#if anyone is actually reading this and wants to pick my brain for further elaboration please feel free my ask box is open but. anyways.

[justmystyles]

Now You're In My Life - Part 4

catch up here

pairing: Harry Styles x plus size reader

word count: 4.4k

summary: a chance meeting at a diner turns your world upside-down.

warnings: some curse words, but other than that it's tame.

a/n: i definitely planned to cover all of Harryween weekend in this part, but my brain had other plans. this gets a little angsty at the end, you've been warned.

*i say it's a plus size reader, while i don't focus a lot on that aspect (because your size should not define you), it will come up, so i just wanted to be upfront about it.

tags (thank you forever, from the bottom of my icy cold heart to anyone who has asked to be tagged, or interacted/read this story at all. it means the absolute world to me.): @allthelovehes @ameerakane20 @ash-craze @bethanysnow @cute-as-ducks420 @gem1712 @golden-hoax @groovychaosavenue @iceebabies @indierockgirrl @jerseygirlinca @jooniesbabie @kaverichauhan @n0vaj3an @superchrystaldrug @tenaciousperfectionunknown @thechaoticjoy @theekyliepage @youknowwhaaat

You trudge through the hallway of your hotel, eyes scanning the walls to find your room number. You had worked all day, and then immediately jumped on a train for the nearly four hour ride to New York so that you could spend the weekend with Harry. You were looking forward to tomorrow, but at this moment you couldn’t want anything more than a shower and some sleep. 

You sigh once you reach your door, scanning the card against the lock and pushing it open. You pause in front of the closet, hanging the garment back that contains your costume for tomorrow. The second is tucked away safely in your suitcase, which you throw on the floor. Kicking your shoes off as you move further into the room, you instantly notice a large vase with flowers on the desk, an envelope with your name on it leaning against it. 

You smile to yourself, already knowing it’s from Harry. Despite your exhaustion, you feel a sudden surge of energy come over you as you rush to the table. You drop your purse and room key on a nearby chair and pick up the envelope, removing the note that was also paired with an all access lanyard for tomorrow. 

I figured you probably didn’t bring my last flowers with you, so I needed to get you some for your room. Be at the venue at noon tomorrow. Dress comfortably and don’t forget to bring your costume! 

-H

You pull your phone out of your pocket, placing a FaceTime call to Harry. 

“You’ve made it!” He greets you with that same smile he always greets you with. You can even hear it during your calls. 

“Ugh… barely.” You sigh. 

His brow wrinkled in concern. “Are you alright? Do you want me to come to your hotel?” 

“No no no, you don’t have to. I’m okay, it’s just been a long day. All I need is a hot shower and a comfy bed and I’ll be ready for tomorrow.” Your heart swelled at his concern. 

“Alright, but it’s really hard for me, knowing how close you actually are and not being able to come to you.” 

“Pfft,” you scoff. “You’re going to be so sick of me after this weekend!”

“Never.” His tone is serious, but there is a sparkle in his eye that gives you butterflies. “Alright, I don’t want to hold you up. The sooner you get to bed, the sooner I get to see you.” 

“Wait!” You stop him. “I actually called to thank you for the flowers.” 

“Oh, right. Let me see them.” He commanded gently. You flip the camera angle, displaying the elaborate arrangement. “Nope, this one didn’t get it either. Not even half as beautiful as you.” 

“Harry…” You groan as you swap the camera again. 

“Gotcha,” he grinned, referencing the blush on your face. 

You don’t think you’ll ever get used to him telling you you’re beautiful. You’re not sure if it’s because of who he is, or because you can’t see it in yourself. 

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Harry.” 

“I can’t wait.” 

You end the call and go to your suitcase to grab your pajamas and toiletries before moving into the bathroom for your shower, then going straight to bed and drifting off quickly to sleep.

The next day, you walk down 31st street, dressed in leggings and an oversized hoodie, looking for the backstage door Harry directed you to. You put on some minimal makeup and pulled your hair back into a high ponytail, knowing you would have to take some time to do proper hair and makeup for your costume later. You carry your garment bag in one hand, everything else in a backpack that sits on your shoulders. 

You step up to the guarded door, pulling your pass out of your hoodie pocket to show security. He nods and lets you into the backstage area. You shoot off a quick ‘I’m here’ text to Harry, and take a look at the space around you while you wait. 

When you hear footsteps behind you, you turn to see Harry, he’s wearing a hoodie, gym shorts, and a pair of colorful sneakers. His smile lifts to a full blown grin as he breaks into a sprint, wanting to get to you that much faster. Once he reaches you, he cradles your face in his hands, pulling you to meet his lips in a hungry, almost desperate kiss. He pulls back, wrapping his arms around your shoulders, bringing you as close to his body as possible, placing a kiss on the top of your head before resting his cheek against it. 

“God, I missed you.” 

You giggle at his dramatics, but internally you’re screaming. You knew he’d be happy to see you, but you never expected anything like this. “Harry, I talk to you all the time.” 

“I know,” he mumbles against your hair. “But I haven’t gotten to hold you,” he gives you a quick squeeze before pulling away so you were looking into each other’s eyes. “Or kiss you.” He leans in, pressing his lips to yours again. This kiss was slower, more purposeful. “I really like kissing you.” He whispers against your lips before pressing a series of small pecks on your lips and over your cheeks. 

“I like kissing you too,” you try to say through your laughter. 

He finally extracts himself from you, running his hands down your arms to take your hands in his. “Let’s have a look at you,” he says as he pulls back, looking over you appraisingly. He arches a brow at the logo on your sweatshirt? “What’s with the false advertising?” He nods to the skull and crossbones, with the word ‘Rancid’ plastered across your chest. 

Your eyes flit down to your shirt, you’re so consumed in Harry’s greeting that you forgot what you were wearing. “Oh, it’s a band! They’re one of my favorites.” 

Harry gasps, stepping back and placing a hand over this chest dramatically. “I can’t believe you’d do this to me!” You give him a confused look. “You would wear another artist’s merch to my show?” He shakes his head, making a disapproving clicking sound with his tongue. 

You make a mental note at his reaction. One of the things you’ve learned in the short time you’ve been talking to Harry is that he’s fun to tease, he sees your sarcasm and gives it right back to you, sometimes tenfold. This was something you were going to have fun with for a while. 

“So you don’t think I look cute?” You pout, looking up at him with big doe eyes, batting your lashes rapidly. 

“Oh no darling, you look incredible,” he tugs on one hand, guiding you into a spin. You happily comply. “But I don’t know how I feel about sharing you with other musicians.” 

You roll your eyes, but before you can craft your comeback, he takes your garment bag from your hands, and nods toward your backpack, signaling for you to take it off. You do, and he hoists it over one shoulder. “Come on, let’s get you all settled. I’ve got sound check shortly and I want you there.” He places his free hand on the small of your back and leads you further into the backstage area. 

He takes you straight to his dressing room, putting your bags away among his things. “You’ll get ready here with me tonight.” 

“Why Mister Styles,” you gasp, clutching your imaginary pearls. “Getting dressed in the same room? How forward of you!” 

Harry laughs as he stalks towards you with a menacing look on his face. “It’s been my plan all along.” He wraps his arms around your waist and pulls you to him again, peppering your face and neck with kisses. 

You maintain a stoic expression despite the attack. “If you wanted to get me out of my clothes, you could have just said so.” 

Your words stop him in his tracks. He steps back, staring at you with wide eyes. “Really?” 

“Of course not!” You scoff. “What kind of girl do you take me for?” 

Harry laughs and shakes off his surprise. “Cheeky as ever.” You hear him mutter under his breath. 

After getting you settled, Harry brings you out to the floor to see the stage and meet the band, as well as a few other tour regulars and friends of his. As the two of you approached the group, hand in hand, you saw them all turn and look at you. It instantly made you nervous.

Would they like you?

Did they think you were some fangirl trying to get something from Harry? 

Harry could sense your nerves and gave your hand a gentle squeeze. You turned to look at him, and he gave you a reassuring nod. You took a deep breath as you reached them and Harry began the introductions. 

Luckily, everyone was so kind, even excited to meet you. Apparently, Harry had been talking about you practically non stop since you met. Finding that out made your face turn bright red, causing Harry to wrap an arm around your waist and pull you into his side, kissing you on your crimson cheek. 

You all shared in a brief chat, getting to know everyone, and learning names you promised them you’d forget almost instantly, but would try so hard to learn and would get eventually. If Harry kept you around long enough. 

… but you didn’t say that last part out loud. 

Eventually, they needed to start their soundcheck, Harry had you take a seat on the drum riser while he made his way to the microphone. He moved across the stage with ease, making sure everything was working as you watched on with rapt attention. Occasionally, he would come up to you, kneeling in front of you, serenading you. Harry had been pretty good at getting you flustered since the morning you met, but here? With him singing love songs within inches of your face? You wished the world would just end then and there, you didn’t know how things could get any better that moment. 

After soundcheck, everyone made their way to craft services for a quick meal before getting ready for the show. They were all excited about their costumes, but wouldn’t tell you what they were. Harry made you promise that you would surprise each other with your costumes, so he swore the band to secrecy. 

Noticing the time, and knowing that you had a lot of work to do to get yourself ready, you excused yourself to head back to Harry’s dressing room. He offered to join you, but you insisted he stay, you would just be doing boring hair and make up anyway. 

After about 40 minutes, you had finally gotten your hair set in your curlers, and were nearly done with your makeup. As you apply your lashes as there was a soft knock at the door. You told them to enter, and Harry poked his head in, his hands covering his eyes.

“Is everyone descent in here?” He asked in a sing-song voice. 

“Yes,” you giggled. 

Harry moved his hand away and immediately pouted. “Oh damn. Better luck next time.” 

You shake your head, throwing a makeup brush at him, which he caught with ease. Your eyes widened in surprise, and he bowed dramatically. You turned back to the mirror and applied your red lipstick. 

“Hmm…” Harry looked you up and down, sticking his fingers through the hole in one of the rollers. “It’s certainly an interesting look.” 

“I’m not done yet,” you swatted his hands away. “I’ve gotta get my costume on, and then I’m going to take these out.” 

“I see, I see.” He backed away, meeting your eyes with a mischievous smirk. “Do you have to get dressed right now? Or do you have a minute to help me with something?” 

“I can help you, what do you need?” 

“I need you to make me pretty, Y/N.” 

“You… what?” You ask, confused by the question. Harry was already the most gorgeous human you had ever laid your eyes on, he definitely didn’t need your help looking any better. 

“Well, I’m not telling you what my costume is, we promised to be surprised…”

“You mean you forced me to be surprised,” you interrupt him sarcastically. 

He rolls his eyes and brings his finger to his lips, shushing you. “I need to wear makeup with my costume. Will you do it for me? You’re clearly quite good.” He gestures to your full face of makeup. 

“Oh,” you’re a little surprised by the request, but you know that even after only a couple of days, you would do anything for this man. “Yeah, I can do that for you.” 

You switch spots, putting Harry in the chair by the mirror as you go through your makeup case to pull out a few items that you think will be useful. You ask him what he’s envisioning for his look, and he asks for some basics. A bright pink blush, a few coats of mascara, and a lipstick a few shades lighter than yours. 

You lift your left hand to Harry’s cheek, holding his face steady so you can apply his mascara, you watch as his eyes shift, and his eyebrow arch. “Well well well, what do we have here?” He reaches up and takes your hand, admiring the words scribed across your wrist. “You have piercings and tattoos? Such a little rebel.” He joked. 

“One piercing, one tattoo.” You correct him, your gaze dropping to your wrist as you eye the artwork fondly. “It’s my grandmother’s signature. I got it after she passed a couple of years ago.” You run your right index finger over it softly. 

“You two were close?” Harry asked.

“Very,” you reply. 

Harry sees you getting emotional, so he flips the conversation, telling you about the tattoos he has in tribute to his family and you return to applying his makeup. He is determined to learn everything about you, he wants you to have those vulnerable moments with him, but this isn’t the right time or place for that. 

“What do you think?” You ask a few minutes later as you step away from Harry, allowing him the chance to see himself for the first time. 

He steps up to the mirror, examining his face. “It’s perfect. Thank you, darling.” He reaches over to hug you, but the curlers act as a barrier preventing him from pulling you too close. “Okay, do you think it’s time to take these out now? They’re in my way.” 

You chuckle and back away, grabbing your garment bag from the rack. “Alright, alright, I’m going.” 

You step in the bathroom, and take a few minutes to change into your costume and finish your hair. As you approach the door, you hear Harry talking to someone. “Are you ready for me?” You ask, making sure you have Harry’s full attention. 

“Always,” he calls in response. 

You open the door, and step out slowly, lifting the skirt of your gown slightly so that you don’t step on it. Harry and Jeff watch you move over the threshold, Jeff’s eyes immediately go to Harry to watch his reaction. His eyes travel from your loose curls and perfectly applied makeup, down to the white collar adorning a royal blue bodice with puffed sleeves, and bright yellow flowing skirt. 

“Wow…” Harry breathed out.

“Is it okay?” You ask cautiously. “I’m Snow White.” You do a quick spin, your skirt flaring out around you.

Harry nodded silently as he stepped closer. The two of you were so focused on each other that you didn’t notice Jeff snapping pictures of your reveal before slipping out of the room to give you two some privacy. He would text them to Harry later. 

Harry placed his hands on your hips, and looked you top to bottom once more.  “You’re absolutely perfect, like some kind of… punk rock princess.” 

His words jolt you, and you step out of his embrace. “What… what did you say?” 

“I… I’m sorry,” he stuttered, taken aback by your reaction. “I meant it as a compliment, you just look so stunning, a perfect princess, but then that little piercing gives you just th–”

“No, no,” you stop him. You weren’t mad, you hated that you made him feel like he had said something wrong. “I just, see that’s the name of a song, I’ve always kind of secretly wished someone would think of me like that.” 

Harry smirks as he watches the emotions swirl in your eyes. “Well then, I guess we just found my nickname for you. Didn’t we, princess?” He steps up to you again, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you close, pausing just before your lips touch. “Am I going to mess up your lipstick if I kiss you right now? Because I would like to kiss my punk rock princess.” 

Your breath hitches, but you quickly try to compose yourself. “Mine will be fine, but yours won’t.” 

“Fuck it,” he growls before crashing his lips against yours. His hands sliding up to tangle in your hair. He kisses you until you’re both left breathless. When he pulls away, your eyes remain closed, your foreheads pressed together. 

You stand in silence like that for a moment, your mind racing. You and Harry had kissed quite a bit today, but this one felt different. As if you were both trying to convey some unsaid sentiments. You feel a slight panic come over you when you realize the sentiments on your end. 

You’re falling in love with Harry Styles. 

Before you had a chance to fully process the thought, a knock on the door pulled you out of the moment. 

“H, if you want to do pictures you’ve gotta get moving.”

Harry stepped back, giving you an apologetic smile. “I just need five minutes.” He called in response, his eyes never leaving yours.

“I’ll uh… I’ll go on ahead and let you get changed.” You stumble over your words, starting to move toward the door. You feel Harry’s hand on your wrist almost immediately, stopping you in your tracks.

“Don’t go,” he looks at you with pleading eyes. “Just give me a minute to run into the bathroom to change, we’ll go together. I want us to go together.” 

You nod your head, struggling to speak. “Okay,” you finally manage to choke out. He gives you that grin again, lifting your hand to his lips, kissing the back of it softly. 

Harry grabs his own garment bag and steps into the bathroom while you move to the mirror. You wanted to check your makeup. But more than that, you wanted to scold yourself. 

“What the fuck are you even doing?” You whisper-yell at yourself. “You’ve known this guy for less than a week.”

This guy, you scoff at the thought. This isn’t some random app swipe, this was an international pop superstar. What could he even want with you? You had no idea what this was, you didn’t know what was going on in his head. Truthfully, you didn’t want to, you were afraid to ask, worrying that the truth would come out and that whatever this was would be over. You were here for the weekend, you would go back to your real life on Monday, and he’d fly off to another city, and probably find another girl to kiss. 

“Just have fun, keep it casual. Don’t get attached.” You repeat these words to yourself quietly in the mirror, pushing down your feelings as you adjust your lipstick. Yours stayed put, but the shade you put on Harry was a cheaper brand and had smeared all over your lips. 

“I’m ready!” Harry’s declaration gets your attention. You close your eyes and take a deep breath, reminding yourself to swallow your feelings. 

You turn around, immediately bursting out in laughter as you take Harry in from head to toe. There is a blue gingham bow sitting high on his head, matching perfectly to the dress that came to his mid-thigh, red tights leading down to a pair of blue socks, and finally those iconic sparkling red shoes. 

“Well,” you lean back against the counter, crossing your arms over your chest. “We certainly aren’t in Kansas anymore.” 

“You like?” He asks tentatively, searching for your approval.

You smile and nod your head in approval. “I like.”

“Good, it’s far too late to change it now.” He offers you his hand. ���Shall we, princess?” You link your fingers through his and the both of you start to make your way out of the dressing room. “Oh, hold on one second.” He kisses your hand quickly before releasing it and running back into the room. He returns quickly, holding up a basket with a stuffed dog inside. “Okay, now I’m ready.” He takes your hand again and leads you down the hallway. 

After you meet up with everyone, exchange compliments and take a few photos, Harry gives you one last kiss before joining the band for their pre-show rituals. Jeff leads you out to the barricaded area where you will be watching the show. You look around at the different costumes everyone has chosen, some are Harry themed, others are what you’ve deemed ‘cute girl costumes’, you quickly realize the hypocrisy in that statement as you catch a glance of your Disney Princess costume.

Before long, the show begins, and your attention is permanently redirected to the man on stage. The man you are falling in love with. You try to shake the thought away, but you can’t help it. As you watch him, you wonder if he’s feeling even half of what you are. You could swear he’s looking at you more intently during this show than he did in Boston, but you convince yourself that you’re just reading too much into it because that’s what you want to believe. 

He’s just having fun, you’ll be a faded memory in a few weeks. 

Just like with the last show, as Harry is leaving the stage, Jeff leads you back to Harry’s dressing room to wait for him. It’s not long before Harry joins you, greeting you with a wide smile. 

“Huh,” he huffed as he walked in the room.

“What’s wrong?” You question, were you not supposed to meet him in the dressing room? 

“No, nothing,” he mused. “It’s funny, when I got off stage, I clicked my heels three times and said ‘there’s no place like home’, and I ended up here with you.” 

Be cool, it’s casual. He’s just flirty by nature. “Real smooth,” you reply sarcastically, trying to quell the butterflies that had been released at his words. 

“I thought so,” he shrugged as he took a seat beside you, wrapping his arm around your shoulders and leaning in close. “How’d I do, princess?” 

“You know you did amazing, you don’t need me to tell you that.” 

“No, I don’t need it. But it’s nice to hear.” He winked. 

“You were amazing, Harry.” You coincide.

“See, that wasn’t hard now, was it?” He asks before leaning in and kissing you softly. When he pulls back, there’s a look of concern on his face. “Are you alright?” 

“What do you mean?” You would never tell him, you don’t think it was even really intentional, but the wall that he had spent all week trying to break through was slowly building back up. It was your way of not getting any more attached than you already were. 

“I don’t know, you just seem a little… distant? Did something happen?”

You shook your head back and forth rapidly. “No, I uh… I guess I’m just tired is all.” 

He didn’t believe you, but he wasn’t going to push it. “Alright. Do you want to go get changed and I’ll take you back to your hotel?” 

“Oh, Harry, you don’t have to do that.” You insist. “It’s only a couple of blocks.”

“I’m not letting you wander around New York by yourself at night.” 

“I’ve done it before, I do it all the time.” 

He couldn’t understand why you were being so stubborn, were you upset with him? “Well you don’t do it when you’re here as my guest.” His voice is a bit more commanding this time. “Go in the bathroom and change, I’ll change out here and then we’ll go.” 

You silently cursed him, you were trying to temper down your feelings for him. Then he goes and talks to you like that? Now not only were you falling in love with him, but you were pretty turned on. You stood and went into the bathroom with a huff. 

“And I’m carrying your bags for you too.” He shouts through the door. 

The ride to your hotel was nearly silent, you watched the city pass through the window as Harry studied you, trying to figure out what was going on. 

“You would tell me if something happened, wouldn’t you?” He asked, breaking the silence. 

‘I fell in love with you, and you’re going to be gone in two days.’ You think to yourself. 

“Of course.” You say to him.

“And if I did or said something to upset you, you would tell me that too, right?” He was pleading with you to open up.

It gave you a moment of pause, wondering if maybe this did mean something to him. “I’m just tired, Harry. I promise.” 

He nodded silently as the car pulled up to the front of your hotel. The doorman stepped up quickly to open the door for you. 

You turn to him, forcing a smile. “Goodnight, Harry.”

“I can walk you up,” he said, knowing you were going to say no. 

“That’s okay, you need to get some rest. You have another show tomorrow.” You insist. 

He nods, respecting your decision. “Do I at least get a kiss?” He tries to sound playful, but you can hear the disappointment in his tone. 

You smile softly and nod before leaning in and pressing your lips to his. His hand instantly moves to cradle the back of your head, deepening the kiss. After a few blissful moments, he releases you. 

“Sleep well, princess.” He whispers, still close enough for you to feel his breath brush against your lips. 

“I’ll see you tomorrow.” You reply. 

His lips curve up into a smirk. “I can’t wait.” 

[professorspork]

For the writing game, 5, 17, 19, 94?

5. have you ever made a playlist about something you were writing as an elaborate means to procrastinate when you could have been actually writing and if yes drop a link, son

PLAYLISTS ARE NOT PROCRASTINATING I WILL DIE ON THIS HILL. I cannot link any I have made because I, uh… don't believe in streaming music services, standing by my trusty analog media is another hill I will die on… but for most projects I always end up making some sort of playlist, even if it's only ever in my head instead of iTunes.

the unique aspects of music-- the way lyrics and melody and composition come together to be greater than the sum of their parts-- is massively inspirational to me. it conveys tone and vibe and purpose; it can help me see characters in new ways or remind me of certain aspects I really want to hit in any given chapter.

it's very easy to see the playlist I made for my massive Kristanna story because the chapter titles are all from the songs in the right order. writing Newsbees has actually been a bit of an amusing mental challenge in this regard, because while the Newsies soundtrack has PLENTY for me to work with I also have lots of other songs I would normally have put in the running for chapter title status, were I not trying to stay on-theme. I did end up making a little baby playlist just for my own edification, there.

Actually, this is a fun anecdote I might as well say now: when I first started writing Newsbees, I thought that every chapter would have an epigraph of lyrics of songs from other musicals, in addition to their titles which are all taken from Newsies itself. and then I realized that this was a) excessive even for me and b) distracting, so I took them out.

17. what is your favorite line you’ve ever written?

Can't pick; my style isn't really designed for me to be able to pick.

My sentences are meandering monsters or staccato fragments, and they don't really lend themselves to picking out soundbites. that's not how my brain works. my focus is always on how a sentence works within a paragraph, how a line of dialogue furthers the scene its in, rather than making any one of them stand out. I'd like to think that means I polish all of them to equal shine, but your mileage may vary on that.

Like, if I had to pick one, it would probably be the "Emerald brings the rain" bit from send 'em howling, but the line doesn't stand on its own. The whole reason it works is because of the meticulous set-up I put in front of it, and several paragaphs of set-up followed by the punch probably doesn't meet the definition of a "line."

19. what are some books or authors that influenced your style the most?

Oh, goodness. You know, I'm not sure? I don't think my writing sounds at all like Douglas Adams but I can't think of an author I turn to more often for inspiration when I'm trying to find a novel way to convey an emotion or come up with a simile; the man just had an absolutely marvelous brain for connecting two seemingly-unrelated thoughts and turning them into the perfect metaphor. I haven't touched my H2G2 anthology or Salmon of Doubt in years, but that's the drawer I'm drawing from. Which means I'm probably actually drawing from Wodehouse, whom Adams was aping in the first place. (I have never read Wodehouse myself).

Jacob Clifton, who used to write recaps for Television Without Pity, is not a book or an author but was also massively inspirational in terms of the way I think of themes and turn phrases.

Honestly, though, I think the biggest influence on my writing lately has been other fanfic authors. I don't mean this in the terms of how certain kinds of fanfiction (like the kind i write, with all-caps titles that are song lyrics) tend to have a poetic sameyness to them and we all mutually decided that carding hands through hair and toeing off shoes are a thing-- though I'm as guilty of that as anyone-- but there are definitely specific writers I can think of whose thoughtfulness and accuracy when it comes to word choice, lyricism and cadence has affected me greatly. And I shan't name them here because then you'll all see my writing style for what it is, a clockwork automaton I've built using stripped-out parts stolen (borrowed!) from these other writers I admire and the illusion of my individuality and lone genius will be shattered.

94. do you prefer dialogue or description?

I will always be a dialogue-forward writer and consider dialogue to be the engine that actually makes the story go, and it will always be the thing I find easiest and go to first. See again-again my answer about characters affecting my style-- the way I learned to not hate description was to turn description into yet another way to write dialogue, by doing it in a character's voice.

[imabiscuitinthousandworlds]

Expanding because the brain rot is strong these days...........

Clethra is like, a side character. Technically. And ze is part of a very silly duo.

Clethra's best friend is Ana; Ana is a bloody badass and had a pretty bad accident that both radicalised her and took her ability to walk. She has... She also has a bunch of History.

(don't have a properly coloured sketch yet)

Anyways, Ana and Clethra found each other almost immediately the very second Ana joined that very same resistance organisation. Clethra helped her come a bit further along accepting that she'll never be able to walk again; they both just. They take care of things that don't need proper legs to be done.

Both of them have the brightest and neatest hair because they sure do use their time to dye their hair.

Now, they also tend to get stuck with tasks like cooking (get a chair with wheels in there and most things are within reach even sitting). Ana can cook. Clethra has managed to burn soup before.

Clethra is the only one allowed to make jokes about Ana's wheelchair (she's sensitive on the subject obvsly), and Ana is the only allowed to call zir Cleth. She also keeps telling people what a sweetheart zir is and keeps getting met with bewilderment because she's the only one he doesn't insult all the time.

Clethra was born with zir disability and has come to terms with that. Ze wouldn't want to be able-bodied if given the chance, even though it does make a lot things quite difficult (as is, you know, the nature of disabilities). Generally, ze is proud of every part of zirself and has yet to hesitate to hit someone over the head with zir crutches and then tell them why crutches are brilliant to have, but especially as a kid that was,,,, well. Yeah. Hello vulnerability issues!

Ana is aware, of course. She didn't grow up disabled and unable to play just like other kids, but she gets the feeling of being left behind at times, even though the people around do what they can to include both of them. Also, Clethra trusts her enough to not be an asshole constantly which says enough in and of itself, really.

There's one (1) other person who knows a little more about Clethra (and zir weaknesses) though.

Meet Ar, inofficial leader of that rebellion, chronic optimist in the most infuriating way. (Ar is short for Arson.)

(So far my concept for them--and if anyone knows the name of that hairstyle?? I swear I've seen it before and I know how they did that bc I spent two days reading what I could about Black hair but????)

Ar spends a lot of time just strolling around, or used to anyways, and kept picking up, well, basically anyone who's young and mad and fed up with the status quo. They're too bloody sociable and friendly--not naïve though. Their ex-best friend (the actual protagonist) turned into a cynical radical fuck-up willing to murder anyone for a technically good goal--they consciously refuse to go the same way.

So, one day, Ar's just walking around and comes across a guy with a rather alt hairstyle, pretty beaten up, trying to get to zir feet, offers help and is promptly told to piss off in more and more obscene detail. Essentially, Clethra did have to admit that ze needed help getting anywhere (crutches were broken, ze never elaborated on what happened before though), and Ar's first proper attempt at a conversation is "Soo, wanna join my rebellion?"

(The answer was yes.)

Ar is friends with uhhh, basically everyone who doesn't mind more or less radical anarchists aiming to overthrow the current oppressive regime. Clethra absolutely complains about that constantly. Ze wishes ze could be somewhat sociable, too, but... well. Ar has enough social skills for all of them combined.

But since Ar has seen Clethra during one of zir worst moments, that's... alright. Now. Aside from Ana, they're the only one allowed to worry about zir. They think it's sweet. (Cleth hit them the one time they dared to express that sentiment out loud.)

So! I'm working out my character dynamics through tumblr posts bc why not!

I mean please don't steal my OCs of course but I doubt anyone except my moots sees this anyways and it's not a writing project I'd want to properly publish some day (not in this form anyways, my world building so far is garbage). But yeah. I love them all. Might further elaborate on Ana and Ar and the so far unmentioned protagonist whom I actually made up exclusively to torture, which thrn spiralled into this story.

I love all of my OCs dearly and they suffer. Lol.

Okay so. I need to ramble about my OCs. So.

Meet Clethra.

(ID in alt)

Look at zir. I'm getting gender envy (as always when I design a punk character).

