#its been thirty years and they still haven't lived that down

[undreaming-fanfiction]

Just Wanna Bewitch You In The Moonlight

Written for @steddieangstyaugust - Day 7: Moonlight. Another cursed statue Steve because I have been sitting on this idea for ages. Title from Ghost lyrics.

The garden of the Harrington manor was quiet when Eddie snuck in. He already knew all the patrols, cameras, everything important. It wasn't like he wanted to steal something anyway, the worst he could get charged with was trespassing. Or at least he hoped so - Harringtons weren't exactly the most forgiving bunch.

He soon found what he was looking for. A statue of a handsome young man, reaching for the sky. There was something sad about him, the curve of his lips, forever frozen in a wistful smile. Just as beautiful as he was a month ago. 

"Hi, sweetheart," muttered Eddie and squeezed his stone hand. He sat down at its feet, leaned against the statue's legs and waited. The sky was clear today, he could even see stars through the light pollution, so it would not take long. If only the moon hurried up.

"Fancy meeting you here."

Eddie leaned back and smiled at the upside vision of the handsome boy, now with color in his cheeks. "Hi, sweetheart," he repeated, pulling him down for a kiss.

The statue obliged. "Hi yourself. I don't mean to rush you, but can I have my legs back? I'd like to stretch for a bit."

"Sure thing, Stevie." Eddie quickly moved away and offered the statue - Steve - a hand so he could leave his pedestal. He seemed uncertain on his feet for a moment, but soon he was on the ground and doing stretches that Eddie would never even consider. "I'm always amazed that this is what you want to do with your precious time," he laughed and watched Steve stretch his calves.

"And I always tell you that if you have to stay still for a month, your body will scream for a good stretch," Steve smiled at him and changed legs. "I'm more amazed that you still haven't given up. It has to be annoying, always having to come here. How long has it been?"

Eddie pretended to count on his fingers. "Hmmm, let me see…two decades, give or take. I was nine when I met you, I'll soon be thirty. Why, are you counting?"

"I lose track. Still, I feel guilty about it. You should be living your own life too, you know." Steve finally stood up and nudged Eddie's side. "I'd understand if you wanted to quit. I can't ask you to keep doing this for the rest of your life."

Eddie caught Steve's hand, swinging it back and forth. "You don't have to."

..

They always did this, ever since Eddie was a child roaming the Harrington grounds where his uncle worked. He couldn't sleep one day and got lost in the fancy maze that was the estate's garden. The moonlight made everything so pale, it was difficult to find his way back to Wayne's shed. Eddie was getting tired and cold, but he wasn't about to panic. He just needed to catch his breath. He half collapsed against another piece of art that Harringtons had collected over the years.

And then, just as the full moon showed up in all her glory, the statue that Eddie was leaning against moved.

Eddie was so terrified he couldn't even scream, he just fell backwards into a thorny bush. Before he knew it, the statue rushed to him, pulled him back up and started fussing over him. "Are you okay?" it asked. "I overheard you talking to yourself, you're going the wrong way. The shed is further to the right, come with me."

It took Eddie's hand and swung it back and forth, establishing a brisk pace with Eddie skipping next to it. They didn't really talk, but when Eddie was back safe with Wayne, he saw a moonlit figure give a small wave.

After that, Eddie would go to visit the statue every night, but it never moved. It just stared towards the stars, as if it was reaching out to grab the moon itself.

It finally happened a month later, at another full moon. Eddie thought that maybe he'd hallucinated the whole thing at that point, maybe he just hit his head when he fell into the bushes, but as the moonlight hit the statue, it yawned and stretched its arms. "Oh," it said when it noticed Eddie, "you're back? I hope you don't end up like a pin cushion this time."

After that, they talked. A lot. The statue was called Steve, and he didn't always use to be a statue. He never really knew the scorned witch who cursed him, or what he did to her. "I used to be a real jerk back in the day," he smiled at young Eddie. "Maybe I trampled over her herbs when I was rushing back home after another party. Maybe I knocked into her. Or maybe it wasn't even me, maybe my dad did something nasty to her. He isn't really the nicest person."

"The old Mr. Harrington?" Eddie asked. "But he's like, ninety? How long have you been here?"

Steve shrugged, stretching his arms. "Hard to say. I only get to fully wake up every full moon. The rest of the time, things are hazy. But I think I got cursed in nineteen thirty two. I was twenty then."

Eddie's jaw dropped. "Wow. That has to suck. Does your dad ever come and visit you? Maybe try and break the curse?"

"Not really." Maybe it was just the moonlight playing tricks on him, but Steve's smile seemed sad. "He doesn't believe in the whole magical mumbo jumbo, you see. Or that's what he used to call it. He's ashamed that I made a spectacle out of our family."

"But it might not have even been you!" blurted out Eddie. That's not fair!"

Steve reached out and ruffled his hair. "I know. He tried bribing the witch, but that didn't work. Then he tried to destroy me or move me, but that's impossible. So he just ignores that I'm around. He used to send someone to leave a snack for me, before I woke up, maybe to ease his conscience, but now that he's old, I don't think he remembers me anymore. Maybe it's better for him this way. And since another part of the curse is that I can't leave the garden...he doesn't really have to worry about anyone finding out about me."

He fell silent, but Eddie's mind did anything but that. He stood up and grasped Steve's shoulders. "Well, fuck your dad."

Steve blinked at him. "Hey, aren't you too young to swear like that?"

"Fuck that too. And shush, I have something important to say. I, Edward Munson, herefore...ther....I mean, I promise on my soul that I'll find a way to free you." Eddie was grinning at him, but there was something in his eyes that made Steve take that promise seriously.

"Eddie. I appreciate it, really do. But you don't have to do that. I'm fine."

Steve smiled at him as he said it, he tried to sound persuasive, self-assured. But that scrawny kid in front of him just rolled his eyes and, much to Steve's surprise, patted his head. "Now now. Wayne says that pretending to be okay isn't cool, so we're not doing that. I'm keeping my promise, Steve. You'll see."

..

The evening was colder than usual. Eddie threw a blanket over himself and Steve, cuddling close. "The research is going well, you know. Dustin believes he found the origin of the curse, or at least some of the components. He believes we have a real shot at freeing you."

"I still can't believe you roped other people into this," laughed Steve. "How did you even get them to humor you and come here? Did you just tell them that you met a cursed statue when you were a kid, and they just went with you?"

"Oh, you'd be surprised how curious these little assholes are. Not so little now, they're starting college, but they're all committed. Especially Max, she considers it an insult we haven't solved it yet."

Steve sighed, staring into distance. "College already? I met them when they were barely teenagers. Time flies so fast."

"Not for you, baby," whispered Eddie and kissed Steve's cheek. "Not for you."

It was soon time to part. Steve's hands grew colder and more stiff by the minute, pulled back into their original position. As life gradually left Steve's body, Eddie repeated his promise again, just like he had for twenty years. He didn't know if Steve could hear him at this point, but it didn't matter. It was equally for both of them.

Maybe they would finally set him free in a year, five, or twenty. Maybe Eddie would be older, full of wrinkles and with grey streaks in his hair, while Steve would still be young and handsome. It wouldn't matter, as long as Eddie could see him walk past that garden's gate, feel the sun on his skin again.

Steve might have been worried about the day that Eddie would inevitably stop coming. Maybe he'd give up, or something would happen to him. Maybe, as he told Eddie many times, he'd finally find a life purpose that would bring him happiness.

But Eddie made a promise, and as long as he was alive and breathing, as long as he had anything to say about the matter, one thing was certain: Steve Harrington would never be alone on full moon again.

[archangeldyke-all]

hi hi hii sweetheart. Oh my lord. Your writing is literally so good, you honestly deserve the best, mind blowing, legs shaking, knees bucking, cant even talk orgasm. I'm so sorry. someone had to say ittttt. But I was wonderingggg😋 could you maybe do a drabble with reader and sevika are selling their house because maybe they have a little fucker on the way and they need more room, so they are goin through the house one last time and sevika starts js randomly naming out all her favorite times they have had sex in each place of the house...and she recalls like Hella details not even reader remembers. (Reader has pregnant mush-brain.) But could sevika be like..."wanna find a place we haven't fucked before..?" AND ITS LIKE THE HARDEST THING TO FIND BECAUSE THEY HAVE LITERALLY DONE IT EVERYDAY. But they end up finding a spot and sevika gives reader defo on the top 10 best sex they have had in that house. Could sevika maybe have a penis or even js her strap on in this...?:3 ANYWAY I WOULD LOVE THIS BUT IF YOU CANT DO IT ITS OKAY TOO!! I love you so so much your writings literally amazing!!!

this is so cute i love it!! (and thank u so much, i'm so glad u like my stuff eeek!!<3)

men and minors dni

you should probably be feeling a little more sentimental and sad about leaving behind the house you and sevika have been living in for seven years now.

these four walls have been your home through some of the best days of your life: meeting sevika, marrying sevika, realizing you're pregnant with sevika's baby-- it all happened here. you guys built your lives together here, and overtime, they became so intertwined and connected that you've become a 'we' rather than a 'me.'

but in all honesty-- you're thrilled to be leaving.

you hate this house. the floors are slanted, the roof is leaky, the windows aren't weatherproofed, so it's freezing in the winter and boiling in the summer. you haven't been able to take a bath in the tub for three years now because there's cracks in the caulk and any water above an inch deep starts to flood the bathroom. it's a shitty house, and you've been wanting to leave for years.

sevika's always been the one to convince. it's not that she loves your house, it's that she doesn't want to put the effort into finding a new one. but, upon the two of you finding out that your family will be growing in a few short months, sevika finally relented.

and now, just ten minutes down the street from this place, you've bought a beautiful family home, big enough for the two of you, your future baby, and whatever other family members (both human and animal) that might spawn in the future.

your inspector gave it an A+, the yard is spacious, the floors are level, there's not just one, but three bathtubs,-- and the one in the main en-suite is like a hot tub-- big enough for you and your wife to fit and lounge. you're so fucking excited to move in, that you're not even a little sad to leave behind the old space.

sevika's been eyeing you with worry all day as she lugs boxes and furniture to the moving van. she's waiting for your pregnancy hormones to hit you and for you to become a blubbering mess at the thought of leaving behind your place. you can't blame her, your pregnancy hormones can and have turned you into a puddle of tears over much less. just last night you cried for thirty minutes because one of the celery stalks in the bunch you'd bought was wilted, and all his celery friends were still green and healthy, going on living without him.

but, really, you're fine.

she's not buying it.

"sevika, for the last fucking time, i'm okay!" you groan. the house is mostly empty now, just a few boxes and some lamps left. sevika's taking a snack break, one of her arms wrapped around you as she looks at you with concern.

"i'm just saying babe, we can't come back after tonight, so if you need any, like, sentimental pictures, or a good cry--"

"oh my god!" you laugh, elbowing her. "sevika, i'm okay, really. i'm so fucking excited to go, i'm so excited for our future. i'll cherish the memories this place gave us forever, but i don't really care about the place itself." you shrug.

sevika studies you carefully, and then she pouts a bit. "it doesn't make you a little sad?" she asks. you raise your eyebrow, surprised to hear your usually-so-stoic wife is feeling ...sentimental?

"what makes me sad?"

"babe, this house is the first place we ever fucked in!" she whines. you burst into laughter. sevika points to the empty bedroom behind her. "you're not sad to leave that room behind? after all the times i fucked you into incoherence in there?" she asks, her eyes wide and sparkly like she's actually a little emotional. you can't stop laughing as you reach up to cup your wife's cheek.

"honey, you're gonna be fucking me into incoherence for the rest of our lives." you remind her. sevika smiles a bit at this.

"yeah, but... we had so many good times in this house." she sighs wistfully. you chuckle, pecking her cheek.

"we did. remember when you dented the drywall with the headboard?" you ask. sevika giggles a bit, her gaze snapping back down to yours, her hand reaching around your body to start gently stroking your ever-growing belly.

"'course i remember, i had to plaster it back up myself." she chuckles. "remember when we almost started a fire when we were getting kinky with the wax?" she asks. you blink up at her, drawing a blank and pouting.

"no." you whine. "tell me, it sounds hot." you demand. your pregnancy's been blessedly healthy, but the one symptom that's hit you hard is your baby-brain. sometimes, you're just total mush in the head. sevika's been patient and kind each time. right now, she just smiles salaciously at you and presses you against the counter.

"you don't remember?" she asks. "our second anniversary, we wanted to try wax play? you got the special lotion candles and everything, wore those pretty lacy panties i ruined last year on your birthday, and i let you tie my hands up." you smile, the memory slowly coming back to you, heat building between your legs as she speaks. "anyways... it was goin' real good until i kicked over an unattended candle." she whispers.

you break into laughter-- the memory suddenly flooding back to you. "shit, i miss that blanket." you snort, remembering the way the comforter seemingly spontaneously combusted.

"you were screaming as you tried to pat out the fire, and i was tied to the fucking bed that was goin' up in flames-- i thought i was gonna fuckin' die." sevika cackles.

you snort, and kiss her cheek. "i saved you, though." you brag. she laughs.

"yeah, you did."

"c'mon, tell me another." you demand.

sevika raises an eyebrow. "another what?"

"another sex memory." you say. sevika giggles. "they're all fresh and new to me, i like remembering how fun and hot we are."

"hmm..." sevika thinks, her eyes darting around the house. she snatches your wrist and drags you to the bathroom. "i'm still pretty convinced i got you knocked up in here six months ago."

"which time?" you ask. sevika smirks, kissing your cheek and pinching your ass.

"exactly." she teases. you snort. "no, but for real, there was this one time-- i'd just finished my workout and you'd had a big glass of 'shower wine'" sevika puts this in air-quotes, teasing the habit you indulge in each night, "and i fucked you against the sink so good that you had to get right back in the shower once i was done with you. fuck, i came my fucking brains out, honey, i couldn't speak for like ten minutes afterwards." your thighs clench a bit at the memory, your stomach bursting into butterflies at the way sevika's voice has gotten all heavy. her eyes are dark when she looks over at you. "and then, boom. two weeks later you're pregnant." she says, grinning.

you giggle. "you think that was the one, huh?" you ask. she nods.

"what's your theory?"

"i always thought it happened when you fucked me on the couch while we were watching that stupid cop-buddy movie." you say. sevika laughs.

"so you remember that-- a lazy, unromantic fuck after a long weekend of both of us lounging and not showering-- but you don't remember the good ones?" she asks. you just giggle and shrug again.

"they're all good ones with you, baby." you say. sevika's teasing look melts away, something needier taking it's place. you know what she's going to ask for, so you speak before she can. "you think there's a place in the house we haven't fucked?" you ask.

sevika blinks, considering it for a second. "i dunno."

"i wouldn't wanna leave the house with a room un-fucked in, sev, that would be a real shame."

"fuck, it really would, wouldn't it?" she asks. you snort and nod.

"so?" you ask. "you think we've checked all the boxes or can you think of a place we might need to--"

"the attic. you think you can crawl up there in your state?" she inturrupts you, rubbing your stomach as she eyes the little hatch in the ceiling of the hall. you burst into laughter.

"the attic!?"

"c'mon!" she laughs, jumping up and grabbing the string, pulling the stairs down. "you go first, i'll catch you if you fall. she says, steadying your hips as she walks you up the first few steep steps. you can't stop laughing as your wife basically herds you up into the attic.

you've never been up here, execpt for the few times you've had to put a pot down during a rain storm to stop the leaks from coming down into your home. it's dingy and dusty, and you can't even stand up straight-- you have to crawl to the end of the small storage space so sevika can fit up beside you.

she seems just as disgruntled with her choice as you are, but she's determined to make it work, quickly stripping herself of her shirt and laying it down behind you as a blanket. you giggle. "lay down." she requests, holding the back of your head as you lower yourself down so you don't bonk it on any beams or bars.

you can't see her like this. you're flat on your back, and your stomach is huge. you don't know what she's planning, so it's a shock when sevika starts tugging at your pants.

you burst into giggles, lifting your hips up to help her. "what's your plan here, babe?" you ask as she starts kissing your bare legs.

she hums against your thigh, considering your question. she trails a hand up your thigh, teasing your cunt with a feather-light touch, before lifting her mouth from your leg to speak.

"'m gonna get you knocked up again." she says.

you burst into laughter, and you can see sevika lift up from between your legs to admire your smile. you grin down at her, and widen your legs. "give it your best shot, baby." you choke out between laughs.

sevika, grins, and then ducks back down to disappear beneath your tummy and bury her face in your cunt.

fuck, you're horny. the baby's been giving you crazy hormones, and while sometimes that means you can cry at sad celery, other times it means you're so insanely horny you could cum from a strong breeze.

"oh, fuck, baby!" you cry as sevika buries her tongue inside of you. she hums, reaching up to start working her fingers in the mix.

"gonna cum already?" she grunts before ducking back down and sucking your clit. you smack your hand against the dusty floor beneath you-- too round to reach down and tug her hair like you want to.

"fuck, 'm gonna cum all over your fuckin' face, sev." you whine, your brain turning to mush as you get closer. she groans against you at your words, and you take it as a sign to just let your mouth run. "'y feel so fuckin' good, 'y fuck me so good, shit, sevika, sev!" you scream as you cum.

before you can even ride out the first wave of your high, sevika's jumping on top of you to mount you so quickly that her head smacks against one of the low hanging beams in front of you.

you gasp-- still cumming and horrified at the loud "SMACK!" that rings out as you watch your wife's head collide with the beam-- then you burst into pitying, whiny giggles as sevika curses.

"shit!" she groans, reaching up to hold her forehead. you reach up to cup her face, laughing and shivering and somehow still cumming.

"are you okay?" you giggle, pulling her down to kiss the bruise already forming on her forehead. she grunts.

"i'm fine."

"liar." you giggle. you tilt her head from side to side, giving her pupils a good look as a half-assed concussion exam. "poor baby. need me to take you to the urgent care? see if you got a concussion?"

"i'm fine. just need to put my dick in you." she grunts.

you laugh, but shut your legs before she can sink into you. she huffs and glares up at you, and you pinch her chin. "remind me to check you out for real once we're done, okay?" you ask. she nods. you glare at her, knowing she won't. "sevika, you're my brain until the baby comes, i don't care if you don't want me to remember, you really gotta remind me. if you have a concussion and die because i let you fuck me instead of taking you to the hospital-- how am i supposed to explain that to the baby?" you ask.

sevika groans. "okay! okay! i know! ''re you gonna lemme fuck you or what?" she asks.

you pucker your lips, and sevika's annoyance melts as she swoops down to kiss you. you hum happily and open your legs, smiling up at your wife. "okay." you agree. sevika grins, and then she sinks into you with one smooth thrust.

you both gasp, your open mouths just a breath apart from each other as sevika starts to work her hips against yours. "fuck." you whine. sevika smirks down at you.

"fuck." she agrees.

your thighs are shaking-- her cock fills you up perfectly, like she's made for you, made for stretching you just right. each of her thrusts is accompanied by a wet smack, and you bury your face against sevika's shoulder in embarrassment as the wet sounds grow louder. she chuckles.

"you've been fuckin' leaky since i knocked you up. your cunt's so fuckin' needy, isn't it? already put a baby in it and it's just droolin' for more." she grunts against your ear. you cum the second the words leave her mouth, your nails sinking into her shoulders as you shake apart. sevika grins down at you. "fuck, it's so fuckin' cute how easy you are when you're carryin' my kid. i just put it in babe, you're already cumming?" she teases again.

you bite her neck, relishing in the way her breath hitches as you try to collect yourself, then hiking your leg up over her hips and gripping her hair in your hands. "it's your fault." you whimper as you try to catch your breath. "you knocked me up 'n now i'm fuckin' stupid and horny and-- and you feel so good." you whine.

sevika shivers on top of you, and you tug her hair harder.

"'m yours, baby." you whimper. "all yours."

that's the final nail in the coffin-- sevika screams a "fuck!" as she cums at your words. you grin, clenching around her cock and giggling at the way her arms nearly give out beneath her. "you're an evil woman." she sighs appreciatively. "i love you so much."

you laugh, and sevika ducks down to kiss your exposed neck. "'m your evil woman." sevika's dick makes one more feeble twitch inside of you at your words, the reminder that you're hers. you giggle in delight at the feeling.

"damn right you are." she mumbles, grinning.

you sigh as the euphoria of your orgasms wears off and the hard floor beneath you starts to kick in. "you might need to carry me back down the attic steps."

sevika bursts into giggles. "you might need to take me to the hospital. i can't tell if i'm seeing stars because i just came so hard or if it's a concussion."

you groan, and sevika muffles her giggles against your neck.

taglist!

@fyeahnix @sapphicsgirl @half-of-a-gay @thesevi0lentdelights @sexysapphicshopowner @shimtarofstupidity @chuucanchuucan @badbye666 @femme-historian @lia-winther @gr0ssz0mbi3 @ellsss @sevikaspillowprincess @leomatsuzaki @emiliabby @sevikasbeloved @hellorai @vikasub @glass-apothecary @m0numents @macaroni676 @vixel352 @artinvain

[tsumuhours]

AMERICAN JESUS PAIRING: suna rintarō x fem!reader TAGS: alternate universe – gang world, smut, oral, flirty suna WORD COUNT: 10k

Life always has a weird way of fucking you over.

Whether it be in the form of finding an injured member of a notorious gang near your apartment, or trading silence for safety, or how he pulls you into a complicated relationship which goes against integrity and... possibly laws.

mature content !

Life always has a weird way of fucking you over.

Not to say you haven't deserved half of the mandated karma – you haven't always been the best person, given the borderline psychopathic attempt of climbing to the top – but a break, or a nice surprise would be a great change in routines.

