#including gifts for the both of them that Ed INSISTED on getting

[cononeillbreastingboobily]

Rip to Ed Teach you would've loved going to Lush

[nichenarratives]

Hurricane Heller 17

A Niche Narratives Fanficiton.

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[tw for: period typical anti-semitism; references to the 1918 influenza pandemic; graphic depictions of sickness]

17. Grippe's Grim Grip

It's 1918, America has been involved in the war for a year, but the home front is struggling; winter is clinging on even as March becomes April, forcing Mordecai to burn his last reserves of coal as the rains finally begin, heralding in spring after months of crippling cold. The damp is almost as horrid, feeding a creeping mold he struggles to keep at bay and soaking the tom on his daily commute to the casino, only compounding the resilient chill in his bones as the frost begins to abate.

With the continued economic retraction, food shortages and progressively aggressive inflation, the news of a new strain of influenza sweeping America goes mostly ignored as the tuxedo focuses on keeping his remaining businesses afloat. The customer base of his enterprises continually shrink until only the addicted or hopeless frequent the casinos, drinking establishments and dives in his care. Employees are laid off without warning or compensation, wages have to be cut and prices are raised to cover increasing expenditure, resulting in smaller net gain and general discontent across the board, Mordecai included.

His wage significantly reduced to the extent he's dipping into savings to keep his family fed and warm on a monthly basis, he can feel their new home getting further away each week, his progress draining in the wake of an impending economic collapse. As the boss, with no one to ask advice from and almost eighty employees relying on Mordecai to keep their jobs and livelihoods afloat while businesses sink all around them, work starts to monopolise his free time; every walk to his childhood home or quiet moment over tea is numbers and data, or scrambling for novel ideas to keep their customer base consistent. 

Mordecai has even begun growing carrots in his window box, just to ensure there's something to eat should rationing worsen, yet he knows he won't keep them if it does; his family will be in far dire straits then he, and perhaps gifting produce would be a catalyst for reconnection, though he still hopes it does not come to such difficulties for all their sakes.

Preoccupied by these pressing matters, Mordecai pays the news of an encroaching novel influenza strain in Missouri no mind. He's had the flu before, almost everyone has. While exceptionally awful to endure, he considers it little more than an inconvenience. So despite the warning, and with renewed dedication to wearing gloves in public spaces, he ignores the hyperbole surrounding the misnomer-ed 'Spanish Flu'. There are more important things occupying his mind.

Numerous factors play into infection: he hasn't the mental reserves to prepare, nor money to purchase the suggested face coverings; his home is both inadequately heated and ventilated, permitting stale air to preserve viral particles with ease; seeking warmth at the casino due to his icy apartment greatly increase infection risk and finally; malnourishment from rationing that's compounded by kosher meat and dairy shortages, his immune system sits at substandard levels.

Mordecai feels exceptionally naive as The Grippe sweeps the city, and he is one of the first to fall ill.

The Grippe is nothing like common flu; his body aches are consistent with assault, while nauseatingly potent migraines and a wet cough - so violent it makes his ribs feel splintered - wrack Mordecai's body. For three days, he fights to remain conscious. Constantly bathed in cold sweat and weathering a raging temperature, he spends most of his time in a lukewarm bath, both in an attempt to control his fever and to eradicate the awful damp feeling across his entire body, which feels tacky under his fingers.

Despite her elderly, vulnerable state, Mrs Kovitz insists she'll look after him, leaving a bowl of fresh soup on his doorstep each night. Though only vaguely aware of the necessity, Mordecai forces the broths down before dedicating the next three hours to diligently fighting nausea, to keep them down, then falls onto the mattress in an attempt to rest. He sleeps fitfully, especially at the peak of his fever, his mind barely holding on to reality under such duress.

Standing in pinstripe pajamas, the collar open and crooked, the lapel creased, Mordecai glances around the expanse of white he's habiting. There's nothing; no ground, wall or sky, no sound or smell or sensation. He's neither cold or hot, or anything at all. He simply exists in flannel, not a clue where he is or how he materialised there. It's baffling.

"Hello?" He calls, expecting an echo in the void. Instead, it's swallowed, barely heard by his own ears, the sound visible as black sparks amongst light before they fade to nought. Mordecai cups his bare hands around his mouth and tries again. "Is anyone there? Hello?" The black condenses into wisps of emptiness, floating away on incorporeal winds, and this solitaire sensory input blindly forward.

White continues forever, yet he blinks and cobblestones are beneath bare feet, his bare claws clicking on wet stone. The overpowering light is gone, yet darkness is blinding, sucking away his words as heavy liquid pummels his fur, soaking his pajamas, weighing him down. Mordecai shivers from the sudden cold, teeth chattering as his breath mists, searching for cover. Finding an awning he approaches, yet pauses in the downpour when he notices it's already occupied.

The child hugs his knees, head bowed and body shaking with violent sobs, a wound on the back of his head oozing thick, clotting blood. A leather satchel lies beside him, open but discarded, a prayer book tucked into the open flap. He's Jewish, Mordecai realises as he glances around, though the darkness thickens, frustratingly reducing his already meager visibility. He shouldn't be out here alone.

Mordecai turns back to the child and is startled to come eye to eye with constricted emerald eyes not red with tears, but blackened, a darkness so deep it devours reflective imagery and slowly consumes the green, turning eyes into black holes. A familiar split lip has ballooned to a bruise, his chin scratched by sharp claws, all suppressed memories being dredged to the surface as the adult tuxedo recoils from his younger self.

A bolt of lighting crashes into the synagogue behind the younger tom, sending it up in flames. The community center attached is engulfed almost immediately as well, illuminating his small, disheveled form as distinct scents of fresh blood invade the adult tom's nostrils. He gags as iron engulfs his senses; the taste, the smell, the thought of spilled blood his everything as he turns, looking for the source, until another flash of lightning illuminates the truth.

Blood falls freely from the heavens, dyeing his blue pajamas crimson and coagulating in his fur, even dripping in his eyes as he frantically - yet uselessly - tries to wipe the viscous liquid off of his person.

Teenage Mordecai shifts unnaturally, drawing the panicked adult's wide eyes as he jerks his chin sharply to the sky and, with eyes deviating to the far corner of their sockets as if possessed, expels bottomless darkness from his open maw. It coagulates into thick tendrils above him that curl into the night sky, somehow visible despite the pitch black of night, moving as if conscious and celebrating its freedom.

The adult tuxedo is fixated, taking unconscious steps back as it rises and squirms in the downpour above its former host. Breaths become rapid and his heart beats faster as somehow, Mordecai is made aware that the black essence has noticed him. He can sense its desire to inhabit his body, to destroy him from within, tainting all he retains that is good or just. It's his predator and he, hapless prey, a sitting duck ripe for the picking.

He turns and flees, bare claws clattering on the cobbles as thunder finally rolls across the sky, signaling the swarm of black essence in sudden pursuit, filling the air with tendrils as it advances. Mordecai can hear them whipping in the air over the pounding pulse in his ears but dare not look back, convinced that doing so would damn him to its will.

A bare foot slips on the bloody cobbles and he falls with a cry, hands coming to protect his face.

His childhood mattress is surprisingly springy, squeaking as he lands bodily upon it. Expecting the hard cobblestones, he lays there a moment and breathes, suddenly dry, allowing the familiar scents and sounds of home settle his pulse. It was a dream; rolling to his back as the quiet murmurings of a busy home drift through the cracks in the floorboards, tired eyes flutter closed in the safety of his bedroom.

Until wet, gasping coughs shatter Mordecai's inner peace. He sits upright immediately and anxiety thick in his throat, heads for the landing, entirely unaware of the black tendrils slowly suffocating his bedroom walls behind him.

Mordecai walks straight into the living room, unaware of the strangeness that should warrant as wide emeralds settle on his mother, bent double, loose hair obscuring her face and coughing the same, awful cough to take his youngest sister. Black tendrils seep through the ceiling and begin to spread across the popcorn plaster, though he remains unaware of encroaching evil as he approaches the struggling figure.

"Mother," he whispers, kneeling beside her, placing a hand on her leg. There's no hesitation in his comfort, concern in his twisted muzzle and furrowed brows as she continues her coughing into a lace handkerchief. He squeezes her leg, an attempt at reassurance. "I'm trying to get you all out of here, away from this death trap. I just need more time. Please, just hold on a little long-"

The figure sharply jerks to face him and Fiores' flabby face appears from beneath cascading hair. Clouded, sightless eyes lock with terrified emeralds, concave temple bloodied and oozing as the man smiles maniacally. Mordecai recoils, stumbles in his attempt to retreat and falls to his back just a moment before a heavy boot presses down on his chest, restricting airflow and taking him prisoner in one fell swoop.

He grabs at that ankle, clawing at the flesh beneath ragged suit pants desperately. Rancid flesh peels away unnoticed as the deceased underboss leers down, pressing his heel into the lad's sternum as he looms closer. The white returns around them, once again blinding and empty, benign when compared to the evil holding Mordecai at his mercy.

"Our littlest bookie, all grown up," Fiores sneers, then raises the handkerchief to show Mordecai the darkness now wriggling on its surface, the tendrils arcing off the fabric towards the tuxedo. "Your lies are getting out of hand, Katz, suffocating everyone and everything you hold dear."

"Little kike's playin' with th'big boys now," a familiar voice adds. Sharp claws dig into his scalp and yank his head back to look at Jimbo's clouded eyes, his empty gaze boring into emeralds. The bullet wound in his forehead openly bleeds down a pale face and pools at his chin, threatening to drip onto Mordecai's face as he struggles to break free. "Best t'take 'im out now, before Savage figures 'im out an' sends ol' Jack to settle his debts."

Fiores brings his hand down suddenly, pressing the tainted lace to Mordecai's mouth and nose. The tom thrashes under their hold, entire body shaking with revulsion and eyes rolling back in disgust as cold tendrils curl into his nostrils.  The slimy darkness swiftly makes its way down his throat and invades his lungs, effortlessly blocking his bronchi and filling his chest with their pulsing, freezing existence, slowly suffocating him as he struggles uselessly against death.

Wide eyes slowly losing focus, chest burning and pounding heartbeat in his ears, his temples, his throat, ribs aching as he claws at Fiores' arm. The man only shifts his boot for better leverage, his fanged smile and lifeless eyes filling Mordecai's spotting vision until-

Mordecai wakes suddenly with a suffocating weight of thick mucus clogging his airways. Pain wracking his aching body with each hacking, uncontrollable cough, he blindly searches his bedside table for a handkerchief, presses it to his face and painfully expels the clumps of bloody phlegm onto formerly pristine cotton. Only then can he suck much needed air into raw lungs, each inhale burning through his intercostals and singeing his airways, entire body shaking in the throes of an almost deadly fever.

Head pounding, body and sheets coated in a freezing film of sweat, yet too exhausted to care for the unsanitary state of it all, Mordecai closes his fist on the tainted handkerchief and fades back into unconsciousness. It won't be until after his fever breaks and he's finally able to think more clearly, in a few days, that certain aspects of the nightmare will haunt his waking moments, feeding an ever present anxiety for his family's health in the wake of the pandemic, and guilt for not visiting on a Sabbath for almost eighteen months. 

Wet, gasping coughs echo in his mind the weeks he spends recovering from his near death experience at the hands of the Grippe, until he's determined to return home as soon as the crisis is over. The need to check on his family - mostly his mother - is too strong to ignore.

[ksfoxwald]

Fire and Hemlock Readalong: Part 3 Chapter 6

In which we go to the fair.

You may recall that one of the stolen pictures was of a fairground, which turns out to be a particularly ominous one.

Polly goes to meet the quartet at a pub (or outside of a pub, since she's only fourteen). Leslie is also there - invited by Tom - which might be the source of Ed's joke about a double date. Mary Fields is also there, and Polly is more explicitly jealous of her than she was before. Tom is avoiding looking at Polly, and the whole encounter has the air of a goodbye.

But the rest of the quartet is celebrating - they are going to make a record, and they have just published a book called Tales of Nowhere. It has the same cover as the book Polly was reading at the beginning. They share pictures of Australia, joking that all the bad ones are Tom's, to which he protests that he "used to do a lot of photography" but "seems to have lost the knack." Photography seems to be something pre-Laurel for him. Losing it coincides with his losing a certain way of seeing things that Polly has been bringing back to him.

The celebration includes champagne, which is another induction into the adult world for Polly, and again one she doesn't seem quite ready for. The quartet seems a bit less responsible than they did before; once again they are giving Polly food and drink, but the results are very different. It's interesting that both times that Polly meets the quartet involve food and drink, actually; since they're positioned opposed to but adjacent to fairyland, which has the "no eating or drinking rule" that Seb referenced early on.

After the champagne, the rest of the chapter has a dizzy, dreamlike quality, full of sensation and chaos. They go to the fairgrounds, and it's all just lights and sounds and smells for a while, as Polly tries to hold down a "jet of misery." It's a similarly vivid emotion to the "bleached with pride" that Diana is so good at evoking. Polly gets on the bumper cars (I'm assuming that's what "Dodgems" are) and imitates Tom's heroic driving. And Seb is there, somehow, trying to get Polly away from Tom.

Everyone is trying to keep Polly from Tom, actually, including Tom himself. Polly grabs his hand, and Mary teases them for looking "like father and daughter," pushing her once again into the category of child, but also feeling threatened enough that she needs to push. Tom himself asks Polly pointed questions about Leslie, which she understands to be him saying that "Leslies are for Pollys." Not Toms. That she should be with a nice, safe, ordinary boy - Tom as he was before Laurel.

We also get more hints about Tom's past - his parents died when he was young, and he went to live at Hunsdon House where Laurel "almost adopted" him, but of course she opted for marrying him instead. Polly recognizes that he is telling her these things as "a farewell gift," though I'm not sure why there is a farewell happening now; the ritual isn't for several more years, and Laurel's final gambit is precipitated by Polly's actions later. Perhaps Tom recognizes that Laurel has already decided to do something about Polly once and for all, or perhaps he needs to get rid of Polly now before Laurel does decide to do something once and for all.

In any case, they are interrupted by the suits of armor in the House of Horrors coming to life and attacking them, and a piece of a portcullis falling on Tom. Right on his back. And true to form, Polly has to take off his shirt and treat the wound, which Tom is merciless about, "jeering" at her to tell him how "a real human back" looks. He is trying so hard to push her away and being downright cruel about it.

Tom insists on talking to Leslie before the ambulance takes him away, likely warning him about Laurel. And Seb is there, arguing with Morton. Seb says "There's a better way!" and Morton retorts that he's doing it "to save our skins."

I'm still trying to work out all the forces at play here. Laurel owns Tom's life, which is to be sacrificed at the end of a fixed term. But the sacrifice is to fuel Morton's life, as her consort. And if she loses Tom, she has Seb and Leslie as backup. Morton does not want her to take Seb, his son, so I'm not entirely sure why he would attack Tom. I'm... going to have to read the next few chapters more carefully, I think.

In the end, Mary Fields, who used to be a nurse, takes care of Tom until the ambulance arrives. Mary Fields, as a sensible, normal woman, thinks they should sue the fair for negligence, but the others know before they look that there is no sign that any of it ever happened, because it took place in Nowhere.

[piastrinorris]

17 from the fluff prompts with Eddie please!

+ also tagging @hellfirehoe ❤️

Pairing: Eddie Munson x Reader (no pronouns/gendered terms)

Genre: fluff

Word count: 1425 (i know, i know, i said no 4-digit WCs but you'll see it was all needed)

Eddie had insisted that he doesn't want a birthday party. He never has, and he never will. An evening sitting around a fire with good friends, cold beer, and some of his little lunchbox's prime selection was more than enough of a celebration for him.

And yet, something about that never sat right with you. Sure, a boy goes through his teenage dirtbag phase and stops wanting children's-level birthday parties, but to have never wanted one? That's gotta be a lie.

While Eddie's at an extra credit class, you still go to the trailer. Wayne greets you with an, "Oh, hey, kiddo. Uh, Ed's not here right now, but you're more than welcome to wait, I can take an extra pizza out of the freezer if you want?"

"I'm good, thanks," you smile, "I'm actually here to see you. It's about Eddie's birthday."

"Ah, are you looking for ideas on what to get him?" Wayne calls out to you, head deep in the freezer compartment of his refrigerator.

"No, no, I already found him the perfect gift at a ren faire, I'm all good on that front," you nod.

"It's not a ring, is it?" Wayne smirks, and you scoff.

"No! Besides, wouldn't that be his job?"

"I dunno," Wayne shrugs. "He's always been unconventional. Plus, if it gets you into the family quicker..." he points to you and you laugh.

"It'll happen someday, Wayne, I'm sure of it." Your reassurance lights up his face. You love how much he loves his nephew. "So, I thought about throwing him a part-"

Wayne sucks a breath in. "That's a bad move, kid. He doesn't do that."

"I know, but why?"

"Well," Wayne takes a deep breath in. "He was turning 6, and he'd never had one. So I told him I'd throw him one, however he wanted. He wasn't living with me, mind, but y'know. A boy can't go six years without one party. Anyway, Eddie being Eddie, kid goes ham. Makes a whole scrapbook. He wanted his party to be a - a story he played out. Kings and knights and monsters, you know the drill. Anyway, he was out front writing in his book when some of the... Less savoury kids came up and took it straight from him. Threw it in a puddle and called him names for months. He never wanted one after that."

"Wayne," you start in a serious tone, "I'm going to make it my mission to invent time travel, just to boot those little shits right in their faces."

"Good," Wayne grins. "You know... I did manage to salvage his little book... You wanna see it?"

Your face lights up, "Please!"

