#mainly i’m just offering a place of no judgement where we can talk

[mymarifae]

can we talk about something.

because. okay, look. the way that i’ve come to understand dess’s disappearance is:

she went into the bunker.

inside the bunker is another dark world. the “original” dark world, so to speak.

i believe she discovered the dark world on her own, after fiddling with and eventually breaking the lock on the bunker doors over the course of several days. she was just curious about what was inside. excited, she tried to bring asriel, noelle, and kris along to show them the amazing world inside the bunker. due to circumstances i’m about to get to, only kris and possibly noelle made it in with her.

something went wrong, and only kris (and noelle, if she was there, and for the rest of this post i’m going to just roll with the idea that she was) made it out. noelle ended up repressing most of the incident, while kris retained enough of it to try to tell people about the world inside the bunker. no one believed them, but the place just... feels a bit haunted now. it was already creepy enough before it became associated with dess’s disappearance. i’m more or less certain that if snowy hadn’t interrupted them, monster kid would have said, “what if there’s really another world in there?”

side note: i think there’s a good chance that kris, until recent events, was starting to believe the world in the bunker was just a dream, too. but now they know it really was real. now they might know where dess is. (double side note: i don’t think kris is the knight who opened the fountains in the supply closet and the abandoned classroom. that was someone else. who? idk. they might have been the one who opened the fountain in the library, though.)

the night of the bunker misadventure just so happened to be the night of one of the worst blizzards hometown has ever seen.

the snow started coming down about halfway to the bunker. dess reassured everyone that they would be fine and could wait it out there; they just needed to hurry; she seemed so confident and so sure, that everyone chose to trust her judgement. unfortunately, the storm got worse very quickly. it became hard to see, and for little kris and noelle, it was hard to keep up in the wind. the group began to separate. kris and noelle ended up at the bunker with dess, while asriel got turned around and started walking back towards town, where he ran into the frantic search party comprised of all their parents, undyne, and some other adults.

i’m pretty insistent on dess’s disappearance coinciding with a snowstorm but not really having anything to do with it because, for one, it offers an explanation for noelle’s seemingly trauma-related response to the cold (that one customer in the store saying she sometimes just stands with the freezer door open, staring inside). and if there was a snowstorm the same night she vanished, then—well, it’s easy to declare the cause for her disappearance, isn’t it? it’s strange that a body was never found, but if monsters in deltarune turn to dust after death (i’m still not convinced they necessarily do), then maybe it’s not so strange. in the strong winds, her dust would have been long gone. or: who knows what wild animal could have gotten a hold of her?

that’s just the official declaration, though. that doesn’t mean everyone in hometown buys it. but that’s besides the point.

and mainly i insist on this because now we have a very interesting parallel to draw between her and berdly in the snowgrave route. both “vanish” in a terrible, terrible snowstorm. (i don’t think it’s a coincidence that the visuals for snowgrave look like a blizzard.) but i was thinking about it, and we can take the parallel further actually.

we are all more or less in agreement that it’s pretty damn likely that dess is stuck in the void/code of the game like gaster is. there’s a good chance that she’s the voice in the strings that’s calling for help. so, going off of how i interpret her disappearance—if she’s just in a dark world, that doesn’t make much sense, right? how did she get into the void from there? and even if no one believed kris’s story, the bunker would have been searched. like, the “world inside the bunker” bit sounds like a stretch, but any reasonable adult would conclude that the kids probably tried to take shelter in there. but if the bunker had been searched, then they would have discovered the dark world in there, right??

okay, well. what if the fountain had been sealed?

i’m not sure who/what/how. i’m leaning towards some kind of freak accident. it seems that kris’s process for sealing the fountains is pretty automatic, so maybe if they were just... brought too close to it. maybe this is where their issues with their soul started. i don’t know. what i do have an idea of is this: the two times we’ve seen a fountain sealed, it “cleans up” a bit. the lightners are brought back into their world in a way that makes sense, either to them (noelle and berdly thinking they’re waking up from an accidental nap) or to anyone who might walk in on them (kris and susie looking like they just hung out in the old classroom playing chess and old board games). it’s a combination of intent and whether the lightners believe the dark world is real or not. so when dess uses all of her strength to pick up noelle and kris and shove them out of the world that’s crumbling away into nothingness, at her own expense, they are quite literally shoved out of the bunker and into the cold snow outside, quickly falling unconscious due to shock and because they probably hit their heads, and the double doors of the bunker swing shut behind them.

and dess is swept away with the dark world. she’s now stuck in-between the worlds of light and dark. she exists, and yet, she doesn’t. she has gaster for company, and yet, she doesn’t.

the snowgrave route has raised the question of what happens when a lightner’s soul is stuck when a dark fountain is sealed. what if the popular theory for dess’s fate is our answer? i think berdly’s case would be different in a lot of ways, for a lot of reasons, but the core of it remains the same. he’s stuck between existence and nonexistence, able to be reached through what is—from our perspective but who knows what it is from an in-universe perspective—the code of the game.

perhaps because he is a lightner, he is a little more There, a little more consistent, than gaster’s fragmented self. dess has someone to talk to. someone who happened to be her little sister’s close friend, someone who can tell her about the person noelle has grown into over the years. someone, who can tell her that something is wrong.

could be interesting if, together, they found a way to tear through the boundaries of reality and broke into a future dark world. i’m not sure how they would manifest, because while i’ve settled on dess retaining her body, years in the void has caused her to become a little more..malleable. kinda like mr. goop-i-mean-gaster. and the idea with berdly is that because his body was frozen in the dark world, his consciousness/soul/self/whatever you want to call it was separated and thrown into the void. he’s not physical, at all. but all that just opens the door to some fun design possibilities, doesn’t it? :)

[alreadyblondenow]

Two is better than one

Pairing: Lifeguard!Mark Lee x female!reader

Genre: SMUT, FLUFF

WC: 2,857k

Warnings: unprotected sex, couch sex, quickie, swearing, mentions of making out, this drabble is very light smut and fluffy HEHE

A/N: NOT PROOFREAD. I’ll fix it once I have time. Please let me be, I just want to write something fluffy for Mark to take away all my stress. For Neo Smut Collective’s Sunny Side.

———

There’s this one guy in school that your friends have been telling you to date during summer vacation because you’re the only single gal in your circle of friends. Of course that’s completely fine, but whenever your friends has double dates and they wanted you to come, you simply turn them down because you don’t want to be a burden during their date.

“And that’s why we’ve been telling you to date Mark, give him a chance, he’s a nice dude. Not to mention very good looking,” Your friend whines while she scans the clothes on the rack.

“I know what he looks like and I know that he’s nice,” you giggle at what your friend said, “but we don’t know if he wants to date. What if he’s perfectly fine with being single too? Seriously you guys, you’re wasting your time. I’m fine with being single,”

“Oh honey you can’t fool us. Admit it, you don’t want to date Mark because you want him to earn it, and not because we set you up with him” she smirked.

If you’re being honest, what she said was partly true. Partly. It’s true that yes, you wanted him to make the first move and actually like you first before you go on a date with him. And what you said earlier about being happy while you’re single is also true.

And the reason why you wanted him to like you first is because there’s no doubt that you will like him back. He’s Mark Lee. The guy is basically perfect and you knew already that falling for him is not going to be hard. He’s cool, funny, loud and you heard that he’s actually nice with everyone and not in a flirty way.

Given that you’re single and you’re used to do things alone, on a perfectly good day and nice weather, you decided to get some sun at the beach alone. With your juice on the side and a book on your hand, this day is going to be perfect you thought.

But while you were admiring the beach while siping on your drink, you saw a familiar figure sitting on the lifeguard chair which immediately made you remove your sunglasses so you could have a good look at him and to confirm your own judgement if you were right. And yes, you were right. It’s Mark Lee. Guarding the beach with no shirt on and just wearing his beach shorts... looking so hot and handsome with his shades on while smiling back to you.

Wait-

Just when you realized that he caught you looking at him, you feel so jumpy and nervous for no reason and you avoided him immediately. Going back to reading your book, just reading and not actually understanding a word. But when you saw him come down from that tall chair and saw him heading towards you, you suddenly got up and gathered your stuff with panic movements.

“Is she avoiding me?” Mark murmured to himself while walking towards you. “Wait! Look behind you-“ he shouted and tried warning you about the waiter carrying a tray of cold beverages. But too late because you already bumped on him and spilled different kinds of juices on your swimsuit.

“Don’t worry about it I’ll pay for it” he said to you while wrapping a towel around you and keeping you close to him. “Come on, let’s get you cleaned up”

And just like that, without further discussions, you found yourself in Mark’s arms. Heading over their backdoor and you, entering his house for the first time. Everything happened so fast that you didn’t have time to refuse his offer of getting you cleaned up. He brought you straight to his cozy room, preparing the bathroom for you and telling you that if you need anything else just call him.

“Uhm... Mark?” You shout from the bathroom.

“Yeah? You need something?”

“My clothes are ruined and wet because of the juice-“

“Right, uhm... Gotcha! I-I’ll leave the clothes on the floor, okay” and off he goes to his closet to look for something that you could wear. Mark was all jumpy and nervous as he heads to the bathroom door and leave the clothes on the floor. This was all his fault, if he didn’t startled you by running towards you at the beach, you would’ve stayed in your comfort under the sun and the accident wouldn’t happen.

“I’ll pay for the damage and I’ll make sure to bring your clothes back immediately”

“No, don’t worry about it. Uhm... the restaurant, we own it. So don’t worry about it” he said nervously. Smiling so big in front of you. “So you know my name, huh? Why’d you ran off like that earlier?”

“Hmm. To be honest I got shy. And it’s so stupid, now I’m humiliated” you put your on your face and let out an awkward laugh, Mark did too but you notice that he can’t stop looking at you. That’s when you noticed that he has a pretty big head, beautiful eyes and sharp cheekbones. In other words, you’ve never appreciated his handsome features quite this close.

At the end of the day, Mark walked you home and you had a good talk with him. Taking it as a chance for apologizing to him for whenever you don’t show up during planned double dates. Turns out he never showed up too. Does that means he’s not interested with dating? Or with you in general?

A week after that unforgettable interaction with Mark, you found yourself looking at the neatly folded sweatpants and hoodie in front of you while thinking long and hard if you’re going to message Mark first and let him know that you’re going to his house to bring back the clothes... but it looks like you’re flirting with him already and you don’t like that... “fuck it” you murmured and head to their house just because you knew you’d have to return his clothes eventually. And just when you were a couple of blocks away, he came from behind and tickled you on your waist. Making you jolt and turn around with quick and sharp movements. He giggled and greeted you with a handsome smile, surprised that he even looked dashing with a shirt on.

“No lifeguard duty?” you asked, returning his big smiles with awkward ones.

“Just finished, that’s why you have no choice but to hang out with me” he said confidently like you two have been friends for a long time already.

Funny how just a week ago, you and your friend were debating whether you should give Mark a chance to take you out but you still refused because you wanted him to make the first move first. And now as you two hang out together in their house, watched the sunset by the beach with a couple of beers on the side, you can see that you’ve been missing quite a lot.

“So you’re saying that you’ve been waiting for me all this time?” he said out of nowhere while eating a pizza crust. You’re now in their kitchen, eating pizza and having more beers with him. Getting a little too friendlier than earlier.

“Not really waiting. I wasn’t expecting anything, but off topic...You’re cuter than I expected you to be” and just as the words came out from your mouth, you don’t know where the bravery came from. This must be the alcohol’s doing, you thought. You tried to avert your focus on other things like munching a few chips and finishing your beer in one down. Thinking of a better escape for this awkward situation that you started but before you come down from the kitchen counter, he confidently went in between your legs and came closer to you. So close that you can smell each other’s breath and smell the sweet flavor of the alcohol... but Mark wanted more than smelling you.

He wanted to taste your lips, and so he did.

Tongue swiping on your lips the moment his touched yours. Letting him dominate the kiss while he reaches for your arms and make you embrace him. He smiled and put the kiss to a halt.

“How’s that for my first move?” He smirked and placed another sweet kiss on your lips. And the next thing you know you and Mark are exchanging kisses nonstop until you reached their living and continue what you’re doing on their soft couch. Sitting comfortably on Mark’s lap, legs on both sides, while your hands are all over him.

“Take these off, let’s have some fun” he whispered while tugging your shorts. Completely aware that he’s brave and confident like this because of the alcohol push.

“Oh Mark Lee, you’ve been challenging me lately huh”

And it only takes a few seconds for you and Mark to get naked from waist down and go back to your previous position. Oh you wanted to feed your lust and look at his cock just for a few seconds but you need him already.

“Parents will be home soon, fuck-“ he informed you while you put his cock inside you slowly. Breathing heavily when you finally moved your hips slowly, then fast. You watch him furrow his brows, rest his arm on his head and watch you move with lidded eyes as you fuck him good. “Faster” he requested, grabbing your clothed boobs and kissing your neck that immediately put you both on edge.

With fast movements and sweet moans, soon Mark cant handle it anymore and grabbed you by the waist so fast that you didn’t even saw it coming, pulled out his cock from inside of you and pumped it while you kiss him during his orgasm. Not giving a fuck if his cum stains on their couch.

“I was planning to ask you on a date. Sorry this happened earlier than expected. I promise to try and stop myself from luring you to having sex with me. I promise” he apologized and looked at your swollen lips from kissing, tracing it gently and letting out a satisfied sigh as he tries so hard to not look down and look at your pussy.

“It’s fine with me Mark. But y-yeah. You’re right. We should do this the right way” you shyly admitted. Getting up from his lap and making yourself decent again. Why do you feel like you’re having great regrets?

After that night you and Mark did not see each other for a few weeks again. Well, mainly because you’re avoiding him and whenever you remember about the sex and how good it felt... it just feels wrong at the same time and you don’t know why you feel this way.

“Are you really not going to give Mark a chance?” your friend once again nags you about Mark. Maybe Mark kept what happened between you two and did not tell it to his friends.

“Uhm. I seriously don’t know” you answered weakly.

“Well, I hope you won’t get mad because we tricked you. He’s going to the park with us tonight”

But right before you get mad and whine about the situation, Mark and his friends appeared. And immediately forcing you two to stand beside each other.

The park was packed and busy with people wearing big smiles the whole night. You wanted to smile too and laugh loudly whenever Mark tries to make you laugh or even make a decent conversation but you’re afraid that your friends will get the wrong idea.

Good thing, Mark knew that you’re not comfortable right now especially that your friends are around. He also knew that what happened between you two completely ruined everything already, and he admits that he fucked up.

“Want to go somewhere else?”

He whispered beside you while your friends are riding the roller coaster and you and Mark are on bag duty. You wanted to say ‘yes’ of course, and you will use this time to apologize to him privately and explain what you’re really feeling.

Coming up with different excuses, you and Mark left the park and your friends separately and eventually meet him at the beach near their house. When you arrived at their house, surprisingly he set up mini picnic just for you, ordered pizza and made sure you two drink non-alcoholic beverages tonight to avoid what happened last week.

“This is not our first date. Not yet. But this is my way of apologizing for what happened. I’m sorry,”

“You did nothing wrong. I should be the one apologizing. It’s not right that I left you hanging just because my regrets got into me. I’m sorry”

After apologizing and talking about random stuff that comes out of your mouths, Mark finally had the guts to ask you something serious. Something that he has been thinking the moment his lips crashed on yours for the first time.

Firstly he admitted that he liked you. A lot. And that didn’t surprised you already because you found out with the way he kiss and hold you during the day you had sex. But what surprised you is that, you don’t feel the same way towards him even though he’s perfect.

“Honestly I was expecting myself to fall in love with you easily. But turns out you can’t really force your feelings” you said. Careful with your words so you won’t hurt him but you don’t have a choice.

“But do you want to give it a try? Give us a try?”

“I’ll think about it” you answered honestly. Because truth be told you don’t want to give him false hope.

And after a night full of truths and honesty, you and Mark remained close friends and promised each other that you will be honest with your feelings for him no matter what happens. As part of being friends, you visit Mark at the beach whenever he has lifeguard duties and wait until his shift is over to hang out or whenever it’s raining and his parents are away, you and Mark stay in their living room and watch Netflix while enjoying the weather together with his fluffy blanket covering your entire bodies.

Being single is not a problem to you, you are perfectly happy and contented with your self love and you believe that having a boyfriend will not make much of a difference in your life. And you also believe that Mark, a genuine and very lovable person, deserves someone who will shower him with love. You just can’t see yourself doing it with him.

But with almost a month of hanging out everyday, you grew fond of him that sometimes you unconsciously hug him and became unexpectedly sweet. Like that time at the beach, while watching the sun go down. You rested your chin at the top of his shoulder and decided to play with his black soft locks. Massaging his scalp while you admire him closely. Even Mark was shocked to the core when he realized that you are incredibly close. After that moment, you saw him as someone who can add up to your happiness. You’re now confident that Mark can double the happiness that you have in your heart now. Love is not easy. Loving someone is never a walk in the park. But being loved by someone like Mark, is not an opportunity that knocks on your door everyday.

Tonight is stargazing night and as usual he let you have his blanket, now your favorite blanket. It was a very tiring day for him and he accidentally fell asleep next to you. A thin mattress on the sand is not that comfortable but he will trade any comfortable bed in the world as long as you’re beside him while he rests. When he opened his eyes, the beach was blue and the sun was just about to come up. He noticed that you’re shivering, so he decided not to share with the blanket with you and give it to you completely instead.

“No, we can share. Come here” you murmured when you feel him move aside. So to keep him beside you, you wrapped your one arm around his waist and hugged him tightly. “This is better” you said, and in that very moment, even though the beach was still dark, you witness him blush and smile from ear to ear. Showing those sharp cheekbones and returning the tight hug.

“Mark,”

“Hm? Still cold?” he asked while keeping you warm using his hand, rubbing it on your shoulders.

“Not at all. But I decided to give us a try”

He let out a satisfied sigh and became instantly clingy and giggly, “Finally,”

And you were right. Mark made you happier than you could have ever imagine. But even though that he won your heart already, for Mark, he still thinks that you can leave him so easily. One mistake, one fuck up and he can ruin everything that he’s building right now. That’s why while making you happy everyday, he’s working on keeping you forever by showing you that he can love you even more each day. Showing you that two is better than one and you don’t have to experience love alone

[yoonpobs]

bad boy good thing x.

pairing: jeon jungkook x oc

genre: angst, smut, fluff, miscommunication (we hate her lol), pining

warnings: smut, jungkook is really an asshole, the angst hurts a lot tbh, unhealthy relationships (?)

words: 8, 711

summary: a series of drabbles where you're confused and jungkook's confusing

a/n:

so here is the mini monster chap !! i know I said this was going to be a drabble series but I clearly got carried away LOL

anyways, no spoilers for this chap but I can say it's one of my favs that I've written and I think we see oc getting the comfort that she deserves (and needs!)

and also !! this is my first time updating a series on tumblr and it feels *exciting* hehe, I hope you enjoy this chapter c:

let me know your thoughts in my asks!! i'd love to hear what you think so far :3

all the love and I hope you're having a great

day/night/evening/afternoon wherever you are ❤️

“Open up!”

The only person that would opt to yell to get your attention than ring on your doorbell like a normal person would be Yena. And it helped that you immediately recognised her voice from the first syllable she uttered. That and you were currently moping in your living room with lactose-free ice cream, courtesy of Jimin that dropped it off a day ago when he heard that you were ‘sick’. Even if you hadn’t seen him face-to-face, you remember him softly hoping you’d get better.

You don’t know why she’s at your door, but you’re already on your feet to get her when you hear her begin to mutter curses directed at you behind the thin wood of your entrance.

“I can hear you!” You call.

“Well bitch then open the damn door!” She snaps.

You roll your eyes, and so far with the number of times you’ve hung out with her, it’s safe to say that the two of you were comfortable. You never knew how fun having a girl best friend was until you met Yena, and sure it’s only been a little under two weeks since you’ve gotten to know her through various messages and FaceTimes, but you feel like she’s your friend soulmate.

And when you expressed that to her over a FaceTime call a few nights back, you remember her gagging all while you flush and attempt to take it back. You know her candidly calling you bitch rather than your name was her saying she felt the same.

You pull the door open as she stands there with her eyes narrowed into slits, eyeing you up and down before she scrunches her nose.

“There’s a thing called a shower that you should look into. You look like a rundown version of long-haired Noah Beck.” She grimaces when she eyes you up and down.

You scowl. “You did not just compare me to him.”

She clicks her tongue before she shoves you aside by shoving a plastic bag of the takeout food into your arms and steps into your apartment.

Yena ignores the glare you shoot at the back of her neck when she looks around your living room, scrunching her nose like she was here to inspect your room than pay you a visit.

“Did someone die in here or was that just your will to live?”

You scoff. “Wow. Drag me.”

She waves you off before plopping onto your couch while you sigh, immediately heading to the kitchen to prep the food she brought over.

“For a moment I thought you were dead.” She confesses casually.

When you return with bowls and plates, with the cutlery to match—you give her a dry look before you’re taking your seat on the floor; attempting to hide your half-eaten tub of ice cream, which Yena immediately spots.

“So your first instinct was to yell at my door in hopes that I wasn’t actually dead?” You ask dryly.

She picks up your ice cream and grimaces at it, silently judging you for the flavour before she gives you a shrug.

“Yeah. I was hoping that your spirit would confer.”

You snort. “And the food?”

“A peace offering.” She tells you like it’s obvious.

You sigh, you loved Yena—you really did. She was all over the place and random, but it was a refreshing difference that you needed in your life from the usual law and order you often opted for.

“Not that I don’t appreciate your concern,” You tell her, pulling out a container to see your favourite lemon chicken as you eye her suspiciously. “But what brings you here? I told you I was sick.”

Yena scoffs. “And sick you are, bitch. What kind of sick person devours ice cream? Sure, you look the part but your diet says otherwise. Don’t think I didn’t see the empty packet of snickers in the trash.”

You scowl.

“I recovered yesterday.” You lie, taking a bite out of the chicken.

Yena rolls her eyes and you know she doesn’t believe you. She leans into your couch while she watches you eat, “Namjoon texted me that you may need some company.” At that, you choke.

Her eyes widen as you hit at your chest to get the food to go down, eyes still wide at her revelation.

“Why would he do that?” You cry.

“Girl, I know you’re not trying to deflect—you’re literally about to choke and die.”

You glare at her. “I’m fine.” You cough for good measure, then you’re levelling another serious gaze at her.

“I’m fine.” You reiterate with an emphasis on your state even though you were anything but. “I don’t know why the hell he thinks I need company.” You mutter under your breath.

At this, Yena’s face softens as she leans forward to rest her elbows on her knees while you avoid her gaze; idly poking at your food.

“I don’t know either, and you don’t need to tell me anything.” She says softly. “That’s all I’m here for. To be your company, whether you need it or not.”