Whoever said success is a lonely road was, painfully, correct. To think that you spent your high school years working hard to get into an ivy league, spent those four years working at internships to make those desired connections people dream of!

Only to get out at the age of twenty-two and spend the next year as some glorified, under-paid, under appreciated, assistant. And no, that's not what the job description is supposed to entail, you're meant to be an associate – associates are not supposed to run around getting coffee – with the main purpose of developing your career and hopefully making partner in seven to ten years time.

Not to mention, since the city has unbelievable prices of living, you had to move to a neighbouring borough just for the possibility of having a studio apartment that isn't the size of a closet for the same price. Is it the most convenient?

No, not really, considering the fact the commute is over thirty-minutes and you have to go back and forth from work at unreasonable hours because your boss insists on bringing you to every little, insignificant meeting, or post-work drinks at nine at night – which is an excuse for the woman to spiral further into alcoholism – where you will inevitably end up carrying your boss back to her penthouse on the upper east side.

And no, it doesn't get better, because afterwards, after spending two hours at an expensive bar with the drunken, divorced, mess of a boss you have by the time she gets home safe, you're expected to deal with the city's delayed – and inconsistent – subway times at this ungodly hour and spend the next thirty-minutes in a train with rando's and sketchies.

Oh! No, that's not where it ends, because by the time you get off the subway, it's almost midnight, and you have to take a lovely – scary – ten-minute walk alone to your apartment, but walking anywhere at night is terrifying... Except for the rumour, or fact, that violence has been making its way around the borough, and according to new statistics – regarding the quarterly crime rate review – it's been looking a bit too stabby for your liking.

Now, this walk home is nothing different to how it is every day. You stride down the street with purpose, clutching your taser, and eerily aware of your surroundings. Although, remember how life always has a new way of fucking you over through some odd, irrelevant, way of testing your resilience?

This is one of those occasions.

Let's say it's not common for a man to be curled up in the small alley where residents keep their trash, but then again, crime rates have increased by a percentage that can make anyone uncomfortable – still, committing those types of crimes in a residential neighbourhood where people are simply trying to live their lives is ridiculous. Have some class.

Sure, as a law abiding citizen or natural samaritan would help, but no, not you. Living in a densely populated city means one thing, and one thing only, keep your head down. It's a game of see nothing, know nothing. Everyone minds their own business, that's how you stay safe and avoid danger – including scammers, or the random cult recruiters.

So, you intend on reaching for your keys to the front entrance of your small building, until you hear a small groan come from the neighbours dumpster alley. Sighing, you swallow your pride – and maybe your safety – holding your phone in one hand, and taser in another, and go over to look. The flashlight turned on, as you flash it on the curled up body.

You cannot see his face, but you instantly recognize the leather jacket and matching bandana. Of fucking course, out of everyone in the world, you happen to come across a member of a gang – as if this is some cruel joke from the universe. What do they call themselves? The Foxes? That awful group that parades around in black and maroon, with their emblem of a fox printed on leather jackets that they display for the world to see.

You're reluctant to step forward, maybe it's the threatening affiliation this guy has wound himself with, or the blood on his hands – literally and figuratively – as he grips onto the side of his stomach. The thing is, you've got a massive report to read over and playing doctor with someone is not on your list of side-quests – as it doesn't benefit your position, or reputability on the job any better. However, people are always watching, so if word were to magically get out that you saw a member of this notorious, tight-knit gang and ignored him, that could put a dangerous target on your back.

But, if you help him, you can probably lawyer your way into securing safety for your silence. You could exchange saving his life, for him, inevitably, saving yours in turn – ensuring that you're home, your spaces, where you are at all times is a no-go zone. Sure, that means turning your back on the entire legal system you've spent studying is thrown on the backburner, but you need to look out for yourself.

What is success if it means you've got strangers pinning a vendetta against you, and watching your every move before they strike? How could you ever reach partner if you get killed? How could you ever live with the benefits of making partner, if you get killed before you can exercise those benefits?

The short-term pride is not worth it if you don't get to brag about it... and silence for safety seems like the best option on the table. No one ever said that law always has to be good, it's unjust – at times – unfair and just as corrupt. Only ten percent of people who go into this job do it out of the good of their heart, the rest, the majority do it for the money and respect.

And it isn't part of your job description to be a good person, you're not a doctor. You didn't pledge to an oath about refraining from causing harm or hurt, or to act honestly and responsibility. No, you are conducting yourself with dignity and conscience – and as far as you care, freedom of speech and association still exists, and what you're doing isn't necessarily illegal unless you get recruited or actively participate in a crime.

And since when helping someone not die a crime? He's part of the Foxes, for christ sake. They can invoke power anywhere, he can potentially make you untouchable. You can live your life somewhat more peacefully if it means that safety is a guarantee. If you save one of them, they have no choice but to repay you. That's how the system works.

Sighing, you step closer, bending down to get a better look at him. Flashlight illuminating the severe wound on the side of his stomach, the blood surrounding his black top and his hands. "Fuck my life," you mutter. He's practically losing consciousness with every second, you doubt he's capable of standing up by himself, and there's no way you're going to attempt to fix him by a pile of trash.

So, you do what you can, gently lifting up his upper body, draping his arm around your shoulders as you begin to stand. God is he big, and getting him up the stairs will undoubtedly be a struggle. Still, as if on impulse, his feet start moving as you carry more than half of his weight towards the front door of your building, up the stairs to the second floor – where your apartment remains.

Forcefully, pushing open the door, you find all the strength in your body to lead him to the couch – internally crying at the stain that will taint the grey cushions – where he falls over and lays on his back. Absolutely winded, you walk into your bathroom, searching for that old – raggedy – first aid kit in the cupboards along with cotton balls and comically large band aids that you have no reason for owning.

God, it's as if this was planned, fucking written in the stars. Yes, you were meant to end up in this situation because you are one of the only people in the world who thought it'd be fun and convenient to own large band aids that can temporarily cover a stab wound. Good going!

Gathering all the materials in your hand, you walk over to the couch where he remains in limbo. Again, you're no medical professional, no, the most training you have consists of a short one hour life skills lesson and a topic on human physiology that was part of your biology course in high school. So, yes, you're a bit rusty – but that doesn't mean you're incompetent.

Kneeling down on the floor, scattering the items next to you on the floor, reaching for the cotton balls and bottle of disinfectant. But as your fingers graze over the skin on his torso to lift up his shirt, he flinches, and for the first time since running into him, you look at his face with an offended look on yours – as if he's able to see you through his shut eyelids.

He catches you off guard, the delicate and mesmerising features. Strong jaw, dark hair, furrowed eyebrows that mix in well with the discomfort he must be feeling. Yes, he's beautiful, but he's also bleeding out on your couch and part of an infamous gang that got himself stabbed. Letting out a frustrated, hmph, you lift up his shirt to examine the wound – as if you have any idea what you're doing.

First, you need to unarm him. You run your hands through the pockets of his cargos, pulling out a phone, wallet, and pocket knife, then dig through the pockets of his leather jacket finding nothing alarming.

Next, you cover your hands with latex gloves, then get to work. Letting the cotton balls absorb the disinfectant before running it along his skin, in which he finches in response. "Stop flinching, I'm helping you." You mutter, sure, maybe using water would be a better alternative than bathing him in on the shelf disinfectant, but water is not going to effectively clean him up.

You don't even know what you're doing, and your body, mind, even fucking adrenaline knows that by the way your hands shake. Do you need to stitch him up? You don't know how to suture a wound, you don't even know how to stitch! You don't even own string, yarn yes, but you doubt that sealing someone up with lilac yarn is the most sanitary or safe.

So, of course, you do the most reasonable thing and search it up, and given the short research it confirms that you don't have to do anything – then again, how many people get stabbed and don't receive certified medical attention?

Hands still shaking, you dive into the medical box, looking for antibiotic ointment. "I hate you, you know?" You begin speaking to yourself as you uncap the cream, "You're bleeding out on my couch. Is it a good couch? No, it is uncomfortable, and by the way your legs hand off the arm rests, it's not the biggest. But it's my couch, I found it on the street."

You apply the cream around the puncture, hearing his quiet groans and incoherent murmurs. After that, you reach for the band aid – or non-adherent pad as they call it – peeling off the back and gently placing it over the puncture. It's not a good replacement for proper medical care, but it will suffice until he manages to crawl his way back to wherever he lives and gets professionally treated.

"You better pay for a new couch, or a deep cleaning." You continue, beginning to pack up all your things before standing as you remove your gloves, and move to the kitchen to toss them out. "I have things to do, you know?" You say from the kitchen, washing your hands thoroughly.

That's partially a lie, the things you claim to have insist on reading a fucking brief or case while sitting on your couch watching something on Netflix – because cable is a waste of money – with one of many microwave meals stocking up your small white fridge. Still, this momentary distraction has moved those plans to tomorrow night. A Saturday night.

"I don't know who you are, or what your rank is in this stupid gang of yours, but I don't care." You continue your rant, grabbing a glass of water and pain-killers – placing them on the small cushioned ottoman, because who has the space to own a coffee table? – pacing back and forth in your apartment, where you can finally kick off your shoes by the front door and grab the purse you discarded by the small circular dining table next to the fridge. "I have work to do."

You storm towards your bedroom, dumping your purse on your bed and digging through it for your laptop and thick file, then you grab a highlighter sitting on the bedside table. And hopefully by the time he wakes up, you would have done something worthwhile and beneficial to your career.

So, yes, in conclusion, life always has a weird way of fucking you over. 

An hour has passed since you fixed up the stranger who lays, practically comatose, on your couch. Since then, you've changed out your clothes, showered, and gone through at least fifteen pages of this case you're supposed to assist with and eventually write a report for. Sitting in bed, music softly plays through your laptop as you bite on the end of a highlighter, re-reading the same paragraph over and over again.

It's safe to say that your mind is a bit distracted, maybe it's the fact you're harbouring a criminal in your apartment, waiting for him to wake up and possibly kill you. The Foxes are notorious for many things, heists, robbery, petty murder, but particularly famous for the sale of illegal goods – whether it be drugs, or unlicensed arms – and you happen to have one sitting in your living room.

All for what? The fear of getting murdered? Having a target on your back? Trading integrity for safety? To be fair, those are all valid reasons why you've decided to take him in. You can call the police, turn him in, do greater good for the grand community. He's docile and helpless right now, you've searched him for weapons and you keep his belongings hostage on your bed. But, what are the cops going to do?

You hear a groan coming from the living room, and immediately shoot up from the bed, swinging your feet over the mattress and feeling them hit the cold wooden floors as you turn around to grab the baseball bat leaning against the mattress.

The first, and big thing he feels is pain. An unbearable type of pain on the side of his stomach. He places a hand over the plaster, expecting to feel blood or an infection, but jolts awake when he's proven wrong. He sits up, painfully, and scans the apartment for any sign that will tell him where he is. The messy decor of the room, the glass encased bookshelf that's filled to the brim with trinkets, novels, DVD's, CD's, and records. Behind him, on the wall are framed movie posters and paintings. Lamps, candles, and a full wall tapestry behind the tv. A plethora of coats and bags hanging on the door. So much clutter in this little living room.

He turns his gaze to the small kitchen, a shelf lined with snacks, spices, a bowl of onions and garlic, and a concerning amount of liquor. On the counter, are dishes, coloured pots and pans, empty jars. Whoever lives here loves their fair share of pink, grey, and light blue cups, bowls, and plates. They apparently also love their fair share of tea and instant chai latte mixes, and colourful string lights.

He has no idea where he is, or who happened to pick him up from the streets. All he knows is that he was ambushed by the Crows and left for dead, talk about sending a fucking message. Understandably, he turns his head to look behind him, where you stand holding a baseball bat to your side. He reaches for his pocket, where his knife always remains, only to feel nothing. You've disarmed him.

While he should be focusing on that thought. The logical sense that you must know who he is; hence why you've hidden all his belongings and why you're holding a baseball bat for defence, or the fact that you must've called the police by now. But no, his mind is focused on who you are, why you've brought him into your apartment to avoid death, and how those little shorts look on you. Those little black shorts, that tank top, and that big knitted cardigan.

So what if he's about to get arrested, he loves this sight.

"You brought me here?" He asks, watching the way you nod your head.

"You were bleeding out near a pile of trash, and while I considered leaving you for dead, I figured that I could get something out of saving your life." You explain nonchalantly, well as nonchalant as you can given that you've invited a known criminal into your house.

"Who do you work for?" He questions. There are always upcoming rivals or new recruits circling the scene, they love dirty work and favours – an eye for an eye – and will extort, abuse, and come up with the worst reparations. While you don't look threatening at all, especially in that little outfit, he can't underestimate you.

"Specter and Hastings, the law firm." You reply, causing him to laugh out of pure irony. Out of everyone he could have gotten entwined with, it had to be a lawyer. The universe really loves to play games on him, doesn't it?

"What do you want?" He sighs, "Names? Operations? You want me to snitch?" He'd rather die than rat out his friends, his family, just cuff him and take him down to the station because he's not speaking.

"No." You say, "I want safety." A flash of curiosity flashes across his face, allowing you to elaborate. "I want to make sure that wherever I go will be unharmed, untouched, or fall victim to whatever wars you guys get into. I want to be left out of danger, and never have to worry about getting followed home, mugged, or stabbed. I want the guarantee of safety... for my silence."

"What?"

"Is it so hard to understand?" You huff, "I save your life, you look out for mine. And in doing so, I will pretend that I didn't potentially break a law by not turning you in, I will turn a blind eye and ignore that tonight ever happened."

She's looking out for herself. He can't blame her. If anyone were to find out that she left him for dead, she would be a target. However, as someone whose job literally regards the law, you can't blame him for thinking you're hypocritical and maybe the slightest bit untrustworthy. If you can't even stick by your career, how can he expect you not to snitch on him?

"So?" You say, "Is that a good arrangement?"

"I can't guarantee anything sweetheart," he claims.

"Fine, then can you at least keep the stabbings out of this neighbourhood?" You question, "When I get home at night, I'd rather not come across another bloody body and risk getting more blood on my couch out of fear of being targeted."

That he can do. He can tell the guys to avoid this particular area, in exchange for a stranger – who happens to be a lawyer – that saved his life. Not to mention, you didn't call the cops, didn't turn him in, and you're supposedly open to turning a blind eye. In regards to the blood he got on your couch, he can easily fix that. He nods, "That I can do." There's no reason why he should deny anything, you already know he's part of the Foxes – that's the only reason you bothered saving him – and you are well aware about the culture and how no good deed goes without payment.

"Okay, great." You nod, resting the baseball bat against the frame, you've negotiated poorly, and your terms and conditions are promised to be met. Now, you can move along with your life. "Excuse me for a moment," you say, disappearing back into your bedroom to gather up all the things you took from his pockets.

In your short-lived absence, the man glances over at the painkillers and glass of water on the ottoman. He grabs the packet, reading the warning on the bottom half of the box that informs the users of the small percentage of codeine and its addictive properties, only to ignore it and swallows down the pill. It's drugstore painkillers, so of course, it's not going to be the strongest but when it kicks in, it'll help.

You return holding his things, hanging them to him before sitting on the curved back armchair next to the couch. You are unsure of what to do, or say to the brunette. You've never been put in a situation where a gang member is sitting in your apartment, wounded, and you've offered up your silence in turn of safety. Is it time for you to kick him out, or should you try to make conversation?

He, on the other hand, glances down at his phone, texting away to his friends about what happened and how he'll be back soon. There's no doubt that they're all mad about the situation, how he got ambushed by their rivals, and left by a pair of trash bags to bleed out. Though, it's not all that bad, he got saved by a pretty girl who graces him with skimpy shorts and a tank top that loves to plague his imagination. Better yet, this girl happens to be a lawyer, and if he plays his cards right, he can get a run down of loopholes and secure defence.

"So, do I get a name?" You ask, wrapping your cardigan closer around your body. "Or is that confidential? I'm not going to rat you out, I'm barely a lawyer, let alone a narc. And I need a solid ally in case anyone part of your... um, group ambushes me."

"We're allies now?"

"Are you going to give me a name or what?"

You've already seen his face, and he doubts you'll ever be able to say anything to the authorities without ratting yourself out in the process. Also, he's sure he's never going to see you again, or the maximalist, messy design of your apartment... including the row of CD's and records that you keep in that bookshelf despite being in the age of digital streaming.

"You can call me Rin," half a name, but one nonetheless. "Yeah, Rin is good, or Suna, whatever floats your boat." If he could, he'd try and leave, but he doubts he's in a good enough physical state to do so. Also, being stuck in an apartment with a pretty girl makes him want to stay even more. "Do I get a name from you?"

"No."

"Whatever you say sweetheart," Suna shrugs. "So... a lawyer, what made you go down that route?" He questions, wanting to get his mind off the unbearable ache in his body and sharp pain on his side, as he lays back down on the couch. Might as well get some information on you while he's here.

"I'm doing it for the money." You reply, crossing one leg over the other – unaware of how his eyes follow your movements – as you lean back against the seat, finding some sort of strange comfort in talking to a criminal. "I'm an associate, and in ten years I hope to make partner and move out of this place to somewhere closer to my job. I'm aiming for an apartment on the upper east side, maybe west."

"Is that all?" He hums, watching as you glare at him, "Just for the money?"

"Isn't that why we do anything?" You remark, "For the money, so we can sustain ourselves and live. And it's not like I'm doing court law, or criminal justice, I'm mainly interested in business law – contract and tort law – which is what my firm focuses on, including divorce law, because that's where all the money is."

"So, you're just a lawyer who conveniently knows how to bandage up a wound and goes around saving gang members?" Suna comments, "Oh, and how can I forget the whole trading a life thing for safety."

"Well, it's better than running around on the streets causing havoc." You retort, "Besides, becoming a lawyer is in my blood, meaning both my parents are lawyers and I was told as a young girl that I'd be a good one. Whether or not that was a compliment, can be debated. It's a stable career, a respectable one, and once I move up the ranks, I'll be able to order myself town cars."

"And law is something you really want to do?"

You're quiet for a moment before getting up to walk to your kitchen to brew yourself a cup of tea, "Yes. It is. I don't see what else I could do; the arts are a dying career where only one in a million makes a name for themselves, I don't plan on being the next big entrepreneur, and I hated biology and anything medical." You flip on the kettle, hearing it begin to boil as you dig through your tea bags. "Besides, law seemed easy enough, and there's nothing wrong with sitting through prenuptial meetings."

Suna feels a lot better about getting trapped with a lawyer now. He was initially scared of getting trapped with a potential narc with a six-foot pole up their ass, but you, you're just like every other sleazebag lawyer who's in it for the money. It's refreshing.

"Yeah, and I guess there's that whole thing of justice, but I don't even work in that field." You continue, "The justice system is fucked up anyway, and why would I want to contribute to that? I mean, I could get an innocent life out of prison but then again, I could fuck up and let a guilty person run free or risk them getting a reduced sentence. But, I don't work in that type of field, I just praise the people who do."

You wait for the kettle to finish boiling, and once it does, you pour the water into your mug, adding in honey or sugar into the mix before walking back to the living room. Not before grabbing a bag of chips from your shelf, tossing it at him. He is a guest, can't be that rude.

Reluctantly, Suna accepts it. He hasn't been around you long, but the way you've abandoned your baseball bat and returned all his belongings must mean you don't see him as that big of a threat. Well, how could you? You saw him at his weakest, and he hasn't given you a reason to be afraid... or he hopes he hasn't. Additionally, you're not that much of a threat either, you're smart enough to get through law school, attend an ivy, and work as an associate at a well-known firm in the city. And while he doesn't see much of what you do in your private life, he can see the few small framed photographs on the lamp tables next to him.

He can see you partying with friends, clearly drunk at the time when the photograph was taken, which must mean that you do know how to have fun in whatever spare time you have. Also, your refusal to give him a name eliminates the idea of him ever searching you up online. Meaning, whatever worries he's supposed to have can easily be debunked.

"So, what exactly is your role?" You ask.

"I work in the background, I help plan out whatever, I stay on guard, I'm there to protect them." He explains as vaguely as he can, not wanting to give the gorey details of his role or job description. By the way you nod, it's clear you accept that fact since you don't bat an eye or demand an explanation. Both of you know that the less you know the better. "Are you not scared of me?"

You can't blame him for wondering. Usually, you'd be terrified or the slightest bit frightened, but enough has happened tonight to make talking to a criminal the most normal thing. However, he's not exactly the worst presence. Sure, you can see the way he's looking at you, feel his gaze burn into your skin, how they trail up and down your body – and while it gets a piece of your heart racing, at least you know that he isn't planning on harming you.

"No." You shake your head, "I mean, you probably would scare me if I were to be walking alone on the street at this time of night, and I would definitely be terrified if you happened to be with all your friends. But you're alone, in my apartment, I can see your face, and you're wounded. You can't hurt me, at this point in time, I'm a lot stronger than you."

Unfortunately, you make a good point. He doubts he can walk comfortably, let alone act as a proper threat. "Right, of course," he hums, noticing the obvious blood stain on your couch. "Sorry about that, sweetheart." He comments, "I'll get you a new couch."

"Good," you say, biting back a smile. "I'd prefer one in cream, or even this light grey. In terms of style, I'd like one with a wider back and comfy cushions – like a cloud couch – if you can find one that will fit this apartment, that'd be great."

Suna's lips twitch up in a smile as he listens to you give him a detailed description, you avoid his eyes, staring down at the steam coming out of your mug. He tries to sit up to get your attention before it fades away – and for the act of dramatics, he lets out an exaggerated groan, which causes you to rush towards him – you place your mug on the lamp table behind you and crawl onto the floor in front of him.