He gets you the book, pages stained and stiff from being soaked, dried and abandoned for years. Ideas buzz in your head, and you excuse yourself to quickly head to wherever you could start writing your own notes.

~~~

"Babe, you know I just wanted things to be casual today," Eddie groans from the passenger seat of your car.

"I know! And I said you need to trust me!" you retort.

Eddie side-eyes you. "My idea of an ideal birthday, amazingly, doesn't exactly include me hanging out at Steve's big ol' mansion."

"Given the way you two make googly eyes at each other, you could have fooled me," you grin, and Eddie flips you off affectionately. You bat his hand away with a laugh. "Besides, this isn't Steve's mansion."

As you pull up, Eddie sees that Steve's front gate is covered up with cardboard. Specifically, cardboard cut and painted to look like castle walls. As you stop the car and get out, Eddie follows far slower, mouthing, "What the fuck?"

As you walk into the driveway, Steve approaches you both, wearing a crown made of cardboard and a cape made of the Wheelers' old curtains. "By the heavens! Is that Sir Edward I see?!" You initially thought that casting Steve as the king in this scenario was hilariously fitting, but his idea of acting is just shouting his words.

Eddie tries desperately not to let the laugh bubbling at his lips escape them. "Um, sure?"

"Why, it can't be! Mine own knights will fall to their knees at the sight of such a legend, returned at last! And in our hour of need, too! I fear the Curse of Monsterkind has fallen upon my kingdom! Only a knight such as you could save us!" Steve shouts. "With your trusted bard by your side to write songs of your victories, no less!"

Eddie looks at you and cocks his eyebrow. You shrug, "I had to insert myself somewhere into this narrative. Recognise it?"

Eddie's face falls into a soft smile. "I love you so much." He leans in as though to kiss you, but Steve interrupts with an improvised monotonous yell to progress the game.

"Are thou both ready to face the plague, or are thou still being gross?"

You watch with delight as Eddie slays the "troll" (Mike with his hair sprayed in all directions) with a cardboard sword that his "most faithful follower" (Max dressed up just like Eddie) had "kept hold of for all these years"; helps the "witch" (Nancy wearing an old Halloween outfit) find ingredients to a love potion that, once made, he had to secretly slide into the "knight's" (Robin's) "armour" (cardboard outfit wrapped in aluminium foil); and answers the "centaur's" (Dustin, who had fought long and hard for his role, in front of Lucas wearing half a costume horse) riddles to gain spellcasting abilities.

Despite this all being part of his own story, Eddie still reacts at the big twist being that the king had placed the curse all along, hoping it would attract and indeed kill the famed Sir Edward the Freak. You join in with Nancy, Robin, Max and Dustin (with Lucas in tow) clapping and yelling encouragements as Eddie delights in swinging his sword around and pretending to cast spells. Mike, not wanting to break character, remains where he lay "dead", but even he can't resist watching. You can almost see Eddie's inner child bursting out of him. It almost makes you cry.

Finally, Eddie lays the final blow into King Steve the Cursebringer, who very dramatically falls to the ground and gasps many a final breath before stopping. The remaining crowd cheers for Sir Eddie the Hero, but he grins. "No, no. I shall wear my old name with honour. Sir Eddie the Freak!" He holds his fake sword high above his head, and the rest of you repeat after him in a chant.

He starts to well up, and at looking down to make eye contact with you, he pulls you into the tightest of hugs, sobbing ever so gently into your shoulder. "I love you... Eternally for this," he whispers shakily in your ear, pressing a kiss just below it.

You squeeze him, "You too, Eds. I'm so glad you enjoyed that. Now, you ready for your prize for defeating the big bad guy?"

Eddie smirks, "Is it the hand of my beautiful sidekick?"

"Must thou continue to be gross even as I lay dead?" Steve shouts again in that monotone, making everyone laugh.

"Shut up and stand up, Steve, and go get my present, wherever you put it," you command. He gets up to run into his house, quickly reappearing with a long box. Eddie's eyes light up with how big it is.

He tears the wrapping paper off excitedly, like a kid at Christmas, but looks confused when the box comes into view. "A vacuum cleaner. Are you trying to tell me something?" he asks, half-amused and half-confused.

You laugh, "It was the only box that fit it. C'mon, I'm getting impatient!"

He opens up the box and gasps, loud, dramatic, Eddie. He looks at you with an ecstatic excitement, beaming as he slowly brandishes the metal sword you'd bought for him months ago. "You bought me a sword?! Oh man, I am gonna be so dangerous!" His eyes light up with a mischief you've never seen in them before.

Steve laughs nervously as he drops the box, "Uhh, hey, Eddie, it's just me, remember! Your g-good pal, ol' Steve Harrington. No curses or anything here!"

Eddie's grip tightens on the sword as he holds it upright, grinning wickedly at Steve. "Get to running, big boy."

You laugh as you watch Steve run away in panic, followed by the love of your life chasing after him while laughing maniacally, finally having the birthday he always deserved.

[sluttbuttsstuff]

So what if Bruno used his zipper for other things....

Pairing: Bruno x Reader, Giorno x reader

(Giorno’s Don, everyone’s alive! AU)

warnings: not sfw, cucking (on both ends???), dubcon, cheating, zipper play, chastity, threeway, anal, femdom, everyone is 18+, afab reader, sorry this is so rushed and sloppy etc)

Imagine Darling is with Bruno, but Giorno is still interested in them.  Giorno kisses Darling’s hand in greeting while looking directly at Bruno, he offers gifts like flowers and jewelry, and insists on putting them on for darling.

Bruno, being the  possessive yandere he is, can’t defy his capo, but he’s also petty and does everything he can to keep darling just for him. He leaves hickeys on your neck, gets “caught” kissing/making out with you by Giorno, and always keeps some part of his body on you whenever in the Don’s presence.  Bruno’s jealousy gets worse and worse, and puts a strain on your relationship, until....

  Bruno and Giorno have silent glare battles whenever Giorno makes Darling go on missions with Giorno, or worse, when Giorno makes Bruno go alone, and Darling stays with Giorno at the base.  It’s been happening more and more often lately, and today, the dam finally breaks.  

As you’re passing some papers for Giorno to fill out, he grabs your hand and pulls you into his lap, surprisingly strong for someone who spends most of his time handling the paperwork of Passione.  He slides the ring Bruno had put on your finger the other night, and kisses you hard, even while you struggle and thump at his chest to breathe.

Giorno is nothing if not persistent, however, and holds you against the desktop face down, while he bites over and around the marks Bruno left before leaving for his mission today.  You protest, trying to explain you’re in love with Bruno without getting off-ed by the Don in a fit of rage.   Giorno merely counter-protests with the unfortunate truth:  you’ve been eyeing him just as much as he’s been watching you.  The way you bit your lip as he braided his hair the other morning, your thighs clenching in anticipation at a slip of his chest when he leaned down over his desk.  He’s seen it all, and he’s not convinced you don’t have any interest in him.

He says this all while pulling off your clothing-when you still put up resistance, he merely turns them into plants and snakes and other things.  As he pulls apart your legs, and lowers his face  to see you, that’s when he notices:

Where your pussy lips should be wet and spread open for him, are zipped up by Sticky fingers.  Like a personal chastity belt, one that only Bucellati could create, your folds are closed tightly, impenetrable by anyone other than Bruno, yourself included.  Giorno isn’t sure whether he’s frustrated or amused; Bruno’s always been a sharp one, and for once he’s managed to outplay even Giorno.

A few possibilities from here:

One: making due with what few options he has, he decides to go ahead and simply use your mouth, fucking your throat until you can’t breathe and taking his frustrations out on you.  

“How could you let him do that to you, y/n?  You definitely should’ve come to me, I would’ve made him unzip you, and fucked you in front of him as revenge.  Wouldn’t that be fun? Making your beloved Bruno squirm as he watches us make love as punishment for his jealousy?  If i were in his position, i would pay people to fuck you whenever i had to be away on work, just so i made sure you were happy and satisfied <3”  Giorno tortures you with dirty talk while he keeps you on your knees under his desk, unable to come and desperate- waiting for Bruno to come back so they can have a little talk.

Two: Giorno isn’t one to accept fate, he’s determined to get you and himself off while Bruno’s gone, even if it means getting a little creative.  He pulls out a vibrator from his desk he was planning on using on you. He pulls you back onto his lap and grinds his dick against the ribbed metal constricting your folds. It feels nice, but it’s not enough, so he slots the vibe in between your dick and pussy.  The vibration hits through the zipper, and stimulates your clit and vulva even if they’re sealed tight.  It feels good on the head of Giorno’s dick too, and your uncontrolled dry humping does a lot for him as well.  It takes longer, but when you both finally orgasm it lasts longer than a normal one, and leaves you feeling all fuzzy.  You fall asleep in his arms and Giorno waits for Bruno to come back.

Three: Depending on how kind/sanitary Bruno is feeling, he may have left your asshole unzipped and ripe for the taking.  If that’s the case, Giorno bends you over the desk, lubes you up, and fucks your asshole.  Giorno thought this was something the two of you would save for later down the line, but he’s happy with the pace you’re going.  If it really bothers you that much, or you can’t come, Giorno’s happy to let you have a turn fucking his ass with a strapon, but before that you both need to have a chat with Bruno…

Four: Sensing that someone is messing with his stand’s handiwork, Bruno rushes back to you, and walks into you and Giorno in the office.  Demanding an explanation, and ready to throttle Giorno, the Don reminds Bruno of the position that he is in.  If Bruno can trust Giorno to control the Passione mob, why can’t he trust Giorno with his darling?  So, Bruno allows Giorno to fuck darling, but only if he can watch, and only if Bruno’s in charge.  Bruno tells Giorno all of your sweet spots, and when you try to protest and take some form of control, he simply zips your mouth shut and forces you onto Giorno’s dick.  Right when you’re so close, Bruno tells Giorno to pull out, before you’re able to cum.  Frustrated sexually, Bruno unzips your mouth and makes you beg for his dick, and then fucks you until you come at least three times in front of Giorno.

Five:  Giorno tries to convince Bruno to let him fuck you, but Bruno says the only way he’s getting to see Darling’s pussy is if Giorno watches Bruno fuck it in front of him.  So, Giorno relents, because in truth, he really does love and respect Bruno, and doesn’t want to ruin their friendship over this.  Bruno fucks you in front of Giorno, telling him about what turns you on and what the two of you have done, even in the base and Giorno’s office.  Eventually, Bruno manages to get both you and him to cum, and zips your pussy up with his cum, and makes you suck off Giorno.

Six: The Jobros are able to put their differences aside, and fuck you together, especially because you asked nicely for it.  They each take a turn with your mouth and pussy, and are even able to double penetrate you at the end and make you squirt.  Everyone talks about their feelings, and an agreement is reached, followed by cuddles

*Bonus Round*:  Darling has had enough of these boys trying to control your pussy, and decides to domm the hell out of both these boys.  You’re able to get the drop on giorno, force him onto the ground and jerk him off and finger him, but only when he starts behaving and acting nice.  Bruno comes back, and is a bit shocked (and hurt) to see you and him messing around.  You manage to stand up for yourself, convince Bruno to take off the zipper, and have a heart to heart about trust and boundaries.  You then make him zip off his own dick and fuck yourself with it, and make Bruno cum.  Since he left a mess, you get him to lick you clean, only for Giorno to recover and help him give you oral.  Then, because you’re in an evil mood, you decide to use Bruno’s unzipped dick on Giorno while Giorno fucks Bruno.  And, because they���re good boys and learned to behave, you let them fuck you both one last time :)

I have all these possible ideas, and yet I can't write any of them for shit :/ If any of the scenarios seem popular, i might give it another go, for now, enjoy this :,) !

[jamespotterthefirst]

Lovely Bree, how are you doing? Firstly thank you so much for the amazing questions that you sent me for E & P. I loved answering them❤ Sending you a few questions about Ethan and Lilac which you have to answer as them💕

For Both:

1. Imagine you both are rival Detectives assigned to a common case. Who will be the one to solve it first? Or will you both join hands and solve it together?

2. What is the funniest thing your partner has done when they were drunk?

3. Favourite ice cream flavor of your partner?

4. What is a funny habit of your partner that you secretly like?

5. Have you ever done something only and only to annoy your partner?

6. How does your partner react when they are jealous?

For Lilac:

1. If you had to say I love you to Ethan without actually saying the words, how would you do it?

2. What is something that would make Ethan blush immediately?

3. If you were given an option to choose between writing a letter to Ethan once every month or writing him small notes everyday, which one would you choose?

4. What is the sweetest gift he has ever given you?

5. If you had to assign your relationship a fanfiction trope, which one would you choose?

For Ethan:

1. What is something that you started doing after getting into a relationship with Lilac?

2. If you could pick any three places to take her on a date, which ones would you choose? (They can anywhere around the world)

3. You have been asked to put together a care package for Lilac. What things do you put in it?

4. Which hobbies/interests of Lilac do you find weird?

5. If you had to put together a bouquet for Lilac usig any two flowers, which ones would you choose?

Thank you so much for these! I am so happy you liked the Ethan x Pooja ones. And it means so much that you UNO reverse card-ed me! LOVE YOU!

For Both:

1. Imagine you both are rival Detectives assigned to a common case. Who will be the one to solve it first? Or will you both join hands and solve it together?

Lilac: *giddy with excitement*

Ethan: Here we go...

Lilac: First, rival detectives? That would be so hot. Ethan would secretly be in love with me, no doubt about it. He'd walk around his precinct, in a foul mood after a run-in with that insolent Detective Allende. He'd go on rants through gritted teeth about how she thinks she's above procedure and how she fancies herself a rebel--

Ethan: You're having way too much fun with this.

Lilac: --but really he'd be frustrated that he couldn't press me against a wall and kiss me senseless.

Ethan: *doesn't deny it* You're forgetting the original question, love.

Lilac: I'm setting the stage, babe. You being madly in love with me is important to the plot. Okay, so regarding the case... Even though we would each make impressive headway by ourselves, we are each missing a piece the other has. For example, I'd be pretty good about examining the timeline and interviewing suspects and any person of interest.

Ethan: Then, with the information she secures, I would be relentless about acquiring hard evidence that could really lead to a conviction. We would make a stellar team.

Lilac: Once you focused on the case and not on my lips.

Ethan: *with a ghost of a smile* An impossible feat but one I have years of experience trying to achieve.

2. What is the funniest thing your partner has done when they were drunk?

Ethan: My alcohol tolerance is excellent. I don't get drunk.

Lilac: Yes, he does. He might not be a loud, emotional drunk like I am, but his cheeks get flushed the cutest shade of red and his eyes sparkle in the sexiest way. He gets into this highly intellectual and argumentative state of mind, challenging anyone who is nearby to a philosophical debate. The funniest thing he's done while drunk is lecture my friends and I about why do we, as humans, strive for perfection if it is not attainable. It was hot.

Ethan: It was necessary.

Lilac: None of my friends were up for the challenge. It’s difficult to initiate an intellectual debate with Cardi B playing in the background and with tequila shots flowing freely amongst the group.

Ethan: Speaking of non-stop tequila shots, the funniest thing Lilac has done while intoxicated is text me incessantly, telling me how much she missed me and how badly she wished I was next to her.

Lilac: That’s more sweet than it is funny, babe.

Ethan: I was right next to you. I was the one holding you up for balance. 

3. Favourite ice cream flavor of your partner?

Lilac: My husband doesn’t care much for your run-of-the-mill ice cream pint. His favorite flavor is mascarpone with wild berries gelato. He also loves Affogato. Naturally. 

Ethan: Lilac loves most flavors, especially anything with dark chocolate. But even more than ice cream, she loves--

Lilac: Fro-yo

Ethan: -- frozen yogurt. Plain tart with strawberries, blueberries, and granola. 

4. What is a funny habit of your partner that you secretly like?

Ethan: I love the scented candles she’s so fond of having around the house. 

Lilac: I knew it!  My favorite funny habit of his is when he tucks Jenner in at night. He pretends that dog isn’t our fur baby, but Ethan plays the perfect father every day.

Ethan: He’s a pet, Lilac, not a child.

Lilac: He’s a baby and the being you professed to love most in the world.

Ethan: *holding her gaze* Not anymore.

5. Have you ever done something only and only to annoy your partner?

Lilac: Yes! I asked him to take me to Rome for our honeymoon only so I could order an Espresso Romano. 

Ethan: Exactly what I asked you not to do. 

Lilac: You mean what you were rambling about during our first date? Because I’m counting that.

Ethan: Fine. I was far too distracted by the beautiful doctor in front of me. It just slipped out. I never imagined I’d be marrying you one day and taking you on a honeymoon to Rome.

Lilac: But I bet if you knew that much then, you wouldn’t have minded.

Ethan: No, I wouldn’t have. 

6. How does your partner react when they are jealous?

Lilac: He clenches that magnificent jaw of his and speaks in growls. 

Ethan: *shaking his head* She stays really quiet and I can practically see the gears turning in her head. Then, minutes later, she’ll start asking me “causal” questions about the person she’s jealous of. 

Lilac: I have to gather as much intel as possible about this rival of mine.

Ethan: *lifting her hand to kiss her knuckles* There’s no such rivalry, love. No one will ever capture my attention like you have. 

For Lilac:

1. If you had to say I love you to Ethan without actually saying the words, how would you do it?

Lilac: I would hold his gaze as I press my body close to his, raising myself on my tip toes to press a single kiss on his cheek. I’d trace the pad of my thumb along his cheekbone, my other hand at his chest. I do it everyday... Everyday since the attack, when we couldn’t touch each other without plastic in the way. It’s my quiet way of telling him how much I love him and how I’m not going anywhere. 

2. What is something that would make Ethan blush immediately?

Lilac: *laughs* It’s so easy to make him blush for someone so stoic. A sure way is to lean in and whisper anything romantic in his ear. It can be anything really and he’ll turn beet red. It’s so endearing. He will get this little surprised look on his face, as though he can’t believe what’s happening.

Ethan: That’s because I can’t. I am unable to believe my luck that the most beautiful woman on Earth loves me as much as I love her.

*Lilac blushes. Ethan looks satisfied and completely in awe of her.*

3. If you were given an option to choose between writing a letter to Ethan once every month or writing him small notes everyday, which one would you choose?

Lilac: The notes, for sure! In fact, I already write him those almost every morning and ever evening. He even bought a magnetic whiteboard for the refrigerator for me to write those. He insists on taking a picture of them before we erase them. 

4. What is the sweetest gift he has ever given you?

Lilac: He flew my whole family from LA, including my grandma, to celebrate my last birthday in Cape Cod. It was the sweetest thing anyone’s ever done for me. 

5. If you had to assign your relationship a fanfiction trope, which one would you choose?

Ethan: What the hell is fanfiction?

Lilac: It’s exactly what it sounds like, babe. It’s pieces of fiction written about fans of a work. For example, people who love Harry Potter will then go and write their own works with these characters. 

Ethan: People do that?

Lilac: Hey, don’t knock it! Some people are so talented and put out excellent works. I used to read HP fanfiction when I was in high school and undergrad.

Ethan: I’m not judging at all. On the contrary, I’m surprised people do this for free. I admire the dedication.

Lilac: Our trope would absolutely be slow burn.

Ethan: ...?

Lilac: It means it took us entirely too long to end up together.

Ethan: Ah. In that case, I agree. 

For Ethan:

1. What is something that you started doing after getting into a relationship with Lilac?

Ethan: Homemade salsa. My wife is very particular about it and will eat most meals with it. She will not accept anything less than homemade and I love her for it. 

2. If you could pick any three places to take her on a date, which ones would you choose? (They can anywhere around the world)

Ethan: She doesn’t know this but, I am taking her to France for the final part of our honeymoon. Our schedules didn’t allow for the extended honeymoon we both wanted, so we split it up into parts. She still thinks it was only two parts, Rome and the Mayan Riviera, but I’m taking her to France next month. She’s always wanted to go to Paris, the countryside, and the French Riviera. 

3. You have been asked to put together a care package for Lilac. What things do you put in it?

Ethan: She told me about the candy her grandmother used to bring her from Mexico. Those would go in there. I’d add essential oils, since she’s fond of those. I’d add her favorite scented lotions and those fuzzy socks she collects. 

4. Which hobbies/interests of Lilac do you find weird?

Ethan: I don’t understand her complicated orders for iced coffee when we go to a coffeeshop. She will give the poor barista a long list of flavors she wants, describe in number of “pumps”. It’s iced coffee! There’s no amount of flavoring that could salvage that atrocity.  

5. If you had to put together a bouquet for Lilac using any two flowers, which ones would you choose?

Ethan: *smiles briefly* I would consider lilacs to tease her. She pretends to hate them because they’re her namesake and people have always assumed she likes them solely for that reason. Now, she likes them because she knows I am fond of them. They remind me of her for obvious reasons but also because they are the earliest flowers to bloom in Spring. They represent renewal, hope for something better to come, and first love. I found all of those things in Lilac. 

But since this bouquet is for her, I would use peonies and sunflowers since they are her favorites. Maybe jasmines since it’s her favorite scent. 

[pillow-anime-talk]

get out, you prick.

request ; @yvsevie​: hi, sweetheart! can i request some short scenarios with kise, edawrd, killua and giyuu? i was thinking about situation when they’re in love with girl, and she’s obviously in love too, but they’re too dumb to notice it aaaand once they (boys) see when she’s harassment by an old, pervert man and they’re helping her <3

# tags: scenarios; crush culture; bit of drama; but also fluff; sfw

includes: female reader ft. ryouta kise {knb}, edward elric {fma}, killua zoldyck {hxh} & giyuu tomioka {kny}

author’s note: i love you and only you, zuzia <3

— RYOUTA

“Ryo-kun, I have to go to the toilet, so please, wait for me!” You spoke in a half-whisper tone, then followed the colorful, wall signs. You two were on your way to the stands to watch a basketball game, but at one point you wanted to pee. So you had to apologize to your precious, tall bestie and leave him in the middle of the corridor for a few minutes.

After you washed your hands and improved your hair, you stepped out of the ladies’ public restroom and checked the time on the phone; luckily there is still some time before the game starts, so you could even buy yourself something to eat or drink. However, before you reached the blonde waiting for you again, your way was blocked by an older man. He apologized to you for causing trouble and asked you where the entrance to the grandstand A3 was. You thought for a moment and, looking at the signs, pointed in the right direction.

“Ah, yeah, you’re right. Thank you so much, pretty one.” He smiled, and your eyebrows frowned slightly. “By the way, since you’re here too, why don’t we watch today’s game together?” He asked, touching your shoulder and you took a step back.

“No, thanks. I’m here with someone.”

“Really? I can’t see anyone.” His grip tightened, and you swallowed, wanting to scream for help.

Fortunately, help showed up sooner than you thought it would.

