#if anybody throws a title at me I will proof read and throw this at AO3... it's only 8 years late...........

[lovecanbesostrange]

#is it too late to write 2k words of how Ruby stays chained up and turns and she's in control yet scared but Belle stays with her NO!!! It is never too late for red beauty content

Is this a dare or are you just mocking me?

But, well, okay, let's go back to that night in the library then, shall we?

(under a read more, but also up on AO3 now)

Ruby frantically went through the rooms, making sure all the windows were shut, nobody else was here and she knew the layout of the place. But Belle was still here, that was not good. She needed to go, lock the main entrance from the outside.

"You need to leave. The moon's going to be up soon."

Belle didn't made any effort to go, instead she followed Ruby around. "But will the chains hold?"

"Hopefully." Like a familiar tune another conversation about chains played out in Ruby's head. Familiar and devastating. Those chains did hold. But only because they held a human back, leaving him defenseless.

"Then, I'm staying." Belle's determined tone stopped Ruby in her tracks. She was so upbeat and positive, as if this wasn't about a beast showing up any minute, who could tear her to shreds. Belle reached out, not just mentally, but physically now. Ruby felt the hands on her shoulders, a gesture to spark comfort. "Think of it as girls' night."

Ruby was at a loss for words. Belle was so cheery about all of this. So unfazed by the horror of the situation. Was this how Peter had seen her? When she convinced him he might be the wolf and he was ready to be tied up and send her away, but Red had stayed with him. Unintentionally dooming him to a grim death. Red had felt the same determination to stay with him that Belle showcased now. It was such a weird switch in perspectives. Except Ruby knew much, much better now.

Slowly Ruby backed away, breaking contact with Belle, who finally showed concern, but not in the way Ruby wanted. "What's wrong?"

How could Ruby explain all of this? The way her heart ached, because of a lost love, a life taken and now also because this thing might happen again. May have in fact happened again. Belle hadn't seen Billy's body. Belle didn't know how easily werewolf fangs tore human bodies in half. Belle didn't know that deep inside of Ruby a monster lurked. And that every bit of self-doubt made it stronger. That only self-acceptance could tame it and Ruby had run out of that this morning in front of the cannery. Why was she the only one that was afraid?

"I know David wants to believe the best, but I've killed before, and I'll do it again." Ruby picked up the chains, the rattling sound a faint promise of safety. "Everyone in this town is right to be afraid of me."

"Okay, well I'm not."

"You should be!" Ruby almost yelled back instantly. How did Belle not understand this? This was about her life! People outside gathered in a mob to hunt for a wolf and they were right. Because if Ruby had killed Billy, the sweet mechanic who always smiled and was up for a chat, then anybody could be next.

But Belle didn't budge. She didn't give in a single inch and Ruby stared at her. Trying to figure out what to do. "No matter what you might've done in your past, David sees the good in you and-" A slight pause, Belle's face was perfectly calm, her eyes warm and her lips twitched into a reassuring half-smile for a second. Just looking at her twisted Ruby's inside. "And that tells me one thing."

"What?" She was skeptical, because Belle didn't listen to reason, making up her own theories here. Ruby had on of the cuffs in her hand. Thinking back to Peter a thought formed. He would have been safe if Red had gone away. Maybe this was how she could keep Belle from getting hurt. Put this on her and leave. The building was secure. And the people outside took the risk serious enough to end the threat once and for all.

"That it's in there." Belle kept going, while taking a step forward. Stepping into Ruby's personal space again, closing this gap to show how serious she was about not being afraid. "So if we can all see it, why can't you?"

"You really think so?" All Ruby wanted was to believe Belle. Believe in her kind words, her trust that the wolf wasn't the problem.

"Trust me. I'm sort of an expert when it comes to rehabilitation."

Ruby looked at Belle. Her face. The utter and unfaltering support. The way her eyebrows moved, the corner of her mouth pulling up radiating optimism and just those gentle eyes.

"Maybe. Maybe you're right." Ruby played with the cuff. Now or never. She could leave Belle to safety and make a run for it. She deserved whatever the mob had in store for her.

But under Belle's gaze she faltered. For a split second she wanted to believe her so much, that she closed the cuff around her own wrist. She had only met this type of kindness once before and it overwrote her will towards self-destruction long enough to change her course of action.

"But you do need to leave." Ruby closed the second cuff and pulled at the chains a bit, the weight was noticeable, but she was worried if the pipe was sturdy enough.

Belle smiled. "I'm staying and now you can't throw me out anyway." She took Ruby's hands into her own. "I'll get you through this. And tomorrow you'll see that you worried for nothing. David will find out the truth."

Ruby ground her teeth. It was too late now. She could only hope history was not about to repeat itself. The literal hand-holding was maybe too much, but it had a calming effect. Ruby was not alone, even though she should be, while also not wanting to be. This whole day had taken a lot of energy from her and it was nice to surrender for a moment. But she needed to focus and let go of Belle.

When Ruby grabbed the other cuffs that were supposed to go around her ankles, Belle intervened.

"Wait, you need to straighten those out first, they're all twisted. You'll make it worse for yourself."

"That's kinda the point."

Again Belle gave her that sympathetic half-smile. "The point is to keep you locked up, not to strangle yourself. I have had my share of uncomfortable nights in chains."

Under any other circumstances Ruby would have a question about that, but she only stood there and let Belle straighten out the chains like christmas lights. She then knelt down to put the cuffs on. All Ruby did was raiser her feet one after the other a bit to help.

"All set?", Belle asked.

Ruby yanked at the chains, the pipes didn't give in. And the chain connecting her wrists and ankles now restrained her movement. The wolf would not be able to make huge leaps in those, even if it broke loose. She leaned against the wall and slowly glided down. "The last one around me, please?"

Now she had to look up at Belle and her stomach turned once more. Was this how Peter had felt? She remembered vividly helping him into the chains, securing him against the tree. Both believing it was the right thing to do. She remembered her love for him and the trust he wouldn't hurt her. Like Belle trusted her now contrary to all evidence.

A bit of shame rose up in Ruby, battling with her nervousness. She had given Belle a crash-course in everyday life in Storybrooke, but avoided any question about her pre-curse persona. And now here they were. Because of the wolf. If she had warned Belle from the start, she wouldn't be so insistent now on helping and staying. She wouldn't be crawling around on the floor of her library to fasten chains around Ruby.

"Done." Belle squatted in front of her.

Ruby had pulled her knees up to her chin and hugged her legs. "Please go?" It was more of a question than a request and Ruby knew the answer already anyway. Because Peter had said the same. And she had stayed. For him.

Belle cocked her head to the side, rubbing Ruby's leg for a moment. "I'm responsible for what happens in the library. And if my friend is chained up in here, I'm responsible for her, too." She brushed a strand of Ruby's hair behind her ear and locked eyes.

Ruby took a deep breath in. She could feel the beast creeping closer, the moon was rising. "But get back. Get to the door." She mustered every ounce of command she could. "You have to!"

Belle got up and stepped away. She made her way to the main entrance backwards, never taking her eyes off of Ruby. And Ruby felt exposed. It was time. The beast was near. The wolf wanted out. What was it that made her black out last night? She had been in the freezer and woken up in the woods. She remembered nervous pacing and endless worry. She had rejected the reality of what was happening. The thing Anita had warned her about.

The wolf was her, she was the wolf. Different, but the same. She was the beast, with fangs and claws and animal instincts. All of that monstrous potential. It was all her. All a part of her. Under her control.

Ruby turned. Her senses grew sharper, the noises and smells that already had been loud and clear, became more distinct. The strength that put her above normal humans was now fitted with all the right muscles. And there was an immediate need to move, to run, to use those muscles and to get outside. A want for fresh air and dirt under her paws.

Ruby threw herself against the chains and let out a howl. Belle had to press her hands against her ears, because the closed space wasn't the best place for such a noise. But the howl turned into a low whine, when Ruby kept struggling. The cuffs cut into the skin, not fitting her legs as well as a minute ago. And the chain around her body kept her from any decent movement. She was trapped. This was terrible. And Ruby panicked.

Deep down she knew this was what she had wanted. To be tied up in a way that would not allow her to escape. But the craving for freedom in her wolf form was far stronger than any human reason. This was the thing with being a wolf. Some things felt different.

"Ruby?"

Belle's voice reached her as she tried to get up on all four paws, but the chain yanking her back towards the wall.

"Ruby? Are you okay?"

Ruby barked. Once. A warning. She couldn't come closer! She growled, but also tried to retreat, she needed to make sure she was far away from Belle, right? This was her friend, she was in danger from something. Ruby needed to stay away.

When Belle stopped moving so did Ruby. She looked at her. If she stayed away all was right. Nothing bad would happen. If she stayed still herself Belle was safe. Ruby tried another approach and tried to lie down. The chains pressed against her body in various spots, but she managed. She pulled her ears back, flattened herself as best as she could and whined.

"Ruby?"

She only moved her ears in confirmation. Belle's face spelt surprise. But Ruby couldn't read if it was a good or a bad thing.

"I get it now, where the big part in big bad wolf comes from." Ruby growled and bared her teeth for a second. "No, no, you're not bad. Definitely not bad. But kinda big." Her furrowed brow smoothed out and she put a smile back on. "You are a big wolf. And I don't think that's the same as being a monster."

Ruby pointedly turned her head, not looking at Belle anymore. But she could hear her sitting down. And then a few moments of silence. Until a soft rustle piqued her interest. Belle was pulling out books from the shelf she leaned against.

"Sorry, I'm still reorganizing things. Some of these shelves don't make any sense to me." Her eyes darted over the back of a few books, skimming the contents. "The good thing is there is lots to discover I have never heard of." She held up a thick volume. "Here, an anthology with short stories and I don't even know any of these writers. Bradbury, Vonnegut, Ellison, Le Guin. Any of these names mean something to you?"

Ruby dared a quick tail wag, because buried in her false memories was reading Fahrenheit 451 as a school assignment. Belle put the book down and pulled out a much thinner one.

"The Last Unicorn." Ruby lifted her head. "Oh, someone we know? Maybe I should take that into consideration. Rearranging the fairy-tales and stories with people we've met."

She opened the book and started to read. "The unicorn lived in a lilac wood, and she lived all alone. She was very old, though she did not know it, and she was no longer the careless color of sea foam but rather the color of snow falling on a moonlit night. But her eyes were still clear and unwearied, and she still moved like a shadow on the sea." Belle had a soothing tone that made Ruby forget the cuffs cutting into her skin, the chains hindering her from moving and biting into her body. She wasn't supposed to be comfortable. And Belle wasn't supposed to be here and definitely not reading to her.

There were people outside hunting for a bloodthirsty wolf and yet, Ruby was inside, hidden away, listening to the story of a lonely creature searching for her family. Belle looked up every so often, giving different voices to the characters and making facial impressions, but not disturbing the flow with comments on the plot. Ruby was too focused on her that she didn't even hear footsteps coming closer and she was startled when the door to the library was pushed open.

"We've got it!" David shouted, holding up Ruby's red signature cloak. "And you're cleared. It was all Spencer."

Granny followed, still some fury on her face. "He tried to frame you, so David would look bad. But we got him." Granny's grin gave away that she had used the crossbow in her hand.

"That's fantastic," Belle said as she got up. "See, no need to worry."

"Everything okay in here?", David asked when he slowed down as he approached Ruby.

"Nothing happened. I don't think she even needed the chains."

David threw the cloak over Ruby and the second she turned back, she hugged him. "Thank you, David."

"No, thank you for not doing something reckless. I've told you, I believe in you."

They both know the thing that wasn't said in this moment. That Snow had believed in her first and if she had been here, things would have been different. And with that Ruby noticed that David was holding back something else.

"What happened?"

"We can talk about that tomorrow." His smile wasn't completely genuine, but Ruby let it slide. She felt a weight lift off of her chest. Literally, because Belle had opened the lock on the chain keeping her down. David held out a hand to help her get up.

He stepped back. "I have to get back to Henry."

Ruby tried to pull the cloak tighter, but the chains prevented it and Belle took her hands. Again. "Let me." She held up the key. "This is the best part." And for what felt like the first time in years, but it had probably been only a day, Ruby smiled back at her.

When the chains fell down she immediately hugged Belle. All the worries about keeping a safe distance forgotten. The beast had been contained, in fact there was no beast to fear at all and her friend had stayed through it all. How lucky to have friends who believed in her more than she did herself.

Granny cleared her throat. "Are you coming home or are you going for a midnight run, now?"

Ruby looked at her over Belle's shoulder, still holding on and enjoying the way Belle hugged back firmly. "Run", was her simple answer.

And as sudden as they had come in, David and Granny vanished again, leaving the two alone.

"A midnight run?", Belle asked as she put the books back on the shelf, except for The Last Unicorn.

"Yes. That's all I could think about."

"And you remember everything that happened, while...", she gestured to where Ruby had been lying down so miserably.

The self-consciousness returned. "I hope I didn't scare you."

Belle laughed. "I was only scared for you, not of you. That looked unpleasant." She pouted.

"It was." Ruby picked up the book and thumbed through the pages, trying to find where they had left off and put a piece of paper in almost halfway through. "Will you read the rest to me?"

Belle took the book from her, lingering a bit when their fingers brushed. "I wanna know how this ends."

"This?"

"It. How it ends."

Ruby had seen a flashlight in the utility room earlier and quickly picked it up. "So, you want to join me?" She offered it to Belle. "A stroll through the woods?"

This night there was a wolf running around the woods surrounding Storybrooke. Circling around a woman wearing the well-knows red riding hood. When Belle sat down, Ruby put her head on her legs, enjoying a scratch between the ears and listening to the rest of the story. Maybe there was hope for finding companions when you thought you were the only one of your kind.

[theepisceswriter]

Caught/Nearly caught having sex in public w/ AOT characters ( Eren, Reiner, Armin, )

A/N: I’m going through the final stage of grief after reading ch 139 and that stage is horniness so now I’m bestowing that upon all of you. Shoutout to my faithful stoned thot anon for requesting this !

Synopsis: I think the title is pretty self explanatory, but having sex in public with your partner and getting caught, or nearly getting caught, by someone.

TW: typos because once again I don’t proof read, fembodied!reader, public sex obviously, mature things,, breeding kink for Reiner , voyeurism (is that what it’s called? Idk!) for Armin, 18+, MINORS DNI

EREN JAEGER: At the club

Only Eren could convince you to even step foot into a public, let alone a CLUB, restroom. Only he could convince you to sit on the seat of a toilet that he shittily put a protect film over and watched as he knelt on the seemingly clean floor, head disappearing underneath your dress and long locks leaking through the bottom hem of your dress as he worked your underwear off. Don’t get it wrong, you were just as aroused and worked up as he was. The slow whine of his body against yours on the dance floor had you going crazy, mind hazy with lust and everyone else around you disappearing but you, him, and the sensual sensation of your arms roaming each other’s body.

If you were able to you would’ve let him take you right then and there in the middle of the floor in front of all those people. The thought of your knees scraping against the tiled floor with each thrust of Eren’s hips behind you as you clutched the bottom of your dress for support, everyone stopping and staring to watch the show you two were putting on, really made an abundance of wetness cumulate against the top of your thighs closest to your cunt. Because, of course, an ending with his cock stuffing you full was never inevitable whenever the two of you went on date nights.

“I have you trained so good that you don’t even wrest underwear anymore when you go out with me? God, you’re so desperate for me baby it’s almost pathetic.” He would speak from underneath your dress, blowing the warm breath of his mouth against your clit, enjoying the way your hips bucked up against him out of want and he hadn’t even given you his tongue yet. Finally, he indulges you; the warmth of his tongue mixed with the occasional shocks of coldness from the metallic stud in his tongue has you forgetting that you’re in a public area for a moment.

You use your teeth to try and hold in your moans, biting them back just incase anyone else is lingering outside the door of the bathroom or in one of the other stalls. But the loud slurping coming from Eren is enough to let anybody know what’s going on. Still, you couldn’t bring yourself to do it. Too embarrassed at the thought of someone walking in on you like this; cheeks flushed, dress hiked up around your thighs, and your breasts barely restrained by your dress.

“If you keep biting back your moans I will stop completely and leave you in this bathroom to take care of yourself.” As if his words weren’t enough encouragement to finally get you moaning out his name, the feeling of his long index and middle finger slipping into you definitely made a surprised gasp leave your lips. His name falling from your lips soon after.

“Yeah, that’s it baby. Let them know who’s in this stall making you feel this good.”

Too good because even if you wanted to try you couldn’t hold your moans back anymore. That familiar coil in your stomach was getting tighter and tighter with each thrust of his fingers and it only encouraged Eren to move them faster, tongue continuing to lick long stripes up your clit. This bathroom stall was your heaven right now.

“I’m so close, I’m so close, I’m so-“

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry!”

And just like that your orgasm was ruined. An innocent girl looking to release the drinks that have been building up in her uterus just had to be the one to walk in on you two. Not to mention the fact that Eren never locked the fucking door of the bathroom. He gets from under your dress immediately, cheeks and chin covered with your juices and his eyes filled with remorse. “I’m sorry, babe. I was too caught up in the moment to lock the door when we first got in here.”

That did nothing to help with your embarrassment.

REINER BRAUN: In a public pool

Did you guys know that having sex in a pool or hot tub increases your chances of getting pregnant? Because Reiner the breeder absolutely knew that and it’s exactly what his mind went to after only a couple minutes of being in the jacuzzi with you. It was supposed to be a relaxing late night date night for the two of you, but now he had other plans.

His mind was already swimming with thoughts of you bouncing on his cock up and down the moment he saw you in your swimsuit, so this random thought popping into his head only added fire to the fuel. He was hungry for you and the way he swooped you into his arms and placed you on his lap, bulge poking out against your ass, let you know exactly what he was thinking.

“Babe, there’s people in the apartments surrounding us!”

“They’re not paying any attention to us. Please, I need to feel you so bad right now. It’ll be quick plus it’s like 10 at night 🥺” There’s no resisting those hazel hues once he pulled out those puppy dog eyes and though you didn’t want to admit it, there was something thrilling about the thought of one of your neighbors glancing out of their windows to look at the night sky; only to see you getting pounded behind by Reiner in the jacuzzi at the public pool.

You didn’t even need to give him any verbal confirmation. You did your talking through your actions, reaching behind you and pulling the fabric of your bikini bottoms to the side. The tip of his cock already pressing at your entrance and entering you with ease with help from the water surrounding the two of you. Everything felt so warm and relaxing, even the bubbles from the hot tub surrounding your clit added a new sensation that had your eyes rolling to the back of your head.

Reiner was on cloud nine his own Damn self, hips snapping up against yours at a pace that had him groaning with each thrust. The thought of his seed filling you in no time, let alone in a public place like this, really getting him going. Water splashing around the two of you from the force of this thrusts.

“Fuck, my load is going to be so big I can feel it already and you’re going to get every last drop of it deep inside of you. Going to make you so nice and plump in a couple of months. You want a Braun? I’ll give you however many you want.”

He really knew what to say, his words always coaxing you into your orgasm and a state of pleasure that you were positive was on the borderline of subspace. Sex with Reiner was an otherworldly experience on its own, but the effects that this hot tub had on the two of you and the possibility of someone watching from their window had the two of you approaching your orgasms faster than expected. Reiner was the first one to reach his. His load emptying inside of you like promised and your plush walls gripping at his twitching cock, milking him for all he had as your orgasm followed his only seconds later.

Per usual, the two of you remained in the position instead of pulling out immediately to reserve the cum inside of you like Reiner always liked to do. Just basking in that afterglow of sex and the relaxing waves of the hot tub.

It was the rattling of a flashlight against bars that brought the two of you out of your tranquil states and let the reminder that the two of you were still in public relish in. You moved off of him at the speed of light and adjusted your bikini so you were covered up once more. One glance over at Reiner and you saw him stuffing himself back into his swim trunks before diverting his attention over to the gate like you.

“The pool is closed. You two need to leave.”

“S-Sorry! We’ll be on our way!” You announced with red cheeks, hopping out of the water despite the wobbly feeling in your legs, Reiner following not too far behind.

Definitely not the last time the two of you were having jacuzzi sex.

ARMIN ARLET:  between the shelves at the library

When you first met your blonde haired blue eyed boyfriend you never expected him to be as freaky as he was. You expected him to be shy, quiet, and wanting you to take the lead 90% of the time but it was nothing like that. It was like he switched to a completely different Armin when he got in the mood and you don’t know which one he switch to today, but you hoped to see more of the Armin who suggested that the two of you fuck between bookshelves in the library.

Now here you were; skirt bunched up around your thighs, shirt & bra both pulled down so Armin could stuff one of your nipples into his mouth to muffle his moans against, and your thighs slapping against his bare ones as you rode him on the floor of the Greek Mythology and Norse section. His hips bucking and rolling up into yours in a way that he knew made you whimper and whine, a teasing gesture knowing that you couldn’t do any of those two things right now. But still you took your chance and let out a muffled whimper, making his eyes go wide and mouth popping off of your nipple in an instant. His hand is quick to go over your mouth with a roughness that keeps you from letting out a breath that was too loud.

He couldn’t even whisper in your ear to mess with you like he wanted to, nor could either of you move your hips too fast and cause a lot of noise because you could hear a penny drop in this library. It was a Friday night which meant hardly anyone was in it, but still a few people were scattered out along in the medium sized building. Not to mention the nosey librarian who always spies on you two when you were in her view. All you could do was throw your head back in pleasure, hips rolling down harder into his to heighten the pleasure you were already feeling.

It was the rough padding of Armin’s thumb on your clit that sent your eyes shooting open and once they did you were met with the sight that you would never expect; a peeping Tom looking at the two of you from gaps that they had created in the bookshelf surrounding you two purposefully. With a loud gasp you hurried off of Armin, pulling your shirt up and adjusting your skirt with a quickness that had him confused and scared.

“Did I do something you didn’t like? I-I’m sorry I should’ve asked before I touched your clit.” Poor baby thinks it’s something that he did, but you’re quick to tell him about the unwarranted peeping Tom that gave you the creeps that had since disappeared. He was livid, ready to go after the man and possibly swing a punch or two his way, but it was your reminding of him that the two of you were indeed in a public place and couldn’t do much about it that calmed him down. Plus, you wouldn’t admit it out loud but the thought of someone watching the two of you that whole time kind of turned you on even more.

[chudleycanonficfest]

Washing Machine Heart

Day 22, Story #2 is by @rosequartzstarswrites​

Title: Washing Machine Heart Author/Artist: rosequartzstars - @rosequartzstarswrites (Because of Tumblr settings, this is posting from my main blog, but it’s me!) Pairing: Harry Potter/Ginny Weasley (and background Ron Weasley/Hermione Granger) Prompt: 5+1 Rating: T (only for some strong language and non-explicit insinuations) Trigger Warning(s) (if any): none apply! 

“I can’t believe I’m going through with this,” huffed Hermione, struggling to keep up the brisk pace Ron was marking on the sidewalk.

“You never believed you’d have to, did you?” Ron said gleefully, seemingly unaware of just how hard his long-legged strides were to keep up with.

“You never told me you were that good at chess!”

“No, more like you never thought anyone could be better than you at anything!”

Despite only having been friends, close friends, with them for a semester, Harry had already become accustomed to the constant bickering between Ron and Hermione, to the point even of endearment. Coming from the Dursleys’, arguments and rebukes were something he was used to, but the undertone of friendship with which Ron and Hermione faced off was a welcome change (and a very entertaining one). Still, he tended to side quietly with Ron, and this particular time was no exception: part of him was delighted at the prospect of seeing Hermione get a tattoo.

This had all started from a ridiculous bet, born of boredom in the lounge of their dorm building. Ron had eyed the communal chessboard, battered and chipped from years of usage, and challenged Hermione to a match.

Hermione had scoffed: “Only if you want to lose, Ron.”

“Don’t be so sure,” Ron had said, exchanging a look with Harry as a sly smile crept onto his lips.

“I’m completely certain.”

“Certain enough to bet?” Ron had prodded her.

The competitiveness that, before becoming friends, was all Harry had known of Hermione had flared up in her eyes. “I’m listening.”

“When you lose—”

“If I lose, and I won't—”

“When you lose,” Ron had reiterated, “you have to get a tattoo of my choosing.”

Hermione had smirked. “Game on.”

In Hermione’s defense, Harry thought, she hadn’t ever considered she might lose. There really was no way of expecting how good Ron had turned out to be at chess, especially since —Harry thought— Hermione had based her certainty on how abysmal his grades were, against her own straight A’s, in their proofs-based mathematics class, which relied entirely on strength of reasoning. But, as it turned out, Ron was actually a master logician, if only somewhat lazy at his math classes, and this he had proved by absolutely obliterating Hermione with the fastest checkmate Harry had ever borne witness to.

And that is how they had come to find themselves out on the streets of their little college town that night, wrapped in their scarves and their winter coats to battle the first of the December chill, walking to a tattoo parlor Ron knew in the area so Hermione could be forever reminded of her loss by a tattoo Ron would choose. And if Harry knew Ron well, and knew how much he relished teasing Hermione, the reminder would be a strong one.

“I didn’t even want a tattoo,” Hermione was mumbling, more to herself than at either of them. “I never wanted one— did you know that you might not be eligible to donate blood if you have a tattoo? I mean, not that it’s impossible, but it’s a factor against you, like your weight and your age. And my family has a history of needing transfusions— oh, God, what if my grandfather needs a donation, like, tomorrow? The three-month period of eligibility won’t have elapsed, and my father can’t donate, and– and–” She froze in the middle of the sidewalk. “Oh, God, have I killed my grandfather?”

“Relax, Hermione,” Ron said, throwing a fraternal arm around her shoulders and squeezing her half in an attempt to get her walking again. “You’re halfway across the country from home. You wouldn’t be able to fly out on such short notice anyway.”

Harry had to stifle a laugh at how Hermione gaped at Ron then, a billion other dire possibilities to worry about racing through her head now. Ron, however, was less successful at keeping down a chuckle. “I’m kidding, Hermione. Besides, a tattoo will make you look badass.”

