#it's high time someone writes a paper analysing fics

[regulusrules]

weirdly specific, but drop down a fic that you would want to analyse if you were writing a master's thesis

[kiruuuuu]

Kiru's Advent Calendar, Day 17✅

Not much time left now, a week and a day! This one is just a 'slightly confused, but they got the (romantic) spirit' fic that's Nighthaven-centric because I still adore them 😊 (Wamai/Ace, Rating M, fluff/sexual themes, ~2k words)

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Ace discovers very quickly that Wamai can’t say no.

Not really.

He witnesses it in his early days at Nighthaven, when he’s still overwhelmed with the resources they have available, the outreach, the reputation, all the opportunities: Kali asks for a coffee and Wamai is on it. She demands an explanation and Wamai gets it for her. Dropping hints about firepower, and Wamai sets it in motion. At first, Ace believes it’s because of her position yet whenever Osa requests anything, the second-in-command jumps as well.

Never with the enthusiasm of a mindless golden retriever, never projecting the aura of someone desperate to be accepted, thirsting to be liked. Never out of self-interest, a calculated action working towards a higher goal. No, Wamai simply does it. Nods and gets on with it, as if his job description read ‘do stuff for people whenever they ask’ and he takes it serious to a point where he fulfils his role well without obsessing about it in his downtime.

Thinking about it, Wamai does most things that way, with a calm acceptance, always ready to crack a smile without contributing to the humour, efficient and attentive. It’s almost as if he’s a blank piece of paper and only comes alive when anyone writes on it.

So yeah, it doesn’t take long for Ace to fall into the same habit. Not quite as crassly as Kali and starting out small, like adding to a drink order when Wamai is already running, or asking him to perform some other task along the way. He’s careful not to make the other man take a detour of any kind, tries not to impose, but when all is executed without even the hint of a complaint or similar, he grows bolder. Until it becomes second nature, until he catches himself making the same demands of other people who look at him like he’s lost his mind.

Wamai helps him take photos for his blog, passes him his phone when he currently can’t reach, googles things for him he’s too lazy to look up, holds his backpack while he adjusts his clothes. Wamai explains all the folklore passed down through generations when asked, demonstrates how he prepares for long dives, recounts all the beautiful and terrifying experiences he’s had underwater, teaches Ace how to scuba dive. Wamai listens when he raves on about Norway and how he misses his family and friends, keeps him company after a harrowing mission and even trudges along to pubs despite not drinking anything.

So when Ace asks him, thoughts lazily trailing around his mind, limbs heavy with intoxication, eyes glued to the attractive body of his companion, when he asks him the one thing he’s secretly wondered about for the year they’ve known each other now, when he with his slurred words poses the question, he messes up. Because he phrases it as: “Do you want to sleep with me?”

And Wamai, stone-cold sober, probably still riding his high on the residual adrenaline in his veins, replies with: “Do you want me to?”

Not phrased as a request, it’s useless. Ace averts his eyes and mumbles a quiet forget it into his drink, fully expecting never to speak of this again or for Wamai to snitch and Kali never letting him live it down, or something. He should’ve asked differently, or come clean: he’s curious, he’s physically attracted, he’s lonely, he’s horny, he thinks they would be compatible. All of the above are applicable, he could’ve chosen any combination of them and used them as an introduction to a proper request. Or even order.

The next fifteen minutes are some of the worst of Ace’s life so far. Filled with despair over not wanting to make it awkward, he carries a conversation all by himself, babbling until even he has no idea what he’s on about, all the while micro-analysing the tiniest movements of Wamai’s body, looking for signs of discomfort or even interest and finding absolutely nothing. His brain is going haywire, attempting to salvage the situation somehow but uncertain what to do, and eventually he just downs his drink in one go and blurts out: “Yeah. I want you to sleep with me.”

To his utter and absolute amazement, Wamai just nods and says: “Sure.”

And good god, it’s awkward. Looking back, Ace identifies all of his mistakes, realises what he was trying to do, but in the moment, it’s just two people bumping into each other without apologising. He has endless preferences, about setting, the right way to make out, where and how to touch him and so on, projecting the same attitude onto Wamai and not accepting his I’m fine with anything as an answer. He tries so, so hard to get the other man to admit something, to fell any kind of decision while simultaneously making sure his own needs are met that it’s impossible to kill the mood – because there is none.

Part of him probably experiences guilt over feeling like he pressured Wamai into this, despite there being countless opportunities to refuse (but he wouldn’t, he never does, and knowing that does not help) and so he desperately wants him to enjoy it, not realising that Wamai is, in fact, enjoying it. Eventually, he settles on sucking him off while wanking himself to completion, the one option he can reconcile with his conscience, and he comes with Wamai brushing his hair back and calling him pretty.

Are they compatible? Who knows, Ace didn’t allow them a chance to find out.

Regardless, he fantasises about all the other things he wants to do with Wamai for a week or two until a stunning redhead walks into his DMs and he forgets about his other cravings for a while.

They don’t speak of it, Ace because he’s still deeply embarrassed, and Wamai possibly because it’s not a big deal to him. Like everything. He’s on a higher plane of existence somehow, Ace is growing more certain of this by the second, and he has no time to concern himself with petty incidents.

Still, Wamai agrees the second time he asks, just as easily as the first.

It’s a bodyguard gig, those are the most tiring because it switches between requiring full focus and downtime with absolutely nothing to do. Ace has already scoured all available dating apps and developed option paralysis until he realises there’s a low-effort alternative readily available, so he gets drunk again for good measure and asks, and Wamai says yes, and this time, it’s a little better. Ace goes in with a rudimentary trust in Wamai to object if he’s really not into what they’re doing and just does his thing, riding him until they’ve both climaxed, and opts to spend the night in Wamai’s hotel room. Or rather, he inquires whether it’s fine and Wamai agrees.

As usual.

They have sex again the next morning, the length of Wamai’s body pressed against Ace’s back and this is more like what he’s been looking for, deep and intense and the teeth on his earlobe drive him insane. Definitely good enough for an encore. Throughout the whole bodyguard deal, they do it at least twice a day, partly out of boredom, partly because it actually feels good, and when they’re back, Ace matches with a quirky older guy who turns out to have a wife somewhere down the road, meaning he’s back to square one.

It’s an intermittent thing now, whenever Ace doesn’t have anybody else (and even sometimes when he does, and no he doesn’t feel great about it and he knows there’s no real excuse but he can offer an explanation, and the explanation is that Wamai is there and they’ve finally worked out the best angle so Ace nearly cries from overstimulation each time and it’s just, it’s so comfortingly familiar that he can’t understand why it’s ever been anything but), especially on missions together, the two of them just sneak around because it’s more fun that way. No doubt that Kali knows about it, Ace accidentally answered Wamai’s phone once thinking it was his own, they’ve arrived at work together several times, once even took a few days off at the same time. They’re not subtle, nor are they trying to be. There’s nothing to hide, really, since there’s nothing in the first place.

Admittedly, it feels nice to brag about his Wamai knowledge from time to time. When Aruni has joined them and doesn’t know everyone’s preferred coffee order yet, Ace can tell her with confidence what Wamai would like. Kali briefly forgets a detail, the name of a past client with whom Wamai worked, or a city where something memorable happened, and Ace is able to remind her. Just small pieces of evidence that show Wamai has some permanence in his life.

Why this matters to him, he’s not entirely sure.

Aruni comments on how she appreciates how close they all are, meaning Kali and Wamai, and Kali and Osa, and Kali and Ace, and also Kali and herself. Kali is the glue holding them together and the reason they met in the first place, but then Aruni clarifies she includes Ace and Wamai in that list, which is surprising. He downplays it, jokes how Wamai refuses nobody, and Aruni assures him he’s refused requests from her plenty of times.

And… what.

He investigates. Puts his feelers out and receives the same answer from Osa, not appreciating the knowing wink she gives him. She’s too perceptive, he’s noticed in the past, so he knows her opinion carries weight. Armed with this new suspicion, he watches Kali like a hawk until she considers accepting an assignment one day and Wamai urges her not to. Until Kali wants to let someone go and Wamai merely shakes his head in disapproval. Until Osa suggests a modification to Wamai’s firearm and he turns her down.

The next question is asked in bed, right before going to sleep.

They have the following day off, meaning Ace turned up on Wamai’s doorstep with enough ingredients for a three course dinner. They leave the Olympic games running in the background as he cooks, Wamai keeping him up to date on any developments, and have sex on the couch afterwards with the lights dimmed and gentle music playing, just like Ace likes it: the setting romantic enough to make his heart melt and the orgasm strong enough to make his toes curl. A shower concludes the evening and as they’re wrapped around each other under the blanket, he wants to know: “… are we friends?”

Of course the only possible response is: “Do you want us to be?”

And he could slap himself. There was no other outcome, he knew it and yet his voice wavered in trepidation. Because this time, there’s the very real possibility of Wamai saying no. Previously, Ace carried with him the undisputable truth that Wamai would agree, but now he’s been disillusioned of this notion. Instead of giving up on pursuing this particular topic, he offers a hesitant: “Yeah. I think so.”

Wamai nods and kisses him on the head. “Then we are.”

Oh.

Well, good.

It’s at the tip of his tongue, the follow-up question he’s really curious about, the one to which he doesn’t know his own preferred answer either, but he saves it for a later date. For now, it’s reassuring enough to learn that Wamai voluntarily spends time with him and seems to appreciate his presence. For now, it’s satisfying enough to drift off in his arms and know he’s someone on whom Ace can always rely.

For now, it’s enough to know Wamai doesn’t say no to him. The rest he’ll figure out later.

[eternallysarcastic]

winter moon/ch.1

Helloooo, I finally decided to post my little Xiao fic that I’ve been thinking about for a really long time. I hope you enjoy it! Feedback is appreciated.

Title is from Erutan - Winter Moon 

   You were slowly assembling the lantern, nimble fingers gently folding the paper, careful not to smudge the small writing on it. Sitting on your knees on top of one of the tall mountains on the edge of Liyue Harbour you let the lantern fly up in the air, joining the hundreds of small lights.

 You sighed as you watched the beautiful scenery, feeling the nostalgia and sadness creeping up your throat. You put your hands together as if to pray, to whom you weren’t sure but you hoped there would be someone higher than a God, than an Archon, hearing your prayers.  

 But you knew there was no one, no one was more powerful than an Archon. 

 Except yourself. 

And yet here you were, the God of all gods, praying for someone else to come and help you. Pathetic.

But you were desperate for someone to hear your wish, to rescue you and so you stayed all night, praying until you could barely feel your legs.

If you didn’t know better, you would have already confronted the man who had watched you the whole night from a distance far off in the forest of mountains. You could feel his wariness and his disdain, for what, you didn’t know. You had already felt the fact that he was no mortal, waves of condensed, rippling power coming from his direction miles away.

Once the sun rose, so did you. Supporting yourself on a nearby rock wall, you allowed your weak legs to gain circulation back to them and dusted off your white attire. You had a long day ahead.

Knocking on the funeral parlour door, you were surprised to be greeted by a short girl with brown hair and red eyes.  

“Welcome, welcome! My name is Hu Tao and I am here to provide you with our funeral services! How may I assist you?” She spoke in a high and excited voice. She seemed a little too hyper to be working for a funeral parlour but to be fair, in all your years of life, it wasn’t the most peculiar thing you’ve seen.

“Uhm...” You were unsure how to continue. “I am looking for someone actually.”

“Oooh? And who may that be?” Her eyes lit up with curiosity. She reminded you of a small child.

But you weren't sure who exactly you were looking for. You haven't seen him in 3000 years, you didn’t know what form he might've taken this time. If it was even a ‘he’, but the stars had led you here and you trusted them more than you trusted anything else.

You had to guess. “A man?”  

The girl, Hu Tao, pouted and crossed her arms childishly. “Everyone’s always looking for Zhongli and never me! Hmph!” You smiled sheepishly at her cute display of annoyance as she stepped aside to let you in.

The parlour wasn’t anything extravagant but you could see it was doing well enough to have all kinds of commodities. You stepped into a giant room with a long table in the middle, and as your eyes followed the length of it, at the head of it you saw a man.

He was sipping his tea, eyes closed and demeanour calm but as soon as his eyes opened, you knew. It was him.

The second you stepped into the room his golden eyes had snapped open and landed on you. He studied you for a second before those same gorgeous eyes widened. The sudden pressure in the room made the eccentric girl beside you obviously uncomfortable.

“I-I guess I’ll leave you two here to talk things out,” she said and she exited the room with hurried steps.

“You...” He seemed to not be able to form any further words and his eyes had filled with the foreign feeling you had recognized as hope. “You’re alive?”

“Have been for some time,” you chuckled and scratched the back of your neck uncomfortably; you really didn’t want to talk about it. “how have you been, Rex Lapis?”

That seemed to take him out of his stupor as he regained his usual calm demeanour, even though his eyes would still not leave your form as if you’d vanish into thin air at any moment.

“It’s Zhongli now,” he cleared his throat “Rex Lapis is no more.” He said and pulled out a chair for you to sit, “but you knew I hadn’t actually passed away did you, neither Gods nor Archons could ever escape your sight.”

“Isn’t that my job anyway? To be an observer and a protector-”, you laughed softly “or at least it was at one point in time. However, that’s not why I'm here, Rex L-, sorry, Zhongli. I need your help.”

“I am glad to offer my help, anyway I can, but you must know – my power is not what it used to be,” he said solemnly.

“What? Why? I knew something must be wrong as soon as I heard about your death but at the same time your constellation stayed as bright as ever.”

“I made a deal with the Tsaritsa. I gave her my gnosis,” he said as calm as ever. As if he didn’t just say he gave away the most precious thing to an Archon. You’d be furious if it wasn’t Rex Lapis himself, the god you’d known for over 4000 years and knew he’d never do anything irrational without having thought it out.

So as calm as he himself was, you asked simply. “Why?”

“Liyue’s protection and its people are my first priority. You might have heard already that the Tsaritsa is planning a revolution, a war against Celestia itself. It would be no easy feat and it will require sacrifice – I cannot allow my people to be that sacrifice,” he sipped his tea. “You must also be careful, as a God born from Celestia itself, once it’s destroyed so will your powers fade.”