You don’t know how much Namjoon told her over a text message, but you don’t think it’s much. Purely because he didn’t seem like a snitch and he was too respectful to ever let other people into the business that wasn’t his own. Even at the thought, you want to groan because you essentially lured him into thinking it was okay for him to kiss you while you were … you don’t even know what the fuck was happening anymore.

“I—” You say weakly, and all Yena does is offer you a comforting smile.

For some reason, the fact that she’s here right in front of you after you spent the day crying and feeling like your heart has been repeatedly stomped over with the addition of your rumination—it feels nice to have someone with you, even if it’s just their presence.

But the way she doesn’t look at you and expects something out of your conversation makes you feel even more overwhelmed, and that’s probably why the dam breaks.

Yena’s eyes widen as she immediately darts out to wrap her arms around you when you end up in violent sobs. You don’t know why you’re crying but you are, and you’re tired of hiding things, your feelings and your intent just to pretend like things were okay.

“It’s okay.” She strokes your hair and it feels warm, like a mother comforting a crying baby and you realise that this is what friends should feel like.

“N-no it’s n-not!” You cry into her shirt and it’s messy, but she doesn’t seem like she minds. Especially when she supports your pliable frame.

“You wanna talk about it?” She asks softly, giving you a kind smile.

You sniffle, staring forward as you feel your eyes swell with the escalation of your tears.

“I don’t know.” You whisper.

She hums, “It’s okay not to know. You don’t need to know everything.”

“I’m just so tired, Yena.” You tell her in a hushed breath.

“Life is difficult.” She admits. “It’s natural to be tired.”

You’re thankful to hear that she doesn’t comfort you with blind optimism. She’s real and she acknowledges how shitty things may be, and frankly, you didn’t need another wannabe altruist telling you that things will get better. You knew that, everyone did. But when you’re at rock bottom and all you see is darkness, you’re not looking for better. You’re looking for a reason to continue.

“Can I say something?” She asks. The way she looks at you is soft and open, and non-judgemental. You feel safe.

You nod your head, teary eyes staring up at her.

“You’re not responsible for anyone’s feelings except your own.” She looks at you so seriously that you nearly feel your breath escape. “There are things that you can and cannot control—and the latter usually falls under the people around you.”

You suck in a breath, and you wonder how she’s so spot on without ever touching on the true context.

“Namjoon texted me but I didn’t come here because he asked me to. It’s because you deserve to have someone be around you when you’re clearly not okay.”

“I’m—”

“You’re not.” She blinks, and you almost pout at her firm tone. “And that’s okay. I don’t need to know what happened to justify how you feel. You could’ve stubbed your toe and feel like absolute shit and I have absolutely no right to judge you on how or when you feel emotions.”

You wonder where she’s been your entire life and why she was only in your life now.

“But the thing is,” She sighs. “You don’t always have to choose between something or the other. Sometimes you need to choose yourself.”

You stare up at her in awe because Yena was cool in general, her laidback and unbending personality was mainly what drew you to her because you’d argue you were the opposite. Even if Jungkook’s words stung, you could take it at face value and accept that it was true.

You were uptight and you were a bit of a prude, and for the longest time, you always resented that aspect of you. But you realised with Yena, she had traits that were resented in a woman as well. And you realise that you’d never be perceived the way you want unless you perceive yourself in a positive light first.

So when she speaks to you so sternly, yet with a tone of care as she picks apart her words so carefully—you realise what you have to do.

“I think I like Jungkook.”

Yena pauses for a brief second, but you don’t see any judgement in her face. Just confusion, a warranted emotion you don’t blame her for having.

“I figured as much.”

Your eyes widened, “How—?”

It’s almost like a repeat of the first night at the football game when you befriended each other, but she only shoots you a gentle smile.

“Call it a woman’s intuition.”

You blink, fiddling with your fingers before you stare up at her, continuing your drawls.

“And we kissed.”

At this, Yena cocks an eyebrow up, “Was this recent?”

You fiddle with your thumbs before you sigh and push yourself up.

“Thing is …” You mumble, “I’m not like that.”

You don’t answer her question because you can’t think of a proper enough response to tell her that yeah—you did kiss him, amongst other things that you foolishly allowed yourself to indulge in. You knew Yena wasn’t judgemental but you also knew that you couldn’t retrieve your words the moment they left your mouth. It was your own judgement that stopped you from saying the things you really wanted and it sucked, royally. Because you could tell that Yena wasn’t out here to crucify you for being … liberated. She just wanted to be there for you.

Yena scrunches her eyebrows in confusion as she allows your words to settle, pondering a response.

She settles for a huff, “Care to elaborate?”

“I don’t … do things like that.” You say softly. “I’m shy and quiet. I’m not active in the social sphere and I only have three friends that I can reach out to if I wanna hang out. But even then, I don’t … I don’t like partying, or drinking, or loud spaces. I’m awkward and horrible at social interaction let alone being able to navigate my romantic feelings. And … I felt so bad about it.”

Yena’s eyes soften, but you can’t look at her just yet. Not when this is the first time you’ve ever laid yourself vulnerable, emotionally that is, to someone that wasn’t just the confines of your thoughts.

“I always wondered what it’d like to be confident, to be liked on campus and not just be known as the smart girl.” You whisper. “My entire personality was built around my achievements and I didn’t know what else to do. What if … what if I peak here and fail after?” Your eyes are wide in despair, and you feel your lips quiver when you speak.

“You’ll never know.” Yena reminds you gently. “You won’t know who likes you or what people say about you—but you’re going to be hearing your own thoughts 24/7 and that’s what kicks you down or drives you further.”

You sigh, nodding your head.

“It’s just … Jungkook and I were close. We grew up together even if he’s younger than me. But we just got along well and he … he saw me. He used to comfort me whenever I’d tell him how pressuring it got and—I feel so stupid because he probably says that to everyone and I fell for it.” You chuckle with no emotion, staring at the stray thread poking outside of your couch pillow.

“Have you spoken to him about your feelings?” She asks softly.

Immediately, you scoff and the sour emotion peaks through again.

“He’s made it clear what he wants to hear from me.” You mutter.

Yena purses her lips before resting her hands gently on your shoulder.

“You’re not answering my question, ______.” She chides gently.

You nibble on your bottom lip and shake your head. That earns a sigh from her as she wraps her arms around you once again, resting her chin on your shoulder as you allow yourself to feel the comfort of her warmth.

“He kissed me first and we did things together.” Your lips quiver when you recall the memories, “A-And he’s with Jennie. I just …” You flutter your eyes shut, “I don’t want to say that I’m the other girl but I feel a lot like a second option and it sucks.”

Yena doesn’t ask, and she doesn’t need to. She doesn’t need to justify why you felt the way you did, so she holds you tighter.

“Babe.” She gently turns you to look at her with both hands resting on your shoulders. “Did you talk to him? Properly? Do you really know if he’s with her?”

“I think them kissing proves enough to me.” You snap, and you don’t know why you’re being so hostile, especially to Yena.

She purses her lips, “You kissed him and you aren’t together.”

You wince and she shoots you an apologetic look. She sighs before reaching out to squeeze your hand, all while you stare at the ground to level out your emotions.

“I’m not saying that you can’t feel the way you do. But I’m offering objectivity here. Men are … they’re blunt creatures and that’s the biggest difference between men and women.” You furrow your eyebrows as she takes a deep breath before she continues. “And the idea that we’re equal? No, we’re not. I’m not talking about our systemic positions in society but on an emotional level. Men take things surface value and work with it, they don’t stop to think about the layers of feelings that go into interpersonal relationships with friends, family or lovers. Women? We go big or we go home. All we see is the big picture and sometimes the little details get lost in translation. This isn’t me justifying Jungkook playing home with you or Jennie at the same time, but offering you a perspective that may be hard for you to see because you aren’t him.”

It was true, and you hated yourself for being aware but not putting action based on your own thoughts. Yena only reaffirmed the idea that you overthought every single interaction and maybe that was why you were the one that was hurting.

That, or you and Jungkook had horrible communication problems that neither of you was ready to face just yet. But how could you? When the two of you were on two different wavelengths and you were trying to be just enough for him while he was jumping off pedestals to see you.

It didn’t feel nice, and it sucked because he was the same person that comforted you and broke you all at once.

“I’m scared.” You whisper.

She smiles at you gently, patting your head gently as you peer up at her with tears between your lashes.

“And that’s okay.” She reassures you with a soft voice, “The only thing scarier than being scared is not feeling at all.”

Before you go to where your heart tells you to—your mind is the only thing that keeps you rooted in some form of rationale. That’s probably why you’re outside of Namjoon’s dorm. You don’t think you’ve ever paid his place a visit despite him telling you his address on multiple occasions, usually opting to hang out in public yet serene places where you were able to get a breather.

Your feet feel heavy and your fist is raised, but it barely moves. Especially when you’re just eyeing his door like a deer caught in headlights. You’ve rehearsed the apology on your tongue a million times, even if you don’t really know what you’re apologising for. But you feel like you must, particularly because you’ve senselessly let him see all of the feelings that you were trying to suppress in hopes of retaining the same ones he had for you.

You take a deep breath and deliver the first knock, the vibrations making your arm feel weak.

But you’re tired of always surrendering to bigger and more frightening things that you could understand. So you purse your lips and play the waiting game.

It seems like a long twenty minutes that you wait, but in reality, it’s only two when the door swings open. You brace yourself to see Namjoon, apology already sitting on your tongue.

You should’ve dropped a text, you knew that. But you decided against it because you haven’t spoken to Namjoon since what happened a few days ago. Neither of you speaking about the kiss or the way your eyes glistened when you saw Jungkook and Jennie together.

“____?” He asks confusedly.

You give him a meek smile, “Hi. Can I come in?”

He blinks at you, and you notice he still has his glasses that he usually forgoes during the times you’ve hung out—and you feel a little guilty for catching him at a bad time.

“Yeah.” He clears his throat. “Sure.”

Namjoon steps aside and you’re welcomed into the space of his living room. The first thing you notice is the interior, and how … Namjoon it was. It’s both cluttered and neat, the palette of his furniture matching the overall vibe he emanated. His furniture is mostly wood, light sandalwood that makes it feel all the homier.

And you tell him such, “You have a very homey place.”

Namjoon turns his head to look at you right before he plops himself back onto his couch where you see the bits and pieces of paper scrambled across the floor and the couch. Even then, he was able to look so welcoming even though you reckon he has a right to be hostile—for a reason you came here to apologise for.

“Thank you.” He flushes, patting a spot in front of him for you to take your seat.

When you settle, the atmosphere turns strained when you mull over your words so that you wouldn’t stumble over them. You practised, you did—about a hundred times before you came here and you thought you were ready to apologise and put things behind you but it’s proven difficult when all he does is look at you in earnest.

“Not that I—uh—mind,” He mumbles, “But is there a reason why you’re here?”

You blink at him as you ignore the quiver in your heart.

“I’m sorry.” You blurt.

“_____ why are you—”

“You didn’t deserve what happened the other day.” You interject, voice soft but unwavering when you force yourself to look at him as his eyes widen.

“I wasn’t the one that saw something I shouldn’t have.” He reminds you with a frown.

You swallow, “I kissed you. And you …” It wasn’t helping that he was looking at you so gently as he awaits your continuation. “You didn’t need to save me back then, Namjoon.” You end in a whisper.

Namjoon reaches out to grab your shoulder, touch gentle as he searches for your eyes.

“I didn’t save you …” He tells you tenderly.

“It’s not just that!” You exasperate while you throw your hands up in the air. “I-it’s everything … from the way you treat me and the way you look at me. You didn’t need to do any of that and you even—” You trail off, fluttering your eyes shut. “—what did you say to Jungkook right before we left?”

Namjoon’s eyes enlarge as his grip becomes tense against your shoulder. You can almost see the way his mind kicks into gear as he thinks of a response.

“That—I—does it matter?” He huffs.

Your eyes soften, “Namjoon.” You force yourself to look at him even if now he was the one that tries to avoid your gaze. “What did you say?”

Namjoon tightens his lips before he sighs deeply, head dropping forward before he looks at you.

“I told him to be honest.” He says softly.

You furrow your eyebrows, “To be honest …?”

“I know you have feelings for him.”

Your face blanches when Namjoon basically exposes you. It’s one thing for you to be self-aware of your complicated feelings towards the other boy. But when someone else points it out, especially when it’s Namjoon—the boy who’s been nothing but kind and patient with you while you’re too busy being caught up in your emotions—it’s like a slap across your face.

“I-I don’t—”

“You don’t need to lie to save my face, ______.” He chuckles dryly, eyes darting away as he tries to neutralise his expression. You wince at the spite he establishes, but you know deep down that Namjoon isn’t angry at you. No, he was far too understanding to be. Disappointed? Frustrated? Sure, but never angry,

The silence answers for you when you look away this time, eyebrows scrunched as you attempt to navigate the conversation. You came here to apologise, and to be honest.

“I’m sorry.” You whisper.

“Don’t.” He takes a deep breath as you flinch. “Don’t … apologise.” He sighs.

“I didn’t mean to lead you on, Namjoon.” You murmur apologetically.

He shoots you a half-hearted chuckle, “You didn’t do anything. Really.”

“But I did, Namjoon. I kissed you back.” You frown.

“That doesn’t imply anything. I kissed you, and you reciprocated. We all kiss someone and not mean anything by it.”

You flinch, and you’re familiar with that more than anyone else. The reminder only stings because it makes you realise that you were not much different from Jungkook, the same person you’ve claimed to have messed with you and fucked you over.

“I’m—”

“Please don’t apologise anymore.” He says. “I already feel like shit.”

You smile sadly at him, “How do you manage to be so nice even when other’s do you wrong?”

Namjoon sighs, then he grabs both your hands in his. ���You didn’t wrong me, _____. It’s not your fault you don’t feel the same way I do.”

“How did you …” You trail off.

“How did I know you had feelings for Jungkook?” He chuckles. “The same way he knew I had feelings for you.”

You purse your lips, eyes dropping to your lap. “It’s not that simple, Namjoon …” You say softly.

Namjoon smiles at you gently, “Is it?” He gently nudges your knee with his so that you’d look at him. “Life is simple. It’s not easy. But it’s simple.”

You scoff even if a small smile teases your lips, “You really are a philosophy major, aren’t you?”

The two of you grin in tandem before he purses his lips, possible mulling over something before he faces you.

“The two of you are close so … why beat around the bush?”

Your eyes flutter shut, shaking your head. “Like I said, it’s really not that simple.”

He rolls his eyes at you, but it’s not to mock or taunt you. Namjoon simply sees a naive, yet an intelligent girl who doesn’t see what’s right in front of her.

“Remember what I said? I’m a simple guy.” He reminds you, lips in a grin. “Try me.”

You snort, but you’re still nervous. You still remember that he has feelings for you, so you’re hesitant. And he immediately recognises the guilt-ridden expression that you mar.

Namjoon shoots you a stern glare, “Don’t overthink it.”

You sigh.

“Jungkook and I …” You start, fiddling with your thumbs. “We grew up together.”

Namjoon rolls his eyes and shoots you another one of his bland stares. “I know the history. I just want to know why?”

You furrow your brows, “Why?”

“Why the two of you insist on being so emotionally constipated.”

You gape at his audacity, and you’re glad the atmosphere isn’t as tense because Namjoon simply snickers at your reaction.

“I am not—!”

He waves you off, “Really?” He adds dryly.

You purse your lips and relent, even if you didn’t want to agree with him—you knew that he was … right. To a certain extent.

“We kissed.” You blurt.

Namjoon raises an eyebrow, “That’s not surprising.”

You shoot him a dry look before he raises his hands in defence.

“He was my first kiss.”

At this, Namjoon’s widen.

“When you were in high school?” He pries.

You flush, embarrassed that you had to tell him otherwise.

“Two months ago.” You mutter.

Namjoon splutters, and you can’t help but glare at him when he quite literally chokes on his spit. You know you caught him off guard, but him rubbing salt in the wound that’s relatively fresh makes you scowl.

“Oh.” He clears his throat. Then he repeats, “Oh.”

You scoff, “Yeah. Oh.”

“Then … what happened?” You know he’s treading carefully with you when he asks you his question softly.

You purse your lips, and you recall every single moment you’ve shared with him. From giggles to hushed kisses, to intimate touches and sweat-stained sheets that have you gasping for air. You remember it all, and they meant … they meant the world to you, but just a speck in his memory.

“Things escalated and we … did stuff together.” You wince.

Namjoon nods in understanding, he gestures his hands around, “Like—”

“I’m a virgin.”

Namjoon blinks.

“And for the longest time, I felt embarrassed about it.”

“Oh.”

“I struggled to find my footing between being sexually liberated and being a woman because for the longest time I thought those two were mutually exclusive. For me, at least.” You say softly.

Namjoon only stares at you.

“And I always wanted validation from someone else to tell me that what I was doing was the right thing to do. Or the supposed thing to do. Never what I really wanted to do.”

“Not that I’m uncomfortable but … why are you letting me in on this?” Namjoon asks with a raised brow.

“Because I want to do something for myself for once.” You whisper.

“Okay …?”

“Why do you like me? Even if I’m … boring and not as sexy as other women?”

You sound pathetic, and the first person you find yourself comparing yourself to is Jennie—a beautiful, confident woman who looked so assured in herself.

“You’re not—”

You groan.

“Namjoon.”

“Okay.” He sighs. “If you’re asking me if I care that you’re a virgin, then no. I really don’t. Because frankly, that concept to me is false and problematic. Whether or not you’ve had sex or not isn’t any of my business.”

You duck your head.

“And I like you because you’re interesting. You’re funny and you’re assured in your own way. You don’t need to be a certain standard of pretty or sexy or whatever for me to like you. I like you because of the time we’ve spent together and that I’ve gotten to know you. The real you and not the person I admired from afar but the girl who throws in jokes out of nowhere but fits so well with the situation. The girl who’s willing to spend three extra hours of her time to help with content that wasn’t prescribed to her. I like you because I’d like to think I’ve grown to understand who you are.”

Namjoon says all of those things while staring at you straight in the face and you feel compelled to cry. Because no one has ever been so honest with you and you hate that your heart can’t reciprocate what should be an easy feeling that comes naturally.

“Fuck.”

His eyes widen.

“Hey, it’s okay.” He coos, a hand petting your hair gently as you sniffle.

“It’s not, Namjoon. Everything sucks because everything is so complicated. Why can’t I just have feelings for you instead?”

It’s selfish, and Namjoon winces. But you’re so overwhelmed that you miss it, and Namjoon is too nice to point his own feelings out.

“You don’t pick and choose your battles, _____.” He murmurs softly.

“That’s not what my mom told me.” You whimper.

He chuckles, “Yeah. Most people like to believe that because it makes them think that they have a choice over the bad things that happen in their lives. But in reality? They don’t. No one decides what happens to them. You pick and choose how you react to things. How you deal with situations and what you make out of those situations is what you can choose to do. You don’t like me, and that’s fine. You don’t have to just because I’m nice to you, _____. Being nice is the absolute bare minimum and something that everyone should feel and do.”

Your face crumbles, “Why are you so wise?”

Namjoon smiles, “I’m not. It’s called offering a different perspective. Just because I see things one way doesn’t make me any better than you who sees things in another. That’s why we meet different types of people throughout our lives. The good, the bad, the in-between. There’s always something people offer to us in the midst of chaos.”

You sigh.

“I’m sorry, Namjoon.”

He pats your head, “I said don’t apologise.”

“No, but I want to. You’ve been nothing but kind to me and you picked up a shitty situation to be in when Jungkook and Jennie were at the library. Even right after I kissed you. That was … a horrible thing to do. I shouldn’t have done that just because—just because I was confused … you don’t deserve that.”

He doesn’t look angry, and that’s even worst because you want him to react, to call you a bitch and say that you were a horrible person.

“I don’t.” He shrugs while you wince. “But a lot of the times we don’t deserve a lot of things that we get. And that’s okay. You did what you thought was justified then, and there’s nothing you can do to change it. But you’re hurting too, and you’re confused—that’s what drove you to do the things that you did, and even here. That’s why you’re apologising to me, right? Because you’re not as confused anymore?”

You shake your head.

“I am, I’m still so confused.” You whisper.

“Then let me offer you another perspective.”

You look up to him with big eyes as he smiles at you gently.

“You have feelings for Jungkook.” You immediately flinch, even if he didn’t hit you. But Namjoon continues. “You’re trying to keep the picture as simple as you can even if it hurts you in the process. But

“You don’t understand, Namjoon … we … did things … that I’m not proud off …”

“You don’t have to—”

“He was my first kiss. My first … sexual experience. Even if it was just … third base,” You cringe, but Namjoon isn’t judging you at all. “A-and that’s all I was to him. An experience.”

“You don’t know that.”

“Do I, Namjoon?” You say softly. “He said things to me that were so hurtful. And a stupid part of me forgives him but it still hurts every time I think about it and when I see him with Jennie.”

You whisper the words Jungkook’s said to you, and for the first time, you see Namjoon’s jaw harden. The most emotion that wasn’t rationale you’ve seen in Namjoon ever since you first arrived.

“I know it hurts.” He murmurs, holding you close. “And I really don’t want it to seem like I’m justifying his words … but would you want to hear me out?”

You purse your lips and nod nevertheless.

“Jungkook isn’t a bad person.” You blink, you never thought he was. “I know you don’t think he is but you want to. Because of the things he’s said to you because why would a good person say those kinds of things, right? But the world isn’t black and white like that. There’s a grey area where 99% of the population falls into because we operate on emotion and sometimes we say things that we may feel but not necessarily believe in.”

“Jungkook … he’s still young. And I know we’re in college and stuff but he’s still three years younger than I am and two years younger than you. He’s spoken to me about how hard it was to adjust to a high school life where you, Jimin and Tae weren’t a part of. And I don’t know about you but if the only friends I’ve ever known suddenly left because they had to … I wouldn’t know what to do either. He was at a point in his life where his environment played a huge part in the values and internalised beliefs he had.”

You look away as you reflect on his words, nibbling on your bottom lip.

“He mixed around with different groups of people, and I hate this saying but it’s still a common belief to many—especially people his age, almost out of high school. But the ‘boys will be boys’ mentality is more than just misogyny and sexism, but a culture where it feeds off complacency and peer pressure. Jungkook suddenly had to shift from three, good friends who were progressive and influential in an objectively good way to people he was obliged to like because they were his peers.”

You gape at him, purely because you knew that Namjoon was smart and wise but his introspection leaves you breathless and enlightened.

“But that doesn’t change the core of Jungkook,” Namjoon says. “He’s still Jungkook. He doesn’t know how to ask for things that he wants without feeling like he’s betraying his masculinity. And again, I’m not justifying his actions because he’s a grown man too. But he’s lost, and the only thing he knows to uphold this sense of masculinity is by being sexually liberated. Even if he conflates his own emotions with his endeavours.”

“I … I don’t even know what to say Namjoon.” You murmur, eyes looking up through your lashes.

“You don’t need to say anything. I just want you to be honest to yourself, not anyone else. But yourself.” He tells you, carding a gentle hand over your head.