Clethra uses ze/zir pronouns, is often kind of an asshole but of the variety that will remember every little fact about you even if you think no one cares and then anonymously do small things to help you. But also, touch zir crutches and you're dead meat (deserved).

(ID in alt)

Clethra is part of a resistance organisation in a story I've kind of been drabbling with on the side recently and while ze can't really participate in many direct actions because running away isn't all that much of an option, ze's one of the people organising most of those and fiddling with special equipment.

Tell zir a thing and ze won't forget again, like, ever. Or at least it'll seem like it.

Ze also has a very dry, very sarcastic sense of humour. Clethra doesn't need no spiked crutches to mess you up. And ze will not hesitate--ze's kinda ruthless.

(ID in alt)

That's Clethra's motto in life. There's a whole number of assholes who can testament to that - and that the arm strength ze built up along with those spikes on the crutches are fuckin lethal.

(And yeah, half of those poses are from that one person on tiktok providing references with crutches bc holy shit)

In conclusion, I love zir.

[bigskydreaming]

Doing some writing today off and on between errands and work, and jumping around various Kings of the Sky installments, specifically Dick, Jason and Cass stuff, so probably gonna post snippets from a bunch of them as I go. 

(Kings of the Sky is an AU that goes canon divergent from the point of Jason calling Dick for advice for dealing with Bruce after the Garzonas case and where things end up going dramatically different from that point on. Including Jason not dying, being part of his own lineup of Titans between Dick and Tim’s, Dick being adopted not long after the Church of Blood incident, Cass being the third Wayne kid to be taken in and adopted and with Tim and Duke being next and then Damian coming along later once they find out about him. This is basically my ‘the family’s alright’ AU with largely ‘Good Dad Bruce’ except for Dick and then Jason yelling some sense into him about the other, respectively, in the first two installments, just FYI).

Anyway, this bit is from a story called “In Their Shadows Grow Trees Of Good and Evil,” set about a year after Cass has been adopted, when she and Jason are both sixteen and Dick’s twenty-one. Also just FYI, because canon has never been specific about what ways Cass is neurodivergent due to the comic-book style ‘rewiring’ of her brain so that she could learn to speak later in life, I tend to go with her being dyslexic and having aphasia. She sticks exclusively to sign language and being a silent presence in her costumed personas, so that there’s no chance of people connecting the dots between Black Bat and Cassandra Wayne, as she mostly speaks verbally in her civilian persona and doesn’t hide her aphasia. The reason there’s not likely to be any obvious signs of aphasia in the snippets of her I post is because I wait until I complete something to choose words at random to replace with aphasia-born mixups, so its more realistic and I’m not gearing her dialogue towards deliberately placed moments. Just in case you were wondering.

In Their Shadows Grow Trees of Good and Evil

“Hey Todd,” sneered an exquisitely obnoxious voice. “Why’s your sister so fucking weird?”

Jason sighed the sigh of a soul a mere century into its eternity of damnation as he rose from the lunch table he’d been studying at and crammed the rest of his books into his backpack. Then he pasted a cheerfully bland smile on his face and turned around, geared for academia warfare (teenage prep school edition).

“Hey Craig,” he said brightly. “Why’d you come out of the womb so ugly your parents had to tie a piece of steak around your neck just to get the family dog to go near you? Mysteries abound.”

The advancing junior slowed a step, momentarily rocked by his truly impressive return volley. The grimace Craig’s already gargoyle-esque features twisted into made his face even more unpleasant to look at than usual, which was quite the feat. Jason would have applauded if just looking at it hadn’t already turned him to stone.

But the bargain basement basilisk kept on towards him rather than turn tail and skulk off to pop his emotional blisters, so Jason sighed a sequel to his first one. Looked like it was one of those days where Craig felt up to powering through. Guess someone had eaten their self-esteem Wheaties that morning. Joy.

“You think you’re pretty hot shit, don’t you, Todd?”

Jason shrugged. “I mean, to be honest I kinda have a one track mind, so right now I’m mostly just thinking about punching you in your mistake.”

“My what?”

“Your face,” Jason elaborated with exaggerated patience.

“Huh?”

“Oh my god, I’m saying your face is a mistake. See, its not as fun when I have to stop and explain it to you. Ugh, you ruin everything.”

He neatly sidestepped the older boy as R2-Dumbass stayed frozen, smoke coming off of his internal CPU while trying to catch up. For a second Jason thought he was home free, but then he remembered the universe fucking hated him so haha, sucks to suck. Also, a small crowd had gathered to witness the verbal jousting match, and nothing invigorated an asshole like Craig more than an audience of like-minded peers. So there was that too.

“Whatever. Laugh it up all you want, you little shit,” the junior rallied. “But just remember, mocking your betters will never change the fact that you were born street trash and you’ll be street trash until the day you die.”

Honestly? Not his best effort. Jason almost felt bad using any of his good material. Seemed like overkill at this point. But he did have a strict Scorched Earth policy to maintain, so.....

“Yeah but my dad could buy out and ruin your dad so that means I still win, right?”

He smirked as the barb landed and Craig’s face set into a sunset vista of strangled purple and furious red. Bam. Direct hit.

“Listen, you - “

“Oh for fuck’s sake, it was rhetorical,” Jason interrupted. “I don’t actually care what you think even a little bit. Nobody does. You don’t matter. Please go be irrelevant elsewhere, you’re fucking dismissed, you loser.”

“Speak for yourself, charity case.” Oh goodie, Craig’s backup singers had finally arrived. Now if only he could remember to care enough to learn their names in the first place. Seriously, who told the extras they could have lines? “All the jokes in the world can’t change who and what you are.”

Jason shrugged and continued nonchalantly up the hill to where his sister was standing with arms crossed, staring down at something on the other side.

“True genius is never appreciated in its own time,” he tossed back over his shoulder. “I’m sure I’ll be immortalized in song eventually.”

The mob of morons deigned to let him go without further incident. Though he suspected that had less to do with his scathing wit and more to do with him being headed towards Cass. She was immaculately presented as always, wearing the Gotham Academy uniform like she was born to it despite hating its uncomfortable stiffness every bit as much as he did. But that was just Cass for you. 

For all that she still struggled at times to engage verbally or speak up in social settings, her mastery of body language remained without peer. She could chameleon-camouflage her way into matching poise and posture with anyone - a skill that had allowed her to walk into school on her very first day with her head held high as though she owned everything in her sight. Exuding so much Queen Bee Intimidation Factor even the other hive queens were afraid to approach her  themselves. Sending forth their drones to try and woo her into an alliance, only to see her remain oh-so-casually above it all, a slightly contemptuous smile adorning her lips.

Basically, she scared the shit out of their classmates without them having anywhere close to a true understanding of why, and Jason was outrageously jealous. Rude. Unfair. Why did his siblings always get all the cool toys when all he had was his rakish charm, scintillating intellect and debonair.....nah, who was he kidding. He was fucking awesome. 

“Sup, sis,” he said, cresting the hill to stand beside Cass. “Just FYI, I just took a popularity bullet for you, which means you owe me your dessert tonight. Its a family rule that’s totally a real thing and definitely not something I just made up right now because Alf is making chocolate soufflé.”

She made no acknowledgment and remained stock still, a Colossus at Rhodes peering down into the shifting shadows of the parking lot below.

He peered down as well, though with absolutely no idea what they were looking at. Solidarity, yo.

“So are we staring fixedly at anything in particular, or should I just pick my own spot and commit?”

His humor was totally wasted on her as always. Instead of laughing and telling him what a lovable goof he was, she just inclined her head in the direction of a blonde girl where she was standing next to the driver’s side door of a Mercedes-Benz, dictating final commandments to her peons before departing. Well, probably. Jason was just guessing, based on his own body language reads, and like, general disdain for literally everyone at this school that wasn’t related to him.

He made a face. An extra special one reserved just for this classmate in particular. “Ugh, Madison Dunleavy? She’s the worst.”

Cass raised a cool eyebrow. “I thought Craig Hendricks was the worst.”

“He is. They’re both the worst. Its a hotly contested position here at Gotham Academy.”

She rolled her eyes and nodded back down at the Queen of Air and Darkness. “So. You know her?”

“Nope,” Jason said. “Come to think of it, I’ve actually never seen her in my life. No idea who that is. Can’t help you, sorry. Shall we go home?”

The Eyebrow of Inquisition speared him with clear intent. Who the fuck needed words when you could pack the Encyclopedia Britannica into a single facial expression?

Jason sighed gustily. 

“I had a slight altercation with her freshman year that led to her declaring her undying enmity for me until the end of time. The word nemesis may or may not have been thrown around once or twice. I can’t recall.”

The Eyebrow of Inquisition lowered nary an inch. Ugh, she wanted more? Why did everyone in his family hate privacy, with the obvious exclusion of himself when snooping through Cass and Dick’s rooms for blackmail material, which was actually intel-gathering and thus another matter entirely.

“Okay so basically what happened was my first week here I overheard her talking shit about me and not even twenty minutes later she was pretending to kiss my ass in homeroom, like probably because of Bruce, y’know? So I just busted out laughing and told her to fuck off and die and she has inexplicably loathed me ever since.”

Avoiding further Eyebrow Inquisition-ing, he made a show of peering around aimlessly. When the silence extended and it was clear Cass was absolutely not going to break first, Jason waved a hand in dismissal and took to peering oh so casually at his fingernails. "I suppose I was less tactful back in those days.”

He chanced a look up, finally, and saw his sister’s eyebrow had somehow managed to mighty morphin power ranger its way into a configuration evoking both judgment and disbelief, with the latter perhaps aimed at the idea he was significantly differing in the tact department these days either.

“I don’t love the implications your face is making right now,” he told her.

She ignored him, because of course she did. 

“Does she know Dick?” She asked instead. Jason shrugged.

“I mean, maybe? She’s probably seen him around at one of those stupid galas we have to go to, and actually I think maybe she has an older brother who was either in Dick’s grade or like, one above or below it? I don’t know.”

Now both eyebrows were doing the dance of disbelief. Okay, so maybe that was poor situational awareness on his part, since it wasn’t like Gotham Academy was a big school with a ton of other kids and also he’d only been in the same class as Madison for like over two whole years, but whatever. There were extingent circumstances.

“Look, she’s a total snob who’s always looked down on me and in return I willfully ignore both her existence and that of everyone and everything even tangentially related to her. Its called equality, Cass.”

She pursed her lips and went back to the peering, because of course in the mind of Cass it made total sense that the Grand Inquisition didn’t need to be followed up by any explanation on her part, what the hell. Like was he supposed to have inferred it?

“What’s this all about anyway?”

“I heard her talking about Dick earlier,” she said without peeling her eyes away from her personal recon mission. “I don’t know what she said though, I just heard her say Grayson, and then I was busy looking at what her body was saying. I know it was about Dick because she shut down when she saw me. And I didn’t like the way she....looked....before that happened. The way she was talking. It was.....”

Jason frowned but held back any follow-up questions while he waited - with total patience because he wasn’t an absolute cad, thank you very much - for his sister to find the word she was hunting for. It was a major source of frustration for her, that whatever neural map her brain followed put body language and spoken language in totally different regions of her brain, separated by a fairly great divide. Meaning she usually had to make a conscious choice to focus on body language or conventional languages - whether verbal or sign. But it tended to be one or the other; she’d yet to master taking in and comprehending both forms of ‘language’ at the same time. And none of them had quite figured out how to convince her that she wasn’t actually missing anything when she chose to focus on one specific form of communication - that she was still observing far more than most people ever would.

“Proprietary,” Cass settled on at last. She nodded her satisfaction with her choice of word, and Jason waited a whole two point five seconds before sticking  his whole foot in his mouth.

“Proprietary?” He asked with a scrunched nose as he weighed that for possible context and implications. “You sure?”

She glared. He winced. It was a whole thing.

“Yeah, I know, sorry, sorry, I heard it the second it was out of my mouth. We don’t actually have to experiment with the legitimacy of if looks could kill.”

Cass rolled her eyes, but eh. That could’ve gone worse.

Jason swiftly redirected attention anyway. Discretion is the better part of valor, after all.

“So. The Queen of Air and Darkness was talking about our big bro, and her mood was.....proprietary, huh?” He recapped while digesting the info like a boss. “Well. Definitely not loving that, I gotta say. Hold please.”

Pulling out his phone and pulling up his most recent texts, he began typing furiously.

“What are you doing?” Cass asked.

“Texting Tom,” he replied, because duh. Hah, now it was his chance to have the answers that should be patently obvious and thus make with the ‘are you kidding me’ when she asked obvious questions she should know the answer to! How do you like them apples, sis?

“Why are you texting your boyfriend right now?”

Jason rolled his eyes, because fair is fair, but never ceased texting for a moment. Time was of the essence here, probably. Well, maybe. Okay probably not. But it’d still been like half an hour since he and Tom had last texted and that’s a very fucking long time in teenage years.

“To be our getaway driver tonight, obviously.”

She stared at him. He didn’t look up, but he could feel it anyway. He was very intuitive like that.

“What?”

Jason heaved another sigh, one keyed to tones of ‘oh my god, do I really have to spell this out,” exasperation. He was just racking up the bonus points here. It was really too bad this wasn’t an actual competition he could actually win and this was all just pettiness taking place wholly in his own head. Lame. 

“Well, clearly we now have to go snoop in Madison’s house aka lair to see if its actually a house or a full on lair. Because she’s either a creeper or like, legit evil, and its important to know which one before we proceed, because obviously we can only bust her for being a weird creeper about our brother as Jason and Cass, whereas if she’s legit evil, that’s gotta go down as Robin and Black Bat. I’ll handle the snooping, you’ll take look-out, but we still need a wheelman and that’s why I’m texting Tom. This is all very mission-oriented, okay. I’m a professional.”

“Right,” she affirmed, while sounding anything but convinced. “Why don’t we just tell Bruce?”

Without looking up or breaking stride, he said: “I’m going to give you til I finish typing this sentence to figure out what was wrong with what you just said. Remember that we are talking about hypothetical danger to our brother, and also Bruce’s idea of a proportionate response to any of his children being in even hypothetical danger. And also our brother’s idea of a proportionate response to Bruce’s idea of a proportionate response. Look, you’re still new so I’m gonna need you to just trust me on this one. Its gonna be a no on telling Bruce without further intel.”

Cass said nothing in response to that, which meant that she was conceding the point and recognized the wisdom of his words. Or maybe that she was just gonna go ahead and do what she wanted anyway and just wasn’t bothering to fight about it, but it was probably that first thing.

“Well you better not just make out with your boyfriend all night,” is what she said at last, and that got his attention reeeeeal quick like.

“Umm. Wow. Okay. So, first off, you’re not the boss of me and who I make out with and when, so jot that down. And second, now I’m definitely going to make out with my boyfriend extra hard, with the exception of when we are actually on our recon mission because as previously established, I am a professional. And also, again, you’re not the boss of me.”

Jason ignored her Eye Roll With Extra Emphasis, and instead just held up his phone to Text With Extra Emphasis, as he read along with what he was typing.

“By the way babe, we have to make out extra hard tonight,” he said, tongue sticking out of the corner of his mouth while he dragged out his dictation with the kind of focus that usually led to Bruce asking why he couldn’t apply as much intensity to training as he did to pettiness. “Cass has suddenly decided she can dictate terms to me and I need to shut that shit down ASAP, so thank you in advance for your assistance in this matter. Smoochies and other gay stuff to the best boyfriend ever.”

Jason frowned as a response pinged back seconds later. 

TheCatsMeow: ....the things I put up with for the sake of your weird family dynamics.

TheOnlyRobinThatRocks: Yeah, yeah. You’re a saint among were-panthers. Must you mock? Why can’t you just tell me I’m pretty instead?

TheCatsMeow: Sorry. Let me try again. OMG you’re so pretty Jase how did I get so lucky xoxo.

TheOnlyRobinThatRocks: No. Its too late. It feels forced and unbelievable now. You’ve ruined it forever.

TheCatsMeow: Got it. From now on I will only tell you that you’re repulsive and hideous.

TheOnlyRobinThatRocks: I’m breaking up with you.

TheCatsMeow: But after I help you with your mission tonight.

TheOnlyRobinThatRocks: Obvsly. I’m a professional. Why do people keep forgetting this?

TheCatsMeow: And also the making out to spite your sister.

TheOnlyRobinThatRocks: Yeah we should do that first too. I mean we already penciled it in.

[deathlikelead]

Contact Buzz

Summary: Fiona and Iggy get buzzed at the neighborhood bonfire.

Ship: Fiona Gallagher/Iggy Milkovich

Warnings: Drug use, alcohol, depictions of foreplay, not sfw

Word Count: 2.7k

Read on AO3

The noise should be the first thing that draws Iggy’s attention since it sounds like an end-of-the-world party is taking place a few blocks away from where he’s walking home after his beer run.

It’s not the noise though, it’s the smell. Whoever it is has to have the strongest weed imaginable, and Iggy wants in on that. He only notices the noise once he gets closer, dozens of people whooping and hollering, the dark sky illuminated by the giant plume of flames in the center of them all.

Mickey's boyfriend - the first redheaded Gallagher kid, Iggy can’t remember his name. Evan, Aaron, something monosyllabic like that - is carrying one of his little brothers on his back near the flames. One of their neighbors is waving his shirt into the smoke above the flames then pulling it back to inhale. It looks like the whole of Wallace Street is here, dancing around and shouting along to the song that’s playing loudly over someone’s speakers.

It’s chaotic, and where there’s chaos, there should be Milkoviches. Though he has to admit he doesn’t look very hard, in the quick glance he does give, Iggy notices a distinct lack of anyone from his family.

When he gets close enough, he wades into the crowd. He sets his pack of beer down on the first tailgate he comes to, and a joint appears in his hand as if by magic. He doesn’t know who it was that gave it to him, and they’ve already disappeared by the time he looks up to watch the fire after taking his first hit.

If he could smell it from three blocks away, Iggy’s surprised the cops aren’t here already. Then again, he heard that Fiona Gallagher maybe had a thing with one, so maybe she pulled some strings or some dick that allowed the whole neighborhood to come out and get a contact buzz together.

Iggy’s lived in the Southside his whole life, but he can’t spot a whole lot of people he thinks he knows. Even less he would consider friends.

He takes his magic joint with him and goes to hop up to sit next to his beer in the bed of whoever’s pick-up. He rips the box open and tugs a can out to pop the top on, drinks about half of it before the other side of the truck is dipping down under the weight of someone hopping up to join him on the other side. Iggy looks up, curious, around his beer, lowering it and belching as he makes eye contact with Fiona Gallagher.

The action makes her laugh for some reason, and then before Iggy can process, she’s leaning over and snagging the half-empty can out of his hand to down the rest of it. Iggy isn’t sure what to do with that, but he smirks at her as he goes for another one, asks, “Why you guys burning a giant pile of weed?”

Fiona helps herself to one of his beers, taking several swallows before shrugging. “Had too much. Needed to get rid of it.”

That answer makes Iggy roll his eyes, the gesture almost exaggerated in its obviousness. “Well shit, could have just brought it over to our house. Could have gotten rid of it for you no problem. And would have wasted a lot less.”

Fiona makes a face that Iggy thinks is half disbelief, half amusement. “Meaning what? That you and your brothers would have smoked it all?” And well… yeah, okay, that’s exactly what Iggy meant. But he can’t let her have the last word.

“No, my sister too, don’t be sexist. You should know her. Mandy, about 5’8”, totally banging your brother. Ringing a bell?” Iggy may know a little more than he’d like about Ian and Mickey’s indiscretions, but he isn’t about to make it public knowledge. Too many ears around that might remember overhearing it in the morning. Besides, he didn’t know if Fiona knew. Not his business.

For a second, Fiona looks like she’s about to say something, but after a moment of introspection, she instead finishes her beer and makes a grab for the joint Iggy’s still holding between his fingers. He’s already got a nice buzz going, and his reaction time’s a little slow, so she’s already got in her grip by the time he tries to grab it back. The world tilts off its axis a little bit when he tries to lean over for it, so he gives up and just lets her have it. “Grabby bitch, aren’t you?” he asks, though there’s not any heat behind the words. He sounds as happy and fuzzy as he feels.

Fiona coughs out a smokey laugh around the joint between her lips. “Not sure a Milkovich has any room to talk about ‘grabby’.”

Iggy hums at the dig, but well it’s true. Iggy wonders if he’s really obvious, or if Fiona has mind-reading superpowers. Both seem equally likely.

“Whatever. You may got a yuppie boyfriend buying you whatever you want now, but seems like you’ve got a little southside klepto left in you.”

Fiona takes another hit, nodding to him along with the beat of the music as she blows the smoke away from him - like it would make any difference if she blew smoke in his face at this point. The action makes him laugh. - “Don’t got a boyfriend. Not that it’s your business, fuck you very much.”

Iggy raises an eyebrow at that but leaves it to her to elaborate as he holds out his fingers, making a lazy gesture for the joint. He doesn’t care that much, but he’s pretty sure that girls love to talk, and he doesn’t have anywhere better to be than here - beer, free weed, hot girl as company, and all. Fiona doesn’t elaborate though, just watches him finish off the joint as she’s working on another beer he didn’t notice her stealing.

Once the joint burns down enough that it’s burning his fingers, Iggy squashes it out on the tailgate next to his thigh. There’s a hand around his wrist. Iggy blinks, trying to push through the weed haze settling over his brain, and he realizes that the hand belongs to Fiona, who has hopped down off their shared seat. “Come on, come dance with me.”

Fiona tugs Iggy up close to the blaze that’s going strong, stinking up the empty lot and all the surrounding neighborhoods. There's a lot of bodies thrumming to the beat of the radio around them, but it’s unreasonably hard to focus on more than one thing at once.

Whoever grew this weed knew what the fuck they were doing.

And right in front of everyone, Fiona presses her back against Iggy’s chest and starts rolling her hips against his. Iggy chooses that sensation as his one thing to focus on, resting one hand against her left hip and trying to roll along with her. It takes a moment, but he thinks he gets the hang of it. At least Fiona is laughing, twisting around to wrap an arm around his neck and continuing to grind against him, belly to belly.

Iggy thinks they must spend the entire night dancing pressed against each other like that, but when Fiona pulls away, pulls on his wrist, and tugs him through the fog, he’s surprised to find it’s still dark around them. They’re further away from the fire now, the noise and the heat fading into the distance, the memory of them already faded under the buzzing in his brain.

Fuck, whoever grew this - Kevin, someone said Kevin - really did know what he was doing.

Fiona drags Iggy back to the truck, grabs another beer for each of them, and then again grabs his wrist and tugs him further away from the party, and starts down the block.

Iggy is pretty sure that the house she pulls him into isn’t hers, but he’s never been to hers either, so he can’t exactly swear to it. Fiona kicks her shoes off and flops down on the couch comfortably, grinning up at the ceiling.

He must look confused because, after a moment, she tugs herself into a sitting position and turns to face him. “Are you just gonna stand there all night?”

Iggy blinks. Takes a moment to collect his balance, then makes his way around the couch to sit down next to her. “This your house?” he asks because he’s thinking about it.

“Kev and V’s. too many people at mine.”

Too many people for what, Iggy isn’t sure. He fidgets with the tab on his can of beer and relaxes back into the couch. The two of them sit in fuzzy silence for long enough that it startles Iggy when Fiona is back in his field of vision, up off the couch to turn up a stereo across the room. He’d forgotten he wasn’t alone. “You were more fun when we were dancing,” She declares as she crosses the room and snags his beer, only to set it on the end table and pull him to his feet again.

There's no hesitation from Fiona, wrapping her arms around his neck and pressing up against him again, swaying to the end of the slow song playing on the radio. There are fewer things to be distracted by in the pitch black of a stranger’s house than there is at a weed bonfire block party, so while dancing with Fiona is still what he focuses on, Iggy can pause for a moment and think Holy shit.

Fiona Gallagher is dancing with him.

A few hours ago, a few minutes ago, he's not sure, but not long ago, she’d been grinding on him.

The memory of it is hot, and Iggy finds that he’s sliding his hands up under her shirt now. Fiona leans into it, a carefree smile on her face. When the song ends, she pulls away from him and tugs the shirt off. Iggy’s brain short circuits and Fiona has the nerve to press back against him, asking, “This cool with you?” with a smirk on her face.

He manages to stop staring at her chest and pick his eyes up to meet hers long enough to confirm, “Yeah.” It makes her laugh for some reason, and that sound excites him, as does the tone of her following demand of, “Okay, then take yours off, too.”

Having happily gone back to his staring, he doesn’t quite pick up on the actual words, so Fiona decides to help him out, hands coming to either of his hips and tugging upwards on his shirt until all Iggy has to do is lift his arms. He doesn’t see where it is that Fiona throws his shirt too, but he’s not sure that he cares anyway.

He had been expecting her to press into him and start dancing to the beat again, but instead, she’s standing in front of him, undoing her shorts. She struggles a little, buzzed and uncoordinated, but looks up at him once she’s freed of the button, the zipper falling open so that he can see her panties. “You really are just gonna stand there and stare all night, aren’t you?” she asks, laughing when it takes him an inappropriate amount of time to drag his gaze back up to hers.

“No.” He decides, though he still makes no move to do anything but stare.

It's becoming increasingly obvious to Fiona that she’s going to have to guide him through every step she wants to take here, and though the thought makes her roll her eyes, she’s not entirely opposed to it. “Right,” she answers, playful sarcasm dripping from her tone as she steps over to him, repeating the unbuttoning and unzipping with his jeans. Again, she grabs his wrist, this time guiding his hand to her waist and finally resuming their grinding to the middle of a new song playing on the radio.

She thinks he’s starting to get the hint by the time the song ends, so she steps back and shimmies out of her shorts. She stays quiet, looks contemplative at something behind Iggy for a moment.

Kev and V have a ridiculous spiral staircase, and Fiona is not a hundred percent sure that Iggy wouldn’t lose his balance and break his neck on it if she tried to lure him up it. Hell, She’s not a hundred percent sure that she wouldn’t break her neck if she tried to go up it. But after a moment of consideration, she looks back at Iggy and decides she likes the idea of being chased. Kev and Veronica do have a really comfortable bed…

She taps Iggy's chest to get his attention, a suggestive look spreading across her face when his eyes meet hers. “I’m gonna go upstairs. Last door on the right at the end of the hall.” Fiona doesn’t wait for a response, but she does reach up behind herself to unclasp her bra and shrug out of it so she can drop it on the floor at the bottom of the stairs. It takes more willpower than she would be happy to admit to force herself not to look back to see if Iggy has caught on that he’s supposed to follow her. When she’s halfway up, she hears the staircase creek behind her and grins.

----

Iggy still feels remarkably fuzzy when he wakes up. Not high, but not exactly not high. It’s mixing wonderfully with the hangover from his beers - Where exactly had he left those? - and making his mouth taste like his head feels, like cotton and fuzz and pressure.

There’s sunlight streaming into the room he’s in, and it smells like flowers, leaving him a little unsure of where he is. He pries his eyes open and looks around, but from where he lays on the bed, he still can’t distinguish where he is. All he can see is an unfamiliar wall, with an unfamiliar window and an unfamiliar dresser pushed against it.

Downstairs, there’s yelling, but there’s also the scent of food, the promise of which is enough to get Iggy to drag his ass out of the comfortable bed. He looks around helplessly for a minute, but unable to locate his boxers, he decides to dig in the dresser for a pair instead.

“In my bed? In my fucking bed, Fiona? Actually,” the yelling gets louder as Iggy approaches the stairs and starts to make his very slow way down them. “Actually, in my house at all? You couldn’t have picked anywhere else in Chicago to take your dirty white boy to hook up?”

Fiona is sitting at the counter with her head in her hands and her back to him, while a very animated woman moves around the kitchen. The woman - Victoria? Has to be something with a V, since everyone calls her that. - hip bumps the great weed curator out of the way of the stove so she can plate a couple of eggs and some toast to bring over to Fiona. “We’re gonna have to burn the sheets now, you know that, right? And for fuck’s sake, Iggy Milkovich-”

Whatever secondary rant she’d been preparing to launch into is cut off momentarily by the question her husband asks after turning around and catching sight of Iggy. “Are those my boxers?”

Iggy looks down at them, shrugs, then looks back up with a dopey grin. “Yeah. Sorry, man. Eggs?” He comes to join Fiona on her side of the little breakfast nook, grinning and digging in when a confused, hesitant-looking Kev sets a plate of eggs down in front of him.

Beside him, Fiona and V have started up again, so he looks up to Kev and asks through his mouthful of eggs, “Are they always this loud when they gossip?”

Neither one of the offending gossips quiet. Either they didn’t hear him, or they just didn’t care.

Kev looks exasperated. “You have no idea, man.” He sets his spatula down next to the stove and reaches behind his ear as he comes to lean across from Iggy. “Joint?”