“I know, that is why I looked for you. I need to find someone before that happens, my powers are only enough to point me in a vague direction but ever since that night 3000 years ago, they’re a quarter from what they used to be, I am not strong enough.” You sighed and held your hands in a fist over your weakness. Because of that fateful night 3 millennia ago, you were now reduced to begging for help – something your pride didn’t allow you to.

It was quiet for a few moments and you could feel his gaze on you. “I’d ask you what happened but I’m sure you don’t want to talk about it.”

You breathed out in relief, “Thank you, Zhongli.”

“I may not be able to help out much. Ever since I gave away my gnosis my powers have also waned, I haven’t had enough time for them to recover. However I know who can.” He seemed to have finished his tea and stood up from his chair.

Looking at him fully now, you could see the similarities of his stature and face to the one you remembered 4000 years ago. You knew he probably never meant to go back to godhood ever again, but he seemed happy where he was and that relieved you more than you thought it would.

“Shall we go, little lady.” He outstretched his elbow for you to take and laughed softly the moment he noticed your annoyed expression.

“I’ve told you a million times not to call me that!”

The full moon was high in the sky when you crossed a wooden bridge and could finally see the giant tree – hotel hybrid up close. It looked much bigger than you had thought it would at first. It’s height intimidating against the moonlit night sky. You and Zhongli used the elevator and got to the top floor.

“You can see every point in Liyue from here!” you exclaimed excitedly, leaning over the ledge of the balcony.

When you had entered a lady at the front desk had only nodded at you and Zhongli wordlessly, letting you through. You figured this was a place Zhongli frequented often. The view was as beautiful as you thought it would be, the gentle light of the moon covering everything in a beautiful silver colour.

“Rex Lapis, what may I do for you?” You heard a deep voice from behind you, turning around in time to see the boy bowing at Zhongli.

Your eyes met his golden ones and time seemed to stop for a moment. You felt pressure constricting your lungs and an unfamiliar feeling building in your chest. You didn’t understand what was happening, you weren’t even able to think, your head felt lightweight and heavy at the same time. There was a tiny ache right where your heart was supposed to be.

Yet, he also stood there, those golden eyes wide in surprise and something else you couldn’t recognise. His fingers twitched once, then twice as if hesitating before he slowly outstretched his hand towards you.  

That seemed to wake you up from your state and as if you had just jolted awake you shook your head to get rid of that weird feeling that had made every hair on your body stand on end.

“I-I’m sorry, have I met you before?” You asked him quietly, eyebrows creased.

His outstretched hand stopped in its tracks before it fell down lifelessly by his side. His golden irises clouded with confusion for a split second before his expression turned blank, as if that whole exchange hadn’t even happened in the first place.

He turned away from you and towards Zhongli with his arms crossed against his chest. “No, we have not.”  

It was like a lightbulb went off in your head. He was the person who had watched you for the whole night praying during the Lantern Festival! That must be it. You had felt his irritation at you from miles away, so this must be it. You had done something to disrespect him surely.

You had almost forgotten Zhongli was even here before he cleared his throat to get your attention, having watched the whole display in front of him with eyes filled with confusion. You could feel the cogs in his brain turning, thinking, analysing.

“Let me introduce you then. This is Xiao, the guardian Yaksha of Liyue and one of my trusted adepti and Xiao,” he turned to gesture at you “this is one of the celestial Gods, Goddess of the Moon.”

[liddolwhynot2000]

Hey! So, I was wondering if I could get a levi x reader where the reader runs the tea shop levi goes to to get his tea and they slowly become friends before realizing they’ve fallen in love with eachother?

Aiii one of my first fic supporters ⭐ I'm so sorry for answering this so late. But I got you.

Here we goo. I hope it lives up to your expectations! @dove-music

____________________________________

Apricity

____________________________________

Summary:

After all, Levi had gotten into a relationship.

With a woman who baked cookies and drew his face on them for fun.

___________________________________

Pairings: Levi/Reader

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Genre: fluff, romance, Levi-does-not-know-romance, kinda funny

____________________________________

If Levi had to pick any place in the world that gave made him feel something akin to contentment, it would be the little tea shop that was a 10 minute walk from the Survey Corps.

It wasn't some big, fancy cafe, overcrowded with civilians and soldiers, like other establishments were. A small, cosy little shop in the corner of the street. The shop made good business, he could tell, with its modest furnishing and quality to tea.

He had stumbled upon it in a dire time of need- right after losing his beloved friends to titans. He had accepted that he would stay in the survey corps but he hadn't been willing to make friends at the time. He didn't want to get drunk with his fellow soldiers, or visit brothels. He had just wanted some quiet.

Levi had been walking along the street by himself, in the dark, when he had stumbled upon that cafe. It had been on a whim that he had decided to go inside and actually order something.

He would try to convince himself that it was a one time thing, that he was simply trying some of the luxuries the surface had to offer. But one time turned into two, two turned into ten and so on.

He was rewarding himself with good tea, Levi told himself, that was why he kept coming back. He fought titans for humanity, the least he could do was use his paycheck to buy himself a nice beverage every once in a while. It was treat to himself.

The sweet owner of the cafe had nothing to do with this. Nothing at all.

Yeah sure Levi nobody believes you

Shut up four eyes or else-

____________________________________

'Sir, here you go.'

'.. I didn't order this.'

Levi looked at the plate set infront of him with indifference, although a part of him wondered if it would taste as good as it looked. It was a chocolate cake slice, with some sort of white cream on it.

'It's on the house sir.'

He looked at you, feeling bewildered at the sight of your smiling face. Was this sort of shit normal in the surface? Just giving each other food? There had to be some sort of catch right?

'.. What do you want?'

You blinked at him in confusion.

'Er- nothing sir. We sometimes give free meals to customers. You're the lucky customer this week.'

Levi felt compelled to ask one more time.

'So I owe you nothing for this?'

'Absolutely nothing.'

'Right... Thanks.'

There was no more clarification he could ask for, not when you had used that firm tone. You excused yourself and walked away, leaving Levi to his treat.

Huh. The people here weren't so bad after all.

Maybe he would come back to try some more dishes later.

It's not to see you again hell no stop it Hange- it's NOT-

____________________________________

He later finds out that you're the owner of the cafe. You could just hire help and let others manage the cafe, but you prefer handling it yourself. Levi can't help liking that- so many people would just sit on their asses, but you're actually working hard.

He doesn't get around to going to the cafe again until a month later. It's after a grueling expedition and he's beyond irritated with everyone. For some reason, they've started calling him 'humanity's strongest' and frankly, Levi finds it to be a dumb title.

Becuase even with all his strength, he hadn't been able to save everyone.

Wanting to get away from overeager comrades and a sugar high Hange (somebody give moblit a raise poor boi), Levi decides to head to the cafe.

Yet again, you're the one who welcomes him. He silently thanks you when you seat him in the corner of the shop, an area where hardly anyone would see him and he wouldn't have to see anyone else. You had perhaps understood from his uniform and exhausted face that he wasn't in the mood to deal with anyone, so you had hand him the menu and quietly tell him you'll be back in five minutes.

Once you get him his chosen tea, you also quietly leave a plate of another desert with it. This time, Levi doesn't bother asking questions. He nods at you gratefully before allowing himself to indulge in the delicacy infront of him.

He can't help but want to ask your name.

Aww Levi you drew a heart on that paper with her name on it-

No what the fuck YOU drew that four eyes-

___________________________________

He frequents the cafe at least twice a month for the next five years. It's become a tradition of sorts, going there after a tiresome mission, enjoying a meal made by you. You don't always let him have food for free of course, but it's often at a discounted rate. And as someone who has never enjoyed any privelege whatsoever in his entire life, he guards the special consideration you show him close to his heart.

The two of you don't interact much at the start, but Levi notices you. The way you give your workers decent time off, how you don't hesitate in offering monetary help or letting someone take the day off, even if it means you're overworked. He hasn't talked to you much, but he has a good opinion of you. He finds you fascinating, the first speck of kindness he's seen in his life, since Isabel and her desire to free a bird. Levi doesn't bother approaching you directly, because he doesn't even know what to say.

The two of you have a full interaction six months into his routine, the day Levi accidentally stays till its closing time. It had been good luck on your part--that when the drunk garrison soldiers had stumbled into your cafe will less then innocent intentions, Levi had been there to deal with them. As far as the garrisons were concerned, it had been the worst night of their lives. No amount of alcohol would ever be enough to make them forget what had happened.

Look at you, so protective of your woman even then-Levi where did you get that knife from--wait no - Erwin HELP-

He strikes a tentative friendship with you after that. You had been beyond thankful for his intervention, knowing you might not have made it out with your life if he hadn't been there. You made him cookies the next day, coming all the way to headquarters to give them to him.

Much to his despair, you meet his self proclaimed friend--Hange, and the two of you become friends too. He tries not to mind it, however, the day Hange flashes a cookie with what is clearly his frowning face drawn on it, he has to be held back by five soldiers from throwing Hange out the window. He marches to cafe, intending on letting out his ire at your insolence. But somehow, he doesn't tell you off like he had planned. Instead he finds himself asking you about your baking and art skills-even he would admit that the drawing of him had been spot on.

He does ban from making them again. You honoured it, until the two of you became good friends. Suddenly, every holiday involves at least one tray of grumpy Levi cookies. Even Erwin had enjoyed them, much to his exasperation. It had lead to his vow of never trying one.

They tasted amazing, I really think you should have tried them- OUCH that hurt shorty-

It doesn't take long till he finds himself purposefully visiting at closing time, knowing you'll just make yourself make a meal too, sit nearby and read a book. You engage him in conversation at times, telling him about the books you read. The two of you bond over food and fictional stories. He let's his walls down for you, little by little. You end up becoming the first person he let's in, his first friend, since the death of Isabel and Farlan.

Levi likes to think they would have liked you.

It's nice, spending time with you. You don't look at him like he's some God with all the solutions, like his comrades do. You aren't in some high risk career where he'd have to worry about you dying. You're stable and peaceful, exactly where you are.

Everytime he sets out for an expedition, he mentally prepares himself for not making it back without at least half his cormades. When it comes to you, his friend, he has no worries. You're safely tucked away in your cafe, out of reach from the titans grasp.

'friend' sure Levi, you write love letters for your friends.

Four eyes where the fuck did you get those from, give them back-

___________________________________

It's a peaceful day, as evidenced by the birds chirping and general pleasant atmosphere. One could say the weather is perfect. Just the right amount of sunshine shining in the streets, children enjoying themselves, chasing each other.

Even Levi is in a good mood. Of course, his good mood is amplified by his current location. His favorite cafe.

He's sitting inside, but the windows are open, letting in fresh air. He has a nice cup of tea on the table, with a plate full of sandwiches. You were seated in front of him, drinking some tea so sweet he could smell it.

You're telling him about a book, how you've analysed its villainous characters. He enjoys listening to you, often finding your ability to guage complex characters with relative ease to be startling. It makes him trust you more, knowing that no matter how fucked up something occurs, you wouldn't take it at face value.

You wouldn't judge him like that.

The two of you are interrupted as the bell chimes and someone enters the cafe. It's a young man, maybe in his 20s. He's dressed well, a white shirt with a brown vest on top. You put down the book down and smile as you go to greet him.

Suddenly, Levi doesn't feel as peaceful as before. He keep his eyes to his tea but his ears are perked up as he listens to you chatter with the man.

'Hello. Its been a while eh?'

'It has. I've been in Wall Sina getting some work done. Finally finished it, those damn nobles ask us for way too much-'

The man places an order for a bag of biscuits, ones you had already made. You give him a discount, which Levi smugly notes isn't even half of what he gets, and he tells you he has to leave soon. Levi's relieved really, he doesn't know what he's feeling, but he knows he doesn't like him.

'.. Maybe next time, I could take you out on a date...'

Even though you gently reject the man, who takes it well, Levi can't stop frowning. Once you take your place in infront of him again and continue your explaination, he turns his attention back to you and tries to brush off that feeling in his gut.

But it doesn't work.

____________________________________

When Levi had been taken in under Kenny's (questionable) care, he had learned a lot of things from the man. How to hold a knife, how to break bones, make deals, the sex talk that Levi would like to never remember etc. Kenny had taught him plenty of life skills.

However, his methods had been crazy to say the least. More often then not, Levi found himself on the recieving end of sparring sessions where he was sent flying into trash cans and expected to get up and attack again. Kenny had been ruthless, but it had been for his own good. He wouldn't have survived that hell hole otherwise.

Levi recalled a specific moment in his early days of being with Kenny all too clearly. He hadn't fully understood why Kenny was making him train like this, and frankly, he had been exhausted being treated like a punching bag. In his anger, he had yelled at Kenny, half crying, about how his mother would never let him get hurt like this and how much he missed her.

Kenny had stared at him blankly for a minute once he had finished, and with the speed of lightning, the man had punched him in the stomach.

It had been extremely painful, taking his breath away. Kenny had then proceeded to beat him senseless--telling him what would happen if he wasn't strong enough with each blow.

He would always remember that pain for the rest of his life. Nothing had ever come close to it, or at least that's what he had thought.

But right now, sitting at his desk late at night, Levi feels like Kenny had punched him in the gut again. He was, yet again, experiencing a feeling he would never forget. It wasn't pain, but it's intensity was just the same.

Love.

..sittin in a tree, K I S S I N- AHHH

Section Commander, are you okay!? How did you fall down the stairs??

___________________________________

Levi and the rest of the soldiers had the night off, and while usually he was more inclined to simply stay away from their parties, he allowed his squad to drag him. It had, as expected, turned out to be a mistake. Everyone had been too drunk. Especially his squad.

When Olou began singing, Levi listened with mild amusement. His voice actually hadn't been too bad.

When Gunther and Eld began drunkenly trying to dance together to his singing, he might have actually smiled while drinking his beer.

When a very drunk Moblit collapsed next to him, muttering about that crazy four eyes, Levi decided to put his foot down and end the party. With Petra's help, he had carried Moblit to his room. The poor man had muttered the entire way there, mostly about Hange and Titans and needing therapy.

The punch in the gut, figuratively, had taken place on his way back to his room. Courtesy of Petra.