You fiddle with your thumbs.

“What do you want?”

Despite you confiding two different people, you find yourself at a convenience store at 12AM, scarfing down ramen from a cup noodle because your mind was a funny place when it was muddled with a hundred different thoughts. You knew sleep wasn’t an option for you either, and you were hungry. But somehow you didn’t have anything back in your apartment that screamed ‘I’m in a crisis’ enough for you to eat.

Which is why you’re here, while the cashier keeps his eyeball to himself when he sees yet another college student who’s probably having their third mental breakdown of the day.

It is, but not for the right reasons, you think dryly.

You think you’re alone until the chime of the bell momentarily distracts you and you turn your head to acknowledge the next lone customer who may be going through their own set of issues, or had a fucked up sleeping schedule.

But you’re not expecting to make eye contact with Jennie, out of everyone or any stranger you could’ve come across.

She spots you, shoots you a weird look that has you nearly choking on a string of noodles before she moves on to what she came here to do and stops at the snack section, skimming through her options before she settles on a pack of shrimp chips. Your heart churns because they were Jungkook’s favourite. You don’t want to wonder why she picked them.

You turn to your noodles, scarf them down some more because you want to eat your thoughts away even if you’re half-considering to call Jungkook, tell him you wanted to talk. But you knew that if you spoke to him now when you were still sorting out your thoughts, you’d end up in a situation you won’t be ready to deal with.

So when you poke at your food and sigh to yourself, you almost miss the way the stool beside you scrapes against the floor as you cringe.

You turn to shoot a petty glare at the person, and you see Jennie; casually tearing open her chips and popping one into her mouth

You blink at her, and you’re left even more speechless when she juts her hand out as if to offer you a shrimp cracker. Like it was a weird symbol of a truce. Even if you weren’t really … enemies.

“Want some?”

You stare at her, and before you can think twice your lips are moving.

“The crackers or your company?” You say dryly.

Her eyes widen, and so does yours. You didn’t expect to say your exact thoughts and you don’t think she expected a quiet, timid girl like you to have said that—out loud at least. Like Yena said, everyone has a mean bone in them. Some longer and larger than others, but they were still there.

“Wow.” She huffs, but she doesn’t seem offended. “Rude, much?”

You wince and feel compelled to apologise. “Sorry.”

She waves you off and you feel odd to be sitting next to her. You always expected her to be more malicious, a lot more of a bitch. And you frown to yourself because you suppose it’s your own preconceived notions of her due to the association she has with Jungkook that had you thinking of her that way.

“What’s someone like you doing here on a weekday?” She asks off-handedly.

The term ‘someone like you’ doesn’t sit well with you, and you scowl.

“I’m eating. What does it look like?” You retort, and Jennie only raises an eyebrow at your response. Much like an angry kitten.

“Damn, I was just asking.” She mutters under her breath, “I’m hungry. Needed a snack.” She shakes the crackers in front of you, “You sure you don’t want one?”

You can’t believe her as you gape at her easy-going state when she thrusts the bag of crackers into your face yet again.

“No.” You furrow your brows, gently pushing it away as she shrugs her shoulders.

“It’s good.” She reasons, and you don’t know why she’s so adamant about having you take one.

The irrational part of you thinks she wants to poison you, to eliminate you for good so she won’t have to deal with your pathetic pining over a person that wasn’t even yours.

“I know.” You mutter. “I tried it before.”

Jennie nods her head slowly, observing the content of the packet on the back before she turns to face you, “Jungkook introduced this to me. Didn’t see the appeal but it’s addictive.”

You freeze, and your ramen soup is getting cold with the way you haven’t prodded at it for a while and in the air-conditioning in the convenience store. You feel your stomach drop, especially now that your initial suspicions were confirmed.

“That’s nice.” You grit. It really isn’t.

“Did he introduce it to you?” She asks with a tilt of her head.

Why you’re still talking to her, or why she was bothering to talk to you when she’s ignored you all this while—you aren’t sure. But you still answer her despite the spite that forms in your chest.

“I introduced it to him.” You inform.

She hums, unbothered. It only irritates you more.

“Is there a reason?” You huff. “Why you’re here?”

She raises an eyebrow, “I’m hungry?”

You scoff. “No.” You slam the table ever so slightly because even if you were annoyed and confused, you weren’t that brave and you didn’t want to cause a scene at a convenience store at midnight. “Why are you here. Talking to me.”

Jennie blinks at you, then stares at you for seconds too long that you flush under her unwavering stare before she ends up in a fit of giggles. You almost think she’s here to mock you, to call you out on your pathetic and humiliating pining for someone who doesn’t care about you the same way you do to him. But she pats you on the shoulder, and you want to think it’s condescending but it doesn’t seem that way at all.

“You’re an acquaintance. You looked like you needed the company.”

You frown, “I don’t.”

She rolls her eyes, munching on another chip.

“You do. Your posture looks depressing.”

“Excuse me?” You scowl.

“It’s true.” She shrugs. “You don’t seem the type to be here wallowing unless it’s really bad. You seem like you have your shit together.”

And because your mind is already muddled and confused, and filled with irrational thoughts. Her words set you off, and you seem to be underrating or overreacting more than usual. So you snap, you shove your cup aside that the soup nearly sloshes out and send her a glare so blazing that Jennie’s caught off guard.

“And you think you know me well enough to gauge whether or not I’m ‘like this’ or the type to have a perfect mental breakdown regimen because I’m smart?” You seethe. Jennie’s eyes widen. “I have mental breakdowns like every other student and I binge eat when I’m stressed and I fuck up from time to time. I curse, yes! I see your face. Oh does she not curse? Well, look at me, bitch. I can curse like a motherfucking sailor at sea when the fishes come because I’m human. I’m just like you. So fuck off with your ‘you seem like you have your shit together’ because I don’t and I’m so fucking annoyed with your stupid face whenever I see it because it only reminds me of Jungkook!”

The silence is defining, even the cashier stops counting his bills for the night because you don’t hear the rubbing of money together. You feel his stare on your back, and more pressingly, you feel Jennie’s shocked expression linger on your face, and now that you’ve come down from your rage. Your face heats up in embarrassment.

You don’t even recall what you said, except for the fact you’ve mentioned her and Jungkook in the same sentence. And your face pales.

“I …” She chokes.

You flush, before you’re turning away, snatching your belongings to leave and forget this convenience store and never return because you don’t think you can show your face here ever again.

But before you’re able to make a run for it, a hand grabs your elbow that stops you from moving any further.

“This is already as embarrassing—” You exasperate, trying to snatch your arm away.

“For a girl so smart, you’re really dumb, aren’t you?” She deadpans.

You gape, finding enough strength to retrieve your arm as you stare at her with a dumbfounded expression.

“Excuse me—?”

“Firstly, let’s unpack what you just said because there are a lot of things that need to be dissected here.” She says blankly.

You scowl, “Look I don’t—”

“One.” She blinks as if she was doing a presentation for a course and not talking to an alleged acquaintance. “I don’t think you should act a certain way just because you’re smart. You’re entitled to your own mechanisms and I’m not judging you for them. I was simply pointing out my own observations, and I’m sorry for being insensitive.”

You’re stunned to silence, because did Jennie just … apologise to you?

“Two.” She says. You listen silently. “I think you have things you need to talk to Jungkook about, and frankly—I would’ve stayed away if I knew that the two of you were a thing.”

“We’re not a thing!” You cry, face flushed.

She shoots you an unimpressed look, “Really. So that oddly targeted blow-up was because of your mental breakdown and not because you don’t have feelings for Jungkook?”

She’s the third person to call you out the same day, or within the first one in the next. And it’s even more embarrassing because it’s the girl you’ve compared yourself to countless times because of your own insecurities.

“Yes.” You snap childishly.

Jennie sighs, gesturing for you to sit on the stool. You want to defy her out of spite, but you’ve already gotten this far into the conversation and you feel like you’d miss out on something if you left now.

“Why are you mad at me?” She asks.

“I-I’m not mad—” You weakly protest.

“You are. There’s anger in you and if it’s not directed to Jungkook then it’s directed to me. Is it because I’m a woman?”

Your eyes widen, “What—?”

“Let me reword that,” She sighs. “Is it because I’m the woman with Jungkook?”

You flinch at her declaration, especially since she indirectly confessed to being with him, while you weren’t.

“I don’t …” You trail off in a whisper.

“I don’t blame you for being angry.” She says. “But I need you to understand that I would never have done anything with him if I knew that the two of you were together.”

“We’re not.” You blink, and her unimpressed look is still there that makes you speak a little louder. “We’re not together.”

She opens her mouth to say something, then shuts it. You see her furrow her eyebrows before she settles for a response that comes a few moments after.

“Okay, then if you’re not together then why the resentment?” She puts it so simply and now that you’re listening to her, you feel a lot stupider.

“I just …” You croak, fiddling with your fingers, “I don’t …”

She sighs, “Listen. We’re both women here. I know how it feels to be left in the dark when it comes to things like this but there’s no point in being angry at me when in reality it’s Jungkook you need to talk to. If you aren’t together then I don’t understand why you’re angry with me—or with him.”

You sit there in silence, nearly pouting like a scolded child.

“You’re his type.” You say softly.

Jennie pauses before she raises an eyebrow.

“And you believe that?”

You furrow your eyebrows, “I mean, of course?” You mumble, “You’re pretty, confident and sexy. Any guy would like you.”

For a moment, you think you’ve said too much. Looked to vulnerable. But Jennie doesn’t do the typical mean girl thing where she laughs in your face and threatens to expose you. Instead, her eyes soften, and her hand reaches out to hold yours.

“____.” She calls your name gently, and you look away, embarrassed. “You’re pretty. You’re confident. You are sexy.”

You flush, “No. I’m not.”

She scoffs, “_____, there isn’t a set definition of what a pretty woman is like. Nor is there a one-dimensional understanding of a confident woman. There are confident women who strut in their walk and commands all the attention in the room. But there are also quiet, assured women who are intelligent and confident in their capabilities. Both of them are so different, but the one thing that they have in common?” She prompts as your eyebrows furrow. “They’re both women who are worthy of love.”

You blink up at her when her tone goes softer.

“I don’t think I’m Jungkook’s type.” She tells you.

But for some reason you need to deny it, again.

“I think you are.” You mumble, “You’re … you. And you’re probably … experienced.” You cringe at what you say, and you’re mortified if you need to explain yourself to her. But Jennie immediately picks up on it, and you don’t notice how she tenses for a split second but recovers immediately.

“We’ve done things together, yes.” You feel your heart shatter, “But you don’t have to do anything with him for him to like you.”

You sigh, “Maybe. But that's the only way he’s ever wanted me.” You say so softly that Jennie almost doesn’t catch it.

Jennie’s face softens much more, turning into a much gentler expression as she nudges your chin to look at her. And when you do, you feel wounded. You feel so much less assured than you were when you were raging at her. You hated it, how she treated you so kindly when she should’ve been cursing at you like you did to her.

“Do you want to know something?” She asks.

You nibble on your lips before you nod your head.

“If someone doesn’t want you. It’s not because you’re lacking. It’s because they’re lacking the sense to perceive you in a way that recognises your inherent worth to be loved.”

Your breath hitches and Jennie continues.

“I’ve had instances where men didn’t want to sleep with me because I was too confident, too sexually liberated for them. As if who I slept with mattered because it wasn’t them. It was never going to be them.”

“I didn’t sleep with Jungkook.” You tell her, voice soft as if you needed to clarify.

“And you don’t need to. You don’t need to sleep with anyone for them to want you. If Jungkook only wants you for your body then he doesn’t deserve you.” She points out.

You feel your heart clench, and the realisation coming from Jennie only hurts even more.

“But he’s important to me …” You whisper.

“What’s important is not always what’s good for you.” She informs you with a gentle smile. “Your sexuality is yours. And if you want to sleep or be sexual with someone, you do it because you want to. Not because someone coerced you into doing it.”

Your eyes widened, “N-No. Jungkook didn’t force me. I consented. To all of it.” You murmur, “I wanted to do it. B-But I just felt so … lacking? In comparison and … since then all he’s came to me for was just … that.”

Jennie nibbles on her bottom lip, “Jungkook’s not a bad person.” She says softly. And she’s the second person that tells you that. So you know it’s a true reflection of his character.

“I know.”

She smiles, “We both do.” She nods, “But he’s misguided. He’s never had the ability to be with someone he really cares for and I think when that happened—he dealt with it the only way he knows how to.”

You furrow your brows, “But he’s with you.”

She shakes her head with a small chuckle, “No. Not emotionally, at least.” She informs. “And he doesn’t care about me. I know. He’s always kept me at arms-length away, and I’m fine with that because I don’t like him like that either.”

You blink, and your ears turn red. “H-How do you—?”

“How do I separate lust from affection?” She laughs. “It’s because I can. Not everyone can do that, and Jungkook is one of them.”

“But you just said that he didn’t care about you.”

“I’m not talking about me,” She smiles sadly.

Your eyebrows scrunch in confusion until you realise what she was implying. And you don’t want to assume anything, never. Because hope was the one feeling that was worse than fear and you didn’t want to subject yourself to that just yet.

“Oh.” You mumble.

She nods, squeezing your hand.

“I think he misses you.”

You purse your lips.

You missed him, too.

[ckneal]

There’s a midam AU idea that’s been living in the back of my mind for months now, but it’s been slow going. Mainly because I suspect that doing the idea justice is going to mean doing more research than I’m used to, and maybe even rewatching the series proper to help me fill in some of the weak spots, and I have so many other story ideas that are frankly just easier to work on, two of which are already slated to be multi-chapter works. . . But I’m in the mood to type up something longwinded, so here we go. Keep reading if you’d like to see a rough outline of the first few chapters of this story I really hope to write out properly sometime.

(Warning, this is a long one.)

So, this story is loosely based on the Hundred Years War that took place between England and France from 1337-1453. But it’s only very loosely inspired. Very, very loosely. As in, I was reading a book, I read about one thing that happened, it germinated in my head, and then suddenly I had a plot developing that featured my current favorite ship. Additional sources of inspiration include one of my favorite fantasy series, and a personally beloved trashy romance novel. Because it’s fanfiction, folks. There are no rules here.

Of course, in this AU, the entire world is going to be made up, with neither side of the war distinctly being assigned the role of England or France—or Flanders or Burgundy, for that matter. I barrowed an inciting incident, and few smaller details from history to help things along here and there, but with no regard for keeping all the French things assigned to one group and the English ones to another.

That said, the inciting incident took its inspiration from the Battle of Poiters, a conflict during which England not only won against the French, but also took their king hostage. King Jean II was later ransomed back to his people, but at a sum that was so high, France could not afford to pay it all at once. England still returned France’s king, but new hostages were provided to serve as collateral during the interim, including the King’s son.

So. . .crown Prince Michael Shurley completely decimates King John Winchester on the battlefield, and sends his demands to John’s queen, Mary Winchester. The two kingdoms have been locked in a territory dispute for several decades, and this is one of the more humiliating events to befall the smaller kingdom yet, especially since they are unable to meet all of Michael’s demands. When the Winchesters begrudgingly admit this to the Shurley representatives, they’re caught off guard when they’re offered a trade: John Winchester will be returned, so long Dean Winchester takes his place as collateral.

Things are less than stable in the Winchester kingdom however, with more than a few factions quietly scheming for power. John and Mary were an arranged marriage that was originally held up like a fairytale when the two seemingly fell madly in love during their mandated courtship, but the years afterward had changed them. Civil unrest sparked by the war had brought out a lot of disagreements between the Winchesters and the Campbells and their approaches to governing.

John’s supporters are the ones to step forward with a plan, and convince Mary that it’s vitally important the people are not alarmed by their king’s capture. Mary initially finds it distasteful, but it’s talked around and adjusted and reframed, as John’s people ferret out more and more information about the vital party involved, until she finally agrees.

Because John Winchester just happened to have a bastard son. The resemblance to Dean might not be particularly remarkable, but no one at the Shurley court has ever seen the Winchester heir before. Plus, Adam Milligan has spent the entirety of his teen years studying to become a physician, of all things. He’s perfect for their purposes. 

Ten years prior, the Shurley court had had to deal with its own bout of civil unrest, when King Chuck Shurley’s second eldest son had attempted to overthrow him with the support of several nobles from one the kingdom’s richest providences. Lucifer had allegedly been driven into exile following his defeat, and Chuck had been said to have contracted some sort of mysterious illness. According to rumors, the king had shut himself up in his private chambers and refused to admit anyone apart from his remaining children. Even servants were barred from tending him directly.

They snatch Adam away from his studies and force him into compliance by dusting off an archaic law left over from before the start of the war, when the kingdom relied on a conscription military force rather than a standing army full of career military professionals—this law empowering the crown to call on any of its citizens for a minimum forty days of military service per year. They tell Adam that his mission seems more dangerous than it is—really, all he has to do is pretend to be Dean, and use his medical knowledge to figure out exactly what mysterious illness has bedridden the enemy monarch.

Sam and Dean—the proverbial heir and spare of the kingdom—are not at court to meet their younger brother, when he’s hastily fitted for a royal wardrobe and put through a crash course on court etiquette. Sam is very publicly put on display at a holiday festival in another part of the kingdom, while Dean is sent orders to quietly stay behind at a country estate while his valet, Kevin Tran, is sent on to court. Neither of the princes is told about the plan until after Adam has already been shipped out, with Kevin in toe to help Adam along with the impersonation.

No one involved is in anyway comfortable with the mission. But it was only supposed to be for forty days. Adam was assured that the necessary funds to pay off the ransom would either be raised by the end of the minimum mandated service, or they would make contact to extract him. The Campbells and the Winchesters both allegedly had spies in the Shurley court, and they would make themselves known when the time was right.

Adam is given the impression that the latter had been told to him with the intention of making him feel safer. It did not work.

He’s terrified when he arrives—almost would have preferred being promptly thrown into a dungeon upon arrival, instead of a room full of foreign nobility who one and all give off the impression that if cut they’d bleed straight silver, and look at “Dean,” the hostage prince and purported military genius from the tiny, vicious country across the channel, as a curiosity to be studied. He’s assigned two guards (who I decided will be Anael and Samandriel, based entirely on the tags I threw together at then end of this post, during which I decided that I love these three together), who follow him around relentlessly, but beyond that, he’s. . .pretty much treated like a guest. If a stiflingly monitored one. There are limitations on where he can go and what he can do, but for the most part he’s just sort of. . .there.

Most unnerving of all, however, is the small package that Adam finds in his room when he first settles in. Kevin swears he has no idea who left it. It has the Campbell’s insignia clearly worked into the pattern of the paper it’s wrapped in, and inside he finds a knife small enough to conceal on his person, and a number of different herbs and powders that he recognizes from his studies—though of course, he’s more familiar with remedies to counteract their effects.

In other words, he finds an assassin’s-first-kill-job kit, and instructions on how and when to use it, if opportunity arises. This had not been part of the deal when Adam reluctantly signed on.

Unbeknownst to Adam however—though suspected by some parties in the Winchester court—Adam cannot assassinate Chuck Shurley, because Chuck is not there. Shortly after Lucifer’s insurrection, Chuck had quietly disappeared. Michael had only been a teenager at the time. He invented the story about Chuck being ill on impulse, certain that Chuck would be back sooner than later, and Raphael had gone along with it because, being twelve years old, Raphael was not yet old enough to question Michael’s judgement. It is now an awkward point between them.

Adam soon becomes another.

Michael regularly checks in to see how Adam’s getting on, in a way that Kevin assures Adam is entirely appropriate, since Michael is under the impression that Adam is going to be a fellow monarch someday, and is likely trying to be courteous. Adam inherently feels somewhat flustered around Michael though, which is not helped by the fact that Michael is somehow always present whenever Adam puts his foot in his mouth socially. On more than one occasion, he’s thankful that almost no one has actually been to his homeland, allowing Adam to blame an astonishing number of fuck ups on cultural differences.

Michael and Adam’s early one on one interaction are intensely awkward. Adam will forget to wear gloves, and then Michael will comment that Adam’s hands are oddly devoid of callouses for someone who’d practically been raised with a sword in his hand, leaving Adam to scramble for some flimsy excuse about hand cream. Adam will inquisitively ask questions about what sort of illness would be severe enough to leave someone bedridden for a decade but not kill them in that time (Kevin frantically motioning over Michael’s shoulder to convey that that is NOT the right way to fish for details on such a sensitive subject), and Michael will struggle to find an excuse around the quietly bubbling panic, because he hasn’t had to try to explain anything about his father since that first year, and he is not a particularly gifted liar.  

And then there’s Raphael.

Unlike Michael, Raphael is suspicious of “Dean” right from the start, pulling Michael aside to point out things that don’t seem quite right according to what their informants have told them about Dean Winchester.

“Doesn’t he look a bit young?”

“Some people look younger than they are, Raphael.”

“I was told Dean Winchester had dark hair.”

“Dark blond is dark.”

“Aren’t his eyes supposed to be green?”

“They’re obviously blue.”

“That’s exactly my point.”

The forty days come and go with Adam and Kevin nervously waiting for some sort of sign from home. Roughly two weeks later, a messenger arrives with unexpected news for Michael’s court: the Campbells have officially broken ties with the Winchesters in a violent bid for power that has left the kingdom at war with itself.

According to Kevin, the civil war has probably slowed things down a bit, if it’s as bad as the rumors say. . .

Adam and Kevin are stranded.

“Don’t worry though—I know Dean, and he knows our necks are on the line. He’ll keep out of sight until they manage to get us out of here.”

Adam finds it difficult to put faith in the virtues of a brother he’s never met, but doesn’t have it in him to question Kevin’s faith. He worries about his mother, who might have been safe in the countryside, but also might have made the trek to the capitol when it came out that Adam had been abducted for the sake of persevering the royal family's throne. He can’t be sure.

And to top it off, Michael takes to stopping by Adam’s room every couple of days to privately talk about the movements of the various factions—who has been sighted where and in what condition, where they’re rumored to be headed. Adam interprets it as an attempt to shake out inside information. One day, Adam finally tries to set him straight by saying it doesn’t matter how many ugly details Michael throws at him, Adam can’t help him because he doesn’t know anything—and is promptly put to shame when Michael looks at him in surprise and says, “You misunderstand. I assumed that you would want to know these things, because they are your family.”

Michael leaves, and Adam’s guards exchange a look. When asked, Samandriel awkwardly tells Adam that the royal family used to have a fourth child. Gabriel. He was lost during Lucifer’s insurrection. Pirates overtook his ship. They’d never received a ransom. Michael had purportedly offered a standing reward for any news of Gabriel, and put an unwise amount of resources into searching for him until it threatened the war effort.

Adam and Michael start talking more frequently from there, starting with an apology on Adam’s part. It’s tricky at first, because Michael starts out asking questions about Dean Winchester's military exploits—it is the most likely common ground between them, after all—and Adam has to hastily change the subject every time. By the two month mark, they’re talking affably, and rumors start to circulate through the courts as Michael's routine check ins on Adam start getting less formal and more frequent.