“I don’t want to look badass!” Hermione squeaked shrilly. “I’ve never been remotely interested in looking badass!”

“Well, interested or not,” Ron said as they came up to a dark brick building with a neon sign reading LOVEGOOD’S flickering above the door, “it seems like you don’t have much of a choice, because we’re here.”

Hermione let out a noise that sounded somewhere between a gasp and a whine as she looked up at the storefront that, to her, was synonymous not only with her doom but apparently that of her grandfather.

“Ron, please?” she said meekly.

Ron, however, looked gleeful and would not be deterred. “A bet’s a bet,” he declared, grabbing her wrist and beginning to march her up the three or so stairs that led up to the door of the tattoo parlor from the sidewalk. Harry lingered behind for an instant, watching the backs of his two friends as they waddled up the stairs, smiling as he listened to Ron debate whether he would make Hermione get a skull or a sailor’s “Mom” arrow-pierced heart, and Hermione pleading shrilly with him not to do either of those things. Watching them, Harry’s smile widened. He was lucky to have them as friends, that much he knew, despite the short time he’d spent knowing them. Why he hadn’t found them his freshman year was beyond him— but now, now that he had these wacky outings and constant bickering to enjoy, he felt overwhelmingly lucky that they had found him.

“Harry, are you coming in or what?” Ron beckoned him. He had stopped on the topmost step and was still gripping Hermione, whose face was a mask of pure, crystallized terror.

“Absolutely,” Harry said, hurrying up the steps with a little hop. “This I’ve got to see.”

Ron pushed open the door to the parlor with a little too much gusto, and Hermione cringed at the metallic sound of the chimes above the door as they tinkled with the announcement of their entrance. The front of the shop, sealing off the rest with a counter that had seen better days, was empty, the backroom separated by a beaded curtain.

“Hellooo?” Ron called into the backroom, marching right up to the counter. “Is anybody here? We bring a very eager customer!”

Hermione began to protest, but just as she did, an employee came out of the backroom to stand behind the counter. Catching a glimpse of her, Harry felt as if the wind had been knocked out of his chest: she was stunning. She was tall and slender, her toned arms visible through the ripped-off sleeves of her vintage Hole tee, with a curtain of straight orange hair pulled back into a long high ponytail. Her bright brown eyes glimmered atop a button-like nose that matched her small, round mouth perfectly, the pale fine face finished by a spattering of freckles. Even before she had spoken a single word, Harry felt the confidence coming off of her in waves, simply by how she propped her elbows up on the counter and eyed their party somewhat playfully. He was frozen to his place with the sight of her, hoping his jaw hadn’t dropped as low as it had felt in the wake of his awe.

Upon seeing her, however, Ron had had exactly the opposite reaction. “Ginny?” he said incredulously.

“What are you doing here?” the woman —Ginny— said without any greeting, returning Ron’s frown.

“I thought you weren’t working today!”

“I’m covering a shift for Demelza, she had a gyn appointment today.”

“Well, if I knew that, I wouldn’t have come in,” grumbled Ron. The tips of his ears were beginning to pink, a sign Harry had learned to recognize as a hint of extreme emotion in his friend.

“Well, you’re here now, so… what can I do for you?” Ginny said. “I mean, you can’t possibly be the one getting inked, Ron. You’re too much of a wimp.”

“Shut up, or I’m telling mom you got your helix pierced. That’ll make for a fun Christmas greeting when we’re back home, I’ll wager.”

Then the similarity became apparent to Harry: the freckles, the aggressive red of their hair, the same glint in their eyes… Ginny was Ron’s sister. Somehow, he didn’t know whether that was something he should feel good or bad about.

“Tattletale,” Ginny said, swatting at him. “And it’s called an industrial piercing. Not that you’d know.” Only then did she seem to remark on the rest of the party.

“Harry Potter,” she said, and Harry gulped as she crossed her muscular arms over her chest and leaned back, surveying him. “Come to get a sixth tattoo?”

“A sixth— how do you know?” Harry said, befuddled. Out of all the opening lines he would’ve expected her to use, this had not been one of them.

“You can credit the rumor mill at school,” Ginny shrugged, still eyeing him with interest. “You’re a topic of interest. Or at least among the soccer teams.”

“Oh, am I?”

“Romilda swore you had a griffin tattooed on your chest, but I told her I’d heard it was a dragon. Much more macho, I thought.”

“Thanks,” Harry said dully. What else was he supposed to say?

“Don’t mention it,” Ginny gave him a conspiratorial wink. “And if I were you, I’d find out who on the boys’ team has been giving you the eye in the shower enough to count your tats. I bet it’s Ron.”

“It’s not!” Ron said angrily, the red from his ears bleeding out onto his cheeks.

“I bet it is,” Ginny mouthed to Harry, giving him another wink. “But it’s not you?”

“Pardon?” said Harry, for whom the ‘it-is-it’s-not’ exchange had grown somewhat confusing.

“For the tattoo?” Ginny said, and Harry felt like an idiot. “It’s not you who’s getting it?”

“No, ah, actually— it’s Hermione,” Harry was knocked back into his senses as he gestured toward Hermione, who had stood, utterly baffled, throughout that whole exchange.

“Hermione Granger?” Ginny said, and Harry was almost glad when she turned her gaze away from him and toward Hermione. “As in, Scamander Fellow Hermione Granger?”

“The one and only,” Ron declared proudly, happy to be back off a topic that bothered him (teasing Ron) and back on a topic that delighted him (teasing Hermione).

“I wouldn’t have chalked you up to the tattoo type,” Ginny said.

“Oh, she’s not,” Ron said, his face lighting up as if Christmas had come early.

Ginny’s eyes darted between the dismal face of Hermione and the cheerful face of Ron, her eyebrows rising as she took it in. “Okay, I’m not going to ask about whatever this is. What am I doing on you?”

“I’m designing it,” Ron said brightly. And if Harry had thought that Hermione’s face couldn’t get more desolated, he’d been wrong.

“Christ, Hermione, what has he got on you?” Ginny said, already opening a drawer on the counter to pull out a sketchpad and a pen.

“I’m such an idiot,” Hermione grumbled.

Ron pored over the sketchpad, shielding the paper from Hermione’s eyes as he sketched. When he was done, he handed it to Ginny with a quick flick of the wrist that, much to Hermione’s dismay, ensured she couldn’t even catch a glimpse of what was on it. Ginny looked over whatever it was Ron had drawn and then looked up at her brother with a frown.

“Are you sure?”

“Positive.”

“Okay, then,” Ginny shrugged. She lifted the counter to open a gap through which Hermione could walk. “Follow me.”

Looking like a lamb led to the slaughter, Hermione looked up to heaven as if making one last, futile plea before scrunching up her nose and following Ginny through the beaded curtain to the backroom. Because yes, she hated the idea of getting a tattoo, but she hated the idea of letting Ron hold one over her even more.

Ron watched her leave delightedly, relishing in the jangle the beaded curtain made as it swallowed Ginny and Hermione into the backroom. “This is going to be good,” he said, rubbing his palms together. “Oh, this is going to be so good.”

“Why didn’t you tell me you had a sister?” Harry blurted out all of a sudden. He startled himself as much as Ron when he said it, though he was glad he’d been able to pare down the question from what was actually swirling around in his head: Why didn’t you tell me you had a sister that looked like THAT?

Ron looked at him and shrugged. “I don’t know. It never came up.”

“You told me about every other one of your five brothers, but not the sister.”

“Nope.”

“Not the sister that seems to be about our age.”

“Nope.”

“Not the sister that seems to be about our age and plays soccer.“ And is hot.

"Nope.” Ron paused and frowned. “She’s a year below us, anyway.”

“Oh, then that explains it,” Harry said sarcastically.

“It seemed like more of a second-semester-of-friendship revelation.”

“I see.”

Harry held the silence between them for a few moments more before he allowed the next question out. “She plays soccer?”

“One more of the long line of Weasleys that get athletic scholarships to Hogwarts College. Except for Percy— no, he was a disgrace, he got in on an academic grant.”

“The family disappointment, truly.”

Harry wanted to ask more about Ginny, but he held his tongue. His friendship with Ron was the most precious thing his sophomore year of college had yielded him, and he didn’t want to jeopardize it by prying further or making it seem like he had the hots for his sister. Even though he did. He suffocated that small voice at the back of his mind: he hadn’t even spoken properly to Ginny, just stood there like an idiot and let her quip freely about his tattoos— which, mind him, apparently were fodder for locker talk back at Hogwarts.

The buzz of the needle in the backroom as it started up brought Harry out of his thoughts, just in time to see a shit-eating grin appear on Ron’s face.

“I wish I could see her face right now,” he said gleefully, and Harry let himself stop thinking about Ginny to join Ron in picturing what Hermione Granger must look like seated in a tattoo parlor chair.

“It really wasn’t so bad,” admitted Hermione as they exited the tattoo parlor and went down the little steps back onto the sidewalk.

Despite his pretensions of malice, Ron’s nobility (which had never been in question, even despite his teasing) had shone through and yielded a considerably modest tattoo: a small, capital “R” in his own handwriting. Hermione, who had almost cried with relief after Ginny showed her the design, had chosen to get it on her left thigh, on the side and at the very top, right under her hipbone.

“Why did you get it there?” Harry asked as they resumed their brisk walk back to campus.

“It’s not a place you usually show. That means if a sleeve shifts or an interviewer sees, I don’t know, my ankle or something, they won’t notice it.”

“As if a tiny ‘R’ would disqualify anyone from a job, let alone you,” snorted Ron.

“Professionalism is a virtue, Ronald,” Hermione huffed, though her cheeks had gone red. “Besides, since that part of me is always covered, I’ll save myself from having to explain the story behind it to anyone that spots it.”

“Yeah, except the bloke that eventually undresses you and sees you in your panties. Try explaining what that 'R’ means to him,” said Ron. But Harry suspected Hermione wouldn’t have to: from how Ron’s eyes had widened and his gaze had lingered when Hermione had pulled down the side of her jeans ever so slightly to show them the finished product, exposing a sliver of her underwear, Harry could almost wager that Ron would be the bloke in question.

They walked in animated chatter for the rest of the way, the tattoo forgotten until Ron made a quip about Hermione now having crossed the gateway to joining a biker gang and Hermione going positively beet-red in the face with outrage. Then Harry, his hands in his pockets, simply smirked to himself and resigned himself to their bickering for the rest of the walk, knowing he was no longer needed in their exchange. Instead, he let his mind drift to Ginny. She hadn’t really spoken to him again, merely ducking out from the beaded curtain backroom and instructing Hermione on how to take care of her tattoo, saying only a general goodbye to the three of them as they exited the shop. There had been nothing in Ginny’s manner to suggest that she might be thinking of him as strongly, as irremediably, as he was of her, and yet there he was.

The main quad was mostly deserted, except for a few scattered groups of late-night library frequenters or sneaking couples, as the three of them crossed it to get to their dorm. Ron and Hermione didn’t stop arguing as they climbed the four flights up to their floor (the elevator, as usual, was broken), and only broke it off because Hermione reached her room before the boys reached theirs, slipping inside it and shutting the door before Ron had a chance to get the last word in.

“Well, that went well,” Ron shrugged as he and Harry kept walking down the hall to their room.

“You actually got her to get a tattoo,” Harry said with some admiration as they reached their door.

Ron grinned as he swiped the key card. “I may drive her crazy, but if anyone was going to get her to do something like that, it was going to be me.”

Ron pushed the door open and let them into their dorm room. He closed the door and, without taking off his coat, immediately flopped onto his bed— or, well, what could be seen of the bed under mountains of dirty or otherwise discarded clothes. Away from his mother’s chore-mongering for the first time, Ron had let himself go wild and go to the other extreme, but even Harry had to admit that the army of socks draped over the foot of his bed was beginning to smell a little stale.

“So,” Ron said, propping his head up, “no parties tonight?”

“Well, it’s a Wednesday,” Harry said.

“So what? There’s no party spirit around here?”

“Ron, it’s the last Wednesday before final exams. People are studying.”

“I wasn’t aware I was rooming with Hermione,” Ron grumbled. Harry had to admit she might have gotten to him a little. However, Ron’s irritation was short-lived, a grin appearing on his face again. “Wait, but we’re not people. We’re not studying.”

Harry surveyed the room and, despite his desire to throw in the towel for the night and have fun with Ron, felt a pang of dismay at just how much grosser it would be if they caved and did that (last time they had, they’d had a Pringle-eating contest, with devastating results for their sheets, which still had some crumbs). “No, Ron. We’re doing laundry.”

Ron groaned. “Jeez, now I’m rooming with my mother.”

“Okay, fine, you don’t have to do the laundry. I’ll do it for the both of us.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah, go hang out with Dean and Seamus or whatever, see if you can get Hermione to do her second wild-card act of the day and make her stop studying to hang out with the guys.”

“Now I’m a man with a mission,” Ron said, perking up in delight at the prospect of teasing Hermione, or even seeing her once more that night.

“Just shove your clothes in the laundry bag before you go, won’t you? I don’t want to touch your nasty briefs more than I have to.”

Ron obliged, tossing all the clothes on and around his bed into his orange laundry bag and pulling the drawstring to close it. “I’ll update you on the Hermione thing,” he said cheerfully, hurrying out of the room and down the hall to the left to the room they’d left Hermione in.

Harry laughed to himself, wondering how long it was going to take Ron to realize why exactly he always seemed so eager to do anything Hermione-related, as he too threw his dirty clothes into a checkered drawstring laundry bag. Then, he hoisted one sack over each of his shoulders and opened the door using his ankle and leg to let himself out, his hands full with the laundry bags. He stifled a smirk as he passed Hermione’s room and heard the familiar bubbling sound of she and Ron rowing. If Harry knew her at all, he knew however much she might argue she’d be out of that room in an hour tops.

He groaned as he looked down the stairs, and rued the day he had been placed in the dorm with the shittiest elevator on campus. Resigning himself, he began to walk slowly down the poorly-lit stairs to the basement, where the laundry room was. However inconvenient this descent was, Harry was at least comforted with the knowledge that the laundry room would not be crowded, which would be the greater inconvenience once the elevator was fixed.

The basement was even dimmer, the white lights flickering and buzzing with electricity as Harry walked to the laundry room almost at the end of the hall. Sure enough, the laundry room was deserted, oddly quiet with none of the familiar hum and rattle of the machines as they worked. Harry knelt in front of a washing machine and began unloading the contents of the laundry bags into it, cramming them in so they’d fit because he sure as hell wasn’t shelling out quarters for two washers. When he’d made it all fit (which had involved the use of force to jam the door shut), he went to the shelf that held the communal detergent and poured it into the soap compartment. With that done, he dug out eight quarters from his pocket and inserted them into the washer’s slot, pressing the “Start Cycle” button when he heard the clink that let him know his quarters had been accepted. The washer rumbled slowly to life, jets of water trickling out as it began to spin in one direction and then the other, and it was a couple minutes before it was spinning at a hearty pace.

Rising from his crouch (he had always liked to watch the washing machine as it booted up to wash in earnest), Harry took the laundry bags and turned to head back upstairs, already thinking of what he might do to pass the time in the hour he had before he had to switch the clothes to the dryer.

He was so caught up in thinking of this that he didn’t see the person entering the laundry room at the same time as he was exiting, which ended in an awkward clash between them.

“I’m so sorry,” Harry blurted.

“No, it’s fine, I’m sorry too— Harry?”

Only then did Harry realize who he had bumped into, and only because she kept standing there did he believe it. “Ginny?”

She still wore her Hole shirt, but had discarded the ripped jeans, combat boots, and round-the-waist flannel he’d seen at the tattoo parlor. Instead, she wore frayed gray sweatpants and flip-flops, her hair pulled up from the long ponytail into a messy bun. She, however, somehow still managed to look almost unbearably beautiful. What’s happening to me?

“What are you doing here?” he asked, the only thing he could think of right that second. Spotting the laundry basket she was cradling, he added: “No laundry in your dorm?”

“No, yeah, there is one, but it’s always too crowded, it being a freshman dorm and all.” Harry nodded: his first year, he too had done entirely more laundry than he had to, and was thankful by the quarters he saved just by realizing he could wear a pair of pants more than once before they were dirty. “So I use the one here. Much quieter. I know Ron’s ID and password—”

“You do?”

“He gave it to me once so I could pick up his books from the library. And my memory’s great.” She gave him a half smile and looked beyond him at the laundry room. “Doing laundry?”

“No, I just like the ambience down here. The shitty lighting and bleach smell are really my style,” said Harry. Ginny laughed, and Harry felt a rush of pride at what was probably the first witty thing he’d ever said to her. “Need a hand?”

“I’d appreciate one, sure,” Ginny said, again smiling at him. Harry moved so she could walk into the laundry room, and watched her pick one of the washing machines that lined the wall. When she’d settled on one, he crouched down next to her and help her lob the clothes into the maw of the machine.

“Tattoo parlor let out early?” he asked as they placed the clothes inside.

“More like you guys came in really late. You were my last customers— I just cleaned up and closed after you left.”

“And you work there?”

“Sure beats a regular work-study, doesn’t it?” Ginny grinned. She tossed in a Tide pod that was left at the bottom of the basket, closed the door to the machine, and rose to find the quarters needed to activate it. “Oh, shoot, I left my wallet in my other pants—”

“I got you,” said Harry, digging for eight more quarters in his pocket. For once, he was glad of his bad habit of carrying an excess of loose change in his jeans, something Hermione already got on to him about (sometimes, like when she’d gifted him a money purse, not too subtly).

“Thanks,” Ginny said, picking the laundry basket up from the ground.

Harry listened for the telling clink and then pressed the button. The washing machine whirred to a start, but for once, Harry didn’t feel compelled to watch it boot up: instead, he turned to Ginny. “So how did you come to work there?”

“At the tat shop?” Ginny asked, hopping to sit on the top of the washer where her clothes were spinning. “My friend Luna’s dad, Xenophilius—”

“Gesundheit.”

“Shut up,” Ginny said, but the hint of a laugh was (to Harry’s satisfaction) visible on her lips again. “Anyway, Xenophilius owns the place. He set up in a college town because he knows college is the first time kids are truly free to make rash, impulse decisions.”

“Like getting a tattoo?”

“Exactly. And besides, all the college students love his New Age bullshit, they think it’s very 70s, so his shop is always full. He got a big boost after he started placing crystals in the shop windows.”

“He’s in with the kids, then?”

“Don’t tell him that, he’ll be mortified. But he’s great, really. A little eccentric, but great. He knows me from when Luna and I took an art class together in 10th grade, and he’s always complimented my art, so he helped me get my tattoo artist license as soon as I turned 18 and hired me.”

“Is Luna the girl with the shaggy blond hair and the weird glasses?”

“That’s her. Though I’m surprised you didn’t know her by her bottlecap necklaces. That’s usually what people comment on.”

“Does she work there too?”

“Yeah, though not as an inker, she’s useless with a needle. She designs a big chunk of the tattoos, though, both original designs and commissions or requests.”

“That’s awesome,” Harry said. He realized that was the first time through the whole conversation that he had stopped. He’d never hesitated on what to say next: conversation with Ginny had flowed easily, naturally, and he hadn’t had to think too hard to keep it going. Still, he was a little disappointed that it had stopped. Ginny, however, seemed to share in this, because rather than say goodbye and take her leave, she opened up a new topic.

“So how long have you and Ron been friends?”

“Er– since the start of this school year, actually.”

“Really? You’d think from how he talks about you, he’d known you forever.” Harry felt a flush of happiness at hearing that Ron talked about him.

“Well, I got him for a roommate this year, and we just clicked. Then it turned out we had a lot of the same classes. And we’re both on the soccer team, so it just got better from there.”

“It seems strange that you never crossed paths your freshman year.”

Harry shrugged. “I mean, freshman year is weird for everyone. I certainly felt like I was just bouncing from one place to another. I still hang out with a lot of the guys from last year, but my friends have changed. It makes sense— the first year, everyone is trying to meet as many people as possible, as if it’s a race, but by sophomore year you know more of what you want and what you’re looking for. In a way, I’m glad I met Ron now that I’m in a more stable place, now that I know my way around the college and have a better grip on things. I have a feeling he’s a friend I’m gonna keep.”

“Well, I’m glad to hear you’re sticking around the Weasleys,” Ginny said, and Harry felt a tingle run up his spine. Was she… flirting with him? “And Hermione?”

“Oh, Hermione’s great, Ron and I would be dead by now if not for her— I don’t know how I got through a full year without her.”

“But she’s very different from you guys, isn’t she?”

“Well— on the surface, sure, but not in the things that matter. The fact that she went through with the tattoo tonight when she could’ve kicked up a fuss and bailed out tells you all you need to know.”

“So what I’m hearing is that Scamander Fellow Hermione Granger is as much of a bonehead as my brother at heart?”

“Stubborn, is the word I’d use. And only when Ron’s involved, actually.”

Ginny smirked. “Idiots. They haven’t even realized it.”

Harry knew exactly what she meant. “You think it too?”

“Oh, I’d bet on it. Ten bucks says they’re together by the end of the year.”

“Hey, did our visit by the parlor today teach you nothing about bets? They can be dangerous.”

“But I’m betting against you, aren’t I?” The way she said you made Harry’s heart skip a beat. “Fine, not ten bucks. But I’ll bet you a load of laundry, how’s that?”

“Deal,” said Harry, taking Ginny’s extended hand to shake it. The touch of her palm, with its long, slender fingers, sent warmth coursing down from his hand and the length of his arm. They let go and dropped hands, and perhaps it was just wishful thinking, but Harry thought he detected a certain reluctance in Ginny as they did.

Harry leaned against the washer, his propped elbow almost brushing up against her thigh. “How about you? How’s your first year going so far?”

Ginny winced. “As well as you’d expect, I suppose. Lots of people still behave like it’s an extension of high school, and I’m very much over that. But as things go, I’m having a blast. Being on the soccer team certainly helps.”

“Congratulations on that scholarship, by the way.”

“Thank you,” Ginny said, her wide smile revealing a row of perfect, square white teeth. “You’re on a scholarship too, aren’t you?”

“Yeah. My aunt and uncle would’ve never paid a single cent for me to go to college, so it was the only way. But I’m sure they were glad to be rid of me anyway.”

“They sound like lovely people,” Ginny said sarcastically.

“I should introduce them to this Xenophilius sometime. My uncle Vernon would have a stroke just walking into that shop.”

“Well, if you ever swing by, you have an insider contact,” Ginny offered, and Harry loved the implication of something, even something as simple as an 'insider contact’, between just the two of them. “I’d be happy to arrange a meeting, especially for such esteemed patrons.”

“I might take you up on that, if I ever planned on seeing them again,” Harry said. The words came out a bit more harshly than he’d expected, and the second silence in their talk set in, brought on by the darker implications of his family situation. Desperate to break it, Harry cleared his throat and geared up to talk again: “So, do you have any tattoos?”

He was relieved to see the smile, that coy, almost lopsided smile, appear on Ginny’s face again. “Actually, no, not a single one.”

“Do you think you’d ever get one?”

Ginny thought for a second. “I might, if something meaningful enough came around. And only if I was 200% sure. But really, I feel like one tattoo would lead to another, and then I’d never stop and run out of room on my skin. So it’s more of a containment mechanism, really.”

Harry smirked. “Hm. Interesting.”

Ginny broke out onto a full grin as she watched him. “What?” she asked, but when Harry’s smirk only deepened, she shoved him playfully, her touch on his shoulders eliciting the same warm sensation as the handshake. “What, Potter, tell me! Why is it interesting?”

“I mean, since you work at a tattoo shop, and you’re wearing a Hole t-shirt, I just thought you might be the type—”

“The Hole tee? Oh, don’t tell me you’re gonna gatekeep it, like you’re the type of guy who’d be like 'name three songs'—”

“No, not at all. As a matter of fact, I don’t know a lot of music by Hole. I really only know who they are because of that one Fall Out Boy song Courtney Love was featured in—”

Ginny winced. “Not Fall Out Boy, please.”

“Why? What’s wrong with Fall Out Boy?”

“Harry—”

“I know they get a lot of shit, but really, their first albums are pretty good—”

“Harry, you’ve gotta stop right here, or you’re going to make me stop finding you so attractive.”

And just like that, there it was, out in the open. Harry felt stun: he felt his mouth open to offer a witty retort, but no words came out. Because the girlish grin had evaporated from Ginny’s face and turned into a different, more mature look, her eyes smoldering slightly and her mouth slightly pouted.

“What about you?” she asked, her words slower, as if she was choosing each one individually. “If the soccer team gossip is true, I know you have five tattoos.”

“Yeah,” Harry said, his voice having dropped as well. “Yeah, there were a few tat shops around my neighborhood where the rules were pretty lax.”

“What are they?” Ginny asked.

“The tattoos? Well, the first ones I ever got were my mom and dad’s birth and death dates, on my wrist,” Harry said, rolling up the sleeve of his shirt to display two small lines of numbers, in plain black ink, on his forearm.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Ginny said softly.

“Don’t be, I was really small when it happened. But I still wanted to pay them homage. Anyway, I’ll not bore you with my family history right now.”

“But tell me sometime?”

Harry was ecstatic at the implication that Ginny wanted to spend even more time with him. “Yeah,” he said, smiling at her. “Yeah, I will.” He moved on to the second tattoo, shifting the other sleeve up a bit to show Ginny a small black paw print in the center of his wrist. “This was my third one. My godfather was the only person my aunt and uncle would let me see while I was growing up, and even then only because he threatened them. And he had this huge, black shaggy dog, I think it was a Newfoundland, that looked almost like a bear, named Padfoot. I loved that dog, and every time I think of the happiest moments growing up, Padfoot’s in a lot of them. So when he died when I was sixteen, I got this to remember him by. It seems like a tribute to my godfather, too, so I like it doubly.”

