#like i cannot sit here every night going yeah gee i wonder what it’s like to write a one shot! wonder how those authors do it!
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at what stage of the friendship do i reveal the extensive collection of gay fanfic i’ve written for a middle grade book series
#all of a sudden i’m friends with this girl and we both read a lot of fic so we talk abt it a lot#and we’ve already breached the ‘i used to write fic on wattpad’ phase of the friendship#so like……..do i tell her#or do i continue ignoring the fact that i know a suspicious amount about how to post on ao3#august rambles#like i cannot sit here every night going yeah gee i wonder what it’s like to write a one shot! wonder how those authors do it!#it’s me i’m authors
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Lucky
hello hello and welcome to halloween !!!! in august!!!! i know it's weird haha but here's about 6.7k words of harry styles x reader during halloween. featuring a "haunted house" and a cute cat with two names. also caramel apples. enjoy!
masterlist | ask
The house was haunted.
You were sure of it.
And yeah, you thought, looking up at the ginormous mansion looming above you, you were incredibly grateful that the house had fallen to you, but the whole thing was starting to feel like the beginning of a bad horror movie.
Some old relative had died - you weren’t close with them at all, and you felt a bit bad that the only feelings associated with their death were happiness at getting their property - and left you their estates. You’d moved in a few weeks ago, and now you were hearing things.
Things like scratching in the vents, and howling in the wind, and glasses mysteriously crashing to the floor of their own accord in other rooms. The floors always creaked at night, and so did the doors, which randomly swung open and closed.
You hadn’t really wanted to tell anybody about all of this or your suspicions, fearing you’d come off as a bit crazy. Of course, the few people you had told had just laughed and given you the It’s an old house - it’s settling bullshit.
Which you didn’t believe. At all.
What did that even mean, “the house is settling”? Settling for what? Settling down, like it was some middle aged guy who was about to have kids with his wife in the fifties? Or maybe it was settling down like it was angry, and had had a tantrum, and was just settling down into a calmer state. Not that that was any more comforting.
Now, as you struggled to get your key to turn in the lock, you wondered if you could sell the house or something. Everybody you’d asked for advice had told you to wait and fix it up, that you’d regret giving it up when you had four kids and a husband and needed space.
They’d also said it looked like shit so you’d get a crappy deal unless you fixed it up.
Then again, those were the same it’s settling people, so what did they know?
You sighed, finally getting the key to turn, and shoved your shoulder into the door. Making a mental note to oil the door - again - as it creaked, you shut it behind you with your foot before stepping into the living room and collapsing onto the couch.
The couch matched the house: gray, run down, and creaky. There were patches sewn in every so often, and it smelled like old lady perfume. It did the job, though, which was very convenient in the moment but didn’t exactly motivate you to buy a new one very quickly.
You’d turn on the TV, but there wasn’t one. Instead, you stared at the empty, ashy fireplace while you gathered the gumption to get up and off the couch. After a few seconds, you heard something - a little skittering sound in the walls - and frowned, pulling yourself up and towards the stairs.
It was probably just mice, but accompanied with everything else, you weren’t about to take any chances. The stairs, like every other part of the house, creaked as you walked upstairs. You’d almost gotten used to the floorboards around the corner creaking before you got to them, but it still spooked you a bit. When you glanced around the wall and there wasn’t anyone there, as usual, you got changed into comfortable clothes as quickly as you could.
Then you collapsed into the bed. After washing the sheets a few (ten) times, you’d gotten rid of the musty smell, and the huge victorian frame and feathery mattress had become your safe haven. The whole room had become your safe place, really - you’d cleaned and swept until it had somewhat resembled a nice bedroom and not a dusty old crypt.
Once you were there, safe in your room with your headphones on, the house didn’t seem all that bad. A huge window covered the wall right next to your bed, looking out onto rolling grassy fields like something out of a Jane Austen novel.
So you listened to music, imagining a dashing stranger saving you from a twisted angle.
Soon, you were asleep.
***
“Nobody will deliver this far!” you exclaimed, talking into your cell phone as you rooted through the drawers in front of you. “I’ve tried, like, six different places, and they all said it’s too far!” Your friend on the line sighed, and you heard her slurp noodles from the Chinese take out she was eating.
“Well,” she said, “that sucks.”
“Oh, gee, helpful,” you deadpanned.
“Listen, there has got to be someplace you can go,” she told you matter of factly. You frowned, digging through a cabinet. “Yeah, well” - you gasped, jumping a foot into the air as something brushed against your leg - “shit!”
You whipped around, brandishing the pan you’d just grabbed as a weapon. “What the -”
A cat.
There was a black cat, with the brightest green eyes you’d ever seen, looking up at you innocently. It meowed loudly, looping through your legs, and you sighed. “It’s a cat,” you explained to your friend.
“You got a cat?”
You scoffed, looking at it as it jumped up onto the counter. “No!” you replied. “No, I - Jesus, of course I didn’t get a fucking cat, I just… I just moved in!” There was a beat of silence, and then your friend said, “So… there’s a strange cat… in your house.”
“Yeah,” you murmured, hesitantly reaching out. It leaned into you, purring loudly, and you couldn’t help but smile. “Yeah,” you said again, laughing a bit. “Listen, listen,” you added, and you put the phone up to the cat.
“That’s cute,” your friend said when you brought the phone back to your ear, sounding a bit worried, “but, uh… does it have a tag, or something?” You shook your head, even though she couldn’t see you, and felt around the cat’s neck. Just fur. “Nope,” you replied.
“Are you gonna… keep it?”
You grinned, scratching its ears, and shrugged. “I dunno.”
***
You wanted to name the cat Lucky.
That night, as the crisp October wind howled outside, you didn’t hear any creaks. The house was practically silent, and you slept like a baby with the little creature curled at your feet. Plus, she - as you’d determined earlier - was black, and with the whole Unlucky Black Cats thing, “Lucky” seemed like a nice little joke.
She was gone the next morning, but you figured she was just somewhere around the house, so you went around calling, “Lucky!” as if she’d respond. It was almost two hours before you gave up, and convinced yourself it was just a fluke and you’d never see her again.
“She’s gone,” you said mournfully by way of greeting your friend as you made breakfast.
“Who?”
“Lucky!”
“Who?”
“The cat,” you sighed. “She’s gone. Wasn’t here this morning.”
“Oh,” your friend replied. “Well, maybe she found her owner!”
You pouted, sliding butter around your pan. “I thought I was her owner…”
“You cannot possibly be so attached to that thing after one night.”
“She’s lucky, though! I swear, the ghosts are afraid of her or something - I didn’t hear a single sound all night!” You could practically hear your friend roll her eyes. “A fluke. Or maybe - yeah, maybe luck. I’m sure you’ll be alright without her.”
“Maybe I should get a cat,” you mused.
Your friend sighed. “Oh, boy.”
***
She was lucky.
Lucky was lucky.
One hundred percent.
There was no doubt about it.
The floors creaked like crazy that night. After hearing it for the first time, peering fearfully into the pitch black hallway, you shut the door tight and huddled underneath the blankets. A terrifying cry accompanied the wind, one that gave you nightmares of women in long white dresses stumbling over the moor, and you woke up in a panic in the middle of the night when you heard something shatter downstairs.
It wasn’t exactly your proudest moment, but you stayed in bed, watching the clock and keeping under the covers and deciding you’d deal with it in the morning. It took forever for you to fall asleep, but once you did, thankfully, you were out until the morning.
Half asleep, you stumbled down the stairs at almost noon.
And there, Lucky was waiting for you.
She meowed at you indignantly, as if you were late, and you gasped, crouching down and scrunching her face between your hands. “Lucky!” you exclaimed. She meowed, and wiggled out of your grasp, and walked in circles around you, keeping her tail against your leg.
You were so relieved that you only got partially annoyed when she made you trip over yourself every two seconds while you cleaned up the broken mug and made breakfast. She was very talented at getting in the way, sitting in the perfect position to be as inconvenient as possible.
She wandered around when you started work, getting bored after twenty minutes of jumping onto your laptop and being pushed off, only to do it again, and again, and again. You lost sight of her but somehow weren’t too worried - if she came back the first time, she’d probably come back again, you reasoned.
Which she did!
Sometimes.
She became your companion as the weeks went on, coming every so often to bother you as adorably as possible before disappearing for a few hours again. Sometimes she’d come during the day, but you were always relieved when she came at night because, for some inexplicable reason, she really made the house quiet and let you sleep.
Sometimes you’d give her a little bit of milk, or whatever you had on you (after properly researching what was okay for cats, of course), but she never seemed very hungry, so you’d never really thought about buying actual cat food for her.
You thought about getting her a collar every so often, but between working on the house, normal work, and just… life, you never really got around to it. Plus, she always seemed to come back, so you didn’t think it was super necessary.
So Lucky hung around, and you got some work done, and everything was good.
***
You’d heard creaking. Lots of creaking. And the occasional mysteriously shattered glass. And the howling in the wind, and skittering in the walls, and the weird drafts, and the unexplained cat - all sorts of weird things.
But this was the first time you heard a voice.
A real, live, human voice.
Well, maybe not live.
You’d been cooking when you first heard it, and, in a panic, you’d grabbed a frying pan. Maybe frying pans were lucky, too; after all, one had been your “weapon” when Lucky had sneaked up on you. She was notably absent, Lucky, by the way, and you wished you had your good luck charm with you as you made your way to the basement, feeling only slightly like an idiot.
Maybe a very scared idiot.
The voice was coming from the basement, which you hadn’t exactly ventured into yet. The whole house had a bit of a creepy-basement vibe, so you weren’t quite enthusiastic to go into the actual basement, where you’d imagine the creepiness would be increased exponentially.
The voice sounded male. And British.
You pictured a British ghost - something old and ancient, judging by the rasp of the voice, although it did sound on the younger side… Maybe it had some sort of paranormal ancient youth. Maybe a sailor, who lived in the house hundreds of years ago, and died at sea… And now, he was back, to haunt you, because you’d… offended him… with your… redecorating?
The stairs were actually pretty quiet, you realized, creeping down them as quietly as you could with your frying pan and marveling at the lack of creaks. You stepped onto the floor, peering around the corner, and realized the ghost - or whatever - must have been outside since the back door was slightly ajar, blowing cool air onto your legs.
If you were being honest, you hadn’t even known that that door existed. A mini lightbulb went off in your head as you realized that was probably where Lucky had been getting in, and you wondered absently if you should get a lock or something for it.
Then your brows furrowed as you got closer and the voice became coherent.
“... you been? ‘ve been looking all over for you… Think you’re so clever, don’t you? Disturbing our nice neighbor like this… Got them to talk to you, did you? Oh, I’m sure, you charmer…” You heaved a breath, kicking open the door -
You brandished the frying pan, yelling, “Who -?!”
“Bloody hell!”
So, you realized then, it was a guy.
And not a ghost.
Very decidedly a guy, actually, from the way the pan hadn’t gone right through him but had rather clanged against his forearm as he threw it up to defend himself. His other hand, it should be noted, was holding a cat.
Specifically, Lucky.
You gasped, lowering your pan. “Oh, my god,” you breathed. “Oh, my god, I am so sorry - I thought you were -” You stopped as Lucky slipped out of the guy’s arms and weaved around your legs, purring louder than a motorboat.
“Hello, there,” the guy said, incredibly pleasant for someone who’d just gotten attacked with a frying pan. “Um - hi,” you replied hesitantly, holding the pan behind your back as if he’d forget about the whole thing if he couldn’t see it. “Hi, I’m - um, I’m sorry.”
“Hi, Sorry,” the guy joked, holding out his non-injured hand, “I’m Harry Styles. Your neighbor.”
Heat crept up your cheeks, shaking his hand as you corrected him with your name.
He repeated your name, smiling as it rolled off his tongue, and despite yourself, you felt a shiver running down your spine. He was good looking, this Harry guy. His eyes rivaled Lucky’s, bright green as he grinned at you. His hair looked a bit grown out, chestnut brown and curling slightly at his temples.
And he had dimples.
Very cute dimples.
And muscles, and -
There was a beat of silence, and you realized you were not so subtly checking him out, and even though you kind of realized he was doing the same to you, you felt your cheeks heat again. Harry cleared his throat, crouching down to pet Lucky as he said, “So, erm - I haven’t seen you around a lot.”
“Yeah,” you replied, laughing a bit sheepishly. “I’ve been… busy.”
Harry nodded, his gaze drifting around you to the messy basement. “I’m sure,” he said. “This place seems like a lot of work.” You shrugged, following his eyes and inspecting the dust and various junk cluttered throughout the room.
“Well, I have time…”
“But not for neighbors, hm?” Harry asked, a teasing smile on his lips.
“I’m… sorry,” you said again, putting your head in your hands for a second before looking back up. “I hadn’t even thought… I can’t even see your… Do you live, uh - close?” Harry nodded, gesturing vaguely out the back door. “Relatively, I suppose, although - you’re right, you can’t quite… see it… from here.”
“You’ll have to show me sometime,” you said impulsively, and Harry glanced at you, dimpling again. “Yeah,” he agreed, “reckon I will.” You smiled, suddenly unable to keep eye contact, and then let your gaze dart away after a second.
“And the, erm - the market,” Harry went on. “Haven’t seen you around there. Have you been?”
You shook your head, murmuring, “No,” and Harry tsked, shaking his head back at you, oozing disappointment. “Right, well, that’s just not right,” he said. “That we’ll have to go to sometime. ‘specially now that it’s autumn.” You nodded, and he stood up, dusting off his hands as Lucky came over to you for cuddles.
You expected him to say he was going to go, that he had work to do, or something, but instead, he asked, “Doing anything now?” and grinned, glancing down at the pan, still in your hand. “Besides attacking perfect strangers, of course.”
“I am… so sorry about that,” you said, again, laughing sheepishly, again.
“I’d say it’s fine,” Harry replied, “but, erm… It’s not.”
You felt your eyes widen. “What?”
“I think you’ll have to make it up to me, love,” he told you. You just raised a brow, and he grinned. “Maybe I’ll forgive you if you give me a ride to the market,” he said, and then you smiled. “Easy enough,” you replied, grabbing your keys from your pocket.
Harry dimpled and looked down at Lucky. “Right, then, Dee, let’s go, shall we?”
You frowned. “Dee?”
“Oh, right!” Harry exclaimed, bending down to scoop Lucky into his arms. “I think you’ve met, but this here is Demon. Dee for short.” You scoffed a laugh, shaking your head. “Demon?” you echoed incredulously.
Harry nodded, grinning ear to ear. “Yeah, look at this menace! What else would we call her?”
“You’re her owner?”
“Yup. Found her a few months ago, and she just… stuck.”
“Good at that, isn’t she?” you murmured, reaching out to scratch behind her ear.