He hadn't noticed it, which had been stupid of him in hindsight. His ginger haired comrade had been harbouring feelings for him- feelings he knew he didn't return in the slightest. He had turned her down as gently as possible, not expecting her to loop her arms around his neck and beg him for one night together.

'... Please captain, just one night. If you still feel the same in the morning, I'll never bring this up again.'

Maybe in another universe, he would have said yes. After all, despite the age gap between them, Petra was rather beautiful. And any man would want to enjoy a night with her.

Alas, the moment she had looped her arms around him, his breath had suddenly left him, as though Kenny had punched him in the gut again.

He wasn't seeing his ginger haired cormade leaning into him, confessing her love to him. He was seeing you, your hair in that messy bun, that sweet smile, saying all those words. Practically begging him to make you his.

The moment Petra repeated her statement again, however, the vision fell apart and he pushed her away. After a firm rejection and some tears, he wandered back to his office, feeling dazed.

Sitting down in his chair, he had stared mindlessly, thinking about you.

You and your sweet words. Your obsession with reading. Those special discounts for him. That gentle smile. Even those absurd grumpy Levi cookies you baked.

Levi was a Capricorn--and capricorns were practical people. Rational. And in the interest of being practical, Levi decided to admit his feelings to himself. It would only drive him crazy if he didn't.

He was in love with you.

___________________________________

In his thirty something years of living, Levi had never been in an relationship. He had been too busy navigating the dark realms of the underground, trying to find enough food to eat. He hadn't cared for sex either, too traumatized by Kenny and his (shudder) talk. By the time he had gotten older and more stable, he had been so disgusted by the flithiness of the act, that he didn't even bother seeking out partners.

Which was why, here was, in love with a woman who probably deserved better then him, unable to do figure out what to do. Should he tell you? Or just keep it to himself? He wasn't sure if you felt the same, but the part of him that was in love with you knew he'd die happy if he held even the smallest part of your heart.

He was at a loss really. Maybe he could find a book about this crap.

Kenny's voice rung in his head for a few seconds, before Levi shut it off. He would rather die single then get a girl using Kenny's advice. He could do better then this. Maybe Erwin would have a book, there had to be somewhere the blonde bastard learned his charm from.

... You gotta be upfront kid. If you want her to be yours..

Levi wouldn't listen to Kenny. No. There was no way...

.. Don't beat around the bush brat, just tell her...

...he would do as Kenny had advised him to.

... Kill her if she doesn't like you back okay..

Okay that wasn't happening. Even if some of it sounded like it made sense, he still wouldn't do it like Kenny would.

No.

Freaking.

Way.

__________________________________

The next day, Levi silently wondered if his mentor was still alive. If he was, Levi resolved to stab him in a heartbeat. Because he just knew, that if Kenny could see him now, he would laugh his ass off.

After all, Levi had gotten into a relationship.

With a woman who baked cookies and drew his face on them for fun.

And it was all because he followed Kenny's advice.

Goddamit.

___________________________________

A/N: This ended up being longer then planned whew. My fingers were numb at some points, bc I wrote this in 3 straight hours. I hope y'all liked this! Am I the only who thinks grumpy Levi cookies would be amazing? I had to give Kenny a role in this, it was too tempting not to. Overall, I liked this one alot. I actually have a plan in mind involving this Levi and reader, which I'll hopefully write soon. Till then, take care everyone!

[c-is-for-circinate]

It’s New Years’ Eve, and for once, my dash isn’t full of the sorts of fun-silly-memey end-of-year posts celebrating the past 365 days.  Which is fair.  We all know what this year has been, and for all the hoped-for relief that it’s finally over, we all know it’s going to keep being hard for a while yet into the next one.

But there have been so many little moments this year, too.  So.  A list:

In the courtyard of my apartment building in the middle of Chicago, in a part of the city where trees don’t get planted on the sidewalks, there are two tall trees, taller than the three-story roof of the building, like trees should be.  This spring, one of my neighbors (and I will never know who, because I have met none of my neighbors in person) left a package of sidewalk chalk on the concrete path in the middle of the courtyard, and one by one, bit by bit, people began to use it--the woman with the little girl who looked about two through my window last January and looks about three now, and the people with their dogs, and the neighbors passing by or sitting in the sunlight under the green trees in the summer, one or two at a time, never talking to each other, but sharing the chalk. Every rainfall it washed away, and a few days later there would be art again: bright flowers and shaky hopscotch courts, scrawling letters of BLACK LIVES MATTER and GO VOTE and HAPPY 4TH OF JULY, the oddly-colored fish I circled around the middle of the yard in June and the only jack-o-lantern I put out this year at the end of October.  Nearly every person in this building is an adult, very nearly no children at all, but everyone played this summer, or if we didn’t play, we saw it out our windows under the green trees all year long.

The neighbor downstairs on the other side of the hall took up clarinet this year, or started practicing at home in the middle of the afternoon--not at the start of quarantine, when we were all shy and quiet, but later on, bit by bit, as the hair came down and the cabin fever set in.  They are good at clarinet, and they are taking joy in it, and some days I turn off my own music just to listen for a while as they practice.  Today they played the Totoro theme song, just loud enough to be quiet and smile at.

On weeks my D&D group can’t convene a quorum (we’ve tried so hard to hold zoom sessions, and sometimes it works and sometimes it doesn’t and sometimes the Japanese prime minister resigns and a house none of us have ever lived in catches fire and things go wrong), our cleric screenshares the New York Times crossword, and whoever’s there works in laughing diligent cooperation to fill out puzzle after puzzle, tripping each over each other to answer clues first while our cleric tries to keep up with typing in the letters.  We can solve a Sunday in about twenty minutes. Last month we worked on the Cryptic Crossword for well over an hour before we had to break up for the night, but it got shared to the group chat.  Three days and well over a hundred text messages later, I unmuted the thread to discover that my players had managed to work together and solve the entire thing, and I found I was so proud of them I could burst.  (Then I wrote them a five-dimensional logic grid puzzle to solve on a time limit, because they keep talking their way out of combat and if they can do THAT, then they can figure out that the Marquis of the Mews is an archfey wearing pink in the midst of a ball where they can only ask yes or no questions and must be done by midnight.)

All year long, we have held virtual knit night on Thursdays from our homes.  All year long until it grew too cold, the owner of our little yarn store set up chairs on her sidewalk on Saturday afternoons, six feet apart, where we could bring our masks and our yarn and knit in the bright sunshine and see each other face to face and be seen in return.  (And the owner of our little yarn store has stayed in business, and not just because she made that place a home for us over months and years before 2020 even happened, but because so many people have learned to knit this year, and so many people have found something to do with their hands and their hearts and their yarn that is soft and beautiful to look at and warm in the cold.)

I have a friend who texts me every weekday morning at 11:30 AM to check in and poke my executive function into gear if it needs an external starter.  I have a friend seven time zones away who makes lists of the things they need to do that day in our discord chat at 3 AM my time, and when I wake up and check in I make lists back while they’re at work, and if they wake up the next morning again and I’m still awake they prod my executive function to put me to bed again.  I have internet friends I’ve fallen out of touch with and internet friends I’ve found again and I’ve gone through seven different fandoms this year skipping from rec to rec to rec, and had people to talk and cry and flail at about every single one.

Sometimes strangers do nice things for strangers just because they can.  This year I have commented on more fic than ever before in my life, essays that took half an hour to write because I could and I needed somebody to know they’d touched me, to maybe touch them back.  This year, someone on my dash gave me access to a whole trove of personally-uploaded movies because I’d lost my Miyazaki library and she had one to share and, fuck, if you can do something like that for a friend of a friend of a friend, why wouldn’t you?  An acquaintance gave me a free handsewn mask that fits better than anything else I’ve bought this year.  I am so, so, so proud of the students I have helped survive this year of remote learning, bit by painstaking bit, as they passed AP Calculus and junior high biology and learned to write beautiful papers and run statistical analyses and make lists of ADLs and cope with getting out of bed every day when there’s nobody to notice if they don’t.

I’ve spent more time sitting on my back porch this year than I have in longer than I can remember, even when I have to put on a winter coat and extra socks to eat dinner.  The people across the alley have put up their Christmas tree on their back deck for the season, and their downstairs neighbors strung lights.  They’re beautiful in the dark.

[wedreamedlove]

[FIC] Isomorphism

Rating: G Characters: Zhou Qiluo, Bai Qi, Xu Mo, Li Zeyan, Reader Word Count: 1886

A/N: Hello to new followers from the analyses posts I put up! I like to write stories too so feel free to browse my Masterlist if you enjoy my writing. The tabs are fun to press, I promise.

Tags: Daemon!verse (His Dark Materials by Philip Pullman).

Summary: First meeting blurbs with the men and their daemons. I tried to keep the Reader's vague, so you can project your own but unfortunately it's on the small side.

Beware spoilers on Zhou Qiluo and Xu Mo up to Chapter 17.

The first time you meet him is over the last bag of chips in the convenience store.

A stranger's hand on the bag of chips makes you look over and, rather than his sunshine hair and sky blue eyes, it's actually the small polar bear cub that pokes its head up from behind his shoulder which confirmed that it is Zhou Qiluo in front of you.

Both of you get on like a house on fire, clicking immediately, and through your relationship with him you find that his chubby daemon cub is as adorable as it looks and presents itself in interviews.

However, you wonder sometimes why his daemon appears as a cub when Qiluo is an adult already. Normally, daemons reflect the age of their guardian but you never end up asking, thinking it's too personal.

This leads to your first thought, upon making your acquaintance with the hacker KEY, about needing to tell Qiluo that KEY has an enormous adult polar bear as a daemon. You can imagine the pout on Qiluo's face already.

So imagine your surprise when KEY comes to your rescue and his hood falls back to reveal that he was Zhou Qiluo all along.

When the two of you manage to get a breather in the secret room underneath the conference, you ask him how his cub is now an adult. Your daemon noses at Qiluo's daemon and, despite its large size, Qiluo's daemon retains its gentle and foolish personality, being careful when it paws at your daemon before it rolls over onto its back, watching you two.

"She's always been able to do this," Qiluo shrugs with a grin, "It's pretty convenient when I'm traveling around on tours. Besides, don't you think her cub form suits the idol Zhou Qiluo much better?"

He glances at her when he says this and, right before your eyes, you see Qiluo's daemon shrink until she returns to her familiar cub form, blinking her large black eyes.

You take this newfound knowledge in stride, feeling even closer to Qiluo now after he shares this secret ability with you.

But you realize, when you see him for the last time, that it's like you've never really known him at all. He's always kept a side of himself far away from you, as distant as the moon, and in fact you don't even recognize that it's him until you hear the intoned words.

"I command you---"

Zhang Chenxi's daemon tries to flee the moment the words land on Zhang Chenxi, but a large polar bear rushes out from between the bookshelves and slams the daemon down, biting it viciously. Your ears echo with its shrieks.

Your own daemon tries to escape as well when Qiluo turns those words on you, knowing instinctively that you want to preserve some semblance of recognition of him. But your daemon gets pinned down by Qiluo's polar bear, although her actions are as gentle as she can make it.

Both of them have golden eyes, you notice through teary eyes even as you shake your head helplessly, not wanting Qiluo to leave you.

But in the end the sun disappears before your eyes.

When you come out of the darkness there's a stuffed polar bear on your bed.

~~~

"Do you still remember me?"

Even without hearing him, seeing him, or being prompted, there's no way you would forget your senior in high school because his relationship with you had always been one of the school's mysteries. He had a terrifying reputation and an equally terrifyingly standoffish attitude, yet the heavy weight of the grey wolf leaning against your leg is the same as always.

Your daemon curls deeper into your arms, wary of the large predator below it, and you find yourself standing a bit stiffly as well.

It's an extreme faux pas to touch another person's daemon, and the only exceptions are violent fights or between lovers. To your knowledge, none of these apply to you and Bai Qi right now.

However, Bai Qi doesn't seem to have any thoughts about his daemon clinging to you like this. He just flicks his eyes down to his daemon, confirming it's not troubling you too much, before he looks back at you, a smile playing on his lips.

You do your best to ignore his daemon at your feet and respond to his question, starting up a conversation. But, in the end, his daemon rests too much of its weight against you and you stumble to the side, reaching out instinctively to steady yourself with a hand on its head.

Immediately, you retract your hand like it's burned and open your mouth to apologize to Bai Qi for touching his daemon. But he beats you to speaking first.

"Hey, none of that. Behave yourself." His voice is low.

For a second you think he's talking to you and you straighten your back, feeling a chill run through your body when you recall his temper and exploits at school.

But then you see his daemon flatten its ears against its skull and tuck its tail in tighter, looking chastised. Your heart melts when it peeks up at you with soft brown eyes and you quickly tell Bai Qi that you know his daemon didn't mean any harm and you were just unprepared for its weight.

He looks at you, somewhat surprised, and then clears his throat and averts his eyes. "Feel free to nudge her back if she gets to be too much."

The tinge of red on his ears must be your imagination when he passes by you, handing you documents at the same time, and takes the lead to bring you along on his investigation.

As you head off with Bai Qi to look into the strange happenings in this city for Miracle Finder, his gray wolf keeps pace beside you, a steady warmth against your leg that hasn't changed from high school.

~~~

"Hm? You're looking for Xu Mo?"

From the start of the conversation to the end, as you and Xu Mo wrap up the details of his cooperation with Miracle Finder, he has been nothing but polite and warm. However there's something that nags at you, tugging at your instincts (and you're briefly reminded of his earlier words), until you realize what it is and cast a glance around the room curiously.

You haven't seen Xu Mo's daemon since he opened the door. It's unusual for a person and their daemon to be separated for long periods of time. Or is he one of those who don't have one? It'd be insensitive to bring that up though.

Xu Mo shifts, leaning back against his desk and crossing his legs at the ankles. He seems to have noticed your wandering gaze and says with an amused smile, "Ask. You're curious about something."

Flushing a bit at being caught, you still end up asking hesitantly where his daemon is.

"Right in front of you."

His answer makes you blink and you take another look around. It's only when he makes a coaxing noise though that you see a white ball, which had blended in with the stack of binders and papers on his desk, stir that you see the nose and whiskers and intelligent black eyes of an arctic fox.

It has been watching you and your daemon this entire time and you hadn't even noticed.