“Any problems, old man?” The stranger turned to insult Kise, but when he saw his wide chest and then looked up to make eye contact with him, he let go of your body and laughed awkwardly. After a while, he left the two of you, and the blonde asked if everything was okay with you. After all, you haven’t been coming back for a long time, and additionally this disgusting situation with a perverted guy... Kise was furious but you assured him that you were fine. “... Okay. Then let’s go and take our seats. Unless, you are hungry... I’ll buy you something tasty.”

“No, no. We’ll eat something after the game. Let’s go, Ryo-kun.” You answered in a soft voice, taking his big, warm hand and walking forward.

His cheeks flushed slightly.

(Yours too.)

— EDWARD

You were waiting next to one of the tall, wooden bookcase, reading the titles of the old books. Your blonde-haired friend was looking for some alchemy book, and you decided to look around the National Central Library, where you were the first time in your life. It was a nice experience, but you wanted Edward to come back to you already because you two were going to go for a walk and then for a picnic outside of town.

After five, long minutes, you heard a low cough, so you turned and bowed gently as you saw the older than you man with the Captain’s badge who stand in front of you.

“What is such a beautiful lady doing alone in the National Library?” He asked with a smile, and you laughed nervously as you looked around for Ed.

”I’m waiting for my best friend. He went looking for some important book for him. I haven’t touched anything, Captain, I just read the titles.” You answered truthfully to which the man nodded.

“I understand, but unfortunately you cannot stay here unattended. I’ll take care of you. So let’s go, miss.” He replied, grabbing your arm, and you stiffened slightly. “If you want, we can talk over tea and a cake.” He added, and you sighed as you looked around once again. Unluckily, you couldn’t refuse anyone with a badge on the shoulder, especially since you were in the Library in Central City.

Thank God, the conversation between you and the stranger Captain reached to the Edward’s ears, who finally found the huge book in a maroon hardcover. He quickly followed the noise and the clatter of shoes, and when he saw your body being led out by the man in the blue long coat, he clasped his hands together and touched the floor, causing a stone fist to pop out of the wall and after a while hit the old guy’s jaw. You opened your eyes wider, then turned away. Before you could say anything, Ed grabbed your hand and ran out of the National Library, laughing under his breath.

“I’m leaving you alone for a short moment and someone wants to take you away from me...” He said in an amused tone, squeezing your smooth hand. “All right, Y/N?”

“Yes. Thank you for coming and saving me, Ed.” You responded warmly, smiling at him, and both his cheeks reddened instantly.

“S-Stupid! Of course I would come and save you! Always!”

— KILLUA 

After defeating six dangerous prisoners, you and five men were locked in a small room as punishment. You felt quite insecure around so many males, but you chose to ignore your own unnecessary thoughts. Kurapika was very polite and totally harmless, and Gon and Killua were totally charming... You were only worried about Leorio and Tonpa’s behavior – the latter you were especially afraid of.

When everyone decided to go to sleep, you chose a place away from everyone; you covered your body with a brown blanket and pressed your face against the pillow you found. Unfortunately, shortly after falling asleep, you felt something touch your waist. You opened your eyes and turned your head, almost squeaking, as you noticed an older man in a blue T-shirt lying next to you.

You felt disgust and your heart beat faster as his hand touched your hip.

“... Kurapika? G-Gon? Killua?” You whispered softly, barely breathing. “Someone help me, p-please.” You added a little louder, but still whispering so as not to wake everyone up at once. Happily, that night (or day because all of you didn’t know what time of day right it was right now), Killua had a light sleep.

Hearing your terrified voice, he quickly opened his eyes and searched for your sleepy figure. Seeing what this disgusting, pervert guy was doing, he got up and came up to you. Then, he grabbed his clothes and threw him against the wall, waking everyone around.

“Y/N, are you okay? I’m sorry, I fell asleep and I didn’t think that would happen.” He muttered in a nervous tone and you sat up shaking your head.

“Don’t apologize to me, Killua. You were tired... but could you...” You started softly, looking away. “Could you sleep closer to me? I would rather sleep with the thought that you are next to me.”

“Yes, sure. I’ll be here. Goodnight, Y/N.” He smiled and you breathed a sigh of relief, thanking him in a soft voice and lying back down again, cuddling your head against the soft, white pillow. “... And you, old man, touch her once again and I’ll do with you what I did with Johness before.” He added warningly, looking in the direction of the sore Tonpa, who turned pale at the sound of his serious words.

— GIYUU

You were waiting for your friend next to the souvenir stand, wanting to buy something for yourself and for Giyuu. You noticed a few pretty, fabric pendants, so you chose the two most interesting and asked for them. A sweet, old lady in a peach haori packed them into a paper bag for you, and you were in the process of taking money out of your pocket when you heard a low, slightly hoarse voice.

“I will pay for this, beautiful.”

You glanced to the side and immediately noticed an older man gives grandma some money. You were surprised and stop his actions right away.

“No need, sir. I can pay for it but thank you very much.” You answered with an uncertain smile.

“I insist. As compensation, we can go to dinner at that restaurant.” He pointed his finger towards the little building and you sighed lowly.

“Thank you, really, but I’ll pay myself and I’m not hungry. I’m waiting for someone right now and then, I’ll continue my journey.” You answered a little louder and more confidently, but the older man grabbed your arm, turning your body towards him.

“Listen, sweetie. Don’t deny others their kindness, because you will be alone for the rest of your life, and no lady wants that, I am right?” He asked and you snorted under your breath.

“... Someone said she would be alone?”

You turned and then breathed a sigh of relief when you saw your dark-haired best friend who come back to you. As soon as you handed the old woman the right amount of money, you thanked her with a low bow and then quickly approaching Giyuu, hiding behind his body. The older man who had been harassing you just a moment ago left, muttering something to himself about ‘how rude young women are to men’, and then disappeared into the crowd of people. After a few, short seconds you stood beside the demon slayer and touch his haori while taking out a tiny pendant with the color of your own eyes.

“It’s for you... Lucky item, you know...” You smiled as you tied a string to his belt, next to the scabbard with a sword.

“Thank you, Y/N. Let’s go further. I bought us something tasty, so if you will hungry tell me.” He replied with a soft smile, touching the gift by his finger.

[pikapeppa]

Samson/Roman Hawke smut and fluff: Trash

A little Satinalia special for @schoute featuring her divinely cranky Roman Hawke and Sammyboi! Including PARTY BANTER, fluff, and as always, NSFW smut. Note: the smut may appear dubcon for those who aren’t familiar with this pairing, so read at your own risk.

~8000 words; read here on AO3 instead.

*************************

Roman gazed balefully at the entrance to the Hanged Man. The usual tavern racket was way louder than usual — so much so that she could hear the music and laughter and singing emanating through the door. 

She didn’t want to go inside tonight. She usually liked coming here, insofar as she liked being anywhere in Lowtown. But tonight, the Hanged Man was somewhere that Roman would rather have avoided. 

She couldn’t avoid it, though, not without hurting Varric’s feelings. She gritted her teeth, then finally pushed through the door. 

The noise and heat hit her like a tidal wave. The Hanged Man was packed with at least fifty more people than usual, and their laughter was more boisterous and drunk than Roman was accustomed to hearing. The troupe of musicians in the corner was louder and livelier than usual, playing a cheerful driving song that was, unfortunately, prompting people to dance — very badly, by Roman’s estimation, not that she was an expert dancer herself or anything. It was smelly in here too, like hot cider and roasted meat and sweat from all the people dancing, and Roman wrinkled her nose as she slunk over to the bar.

The bar, too, was more crowded than usual with people clamouring for attention. Luckily, Roman was enough of a fixture here that one hard look had the bartender hurrying over. “Champion!” he panted. “Er, I mean, Miz Hawke, um—” 

She cut him off. “Two fingers of whiskey,” she said. She glanced around at the writhing bodies in the tavern, then turned back to the bartender. “Make it three.”  

The bartender nodded, and a long minute later, he slid a tumbler along the bar. “Happy Satinalia,” he yelled over the noise. 

She nodded brusquely and left him a gold royal for a tip, then gulped down her drink in two big swallows before looking around the room more carefully. Now where the fuck was Varric?

She didn’t bother looking at the dance floor; Varric was about as fond of dancing as she was. She scanned the tables, and when she finally spotted him, she couldn’t help but smirk.

He was sitting at the head of a long rectangular table toward the back of the room, in the comfortable padded armchair that usually sat in his suite at the back of the Hanged Man. He was overseeing a game of wicked grace, looking comfortable and happy and giving the distinct impression of being the man in charge.

He kind of is, she thought. He’s hosting this big fucking party, after all. Ever since the Arishok had sacked the city three years ago, Varric had started sponsoring a Satinalia party at the Hanged Man. The first one had been to celebrate the reopening of the Hanged Man, seeing as it had been partially destroyed by the qunari. But for the following two years after, he’d continued to host these Satinalia parties every year, paying for the food and the drinks and the entertainment — a small fortune, given how much the greedy residents of Kirkwall could eat and drink.

“Why do you do this?” Roman had asked him one year. 

“Why not?” he replied. “It makes people happy. We can always use a little happy around here, especially in Lowtown.”

Roman curled her lip. “It’s not like it makes a difference. They’ll eat all your food and drink all your booze today, then go back to talking shit about you behind your back tomorrow.”

Varric shot her a sympathetic look and patted her elbow. “It’s one night, Hawke. A night where we can forget all that shit and have a good time. You should try to join in.”

She clicked her tongue in annoyance, and Varric chuckled. “Besides, if you’re worried about me losing money, don’t. I’ve got a special fund I keep specifically for this party, and you know what it’s made up of?”

“What?” she said suspiciously.

His smile widened. “Winnings from wicked grace.”

Roman gave him an incredulous look. “You pay for all of this with your winnings from wicked grace?”

He leaned back in his chair and folded his hands over his belly. “What can I say? I’m a lucky guy.”

Roman actually laughed at that, and since then, she hadn’t questioned him about throwing this party every year. Besides, it was nice to see Varric looking all happy indoors, rather than looking all disgruntled while trampling around the fucking countryside with her.

She slunk through the crowds toward him. “I’m here,” she yelled. 

He looked up from his cards and smiled. “Hawke,” he yelled back, and he waved for her to join the table. “Come on, sit down, I’ll deal you in the next round.” 

She shook her head; she didn’t know anyone sitting at the table right now, and she wasn’t in the mood to make chit-chat with strangers. “Just wanted you to see I’m here. And now that I’ve shown my face, I’m going home,” she said, only half-jokingly.

Varric smiled. “Ha ha. Seriously though, get some food, enjoy yourself, find the others. I think the whole crew is here except for Blondie and Choir Boy.” 

She nodded. Of course Sebastian wasn’t here, since he never did anything involving booze or fun. And Anders was probably stuck at the clinic in Darktown.

I wonder if Samson is here, she thought. Then again, she wasn’t sure he was even going to come. He’d shown up at Varric’s Satinalia party only once in the past three years, so there was no guarantee he would come this time. Maybe he’d just gone straight to Roman’s mansion to go to sleep.  

Lucky asshole, she thought. “I’m stealing this,” she said to Varric, and she took his mostly-full stein of lager from the table. 

He waved affably, and Roman made her way toward the nearest wall, intent on getting out of the crowd. But the revelry in the tavern was so uncontained that by the time she was pressed against the wall away from the worst of the people, a big mouthful’s worth of lager had gotten sloshed over her hand and onto her skirt. 

“Fuck’s sake,” she muttered. She gulped down the drink as quickly as possible, then swiftly placed the empty stein on a passing waitress’s tray and grabbed a fresh drink from the tray at the same time. 

She sniffed the drink, and a faint aching feeling tugged at her ribs. The stein contained mulled wine, and the distinct Ferelden smell made her feel both homesick and resentful at the same time — kind of like being at this party made her feel.

Roman had never been fond of parties. The cheerfulness and the jollity always made her feel as though there was something wrong with her. The bigger the party, the more isolated she felt, like the divide between her own moodiness and other people’s carefree cheer was even more stark and glaring, and she had never known how to bridge that divide — not that she really wanted to, since most people were shit and she hated small talk. 

Still, sometimes she wondered what it would be like to have a gift with people, like Varric had: to be comfortable around people, to see the good in them and chat with them and not be braced any second for them to suddenly decide that she was an evil piece of shit for being an apostate with a temper and a foul mouth that even sailors would cringe away from.

She took a big gulp of mulled wine, and the aching feeling in her rib cage swelled even more. Then someone sidled up beside her — someone she wouldn’t have expected to seek her company willingly. 

Fenris nodded politely. “Hawke,” he said.

She nodded in return. “Surprised to see you here,” she said.

“Varric insisted,” Fenris said dryly.

Roman scoffed. “Yeah, he’s pretty fucking persuasive.”

“That he is,” Fenris said, and he took a sip of his wine — normal, non-mulled wine.

Roman curiously eyed his glass. “Is that that Aggregio shit you like?”

He shook his head. “It’s Orlesian. A bit on the vinegar-y side, but I will take what I can get.” He gave her an odd look. “Besides, they don’t import goods from Tevinter here.”

She scoffed and swirled her drink. “Not legally, maybe. You should ask Varric to hook you up, get you some black-market fancy wine. He knows people.”

Fenris huffed in amusement. “That is an understatement. That dwarf knows everyone and their mother.”

Roman smirked at him, and she was surprised to find him smirking as well. Then she was surprised to find herself feeling this relaxed in Fenris’s company. They usually spent any time together walking on eggshells to avoid falling into the kinds of shouting matches he and Anders usually had. He must be pretty fucking drunk. 

She glanced down at her half-empty stein of mulled wine. Then again, she was pretty tipsy already too.

She took another deep drink, and Fenris sipped his wine as well. Then Aveline joined them. “Fenris, Hawke,” she said with an officious little nod. “Happy Satinalia.”

“And to you,” Fenris said. Then he raised an eyebrow. “I’m surprised to see the captain of the guard here.”

“I’m here for Varric, as you well know,” Aveline said testily. “Although I suppose it doesn’t hurt to have a member of the city guard here to keep the peace. Just in case.” She frowned at the boisterous patrons in the room.

Roman rolled her eyes. “Don’t fucking bother. If you get involved in any fights here, you’ll only make things worse.”

“She’s got a point,” Fenris said. “It would be prudent for you to not get involved.”

Aveline pursed her lips, then sighed. “Donnic said the same thing,” she admitted.

“He is a wise man,” Fenris said.

Aveline shot him a resentful look. “You’re only saying that because he goes to your house every week to play cards.”

Fenris shrugged. “If you wish to rejoin our games, take it up with your husband, not with me.”

Aveline harrumphed and folded her arms, and Roman hid her smirk in her stein. Then Isabela and a pink-cheeked Merrill pushed their way through the crowd. 

“Ooh, hello everyone!” Merill said breathlessly. “Isabela was teaching me an Orlesian two-step! It’s very hard work though, a lot more hip twirling than I would have thought.”

Hip twirling? Roman thought. She didn’t think that Orlesian dances were known for their hip action. She glanced at Isabela, who winked at her. 

Merrill was looking around the tavern with wide eyes. “I’m so thirsty. I wonder if I can get a glass of water here?”

“Not likely, kitten,” Isabela said. “But here.” She plucked a stein from a passing tray and sniffed it, then handed it to Merrill. “Cider. Not water, but close enough.”

Merill beamed at her, then took a big gulp of cider, and Fenris narrowed his eyes. “You ought to eat something,” he warned.

Merrill lowered the stein and gave him a chiding look. “Don’t fuss, Fenris. I can hold my liquor, you know.” 

Fenris pursed his lips and looked away, and Isabela chuckled. “Now children, don’t fight, just dance. Who’s going to dance with me next?” She tilted her head cheekily at Aveline. “What about you, big girl? Care to dance?”

Aveline frowned. “Are you making fun of me?”

Isabela grinned. “No, actually. Why? Are you a bad dancer?”

“I never said that,” Aveline said — defensively enough that Roman knew she must be a terrible dancer.

“It’s all right if you are,” Isabela said soothingly. “If you’re dancing with me, nobody will be looking at you anyway.”

“I’m not dancing with you,” Aveline said stiffly.

Isabela sighed. “Fine, fine. What about you, Hawke?”

“Not a fucking chance,” Roman said, and she finished off her mulled wine.

“Oh come on,” Isabela coaxed. “I can sense that you have moves.”

Roman sardonically lifted her eyebrow. “Ask me again and the only moves I’ll make are toward the fucking door.”

Isabela laughed. “All right, sweet thing, no need to get sassy.” Then, finally, she gave Fenris a slow and salacious smile.

He lowered his mostly-empty glass. “What?”

“What about you?” she said silkily. “Care to dance?”

Fenris shook his head. “I don’t dance.”

“Not even with me?” Isabela simpered.

“No, Isabela,” he said patiently. “Not even with you.”

She sauntered right up to him and trailed her finger down his chest. “How much do you want to bet that I can change your mind?”

Fenris raised an eyebrow, and Aveline stepped away. “All right, I’m going, er, elsewhere.”

“Me too,” Roman drawled.

“Me too!” Merrill said with a nervous giggle. They all dispersed, Aveline toward the opposite side of the room and Merrill toward Varric’s table and Roman back toward the bar, all of them chased by Isabela’s husky laugh. 

Roman carefully pushed her way through the crowd at the bar and held up three fingers. A moment later, the bartender handed her a tumbler of whiskey, and she deftly flicked him another gold royal for a tip, which he caught in mid-air with a smile.

A deep, sarcastic voice spoke behind her — one she didn’t recognize right away. “Ain’t that flush of you, Champion.” 

She turned around and immediately stiffened. The person speaking to her was a tall and pasty fellow that she instantly recognized as one of Meredith’s more loyal Templars, accompanied by a shorter man who was also a Templar, both apparently on shore leave. 

An instinctive flush of anger bloomed in her gut, but she forced herself to ignore it. She might be half-drunk, but she was sober enough to know that getting in a fight with Templars at Varric’s party would be a shitty thing to do.

“Yeah, it was,” she said. “Fuck off and enjoy the party.” She started to step around the Templars, but they shifted in front of her.

Roman gave the taller Templar a flat look. “Get the fuck out of my way.”

Unfortunately, he didn’t listen; instead, he and his crony stepped closer. “We heard you’re a blood mage,” he growled.

The anger in her gut curdled, and she lifted her chin. “You heard that, huh?”

“Yeah,” the shorter Templar said. “So? It true?”

She laughed nastily. “You think I’d tell you if it was? How fucking stupid are you?” She tilted her head. “Oh wait, you’re Templars. Never mind, I answered my own question.”

The shorter Templar curled his lip and took a step toward her, and she tensed her fists, ready to hit him if he took another step. She wouldn’t use magic, not during this party, but she had no fucking qualms about punching someone in the face. 

The shorter Templar stepped even closer, and Roman bared her teeth in a snarl. But before she could raise her hand to strike, another voice interrupted. “Evening, fellas. Is there a problem ‘ere?”

Samson, Roman thought, and her shoulders loosened. He was standing just behind her with one hand tucked in his pocket and the other holding a stein, and his lips were curled in a polite smile — or seemingly polite, at least, though Roman could see the hint of mockery at the corners of his lips. 

The Templars were looking at Samson now instead of her, and the taller one sneered. “Samson. The fuck are you doing here?”

“Having a drink, same as you,” he said, and he lifted his stein. “Happy tidings and all that.”

The shorter Templar snorted, and the taller one folded his arms and jerked his head at Roman. “You friends with this apostate cunt or something? That why you’re stepping in for her?”

Roman swelled with anger. “Cunt?” she snarled, and she took a step toward the taller Templar. “Who the fuck are you calling a—” 

Samson grabbed her arm, and the shorter Templar laughed. “Oh ho, look at ‘im, putting the brakes on mages like he thinks he’s still a Templar.”

Roman wrested her arm away from Samson and glared at him, but he wasn't looking at her; he was looking at the two Templars still, and there was a quizzical look on his face now. “Does Cullen know you’re here?” he said.

The taller Templar went tellingly still, and the shorter one’s face crumpled into a scowl. “What’d you say?”

Samson shrugged and tucked his free hand back in his pocket. “Just askin’ if Cullen knows you’re here. Last I heard, the Knight-Captain had forbidden all of you from going to the Hanged Man or the Blooming Rose on your nights off.” He smirked. “Too much of a distraction, I heard.”

The shorter Templar stared at Samson. “How the fuck d’you know—”

The taller one elbowed him. “Shut it, you dimwit,” he hissed. He shot Samson and Roman a venomous look, then pulled his crony toward the door, and a moment later, they were gone.

Samson turned to her with a half-smile. “Bird,” he said, and he sipped from his stein.

She tutted. “I was handling that just fine without your help,” she said, but without any real heat. She hadn’t expected him to come, and frankly, it was kind of a nice surprise that he was here. He was wearing a rust-red shirt that was unbuttoned partway down his chest so she could see his chest hair, and… okay, fine, if she was being totally honest — an honesty she would entirely attribute to the mulled wine — he looked pretty attractive.

She took a gulp of her whiskey, then squinted at his chest. His shirt wasn’t unbuttoned, actually; he was just missing a couple of buttons. 

“Something wrong?” he said.

She scoffed and plucked at his open shirt. “You look sloppy as fuck.”

He twisted his lips ruefully. “Yeah. Nicest shirt I’ve got, if you can believe it.” 

“You should just let me buy you something new,” she said, for the umpteenth time. “Then you don’t have to go around looking like shit.”

“If I look like shit, why’re you staring?” he asked.

She tore her eyes away from his chest and scowled at him. “I’m not staring.”

“Sure you are,” he said.  “It’s all right, Bird. You look good too.” His eyes travelled from her low-necked top to her knee-length skirt, and he smirked. “There’s a stain on your skirt.”

She rolled her eyes. “I know. Someone made me spill my fucking beer.”

“And you’re nagging me about being sloppy?” he said archly.

She gestured emphatically at her skirt. “This was an accident! You showed up looking like this!”

“Give me credit, will you? I tried,” he said plaintively.

She raised a skeptical eyebrow. “You did not. You didn’t even shave. You’re all whiskery.”

He tsked. “You and the whiskers. I can’t figure out if you like them or not.”

“They look good,” she said without thinking. “They feel like shit on my skin.” Oops, that was more candid than she’d intended. 

She frowned resentfully at her half-empty tumbler, and Samson chuckled — a rough little heh-heh-heh that lifted an annoying buzzing sensation between her legs. “That doesn’t help me decide whether to shave the bloody whiskers off or not,” he said.

She shrugged and looked away from him. “Just do what you want. It’s your face. I don’t care what you do.”

He sighed and shifted a little closer to her — close enough that their arms were touching. “You’re a bloody pain in the ass, you know that?”

She clicked her tongue. “Ah, fuck you, too.” She tapped her tumbler to his stein and finished off her drink.

He grinned at her, then took a gulp from his stein before speaking again. “You’re in a good mood. Having a nice time then, eh?”

“Not really,” she said. “I don’t like parties.” 