“Has she bothered you?” Harry asked, looking sympathetic, and you nodded. “Oh, yes, all the time. In the most pleasant way possible, though, so I’m not too mad.” Harry laughed, letting her slip out of his arms and onto the ground.
She ambled out of the basement and into the grass, and, after exchanging a glance with Harry, you both followed her. “I’ve been calling her Lucky,” you told him, closing the door behind you. Harry glanced at you, hands in his pockets, and smiled. “Lucky?”
“Yeah. See, the house is -” You stopped, and Harry raised an eyebrow. “The house is what?” You laughed, a bit embarrassed, and then mumbled, “I think it’s haunted.” Harry nodded, understanding on his face. “Oh, yeah, it definitely is,” he agreed.
You laughed again. “That sure of it, are you?”
Harry rolled his eyes, a smile tugging on his lips, and nodded at Lucky. “That’s your ghost.”
“Lucky? How -?”
“She’s the one howling, and walking everywhere to make the floors creak, and knocking glasses off the tables,” Harry explained, and your jaw dropped, just a bit. “Oh, my god,” you said, as it all clicked into place. “That’s why - Well, see, I called her Lucky because the” - you put up air quotes - “‘ghost’ never seemed to be around when she was with me. Which I guess makes sense, since if she was with me, she wasn’t… anywhere else…”
“Yup.”
You frowned, glancing over at him. “So, wait - how did you know?”
“Same thing happened to me,” he replied with a shrug. “Was right convinced the place was haunted when I first moved in - was about to sell and everything. Couldn’t take replacing half the cupboard every two weeks. Then I caught her shattering one of my mugs. Then, I got a night light, and saw her lurking around and making a ruckus with the floorboards.”
“A night light,” you repeated, lightly smacking your forehead. “Why didn’t I think of that?”
“Took me a few weeks, too,” Harry laughed. “You’d’ve gotten there eventually, don’t worry.”
“Sure hope so,” you murmured, smiling as Lucky jumped up onto your car and started to stretch out on the hood. You opened the driver’s side door and leaned against it as Harry gave Lucky a scratch behind her ears.
“Pesky little thing, she is,” Harry said. “Always does the same on my car, and I’m always tempted to just drive with her on top and see what happens.” You scoffed, shaking your head. “How could you?” Harry shrugged, grinning at you. “I’m sure she’d land on her feet.”
“Yeah, well, let’s not test that now,” you replied, gently scooping Lucky up and placing her on the grass, where she started to daintily lick a paw. Harry got into the passenger seat, and you asked him, “Where’s this market of yours?”
“Up the road,” Harry said vaguely.
You raised a brow, but he didn’t offer any more information.
So you just drove.
***
“Halloween,” Harry said, “is not fun.”
You gasped, scandalized, and exclaimed, “What?”
“It’s too stressful!” Harry groaned. “I never know what to wear! Especially to parties, bloody hell! Like, do you go for it? Full makeup, tons of tulle, a wig? Or don’t go for it? And if it’s really go for it, and you don’t go for it, it’s like, oh, well, too bad. Or if it’s a party, and you’re invited, like, the day of, and everybody’s going for it, and you’re like, oh, I can’t, can’t go, because I don’t have time to plan it, and -” He stopped, sighing, and shook his head. “It’s a whole ordeal.”
“Yeah, clearly,” you replied, biting back a grin.
You were pulling into a parking lot, and you could already see the hustle and bustle of the market. There were booths set up all along the street and around a little courtyard. People talked and chattered, exchanging money and trinkets and smiles and waves.
You both got out of the car and met at the front, taking a moment to admire the view.
“The caramel apples are the best,” Harry told you with a smile.
“Guess we’ll have to go there first.”
Harry nodded, and you started walking. You shoved your hands in your pockets, a bit cold in the autumn wind, as a comfortable silence fell over the two of you. It was only a few seconds before you were stopped, though, when an old man behind a table covered in small wooden carvings called, “Harry!”
“George!” Harry exclaimed, wrapping him in a hug.
“It’s good to see you,” George said cheerily, his gaze darting to you and back to Harry inquisitively. Harry smiled, introducing you as his neighbor. George grinned, shaking your hand. “Pleasure to meet you,” he said.
“Likewise,” you replied.
“You must be pretty special,” George said. “Don’t think I’ve ever met any other neighbors.”
“We share a cat,” Harry explained, and George’s brow raised.
Harry glanced at you, dimpling, and then said, “Nice talking with you, George. We should catch up later - we’re headed for Mara.” George nodded. “Good boy. You know what they say! The way to a woman’s heart is her stomach, eh?”
“Alrighty, then,” Harry said, gently leading you away. “Bye, George!”
“Bye, Harry! And nice to meet you, neighbor!”
You smiled, waving at him over your shoulder. “You too, George!”
“Swear he’s been running that booth since about 1804,” Harry murmured as you walked away. “‘ve known him all my life, and he’s always looked the same. Beginning to think he’s a vampire.” You grinned, nudging his shoulder. “He seems nice.”
“He is!” Harry agreed. “He is. Like a second father. Hey, here’s Mara.”
You came up to a cluster of booths that steamed and bubbled and swirled together to smell of a blend of spices, sugar, and caramel. One of the booths proudly proclaimed Mara’s Caramel Apples, and shiny golden apples dotted the table.
The woman behind the table - Mara, presumably - lit up when she caught sight of Harry. “Harry, darling!” she cooed, coming around her table to press kisses against each of Harry’s cheeks. “Hullo, Mara,” Harry replied.
“It’s so good to see you!” Mara exclaimed, pinching his cheeks. “You should come around more often, love, you need some meat on these bones of yours.” Harry nodded, gingerly pulling her hand off of him. “I’ll work on that,” he replied, glancing at you and looking amused, if not a bit embarrassed.
“You do that, Harry,” Mara said, stealing one more pinch and making Harry wince before she turned to you. “And who is this, then?” Mara tutted, shaking her head. “Haven’t forgotten your manners, have you?”
“Never, Mara,” Harry assured her, and introduced you.
“Lovely to meet you!” Mara said cheerfully, wrapping you in a hug.
“You too,” you responded.
“How long have you been together, then?” Mara asked, making your face heat as she walked back around the table and started stirring a pot of caramel. “Haven’t seen you around, dear.” Harry coughed, shaking his head, looking as embarrassed as you felt. “Nope, no, we’re not together,” he corrected her. “Just - erm, we’re neighbors.”
“Ah, neighbors,” Mara hummed.
Harry nodded. “Yeah, she moved in where the Carlsons were.”
“Oh, the Carlsons!” Mara said. “A tricky bunch, they were - I’m glad you’re there now.”
“Yeah, me too,” you replied, smiling slightly at Harry.
Mara wiped her hands off on a cloth and tucked it on a rack before carefully grabbing two pristine caramel apples. “Well,” she said, handing you both a stick, “here you are, dears. Enjoy, now! And come back soon, the both of you!”
Harry pulled out cash, but Mara waved him off. “Oh, nonsense, Harry, you know better than that,” Mara told him. “I’ll give you the family discount, as long as you both promise to come back on your next date.”
“Not a date, Mara,” Harry mumbled, flushing red, and Mara grinned. “Of course. My mistake. Your first date, then.” Your face felt about on fire, and Harry’s was red as a beet as he said, “Right, then, nice talking to you, Mara! Bye, now.” He walked away as she waved cheerily, and you followed him.
Harry looked at you apologetically. “She’s a bit, erm - concerned, as it were,” he said sheepishly. “Haven’t exactly…” He cleared his throat. “She thinks I’m a bit lacking in the romance department.” You raised a brow, and he somehow managed to get even redder.
“I mean! I mean, I’m - I’m not,” he added hurriedly, “I’m really not, ‘f course - but, erm - she thinks…” He sighed, stopping, and shrugged at you helplessly. “So you’re not?” you said, and Harry’s brows furrowed, confused.
“You’re not lacking in the romance department?” you clarified.
Harry frowned. “... No?”
“So… Girlfriend? Boyfriend?”
A bit of the red faded from his cheeks. “Oh,” he said. “Well, then, yes. I suppose I’m lacking in the romance department right now. ‘s unusual, though, I’ll have you know. But, erm - how about you?” You shook your head, glancing away from him and around the fair. “Single as a Pringle,” you told him, and you liked to imagine seeing the hint of a smile on his face out of the corner of your eye.
“Gotcha,” Harry hummed. “Right, well, how’s the apple, then?”
You took a bite, savoring it as you crunched on it, and then nodded your approval. “Superb,” you said, and Harry grinned brightly. “Wonderful,” he replied. “‘m glad you like it. Might’ve been a deal breaker if not.”
“That important, huh?”
“Oh, the most important,” Harry said seriously.
You grinned, and Harry dimpled back.
There was a beat of silence, and then he said, “Right, then. Tell me something about yourself.”
“Like what?”
He shrugged, licking caramel off his lips. “Anything. Hopes, dreams, fears, favorite color…”
You hummed as you thought, and then told him the first thing that came to mind. He listened as you talked, looking genuinely interested in what you were saying. Butterflies erupted in your stomach every time you made him laugh, and when you flipped the spotlight to him, you found yourself completely lost in his words.
Something about his voice, and his humor, and the way he giggled everytime he made a stupid joke, made the butterflies linger. It was pleasant, though. It wasn’t alarming, or nerve wracking, or even remotely uncomfortable. You weren’t self conscious, or scared to mess up, or worried you’d say the wrong thing.
You were just… happy.
The fair, you realized, wasn’t nearly big enough.
You’d walk the whole world just to keep talking with him.
***
“That was a date,” your friend declared as soon as you finished telling her what had happened. You balanced your phone between your ear and shoulder and blew softly on your hot tea. “No,” you replied, “it wasn’t.”
“Yes, it was!” she squealed. “I can’t believe he didn’t kiss you!” She huffed. “I can’t believe you didn’t kiss him!” You rolled your eyes, amused despite yourself, and insisted, “It really wasn’t a date. I was just… making up for slamming a metal pan into his arm.”
You heard her wince. “Yikes.”
You sighed, again, and took a sip of your tea. “He probably has a bruise.”
“Yeah, probably,” she snickered.
“Hey!”
She laughed, sounding way too amused at your misery. “Talk about a meet cute!”
“You are not helping,” you groaned, feeling yourself starting to laugh too anyway.
“Don’t worry,” she giggled, “he’ll think of you everytime he accidently puts pressure on it and screams in pain.” You scoffed indignantly and argued, “He will not scream in pain - it wasn’t that bad.” Your friend hummed skeptically. “I dunno about that… It was a pan, right?”
You took a sip of your tea, sighing heavily. “A tiny pan,” you mumbled into the lip of your mug, and then laughed when your friend started cracking up. “You gotta text me a picture of the bruise,” she gasped through her laughter.
“Okay, there’s no bruise.”
“Dude, it was a pan.”
“A tiny pan!”
That just set off another round of giggles, before finally, your friend relented. “Fine,” she said, “send me a picture of him, and the bruise will just be a bonus.” You agreed, and then said goodnight, and fell asleep with a smile on your face.
***
Your fingers did a dance over the screen of your phone, your lip between your teeth as you debated whether or not to send the text. Harry had given you his number the other day at the market, but you were getting a bit anxious about what to send.
The door really did need to be fixed, you told yourself, glancing down at your flirtatious-if-you-squinted text asking if he’d help you fix your basement door. Especially now, since it wouldn’t stay closed at all; you’d had to put a brick behind it to keep it shut, and even that kept sliding around. It was where Lucky had kept slipping in, you’d figured, and even though she was a pleasant enough intruder, you didn’t really want other less adorable trespassers coming through.
Finally, you took a breath, and sent it.
You stared at your screen for a few seconds as if he’d reply within the minute, and then threw your phone across your bed. Heaving a sigh, you pulled yourself away from your bed and towards the window, fidgeting with your fingers.
You lasted about ten seconds, and then grabbed your phone, and checked.
Nothing, of course, because you sent the text thirty seconds ago.
You groaned and belly flopped onto your bed.
***
Lucky came first.
She jumped up onto your bed and butted against you until you sat up and started petting her.
You pouted at her, smoothing your hand over her head. “Maybe I should’ve waited a few more days,” you murmured to her. “Maybe I made it obvious how desp- or, like, made it seem like I was too desperate.” You raised a brow, gazing down at her. “What about you, huh? Are you too desperate?”
Lucky purred and rolled over, stretching languidly.
“Oh, yeah, sure,” you laughed, sliding off your bed and heading for the kitchen.
You paused when you heard the doorbell ring, glancing at Lucky inquisitively like she’d tell you who it was. She gave you a slow blink, and then jumped up, and stretched, and meandered down the hallway. You followed her, almost tripping over her when she stopped suddenly in the middle of the staircase to lick a paw, and opened the door.
“So I sort of forgot any tools,” Harry greeted you. “Hope that’s not a problem.”
Your brows jumped. “I - of course it’s not a - I just thought -” You stopped, glancing down at your phone, which showed no new notifications, and no new texts. “Sorry,” you said, “I wasn’t expecting you so, um - soon.”
Harry laughed, a bit sheepishly, and ran a hand through his hair. “Right. Sorry. I was… on the way. I mean, not on the way here, but, like - driving past. Well, not driving past, but sort of - you know, in, erm - in the area. Sort of. Sorry.”
“It’s fine,” you assured him, feeling yourself smile. “I’m glad you’re here.” You stepped back to let him in. “I think it’s open right now, the door - there’s kind of a draft,” you lied. Harry nodded, glancing around the house. “Place looks nice,” he said, and you smiled again, following his gaze.
“Yeah,” you replied. “Yeah, I think so, too.”
“Was a bit dreary before,” Harry said softly, letting his hand lightly skim the bright throw blanket you’d put on the sofa as he passed. “Downright dull,” you agreed, and he glanced at you, a smile tugging up the corners of his lips. “Where’s this door, then?”
“Downstairs,” you answered, stepping forward to lead him around the corner and down the steps. “The basement’s a bit creepy,” you warned him, tugging on the light. “Haven’t quite gotten down here yet.”
“Noted,” Harry murmured.
“It’s back here,” you said, weaving around a few cardboard boxes to get to the door.
It was, in fact, open, which was purely coincidental but pretty convenient. “Cold,” you said simply, shrugging at him. “Yeah,” Harry replied, “cold.” You smiled, not sure why, and then stepped outside, inspecting it without a real purpose in mind.
He stepped out too, and you gently pushed the door shut.
The lock clicked, a beat of silence, and then it swung open with a creak.
“Might be the lock,” Harry said, bending down to look at the little bit of metal against the side.
Lucky appeared as he fiddled with the mechanism, weaving through his legs, and he gave her scritches as he pushed the lock in and out a few times. “Looks fine,” he started, and then stopped when Lucky plopped down on top of his foot.