You push him back down onto the couch, the force being more painful than when he tried to get up, you lift his shirt up to examine the damage you poorly tried to cover up, it looks fine physically, but you can't imagine what he's feeling. "I can't do much, as I said, I'm not a licensed medical professional." You say, moving down his stained shirt. Your touch ignites a trail of flames along his abdomen that takes all his willpower to fight.

"At least, I'm alive and not curled up by a pile of trash." He remarks.

"Yeah, but who's to say that's going to happen again?" You question, "Next time you get into a situation like this, I can't guarantee that someone will be there to patch you up in time."

"If it's not you patching me up, I don't want to live."

"Oh," you say, surprised, backing up from him. "Well, that doesn't give you an excuse to show up to my doorstep all bloody if it does end up happening again."

It has been a week since you've seen Suna.

Last friday you were nursing a gang member back to life with the promise of safety for silence, and a new couch – both of which you aren't sure you're going to get anytime soon. Instead, you still clutch your taser while you walk home, and you've done your best to wash the stain on the couch cushion. However, nothing is getting rid of that disgusting, faded stain, so you've opted to flip it over and hope time will make you forget.

The individual lamps and overhead lights illuminate the apartment, the candles flames are burning– casting a mixed scent of florals, vanilla, and lavender – creating the perfect ambiance for a Friday night in.

You sigh, collecting a mountain of rice – from your ready-made curry – on your spoon, curled up on your couch, gaze fixed on the television that plays an old show you were obsessed with in your teens. Beside you, is a glass of wine filled with ice cubes, and the bottle is placed on the floor awaiting refill. What else is there for you to do than stay home on a Friday night?

"Previously on Pretty Little Liars," you hear play through the speakers, shoving a mountain of food into your mouth, "It's Mona– Hanna won so Mona loses..."

You sink down into the couch, suddenly engrossed in the recap. It's been a while since you've had time to catch up on television, so the recaps serve a well-needed purpose to remind you of the over-the-top drama and plethora of plotholes. There is nothing better than unwinding after a long, long, week at work. Grabbing the wine glass, ice cubes clinking as you bring the drink up to your lips.

It's an odd combination, putting ice cubes in wine– that's unheard of – but you don't mind the diluted taste, also, you aren't the biggest fan of wine, it just seemed classier than making yourself a sad looking cocktail. Though, given the fact you're watching one of the more questionable teen mystery dramas, wine with ice does not seem like the worst situation.

You could have easily gone out, but all your friends are all too tired to go out, and drinks at bars are far too expensive. And let's be honest, going out by yourself is possibly one of the most depressing things a person could do, also that would mean walking home by yourself intoxicated. Obviously, that's not the smartest or safest decision, given the current rise in crime.

Engrossed in the show, absentmindedly feeding yourself until you're scraping the plastic container with your spoon picking up scraps. Sighing, you slide off the sofa, dragging your feet towards the kitchen where you toss out the empty container and dump your spoon into the sink. Half of your attention is still focused on the television, not wanting to miss anything going on.

Drifting back towards the couch, leaning against the armrest as you refill your wine glass, bringing the bitter alcohol to your lips and tasting it on your tongue. This will be your second glass of the night, the first glass came and went as quickly as the previous episode did.

A loud knock on the door sounds throughout the apartment, causing you to choke on your drink. Frightened, you place the glass down on the lamp table, pushing yourself away from the couch as cautiously and quietly as you can. Walking on your tiptoes back to the kitchen, reaching into a drawer for a knife.

Of course you're not going to open the door, you're not stupid. You're simply going to sit against it, clutching the knife until whoever is on the other side goes away... like a responsible, intelligent, adult. It could be someone with the wrong address, despite how persistent they are on knocking. And no criminal would think of knocking either!

Maybe you should turn off the television, give the illusion that no is home, or alternatively, you could turn the volume all the way up and drown out the sound of their fist pounding against wood. Nevertheless, hiding out in front of this door with a knife seems like the safest option. If things go wrong, and the intruder does break in, you can stab them and leave their body on the street.

Crime isn't news around this area, unfortunate things occur all the time! And the police, being police, won't bother stepping in. It's an accidental murder in a bad part of town, or another victim to gang violence, they won't bother finding out it was a kitchen knife that caused the death. Morally, will it crush you? Yes. It will.

You lean back against the door, the continuous knocks do not falter... Until they do, you hear them rest their head against the wood. Maybe they've finally given up. Slowly, you get up from the floor, the faint noise of police sirens flying by. You backpedal until your back hits the counter, reluctantly, you place the knife on the surface behind you.

Heart racing in your chest, then you hear it. You hear him. "Sweetheart, open the door." His voice is muffled, but a simple piece of wood is not going to hide the exhaustion lacing his tone. "Please," he adds.

You hope that your home isn't the new hideout for gang members running from the police, but you can't stop yourself from quickly striding towards the front door and swinging it open. "Oh my god," you gasp, catching him in your arms before he plummets onto the floor. Stumbling back, you quickly catch your balance and drop him on the couch – the same way you did last week – where he falls back, arms resting on the back cushions.

Apparently, Suna has taken an involuntary liking towards you and insists on showing up outside your apartment, and door every time he gets hurt. At least, this time around, he's not shot, stabbed, or badly wounded, he just looks a little... beat up. Busted lip, and black eye that's beginning to form. You know this is not the time, but god does he look so good.

Lord knows what he's gotten himself into, why he's bruised or why out of all the places he could run, he ran here... to you. What happened? Why is he suddenly out of breath, unable to stand, and exhausted on your couch? You climb over him, straddling his lap, and grab his face between your fingers, forcing him to look at you. "What the hell have you gotten yourself into?" You huff, slapping the side of his face to jolt him awake, "This is no time for a nap Rin, you need to tell me what happened."

Even in this dazed state of mind, even after running five blocks, being chased by both the police and the Crows as a distraction while his team can get away. Getting cornered, beat up (not as bad as the others), picking the lock to get into your building, then running up the stairs, and waiting for you to let him in. He can still appreciate the sight in front of him, including those shorts, his hands running up your thighs, leaning his head back while his lips turn up into a smirk.

"Sorry, sweetheart, I had to run, and believe it or not, this is the safest place for me." He mutters, sitting up to lean in close to you. "And I know you won't refuse me," he hums. Suna's breath is hot against yours, his touch running up and down your thighs setting a fire to burn and a shiver to involuntarily run down your spine. He kicks off his shoes, opting to make himself comfortable on your couch.

"This is not your safe haven," you scoff, pressing a hand flat on his chest to push him back from you as you climb off his lap. You storm over to the kitchen, opening the small freezer hatch on your fridge to pull out a frozen bag of peas for his eye. Sure, it's not your job to care for him, but you can't help doing it – as if it has been engraved in your memory after one experience. You toss the frozen peas at him, which he luckily knows what they're for. "I did you a favour, which you have yet to return, by the way."

He holds the frozen bag of peas up to his eye, this is not the warm welcome he's been expecting, and for your information he has kept up one side of his deal. He has kept your street a no-go zone, and he has been making sure that you are safe. Sure, his methods are a bit stalkerish, he's been trailing you to and from work – lurking from the shadows and wiping out any potential threats that come your way. In terms of the new couch... he's working on it.

"Don't tell me that you're running from the police," you say, beginning to pace back and forth in your living room. "What do you think you're doing?" You exclaim, "You can't keep coming here to hide from the police! Do they know what you look like? Do they know that you came here? Do you know that my entire career can be ruined?"

"Calm down sweetheart," Suna hums. "No one knows I'm here, you're fine. And speaking of the police... yeah, I'm running from them, but I managed to get away through a couple short cuts. Trust me, you're safe." He stands from the couch, one long stride taken to reach you, his hands running down your arms in a somewhat reassuring manner. With one hand tilting up your chin, "And I wanted to see you."

His eyes are mesmerising, a perfect combination of green, yellow, and grey. It's hard to not melt under their gaze. Your hand wraps around his wrist, moving his touch away from your face before turning on your heel to walk towards your bedroom. He hates to see you leave, but he loves to watch you walk away. Maybe this is the universe repaying him for almost dying, it sent an angel in the form of you.

"Wanted to see me," you mutter to yourself, packing up the mess on your bed. The files, loose papers, highlighters, notes, and your laptop. You move them to sit on your cluttered vanity. "As flattering as that is," you continue, "I'd rather you come see me when you're not running from law enforcement. You owe me."

"Sorry to add insult to injury, but I was wondering if I could camp out here for the night?" Suna asks, leaning against the doorframe of your room. He knows you're not going to deny him refuge, whether you want to admit it or not. You don't have it in your heart to leave him out in the rain. Even if you want him gone, he's not going to leave. He's never been that good at taking hints – hence the black eye and busted lip. "Just for the night."

"One night." You sigh, "Only if –" there's always a catch "– you avoid robbing my bank, and stay clear of where I work, and make sure that everyone knows that. And no more attracting police to this side of town," you list. "And if you're going to stay here frequently, I'm going to need some sort of compensation."

"Is that all?"

"Yes." You nod, "now," you begin pushing the brunette back into the living room and onto the couch. Since he's here, may as well check up on how that old stab wound is going. You force him down onto the sofa, his back hitting the cushions – the wind escaping his lungs – as you lift up his shirt. There's still a nasty cut that's bound to turn into an even worse scar, but at least it's healing correctly.

"You sure are quite aggressive," he comments, propping his head up with his hands as he looks up at you. "I don't mind, kinda like it." He purrs, softly laughing at the way you pull his shirt back down and storm up off the ground, grabbing your wine glass and downing the rest of the contents. "I was just teasing babe, no need to overreact."

"Are you aware that you're an idiot?" You comment, placing your glass and the wine bottle on the kitchen counter.

"Do you like that I'm an idiot?" He retorts. He's got a bit of a little infatuation with you. A hot shot associate with a morally grey high ground, and a weakness for criminals like him. It is not everyday a pretty normal girl like you fixes him up and lets him into the apartment while he's running from the cops.

"The same way I like how I continuously find myself harbouring a fugitive." You reply, "It could be better. And can you please either use the frozen peas or put them back in the freezer."

You have better things to do! Sure, the situation could be worse. At least Suna is decent to look at, and he's alright company who doesn't want to kill you, and you have felt the slightest bit safer on your walks to and from work. Though, it's not like you're thrilled to have him in your apartment.

He gets up from the couch, places the peas back where they belong, then slides in next to you. He grabs the wine bottle, taking a swig from the bottle. You watch him intently, the way his Adam's apple moves, the beginning traces of a bruise forming around his eye, and the cut on his lip. He still wears that stupid leather jacket, but at least there's no blood on his hands, legs, or torso. Suna glances at you from the corner of his eye, holding the bottle firmly in his hand, "Take a picture. It lasts longer."

"I would," you say, "but that would mean proving a direct affiliation with you. And lord knows if you ever get caught, I'd rather die than testify in court and risk losing all respect I have in this industry."

"I get it," he shrugs, "I'm bad news, but that doesn't mean I'm necessarily a bad person. I mean, you make money off people's brokens marriages, shouldn't that equate to something? I think that we both do bad things, but we're not bad people."

"Comparing me to you is a low blow," you snort. "That's like comparing apples and oranges."

"They're both fruit aren't they? They both grow on trees, they both make juice." Suna argues, "One is sure, significantly better than the other, but that all depends on personal preference."

You meet his eyes, seeing nothing other than the greyish-green hues. He's got that tough exterior that can draw any girl toward him – including you – the danger that people write about, the allure and flirty personality that makes him less of an asshole and more human. He is the fallen angel that the universe sent to you as a form of twisted karma and dilemma of morals that cross a line. He's beautiful, prideful, a criminal, but has got a strong sense of loyalty and protection. Why else will he make himself the scapegoat to every situation?

"Yeah, well, anyone with a brain can tell who's the better one of the both of us."

"If this is about breaking the law," he says, placing the bottle down on the counter. He steps in front of you, trapping you between his arms, pushing you back against the counter as his body presses against yours. "You're breaking a lot by being here with me, hiding me from the law, trading silence for safety, I'm sure there's something in the constitution that you've broken by not turning me in." He lowers his voice, dipping his head down to yours, "I'm sure if I string enough together, you can be charged with aiding and abetting."

"That's one thing out of the many covering your roster."

He bends down, lips brushing against your own. Heart pounding against your chest. He's so close. Remnants of his cologne fill your senses; oak, wood, musk, sweet amber, cardamom, raspberry. He's addictive in all the ways he shouldn't be. A real fallen angel. Beautiful, perfect, but dangerous, treacherous, and duplicitous. But what does that make you? You're addicting, the light in his dark tunnel, his bittersweet obsession that he cannot indulge in.

"You don't care." He rasps, "If you did, you would have kicked me out. You like me, you like having a dirty little secret, you fucking revel in it."

You don't respond, verbally that is. You break the small gap between the two of you. He reciprocates the action, deepens the kiss, presses you further back against the counter. A hand gripping your hip, while the other travels up your neck, holding under your jaw tight between his fingers. His body against yours, fingers wrapping around the belt loops of his jeans trying desperately to pull him closer. It's messy, driven, and lustful.

Your hands travel under his shirt, feeling the burning skin and the shiver that runs down his spine. The hand he has on your hips, his fingers dig harder into your side while the one around your neck shifts to the nape, reaching up to tug at the roots of your hair. The throaty moan that he elicits from you sends him into overdrive, fuck you're addictive. He wants you, so bad. He needs you.

Palms placed flat on his stomach you step forward, pushing him back onto the couch. He takes in the sight of you, standing over him in those little shorts and tank top that hugs your body so well. You climb on top of him, straddling his lap, and his hands instinctively run up the back of your thighs, sliding under your shorts. Rough hands making themselves comfortable, holding the flesh in his hands, squeezing hard as he helps you grind down onto him. He's hard as a fucking rock, and your moving against him so needy. The friction against your clit, slow and tortuous, small whimpers and staggered breaths that Suna swallows.

Your hands move to move the leather jacket off his body, which he tosses across the living room, leaving him in a black muscle tee that shows off all the hidden, scattered tattoos on his arms you've never had the pleasure of seeing. His fingers grab the front of your tank top, tugging down the fabric to expose you to him. His cold hand cupping your tit, the pad of his thumb running over a hardened nipple as goosebumps scatter down your body and you press down further into the bulge in his jeans.

"Fuck," he groans at your reaction, breaking away from your lips to kiss down your jaw, neck, collarbones, before his lips wrap around your chest. His tongue pressing against you, teeth grazing your skin, while his hand continues to work and massage against the other.

Your back arches, hands tangling themselves in his brown hair, continuously grinding against him as his leaves scatter hickey across your chest. "Sweetheart, you're killing me." He murmurs, reconnecting your lips together. You hum against him, lifting your arms in the air as he pulls off your top, throwing it across your apartment before he does the same with his shirt.

You begin to kiss down his chest, his torso, his stomach, falling down to the floor in front of him – between his legs – as you undo his belt. Suna's eyes fixed on you, the sweetly dangerous glimmer in your eyes as you unbutton and unzip his jeans. He lips his hips, allowing you to pull them down – jeans and briefs – letting his clothes drop to the floor. He shudders the second your hand wraps around his dick, head dropping back and hands gripping onto your hair.

Wrapping your lips around the sensitive tip, you tease the spot hearing desperate whimpers escape his throat. Tongue flat against him, head beginning to bob back and forth, cheeks hollowing out as you literally suck the soul out of him. The salty taste of pre-cum on your tongue, his hands firmly entwined in your hair as he lets out a strain of whimpers, bucking his hips up, controlling your movements making you take him deeper in your mouth, his cock hitting the back of your throat repeatedly.

Tears begin to prickle in your eyes. Head moving back and forth at a faster pace, his hands knotted in your hair as he takes control, fucking your mouth. Looking up through teary eyes, laying eyes on a sinful sight. His abdomen flexing, head thrown back, eyes shut, and Adam's apple moving at every repressed whimper and moan. You grip onto his thighs as he increases his pace.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck." Breathless moans coming out in repeated pleas that chase a high. He's so close, impatient, and seeking a heavy and desperate release. "Just like that baby, keep going."

You don't stop, you continue as a mess of fallen tears, pre-cum and saliva. You can't breathe, throat filled with his cock. He fucks your throat, using you for pleasure. He fucks your mouth, swollen head hitting the back of your throat, shuddering as you to swallow or gasp for air. You feel his dick twitch, and in seconds a hot load is shot down your throat and his grip on you loosens. You swallow down his cum, tongue and lips cleaning him up. Once, your lips remove themselves from his cock, he wastes no time to pull you up and reconnect your lips, tasting him on your tongue. You stand from your knees, and he pulls down your shorts along with the simple black panties, then pulls you down onto the couch, laying you on your back.

He hovers over you, hand wrapping itself around your throat as he kisses you. The other, spreads your leg, calloused rough fingers pressing against your cunt. Using the arousal to rub against your clit, a harsh play of light and rough. Fingers pressing hard against your clit, causing a strained moan to sound through the living room, he rubs against the bud. Playing between teasing movements, to forceful mechanisms. He's fast and slow, teasing you, edging you.

"Rin," you muster out, biting down on his lip which pushes him to give you what you need. Working his fingers swiftly, skillfully, roughly against your clit. You squirm beneath him, he's vicious against you, his free hand kneading your tit in a hard grasp. "Fuck, Rin." You moan, chest rising and falling, as he quickens his pace. Eyes rolling to the back of your head, you grip onto the armrest of the couch, mouth agape.

Legs twitching, as he brings you to an insatiable climax. His fingers are covered in your slick. He brings them up to his mouth, getting a taste of what he's missing out of. He doesn't waste time, wrapping your legs around his shoulders before he buries himself in your cunt. Lips wrapping themselves around your clit, sucking on it, his tongue moving at a rapid pace. He feels how sensitive you are. Fingers digging into your thighs, sucking your clit into his mouth.

You're a mess, a writhing, mess. And the way he looks up at you through half lidded eyes, buried between your thighs. You sink your hands into his hair, looking for something to hold onto. A groan rumbles in his throat, sending you farther over the edge. He increases his pace, devouring you like a starved man who hasn't eaten in years. He's pushing you over the edge, your heels digging into his back, pulling at his hair, forcing him deeper into you.

To add fuel to the fire, he thrusts two fingers inside you, curling into your sweet spot that has you bucking your hips into his mouth. He pumps his fingers in and out of you, perfectly matching the pace of his tongue. He continues until he feels you come undone, pleasure and heat clouding your vision as he pulls away from you. He examines the sight, leaning in close to you.

"I need to feel you." He pleads, the blood already rushing back to his dick, "I need you sweetheart."

You nod, "Please." Whispering, "It's fine, I'm on the pill." You reassure.

He almost collapses right there and then, letting out a whimper as he slides into you. Feeling you raw and whole, he's going crazy, losing his mind at the way you suck him in. Your walls around his dick, warm and so good that he could come right there and then. His find is spinning, he's going absolutely feral over being in you. He slowly moves out, before bottoming out, stealing your breath in the process. That's all he needed, the feeling of having you grip around him.

Suna thrusts into you, picking up a faster speed and your ragged breaths urging him on. He revels in the way your tits bounce, his movements causing the sinful shake of your body. Your nails digging into his back, scratching the skin. If he could save this as a permanent memory in his mind, he would, and he'd replay it over and over again in his dreams. He bottoms out, rolling his hips each time he does so, thrusting in and out at a faster speed and pace.

He then pulls out, the lack of touch jolting you back from your daze, only for him to flip you over onto your stomach, harsh grip on your hips as he lifts your ass in the air. He grips onto the flesh, holding it in his palms while he tugs them towards him in a big thrust. You let out a moan, face buried into the couch cushions, as he pounds into you.

Dick reaches deep into your cunt, watches you shake under him, the couch shakes, and the lamps shake. He holds both your wrists in his hands, pinning them behind your back, as he pushes himself faster, rougher, crazier than he did before. The sound of skin slapping on skin echoing throughout the apartment, mixed in with your strained whimpers and his throaty groans. "You like this?" He mutters.

This is so much better than he imagined. All the nights he spent with his hand wrapped around his dick in the shower and in bed. The thought of you crumbling beneath him, moaning out his name, becoming nothing but putty underneath him. The thought of him pounding into you relentlessly, feeling you bare and raw, the way your walls wrap around his cock. Imagination never could have prepared him for this, it's so much better than he imagined.

You're so wet around him. He fucks into you, in and out so quickly that you can't even grasp onto the feeling despite your cunt quivering and tightening around him every time he fills you. He lands a hard slap on your ass, only to rub over the red spot, roughly massaging and kneading the flesh. Suna continues to go harder, faster, more feral, moving both your hips to meet. Back is arched and he pushes you further down into the cushions, if that's even possible.

"You're no saint sweetheart," his hips stuttering, "you fucking love getting fucked dirty by a criminal." He rasps, tugging you up by your arms, whispers close to your ear sending a shiver down your spine. "Tell me how much you love it," he instructs. "Go on."

"I love it." You breathe out. Suna forcefully pushes you back down onto the couch, harshly pounding into you, "Fuck, so good."

"No one's ever gonna fuck you as good as I will. I'm going to make you mine, I'm going to corrupt you, I'll protect you." His voice falters at the feeling of you tightening around him, his cock twitching in response. "Fuck, you're mine. Mine only, and I'll fucking kill anyone who comes near you."

You listen to him, losing all sense of strength in your body. You're so close, he knows you are. "Rin, please keep going, I'm so close." You whimper, and he endures, picking up his pace and pushing into you faster, deeper, and harder until you become a limp mess, tightening around him, giving him the greenlight to release.

