#if I was him I would have grown a ridiculous mustache or gotten a face tattoo or something.

[symbolishplant]

your streamer says he's gonna do a face reveal and then simply does it? damn what a chump.. my streamer pretends his real self is an unknown man in an extended joke that culminates in everyone realizing who he was all along at the stroke of midnight new year's eve after a completely silent couple minutes of watching him drink water

[youvebeenlivingfictional]

When We Were Young Part Two

Part One | Next Part | Masterlist Pairing: Sherlock Holmes x Reader

Rating: T

Notes: Not beta-read

Warnings: Uuuuuh none

Summary: You’d only caught glimpses of Mycroft when he’d returned to Ferndell, but it was so unmistakably him. 

You thanked the attendant that put your luggage on the overhead rack before you settled in your seat. Part of you had considered lingering on the platform, looking around and waiting for Sherlock, but it felt ridiculous. He’d surely been winding you up the day before; he’d done that when you were younger, when Mycroft had already started to tick you off, and had grown bored with your ‘antics’ as he’d call them (even at that age). Sherlock knew, back then, that it wouldn’t take much longer before you were on the verge of tears and stomping off to Eudoria. As you’d gotten older and looked back, you’d realized that that was just a tactic to get you to go away. Why he’d bothered to act as such last night, though, you simply didn’t understand. You leaned back, a book in your hands as you waited for the train to depart. “Have you room for two more?” You straightened and turned your head at the sound of Sherlock’s voice, brows raised at the sight of him standing in the doorway to the compartment. “I’m only seeing one of you at the moment,” You said. “Mycroft will be right along.” You carefully shielded your displeasure, but the quirk of Sherlock’s brow told you that you weren’t careful enough. You gestured to the seat across from yourself before returning your attention to your book. Sherlock sat directly across from you, a book and a notebook in his own hands. You eyed them with interest before lowering your eyes to your book again.

“What are you reading?” Sherlock asked as he opened his own book. “North and South,” you answered. “Do you like it?” You did, quite a bit, but you weren’t sure you wanted Sherlock making a mockery of the subject matter, or your swooning over Mr. Thornton. But then you remembered what he’d told you a few days ago about your handwriting, ‘You’re outspoken, comfortable in your own skin’. “Yes, I do,” You answered crisply, turning the page. There was a moment of silence between you before you asked, “Have you any news about Enola’s whereabouts?” “No.” You pursed your lips. Somehow you didn’t believe that; maybe you didn’t want to. Sherlock was brilliant. If he had no leads, there was a higher likelihood of Enola being lost. “Would you tell me if you did?” You asked. Sherlock didn’t answer right away, and when you glanced up, you found him watching you, eyes gentle.

“I know you’re worried about her, dove,” He said softly. It was so straightforward, still utterly Sherlock, but for once, this acknowledgement of your emotion didn’t feel like an indictment. You lowered your eyes to your book again, fully intending to focus, but you could feel the weight of Sherlock’s gaze on you still. “Ah, there you are, Sherlock.” Your attentions were averted at the sound of another voice at the door of the compartment. You’d only caught glimpses of Mycroft when he’d returned to Ferndell, but it was so unmistakably him. He regarded you with a pleased shock as he stepped inside, removing his hat and sitting beside Sherlock. “You look like you’ve rather grown up to be... Well, respectable,” He said, eyes carefully sweeping your person. You arched a brow. “And you look like you’ve rather grown up,” You returned before you shifted in your seat, fully intending to return to your reading. “Your parents are in good health?” Mycroft pressed, insistent on upholding the rules of polite conversation, despite it only being the three of you. “They are well as can be expected,” You answered with a polite nod. “And you are well?” “I am, thank you, Mr. Holmes.” A pause, you assumed a respite as you turned back to your book. “You are... Unmarried?” Mycroft asked. You bristled, fingers tightening around your book as you lifted your eyes to his again. A fair question - hands covered in gloves, Mycroft wouldn’t be able to see a ring if you’d been wearing one. “Yes,” You confirmed. “And yet you travel alone,” He observed, “Quite precarious for a woman in your position.” You knew better than this. You weren’t going to sink to the level of Mycroft’s ridiculous little game - you could see his spoiling to rile you up, his eagerness to call you on your impending outburst. He was waiting for it. Instead, you let your shoulders sag a little, your head tip to the side as you regarded him. “Needs must, Mr. Holmes. Unfortunately my father isn’t well enough to travel, which is one of the things that’s necessitating my travel into London in the first place. If he were well, or if my parents had been fortunate enough to have sons, as yours had been, I might not be in this situation. But if you’d be so kind as to lend yourself as my companion for the duration of this journey, I’d be incredibly grateful,” You answered in a steady voice, offering Mycroft a bashful smile. Mycroft’s excitement spoiled so fast you swore his mustache wilted a little. He faltered, clearing his throat before nodding and mumbling a, “It would be my privilege,” before opening his newspaper and shielding himself behind it. Once he was out of sight you allowed your smile to drop, and you rolled your eyes as you sat up straight. You made to turn back to your book, eyes catching on Sherlock’s on the way. He was smiling, fully, warmly - something you hadn’t seen directed at you in a long time. You felt a thrill run through you, and you couldn’t help the small smile, a real one, that grew on your own lips at the sight. Neither of you spoke, just returned to your respective reading materials. -- The train ride was spent in amiably awkward silence; Mycroft reading a paper and tutting over the reform bill, Sherlock and yourself immersed in your own books. Now and again you’d feel him watching you over the top of his, and you’d feel the urge to squirm, or bring your book up a little higher to block him out of your field of vision, but you kept carefully still. You wouldn’t let him get to you as he had on the path back from Ferndell. You’d been kicking yourself all night for snapping at him the way you had, letting him get the better of you. But what had bothered you, more than the fact that you’d started to lose your temper, was the fact that he’d actually seemed affected by what you said. The look in his eyes, the little clench of his jaw - and then to push it all down in a second. You’d wondered if that was what he needed to do in order to work on these cases, set the emotion aside, hone in on the facts. But you weren’t a case. You tried not to dwell, to instead focus on your book, but knowing he was watching you, that he was so close by, was just so distracting. -- “I trust you’ve someone to meet you at the station?” You’d said what you’d said to get a rise out of Mycroft, but he seemed to be taking his role as companion very seriously. “I have, yes. My uncle,” You nodded, closing your book and folding your hands atop it as the train pulled into the station. You’d hardly read a word after a certain point, you’d merely been turning the pages for the sake of appearances. “Your father’s brother?” Sherlock asked. “Mother’s,” You corrected. His brow furrowed at that, and he loosed a, “Hm.” “Problem?” You asked. Sherlock shook his head before directing his gaze out of the window. You took the moment to look over his profile, admire his strong jaw and the curl of his hair. You didn’t let yourself longer too long, strongly aware of the fact that Mycroft was still there. Sherlock and Mycroft were both out of their seats as soon as the train stopped. Sherlock offered his hand to you. You took it, letting him help you up. You loosened your grip on his hand, and he took a moment to do the same before he reached up, fetching your luggage down from the overhead rack. Mycroft stepped back, gesturing for you to go. You stepped out ahead of them, nodding in thanks. They followed you out of the compartment and off of the train. "I know you two have quite a bit to do, you don’t have to wait with me,” You offered as they stopped on either side of you. “Nonsense,” Mycroft said crisply, “I wouldn’t dare leave a lady unattended.” He offered you his arm, and you saw that glint in his eye, still egging you on. You matched it with the smile you’d given him before, wrapping your arm around his as you headed for the entrance, Sherlock trailing close behind. “There’s my uncle,” You said as soon as you spotted your Uncle Cornelius. He was smiling, red-cheeked (likely from the sherry he’d already dipped into and not a mid-morning chill). You made the necessary introductions to Mycroft, but when you turned to Sherlock, you narrowed your eyes, “I presume you two have already met?” Cornelius opened his mouth to contradict you, but the additional darkening in his cheeks told you that you were right. You let out your own knowing, “Hm.”  Mycroft cleared his throat. “I’ll get us a hansom,” He addressed Sherlock. He nodded to Cornelius, then yourself before stepping away. Cornelius reached out, taking your bag from Sherlock. “Do I even want to know how you two are acquainted?” You asked, clasping your hands behind your back and turning a sweet smile up at the both of them. “Mr. Holmes was kind enough to... Assist me with a personal matter last year,” Cornelius admitted. You nodded. “I see,” You said, “And this wouldn’t have anything to do with the actress that you took up with that subsequently tried sell your Rembrandt to the Louvre without your say-so, would it?” Cornelius let out a shaky, embarrassed laugh, eyes darting between yourself and Sherlock. You nodded, sighing, “Right.” “Sherlock!” Mycroft called from a ways away. You all turned at the sound of his voice to see him waving Sherlock away. You looked up at Sherlock. “If you find anything out about Enola--” “I will let you know,” He nodded. He glanced at Cornelius before he turned to face you fully. “Might I call on you while we’re both in town? -- If I have an update on Enola,” He clarified. You nodded. “Of course,” You said. Sherlock nodded. He turned, shaking Cornelius’ hand and saying his goodbyes before he left with Mycroft. You watched the two of them disappear into the crowd before you turned back to see your Uncle Cornelius eyeing you curiously. “What?” You asked, frowning. “I believe, my dear, that you are interested.” Your frown deepened to a scowl. “Try not to read too deeply into a woman’s interest, Uncle. You may find yourself short another Dutch Old Master.”

[theladyofdeath]

Baby’s 1st Halloween {Rowaelin}

31 Days of Halloween: Day 4.

All installments co-written with @snelbz​

Based on a prompt sent in by anon: “ Baby’s first Halloween”

Aelin loved Halloween. She loved the pumpkins, loved the decorations, loved the costumes, and loved the candy. This holiday was special, though, because it was the first Halloween that Lena was celebrating. Not only the first Halloween, but the first holiday. She was only a month old, and that made her a Halloween baby. 

Of course, Aelin had bought multiple costumes, unsure of which one she had wanted to dress Lena in to begin with. A strawberry, a kitten, a little zombie, and a traditional pumpkin. Rowan thought she was ridiculous, thought she was overthinking it, but Aelin knew just how important it was.

Now that the day had arrived, she was looking at the spread of costumes atop her bed. Of course, Aelin had costumes to match every one of Lena’s, which Rowan also found ridiculous.

Little did he know that she had gotten him one to match every costume, too.

She had just laid Lena down for a nap and was looking over her options. They had to be at Chaol and Yrene’s for the party at six. She turned and looked at the clock. Quarter to three.

She looked down at the zombie costume, started thinking about the time it would take to not only apply nontoxic, green makeup to a squirming infant, but also to her grumbling husband and nixed it from the lineup, even though it was adorable.

Aelin observed the other three options and sighed. The strawberry was cute, but she figured that Rowan’s least favorite outfit was the strawberry farmer, which included overalls.

Although the traditional pumpkin was cute as shit, Aelin decided on the kitten. Rowan would be a puppy, and although he’d be grumpy about it and throw a little man fit, it was better than the other options. Besides, Aelin didn’t mind dressing up as a cat.

For the first time in a long time, it almost made her feel sexy. 

Before she would wake up Lena, Aelin would get herself ready. All while keeping an eye on the clock, she showered, blow-dried her hair, and painted a kitten-face on her, which included a nose and whiskers. After putting on the kitten-ears headband, and applying mascara, Aelin decided to give Rowan a call.

The phone rang and rang before he finally answered. “Hello?”

“Hey,” Aelin breathed. “Will you be home soon? Me and Lena are already getting ready for the party.”

“I’m about fifteen minutes out,” he said, but there was hesitation.

“Ro…”

“I just left the station, okay?” He admitted. “I’ll be there as soon as I can. They needed me to finish up some arrest reports for the end of the month. If they weren’t filed when I left, it would’ve been my ass.”

“We have to leave the house at five-forty. You have to be showered and ready to go by five-thirty,” she said, sighing.

“I’ll be there, I’ll make it, I promise.”

She pinched the bridge of her nose and sighed. “So help the gods, if I get your infant daughter ready before you are, I’m going to kill you.”

“I love you, too,” he responded, and she knew he was smiling.

“Love you,” she said, sighing, as she hung up.

Aelin crept down the hall and into the nursery, where Lena was fast asleep. 

Aelin hated waking Lena up from a nap, and she hardly did, but on Halloween it was necessary. It was Lenas first holiday party and Aelin would not be late. 

“Lena,” she sang. “Time to wake up, sweet love.”

Her infant did not respond.

With a sigh, Aelin took Lena out of her crib and held her tightly against her chest as she carried her back down the hall, to her bedroom.

By the grace of the gods, she managed to get Lena dressed while she was asleep. She was finishing up with the little eyeliner whiskers when a wail bigger than any baby her size should make burst from her lips. “No no, no,” she cooed, picking her up and holding her to her chest. She rocked and bounced her, the infant’s cries getting more and more desperate.

“Why is my sweet girl crying?”

Aelin turned and found Rowan entering their room, still dressed in his uniform. “I didn’t hear you come in.”

“I’m not surprised,” he chuckled, taking Lena from his wife. She immediately quieted down, as she always did in her father’s arms.

Aelin sighed, exasperated. “She never cries with you. What magical quality do you possess?” 

Rowan grinned, kissing Aelin’s forehead before he kicked off his shoes. “You gave birth to a daddy’s girl, what can I say?” 

“At least she looks like me,” Aelin muttered.

Rowan chuckled as Lena’s eyes opened and she took Rowan in. 

“Hello, my love,” he whispered. “You look very cute. Yes you do. Mommy did a good job. She looks cute, too, your mommy. Yes she does.” 

Aelin smiled fondly at the pair before looking at the time on her phone. “You gotta hurry, Ro!”

He rolled his eyes. “Party times are more of a suggestion, babe.”

One look at his wife told him that being late was absolutely not an option. 

“I just have to shower and get dressed, and we’re out the door,” he promised, bouncing Lena until her turquoise and gold eyes felt shut again, until her breathing evened out once more and her chubby, little hand fell away from Rowan’s chest.

Aelin crossed her arms. “And I have to paint a spot around your eye.”

“Oh, no, looks like we won’t have time for that,” Rowan sang, gently laying Lena down on the bed, careful not to wake her. His grin was far too handsome as he turned and pressed a kiss to Aelin’s forehead before hurrying into their bathroom and turning the shower on.

Thirty minutes later, and ten behind schedule, they were loading a dozing Lena into the car and hitting the road. Rowan grumbled every time he looked in the rear view mirror and saw the large, black spot Aelin had filled in around his eye.

“Oh, hush, you look great,” she said from the passenger seat, reapplying her lipstick.

“I look ridiculous,” he muttered.

Aelin dropped her lipstick back in her purse. “What was that?”

“I said that I love you,” he said, sighing, louder, even though he knew fully well that she had heard him the first time. “I’m so in love with you that I’m dressed as a puppy for Halloween.” 

Aelin huffed a laugh as she leaned across the console and pressed a kiss to his cheek, leaving a lipstick mark on his tanned skin. “That’s what I thought you said.”

He sighed, saying nothing else.

When they arrived at the Westfall house though, he was extremely, extremely thankful he and all of his friends, by some miracle, were able to settle down and start having kids all around the same couple years.

Lorcan was dressed as a dragon, long tail included and face paint included, while Elide and their eighteen-month-old son were a princess and a knight. He’d never seen someone looking so unhappy.

Fenrys, not caring what he wore, thanks to his obnoxiously happy personality, was Buzz Lightyear, complete with a helmet he had tucked under his arm. Jessie and Woody, aka Asterin and their eleven-month-old little boy, were running around somewhere.

Dorian, at least, looked content in his costume, striped shirt and devilishly twirled mustache drawn on, holding their two-month-daughter, who dressed as a bag of jewels. Manon’s cop uniform was nothing like Rowan’s, hanging in his closet back home, and that was probably for the best.

Rowan decided to take a spot by Lorcan as Aelin made her rounds, showing Lena off to all of their friends. 

“Nice costume,” Rowan said, grinning.

“Fuck off,” Lorcan muttered. “I’ve knocked three drinks over with this damn tail and we just got here ten minutes ago.”

Rowan snorted. “Such a grumpy dragon.”

“Says the grown man dressed as a pup,” Lorcan shot back.

Rowan repeated his friend's earlier sentiment. “Fuck off.”

It wasn’t long before Aedion joined the men, chuckling slightly. He was dressed as a pirate.

“What's so funny?” Lorcan asked, eyeing the beer in his hands.

“Lys is trying to convince Aelin to do Jager bombs,” he replied, shaking his head.

Rowan blinked. “She’s breastfeeding.”

“That’s what Aelin said,” Aedion replied, taking a swig of his beer.

“Trust me, when she’s able to drink again, I’m sure she’ll be taking Lys out for a night on the town,” Rowan followed, watching as Elide took Lena into her arms and began telling the infant how she was going to be her favorite aunt. 

“Elide’s had a glass of wine tonight. She only just started drinking again, and that one glass has her tipsy as hell,” Lorcan said.

Rowan slowly looked at him. “You do realize she’s holding my newborn right now. That’s not comforting, at all.”

Lorcan only grinned.

Thankfully, Asterin was reaching over for her turn with Lena, so Rowan let out a slow, relieved breath.

He looked around, taking in the smiling faces of their family, hearing the constant giggling of their children and his heart felt so damn full.

Rowan Whitethorn couldn’t believe this was his life.

Ridiculous costume and all. 

[thekidultlife]

I Want Your Midnights | Lee Jihoon

 Pairing: Jihoon x fem!reader

⍟ AU: Idol AU (?)

⍟ Genre: Fluff, a bit of angst on the side

⍟ Warnings: -

⍟ Word Count: 4.3k

⍟ A/N: Alright I know you guys are already sick of me just posting Jihoon fics, but it’s my birthday today, so just...humor me pls. This is almost a self-indulgent fic;;; I’ll be tagging @nrhfzh​ and all those jihoon stans who sent anons last time!!

(this should be posted on Friday which is Leanne’s schedule, but we decided she won’t post anything this week and I won’t post next Moday;;;) 

btw, the song featured here is New Year’s Day by Taylor Swift. I recommend you listen to that song while reading this skkssk  

-Hyeri

It was like an ordinary night. Like any night that you have spent before and will spend more in the future. Nothing extraordinary could be noted in particular between you and Lee Jihoon as you both sat eating in the quiet and privacy of his studio, between out of place candles and almost empty chicken buckets. It was as normal as a night can be.

Yet at the same time, in your own little way, it was also special.

Not being overly expressive with your love for each other, subtle gestures and acts of love screamed more than a thousand words could ever do. It never felt lacking or boring or empty like people thought it would be. In fact, your relationship was an adventure, even barely starting, it had been an uphill battle, and you both knew that. 

As you came back from the comfort room  washing your hands, you made a small scheming grin at your boyfriend who was still gobbling up the last remains of his chicken wing. Taking notice of that, he glanced at you with a smirk of his own. 

"I know that look. What are you planning?" He asked as you sat across him, your arms folded confidently. 

"Are you done eating?" You replied, watching him with a childish cheekiness in you. 

"Well yeah," he dusted off the crumbs on his shirt with an innocent look. "What are you thinking though?" 

With a coquettish smile, you stood up from your seat and went to his side. "Nothing really. Though I do want you to close your eyes and trust me."

Jihoon glanced at you with a bewildered look at first, wondering what you were scheming again this time, but when he saw that mischievous glint in your eyes, he knew it was something he shouldn't really worry about and simply chuckled at you. 

"Fine, but don't do any funny business!" He finally agreed as he closed his eyes and waited for you. 

He could hear you walking away and some wheels rolling. "I've never done any funny business." You denied teasingly. 

He scoffed, even with his eyes closed. "Yeah right. Except that time when you drew on my face when I was drunk!" 

He knew you were making an incredulous expression right now.

"C'mon! I was just trying to see what you would look like with a mustache," you laughed, walking towards him and reaching for his hands. "Don't open your eyes yet. I promise I won't draw a third eye on your forehead this time." 

"Please don't. And please stop sharing meme faces of me to the other members. My reputation as vocal boss is on the line," he retorted back with a toothy grin as you chuckled, guiding him somewhere in the room.

"Can't promise that, Ji. I like my status as the official Lee Jihoon meme distributor," you replied, making him laugh out loud at how ridiculous that title was, before the both of you stopped walking. "You can sit now. I promise there's a chair to catch your butt." 

For a while he feared that there really wasn't any chair for him to sit on, yet when he felt the soft foam of his swivel chair, he relaxed for a bit and sat down. Turning the chair around before you backed away, you allowed him to finally open his eyes. As soon as his sight came back, he was greeted by the image of you sitting in front of the electric keyboard with a soft smile on your lips. 