“Don’t know how she expects us to do any work like this,” Harry said with a grin, and you laughed, crouching next to him to pet her too. “She’s moral support,” you replied, and Harry raised a brow. “The most bothersome moral support ever.”
You shrugged. “The cutest most bothersome moral support ever.”
“If you say so,” Harry said, gently sliding her off his foot. He slid his hand over the door to its other side, where the hinges were, and then his face lit up. “Right, I have an idea.” He turned to you, looking excited, and asked, “Have a hammer?”
“Uhhh… probably?” You looked around the basement, then pushed open a closet door where a tool box poked out, and handed him a hammer. He nodded, glancing at the hinge again. “Er - how about a screwdriver?”
You gave it to him, and then watched over his shoulder as he gently tapped the pin out of the hinge in the middle of the door. He put it on the floor, raising the hammer over it, and you raised a brow at him. He looked up at you, grinning, and you couldn’t find it in you to tell him to stop. “I have a plan,” he told you.
“Sure, Styles.”
He scoffed, sitting back on his heels. “You know, your lack of faith is a bit disheartening.”
“I think you’re just stalling because you have no idea what you’re doing.”
He smiled, a challenge in his eyes, and then sat forward and hammered the pin, right in the middle. It bent, just slightly, and then he held it up, looking satisfied. He slid it back into the hinge, tapped it down, and worked on getting the other one out.
Once he’d gotten a curve in that one, he put it back and got the next. You watched in skeptical silence as he put that one back… and then stood up and dusted off his hands. “There you have it,” he announced.
“There’s no way that’s gonna work,” you said.
Harry just stepped back and pushed the door shut.
The lock clicked, a beat of silence, and then -
It stuck.
“Oh!” you exclaimed, pulling it out to close it again. It stuck, again, and you looked up at him happily. “Oh, wow, I can’t believe that worked! How did you even know how to do that?” Harry shrugged, fiddling with the door. “These old houses are practically identical. My bedroom door had the same problem.”
“Well, lucky me.”
He glanced at you, and held your gaze, just for a second, with a smile on his lips, and then his cheeks dusted pink. You felt heat rise on your own cheeks, realizing in the back of your mind that the whole door endeavor took a lot less time than you’d expected and now he’d probably leave.
He walked inside, making a grand gesture of holding the door open for you. “C’mon, then,” he said as you walked through and wracked your brain for ideas on how to keep him with you, “I need a tour.” You grinned, wondering if he could read your mind, and then nodded. You paused at the edge of the basement door and turned around.
“So,” you said, “this is the basement.”
“Enlightening.”
“The land of boxes,” you told him, and he smiled before following you out and up the steps to the living room. This was where you’d done the most work, clearing out the old grey furniture and replacing it with bright new pieces.
You put your arm out, gesturing widely to the room and spinning around. “And here’s the living room.” Harry followed you, making a slow circle and inspecting it. “I like the art,” he said, his eyes on the paintings you’d put on the wall.
“Thanks,” you said. “Me too.”
“Have you seen the gallery in town?” Harry asked as he followed you towards the kitchen. You shook your head, leaning against the counter. “No, I haven’t,” you answered, giving him a smile. “You’ll have to take me.”
Then, ignoring the butterflies his returning smile gave you, you went on, “And here’s the kitchen.” Lucky jumped up onto the counter next to you, and you grinned, petting her. “It’s her favorite room in the house.”
“I’m sure,” Harry laughed. He scratched her behind her ears, then walked around the room, his fingers tracing lightly on the white wooden table you’d chosen for the center of the room. “I like this better,” he said. “The Carlsons’ made the room look a lot smaller than it was.”
You nodded. “Yeah, I agree… Was too big. Made it cramped.” Harry’s gaze went out the back windows, which were floor to ceiling and looked out on the small woods in the backyard. There was a beat of silence, and then you walked over to stand next to him. “Were you… in here a lot?”
Harry shook his head. “Not really. I think they invited me when I first moved in… but that’s sort of it.” You hummed in response, and then asked, “Were you close with, uh - with the Carlsons?” Harry shrugged. “Eh. Not really. Y’know. Neighbor stuff.”
You bit your lip, smiling slightly. “Didja take them to the fair?” Your smile widened as Harry glanced at you, dimpling, and shook his head. “Nah,” he said. “But we didn’t share a cat, so I think the rules are a bit different.”
“Oh, really?”
“Mhm,” Harry hummed, looking back outside. “Yeah, there’s a bit more…” He tilted his head back and forth, searching for the right word. “Intimacy,” he finally seemed to decide, giving you a smile that tugged his lips into an almost-smirk. “We’re co-parenting a little one, after all. There’s got to be some… dinners involved.”
“Ah, yes, dinners,” you echoed solemnly. “To discuss parenting techniques.”
Harry nodded. “You get it.”
“She’s a bit spoiled, you know,” you said, watching her jump from the counter onto the table and sprawl out on the wood. “So we should probably get on those dinners.” Harry grinned. “Oh, yeah?” he asked, and you nodded. “Yeah. Definitely. Like, as soon as possible.”
His face lit up. “As soon as possible? As in, tonight?”
“Yeah,” you replied, a slow smile growing on your face. “As in tonight.”
Harry grinned back at you. “It’s a date.”
***
okay i KNOW this is weird sldkfj but it'll all make sense soon <333 hope you enjoyed !!!!!
and if you're liking this whole wrong-season-for-the-holiday thing, have no fear because there's a christmas fic coming soon!!!
masterlist | ask
#lol. never too soon to start celebrating halloween am i right !!!!!#harry styles fanfiction#harry styles x reader#harry styles imagine#harry styles fic#harry styles one shot#harry styles oneshot#harry styles x you#halloween#halloween in august
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Game Night! [Liveblog #4]
I’m gonna try to finish up the last game and the end of the video in this post, so we better get right to it!
The last game they’re going to play is called Quiplash. Okay, they’re going to be given a prompt... and whoever finishes the quip in the funniest way wins. Kat warns that she’s a master at this and that everybody’s going down. Colin seems impressed by her bravado, but incensed to win nonetheless. “Here we go,” says Sam unenthusiastically 😂
AND THE GAME IS ON!!!
...or it’s meant to be on. Sam’s not joined the game yet. Seems to be having some sort of technical difficulty. “You scared of losing, Sam?” Colin asks helpfully. “All the rest of us got in pretty easy...”
Sam has joined. His name is now Colonislosin 😂 It’s hard to see exactly how it’s spelled. I don’t think any of them can see it that clearly, either. Sam has to tell them what it says.
“We’ll see,” Colin says. “We’ll see.”
The game begins. “It’s more like Col-on is losin,” Sam says. “Col-on.”
The audio is breaking all up in this segment, and Josh even comments on “Low internet signal. We’re doing great.” Hmm. I paid $10 for this, you damn well better find a stronger internet signal.
ROUND 1! The first quip is: We can all agree that... The two answers are: “Covid sucks” and “Josh... is... hairy” “Covid sucks” wins ~ and Colin gets all the points.
The second quip is: A terrible name for a funeral parlor. The two answers are: “Happy Times Palace” and “We put the Fun in Funeral” “We put the Fun in Funeral” wins ~ and Kat gets all the points.
The third quip is: “Knock Knock” “Who’s There?” The two answers are: “Me DUH” and “Get the fuck away from my door” “Get the fuck away” wins and Josh gets most of the points. Colin gets some too, I think, for his answer, because Sam voted for it.
The fourth quip is: “Something that would make a creepy replacement for the horses on a merry-go-round.” The two answers are: “Mini Josh’s” and “Creepy Princes” AREN’T THOSE THE SAME THING?! 😂 “One and the same,” says Sammy. “You don’t want to sit on a mini Josh, do you?” Sam ponders. Josh forgets to even vote, and Sam gets points for “Mini Josh’s”
At the end of Round 1, Sam is in the lead, with Kat and Colin tied for second.
I wanna take this moment to apologize for how BORING this post is so far. During the games, all five people (the three stars, Josh, and Sammy the producer) are in these miniscule windows on the far right of the screen. You can barely even see them. And during this game, there’s little to no conversation going on between/during the quips. As much fun as this game might be to play, it’s not a lot of fun to watch. The last one was better, but even that tended to DRAG for the audience at home. Josh really needs to work on the games he’s having stars play if he plans to keep charging $10 a month to watch this stuff. Also, the audio keeps breaking up in this segment, so even when they talk, some of it’s hard to decipher.
“I respect that Colin is doing this instead of reading bedtime stories to his children tonight,” Josh says as everyone’s entering in their answers for Round 2. “[That’s] how committed I am,” Colin replies. Kat says something that is so broken up, I can’t even begin to figure out what it is. Something about bedtime stories and Colin’s kids. It’s probably funny. 🤷♀️ I’m getting mad about my $10 gift card being gone again.
Alright. Round 2.
Quip #1: It never ends well when you mix ___ and ___. Answers: “poo and oatmeal” and “Sam and Josh” Okay, that second one is gold. Who did that? Apparently Colin did “poo and oatmeal” and Kat did “Sam and Josh”. Bless her. Colin gets the points with more votes, though.
Quip #2: The worst car feature that ends with “holder” Answers: “penis” and “diaper” Sam is just blinking rapidly. Now he’s laughing. “How does that work?” he asks. No one answers. “But I wanna know,” he says. “How does it work?” Josh wins the points with his “penis” answer - which Colin voted for, by the way - but no one cares now. “Does it move?” Kat asks. “Or does it just-” “Don’t ask too many questions,” Josh says. “What kind of size is it?” Sam asks. “Is it stationary or is there a motor feature?” Kat asks. “Maybe it’s a good idea...” Sam concludes, as Josh laments the kind of dreams he’s going to have now.
The third quip is literally happening in the background now, as everyone talks about the penis holder. Colin is noticeably silent on the topic XD
Quip #3: Something upsetting you could say to the cable guy as he installs your television service. Answers: “you smell like fart” and “want to see my murder room?” I’m sitting here going, “don’t be Colin, don’t be Colin” while simultaneously knowing 100% that Colin absolutely typed “you smell like fart” into his phone and... Yeah. Yeah, I’m right. That was him 😂 And he got 0 points. “Oh, boooo,” says Colin. Honey... Honey, I’m sorry, but that was bad.
Quip #4: The name of the reindeer Santa did not pick to pull his sleigh. Answers: “ohdeer” and “tipsy” Neither of these are very good. I hate this game. Kat gets the points with “tipsy”.
OH WOW, YOU GUYS. The final points are tallied and...
WHAT IS THIS TOMFOOLERY?! Colin is LOSING?!?! I mean, I know “you smell like fart” was bad, but this is unbelievable! I call shenanigans!!!
Colin is literally sitting forward in his chair now, lmao. The determination is intense, you guys. I once again cannot handle him right now. I wish he wasn’t in the teeny tiny window so I could show you guys better, but look at him getting his fucking game face on:
This man is a peanut and I love him with every fiber of my being. Look at him being a competitive little somesuch in last place. I can’t, you guys. Bury me here, etc, etc, I’m just a goner for this ridiculous man.
O’DONOINTENSE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Last Round: Quip: Strange side effect to hear during a drug commercial. Answers: “cream cheese will come out of your butt” “seeing double horowitz” and “the screams of baboons” - there’s only three because Kat didn’t get her answer in before the time was up. Aaaaaaand the sound’s breaking all up again 😣 Josh is wondering what the point is of voting, if all you’re doing is giving points to your competitors. “Do you have to give all three votes?” Colin asks. “See,” Josh says. “Colin is thinking strategically, like me.” “Well, I’m not entirely sure the other two, I think, deserve any more than one point.” But it’s... it’s the WAY he says it, OH MY GOD, lol. Lemme... I gotta... Okay, I screen recorded it for you guys.
That O’Donosass is actually almost worth $10, you guys.
Which is good, because the audio is getting worse and worse on this and it’s starting to piss me off. Anyway! Everybody’s got a lot of points, because those were ALL good answers (Colin’s was “the screams of baboons” which I quite like). Let’s see the final tally...
Josh is the winner! But Colin managed a come-from-behind close second, so I’m really proud of him :D Sam mentions how Josh invited them all there to play games and then BEAT them. Josh is closing out the show, saying he hopes everyone enjoyed it... “I enjoyed it,” Josh says "But maybe that’s just 'cause I won at the very last second.” “No, well, you won ONE,” Colin cuts in. “You won ONE game.”
SERIOUSLY. BURY ME RIGHT THERE 😂😂😂
“Colin won the first round,” Josh says.
“...and then we have these two other people.”
Incidentally, I wish everyone’s webcams were as clear as Kat’s.
Anyway, now there’s some sweet summing up... and Josh hawking everyone’s current projects... (gee, it’s like this is promotional content or something) and the show closing down and-
“Can I win next time?” asks Sam Heughan.
~ The End ~
I hope you guys had fun reading this. I gotta say... this one video isn’t worth $10. I can see if you’re a huge fan of Josh’s or really into celebrity culture, $10 a month might be a fine price to pay for a bunch of this kind of content... but for a one-time video when your fave happens to show up on his channel? Nah. He really should have a “one time access” fee available for individual videos that’s a LOT less. Like, I’m talking, like... $1 or 2. This is literally a zoom call... and as such, the quality’s only as good as his guests’ webcams and audio and everyone’s internet connections. Also, I found the game format enticing... but ultimately boring due to the games chosen. The Would You Rather was the most fun of the three, because we actually got to hear from the stars and get some banter going. The games relied too much on the stars interacting with their devices instead of each other or anyone really engaging the audience. Honestly, if it was any of my faves other than Colin in this video, I might not have even watched the whole thing. Colin’s adorable competitive streak and eagerness to win play games is what kept me watching. The idea is cute, but it needs some work. And the price is too high - especially with the audio issues in the last ten minutes or so. That’s my final verdict.
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Side Note: Am I 13 or Almost 40?
Well hello there! Welcome to the My Almost Midlife Crisis, I’m your host Jennifer Mathis. Today it’s all about what it’s like to get zits as an adult which at times can make you feel like you’re 13 going on 40.
If you haven’t listened to Episode 1 yet, To Botox or Not to Botox, I encourage you to do so as we talk about all sorts of fun changes to our face and hair as we get older like getting grey hair, all the way to Botox.
As an almost middle-aged woman, I find myself having to deal with zits and breakouts for the first time in my life. Last week I mentioned that I grew up using Noxema which must have done the trick because I never really had the issue of acne or zits when I was going through puberty.
Now before you get all like – oh, must be nice Jennifer, hear me out. While I may not have had to deal with zits, all teenagers have something they have to deal with amongst their cruel and heartless classmates that are so quick to point out things on your body that you have no control over and cannot change. For a lot of teens, that’s acne. But for me, it was that I had no boobs until pretty much college.
