#if they’re both wearing the same expression that’s when you know there’s trouble

[noodles-and-tea]

It’s always either or

[phefics]

An idea: poly!ghostface- the boys are out about to go after a victim when they find they’re missing something/something broken (the phone isn’t working or their voice changer doesn’t have batteries whatever you want is totally cool!)

They realize- afab!reader the needy little whore did it on purpose so they’d have to come home to her and give her attention like they don’t give her attention 99% of the time.

Which of course they do and they are very very grumpy angy bois. All like “oh you missed us you wanted our attention you know you’d get it when we came home but you had to ruin our game and now we gotta take our energy and anger out somehow”

Followed by some smutty degradation, spanking/punishment, good ole fashion filth lol

Side note i think you have one of the easiest to understand request rules idk some people just make them complicated but yours is great!

needy little whore

ship: billy loomis x fem!reader x stu macher summary: exactly what the ask above says!! :) warnings: degradtion, spanking, a bit of knifeplay, rough/unprotected sex, face-fucking word count: 1.3k

You knew that you were asking for trouble, but desperate times called for desperate measures.

It wasn’t that Billy and Stu weren’t giving you enough attention. In fact, to the average person, they would be considered abnormally clingy. It didn’t bother you, though, because you were the same way.

You would have survived one night without them, but you were feeling mischievous that night. You wanted to piss them off so that they’d take it out on you, because angry sex with Billy and Stu was a whole new level of adrenaline.

So, you stole the batteries out of their voice changer, and then hid all the other batteries in the house. You weren’t stupid: You knew the reason they wouldn’t be hanging at Stu’s tonight, and you didn’t mind that as much as you minded their attention being elsewhere.

Since Stu’s family was rarely home, you would often hang out there even when Stu wasn’t around. He didn’t care, and had even given you a spare key.

You watched the two boys head out the door, black backpacks surely stuffed with everything they’d need to carry out a brutal crime.

You popped in a VHS of Nightmare on Elm Street, then made yourself comfortable on the couch, wearing the most revealing pajamas you had. You had seen the way the boys looked at you before they left, and smirked to yourself.

You only made it about twenty minutes into the movie before you heard a car pull into the driveway outside. Anticipation built inside you, but you stayed put, looking innocent as ever as Billy and Stu burst through the front door, both looking absolutely pissed.

“What did you do?” Billy demanded.

You looked up at him with your sweetest expression. “What do you mean?”

“Don’t play stupid, Y/N,” Stu said. “You’re fuckin’ lucky we tested the thing first.”

“You trying to get us caught?” Billy asked, grabbing your wrist and pulling you up from the couch. “You know we can’t fuck you if we’re in jail, right? Is that what you want?”

You shook your head. “No, of course not—”

“Ruining our game just cause you wanna get fucked, huh?” Stu said, closing in behind you. You were trapped between them now, Billy still holding your wrist as Stu pressed himself against your ass; he was already hard, and you bit back a moan at the realization.

“I just—”

“Couldn’t wait til we got home?” Billy smirked, his voice dripping with mock sympathy. “You would have gotten what you wanted later, but the needy whole just couldn’t wait.”

Stu gripped your hips from behind, breathing against your ear. “Well, we gotta get our energy out somehow. But now it’s all gonna be focused on you, baby. We’re gonna fuckin’ destroy you.”

You whimpered as they manhandled you back onto the couch, the film still playing in the background.

“Look at these slutty clothes,” Billy practically purred. “Barely covering anything…”

Stu pulled a knife from the bag he’d been carrying, the blade glinting in the light. “Bet you won’t mind if we take ‘em off,” he said, using the sharp blade to cut the strap of your top, then doing the same to the other side.

You opened your mouth to protest, but Billy stroked your hair and whispered, “We’ll buy you somethin’ even prettier, m’kay?”

Before you could offer a response, he shoved his fingers into your mouth, and you sucked on them reflexively, making him chuckle.

“Such a fucking slut,” he said.

Stu pulled the remnants of your tattered clothes off, leaving you naked as Billy pulled his hand back, admiring the strings of spit on his fingers before licking it off. He and Stu were completely fucking depraved, and it turned you on more than you could handle.

You were quickly pushed onto all fours on the couch, and you could barely contain your excitement at the idea of them fucking you. But that was wishful thinking. Instead, a hand came down on your ass with a hard slap! making you yelp.

You turned your head to see that it was Stu who had hit you, and you pouted at him.

“Oh, don’t give me that pathetic face,” he said. “You thought we were just gonna give you what you wanted after that? Not a chance, baby. We gotta punish you first.”

He laughed as you whined in response, clearly enjoying your frustration.

They took turns spanking you, slapping your ass without mercy.

“Count them,” Billy had ordered.

Each number left your mouth between pained groans and squeaks, stuttering over nine and eleven and thirteen, but when they hit twenty, they stopped, apparently satisfied with your teary face and marked-up ass.

“Think we should give the whore what she wants?” Stu asked.

Billy hummed, considering it. “I doubt she learned her lesson, but I wanna fuck her too bad to care right now.”

“Agreed,” Stu said, and you stayed on your knees as the two of them stripped out of their clothes hurriedly, bickering about who was going to take what place.

“You always get to fuck her, let me—”

“Her mouth is just as good—”

“Do I get a say in this?” you asked.

“No,” the boys replied, grinning at their synchronized speech.

You couldn’t help but giggle as you watched them play a rigorous game of rock-paper-scissors for who got to fuck you, and your laugh only grew when Stu won, and Billy flipped him off.

Some nights they would take turns, but after the spanking that they’d given you, they were gracious enough to not push your limits too far.

You were already wet, but Stu took some time playing with your pussy, fingers fumbling through your folds to rub at your clit, and you bucked your hips uselessly, moaning at his touch.

Billy walked to the other end of the couch, grabbing you by your hair and smirking down at you. “You gonna let me fuck your throat, slut?” he asked.

You nodded, opening your mouth for him without needing to be asked. He chuckled at your obedience, and wasted no time in pushing his cock between your lips.

As he did so, Stu was lining himself up with your entrance, his grip impossibly tight on your hips and he entered you, slow at first, before immediately picking up the pace, snapping his hips rhythmically. Every time he thrust forward, it made Billy’s dick go further into your mouth, and the sounds of their moaning filled your ears as they used you like the needy whore you were.

Your eyes teared as you focused on breathing through your nose amidst the pleasure of Stu’s cock inside you. Before you met them, you could never cum from penetration, but both Billy and Stu had a way of fucking you so good, rough just like you wanted, that it had become more common for you to orgasm from it.

“So fuckin’ hot,” Billy murmured, almost to himself. “Perfect fuckin’ mouth.”

“Such a slut,” Stu added. “Taking us both at once. Gettin’ off on it, too.”

You whined at their words, floating from the mixture of praise and degradation.

Stu came first, and Billy followed shortly after, and the three of you collapsed onto the couch together, sweaty and tired.

Stu leaned over to you and kissed you, his tongue slipping into your mouth. You had a suspicion it was partly so that he could taste Billy’s cum, but you kissed him back anyway.

“Get a room,” Billy joked, making Stu giggle.

Nightmare on Elm Street was almost over, and you were sticky and exhausted.

“You wanna get cleaned up, baby?” Stu asked.

You nodded, and before you could say anything, he was carefully leading you to the bathroom, his arms supporting the majority of your weight.

Billy went upstairs to grab you some clothes to borrow—a pair of his pajama pants, and one of Stu’s t-shirts. It was all too big on you, but it was comfortable and smelt like them.

You fell asleep to the sound of Billy and Stu planning another night to carry out the plan that you’d ruined. Maybe next time you’d take the burner phones off their chargers.

[panxramic]

Was just talking about this with a friend but I adore Tallulah’s hat options and how she’s started using them to reflect her emotions/how she’s feeling. I think it’s such good story telling for her because she’s very much an egg that wears her emotions on her sleeve. Before she would just tell people how she’s feeling, communicate it fully with those around her to show that.

This is Minecraft roleplay thus we do not have facial expressions or complete body moments with the egg models so having the hats adds that layer. I’ve always seen Tallulah as the kid who you can read her face like a book. When she’s frustrated and angry she puffs out her cheeks and crosses her arms. When she’s happy she wears a smile so happy and wide and when she’s sad you can physically see it on her face. How her eyebrows down turn and her frown lays there like a permanent mark. Tallulah’s emotions pour out of her like a river into the sea. She feels everything and anything, it’s also how she’s able to somewhat communicate with her dead siblings.

I think the hat thing is good for Tallulah too in general, just so she doesn’t have to talk when she doesn’t feel like it. It helps q!Phil (and others) catch on to how she’s feeling quicker. She uses them for comedic effect as well, which exemplifies how her emotions on her face range so widely. She’ll over dramatize her sadness and anger to get a laugh out of q!Phil, and the hats add that extra layer of drama. It exemplifies who she is as a kid.

I’d also like to talk about Chayanne in this regard because same friend (hi Kash ily Kash) brought up that for him it would be SOO beneficial for him to have som sort of way to display how he is feeling as an aid sort of? With Tallulah I see it more as her physically features changing or her acting a certain way but with Chayanne it’s a physical object he has that tells others how he is feeling. Both of them having a similar gimmick but used/come off in different ways because they’re different kids.

Chayanne is a kid that always has trouble wording things and speaking his mind. He’s quiet and his emotions are locked away. Some things you can notice, like how he moves slower or zones out more when he’s sad. But he never speaks up about it until he can’t hold it in anymore. Not only would it benefit him but it would benefit q!Phil as well.

q!Phil CANNOT tell when Chayanne is sad unless there is a specific or drastic change in his character, and there usually isn’t. It’s easier for him to tell with Tallulah, he’s usually good at understanding when she’s sad or off but that’s also because Tallulah is much more expressive. So when she’s quiet even for 5 minutes, he knows something is off. You can’t follow that logic with Chayanne.

And it’s not that q!Phil doesn’t care, let’s make that clear. In fact, he’s beaten himself up over it, he’s felt horrible in the past for not being able to tell when his son was feeling bad. And it’s exemplified by how for the first time Tallulah hid her feelings from q!Phil too and that’s the only time he couldn’t tell something was wrong.

q!Phil’s emotional intelligence is not high, he struggles a lot with understanding how someone else might feel. He goes off of assumptions (which can be very dangerous) or what he’s told.

So, with Chayanne, having a little symbol or object that shows when he’s sad or angry or scared, it would benefit them both. Chayanne who doesn’t know how to say how he’s feeling and q!Phil who can’t grasp emotions that well unless told directly.

[isaacarellanesismyhusband]

don’t get used to it

pair: Fred Weasley x reader requested by anonymous

Can you do a fic where Y/N is a prefect for Slytherin and is known to be very harsh and strict when it comes to rules and whenever the Weasley twins sneak out and get caught it's usually by her and they try to charm her to not get detention and Fred tries flirting with her multiple times but it never works but as time goes on she starts to give them detention less and less to the point where she helps them get out of trouble cause they got caught after curfew by a different prefect at one point, and it's all because she fancies Fred

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Fred Weasley had always been a troublemaker, and Y/N knew it well. As a Slytherin prefect, her job was to uphold the rules, and the Weasley twins seemed to delight in breaking every single one. Fred, especially, had made it his mission to charm his way out of every detention she handed down.

"Come on, Y/N, do you really want to spend your night writing up another report? It’s Friday," Fred said, flashing his usual cheeky grin as she caught him sneaking through the halls after curfew for what felt like the hundredth time.

Y/N crossed her arms, raising an eyebrow. "It's my job, Fred. You of all people should know that by now."

George snickered behind his brother, but it was Fred who stepped forward, undeterred. "You wound me, Y/N. I'd think after all this time, you'd be tired of catching us. Maybe... you like it?"

Her stomach flipped, but she didn’t let it show. She’d heard this same routine from Fred too many times. He was always charming, always confident, and she had to admit he was cute, but Y/N was proud of her reputation as a no-nonsense prefect. She wasn’t about to let that crumble because Fred Weasley had a smile that made her heart race.

“Detention. Both of you. Tomorrow, 8 PM sharp.”

Fred put a hand over his heart as if he were heartbroken. “You really are cold, Y/N.”

But as the weeks went on, something shifted. Fred kept flirting, and Y/N kept pretending it didn’t affect her, but she started to notice how funny he was, how his jokes brightened the dark corridors, and how he always seemed to know when she needed a laugh. The next time she caught them sneaking out, she hesitated. Instead of assigning detention, she just waved them off with a warning.

George looked between the two, eyebrows raised. “Are we dreaming, Fred, or did she just let us off?”

Fred grinned, clearly pleased. “I knew she had a soft spot for me.”

Y/N rolled her eyes but didn’t argue. Fred had been relentless, and despite her best efforts, she was starting to fancy him. His charm, his confidence, the way he always made her smile, even when she didn’t want to—it was getting harder to ignore.

One night, a different prefect caught the twins sneaking out, and Y/N just happened to be nearby. She could see them trying to talk their way out of it, but the prefect wasn’t budging.

Before she knew what she was doing, Y/N stepped in. “I’ll take it from here,” she said, cutting the other prefect off. “They’re already on my list for extra duties this weekend.”

The other prefect looked surprised but didn’t argue. Once they were gone, Fred and George turned to her, both wearing identical expressions of disbelief.

“You just saved us,” George said, his voice full of awe.

Fred, however, was staring at her with something different in his eyes. “I knew it. You fancy me.”

Y/N felt her face heat up, but she shrugged, trying to play it cool. “Don’t get used to it, Weasley.”

But Fred just smiled, his eyes twinkling in that way that always made her heart skip a beat. “Too late.”

[ladykailitha]

Soft 2 of 2

And finally part 2! I haven't written more on Grief because guess who got an ear infection over the weekend? If you guessed me, you'd be correct! Who knew that symptoms included neck pain, headaches and sore throat...yeah...

Also I should probably warn for smut. Under 18 you've been officially warned.

Part 1

***

Eddie was vibrating out of his skin when his present was finally ready. It had taken a week and his excitement bubbled out all of the place.

He had already preformed his bet pay out. Jeff was positively gleeful about the whole thing.

Jeff and the rest of his band were even more gleeful about Eddie’s surprise for Steve. More than once one or more of them expressed their desire to see the look on Steve’s face when he realized what Eddie had done for them.

They only stopped when Eddie told them that if everything went to plan then they’d probably would be having sex right after.

And since none of them wanted to see that part, they stopped teasing him about seeing the first part.

He walked into the apartment that afternoon like he always did, jaunty and carefree. Jeff had whined several times that Eddie spent more time at Steve and Robin’s place then he did their own.

Robin was bopping to her music in the kitchen and Steve was on the sofa watching a game show of some sort.

“Eddie!” Steve greeted.

Eddie grinned. “Looking good, Stevie. I’m glad you head is feeling better now.”

Steve blushed. “Thanks for stopping by so that Robin wouldn’t worry about me.”

“It was no trouble,” he said. “You needed looking after and I was more than happy to be of service.”

He pulled something out of inner pocket of his leather jacket and handed it to Steve.

“I wanted to get you a little something as thank you for the chain and picks you got me.”

Steve frowned. “You didn’t have to do that, Eds. I like buying things for you.”

He said it so easily, as if that didn’t make Eddie’s heart speed up faster then anything caused by his nervousness.

He opened the box and pulled out a pair of light blue sunglasses, so clear that you could see in and out with a relative ease.

“Oh, Eddie...” Steve murmured. “They’re gorgeous.”

“They’re your prescription,” Eddie explained. “Which means you can’t wear you contacts when you have them on.” He tapped the space between Steve’s eyes.