"I can't promise you my voice or my playing would be up to your standards, but just…it's the thought that counts right?" You suddenly rambled, giggling. 

Blinking, Jihoon was still processing what you were planning until it dawned on him the next second. "Are….are you going to sing me a song?" 

You smiled at him bashfully. "Yeah, though I wish it was a song that I made myself, but I guess I'll put my feelings into somebody else's words for now. So you better listen."

Gazing into your eyes, he could sense the sincerity deep in you. You were someone who wouldn't make an effort just for the sake of being romantic. Everything you do for him meant something and was done with great consideration, he understood that, that's why right now, he could feel his heart swell with emotion. 

A gentle smile on his lips, Jihoon leaned back. "I'll listen. Don't worry, I won't judge." 

“You promised that, okay?” With a sheepish grin, you turned your attention back to the piano and placed your fingers on the correct chords. 

With a small nervous breath, you began playing.

"There's glitter on the floor after the party

Girls carrying their shoes down in the lobby…"

Soft chords accentuate your raw and amateur voice. It didn't need to be technically perfect, the genuine emotions which surfaced on your voice reflected beauty in Jihoon's ears. It didn't need to be perfect, but it was real. He always loved that about you. Your brutal honesty, the unapologetic optimism you had. It gives him strength to look forward to another day.

He remembered as he watched your fingers dance on the keys, the first time you met. It wasn't that special. He just saw you on the internet as he monitored his own social media presence, posting stuff about Seventeen and what not. He found your comments funny, your reactions interesting, that he found himself going through your posts every day. He knew he'd love to be your friend if he could. 

Yet being an idol wasn't easy. You were so close yet so far away. It wasn’t as easy as typing the words ‘hey i wanna be your friend’ to just another person. His name held weight and Jihoon knew that. With his workload and all the responsibilities he had in his hands, he just couldn’t tell you what he felt. As he listened to your voice reverberating with the acoustics of his studio, he remembered how it took him years to finally stir up the courage and to finally see the opportunity to talk to you. 

He was glad he did. If he hadn’t, his heart wouldn’t feel as full as it has been since he met you. 

“If you’re really Woozi of Seventeen, then post a picture of yourself in Weverse and in the captions write what’s the last anime you’ve watched.” Jihoon remembered you telling him over chat, it was nerve-wracking back then but it felt silly now. Of course, you can’t just trust a random person claiming himself to be an idol. There were a lot of those these days.

“Let’s be friends first,” you wrote to him with a heart and a smiley face emoji back then. “I want to get to know you.” 

“Don't read the last page, but I stay when you're lost and I'm scared and you're turning away…”

Jihoon gazed at you, even then and until now, you were still beautiful in his eyes. No matter how many songs he’d composed about you, the emotions that reside in his chest would never run dry. The way you laugh, the way you talk, the way you’d do just about anything—he only had you in his eyes. Yet things weren’t always roses and butterflies. 

You were so frustrated at him at that time when he had gotten scared of his own emotions. Jihoon knew, deep inside, that he had grown to love you over chats on SNS; your witty sarcasm and wonderful conversations were like water and sunlight to the love growing, rooting deeper and deeper into his heart. 

He wasn’t unfamiliar to this feeling, yet he had been betrayed by this same emotion in the past  and he wished he’d never had to be again this time. He was frightened that you could easily leave him, broken and empty, like the others did. Admittingly, he had lost hope for a love that was unconditional. He didn’t believe that there would be anyone out there who could love him wholeheartedly as much as he did, even through his flaws and his mistakes. 

But you suddenly popped into his life, unaware of how much power you hold over him. 

“You annoy me so much!” you told him over one fateful video call. “Jihoon, I feel so confused, you know? What am I really to you? Do you want to be just friends or do you want something more? If you want to stay as friends, then fine! I won’t force you. But that doesn’t mean I’d wait for you forever when you’re ready to take this to another step.”

He didn’t enjoy fighting with you. Not at all. Yet he was scared and stuck and didn’t know what to do. Being more meant more risks of hurting you unintentionally.

“But I can’t decide, Y/N! Dating means people will talk, and I don’t want them to talk about you! But I can’t just make everything I feel about you disappear!” he replied, and you were taken aback. “But if letting you go is the price I have to pay for your peace, then I don’t mind hurting.” 

Tears were already threatening to slide down your cheeks, and if only you knew how much it pained him to see you like that back then. To hear you trip on your words, to hold back small sobs as you tried to find coherent words to keep the conversation going, it felt like a thousand knives piercing through him. 

“Stop that…please. Do you think I won’t feel anything when you say that?” you replied. “Jihoon, I can understand where you’re coming from but don’t ever think that you’re the only one carrying this relationship, or whatever this is. For this to work, you have to share your burdens with me, you have to trust me, to depend on me.”

“I know that all your life, you’re used to doing everything by yourself, and I’m no different. We’ve achieved so many things just by ourselves. But we can’t be like this forever. A relationship isn’t just you or just me. It’s us both. So lean on me, let me carry those heavy feelings and I’d do the same with you. I want this to work, Jihoon. I don’t want to give up.”

Even if it was only through some shitty PC screen that he could see you, it didn’t diminish the weight of those words. He could feel it back then, he could still feel it right now as you played on the piano, singing a simple song—you were the one he wanted, tomorrow and forevermore.

“You squeeze my hand three times in the back of the taxi, I can tell that it's going to be a long road…”

Jihoon would forever be thankful for you. Everything that you did for him, even if unintentionally on your part. He couldn’t admit how much he appreciates you in his life—through early morning calls when you were still far apart, and now through your warm presence in his studio as he worked.

“I’m considering moving there in the next year or so,” you suddenly told him over a phone call as you did your work. “Now that I’m breaking through the Korean webcomic scene, I think it’s better to stay close to my audience. And I think it’s better that we can finally be together, geographically at least.”

He could still remember it as fresh as that day. His heart began beating so fast, a wide grin broke out on his lips. He was worried that it’ll be too much for you to handle, but he had learned as your relationship progressed, that you’re someone who doesn’t get pushed back by hurdles so easily. Besides, you had him. 

Jihoon was glad that he can now keep you closer more than ever.

It wasn’t easy, like everything else in life. But there was nothing the both of you couldn’t handle. It took so much silence and deception to hide your relationship from the public—a decision the both of you agreed upon long before. Jihoon knew that the both of you were private people, and more than anything, you didn’t want anyone to become privy to your intimate relationships. 

For the first time, in such a long time, Jihoon was able to hold you close. Gazing at you, at your real eyes, at that time, felt surreal. Jihoon always thought he knew almost everything about you, yet he had never anticipated that there were still a lot of things about you which he hadn’t discovered yet. 

He never had thought how warm your touch was, how bright your grin was when you were scheming some prank, how loud your voice got when you were so passionate about something, how soft your lips were when you finally kissed for the first time. No matter how much technology brought you two together, nothing compared to actual, real life affection shared between lovers. 

“I'll be there if you're the toast of the town babe or if you strike out and you're crawling home...”

Jihoon remembers, as you sang, how you silently embraced him on nights when he felt the world was too heavy on his shoulders. You wouldn’t say anything to him until he would open up; patiently waiting as you tapped an irregular beat on his back. As easily as that, you’d erase all the stress that he had accumulated over time. 

You didn’t need to say anything grand or moving, or make all of his problems disappear. Your simple gestures were already enough. You were already enough for him. 

“I don’t deserve you, Y/N,” he whispered to you one night as he buried his face on your shoulder. “You’re everything that I want, but I’m not sure if I’m giving you everything that you want.”

You giggled, sighing as you brushed your fingers through his newly dyed hair. 

“You don’t have to worry, Jihoon. You’ve given me so much that you never even realized it.”

He pouted, not liking how vague you were. “Like what?”

“Aren’t you just conveniently forgetting how many songs you’ve written for me?” you replied, a smirk on your lips as you twirled a lock of his around your finger. 

“But…those are just songs! It’s not as special as the things you’ve done for me…”

“Don’t underestimate them, Ji,” you told him as you pulled back, cupping his cheeks and looking into his eyes. “I know how important music is to you, how it’s an extension of your feelings, and to be a part of it is something I’d consider meaningful.”

For a moment, Jihoon gazed at you; his eyes holding so much emotion. There it was that he knew—he was truly, deeply, madly in love with you. 

“Hold on to the memories, they will hold on to you…”

Feeling a strong urge, he leaned into you, capturing your lips into a deep and passionate kiss. Everything, everything that he felt for you at that time, he poured into that kiss, making you gasp for air. You cling to him for support, wholly surprised at his sudden intensity, yet not unwelcome at all. 

As the both of you pulled away, Jihoon once again returned to your arms, allowing himself to be vulnerable before you. 

“I truly don’t deserve you,” he whispered on your shoulder.. 

“After that incredible kiss?” you teased, “Statement denied.” 

Jihoon groaned and you chuckled.

“I know you’re overthinking again, so I’ll say it clearly. You’re more than I ever wanted, Lee Jihoon.”

You paused, patting his head, tightening your arms around him.

“Whenever you call just to check up on me despite your busy schedule, whenever you share funny stories about the members, whenever you act cute and pouty when I ask you to do aegyo for me…what else…?”

He grunted disapprovingly at your comment and you giggled. “I don’t act cute.”

“You do, you know? You’re naturally and inherently cute,” you replied. “You’re cute when you make ramyeon for me even when I just eat the noodles, you’re cute when you offer to hold my bag or open the door for me, or when you insist on paying for dinner, and you’re so cute when you hold me close whenever I feel down and insecure about myself and my work.”

Jihoon was silent, his cheeks burning with embarrassment. He thought you didn’t really catch on those little things he did, but he had underestimated your memory and your powers of observation.

“There’s a lot more I can say, you know? I should make a list for you and maybe stick it on your desk whenever you begin to question yourself again.”

He snorted. “No, thank you. The members would see it and I don’t want them to.” 

“I’ll do it when you annoy me,” you joked, despite your words. “Now, I hope I’ve reassured your worries for tonight.” 

Snuggling against your shoulder, Jihoon smiled. “Yeah, thank you.”

“Please don't ever become a stranger whose laugh I could recognize anywhere…”

As your words fell like chants into his ears, Jihoon was mesmerized by the image of you singing, his eyes wandering. A bitter memory relapsed into his mind, and a reminder that not everything was golden in your paradise. 

It was a cold January night, snow had finally ceased falling at one in the morning. The both of you were inside his studio just like normal; a habit the two of you took comfort in. He was holding your hand tight, keeping it warm with his hands in his pocket, as you scrolled on your phone.

For a while, it felt normal. The sounds of the clock ticking, the gentle thrumming of your heartbeat, the soft breaths you both shared. Yet, just like that, everything gradually became colder. It wasn’t the actual temperature, but your mood as he watched your expression turn from amused to a deadpan frown. 

“What’s wrong?” he asked, kissing your temple. For some reason, he had developed a rather intuitive connection with you over time, where he can easily sense your change of moods despite your lack of expression.

You sighed as you looked up, leaning against him. He wondered if you were pondering on telling him the truth, or just keep your thoughts hidden. Before he could actually express to you his own thoughts, you sighed and nestled yourself on his shoulder, closing your eyes. 

“Jihoon, is this all a mistake?” you asked, your voice small. 

He blinked, furrowing his brow at the complex question. “What do you mean?” 

“I’ve read a few things online.”

It was a simple thing to say, yet Jihoon immediately knew what you were talking about. With a sigh, he adjusted his position where he could wrap his arms around you tightly. 

“People always talk, Y/N. We can’t do anything about it but continue living our own lives and ignore them.”

“But what if they reveal our relationship as a scandal and you’re forced to leave Seventeen? They could do that so easily, you know!” You asked with a weak voice, clinging to him tightly. “I don’t want that to happen. I’ll never let that happen, Jihoon!” 

“Then we’ll announce before they do,” he easily replied, brushing his fingers through your hair. “Have you forgotten how strong the relationship between Carats and Seventeen is? Of course, some will react negatively, but I know that they would be accepting.” 

Once more, Jihoon heard you sigh. “Sometimes I feel like I’m just being selfish by being with you. A lot of people look up to you, Ji, and they all want a piece of your world. I don’t want to be possessive of you but sometimes I just question myself, like what if this is wrong? What if this was a mistake?” 

Gazing into your eyes, Jihoon felt all of your concerns. It was already given that dating an idol would be hard, and moments of weakness like these could make your anxieties grow into deeper, darker shadows. 

“It’s gonna be weird for me to say this but it’s ok to be selfish,” he told you, his words firm and certain. “Oh god, how do I say this…but look, Y/N, there’s nothing wrong with wanting to be with me. We’re a couple, and that’s normal. There’s nothing wrong with being a couple.”

“But you’re an idol! If they knew, people would say a lot of bad things about you, and I don’t want that!”

“No matter how many times they say I’m an idol, I’m a human being, first and foremost, and just like everybody else, I have my own personal life which doesn’t revolve around my job. People will always say a lot of bad things about me no matter what I do, but what’s important to me is that I have you by my side, I have everyone by my side. So don’t ever think that this is wrong. You and I are never wrong. Who are they to judge what is wrong or right for me when they don’t know who I am?”

Jihoon realized that after his speech, you turned silent, and instead buried yourself deeper against his chest. 

“You’re important to me, Y/N. What other people say doesn’t matter to me anymore. As long as you’re here with me, I’m able to do anything.”

In a quiet voice, Jihoon caught your words. “Thank you for this, Ji…”

“But I stay when it's hard or it's wrong or we’re making mistakes…”

There was always a strange quality to time whenever he was with you. Sometimes time would slow down, sometimes it would pass by in just a blink of an eye. As he began to reminisce instead of actually listening, he realized just how much time had passed between the both of you.

“I want your midnights, but I'll be cleaning up bottles with you on New Year's Day…”

On that certain night, when the both of you were wrapped between sheets, when the bright lights of Seoul reflected on the stark white ceiling, when you were tangled in each others arms, listening to your own fast paced heartbeats after a long night, he remembers you pulling him close, brushing stray locks from his face. 

“Jihoon...” you whispered under your breath, your fingers tracing circles on his cheekbones then down his jaw and to his lips. “You’re very handsome, did you know that?” 

He smirked at you, placing a chaste kiss on your lips. “What? You still haven’t gotten enough?”

In an instant your face heated up as you hit his toned chest playfully, making Jihoon laugh. “Ehh...! Don’t mention that now!” 

As his devious eyes turned soft, he smiled at you, wrapping his arms around your waist. “What is it then?”

You sighed, gazing at the ceiling. “I just thought that someday, I know, things wouldn’t be this way anymore.The spark wouldn’t be as strong as before, the butterflies will eventually disappear. Things would become mundane between us...” 

There was a melancholic tone in your words; a detail which hadn’t escape his attention. Yet Jihoon knew that what you were talking about was reality. As the both of you would eventually be consumed by work, by responsibilities, by day to day obligations, it wasn’t a far off thought that the way you felt for each other would turn dim. He knew that, and he feared it. 

“But, you know...” you continued, breaking him away from his own thoughts. “Even if that happens, I’m not scared. Even if love do fail us someday, I’m confident that we would still be together, that we can still fix it. Rather than lovers who’re friends, we’re friends who became lovers. Even if you and I will eventually drift off, we still have a strong friendship. And we can rebuild everything from there.” 

Jihoon oftentimes wondered how you’re able to get these epiphanies. Your mind was deep and thoughtful, and that was one of the things he loved about you. Conversations with you were never dull as you bounced off ideas at one another. You would always say well-said ideas, often describing how he feels better than he ever will. 

“I want to share exciting things with you, Jihoon. I want to be helplessly all over you. I want to feel aroused, flustered, or dying of laughter. But when things get boring or nothing is really happening, or when we have to face bills, chores, or responsibilities, I’ll stay with you.”

A hundredfold, you were better at making him feel loved. He admits that. 

“You know, sometimes, I wonder what I’ve done in my past life for you to choose me,” he replied, a wide grin plastered on his face. “You’re everything that I could ever ask for, Y/N. Even if you don’t have to, you still take care of me so much. I swear I’ll make you happy even if I have to walk through fire or sleep on nails.”

“I don’t think that’ll make me very happy,” you replied, grinning. “But...wanna know what else that could make me happy?” 

Jihoon arched an elegant brow at you, his lips curving into a smirk. Ah yes, he definitely knows. “I was absolutely right when I said you still haven’t had enough.” 

“Hold on to the memories, they will hold on to you…”

Thinking of how much time has passed, how much the two of you had been through, almost left him in tears. The memories the both of you shared over the years was incredible that it was hard to let them go. 

As he watched you finally sing the last few seconds of the song, Jihoon was sure that this moment would become another beautiful memory he would reminisce about one day in the future. It filled his heart, thinking about a pleasant future with you. A long time ago he had sang a song—doubting what kind of future was in store for him, yet now he already knows that it was something bigger, more beautiful that he had ever expected.

“Hold on to the memories, they will hold on to you…”

As the final chord resounded across the room, both your eyes met in soft glances. You smiled at him, the sweetest, most loving smile you could ever muster, and then finally sang:

“...And I will hold on to you.”

Allowing the note to dissipate and disappear, you then turned to Jihoon with a bashful smile on your lips. “Well? Did you like your surprise?” 

Already a blushing mess, Jihoon simply burst out giggling as you looked at him in confusion. 

“Ya! Why are you laughing?” you exclaimed as you sulked, pulling on the sleeve of his shirt. 

Still chuckling, he stood up, pulling you towards his arms as he captured you in a tight embrace. He felt at peace with you more than anywhere. 

As it was apparent to you that he was in a rather good mood, you made a bemused smile as you wrapped your arms around him, also laughing on your own. 

“What’s gotten into you now?” You asked as he pulled away, now able to gaze into your eyes. 

“Nothing. I just thought you’re absolutely cute,” he replied as he cupped your cheeks, squishing them much to your chagrin. 

“Seriously, Jihoon! Why’re you so happy?” 

“Am I not allowed to be happy now?” he replied, his eyes turning into crescents. 

You raised your brows at him with a grin. “You like my song, didn’t you?”

“And what if I did? It was a really nice song, you know.”

This time, it was your turn to burst out into giggles. It was hilarious how Jihoon was being so roundabout with admitting that he liked it; it was incredibly adorable. 

“You’re so cute, Hoonie~” 

It was no secret that he doesn’t appreciate being cooed at, as he made a small frown upon hearing your nickname for him.

“Now I don’t think I’m so happy anymore.”

“Oh c’mon!” You hit his chest lightly with a chuckle. “Tell me what you really think about it!”

His eyes filled to the brim with endearment for you, Jihoon stared into your eyes, trying to communicate how much he was so thankful that you entered his life. 

“I like it. I love it, Y/N,” he replied, caressing your cheek. “It made me remember everything we’ve been through, and how much we’ve grown together.”

“And we’ll continue to the next year and in the future. Thank you for giving me your midnights, Jihoon.”

“My midnights would always be yours, as you will always be my mornings,” he gave you another embrace, embedding the feel of your skin against his, the way your hair brushes through his hands, the sound of your voice and the your scent—he will burn them all into his head so he won’t ever forget how much he loves you. 

There were so many words that he could say so he could just express how he was thankful that you became a part of his life, yet none of them seemed fitting to say at that moment. Instead, as Jihoon finally decided upon, that it was best to leave them for future songs and say the words that he really wanted to say for such a long time now. 

“I love you.”