Xu Mo extends his arm and his daemon uncurls itself, stretching and shaking out its cloud-like fur, before it slides up his arm to balance on his shoulders behind his head. The motion is so sinuous that you think you see something else for a second. But that's ridiculous. Going by Xu Mo's age, his daemon should have long settled its form by now.

Much later, you realize your thoughts back in those innocent days weren't ridiculous at all when you find yourself standing in a park, pressing Iridescent to your own throat with shaky hands and blinking past tears.

Through your blurry vision you can see the sinuous white snake curled around Xu Mo's --- no, Ares's --- shoulder. Its head rests at the hollow of his throat, black eyes watching you without blinking just like how the fox watched you back then, and its tongue as it flicks it out to taste the air is red.

The color is a vicious slash across his pale throat, painting an illusion that his throat is bleeding, and you feel an answering trickle of blood down your own throat from Iridescent's sharp tip.

As your heart breaks under his words, you wonder if you ever truly knew him. Is he Xu Mo? Is he Ares? Is his daemon a fox, a snake, or something else entirely? Is he someone whose name you don't even know?

His daemon flicks its tongue out again and, faintly, you wonder what it tastes from you. Betrayal? Grief? Hurt? Or just an aching numbness?

~~~

It's actually the second time you meet Li Zeyan when you see him next, but you never got his name in the first meeting, after he saved you from the car, and things were so hectic that you also didn't see his daemon.

Which makes you question your sight because how could you have possibly missed the massive lion by his side? The apex predator strides down the hallway in front of the CEO who is talking to his aides. One of its paws is easily the size of your head.

Nevertheless, despite your sudden reservation at confronting Li Zeyan when his daemon is exuding such a heavy presence, you still step out when it looks like Li Zeyan will pass by without even sparing you a glance. You ignore the low rumble that comes from the lion.

Li Zeyan pauses and looks at you.

You lock your legs together to keep yourself standing, hyperaware of the gaze from Li Zeyan's daemon. Your own daemon bristles in your arms, sharing your mix of nervousness and resolve.

Inwardly, you reassure yourself about how you've never heard of a daemon savaging someone before. But the instinctual fear of being in front of a deadly beast weighs on your shoulders. Still, you push through all this to argue your case in front of the poker-faced man.

He gives you 5 minutes of his time and gestures for you to head into his office.

The door to his office suddenly looks like the mouth of a cave though and you recall the idiom of bearding a lion in his den. This sensation is magnified when Li Zeyan's daemon precedes you into the office, lying down beside the desk and looking imposing as it flicks its tail.

You miraculously keep your calm though as you focus your attention on Li Zeyan, and it helps when his daemon looks away and starts to clean its paws, paying you and your daemon no more attention.

In the end, you manage to wrestle a promise out of Li Zeyan to fund your company and, as you leave as quickly as naturally possible so that you can let out your breath which you've been holding and give your wobbly legs a rest, you miss the intrigued look in Li Zeyan's eyes and the curious tilt of his daemon's head, both of them watching you leave.

[ithinkthingsaboutstuff]

Going Rogue:The Crow’s Nest

This is a fic series, that looks at the ecosystem of Arkham asylum, How the rogues interactions with one another and how therapy is or is not administered. The partnerships, the connections, the feud’s and the all the madness that rest inside the padded walls.

Going Rogue:

part 3: The Crow’s Nest

There is a saying in Arkham. first floor for the mad, seconded floor for the crazy and the third floor for the insane. Now obviously, this is semantics, but the inclination is rather important here. The mortals with the ailment of men are kept on the ground floor as to give the illusion to any haply soul that enters that this could pass as a simple house of nightmares. The seconded floor is the maze of madness, the corridors to the crazy, that gives the doctors more than enough reason to question whatever deity or deities they may believe in. The third floor however is where all hope of humanity leaves you, not just for the patients but for anyone who comes across it.

The third floor was filled with the more ‘experimental’ therapy's or ancient practices depending on who you ask, the politicians who are the same people who still classify Arkham as a ‘mental health facility’ will tell you that this is all a part of new cutting edge techniques and therapy's that help the poor inhabitants of Akrham. If you ask the first and second floor patients, its where monsters go to lose their fangs and claws, so that they can be tamed by lesser men. The doctors at Akrham would like to pretend that this is a last resort, that its only used on the hopeless cases and that they are beyond any other kind of help, but mostly each doctor in their quiet moments, still and clam when the screams fall silent and the eyes of men and women haunt their closed eye lids, they have one creeping, sinking thought,

This is madness.

But thoughts like that must be pushed down lest you let them take you. But that’s not to say all doctors at Arkham feel that way, but then again not all the doctors in Arkham are in-front of the glass are they. Dr Jonathon Crane was once a honoured and respected doctor, or that’s what people say now anyway, about Dr Crane’s earlier years in medicine and teaching, truth is if you had asked these same people back then what they thought of him they would all give to roughly the same answer. ‘He’s a quiet but an odd man,’ ‘there’s something not quite right about him.’ ‘little obsessive isn’t he.’ ‘Who?’

Not that any of their opinions are remotely of consequence, not back then and defiantly not now. Jonathon has been sent to the third floor for treatment on and off for years now, he never talks about what happens there, no one ever dose but Jonathon shows a particulate disdain when it comes to talking about anything that involves himself. Besides, Jonathon was not like the other patients on the third floor, unlike all the others in his unfortunate position, that position being that one is at any given moment an airs breath way from being a grotesqueness shell of human facilities, the difference is,

Jonathon enjoyed it.

The third floor had the thickest cells in all of Arkham. Unlike the second floor this layout was not a maze, it is much more straight forward but what it lacked it terrainle confusion it made up for it in being a hallway of horrors hellscape. The people sent here are jacketed and chained to their wall, and that’s how stay until a doctor tells them otherwise. Spending their days desperately trying not to piss themselves as they wait for their scheduled bathroom times, mind you at this point most of the occupants that make it to the third circle of this Halloween themed death-hole are more than willing to defecate themselves like zoo animals then most folks. The staff spends the bathroom times simply cleaning the zoo cages.  

In one of these cells, thick and padded. Jonathan sat on his bed, the walls were ripped exposing the wool that had become yellow with decay. The window was no bigger than a sheet of paper, the bars on them were thin and had rusted to the point that they had holes making it look like it had a termite infestation. Jonathon was not in a straight-jacket anymore but his right leg was still chained to the back wall. He sat on his bed or buck or canvas lined poles, Jonathon found the bed comforting, he often slept in his scarecrow mask and this bed made him feel like he was wrapped in it.

He was not in the best of places when he was brought in this time, not that he ever was in his right mind when he was brought in here, but this was different. This time the bat didn’t drag him in, this time he came willingly. October was not a good month for him with all the temptation about, the autumn air so sweet in his nose but bitter on his brain. Every crunch of the leaves and the air that sent a chill down his spine and vibrated through his very soul, all of it was getting to much, he felt himself slipping or rather he felt the scarecrow creeping up the back of his mind and skulking behind his eyelids. He then went to arkham of his own accord as to not find himself wrapped in burlap for at least one Halloween night. Jonathon was at this point in his treatment allowed some writing implements, this made his focus clearer and allowed him to make his notes.        

Medical log 29: Dr. Jonathon Crane.

Time, 1700 hours.

Date, October 29th,

Year, ...who the fuck cares anymore.

The screams coming from the north wall started at about 1130 hours and ceased at approximately 1450 hours.

As to what ‘therapy' was being administered in that time is up of speculation, however I have it on good authority and judging on the volume and intensity of the screams for such a period, they are most likely being caused by electroshock mixed with a high Diazepam concentrate.

As to the effectiveness of this treatment remains to be seen, the north wall has been having these sessions by my approximation for about 19 days now, with about 5 patients, four male and one female.

four of the screams are unfamiliar to me, but the fifths I am all too familiar with, well not screams so much, as this creature does not know fear at least not in a traditional sense.  

and I would know that ass-clowns giggles anywhere.

Most likely this treatment was done on him by the direction of his new doctor. They never learn, that his mind cannot be reasoned with, and most certainly cannot be saved. But youth is often unpractised in the ways of disappointment. They will continue the trials for the next two days ending it on three weeks. As to what will come from this, I will monitor for any overall behaviour changes in the third floor, but have not other means of conducting further analysed at this present time.

As for my own treatment, I am becoming more loseit by the day, I expect to be returned to the second floor by the weeks end. My doctor has been most helpful, in making the transition this time around, I will be having a session with them in a tomorrow morning. They do have some skill unlike most of the so called doctors in the hellhouse,

however their naivety is most troubling.

What will become of them in a place like this remains to be seem, I will monitor they decline for future reference.    

Log 29, End.

Jonathon then moved to the window. The tiny thing would have been at the top of most people’s heads, but Jonathon was a tall man. His body towered over most peoples, his body was lean and skinny, like his skin was a thin cloth that covered his skeleton to keep himself together. His hands where rough and callus from all those years of swing a large heavy scythe, his face sunken with dark bags under his eyes. His glasses were slightly cracked on the left side frame, on his right temple down to his neck was a thin but jagged scar as if someone slide the knife down his face before trying to slit his throat.

Jonathon was able to pier out the window and see outside into the grounds of Arkham. Not much out there at the moment as you could imagine, mostly just over grow weeds and underbrush. But the courtyard was filled with birds or rather crows. They would squawk and cry for all to hear, it was the only thing in Arkham that was more constant then the screams. One of the crows landed on the windows ledge and squawked in Jonathon’s face. Jonathon stared at it for a moment before it squawked at him again, he then let a smile slowly creep onto his face.

‘Alright, alright, easy now, I get the picture.’

His voice was low just about a whisper, is southern accent rumbled as he tried to use a hushing tone.

‘How was your day today little birdy.’        

The crow pecked at the concrete as Jon reached into his pocket. He then pulled out his hand and held it to the window, sprinkling out crumbs of food on the ledge. The crow pecked at the food and Jon moved his fingers to slowly stroke the birds feathers.

‘You had a hard day huh, me too, but its not so bad, is it little birdy, you got big sky's and lots of places to go, but here you are, sitten with little old me, not that I don’t like when you come to visit, just seems like you’d have better places to be is all. You came he to have rest before going off to do what you need do, I get that, why you stick around me I’m not so sure though. But to each there own I suppose.’

The bird bobbed its head and Jonathon continued to pet it.

‘You such a pretty bird aren't you, and smart bird, you got anything for me?’

The bird flapped its wings and flew off, a few moments pasted and the bird returned holding something shinny in its beck.

‘Well, what’s this now?’

Jonathon took the object out of the birds beck and examined it, it was a thin metal rod it looks like it broke off an old lighting fixture,

‘A little rusted by I can file it down some. Thank you little birdy.’

Jonathon petted the bird again as it happily cried. A noise came from the hallway, footsteps came closer to his door.    

‘You should be on you way now, Little birdy.’

Jonathon then shooed the bird away it bounced on the ledge a few times before flapping its wings and flying away. Jonathon then weaved the metal rod inside one of the holes in one of the padded walls, he moves the fabric to hide the shape of the rod sticking through the wall with the padding. Jonathon then moved slowly as to not rattle his chain, he sat back on his bed and made it look like he was still taking notes.

The footsteps made it to his door and the big heavy door began to unlock and with one strong push it came open.

‘Evening.’

The voice called from the door frame.

‘I must admit I was not expecting you.’

Jonathon said as they then shut the door behind them.

‘And why’s that?’

Jonathon looked behind the one in front of him eyes darting back and forth.

‘Here all by yourself aren't you? no guards, no back up. You might get into some trouble for that.’

‘Doubt it,’

They answered smugly.

‘Fair point, so what brings you here?’

‘What else, you.’

‘You came all the way up here to see little old me, all by yourself huh, not to bright.’

‘Well you are chained to the wall so I would like to see what you could do.’

They let out a soft quiet laugh. Jonathon then shuffled jostling his leg.

‘I’m only chained to the wall at your recommendation, Doctor Quinzell,’

The young women could not hide her smile at that one. She tried not to see her patients after hours but Jonathon was one of the few she could make lenience for on that front.

‘Now Jonathon that’s for your safely as well as mine.’

‘That’s Bullshit, and you know it.’

She moved over to a chair that was on the opposite of the bed.

‘No need for that language, Jonathon.’

‘No need for a god damn chain on my leg neither.’

Doctor Quinzell then pulled out a note pad from her bag.

‘Now, How have you been Jonathon.’

He looked at her for a moment and put his own note pad to his side and looked her in the eye again.

‘Fine.’

Doctor Quinzell tapped her pen to her pad.

‘Well, you’ve been fine, the last 28 times we’ve meet up, most be an in house record.’

‘Don’t sass me child.’

‘Jonathon, if you want to leave the third floor your going to have to work with me here.’

Jonathon let out a sigh.

‘Fine...I’m feeling things again, so that’s something.’

‘What things?’

‘Sensations...my face...the air.... beating of my heart, the screams on the walls.’

‘That good, better then last time, how dose that make you feel.’

‘Cold mostly.’

‘Right, anything else.’

‘I have been sleeping better,’

‘Good, why do you think that is?’

‘The birds maybe?’

‘Ok, is there anything else you want to talk about.’

‘Like what.’

‘Like the incident that got you moved up here from the seconded floor, about three weeks ago.’

‘I’m not sorry and you can tell Jervis that I said so.’

‘So you remember what happened now.’

‘Kind of, I remember the screams and Bolton flying across the room but not much else.’

‘Well better then nothing, is there anything else you want to talk about.’

‘Not really, how about you?’

Doctor Qiunzell moved in her chair. Jonathon tapped his glasses.

‘You seem to be looking and forgive my me, rather brunt out as it were.’

Doctor Qiunzell bit her lip for a split second.

‘Now Jonathon, let us keep this about you,’

Jonathon put his hands together and leaned forward.

‘Very well, do you remember, back in the day when I was still teaching and you sat in the back row taking notes like a bat out of hell, you wrote down just about every word I said no matter how unimportant it was.’

‘Yes, ok, um why do you mention that,’

