verse.

Warnings: bullet wounds, angsty angst, cursing, Tony is left out, very found family vibes

Word count: 1980ish

A/N: I love Naked and Afraid so naturally it makes an appearance. This probably should have been two chapters but here we are. As always, 18+, minors DNI. Don't steal or copy or whatever. Feedback always appreciated.

When Natasha's voice calls out "Barnes is hit!" your whole heart drops past your stomach, right out of your body, and plummets into space. Hearing his pained groans through your earpiece only makes it worse. You can't see him on any of the screens, but you can hear him panting, trying to catch his breath, my gods he's drowning. Steve quickly grabs your hand, trying to reassure you.

"He's gonna be okay, sweetheart."

"I'm going to get him." You grab the microphone away from Steve, "James, stay there! Apply pressure! Can you breathe?"

"Doll?" His voice is a weak gurgle almost lost in the chaos. "S'that m'girl? M'okay sweets."

"I'm bringing him back. Stay cool, sweetheart." Sam's voice, strong and powerful, makes you realize just how faint Bucky's voice is.

You collapse into the chair beside Steve and hide your face behind your hands, trying to swallow down all your emotions. You're combat trained, you've experienced much worse than hearing someone get shot, but "Nobody was supposed to even be shot at today. What the hell, Steve?"

"Bucky has a way with people." Steve's charming smile calms your nerves a little more. Every cell of your body is thrumming with adrenaline and you see a faint blue spark between your fingers. Not now. Keep hold. Steve must see it too. "You want to go wait with the doc?"

"No. I'm here to do a job. What's next?"

"Hey, doll." Bucky grins helplessly from the medical cot. Your focus bounces between him and the doctor, finally landing on him. Despite the torrent of emotions, one reigns supreme: relief. He jerks away the oxygen mask, earning a frown from Dr. Cho, who is bandaging his arm. I could gladly wring his neck. "Don't you hey doll me. What in the actual fuck, James?"

"I'm fine, sweets. Gonna be just fine."

"You got shot."

"And in a few days, I'll be completely healed. You know this." He grits his teeth while Dr. Cho prods at his bandage, making sure it's secure. 

She gives you a knowing smile as she leaves. "He's going to live, but he could use a good yelling."

You lean back against the wall, glaring at the ceiling. This is one of the first missions you've been allowed to join, exclusively to observe Steve run surveillance and the comms. The mission was a simple one, just basic information retrieval and yet he still managed to get shot. 

"James Buchanan Barnes, the ability to heal super fast does not negate the fact that you were shot. Twice."

Bucky gives you his best puppy eyes, "C'mon, baby doll. Are you really gonna yell at me when I have bullet wounds?"

"You're lucky I don't shoot you a third time." You glare heavily at him before turning away. In truth, you're trying to keep your composure and being angry at him is so much easier than showing him how upset you are.  Now seeing Bucky's cocky smile makes you understand why they shot him. 

"Doll, look at me." You refuse, fighting back the tears that are threatening to start. It doesn't matter if he heals really fast. He's not immortal. You feel his vibranium hand caress your arm lightly and sigh, "Y/N, please.  Don't shut me out."

"I've lost enough people." If not for his enhanced hearing, he would've missed your words. The admission hurts, but you don't shy away from it. After you were captured, HYDRA wiped out every person you loved, making you watch and rewatch the footage. Forgotten about by your soldiers, erased from your family, you're still waiting for the other shoe to drop, for everything to vanish again. And despite your best efforts, these people have wormed their way into your heart, and that includes the surly brunette reaching out for you. He lost everyone, too. Even Steve for a while. 

"Hey, you're not gonna lose me. You think I'm gonna die and leave you with Sam? Or worse, Steve?"

You hang your head and after a deep breath, regain your full composure. "Your sense of self-preservation sucks. Stop getting into stupid fights, Sergeant Barnes."

"Sergeant Barnes?" You can hear the affronted tone in his voice. "You really are mad at me, sweets." He nudges your arm and you finally meet his eyes. 

"Furious, Bucky."

After that incident, you decide to put a little space between the two of you. With your hungover realization of feelings and post-gunshot confirmation, I'm getting in way too deep here. Just need to get my footing again. We're practically coworkers, this isn't going anywhere, it isn't like that. You can no longer deny how your heart flips over in your chest and you can't breathe when Bucky smiles at you, especially after noticing his scowl toward everyone else. Can't I just have this one good thing? I'll keep it to myself. But no, because if you let it, it'll blossom into full fledged feelings and then you'll have a real problem when he tells you you're just a friend or worse. Better to step back. He won't even notice and he'll probably be relieved. 

You sit beside Tony in meetings, spar with Natasha, and spend your free time with Bruce in his lab. The first night that you go to bed without Bucky, he's too tired to think much of it, but by the fourth night, he's irritated. When you come out of your bathroom, Bucky is sitting on your bed, idly flexing his vibranium fingers. And of course, your traitorous heart does its signature back flip. Bitch. 

"Bucky? You okay?" 

"No." His voice is quiet and unreadable. He doesn't look up at you, focusing on his hand. "Are you mad at me?"

"I was never…" Your brain rifles through your interactions, thinking of if you'd been angry with him. Surely he doesn't mean the mission?

"Then why are you avoiding me?" Now he gazes up at you, hurt in his cobalt gaze. Now not only is your heart going for a gold medal in acrobatics, but your voice is gone, too. "Don't say you aren't because I know better. You barely talk to me or look at me. You call me Barnes or Bucky. I… I can't sleep, my ribs hurt, and my best girl won't talk to me." He closes his eyes, rubbing his hands back through his hair. "Look, you're clearly avoiding me, I just want to know what I did, doll."

In that moment, your resolve doesn't just crack, it disintegrates. Sitting beside him, you pull him into a hug. "I'm sorry, James. I've been having a hard time these past few days, but I never meant to hurt you. Forgive me, please."

"Forgiven. Always forgiven, doll." When his arms wrap around you, your body relaxes for the first time in days. "I understand, but don't freeze me out. If you're going through stuff, let me know. I'll help however I can."

"I'm sorry." Your voice cracks and you internally kick yourself for turning into such a baby. One hug, one touch, one kind word, and you fall apart. Pathetic. "I just… I'm sorry."

"Don't be, pretty girl. You have nothing to be sorry for." His embrace tightens and you gladly lean into it, resting against his shoulder. "Do you need me to give you space?"

"Stay."

And just like that, you're back to where you started, completely screwed. 

"Do you think you would do that?"

"Like volunteering for the show?" You feel Bucky nod. 

He's laying back against your stomach with your legs on each side of him, letting you play with his hair while you marathon Naked and Afraid in the lounge. You convinced him that being shot called for a day of rest, if not for him then at least for you since he nearly caused you a heart attack. "Oh, hell no, James."

He chuckles, "You sure? Eating snakes and building your own shelter is not your idea of a fun holiday? Getting leeches in all your holes and spikes in your feet not relaxing enough?"

"I mean, I've definitely done worse. But going through all of that for funsies? No thanks."

Steve steps into the room and eyes you both, "what are you punks up to?"

"We're taking the day off to watch Naked and Afraid." 

"Excuse me?"