 -Hyeri

[sexyshakespeare]

Ch 1: A Royal Birthday (Kuroken Royalty AU)

#sfw with some slight nudity cw for mention of some #violence #starving and #classism #poverty --------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Kuroo had practically lived in the palace all his life. He was born there. That was his biggest pride, something he boasted when he played with the baker and gardener’s children. He’d eaten out of the same jam pot that the royal prince had. Though of course he’d gotten beaten for it by the guard right afterwards, and every time he dared to play with the prince since. He still had the scars to show for it. But his highness insisted. The older he grew, the more he mandated that Kuroo be allowed to visit him in his chambers, eat with him, go horse riding with him. Kenma- he frowned and corrected Kuroo if he called him anything else, yes, Kenma had grown into a very prideful, powerful prince. He was a big man now, sitting in at all the tactical meetings with his parents. Kuroo on the other hand, had been inducted into the king’s army at a young age- he was just sixteen when he’d first seen battle. It was a horrible thing, he’d lost his training partners, his friends, too young and badly fed to survive something like that. But Kuroo. He was a fierce fighter, and he’d promised Kenma that he would come back with nothing more than a broken nose. Kenma had been relieved that his nose was in fact, very intact. His handsome face hadn’t been harmed in any way- but his arms had gashes, his body slashed in places that would not heal fast. But this had been his life. And a better life than he was used to. The army’s soldiers were treated with more respect than most- they had better food, and better living conditions. He’d been able to move his father to the palace as a helper in the kitchens again, despite his age. His mother had died from sickness years ago. Kenma had yet again insisted that Kuroo sleep in his bed that night, and had held him while his body shook with tears, harshly whispering promises to the heavens that he wouldn’t let his father go the same way. Today however, was not a day for recalling all of that. Today was the young prince’s 21st birthday. He wasn’t so young anymore- he would be seeing many eligible suitors today at his party- princes and princesses alike. And Kuroo was invited. Well, Kuroo was his personal bodyguard, he had to be there- but Kenma insisted that he was ‘invited’ and would be treated as a guest. ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Kuroo was waiting outside Kenma’s chamber, his daggers safely tucked away in his belt- and his strong arms crossed behind his back as he watched the corridor. He never, never took his post for granted, and he never, never slacked on the job. He even insisted on taste checking Kenma’s food for any hidden poisons. Nobody would harm Kenma on his watch, and if he harboured any suspicion, nobody could save the culprit from his wrath. It was more than just a post though. It was about him. His.. dare he say it, friend. Kuroo’s eyes softened as the thoughts flooded his mind- his lips curving ever so slightly at the corners. Every night sneakily spent in the royal bed, tickling Kenma, being fed cakes and having his mouth wiped by Kenma on his birthday, which was just a month after the prince’s, Kenma teaching him how to read. He wipes at the tears pooling in his eyes, and takes a breath- turning to look down the corridor again. Stupid, he shouldn’t be getting emotional at a time like this. The prince’s birthday was the perfect opportunity for rivals to try something to endanger his life. “Kuro?”, his beautiful, sun-kissed voice sounds from inside the doors. Kuroo jumps a little, knocking twice on the ornate wood, “Are you okay your highness?? Is your window locked?” “Oh geez I’m fine, relax will you-“, his beautiful voice with a hint of annoyance now, Kuroo laughs once awkwardly and turns back around, “Sorry..” “Come in please I need your help-“ The young man does as asked, gently pushing down the handle and passing through- closing the doors behind him and facing the other- but his jaw drops, his hand immediately raising to cover his eyes- “You- your highness you should’ve mentioned you’re not decent- I’m sor-“ “You’ve seen me like this before, cut that out, help me decide please-“, he speaks again, with authority. Kuroo slowly drops his hand- his eyes lifting from the gold embroidered carpet to his beautiful feet, his bare knees, up his bare thighs, skipping over the thin veil over his- his- “Well.. this one- or this one?”, Kenma holds two robes, one in each hand. The left was the color of the sky, with white sashes and ribbons, silver threads, and just a hint of yellow that would match his hair. He’d insisted on having it dyed in his 17th year. Kuroo had been so embarrassed, their conversation from the night before looming in his head. ‘The Princess that visited you last week was beautiful, don’t you want to meet her again Kenma..?’ ‘What was beautiful about her’, his haughty indignant voice- nothing was ever enough for this spoiled prince, Kuroo had thought at the time. ‘What wasn’t! Her hair’s the color of honey-‘ “K uro! We don’t have time for you to get lost in your daydreams right now”, his beautiful voice, teasing and mischievous. “I- I A M NOT DAY-dreaming”, he sputters, trying to keep his eyes off of his prince’s bare chest- the gold arm bands that glistened from his arms. “They’re both gorgeous, the one on the right is red and rich, heavy- it’ll send the right message, you’d look like a lion-“, Kuroo says with a smile, his eyes going over his collarbone, and then finally his face. His face. His eyes danced, they pierced him through and through, that was how he looked at him. And now his royal brow raises in a challenge, “I don’t care- which do /you/ like” Kuroo’s face colors, and he looks behind him at the doors wondering just how long it would take for someone to find them like this. He’d get flogged for sure- though his back was tough enough to take anything after what it had seen. But his heart thumps impatiently, pulling him towards his prince. Why did he ask him questions like this- “I.. like the other- the blue one..”, he admits now, his voice softened, his eyes even more so when they meet his pretty ones. The literal sun, shone through those eyes. Kenma always insisted that Kuroo had the same color eyes, but he was wrong, his were dull and hard. Kenma smiles at him, bright, and nods- tossing the other robe on the floor like it wasn’t worth 50 horses, which makes Kuroo’s eyes widen in reproach, even if it wasn’t his place. “S orry.. sorry, I’ll put this back in its place..”, the young monarch says suddenly, not letting the soldier speak, “I know you want to scold me for being a spoiled thing..”, he says yet again with a smile as he goes about putting the red robe back in his wardrobe. Kuroo watches him curiously in silence, smile playing on his lips. It really was a miracle, how he spoke to his own father, with contempt lining every word- and how he spoke to him. Kuroo directs his eyes back to the floor when Kenma dresses. “Did you want help- should I ask the maids to come-“ Kenma shakes his head gently, “They have enough on their plates with this ridiculous event-“ “It’s not ridiculous.. it’s for your-“ “Y e s my birthday, what a wondrous day I was born 21 years ago, and half the kingdom gets fed extra today while they practically starve the rest of the year”, his beautiful voice, with disdain dripping from it. He looks sad, his hands smoothing down the front of his garment. Kuroo smiles at him, a patient smile. And now, he speaks to him as his friend, moving closer and lifting his hands to cup his face. “You’re going to be brilliant today.. you worked hard on your speech.. one step closer to what you want to achieve” Kenma looks up at his very tall bodyguard, his king’s soldier, and his most treasured, most precious friend. “You think so..? I know they’re trying to get me to marry one of those rich brats” “You’re a rich brat- you’ll have a lot in common” That earns Kuroo a smack right across his chest- and excited giggles from both young men fills the room. “That princess you fancy will be here, maybe you should sit with her- I’m sure you can guard me with your hand up her skirt-“ “EHH?? MY HAND WILL BE ON MY DAGGER-“ Kenma laughs once, “Bet it will be..” A frown from Kuroo, who thinks this joke was getting rather old, and Kenma takes the hint to drop it. He shrugs his shoulders, reaching for the princely crown to place it atop his head, and looks at Kuroo, “You’re going to be dressed like that..?” “Kenma I’m your guard- I have to be dressed like this” “Oh right-“ “See, rich brat” The prince grins at him then, “See.. this is my friend.. not that ‘your highness may I kiss your feet’ man you have to pretend to be outside of here” He walks up to him then, and pats his cheek softly, dragging his hand down the front of his plain grey tunic- very form fitting on Kuroo, “Shall we..?” The other man nods at him, though he wishes secretly to never leave- to have his hand on his chest the rest of the evening. But that was selfish of him. He couldn’t keep him long. “Yes.. it’ll be over soon, please don’t spill your wine on anyone and blame it on your low tolerance to alcohol- you’re a horrible liar-“ “You remember his face last year? HA- stupid mustached basta-“ “Kenma..”

[ask-the-good-creeps]

can we get some of the carney groups interactions

The mechanical whirring was cut short as Davie switched off his tattoo gun. He wiped the latest piece on his newest client a couple times with a clean towel as he set down his supplies and encouraged the canvas to take a look at the finished image. It would need a bit of time to heal, but this wasn’t her first time getting inked - she was well aware of that. She thanked him for his work and told him how much she loved the art he’d permanently drawn into her shoulder, and he finished the administrative tasks associated with her session today before wishing her well and sending her out the door.

Emma had been his last appointment for the day seeing how the guy who had been scheduled after her had suddenly called it off. Davie was both disappointed and relieved that the man had quit on him; he was glad he didn’t have to work with someone so difficult, but at the same time...strange things tended to happen when he was the only one in the shop. Things that nobody ever believed him about when he tried to tell someone. He found himself hoping for a surprise walk-in as he began doing random housekeeping around the place.

Be careful what you wish for.

The little silver bell on the door rang out. Davie called out a quick greeting to whoever entered as he threw out some garbage in the back room. He heard conversation as he walked back out to the front, and he felt a sinking unease in his gut when he entered to find the front room empty...but the conversation didn’t stop. That could only mean one thing...he was back, and he must have brought a friend this time.

Davie felt sweat start to bead on his forehead as his eyes scanned the room. The voices seemed to be coming from all around him, but there were no people in sight to attribute them to.

“H-hello?” Davie called shakily. The conversation paused for a moment - that was all it took. Oh no.

“Hello!” He appeared out of nowhere, leaning down so his eerily-grinning face was both level with and inches from Davie’s own. The tattooist was almost glad there wasn’t anyone else there; a grown man shrieking like a child and falling back on his ass was usually cause for a little light-hearted ridicule from his coworkers.

“Ah, sorry about that! I always forget how easily startled you are.” the jester laughed and though Davie didn’t think he intended to sound like a maniacal villain, he most definitely did. 

“Are you sure he’s alright with us being here? Are you really sure?” Davie turned his attention to the blue-haired maniac’s friend. If his eyes could’ve bulged from his skull and exploded like in a cartoon, they would have. 

This questionable character was taller than his already-too-tall companion. The greyscale scheme of his outfit seemed to have leaked out into his very being, as if the clown had been soaked in a vat of magic bleach. His black lips were set into a frown as his creepy eyes bore into Davie’s soul. He had a single black brow raised in question, and his seemingly boneless arms were loosely crossed as he waited for the jester’s answer.

“Of course it’s fine with him, Jack! I’ve been here at least three times already - he knows me!” Candy Pop offered Davie his hand, and the artist reluctantly took it. Pop hauled the man to his feet and turned to face a still-skeptical Jack. Davie’s throat was so dry it hurt to swallow, and he was sure the clown saw him shaking before he realized it himself. The jester had never seemed determined to harm him on any of their previous encounters, but Davie was reluctant to drop his guard around a creature of supernatural origin...especially one capable of things like Pop.

“W-what can I do for you?” Davie asked with a forced smile. He didn’t want to offend these two. Pop opened his mouth as if he intended to answer, but the clown - Jack - beat him to it.

“We can leave if you don’t want us here. It isn’t our intention to terrify you, but this unholy cretin,” Jack gestured to Pop, “has a habit of not knowing when he’s crossed a line with people.”

“Oh, but lines are meant to be crossed, old friend! Life is so much more interesting outside our comfort zones!” Pop laughed again and did an exaggerated spin before looking back at Davie. “I don’t trust anyone else to mark up my skin anyway.”

Davie was too focused on the painfully-wide smile splitting Pop’s cheeks to see Jack roll his eyes. The jester started to tell him about the latest art piece he wanted on his back, but Davie wasn’t paying much attention to his words at this point. He nodded his head almost reflexively until the jester stopped talking.

“Can you do that?” Pop asked at the end of his explanation. Davie snapped back into reality.

“Y-yeah, sure, I just gotta get a sketch down...” he mumbled. Pop clapped his hands in excitement as he turned to head to the chair he always sat in here to get work done. Davie turned to follow him but was stopped. A cold chill ran down his spine as he saw the long, dark claws resting over his shoulder.

“You sure you’re up for this? We’ll leave if you say so.” Jack rasped behind him.

“It’s f-fine,” Davie gulped, “I just...didn’t know you were real before this, that’s all.”

“Pop told you about me last time he was here, then?” there was a curiosity behind the clown’s words. It didn’t sound malicious, but it was hard to tell with how creepy his voice was.

“He, uh...he did a little more than that.” He heard a confused hum from behind him as the sharp-tipped fingers disappeared from his shoulder.

“Did I forget to tell you about that?” Pop was already sitting shirtless on the chair, even though he didn’t need to be for the next half-hour at least while Davie sketched the design he wanted.

“What did you do?” Jack’s voice sounded exasperated, tired, somewhat defeated in the face of his jester friend’s ever-present smile.

“I suppose it doesn’t really matter now, all things considered, but...”

“But...?”

“But I may have gotten a picture of you feeding little ducks inked into my back a couple visits prior.” Davie heard a sound behind him akin to a hard slap, followed by Pop’s echoing laughter. He risked a glance over his shoulder to see Jack with his palm covering his face. The demonic clown seemed completely fed-up with Pop’s antics; having dealt with him a few times now, Davie could easily understand where that sentiment came from.

“Are we going to get this show on the road or not, boys?” Pop asked in a light, sing-song voice. Jack sighed as he and Davie both went over to get started. The tattooist wasn’t surprised to see the jester’s back completely blank. Every tattoo put on this guy faded away after a little more than a week, and it seemed even Candy Pop himself didn’t know why that was. Davie wondered why the guy kept getting tattoos if they weren’t even going to stay for long. What was the point of doing all that work only to have nothing to show for it later on?

He sighed quietly as he grabbed his sketching tools. He remembered the first tattoo the jester requested. A rainbow unicorn that took up his whole back. At the time, Pop had really creeped him out in general, but he hadn’t known the guy wasn’t human. The next tattoo was a snake slithering up his arm, and Davie still hadn’t suspected supernatural issues.

Then, Pop came in for his third tattoo...a full back tatt of Jack feeding ducks. Davie had tried to say that he didn’t think there’d be any room around the unicorn piece, only to stop mid-sentence when Pop exposed his tattoo-less back. His jaw had dropped when Pop responded by saying, “That would have been a really cool idea for my first tattoo, but I’ve got my heart set on this one.”

He had done the piece while doubting his own sanity. 

It was the fourth time that started to make him afraid. Pop had come in with a cardboard mustache photo-prop held in front of his face to ask for another full-back tatt. The jester tried to deny he’d been there before when Davie mentioned their previous interactions, and seemed genuinely upset that Davie ‘saw through his clever disguise’ when he finally admitted his identity. And of course, his back was blank again that day.

The jester always requested the strangest, most outlandish things after that. There was a piece of a female version of himself flipping the bird and saying ‘fuck off’, an upside-down giraffe with green square spots wearing a yellow bandana, what could only be described as an alien lifeform offering a striped banana to a faceless cow...his requests never made sense or seemed to have any meaning, and Davie had never expected to see a physical manifestation of one of those images here in his little shop.

He set to work sketching his otherworldly visitor’s latest request, and wasn’t surprised to Jack hang his head in his hands after Pop approved the sketch. Davie found it interesting to know that Pop’s ideas were odd even by the standards of other creatures like him.

The tatt took about six hours; they finished an hour and a half after closing time, but Davie hadn’t been willing to ask him to come back and finish it another time. He could suck it up. Jack had been quiet through the whole thing, while Pop had been his usual chatterbox self. The jester admired his back in the mirror for a few minutes before snapping his fingers. There was a puff of blue smoke, and his shirt was back on. 

“I can’t wait to show Jason.” Pop smirked mischievously. Jack had shaken his head in disapproval, but didn’t say anything.

The two entities thanked him for his time, paid and tipped well, and headed out the door into the night. Davie wondered as he locked up the shop later why they didn’t just teleport away. Part of him hoped he’d never see the two living examples of nightmare fuel again, but part of him didn’t mind the thought of it so much. Sure, they were terrifying, but they never hurt him...and he couldn’t deny they looked familiar somehow. 

He briefly wondered who Jason was...and why the nude redheaded woman Pop had inked into his back tonight was important to him.

[thisbitchinthecorner]

1980 Day 14- Eggnog

It’s getting real between our angel and demon!! For @drawlight

1980

Crowley had grown his hair long again, not as long as it had been in the past, but long enough where it swept his shoulders when he turned his head and shook when he laughed; strands of vibrant crimson that fluttered like feathers in the wind as he walked down the street.

Aziraphale had always found Crowley’s hair lovely, but never more beautiful than how the long locks framed his angles of face. So when that telltale flash of red caught his eye as it entered the bookshop, he couldn’t help but smile.

“Hello angel! Closing early again today?” Crowley flashed a devilish grin as he locked the doors behind him with a snap.

“Suppose I am now.” Aziraphale rolled his eyes. “You’ve changed your hair again.”

“You don’t like it?”

“I didn’t say that! I rather like your hair long, it was that ridiculous mustache that was just ghastly. Made you look like one of those..” Aziraphale fumbled for words. “Patrons of that shop next door.”

“Yes, well at least I change my appearance to keep up with the times. Think I would discorporate on sight if you were to grow out your hair.”

“What’s wrong with the way my hair is now? Too much fuss for me to change it.”

“Too much fuss for you?” Crowley laughed. “You’re the fussiest being that has ever existed. Anyway, I brought you an early Christmas present. How do you feel about some spiced rum?” The demon didn’t wait for a response before opening the bottle and grabbing 2 cups from the sitting table in the center of the shop.

“That will pair well with the eggnog I purchased from the market. Been waiting for an occasion to drink it.”

“Make mine with more rum than nog. Not a fan of that frothy eggy mess.”

“Would it help if I added more cinnamon, my dear?”

“Sounds delicious angel.” Crowley snapped his fingers and the sounds of the latest New Wave band filled the space.

“You know full well that I don’t care for that bebop.” Aziraphale snapped his fingers and

Tchaikovsky’s score to The Nutcracker replaced the modern music.

“Feeling sentimental?” Crowley turned away quickly, blushing with the memory of the last time they watched the ballet together.

“I am glad you’re here though, there is a small matter I’ve been meaning to discuss with you.”

Aziraphale said as he passed the demon his drink.

“Oh?”

“Seems I’m meant to go to Greece soon and persuade them to join this new European group thingy. Seeing how my last go round in Greece ended in, well...”

“A huge fire and the downfall of an emperor?”

“Oh come now! That wasn’t all my fault. I mean, how was I to know that telling Nero to build a house of God would lead to him setting damn near everything on fire.”

“It does when I told him to build a house of gold instead.” Crowley muttered under his breath.

“I was hoping you might, you know.” Aziraphale pouted, his eyes widened as he pursed his lips; knowing full well that Crowley would never say no to him.

“Alright. I’ll do this one for you. But you owe me.”

“Oh thank you.” The angel smiled warmly, his eyes glancing at the demon.

“Bah! Just pour me another glass of rum, angel.”

They continued to drink, when something outside caught their attention. Some manner of fight had broken out in the street, and a group of boys were kicking and punching a young man.

“Oy! That’s enough!” Crowley hollered from the bookshop’s doorway.

“Piss off!” One of the younger boys shouted back.

Crowley straighten his back as he took a step on to the sidewalk. Aziraphale grabbed his shoulder, holding him back.

“I say, leave that man alone.” Aziraphale called to them, and the boys stopped.

There were 3 of them; the elder stood up and shouted. “Next time, I’m coming for you, you fat fucking pansy!” His dark eyes filled with a hateful malice, despite being no older than 15, there was already a darkness surrounding his soul. A darkness that gave Crowley, demon of Hell, cause to fear. A shudder ran down his spine as he locked eyes with the boy.

Don’t ever threaten my angel, it will be the last thing you do.

Aziraphale looked at Crowley with confusion. “Fat? Pansy?” But he wasn’t concerned with the kids, his only concern was for the battered man lying in the street. Aziraphale ran to him, and helped him up slowly, he was bleeding from a wound to his head. Aziraphale snapped his fingers, and the young man was healed, no longer unsteady on his feet and no longer bleeding. “There, there, no real damage. You hurry home now.” The angel said softly as the man ran away.

“What do you suppose that was all about?” Aziraphale asked with genuine curiosity.

“Evil lurks in this world, angel. Those boys are trouble. Best watch yourself, he did just threaten you.”

“Lots of people have threatened me, Crowley. That never works out well them.” Aziraphale chided, but the demon was not swayed from his concern.

“I mean it, I don’t like how those kids looked at you. Promise me you will be careful.” Crowley pleaded.

Something in Crowley’s voice told him that the demon was frightened, an emotion that Crowley rarely ever showed.

“I’ll make sure I keep my eyes open, dear.” He soothed. “Crowley, are you alright?”

“I don’t want anything to happen to you.” Crowley whispered, surprised by his own reaction to the threat.

Aziraphale stood up and walked over to the demon, he carefully removed his glasses. “Crowley, look at me. I will be fine. No kids are going to hurt me, believe me, I can handle myself.”

Crowley said nothing, he continued to stare into the angel’s eyes; soft, pale blue eyes filled with light. Aziraphale did something most unexpected, he wrapped his arms around him, pulling him close, against his body and holding him tightly. The angel rested his head on his shoulder, and he allowed himself to relax; to return the embrace, to revel in the soft curves of the angel’s stomach and breathe in his scent. This was the closest they had ever been, standing together in a warm embrace.