“Me neither,” he said. “Never really felt right when I was at them. Always got the feelin’ like there was something I wasn’t quite in on, even if I was right in the thick of it.”

She looked at him in surprise. That was exactly how she’d always felt at parties.

He met her eye, then rubbed a hand over his chin. “What? Something on my face?”

“If you don’t like parties, why did you come to this one?” she asked.

He shrugged. “I knew you had to come, for Tethras. Thought I’d keep you company.” He gave her a crooked little smile. “Misery loves company, or so they say, and I figured you’d be pretty bloody miserable.” He drank from the stein, and Roman watched the bobbing of his throat as he swallowed. 

He lowered the stein and looked at her, then lifted his eyebrow. “What—”

She grabbed his shirt and dragged him into a kiss. 

He grunted in surprise and wrapped his arm around her waist, and Roman twined her tongue with his for a moment before pushing him away. “Your face is scratchy,” she said.

He stared at her stupidly for a second, his half-bared chest rising and falling as he panted for breath. Then a broad smile stretched across his face. “You bloody minx,” he said.

She smirked. Then a tall burly man bumped into her shoulder hard. 

She stumbled slightly, annoyed but unfazed; this fucking tavern was way too crowded, after all. A second later, however, the man’s disparaging tone made it clear that the bump was definitely not an accident. “Look at this,” he drawled. “The Champion’s a whore for the beggar.” He bared his yellowed teeth at her in a semblance of a grin. “Times so desperate that you’ve got to fuck the trash on the street?”

A ringing rage suddenly burst in her ears. Without thinking, she swung her empty tumbler up and smashed it across the burly asshole’s face. 

“Roman!” Samson barked.

The man stumbled back with a howl of pain, and the people around them cried out in shock and tried to shuffle away. Roman ignored them and took a threatening step toward the burly asshole, and Samson grabbed her arm. 

“Roman, stop,” he hissed. 

She twisted out of his grip. “He said you’re trash,” she yelled. “You’re not fucking trash. He’s the trash.”

Samson opened his mouth, but before he could reply, the burly man’s big hand squeezed her shoulder in a painful grip. “You fucking bitch—”

She viciously clawed at his hand, and when he whipped his hand back with a yelp, she raised the now-cracked tumbler, ready to smash it across his face a second time.  

“Stop!” Aveline shouted. She pushed through the crowd and stepped between Roman and the burly man. “Hawke, what’s happening here?”

“She hit me in the face, that fucking bitch!” the burly man bleated. 

Roman snarled and took another threatening step toward him, but Aveline held up a hand. “Enough,” she said loudly, and she turned toward the burly man. “Outside, now. Unless you want to come with me to the holding cells.” 

“Yeah, get the fuck out of here,” Roman spat. “If I see your fucking face again—”

Samson grabbed her hand and pried the tumbler from her fingers. “Come on,” he said in exasperation, and he started pulling her away toward the back of the tavern. 

She tried to pull her hand out of his grip. “What are you doing? Let me go!” 

“Getting you somewhere quiet to calm down,” he gritted.

“I am calm,” she yelled. “It’s that asshole who isn’t calm! You heard him, he fucking started it!” 

Samson didn’t reply, and he didn’t let go of her hand. He kept pulling her through the tavern, out of the main room with its music and its noise and through to the inn area at the back, which was much quieter. 

She sighed loudly and smacked his arm. “Let me go. I’m fucking calm.”

“No,” he said, and he kept tugging her through the corridors until they were in a secluded back corner of the inn, where a few dilapidated crates and barrels sat there waiting to either be repaired or thrown away. 

Samson finally released her hand and folded his arms. “I told you not to get into fucking fights for me.”

She glared at him. How dare he scowl at her like he was the angry one? “It wasn’t my fault. He was looking to start a fight!”

“You made the fight happen,” he accused.

“I did not!” she retorted.

He gave her a chiding look. “You hit him with a bloody tumbler, Bird.”

“You’re not fucking trash!” she yelled.

He wilted and rubbed his forehead. “Bloody Maker’s balls…”

“You’re not trash,” she railed. “There’s nothing wrong with you. He doesn’t even fucking know you, how can he just go around—”

Samson suddenly clasped her neck in his hands and pinned her against the wall, and Roman gasped at the impact of her back striking the wall. “You’re lookin’ for an excuse to fight,” he said roughly. “You say you’re not, but you are.”

She glowered at him, stung by the injustice of this accusation. “I am not,” she retorted. “I don’t want to — I don’t want to be this way! You think I like being all — fucking pissed all the time?” 

“That’s not what I’m saying. I just…” He sighed. “Maker, I don’t know what I’m saying. I just… don’t want you to get in fucking fights for me. I can fight for myself.”

“But you don’t,” she said. “You don’t fight when they pick on you, and I hate it.”

His eyebrows rose, and he released her neck. “Right, right. Because I’m a coward, right?”

Her frustration ratcheted higher. “You’re not a fucking coward!” she shouted. “You’re — there’s nothing wrong with you!”

He scoffed and folded his arms. “Are you blind or something? I’m a lyrium-addicted beggar with missing buttons on my best bloody shirt.”

She glared viciously at him and prodded his half-bared chest. “There’s nothing wrong with you that isn’t wrong with me too. If you’re fucking trash, then so am I.”

He stared at her without speaking, and Roman’s belly twisted; his expression was softening from anger into something far softer and more unnerving.

She curled her lip. “What the fuck are you looking at me like that for?”

A little smile lifted the corners of his lips. “That was almost romantic, Bird.”

She recoiled slightly, then shoved his abs. “Don’t be fucking stupid. It was not.”

He didn’t move. “It was, sort of. You going to be giving me roses in the moonlight next?”

His smile was broad and his tone was playful now, and Roman’s annoyance swelled, along with the hot feeling in her cheeks. “Shut the fuck up,” she said, and she shoved him again.

He grabbed her wrist and pinned it back against the wall, and a sudden hot rush of lust flooded between her legs. She twisted her wrist, and Samson stepped closer, close enough that she was trapped against the wall by his body. 

He stroked her cheek with his other hand, and Roman twisted her face away. “Quit it,” she snapped.

He gripped her jaw and turned her face to look at him, and her heart thudded between her legs at the force of his hand on her jaw. She slipped her free hand into his open shirt and twisted his nipple, and he gasped in pain and released her jaw. 

His hand on her wrist only tightened, however, and Roman gasped with excitement at the firmness of his fingers around her wrist. Then he captured her other hand and forced it back against the wall as well. 

“Bloody wildcat,” he growled. “Just calm down, will you?”

“Then let me go,” she snapped breathlessly.

He huffed. “See, I don’t think you really want me to.”

“Yes I do,” she said belligerently.

He lifted his eyebrows skeptically. “You sure? Then tell me again to let you go, and I’ll do it. Go on, say it again.”

His tone was taunting, and it was like tossing oil on her flaring temper and her lust. She sneered at him but didn’t speak, and he let out a smug little laugh. “Didn’t think so. I know what you’re really looking for.”

“You don’t know shit,” she snapped.

“Yeah, I do,” he said, and he pressed his hips to hers.

His cock was a hard ridge pressing against the vee of her thighs, and her lips fell open with a gasp. Then Samson pressed his mouth against her ear. “You want me to fuck you,” he whispered. “That’s why you’re wearing this skirt, isn’t it?”

She dragged in a breath and wriggled in his grip, rubbing herself against his groin in the process. “What the fuck are you talking about?” she panted.

“This skirt,” he murmured in her ear. “This is the one you had on when we first fucked in the alley outside.”

His voice was low and sly, and the heat in her cheeks and her abdomen swelled even more. He was right, unfortunately; this was that same skirt, the same one Samson had shoved up before pinning her against the wall to fuck her from behind, and she’d be lying if she hadn’t thought about it when putting it on this evening. She wasn’t very well going to admit that, though.

Unfortunately, it seemed that she didn’t need to; Samson was laughing softly against her ear, that smug and knowing little chuckle that both enraged her and riled her up to a maddening degree. “Aw, you got dressed up for me tonight, eh?” he teased. “That’s romantic too.”

“Fuck you,” she spat. “Fuck you, fuck you, I hate you—”

He released her wrist and slid his palm up along her thigh, and Roman broke off with a convulsive gasp. Then he was rubbing her sex, his fingers sliding against her throbbing pussy through her smalls, and he was talking in her ear once more.

“Don’t be embarrassed, Bird,” he murmured. “I picked out this shirt for you, too.”

His fingers between her legs, his voice in her ear, his whiskers scratching her face… She fucking wanted him, and it was so annoying. She gasped in a breath and tried to gather her scrambled thoughts. “You picked the shitty shirt with missing buttons for me? Fuck you,” she moaned.

He laughed softly and pressed his fingers against her clit. “No, you daft idiot. I picked the one in your favourite colour.”

Her heart squeezed, and she scoffed. “Whatever. You’re the idiot.” 

“And you’re a bloody pain in my ass,” he purred. Then, without warning, he pushed the crotch of her smalls aside and slid one finger inside of her.

The unexpected pleasure of his finger drove a cry from her throat. She twisted her free hand in his shirt, and he released her other hand and covered her mouth. “Shh,” he hissed. “Keep your voice down, eh?”

His finger was curling relentlessly inside of her, striking at a spot inside of her that was making her legs feel shaky, and she couldn’t stop herself from moaning against his palm. She thrust her hips eagerly toward his hand, and he exhaled hard.

“Maker’s balls, Bird,” he groaned. “What am I supposed to do with you?”

She twisted her face away from his palm. “Fuck me,” she rasped. “Fuck me right now.”

“Where am I supposed to do that?” he said quietly. “There’s no furniture here.”

“Like that’s ever stopped you before,” she said.

He smiled slowly at her, then suddenly pulled his finger free. Before Roman could protest or say a word, he was lifting her up and depositing her on a dusty barrel at waist-height. 

He roughly reached into her skirt, and she lifted her hips so he could pull her smallclothes off. “If I get a splinter in my ass, you’re helping me get it out,” she threatened.

He shot her a reproving look as he shoved her smallclothes in his pocket. “Look, d’you want to fuck here or not?”

“Yes,” she said.

“Then stop complaining and spread your legs,” he commanded. 

She glared at him as she parted her knees. “Don’t fucking tell me what to do.” 

He gave her a reproachful look as he unbuttoned his trousers, but Roman ignored it; she was too focused on his cock, the thick hard length of it straining against the fabric of his smalls, and now he was pulling his cock out and stroking it with one hand while he stepped closer to her…

She eagerly shifted closer to the edge of the barrel, and Samson’s eyes dropped to her thighs. “Come on, Bird, let me have a look at you,” he breathed. He lifted the edge of her skirt to look at her pussy, and Roman spread her legs wide so he could see her better.

The look on his face grew hungry, and Roman stared at his lustful expression with a growing hunger of her own. “Pervert,” she accused.

He looked up at her and grinned. “Takes one to know one,” he teased. He stepped closer to the barrel and grabbed her hip, then thrust into her hard.

She gasped and jolted, then wiggled closer to the edge of the barrel so he could fuck her deeper, and he groaned and grabbed her thigh. “Put your legs around me,” he urged.

She wrapped her legs around his waist and locked her ankles together at the small of his back. He thrust into her again, and this time she was forced to cry out with pleasure; the edge of the barrel was digging into her ass a bit, but with her legs wrapped around him, it felt like he was striking much deeper inside of her with every thrust. 

He gripped her hip with one hand and the edge of the barrel with the other and slammed his cock inside of her, and Roman moaned again.

“Shut the fuck up, Bird,” he groaned, and he slammed into her again. She gasped and sank her teeth into the side of his neck, and he groaned and thrust into her over and over, rapid deep thrusts that sent ripples of pleasure through her fingers and her toes, and she greedily sucked and bit his neck to stop herself from moaning at how fucking good it felt. 

After a couple of blissful minutes, Samson gasped fitfully and dug his fingers painfully into her thigh, and she grunted against his neck as his cock grew even harder inside of her. He came a moment later, shuddering and painting against her collarbone as he thrust into her a frenzied blur, and Roman savoured the forceful striking thrusts of his cock as he rode out his climax. 

A long moment later, he sighed heavily and nipped her neck, and the feeling of his teeth on her neck sent a little shiver down her spine. He patted her thigh, and she untwined her legs from around his waist with a little grimace. 

“My ass hurts,” she complained. 

He smirked at her as he stepped back and tucked his cock into his trousers. “Sorry,” he said.

“You are not,” she accused. 

“Ah, you’re right, I’m not,” he said unrepentantly, and he helped her down from the barrel. She immediately felt his seed dripping down the inside of her thigh, and she quickly untied the red scarf from around her wrist to wipe it up. 

“Hey, I’ll do that,” Samson said affably, and he reached for the scarf.

She wrinkled her nose at him. “Why?”

“Because I’m a gentleman, o’course,” he said. “Gentlemen clean up their messes.”

His face was lit with a broad shit-eating grin, and Roman couldn’t decide whether she wanted to laugh or to smack him. Instead, she shot him a flat look as she wiped the inside of her thigh. “You really want to be a gentleman? Then you can go down on me.”

His grin fell into a look of surprise. “Eh?”

“I didn’t come,” she said. 

He grimaced. “Oh. Balls. Sorry, Bird.” He eyed her uncertainly. “You… you really want me to go down on you? Now?”

She paused in her wiping and raised her eyebrows. “What, you’ll fuck me at the back of the Hanged Man but you won’t go down on me?”

“It’s not that,” he said hurriedly. “It’s just…” He scrunched his face up a bit. “I already came in you.”

“So?” she said.

“So I’m not really keen to, uh, eat my own cooking, if you get my meaning,” he said.

Roman gave him a withering look. “Are you fucking serious?”

“Yeah…” He sighed and wilted. “You want me to do it anyway, don’t you?”

She clicked her tongue. “You’re the one who was saying you’re a gentleman.” She went back to wiping the inside of her thighs.

Samson rubbed the back of his neck. Then, to her surprise, he kneeled in front of her. “All right, twist my bloody arm,” he grumbled. He pushed her skirt up to her hips, and Roman felt a fresh thrill of heated anticipation pooling between her legs. 

He leaned in and kissed her hip, and her pussy pulsed at the nearness of his mouth. Then he sighed. “Can’t believe I’m doing this,” he muttered, and he drew his tongue along the length of her cleft.

She gasped and sank her fingers into his hair. Despite his reluctance, he was doing just as good a job as he always did: his tongue was circling smoothly around her clit, teasing her with the exact amount of pressure that felt fucking good while making her crave an even firmer touch of his tongue.

She dragged in a shaky breath and rolled her hips toward his mouth. He drew his tongue firmly over her clit, and the firm pressure sent a shock of pleasure through her body.

She gasped and clenched her fingers in his hair. He lapped at her clit again, and she bucked toward his mouth. He reached up and placed his palms on her bare thighs to push them wider apart, and the heat of his hands on her skin sent another thrill of pleasure through her limbs. 

She rocked her hips toward his tongue, and within seconds she was grinding against his mouth, her rapture rising steadily with every smooth hot stroke of his tongue against her swollen clit. She gasped convulsively and pulled his hair, and he growled into her pussy and tugged at her clit with his lips, and she let out a moan. 

He leaned away and shot her a resentful look. “Seriously, Roman, shut up—”

“Don’t fucking stop,” she gasped, and she pulled his head between her legs once more.

He grunted and sealed his lips over her clit, and she shoved the back of her other hand against her mouth to stifle herself, and not a moment too soon: a few blissful licks later, she was shuddering and slumping back against the wall as her rapture rippled from her pulsing clit down to her calves and all the way up to her scalp.

She closed her eyes and leaned her back against the wall, giving the wall all of her weight as the pleasure washed through her limbs. When her climax had finally ebbed away, she dropped her hand away from her mouth and sighed.

Then Samson kissed her and thrust his tongue into her mouth.

“Mmph,” she protested, but his tongue was sliding against her own. She poked his belly and bit his tongue, and he pulled away from her.

“See?” he said pointedly. “Doesn’t taste so good, does it?”

She gave him a shut-the-fuck-up look. “Tastes like it always does when I suck you off after you fucked me.”

He raised his eyebrows. “Oh. Yeah, that makes sense.”

She snorted and reached into his pocket to take back her smallclothes. “You really are a fucking idiot,” she told him. She pulled her smalls back on and smoothed out her skirt, then started to sidle past him toward the corridor, but he stopped her with a hand on her hip.

She paused and looked up at him, then frowned; he looked quite serious. “What’s wrong?” she said. 

“Stop getting into fights for me,” he said quietly. “I don’t want you getting into trouble.”

She sighed in annoyance, and he squeezed her hip. “I mean it, Roman. You have to keep your head down more.”

“Are you going to tell the whole world to fuck off and leave me alone, then?” she said archly. “Because if everyone gets off my case, I’d gladly keep my fucking head down.” 

He clicked his tongue wearily, then pecked her on the forehead and gave her butt a little smack. “Forget it, all right? Let’s go get another drink.”

She shot him a resentful look and made her way from their dark abandoned corner back into the nearest corridor, then stopped short in surprise: Isabela was leaning casually against the wall. 

She looked up at them with a knowing grin, and Roman stared at her. “Were you listening in?” she demanded.

“Yes, actually,” Isabela said. 

Roman recoiled. “Why the fuck were you listening in?”

“I was guarding this hallway so you could have a private moment,” Isabela said. “It’s hardly my fault that you make so much noise.”

Roman deflated a bit. “Oh. Fuck.”

Samson rubbed his chin and gave Roman an I-told-you-so look. Roman hunched her shoulders defensively, and Isabela let out a throaty laugh as she approached them.  “Don’t look so embarrassed, sweet thing. Having a quick one at the back of a tavern is perfectly natural. We’ve all done it.” 

“Thanks, I guess,” Roman muttered.

Samson eyed Isabela cautiously, then touched his fingers to his forehead in a small salute. “Kind of you to keep an eye out for us, cap’n.”

Isabela raised her eyebrows. “Well well. Captain, you say? Talk dirty to a girl, why don’t you?” She elbowed Roman. “You should invite me to join you next time.”

Roman rolled her eyes. “Maker’s fucking balls,” she complained, and she started walking away.

“That wasn’t a no,” Isabela called after her. 

She shook her head and didn’t reply. A second later, Samson caught up to her. “Er, what was that exactly?”

“Approval from Isabela,” Roman grunted. 

“Really?” Samson said. “That’s, er, nice?”

“Whatever. I don’t need anyone’s approval,” Roman said. But for some reason, she didn’t feel as irate as she would have expected from having Isabela listen in to her and Samson fucking. And Isabela had even been friendly to Samson, which was — well, not unexpected necessarily, because Samson and Isabela had barely ever spoken. But Roman was so accustomed to seeing people treat Samson like a pile of nugshit that witnessing the opposite was… nice.

Yeah, it was nice. The more Roman thought about it, the more she realized that she was actually feeling… pretty good, actually. She was still a little tipsy from the booze, and her damp smallclothes were reminding her of the excellent illicit sex she and Samson had just had at the back of the tavern, and someone other than herself had treated Samson like a person…

Damn, she thought in surprise. Against all odds, she was actually feeling… kind of happy.

She looked up at Samson with a little smile, and his eyebrows jumped up. “What’s with you?”

She shrugged. “Nothing,” she said. “Come on.” They stepped back into the main room of the Hanged Man, and Roman balked for a second; it was somehow even more noisy and crowded and hot than before. The musical troupe in the corner were playing a song with a hard driving beat while the majority of the patrons twirled and spun to the music with varying degrees of coordination and drunkenness. Every few minutes, a howl of laughter and dismay would go up from one of the tables where people were playing cards, and the entire room was scented with mulled wine.

A funny swelling feeling filled her chest. Then Samson leaned in close to her ear. “It’s bloody hopping in here,” he yelled. “I’ll find some drinks, you find us a corner?”

“No,” she yelled back. “Come on.” She grabbed his arm and pulled him into the middle of the crowd.

She ruthlessly pushed her way through the pulsing crowd of bodies until they reached Varric’s table. He was still sitting in pride of place at the head of the table, and the rest of their little crew was sitting with him and playing cards: Fenris and Merrill were on the left side of the table and Anders was on the right, having apparently gotten away from the clinic at last. Aveline was sitting beside him with no cards and her arms petulantly folded, and they all looked up when Roman pushed her way through the crowd. 

Varric smiled. “Hawke! Samson! Have a seat, join us.”

“Thanks,” Roman said, and she poked Anders’s arm. “Move over.”

“Happy Satinalia to you too,” he drawled as he shifted over. “Where’ve you been?”

“Busy,” she said. She pushed Samson down onto the bench beside Anders, then seated herself on the padded right arm of Varric’s chair. 

“Busy doing what?” Isabela said as she sashayed over. 

“None of your fucking business,” Roman said, but with no heat. 

Isabela winked cheekily and sidled around to sit on the other arm of Varric’s chair, and Anders snorted in amusement. “This is rich. Varric, you look like the owner of a harem now.”

Isabela tsked. “A harem of two isn’t much of a harem. Merrill, you should come and sit in Varric’s lap to round us out.”

Merrill tittered. “Who, me? Oh no, I couldn’t!”

Anders glanced at Aveline. “What about you, then? You could go on up and sit in Varric’s lap.”

“Over my dead body,” Aveline said flatly.

“Over mine, actually,” Varric said drolly. “I don’t think I could survive all of Aveline’s muscle.”

Merrill, Anders and Isabela laughed, and Aveline smiled faintly. Then Varric tapped Roman’s arm. “Are you and Samson joining in the next round, then?” 

His tone was casual, but his expression was faintly hopeful — the look he usually wore when asking if Roman would play cards with them, even knowing that she was going to say no. 

But today wasn’t a usual day, and Roman wasn’t in a usual mood. She shrugged. “Yeah, deal us in. Right?” She looked askance at Samson.

“I suppose,” he said tentatively. “I, uh, haven’t any coin to bet, though.”

“That’s okay,” Varric assured him. “The elf here hasn’t got any coin, either. He’s just playing on good faith.” He jerked a thumb at Fenris, who sighed and tugged his ear. 

“I’ll win it back next week, I swear it,” he grumbled. 

Varric nodded affably. “Uh-huh. Whatever you say.”

The others chuckled as Fenris tsked, and Roman watched contentedly as Samson’s posture relaxed a bit. Then she looked at Varric once more, and an unusual feeling of warmth spread through her chest. He was smiling broadly at her, and Roman knew that he understood the significance of her agreement to play cards.

She shrugged and looked away from him. “Happy Satinalia or whatever,” she muttered.

He chuckled. “You too, Hawke. Now come on, let’s play.”

“We’re all waiting on you,” Anders pointed out.

“All right, all right,” Varric said affably, and he set down a card. “Okay, Daisy, it’s your turn.” 

The round of wicked grace continued, with Anders seeming to have the winning hand. Roman listened quietly as they chatted and teased each other in turn, and she marvelled at the strangeness of the situation — the strangeness of sitting here with this weird little group of misfits, all of them victims of shitty circumstance in one way or another, now joined together in a mish-mashed group of semi-friends who spent most of their time together and helped each other out when help was needed, whether they even particularly liked each other or not.

Kind of like a family, Roman thought, and that weird squirmy feeling of warmth invaded her chest again.

She shifted slightly on Varric’s chair. Then Samson subtly squeezed her ankle. “You all right, Bird?” he said quietly. 

She nodded. “Yeah. I’m fine,” she said. And for once, she genuinely meant it.

[ralafferty]

85. Among the Hairy Earthmen