"It's a survival show. Come watch it with us." Bucky moves his feet just enough for Steve to sit at the end of the sofa before laying them across his lap. "You sit, you join self care Sunday."

"Skipping training to eat junk food and have a Sunday slumber party? And watching reality shows? Do I even know you anymore?" Steve fakes a frown before stealing a handful of chips from Bucky's bowl. 

"Don't give me shit. Sweets is the one who started it. I didn't even know it was a thing until an hour ago. Apparently getting shot causes everyone stress." Bucky affectionately mimics you, reaching his free hand up to link with yours. "Isn't that right, sweets?"

You shrug a winning smile at Steve, your fingers idly drawing patterns against Bucky's scalp. "There's nothing wrong with a lazy day, Steve. I don't think I can handle any more excitement this week." 

"How are the bullet holes anyway?"

Bucky places the bowl on the table, lifting his shirt to reveal a clean bandage around his torso, "Practically healed but somebody who shall remain nameless won't let me go without wrapping up my ribs."

"The doctor said three weeks, James. So in two more weeks, you can take them off but until then, your pretty little torso is staying wrapped up. Deal with it."

"You make a good point, sweetheart." Steve chuckles, earning a glare from Bucky. He adjusts Bucky's foot so the heel isn't digging into his femur. "What is this show even about?"

Before long, most of the team has joined, sprawling across the lounge to watch the show. "How dumb can you be? You've got to build off the ground!" Natasha exhales in a frustrated growl, tossing her hands up. "Now they'll bitch all night long."

"I'm still in shock that he can't use a firestarter. After all that talk about being a survivalist." Scott shakes his head. "I'm gonna get a snack. Anybody want anything?"

Tony ducks into the gym, finding it oddly empty. It's almost nightfall and he hasn't seen anyone from the team. Pepper jokingly suggests they're all avoiding him and he shrugs it off at first, but is beginning to consider it. "Friday, where the hell is everybody? Where is Steve?"

Her pleasant voice rings out, "89th floor lounge, sir."

"Are you serious? Jesus Christ." Tony stomps toward the elevator, sighing. 

Someone is humming in the kitchen and Tony sees Scott walking toward the lounge, sandwich in hand. "What are you doing? Why are you eating my food? You don't even live here!"

Scott shrugs, going back to his seat near Clint and closely followed by a shocked Tony. Incredulous, he can only stare. "Did you all just forget about training today?"

"We're viewing a program about being nude and fearful in the wilderness. It is quite good. Join us, Stark!" Thor is sitting on the floor near you with his hair recently braided. Natasha, Peter, Sam, Clint, Steve, Bucky, and you are avidly focused on the television as though you're a bunch of teenagers. 

Tony blinks at Thor, still trying to get his bearings on the moment, "How did you even get in here?"

"Y/N invited me." Thor tips his head back against your arm. 

Tony glares at you wordlessly. 

"What? I missed him." Your laughter slightly bounces Bucky's head against your stomach. 

"See? She missed me." 

Tony opens his mouth to reply when movement behind him causes him to spin. Bruce is sneaking in with a cooler and 24 pack of beer, an embarrassed grin on his face. 

"Et tu, Bruce?"

[flowercrown-bucky]

The Secrets We Hide

Fandom: Marvel

Pairing: Loki x Reader

Warnings: Swearing

Summary: Loki has a secret. A big secret. When Thor needs his help finding Odin, his secret may be exposed.

Authors’ Note: My very favourite reader of my Loki series, Lavender Blue, asked for some more Thor, and whilst thinking about it I got a little carried away

Also Y/N has a last name in this that might make sense if you get to the end oop

If you’re waiting for the next part of Lavender Blue I fucking SUCK at writing smut someone help me-

"Where are we going, brother?" Thor looked curiously at Loki.

He'd been to Britain a handful of times in his life.

The very first had been sometime during what would later become colloquially know as the dark ages, in the early sixth century, he was inclined to believe. Earth, he had found, was wholly unremarkable, if England was anything to go by.

It was on this occasion that he had learned of his brother's magical talents, travelling on horseback through the countryside. He'd stumbled onto a (Remarkably small, he noticed) kingdom, ruled over by a gentleman by the name of Arthur. The real shock, however, had come to him upon entering the banquet hall in his host's castle, only to find his younger brother - who was, needless to say, not pleased to see him - sat next to his host. The lengths he'd gone to disguise himself were commendable, and the beard he'd magicked up was impressive, but there was no mistaking the mischievous twinkle in the eyes of Loki of Asgard.

However, the England Thor found himself in now was a far cry from the country of his memory. Winchester, he had been informed, was where the bifrost had brought them, but the cobbled streets he was walking on were about as unfamiliar to him as unicorn land.

Loki, however, definitely knew where he was. He had clearly been here many times before.

He'd replied to his brother's questioning with a disparaging look, continuing to walk on. All Thor knew about where they were going is that it had something to do with where Loki had placed their father three years ago. As for his personal theories? His mind was drawing a blank.

Eventually, Loki came to a stop in front of a single house within a terrace. A tall, unremarkable house, by all means, built with honey-coloured sandstone, the paint on the windows flaking with age, several panes baring the circular marks of a pontil. Three tall steps led to the front door, and the view of the living room through large window next to it allowing some insight as to the nature of its inhabitant.

Through the hazy glass, Thor could see a remarkably cluttered, disorganised room. A large leather armchair sat in the corner of the room, worn from use and decorated by a patchwork quilt. A similar rug lay on the wooden floor, a tapestry of fabric scraps. Opposite the TV was a grey cord sofa, upon which a number of odd and brightly coloured socks were strewn.

It was fairly safe to assume, Thor reckoned, that the inhabitant of this house - who was currently upstairs, based on the light coming through the window - was not his father.

So what the hell were they doing here?

Loki's three short raps of the knocker elicited a response from the house's inhabitant. They could hear them scurrying down the stairs and towards the door, and fumbling with the lock before opening it.

The woman on the other side was not what he was expecting.

The arrival of your visitors had come as somewhat of a shock to you, that much was apparent from your face. The second thing Thor noticed, was that you clearly knew Loki.

Your hair, slightly damp from the shower, was pulled up on top of your head, secured by a scrunchie, the deep green shade of which complimented your eyes. You were dressed simply in a pair of jeans and a red woollen jumper, your feet bare save for a silver ring around the second toe on your left foot and chipped nail polish on your toenails.

The third thing Thor noticed about you, was that you were very pretty.

"Father?" His voice came out as a squeak.

Out of the corner of his eye, he could see his brother laughing.

"Your father I most certainly am not." Your right eyebrow quirked bemusedly, crossing your arms. "But this is a surprise."

"Sorry, I must've forgotten to mention it." Loki grinned at you. "Can we come in?"

You stepped aside, beckoning the brothers through the door and into your home. You shot Loki a pointed look as he entered, prompting him to roll his eyes and, begrudgingly, remove his shoes and place them neatly by the door. In the interest of remaining polite, Thor followed suit.

"I take it this is not a social visit?" You asked, leading them into your kitchen.