[weepinglevi]

whos your favorite fic writer/moots and why? Got any recommendations?

first off: pls know that if you're not listed here it doesn't mean i don't like you or your work, it simply means that i have a pea sized brain. love all of u. keep on writing. i really don't want anyone to feel bad (ask nia, i've been crying to her about it).

secondly: i'm not referring to them as my "favourite" cos i can't pick favourites, never really could. maybe that's why i'm simping for so many aot men at once ahaha.

and last but not least: this is going to be a long post so i'mma do all of us the favour and put it under the cut. i feel very soft today and have been listening to the titanic soundtrack for the better half of my day. bear with me, i'mma shower you with love. go check them out!

CHECK THE DNI TAGS ON THESE BLOGS BEFORE READING OR FOLLOWING, PLEASE!

this is in no particular order.

@kojinnie: my queen of angst. the other half of the princess-duo (i came to the conclusion that we're both princesses, we deserve to hang around in pretty dresses and have the time of our lives). especially dream me home still haunts my dreams. i love how you captured the pain and fear both of them feel. and i kind of view it as the start of our friendship, what with both of us writing about the mission to retake wall maria and you jumping into my dms after the fact. love you, kojin, and i only wish you the best.

@starrynightlys: shield-maiden claire. beautiful, talented, funny claire. i love you and i am so happy to have found you here, i really am. i know i've told you this multiple times but whenever i see you on my dash - either fighting off the floch anon or you posting memes, there's a big fat grin on my face. apart from your absolutely mesmerising presence, there's also one work in particular i always come back to: the beginning of forever. you are my source of happy levi content. when the world turns dark and i want him to be happy, i turn to this fic and to your blog in general. love you and i am dreaming of us listening to some good music in a park sometime soon!

@snkslush: luv! my first tumblr wife! this alone has gotten you a very special place in my heart ahah. i love the energy you have - whenever i see you on my dash i feel happy and it's because of how you interact with others. it's like i've known you since forever because of how easily i can talk to you. and reading your filthy thoughts about connie has set off my connie brainrot more than once ahaha.

your headcanons on how the aot boys react when their s/o tells them they want to be railed and also the follow-up still has me drooling. fucking love them. so accurate as well and i'm a slut for everyone ahha

@aotwrites: my lil sunflower. lil sis, you have no idea how happy you truly make me. i love the lil talks we have and i still remember the message you sent me when you were half-asleep, i always giggle when reading it ahah. just know that if you ever want, you can come up to me and ask me weird stuff lil sisters normally ask their bigger sisters. not that i have any good advice to give, but i have a lot of reaction pics to send!

it's very hard for me to pick out one of your fics to recommend - like i said, i have a problem with choosing favourites. but if i absolutely had to, it'd be all of the stars. cried my way through it. will cry again when i reread it. i cry a lot in general.

@arumiee: mars, i know we haven't talked much but our conversation about nurse!armin yesterday is still running around in my head. i can't wait to read about either armin or eren in scrubs, istg. you're so kind and happy-go-lucky, i usually feel nervous when tagging someone on a post but with you yesterday? no problem at all. you give me a sense of safety ahaha (pls don't think i'm weird, i'm actually not. or, yes, i am but in a good way). your purify me had me wanting to take a bath in holy water after reading it. preferably a bath with eren. i guess we're both headed to hell ahaha

@odmlevis: rizrizrizrizriz. i'm laughing right now because all i think of is our last conversation and it's hard to gather my thoughts whenever my mind goes to eren and reiner. or eren and jean - or jean and connie ahaha. i'll have all of them with me in the middle, pretty please.

but back to topic: your the most hurtful things they'd say to you still has my heart breaking. absolutely broken into pieces. because somehow you managed to put all of my worst fears into it. i don't know why i reread it on the regular (i do know, i'm a sucker for pain). other than that, i'm always so happy when i read your messages and when i see you out and about, making others happy with your lil "someone told me to tell you something"-thing you do so often. you're so precious, lemme smooch you.

@onyxoverride: onyx istg your blog is the place i go to if i am down bad. down bad bad. i know we rarely talk and me saying your blog is the place i take my horniness to might come off as weird but it's the truth. i even have problems with picking a favourite because goddamn they're all so good?? what is your secret? if there's a reason for me to go to hell (other than mars' purify me) it's gonna be because of ocean spit. do i have to elaborate further? eren's titan form is fucking hot and thank you for this delicious meal ahha. i am getting all flustered rn just by looking at the lil pic on top of your fic. i will see myself out now. love u onyx you are cool as hell (and i'm nervous as fuck - you're sitting at the cool kids' table in my head ahah - that's why i am so silent around u)

@1252291: and now to you. connie 2 my sasha. erwin smiths ball whore. twIN FLAME, LIGHT OF MY LIFE. buckle up cos we're in for a wild ride. i was debating whether or not to post every of your fics here, because i love all of them so much. i came up with a better idea tho: here's your masterlist. i will talk about two of your works in particular later on, but first you're gonna have to endure me violently showering you with kisses and love.

i haven't told you this before (shocking, i know) but ever since we started talking, i feel like i have a real-life friend again. i haven't had friends in a while and i am so fucking thankful to have you. i really am. i even told my therapist about you because he asked why i am so happy all of a sudden? newsflash: it's because of you.

usually, it was insomnia keeping me up at night but now it's because i am talking to you. and you have no idea how fucking great it feels to wake up in the morning and feel tired; not because some shitty thoughts kept me awake but because i was talking to a friend. i will forever love you for this. you've been there when i was at one of the darkest and loneliest stages of my life and lit up the fucking room with your personality and humour. thank you for being my light. for giving me the same feeling i have when rewatching lord of the rings. for being you. i will stop now but you know i will keep on loving you on main until i take my last breath.

now to your works. falling in love and stay forever. i think you already knew that these are the ones i hold dearest. i still think about felix and rue. i love felix and rue and my heart hurts when thinking of them. your way with words has characters coming to life and touching your heart in a way i've never experienced before. like i said, it felt like those are my friend who died. my fingers running through levi's hair, trying to make his endless pain go away. i am crying again. thank you for creating this. if you ever find the books you've written (or write a new one) i will buy a copy. or ten. have to have some to give away so i can promote your work.

i love u connie 2 my sasha. i really do.

[spaceman-earthgirl]

35. "I just wanted to let you know that I think you're beautiful." + supercorp please! :D

“I just wanted to let you know that I think you’re beautiful.”

This one got a lot longer than I meant it to be. And you can blame @murdershegoat for the fact that it's a high school au. Thanks for the prompt!

---

Lena stares down at the piece of paper, slipped into her locker sometime between second period and now.

I just wanted to let you know that I think you’re beautiful.

The handwriting is tidy, unfamiliar, the words even more unfamiliar, no one has ever called her beautiful before.

Lena glances around, wonders if this is some practical joke, wonders if she’s going to look down the hallway and find a group of students laughing at her, laughing at the fact that she believed the note was from someone who might actually like her.

She sees nothing though, no one out of the ordinary, no one paying attention to her, no one looking like they’ve just been waiting for her to open her locker.

Despite the fact that this is probably just some elaborate joke, some of the popular students picking on her for her last name, she slips the paper into her pocket instead of just throwing it into the trash like she should, because some part of her, some small part, hopes against all logic that it’s real.

---

I could spend forever looking into your eyes and still not figure out exactly what colour green they are. It doesn’t mean I don’t want to try.

Lena’s heart skips as she reads the note that she finds in her locker two days later. They’re just words, and words shouldn’t have this much power over her, especially when she doesn’t know who this note is from, but they do.

It means someone has noticed her, someone has looked at her long enough to know what colour her eyes, someone has remembered that detail and then taken the time to write her a note and slip it into her locker.

The handwriting is neat again, just like the last one, and Lena hopes it’s a girl behind this writing. No one knows about her, she’s never told anyone, but she hopes this person can see that too.

---

I saw you smile today, it’s the first time I’ve seen you smile before. You laughed at one of Winn’s jokes in chemistry and all I could think about was how I wanted to make you smile like that.

Chemistry.

She’s only received a few notes from this person, but this is the first real clue she’s gotten about who could be behind them.

There’s only twenty-seven people in her chemistry class which suddenly narrows the pool of people from hundreds down to just a handful. If you remove the boys, then it narrows down the selection even more.

She reads the note again, smiles as she tucks it into her notebook where the others now sit. She thinks about investigating further, now that she’s so much closer to the truth, but she’s not sure if she wants to, because what if it’s a guy? What if it’s someone she doesn’t like? Which is actually ninety-nine percent of the school’s population.

Maybe she’s not so keen to find out who it is, dreams are usually better than reality anyway.

---

Kara Danvers punched someone in the face for her today. Lena doesn’t even care about the fact that her clothes are completely ruined, covered in paint because the high school’s quarterback thought it would be funny to steal paint from the art class and throw it at her, telling her that no one wants her here.

She cares a little bit about his words, but it’s nothing she hasn’t heard before. This is the first time anyone has ever stood up for her though.

“Are you okay?” Kara asks. Lena’s almost knocked over by how concerned she looks.

She nods, too shocked to speak.

Kara gets detention, and so does Maxwell. He’s pissed by the outcome but Kara just shrugs and says it was worth it.

---

“Thank you.”

Kara startles, spins on the spot. A grin stretches across her face when she sees Lena. Lena’s never seen anyone more beautiful.

“For what?”

Lena tugs at her sleeves, already feeling awkward. She realised last night she never actually said thank you to Kara and she thought it was the polite thing to do. She’s regretting that decision now that Kara’s in front of her again, looking adorable as she smiles at Lena.

Lena recalls the note she’d gotten, about her own smile. She thinks whoever it was can never have seen Kara smile before.

“For yesterday. No one has ever stood up for me like that before.”

That puts a frown on Kara’s face. Lena instantly regrets her words.

“Well then,” Kara nods decisively. “Now you have someone who will stand up for you, always.”

Lena has no words again, so she just smiles and nods in return.

“Do you want to have lunch with me and my friends today?”

Lena doesn’t care that it’s stupid, that it doesn’t make sense, she finds herself hoping the person who wrote the notes is Kara.

---

The notes keep coming, all nice, all making Lena’s heart skip with how kind and sweet they are, but something changes that day she spoke to Kara, and that thing is that she has friends now.

She sat with Kara that day at lunch and then suddenly, the “superfriends” as Winn called them, are talking to her in the hallways, in class, at lunch. They all smile and say hi and Lena doesn’t know exactly what to do with all this kindness.

Kara is the kindest of them all, always smiling, always so nice, always making sure she’s included and that no one bullies her. Kara wasn’t joking that day, she meant it, that she’d always stand up for Lena.

And Lena? She’s pretty sure she’s falling in love.

---

I really like you. I wonder if I’ll ever get the courage to tell you this in person.

“What’s that?”

Lena jumps, her heart racing as Kara appears seemingly out of nowhere beside her.

“Nothing,” Lena says, hastily shoving the note into her locker.

“Someone has a crush on you? That’s cute,” Kara smiles.

Lena has the sudden urge to cry, tears burning at the back of her eyes as she comes to the sudden realisation that the note can’t be from Kara, not if this is her reaction. She suddenly feels like an idiot, of course Kara wouldn’t like her, she’d been a fool to ever think she could.

“I have to go,” Lena says, swallowing against the tears. She won’t cry in front of Kara, she won’t cry in front of anyone.

“Hey, wait!”

A hand grabs her arm, and Lena’s body betrays her, stopping at Kara’s touch instead of pulling away and leaving like her brain is telling her to.

“What?” Lena asks, Kara’s face unreadable. She just wants to leave, to forget all of this ever happened.

“It was me,” Kara sighs, looking the most uncertain Lena has ever seen her.

“What was?”

Kara won’t meet her eyes. “The notes, all of them, it was me.”

Lena’s mouth drops open. Kara is really good at rendering her speechless.

“I just really liked you and I didn’t know what to do and I saw this high school rom com and it gave me this dumb idea and then we became friends and I didn’t know what to do again because it only made me like you more and I was too scared to say anything in case you didn’t want to be friends with me because I really, really like being your friend. But you looked upset after the last note, I’m sorry, I should’ve told you sooner, or I shouldn’t have even given them to you at all.”

That was a lot of words, and now Lena wants to cry for a different reason. She shakes her head. “The note didn’t upset me, I was upset because I’d been hoping since you punched Maxwell in the face that the notes were from you, but then you didn’t know what it was so I didn’t think it was you but…was it really you, this whole time?”

Kara bites her lip, nods. “It was.”

“Oh, thank God,” Lena says, a relieved laugh slipping from her lips. “And, for the record, I like you too.”

Kara’s eyes light up, like she hadn’t just admitted as much. “You do?”

Kara’s grinning when she pulls a notebook out of her bag. She scribbles something on a corner of a page, tugs it out, folds it, then hands it to Lena.

Will you go on a date with me?

---

They’ve been together, for almost eight years, when Kara kneels down in front of Lena and hands her a folded slip of paper.

Will you marry me?

Lena’s answer is the same as it always is when Kara asks her a big question.

Yes.

[one-leaf-grimoire]

Five Birthdays

summary » five birthdays from the life of lisa petalon.

warnings » light angst in one part

note » LISA'S BIRTHDAY IS TOMORROW! But I couldn't wait to post this one-shot lol. Illustrations included!

age 7 » sweet and bitter

“Happy birthday!!”

Lisa blinked slowly as her dad appeared from the kitchen, carrying something on a platter. He was covered with flour, egg stains on his shirt, but he was smiling wider than he had for a while. Her aunt and cousin giggled at the sight, clapping from where they sat next to Lisa at the table.

“What is that?”

“Look at it!” Her father grinned as he set it down in front of her. It was clear that it was some kind of food, maybe a fancy type of bread, but it was covered in some sort of shiny coating. “It’s a cake… a birthday cake! I realized that we never made one for you, so I decided to do it this time. Seven is a big age, after all!”

“A cake…” Lisa’s eyes lit up. “A cake! Wow!” In their little town in the woods, they foraged for most of their food, so Lisa was more used to the gamey taste of turkey, potatoes, and berry juice. Confections like cake were rare.

Her dad chuckled, crouching next to his daughter’s chair and wrapping an arm around her shoulder. “It’s all yours, Lisa. Dig in!”

Lisa nodded, eagerly grabbing her fork and taking a big scoop of cake. It was soft, easy to cut; her father did a great job baking it. But before she tasted it, she paused.

“Wait… where is mom?”

The silence in the moments following the question should have told Lisa everything she needed to know. But she was just 7… she had not yet realized why her mother failed to acknowledge any of her birthdays.

“She… she’s tired.” Her father exchanged a glance with her aunt. Out of everyone here, he was the most weary, but he willed himself to smile again before turning back to look back into his daughter’s eyes; eyes that matched his own.

His daughter was almost his mirror image, with her black eyes, her jagged brown hair, and the power she inevitably would discover one day.

But he smiled anyway. Because she was his pride and joy. She was a miracle.

“But the rest of us are all here to celebrate. So let’s dig in!” He reached down and ruffled her hair.

Lisa grinned, giving him a nod before finally taking the first bite.

“Ah! It’s so sweet!”

age 19 » anything you want

Lisa jumped a little in surprise as someone tapped her on the shoulder. She was standing by one of the shelves of books in the royal library, a place that she had been frequenting more and more these past few weeks. She turned around towards the feeling, a little perplexed when she saw that she was still alone. Huh? That’s weird, I don’t think I imagined that-

“Over here!”

She turned the other way, her heart skipping a beat when she saw none other than Julius there, leaning against the edge of the shelf, a place that he was definitely not only a moment ago. But Lisa couldn’t bring herself to be annoyed, despite the fright. “Oh, hi.”

“Hi.” Julius smiled, his eyes avoiding hers for a moment before he straightened up to walk over to her side. “I see you’re hard at work again, any discoveries?”

“N...Not yet.” Lisa quickly looked back down at the book in her hand, trying not to seem too nervous. She would have thought that she would be more used to being in his presence, since they had been meeting up here often to sift through records for any information about Lisa’ magic mark. But that wasn’t the case…”There are so many books, we might never find it, even if it’s here.”

“Well, I just finished my work for the day. I can be your helper for the rest of the evening, if you’d like~”

Lisa almost hid her face in her book as her face heated up. Help!!! Why did he say it like that- “Um, actually-” Lisa closed the book with a soft snap. “I was about to head out.”

“Oh.” There was a hint of disappointment in the Wizard King’s voice. “You have plans?”

“Yeah, actually…” Lisa smiled a little. “It’s my birthday! Yami and William wanted to go celebrate tonight.”

“Your birthday?!” Julius’s eyes widened in surprise. “Oh- I had no idea! You should have told me, I would have gotten you a present!”

“P-Present!? No way!” Lisa shook her head, her smile falling. “I-I couldn’t accept a present from you, I mean- It wouldn’t be right for me to expect something, you know-”

“Nonsense! I’m your research assistant, remember!”

Julius winked, and Lisa felt that she was about to pass away right then and there.

“... I guess so… but still!” Lisa scowled playfully. “You don’t need to get me anything… I…”

“I feel happy enough just to be close to you. That’s the only present I need.”

Of course, Lisa couldn’t say something so embarrassing.

“I don’t need presents, really. I’d rather just spend time with my friends and other… people I care about.”

Julius’s eyes softened a bit, a light blush appearing on his cheeks. “Oh… I see.” His smile quickly reappeared. “But still, I insist! How about this- You can take a book in this library home with you. Permanently.”

Lisa’s eyes widened. “Really? But, isn’t that stealing?”

“I’m the Wizard King, and I’m saying it’s ok. Plus, I’ll cover the overdue fees.” He grinned, closing his eyes for a moment. “How does that sound?”

“...alright. Thank you!” Lisa quickly put the book away, biting her lip to keep from smiling too widely. A birthday present from the Wizard King! More importantly… a present from Julius… “There’s so many books here, though… any recommendations…”

“Actually, there’s one I was hoping you would take.” Julius cleared his throat. “One moment. I’ll be right back.”

He quickly turned away and disappeared down a different aisle. A moment later, he reappeared, holding a book with an elaborate leather cover. “Um.. see for yourself.” He held it out for Lisa to take. It was heavy, but the texture of the cover felt nice under her fingers. Her eyes fell on the title, and she let out a soft gasp.

“Origins of Magic: The sources of mana in this world and the Mystery of its usage. By Julius Novachrono…”

“Heh, I wrote that when I was still captain.” Julius chuckled nervously, awaiting her reaction. “I might have to write a second edition, I’ve learned so much since I became Wizard King… maybe you can be my research assistant for that one.”

“This is amazing… I can’t wait to read it!” Lisa grinned, looking back up at his face. “Thank you, Julius.”

It still felt strange to say his name. This man was revered by almost everyone, yet here Lisa was, receiving a present from him. And a very personal present, at that.

“You’re welcome… let me know what you think.” Julius smiled, gazing down at her face.

There’s so much more I want to say to you… Lisa…

When Lisa got home soon after, she had a few minutes before William and Yami wanted to meet up. She collapsed on her bed, face down. After a moment of silence, she let out a long squeal, muffled by her pillow.

Oh god… I need to stop hanging out with him… or I’m going to fall in love for real.

But… maybe that wouldn’t be so bad…

age 23 » forgotten nights

“Ouch… ouch ouch…”

Lisa rolled over, consciousness finally filtering back into her weary brain. It was strange at first, unfamiliar to Lisa.

Was I… sleeping? How is that possible?

She let out a soft groan.

I haven't slept in 3 years-

Suddenly, pain throbbed in the back on her head, and Lisa let out a cry.

Oh… not sleeping, then... Was I bludgeoned?

"Oh! There, there, don't sit up!"

Hands gently grabbed her shoulders to push her back into the sheets when she tried to raise her head. Lisa winced at the feeling, blinking her eyes open. Her eyesight was foggy, and it took a few moments for the other person's face to come into focus. "Oh… Julius? What on Earth is happening-" She cringed and squeezed her eyes shut again at another pang of agony. "Did I get in a fight?"

Julius sighed, glad that she was awake and recovering. "Sort of… here-" He picked up the glass of water he had been keeping on the bedside table. He carefully held it up to her mouth, and she immediately started sipping away at it. "How do you feel?"

"I'm in pain… tell me, what happened?" Lisa scowled up at him, sensing how hesitant he was to speak further. "What do you mean, I sort of got in a fight?"

"Well… I'm surprised you didn't figure it out already," Julius chuckled nervously. "You… you weren't knocked out. You're hungover…"

All the sudden, everything flooded back.

------

"BEHOLD; THE MIGHTY POWER OF THE WIZARD KING!!!!"

Lisa cackled wickedly, one foot planted on the edge of the bar and the other precariously balanced on her stool. In one hand, she gripped a glass of mead. The other formed a fist, blue fire circling in tandem with time magic. "Anyone who can beat me can take my title! I'll share this power with you!"

There was a roar of approval from the other patrons at the bar. Yami howled with laughter and hit the bar surface with the palm of his hand a few times.

SMACK SMACK SMACK

"That's hilarious!!! What are you gonna do if you lose!!?"

"I won't." Lisa smirked raising her glass back to her lips and chugging it in one go.

"Lisa!! Get down from there-" Fuegoleon tapped her shoe, frowning. He was only a little red in the face, not nearly as drunk as the others. Jack was giggling next to Yami, and Charlotte and William were already asleep at a table in the corner. "You're going to get hurt, and-"

"HEY!" Lisa's foot lashed out, and she wobbled dangerously. "I knew you wanted my job! Come at me, then!"

"What? No!" Fuegoleon stumbled back. "You're acting like my sister!"

"Yeah? Then fight me!"

Lisa stepped forward, ready to attack- however, she was still up on the bar. Her foot didn't land anywhere… and she fell

"LISA!"

Fuegoleon jumped forward, arms outstretched, ready to catch her. However, to his surprise, the elderly bartender rushed in front of him. Lisa fell into his arm, limp as a ragdoll.

"Dear me- I'm glad I was keeping an eye on this one." He chuckled before turning back to Fuegoleon. "Thank you for trying to keep her out of trouble- but I'll get her somewhere safe."

"Oh- okay." Fuegoleon watched the man carry her away, then reappear a few moments later.

-------

"Oh god…"

Lisa buried her head in her hands, her face bright red. "No way… no way I did all that!"

Julius chuckled, wrapping his arm around her shoulders and pulling her closer to him. "No harm was done! And you had fun, didn't you?"

Lisa shrugged. "I don't really remember…" her hands fell back into her lap. "It sucks… I used to be able to drink all night and feel fine… but after we formed our Dyad…"

Of course, her alcohol tolerance wasn't the only thing about her body that had changed. She couldn't eat, or sleep, or… worst of all-

"I know. It'll be alright. It just takes some getting used to, right?"

Lisa nodded, and felt his lips press against the side of her head. Her eyes fluttered closed for just a moment.

"Why was I at the bar with all of them, anyway?"

Julius's eyes popped back open in surprise. "Huh? You don't remember?" His lips twitched into a smile. "I suggested the outing in the first place… thought you'd want to have a celebration with your friends."

Lisa blinked. "Celebration?"

She was still confused, until Julius chuckled and gave her a gentle squeeze.

"Happy birthday, Lisa."

age 27.1 » the life of an insect

It stayed hot all the way until September. The sun blazed down into the garden, unhindered by clouds. The bright atmosphere contrasted with the dark shadows that were quickly closing around the Clover Kingdom.

It’s so loud…

Lisa spent most of her time alone, now. Part of her wanted to surround herself with people, with all those she loved. But even then, she knew it would just make herself feel worse. Seeing their faces, watching them talk, and laugh… it just forced her to draw further and further away.

I’m not like you… I never was.

So, she spent her days alone. It would be easier for them if she stayed away. Even if it hurt.

Yet it was still so loud.

Cicadas screamed from every corner of the forest, swarming the treetops by the million. Their song permeated almost every corner of the kingdom, allowing none to escape.

In a way… it was almost nostalgic.

Lisa stood at the base of a tree, pausing her walk for just a moment. Above her was a group of cicadas, circling each other on the bottom of a high branch, no doubt evaluating each other to decide if they wanted to mate or not. Their song was earsplitting, but Lisa was already numb. It didn’t bother her.

In her hometown, out in the woods, the cicadas were a fact of life, appearing every summer without fail. They were like a booming voice, nature’s fury swept across the land.

Yet… they were fragile.

They slept underground for 17 years. Then, for just one day, they rose up to the heavens, singing their glorious song. They soared, they mated, they laid their eggs…

And then they died.

They fell back to earth, their voices and bodies spent. Their last act would be to plant the seeds of their offspring, before the dirt reclaimed them.

Their lives… were fragile.

Utterly and completely meaningless.

Two of the cicadas lost their grip on the tree. They fell down into the leaf litter, letting out one last scream before they went silent forever.

But at one point, they had screamed. And the whole world heard them.

I can’t even do that. How I wish I could just scream… but I can’t.

A moth could not scream. It would never see the sun. They just fluttered through the night, like a ghost. They were swallowed silently by that darkness.

This is my last birthday.

Lisa lowered her gaze, before restarting her lonely stroll.

At the very least… I got to see the sunset first.

age 27.2 » the future ahead of us

Summer melted into fall at last. The heat evaporated, leaving cool winds to quench the thirsty land.

The winds were gentle; like a nourishing pair of hands. Lisa closed her eyes, sinking into the feeling of those hands touching her. They brought her comfort, and they eased her pain.

They belonged to her.

“Just a few more months…”

Julius whispered the words, so soft that Lisa could barely hear them. But that was okay; they weren’t meant for her.

“I can’t wait to meet you.”

Lisa’s hand moved to run through his hair. Julius let out a happy sigh, his eyes flickering closed. He could hear two heartbeats with the ear pressed against his wife’s stomach, harmonizing with the sweet sound of her breathing. Life thrived there, and life was thriving within him as well. Never before had he felt so much excitement, so much anxiety. It was a rare, beautiful thing; an opportunity that had almost slipped away; like a stunning sunset that you didn’t notice until it was too late.

But it’s not too late.

He pulled back a little, just enough to stare up into Lisa’s eyes.

Because of you… your strength… your sacrifice. Because of you, we have this life. We have a second chance.

I won’t ever let that chance slip away.

“Her birthday is going to be after both of ours… a December baby.” Julius said happily. “A “Joy” to the world, you could say.”

Lisa let out a soft chuckle, shaking her head a little at the pun. “A joy to all of us, for sure.”

She watched as Julius nodded, his expression drowsy, before he lowered his head to listen once again. He couldn’t get enough of the sounds; the sounds of his daughter, and the sounds of his wife.

“She’s a joy… and a gift.”

The world was changing. The future ahead was uncertain. But Fate was alive and well; Julius and Lisa would always be bound to it.

Whatever fate had in store for them, they would be together. And they would have this child, who they had wanted more than anything else on this Earth.

“I love you, Lisa.”

“I love you, Julius.”

It was the happiest birthday Lisa ever had.

[beatriceeagle]

I'm more of a fantasy than sci-fi person, but consider my interest piqued. Why should I watch farscape?

Okay, the thing is, every Farscape fan’s pitch on Why You, Yes You, Should Watch Farscape ends up sounding very similar, and that’s because Farscape is a black hole that sucks you in and does things to your brain, and after you’ve watched it you are never, ever the same, which incidentally is basically the plot of Farscape.

I would summarize the basic plot for you, but that’s work, and luckily, the show’s credits sequence includes a handy summary that I will provide instead of doing that work: “My name is John Crichton, an astronaut. A radiation wave hit, and I got shot through a wormhole. Now I’m lost in some distant part of the universe on a ship, a living ship, full of strange alien life forms. Help me. Listen, please. Is there anybody out there who can hear me? I’m being hunted by an insane military commander. Doing everything I can. I’m just looking for a way home.“

So let me break down that monologue into its component reasons you should watch Farscape.

1) Some of the strange alien life forms are Muppets.

Farscape a co-production with the Jim Henson Company, and while there are many aliens played by humans in make-up, there are also a considerable number (including two of the regular crew) who are Muppets. By which I do not mean Kermit. I mean really gorgeous, elaborate works of art.

Also, even a lot of the humans-in-makeup aliens just look cool, and incredibly weird. Here’s an alien who appears in a single episode of season 1:

Not that there aren’t, you know, occasional Star Trek-style “these guys are just humans with weird hair,” or whatever, but in general, the aliens on Farscape look really alien. And that’s more than an aesthetic choice; it’s Farscape’s driving narrative principle. The aliens look alien, they act alien, they have alien values.