I didn’t hit puberty until I was heading into high school so I would definitely be what they call a “late bloomer”. I remember going in the locker room for gym class and getting changed. All the girls around me would have their bras, they’d be using their deodorant and they would have their satin underwear. I don’t know why the satin under, in particular, stuck in my head but boy did I want a pair of satin underwear. I just thought they looked so grown up. And they did look grown up vs. what I was wearing, my cotton bloomies. You know which ones I’m talking about. The white cotton ones with the days of the week written on them? So I would beg my mom to get me satin underwear, but she was not having it.
She always told me that I couldn’t get it because I was too young. Which is a bad strategy because if you tell a child or a teenager that they are too young for something, they just want it more. She should have just told me, “listen, satin underwear is not all it’s cracked up to be. It looks nice but it’s not comfortable, it doesn’t breath, you’ll get a yeast infection and trust me, you’re better off with cotton.”
So may lack of development in those years pretty much made me invisible to any boys. Except for one.
Let’s just for sake of story call him Tom. Let me paint a picture of you. You get changed for gym class. You’re sitting in a circle with your friends, although I was kind of a dork so let’s just say I was sitting with a group of peers. You’re waiting for gym class to start. You’re doing your stretches, stretching those hamstrings, getting ready for whatever your gym teacher is going to throw at you that day. Tom calls everyone’s attention, turns to me, lifts up his shirt, points to his chest and asks me if I was jealous.
Yeah, I was pretty much humiliated. The fact that I’m going to be 40 soon and I can still vividly picture this scene in my brain, even down to the detail of what color shirt he was wearing should speak to speak to how humiliated I was. It forever stuck with me.
I would like to say this story didn’t necessarily end with that. I was able to turn it into a happy ending because one year when I was coming home from college and at the gym, guess who I ran into? Lil Mr. Tom, which by the way wasn’t aging that well. Saw me in the gym, asked me on a date and I was able to turn him down. After the humiliation I was caused, it felt really good!
Anyway I digress. Now as an adult I look back and think about – was it better to be a late bloomer because I skipped the whole teenage acne situation? Or would it have been better to have acne as a teenager? When you’re a late bloomer, sooner or later you bloom, and it’s fine. You move on and it’s no longer an issue. But acne is something you could get throughout your entire life. Wouldn’t you rather have an opportunity to figure out what system works for you when you’re younger so you have that in your back pocket, in your tool kit, for the rest of your life?
But I didn’t have that. So as an adult, when I started getting zits, whether it was from stress or maybe it was pre-period zits, I didn’t know how to handle it. I didn’t know what were the best products. I didn’t know what to do. I would just be googling it.
It’s crazy because as you get older and our bodies continue to change, you would think we could catch a break sometime. You would think we could swap it out instead of it being additive. Like for example, when I was younger I could pretty much eat whatever I wanted. There was one summer when I pretty much lived off of Sprite, Doritos and cigarettes and I turned out just fine.
But now, it’s this constant attention to detail on what I am putting in my body because at any moment, I could have some dairy, beans or gluten that will disagree with me and then I’m immediately feeling bloated and like I’ve gained five pounds. It’s only fair that if for the rest of my life I have to pay close attention to detail on the food that goes into my mouth so I can feel good, I should at least be able to get rid of zits.
For the most part my skin regimen seems to be working but every once and I will I still get zits here or there. In my FitFabFun box, I have now gotten these stickers for zits in two of them. The first pack I got was a mixture of black and red circle stickers. It reminds me of that game Girl Talk. I don’t know if you will know what I’m talking about or if they still sell it but as you went through the game, I don’t remember the rules, but as you went through the game, the worse you did the more red circle stickers you had to put on your face to simulate zits. Therefore the person that won the game had the least amount of zits on their face. Gee, no wonder we grew up being embarrassed if we had zits! We straight up had a popular game that shamed us for it!
The first round of stickers reminded me of that game and reminded me of that. But they didn’t really work anyway so if you got them just throw them away. I will say the ones I got recently seem to work better, they’re shaped like stars. Little black stars. On my last period, or pre-period, I got a couple of zits that were starting to form. I had three. So I was like “Ok, let’s try these out.”
So I put them on my forehead and I’m going to bed, which I realize these stickers are made for single people because if you are in a relationship when you’re wearing these stickers you look like a damn fool. But thankfully we have a very open and honest relationship so I feel comfortable enough in my own skin where I can wear these. So I come into bed, and my fiancé turns to me and says “Babe, your forehead looks like the galaxy.” Ha! He’s totally right! It did look like a galaxy. I mean, how romantic. What a great way to end the night. Hey, you feeling spicy? I have a galaxy on my forehead.
I feel like if they had these when I was a kid, that would have made having zits fun. Maybe that’s what they should do. Instead of having a game that shames you for having zits, they should have stickers that are stars so it can be a fun game. And maybe if they would have had something like this for late bloomers like myself, it would have taken the attention away from the lack of cleavage for the kids to focus on.
Anyway, there’s no way around it. Having zits as an adult sucks. And while you have your skin regimen, you have your Retinol and you have these stickers, and they all seem to help to some degree, I don’t think it’s actually possible to completely eliminate adult zits. Zits come from two things, stress and hormones. So once a month, as a female, your hormones are out of wack. But also stress. Stress, as adults, comes with the territory. So it seems like something you just have to live with.
But at least it’s something we can all laugh at together because unlike when you are a teenager, your fellow adults are not going to point out your zits in public so everyone laughs at you.
Tune in next week because we’re going to be closing out the conversation, we’ve been having the last couple weeks about the pressure women feel to keep looking young, by bringing in a new perspective. I’m going to be sitting down with one of my closest friends, Catherine, to understand her view on all these topics from Retinol and Botox and skin regimen and adult zits and all that great stuff we’ve been talking about and we’ll have some fun and laughs in the process.
Until next week!
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Right, since you asked me questions about my f/o, I'll fire some at you now! 1. Favourite place to go with them 2. How do you care for them when they are ill and vice versa 3. Had any playful arguments that you look at and go 'what were we doing??' I'll slide these over here and be on my way ;3
All right! So, as a reminder, I have three (3) romantic f/o’s - XR from Buzz Lightyear of Star Command, Tony Dracon from Gargoyles, and Giovanni Potage from Epithet Erased. And for this exercise, I am going to answer all three questions FOR ALL THREE OF THEM! (If you’re following me for something other than selfship and you don’t wanna see me ramble for three pages, please block the tag “selfship” now)
1. FAVORITE PLACE TO GO!
I hadn’t realized until I thought about it, but it always seems to come back to a rooftop in the city. You think I like city lights or something? I do. I love city lights. I love cities.
Anyway, with XR, I decided right away that our favorite planet is Trade World, seedy underbelly and all. We can kill time there forever (and probably waste all our money on stuff that isn’t important). I haven’t written it yet, but one of the ideas I had for writing us was that after the big love confession, we’d have our first date on a rooftop restaurant there and watch the lights come on as the sun set, at which point I very sappily draw a connection between my love of city lights and XR’s eyes.
As for Giovanni, I have this whole oneshot about our first kiss that revolves around us trying to find the most perfect and fittingly dramatic place for it, and I ended up putting us on a rooftop at the edge of town where the Sweet Jazz skyline would be our background in all its luminescent glory. I imagine we’d go back up to that building again and again to talk about things if we’re not chilling at home or a base of operations. Just watching the night.
Then for Tony? I admittedly hadn’t given it too much thought, but I immediately got an image of us on, guess what, a rooftop, but of a skyscraper in downtown NYC. Now, Gio and I had to break onto ours by scaling the fire escape ladders; Tony would bust locks and we’d just take the stairs up from the inside. And that’s where we slow-dance when we want to be alone. Bring up a whole portable stereo and a mix of the schmaltziest love rock-ballads (think, like, REO Speedwagon or Journey). Come to think of it, I actually don’t know whether he’s made the connection that the Gargoyles operate out of the Eyrie, so we would definitely look at the freaking castle above the clouds and go “Next target” without knowing the law and order of the town that plagues our existence roosts there.
I’m also working on an AU that is compliant with my “Taking Back the Crown” crossover universe, and in that one, I’m thinking I’d be polyamorous with all three. While I haven’t picked a favorite spot, I do know that particular s/i would live in Twilight Town, and since Final Fantasy is piecemeal AU’d into KH logic (whereas none of those three are from canon KH worlds but it’s an easy crossover gateway so their worlds would just be intact), I actually have this design that Rabanastre from FFXII would be the capital of the nation Twilight Town is in and a few hours’ train ride away, and the four of us just LOVE heading over there and probably scaling some rooftops.
2. CARING FOR THE SICK!
Let’s start with me, in general. I’m a huge hypochondriac. I fear germs. I’m not really that good at taking care of sick friends/family, but for a romantic partner, I’d try to step up my game. I’d be on call. Now, if they were just ordinary sick, I might see if they’d be okay staying home while I got work done, with the caveat that I have my phone on me and can answer whenever. They’re stricken with debilitating nausea and can’t leave the bed? I’ll play hooky. But I’ll try to keep a reasonable distance whenever possible (chatting with them from across the room, where I am planted in a chair that is far away from the bed) and use a surgical mask and gloves whenever approaching. Yes, that may sound heartless, but I still wanna be available to bring them whatever they need, just with my armor on. And I’m not me unless I’m a raging hypochondriac who thinks she’s coming down with what her boyfriend’s got every five seconds. The exception, of course, is XR, who I envision would get sick as a visual gag of having a “computer virus” and exhibit all the symptoms of a head cold without actually being contagious.
Tony is low-maintenance and insists he doesn’t need to be babied, so he’s not gonna even ask me for that much except company. Giovanni and XR are both absolutely complainers and going to whine at me every five minutes, which will inevitably make my heart melt.
As for when I’m sick…
XR loves playing “nurse” (kinda like I had him in this oneshot where I sprain my shoulder) and will get me everything I want. This is for somewhat selfish reasons so I will talk up how great of a boyfriend he is when I’m sick. Also, there’s a good chance that any medical supplies he brings me might be “borrowed without permission” from Star Command’s med bay. He WILL bring me illegal narcotics, and I WILL turn them down. He’ll also call in sick to work himself to take care of me - and also because it gives him an excuse to not turn in to work. We’ll likely end up binging shows cuddled up together if I’m not sleepy or too nauseous.
Tony isn’t all that attentive; he knows I’m a grown-up and can mostly handle myself. If I’m seriously incapacitated, he’ll watch over me, but in most cases, he’ll take off to get his own work done, same philosophy as me: call me if you need anything. He’s not gonna rush to bring me things, but he will do smaller gestures - brushing my hair back if I’m asleep before he leaves, etc. After business is taken care of, if I seem stable and not contagious, he’ll assist me in setting up on the couch with blankets aplenty on one end while he sits on the other, and really, all my f/o’s know that when I’m sick, I just wanna binge TV shows, so that’s what we do.
Giovanni freaks out. He also wants to get me everything I need, but he’s kinda not used to taking care of sick people, so he’ll be running around like a headless chicken asking me if I need various medical supplies that don’t at all apply to the kind of illness I have (such as a splint or a tourniquet). And soup. He will bring me so much soup. Hey, he’s good at making it, so I’m not gonna complain. He also does unfortunately think cuddling will make things better, and want to sit in bed next to me or kiss me for reassurance. I tell him over and over and over that that’s just gonna get him sick. Less than 24 hours later, he’s caught what I have, and I’m just “GEE, I WONDER HOW THAT HAPPENED.”
3. PETTY ARGUMENTS!
XR and I are built on petty arguments. He fulfills my fantasies of a relationship based on tsundere rivalry. We will find things to argue about for fun. This is how we get our kicks. I call him a dumbass, he calls me a narcissist, we don’t mean it (…mostly). He once caught me singing and dancing, thinking I was alone, and taped it and circulated it as a meme. He thinks it’s hilarious if I trip and fall. Conversely, I think it’s hilarious if he runs into things when he’s not looking where he’s going. I keep a running record of stupidest spelling mistakes he’s made and will trot them out whenever appropriate. At the end of the day, though, we set it all aside. Don’t let anyone know we’re actually nice to each other behind closed doors!
Tony and I basically argue about one petty thing: the fact that he CANNOT DRIVE. Is there canon precedent to this? Not really, except for the fact that his henchmen always seem to be driving the getaway car. But I have it in my head that the people in our operation who should be driving are me, Pal Joey, and Glasses. The person in our operation who should not be driving is Tony. Guess which one of the four asks most often to drive? Yeah. And sometimes he wears us down and we have to deal with him nearly killing us by driving 20 mph above the speed limit. IN DOWNTOWN NEW YORK. THE POLICE CHASE HASN’T EVEN STARTED. If there is one thing that is the subject of our married-couple spats, it is THIS.
Arguing with Giovanni is more of a minefield because we both have a habit of pretending we’re not sensitive about certain things until one of us rags on that certain thing and then it explodes. I have a oneshot idea, may or may not write it, in which he insults my “nerd glasses” like he always does with Sylvie, and I’m legitimately hurt but trying not to show it, so I engage in a rivalry argument with him that lasts all day, up until he jokingly says that I have delusions of grandeur and I just say “Well, at least I don’t think I’m qualified to be captain when I’m not” about myself when I realize that my lack of filter made it sound like I insinuated he wasn’t qualified to be captain, at which point he will actually start crying and insist to me that words hurt. Everything’s made better when we sit down and have an honest talk about what we said that hurt each other and then hug it out.
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OO klance with smoke and ashes by tracy chapman please :3c
Send me a ship and a song and I’ll write a one-shot! @lemongogo
This was some of the angstiest writing I have ever done wow. I changed some stuff from the song just for ic purposes but I think I stayed true to the overall feeling of the song?? I hope?? Anyways hope you like it!! It’s a bit long so its under a read-more
Keith knew what he was getting into.
He knew Lance was so much more than a goofball. He had heard the stories, of Lance leaving behind a trail of broken hearts. He knew that though Lance had a great warmth to him, there was also a fierce coldness there too.
It didn’t show often, but when Lance aimed at a soldier, when he focused his gun on his target, something steely and so-not-typically-Lance-like would come out.
But, as Keith had learned it all came from an incredible passion inside of him. A desire to protect who he loved. Keith could relate, honestly. He had always been a bit- well- fiery for his own good.
So, yeah he really he did know what he was getting into when he decided to finally tell Lance how he felt.
He knew Lance wouldn’t feel the same way as him, he didn’t need Lance to love him back, but well on the off chance he liked him too, Keith still knew what he was getting into.
So he marched out of his lion and to their current ‘training area’ where he knew he’d find Lance, and he planned exactly what to say.
And he would say it…
You know, after watching Lance for a few minutes.
After a few minutes, Lance finally noticed Keith standing there and stopped his movements.
“Hey Keith!” He greeted with a smile, making his way over to Keith. “You know, if you’re looking for a weakness you won’t find one. I might even be a better fighter than you now, I mean you’ve got to be rusty after two years without fighting the galra.” Lance teased, and Keith couldn’t help but smile. He was still so Lance.