He didn’t need encouragement from Ginny to keep going. He raised his left leg and propped it up on the washing machine by where Ginny’s legs hung, rolling his sock down a bit to show a green, line-art tuft of grass snaking above his ankle. “I got this when I got the soccer scholarship to come here. I wanted something to commemorate soccer, seeing as it’s not only, y'know, my passion, but also what got me out of that damn house for good. But I thought something like a soccer ball or a net or even the pitch outline would be too cheesy, so I got a bit of grass, y'know, as in the field…”

“Tasteful,” Ginny nodded her approval, and Harry felt newfound appreciation for that tattoo. “That’s three down, Potter.”

“I’m getting there.” Harry brought his leg down from the washer and turned his back to Ginny, taking his hand up to the nape of his neck and using it to shift the hair there upward to reveal the back of his neck where it turned into his back. “Can you see it?”

“The little lightning bolt?”

“Yeah.”

“What’s the story of that?”

“That was my second one. To be honest, I was a little ink-happy after my first one, so a couple of weeks after I got it I went back and got this.”

“But why a lightning bolt?”

“I don’t know,” Harry admitted, turning back around to face her. “I guess it was just cool.”

“Oh, very,” Ginny said, and the edge in her voice let him know she was teasing him. “That leaves us with one, then. The emblematic chest tattoo.” Again, the playfulness disappeared from her face and was replaced by that strange look, the one Harry couldn’t really decipher but really, really liked. “Tell me, then, Harry— is Romilda Vane right?”

It was only because of the suggestiveness in Ginny’s voice and the permanence of that look on her face that Harry did what he did next. His movements slow, he pulled his shirt off over his head, setting it on the washing machine right by where Ginny sat. He heard Ginny draw in a breath and it hitch in her throat as she saw him, her eyes moving over his bare skin to spot the ink blot that had brought this all on. Curled above his right pec was a small, S-shaped dragon, colored in red and gold.

“I win,” Ginny said, her voice still husky, as she extended her left hand to touch the dragon with her fingertips.

“Are you going to tell Romilda?” Harry said, his own right hand settling lightly on Ginny’s thigh.

“No, actually,” Ginny said, her palm now coming down flat on Harry’s chest. Her other hand had also drifted to him, and she had placed it on Harry’s left side, right below his ribcage, as if to hold the side of his torso. “I think I’d rather keep this moment to myself.”

And then she was leaning in and kissing him, touching her lips to his first with tentative softness that turned into a stronger, more determined fire as the kiss deepened. With both of Ginny’s hands on Harry, and one of Harry’s on Ginny’s thigh and the other supporting the weight of the kiss against the solidity of the washer, they leaned into one another. Harry’s mouth sought out Ginny’s eagerly, overcome by the fiery feeling pooling in his stomach and rising up to his throat through his chest, by the fact that everything he’d thought about on their walk back from Lovegood’s was coming true much sooner (and much better) than he’d expected. He felt Ginny’s tongue nudge at his lips and opened his mouth to let her in, engulfing more of her lips with his as he did so. Ginny kissed passionately, her tongue meeting Harry’s even as her teeth dug lightly into Harry’s lower lip, making him kiss her more deeply. With her this close, he was invaded by the flowery smell of her hair, by the soft feel of her skin, by the low humming sound she made as she kissed him. And everything was coming together, making the fire in his chest grow, and it was a good kind of burn, better than whiskey, better than anything—

The loud ding of the washer as it announced it had concluded its cycle startled them, and they pulled back from the kiss looking a little dazed, that one upbeat chime having been all they needed to bring them reluctantly back into the real world. Still Ginny didn’t take her hands off Harry, and Harry felt less than inclined to move his from her leg.

“I should, uh, switch to the dryer,” he said, the only thing that popped into his mind there.

Ginny tightened her hold around his middle and moved her hand from his chest, wrapping it around his upper back to draw him closer. “Oh, let it wait,” she said, and then she was kissing him again, and Harry was finding that the dryer could wait for hell to freeze for all he cared.

The sleepy sound of the chimes above the door didn’t even make Ginny raise her gaze from her stats study guide, which she’d pulled out to make the best of the not-too-busy lull at Lovegood’s. “We’re almost closed,” she announced to whoever had come in.

“You can’t make room for one last customer?” a familiar voice said, and only then did Ginny perk up immediately.

“Harry!” she said brightly, shutting the stats book as it became all-but-forgotten. “What are you doing here?”

“I’ve come to add one more tattoo to the five I’ve already got,” said Harry. “Think you can give me my sixth?”

Ginny didn’t even need to say yes, just opened up the lift-up counter door and disappeared through the beaded curtain. “Flip the door sign to 'closed’ before you come through, will you?”

Harry obliged and flipped the sign before following Ginny to the backroom. He sat patiently on the tattoo chair as Ginny milled about, getting the supplies ready.

“Y'know, you never did tell me the story behind your dragon tattoo,” Ginny commented as she went through the sterilization procedure for the needles. “Seeing as we were, um, otherwise occupied…”

The memory of the kiss flooded through Harry with the same fire that he’d held in his chest ever since, the flame growing to engulf his whole body just hearing Ginny mention it. “Should I tell you now?”

“I’d like to hear it.”

“I got it as a tribute to my old headmaster back home, Albus Dumbledore. Funny old man, and incredibly cryptic, but he’s the one that first gave me the idea of applying for the scholarship and helped me get all my grades and papers in order so I could make it here. We were very close, and he had this saying that he used to tell me whenever I ended up in his office for getting into trouble— 'never tickle a sleeping dragon’, he’d say.”

“What the fuck does that mean?”

Harry laughed briefly and shrugged. “Hell if I know. But it was his catchphrase. So after I graduated, I wanted to get something to commemorate him, so I got the dragon from his favorite saying. He came with me and got it too.”

Ginny turned to him and eyed him quizzically. “Your headmaster got the tattoo along with you?”

“I told you he was a funny old man.”

Ginny pulled a pair of black latex gloves over her hands and rolled a wheeled office chair over to Harry, the needle in hand. “So by what I’m hearing, you only ever get tattoos of things that are extremely meaningful to you, right?”

“That’s right,” said Harry.

“So, Mr. Meaning, what’ll it be this time?”

Harry smiled. He grabbed his shirt and pulled it slightly upward, just enough to uncover his lower trunk. He pointed to a spot on the left side of his torso, right under his ribcage— right where Ginny’s hand had been, where her touch had been burned into his skin. “Right here,” he said. “I’d like a little washing machine.”

[abyssmaju]

𝓡omeo

❥ Tartaglia x gn reader

❥ Warnings: childe story and voiceline spoilers, slight possessiveness (it's like one line), a tiny bit of angst, tortimini typical aggression but not towards reader bc he is Feral

❥ summary: a knight and their fool have a bit of a serious discussion

❥ word count: 1,394

I haven't written something like this in sooo long, but for some reason this prompt just really snatched me and said "is for you". Inspired by a post by @outlet-0 but I think I deviated a tiny bit! Also I know canon states that none of the knights saw Signora Do Her Thing, but I needed angst fuel and it just Felt Correct ✨

The sound of young children making mischief and merry in equal parts filled your ears as you roamed the streets of Monstadt on your patrol. Times like this left you wondering just why your job even existed. With the threat of Stormterror no longer looming over the great walls of your nation, you felt as if you would be contributing just as much by lying at home or miles away in his arms. Your heart and mind are clouded with a dizzying feeling that can be defined as bittersweet. When you look to the skies, you only see the lifeless ocean blue of his eyes that tempt you like a siren’s song. You never fail to throw yourself overboard into his tempest.

It almost makes you ill—the way you can see in your head the distress of your archon as the beautiful Snezhnayan woman ripped his gnosis from his body. She would have done the same thing to your beating heart had you the courage to try to stop her. It makes you close to bedridden when your thoughts are followed by just how willingly you would let her comrade in arms Tartaglia do just that. Metaphorically speaking, he had already done it over a thousand times, and yet each time you had savored the pain. Nearly every day you hone your skills as you swear yourself against the Fatui, if not for the innocents they’ve killed, then for your beloved archon whose eyes sparkle with mirth and childlike joviality that you desire so desperately to protect.

As you let yourself spiral down into your thoughts, the scent of foreign waters and something expensive stops your mind completely. Before you can even begin to think about him, you hear his voice, “Pssst, hey! Cute little knight over there! Pay me some attention, it’s your knightly duty!” You can’t even roll your eyes, you know as well as he does that you were awaiting his next visit on the edge of your seat. You make your way to the shady corner that he claimed for his own, thinking that it seems like your longing summoned him from thin air. Unfortunately, you know that you could think of him every hour of the day—as you do—, but no amount of begging the stars in the sky will bring him to your side.

“Ah, there’s my cutie. You looked so serious just now, I almost didn’t recognize you! Before I go on, while I’d love to sit here in this shady alley—there are probably better places for us to spend our time. Allow me to steal you away?” You always give in to him and that smile he wears that doesn’t quite meet his eyes. It goads you and provokes you, perpetually beckoning you to an unknown challenge that somehow makes it even more endearing.

“Ajax...”, you whisper his name as if the world would shatter if anyone else in Monstadt had the pleasure of letting it fall off their tongue, “I’m on duty—“.

“Oh, what a shame! My wonderful love doesn’t want to see me while they’re being knightly and chivalrous! Yet how chivalrous of a knight could you be to break this fair maiden’s heart?” His theatrics never fail to amuse you. Your jester, yet you can’t quite decipher whether his act is wholly to amuse you or if it’s practice for one of the many different titles he had assumed.

You sigh deeply and let out a laugh at his childish antics. “Of course I was about to accept your request just a moment before you opened your large mouth my fair maiden. Lead the way and I shall follow as always.”

His grin grew ever so slightly and one of his eyebrows quirked, a tell that he had already generated another one of his grating responses. “What a pity that you feel my mouth is large, I suppose it’s all the same when you tell me how much you love it nearly every time we meet! I’ll catch you near the statue of the seven at Windrise. There’s a cliff nearby and that’s where I was hoping to take you.” Before you can even begin to counter his taunting remark, he practically vanishes with the only proof you have of his visit to Mondstadt being the scent on the wind and the slight irritation that the lilt of his voice when teasing you always leaves.

Sooner rather than later, you arrive at Windrise, having told your fellow knights that you’d like to do some patrolling outside of the walls to reduce the number of threats to merchants and otherwise unassuming travelers. It was only a half-lie as you know that between the hilichurls that your bloodthirsty lover struck down as simple “target practice” and the slimes you aggressively persuaded to allow you passage to the rendezvous point, the roads will be just a little quieter tonight. You can’t help but close your eyes and smile at the thought of the quiet that will allow you to focus solely on his voice, ignoring the saint on your shoulder reprimanding you for being so selfish as to think not for the people of Mondstadt but their incubus of an enemy.

“Wow, what a smile you have on your face. You must be thinking of me again. Then again, you’re always thinking of me. If there was a contest for thinking of Tartaglia, you’d win hands down!” To your displeasure, your smile grows at the sound of his voice.

“Had I the strength to throw you off this cliff, this smile would be even wider. Unfortunately, my code of honor proves to be a hindrance at this moment.” He can’t hide the smile on his own face as he takes your hand in his.

“That code of honor of yours...it stops you from a lot of things, huh?”

You look into his eyes that the stars refuse to illuminate as if they’re filled with the most toxic of ichor. The longing and subtle pain you feel in your chest as you register the meaning behind his words has you wanting only to jump into that ichor, drink deep of it, and suffer the consequences if only to be spared of a minute more away from him.

“Yes. Yes, it does. Things like changing my name and running to Snezhnaya to become a puppet of the Tsaritsa rather than of Monstadt. Things like singing your name to the birds in the morning who know what you’ve done. Things like looking my archon in the eye after I’ve fallen so deeply in love with you...” sometime during your romantic spiel, he had started to twirl you around in a jagged rhythm to a song of silence. Maybe Barbatos had started to play a song that only you weren’t allowed to hear for your sins. You started to feel that overwhelming sensation that you get sometimes when he leaves, but you refuse to let the tears spill over.

He lets out a gentle hum and smiles once more, only this one never had a chance of dreaming to reach his eyes. “Maybe one day...the day I conquer this world and destroy everything in my path. The knights, the other harbingers, the archons themselves...then you won’t have to be anybody’s pawn—no, I won’t let you. You’ll be mine and nobody else’s and my only order is for you to stay by my side.”

The demented twist on his romantic words made them organic as he put a halt to your moonlit waltz to look deep into your eyes. You looked back and your heart nearly burst with adoration. It wasn’t often that he asked you to stay with him, he knew that your relationship wasn’t ideal. He voiced multiple times that he wouldn’t blame you if you decided this secretive love wasn’t enough and you decided you wanted out, not once did he insist that you stay. Until tonight.

Swept away by his riptide, you couldn’t help but embrace your conquerer with all your might in the hopes that the action would meld you together as an odd blade pointed at the obstacles between the two of you. As you looked back up at him, you could swear that this one smile did meet his eyes.

If you were just a little better at reading him, you’d know he’d been looking at you like that this entire time.

[shesclearlya3]

i loved you first. p.2

pairing: Xavier Plympton x Reader

word count: 4,391

warnings: au! in present time, language, a big oops coming

not entirely proof-read. 

*title inspired by joan’s song*

part 1 | part 2 |  part 3 | part 4 | epilogue

One Year Later

"NO ONE, NO ONE, NO ONEEEEEEE, CAN GET IN THE WAY OF WHAT I FEEL FOR YOUUU!"

"YOOOU! YOOOOU!"

You covered your ears as Montana and Brooke screamed sang along to Alicia Keys, while in the kitchen finishing up dinner in their shared apartment. You were recently promoted at work, and they wanted to celebrate with you.

Brooke sniffed, "I miss Ray." she said as she poked at her homemade noodles with a fork.

"It's only been four hours!" Montana interjected, meeting your eyes as the song ended. You smiled softly, taking a long sip from your glass of wine. 

"I know," she said, "He's always gone. I miss him."

"It's too bad the others couldn't join us," Montana said as she stirred something in a pot. "We haven't had the group together in a minute."

You silently bobbed your head as 2006-era Rihanna came on, attempting to keep your mind away from Xavier Plympton.

It's already been a year since you first met his girlfriend, Chloe. You couldn't believe how fast 2019 seemed to go. Now, you were counting down the days you had with him before he moved into his new apartment with her.

When you first heard the news, you assumed he was pulling your leg. You were having a slumber party in the living room, a few drinks in when he accidentally blabbed to you that they were looking for a new place. He admitted he wanted to tell you over dinner the next day, which would probably have gone a little better. Instead, you spent the rest of your Twilight marathon holding back tears and wishing Jacob Black would ride out of town with Chloe on his back and disappear forever. 

But after a good night's sleep, you realized it was selfish of you. You congratulated him and decided that maybe it was time for a fresh start for yourself. Before your promotion, you'd barely make enough to pay the rent all on your own. Brooke and Montana had gladly offered you their empty space, which you wanted to accept. But after your salary doubled, you'd be able to renew your lease for another year.

Even after all this time, it seemed you never really got to know Chloe. She was still friendly, but there was always an uncomfortable aura between the two of you. You had a few things in common with her, which helped make conversation whenever Xavier wasn't around, but it never exceeded that. 

You assumed you were being paranoid when she’d seem to always be looking at you, her eyes observing your every move when you were being your normal self with Xavier. Or how her voice always seemed to become sickly sweet when you’d be minding your own business, hardly remembering they were even there.

"Earth to y/n?"

You glanced up to see Brooke place a large bowl of spaghetti in the middle of the table. Montana was already sitting down, a half-eaten piece of garlic bread in her mouth. 

"I'm sorry, what?" you asked, embarrassed. 

Brooke giggled, "I asked if you were alright. You're quiet tonight - more than usual."

You nodded, helping yourself to her spaghetti as the girls gathered food onto their plates. "I'm sorry. I just keep thinking of Xavier moving out."

The girls nodded understandingly, "You know, the offer is still open," Montana said, smiling at you. Her blonde hair was pinned back, and she looked vibrant as her eyes observed you kindly. "You haven't lived alone in years, it's okay if you're not comfortable with the idea."

You nodded appreciatively, "I know, and thank you both, but... I think it will be good for me," you said, picking up your fork to smash at the bits of lettuce on your plate. The girls watched with amused expressions. "Maybe I'll finally stop moping over him and get myself a boyfriend or a girlfriend, who knows?" you said. 

"I think you should tell him how you feel, y/n," Brooke said simply, drinking her wine as if she was commenting about the weather.

You laughed dryly, "You know Xavier, he'll be pissed I kept it from him this long. We tell each other everything."

"I don't pretend to be an expert on love, y/n, but I say that if he is upset about it, fuck him." Montana shrugged, and you heard the sound of Brooke kicking her under the table. "Ouch! Come on, who wouldn't want to date y/n? He's an idiot for not seeing how she clearly feels about him."

"Xavier is our friend. We all know he can be dense and naive, but it's part of his charm." Brooke defended him before turning her eyes to you. "Why is it that you never made a move?"

The room got quiet as Montana's Spotify playlist came to a stop. You took a few bites of food, pleased that your friends gave you a few seconds to get your thoughts together. That was one of the things you loved about them.

"I guess I was just afraid of ruining what we had," you admitted, smiling a little. "We've known each other since elementary school; all of us, and the only ones who ever progressed into the romantic territory were Brooke and Ray."

Brooke's cheeks flushed, and you knew it wasn't from the wine.

Montana chuckled, a light blush coating her cheeks. "About that..." 

You and Brooke gave her a quizzical look.

"Senior prom..." Montana nodded, "Chet and Me."

Your mouth fell open simultaneously with Brooke, who cackled as Montana blushed a deeper red. You joined in on the laughter as Brooke held her stomach, tears threatening to spill over.

"What is so funny!?" Montana yelled over your laughing, now slightly irritated. "I went with Jimmy Darling, remember!? He got drunk and fell asleep near the food table, so Chet and I decided to skip, and..." she laughed now, refusing to look you in the eye. "It was alright."

"Oh, my God! Why didn't you tell us!?" you said after containing your laughter. Brooke was still giggling, complaining her sides were hurting. 

"It didn't even last long, I think I blocked it out of my memory for a while... but he is packing..." Montana finished.

As you finished up dinner, Brooke refused to delve too deeply into her sex life with Ray. You three finished two bottles of wine and were now lounging in the living room in your pajamas, debating on watching a horror movie or a comedy, and you were already thinking about the snacks. 

After deciding on the original Friday the 13th, the movie was about fifteen minutes in when a message from Xavier flashed on your phone. You glanced at it.

Xavier: Hey, did you leave the front door unlocked?

No, I made sure it was locked like always. Why?

Xavier: I think someone has been in here. Your room is a mess!

You straightened up, glancing towards the girls who were cuddled up, munching on popcorn. Xavier sent you a picture of your room you had just cleaned the night before. A few of your dresser drawers were cracked open, and clothes were peeking through, definitely searched through. Your bed was haphazardly made, and your work clothes were strewn on the floor.

"Oh no," you said, causing Brooke and Montana to look at you.

"What's wrong?" Brooke asked, concerned.

"Xavier thinks someone broke into our apartment!" you said, giving them an alarmed look. 

"Oh shit, let's go!" Montana said, and the three of you wasted no time in driving to your home.

- 

"Well?" Montana demanded as you and Xavier entered the apartment after speaking to the police. 

"They said it looks like someone had a key made. There's no damage to the door, and y/n says it was locked, so..."

"It was, I always double-check. Always..." you said, sitting down in the empty seat next to Brooke, who put a comforting arm around you.

"Who in the hell would have a key made?" Montana asked before she paused. Her eyes looked wild, before finally settling on you and Brooke. You gave her a confused look.

"I don't know. It's not like I have any friends other than you guys." Xavier said sarcastically. The one thing about Xavier is that when he was scared, he was more than likely to be agitated, and it always showed. 

"Did you give one to Chloe?" Montana asked.

"No, I never-..." Xavier paused, throwing a glare in her direction. "What are you implying?"

"I'm not implying anything, I'm just eliminating suspects, is all." Montana defended, quirking an eyebrow at Xavier. "y/n, have you given a key to anybody?"

You shook your head, hoping this didn't cause a fight, "No, I have not."

"See?" Montana offered, looking rather smug, "We're just eliminating, that's all."

Xavier glanced at you, and you nodded encouragingly. He seemed to like that, nodding himself and rubbing the back of his neck. "I'm sorry, I'm kind of freaked out..."

"That's understandable, Xavier. You don't have to apologize." Brooke said, shooting a small glare at Montana, who hid a smirk. "Do you guys want us to stay?"

"Yeah, if they come back, it's four against them," Montana offered, looking delighted at having the chance to kick some ass.

"No, you ladies can go home," Xavier said, before smiling at you. You felt your heart flutter. "We'll be alright."

After bidding the girls goodnight, Xavier plopped onto the empty cushion next to you. He glanced at you longingly, before saying, "I'm sorry if I scared you." 

You shook your head, "Please, do not apologize. If it were me, I would have called the SWAT team."

Xavier laughed, "I don't doubt that! Seriously though, I'm glad neither of us was home."

You nodded, "But it doesn't change the fact that they were in my room looking for something..."

Xavier frowned now, thinking, "I know... We checked every room, nothing else looked out of place."

"You're right, nothing has been stolen..." you said.

You sat there for about an hour, talking through your day. Xavier gave you his full attention, even when you'd hear his phone vibrating in his pocket every few minutes. He ignored it, asking you questions until you yawned loudly, falling into the back of the couch.

"y/n?" he asked, his voice sounding tired.

"Yes?" you whispered.

"I'm glad you're safe."

2.

You almost forgot about the home invasion completely. Your landlord changed the locks, issuing you a new key. Xavier's stress eased as the week passed, and soon he was back to his old self. 

You didn't think much of it when Chloe started acting oddly friendly towards you, smiling at you or asking you questions about what you were doing whenever you saw each other. You assumed it was because she was bored when Xavier's attention was elsewhere.

The group was finally getting back together, and you found yourself having to face going to Chloe's place for the first time. You dressed for the hot weather, while Montana silently got ready beside you. You wondered if she was alright. She usually was bubbly before a night out. Brooke was just now getting back from her shift, occupying the shower in the other bathroom.

"Do you think this dress is too short?" Montana suddenly asked, turning around in her leopard print, knee-length dressed.

"Nope," you said honestly, "It's the perfect length for your height."

"Aww, thank you, y/n," she said, though her tone didn't match her words. 

You nodded, running the brush through your hair one last time. 

"Are you okay?" you finally asked, looking at her through the mirror.

Montana seemed uncomfortable, and you regretted asking. Montana never liked to be pushed for answers, especially if it regarded something personal. However, she looked at you as if she wanted to tell you, so you patiently waited.

"You know the guy I've been messing around with, Trevor?" she asked.

You nodded, "Yes, why?"

She shuffled in front of the mirror, taking her makeup bag and digging through it quickly. She often did this when she was nervous. Montana started applying mascara, using it as a ploy to avoid looking at you. "Well, I kind of had him do some digging on Chloe Smith."

Your eyes widened as Montana nonchalantly applied her makeup. "You what?"

"You can't get mad!" Montana said, switching the wand to the other eye. "I kept thinking about it, and it doesn't make sense. Like you said the other night, we've all been friends for years. You and Xavier never gave us keys to your apartment. Chloe has been around for only a year. She probably feels left out, and since you live with Xavier, it looked like a red flag to me." she said before observing her work. Montana continued, "So I had Trevor ask his brother to look into her, he's a real estate agent and has access to background checks. So he looked up her name, and he didn't find much, but..."

You egged her on, "But?"

"Long story short, she's a bit of a stalker," Montana said brightly, turning to look at you. "There's a restraining order against her for obsessive stalking."

Your mouth fell open at this, wondering why Montana looked so damn cheerful about this. 

"I know what you're thinking. I think it's great news if Xavier finds out who she really is, then he'll break up with her and be with you."

As much as you wanted to rejoice and praise the Lord above, you knew this was wrong. "Montana, that's not right!"

"Why not?" she pressed, looking through her makeup once again. 

"We don't know if she was the one in my room. Anyone could have a key made-."

"Exactly! She's been with Xavier for this long. If the neighbors saw, they'd think nothing of it. Trevor's brother agreed, he said people have gotten into unavailable apartments by falsifying keys and claiming they live there. It's not that hard to do, as scary as that sounds."

"I don't understand what she could have been looking for," you said, frowning. Your heart rate increased, wondering if Montana was possibly right. 

"I don't know, pictures, a diary, a vibrator?" Montana joked until she saw the look on your face. "y/n?"

Your face paled as you quickly left the bathroom, going to your bedroom, and promptly digging through your dresser. You heard Montana, and now Brooke calling your name as you threw clothes all over the place. Your worst fear was confirmed when you realized your journal was gone.

"y/n!?" Montana asked, stopping in the doorway. Brooke was behind her, dressed and ready to go. She looked concerned. 

"My journal is gone," you choked. 

Montana gasped, placing a hand over her mouth. Her eyes were excited, though. Brooke looked more lost, looking between the both of you with a crinkled face. "y/n? What is going on!?"

"Montana, I think you might be right," you said, looking at her. 

Brooke looked impatient, and you slowly gathered your clothes with shaky hands as Montana filled her in on the possible scandal. Brooke gasped at the appropriate times and quietly asked if they should tell Xavier or not.

"I don't know!" you moaned, sprawling out on your bed. "He's going to be so pissed at us!"

"Not if we catch the bitch red-handed!" Montana interjected, coming to stand in front of you. "Look, y/n, we're all in this together. If it turns out we were wrong, which is a very low possibility, I will personally take responsibility for it."

"I couldn't ask that of you," you said flatly.

"Too bad, I'll do the same," Brooke piped up from behind Montana, smiling at you. "I always thought something was off about her. She won't get away with this."

Montana turned to her, grinning. "Get it, babe."

Brooke blushed and glowed the entire way to Chloe's place as you thought over a plan. 

- 

As you waited for the boys to arrive, you were getting a headache thinking of all the things you wrote in your journal about Xavier. It's probably been well over two months since you wrote in it last. Still, you gushed about your best friend more than once, praising how much you loved him. 