You know how a lot of sci-fi shows will have a stand-in for “fuck,” like Battlestar Galactica has “frak”? Well, Farscape has “frell.” And also “dren.” And yotz, hezmana, mivonks, loomas, tralk, snurch, eema, drannit, dench, biznak, arn, drad, fahrbot, narl. Some of those are swear words, but some of them are just words, never explicitly translated, that the alien characters will pepper into their speech, because, well, why should translator microbes be able to completely translate all the nuances of an alien culture? You’ll pick it up from context. One time, in passing, a character mentions that he’s familiar with the concept of suicide, but there’s no word for it in his language. I cannot emphasize to you enough how fleeting this moment is; the episode is not about suicide, we’re not having a great exchange of cultural ideas—at the time, the characters are running down a corridor in a crisis, as they are about 70 percent of the time—it’s just that the subject got brought up, and this character needed to talk around the fact that he literally didn’t have a word, in that moment. Things like that happen all the time, on Farscape.

Because more than anything else, Farscape is a show about culture shock. John Crichton is this straight, white Southern guy, at the top of his game—he’s an astronaut! he’s incredibly high status!—and then he ends up on the other side of the galaxy, where none of his cultural markers of privilege hold any meaning, where he doesn’t know the rules, where he literally can’t even open the doors. And he has to unlearn the idea that humanity is central, that he is the norm.

2) John Crichton, an astronaut, is pretty great.

A show that’s about a straight white guy with high status having to learn that he’s not the center of the universe could easily be centered around a really insufferable person, but one of the subtle things that makes Farscape so wonderful is that Crichton is, for the most part, pretty excellent. He has a lot of presumptions to unlearn because almost anyone in his cultural position would, but he’s also just a stand-up guy: compassionate, intelligent, open-minded, decent, forgiving, brave, hopeful.

And the galaxy tries to kick a whole lot of that out of him. It doesn’t succeed, mostly, but if Farscape is about anything other than culture shock, it’s about the lasting effects of trauma. How you can go through a wormhole one person, and experience things that turn you into someone you don’t recognize.

That’s kind of grim-sounding, but ultimately, what I’m trying to say is that Farscape is almost fanatically devoted to character work. Crichton is not the only character who sounds like he should be one thing and ends up being another. All of the characters—all of them, all of them, even the annoying ones—are complicated wonders. And you don’t have to wonder whether the events of the episode you’re watching are going to matter. They will. Everything that happens to the characters leaves a mark. Everything leaves them forever changed. Whether it’s mentioned explicitly or not—and often enough, it’s not explicit—the characters remember what has happened to them.

3) The living ship houses a lot of excellent women, among them the ship itself.

Ah, the women of Farscape, thou art the loves of my fucking life.

There’s Aeryn Sun, former Peacekeeper (that’s the military that the “insane military commander” hails from) now fugitive, currently learning the meaning of the word “compassion” (literally). She will break your fingers and also your heart. John/Aeryn is the main canon romantic ship.

There’s Pa’u Zhoto Zhaan, a priestess of the ninth level, current pacifist, former anarchist. Sorry, leading anarchist. She orgasms in bright light! (Oh my god, Farscape.)

There’s Chiana, my fucking bestie, a teenage(ish? ages in Farscape are weird) fugitive on the run from a repressive authoritarian state. Chiana is like a seductress con artist grifter thief who mostly just wants to survive so that she can have fun, damn it. Characters on Farscape do not really discuss sexualities (sex, yes, sexualities, no) and it would be fair to say that several of them do not fall along human sexuality lines generally, but I’m gonna go ahead and say that Chiana is canonically not straight.

Then there’s Moya, the ship herself, and it’s hard to get a straight read on Moya’s personality, since she mostly can’t speak. But she definitely has opinions, and things and people she cares about. And she moves the plot, though that gets into spoiler territory.

Past first season, further excellent women show up: Jool (controversial, but I like her), Sikozu (I once saw a Tumblr meme where someone had marked down that Sikozu would lose her shit when someone pronounced “gif” wrong, and that’s absolutely correct, and it’s why I love her), and Noranti (who is incredibly weird, and incredibly hard to summarize, but man, you gotta love her willingness to just show up and do her thing). Plus, there’s a recurring female villain, Grayza, who I could write probably multiple essays about. (I don’t know how you will feel about Grayza, as not everyone loves her, but I think she’s fucking fascinating, especially because she’s not actually the only recurring female villain. We also get Ahkna!)

(Side note: I should mention, here, that the cast of Farscape is really, really white. There is one cast member of color, Lani Tupu, but he pretty much represents the entirety of even, like, incidental diversity in casting for the series.)

Anyway, Farscape is full of awesome women, and also awesome and unexpected men, and it really enjoys playing with audience expectations of gender roles, generally. Literal entire books have been written about the way that Farscape fucks around with sex, sexuality, and gender. It’s a little weird because it was the late 90s/early 2000s, and sometimes that does come through, but Farscape’s guiding principle was always to try not to present American culture of the time as the norm, so like. It is not.

(An aside on Farscape and sex: Literally every character on Farscape has sexual tension with every other character. If you are a shipper, this is a Good Show, because no matter who you ship, there will not only be subtext, you will get a Moment of some kind. Multiple characters kiss the Muppet. Farscape is dedicated to getting into the nitty-gritty of the galaxy—I like to think of it as showing the guts of the universe—so a lot of the show is kind of squishy. They live on a biomechanoid ship, instead of androids there are “bioloids,” there’s a lot of focus on strange alien biologies, and lots of weird glowing fluids and things. I think the sex thing is kind of part and parcel of the larger biology focus: Farscape is really fascinated with how we all eat and evolve and live and die and, well, fuck. Which is in turn, kind of part of its focus on making everything really alien.)

4) Other stuff you should know.

Farscape as a whole is excellent, but it was kind of the product of creative anarchy—an Australian/American coproduction (oh yeah, everyone except Crichton speaks with an Australian accent) that was also partnered with the Henson company, whose showrunners were based in America but whose actual production all took place in Australia, and who was just constantly trying new things. So individual episodes can vary wildly in quality. It really takes off in the back half of season one, but no season is without a few off episodes.

It is extraordinarily funny, and I really think I haven’t stressed that enough. It’s one of the shows I want to quote the most in my daily life, but almost all of its humor is really context-dependent, and if you just wander around going, “Hey Stark? What’s black and white, and black and white, and black and white?” people look at you really funny.

It’s very conversant with pop culture generally (although obviously sci-fi  specifically, and Star Trek most specifically of all) and really enjoys deconstructing tropes, often to the effect of, “Well, Crichton really does not know what to do here, does he?” but sometimes just to be interesting.

There are also a lot of themes about science, and its uses and misuses.

The whole thing is fucking epic, and if you get invested at all, will take you on an emotional ride.

This show is weird. I know that that’s probably come across by now, but I think it’s worth reiterating as its own point: Farscape is so weird. Like, proudly, unabashedly, trying its hardest, weird. An amazing kind of weird.

If you’re into fantasy, you should know that there’s a recurring villain who’s just a wizard. Like, they don’t bother to explain it any more than that, he’s just a fucking wizard.

In summary: You should watch Farscape because it is a weird, wild, emotional, epic romance/drama/action/allegory full of Muppets and leather and one-liners and emotional gut punches and love, and if you let it, it will worm its way into you and never let go, which, now that I think of it, is another Farscape plot.

Send me meta prompts to distract me from my migraine!

[chronicbatfictioner]

"Overall, it wasn't so bad..." Tim commented.

"Except for the fact that Bane roared like a constipated bear and literally lunged at Damian and Jason threw him out the window..." Barbara quipped, her face serious but her lips were still twitching. "I... am highly amused. Twice."

"You were laughing until you bent over double that if you weren't in a wheelchair, you've probably knelt on the floor laughing." Dinah deadpanned. "It was hilarious."

"Yes, it was. The fact that Jason could actually lift Bane and throw him out... Did you guys see Bruce's face, though! Oh my god! He... he looked at Jason as if he'd seen the lord savior Jésus Todd or something!" Tim crowed. "Like, the dude Bane got thrown out a bay window twice. I get the awe, I was a little star-struck myself. But I can't believe dude actually wanted to try the third time until Alfred pointed a damn shotgun to his forehead! I can't even!"

"This thus solidifies my thoughts that the Waynes may be trying to figure out a way to get rid of this... brute without... I dunno..." Barbara pondered.

"Gotten themselves broken in half?" Tim suggested. "He sure insinuated that he would do such a thing to Damian."

"Oh, gee, Tim. Which part of his speech insinuated that? 'You lying bastard!', or 'I'll break you in halves!'?"

"I'm partial to the 'bastard' remark, really. I mean, pot, kettle?" Tim replied, giggling.

"Technically," Helena Bertinelli - The Huntress - sighed as she chimed in; "and ironically, at that; the 'bastard' would be Bane since he claimed to be Thomas Wayne's son and is younger than Bruce. Which means he was 'conceived' while Dr Thomas was already married to Mrs Wayne..."

"Right? Bruce and Talia were two consenting adults, albeit under 20 years old; and were wed in a local ritual witnessed by locals, according to Jason. You should see Bane's face when Jason presented copies of the marriage's registry." Tim continued.

"Oh, we saw, all right. Harper's drones worked quite well." Dinah replied, snickering, referring to Harper Row, one of their tech 'consultants'. "Even at that height, it still delivered crystal clear pictures. I vote we use them again."

"No vote needed, the drones are on stand-by at the Wayne Manor permanently at this point. I'm more interested in his reaction when Damian offered them a DNA test." Barbara told her.

"I'm more interested in Bruce Wayne's reaction, really. He didn't seem too surprised, as if he was expecting this to happen or something." Helena pointed out.

"Maybe he did," Barbara replied absently. "Dude has been swingin' more than the roarin' 50s, there has got to be some juniors out there that even he didn't know of."

"Ugh, while I'm not a fan of Bruce Wayne's womanizing ways, I personally don't think he's that reckless. He's not a drinker or a junkie, as far as I know. He has virtually no vice other than extreme sports." Helena argued.

"I agree," Selina, who has been quietly watching from the corner, chimed in. "This is a guy who got visibly antsy when some sexy girls in bikinis come up to him - I thought he was gay. But if he'd been... wedded to Talia Al Ghul all these times, that would make sense. He knew exactly where he stood, and what would come up if he screwed it up."

"Has Jason or Dick said anything of the Doc and Mama Wayne's reaction?" Helena asked.

"They seemed truly confused, a little apprehensive, but didn't seem to be opposed to the idea that Damian is Bruce's child. Dr Wayne said that a DNA test wouldn't be necessary, but Jason insisted it." Tim replied, and added a little absently a few heartbeats later. "But why would he, a physician with more specialties than a truck stop, would not question the biology of anyone claiming to be his biological descendant?"

Barbara glared at Tim, "excellent question, Tim. If my dad has someone coming out of the boonies saying he's related to me, the first thing dad would do is draw blood."

"They... don't care?" Dinah suggested. "Maybe the Wayne men were less... chaste than they appear?"

Barbara glared at her this time. "Of all the women Bruce Wayne has dated, I've only recorded a handful who would end up in a second date. Less than a handful who were actually mentioned beyond social media photos; and you know how I feel with social media photos: generic, unverifiable, and showoff-only. Dates with Bruce Wayne generally would start with the pick-up, dinner, and then some form of jewelry. I..." she looked at Selina and Helena, "you've both dated him at one point or the other."

Selina shrugged, "I went for a gala dinner, and was honestly there to scope the homeowner's safe, really. I wasn't interested in a follow-up date." she replied. "Helena?"

"Social arrangement. My people called his people and boom, we were on a red carpet." she elaborated. Helena was a part of a mafia family, until she decided that the mafia way would not be the best way to make Gotham a happy place for all, and donned the costume of the Huntress to hunt down wrongdoers. Barbara had decided to let her join to prevent her from going over the line and murder anyone out of overzealous-ness; but also in order to get a line-in into the mafia families.

"No second dates, either, huh?"

"No, I'll have to check, though. I think his people called me again, but I wasn't interested in a vapid playboy, even if he has more money than Jesus."

"Vicky Vale," Selina reminded. "She has had a... somewhat lengthy relationship with Bruce some years ago."

"Sooo... the next answer in our mystery could probably be answered by interviewing an investigative journalist." Tim commented.

"Oh, no..." Barbara grinned mischievously. "Not this investigative journalist. I know just the journalist to talk to when it comes to gossip among themselves."

Dinah snorted a laugh. "I thought you didn't like her."

"I liked Vale less," Barbara griped. "Plus, Vale is already getting news on Bruce's probable child; why shouldn't I send Lois Lane the allegations of the Bane Conspiracy?"

"Conspiracy with who?" Dinah asked curiously.

"Oh, the Waynes, of course, to get rid of the Court of Owls," Barbara smirked. "Why should we be the only ones racking our respective and collective brains when we can have someone else on the ground doing the grunt work?"

"Babs, you can be... pretty evil sometimes," Selina remarked. "I know there's got to be a reason why I like you."

"I'm also awesome with technology and can launder your ill-gotten money and make it legal and undetected." Barbara pointed out.

"Oh no, that's why I liked you." Helena quipped smirking. "Seriously, how many mob family can say their ill-gotten money is accountable by law?"

"As long as it is within the facets of the law, and so on and so forth... Anyway! Tim, you're quiet for more than two seconds. I'm always nervous when you're quiet."

"Just thinking..." Tim said, looking a little lost in his own brain. He often does that when he has at least a dozen scenarios running through his mind. Through the time of Barbara knowing him, Tim would probably be the only person whose claims of 'just thinking' wouldn't immediately be picked on by anybody.

"Care to share with the class, kitten?" Selina prompted.

"It's not fully mapped yet... but I was thinking. What if the Waynes aren't... didn't cooperate with Bane in order to destroy the Court of Owls, and they're literally being hostages in their own home? What if Bruce Wayne has predicted something like this could happen, and has gotten himself all prepared all the way to ten years ago when he wedded Talia Al Ghul? I mean, who would have had enough firepower to defeat Bane other than the Al Ghuls? Look at Jason," Tim pointed out. "He threw Bane out the window as if he was a fly. While Jason is as solid as a rock but isn't a metahuman - Bane is. He was assigned by Talia herself - out of Gotham - to protect and guide Damian-- why? What's so special about Jason Todd? Why did Talia choose him? Why didn't Bruce Wayne - at least - act shocked when Damian said he was his son? Surprised, sure. But not shocked or in denial.

"Who's gonna win if Bane turned out to be Dr Wayne's son? Who's gonna lose? What will they lose? Who is Bane accountable to? If none, who planted the idea of him being Dr Wayne's son? Because from what I've read about him, he was born and raised in a prison with his mother - no mention of a father. His mother was an insurgent of Hasaragua, fighting against US-condoned democracy. And while there was a record of Dr Wayne being there, there was no exact date and length of stay, because he was there privately and not as a part of Médecin sans Frontieres or something like that.

"What about Mrs Wayne? She wasn't a poor or uneducated woman, since she was a Kane. Society-wise, do you think she would have tolerated her husband's indiscretion, both then and now? Yet she kept quiet for nearly two months. She has a Ph.D. in psychiatry, and would she be the ones to keep quiet about DNA testing and all that? Personally, I don't think so. If my mother - a little 'lesser' society lady compared to Martha Kane-Wayne - ever got a word of a child that 'probably' got fathered by my dad, she would have demanded a divorce right away without bothering with a paternity test, sure. But my dad, who was also a society man, would have at least attempted to convince her that it was a mistake and/or it was a lie. What best method to decide a child's paternity than DNA test?

"The criminal front in general - especially the costumed criminals - has been pretty quiet since Bane eliminated the Court of Owls. Why? That's rather stupid since we know that the Court's Talons were the ones who made moves to 'discourage' the costumed freaks. Annnd... that's where I couldn't map out things further." Tim rambled.

"Keep talking, even half sentences are better than none, Timmy." Barbara prompted. Tim might have had a brain that worked a mile a minute, but he was still very young and would often get flustered with himself. Barbara, on the other hand, has an eidetic memory, and things Tim said tend to stick to her brain and would fill the gaps in any puzzles she might be thinking about. Even half sentences.

"Right, I do the fact spreads, you do the jigsaw-puzzling." Tim nodded. "The murders of Talia and Ra's Al Ghul. Jason said they were deliberately murdered in a way that they would never be able to be resurrected through the Lazarus Pit. The perpetrators would be the League of Shadows, a rogue splinter of the League of Assassins. Lead by Lady Shiva. Why? Why were they murdered? Why now and not - say - next year or last year? Who benefited by their death? Aaand... I'm done, for now, I think..."

"I... can feel a headache brewing," Dinah admitted. "You and your conspiracy theories." she rubbed Tim's head fondly. Tim gave her a half-smile, still trying to articulate the thoughts in his head.

"That's why we need him, he takes the most random input and makes a theory out of it, and some of them would actually make sense. I'll start a search string based on some of your questions. If you have more, don't hesitate to tell me, Tim." Barbara realized belatedly that her tone sounded dismissive, and turned to Tim. "Want me to call up for Chinese and powwow a little more?" she added.

Tim shook his head, still glaring blankly. "Thanks, I gotta go... I've some... things to look into. Thanks, Babs," he replied, ending it with a genuine smile as he got up.

"Want to come home with me, Kitten?" Selina asked, worry for Tim apparent on her normally-blank face.

"No, thanks, Ma. I gotta go back to the mansion, just in case, right?" Tim pointed out.

"Then Dinah should go with you," Selina decided.

"She's coming there later, right, aunt Dinah?" Tim asked. Dinah nodded.

"I'll get home with food, so don't worry about that, kiddo." she said. Tim waved them all and then walked out.

Once he was out of the door, Selina sighed. "Ah, young love..."

"Right? Remind me to check in on him before going to the House. I don't want to walk in on something and have him traumatized." Dinah agreed.

Barbara glared at them quizzically, and then at Helena, who shrugged. "Grayson said it first, I think. Our kitten is growing up. I just hope that Jason guy is worth his firsts..."

The memory of Tim gawking at Jason when he thought Barbara wasn't watching flashed in her mind.

Oh.

And then of Jason blatantly checking Tim out just before Oracle made her appearance, and at times when her Oracle projection was turned off.

"Oh boy," she sighed.

"That's about it in a nutshell. Good thing I've told him of the birds and the birds..." Selina grinned slyly.

"Millennial parenting at best, Ms Selina Kyle." Dinah grinned. "Come on, let's go patrol and induce the fear of goddesses to Gotham's low-lives before inducing maternal fear to our little kitten."

"...or to the big tabby. We'll see," Selina added, waving as she and Dinah walked out of the room.

Suddenly Barbara felt a little sorry for Jason. Just a tiny, teensy, weensy bit of sorry.

[jcmorrigan]

001 - Kingdom Hearts

Favorite character: On the villain side: VEXEN IS BEST ORGANIZATION XIII MEMBER. Shoulda stayed evil, though. I like it when he complains and screams about everything and hates everyone. He's one of my favorite villains, just, like...in general. So fun to write. Also attached to Demyx, but I actually liked him more in III than II because it reminded me of my rawr lolspeek weeb days when I f/o'd him without knowing what f/o'ing was and then transitioned this to shipping VexDem like heck. On the hero side: MY GIRL KAIRI! But honorable mentions go to Sora, Riku, Aqua, Ven, Terra, Xion, Roxas, Lea, Ienzo, any Disney character I loved beforehand (this is way too fuckin many to list), Merlin (OKAY I WILL SINGLE HIM OUT), Yen Sid (I'LL SINGLE HIM OUT TOO), you know what let's also single out the Mickey+Donald+Goofy power trio...just...any KH hero who isn't part of the Yozora stuff or the KHUX stuff. ...Except I also LOVE Strelitzia, and she is the only KHUX-exclusive kiddo I care about but I care about her MANY. (Oh, and there's a least fave I have who's a "hero" but that's a debatable label). I would go on about why I love all of them but...that's too many characters to elaborate on

Least Favorite character: See, I think the real answer is Yozora, but the thing is I just tend to forget about him or not care (unless I'm doing a weird AU where he's Noctis' bratty Nobody, don't ask). He kinda represents the Shark Jump and I don't like watching that scene where he literally petrifies Sora for not being strong enough. But again, I can just kinda forget about him if he's not fed to me through a social-media unit. The one I LOVE TO HATE is Master Eraqus. The man actually triggered me back in the day. He is purity culture. He is the overbearing parent who will not accept you unless you are perfect. He is by and large the reason VAT didn't communicate with each other properly. He was the one who taught Aqua to think in absolutes. He lied to Ventus for years and then insisted to kill him was the only option, and then, when Terra tried to defend his brother figure/friend without knowing WHY Eraqus was doing such a thing, Eraqus didn't offer an explanation and instead switched targets to Terra citing that the problem was Terra's lack of OBEDIENCE. Eraqus is just very "my way or the highway" and uses his moral high horse to justify doing things that utterly lack compassion in any regard, which is something that GETS to me on a deep level, and let me tell you, I hated him for so long until I realized he was actually a super fuckin fun guy to imagine as a Bigger Bad in AUs that either have the KH protags teaming up or have villain protags needing a "greater good lawful evil" figure. And I just have found too many good memes about him cheating at chess and killing children. I have to laugh. Making fun of him is fun. He's a ridiculous character. That said, this recent trend of "erase everything bad he ever did and paint him as the ultimate hero of the saga" makes me raise eyebrows for SEVERAL reasons

5 Favorite ships (canon or non-canon): VexDem, SoRiku, Kairi x Jaune Arc (RWBY), Aqua x Rosalina (Super Mario Galaxy) x Bayonetta, IsaLea, Ventus x Papyrus (Undertale), that was six but they all needed to be mentioned

Character I find most attractive: Ienzo. HOO BABY he is adorable. I saw someone make a Valentine's Day gifset of KH and FF characters shortly after III dropped and seeing his smiling face paired with a romance quote made my heart FLUTTER

Character I would marry: Probably Ienzo, see above. He's also a very kind guy. Favorite redemption in the modern era.

Character I would be best friends with: I hope the Destiny Trio would adopt me into their friend circle the way they've tended to do with every other inter-world denizen they've come across. I would love to have them as my positivity squad. Or, y'know, two positivities and one "it's okay to screw up" guy. Just. I would love to hang out with them. I often worry that I'm unlikable to my faves, but even though I would usually prefer to hang with the villains, I can pretty much guarantee these three would be open-minded about me. (Do I kiiiiinda wanna be friends with Vexen though? Of course I do. He'd hate me but maaaayyyyybe he would see me as one of his pet idiots who makes him look smarter, and we could bond over our fragile egos?)

a random thought: You ever think about that one NPC lady in Traverse Town who refused to tell you where she was from because it was none of her business? You ever wonder where she WAS from? What her world was like? How she ended up being the survivor of the Ansem Apocalypse when it hit her? All I know is that when I read her lines out loud (I used to read KH speech balloons out loud all the time), I gave her a Southern accent for no discernible reason and I stand by it. That woman has a twang.

An unpopular opinion: I don't want KHUX to be canon because I feel it's smaller-scale and takes a lot of mystery out of the worldbuilding. I always assume that the KHverse just includes ALL worlds in fiction, and that includes their thousand-year histories, meaning the Age of Fairy Tales should've happened long long long LONG LONG LONG ago and not five generations. And whatever screwed up the world should've been more than just five people having a fight, and whatever saved it should've been more than just five people getting along, and Daybreak Town really suffers from having to stick to mobile-friendly graphics and therefore is the least aesthetically attractive KH town ever, and I don't like that Lauriam and Elrena used to be such selfless people. I do still love Strelitzia because she's shy and relatable and quirky (sitting on the roof) and she questions authority and if you go with shipping subtext she's probably bi (or pan?), but I don't like the "Lauriam's dead sister for his arc's drama" bit. I liked when Marluxia was angry because he wanted to run Organization XIII but it was in the hands of an idiot who wasn't him. And more than anything I just like imagining that the Age of Fairy Tales was something bigger, further in the past, and more mysterious than something designed for a mobile game. Scala ad Caelum, however, I like a lot better because there IS a lot of mystery there and also it's a very pretty town with an amazing design.

my canon OTP: I really only count the Disney couples as the "canon" ones, so this is a question of picking my favorite Disney couple that shows up onscreen. I hope I'm not forgetting an important one, but I think the title has to go to Aladdin/Jasmine, which is always perfect in everything. (This would be an ENTIRELY DIFFERENT STORY if KH had ever adapted Treasure Planet, and if it ever gets the mind to adapt Treasure Planet then even if I don't care about that game I will immediately declare that Amelia/Doppler takes the KH canon OTP crown. *taps watch* Get on it Squenix)

Non-canon OTP: SoRiku, which I counted as "basically canon" after DDD until III decided it wasn't sure. But I'm just a sucker for how DDD is the two of them all "HE'S GOT MY BACK AND I'VE GOT HIS AND I'D DO ANYTHING FOR HIM SO LONG AS HE'S HAPPY." It's just the best kind of Friends-to-Lovers, except when you take all canon into account it's Friends-to-Rivals-to-Enemies-to-Friends-to-Lovers and that's a very juicy dynamic. BUT ALSO: VexDem, which is a nostalgia ship SO STRONG I had to accept that it eclipsed my former Vexen ships by a mile and I wanted to go back to my roots. That one, I have a much longer essay about that I'll just have you refer to so I don't repeat myself for pages. To make a long story short, their scene in III was JUST DELICIOUS.

most badass character: OOF THEY'RE ALL BADASS but in the end it's between Sora and Aqua, because Sora gets the widest RANGE of abilities across the series that he masters while Aqua gets the most POWERFUL abilities due to her Mastery (Command Styles seem like they'd be the most OP things ever in-universe and I'm here for it because flashy battle moves make brain go brr).

pairing I am not a fan of: SOKAI, Xehaqus, RikuNami, Vanitas/anyone not evil

character I feel the writers screwed up (in one way or another): OH BOY. KAIRI THE MOST. YOU ALL KNOW WHY: lack of screen time, Fridging for drama, forced romance to invite death flags (they really wanted to milk that death to get people talking didn't they?), giving Alyson Stoner ZERO direction to actually follow up on Hayden Panettiere's performance. But then I remember that they made Vexen redeem and lose his entire personality and I just...uuugghhhh. I can't believe he died twice in this series. And then Demyx is FUN but also I know he's flipped sides as well, which means he won't be fun much longer! Xehanort seems to switch motivations to whatever makes him the biggest threat (and several of Eraqus' old flaws seem to be mysteriously glued onto him), Sora isn't a motormouth anymore, Riku just doesn't get anyone who cares about him anymore because everyone's distracted by Sora and Kairi, IS ANYBODY GOING TO ADDRESS THE ACTUAL ISSUES THAT DROVE THE WAYFINDER TRIO APART, oh God Marluxia and Larxene you're good guys now what have they done to you

favourite friendship: I really like each of the trios. But you know what's even BETTER than the trios? If you put...all of the trios together...meaning Sora, Riku, Kairi, Mickey, Donald, Goofy, Aqua, Terra, Ven, Roxas, Xion, Lea, Hayner, Pence, Olette...and then you added Isa back in there...and you gave them Ienzo...and you brought back Naminé...and you say that Subject X is Strelitzia and you have her turn back up so she can have justice done...AND YOU HAVE AN ULTRA KEYBLADE GROUP OF FRIENDS. As for Vexen, any purely platonic relationship I have for him is a crossover but trust me I have many crossover pals for he

character I want to adopt or be adopted by: See everyone I listed above in the friendship question. They can either mentor me or let me be their big sis/mom. But also, I will GLADLY be Merlin or Yen Sid's daughter. (But also would I kiiiiinda wanna be a VexDem daughter? This is the worst idea. Still wanna try)

[managedmischiefs]

north//chapter one

here she is!! after the long wait, here is the first chapter of north! I hope you all like it. let me know what you think. more chapters to come soon🖤

also i dont have a tag list for this but if anyone wanted to be tagged in this fic then let me know and I’ll create a tag list

genre: fluff

pairing: spencer reid x female oc

warnings: very basic troupe that I’m sure some people are tired of lol but other than that, none!

word count: 3k

SPENCER

Being late to work is not something that I tend to enjoy. I hate it, in fact. I feel like I'm letting my team down if I'm ever late to round table meetings or if I miss a briefing. But these days, sleep is rare. And if I do sleep, it's not uncommon for me to sleep over the array of alarms I have.

Coffee is a must have for me at all points of the day. No sleep means exhaustion and exhaustion means my brain doesn't work as quickly as it could and that means we don't solve cases and not solving cases means more people die. I can't have more people die on my watch so I drink as much coffee as I can. But the coffee in the bullpen isn't always the best so if I ever have time, I stop at a cafe on my way to work. I take the extra five minutes to walk there before hopping on the metro.

I mumble off my coffee order to the tired looking barista and she scribbles down my name. I hand over a few stray bills to pay and get some change in return, tucking it in my pants pocket. I give a tight lipped smile to the barista before moving to a table in the corner of the cafe, pulling a book out of my messenger bag and starting to read, crossing one of my legs over the other. I don't look up while I wait for the barista to call out my name, not even when two people bump into each other in front of the door or a tourist asks someone else for directions. I just read my book and chew my lip, tapping my fingers against the hardcover.