A mescalanza is, in Spanish, a “medley” or a “potpourri” or a “miscellany.” In Italian (as mescolanza), it’s any sort of mixture, often a mix of people or of ideas. Either way, it’s a collection of disparate elements that combine to form something greater than the individual parts could ever have been alone; often, the combination brings out aspects in the originals that no one could have predicted.

The earliest extant drafts of “Among the Hairy Earthmen”—which for a good while went by the name “The Long Afternoon,” though others were considered—imply that the story was developed as just such a mescolanza, in much the same way as the later “Nor Limestone Islands” would be a lapidary work, or the later still “In Deepest Glass” would be a cathedral window. (Or further, in the way that almost every Lafferty work contains some sort of image of its own processes of inscription.)

Certainly this draft seems to be the first short story that really piled on the epigraphs—a fixture of Lafferty’s novel writing from the first, and very present just then from his work on Archipelago, but which he had been more reticent to deploy in shorter stories. What’s more, it may well be the first mention of “The Back Door of History,” that compendium of shadow historiography that provides excerpts for many a Lafferty tale—and it’s the author of this work who introduces the word mescolanza, though in this early stage the pseudonymous author is listed as Arpad Dotch, not Arutinov. The narrator of the story cites four epigraphs in all, alternating Lafferty inventions from “The Lighter Side of Geology”—by one A.E.C. Copps, who does not recur—and “The Back Door of History” with two actual quotations from John Addington Symonds’ magisterial history The Italian Renaissance and Frederick Rolfe / Baron Corvo’s History of the Borgias. (These two British eccentrics were quite different in most ways save one: they were both about as openly queer as it was possible to be in the societies of their time.)

There’s indications that a Chesterton quote may also have been part of the miscellany—something I think he would appreciate—but none of these quotes made it to the final draft; they were all removed amid extensive rewrites trying to get the story to the point that Fred Pohl would buy it. In a letter from February 1964—after Lafferty had already rewritten the story multiple times, including earlier in the month—Pohl notes that “you have something interesting, entertaining and stimulating to say, but because you say it in a jackdaw’s-nest of unrelated bits of scenes and snippets of history you make it hard to read. … my quarrel with THE LONG AFTERNOON is that it is an easy story which you have written in a hard way.” It would seem that the number of quotations has only grown since the first draft, and Pohl admits himself bewildered: “But do you really need the quotations? From the first you only take the words ‘from Byzantium’; and take them only to deny them—but you have thrown twenty-odd data at the reader; since he does not know which are important, he tries to hold them all in his head, and when he finds out that by-God none of them are, he grows to dislike your story.”

Pohl made a further suggestion—“Suppose you rewrite the story, without quotes, in some consecutive form—perhaps as a narration”—which Lafferty carried out, which is why we have the story in the form we do. The “easy story” Pohl wanted to highlight is still complicated, a synthesis of readings across a huge number of historical subjects in the 13th to 15th centuries, but at root it is a story of alien visitation, of the subvariety where the aliens accelerate human development at a particular place in time; Lafferty’s innovation is to place this in medieval Europe rather than in Pharaonic Egypt or Attic Greece or for that matter the future. The story zeroes quickly in on the children at their arrival and follows their activities over the two-hundred-odd years which saw the Renaissance kindle and burst into life, up until they leave on the heels of a disciplinary thrashing from a mysterious human pilgrim. There still isn’t really a plot, but there is a “continuity” to proceedings—or enough to satisfy Pohl, at least. And some parts of it are vastly improved between the first draft and published versions.

And yet I still wonder about the version that could have been: the hard-way story, the jackdaw’s nest, the mescolanza. It would’ve been yet another work of Lafferty’s that embodied the formal experimentation of the New Wave, years before editors like Moorcock and Knight and Carr and Goldsmith—and Pohl himself!—commissioned and championed them. What “The Long Afternoon” lacked in continuity, it could have made up in innovation, inviting the reader into a wholly different role than just the receptor of a narrative: by throwing all these selections at the reader, making them distinguish between the real ones and the invented ones (see, always see, Don Webb on this technique), Lafferty press-gangs his audience, turning them all into fellow researchers, sifting through textual evidence. And if the reader ends up uncertain which data are or aren’t important, or uncertain of the entire enterprise generally, then Lafferty has already succeeded by muddying the epistemological waters sufficiently that the “aliens spearheaded the Renaissance” theory no longer seems fanciful—or, at least, no more fanciful than the idea that humans just up and did all those things on their own.

It’s not as if “Among the Hairy Earthmen” is a bad story. There’s a lot to investigate within it, and quite a few interesting questions to ask—maybe if I can ever get an actual medievalist to read the tale, I can get more and better answers than my own scanty reading on that period allows, but at the very least: What do we make of the story’s implication that humanity may be better off without such periods of frantic activity? (Note the ultimate sterility of the rapid society in “Slow Tuesday Night”; though also contrast the rich fecundity of the sped-up science types in “Brain Fever Season.”) Who is that final Pilgrim, and how did he come to the knowledge of the children’s interventions? Are those same children, as implied, back for another long afternoon; and if so, what dubious gifts are they giving us now? And yet, it’s undeniable that the effect of such questions is different when they are handed directly to you by the narration, rather than when they emerge from your navigation of Lafferty’s peculiar bricolage. (On this, see Gregorio Montejo, in Feast of Laughter 4).

The archive does not record whether Lafferty genuinely thought the story better in Pohl’s preferred format, or if he just went along with it because it was the only way it was likely to see print. If the latter, then it doesn’t seem to have affected his other stories much; the following years would see Lafferty send out many more formal experiments, including “What’s the Name of That Town” and “Primary Education of the Camiroi,” both composed during these same months that he was rewriting “Among the Hairy Earthmen” (and both, moreover, bought by Pohl). But I have to wonder if the ordeal didn’t at least color his view of Pohl, perhaps even mark an early stage of the process whereby the editor who, in Lafferty’s own words, “picked me up out of the scrap pile” became the editor who “was never right, but sometimes he was pretty insistent.”

Completed December 1961. Rewritten March 1963, December 1963, January 1964, and twice in February 1964. Published in Galaxy, ed. Frederik Pohl, August 1966. Collected in Ringing Changes. New York: Ace Books, 1984.

Next entry: "Crocodile," a dystopian tale about printing that had to go to press twice because they forgot a page

[thoughtfullyyoungduck]

babysit side effects

A/N: This was requested by anon, I hope you enjoy! sorry it took so long, Ihope it was worth it. Please let me know what you think, and if anyone has any requests please let me know! 

summary: Can you write a fic where richie and eddie are babysitting one of the losers kids, and it makes them realize they want a kid of their own? Thank you :)

warnings: curse words 

‘Okay, so let’s go over this again. Sophia has her first bottle of milk at 7:30 am, followed by her second bottle of milk by 11:15 am. At 12:30 she eats either fruit or a vegetable, and then at 3:15 he has another feeding time, this time a vegetable or fruit depending on what you gave her before, and then at 6:45 she has her last feed which is milk. Do you understand?’

Richie nodded somingly, even when he had to try hard to keep his laughter in, the serious and panicked look on Stan’s face too much to handle.

‘Of course Staniel, don’t you trust me to take care of your kids for a day?’

There was a beat of silence, during which Stan stared at Richie intently, trying to gauge if he was serious, or if he was just trying to provoke him. Then; ‘Off fucking course not Richie. Patty take your bags back inside, we’re not going.’

Laughter poured from Patty, who was just loading in her bag in the backseat, straitening up and walking closer to them. When she got close enough, she reached out and plucked Sofia out of Richie’s arms, her in hand holding her by her bum, while the other on supports the back of her head.

She coos at her daughter, full of love and not an ounce of annoyance anywhere visible on her entire face, despite the fact that Richie saw her slobber all over Patty’s blouse only minutes before she had to leave.

‘Sure we do Rich,’ Patty assures him while she grants his a kiss against his cheek as  goodbye. ‘Stan and I wouldn’t have asked you if we didn’t think you were up to the challenge. Besides, we’re only going to be gone for a night, and we’ll return first thing in the morning. If anything goes wrong he can call us.’

There only off to help Patty’s mom move into a new nursing home for the day and night, but it’s the first time that they’ve been away from their children since Sofia was born, and Richie insist to make their time away free of all concerns. That is if they finally leave at least.

Stan kisses his daughter on the forehead holding her close for one last moment, before allowing Patty to hand her back into Richie’s awaiting arms.

It shocks Richie’s that baby’s are so small, though he knows logically that everyone was that small at one point or another, it’s one thing to know it, and another to actually see it.

‘Eddie is here too, so there’s two of them.’ Patty and Stan resort to a silent stand-off, holding a none spoken argument that Patty wins, if her smug smile is anything to go by.

‘There are also two children, so let’s hope they can handle both.’ Richie fake gasps, moving to hold his hand up in faux outrage, but stops when he is reminded of the, albeit barely there, weight of little Sofia, who is now fast asleep on his chest.

Knowing when to be serious, Richie lets his facade drop, Bowing down to catch Stan's eyes, before smiling reassuringly. ‘We got this Stan, trust me.’

Stan smiles back without a moment of hesitation,’ I know. If anything happens to be my babies, I’ll kill you in your sleep.’ The serious expression on his face enough to make Richie gulp, regardless of the fact that he knows Stan doesn’t mean it.

‘Copy that sir.’

‘Speaking of our two babies, where’s Emily?’ Patty demands, turning in a circle in search for her but not locating here.

‘I’m pretty sure she roped Eddie into dress up and having a tea party with her, so I think for the sake of Eddie’s sanity, we should leave now.’

The bolstering laugh from Richie is way too loud on the peaceful morning most of Stan’s neighbors are experiencing, but Patty joins him, so it’s not too bad. Suspiciously, Patty pauses right after to stare longingly at her daughter, her eyes becoming a little wet.

‘Alright, let’s go. Give Eddie my best.’ She hugs Sophia one last time, then turns away to sniffle and hide her tears, no doubt a little sad a the prospect of not seeing her girls. Richie moves to comfort her, but Stan is on the case, and he can do a much better job than Richie, no doubt in his mind.

Richie stands there uncomfortably, rocking baby Sofia back and forth, and staring at her sleeping face to avoid stalking the two lovers in front of him.

He only looks up when Stan loudly proclaims their leaving, ‘come on Babylove.’ Waving at Sophia likes she’s about to wave back. After, he carefully hugs Richie’s side, avoiding squashing Soph while also deeming his goodbye to Richie.

He too is reluctant to leave Sophia and Emily in the care of Eddie and Richie, but not because he doesn’t trust them, he just finds it hard to go anywhere without them.

They still leave regardless, after ten more minutes of saying goodbye, then they finally leave, turning the corner right as Eddie comes out of the house checking up on Richie to see what was taking him so long.

When Richie turns to face Eddie, he shrieks with laughter, not managing to contain himself. Patty’s old lipstick red dress that has holes in the sides of them and a little bit of dirt on one of the sleeves looks good on Eddie, even if Richie may be a bit biased and thinks everything looks fantastic when it’s Eddie that’s wearing it, but it’s the pink crown and staff that he’s holding, and the murderous leer he’s showing, that has Richie cackling like there’s no tomorrow.

‘Don’t you fucking dare, asshole.’ Eddie swears menacingly, but Richie can’t take him seriously, not when Emily scatters out of the house to tug on the bottom of the dress, the three year old herself slipped in the princess dress Eddie and Richie gave her as a present on her birthday a few weeks back. He bets Eddie didn’t expect it to backfire this way.

‘Uncle Eddie come on’, Emily whines, the three year old wearing an frozen Anna dress that is a tad too big on her, ‘The others are waiting on us.’

The other include, mister giraffe, Amika the horse, and Elsa, all in the form of stuffed animals gifted to her by various losers when they came to visit.

‘Yeah uncle Eds, it’s rude to keep the guest waiting you know.’ Richie eggs her on, smirking in delight when Eddie unsuspiciously flips him the bird, but follows Emily anyway, off to indulge her in whatever she requests him to do.

His laughter caused Sophia to wake up again, and she fuzzily bangs her tiny fist on Richie’s chest, as if to convey that she’s mad she was awoken. He tries to bounce her gently up and down, to et her settled again, then changes his mind and enters the house on a whim, trudging up the stairs to join Eddie and Emily in her playroom.

Getting close enough to the door to hear Emily’s voice does the trick, as he expected it to. Sophia calms down, now resorted to peeking up at her uncle, a gurgle escaping her throat while she fists around a piece of his hair, giggling happily.

Richie’s heart melts a little, while he gets hit with an enormous amount of love and affection, and he starts to understand why Patty and Stan were so begrudged to go anywhere without her.

Her blanket, the one she has on her at all times, is still pined safely to the front of her beanie, bunched up in the hand that is not pulling one of his curls. He catches a glimpse of Eddie, folded nearly completely in on himself, forced to sit still in a chair that is even too small for Emily to fit in properly, sipping on a tea cup but making 100 % sure the side of it doesn’t touch his bottom lip.

Emily simpers, lifting her own teacup to her mouth with a pinky stretched up as a greeting to him, chastising Eddie like he is the kid instead of her, when Eddie stretches upwards to grab a muffin.

Doing a poor job of hiding his laughter, Eddie takes notice of Richie staring at them from the door opening, at first looking vex, but then an emotion crosses his eyes that Richie can’t define. He shakes his head and focuses back on the table, but not fast enough to stop the sentiment from getting picked up by Richie.

‘Well, it looks they’re too busy for us right now. It’s just me and you then. Don’t give me that look bumper’, the nickname Richie duped her after finding out that her name was chosen after they saw it on a bumper sticker slipping out effortlessly, not with standing the arguments of Stan. ‘She can not find out about that Richie. I swear to god, I will keep you away from her long enough until I’ve convinced her that everything you say is a lie.’

‘I can be a good replacement dad for the day, just you wait and see.’

-------------------

Five hours later, when the clock strikes 3:15 pm, Richie struggles with the preparing the baby formula, and he can’t figure out what he is supposed to do. There is milk that needs to be added, but when he mixes the powder and the liquid with one another, a sticky, soup of residue is left behind, and that is impossible to taste good.

Embarrassingly, Richie resorts to researching the internet, clicking on video after video to find the same brand Patty and Stan use, to be absolutely assured that he’s doing the right thing. Then when it finally hits him over the head that it is supposed to look like that, he can’t get the temperature right.

The first time he puts it in the microwave he warms it so hot that he can’t even grasp the bottle in his hands, dropping it and staring at the milk that leaked all over the floor, cursing his life and every decision that has brought him up to that point.

The second one is still cold, and he briefly considers giving the baby cold milk, before he remembers Patty’s warnings and places it back in the microwave, when he takes it out, it’s hot enough to make him release a hiss.

He gets more and more frustrated, his emotions pilling on top of each other to leave one huge dump of distress that he can’t possibly take on too, not alongside two kids, and it only gets worse when Sophia has a fit and starts crying.

Richie’s earlier tricks to calm her down don’t work, not even after a few tries, so with a groan, he throws in the towel and yanks out his cellphone, feeling like a complete and utter failure.

‘Hey Richie, do you know where Stan and Patty keep their desserts? Sophia is craving something sweet and I used the opportunity to have myself a little break.’

Eddie pauses when he steps foot in the kitchen, hey eyebrows coming together to frown when he takes in the disheveled state Richie is in.

‘What’s wrong?’ Richie shakes his head uselessly, his shoulders shrugging helplessly while gesturing towards Sophia who is nestled against his shoulder, her cries muffled but still audible.

‘I don’t know how to prepare milk.’ Eddie has the audacity to snort, a sound that Richie has never heard coming from him, so he’s helpless to let out a small one himself.

‘Don’t laugh at me Eduardo, I’m in a deep crisis right now and I require your help.’ Walking closer, Eddie accept the bottle handed to him, the word ‘auch’ escaping from him at the warmth burning his palm.

‘My help? Why me?’ Eddie asks, shooting Richie a questioning look. A pink red sticker is hanging on his forehead, Richie then notices, but since Eddie is apparently blissfully unaware of it, Richie keeps it to himself.

‘Well Eds, I assume you have enough experience with babies, you know. Since you were treated like one your entire life?’ He winces when the words leave his mouth, his mind too preoccupied with Sophia to think twice about what he was about to speak in existence.

‘Fuck you, dude. And don’t call me Eds asshole.’ Luckily, Eddie waves the comment away with the tip of his hand, doing his signature move where he pretends to karate chop the air. ‘Come here, give her to me for a second.’ Eddie suggests, and Richie obliges, handing her over with extreme caution, even when she very willingly goes.

‘You’re uncle Rich is a bit of an idiot huh? How about we go and see how we can prepare your- well it’s not dinner yet, let’s say afternoon snack?’ Sophia quieted down as she got comfortable in Eddie’s arms, one of his arms beginning to prep the formula, again, during which the other held her up and close.

He then leaned in to whisper something in her ear, not loud enough for Richie to decipher what they were talking about, but it caused Eddie to gleam again, and even Sophia let out a big grin, happily going along with whatever her uncle Eddie was proclaiming.

The sight of a baby in Eddie’s arms, his eyes twinkling in pure adoration, his grin wide enough to show teeth, while he rocked her back and forth, made Richie want to beg Eddie to raise a child with him.

He dismissed the idea soon enough though, for if Eddie had a wish for kids, surely he would have said something by now. But he knows already that the image was going to haunt his dreams for a long time, the mesmerizing sight of what could be, or could have been did not plan on leaving his mind any time soon.

He must stare for a tad too long, Eddie feeling his gaze upon him so he glances up, their eyes meeting. Eddie opens his mouth to say something, but before he can he is interrupted by Emily, impatient from waiting too long or her cookie.

‘Uncle Eddie, what’s taking you so long?’ She complains, rolling her eyes when she notices that Eddie is holding her sister.

‘In a minute sweety, I’m just helping uncle Rich out right now.’ Having an excuse from being in Eddie’s proximity while he’s holding a baby, Richie jumps on the opportunity to get out. The fact that he missed his other niece aswell guides his decision too.

‘I’ll play dress up with you for a while Princess Ems.’ He bows down extravagantly, acting as if there is real royalty in front of him.

‘Don’t you want me to teach you how to prepare milk?’ Eddie summons, his voice edged with a tint of confusion at Richie’s sudden interest to leave.

‘You can teach me about that later Eds, she needs her drink three times a day.’ Richie reassures him, fiddling with his thumbs while he begs Eddie to let the subject drop.  

‘But uncle Eddie was so cool, all my friends wanted to meet him.’ Emily had yet to grow out of the phase where she us jealous of her little sister, so her whole argument isn’t about Eddie specifically, it’s about her not entertaining the idea of anyone giving her sister the light of day from who she demands it from.

But that’s alright. Richie is nothing if not persuasive.  ‘Aye, that’s true but they have yet to meet me’, Richie performs, making use of the pirates accent and langue he had to learn for an audition. Emily giggles in delight, easily swayed when it involved her uncle Richie, and even more so when it had to do with his voices.

‘And if they don’t wanna know a seadog like me, I’ll force those scallywags to walk the plank. Aye. Now let’s go, heave-ho upstairs so I can be introduced.’

Emily nods enthusiastically, practically running up the stairs two steps at a time, and Richie follows with just as much energy, yelling ‘aye’ or ‘are’, every so few seconds. In his haste, he is oblivious to the same longing look Eddie gives him, when he sees him interact with a child.

-----

It’s a long day, and Richie can feel the bone deep exhaustion creeping up on him when he eventually makes his way over to the couch, Eddie dozing on the rug with the baby monitor still in his hands.

It’s not even eleven pm yet, and Richie knows that Eddie would be more relaxed in a bed than the sofa, but he also knows that they’ll be awaken more than a few times during the night, so he lets Eddie sleep.

In the wardrobe in Stan and Patty’s living room, Richie discovers a blanket, big enough to cover both him and Eddie, so he takes it, vowing to wash it before they get home. It’s soft and fluffy, and perfect to sleep with, but as soon as he tucks it around Eddie, he shits up, all sleep vanished from his eyes.

He blinks up at Richie, shuffling closer to him while disposing of the baby phone on the ground next to were they are seated, and rearranging the quilt till every part of their bodies is covered with it.

Eddie’s head lays on Richie’s shoulder, while one of his arms rubs up and down his arm and shoulder, grabbing strands of his arm hair with him sometimes, which is just what Richie needs to stay awake, the small jolts of pain keep him on his toes. And that’s necessary, he discovers over the next minute.

Without facing Richie, Eddie drops a bombshell like he’s never done before, causing Richie to choke on his own spit. ‘I want to have a baby.’

I want to have a baby, I want to have a baby, I want to have a baby, the words play on repeat in his head, ricocheting of the walls and tumbling but sticking none the less, Richie brain turning into mind numbing fizz, absolutely no thoughts besides Eddie words formulating.

The coughing alerts Eddie, who sits up straighter, looking back Richie’s way with wide eyes, as he looks on on the natural disaster that is about to concur in front of him.

When his brain comes back online, mortifying is not even big enough a word to describe the shame Richie feels for his reaction, so, he resorts to what he always does; using humor as a blockage.  

‘Christ Eds, I don’t think that possible. You know, question of having the right body parts. It’s a shame really, me and your mom.-‘

‘Beep, Beep Richie.’ Eddie interrupts him strictly. ‘I need you to be honest. No jokes, just you.’ That’s a hard task, since it’s become second nature to Richie to use it as a defense mechanism, but for Eddie he’s willing to try.

‘And before you say anything, let me talk first’, Eddie insists, waiting till he gets an approving nod from Richie to continue. ‘Today, seeing you with Sophia and Emily, I realized that you’re so good with kids. And before today I honestly didn’t think I wanted children, but I guess that I didn’t want them with Myra, but I do want them with you. What do you think?’ Eddie prompts, trying to gauche Richie’s reaction, but even Eddie sometimes has trouble doing that, and now is one of those times.

Holding his breath nervously, not even Richie’s hand grabbing his is enough to calm him down, his fingers drumming against his upper leg.

‘I’ve never loved anyone as much as I love you.’ Richie entrust Eddie, his body visibly relaxing when it’s clear that Richie is at the very least not going to yell at him for suggestion kids in the first place.

Their lips meet in the middle of Stan’s couch, the house around them eerily quite while the two of them are stuck in a haze together, blissfully unaware of what’s happening outside of their bubble. It’s a reassuring kiss, their lips lazily in sinc, neither in a rush, to help calm both of them down just a little, before diving head first into the deep shit again.