On the four month mark, rumors get even worse. Raphael finally sits Michael down and really gets into all of the things about “Dean” that don’t add up, item by item. If he’s trying to pretend he doesn’t know anything about his country’s military exploits, he’s far too convincing given his reported record, and Raphael has it on good authority that more than half of those “cultural differences” in etiquette that keep cropping up are completely unfounded—and look here, three different informants have sent lists of Dean Winchester’s physical characteristics, and the foreign prince DOES NOT MATCH.

“Michael, something is not right here.”

“Fine, I’ll talk to him about it now.”

And Michael storms off to address “Dean,” while Raphael calls after him that he should wait until morning. Because it is the middle of the night.

Adam just happens to be up reading. Michael’s familiar with the book. Michael gets distracted, and they talk all night. The sun’s coming up when Michael finally leaves, and a servant happens to see him slipping out of Adam’s room. Suggestive conjectures promptly follow, and Raphael exasperatedly admits they only have themself to blame.

And this only gets worse, because now Adam and Michael have transitioned into being friends. No more guarded conversations where one is convinced the other is about to catch them in some sort of lie. When Raphael mentions that some of the lesser nobles are starting to think Michael and Adam are courting, Michael’s fidgeting is not at all lost on them, as Michael assures them that of course that isn't the case. He and Dean are merely establishing friendly relations that will serve them well down the road politically—

“After the war is over?”

“Of course, after the war is over.”

Adam’s been stranded in the Shurley court for almost a year by the time that he finally slips into his room and sees a sealed message set out on his bed. Adam doesn’t recognize the insignia as belonging to either the Winchesters or the Campbells, but it’s signed with the initials “SW” at the bottom. It mostly contains a lot of vague phrases that make Adam wonder if he was supposed to be versed in some sort of code. As far as he’s concerned, the only important information comes at the end: Kate Milligan has been safely relocated for the duration of the civil war.

Relieved, Adam goes down to dinner, where some sort of seasonal holiday is being celebrated, and has a bit more wine than he normally would. The Shurley court is one of those stuffy courts where seating is stiffly dictated by tradition. As a foreign prince, Adam’s assigned seat is at the same table as Michael, although, according to Kevin, his placement's much further down due to his being a hostage. After a few drinks, and after most of the nobles have cleared off from the table to talk and celebrate elsewhere in the hall, Adam sees no reason not to get up and relocate down the line of chairs to sit closer to Michael. It was against the rules, but Adam was aware enough not to sit in Raphael’s empty seat, and he’d been seen with Michael so often that Anael and Samandriel barely even blinked, because Adam obviously wasn’t about to attack their prince or anything.

However, it is worth noting that while talking to Adam, Michael consumes a decent amount more wine than he would normally have as well.

Later that night, Michael’s walking Adam back to his room, and he starts to comment that Adam seems happier than usual. But even when sober, Michael would struggle to say something like that—if he’d even attempt it while sober—and Adam winds up biting his lip as he watches Michael’s mounting embarrassment, as a simple compliment inexplicably morphs—words seemingly forcing their way out as Michael tries and utterly fails to stop them—into a compliment about how Adam is beautiful—that is, he’s always beautiful—that is, Michael can’t help noticing Adam most days—that is. . .

. . .Michael is adorable. And in a moment of pure, thoughtless impulse, Adam leans in and kisses Michael right there in the corridor.

Michael is profoundly shocked, and his reaction delayed. Adam had only gone in intending to briefly press his lips against Michael’s, but as he’s pulling away Michael abruptly leans in and reseals the kiss, and Adam in turn takes that as an invitation to pull Michael closer. And a few minutes later, Raphael happens to walk down the hallway and find the two of them enthusiastically kissing against the wall.

And Raphael promptly turns around and goes back the way they came, only stopping at one point to flag down a servant and order them not to let anyone else walk down that particular corridor for at least an hour, hoping that Michael and Adam’s “friendly relations” wouldn’t result in anything too inappropriate.

As it happens, nothing particularly inappropriate happens. Nonetheless, Michael still wakes up the next morning, fully clothed in his own bed, in panic because the first thought to distinctly make its way through the ungodly pain in his head is that he’d taken liberties with a guest the night before. The heir to a foreign power at that, a peer, a hostage! Michael never thought he was capable of something so dishonorable--he’d had Dean pressed up against the wall as if they were a couple of ill-bred urchins, and how does one even go about apologizing for something like that?

(Of course, if Michael were thinking clearly, he might have remembered that Adam had actually been the one to back himself up against the wall, with Michael obligingly following along, quite malleable to whatever positioning Adam wanted so long as Adam kept kissing him.)

Michael’s behavior was beyond unacceptable. If his father hadn’t already abandoned them, he’d likely disown Michael out of pure shame. There was no telling what kind of damage he’d done to the relationship between their kingdoms. At best, Michael’s uncouth actions would be a dirty secret between them in the years to come, after Dean married, and Michael was left barely able to look Dean’s spouse in the eye. If Michael were a lesser noble, his parents might demand he married Dean outright.

And suddenly Michael sat up in bed, realizing he could marry Dean. His mind begins racing, because of course he could marry Dean! It made perfect sense. They enjoyed each other’s company, and with both of them being heir to their respective kingdoms, their union would effectively end the war. It might be complicated—especially given some of the odd customs Dean had introduced to Michael’s court—but marriages had been used to cemented alliances often enough, and the thought of marrying Dean elicited a curiously hot feeling in Michael’s stomach, remembering the way Adam had pulled him close the night before.

(Fun fact, England and France actually did try to do this with the Treaty of Troyes in 1420; it did not go as planned.)

Michael goes through the rest of his day in an uncharacteristically upbeat mindset, because now it all seems to just be a matter of organizing things, and he is good at organizing. He would have to write to either John or Mary Winchester as soon as the situation in their kingdom settled, and formally ask for Dean’s hand, and he and Dean should have a chaperone present at all times moving forward to avoid scandal--though there would be no way to sidestep scandal altogether, of course. Adam was still technically Michael’s prisoner. 

More than likely, the Winchesters or Campbells would demand Michael relinquish his claim to at least half of the territories that they’d spent the last few decades fighting over, but that would be fine. It’s traditional in Michael’s country to give gifts to one’s in-laws, and Dean is a future monarch. Anything too little would be insulting, and all would be consolidated eventually when Dean and Michael assumed their respective thrones. . .

Michael is still walking around delightfully living in his own head when Raphael pulls him into an empty room to discuss what they witnessed the night before. While not the most shocking scenario they could have imagined, they were not expecting to hear their brother announce that he and Dean Winchester would be getting married.

“And how are we to explain away our father’s absence during the proceedings, Michael?”

Michael’s good mood promptly withers. Because of course Chuck would be expected to play some part in arranging his son’s wedding. Ill or not, at the very least, he would be expected to make an appearance at the wedding. To have no part in it at all would be suspicious, not to mention rude.

While Raphael intended to snap Michael back to his senses, they had not meant to shake Michael into an immediate depression. They try for a gentler tone.

“You know, Michael. Our father has been gone for over a decade. He left no formal plans, he's sent no word. By any standard, he's abdicated. Perhaps this isn’t the right time to introduce a political marriage. Perhaps we should consider your assuming the kingship, and then come back around to formalizing your relationship with Dean—”

Michael, of course, is against this. Because their father is alive, and he will come back, and it will not be to find that another one of his sons had greedily tried to usurp the throne.

Seeing Michael about to fall back onto a familiar tangent, Raphael chooses the lesser of two evils and takes the conversation back to “Dean.” They ask which out of the two of them proposed to the other.

Michael abruptly realizes that he's forgotten something.

Meanwhile, Adam starts his morning on a much happier note. His headache is less punishing than Michael’s, and while feeling the normal amount of embarrassment that comes with drinking a little too much, the feeling does not extend to kissing Michael. His mother’s safe, he’s nailing his Dean impression, and Michael apparently likes him. Things could not be better. Until Adam remembers how the latter two items on that list are linked.

Michael is not like a classmate back home, who he could chat up, get a drink with, and maybe start seeing regularly if all things went well. Michael is, in fact, the acting ruler of one of the most powerful countries in the world, which just so happens to be at war with Adam’s, and under the explicit impression that Adam is similarly situated in the world.

Adam promptly begins freaking out.

And then Michael finds him.

Adam’s in the library at the time. Michael walks in and quietly dismisses Adam’s guards, and Kevin, leaving the two of them completely alone. Adam doesn’t realize what Michael’s doing right away, though he’s spent enough time with Michael to recognize how nervous he is as he starts talking about a proposal to end the war—selling the idea, as if Michael wouldn’t be enough on his own—and then sheepishly tapering into the idea that both he and Adam seem to have feelings for one another. And if Adam were able to go back in time and strangle his tipsy past self, he would, because then he wouldn’t have to see the look on Michael’s face when he says no.

And no, Michael does not understand.

Adam can hear years of living in the public eye at work in Michael voice, as he just manages to keep his voice level in asking, “Even if it would mean peace?”

"I'm sorry, I just—I can't."

". . .I see."

Michael excuses himself, and Adam collapses onto a couch, assuring himself that no was the only right answer, and he shouldn’t feel terrible—which, of course, since Adam’s spent the last couple of months flirting with Michael while posing as someone else, is not an easy idea to buy into.

Michael and Adam avoid eye contact at dinner, even as Raphael—who has zero doubts as to who initiated what the night before—practically burns holes into Adam’s skin with the looks they shoot down the table.

And then a messenger comes in. One of the wealthiest duchies in the kingdom (the same one that had once supported Lucifer, and of course would be populated with demon characters in the narrative) has declared its independence, having formed an alliance with the Campbells, and has launched an attack not far from the castle. Several villages have already been attacked along the way. Michael accompanies the armed forces he sends out to quash the uprising.

Raphael is left behind to fortify the castle and take in the refugees, who the messenger assured them are not far behind. Unlike Michael, Raphael rarely saw combat. Officially, it was because Raphael had adamantly insisted on training as a healer rather than a warrior, which was true enough. Unofficially though, Michael and Raphael are both fully aware that if anything happened to Michael, Raphael is the only one left to inherent the crown.

Samandirel and Anael escort Adam back to his room. Samandriel assures Adam that no one thinks he had anything to do with the duchy double crossing them, but it would probably just be safer for Adam to stay out of sight until things calm down. Anael is more closed-lipped about the situation.

From his window, Adam watches the first of the villagers come trickling in, and even from his vantage point he can make out burn wounds, makeshift bandages and hastily thrown together tourniquets, and he’s in hell, because it seems the only two options in front of him are to worry about Michael, or feel absolutely sick with guilt because he’s a trained physician and he should be down there helping.

Finally he pokes his head out into the corridor and asks if someone can find Kevin for him. Anael raises an eyebrow that “Dean,” who’s usually inordinately self-suffice for a prince, is suddenly insisting that he needs to see his manservant, but Samandriel is already helpfully heading down the hall. A few minutes later, Kevin is in Adam’s room, confused, as Adam asks him to take off his clothes.

“You can have mine, just switch with me, okay?”

“Uuh. . . Don’t you think mine will be a little tight on you—”

“Less talk! Strip!”

Michael had probably errored in assigning the same two guards to watch over Adam. After a year, the three of them had gotten to be on fairly familiar terms. Adam waited until Samandriel started to get chatty, and slipped quietly out of his room when Anael was distracted—neither of them having had any reason to think Adam would try to escape, because he had been nothing but compliant since the day he arrived.

From there, he goes straight to the infirmary.

Raphael had set up tents in the courtyard to accommodate the high number of people in need of care. Adam was a year out of practice, but the atmosphere was still familiar to him, and he slipped into the chaos unnoticed. Raphael doesn’t notice him until they are well into the thick of things, and Adam’s as covered in grime and gore as anyone else present. Adam had just gone for more bandages and the two of them nearly ran into each other, and for a split second Adam thinks Raphael just might not recognize him until hand closes around his arm like a vice.

“What exactly are YOU doing here?”

Then Raphael notices the stitches Adam had just finished putting in for his latest patient—and Adam’s stitchwork is immaculate, not the clumsy, half-hazard work of a solider who picked up the mechanics of it over the course of their career.

"YOU did that?"

Adam starts to fumble out an answer, but they are interrupted because then Michael is being brought in. The fighting is over. Raphael and Adam promptly drop everything.

Michael has a concussion. He’s also been lightly stabbed. You know, just lightly. Needs stitches though. Raphael is adamant that Adam leave immediately, but Michael, who is delirious, sees Adam and absolutely refuses to let Raphael send him away. Raphael winds up patching Michael together while Adam—annoyingly, to Raphael—is sat next to him, holding Michael’s hand. Adam winds up sitting next to Michael all night, because it’s the only way to keep Michael from getting up and tearing his stitches like a feverish moron.

Initially, Raphael refuses to leave too, not trusting their brother’s suspiciously competent love interest, whose family was purportedly allied with the traitors who’d just attacked their people. There are still more wounded to tend to, however, and Raphael begrudgingly has to step away—making sure to leave orders that a guard be present in the room the entire time that Raphael is gone.

Little does Raphael know, Adam would have lowkey given a limb to have Raphael stay. Michael’s demeanor is a lot less closed off when he’s feverish and concussed. Shortly after Raphael leaves, Michael starts apologizing for proposing earlier, and Adam feels like he’s been stabbed in the gut. And as he’s lying there, looking at Adam’s hand in his, Michael starts saying things he would not normally blurt out—like that ending the war was not the main reason he wanted to marry Adam, because the last year has been the best he can remember, and it is entirely due to spending time with Adam—even if Adam was only there by obligation—and he would do anything to make Adam happy, even if they weren’t together—and Adam is just stuck there, highkey dying on the inside.

Then Michael sees his face.

"I apologize, you’ve already said you do not want to marry me, I should not have brought this up—”

Michael starts to get out of bed completely unconcerned about his stab wounds, and as Adam’s pushing him back down, the words “That’s not true!” just sort of. . .fly out.

Then Michael’s suddenly looking at Adam, and his face is suddenly very sober, and Adam can feel his own face turning red.

"That is, I. . ." Adam realizes, suddenly, that he’s fucked. Telling Michael the truth is somehow both the right and wrong thing to do at the same time, and Michael is definitely in no condition to hear it either way. “How about, if you still want to marry me when all this is over, then I’ll say yes?”

The next morning is a string of stressful events for Adam. Raphael shooed him out of Michael room at dawn, and Adam went straight back to his own. Kevin, Samandriel, and Anael had all been reprimanded for Adam’s escape, with the latter two being replaced as Adam’s guard under Raphael’s orders. His first interaction with Ishim and Maribel does not bode well for them becoming friends.

When Adam tells Kevin that he’s thinking about coming clean to Michael, Kevin panics. News from the Winchesters had dried up weeks ago, even for Michael and Raphael’s sources. Kevin argues that they’d be better off attempting to escape on their own if the charade was getting to be too much for Adam, especially after last night—but even then, they should wait awhile longer. Why take any chances right now? And Adam doesn’t know how to go about explaining the why. . .

And it gets taken out of his hands anyway, when they step out of the room and find that it’s somehow leaked that Adam and Michael—who had completely misunderstood what Adam meant by “when all this is over”—are engaged.

Kevin doesn’t get another moment alone with Adam to discuss how stupidly dangerous this whole situation is, and Adam, no matter how hard he tries—can’t seem to get a moment alone with his fiancé to try to explain that the situation is not what he thinks it is. Everyone had vastly underestimated how far the rumors about Michael and Adam secretly courting had gone, and Adam can barely take three steps without a noble or courtier or someone pulling him aside to offer their congratulations, and as Adam gets closer to Michael’s chambers, there’s Raphael, circling like a shark and Adam does not want to make his confession to Raphael before he sees Michael.

Come dinner time, Adam finds that his seat had been reassigned. He now sits directly to Michael’s left. He keeps trying to convince Michael to step out into the hall with him for a second, while Raphael, seated in their normal place to Michael’s right, continuously circumvents him, firmly believing that Adam has done more than enough in private.

Then there’s a scream. A servant comes running out into the dining hall, carrying a bloody knife. They run up to Michael—up until the guards step forward to stop her, but she’s not attacking. Instead she hands over the knife and says that she found in the corridor outside the king’s chambers. She had been worried, so she broke protocol and went in. The king’s bed was drenched in blood.

Adam looks over and feels a chill when he recognizes the same knife that had been included in the murder kit he found in his room on day one.

If Raphael had looked up, Adam had no doubt that Raphael would have read something in his face, but they didn’t get the chance to. Michael and Raphael are busy staring at each, the only ones in the room who know beyond any doubt that the implication could not be true, because there had not been anyone in that bed to assassinate in over ten years. Neither of them is given the chance to try to spin the knife’s implications in any direction, however. While the court is still reeling in shocked silence, a guard walks in—completely oblivious—and announces that a messenger has arrived with urgent news.

Adam looks up, and finds he has room to panic more, when he sees Anna Milton walk in, a serving maid in the Winchester court, and as she drops a curtsey to Michael, she identifies herself as one of Raphael’s spies. She had held her place in the Winchester court for as long as she could, but when her real identity had been uncovered she’d had no choice but to flee, and she’s come with monumental news. The civil war across the channel has ended, the Campbells having been forced to seek asylum with their allies outside the kingdom, John Winchester deposed, and Dean Winchester installed on the throne in his place. She had witnessed his coronation herself the very day they identified her.

And Adam feels very cold, as if his blood had actually managed to turn into ice, which would have explained why he couldn’t seem to move, as every eye in the room immediately turns to him.

 And that would be the end of part one.

[writing-gifts]

both sides of the viewfinder chp. 1

adult film star!bruno x afab!reader  (they are also gn)

this is 18+ content

summary:  Bruno's interested in you and you're interested in him. It's only a matter of time.

chapter 1 || chapter 2 || chapter 3 || chapter 4

------

A/N: okay so this is gonna be 3 chapters. the last chapter’s smut, but there’s pretty suggestive stuff happening in the 2nd chapter

i did research for this and wanted to try to make it more on the realistic side but there's always the chance that i messed up somewhere, so if you wanna point it out go ahead. it'll be good to know for the future!

------

This wasn't your first time filming for sex work but you felt a little out of your element. The studio that recently hired you was much bigger than what you were used to and considering that you were mainly doing freelance work before, this made everything feel much more professional and serious. Their work had to be highly produced.

"--We aren’t super strict about that, but you should definitely tell me before you go anywhere."

Right now, you were being given a quick tour by one of the people you'd be working with--the Director of Photography. Jocelyn was pretty much your manager and would be giving you most of the orders.

You continue to follow behind her as she continues to show you around. But you couldn't help eyeing the high quality lights and cameras you pass as she talked though. The equipment must have been worth a lot.

Once she has finished showing you around, she leads you back to the set filled with the crew that you passed earlier.

You listen closely as she goes over the details of the film.

"This will be the room where the main scene will take place. Today we will have you operating one of the stationary cameras, but since you’ve done stuff like this before I decided to let you do it without someone breathing down your neck. Just follow my orders."

You like the woman already. "Thank you."

"The shoot will start in--" she checks her watch, "--about an hour. Today is just filming for you but you know you’ll be doubling up as a runner when necessary. We might also have you help with other tasks while you work here too."

You nod to show you understand.

She smiles, "If you have any questions don't be afraid to ask me or any of your co-workers. Try to avoid asking the director though…."

-------

You adjust the headphones on your head as you stand in front of the camera you'd be in charge of today.

Working it should be simple enough since you didn't have to actually move. You just needed to make sure it stayed in focus so they had more options when it came to angles.

About 10 minutes later, the two actors starring today show up dressed in fairly nice clothes that they wouldn't be wearing for too long. One of them seemed quite friendly with everyone. He must be pretty popular you think.

Before you can recede to your thoughts, you recognize him.

Is that Bruno Bucciarati?

You quickly confirm that it is and turn your body away from him and towards the camera, as if doing that would hide you. You weren't necessarily a stan but you did follow him on social media. And perhaps you did subscribe to his OnlyFans. And there's a good chance you paid money for some of his work.

It wasn't your fault that he was one of the few male stars you found attractive!

You shake your head. This was work. Don't get starstruck.

Luckily, it doesn't take you long to get distracted with the camera. You rarely get to operate such expensive equipment like this so you find yourself looking at all it had to offer.

While you neglect socializing with the people you would be working with from now on, someone comes up to you.

"You look so focused."

Your eyes widen from the sudden voice and you pull down your headphones as you look to the side. "Oh sorry--" When you see who it is the rest of your statement dies in your throat.

However, Bruno isn't deterred by your abrupt stop. "You must be the new camera person."

You stare a second too long before nodding.

He holds out a hand and you have to calm your shaking one before reaching out and grabbing his. His hand was really warm.

“Nice to meet you, my name's Bruno Bucciarati."

"I'm ____. I've actually seen some of your work before! You really are as handsome as in the videos."

Even though you're straight-faced, you were regretting what you just said. It was a simple compliment but what if it was too much? His looks did astound you though, there was no denying it. And you really didn't understand how he managed to pull off that haircut.

You smile to ease the tension within yourself and Bruno returns it. Whether it was genuine or out of politeness you didn't know, but it helps you relax.

"Thank you," he says.

“Okay everyone get in your damn places! We’ll be starting soon!”

Your brows raise at the director’s choice of words.

Bruno turns back to you. "Well, let's do our best to get through this."

You nod and watch him walk towards the bed where his co-star is waiting, and the director immediately starts going over what he wants the two of them to do once he’s there.

You decide to do a quick second check on your camera to make sure everything is still working properly before waiting patiently for the director to start.

------

Between some cuts and breaks, filming’s done about 6 hours later. You’d been informed about the typical work time so you weren't surprised. The porn from this studio was highly produced, with a few “amateur” looking works thrown in, so it was the norm. But this was the longest you had worked on one film. So depending on how particular the director was, you would need to be prepared to do at least several hours of filming when behind the camera.

You rub your eyes. It's only 4 pm but you're yearning for your bed. You could only imagine how tired the actors were.

Right after you turn off the camera, Jocelyn calls you over.

"You did well today and looks like you don't need any serious training. Good job!" she praises.

You guessed you passed the new hire "test". That gave you a bit of an energy boost and you can't help the smile on your face.

While you remove the camera from its tripod, you begin to retreat to your mind. And of course, your mind wanders to a certain actor.

Bruno was good at what he did. Really good. And the other actor seemed to genuinely enjoy working with him too. For a second, you wonder what it's like.

You glance up and accidentally make eye contact with a now fully clothed Bruno. The man walks towards you and even though you had watched him just have sex for multiple hours, you feel nervous.

“What’s up?” you ask when he's close enough.

"Nothing. I like to check up on newcomers, but you must have worked in this field for a while since they usually tend to have some hang ups."

"Uh yea. I've been doing stuff like this for awhile. Good work today by the way."

"Same with you. It was long but things went as smoothly as they could."