The atmosphere in Chloe's home was warm, and you hated that. Brooke and Montana were helping her in the kitchen while you lounged on a chair to keep up appearances. Brooke had brought you a hard lemonade, which remained untouched as your head got worse by the minute. 

The television was on low; MTV was playing an 80s rewind, and you attempted to distract yourself, focusing on George Michael. You occasionally heard Chloe's voice chime in, and your friends laughing at whatever she said. As much as you hated to admit it, you felt left out.

It wasn't long before there was a series of knocks on the door. You shot up, calling out that you'd get it. You were almost knocked onto the couch when a tall, redhead breezed past you. Chloe swung open the door, squealing at the sight of Ray, Chet, and Xavier holding bottles of alcohol and a bag of snacks. Xavier was barely in the door when Chloe was all over him, causing Ray to roll his eyes and push through.

Chet met your eyes and smiled, and you couldn't help but smile back.

Montana and Brooke came out after hearing the commotion, and for a few minutes, there was loud laughter and talking as everyone began to settle in. Xavier was dressed like he came straight out of a magazine cover, and you clenched your legs together. 

"I'm starving, is the pizza here yet?" Ray asked as he followed the others into the kitchen. You followed hastily, not wanting to watch nor hear the sounds of Chloe and Xavier making out in entrance.

"We just ordered it fifteen minutes ago!" Brooke said, hugging Ray tightly as he kissed her forehead. You smiled, amazed at how in love they were. Montana nudged you, throwing a protective arm over your shoulders as Chet stuffed the alcohol they brought into the fridge. 

"We'll wait until she gets a few in her," Montana mumbled, "Then we'll give her a taste of her own medicine."

You nodded silently, still feeling like it was a bad idea. As much as you loved your friends, you feared this was going to blow up in your faces. Chloe and Xavier squeezed into the crowded kitchen, going for the alcohol as they managed to hang onto each other. 

You followed the others into the living room, taking your original spot on the couch and opening the lemonade Brooke had given you. You beckoned for them to sit next to you, but was aghast when Chloe and Xavier sat next to you, Xavier in the middle. You felt your cheeks get red as Chloe threw her long legs over his lap, her feet just inches from you. The girls gave you an apologetic glance as everyone found a spot on the remaining furniture or on the floor.

The first few hours were spent eating and laughing at all the outrageous stories Ray had from working on the road. After you ate, you felt your headache slowly melting away. Chloe was definitely lightweight as she quickly became more clingy and loud towards Xavier, who seemed to be more interested in what Chet was talking about than her babbling incoherently. 

Ray convinced Chloe to dig out the Wii, and he was fighting with Montana on who got to be the first player. From the corner of your eye, you could see that Xavier was watching you. You fought the urge to look, smiling as Brooke leaned back against your legs, laughing at her boyfriend and best friend arguing over who the best Mario character is.

"Xavieeee, I have a secrettttt..." you heard Chloe whisper a little too loudly, her wide eyes staring at Xavier, who was still looking at you.

"Not now, babe," he brushed her off, before turning his attention on Chet, who asked him a question you couldn't hear.

"I have to pee!" Montana said suddenly, standing up and meeting your eye. 

"Me too!" you said, catching the hint and throwing Chloe's long legs off you. Brooke nodded in support, scooting closer to Ray, who was loading Mario Kart. 

You did your best to appear nonchalant, but you were still nervous as you followed Montana down the hall. Instead of veering right into the bathroom, you crept down the hallway and walked straight into her bedroom. 

It was an ordinary room, white walls, a large bed, a record player with a bin of records underneath. There was a guitar shoved in the corner, and it felt wrong invading her space like this.

"Don't feel bad, y/n," Montana said quietly, looking at you. "She has no respect for you. But we have to hurry!" 

You nodded and quickly began to dig around. You made sure to put everything back in its place and not make too big of a mess. Montana had the same idea, but her actions were more rushed than calculated. You heard Chloe's laughter, along with the others as someone turned on the sound-bar. You could hear an intense game of Mario Kart going on. 

Montana's loud gasp sent chills up your spine. You turned from your spot looking underneath her bed, seeing her holding a box she got from the closet. "What is it, Montana?" you asked.

"I found your diary," she whispered, looking at you.

You realized you forgot to listen to what was going on in the other room. 

Montana quickly grabbed you, forcing the two of you two squeeze in the little closet as Chloe's voice grew closer. Montana held a hand to your mouth as she shut the door, and it became silent as Chloe entered, giggling to herself as she grabbed a jacket from her bed, stumbling back out.

You waited a few minutes before Montana pushed you out, and the two of you stared at each other in disbelief.

"What do we do now!?" you hissed, pointing to the small box Montana still had clutched in her hand. 

"I didn't think this far!" Montana shot back, before opening the lid. Your heart stopped, seeing your journal, along with a small notepad on top. It was no bigger than the palm of your hand, and underneath, it looked like there was a photo of you and Xavier. 

"We can't cause a scene with everyone here!" you said, and Montana nodded in agreement. "We have to go back out there, or they'll think we're up to something."

"I need you to play sick," Montana said, removing the contents and shoving the box on the shelf. "We'll be in deep shit if we're caught. I'm going to sneak this out, and we'll present it to Xavier later,"

"How is he supposed to believe we found it here?" you asked as Montana shoved it under her shirt. "This isn't going to work!"

"y/n, trust me this once, please," she said, before wrapping her arm around you. "Lean into me like you're sick so we can hide the this between us." 

You went along with it, stumbling out and hiding in the bathroom. Montana flushed the toilet, and you ran the water for a few seconds before coming out, back in your position. 

"Guys, y/n isn't feeling well, I'm going to take her home," Montana said, leading you towards the door.

"What's wrong, y/n?" Chet and Ray asked while Xavier stood up, almost knocking Chloe off his lap. She looked disgruntled, shooting you a glare. You pretended you didn't see, scrunching your face up.

"She got sick, I'll stay with her until Xavier gets home," she pushed, attempting to get away as Xavier walked towards the two of you, clearly concerned.

"Hey babe, are you good?" he asked you, and you hid your smile as Chloe frowned at the name.

"I think the alcohol just isn't agreeing with me," you lied, giving him what you hoped was a weak smile. "You don't have to worry about me, Xavier,"

"I'm always worried about you, y/n," he said, frowning at you.

Chloe stood up, coming over and attempting to put her arms around him. Xavier allowed it but didn't reciprocate as she gave you a dirty stare. Montana returned the glare, squeezing your arm, silently begging you not to move.

"She'll be fine, Xavieee!" Chloe said, "Let M-Montana take her home,"

You desperately wanted to tell her to fuck off but refrained. "I'll wait up for you," you assured Xavier. But before you could say anything else, Montana stumbled, forcing the two of you apart. Your journal, along with the photo and notepad, clattered to the hardwood floor.

Your friends watched them clatter to the ground, and you immediately wished lightning would strike you down. 

Chloe blinked before recognition flashed in her eyes. "WERE YOU IN MY ROOM?"

Montana, bless her soul, bent down and scooped it. "Don't act so fucking surprised, you lying sack of-."

"Montana!" Xavier said before he recognized your journal. Chet squeezed his way towards you as Chloe fumed in her spot, the others watching quietly. 

"You went into y/n's room and stole this!" Montana accused, waving the journal in Chloe's face. "You're fucking psychotic!"

"Chloe, is that true?" Xavier asked, giving her a dumbfounded look. 

"Of course not, baby! They're setting me up!" Chloe hiccuped, tears welling up in her eyes as she pointed at you and Montana. "They're lying."

"If they're lying, what is this?" Chet asked, holding up the notepad that Montana left on the ground. Your face paled as you saw your name continuously written in black ink before scribbled with red ink. "And that's not even the most fucked up thing in here!" Chet glared at Chloe and Xavier, "This is fucked up."

"I need you all to leave," Xavier said, "Now!"

Chet was yelling at Chloe and Xavier as the others hurriedly grabbed their things, almost pushing each other out of the apartment. 

"Xavier-," you said, wanting to plead with him to believe you.

"y/n, go!" he said, his eyes hard as Chet carefully pulled you into the hall. The last thing you saw was Xavier's angry expression before the door was slammed in your face. 

taglist: i’m so sorry if i missed anyone, my list accidentally got deleted :( if i missed anyone, please let me know!

 @the-walking-daryl @trichy-knitts @shydragonrider@thefandomzoneisdangerous @lemonwhiskers @jetblackpayne @langdonsvcrd @okoktrinity22 @uwonman @stefanmikaleson1864 @sevenwonderwitch @rubbrninja @iamnotjesha @leatherduncan @imshakingandcryingrn @bratzblitz @goblackcat69 @brookethompsonownsme @bookoffracturedescapes @zodiyack@bitchchatter@guiltyfiend @psychobitchtess  @aangrana  @thexmancometh @wtfcas​ @pleasforhelp​ 

[zacharyleigh316]

It’s a Nice Day for a [Gay] Wedding

It’s a Nice Day for a White Gay Wedding | Supernatural Destiel AU ficlet | 1,925 Word Count | Read on Ao3

Happy Pride everyone! There’s actually another fic I’m currently working on for pride, but I was in the mood for some domestic gay marriage fluff, so I wrote up this quick little ficlet before the month of June is over, as I’m unsure when the other one will be finished/posted. Comment/Like/Reblog as you like, I’d appreciate some good vibes sent my way! (And yes, if you couldn’t tell from the title, this fic is inspired by the Billy Idol song White Wedding)

“I don’t think I can do this.”

Dean worried at the chapped skin on his bottom lip with his teeth, and when it split open, he swiped his tongue across it quickly, the metallic taste of blood filling his mouth, and sticking to the back of his front teeth.

When he looked at himself in the mirror, the image was distorted, the panic messy to pinpoint. His state of duress abetted in his current appearance, which less than satisfactory in his opinion. His suit suddenly felt very tight, his tie was definitely crooked, and someone must have turned up the heat—it had to be the only explanation as Dean was sweating profusely—just to name a few of the many things going absolutely wrong.

“I can’t go out there looking like this! People would think I look like a freaking homeless person.”

“People aren’t going to think that, Dean, because you look fine.” Sam rolled his eyes.

“Which hasn’t changed the last time I said it. Not that I haven’t been saying the exact same thing for an hour now, because I have.”

Dean’s little brother raised a brow, and Dean couldn’t help but feel slightly jealous at his cool head, the clear mind Sam seemed to always have, even when the potential for everything to go wrong was very high. And it was very high, because nothing was ever good for Dean.

The older Winchester had the worst of luck, so this? This was too good to be true. He could hear the elated chatter just outside the room he was being hosted in, which only served to make him more nervous. That many people bearing witness to the miracle, or the enormous disaster this could turn out to be, because why wouldn’t it for Dean?

Sam sighed, and stood behind his big brother, clapping both hands on the shoulders of Dean’s suit.

“Stop that.”

“Stop what? I didn’t say anything.”

“You didn’t have to, Dean. You’re my brother. You honestly don’t think I know you by now? You were making that face again.” Dean furrowed his brow, but let Sam continue.

“You know, that face that means you’re trying to pinpoint anything that could be slightly off so you have an excuse to not do something, because you think it’ll go horribly wrong. God forbid anything good happen to Dean Winchester.” Caught!

Dean’s answering silence was enough for Sam to confirm he was right, which he usually is, the bastard, but it also helps Dean have a sound voice of reason, which he’s reminded more often than not he needs just as much as oxygen and water, probably—since his own was apparently so fucked up and incredibly bias; worn down by years of emotional abuse and self loathing.

Sam sighed, this one laced with exasperation, and Dean feels guilty that he was the one who put it there.

“Dean, how many times do we all have to remind you that your an awesome guy? An amazing person who deserves everything good for once? Dad shouldn’t have been so hard on us, you shouldn’t have had to raise me...there’s a lot that I wish I could change, Dean. But you matter to me, to all those people out there who are here for you. You matter to Cas. And you deserve him, just as he deserves you.

“You’re a fantasitc brother, you stepped up and became a better dad, and I know more than anything, Dean, you’ll be just as great a husband. The past will always be there, but it doesn’t mean it has to dictate our futures. You taught me that. That we make our own choices. This one is meant to make you happy, and it’s okay to be nervous.”

“Yeah, Sam, I get that, but what if I go out there and Cas suddenly doesn’t want to marry me anymore? He realizes that he doesn’t want to be saddled down with a mess...with-with a loser, with me. That he remembers how perfect he is, and how perfect I’m not, and then cancels the wedding right then and there.” Dean clenched his eyes shut tightly, and his fists and jaw followed suit, his head angled down to the floor.

He couldn’t do this. It would hurt him more to get out there and see the disscontempt for him in Castiel’s beautiful, blue eyes than it would to just run now and escape the imminent catastrophe that would be this wedding. His suit didn’t fit, he was convinced his tie was definitely not straight—the joke there wasn’t as funny as it should have been, and Dean detested it—his hair was mussed from the many times he ran his hands through it, and Castiel would notice his disheveled state the moment he walked down the aisle, and use it as further proof why he was way out Dean’s league, and Dean could never live up to the title: husband.

As much as Dean wanted it, and god did he want it, marriage wasn’t for him, it couldn’t be; Cas could do so much better than him, deserved better than him.

“I would never do that.”

Dean eyes snapped open, and he let out a gasp, whipping himself around so quickly that he almost fell over and made a fool of himself in front of one of the most important, if not the most important, persons in his life.

His brother let out a breath of relief, and smiled at Cas gratefully.

“Cas what are you...what you doing here?”

“Reassuring my anxiety ridden fiancé that I love him more than anything in the whole world, and reminding him that even though his worries are valid, they’re foolish, and untrue. You’re gorgeous, Dean.” Cas smiled softly, stepping forward, and took Dean’s face in his hands.

Tears were both in their eyes, and the slight tremor in Cas’ hand lent Dean the knowledge he was probably really nervous as well, and wanted to see Dean to reassure himself. At that, he couldn’t help but grin down at his soon to be husband, his Cas, and Castiel mirrored the expression.

“You are the most amazing person I have ever met, Dean Winchester, so don’t you doubt that for a second.”

“That’s what I’ve been trying to tell him.” Sam huffed, sending one of his patented bitchfaces over to his big brother, the one said ‘I told you so’, in not as many words.

“I wouldn’t want to marry anybody else,” Cas added, nodding at Sam with another soft smile.

When he looked back at Dean, the depth in those ocean eyes almost took his breath away, and his lips parted in a silent gasp.

“I love you, and not even a slightly askew tie would change that.”

Dean chuckled, and wiped away his, albeit very manly, tears, quickly before they could stain his cheeks.

“See, Sammy, I told you. I knew something was off.”

“Yeah, only because you kept fiddling with it.” Sam rolled his eyes.

Castiel smoothed his hands down Dean’s lapels, and fixed his tie, the hands of his fiancé on him, soothing him more than he’d like to admit. He reached up and fixed Dean’s hair as well, his hand falling to his cheek when he was done.

Dean leaned into Cas’ hand, and closed his eyes, using the touch as a means to ground himself, every worry washing away; down and off his shoulders.

“I love you.”

Their foreheads met, words of endearment whispered between one another.

“I love you too, Cas.”

They kiss, and when Dean is ready, they pull away. He takes a deep breath, hands reaching out to take a hold of Cas’ hands, and gave them a squeeze. Cas squeezes back.

“As nice as this is,” Sam butted in, “how about you do this out there, and you know, get married?”

“I like that idea very much, actually.” Cas chuckled, and raised a questioning brow at Dean, who nods, and grins back at his query.

“Yeah, I...I think I’m ready to finally make you Castiel Winchester, Cas.”

“Finally.”

They all laugh at Sam’s insistence, and the music filters down the hallway and through the door, signaling the trio that ceremony has started.

Castiel squeezes Dean’s hands once more, stealing his attention away from the door. When green meets blue, he smiles, and Dean’s never been more sure of anything.

“Let’s walk down the aisle together, Dean. I couldn’t think of any giving away more fitting than that.”

“Hell yeah. Let’s do it.” The resulting beam from Castiel is enough to make Dean swoon, and fall in love all over again.

Sam grins, and opens the door to meet the rest of the wedding party down the hall.

Gabriel and Sam take each other’s arms, as do Charlie and Meg, and the grooms stop right at the entrance together, hand in hand, waiting for their best men and women to walk down to their own places at the alter. The guests stand for them, when it’s their turn, clapping and crying, and Dean couldn’t even believe he thought it would be anything less than perfect.

Because as he and Cas make their way down to the aisle, side by side as promised, as he and Cas take each other’s hands and recite their vows, as he and Cas seal their union with a kiss, and another, and another and...

As he and Cas are declared husbands by the officiator that’s exactly what it is. Perfect.

Dean chuckles to himself later, during their first dance as a couple, and Cas looks at him with a smile, blue eyes sparkling.

“What’s so funny?”

“Nothing really. Just that...I don’t think I’ve ever been gay a wedding before.”

Dean grins when Cas throws his head back in a beautiful burst of laughter.

“You’re ridiculous.”

“Yeah, but you love me. Husband.”

“I do. Husband.”

They’re silent for a moment before the both of them are reduced to giggles.

“I don’t think I’ve ever been to a gay wedding either.” Cas says through his fit.

“Well, that’s changed now, I suppose.”

“Yeah, guess so, huh Cas?”

They stare at each other for a moment, all fond looks and gooey smiles, before their lips meet, and Dean Winchester finds that he is finally ready to accept that good things can, and will, happen to him.

When they pull away, Dean looks over to his family, their family, and grins at their support.

Charlie gives him a thumbs up, and Gabriel winks suggestively at the both of them, to which Dean rolls his eyes at. Meg congratulates ‘Clarence’ when they leave the dance floor, and Sam immediately wraps his arms around his brother, and then follows it up with a hug for his brother-in-law. Bobby tries to hide the fact he was crying, which Ellen resolutely teases him for, and Jo make fun of Dean for no longer being a bachelor. Balthazar drunkenly whisks Cas away to the dance floor sometime during the night, and Jody and Donna stay by the buffet table, though not after giving the married couple their love.

All in all, it was an awesome night, just like everybody assured Dean it would be. (Especially with people as awesome as these guys by his side).

‘Hey little sister...’

‘What have you done...’

“Hey little sister...’

‘Who’s the only one...’

‘It’s a nice day to...’

‘Start again...’

‘It’s nice day for a...’

‘White Wedding...’

‘It’s a nice day to...’

‘Start again...’

Yeah, it was wasn’t it?

[goodlucktai]

so take another breath

good omens pairing: adam & warlock word count: 1465 title borrowed from “icarus” by bastille part 5 of the is there a better bet than love? series read on ao3

x

Warlock magicks up another ball for Dog and gives it a hard throw down the hill. The terrier tears after it like a mad thing, folded ear flapping in the wind, and Adam shades his eyes against the melting summer sun to watch him go.

“Nice one,” he says approvingly.

As far as Antichrists go, Adam is alright. He’s easier to get along with than anybody at Warlock’s school ever was, anyway.

Dog’s breakneck pace takes him past the stupid little picnic table Aziraphale miracled up for the afternoon. He closes in on the plastic ball where it rolls to a stop against a tree stump and snatches it up in victorious jaws.

Their parents are down there, too. Crowley’s lounging to one side, drinking two-hundred pound wine like it’s going out of style while Mr. Young talks his ear off about vintage cars, and Aziraphale and Mrs. Young are deep in enthusiastic conversation. It looks like they might be stuck in The Middle of Nowhere, Oxfordshire for awhile yet.

Warlock rolls his eyes and sits in the grass next to Adam.

The Them didn’t come along today. Warlock’s glad for it. He likes them well enough, and Pepper is cooler than all the rest of them put together, but he feels outnumbered around all four of them. Sometimes he feels outnumbered when it’s just him and Adam.

“What are you thinking?” asks Adam. It’s nice of him to ask, when he could probably just find out by looking a little harder than usual.

Dog is coming back, dropping the slobbery ball in Warlock’s lap and sparing him scraping together an answer for as long as it takes to send him hurtling back down the hill in pursuit once more.

He’s thinking it’s odd, that this life could have been his. He’s thinking it’s odd that he hates the idea.

If Adam hadn’t come along, if the Dowlings had been left alone, then Warlock would have been raised here, in Tadfield, as Albert or Baldwin or Oscar Young. He would have gone to school with Brian and Wensleydale and Pepper, and he would have had a mom who baked birthday cakes with his name written in crooked icing, and a dad who went over homework with him that neither of them understood and he maybe would have been a pretty happy kid. He maybe would have turned out like Adam.

But he wouldn’t have his parents. Even though Aziraphale can’t cook, and Crowley would rather climb the walls than look at homework for very long, Warlock would still pick them over the Youngs or the Dowlings. He’s pretty good at maths on his own, anyway. That's why he majored in it.  

“I’m thinking it’ll be a miracle if the bookshop’s still standing when we get home,” Warlock says, leaning back on his hands. If he gets muddy, it will only take a thought to clean himself up again. “Considering who we left to look after the place.”

“Nanael’s there, aren’t they?”

“Yeah, but so’s Grem,” Warlock points out. It’s hard to say Gremory’s name without rolling his eyes and most of the time he doesn’t even try. “She’d start a fire just to have something to talk about later.”

“Bookshop’s fireproof,” Adam says matter-of-factly. “Made sure of that this time.”

Warlock looks at him sideways, weighs his options, then decides that it’s way too late to pretend he has a healthy dose of self-preservation in face of someone who could rearrange his entire existence with a blink.

“Fireproof doesn’t mean Gremory-proof. Those guys spend so much time reading weird grimoires they probably know plenty of stuff you don’t.”

The Antichrist tips his head back with a grin. “That’s pretty cool. Y’know, I could probably fix it myself. How many years have you been sneaking around behind their backs at this point?”

Warlock scowls. “None of your business.”

“I mean, I guess not.” Except Adam’s business is whatever he sticks his nose into and they both know it. “I won’t always be around, you know. A hundred years from now I won’t be able to offer again.”

“A hundred years from now we’ll have figured it out for ourselves,” Warlock snaps, sitting up straight. “Nanael’s close, I know they are.”

“I didn’t mean to fight,” Adam says peaceably. He never gets riled up. “I was just saying.”

Feathers ruffled, Warlock slumps back down again. “Well, quit.”

Dog was waylaid by a sausage that rolled under the picnic table. He’s begging for more scraps now. Adam brings his fingers to his mouth and whistles, which is something Warlock has never been able to figure out, and the Hellhound comes running right away.

He left the ball behind, so Adam just tussles with him for awhile. The terrier ends up in his favorite spot, pressed against Adam’s side in the sun-hot grass, a small and trusting thing.

“You wouldn’t have to be gone,” Warlock says after a moment, surprising himself. “You could still be here, if you wanted to be.”

“If I wanted to be,” Adam agreed. “I wouldn’t, though. Not when everyone I love is human. Not when they’d all be gone without me.”

He says it very easily, like it’s not even worth thinking about. Warlock has always envied how certain Adam is about everything, from as far back as the first time they both met, when Adam took one look at him and said in a self-satisfied way ‘you and I will be good friends.’

“You do, though,” Adam goes on. “Want to, I mean. You said ‘we’ earlier, when you were talking about the future."

A prickle of unease works its way into Warlock's stomach, the way it always does when he looks too far ahead.

He doesn’t think Aziraphale would approve of this conversation, given how much of Crowley’s existential dread (and Murmur’s general dread) that Warlock has inherited; but Aziraphale is down the hill playing human the way kids play house, and Adam probably wouldn’t let him overhear, anyway.

So Warlock says, “Of course I do. Your family may be human, but mine isn’t.”

Adam considers him, the shadow of something much older than the two of them in his eyes. “You can’t take it back once you make up your mind.”

Protective of the ones he loves, of his place in their lives, Warlock loses his temper. His words come out in a tone sharp enough it makes Dog lift his head.

“I don’t care what you say, Adam. You may have nearly ended the world or saved it or whatever, but you can’t boss me around. Crowley’s my Nanny and Aziraphale’s his angel, and the two of them, and Nanael and Grem and Murmur, are more my family than my mom and dad ever were. If I want to stay then I’m going to stay.”

The air is thin and dry, like brittle paper, heat building around them in a dangerous way. Adam’s curls are sticking up with static electricity from simple proximity to Warlock in a snit, but his expression is caught between amused and fond.

“I’m really not trying to fight,” he says. It bleaches the venom out of Warlock like a poultice, like the easiest thing in the world. Warlock resents it a little bit, at the same time he's grateful.

I’ll miss him when he’s gone, Warlock realizes. The thought settles in to stay, uncomfortably heavy, somewhere close to his heart.

He scowls anyway, and pulls up some grass just to feel the satisfying give beneath his hands, and they sit together in the silence of two almost-brothers who almost-entirely understand one another.

“You could stay if you wanted to,” Adam says after awhile, an unnecessary olive branch. “If you really wanted to, you could do it. You could stay forever. I mean, you’ve got a pretty good start.”

They were born at exactly the same time, and Adam will be thirty in another year, but Warlock is still nineteen. He rather feels as though he’ll be nineteen until he gets bored of it.

“I could make sure of it, if you’d like,” Adam offers kindly.

Warlock doesn’t trust himself to speak, so he nods.

Adam turns his hand, and reality turns with it, and they both feel a little bit better when it’s done.

“C’mon,” Adam says, standing with Dog tucked easily into the crook of his arm. “Mum made hummingbird cake.”

The heat has dissipated, typical English gray sponging across the sky and cooling all the sun-touched planes of the countryside. It won’t rain, not when it would ruin the picnic, but petrichor is thick and syrupy in the air as if it already had.

Warlock sinks into the chair next to Crowley, soaks up Aziraphale’s fond smile, and looks forward to the future.

[douxreviews]

Roswell, New Mexico - ‘Tearin' Up My Heart’ Review

“Hypothesis: Max Evans killed my sister.”