"Spencer," I hear my name being called and finally allow myself attention to be lifted.

I stand quickly, tucking my book in my bag and closing the flap before heading back to the main counter. But the buckle of my bag gets caught on the button of my sleeve when I try to close my bag all the way. I pull at my sleeve, trying to get the buckle unlooped. But in this tussle with myself, I don't even realize that I'm still walking until I bump right into someone. I move my attention from my bag and catch the person's shoulders so I don't completely knock them over and make not only a fool of myself, but of them too. 

"Oh my gosh," I say immediately, my eyes widening, "I'm so sorry,"

"It's okay, it's okay," the girl laughs, her hands squeezing my arms as she regains her balance, “didn’t even fall. You caught me. I didn’t even break a sweat!”

My eyes finally find the girl's face and I'm rendered absolutely speechless. I somehow notice everything about her right away and I memorize her beauty. Her eyes are a bright, beautiful shade of ocean blue and her eyelashes cast shadows over her perfectly pink cheeks. Her hair is wavy and blonde with brown roots, but there's a yellow and blue patterned scarf tied around the front of her head like a folded bandana with pieces pulled out to frame her face. Her nose is small and I can only liken it to a button. Her lips are full and plump and a pretty light pink color and her Cupid's Bow is one that Cupid himself should be jealous of. Both of her ears are full of different types of piercings, and her nose even has a hoop in her right nostril.

She's wearing a light blue knit sweater tucked into a tight denim skirt, along with a pair of short black boots with small heels on them. Her nails are painted white and her fingers are full of rings, each of them different styles and various shades of silver with yellow gems. I notice a tattoo on one of her fingers but she moves and I can't make out what it is. I wonder if she has more tattoos. I find two straps around her shoulders and realize she's wearing a leather backpack, one probably very similar to my own bag. The last thing I notice is the old fashioned camera hanging around her neck, resting just above the waistband of her skirt.

I've seen my fair share of pretty girls. I've seen girls that I wouldn't mind getting to know better. I've met girls that have caught my attention. I've even been in what I believed to be love. But what is this? If I thought I'd seen a beautiful girl before, I clearly hadn't met this girl before. She looks like an angel sent directly from heaven. She looks like she was crafted by God himself and put on this earth to grace mankind with her beauty. Is it fair for one woman to be this beautiful? Is it even possible? I didn’t think that one woman could possess such beauty. 

What the hell is wrong with me? I can barely even breathe. I’m just staring at this gorgeous specimen, admiring her smile and trying to memorize the way her fingertips feel on my forearms. I quickly try to think of something to say, another apology for running into her, but I can barely even breathe when I stare at her, much less speak. 

"Spencer," the barista calls out my name again, setting my cup down on the counter before walking away. Saved by the barista. 

The girl smiles at me and her face lights up, only further illuminating her features. She's got two dimples on her cheeks, bringing out a childlike spirit in her that I pick up right away. "Um," she says with a laugh, "is that yours? You should probably grab it before someone else steals it,"

Okay, Spencer, breathe. You can do this. You’ve spoken to pretty girls before. Sure, it’s hard and it’s scary, but you can do it. Just say words. Preferably, coherent words. Preferably, maybe, a full sentence.

"Right," I finally force out, dropping my hands from her arms. I hadn't realized until now that I was still holding onto her and she was still holding onto me. I reach over and grab my steaming coffee, almost wincing at the heat under my fingertips.

The girl still hasn't moved when I turn back to her, but now she's fiddling with her camera. "Are you," I start to say before hesitating. Her head pops up and she smiles again, letting her camera fall against her stomach. I gulp, shuffling my feet against the floor as I attempt to speak a full sentence. "I didn't mean to bump into you like that,"

"Oh, it's totally fine," she waves her hand at me casually. "I wasn't paying attention either. No harm, no foul. Like I said, I didn’t even break a sweat,” The girl pushes her hair behind her ears and places her hands on her hips. With the confident way she speaks, I almost expect her to keep speaking, but she doesn’t. She just looks at me with the cutest smile, even baring her teeth, waiting for me to say something else. 

So I clutch my cup of coffee and swallow thickly. “I-" I hesitate yet again, but when the girl's eyes scream for me to continue, I do. "What's your name?"

She opens her mouth to speak but before she can, another cup of coffee is placed on the counter. "Amelia," the barista announces before walking away.

Amelia laughs, taking a step over to grab her cup, which I immediately notice is tea and not coffee. "Took the words right out of my mouth,"

"Amelia," I repeat as if testing the way the word rolls off my tongue. It tastes sweet. "You heard already, but, um, I'm Spencer,"

"It's nice to meet you," Amelia holds her hand to shake mine, and the panic starts to set in. For a moment, I debate on actually just shaking her hand so I don’t seem like a total freak to this girl that I seem to have a massive crush on. But the prospect of shaking a total strangers hand is repulsive and when I find myself looking at her hand for more than two seconds, I’m starting to count up the amount of germs that would be present there and I have to force myself not to make a face.

So of course, while my hands get clammy and my heart rate speeds up, I do what I do best. I spit out a fact that Amelia didn't ask for. "On average we carry 3,200 bacteria from 150 different species on our hands,"

Amelia's fingers curl into her palm and she retracts her hand, looking down at her palm and smiling just a tiny bit. "You know, I don't blame you for not wanting to shake hands. It is kinda gross anyway,"

"Sorry," I blurt out immediately, still shuffling on my feet. "That was rude of me,"

"It's not rude," Amelia counters, sipping her tea without so much as grimacing at the inevitable heat. "Are you in a rush?" I glance down at my watch and see that I still have ten minutes until I should be getting on the train. I relay this information to her and watch as she smiles again. "Would you like to sit with me then?"

"Oh," my eyes widen slightly and I squeeze my coffee cup so hard that I think I might poke holes in the sides, "y-yeah, sure,"

"Cool," she breathes out, waving me on and leading me to a booth on the other side of the cafe. I'm far too anxious with this situation and by Amelia's beauty and her comfortability around me to even think about relaxing, or drinking my coffee, or taking my bag off from around my shoulder. I definitely can’t remember any of Morgan’s advice on how to chat up girls or any of the conversation starters I’ve memorized for social situations like this. My mind is completely empty, just when I need it to be full and plentiful. How lovely.

Amelia sits across from me and grins, and every time she does, I swear my heart skips a beat and another butterfly breaks through its cocoon in my stomach. "So where are you off to this morning, if you don't mind me asking?"

"Work," I answer, and then realize that's an incredibly vague answer. Amelia raises her eyebrows as she lounges back against the booth, clearly waiting for me to elaborate. "Uh, I work for the FBI, actually. More specifically, the BAU- the Behavioral Analysis Unit,"

"You're a profiler!" Amelia perks up again, sitting up straighter with a huge grin on her face. "That's super cool! My dad is a police officer, sheriff actually, back home in Texas and I'm pretty sure he's worked with the BAU before and he says you guys are awesome. You catch serial killers, right?"

I'm almost stunned by her reaction. Most people don't believe behavioral profiling works, and most people resist the practice, especially local police. But her acceptance of it is incredibly refreshing, and it's welcomed. Honestly, any type of excitement from this Amelia girl is welcomed. It’s a beautiful sight. 

I can feel my cheeks turn bright red as I nod, still clutching my coffee cup. "Yeah, we do. And um, what about you?" I hate talking about myself so I change the subject. "Where are you off to?"

"I'm actually meeting a friend of mine to go shopping a few blocks over," Amelia gestures out the window. "But since we're talking about your job, I'll tell you about my way less cool job, which is an artist. I went to Carnegie Mellon and then moved here and I’ve been here ever since. My preference is canvas painting but I bring my camera around a lot, hence," she holds up the camera around her neck, "the camera now. I try to capture spontaneous moments for when I do exhibits and galleries and such,”

"I've always loved art. Never been talented at it, but I like it." I shrug nonchalantly and sip my coffee, trying to divert my eyeline down to the table, but when Amelia smiles at me, I can’t find it in me to break our eye contact.

Something about Amelia's smile brings me in. Every time she flashes her teeth, I feel myself sink further into my seat and I feel my head get fuzzier. I almost forget that I have to get to work in just a few minutes. But I don't want to go anymore. I want to stay here and keep talking to Amelia. I want her to keep going on and on about canvas paintings and her education at Carnegie Mellon, or even just tell me why she likes tea over coffee, if that’s even true. I don’t know anything about this girl but I want to.

"Nobody is technically good at art," Amelia responds. "Everyone has their strengths and weaknesses in the arts, everyone sees art differently, and that's okay. I'm sure you're not horrible, I'm sure you just haven't found your strength yet, Spencer," She enunciates my name with such beauty and grace that I almost ask her to say it again. I'd do anything to hear her say my name again.

"If-" I'm cut off when my phone rings in my pocket, so I lean over and fish it out. I read a text from Garcia that tells me we have a case, meaning we'll be briefing for a new case this morning. I sigh defeatedly, wishing I hadn't just gotten a text that usually piques my interest. Today, it makes my heart drop. 

"You have to get to work?" I look back up at work to see yet another smile on Amelia's perfect face. "Go ahead, it's okay," I’m so used to seeing disappointed faces when this text comes in, not a smiling face. It’s odd, somewhat confusing.

I grab my coffee cup and stand as Amelia does the same. She holds her cup to her chest, looking down at her feet. "Will," I chew on the inside of my cheek when she looks up at me, ocean eyes wide with anticipation as I struggle with my words for the umpteenth time, "can I see you again? We barely got to talk and you-"

"Yeah," Amelia nods before I can even finish my sentence. "Can I give you my number?"

I have to hold myself back from jumping up and down in excitement. "Y-Yeah, sure, of course," I pull my phone out yet again as she does the same. She tells me her phone number slowly so I can get it down, but of course, it sticks in my brain immediately.

"Just text me," Amelia murmurs, looking over my shoulder at my phone where my shaky thumbs press against the buttons on my phone to type out- hi, it's Spencer. She waits until her phone rings and then she smiles at me. "Great, I've got it. Now, um, go. Don't let me be the reason you're late in helping people. You don't have to text me if you don't want to," she pauses for a moment, and I wonder what she's waiting for. Is she waiting for me to confirm or deny that statement? Is she waiting for anything at all? Is it an open-ended statement? Where have all my profiling skills gone? Forget profiling- where is my common sense? "But if you do wanna text me," I'm thankful when she starts talking again, "don't until after you've solved your case. Don't worry about me until you've saved lives. But like I said, if you don't wanna text me, you don't have to,"

My phone buzzes again and I can only imagine it's someone from the team asking me where I am, hurrying me along so we can get started on our briefing. I ignore it for now. "Well," I have to clear my throat to be able to speak again. I give Amelia a bashful smile holding up my phone for her to see, "I'll text you when I'm back home,"

Amelia blushes, her bottom lip being pulled between her teeth. She breathes out a tiny laugh, nodding. "I look forward to it, Spencer,"

I take a step towards the door and feel my body grow cold at the distance starting to increase between us. "I'll talk to you soon, Amelia,"

And with that, before I have it in me to take one more look at the angel standing in the corner cafe, I hurry out the front door. There's a dumb smile on my face as I rush down the stairs to the train platform, struggling to swipe my card and respond to Penelope's text at the same time, all while running to catch the train at the platform. I'm somehow successful at all of this and only manage to breathe once I'm inside the stuffy car. Amelia's face is stuck inside my head and I can't get it out, and I'm positive that I never want to.

///

"Reid? Reid!" My head pops up as Morgan forcefully says my name, catching my attention and bringing me out of my daydream.

When I look up at him, he's already staring up at me with his eyebrows raised, clearly expecting an answer out of me about something. I have no idea what that something is, but he’s wanting an answer about it. I clear my throat, placing my cup of terrible police station coffee on the table and running a hand over my face. "Sorry," I apologize half heartedly, "I was thinking,"

Morgan sits across from me at the table and folds his hands. "Case related?" I glance up at him before deciding to completely ignore him, standing and walking up to the board, returning to examining the geographical profile. "Reid, come on, we've been on the case three days. You've been distracted ever since you walked in for the briefing. You can talk to me," I keep ignoring him. I stare at the map in front of me. "Is something going on? Is it your mom?"

"My mom is fine," I spin around and cross my arms over my chest, ignoring the way my heart starts to speed up when Amelia’s face resurfaces in my brain. “Can we just solve this case so we can go home?”

[halothenthehorns]

All in the Family

Chapter 142: The Half-Blood Prince

The shop was brightly lit, causing more whiplash from the last room into this place and giving no one a chance for a decent landing as they all crashed into shelves of items none would reasonably like to be around.

Peter fell into a barrel of rat spleens, Regulus had a whole jar of bezoars fall on his head, and Lily cried in distress as her hair was tangled up in an array of poppy heads and unicorn tails strung together in the ceiling from the high shelf she landed on.

When Lily got herself down though and looked around at the apothecary, she felt a swirl of emotions for this place even as she put a feather and extension charm on her bag and made her way purposefully around, trying not to dwell on memories of her first trip here with Sev, this had been their favorite shop right off the bat as she went around touching everything she could despite the harassed shop owner chasing them and pleading otherwise.

When she found Frank studying a batch of cauldrons she took her time selecting the most well rounded one and said, "I think I'm actually going to take a leaf out of those boys book and start packing. Couldn't hurt to have a few ingredients on hand, yes?"

"Brilliant," he agreed, "just in case. I'll start looking around for some ingredients if you want to start on supplies, I passed a sign promising some new scales around here."

"Perfect," she grinned. Neither of them were going back on their promise to interact with the others exactly, but why waste this opportunity?

Sirius happily helped Remus to his feet, and then gave a flirtatious grin and let his hand rest on his ass just to amuse himself Remus was sure.

Looking for any petty reason to pick a fight and stop this, but also genuinely looking around first to make sure Padfoot wasn't being an arse, he hissed, "will you stop that!" Sirius immediately dropped his hand, but he still didn't look as chagrined as Remus would hope. "Merlin Sirius, you've been making passes at me under the table how long now, someone's bound to notice eventually. Don't pretend you don't know boundaries!"

"Okay, okay," Sirius finally said with a look of some regret. He knew Remus wasn't a fan of public affection, Moony was one of the few Prefects who annoyed some couples in the Gryffindor common room for taking away points if they got too handsy. Still he insisted, "how are you ever going to relax if you won't bloody have some fun?" He'd checked first too, and there was nobody nearby.

"Maybe I don't want to," Remus snapped.

Sirius looked very annoyed now, and considering it mission accomplished Sirius should avoid him at least for now, stalked off. He could hear Prongs' voice at the front and made a beeline for him instinctively even if that was where Sirius headed too, though Padfoot instead stayed in place just watching him leave, which he did not glance guiltily over his shoulder to see thank you.

Dancing a complicated path up and down isles full of unpleasantly smelly things, he finally caught sight of his mate near the register talking to Smith in surprise and not the person coming up behind him.

"Hey, ah, Remus?"

Said teenager looked over in surprise. Frank had never addressed him so directly, let alone by his first name. The older boy still had an air of awkwardness around him, but he didn't scream bloody murder when Remus looked right at him, so he answered politely, "yeah?"

"You know all about creatures right?" He was clutching something in his hand that was starting to make Remus nervous. What a poor time to have this fight with Padfoot, now clear on the other side of the store, but at least James was hovering nearby.

Remus quickly tried to scold such cowardly thoughts, he didn't need backup to talk. Longbottom had never done anything remotely vicious to him, and he was apparently the more nervous of the two as he just watched patiently for an answer.

"A bit yeah," he downplayed. Frank gave a hesitant smile and Remus was quick to return it out of surprise, deciding to elaborate, "it's a hobby I suppose, with me and my dad."

"So, you know the properties of this?" He asked, now showing in his palm a fang Remus instantly recognized. "I knocked a couple things over when landing, and Lily and I decided we're collecting ingredients for a few possibilities while we're in here, but we're both better at plants than animals. Mind, um, helping?"

"Not at all," Remus agreed at once. He followed Frank back down the aisle as he started pulling containers that were near where he'd found this one and beginning to juggle a few items down into the crook of one arm. A glass jar of newt's eyes, some crushed dragon's claw in a leather pouch, frog brains in a silver preservation vial, and a hefty jar of dragon's blood in an old urn.

Remus was prattling off facts he knew each were used for and properties they enhanced in potions and watching in concern as he kept trying to reach for more.

Frank looked away distractedly from the tin of sardines too far back for easy reach to ask, "Lily's made a mention you aren't a great shake at potions, you really know all this stuff just from studying the animals?"

"Studying the creatures' lives is how most wizards figure out what potions they are useful for," Remus shrugged, reaching out on instinct to balance the glass jar back into the crook of his arm where it was wobbling. Frank didn't even flinch. "It's not remembering all that, it's doing the practical's, I fall asleep so often in the warm classroom and then accidentally skip steps because my eyes are tired and shite."

"Girl in my year has the same problem," Frank nodded, now reaching up on his toes for the stubborn thing and crushing everything to his chest in concentration. "Stays up all night reading and then keeps trying to do it in class, I can't count the amount of times she's set her book on fire. Even when Slughorn confiscates it she's burnt out by then and still doesn't stay awake."

Remus laughed in surprise and finally offered as he came down to balance back on his feet with his prize, "like me to take some of that?"

"Oh, yeah," he eagerly agreed, better than making two trips.

Mindlessly passing the lot along, Remus began juggling it all in confusion, he'd only been offering to take the two bigger items. Something burned so unexpectedly, he sent the blood crashing to their feet, coating both of their pants in it instantly. The newt's eyes and fish rolled and flopped away in all directions, while the silver vile remained pressed to the palm of his hand for a few moments longer by the leather bag hooked onto his thumb before he shouted in pain and shook those off too.

Frank startled in surprise, slipping a bit on the slick floor and catching himself on a shelf just as James and Alice rushed over in concern.

Alice put her hand on her boyfriend's elbow to help steady him while James instantly went to Remus, who was doubled over clutching his hand and breathing through his teeth in pain. James's eyes landed on the little culprit still rolling innocently amongst their feet, and shoved Moony instinctively behind him while looking at Frank incredulously. While standoffish, he'd never been so cruel to him. "The hell do you mean by that?" He snapped in disgust. "I ought to transfigure you into a pretzel!"

"I, what?" Frank looked legitimately confused at what had happened though, already tempering off some of his anger, while Alice was scowling at Potter bowing up to her boyfriend like that deterring him from saying anything further, like the actual spell.

Instead he turned around and gently grabbed Remus' wrist, who was already trying to tuck it up his sleeve and promise, "it's fine Prongs, really-" despite his watery eyes and tight voice barely choking out the words.

James was having none of that and gently uncurled Remus' fingers from where they were trembling just above his palm to see the now shiny red mark in the perfect shape of the silver that had laid against his skin. James hissed in anger at how deep it looked, like it had been pressed in, but by the time he turned around trying to figure out where some dittany in this place would be, it was being pressed into his hand by Sirius with a furious expression barely being held together.

The others had come over at the noise and some put the situation together faster than others. James began dabbing the medicine in while Sirius held himself ramrod straight and watched only James, fearing any further movement on his part would cause him to do something he might regret, the look of pain on Remus' face burned into his mind needed no silver to linger for him.

A decision that almost seemed worth it when Remus was straightening back up moments later flexing his hand as it started to fade except for the faintest glimmer to show what had happened, and then used the same hand to brush against Sirius' fingers while telling James, "thanks."

Prongs nodded and turned back to face Longbottom with far more apprehension than the glowering Sirius was doing, his arm held protectively up still as a barrier while Remus caught Sirius' fingers and gave them a purposeful squeeze to which Padfoot returned before dropping his hand and saying quickly before anyone else as Sirius properly looked at him, "he didn't do it on purpose." As if, for just a moment, he'd forgotten he was talking to a werewolf... Then his eyes widened as he really looked at Frank, who finally seemed to have realized what happened himself as he looked guilty from the floor and back. "You really didn't, did you?"

"No," he said instantly. "Didn't even occur to me-" then he stopped with the same exact look as Remus.

"Wow," James finally dropped his arm while drawing the word out comically. "Okay then. I don't take back the pretzel threat though, let that be a warning," he grinned, like he was actually trying to turn around and tease him like nothing had happened.

Frank decided that was better than acting on the threat, his mind was still boggling on Sirius not having done worse. "Duly noted," he promised.

James patted Remus' arm one last time before casually waving his wand to clean up the mess, the vial sailing into his hand to be put back on the shelf.

Peter finally cleared his throat and spoke to no one in particular for the awkward silence, "don't worry, you're not the first person to do that. Last week in potions Grace Wilkes passed him a silver spigot and he screamed bloody murder, Prongs cursed her tongue to swell up in her mouth for three days in retaliation, and to distract the rest of the class."

"I didn't hear about that!" Sirius yelped in protest, before he went cross-eyed and took an uneasy step away as he realized why. He hadn't been speaking to them last week, and had only sporadically remembered what class to be in he'd been so out of his head. It was almost a miracle he'd even been there at the start of this mess. Merlin that felt like such a lifetime ago now...

"Must be awful, having to constantly be on edge just to be handed something," Frank said remorsefully. "I am sorry."

"I know," Remus said at once, rubbing his thumb into his palm absentmindedly and taking that step back towards Sirius without even thinking. "Don't worry, I told James off for that and refused to get him out of the detention Slughorn gave, they're a little...."

Protective, the word hovered in the air, and who could blame the two purebloods who knew better than anyone how others would react to their friend. Most students could find a picture in the papers of a werewolf, and the silver burned into their skin from Ministry interrogations splashed across the page when they actually caught one, bragging they were one step closer to catching the infamous Greyback.

Lily certainly hadn't questioned any of this in that exact class, she'd just thought Wilkes had accidentally splashed or burned Lupin and Potter had been an arse as usual, or Black had turned down her advances and they chose this moment to get her back, or just sheer boredom on Potter's part in a class he so disliked.

Potter didn't particularly look like he regretted it, but there was also something in his face Lily had never seen before, a question for nobody here as his eyes flickered around for the book. She didn't really think Harry would begrudge his father for this particular instance, but it was fascinating he was finally asking at all. He caught her eye suddenly, and there was that usual gleam of awe, before it clouded over once more and he turned back to his mates, whirling Sirius Black around and forcefully breaking his eye contact with Frank while muttering something about getting back into Diagon Alley for some fresh air if they could. His best mate did not relax as usual, but didn't protest being dragged off. Lupin went too with a small smile, catching Frank's eye one last time without dropping it as he followed them.

Pettigrew and Regulus offered to help Frank collect more ingredients, and she smiled softly and turned away to go find that book. It really was nice to understand why he was such an ass.

Mercifully the door opened onto the cobbled streets and James finally released him properly so he could take off for the ice cream shop.

"I wasn't going to do anything," Sirius could hear the lie in his own voice as he followed more slowly behind than usual. He well knew if both hadn't scolded him for trying last time he would have in a second.

"We know Padfoot," Prongs sounded a tad pandering, but his smile was genuine as he teased. "Better safe than sorry though, if we had shoved that vile up his nose, it might have gotten stuck there! He'd be even more of an arse!"

"I don't think he's that bad," Remus rolled his eyes, but Sirius could hear the hesitance in his own voice, vouching for him. He was still rubbing absently at his palm, it must be tingling something awful still. "We never have bothered to try."

"Maybe I don't want to," Sirius huffed with the stank eye at Moony, not exactly feeling better when he flinched. He wasn't even sure how a stupid accident like that could happen, but it sure as hell wouldn't have if Remus wasn't being such a ponce right now and he'd been there! No way in hell would Remus have just casually grabbed that, and he would have made sure of it if that had somehow been foul play.

Moony jogged up next to James to try the door to Florean Fortescue's Parlor, which did not open, but they all lounged around in the warm chairs outside anyways.

James still watched between the pair for a moment, rapping his knuckles to his own beat on the table, but when Sirius didn't start humming a tune along, he stopped and offered, "listen Padfoot, better he forget sometimes than be a raging arse about it the rest of this, right? He's eased up a lot since you kept Moony off him."

"I suppose," he agreed more out of obligation than anything. He did relax up some when Moony finally stopped rubbing at the now completely faded mark and closed his eyes in the warmth. Tipping his chair back with one foot, using the other to mimic the beat Prongs just had, he forced himself to unwind too. James grinned at the challenge and started tapping a fast pace on the table he was sure he'd fall over trying to copy, but the two managed to keep the game up the rest of the chapter while Remus listened, smiling softly in the bright light.

Alice gave her boyfriend a quick kiss before going along with Lily, the two stopping to collect a few more ingredients and dumping them in her selected cauldron before stuffing it into her now bulging bag. She summoned the book to her, but Alice caught her arm before she could start.

"Hey Lily, I just want you to know, um, well Frank told me you were really holding back telling me what you thought about my involving with those Marauder boys, and I just want you to know you don't have to do that."

Lily flushed in embarrassment, she hadn't said that to Frank, or out loud at all.

"Look," Alice said soothingly, "I don't know what it's been like with you and Snape, but I promise I'll listen. I won't always agree, but please hun, don't hold back like that. It's what I'm trying to get through to those idiots, feelings fester."

"Thanks," Lily told her sincerely, she'd hated feeling so insecure and biting her tongue before, but she'd been very put-out with herself since she started all this. It wasn't just trusting Frank to help her with collecting ingredients, normally a task she could do blind, and by herself. She didn't trust herself anymore.

She knew she needed to get confidence back in herself somehow, she just wasn't sure where to start, it felt far too overwhelming while still constantly dealing with every other problem going on. She knew how she would have done it, make a few remedial potions to get herself back on track until she was back to her advanced level more confident than ever, but none of that was available to her during all this.

Her independent streak was going to leave her feeling very alone though if she didn't fix that now. "I want to help now though," she told her honestly. "You were right to do so, couldn't hurt to try." She finally glanced down at the chapter title just as Alice smiled and plopped down on a step stool to listen with her, so she jumped up in concern when Lily flinched in surprise at the chapter title.

"More of Snape's shit huh?" Alice easily deduced from that now common reaction of him.

"A nickname he gave himself," Lily quietly agreed. "I thought it was lovely at the time, him embracing his half-blood heritage like that. I can't imagine how Harry's going to hear about that, clearly he despises everything to do with lower forms," she finished bitterly.

Lily sat down on the wide stool in exhaustion and Alice sat next to her, holding her in a half hug as they found out how this came to be. She found herself smiling at the end it was something as silly as his potions book, she had her own copy of course and she denied finishing the chapter for ages as she sat around telling Alice of their wild experiments and many failed attempts because of them all with some hilarious results Madam Pomfrey had taken ages to fix in the two.

By the end they were laughing spiritedly and Lily already felt better than she would have thought possible.

[poisxnyouth]

hs dave. chapter 4. (d.d)

A/N: i’ve written this 3 different times and idk why this is being so annoying today but 🙂 follow aly @idkdobrik and ros @occasionally-angelic i’m super excited for you guys to read this one - i’m really proud of it and i think it’s my favorite of all 4❤️ enjoy & let me know what you think !!

WC: 12,027

“Um...Actually, Dave, can you go home?” You’re stopped in the driveway of your house and seated in Dom’s backseat with David. Dom has always been your designated driver, and he was probably planning on going back to the party to drop more kids off at home. He tends to enjoy taking care of drunk teenagers, saying, “It’s fun because I’m the one who remembers all of the drama and no one else does.”

David halts the clumsy unbuckling of his seatbelt, more drunk than he was 20 minutes prior, face faltering slightly, “I mean, yeah. Okay. I guess. Call me?”

You nod, “‘Course.”

“Okay. I love you.”

You swallow nervously, faking a smile and moving to shut the car door.

“Wait-,” you hear him say, leaning forward to grab your hand, nearly pleading, “Say it back.”

You repeat the words, glancing over at Dom and bidding both of them goodnight. David kisses the back of your hand before releasing it, apathetic towards the lingering presence in the car. Dom watches and waits until you get through your front door before you hear him drive away.

You should probably still be drunk, you’re not sure how you aren’t, but David’s words definitely did the job to sober you up.

Alex isn’t an entire idiot, and you trust his judgment. He can tell something is up, too; maybe it’s not just you. Maybe everyone else can see what you’re feeling for him; maybe you’re wrong about how you feel; or maybe David’s just an oblivious idiot.

You’re barely peeling off the night’s clothes before he texts you, “Baby, can we FaceTimeeeee? Say yes. Pls.”  You roll your eyes, still giving in to him no matter how badly you want to be alone and think. You quickly take off your makeup, shower, and change, David’s cum still running between your thighs. You clean up his mess.

The line rings just once before he picks up, seemingly awaiting your call, his face too close to the camera.

“Baby,” he slurs his words, “I miss you. Come over.”

“David, it’s two in the morning. I’m tired,” you try to come up with an excuse, propping your phone up against your bathroom mirror and beginning to brush your teeth.