“I mean I have a ninja for a mom, we trained a bit over those two years-”
“Why not put your money where your mouth is? Lets spar.” Lance challenged.
Keith blinked. Ok, not what he expected. “Maybe later, look I need to talk to you about something, its important.”
Lance’s face turned serious and he nodded. “Yeah of course man, what’s on your mind?”
“Uh.” Great, really articulate Keith, just like you planned. Glad to know your wit is still intact after those two years.
Lance, bless him didn’t roll his eyes, he didn’t get annoyed, he simply smiled kindly, and spoke. “Listen buddy it’s ok, whatever it is I promise not to judge- well at least not too hard.” Lance smirked before sobering again. “Look do you want to sit down?”
Keith just nodded, and Lance led them over to the tree trunks they were using for seats.
“Now what’s up?” Lance asked, looking truly concerned, and Keith forgot everything he planned to say. So Keith did what he does best.
He ran in head first and hoped for the best.
“Look, I’ll be honest when we first started out here, I really didn’t think very highly of you, Lance-”
“-Gee thanks.”
“I don’t mean- look just let me finish alright? I dismissed you a lot, you seemed every bit my opposite, cool, calm, collected. You can be dramatic and annoying-”
“-Really feeling the love here, Keith-”
“-I said let me finish- You can be all those things, but I found you can also be so much more than that. You have a fire in you, like me. You can be so passionate about things, you can get angry like me. We have a lot more in common than I thought…” Keith sighed and decided to throw caution to the wind. “And I know you don’t feel the same but I thought you should know, I like you. And I think we’d fit really well together.”
Before Lance could so much as open his mouth Keith was already rising to retreat. “Anyway that’s what I wanted to say, I’ll uh, go now.”
Lance caught his arm and smiled hesitantly. “I uh, think you might just be right.”
And as they smiled at each other, they really thought they both knew what they were getting into.
And for a short time, they were right, and they were happy. And the fire in their hearts danced.
Neither of them knew what they were getting into.
Neither of them ever dreamed their personalities would clash so much.
Neither of them could have predicted how the war would change them. How hard it would be to adjust to life on Earth again. How hard it was to have a reminder of the war, of everything they had seen, lying right beside them.
“Lance, you were shouting in your sleep, are you sure you don’t want to talk about it?” Keith asked Lance one night.
Lance traced Keith’s face with his hand, stilling when he reached his scar. “Love the concern babe, but I’m fine, really. It was just a dumb dream.”
“Didn’t sound like it.” Keith said harsher than intended.
“Look, just drop it ok?” Lance snapped. “I don’t want to talk about this anymore.” Lance’s hand dropped as he rolled over to the edge of his side of the bed, and though the voice in Keith’s head begged him to say something, he didn’t listen, he simply rolled to his side and faced away from his husband.
And their hearts burned.
They couldn’t predict the fighting, the tears, the heartache.
“Why can’t you just talk to me about it?”
“What, like you talk about your nightmares?”
“That’s not fair.”
“What part, Lance? Why can’t you talk to me? I’m your husband for crying out loud! Why can’t you just talk to me?”
And as the tears streamed down both their faces, and the shouting continued, they knew they were now broken beyond repair.
They couldn’t have known the fire they felt in their hearts could burn each other.
Yet despite the burning they feel in their hearts, they cannot yet let go of each other, because if they did, they both know it would destroy them, and they would be nothing but smoke and ashes.
“I love you, Lance.”
“I love you too, Keith.”
And they fell asleep in each others arms.
And that was almost certainly worse.
Keith had no idea what he was getting into.
He had no idea the love they felt would only last a couple of years, he had no idea the disagreements and insecurities would one day become too much.
“Why can’t you understand I just want to help you!?”
“Why can’t you understand I don’t want your help!? I’m not broken, I don’t need someone to repair me. I don’t want pity. Just stop it.”
He had no idea the coldness he once saw in Lance, would one day come out and freeze him where he stood.
“Lance- Lance what are you doing?”
“Packing, what does it look like?”
He had no idea Lance would leave.
“Lance come on, please you can’t just- you can’t just leave like this. Please talk to me. I love you.”
“And I love you. But look at us Keith, neither of us are really even here anymore. We don’t talk, we can’t even seem to have a civil conversation anymore. I kept blinding myself to the truth because I loved you, I was devoted to you, and I wanted this to work but look at us! You were right all those years ago, we both have a fire in us. And we have done nothing but burn each other with it. So one of us has to go, for the both of us.”
And as they looked each other in the eyes for the first time in months, they were both filled with tears, and Keith found for once, he couldn’t think of an argument.
He had no idea he would be standing in an empty apartment holding Lance’s ring in his hand, wondering how it all went wrong, wishing he had said something to make him stay. Knowing he couldn’t have even if he had, because Lance was right. They were flames that burned each other.
And as he looked at the remains of their life together, he felt the fire in his heart fade away.
He had nothing left but smoke and ashes.
#this was fun and heartbreaking to write god#i tried to keep them ic not sure i succeeded#vld#klance#angst#my writing#fanfic#lemongogo
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Halloween Dance and Some Unfortunate Events
Summary:
Levi is willing to go all the way to get Eren to go with him to the Halloween Dance. But things get complicated since Levi cannot show any sign of intelligence around the German hottie. However, he isn’t taking no for an answer.
Rating - Teen and Up Audiences
Categories - M/M
Relationships - Levi/Eren, background relationships, Moblit/Hanji, Armin/Erwin, Krista|Historia/Ymir
Chapters - 3/?
Read below cut or read on AO3
Chapter 3 : You free tonight?
Last week was kind of a mess. Krista believed us and didn’t stir up any more trouble. Anyway, I think the incident kind of broke her spirit for now cause apparently, she doesn’t feel like going to the dance anymore. But there was a lot of unnecessary drama and shit. So, I’m really looking forward to a relaxing weekend.
The guilt will eventually creep in but for now, I’m just really glad that there’s one less competition.
6 days left till the dance.
I’m not even sure that I’ll be going to this thing though, honestly. It’s very complicated. I mean, I want to go but only with Eren. And I’m not fucking confessing to my crush. God, it’s so embarrassing just thinking about it. And I go all gooey once I see him. Assuming that I ask him out, what if I go gooey while we’re dancing? Oh shit, I just realised. I can’t even fucking dance.
This is just too much. I’m just gonna go and take a nap.
Tring~ Tring~
“Huh? Wa-?” I shot up, my mind hazed and clouded. I felt like a dehydrated zombie, which is why you should never take afternoon naps. “Mom! Someone’s calling!” I managed to shout, despite my sore throat.
Tring~ Tring~
A muffled voice came from the next room, “Pick it up for me, will you, hon? Mommy’s in the shower.”
I stumbled out of my bed and literally rolled down the stairs when I tripped on the blanket I wrapped myself with.
“Ouch!” I winced when my head banged against the floor on the last step.
I could distinctly hear mom saying, “Are you okay, Levi?” Yeah, sure.
I picked up the phone and rubbed my eyes, mumbling sheepishly, “Ah…hello… thi- this’… Levi.”
I could hear some sort of muffled voices on the other end and someone whisper-shouting, “Quiet! Quiet! Shhh!”
Honestly, I’m too tired to deal with Isabel and her bullshit. So, I was about to put it back on the holder before-
“Uh!...-uhm h-hey Levi, It’s Eren.”
I could hear someone on his side mimicking him, “IT’S EREN!!” And then sounds of hitting each other.
“Oh Isabel, fuck you.”
“No no, it is me! Eren!! We sit together in some of the classes, remember?” the person on the other end quipped.
I looked at the caller ID. And my eyes literally went from half dead to shot alive. I could literally feel my stomach drop- ‘Jaeger’
“Levi? Are you still there?”
In response, I giggled out, “Uh-huh, nyyesss~?” Oh my fucking god, I giggled. I giggled. What’s wrong with mmeeee????
“Oh, uh. I’m having a party tonight-”
“Dumbass, it’s tomorrow,” someone whispered.
“Ah right, fudge. I’m… having a party on Sturdy- Saturday night. And it’s kind of like a costume party, no biggie. Soo it’s gonna be super cool and I want you there…”
I think he said some more stuff about whether I could come or some shit, but my useless brain just stopped at ‘I want you’.
“What did one beach say to the other? Shore.” I made a gun-click sound with my tongue.
I didn’t wait for his response as I literally smashed the phone into the wall, face fuming. Why am I like this? Why am I like this? Oh god, why the fu-
Mom came down the stairs, “Honey? Why is your face all red? And why are you curled up in the middle of the living room?”
I looked at her distastefully. She probably doesn’t even know I’m gay. Huh, I don’t even know if I’m gay. I dated this girl, Annie for 8 months, which is pretty long for a high-schooler. But it kind of just faded away. We haven’t talked in like forever. Huh, we haven’t even broken up. Eh but I guess it’s kinda implied?
Well, whatever. I yanked out my iPhone from the charger and sped up to my room, making sure to close the door.
“Hanji, you’re not gonna believe this!” I chattered out happily, plopping down on the bed and squishing my pillow.
“No no, wait, don’t tell me. Lemme guess.” I could hear her shuffling through something and then a thud sound.
“What are you even doing?”
Not bothering to answer my question, she asked, “Is it Moblit?” I mentally head banged myself.
Moblit. Moblit. It’s always Moblit with her. What’s up with that? Don’t get me wrong, I love that my friend’s in a relationship but please for the love of God, stop. Even I don’t talk that much about Ere- wait, nevermind.
“No, it’s about Eren.”
She hummed, “Did he refuse?”
“What? The fuck, no, Hanji, he didn’t refuse-”
“Gee, alright, don’t get so worked up.”
It’s so hard to not yell at her sometimes.
Taking a large patient breath, I said, “He asked me to come to his costume party tomorrow night. At his house!”
“Whoa, holy shit. Hold up, Levi. I’m coming over.”
And that’s how we ended up in my room. She brought along Petra and Erwin and much to my horror, she brought Armin along. We were actually supposed to discuss my costume but having that blonde brat there made it so damn suffocating, especially since he is Eren’s best friend.
Dragging Hanji into a room, I hissed, “Why did you bring that moron?!”
Hanji viciously hissed back, “What was I supposed to do, huh, Levi? Erwin was making out with him when I climbed to his window.”
Swallowing back my vomit, I gagged, “Ew, don’t tell me that.”
We were spitting out hurtful insults at each other (you know, just like friends do) when Armin came up to us, smiling sweetly, “Can I get refill on the tea? It tastes amazing.”
Hanji and I looked at him for like a full minute before I moved, “Yeah, sure.” He isn’t a bad kid really but now, whenever I look at him, I see a very disturbing mental image of Erwin giving it to him hard. Gag. I led him into the kitchen and poured out another cup of tea. Armin sat on one of the chairs near the kitchen island.
“Eren expects you at the party, you know.” Slip. Crash.
“Jesus! Shit- W-what did you say?” I tried to play it cool as I mopped up the spilled boiling tea carefully.
“He doesn’t invite a lot of people. Well, not directly.”
I hummed positively in response as I handed him his tea. A million thoughts were processing through my head and every one of them had Armin as my very supportive wingman. After all, he is Eren’s best friend. I wanted to ask him so many things. I just couldn’t figure out how to bring it up. I wanted to ask mainly about stuff like ‘What does Eren say about me?’ ‘Have you, by chance, seen his-’
“So, what are you wearing?”
A bulb went off in my head and I almost wanted to French make out with Armin, “Oh, I don’t know…um… what.. what does he like?”
Armin scratched his head, not suspecting even a tiny thing, “He likes lots of things. Mainly stuff like superheroes, cars, transformers…” He laughed out lightly, “You know, everything a 10-year old would like, haha.”
I pretended to smile and pressured him more, “Any idea what he’s wearing?”
“A cop, I heard. He thinks it’s cool, protecting stuff.”
I smiled. Handcuffs. Dear god, I’m so fucking gay.
“He likes cute things though. You know, small, tiny and cute?” He made a gesture with his hand as if to signal I’m short.
I cocked an eyebrow and growled, “What? You calling me tiny?”
I could see Armin was starting to panic when Erwin came in, “God, you two were in here so long. What were you talking about?”
I hopped down from the counter and headed up to my room, whispering bitterly into Erwin’s ear as I passed by, “Your tiny dick.”
~~oOo~~
I sat on my sofa, swimming through dozens of my old Halloween costumes. Most of them were really crappy, to be honest. A coat and a cap (Sherlock Holmes), something greenish (Elves or Peter Pan, I don’t care) and some others. I mean, I like Halloween for the scary movies, not for candy. As a kid, I never liked going trick-or-treating that much. I liked to stay home and mooch off the candies we keep at home. Much to mom’s annoyance.
Hanji came out from my closet wearing a frown, “Don’t you have anything else?”
I looked up from an old magazine, “No.”
“Jeez, you’re fun.”
When I made no reply, Hanji walked over and plopped down next to me on the floor, “Then we’ve to buy something.”
“We?”
Ignoring me, she continued, “Something petite and cute… cute and tiny… hmm”
I listened to her humming for a split second before flipping another page of the magazine. There was a whole page advertisement for a pet shop or something. Flipping to the next page, I sighed, “I wish I could get a rabbit.”
“Say what?”
I grunted nonchalantly in response. Hanji ripped out the book from my hands earning a distraught ‘hey!’ from me.
“This is it!!”
“I was reading that, you know.”
“A bunny!! It’s cute and tiny, with its little nose and you’re so cute and ti-”
I cut her off, “Bunny costumes scream – hey, what’s up? Let’s fuck.”
Hanji winked at me, “For Eren?”
My face steamed to bright red before I screeched, “Shut up!”
And that’s how I ended up ordering a bunny costume from Hanji’s (shady) ‘guy’ or so she calls. Hanji promised me that it wasn’t one of those revealing sexy types. She said it bent more towards the ‘cute’ side, with ears and a fluffy tail.
I don’t know about the ears but I’m cutting off the tail once that thing gets here. I don’t need people wondering if a cloud was attached to my ass all night long. According to what Hanji said, Armin told Hanji that Eren likes people who acts cute in general. So currently, I am revising the habits of the ‘school cutie’ Krista. She sort of bounces her head around, smiles and makes a lot of weird noises. Not creepy ones like I do, but noises like ah’s and oh’s.
I tried practicing my smile. Tried.
The rest of the afternoon, I tried out different looks with myself. The only thing it did was to remind me why I should stick to my style. Then I talked with myself in front of the mirror, you know, for conversational purposes. It was actually really beneficial cause I found out that if I laugh too freely, my eyebrows raise up weirdly and I make noises like a pig. I also found out my eyes look cooler when I apply some eyeliner. At the end, I had everything planed out – how I’ll smile, what to talk about, how to approach Eren and pull off the ‘cute’ rabbit look like a boss.