Just as quickly as it began, it was over. Aziraphale pulled away first, his fingers fidgeted nervously as he waited for the demon to say something- anything.

Neither had words, the swell of the music filled the room; the Grande Pas de Deux began and both released a sigh of delight.

“Do you remember the night we went to this ballet?” Aziraphale asked quietly.

“Yes.” Crowley replied.

“It was a beautiful night. Wasn’t it?”

“It was, angel. It was.”

“Crowley,” Aziraphale began to speak, what he wanted to ask was on the tip of his tongue; the words were so close to spilling out of him, and he knew with certainty that all he needed to do was ask, and the demon would accept. What harm could one dance do? He thought to himself. As soon as the thought entered his mind, the grip of fear took root. Harm would most certainly happen, harm would come to Crowley, and he simply could not allow that to happen.

“Yes, angel?”

“Care for another drink?” He sighed, noting how the demon’s shoulders fell a bit.

“Of course.”

They sat in silence, neither able to say what they truly wanted, neither knowing how far to push the issue and neither wanting to cause the other harm.

“I suppose I’m feeling sentimental tonight too.” Crowley said as he set his drink down on the table. “Perhaps it’s the alcohol.”

“You could stay, if you’d like. Rest here, sleep off the rum and leave in the morning.” Aziraphale offered before he considered the consequences.

Crowley wanted to accept, but he knew better. They had already gotten closer than they had ever been before, that alone filled him with unbridled joy and crippling fear. “I’m afraid I can’t. Lots of work to do tomorrow. Temptations and such. Plus, I’ll have to make a trip to Greece, and that’s always nice this time of year.”

Aziraphale felt both relieved and disappointed. “Very well, but before you go, I have a little something for you.” The angel headed to his desk and produced a brightly wrapped box. “It’s not much, but....”

“Aziraphale, I told you not to doubt yourself.” Crowley smiled as he unwrapped the gift: a golden hair clip in the form of a snake, with a ruby for an eye.

“It was a pin, but I asked the jeweler to make it so you can wear it in your hair, seeing how it’s long again, seems I made the right choice.” Aziraphale said sweetly.

“I love it.” Crowley was heartfelt in his reply. “Truly, I do.”

“Mind how you go, my dear.” Aziraphale handed him his coat, trying not to show that he was reluctant to see the demon leave.

“Happy Christmas Aziraphale.”

“Happy Christmas Crowley.”

“And angel, please be careful.” Crowley turned and walked towards the Bentley. He sat in the car and attempted to process everything that had transpired that evening. A threat, a hug, an offer and a gift. He could scarcely start the car due to his trembling hands. He held me. Closer than we have ever been. He reached for me, and he held me.

He could hardly contain himself as he made his way home. The pallid light of his flat was a stark contrast against the illuminating glow of the bookshop. Crowley made his way to his bedroom and opened the chest where he kept his greatest treasures; he looked at all the times inside, and smiled. He held the serpent hair pin to his lips and pressed a kiss against the golden gift. Someday, I will share all of this with you. He says to himself. That day is coming soon. He pins the serpent clip into his hair and admirers it in the mirror. Soon, my love, soon.

[honestsycrets]

Like Me VI: Giving In

❛ pairing | ivar x oi!reader

❛ word count | 3k+

❛ type | multi

❛ summary | ivar misses his dear friend. he seeks to give her all she wants. even if it includes him.

❛  warnings | rivalry, jealousy, arguing, one of them will kill the other.

The worst part of being a walking cripple was to have to endure the need to be in the goodwill of the only other cripple you knew that could walk as well.

“Ow!” Your fingers deepen in strokes upon the bird whose claws hollow the glove you wear. The blacksmith recoils from your nasty cry in the back of the royal quarters. Your earrings jingle as you shake your head to rid yourself of the sting that came from the blacksmith’s clanging. Your friend rears his head from his goblet of ale to your seat, grinding tooth together.

“What are you doing to her?” Ivar seethes. “She is screaming.”

“It is too tight on her legs, King Ivar. It is restricting movement.” He rumbles. “I was only adjusting them for improvement.”

Ivar droves off of his chair, dragging himself along the floor toward you. He sits himself up, dragging the leather strap of his bound legs directly in front.

“If her legs come out of that injured, you’ll answer to me, hm?” Ivar resounds with his war pick, flipping the blade at the blacksmith to reassure the man without question what will become of him.

“Uh-- of course, of course, my king. I will take these for repairs” He slips the braces off of your legs again, pulling the heavy straps of metal onto his arms as he stands. It doesn’t escape Ivar’s notice that you quickly chuck your dress over your notched legs to shield them from your view. Mangled legs, he reminds himself.

“Goodman,” Ivar replies with sycophantic smoothness as the man makes himself scarce from the room. You sit with your hands in your lap, one on top of another. Your lips have gone flat, calming your strokes across the bird. “Goodman… (Y/N)?”

“Yes?” You look toward the silken straps that bind your legs down. You need to bind them to be able to return home, this time on your forearms. The spirit of relaxation that you previously had with Ivar seems to have eviscerated in exchange for a tense and wary background.

“I did not mean what I said of your legs. And the prince. I was led by anger.” He reaches out to set his hand upon your knee.

“Rorik?” You say, leading him on to say the prince’s name. Ivar much rather eat his words than say the ruddy-haired prince that came with strange Persian, Swede and dark-skinned thralls. Yet if he had to in order to repair this relationship, he would.

“Rorik of Novgorod.” His thumb strokes your kneecap through your warm dress. Then, bouncing off your knee, he looks to you. “Sigrunn told me you saw him in the waters the other day. You enjoy his company, don’t you?”

“More than anything.” You answer too quickly. Enough that his face drops completely at your assertion. They are too soon, too raw. He clenches his jaw to avoid a raw reaction, tightening his grip upon your knee. He’s about to blow again, you know. In order to curb his brash reaction, your hands drop down to his gloved fingers. His Viking skin is calloused-- reflecting the days of his childhood and those of being truly Viking. The first touch that you had given him since the wedding and so he’ll take it.

“In another way, Ivar.” You say. “You are my friend, I understand our relationship. Freydis is a fair queen and you are a k--”

“A god.” Ivar cuts you off, dry in nature. “And you are a goddess. My equal.”

You’ve heard such things before from Freydis who worshiped Ivar’s feet in her own way. Still, you do not know what to say nor how to respond. Ivar brings the back of your palm to his lips, planting a gentle kiss upon the knuckle in tender care. Your love of the king always went like this. At times, tender and loving. At others, harsh and unforgiving.

“I have decided. As a goddess, you should be free to spend your time with who you wish without fear.”

Should you bend down on the floor and thank him for being such a fair and pious ruler? Your lips quirk into a smile, unable to contain it. Fighting Ivar in this state-- where his mind was degenerating… it would get you nowhere.

“So you approve of him becoming my lover?” You ask.

“I never said that.” Ivar sibilates when a white-hot prick of anger sears through his bones. “Only that I’m giving you an opportunity to choose.”

Your jaw relaxes, bending with your great beast on your arm. You lean to the shaved side of his head, planting a small kiss upon the scar that follows his cheekbone down. His cheeks almost could have reddened.

“Thank you, Ivar.”

He hates to admit it, but a gale of glee fills his stomach when you speak to him like that. Your voice is sweeter than his cups of mead. He feels as if he’s done something right when he notices the sharp eyes of the falcon on your other arm, his wings lifting as if he’s gotten too close.

“Where did you get that beast anyway?” He grumbles.

“Oh, the falcon?” You ask. “Rorik brought it to me from somewhere past Jorvik. Isn’t he cute?”

“He is anything but cute.” Ivar looks up and down the beast on your arm. “Babies are cute.”

“I heard Freydis is with child,” You gleam and know full heartedly that well, any child from their union was likely not Ivar’s in blood. You realize moments later, that it did not matter. The child was his in the soul. Freydis was right… this, this was good for him.

“I’m going to be a father.” His lips prick up, shifting the short hair of his mustache up along with it. “Do you want to be a mother, (Y/N)?”

Your heart drops, weak as you consider his suggestion. You shake your head at the absurdity of the statement and then look down to your skirts. Your face is practiced in emotion, eyes almost empty when Ivar shifts to look at you. No one expected a family of a cripple, of someone that could barely walk. How were you to chase a child? To care for a child? The thralls you would need!

“I don’t think so. I am a cripple.” You say after a moment in which your heart beats painful and deep. You relax your shoulders when Ivar leans up, coursing his hand along your thigh to your hips.

“So am I.” He leans in. His hand shifts up to the sky. “And Frigg has given me a child.”  

“It is easy for you, Ivar. You are a man.” You then groan, a tremulous sound from your lips. “I can’t imagine the strain in carrying a child. I have heard of bleeding, malformations and small children in women like me as little as they may be. Even sex makes me...”

“Whitehair hasn’t fucked you?” Ivar asks.

“Of course not!” You shout. Dyr, or so you decided to name him, flared his wings. You hush him back down. “I’m sorry. I-- Can I tell you something, Ivar?”

“Yes.” Ivar hands you a chunk of meat for your beast. He pecks determinedly at his dinner. You take a wary breath as you decide to put it out there and far more than that, trust Ivar again. Your bird takes the meat with keen interest.

“I want to be a grown woman. Not just because I am married. But everyone will see me for only my legs. Like you.”  

“I don’t see you as--”

“If I had been born like a normal woman.” You say sharp, but diaphanous in tone. Ivar feels the words before you actually finish them. “Would I have been your queen?”

There is no witty comeback from his lips this time. He turns to stare at you as if you’ve slapped him across the face instead of the other way around. You could have been, you think, and for a moment, you take in a long breath.

“No that-- that is…” Ivar stumbles.

“Ridiculous.” You say. The words scrape off your tongue, disdainful in an answer. Ivar has no other desire but to stop his slip up. Dyr swallows his dinner much like Ivar swallows his words. The gulf of emptiness in his stomach spreading. “Sigrunn!”

“Yes?” She turns the corner, clutching dark leather veils that are curtains. Her hands in front of her lap.

“Take Dyr. I am going home.”

As much as Ivar wants to ask you why you are like this… why you push him out, well, he can’t. He knows your affliction all too well. It’s his own.

It was late at night when Rorik heard the knock upon the door. His men shared the living space of the longhouse they took up in. His men were about the fire, roaring in laughter. He settles them down, roaring shut up! Shut up! As his booze sloshes over his pasty knuckles. As he works the latches, each harder than they should have been-- he hears the banter on the other side of the door.

“Why am I doing this?”

“To show her how deeply you care.”

“Yes and when she shows with child, what then?”

He pops the door open. Therein flesh and blood is Ivar standing arm and arm with his wife. Rorik stands in trousers alone, legs wrapped and stuffed in lazy boots. His tattoos blotch over his shoulder and chest.

“If it isn’t the god Ivar!” He roars, giving a lazy bow at the waist. Ivar’s hand flexes about his crutch, clearly debating if he should kill him now or later. “And Queen Freydis-- she’s far too pretty for you, you know.”

“Rorik.” One of his warriors intervene and cause a banter between the prince and his warband in words that Ivar truthfully cannot follow. They argue shortly in a quick swap of tongues before Rorik huffs forcefully out of his nose and steps aside to let them in.

“What can I help you with?” Rorik asks, forcefully closing the door with a lock. If Ivar was here to burn them too, as he learned Ivar was fond of, he probably wouldn’t do it if he was in here too.

“With her,” Ivar says.

“Her? Who her?” Rorik leads. Given the other day, he’s not sure if the moment in the bar or the wedding is the question. The men about him consider their prince as if they were entitled to know whatever was going on in his life.

“(Y/N).” Ivar starts. His headache was welling up in the front of his head. A furrow of newfound concern creases Rorik’s brow. He comes to sling his arm around Ivar’s shoulder to pull him from Freydis.

“Let us talk in private.” Ivar looks away from Freydis who sits confidently among the men. She motions him forward with a face as flat and hard as she ever wore among foreigners. His patience is visibly unwinding.

“What about (Y/N)?” He shows Ivar to his backroom, gripping the waistline of his pants once they got in. Ivar shifts around, head bobbing as he looks to the dark wooden walls, a spiraling shield up on the walls. A half wobbly smile takes his face. “Have you done something to her?”

“Have I done something to her?” Ivar’s gaze goes hard, voice grating at Rorik’s assertion. “If I were to do anything it would be to you.”

“Then get on with it.” Rorik flicks his hands into the air. He could have-- Ivar thinks. The man is drunk and incredulous. With his queen in the other room though, he would do nothing. To Rorik’s obvious amazement, Ivar holds up his gloved fingers.

“Shut up.” Ivar orders, soothing over any bite to his voice. “As little as I like you, I like seeing her upset less.”

Rorik snorts as he takes a few lazy paces around the room. The longer he stayed, the itchier his skin became. He scratches the long runic marks of his arms when finally Ivar finally admits why he is here.

“Have sex with her.” He says.It aches him to say, but he knows Rorik is the only one to see you than more than your disability. Perhaps, more than him. “She wants to be made a woman.”

Rorik’s brow lifts. He wants to laugh, but he can’t, he can only run his hand up through his loosened braids.

“Ahhh. King Ivar.” He says, acrid amusement festering in his gut. “I know you think you control her. I know you do! But you are late. She has asked me herself.”

“What?” No answers come to him though-- Rorik’s cocky smile simpers the waters of his tolerance into a full-blown boil. The foreigner comes up, patting Ivar’s shoulder.

“She wants me to deflower her,” Rorik says in a would-be-good-natured tone. “But I appreciate your approval, keeper of the keys. Truly. I’ve never heard anything better. I’ll keep it in my heart. Now is that all?”

Ivar’s hand flexes at his belt. His patience blown-- and the last semblance of a relationship torn.

“Yes.” He sneers, incredulously. “That is all.”

Perhaps Freydis was right. You needed someone. But there is no way that this man deserved you.

Rorik had sex with many women. But… not a cripple. He tried not to think of you in that way; crippled. His men consider it a fetish because why, in their eyes, would he want a cripple if he could want an able-bodied woman? Even Ivar did, making that heated request in the deep of night.

They didn’t understand.

“You won’t like them.”

“I’m certain I will.” He almost fights your hands upon your skirts, wet kisses moistening your neck as he ground himself against your shy body. Your knees knock together, too shy to let him see your pretty pussy behind your skirts. His other hand grabs all that you offer, squeezing your nipples between his thumb and index finger to tug gently.

“But what if you don’t?” You breathe out in a hushed gasp. “What if they are so disgusting that you run from them? Women are supposed to have gorgeous legs.”

“Shhhh…”

He knows why you’re so anxious. King Ivar, as he was told, told you that you had ‘mangled legs’ as you later recounted to him. It took work to dispel those fears and still you fought him. Even with Ivar’s so-called approval, men watched him wherever he went. They look for a foul up. A reason to kill him in justification so that you would not hate the king. His pride must be wounded because now, more eyes than ever, he feels the hate.

“You will,” Rorik says, growing hard in his heated desire against your side. The prince shifts over your body. “Just let me see them.”

You tug your blue skirts over your legs, squeezing your eyes and shifting your face away. It lets him take your body in. His piercing eyes glance over your twisted legs up to your hips. Rorik slides down between your legs, shifting one over each shoulder.

“Oh!” You squeak adorably.

“See! Look at you and that glorious--” Rorik spreads your lips apart, gazing at your well-kept pussy.

“Rorik, stop.” You say. He leans in, swirling his tongue against your inner lips. He pulls his head back once again, sweeping his tongue against your puffy wet pussy in smooth licks. Your head drops back, adjusting to this strange new feeling. Slowly you roll your hips down upon his tongue, gasping when Rorik gave a playful suckle against your outer folds.

“Why?” His laugh almost vibrates hot breath against your pussy. “I can’t wait to get my dick in that pretty pussy.”

Rorik moves on when you don’t respond, suckling playfully. The pads of his fingers playfully slap your wet pussy, delighting in the knowledge that you’re moist and wet for him. His tongue shifts down, flicking his tongue in the tight little hole.

“Mm, do you touch yourself, hm?” Rorik hums, nudging his nose against your folds. His beard tickles against your wetness, a soft but prickling feeling against your body. He goes to work, lapping and licking at your sweet pussy with loud slurping noises.

“No-- No.”

“You should. I can see it in my mind already.”

“Do you have to talk so much?” You weave his hair between your fingers, shoving him forward into your cunt when there’s a long, loud thwack, thwack, thwack at the door. You shift with your forearms, legs slipping off Rorik’s shoulders.

“Ignore it.” He says, turning his head to huff against your thighs.

“I have to get it. It could be Ivar.” You say and push past him. Rorik lets loose a long draw of annoyance. You slide down onto the ground, using your forearms and palms carry you over to the door, ignoring the hot pulse of your pussy engorged with the need for your orgasm that you denied yourself.

“It’s always fucking Ivar,” Rorik growls, low under his breath. You throw a look back at him that leaves the prince exasperated upon the bed.

“Be patient.”

“Patient!? Děva… I was that close!” Rorik drops back, flopping on the bed while you reach-- unfortunately with difficulty toward the door. The locks of the door are too high up when you’re out of your braces. Unfortunately, the blacksmith yet still had them.

“Rorik, please. Sigrunn needs her rest.” You call out to him, pointing toward the door. He flips his hand midway in the air, dramatically dropping on his chest.

“I’m coming.” He pushes himself off the bed, jamming his hand into his pants to adjust his cock comfortably. He grasps his uncle’s sword from the wall and sways over to the door, jerking it open. You drag yourself out of the way to avoid getting smacked.

The first thing he says, of course, is said with a sigh.

“Queen Freydis.”

Checkmate.

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[obsidianarchives]

To All The Wizards I've Considered Before: The List

Sharp pain filled Hermione’s throat. Both of her hands gripped the side of the sink, as she shook from the force of her own emotions. She tried to swallow the lump in her throat down, back to its rightful place. The tears streamed down her face, landing with a loud splatter in the sink. Why was he doing this?

Bloodshot, brown eyes looked back at her from the mirror, peeking beneath the mass of dark brown curls on her head. She looked as utterly ridiculous as she felt. She wiped her sleeve roughly across her face, taking slow shuddering breaths like her mother had taught her.

Calm and steady, she thought.

People had teased her for being a “know-it-all” and a “goody-two-shoes” her whole life. Yet, in the first week of Ron and Lavender’s newfound relationship, he had managed to consistently reduce her to tears either by being outright mean to Hermione or plainly ignoring her. This teasing from him shouldn’t be any different than her past school bullies. And yet, it was.

Calm and steady. A boy is not worth crying over.

She repeated this mantra with each breath she took. It was no use. The vision of Ron’s cruel smile swam in her mind.

—

Professor McGonagall had just finished instructing them on the principles of transforming human appearance. She was working diligently to nonverbally lighten her own eyebrows in the mirrors that were conjured before them. She had just given Harry a reproachful look after hearing him muttering the incantation under his breath when she heard a shocked exclamation. The class laughed as everyone observed Ron’s newly acquired handlebar mustache.

I guess he's gotten that attention he apparently wants so badly, Hermione had thought to herself as she laughed with the rest of her peers.

Professor McGonagall, lips pursed in disapproval, removed the mustache with a quick flick of her wand. Ron had turned to glare at her, as if she had been the one to conjure the mustache for him. Hermione had glared right back at him.

It was later in the lesson when everyone had mostly forgotten about Ron’s hefty handlebar mustache that he started in on her once again.

“Now, why is it inadvisable for a witch or wizard to transfigure themselves into an inanimate object?” Professor McGonagall asked the class. The class turned to Hermione expectantly, prepared for her to raise her hand and answer.

“Oh Professor, Professor! Please pick me! Oh please, Professor. However will anyone notice me if I don’t answer this question?” Ron’s mocking high-pitched voice had cut right through her from across the room. He bounced in his seat in a way that, although exaggerated, was not unlike Hermione when she was particularly excited by a subject.

Hermione’s face had grown hot. Lavender and Parvati were cackling while Ron beamed, soaking in the attention. Professor McGonagall’s mouth formed a tight thin line that usually meant trouble. Hermione tore her gaze away and glared down at her notes. Her vision was already blurring. The buzzing in her mind drowned out Professor McGonagall’s response.

“She’s a nightmare, honestly. It’s no wonder no one likes her.”

The memory of those words washed over her like acid on her tongue. After all this time, that’s what they had come back to?  Growing up, her Muggle classmates had teased her relentlessly. At Hogwarts, Snape and other Slytherins were arguably just as cruel. Yet, somehow, it was only Ron who could always manage to make her cry. And it was at that last thought that the bell rang. She dashed out of the room, leaving her belongings behind, not sparing Ron another glance.