You nod in agreement and finish folding up the tripod. “They did, but honestly that one position you were in looked super uncomfortable! Is your back okay?”

The man laughs. “I'll be fine. That was pretty tame to be fair.”

“Wow, you must be super fit or flexible then...” You notice your coworkers walking off with equipment and decide its best to end the conversation so you can follow them. "Oh, I need to put away this stuff. Thanks for checking up on me though!"

Bruno smiles at you and you scurry off with the camera and the tripod.

-----

You'd been here a week so far. Each day varied with things to do and you never really knew what you'd exactly be working on until you got to the studio.

For today you had a list of various tasks but the first one was conducting a pre-shoot interview with the actors for the porn being shot in an hour.

You look through the viewfinder at the two men sitting on the couch. You were already recording but the interview hadn't started just yet.

“It’s been awhile since I've done an interview so bear with me...” you mumble while going over the questions in your head.

“No pressure ____,” Bruno says.

The man doesn't seem bothered but Prosciutto, on the other hand, isn’t as laid back.

“You should at least have a list of questions prepared,” the blonde says.

"Yep right here!" You pull out a piece of paper from your pocket. From the list you could tell this collaboration had been long requested by their fans.

“I did my best to remember it but just in case…” You place the paper on a surface out of view.

You readjust the camera on your shoulder before speaking again. “Okay, let's start with names you say.”

You focus the camera on Bruno. You wish you had a tripod, but they were insistent on having you walk around with the damn thing to make it feel more “personal”.

"I’m Bruno Bucciarati."

You then turn the camera to focus on Prosciutto.

"I’m Prosciutto."

“So I know this is the first time you both are working together. How are we feeling?”

Bruno smiles. “I'm feeling pretty good and ready to work. How about you, Prosciutto?”

“Pretty much how I do before any shoot.”

“And what's that?” you ask.

Prosciutto crosses his arms. “Mostly relaxed but looking forward to it of course.”

"That's good. I know it'll be tiring filming and from how highly requested this seems to be, the director's going to want this to be perfect. But I'm hoping you guys still have fun."

"I'm sure we will, but I still don't know why so many people wanted us to work together," Prosciutto says.

Bruno nods. "Agreed. I feel like we’ve rarely interacted until now."

"Well people like seeing attractive people together. And I've actually seen fancams of you two interacting on Twitter. It's pretty entertaining!"

“You search those up?” Bruno asks.

“No, they just show up on my timeline sometimes.”

“...So you're a fan of Bruno then?” You weren't sure why but you sense a bit of judgement coming from Prosciutto.

"A little, but let's move on." You take a peek at the paper. "So who’s receiving and who’s catching?"

You raise a brow at how the question’s phrased.

Bruno looks at Prosciutto. “Don't you think we should let the film speak for itself.”

The blonde hums in agreement. “If they need to know so badly, they can skip ahead.”

“True. I think either way would be fun to watch though,” you say.

“Definitely. You should let me know what you think later.” Bruno says.

You don't mean to smile but it's already happening. "Sure."

“You're real unprofessional flirting with the camera person in the middle of an interview,” Prosciutto chides.

“It's just some banter. Are you jealous?”

Prosciutto tsks at Bruno's statement.

You shake your head deciding not to acknowledge those comments. The editor would have to cut out that bit. The two seemed to get along well enough for work but you had a feeling they would get on each other's nerves if they stayed together too long.

“Okay so this is definitely a good question to ask next. What do you guys like about each other? Either personality or physical wise."

Prosciutto glances at Bruno before speaking. “I can admit that the man has a nice….physique.”

You grin. "You sound like I'm putting a gun to your head."

The man fixes you with a very unamused look but you continue on smiling.

"What about you Bruno?" you ask.

“Well he has an attractive face and body, of course. His stubbornness is enjoyable at times too.”

“Stubbornness?”

Prosciutto seems to have the same question as you because he looks at Bruno for his explanation.

“Yes it's a good trait to have in certain situations.” Bruno returns the blonde’s stare. “It'll also make seeing him unravel much more interesting.”

The two of them are now looking at each other very intently and you feel like you should leave the room. But you need to finish the interview.

“Nice...so this is the last question. Is there anything specific you two are looking forward to?”

Fortunately, the two of them can still hear you and respond.

Bruno hums, “I suppose it's been awhile since I've given a blowjob, so there's that.”

"...And I'm looking forward to receiving one."

You let out a chuckle, “Okay, Prosciutto I see what you're about.” You quickly skim the list of interview questions. "Well looks like that's it! You guys ready to go?”

They both give you their positive answers.

“Then let's get you guys ready for the shoot."

Bruno smiles while Prosciutto's face stays neutral.

After that statement you stop recording.

“Okay, nice job guys!” You look at the clock on the wall. “That went pretty fast. So you can go ahead and head to the set.”

Prosciutto nods and exits the room but Bruno stays behind.

“Are you going to be helping film for the shoot?” he asks.

You gently place the camera down on the table where you left the paper.

“No, I have to go out and buy some things for something being filmed later this week. And then I have to go do some other stuff around the studio…” You laugh, “They really have me running around!”

Bruno looks slightly concerned. “You’d prefer to stay behind the camera the whole time right?”

“Yep but that's okay. I already knew what I was getting into, and I get paid better pretty well for it.” You look back up at the clock. “I’ll definitely be back for the interview after filming though so I should see you then.”

Bruno nods. "Okay, good luck with your errands."

----

By the end of the day, you're exhausted. Your list of tasks wasn't hard, you just ended up moving a lot more than you planned. You even almost forgot to take your break in your hustle.

When you return to your apartment, you eat something and take a quick shower before dressing up for bed. And once you're snuggled up in your covers, you decide to check your Twitter to see if anything interesting has happened.

While scrolling through the random posts retweeted throughout the day, you happen upon a pretty suggestive picture of Bruno in lingerie. He posted it not too long ago.

Nice.

You click on his icon to check his page to see if there’s anything else new, and under his username notice the words follows you.

Your eyes widen and you double check and refresh to make sure you're not seeing things. You go into your notifications and see that he followed you a couple hours ago. You really weren't sure what to do. It would be weird if you messaged him, right?

You take a deep breath and decide to take the chance. Bruno probably got hundreds of messages so it shouldn't be a big deal.

hi, i saw that you followed me. just making sure you didn't make a mistake lol

Before you can overthink it you send the message. After that you go back to his page and like and retweet the lingerie photo, but you still need a distraction so you wouldn't obsess over a possible reply. When you're thinking of getting out of bed, a message from Bruno pops up.

You quickly open it to see the full message.

No mistakes here. I searched you up and saw that you already followed me so I wanted to follow back.

It's not the first time you've been followed by pornstars or coworkers you worked with, but it was honestly still rare. And something about it being Bruno made your heart beat faster. You momentarily think about everything you retweeted in the last hour, before sending a message back.

oh okay, thx! i'll try not to bother you too much, you probably get a lot of messages

A few seconds pass before you get another reply.

Not necessarily. I have DMs off for people I don't follow. I love my fans but they can get...rowdy. Either way, you can message me whenever you want.

Wow, what would you even talk about with Bruno outside of work related things...

oh, that makes sense. well i guess i’ll take you up on the offer ^^

You see the three dots going for a while before another message appears.

I saw you retweeted my picture.

Your heart skips a beat.

oh god, now i feel embarrassed all of a sudden!

No don’t be. I'm glad you like it.

You smile to yourself.

yea, you look really good in lingerie ...you look good in anything tbh or without anything lmao

You feel like you're about to say something really embarrassing if this conversation continues and quickly type up another message before he can respond.

i’m really tired so i’m going to get ready for bed

The three dots disappear for a moment before showing up again.

Shame, I would have liked talking more. But I understand, you looked really exhausted during the post interview.

yea i was but it’s no biggie and we can message later ❤

Okay then, sleep well ____.

good night 😴

You close out of the app after that and honestly, that went way better than you were expecting.

[kyoomiii]

♡ Midnight adventures [hcs]

-  ➣. . . ❝ Could I request a scenario with matsukawa in which he and fem!reader go grocery shopping at night? (づ￣ ³￣)づ ❞

― 𝚛𝚎𝚚𝚞𝚎𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚍 𝚋𝚢: @ anonie ​ ―

- ✎ 𝚌𝚑𝚊𝚛𝚊𝚌𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚜 ❝ matsukawa, oikawa, and tendou ❞

- [ 𝚝𝚛𝚒𝚐𝚐𝚎𝚛 𝚠𝚊𝚛𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐(𝚜): heavy mentions of insecurity ]

- ⚘ 𝚐𝚎𝚗𝚛𝚎 ❝ fluff, angst ❞

❝ i apologize for the delay anonie. this is my first time writing for mattsun so i was having difficulties. anyway- i hope this is to your liking, i decided to add a couple of other characters, as well as make this an overall night time adventure kind of situation ❞

-yoomi ♡

The quiet audio of the movie is the only sound that fills Matsukawa’s room as you stare aimlessly at his laptop screen. Eyes trailed mindlessly on the brightly colored characters that appear before your eyes.

Your head is rested on his chest, arms around his torso as he holds you close amid this hushed night. 

Yet, despite the warm comfort he provides. You find yourself wide awake, listening to the thump of his heartbeat, and feeling the gentle rise and fall of his chest as he sleeps through the night, the show the two of you were watching long forgotten to him. 

Sighing softly you shift slightly, your arm reaching just a little further across his body, hand searching what you now realize is an empty snack bag.

The sudden movement causes Matsukawa to stir, eyes peering open into the relative darkness that surrounds the two of you.

“y/n?”

“Sorry did I wake you?”

The feeling of guilt fills your body as you glance at his blurred figure.

“It’s fine. Why are you still awake?”

“Couldn’t sleep?”

He lets out a soft yawn, bleary eyes glancing over the multiple empty bags that scatter his floor.

“You ate all the snacks?”

“They were tasty. (︶︿︶)”

“Then let’s get some more yeah?”

Despite the slight shock that fills you at the sudden proposition, you eagerly nod, the offer too good to pass up.

The two of you throw on your hoodies (well in this case it’s Mattun’s hoodies- but sharing is caring so...) before heading off to the nearest 24 hour store. 

Upon entering, the two of you grab a cart, Matsukawa stepping aside to let you grab the handle before he steps behind you, wrapping his arms tightly around your waist as the two of you explore the aisles of the store. 

“You know, one time we lost Oikawa here?”

“... There’s only like 10 aisles?”

“-But it’s Oikawa we’re talking about.”

“... You have a point.”

It’s a relatively relaxing experience- mainly for the fact that he’s still pretty much half asleep, occasionally dozing off on your shoulder as you look through the varying snacks displayed on the shelves.

“Sei, which one do you want?

“...”

“Sei-? Ew are you drooling on my shoulder?”

“Wha-? No… Of course not.”

Lies, the wet patches on your shoulder tell a different story.

However, as he slowly begins to wake up a little more, his antics become much more intentional.

“I’m so tired y/n… I could fall asleep right here.”

“Please don’t- Issei!”

“Oh no it has appeared that gravity has decided that in this very moment it shall increase on me tenfold.”

“We’re going to get kicked out if you don’t stop!”

“I guess the only solution is to sleep it off knowing that my wonderful, caring, lover shall take care of my unconscious body with the utmost love.”

“-You rotten boyfriend, you’re crushing me!”

Needless to say, the two of you did almost get kicked out. 

But the experience is worth it you suppose- especially since Matsukawa agreed to buy you lunch for the next week as an apology.

Oikawa is a night owl- when he realized this, he honestly had no idea. Perhaps it was in elementary when his love of aliens surfaced, or maybe it was middle school when he learned to love the stars as well. In the back of his mind the timing remains blank, not that it really mattered anyway- all that he needed to know was that at night was when he felt the most alive.

His mind would run wild, and his imagination seemed so much more vivid than it was in the day.

At night he didn’t have to worry about much- that could be saved for the morning. 

And tonight is one of many, so typical, yet so different at the same time. It’s a night where he can’t sleep and his mind is racing- but, there’s nothing to do tomorrow so he can’t force himself to sleep. 

Instead, he finds himself wandering the streets of Miyagi, clad in a pair of sweatpants and a thin hoodie. Letting his feet wander wherever his mind pleased.

He hadn’t noticed where he was until the familiar window had come into view. Illuminated by a bright light that no doubt indicated that you too were awake. Probably unable to sleep just like him. 

Taking his phone out of his pocket, he shoots you a quick text. 

Which in turn has you opening the window, and though it’s definitely not what you were expecting, you’re not exactly surprised to see Oikawa standing on the sidewalk in nothing but his pjs. Grin wide as he frantically waves to you. (He’s definitely done this before)

As a result, by this point you know the drill. Even if it is against your better judgement, you go down to meet him, for the simple fact that the two of you have been so busy that quality time together has become sparse.

Almost instinctively he excitedly engulfs you in his arms pressing kisses to your cheek as you chaste him for being out so late despite it being a weekend.

“Tooru, it’s late- what are you doing here?”

“Couldn’t sleep. And I missed you, so here I am. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯“

“That doesn’t mean you walk around in the middle of the night. (T⌓T)”

He knows, despite your words of disapprovement, you’re more than happy to be wrapped up in his arms, just like he is to hold you against him, Because if you weren’t you wouldn’t be smiling as the two of you walk hand in hand, him guiding you wherever he pleased, in the midst of this adventurous night.

Oikawa leads you, until the two of you are laying at the edge of the field that’s beside Seijoh, cuddled close in each other’s arms as you listen to Oikawa spew facts about the stars, and theories he has about the life forces that may exist far from where we have reached. 

You don’t realize you’re staring at him, until he stops, mid sentence, a look of questioning on his face.

“Why are you looking at me like that- is there something on my face?”

“No- just admiring you is all.”

“Oh- well of course you are. I’m stunning aren’t I? <(￣︶￣✧)>”

His sweet laughter fills the air, even as you send a gentle punch to his arm.

“Shut up trashykawa…”

Turning to you, eyes wide and adoring .

“But I suppose I only come in second, because you’re first.”

You’re glad it’s dark as a bright flush colors your cheeks.

“Sleazykawa (T_T)”

“Ehh? My love for you is only the purest! ꒰,o﹏o,꒱”

The silent click of time sounds throughout your head as you stare aimlessly at the top bunk. 

It’s hours into the night, but you can’t seem to fall asleep. Your roommate has done so long ago, but the simple fact that you just can’t seems to make the situation all the more frustrating.

Silently you lift your pillow from under your head, before stuffing it over your face. A soft groan, muffled by the fabric comes from you as your fingers grip the pillow case tightly.

You almost don’t hear the soft knock against your door.

As quietly as you can, you pad over to the door. Opening it to reveal Tendou.

“Satori…?”

“Did I wake you up?”

“I-Uh...No?”

“Good- come with me!”

The sudden force of his pull has you jerking forward. Shocked ridden on your face- though he wouldn’t be able to see it due to the darkness of the hallway.

“At least let me put on some shoes!”

Halting in his tracts, Tendou chuckles apologetically, watching as you disappear into your dorm for a few moments before you reappear in a hoodie that is obviously his, and a pair of shoes.

“What are you even doing here, you know it’s against the rules.”

“Technically so is staying up, but here we are anyway~”

He wasn’t wrong, and thus you had no argument as he pulled you through the halls. His movements are calculated and careful as he drags you out into the open. The fresh air hitting you as the two of you make a break for the school's entryway.

“Will you at least tell me where we’re going?”

“Honestly- I don’t know.”

“What??? (*ﾟﾛ���)”

“I mean- I kinda know- but Wakatoshi was a little vague about where it is…”

The confusion that swirls in your head doesn’t cease as Tendou leads you through the empty streets to your unknown destination. 

Quiet follows the two of you, save for Tendou’s quiet hum as his eyes search for something. Only to immediately light up at the sight of a small corner cafe by the looks of it. The little shop illuminated amidst the tons of darkened buildings.

“A cafe?”

“Mhm, figured if you were still awake. Might as well make the best of our time.”

And with that Tendou opens the door,the jingle of a bell followed by the sweet smell of fresh pastries fills your senses.

The shop is cute and small, with the only people filling the tiny space being you, Tendou, and the woman sitting behind the counter who smiles kindly at the two of you. 

Taking your seats near the window Tendou hands you a menu stacked on the edge of the table. He’s completely unfazed, as he looks through the booklet, eyes scanning over the drinks available.

However, after moments pass. Your silence becomes worrisome as he glances up at you.

“If you want we can go back?”

“No no! I’m just a little shocked is all… I know you said Wakatoshi-kun talked about this place so I guess I’m a little surprised you kept it in mind to take me here.”

Placing his menu on the tabletop and lacing his fingers together, Tendou grins.

“I can be romantic if I want to be.”

“Surprisingly~”

“Hey!”

Giggling softly you pick up your menu.

“I’m joking~ Let’s eat yeah? The snacks here look good.”

“Not as good as you~  ( ᵒ v ᵕ )৴♡*৹”

“Satori!”

[thatwriterkei]

Dreaming of You.

°A/N; Sorry it's so long!! 😅❤️

•Summary: In which, Y/N invites the whole gang over to her place for a sleepover.

•Warnings: FLUFF, and some cursing as well

*MASTERLIST*

________________

Y/N's home wasn't the cleanest in the world. The place had a few documents and bills lying around that belonged to her parents, from the kitchen counters to the coffee table in the living room, but still clean as it was going to get. Her room though was a completely different story.

There were clothes strung along her dresser and windowsill, her comforter wrinkled and tossed around from waking up in a frenzy a couple of times; She slept through her alarms. It wasn't too trashy..Just covered in piles of dirty dishes she was too lazy to bring down to the kitchen sink. It's not her fault hot pockets are the most enjoyable meal while in bed...At 2 in the morning on a school night while you're trying to write a last minute English paper. It didn't matter though because today was the day she would finally spiff it up. Mainly because her friends would be arriving in two hours. That isn't a lot of time, huh?

After years and years of knowing MJ, Peter and Ned, not once did their sleepovers and late night study sessions occur in the comfort of her room. It didn't bother the group, but it was quite a surprise when Y/N offered to host a sleepover the following day.

Now it was Saturday and with all the homework she was given from her teachers, Y/N nearly forgot about the sleepover she arranged. Sure the snacks, drinks and movies were all set up and ready to go but definitely not the space they would be using.

She tossed the strayed dirty clothes into the nearby hamper, giving herself a mental note to start a wash the following day.

By the time it was six o'clock, her room was squeaky clean with a few appliances lingering around that was used to tidy the room. Once those were put away in the hallway closet, she heard a doorbell ring followed by some chatter near the front door that belonged to her mother's and a familiar female voice. Y/N peaked around from the hallway upstairs to see who it was and, sure enough, it was MJ. To be truthful, Y/N expected her to arrive on the dot so it wasn't too much of a shocker. She quickly ran down the stairs to greet the brunette.

"If it isn't Michelle Jones! Back again to torture me?" Y/N teased.

"The only thing I'm going to torture you with tonight is confessing to Peter and how you like him sooo much." The corners of MJ's lips curved into a small cocky smirk.

Thoroughly embarrassed, Y/N punched the girl's upper arm with such feebleness it almost tickled.

"Hey, don't say that too loudly! My parents could hear and, my god, I don't need more people teasing me about how obvilous my crush is on him. Even I'm surprised he hasn't found out!"

While she spoke, the pair walked upstairs to Y/N's sparkling room.

"I mean he's stupid for not realizing it but you're also dumb for not confessing so, really it's on you. Just tell him when he comes over tonight, easy as that."

Y/N slumped on her freshly made bed with a soft groan. "There's no way in hell I'm doing that! I swear, sometimes you just want to see me suffer."

"I wouldn't say suffer..More like, tolerating situations with consequences."

She lifted her head with a raised eyebrow, "That's basically the same thing!"

After chatting for another 15 minutes about random topics that came up, the doorbell rang again. Soon enough, her mother sent up the two excited boys. Ned bursted into Y/N's room without knocking while Peter looked around eagerly. No, this wasn't the first time he entered a girl's room but it would be funny if it was.

"Geez, ever heard of knocking?" MJ commented, her previous smile being replaced with a slightly annoyed look.

"Yes, but I didn't think it was necessary." Ned quickly retorted, taking a seat at one of the two bean bags Y/N had in her room. MJ was sitting in the other one.

"You mind if I sit here?"

It seemed as though Peter was the only polite one in this scenario.

Y/N's cheeks flushed to a red shade and her heart skipped a beat. She felt her heart rate quickening each moment that passed while their eyes stayed connected.

"Of course I don't mind, silly! Sit back and relax, you're on Y/N's property now. No worries for anybody, except me. Speaking of which, I'll get those pizza rolls in the oven! MJ, come with me please?" The look in her eyes showed that MJ didn't have a choice to come with Y/N or not.

The two girls left without another word spoken, only the sound of footsteps running down the stairs as they made their way to the empty kitchen.

Her parents stayed in their room for the time being, watching god knows what but they sure spent most of their time in there. Y/N didn't want to think about it though. She was freaking out way too much about how innocent and cute the look on Peter's face was when he asked her.

"Oh my god, did you see him? His eyes, they were so freaking adorable! And his smile, I swear it's brighter than a full moon."

MJ quirked an eyebrow. "And I swear you're about to give me a headache with all this mushy gushy romance stuff."

Y/N grabbed the bag of pizza roles from the freezer while MJ pulled out a silver tray.

"Oh c'mon, you can't internally gag at that. Did you not see how he was the only polite one? Clearly he's nicer than you and Ned."

"And yet, who do you share your utmost dreams and fantasies about him with?" MJ's lips formed a smirk again.

"My diary." Y/N replied with a deadpanned expression on her face.

Meanwhile, Ned was nearly doubling over in laughter after the girls left. Peter was panicking just a little bit.

"Shit, did I say something wrong? I just made a fool of myself, didn't I?"

Ned eventually caught his breath from laughing so passionately. "Oh my god. Stop being so dramatic and man up. She was probably just gushing over you because you're literally on her bed! Do you know how close you two are? You're practically dating already."

Peter rolled his eyes. "Be quiet, or she might hear you! Besides, I highly doubt she holds any real deep feelings for me. I'm going to be in the friend zone forever, Ned."

He flopped back on the bed, a dreamy sigh escaping his lips.

"I just want to tell her how much I like her, but she deserves to be loved by somebody who is dashing, compassionate, and compliments her beauty. Somebody who is able to spoil the hell out of her because she just deserves it. I'm not saying that I couldn't fulfill that role but she most likely isn't interested in-"

MJ walked through the door, trying to stifle a small chuckle after overhearing part of the conversation. "And who isn't interested in whom?"

"Huh? What're we talking about?" Y/N arrived momentarily after, holding two plate fulls of fresh, piping hot pizza rolls.

"Nothing, nothing!! Yum, pizza rolls! Thanks Madame Y/N!" Peter steered the conversation away and shoved a roll into his mouth. He immediately regretted it.