Liz is an amazing liar. She is adept at assessing people’s emotions and using partial truths as a misdirection, obscuring her true goals. By offering her scientific skills, displaying her natural curiosity, and playing on their long-standing friendship, as well as Max’s feelings for her, Liz convinces Max to do the one thing he fears most. Having a scientist experiment on him.  However, the person she is most adept at lying to is herself.

Liz could have taken her San Diego grant money and left Roswell with or without dear old Dad. The realization that her sister did not kill herself or the two other innocent girls in a drugged-out haze and the desire to find out the truth is undoubtedly a compelling reason to stay. Especially for someone with Liz’s sense of fairness and the above-mentioned curiosity. Yet, for all her bluster about being objective in her search for proof that Max killed Rosa, she spends an awful lot of time justifying his behavior and excusing the evidence.

Liz dismisses her arm injury to Kyle even as she is legitimately afraid to let Max touch her. Her inability to dismiss the damage Max inflicted on the EKG machine causes her to shift her investigation into what Rosa may have done to instigate Max’s actions. While I agree that Max would not have hurt Rosa without cause, I am a) privy to information that Liz is not, and b) not related to the victim. Liz’s willingness to blame the victim has more to do with her unexamined feelings than logic or objectivity. She consistently cannot put aside her residual anger towards and feelings of abandonment by her sister or the attraction and, dare I say it, love she feels for Max.

Which is why it isn’t until she finds Max’s letter that she is convinced of his guilt and confronts him. And you have to wonder how much of that is undergirded by jealousy.  After all, his declaration that he has always loved her and he could never kill anyone that she loved stops her cold. That is as true for her as is the knowledge that he is not being completely honest with her.

I think we can agree that she’s not being completely honest with herself either. Her opening monologue acknowledges that her feelings for Max go back to her mother’s abandonment. She tells Maria of her attraction to Max on multiple occasion then later confesses to Maria that she was engaged to the “perfect” man that she felt nothing for. And for the pièce de résistance you have Isobel reading Liz’s mind and acknowledging the depth of her feelings for Max. The word “love” may not have crossed anyone’s lips, but the implication is clear.

Speaking of Isobel, her and Noah’s relationship is just odd. She doesn’t come home for dinner and he waits until the next afternoon to find out where she was? She basically tells him that her brother is the most important person in the world to her and he doesn’t get jealous, he merely offers to be more attentive. While I think we could all wish for husband (or wife) that was so kind and thoughtful, it doesn’t seem very realistic.

And what of Isobel’s argument with Max? Regardless of her reasons, her assessment of Liz was right on the money. Liz is investigating them and it’s not for benevolent purposes. Her accusation that Max would do anything just to be close to Liz is spot on as well. Is Max’s claim that she’s using his life as a distraction from her messed up relationship with Noah as accurate? Or is he throwing the barb he knows will cause the most damage as only a family member can?

With the possible exception of Maria, whom we still know very little about, Michael is the most honest of the lot. He is unapologetic about who he is, what he does, or what he wants despite the pain it inevitably causes him. Alex seems to be the antithesis of that. He vacillates between hiding and flaunting his sexuality just as he seems to both crave and despise his father’s approval. This is a man deeply uncomfortable with who he is. This doesn’t bode well for their relationship.

The Rosa Magical Mystery tour led to the discovery that Rosa was befriended by someone using the pseudonym Ophiuchus, which doesn’t strike me as a typical high school choice. Given Rosa���s comments in Isobel’s flashes, I would suspect Isobel but she’d remember something like that. Is she picking up on someone else’s memories?

Have you noticed Isobel is the only one interested in maintaining the status quo? Liz wants answers. Max wants Liz. Michael wants, to quote Isobel “his person,” and while Alex may not be sure what he wants, the status quo is definitely not it.

What do we know:

Max has never been sick.

Whatever has been building in him since he healed Liz was strong enough to take out the power to all of Roswell.

We get confirmation that Rosa was not in favor of a relationship between Max and Liz. She previously told Liz that Max should be in her rearview and here she hid his letter to Liz. Did she know something we and Liz don’t?

Kyle, despite believing Liz’s investigation of her sister’s death could prove dangerous, refuses to betray her confidence. How much of that is because of his feelings for Liz or his distrust of Manes is anybody’s guess.

Speaking of Chief Master Sargent Manes, he and Valenti Sr. had a falling out. The question is when and over what. My suspicion is that it was over expediency. Manes strikes me as an “any means necessary“ kind of guy and Kyle continually speaks of his father’s code which included “innocent until proven guilty.” Those two philosophies seldom mix.

Roswell, New Mexico is brought to us by the several members of The Originals and The Vampire Diaries production team. Thus the casting of Nathan Parsons, Riley Voelkel, and Michael Trevino. And as with their predecessors, they have shown a willingness to burn through plot. Where other shows would have dragged out Liz and Max’s confrontation till at least the mid-season finale, here we barely make it through one episode. The end result is I have no idea where we’re headed but I am enjoying the ride.

4 out of 5 Blackouts.

Parting Thoughts:

This week’s title refers to the NSYNC song by the same name.

Max’s nerd boner over a first edition Walt Whitman brought a smile to my face. It’s not Russian literature but we are 3 for 3 on Max’s bookworm references.

While we’re meant to see Liz and her father in a sympathetic light. The Powers That Be don’t shy away from alternative views. While Sheriff Valenti, a neutral bystander in the overall narrative, won’t go out of her way to deport Arturo Ortecho, she’s not shy in her condemnation of the fact that he came to the country illegally while others, including her own family, sacrificed to do it the right way. We don’t live in a black and white world and I’m always pleased when writers and producers are willing to show it.

Minor Gaff: When Isobel announces that the fundraiser has doubled last year's donations, Noah is standing in the audience cheering. Yet when she gets home, she tells him the same info, and he acts like he never heard it.

Quotes

Liz: “You can relax. I left my scalpel at home." Max: “Oh, good. Cause I saw what you did to that frog freshman year, and it was not pretty.”

Isobel: “I have the entire Air Force here for the veteran fundraiser, and you’re out here playing what, alien autopsy?"

Kyle: “I know you want to believe Max is a golden retriever, but he’s a frigging’ X-file, Liz.”

Alex: “You’re awake.” Michael: “You stayed.”

Isobel: “I just came from Max’s. He’s letting Liz experiment on him.” Michael: “Please say ‘sexually.’”

Maria: “I didn’t want to invade her privacy, even now.” Liz: “Well, as a little sister, invading my big sister’s privacy is my born prerogative. Even now.”

Jenna: “Yeah, why not. Let’s go to the drive-in. Maybe after you can take me to the malt shop and then pin your letter on my sweater.”

Michael: “So are you going to mind-warp Liz before or after Mars Attacks?”

Maria: “If we’re stalking, I need a corn dog.”

Max: “I was really hoping for E.T. this year.” Isobel: “Xenophobia sells more tickets.”

Michael: “Guess you’re still the guy looking for any excuse to walk away, huh?" Alex: “Maybe. And you’re still so good at giving them to me.”

Manes: “We shared one goal. To protect our town and our world from the imminent alien threat.” Kyle: “Imminent? The crash was in 1947. If they pose a threat to humanity, they’re taking their sweet time.”

Manes: “Although you should know there’s one fatal flaw in our system. Innocent until proven guilty means that justice can only be served after disaster has struck.”

---

Shari loves sci-fi, fantasy, supernatural, and anything with a cape.

[pengychan]

[Coco] Down to Dust, Pt. 3

Title: Down to Dust Summary: Months after it all came crashing down, Ernesto’s to-do list is short: stay hidden, and wait for the Final Death. Héctor’s is even shorter: enjoy being with his family again. But life - or rather, the living - will get in the way even of the simplest plans. Characters: Hector Rivera, Imelda Rivera, Ernesto de la Cruz, the Rivera family in general, Miguel Rivera, Socorro Rivera.

[Part 1 can be found here. All parts up so far here.]

(On a scale from Ernesto to Socorro, how much responsibility do you take for your best friend’s death?)

***

“You don’t understand! It was my fault! He was my best friend and he’s gone and it’s all my fault!”

Even muffled by her own sobs and the closed door of her bedroom, Socorro’s voice was perfectly audible through the house. It made Miguel feel as though his heart was being squeezed and he ached to go in her room, to comfort her somewhat, but he held back. Abuelita was with her now, and she would probably be the best one to handle it. If anybody had ever come close to adoring Ezequiel as much as Socorro had, it was her.

At least now Socorro was talking, even though each word was a cry of grief. For three days after Ezequiel’s death, she cried her heart out and did not speak at all; not until it had been time for the funeral, and that was when she’d broken down. Miguel supposed that seeing him buried was the final reality check, proof that it was truly happening - that it wasn’t a bad dream she could awaken from.

There had been a wake, too, but with no open casket as there would usually be.

“It was… there was nothing that could be done to… it is best if nobody sees,” Tío Berto had murmured later, a glass in his hand and gaze fixed ahead. He had been one of the first to reach the scene of the accident, which had happened just as he was on the way back home from the station with Tía Carmen, Prima Rosa and the boys. “The poor boy, that van weighted at least two tonnes and… I couldn’t even tell who it was until I saw the whiteboard. At least it was quick. He stood no chance, no chance at all.”

As he spoke, Miguel felt sick to his stomach and relieved that Socorro had been spared that sight. After his parents had taken her back home in a flood of tears, Miguel had stayed just enough to talk with Ezequiel’s fosterers. Despite his grandmother’s snide remarks that they were hardly a family to the boy, they did seem grief-stricken; maybe they had been less attentive than they should have been by Abuelita’s standards, but they had cared for him.

“This is not right. A boy of nine doesn’t belong underground,” one of them had said quietly, gaze fixed on the casket. Ezequiel’s cracked whiteboard had been placed on it, and a few people had used it to write their goodbyes. Not Socorro, though. Seeing that whiteboard was what had made her burst into heart-wrenching sobs.

He’s not really there, that’s only his body, he’s just across the Marigold bridge, Miguel had wanted to say, but he’d held his tongue. He suspected they had heard it all - he’s in a better place, now he’s with the angels, at least he didn’t suffer, the Lord works in mysterious ways - and that none of it had helped at all. Maybe they didn’t really believe in any of it: Socorro said they never put up an ofrenda.

They  didn’t know, but then again no one knew for sure; if anything they believed it or held onto the hope that the tales were true, but there was no certain knowledge in it. Miguel was the only one to have that and, not for the first time, he thought it was a privilege… though not one he could share without being taken for crazy. A terrible privilege, in a way, and for the first time it made him feel helpless.

I’d do anything to make Socorro stop crying. But if I tell her, she’ll think I’m making it all up.

“No, niña, it wasn’t your fault,” Abuelita’s voice reached his ears through the door. He’d been standing there some time now, and little by little the rest of the family had joined him to listen. At his feet Dante was lying down with his head resting on his front paws, looking incredibly dejected: even his most outlandish antics had failed to get a smile out of Socorro.

All of them wished to help, but were not quite sure how to help a child handle a grief so raw and terrible, Miguel least of all. Most children experience their first loss with a pet, or a grandparent or a great-grandparent, as he had. It hurt to say goodbye, but it was a loss that could be rationalized, even without knowing for sure that the Land of the Dead was a very real thing. The sudden death of a child was entirely different.

A boy of nine doesn’t belong underground.

“It was an accident, my little Coco. A terrible accident,” Abuelita was saying. Hardly anybody ever called Socorro with the nickname that had been her namesake’s, but Abuelita always did when she was especially upset.

“I told him to wait for me there!” Socorro wailed. “If he’d come with me it wouldn’t have happened! I gave him my player, and the music was so loud, he couldn’t hear anything else! If he’d heard the van coming, he would have– he could have–”

“It happened too fast. It would have changed nothing.”

“Yes! Yes, it would have!” Socorro protested, and for a moment she sounded almost absurdly offended that anybody would have doubts about it. “You don’t know how quick he was! He was the fastest of the class! If I hadn’t told him to listen to music–”

“If the driver had been more careful, nothing would have happened,” Abuelita cut her off, her voice sharp, and she made a clear effort to soften it when she spoke again. “It was not your fault. I’m sure little Cheque knows it. Did he ever hold anything against you?”

There was another, shuddering sob. “N-no,” Socorro choked out. “But he should have because I was so mean, I ruffled his hair all the time and I knew I hated it, and… and…” a pause, a sniffing sound. With the mind’s eye, Miguel could almost see the scene again: Socorro reaching to ruffle Ezequiel’s hair, causing him to start brushing it back with an annoyed huff. That thick mass of jet-black hair was probably the only feature Ezequiel had really been proud of; Miguel had caught him glancing into mirrors to check it more than once.

“Oh, niña, he knew you meant no harm. Now listen, we’ll put his picture on our ofrenda, what do you say? So he can come to us on Día de los Muertos. It’s only three days away.”

Socorro had sniffled, and spoken again in a broken voice. “Can we do that?”

“Of course. Didn’t we always say he was like family? We’ll put up his picture and you’ll write him a nice letter telling him how much you love him, to leave on the ofrenda as well. I’m sure he’ll read it when he visits. The petals will guide him.”

“But I don’t want to write him! I-I wanna talk to him! I just want to see him one more time!”

“Oh, but it doesn’t matter how you say it, Coquito,” Abuelita was saying. “He never spoke to you, but his words were important all the same. And when you cross the bridge yourself, you’ll be together all you want.”

“But that’s a long time away!”

“Well, I do hope so. He would be very sad to see you crossing before your time, niña. But I will be there much sooner, and I’ll make sure to look after him until you join us.”

And, in the end, Socorro had stopped crying. She’d come out of her room holding onto Abuelita’s hand, all red-faced but no longer sobbing, holding a photo of Ezequiel in her other hand. It was a picture from the previous summer, and the boy had been looking at the camera with that cheeky grin of his so few people ever got to see, holding up the whiteboard.

IF LOST RETURN TO SOCORRO, it read. Except that no force on Earth could return him to her now, not the way she wanted. Unless…

I just want to see him one more time!

Miguel bit his lower lip, peering through the doorway to see Socorro put her friend’s picture on the ofrenda, her shoulders shaking while she struggled not to cry again. His gaze moved to the oldest picture on it, the one that had been torn apart and then put back together.

Unless.

***

The worst thing about it all was the aching sense of absence.

Her old luchador mask, the one she’d meant to give Cheque so that they could have a proper wrestling match, was right where she’d left it, but he would never get to wear it again. It seemed to stare at her with empty sockets and she wanted nothing more than getting it out of her sight, but she found she couldn’t bring herself to put it away. She hadn’t had the time to give it to Cheque, but as far as she was concerned it belonged to him. A couple of times she caught herself staring at it and wishing that Ezequiel would just walk in and put it on, and she wouldn’t even mind if he went easy on her when wrestling. She wouldn’t mind at all.

When she wasn’t staring at the mask she kept finding black markers, the kind Ezequiel used for his whiteboard: she’d bought a pack after Dante had eaten his old one, so that he wouldn’t be left without if it happened again. She never found any when she was looking for one, but now they seemed to pop out from absolutely everywhere: she’d open a drawer, reach for something on a shelf or even under the bed, and there it would be - a brand new marker Ezequiel would never use to talk to anybody. She couldn’t bring herself to throw any of them away.

He might need them, she thought, but of course he wouldn’t. She wondered if he could talk in the Land of the Dead, and what would his voice sound like. Had he found any of his family? Did they brush his hair well before they buried him? Cheque hated it when his hair wasn’t brushed properly. Would he really come that night? She hoped he would, because she had written to him like Abuelita had suggested and now the letter was on the ofrenda, beneath his picture. And if he read it… if he did… how would she even know? What would he think? Did he blame her? Was he mad? She just didn’t know. She would never know.

This is stupid. This is just a story for little kids. The dead don’t come back, Cheque will not come back and no one will read that stupid letter. He’s gone and it’s my fault and it’s all wrong.

She hadn’t shared those thoughts with anyone, though, and she’d just watched her family go through the preparations for Día de los Muertos. For the first time she hadn’t gone with them to freshen up the family graves when the day came, and even Abuelita had said nothing about it. In the end, however, it had been Miguel who’d suggested they go to the cemetery in the early evening. Socorro had seen him talking quietly to Abuelita and their parents before he approached her.

“We may be away a while, but I think it would help,” she’d heard him telling them before he’d walked up to her and crouched down next to her chair. “Why don’t we visit Ezequiel together?” he’d suggested. She’d been sitting there with the luchador mask and a couple of markers on her lap for several minutes, unable to look away. “So you can leave those to him. They can be his offerings.”

“Offerings are stupid,” Socorro had heard herself saying, her voice broken up. “He’ll never get to have them.”

“You may be surprised, gordita,” Miguel had said, and pulled her in a hug. “Actually, I think you’ll be very surprised. Just come with me. We’ll visit Mamá Coco’a grave, too. There is something you need to see there.”

She’d gone with him because she could never say no to Miguel, but also because she didn’t want to keep seeing the ofrenda with Ezequiel’s picture on it. He was supposed to be with them that evening, in the flesh, not as some kind of restless ghost she kept seeing in everything she looked at.

All in my head. He’s not here. He’s not anywhere.

The walk to the cemetery was brief and silent, with Dante skipping ahead of them and occasionally stopping to roll into marigold petals, or just flop onto them like a fish on dry land, nearly running into people when the rustling scared him. His antics made Socorro smile a bit for the first time in days, but that smile was wiped away when she found herself looking at Ezequiel’s grave.

There was no proper tombstone, that was not ready yet, but there was a wooden cross with his name on it, and a string of numbers: his date of birth and death, with less than a decade between them. But the cross was hard to see amongst all the flowers, candles and offerings that had been laid on the freshly-dug earth. Some had been there since the funeral only a couple of days earlier, but other things must have been brought there that day. A lot of people had come to bid him goodbye.

And now she was there, too.

Everything became blurry for a few moments, and Socorro needed to wipe her eyes with the luchador mask before she crouched down and put it down on the grave, along with the markers. She was suddenly very grateful to Miguel for staying some distance away; she needed a minute before he could go with them to visit Mamá Coco’s grave and see what the surprise was supposed to be.

“These are yours,” she managed. Her voice shook, but didn’t break. “I am so sorry I told you to stay there, I didn’t know what was going to happen. I wish I could take it back,” she choked out, and was about to speak again, but her gaze fell on the whiteboard among the flowers and her voice failed her. Someone - other children from school, maybe - had written down their goodbyes on it, but all of the scribbling couldn’t hide the crack that ran in the middle of it. With the mind’s eye she saw it lying on the street, a marker rolling only a few feet from it.

Socorro reached for it without thinking, her sight blurring again. She stood, trying to blink away the tears and to make any sense of the goodbyes scribbled on the whiteboard, but she found she didn’t want to see them. They were not supposed to be there, there should be no one’s handwriting on that whiteboard other than Cheque’s. He’d been writing something just before the van crashed on him, and she had no idea what it had been about. She would never know. Cheque never even got to have his last words known.

Wait for me here, I’ll be right back!

A sudden sob wracked Socorro’s chest, tearing all breath out of her lungs, and suddenly she couldn’t stand being anywhere near his grave anymore. She didn’t want to be there in the cemetery at all, she didn’t care what Miguel wanted to show her on Mamá Coco’s grave; she just wanted to be far away, someplace where nothing reminded her of the dead.

Without thinking, Socorro clutched the whiteboard to her chest and turned to run off, startling the visitors who were tending to nearby graves, and ran past the tombstones without slowing down. Dimly, she heard Miguel calling out for her, heard the urgency in his voice, but she had no time to pause, no time to turn, no time for anything.

The petals shone, and that was it.

*** 

“Socorro! NO!”

Miguel’s cry caused several people to wince and turn to him, but he hardly took notice. All that he was aware of was Socorro, the whiteboard she was holding to her chest, the fact she was running away from the grave where it belonged.

Maybe nothing will happen, he thought in a frantic second, she’s just upset, she doesn’t mean to steal it, it is not the same thing, it is not–

Then Socorro disappeared behind a grave and did not reappear on the other side, and that hope was dashed. Miguel ran to that spot as quickly as he could heart hammering in his throat and barely avoiding slamming in several visitors, and sure enough there was the whiteboard, lying on the ground… but no Socorro.

Of course that wasn’t true: she was still there, had to be, only that Miguel couldn’t see her. Not yet, anyway. Unless she’d already run off - what would he do if she’d ran off?

“Ruff! Ruff!” Dante rushed past him, almost knocking him over, and to his utter relief he launched himself at what appeared to be thin hair. His front paws definitely hit something, or rather someone, and he stayed on his back legs for a few moments before licking what Miguel supposed had to be Socorro’s face.

“Socorro, it’s okay. Whatever you see, don’t move and stay here with Dante. I know what’s going on and I’ll explain everything. I’ll be right back,” he added, and with that he was rushing back through the cemetery, past the barren mausoleum that held Ernesto de la Cruz’s body, towards what was supposed to be their second stop: Mamá Coco’s grave.

It was all right, Miguel told himself, nothing irreparable had happened. Sure, he had planned to have Socorro take something from her grave along with him so that they could both return to normal with their family’s blessing, but he could fix that. She’d only need a blessing from Ezequiel, or from any dead person related to him, and finding Ezequiel was precisely what his plan had been all about. All would be well.

But first, he had to get himself cursed as well.

There was a pair of dancing shoes Abuelita had crafted with her own hands resting on Mamá Coco’s grave, along with the flowers and candles. With a mumbled ‘sorry’ Miguel reached to snatch them and walked away; a few steps was all it took before the marigold petals around him glowed, just like they had eight years before. Around him the cemetery was now even more crowded than it had looked before, the dead and the living mingling together amongst the candles and gifts. So far, so good.

Making mental note to apologize to Mamá Coco for that - and grinning a little at the thought he would get to see and talk to her again soon - Miguel sprinted back where he’d left Dante and Socorro, weaving around the dead and barrelling through the living. He found them exactly at the same spot, Dante sitting with his tongue lolling and Socorro pressed close to him, staring speechlessly at the skeletons walking all around them.

“Socorro! It’s okay,” Miguel exclaimed, crouching in front of his sister and putting a hand on her shoulder to let her know that he could see and touch her now. “I can explain everything.”

His sister turned to look back at him with eyes wide as saucers, arms tight around Dante’s neck. “Miguel?” she whispered. “I see dead people.”

*** 

“Aww, look at Rosa! Isn’t she gorgeous!”

“And her boyfriend, see how he’s looking at her? Ah, young love!”

“Even Elena seems to like him. I’m amazed.”

“He works leather, that’s why. Good to make shoes.”

“That does explain a lot.”

“She looks distracted though, doesn’t she?”

Coco’s comment caused the rest of the family - the deceased, at least; the living were unaware of their presence as always - to fall silent and turn their full attention on Elena. She was talking with Enrique, placing a plate down on the table, but it was true that she seemed somewhat distant. Of course, Coco had to be the first one to notice. She wasn’t her mother for nothing.

Imelda frowned, crossing her arms and turning away from her granddaughter. It wasn’t the only thing that seemed off. “I haven’t seen Miguel and Socorro around yet. Surely they should be here by now?”

Beside her, Felipe shrugged. “Maybe they’re just off someplace and will be right back?”

“It’s only early evening,” Óscar agreed. “There is still plenty of time for them to get here. Maybe–”

“Hey, guys! Come take a look at the ofrenda!” Héctor called out, cutting him off. He’d wandered inside the house, maybe looking for Miguel and Socorro, and the rest of the family found him in the ofrenda room. He was staring at something on it, and Imelda approached to see what it may be.

There was a new photo on the ofrenda, a smiling boy none of them had seen before. Imelda frowned in confusion. “Who is this?” she wondered aloud, knowing full well none of them had the answer. Her eyes fell on the whiteboard the child was holding, and the writing on it. “If lost return to Socorro?”

“Must be someone she knew, then.”

“And so young!” Rosita sighed, clearly saddened. “Dying must be so scary when you’re only a child. It’s unsettling enough for an adult!”

“Now, now, we’re not certain he’s dead,” Julio said, patting her arm. Victoria shook her head.

“His picture wouldn’t be on the ofrenda if he wasn’t dead. I haven’t seen him anywhere, though,” she added, glancing around. Beside her, Coco did the same.

“He might visit, since his photo is here…”

“Oh, wait! Is that a letter?” Felipe spoke up, pointing at something right by the photo.

“It is!” Héctor reached to take the letter, which split in two, leaving a spirit copy in his hand. The rest of the family moved closer to look. “Let’s see, it’s from Socorro to one Cheque…”

It wasn’t a long read, only a couple of pages in the large handwriting of a child, the ink smudged by what could be nothing but tear stains. Héctor read aloud, but his voice became quieter and quieter as he kept going. By the time he finished, Rosita was crying loudly and Julio was patting her arm again. Imelda let her gaze wander on the last lines again.

I miss you so much. I’m so, so sorry. You’ll always be my bestest friend and I will never, ever forget you.

“A friend of hers, then,” Coco was saying, and Héctor lowered the letter so that she could take a look without having to stand on her toes. “Some sort of accident… the poor thing, she must be so upset. Maybe that is why she’s not here yet?”

“Maybe she’s upstairs,” Héctor said, and it seemed reasonable to Imelda. Maybe Miguel was with her, trying to comfort her.

“We can keep our eyes peeled for this boy, too,” Coco said. “He may show up later, and it’s only fair he sees the letter if he do–”

“Guys! Hey! GUYS!”

“Wha–?” Imelda turned on time to see Miguel running inside, with Socorro and his alebrije in tow. For a moment she thought there had to be something urgent he needed to tell his living family - then she saw him and his sister both running through their father and towards them, and she knew things were just about to get more complicated than that.

Oh, here we go again.

“Miguel!”

“Hey, Miguel!”

“What are you doing here? I mean, here here?”

“Socorro! Coquito! You’re so cute, let me give you a hug! Oh, Coco, she looks just like you!”

“Mamá Coco! Ah, I’ve missed you! Whoa, Héctor! You look great!”

“Chamaco! I still get to call you that, right? Stop trying to grow taller than me, this is weird!”

“Ruff! Woof!”