—

“That’s enough now.”

Her voice reverberated against the wet stone of the empty bathroom. She was at Hogwarts for one reason and one reason only – to get an education. Feeling more centered, she turned the tap to cold. She let the cool water wash over her fingers for a moment before splashing some on her face.

“You know, if you apply the sap of the Gurdyroot plant to your eyes it will decrease swelling and help to ward off Gulping Plimpies,” a dreamy voice said.

Hermione started. “Oh! Hello Luna. How are you?” she said, purposefully not acknowledging whatever nonsense Luna was trying to convey.

“I’m alright.” Her eyes had a faraway look about them as she stared at Hermione with her serene smile. “Why were you crying?”

Luna generally aggravated Hermione with her outlandish poorly researched claims but right now, as she stood there with her golden hair piled on top of her head and mismatched socks, Hermione felt heartened by her presence.

“Ron was teasing me in class today,” she said turning back to her reflection.

“That was very mean of him.”

Hermione’s eyes met Luna’s through the mirror. Although she was odd, she always had a way with words. The frank response quickened the resolve within her even more. “Yes it was, Luna. Yes it was.”

Hermione squared her shoulders. That was enough, indeed. There was a war coming and more importantly, exams. Yet here she was with her eyes bloodshot and still watery over a boy. She would get over Ron, by any means necessary. She knew what she needed to do.

—

The girl’s dormitory was thankfully empty during her free period. Crookshanks looked up lazily from his spot on the windowsill next to her four poster bed. Her book bag gave a very pronounced thunk when she dropped it on the floor. Crookshanks hopped down rubbing himself against her legs.

“Not now, Crookshanks. I’ve got work to do.”

Affronted, Crookshanks stuck his nose in the air and sauntered back to his spot on the windowsill.

Hermione opened the drawer of her bedside table where she kept all of the stationary she generally reserved for letter writing to Viktor and her mother. She pulled out several sheets of parchment with a light floral design printed on it. Now settled on her bed, using her planner as a writing surface, she tapped her quill on her chin.

A crazy idea had taken hold of her as she left Harry – who had waited for her with her things outside – and Luna behind in front of the girl’s restroom. Her feelings for Ron were inadvisable, that much was clear. Ron had never been very considerate, or kind, or thoughtful. Yet her heart still fluttered anytime he leaned over to her, trying to get a peek of her notes. His scent was always so warm, like fresh cotton and pine needles. (She would push him away every time, of course. It wasn’t up to her to pass his N.E.W.T.s for him.)

Being that her feelings were obstinately persisting, she would need to redirect her attention until they went away. This problem was nothing more than a puzzle. And the thing about puzzles is, they can be solved.

Her crazy idea was this: she would come up with a list of boys most objectively compatible with her. Through process of elimination, she would find the boy that was more appropriate for her romantic inclination. In focusing on these facts, her misguided feelings for Ron should dissipate. Lists had never failed her before.

There were many variables to consider: perception, compatibility, and schedule. The list of candidates she managed to come up with from that criteria was comically short. That was sort of the point, though. She needed a logical counterpoint to her feelings for Ron without risking actual romantic entanglement. Dipping a quill into a bottle of jet-black ink, she began writing:

Boys Best Suited for Hermione Granger –

Ronald Weasley

Harry Potter

Ernie Macmillan

Oliver Wood

Dean Thomas

She eyed the coversheet to her new project. A chuckle escaped her, causing Crookshanks to raise his head, eying her warily. Was this too much? Other girls her age didn’t deal with school crushes in such a clinical manner. Girls didn’t deal with a lot of things in the way that she did, she reminded herself.

With the list decided, it was time for the difficult part. She wrote Ronald Weasley on a fresh sheet of parchment. What was it that she liked about Ron? There was the way his brows furrowed as he concentrated during a game of Wizard’s Chess, his ginger hair falling into his eyes. She thought of the way he’d smirk and roll his eyes at her in an endearing way when she would excitedly explain a new fact she’d learned while reading. And then there were his blue eyes that would brighten just so when discussing Quidditch.

Honesty was the only way this was going to work, so she wrote those thoughts down exactly. As for what she disliked about him. There wasn’t much to say.

I can’t seem to stop the feelings I have for you, she wrote. Which is not ideal considering how we stand right now.

There. The ending was honest and to the point. That was Ron’s done and it hadn’t been as hard as she had expected. Rather than finding it emotionally draining to detail the feelings she’d been grappling with for so long, she found it to be rather freeing.

So with that, she moved on to a new sheet of parchment for Harry. His was easy. One line graced his sheet:

While it’s true that we’re compatible on paper – absolutely not. You’re the brother I never had.

Next was Ernie. He was smart and driven for a Hufflepuff. He really valued his studies nearly as much as she did. But he was insufferable. All of which, she wrote exactly on his sheet.

She moved on to Oliver Wood. He no longer attended Hogwarts, however she had always admired him. While it was true she didn't know much about Quidditch, his determination and drive caught her fancy her first two years at Hogwarts. And though she was embarrassed to admit it, she couldn’t deny her appreciation for the male athletic form. He was now playing for Puddlemere United. Something about the memory of his fierce gaze as he studied his play book and his polite greetings in the corridors inclined her to keep his name on the list and finish his sheet.

Giggling as she eyed the last name on her list, she set the final sheet of parchment in front of her. On the surface it was quite silly, but when she thought of it, he was a strong candidate. While Ginny had only broken up with Dean a week ago, in her esteem, this made him an even safer choice for her battle of wills. They had been classmates for six years sure, but his most significant role in her life was that of “Ginny’s boyfriend.” However, you’d have to live in the dungeons to not hear the chatter amongst girls across various houses and grades that surrounded Dean Thomas. He had grown to be quite attractive the past few years. Some girls even argued he was more attractive than Harry Potter.

Hermione coaxed Crookshanks off his windowsill in order to give him a good pet. She thought more about her evaluation of Dean. He was handsome, but it was more than that. They were both Muggle-borns. He was artistic and quite intelligent; the only classes they didn’t share were Muggle Studies and History of Magic. Even she had to admit that was quite a full load compared to most of their peers.

Once she finished Dean’s sheet she laid them out in front of her in order.

“Well what do you think, Crookshanks?”

He appeared to look them over contemplatively from his new spot on her lap.

“It’s just a mental exercise to help me refocus,” she explained as she scratched him behind the ears in the spot she knew he liked.

He mewed in understanding, pushing his head into the scratches. She sighed, feeling a little lighter already from the exercise.

Noise rose from below in the common room. People must be coming up for the evening to put away their school things. Lavender and Parvati would be up soon. She gathered the pages and slipped them into her bag amongst her other essays and projects. Though there were a couple of candidates she was certain were already ruled out, she would take notes for the next couple of weeks to whittle the list down further. It was a simple enough plan.

After she changed into more comfortable clothes, she headed out the girls dormitory with Crookshanks at her heels. She glanced back at the bag one last time. The plan would work, she assured herself. She would out logic her heart into finding her old self.

—

Over the weekend, the autumn chill had given way to winter mist. As Hermione walked through the breezy corridors down to the Great Hall for breakfast, she pulled her cloak and scarf closer to her. She made a mental note to give Harry the scarf she had knitted him over the summer. She knew his uncle and aunt wouldn’t have bought him any new winter wear over the break.

When she reached the Gryffindor table for breakfast, the smell of sizzling bacon and fresh orange juice filled her nose. She was pleased to see Harry alone. He had spent the weekend drilling the Quidditch team in new formations to accommodate Dean, who was acting as their new temporary Chaser to replace Katie who was still being treated in St. Mungo's.

As she approached however, her skin prickled with irritation. “Must you read that thing at the breakfast table? Is there not some other homework assignment that could use your attention?”

“Good morning to you, too,” Harry said absently, not pulling his nose from The Prince’s book. “Don’t bother. There’s nothing new, just a few suspicious Muggle disappearances,” he said as she sat and moved to pick up the morning’s Daily Prophet.

“Honestly,” she grumbled as she took her seat in front of him.

Between The Prince and Malfoy, Harry had been far too distracted to offer much support with her current predicament with Ron. It was probably for the best that she quickly ruled him out for further consideration, she noted humorously, he was too emotionally unavailable. In fact, she rather thought he was avoiding the subject. Of course, he must suspect her feelings.

It was just as well with her. Even if he had been emotionally available, she didn’t think she would want to talk about it. In an attempt to tear his attention away from that blasted book, she brought up the only other subject that interested him these days.

“How was practice with Dean and Ginny this weekend? I know it was the first since they broke up,” she said nonchalantly. She spooned some fluffy scrambled eggs onto her plate, not making eye contact. His head shot up from the book.

In an attempt to play his reaction off, he reached for his goblet, resulting in him sloshing some orange juice onto his robes ever so smoothly. “Erm, they both flew really well. You wouldn’t know anything was the matter, really. Ginny was joking with the team and making fun of Ron as per usual.”

After contemplating this a moment, Hermione said, “I’d say Dean is putting on a brave face for the team. He’s already been down to breakfast in hopes of avoiding Ginny at the moment, see?” She indicated to Seamus who was eating by himself.

Harry’s eyes trailed from Seamus to behind her at the Ravenclaw table. Ginny had taken to sitting with Luna for meals since breaking it off with Dean. Hermione turned to see her shining sheets of silky auburn hair framing her freckled face. She was chatting animatedly with Luna, who was dressed in a pair of bright yellow dungarees over a blue turtleneck. They were an odd pair, but it was true that Ginny didn’t seem troubled at all. Rather, she seemed to be quite happy in Luna’s company.

When she noticed them looking at her, she beamed at them. Hermione did not fail to notice how Ginny’s eyes lingered on Harry before she turned her attention back to Luna. When Hermione turned back to Harry, he was bright red. She raised her eyebrow at him knowingly.

“Oh, shut up.”

—

Their first two classes were spent with Hermione trying to prod Harry into just talking to Ginny. He wouldn’t confirm what she had suspected since their summer at the Burrow, but his red face and curt nods told her all she needed to know.

In Transfiguration, they were partnered together, since Lavender managed to claim Ron before Ron could claim Harry. They were meant to be lightening each other’s eyebrows, having mastered transfiguring their own. Hermione had already successfully turned Harry’s eyebrows to a shade of platinum that even Malfoy would have envied.

Hermione rolled her eyes as Harry shook his wand at her face. “You’re too close Harry. You have to remember, you’re casting the spell but you’re removing the pigment. Channel that.” He grunted and tried again. “Let’s hope wooing Ginny goes better than this – OUCH!”

He had whacked her with his wand while animatedly trying to transfigure her eyebrows. His glare let her know that that conversation was in fact over. She couldn’t help the smirk that came over her.

They resumed their work on Hermione’s eyebrows. He continued poking and prodding his wand at her while she alternated between encouragement and chastisement when he muttered the spell verbally. However, she found herself getting distracted when she noticed Dean Thomas staring at them. No, he was staring at her specifically.

Every time she looked up, his brown gaze was waiting for hers before quickly averting itself. Confused, she returned her attention to Harry’s antics. Clearly, he was no longer even trying.

“Fine! I’ll show you how to do it again. You just had to ask. You didn’t have to keep poking my forehead with your wand.”

As she raised her wand to demonstrate the hand motions, her eyes met Dean’s brown ones again. A thought occurred to her. Had Harry managed to horribly disfigured her and was he trying to hide it? She clamped her hand to her forehead. “Harry! My eyebrow is gone!”

No wonder Dean had been staring at her. Her face turned bright red. Harry burst out laughing. “I dunno. I thought it was a nice look. Now you can’t keep raising it at me.”

She narrowed her eyes at him and set to work conjuring her eyebrow back into place.

—

The rest of her classes passed by uneventfully. She didn’t share them with Harry and while she did appreciate having his company, she actually preferred the ones where she was alone. Classes without Lavender cooing over Ron the entire period were easier to focus in.

At the end of Ancient Runes, Hermione noticed Dean lingering near her desk as she gathered her things. Before she could make eye contact with him or speak, he walked out of the classroom.  Out of an abundance of caution, she pulled out a small cracked compact she kept in her bag. Her eyebrow was intact and the proper color.

The embarrassment from Transfiguration had obviously made her paranoid. It was very likely all in her head. By the time she set out her study things on her favorite table by the large common room window, she was ready to forget the strange ordeal altogether.

Her books and parchment and ink bottles were spread across the entire table. Her book bag laid at her feet, now mostly empty except for a few drafts of essays she had started and other loose parchment. She dove into her Arithmancy homework and hardly noticed time passing. Students milled in and out of the common room but it stayed largely empty. The afternoon sun drifted lazily lower in the sky, signaling the near end of the last period of the day.

“Hey, uh Granger,” a voice called from the other side of the common room as it approached.

Hermione tore her eyes away from the chart she was studying to decipher a particularly difficult piece of numerology. “Oh. Hello, Dean,” she said curiously.

There was a small part of her that felt vindicated. So, she hadn’t been imagining things! A bigger part of her felt nervous. Though they were in the same year and house, they rarely talked. Was this about the eyebrow incident? Her face colored again. No, that couldn’t be it. Why would he seek her out just to mention he had seen her without an eyebrow? He was probably looking for Harry about something Quidditch related.

To her surprise, he sat down at her table. Although his eyebrows were furrowed in what was perhaps confusion, his earthy brown eyes were direct and determined. An echo of a thought about how handsome he was flitted through her mind.

“Uh, sorry for interrupting,” he gestured to her homework spread across the table before him.

He looked around awkwardly, seemingly unsure of where to start. This was odd for him. While it was true they had not interacted very much, Hermione did know he was a self-assured person. Unlike Hermione, it hadn’t taken him long to assimilate into wizarding culture and seem like he belonged. Had she not known otherwise, she would have assumed he came from a wizarding family.

“I just wanted you to know that I’m really flattered,” he began. “I mean, I never would have imagined you would think I’m, um, ‘intelligent or artistic.’ You’re the smartest girl in our year by far, and all. But this whole thing with Ginny is still fresh and . . . ” he trailed off.

Hermione blinked at him a few times, confused. Was Dean Thomas rejecting her? She thought back to every conversation they had been a part of in the past week, trying to remember if she had unwittingly made any misleading advances. Her eyes fell on his hand.

He was clutching a folded piece of parchment with a light but unmistakable floral design printed on it. Her breath caught in her throat.

“This was really sweet,” he held out the parchment to her. “I just don’t think it would be appropriate considering everything that’s happening right now.”

Eyes wide, she snatched the parchment out of his hand. Her eyes tore through the contents. It was undeniably her handwriting. This was the same sheet she had written up as a mental exercise for herself just a few days ago.

Your dimples are very lovely and add to the charm of your smile. It’s no wonder why girls are so taken with you this year . . .

She turned it over in her hand, on the back it said, From Hermione Jean Granger in an elegant script written in green ink.

That was not her handwriting.

Without a word or second glance at Dean, she thrust the parchment back into his hands and tore into her book bag. Frantically, she rustled through the various pages; there was her Ancient Runes essay, her Potions essay, and the rest of her loose parchment. Finally, she found it. Or rather, she found the cover page with the list she had drawn up. The rest of the pages had all vanished.

“Where did you get this?” she said as evenly as she could manage. Her breathing was heavy. How in Merlin’s name had Dean received that parchment? They had been in her book bag all weekend. No one else knew about them.

“In the owl post I assume. I wasn’t at breakfast to receive it, but the school owl found me out at the pitch.”

Panic was clinging tighter and tighter to her skin. She needed to get to Harry now and ask if he’d gotten any post from her. Nothing had come in the owl post for him during breakfast, but she had to be sure. She shot up from her seat. “This is a huge misunderstanding.”

Dean’s deep brown eyes were wide and a little worried. He leaned away, almost afraid of what she might do, clearly having taken in her frantic energy.

“Listen, this is not what it seems like. I mean, I did write this. But it wasn’t a confession. I was writing a list. I make lists to clear my head. It was sort of a mental exercise.”

Now Dean chuckled, raising his eyebrow. It was the same look she had given Harry this morning. “’More handsome than Harry Potter’?”

He was laughing at her. She stuck her chin out defiantly.  “So I hear other girls say.”

Dean licked his lips, bringing his fist to his mouth, clearly biting back laughter. “Look you don’t have to be embarrassed. I just thought you deserved a—“

“I don’t need an explanation, Dean. I don’t fancy you. Thank you for being a gentleman. But truly, I’m far too busy with my studies to be writing love notes.”

It took a few seconds of consideration but he nodded, accepting the truth. She started to gather all of her things, shoving them carelessly into her bag. She needed to hurry and find Harry before Ron could find her. If they all had disappeared, logically there was a risk Ron could have received his.

“Can I have that?” she indicated to parchment in his hand.

Oddly, Dean hesitated. “You know, it’s not every day the Hermione Granger writes you a love note.”

“It was a list,” she said as she snatched the slip out of his hands. He laughed, leaning back in his chair.

Just as she was about to sling her book bag over her shoulder, she heard the portrait hole open. Dread filled her stomach as she looked up, her worst fear confirmed. In came Ron, his tousled red hair shining against his freckled face. He looked paler than usual. Her stomach flipped and then it dropped. In his hands, a floral piece of parchment stuck out. His eyes met hers, determined.

“Merlin,” she said in a barely audible whisper.

A crazed feeling came over her — that Gryffindor feeling. She had to stop him, they could not have this conversation, ever. There was only one thing for it.

She plopped down onto Dean’s lap as gracefully as she could and smashed her lips to his. He froze, startled. Tentatively, he brought his hands to her hips, likely to push her away. She could feel Ron staring. Desperately, she grabbed Dean’s face, deepening the kiss and trying to ignore the fullness of his lips against hers. Shock threatened to overcome her as she realized that she was properly snogging Dean Thomas and that he was beginning to kiss her back.

She heard a sort of sputtering sound from Ron’s direction. She had almost missed it, while focusing on not looking like a complete idiot. Snogging was not something she had much experience with. She suspected the kisses she had exchanged with Viktor, based on how many times they bumped noses, didn’t really count.

She pulled away from Dean abruptly. His eyes blinked slowly as if he were just waking up. His jaw flexed as he opened his mouth and closed it repeatedly, as if wanting to say something.

“Yes, well, thank you. Sorry about the note.”

Without waiting for a response, she stood quickly from their compromising position, snatched up her bag and hurried away from Dean. She brushed past Ron, who seemed to be frozen in confusion, and scurried out the portrait hole.

To Be Continued…

[queenofcats17]

BATIM Inktober 31

Last day and it’s Reborn. I decided to focus on Esther and Joey’s relationship since Esther’s been on my mind lately.

This is three days late, and for that I am sorry. 

Most people who were friends with Esther Klein didn’t know she even had a brother. Her best friend hadn’t even known Esther had a sibling until she’d been invited to the Drew household and had seen the family portraits. She wasn’t surprised, honestly. She’d led most of her life separate from Joey. She was six years older, after all, always too old to be a proper playmate for him. She’d had expectations to meet, responsibilities to perform. By the time he’d run away from home, she’d been up to her ears in work at the law firm. Still, she remembered the day her mother had called her with cold clarity. She’d gotten home from work to find the phone ringing off the hook. She’d answered, expecting it to be a colleague from the firm who had been pursuing her relentlessly. She’d been ready to yell until she heard her mother crying on the other end. Her mother was speaking too fast, her voice clouded with tears.

“Ma, slow down,” Esther said. “I can’t understand what you’re saying.”

“It’s…It’s Joey.” Her mother sobbed. “He’s gone.”

“Gone…? What do you mean gone?”

“He ran away!”

Esther’s heart sank. Looking back, she felt like she should have seen it coming. Her parents had been worried about Joey, telling her about how angry he’d been getting, how he’d been drawing away from them. Looking back, she felt like she should have done something. She hadn’t been able to go back home to comfort her parents, so she tried to assuage their fears on the phone. Her heart was heavy when she hung up. She knew Joey’s mind had been set on art, but their parents had been worried he wouldn’t be able to live comfortably like that. Joey had evidently taken this to mean that they didn’t believe in him. He was always doing things like this. Always acting impulsively without any regard for the consequences. But she couldn’t force herself to be angry with him. She was terrified. She didn’t know where he’d go or what was going to happen. And that was petrifying.