It took everything in Y/N's power to not drop the plates. "Oh my god, Peter!! You dumb dumb, it just came out of the oven!"

She set them down on the bed beside Peter, shaking her head disappointedly at the pouting male. "Do you want some ice cream? It's a little too early to have some since the movies haven't started but I can get you a drink instead?"

Then one thing after another happened and the group finally settled with MJ and Ned on the comfy dark bags and the adorable lovebirds on Y/N's bed. The group of friends were currently engrossed in Shrek with the occasional laughter filled the room.

Y/N was the only one beginning to doze off. Her body desperately yearned for something cozy to snuggle into. The closest thing to her was none other than Peter.

Peter felt the weight of Y/N's head land on his right shoulder and her arms snake around his torso. This wouldn't be the first time they bundled together, but the fluttery feeling they got in their chests didn't go unnoticed by their intertwined hearts.

Peter shifted in his position to lay both of them down. The bed creaked a little but, luckily, Y/N didn't awaken. He inhaled some, her faint perfume making its way through his nostrils. To Peter, Y/N felt like home. A place where he didn't feel judgement, only kindness and support. He enjoyed her presence, and as did she with him.

By the time the movie had ended, the two had fallen asleep with their legs tangled together. MJ and Ned noticed this, and boy did they go crazy with photos. Eventually, they went to bed as well after MJ went in search for some blankets and pillows.

At around five in the morning, Y/N quietly murmured in her sleep. "Mm..Peter..No..Don't leave..I need some more...Cuddles. Please? Thank you."

Peter began to wake up due to her soft chatter, but he vaguely remembered hearing her say his name.

"Huh? What was that, Y/N/N?" He asked in a drowsy tone. The bed dipped a little when Peter attempted to pull back from her tight grasp around his waist.

"Stop moving, Pete." She grumbled, snuggling herself closer to his chest.

He chuckled at her protests, grazing his thumb against her soft cheeks. "Sorry.. What're you dreaming about?"

"Dreaming of you.." Y/N mumbled.

"Y-You are?" He hesitated, "You know..I really like you. I'm not sure how to explain my feelings for you, but I do know that you're incredibly beautiful inside and out. And the goofy smile you always have own your face is just adorable. You care for everybody, and I admire that. I deeply admire you.."

Y/N lifted her head, staring up at the curly haired boy in awe. "You like me?"

"Shit, I thought you were dreaming about me!"

"What?! How did you know?"

MJ's voice cut through their conversation. "Will you two go back to sleeping and cuddling each other? Sheesh."

Now recovering from her drowsy state, Y/N's cheeks turned to a faint rosy shade. "I really like you too.."

"I'm so glad. I was about to lose my mind.." He chuckled a little, pressing a chaste kiss to her cheek.

The two returned to resting, now especially easier; With their heart beats in sync and souls intertwined.

________________

@peterspideyy @har-rison-s @peeterparkr @parkershoodie @givelove-always @waitimcomingtoo @dedeimagines @that-one-eggo-child

[suffering-and-happy-about-it]

Best Friend (Stressed Out, Part 4.)

Happy Hallowe’en!

Series despription: Once upon a time, there was a lonely dog locked up in his own home. The lonely dog became sad and angry - until a woman came to stay at the lonely, sad house one day.

Part summary: As you got ouf the stoic state, Grimmauld’s place started to shake under your presence - the house hadn’t been through such a great cleaning in ages and the only one who couldn’t get over it was Kreacher... About whom you decided not to care about in the slightest.

A/N: First signs of affection, I REPEAT FOR PEOPLE IN THE BACK: FIRST SIGNS OF AFFECTION. We really be taking our time. As one very wise, red-head boy once said... “You’re gonna suffer, but you’re gonna be happy ‘bout it.”

Word counter: 3.9 K

Tagging: @missdictatorme​, @siriusly-padfoot​

Playlist: The Black Vibe ™

Series masterlist: H E R E

The night, there was a promise made on the sofa. Neither of you knew if it was to be taken seriously; Sirius was still half-drunk and you were sobbing more than talking; Black couldn't understand the better half of what you've been mumbling. Yet you promised to confiscate every bottle of alcohol in the house, letting Sirius drink only a bit each day. On the other hand, Black promised not to let you sit around various parts of the house and stoically gaze into oblivion. It was solidified by a handshake just before you fell dead asleep as if someone hit the back of your head.

Black wasn't wondering why did it happen; you must've been tired after everything that was going on inside your head for the last couple of days. And to his unpleasant surprise, he didn't even have to worry about you being lifeless. You continued right where Molly left off, cleaning the rooms. Kreacher, as expected, was revolting heavily against your doings. Yet the house-elf was forgetting that you were now as angry as he was... All the time. Every time he started to curse in your presence, you turned into a furious hag and yelled at him to leave you alone finally; usually grabbing him by his clothes and shoving him into the nearest cabinet. After each of those extempores, Mrs Black started to yell her lungs out once more and you were wondering if it's worth it, to shout at the elf and so. Yet every time Kreacher came by to continue his daily dose of making you sick, you knew that it's bloody worth it.

After some time, you started to answer the painting back in the same enraged tone. While Walburga was yelling that you were just a scum, a traitor and an overall disgusting piece of filth, you've been yelling back at Walburga various not-so-nice things. And to be honest... Both Kreacher and Walburga were helping you to get past your grief sooner than you'd do so normally. It felt good to let all of the pressed anger out of you in such a way, especially if it meant that you didn't have to be angry with Sirius, who was your only so-called friend at the time. But that didn't mean you were good all the time either.

This was caused mainly by the fact his drinking got a bit out of hand when you had your weird phase. Now, it was hard to stop with it from an evening to an evening. Sure, he wasn't near close to being an alcoholic, yet the beverages became a part of his day-to-day life for a few weeks. It was hard to cut it off just like that.

Yet when he saw your outbursts of pain (it was simply the pain you've been feeling you've been yelling out at his mother and Kreacher) he decided it might be better not to try to sneak for the beverages into your room. You'd know; Sirius wasn't sure how would you find out, yet he was certain you'd find out easily. In the end, he was allowed two big glasses when you sat on the sofa every evening, so there was nothing to riot against.

One late October morning, it was three days before another meeting of the Order, he had woken up to a particularly amusing sight. Kreacher was crying out inaudibly as you were trying to set the damn portrait on fire with a torch you've found somewhere in the house. The said portrait was screaming on the top of its lungs with fear - and such sound was enough to make Sirius' morning a bit better. Against his better judgement, he flicked his wand and the fire was extinguished immediately. While Kreacher was still angrily yelling things at you, Sirius swiftly covered the portrait. Then, he turned his as Kreacher who was now kicking your shin as you sat in front of the wall, breathing heavily. - "Go to your place, right now, Kreacher." - Sirius muttered out with amusement, offering you a hand. The house-elf shot a last hateful gaze at you before he bowed to Sirius, apparating into the thin air.

"How are you doing?" - The man asked you with an entertained smile, patting your shoulder. With a sigh, you swung the put-out torch next to your leg, rubbing the nape of your neck. - "I think that I am perhaps short of a marble, or at least that I am starting to losing it." - An answer sounded through the staircase as you walked to the dining room side by side. - "This is the magic this house has. A charming one, am I right?" - Sirius let our a breathy laughter as he put a kettle to the fireplace, preparing the water for a cup of tea. - "Fancy a cuppa?" - He mumbled from searching for a particularly old tea set. To his surprise, you were kneeling in front of the stove and checked something, that was backing inside. - "What you got here?" - The man stuck his head next to yours, freaking you out so much that you almost burned his face with the hot stove door.

"You'll see, shush now." - You pushed him aside with a giggle. It wasn't too hard to figure out what you were trying to bake since there was a cookbook opened at the page 'Pumpin Pasties and other Hallowe'en treats'. - "What's the date? I lost the touch with the outside world." - Sirius, who was now paying attention to the flavours of the tea, asked silently. How long have you been there already? How much time had passed by? - "That's another thing I wanted to talk to you about. Can Kreacher go to the market for me?" - You wondered innocently, covering the book with your body.

Sirius now shot an interesting gaze your way. - "Hallowe'en is around the corner and since the members of the order will be here for the evening, I thought we might make it pretty in here. I've already found me some candles I can enchant to fly around," - A smile broke out on your face and it was the first time Sirius saw you excited about anything. There were small sparks in your eyes as you spoke of the subject and there was a whole new expression in your face; when Kreacher moaned in horror (since it were his Mistress' candles), you kicked the door with your heel to shut him up. - "But I was thinking a few pumpkins here and there, some Hallowe'en baking and such. I might pull out some of the bats from Buckbeak's attic." - With that, you smiled more subtly than before.

The water was already boiling as Sirius watched you with a moron-ish gaze. Kreacher sure was allowed to go outside, yet the directions must be complex. He wasn't allowed to talk about where you've been or where Sirius is hiding, he can't tell how to find the place or who is the secret keeper. Yet Sirius didn't find the will to tell you no. It might lift the spirits for a moment. It might be fun, to carve pumpkins and prepare the house for a befitting jolly mood. - "Of course he can leave the house. Write me a list and I will send him out." - Sirius answered with a subtle smile resembling yours. With that, you jumped on your feet and took your cup of tea from his palm. - "That's why I'm trying Pumpin pasties from the old book I've found here. I think you might like them. And Kreacher can take one if he fancies it, I'm in a generous mood."

As you've said, so Sirius did. He recited the whole list to Kreacher - eleven big pumpkins, fifteen small ones, another pack of candles, a whole lot things so you could bake, some lemonades and butterbeer; to make Sirius happy, you've asked Kreacher to take a big bottle of fancy whiskey. Both of you gave Kreacher some money, you've been more than willing to invest in the holiday celebration, and while Black was more generous and gave Kreacher two Galleons, you've only given him a few Sickles. As soon as you were done with the first batch of the pasties and it got a bit colder, you've made the man taste it.

Honestly, when he saw your expression, Sirius expected a whole rodeo. He was worried for a moment, but then the salty caramel and sweet, spicy pumpkin pasta hit his tongue. - "Merlin's beard." - The man hummed after eating two of them. - "I last had such good pasties back in Hogwarts." - This started the whole topic about if you should make both sweet and savoury treats, or just stick with one of them; to which you decided you'll make both just to be sure.

For the next two days, after Kreacher was unwillingly sent to shop while Sirius hissed a whole lot of comments regarding your safety at him, Grimmauld's place was turned into a bakery and also became a lot more lively than before. You've spent a whole afternoon figuring out how to make the candles fly without setting anything on fire (there were a few spots that were soot-coated by the candles), then you craved the pumpkins, both small and big, arranging them around the whole house. Even though you used magic at most of them, you've craved at least five of them by hand, arranging them around the house in various places. Some were flying along with the candles, some were put on the railing to shine through the pitch-black corridors, some were put into the tapestry room where you've been spending the most time.

The house itself was suddenly bursting with the right creepy atmosphere it was all the time, but now it was enhanced by all the Hallowe'en decorations. Sirius liked it the end - the whole dining room was decorated with small bowls of candy, pumpkin pasties (both savoury and sweet) and a pint of butterbeer for everyone who was supposed to come.

When Moody entered the Grimmauld's place, his eye was flying in every direction so he'd figure out if the decorations were something dangerous or not. Tonks was so taken away by it that her hair changed into bright orange colour and Lupin just told you it looked wonderful, which was the biggest compliment you were able to get out of him. Dumbledore practically waltzed into the room, Hogwarts were in the jolly mood at this time of the year as well, and all the decorations made him smile widely. You've been wondering how is it that Dumbledore is staying so jolly in times like these, yet eventually, his mood became quite contagious.

Severus Snape ignored all of the treats you've presented to your guests, but it was greatly appreciated by Minerva McGonagall, the headmistress of the Griffindor house of Hogwarts. - "See, Black? I knew you had it in you." - She sang out with a small smile, making Sirius huff out with laughter. There was not much to talk about at the meeting - there were only new people with new information who were able to tell you something. Some of the guests stayed a bit longer and drank a few glasses of whiskey before they left. Yet just before you joined the lively group in the dining room, you've caught up Dumbledore.

Minerva McGonagall gave you a confused look as you gently gripped the man's upper arm, yet she nodded when Dumbledore smiled at her kindly. She remembered you, of course, she did. You, Brian McLeavey and Charlie Weasley were an inseparable group back in your Hogwarts days. Back when you were still studying at the school, it wasn't even that long ago, you've been in the Forbidden forest almost all the time; it was mainly caused by Charlie's persuasive skill and your thrill for a bit of adventure. When she heard that Brian had died, she fell silent for a moment - neither of you were great at Transfiguration, yet Charlie and he were known lovers of the wild beasts and you've been really great with herbs. Such a nice man's life lost... What bad news.

"I never had seen Grimmauld's place looking so sharp, miss Y/L/N." - Dumbledore told you kindly and moved out of Alastor's way with one elegant move. - "It was your work, wasn't it?" - He smiled as if you've been gushing about a secret of sorts. - "Sirius helped me greatly. When it comes to silly things like these, this man can be brilliant." - You answered honestly. - "Yet this is not what I wish to speak of, sir."

It was still within you. Even if Album Dumbledore wasn't your headmaster anymore, there was this respect deeply craved under your skin. This man was most probably the most brilliant, the smartest and kindest wizard you've ever had the luck to speak with. Dumbledore sighed, looked around the decorated hall and nodded at what you've been saying. - "I know it's not what you want to talk about, but take this as my answer. It is too soon for you to leave the hiding you have at Grimmauld's place. As I wrote to you in the letter, it will be wiser to stay here until we know what curse is ailing you. This is the safest place you can find yourself at. How's Buckbeak doing, when we're chatting away anyway?" - The headmaster asked kindly and made sure his beard still looks presentable. Your answers were now much less enthusiastic and quieter than before; you were hoping to hear that you can, in fact, leave the house at your will.

It wasn't right to leave Black there all along, yet you were surely slowly losing your marbles while staying there with Kreacher. One of you will be found dead in the following weeks and you were sure it won't be you. The Grimmauld's place wasn't a location you'd voluntarily stay at, but there was something inside you telling you that you should stay inside the house. As you watched Minerva gently placing her palm on Dumbledore's forearm, you sighed out loud before they disappeared right in front of your eyes. Slowly, you closed the door and walked back to the kitchen. Tonks, Lupin and the Weasleys stayed there for a little longer. As to be expected, you've slipped into two groups - the women were gushing over the latest news and men were drinking a bit to get into mood (Sirius might have drunk a bit too much) and talked about various topics. Molly even brought you a few of the latest Daily prophets so you would have something to read through.

"How are you doing, darling? it must be horrible to live... Here." - Molly looked around and searched for Kreacher lurking around the table somewhere. For a moment, you've been quiet; until you shook your head. You decided not to tell her about the few crucial weeks you and Sirius had before the first meeting of the school year was called. - "It's not that bad, really. Kreacher and Mrs Black can be a whole lot at times, that I admit, but this house has its perks." - You looked around with a soft smile. Over the last few weeks, you've grown to know every small detail of a few rooms. - "For example, there's always something to do and to clean up. Mostly, Kreacher is fast and slips with a few trinkets to hide them away, so then I can argue with the old moron for a while, letting all the stress out. Which wakes the hag living in the portrait." - Then, you and Tonks chatted about Kreacher calling you all these names at which you just laughed carelessly. Around eleven in the evening, Molly and Arthur left the house, hugging you as if they were seeing you for the last time ever. You've grown to appreciate both of them during their first stay at the Grimmauld's place (since Charlie never introduced you to his family) and you liked the pair ever since.

It was after they both left the house when Sirius finally managed to talk you down to have a good, big glass of the whiskey with him and Lupin. Tonks, who certainly wasn't afraid of alcohol, had drunk much more than she was capable of handling. When Lupin was leaving, she persisted on walking him out of the door. To keep the discretion, you and Sirius sat in the dining room and continued to sip on the whiskey. He pretended that he's sober, but you knew he drank at least a whole bottle on his own. - "Most of the members were blown away by the decoration. It was something magnificent in my opinion." - The man whispered to you as you heard Tonks and Lupin conversating about something very loudly in the hall. With a flick of your wand, the door to the dining room had closed while your gaze slipped from the fireplace to Black.

Even he was now looking like a changed man. The company you've had poured some energy into his veins, that was clear as a day. Suddenly, he looked at least ten years younger than he did before, mainly because he trimmed his beard and moustache and made sure his hair was somewhat presentable. His blue eyes now had small sparks of happiness inside them - which was partially the alcohol's doing. The only thing you were afraid of was that once this excitement flushes away, he maybe will be an insufferable moron. This time, you wouldn't be able to just sit through all of it, gazing into the oblivion. - "We better raise the bar on Christmas, then." - You said with a small smile, pouring rest of the booze down your throat. Then you picked one of the sweet pasties, biting off the better half of it.

"What do you mean by that?" - Sirius leaned his back into the chair, being taken away for a moment. He didn't know for how long Dumbledore is planning for you to stay at the Grimmauld's place, yet it couldn't be that long, could it? Sirius had already a bit of experience with isolation, he knew how bad it can get with him - but you were a young woman. You'd surely lose your marbles if you'd stay longer than three months. Not to say that it was almost two months already. - "I mean that you probably won't be able to drink like a local drunkard for some time because Dumbledore hadn't disclosed any certain date. And I think I might be stuck here until the New Year. Poor you." - You snickered with irony, yet it seemed to take Black away even more for some reason.

Was he a bad person for being... Happy after you learned such news? Sure, in the beginning, it was not too charming to live with you under one roof. Yet once you got over it and moved into the stage of being angry, living at Grimmauld's place wasn't feeling like such a prison. Sometimes he joined you with cleaning up the mess after his family, sometimes he chatted with you for a while - but when you realized it's almost Hallowe'en and you could surprise your guests, it was one of the funniest weeks he lived through in the last few years. You could be funny, especially when you were cursing about the damn candles falling on your head, you could be overly energetic with it (which made Sirius filled with energy as well) and you could be... Nice. Especially when you just told him stories about the Hallowe'en celebrations in your household. He enjoyed your company and by Merlin's beard, a part of him relaxed when he realized that you weren't about to leave just yet. - "Poor me." - Sirius tried to agree with the same amount of irony in his voice, yet the mascarade was easy to look through. - "Poor me."

Just before the conversation could go in a different direction, Tonks opened up the door with tears in her eyes. You and Sirius exchanged a glance before she sat at the chair Lupin was sitting at just a moment ago, drinking straight out of the bottle. - "You, my friend, are sleeping here tonight." - Sirius told her and patted her shoulder as he picked himself from the chair. It was probably the best idea. Tonks, who didn't leave the bottle out of her palms, started to sob, yet refused to tell you what was going on. Shortly after, Sirius led her to one of the empty bedrooms. As you were walking next to them, each of you at least a bit drunk, you stopped at the ajar door leading into the tapestry room. There were no words needed - Sirius simply nodded at you while climbing upstairs with Dora, chatting with her about something quietly.

As usual, it was your time to cry and get the sadness you before you'd start your yelling competition with Mrs Black and the ungrateful house-elf in the morning. It was a daily convenience that Sirius found you sitting on the sofa, all curled up into a tight ball, staring into the flames. With the bottle he managed to wiggle from Tonks' grip, he sat next to you as he always did. Usually, you've been crying and he was just sitting there, as emotional support. For several hours until you decided it's time for sleep. Well, it certainly wasn't the best thing he could be doing, but what were his options? To sit with Buckbeak in the attic? Lay in his bed? Cook? No, Sirius got used to this already.

It was as that moment you took the bottle and took a long swing out of it too. This was different. He had never seen you drink during there before. It was not too long after when you managed to speak out loud. - "Can you do something for me?" - You mumbled, pitting the bottle on the small decorative table next to the sofa. The man turned his head at you, giving you a curious gaze. - "Can you hold me as if you really mean it?" - A whisper hit his ears loud and clear. It wasn't making much sense, the whole plea was nonsense.

To hold you as if he's meaning it? What precisely were asking for? What was the thing he was supposed to mean? Should he be worried about the thing he was supposed to mean? And were you about to explain it to him at some point? - "Of course." - He answered nonetheless with politeness and scooped closer to you. It was really awkward for a moment there, as he put his arm on the back of the sofa, not touching you in any way. With your nose red and eyes smudged, you've scooped so your head rested on his shoulder and one of your arms circled around his side, making sure you're as close as you could be.

After another prolonged moment, Black's hand gently slipped on your shoulder and squeezed you for a moment as he let out a contained sigh.  He didn't know how long you've been pressing yourself to his side, yet at one point, you stopped sobbing and a long breath escaped your lips; you've fallen asleep right there and then. Sirius rose his other hand slowly, putting your hair in place before planting a long kiss on your temple, cradling you a bit as you huffed out unpleasantly. He did hold you as if he meant it. And the best part? Sirius Black really meant it that night.

[kaleidoscopeminds]

Fingertips on me, I can feel them still

I wrote this ENTIRELY because I saw that tiny bit of Calum’s hair again today and I just couldn’t take it anymore so I have written him getting it fixed by hairdresser Michael :-) gotta thank the lovely @tigerteeff because of the amount of time we have spent talking about this and the rest of the club for the hair discourse in general. So herewith 2.2k of malum fluff 

So, Calum isn’t it? What have we here?” The barber quirks an eyebrow at Calum in the mirror, and Calum imagines he’s smiling at him by the crinkles around his eyes, not actually being able to see the bottom half of his face owing to it being covered in a protective mask.

“Um, you better prepare yourself,” Calum mumbles quietly. Not only was he having to deal with the shame of his hair looking like it does currently, his barber (Michael if he remembers the name correctly from when he booked) was also fucking gorgeous: all long soft-looking fringe, glasses, and dangly earrings. He’d booked in at his normal place, but the guy who usually cuts his hair was apparently on holiday. The lady on the phone had offered him a new guy, and even though he was wary, he knew he couldn’t put off getting his hair cut any longer. That didn’t account for the new guy being the fucking prettiest man he’s ever set eyes upon, mask and all, and if Calum didn’t want to take his hat off before, he definitely doesn’t now.

“Oh come on now,”  says, still with those crinkles around his eyes, “I’ve seen a lot of bad hair in the past month, I am now incapable of being shocked.”

Calum sighs and pulls off his beanie, which it was already definitely too hot to be wearing in LA in September but at the moment, needs must. He looks back at his hot hairdresser in the mirror, challenging him to make a comment, but Michael just pauses for a second, then takes a calculating look at Calum’s head.

“Damn, that's a lot of hair,” he says, not in an unkind way, and reaches out to brush his fingers through it. Calum tries his best not to shiver at the sensation of his hands pushing through his hair whilst simultaneously blushing furiously at Michael’s comment.

“Uh, yeah,” he says embarrassed. “I had a buzz cut before all this started if you can believe it.”

Michael gasps horrified, “A buzz cut? You mean you were keeping the world from this gift?” He tugs lightly on the ends of Calum’s hair to explain his meaning and Calum focuses extremely hard on not letting it affect him. He’s been in the chair for less than five minutes for fuck’s sake. 