“Wait, really?” Steve murmured. “What? How?”

Eddie tapped the side of his nose. “That’s my secret. But I remembered that your senior year of high school you were wearing sunglasses all the time. Everyone thought you were being too cool. But none of the teachers said anything. So it got me thinking...you wore them because you needed to, didn’t you? Too many concussions made you sensitive to light.”

Steve’s jaw dropped. “Holy shit! I didn’t realize anyone noticed.”

“And I bet I know why you stopped wearing them,” Eddie continued. “It’s because Scoops wouldn’t let you and then you would just forget to put them on the rest of the time.”

Robin tapped Steve’s shoulder and pressed something into his hand. He opened it to find his contact case.

“But I–” he protested and she handed him the bottle of solution. He smiled at her. “Thanks.”

He took out his contacts and carefully put them away. He handed them back to Robin.

He pulled the glasses out their case and put them on. They fit perfectly.

“The frames are the same style as your regular glasses,” Eddie said. “You can wear them all the time or just when you know you’re going to be in a situation where there are a lot of lights. Say...a certain band’s metal concert.” He winked at Steve.

Steve let out a giggle. “They’re amazing, Eds. I love them.”

“Looking good, dingus,” Robin said affectionately. She kissed his cheek. “I’m heading out. Please no sex on the sofa. I have to sit there too.”

She waved by to Eddie and then slammed the door behind her.

Steve blushed furiously. “We aren’t even dating…” he pouted.

“Yet.”

Steve’s head shot up. “Wha’?”

“We aren’t dating yet, sweetheart,” Eddie murmured. “Robin and my band both think this little trinket,” he plucked at the necklace around his neck, “is a declaration of true love. Are they right?”

Steve ducked his head again, pursing his lips. “Yeah, Eds. Of course it is.”

Eddie tapped the glasses. “Back atcha, big boy.”

Steve raised his head again, this time much slower. “You really mean that?”

Eddie gently pulled Steve closer and placed a soft kiss on his lips. Steve’s eyes fluttered shut, melting into the kiss. Eddie leaned backward onto the sofa, Steve following to keep pressing their lips together in kiss after kiss.

Eddie tenderly removed the glasses and set them on the table before he resumed kissing Steve. The pace slow and languid. Just the two of them exploring each other’s mouths and bodies. Not really heading toward sex, just feeling the euphoria of finally getting together.

Soon they drifted off to sleep in each others arms.

They woke a couple hours later, to an alarm on Eddie’s watch going off.

Steve looked up at Eddie blearily and still soft from sleep. “Wha’?”

“Hey beautiful,” he cooed. “We have a dinner reservation at seven, it’s now five. Go get yourself a shower and change so we can go, okay?”

Steve smiled. “Okay, baby.” He kissed Eddie and then deftly rolled off the couch onto the floor.

Eddie smacked his ass as he passed. “Show off.”

“For you?” Steve said. “Always.”

Eddie blushed.

*

“Hey, Eddie!” Steve called from his room. “Can you come here a moment?”

Eddie hopped to his feet and was at Steve’s door to his bedroom in a flash. “What’s up, dar–” he stopped when he saw Steve standing in the middle of his room, dripping wet with only a towel wrapped around his waist.

Eddie gulped.

Steve must have realized his state of undress, because he blushed furiously. “I, um... couldn’t remember what you were wearing and didn’t want to be too overdressed for dinner.”

Eddie grinned. “You sure, sweetheart? Because this looks like a ploy to get me into that bed of yours.”

Steve looked up through his eyelashes, coy. “Well...if you’re interested, I could make it about that if you prefer.”

He removed the towel and dried himself off. The towel just barely covered his modesty as he dragged it over his body.

Eddie’s mouth dried with it.

And then towel dropped and Eddie was faced with the reality of a naked Steve Harrington.

He drank in his fill, eyes darting across every line, every plain, every freckle.

“You like what you see, babe?” Steve purred. He took a couple steps back and threw himself on the bed. He propped himself up on his elbows and looked over at Eddie through half-lidded eyes.

Eddie licked his lips. “I’ll be right back, sweetheart. I just have to do two things and then I will happily join you in the bed.”

Steve grinned. “Hurry back.”

Eddie nodded and ran out to the front room. He locked the front door, and then quickly called the restaurant to cancel their reservation. Screw dinner, Eddie was going straight for dessert.

He walked back into Steve’s room to find him with hands tucked behind his head, pulling his already taut body longer.

He kicked off his sneakers first and then pulled off his shirt. Steve watched him strip with eyes blown wide and lips slick from licking them.

Eddie grinned. He dragged out pulling down his zipper, nice and slow. He saw Steve’s Adam’s apple bob. He took off his pants and was standing in front of the bed with just his underwear on.

“Babe,” Steve moaned. “Let me see. Please.”

And who was Eddie to deny Steve anything. He pulled off his boxers, dropping them to floor.

Steve reached out and Eddie went willingly into his boyfriend’s arms.

Like with their languid kissing on the couch, this too was slow and tender. Mapping each other’s bodies with their hands, their lips, their tongues.

Soon they were coming and they laid next to each other, covered in cum and giggling like children.

“I can now confirm that the rumors about your prowess in bed is absolutely not a myth but a god damn fucking legend,” Eddie breathed, his hands draped over his belly as his willed his heart rate back to normal.

Steve laughed. “Well, you’re certainly no slouch in the bedroom either, sunshine.”

Eddie sat up and started scanning the room for the towel.

“Where are you going?” Steve whined. “I want to cuddle with my boyfriend.”

Eddie chuckled. “Just grabbing the towel to clean us up, princess.”

Steve hummed and he took that as permission to get the towel. He grabbed it and cleaned himself off first before using it on Steve. He tossed it into the laundry basket.

Steve curled up into his side. “Hey, I thought throwing things into laundry baskets was my job.”

Eddie chuckled. “Oh it is.”

“Let’s make a deal,” Steve said sleepily. “You stick to the guitar playing rocker, and I stick to the throwing things in laundry baskets.”

Eddie laugh out loud. “Yeah, baby. We can do that.”

Steve snuggled closer. “Good.”

Later they would get up and dressed. They would order pizza and watch trash movies on late night TV.

And when Robin came home that night, she found the two of them curled up on the couch, asleep again in each other’s arms.

She grabbed a blanket off the back of the armchair and draped over them.

“I’m happy for you dinguses,” she said softly into the still room and then went to bed, content her soulmate had found his person at last.

***

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[cielwritings]

If it's okay could you do something with yandere! Ciel and yandere! Sebastian x timid reader who develops stockholm syndrome? 👀 There would be no escaping them theyre too powerful rip.

! Yandere!Sebaciel x Reader !

say less :p

tw: mental abuse, physical abuse, emotional abuse, neglect

Ciel and Sebastian were both partners before you came around, but when you did, something clicked inside the two of them. They didn’t need to verbally express it. All it needed was a mutual look in the eye to know what each other wanted.

Ciel being a yandere is troubling, but both? You’re in for a ride.

They’re two different yanderes. Sebastian likes to tend to you, keeping you as safe as possible. Ciel likes to mark you, to make you his territory.

Sometimes Ciel will go over the top. Of course he won’t do things you explicitly tell him no to. Though if he can, he’ll bruise you, bite you, or write on you with permanent marker.

Sebastian treats you like you’re his master/mistress, except, times 10.

..This scares you. A lot. You can’t go anywhere with the feeling of Sebastian lurking over your shoulder. Ciel’s presence is threatening, you have to walk on eggshells with him.

And at the end of the day, you couldn’t bring yourself to entertain them. It just lead you to be punished.

Sebastian’s punishments are emotional anguish. He’s the most caring, so you’re drawn to him more than Ciel. Admittedly, you don’t mind the way he tends to you. It’s the way he does it. So when he randomly stops tending to you snd gets Ciel to do it, you panic.

This continues until you beg for him to keep going. Even then, he won’t continue if you don’t say you’re sorry.

Ciel’s can be physical and mental, albeit not straight up punching you, he will make you constantly feel uncomfortable. Being a bit too close, wearing textures you find unpleasant, and wearing clothes colored to make your eyes sore.

One of Ciel’s punishments, he had you on your knees in front of him. He was slowly stroking your cheek, breathing softly through his mouth. He was close enough that you felt the heat on you, and it made you quite uncomfortable.. especially with how close his thumbs were to your eyes.

The moment you began to fall in love, was the moment you broke. It was the same night Sebastian found you trying to escape the manor.

“Whatever do you think you’re doing?” he states, tray to his hip. “My, my..”

He ordered you to sit on the couch, being guarded by Baldroy. He told Ciel what had happened, and they both agreed on a punishment.

You were in an old room the household rarely ever touched. It was completely cleared out, perhaps originally going to be used for storage or a guest room. They sat you in there. There was nothing to do.

You sat in there for who knows how long. None of them told you an exact timeframe. Though, Ciel said it was between a few days and two weeks.

The only way you survived was being given water and plain food. White bread with unsalted, dehydrating crackers. The way they gave it to you? They waited until you were passed out from exhaustion to put it in the room. Even the plate and utensils were bland.

They wanted you to have as little stimuli as possible.

Ciel was delivering your food one day, but you weren’t completely passed out. You were spread out on the floor, eyes just barely open, facing the door. He placed the food and drink down, then sighed through his nose. Even waking you up with noises was something they couldn’t have.

You noticed that there were extra portions this time, something out of character for Ciel. He probably missed you.

Just barely, you croaked out a ‘thank you’ and a ‘you’re kind’.

Even in this situation.. you thought he was kind?

Ciel called off the punishment and had you in his arms those same ten minutes. Somehow, that was the weirdest part of all of this. Being neglected stimuli for potentially weeks and then suddenly feeling warmth and comfort…

It took you a while to get back to your old self. You were still nervous around them, but you noticed more about them. Whenever Sebastian looked at you, his eyes would momentarily light up with love.

Whenever you looked at Ciel, his jaw would unclench, and his shoulders would relax. Something about knowing these facts comforted you. They had their guard down around you, so why shouldn’t yours be?

Sebastian was the first you kissed. He was bathing you, asking for permission to touch your chest or groin. You gave him a kiss mid question, right on the cheek.

“You don’t have to ask to touch when you bathe me..” you mumble. “If you don’t get spots, they’ll be dirty and infected..”

He was in shock, though softly chuckled at your words and nodded. “You’re very right.”

Ciel was more forceful. Not in a mean way, but when he heard you kiss Sebastian, he grabbed your cheeks and kissed your lips.

“That bastard better have not taken your first kiss. Did he?” “…N-No..” “Good. You’re mine. Stay in this room with me until I excuse you.”

You sat on his lap the whole time.

[wisteria-blooms]

sunburns & dragons (charlie weasley & reader) (3/??)

CHAPTER DIRECTORY

TAGLIST: @badgerqueen07 @superduckmilkshake @k-k-merlin @kisskittenn @pluiesdefleurs@lilianelena39 (let me know if I've missed you! otherwise, comment or DM me to be added) Uhm, before you start, peep this gorgeous GIF set below by @alicent-targaryen. Please just browse the entire #sam-heughan tag like I did for the past hour lol. A/N: Also, I don't think the most thorough editing job. I'll go over it again and fix hiccups.

CHAPTER 3: After an unplanned first 'date', having Charlie over for dinner sounds more scrumptious than any perfectly-done filet mignon. However, you should've known that involving him would involve more people than you would've liked. (3.7k words)

CHAPTER 3: IN TOO DEEP

It was the same dreadful feeling of getting in trouble when you were a child. A premonition that a scolding was coming.

That was what you felt as you followed your father down the hallway. But you weren’t going to be asked why Draco was crying after you pushed him (see: age three) or why you scored so poorly in an third-year elective over Christmas break (see: age thirteen). No, twenty-three was going to bring on a different slew of problems.

When you and Lucius were situated in a dark corridor and shielded from the view of the other patrons, you braced yourself. Deep in the shadows, you definitely looked like your father. You never quite got his platinum blonde hair or pale blue eyes; your colouring was always a touch darker. But here, you were the mirror image of him, displeased expressions and aversions to losing and all. 

You clenched your jaw shut as did Lucius until he finally gritted out: “What are you doing here? And in this get-up?”

“Why does it matter what I wear?” you snapped back. Lucius was draped in some of the fanciest emerald robes he’d owned, so whatever meeting he had was definitely important. 

“I don’t particularly care for what you’re wearing, but rather, who it belongs to,” Lucius clarified. “And for you to be here with that Weasley—”

“His name’s Charlie, father.”

“They’re all the same, a stain on our reputation, and speaking of such things,” Lucius continued, his voice gaining volume as he spoke. “We Malfoys have one to upkeep. Either bring some acceptable friends of yours or—”

Lucius quickly glanced around him to make sure there was no one important passing by. When he saw a woman exit the powder room, he waited pleasantly for her to pass before resuming his speech. One that you’d heard a million times. 

“Don’t present yourself here with him.”

“Oh, what does it matter?”

“You will leave this instance,” he commanded. “With the Weasley child.”

“He is not a child, and you can’t tell me what to do,” you countered, your voice rising too. “I can be here with whoever I please. In fact, we’ll have Jacques seat us so we can stay longer. He always has a spot in the restaurant for the Malfoys.”

“You will not,” he hissed. “I have more associates joining me and I won’t be—”

When an elderly couple turned the corner down the hall, you and Lucius both shut up immediately. At the same time, you choked out smiles at each other to give the guise of a pleasant conversation, not the whisper-shouting match that was actually going on. It was in that moment of much-needed silence that you realized something important: Lucius falsely assumed you and Charlie were together. Not in the form of a fling, but he falsely assumed Charlie was the boyfriend you were parading around yesterday. 

“I’m going back to Charlie. Good luck with your meeting.”

You spun away on your heels. As you ditched Lucius, you walked thunderously back to the front. Arguing with your father always put you in the worst of tempers. First, he threatened to have Goyle over because you were unpaired, and now, he was upset with your choice of partner? It was like arguing with a wall.

Up front, Charlie was waiting for you, two drinks in hand and a pastry bag in between his fingers. In the time you were gone, his order had been served. He handed a drink to you.

Trying to suppress your frustration, you asked Charlie in a whisper: “Can you follow my lead?”

“What was that?” he asked, leaning downwards. “You’re too quiet. Or too short for me to hear you.”

“Lean closer, then,” you instructed.

“Okay.” Charlie complied immediately, arching down even further until his lips were a touch too close to your ear. From the view of a bystander, it gave the appearance of him kissing your cheek, maybe his lips grazing your earlobe… You repressed a shudder, having to remind yourself that he just was fooling around like his younger brothers often did.

“Walk out with me,” you whispered. 

You extended your right hand, motioning for him to take it. And without a second of hesitation, he did. Those long, callused fingers wrapped around your smaller ones for the second time today. His grip was firm and protective. You turned your head slightly to see Lucius was looking, and sure enough, he was. Luckily from him, Mr. Lemieux was turned away from the spectacle. 

You imagined he was wearing his teeth down with how hard his jaw was clenched. Worn dentition was soon going to be the least of his problems if he kept pissing you off. 

“Let’s get out of here,” you said. 

“Tell me about it.”

You led him out back through the double glass doors. Your brisk walk turned into a jog down the street. You were trying not to trip on cobblestones or spill your drink again. When you’d reached a safe distance from Cauco, you burst out laughing. And so did Charlie.

“What was that?” he asked. “Actually, what is this?” He raised both your hands that were still tangled to each other. “A change of heart for me?”

“No, this is pure subterfuge,” you responded through fits of laughter. 

“What possessed you to take my hand?”