Hell yeah, I’m the boss.
That night, I lathered my face with some herbal fluid mom made. She said my face will glow like a princess in the morning if I keep it on overnight. Ha, I’m a princess.
I kind of looked like Shrek at the moment though so I Facetimed Hanji. As soon as she picked up, I yelled at the top of my voice, “GET OUT OF MY SWAMP!”
Hanji laughed tensely in return. I looked at the screen for a moment before retorting, “What? Don’t you get it? I have a green face.”
On the other screen, Hanji scratched her head nervously and croaked, “I get it! … hehe… Levi you’ll find this funny…. But umm…”
I stopped goofing around. Taking in a deep breath, I glared at the screen and prepared myself.
“You know that sexy cute bunny costume we ordered?”
“Yeah, the one I paid for. What about it?”
“Well, it came at 6 in the evening today and…”
“That’s great. I’ll pick it up in the morning.”
“Well, it’s not exactly sexy…or high school…ish.”
“What do you mean ‘not high scho-’ Oh my god.”
All the strength left my knees as I gazed upon the monstrosity that Hanji was holding up. I must not have done a great job at hiding my shock because Hanji started looking all worried and she tried to console me, “At least it’s cute. Right? Right?”
She was holding up a motherfucking bright pink rabbit jumpsuit. No, Hanji. It’s not cute.
~~oOo~~
Hanji and I spent all morning trying to fix the costume. The measurements were too big and I looked like I was wearing an oversized onesie pyjama that I occasionally use as a sleeping bed. In other words, it looked absolutely horrifying.
I bleached the whole suit and put it in the washer for like, 6 hours. Fortunately, the shocking bright pink colour faded to a soft whitish-pink hue which looked less in-your-face. Mom took care of the rest. But the costume proportions were so wrong she practically sewed the whole thing over.
However, I still had a onesie by the end of the day.
Distraught, I looked at the mirror in vain. My hands felt around the costume and I felt my heart sinking. One of the rabbit ears flopped over to the side while the other stayed upright. The hood fell to my shoulders and the fluffy cloth hung around my tiny frame.
Hanji quipped from the other room, “You look cute, okay? So, stop worrying.”
The party was in an hour. I sighed heavily, my hands patting the giant rabbit ears. I look like a freak. Only my whiskers were on point, drawn on by Hanji.
“Oh, and I’ve been meaning to ask you this since morning.”
I turned away from the mirror and looked at Hanji, “What?”
“Why is your face so damn smooth?”
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#ereri#snk#aot#fanfic#fic:halloween&#eren#levi#cute#fluff#jealousy#jealous levi#high school au#humor#awful costumes
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Remoras Full Intermission II: Holding Back the Ship
(Takes place after the events of chapter 37 and before “Captain Acab” arrives at the diner in chapter 39)
Day One:
Dear Diary,
Or whatever. However it goes. Look, I got a journal so I can try to keep track of the days. Not because I’d be lonely out at sea. Nu-uh. Do I look like someone who gets lonely? Yeah, that’s what I thought. Not only do I not get lonely, but I don’t need to write in a journal, either.
...It’s just something I’m doing so I don’t get bored. That’s all.
So let’s recap: I bought a boat so I can sail back to the arctic and save everyone at the diner. And so I can see them all again. Before I set sail, I visited that facility that Wendy told me about. It was really creepy with how empty it was. At the time, I expected to be attacked by that mysterious person I had to fight in that alleyway. But that didn’t happen. Thank goodness.
No, instead, I found some rocks stashed in the back of a room. There didn’t seem to be very much, but I took what I could get. Those rocks, or “minerals” for the more sophisticated mind, were materials known as Angel’s Essence. Said to be fragments of a cosmic entity’s own body. In fact, while they cannot harm such beings, they seem to bring harm to a person who has become a host to the entity. Even then, the person can heal or regenerate from such wounds, but normal weapons and bullets may not do any damage at all by comparison. So weapons infused with those minerals have a higher chance of killing the host and sending the entity away than conventional weapons.
Anyway, I didn’t really have much to work with, so I just crafted a spear from a steel pipe and shards of the Angel’s Essence for the tip. It probably won’t do me much good, but without my rifle, I gotta make do with what I have. I can never know whether I’ll be attacked at sea, or attacked on my way back to the diner. Either way, I need something to defend myself with.
Day Two:
So I set out to sea yesterday. Yeah, I spent that long intro right before actually taking off on my ship. You know, like a dummy. I promise you I don’t make those mistakes often. Also, I feel like I can drop the formalities. Sorry ‘diary’, but you’re not that dear to me. You’re literally just a journal.
My first day at sea wasn’t very notable. In fact, it was quite boring. Just as I thought it would be. Gee, isn’t it great I have you? Or isn’t it great to have something to put my thoughts down? That’s all you are. Something to put my thoughts down. I promise, I don’t have very many thoughts. So you can rest assured that you won’t be used very often.
I caught a fish. Used a rope and made my spear into a harpoon. I’ve got months worth of snacks, so I need to be thankful that I’m not allergic to peanuts. All through the day, I shivered and...yeah, that’s nothing new. Let’s move on.
It’s a cold day today. It was a cold day yesterday. I wonder how far north I will have to go until the weather matches how I always feel. My guess isn’t long. I’m sure there will be some strong winds ahead. Some high tides, unstable waters.
I’ve never done this before. The whole sea thing. I feel like a pirate. Or a sailor. Except I’m not stealing anything and I have no sense of direction. It...it just dawned on me that there’s a very real possibility that I end up sailing in the wrong direction. This could go very wrong. Very wrong indeed.
Day Four:
Yesterday was just like the day before. There’s nothing new to note. I think I should have brought some books with me. Maybe buy a console, play some video games. I could have bought movies, a mini-TV, ANYTHING. Instead you’re all I have and I’m so lonely.
No. Ignore what I said. Please? Ok. Gonna cross it out now.
There. Done. Now no one will know.
Day Five:
Hi. How are you? I’m good. Let me re-introduce myself: I am Remora. Or Rhea. But I think when I see them again, I’ll be Remora again. I think I’d like that. Not the seeing them again part, but the Remora part. It just seems nice. Hey, I wonder if I’ll meet an actual remora while out at sea. It’s very possible, isn’t it? Maybe I’ll befriend a shark…
Never mind the last bit. I won’t cross it out, but this is just how things have been since out at sea. All around me is water. I can look out in every direction and I will just see water. Every now and then there’s a small bit of landmass. Like islands. Except they’re so small that NOTHING IS ON THEM.
You know what? That’s fine. That’s what an ocean’s supposed to be, right? A whole lot of water. If it wasn’t a lot of water, then what the hell kind of business does it have being called an ocean? Hmm? Something to think about. Anyway, I’m going to take a nap, try not to throw up. I’m finding I might be seasick, on top of constantly cold. Yeah, not so dignified for the once professional killer. That stoic, no-nonsense, whatever other adjectives. I’m not a weirdo. OK?
One thing I don’t understand about this, about myself as well, is why I’m putting in so much effort. I remember being alone before. Many times. I’ve enjoyed it, too. That solitude. That sense that I could be undisturbed, do things for myself, and live out the rest of my life alone. Now I’m going back. For others, no less. It’s just...this isn’t me, is it? It certainly feels like the me who first arrived to this world and the me now are two different people, and that person I was in the beginning...did I kill her? Did meeting those people kill the old me?
Day Six:
For the record, I don’t mind that I’m different than I used to be. In fact, for the longest time, I wanted to feel something, and have a connection with others, but I just never thought it possible. Is it still impossible? I’m not sure. I feel like I have emotions, though. Maybe that’s debatable, but I think my emotions are there somewhere.
There’s a lot of introspection to be had while out at sea. Alone. I’ve never really been that good at introspection. Or maybe it’s just something that happens regardless of good or not. I’m sure I’ve thought about myself a lot. Or at least I would hope so. For the longest time, I thought I was the only person I was able to care about.
...I think the truth is that I didn’t even care about myself. So many times I would take an injury as an excuse to die. Just be done with the shivering. Done with the coldness. Done with having to deal with myself. I think it’s not even that I didn’t care about myself, though. I think I cared about myself and it was because I did that I wanted an end to the constant discomfort. The constant pain. The parts of me that I wish never became. That killer, that lack of regard for the lives of others. If I just had some means of release, then I’d be free. No more pain, just a final, pleasant moment.
Anyway! I think one thing I ate today was trout. Couldn’t say for sure. I don’t think I can identify fish. If only Demetria was here with me. Not that I want her to be, just that she could help identify the fish I catch. No, I think I like being alone on this ship, actually. No one can tell me anything or say what’s “common sense”. As if I don’t know what common sense is. Not to mention, being all isolated like this where no one can see means that I can piss out into the ocean if I want to. No one can stop me.
Day Seven:
It’s been a week. I think. I swear the days aren’t slipping from me.
I’ve been thinking of new names….Noelle Fence? Like “No Offense”? Does that work? Maybe it doesn’t. Back to the drawing board. Why am I doing this? For fun. I don’t care about names, except the names that I like. Jeanne Denim? Hmm...no, I don’t think so.
I think I could go for some oysters. How do I catch them? I don’t have a net. This is so sad.
Day Ten:
I think I saw a seagull today. Or a dove. It could be a good sign. Or it could just be that it was a bird. Birds aren’t signs, they’re birds.
The past couple of days, I haven’t had any motivation to write in you. You’re toxic, I’m going to tell you right now. Just think about it: if I’m not careful with you, I’ll end up spilling some deep, personal stuff, and I’m not ready for that. I just want to pass some time while I make it to the arctic.
So what I do is nap all day. Nap and eat and stretch around. Do some sit ups. Imagine some scenario in my head. Sometimes I just think about some sea related things. Like mermaids. How big of boobs do mermaids have? Do they wear shells or are they full tits out? These are important things to think about when alone, out at sea.
Day Fourteen:
Sirens, mermaids...I know they were said to drag people into the depths, but has anyone ever had sex with one? No, it’s not a dignified thought. In fact, it’s not even a sanitary thought. Do you know how long seaweed grows to? How much algae is in the ocean? How salty it is? Now, I’m not saying I would...with a mermaid...but if I were to, they’d have to get aboard my ship. I’m not about to...with a mermaid...in the water. No thank you.
I think it’s been four days. But it might have only been a couple. Despite writing in this I think I’ve lost track of the days already. Don’t be mad at me, OK? There’s only so many nights and mornings I can take before they all bleed into each other. This is what a phone is for. Or a computer. Something. Alarm clock.
Day Fifteen:
How many more days? I think I saw some ice or something the other day. That would be thirteen days, right? Um...I wouldn’t mind licking a block of ice. Maybe a snow cone.
I’m still sane. As sane as I’ve always been. That should be noted.
Day Seventeen:
Let’s just pretend that numbers don’t exist. They don’t matter. Sometimes the sun comes up and sometimes it’s the moon. It’s going to be a month before I get there, huh? If I get there at all. Yeah. That’s a very real possibility looming over my head: the idea that I could never make it. That I could starve or die of dehydration. Or maybe, like I mentioned before, I’ll go the wrong way. Maybe I should just go south, just for fun. Who needs time? Who needs places?
I’m sorry. I don’t mean it.
Wait. What am I apologizing for? To whom? The Whomth?
Day Twenty-Five:
I’m still alive. Believe it or not. Yeah. Pretty impressive, huh? It’s been almost a month. I really can do anything all by myself. I can build myself a house (done it before, I can do it again). I can hunt alone. I can be alone. My whole life’s been defined by isolation, so this really isn’t anything different. That’s right: I’m the queen of isolation. The cold doesn’t bother me, anyway (except it does. It very much does. It bothers me all the time. To the point where it’s hard to sleep. If I get much sleep at all, it’s a broken one. Yet I’m so damn tired much of the time to the point it’s hard to keep my eyes open. Then there’s the shivering, the constant discomfort. Oh god. Why would I say that I’m fine when I’m most obviously not ever fine? It’s so obvious, too. Everyone can tell. I can’t even try to hide it and I hate it. It’s like please don’t notice me. Don’t perceive me. Don’t even have fantasies about me).
OK. I think if I stay on this page any longer, I might try to cry. I say “try to” because I don’t know if I will or if I can, just that if these thoughts go on much longer, I might want to. I can’t explain it any more than that.
Day Twenty-Seven:
I’ve done a lot of thinking these days. I know it was over a hundred years ago or so, but my mind drifts to the Titanic. It’s like, that thing crashed into an iceberg and that’s why it sunk. But I’m just thinking, like, it’s kind of the ship’s own fault, isn’t it? That iceberg’s just there minding its own business when a ship just decides to crash into it. Kind of rude on the ship’s part, don’t you think?
Not to mention, might I add, what kind of terrible ship doesn’t have good steering that it can’t just steer out of the way of the iceberg? I’m just thinking, like, even if there was a fog, they had to have seen it, right?
But, OK. Fine. So they tapped an iceberg. It couldn’t have been bad enough to make it sink, could it? Unless the Titanic was just feeling a little tipsy. We’ve all been there.
I suppose, I think, it was some kind of tragedy, and I guess it was sad for some people. Probably. I actually know very little about the Titanic. All I know is that there was a movie and French Girls, and Celine Dion, but I don’t think it was in that order.
To anyone who sees this: I’m sorry. But also why are you reading this? This is a private journal. I’m literally just out here, ALONE, in the middle of the fucking ocean, just sitting here. EXISTING. There should be no reason for you to read my journal.
Day Twenty-Eight:
I thought about tomatoes and I started to cry.
I didn’t actually cry, but I thought it would be cry-worthy. Like if it was going to go into a cry compilation, it may as well be tomatoes. It’s just...the make ketchup and tomato soup. That’s amazing stuff. How are we so blessed to have tomatoes? Oh, and don’t get me started on potatoes. I’ve never been a big potato fan but I wish now more than ever that I could just bite into a potato.
Day Twenty-Nine:
I’m starting to believe being alone isn’t as cool as I thought it was. Well, that’s the whole reason I’m out at sea in the first place, isn’t it? Because I want to see people again. People...people...Tigershark, Sunny, Ray...D...D...Dicksquad.
Sorry. I know what ‘D’ I’m thinking of and it has nothing to do with dicks. I just had to. I saw an opportunity and I took it.
Day Thirty:
I don’t know why I didn’t think of it the first time, but now I’m considering it: What if I’m supposed to be the iceberg? What if I’m supposed to throw myself overboard, then float along the surface of the water and wait for my ship to crash into me.
I know I shouldn’t think these thoughts. I just don’t have a very big imagination.
Day Thirty-Five:
I considered going a whole week without writing in this. I have to be independent. I can’t rely on things like journals to keep me company. It doesn’t show good character. Does it? I don’t know.