“Gift?” He says disbelievingly. “Have you seen the garbage that’s on top of my head right now?”

Michael giggles delightedly, throwing his head back in a ridiculously charming way. “It leaves… a little to be desired,” he says, a laugh evident in his voice. “But that’s mainly because of these bleached ends, you’ve really managed to kill your curl pattern.”

Calum just shrugs a little sheepishly. “Yeah my hair’s been through quite a bit in the last couple of years.”

“What are you after then?” Michael says, running his fingers through Calum’s hair again and fuck he really wishes he would stop doing that. “And don’t say buzz it all off because I categorically refuse.”

“Dunno really, I was gonna say just get rid of it but I suppose that’s a no go now? Whatever you want? I bow down to your superior knowledge and talented hands,” Calum says, winking, to let Michael know he’s joking without being able to smile at him from behind his own mask. He notices that Michael gets a blush over the top of his cheekbones as he winks. Interesting.

“Well,” Michael says with a small cough. “I might have an idea, let’s see what we can do.”

Calum smiles at Michael behind his mask, hoping that he emotion is conveyed despite the barrier. Michael beckons at him over to the sinks at the back of the barbershop and gestures towards the seat in the centre. Calum sits down and leans his head back into the sink, and Michael starts the water, holding it away from Calum’s head while it warms up.

“Let me know if the temperature is okay,” Michael says quietly before running the water over Calum’s head, careful to not drip into his eyes.

“So, you weren’t tempted to have a go at cutting it yourself?” He asks Calum lightly, as Calum hears him pump shampoo into his hand.

“Thought that might be a bad idea,” Calum says and then loses his train of thought as Michael starts lathering his hair. He bites back a contented moan as he feels his fingers scratch along his scalp, massaging patterns underneath his curls.

“I think that was probably for the best,” He vaguely hears Michael say from above him. “Let me know if the pressure’s okay”

“It's good,” Calum manages to choke out, and he can hear Michael let out a little laugh. 

“Do you like a head massage then?” he hears Michael’s voice say innocently.

“Mmm,” is all Calum can respond with, his limbs going limp as his body relaxes into the seat. He feels like his body is incredibly confused as it honestly can’t work out if Michael is relaxing him or working him up with his hands.

“You know some people absolutely hate this,” Michael says conversationally as if he can’t sense Calum’s inner turmoil.

“I find that fucking hard to believe,” Calum murmurs, closing his eyes, and Michael laughs again.

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” Michael replies, pausing in his massaging of Calum’s scalp to rinse off the shampoo. 

“Let’s just say I stand by what I said earlier about your talented hands,” Calum responds, sighing at the loss of Michael’s hands but also relieved, he’s not sure what his body’s involuntary reaction might have been if it had gone on much longer. He hears Michael make a little embarrassed noise above his head and smiles to himself behind his mask, maybe he was having an effect on the pretty barber himself. Michael pulls some conditioner through his hair but fortunately (or unfortunately) for Calum, focuses the product mainly into the lengths, before rinsing his hair again and wrapping it deftly in a towel.

“Okay, follow me, let’s get this garbage sorted out,” Michael says teasingly, wiggling his eyebrows behind his glasses. 

Calum follows him back over to his original seat, and gets handed a disposable gown from Michael which he struggles with for a moment before Michael takes pity on him and helps him tie it at the back, keeping as much distance as possible but still managing to brush his fingers over Calum’s neck, and if the twinkling in Michael’s eyes is anything to go by, was done entirely on purpose. Calum sits down and fiddles with his gown as Michael drags over his trolley with his tools. He pulls out clippers and plugs them in next to Calum. 

“I thought you weren’t going to buzz it off?” Calum says, frowning at Michael as he turns on the clippers and they buzz loudly next to his ear.

“Oh I’m not don’t worry, but we’ve got to lose some of this on the sides and the back,” Michael says, waving the clippers in a vaguely threatening way. “Where’s the trust hm? I thought you were bowing to my talented hands?” 

Calum feels the blush creeping up his face. “I am!” He says quickly and then mimes zipping his lips. He hears Michael laugh again before he gets a focused look on his face and starts running the clippers up his scalp on the sides and back, pulling back when he reaches the top of Calum’s head. Calum wishes he could see more of Michael’s face when he’s focusing like this, the slight pucker in his brow as he frowns in concentration and the way his eyes take on a serious look as he moves around Calum’s head with a practised air. He wants to know if Michael nibbles on his lip when he’s thinking or smiles to himself when he does a good job.

He stops looking at Michael for a second to look at his own head, which has taken on the alarming look of a mushroom, with short sides and a ridiculous amount of hair on top, and raises his eyebrows expressively at Michael.

“Hey,” I see your judgemental eyes,” He says lightly, sweeping the hair off Calum’s shoulders and giving him a small tap. “Trust the process.”

Calum snorts and shakes his head which earns him another small tap on the shoulder. 

Michael pulls out a comb and sections the top of Calum’s head neatly with clips, before grabbing his scissors and beginning to pull small pieces of Calum’s hair taut and holding between his fingers before carefully trimming off all the yellowing blonde ends, snipping into the line of hair. He continues moving expertly through Calum’s hair and Calum cannot stop looking at the way Michael’s fingers move, flashing in and out of his curls, moving skilfully and with purpose. He wants to talk to Michael, to learn more about him and to make him laugh again but he’s far too distracted by what he’s doing with his hands to manage any coherent conversation. 

“So Calum,” Michael says, clearly not having the same concern as Calum in this situation. “What made you wait so long to come and get this sorted if you disliked it so much?”

“Dunno,” Calum replies distantly, still looking at Michael’s hands. “Guess it didn’t seem important enough to leave the house for.”

Michael gasps in mock horror. “Not important? How dare you.” He laughs as he reaches the front of Calum’s head, combing through a few times before beginning to trim again. “What changed your mind, hot date coming up?”

Calum snorts. “Not likely.” 

“Now, I find that fucking hard to believe,” Michael says quietly, catching Calum’s eye in the mirror for a second before looking away. 

Calum grins and is incredibly grateful for the mask that conceals what his face is doing, just makes a non-committal noise and shrugs his shoulders. 

Michael trims off the last piece of yellowing ends and nods to himself pleased before skimming his scissors up the side of his head, Calum assuming that he’s blending the edges into the fade on the sides.

Once Michael’s gone round his whole head with the scissors, he grabs some thinning shears and starts moving through his hair again. “I feel like it’s a crime to get rid of more of this beautiful hair but I’ve got to lose some of the bulk here otherwise it's going to be impossible to deal with.”

Calum laughs. “Yeah I can attest to that.”

Michael finally goes over to the the other side of the barbers and picks up some product which he scoops out of a container and rubs between his palms before running it through the short curls on the top of Calum’s head and the slightly longer ones he’s left in the front, twisting them slightly around his fingers. Calum thinks that his attraction to the man has reached an all time high, and he promises himself he will at least ask for Michael’s number before he leaves the barbershop. 

“Okay what do you think,” Michael says, and Calum thinks he can pick up a hint of nervousness in his voice. 

“It seems I was completely right to trust your talented hands, it looks great,” Calum says honestly, twisting his head to look at the sides and then checking the back in the mirror that Michael holds up for him to see. The awful blonde remains have all been removed, leaving short and neat sides and as much of the curl that could be kept on top, waving back into its familiar pattern. 

“Now don’t be shaving it off anytime soon okay,” Michael says seriously, sweeping hair off Calum’s shoulders with a brush and lightly untying the gown at the back.

“How will you know if I do,” Calum says cheekily, pulling his arms free and shaking his T-shirt out.

“I have your number on the file, maybe I’ll have to call you and check,” Michael says, eyes glinting and a flush appearing on his cheeks again, as he twists his fingers through Calum’s hair one last time and then almost unconsciously brushes Calum’s neck as he moves his hands away.

“Maybe I could just give it to you now and save you the trouble,” Calum replies, blushing himself and adjusting his collar.

“Well that could work too I suppose,” Michael says shyly, and digs his phone out of his pocket.

Calum laughs and reels off his number for Michael to enter, before getting to his feet and sliding his jacket on.

“Thanks for the haircut Michael,” Calum says. “Maybe I’ll be seeing you again soon.”

“Maybe you will,” Michael responds with raised eyebrows. “Now, however cute you are, you need to leave, my next client is here.”

Calum laughs and gives a small wave before leaving the shop. He looks back inside to see Michael texting something on his phone, before he looks up to meet Calum’s eyes and gives him a wink. Calum feels his phone buzz in his pocket and fishes it out, he opens up his phone to see a message from an unknown number, he opens it and laughs out loud before shaking his head at Michael and walking towards his car.

Now don’t be going and flirting with any other boys with your sexy new haircut

[misssophiachase]

For @klaroline-events​​ KC Bingo - School on FF and AO3

When his Porsche convertible blows a tire, private school student Klaus Mikaelson needs it fixed. Enter townie and daughter of the local mechanic, Caroline Forbes.

The Preppy and the Townie

Friday PM, Forbes Garage, Exeter, NH

“Excuse me?” Klaus hadn’t frequented this part of town all that much during his time at Phillips Exeter Academy and given the outdated exterior he wasn’t sure if it was still operational or if he’d stepped back in time.

It was eerily quiet and the small gas station on the outskirts of the town centre seemed unattended. He’d blown the tire on his Porsche not far down the road but had managed to get there just in time.

Given he attended the local boarding school, cars weren’t usually allowed on campus but his father had sent it the other day in lieu of his presence. Mikael Mikaelson never quite understood the concept of fatherhood and considered monetary gifts an alternative way to show affection. 

Klaus also knew there was another reason for his guilt but pushed it to the back of his mind, it was easier that way. 

“Can I help you?” Her voice was gruff, bored and almost resentful of the intrusion. Klaus turned to the source not expecting her to be so indescribable.

And he meant that in a very good way.  

Her denim shorts were frayed at the edges, her white, fitted tank covered in black, grease stains and a red, checked shirt tied around her waist was doing nothing to hide a delectable pair of creamy, toned legs.

“Hey jackass, my eyes are up here,” she barked.

Yes, they were. Blue, expressive and teamed with her golden waves pulled back into a high ponytail, Klaus didn’t think he’d seen anyone so breathtaking in his life.

He didn’t usually stare so obviously at girls, generally it was the other way around, but he couldn’t stop if he tried.

“Is that how you speak to all your customers?”

“Only the ones who look at me like that.”

“And how exactly am I looking at you, love?”

“You know exactly how you’re looking at me,” she countered. “You’re not the first and I know you won’t be the last. Also, I have a name but before you do the completely predictable thing and ask what it is, I’m not going to tell you.”

“That’s quite a speech you seem to have prepared there,” he offered. “Is there any point in me asking about my tire then?”

“If you can’t fix it, then sure, I can do that for you.”

“Are you insinuating that I can’t change a tire?”

“Well, if the shoe fits,” she responded, shrugging her shoulders. Klaus wanted to be offended, he wanted to dislike her immensely and tell her so but there was no hope in hell of that happening.

“Actually, I can change a tire but I don’t have a jack on me,” she snorted by way of response. “You are incredibly judgemental, anyone ever tell you that?”

“Oh, p-uh-lease,” she drawled. “Your type swan around this town like you own it but, newsflash, you don’t. We’ll all be here long after you’ve finished school and left town.”

“I don’t swan, number one,” he replied, “and number two, I don’t think I own your town, even though it is lovely, especially during the Fall.” He held her gaze, and he could see her face soften slightly. But, unfortunately, it didn’t last long. 

”How about we just stick to the tire,” she murmured begrudgingly. “If you’re lucky, I’ll even give you some pointers.”  

Saturday PM, Front Row Pizza

“So, tell me more about this hottie from Philips?” Kat asked, handing a customer their slices on a plate.

Katherine Pierce was her oldest friend and the two had been working at Front Row the past two years. Saturday was their busiest night of the week but thankfully business was starting to slow down. 

“Shhh, would you keep your voice down,” she hissed, wiping the counter and keeping her head down to avoid any embarrassment. “You know how small this place is at the best of times.”

“I didn’t name names, mainly because you haven’t told me yet,” Kat muttered. 

“He’s your typical, preppy jock, nothing groundbreaking around these parts. And I never said he was a hottie, nor would I ever use that term.”

“No, I found that out when I visited the garage this morning and spoke to your DILF.”

“Kat, please don’t talk about my dad like that, it’s extremely disgusting,” she growled. “And when exactly did he decide that Klaus was...”

“Oooh, he has a name. So, tell me more about him and his Porsche?” 

Caroline fought the urge to roll her eyes. As much as she loved her best friend, Kat liked the finer things in life a little too much. Sure, their upbringing was relatively simple in comparison to people like Klaus but Caroline didn’t need money to define who she was and what she wanted out of life. 

“He blew out his tire.”

“Wow, how exciting,” she pouted. “You never tell me anything.”

“He’s English and his surname is Mikaelson, happy?”

“Not in the slightest, next thing I know you’ll tell me his favourite colour,” she pretended to yawn. “Okay, one last question and then I’ll leave you alone for a full five minutes. How would you score him on a scale of one to ten?”  

“It’s blue, well actually it’s more of a french navy if I’m being specific,” a familiar voice interrupted. Caroline closed her eyes wishing she could melt into a puddle on the floor. Of all the times for him to just show up. “As for a score, I think it’s probably best Caroline takes that one.”

She really shouldn’t have told him her name. Why did it have to sound so good rolling off his tongue too? Damn his English accent and those dimples. Why hadn’t she noticed just how disarming they were yesterday?

“If it isn’t the hottie,” Kat smiled, turning to face Caroline giving her an extremely indiscreet thumbs up. “It’s okay, no score necessary, I can work it out just fine on my own.” 

Before Caroline could really die of embarrassment, Katherine had conveniently flounced away to make it even more awkward. 

If she thought he looked good yesterday in his school uniform sans tie with his shirt sleeves rolled up, he was absolutely gorgeous today. Dark jeans, sitting low on his hips and a navy henley that only accentuated his eyes.  

“She’s, uh, friendly.”

“That’s one way of putting it,” Caroline agreed. “Are you following me or something?”

“Someone has an incredibly high opinion of themselves,” he said, cocking his left eyebrow. “Maybe I was just hungry, did you ever think of that?”

“Did my dad tell you where I was?” She asked, arms crossed over her chest. “I noticed you two talking yesterday, but here I thought he was just drooling over your speedster.”

“He may have mentioned that Front Row has the best four cheese pizza in town,” he shared. “You know, while he was drooling.”

“Just because you think you can charm my father with your expensive car, doesn’t mean I’m powerless to your charms.”

“My charms?” He smirked, leaning closer. “Are you trying to flirt with me?”

“If you think that’s flirting then I need to teach you more than how to change a tire,” she scoffed. “Now, would you like to order something? The kitchen is going to be closing soon and I can only take so much of your over inflated ego in a confined space.”

“Your customer service skills really are second to none, love,” he laughed, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. She wanted to hate him so much but Caroline swore those crimson lips had superpowers of some kind. 

“Sorry, what?” She asked, noticing he’d said something but not quite sure what it was. 

“My over inflated ego and I would like a four cheese pizza to have here,” he joked, his knowing smile telling her she’d been caught out. 

“You are taking it to go,” she demanded, scared of what his lips might do next. 

“I think I’m going to nominate you for employee of the month,” he suggested, taking a seat and making himself at home. “There’s something about your rare skill of being charming but rude at the same time.”

“Kat, can you tell the kitchen there’s an order up,” she called out, not bothering to respond to his remark. “To go.”

“If I agree to leave this fine establishment, how about you do something for me?”

“I changed your tire yesterday and I’m now serving you pizza today,” he attempted to interrupt but Caroline continued. “And before you try to be cute about my impeccable, customer service skills, it’s abundantly clear that, if anything, you owe me, Mikaelson.”

“I was getting to that part,” he promised. “I was hoping you could come to the river tomorrow morning and help me out with my rowing?”

“Excuse me?” Caroline wasn’t expecting that. “I’m curious about what exactly the preppy needs help with?”

“Motivation,” he murmured, his double meaning not lost on her. “Coach says I won’t be up to championships if I can’t improve my times. So, I figured what better way to do that then have you yelling at me from the bow?”  

Katherine let out a not-so-subtle groan from the nearest table. Caroline really shouldn’t have been surprised she was eavesdropping. “Be careful what you wish for, french navy.” 

“I’m willing to take my chances, Katherine,” he smiled in her direction before returning his attention back to Caroline. She really wanted to hate him and his smug, good looking ass but it was becoming more and more difficult. Now, she knew why her best friend and father were so easily convinced. 

“Can I push you in the water if you annoy me?” He took her by surprise and laughed. Caroline had to admit she liked hearing it. 

“I think we’ll need to define what’s annoying from the outset but you’ve got a deal.”

“Well, when you put it like that.”

Sunday AM, The Exeter River

“You need to keep your back flat and make sure your core is engaged,” Caroline offered from the front of the boat.” Now that instruction Klaus wasn’t expecting. 

“Trust me, my core is very engaged,” he teased, unable to help himself. 

Klaus was still shocked she’d agreed to come today, he figured it had everything to do with pushing him in the water. Which luckily she hadn’t done...yet. 

“I think we decided that innuendo was annoying.”

“You decided that and who said it’s innuendo? I was merely confirming the fact that my core is, in fact, engaged. And let’s not forget you asked the question.”

“It’s textbook rowing technique and that smirk you gave me was a dead giveaway.”

She looked stunning today, the breeze blowing through her blonde waves that were loose and flowing. Her make-up free face, simple t-shirt and shorts only highlighting her natural beauty. 

“How do you know so much about rowing?” Klaus was surprised, given she didn’t indicate any interest the night before. 

“I might have dated one of you before.”

“One of me?” Klaus was immediately offended by her reply. “I didn’t realise I had a twin.”

“He went to Philips and was on the rowing team too. But instead of a Porsche he had a Mercedes.”

“Wow, you really know how to hurt a guy,” he shot back, unable to disguise his disappointment. “Is this why you’ve been so hostile?” He stopped rowing needing to know the answer.

“I haven’t been…” 

“Yes, you have,” he interrupted. “I don’t know what this guy did to you but…”

“I don’t think that’s any of your business.”

“Perhaps not but I’d hate for you to unfairly judge me based on some idiot who couldn’t see what was right in front of him.”

“I’m a townie, yes my house is only a few kilometres away, but we lived in totally different worlds,” she murmured, her gaze downcast. “He had a trust fund bigger than I could ever imagine and I work two jobs just so I can afford college if I don’t get a scholarship. I stupidly thought that someone like him actually liked me.”

“Well, he’s an idiot and you’re not stupid.” His hand was on hers before he had time to think. “I get you’ve had a bad experience but I’m not who you think I am.” She faltered, her eyes finding his again. “Ask me anything.”

“Can I push you in the water?”

“Cute.”

“On Friday, you didn’t seem to care too much about your new car, why is that? At first I assumed it was the fact you had another ten of them waiting at home in your garage.”

“Only two,” he admitted. “But I’m not really that enthused about them either.”

“What happened?”

“My mother died last year, my siblings are scattered around the country at different colleges and schools and my father sent the car in lieu of his presence at Philip’s family weekend. We’ve never been that close but I guess I thought…”

“He’d want to see you.”

“It’s ridiculous I know.”

“It’s not,” she smiled, placing her other hand over his. “You know what is silly though? How lazy you’re being, now get moving before I push you into the water, Mikaelson.”

Turns out they both ended up in the water that day but neither minded. Klaus won the rowing championship with plenty of core engagement instruction from Caroline. He also sent back the Porsche to his father because he didn’t need it anymore, he had everything he needed right there. 

[missbeautyandherbeast]

Night Moves

Raphael X Biker!Reader

Part One

Summary: Rain prevents you from riding the next few days and you’re growing restless. You wanted to ride. You wanted... to see him. You missed him against your better judgement. But what was wrong with missing him? Nothing at all. What happens when he misses you too?

A/N: As requested a Part Two to Midnight Rider!! I loved the responses on it and I wanted to thank you all for such positive feedback. Here’s something a bit softer and cozy for the hard times. Let me know if you want another part and what you think of this one!! I love you guys! ((P.S. I just finished my last paper-a twelve page research paper-for the semester so now I have more time for creative writing!!))

Bob Seger Vinyl Ft. in this Fic

Tags: @brightlotusmoon @boatloadsofheart @legandarybeauty @crazywritingbug @bitch-kms @ravn-87 @just-a-casual-fangirl-011 @unicornjoos @stuckoutsideofthebox @ilikestuffproductions @whygz @coffee-addicti @sugarspooks15@leslieebee@serperiorkb@blossom-skies@fantastical-67impala-fangirl@coresan @big-banging-red @iceprincess2019 @raphaeladdict @thirstyforvenom @merindagriese @depressedemo-152 @bengewatch @corabmarie @bitemebro522 @tmnt-queen @muleka-loka @violet-sky-96 @curadopordeus @artemismohr18 @thewhisperpen @xjupitermoonsx @bisexualbumblebeesstuff @merindagriese@oceans-daughter-3 @dixonreedusfangirlforever @shanidenise @thegayestfish441 @lovelyyroseee @yourlieberhoe @dolphincommander @molzies-fanfics @fuzzy-panda​ 

Rain pattered against my window as the sun went down leaving New York in total darkness. I sighed and wished for sunshine or a clear night when I could ride again. When I could see him again. It had been a few days of constant rain and I was becoming stir crazy. But I wasn’t stupid enough to go riding in the rain. It wasn’t worth the risk.

I stared out my opened window and watched the raindrops race against each other. Curling up in a large sweater with a cup of tea, I settled down for the night.

A dark form in front of my window made me jump and curse, adrenaline racing. Then I realized who blocked my window. It was my daredevil rider.

I pushed the window open, throwing my hands up in dismay.

“What the hell are you doing here?” I scolded. “It’s raining, it’s not safe to be out there,”

“I had to see you,” Raph admitted sheepish as he ducked in through my window.

I headed to my small bathroom and threw him a towel or two to dry off, turning a light on in my wake. The gentle fairy lights glowed with the candles it accompanied.

“Gotta say, didn’t think your place would look like this...” Raph trailed off, his eyes taking in my studio apartment. “It’s so... cozy,”

“Thank you,” I smiled and stood by his side admiring my handiwork with him. 

I had made it cozy. My solace. My safe space.

“How’s your shoulder?” I asked, picking up my mug of tea.

“Fine,” He replied a bit too quickly.

“Well, you’re welcome to come and hang out... if that’s what this is.” I gave him a dopey smile. “I can make tea for you if you want.”

Raph stared at me like I had two heads.

___________________________________

“Not what you were expecting?” A smile played at her lips as she curled up in an armchair. 

“Not at all,” Raph muttered.

In his head he had this version of her.

Y/n. Her name forever engraved into his mind.

She was strong, confident, badass. She took no prisoners and always knew what to say. But this?