She didn’t see her brother again for almost 20 years. By that point, he’d made quite a name for himself in the animation world. Joey Drew Studios. When the studio had opened, Esther had almost cried from relief. Her brother was safe and alive. And best of all, he was making cartoons like he’d wanted. She allowed herself to believe, for a time, that he was happy. But this only lasted for so long. When the rumors of bankruptcy began to circle, she paid a visit to her brother’s studio. She told no one at the office where she was going, nor did she tell Robert. But her husband knew. He always seemed to know. No one at the studio recognized her, not that she expected them to, especially since she introduced herself as Esther Klein. The employees looked nervous when she said she was a lawyer, but also resigned. She was led down to Joey’s office by a thin man with crooked glasses and dark bags under his eyes who told her he was the accountant, Grant Cohen. He assumed she was there because of the bankruptcy, and she did nothing to tell him otherwise.

“Mr. Drew, there’s someone here to see you,” Grant said when he opened the door.

“Tell them to wait.” Joey snapped. He looked to be buried under a mountain of paperwork.

“I’m not waiting.” Esther’s voice made him freeze. He looked up very slowly. Grant took one look at Joey’s face and got out, leaving the siblings alone.

“What are you doing here?” Joey’s expression was closed and guarded. There was no trace of the bright-eyed boy who had tugged on her sleeves to show her his drawings.

“I came to see you.” She replied. God, he looked so much older. She could see the beginnings of grey at his temples, mixed in with his dark brown hair. There were lines around his mouth, his eyes. He’d filled out a bit since she’d last seen him, stocky like their father. He’d grown a mustache too. It looked good. He looked like an adult. He was an adult. So why did she still think of him as that gangly kid?

“I figured.” Joey narrowed his eyes. “Why did you come to see me?”

“I missed you, Jojo.”

“Don’t call me that!” He stood up abruptly, slamming his hands on the desk. She didn’t flinch. She was used to his outbursts.

“I missed you.” She repeated. “Ma and Pa miss you.”

“It’s been 20 years. If you really missed me that much you would have found me sooner.”

“How?” She could feel her temper beginning to rise. “You ran away, Joey. You didn’t want to be found. You didn’t tell us where you were going, you didn’t tell us where you were staying, you didn’t even tell us you started this studio. Ma and Pa had to find out from the paper that you were even still alive.” She still remembered that news clipping her parents had sent her, the photo of Joey standing side by side with a man she didn’t recognize, looking happier than she’d seen him in years.

Joey grumbled something, sitting down. “What do you want Esther?”

She sighed, pulling out a check from her purse and placing it on the desk. Joey looked at her, then at the check, then back again.

“It’s not going to bite you.” Esther folded her arms. Joey snatched the check up, looking it over. His eyes widened.

“This…This is a lot of money.”

“It is.”

“Are you…giving it to me?”

“I am.”

For a moment, relief seemed to wash over her brother’s face. Then it was gone.

“You think I can’t do this.” He snarled, face transforming into a mask of rage.

“I think you’re having a hard time right now.” She chose her words carefully. “But I believe in you. I just want to give you a little help.” He scowled at her, then at the check.

“You changed your name.” He said. “Did you get married?”

“I did.” She couldn’t help but smile at the thought of Robert.

“Do you have kids?” His anger was ebbing now, curiosity peeking through.

“You have a niece and nephew, Joey.” She pulled out a photo, handing it to him. It was a family photo of her, Robert, and their two children. Rachel scowled at the camera, displeased by the dress she’d had to wear. Isaac dozed in his mother’s arms. He’d never minded getting dressed up as long as he was being held. Joey held the photo gingerly. The children in the picture were so small. The girl looked a lot like Esther, and the boy looked like the man he assumed was Esther’s husband, but with that trademark Drew dark hair.

“What are their names?” He asked quietly.

“The girl is Rachel and the boy is Isaac.” It was hard to miss the pride on Esther’s face. He’d always known she’d make a wonderful mother. Joey felt his stomach begin to twist into knots. She was like Henry. She had a family, a good job. There was no place for him in their perfect lives.

“They’re…They’re beautiful kids.” He handed the photo back to her. Esther tucked the picture back into her purse, studying his face carefully. He looked so sad.

“I’d love for you to meet them.” She said. Joey’s eyes shifted away from her. He pursed his lips, folding his hands on the desk.

“I can’t.”

“Why?”

“I just can’t.”

“That’s not an answer, Joey,” Esther said flatly. “Why can’t you come to meet them?”

“There’s no place for me in your perfect life.” Joey shook his head, a touch of bitterness entering his voice. “You’re some big-shot lawyer. I’d be a disgrace if you introduced me to any of your friends.”

“You’re being ridiculous.” She sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. “As if I’d ever be friends with someone who would think that of you.” The people at the firm who spoke disparagingly about Joey and his cartoons were not the kind of people she liked to associate with. Elitist assholes who looked down on her and the people she was close to.

“You’d eventually become ashamed of me.”

“Joey.”

“You’d throw me out eventually. As soon as I do something you don’t like, you’ll just pretend you’re not related to me.”

“I would never do that to you,” Esther said softly. She was honestly hurt that he thought she’d do something like that to him.

“You will.” Joey looked up at her, his expression hard and his eyes cold. “You’re just like everyone else.” Esther stared at him for a moment before her expression hardened as well.

“You want to wallow in self-pity? Fine.” She said, turning away. “But don’t come crawling back to me when this whole thing blows up in your face.”

“I don’t need your pity!” Joey stood up again, hands on his desk. “You never believed in me anyway! None of you ever did! But I’ll show you!”

“I hope you drown in ink!” She stormed out of the office and up the stairs. The employees whispered as she passed, saying something about how Joey had pissed off another lawyer. Grant shot her an apologetic look as she passed his office. She drove him, going upstairs once she returned and curling up on her bed. Robert came to join her a few minutes later.

“I’m guessing it didn’t go great.” He sat down beside her, rubbing her back.

“I don’t even recognize him anymore.” She muttered. “What happened to my brother?” She felt on the verge of tears. Esther didn’t like crying. When she’d been young, bullies had called her crying a sign of weakness. Unless she trusted someone, she didn’t want to cry in front of anyone.

“It’s going to be okay.” Robert pulled her into his lap, stroking her hair. “We’ll figure this out.”

There were many times in the years following that where Esther wondered what it would have been like if she’d been able to talk Joey down, if her children had been able to grow up with their uncle. Maybe she could have saved his employees from the fates they’d suffered. But she’d been so angry at him after that conversation at his office that she hadn’t gone back for a long time. And when she did…It was too late. Her brother had died a long time ago. In his place, there was only a monster. And Esther felt she’d helped to create that monster.

[soyforramen]

Required listening for this SweetE drabble based on my tags on this post

:“Why do we even have to do this shit anyways,” Sweet Pea grumbled, his ire more pronounced than usual.  “We’re not even going to be at this shitty school that long.  It’s not like they even want us here helping them.”

Even more irritating than the tight, chaffing pleather Kevin had pulled from the depths of the theatre department was the fact that he was the only one irritated to have been voluntold for this stupid skit.  Worse?  He’d been stupid enough to let Toni badger him into actually doing it.

“What about you, Jones?  I thought you didn’t go in for this promotion of stereotypical bullshit and commodification of the human body or some shit.”

Fangs looked at Toni from under his cowboy hat, mouthing words that looked suspiciously like ‘Where did he learn that?’  Toni pursed her lips, unwilling to comment, and shifted Kevin’s wrestling gear to get at his hair.  When she was done he had a lock of hair that curled over his left eye and she sprayed him down with some witch’s brew that smelled like mineral oil mixed with lavender. 

For his part, Jughead just shrugged and slipped on his sleeveless flannel, a curl of hair slipping effortlessly into his eyes.  He flicked his head to get it out of his eyes and settled a construction hat where his beanie normally sat.  “Betty said it was for a good cause.”

“Good cause my ass.  We don’t even use the library,” Sweet Pea snapped.

His upper lip curled and he sunk further down into his chair.  Of course Jones would agree for anything that blonde goody-goody asked.  Fangs had been the first to sign them up, always one for attention. Especially lately when it came from one particular theatre nerd.

Sweet Pea slipped a hand under the leather vest (why did he have to be the one to go shirtless?  At least Jones got to wear an undershirt) and scratched his side.  It was old and musty and he’d probably already contracted the bubonic plague from the rats that made their home in it. 

“Well I think you look very handsome,” Ethyl said quietly from behind him.  While he’d been complaining, she must have already finished with Fangs and the ridiculously thin mustache he’d grown for this farce, though really, Sweet Pea couldn’t see any bit of difference in how he looked.

He grunted and stilled when she ran a pomade laden comb through his hair.  At least if he’d been allowed to wear a shirt this ridiculous ‘Demolition Man’ costume wouldn’t have been so bad.  If they’d let him keep the ‘Leather Man’ character name he might have even gotten behind it.  But Weatherbee had droned on so long about how that was inappropriate for a school atmosphere that they’d all been ready to do a Barbershop Quartet (Septet?  Sextet?  Ha!  Now there was something dirty sounding even Weatherbee couldn’t have argued against.  At least that might have helped those douche canoe jocks learn their numbers.)

Against his will, he relaxed under Ethyl’s steady touch.  “Guess it’s not too bad,” he muttered, his eyelids half closed.

“And the Beauty quelled the Beast once more,” Fangs quipped.  Sweet Pea sneered but didn’t move away from her cool touch. 

All too soon, Ethyl announced he was ready and shortly after, they were called to line up for the stage.  Toni flitted about them like an overly involved stage mom as she made last minute adjustments to costumes, particularly to Patel’s sailor suit.  When she came to Sweet Pea she stood up to her full height and stared him in the eye. 

“You promised,” she said in a firm tone.

He rolled his eyes.  “Yeah, yeah.  This means a lot to you.  Don’t worry I won’t screw this up.  Keller, though, might start singing ‘I’m a Cruiser’ so -“ 

Toni pinched him.  “I’m serious.  This means a lot to me, and to Ethyl,” she stressed.  A flush crawled up his neck and he crossed his arms (when did he get so easy to read?), “so don’t screw this up.”

Doiley’s flat voice cut through their conversation to announce the entrance of “Riverdale High’s very own ‘Village People.’” 

Like ducks in a row, the six teens filed onto the stage, curtain drawn, and faced the back. 

“Remember, it’s Y.C.M.A., not F.U.C.K.,” Patel hissed down the line.  That drew a laugh from him that was thankfully drowned out by the disco era beat. 

The light grew brighter as the curtain raised and Sweet Pea half-heartedly swayed.  Patel took lead stage, belting out the lyrics. On either side of him, Fangs and Kevin vamped it up, both getting more into the song than they had in practice.  They turned, Jones going the wrong direction, and began to clap along. 

Sweet Pea mumbled along, making up lyrics as he went along.   “Serpents, what are you doing on stage? I said, Serpents, is he wearing a crown?   I said, Serpents, why aren’t we wearing a frown? There’s no need, to be, so happy.”

Kevin dropped to do the splits and Sweet Pea jumped away in surprise.  That hadn’t happened in practice.  At least the one’s he’d managed to make.  The brunette bounced back up amid cheers, and the group was fell back into the routine as if they’d practiced it.  A few lines later, Fangs drifted over and elbowed Sweet Pea in the side, a cheerful grin on his face as he lifted his arms into a Y. 

Dutifully, Sweet Pea arched his arms to make an M.  “Y. R. We Here,” he muttered as they went through the ridiculous spelling.  “Get Me A Beer.”  

Before the thought of darting off the stage became fully formed in his mind, Kevin and Fangs descended on him for the line kick that Cheryl, now Toni’s constant shadow, had insisted on.

“Serpents, are you ignoring me.   I said, Serpents.  Why are we even here? I said, Serpents, why did you listen to her? I’ve got a need, to be, unhappy,” Sweet Pea loudly sang. 

Toni caught his eye and shook her head, exasperated at his antics.  When he glanced over again, he caught the start of a smile on her face and he winked.

Thankfully the rest of the skit thankfully was fairly uneventful until Fangs decided to do a failed stage dive at the very end.  Fortunately he didn’t have far to go, but unfortunately there hadn’t been enough people willing to break his fall.

Later, as E.M.S. was checking Fangs for a concussion, Ethyl walked up and put her hand on Sweet Pea’s arm. 

“I just wanted to thank you for doing this.  I know it’s not really your thing, but I appreciate it anyways,” she said.  

Sweet Pea shrugged.  “What’s a little public humiliation to raise some money for kids who can’t read good?”  The words slipped out before he could help himself, and his heart stopped when he realized who he was talking to. 

The sound of her light laughter was enough to kick it back into beating once more.  “How about I buy you a milkshake to ease that wounded pride of yours?”

“Make it a strawberry milkshake and some fries and you have a deal, Muggsy.”

[whimsicaldragonette]

Romancing the Sorcerer’s Stone (Part 17 of 24)

Part 1~ Part 2~  Part 3~ Part 4~ Part 5~ Part 6~ Part 7~ Part 8~ Part 9~ Part 10~ Part 11~ Part 12~ Part 13~ Part 14~ Part 15~ Part 16~ Part 17~ Part 18~ Part 19~ Part 20~ Part 21~ Part 22~ Part 23~ Part 24~

June 2003 — London, England

The owl pecks at the window just as they’re sitting down to eat. Harry jumps up, eagerly anticipating the contents of the missive. And, yes, their international floo request has been approved and Malfoy has arranged their rooms. Everything is in order. Just in time, too, since they’ll be leaving the following morning.

Harry hums to himself all the way to the dinner table. He notices Ginny’s frown as he sinks back into his chair, and pauses. Surely he’s told her? Better to be sure, though.

“We’re leaving for Florence in the morning,” he says as he reaches for the peas. “We’ll be flooing out at nine.”

June 2003 — Florence, Italy

It had been Malfoy’s idea, born of a lot of very intense pacing and plotting that first night, to disguise themselves as journalists. Harry had vetoed the ridiculous fake mustaches, but the cover story had been a stroke of genius. Not that he’s ever going to tell Malfoy that.

They’d gotten nearly everything they needed from eager security guards and museum employees. They’d all seemed perfectly willing to discuss security and restoration methods with anyone who offered the chance to have their name in print.

Not that they’d actually be writing the article, he thought, but that doesn’t matter, really. Just the possibility of seeing their name in the papers had got people talking. It’s not long before they’ve worked out a plan of attack.

Two grown men huddled under the invisibility cloak would have been a hilarious sight — except they’re invisible. Conveniently, Harry thinks. Well, there is an inconvenient amount of hunching over and bumping hands and elbows jabbing ribs, but at least no one can see them.

Not that anyone is there to see them, seeing as it’s the middle of the night, long after the museum had closed for the day. They’d hidden, curled into a cramped nook behind what he thought was a rather hideous statue of a horse made of junk, carefully draped in the invisibility cloak as the last patrons had been herded out, as the employees had turned off the lights and locked the doors, as the security guard had shuffled past on his rounds.

Now, secure in their invisibility, they maneuver themselves to their feet and rub the cramps from their muscles.

It wouldn’t do to be discovered on camera, Harry thinks, stifling a chuckle as he thinks of the fright they would give the security guards, a disembodied hand or foot floating in an empty room.

“Ready?” he whispers, and Malfoy nods, casting another disillusionment over them. Together, they make their way to the main gallery, where the painting they need hangs. Only, it isn’t there. All of the planning and scheming, and it isn’t even there.

They stare, flabbergasted, at the blank frame, and the tiny sign that reads “This painting is currently being restored by Baldicotts to return it to its former glory. We apologize for any inconvenience.”

“Well, fuck me,” Malfoy says, after a moment. “Come on.”

“Er, where—“

Malfoy sighs, grabs Harry’s arm, and apparates them.

They land back in their hotel room, and Harry throws the cloak off. “Malfoy! What the fuck was that all about?”

Malfoy doesn’t answer, just turns toward the bathroom. As he walks through the door he says, over his shoulder, “Because that painting is being restored by Pansy bloody Parkinson, and we can hardly visit her in the middle of the night.”

Harry gapes at the door. Parkinson is restoring the painting?

Parkinson is restoring the painting.

How very… odd, Harry thinks, as she opens the door of Baldicotts: Restorers of Fine Art.

“Oh,” she says, tone thoroughly unimpressed, “it’s you. Tell me, what have I done to warrant this?” She addresses this last to the sky as if the clouds might answer.

“Pansy, you incomparable bitch,” Malfoy drawls, “you grow more beautiful and cruel every day. You wound me, truly.”

She laughs delightedly. “C’mere you,” she says, drawing Malfoy into a hug. She thrusts him to arm’s length and studies him for a moment, kisses his cheeks, and then nods at Harry, sleek black bob swinging.

She looks much as she had in school, only sharper. Like the years have worn off any softness and only hard, brilliant diamond remains.

“You look good darling,” she says, as she gestures them inside. “Life must be agreeing with you lately.”

Malfoy smiles. “As a matter of fact—“

“Not before tea, darling. You know I don’t discuss business without a strong cuppa and a good chocolate.”

“Never change, Pansy dear,” he says fondly. “How else would I know what to get you for Christmas?”

“As to that, Draco, you really must stop sending me green things.” She darts a glance at Harry, and he looks steadily back, confused.

She shrugs, turning back to Malfoy, who looks a tiny bit uncomfortable, but determined to ignore it.

They settle into stylish, yet surprisingly comfortable leather chairs in a small parlor off the main room. She snaps her fingers, and a house elf pops into view. “Mindy, tea for three, please. And some of those chocolates we just got in from Paris.”

Mindy nods and winks out, reappearing quickly with an elegant tea tray.

“So,” Parkinson asks, crossing her legs daintily, “what nefarious scheme has brought you to my place of business today?”

Malfoy leans forward, steepling his fingers. “You’re restoring the Carmichael portrait for Uffizzi’s.

She frowns, tapping her overly-pointed red nails against her cup. “Yes. That’s a statement of fact, not a request.”

Malfoy takes a deep breath, lets it out slowly. “We need it.”

She raises her eyebrow. “You need what?”

“The painting. It’s cursed you see. Carmichael was a distant relative of my grandmother, and his portrait was cursed back in Grindelwald’s day. We simply can’t allow it to continue making the muggles sick.” He leans forward, warming to his subject.

Both of her eyebrows shoot up, nearly disappearing under her close-cropped bangs.

Harry leans back in his chair and sips his tea, content to watch. Malfoy is a master at manipulation.

Parkinson, it seems, is unmoved by his charm.

“It would be against my ethical code, darling,” she says, sipping her tea calmly.

“Bullshit,” Malfoy says. “You don’t have an ethical code — never have. You forget I know you.”

She lifts a finger to silence him.

“It would be against my ethical code,” she continues implacably, “to do it myself. Which, honestly darling, you don’t want anyway. I may be a whiz at restoring paintings, but I leave the forgery in the much more capable hands of my assistant.”

Harry leans forward now, interested. “Where is this assistant?”

She waves a hand airily. “Who knows. She owled me earlier that she had met up with some old school acquaintances at lunch and was taking the rest of the day off to take them sightseeing.”

“Old school acquaintances?”

“Mmm. You might know them as your wife and fiancée.”

“Oh.” Malfoy looks nonplussed for a moment. “Who is this assistant, then?”

Pansy uncrosses her legs and recrosses them in the other direction. “Not to worry. Luna is the best forger I’ve ever encountered.”

Harry nearly inhales his tea. “I’m sorry, did you say Luna? As in Luna Lovegood?”

Pansy grins toothily. “Like I said. She’s the best.”

She pauses.

“Now, we come to the question of payment.”

“We can give you—“

She waves him off as if she were swatting a fly. “I don’t want your money, Draco.”

He frowns. “Then, what do you want?”

She considers for a moment, tapping idly at the side of her cup, and chewing the side of her lip, in what Harry assumes is a very un-Pansy-like way. Then she uncrosses her legs and leans forward like she’s about to tell them a secret.

“I want an invite to one of your dinners at the Burrow.”

Malfoy does choke on his tea. “You want — but— good god, woman. Why?” he splutters.

“Hey,” Harry says, shoving him good-naturedly. “That’s my family you’re knocking.”

“I know, but—“

“Malfoy,” Harry says, a note of warning in his voice to temper the humor. “You like those dinners.”

“Yes, but—“

Harry’s eyes narrow, and he looks past Malfoy to Parkinson’s amused face. “But, why do you want to be invited, is the question. What’s your game, Parkinson?”

She laughs lightly. “No game. Well, not entirely, anyway. I just want an in.”

“An in…” Malfoy’s eyes widen in horror. “Pansy, no.”

She quirks an eyebrow at him. “Pansy yes.”

He sighs heavily. “Which one? Which horrible ginger Weasley do you have your eye on this time, wench?”

She rolls her eyes and pats him on the head. “If you must know, it’s George.”