“My father told me to get out, so I did. I couldn’t leave you.”

“I didn’t know you had a flair for dramatics.”

“You don’t know me well enough!” you laughed. 

“Charlie?” a voice rang suddenly from the corner. “Is that you?”

Both of you whipped around.

It was Molly Weasley. Oh, you know, no other than Charlie’s mum.

Molly nearly dropped her woven baskets full of groceries at the sight of well, firstly, her son who was back home once a year if she was lucky. And secondly, you imagined at the shock of the two of you holding hands. 

You quickly removed your hand from Charlie’s. Now your expression really read like you’d been caught in this imaginary romp in the sheets. 

“What are you doing back in England?” Molly asked, bringing her son in for a hug and a kiss on the cheek. She cupped his face and gave it two firm pats, trying to ascertain that Charlie was real and not some apparition.

“Apparently, you can’t bank vacation for ten years straight,” he said. A blotch of red was forming on his cheeks from Molly’s hand. “Pretty ridiculous, I reckon—”

“Why didn’t you tell me you were coming back?” Molly then demanded. “I could’ve prepared properly for you. A proper room, a proper meal.”

Charlie jolted. “I didn’t know until two days ago, I promise, mum. I’ve been on a train for the past day. I’ve barely slept all of last night.”

“Well, you’re just in time for a big lunch.” Molly looked at you. “(Y/N), dear,” she said, her voice much sweeter with you. “So lovely to see you, too.” 

“Likewise, Mrs. Weasley,” you responded.

“(Y/N), won’t you join us for lunch as well?” Molly hummed. Then she turned back to Charlie. “Charlie, you’ll be elated to know that Bill is home, too.”

You could never refuse Molly. You also weren’t in a rush to get home, knowing your father may be there, ready to have an argument about the scene you caused at Cauco. And the guilt was starting to settle in, so you shook it off with a nod towards Molly.

As the three of you walked up the grassy hill that led up to the Burrow, Charlie pestered Molly over the validity of her statement about Bill’s being home. “Is he really? You’re joking me, surely.”

“Why would I ever joke about that?” Molly asked. “You know I’ve always asked you to come home more often.”

Charlie groaned as he opened the door to his childhood home. “I should’ve brought home more Romanian parchment for him.”

“Why Romanian parchment?” you asked.

“It’s lighter and less resistant to tearing and burning. Easier for him to carry during expeditions and less to worry about goblins burning them.”

“I’m sure that’s the last thing on his mind right now,” Molly hummed. “But I shouldn’t spoil what your brother is going to tell you, no, I shouldn’t...” She seemed to be fighting with her own morals as she entered the house. 

“Good,” Charlie said as he let out a sigh of relief. “But now I should’ve bugged him for more Egyptian hide.” He pulled the hem of your jacket. “If I was wearing that instead of this jacket, my pocket would’ve lived to see the tale.”

“Is that yours, Charlie?” Molly asked. “I should’ve known, seeing as it’s so tattered up. But nothing I can’t fix.”

“You’ll have to fix (Y/N) up, too. I spilled coffee on her,” Charlie admitted sheepishly.

“Of course, I’ll tend to you, dear, in just a moment…” Molly unloaded her baskets on the counter, eyeing her assortment of meats, cheeses, vegetables, and breads. “Let me get the stew going first. It shouldn’t take more than a couple of minutes.”

As Molly worked, you peered around the house. You’d been here many times throughout your school years and knew every nook and cranny. Though, you were always cooking things up with Fred and George in their room upstairs. You’d met Percy, Ron, and Ginny but never overlapped much with Charlie or Bill. Regardless, you’d always appreciated how inviting it was compared to your abode located upstate. Every bit of you felt warm from the sun seeping through the windows. In the house, things were stuffed to the brim until it was precariously close to exploding: books on the bookshelf, mugs in the cabinet, non-perishables in the pantry, spare blankets in the closet. And even though the Burrow was enclosed by farmland, Molly and Arthur were very friendly with the neighbours. You barely knew yours.

You were about to ask Molly if you could offer any assistance when you were interrupted by footsteps.

“Bill!” Charlie recognized his brother immediately. 

“Charlie?” Bill said. No sooner, he’d jumped down the last two steps and enveloped his younger brother in a hug that almost toppled him over. “What are you doing back in England?”

“It’s a long story,” Charlie said. “What are you doing here?”

“Well,” Bill started, trying to conceal a grin. He reached out for Fleur’s hand as she came down the steps behind him. “Fleur is expecting. We’re due in the next month or so.”

“What?” Charlie exclaimed. “Already?”

“What do you mean ‘already’?” Molly scolded suddenly from behind him. “It’s about time you settled down as well, Charles Weasley. You should consider staying put for once. I pray you won’t jostle your wife around like you do yourself—”

“I shouldn’t have said anything,” Charlie whispered to you before getting dragged off by Molly. Bill followed him into the kitchen.

“Hello, (Y/N),” Fleur said as she came down the last step. Despite being heavily pregnant, she was more than graceful.

“Hello, Fleur,” you responded. “Congratulations on the pregnancy. You look lovely.”

“Thank you,” she said, a proud smile on her face.

You waited awkwardly in the living room alone for a couple moments. You really wished Fred or George or both of them were here to give you someone to talk to. When Molly finished up giving orders to Bill and Charlie, you felt it appropriate to tiptoe into the kitchen. 

“Hello (Y/N),” Bill was the first to notice you creeping in. “Long time no see.”

Bill, as you faintly remembered, was indeed the tallest of the bunch. He was fit but not as muscular as Charlie, if what you saw this morning was anything to go by. He was more laid-back as well, and less prone to making remarks that would receive a scolding from Molly. 

“Indeed!” you responded, feeling more at ease. “And congratulations on the baby.”

“Thank you.” A smile broke out on Bill’s face. He was radiant, his blue eyes crinkling from his smile. His face wasn’t as angular and defined as Charlie’s but he was very handsome in a more boyish way. 

“I didn’t expect you to be here, you’re usually with Fred and George,” Bill said as if reading your mind. “Do you have some news of your own you want to share with me?”

You gave him a puzzled look.

“Mum told me she saw you and Charlie holding hands this morning, after your date,” Bill whispered, glancing slyly at Charlie. “I didn’t know that you were together. Charlie writes to me about everything. Apparently he left out an important chunk.”

Oh. Your date. “Oh, I’m not sure I—”

“That’s okay, I won’t press you. I’ll just ask Charlie,” Bill said, letting you off the hook. You breathed an internal sigh of relief. “He’s a tough read is all I’ll say. He dilly-dallys around a lot, especially around women.”

“Does he?” you said with a laugh. You thought of Charlie’s words to you earlier in the day.

��“One day, he’s saying he’s met this girl. Next week, he’s in love. Then, he wants to propose, and before I know it, I’m standing at the altar.”

Right, Bill wasted no time. Conversely, Charlie denied he was the same. 

Bill smiled. “I reckon so. But it’s no doubt you were able to read through him. You’ve always been smart.”

Your words caught at Bill’s sudden compliment. “Thank you, Bill. But I’m really not.”

“Come on, it was one class almost ten years ago,” Bill said with a teasing grin. “Nothing to beat yourself up over.”

“How do you know?” you asked, your cheeks heated. You’d never overlapped schooling with Bill and yet he knew about—

“Fred told everyone about the cursed elective the three of you took.”

You groaned. You were going to give Fred a piece of your mind next time you saw him.

“Bill, could you be a dear and call Fred and George over for lunch?” Molly called from the windowsill. She barely looked up at the stew she was seasoning. “I’m sure they can afford an hour for lunch now that their busy season is over.”

“Sure thing,” Bill acquiesced, throwing down the dishcloth. “I’ll talk to you later, (Y/N)." 

Molly replaced Bill’s spot in front of you and took you by the arm. “Now, follow me upstairs and let’s get you fixed up. I told Charlie he’s going to have to be more careful around you.”

In an hour, lunch rolled around and so did Fred and George who got a scolding for apparating right into the home. You learned that Fred’s imitation of Molly wasn’t far off. 

“What are you still doing here?” Fred asked with a genuine look of surprise on his face. 

“I’m not sure, Molly asked if I wanted to come for lunch.”

“How did this chance occurrence happen?”

“We bumped into her at Diagon Alley.”

Fred wiggled his eyebrows. “We?” 

You shrugged. 

Thankfully, you were ushered to the table before Fred could pester you anymore. Bill sat with Fleur, Fred with George, you and Charlie, and Molly at the end. The bread basket perched in the centre was bigger than your head.

“So, Charlie, dear,” Molly started. “What brings you back home?”

“Well,” Charlie responded. “As I was saying earlier—”

“Charlie’s going to meet (Y/N)’s parents next Saturday,” Fred added suddenly. 

“You’re going to the Malfoy’s?” Bill asked, directing a look of surprise at Charlie. Molly followed suit. 

You nearly sputtered into your stew. You hadn’t really discussed that nor had Charlie consented to it, at least not seriously. You figured he was just kidding about having dinner, and now that his appetite had been satiated, so was his curiosity. 

“Sure am,” Charlie responded after a long swig of water. He didn’t skip a beat. 

“You’ll have to find something suitable to wear,” Molly commented, looking Charlie up and down. Her inquisitive brown eyes narrowed at his dishevelled long hair and outfit that looked like he was going to bed rather than dinner. “I’m sure we can find something of your father’s or grandfather’s in the attic.”

“There goes the rest of my afternoon,” Charlie groaned loudly, much to Molly’s chagrin. Then, he leaned into you. “I hope you didn’t have plans for us, (Y/N).”

You shook your head. “I shouldn’t think about taking you away from something so important.”

The rest of lunch was filled with questions about Bill and Fleur’s impending baby and Fred and George’s business. Luckily, no questions were thrown towards you and Charlie. You wouldn’t even know what to say. When lunch was over, Charlie was the first to excuse himself. 

“That was a lovely lunch as always, mum,” Charlie said, getting up. “I’m going to unpack and maybe take a nap. It was a long journey from Romania.”

As he began to head up the stairs, Molly piped up: “Be sure to use Ginny’s room.”

Charlie descended a step back. “What about mine?”

“It’s under renovation.”

“You remodelled my room?” Charlie cried.

“As a temporary nursery. You can obviously still stay in the guest room the duration of time you’re here,” Molly clarified. 

“I won’t even fit into Ginny’s room, let alone the bed. And are the walls still pink?”

“Well, a fair warning that you’d be coming back would’ve been sufficient,” Molly said. “Bill was first to tell me that he and Fleur wanted to move back in for the duration of her pregnancy.”

“But why mine? Why not remodel Ginny’s room as the nursery?”

“Because yours is closest to Bill’s room,” Molly explained. “It provides easier access to the baby.”

“You can always stay with us, Charles darling,” Fred suggested, a grin dancing on his face. “We have a spare room in our flat that’s gone unused for some reason.”

“I’ll consider it as my dead last option,” Charlie said with a shudder. He jumped back on the first floor and ran past Fred, but not before commenting: “There are a million people I’d rather live with before I’d live with you.”

After Charlie left to unpack, Fred and George followed suit to reopen the shop. You lingered around the house for a while longer, offering to help with the dishes which was promptly refused. Instead, Molly gave you a tour of the new nursery, her eyes brimming with pride at her handiwork. And it really was a lovely room with white, flowy curtains billowing in the wind, a vintage wooden cot, and tons of hand sewn blankets and plush toys. You were glad she was so preoccupied with the baby and showing you around that she wasn’t asking about Charlie. 

“It’s beautiful, Mrs. Weasley,” you said, admiring the stitching on the curtains. “Bill and Fleur are lucky to have you alongside them.”

Molly placed a hand on her hip. “You know, dear, I would do it for any child of mine and their partner.”

You eked out a smile in response. You sure hoped she wasn’t insinuating anything about you. 

When you went downstairs, you decided it was proper for you to excuse yourself and head home. It was nearing three in the afternoon and you couldn’t believe how the hours just flew by. Before you left, you went to Ginny’s old room and knocked on the ajar door. 

“Come in,” Charlie said.

You stepped in slowly. Charlie was unfolding his clothes on Ginny’s old bed. He towered over the frame, and he’d be lucky if he could stretch out his legs tonight. Luckily for him, the walls were now a muted pink, not the bright shade they were years ago. 

“I’m about to leave,” you said. “I just wanted to apologise for today before I go. I’m sorry you got caught up in things.”

Charlie cocked an eyebrow. “What’s there to apologise for?” 

“The whole debacle with my father,” you clarified. “I never meant to get you involved. I don’t think well at the crux of an argument.”

“Why shouldn’t I be involved?”

Did Charlie sound offended?

“You want to be?”

“(Y/N),” Charlie said with a chuckle. “I’m always hungry. I’ll be there for the meal if not for the entertainment, or world-class Malfoy hospitality.”

“Are you serious?” you asked. “Because you understand what the deal was right? We’d have to be…” You bit your lip. You didn’t want to finish the sentence. 

“Like we’re dating? Was that so hard to get out now?” Charlie laughed, leaning in closer to you until he was a few inches from you. “I mean, you’re meeting my mum.”

“I’ve already met her, many times over,” you huffed. “And on that topic, don’t you think it’s wrong to lead her on like that?”

“Hey,” he said. “Don’t lecture me about ethics. You’re the one who just tried to swindle your father in public.”

You turned red. “My prospects were looking terrible.”

“Hey, I’m just kidding,” Charlie said. “I’d do the same thing if I were in your shoes.”

“Alright”—you eyed him suspiciously—“Well, if you’re sure, I’ll send you an owl.”

“You know exactly where I’ll be,” Charlie confirmed.

Before you turned away to leave, a sudden thought came to mind. “Charlie, wait. You never told me. Why are you back in England?”

“I really was banking up too much vacation,” he confessed, airing out a rolled t-shirt. “I was strong-armed into taking it, so I chose the off-season.”

“What are you going to do at home?”

He hummed. “I was cordially invited to be a guest professor at Hogwarts two days a week, depending on how often they need me.”

“That is splendid for you,” you said, eyes brightening. “Which classes will be taking over?”

“Just Care of Magical Creatures for now”—he turned fully to you—“I reckon I could sneak in a few dragons for the kids.”

“You wouldn’t,” you warned. “You were Head Boy, you knew the rules.”

“Try me, Headmaster Malfoy.”

He held your gaze, intense blue eyes locking with yours and a smirk rising on his face. For the briefest of moments, you felt a shudder course through your body. He wasn’t being suggestive, you had to remind yourself. Charlie was just more intense and smouldering than his brothers—

Wait, did you just use the word smouldering to describe Charlie? The Charlie Weasley you’d really just met six hours ago? You scolded yourself. You had to focus on the issue at hand. 

“I’ll try to wrangle a way out of dinner regardless,” you affirmed. “I have to free you up for your duties as a professor.”

He broke his gaze. “Let me know if you’re successful,” Charlie said with a laugh. “Catch you later, (Y/N).”