He cums inside you, white liquid filling you and dripping out as he pulls out. Your hips fall to the couch, as you flip over in time for him to collapse on top of you. If you didn't need a new couch before, you definitely need one now. His arms wrap under your body, he lays between your legs, head resting on your rising and falling chest, hearing your heartbeat in his ears. You brush your fingers through his hair.

He meant what he said. You're his, and he will fucking kill anyone who comes near you. 

[melanieph321]

Ruben Dias/Trent Alexander Arnold x Reader - Dark Rivarly Part 6/15

Here we go, part 6. Featuring a very cute scene where Ruben worries about reader because she is drunk.

18+

Part 7 and 8 are already out on my Patreon for FREE!

Reader is Trent Alexander Arnold's twin sister. The two have been inseparable since childbirth, more so now when Reader is fresh out of university looking for a job, crashing at her brother's place whilst doing so. One day Reader gets a job offer that she cannot refuse, however it would mean working for her brother's biggest rival in football, Ruben Dias.

Enjoy!

"Grandma, you stabbed me!"

"Then hold still." She grunted.

Trent was right, she had been happy to get rid of you. Telling Grandma that you got fired from your new job earnd you nothing but a thirty minute tongue-lashing and a stab with a needle. You were at the shop, making last minute corrections to your pencil skirt. Your job interview attire.

"What kind of job are you interviewing for anyway?" Jennifer asked, as she helped Grandma take your measurements.

"I dunno, some assistant job at a law firm in town."

"Fancy."

"Not really. It won't have anything to do with marketing. I'm probably just gonna run coffee errands all day."

"Then why apply? Aren't you free to go back and live with your brother again now that the two of you have made up?"

It was true. You and Trent are good now, however your time apart has taught you a valuable lesson. A lesson that independence was key to a less stressful life. At least until you could find a hubby to provide for you in the future.

"There." Grandma said, having fitted the skirt with its finishing touches.

You were taken aback. The fabric felt coarse and scratchy against your skin, and the seams were uneven and puckered. You looked in the mirror and saw that the skirt was much shorter than you had requested, revealing your legs in a way that was not appropriate for a job interview.

"Grandma, this is not what I asked for."

She looked up from her sewing machine, a look of confusion on her face. "What do you mean? This is the pattern you gave me. I thought you wanted something simple."

You sighed. "I did want something simple but not one that looks like it was made by a blind person."

"Come again?" Grandma's face reddened, as she set down her needle and thread. She looked ready to jump you.

Then came Jenny.

"A coat!" She exclaimed, popping up between the two of you. "I'll lend her my coat. Okay?" She gritted her teeth at you.

You rolled your eyes. "Fine."

Grandma fell back on her chair. Lucky for you.

The job interview went well, perhaps because the owner of the law firm was a man in his fifties, who's eyes wandered freely to your leg set over the other, not at all minding the length of your skirt.

Afterwards you texted a friend to meet you up for drinks, since returning to Grandma's apartment was more depressing than getting drunk on a Tuesday.

"I'm surprised you reached out." Your friend Ashley, said. "We haven't heard from you since you moved from London back to Liverpool. You should have told me you're staying in Manchester with your nan."

"Grandma." You corrected.

"Right, how are they, your grandparents?"

"Well, my granddad has been dead for years, but I guess he was great before that."

Ashley looked stunned. "Right, I'm sorry."

It was depressing, how far away you had drifted from your university friends, if you could even call them that these days. They didn't care about you and you couldn't care less about them. Ashley had only agreed to meet up with you because her cousin was in town and she wondered if you could hook them up with tickets to Liverpool's next fixture.

You left the bar having gotten what you wanted. However you only made it halfway home, walking unsteady on your heels. You settled on a park bench to call for a taxi, but accidentally dialed the wrong number, a familiar voice sparking through the phone.

"Hello operator?"

"Y/N?"

"Yes, who's this?"

"It's Ruben."

"Ruben?" You hadn't heard from him since he fired you two weeks ago. "What do you want?"

"Um, you called me."

"I did?"

"Yes."

"Oh."

You pulled back the phone, squinting at the screen, confirming that you had indeed dialed the wrong number.

"Are you okay?"

"What?" You pressed the phone to your ear.

"I asked if you're okay, it sounds like you're shivering. Are you outside?"

"I am. I just came from a bar. I was actually trying to call a taxi, not you."

"Are you drunk? Do you need me to pick you up?"

"What, no." You frowned.

"Your not drunk?"

"Drunk, yes. But I don't need you to come and get me."

"Why not?"

"Why not?" You chuckled. "You fired me Ruben, remember? Besides, I'm not too far from my grandmother's shop, I can warm up in there."

"Great. Wait for me, I'm coming."

"Pardon?"

"Stay put Y/N, I'm coming to get you."

You thought it was a joke, or at least that you had heard him wrong. However, ten minutes after arriving at Grandma's shop, a car pulled up outside of it, with Ruben stepping out onto the street.

"Well this is awkward." You said, as the door shut behind him, the two of you reunited in the exact same place that you first met.

"Are you okay?"

"I'm fine, Ruben. Why are you here?" He was dressed so casually, wearing sweatpants. You started following him on Instagram after your first encounter and there was not a single picture of him where he didn't look pampered up by a professional or dressed to perfection.

"Y/N." He sighed. "You told me that you were drunk, what was I supposed to do, not come?"

"Yes, you don't owe me anything."

"What does that have to do with anything? I'm here because I want to help."

"Why?"

He smiled. "I don't know? Maybe because I like you."

"If you like me, why did you fire me?"

"I...." That got him. He fell quiet.

It was hard for you to admit how much it had hurt you. Those three weeks working as a stylist for Ruben had brought you more joy than any other occupation you've ever had. You never wanted to study marketing, or become a seamstress. Those were someone else's dream, forced upon you. You weren't like Trent, you weren't destined to do anything. You had no talent, or so you thought. Being a stylist, it was different, it brought you joy.

"Hiring you in the first place was a mistake." Ruben said, hands in his pockets.

"Then why did you do it?"

He smirked. "Like I said, I like you. But I knew you would be trouble."

"Trouble?" You frowned, more than insulted. "How am I trouble, you don't even know me?"

"Well that's the problem then, don't you think?" Ruben stepped forward, closing the already small gap between you. "You're some random girl I met in some old lady's shop. I don't even know you and yet you're the only thing on my mind."

You drew a breath, stunned by his words.

Ruben shook his head, eyes looking to the floor boards. "I fired you because I couldn't stand the thought of not knowing where you are and with who. Hiring you again would mean trouble."

"For who?"

You regarded him thoughtfully. Despite what you told his assistant she was right to warn you, warn you that getting involved with someone like Ruben could only mean trouble for you. But there was no denying it, the strength of your attraction for him.

"I need you, Y/N." Ruben shuffled his steps. Brave enough to reach out and caress the sleeve of your coat. "In more ways than you know."

"Ha!" You blurred out. "Why don't you get down on your knees and beg while you're at it."

"Fine."

You let out a low shriek, seeing Ruben do exactly what you told him to do. Stepping up to you, standing really close. It aroused something within you. He crumpled to the floor, getting down on his knees, only to find himself level with your stomach.

You looked down at him. "You're crazy."

He grinned. "Crazy about you."

His hands grabbed your waist, forcing you to take a step forward towards his satisfied face. You stiffened.

"Ruben?"

His chuckle was heard beneath you. "Don't back out now, querida. Isn't this what you wanted?"

"No." You attempted to fight him off with your hands, ultimately failing as your hands got tangled up in his hair, his thick brown hair. Ruben tilted his head back, closing his eyes as your hand ran through it. "You sure?" He grinned.

Your heart was beating violently in your chest. Your breasts heaving up and down.

"Just know that I want you so bad right now." Ruben's hand slipped down from your waist, cupping your ass. "So fucking bad."

His eyes opened, staring intensely into yours, challenging you.

"What's it gonna be Y/N? I'm on my knees for you."

You crumbled. "Just shutta fuck up and finish me off."

With one tug from Ruben, your coat dropped to the floor. He then got busy with your skirt, pulling down the zipper with one defying motion.

"Fuck." You let out a gasp, loud enough to echo throughout the room. There was nowhere to go, nowhere to lay down. Ruben had you back up against a wall, panties pulled down to your ankles as he licked you clean. You pulled his hair, wanting him to stop. The pleasure was too intense, spilling you over the edge too fast.

"You don't like this?"

You looked down to see Ruben frowning like a puppy dog.

"I haven't shaved. Isn't it better if a girl is shaved?" You replied.

The look that came across his face was profound and questioning. Ruben's hands traveled down your thighs, rubbing them up and down. He leaned forward, kissing your leg before he spoke against the skin. "I want you like this." He whispered. "Any man should want you like this."

Ruben stood. Your shoulders fell back against the wall, eyes now level with his chest. He tilted down, kissing your lips, your first kiss. Your hands wrapped around his neck, fingers finding their way through his thick hair. The smacking of your lips was loud, interrupted by the occasional gasp for air. Ruben had your legs wrapped around his thighs, lifting you up like you weighed nothing. By now your trail of thought had vanished, leaving the regrets for tomorrow. Your skirt was already rolled up to your waist, with Ruben's erection pressing hard against your belly. Once he pulled down the hem of his sweatpants you were already trembling, eager to have him inside of you. He came with force, pressing into you deep. He held your body against him, fucking you against the wall, the loud pounding increasing with every thrust.

"Ruben, I'm....I'm gonna..."

"Yes, come for me Y/N. Scream my name."

It was embarrassing, how fast he made it happen. How hard your grip around his waist was. It was terrible, the noises you made, moaning and groaning against the crook of his neck.

"Ruben."

"Yes, baby. Let yourself go, come for me...." You grip around him tightened, the clenching of your walls. Ruben was right behind you, trembling with the next sloppy thrusts. You slumped down against the wall, plotting down on the floor like the heavy bodies that you were. You were still breathing heavily, with Ruben's head resting gently against your heaving chest. With hearts slowing down he lifted his head, looking at you with the hint of a smile. "I guess this means I've got you back?"

You chuckled. "I'm back, but you don't have me, Ruben."

He frowned. "What do you mean?"

"I'll never be yours. If I'm gonna work for you this can never happen again."

[thecatundertheladder]

how about fsm's and lloyds first meeting in the fsm lives au?

First of all thank you so much for asking!!! I had a lot of fun writing this even if took ages. Right so I haven't completely figured out when the ninja actually meet Fsm, but I'll get to that later. I do have a rough timeline so probably in between seasons five and six (Possession will obviously get retconned a lot). Garmadon is alive btw.

Lloyd had never really made the connection between his grandfather and the First Spinjitzu Master. Like sure he knew it logically, but there was a real difference between 'my grandfather is the First Spinjitzu Master' and 'the First Spinjitzu Master is my grandfather'. And besides, the guy was dead, as far as he could tell, so it didn't really matter other than 'hey I inherited cool powers and also his arch nemesis'. Honestly, the only things Lloyd knew about his grandfather were that he invented spinjitzu, used the golden weapons to create Ninjago, fought the Overlord, and he had two kids, who happened to be Lloyd's dad and uncle.

So naturally it was quite a shock when one day at breakfast Wu announced that his father was coming to visit in a few days.

What resulted from that statement was a rather long and, uh, productive (not really) conversation (a very loud debate).

Cole: What?! But he’s supposed to be dead! Kai: No no one of my village elders said he just left this realm and would return when we need him most. Morro: Nah grandpa just does whatever he likes. Though he was in another realm last time I checked, at least that's right. Jay: What the fuck does that even mean?!

That ,of course, sparked a whole other debate about why Morro knew that. It got sorted out in the end, eventually, after a few thrown noodle bowls.

But while the others seemed to calm down after that, Lloyd steadily got more anxious. Because this was his grandfather, the man who had created Ninjago itself, and fought the Overlord the first time. Yes, Lloyd had done that as well, but what if he didn’t met his grandfather's expectations? What if he was disappointed in him?

Morro, on the other hand, was pretty excited to see his grandpa again; it had been two years, and despite Morro taking advantage of Fsm's omniscience to inform him about various coming and goings, he hadn’t had an actual conversation, and he had a lot of things to show him as well. But Lloyd had seemed pretty anxious since Wu’s announcement, so, like any good older cousin, Morro cornered him on the way to breakfast.

Morro: What’s up with you? You’ve been anxious ever since dad told us grandpa was coming here. Lloyd, mumbling: What if I don't live up to his expectations? Morro: Huh? Lloyd, louder: What if he's disapointed in me? Morro: As someone who's actually meet him, his expectations are don't die, and don't kill innocent people. Pretty low expectations if you ask me. You'll be fine.

This makes Lloyd feel a bit better, but he's still anxious, and he refuses to talk to anyone else about it because, to him at least, it seems a bit dumb to be anxious about meeting his grandfather when no else is (they are, Lloyd just hasn't noticed).

Anyway fast forward to The Day of The Arrival. Lloyd gets up earlier than usual in order to mentally prepare himself for meeting God. And, since he's expecting to have a few hours before the First Spinjitzu Master arrives, he doesn't really bother to make himself presentable before making his way to the kitchen.

This was a mistake.

Because when lloyd enters the kitchen there's man(?) sitting at the table wearing a black kimono with gold detailing. And Lloyd's first though is 'fuck, its the First Spinjitzu Master' before he realises that the man (? seriously why is it so hard to tell) is in his late thirties at most. So Lloyd's next thought is 'why is this random person in my kitchen?'

Lloyd, suspicious: Who are you and why are you here? Fsm, smiling: I'm your grandfather, and I'm your grandfather. Lloyd: You can't be my grandfather! You're like thirty! Fsm: I am not thirty, I'm a shapeshifter. Fsm, now vaguely concerned: You didn’t know that? Why didn’t you know that?

So, luckily, Fsm, by being themself, manages to almost completely allay Lloyd’s anxiety by getting up, telling Lloyd to follow him, and going to find both his children so they can smack them on the head because come on you two this is Morro all over again (Fsm can't really talk though, his godly domain should really be 'forgetting to tell people important information'). Because he can understand Morro not knowing that Fsm - and subsequently their descendants - isn’t human, but Lloyd is actually related!

Lloyd, meanwhile, is shocked. God, his grandfather, is in his house, looking all of thirty, and stalking through the monastery all while grumbling under his breath about his kids not telling Lloyd something, all while Lloyd trails behind him like a lost fawn.

It’s then Lloyd remembers his pyjamas and bed hair, and he just, internally cringes. Like, c'mon, this is the First Spinjitzu Master, and here he is looking like he just got out of bed (that he actually did just get out of bed is completely pointless in Lloyd’s mind). But something about this thought process must have shown in his face and body language (never mind that Lloyd is behind his grandfather), because suddenly the First Spinjitzu Master (man Lloyd really has to get his name) is turning around, stopping Lloyd in his tracks.

Fsm: Stop that. There’s nothing to be embarrassed about. I am 25,000 years old, and I have raised two children, I have seen a lot worse than bed hair.

That makes Lloyd blush, but his grandfather is already on the move again, seeking out his children.

Of course, once Fsm does find their children, Lloyd has the pleasure of finding out that his grandfather his half oni, half dragon (“dragoni”, his father says, “easier on the tongue”).

But once Lloyd processes that he’s not fully human (and, like in the show, he’s pretty calm about because it makes a lot of sense when he actually thinks about) he starts to bond with his grandpa and damn the First Spinjitzu Master is not anything like he expected him to be, but honestly, Lloyd is actually kinda relieved about that. He’s a lot more approachable than Lloyd expected, and it seems he’s where Wu and Garmadon got the more, um, eccentric sides of their personalities. Lloyd is still a bit nervous around him, but that slowly goes away over the few weeks that Fsm is staying for.

Throughout those weeks, Lloyd kinda starts to get comfortable around Fsm. Lloyd shows Fsm a bunch of video games (I've decided this includes Minecraft because, listen, Fsm would be great at Minecraft (specifically creative mode) and you can't tell me otherwise), as well as board games, which leads to the interesting revelation that Mystake (Mystake?! Who runs the tea shop?!) banned Fsm from playing uno a few months after it come out because he tackled someone after he had to pick up 16 cards.

Hope you enjoyed!

But yeah I’ll probably do a separate post for the family bonding.

Also I feel like I need to give fsm a proper name at this point. I’ve been calling them imaragami (ih-ma-rah-gar-mi) since I started thing this whole idea up but tbh it’s just a bunch of random syllables put together (I’m kinda attached to it at this point tho). But anyway what do you think?

[so-long-soldier-writes]

~ updated: 6/15/24

~ read tags before reading; each fic is thoroughly tagged  

~ back to masterlist

✨ ~ fluff

🖤 ~ smut

⛓️ ~ dark &/or kink themes

💚 ~ angst

🌈 ~ fun themes

you're getting used to the coldness in your apartment. the chill that lingers in the air, the absence of his presence. for four months you wait for him, willing for the past and cursing those who've altered your future; wishing for the way things used to be, and hoping they wouldn't be lost beyond repair. but the next time you see him, out on your doorstep, you realize you can't just pick up the pieces, you have to restart the whole puzzle. (heretic!kai) pt. 2 ~ (here) (ao3) pt. 3 - (here) (ao3)

•

• never let me go ~ (here) (ao3) 💚✨

• gorgeous ~ (here) (ao3) ✨🖤

troubled by his own body, kai's afraid to go all the way with you. that is, until you confess you love him regardless of the way he looks, giving him just the confidence he's needed all along. (tw: implied abuse & s3lf h4rm) (virgin!kai)

• anatomy class ~ (here) (ao3) 🖤

kai + magic + boredom = trouble (high school au / both 18+)

• dog days are over ~ (here) (ao3) ⛓️💚✨

the post-wedding heartbreak never ceases. without him, life seems to lose its meaning. but despite your best efforts to depart and chase the void that seems to call to you, somehow you're held back. someone refuses to let you go. (tw: sui attempt)

• feeding 101 ~ (here) (ao3) ✨🌈

damon was a great teacher during elena's transition, but he's less than helpful when kai escapes hell and needs to feed. luckily, you're there at the right place, right time, and offer to teach him, (much to damon's disapproval). (heretic!kai)

• teensy little crush ~ (here) (ao3) ✨

you have a crush on kai you haven't been able to shake for weeks. unfortunately, you're too shy to do anything about it, either. but luckily, elena steps in with a plan, and helps you win over the witch's heart.

• the agreement ~ (here) (ao3) ✨💚(ish)

helping kai adjust to a normal life has its ups and downs, but he, of course, always wins in the end.

• good morning ~ (here) (ao3) ⛓️🖤✨

you and kai make an agreement to wake each other up one morning when the other's least expecting it. it has an… unexpected outcome. (tw: cnc / somnophilia)

• flying monkeys ~ (here) (ao3) 🌈

kai mentions in passing that he can fly a plane. you challenge him to prove it.

• new year's kiss ~ (here) (ao3) ✨🌈

it's tradition for new year's to start with a kiss… just like it's tradition to kiss under a mistletoe. and unfortunately, as traditional as mystic falls is, there's no way out but through

• of mice and... heretics? ~ (here) (ao3) ✨🌈

of all the problems to have in mystic falls, yours is mice... luckily, kai comes to the rescue (heretic!kai) (soft!kai)

• red ~ (here) (ao3) 💚✨

for forty years, kai only knew three shades of red. however, he finally finds his fourth and favorite the year he settles into a new life in mystic falls.

• bar shots ~ (here) (ao3) 🖤

your newest coworker takes his staring problem further up a notch.

• little wolf ~ (here) (ao3) ✨

kai bonds with the girl that lives down the hall from him in the boarding house. (wolf!reader)

• airport troubles ~ (here) (ao3) 🖤✨

you face some trouble with TSA while trying to catch your flight. the suspicious agent uses some unconventional methods to get the truth out of you.

• stormy weather ~ (here) (ao3) ⛓️✨

the rule is always the same: thirty minutes after it storms, kai can spend some time outside. that's when most people are still in their homes and it's too muddy for the children to go out yet. though this time, his father bends the rule, just a little, and lets his son out one wet, chilly afternoon. it just so happens that something bad is about to go down at that very same time, and luckily, kai is there to protect her. (tw: s3lf h4rm)

• our little secret ~ (here) (ao3) 🖤

you should've known wearing a short little skirt would rile him up. but then again... maybe you did it on purpose. (80s!step-brother!kai)

• make me a promise, please? ~ (here) (ao3) ✨💚 | requested

sometimes the easiest way to deal with pain is to feel it upon your skin. but of course, there's consequences to that. for years, you've been able to hide your scars, though, as you'll quickly discover, you can't hide the truth from your boyfriend for long.

• more than friends ~ (here) (ao3) ✨🖤

your "more than friends" status with kai is revealed when you lose hold of a silencing spell. jo, of course, has a lot to say about it. (80s!kai x witch!reader)

• his for eternity ~ (here) (ao3) ✨🖤⛓️💚 | requested

alaric steals a gemini grimoire, summoning you and kai back to mystic falls. trying to get it back proves to be a challenge with a risk kai’s not willing to take. (heretic!kai) (witch!reader)

• drunk words are sober thoughts ~ (here) (ao3) ✨

of course, on the night all your friends are hooking up, you get too drunk to take yourself home. walking home at night, drunk, and in mystic falls is not something on your bucket list, and to make matters worse, you can't help but feel a pair of eyes on you from a distance. so, feeling desperate, you call the contact given to you "for emergencies only," and hope that he shows.

• best cure for boredom ~ (here) (ao3) 🖤⛓️

you text your boyfriend, bored in class and looking for entertainment, but instead catch him in one of his needier moments. after two seconds of debate, you decide you have nothing better to do than to help him.