“Hey! Hey! That’s mine! Let go of my femur! Óscar, help me! What kind of alebrije are you?”

“Guys, this is Socorro, but I’m sure you already knew! Socorro, this is Mamá Coco! And Papá Julio, and Tío Felipe, Tío Óscar, Tía Victoria, Tía Rosita…”

For several moments, the small ofrenda room was absolute chaos. Imelda waited until the chaos had settled some - until both Héctor and Coco had let go of Miguel, until Felipe managed to retrieve all of his bones from the alebrijes’ mouth, until Rosita finally put down a bewildered and wide-eyed Socorro - before she cleared her throat. Just like that, all noise died down and everyone turned to her.

Good. That was a start.

“Hello, Socorro,” she smiled at the girl, then turned to Miguel, hands on her hips. His attempt at a smile quickly turned into a sheepish grimace. Héctor took his hand off his shoulder and stepped aside, as though to avoid being caught in a blast, and shrugged apologetically at Miguel’s unimpressed look. Imelda hardly took notice. “Miguel. I trust you can explain this?”

He could, and did. And, to her surprise, it wasn’t something she could bring herself to be angry about. Once Miguel was done talking she glanced back at Socorro, who seemed to have gotten over her shock enough to talk.

“I… I didn’t know! And I didn’t mean to steal it!” she protested. “I just wanted… I only…”

“Hey, hey, it’s okay, niña,” Héctor said gently, crouching down next to her. “We know. I would have been distraught, too, if my–” he began, but then he trailed off, and just patted her shoulder. “It’s okay,” he repeated. No one seemed to take notice, but Imelda did see the change in his expression for a moment, and she knew exactly what it was about.

Yes, he would have been just as distraught if he’d seen his best friend killed in front of him as a child - but given who that friend had been, and what he turned out to be, it wasn’t something Héctor wanted to dwell on. Nor did she; they had more urgent matters at hand.

“Papà is right,” Coco was saying, putting her hand on the child’s back. Unlike Héctor, she didn’t need to crouch to do so. “We can fix this very easily. Your friend can give you the blessing you need to go back.”

Socorro looked up at her, and suddenly brightened. “Wait, this is… this is real! You’re really here!” she exclaimed, causing Victoria to raise an eyebrow.

“Well, you’ve caught on. Must have taken after your mother’s side of the family,” she muttered, gaining herself a slap on the arm from Rosita. Socorro, however, ignore the jab.

“That means Cheque is here, too!” she exclaimed, and ran out in the yard before they could tell her otherwise. “Cheque! Cheque!”

Miguel turned to look at them. “Have you seen him at all? It’s the kid in that picture.”

Coco shook her head. “I’m afraid not. We were just talking about him when you showed up. We didn’t see him around.”

“Oh. But maybe he will come later…?”

“Maye, but we won’t be waiting around meanwhile,” Imelda spoke up. “We may have the whole night ahead of us, but last thing I want is another last minute save. We’re going straight back to the other side. At the very least, they’ll be able to tell us if he crossed over to the Land of the Living or if he’s still on the other side.”

“She’s right. As usual,” Héctor smiled at her like he’d just heard her stating the tenets of the universe, and while Imelda rolled her eyes - it really wasn’t the right moment - she didn’t entirely mean it. “Besides, the sooner we find him, the more time he and Socorro can spend together before she gets her blessing. I can go with them,” he added, turning to the others. “If you want to stay here–”

“Oh, nonsense,” Victoria cut him off. “This is a family matter. We’re coming with you.”

Coco shook her head. “Regardless, at least someone should stay here, in case the child comes while you’re away. Julio, dear, would you…?”

“Of course. I’ll keep an eye out for him,” he replied, giving her hand a squeeze. “Miguel, you may want to fetch Socorro before she wanders off looking. One missing child is enough.”

As Miguel rushed to do just that, Imelda glanced back at the ofrenda, at the photo of the boy, and frowned. Everything seemed to be reasonably under control - they just had to find the child, and Socorro would have both closure and the blessing she needed to return home.

And yet she couldn’t shake off a very, very bad feeling about that entire business.

***

(Alternative title: Area Family Tired of Snatching Grandkids from Jaws of Death.)

***

[Back to Part 2]

[On to Part 4]

[spicy-dunkaroo]

Taking Power Back (One-Shot)

♫Now Playing: “Taking Power Back” by Spicy Dunkaroo…♪

❀ Word Count: 5k

❀ Rating: Mature, 18+, Minors Do Not Interact (please)

❀ Genre: One Shot (Not sure how to explain this haha)

❀ Summary: (Writing Prompt) Mora’s job was to take away the powers of supervillains as they’re admitted to jail. For a few years, she’d been reselling these powers to interested bidders on the side - no questions asked. Today, a prisoner showed up with a power so unusual, she decided to take it for herself.

❀ Warning(s): Please read!! Dark Content ☠, Mentions of Murder, Attempted Murder, Implied Childhood Abuse, Implied Bullying, Swearing, etc.

❀ Author's Note: Hello everyone!! This will be my first story/one-shot of hopefully many other more positive ones lol. Credit for the prompt goes to u/totoropengyou on reddit for the writing prompt!! Just want to warn you all once more if you skipped over the warnings, this is a dystopian world that's fucked up. Please read with caution.

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Everyday seems the same as the one before it. Same coworkers at the same job, not to mention the same shitty work Mora has to do to get paid.

Her job is to extract the powers of crooked criminals that somehow ended up in the nation's most secure penitentiary. Why? Well, if it weren’t for her, most of these monsters would have probably destroyed the government and Gods know what else.

Somedays, Mora finds it easier to sleep at night when she doesn’t think of the ‘what-if’s’ of not taking on the government position, if she screwed up, and what if she was any less moral than she already was.

That’s not to say that she was any sort of ‘holier than thou’ being that had mankind's well-being as top priority. The job doesn’t pay her enough to be so kind to the shitty world she’s lived in for the last 19 years. There probably isn’t enough money in the world for Mora to change her ways now, now when the temptation has become that much sweeter.

Sure, maybe she could be helping the world out by not selling the quirks to the highest bidder every Friday night. But in all honesty, who gives a damn? Yes, the government would and probably would punish her to the highest degree, and most citizens wouldn’t be too pleased. Why be mad at her though? It’s the buyer's fault for throwing hundreds of millions of dollars for just one of the many powers she extracts from those crooks everyday. Most of them aren’t too bad, they at least seem nice with the weekly gift baskets and extravagant gifts they throw her way in hopes of getting a nifty power before it’s on the floor the following Friday night.

Then again, you’d never expect those who were begging to be in Mora’s favor to be in the positions they are.

If it’s any consolation, most of those bidders can’t even infuse the power within their own bodies without risky surgery and the high chance of dying.

See, nearly 70% of all humans born in this ‘age of power’ are gifted with one of the four types of abilities. There’s fight, flight, freeze, and then there’s the unknown fourth type, probably the most rare of them all, mutants. As they are listed, 43% of these humans have the fight type, 32% have the flight, 20% have freeze, and less than 5% have the mutation type. Despite this, research says that you have a good chance of walking past a human with the mutation type of power at least once in your life without knowing it. Since there have always seemed to be so few ‘mutants’ as they call them, there's not much information on the different variations of the ability outside of that they don’t fit in the category of the other three.

Lucky for Mora, she happens to be one of the very few with the mutation power. Her’s happened to be perfect for her government assignment as well as for her side business.

The government took it upon themselves to name this “company” Vera. Mora wasn’t too sure why this was outside of the Latin meaning of the word (truth), like some sort of ‘holier than thou’ complex she presumed.

Though there have been struggles with her ability. Since there has been little research done, nobody knew how to teach her to hone her skill. Not her teachers, advisor, biological parents, or her other parents in the past. Despite this, Mora feels that she has a pretty good idea how her power works now.

Did she ever dream about extracting a part of most humans' identity as her ‘ideal job’? Of course not, when she was growing up she dreamed about being a rockstar, firefighter, or a damn teacher, anything but the hell she’s had to live through day in and day out.

Since she was assigned her power type, she moved from one home to another, left one school after the next, and was always called a mutant. Although she wasn’t sure exactly when the government began to really lock their sights on her, she was heavily reminded of the fucked up world she lived in once she graduated high school. There were only ever two options for her. Look out for everyone else, or look out for herself.

When you’re asked if you’d be willing to become a human lab rat or work as an official government officer, just about anybody wouldn’t have thought twice about that choice. Though there are a few poor motherfuckers that wanted what was best for humanity. To that Mora thanks them for giving her the ability to have a choice. Besides that, screw humanity. The criminals on the street aren’t the monsters you’re told live in the darkness, the ones in your closet, or the ones hiding under your bed. No, sometimes those monsters are a lot closer to you, and they’re not there to protect you.

It’s a real dog-eat-dog world on both sides of the door. So look out for yourself, that’s the only way you can survive. Despite learning this throughout her whole life, Mora lived by the only saying she could remember from her time with her father.

‘Don’t let anything in this world tear you down. It’ll be tough, sure, but you deserve to pursue your happiness as much as anyone else because you’re a fighter- a winner! Never let anyone make you feel like anything less than the champion you are.’

Though she never understood what her father meant when she first heard it, now it’s one of the only few thoughts that seem to brighten her day as she looks back on her more fond memories of growing up.

Even now, as Mora sits in the holding room, it appears to be the only thought that can take her out of the mindfuck that was currently her train of thought as she regretfully remembered her last patient.

If Mora had the freedom her fellow peers had back in high school, she always thought she might have wanted to go to college to become a doctor. These happier possibilities help Mora to separate herself from her gruesome work. So regarding these scum of the earth beings as ‘patients’ helps to block off the blood-curdling screams that echoed in the walls many hours after they were moved to their prison cells.

As Mora begins to think of her perfect life, a knock is heard at the door, quickly followed by the door swiftly

“You okay in there Spe?”

“Oh, it’s just you Timentes. You scared me for a second there, also, please stop with the formalities. You know how much I hate my birth-given name. At least call me Griseo if you have to.”

“You know the rules, officially I can’t call you by your revised name, at least in front of others that is.”

“Then could you at least call me Mora in private?”

As she says this, Mora pats a spot before her at the small table, deciding to sit herself in the patients chair as she sees what they always saw before she conducted her ‘surgeries’ on them.

“Fine, fine, but only because you’re the most tolerable person in this hell hole.”

“Damn right I am! Ain’t nobody gonna take that title away from me haHA!”

“You worry me sometimes, Moralis.”

“Aww, is that your secret way of telling me you’re thinking about me? I’m touched, really, but I don’t think I can say the same about you, no offense.”

Timentes dramatically gasps as he places his right hand onto his bullet-proof gear, leaning back as he begins to speak once more.

“Offense completely taken. And here I was about to ask you out.”

“And by ‘ask me out’ you really mean make some instant ramen as we binge watch another anime this weekend? Because you know I can’t say no to that.”

“Which is why I always ask. You know you love our marathon nights! We- we might as well be a married couple with how often you stay the night.”

As Timentes says this, Mora notices the sudden change in demeanor, his cheeks becoming a brighter shade of pink of his stubbly face, the way his blue eyes dart away from her direction, and how she can clearly see how awkwardly cute his eyebrow quirks at his own words.

“I don’t think we fight enough to move that fast.”

‘If he won’t get the balls to actually ask me out, clearly we aren’t meant to be.’

Despite thinking this, Mora knew the real reason she was writing off her adorably shy co-worker. Mora knew she had to keep everyone at arm's length, regardless of her happiness in order to make it out of this world alive.

Mora rolls her eyes as she decides to change the topic.

“So...What did you come in here for? I know I’m a nice piece of eye candy, but you can’t let my womanly charms distract you from work. There’s only so many times I can cover for your ass.”

“R-Right...The next inmate will be coming in soon.”

“Okay? What’s wrong with him? Is he deranged? Violent? Or did he murder his family? Usually you don’t come to tell me about them in person either way.”

“The thing is… From what I’ve heard through the grapevine, this guy is something else.”

“Could you elaborate?”

“Well that’s the thing, I think it’s something about his power that nobody can figure out. We had to pull out all the stops just to restrain him. Who knows if he’s deranged or violent, apparently he took out 8 officers before he was apprehended.”

“Well, how’d they end up arresting this guy?”

“That’s the weirdest part, they didn’t.”

“They didn’t?”

“Well- they did but only after he surrendered.”

“You mean to tell me that this guy had more than enough man-power to escape, and yet after he was done screwing around he just- gave himself up?”

“Exactly.”

“So you’re telling me to be on high alert because you guys don’t know this guy's deal?”

“Yep. Everybody here knows how strong you are. But- you know the guys and I care about you, don’t you?”

“Yea yea, more like you’re worried this guy might catch my eye.”

“I’m being serious Mora… He's code 10.”

Despite feeling her nerves begin to creep up, Mora attempts to keep her composure as she blows Timentes off.

“I’m sure he’s not-”

Before she can finish her sentence, she hears a sudden thud, making her jump in her seat as she looks back over at the man before her.

“You and I both know there are no other inmates that are code 10. Hell, there hasn’t been a code 10 in years!”

Mora crosses her arms in disgust as she turns her head away without an answer.

“Oh Gods- Mora, I’m so sorry I just- I’m just worried about you-”

“Leave.”

“W-What? Lo-look I know I screwed up but-”

“I said leave. Go before you piss me off.”

Without another word between the two, Timentes stands up, hearing the metal chair scrape against the dull concrete floor, quietly turning to open the door behind him, the metal eye-sore loudly scratches against the frame and floor as it screeches open, and soon after slams back into its frame.

Mora can feel the tears begin to trickle down her cheeks as she refuses to look forward again. The memories of her past begin to flood in slideshow form as she feels a panic attack start up.

‘Damnit- Keep it together Griseo!’

As she thinks this, she wipes away the few tears that escaped her lids.

In the little time Mora had in isolation, juxtaposed to every other day, she’s able to calm herself down as she regains her composure once more.

Before she has a moment to breathe, the signaling of five knocks at the door are heard through the metal barrier as she is quick to stand up and move back over to her chair. She coughs in an attempt to drown out the dejected tone in her throat that was previously gripping at her vocal chords.

“C-Come in.”

Hearing this, three men step into the muted turquoise walls of Mora’s ‘office space���.

Two are wearing the familiar dark uniform, while one appears to be restrained in a black straight jacket.

Outside of the workers uniforms, most of their gear and restraints are color coordinated based on the risk factor code. Usually Mora only ever saw the white, orange, even the occasional red, but the most heavy duty of all was always.

‘Black? Timentes really wasn’t kidding when he said this guy was code 10.’

Mora begins to feel on edge as she stares at the man who appeared…average. The man stood at 6ft as he was seated in his chair, umber bangs seemed to be askew but still were able to hide his eyes completely. Minus a blistering red scar on his neck, the man before Mora looked like any other law abiding citizen. Although, based on the look of it, the scar appeared to be fresh.

As the two officers restrained the man further into his chair, Mora props her foot on the top of the table between them, waiting for the sound of locks to cease in its continuous echo.

Once the officers were finished, Mora waved them away dismissively, speaking up once she heard one of the two grip at the handle.

“Stand by and guard the door for me? I’m sure this won’t take long.”

As Mora looks back, the men both nod as they exit the suffocating room, leaving her with her newest patient.

Grabbing the clipboard that was left by one of the officers, Mora glances over at her patients health information, zeroing in toward the bottom of the page that listed his allergies, blood type, and ability type.

“Allergic to: None. Blood Type: AB-, let’s hope you don’t lose too much blood then.”

As Mora reads the final section, she notices there are many unprofessional scribbles with many question marks behind the possibility of what this man’s ability type was.

“So tell me, since you have nothing better to do, what is your power categorized as?”

Mora looks back up toward her patient as she waits for a response. After a moment if awkward silence fills the room, she speaks up once more.

“Here, I’ll tell you mine if you tell me yours, okay?”

Without a verbal or physical sign of agreement, Mora quickly gives in, but not before she has a bit of fun with him.

“I’ll give you a hint, it’s the reason why I have no chance at another job. Why I’ll be stuck under these assholes' thumbs till the day I die. Why I always hate it when my patients don’t cooperate. It just makes my job so much harder. Think that gives you an idea?”

There’s another moment of silence as Mora flimsily flips through the other pages of paperwork she’ll have to fill out after the surgery.

“Here, I’ll give you one more hint, but if you don’t answer this time, we’ll, you’ll feel soon enough how painful I can really make it.”

Mora sighs as she continues on once more.

“Kids used to call me ‘mutant’ back in school. I was always looked down upon because nobody knew who or what I was- no, more like they didn’t know how to scare me because I knew what they were capable of, while they were afraid of what I was- what I am.”

Hearing this, the man before her finally reacts, slowly moving his head up, for the first time looking Mora dead in the eyes.

She would be lying if she didn’t say that his stare didn’t scare her. It felt like he was carving her up with just his eyes as his mouth began to stretch into what appeared to be a smirk.

“So we’re the same then?”

Mora was taken aback by his sudden answer, noticing his voice was hoarse as he spoke. It takes her a moment to sort through her thoughts as she walks over toward the door, knocking twice.

In a matter of moments the red blinking light on the camera pointed at the man cease, signaling that nobody was watching them now. Mora walks back over toward the table, moving closer toward the man as she drops the volume of her voice to a whisper.

“So you’re a mutant type? No wonder those guys couldn’t handle you back there. Dumbasses don’t even know how to hold a gun half the time, much less deal with people unlike themselves.”

The man turns his head eerily as he looks back at Mora, seeming to drop his guard for a moment. This causes Mora to relax as she responds once more.

“I’m sure those guys haven’t been treating you well, are you thirsty?”

Nodding, the man smacks his lips at the lack of hydration. Walking back over to her side of the table, Mora grabs her bottle of water that sat by the legs of her cold chair. Once she grabs the half filled bottle, she walks back over toward the man as he appears to be pleading with his eyes in hopes of quenching his thirst.

“Now, since you’re restrained, I’m going to have to pour it into your mouth. If you want me to do that, I’m going to need you to promise that you won’t bite my finger or something, alright?”

The man shakes his head in response, this time appearing more eager than when he was brought in as he watched Mora’s fingers twist the cap off, titling the bottle toward him as he begins to open his mouth.

“Just to make sure, you aren’t going to bite me if I give you a drink?”

Looking back at the man once more, he shakes his head just as eagerly, giving Mora the scariest idea of ‘puppy-dog eyes’ she might have ever wished she could have unseen.

“Okay, I’ll try to be slow but let me know if it’s too much.”

Mora then places the top of the bottle onto the man's lip, beginning to pour the water into his mouth.

Despite her beliefs and her attitude toward those she called her ‘patients’, she couldn’t help but feel sympathy for the bastard. Mora is a lot of terrible terrible things, but knew she wasn’t some sort of cold monster that found satisfaction in others' pain. Especially since they had one thing in common, getting fucked over by the world because of who they were. The least she could do was show empathy for someone who seemed to have it worse than herself.

Before long, the man gulps down the remaining water, releasing the top from his mouth as Mora cautiously moves it away from him. Mora speak quietly once more as she twists the lid back on to the plastic bottle.

“Good, thank you for not trying to hurt me. You’d have no idea how many of these inmates would leap at the chance to do just that. It’s- it’s fucked up. Now… Since I feel safe enough to trust you, I think I should tell you something about why you’re in here with me…”

Mora looks away from the man as she feels guilt in what she knew she had to do. In the past, all she did was touch the patient and take away their power as she tried to block out their strained shrieks that made her ears bleed.

Now, because she extended an olive branch to this stranger, it made everything moving forward begin to feel all the more gut-wrenching. Despite this nauseating feeling that began to crawl up her throat, she felt it would be best to tell him the process, doctor to patient.

“I have to remove your ability from your body.”

As Mora says this, she works up the strength to push away her feelings of guilt by staring the man in the eyes as she broke the news.

“It’s an excruciatingly painful process and there is a 20% chance you could die before the procedure is complete.”

Mora could feel her strength begin to evaporate before her very eyes as she felt the bile crawl up her throat once more.

“In the event that that happens, I will still continue to extract your power from your body as emergency services attempt to revive you.”

‘Gods, I’m gonna fucking puke.’

“A-And I know you don’t have any choice in this, but- I’ll try to make it as painless as possible, and hopefully you won’t die.”

As she spoke, Mora can feel the tears begin to form in her eyes as her vision begins to blur. Before now, she was able to block off the painful wails of her past patients, feeling some pass on as she was forced to continue on with the procedure, Gods- somehow she was able to sleep at night before now.

She never thought too much about her power until now, but somehow, Mora became the grim reaper, selling strangers' souls to the highest bidder. The more she thought about it, the more she began to feel disgusted in herself for not realizing this for years! Maybe it was for her own sanity, or it was so she wouldn’t become a lab rat, but for some damn reason, she couldn’t forgive herself for acting so selfishly.

“I’m so sorry.”

Mora was at a loss for words as she felt a few tears begin to cascade down her cheeks as she forced her gaze at the man.

The pair sat in silence for what felt like hours, Mora eventually dropping her head in shame for what she had done and would have to do. Before long, the man speaks up.

“It’s not your fault. I deserve this. So please, don’t cry.”

Her breath is caught in her throat as she looks back up at the man. There was no reason for him to talk to comfort her when he was the one about to suffer. It wasn’t fair, none of this was fair for either of them. Before Mora can speak up in retaliation, the man speaks up once more.

“Before you take it away, could you do one thing?”

Mora nods energetically as she wipes her cheeks with the back of her hand, wiping her eyes with her knuckle in an attempt to give him her full attention.

“Whatever happens to me, could you please tell my family that everything they’ll need is in the basement?”

“I-I can!”

“Good good. I’m ready.”

In utter shock, Mora takes a moment before she stands up from her chair, clenching her fists in anger as she trudges toward the man.

Before Mora has a chance to rethink her decision, she places her hand on the man’s shiny bald head, forcing the breath she held to release as she began the surgery. As she does this, Mora can see the man attempting to restrain his howls of agony in the indescribable torture he must be feeling.

“I’m so sorry!”

As Mora says this, the man looks up at her, exhaling his last words as the process is nearly complete.

“Bring back peace.”

Mora’s bottom lip begins to quiver in guilt as she nods in response, not understanding the weight of the man's words.

After the procedure, Mora left early, deciding to get a breath of fresh air as she put it. Taking long strides in the direction of her home, she began to think back on the man’s words.

‘The hell did he mean by “Bring back peace”? Was he some sort of hippy that got into trouble? If that were the case then why was he a code 10?’

Mora’s thoughts continued to consume her attention as she failed to notice the looming shadow that didn’t seem to be too far behind her as it continued to stalk its prey.

‘Maybe he was a scapegoat? They didn’t really give me much information on his charges so he could have been some sort of cult leader for all we know. That- there was no way that could be it… So then, why-’

Suddenly, Mora was pulled from her thoughts as she felt a tug by her side. Before she had a chance to figure out what was happening, she felt her body being pulled away from the desolate streets and into a damp alleyway- pushed against what felt like a dirty brick wall as she felt a bit of her shirt tear.

In a mere few seconds, Mora went from walking home to suddenly being trapped in an alleyway between a brick wall and from what she could tell was a pistol as all she could see was the underside of the gun that was held against her forehead.

“Listen here bitch. If you so much as yell, I’m putting this entire magazine in your skull, ya got that?”

Without seeing another way out of this endeavor, Mora nodded as she looked toward the perpetrator, only able to recognize a scar that started at his top lip, continuing diagonally across, and ending a few centimeters away from his bottom lip. The assailant continued speaking as she felt her heart beating a mile a minute.

“Nobody has to get hurt, just reach into your purse there and give me all your money and I’ll be on my way, alright?”

Mora nods once more as she feels the metal cylinder against her temple shift in its position on her. Between this and the brick wall behind her, she’d never felt more suffocated now than all those years she spent in that stupid cell she currently wished she never left in the first place.

As she agrees to this, she slowly moves her purse straps from their comfy place on her shoulder, now sitting in her hands as she shakily reaches in to pull out her wallet.

‘Where the fuck is it?! Of all times, NOW I had to stuff it away somewhere else!? I’m so fucking dead…’

With weighted breath, she begins to speak as she continues to scrummage through her messy bag.

“I-I- heh, you’re not gonna believe this. I- uh, I can’t find my wallet.”

“You tryna fucking pull a fast one on me lady?!”

“N-No I swear I’m not, I-I think I left it at work.”

“Bullshit. If you don’t get your money out in three fucking seconds, there’s gonna be a bullet between your eyes.”

Mora began to panic as she knew exactly where she left her wallet in the locker room that morning.

The assailant began to count down, each second seeming to further paralyze the woman in fear as she couldn’t see any other way to escape her fate.

‘Is there really no way out of this? Is this where I die? Goddamnit-’

“One.”

Mora hears a shot fired from the man's gun, the ringing in her ears proving his threats were legitimate but- something was off.

As she looked up toward the gun, she could see the smoke from the firing at the front of the cylinder dissipate, but Mora didn’t feel...anything. No pain, no blood trickling down her face, nothing! She wasn’t sure what had happened but as she shakily reached up to feel the point of impact, she was met with a cool metal feeling. The thief standing before her stumbled back as he saw the chamber appeared to have exploded rather than fire off at its intended target.

“W-What the- D-Don’t think you’re off the hook just because you have a freeze type bitch! I-I’ll fucking kill you myself!”

Confused by his statement, Mora sat there stunned as she knew that this definitely wasn’t her ability at work. Suddenly, the man begins to charge at her, wrapping his hands around her neck in hopes of choking her.

Feeling her airway begin to close off, Mora instinctively reached her hand out toward the man, gripping at his arm as she attempted to remove the man’s ability in hopes of injuring him. Mora did injure him alright, just not the way she was attempting to do so as she looked to her hand and noticed it began to burn and glow a bright orange hue. In the blink of an eye, the man before her was suddenly engulfed in flames as he released her throat.

“YOU FUCKING PSYCHO!!! AHHHHG-!”