>> NEXT CHAPTER

&lt;;< CHAPTER DIRECTORY

[229zmi]

BESTFRIEND!ATSUMU

PAIRING: Miya Atsumu/Reader

CONTENT: brief mention of blood + mild violence (not toward reader or Atsumu), they/them pronouns used for reader, rushed ending, lots of run-on sentences 😁, childhood friends to lovers

WORD COUNT: 2.0k

bestfriend!Atsumu who, on a hot summer day many years ago, crashes into your life both unceremoniously and literally. He’s nine and rash in the way that nine year old children tend to be, though that certain aspect for him was enhanced simply for the fact that he’s Miya Atsumu and words like vigilant and sensible aren’t quite in his vocabulary yet (and perhaps they never would be).

bestfriend!Atsumu who’s nine and rash in the way that shows in his appearance, his russet hair dishevelled and his elbows red and burning not from the sun but from the bits of gravel still stuck onto his skin after a nasty fall off his bike earlier — and rash in the way that he crashes into your life by first crashing the aforementioned bike into the fence outside your house, before tumbling at your feet.

bestfriend!Atsumu who at the time is just stranger!Atsumu to you and someone you peer down at for some time as if you’re staring at a glob of bird poop on the ground rather than something at least a little more worthy than that. For a while, he doesn’t know what to do or say except glance at what remains of his bike with a dejected face and then literally run for his life.

stranger!Atsumu who sees you at school the next day, surprisingly. He doesn’t recall if he’s ever seen you in the hallways before, but that doesn’t matter anyway because when he sees you, you’re staring at him with the same creepy look you had yesterday afternoon. Osamu is next to him and asks if he knows you.

“I crashed my bike into a fence in their yard. Dunno what they want from me now — you think they like-like me or somethin’?”

His brother doesn’t look too shocked when he says this — just mildly disappointed, but Atsumu’s used to that from him anyway, in the same way that Osamu’s used to him and all his shenanigans. Nonetheless, as the slightly more reasonable twin, he says in a tone that could almost be considered scolding, “I think you should apologise.”

“WHAT?”

stranger!Atsumu who, despite his pride, apologises to you with a tear-stained crumpled up note and a pack of gummy bears dropped promptly onto your desk, wearing what’s intended to be an apologetic expression, although it looks more like he’s holding in the urge to call you a poopiehead to your face and then run away again. But for you, that’s good enough.

stranger!Atsumu who, by some sort of unspoken agreement between the two of you paired along with the fact that you’re eight and making friends is as shallow as simply asking Do you want to be friends?, becomes your acquaintance after you so graciously accept his apology.

friend!Atsumu whom you now exchange toothy smiles and brief high-fives with whenever you pass each other in the hallways.

friend!Atsumu whom you hang out with almost every day of summer break a couple weeks later because turns out, he lives just a little further down the street, so you have no trouble going on the three-minute journey it takes to get to his house.

friend!Atsumu whom you spend so much time with without ever getting the slightest bit bored, squandering most days away with attempts at defeating each other at all the video games he has stored in the room he shares with Osamu, who occasionally joins in but most often opts to pray on his brother’s downfall from the sidelines.

friend!Atsumu whom you build mud pies with for his brother to pretend-eat and judge as if they’re actually edible; who’s naturally competitive and tries to catch more bugs than you in the backyard until an inky canopy stretches over you and the street lamps turn on, signalling that it’s time for you to go home.

friend!Atsumu who — as rowdy as he is — surprisingly is a gentleman and has no trouble going on the six-minute journey it takes to walk you home and head back himself.

bestfriend!Atsumu whose friendship with you is still undeterred by the fact that you’re in different classes once you reach middle school, often going to the restroom during class just to stop by your classroom on the way back and catch a glimpse of what you’re doing.

bestfriend!Atsumu who spots you in your seat, your eyelids drooping as if you can hardly manage to keep them up as well as yourself awake during the teacher’s boring lecture.

bestfriend!Atsumu who presses his nose close against the window of the door, catching the attention of a few of your classmates but most importantly you, and starts making funny faces that elicit a sharp laugh out of you, which in turn leads to you getting scolded by the teacher for being a ‘disruption.’ Whoops.

bestfriend!Atsumu who, as some sort of compensation, exhales to make the glass foggy and then with his pointer finger draws a heart shape before he returns to class.

bestfriend!Atsumu who never fails to make you smile even during your lowest days; who keeps a diary tracking all the times he’s made you laugh, just to look over all the notes scribbled down in the margins later whenever he’s feeling down himself.

bestfriend!Atsumu whose hair is dry to the touch the first time you see him after spring break in your first year of high school. Your fingers are carding through his hair, and even though you’re telling him his hair follicles feel and look like hay, Atsumu isn’t paying attention to a single word of it because he’s too busy relishing in your closeness to him.

bestfriend!Atsumu who’s used to compliments and flattery all the time, yet still he nearly explodes into a million pieces of flesh when you mention offhandedly at some point, “It suits you though. Looks good.”

bestfriend!Atsumu who, from that day on, starts developing all symptoms of heart failure oddly enough, finding difficulty with breathing paired with an erratic heartbeat whenever he’s around you. And despite Osamu and his ma and even Google all saying it’s totally not heart failure, he’s not entirely convinced.

bestfriend!Atsumu who’s always liked showing off in front of people, but even more so in front of you now, going out of his way to show off his strength by popping open soda cans for you with a cheeky smile, although the feat can hardly be considered impressive; carrying your backpack during the walk home from school, once again to show off his strength; and holding the door open for you every chance he gets.

bestfriend!Atsumu who’s shocked when one day, you tell him you’ve been talking to one of your classmates a lot lately and that you’re going on a date with him to some kind of museum this weekend. You say all this with a smile you’re struggling to contain as you lay stomach facing down on Atsumu’s bed, your chin resting in the palm of your hand and your feet leisurely kicking the air.

bestfriend!Atsumu who spins around his room in a rolly chair and grumbles, “What’s so special about him? Sounds to me like he’s just some boring ol’ guy.”

“He is not some boring ol’ guy,” you argue, reaching over to slap his knee once he’s close enough for you to do so. “He’s nice and smart, and he’s in the school’s orchestra. Second-chair viola,” you add, like that makes him seem any more interesting.

Nonetheless, all you get from Atsumu is a two-in-one package of disapproval: a yawn that goes on for way too long to be believable, and an over-exaggerated thumbs down.

bestfriend!Atsumu who does not like your new boyfriend a couple of weeks later but is civil enough with him so that you do not notice. It turns out that he’s right for the most part in calling your boyfriend boring; he’s so ordinary that there isn’t really anything to actually like or dislike about him, yet the less rational part of Atsumu can’t help but secretly pray on his downfall, especially when the amount of time you used to spend watching your best friend at volleyball practice after school starts ebbing away and redistributing to cutesy hangouts with Mr. Second-Chair Viola.

bestfriend!Atsumu who wears his heart on his sleeve even if he doesn’t intend to, and within the first week of introducing your boyfriend to your bestfriend, you decide to confront him about your suspicions.

“Do you hate my boyfriend or something?”

“Huuuuh?”

bestfriend!Atsumu who initially plasters on a clueless act, glancing around him as if you’re talking to someone else. The only problem is, you’ve known him for so long that by this point, you can pick out his bluffs almost as easily as picking your nose — not that you pick your nose.

“He told me you keep giving him the Kubrick stare in the hallways.”

“No way… Must’ve gotten me mixed up with my brother. ‘Samu’s the one blessed with the resting-bitch-face, ya know.”

“Uh-huh,” you say slowly, clearly unconvinced.

bestfriend!Atsumu who’s relieved when you let the topic go anyway and back off, deciding to go search for your boyfriend, who you’re sure is somewhere else on the school grounds.

bestfriend!Atsumu who, having nothing else to do with practice being cancelled today, tags along with you on your search. He’s right behind you, tapping away on his phone, when you suddenly halt in your tracks, the tip of his nose hitting the back of your head as he wasn’t really expecting you to do that, before he tilts to the side to see what’s the problem, eyebrows raised comically.

bestfriend!Atsumu who sees exactly what the issue is: your boyfriend, in the midst of locking lips with some other student near the vending machine.

bestfriend!Atsumu whose gaze immediately averts to you, trying to gauge your reaction. A downcast expression shadows your face, and you look like you’re between either bursting into tears or vomiting all over the ground. Maybe both.

bestfriend!Atsumu who doesn’t stop to think before yanking your now ex-boyfriend (hopefully) out of his heavy make out session and socking him in the face, rendering him kind of pathetic with blood gushing out of his nostrils as he stares back and forth between you and the fake-blond, stunned by the fact that he’s been caught.

“Scram,” Atsumu sneers at him, chivalrously. Mr. Second-Chair Viola obliges.

bestfriend!Atsumu who does his best to cheer you up during the days that follow after the unfortunate situation. It’s almost impressive how much of his allowance money he manages to splurge over the span of less than a week on all your favourite snacks and drinks, along with stuffed animals to keep you company while you mull over the tragic end of your relationship, a bouquet of fake flowers because the last thing he’d want you to worry about at the moment is trying to keep them alive, and anything else he believes’ll make you feel even just a little bit better.

bestfriend!Atsumu whose hair you help re-bleach in your final week before graduation because you know how insecure he gets when his roots are showing.

bestfriend!Atsumu who can’t stop himself from admiring the way you look as you’re carefully sectioning his hair. The sight of you being all focused sends his heart in a frenzy, and he finds that the warmth in his face is becoming almost too much to ignore.

bestfriend!Atsumu who impulsively confesses to you underneath the fluorescent lights of his bathroom. By then, he’s eighteen and rash in the way that he’s always been, the words spilling out before his brain fully processes them.

bestfriend!Atsumu who doesn’t quite believe his own ears when he hears you say the words I love you, too back to him, who only believes it when you gather up enough courage to press your lips against his, and who is uncharacteristically gentle when it comes to you, placing a tender hand against the base of your neck to pull you closer.

boyfriend!Atsumu who adores you more than anyone else in the world — so much that he ignores Osamu’s angry protests from outside the bathroom, saying he needs to pee.

[presidenthades]

Once again, I am doing a series of my behind-the-scenes thoughts for The Golds while I do light edits for formatting, typos, and continuity. Here’s Chapter 5!

(Using the “Book of Clarence” GIF because I just watched it today.)

For this chapter’s title, I picked the Warrior lyrics from “The Song of the Seven” because toward the end, Jace has to pick up a blade (so to speak) and physically defend herself for the first time in her life.

Chapter content warnings also apply for this commentary, since we’re talking about the same topics.

Aegon seems like he’d be an oversharer when he’s emotional. Just get everything off his chest, either as a form of catharsis or in the hopes of receiving validation, or both. I feel like Aegon is capable of having an excellent poker face (useful for gambling), but TGC puts so much emotion into Aegon’s every expression that it makes me think Aegon chooses to wear his heart on his sleeve. Everyone has already made up their minds about him so why try to pretend to be something he’s not?

Jace doesn’t like being idle, and Aegon’s speech is very very long. So she keeps her hands busy, and her instinct is to clean up Aegon’s face 🥺.

I was debating whether Jace forgives Aegon too easily, since she was very upset earlier. But Jace is generally quick to forgive, and she now has the missing pieces of the story. The drafts I wrote where she continued to be angry at Aegon made her seem unreasonable, and she isn’t the kind of person to value a feast/public appearance over innocent lives. But she is the kind of person to worry about lot (at times unnecessarily), so that becomes the new thing she fixates upon. Aegon and Aemond were a bit reckless, and of course Jace is going to focus on the worst possible scenario that could’ve happened.

Aegon sees Jace as perfect and himself as the total opposite, so he blames himself instead of Jace. But Jace isn’t afraid to do some introspection and examine herself for flaws—in fact, she often thinks about what she did wrong and could do better next time. And because Aegon is an oversharer, she picked up on his feelings of being neglected, even if he didn’t explicitly state them, and she’s able to put herself in his shoes. So they have a little marital spat, as every couple does, but they’re able to work through it without dragging it out unnecessarily long. Neither of them is looking to “win” the argument, they just want to put it behind them and return to their usual state of contentment.

Jace’s line about Aegon not being a beggar waiting for scraps of her time resonates with him. A variation of it pops up again in Chapter 10 when he makes his resolution to play the game.

The “send me a note so I know where you are if you need rescuing” line is foreshadowing Jace’s kidnapping. She sends him a sort-of note in the form of the necklace she gives to the Garden girl Liane. And “that’s what guards are for” highlights how Jace isn’t a fighter. She’s a lady/product of her society and upbringing, and nobody—herself included—expects her to pick up a sword if there’s trouble.

I wanted Jace to explicitly say “I’m proud of you” because that’s the kind of validation Aegon lives for, and she knows his love languages. Honestly these two have a mutual praise kink

The original draft had Jace being jealous and telling Aegon to get rid of the brothel, but the jealousy ended to seeming kind of petty, so I deleted that bit. Jace doesn’t want her husband to own a brothel (people are always going to assume he’s patronizing his own business), but now that they’ve had a chat, she feels very secure in his affections. Also, when they have more time to think about it, I think they both realize that hastily offloading the brothel to the first person who’ll buy it could potentially go very badly; if the buyer is a nasty person, the girls there probably suffer. Hence, Aegon’s hands-off, “I’ll pretend it doesn’t exist” managerial style.

Jace is usually very self-conscious about her body, but this is an era where it’s normal for royals/nobles to be assisted while bathing and it isn’t sexual at all. So she mentally compartmentalizes it differently than, say, bathing with her husband. Aegon is aware of this, but he likes teasing Jace 😛. (I’m sure he actually has caught Sabitha, who supposedly likes women in F&B, admiring Jace a few times, but otherwise Sabitha knows how to be professional.)

Aegon genuinely cannot comprehend the idea of Jace being unattractive. Bless him.

When Aegon pauses over Jace’s stomach, he he realizes it wasn’t just Jace waiting for him tonight but also his unborn child. Jace’s earlier words about him endangering himself really hit him, and he has a little growth moment where he realizes he can’t just act like a reckless bachelor but has to think more about his growing family as he runs around the city.

Like most Targs, Aegon is officially raised as a member of the Faith but he doesn’t really believe in it. Meanwhile Jace does have sincerely held beliefs which are pretty standard for the time. It should be remembered that historically, religion was more widespread and important in daily life, and going to weekly services would’ve been the minimum expectation.

In the show, Rhaenyra is portrayed as not even knowing how to pray at age 14, which was an odd writing decision IMO. Religion is pretty engrained into medieval society, and Aemma is from the Vale, which is a region that strongly worships the Seven. So even if you argue that Viserys didn’t care much about Rhaenyra’s spirituality, I’m sure Aemma did. Rhaenyra doesn’t seem to believe in the Faith at all, but she can still perform the outward motions of belief while being agnostic inside. So in my version of events, Rhaenyra arranges the typical education for her children, which includes a septa (especially important to girls) and the in-world equivalent of Sunday school, even if she isn’t going to otherwise encourage them to pay heed to religion. But because Jace is a very good girl, she paid attention to all the lectures. Hence, Jace and Aegon’s very different reactions to his blasphemy.

Anyway, I hope I made it obvious with all the religious dirty talk and innuendos, but this smut scene is intended to show that Aegon literally worships Jace 😇.

Rhaena hasn’t heard about the Targbros’ adventures yet, so from her perspective, Aegon has miraculously managed to talk himself back into Jace’s bed after a colossal fuckup. No wonder she’s exasperated lol

Aegon doesn’t usually read for pleasure, but he’ll make an exception for trashy erotica 💋.

The garden party scene is an appetizer to how Jace and Aegon can work together to manipulate the courtiers if they’re so inclined. Most of the plan was Jace’s idea, but Aegon was definitely the one who suggested showing off the hickeys. And he ad libbed licking his finger 😛.

There was originally supposed to be a comedic sequence where the story of the Targbros’ heroics wins them a lot of fan girls. Since Aegon is married, most of the ladies begin obsessing over Aemond, who literally runs away from his admirers and at one point just straight up leaves for Driftmark for an extended visit. Alas, it didn’t fit in the chapter—but I might retell it from Aemond’s POV in the next fic LOL.

As Aegon starts hearing the petitions and doing more investigating, we see that he might not be as averse to duty/responsibility as he claims. He’s averse to feeling unappreciated, and since the smallfolk are very appreciative of his help, he keeps doing the petitions.