• favorite sociopath ~ (here) (ao3) ✨

damon and bonnie leave you in charge of babysitting kai. you accept willingly as time to get to know him.

• almost caught ~ (here) (ao3) ✨🖤

innocent cuddling turns into something more on one of the few nights a week joshua parker lets you spend alone time with kai. who can blame you, as strict as he is?

• bloodlust ~ (here) (ao3) 🖤⛓️

part of you knew it was wishful thinking to believe vampires couldn't sense period blood. your heretic best friend proves that true when he comes over to see you. in fact, to him, it smells even sweeter than the blood you normally offer, and he practically begs you for a taste. (heretic!kai) (virgin!kai)

• brooklyn ~ (here) (ao3) ✨

kai finds you wearing his shirt.

• see you at seven ~ (here) (ao3) ⛓️

you let kai feed off you for the first time. (heretic!kai)

• go to hell ~ (here) (ao3) 🖤⛓️

there's nothing like waking up realizing you've been kidnapped by mystic falls' own sociopath, malachai parker. will this day end with your blood on his hands, or will his sweet spot for you save your life? (tw: cnc)

• love bite ~ (here) (ao3) ⛓️

a make-out session gets heated. kinks are explored. a friends' dinner reveals all.

• nightmares ~ (here) (ao3) ✨

after three straight days of kai having nightmares, you can't take the cries anymore and need to intervene.

• he’s like a puppy ~ (here) (ao3) ✨

an argument starts up when damon and bonnie return to the boarding house to find you and kai spending time together. it goes south when you start to defend kai against your friends' remarks.

#1 - stomach ache ~ (here) (ao3) ✨

kai comforting you when you have a stomach ache

#2 - pink starbursts ~ (here) (ao3) ✨🌈

listening to caroline plan a party gets boring. kai finds a way to entertain himself.

#3 - can’t help that i love you ~ (here) (ao3) ✨

while you and kai aren't necessarily in a relationship, no one can ignore the way you are together. it started with kai's nightmares, bringing you to his side for nightly comfort. soon, gentle touches on his back led to full blown hugs and forehead kisses; simple conversation turned to long talks, and you're only getting closer every day. kai feels safe with you, and you're falling for him. maybe he's falling for you, too. this is why your "thing" needs to stop. right now. (soft!kai)

#4 - the dinner party ~ (here) (ao3) 🖤(minor ⛓️)

ten minutes before company arrives. five to finish up, two to clean up, one to fix your hair, and the last two to occupy yourself with something inconspicuous. a perfect amount of time. let's just hope they don't show up early...  

#5 - stupid, sad movie ~ (here) (ao3) ✨

since kai missed out on over a decade of movies, you now spend your nights watching the best ones. tonight's movie: titanic. (soft!kai)

#6 - “i took his virginity” ~ (here) (ao3) ✨🌈

you should've known kol would find out about your new boyfriend before you'd be able to tell him yourself. luckily, you're able to talk him into accepting kai, as long as he treats you right. (best friend!kol mikaelson x reader)

#7 - kissing disease ~ (here) (ao3) ✨🌈

despite the deal he had made with her several weeks ago, kai needs his sister for her medical opinion, again.

#8 - jumpscares ~ (here) (ao3) ✨🌈

kai has the worst timing for wanting your attention (best friend!kai)

#9 - hope ~ (here) (ao3) ✨⛓️

kai notices your scars.  (tw: s3lf h4rm)

#10 - aphrodisiac ~ (here) (ao3) ✨🌈

you can only listen to damon ramble on for so long before you lose focus. unfortunately, this time, your zoning out manages to cause maximum embarrassment when the rest of the group follows your line of sight.

#11 - sinful ~ (here) (ao3) 🖤⛓️

shoe humping with kai... specifically, those old 1994 converse

#12 - kiss on the cheek ~ (here) ✨

kai receiving a kiss on the cheek would have no freaking clue what to do with himself. 

#13 - the massage ~ (here) (ao3) ✨️

kai's sure he'll win the bet. you're positive he won't.

#14 - morning coffee ~ (here) (ao3) ✨️🌈

the sun rises. a new day starts. yet, everything remains the same, but nothing's where you left it.

#15 - attention to detail ~ (here) (ao3) ✨️

kai admires the way you watch tv.

• dating yandere!kai ~ (here) ⛓️✨

• heretic kai x accident prone reader ~ (here) ✨

• driving lessons ~ (here) 🌈

• kai’s sex life ~ (here) 🖤⛓️

• king!kai / royalty au ~ (here) 🌈

• demon!kai x angel!reader // angel!kai x demon!reader ~ (here) 🖤⛓️

• how he would be academically / intelligence-wise ~ (here) [n/r]

• childhood best friends to lovers ~ (here) ✨💚

• werewolf alpha kai // kai's demigod parent (pjo) ~ (here) 🖤🌈

• kai with a lip ring ~ (here) 🖤(mild)

• body swap au ~ (here) 🌈

• comfort ~ (here) (ao3) ⛓️

a flashback to his childhood. a terrifying memory he thought he had repressed. | pre-1994 | (tw: [non-graphic] non-consent)

• the dog ~ (here) (ao3) ⛓️

kai hates the family dog. | pre-1994 | (tw: violence)

[haggishlyhagging]

For heterosexual couples, procreation and, more specifically, motherhood represent the last realm where, even among progressives, the "Nature" argument, which we have learned to distrust in almost every other circumstance, still calls the shots. We know that, down the centuries, the most bizarre— and most oppressive —theories have been justified by the "obvious and unquestionable" proof apparently furnished by "Nature." For example, in 1879, Gustave Le Bon confirmed that "The brains of many women are closer in size to those of gorillas than to the more developed brains of men. This inferiority is so evident that no one could gainsay it for a moment: only the degree of difference is worth any discussion." With time, the absurdity of this kind of thinking has become abundantly clear. These days, we avoid attributing any particular disposition or specific behavior to any physical feature. In progressive circles, for example, no one will tell gay and lesbian people that their sexual practices are problematic, that they are attracted to the wrong people and that their organs haven't been designed for use in this way; no one would ever venture: "Excuse me, but did you misread the manual? Nature actually says . . . ." And yet, as soon as were on the topic of women and babies, it's a free-for-all: the result is a carnival of biological Freudian banana skins, if I may put it this way. Suddenly you find yourself surrounded by fervent advocates of the very narrowest biological determinism.

They have a uterus: this is the truly irrefutable proof that women ought to have children, right? We appear not to have advanced an inch since the eighteenth century, when the entry for "Femme" ("Woman") in Diderot and d'Alembert's Encyclopedia comprised a description of a woman's physical appearance and the conclusion that "all these facts demonstrate that the purpose of women is to have children and to feed them." We continue to believe unshakeably that women are programmed to want to be mothers. In earlier times, this was put down to the independent volition of their uterus, a "formidable animal," "possessed with the desire to create children," "lively, resistant to reason, working in the interests of fearsome desires to dominate over all." The self-motivating womb has now relinquished its place in the collective imagination to that mysterious organ known as the "biological clock," which no X-ray has yet managed to locate, yet whose relentless ticking is easily detected by putting your ear to the belly of any woman between thirty-five and forty. "We are used to thinking about metaphors like 'the biological clock' as if they were not metaphors at all, but simply neutral descriptions of facts about the human body," observes essayist Moira Weigel. The term "biological clock" was first used to refer to women's fertility in 1978, in a Washington Post article titled "The Clock is Ticking for the Career Woman." In other words, this expression was an early harbinger of the imminent anti-feminist backlash, and its dazzlingly successful integration into the female anatomy makes it a unique phenomenon in the history of evolution—it would have given Darwin pause for thought. Since women's bodies give them the option of carrying a child, of course Nature would prefer that women also change the resulting infant's nappies, once born, that they attend all meetings with pediatricians and, while we're on the subject, that they mop the kitchen floor, do the washing-up and remember to buy loo roll for the next twenty-five years. This is known as "maternal instinct." Yes, Nature orders precisely this, and not, for example, that, in order to thank women for taking on the major task required for perpetuation of the species, society do its best to compensate them for the inconveniences they thereby suffer; nothing of the sort. If you thought that might make sense, you haven't really understood Nature.

-Mona Chollet, In Defense of Witches: The Legacy of the Witch Hunts and Why Women are Still on Trial

[sweaterkittensahoy]

What if I go full romcom on this Chick/Minnie (OFC) story and bring DB into it? Like, early on in knowing each other, Chick's suddenly just carrying gosling in his pocket like it's nothing, and Minnie does not know what to do with this information. I mean, yes, it's adorable. But also, what the fuck.

Okay, I actually love this enough I'm going to throw something together right this second:

Minnie sits at her desk and reviews reports, wishing one of the girls was sick so she could have an excuse to be on the floor more than once an hour. It's the day after another mission, and there's so many boys in the beds. She'd agreed to a Head Nurse position originally because her years of actual nursing gave her the option with the Red Cross. It'd seemed an easy decision back when she agreed, a way to test out if she wanted a job so high up the chain.

As she signs her name at the bottom of a patient report, she knows with certainty she never wants this job again. Too much paper, not enough patients.

There's a knock on her open office door, and she glances up. It's Colonel Harding, which means it's ten-thirty. He comes every day they've got boys in the beds to get a personal update. The first time she'd seen him, Minnie wouldn't have guessed him the type. But she's since learned he's got a big heart for these boys, same as she does. It's part of what makes them friends.

"Please, come in," she says, standing and smoothing her skirt. "Coffee?"

"If you've got extra," Harding says. "And could I get a bowl of water?"

Minnie pauses, coffee pot hefted halfway to pouring position. "A bowl of water?"

"I'm babysitting," Harding says and reaches into his leather jacket.

Minnie stares in mild shock as he pulls out his cupped hand and shows her a tiny gosling she already knows too well. "Oh, don't tell me the ground crew suckered you into letting them keep it."

"I thought you loved babies," Harding replies, bringing his other hand up so the gosling is fully cupped against his chest.

"Babies, yes," Minnie says, walking around her desk and sticking her head out the door. Charlotte is in the hallway sorting bandages. "Nurse Thorton," Minnie says, "Could you get me a large bowl of water? Lukewarm."

"Of course, Ma'am," Charlotte says, the question in her eyes very clear.

"Thank you," Minnie says rather than answer. It's been a long morning for all of them. Charlotte will appreciate the surprise of the little gosling. She turns back into her office, and Harding is sitting in the chair in front of her desk, still holding the gosling. She goes back to pouring them both coffee. Black for Harding, one sugar for herself, then sets the cups down on her desk before sitting herself.

"You were saying you love babies, but not this little man," Harding says, rubbing a finger across the gosling's head.

"I grew up with geese. They're monsters," Minnie answers. "They lived by our pond and would chase us all around. They bite. A lot."

"Here's the water," Charlotte says as she walks into the office. She stops short at the sight of the gosling and smiles. "Oh, is that the one Winks found?" She asks, then stiffens slightly. "Corporal Hermann, I mean."

Minnie lifts some folders to clear a space for the bowl. "It seems to be," she says. "You haven't been filching supplies to help with the bedding have you?"

Charlotte shakes her head. "No, Ma'am. I've only given them scraps from my own rag bag."

Minnie doesn't ask if the other nurses have been filching supplies. She knows the answer. She just signed the inventory sheets, and they're slightly low. She'll ignore it this once. "That's nice of you, Nurse Thorton. You may go."

Charlotte nods and gives Harding a quick smile, then leaves the office, closing the door behind her.

Minnie watches Harding place the gosling in the water with slow, easy movements. "Has he swum yet?" she can't help but ask.

"A few times, the boys tell me," Harding replies as he lifts his hands away. The gosling kicks its legs and makes a small circle, then nips at the water. "But only in bowls so far. I promised he'd get his exercise on my watch."

Minnie shakes her head, watching the gosling nip at the water and make a wider circle. "You're really going to let them keep it?"

"Winks looked for a nest, but he couldn't find one."

"If he'd gotten within ten feet, the angry mother would have gotten him first," Minnie says.

"And I figure, if he ends up being a problem, we'll take care of it right around Christmas dinner time."

"Colonel!" Minnie admonishes, though she has to cover her mouth to hide her smile.

"Well, Nurse Green, are you for or against the goose?" Harding asks, eyes bright with amusement. "First, you're disappointed I've got him, and now you're acting like it'd be bad to eat him."

Minnie gives in and laughs a little. She watches the way Harding's eyes crinkle at the edges as he picks up his coffee. The gosling makes a small noise and does another circle in the bowl.

"Perhaps your boys can teach him more manners than the geese at the farm ever had," Minnie says. "Something-something, the sins of the father and all that."

Harding leans back in his chair and sips his coffee. "We'll see. I heard them trying to pick a name today, and none of them were repeatable."

Minnie snorts and reaches for the reports Harding is here to discuss. "I'm sure I've heard all the words they're wanting to use," she says. "I've probably said a few myself."

"Haven't we all?" Harding agrees, and he leans forward again, elbows on his knees, a sign he's ready to get down to business. So, Minnie does.

[maconthepen]

What a bagel taught me about how to live.

There's a small grocery shop at the end of my street.

When I say small, I mean tiny. In fact, I often avoid it on Saturdays. Not being the smallest person in stature, I tend to get stuck awkwardly on boxes of fruit the owners haven't unpacked. All would be forgiven and fine if not for the withering stares of the designer activewear crowd who, like circling sharks, single me out as Not One of Their Own. Saturdays just aren't made for that kind of negativity, so I tend to make myself scarce.

But the staff in the shop are lovely and they pride themselves on stocking the best baked goods in the area. Specifically, their bagels. It's no word of a lie. Those bagels stand tall and proud, whether they're plain, poppyseed, sesame, or blueberry. If a food had a sixth sense that it was about to be bought and devoured, these bagels would have it. If I were to get hopelessly anthropomorphic about it, I'd say they exuded smugness. I can't blame them. Were I that perfectly formed, I'd be smug too.

The kicker is that they aren't stocked every day, and today I really, really wanted one. I wanted to pile it high with cream cheese and salmon and to garnish it with care, like it came from a cafe. The idea fixated itself as soon as I was awake, and I couldn't stop thinking about it.

The grocery shop was bagel-less.

Instead, trying to delude myself into believing I could salvage the situation, I went to my local chain supermarket and bought a subpar pack. Little did I know how subpar they would be. My lunch in the picture above looks amazing — and its toppings were exceptional — but underneath was a blasphemous affair. These were the worst bagels I'd bought in my life. They were small and dense and probably overbaked, and I missed the high, chewy, pillowy goodness of the ones from down the street.

Make no mistake: I ate, and I was grateful for the food, but this exceedingly ordinary experience taught me a lesson I've been halfway to learning in the past few weeks:

Everything has its season.

I'm still learning to go with those seasons. A long bout of depression has meant that, for months, I haven't been especially keen on leaving the house. I've delegated all grocery shops to delivery services from major supermarkets, and when the fresh produce that arrived in stiff paper bags seemed bland and tasteless, I assumed it was the fault of my taste buds.

Little did I know, until I started on antidepressants and began going to counselling again, how fine a thing it was to wander out into the world — to the market, the park, the small grocery shop down the street — and really see what was there. To smell the in-season fruit. To taste air that wasn't stale. To buy bagels one day and almond croissants the next, because that's what the world is offering up, and it was finite, so I'd best enjoy it while it lasts. I've been cooking with the weather again, taking care to make soup on cold days and face-meltingly spicy, fresh salads when the sun is out.

I've been caring for myself better, but I have also been caring more about the world. In doing so, the world and I feel back in sync. The people in it feel closer. About a week ago, buoyed by all the new conversations I've been having with people, I realised that I didn't know the name of the man who owned the grocery shop along the street. For years, surrounded by a fog of my own brain's making, I hadn't asked.

It turned out his name was Dan. He asked mine in return, and I told him.

"You're lucky this morning," he said, smiling his usual warm and genuine smile. "That's the last of the sesame ones."

Then, as I was leaving the shop, he called: "Oh, I nearly forgot! You're a Swans fan, aren't you? Good luck today."

Bewildered, I turned back around to face him. It was footie finals season. I wasn't wearing my team's scarf, but I had been some months ago when I dropped in for a packet of chips on the way to the game. I'd been in and out of the shop in thirty seconds, but Dan remembered the scarf all the same.

I felt the hot sting of guilt return. I couldn't believe I'd never asked his name.

But then I recalled a visit on a freezing June day. Dan, nameless back then, had been rubbing his hands together near a small space heater under the counter. He'd been wearing a black and white hat.

I ventured, "We might be playing the 'pies next week. Here's to both our teams making it through."

He nodded. "Sounds like the perfect occasion for a loaded bagel and a beer."

It was a Saturday. I wish I could say the activewear crowd parted like the red sea, but they just looked on, as impatient as ever as I left through the shop's sliding door. The sun was out. It was a beautiful day — the kind that still felt like a novelty after a long winter — and I realised I didn't give a shit what anyone thought of me. I had Dan's name and his bagels, and my life was in a season of joy.

[a-gil-rebel]

Okay, I'm running into a block on chapter 4 of this GF work, so I'm crossposting Chapter 1 to Tumblr for feedback! What do yall think is gonna happen next, what do you want to see?

Chapter 1: Tourist

The old man stepped through the swirling yellow portal into somewhere in Oregon. Familiar, yet not a place he'd ever been before. Light streamed upward from the sunrise, not quite sweeping the valley yet, and a spray of water misted them lightly.

"Wooow" the voice in his head drawled out. "Wow wow wow wow wow, so this is the infamous Dimension 46'\, roomy!" The old man chuckled, dusting himself off as the portal closed behind them.

Shifting the backpack on his shoulders, he took a quick scan of the area. A waterfall cascaded down into the valley to their right into a lake. A small shadowy island stood in its center, and he mentally tallied that as one of the first places they'd look into. The small town that stretched out in front of them had a center with a statue he didnt recognize, a few charming diners and a water tower with a muffin painted on one side.

His associate immediately took notice of the strange air the town radiated.

"I like this place, I think its about as weird as they say, maybe more! But I can't sense the rest of the dimension, almost like it exists inside a bubble. What could that be, Sixer?"

Sixer scratched his head as he pulled out his oldest book from a bag a dash too small for it to have been in. "I wonder if this place has a similar magnetic attraction of weirdness to my home, and no one's yet destabilized or disrupted the field enough for it to burst. This dimension must not have had a Me smart enough to figure it out. Not to worry old friend, after we have our fill of this little town, I can look into building a device to do that here, too."

The voice in his head chuckled. "Then let's get this party started!"

With that, they headed down toward the shore, a wave of a six-fingered hand pushing any plantlife out of the way as they went.

---

"Grunkle Ford, you promised to help me make Grunkle Stan's cake!" Mabel's cries fell on deaf ears as Ford and Dipper continued covering the table in more dumb math papers for their game.

"Yes yes, I'll pick one up later-ah!" He yelped as she pulled him down by his old man ear.

"This is the first time you two get to celebrate your own birthdays together in like. A billion years! You're going to Make him a cake and you'll LIKE IT."

"Okay, Okay! I will I promise, but our birthday isnt even until later this week, is a cake this early necessar?" He relented, and she released him, tugging her sequined sweater back in place.

"You two haven't celebrated in thirty years! You guys are gonna celebrate all week, because if you don't, you're going to have to deal with this Mabel-" she swiped her hand up her sweater, the sequins reversing to show her own face looking dissapointingly at him "-and you do Not want to meet that Mabel."

Dipper snickered from across the table. "Mabel, do I even wanna know how long it took you to make that?"

"Lo suficientemente largo como para escuchar todo nuestro libro de texto de español en audiolibro para poder aprobar el examen final." She replied, her right eye twitching. "Cake!" She shouted one more time before there was a knock on the door.

"Candy and Greta!" She gasped, running out of the kitchen and grappling past the TV to answer it. All three of them squealed a chord so ungodly the goat in the yard ran off, and Mabel invited them upstairs to help her unpack the rest of the way. Her and her brother had been there since the beginning of June, but both their families were on vacation that first week, so today was the first time they'd all been able to get together.

Since the divorce was finalized, the twins decided to make the attic a permanent room, somewhere that had at least enough stuff to crash there anytime if things got sour at home. Their mom still lived in Cali, but their dad had moved all the way to New Jersey where he'd grown up. So if Mom was ever overwhelmed by being a single mother, she'd given them the option to homeschool up in Oregon for a month or so, since they "liked it so much". Mabel liked the chance to do things at her own pace and be able to stay in Gravity Falls even after summer, and Dipper liked staying up to date with everything Ford was researching at the time, since the nerd was ahead in most classes anyway.

After about an hour decorating her side of the attic, they decided to go into town to see how things had changed. Greta told her about the new statue in the towncenter. Nathaniel Northwest's was torn down after the previous summer's revelation of who he really was, and priorities shifting after Weirdmageddan. The new statue was apparently designed by Robbie, whose art skills had flourished. It was abstract, with every 2D shape imaginable except for any triangles, and Candy swore if you looked at it at a certain time of day, the shadow spelled out "Up Yours".

After a snack at Greasy's Diner and saying hi to Pacifica, they decided to pop in and out of a few shops on their way back when she spotted Grunkle Ford in the bakery.

---

The voice in his head had gotten bored quickly on the island, since the only creature of note was somwhere in the underwater caves. So Sixer decided to take him to a local shop to pick out anything he wanted. He hadn't expected an entire sheetcake to be his heart's desire, but would he ever truly understand the immortal deity? They were about to bring a large vanilla with raspberry filling to the front when a child ran up to him, demanding something about making the cake himself.