‘Are you sure you want to have kids with me? Because today I fucked up her stupid bottle. I mean, who can’t warm milk? And I don’t want you to hate me over something that I can’t do. I’m scared I’ll put all this weight on you and you’ll resent me for it, and I can’t have that, Eds, I can deal with everything else, but I can’t deal with you hating me.’ Richie proclaims, out of breath and sucking in large gulps of air.

Eddie pulls his face closer to his, both of his palms on either side of Richie’s head. ‘Listen to me dipshit, cause I’m only fucking saying this ones. You could murder someone in front of me, and I would roll with it okay? I came out and left my wife, and yeah, part of that was because of me, but I would have never understood what those feeling were if it weren’t for you. I love you Richie, and that’s never going to change no matter what.’ Eddie pauses, searching Richie eyes for confirmation that he understood. ‘Dipshit’, he added when he found it.

Richie let out a titter, one of his hands coming up to cover Eddie’s and leaning into the touch.

‘If you’re only worried about not knowing stuff to do with the kids, than I can help with that. That’s what a relationship is. I teach you things, and you teach me. Besides, there’s going to be a specific choir assignment, because there’s no fucking way I’m cleaning a baby’s diaper.’

‘Well then, Edward Francis Kaspbrak, it would be my honor to have a baby with you.’ Eddie’s face it up, through and through genuineness this time. No annoyance or irritation anywhere in sight, so of course, Richie had to change that.

‘Again, not biological because that would be impossible.’

‘Shut the fuck up asshole.’ Eddie grabbed a pillow to whack Richie full in the face, laughter pouring out of him when he accidentally knocked his glaces off.

‘Hey Eds, you might want to learn how to control that temper of yours, we wouldn’t want our beloved child to adapt the same words right?’

‘Seriously, I’ll fucking murder you if you don’t shut the fuck up.’

[adhdtoomanycommas]

ADHD, Gifted Programs, and Accidental Accommodations

So one big thing has been on my mind pretty consistently since I got diagnosed last year at the age of 30—why did it take so long to figure this out?  At no point in my K-12 education or my 4 year bachelor’s degree schooling did any teacher or counselor question or suggest I may have ADHD, despite the fact that I check nearly every single box on every diagnostic criteria (both inattentive and hyperactive!)

One obvious reason is sexism.  Pretty early in my reading on the subject, I learned that ADHD is dramatically under-diagnosed in girls and women. Partly this is because of different presentations, but a lot of it is just that the stereotype people have in their heads of what an ADHD kid looks like is always a boy.  

But the other big reason, and the one I want to talk about today, is the fact that one of the few ADHD diagnostic boxes that I didn’t check was “bad grades.”  So really, the question is, why weren’t my grades bad?

That’s not to say I was especially good at school work. My backpacks, desks, and binders were always a complete mess, and I NEVER did the homework.  I would do the big projects (at the last possible second, of course) but daily homework just straight up didn’t happen.   If there was time left at the end of class I would sometimes quickly do the homework for the next day, and occasionally jot down some approximation of it in the minute or two before class started, but when I was actually at home, I never touched it.

But here’s the thing with ADHD brains:  We can focus on things with no problem, as long as we find them interesting.  And I’ve always read quickly enough that doing the reading for class was usually interesting. And for the most part, the class content itself usually seemed interesting enough.    But probably most importantly, I consider tests interesting. There’s always been enough of a challenge racing-the-clock game-like aspect to them to me that I would stay engaged on the tests, and even if didn’t completely know the material, I was good at using logic to get a pretty good guess (like using all those tricks they teach for standardized tests—narrowing down the options on a multiple choice question, looking for answers in the other questions, etc.)

So even in the classes where turning in the daily homework counted for part of the grade (math and language classes mostly) I was usually able to scrape a B with only the occasional C thrown in,  and everything else was A’s.  

But part of my saving grace was the “gifted” classes.  I was very lucky that, despite not knowing about her own (probable) ADHD,  my mom knew enough about how she worked as a student to know that me (and my brother) really needed to be engaged and challenged in order to thrive.  Because of this, she advocated for us hard—she insisted we be allowed in my elementary school’s “gifted” program in kindergarten (based on our test scores of course)  even though the “gifted” program officially wasn’t even available until first grade.  And when we moved to a different state, she advocated for us again and got us included even though the “gifted” class was “full.”   She knew that nothing would make us fail faster than being bored in class, so she made sure that there was at least one day a week when we would be challenged and actually get to engage with material we found interesting.  

Aside,  despite how essential they were for me to thrive in school,  the entire concept of “gifted” programs and “gifted” kids is problematic as hell.  Half of the screening is basically just looking for class signifiers and seeing whose parents had enough free time to give them a head start (or whose parents have the time to advocate for their kids the way my mom did for me).  Not to mention there’s likely a massive racial bias. So in all this discussion of why I did ok despite my ADHD, it’s important to note that there’s a lot of privilege at play here determining who gets access to these types of programs.  

This is also why I keep putting “gifted” in quotes--  I don’t think there is anything inherent about academic ability. Also, academic ability, reading ability, testing aptitude, etc. are definitely not indicative of intelligence. Plus the entire concept of the measurability of intelligence is based on eugenics ideas, so clearly one should take the whole thing with a huge grain of salt.

Nowadays the term all the parenting blogs like to use for kids like me, with ADHD (or dyslexia, or autism, or whatever else) who also test well enough to be flagged as “gifted,”  is “Twice Exceptional”  which is a term that makes me immediately want to punch whoever uses it. Seriously,  it makes me gag.  Like, it doubles down on the “special” euphemism and seems entirely designed to make parents feel better about their kid without any consideration to how the kid feels.  No kid wants to be singled out, especially one who’s already probably pretty socially isolated (which I could digress about but that’ll be another essay for another day), and being Twice singled out certainly doesn’t help anything.  

But ultimately the teaching in the “gifted” class itself wound up being really good accommodations for ADHD. I wouldn’t have been a bit surprised if they were better than the accommodations in the separate classes actually intended for kids with ADHD and other learning issues, though since I wasn’t diagnosed as I kid I can’t actually speak to that as I don’t have any experience there.  But in the gifted classes, firstly, we were given more specific subjects as opposed to the overviews we got in regular classes.  And it’s way easier to be engaged on specific subjects like ice age mammals, or the wreck of the Titanic, than it is to be engaged with a broad list of dates or categories.  We did logic problems that were presented as games, but that were indirectly teaching us the basics for higher level math. In 6th grade, we did research projects and got to pick our own subjects completely, so we could write about whatever we were hyperfixating on at the moment (mine was on medieval warfare as depicted in the Bayeux tapestry).   And if we happened to get excited and blurt out an interesting fact vaguely related to whatever was being discussed, that was likely encouraged instead of reprimanded like it would be in the normal classroom. This continued into high school, as honors and AP level classes tended to be a lot more discussion based rather than the top-down approach at other levels, as well as affording more opportunity to choose one’s own subjects.

The story you’ll hear from (or about) a lot of ADHD kids (especially undiagnosed) flagged as “gifted” is of hitting a wall at some point, academically speaking.  That did happen to me briefly, in middle school. We started being assigned a lot more long-term projects, and there was a bit of a learning curve while I figured out how to put things off Until the last minute and not Past the last minute.  But thanks to some patient teachers who believed in me (which I might not have had outside of honors classes), I managed to pull out of it and improve my grades (with the exception of the only report-card F of my entire academic career, from a sadistic gym teacher who seemed to think that enough berating would cure asthma).

Even more stories I’ve read and heard from people who were diagnosed with ADHD as an adult say they hit that wall academically when they started college—the first time they were really self-guided in their studies.  But again, there, I was saved by an honors program.  In this case,  it was the Honors Tutorial College,  a truly strange program at Ohio University.  I was tracked into HTC by one particular professor who very much wanted HTC to expand into the art program and decided that because I had both strong test scores and a strong art portfolio (and probably, lets be real, because I was the daughter of one of the other professors) that I was the perfect person to be the first student in the new program.

OU’s website describes HTC as “flexible curriculum and one-on-one tutorials with renowned faculty that allow your curiosity to take the lead in your education.” It’s rigorous, but comes with a lot of perks, like waiving certain gen-ed classes,  being able to take classes without first taking the required prerequisites,  and designing one’s own independent study classes individually with instructors.  And those perks are (as far as I know entirely accidentally) the perfect accommodations for an ADHD student (and probably pretty good for Autistic ones as well, based on some of my peers in the program).

A lot of the gen-ed classes I waived were ones I probably would have been bored in and thusly not done well.  Being able to skip pre-reqs meant that, for instance, for my English requirements I was able to take far more interesting classes like Shakespeare’s Comedies,  YA Lit,  and Playwriting instead of English 101, 102 etc.  If I wanted to learn about something in particular, I had help finding a professor willing to help me in an independent study/tutorial class.  Being the pilot of the program meant I was able to shape it so that I could get an art degree without ever having to choose one medium (which as far as I know is still an option for anyone pursuing an HTC Studio Art degree).  And at the end of the program, when we were required to complete a massive thesis project and paper (at basically graduate level), not only could I choose my subject to meet my hyperfixations, but I had individual help from a professor keeping me on task on the less-fun parts at every step of the way.  

HTC students are required to keep their GPAs above a high threshold. At one point one of my grades (in Latin class) was low enough to hurt my average, and I was called into HTC headquarters for a check-in meeting.  I was asked why my grade had fallen, and I explained that the class wasn’t that interesting (at that level it was mostly grammar) but that it was getting better as we were moving up into translating more actual historical material. That explanation was entirely accepted.  Imagine if “it’s not interesting enough” was considered a valid excuse for grades slipping for everyone, how much less stressful school would be for ADHD kids!

So ultimately it’s pretty much been having the luck and privilege to get myself flagged for “gifted” classes that kept my grades up throughout my school years.  Accidental accommodations have continued into my adult life as well. At my most recent office job, for instance (which I lost due to covid layoffs), I had a pretty hands-off boss who just didn’t care if I doodled, got up to stretch my legs every once in a while, and listened to audiobooks at my desk all day as long as the work got done.  

I didn’t need a diagnosis to get these accommodations, because they were given freely, which meant I was able to succeed even without knowing about my own ADHD.  If I had been diagnosed, and had had to ask for accommodations, I wonder if I would have done as well as bias against people with ADHD means people wouldn’t have expected as much from me.  

So if you’ve made it this far, I’ll ask for the same for others that I got for myself.  If you are a teacher (or a manager in an office setting),  I strongly encourage you to consider how to make your classroom, office, etc. more accessible in general, without someone having to disclose a diagnosis or be singled out for accommodations.  The biggest easiest one you can do is to allow (or even encourage) doodling in lecture settings. Even for neurotypicals,  there have been plenty of studies proving people retain information better when doodling, so everyone should know by now that someone doodling doesn’t mean they’re not listening.   If at all possible, encourage discussion and contribution.  Give everyone breaks to stretch and move around.  And give as much freedom as possible on what to learn about.  You might be surprised what people are capable of when these reasonable steps are taken to give everyone room to thrive.  

That’s all for now,  hopefully you got something out of this unwieldy ramble.   I’d be curious to hear if you’ve run into any accidental accommodations in your life and how they’ve helped.  Until next time!

[franklyshipping]

Day 25 ~ Christmas 2019 Ego Fanfics

Well.....here we are. The 25th of December, Christmas Day. This isn't a full on fanfic to be honest, this is kind of an epilogue to everything I've posted this month. You're gonna see snippets of everyone on Christmas Day, and so I hope you enjoy it.....let's do it!

TAGGING: @anti-switch-glitch @bim-trimler @bimlee-trimmer @shawn-flynn-the-switch @goog-ler-iplier @robbie-lee-zombie @jack-leeboyman @silvlee-shepherd @yandere-ipli-ler @thehostofleetrature @ed-edlee @google-switchy-red @googlee-oliver @erik-lee-derekson @ericleederekson @googlee-green @thegoodnewsdoctler @doctoripliler @marvin-lee-magician  @marvinleemagician @marvin--the-magnificent @bingy-switch @bingylee @dr-schneeplestein @dr-schneeple-switch @bright-light-mark @kingoflesquirrel @king-of-lee-squirrels @chase-brodlee @darkipli-ler @darkipliler @giggles-and-pink-mustaches @wilford-lee-warfstache @the-authler @the-dapper-switch @its-lee-mad-mike

Plus, all the other characters included that don't have accounts in the community that I'm aware of: Harold B Darrensworth, Blankgameplays, Abe the Detective, Goopiplier, Kinkiplier, Benjamin the Butler, Gooper, Mini Bing, Angelicsepticeye, Angus the Survival Hunter, ~ Isaac Brody, Marceline Brody, Sofia Schneeplestein, Luca Schneeplestein (All first names are NOT CANON, I just made em up) ~ Madpat, Natemare, FNAF Night Guard, District Attorney (Y/N), and Celine ~~~ALSO PLEASE BE AWARE THAT I DON'T HAVE EVERY EGO IN THE TAGS BECAUSE I COULDN'T FIT THEM ALL!

Also, if anyone's interesting....the total word count for the series was 59,546.....wowie....okay, now onto the fic!

So…here we are, the day is at hand…I’m not going to go into detail because y’know, I want to leave them all to it, but I can set the scene for all of you. The main living room is full, and there’s nobody sat on their own…but it’s not overwhelming either. It’s just perfect.

First off, Harold was with Anti, curled up and giggling against his chest as the glitch smirked fondly down at him. Harold had never looked more dishevelled and out of order, but he was so damn happy. Anti had found a spare stream of emerald and silver tinsel, and was using it to tickle around Harold’s ears and neck….at Harold’s request. See, when they’d finally worked as a team, decorating together, and the more and more tinsel Harold felt….the more and more he wondered how it would feel at his tickle spots. Of course, Anti was more than eager to have the chance to tickle Harold again, and so was just enjoying the feeling of the flustered man giggling and squeaking into his chest….it was the most precious sight.

Then there was Bim and Shawn, who were sat with Google Blue and Blank. Shawn was blushing into Bim’s shoulder as Bim rambled on about the beauty of Shawn’s carving at the top of the tree, much to the fond amusement of Blue and Blank. The four of them shared a couch, with Bim, Shawn and Blue sitting, whilst Blank lay atop them with his feet in Google’s lap. Every few moments, as they listened to Bim, Google swiped his fingers up his boyfriend’s feet with a cheeky wink….because why the hell not.

Then we have Robbie and Jackie….surrounded by so much chocolate. So much. Robbie had already eaten so much of it that he was practically vibrating as babbled to and jostled the superhero, filled with giddy joy. Jackie of course was relishing in it, because Robbie was too darn cute and he adored him so much. Also, Jackie had the luxury of Robbie insisting on feeding him chocolates, I mean, how he could he refuse a) such a sweet offer, and b) Robbie’s adorable face? He just couldn’t.

Now, here we have our first cuddle pile consisting of a detective and a VERY snuggly polyamory. Consider Abe adopted. They’d found a particularly comfy rug together, engaging in a cuddly tickle-fest where no one was safe. Host would get tickles as punishment for his board game antics, Silver would get tickles just for being adorable, Yandere would get tickles when they were being a sassy brat, and Abe would get tickled by the whole poly because they loved to gang up on their loved ones. It was adorable.

Now, onto our next cuddle pile on another rug….where we have two blooming couples on our hands. Especially in Eric and Google Green’s case because Eric was insisting on never taking off his flower crown. He was snuggled into Green’s torso and softly nuzzling his core, purring at the warmth and giggling at how Green would twitch and blush. Then there were Google Red and Ed, the former lying on his brother’s legs whilst Ed basically lay upon Red’s whole body. Ed was nuzzling Red’s core, whilst smirking and playing footsie so he could watch his Google turn into flustered little cranberry.

Now, let us have some absolute cuties. In addition to his normal gag, a certain ego (Wilford) had gifted Kink a pair of cute, purple, glittery padded handcuffs….which he was now wearing after being persuaded by the doctor and the, supposedly, innocent android. Now, he was being subjected to the most debilitating, sadistic teases from the doctor in his ear as Oliver teased all his tickle spots, both of them cooing about how vulnerable he was and about how he loved it. They weren’t wrong, and Kink felt like they were the best gifts he could have asked for.

Now, this next group are a subtle group, nestled together on another couch covered in quilts and smiles. Mike was wearing one of Benjamin’s shirts as a pyjama shirt, whilst he fed Benjamin spoonfuls of his experimental festive ice creams. Gingerbread, Candy Cane, Christmas Pudding, there was a whole range…and Benjamin was in heaven. Meanwhile, Jamie was wearing Celine’s shawl over his pyjamas whilst Celine wore his Christmas jumper (which was adorned with a pattern of pocket watches wearing Santa hats). They were holding hands, fingers interlaced and legs entangled as they competed over who could give the tickliest of kisses. This was a contest that was to remain ongoing for a very, very long time.

Now, we have a playful revenge taking place. Mini Bing was squeaking and giggling on the floor in-between two people, encased by an amber mist….a tickling charm no less. Marvin’s eyes gleamed with fondness as he relaxed on the floor with Bing, who was snickering with satisfaction, both at the vengeance and at Marvin’s wonderful assistance. Not only this, but Bing was also playing with Marvin’s long hair because it was absolutely frickin rad and soft….and Marvin certainly didn’t complain.

Now we have our egos of the outdoors, the two angels, the hunter, and the King. King had allowed himself to be coaxed inside, and was happy he’d let it happen….because he’d met so many lovely people, as had his subjects. Some of them were occupying themselves with nuzzling the wings of Angelo and Angie, who were both in happy stitches from it all. The King himself was giggling too, because Angus had decided to playfully try and lick off some of his peanut butter beard, and it was the cutest, giddiest battle of all time.

Here now, we have a father, son, and that son’s newest unlikely godfather. Schneeple was regretting his decision a tad though, because now said godfather (the Author) was sat on top of him and attempting to coach Luca in the arts of tickle torture. However, the little boy was only really interested in giggling his heart out every time his father laughed….so Schneeple was getting wrecked by the Author, but everybody was having a hell of a lot of happy fun. Also, having his daughter Sofia heckling him and teasing him along with Madpat certainly helped….make it even more fun.

We have another father too….also being completely and utterly ganged up on. With Isaac sat on his chest, Mare straddling his waist, and Marceline pinning his hands….it’s made Chase’s face oh so wonderfully vulnerable. Mare was smirking down at the dad as Marceline fluttered her make-up brushes all over Chase’s cheeks, and every time he squealed, Isaac clapped his hands giddily. This was frankly horrendously cute, I think you can all agree.

To a more intimate pair now. Yanan and Guard shared an armchair, and the former was really blushing up a storm. Guard was teasing them, relentlessly purring in their ear about all the ways he was going to tickle them and make them smile and feel all warm and flustered inside. Yanan loved every second. They gasped when he talked about nibbling their ribs for Christmas Dinner they squeaked when he teased about teasing their bare feet….and they squealed and hid in his chest when Guard simply cooed about how much cute mirth he was going to coax from their pretty lips. It was beautiful.

And now, our final group….oh what a myriad. First, we have all the Jims, and a group of Jims I believe is called….a Jim. A Jim of Jims. Well, three of them were clamouring to Dark whilst the youngest blushed. Reporter Jim’s brothers were gushing about the gift album he’d made to Dark, and Dark was just enjoying hearing about such a loving deed….and smirking at the flustered Jim, winking at him occasionally because he was an evil shit who wanted to keep him blushing for as long as possible. There was another young man blushing too, namely Goop….who was being frantically hugged by a squealing Wilford Warfstache who had just opened his lava lamp gift. So much love, so little anxiety.

Then….there’s our guy. Our glob. Our globbins. Our goop. Our gloop. Our goopy. Our Gooper. Going round from ego to ego, person to person, child to child….and being given so much love that he didn’t know what to do with it all. Cuddles, tickles, kisses, nuzzles, pokes, coos, kind words….there was just so much love. However you should know, that Gooper had no festive duties today, the egos had insisted upon it. From chef to Santa to present bearer to comfort giver to cook to organiser….he’d done it all, and now it was time for him to relax and enjoy everything the day had to offer…..and he did. Everyone did.

Well....that's it. I really hope you guys enjoyed this, I know I have. I urge you to please reblog and comment or send me an ask telling me what you thought of this Christmas series....it would honestly mean the world to me. Luv yous xx

[infptarius]

Got any Pennywise Christmas head-cannons for the holidays?

Okay all, this is my first hc, please take it easy on me. xD I’m hoping I do this correctly.

Penny (2017-19)-Pennywise doesn’t particularly care about human holidays, other than the fact that children are typically more closely guarded during them. That frustrates him to a degree, but he gets a sick, twisted pleasure out of finding ways to tie in traditions to his methods. (Those bells on the roof? DO NOT GET UP IT IS NOT A REINDEER.) (Trail of gelt on the floor? DO NOT FOLLOW IT, YOU WILL BE EATEN NOT EATING.)-He will likely try to eat his fill beforehand and just avoid humans all together during their holidays. He doesn’t like to think about the strange feeling he gets when he sees people being warm and kind to each other in large groups like that. (No one tell him he’s lonely, he’ll prove you wrong by eating you.)-Pennywise DOES enjoy the days after a particularly gifty holiday, as he can find plenty of new discarded items. They pique his curiosity sometimes, when he isn’t on the hunt for tasty fear. -He thinks any religious activity that humans engage in is both silly and pointless. He is the Eater of Worlds, the supreme being. His perspective- he IS our god, and we should be offering him snacks instead of doing our silly little rituals. (What’s it called Eds…? Gazebos?)