‘You see when you and I first started having are sessions, It seemed to me you kept that habit, but as of the last oh, year or so you seemed to have lost that habit. In fact you have not written a single thing down since you came in here.’

‘Things change and its just was not necessary anymore,’

‘Necessary, interesting that you use that word Doctor Quinzell, wouldn’t you say.’

‘I think, its more about understanding what information I do and don’t need.’

‘But you said necessary, a need is done out of purpose outside of our own judgement, when we feel something is or is not necessary it speaks more of our own personal biases, the fact you no longer see it to be necessary suggest you have had a shift in your priorities.’

‘And what might that be Professor Crane.’

‘Well, what do think, what have you been up to lately.’

‘Well, I have been working on more patients lately. And I think I’m losing track of then,’  

Doctor Crane then took the note pad from his side and opened it.

‘such as,’

‘I had Victor Freeze the other day and I just could not listen to anything he had to say, he talks about his wife his, feelings and all I could do is look at my watch the whole time.’

Doctor Crane took down a note.

‘I see, why do you think that is.’

‘I had my other patient to get to,’

‘Which one.’

‘Joker.’

Doctor Crane took another note and underlined it.

‘I see do you have this problem with him?’

‘No, if anything I go over time. That’s why I missed my session with Nygma, yesterday.’

‘Edwards back, huh,  good to know, Is there a reason why you are spending so much time with Joker as opposed to you other patients, Harley.’

Harley Stated to play with her hair taking it down from a bun,

‘He’s just so open with me you know.’

Doctor Crane tapped his glasses and took another note.

‘Open, open how?’

Harley played with her hair more patting it down and straightening it out the best she could but to no avail.

‘Oh I can’t tell you that, can’t break the rules’

Doctor Crane took down another note underlining it twice.

‘Hmm,very well, so you do have him on a new treatment though, don’t you Harley.’

Harley looked surprised.

‘How do you know that.’

‘I may not always be in the best of mind, but my ears work perfectly. I can hear the laugh through the walls’

‘Oh, I see that makes senses. silly me, oops ’

‘That’s ok, I there any improvement in any of them so far.’

‘No not really Professor Crane, and honestly I don’t think we should continue...but.’

‘But what? Harley.’

She took a deep breath and leaned back with a wishful sigh.

‘He has such a beautiful laugh and its the only thing that makes him smile right now.’

Doctor Crane kept quietly taking notes.

‘I see, well Harley...’

Footsteps where making there way down the hall.

‘I think it be best if you were on you way now,’

Harley straighten like she had just been sobered up.

‘Yes, your right Professor Crane.’

She then started to tie her hair up again. The footsteps came closer and Harley had grabbed all her things and made her way to the door, she waited a moment as she heard the footsteps walk past the door. She then pulled the door open and she opened it wide enough for herself to push herself out, as she went into the hallway she was meet with a man, she yelped.

‘Oh, Mr Bolton, you scared me.’

‘Sorry about that Doc, what are you doing up here this late?’

‘Just catching up with my patients, goodnight Mr Bolton.’

Harley tried to fix her hair as she went down the hall, rushing to the elevator. Bolton then waited for her to be out of sight before opening the heavy door again. Jonathon was still sitting on his bed making notes and Bolton slammed the door shut behind him.

‘I am very popular today aren’t I.’

Jonathon said without lifting his head.

‘What did you do to that Doctor Crane.’

Jonathon snapped his book shut and looked to Bolton eyes over his glasses.

‘I assure you it is strictly professional.’

‘Is that right. Well then I assure you from professional to another, This is going to hurt.’        

‘What are you going on about Bolton.’

Bolton looked at the chain that connected Jonathon to the wall.

‘No where to run Crane,’

‘No where to hide neither Bolton.’

Bolton moved closer to him slowly as he prepared his fists.

‘Let’s see if I can get the scarecrow to be afraid,’

‘How much time you got.’

‘All night.’

Jonathon looked at Bolton unfazed by his actions knowing what is to come.The Crows outside squawked as they flew in circles outside, one of which landed on the window.

‘I guess I can pencil you in.’

‘I’m going to make sure you never get the chance to throw me around again, your staying in lockup.’

‘Haroo,Hraa.’

The crows cried the courtyard was empty, the screams where loud but tonight the crows where louder.

[writing-marvel]

There’s Nothing Holdin’ Me Back - Peter Parker

Author: @writing-marvel

Character(s): Peter Parker/Reader, Ned Leeds, Michelle Jones, Aunt May

Word Count: 4776

Notes: So, this is the first part of the illuminate series and my first ever Peter Parker fic so please don’t be too harsh on me?! This gets slightly smutty, but goes no further than slight making out. No fondue, lucky Cap. Listen to the song here.

I wanna follow where she goes I think about her and she knows it

Peter’s heart leapt out of his chest each time he thought about her. The way her eyes would light up as she came up with yet another mischievous plan or something that was surely not what they were supposed to be doing. He would find himself smiling each time she did, and it was the sort of smile that could light up a room. It was one of those grins that caused your eyes to crinkle slightly and your cheeks to hurt.

She knew exactly what kind of effect she had on him, he knew because each time he became flustered she’d have a little smirk, she repeated the actions that sent him spiralling into such a state, but he couldn't find it in himself to care, because after all, he did the same thing to her.

Normally, Peter was a hesitant boy, he’d hold back, he wouldn’t throw himself into situations that were too dangerous (lest he be clad in his red and blue) but with her, he’d follow her to the ends of the earth.

She was new to the school, and he’d taken an immediate fascination to her the moment Liz Allen had reached out, offered her a seat at her table. Now if there’s any one thing Peter knew - despite almost knowing everything due to his borderline genius intellect, of course - was that the new kids were always swept up within seconds on their first day by the popular crowd. Being new was like a ‘get out of jail free card’ for high school torture.

Having been seated next to him in his English Literature class, and he hadn’t taken much notice of her. However, when Liz Allan had entered the library, where their class was held, to take out a book she needed for an assignment, his entire thought track about the continual themes of love and hate in Shakespeare’s Romeo and Juliet had been gone. He let his head rest on his hand, watching as she glided through the shelves with elegance.

However, his heart was practically thundering out of his chest when her eyes locked on his table, and she was making her way over. For a split moment, he was delusional enough to think she was heading over to talk to him, but when she took place opposite the girl beside him, his hopes dropped.

Dishing out a much wanted and prestigious invite to this new girl to join Liz at a lunch table, she was quickly rejected by her and Liz looked positively shocked, but kindly accepted the girls decline and gathered her book, checking it out and leaving.

Peter, however, was thoroughly awestricken. This girl, whom he’d now had a chance to observe properly was actually very much of his interest. She wasn’t drop-dead gorgeous, but he was absolutely captivated by her nonetheless. Overlooking her physical appearance, she had just turned down Liz Allan because she didn’t want to become a well-known face. She was here for an education, not a prom queen nomination, and he looked upon that admirably.

Without any possible hesitation or any nerves, he tapped her on the shoulder, gaining her attention and he flashed her a cheeky smile, his head tilting to the side and she returned his grin.

“Hey, I’m Peter Parker, and how would you like to sit at the exact opposite of the popular table?”

I wanna let her take control 'Cause every time that she gets close, yeah She pulls me in enough to keep me guessing, mmm And maybe I should stop and start confessing Confessing, yeah

Peter had confessed his feelings to her when she’d been patching him up. With a grumpy pout, she paused her episode of Star Trek and made her way to the window, sliding it open and letting the superhero of Queens climb through with a grunt. Shaking her head, she straightened out her covers and patted the sheets for him to sit down, which he did.

Pulling out a first aid kit she had quickly assembled after his first few visits, she opened it up on the bed. “Suit off, Spidey, you know how this goes.” She teased and she was almost certain he was rolling his eyes under his mask, but he stood on shaky legs, pressing down on the spider emblem and letting the loosened material fall away to the floor.

She let out an audible gasp upon analysing the injuries littering his body, worse than she’d ever seen, and his head snapped up, black-rimmed eyes widening as he looked around. Her hand cupped his cheek and she knelt on the ground in front of him gently. Subconsciously leaning into her touch, he shivered slightly as her fingers traced in touches lighter than feather over his skin.

“Oh, Pete, I wish you’d be more careful.” She mumbled, not taking notice of her words until he stiffened under her touch, and she looked up with a raised eyebrow. “You think I wouldn’t know? My intelligence is insulted, Parker.” She grinned and he coughed lightly, clearing his throat. Moving her hand from his cheek, she hooked her fingers under the edges of his mask, and he lifted his own hand to pull it up and over his head, messy brown curls sticking up at odd angles.

“H-How long have you known?” He whispered, throat raw and fragile but she smiled, taking a seat beside him on her bed as she doused a cotton pad in rubbing alcohol.

“A good few months, but I figured you’d tell me when you were ready. Or never at all, either way, it’s your secret and it wasn’t mine to play with. I’m so proud of you though, Peter. Every article I read in the paper or news report flashing on the TV, I feel so proud of you.” She smiled and his breath hitched, although he tried to pretend it was from the sting of her dabbing at his cuts and not the intimate moment he’d just shared with the girl he loved.

“How did you know?” He whispered, though he’d waited until she’d finished patching him up and she shrugged, biting down on her bottom lip and worrying it between her teeth slightly.

“I guess, I always found it slightly unusual that you always came to me to be stitched up, but you never spoke. I questioned it. Why did Spider-Man have so much faith in me, but he couldn’t trust himself to speak? I knew it must’ve been someone I knew, because it was a trust like no other. Then it was the little things, like the times I’d hug you but you’d flinch, or the time I held your hand and you let me even though it hurt you because you had sprained your wrist, but I didn't know at the time. I just.. put together the puzzle pieces.”

He was stunned to say the least, and his face was almost as red as he suit when he found his next words. “So.. you can just read me like a book?” He mumbled and she chuckled lightly, reaching for his hand and lacing their fingers together, staring at their intertwined hands and nodding. “Does that mean.. you know about my.. f-feelings?” The words barely left his mouth they were spoken so quietly, but she heard them and she looked up at him with a smile.

“I’ve known about those for a while too.” She confirmed and he nodded, breaking their eye contact and swallowing thickly.

“The little things?”

“The little things.” She confirmed and he bit his lip, deciding to take a leap of faith. Lifting his other hand, he ignored the shooting pain in his shoulder and placed a hand under her chin, tilting her face upwards as he leaned in, catching her lips with his. The hand he was still holding tightened and he smiled into the kiss, receiving a whine from her.

“Stop smiling, I’ve been waiting to kiss you for four months, stop ruining it.” She teased and he pecked her lips again softly, grinning wildly when he pulled back.

“I’ve been waiting to kiss you for ten.”

Oh, I've been shaking I love it when you go crazy You take all my inhibitions Baby, there's nothing holdin' me back

You take me places that tear up my reputation Manipulate my decisions Baby, there's nothing holdin' me back

“You’re tearing up my reputation by making me do this, you know.” He stated, shaking the can in his hand while watching her as she scoped out her canvas.

“What reputation?” She scoffed, turning to face him with a bright smile and he shook his jaw dropped playfully. “Your reputation as May’s good boy?”

“No.” He huffed, sticking his tongue out and popping the lid off of the first can. “My.. Spider-Man reputation. I’m supposed to be the law, this is illegal, you know.” He prompted and she simply shrugged, taking no hesitations in spraying a thick red line across the bricks. He watched as she carefully began to graffiti the wall, a small smile on his lips as he watched her enjoying herself.

“Stop staring, P. If you don’t wanna’ get caught, you better spray fast so I can get the pictures for my project and we can get out of here.” She spoke, eyes never leaving her project as she swapped out her paint colours and Peter looked at the blank bricks before him, wondering what to do.

He eventually settled on something basic and they soon had the whole wall filled between them, as far as they could reach anyway, and she stepped back, admiring the work. Peter bit his lip as he looked at his own work in comparison to hers. His dodgy love heart barely resembled the shape it was intended to be and he’d used far too much paint, which was why it  was now dripping in rivers down the wall and it gave a very strong impression of a melted candle. She didn’t seem to mind however, because she began snapping pictures of it, moving around in an attempt to find different angles and eventually deciding she’d had enough of her art project for now.

He tucked his hands into his pockets, looking at the work they’d done together and he offered her his hand, the blue colours coating his own merging with the array of colours on hers as she accepted. “You know what would be cool?”

“What?” He mused, letting her tug him towards her apartment building.

“If you hang upside down and let me kiss you.” She turned to look at him and he raised an eyebrow.

“Like a Spider-Man kiss? With the webs and all?”

“With the webs.” She agreed, fingers playing absentmindedly as they waited in the elevator, and he nodded, thinking to himself.

“Let's do it.” He grinned, and she tilted her head to the side, a bemused expression on her face. “The Spider-Man kiss. Sounds like it’s going to be my new favourite thing.”

She says that she's never afraid Just picture everybody naked She really doesn't like to wait Not really into hesitation

Peter didn’t protest as his back slammed against the lockers, and he winced, because there was a large slash that he was sure had just reopened that had been caused the night before. Apparently, minding your own business was now on Flash’s list of do-not-do’s because that is exactly how he found himself now.

A thick forearm pressed against his throat as he gasped as Flash smirked, the pressure on his airways not doing much but it was enough to irritate his throat and he tried desperately not to cough, should that irritate the bully further. A small crowd had gathered around the moment Flash had not so accidentally knocked Peter’s books from his hands, which was what he hated the most.

If Flash picked on him when he was alone, it was usually a mean comment hurled at him and a rough shove to his shoulder that would send him staggering, but when crowds formed, it fed Flash’s inner attention seeker and the boy would not relinquish until he was sure everyone had seen him make a spectacle of poor Peter Parker.

While ‘poor Peter Parker’ was for sure not a term that could apply to him anymore, he knew he had to play the role, despite how much he desperately wanted to snap off Flash’s arm and beat him with it, because he was crumpling the new sweater Aunt May had bought for him.

Flash however was suddenly lurched backwards, the collar of his t-shirt tightening around his own neck as whoever had gathered his attention had tugged on it. His eyes glazed over in what could only be described as rage and Peter pitied the poor bugger on the receiving end of that anger. A very familiar face took place in his view and his eyes widened as his girlfriends normally beautiful smile was curled down into a scowl and Flash simply smirked, tilting his head to the side.

“Oh, well, look at that. Parker needs his bitch to defend him.” He snarled and Peter’s ears were practically steaming with how angry he was just from that comment, but luckily for him, he had a reliable best friend, and Ned quickly pulled him away.