Malfoy stares, horrified. “No! Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes? Why on earth would you—“

“Have you looked at him lately, darling?” Pansy interrupts. “He’s definitely eye-candy now. And I find I enjoy his company. I just want a chance to get to know him better, that’s all. Surely you can afford that.”

Malfoy grumbles to himself, but Harry interrupts him by placing a quelling hand on his knee.

“I’m not entirely sure this is a good idea, mind, but if any of the Weasleys can handle you, it would be George. The next dinner is this coming Sunday. Can you make it?”

She grins. “Wouldn’t miss it.” She rubs her hands together, her manner entirely businesslike once more. “When do you need your painting?”

“As soon as possible,” Harry says. Malfoy still looks like he’s having trouble forming words.

She nods. “It will take a few weeks for Luna to complete the reproduction. We’ll need to restore the real painting first and then copy it. I’ll owl you when it’s ready.”

“If you’re going to be attending Weasley dinners, you may as well just tell me in person.”

“Hmm. True. Now,” she says, rising from her chair and ushering them out of her office, “I’m afraid I have to get back to work.”

She leads them back to the door, heels clicking smartly against the black and white tile floor.

It’s a lovely suite of offices, now Harry is paying attention. Elegant and refined, with the touch of whimsy that could only have come from Luna.

Luna and Parkinson. Now there is a match made in a special kind of hell. Harry shakes his head, hoping he knows what he’s doing, but he’s fairly certain George will be able to handle her.

Part 1~ Part 2~  Part 3~ Part 4~ Part 5~ Part 6~ Part 7~ Part 8~ Part 9~ Part 10~ Part 11~ Part 12~ Part 13~ Part 14~ Part 15~ Part 16~ Part 17~ Part 18~ Part 19~ Part 20~ Part 21~ Part 22~ Part 23~ Part 24~

You can also read, comment, etc on AO3, FF, or Wattpad

[it-refused]

Working Title: Forward, Back (4/?)

Summary:  Knowing what’s going to happen doesn’t mean Sans can stop it.  Maybe he could’ve put it off forever.  Sans decides to go.

Rating: T

Part Summary: The town gets nervous and Papyrus needs a babysitter.

>>First Part<<

C/N: Mental Illness

It was unnaturally warm for so early in the morning.  The weather didn't bother Sans. His own bedroom had been like an oven that morning, with Grillby snoring like an inferno in bed next to him.  

Sans had tried to roll him on his side like he'd been told was supposed to help, but Grillby was just fire all over the bed.  Did he even have a side when he was like that?  Sans' best bet was just turning the whole bed on its side, and he'd been fed up enough to try it.  

He'd climbed out of bed, used his magic to upend the mattress, and just stared as his husband stubbornly stuck to it.  It almost seemed to make him snore louder, somehow.  

Sans propped the bed up like it was and left to grab breakfast at the local greasy spoon.

The heat didn't get to him, but there was something else in the air that morning that settled in him and left him uneasy.  He wondered if it was just the lack of sleep messing with him, again, but when he listened in on other monsters' conversations, he knew the mood wasn't just in his head.  

He poured ketchup on his eggs as the other locals talked about the humans they'd seen hovering around the edge of town.  Probably just kids, curious, visiting from one of the human villages in short driving distance.

But not every human was happy about monsters taking over real estate.  And there were other humans who loved it, and were always looking for some EXP where they could get their fleshy hands on it.

There were a few humans living in town, and a couple of them had gone out to see if anyone was still skulking around.  The monsters were trying to go about their normal business while they waited for news.

"I'm starting to think your brother's right, Sans."  His waitress hovered over him, tapping a long, spindly finger against her writing pad.  Her yellow, glowing eyes radiated fear.  

"yeah," Sans agreed.  He wasn't sure what she was talking about.

"Not enough puzzles."  

"right."  

Papyrus thought of them as an important tradition, but they really had been intended as security.  Sans didn't like that people were so messed up they wanted to bring that stuff back as more than a novelty, but they had some good reason to be afraid.  Their town had to look like a juicy juice box of free EXP to a certain creepy type of human.

Sans wondered if his brother had heard the news yet.  He'd been up early, but Sans hoped he was still oblivious.  He'd want to meet the weirdos out there.

He left a pretty good tip so Grillby wouldn't hear about him being cheap later and do the thing he did when he was disappointed.  The silent, staring thing.  Well, he had a variety of those silent stares, sure, but there was one particular variation Sans liked to avoid.

He took a longer trip back to see if any of the monsters hanging around outside had any news.

"SANS!  DID YOU HEAR THE NEWS?"  Papyrus was right outside the grocery store. Angel was with him, leaning against his leg.  "IT IS VERY EXCITING!"

Sans cupped his hand by the side of his skull.  "didn't quite catch that."  

"THE GREAT PAPYRUS SHOULD NOT HAVE TO LOWER HIMSELF TO TELLING A GROWN SKELETON TO CLEAN OUT HIS EARS."  

"my what." Sans was laughing to himself.  His whole posture relaxed, now that he knew his brother was still in town.  He had really expected to find him playing guard at the limits.

Angel hung onto Papyrus' leg, visibly oozing worry.  Kids had a talent for reading moods, so they must have picked up on something while Papyrus took them around.

"IT IS ALSO YOUR JOB TO BE A ROLE MODEL.  A POSITIVE MODEL!  NOT ONE FOR LAZINESS AND POOR HYGIENE."  He frowned.  "...YOU HAVE ALREADY SUCCEEDED IN MODELING THAT BEHAVIOR, SANS. CONGRATULATIONS?  AND NOW IT IS TIME TO AIM A LITTLE HIGHER!"  

"aw.  how'd you know i always wanted to be a model, bro?  never had the looks for it."  

"NOW YOU ARE JUST AVOIDING THE TOPIC BY BEING RIDICULOUS!  YOU SHARE SOME MINOR SIMILARITIES IN APPEARANCE WITH THE STUNNINGLY PHOTOGENIC AND APPEALINGLY PREPOSSESSING PAPYRUS, THANKS TO OUR FAMILY TIES.  OF COURSE YOU COULD FULFILL THIS PRETEND AMBITION."

"here i always thought i was too bony."

"IMPOSSIBLE!"

Sans noticed that Angel was fussing a bit, like they thought they were being ignored. He knelt down next to them.  "hey, kid."  Angel gave him a high five.  Well, a high one.  They only had a stubby fingerless appendage.

Sans stood back up, and the kid went back to hanging onto Papyrus' leg.  

"OH, BUT FOR ONCE YOUR CONVENIENT TIMING IS NOT AN IRRITANT!"  Papyrus put his gloved hand on Sans' shoulder.  "YOUR FAVORITE BROTHER NEEDS TO ASK A FAVOR OF YOU."

"how can i turn down my #1 bro," Sans said, uneasy.  "can't even see the rest of my brothers, you're so far ahead of 'em."  

"WONDERFUL!"  He spoke quieter, but was still shouting.  "I AM LOOKING FOR SOME RESPONSIBLE PERSON TO WATCH OVER THEM WHILE I AM BUSY WITH... SOMETHING ELSE."

"and you looked around and there's just me."  

Irritation flashed across Papyrus' face.  "IF I DID NOT TRUST YOU WITH CHILDREN, I WOULD NEVER ASK YOU TO TAKE CARE OF THEM.  IT WOULD BE IRRESPONSIBLE OF ME.  INSULTING YOURSELF IS AN INSULT TO ME!"

"oops.  no, you're the best.  you're right."

Papyrus pulled a #1 Mom mug out of his inventory.  "Angel" (Grillby) had gotten it for him the last Mother's Day.  He gestured at the mug, emphatic. "I TAKE THIS VERY SERIOUSLY, SANS!"  

He must, since he carried it around with him 24/7.  Soozen had gotten him a t-shirt that said "This is what the world's best mom looks like" with "mom" crossed out and "Papyrus" written in its place.  

"I MUST CONTINUE TO LIVE UP TO THIS GIFT!  SO, THAT IS WHY YOU ARE GOING TO WATCH THEM FOR A FEW HOURS FOR ME," Papyrus explained.  He carefully put the mug back into his inventory.  Angel was looking up at Papyrus.

"sorry.  busy." Sans shrugged.  It was a good speech, but Sans knew Papyrus was gearing up to go look for humans.  

"SANS!  THAT IS A BALD-FACED LIE!"

Sans rubbed at his face.  It was true.  His face was tragically hairless.  Did he have a fake mustache on him?  He checked his prank storage inventory, and was relieved to find several there, in different colors.  He slapped one on his face before Papyrus could notice, and repeated the line. "still busy," he said.

Papyrus closed his eye sockets.  

"no, seriously. i played a prank on grillbz and he might be getting up soon."

"...I AM SURE ANGEL WOULD ENJOY WATCHING THAT," Papyrus said, slowly.  "THEY BOTH HAVE A HIGH TOLERANCE FOR YOUR LOW-BROW JAPERY."  

Sans moved the mustache to right on top of his eye sockets.

"SANS!  THIS IS IMPORTANT.  PLEASE?  I HAVE A RESPONSIBILITY TO THE PEOPLE OF THIS TOWN!  AND TO THE WORLD!"  

"i mean, sure, the kid can watch the show."  Angel lit up and Papyrus started to thank him, but Sans kept talking.  "then grillbz can't yell at me.  everyone gets something outta this."  

"I REFUSE TO ALLOW YOU TO USE A CHILD AS A WAY TO GET OUT OF BEING REPRIMANDED," Papyrus said.  "THEY ARE NOT A SHIELD.  OR EVEN PARTICULARLY SHIELD-SHAPED."  He looked Angel over, to make sure.

"k.  never mind, then.  see you later," Sans said.  He started to turn.

"WAIT!  SANS! THIS IS SERIOUS!"  

"ok sure.  but you didn't even say what you needed to do so bad.  i'd love to help you out, bro, but i got my own stuff to do."  

"YOU KNOW VERY WELL WHAT I AM PLANNING ON DOING," Papyrus said.  

"sure." He shrugged.  "but lay it out for me.  it's being dealt with, right?  that's not your job."

"OF COURSE IT IS!  NAVIGATING THE COMPLICATED RELATIONSHIPS BETWEEN OUR SPECIES IS ONE OF MY HIGHEST PRIORITIES."  

Sans had him backed into a corner, now.  They both knew what his highest priority was, and it was dripping slime down his leg and staring up at him, not entirely sure what was going on.

"someone else is already dealing with it," Sans pointed out.  He really wanted Papyrus to let someone else deal with something, for once.  "and you know the older kid's not taking it well if she thinks you went off to..."  Sans looked away, for a second.  Potentially put himself in danger?  He couldn't say that.  "make some new human friends."  

"WHY WOULD SHE--" he broke off.  "I WILL BE COMPLETELY FINE, SANS!"

"i know that, sure."

"THEN YOU CAN EXPLAIN IT TO HER."

"ok."

"BECAUSE IT IS IMPORTANT.  HOW CAN ANYONE GUARANTEE A SAFE FUTURE FOR ANYONE'S CHILDREN, IF WE DO NOT DEAL WITH THESE POSSIBLE CONFLICTS HEAD ON?"  He was channeling Undyne, Sans noticed.  He wished she lived out here so she could deal with this.  

"right." He had been planning on keeping the conversation light.  He'd messed that one up.  "anyway i'm on a schedule here, sorry."  He started backing away.  Talking him out of it had failed, so he'd just avoid the issue.  "bye, kiddo.  keep mom outta trouble, all right?"  

"SANS!  DO YOU THINK GRILLBY WILL OPEN LATE AND WATCH THEM, IF I ASK NICELY?"  

Usually?  Yes. "today?  nope.  but give it a shot, sure."  He waved.

"SANS--"

Sans didn't hear the rest of what he said.  He took a shortcut.

Grillby was in the kitchen, scrambling eggs with his magic.  He was still in his pajamas and he looked pretty miffed, as far as Sans could tell.

"'mornin," Sans said.  "you're lookin, uh, bright eyed and..."

Grillby turned to stare at him.  Sans could only tell that because his glasses were pointed in his direction.

"bright everything else," Sans finished.  

He set down his spatula and wrapped his hands around the top of his head, so it looked like he had a little ponytail.  Sans thought of that part of him as his head and not hair, so he had an odd, confused moment before he got what was going on.  

"bright eyed and bushy tailed.  heh.  thanks.  i can always depend on you to help me out, grillbz."

Grillby let go of his head and picked up his spatula again.

"rough morning?"

Grillby pointed the spatula at him and shook his head.  

"man, i can't believe i missed that."  It would have brightened up his whole morning, seeing Grillby fall out of bed.  Probably.  He wasn't sure what would happen, and that's what made seeing it so exciting. "what're you making me?" 

Grillby pointed to one of the kitchen chairs, and Sans obligingly went to sit.  

There were footsteps outside.  Someone was running.  The door flung open.

"SANS!"  

Wow, Papyrus had made great time.  Especially since he had Angel cradled in one arm. They looked delighted.  Slimes weren't particularly fast, so anything over a walking pace was exciting for the kids.  

"hey," Sans said.  

"OH!  GOOD MORNING, GRILLBY!  I AM DEEPLY SYMPATHETIC TO WHATEVER SUFFERING MY BROTHER INFLICTED YOU THAT HE MISNAMED A 'PRANK.'"  

"...he put the mattress on its side," Grillby said.

"you were snoring," Sans said.  "you're supposed to roll people on their sides when they do that.  i read that somewhere."

"I do not snore."

"HOW DID HE NOT WAKE UP WHILE YOU WERE DOING THAT?"  Papyrus asked, briefly distracted.

"couldn't hear me over all that snoring."

Grillby took the ketchup off the kitchen table and put it back in the fridge before giving Sans his eggs.  Sans had to get the ketchup himself.  

Papyrus set Angel down on the floor, and they slid over to Grillby and waved their arm, asking to be picked up again.  

"OH!  GRILLBY!  DO YOU HAVE TO OPEN VERY SOON?  I NEED SOMEONE TO WATCH THEM AND SANS IS...BEING SANS."

"uh."  

Grillby was staring at Sans, confused.  "...I don't mind, but..."

"bro wants to check out some humans he heard were hanging around."  

"New neighbors?"

"nope. weirdos, maybe.  outside town."

Grillby got a fork out and gave Angel some of his eggs.  He took his time absorbing what Sans said.  "...I can watch them," he said, finally.  

"THANK YOU!  I WILL TEACH YOU ONE OF MY FAVORITE RECIPES IN EXCHANGE!"

"...no, it's fine."

He insisted until Grillby accepted the exchange.   Papyrus ran to his room to put on the clothes he wore for work and then raced out the door.

Grillby set Angel on the floor.  "...he was going to go.  He would just ask a neighbor."

"i just wanted to put it off a while," Sans said.  Make Papyrus run around looking for a babysitter until everything resolved itself naturally.

He nodded.  "Sorry. They didn't let the other kids out of school?"

"no one knows what's up.  it's probably no big deal."

"Ok.  Are you going to go keep an eye on him?"

Sans' shoulders slumped.  "yeah."

".........be careful."

"yeah."

No one found the humans.  Papyrus was annoyed when Sans showed up, interfering with his official business, but he didn't shoo Sans away.  

It was a minor scare, but the town decided to go ahead and set up some puzzles where humans might sneak in.  Papyrus took charge of that.  Alphys came up with a few complicated puzzle designs to help, and Papyrus made a number of his own.  A few other monsters built an escape route.  Just in case.  Even after the fear of that day passed by, there would be something on the news that would stir it up again, to motivate them.

It felt like there was a long cord of thin wire wrapping itself around Sans' ribs, after that.  Maybe from before that day, when he saw his dad by his telescope.  Maybe from years before, when a human came out of the ruins.  Maybe that feeling had always been there, and every now and then Sans noticed it like it was new.  

It got a little bit tighter, every day.  The increase in pressure came on so slow he got used to it.  It was just how it was.  

He ignored it.

>>Next Part<<

[squaredancing-weston]

para || Brobastian: The Masquerade, 12/16/2016

Tagging: @sebadasssmythe and @squaredancing-weston

Time: Friday evening, 16 December 2016

Setting: William McKinley High School Gymnasium, Lima, OH

Summary:  Brody and Sebastian run into each other at the Masquerade Fundraiser

Part 3

"Yeah, I'm not sure your ego could handle it," Brody mocked lightly.  "You guys might not even get to the sex part for all of your posturing.  Or you'd kill yourselves trying to outdo the other."  He could just imagine one of them choking during oral or something...except that was a bad image.  He wasn't even drunk-- there was no excuse for this.  "What?  You think you're like the albino peacock or something?" he retorted, raising a brow.  "Oh yeah, I mean, who wouldn't come to see that?"  Bad, Brody-- bad.  He was going to have to excuse himself pretty soon if they didn't drop this.  "I guess that would be one way to think of it." "Let's just say I'm pretty certain which one of us would switch the goblets while the other's back was turned, and which would have come to the party already immune to the poison doled out," Brody asserted.  Brody chewed on his lip smugly, clearly feeling like he'd finally gotten the upper hand-- except that Bas had to challenge him again.  "You know what Bas?  You're right.  It was fun, and that's all that matters.  So you can go on pretending you were on top for--oh that's right: you weren't ever //on// top..."  Brody knew he should have just dropped it, but around Bas he really couldn't help but rise to the bait. He'd honestly kind of expected Bas to mock him-- not necessarily genuinely, but the younger teacher wasn't above a joke in a situation like this.  Brody wondered how sad his non-confrontational efforts must look if the other man actually went the (for him) sympathetic route.  Maybe that knock to the head really did mess with his brain.  He shook his head and waved his hand dismissively.  "He's making a dick out of himself at events like these because of me-- San doesn't deserve that bullshit.  My kids don't deserve that bullshit.  It's just... it doesn't really matter.  He'll get bored and leave soon enough."  Brody hoped.  Bas bringing up his own issues, though, did make him laugh though.  "Good point," he grinned.  "That is not something I've ever had to deal with, I'm glad to say.  You know, mostly probably because I leave people in a good place after the fact..."  His voice had involuntarily taken on a suggestive tone, and Brody couldn't believe that his brain was actually even conceiving of suggesting sex in the school bathroom-- he had rules against that.  //His// rules.

Sebastian rolled his eyes, but a laugh escaped him regardless. Even he had to admit, the thought of it was pretty damn hilarious. If he was being completely honest about it, he’d probably end up punching himself in the face. Not that he wasn’t all for a bit of self-appreciation, but he knew how much he enjoyed getting a rise out of people – and he would know exactly how to piss himself off. And, fucking hell, this conversation had taken a weird turn. Business as usual when it came to Brody. “I’d be the King Peacock. Do peacocks have kings?” He raised an eyebrow. “I know two people who would come.” He hummed doubtfully. “Well, I know who’s going to win if you give the whole game away. You’re like the villain in a badly written drama.” With a scoff, he gave Brody an incredulous look. “Hey, if you hadn’t been so exhausted, I might have gotten around to being on top in a sense. You know how the song goes, Brodes – save a horse, ride a cowboy.” Momentarily distracted by the visual image of him riding Brody’s cock, he tilted his head in thought. “Maybe I should’ve tied /you/ up,” he mused. “He’s making a dick out of himself because of his own hang ups,” Sebastian shrugged. He’d put up with enough of this homophobic bullshit from his own family. “San would throw him out on his ass if he started his shit.” Still, if Brody was insisting on hiding in here, Sebastian wasn’t about to let him do it alone. Besides, it was probably for the best that he and Marley spent some time not attached at the hip, right? Even if it was only for a few hours. The tone shift in Brody’s voice went straight to Sebastian’s dick. “Hey, I leave people in all kinds of good places,” he replied with a smirk. “Some of them are just crazier than I initially perceived.”