Penny x S.O.- If you want to spend the holiday with friends or family, expect a very disgruntled and possessive clown to return to, IF you can get away from him to attend.- If you want to spend your holiday with Pennywise, he will prefer that it be in his lair. It makes him feel warm inside in an unfamiliar way that he rather enjoys… he would never admit to that, though.- He would prefer to have your focus solely on him. You might want to read him stories so that he can focus on your voice, or stroke his hair and massage him… he might return the favor~.- If you decide to include him in your festivities by bringing them to his lair, expect him to not even try to understand. He will just look at you with an expression that says ‘this is so stupid.’ If you try to push him to participate things will likely just get destroyed in a tantrum.- If, however, you brought him a gift? He is all about it. His ego LOVES offerings. He doesn’t understand the context, you see. Don’t expect a gift in return to be waiting for you. He might pluck something he thinks you would be interested in out of the pile of items in the cistern. (Just say thank you, he’s trying.)- Want to introduce him to mistletoe? You’d best be aware he is not going to think it’s a one-and-done thing. You better be ready to go the whole nine yards if you start kissing him, because once again, Pennywise doesn’t do human traditions.- Bring him peppermint themed things, suck on a candy cane. It’ll get him excited to see all the white and red, especially if it has anything to do with your body.- If you insist that he comes to you, he will only do so after immense effort, and he will hate it. He’ll stand in the corner of the room glaring at you with his wall-eyed 'I can’t believe I’m here right now’ face.

Papawise (90’s)- This old boy is much more festive, and he has a blast during the holiday season.- He may not credit religious beliefs or rituals, but he will take any chance he can get to get off a few good laughs at the expense of some poor child’s sanity. (He’d probably cause hallucinations in a family’s children and estrange them from the adults for acting strangely, then sweet talk them into coming near a drain, a window, too close to a photo…. BAM. Holiday dinner.)- Papa will definitely barge in on a family’s celebration to scare the wits out of anyone he can while the rest stand completely unawares. Red and green balloons exploding and getting blood no one else seems to see EVERYWHERE? Yeah, he’s being an asshole.- Cigars. All the cigars. He’s not really celebrating the spirit of the holiday, but I mean when isn’t a cigar just nice? The aesthetic appeals to him.- Could eat the day before a holiday and still sneak out to see who he can scare up. He doesn’t give a shit about people being nice and lovey with each other, he just wants a delicious terror-stricken meal and everyone regardless of love is afraid of something. (Just… obviously one at a time, it’s no fair to gang up on him, guys.)

Papa x S.O.- Papa isn’t going to be fussy about where the festivities occur, but he’s going to be involved, and it’s going to be just him and you. - He’s going to show up when you’re not ready, possibly still getting dressed or preparing the food you’ll eat, possibly wrapping him a present. (You’ve probably learned by now if you’re going to wrap his gifts it had best be well beforehand on a day he would never assume.)- You had better have gotten him something good, too. Something classy. Something sophisticated….. Like a box of cigars. Or maybe some sexy underwear that he’ll get to take off of you. (If you’re with Papa, you know how much he likes to play Daddy.)- You both know it’s not because he needs or couldn’t get anything himself. It’s about you thinking about him. Papa wants his baby to be thinking of him.- With Papa, one thing you surely do not need to supply is mistletoe. He has come prepared. Whether it’s above your head or above his groin remains to be seen.- He won’t want to be in the sewers, there’s no real sentimental value there. He’s just fine with invading your home, your mind and your body.

[trashcanreddiefan]

The 4th Annual Losers’ Club Christmakkah Celebration 2/2

Summary: The Losers gather for their fourth annual Christmakkah celebration, and this time Richie and Eddie get a Christmakkah surprise.

Word Count: 3240-ish for part 2. (LOL each story got progressively longer)

Warnings: Usual Trashmouth swearing.

Author’s Note: Post-Chapter 2. All of the Losers are alive in this fic, including Stan, because canon can suck it. Final part in the series, unless I get some other ideas. Part 1 here, part 2 here, part 3 here, beginning of 4th part here.

CROSS-POSTED AT AO3.

The next three weeks flew by and before Richie knew it, the day before Christmakkah had arrived.

Earlier that day he and Eddie had finished setting up the baby's room, hung the stockings they had monogrammed with each of the Losers & Jr. Losers' names on the fireplace, and pre-made a broccoli-rice casserole and 4 different kinds of pie.

He, Bill, Stan, Patty, Bev, Ben, and Mike were all sitting in the living room, watching Olivia and Burke play with some toy cars when the doorbell rang.

"That must be Bill & Audra," Richie said. "I'll get it."

He walked over to the door and opened it. "Hey guys," he greeted Bill and Audra before scooping Max up in a hug. "Max-a-million, how are you, little dude?" 

Max squished Richie's cheeks together with his tiny hands. "Fishy!"

Richie immediately sucked his cheeks in to make fish faces at Max, who giggled.

"Come on in," Richie said before calling out towards the kitchen, "babe, Bill and Audra are here!"

"Coming!" Eddie replied. "Just gotta get these pies out of the oven!"

"Eds insisted on making the pies himself," Richie explained. "No store-bought pies for him."

"You don't know what kind of artificial crap they put in the fillings," Eddie said with a huff as he joined them in the foyer. "Homemade just tastes better."

"My own little Betty Crocker," Richie joked.

"Unca Ed!" Max screeched happily, reaching his little hands out to Eddie.

"Hey guys," Eddie greeted Bill & Audra before taking Max from Richie. "And hey there, Max! How are you, buddy?"

Richie grinned. It always warmed his heart to see how great Eddie was with kids. He wasn't even jealous that Eddie was Max's favorite uncle -- especially since Richie was Olivia's, much to Stan's consternation.

"Burke and Olivia are here, you want to go play with them?"

"Yeah!" Max clapped his hands.

"Sorry we're late," Audra said. "Max took a longer nap than anticipated today."

"It's fine," Richie replied. "We're all just sitting around and are just gonna order something in for dinner tonight anyway."

"We went ahead and brought the gifts over tonight so we wouldn't have as much to bring tomorrow," Bill said. "Richie, you wanna help me bring them in?"

"Yeah, sure man."

Richie and Bill walked out to Bill's car, each grabbing a box full of gifts and bringing them in.

"Hey, everyone," Bill greeted.

"So, Richie, Eddie was telling us you guys finished the baby's room," Audra said as Richie set his box of gifts down next to the tree.

"Yeah, we finished painting last week and got most of his decorations up, and the furniture was delivered yesterday," Eddie replied. "Which is good, because we wanted to finish the room before the holidays since we're going to be busy until after the new year."

"You guys went with a sea life motif, right?" Patty asked. 

"Yeah, Richie actually found this cute crib set with a bunch of turtles on it, so we centered the theme around that."

"Have you decided on a name?" Bev chimed in. "I want to get something monogrammed for him."

Richie huffed out a laugh as Eddie narrowed his eyes at him. "We're still discussing it."

Eddie scoffed. "Only because someone keeps insisting that we name him Edison!"

"Well excuse me if I want to name my son after the love of my life--"

"OHHHHKAY!" Stan interrupted. "So still working on that, gotcha. Well, now that Bill and Audra are here, how about we order some dinner? It was a long flight and I'm starving."

********************************************************************

After dinner, Richie put on A Muppet Christmas Carol for the kids to watch while the adults sat and talked.

He got up from where he had been snuggled against Eddie. "I'll be right back."

"Okay," Eddie replied.

Richie walked into the kitchen when Eddie's phone, which had been sitting on the counter, suddenly started to ring.

Without even looking at the caller ID Richie answered. "Y'ello?"

"Yes, is this Mr. Edward Kaspbrak-Tozier?" the voice on the other end replied.

"This is his husband, can I help you?"

"Oh yes���" She paused as if checking something. "Richard?"

"Yep, what can I do you for?"

"My name is Monica, I'm from the Los Angeles Center for Women. You're listed as the contacts for a Sarah Peters?" 

"Yeah, she's our surrogate."

"Mr. Kaspbrak-Tozier, I'm calling to inform you that she's been admitted to the hospital in labor--"

"We'll be right there," Richie said then immediately hung up. 

"EDDIE!" he yelled as he ran into the living room. "Sarah's in labor. Hospital. Now. Gotta go." 

Eddie looked up at Richie in surprise then jumped up. "Ok, ok, you get the hospital bag, I'll go start the car."

Richie ran upstairs and grabbed the bag they had packed for the hospital, silently praising his husband's tendency to prepare weeks in advance.

He ran downstairs to find all the Losers gathering Eddie in a hug.  

Ben pulled him into the group embrace. "Go welcome your son, guys."

"Let us know when he arrives, no matter what time it is," Stan added.

"We've got things handled here," chimed in Bev.

Richie sniffled. "Thanks, guys."

He and Eddie made their way to Eddie's Acura RDX. Not only had Richie insisted that they take his vehicle over Richie's Mustang because of course Eddie had bought the SUV with the highest safety rating, but Eddie also had a built-in knack for being able to avoid traffic on the freeway by taking back roads, so it made the most sense for him to drive. 

Plus Richie was too nervous to drive, but he wouldn't admit that. 

He ran a hand through his hair. "Sarah's not due for another two weeks, how the hell can she be in labor now?"

Eddie glanced over at Richie as he pulled out of their neighborhood. "Pregnancy isn't an exact science, Rich. It's all about estimated dates and whatnot."

"Holy shit, holy shit, we're about to have a kid, Eddie." He huffed out a breath. "A living, breathing human that we'll have to take care of and raise."

Eddie reached over and grabbed Richie's hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. "You'll be a great dad, Richie."

They made it to the hospital in record time, Eddie throwing the car into park and grabbing the bag before he and Richie ran into the hospital.

The nurse at the reception desk looked up at them. "Yes, may I help you?"

"Yes, we're here for Sarah Peters, she was admitted a while ago? She's our surrogate," Eddie explained. "We're Edward and Richard Kaspbrak-Tozier."

The nurse typed a few keys on her keyboard. "Ahh, yes, she's in room 226. Go around to this left side and take the elevator to the 2nd floor, you'll find Labor & Delivery. Someone will check you in."

Richie and Eddie made their way to the second floor, getting passes at the Labor & Delivery reception desk.

Eddie gently knocked on the door to Sarah's room, hearing a 'come in' before opening the door. 

Richie followed behind.

Sarah sat in a hospital bed, IV in her arm and heart monitor wrapped around her stomach. She smiled when she saw them. "Hey guys, you made it."

"Hey, Sarah, how are you feeling?" Eddie asked, moving to look at the monitors. "Richie hung up on the nurse before he asked any questions."

Richie listened as Sarah explained what had happened -- she was at her sister's house when her water broke, so her sister had driven her to the hospital and would be with her while she gave birth. "Apparently it's going to be a while, so she went downstairs to get something to eat and will be back in a bit." 

A few minutes into their visit, a nurse came into the room. She stopped when she saw Eddie. "Eddie? Oh my gosh, it's so good to see you! What are you doing here?" she said with surprise and glee.

"This is my baby-- Well, my husband's and my baby," Eddie explained. "Sarah's our surrogate."

He turned to Richie. "Rich, this is Nikki, remember I told you about her? We were in nursing school together."

"Oh yeah, I remember you mentioning her. Hi," Richie said.

"Oh my gosh, you must be Eddie's husband! He's told me so much about you. Congratulations!"

"Thanks. We're very excited."

"I bet!"

Richie sort of tuned out while Nikki explained more in detail about Sarah's progression. "Ok, I'll be back in a bit to check on you, ok? Congrats again, Eddie. Richie, nice to finally meet you!"

"You too."

Shortly after Nikki left Sarah's sister, Beth, came back. "Hi, you must be Richie and Eddie. It's so nice to finally meet you two. Sarah's talked about you guys a lot."

"Thanks," Richie replied. "Nice to meet you too."

They stayed with Sarah for a few hours, stepping out of the room around 11 PM when the doctor decided to let Sarah get some rest since she hadn't progressed much.

They walked to the labor & delivery waiting area and found a couple of seats in a quiet corner.

"Um, so I guess we need to actually decide on a name," Richie said once they got settled. "I was looking online this morning and I think I found one we can both agree on."

Richie told Eddie his name choice and nervously chewed his lip while Eddie mulled it over.

Finally, Eddie nodded. "Ok. But I choose his middle name, no arguments."

Richie smiled. "Okay."

*********************************

Shortly after 6 AM, Richie was abruptly shaken awake from a doze. "Whazzat?" he mumbled.

Eddie was kneeling in front of Richie, holding 2 cups of coffee. "Rich, honey, it's time. Sarah's about to start pushing."

Richie sat straight up. "She is?"

Eddie grinned. "Yep." He handed Richie one of the cups. "Here, I went downstairs to the coffee shop."

Richie gratefully took the cup. "Oh, bless you. You're an angel, Eds."

Eddie stood up and took his seat next to Richie, linking the fingers of his free hand with Richie's. "Just think, we'll get to meet our son soon."

Richie beamed at the thought. "Still okay with the name we chose?"

Eddie nodded. "It's perfect."

About 10 minutes later, Nikki came into the waiting room and walked straight towards them. Richie and Eddie both stood when they saw her. "Is he here?" Eddie asked.

Nikki broke into a grin. "Yep, he's here!"

"Can we see him yet? How's Sarah doing?"

"Give it about 20 minutes while we finish cleaning the baby up and getting his vitals, but both he and Sarah are fine."

Eddie nodded. "Okay, just please let us know when we're able to go see him."

"Sure will. Congrats again on your baby boy, guys!"

Once Nikki had left, Eddie pulled their bag out from under his chair. "I'm gonna go clean up a bit and brush my teeth before we go see the baby. I'll be right back."

"Ok," Richie replied. "I'll let everyone know that the baby is here."

With shaking hands, he sent out a text to the Losers group chat. Guys, he's here. Eddie and I have a son!

Stan, who was usually up early even when he wasn't 2 time zones away from his norm, was the first to reply. Congratulations, guys. We'll all swing by once everyone's awake.

Ok, sounds good, Richie replied.

Eddie came back pretty quickly, so Richie grabbed his toothbrush and went to clean up as well. Not long after he came back, Nikki came back into the waiting room. "Ok, Dads, you guys ready?"

Richie grabbed Eddie's hand and gave it a squeeze. They followed Nikki back to the room Sarah and the baby had been moved to, where Sarah was holding a tiny bundle.

Sarah gave them an exhausted, but soft, smile. "Hey guys, come meet your son."

The second Richie laid eyes on him he burst into tears. 

Eddie, whose eyes were also glistening, wrapped an arm around Richie as they peered at their child. 

Sarah held the baby out. "Want to hold him?"

"Rich? You want to hold him first?" Eddie asked.

"No, you go ahead," Richie sniffled. "I'm so shaky right now that I'm afraid I'd drop him."

Eddie gently took the baby, who made a displeased noise at being disturbed.

Richie gave a watery laugh and looked over Eddie's shoulder. "Aww Eds, he's just like you -- small and angry."

Eddie gave him a fond glare as he gently rocked the baby. 

"So did you guys pick a name?" Sarah asked.

Richie and Eddie looked at each other before Eddie smiled and nodded. "Yeah, we did."

Sarah grinned at the name. "Aww, that's perfect."

Eddie turned back to Richie. "Rich? You ready to hold him?"

Richie, who had calmed down somewhat, nodded. "Yeah, I'm ready."

Eddie passed the baby to him. "Here you go, sweetheart."

Richie held back a gasp as the baby's eyes blinked open and he gave a tiny yawn. "Look, he's looking at me! Well hello there," he cooed. "Oh my God, I love you already."

He sat down next to Eddie on the couch. "Here, let me take your picture with him," Beth, who had been sitting in the chair next to Sarah's bed, offered.

Eddie handed her his phone and scooted closer to Richie, wrapping one arm around Richie's shoulder and placing the other on Richie's leg. 

Richie moved his arms so the baby's face would be in the picture and tilted his head next to Eddie's. "Our first family photo," he murmured.

Beth took several pictures -- one of Richie and Eddie looking at the camera, one of them looking at each other over the baby, and another of them both looking at the baby.

She had just handed Eddie his phone back when Richie felt his vibrate in his pocket.

"Everyone's awake," Eddie reported. "Bill wants to know if they can come meet the baby."

Richie chuckled. "Sarah? You up for our crazy family to come by?"

Sarah nodded. "Yeah, actually I'm feeling pretty good right now. I got a good bit of sleep before the baby came."

Richie watched as Eddie texted back an affirmative and the room number.

"Ok, they'll be here in about an hour. Just gotta finish getting the kids dressed and wait for Bill and Audra to pick them up."

"In that case, I'm going to run home for a bit, shower and change," Beth said. "I'll be back."

While they were waiting for the Losers to arrive, the hospital administrator came by to have the necessary paperwork regarding the baby's birth filled out. All of the paperwork regarding the surrogacy and parental rights had already been completed, so Eddie filled out the form for the baby's birth certificate, listing himself and Richie as the baby's parents. "There, now you're officially a Kaspbrak-Tozier, aren't you?" Richie cooed to his son. 

He had just handed the baby back to Eddie when there was a knock on the door.  Mike's head poked in. "Hi, can we come in?"

"Mike, hey, yeah," Eddie replied. "Come on in."

One by one, the Losers and their offspring filed in. 

Olivia ran over to Richie and plopped a small blue giraffe in his lap. "Unca Ichie, we 'bought a 'raffe!" she said.

"You did?" Richie said with faux surprise. "Is that for the baby?"

Olivia nodded.

"Aww well thank you, I'm sure he's going to love it."

"This is Sarah, our surrogate," Eddie gestured toward Sarah with an elbow. "Sarah, this is our rather unconventional family."

"Hi," Sarah said. "It's nice to meet you all."

The Losers all greeted Sarah, inquiring about her well-being before turning their attention to the baby.

"Everyone," Eddie said with a smile, "meet Edwin Richard Kaspbrak-Tozier."

Richie grinned at the collective 'aww' sounds all the adults were making.

"I absolutely love his name, guys," Beverly added then grinned. "Now gimmie my nephew."

Eddie laughed and handed him over, letting Beverly sit.

"Oh my goodness, he's adorable." Beverly looked over at Sarah. "I just want to tell you thank you. You have no idea how much we all appreciate what you've done for Richie and Eddie."

Sarah nodded. "My parents had me via a surrogate, so this is my way of paying it forward."

After everyone had a brief turn to hold Edwin, they gave Richie and Eddie hugs and filed back out silently, careful not to wake Sarah, who had fallen asleep not long before.

"By the way, happy anniversary, you two," Audra whispered as she handed Edwin back to Richie. "Looks like you guys got the ultimate anniversary gift."

She gave Richie and Eddie each a kiss on the cheek, gave Edwin one last touch on his hand, and bade them goodbye before leaving.

Richie adjusted Edwin in order to cradle him in his other arm. "Shit, Eds, in all the excitement about the baby arriving I forgot to tell you you happy anniversary. I was gonna surprise you with breakfast in bed this morning."

Eddie shrugged. "I don't know about you, but to be honest this is way better than anything I had planned in order to celebrate our first anniversary."

Richie couldn't help but smile as he looked down at his and Eddie's child. "Yeah, it really is, isn't it? Audra was right. We really did receive the ultimate anniversary gift today."

Eddie leaned in and gave Richie a sweet kiss. "Happy anniversary, Rich."

"Happy anniversary, Eds."

****************

Richie and Eddie both had cried when they arrived home with Edwin the day after Christmas and saw that everyone's gifts were still under the tree and a freshly-prepared Christmakkah dinner was on the table.

"You guys waited for us?" Eddie sniffled.

"Well, yeah," Ben had replied. "It's not Christmakkah without you guys -- and now Edwin too, of course."

They had eaten, Bill and Mike insisting on taking care of cleanup since the other, 'culinarily capable' adults had taken care of the cooking. "Nope," Bill had said when Eddie protested their refusal for help. "You guys were such a huge help when Audra and I came home from the hospital with Max. The least we can do is repay the favor."

Afterward, when everyone had gathered in the living room to open gifts, Richie had been surprised to see an extra pile of presents next to his and Eddie's.

"You guys all got Edwin something?" he said in awe.

"Of course," Stan had replied as if it were obvious. "Can't let our nephew celebrate his first Christmakkah without gifts."

Now one week later, all the Losers had gone back to their respective lives until the next family gathering in March for Max's birthday.

Richie and Eddie sat quietly on the sofa together, Richie's arm around Eddie's shoulder and Edwin fast asleep in Eddie's arms after his early-evening bottle.

As Eddie snuggled against Richie's side and they both watched Edwin sleep peacefully, Richie reflected on just how complete his life was with his husband and their son. "I love you so much, Eddie," he murmured, turning his head to press a kiss to Eddie's temple. "I'm so lucky that I get to live this life with you."

"I love you too, Richie," Eddie replied. "There's no one else I'd rather spend my life with."

If Richie sent up a prayer of thanks to a magical turtle later that night while his husband and son slumbered near him, well, that would be his secret.

[starfiretheninja]

The Photo is Mightier Than the Sword- Teen Titans Zine

So I was a pinch hitter on the Teen Titans Zine! While my piece didn’t make it into the final zine (how dare more writers not drop out = P), this was good practice for me. Besides, I shouldn’t pass up a good opportunity to write more Cyborg/Starfire friendship using an idea I’ve had for a while. Thank you @teentitanszine for hosting this and I hope you all enjoy!

~

“Starfire! Starfire!”    

“Remember your manners, sweetie!”

The heroine turned her head to the call, joyfully surprised to see a child running towards her. The child’s mother followed shortly after, pulling a small device out of her purse as the girl skidded to a stop.

“Hi! I’m Marie and you’re my favorite and canIhaveapicturewithyou?” she asked in rapid-fire. Marie bounced on her toes, expression unabashedly excited.

Cyborg, who had been walking with Starfire, aww-ed and elbowed her playfully.

“Looks like you’ve got your first fan.”

Starfire absolutely melted at the adorableness and eagerness of the girl. Flattered that an Earthling would ask any favor of her when she had arrived on the planet not long ago, she instantly agreed.

“Hello, Marie! Of course, you may! Tell me, what do your people use to take pictures?” she inquired.

“Mommy’s phone! Did you hear that, Mommy? She knows my name!” Marie squealed excitedly. Her mother smiled, relieved that her daughter’s day would be made.

“Yes I did, sweetie. Stand next to her and smile like I showed you,” she said gently, opening the phone and holding it out in their direction.

“A phone?” Starfire puzzled. From her understanding, ‘phone’ referred to ‘telephone’ which was used to transmit sounds from one device to another. Were they also capable of photography?

Next to her, Cyborg patted her shoulder, a warm smile taking over.

“Here, Star. You see that?” he asked, pointing at the woman’s phone. Starfire nodded. “Phones have cameras built into them, and they can take photos. All you have to do is smile at it until she’s pressed the button? Alright?”

“It’s easy!” Marie piped up, taking Starfire’s hand in hers. “And you can’t blink because Mommy will have to take it again.”

Starfire looked closer at the phone, spotting what looked to be a shutter mechanism on the back. Her face brightened, excited to be documented as one of Marie’s happy memories. Closing her fingers around Marie’s small hand, she answered,

“I see. Come little friend, we will make sure that this photo is full of smiles!”

“Yeah! Lots of smiles!”

Cyborg stood off to the side as Marie’s mother took a few photos. Both girls were ecstatic and had a difficult time keeping still. Afterwards, Marie’s mother showed Starfire the photo and thanked the Titans for their time. Marie said goodbye and skipped down the street with her mother as Starfire waved after them.

A few moments passed, and a bittersweet thought occurred to Starfire.

“Oh, it would be most wonderful if we also could have photos of our joyful times. I fear I may not be able to remember them all.”

“I mean, you can.”

“How so?”

“Your communicator has a camera option. Robin insisted it’s mainly for taking evidence from crime scenes, but he never said you couldn’t use it for other things,” Cyborg said, a grin forming.

Gasping loudly, Starfire whipped out her communicator and shoved it into Cyborg’s hands.

“Please show me how to find this feature! I will use it to the upmost of my ability.” she declared, her enthusiasm brimming so much so that she was floating. Cyborg simply couldn’t say no to someone with such childlike eagerness.