“Nooooooo,” he pouts, “You’re so lame. D’you even know how many times I’ve snuck into your house ‘cause you said you wanted to see me? Soooo many. Please come over. I wanna see you.”

“You just saw me,” you say, muffled before you spit and rinse.

“I know, but I wanna sleep with you. Baby, please? I can’t walk anywhere. I can barely move.” You can see him playing with his hair at the top of the frame, nose and eyes almost taking up the entire screen.

“Fine, I’ll come,” you say, “But drink some water.”

“I can’t move,” David defends, “Are you leaving now? Go through the front door. It’s fine. It’s unlocked.”

“Yes, Dave, I’m leaving now. I’ll be there in fifteen. Bye.” You quickly hang up, wondering why you put yourself in this situation again. He’s just going to confuse you even more.

++

“Baaaaaabyyyyyy!” He happily exclaims, stretched out on his bed in his underwear as you come through his door. David pats the space next to him as you kick your shoes off, moving to get into bed with him.

“Nononono,” he protests, tugging at your shirt, “No clothes. Please.”

He watches you undress down to your underwear, sitting on the edge of his bed as you do so, feeling his lips press sloppily against your shoulder blade and his lingering hands on your waist.

You know how he is when he’s drunk beyond belief: a big baby who wants to be held. You lay next to him before he silently scoots further down. His arms wrap around your torso and he tangles your legs together, head resting on your chest. He always tries to make the size difference work.

He sighs quietly, eyes fluttering shut as you kiss his head and play with his hair.

“Davey, baby,” you say softly, not wanting to disturb him entirely.

He hums in response, eyes not opening and not moving a muscle.

You go quiet, “...Did you brush your teeth?”

He pauses, still unmoving, “...Yes.”

“Kiss me.” You know he’s lying; you can still smell the alcohol on his breath.

He leans up and kisses you, closed-mouth, before pulling away. He would never. The kiss alone could probably get you drunk - you’re not sure how he’s functioning at all.

“You’re lying. Go do it,” you shove him off as he gripes, rolling out of bed and making his way to the bathroom attached to his room.

He shuts the door, for some reason, before you hear the sink turn on. You realize he’s still probably not brushing his teeth. Why is he actually five years old?

You get up and open the door and see him standing in front of the sink, watching the faucet.

“David, oh my God,” you roll your eyes, “Just fucking do it. You’ll thank me in the morning.”

He does, and you resume the position you both were in beforehand.

You wait for the subtle snores to make their appearance, but they never do. He remains quiet.

“Babe,” he says, still slurring and nearly half-asleep, “How come you didn't want me there tonight?”

“Just wanted to be alone,” you say, hoping he’ll drop it as you comb your fingers through his hair.

“But you hate being alone,” David points out, arms wrapping around you tighter, “I don’t know if I did something to make you not wanna be with me tonight, but if I did, I’m really sorry.”

“It’s okay, baby.”

“So, I did do something? Tell me,” he demands, eyes still closed as you hold him. He’s practically brain dead.

“It’s no big deal, Dave, I swear. I’m here right now, okay? With you. It’s all good,” you reassure, running your hands down his back. “We’re okay.”

“Alright,” he sighs, “I just don't wanna do it again, whatever it is. Kiss me, please.”

You love his kisses when he’s in this mood. They always make you think he could be in love with you too. They’re always soft, but deep, and he makes these noises in the back of his throat you wish you could hear forever. He always tells you how beautiful you are when he pulls away, and he always has the most wonderful blush spread across his cheeks. You always tell yourself it’s from the alcohol, not you, no matter how much you wish you were the cause.

David stops, lips gently leaving yours and tugging you as close as he can, eyes scanning your face. If it was anyone else staring you down this closely, you’d feel uncomfortable and intruded upon. No matter his levels of intoxication, the look in his eyes is always the same when he gets a sight of you.

If you think about it too much, your heart may burst.

“Go to sleep, baby,” you tell him, kissing his forehead. He nods slightly, leaning up to quickly press his lips to yours and moving his head back to your chest.

“I love you, Y/N,” he says, eyes already shut, “I mean it. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, Dave. I love you too.”

++

You wake up the next morning with your head smushed in David’s chest, legs tangled together and one of his hands in your hair.

He’s awake, back propped against his headboard and scrolling through his phone. He feels your stirring and tosses his phone to the side, both hands moving to your waist. David leans his head down, quickly pressing sloppy kisses all over your face.

“Daviiiiid!” you whine, pulling him closer, “Good morning.”

He kisses you on the mouth this time, your arms habitually wrapping around his neck before he pulls away, repeating to you, “Good morning, baby.”

“What time is it?” you ask, “How’s your head?”

“Fine,” he says, “Dom made me take, like, four aspirin before he dropped me off. It’s ten, but-,” he cuts himself off, sliding back into bed and wrapping his arms around you.

“I just wanna stay in bed all day,” Dave admits, burying his head deep in your shoulder.

“Until noon,” you bargain, “I have homework to do.”

“Ugh,” he groans, “Okay, but can I still stay with you?”

You shake your head slightly, “It’s a bunch of my AP reading; it’s due Monday. You’re gonna be bored. It’ll take a few hours, but I’ll text you when you can come over?”

He nods, simply saying, “Alright.”

“Can we fuck?” David blurts, “Like, later?”

“...Yes? Why do you still ask? You know you can just-”

“Because I wanna make sure! You’ve been acting weird lately,” he shrugs, hands flat against your skin.

“How?” You ask, anxious that he’s taken notice of your change in behavior.

“I dunno what it is,” he describes vaguely, “I don’t know if it’s this or school stuff or work stuff or friend stuff, but you’re always thinking about something. I see it on your face. The only time I don’t see it is when I’m fucking you.”

His answer makes you stifle a laugh, moving to put your head in his chest, “That’s ‘cause you fuck it out of my head.”

“What is it, though?” Dave asks, turning on his side to face you, free hand on your cheek, “What’s bothering you?”

“It’s no big deal, baby, I swear-”

“Bullshit,” he says quietly, “Something’s going on with you, but I’m not gonna force it out of you.”

“I’ll tell you later, okay?” You promise without thinking of the severity and repercussions your admission will bring. Your feelings begin to resemble some shape of a burden; you love what you two share together too much - you don’t want to ruin it.

He nods, eyes on yours, repeating, “Okay. I know you’ll tell me when you want to.”

“I just get nervous,” David elaborates, “Besides last night, it just seems like, lately, at least, whenever we do anything, you’re super in your head. I can’t tell if you want it or not. Since last week when we fucked in the car, I think? I feel like that’s when I picked up on it, I dunno…” he trails off, fingertips running gently down your arm.

Fuck. He knows. He has to. That’s the night you realized.

“That’s - that’s why I asked,” he admits, stuttering slightly, “I just wanted to make sure you still wanted it from me.”

“I’ll always want it from you,” you tell him, arm thrown haphazardly around his shoulders, “As long as you want me.”

You shouldn’t have said that - you don’t want the response because you already know what it is.

“I’ll always want you,” he says, as you knew he would, “And maybe you’ll always want me, but that's not the point…”

It almost feels like he’s sweet talking you as his hands flatten against the small of your back, continuing, “Are you happy with this?”

“What?” you ask, the tone of your voice going up as you motion between the two of you, “This?”

“Of course I’m happy with this, Dave,” you tell him the truth, “I love this and I love you.”

You shouldn't have said that either:

“...As friends?” He asks, as he always does.

“As friends, baby,” you reassure, swallowing nervously as you lie to both of you. David stops for a second, eyes flickering across your face before he slowly leans in.

You kiss him back, thinking of how much you hate lying to him but also of how much you love what you share.

Your phone vibrates loudly on Dave’s nightstand, interrupting your moment as he leans to grab it for you.

“It’s a text from Natalie,” he says, handing the phone to you and returning to his original position of lying on his back, your head in his chest.

Do you remember fucking Alex & Dave last night?! Everyone heard it!!! You can’t even deny it.

You laugh, passing the phone to him for him to read it.

Yes, I remember, Nat.

...was it good? it sounded like it

David makes a face at that one, saying, “Fuck, people know now.”

“I don’t really care,” you admit, “It doesn’t matter to me. It’s our business.”

“I guess,” he says, “I just don’t want people saying bad shit about you. Since we’re best friends.”

Yes, it was good🙄 David’s dick is huge

Gross!!!! TMI...and Alex?

I don't remember what he was like, I was too focused on David lol

Natalie calls you on FaceTime, and you look at David, “Do I answer it?”

“Fuck it, she already knows we hooked up,” he says, sitting up slightly, your head still on his chest.

You hit the green button, waiting for her face to appear.

“Oh. My. GOD,” her jaw drops, reacting to the visual of you and Dave still together, mostly naked, “You guys! No! My friends can’t be hooking up! Not...more than once!”

“We’re not,” you say, “Never again.”

“Okay, I know that’s a lie,” Nat calls you out, “You said it was good and you’re a sucker for good dick-”

“It’s not just good,” you defend, “It’s great-”

“Okay, ew!” She fake vomits, David laughing behind you, “Stop talking. I don’t need to know that! Anyways, God damn it, you guys! You just made me lose twenty bucks to Dima.”

“What do you mean?” David asks, moving to hold your hand out of frame.

“He knew, like, a month ago that something was going on, and I defended you guys and was like, ‘Nooo, I think they’re just close again!’ but now I feel like an idiot.”

“We weren't fucking a month ago!” Dave says, managing to get out, “Last night was the first-” before Nat cuts him off:

“Oh, so you’re fucking now? Lying is a sin, you guys. Don’t lie to me; I’ll kill both of you. It was so obvious you guys had done it before. How long have you been fucking?”

You let David answer, squeezing his hand gently, “It’s been, you know, like, a month. Month and a half, maybe.”

“I hate Dima so much,” she says, “Why is he always right about everything? Do I need to smoke more weed or something?”

“That would definitely help with the bitchiness,” Dave says, “It’s really not that big of a deal, Nat, like, we’re not dating or anything-”

“Yeah, for now,” Nat says, “It’s coming. I can see it.”

“It’s definitely not,” David ensures, “I can promise you.”

“Whatever you say, Dave,” she rolls her eyes, “I gotta go. Y/N, if you ever leave David’s bed again, come over. I need to talk to you about something.”

“Okay,” you say, “I will in a little bit.”

“Wait,” David says softly, “Am I still coming over, or…?”

“Yeah, of course! I mean, it won’t take that long at her’s, so-”

“Ugh,” Nat intervenes, “Gross. Get a room. Bye, love you guys, use protection.”

She hangs up before either of you can answer and David groans, hands going through his hair, “Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck.”

“It’ll be okay,” you promise him, “If anyone should know, it’s her.”

“I know, but…” he trails, arms moving to wrap around you, “This was ours. No one else's.”

“It still is, baby,” you tell him, “They might know we fuck, but...this is still ours.”

“Yeah,” he half-heartedly agrees, tutting quietly, “Jesus. We had a fucking threeway with Alex. That's crazy.”

“I almost forgot he was there, honestly,” you admit, listening to David’s breathing patterns.

“I fucking didn’t,” he scoffs, tone of his voice turning rude and harsh, “Had to sit through watching him fuck you the wrong way. He's a dipshit, trying to tell me how to fuck my girl. Get the fuck out of here.”

“Jeez,” you say, eyebrows flying upwards in surprise, “Remember when you said Alex didn't make you jealous?”

He scoffs again, moving into his nightstand to grab his cigarettes, weed, grinder, and blunts, speaking, “That was before we all had a threesome. I didn't think he was into you like that - I said I wanted to fuck you years ago and he said he wasn't into you. Should’ve known his ass was lying.”

“Wait, what?” you question confusedly, “This was a conversation you guys had?”

“I mean, yeah,” David shrugs his shoulders, fidgeting with the objects, “Like, smash or pass shit. Freshman year. All of the guys knew how bad I wanted to fuck you, so they all passed you - except Ilya, but...that’s Ilya. I don’t take him seriously.”

“It’s really not a big deal. I’m sure, like, you and Nat have done the same shit. It’s stupid,” he continues, changing the subject, “But, baby, you know what he fucking asked me after we all fucked?”

“What?” You ask, sitting up and scooting so you’re next to him. David lights a cigarette and grabs his psychology textbook from his floor, setting it on his lap.

He takes a drag of his cigarette before passing it to you, indicating for you to hold it while he removes his blunt from the package so he can begin rolling it. “He asked me if I would be cool with him trying to make a move on you! Like-”

He pauses, taking a razorblade from the surface of his nightstand and concentrating on slicing the Swisher open, quickly scraping off and dumping the tobacco into the garbage can by his bed. “Like, he had literally just watched me cum inside of you and saw all of the marks I left on you from the other day, and he’s gonna ask me if he can make a move?”

He grabs his grinder and opens it, stuffing around a gram of weed in before closing it, grinding the contents down into shake. David takes his cigarette back from you, propping it between his lips and taking a drag as he continues to work. He moves the stick back to your fingers as he carefully opens the bottom of the grinder and dumps the shake into the shell of the blunt, evening it out, continuing to speak, “Like, dude, what the fuck? Love that guy ‘till I die, but he’s a fucking idiot.”

“Why does that make you so mad?” You question, taking a quick drag from his horrendous Red as he habitually rolls, licks, and sticks.

David looks at you as if you're stupid, “Because you’re my girl? Or did you forget that fact when you had another dude’s dick in you?”

He rolls his eyes before quickly apologizing, “I’m sorry. I didn't mean that. Anybody else having you pisses me off, but that's no excuse to be an asshole to you.”

He takes his cigarette back from you, finishing it off quickly and tossing the butt in a water bottle on his bedside table. David sets his items on the floor, placing the blunt in his mouth and lighting up, back pressed against his headboard.

“It’s just, like,” he keeps going, still angry, eyebrows scrunched together, “Don’t look at me weird for what I’m about to say, okay? Like, this kid...watched me fuck the life out of you, and sure, I guess he had some part of that - which makes me mad, too - but how is he gonna hear me tell you, and you’re, like, practically my girlfriend, right? To me, that’s how he should think of you here. How is he gonna hear me tell you that you’re mine and then ask if he can make a move on you?”

He nonchalantly passes the blunt to you, like he didn't just say you were practically dating, and you try to not let it hurt as much as it does. You hit it, holding the smoke in your lungs as he stares into his room, obviously having more to say.

“Fuck threesomes, man,” Dave says, shaking his head slightly as you pass it back to him, “Fucking ridiculous. I’m glad I tried it, but fuck that. Shit was horrible.”

“I didn't think it was that bad,” you offer, unsure of where he’s going with his angry rambling as he takes another hit, ghosting it and holding the smoke.

“If it was another girl,” he counters, exhaling, “You’d probably feel the way I do. But I don't even wanna fuck another chick. That’s wack. I can't even look at other girls anymore.”

“Are you mad at me for suggesting it or something?” His passive aggressive tone is angering you now, “It really sounds like it.”

His face untenses, hand coming to your knee as he bites his lip, “No. Fuck, I’m sorry. I’m a jealous asshole.”

“I know you just wanted to see,” he continues, “All three of us were pretty plastered. Maybe I’m overthinking it. Alex is probably still blacked out in his bed.”

“Still, though,” David says obstinately, continuing to smoke, “Alex is a fucking idiot. It, like, hurt my dick watching him try to fuck you.”

“Again, I don’t even remember him fucking me at all,” you shrug, plucking the blunt from him and taking another hit. “I was focused on you the whole time.”

“I wouldn't expect anything less,” he confidently scoffs, “You’re my girl. Forever and always. Fuck Alex. Now, I have to keep a fucking eye on him. Dipshit.”

David puts the blunt out as he finishes it, tossing the roach to the side.

“So…,” you trail off, kissing his cheek and scooting closer, moving your head to rest on his shoulder, “I take it you don't want another threesome?”

He turns to look down at you, eyebrows scrunched together and confusion etched into his features, “Fuck no. You do?

You shrug, opening your mouth to answer his question before he continues, “Why do you wanna fuck other people so bad? You told me you don't think of anyone else. Do you want to, like, stop this altogether?”

He’s offended, now, and it’s clear to you he was hiding his feelings about the threeway - you suggesting it did bother him. You clear your throat before speaking, “No. Of course, I don’t. Davey, baby, it’s not about fucking other people. I don't care about that and I don't think of anyone else. I just...um…” you pause, moving to fidget with his fingertips.

“What?” He asks, tone still harsh, “Spit it out, baby. Why bring in someone else if you don't want to fuck them?”

“I would just, um,” you look around his room, suddenly hesitant about what you’re going to say next, “You know, I want to get jealous…”

David’s still confused and still jealous as he delicately laces your fingers together - his loving actions not matching his harsh words. “Okay, that doesn't make sense. If you want to get jealous, then why bring in Alex?”

You pause, knowing he’s right. You brought in Alex only to see if you had feelings for David - and you hate that you figured it out at the expense of both of them. You chew on your lip and Dave squeezes your hand, indicating he’s still waiting on a response from you before he speaks again, “Wait...are you, like, into Alex?”

You roll your eyes, answering quickly, “No, David, I’m not into him. I don't even know him. The reason I brought him in is because...of what I’m going to tell you later. It’ll make sense. Just...don’t be angry with me. It feels like you are.”  

“I’m not, I swear,” he promises, kissing the back of your attached hands, “I’m just, not, like...I’m not sharing, you know? And if you wanna bring in another girl...I also don't really want that.”

“Really?” You ask, “Why not?”

“Because...like, I know I’d just be paying attention to you the whole time, so…” He trails off, voice oddly quiet, “I’m not gonna bring in a girl that I’m not even attracted to, stare at you the whole time, cum for you, and then tell her to leave. There's no point. I like it when it’s just us…”

David rolls his eyes before offering, seemingly calming down a little bit, “It’s not a big deal. We’re exclusive friends with benefits - nothing’s changing that. Alex just needs to chill and shut up, and we’re not having another threesome...Case closed.”

You nod against him, not caring about the subject as much as he does, head still resting on his shoulder with his hand resting lovingly on the inside of your thigh.

“Jesus Chriiiiiist,” he drags out after a moment of silence, changing the subject and rubbing at his eyes with his free hand, “That's good fucking weed. Ilya and I went into the city for that shit. Chicago shit hits differently. One blunt and I’m already gone.”

You try to ignore the thought of how hot he is when he’s jealous - jaw clenching, eyes rolling, voice deep and defensive. You also try to ignore his haphazard use of the word girlfriend as you move on top of him, legs on each side of him as you hold both of his hands. You begin to feel buzzed, not as stoned as he seems to feel, as his dick twitches under your ass.

“Put your hair up. Ponytail, though; not a bun.”

“Why?”

“Just do it.” This is more jealous sex coming from him.

You unlace your fingers from his and do as you’re told, maintaining eye contact with him.

“Suck my dick.” David doesn’t say please, because why does he have to when he knows you will regardless?

You move once more - this time, off of him and between his legs, gently tugging at his underwear.

He waves your hands off, doing it himself and tossing the article of clothing somewhere on his floor.

He doesn't touch his own dick at all, moving both hands to grasp at your hair and push your mouth all the way down.

“Look at me,” he demands, pushing you down further as he bucks his hips up.

You do, meeting his eyes as you try to take as much of him as you can.

“More,” he says, not removing the pressure from your head, “All the way down, babygirl. There you go. Fuck.”

He holds your head there, fucking up into your mouth until you gag. David releases you when you do, allowing you to spit and wipe your mouth - although, his preference is when it’s messy.

While your mouth is off of him, he moves to his knees with his hands remaining on your ponytail, forcing you to move with him.

One of his hands moves to your cheeks, squishing them up together, before saying, “Open your mouth.”

You do, closing your eyes and expecting his dick down your throat once more, but he tips your head up and spits directly into your mouth.

Sparing no time, David pushes his dick all the way in.

“Look at me,” he gently reminds, hips unmoving, waiting for your eye contact before he moves.

“Good,” he praises once you do so, beginning to buck his hips up into your mouth and continue forcing your mouth up and down.

You continue this way for a few minutes, tears streaming gently down your face with the occasional gag. Every so often he slaps your cheeks, always a reminder to continue keeping eye contact with him.

He goes too deep in one stroke, dick all the way down your throat, causing your eyes to water profusely. Your hand slaps his hip, an indicator of your tapping out.

“Aw,” he tuts, “You don’t mean that. You don't really need to tap, do you?”

He pulls out of your mouth, spit dripping from your lips, letting you catch your breath for a moment before his hands tangle into your ponytail once more.

David pushes your head all the way down, where you were before you tapped, making a noise of satisfaction, “More. Take it.”

He continues applying pressure to the back of your head, hips bucking up, watching your tears stream down your face as you take him.

He tugs on your ponytail hard, not to pull you off, but to get your attention, “Come on, baby. You can do better than that. Take it.”

You do take it, savoring his every noise. You can feel when he’s about to cum, his movements becoming faster and more hasty.

He pulls his dick out of your mouth quickly, palm of his hand gently hitting your cheek as his way to tell you to open your mouth again. David jerks off above you, upholding his beloved eye contact, grunting as his cum hits all over your face and in your mouth.

“Holy fuck,” he says once he has partially recovered from his orgasm, reaching for his phone. Shamelessly, he holds up the device and takes a picture of you: tongue hanging out, tear-stained cheeks, eye contact with the camera, and a mixture of spit and cum all over your chin, lips, and cheeks.

Dave tosses it to the side once he’s gotten his photo, running his fingers over your lips.

Once again, he leans forward and spits in your mouth, fingers messily mixing his cum and his spit on your tongue.

He’s disgusting, and you always knew he was.

He proves you right once more, leaning down and attaching your mouths, tongue sliding against yours. You feel David’s fingers blindly push at the cum on your cheeks as he kisses you, nudging it inside of your mouth. Only Dave would kiss you with his fingers in your mouth.

He pulls away, removing his fingers and kissing your forehead, watching your throat move as you swallow. He gets off of the bed, tugging his underwear back on and moving into his bathroom.

“You’re gross,” he says simply, “Letting me do that to you.”

David's wetting a washcloth as he speaks, running the warm water from the tap.

“You’re the gross one, you did it,” you defend as he walks back over, fingers gently framing your face as he wipes away the mess he made.

“Yeah, but you let me,” he says, tugging lightly on the hair tie holding your hair up and dropping it next to you, “I nutted so hard that my balls hurt. Jesus.”

He tosses the now dirty washcloth somewhere into his bathroom, crawling back into bed with you.

“I should get going soon,” you tell him, slipping the hair tie back over your wrist, “Since I have to go see Nat now.”

“Okay,” he kisses you quickly, “D’you want me to eat you out before you go?”

“It’s fine,” you yawn, “We’re gonna fuck later, anyway.”

“I already miss you and you haven’t even left yet.”

You attempt to ignore him, leaning up to attach your lips. David pulls away after a few kisses, breaking, “You still taste like my cum.”

“Apparently, you like that,” you say, kissing him again.

“A little bit,” he murmurs, “A lot a bit. ‘S so hot.”

His right hand comes to your face, thumb on one cheek and forefingers on the other, squishing the skin up as he kisses you.

“You need to go,” David says, pulling away his hand and lips, “Or I’ll end up fucking you here. It’s almost noon, anyway, and my balls need to recover.”

You stifle a giggle, nodding, “Okay. But wait, Davey-”

“What's up?”

“Did you…” you trail, mulling over your next words to say them carefully, “Did you still think I was acting weird just now? When I was blowing you?”

He makes a face, “Kinda. It’s kind of an all-the-time thing. It makes me sad.”

“Why?” you ask, frowning, arms thrown around him.

“Because I don't know what it is. If I did, maybe I could fix it…”

Your heart drops at his words, suddenly feeling incredibly guilty for what you’re going to have to tell him later. He doesn't know he won't be able to fix this. The only thing he can give you is a yes or a no.

“Later today,” you promise, “Okay? I need to figure out how to talk about it first.”

“I get it,” David nods understandingly, “I love you, baby. As friends.”

“I love you too...As friends.” It hurts to say, especially knowing the truth - especially knowing you’re lying to him.

He kisses your forehead and slaps your ass, saying, “You should go now. The sooner you get that shit done, the sooner I can cum in you.”

“You’re a whore.”

Dave responds with a matter of fact yup, shoving you gently.

He watches as you silently slip back into your clothes, pajamas from the night prior, eyes lingering lovingly.

You grab your keys and phone, giving him a final goodbye kiss and quiet I love you before you head out of the door.

“I’ll see you in a few, baby. Be careful.”

++

“You like him,” Nat says confidently in her greeting, first time seeing you of the day, “I know you do. I saw it on your face.”

She expects you to attempt to lie - for you to blush uncontrollably, stammering about how you don’t have a crush on your shared best friend...who you happen to be fucking.

But you don’t, and it surprises her:

“Yeah,” you admit, kicking your shoes off as you enter her room, “I do. I don’t know what to do.”

“He doesn’t know?” Natalie gapes from her bed, “Y/N, you have to tell him!”

“I know, but I’m scared.” You sigh as you throw yourself onto her bed, hugging a pillow to your chest, “It’s gonna make things weird, and I just really like how things are right now.”

“Is it worth it, though? Are you really satisfied?”

You dodge her question, “I just don’t know what to say! ‘Hey, Dave, I think I love you, but not just as friends!’”

“...That's exactly what you say! Look,” she moves to face towards you, legs crossed, “You know he’s stupid. We all know it. I don’t know how you guys are when no one else is around, but he probably feels the same way and doesn't realize it, okay?”

You shake your head in disagreement, “No, you don’t get it. He's constantly saying that everything we do, we do as friends. He makes me repeat it to him.”

“Well, what do you mean by everything? I thought you guys were just fucking - is there other stuff involved, too?”

You stop momentarily, scratching your head and wondering if you should tell her anything else.

“Ohhhh,” she says, realizing something without you elaborating, “I see what happened. So, you guys fucked, thought, ‘Hey, maybe this isn't a terrible idea!’, said there were no strings attached, but now he acts like you're his girlfriend all the time. And now you're confused.”

“Um, yeah. That's what happened.”

“You guys suck at keeping secrets. Both of you.”

She continues, “When did you guys even fuck for the first time, anyway?”

“The night before homecoming. Like, after the football game. About a month ago.”

“...But both of you were at my house?” Nat questions, “Oh my God. Tell me you didn’t.”

“Didn’t what?” You play dumb, heat rising in your cheeks.

“Did you guys fuck in my house?”

“...Maybe-”

“Ew! Where? Actually, I don’t even want to know.”

“Anyways,” she changes the subject, slightly shivering at the thought of you and David together, “Just tell him. He cares about you and he’s never been an asshole to you.”

“I just don’t want him to take it the wrong way-”

Natalie interrupts you, “How else would he take it? Y/N, it’s either a yes or a no. There’s not really an in between with this.

“Also, remember he’s never actually been with anyone before. He probably just doesn't know how to realize he has feelings for you,” she lays down completely, staring at her ceiling.

“What makes you so sure he has feelings for me?”

“Well,” she sighs, “I’m not sure, honestly, because I mean, you know he doesn't really get crushes on people. But David…” Nat trails, “needs people to point out things and tell him what he wants. Not to say he doesn't know how to make his own decisions, but he’s just oblivious.”

“I know he is,” you agree, moving to lay down next to her, also staring at the ceiling, “He’s kind of an idiot.”

“I just don’t want to be another Sami,” you admit, “He seemed annoyed by that.”

“Wait, what? What do you mean, ‘another Sami’?” You feel her head move slightly, turning to look at you.

“Oh, shit. You don’t know? David and Sami hooked up. For a while. She took his virginity.”

“What the fuck?” She sits up, eyes on yours and eyebrows scrunched together, “Why’d they stop? And why didn't he tell me?”

“They stopped because she caught feelings for him,” you shrug, “I dunno, Nat. He’s told me he doesn't like talking about his sex life around you.”

“Hm,” she wonders, “He’s so weird about things sometimes. I hope you’re not another Sami, either. But I hope it goes well for you, girl,” Natalie says, “You guys would be cute.”

“Thanks, Nat,” you get up and off of her bed, “I have homework, but he's coming by later. I guess I’ll tell him after we fuck-”

“I honestly do not want to hear about that part - and why wait until afterwards? Why not just straight up tell him?”

“Because, Nat, if it’s our last time, then I want to at least have a last time with him,” you reason, sliding your shoes back on.

“Awww. Did you mean it when you said he was good? Like, is he actually? I don’t want the picture, that’s gross, but he just doesn't seem like he would be to me,” Natalie questions you, now sitting up on her bed. “He seems too clumsy.”

“Dude,” you lean in closer, “Yes. He is so good. Best I’ve ever had. The first time, I was blown away. He’s not him at all when we fuck. Like, this morning, I was sucking-”

“Okay, no details, please,” she cuts you off, “Go do your homework. I’ll see you later. Let me know what happens with you guys!”

You bid her goodbye and tell her you love her, giving her a quick hug.