“Excuse you, Flop, but you were in the way of my locker.” She growled, poking a finger into his chest firmly and he looked down at it, before back up to her. She’d stepped closer to him now, her jaw clenched and eyes flaring with aggression.

“It’s Flash.” He all but growled, taking an equal step closer to her and Peter was fearing for his girlfriend's life at this point because frankly, what was she doing?

“Is it?” She questioned, and Peter, along with the rest of the crowd that was watching with baited breath, couldn’t hold back their sniggering and Flash fumed, his face red and he was practically baring his teeth. “I mean-” she wasn’t done, and this time, she punctuated every other word with a harsh jab to his chest with her finger, “I’m pretty sure you’d have to be even remotely interesting to have a nickname like Flash. Like, you’re super intelligent, and you get the answer in a flash. But that's not you. Or maybe running, like for the Olympics? But don’t think I didn’t see you trip while jogging track the other day. You’re no quicksilver.”

He was now up against the lockers, his back pressed to the same spot Peter’s had been only moments earlier and Peter was practically shaking in excitement as the girl he could proudly call his put Flash in his place. “You bit-”

“Bitch? Is that the only insult you know? You sure aren’t a flash at comebacks either. You’re definitely a flop. So, Flop, get out of the way of my damn locker.” She hissed, and he quickly pushed past her, his shoulder connecting roughly with hers as he stormed down the corridor, doors slamming as he went and the crowd soon dispersed.

Peter however, was still standing in shock and staring at his girl, completely love-struck as she went through her locker and sorted her books, while Michelle and Ned looked positively repulsed by the ‘heart-eyes’ he was giving her. Taking a few short steps, he waited until she closed her locker, jumping slightly as he leaned against the metal doors beside her own, catching her by surprise.

“Hey Pete!” She smiled, leaning in to kiss him on the cheek, her lips lingering by his ear. “How’s your back? I should rebandage it before you go for your patrol tonight.” She smiled and he nodded, swallowing thickly.

“I will, but I wanted to say thank you. For that, just then.” He smiled, though now feeling slightly embarrassed he’d never had the guts to do it himself.

“I didn’t do anything, he was simply leaning on my locker and annoying me.” She played it off, and he was internally grateful that she didn’t make a big deal out of it. Leaning in closer, he nudged her nose to the side with his own, pressing a kiss to her lips as a thank you that she gratefully accepted.

“It was still pretty hot though, you should get bossy more often.” He teased, and she scoffed, slapping at his arm and linking her fingers with his as they walked towards their next class, chatting aimlessly about the nerdiest things possible.

Pulls me in enough to keep me guessing, whoa And maybe I should stop and start confessing Confessing, yeah

Oh, I've been shaking I love it when you go crazy You take all my inhibitions Baby, there's nothing holdin' me back

Spending the day with May to plan for Peter’s 18th birthday was exactly how you wanted to be spending your Saturday. Having decided to go out for a meal, you, May, Ned and Michelle had spent time saving up and getting a reservation, and you couldn’t be more excited about the evening to come. Of course, Peter hadn’t been able to keep his hands off you and that’s how you found yourself extremely grateful you’d booked a hotel room for the night instead of deciding to crash at his house.

Pressed up against the hotel door, your head tilted back, a low moan falling from your lips as Peter’s mouth moved hotly over your neck, quickly finding your sweet spot and sucking on it harshly. Your hand shot up, lacing into his curls and tugging lightly, a low groan rumbling from him and he pulled away, letting his eyes roam over the blushing red marks he’d left along your skin, which would undoubtedly leave a trail of purple marks she’d have a hell of a time covering up.

A smirk pulled at his lips and he let his lips find hers again as his hands slid from her hips to the hem of her dress, pulling the material up until it was bunched around her waist. One of his knees pushed her legs apart, his thigh pressing against her clothed heat and he loved the fact that she almost immediately responded, rolling her hips down in a desperate hope for friction.

“You know, princess-” His voice was raspy. Practically dripping with arousal and she whimpered just at the sound of it. “I love that you wore a blue dress and red underwear.” He teased and she nodded, hand lacing into the hair at the bottom of his neck, pulling his mouth back to hers, lips slanting together hungrily, teeth practically clashing with the heat and urgency of the kiss.

“Peter, please.” She mumbled against his lips and something inside him broke. His hands locked onto her hips, pulling her away from the door he’d had her pressed against and walking her backwards to the bed. Her knees connected with it, but before he let her fall, he tugged her dress up over her head, letting her kick off her heels.

She wasn’t too sure when Peter had become so skilled at undoing a bra, but he did it with ease now, and the material dropped to the floor. A growl sounded in his throat, his hands cupping her breasts and running his fingers over her nipples, kneading lightly as he tilted his head back, letting her kiss along his collarbone.

“I’m not gonna’ break, you know?” She mumbled, a chuckle vibrating against her lips as his hands tightened on her hips.

“You want it rougher, baby?” He cooed and she scoffed at his tone, hands pushing his jacket down his shoulders, letting it drop to the floor. Turning him around, she grinned as his knees hit the edge of the bed this time, letting him fall to the mattress. Crawling up to him, he propped himself up on his elbows, one eyebrow raised and she straddled him, rolling her hips down.

Another smirk was pulling at his lips as her fingers fumbled with the buttons of his shirt, and he resulted to sitting up fully, tearing it open and letting the remaining buttons drop to the floor or the bed as his lips found hers. Smoothing his hands down along her back, he let them cup her butt, squeezing softly and her lips parted as she moaned.

“Fuck, I love you.”

'Cause if we lost our minds And we took it way too far I know we'd be alright, Know we would be alright

“You’re kidding me, right?” He cursed, tugging at the ends of his hair as she stared at him incredulously. “You want to go to a college in California?” He seethed, holding up the letter she’d been ready to hand into school with her her college options on.

“Yes! It’s an amazing college and it has the courses I want, s-”

“It’s in California! It’s on the other side of the-” He shouted again, and May knocked gently on the door, opening it and peering inside. A stern look was on her face and she directed it at Peter, not wanting to invade on the conversation but silently telling him to ‘cool it’. He shook his head, taking a deep breath and clenching his eyes shut. “Hi, Aunt May.”

“I just wanted to let you both know dinner will be ready in five minutes.” May smiled and she nodded, standing and taking the paper from Peter’s hands.

“Thank you, May, but I won’t be staying for dinner.” She nodded to the older woman, who quickly accepted, leaving the room and Peter’s heart dropped.

“What do you mean you won’t be staying for dinner?” He stood in front of the door, blocking her from leaving as she took steps towards it.

“It means I’m going home, Pete, because you don’t get to dictate my life. I expected you to be happy for me, not throw it in my face.” She huffed, pushing past him and leaving, giving May a quick goodbye and he stood in the doorway of his room, thoroughly unsure how he was going to fix what he just messed up.

That had been three weeks ago, three weeks of agonising silence between the pair that neither of them were enjoying. She was still far too angry to speak to him and he was almost 100% certain they’d broken up, though neither of them had actually said the words, and he was too scared to approach her in fear of it being confirmed.

However, as she sat on her bed staring at the white envelope with the known stamp for her college on she couldn’t help but feel a great swell of sadness that he wasn’t here with her to open it. To kiss her and congratulate her if she got in, or to hold her and comfort her if she didn’t.

Her finger moved numbly across the seal, eyes scanning the page for the words she was looking for and a small smile rose to her lips as she read them. Accepted. She was going across the country to follow her dreams, but a larger feeling of complete and utter misery washed over her at how alone she felt in this moment, and how maybe Peter had been right.

Wiping at her face, she cleared the tears from her eyes and let the letter drop to her bed, answering the series of knocks at her door and she took a deep breath. On the other side was the boy himself, an apologetic smile on his face and she opened the door wider, coughing to clear her throat and stepping aside to let him in.

He took a seat on her bed, picking up the letter she’d been sent and reading over it, a wider smile than her own had been as he took in the information. “You were accepted!” He congratulated her and she nodded, crossing her legs beneath her as she took a seat beside him. “I was too.” He spoke, softer this time and she swallowed thickly, tears lacing her eyes again.

“That’s amazing, Pete. Where to?” She tried and his smile fell as he looked at her, hands cupping her face, thumbs running over her cheeks and wiping away the falling tears. Standing up, he pulled the letter from his back pocket, handing it to her. Folding out the crumpled envelope, she almost couldn’t believe the stamp across the front, and just to be sure, she lifted the envelope of her own to compare.

Identical.

Her eyes met Peter’s and he shrugged, shoving his hands into his pockets bashfully. Sniffling, she wiped at the tears on her cheeks for the second time, and she stood to meet him, wrapping her arms around his waist tightly and burying her face into his chest, taking in the faint scent of him she’d missed so dearly. “You applied to the same college as me?”

Feeling him nod against her, she pulled back, leaning up to press her lips to his in a searing kiss which he quickly reciprocated. “I looked at the courses, they have the one I want to do and they seemed pretty good. But it wouldn’t matter, this is your dream, and you’re too important to me. I’ll follow you wherever you want to go.” He whispered ands she found herself on the verge of tears once again, a watery smile being his answer.

If you were by my side And we stumbled in the dark I know we'd be alright, I know we would be alright

I feel so free When you're with me, Baby

Looking down at the girl in his arms, Peter couldn’t help but be in absolute awe of her. Her hair was splayed messily on the pillow, her lips parted just slightly and her eyes were closed, much to his dismay because he loved her eyes. The cold air in the room swept across his skin and he attempted to leave the bed, in order to grab a jumped to cover his bare shoulders her arms tightened around his waist, restricted him from going anywhere.

Moving in her sleep, he was worried he’d woken her and he stayed deadly still, breathing out slowly as he realised he hadn’t. Adjusting himself to lie down again, he lay on his back, pulling the blankets up as far as he could without his feet being exposed and propped a hand beneath his head, getting lost in his thoughts as he stared at the ceiling.

He’d had trouble sleeping lately, his mind swirling with worry and fear, but also with joy and hope. Fumbling quietly in the drawer beside him, he pulled out the small black box, popping the lid and letting his eyes settle on the ring inside. It’d taken him over a year to choose a ring. Having just celebrated her 22nd birthday, he remembered having lay in bed with her on her 21st and deciding he was sure he wanted to marry her.

And here he lay, a year later with a sure feeling that she was his world, and that he would stay with her for as long as he could, until death do them part, but he couldn’t work up the courage to do it. Having carried the box with him, he’d firstly planned to do it on her birthday, but he’d shied away. Having had many opportunities since then, he hadn’t taken any of them and he was getting angry with himself.

“Is that for me?” A voice broke his silence cheekily, a kiss being pressed to his chest and he jumped, swallowing thickly. He wasn’t sure exactly what to do as she sat up, pushing a pillow against the headboard and wiping her eyes with her hands so she could see properly. “Is that what I think it is?” She whispered, having gotten a good look at it now and he sat up too, nodding shyly. “It’s beautiful.”

“I-Is that.. a, um, a.. you know-”

“Of course it’s a yes!” She cried, leaning over and pulling his cheek down to her lip, pressing multiple kisses there. “How did you ever think that it would be a ‘no’?” She smacked his arm lightly and he whined in protest, a blush rising to his cheeks. He leaned down, pressing a long and loving kiss to her lips, slipping the ring onto her finger and holding her hand tightly, adjusting to the new and cold feeling he’d get each time he laced his fingers with hers from now on.

Baby, there's nothing holdin' me back.

[teactoc]

Writing Tag Meme

I've been tagged by @what-if-im-a-mermaid (thanks!) so here we go... this is long, consider yourself warned.

1) How many works in progress do you currently have?

Surprisingly, considering what I've seen on many tags already, only one. I physically have to be focused on one work at a time or else I'll never see the end of anything I'm working on. Although in my head there are about 2 more ideas I'd love to try to write as soon as I'm done with my current wip, and approximatively a bazillion abandoned projects in the darkest corner of my computer.

2) Do you/would you write fanfiction?

I only write fanfiction although I used to write OC stories back in my school days. I was too young and internet wasn't such a thing for me to know what a fanfiction was or else I'd probably have turned many writing projects into some.

3) Do you prefer paper books or ebooks?

Hm well I'm kinda old fashioned so I'll say paper books because nothing beats the smell of a library and old books filling dusty shelves, but considering the amount of fanfictions I read on my phone I can't say I don't like ebooks. I do own a kindle and it's so convenient to carry around honestly.

4) When did you start writing?

Back in my school days I discovered that writing was fun and that I had quite a vast imagination but it's only in my early 20s that I actually started to write for fun, as a hobby, a way to escape the real world and find some kind of hapiness in sharing my stories. I think it was 8 or 9 years ago? But I've hit a major writer's block those last 5 years. My writing became inconsistent and I was very much discouraged by the lack of feedback from the fandom I used to write for. I almost stopped completely until i came across some fantastic Spirk and Star Trek related stories on AO3 and it got me motivated to try my luck again. I had always been obsessed with Star Trek but never ventured near the fandom, it was about time I'd say.

5) Do you have someone you trust that you share your work with?

Yes. I have a muse, my lovely bestfriend @sungshinie who supports me and my writing anxieties and my absence whenever I lose myself in a wip such as the one I'm writing at the moment. She feeds me many ideas and I love to brainstorm with her whenever I'm stuck. I'm not averse to share my work with others for beta reading and other feedbacks as long as she's the first one to lay her eyes on my stories.

6) Where is your favorite place to write?

My kitchen table. I dream of a writing room in my next appartment honestly. I can only write while sitting behind a desk, it's how I started but since I don't have an actual desk for now I'm pretending that my kitchen table is one and it kinda works.

7) Favorite childhood book?

I have no idea. I've been trying to think of an answer ever since I saw that question but nothing came out. I've been reading a lot in my childhood don't get me wrong but nothing had an impact on me as others had while reading Harry Potter for example. You must understand that my childhood readings have quite a few gaps honestly. I haven't read many "children classics" that i know some would find shocking.

8) Writing for fun or publication?

For fun. I can't think that anyone sane would want to spend a single cent for my writings. I'm happy if my muse like my nonsense and even more if i get some comments and kudos and such but that's all I'm asking for.