But, like, for the sake of argument, imagine me as a character for just a moment. Would you like me as a character? No, probably not. I don’t have much going for me. Sure, I have a backstory, I guess. But I think people with far more ordinary backstories probably have better characters just by virtue of being more of a person than me. That’s right: I’m not much of a person, let alone a character.
These tides are getting a bit wild. I’m thinking that my boat, no, ship, could rock, and the water will come onto the main deck and pull me in. I’ll be washed away as my skin will corrode and fade. Then...I’ll wash ashore, no pulse, on an island that nobody’s ever inhabited.
But let’s not think about that. Let’s think about how there are people out there in a cold place. People who are important to me for reasons I don’t quite understand but am ready to accept anyway. It’s still hard to believe I’m willingly going to a cold place. Like, yeah, me. Just go ahead and embrace the part of you that you hate. Why not?
Hate’s a strong word. I think there are things I hate more. I can’t think of what those things are right now, but I probably will tomorrow…
Day Thirty-Six:
Hate it when I don’t understand things. Hate when people lie or mislead me. Hate when people try to be a part of my life.
No. I don’t. I thought I did. It just annoyed me back then. I didn’t want any part of it. But I wish I did. I hate how sometimes I don’t know what I want or sometimes I want something that I didn’t want before. I hate that I want to understand things and sometimes the answer seems so clear and yet it doesn’t add up to me. Here. Let me elaborate:
IF I care about people, HOW do I care about people? How am I able? How is it possible? How can I tell that I care about people if it doesn’t become apparent?
There’s something else that I hate. It’s something else about myself. And maybe it’s not even a hate, but it’s something I don’t like: when I can’t tell something about myself, I just assume that it’s not something about myself, or it’s not possible. That line of thinking makes no sense, though. Like, imagine I’m gay. Like Demetria. No, I’m not saying I like Demetria. I’m saying, imagine. OK? Imagine I am.
You’re imagining, right? What I mean is, like, imagine I am a woman. And there is a woman. And I am attracted to that woman. And even if I don’t know I am attracted to that woman, or if I don’t know that I’m attracted to women at all, that doesn’t mean that I’m not attracted to women, right? That just means that I don’t know that about myself.
But that’s the hard thing! How do I know if I don’t know because if I don’t know, then I don’t know?! Like if I’m sad and I don’t know I’m sad I’m still sad. But how do I know I’m sad if I don’t know I’m sad? It’s just like, maybe I think I’m not when I am? But I still am.
AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA
Day Thirty-Seven:
Happy thoughts. Happy thoughts.
I hate that you can’t un-kill people.
Fuck. Those weren’t happy thoughts.
I’ve got a complicated relationship with my past. Something that’s probably easy to tell. I mean, it’s really affected how I feel about myself in the present, hasn’t it? My complicated relationship with...taking lives, and...it being a job.
I’m not sure if I feel remorse or if I just want to feel remorse. If I do, I can’t tell, but I don’t want to say I don’t, because I’ve made that mistake before. Thing is, if I do, it’s a little too late, isn’t it? It’s not too late to feel regrets or remorse, no, but it still feels too late. Because I never stopped to think much about the people I killed. Whether or not that I should have.
I know there’s something fundamentally wrong with me. Yet I still want to keep living anyway. This must be selfish.
Day Thirty-Eight:
Today I thought I saw a person. But I think it was just a porpoise. Or a manatee. Or seal. Or narwhal. Do narwhals actually exist? I don’t know.
I think if I saw a narwhal, I think I’d think they were pretty. Pretty narwhal of them. Don’t you think? I think they’re pretty narwhal, all right.
Day Thirty-Nine:
When I get there, I think I should put on a disguise, take on a new persona. No one’s expecting me back, and if I do present myself, then the one who’s targeting them, targeting me...the others could get hurt worse. I don’t want that to happen.
Besides, I bought a fake beard, I bought this sailor jacket and a sailor hat. I don’t want these things going to waste. I’ve even gotten myself fake sideburns. That ought to count for something, right?
Still, when I think about it...will anyone even want to see me again? I know how I left. It’s kind of my fault that they’re in the mess they’re in. I left them when I knew, or at least suspected, that our troubles weren’t over. It’s careless of me. Poor judgment. But now I’m going to return, return to what is apparently now a foggy wasteland.
What’s it even going to look like? Will I find my way there? I hope so. I miss them. I probably don’t even deserve to see them again, they may want nothing to do with me. I’m half-hoping that’s the case. I think I’d understand. Even still, I want to see them again. I want them to be safe. Even if I deserve the worst of the worst...they don’t. They just don’t.
I’m sorry. I really don’t like being alone.
Day Forty:
I’m going to die out here, aren’t I?
Day Forty-Two:
If I’m going to disguise myself as a sailor, I need a sailor name, don’t I? Problem is, I don’t know too many sailors. Fictional or otherwise. Maybe there’s Popeye. Dude sure loved his spinach.
OK. Let’s brainstorm, you and I.
There’s that Dick book. The one about the whale. Captain...Ahab, I think? Yeah. That sounds right. So what if I was...Captain Amab? Afab? No. That doesn’t sound right. Amab sounds like Mab, like Midsummer Night’s Dream. Queen Mab. Afab sounds nice, like “a fabulous person” but I just don’t know…
I think Acab will work. Kinda sounds like taxi cab, but not. Also, his enemy was a dick, right? Um...a whale. Named Dick. Moby? Moby was a Dick? Yeah. Sounds right. So I should have my villain origin story. I mean sailor. Look, being a character is hard.
So I don’t know why that guy had whale problems. Like that’s just normal people problems, I guess? Not really. I don’t see how someone could hold a grudge against a whale. A whale isn’t human, even if they are a mammal. Now, a duck sounds truly fearsome. You never quite know what a duck is thinking. Yet they quack all the same.
“For whom the duck quacks. It quacks for thee.”
So Moby Duck sounds much better. Much more respectable. I think I could write a novel. Probably better than whoever wrote Moby Dick. Make way for the Duck, people.
Ducks aren’t people. Some people are real dicks, though. Hmm...I wonder if that’s where the term comes from.
Day Forty-Three:
I see land! Or an iceberg!
I guess you’ll have to find out tomorrow. If I don’t write anything tomorrow, then you can assume the worst. I’ve never been one for last words or anything like that. I always just figured when the end comes, it’ll just come and that’ll be that. For what it’s worth, I always figured the end would come at any moment. Or hoped so. Now I don’t want it to come. Not just yet. But the end doesn’t care for what we want, does it?
Day Forty-Four:
You. You’ve been there for me during this whole journey. For that, I couldn’t be more thankful. Even if it was really just myself...talking to myself...it’s enough to know I had something with me. I’ll remember you. But probably not for very wrong.
Anyway, you can probably guess why I’m writing in this. It’s true: I arrived. No, not at the diner. Just on land. But I recognize some of the area. Or I think I can. If I’m wrong, well...maybe you’ll know. But I’ m hoping you won’t. Because I want to be right.
Also my ship crashed. It was a big storm and it was hard to get by. For some reason that feels secondary to everything else. After all, I survived. So I’m going to leave you behind. Right here within the wreckage of my ship. It’s really a good thing I never named her. But now I think I know why ships get called ‘she’. I think it’s just a symptom of loneliness.
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The Powers That Be
TITLE: The Powers That Be CHAPTER NO./ONE SHOT: Chapter Thirty
AUTHOR: wolfpawn ORIGINAL IMAGINE: Imagine Loki discovering a hidden mutant when he realises they are at risk of being found by S.H.I.E.L.D. who experiments on mutants, he is the one to help them.
RATING: Teen and Up
A week passed with no word. Thor went in search of the supposed suitor; Loki went did everything to prevent Alexia from finding out, and Alexia told neither of what she already knew.
“His name is Roan, son of Marcus of the Light Elves,” Thor stated to Loki as they sat in his private rooms, discussing the situation.
“The Marcus that is a brother to Diarmaid?”
“The one and the same.”
“Correct me if I am wrong, but is not this Roan older than us?”
“By over half a millennia.” Thor nodded.
“So not only do they want her wed and bred, but by one far too old for her.” Loki shook his head. “Norn’s this is all madness.”
“I know brother.” Thor sighed; he too was feeling the pressure of it all. “I have spoken with him with regards it; he thought I knew all along.”
“And his reaction?”
“Like one that has come into a lifetime supply of free mead.” Loki’s face filled with rage. “Think about it Loki, she is powerful and not too hard to look at by many standards, and by Elvin ones, she is deemed very exotic.”
Loki shot to his feet in anger. “We took her from that hovel of a realm to prevent her from something like this, in fact, this is worse than what they had planned. Death is a better fate than this, for, in death, she would not be forced to endure.”
“Perhaps you are over-exaggerating there Loki.” Thor dismissed.
“You think that so, then tell me, Thor, though you and indeed I cannot fathom the idea of bearing a child, could you imagine the idea of being capable of carrying one for a moment, and then that you would be forced to do so against your will? You saw mother’s maids when they bore children; they were effectively useless at their job towards the end and were more company for her than anything because that is what such a task takes from the body.” Loki snapped. Thor admitted defeat after that and said no more on the matter. “I am going to go and take out my frustrations on an inanimate object before I get too angry at something I should not.” Loki rose to his feet and made to leave.
“I think I should do similar, I just need to check one thing first, and I will speak with you again later.” Thor agreed, getting to his feet himself and making his way to his sleeping quarters.
Loki strutted down the hall, his pace swift and his mind even more so. Everything had become everything he had tried to prevent. By taking Alexia from Midgard, by training her, he had done what he could to protect her, only for her to be dealt an even crueller hand on Asgard. He cursed himself, wondering internally why everything he touched turned to ash; even when he was trying to be good, he failed.
“So, I was just introduced to Roan.” He turned to see Alexia standing behind him in the hallway; there was no manner for her to be standing there only after he went by, he would have had to go by, and ignore her as he did so.
“What?”
“Roan, bit older than you and Thor, Light Elf, shares a couple of features with Diarmaid, are they related?”
“Yes.” Loki nodded, eyeing her carefully for her reactions. “Why are you telling me of someone you were introduced to? You have been forced to meet pretty much every second being in the Nine Realms at this stage.”
“No truer words were spoken.” She agreed; her face contorted slightly, indicating her dislike for the sheer amount of people she had been forced to endure. “Well, I spent the morning walking around the gardens with this Roan.”
“And?” Loki kept his face neutral, terrified of what Alexia was going to say next.
“He was really nice actually. He proposed and I said yes.” Alexia stated deadpan, causing Loki to blanch in horror at her words, which in turn, caused her to erupt in laughter. “Sorry, I couldn’t resist.” She stated in between gasps of breaths.
Loki had to inhale deeply after that. “That was not funny.”
“I beg to differ.” Loki glared at her. “I am trying to make the best of what can only be described as a terrible situation.” Loki stared at her silently. “Yes Loki, I know what is happening.”
“How?”
“Word of advice, if trying to prevent me from knowing something, don’t discuss it openly just up from where I am training after I see you and go out of sight.”
“You were listening to us?”
“It was a public viewing platform, I was going to say hello and instead got some fairly depressing news.”
“I did not want you to know, I thought it too angering.”
“Well I appreciate it, but with due respect, I really needed the forewarning about Lord Up-His-Own-Ass, thankfully I have been doing some research of my own.”
Loki frowned at her. “How? Who would you know here that would be able to get that information for you?”
“You forget one pivotal thing Loki, my maids, were your mother’s maids, and if there is one thing they know, it is everything.”
“I do not follow.”
“People think because maids and servants are just plebs and peasants, they are not intelligent and as good as part of the furniture, and in such, they are forgotten about when matters of great privacy are discussed, so, in truth, they know a substantial amount and when I asked my maids to find out who the potential suitors were, they asked Odin’s servants, and they told them.”
Loki made a mental note to remember that the next time he wished to discuss something private, he should dismiss his servants first. “I see, so you knew of Roan.”
“And the potential other suitor.”
“Wait, how did you?” she raised a brow at him. “Right, Odin’s servants.”
“Actually not that time no. That tidbit of information comes to us with thanks to the kitchen maids, who served Odin and the foreign and domestic Lords as they discussed those matters.”
“Do any of the palace staff keep anything to themselves?” he asked.
“It appears not; and thank goodness for that.” Loki gave her a scathing look. “Do you want to know who it is your father wanted me married off to or not?”
“He is not my father.”
“Okay, daddy issues.”
“Just tell me.”
“Thor.”
“WHAT?”
“T H O R, Thor. As in, your adopted brother, the future king of Asgard, big blonde dude with a hammer, likes to sneeze lightning bolts, you know, that guy.”
“Why?” he asked in horror. “If that Jane character was not deemed worthy enough for him, why on all the realms would he insist on you?”
“Gee, thanks for the confidence boost there.” She stated in a deadpan voice. “Because, you idiot, think about it, then I would be even more allied to this house, and of course, the very obvious thing of me controlling four elements, and Thor controlling another. If the idea that I could spawn one powerful wielder could come to pass, it would heighten the chances if there was more than one parent to contribute such genes.”
“I am going to be ill.”
Alexia slapped his arm. “You are? How do you think I feel? It isn’t you that they want to shove Thor's four hundred pound ass onto, and let's not get into any more detail than that, I don’t want to lose my breakfast.”
“Actually, in that unit of measurement, Thor weighs over six hundred pounds,” Loki informed her.
“Great, so I would ultimately be flattened. Yeah, not happening. I love Thor, the same way I would have loved a brother, big, burly and over protective of me, but yeah, no way in a million years would I want to have sex with him.”
“Good to know.” Loki shuddered. “So all this time, you knew?”
“Yep.” She popped the ‘p’ at the end. “And I know you have been actively trying to stop me from finding out.”
“Well, that was a waste of a week of my life.” Loki groaned.
“So what do we do now?”
“We?”
“Do you honestly think I am going to sit around listening to some dry balls talk about himself day and night while you and brother dearest try and get this sorted, like hell, I am getting involved too?”
“Right, well, then, let’s get a plan together.” Loki tried to think.
“I have an idea if you are interested,” Alexia suggested, Loki looked at her with keen interest.
X x X x X
“What?” Odin growled angrily. “What do you mean she is requesting an audience at this hour?” the Einherjar looked at him, wondering if that was a rhetorical question.
The doors to the Allfather’s rooms opened and Alexia walked in, Loki and Thor in tow. “Requesting would imply I would take no for an answer.” She declared, coming to a halt in front of him. “We need to discuss a little matter.”
Odin looked to the two Gods behind her, Thor looked somewhat sheepish, and Loki had the appearance of a cat that had been locked into a dairy cellar for the night. “And pray tell, what is this ‘little matter’?” he asked cautiously.
“One Roan, actually, for all his talking, I don’t think he ever mentioned a surname.” Alexia found herself forced to go over the elf’s mindless rambles again to try and recall if he had mentioned it.