"Grunkle, you better not be getting that cake instead of making one! You promised me!" The girl yanked on his coat threateningly, pointing a finger at him, the two other children behind her also making threatening stances. The presence in his mind flared with anger, even though there was no real threat. She must be mistaking him for another adult, how old was she? He barely remembered his own human physiology.

"Don't worry, little one. I was just getting... Inspiration. I will make the cake myself." She seemed satisfied with his response, and after a few more glares left them alone.

"How peculiar. I wonder who she though I was? And what's a Grunkle?"

"Not a clue, Sixer. Can we eat that cake now?" He laughed and waited for the kids to leave before checking out as well, heading into the woods so they could eat in peace.

---

Mabel got back to the Mystery Shack to see Soos wrapping up his last tour of the day so he and Melody could take the afternoon off. Wendy was in charge of the counter like old times, and Grunkle Stan would still be out of the house for a few more hours, playing in some casino tournament he'd won his way into on the edge of town. She left Candy and Greta in the shop to check on her dork brother, feeling a bit bad he was left home alone since Ford was at the shops.

Except she walked into the kitchen to see both her nerd twin And her Grunkle Ford, batting at egg creatures as they herded them into a box.

"Mabel!" Dipper called out, smiling and covered in egg yolk. "You won't believe what we've been up to! Grunkle Ford was trying to recreate that scene from Fantastica with the mops, but instead the cake baking itself, but then-!"

"Woah woah woah, okay Dip. Usually I'd be totally excited to hear what you dorks have been up to, but Ford! How could you!?"

"What? I'm baking the cake, as requested, its very serious business!"

"No, you used some kind of officer copier to make a copy of yourself and buy a cake at the shops, didn't you! Huh! Huh! I'm wise to you!" Both of the nerds gave her a stupid face.

"Mabel, I've been here the whole time. But this is concerning." The old man's face screwed up in concentration, one foot still holding the box of sentient eggs shut. "It could be any number of anomalies, a doppleganger? Living plant clone? Interdimensional traveller? Mabel, do you remember any details of this Not-Ford? Green skin, desire for human flesh? Second head?"

"I can do you one better, I never miss a scrapbook-tunity. Whoopah!" She slammed down three polaroids on the dining table, one of 'Ford' from behind, which was mostly a picture of his fancy leather trenchcoat, then one of him clutching a cake in fear, then one from farther off with him waving his hand at nothing.

Dipper picked up the one with the cake laughing at his funny stance, but Ford picked up the first, the only one without his dopplegangers face in it.

"We need to find this... False Ford. Before he does something dangerous. I'll get my flesh-ripping ray!" Grunkle Ford announced cheerfully, running off toward his basement lab. Dipper quickly launched himself to cover the box of eggs, and Mabel grabbed her sticker book to seal it shut while they were gone. She went with a muffin and chihuahuas theme.

---

Sixer ate half the cake, his stomach threatening to pull itself out of his body. "No, absolutely not. If you want to eat the othet half, you have to come out and do it yourself." He shook his head at the whine that echoed in his mind. After tucking away the other half in his bag, they went back into town to explore some more. Even got a red balloon from the Museum, which they promptly turned a nice shade of yellow.

The museum had everything from pickaxes and live dynamite from the founding days of Gravity Falls, to taxidermy animals and an entire room of eyeballs. It was interesting, and he'd have to get a better look at some of the items on display later, but all it really did was amp up their appetite for the Mystery Shack. Determined to do a few more tourist attractions before the main event, they headed out of the Museum to visit the Cemetery.

---

The Pines family and company split up to find Fake Ford. Wendy volunteered to check the roof, so Soos held down the fort in giftshop. Greta and Candy would bodyguard the bus station to make sure the Faker didn't skip town. Ford didn't want to split up the twins, and needed at least one person with him at all times to prevent anyone having to "chose the real him". So they headed to the shop to canvas witnesses, or try to pick up a trail.

"Huh? Oh yeah, you were in here earlier." The checkout clerk, a teen with a voice crack that could shatter glass, pointed at Ford.

"Yes yes, but where did I go after? Think, Sven, the world as we know it is in danger!" Ford grabbed him by his uniform suspenders, but all he did was point at the nametag that said Steven.

"Thats not even my name, man! But hey, if you got anymore those bars, it may jog my memory." Steven wiggled his eyebrows and Ford dropped him again, wiping off his six-fingered hands.

"Eugh. What do you mean, bars?"

The teen looked around before ducking behind the counter and, with much effort, dropping a gold bar on the conveyor belt.

"Woah!" The twins awed.

"Grunkle Ford is that real?" Dipper asked as Mabel reached toward it whispering "Shiiinyyy." The teen bapped them away and Ford put his arm between them before pulling out a raygun and pointing it at Steven.

"You have 5 seconds to tell me where he went, or what you call your flesh will go through a dimensional paper-shredder, leaving you nothing but a pile of bones."

Steven went white as a sheet and collapsed.

"So much for that lead." Ford sighed as Mabel chided him about honey and vinegar before he turned his gun toward the bagger, who had been leaning against the counter the entire time, a tired looking teen with purple hair. "You have 5 seconds to-!"

"Dude was talking to himself the whole time, said something about the History Museum." The teen popped the bubblegum in her mouth before continuing. "And for the record, I'm not telling you this because of your flesh gun thingy. I just like ratting people out."

"Ah. I see. To the Museum!" Ford shouted before running out of the store, Mabel and Dipper applogizing as they ran after him.

The trio followed Fake Ford's trail to the History Museum, where Real Ford found some particularly unnerving security footage they definitely legally obtained of the doppleganger changing the color of the balloon with the wave of a hand and flash of blue.

"No incantation, no talisman, Ford, can you do that?" Dipper asked, in awe. "He's magic!" Mabel chimed in.

"No, I cannot, and I don't want to know what he's done to be able to. We need to find this Ford." He forwarded the tape to follow the yellow balloon back to the entrance, the only camera with a mic.

"Hm? How about the cemetery, that sound alright? ....If we're lucky there may be a good spot to raise the dead." Fake Ford laughed after a pause and left. "If we're lucky!" Was the last thing they heard before he was out of sight. The three rushed out and headed toward the cemetery, the sun creeping toward the horizon by now.

The cemetery had no living residents to rat out a trail, no security footage to scour or even dead to talk to, all of whom were apparently too good for a ouiji board.

"What now?" Dipper asked, sitting at the entrance with Ford.

"Maybe he's just a tourist, I mean he hasn't done anything!" Mabel ventured.

"There's too many signs leading otherwise."

"Mabel is right, Ford. Whats one bad thing he's done? Pay in gold? Change the color of a balloon? Heck, he didn't even raise any dead!"

Ford stood suddenly, his face distant. "I can't say for sure, but, I have a bad feeling about how this Ford. The power he weilds is too familiar to be anything good. We need to find him."

Mabel looked down at her phone and replied to a text. "Well, we're running out of time. Greta and Candy are heading home right now, and Wendy went home an hour ago. Maybe we should regroup at the Shack and start in the morning?" Ford sighed and pinched his nose.

"Fine, fine. Stanley will be home soon anyway. Let's go, kids." All three hung their heads a bit as they went home, the entrance door bell ringing overhead.

"Soos? We're back!" Mabel called out, but Soos didn't hear them, apparently laughing it up with a late customer. They headed deeper into the shack only to stop short.

"Oh Mr Pines, that conveniently off screen story you shared was so funny!" The stranger leaning against the counter laughed as Soos shook his hand.

"Oh please, Mr Pines was my father, call me Sixer." Soos looked up just as they approached, waving.

"Oh hey lil dudes, Mr Pines. Look, its you, but another!"

The twins and Ford braced as 'Sixer' stood to full height before turning toward them. An exact copy of their Ford with a calculated look on his face, that suddenly broke into a smile.

---

"So there is another me here, its a pleasure!" Sixer reached out to shake his hand, when all three jumped to a defensive stance, Ford with a flesh-ripping raygun, the girl from the shop with a crossbow, and a boy, after fumbling with a book for a bit, to some sort of martial art stance.

"Are you insane!?" 46'\ Ford shouted, making his company flare with anger. He kept himself smiling and calm as Ford continued. "If you make contact with another version of yourself, this entire dimension will collapse!"

Sixer laughed and waved his hand. "Oh that? I solved that issue ages ago in the Dimension of Literals. You know that ongoing argument of 'nothing ever really touches because of the space between atoms'? I wont go into detail, but I can assure you, we can make contact safely, so maybe you can lower your 2.1.0.34 Version Flesh Ripper?"

Ford blinked and lowered his weapon a bit. "How did you know exactly what version this was?" Sixer smirked a bit and gestured to his bag.

"I'm on version 4.2.0.3. And I've met a few Fords in my day, not for a long while though."

"So wait, there's other universes where more of us exist? Are you an Author too? But, why are you here then?" The young boy spoke up, tripping over himself with questions.

"I'm just a tourist, certainly not the most common type of Ford. Not only do many infinite dimensions exist, but Alternative Universes as well, that either closely follow your lives, or branch off exponentially. I don't believe I've met you before though." Sixer held out a hand to shake his, and before Ford could stop them the child was shaking his hand vigorously.

"Its so cool to meet another Ford! I'm Dipper, thats my twin sister Mabel. Can you really do Magic? How? How many dimensions have you visited? Our Ford was stuck outside our world for 30 years, have you been travelling that long-?" He laughed at the child's excitement.

"You can call me Sixer, I much prefer it. And 30 years!" He looked up at Ford, whose raygun pointing at the floor by now. "Thats not bad at all! What made you want to come back?"

"That is none of your business, and you are not welcome here. Tourist or not, I just don't trust you." Sixer's smile fell finally, remembering why they hadn't visited another earth dimension in a long time.

"I'm not here to cause any trouble, we just wanted to see the dimension, its known for its incredible magnetic attraction for the weird and strange, far beyond any other Gravity Falls!"

"We?" Ford bit back, and Sixer shrunk in on himself a bit, the voice in his head finally chiming in to laugh.

"Oh shush" he muttered before addressing Ford. "I... I meant I wanted to see the dimension, I apologize, I've been travelling for.... a long time." The looks he got weren't exactly confident.

"Cmon Sixer, we could take em! Just throw them in a dimensional cube for a few days while we hang out!"

Sixer hissed at the voice in his head. "We don't do that willy nilly!"

"Who are you talking to?" Mabel asked, and Sixer jumped at suddenly being aware of her presence, since she had climbed onto the counter to inspect him closer.

"...Myself." He ventured.

"You're insane." Ford jabbed, crinkling his nose as if he'd smelt a Gongoozler.

"Sure I am, whats your point?" He replied in stereo with the voice in his head. Mabel reacted a bit to this, pulling Ford, Soos and Dipper into a group huddle.

"They think we can't hear them from that far away?" The presence chuckled, and Sixer laughed with him, covering his mouth as he looked around at the items on display again. Most were obviously fake, but just had so much Gravity Falls Charm it was enchanting. After a moment of deliberation, which he chose not to listen into by humming a song, they approached him again.

"Okay, Sixer." Ford started. "We've decided to allow you to... tour our dimension, as long as you stay within the confines of Gravity Falls, and a few more stipulations to be determined, such as not paying people in gold bars."

"We-ah, I, can't leave Gravity Falls due to its natural law of weirdness magnetism, so you won't have to worry about that. But, while I'm here if you'd like me to collapse the barrier-!" He offered, only to be met with a cacophony of 'No'.

"Okay-Okay! Well heard."

"You can stay in the spare room, Grunkle Sixer! There's always a spare, somehow." Mabel's face screwed up in concentration as Sixer and Ford replied in unison.

"Spacial anomalies from Grasside Omega."

"This is still a little weird." Dipper chimed in as Sixer laughed.

"Don't worry, we won't be in your hair for long." He replied, just someone burst in the door.

"Long story, they can't prove I cheated, Ford save me!" The man shouted as he raced into the shack with a pile of money in his hands, going to hide behind Sixer.

"Oh, uh, wrong Ford, sorry mister." The man looked at him proper as they both did a double-take. "Stanley...?"

Suddenly the entire party was rocked off their feet at a roar outisde, and something pounding the ground so hard it shook. They ran outside, leaving Soos and Stanley in the doorway. On the front lawn was an amalgamation of casino chips, cards and a slot machine for a face, formed into an anthropomorphic creature.

"Now that is quite something." Sixer laughed, and Ford quickly started looking in his journals for any information.

"Possibly a type of Tulpa, or guardian of the Casino? Stanley how do you get yourself into things like this?!"

The Casino Creature started pulling the roof off the Shack to try and get to Stanley. "Grunkle Ford, do something!" Dipper shouted.

"I think I have something in my lab that can-"

"No time!" Sixer shouted, running in front of them and placing his hands on the ground, starting an incantation to trap the beast. "Zuds wkh ehdvw lq d exeeoh!" He shouted as yellow symbols encircled it, creating a bubble around the creature to protect the Shack and themselves. "Dwwdfn- I mean, attack it now! Hurry!"

Mabel, still carrying her crossbow, started firing into the barrier, bolts sinking into the beast, but to no affect. Sixer flinched as the beast slammed into his magic, but held fast as Ford ran to get a device from his lab. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Dipper helping his sister reload her crossbow with different bolts, one with flamestones tied to the end. He watched as the new bolts, while not hitting as high, burst into flame as the geode was shattered on impact. He braced himself for the heat radiating off it as the beast lit up with flames, otherwise unnerved.

"Grunkle Ford..!" The kids cried, just as Ford burst out with a weapon the size of a machine gun.

"Take this you oversized Bankroll!" Ford shouted as he shot a series of lasers at the beast in pulses, turning every card into a greeting card, and poker chips into potato chips, which all fell into a pile underneath the sentient slot machine, which howled and tried to hop away as Sixer lowered his shield.

The twins whooped and hollered as Ford smirked, hands on his hips. "Not bad, Sixer. The shield was cute. But its good I was here to finish it off."

Sixer stood and dusted his hands, eye twitching at his comment. Just as the twins were investigating Ford's weapon, the slot machine closed it's 'mouth' and started a high pitch sound. Sixer jumped in front of Ford and the twins and let his associate react for him, a large swirl of blue absorbing the golden blast, grinding his heels in as it pushed him back into Ford. Then he gladly returned the energy with blue flames, dissolving the cards, chips and slot machine to nothing, along with the grass caught in range.

Shaking the flames from his fingertips, he panted and turned to Ford and the twins, all of whom were clinging to his coat. "You guys alright?"

Ford quickly let go, looking around for his dimension to start melting, which, as he'd assured him, it did not. The twins started talking over themselves, asking him how he'd done that. His focus was on Ford, smirking a bit as he indulged in his own pride. "What do you think, Ford? Was that 'cute' too?"

"Ha! Showed up by your own-ah, what exactly is goin on, actually?" Stanley clapped them both on the shoulder, and Sixer couldn't help but stare a bit as Ford explained dimensional travel to him. Stanley picked wax out of his ear as he 'listened'.

Sixer shook himself out of staring as Dipper tugged on his arm, wanting to hear about his adventures.

"Well, I suppose I can start at the beginning. Im sure Ford and I have nearly identical backgrounds, however the reason for our travels are most likely where we diverge. After I learned almost every secret of Gravity Falls, even if only a page worth in my journal, I broke the barrier of the town to allow the weirdness to disperse across the world, to allow those creatures, beings and phenomenons to intermingle, grow and change. Its quite possibly going to be my longest running experiment, a couple centuries so far, if I remember to go back to it someday!

That's why I offered to break the barrier earlier, so I apologize if I stepped out of line."

"That could be incredibly dangerous for our world, especially if someday Bill found his way back alive...." Ford replied

"Could that... really happen?" Dipper asked, though Sixer could hardly hear over his heart racing in his ears as the twins continued with graphic exclamations of what they would do if "Bill came Back".

"Woah woah woah, what did he mean Alive?" The voice in his head practically shouted, starting to push himself forward in his mind. Sixer held fast, instead redirecting the conversation to how late it had gotten.

"Well with so much excitement, I think I'm going to turn in for the night... haha... if you still don't mind?"

Ford put a hand on his shoulder. "Not at all, I have to say I was a little apprehensive at first, but travelling the multiverse for centuries? I can't imagine what knowledge you've been able to unlock." Sixer laughed a bit at the flattery, waving a hand as they headed inside.

"Oh, I heard from Soos I had interrupted some festivities that involved cake? We had the other half earlier, but, as thanks, you're welcome to have it." Sixer carefully pulled out the half sheetcake from his bag. The family cheered, much to his associate's dismay.

[elbiotipo]

A Polish game company just released a game about Aztecs killing Castilian conquistadores... Curious about what the reviews say, I've seen some stuff on twitter about the cities not being too accurate

I've taken a quick look at it. Gotta keep in mind this is still in development, so things can change...

Very unpolished (pun unintented) gameplay. It's fine if it's a small indie team, but I always find the clash between the ultra-realistic Unity graphics and the weird gameplay jarring

While I haven't played it, there's a plot, apparently, where your warrior can decide to choose to support "the strangers who want to free us from the priests that kill our brothers and sons"... it's... ehh.

...Let's not whitewash it, human sacrifice was awful, and lots of Aztec-conquered peoples allied with the Spanish against the Aztecs (though a debate on how much was it political expedience and how much was disgust with human sacrifice, which seemed to be widespreadly accepted in Mesoamerican culture, could take us for whole pages). But the way the whole thing is worded tells me that they aren't gonna approach this with too much nuance.

Especially now that you can choose to be a conquistador and kill natives. Yeah.

Yes, the cities look like ruins. It seems that they have based their setting in current ruins (in fact, from a brief look, they seem more Mayan than anything) than actual Tenochtitlán when it was at its peak. The whole "Native Americans lived in rainforests with some temples sticking out" is a trope that repeats itself again and again. These were urban cultures, those cities should be full of stuff, art... I can forgive the excuse that it's after the fire of Tenochtitlán, but it still feels like they wanted you to play in the ruins of a civilization, not the civilization itself.

Overall, it seems that the devs got a concept, it was very poorly thought out, and just went with it. If you're making a "natives vs. colonizers" videogame, you should double down in your research and presentation, this is a very delicate topic you're presenting. It just reeks of a half-baked game with some very, very eurocentrist popular history thinking behind of it, intentional or not.

I'm reminded of the Age of Empires II Aztec campaign, where you could also play as the Aztecs and drive out the Spanish. Based, yes, sure, but the units were the same as any other, with metal-plated armor Aztec soldiers and catapults against the Spanish (to be fair, the devs did give American units some flavor to distinguish them from the Old World, and because of limitations, pretty much everybody had to share the same sprites). But still, it is an interesting piece of history you could show, but you can't be this sloppy about it.

By the way, the Incas resisted the Spanish conquest for decades after the fall of Atahualpa, and they even laid siege to Cuzco using European equipment and were close to retaking it, the last Inca state (Vilcabamaba) was only conquered in 1572, almost thirty years after the death of Atahualpa. Now THAT'S an interesting campaign for a strategy game. There could have been many points (even leaving aside the Tupác Amaru rebellion) where the Incas could have expelled the Spanish or regained independence.

[tatooinequeeen]

Wherever I May Roam

Simon “Ghost” Riley x Female Reader

Ao3

Spotify Playlist

Triggers: consensual kissing, touching

Chapter One: Like a Prayer

John ‘Soap’ MacTavish has always been a brother to you, growing up with a Navy SEAL father and friends that joined the military as soon as they could legally sign, hell it was practically fate that you met. He immediately took a shine to you and kept you close and safe while you navigated the relationships of your early twenties like a newborn deer on unsteady legs. He held you when he was stateside and your heart was broken again, threatening to make them disappear when you were particularly hurt.

You went through the ringer, growing up and finding yourself. While he was with Task Force 141, you were becoming a young woman with goals and aspirations for the future. A woman who longed for a stable relationship, a partner, a best friend and enough love to last her a lifetime. You had friends of course, you went on dates but there was always something missing - a spark that you chased and never caught.

~

Before he can knock you have the door open and you’re in his arms, your surrogate big brother. “Whoa, I guess someone missed me!” You squeeze your arms around his neck a little tighter. “Duh, you idiot of course I did! I haven’t seen you in almost two years.” He laughs against your hair and squeezes you back before setting you down and taking your shoulders in his hands. “Looks like someone’s getting old, what are you thirty yet?” Your eyes roll to the sky before you step back through the threshold and shoot back, “Hey, twenty nine is not thirty!” He walks past you muttering “not yet” and you let out a huff of loving frustration. You were too busy greeting Soap that you completely missed his companion standing to the side of him, with no one between you, you get your first look at Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley.

Toffee brown eyes regard you through an intricate skull mask, all six foot two inches of him standing relaxed in front of you. You don’t realize your mouth is slightly ajar until he huffs out a laugh. “Soap said you wouldn't mind company, but I suppose you don’t meet many people who wear masks, yeah?” You close your mouth and croak out, “Oh no, plenty of people I meet wear full face masks in public - it’s all the rage you know.” He holds his hand out and you take it, sparks dancing along your fingertips. “I’m Simon but everyone calls me Ghost.” You smile up at him, still holding his hand. “Hey Ghost, please come in - we’re having pizza.” You finally release his hand and gesture for him to come inside. He steps past you, crowding you into the entryway and you realize just how big he is. “Hey Ghost, get in here I’m anxious to eat!” Soap calls from the other room, prompting your guest to grumble and follow the hallway to the living room. You close the front door and lean your forehead against it.

He’s British. He has a deep British accent and a skull mask. Why is that so fucking hot? You blow out a breath and try to get yourself together.