The kitchen, Thor noticed, was nice. Homely. Small, but still, homely. The stone floor was cool under his socked feet, although his left being slightly warmer than the right led him to suspect your floor was central-heated, and the aga opposite him would probably heat the entire house. The beams supporting the ceiling were low enough that he'd hit his head twice, although he had noticed Loki had ducked, his posture automatically slouched so as to avoid collision.

Loki had clearly spent a lot of time in this house, in this kitchen.

You hopped up onto the counter, crossing your legs at the knee.

"Perceptive as ever, I see." Loki chuckled. "Although, my manners seem to have momentarily lost me. Y/N, this is my brother, Thor. Thor, this is Y/N Hudson. She's.... She's a friend of mine."

Thor did not miss the curious glance you shot at his brother.

"As delighted as I am to see you, Loki," You rolled your eyes. "What do you want?"

"It would seem that my dear brother has managed to lose our father." Thor glared at the dark haired man.

"I would dearly love to know how exactly one goes about losing one's father." Your lips quirked into an amused smile.

"And you're the only living being on this dull little planet who's capable of finding him." Loki ignored your attempt at riling him, catching your gaze.

"I don't understand." Thor furrowed his brow. "What are you, a witch? Do you have some sort of tracking abilities?"

"No, she's just very intelligent." Loki corrected. "Would you give Y/N and I a moment alone, brother mine?"

Thor nodded gruffly, watching you hop off the counter and walk out of the kitchen, into the room he'd first seen through the window.

He did not miss how his brother bit his lip as he looked you up and down.

Your front room was Loki's favourite place on Midgard.

It might even be his favourite place in the nine realms.

It had quickly become his bolt-hole, his safe place. It was the first place he'd ever been shown true kindness, where you'd brought him after you found him in a back alley, dying and alone. It was where you'd laid him on the sofa, where he'd been tucked under a blanket for the first time, where he'd drunk his first ever cup of midgardian tea. It was where you'd allowed him, a complete stranger, to rest and heal.

It was where he'd returned to pester this annoying, intriguing little human being, a process within which he discovered you were possibly less annoying and entirely more intriguing than he'd initially assumed.

He trailed his fingers across the back of your sofa absent mindedly, staring at the rings on your coffee table. You had a habit of leaving half-drunk, cold cups of coffee on this table - hence, the rings - something that irked him to no end.

The long hairs on the cushion caught his eye, and he wondered where the furry little beast might be hiding. Your cat, Kenneth, did not like Loki, a sentiment he wholeheartedly reciprocated. If you weren't so fond of it, he would more than happily fling the little monster into some unreachable pocket of a distant dimension.

His eyes reached where you'd perched on the arm of your armchair, one leg stretched out in front of you. He allowed his gaze to lazily climb the length of your body, taking all of you in.

Gods, did he love your legs.

"I've missed you, darling." He grinned up at you.

"I've not seen you for two weeks, Loki." Your voice was slow, deliberate. "And you come to me now, because you need me?"

He bit his lip, you had him there. He never was quite sure how to gauge your emotions, never sure how you’d react. Everything you did was carefully considered.

Even after all this time with you, you were still something of an enigma to him. It was one of the things that had initially drawn him to you, one of the things that he loved about you.

"On the contrary, my sweet." His voice had dropped, so much so that he was almost purring. "I always need you."

"Don't you try to charm me, silvertongue." You raised one finger in front of you, pointing it at him; a warning.

"Is it working?" He raised one eyebrow at you as he spoke.

"I'll let you know." You grumbled.

A soft chuckle left his lips, crossing the distance between you in two strides, dropping to his knees before your outstretched legs. He glanced up at you inquisitively, a massive grin stretching across his face at your nod of confirmation.

Gently, he lifted his hands up so his fingertips pressed at your stomach, at the little gap of skin between the bottom of your jumper and the waistband of your jeans. His fingers slid gently under your jumper, taking the woolen garment with it until his palms were flat against your stomach.

"Hey, little one." He cooed. "I can't believe how tiny you are. I can barely see you."

You laughed quietly, bringing your hand down to rest on top of his much larger one. He kissed the soft skin of your slightly swollen belly, and the intimacy of the small gesture made your heart swell with love and affection for both him and the child growing inside you.

"I wonder if they'll be blue." You mused, running your fingers through the ends of his hair.

"Why, in the name of all things unholy," He looked up from his ministrations. "Would it be blue?"

"Because, you're, well, you know..." You waved your hands expressively. "Nevermind. I had a scan a few days ago, do you want to see?"

You fished in your back pocket, pulling out a small folded piece of paper.

Desperation was not something Thor was used to.

However, in that moment, it was exactly what he as feeling.

He'd crossed his legs, he'd shifted his weight from leg to leg uncomfortably. But however hard he tried, he just could not shift the feeling. He needed to go to the toilet, and he needed to go to the toilet badly.

As the age-old saying went, when you gotta go, you gotta go.

He'd uncomfortably wandered towards where he'd seen you and his brother wander off to.

What he was not expecting to see, was Loki knelt between your legs.

His hands flew up to his face, shielding his view. He'd seen this before, and it scarred him for life.

What even had he seen? 

His brother, kneeling between the legs of a mortal woman. Your jeans, he noted, were entirely done up.

Loki was kissing your stomach, caressing it, a dark piece of paper clutched in his other hand.

"Your daddy loves you so, so much," His brother had whispered to your stomach. "But don't give your mummy too much grief, ok?"

Words escaped Thor.

This woman Loki had brought him to, was pregnant. With Loki's child.

He cleared his throat, startling both you and his brother. Loki scrambled to his feet, anxious about being caught in such an intimate moment with you.

"I needed the toilet." Thor's voice came out in a much higher pitch than his intention.

"On your left."  Loki's voice was barely a croak, his voice hoarse.

"I'm okay," His voice came out in a more nervous way than he was expecting. "Congratulations are in order, I think?"

"Yes." Loki's voice was gruff, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. "Thank you, brother."

"Thank you, Thor." You smiled warmly at the god.

"Anyway," Loki was evidently in a hurry to change the subject. "Do you know where the Allfather is?"

"He's in Norway. That's all I know. He's hidden himself well." You rubbed your chin thoughtfully. "But I do know a man who might be able to tell you more."

Loki's lips curled into a satisfied grin.

Thor's state of confusion remained long after they left your house. He was, as the mortals would say, totally gobsmacked.

Unable to provide the location of Odin, you'd handed Loki a neatly folded piece of paper. As far as Thor knew, his brother had not yet opened it.

Loki had kissed you passionately before he left, an uncharacteristic display of affection and one that made Thor deeply uncomfortable. He'd cleared his throat in a pitiful attempt to stifle a laugh, met only by his brother's middle finger in his face.

Rude.

He glanced at his brother as they walked. He'd not said a word since they’d left, but his hair was mussed from your fingers and his cheeks flushed from your embrace.

“I’m shocked.” He mused. “A woman - an attractive woman - likes you.”

“Harsh.” Loki frowned. “And she didn’t, at first. Like me, that is.”

“Smart woman.” He chuckled, eliciting a punch from the taller of the two.

In his many, many years of existence, he would never have guessed that Loki would be the first of the two of them to become a dad. He never would’ve even imagined his brother as a father in his wildest dreams.

In all honesty, he had never imagined a woman taking Loki as her lover.