Brody grinned at Bas' response-- the guy obviously saw the humor of the World of Sebastians situation as much as he did.  He shrugged, "As far as I know, the set-up is less a king, more of a lucky bastard with good genes thing."  Since when did Brody become an expert on peacock habits?  Yeah, he'd seen farms when he was younger, but they were annoying-- he hadn't spent time fascinated in study over them.  "Well then, I guess everybody else will just be falling apart the old-fashioned way.  On their backs," he continued to reach for a pun.  It was starting to stretch, and yet the game was seriously getting him hot and he couldn't bring himself to let it go. "And me leaving my evil mustache wax at home," he smirked.  "Seriously Bas?  You being on top would have been the least taxing position I put you through: if I //was// the one who tapped out first, wouldn't it have made sense to end with you taking top?"  His cock twitched at the thought, because holy shit that was a thought.  Brody really hadn't thought to put Bas up like that-- he had a thing for control, so it wasn't one of his go-to moves.  But the note Bas hit was definitely a tempting one.  However, he managed a dry laugh at Sebastian's joke(?), "Yeah, I don't really see you as very skilled with a knot," he ribbed.  "Maybe handcuffs."  Although there was something to be said for that as well... "Look, it doesn't matter," Brody insisted.  "I'm not going to make a scene out of this and ruin everyone's night."  Bas was right, he knew-- Santana would throw the guy out if he made any of that noise here.  Probably beat the shit out of him if she could get away with it.  But Brody would just rather let the whole thing blow over on his own-- he didn't want trouble.  The older man chuckled.  "You seem to be mixing up how you leave them the night before with how you leave them in the morning," he pointed out.  "Although you do have a weird magnet for crazy."  He was playing with his cuticles, trying to distract himself from the fact that the "magnet for crazy" was, at the moment, kind of driving /him/ crazy.  "Speaking of crazy-- you ever mess around in one of these?" he chuckled jokingly, gesturing to the bathroom.  The school bathroom.  The public school bathroom.  Of the school that Brody worked at.  Which he would never do.  Would never //consider//.  Especially during a school function.  He was totally joking-- not suggesting.  Not even thinking about it.  Except to joke.

Sebastian’s lips twitched in amusement. “Mm, well, that’s not far off, either. I like to think I have pretty good genes.” He might still be sporting a bruise, but he liked to think that he still looked damn good. He was out of puns, and the conversation was getting pretty ridiculous, but Sebastian couldn’t help but laugh regardless, because he was having too much fun with it. “Shame the world is ending. I feel like it’d be the perfect way to achieve world peace.” Besides, it was giving him ideas that he’d very much like to follow through on. Except for, oh. Those rules. Right. “Too bad for you. Then again, I’m not sure even you could pull off the moustache look, so it might be just as well.” He’d grown one himself back in college – or, well, more accurately, he had been a mess after his breakup and grew a breakup beard, except that it was more patchy than anything else. Probably the only time he’d been careless with his looks. He raised an eyebrow. “What, and give you the advantage when it was clear that I was winning? I don’t think so.” More that Sebastian could barely move his legs by the end of it. Fuck, Brody really did know how to take him apart. He scoffed. “What’s so had about it? It’s a knot, it’s hardly rocket science. Though I wouldn’t say no to handcuffs, either.” “It would be him ruining everyone’s night, but suit yourself,” Sebastian replied with a shrug. If Brody didn’t want the hassle, then Sebastian wasn’t going to force it on him. Brody /was/ his friend, after all – not just some random guy he’d slept with one time. He smirked. “I’m magnetic. It’s not just the crazy I draw in.” Brody’s question had his eyebrows raise in surprise, but the corner of his lip tugged up. “In a bathroom? Any bathroom? Because I think I already answered that in Scandals when we were going over our options. In a school bathroom?” he glanced around and hummed. “No. But there’s a first time for everything,” he quipped with a wink.

"Decent enough."  Talk about the understatement of the year.  If Bas wasn't a smug asshole, Brody would suggest collecting a sample of him for the perfect human specimen.  But that was hardly the thing to tell Sebastian Smythe.  "Wow, World Peace.  Makes us pretty admirable people.  You know, except for the fact that we're bringing on the Apocalypse.  So more like World Pieces.  Like Brave New World, where no one has any free will, but they have massive orgies all the time."  Okay, this was getting pretty far off topic, and now he was starting to fantasize a Sebastian-filled orgy.  Dangerous territory.

"Yeah, I don't really prefer scruff nowadays."  He would go without shaving every now and again, but it didn't really suit him.  Brody was just too ingrained in the clean-shaven look.  "Well, I mean, I just assumed that you would be more interested in pursuing your own happiness than simply being able to say you beat me," Brody shrugged.  "I mean, obviously, considering you're having trouble with a convincing argument that you actually outlasted me, you would have been better off just taking every spot available.  Unless of course you were too exhausted to maintain the top?"  Brody wasn't sure he could handle having Bas on top, but watching him ride someone sounded really hot right now, so he was willing to feed the flame, even in this incredibly inappropriate setting.  Thank god he wasn't chaperoning this thing.  "You know, Bas, if you talk like that I'm either going to think you've never actually tied someone up or you just had a very wimpy partner.  Anyone with any skill can get out of a half-ass knot.  There's an art form to making something enduring.  But if you were more of a handcuff guy, I can see why that wouldn't matter one way or another to you." Brody shrugged, but dropped the subject.  He wasn't really the type that liked to stir up genuine trouble. And this guy had a real bone to pick, so staying out of the way seemed the easier fix than kicking up a fuss for the sake of principles or whatever.  "I don't know-- you don't seem to draw a lot of normal into your sphere Bas," he pointed out.  Brody bit at the corner of his lip, trying to play off that he was seriously engaging in this game.  Although Bas' answer had his eyebrow quirking in surprise, "Seriously?  How many years of education, and you never messed around in a school bathroom?" he retorted skeptically.  He scoffed, pushing off of the wall and strolling casually around them. "See, the trouble isn't actually the room itself," he revealed, stepping toward the door and touching the entrance with his foot.  "Unlike the normal ones, these have vents at the bottom," he noted.  "So...you actually have to be careful about the noise," he elaborated, smirking and raising an eyebrow challengingly.  Not like to challenge //physically// though.  Like a challenge for knowledge.  Because Brody knew about these things.  Not wanted to partake.  Here.  Now.

“Whatever you say,” Sebastian snorted. “But I feel like you’re selling me short.” Brody had proven already that he was attracted to the younger man – who was he kidding? Brody somehow managed to rapidly escalate the conversation, and Sebastian’s chest gave way to a laugh. “I don’t know, Brodes. I can’t say the whole orgy thing sounds too bad. Everybody gets some, right? Eternal sex.” Admittedly, probably not the best case scenario. Believe it or not, Sebastian wasn’t really into orgies. He’d had threesomes – and a foursome, once, but he found the idea of more than that a little overwhelming. Constant sex with Brody, though? Definitely something he could get on board with. “You really do like to twist my words, don’t you? I feel I’ve made a perfectly adequate argument - /you/ just don’t want to admit that you lost. Either that, or you’re bitter you missed out on that one particular experience.” Honestly, if he’d thought that he could’ve had the energy for it, he would’ve suggested it.  The image was far too tempting for words. At Brody’s accusation, he rolled his eyes. “Admittedly, I’ve usually been the one tied up.” For someone who was so brash and loud, Sebastian really enjoyed someone else taking control in bed. Not that he was against being the one in control – but stripping himself down – not just physically - and letting go for a while was therapeutic in a way that he couldn’t explain. “Handcuffs, on the other hand,” he smirked, “I do have those. A lovely police officer left them with me as a souvenir of our time together.” Apparently Brody wasn’t entertaining the subject any longer, and Sebastian was hardly the type to pry. His own way of dealing with problems was hardly stellar either. Granted, his way involved getting up in peoples’ faces. Well, as an adult, anyway. As a teenager he wasn’t above manipulation, bribery or blackmail if it suited him – because, hey, whatever worked. He cocked his head. “Or the crazier stories are just more interesting to tell. What, you think everyone I’ve slept with has been a lunatic? Sorry, have you been keeping track of my one night stands over the years? Because I gotta say, Brodes, that’s a hell of a job.”  He watched as Brody moved around, raising his eyebrows. “First, I went to a boarding school. Why fool around in a school bathroom when there were beds so nearby? Second, plenty of extra classrooms went unattended, and desk sex is way hotter than toilet sex.” College had been a particularly huge time for that type of sex, but the memory was dampened slightly by the /who/ of it all. Still, Brody’s musings were… certainly piquing his interest, and he shifted. “What, you don’t think I have it in me to keep quiet?” He smirked. “Just because I prefer being loud in bed doesn’t mean I can’t shut up where it counts.” He pushed off the wall he was leaning against. “But then again, if you don’t believe me…” he started suggestively. Joking. Half joking. He wasn’t even sure anymore.

"I imagine in your mind people are always selling you short, Bas," Brody ribbed.  He quirked an eyebrow, "Have you even read Brave New World, Bas?  Everybody has orgies, but they're all brain damaged.  I mean, forgive me for liking a little intellect with my sex: makes things interesting.  Creative, even."  Not that Brody had ever been in an orgy-- he'd never had more than three at once.  But he was a guy: he could imagine.  And if all those guys were Sebastian, it definitely wouldn't suck-- well, it would, but not in a bad way."Funny, I could say the same," Brody countered with a smirk.  "Why would I admit to something that obviously wasn't true?  That just seems wrong.  Seriously, Bas-- no regrets about the other night.  You did the best you could, and maybe next time you'll be able to keep it up a little longer."  His accidental pun made him laugh-- it was a bad joke, but it fit, and Brody liked to tease Bas when he got the chance.  "But I won't say I'm not a little disappointed that we didn't consider that one.  Would have been a hell of a view, I'll admit.  Sometimes life just hands you the short stick, huh?"  At Sebastian's confession, Brody's face contorted in surprise, "Really?"  He didn't know why he was so blown away by the fact that he wasn't the first to bind him up, but at the same time, Brody just assumed Bas was the type that liked to be on top.  Which arguably was a stupid assumption considering how much time Brody spent on top of him.  "I guess I just figured you were a fifty-fifty kind of guy," he recovered.  Brody shook his head, "Can't say I'm a big fan of metal, honestly-- there's no give there, and a little too much like being arrested...although that doesn't sound like something that bothers you, from the implications of that story.  Let me guess: solicitation?" he joked."Well..." Brody arched his eyebrows in faux consideration.  He couldn't see Sebastian as putting up with anyone normal, but surely not everyone he'd screwed was a freak.  "You got me, Bas-- the real reason I'm considered the easiest class in McKinley is actually because I spend all my time stalking your conquests instead of lesson planning or grading.  It's all just a front."  The older man chuckled in amusement.  "Oh right-- the private versus public school debate.  Personally, I feel like it'd be a little more conspicuous if you snuck out of class to go up to your room, though I don't have any personal experience with that one.  And what kind of classrooms did you have?  Ours were big on open windows-- not exactly lending the kind of privacy a teenager would be hoping for in that situation."  Brody honestly couldn't even remember where Bas said he went to school-- just that he had roots in New York and France.  And while he'd definitely had sex in classrooms in the former, they'd been in college, which was obviously a very different experience for him.  "Really?  Because I see to remember you commenting on how any antics in the bathroom at Scandals would get us kicked out because of your lack of discretion," Brody noted.  Oh god-- he was flirting dangerously close to this idea.  This idea that he was definitely not considering.  Not even as Bas came slinking up toward him, doing that thing with his voice that already had Brody half-hard and raking his bottom lip between his teeth.  It was just a game.  Just talk.  Just  "I don't know Bas-- I'd hate to put this perfect illusion you've created for yourself at risk...what would people say?" His voice was breathy, and Brody just didn't fucking care-- he was wondering why the hell his hands weren't on the other man yet if the opportunity was right there.

 "Ah, but see, that's where you're wrong, Brodes. People have a tendency to sing my praises. " Admittedly not often as strongly or as frequently as Sebastian could, but that wasn't really something he needed to let on. He hummed in agreement. "I do like a bit of creativity," he said with a suggestive smirk. Brody had certainly been creative enough when he'd come back to Sebastian's place, having found a way to deal with his - regretful, not that he'd tell Brody lest the smug asshole rub it in his face - lack of headboard. "This is just getting sad now, Brodes. Look, I'm willing to just say it was a 'close call'. I mean, you held your own back there. If it wounds your pride too much to say that you 'lost', then I'll be nice. We can call it a 'tie', even if I feel like that's stretching the truth a bit in your favour. Just call me a philanthropist." He scoffed. "Hey, I kept it up just fine."  He smirked. "Guess that's your loss, huh?" And the twinge of disappointment those particular words triggered in his chest was definitely uncalled for. Still, it just seemed like a shame not to indulge in another night with the older teacher - get to do all the things he never got to do with him before. That was dangerous thinking, though. Not that he thought Brody would turn into a psycho stalker, but it was probably best not to make a habit out of it. He shrugged. "I'm not saying I never take control, but the prostate is a magical thing, Brodes. Just feels better that way." The fact that he liked giving up control to let someone take care of him for once didn't really need to be said. It felt too personal, even if they were merely talking about sex. Wouldn't want Brody reading too much into that. He snorted. "I can't tell if you're trying to imply that I /pay/ for sex or /get paid/ for sex, but in either case, you're wrong. I was wrongfully accused, and I got punished anyway," he said with a suggestive note. Not that he hadn't been arrested before - several times, in his wilder years, for the amount of fights he'd gotten into - but that was less kinky and more depressing. "I knew it," Sebastian teased. "I'm surprised you even have time to work around it." His lips twitched. "There's no debate. Private schools are better. And it's not like we told the teachers we were going to our rooms. It was easy enough to bypass the toilets and end up there regardless. What, your school only had one floor? No blinds? It's almost like your school was trying to stop you from having sex. But, hey, mine was an all boys school, so I guess mine didn't account for that." Not that the straight ones didn't manage to sneak around with the Crawford County girls, but that was mostly done - well, fuck knows where. He never really bothered, since he had his pick of guys at Dalton. Whenever he hooked up with a girl back then, it had been outside of school grounds. He smirked. "I never said I couldn't hold back - just that I didn't want to. Sounds to me like you're trying to talk me out of taking up your challenge." And what a tempting challenge it was, too. The way Brody's voice sounded, it seemed like the other was just as tempted as he was - something that they probably should avoid, considering where they were, but fuck if Brody hadn't been driving him wild all night. He approached the older teacher slowly, until he was standing right in front of him, leaning in so close that he could feel Brody's breath tickle his lips, and his tongue ran over to wet his own. "What do you say, Brodes? I'm sure you can think of-" he huffed, recalling their earlier conversation "-/creative/ ways to keep me quiet."

"Really?  In a manner to your satisfaction?" Brody snarked, a teasing half-smile on his lips.  The teacher chewed on his lip to suppress the smirk that threatened to blossom from Sebastian's response.  Brody knew he was no slouch in the bedroom, but being complimented by Bas still caused his chest to pound a little.  "Yeah, I imagine at this point in the game, anything less would make it a chore for you," he replied instead, drawing attention to the younger man's multitude of bedfellows.  "Hence that hot/crazy graph you enjoy so much."

Brody rolled his eyes, but honestly, he wasn't even sure he minded at this point.  The banter with Sebastian was fun, and (let's be honest) hot.  Especially when it was about sex.  About them having sex.  Really, it felt like baiting, which Brody wasn't usually that into, to be fair.  He didn't like competing or confrontation in a face-to-face capacity.  Maybe that's why he wasn't much for sports.  But something about Sebastian got his blood up, and when he was like this, Brody just wanted to slam him against the wall and show him how well the older man remembered that night.  He licked his lips distractedly at his own thoughts, but managed to snap out of them in time to comment on Sebastian's.  "You know what Bas?  If your pride means that much to you-- fine, we'll call it a tie.  It's not like you're going to have to prove it later, right?"  He swallowed thickly, wishing he hadn't said that last part, because he really wanted to prove it later, and he wasn't helping himself overcome his tightening pants.  Brody didn't reply to Sebastian's retort-- just flashed a toothy grin, because damn, that was a memory.  And that was an image.  "Might have been," he conceded.  "Or the other way around.  How often do ponies get to do the riding?" he pointed out.Brody bobbed his head in understanding-- he'd definitely played bottom enough to understand Sebastian's argument, but he couldn't imagine giving up the thrill of the control even for that extra bit of pleasure.  Maybe he had some aggression issues after all-- who knew?  "Well, with reach arounds, why do the work if someone else is willing to do it for you, right?" he added with a light scoff.  Brody's face split into a wide grin as Bas reacted to his accusation.  "You sure about that Bas?  I mean, you could totally pull off the white collar escort look.  And with a law background, you've got the perfect cover."  At the rest of the explanation, he shook his head in amusement, because with Sebastian, you just couldn't help it.  "I see," he added between chuckles.  "Well, I'm sure you learned a valuable lesson regardless about the rules and those that enforce them."  Except that actually reminded Brody all over again of Thanksgiving, and how close the other man had been to begging and holy fuck when did it get so goddamn hot in this bathroom?"Well, what can I say-- I've been at this school for seven years, so I know all the shortcuts."  Brody shook his head, "Thanks, I prefer wearing something comfortable and sleeping in my own bed at night to the whole blazer and tie in a dorm."  Brody quirked an eyebrow and shook his head.  "I lived in //California//, Bas-- our schools go out, not up.  Forces kids to exercise and get fresh air and whatnot."  He pursed his lips in thought.  "No blinds...drapes, maybe?  I think that's how they got the rooms dark for movies and all.  But that would be a little conspicuous for an empty classroom.  Yes, what must have the admins been thinking?  Trying to keep the campus focused on academics instead of hormones?  Seriously though?  How could you even stand that?  I would have gone crazy on a stud farm."  It was funny, in that sense-- Brody hadn't thought about being bisexual at all growing up, because he'd been attracted to girls just fine.  He'd never even thought about being with a guy until college, so he couldn't imagine what it would have been like for him if he'd been deprived of girls growing up.  Brody might have forgotten how to breathe for a second.  "So just semantics then," he managed to remark, adding roughly.  "I didn't realize you thought I possessed the ability to talk Sebastian Smythe out of doing something he wanted."  Sebastian started to speak again, but Brody's ears had started buzzing from the blood rushing through them, his eyes staring at his tongue playing at his bottom lip.  The way the word "creative" managed to form on that beautiful fucking mouth--"Aw fuck it," he breathed, half desperate and half furious with himself as he suddenly grabbed at Bas, pressing his lips hard against him in a rough kiss, turning him so that he was pressed firmly against the door, which thank god had a lock that Brody spun shut-- though a small part of his brain had to wonder at why a public school would install locks on its bathroom doors.But right now he was grateful, and gripped greedily at Sebastian's arms as he closed any hairsbreadth of space between them.

"I think we can both agree that it'll never be quite to my satisfaction," Sebastian quipped in return. "Which is why I make up for their shortcomings by complimenting myself. Because, hey, why be modest, right?" Sebastian's motto in life, really. A huffed out a laugh, rolling his eyes at Brody's reply. "Exactly. Can't get too monotonous at this point." Not that he hadn't had a few unfortunate duds in his time - ones that were prone to taking without giving in return, for example. Nothing frustrated Sebastian more than a lazy partner. Something that Brody most certainly wasn't. "Hot/Crazy /Scale/," he corrected. "It's a rule to live by."Apparently Brody just wasn't letting up - and, honestly, it would've been a shame if he had at this stage, considering the fact that Sebastian enjoyed this game of theirs. Besides, stretching his mind back to that night was hardly a chore, in any case. "Fine. A tie," he agreed. "For your sake, of course." The last part to Brody's sentence caused a pang to his chest that he couldn't quite decipher. Or, well - it was disappointment. He knew that much. Because he damn well wanted to prove himself to Brody again. One more night - that's all it would take. There was no harm in revisiting it for one night, was there? As long as he didn't make a habit of it. Brody drew him out of his thoughts again, though, and his lips twitched at the question. "Whenever I'm in the mood. But make no mistake - I can make your little stunt in my bedroom look like child's play." Okay, that was a bluff. Not that he couldn't take control in bed when it came down to it - because sometimes he just needed to - but Brody had definitely been thorough. He still remembered how close he'd been to actually begging. Something that the other teacher was /never/ going to find out. He huffed. "I'm not even going to dignify that with an answer - because I think you know damn well that I do my fair share of work." He'd definitely worked hard with his mouth, after all - not to mention that being tied up on the bed definitely wasn't a cakewalk, even if it had been an intoxicating experience. He snorted. "You're right, Brodes. Of course. How do you think I paid for law school?" With a smirk, he shrugged. "It was definitely a... memorable experience." Who could forget being cuffed up as a gorgeous woman rode him, after all?"Hey, the blazer and tie commanded respect. I looked hot, if I do say so myself." It had definitely gotten him laid more than once back then. "What. all one level? Sucks to be you." He scoffed. "Right, poor me - surrounded by so many sexually frustrated teenage boys that were looking for some form of release. How ever did I survive?" he quipped. Back then, he didn't even have his 'one time only' rule. "Mm, no - I /always/ get what I want," he replied, eyes landing on Brody with a heated blaze. His chest erupted with excitement as his back hit the door, his lips meeting Brody's with a bruising force, hands instantly fisting into his hair as he swallowed back a groan, revelling in the feeling of having Brody pressed so close to him once more. Stupid hot co-worker and his tempting ways. Which, yeah, seemed a little hypocritical of him, but - well, it didn't really matter right now.