“I haven't had pizza this good in a long time, just what I needed, kid.” You grin over at Soap who is patting his flat stomach. “I wanted to cook but I also didn’t want to poison you so…pizza it was!” Ghost laughs and once again you’re having trouble not staring at him. The entire time you were eating, your eyes kept finding their way back to him. The mask doesn’t scare you a bit, its intriguing and mysterious. His banter with Soap made you like him even more, their easy going attitudes making you feel comfortable and happy. You dust off your hands and grab the Apple TV remote to toss at Soap who catches it effortlessly. You take his empty plate and yours, your gaze back on Ghost. “Here, let me help you.” He says before you can offer to take his plate too. He follows you into the kitchen and snatches a dish towel to sling over his shoulder.

“I normally would throw these in the dishwasher but I’m waiting on a new one - this one gave up the…” You catch his eyes before you can say ‘Ghost’ and you both let out a laugh.

You begin washing the dishes and he dries them before stacking them neatly on the counter. There aren’t many and you find yourself wishing there were, just to soak up more of his presence. When you’re finished you grasp the stack of dishes to put in the cupboard, leaning against the counter reaching up - your Metallica tee shirt riding up to expose your lower back. You’re just pushing the plates back into their home when you feel callused hands lightly grip against the bare skin of your sides. You let out a small gasp at the contact and step back into a solid mass of man behind you. His voice is low and close to your ear, “You looked unsteady.” Your heart hammers against your rib cage at the way his voice rasps but you manage to nod. You have put the plates away like that a million times but you did feel unsteady - maybe it was him - maybe you wanted him to be the one to steady you. His hands are still on your waist, you can feel his chest rising and falling in time with his breathing against your back and you’re struck with how badly you want his moment to stretch on forever. You slowly turn around, emboldened by his touch until you’re staring up at his mask, his hands now resting in the small of your back under your shirt.

“You don’t let many people see your face do you?” You already suspect the answer but want to hear him say it. “Only people I trust, there are few that I do.” You nod again, wishing in that moment you were one of those few. You barely know this man but something about him is drawing you like a moth to a flame.

What would his lips feel like on your skin? What would his hair feel like against your fingers? Would your bodies mold perfectly together?

Caught in the limbo of your thoughts you almost miss the way his fingers dig into your skin, bringing you closer to him until your bodies are flush. He leans down, his toffee eyes captivating you, “Close your eyes, love.” You obey immediately. A minute stretches into two and the anticipation of this experience is absolutely destroying you. Just when you think nothing will happen you feel an exhale of breath dance across your cheek and you have to grasp his arms to stop your knees from buckling. You’ve never been so affected by someone, the absence of sight is such a potent aphrodisiac that it's a living electric thing. His lips brush against the corner of your mouth and it takes every ounce of restraint to let him go at his own pace. Your hands move of their own volition, tracing a path from his biceps to his chest where you rest them, his heartbeat a thundering rhythm under your palms. The words are out of your mouth before you have a second to catch yourself, “Kiss me, Simon.” His hands heat the skin of your back as his lips seal over yours, your entire world tilting on its axis. Your hands fist the material of his shirt and you pull him impossibly closer, deepening the kiss, his tongue sweeping against yours and stealing whatever breath you had left. He shifts a hand to grip the back of your neck, and you feel so small against him that a dark thrill shoots through your body. You never want this to end, the way a hint of stubble rubs against your skin, the expert way he stokes a rhythm in your kiss as if you had done this a thousand times before, the way his muscles feel lined up against every inch of you.

A throat clears from somewhere in space behind you both and it takes you a few seconds to come down from the high of kissing Ghost. In the time it takes you to realize Soap just walked in on you making out with his friend, Ghost has his mask back on and is standing slightly apart from you. Your eyes flutter open and you reach a hand to your swollen lips, before he turns around he tips you a wink which sends a blush creeping over your cheeks. You have no idea what to say but Soap pipes up before you can come up with a reasonable explanation as to this situation.

“Pierce called, we need to get to base to go over a brief before we turn in for the night.”

You look between the two men, their eyes locked on one another. Soap turns his gaze to you and you blush again. “Come here lass, give me a hug and walk us out.” You move to step past Ghost and you feel his hand brush against yours in the barest of touches. When you get to the door, Soap pulls you into a bear hug and he says “be good” in a teasing voice that says he isn’t mad at you. He heads down the walkway to the truck and you’re alone with Ghost again. You open your mouth to say something but he reaches up a hand to your jaw and runs his thumb across your lips, silencing you.

“Thank you for dinner, love.” He follows after Soap, leaving you standing there feeling lighter than air, a phantom touch on your lips.

Note from Tatooinequeen: I’ve been getting SO much love over on Ao3 for this fic and it’s making me so happy. I love Ghost so much and I just want to show what a gooey baby love he is. Xoxo

[misshoneyimhomeagain]

Chapter 14 - Part I

Summary: Upon the girls' arrival in Denver, the New Year is just around the corner; and amidst the cheers of hockey fans and the lively festivities, Julia and William finally find the moment to come face to face.

Tags; William NylanderxOfc; “We never go out of style”

Warnings;  alcohol consumption; 

Author's Note: So, this chapter was meant to be much longer, hence why I've split it into two parts; There were numerous details swirling in my mind for this, but as usual, things never quite unfold as initially planned; Nonetheless, please enjoy! :)

Word count: 3.9K

_

"Who was I to say, that this was meant to be?"

Friday 30th –

The excitement filled the air as the plane made its way to Denver - a four-and-a-half-hour journey during which Charlie eagerly extracted every possible detail from Julia.

"This is so amazing!" she exclaimed, lightly clapping her hands, and Julia couldn't help but be infected her friend's enthusiasm, expressing a smile and a light head shake.

"Charlie, you‘ve got to chill... nothing's even happened yet."

"I know! But it's just so exciting – you've poured your heart out to Willy... in a voicemail, but still... and now you're flying out to see him! It's just so perfect."

Julia offered a light chuckle, attempting to calm her overly excited friend and downplay the situation a bit. "Easy there, tiger. Technically, I'm just flying out with you ladies to celebrate New Year's..."

"Where Willy will be, too," Charlie swiftly added.

"Yes... I suppose," Julia responded hesitantly, releasing a gentle sigh and attempting to offer a faint smile, as she delicately toyed with the amulet on her new bracelet, the gift from William for Christmas. Gazing down at it, she recalled the true reason behind her visit to see him. And for a little while, neither of the girls said a word until Charlie chose to break the silence.

"Hey, are you okay?"

Julia merely nodded. "Yeah, just a bit nervous, I suppose... I haven't seen Willy since Christmas, and..." She drew in a deep breath before proceeding. "I haven't heard from him all day yesterday... or today." Speaking in a soft tone, she glanced down into the cup of tea she held, eliciting a concerned expression from Charlie.

"And now you’re worried that he’s avoiding you?"

Once more, Julia nodded.

"I left that message last night... and I haven’t gotten anything form him since - no text or snap... nothing."

About thirty seconds passed as Julia attempted to steady her breath, while Charlie pondered how best to comfort her friend. She understood that Julia was grappling with the friends-to-lovers situation, and there really wasn't much she could say to ease it.

"You're having tea instead of coffee? Wow, you must be really nervous, huh?"

The playful comment appeared to brighten the solemn moment.

"Yeah... it’s that bad," Julia chuckled.

The two friends shared another moment of light laughter before Charlie returned to addressing the issue.

"It's going to be alright, JJ - I know that! Maybe he just needs time to process things, just like you did, remember?" she smiled, sensing Julia starting to relax a bit.

"I do remember, babe," she responded with a sweet smile before Charlie continued.

"Oh, I can just picture it - you'll see him, and then there'll be this dramatic moment where you both run towards each other. He'll sweep you into his arms and share a deep, passionate kiss..."

She gestured with her arms and hands, emphasising the romantic intensity of the imagined reunion between Julia and William following Julia's heartfelt message. And Julia could only release another chuckle.

"Have you been watching rom-coms again, Char?"

"I might have binged on all the Bridget Jones movies over Christmas... but only because you brought them up!" 

"Those are good classics," Julia simply replied, her eyes reflecting a blend of nerves and excitement. “But this isn’t some romantic movie, darling – we won’t just see each and suddenly tumble into mad love, as if nobody else is around.”

But her pragmatic outlook didn’t sway Charlie. The Canadian friend simply continued to smile, and eventually, Julia had to concede, rolling her eyes and releasing a resigned sigh.

“I'm just saying... it’ll be wonderful,” and with that, the girls chuckled and dropped the topic, enjoying the remainder of the flight.

_

Meanwhile, the lads were awaiting the transfer en route to Denver, and during the wait, William couldn’t resist playing Julia’s message on repeat. He must've listened to it about 15 times already, a subtle smirk constantly appearing on his face as he absorbed every detail. Her voice resonated with tenderness, and her words had found a direct route to his heart. 

Though, William had struggled with deep feelings in the past and had never quite experienced what others often described as being in love, he was now certain he was close to that feeling.

Late last night, after hearing the voicemail a couple of times, he had spent the following thirty minutes reminiscing about every shared moment they had experienced. Flipping through photos and videos, he couldn't deny that Julia had evoked new and unfamiliar emotions within him. And it wasn’t until her heartfelt confession that he had finally come to realise that these emotions might actually be love.

It hadn’t happened during the playful teasing, earning eye rolls and chuckles, nor during the support he had provided on the ice during their intimate ice-skating outing. Not even during the twinge of jealousy he had felt seeing her with Freddie, or their intimate moment on her bed after the emotionally charged evening with Börje. It didn't occur during their time in the changing room, their close dance in his living room, or when he had confided in his brother Alex that she had come to occupy a special place in his heart.

No, he just hadn’t realised it before now. They had shared countless moments together - conversations on his sofa, the snowball fight, stolen glances at her unclothed form...

And the kiss. Her soft, full lips. Those were genuinely unforgettable.

But despite his newfound realisation, he found himself unsure of how to react. His first thought was to just call her and tell her that he felt the same way. But he hesitated as he wasn’t sure of how to do it. 

Besides, he couldn’t bring himself to do it over the phone. No, he wanted to wait until he saw her again, even though the waiting was tormenting him. But at least he had the message to listen to in the meantime.

_

As the team continued waiting for their transfer, the girls made their way from the Denver Airport to the hotel near the Ball Arena. And upon arrival, Aryne announced their presence at the reception, following Tessa efficiently distributing the room keys. 

"Why did I get a junior suite all to myself when the rest of you are sharing double rooms?" Julia queried, with a playful grin.

And Charlie, wearing a sweet smile, explained, "Oh, they were almost all sold out when we booked the rooms. So, it was either that or you had to share a family room with Aryne and the boys..."

"Junior suite it is, and you won’t hear another word from me," Julia chuckled. 

Although she adored Aryne and the boys, sharing a room with them was not her ideal plan. Aryne was the only one with children on this trip, and initially, they were supposed to have a babysitter. But unfortunately, the sitter had cancelled at the very last minute. Besides, John was actually rather pleased when he heard he’d see his children on New Year’s.

"So, how's it managing room arrangements when this hotel will turn into a brothel?"

The girls burst into laughter at Julia’s cheeky remark, and Stephanie, excitedly, chimed in, "Well, we've sorted it out. I'll room with Charlie; Mitch and Auston will share, then we’ll switch it up, so each couple has their own double room. The same arrangement goes for the rest."

"That's a whole lot of logistics to sort out," Julia chuckled. "Why doesn't everyone just get their own room? I mean, these boys can afford it, right?"

"Sure, but the management finds it easier to have the boys sharing rooms - it's more convenient and takes up less space for the hotel," Audrey explained.

"That makes sense."

However, as the girls began arranging their rooms, Aryne unfortunately had some bad news to share.

"Alright ladies, listen up. I've just spoken to Brad, and unfortunately, the guys won’t be arriving until tomorrow due to some transportation problems."

"What?" All the girls exclaimed simultaneously.

“What happened?” Audrey inquired. “Did the boys mix up their suitcases again, causing them to go back and miss the flight?”

“Or did Mitch forget his equipment again?” Tessa swiftly followed with a remark.

"Hey!" Stephanie exclaimed.

“Oh, come on, you know it could happen,” Charlie chuckled. 

“I know… but still,” Stephanie smiled, and laughter filled the room, as the conversation and concern about the boys' transportation issues continued.

"Actually, it sounds like all the guys were on time and ready to leave, but something went awry in the communication... Please don’t ask me about the specifics; I stopped listening after 15 minutes of Brad explaining," Aryne attempted to clarify.

“So, what do we do now?” Stephanie then inquired, and Aryne simply offered the girls a friendly smile. 

“I suppose the plan for tonight will simply be a girls' dinner-”

“And us!” Jace chimed in.

“… with Jace and Ashton,” Aryne added with a laugh. “And then, we’ll catch up with the guys at the game tomorrow. So, let’s all meet back down here in about an hour, and then we’ll head out?”

And after an hour had passed, the girls reconvened in the hotel lobby. Laughter and excited chatter filled the air as they gathered, anticipating the evening ahead, and with each of them donning their best outfits, they embarked on their night out, heading to a local restaurant for dinner.

Throughout the meal, the atmosphere was charged with lively discussions about the thrilling events scheduled for the following night. The team's staff, in collaboration with the wives and girlfriends, had gone to great lengths to arrange an exclusive New Year's event at the hotel following the game. And so, the girls discussed their excitement, sharing expectations and eagerly looking forward to dress to impress.

As they returned to the hotel, a desire for privacy emerged among the group. Most of the girls expressed the wish to retreat to their rooms separately, naturally as they all longed for calling their significant others.

However, Charlie couldn’t help but observe Julia's distant gaze and resist showing concern once more.

"Hey, you alright?"

“Sure, why wouldn’t I be… Oh, you mean this slow burn, painfully torturing me as I keep thinking about Willy and how he may or may not like me in the same way that I like him?” Julia casually joked, her voice carrying a tone of sarcasm, and Charlie couldn’t help but chuckle at her friend's exaggeration.

However, Julia softened her tone with a reassuring smile and a twinkle in her eye. “Actually, I feel fine.”

“So, what’s your plan now?” Charlie inquired.

“Oh, you know me; I’m gonna order myself a large glass of Pinot Noir and then head to my room. I'll put on some tunes and enjoy a long, nice bath,” she explained with a satisfied smirk.

“Sounds like a good plan.”

_

As the evening progressed into night, the boys were finally on their way to Denver. However, it appeared that troubles rarely came alone.

No matter where they turned, issues arose. Whether it was the plane unable to take off, a delayed bus, or a missing driver, the team faced a string of challenges that night.

What was initially planned as a journey of just under 2 hours turned into a gruelling 12-hour drive, forcing them to make a quick stop for some sleep along the way.

And as morning arrived, Julia promptly changed into her workout attire and encountered a few girls in the hallway with her enthusiasm.

“Hey, anyone up for a quick workout? We can go for a-“

But her excitement was met with gentle head shakes and light chuckles.

“No takers, huh? Well, see you at breakfast,” she flashed the girls a smile before continuing her way.

After a good workout session, she joined the girls in the restaurant, enjoying the lively conversations that followed.

“JJ, it’s New Year’s Day - why work out today?” Mathilda questioned, a hint of surprise in her smile.

“Yeah, nobody does that,” Audrey chimed in with an amused smile. “I don’t know why you do it.”

“Well, I’m 5’2, and I cook and eat like I’m twice my size so…” Julia chuckled, indicating her plate filled with a hearty portion of food, hinting that her workout was probably more of a necessity.

“I swear, you and Willy are so meant for each other,” Stephanie added, grinning mischievously.

The girls shared laughter around the table, as they ensured they’d have enough energy for the day ahead.

And after breakfast, the they all planned their activities for the day. Some intended to explore the city, while others, like Charlie, opted for a relaxed DIY spa day indoors.

With undeniable thrill and excitement, she had made an effort to make this day and evening special, as it not only marked her first New Year's celebration with Auston, but also her first New Year’s in a serious, committed relationship. 

"Alright, which one?" Charlie asked excitedly, displaying two potential sets of lingerie to Julia and Stephanie, who were lounging on the bed. 

“Are you seriously asking us to choose your sex clothes for seeing Auston tonight?” Stephanie chuckled.

“Come on, I want to look good and sexy for him! So please help.”

“Babe, you do realise that as soon as Auston sees you, his two brain cells will shut down, and then he’ll eagerly rip off those pieces of fabric as they’ll just be in the way,” Julia chuckled with a raised eyebrow. 

"I know… but I don’t care! Come on, you guys – which one?" Charlie inquired with a friendly grin, earning Stephanie and Julia to glance at each other for a moment before speaking simultaneously.

“The black one.”

_

TOR 6 @ COL 2

The Ball Arena buzzed with excitement as hockey fans filled the arena for the game on this New Year's evening. Leafs supporters mingled with Avalanche fans, creating an atmosphere of enthusiastic shouts and cheers.

And as the girls made their way to their exceptional front-row seats by the glass, Julia felt her palms becoming sweaty. In just a few minutes, the players would hit the ice for warm-ups, and she would no longer be able to escape the waiting of seeing William’s face.

She still hadn’t heard from him, which naturally only intensified the anxiety for this very moment.

And as her breaths became uneven, Charlie offered a comforting gesture, intertwining her hand with Julia's before all the girls began clapping for the players stepping onto the ice.

One by one, each player skated around, practicing shots at goal with pucks flying across the rink. And amidst the activity, they quickly noticed the many of the team's significant others in the crowd, shouting and cheering, earning smiles across all player’s faces.

Then, in a matter of seconds, William suddenly stopped, and his eyes widened upon seeing Julia among the women. Time seemed to slow down as his gaze fixated on her beautiful smiling face, her shining blonde hair flowing down her back, dressed in her white Maple Leafs jersey bearing his number and name. 

He could feel his heart suddenly quickened its pace as he processed the sight of her in the crowd, blinking a few times to confirm it was truly her before their eyes locked.

Julia's gaze met his, their blue eyes connecting and silently conversing across the arena. And as they stood separated by distance, she could feel her heart racing while searching for any clues in his expression.

Then, a wide smile graced his lips, a radiant grin spreading across his face, as his eyes sparkled with joy.

And without communicating a single word, Julia found solace and warmth in William’s smile, as if he silently assured her that her feelings were mutual and there was no need to be concerned any more.

So slowly, Julia felt her shoulders relax and her heart return to a steady rhythm, yet her being overflowed with joy and happiness.

In that profound moment, both of them realised the depth of their connection. And though it felt like several minutes passed, in reality, it might have been only a fleeting moment or two.

However, their intimate connection was interrupted by Tavares, skating over to William and nudging him to join the team for warm-ups, signalling the need to focus on the impending game.

Which turned out to be an excellent match. 

The Leafs swiftly took the lead in the first period, with Marner and Engvall each securing a goal. And though the Avalanches managed to score before the period ended, the Leafs responded quickly with another goal just 34 seconds into the second period by Bunting. Despite the Avalanches scoring another goal, Matthews and Brodie swiftly secured two more goals within a mere 30 seconds, sealing their dominance. And as a cherry on top, Bunting scored the sixth and final goal for the Leafs, assisted by none other than Nylander.

Throughout the entire game Julia found herself smiling uncontrollably, feeling a sense of relief as her anxiety about her feelings for William vanished, allowing her to truly immerse herself in the match.

And as the final buzzer sounded, sealing the incredible New Year’s win, the atmosphere exploded with cheers and excitement. The group of significant others couldn't contain their joy, joining the chorus of shouts and applause directed at their men on the ice. Alongside the rest of the Leafs fans, they sang and celebrated as the players left the rink, before the swiftly gathered their belongings and headed towards the locker room, eager to greet their partners with an overflow of love and congratulations for the amazing victory.

Amidst the kisses and hugs exchanged in the bustling arena halls, William, still in skates and gear, walked purposefully, scanning the crowd for one person in particular.

And as the last one to enter the hallway, Julia appeared. 

So, with determined steps, the Swede made his way towards her, as their eyes met once again, smiles brightening their faces as if drawn together by an unseen force. He practically threw his gloves and helmet on the floor. And just as Charlie had envisioned, William enveloped Julia in his arms, lifting her up and pulling her into a tight embrace, where she instinctively wrapped her legs around his hips and their lips met in a passionate, deep kiss.

In that particular moment, it felt as though the entire world around them disappeared.

The kiss was filled with all sorts of emotions, as their lips massaged each other, showing just how much they’d both longed for this to happen. 

And as they pulled back slightly to catch their breath, William breathed out.

"I got your message." 

Still keeping Julia close, their eyes locked, and light chuckles escaped them both.

"Took you long enough," she almost whispered, a smile gracing her lips, before he gently set her down, his hands still lingering on her.

"Yeah, I'm kind of an idiot like that," William grinned, eliciting a bright smile from Julia as she looked up at him.

"Perhaps, but a lovable idiot."

And once again, the two of them shared a heartfelt moment, finally giving into the connection that had been silently brewing between them for months. In another kiss, they released all the suppressed thoughts and instincts, surrendering to something that had never felt so right before.

"And all because of our meddling!" Mitch's voice rang out from the background, causing both William and Julia to turn and face their group of friends, sharing broad smiles as they observed the scene. "So, who had 4 weeks?"

"Oh, that was me!" Auston announced proudly, evidently the winner of the bet they had made on the night of the Christmas gala.

And amidst the laughter that filled the air, William couldn't help but steal another glance at the girl in his arms. It was somewhat surreal for him to believe that this was truly happening. Julia had been the first person to ever evoke such deep feelings in him, someone who began as a stranger and evolved into a close friend. And after months of their relationship remaining purely platonic, he never thought that she would actually develop genuine feelings for him.

"Alright, guys!" Tavares' voice echoed, capturing the attention of all his teammates. "Let’s wrap it up in here. The girls have something planned at the hotel, so let’s get out asses moving and get ready to celebrate New Year's!"