9) Pen and paper or computer?

Both. I usually plan the story in one of my many notebook (and I'm quite fond of fountain pens so it's an excuse to use them) sometimes I start the story on paper too to force me to just jot down what's in my head and not edit every single sentence right away but i mainly write on my computer.

10) Have you ever taken any writing classes?

Unless you count the compulsory literary classes in high school then no. And honestly those classes were more about over analysing the writer's style than giving you advices on how to actually write.

11) What inspires you to write?

The fandom in general I'd say. Things I see on the internet, comics, fics I read, ideas that sparks into my head from a single detail I've picked on as I'm watching TOS or the AOS movies for the hundredth time... I don't take a walk and get inspired by the city life but i do get inspired anywhere while I suddenly think of something that could lead to a story. Since most of the writers I admire have already done this, I'm tagging @sungshinie (though I know most of your answers but you know how I like to bother you) and anyone that wants to give it a go!

[domokunrainbowkinz]

ASK MEME ᕕ( ᐛ )ᕗ

I was tagged by @sinkingorswimming!!! i should be sleeping!!!! lmaoooo

1. How many works in progress do you currently have?

lmaooo uhhh let’s see:

on ao3: HP au, vigilante au, uni au, demon/exorcist au, powered superhero au

currently in progress: VBB fic (i know it’s fuckin hella overdue), accidental marriage (i was gonna do this for bboi but i dropped out), time travel/royalty, percy jackson AU, selkie/artist au, moon deity au (it’s gonna be a comic bc i love to kill myself and die ahaha :’D)

2. Do you/would you write fan fiction?

once upon a time i would’ve said fuck no but here i am like the loser i am *finger guns*

3. Do you prefer paper books or ebooks?

paper books! my eyes hurt after looking at a screen for too long and i like feeling an actual book in my hands...i haven’t been reading many books lately though

4. When did you start writing?

I’ve started writing ever since i was in kindergarten really. I used to make short stories and draw pictures to go with them, because i’ve always loved drawing :P but i stopped writing for a few years in high school because i haven’t had the time and also lost some inspiration for original stuff i was writing, and i didn’t pick it back up fully until last year when i posted my first fanfic (thanks yoi <3)

5. Do you have someone you trust that you share your work with?

i’m very self conscious about my unfinished work tbh so i never share anything with anyone until i post it. but i’ll sometimes ask for help or ideas in the discord chats that i’m in.

6. Where is your favourite place to write?

at home, or maybe a cafe. i have a weird thing about writing in public, again with the self-consciousness thing that i REALLY need to get over a;ldkjfsdkj

7. Favourite childhood book?

call me a basic binch but it’s harry potter. all of them.

8. Writing for fun or writing for publication?

mostly for fun, but i do have some original stuff that i’d like to publish one day.

9. Pen and paper or computer?

defs computer, gets words out a lot faster. i tend to think faster than i write, which results in messy cursive :P

10. Have you ever taken any writing classes?

nope, never taken one in my life! unless english class in high school counted, analysing different works did make me be more mindful about how i write things.

11. What inspires you to write?

honestly, anything and everything, ranging from my sleep-deprived feelings after taking an exam to seeing a weird video on tumblr. the shower is a great place to come up with random ass ideas :P 

tagging @grayclouds, @omgkatsudonplease, @red-heather, @cary-onmywaywardson, @vityanikiforova, and anyone else who wants to do this :P

[wickedsingularity]

Writer Interview

Tagged by @dirajunara, thank you for giving me something to do at work, it’s quiet here today...

1) What made you start writing for the first time?

I’m not entirely sure what made me start writing. I’m old, and it’s a long long long time ago. I just know that I enjoyed writing essays in school. But then, as I got older, there were more restrictions on the essays, they had to be about something so specific and sometimes analyse stupid subjects, and I couldn’t be creative anymore. So I gave up. I remember one essay, I had to see my Norwegian teacher and say that I couldn’t hand it in, because I had been unable to write a damn word. I was like 13 or 14 I think.

When I was finished with that kind of school, and started “videregående” (possibly the equivalent of high school, I don’t know) I started writing fanfiction. I have no idea what made me do it, what I had come across, what I had done or read or anything, but I started writing a Tekken fanfiction. Must have been 16-17, possibly. I rewrote it countless times, because I couldn’t make up my mind about writing in English or Norwegian. At one point, I think I even wrote dialogue in one language and narrative the other. This story has never been posted, never coming anywhere near being finished. I toyed with the idea of turning it into original fiction, because I like the idea I had. Maybe one day.

Then, when I actually started to become a huge Harry Potter fan, I started writing something worth posting online. My first ever fic, a Draco Malfoy x Original Female Character, first part 14 chapters, second part 12 chapters plus epilogue. The first review I got on it was November 2nd 2006, I was 20 (I downloaded the reviews from HPFF before I took them down). Back then it was easy to write.... I had energy, no worries, lived at home, barely any homework, school from 9-2 four days a week... *wistful sigh*

2) If you could only write about the ocean, the forest, or the desert for the rest of your life, which one would you pick?

I think I would definitely pick the forest. It’s what calls to me the most, and I could write about talking trees, all the real and imaginary forest creatures.

3) Would you ever write a memoir?

God no. Do you have any idea how fucking boring my life is? My best (and kinda only) friend lives halfway across the world, I barely see my family because they’re all useless. I go to work, sit at a desk for 7.5 hours, go home, stew and brood and hate my life on the couch until I go to bed again.

If insomnia became a huge problem in the world, I’d do it. My memoir could put anyone to sleep.

4) Do you like writing by hand, or writing with a computer?

I used to like both. Until my carpal tunnel became a pain in the ass. I’ve had surgery for it, but my right hand has never really been the same since. I can’t even knit anymore. TMI, I’m wearing a wrist brace most of the time so at least I can get off every once in a while without hurting myself too much. So now, it’s on a computer only. Sometimes my phone. A tiny smidge on paper.

5) Would you rather be popular among many readers, or unpopular, but loved by critics?

Popular among many readers. I hate critics. In Norway, most critics are very negative about everything that does not fit inside their tiny tiny bubble. Because apparently getting someone who likes... I don’t know... movies that study the psyche of a hair dresser that collects the hair of his customers to review a superhero movie makes total sense. (And yes, there was a movie like that years ago.) All critics here are all about the fragile, the deep troubled issues of a... rock by the beach, the hidden meaning in stuff.

And it’s the people who actually read my stuff that I care about. The people that pick up my story and want to read it for whatever reason. I don’t give a rat’s ass about some stuck up critic.

6) Do you listen to music while you write? What is the best writing music?

Sometimes. When I do, it’s either the soundtrack for all the Harry Potter movies, the soundtrack to all the Cap movies or the soundtrack to the Dragon Age games. I don’t like listening to music with lyrics. It’s distracting. I need to be really into what I’m writing if I’m gonna do that. I managed to write for hours with a Selena Gomez album on repeat, but I was so into the story I didn’t hear a peep of the music.

7) Do people you’ve met find their way into your writing?

Not so much yet. But I have promised my best friend a role in an Avengers series I’m working a bit on, but I sort of wrote her into it without knowing it long before she asked me about it :) I tried to base the little sister of an original character in a Harry Potter series I’m writing on an ex-friend of mine, but I don’t like this friend anymore, so I need to change the little sister’s name (cause the name is half of my ex-friend’s name) and work on her personality a bit more.

So, subconsciously, I think people in my life make their way into my stories. When I’m working on Until Next Time, the main character’s family is basically mine and how I imagine they would react if I had stepped into the main character’s shoes. Which is depressing, but not surprising. In Rogue Shadow, my parents are her parents, and the way I’m planning it and have written it so far, makes me very sad. Certain parts I’ve written, I’ve cried while writing, because... Well, I’m saving that for when I get around to posting it.

Tagging: @iguess-theyre-mymess @lemonlime799 @arelyhb I don’t know if you guys have done it already, feel free to ignore me :) But if anyone else wanna do it, let me know so I can read it!

[the-100-meta-library]

Hey meta fans! Here’s the second author interview, with the wonderful Sam, aka @forgivenessishardforus

Like our first interview, Sam’s was done a while ago.  Given time constraints, we were not able to connect with her for a chat. But of course, her insight is still spectacular.

We’d like to give a big thank you to Sam for giving us a look inside her meta writing process. 

Enjoy!

1.     Give us some general background. Who are you, what do you do, how does that affect how you write meta, what is your level of fandom experience, and how did you get into the 100? (again, as specific or vague as you want to go)

My name is Sam, I’m a Canadian (always feel the need to point that out) scientist and writer. It’s a bit of a unique combination—I’ve been writing since I was a child with one book published four years ago but chose to pursue chemistry in college, which means I’m not as experienced in literary analysis as some. For me, writing meta was a way to get back to something I’d loved doing in high school (analyzing text) but hadn’t had much chance to explore since.

My meta is almost always written from a writer’s perspective, in terms of story and character arcs and plot points, and most of my speculation is written based on how I would write the story if it was in my hands (which of course means I’m not right all the time, or even most of the time). I think being a scientist helps me pick up on patterns relatively quickly, and also take haphazard guesses at scientific solutions to their problems, but the science on this show is so fictional that that often doesn’t help much!

I started watching the 100 in 2014 (I bingewatched all of Season 1 over a weekend) but didn’t join fandom until about a year ago, at the end of Season 3. This is my first experience with fandom, and for the most part it’s been a good one!

2.     Are there any metas or theories that surprise you? Any particular instance where someone had an interpretation you never would have thought about?

Oh, absolutely. This fandom has no shortage of brilliant minds, and one of my favourite things about it is how differently we all examine the show, based on our personal experiences and interests. For example, I rarely even notice background music in a scene, so any time someone does an analysis based on the score I’m always fascinated by it; same with analyses that tackle cinematography or allegorical references.

(If you want I can track down some of my favourite metas/theories but it might take me some time.)

3.     How much do other writers influence you?

I think we’re all bound to be influenced by the things we read, and it’s difficult to measure the extent of that. Sometimes, I find reading other meta helps me formulate my own thoughts on the subject, by picking apart what it is I agree or disagree with and the reasons I feel that way. However, although there are writers out there whose analyses closely align with mine, I don’t think there’s anyone I agree with all the time.

4.     How long does it take to write a meta? For you, what does meta mean and what needs to be in it?

Oh boy, anywhere from minutes to hours to months to indefinitely—I have a not-small pile of metas that I just never got around to finishing. Because I currently don’t have as much time as I once did to dedicate to writing meta, most of my meta lately has only been a couple of paragraphs long, which I can knock out in half an hour or less. (I also find this format is more easily absorbed by the fandom.) If I do sit down to write a longer, more in depth meta, it can take me a full afternoon to finish, and if I don’t get it done in one sitting chances are I won’t return to it to finish it later.

For me, meta is a literary analysis that uses supporting evidence from the text to supplement it. Everyone who writes meta has a different way of going about it, and the only thing it absolutely requires is sufficient evidence that is presented as unbiased as possible. Of course, as viewers we’re all biased, but I think it’s important to acknowledge evidence that may contradict your viewpoint, or evidence that can be used to support other opinions.

5.     How do you approach the writing process of your meta/the meta itself?

Honestly, it’s very similar to writing an essay, or even a technical paper. First I establish the topic sentence (or, in the case of writing meta based on asks, it’s already given to me) and then I write a list of supporting evidence. A lot of the time, I leave my evidence in list form (this is much quicker for me to write and I think is usually a little easier for the audience to absorb) but if I want to go a little more in depth with it I’ll arrange the evidence so that each piece flows naturally into the next when I flesh it out. With shorter metas I’ll write it all as one piece, but with longer ones I’ll definitely split it up into subsections and then work on each one individually.

Frequently, I’ll work on the process in reverse, as story elements click into a pattern; in that case, the evidence establishes itself first and then the meaning behind it is what comes next. Speculating is similar to writing a hypothesis for a science experiment; based on patterns already established in canon, it’s sometimes possible to predict what will happen next.

6.     Do you write fanfic? If you do, how do you think writing meta influences the process?

I do—most of my fanfictions are canonverse one-shots (2,000 words or less) but I’ve written a couple of longer or multichapter AUs as well! I think writing meta has given me a much deeper grasp of the characters than I otherwise would have; Bellamy, for example, seems to permanently exist in a corner of my brain. Also, having explored the themes and events of the show so thoroughly allows me to transfer them over to my own fiction (with some modification) with ease.

I’m also a big fan of speculation fic, which to me is very similar to writing meta, but just using a different voice and style to do so.

7.     In your experience, how have people interacted with the meta you've written?

Well, I guess? In any case, I tend to get far more positive responses than negative ones. In my opinion, open discussion is a big part of analysis so I’m always happy when someone adds their own opinion to something I wrote—whether it’s disagreeing or adding to what I’d always written—even if I don’t always have time to respond.

[sherlockmonkeesstartrek]

Party Fic Part 3

I know I keep saying if you guys like it, I’ll post more, well I’ve been writing so much of it, I just want to post it all the same, even if it’s shit. So yeah, here is part 3, it’s smutty and does contain some pretty old-fashioned (perhaps slightly offensive) views on homosexuality, but as was the 1960s, so I apologise in advance (for the bad views on being gay, not for the smut. That I am very not sorry for)

The kiss had gone on a lot longer than expected. Everyone watched for longer than they meant to. It was getting to some people, turning them on. As a group of guys, most of which had not seen a chick since the start of the day where some may’ve rolled out a bed they shared with wives or fans or actual groupies. That was too long for many of them.