Thor leant in close to her for a moment. “Light Elves do not have such things.” He informed her.
“So how do they know who another one is referring to?” She asked him before dismissing her own question. “I’m getting off point. I know why I am being forced to endure him, and it stops now.” she glared at the Allfather. “And before you even dare blame either Loki or Thor, they did not tell me; I am not a fool, I know you may not see me as being on a par with you, but I am intelligent enough to know what is afoot, and I am not having anything to do with it.”
“It…”
“Should have been discussed with me to even start with. I am not some horse that won the Kentucky Derby; I am allowed to decide for myself if and when I may choose to have kids. But for the record, the answer to that was going to be the thirty-seventh of Never. I am not maternal, I am not in a position to be having children anyway, and forcing some weird self –obsessed elf on me just because he comes from a strong line of elves is not going to change my mind. Besides, no one even asked if I was that way inclined.” She ranted.
Odin frowned, not knowing what a ‘Kentucky Derby’ was and at the last part. “I do not follow.”
“What if I do not like men, what if I am attracted to women?” she challenged, even Thor and Loki looked at her then. “Well, no one asked.”
“What in the Norn’s are you speaking of?” Odin queried, utterly confused.
“Is there not different sexual orientations here?” she turned to Loki and Thor.
“Not really, if one finds one form more attractive than the other, they tend to still procreate, it is what is expected of you, once you do your duty, extramarital affairs of whatever sort do not tend to be an issue,” Thor informed her, having seen enough of Midgard to know of their different lifestyles.
“Yeah, either way, still not happening.” Alexia dismissed. “And before you even go and say anything else, your personal idea of a suitor is a non-runner either.”
“Wait, how does she know more than we do?” Thor asked Loki, who was smiling at him, awaiting the next bombshell, knowing that Thor had no idea who she was referring to. His grin concerned Thor significantly. “What? What do you know that I do not, and do not say a lot?” Thor growled, but Loki’s grin only grew. Thor looked to his father, who could not meet his eye. “No.” he then looked to Alexia, who gave the slightest of nods, confirming his suspicion. “No, never, not in a hundred millennia.” He declared, repulsed at the idea of being forced on the small Midgardian he had wanted to protect.
“You need to think of what is best for the realms,” Odin growled angrily at his son.
“And you think that is to force a friend to bear my child, what can you possibly hope to achieve from such an act?” Thor bellowed in return.
“He wants a brat that can control all the elements you two do,” Loki informed him, enjoying the mayhem from his front row seat.
“It is what is best,” Odin repeated. “Stop being a petulant child and see what is required of you as a future King and Allfather. You are a better choice that Roan of Alfheim.”
“No, I most certainly am not,” Thor argued.
“Well, no he has a point, should I take leave of my senses and agree to anyone to do this sick little breeding programme, it is you over that other dry balls, but it won’t be happening at all.” She turned to look at Odin again. “If you want my help at all, you will let me do things my way, and perhaps, if you do not pull any more stunts, I may consider staying here and willingly helping Asgard, if not, I go back to Midgard.”
“They will kill you,” Odin stated.
“I rather die, to be honest.” She stared him straight in the eye, to show him she was serious.
#loki#other#submission#submitted fic#wolfpawn#chapter 30#the powers that be#S.H.I.E.L.D.#mutant#discovering#hidden#risk#experiment#help
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Can u do 80, 28, and 1 with Starlord, Gamora and Baby Groot going on a road trip?
1. “Pull over. Let me drive for a while.” // 28. “Drive safely.” // 80. “Is your seatbelt on?”
omg this one turned out super long, hope you enjoy it!!!
send me a ship + a number for a way to say “I love you”!!!
“Ha! Did’ya see that guy’s face when I hit him overth’head?” Rocket barks out a laugh, looking up at Drax. “He looked so stupid!”
“He was not expecting your attack,” Drax replies, just asjoyous.
“Oh, oh, or how about when…”
Peter tunes out Rocket and Drax’s conversation as theyreturn to the Milano. Though Rocket’s boasting tends to include exaggeratedsummaries of the events of their missions, this assignment had proven to be abig win for the team. They’d successfully apprehended some of Thanos’ goons for a bounty placed on them by the planet’s government without any major problemsor explosions (Peter is especiallygrateful for that one) in half the time they’d expected the operation to take.
“An’ now we got all this extra downtime and extra money!”Rocket yells, bringing Peter’s attention back to him and the others.
“I am Groot!” Groot cheers from his place on Rocket’s shoulder.
“We should take advantage of this,” Drax suggests. “It isnot often we finish a mission this prosperously.”
“I think we can afford to take a short break,” Gamoraagrees, looking to Peter for approval. She’s become something like asecond-in-command (or, really, honestly,his co-leader of the team) lately.
Anyway, they’ve been working a little harder than usuallately, trying to get back into the groove of things since everything with Egoand Yondu happened a couple months prior. The idea of some vacation time honestly sounds like a godsend to Peter.
“Alright, let’s take a few days, maybe three or four, tops,”Peter decides, looking at each of his friends. “I think if we stayed on theMilano or the Quadrant any longer, we’d go stir-crazy.”
“I vote we put the extra money to good use at the nearestbar,” Rocket says, lifting his paw.
“You’re going to spend your entire break at a bar?” Gamoraraises an eyebrow, crossing her arms over her chest.
“Not the entirebreak, maybe just a li’l part of every day,” Rocket insists.
“I am Groot!” Groot looks up at everyone hopefully.
“What the hell? No,you cannot come with us to a bar!” Rocket declares, looking at Groot indisbelief. “You’re too young!”
“A bar is not a suitable place for a child,” Drax sayssolemnly.
“I am Groot…”
“One of us will stay with you while the others go out, stopmopin’, Groot,” Rocket says.
Groot frowns.
“I’ll stay with you, Groot,” Gamora says, crouching down toRocket’s height. Groot jumps from Rocket’s shoulder to Gamora’s outreachedhand, looking up at her. “I, personally, don’t want to spend three days in arow at a bar.”
“Everyone can do whatever they want, so long as it’s legal,”Peter announces, trying to placate everyone. “The bar isn’t mandatory.”
“Suit yourself.” Rocket shrugs. “Drax?”
“I’ll accompany you, creature.”
And that settles things. Within ten minutes, Rocket and Draxexit the Milano in search of the nearest bar. Peter watches them as they leave.Gamora, with Groot sitting on her shoulder, comes to stand beside him.
“You’re not going with them?” she inquires.
“Nah,” he says. “I’m not really in a bar mood. More in arelaxing mood, y’know?”
“This planet is far too beautiful to spend all our time onit inside of a bar,” she says. Though they’ve never traveled here before,Peter’s often heard of its amazing sights, which reminded him of theNational Parks like Yosemite back on Earth.
“Yeah.” Peter sighs. “I heard there’s a nice beach only acouple hours away from here, too. If only we had…”
Gamora looks up at him in an are-you-serious way.
“Wait. We do havetime!”
“You did declaretime for a vacation for the team,” she reminds him.
“Right, right…Okay, it’s settled.” Peter nods. “Road trip,first thing tomorrow!”
As he celebrates the idea with a loud, “Wooohooo!”, Gamoralooks to Groot and asks, “What’s a road trip?”
“Please don’t kill Groot with your driving,” is Rocket’s wayof seeing them off the next morning.
“Gee, how about a ‘drive safely,’ or, ‘I’ll miss you guys,’or, ‘can’t wait until you come back,’?” Peter retorts, rolling his eyes as hefinishes packing. He slings his backpack over his shoulders.
“You’re right, I’m sorry, that was impolite of me,” Rocketsays, though Peter knows not to expect much from his tone. “What I meant wasplease feel free not to come back for a week so we can have a longer break.”
“I am Groot,” Groot insists from where he’s sitting onGamora’s bag, off to the side.
“I would not getlonely!” Rocket insists.
“I am Groot.”
“Y’know what? I take it back. Quill, please kill Groot withyour driving.”
“No one’s killing anyone with their driving,” Gamora says asshe enters the room, holding up her communication device. “I’ll have this withme so you and Drax can contact us in case anything happens.”
“Nothing’s gonna happen,” Rocket insists.
“The last time you said that, something blew up,” Petersays.
“That was onetime!” Rocket protests.
“You nearly got into a fight at the bar last night,” Draxrecalls. “You told a man his head was shaped like a fruit, and then he—“
“Ugh, fine, we’llbe good!” Rocket cuts him off. “Now just leave already, ya two love birds.”
“Gladly,” Peter says, picking up Groot, who climbs up ontohis shoulder. Gamora picks up her bag and comes to stand beside him.
“Please stay outof trouble, seriously,” shepractically begs Drax and Rocket.“And call us if anything—“
“—happens, yes, I know, I’ll let ya know if Ronan comes backfrom the flarkin’ dead to get revenge,” Rocket says, rolling his eyes. “Drivesafe, or whatever.”
“Drive safely,” Drax echoes more earnestly, placing a handon Peter’s shoulder.
“Yeah, uh, thanks,” Peter says, nodding. “We should be backin two days.”
The cars on this planet remind Peter of the ones back onEarth, but more hi-tech. Though he never learned how to drive there (hissixteenth birthday was spent very far away from Earth, after all), he’s learnedenough from his time on different planets over the years.
So after about five minutes of bickering over who has moredriving experience, which led to asking Groot to choose who should drive forthem, they’re on the road, Peter behind the wheel and Gamora in the passengerseat with Groot perched on her shoulder, mesmerized while watching the quicklypassing scenery out the window.
A new song comes on the car’s stereo from his Zune, whichPeter had managed to hook up via a cord he found lying around the Milano (thismust be what everyone on Earth uses to play music now in the car, he thinks).
Gamora looks over at him. “What’s this song?”
“’Tiny Dancer,’ Elton John, 1971,” Peter recites. “My momand I didn’t listen to it much, but it’s a pretty cool song.”
It fits their current setting, in a way. Something about thesong just fits with driving on what’s basically a freeway.
“Back on Terra, we’d drive to get everywhere,” he suddenlysays, thinking of the days spent just driving down the rural roads of Missouriwith his mom, singing along to every song on the radio. Though she’d bedriving, she often danced, too, which isn’t the safest thing to do when driving (well, technically, you shouldn’tbe doing anything else besides driving while driving, Peter figures), but theroads never had too much traffic for it to be a problem. “Everyone would learnto drive when they’re a teenager. Or, well, that part of life when you aren’tquite an adult, but you’re not a kid anymore, either.”
“Which is why you never properly learned.”
“Learn by doing, as they say.”
She smiles at that, looking out at the road in front ofthem. “I didn’t travel much as a child,” she says. “On my home planet,everything we needed was in walking distance.”
��I’m jealous,” he admits. “I’d much rather have walked toschool than take the bus every day. It was basically this really big car thatcould fit a bunch of kids, so it would pick up all the kids at different placesto take us all to school. Kids on there could really be assholes.”
“I struck fear into bullies’ hearts,” she says proudly.
He rolls his eyes. “Of course you did.”
Their conversation mainly consists of childhood memories anddiscourse on whatever song came on via his Zune’s shuffle. Some they’drecognize instantly, and brought to mind specific memories of time spent withthe Guardians, while others are judged for whether or not they’d dance to it.
(More often than not, the answer is yes.)
“I like this U2,” Gamora says after another U2 songfinishes.
“Yeah, they were just getting big around the timeYondu picked me up,” Peter says, checking over his shoulder before changinglanes. “I wonder whatever happened to them.”
She studies him for a moment. “Have you ever thought aboutreturning to Terra?”
He’s caught off guard by her question. Of course, it’dcrossed his mind more often than not over the years, especially in the timejust after Yondu first grabbed him. But, as time faded, and the grief over hismother’s death set in more permanently within him, he found himself preferringouter space.
“I used to a lot when I was a kid,” he finally answers. “Notso much anymore. It just kinda pales in comparison to other planets, y’know?”
“Even though it’s your heritage?”
Months ago, he would’ve gotten defensive over questioninglike this coming from anyone, evenGamora. But now?
He glances over at her, meeting her eyes for a moment.There’s no judgment there—after all, he actually has a home planet to go backto, while he’s well aware of the state of Gamora’s former home and lack of lifeleft on it, so it’d make sense for Gamora to envy him or just feel hostile toward him, in a way. But there’snone of that; she’s simply curious, in a way that he knows is out of her own concernfor him.
He turns his eyes back to the road ahead of them with ashrug. “It’s still my heritage, but shit happened there that just kinda spoiledit forever. I mean, maybe I’ll changemy mind and return someday, but for now…”
She nods, accepting his answer. “I’ll support you eitherway.”
Of course she will, because she’s Gamora. Peter smiles at her. “Thanks.”
She points to a place where they can exit the road ahead.“Pull over. Let me drive for a while. We should be halfway there by now.”
Following her gaze, he spots what appears to be theequivalent of a freeway exit, with a rest stop and a place to eat. “You sure? Ican keep driving, I don’t mind.”
“I am Groot,” Groot says before Gamora can reply. His eyesare on the front windshield now, rather than the passenger side window, and hepoints a finger toward the exit.
“You’re hungry?” Peter asks for confirmation. “Still don’t understand how trees get hungry…or can digest food.”
Groot nods.
“Well, guess we’re stopping either way.”
Stomachs filled, they pile back into the car, this time withGamora behind the wheel and Peter in the passenger seat. Groot settles into hisusual spot on Peter’s shoulder.
“If you get tired you can sit on my leg,” Peter remindsGroot, making eye contact with him in the side mirror. “Or the cup holder, Iguess.”
“I am Groot.”
“Okay, no cup holder then, that’s fine.”
“Is your seatbelt on?” Gamora asks absentmindedly whilebuckling in herself.
“Was that directed at me or Groot?” Peter jokes.
“Both.”
“Yes, ma’am.” He buckles in.
“Good.” She starts driving then, pulling out of the parkinglot.
“T-minus two hours until we get to our destination,” Peterannounces, plugging his Zune back in and scrolling through the songs. “Anymusic requests?”
“You pick,” she says, picking up speed as they’re back onthe freeway-road-thing.
He smirks, halting his scrolling as he comes across just theright song. He clicks on it, and as the familiar chords fill the car, Gamoraactually laughs and Peter’s convincedit’s the most precious thing he’s ever heard.
“Are you trying to tell me something with this song,Star-Lord?” she teases.
“What can I say?” he says, all too casually. “I fooledaround and fell in love, after all.”
I wanted to add in some team fam love by having rocket and drax say “drive safely” and gamora partially directing “is your seatbelt on?” to groot ;))) also, snuck in a reference to my fav band in there, heh
send me a ship + a number for a way to say “I love you”!!!!
#starmora#gamora#peter quill#guardians of the galaxy#grootiez#mcu#fanfiction#tumblr exclusive#for once I wrote something that was simply just fluff with no angst????#incredible
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