He shuddered at the mental image. Yeugh.

“Congratulations, I guess.” A sudden fondness overwhelmed him. “Dad.”

“They are everything to me.” Loki’s voice was clear, concise in a way he had never before heard from his mischievous brother - he was, after all, the God of Lies. “I would gladly give my life to save theirs. I’d give yours, for that matter.”

“Your sentiment is touching.” He grunted. “Anyway, where are we even going, brother?”

He turned to his suit-clad little brother, watching him withdraw the piece of folded paper from his pocket. He unfolded it carefully, revealing your delicate, printed writing.

S. Holmes

221B, Baker Street, London.

[thewidowsghost]

The Unknown Muggleborn - Chapter 11

Series Masterlist

Main Masterlist

3rd Person POV

This can't get any worse, (Y/n) thinks as Filch drags her down to Professor McGonagall's study on the first floor. What the (H/C) haired girl didn't know, was that Harry and Hermione - still under the Invisibity Cloak - had followed the two.

There's no reason on earth that Professor McGonagall will accept being out of bed and creeping around the school in the dead of night, let alone being up the tallest Astronomy Tower, which was out-of-bounds except for classes, (Y/n) thinks miserably.

When Professor McGonagall appears, she looked more likely to breathe fire than Norbert as she towers over (Y/n).

"I would never have believed it of you. Mr. Filch says you were up in the Astronomy Tower. It's one o'clock in the morning. Explain yourself," McGonagall orders.

(Y/n) sits still, her emerald eyes flicking sadly for a moment, and Harry and Hermione exchange a look under the Cloak. Then - to Harry and Hermione's astonishment - (Y/n) speaks.

"I was helping Hagrid," (Y/n) says softly, and McGonagall's expression changes to something (Y/n) couldn't read. "Hagrid had a baby dragon. I didn't want him to get in trouble, so I sent a letter to someone who cares for dragons so they would take him. I just had to get the dragon to the Astronomy Tower."

"Miss (L/n), though you had good intentions for helping a friend, it was unacceptable to be walking around the school at night, especially these days, it's very dangerous - a hundred points will be taken from Gryffindor."

(Y/n)'s face seems to fall even more and Harry and Hermione exchange another look from under the cloak.

"Now, get back to bed," McGonagall says, her voice softening at the expression on (Y/n)'s face.

(Y/n) nods and walks out of the office and silently up to Gryffindor Tower, Harry and Hermione close behind their friend.

The Portrait Hole opens and (Y/n) walks straight up the stairs to her dorm.

Marvel looks up at her companion, and curls up with her friend.

(Y/n) didn't sleep all night, dreading the dawn. What would happen when the rest of Gryffindor found out what she had done?

At first, Gryffindors passing the giant hourglasses that recorded the House points the next day thought there'd been a mistake. How could they suddenly be a hundred points fewer than yesterday?

And then the story starts to spread: (Y/n) (L/n), friend to the famous Harry Potter, their hero of two Quidditch matches, had lost them all the house points, in one night.

From being one of the most popular and admired people at the school, (Y/n) was suddenly one of the most hated. Even the Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs turned on her, because everyone had been longing to see Slytherin lose the House Cup. Everywhere (Y/n) went, people point and don't bother to lower their voices as they insult her. Slytherins, on the other hand, clap as she walks past them, whistling and cheering, "Thanks (L/n), we owe you one."

Only Ron, Harry, Hermione and the Weasley Twins stood by her.

"They'll all forget this in a few weeks," Ron says soothingly on morning at breakfast as every sends (Y/n) hostile glares. "Fred and George have lost loads of points in all the time they've been here, and people still like them."

"But they haven't lost a hundred points in one go, though, have they?" asks (Y/n) miserably as someone loudly asks Harry why he was friends with the 'rubbish Gryffindor Mudblood.'

"Well - no," Ron admits.

It is a bit late to repair the damage, but Harry swore to himself not to meddle in things that weren't his business from no on, coming to the conclusion that (Y/n) receiving all the hate was his fault for forgetting the cloak at the top of the tower. He'd had it with sneaking around and spying.

(Y/n) felt so ashamed of herself that she had went to Oliver Wood and offered to resign from the Quidditch team.

"Resign?" Wood thunders. "What good'll that do? How are we going to get any points back if we can't win at Quidditch?"

But even Quidditch had lost its fun. The rest of the team - excluding Harry, George, and Fred - wouldn't speak to her, and if they had to speak about her, they called her 'the Seeker.'

Hermione was suffering too, just because she was (Y/n)'s sister, and no one would speak to her, either. Hermione and (Y/n) had stopped drawing attention to themselves in class, keeping their heads down and working in silence.

(Y/n) was actually glad that the exams weren't far away. All the studying she is doing keeping her away from her misery. (Y/n), Harry, Ron, and Hermione keep to themselves, working late into the night, trying to remember the ingredients in complicated potions, learn charms and spells by heart, memorize the dates of magical discoveries and goblin rebellions . . .

Then, about a week before the exams were due to start, Harry's new resolution not to interfere in anything that didn't concern him was put to an unexpected test. Walking back from the library on his own one afternoon, he hears somebody whimpering from a classroom up ahead. As he draws closer,he hears Quirrell's voice.

"No — no — not again, please —"

It sounds as though someone is threatening him. Harry moves closer.

"All right — all right —" he hears Quirrell sob.

Next second, Quirrell comes hurrying out of the classroom straightening his turban. He is pale and looks as though he was about to cry. He strides out of sight; Harry didn't think Quirrell had even noticed him. He waits until Quirrell's footsteps had disappeared, then peers into the classroom. It is empty, but a door stands ajar at the other end. Harry is halfway toward it before he remembers what he'd promised himself about not meddling.

All the same, he'd have gambled twelve Sorcerer's Stones that Snape had just left the room, and from what Harry had just heard, Snape would be walking with a new spring in his step — Quirrell seemed to have given in at last.

Harry goes back to the library, where Hermione is testing Ron on Astronomy, (Y/n) buried in her extra complicated - at least to Harry and Ron - Potions notes, Harry tells them what he'd heard.

"Snape's done it, then!" says Ron. "If Quirrell's told time how to break his Anti-Dark Force spell -"

"There's still Fluffy though," Hermione reasons.

"Maybe Snape's found out how to get past him without asking Hagrid," Harry says, looking around at the thousands of books surrounding them.

"I bet there's a book somewhere in here telling you how to get past a three-headed dog," Ron adds. "So what do we do, Harry?" The light of adventure is kindling again in Ron's eyes, but Hermione answers before Harry can.

"Go to Dumbledore. That's what we should have done ages ago. If we try anything ourselves we'll be thrown out for sure."

"But we've got no proof!" says Harry. "Quirrell's too scared to back us up. Snape's only got to say he doesn't know how the troll got in at Halloween and that he was nowhere near the third floor — who do you think they'll believe, him or us? It's not exactly a secret we hate him, Dumbledore'll think we made it up to get him sacked. Filch wouldn't help us if his life depended on it, he's too friendly with Snape, and the more students get thrown out, the better, he'll think. And don't forget, we're not supposed to know about the Stone or Fluffy. That'll take a lot of explaining."

Hermione looks convinced, but Ron doesn't.