As the man frantically began to run around in circles, Mora lost strength in her legs as she slid down the brick wall, watching in both fear and amazement at what she had done. Looking down, she sat on the ground, pulling her hand toward her face as she noticed the orange hue continue to glow.

Suddenly, from the corner of her eye she saw the assailant fall to the ground, not attempting to extinguish the fire as his body laid there lifelessly. As she sees this, she notices the fire begins to burn out itself. Looking back at her hand, she notices the glow start to fade, nervously clenching it into a fist as she trembles in...excitement?

As Mora began to think that she’s lost her mind, another thought began to linger in the back of her mind.

‘I think I’ll keep this one for myself...’

[funkymbtifiction]

About ENTJs.

SUBMITTED by lexwrites

What is it like being an ENTJ?

I read in previous posts about INFPs, and how accurately it applied to both my INFP mates. And I realised, such few truly understand ENTJs. I’ve been wanting to submit a post regarding our type in the hopes that it’ll help throw light on some aspects of this personality type and address what it’s like to belong to this type. To be honest, I have no idea why people want to be of a certain type (especially this one) - it’s not special, you are. I know Se types that do very well in school because they are more likely to be doing and moving on when we, intuitives, are contemplating. Planning and execution are merely two sides of a coin, both irreplaceable, both inseparable. And the world would be thrown off balance if everybody started to be like everybody else. We all have a role to play in this world, we’re parts of a bigger, much bigger, whole. And we all orient nicely to shape the world as we see it today. So, the sooner we embrace who we really are, the sooner we can contribute to the world, and thereby to ourselves.

Besides, the ridiculous thoughts that people have concerning ENTJs is hilarious and irksome: right from people using this type to excuse every bad behaviour (bullying, rudeness, arrogance) to embellishing and making unsubstantiated claims about oneself (I’d like to add here that ignorance is not the enemy of knowledge, the illusion of knowledge is). As an ENTJ, I’m appalled. No, I don’t approve of those behaviours (or the reasoning). Also, the idea of ENTJ has been so glorified that for a while, it made me believe that I’m not the type.

What is it like being an ENTJ? Well, how do you describe colours to a person who cannot see? It’s difficult to explain what having a function is like (most people ask me about the auxiliary Ni: I don’t know, I just have it). But one could describe the effects to better understand how the functions work, and how, together, they contribute to the end result which is the person that you see.

You’d never think I was an ENTJ (I didn’t). As a child, I was kind, tried to make many friends, did well in artistic activities, enjoyed physical activities and living in the moment. The artistic inclination, niceness and friendliness would probably (stereotypically) put me in Fe or my fast paced life would put me in Se. And then, as I got older, I was much quieter and ‘harsher’. I have been typed as an INTJ several times.

So, what is being an ENTJ like?

I wake up, ready to set my evil plan into motion. Taking over the world takes discipline, yes. My minions are ready for deployment…

I’m putting on my expensive suit, another normal day as managing director of a multinational company… no, not that either.

I’m an overworked college student. That sounds right.

(Some of the characteristics listed below may manifest in many other types. But all these together provide a framework to latch on to. I’m saying, it points to a likelihood that these represent the MBTI type).

Be that as it may, we best get on.

-Some would say I’m ambitious (or just plain unrealistic); they are the kind ones. I like to think I have goals, and strategies to see them through.

- A need to be in control (not ‘controlling’). This stereotype is true (and justified). I am at ease at the driver’s seat. Ever taught someone to drive? Then you know what it’s like to sit in the passenger’s seat of a novice driver and desperately want to take the wheel and do it right by yourself. This happens to be the case most of the time. I have a (bad) habit of seeking perfection, and I certainly dislike incompetence (who doesn’t?) and more importantly, I am put off by people who claim to know what they’re doing when they very obviously don’t.

-“It doesn’t matter what we want. Once we get it, we want something else.” Defining statement. Which means…

-I’m not prone to nostalgia. I don’t hold on to a record I set three years ago. Mistakes are a different story. Which brings me to…

-Admitting to a mistake means I need proof. Authentic proof. Calling me a hypocrite because it doesn’t fit with the accuser’s worldview is irrational. I appreciate the effort taken by a person to explain to me why something is wrong, with the help of solid data. Then it’s just professionalism.

-I hate indecisiveness. Even in myself. It might be as simple as ordering food or deciding which classes to take.

-I love to learn. I’ll take as many classes as is humanly possible, be it art, languages, academics. (My relatives often joke that there aren’t enough hours in the day for me).

-I don’t do things for the heck of it. If I don’t have an aptitude for it (say, sports), but I do like it, I won’t bother. Why invest time and energy into something that won’t come to fruition?

-When I say I suck at something, it’s because I know I can’t do it. But suddenly, everybody wants to prove me wrong. “Oh, no. I think you’re doing great!” No, I’m not seeking reassurance or looking for compliments. I’m just sure of what I cannot do (more so than what I can do). Helps me from doing something stupid, like making a promise and not seeing it through (which is rude, at best).

-I can be competitive (I’ll walk twice as fast as the person walking in front of me to ‘race’ him). But I have faced defeat, and several times at that, and will admit it gracefully (kind of).

-Every small incident is turned into a life lesson. Stubbed toe? Every scar is a lesson. (I think it’s probably how I process how I’m feeling).

-I’m good at breaking down tasks, tend to do so naturally (be it work, study, or planning an event). I can set things into motion just by being present. Although, I tend to piss people off in the process because they “don’t take orders from you” (mostly happens with older, high-Si people: ‘do as you’re told, no questions’ or ‘older is smarter’).

-I don’t like being forced to respect somebody for the title they hold if they cannot do the job they were hired to do (yes, even if they’re good people; they are not paid to be nice). The same rules apply to me too. I prefer to earn somebody’s respect than demand it simply because I’m in the position to do so.

-I’ve often been told that I’m too young to make ‘adult decisions’ despite my idea being better than theirs (while I do listen to them at other times). It’s not arrogance, it’s just an easier way to get the job done. Show me a better way, I’ll be more than happy to follow you.

Well, that’s enough of that.

ENTJ Contradictions:

Things that are contradictory to the ENTJ (stereo)type:

-I am lazy. I procrastinate. This is mostly true for monotonous work. If I believe it’s an easy job, I will leave it for the last minute because, well, I can.

-I tend to be slow to act, afraid of not being perfect enough before ‘launch’. Or I’ll do the exact opposite and make a fool out of myself.

-I have an over-active imagination. I get plenty of ideas and can seem scatterbrained when I speak too soon or when I’m trying to say it all at once (when I’m excited about it): something attributable to Ne, perhaps.

-I am artistically inclined.

-I get obsessive about a past mistake I’ve made or very upset when my structure/plan is disrupted (that one would term me Si if they didn’t know me).

-I enjoy helping people. Also, I enjoy giving gifts. And no, not because I’m manipulating them or expecting something in return. Also, I have gotten good at dealing with people. When I realise being logical is not helping somebody I care about, I’m more than capable of giving moral support. (Some would consider that Fe behaviour).

-I am incredibly polite. Oh, how many times have people asked me if I’m really an ENTJ because I’m so ‘nice’ (while there are people who find it incredibly suspicious that I am, especially because I’m an ENTJ). I don’t steam-roll, or snap at anybody (I leave that to my Fi-dom mates who let their personal feelings seep into work, with their inferior Te tantrums). If I’m upset, I’ll usually not say anything.

-I tend to want to be left alone. I over-use Ni. In general, though, I’m an introvert (despite a dominant extroverted function). As much as I enjoy going out, dressing up well, or indulging in discussions (“No, I’m not angry”), I prefer to be alone for most of my time.

-I’m definitely not your stereotypical ENTJ who is quick on his feet. I need time to think things through.

All right, that should do.

I’m sure I’ve barely scratched the surface. I’m also sure that there will be plenty who will not show these behaviours.

On an ending note: We must strive not to find the perfect box to fit in, we must strive to step outside the box.

MBTI is an instrument. Use it well.

Good day, and have a spectacular week.

-Lex.

P.S.: Thank you, Charity, for being a part of my process in figuring out my type; also, your blog has contributed to exactly that in a significant way.

[sindearlyconnormurphy]

Teach Me, Baby [Connor Murphy x Reader]

Title: Teach Me, Baby Pairing: Connor Murphy x Reader Fandom: Dear Evan Hansen Requested: Nah Summary: You’re tutoring Connor Murphy (your friend? Your neighbor? You have no idea who you are to him) at the request of his mother. While working on your Spanish homework, Connor asks if you wouldn’t mind teaching him something else with his lips :) Warnings: Connor has a potty mouth | first person reader A/N: This is my first time writing a DEH drabble. I didnt proof read. I’m taking requests ♡

“You ever think about what it’s like?”

His voice startles me from where I’m scribbling in Spanish on my notebook–Connor had been surprisingly productive up to this point. On most nights when I walked over to his house to work on homework, Connor was sprawled on the bed or the floor or the couch and complaining endlessly until I practically did the assignment for him.

Being his tutor was easier than being a friend, after all. But today, Connor had been oddly silent, asking soft questions every so often under his breath about reflexive endings and vowel additions. He ignored his mother as she passed by the open door every so often, smiling in fondly at what must be a very stock photo scene, declining with a ‘no thanks’ when she asked if they needed anything after looking at me expectantly.

We’re both cross-legged on the blue frayed quilt pressed neatly on his bed, the notes splayed messing between us. The door had been shut in frustration after Cynthia’s third check in, giving Connor enough pause to lean in hyperbole against the door, giving an over exaggerated sigh, pulling on his hoodie and tucking a stray strand of hair back into the bun on the top of his head.

He isn’t looking at me when he asks the question, he’s staring down at his workbook intently. From where I’m sitting, I can see his lips are pursed tightly, cheeks puckered from the effort, as if he wished he hadn’t said the words. I might’ve laughed given any other situation, at the cost of earning an outburst, but he’d been so quiet today I was worried my chuckle might make him feel…well, might put him in a place I didn’t want him to be in.

“What what is like?” I asked absently, making sure to seem nonchalant. I didn’t want to scare him away. Connor having a serious conversation about anything was such a rare occurrence I was terrified I’d discourage him from doing it in the future.

There was a beat of silence, then two, and I’d long since decided he wouldn’t answer at all when he blurts out: “kissing.”

I didn’t look up. My pencil, however, flew out of my hands across the bed, eyes wide where they were glued on my notebook which looked like nothing but white and black tv static at that point.

“Haven’t you kissed anyone before?” I asked, voice thick and terrified. I half prayed Cynthia would check up on us again, stop the conversation in its tracks. The other half was so terrified Connor would fly up from the bed and scream at me to get out and never come back–and I didn’t want that. I wasn’t so sure I was comfortable with this topic of conversation at all.

“Shut up,” he hissed, but it was half-hearted, so I knew he wasn’t upset. Curiosity always won out with Connor Murphy. “No, haven’t exactly had anyone wanting to take me up on offers.”

“I didn’t know you offered,” I joked, daring a smile out of the corner of my eye. He was watching me, I realized, half emboldened by my sudden shyness, but his gaze was soft, the smirk at his mouth playful. He wasn’t making a move, I realized with relief. He was just asking.

“I don’t, really, I guess,” he sighed, pushing the papers out of his lap and into the bag at the foot of the bed.

“Connor–” I scolded. We still had a whole other assignment to do.

“You ever kissed anybody?” He asked so suddenly, his head jerking up to state at me boldly. His stony eyes were wide, almost nervous,  and I watched his adam’s apple dip in the thin column of his throat.

“I, uh, no,” I sputtered, uncomfortably. His dark eyebrows lowered, mouth folding into a thin line.  “Why not?”

I shrugged. “Never, uh, found a guy I liked, I guess.”

He quirked an eyebrow, so I elaborated: “You really gotta trust a guy, you know? Because if it’s with a stranger then it means something and it’s weird, but if you already know the person it’s like 'oh, cool, bye, whatever–’.”

“You’re doing the Evan Hansen ramble,” he said with a wicked smirk on his pretty pink lips. I game a small smile back.

“Boys are weird,” I grumbled, focusing back on my Spanish, suddenly none of it making sense. I didn’t like the way my hair fell on my neck, making me too hot and my shirt suddenly felt too heavy and itchy.

“You okay?”

“Stop asking me weird shit,” I grumbled, folding in on myself around my notebook, shoulders hunched and knees high. Connor laughed–loudly, out of character, readjusting on the bed so that he actually faced me, the torn knees of his black skinny jeans brushing mine.

“’S not weird shit, dumbass,” he said congenially, tapping my leg lovingly with his pencil, before throwing it into his bag. “Aren’t teenagers supposed to be curious?”

“Porn exists,” I reminded him cheekily, watching as his pale face flared red.

“Not the same!” He sputtered, rubbing anxiously at the back of his neck. “It’s not–”

“You would know,” I snorted, flopping back, slightly flustered, against his pillows to hide my reddened cheeks.

“Shut up,” he growled. “And scoot over.” I did as I was told, shuffling to the side and rolling onto my hip to give Connor room to slide up next to me, laying down and glaring at me.

“You’ve never thought about what it feels like?” He asked skeptically, eyebrows raised just slightly. I watched his hands to avoid his intense eye contact, the long thin fingers picking at a frayed quilt square between us.

“Course I have,” I muttered. “We were all fourteen once.”

“And you’re all grown up now, huh?” He teased, kicking me with his sock-clad foot. “You don’t think about boys anymore, huh? I don’t buy it. Don’t think Zoe hasn’t told me about the novels you stuff in your pillow case when you spend the night.”

“Traitor,” I hissed under my breath, feeling my whole face grow red.

Connor was still grinning widely, and it was such a rare sight that I took the moment to trace the crest of the apples of his cheeks, the deep lines around his smile, the cracks in his pink lips where the skin stretched just a bit too far.

“What about that Jake kid?” He asked suddenly, nudging me with his knee.

“Jake?”

“The kid that’s on the debate team? Really fucking obnoxious, always staring at your boobs, has the hair?”

“Josh,” I snorted, stilling laughing at Connor referring to anyone but himself as the guy that 'has the hair.’ “He’s cute, I guess. He just seems kinda skeezy. Like he’d take you to prom to feel you up and then dump you, ya know?”

Connor frowned, eyebrows furrowed and eyes unfocused with their gaze somewhere in the vicinity of my clavicle.

“You don’t like him?”

“Christ, no. I’m too busy to deal with boys, Con, end of story.”

“You wouldn’t even do like, uh, casual shit?”

“No,” I hissed, immediately becoming uncomfortable. “Connor, what’s this about?”

“I don’t know how to kiss a girl,” he sputtered, face red, covering it with his lithe fingers. His black finger nails left crescent shaped indents just above his eyebrows as I reached up to circle his wrists with my fingers, dragging them away.

“I’m asking you, as a friend,” he muttered, laying beneath me. He still wouldn’t meet my gaze, chewing on his lip thoughtfully, before eventually closing his eyes. His hair was fanned out against the baby blue pillow, the soft curls enticing and beautiful.

Connor, who was all angles and edges and frown lines, laying still beneath me, eyes closed serenely, pink lips slightly parted. I eased my hand onto his chest, feeling the gentle rise and fall of his breathing accompanied by his heart jackhammering in his chest.

It was stupid, and I shouldn’t. I trusted Connor, to an extent. Part of me was worried he thought he could woo me like this–take advantage. He was still a man, after all. The other half of me was worried. If I rejected him now or later on, he wouldn’t be okay and I wouldn’t be there to help him put himself back together once he fell apart. I wanted to half make sure he wouldn’t fall for me.

I reminded myself that Connor would probably never, ever be into me.

Connor rarely lied. He was blunt. Candid. It was admirable, if it wasn’t always so rude. I rolled over in the bed just a little more, slotting my knee in between his, brushing my hair back from where it fell in front of my eyes.

“This okay?” I mumbled, shifting closer, using the hand that wasn’t propping me up to scratch soothingly at his chest, the thick cotton of the hoodie soft against my fingertips.

He nodded, eyes still closed. I couldn’t bite back the chuckle bubbling in my throat.

“What’s so fucking funny?” He hissed, beginning to sit up, but I pressed him back down with my hand.

“You’ll kiss me back, right?” I laughed, tucking a strand of hair behind his ear. His eyes softened immediately, reaching up to take my hand, surprising me as he intertwined our fingers. Our hands were sweaty. “You’re just laying there like sleeping beauty. I feel like I’m stealing your virtue.”

“You’re funny, kid,” he grumbled, but nonetheless grinned where his lithe hands reached up to take my shoulders in his hands, pulling me back down to the mattress with him.

“You can say no,” he whispered against my ear, surprising me by pressing a kiss to my jaw. “I won’t be, uh, upset or anything.”

“I wanna,” I sighed, feeling him shiver beneath me, bring his knees up to frame my hips.

His hands surprised me as they snaked up my back at lightning speeds, taking my jaw none too gently and tipping it back, forcing me to finally look at him. His expression, unguarded and raw, knocked my breath out of my lungs. I wasn’t used to this Connor. I didn’t know this Connor.

I liked this Connor.

He was rough, yanking me too forcefully up to his lips, his fingers knotting violently into my hair and tugging before slamming his mouth into mine, his nose digging into the apple of my cheek.

He was all teeth, knashing and pressing much too hard, and I tried and nearly failed at smothering a giggle. It wasn’t bad, though it wasn’t necessarily good, it was just too…Connor. Too much of him to take this seriously.

Still, he commanded my presence again by groaning hard into my mouth, snaking a hand down and pressing hard against the small of my back. I tried to mutter 'baby, slow down, slow down’ but it was muffled by his overzealous kissing. He didn’t show any signs of noticing.

By the time he’d finished, I’d wrestled my expression into one of neutral positivity–I would probably be chortling like an idiot all night.

Connor was breathless, his pink lips now red rimmed and swollen from the abuse, a little wet. His eyes were bright, excited as he mumbled a, “Well? Was it good?”

I smiled sweetly, raking a hand through his now tangled hair, leaning down to peck at his lips softly.

“Okay, for a first try,” I conceded with a smile. “Little rough. Not bad.”

His eyes furrowed, lips moving into a frown. “Oh,” was all he said, moving to sit up, pushing me back off his lap. I rolled my eyes.

“It’s nothing a little practice couldn’t fix,” I mumbled, teasing, tracing over the fabric of his jeans. His eyes snapped up.

“Practice?”

I nodded, leaning back onto my elbows before falling down at the foot of the bed, my hair fanned around me. “Do your worst.”

[kagekanecavi]

I’m rewatching Miller’s Crossing because of the post (link: http://kagekanecavi.tumblr.com/post/164610394479/buffycuddlespigs-kagekanecavi ) the other day where @buffycuddlespigs and I talked about wanting a fic where Rodney got to Todd first.

Fic might come out of this. I can’t promise anything because the last few times I’ve tried to fic, my brain stalled out partway through but this feels different.

However I am a sucker for a happy ending (most of the time - my ao3 for proof http://archiveofourown.org/users/KagekaNecavi ) so I might not be able to write the horrible angst we wanted.

(I’m already envisioning the start of it: Summary says something about how Rodney knew John better than anyone. Thanks to chess and video games that weren’t really video games, he knew the way John strategized better than anybody, too. If he was gonna do this, now that John had said no, he needed to do it fast. The fic starts with something like: John doesn’t realize anything’s wrong until they get to the door of the lab where Todd is supposed to be working and there’s guard. John runs, leaving [I can’t remember the fucker’s name] sputtering protests behind him and the marines confused until they see what he saw. He swipes his card at the reader on the door and it [blinks red and beeps? whatever the card reader does to say no, rewatch will help me determine what that is.] He swears, a ball of lead building in his stomach. Why the *fuck* didn’t he put Rodney under guard immediately?!

As he’s shouting orders, demanding someone get him into hat goddamned room fucking *yesterday*, he knows why he didn’t put Rodney under guard right away. He expected Rodney to try this, but he expected Rodney to say goodbye to Jeanie first, and had a guard waiting for Rodney there, just outside the infirmary to give him privacy. But Rodney had to go and out maneuver him, had to strategize well for once in his fucking life. Couldn’t do it when he was playing chess, no, he had to do it when he was basically committing fucking suicide.

Finally they get the door open. Todd is standing at the computer, looking disgustingly healthy. There’s a Zat on the table and the guards are all slumped against the wall. And in the middle of the floor - God -

John ducks out of the room and throws up, choking on a sob.)

Ahem. Yes anyway I need to watch the episode to get details right. Keep in mind that while I got carried away there And wrote more than I meant to right now that is just the start. And anybody who wants to help me think of titles, I am more than happy to listen to (read: begging for) suggestions!! I suck at titles.

[theheavymetalmama]

Top Ten Characters Who Could Kick Saitama’s Ass

Ooh boy. Not going to make any friends with this post.

Full disclosure, I hardly ever watch anime anymore. Seems like everything new these days is either an ecchi, a harem, or both. Not that there’s anything inherently wrong with ecchis or harems, but when that’s all anybody wants to produce these days it gets old fast. And all the newest stuff that everyone says I should watch I just can’t get into. Attack on Titan feels like something that was never proof-read before production began, I find Kill la Kill obnoxious, and Monster Musume would actually be enjoyable if it didn’t milk tired roommate and girlfriend tropes for everything they were worth and if the male lead wasn’t such a terminally unlikable dumbass. Seriously, if Kimihito is supposed to represent the typical Japanese every-man then it’s no wonder Japan’s birth rate has dropped like a brick.

Having said all that, I fucking LOVE One Punch Man. It’s funny, action packed, and you can tell that everyone making it is just having the time of their lives. It has good animation, memorable characters, and the majority of the jokes land which is always a plus. The best way I can describe OPM would be if the people behind the Cornetto Trilogy made a superhero thing, and it’s every bit as enjoyable as it sounds. Seriously, check it out if you haven’t already.

What am I building up to? Well, when something gets popular it gains a fanbase, and that fanbase always gets more than its’ share of loudmouth assholes that not only make the rest of the fanbase look bad but also deter new fans from ever wanting to check it out. One Punch Man is no exception, and loudest and most vocal of these fans have decided to constantly get up in other people’s faces about how Saitama beats everyone because...one punch. Others say that Saitama is a parody and ergo typical rules about “Who would win in a fight?” type of discussions don’t apply to him. All the while stating again, again, and again that he’s completely unbeatable and nobody can even scratch him because he’s not meant to lose and one punch. But the most annoying of these fans are those who wave the banner that Saitama’s creator said that his power trumps the Big Bang and would win against characters like Goku or Superman easily.

No. Sorry, but no on all of those points. First of all, Saitama is awesome and a great and fun character, but he’s not unbeatable and he certainly isn’t invincible. In fact, both the anime and the web-comic repeatably make points that Saitama is still only human, and that despite his power he still needs to eat food, drink water, and breathe oxygen in order to survive. Sure, he has no specific weaknesses (other than the fact that he’s not the brightest guy around) but he’s still mortal.

Second, One Punch Man isn’t a parody. No, it really isn’t. Sure, it has plenty of funny bits and there’s plenty of superhero deconstruction to be found, but it’s not a parody. Freakazoid is a parody. Squirrel Girl is a parody. Captain Hero from Drawn Together is a parody. Duck Dodgers is a parody. One Punch Man is not. See, I compared it to the “Blood and Ice Cream” trilogy for a reason. Like those movies OPM is a comedy up-front, sure, but it takes the genre seriously. There are real stakes and risks taken, people do get hurt, and if somebody dies then they stay dead. It doesn’t rely on cartoon physics and real-world physics do still apply, hence there being no shortage of collateral damage.

Third, “The creator said Saitama is stronger than the big bang and can beat *insert powerful character here* so ha!” Yeah, the creator never said such a thing. For a while it was believed that it was a producer of the anime who said that, but while I could be wrong as far as I can tell nobody said such a thing and was something the fanbase made up and said it enough times that people started believing it. But here’s the thing. Even if the creator said so live on every major news outlet that Saitama can beat anyone ever, it doesn’t matter. Why? Because talk is cheap. “Because X said so” is not a valid argument and it damn sure doesn’t hold any water. What does hold water are documented feats of strength and power. Saitama has an impressive record to be sure...but he’s not number one. Hell, he’s probably not even in the top 20.

Now let me be crystal clear here. I’m not making this post as a disparaging or discrediting of Saitama or the anime One Punch Man. I think Saitama’s a great character and the show’s a ton of fun, and I’m not trying to make him look dumb or incompetent or whatever. This also isn’t a list of ‘fights to the death’ or anything like that, hence the title being “Kick his ass” and not “Kill him.” I’m making this post as both a form of catharsis AND a big middle finger from me to all misinformed fanboys about their caped bald godchild.

So, without further adieu, here are the top ten characters who could kick Saitama’s ass.

Sorry baldy. =P

10.) Doomsday

Doomsday is a character that’s every bit as iconic as he is one-note and boring, but while his usefulness never ventures beyond a plot device when the Justice League need a big scary monster to fight nobody can deny his sheer, raw power. The fact that he can go toe-to-toe with the likes of powerhouses like Superman, Wonder Woman, and even Darkseid is nothing to sneeze at, and short of destroying every single cell in his body there’s really no permanent way to keep him down. While I have no doubt in my mind that Saitama would ultimately win the fight, this is a case where it’s going to take WAY more than just one punch. Looking for a challenge? The monster that killed Superman will certainly provide it.

9.) Spawn

Icon or relic? Legend or has-been? The jury is still out on whether or not Spawn earned his popularity and cultural omnipresence in the early to mid 90′s or if the writers and artists at Image simply got lucky, but as far as power goes he’s still a god damned beast. Fueled by sin and Hell itself, Spawn’s powers go from crazy all the way to absurd. I don’t exaggerate in the slightest when I say that Spawn can use his hellish to do pretty much whatever the hell he wants. Slow down time to a crawl while he can move about freely? He can do that. Increase Saitama’s molecular density to such an extent that he becomes so heavy he plummets straight into the center of the Earth or so light he rockets into orbit? He can do that. Alter Saitama’s mind so that he believes he’s a sea urchin? He can do that. Look, the guy defeated both Satan AND God and reshaped the universe in his own image (heh heh...) so there’s really very little Saitama can actually do to hurt him. At best he can punch Spawn’s head off, but doing that would just Spawn back to Hell where he can recharge his batteries and come back with a vengeance. Seriously, Spawn’s literally walked out of Hell so many times it’s comical. Facing off against Spawn would be one hell of a fight for Saitama.