++

“Baby, let me bruise you again,” David begs in a whisper against your lips, “You look so pretty with them, and your old ones are fading...”

You nod easily into your shared kiss with him, wanting a final souvenir from your sexual relationship. You and Dave are standing in the middle of your room making out, his dick already hard as his hands creep up the back of your t-shirt. You’re not sure why he always feels the need to move so glacially slow. Maybe he likes it to last.

He pulls away gently as he tugs on the hem of your shirt, a silent indicator of his desire to see you. You cross your arms and remove it, your eyes watching as David’s fingers find the neck of his own shirt and he slips it off of his back.

He kisses you again, much deeper this time as both hands squeeze at your waist - almost as hard as he can. One hand reaches around you, lips still on yours, and effortlessly undoes the clasp of your bra. He’s gotten better at that, you think.

Mid-kiss, you slip it off of your shoulders and arms, causing David to lean out. He presses kisses down the column of your throat, your hands threading through his hair as his kisses stop beneath your collarbone.

“Put your hair up and lie down,” he tells you, hands fidgeting as he undoes his belt and tugs his pants off.

You do as you're told, assuming a ponytail is his preference and removing your hands from him, lying down on your bed. Your thumbs hook on your shorts and pull them off.

“Everything off,” David says as he gets on the bed and leans over you, fingers tugging at your underwear, sliding them down your legs.

He attaches your mouths once more before beginning his trek down your body for a second time, teeth grazing against your skin with every sloppy kiss. Still above you, he rests his weight on his hands, positioned by your head as he makes his way further downwards.

The further down he gets, the more he shifts his weight towards his legs. Dave’s hand gently comes to one of your thighs, splitting your legs apart, still moving south.

You find yourself lying there with your eyes closed, succumbing to his touch as he settles between your legs and your hands slip into his hair again.

“Look at me,” he says - an insistent, constant reminder, but he loves watching for reactions. Good reactions are when he knows he’s done well. Constant eye contact is David’s version of instant gratification during sex. His reminders are almost always gentle, never brutal or demanding, because regardless of how he asks, he will always get what he wants.

You obey him, eyes opening to the sight of him settled between your thighs, arms wrapped around your legs and hands on your stomach. Almost instantly, as soon as your eyes meet, Dave begins slowly pressing kisses up the inside of your right thigh. He waits until your breathing shudders in anticipation as his mouth moves closer to your pussy, eyes remaining on yours.

You feel his breath fan over you, causing you to buck up into his hold. He quickly pushes your hips back down, putting his weight down and bringing his head up slightly, “Be patient, baby. Don’t be a brat.”

You whine slightly, tugging more harshly on his hair as he begins the process once more, kissing up your thigh. David maintains your eye contact as he slowly attaches his mouth to you, one arm moving from around you to between your legs. He shifts over slightly to allow room for his hand, ring and middle finger deftly sliding inside of you.

You make an approving noise at that, still trying to buck your hips up into his mouth. He pulls away just enough to speak, repeating his prior statement as his fingers crook upwards, “Keep trying that shit and I won't fuck you at all. Don't be a brat for me. Tell me you hear me, baby.”

“I hear you, daddy,” you nod, “Sorry. Keep going.”

“I thought so,” he replies, “Good girl.”

Dave puts his mouth on you again, sucking steadily as he begins to move his fingers incessantly. He’s done this many times now, figuring out the exact science of how to make you cum quicker than the time before.

He seems to succeed each time by moving his fingers correctly, pinning your hips down, mouth licking and sucking at whichever pace you seem to react the most to. David’s one condition is continuous eye contact – allowing him to read the expressions on your twisted up features as he touches you the way he knows you love and giving him any indication as to when you’re going to cum.

He maintains eye contact minutes later, as well, when his dick is shoved as far as it can go down your throat. Dave keeps a hand down, wrapped around your neck, as he feels it swell and contract with every thrust of his hips.

He’s good at praising you, and he knows it; he loves the way your eyes light up when he tells you you did something well, or when he gives you the kiss you’ve been waiting for the entire time. Your relationship makes sense: he likes praising you and to be praised, and you like doing things for him so he can praise you. It’s a give and take.

David no longer wraps his dick, skipping the condom completely as he quickly bottoms out inside of you, hitting it from the back. He still hasn't entirely gotten used to the feeling of being bare, eyes rolling back slightly as he exclaims a breathless, “Oh, fuck, babygirl.”

“Daddyyyyy,” you whine, one of his hands wrapped around your ponytail. You rest your weight on your knees and palms of your hands before he tugs you by the hair, tipping your head backwards and leaning down to kiss you sloppily.

He releases you and untangles his fingers from your hair, one hand gripping your shoulder tightly as the other grasps at your hip. Dave holds you so tightly, fingertips digging in no matter where he grabs you, you can almost already feel the bruises taking shape.

He lasts longer in bed than you ever expected he would, which you never complain about - he knows how to repeatedly make you cum, fucking the brains out of you until the only thing you can think of is how good he’s fucking you.

David pulls out, ordering you to switch positions to missionary, taking no time before sliding in once more. He stares at you as he fucks you, now, resting his weight on his palms which are glued to your tits.

It’s almost suffocating, feeling at least a hundred and fifty pounds on your chest as you get fucked, but he doesn't care. If you didn't like it, you would say otherwise. The scratches down his back and blood underneath your fingernails tell him you don't just like it, you love it.

You’ve cum nearly four times before David mentions he’s close, moving his weight off of you and leaning down, arms wrapping around you as his hips speed up. His face is in your shoulder as he whimpers and you  dig your nails into the skin of his back, begging him to cum inside of you as deep as he can.

He groans, voice raspy, and he does – he feels a line of blood trickle down his back as he cums, breathing heavily and making the most wonderful whimpering noises.

“Oh-,” Dave starts, “Oh my fucking God.” He pulls out, not bothering to look at your pussy before collapsing entirely on top of you. “Sorry, I just...Wow. Give me a second. I think I went to another planet.”

You giggle slightly, kissing his shoulder before glancing down at his back, “Oh, David, baby. Your back.”

“It’s fine,” he says, “Is it worse than last time?”

“Ummm,” you pause, “It’s definitely more bloody. Sorry.” You show him your bloody palms, his eyes rolling in response.

He moves off of you, knowing you want to go get a washcloth and peroxide to clean his back up with.

You tug your pajamas back on and move into the bathroom attached to your room, filing through your cabinets and gathering supplies.

You return to his still form after washing your hands, David seemingly still recovering from his orgasm as you wet the cloth with the liquid.

“Was it that good? I doubt it,” you say, laughing slightly as you press it to one of the wounds.

He hisses in response, mumbling, “Fuck. Your pussy felt like the universe.”

You ignore him, rolling your eyes and continuing to clean the abrasions, regardless of his protests. Once he’s all cleaned, you toss the trash and return back to bed with him, David rolling over and moving so you can settle into his arms.

“I can smoke in here, right, baby?” David asks, “The windows are open.”

“Go for it,” you say, “If they’re open, you can, and if they’re not...then, just open them.”

“Got it,” he responds lamely, removing his arm from around you and leaning over the edge of the bed, grabbing his pants. He rifles through the pockets as he searches for his Reds and his Bic, making a noise of satisfaction once he locates the items. Dave cups his hand around the flame as he lights the end of his cigarette once it's between his lips, the stick wagging slightly as he takes a long drag.

He exhales the smoke as he wraps his arm around you once more, his free hand finding itself wedged in the dip of your waist. He lazily drops the lighter somewhere in the sheets next to him.

You’re both quiet, something which isn't rare in your post-coital moments together. Even though you hate his cigarettes, you’re out, and fiending. You reach to silently pluck his Red from his fingers, placing it in your mouth and dragging on it. You mirror his actions and exhale towards the ceiling, suddenly remembering the promise you made to him hours prior. You feel an exponential dread consume you, taking another drag from his cigarette before passing it back to him.

David taps the excess ash into a half empty water bottle on your nightstand as he smokes, turning the water a murky gray. You feel his eyes on you as you continue staring up at the ceiling, anxiously memorizing the squiggles of the plaster above you.

“You’re always so beautiful after sex,” David compliments randomly, clearing his throat slightly, “It’s my favorite. I can never stop staring.”

He’s always the first to speak after sex. He tips your head up, cigarette still between his fingers, so he can kiss you gently and slowly, eyes glued to your lips as he leans in. He pulls away seconds after, pressing a loving kiss to your forehead and taking a drag.

“Thanks,” you say half-heartedly, feeling the need to reach for the nicotine again.

“Jesus, just take it, baby,” he says, reaching for his soft pack he had tossed haphazardly on to your bedside table once he’d removed them from his pants.

He takes another one out of the soft package by shaking it slightly, repeating his routine: 1) Prop between lips. 2) Cup hand around lighter’s flame. 3) Take the longest drag possible.

You can feel the words you want to say dancing along the tip of your tongue, wanting so badly to just say what you’re thinking - mostly to just get it over with. You barely pay attention to his compliments, almost as if your ears stop listening for your own well being.

“Hey,” David says, free hand rubbing gently at your hip, “No pressure, I swear, but…”

Oh, God.

“Did you ever find out how to say whatever's been bugging you? I know I keep asking and I’m sorry for that, but when something is bothering you, it bothers me too.”

“Um,” you swallow and take a final drag of what is now your cigarette before leaning over him, dropping it into the water bottle. “Kind of?”

“Go ahead,” he tells you, nonchalant as he puts his cigarette out too, “Try your best.”

“Okay, well,” you sigh, eyes on the ceiling once more, not wanting to look at him or see his reaction. His eyes are on you, you feel their presence, and you feel your heart come to your throat.

“I love you, David.”

You manage to get it out, simultaneously feeling a weight lifted off of your shoulders and the unknown burden of what his response will be.

“Yeah,” he says matter-of-factly, shrugging his shoulders slightly, “I love you too. As friends.”

“No, Dave,” you respond quietly, timid, “Not...as friends. Um, more...more than that. Like...I’m...you know. I’m in love with you, David.”

You feel him stop breathing, his hand on your waist stopping its gentle strokes.

“Um,” he responds, “Oh.”

He doesn't instantly react the way you thought he would, and you no longer feel his eyes staring you down. You glance over at him to see his body language: teeth biting at his lips, holding his breath, eyes moving as he looks around the room.

It suddenly hits David everything you share together; how he treats you, how you treat him, what the sex is like, how jealous he got of Alex, and he wonders how many I love you’s you lied to him about. He can't say he blames you for it. He realizes all of the times he turned you down in your face, explicitly ensuring he would never want that type of relationship with you.

You’ve confused him, now, and he questions if he’s been in denial this entire time. He thinks he has, but he has no idea how to handle it. His heart hurts, and he doesn't know why.

“...David?” You ask him, more anxious than before.

He clears his throat and rubs at your waist slightly before removing his touch entirely, “I have to go.”

“What? N-no, you don’t, we can talk-”

“No, Y/N,” Dave insists in a harsher tone, moving out of bed and beginning to pull his clothes on, almost in a rush, “I need to think.”

You sigh, holding back tears and nodding slightly, “Okay, but David, if it’s a no, then just say-”

“It’s not a no, though,” he goes quiet, “...I think. I don’t know, baby, - Y/N - I just need to fucking think.”

You’re still trying to withhold your tears, and he can tell, causing him to feel irreparably guilty for not being able to give you a straight answer.

“Are you…” you trail, voice wavering, “Are you mad at me?...Or something?”

It’s his turn to sigh as he tugs on his shoes, not directly looking at you, “No. Of course not, babe - Y/N.”

He corrects himself and stares for a moment at the floor, quietly apologizing for his multiple mistakes before repeating himself for the third time, “I just need time to think.”

David sees you nod out of the corner of his eye before he looks at you, catching a glance as you quickly attempt to wipe away a stray tear, not wanting him to see.

“Y/N, I have to go,” he says, feeling guiltier by the second as he grabs his phone, keys and cigarettes, anxiously searching through the sheets for his lighter.

He locates it, and wishes so badly he could kiss you goodbye and tell you he loves you. He’s not sure what this means for himself, or what it means for his feelings, but the best he can muster in place of a goodbye kiss is: “I’ll see you later, okay? I promise.”

He thinks it’s a pathetic response, too, and pushes the thought to the back of his head. He begins to take steps towards your bedroom door, hand landing on the doorknob before you ask, “When is later?”

“Um,” he says quietly, “Whenever I have an answer for you.”

“Oh,” you reply, his back turned to you, “Okay. Bye, Dave. Be safe.”

He sighs, feeling horrible, “Bye, Y/N.”

David shuts the door as silent as possible behind him, slowly moving down the stairs before he hears you burst into tears. He hates the noise and hates the fact he’s the cause of it, moving quicker down the steps. He half-heartedly bids your parents goodbye and goes out the front door, eyes welling up with tears.

He lets them fall as he unlocks his car and gets in, hastily fastening his seatbelt. He puts the key in the ignition and starts the car, trying his best to not think about the fact he is the reason for your current distress.

He pulls out of your driveway and begins to understand he is angry with himself. David’s angry because he should have realized; he should have realized every pause you took after you told him you loved him, the look on your face you always had when he said he only loved you platonically, the way you looked at him, the way you kissed him, the uneasiness in your voice while you told him - so many signs of your feelings for him he was too much of an idiot to see.

He now recognizes his actions and his words contradict each other; it's not very possible to cum in his best friend and remain platonic. He didn't want to have feelings for you because he thought it would end badly on his side, so he shut out the thought entirely. He didn't realize, until now, at least, he was refraining from breaking his own heart.

It doesn't take away from his guilt of what was essentially false advertising: treating you like a significant other, even saying you almost were one, but not wanting the attached and required commitment. It makes him feel like a pussy.

He’s still crying, haphazardly sniffling and wiping at his tears as he pulls into his driveway. He turns the car off and grabs his things before making the short walk to Nat’s house next door. David walks in without knocking, something of regular nature for them, and makes his way up to her room. The door is closed, and he knocks quietly, putting his weight up against it.

He hears a muffled Come in! and turns the doorknob, walking in and shutting the door.

Natalie immediately sees the shape he's in, quickly standing up from her desk, “Oh, God, Dave. She told you?”

He sniffles and stops, “You knew?”

She instantly becomes offended at his accusatory tone, crossing her arms, “I found out today, David, and she didn't even have to tell me. I could see it on her face. What do you think we talked about earlier? Do not get mad at me for something you guys got yourselves into.”

He sighs, still quietly crying, “I know, I’m sorry. I’m just so confused.”

“I know,” she replies, walking over and wrapping her arms around him. Her embrace makes him cry harder into her hair, before she comfortingly says to him, “It’s okay. It’ll be okay. Just...lay down.”

He does, kicking his shoes off and climbing into her made bed. She lays next to him, shoulder to shoulder, staring at the ceiling.

“What did you say to her?”

“I was such an asshole about it, but I didn't know what else to do. I just told her I had to leave, that I didn't know what my answer is, and that I’d see her later…”

“You left?”

“Well, what was I supposed to do, Nat? I don't have an answer for her. I wasn't going to just sit there with her watching, waiting for me to decide. That’s fucked up. I look like an asshole regardless.”

“You are an asshole, David, but-”

“But Nat, it’s her. I can't dick around with her. Like, I don't think I’m that much of an asshole to you, either, because I don't want to lose either of you. But she’s...I really can't fuck that up. Am I fucking it up?” His voice wavers at the end, hands uneasy and fidgety on his chest.

“No, you’re not,” she promises, “You’re just being honest. We both know she appreciates that more than a half-assed answer.”

“But if you want my honest opinion…,” Nat continues, “It seems like you have feelings for her, too.”

“I do,” David says quickly, “Um...I just-”

“Then, Dave, what the fuck is the problem here? Go back to her and tell her you love her.”

“Because I’m confused, Nat-”

“About what? Dave-”

“I’ve never felt this before!” he exclaims, tears welling up again, “And I feel like a fucking idiot for not realizing it sooner, and I feel like such an asshole because it took her telling me she has feelings for me for me to realize I have them for her too. I don't even know what I feel for her, but it's not...you know, just friends.”

“I think you do know what you feel for her, and you’re too scared to admit it because you don't want her to break your heart. But, David, you have to realize she doesn't want that, either. You know what she told me today when I asked her about it?”

Dave murmurs a quiet What?, urging Natalie to continue, “That she didn't want to be another Sami. Which, thank you for telling me about-”

“Fuck,” he says, exasperated, cutting her off and ignoring her, “I knew it seemed like that bothered her. Ever since I told her about it, she’s been acting weird.”

“I mean, yeah, you did cut it off with Sami after she told you she had feelings for you. Why would this be any different?”

“Because it’s her, and I know I keep saying that and it doesn't really mean anything but I don't know how else to describe it. I love her so much, I don't want to mess this up. Everything is different when it comes to her.”

“I don't think you will, David. When I talked to her, she was trying to hide it, but...I could tell. I don't think you could do anything to change her mind.”

“...What do I do? Tell me what to do.”

“Go fucking tell her! Plan a date. Take her out. See how it goes. Make her your girlfriend. I don't know! I’m not in this with you guys,” Natalie’s exasperated, getting frustrated with him, “You’re making this so much harder than it has to be.”

David’s eyebrows knit together and fly up in surprise, confusion written all across his face, “What? What do you mean?”

“She literally did all of the work for you. All you have to do is say yes and you can get what you want. She took a chance by telling you - the least you can do is give her the answer as soon as you know it. Which, you know it, so you need to get over there.”

“Fine,” he says, obstinate, “I’ll go. Right now.” He quickly moves out of her bed, slipping his shoes on and grabbing his keys.

“Nat?” He says, hugging and thanking her quickly, “You know nothing.”

“Cross my heart.”

++

It’s dark now, meaning David has to park down the street and crawl through your window. He does, praising God you left your window open.

You’re sleeping, and he almost feels guilty for interrupting you. Your eyes and cheeks are puffy and tear-stained, bringing him much anger towards himself.

He quietly kicks his shoes off and crawls into bed with you, waking you.

You stir, turning over to face him and eyebrows scrunching together, “Dave?”

“Yeah. Y/N, I’m a fucking idiot.”

“What?” You ask, heart racing as you sit up, turning your lamp on.

“Um,” he pauses, meeting your eyes, “I love you, too.”

In this light, you can see the evidence of him crying, too. He continues, “I know I walked out, and I’m sorry for that, and I totally understand if you don’t want me anymore-”

“Shut up,” you say, hand covering your mouth, “You’re lying.”

“What?”

“There’s no way-”

“That’s why I’m an idiot, baby, I just...I want you, okay?” David moves to grab your hand, placing it over his heart to emphasize its increasing rhythm before continuing, “I want you so bad it hurts. I want you to be mine. I feel so stupid for not realizing it sooner. You’re everything I want. I mean it. Again, though, if you don't want me anymore because I left, I completely-”

“Shut up, Davey baby,” you sniffle, quickly leaning in to kiss him, hand remaining on his chest. It feels different now; almost as if it’s a new beginning.

“What does this mean?” You ask him, forehead leaning against his.

“I think it means…” He trails off, clearing his throat, “Um, d’you wanna be my girlfriend? Like, do you wanna be a thing?”

“I thought you would never ask,” you wholeheartedly admit, murmuring a yes, of course I would! before attaching your lips once more.

“IloveyouIloveyouIloveyouIloveyouIloveyou,” David says, continuing to kiss down your neck, “Oh my gosh, baby, we’re a thing.”

“I didn't think you had feelings for me,” you say, “I thought I scared you off or something. I’ve never seen you so freaked out.”

“No, of course not,” he promises, moving to gently tug off his shirt, “I’m just stupid and was taken off guard. But…”

He breathes heavily, hands roaming all over your half-naked body, “I love you so fucking much.”

You kiss him once more, asking, “Is this why?”

You confuse him, “What? Like, the sex?”

You nod before he continues, “Fuck no. It definitely helps, but is that why? No. You’re you. That’s why. You’re the girl of my dreams. You’re my best friend. I would let you ruin my life.”

“You don’t mean that,” you swear, eyes welling up with tears, “Holy shit, David.”

“I do, and I know. This is crazy.”

“...Do we tell people?”

“...I think,” he trails, “Just Nat...for now. Other people later, but we can talk about it another time.”

You agree easily, arms wrapping around him again as you burst into tears, “David, tell me you mean it. Say it again.”

You know he does, he wouldn't admit it if he didn't, but you want to hear him say the words again.

“Yes, baby, yes,” he promises, arms wrapping around you and reciprocating your embrace, “I love you. For real. So fucking much. I mean it. I want you to fuck me up forever. I give you permission. Do whatever you want with me. I’m a dumbass. I’m sorry I didn't realize sooner.”

“It’s okay,” you swear, happy tears running down your cheeks, “I love you so much, Davey. This is all I want.”

You feel so relieved to not feel the obligation to repeat a bullshit phrase back to him and to know there is no second part to your I love you.

“Stop it,” he begs, fingers coming up to wipe the tears from your cheeks, hand remaining, “You’re going to make me start crying again.”

“Sorry,” you apologize, “This is just so…”

“Crazy.”

“But is it, though? I mean, think about how we were…” You go quiet, hand coming up to your cheek to cover his, “Even when I didn't have feelings for you, I kind of thought it was going to happen.”

“How long have you known?” David asks, eyes glued affectionately to yours. You’re now lying down and facing each other in bed, legs tangled as you cradle each other.

“Not as long as it feels,” you admit, “Since the night in the car. When you said that shit this morning, I really thought you knew.”

He tuts, moving to push a piece of hair behind your ear, “No, baby. No excuse, but, you know I’m clueless. I don't notice the signs, even when I’m paying attention.”

“So,” he says, “You said Alex had to do with this. What did you mean?”

“I only wanted to try that so I could be sure,” you explain, eyes glued to his, “I know that's kind of shitty, but I was still confused about it. I wanted to see if I felt attracted to him in the same way I’m attracted to you...Obviously, I’m not.”

David still seems confused, stating, “So, you didn't actually want a threesome with Alex?”

“No, baby,” you reply, “Not at all. Why do you think I said I don't even remember fucking him? I was focused on you. It answered my question. You're the only one I want.”

“I love you,” he simply responds, eyes almost pouty, “Oh, gosh, babe. You’re my girlfriend.”

“You’re my boyfriend.” David kisses you, index finger and thumb holding your chin, repeating to you happily, “I’m your boyfriend.”

“Oh shit,” he exclaims, abruptly changing the subject and pulling you closer as his eyebrows fly up, “Baby! I can make love to you, now.”

You giggle slightly, “You haven't been?”

“No,” he tells you, stifling a laugh, “Not at all. It's just different.”

You ask him how, your hands delicately framing his face, unable to stop your staring at him. He's yours, and you're his. He speaks, elaborating, “I mean, I’ve never done it before, but...I know how it should go.”

“How should it go?” You ask, David moving your hand to his mouth, kissing your fingertips before lacing your fingers together.

“I’m not telling,” he replies, “I’m not gonna ruin it.”

“How do you know?”

He flashes his smile, still grasping your hand, palms slightly clammy, “You know...movies.”

“Yeah?” You question, wanting to know more, “Show me.”

Dave pauses, eyes glancing at your lips before making his eye contact, “Like, right now?”

You nod, untangling your hands to pull his face closer, eyes still on his before you lean in to kiss him. His hands slide under the covers to come to your hips, both index fingers hooking into the hem of your underwear, tugging them up slightly. He doesn't remove them, yet, breathing heavily before he pulls away.

“Not tonight,” David swears, changing his mind and sighing softly, “Later.”

“What? Why?” You give him your most subtle puppy dog eyes, kissing him softly once more.

“‘Cause I’m super tired, and have been crying for a while, and I don't wanna half-ass it,” he explains, voice almost in a whisper, “Don’t look at me like that. It almost works.”

You giggle before he kisses you again, slowly, noticing you wince slightly as he grabs at your hips. He pulls away, peeling the covers back and taking a look. There’s deep blue lines on your hips, around your waist, and nearly-whole handprints embedded into your ass and tits.

David runs his fingers over them as lightly as he can, scoffing, “Jesus. I really got you this time, huh?”

You nod, meeting his eyes, before he continues: “You like them?”

“Yeah,” you tell him, feeling his fingertips push in slightly at the bruises on your ass as he waits for your reaction. You wince, hissing quietly, “I like being yours.”

“Good,” he replies immediately, not thinking twice, “I love you.”

“I love you, too,” you repeat back to him, “I wanna mark you up, now, too. Let me?”

“Baby, you already fucked up my back,” David sits up, turning his back towards you as evidence of his marred skin.

He lies back down next to you, arm coming around your waist, “But, by all means, go ahead. I’m not against it.”

Over the next twenty minutes, you do, leaving sporadic, deep purple hickeys across his chest. He speaks, “Fuck, these hurt.”

“Good,” you mimic him from moments earlier, “Dave...it feels so good to not have to say-”

“As friends?” he asks, cutting you off, “I know, right? I feel like I was psyching myself out and lying to myself.”

“Why?”

“'Cause,” he pauses, lingering on his words as he figures out how to phrase it, “I just, like, never thought you'd be into me this way, ‘cause I’m not really your type, so I shut it out completely. I didn't wanna get a crush on you and break my own heart.”

“So, like,” he continues, mood changing quickly as his eyes well up with tears, “Um, please don't break my heart. You don't know how scary this is for me.”

“Baby,” you say, wiping at his tears as he sniffles, “I know. I won't.”

“Yeah, but,” he cries gently, “I’ve never done this before, and I want it so bad. I mean, we’ve been best friends for so long...don't you think we should be, like, endgame? Wouldn't that just make sense?”

You pause, taken off guard he's already thought about it, but nod, “Yes. I want that, too.”

He nods to himself, almost a self-affirmation as he still cries, “Okay. Just...I know myself, and I know…” he trails, seemingly hesitant, “I know you're gonna be all I think about and my everything. And you’re still my best friend, and I don't want to fuck anything up with you at all or-”

“David-”

“Y/N, I’m serious. Once I’m in it, I’m in. Please don't break my heart.”

You wipe his tears and kiss his cheek, embracing him lovingly, “I won't, baby. I don't want to ever do that. My heart is with you, always - you know that, right?”

He nods again, arms squeezing you tightly, repeating to you: “My heart is with you, always. I love you so much.”

[iwanthermidnightz]

“Not a shot. Not a single chance. Not a snowball’s chance in hell.”

Taylor Swift — who, at 30, has reached a Zen state of cheerful realism — laughs as she leans into a pillow she’s placed over her crossed legs inside her suite at the Beverly Hilton Hotel, leaning further still into her infinitesimal odds of winning a Golden Globe, which will zero out when she heads down to the televised ball in a few hours.

Never mind whether or not the tune she co-wrote, “Beautiful Ghosts,” might actually have been worthy of a trophy for best original song (or shortlisted for an Oscar, which it was not). Since the Globe nominations were revealed, voters could hardly have been immune to how quickly the film it’s a part of, “Cats,” in which she also co-stars, became a whipping boy for jokes about costly Hollywood miscalculations and creative disasters. Not that you’ll hear Swift utter a discouraging word about it all. “I’m happy to be here, happy to be nominated, and I had a really great time working on that weird-ass movie,” she declares. “I’m not gonna retroactively decide that it wasn’t the best experience. I never would have met Andrew Lloyd Webber or gotten to see how he works, and now he’s my buddy. I got to work with the sickest dancers and performers. No complaints.”

If this leads you to believe that the pop superstar is in the business of sugarcoating things, consider her other new movie — a vastly more significant documentary that presents Swift not just sans digital fur but without a whole lot of the varnish of the celebrity-industrial complex. The Netflix-produced “Taylor Swift: Miss Americana” has a prestige slot as the Jan. 23 opening night gala premiere of the Sundance Film Festival before it reaches the world as a day-and-date theatrical release and potential streaming monster on Jan. 31.

The doc spends much of its opening act juxtaposing the joys of creation with the aggravations of global stardom — the grist of many a pop doc, if rendered in especially intimate detail — before taking a more provocative turn in its last reel to focus more tightly on how and why Swift became a political animal. It’s the story of an earnest young woman with a self-described “good girl” fixation working through her last remaining fears of being shamed as she comes to embrace her claws, and her causes.

Given that the film portrays how gradually, and sometimes reluctantly, Swift came to place herself into service as a social commentator, “Miss Americana” is a portrait of the birth of an activist. Director Lana Wilson sets the movie up so that it pivots on a couple of big letdowns for its subject. The first comes early in the film, and early in the morning, when Swift’s publicist calls to update her on how many of the top three Grammy categories her 2017 album “Reputation” is nominated for: zilch. She’s clearly bummed about the record’s brushoff by the awards’ nominating committee, as just about anyone who’d previously won album of the year twice would be, and determinedly tells her rep that she’s just going to make a better record.