Aegon assumes that the Tyroshi does the reasonable thing and flees Westeros when he has the chance. Unfortunately, we shall see that the Tyroshi is not a man driven by reason.

Now that our couple have recalibrated so Jace isn’t overworking herself, Aegon feels less like he’s competing for her attention so he’s able to open himself up to impending fatherhood. A lot of his growth in this regard is a gradual process, not a huge eureka moment, and he’s still working on it when we get his POV again in Chapter 6. But he develops the new habit of communing with the baby because he wants to try, even if he still isn’t sure he’ll be any good at fatherhood. At the very least, he knows he doesn’t want to make his child feel neglected by his father, as Aegon felt growing up. And because Aegon spends so much time talking and singing to the baby, Cheeseball essentially comes out of the womb recognizing his father’s voice 🥹.

Aegon does still have some hangups. He acts a bit weird during the name talk because he thinks he would prefer a daughter. Similar to Laenor, Aegon thinks a daughter would be easier because in his mind, he’s imagining a mini-Jace whom he can spoil. Also, daughters tend to be raised more by their mothers and he thinks Jace would do great. But fathers are supposed to be more involved with sons, and Aegon thinks he’ll be a bad influence. So he’s still trying to wrestle with those feelings.

Gyles is NOT a good businessman. There’s no way he could ever recoup the costs of shipping cheese from the Vale just through selling pies. He’s lucky he found a royal patron 😂.

In an early draft, I had the baby’s name down as “Rhaenor” so it could simultaneously honor Laenor and Rhaenys. Then I started doing High Valyrian on Duolingo and I noticed there were words like aegion (iron) and rhaenagon (to find), which had the same roots as some Targ names. I developed a theory that the Targ names are supposed to have some kind of meaning, just like how our real world names have meanings (the High Valyrian creator David Peterson basically confirmed my theory on tumblr when I asked in December). So I began hunting through an online Valyrian dictionary for other roots. At first I wanted to use the word for gold, but that’s aeksion and I couldn’t think of a pleasant sounding name based on it. Then I stumbled across the words eleni and elenar, music and tide respectively, and that was PERFECT for a baby who’s part-Velaryon and has a daddy who likes to sing to them. And it sounds really nice! I played around with some name suffixes (Elenaron, Elenarys) but I liked the original word the best. I decided that instead of continuing to use the same dozen Targ names, or mixing up different name prefixes and suffixes, Jace picks a new name for her child which symbolizes that her reign/generation is going to do things differently, while still paying homage to their ancestors by continuing to use a Valyrian name.

The above then led me to exploring potential meanings for Jacaerys/Jacaera and Lucerys/Lucera. They’re supposed to be traditional Velaryon names, and Velaryon names seem to be mildly “corrupted” forms of Valyrian with some Westerosi influence, so I gave myself a little more liberty with picking origin words. I imagine Jacaerys/Jacaera as derived from jaes (goddess), which Rhaenyra picks after Laenor’s comment (and I guess it’s even more fitting with all of Aegon’s blasphemy and worship 🙈), while Lucerys/Lucera is derived from lyka (quiet, silent, calm). For our Lucera, it’s an ironic name because she’s the complete opposite, but Rhaenyra picked it because of lykiri (a dragon command we see in the show, “calm down”).

I wanted to emphasize Jace’s loving, pampered environment during the first half of the chapter. She’s in her element when she’s inside the castle, but if you take her out of her natural environment, she has no idea what to do. She’s also never truly been alone in her life. She’s always with her husband, family, or ladies, and even if she’s alone in a room, there are plenty of guards and servants nearby. When she’s kidnapped later, it’s the first time she actually has to figure out what to do with no help whatsoever. And she’s jumping from her life of backrubs and hot baths to walking alone in the rain with only one shoe.

The second half of chapter 5 was originally VERY different. It was actually supposed to start with Jace and Aegon having a Jasmine/Aladdin-esque “whole new world” adventure where Aegon shows her around the city during a weeklong festival, then later their siblings all want to join the fun, and it spirals into the Tyroshi grabbing Jace. I even wrote out the whole thing…and then I realized how idiotic everyone was acting 🥲. When you have Jace, Aemond, and Rhaena in the group, somebody would’ve mentioned how reckless the outing was, and I just couldn’t go through with all the Targkids being willfully blind to the risks of sneaking out to the city. Afterwards, there’s a scene with Viserys yelling at them all for being so stupid and endangering an entire generation of Targs, and then he decides to put 100% of the blame on Aegon. I actually really liked the confrontation between Viserys and Aegon, but I couldn’t keep the “family outing” plot, so I had to get rid of that aftermath scene too. I might be able to reuse it one day in another setting though.

Instead I went with the Sept outing in the final version. Jace does everything right, but unfortunately the grippe (a medieval illness that was probably the flu) strikes the entire Kingsguard. I’m a firm believer in writers being able to use luck/coincidence to get characters IN trouble (as long as it’s believable, and it’s super easy for the flu to spread among seven dudes living in a frat house!, but not out of it. And this definitely gets our characters in trouble. Without the grippe, Jace still would’ve had other guards at the sept, but a Kingsguard would’ve been in charge and more competently handled the bathroom trip. Instead she gets a less experienced knight, whom Viserys picked to be in charge probably because of a combination of vibes and politics. The Grand Sept is a normal and frequent destination for royal outings, and Jace is very popular with the city’s people, so nobody is expecting trouble.

I invented Maiden and Mother’s Day as a two-day holiday, so that there’s an explanation for the Tyroshi being able to suss out Jace’s plans. On day 1, he observes the guards not following her to the septas’ quarters and figures out she’s likely to repeat the pattern on day 2; it’s pretty common knowledge that heavily pregnant women need to use the bathroom often. And I added the growing crowd of beggars receiving alms to show that Jace’s outing is far from a secret from the public. On the contrary, in addition to the religious stuff, it’s another PR opportunity.

I kept Sabitha and Rhaena back from the outing, because all six ladies really would have been too much for the Tyroshi and his henchwoman to overcome. Also, Sabitha canonically takes up arms during the Dance, and I think she would’ve walloped the Tyroshi. Rhaena isn’t a fighter, but her presence alone would’ve impacted the odds, and her absence allowed me to play with some tension between her and Jace later. (And yes, Helaena was getting some bad omens about the outing. But as I’ve said before, I think her visions operate on vague vibes, so she knows something bad is coming but not what exactly it is.)

The Garden madam doesn’t immediately leave Westeros because she’s lured into a false sense of security after the Targbros raid the warehouse. She’s taking her time planning her trip to the Summer Islands or wherever she wants to retire when the Tyroshi—who’s pretty cunning and knows she snitched on him���leaps back into her life and takes her brother hostage. Considering how brutally the Tyroshi has killed other people in the past—and she has firsthand knowledge of Daisy—she’s too afraid to risk angering him further by trying to report to the Targs or anything like that. And she is very close to the bottom of society; really poor smallfolk like her don’t think that royalty are going to pay any attention to them, even if she wanted to try sending a message. So she’s just in this to try to save herself and her brother. All the descriptions about her odd behavior and cosmetics are to foreshadow that something isn’t right, and she’s not a normal septa.

I got snarky feedback from someone who thought it was stupid that the Tyroshi didn’t immediately kill Jace and that the ladies didn’t immediately scream for help, and apparently they were hoping for a red wedding scene 💀. Idk about other people, but if I were reading a fic tagged with fluff, comedy, hurt/comfort, and “detour into drama and angst,” I would honestly be quite mad if one of the narrators/ship characters/a pregnant girl died horribly on screen, and there was nothing in the tags or chapter notes to warn for it. ANYWAY, here’s my unnecessarily long rebuttal of that reader’s feedback about my characters 😇.

The Tyroshi’s goal isn’t to assassinate Jace, it’s to get revenge on Aegon, against whom he’s developed a vendetta. He is a sadist and sociopath. This was already seen in how he treated Old Willow and Daisy in Chapter 4. Instead of just killing them, he drew out their deaths with horrible torture and abuse. His plan to take Jace so he can extend the torment Aegon feels is in character with what little we know of him so far, and we haven’t even gotten to the convos with him in Chapters 6 and 7. Sure, he could’ve just slit Jace’s throat and that would’ve been ample revenge against Aegon. But if he’s going to go through so much trouble to get his hands on Jace, he’s going to make it worth his time. And he’s very confident he’ll succeed, which he would have done if Jace didn’t have a secret weapon. Also, he quickly becomes interested in Jace as soon as he talks to her, so his desire to kill her goes down sharply.

As for the ladies’ reactions: like Jace, they’re all pampered girls who’ve never had to deal with real problems before. They’ve always had other people, like guards and servants, to deal with problems for them. This is a very shocking situation that they are in no way prepared for, and it’s natural for them to have have a moment where they’re trying to comprehend that Sara just died. This is definitely the case for Jace, who is initially too tongue-tied to do or say anything.

Why don’t they instinctively scream? I’ll address each of the girls below, but there are some answers that apply to everyone. There’s a saying “fight or flight,” but it’s more accurate to say “fight or flight or freeze.” All the girls are initially defaulting to freeze, and this includes their mouths/throats; their bodies/instincts are telling them to stay still and silent so they don’t draw more attention to themselves.

The Tyroshi “immediately” turns on Elinor, who has her inglorious moment. She acts as a selfish coward saving her own skin. I wouldn’t expect her to shout for help from the guards. She’s too busy hiding in the privy and praying the Tyroshi forgets about her.

Floris is 9/10 years old. She’s the youngest of the group, and she takes a lot of cues from the others. She has to be specifically instructed by Bethany to do something before she acts. Think of the bystander effect, and how in modern emergencies, it’s advised that you say “you [specific person], call 911” instead of a generic “somebody call 911.”

Bethany is the likeliest candidate to actually shout for help. If Elinor hadn’t run for the privy, I think that would’ve been Bethany’s next step. But because Elinor abandons Jace, Bethany switches from “freeze” to “fight” since she’s the only person left who can defend Jace (she doesn’t count Floris, who’s too little). I was also hoping that it comes as a pleasant-ish surprise to readers that Bethany actually takes her duty as Jace’s LIW very seriously when it matters. So even though Bethany is very scared, her priority is putting herself in front of Jace. And even though we the readers might be thinking, “This is a logical opportunity for Bethany to shout for help now,” I think most of us overestimate how logical and capable we would be in an emergency. Bethany is only able to think one step at a time, and those steps are 1) protect Jace 2) send Floris to get help. Only after Floris fails does she think of 3) shout for help, when it’s too late.

TLDR all the ladies are acting like the scared girls they are. Everyone reacts differently in an emergency, and it’s easy to provide armchair commentary of “but they SHOULD have done this instead” when the truth is most of us would also probably freak out and act irrationally ☺️.

Notice how the Tyroshi addresses Jace as “Princess Targaryen.” I’m sure he’s learned her name during his surveillance, but he sees her as Aegon’s princess rather than her own person, hence the impersonal address.

Jace’s good manners are so engrained into her that she defaults to using them while in survival mode. And honestly it probably saves her life. If she were rude or mouthy, like Baela, the Tyroshi probably would’ve killed her much faster. Instead he’s intrigued by meeting the epitome of a well-bred princess.

Confession: I originally had Cheeseball kicking in the womb when the Tyroshi touches Jace, which meant the Tyroshi was the first person to feel the baby move. Then I got really angry at myself for writing that, so I changed it and made Aegon the first person to feel the baby in Chapter 6, as he deserves ☺️.

Earlier drafts had Jace conscious while the Tyroshi fled with her from the sept, because I wanted her to drop a trail of cedar beads from Joff’s amulets to help people find her. But if she were conscious, she would’ve tried VERY hard to escape the hay wagon or get passersby’s attention, and it would’ve been really dumb of the Tyroshi to give her that opportunity. So dreamwine and strangulation it is. I highly doubt dreamwine takes effect instantly, so I added the strangulation part to speed things up. I did think very hard about how strangulation can cause miscarriage, but Jace proves to be a lot tougher than expected, as does Cheeseball, and it’s not a guarantee of miscarriage. Now, I don’t know for sure if dreamwine plus a moment of strangulation would actually cause Jace to black out and remain unconscious for hours, BUT dreamwine is fictional and you can only google so many things about strangulation, so we’re just going to say it works.

Jace uses the dragonglass from Joff’s amulet for a girl-child. Jace is a girl, so in a way, the amulet’s protection works even though Joff had a different target in mind 🥲.

Initially, Jace is hoping somebody miraculously comes to her rescue, because she’s been raised to expect that someone will always be around to help her. But it’s just her 🥺.

The Tyroshi’s inspection of Jace’s features is intended to be very uncomfortable and to show that he sees her as an object, albeit one to be admired. He compares her features to various Tyrosh-related things because he’s already thinking about bringing her back to Tyrosh, so he’s kind of justifying it in a “she clearly belongs in Tyrosh” way.

In case it isn’t clear, he wants her gown because he intends to wrap the baby in it for Aegon to find 🙁.

The Tyroshi has decided he enjoys cosplaying as a courtier and princess engaging in courtly love/romance, hence his very polite mannerisms. Jace senses this is what he’s up to so she plays along.

The Tyroshi is convinced he can keep Jace alive (as he says, he’s done this before), but it is REALLY dangerous for Jace to have moon tea so late in pregnancy. In ASOIAF, Lysa Tully almost dies and has fertility issues when she’s forced to drink moon tea, and I suspect she was earlier in her pregnancy than Jace. So even if Jace survived (big if), her health would never be the same. (Would be an interesting succession crisis issue, but I can’t bring myself to write that AU.)

Laenor in the afterlife is so happy that his advice about rivers helps save his firstborn 🥹.

I just want to point out that it’s REALLY fricking dark where Jace is. There’s absolutely no light other than the occasional lightning, and the light pollution from the city is minimal since we’re in an era where lighting at night is expensive and firelight only. Girl is operating on hopes and prayers and thoughts of her husband right now. TBH if I were in her place, I’d just give up and cry 🥲. But even though Jace is pampered and gentle, she’s surprisingly resilient, and she has her baby to think about. I mentioned earlier that Jace has never truly been alone before until now, but she actually has Cheeseball to keep her company, and I think that helps her keep going until she reaches civilization.

Chapter 6 commentary here

[rozaceous]

ands: the new year's debacle

Wayne Enterprises & Subsidiaries NYE Event, where Director Yang is in attendance with a tall, gorgeous, and mysterious Plus One. They are both seen cheerfully making conversation with Chief Fox, much to the bafflement of the combined office betting pools.

(aka: post bruce and co resolving the UST over the holidays, it's Wayne E's holiday party and he finds out that vivienne and rosalyn know each other, and know each other well. ft: kevin the mortified and unsuspecting office worker.)

“I’m not—” Kevin feels his heels slipping as both Patricia and Claire pretend to double-over with laughter, arms hooked around his as a pretense to frogmarch him towards the trio at the large window of the event space.

“The General likes you best,” Henry says in that obnoxious way where he thinks he’s contributing to the discussion, but it’s just hot air.

“Marvin the Martian’s her favorite,” he refutes.

Simon gives a hard stare over at their wayward co-worker and they all follow his gaze. Marvin “the Martian” is either trying to describe how superconductors work or the mechanics of the wobbling gelatin dessert in his hands to his plus one. Poor woman looks completely lost, as if she’s been beamed to another planet.

“She thinks his nickname is funny, but she thinks you’re actually funny,” Johanna explains with a tone of talking down to a toddler.