Moving to stand next to her, Cyborg explained how to change the settings between camera and video call, as well as how to view her photos. Starfire followed his instructions with diligence.

“Like so?”

“Perfect!”

Click!

Upon viewing the photo, Starfire squealed and threw her arms around Cyborg’s neck. Thankfully, she mainly squeezed his metallic armor instead of his skin with her alien strength.

“Oh, thank you, friend Cyborg! I shall cherish this memory for as long as I live!” she gushed.

Moved by her sheer joy, Cyborg patted her back and tried not to sniffle.

“Anything for a friend, Star. Now come on, let’s show off your photography skills to everyone else.”

~

After a few months of honing her craft, Cyborg had to hand it to Starfire that she could take some of the most unexpected photos. Every so often he asked if she took any interesting ones lately. The highlights included her Tamaranean food unexpectedly exploding, Beast Boy looking like a floating mishmash of animal limbs mid-transformation, and Robin in the middle of face planting on the gym floor.

All Robin asked of her was that she did not release any of her photos to the news outlets, especially the tabloids.

Other than the unintentionally hilarious, great-for-blackmail material, Cyborg found that Starfire liked to take photos of herself on outings with their friends from a bird’s eye view. Always floating, no matter the context. And frankly, it made for unique angles that Cyborg wished he could reach.

One day, Cyborg took a photo of himself grinning proudly on a stack of crates overlooking the T-Ship. He didn’t want to forget what a great waxing job he did before the Titans inevitably dirtied his creation on their next mission. Starfire, who happened to pass by at that moment, asked if she could look at his photo. Cyborg complied, and Starfire gave him a wide smile.

“This is most impressive! You managed to capture the entirety of the T-Ship despite its substantial size,” she complimented.

“Ah, it’s nothing really. I was just proud of my baby,” Cyborg blushed, rubbing the top of his head. Starfire shook her head.

“It is not nothing if it has meaning to you,” Starfire said in a serious tone. Then, clapping her hands together, she said cheerfully, “And besides, this angle makes the ship look very shiny!”

“Well, thanks! I wanted to make sure all the work I did this afternoon was well documented. But it’ll be a while before I can take a better shot than you,” Cyborg added. He realized that it sounded as if he was demeaning himself, but in reality, he truly admired Starfire’s artistic vision. Her uninhibition in what should be captured stemmed from her lack of understanding of Earth’s standards for how a photo should look. That was a rare gift.

Luckily for Cyborg, Starfire took his complement as intended. But let it never be said she didn’t know how to try to boost another’s self-esteem.

“I am certain that you will be able to best me in ‘capturing the shot’. With due practice of course, as I have explored the world of photos for many months now.”

She meant it in the friendliest way possible. However, an idea sparked in Cyborg’s mind. He would never be able to beat her weight-lifting records or outrace her in the obstacle course. But perhaps this was a test that he could prove to be her equal in.

“Is that a challenge? Because I need one right now. Beating BB at Go Racers! is almost a given at this point,” Cyborg proposed, waggling his eyebrow.

Cyborg always craved new ways to seize the day. And a friendly competition with his friend was the perfect novelty to take on.

Starfire took a moment to consider his offer.

“A photography battle? Certainly unusual, but perhaps not unprecedented. What are the conditions of said contest?” she inquired, wanting to ensure fair play.

“Best photo with a fun background and interesting angles by the end of the week wins. Beast Boy will be the judge, he’ll actually be fun about it.” Cyborg held out his hand. “What do you say?”

Starfire paused, then gleefully smiled. She took his hand and shook it, taking care to not crush it by accidental enthusiasm.

“If you insist, then, how do you say, it is ‘the on’.”

And so, the battle began.

~

“I demand a rematch! When did you even make the time to visit the Arctic Circle?” Cyborg practically shrieked, his pitch rising much higher than normal.

In response, Starfire merely blinked.

“Everyone was busy, so I spent no more than a half hour to fly there, play with the cubs, then return. Although the mother was very displeased to find me with her babies and prevented me from staying longer.”

Cyborg’s metallic shoulders slumped, having been defeating so easily by innocent bear cubs.

“Oh, come on! How is that fair? It took me three days to track down the best view in the city and you don’t even need a plastic globe to make your way north. Back me up, man,” Cyborg begged his green friend.

Beast Boy, having barely contained his snickering up until this point, wiped a tear from his eye. He was drinking in every moment of Cyborg losing to something couldn’t tackle with a snarky remark or by hacking a software.

“Sorry, dude. But you just can’t beat fluffy polar bears. Seriously though, they’re so adorable!” he turned to Starfire to fawn over them.

“The most adorable! And they waved their paws at me like a human. I did not know bears were capable of mimicking such behaviors.”

Cyborg couldn’t take it. He may have been at a disadvantage not being able to fly at light speed around the globe, but he would find a way to win fairly if it killed him.

“Okay, new rule!” he declared, reclaiming his friends attention. “The photo has to include something that’s part of America, location or otherwise. I can drive anywhere within a couple hours, but I ain’t about to fly to India just to get the Taj Mahal in the frame.”

After pondering for a moment, Starfire nodded her head.

“I suppose that is a fair rule to abide by.”

Beast Boy promptly raised his hand.

“What about the White House replica in China?” Beast Boy asked. The other Titans stared at him, confused as to what he had just said. “What? Robin lectured me on knowing the difference between authentics and fakes the other day. And he wouldn’t let me forget that a fake White House exists.”

“Wait, really? Why would they- anyway no it doesn’t count. Has to be made in America or it’s out. Just you wait, Star. The next one will steal the show,” Cyborg promised, setting his fists on his hips.

“Not if I find another difficult-to-track treasure first!” Starfire leaped up, eager to engage in competitive combat once more.

~

“Oh, Cyborg! May we include this location in our ongoing competition?”

The Titans latest mission had called them to the heart of Amazonia. While the weather was a mixed bag of hot and muggy and drenching rains, no one could deny that the colors and wildlife were beyond gorgeous. Even Raven cracked a smile at the moss-covered sloths creeping along the overhead vines.

Cyborg considered her suggestion. It would be a shame to not capture such a spectacular place in photograph form. And besides, he didn’t want to exhaust all of his American bucket list locations too quickly. He wanted something left to explore on his next road trip excursion.  

“Well, we are both here at the same time. New rule: as long as we’re both here on a mission or for some other reason, this area is game.”

“Game?”

“He means you can include it in your game,” Raven said in her usual monotone.

Starfire lit up, already brimming with the possibilities that the dense jungle offered.

“Most excellent! I will have many tropical animals to find once our mission is complete.”

“Just don’t go swimming in the river. I’m pretty sure that water’s teeming with piranhas and it wouldn’t be any fun if you lost your arms to some hungry fish,” Cyborg joked.

Starfire, having become wary due to multiple white lies Beast Boy had told her to get a laugh, frowned at this ‘advice’. She was still deducing how to tell the difference between a practical joke and a helpful truth.

“How do I know you are not attempting to dissuade me from an exemplary location? Most of your body is likely resilient to the razor teeth of these piranhas, so is that not an ‘unfair advantage’?”

Starfire recognized that they had different strengths, but she was assured that the rules were set in place to keep their competition fairly balanced. She wasn’t about to let her friend trick her into losing a prized photo.

Cyborg started running calculations on how much damage he would sustain were he to be attacked by a school of piranhas. He figured that it would be minimal so long as he kept his head out of the water, so maybe it was worth a shot.

“Now that you mention it . . .”

“Don’t even think about it.” Robin warned him.

~

“Beast Boy, you must assist me! Cyborg will surely win as I have no new photos to offer this time,” Starfire lamented. She had wracked her brain all week for a stellar idea, but she was facing what Raven called ‘artist’s block’. Nothing seemed good enough and time was quickly running out.

While he was impartial on who won, Beast Boy did prefer to help Starfire as she was less likely to know what was available to her. Alas, having fried his brain on another all-night movie marathon, he was utterly incapable of helping his distraught friend.

“I don’t know if I can. I’ve exhausted any ideas I had. And you’ve been to pretty much every monument on the planet,” he groaned.

“I know of many other planets that would provide excellent ‘drop of the backs’, but that is against the rules.”

“We could always try hitting up Titans East. Maybe Aqualad knows a nice beach somewhere on the coast,” Beast Boy suggested

“I am not so certain he can help. I believe I overheard Robin say that he was on an important mission in Washington,” she recalled.

“Well then, where else can we look? “I know a place.”

The Titans nearly jumped out of their skins, not having realized Raven had practically materialized in the hallway. Then, processing what she said, they latched onto her.

“Dude, where?!”

“Please tell!”

Raven sighed, putting up with their grips on her shoulders for the moment.

“You need something American, right?”

The two Titans nodded hurriedly, releasing their hold on her so she would continue.

“What’s an American landmark that’s not on Earth?” Raven started cryptically.

“Uh . . . Satellites?” Beast Boy suggested, earning a deadpan stare from Raven.

“Does America extend past the atmosphere?” she said irritated.

“Okay probably not,” the changeling tapped his fingers together. “But seriously, what are you thinking of?”

“In layman’s terms, think of something red, white, and blue,” Raven hinted, hoping that they would get it this time.

A light bulb went off in Beast Boy’s head.

“A flag! The flag!” Beast Boy shook Starfire’s shoulder excitedly. “Star, there’s one on the moon. It’s perfect!”

Starfire gasped loudly, her earlier despair giving way to a wave of creative energy and hope. There was no way she would roll over in defeat this time.

Enveloping Raven in a tight hug, she swung her increasingly disgruntled friend in a circle before releasing her.

“Oh yes! Thank you, Raven! Please keep this a secret, as I wish to surprise Cyborg tomorrow.”

Raven was too busy getting the oxygen that was squeezed out of her back into her lungs to reply for a moment.

“You can count on me not to blab,” she wheezed, her ashen grey color returning to her face.

“I need to get my camera ready. Cy’s face is going to be priceless,” Beast Boy said with a devious grin.  

~

“Oh Cyborg,” Beast Boy called in a sing-song voice to draw Cyborg’s attention from scrubbing down his beloved car.

“I believe I have bested you for this round,” Starfire said gleefully as they approached him.

“Aw now hang on, I’m pretty sure I have this in the bag,” Cyborg said, holding his chin confidently. Pulling out his communicator, he presented his work before the two. “Booyah!”

The two gawked before the image. Cyborg was standing on a rocky ledge along the water, sun low in the sky, while a killer whale was arching in a leap above him. It was perfection.

“Free Willy? Dude, how?! I thought I was the only animal charmer around here,” Beast Boy sputtered in disbelief.

“I do not understand. Is Willy the name of this particular killer whale?” Starfire inquired.

“Let’s just say I ran into Aqualad in the Pacific Northwest and he owed me one,” Cyborg answered cheekily.

“Some mission, Cy!”

“You may have the composition on your side, but mine was not crafted by trickery,” Starfire huffed.

“Yeah! Star’s got a one of a kind original in her pocket,” Beast Boy bragged.

Cyborg made a ‘come on’ motion with his fingers, his confident expression never cracking.

“Bring it.”

Putting on a dramatic pose, Starfire flashed her creation before Cyborg proudly.

“Behold!”

Cyborg squinted, trying to comprehend what he was looking at.

“Wait. Is that- no way!” Cyborg’s jaw dropped.

Cyborg didn’t even flinch when Beast Boy’s communicator shutter clicked to capture the moment.

“Priceless!” he giggled.

“If I recall correctly, the flag was indeed made in this country. So, this location is well within the terms of the game,” Starfire elaborated, trying to ease any feelings of inferiority that Cyborg might feel from this loss.

To her surprise, Cyborg burst out laughing. Gripping his gut, he belly-laughed so hard that he began to shed tears. Catching his breath, he gave Starfire a brotherly slap on the back.

“Dang girl, you really got me this time. Maybe I should get up there sometime. The T Ship could use another test run,” he laughed even more. Starfire laughed along with him, joyful that she could be both a good friend and competitor to Cyborg. The photography was enjoyable, but it was moments like these that truly made her days memorable.

“We agreed on no plagiarizing, friend Cyborg. I am certain you will prove to be a strong foe next time,” she said playfully.

“But this time, I think we all know who the winner is,” Beast Boy remarked, still marveling over the blackmail material he got on Cyborg.

“Titans,” a voice cut in.

The giggles died down as Robin strode up to the Titans, crossing his arms as he stopped before them.

“I just received a message from NASA, saying that Starfire was up on the moon near their equipment. And I’m guessing she wasn’t in on it alone,” he said sternly, raising an eyebrow.

Starfire ducked her head shamefully. “Are you upset?” she asked meekly.

Robin’s expression almost instantly morphed into one of surprise and concern.

“What? No- of course I’m not upset with you,” he said gently.

Cyborg coughed something Robin just barely comprehended, earning a glare.

“But my point is I don’t want anyone heading into government protected areas. We don’t want them to think we’re up to anything suspicious,” he said calmly.

“We understand, Robin. My apologies for getting ‘carried away’,” Starfire nodded, regaining her confidence seeing that Robin was only looking out for the welfare of the team.

“Leave it to Robin to add another rule around here,” Cyborg grumbled.

“I totally get what you’re saying, and, before you continue, I would just like to add that Raven totally set us up,” Beast Boy piped up.

“Care to repeat that?” Raven said, standing behind Beast Boy.

Beast Boy’s shriek echoed throughout the Tower.

[justsomelarryfics]

I have decided to start doing monthly fic recs! This will include all of the fics that I read, finished, and enjoyed this month. I will first do fics that came out this month, and then I will do ones that are older that I read this month.

Sorted by length

New this month

Happy Valentine’s Day, You Cockroach by @allwaswell16 -  Harry Styles, new director of the Milltown Zoo, has a great idea for a Valentine's Day themed fundraiser. For a donation, they'll name cockroaches after people's exes and then feed them to the meerkats on a live stream. He just didn't foresee how many cockroaches would end up with his name... (one shot, 2k)

What Am I Gonna Say When I See You by @runaway-train-works - “I wouldn’t have asked you to come if he didn’t want you there.” Louis hands her the gift bag when he reaches the pavement beside her and they turn to walk down the street to the house he has been in too many times to count. “I know you wouldn’t, but I haven’t seen him in forever. And you said it was just close family and friends going.” “You are close family and friends. A lot closer than I am. The main reason I’m going is because mum made me since she’s sick in bed with the flu.” Louis kind of wishes he was sick in bed with the flu. He shouldn’t be this apprehensive. It’s Harry. It’s only Harry. And yeah, they might not have seen each other in almost six years, but they're still friends. Aren’t they? Or The one where Louis' unsure if too much time has passed since he last saw his childhood best friend to try and make things right. (one shot, 7k)

I wish that I could let you love me for @popularryculture -  Could he handle leaving for six months? He asked himself in his head, and soon enough another question followed: could he handle staying, knowing who he would be staying for? (one shot, 12k, inspired by Little Mix’s song Oops)

If That’s Not Love Then What Is -  There are a few things in life that Louis Tomlinson cannot stand - Conversation Hearts candy and Harry Styles. But when Harry gets broken up with the day before Valentine's, and Louis is the only one he can turn to, he starts to reevaluate things. (one shot, 17k)

your rainbow will come smiling through by @hazkabaan for @popularryculture - when harry isn't working at his stepfather's cafe, he's trying to make swim captain and trying to finish all his coursework on time. when he's not doing any of those things, he's talking to the boy he met on the oxford hopefuls subreddit. when they decide to meet, he's elated. he finally gets the chance to meet the boy he's been crushing on! when the day comes to meet his prince, he learns that his online crush is none other than louis tomlinson, captain of the football team and friend of his terrible stepbrothers. now harry has to decide whether telling louis the truth is the right choice or if it's better to just let sleeping dogs lie. a cinderella story au (one shot, 17k)

Brave Love by @angelichl -  Harry breaks up with his boyfriend a day before Valentine's Day and Louis tries to cheer him up. (one shot, 17k)

Tell Me Your Secrets by @dimpled-halo for @popularryculture - “You!” They both yell in unison. Niall looks between the two of them. “You know each other?”Harry scoffs and looks away from Louis Tomlinson to meet Niall’s gaze. “Remember that guy in college I told you about? The one that was at that frat party and drunk as fuck and then I gave him a ride to his dorm but on our way there he decided to pee in an empty cup in my car?” Niall’s eyes widen and he stares at Louis laughing. “You mean the one who spilled his piss all over you?” “Hey, that wasn’t my fault. Harry here was being a little priss the entire time and he ran over a speed bump without slowing down and it caused me to make a mess. You also didn’t have to leave me stranded in the middle of the night for something you caused.” Louis snaps back. Harry rolls his eyes. “Whatever.” A For a Good Time Call au where Harry and Louis get off on the wrong foot when they first meet. When dire circumstances forces them to become roommates, Harry finds out some things about Louis that he doesn't expect will help him discover some things about himself. (chaptered, complete, 17k)

Soup of the Day by @jacaranda-bloom - It had been the single minded goal for them since college and seemed simple enough. 1. Study hard. 2. Open their dream restaurant. 3. Take the culinary world by storm.What could possibly go wrong? Or the Restaurant AU where Louis and Niall are chefs, Chicago is windy, and cracking the big time is harder than they ever imagined. But when a mysterious man starts grading Louis' soups by leaving little piles of rocks, could it be just the thing they need to get them on the road to success? (chaptered, complete, 19k)

If You’re The Storm, Then I’m The Chaser by @loveislarryislove for @popularryculture - An AU based on Ed Sheeran's song "New Man" Louis is back in town for the first time since he and Harry broke up six months ago. He's not sure what would hurt more, if Harry has moved on or if he's still as torn up as Louis is. He never even considered that Harry would be acting like a completely different person. And maybe he really is as happy as he keeps insisting, but Louis really doesn't think so.~*~*~*~“Who are you and what have you done to Harry Styles?” It sounds corny as fuck, and Harry bursts into laughter, but Louis means it. He barely recognizes Harry, every word out of his mouth sounding like it belongs to someone else. This isn’t him. This isn’t him at all. “I’m the same person,” Harry says with a shrug. “I just get what I want now. And tonight, that means you.” "This just isn't you,” Louis says, shaking his head. “This isn’t the Harry I lo – the Harry I knew at all.” Harry stares at him for a long moment. “Maybe you didn’t know me as well as you thought,” he says at last. (one shot, 21k, read warnings)

The Pain Is For Pleasure by @chloehl10 for @hlbdsmficfest - “Louis, please. I promise you, you are so attractive to me. I love you, and I think you are the sexiest man I’ve ever been with-”“But Harry, that’s the fucking problem! You haven’t been with me, have you?! You don’t want me in that way, it’s pretty clear…” He cut him off, feeling that he was about to say something he would later regret. “If there’s a problem, I wish that you felt you could have told me, rather than, well, this.”“Louis, I-”“Just leave it, Haz. I get it, okay?”“No! You don’t, you have no fucking idea, Louis!”Louis and Harry have been together for a few months. Everything is great, but there’s one question burning in the back of Louis' mind - why won’t Harry have sex with him? (chaptered, complete, 67k)

Older fics

an honest mistake by @disgruntledkittenface for @1dshortficfest - “You look different when you’re not covered in come,” he blurts out, immediately regretting each and every life choice that has led to this exact moment. Elevator Guy is going to hate him. Louis has ridden the elevator with his neighbor all week. The first time they speak, there’s a misunderstanding. (one shot, 2k, 2019)

Take Your Time by @laynefaire for @litelarryquotechallenge - When Harry finds himself in the middle of a messy break-up with no place to live, Louis offers a spare room in his flat. Unbeknownst to Harry, Louis has been infatuated for years. Over the objections of their friends, who know the truth, Harry accepts. Can Louis survive Harry moving into his home…and closer to his heart? Will Harry see what's right in front of him? (one shot, 11k, 2018)

don’t be afraid, it’s only love -  A proposal!AU where Louis is at risk of being deported back to England and Harry just really wants a promotion. (one shot, 14k, 2013)

Never Too Late by @dimpled-halo - Harry’s confused for a moment before it hits him: the little boy is signing. Harry squats down to get to the boy’s level again and mirrors the same action. “Dad?” He inquires. Harry learned basic sign language after having met a fan who was deaf. He made it his mission to learn signing so that he’d be able to communicate with other fellow hearing impaired fans.The little boy smiles brightly, his tears now long gone. He goes on to extend both hands, palms up as if he’s asking where? Followed by the previous sign which means Dad. Harry smiles to himself at the amazing little guy standing in front of him.He stands up taking the boy’s hand, “Let’s go find your dad,” he tells him making the motion with his hand.Just having come out of the closet and recovering from vocal surgery, famous recording artist Harry Styles needs to get away from LA to work on new music needing to prove to his label that his career isn't over. Little does he know that his life is about to change forever when he runs into an old friend at the city he's decided to escape to. (one shot, 18k)

what, like it’s hard? by @thewriternotthemuse for @popularryculture - Louis sighs contentedly. “I’m just so marvelously happy, ya’ know?” “Good for you.” “It really is. It’s--it’s quite grand, actually. I’m going to my dream school with my dream man, to whom I am engaged. I have great friends. Life couldn’t be better.” “Very happy for you.” “Thanks.” Louis beams before her expression falls. “And then you had to come here and ruin everything.” “Yeah, I know,” Harry snaps. “I’m the bane of your existence for some reason.” “You certainly are,” Louis says, considering Harry. ~~~ In which Harry goes to law school to win back her man, but gets a lot more than she bargained for. (one shot, 21k, 2019)

Making Waves by @haztobegood for @popularryculture - After Louis Tomlinson, an arrogant millionaire, is thrown overboard and loses his memory, a mistreated employee convinces him that they are married. Thrust into an unfamiliar life he cannot remember, Louis must learn to live with his new husband and daughters and adjust to a less extravagant life. Or, the one where Louis can’t remember, Harry needs money, and Niall has a plan. An Overboard AU. (one shot, 30k, 2019)

Keep on Dreaming, This is Hollywood - Louis Tomlinson, a pop star manager, makes his way to LA with a pop star (and his new music demands) and a very busy schedule. Harry Styles came to Los Angeles with a dream and ended up sharing a flat and an occupation with a male prostitute from Ireland. What happens when Louis meets Harry, and makes him an offer he can't refuse? AKA A Pretty Woman AU where Louis is the high-powered businessman and Harry is the hooker. No, there is no necklace scene, but there is definitely piano sex. (one shot, 31k, 2013)

Is This Seat Taken? by @lainy122 - A borrowed suit from Zayn, a cigarette and the right attitude, and Louis went from security breach to misplaced celebrity instantly. He could practically see the wheels in the security guy’s head switch from ‘could be dangerous’ to ‘could get me fired’. L.A was so predictable.Louis makes a bet with Zayn that he can sneak into a music awards event without getting caught, and when he ends up posing as a seat-filling member of staff he runs into superstar Harry Styles and sparks fly. Que the music. (one shot, 35k, locked, 2015)