"If we just do a bit of poking around -"

"No," (Y/n) speaks for what seems to be the first time in a week, "we've done enough poking around."

The following morning, a note is delivered to (Y/n) at the breakfast table:

Your detention will take place at eleven o'clock tonight.Meet Mr. Filch in the entrance hall.

Professor M. McGonagall

(Y/n) had forgotten she still had a detention to do in the furor over the points she'd lost.

At eleven o'clock that night, (Y/n) says goodbye to Harry, Ron, and Hermione and goes down to the entrance hall. Filch was already there - and so was Malfoy. (Y/n) had almost forgotten that Malfoy had gotten a detention, too.

"Follow me," says Filch, lighting a lamp and leading them outside. "I bet you'll think twice about breaking a school rule again, won't you, eh?" he says, leering at them. "Oh yes . . . hard work and pain are the best teachers if you ask me. . . . It's just a pity they let the old punishments die out . . . hang you by your wrists from the ceiling for a few days, I've got the chains still in my office, keep 'em well oiled in case they're ever needed. . . .Right, off we go, and don't think of running off, now, it'll be worse for you if you do."

They march off across the dark grounds. (Y/n) wonders what their punishment is going to be. It must be something really horrible, or Filch wouldn't be sounding so delighted. The moon is bright, but clouds scudding across it keep throwing them into darkness. Ahead, (Y/n) can see the lighted windows of Hagrid's hut. Then they hear a distant shout.

"Is that you, Filch? Hurry up, I want ter get started."

(Y/n)'s heart rises; if they are going to be working with Hagrid, it wouldn't be so bad. Her relief must have shown on her face, because Filch says, "I suppose you think you'll be enjoying yourself with that oaf? Well, think again, girl — it's into the forest you're going and I'm much mistaken if you'll all come out in one piece.

At this, Malfoy stops dead in his tracks."The forest?" he repeats, and he doesn't sound as cool as usual. "We can't go in there at night - there's all sorts of things in there - werewolves, I heard."

"That's your problem, isn't it?" says Filch, his voice cracking with glee."Should've thought of them werewolves before you got in trouble, shouldn't you?"

Hagrid comes striding towards them out of the dark, Fang at his heel. He is carrying his large crossbow, and a quiver of arrows hangs over his shoulder. "Abou' time," he says. "I bin waitin' fer half an hour already. All right, (Y/n)?"

"I shouldn't be too friendly to them, Hagrid," says Filch coldly, "they're here to be punished, after all."

"That's why yer late, is it?" says Hagrid, frowning at Filch. "Bin lecturin' them, eh? 'Snot your place ter do that. Yeh've done yer bit, I'll take over from here."

"I'll be back at dawn," says Filch, "for what's left of them," he adds nastily, and he turns and starts back toward the castle, his lamp bobbing away in the darkness.

Malfoy now turns to Hagrid. "I'm not going in that forest," he says, and (Y/n) feels a little pleased to hear the note of panic in his voice.

"Yeh are if yeh want ter stay at Hogwarts," says Hagrid fiercely. "Yeh've done wrong an' now yeh've got ter pay fer it."

"But this is servant stuff, it's not for students to do. I thought we'd be copying lines or something, if my father knew I was doing this, he'd —"

"— tell yer that's how it is at Hogwarts," Hagrid growls. "Copyin' lines!What good's that ter anyone? Yeh'll do summat useful or yeh'll get out. If yeh think yer father'd rather you were expelled, then get back off ter the castle an' pack. Go on!"

Malfoy doesn't move. He looks at Hagrid furiously, but then drops his gaze.

"Right then," says Hagrid, "now, listen carefully, 'cause it's dangerous what we're gonna do tonight, an' I don' want no one takin' risks. Follow me over here a moment."

He leads them to the very edge of the forest. Holding his lamp up high, he points down a narrow, winding earth track that disappears into the thick black trees. A light breeze lifts their hair as they look into the forest.

"Look there," said Hagrid, "see that stuff shinin' on the ground? Silvery stuff? That's unicorn blood. There's a unicorn in there bin hurt badly by summat. This is the second time in a week. I found one dead last Wednesday.We're gonna try an' find the poor thing. We might have ter put it out of its misery."

"And what if whatever hurt the unicorn finds us first?" asks Malfoy, unable to keep the fear out of his voice

"There's nothin' that lives in the forest that'll hurt yeh if yer with me or Fang," says Hagrid. "An' keep ter the path. Right, now, we're gonna split inter two parties an' follow the trail in diff'rent directions. There's blood allover the place, it must've bin staggerin' around since last night at least."

"So me and Mafoy'll go one way an' (Y/n) an' Fang'll go the other, I know yer good with spells and such (Y/n). Now, if any of us finds the unicorn, we'll send up green sparks, right? Get yer wands out an' practice now -that's it - an' if anyone gets in trouble, send up red sparks, an' we'll all come an' find yeh - so, be careful - let's go."

The forest is black and silent. A little way into it they reach a fork in the earthy path, and Malfoy and Hagrid take the left path while (Y/n) and Fang take the right.

(Y/n) lights up the tip of her wand, walking in silence, her eyes trained on the ground. Every now and then, a ray of moonlight through the branches above lights up a spot of silver-blue blood on the fallen leaves.

After about an hour, (Y/n) walks through the forest with Fang. They walk for about half-an-hour more, deeper and deeper into the forest, until the path becomes almost impossible to follow because the trees are so thick. (Y/n) thinks that the blood seems to be getting thicker. There are splashes on the roots of a tree, as though the poor creature had been thrashing around in pain close by. (Y/n) can see a clearing ahead, through the tangled branches of an ancient oak.

Something bright white is gleaming on the ground and (Y/n) inches closer.

That's definitely the unicorn, (Y/n) thinks, and it's dead. She had never seen anything so beautiful and sad. Its long, slender legs are sticking out at odd angles where it had fallen and its mane is spread pearly-white on the dark leaves.

(Y/n) takes one step towards it when a slithering sound makes her freeze where she stands. A bush on the edge of the clearing quivers . . . Then, out of the shadows, a hooded figure comes crawling across the ground like some stalking beast. (Y/n) and fang stand, transfixed. The cloaked figure reaches the unicorn, lowers its head over the wound in the animal's side, and begins to drink its blood.

Fang lets out a howl and bolts. The hooded figure raises its head and looks right at (Y/n) - unicorn blood dribbling down its front. It gets to its feet and comes swiftly towards (Y/n) and she scrambles back.

Then a pain like she'd never felt before seems to pierce her whole left side. It feels as thought her scar was on fire and she claps her hand to it.

Through the pain, she lifts her wand but then she hears hooves behind her, galloping, and something jumped clean over (Y/n), charging at the figure.

When (Y/n) looks up, the cloaked figure had gone, and a half human, half horse is standing over her. A centaur! (Y/n) realizes.

"Are you alright?" asks the centaur, pulling (Y/n) to her feet, though she hadn't remembered falling.

"Yes - thank you - what was that?"

The centaur doesn't answer. He had astonishingly blue eyes, like pale sapphires. He looks carefully at (Y/n) his eyes lingering at the collar of her shirt where half of her scar stands out, livid against (Y/n)'s skin.