Another voice joins their conversation. “Maybe you can go? Female-female solidarity?” He was thinking it, and Michael is the one to say it out loud. He comes up behind Simon, nodding greetings and holding hors d'oeuvres.

Johanna gives him a scornful once-over. She doesn’t move any closer despite the haughty attitude—she’s just as terrified of their boss as the rest of them are.

Kevin continues to struggle to no avail. He hisses, “Ladies, please!”

They’re slowly but steadily inching closer towards doom. Kevin’s never been a proponent of more than a light jog every two days, but the way Henry looks pityingly at him makes him reconsider stopping by the top-of-the-line gym facilities that all WayneTech employees get access to. Unfortunately, it means he’d have to account for running into trouble outside of business hours, as well.

Speaking of trouble—

“Director Yang!” Patricia gives off a bubbly laugh—the only natural blonde on their floor and she leans hard into it. Kevin would buy in, too, if he hasn’t seen how she gave that Enterprise Division asshole Asher Mulland the run-around. He was none the wiser, either; too busy dealing with Director Yang reaming him for wasting everyone’s time when his side pushed for ‘tighter integration’ in the first place.

“Patricia, off-hours,” Director Yang says with a small raise of her champagne flute. “I see you and Claire are…” The way she trails off that sentence while looking askance at him makes Kevin want his every molecules to drop down to absolute zero, no motion whatsoever.

If he doesn’t move, she can’t see him, right?

“Kevin’s more fun than the rest of the boys’ club you’re running, Vivienne.” Claire is both purposefully casual and careful with how she says Director Yang’s name. The little curl of the draconian woman’s lips—blood red lacquer and a hint of teeth—at that mockery seems to be a good sign (if an unnerving sight all the same), as the rest of the women in their circle start to laugh.

“We came over because we had to know who you’re wearing?” Patricia ends her statement with a questioning lilt.

“Hervé Léger,” she answers easily, and the striking brunette next to her leans close to clink their flutes together with a laugh. “Nothing wrong with a bit of excitement to greet the new year,” Director Yang says with a warm expression that actually reaches her eyes, curving them into crescents.

“As if you need an excuse to buy more clothes or shoes,” the brunette teases with a winsome smile, and all that prompts is a small flicker of an eye roll before Director Yang leans into her side.

“Where would she be without her shoes?” Chief Fox adds on dryly. “They’ve been making a statement since her undergraduate showcase. The terror of her division, too, if the scuttlebutt’s to be believed.”

“The terror of her calves, more like,” Statuesque Brunette jumps back in.

“But you have to admit they look amazing.” Director Yang’s tone takes on an unrecognizable quality.

Kevin has to admit nothing. He’s not looking at how his boss is in a dress that shows off her arms and shoulders and back and legs, and even if he were, his brain would do him the courtesy of applying a pixelated modesty filter over things no human was meant to perceive.

She looks over at them as if on cue and his mind goes blank with momentary terror. Maybe she can read minds. Maybe Claire says something agreeable or whatever, and Patricia nods along, but he can’t process the words.

It’s bizarre and hair-raising. She’s never gone out of her way to make it known, but within the first two years of working at WayneTech it was factual that Vivienne Yang was a hardass at best and a tyrant at worst. The fact that she’s rarely wrong and backed up all but officially by the CTO of WayneTech and acting CEO of Wayne Enterprises Lucius Fox means that she has leeway to be as despotic as she pleases. It’s true that one would have to monumentally cause something to go FUBAR for her to turn her attention on them, but those with survival instincts cringe at the sound of ‘click-clack-click-clack’ heels marching directly towards their desk.

The horsemen of the apocalypse in his dreams wore fitted suit jackets and pussy-bow blouses, and were all the more terrifying for it.

Hires that didn’t know better and got cocky—they were usually the type to run their mouths, fuck up anyways, and got made examples out of. It’d be better if she yelled, but she would coldly and without pause tear into every bit of their professional and technical integrity until there was nothing left. If it were Kevin, he wouldn’t even dare apply to a different job elsewhere, non-compete clauses notwithstanding.

When he gains awareness of the conversation again, it’s at the mention of his name.

“—must be Kevin.” Statuesque Brunette smiles over at him, with the most perfectly manicured and shaped hand reaching out for a greeting. She’s taller than him, too. “Vi’s told me a lot about you. I’m Rosalyn.”

“I—ah—” And thank god he automatically reaches over to shake her hand, even as he stutters. To his horror, Patricia and Claire are nowhere to be seen. He’s on his own. “All good things, I hope? We’re, well…’the nail that sticks out gets the hammer,’ as they say around here.” He tries for a joke to break the tension.

“You stick out in a good way,” Rosalyn says warmly, reassuringly, except it makes him that much more afraid. “Notable work, great attitude.”

Director Yang doesn’t point out anything unless it’s an egregious error. It’s either ‘good, proceed,’ ‘alright, I see,’ or the dreaded ‘hm.’ And then it all goes downhill from there.

“You’re the division’s foremost expert on frogs, right?” Rosalyn brings up, her straight, ivory teeth flashing in a show of mirth. She tucks shiny, flawlessly wavy hair behind an ear.

“Toads, actually,” comes out of his mouth before he can process the fact that Director Yang has 1) seen his work desktop background, and 2) told her plus one about it.

“Toads, Ros,” Director Yang concurs and takes a sip of champagne. “There’s a difference.”

He must be in a lucid nightmare right now, because Chief Fox nods thoughtfully and Rosalyn hums before asking, “So, what is the difference?”

His parents were right; he should have gone to church more and played less in the swamp, because a toad-shaped demon takes possession of him to rattle on about the differences and he can’t stop himself. The fact that Director Yang and Chief Fox hold a little side conversation but still have the wherewithal to nod along, even adding in little factoids of their own to Rosalyn’s follow-up questions, traps him in this never-ending psychotic break.

“—and Michael’s finally here to complete the duo act,” Director Yang drawls when Kevin has a pause. “I was wondering how long you two could bear to be separated.”

“These two submitted the winning proposal for the small-sat bid, yes?” Chief Fox turns an appraising look towards them. “Good work.”

“And lively all-hands meetings, from what I hear,” Rosalyn comments wryly.

Cold sweat drips down his back, and Michael’s not doing any better now that he’s also in their sights. His smile freezes in a way that starts to look like a grimace.

“So, how were the holidays?” Director Yang brings everything back to polite, standard conversation. “I assume everyone’s hard-fought-for and well-deserved PTO was spent wisely?”

“That does include you, too, Vi,” Chief Fox says.

Rosalyn chuckles. “Oh, don’t worry about that—she was forced to take it easy because—”

Kevin thinks he might prefer the regular work week interactions—at least he has those rules of engagement memorized. Here, he feels like a bug on display in front of the two most terrifying individuals at the company and a cheerfully intimidating plus one; the mood is awkward and Michael’s expression shows he clearly regrets coming over to bail him out.

---

Half an hour later, Kevin and Michael have made a partial escape and are lingering to the side of the room’s large window and attempting to look like they’re making conversation instead of standing awkwardly close to the curtains and eavesdropping as Rosalyn is now regaling Chief Fox with the details of a recent house tour she and Director Yang had taken. She has him honest-to-god chuckling. It’s just not right.

Kevin and Michael are still sharing bulging eye contact at the revelation of Director Yang getting a house with anybody, much less her apparent girlfriend(?) —Chief Fox seems to handle this information with more grace, but then he actually seems to like Director Yang—when Rosalyn is interrupted by the man of the perpetual hour.

“—wiring done by someone who’s idea of electricity hasn’t gained any sophistication past flying a kite in a storm based on the way the bathroom light sparked when I turned it on—”

“Of course I’d find you with the smartest, most beautiful women in the room, Lucius,” says Bruce Wayne, a half-emptied glass of champagne in hand as he smoothly sidles his way into their conversation. He and Chief Fox exchange a brief handshake and inquiry-answer about Chief Fox’s wife, who had other obligations.

And then—

“Hi, Bruce.” Rosalyn leans in to hug Mr Wayne and kiss his cheek. Kevin makes a choking noise and Michael elbows him to make him be quiet, transfixed by the way the very fabric of the universe is unraveling in front of them. “I was wondering if I’d get to see you this evening.”

“If I’d known you were coming, I would’ve been here that much sooner, Rosalyn,” Mr Wayne returns. He pecks her cheek back and releases her, hand trailing her midback as he pulls away. “What brings you to my neck of the woods?”

“I’m Vivienne’s plus one.”

“Bruce,” greets Director Yang with a smile that for once has settled on something that doesn’t look like she’s considering evisceration. Her handshake appears similarly nonviolent; she even goes so far as to add a second hand on top. Kevin and Michael glance quickly at one another, neither sure if it’s a play for dominance or an uncharacteristic but genuine expression of warmth. “Happy New Year’s.”

Mr Wayne reclaims his hand, head tilted just slightly, but still looking happy as a clam, if a little confused. “Happy New Year’s, Vivienne. I didn’t realize the two of you had gotten on so well! Glad it was a worthwhile referral, then.”

“Very worthwhile,” Rosalyn agrees. “I’m sure I must’ve thanked you for the introduction back then, but I’m happy to reiterate it.”

“Of course, of course.” And Mr Wayne’s eyes are flicking between Rosalyn and Director Yang, apparently taking in the lack of distance required for him to do so. Director Yang’s smile, meanwhile, evolves into more of a smirk. Kevin shivers as he weathers a flashback to when Director Yang had given Director Schroeder enough rope to hang himself with and watched him do so while in an inter-department meeting.

Kevin clamps a hand onto his companion-in-misery’s elbow, and Michael doesn’t even flinch when his fingers dig in through the fabric of the suit jacket, too busy staring.

“Mr Wayne introduced them?” Kevin asks in a frantic whisper. Why would Mr Wayne even know Rosalyn? Why did he know Rosalyn first?

And Michael frantically whispers back with the horrible speculation of, “I think Director Yang stole Mr Wayne’s girl out from under him.”

Kevin struggles to find evidence to argue against that fearsome proposition. The closest that he can come up with is that Rosalyn isn’t the wafer-thin type that Mr Wayne’s been seen with in the past. Regardless, she (and Director Yang, in fact) both have the polish of Mr Wayne’s supermodel pursuits, somehow—every woman in attendance is dolled up and dressed to impress, but there was an ineffable and insurmountable difference between them and the two women in front of him.

He thinks it’s dark magic, personally. Blood of the innocents, perhaps.

“Rosalyn was just telling me about an ill-fated house tour their real estate agent gave last week,” Chief Fox segues. Whereas Director Yang is terrifying like a guided missile strike aimed at your desk, Chief Fox is worse in the way of finding assassins invading your home in the dead of night; Kevin can never get a read on him. Is this social grace? Or adding fuel to the fire?

“The house was Murphy’s Law in residential form.” Rosalyn takes her cue masterfully. “It was almost comical, though poor Sharon was nearly in tears when a door literally swung off its hinges at the end.”

Mr Wayne blinks and gives a little laugh. “You didn’t mention you were house-hunting, Ros! I’d be happy to set you up with my agent.”

“We found a place in Fashion last week,” demurs Director Yang, eyes sharp though the rest of her expression is pleasant.

Kevin’s pretty sure the way Mr Wayne is showing his teeth now is more about holding in a scream than smiling. He can completely commiserate with the feeling.

“Finally, it’s been months,” agrees Rosalyn, apparently impervious to the tension Kevin is currently absorbing into his nervous system. He’s attempting to expel it, and Michael is taking the brunt. His elbow is probably going to have bruises. “Needs some work, but it’s gorgeous and has—what was it Sharon said?”

Director Yang answers, “Good bones.”

Rosalyn nods, satisfied. “Weirdest turn of phrase. It has a sturdy foundation, anyway. And doesn’t seem like it’s been shot up by the mob recently, at least, which is more than one of the houses we looked at can say.”

“Some poorly plastered-over bullet holes in the foyer,” Director Yang says with an amused raise of an eyebrow. “Semi-automatic, gives it character.”

Rosalyn’s cheer contrasts with her next words: “Though no visible bloodstains in that one! That was the house we looked at on Irving and Park—”

“Terrible HVAC, too—”

“It’s been quite the adventure, in any case,” Rosalyn concludes. “But I suppose that’s house hunting in Gotham for you. We’re only waiting on the home inspection now that the holidays are wrapping up, but that should go fine, and then it’s just closing. We’re hoping to move in in February.”

“Fingers crossed.” Director Yang takes a drink from her glass, glancing fondly up at Rosalyn from the side of her eyes.

Fondly. Kevin is going to combust, especially when Rosalyn nudges into Director Yang’s shoulder.

“Well, that’s—I’m glad you’ve found a place,” says Mr Wayne, sounding a little faint, and looking like the champagne has hit him with a two-by-four instead of BAC.

“Thanks, Bruce.” Rosalyn beams, her cheeks gone a little pink.

“How long have you and Vi known each other, Rosalyn?” Chief Fox asks. “She’s so tight-lipped about her personal life, I’m afraid it’s a mystery.”

“Oh! That’s—” she flashes a quick look at Director Yang “—a little under a year?”

“Eight months,” says Director Yang.

Rosalyn clears her throat, pinking a little more, but Chief Fox just makes a noise of sudden comprehension.

“Ah, so it’s you we have to thank for the office’s standing desk trend, then.” He raises his glass at Rosalyn, eyes crinkled.

“Trend?”

“It caught on after Director Yang got hers and everyone started making a fuss about her timers for changing desk positions.”

“I—well—yes, I suppose that was me, then. I didn’t realize it’d made a fuss, though. Vi, you didn’t say!”

Kevin and Michael share yet another aghast look, and Kevin is rapidly revising his ranking on who present is scariest, Rosalyn now taking the top slot. Anyone who can get Director Yang to do their bidding and make Chief Fox laugh and who somehow knows Bruce Wayne well enough to be on a first-name basis deserves the gold medal.

Rosalyn takes a sip of champagne, seemingly a little flustered, and her bright lipstick doesn’t even leave a mark on the glass. Just in case Kevin needed more evidence of her uncanny, eldritch powers.

---

Nothing as gauche as a shouting match, dramatic declarations, or running off into the night happens as the New Year’s ball drops.

Instead, the attendees are all witnesses to various anomalies: the domesticity of Rosalyn and Director Yang fetching drinks and hors d’oeuvres for each other, giggle fits from the women and a round of full-bellied laughter from Chief Fox, and glassy-eyed looks cast over the edges of a speedily replenished series of champagne flutes by Mr Wayne as he makes his social rounds. Whether the expression was caused by sentiment, alcohol, or pure bewilderment was the point of contention fueling a new betting pool.

The cherry on top is when Rosalyn, herself some glasses in, starts loudly care-taking Director Yang.

“—I can see the goosebumps, Vi!” she chastises, starting to shrug off the jacket of her fuchsia pantsuit. Kevin is gratified that Henry also chokes at the arm muscle and cleavage displayed by the now-visible camisole, the same shiny fuchsia fabric as the suit.

“My coat’s in the car, I’ll be fine,” Director Yang—pouts?!

“Yes, it’s doing you so much good in the car.” Rosalyn manhandles Director Yang into putting on the jacket over her silvery-gray dress while Director Yang sulkily submits, but Rosalyn ends with an affectionate kiss on the cheek that has Claire gasping and clutching onto Patricia, making a high-pitched coo.

“Mr Fox, I think we should take this as our cue to exit for the evening,” says Rosalyn, arm lingering around Director Yang’s shoulders.

Director Yang gives a sharp, two-fingered jab to Rosalyn’s ribs, making the woman let out an “Eep!”