But she suffers what feels like a more meaningful blow toward the end of the film. In the fall of 2018, Swift finally comes out of the closet politically to intervene on behalf of Democrats in a midterm election in her home state of Tennessee. As the Washington Post put it, this announcement ��fell like a hammer across the Trump-worshipping subforums of the far-right Internet, where people had convinced themselves… that the world-famous pop star was a secret MAGA fan.” Donald Trump goes on camera to smirk that he now likes Swift’s music a little less. The singer is successful in enlisting tens of thousands of young people to register to vote, but her senatorial candidate of choice, Democrat Phil Bredesen, loses to Republican Marsha Blackburn, whom she’d called out as a flagrant enemy of feminism and gay rights.

“Definitely, that was a bigger disappointment for me,” Swift says, pitting the midterm snub against the Grammy snub. “I think what’s going on out in the world is bigger than who gets a prize at the party.”

It was not always thus for Swift — as the detractors who dragged her for staying quiet during the last presidential election eagerly pointed out. If you had to pick the most embarrassing or regrettable moment in “Miss Americana,” it might be the TV clip from “The Late Show With David Letterman” in which the host brings up politics and gets Swift to essentially advocate the “Shut up and sing” mantra. As the studio audience roars approval of her vow to stay apolitical, Letterman gives her what now looks like history’s most dated fist bump.

Thinking back on it, Swift is incredulous. “Every time I didn’t speak up about politics as a young person, I was applauded for it,” she says. “It was wild. I said, ‘I’m a 22-year-old girl — people don’t want to hear what I have to say about politics.’ And people would just be like, ‘Yeahhhhh!’”

At that point, Swift was already starting to record isolated pop tracks, taking baby steps that would soon turn into full strides away from her initial genre. But whether she had designs on switching lanes or not, the lesson of the Dixie Chicks’ forced exile after Natalie Maines’ comment against then-President George W. Bush had branded itself onto her brain at an earlier age, when she’d just planted her young-teen flag in Nashville and overheard a lot of the lamentations of older Music Row songwriters about how the Chicks had thrown it all away.

“I saw how one comment ended such a powerful reign, and it terrified me,” says Swift. “These days, with social media, people can be so mad about something one day and then forget what they were mad about a couple weeks later. That’s fake outrage. But what happened to the Dixie Chicks was real outrage. I registered it — that you’re always one comment away from being done being able to make music.”

Maybe the most transfixing scene in “Miss Americana” is one where Swift argues with her father and other members of her team about the statement she’s about to release coming out against Blackburn and — it’s clear from her references to White House opposition to the Equality Act — Donald Trump too. The comments were so spontaneous that Wilson wasn’t there to film the moment, but the director had asked people to turn on the camera if anything interesting transpired, and here it most certainly did.

“For 12 years, we’ve not got involved in politics or religion,” an unnamed associate says to Swift, suggesting that going down the road of standing against a president as well as Republican gubernatorial and Senate candidates could have the effect of halving her audience on tour. Her father chimes in: “I’ve read the entire [statement] and … right now, I’m terrified. I’m the guy that went out and bought armored cars.”

“I needed to get to a point where I was ready, able and willing to call out bullshit rather than just smiling my way through it.” TAYLOR SWIFT

But Swift is adamant about pressing the button to send a nearly internet-breaking Instagram post, saying that Blackburn has voted against reauthorizing the Violence Against Women Act as well as LGBTQ-friendly bills: “I can’t see another commercial [with] her disguising these policies behind the words ‘Tennessee Christian values.’ I live in Tennessee. I am Christian. That’s not what we stand for.” Pushing back tears, she laments not having come out against Trump two years earlier, “but I can’t change that. … I need to be on the right side of history. … Dad, I need you to forgive me for doing it, because I’m doing it.”

Says Swift now, “This was a situation where, from a humanity perspective, and from what my moral compass was telling me I needed to do, I knew I was right, and I really didn’t care about repercussions.” She understands why she faced such heated opposition in the room: “My dad is terrified of threats against my safety and my life, and he has to see how many stalkers we deal with on a daily basis, and know that this is his kid. It’s where he comes from.”

Swift was recently announced as the recipient of a Vanguard Award from GLAAD, and she name-checked the org in her basher-bashing single “You Need to Calm Down,” which was released as one of the teaser tracks for last fall’s more outwardly directed and socially conscious “Lover” album. Part of her politicization, she says, is feeling it would be hypocritical to hang out with her gay friends while leaving them to their own devices politically. In the film, she says, “I think it is so frilly and spineless of me to stand onstage and go ‘Happy Pride Month, you guys,’ and then not say this, when someone’s literally coming for their neck.”

A year and a half later, she elaborates: “To celebrate but not advocate felt wrong for me. Using my voice to try to advocate was the only choice to make. Because I’ve talked about equality and sung about it in songs like ‘Welcome to New York,’ but we are at a point where human rights are being violated. When you’re saying that certain people can be kicked out of a restaurant because of who they love or how they identify, and these are actual policies that certain politicians vocally stand behind, and they disguise them as family values, that is sinister. So, so dark.”

Her increasing alignment with the LGBTQ community wasn’t the only thing raising her consciousness to a breaking — i.e., speaking — point. So did the sexual assault trial in which judgment was rendered that she had been groped by a DJ in a backstage photo op (for financial restitution, Swift had asked for $1).

Her experience with the trial was crucial, she says, in finding herself “needing to speak up about beliefs I’d always had, because it felt like an opportunity to shed light on what those trials are like. I experienced it as a person with extreme privilege, so I can only imagine what it’s like when you don’t have that. And I think one theme that ended up emerging in the film is what happens when you are not just a people pleaser but someone who’s always been respectful of authority figures, doing what you were supposed to do, being polite at all costs. I still think it’s important to be polite, but not at all costs,” she says. “Not when you’re being pushed beyond your limits, and not when people are walking all over you. I needed to get to a point where I was ready, able and willing to call out bulls— rather than just smiling my way through it.”

That came into play when Kanye West stepped into her life and publicly shamed her a second time. In the video Kim Kardashian released in 2016, you can hear the people-pleasing Swift on the other end of the line sheepishly thanking him for letting her know about the “Me and Taylor might still have sex” line he plans to include about her in a song — only to regret it later when the eventual track also includes the claim “Why? I made that bitch famous.” The boast, of course, referred back to the moment when he interrupted her and stole her spotlight at the MTV VMAs six years earlier as she was in the middle of an acceptance speech. West’s is not a name that ever publicly escapes Swift’s lips, so it might be surprising to fans that these events are recapped in “Miss Americana,” although Swift says the filmic decisions were all up to the director, who explains that Swift’s reaction to the episode was important to include.

“With the 2009 VMAs, it surprised me that when she talked about how the whole crowd was booing, she thought that they were booing her, and how devastating that was,” says Wilson. “That was something I hadn’t thought about or heard before, and made it much more relatable and understandable to anyone.”

“I see the movie as looking at the flip side of being America’s sweetheart.” LANA WILSON, DIRECTOR OF “TAYLOR SWIFT: MISS AMERICANA”

Swift acknowledges how formative both incidents have been in her life, for ill and good. “As a teenager who had only been in country music, attending my very first pop awards show,” she says now, “somebody stood up and sent me the message: ‘You are not respected here. You shouldn’t be here on this stage.’ That message was received, and it burrowed into my psyche more than anyone knew. … That can push you one of two ways: I could have just curled up and decided I’m never going to one of those events ever again, or it could make me work harder than anyone expects me to, and try things no one expected, and crave that respect — and hopefully one day get it.

“But then when that person who sparked all of those feelings comes back into your life, as he did in 2015, and I felt like I finally got that respect (from West), but then soon realized that for him it was about him creating some revisionist history where he was right all along, and it was correct, right and decent for him to get up and do that to a teenage girl…” She sighs. “I understand why Lana put it in.”

Adds the woman who started her recent “Lover” album with a West-allusive romp that’s pointedly called “I Forgot That You Existed”: “I don’t think too hard about this stuff now.”

What’s not in the film is any mention of her other most famous nemeses — Scooter Braun and Scott Borchetta of Big Machine Records, with whom she’s scrapped publicly for several months. “The Big Machine stuff happened pretty late in our process,” says Wilson. “We weren’t that far from picture lock. But there’s also not much to say that isn’t publicly known. I feel like Taylor’s put the story out there in her own words already, and it’s been widely covered. I was interested in telling the story that hadn’t been told before, that would be surprising and emotionally powerful to audiences whether they were music industry people or not.”

Still, the way Swift has been willing to stand up politically for others parallels the manner in which she stood up for herself in regard to Braun, et al., at the recent Billboard Women in Music Awards, where she gave an altogether blistering speech, naming names and taking no prisoners, going after the men who now control her six-album Big Machine back catalog. Certainly Swift was aware that, along with supporters, there were many friends and business associates of Braun among the VIPs in the Hollywood Palladium who would not be pleased with what this very reformed people-pleaser had to say.

One thing everyone who was in the room agrees on is that you could hear a pin drop as Swift used the speech to get even bolder about the meat of these disputes. Some would say it’s because they were riveted by her boldness in speaking truth to power, others because they just felt uncomfortable. Says one fellow honoree who works in a high position in the industry (and who’s worked with some high-profile Braun clients): “People were excited for her at the beginning of the speech. But once she started going in a negative direction at an event that is supposed to be celebrating accomplishments and rah-rah for women, I felt it fell flat with a good portion of the room, because it wasn’t the appropriate place to be saying it.”

Wasn’t it intimidating for Swift, knowing she might be polarizing an auditorium full of the most powerful people in the business? “Well, I do sleep well at night knowing that I’m right,” she responds, “and knowing that in 10 years it will have been a good thing that I spoke about artists’ rights to their art, and that we bring up conversations like: Should record deals maybe be for a shorter term, or how are we really helping artists if we’re not giving them the first right of refusal to purchase their work if they want to?”

“Obviously, anytime you’re standing up against or for anything, you’re never going to receive unanimous praise. But that’s what forces you to be brave. And that’s what’s different about the way I live my life now.” (Braun’s camp did not respond to a request for comment.)

One thing Taylor Swift can’t bend to her determined will is her family’s health. She revealed a few years ago that her mother, Andrea, a beloved figure among the thousands of fans who’ve met her at road shows, is battling breast cancer. Swift addressed the uncertainty of that struggle in an anguished song on her latest album, “Soon You’ll Get Better.” Many who view “Miss Americana” will look for signs of how her mom is doing. The subject comes up in a section of the film that includes a relatively light-hearted scene in in which it’s shown that one of Andrea Swift’s ways of saying “eff you” to cancer recently was to break the mold and bring a canine — her “cancer dog” — into a famously feline-friendly family.

The real answer may come in Swift’s touring activity for “Lover.” Whereas typically she’d spend nine months in the year after an album release on the road, she plans to limit herself to four stadium dates in America this summer and a trip around the festival circuit in Europe. This may not be 100% for personal reasons: “I wanted to be able to perform in places that I hadn’t performed in as much, and to do things I hadn’t done before, like Glastonbury,” she says. “I feel like I haven’t done festivals, really, since early in my career — they’re fun and bring people together in a really cool way. But I also wanted to be able to work as much as I can handle right now, with everything that’s going on at home. And I wanted to figure out a way that I could do both those things.”

Is being able to be there for her mother the main concern? “Yeah, that’s it. That’s the reason,” she says. “I mean, we don’t know what is going to happen. We don’t know what treatment we’re going to choose. It just was the decision to make at the time, for right now, for what’s going on.”

In her case, it’s as if her manager had taken seriously ill as well as the person she’s always been closest to, all at once. “Everyone loves their mom; everyone’s got an important mom,” she allows. “But for me, she’s really the guiding force. Almost every decision I make, I talk to her about it first. So obviously it was a really big deal to ever speak about her illness.” During filming, when Andrea’s breast cancer had returned for a second time, “she was going through chemo, and that’s a hard enough thing for a person to go through.” Then it got harder. Speaking about this latest development publicly for the first time, Swift quietly reveals: “While she was going through treatment, they found a brain tumor. And the symptoms of what a person goes through when they have a brain tumor is nothing like what we’ve ever been through with her cancer before. So it’s just been a really hard time for us as a family.”

Compared with that, nearly any other topic the movie might address would pale. But it finds weightiness in addressing other kinds of unhealthiness, like the physical expectations that are placed on women in general and celebrity women specifically, Swift being no exception. In this department, she has her own heroines. “I love people like Jameela Jamil, because he way she speaks about body image, it’s almost like she speaks in a hook. Women are held to such a ridiculous standard of beauty, and we’re seeing so much on social media that makes us feel like we are less than, or we’re not what we should be, that you kind of need a mantra to repeat in your head when you start to have unhealthy thoughts. I swear the way Jameela speaks is like lyrics — it gets stuck in my head and it calms me down.”

Swift’s collaborator in this messaging, Wilson, was on a list of potential directors Netflix gave her when she expressed interest in possibly doing a documentary to follow the concert special that premiered on the service just over a year ago. You could discern a feminist message, if you chose to, in the fact that Swift chose a director most well known for a documentary about abortion providers, “After Tiller.” Swift says she was most impressed, though, that Wilson’s docs look for nuance and subtlety in addressing subjects that do lend themselves to soapboxes, and their first conversation was about their mutual desire to avoid “propaganda” in any form.

If there’s a feminist agenda in “Miss Americana,” Wilson and Swift wanted it to emerge naturally, although the director admits it was pretty blatant from the outset, given that she set up the film (which is co-produced by Morgan Neville, the director’s “sounding board”) with an all-female crew. Or nearly all-female, says Wilson, laughing, “I will say that we did always have male production assistants, because I like trying to show people that men can fetch coffee for women.”

Adds Wilson, “When I started filming, it was before she’d come out politically. She knew that she was coming out of a very dark period, and wanted collaborate on something that captured what she was going through and that was really raw and honest and emotionally intimate.” The political awakening, the director says, “was a profound decision for her to make. In that, I saw this feminist coming of age story that I personally connected with, and that I really think women and girls around the world will see themselves in.”

“The bigger your career gets, the more you struggle with the idea that a lot of people see you the same way they see an iPhone or a Starbucks.” TAYLOR SWIFT

The film borrows its title from a song on the “Lover” album, “Miss Americana & the Heartbreak Prince,” that’s maybe the one fully allegorical song Swift has ever released — and, in its fashion, is a great protest song. The entire lyric is a metaphor for how Swift grew up as an unblinking patriot and has had to reluctantly leave behind her naiveté in the age of Trump. Her partner on that track, as well as other message songs like “You Need to Calm Down” and “The Man,” was a co-writer and co-producer new to her stable of collaborators this time around, Joel Little.

With the song “Miss Americana & the Heartbreak Prince,” although the lyrics are cloaked in metaphor, “We like to think it was a very clear statement,” Little says. “There are lots of little hidden messages within that song that are all pointing toward the way that she thinks and feels about politics and the United States. I love that it uses a lot of classic Taylor Swift imagery, in terms of the songwriting topics of high school and cheerleaders, as a clever nod to what she’s done in the past, but tied in with a heavy political message.”

“Miss Americana & the Heartbreak Prince” doesn’t actually appear in the documentary, but the director says the film’s title is understood by fans as an obvious reference to political themes in the number. “Even if you don’t know the song,” Wilson says, “I see the movie as looking at the flip side of being America’s sweetheart, so I like how the title evokes that too.”

The doc doesn’t lack for its own protest songs though. In the wake of her midterm disappointment, Swift is seen writing an anthem for millennials who might have come away disillusioned with the political process. That previously unheard song, “Only the Young,” is seen being demo-ed before it plays in full over the end credits; it’ll be released as a digital single in conjunction with the doc. Key lyric: ““You did all that you could do / The game was rigged, the ref got tricked/ The wrong ones think they’re right / We were outnumbered — this time.”

“One thing I think is amazing about her,” says Wilson, “is that she goes to the studio and to songwriting as a place to process what she’s going through. I loved how, when she got the Grammy news (about “Reputation”), this isn’t someone who’s going to feel sorry for herself or say ‘That wasn’t right.’ She’s like, ‘Okay, I’m going to work even harder.’ You see her strength of character in that moment when she gets that news. And then with the election results, I loved how she channeled so many of her thoughts and feelings into ‘Only the Young.’ It was a great way to kind of show how stuff that happens in her life goes directly into the songs; you get to witness that in both cases.

So is the film aimed at satisfying the fan base or teasing the unconvinced hordes who might dial it up as a free stream? “I think it’s a little bit of both,” Swift says. “I chose Netflix because it’s a very vast, accessible medium to people who are just like, ‘Hey, what’s this? I’m bored.’ I love that, because I do so many things that cater specifically to fans that like my music, I think it’s important to put yourself out there to people who don’t care at all about you.”

In the wake of the last round of Kanye-gate, stung by the backlash of those who took his side, Swift took a three-year break from interviews. The mantra of her 2017 album “Reputation” and subsequent tour was “No explanations.” But her Beyoncé-style press blackout was a passing phase. With “Lover” and now, especially, the documentary, she could hardly be more about the explanations. Although this interview is the only one she currently plans to do about the documentary, it’s clear that she’s come back into a season of openness, and that she considers it her natural habitat.

“I really like the whole discussion around music. And during ‘Reputation,’ it never felt like it was ever going to be about music, no matter what I said or did,” she says. “I approach albums differently, in how I want to show them to the world or what I feel comfortable with at that time in my life.” Being more transparent “feels great with this album. I really feel like I could just keep making stuff — it’s that vibe right now. I don’t think I’ve ever written this much. That’s exhibited in ‘Lover’ having the most songs that I’ve ever had on an album” (18, to be exact). “But even after I made the album, I kept writing and going in the studio. That’s a new thing I’ve experienced this time around. That openness kind of feels like you finally got the lid off a jar you’ve been working at for years.”

Cipher-dom never could have stood for long for someone who’s established herself as one of the most accomplished confessional singer-songwriters in pop history. “I don’t really operate very well as an enigma,” she says. “It’s not fulfilling to me. It works really well in a lot of pop careers, but I think that it makes me feel completely unable to do what I had gotten in this to do, which is to communicate to people. I live for the feeling of standing on a stage and saying, ‘I feel this way,’ and the crowd responding with ‘We do too!’ And me being like, ‘Really?’ And they’re like, ‘Yes!’”

Swift believes talking things up again isn’t a form of giving in to narcissism — it’s a way of warding off commodification.

“The bigger your career gets, the more you struggle with the idea that a lot of people see you the same way they see an iPhone or a Starbucks,” she muses. “They’ve been inundated with your name in the media, and you become a brand. That’s inevitable for me, but I do think that it’s really necessary to feel like I can still communicate with people. And as a songwriter, it’s really important to still feel human and process things in a human way. The through line of all that is humanity, and reaching out and talking to people and having them see things that aren’t cute.

[writingfromkitchenator]

Me, Myself and You

Based on an imagine found here by @imaginexmarvel

Loki x OFC

Words: 2,157

Warnings: Misunderstanding, teasing, bit of a crack fic

Happy Halloween!

“Still refusing to adjust to Earth's customs brother?”

Loki doesn't look up from his book, turning the page as he does his best to ignore Thor and what he can only assume is a walking carpet costume.  “If you are asking if I'm unwilling to participate in their customary time of ‘fancy dress', then yes, because clearly our ideas of fancy are very different.”

Thor rolls his eyes.  “You know that Cora will be there.”

Loki snorts and mutters under his breath.  “Like that makes a difference.”

Leaning in close over his shoulder, Loki finally has to look at Thor and his ridiculously wide grin.  “We both know full well it does.”

“You and that stupid notion again.”

“Please brother, you and her-"

“You finish that sentence and I will turn you into the carpet that you are actually trying to be.”

Thor chuckles as steps back, Tony, dressed as The Riddler, and Natasha, dressed as an Amazon warrior enter, Tony almost instantly rolling his eyes.  “Spoil sport.  Anyone would want to think that you would want to be seen at the biggest event of the year.”

“I'm not like you Stark.” Loki sighs, snapping his book shut and glaring at the three them.  “I don't have a need for attention constantly.”

“Right.” Thor and Tony said together, while Natasha stood there with a very sly grin.

“It's because of Cora, isn't it?” She asked quietly.

“Oh yes,” Loki's filled his voice with sarcasm.  “It is absolutely because of the woman that hates my guts and argues with me at every chance she gets, why wouldn't I want to endure that for an entire evening?”

Natasha shrugs, Thor and Tony sharing a look.  “It's a shame really, she had something planned for you.”

Loki's retort died instantly on his lips.  “What?”

“Oh yes,” Natasha lazily picks at imaginary lint on her costume.  “She's been working very hard on it for ages, not even I've seen the finished product.”

He wasn't about to admit it out loud, but his mind whirled with possibilities, even as he shook his head. “I don't care, she can do as she pleases.  I'm not taking the bait on getting me antagonised further.”

With that, Loki storms away, not wanting to endure any more of the incessant conversation.

Thor looks worried. “I still don't think he'll come.”

Natasha remains smirking. “Oh trust me, he will.  He's been pining for her long enough.”

Loki's mood wasn't improved when he walked past Clint in the hall, who, upon seeing him, burst out into laughter, even though he himself was dressed with stupid round glasses, black robes and an awkwardly drawn line on his forehead.

Clint was too busy laughing to say anything so Loki hurried past, slamming his bedroom door shut.

He was now too agitated to continue reading, pacing his bedroom, furiously in thought.

Curse that woman and the pull she had on him, even when she was no where to be seen!

It was true that the two of then fought a lot, but what was also true, was that she'd been the first to trust him, outside of Thor that is, and it hadn't taken him much to work out that antagonising others was her way of humour and showing that she cared. It had taken him a long time to see around that, and while it still grated on his nerves, he also found himself looking last that.

The ‘fights' were usually a difference of opinion on something, and neither of them liked being wrong, so they would argue until one gave in.

Which, to Loki's dismay, was himself.

Everyone else thought it was hilarious of course, which just made it easier for Loki to decide not to act on his feelings.

No matter how much he hated himself for doing so.

Sitting with a heavy sigh, Loki found his mind wondering back to what Cora could've possible put together for tonight.

He frowned.  No, not for tonight, for him.  Curse that red head and her way of words! Why would she put that thought in his mind?  He didn't want to go to the ridiculous celebration in an even more ridiculous costume, it wasn't his scene, especially when he was going to be treated with suspicion all night.

But Cora...she came back to his mind forefront and centre, and he knew, even though he didn't want to admit it, that he was going to have to see what she'd done now.

If he knew anything about her, it's that it would be wild and elaborate.

Reluctantly, he went and got dressed for the party.  He didn't like his costume, but it was better than any of the other costumes the other Avengers had offered him.

He hated seeing Thor point and laugh from across the room as he walked in, and while he couldn't see his brother's face under the large mask he was wearing, Loki knew he'd just won some sort of bet.

Loki tugged at the uncomfortable collar as he walked over.  “Please tell me why I am here?”

Bruce grinned from next to Thor at the bar, looking just as uncomfortable as Loki felt.  “Because everyone likes forcing you.”

Rolling his eyes, Loki found himself scanning the small sea of people, mostly to distract himself for not making a comment about Bruce's costume, what looked like a large vacuum cleaner strapped to his back.  “You don't look too comfortable yourself Banner.”

Bruce shrugs.  “More comfortable than you.  Never thought I'd see the day that you covered your face, even if it is just half of it.”

Loki shot him a glare, even as Thor roared with laughter and hit Loki hard in the back, saying something unintelligible from under the mask.

“Well, at least I can't hear what you're saying.” Loki brushed his suit and cloak down, checking it was still straight after Thor's hit.  “It makes a small improvement.”

Thor tries to take the mask off, but at that moment, Loki grew entirely distracted, a flash of green catching his eye and seemingly oddly familiar to him.  He begins moving through the crowd, wanting to confirm what he just saw, even if a part of him was suddenly dreading it.

There was a round of cheers and Loki suddenly found himself at the edge of a crowd, cheering on someone in the middle.

Well, not exactly someone, as, even as he stared, that someone was very clearly him.

Currently, he was chugging a very large alcoholic beverage, the crowd roaring with cheers and laughter.

The light shifted just a little and Loki's brain finally caught up that it wasn't him, but a very close, so close, illusion of him, Cora grinning widely as she hold ups the empty glass to a loud roar of cheers.

Loki stood frozen, wondering what the hell this woman was thinking in coming to a party dressed as him, helmet and all, and as she stepped back into the crowd, the onlookers cheering on a new contender, he even saw someone hand her a replica of the staff that he'd had, completing the illusion very nicely.

How could she do this to him?  Make a mockery of what he'd done?  He felt his chest ache and he knew that he had to quickly withdraw before he did something that he would regret, before he heard any jokes being thrown about.

He knew there was a real reason behind why he didn't want to come tonight, but he was never expecting this to be it.

Once outside in the street, Loki curse, letting his feet carry him, forgetting entirely about the costume he was wearing, and just trying to get as far away from here as he could.

“Loki!”

He refused to listen to that voice, cursing it under his breath, walking straight through an illusion thrown in front him, and being determined not to look back.

“Loki, wait.” It was a command, but he didn't care, at least, not until he heard running footsteps behind him.  “Listen to me you idiot.”

He stopped dead, a furious glare turning on Cora, causing her to stop too, eyeing him carefully. “Is that all I am to you?”

“What?” The illusion was gone from her features, her own expression confused and maybe a little hurt.

“Am I just an idiot?” He asked furiously.  “Because clearly it's true Cora when you're standing there dressed like me.”

Cora raises an eyebrow at him.  “Are you insulting me here or yourself?”

Loki made a disgusted noise and kept walking.

She easily fell into step beside him.  “Can I at least explain?”

“No.”

“Please?  Before you go jumping to anymore conclusions?”

It took a moment, but it gave him pause, sending a furious, but curious, glance her way.

“Thank you,” She said, still allowing them to walk.  “Honestly, I would've thought you would know me better by now.”

Loki huffed, but remained silent.

“Anyway,” She said, a little exasperated.  “This wasn't to make fun of you, as much as I'm sure most of the others made it feel that way.  I would never do such a thing, not to you.”

His pace slowed a little. “You could've fooled me.”

Cora gives a small smile and shakes her head.  “Loki, don't you think I know you hate stuff like this?”

“So-"

“So,” She cut in. “Don't you think I'd find a way of letting you be there without actually being there?”

Loki finally stopped and frowned at her.  “What?”

“Nat mentioned that I'd been planning this for a while, correct?”

He nods.

“Right,” She nods as if it makes perfect sense.  “So don't you also think, that should you decide to come, I would also choose a costume that would hide who you were?”

Loki blinked dumbly. “You chose my costumes?”

Cora smirks.  “Der, do you really think your brother is going to have that kind if taste?  And to also make sure you're still somewhat comfortable?”

He looks down at himself and realises he's so still wearing the half a mask, quickly taking it off so he can look at her, and her costume, properly.

Up close, he could see the level of detail put in, see that it wasn't just an illusion she'd conjured, it looked like she'd hand crafted everything.

“Alright,” He grumbled a little slowly, his gaze wondering to the helmet.  “But I still wish to ask why?”

“Because you need people to see you in a different light,” Cora said, taking the helmet off and letting her bright pink hair tumble out.  “And who better to provide that than the other illusionist in the party?”

Loki stares at her. “So...you were letting me be me, by being me?”

Her lips tugged into a small smile.  “Something like that.  I figured either if you weren't there, or if you remained hidden away in your costume, it wouldn't matter, if I could hold the illusion all night, everyone would think that Loki himself had been there and let himself have a grand old time.”

He let that sink in for a moment, staring a little in wonder at the woman before him and what exactly he did to deserve her.  “Have I ever told you how backwards you are?”

She smiles.  “All the time, but I somehow don't think you'd have it any other way.”

Loki snorts.  “Maybe not, but your illusions still need work, I saw straight through it as you were drinking in there.”

Cora laughed.  “Well, I keep begging you to teach me, but I'm guessing I need a real master after tonight.  Guess I better go and ask Strange...”

“You bloody well will not,” Loki practically growled.  “If you're going to start to act like me, then you're only going to be taught by me.”

“Uh huh,” Loki felt himself flush as she smirks at him.  “I'm only acting like you having fun, there's a big difference.  I wouldn't even know where to begin on your day to day.”

“Very funny Cora.” He said flatly, but found himself smiling.  “Must you always-"

“Yes, and you love it.” She laughed, turning back towards the party, still in full swing a fair way down the street.  “Now, are you actually going to come and join me or am I going back as just me, myself and I?”

Loki chuckled and easily fell into step beside her.  “Don't you mean me, myself and you?”

Cora grins, but gives him a sidelong glance as she slips his helmet back on, quickly tucking her hair back in.  “Don't push your luck opera boy, I could still royally screw you over.”

Loki put his own mask back on, adding in just a little more illusion so as he was definitely hidden away from everyone.  “You could, but you won't, I know you too well after all.”

“Loki?”

“Yes Cora?”

“Shut up.”

Chuckling, they return to the party together.