"You are the (L/n) girl," he says. "You had better get back to Hagrid. The forest is not safe at this time - especially for you. Can you ride? It will be quicker this way. My name is Firenze," he adds as he lowers himself onto his front legs so (Y/n) can clamber onto his back, her wand still clutched in her right hand.

There is suddenly a sound of more galloping from the other side of the clearing. Two other centaurs come bursting through the trees, their flanks heaving and sweaty.

"Firenze!" one thunders. "What are you doing? You have a human on your back! Have you no shame? Are you a common mule?"

"Do you realize who this is Bane?" asks Firenze. "This is the (L/n) girl. The quicker she leaves this forest, the better."

"What have you been telling him?" growls Bane. "Remember, Firenze, we are sworn not to set ourselves against the heavens. Have we not read what is to come in the movements of the planets?"

The other centaur paws the ground nervously. "I'm sure Firenze though he was acting for the best," he says in a gloomy voice.

Bane kicks his back legs in anger. "For the best Ronan! What is that to do with us? Centaurs are concerned with what has been foretold! It is not our business to run around like donkeys after stray humans in our forest!"

Firenze suddenly rears on his hind legs in anger so that (Y/n) had to grab his shoulders to keep from sliding off the centaur's back. "Did you not see that unicorn?" Firenze bellows at Bane. "Do you not understand why it was killed? Or have the planets not let you in on that secret? I set myself against what is lurking in this forest, Bane, yes, with humans alongside me if I must.

And Firenze whisks around; with (Y/n) clutching on as best she can, they plunge off into the trees, leaving Ronan and Bane behind them.

(Y/n) didn't have a clue what was going on."Why's Bane so angry?" she asks. "What was that thing you saved me from, anyway?"

Firenze slows to a walk, warns (Y/n) to keep her head bowed in case of low-hanging branches, but does not answer her question. They make their way through the trees in silence for so long that (Y/n) began to think Firenze didn't want to talk to her anymore. They are passing through a particularly dense patch of trees, however, when Firenze suddenly stops.

"(Y/n) (L/n), do you know what unicorn blood is used for?"

"No," answers (Y/n), startled by the odd question. "We've only used the horn and tail hair in Potions."

"That is because it is monstrous thing, to slay a unicorn," says Firenze. "Only one who has nothing to lose, and everything to gain, would commit such a crime. The blood of a unicorn will keep you alive, even if you are an inch from death, but at a terrible price. You have slain something pure and defenseless to save yourself, and you will have but a half-life, a cursed life,from the moment the blood touches your lips."

(Y/n) stares at the back of Firenze's head, which is dappled silver in the moonlight.

"But who'd be that -" then (Y/n) trails off, coming to a sudden realization. "Do you mean," (Y/n) asks, her voice shaking slightly, "that was -"

"(Y/n)! (Y/n), are you alright?" Malfoy, Fang, and Hagrid were running towards them down the path.

"I'm fine," (Y/n) answers, not even knowing what she was saying. "The unicorn's dead, Hagrid, it's in that clearing back there."

"This is where I leave you," Firenze murmurs as Hagrid hurries off to examine the unicorn. "You are safe now."

(Y/n) slides off the centaur's back.

"Good luck, (Y/n) (L/n)," says Firenze. "The planets have been read wrongly before now, even by centaurs. I hope this is one of those times."

The centaur turns and canters back into the depths of the forest, leaving (Y/n) shivering behind him. Malfoy studies (Y/n) curiously, wondering what had happened in the with the usually strong willed girl.

Ron, Hermione, and Harry and fallen asleep in the dark common room, waiting for (Y/n) to return. Ron shouts something about Quidditch fouls when (Y/n) shakes the three awake.

In a matter of seconds, though, all three them are wide-eyed as (Y/n) began to tell them what had happened in the forest.

The green eyed girl couldn't sit down, she paces up and down in front of the fire, still shaking; Marvel's green eyes are following her owner she paces.

"Snape wants the Stone for Voldemort . . . and Voldemort's waiting in the forest . . . and all this time we thought Snape just wanted to get rich . . ." Harry rambles, his scar on his forehead prickling.

"Stop saying the name!" says Ron in a terrified whisper, as if he thought Voldemort could hear them.

"Firenze saved me, but he shouldn't have done so. . . . Bane was furious . . . he was talking about interfering with what the planets say is going to happen. . . . They must show that Voldemort's coming back. . . . Bane thinks Firenze should have let Voldemort kill me. . . . I suppose that's written in the stars as well," (Y/n) says.

"But why?!" asks Hermione, her voice shaking. "Why would he come after you?"

Everyone turns to (Y/n), as though she had an answer, and (Y/n) realized that she most definitely did.

The others watch as (Y/n) pulls down the collar of her shirt a little, and they stare at the scar - identical to Harry's - on her skin.

"A week before Christmas, I had a dream, well, not really a dream, more of a memory," (Y/n) begins, and tells her friends about the dream and Harry looks up into (Y/n)'s eyes.

"So you were on your way to my house?" Harry asks.

"Apparently," (Y/n) says.

"So all we've got to do now is wait for Snape to steal the Stone," Harry says feverishly, "then Voldemort will be able to come finish us off . . . Well, from what I heard, Bane'll be happy."

Hermione looks very frightened, but she had a word of comfort.

"Harry, (Y/n)," Hermione begins. "Everyone says Dumbledore's the only one You-Know-Who was ever afraid of. With Dumbledore around, You-Know-Who won't touch you. Anyway, who says the centaurs are right? It sounds like fortune-telling to me, and Professor McGonagall says that's a very imprecise branch of magic."

The sky had turned light before they stop talking. They go to bed exhausted, their throats sore.

Word Count: 3751 words

[yandere-daydreams]

I've got bad experiences with basements, so when I think of yanderes i always tend to think of them kidnapping and then blindfolding their chosen one and then taking them far off to a little picture-perfect cabin in the middle of nowhere. You can run away as much as you like, but you're far from home and most definitely lost. They always end up finding you again though. The isolation of the cabin is suffocating, and the trees are your prison.

Ah, right, the old ‘Cabin In The Woods’ workaround. You probably don’t be kept in a basement, but you’ll definitely have to deal with a twice as many hunting knives as you would, in a more urban setting. It’s a win-lose, really. 

It’d be nice, at first. You’re so far from any town or city, your Yandere doesn’t feel the need to chain you to your bedpost or isolate you to a certain part of the house, so you’re free to wander as long as they know the main entrances and exits are secured. As long as you behave and your captor isn’t too cruel, it’ll almost seem like a vacation, for the first few weeks, a retreat from the city and all of its minor annoyances, a chance to decompress and relax with someone that’s more than happy to tend to your every desire. Then, you start to get homesick. You start to miss your family, your friends, and after the second or third... passionate lecture you get for wandering too far from the cabin, you start to realize that you’re not allowed to leave. You captor is losing their strange charm. They stop asking if they can kiss you, their ‘romantic gestures’ get a little less sweet and a little more bruising, and you really, really begin to understand that you need to leave. You need to get out of there. You’re in danger and you’ve always been in danger. 