“Lucius, please, Rosalyn,” Chief Fox protests, and Michael’s jaw drops at his words. Chief Fox’s eyes are sparkling at the scene in front of him, though Johanna has been keeping the tally on everyone, and he’s had five glasses by now according to her. “And of course. I’ll be in touch with Vi about Tanya and I having the two of you over for dinner once things settle down on the housing front.”

Rosalyn seems to inflate with the force of her happiness at the prospect. “Absolutely, I’d love to meet her! Luke and Tam, too, now that I’ve heard so much!”

“Little Luke’s a riot,” Director Yang says dryly. “You should grill him on how he thinks shoulders work.”

“Those sound like fighting words.” Rosalyn nods, completely serious, though not losing the sense of good humor she’s kept throughout the night. She and Chief Fox shake hands and exchange genial goodbyes, while Director Yang detaches herself from her date long enough to give the man a two-armed hug. Rosalyn then returns her arm to Director Yang’s shoulders, steering her towards the valet service at the exit.

With the intimate proximity and rhythmic complexity of tango dancers, ‘clickety-clack-click-clackety’ and away the devil saunters with her consort.

The office pool pivots back to watching Chief Fox when, in the aftermath, he approaches Mr Wayne—who had watched the two women leave with his brow furrowed ever-so-slightly—and they share a few words before Chief Fox gives him a clap on the back that looks suspiciously conciliatory.

Johanna assesses her nearly empty flute of champagne. “I need something harder.”

Kevin just wants Mr Wayne’s two-by-four from earlier in the evening, hoping that traumatic brain injury will still be less traumatic than everything he’s been forced to witness tonight.

[sometimesanalice]

Ooo for the ship game!

Up the Ante throuple 😏

6. How do they make up/apologize after an argument?

11. How do they feel about nicknames/pet names? If they like them, what pet names do they use? If they hate them, why do they feel that way?

19. Do they wear each other’s clothes/jewelry?

33. How do they flirt? Who’s the worse flirt?

Ah! These were such fun ones to answer!

I wrote you a novel, haha 💁🏼‍♀️

more for you!

6. How do they make up/apologize after an argument?

They fuck! Ok jokes (but also 💁🏼‍♀️ lol)

She’s the quickest of them all to apologize. She’s for as much as she loves to banter and can give it back as good as she gets, she hates arguing. So when she knows she’s messed up she’s trying to make it right as soon as possible. She’ll also plan like an apology dinner 1-1, where she plans a meal with all the recipients favorite things.

Bradley is the type to stew. He takes a minute and dwells and beats himself up for making a mess of things. But once he gets his head out of his ass, he’s buying a very pretty bouquet (read: very expensive) to apologize with. He’s always very sincere because he knows words matter.

Jake can be a bit too easy breezy sometimes, and can be a little careless with feelings at times. When he goes a bit too far, he comes by with his mom’s famous pecan pie (the crust is always burnt just a bit) and a bottle of whiskey just in case something stronger is needed until all is forgiven.

Between the boys, if one of them oversteps they’ll usually have it out up in the air. And then when they’re back on the tarmac they’ll do that handshake/hug thing that guys do and leave it there. They don’t need to talk it out, they will just move on.

11. How do they feel about nicknames/pet names? If they like them, what pet names do they use? If they hate them, why do they feel that way?

Jake calls her Darlin’. Bradley calls her Baby.

She would argue their callsigns are basically built-in nicknames. But also she’ll call Jake Cowboy and Bradley Pretty Boy (to make him blush)

When the boys are in a good mood they’ll swap things like Texas or Golden Boy or Hot Shot

19. Do they wear each other’s clothes/jewelry?

Not typically. They all still have their own places. But there was that one time someone forgot to set an alarm and they were all late getting to base. And if the boys roll in wearing the same shirts from the night before, but not the exact one they left the bar wearing, well… 🤭

33. How do they flirt? Who’s the worse flirt?

In order of most flirty to least: Reader, Hangman, Rooster

She’s a MENACE. She gets such a kick out of seeing just how fast she can make those men lose their cool. She loves to see just how far she can push those boundaries, especially when they’re in public. She’s all eyelashes and wandering hands.

Hangman loves getting to banter with Reader and seeing just how much he can push Rooster’s buttons. He is the type to enjoy riling them both up. But he leans in more with the charm with her, and always comes in hot with a challenge with Bradley. He’s always wielding those dimples for the best kind of trouble.

Rooster is just too earnest. Sure he’s smooth and confident, but he doesn’t need to flirt because of the three he’s the most straight forward about what he wants (and gets it💁🏼‍♀️) His face is so expressive, that his smug smolder can be felt across the room.

fanfic ship ask game

[notasapleasure]

EastEnders run (2000-2001), part 4/4

You would not believe the effort I put into finding these two smh. But you all need to know how it ends, right? Take it from me: you do.

19 February 2001

Sandra turns up to take Joe for the holidays, in the process accusing Beppe of planting class A drugs on Jack to get him to lose his job.

Beppe denies it, but when Joe says something like 'Dad why did you get uncle Jack in trouble' Beppe storms off to the zoo with Joe, to the annoyance of both Sandra and his boss.

Exposition central, I wonder if Jack himself is actually in this one or if I need to go back an episode...

YAYY researching skilzz CONFIRMED! (UKTV player so only crappy phone shots I'm afraid)

Beppe: "What was your favourite animal?"

Joe: *points* "Uncle Jack."

The boys just about manage to keep their hands off each other, but it's nice to see Sandra being a bit more fierce and Jack a bit less so. Beppe refuses to let them see Joe despite what the courts say. And it’s just this one scene for this episode, so have a bunch of screenshots:

19 March 2001

End of the previous episode, Joe was asked to choose between Beppe and Sandra and ran across the street to Sandra but got hit by a car in the process.

He's fine but both of them are suitably chastened. Until they're told only one parent can stay the night, and then they start squabbling about that too. Sandra gives up first and leaves. The morning after, Beppe still doesn't trust her alone with him.

Here's our boy! Sorry, I just kept clicking and then it seemed rude not to upload all the photos 😇 SO MANY screenshots

Sandra says Jack has his own relationship with Joe and deserves to be there.

Beppe doesn't want to hear it, but agrees to talk with Jack for ten minutes. Jack promises Sandra no fisticuffs.

Jack says even though the drugs charges didn't stick, Beppe's still ruined his reputation and he has a few choice words about bent coppers...

(Beppe was kicked off the force for being corrupt, obvs)

Screenshots presented without further context.

The boys are fiiiiightiiiing (on the stairs which is a bit concerning). They used to be partners! How could Beppe do that to him?!

(is there fic? There's got to be fic surely?)

HELLLLPPP OH MY GOD BEPPE JUST RIPPED HIS SHIRT OPEN SJAJSHDHDJDFFF

(it's to check if he's wearing a wire. Uh huh. Sure.)

YOU'RE WELCOME INTERNET. I SPENT MY AFTERNOON WELL IN FINDING THIS FOR YOU.

My people, I bring you a gif, from a video recorded on my phone. It’s the least I could do, as the screenshots I tried to take just made me weep for how poorly they captured the raw artistic beauty of the scene...😌

This is the expression he pulls at having his shirt ripped open I stg

I couldn’t get this bit without blur :( too much jiggle

It's very much all about Beppe making this about Jack - wishing he had gone down for the drugs, going on about how they used to joke about 'Jack the lad' fucking anything that moves and so Jack must have stolen Sandra from Beppe and was it the same as all the others Jack tell me Jack I just want to know Jack when you were fucking everyone we used to joke about it Jack you used to tell me all about it just tell me Jack tell me like it’s me you’re fucking Jack

Izzy-Hands-OoohhhDADDY.gif

Beppe fucking. Goes for him.

The hospital staff evict them, and Sandra follows.

SIR YOUR TITS

Beppe: "Maybe I'm angry at myself for thinking you were anything but a two-faced scheming bitch and that Jack was a friend. He was like a brother to me all that time."

Beppe's really uh. Hung up on how they got together. He gets a big sob story soliloquy. Really twists the knife about what Joe wanted.

Tragically, Jack found a button.* *they’re actually poppers, presumably they didn’t want to waste buttons/shirts on multiple takes. This does, however, mean he should have been able to do it up sooner.

Jack's coffee-based peace offering is accepted, and then Sandra tells Beppe she won't go to court for Joe because it's not fair on him. Beppe agrees that Sandra and Jack can have Joe on weekends and school holidays though, so everyone’s happy ig?

Final shot of Jack: hugs with crinkly chin <3

---

My godddd how are there no Jack/Beppe fics on ao3? Letting the side down EastEnders fandom *shakes head solemnly*

Right. That’s enough of all that.

Rating

Dead? No!

Evil? EastEnders doesn’t deal in the moral certitudes of good and evil. Jack fought for his girl, who wanted her kid back. He was just a bit of a creep while doing it. Allegedly he didn’t get with her while she was still with with Beppe, if that matters to anyone

Affects the plot? That’s what he turns up to do bitchessss! Jack’s in town to get Sandra back! And he gets her back! By being a persistent, shouty, whingy ass.

While I’m riding the high of the shirt-ripping still: 4/5. Tempted to knock a point off for that unhinged display in the pub with the American accent, but ultimately I enjoyed this exercise about a million times more than I expected to. Jack isn’t nice. I don’t like him, I don’t want to hang out with him. However, I understand him being known as ‘Jack the lad’ because if I never had to listen to him speak I’d be down for anything.

Anyway. I watched it so you don’t have to: you’re welcome, fandom.

I also unlocked a more than grudging respect for EastEnders actually, but you can’t watch episode after episode with an analytic brain on the whole time: things move SO SLOWLY for episode after episode, characters have the same conversations time and again so that anyone tuning in can catch the drift even if they’ve missed the rest of the storyline. And then EVERYTHING happens all at once with lots of drama. But there’s still something rather heartening about the whole thing.

[empress-of-hugs]

This Family is Kenough for me

A small group of former teammates - under the direction of one current one - lies in wait to surprise the ladies in pink. Barbie pink.

Read on AO3

2K Criminal Minds fic. No warnings, just fluff. Story under the cut.

He'd bought a new suit just for the occasion. Hotch couldn't imagine he'd ever have another reason to wear a dusty pink suit, but it would be worth it just for the lark. He'd spent the last few weeks preparing and was definitely planning on going all out. He was just bummed he hadn't been able to find a brighter pink suit. 

The women were meeting up at a nearby cafe, planning on having a drink or two before heading to the movie theater. So obviously they were meeting about half a block away and fifteen minutes early so they could surprise them. As Hotch walked up, he suppressed a smile. “Hey,” he said, muffling his laughter behind a practiced neutral expression. 

Morgan turned around wearing white pants and a bright pink t-shirt. As he turned, Hotch realized there was even a brightly colored and glittering decal on the front of it. It was one of those that said ‘this Barbie is’ only the picture was of Savannah and the caption said ‘this Barbie is working a triple shift’. Hotch couldn’t manage to hold back a surprised and amused snigger. 

“What?” Morgan chuckled. “She wanted to be here too.” 

Hotch shook his head a little in delight and spread his arms. Morgan easily leaned in for a quick hug. “How’s Hank?” Hotch asked and his smile widened when Morgan positively lit up. 

“He’s great. Oh! He joined the little league team, you wanna see?” He didn’t wait for an answer, already whipping out his phone like the proud dad he was. 

Hotch happily obliged him. In fact, the pair were so engrossed in the pictures that they didn’t notice they had company until someone slapped the two of them on the shoulders and pushed his head in between theirs. 

“Rossi!” Morgan immediately turned, throwing an arm around his old friend for just a moment before quickly pulling back. Rossi grinned, taking hold of his lapels as he straightened his back. 

“Do you like it?” 

Hotch looked over the pink, glittery abomination that doubled as Rossi’s suit jacket. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Morgan trying to shake the glitter off his hand. Hotch chuckled. “I know they’re gonna love it. Housekeeping? Maybe not so much.” 

“Oh, shush,” Rossi waved away his words. “I’ll have you know this was a custom order.” 

Hotch nodded. “I believe you. I had trouble finding this, even.” He gestured to his own, painfully out-done, dusty pink suit.

Rossi narrowed his eyes for a moment. “All you need is some glitter.” 

Hotch was about to protest when from behind him came an almost forgotten voice. “Good thing I’m here, then!” 

He turned on his heels and smiled at Kate Callahan. Next to her walked a young woman he didn’t recognize, wearing an almost exact replica of the dress from the promo poster that had been haunting him for weeks now. Frowning, he moved to extend a hand, but the young woman darted past and gave him a firm hug instead. When she pulled back, she studied his face for a moment. “You don’t remember me, do you? Kate said you might not…” She stepped back, holding out her hand for Hotch to grab. “Meg Callahan, pleased to meet you again.” 

His jaw almost dropped as the memory resurfaced. The stunning young woman before him was the same girl he’d known as a young teenager. Now that he thought about it, he could still see some of that girl in her now, despite the gaudy pink and gold makeup and the tediously styled hair. Hotch smiled as he shook her hand, then stepped aside so both Morgan and Rossi could greet her too. Callahan gave him a warm hug. “I’m sorry, I’d promised her we’d go see it together,” she said softly, but Hotch shook his head. 

“The more, the merrier. And Garcia is going to love having you both here.” 

Callahan shot him an excited grin. “I can’t wait! So, who else is coming?” 

“That’s it,” Rossi said, sounding just a little bit dejected. “Reid said he couldn’t make it.” 

“Oh…” Callahan took a deep breath. “We’ll have to make do without him, then. But first…” She looked over Hotch’s suit with a sneaky look on her face. “Are you planning on wearing that suit again?” 

He looked down at the dusty pink. “You mean you think I could? I don’t even wear suits anymore…” 

There was a short, stunned silence before Meg took over. “Alright. So how would you feel about us sprucing that up a bit for ya? We have some time, still.” 

Hotch watched as the young woman pulled a handful of small bottles out of her bag. Glitter glue. He held back a roaring laugh and humbly took off his jacket. The ladies immediately went to work, decorating the lapels with curly trails of pink and silver glitter. They then took and decorated his tie, and even his pants didn’t escape their attention – though he was allowed to keep those on, at least. Rossi’s jeans received a little bead of glitter down the seams and so did Morgan’s before the team decided they were done. 

"Well then," Rossi said as he admired his newly-gilded jeans. "They should be on their second margarita by now, we best get going. 

"Alright," Morgan said with a chuckle, "but no one is getting in my car with this much glitter on their clothes. He looked over at Callahan, whose attire looked like it came straight out of the Barbie Ball Gown collection. Bedazzled and beglittered chiffon ruffles and all. 

"Hey now," she said with a smile. "I'll have you know that Meg designed and made this for me."

"Did you show her your old Barbie collection and tell her you wanted to look like that?" Rossi joked. 

Meg beamed at him. “Close. She said if you or Hotch gagged she’d buy me a new car.”

“And then you both showed up in pink.” Callahan laughed.

“Well what else were we gonna do?” Rossi asked her in mock exasperation. “It’s Barbie. They ran the world out of pink paint, you know.” 

Morgan raised an eyebrow. “Seriously?” 

“Apparently so,” Hotch replied. “But if we’re not driving, we should probably get to walking. Like Morgan, I’d rather keep my car free of glitter. It’s a rental.” 

“So if it wasn’t…?” Callahan joked as they moved down the sidewalk. 

“I probably wouldn’t care,” Hotch said with a smile. “You do look… interesting, I have to say.” 

“I know, right? It’s nightmare fuel.” She puffed up a bit of the chiffon and the sparkles caught the light of the nearby street lamp. 

Hotch just nodded, unsure how to respond to that. “So how’ve you been?” he asked instead. 