8.) The Juggernaut

Nothing can stop the Juggernaut. He’s completely and utterly invulnerable to all forms of both might and magic. Curses? Forget about it. Spells? They bounce right off him. Weapons? Please! You could drop a hundred nukes right on his head and he’d just laugh it off. He’s bested the Hulk multiple times, trashed Thor, manhandled the Sentry AND Hyperion, and let’s not get into the kind of grief and misery he’s brought upon the X-Men over the years. The only thing ol’ Juggy is weak to is telekinetic attacks, which is not only something that Saitama doesn’t possess but even then they can only hinder him, not kill him. The one thing you can do against the Juggernaut is find a way to use his own momentum against him and send him running the other way...but Saitama likes a challenge, so we know he won’t do that even if he does figure it out.

7.) The Flash

Saitama’s speed clocks out at supersonic, right on par with the world’s fastest fighter jets. The Flash’s speed puts the world’s fastest fighter jets to sad shame, capable of moving over a million times faster than the speed of light and can vibrate his molecules to phase through attacks and even turn invisible. Not only does the Flash have the speed advantage, saying nothing of the Speed Force, he can hit plenty hard as well. By vibrating his molecular structure to just under light speed, the Flash can use the Infinite Mass Punch, an attack with the same destructive force as a 100 megaton nuclear bomb. In the time it would take for Saitama to charge and unleash a Special or Serious Punch, the Flash can hit him in the face (and all over the rest of his body) with a thousand Infinite Mass Punches. Defeating someone in one punch is less impressive when you can’t hit your opponent.

6.) Yang Xiao Long

What happens when you pit a guy who can defeat anyone in one punch against a gal who can absorb attacks and kinetic energy and send them back to her opponent tenfold as if she were composed of living vibranium? You get a caped bald guy skipping across the Pacific Ocean like a stone and getting stuck up George Washington’s nose on Mt. Rushmore with a wavy-haired blonde laughing her tits off from the sight.

5.) Lobo

They don’t call him “The Main Man” for nothing. This fucking guy could very well be the most vicious character in comic book history, which is saying something in a medium where characters like Wolverine and Vegeta exist. Not only is Lobo meaner than a horny rattlesnake, he’s strong enough to match blows with Superman and has beaten him twice, he escaped the pull of a black hole, he shrugged off Darkseid’s Omega Beam, he can survive in space, and his healing factor is nothing short of completely absurd. Lobo can regenerate, I shit you not, from a single drop of blood. Basically nothing short of throwing him into the sun is going to stop Lobo for good, and he’s every bit as stubborn as he is ferocious. Remember; he single handedly wiped out his entire race except for himself when he was an infant. More to the point, of all the characters on this list so far, he’s the one who makes the most sense for WHY he’d fight Saitama. You don’t think someone would want Saitama dead and wouldn’t hire Lobo to do it?

4.) The Silver Surfer.

Power. Cosmic. ‘Nuff said.

3.) The Incredible Hulk

Contrary to what Death Battle claimed, if you tore off the Hulk’s head he’d just grow a new body in a matter of minutes with the off-chance of his headless body being taken over by one of Banner’s many, many different Hulks that inhabit his psyche.......comic books are weird, okay? Point is the Hulk is one of the strongest beings in all of fiction. He’s picked up a 150 billion ton mountain, held two tectonic plates together, destroyed a planet while fighting another world breaker, and while his healing factor can be overtaxed what everyone always leaves out is that anybody who does manage to punch the Hulk back into Banner always leaves Banner alone. Why? Well, remember that scene in the Avengers?

That wasn’t just a cool quote, stuff like that actually happened in the comics. You could walk up to an unconscious Bruce Banner and drop a thermite bomb right on his head, and before your brain can register that’s shit’s on fire the Hulk will be standing with his hand around your throat and scotched purple pants. Not only that, but with Banner no longer in the back seat, it’s a Hulk that’s completely unhinged and unrelenting, not to mention no longer vulnerable to puny human factors like fatigue. Loki once employed the Enchantress (no, not that one) to use her magic to separate Banner and the Hulk into two different beings in a petty plan to kill Thor, and in doing so the Hulk not only effortlessly plowed through Asgard and all of its’ armies and defenders, including Thor, he then did the same thing when he was sent to Hell. Yeah, you read that right. Not even Hela, who like Mephisto is basically Satan, could tame the Hulk, and in the end only putting Hulk and Banner back together was what calmed the Hulk down and stopped his rampage.

That’s not even the craziest part. Given enough time, the Hulk can recover from just about anything. One day the Maestro, a possible future version of the Hulk, was sent back in time and vaporized by the very gamma bomb that created the Hulk......and he fully recovered! Yes, the Hulk can fully recover after being turned into fucking ashes! Seriously, look it up! ...did I mention comic books are weird?

2.) Son Goku

I’ve made it no secret over the years that I don’t care for DragonBall anything. Look, I’m 31. I’m a 90′s kid, I was there when DragonBall really blew up in the US and became such a cultural phenomenon that you couldn’t get away from it, and I was sick to death of it long before shows like GT were even a thing. Still, franchise fatigue aside, I can’t deny Goku’s incredible skills and power, especially recently with DragonBall Super. Oh, I still don’t watch it, but this being the Internet you can’t get away from DragonBall anymore than you can get away from cat videos. Lists, paragraphs, and videos of Goku’s feats are easier to find than white bread so me listing them here would be all but redundant.

What I will talk about is that if Saitama wants a challenge then Goku is right up his alley. Who is and isn’t more powerful is a crapshoot because we don’t have a definitive measure of what either of them are fully capable of as far as raw power goes, but we do know that Goku is faster and his skills and finesse outweigh Saitama’s by a wide margin. While Saitama can track people moving at supersonic speeds, Goku can move much faster and the whole “lol, takes forever to charge his power” thing has been vastly improved on. Now it only takes a few seconds to charge up instead of three and a half episodes, spirit bomb not withstanding. Even if we do buy into the narrative of “Saitama beats everyone and anyone in one punch because ONE PUNCH”...well, death never stopped Goku before. He’s bested cosmic entities and gods that make the biggest, baddest villains in One Punch Man look like puny peons and is so tenacious that he always keeps fighting even if the odds are hopelessly against him; that’s kind of his whole thing. He goes up against people he’s clearly no match for, gets the Super Saiyan-snot beaten out of him, yet he still manages to come out on top. And given that Saitama is always seeking a challenge, a clash between these two titans would be inevitable. Maybe Goku will emerge the winner, maybe he won’t. What’s certain is that it’s going to take a lot more than one punch to put down the Super Saiyan.

But as strong, fast, skilled, and tenacious as Goku is, neither he nor Saitama can hold a candle to...

1.) Superman

While the whole “Goku vs Superman” thing is still going strong despite overwhelming evidence the odds are hopelessly against Goku, a new fanboy/fangirl and geek-culture kerfuffle riding shotgun to that is Saitama vs Superman and it’s every been as asinine. Not helped by the fact Superman has been in a bit of a rut on a cultural level whereas OPM is at the height of its’ popularity, meaning that the latter is going to win pretty much every popularity contest by default and thus fuel the fanboy fire on both sides. For whatever reason, anime fans seem to have a big hate-boner for Superman that they just can’t rub off.

So, to each and everyone reading this who think Saitama can beat Superman.

No. No he can’t. Oh sure, Caped Baldy is going to make the Man of Steel work for his victory, but fact of the matter is that anything Saitama can do, Superman can do better. Has done better, in fact. Again, I’m not knocking Saitama or trying to discredit his feats. We’ve seen Saitama destroy a meteor as big as a mountain, crush kaiju-sized monsters and machines, survive being punched to the Moon, and parted a mass of clouds as big as a continent with one punch. All very impressive feats that nobody in his league is going to top any time soon.

And that’s just it. Superman isn’t in Saitama’s league; he’s up, up, and a WAY above it. His feats of strength, speed, and durability put those of Saitama to shame. Seriously, the differences between Saitama and Superman is like the difference between a high school track star and Usain Bolt. Superman has held a black hole, spent a week straight bench-pressing the weight of the planet and only broke a single sweat while out of direct sunlight, cleared 20 light years worth of distance (each single light year consisting of trillions of miles) in a matter of minutes, can survive in space, survived being tossed from orbit to Earth with such force that his impact devastated the planet and caused nuclear winter, flew through a red sun, survived multiple supernovas including one that made Kepler’s Supernova (the only supernova that could be seen from Earth by the naked human eye despite being 25 THOUSAND light years away) look like a sparkler, tanked a Source Wall explosion (basically the Big Bang,) split a moon in half, atomized a planet in a single punch, vaporized another with his heat vision, fought demons in Valhalla alongside Wonder Woman and Thor for a thousand years (yes, I know, this is starting to sound like a story the Cybernetic Ghost of Christmas Past From the Future would tell, but bear with me,) lifted both eternity personified and a book of infinite pages, was sandwitched between two colliding planets, and bested the likes of Samson, Atlas, Hercules, and even Zeus himself in strength and power. Superman has a genius-level intellect with a super brain that can process information thousands of times faster than normal humans, having read the entire contents of the Library of Congress within an hour. He’s only just SLIGHTLY slower than the Flash in terms of speed and agility.

And that’s not even the craziest thing.

One day, the forces of nature themselves, Earth, Water, Fire, and Wind personified, decided that they didn’t like humans anymore and sought to exterminate them and every other living thing with hurricanes, tidal waves, earthquakes, and erupting every volcano on the planet, taunting the Man of Steel that not even he could save the human race from such a calamity. Superman threatened that if they did that, he’d vaporize the ocean, burn every plant, freeze the Earth’s core, and finally destroy the Earth utterly and completely so that there wouldn’t be an Earth for nature to rule...and Earth, Water, Fire, and Wind folded.

No, I’m not making that up. Nature was going to destroy the human race and Superman told them to fuck off...and Nature fucked off! Look it up, I’m not kidding! And all that stuff I described? None of it was pre-Crisis. Pre-Crisis/Silver Age Superman would beat Saitama even faster. Not only was he strong enough to effortlessly carry a bunch of planets daisy-chained together, wipe out whole galaxies with a sneeze, blow out the sun like you and me would blow out a candle, travel through time by flying backwards (fucking really) and could make up brand new super powers right on the fly.

A battle between Saitama and Superman would be an epic spectacle without question, but in the end Superman would come out on top. Not only do his feats and accomplishments fly circles around that of Saitama, but even if the “Saitama beats everyone because he’s unbeatable” thing did apply and he truly was impossible to defeat...well, that’s what Superman is all about. He makes the impossible possible. He’s as strong as he needs to be. Superman isn’t meant to lose. Why? Because his story isn’t about being the best, being a hero for fun or profit, or even about whether or not he’ll win or lose a fight. Superman’s story is that he’ll always do the right thing, even when the right thing isn’t the easy thing, the smart thing, or the popular thing. If doing the right thing means taking on a caped bald guy looking for kicks causing untold amounts property damage because of his reckless if well-intended behavior and then putting him in his place, then Superman will do just that.

One more thing. To all of you arguing “Well Saitama is a parody, so he wins because of that!” Again, he’s not a parody, but even if he was the whole “Well he’s a parody” is exactly why Superman would win. Think about it. Who do you think would win in a fight?

The walking punchline...

...or the real deal?

So that’s my list. Again, not taking anything away from Saitama, I love OPM to pieces, but this whole “He beats everyone ever” is like telling a Chuck Norris joke without even the barest hint of irony. It does nobody any favors, it pisses people off, and it makes the entire OPM fandom look like assholes. Other than that, what did you think of my list? Anyone else you think can take on Caped Baldy? Let me know.

[sorashiro001]

Ace's (Over)Investigation: Are They Dating? ("He haven't asked their last name, huh?" -Mute)

Alternate title: Ace forgot to asked the siblings' last name and now living his full week as a bet by Smoke's shenanigans.

Also added few lore as well.

Also a oneshot.

"Goddamnit, why both of you aren't showed up in the common room? The new ops already arrived!"

Reta's wide yawn cut off Eliza's rant as she rubbed off her eyes, while James still wrapped inside his thin blanket and snuggled up beside her. Upon meeting the FBI attacker's sharp gaze, the US Special Force's head immediately slammed back onto the desk and went back to take her nap again, added with the OMON's arms wrapped around her and snooze along. Eliza could only groan in irritation. "Why you-"

"No, let them be." Harry's voice echoed through the R&D Workshop, making the redhead turned around at the source of the voice. Harry stood at the front door, with the new ops behind him. "They were fixing their gadgets while discussing our future mission with me throughout the whole night. At least they've read Håvard and Thandiwe's profiles for better understanding." He pushed the newer ops into the lab, giving them another pat on the back. "Now, Eliza will take over the tour for this area. I need to finish up some paperwork in the office." And with that, he turned around and left. Eliza huffed out and gesturing at both Håvard and Thandiwe to follow her.

So far, the tour went well. They visited the test rooms and met other younger ops, either bantering with each other or testing their gadgets capabilities. They also met Elena and the assigned ops for Håvard's SELMA breach charges and Thandiwe's Banshee Sonic Defense Units abilities evaluations. Ela mostly complained about how Masaru kept getting in her way of testing and laughed out loud as she told them that she had "dealt" with the problem. Monika managed to ask some questions about the water-based breach charges to the Norwegian attacker, which he answered casually while constantly throwing some lighthearted flirts to her. In the end, they exchanged their social media addresses and went on their works, while the new ops still need to continue their tour.

The rest of the tour was mostly silent. They met the older ops playing poker while gossiping about rumors inside the base, except for Thatcher; he mostly corrected things about most rumors and caught Andriano red-handed as the Italian tried to cheat. They stumbled upon Porter and Liu Tze, trying their best to not break Geneva's Convention while carefully carrying some biohazard stuff to their personal chemical labs.

Three of them finally reached back into their first location. Reta and James are no longer sleeping on the attacker's desk at the time they arrived. On the contrary, they're currently tinkering with their gadgets while bickering with each other. On the desk, a cup of Korean-labelled cup noodles and a plastic bowl of instant congee sat calmly on the side with James' foldable attachable shield and Reta's MDTK. As they got closer to them, the duo took a glance at them before putting down their tools and waved.

"Miss Cohen, you're back!" Reta enthusiastically waving as she sat up and ran closer to them, while James followed behind her calmly. She went straight past her and grabbed both Thandiwe's hands, shook them several times, and released them while showing her infamous puppy eyes. "I saw your profile and I should say that I'm now your biggest fan for your works!"

Eliza could see how the African woman tried to reply to the enthusiastic American. "Uhhh, thank... you?"

"Question, can I call you Melusi instead? I can't pronounce your name properly until now and I don't want to offend you."

"Many pronounced my name differently, but you can call me that too."

Thandiwe's answer managed to receive a small squeaky cheer from the younger operator, which then proceeded to drag the new defender ops out from the workshop like an excited puppy dragging its owner with its leash. Meanwhile, the Norwegian attacker and the Russian defender looked at each other awkwardly.

James cleared his throat. "Sorry about her, she saw about Thandiwe being a nature conservationist in the profile last night and got antsy to meet her." He gestured over their workshop table, lips pulled into a thin smile. "She'll be your co-worker in the future, so it might be a good idea to introduce you to her specialty gadget."

Håvard raised one of his eyebrows. "So she's not a mere recruit?"

Eliza immediately felt alarms blaring inside her head. She pulled the Norwegian's shoulder back to her, shielding him from the Russian. "Håvard, don't you-"

James' thin smile disappeared and replaced with a small frown. "And here I thought you could finally change my perspective over that shady private security company of yours." He sighed, any traces of friendliness was gone and replaced with his simmering hostility. "I could tolerate you because of my sister's involvement with Shah, but your existence in this team won't ever erase the fact that you Nighthaven fuckers once endangering the civilians by giving them weapons for supposedly peaceful protesting." Eliza could feel the tension thickened as he walked away to his workshop table, grabbing his massive shield and extended it. "Fuck off, I don't want to see another face of Nighthaven's goons here."

------------------------------------

Yep, both of them got kicked out of the room.

"Geez, what's that guy's problem?" Håvard's soured reaction is understandable from her point of view. Operator James "Stena" Harmonics had a running feud with The Nighthaven in the past, resulting in KIA of his best friend and dozens of injured from both sides during his mission in maintaining the crowds. She still remembered the day he discovered the company's sole existence inside Team Rainbow and he went into a rage fit with Harry before finally gave up and decided to keep the interaction with any kind of Nighthaven's association as little as possible.

Operator Reta "Espion" Harmonics, however, almost the opposite as her brother. The Nighthaven was one of the reasons she managed to run away from her adoptive family with his twins safely and became one of the first and frequent buyers of her gadget blueprints. Their relationship went well until Nighthaven stole some of the commissioned blueprints to sabotage the requesting company, resulting in Reta's reputation to dive down. Since then, she tried her best not to get involved in Nighthaven's business anymore, even if it benefits her. She has some bits of respect with Operator Jaimini Kalimohan "Kali" Shah, although it's mostly gone due to the event.

Wait, where was she again? Oh yeah, Håvard complaining about the reason he got kicked out.

As much as the siblings' problem with the private company, the reason this time is much shorter.

"You're disrespecting his partner, of course. He's angry when somebody insults his sole reason to keep working here." If everyone witnessed it, they'll probably come to the same conclusion as she is. The whole team knows how both siblings treated each other. Sure, they might have differences in skills and opinions, but nobody could convince them against each other. Both of them risking their lives to save each other during both their big mission is the living proof of their relationship.

"Huh, didn't know they're dating each other." The Norwegian nodded in understanding. "I should've known, they're hugging each other from the moment we met!"

Wait what the fuck.

"Håvard, they're-"

"Now it makes sense!" His expression is now brightened, his clear blue eyes sparkled behind his whitish-blonde hair. Before she could stop him, he dashed away from her while casually waving his hand. "See ya later, 'Liza. Kali's waiting for me!"

Oh God, this merc asshole...

"So, we got a misunderstanding case now?" Porter's hoarse and muffled voice somehow felt like adding salt into the wound. Eliza couldn't help but nod slightly to his question. "Well I'd say - one blamed the Harmonics' David and Goliath appearances. Shorty Reth and massive James, Asian-American and Russian, beige-blonde and brunette, the difference between their physical appearance is vast enough for people to take a quick glance at 'em and immediately conclude 'em as friends instead of blood-related siblings."

She looked at him in the eye. "What now?"

His small muffled snickers behind his mask confirmed her fear. "Don't tell the lad, I wanted to have fun with 'im first." With that, the masked Brit ran away while shouting out loud.

"GUYS, I'LL BETTING FIFTY QUID FOR THIS! ANYBODY WANNA JOIN?"

This is gonna be a long week of introduction.

[jeffrmayhugh]

Bloomberg Just Released The Bitcoin Bulls! New April 2020 Report Says Bitcoin Is Digital Gold!

VIDEO TRANSCRIPT

Welcome back everybody to Altcoin daily. My name is Erin if you hold bitcoin you ought to be feeling pretty good Bloomberg has just published a ten-page report titled bitcoin maturation leap, yeah bitcoin is maturing And Bloomberg. Recognizes this, in fact, Bloomberg’s gotta be pretty bullish to put out a report like this to all of their constituents because make no mistake about this report is the bullish case for bitcoin telegraph covered this they said Bloomberg bitcoin is setting up for two thousand seventeen like Voltron. In a recent Bloomberg reports they concluded that bitcoin may be priming for a massive Bull Run just look at this is that report And Immediately you can recognize how details all of this stuff is. This goes out to all of Bloomberg’s constituents so the obvious question is what exactly. Does this. Report talk about and by the way guys if you have I know corner friend to see the thing is this is exactly what I would send to a friend for anybody who’s asked me about bitcoin but they needed that kind of social proof or Expert truth let’s support the channel let’s get this video out there to as many people as possible like the video and let’s answer that question well what exactly what precisely does this report go over we talk about how a bitcoin was born in a financial crisis like what we have today they talk about how bitcoin has matured and they talk about how bitcoins maturation is actually accelerating talk about how the stock market shakeout actually accelerates bitcoins gold like transition and that’s actually something. That was very apparent. In this report told Bloomberg compared bitcoin. And made multiple arguments as to why bitcoin is becoming digital gold so, for instance, Cointelegraph pulled out some of the good quotes this year will confirm bitcoins transition from a risk on a speculative asset to the crypto markets version. Of gold. The report reiterates that 2020 will be the year when bitcoin becomes digital. Gold. This year marks a key test for bitcoins transition towards a quasi currency like gold and we expect it to pass that’s bold that’s good now they go on to talk about other things they say increasing futures open interest declining volatility and relative outperformance despite the stock market shakeout indicates that bitcoin is maturing from a speculative crypto-asset towards a digital version of gold the report says that we can expect bitcoin volatility to continue to decrease this is significant since the all-time low volatility happened in October of twenty fifteen and that marked the beginning of the bull market. The talk about bull markets a lot in this article actually now they’re going to say bitcoin is undervalued at this point relative to. On-chain. Metrics and then they conclude with central banks around the world part of trillions of dollars into the economy 2020 maybe the year when bitcoin becomes the new digital gold for the digital. Economy. So Bloomberg recognizing that the economy is trending towards digital and we’re getting farther away from the legacy financial system and we’re trending towards being more digital and bitcoin is a natural fit seat one of the reasons why I wanted to make sure that you saw this and again notice how detailed this report is this is a great one of the reasons I wanted to make sure you saw this is because you probably get sick of me of actualizing it quite so much I know you probably get sick of me always trying to reason why bitcoin has a bullish future well when notable organizations like Bloomberg come out and basically say something very similar their conclusions for bitcoins long term potential are basically the same conclusions that I’ve made and plenty of other people have made. You know this kind of you know if you can hear it from multiple people it helps. Open your mind a little bit. I think it who knows maybe Bloomberg watches old coin daily it’s possible but I guess my point is. It’s easy to lose faith sometimes when you’ve heard kind of the same stuff before and it’s not just you, it’s also smart money who sometimes loses faith, for instance, check this out Peter Brant famous world-renowned traitor sometimes he’s been bullish on bitcoin sometimes he’s been bearish lately he’s been a little bearish so I like to tweet out he said to turn to Mister thank you for the time on the phone it was good to be reminded of bitcoins underlying value proposition. And I like to this and I actually thought the same thing this person did Turkey to summarize those underlying value propositions of bitcoin that you discussed with Peter it’s nice to have insights on such a conversation and he obliged he said I mainly talked about how bitcoin has great utility in the current macro environment it’s always liquid even if you own it you maintain optionality there’s no downtime it’s almost completely independent from existing financial structures and ability to trump capital controls because it’s peer to peer and also it’s scarce which is really one of the main reasons I think that coin’s price is going to go up in the future but Peter branch needed to be reminded what bitcoin allows you to opt-out. Of. And there’s no better video than this.To. Awaken you to the problem that what are we trying to opt out of its stuff like this. Late one night. Is this fifty-five.In my counsellor. Crash. Josh. Cash-cash clash gets the region. Crash. It increased. Rage rules. And since the London dress. For company money. It’s just north. I still. Cash. Get the region. And I think monster. This is great now before we get to the final story of the day involving the CFTC approving a physically-settled bitcoin contract step in the right direction for sure before we get to that I do want to remind you that Thursday evening we do have this event. Going on. Online it is a hundred percent for charity as in we do have I guess you’d call it an affiliate link in the description but that’s only because these guys wanted to track anybody from altcoin daily actually did play we receive absolutely no kickback from this event all goes to the charity and all goes to the final table. Tried to get them to compromise and will not do it but the reason we wanted to do this is that one. I liked the tournament last time we like playing online poker into because it does go to charity and take a look at this right here and right here we are on the featured players last so some of these names you recognize the coin are pretty sure he won last time Charlie Lee when DO Bobby Lee tone face somebody told me he’s not actually playing in this one but maybe he is Jessica Walker it’s really the who’s who and who’s that and finally they added us to the featured players so that’s pretty cool so if you wanted to participate in this chariot turn. Dot. Charity tournament we do have a special link in the description we receive you know okay back based on that. Our final story of the day the C. F. T. approves Bitnami able to offer futures contracts settled. In real. Bitcoin this is what we want to see physically settled bitcoin futures so the approval which was granted Monday brings a new player to the still-small world of bitcoin futures in the U. S. to date only CME CBOE backed terrorist acts and ledger acts offer bitcoin futures and options contracts not all of those are physically settled though the CBOE ended its contract in early two thousand nineteen Eris axe sees a little volume on its futures, unlike CME **** no male appears to be focusing strictly on physically settled contracts meaning customers receive. The Actual bitcoin when the contract expires rather than the fiat equivalent so these type of futures are very good for bitcoin adoption and big points price to go up since people will actually be holding real bitcoin and will just be some sort of like paper bitcoin or what have you the downside of this because you know we try to give you. You know. The bullish outlook and then the real outlook the downside of this is But no meal Not A huge. The company so This really isn’t going to be doing a lot but it’s a step in the right direction it’s trending towards the right direction. Thanks, I’ll just throw this one in here bitcoin ATMs pumped over seven thousand five hundred Worldwide Number of bitcoin ATMs around the world increased by over seventy percent since last year so last year bitcoin ATMs increased we report on this For two years ago and then last year again these Bitcoin ATMs increased and if you read the article it’s going to break down the geolocation of each ATM in Give you some more data but that is it for me today my friends my name is Erin. Altcoin daily follows us on Twitter if you want to be a part. You know daily conversation we mix it up with people in the cryptocurrency space you know.

source https://www.cryptosharks.net/bloomberg-just-released-the-bitcoin-bulls/ source https://cryptosharks1.tumblr.com/post/616299999080448000