Following the captain's orders, the group of men shouted in unison before heading to the showers.

And as they waited for the players to finish up, Charlie couldn't contain a massive grin as Julia came towards her.

"Okay, you can say it..." Julia chuckled.

And for a second or two, Charlie held a dramatic pause before she exclaimed, "I told you so!" overflowing with excitement, pulling her friend into a tight hug.

_

Back at the hotel, everyone was dressed in their finest attire, and the hotel's banqueting venue had undergone a stunning transformation into a beautifully decorated room for New Year’s celebrations.

The banquet tables were adorned with delectable dishes for the players, and glasses were filled to the brim with champagne. Despite the late and exhilarating game, everyone appeared to have an abundance of energy in anticipation of the stroke of midnight.

And as the room buzzed with excitement, William’s gaze remained on his new date, Julia.

The girls had made a swift change into beautiful dresses, and he simply couldn’t help but admire the long, tight fitted dress, that formed her curves so wonderfully, and the low v-cut in the front, exposing her chest. And with slow and steady steps, Julia made her way towards the William, who’d changed into his pre-game suit, just like the rest of the players.

“You know, it’s not really polite to stare,” she chuckled as she came to stand in front of him. 

“Well then you have to go and change, because you look amazing in that dress,” William simply chuckled as he kept staring at her figure. 

Julia couldn’t help but bite down onto her lower lip, as she considered speaking what was truly on her mind. With a seductive smirk on her lips, she gently leaned in closely. 

“Or… I could… just take it off,” she spoke, sparking a cheeky grin on William’s face, before he leaned down to whisper in her ear. 

“Oh, that’s definitely going to happen.” 

"Oh, come on, lovebirds!" Mitch shouted from the other side of the room. "You'll get a chance for all that later. Come join us here for the countdown."

In the expansive venue, a substantial gathering of players and their partners assembled as the countdown to New Year's began.

"10... 9... 8..." they all chorused together.

Standing amidst her dear friends, embraced by the man she had grown to care for deeply, Julia couldn't help but reflect on all that had happened over the past four to five months. 

“7… 6…”

Never in her wildest dream, had she imagined she’d be standing here among these people, happily jumping into the new year. And not to mention, in the arms of a man, she had met by a coincidence, before the universe had set them up to develop a more profound relationship. 

Just a year ago, she found herself in an entirely different situation, alongside a different man, having different dreams of a future. Yet, in an uncanny twist of fate, here she stood.

"5... 4..."

And as the countdown reached its climax, Julia knew there was no one else she'd rather start the new year with than William.

"3... 2... 1... HAPPY NEW YEAR!"

With beaming smiles, William and Julia shared a tender New Year's kiss, Welcoming the 2023, and their embracing their newfound love between them.

[zachsowack]

My all time last.fm topster

I made my last.fm account about two-and-a-half years ago. It's allowed me to chronicle my experience with music in a way I haven't previously been able to.

I could throw a dart anywhere on this list and find an album that's had a big impact on me:

I remember listening to Channel Orange for the first time in 2014, experiencing "Bad Religion" and "Thinking About You" through iTunes's thirty-second previews with my phone pressed against my ear. Listening to it that way felt like a prize; ten years later, it has maintained much of the wonder that it had for me on its first listen.

I first listened to King Krule four years ago and wasn't initially a fan. But when I revisited his music a year later through his 2020 album Man Alive, I was really surprised on how quickly my thoughts about an artist could change. From there, I listened to portions of his live album, You Heat Me Up, You Cool Me Down. By listening to it, I've realized that his live songs can be even more enigmatic and compelling than the corresponding studio versions.

I started listening to music more frequently in 2020. At first, I was resistant to the idea of album listening. I preferred listening to the individual songs from an album. Although I still listen that way sometimes, I've began to recognize that the album itself is an amazing, holistic experience, and that realization is courtesy of Ctrl by SZA. I love this album front to back; it's impossible to pick out an individual song and I hardly ever want to. The cohesion across its 49-minute runtime is par none. Ctrl has been a favorite of mine for a couple of years, and I wouldn't be surprised if it maintains that status for the next several.

[ninjadeathblade]

Moulin Rouge Discotrain AU (party thirty four)

Summary: Now that they're together, Conductor and Grooves are slowly settling in with their love for one another. Both have strong feelings for one another but don't always know how to express it.

Beginning | Previous | Next

Word count: 1,348

Warnings: None

Author's notes: Okay, just before we go into the proper holiday special, we are taking some time out for shenanigans. And friendship. And ghosts. You know, the most likely trio of things! Enjoy.

“See you guys at New Year's!” Snatcher cheered.

“See you later,” Grooves replied before shutting the door.

Empress let out a low growl towards her phone as both of them headed down the stairs.

“What's wrong?”

“Some people didn't leave the other day. And now they're claiming the studio is haunted. The studio crew group chat is blowing up,” Empress explained. “You don't think you could-”

The cat waved her paws around in the air and made a ghoul-like ‘oooooh’.

“Sure, I've got time to kill.”

“Tell us again what happened,” Empress said, arms crossed over her chest.

Owlice, Cody and Pinguini sat on a bench in front of the two of them.

“Well, all the lights went out in the owl side of the studio. Then we heard singing coming from one of the practice rooms. And after we left, the door wouldn't open again,” Pinguini repeated.

“The penguin side is fine though,” Cody added.

"I was going to continue working on the directors’ costumes but I can't get back in,” Owlice complained.

“Alright, I'll go check it out. Sounds like a lost spirit just having a few laughs. Or a newly deceased,” Snatcher agreed, taking off his hoodie and passing it to Empress.

“Don't do anything stupid,” she said, eyeing him.

To anyone else, it would be a cold statement accompanied by a glare.

But he could see through that facade.

To him, it was a worried friend who cared more than she wanted to show.

“No more stupid than absorbing an entire curse,” Snatcher promised, walking up to the door. “This one, right?”

“Yeah, it won't open.”

Snatcher took a deep breath as he placed one hand on the door.

Frost spread across it and through the cracks, before entirely wrenching the door off its hinges.

“That's new. Should've been shadows,” he muttered.

“Everything good?” Empress questioned.

He shot her a quick grin over one shoulder.

“Yeah. Just stay here.”

Snatcher held his hand up, a blue flame floating just above his palm as he walked along the dark hallway.

Sure enough, singing drifted down the hall towards him.

Slowly, he pieced together words.

Lyrics.

A love song, perhaps.

From a musical?

Something about an angel of music?

Snatcher pushed open a door, looking at the spirit who abruptly went quiet.

“An owl.”

“Yes..?” The spirit stepped towards him, her wings moving to rest at her sides. “You can see me?”

“Yeah, I'm dead too.” Snatcher shrugged, extinguishing the flame in his hand. “Why are you haunting the studio?”

“Oh, I was looking for my husband. I've been looking after my little girl for a long time now but I saw him the other week. So I thought I'd check up on how his latest movie is going,” the owl explained.

“He gets in over his head a lot. But he's made a friend or two again now, which is nice. I hope he's okay.”

Snatcher sat down cross-legged on the floor, looking intently at the owl.

She copied his motion, sitting down about a foot away from him. “Anyway, you said you were dead too? I'm sorry. It's terribly lonely.”

“No, it's- it's not that lonely. I'm sort of a- a special kind of ghost? Yeah, I guess. Living people can still see me.”

“That must be nice.”

“Yeah, I've got a couple friends…” he trailed off, watching the owl again. “Have we met before? I swear I recognise you from somewhere.”

“No, I think I'd remember if we'd met,” she laughed. “You must think I'm rude though, I haven't introduced myself. I'm Scarlett.”

Empress picked up a framed picture on the table beside the sofa, holding it out to Snatcher.

“That was us. Me, Claw, Trisha, and Scarlett. The 'Steel Rose' gang. I did management for their band,” she explained quietly. “Trisha made it big after the band split up. Claw worked for me when I started the Nyakuza. And Scarlett…”

She broke off with a shaky exhale.

“Scarlett was happy while she was alive.”

“I'm sorry.”

He rested his head on her shoulder.

“Don't be. I mean, I miss her. Everyone who knew her does. I looked after her kid. Well, not really. More like I kept an eye on her. Her dad wasn't in the right headspace to give her the attention she needed.”

“Poor kid.”

“Gold medallist swimmer now.”

“Nice.”

“You know her dad.”

“What?”

“Short, angry, yellow.”

“No way.”

“Yeah.”

“You're- you're Scarlett!” Snatcher gasped.

“Um, yes…? That's what I just said,” Scarlett chuckled.

“Conductor's wife…” Snatcher murmured, still trying to wrap his head around it.

“Yup. Together till the end,” she said, smiling weakly. “I wish I hadn't been so sick. Maybe we could have finished that movie. Apparently he never released it. Only one scene was left to film but he gave up.”

“How long have you been dead?” Snatcher asked.

Scarlett shrugged. “Roxie was about six when I died so… twenty years or so now.”

“Empress misses you. So does Conductor,” Snatcher blurted.

Scarlett’s eyes welled with tears. “Empress is still alive?”

“Yeah, she isn't dying anytime soon. Not on her terms. And definitely not now that I know her.”

Snatcher failed to ignore the chill that spread down his spine as frost curled near his feet on the floor.

He frantically moved, pacing the room.

“Empress is too stubborn to die. And Conductor's happy, so you know. His, uh, friend? They're sort of a thing now,” Snatcher told her.

“Good. That's so good,” Scarlett sobbed.

Snatcher turned and looked at her, stopping in his tracks.

He sighed before hoisting her up from the floor and hugging her.

“It wasn't easy but they should be happy together. They're a nice fit for one another.”

“Thank you for telling me,” Scarlett sniffed before wriggling out his grip and floating just in front of him. “Can you pass on some messages?”

“Of course.”

“Let Empress know I'm glad she's okay. And tell Roxie I'm proud of her.”

“No message for Conductor?”

“I don't think I could put it into words.”

“Do you…want to pass on?” Snatcher asked gently. Scarlett shook her head.

“No, I want to stay here a while longer.”

“Just don't haunt the studio too much,” Snatcher advised. “You spooked some of the kids here. I say kids, they are grown ups. But they're just so little, you know?”

“I promise to try and not muck up anything in the studio again,” Scarlett responded with a laugh.

“If you decide on any more messages or that it's time to pass, come find me.”

“Thank you… what was your name?”

“Snatcher.”

“Thank you Snatcher.”

“You're welcome.”

He twirled his wrist, the flame appearing just above his palm again as he trekked back to the lobby.

"Well?! Did you deal with the ghost?!” Cody squeaked as he walked back out.

Snatcher rolled his eyes and closed his hand, flame disappearing along with it.

“It's not like she meant to cause any problems.”

Snatcher beckoned Empress to follow him and walked to the opposite side of the room from the trio.

“What?”

“Scarlett’s happy you're alive.”

Empress’ ears pricked and she darted towards the hallway.

“No- no, don't!”

The cat's paws thudded down the hallway and Snatcher mentally cursed.

He turned to the trio again. “Stay here.”

His form shifted and he floated down the hallway, serpentine body slowly moving down the dark passage.

“Empress?”

He eventually arrived back at the room from before.

Empress was crumpled on her knees, a few sniffs filling the otherwise silent room.

Snatcher twisted his body around her, weaving his body into a tight hug.

“She's gone.”

“I know.”

Empress let out a shaky exhale before sitting up straighter and leaning back against him.

“She was like the sun. Everything went around her. Everything fell to pieces without her.”

“She seemed really nice.”

“I know I'll never have her back. But if you see her again, let her know how much I miss her.”

Snatcher spotted a faintly glowing figure out the corner of his eye.

“I'm sure she knows.”

[skell3]

If anyone wanted the random backstory stuff for my new Crane, here it all is. Headcanons above the bar, whole messily typed up everything below. I typed it up the other day so I might as well yeet it out here.

Just remember this is an original design complete with an original headcanon to it. I'm a big Scarecrow fan, but I haven't seen/read everything on him, so he's not going to be perfect or anything. He's just my brain boy. UwU

Please don't use any of this for your own use without any credit towards myself!

IMAGE

Jonathan Crane is a tall man, reaching somewhere to his mid thirties in age. He has been a villain for only a couple of years, so while he has had plenty of time to establish himself as the Scarecrow in his Gotham, he isn't one of the old baddies nor any new kind of threat. Long red hair is often left loose, though when he is working he has a tendency to pull it into a ponytail or tuck it away entirely when villainizing in costume.

While both eyes are a rich green colour, one is glazed over with scar tissue from a bird attack in his late teens, rendering him blind in that eye. Scars cross over that eye, and lid, as well as all over his face, shoulders, and arms. Primarily from birds, but a select few from a stay at the Arkham Asylum, which is not exactly known to be gentle with its inhabitants. Though he walks fine on his own, there is a slight limp to his left leg from damage thanks to a guard who had a vendetta against him.

He currently has no piercings or tattoos, and he wears glasses for his good eye when working or reading.

Jonathan usually wears something like work casual or formal wear, including button-up shirts and vests. He often covers as much skin as he can comfortably manage, including sometimes wearing makeup to lighten up some of his facial scars. His style in public could maybe be considered Goth Librarian, though he only sticks to black lipstick and maybe eyeliner and doesn't consider himself 'goth' at all. (I think I just mean, he sometimes wears dark makeup) When working at home or in the lab, there is zero attempt at keeping his appearance up, though he has a steady hand in keeping organized at the very least.

HEADCANON

|| Though his first major fear was a combination of gunpoint and bird attack, he is still quite fond of birds; corvids in particular.

|| He developed a mild fear of bats after he was taken down by Batman the first time. While he feels that he has overcome this, he still feels a shiver of excitement whenever he has a dealing with the Bat due to the both of them using fear as a tactic, and wondering if he'll glean anything from the man in their encounters.

|| Being legally unable to drive due to being blind in one eye (and a villain, and an escapee from Arkham) doesn't stop him from having a vehicle to get around.

|| This Dr. Crane is no stranger to murder, and his morals may seem skewed between friends and 'anyone else'. While he might make an attempt to put up a mask to keep people in the dark about his thoughts and opinions on the matter, it might become easy to tell that he just doesn't care about a lot of Gotham's population- or the world as a whole.

|| His primary weapon of choice will always be his Fear Gas, but he often keeps a pistol on himself if he suspects he may need it, as well as a knife just in case. While he isn't a physical fighter, not particularly strong of build, his lankiness can give him the upper hand at times.

FROM BIRTH TO FEAR

Jonathan Crane was born into a normal life, with a normal family in Gotham. He was orphaned when he was six, however, and was sent down south to live with his maternal aunt. This would shift his destiny from a possibly normal one, to one of villainy and fear. Bullied by his cousins, seen as a freak in school for his bright red hair and incredibly tall height once he hit puberty, Jonathan began to grow away from people and more to his studies... and birds.

The birds were Jonathan's fascination, their intelligence drawing him in. Specifically, there was a flock of crows he took to feeding while in high school out back behind the bleachers during lunch. Sometimes he would get found by school bullies, or even his cousins, and he would deal with it- and picked up the name 'scarecrow' not only for his tall and lanky stature, but his affinity for the birds. The birds themselves began to realize what was going on, and the bullies soon began having problem with them. Jonathan was almost thrown out of school because they said he intentionally sent the birds after them, but his grades were near-perfect and the school needed the rep to have such an esteemed scholar.

Senior year, Jonathan dressed up as an actual scarecrow- burlap mask, an oversize hat, and all. Which became both a problem, and his legacy.

The birds didn't know that the boy dressed as a scarecrow was the human who had been taking care of them.

The bullies thought bringing a gun to school for a 'good scare' on Halloween was a good idea.

A fight broke out behind the bleachers, and Jonathan narrowly missed getting shot. The gun went off and he managed to get it into his hands, shakily pointing it at the bullies who took off running to likely get him into trouble-

but then there were the birds, and that bullet had taken one of their lives.

A murder of crows is difficult to get anyone out of, but fortunately once the gun had been dropped and the mask was clear, they stopped swarming. There had been damage done already, however, and Jonathan Crane got his first taste of Fear that day. More so than bullying and being afraid of getting hurt or robbed or worse. True fear, the kind that sat on his nerves the whole time he was in the hospital. The kind that followed him through graduation, right into college.

Returning to Gotham likely didn't help even slightly.

Jonathan was one of the youngest in his college to earn a PHD for his studies in not only human cognition, but biological chemistry and how they work together. While the college thought he might have been the next branch in science to discover ways to help with PTSD and anxiety, his focus was on Fear and studying it further. Driven by his own fears and what he had viewed in others, he was borderline obsessive to figure it out. Why were some fears a learned experience, while others seemingly born with a person? He hadn't felt anything so deep before the birds, not even his sense of isolation, childhood abandonment, and some mental abuse he had gone through.

Becoming a Professor at age 27, Dr. Crane made a quick reputation of himself by frightening his class into compliance within the first week of every semester he taught. While it was frowned upon by many of his colleagues, they also tended to be a little frightened by the man and never approached him about it. He taught a course on human emotions, and while most of it was very textbook, every semester the topic of Fear would always either make or break his classes. Though the higher ups could never quite figure out why, he had a 34% drop-out rate when that section of the book was brought around.

Then they found out he was experimenting on his students, and that had him fired particularly quickly despite his arguments and threats.

VILLAINY

After being fired and entirely dismissed from the school board, with threats of calling the police on him, Jonathan Crane snapped. The culmination of losing his chance to study his students, to teach them about their fears, and the loss of access to a lab he spent quite a lot of time in was too much for him. He disappeared off the grid for a month, no hide nor hair seen of him until...

Halloween came around.

The whole school became the scene of a crime. It took hours for the police to even figure out what was happening, because they could not enter the building without losing officers to some sort of gas. It was rudimentary in form, but the first dose of Fear Gas was used in the airways throughout the college, and students, faculty, and teachers alike were all now Dr. Crane's experiments.

No- The Scarecrow's experiments.

Once they could obtain masks that helped a swat team enter the school, The Scarecrow had killed half the faculty and spent his time observing the remaining staff and students for their responses to the toxins in their systems. While his costume wasn't complete, it was clear as to what he was dressed up, and that was the first instance that The Batman made his appearance in Jonathan's life. He was taken out almost whimsically easy compared to the struggle the police had with him, and that night also marked his first arrest.

Dr. Jonathan Crane was deemed criminally insane and sent to Arkham Asylum not only for his crimes at the school, but for the potential problems he could cause outside of it.

In with the Bigs, Dr. Crane didn't exactly get along with many. He was uppity and rude when social, distant and cold when he didn't want to talk to anyone, and he was so incredibly bored that his moods were never good unless someone was willing to help with that. The guards loathed him, especially because he knew exactly how to talk to his doctors and psychiatrist to get either them into trouble, or him into some sort of better situation. They beat on him often, abused him plenty, and there were many days he never got any food.

Yet he stayed the same, and over time they would all gradually learn to live with each other.

It wasn't even a year in when the jailbreak occurred.

Jonathan had been handling chores scrubbing dishes, allowed in the kitchen not only because he hated it considerably, but because he hadn't made any attempts to steal anything up to this time. An explosion rocked the building, and the alarms went off. The guards who were supposed to be watching he and Tetch- the lad who was washing up with him- both disappeared off to deal with what was happening. Dr. Crane took his chance, and so did the Hatter. As did many others who had been holed up in there, waiting for something like this to come along.

It turned out that some of the Gotham Rogues on the outside were planning something big, and not only needed a distraction to draw the Bat in, but more hired hands and minds to assist them in their endeavors. Jonathan was recruited among some others, and while none of them worked well together- not quite- they didn't necessarily have to. An unknown supporter funded them not only on their escape, but in setting up outside the Asylum to not get caught and to further their own reasons of villainy on the city. It was like a dream come true, and Jonathan denies feeling anything more than relief at being on the outside again.

Underfed and weak, Dr. Crane took his time in not only recovering from his stay at the Asylum, but also collecting the necessary components to develop more of his Fear Gas... and to make it better. His benefactor liked his work so much, he was given more money for a better lab, better equipment, and a means to gather 'lab rats' to experiment on. While he could've had morals once, that all had gone out the door when they stripped him of his lab and classes as a professor, and he only seemed to spiral further away once he was introduced into his cell in Arkham. Whether his subjects live or die is nothing more than another point to study and adjust potency and amounts for his gas, as well as the serums he had begun to develop.

By the time Dr. Jonathan Crane had amassed a significant status as the Scarecrow in Gotham, he was thirty-six, and Halloween that year...

Well. Calendar Man and Holiday aren't the only ones who enjoy celebrating on festive days.

CURRENT TIMELINE

Dr. Crane currently still receives funds from a benefactor he has suspected on, but has never actually guessed who or why. It has been long since they needed him for their 'plan', of which had not only gathered the Rogues and some other Villains to some strange sense of community, but ultimately the goal seemingly had been to take down the Red Hood and to get the Batman to kill. Only one of which actually worked, and now there's a 'new' Vigilante working more with the Bat than parallel to him with more deaths involved. It has been both a frustration for the community, a popular topic at the Iceberg, and something of a breath of relief because apparently the Hood had been particularly gunhappy before the jailbreak.

Living in a flat of an older building bordering Crime Alley from the Bowery, Jonathan lives a very quiet life at home and a somewhat active life as the Scarecrow. While his crimes are always scientifically oriented- experimenting with his fear gas on a broader scale, observing the effects of particular popular fears on a community- sometimes they also have an underlying goal to them. Three times so far, his experiments and nasty work has been good coverage for other things going on in the background, like a bank robbery, a murder of an important official, and tipping the tides of a riot where the Gotham PD needed an extra nudge into the crowd to sully their records further.