But, there’s a reason their security is so lax. When you finally try to get away, stealing some supplies and running off into the woods while they’re preoccupied, you’ll realize just how dense forests really are. How long a mile is when you’ve already walked twenty. How little there is to eat when you’re so, so hungry. It’s easy to get turned around if you don’t know where you’re going, and by the time the sun sets, you might be calling for your Yandere, just to see a familiar face. Everything gets so dark and feels so big and gets so cold... it’s all you can do not to cry, when they finally come to bring you home.

It’s better than being kept in a cold, cramped basement, in some ways, but you’ll feel so much more helpless when your Yandere doesn’t even bother putting a deadbolt on your bedroom door. It’s fair trade, but you’re trapped, either way. That’s really all that matters, in the end.

[lovelystarlings]

Chapter Seven - Peeves The Poltergeist

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——————————————————————————

"You are not coming with us." Ron shouted, a look of horror on his face.

"D'you think I'm going to stand out here and wait for Filch to catch me? If he finds all four of us, I'll tell him the truth, that I was trying to stop you, and Camille will back me up." The French girl nodded at Hermione's convincing words; she would definitely rat the boys out in order not to get in trouble.

"Oh, the audacity-" Ron spat, face red with embarrassment.

"Shut it, both of you!" Harry whispered; his face wiped clean of all emotions but fear. "I can hear something."

"Hello?" Camille called out quietly, her voice echoing throughout the empty corridor.

A small sniffle sounded in reply, the group moving forward slowly to look further into the corridor. It was a boy, Neville. He was curled up in a ball on the floor, tears staining his cheeks. He seemed asleep, jumping awake when Camille gently tapped his shoulder.

"Camille! Thank goodness you've found me! I've been out here for hours waiting for someone to walk past me! I forgot the password to get back to bed and the portrait wouldn't let me in!" The boy rushed out, grabbing Harry's outstretched hand, and pulled himself up and onto his feet.

"Keep it down, Neville. The password's 'Pig Snout', you should probably write that down so you don't forget. Not that it will help you now, the Fat Lady's gone somewhere. We're all locked out."

"Hey, how's your arm?" Camille asked.

"Fine," said Neville, showing them. "Madam Pomfrey mended it in about a minute, it was quite clever actually."

"That's great Neville!" Camille spoke, her hands examining his arm, not that she didn't trust Madame Pomfrey, she was just intrigued.

"Look, we have stuff to do, so I'm afraid we're going to have to go-"

"Don't leave me!" Neville shouted, clinging onto Camille's sleeve like a child would its mother, "The Bloody Baron's already been round twice and I don't want to make it a third!"

Sighing, Ron looked from Neville to the watch he wore loosely on his wrist. Throwing a glare to Hermione and Camille, who was still holding onto Neville tightly, he sighed. 

“If either of you two get us caught I will personally feed you to the giant squid myself!” Neville grasped onto Camille tighter, and Hermione moved herself closer to the French girl who was looking at Ron with disappointment.

“Just be quiet,” she hissed, gesturing for Harry and Ron to carry on walking, letting go of Neville and grabbing Hermione’s hand, leaning into her slowly and whispering. 

“If you want to go just say and I’ll leave with you, I’m kinda tired anyways.” Hermione smiled softly, shaking her head. “No it’s fine, I’m the one who wanted to come anyways.” The girl spoke softly, looking forward at the boys ahead. “Now let's go, before they’re too far away.”

The five Gryffindor’s made their way along the corridors, moonlight shining through the windows as they looked around carefully, wary of Filch and his cat, Mrs Norris. The halls of Hogwarts were beautiful, alike the exterior of the school. Paintings of other famous witches and wizards coated the walls, each having their own conversation with the painting next to them. 

Speeding up the staircase to the third floor, Camille locked eyes with the trophy room that they had arranged to meet in, no Malfoy or Crabbe in sight. The five bustled into the room, each looking around in wonder at the crystal trophy cases that surrounded them.  

“He’s late,” Ron whispered. “Maybe he’s chickened out.”

A noise in the next room caught Camille’s attention, her hand immediately reaching out for Hermione’s and her arm wrapping tighter around Neville, who was once again shaking with fear. 

The voice of Filch, the caretaker, echoed through the room, “Sniff around, my sweet, they might be lurking in a corner.” Camille cringed completely at the man’s way of speaking to his cat. 

The five began to edge toward the door as Filch got closer to the trophy room, Camille whispering quietly to the others while gesturing towards a long line of suits of armor. She could still hear the heavy steps of Filch behind them, and the heavy meowing of his cat as they itched closer to the group of Gryffindors. 

Turning around to check that everyone was together, Camille caught sight of Ron’s loose thread on his dressing gown that was trailing on the floor dangerously close to the suits of armor. She edged towards the ginger boy, her eyes locked on that bloody loose threat that could ruin their escape. “Ron,” she whispered aggressively, Ron not hearing her as he continued to walk with Harry. “Ron your dressing gown!” She whispered louder, however it was too late. Neville, the nervous boy he was, had jumped out of fright and startled Ron, who continued to trip over the loose thread and fall into the nearest coat of armor, causing a clanging and crashing that could awake the whole castle.

“Run!” Harry yelled as the five began to sprint down the hallway, ignoring the caretaker chasing after them. They ran around the doorpost and sped down the next corridor, Camille holding her wand in her hand firmly, still unsure of what could be lurking the halls of Hogwarts. Harry ripped through a tapestry, the others following him, finding themselves in a hidden passage. Camille breathed shakily as she looked around the dark hall, shivering as she caught sight of the many spiderwebs that surrounded them. 

Continuing to run, Camille found herself near the Charms classroom they had been in just hours earlier, miles from the trophy room. Camille leaned against the wall, catching her breath as Harry next to her. “I think we lost him,” he panted looking at the girl, her mouth curling into a smile as she wiped the sweat off of her forehead. 

“You think?” She said, Harry beginning to smile along with her, neither seeing the jealous glance Hermione was giving them. 

“What did I say,” Hermione breathed, her hands clutching her chest as she bent over next to Neville and Ron, the latter whose face was redder than his hair. 

“We need to get back to the common room,” Rom spoke aloud, “Like right now, before Filch catches up and we all end up in detention.”

“Draco tricked you,” Camille spoke, not missing the weird look she got from the rest at calling him his first name. As a child, she had always been told that to address people your own age properly is to address them by their first name, not their middle nor their last. And despite the blonde boy having already insulted many of her peers, Camille was not one to be rude to those she did not truly know. “He must have never planned to meet you, and Filch already knew someone was in the trophy one, Draco must have tipped him off.”

Hermione nodded along with the girl, clearly having thought the same thing. 

“Let’s just go. ” The boy uttered softly.

A slight noise came from the door, a rattling, as if someone was attempting to enter. A white blur shot through the door and out of the classroom in front of them. 

Peeves, the poltergeist that had been terrorising other first years on their first day floated in front of them, cackling in delight at catching them in the act. 

“Ohh, ickle firsties out after curfew. Ickle firsties wandering around at night, aren’t you naughty? Tut tut tut, you’ll get caught.” The ghost chuckled, circling the five as they looked around, afraid Filch would appear at any time. 

“Leave us alone Filch, please.” Camille whispered pleadingly, her hands fiddling with the end of her robe, having tucked her wand back in her pocket a few minutes ago. 