“Pretty great, actually. I have two kids at home, plus Meg at college – she got a full scholarship to Cornell. I’m so proud of her. Where is Jack going?” 

“He… hasn’t really figured it out yet,” Hotch said with a smile. “He’s taking a gap year – he’s off backpacking in Australia with a few friends.” 

“Oh, you must be so worried about him!” Callahan exclaimed and Hotch nodded just barely. 

“I tried to talk him out of it, but –” 

“Hey guys! Wait up!” The voice came from behind them, and they all turned around to see. Had their ears deceived them? Was their imagination playing with them? 

No. 

A few yards behind them, ungracefully running to catch up to them, was Spencer Reid. His polyester suit was shiny and pink. His light pink shirt was ruffled. His tie was a mess of pink glitter. Even his Allstars were pink and bedazzled. The sight was so distracting that for a moment, Hotch didn’t even register the woman Reid pulled along behind him. As they came to a panting stop before the small group, he noticed her dress first; understated in comparison to their own, gaudy get-ups, but still very much on theme. It was blue, in sharp contrast with all the pink, but looked like it had been stolen off the set of the movie somehow. When she finally looked up, Hotch felt his heart skip a beat. 

Morgan was the first to recover. “Elle!” he yelled, before enveloping her in a warm bear hug. Hotch hugged her next, after which he introduced her to the rest of the group. Rossi was polite, but it seemed the stories he’d heard about Agent Greenaway made him cautious around her. Callahan and Meg had no such obstacles to overcome. They complimented each other’s dresses and ooh’d and aah’d about the details of each dress. 

Rossi smirked. “Come on, ladies. We have another reunion to attend.” 

Hotch smiled mildly, though he felt the nerves flutter in his stomach; It had been so long since he’d seen any of them. The group hurried down the sidewalk. Hotch had ended up next to Reid, and he was happy to see the younger man doing so well. “I like your shoes,” Hotch remarked dryly, raising one eyebrow as he inspected them.

“Thanks! I was up all night decorating them. I love your suit, too.”

Hotch looked down for a moment. “It was rather boring before the Callahans pulled out the glitter glue.” 

“They brought it with them? Awesome! I saw earlier that I’d missed a spot.” Reid pulled up one leg and hopped along as he pointed out a small speck of unglittered, white canvas on his shoe.

Hotch chuckled. “I don’t think anyone’s going to notice that.” 

“But I’ll know,” Reid protested, causing Hotch to laugh. 

“Quiet down!” Rossi called from the front of the group. “We’re almost there. I think I can see Penelope.” 

Looking up, Hotch thought it would be hard to miss her. Garcia’s dress was – as expected – very pink. As she moved, the color changed in the light, going from light pink to a deep, rich color that matched perfectly with her lipstick and the streaks of dyed hair. She was standing in front of the window, all but shielding the others from view, but Hotch could still make out Lewis, wearing a classically styled green dress. It followed the curve of her body until just above her knees, where light green chiffon poofed out. The same happened at her shoulders, where weightless chiffon bloomed around her upper arms. Hotch smiled. 

As they got closer, he realized both Lewis and Garcia were wearing small hats, Lewis’ hat was dark green, with a cloud of light green chiffon while Garcia’s hat was hot pink and had a few feathers that brushed the side of her face. Behind them, he now saw JJ, wearing a simple but flattering soft pink dress with a white belt. Prentiss was standing next to her, wearing a white-and-blue pantsuit with a striped scarf around her neck. Hotch felt his heart ache as he watched them laugh; he’d missed them all so much. 

They agreed to wait out here when they noticed the women inside were just about to leave. Lining up just across the narrow street, Hotch found himself flanked by Morgan on one side and Elle on the other. She gave him a slightly nervous look, which Hotch answered with a warm smile. There was no point in dragging up the past. Not tonight. “You’ve been doing alright?” he asked her quietly as they waited. 

“Yeah. Fine, really. I, uh, I found something else to do.”

Hotch nodded. “So have I.” 

“Yeah. Reid told me.” She hesitated for a moment before glancing up at him. “We’re good?” 

He nodded again. “We’re good.” 

“They’re coming!” Rossi whisper-shouted, and everyone instinctively straightened up. 

Across the street, the door opened. Lewis wasn’t looking their way as she exited, holding the door for the others. For a moment, Hotch wasn’t sure they were going to notice them and a nervous shiver crept up his spine. 

But then Prentiss glanced in their direction. She paused. Looked again. “Oh my god, you guys!” She called out, motioning for the others to follow her lead as she hurried across the street. 

Soon, Hotch felt JJ’s warm arms around him, followed by Prentiss’ arms, then Garcia’s – followed by a warm handshake from Lewis. He smiled. 

Hotch took a deep breath as he looked around. They were starting to head out now, to the small movie theater a little way down the street. Rossi informed them that he’d booked a private room for their group, and was answered by a few cheers. Hotch was walking between Reid and Prentiss. In front of him were Rossi and Morgan. Behind him, Callahan, Meg, and Garcia were catching up. Hotch closed his eyes for a moment. He was home.

[silverhallow]

Seeing as I've just spent a little over 8 hours transcribing 18th-century handwriting... (not nonstop, I took breaks by going on walks with the dog) (yes, I'm saying this so people will feel bad for me) I know it's not technically the same time period but just roll with it: What type of handwriting do we think the Bridgertons have?

I think people straight away just go "oh Sophie writes neat & pretty whilst Benedict writes like a mess" & same for Kanthy-pants but the roles reverse. Though, I would argue that both of them are in the middle! Messy, scribbling down notes which no one but themselves & maybe the other one can read. Neat & actually readable if it's supposed to serve any purpose.

Examples of neat handwriting from the 18th century:

Examples of handwriting which may as well have been stenography:

Examples of 50/50, you can read it but it takes some time:

Okay so…

Kate and Anthony:

I think they’d have two Styles, one very neat, prim and proper for official stuff where they have to take their time with it because it had to the legible…

But if they’re in a rush it’s barley readable. Anthony’s is the worst because when he’s stressed you can see it in his writing.

Benedict and Sophie:

I think Sophie’s would have been very very neat once upon a time but now lacks a bit of finesse but it’s very elegant still and even when she writes in a rush you can still understand every word.

Benedict’s I think would be very cursive and expressive and quite a few ink spots on the paper from where he’s added little flourishes. Especially when he’s writing to Sophie!

Colin and Penelope:

I think they’d both have very best handwriting with them both writing and being authors.

Simon and Daphne:

Simon’s is so neat it could be text. He’s learned to write early and as his form of communication as a child so it’s exquisitely neat.

Daphne’s got very pretty writing but sometimes is difficult to understand.

Eloise and Phillip:

Eloise I think is similar Benedict and quite expressive but very neat. She writes a lot of letters so she’s going to have a lot of practise.

Phillip I think depends on how invested he is in his plants. If he’s busy it’s barely legible otherwise he makes an effort. All his letters to Eloise are the neatest he’s ever written.

Fran and Michael:

Michael’s might as well be another language where as Fran I think her writing would be the neatest of everyone’s. She’s got the patience of a saint.

Greg and Lucy:

Greg might as well not bother. It’s illegible and covered in ink spots and he’s usually wearing more ink than is on the paper… until he marries then He takes the time to make it work because he’s investing and writing to people and being genuinely clever.

Lucy’s hand writing is elegant and neat and very much thé daughter of an Earl and very pretty to look at.

Hyacinth and Gareth:

Hyacinth’s hand writing is neat for three people, Sophie, felicity and her mother. Because she takes the time. Otherwise it’s 50/50 chance you can understand what she is saying.

As for Gareth, he’s a bit like Michael, unless he’s writing to Lady D then it’s the neatest he can possibly muster!

Violet:

She has very regal handwriting and the kids know if there mothers letters come with very neat and precise lettering then they’re in trouble.

If they’re more relaxed then it’s all good!

[aristobun]

JUDY ALLOWS HER PIERCING GAZE TO REST ON HIM as soon as he utters those dreadful words. She should’ve known the man she now called Dad wouldn’t actually change much, even if she was now living with him for a time while she found her own place. She was almost 22 after all, so rather than live out her early adult years with a parental figure, she wanted to branch out and get on her own two feet in life. Frank was not opposed to the idea—she figured as much. They had nothing in common besides the trait that annoyed both of them when presented by the other; that being unforgiving vulgarity, even at the most inappropriate times.

Frank doesn’t match the expression as she gets up to leave, but there is a crystal clear hint of regret in his eyes showing that he feels remorse for what he did to her mother. He feels that he could have treated her better, but at the same time it is very obvious that it probably wouldn’t have worked out either way because of the mess of a man he is, as well as the bullshit that he is also peddling. Judy questions if he really believes in all of that, but the doubt she feels moment later makes it quite obvious he probably does, else her mother wouldn’t have been treated so horribly, even if he didn’t realise the pain he caused her for so many years.

Her mother and Frank had only been together a few days as it was more of a fling for a good time than anything else, but the impact it had left on her mother, Tess, had been ongoing, and now she wasn’t around anymore. The resentment Judy felt did become clear to Frank almost immediately, regardless of the fact she accepted his surprising invite for her to stay with him a while until she got herself sorted. That hadn’t been at all the kind of thing she would have expected from him after many of the vile things her mother had informed her of. But, she didn’t have much of a choice in searching for him, though she was old enough now to take care of herself, she still wanted some kind of parent in the world who could at least be there.

Judy didn’t think she’d get much of that care or kindness from him one bit, but it was worth a shot. The first step to achieving that goal had already happened when he allowed her to stay - even without her encouraging it or asking herself. A bunch of awkward smiles had been shared, but it seemed Frank wasn’t fully capable of a complete shift in his personality because the first thing out of his mouth that morning was a derogatory and uncalled for remark about the skirt she was wearing. It may not drop down lower than her kneecaps but that did not mean he had to make such a rude comment about it. She was in no way put off as much as to change her outfit, but she let him know with her resulting absence from the kitchen that he should probably keep those things to himself in future.

‘ You’re such a piece of shit , Frank , ‘ is all she says, stumbling out of the room, her cardigan brushing against his arm as she walks by so closely to make a point of her anger. He’s quick to grab her own arm, however, stopping her in her tracks. ‘ What? are you really gonna give me crap about that? you know you’re full of so much bullshit, what’s the big surprise? ‘ she snaps.

Frank is taken back for a moment, his silence and the look on his face evident of his shock at her attitude toward him. He’s not used to people calling him out like that often, but if they’re sure of themselves enough to do so, he usually sets them right so they don’t do it again. This time, though, he doesn’t know if he can give much of a retort to his daughter, but he is still very pissed off that she would even dare. He is only familiar with all he says and does as being the last word; no one usually says a damn thing to him about any of it, but she just did.

‘ I don’t wanna see you for the rest of day , Judith , ‘ he says, a tensing in his jaw as the smug smile begins to fade. He trains his eyes on her own to watch for any further trouble she wants to cause, but she simply yanks her arm out of his grasp with a grunt before she opens her mouth one last time.

‘ Don’t call me that , Frank , you haven’t earned the privilege . It’s Judy to you , ‘ she hisses , stomping away and upstairs to the room he had offered her for the next few months, leaving him to mull over the incident between them .

[my-random-fandoms]

There are bluebirds in our apple tree this morning and I am sad for them. Sad for the tree, too. The tree is a crabapple tree, technically. It’s an old tree, bursting with fruit. The tree doesn’t know who won or lost an election or what an election is. The birds don’t know, either, and I’m happy they get to have that. We also haven’t had meaningful, measurable rain in five, six weeks now. We’ve wildfires popping up just a few miles away. It’s November 6th and will be 80 degrees today. The tree and the birds must know they’re thirsty. They will know if fire comes for them.

I’m sure the rain will come, and I’m hopeful we will be untouched by fire, but I also know the lack of rain will dry us out more often, just as I know it’ll flood more often, and I know the fires will come more often, and the tornadoes, too. And you like to hope that someone in charge has a plan, that they believe in this reality going on around us, that they share in the same reality we do. But we’re not there anymore. We lost that yesterday. We lost a lot yesterday. (Perhaps chief among them the illusion that we shared one country, or even one collective reality.) I don’t know why or how we lost it, precisely. We can unpack it however we want to — the mainstream media sanewashed the man; the woman was a woman and men would rather choose to control women than vote for them; don’t forget the racism, can’t forget the racism; the woman ran the wrong campaign and cozied up to the GOP and didn’t say enough about Gaza and global warming; it was the economy, stupid; it’s Russia; it’s disinformation and misinformation and Musk and RFK and the price of milk and the cost of rent and something about the border and something about COVID and —

What I know is that I don’t know. What I know is the things I thought I knew, or that I believed were true, really aren’t, and that once more I exist in need of a word, perhaps a German one, that expresses both the act of being shocked and a total lack of shock at the exact same time.

I knew he could win. I half-expected it. And yet all parts of me strained against the illogic of it, the sheer incredulity of the possibility of his win. People looked at his first four years, at COVID, at January 6th, at all his promises, his crimes, at all his people, at all the ones who told us he was a fascist, a dictator, an anti-democratic nightmare, and they said, “Yeah, him again, let’s fucking go.” And they pressed the self-destruct button, using the system of democracy to attempt to undo the system of democracy.

People chose this. In considerable number. This, grotesquely, is democracy in action. Though a democracy mauled into a cruder shape by disinformation.

This is a doom post. I don’t want it to be (and I’m sorry for it) but I also don’t want to be flippant or twee. I don’t want to hashtag-resist you into trying to have hope on a dark day. Perhaps some dark days must simply be dark and we must be in that darkness. Maybe we need to let people have their hopelessness today. Let them have their doom. Do not scold. Give them no stirring platitudes nor poetry of resistance. Just let people sit and ruminate however they must on the hard mad road ahead.

Because that road ahead is hard, and it will be maddening. We’re in some very serious trouble. The climate, the environment, those bluebirds and that tree, are at stake here. Our friends — especially transgender folks, cisgender women, really anybody who isn’t a straight white Christian dude with money — is going to be worse for wear at some point soon, even if they voted for him. It’ll be up to us to help them, to protect our friends, even when we don’t know how, even when we may need that protection ourselves.

Our democracy is in danger — all the lights on the console are blinking red, and the klaxons are deafening. Is there a deportation force coming? Are we really going to ban vaccines? Are we going to put Musk and RFK Jr. in charge of important levers and buttons? How deeply will we cement a corroded, cruel SCOTUS majority and for how long, and will we even be able to turn the tables on that again? I don’t know. It really isn’t good. A lot was on the line yesterday and while I like to think we, as the at-this-point-cringey-cliche goes, left it all on the field. The stakes were high and we lost. And there may be a lot of suffering in the wake of that.

This isn’t a post with a plan, this isn’t a pep talk, this isn’t about hope. I’m wallowing in the doom for a moment. Maybe it’s foolish. Maybe I shouldn’t be doing that, or telling you about it. But I wanted to say it, to be true to where my head and my heart are at. I want it to be okay to feel shitty. To not force joy. I don’t want some artifice of hope. To be a lantern in this tunnel right now feels false. I feel like I need to be in the darkness here, to be one with it, to become part of this new, lightless reality. I’ll get there. I’ll get back to a better place. But right now I want to realize how much trouble we’re in before I tell you how we deal with it. Maybe the worry and the fear will motivate me. I don’t know. I’m sitting with it. I’m considering the trouble, the doom, the darkness. I’m thinking about the bluebirds and the crabapple tree. And I’m hoping somewhere in the darkness I find a way forward.

If you need it, there’s 988 Lifeline — call or chat.

And the trans lifeline, too, here.