 For example, Croz, known for his insane sex drive, stared at the two men in the middle of the garden and wished he had some’s lips right now. Not to kiss. No, he wanted a mouth around his semi-hard dick. He was also pretty high, high enough to lose inhibitions almost completely. It seemed that it was the only way to get these guys to loosen up, to be out of their minds. Otherwise, they had images to put out, ways they wanted everyone else to see them. They would never kiss another guy, never have even a remotely sexual thought about anyone in their band, not even to win a challenge, even in they did have a secret crush on them. No, the only way they’d ever act on impulses like that was if they knew most people there wouldn’t remember the next day. That, or everyone else was doing it. Since the latter was not yet true, Croz would blame it on the former.

“Willie,” He tapped Nash on the shoulder, “You wanna beat these Beatles?”

Unsure, the English member of Crosby Stills and Nash looked back at his friend sceptically, “How?”

“Get your lips ‘round this.” He grasped the crotch of his jeans that were becoming a lot less roomie for him. Visibly so too. Nash could not believe it. He could not fathom the idea that Crosby actually wanted a blow job… from him. Ok, so it wasn’t the want of the act that surprised him. It was the fact that he’d turned to Nash for it.

“You’re serious?”

“Can you think of another way to one up that?” Oh, he was deadly serious. Nash felt a shiver down his spine, followed by an odd, hot feeling. He cursed himself for smoking too much pot, because he was totally considering it. He convinced himself it was only to beat the Beatles at their game. They’d been the ones to make it up after all. He’d always wanted to prove himself to them, and prove how good a friend he was to Croz. A friend though? The definition may’ve been a stretch as he turned 180 degrees and let his hands run up to the zipper of Croz’s jeans.

It struck him then that he’d never done this before. Well, no shit. He didn’t go around sucking guys off. He’d not been into guys and doubted very much that he’d ever be in a situation where he might need to know a couple of tricks. He wasn’t so much concerned by the eyes he could feel on him, as much as he was with wanting to be good at the act, both for Croz, and just to prove a skill that not many of the guys would know.

Everything was linked back to proving themselves.

Still, as the kiss went on and heated up, Nash pulled down Croz’s fly and sought out his member from his pants. In his hand, it was half hard, hot, thick. He gazed at it, feeling just slightly overwhelmed. Then he realised that he’d felt the same since he’d met Croz, as though he was in just a tad over his head. As he had done when he’d first sung with Croz and Stills, he sucked in a long breath, thought about what he was going to do and decided that it was now or never.

Meanwhile, he had several spectators. The kiss had been well and good to watch, but Graham Nash going down on David Crosby? That was a whole other sight, one that most of the guys hadn’t actually been privy to. Well, of course not with these two particular participants, but any participants, they’d not seen two guys in the flesh getting it on. It was certainly a jump from merely a kiss. A huge one. And no one, not one person was complaining.

Stills looked on with a huge grin on his face. He felt like a naughty school kid looking at a porno magazine. He felt the same guilt. He was actually enjoying it.

He rolled his eyes and glanced over at Peter Tork. He knew something interesting about the kid that no one else did. Peter had fucked a guy before. He’d said he didn’t enjoy it, but the way his eyes glistened, staring over at John and Paul, Stills wasn’t convinced. Maybe he’d just said it because it was the thing to say. Being gay was still seen as something to cover up, whether it was legal or not now. Well, in the UK, it was legal. In their home states, it would be totally wrong.

So, as Stills’ mind rationalised it, if he was going to experiment with a guy, he might as well do it now, while he was in England, at a nice big hippy party where it seemed everyone was having the same thought.

“Pete.” He called over to his friend once again. The blond monkee peered over, slightly reluctantly at first, but the grin on Stills’ face was enough to convince him it was worth tearing his attention away. “Come here for a sec.”

Most of the Monkees watched as Peter crawled on his hands and knees to Stills. They were curious. They’d always known this one side to Peter, this musical side of him, the talented one, the hardworking one. They’d only just become a little more aware of his hippy side, the side that filled himself full of drugs and hung out with his musician friends he’d somehow picked up along the way. It was as though they could collectively tell that they were about to see another side of him with Stills, since they’d been friends before the Monkees even started.

“You kinda into this stuff?” The younger of the two asked. Peter shrugged, casting a nervous glace over at the two men by Stills’ side, Nash and Crosby, the former of which had his face buried in the latter’s crotch. He couldn’t really deny that it was kind of turning him on. And neither could Stills. “You wanna have a go?”

“You don’t mind?” Peter asked quietly.

Stills shook his head, “I’d rather be with someone experienced.” He quipped, which got him a slight, fond punch from Tork. But since the answer was yes, he wasted no more time joking about it. Peter, already up on his hands and knees, straddled the younger musician and kissed him, sloppily.

“God,” Clapton’s voice rung out amongst the party, “Doesn’t it just look like Tork’s finally getting to fuck himself?” He nodded at the two similar-looking musicians locked in a heated kiss, grabbing at one another to feel their hot flesh beneath their hippy clothes. George Harrison, who seemed hardly fazed by what was going on around him, least of all John and Paul making out close by, cast his gaze over at the Monkee and Stills were up to. A light laugh escaped his mouth.

“I never knew Peter was so narcissistic.”

“No no,” Croz interjected, slightly breathlessly, “It’s Stephen who is.”

“Oh, so it’s Stephen fucking himself.” Clapton reiterated, “Lucky guy.”

“Lucky, yeah?” George chuckled.

“Well, why not? He knows what he likes. It’s got to be the best sex of his life, no?”

George shrugged, understanding where Eric was coming from.

“But it’s always nice to be with a someone who has to learn you. I mean, it builds a bond, between people, doesn’t it?”

“Oh, Guru Harrison’s speaking, guys!” Clapton announced mockingly. It got no attention from the guys busy with each other, though it did get a few snickers here and there. Proudly, he looked back at the Beatle. However, George smiled back with narrowed eyes. Oh, Eric was about to get it, in more ways than one.

“So, you’d rather fuck yourself instead of me?”

“Why, are you offering? Thought you wanted Ringo.”

“I do, but as Stephen said, I can have both. Get your butt over here.”

Clapton did not believe he’d ever been commanded by anyone in quite the way George just did. If he had, he doubted he’d ever been so obedient as to comply, but it is often said that guys think with their dicks. His had overrun his brain, quite enjoying the submissiveness he’d usually never allow himself to seem. He stumbled on his knees over to the Beatle and waited to be told what he wanted done.

Ringo watched as the two guitarists bypassed the snogging stage, unlike Peter and Stephen or John and Paul, and went straight to cupping one another’s hardness as casually and blissfully as though they’d done it many a time before. The oldest Beatle felt himself blush, partly out of embarrassment, as he was watching something, well several things that were totally taboo, but also because he was pretty jealous. He loved George, more than he could ever say, and he was no good at writing songs, nor poetry, or anything like that, so not even on paper or singing could he express how he felt to his friend. But even so, he thought that George knew. George was that kind of guy; he didn’t take things at face value. He observed, he analysed. He was always looking for a deeper understanding, like with what he’d said about sex being more than just an act, but a bond.

That’s why it sort of hurt when he’d happily beckoned Eric over. Did he forget that Ringo was there, willing, as a close friend, to participate in this… well it had long lost it’s challenge. It was now more of a brewing orgy, a sexual free-for-all, for guys to experiment in the company of friends. Maybe it was the friendship that got in the way. Maybe George worried that things would not stay the same had he picked Ringo as a partner. But he had said that he’d have both Ringo and Eric, so why was he focusing only on the latter?

Oh, the drummer didn’t want to spend his time at this party feeling miserable. He already had a reputation for being less than cheerful, at least in expression if not actually in personality, he didn’t want to bring down the mood of the place.

Turning away from George and Eric, he found himself looking at the three remaining Monkees. Mike Nesmith, beneath his sunglasses and strategically grown sideburns, was blushing too. As a boy from Texas, this kind of thing… it wasn’t talked about, it wasn’t good. But he was enjoying it, as was everyone else. He couldn’t see what was so wrong with it. No harm done. It was all just fun.

Davy Jones was looking a little more insecure. He half observed, his expression giving away that me might want to join in but was too proud and too nervous to spark anything. He sat up on his knees, beside Micky Dolenz. Now Micky, Micky had no pride what so ever, no shame. The man did as he pleased and enjoyed whatever he did. At that moment, he looked like a puppy begging to be taken on a walk. He couldn’t sit still for anything. His eyes excitedly darted from the array of couples around him, obviously taking great pleasure in being a voyeur. But just like the others, watching wasn’t quite enough for him. He too wanted to join in. He just wasn’t sure where, or with who.

Ringo was sitting closer to little Davy, probably the most conventionally good-looking boy in the Monkees, if his teen idol status was anything to go by. He was like the Paul McCartney of the Monkees, no one could deny how very sexy he was, not even Ringo.

“Wasn’t expecting this.” The Beatle chuckled, his eyes set firmly on Eric and George. Davy’s, on the other hand, couldn’t find one place to settle. They kept glancing up at Ringo to ensure he wasn’t judging. Davy obviously didn’t know that the oldest Beatle was incapable of doing so. He was far too sweet and far too loving to judge severely.

“Oh no, me neither. Do your parties usually end up like this?” The Monkee asked.

“With a lot of sex? Not my parties specifically. And not usually sex with my mates.”

“Well, it’s better than fighting with them, I s’pose.”

“That’s true. This isn’t too bad, actually.”

Finally, Ringo cast his eyes down at Davy. He was glad that someone else had a similar thought to him; he hated his friends fighting. Whether Davy in his own band was provoker of fights or not, it was nice to hear someone say it.

Ringo knew that it was probably the drugs, or his jealousy of Eric Clapton, or this whole situation at the party of broken societal norms, but he was starting to wonder whether Davy might consider being his partner. God, it sounded so much like this was a formal school dance. Everyone was trying to find someone they could ask, and Ringo’s choice had been snapped up by a guy way cooler than himself. He wished he’d been quicker.

Still, Davy was cute, and he had the added bonus of not being too close a friend, therefore it couldn’t get too weird when they saw each other again.

“Its not too bad.” Davy had parroted quietly while Ringo was lost in his contemplations.

“Do you dig it?” He asked. Davy looked confused by the question… or conflicted about his answer.

“This stuff? Man, it’s whatever floats you’re boat. I don’t get hung up on things like…”

“No, I mean, do you like it, would you ever…?”

“Kiss a guy? Oh well, I don’t know, y’know. If the opportunity passed…”

“What if I’m your opportunity?”

Davy’s already huge brown eyes widened, and his perfect, pouty pair of pink lips parted in astonishment.

“Wha… really?”

“Just asking.”

Well, if it were any other situation… Ringo probably wouldn’t be asking something so seemingly strange, never mind whether Davy would accept it or not. Since they were in the situation, it seemed rude not to accept. Rude, or was Davy just denying the fact that he’d wanted to join in for a while. Either way, he wasn’t thinking straight, not by any stretch of the imagination, so he got up onto his knees, inched closer to the Beatle and laid one of his girl-creaming kisses on his lips.

Ringo had underrated lips, he decided. They were plump, nice and pink, had nice shape to them. They were quite wonderful to kiss. If Davy had to have chosen which Beatle- in fact, which guy here in general- he would kiss, he probably would’ve gone with Paul. That man’s mouth was almost as perfect as his own. Now, however, he was quite satisfied with his choice of partner. Ringo was gentle and sweet, allowing the younger man to guide him in what he wanted.

“Mike…” Micky’s whining voice sounded behind the two men kissing. In watching what had developed between Ringo and Davy, the Monkee had decided it was his turn to get some. The closest guy to him happened to be the very man everyone assumed he had a crush on. And…  he’d say they were probably right. Not a crush in the kind of school boy way. Not like he’d stare at his friend from miles off and doodle his name on any scrap of paper he could find. No, it was more like he found himself gravitating towards Mike when he had no reason to do so. He seemed to have a brotherly bond with him, having more in-jokes and games than the others. Then again, it wasn’t all that much like a brotherly bond, because neither man ever really fought. The others did. Mike and Peter clashed about their music, both aspiring to be musicians above everything else. Mike and Davy rammed horns because they were fiery Capricorns and their egos were big enough to rival anyone else’s at the party. Micky rarely butt heads with anyone, but he’d lost his patience with Davy before, and maybe Peter. However, with the latter, it was probably the other way around, as Micky liked the on-screen chemistry he and Peter possessed, whereas the older Monkee preferred not to appear as ‘the dumb one’ in at any other time than on screen.

Mike, on the other hand, was quietly cool. Course he had an ego and took everything way too seriously, but Micky had the ability to draw the silliness out of the man. Mike had a wicked sense of humour and a great smile. Micky felt it an accomplishment when he was able to coax one onto his lips.

He wondered if it might help in this situation. Mike had not opened his mouth once since this whole make-out session had begun. He’d sat quietly, not knowing where to look, whether he really liked it or not, whether he thought it ok or not. He’d never stop anyone else doing what they wanted to do, it was ‘their hang up,’ he just wasn’t sure if he should join in. And if Micky wanted to persuade him to place even one single kiss on his lips, he’d have to find some way to make him feel comfortable.

“We have to…” He whined like a kid.

Mike’s brow knotted beneath his shades, “Have to what?”

“We have to get involved… it’s only right.”

“Pretty sure we don’t. There isn’t a rule book.”

“Well,” Micky thought hard, “I’m going to have to write one. I’ll title it ‘Get Into The In-Crowd.”

“Yeah?” Mike softly chuckled to himself, “I see what ya did there.”

As though the half-pun was something to be proud of, Micky shrugged humbly, pursing his lips and closing his eyes for a moment, as if to allow it to sink in. For Mike, it already had, and he was not laughing at the genus of the line, rather the ridiculousness of it. Still, he was where Micky wanted him, focusing on him rather than on the people around them, the few remaining guys with their eyes darting over each pair.

Mike sort of knew what Micky was doing. The first whimper had told him all. When Micky wanted something, he turned into a polite child. He’d beg for it, but if you told him to stop, he’d say no further word. And it wasn’t too difficult to tell that he was turned on by the sight in front of him. Mike had been subtle in his glance down his friend’s body and gotten a look at an unmistakeable shape in the crotch of the boy’s pants.

With seriousness infecting his voice, he asked, “Do you really want to?”

Now, Micky was rarely ever serious. Not, like, dead straight with difficult conversations. He had his ways of dealing with stiff. But here, Mike saw a side of the boy he hadn’t been party to before. Micky’s sparkling brown eyes showed a sense of vulnerability he’d always covered up with smiles and jokes.

“Yes.”

Broken to the boy’s gaze, Mike could not help himself, “Well come here then. I have to warn ya, I’ve not done this kinda thing before, so if I’m shit…”

Micky silenced him with a kiss, kneeling beside him. As it heated up, he kicked one leg over Mike’s thighs and sat down lightly on them. Mike had limbs so thin they were like sticks and Micky feared breaking them. That did not, however, prevent him from doing anything else.