“I really should tell Flich, you know?” The poltergeist spoke smugly. 

“Oh just go away,” Ron snapped, pushing past Peeves and continuing to walk. Camille sighed and brought her hand to her temple; she should’ve just stayed in bed. 

“Students out of bed!” The poltergeist yelled, his arms waving frantically. “Students out of bed and down the Charms corridor!” Camille and the others ducked under the ghost and ran into the nearest door; it was locked. 

“What are we meant to do now?” An exasperated Ron asked, his face-in Camille’s opinion-looking like he had eaten a sour lemon. “We’re done for! This is the end of our school lives as we know it!” 

Camille continued to pull at the door, her hands clamming up as they heard the footsteps of Filch edge closer. Hermione, seeing the girl’s panic, stepped in with her own wand raised. “Here,” she spoke gently, pulling the other girl away with her other hand. “Let me try.” Camille watched with wide eyes as her friend tapped the lock gently and whispered a quick unlocking spell.

The door unlocked and the Gryffindor’s bundled in the room, shut the door quickly and pressed up against it, attempting to listen through it. 

“Which way did they go, Peeves?” Camille could hear Filch ask through the door, her hand shaking as it grasped for someone else’s in search for comfort. 

“Manners don’t cost a thing my dear Filch.” The poltergeist chuckled. 

“Just tell me for Merlin's sake.” The caretaker shouted, his anger growing. 

“Say pleaseeeeee.” Camille felt a lump rise in her throat at the thought of peeves actually giving up where they were. She had never had a detention before, and did not want to get one in her first week at Hogwarts. She shivered as she felt someone breath heavily down her neck, distracting her from what was occurring outside the door. 

Turning around, she froze in her spot. She had sworn this was a classroom, it looked the exact same as the one she had been in earlier, except now she looked closer, she spotted something that had blended in the darkness. A giant three headed dog. She thought back to the lack of portraits she had seen as they ran into the classroom and realised they were on the third floor. The forbidden corridor of the third floor. 

“Harry,” she whispered sharply, tugging on his sleeve as the dog growled softly, its three heads looking at the five carefully, its mouth open as if it was as shocked as she was. 

Harry turned along with the girl, his eyes widening also as he stared at the humongous creature, debating running out to Filch rather than stay in that room. Reaching his hand out, the boy pushed the door open and ran, the others following suit; they too had noticed the dog. Eventually reaching the seventh floor, the five stopped in front of the Fat Lady painting, of which looked very disappointed in the group. 

“Where have you lot been? It’s almost midnight!” She spoke, shaking her head at the sweaty children. 

“Pig-snout,” Camille spoke quietly, just wanting to get into bed. “Pig-snout!”

The portrait swung open and the sweaty bunch piled in, Camille collapsing on the armchair next to Hermione who looked at her with a smile. “Well that was fun, wasn't it?”

“What do they think they’re doing?” Ron spoke from his place on the other sofa with Harry and Neville, “keeping an animal like that in the school? Safest school in Scotland my arse.”  

Hermione sighed at the three boys, “You really don’t use your eyes do you? No wonder you need glasses Harry. Didn't you see what it was standing on?” 

Camille rubbed her eyes and leaned her head onto Hermione’s shoulder.

“It was standing on a trapdoor,” the French girl spoke in a bored voice. “Now if we’re all done here, can I please go to bed.”

“Yes,” Hermione spoke, moving Camille’s head off of her shoulder and standing up. ““I hope you’re pleased with yourselves. We could all have been killed — or worse, expelled. Now, if you don’t mind, we’re going to bed.” 

The girl stormed off, Camille following in suit with a tired wave to the boys. 

[mass-of-men]

Can I talk about C22(2019)?

Let me just say this, the miniseries was in not way even close to the novel. I've read C22 a couple of times and it's my favorite novel. The humor and message of the novel resonate with me on such a personal level, that I've never felt with many other books.

The miniseries in hulu is something of a different entity. I've watched it twice all the way through, and I'm doing a third watch through right now. Personally, I like the show, but not in relation to it's connection with the book. There were things I loved, liked, disliked, and hated. Let's start with what I liked:

Positive

The Texan. Man, he was just as annoying as he was in the novel. I actually jumped with joy the minute I heard that voice.

Christopher Abbott as Yossarian. Man, he's a great fucking actor and he brought something to the role that I think Alan Arkin was missing in the movie. During Snowden's death and he just starts crying hysterically, it just fucking got me.

Nurse Duckett. She was great ever second on screen and a really good complimentary character for Yoyo.

The fact that they called him Yoyo. It was so cute.

The Boys' dynamic together. While we don't get to see a lot of it, what we do see, all of them have such a strong and great bond, that their deaths become all the more powerful and the war all the less meaningful.

Orr. I can't mention this enough. This Orr is so cute. When I first read the book, someone like Graham Patrick Martin is someone I can just imagine talking about his Apple cheeks. His dynamic with Yossarian was really good.

McWatt. I liked his character a lot more in this version than the movie

Milo in this version had such a charismatic and boyish charm that it was pretty easy to see how he got others on his side.

The soundtrack from this is bomb as fuck. Catch-22 and Hip Hop have moved to my favorites on Spotify.

How Yossarian talks to Aarfy after the rape. I was really hoping I would get to see Yossarian punch Aarfy in the face. Fuck that guy.

Lately, and I can't stress this enough. The relationship between Yossarian and Nately's Whore's kid sister. She was such a sweet girl and the way Yossarian talks to her makes my heart melt. The way the show presents Yossarian is so gentle, which while not much like the novel is a really refreshing take of the character.

Negative

The order of events. I mean holy shit. The fact that it's in chronological order is such a shame, but I kinda get it, since most people probably wouldn't understand how the novel's timeline works.

That fact that Snowden's death is the last one. What the fuck??? "Where are the Snowden's of yesteryears?". The story just lacks so much without Snowden's death being the basis for Yossarian's cracking.

The lack of the A.T. Tappman. He was in it for like 10 minutes in total.

The lack of Dobbs. Where was the plan to kill Cathcart?

The lack of Dunbar. He was in it less then the Chapman...

Nately's Whore lost all her character. She may not have had a lot in the novel, but this made her and Nately's relationship into a joke and not the genuine and heartbreaking love it was in the novel.

The complete absence of Danby. He's an underappreciated character and he would have had a realily good relationship with the Boys.

The ending. It's a complete and absolute change from both the novel and the movie. I just hate it. Yossarian's "jump!" in the novel is his freedom from Cathcart and the military and the loss of that is heartbreaking. In this, he almost accepts his own eventual demise, but it's not supposed to be like that. Yossarian deserves his happy ending, spending the rest of his life in Sweden with Orr, not flying off into the sky on his way to his next mission while the army continues to fuck him over.

Overall, I'd give the show itself a 8 out of 10, but as an adaptation of Joseph Heller's novel, it's more like a 4 of 10. Go listen to the track Catch-22 from this though, it's my new addiction.

EDIT:

I've had times to reflect and I actually would rate it closer to a 2 or 3 in regards to an adaption, I talk more about my major problems with the ending here and here if you wanna read more of my feelings about this show and book.