She was soft, and gentle, and he had seen it the other night in her concern. But what he saw before him, he wouldn’t have imagined. She was kind, and soft behind all of the edge and angst she gave off.

He almost loved it more, knowing that she offered both in who she was.

Y/n,

“So, what brought you around?” She mused, tucking herself under an afghan.

“It’s been raining, I haven’t seen you in a while,” He admitted again, taking a spot on her rug leaning against her couch.

A smile played at her lips and in the soft light, she was just as beautiful as she was in leather on a motorcycle. She didn’t make fun of him either, His brothers did. They thought it was ridiculous that he went to find her. Leo ordered against it. As if.

He had grown bored again with the rain coming down and he wanted to see her. 

“You haven’t been riding have you?” She asked, concern coloring her voice. 

“No,” It was the truth.

Mainly because he knew that if she found out, she’d have his ass for sure.

“Good,” She seemed pleased.

 ______________________________

Knowing sleeping had left my short-term plans, I uncurled from my chair and headed over to my record player and started the Bob Seger vinyl that I didn’t put away from earlier.

“You’re a classics fan?” He mused as the music started

“My mom was... I picked it up from her,” I admitted. “Now that I’m up do you want that tea?”

I made my way to the kitchen despite his answer and began to make another cup.

“You like classic rock then?” I asked back, leaning against the counter.

He had shifted so that he could still see me from my vantage point in the small kitchen. 

“Zeppelin,” He offered. “Though my vinyl collection isn’t as impressive as yours,” He muttered. I smiled and rolled my eyes.

“Why am I not surprised you like Zeppelin,” I laughed. “Find something more original, Bon Jovi, Meatloaf! Hey, you might actually like Meatloaf,” I paused in thought. “Not that I know what you like... it just seems like... a very you band.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” He acted offended, but there was a smile on his face.

“I dunno,” I could feel my face flushing. “They just seem like... you.” I gestured. “I can let you borrow my record.”

“No, I can’t ask that.” Raph shook his head, standing in protest.

“You’re not asking, I’m giving it to you.” I smiled and offered him his tea as we both settled back in my living room area.

________________________________

Raph still tried to figure her out. There was still the fire in her veins that he had seen when he rode with her. This was that same fire, but in a softer way. In one that made him take care of himself, and that allowed her to be selfless.

She hummed softly to the music and sipped her tea absentmindedly, lost in thought he presumed.

“How is your family?” She asked after a while. “It’s been a while since you guys have done anything.”

Raph laughed.

“Yeah, there isn’t much to do anymore. It’s why I started to ride again. And we’re okay, I guess. Mikey has vowed to watch ever Doctor Who episode with Donnie and it’s taking them a while to get through it all.” Raph rolled his eyes.

“I should do that.” She murmured. “I haven’t watched it in a while.” 

“You like that nerdy show?” He raised an eyebrow.

A laugh bubbled from her lips. It was soft and carefree. Somehow, even though he wasn’t racing through the streets of New York, he still felt free. A sort of freedom that crept in slowly and comforted him like a blanket.

“I do,” She smiled. “You might,”

“You keep saying that,” He challenged.

“Oh?” A smirk grew on her face and a fire in her eyes.

“That I’ll like things when you don’t really know me,” Raph contested.

She went quiet, a smile still on her lips.

“Maybe I don’t know you that well, but I think I have a good idea of what you might like.” She quipped.

“Yeah?”

She nodded, her smile growing.

A clap of thunder shook her windows as lightning flashed. She didn’t flinch. Fear didn’t occupy her features. He knew Mikey was afraid of thunder, and Donnie didn’t prefer it, but she seemed almost at home among it.

_________________________________

“Tell me then,” I whispered. “Who are you?” I moved onto the couch and curled up on the side, waiting and listening.

“What do you wanna know?” His voice held a note of uncertainty.

“How old are you?” I mused. “That’s an easy one.”

“Is this twenty questions now?” Raph raised an eyebrow.

I chuckled. “That would mean yes or no answers, this is just... a conversation.” I decided. 

“Alright, but if you get to ask questions, so do I,” He countered.

“Deal.” 

“Eighteen, you?”

“Eighteen,”

We went on like that for a while, question after question. His favorite singer was actually Billy Joel; I hated the Beatles; he never thought to read anything other than magazines; I couldn’t remember the last time I had read a book; he had never been out of the state; I had been along the east coast on road trips; he hated spinach and cucumbers; I hated smoothies and tomatoes; he had four brothers; I had one.

“Where did you learn to ride?” He asked as it neared one am.

“My mom,” I yawned, blinking slowly. “She’d take me on her bike when I was little... my dad was a mechanic...” I gave a small shrug. “Why do you ride?” I countered.

“It’s... freedom.” He replied.

I nodded, knowing what he meant. It’s why I loved to ride. No one telling you where to go or what to do or who to be, you could just ride and not stop.

“Did you miss me?” His question came softly and hesitantly.

I nodded, my eyes slipping closed from tiredness. Talking to him like this made me feel safe and more at home than I ever had before. Like I was a child, curled up on a winter night waiting for Christmas as snow fell softly into the quiet of the night. A simpler time.

“I did. It’s not the same when I’m not around you... I looked forward to our rides.” 

______________________________

Raphael watched her eyes droop closed as the hours passed. He was on a high learning so much from her and letting his walls down over stupid trivia that had him laughing and her blushing.

But being up late tonight didn’t seem to rest well with her despite their late-night rides the week before. He wondered if it was the rain that lulled her to sleep.

It didn’t really matter what it was, she was all but fast asleep on the sofa above him. Peace washed over her like this, though no smile was on her face, a gentle expression rested in her features.

“Y/n?” He asked softly, standing and stretching. He loved the feeling or her name on his lips.

She hummed a response, not opening her eyes. He wanted to laugh.

“You need to get to bed,” He muttered, taking her mug and his and carefully putting them into her sink, very conscientious of the space around him.

“Too far,” Her voice grew jumbled. “I’ll sleep on the couch,” She seemed resolved about this.

“No, you’re not,” He smiled and shook his head at her antics. “It’s not that far, lazy,” he teased gently.

“M’fine,” She tried again, her words slurring.

Raph stared at her curled-up form and her bed that rested against the back wall of her apartment.

Maybe the rain had calmed him too, or maybe being near her had let him be someone who didn’t thrive on anger and deflecting, but he carefully lifted her from the couch and walked her over to her bed and gently laid her down.

She immediately stretched out and found her way under the covers, cuddling a pillow. Her eyes never opened.

“Thanks,” She mumbled, the faintest smile playing at her lips. “Tomorrow?” 

“Tomorrow,” He promised.

.

.

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[thyra279]

High Hopes

For Day 4 of the Good Omens Celebration 2020.

Prompts: “Force” and “fruit” (this one got away with me but I’m gonna post it here for consistency as well as on Ao3.

On a warm autumn's day in 2005, Aziraphale's mobile phone rang out the same jarring electronic jingle 72 times before he managed to locate it behind an old bookcase full of A Breefe History of Northern Shropshire, vol. 1-281. Pushing the bookcase aside, he dusted off the little black-and-white screen and fixed it with a hard stare. The mobile, which had been firing off its jingles increasingly furiously, grew soft and mellow on the 73th ring, and Aziraphale turned his attention to the Nokia's caller.

"Hullo, Crowley. You know, I never should have let you talk to into getting me this portable telephone, it keeps moving about and hiding itself in the-"

"Aziraphale." Oh. Crowley's voice sounded harsh, which wasn't unusual, but also very noticeably strained, which was.

"Are you alright, dear?"

"Uhhrm…"

"Crowley? Whatever's the matter?"

"I've… I've been arrested."

"Have you, now?" Aziraphale let out a relieved little chuckle and sat down in his favourite chair. It was nothing the demon hadn't tried before. Keep at shadowy, nefarious business long enough, and it was bound to happen. He'd lost count of how often Crowley had found himself jumbled up with the police.[1]

Aziraphale himself had found himself come into too close contact with London's various police forces a few times since their invention. He usually encountered the Mets, though he had a soft spot for The City of London Police and carried out his substitute demonic temptations within their Square Mile if he could help it. Politicians and bankers were soft targets. Besides, the City Police always served up bourbon biscuits during their questioning. The angel idly wondered if Crowley had been served up any biscuity treats during his questioning and before being hit with an embarrassing pinch of jealousy.

"When'll you be done, do you reckon? You could come over for wine and commiserations later, perhaps? I think a Chateau Cheval should do quite nicely." He lifted a hand to play with the phone cable, then remembered it wasn't there. "…Bring some biscuits."

"It'saaah. It's a little more complicated than that, I'm afraid."

"What's the problem?"

"Nfffhhh well, I've been in here for coming up two weeks for starters." Aziraphale sat up.

"Crowley, are you- are you in jail?"

"I, uh. Yeah."

"Well, get out of there!"

"Told you it was complicated."

"Do you need me to, ah, to come and get you?"

There was an interesting kind of silence at the other end. "Angel, are you offering to come and break me out of jail?"

"I'm an angel, I do not break anyone out of jails," Aziraphale deadpanned with the practice of several centuries. "It would be a rescue."

"Well, it won't work. I mean, it would work. I could easily get out of here, that's not the issue. Wouldn't solve the actual problem."

"What is the problem then?"

"It's erhhh…"

Aziraphale shifted in his seat, growing a little impatient. "Where are you? What happened?"

The demon sighed. "I'm at Dartmoor Prison. Got arrested near Torquay."

"What were you doing in Cornwall of all places?"

"I… well. I've got a piece of land near Torquay, in a nice deserted place. Thought it'd be out of the way enough. It's quite a big piece of land, really. Massive, actually."

The angel couldn't suppress another tut. "What would you need a massive piece of land for, Crowley?"

"I, ah, I built a farm." Aziraphale could sense the demon's embarrassment pulsing down the line. He himself was caught entirely off guard at the aggressively urbanite yuppie's confession, but tried to sound accepting.

"Oh. Right. What do you do with it, as it were?"

"I grow… things."

"Yes, well-"

"Mainly weed."

"…What?"

"Marijuana, Angel."

"Yes, I know what weed is, thank you." For the second time, Aziraphale felt a rush of relief. "That's alright, then, isn't it? I'm sure growing illegal cannabis is a perfectly acceptable demonic activity. I assume that's why you were arrested?"

"Yup." For a moment, a hint of pride entered the demon's voice. "I've grown lots of it. Don't know if you saw the newspapers last Monday? Apparently, there was quite a big buzz about it being the second largest marijuana plant ever discovered in the UK?"

"Oh, yes," Aziraphale crooned. He hadn't so much as looked at an earthly newspaper for several months, but he didn't like to dampen the demon's (evil) spirits when he was already down. "It all sounded terribly impressive."

"Hnghyeah, well. The coppers said so themselves, actually. They only got a preliminary sweep of the place done, though, before I set my lawyers on them. We've been fighting their warrant. It's been good fun, actually, lots of frustrations all around. Easy job for my side, you know. And we always get bonus points on our job performance for getting lawyers involved. You know I can really use the, erh, goodwill this'll generate downstairs, it'll sort me out for the next few years."

Aziraphale nodded absentmindedly, which Crowley seemed to understand.

"Unfortunately, even my bastard lawyers and enough money to bribe a small state haven't been able to get the judge to drop the warrant. So according to the lawyers, Cornwall's righteous police force, narcotics division, will be able to do a full sweep of the farm some time the day after tomorrow."

"And why exactly is that a problem?" The angel offered when Crowley fell quiet. He was met with a great, heaving sigh loud enough to hear through the telephone line.

"The thing is." The demon drew a breath, then let it out again through hissing teeth. "The thing is. The weed farm's a front."

"…What?"

Crowley sounded flustered now, voice straining again with every word. "It's a front. The cannabis. 'S a cover."

"Why would you… what were you… what in Heaven's name are you doing that's so terrible that you thought a cannabis plantation would serve as an appropriate cover-up, Crowley?"

"Well, well hnghfff. Look, I can't tell you over the phone, I've got a reputation to maintain, alright? Anthony J. Crowley's been going strong since the war, and, and- don’t really want to let him go. Just. Just go out there tomorrow – I know you've got nothing on, don't even start – and get rid of the evidence for me. No, nah, leave the weed crops. But there's a barn. A green barn in the middle of it all. Burn it, please. Maybe don't look inside it, but – eurgh – s'fine if you have to. I don't care how you do it, but get rid of everything in there."

Aziraphale hesitated, more shaken by Crowley than he'd been for a good fifty years.

"I'm, erh, I don't really know, Crowley, I think you should tell me-"

"Aziraphale, please. Please, Angel." Crowley never begged.

"Oh. Oh, alright then." There was a rush of demonic relief down the phone.

"Tha-"

"Don't."

"Look, I'll make it up to you, alright. Whatever you want. Tell you what, I'll buy you sushi at that stuck-up little Japanese place you like so much, every bloody month for the next decade. If you want."

"Alright," Aziraphale huffed.

The demon started to sound slightly more like himself. "I'll throw in a good sake and dessert too if you promise never to bring this up ever again."

"I'll have to see for myself how bad this is, Crowley, before I make good on that promise."

"Fair, that's fair. Just please, Angel, 's no big deal, okay? It was just a little lapse of judgement. Here's how to get to the barn…"

And so, the very next day, the Principality found himself wandering down a dirt track in Cornwall, sore and irritable after hours on overnight public transport and more nervous than he'd care to admit at what he might have agreed to. The stench of the marijuana greeted him long before the greenhouses even became visible. A single police car was parked further down the track at the main entrance to the farm, so on reaching the edge of it, he looked casually left and right before dipping below the police tape. No one noticed him, and he quickly disappeared between row after endless row of huts and greenhouses.

The place was like a labyrinth – literally – and he had to rely on Crowley's instructions to find its centre. The air hummed with the insistent song of thousands of heat lamps. Aziraphale was beginning to suspect that he wasn't entirely immune to the charming waft of cannabis in the hot air around him when suddenly, there it was, a singular old green barn. It was singing at him. Aziraphale wasn't entirely certain he wasn't hallucinating it, but it felt sturdy enough beneath his grasp when he tore the heavy padlock away from the door. The door rattled irately at him, but at least the barn stopped singing.

He hesitated, one hand on the door. Crowley had always taken care, he suspected, to hide the darker sides of his demonic activities from him. He wasn't at all sure he wanted to be privy to them. Unbidden scenes of blood and chains and fires and screams sidled into his mind, finally breaking through the defences he'd constructed as soon as he'd put down the phone last night. He didn't want to know. And yet, he'd promised. He was an angel, and Crowley needed his help, and he'd promised.

Here goes, he thought, allowing himself a deep, steadying gulp of air (and wasn't that lovely, the sweet heady rush that came with it) before pushing the door aside.

Aziraphale blinked. Then blinked again. He blinked a total of 15 times before he entered.

Aziraphale had tried very hard not to imagine all the sinister things he might find in the middle of Crowley's marijuana plot. Even if he'd given himself over to pondering every possibility, he wouldn't have expected this.

The barn was lit up by the same warm, red glow as the rest of the farm. A few dusty skylights gave the room a sense of space that it didn't quite deserve. The air smelt sweet in here too, but it wasn't the pungent suffocation of the cannabis. No, in here, the air hummed with unexpected freshness, with the heady, delicious scent of fruit. There they were, lined up along the walls, a few peach trees, lemons, pears and berries – roses and apple trees too. All ripe, ready for the picking.

The fruit trees couldn't keep his attention, however. In the middle of the room was a little meadow full of wildflowers, bursting with colour. Bees whipped around from stem to stem, and towering over them all, stretching towards the skylights, were the tallest sunflowers Aziraphale had ever seen.

It was beautiful. An age went by while Aziraphale explored the flowers, overcome with surprise at their maker as he smelt, touched and tasted his way through the barn. He senses Crowley in every petal, in every lush green leaf, and couldn't stop himself from lying down in the middle of the meadow, giant sunflowers watching over him. He imagined Crowley here, sneaking in to do the same. It seemed absurd, the smooth, black hardness of Crowley in the middle of this colourful, buzzing force of life. Aziraphale ached to see him here, almost imagined that he could.

The skylights had gone dark above him by the time he got up. Only once on the other end of the barn, he faced what he'd come here to do. It seemed a terrible tragedy, and yet he'd made a commitment to Crowley.

With a great sigh, he lowered his trusty satchel from his shoulder, taking out a stack of little brown bags that hadn't been in there a moment before. He went around the meadow again, caressed every flower, letting it know how beautiful it was. He persuaded even the looming sunflowers to bend down and let go of a few of their seeds. Then he rounded on the fruit trees, trusty tartan tin in hand, and picked a single piece of fruit from each and every one and a little prickly cutting from every rose.

Satchel in hand, the angel took one final look at Crowley's dirty secret, this micro-paradise he'd hidden away. Then he snapped his fingers and sent it all to somewhere he hoped was good, somewhere with fresh air and a warming sun, and just enough rainfall. He didn't notice the extra weight of his bag, and he kept it close, held it in his lap on the sleepy train back to London. Only once he made it safely back to the bookshop did he let go, taking care to count each and every brown bag, folding out their creases and speaking to them gently, as if the plants could still hear him.

He spent the next two weeks drying out the fruit until they let go of their precious cores, and when it all was ready, he put it all in the best firesafe and airtight container he could find.

The container found a new home behind a bookcase full of A Breefe History of Northern Shropshire, and it survived a fire, the apocalypse and the layers of dust that settled over it in the years after that.

Aziraphale never mentioned a word to Crowley, enjoying plenty of sushi, sake and dessert for his efforts.

He carefully guarded the little seedlings until a day, very far into the future indeed, after yet another war, when the angel casually floated the idea of the two of them acquiring a little cottage together somewhere outside of London and the demon scoffed in his face at such a ridiculous suggestion. Somewhere, perhaps, with a nice little garden that Crowley might take care of. He had just the thing to get it started.

[1] Some time during a dull few years in the 1970s, Aziraphale had gifted him a scratch map of the UK counties, instructing the demon to scratch off every county he'd been arrested in. Last time the angel had seen it, sometime during 2003, two thirds of the map had been revealed.

Link for the other (shorter) stories on Ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24037873/chapters/57837565 

[always-and-forever-a-killjoy]

Building Home Chapter 5

Hey guys and welcome to another cool fucking chapter by yours truly /j. In all seriousness I am SO excited for this one because hell yeah newsie! Anyways the last chapter title was from S/C/A/R/E/C/R/O/W, kudos to @wishiwasthemoon-tonight for guessing that one!

Title: Building Home

Chapter Title: We lit the fire

Chapter Wordcount: 4188

Chapter Summary:

The mysterious new crew member arrives, swears a lot, and befriends Cherri Cola.

POV: NewsAGoGo

Warnings: violence, death mentions. (If you want to know what parts to skip, go to the end notes on AO3- I also put a brief summary of any important info in those parts. Stay safe!)

Taglist: @wishiwasthemoon-tonight @sleevesareforlosers@stressed-depressed-emo-mess @tasteofamnesia @dagger-queen​ @no-braincells-here @piratecherricola (message me, send an ask, or reblog/reply to one of my posts if you want to be added or removed)

AO3 Link

Chapter 1 AO3 Link

Chapter 1 Tumblr Post

Chapter 2 Tumblr Post

Chapter 3 Tumblr Post

Chapter 4 Tumblr Post

(Actual fic under the cut)

NewsAGoGo was hot. And tired. Who would have guessed that the desert was this fucking hot? Well, probably everyone, but it was even hotter than you would reasonably expect from a desert. It was all well and good to say that the desert could reach a hundred degrees or more, something entirely different to actually experience it. It was fucking broiling. NewsAGoGo was cooking in her skin, even in the white clothes she had taken from Battery City. Why in the name of fuck had she decided to do this again? Oh, right, because the other option was to be taken away and trained as an exterminator. Which, if Newsie was going to end up in this goddamn war, they were sure as hell not fighting for the corporation which seemed out to ruin everyone’s fucking lives.

So Newsie was tromping into the desert, tired and hot and did they mention tired? Their feet hurt from walking, and they were starting to think hitchhiking would have been a better idea. The Juvie hall rebels within the city had gotten them out, sure, but actually getting to other killjoys was a whole different story, and so far it was more of a horror story than a fairy tale. 

It was about to be even more of a horror story, as Newsie discovered when a car of draculoids started bearing down on her.

“Fuck. Fucking fuck!” Newsie looked around quickly and spotted a handily placed tumbleweed not too far off the road. It probably wouldn’t hide her for long, but it was also sheltered by dunes, and it was by far her best bet. Maybe they could even take out some of the dracs from behind there. So Newsie hurried behind it, waiting for the car to pass by.

It appeared the car wasn’t actually here for them, as it passed by without incident, slowing slightly as it went by. Curious, Newsie hurried over to find that there was a supply truck stopped in the center of the road not a hundred feet off from where she had been, and a killjoy in a distinctive pink mask was standing by it, seemingly unafraid of the car bearing down on them. 

Newsie almost shouted a warning before realizing that was one of the most damn stupid ideas they had ever had. It didn’t seem like the killjoy needed one either, as they let the car bear down on them until the last possible second, throwing themselves aside as the car sped past. It took a few minutes for the draculoid driving to be able to turn around, and by then, the killjoy had a ray gun out and pointed at the car. Newsie watched as they shot the draculoid driving, seemingly perfectly unafraid. The car screeched to a halt as another few shots hit the engine of the car, the other dracs hurrying to stop it and get out. 

Now that they were outside the shelter of the car, the killjoy’s true skill was revealed. It hardly seemed like a fair fight at first, four dracs on one killjoy, but Newsie realized it was more than fair- it was unfair to the dracs. Two of them were dead within a second, and the third almost cowered in terror as they tried to duel with the killjoy. But whoever the joy was, they had forgotten to account for the fourth drac. 

Newsie could hardly believe they were doing this, but they raised the ray gun a few juvie halls had given them and took aim, steadying their hand with their other one as they pulled the trigger.

Her shot didn’t kill the drac outright, but it hit the drac in the arm and made them scream. That was enough to alert the killjoy, who had just finished disarming and knocking out the third drac, and they turned and shot the forth point-blank. Newsie breathed a silent sigh of relief, although she didn’t exactly know why.

Meanwhile, the pink-masked killjoy was looking around. “Whoever fired the first shot on this, I’m not going to hurt you. In fact, you just saved my ass, so thank you!”

Newsie hurried down the slope, hoping this guy could bring them back to some form of civilization or at least somewhere with shade. They were sweltering. “Hey!”

“Hey there!” The killjoy nodded to her. “Thanks for having my back there, I was careless to let that fourth one slip by me.”

“Uh, no problem.”

“I’m Cherri Cola, he/him. Do you have a Zone name yet?”

Newsie thought about it for a second and gave him the name she had considered and debated many times over on the endless walk here. “NewsAGoGo. She/her, uh, and they/them.”

“Nice to meet you. You’re an undergrad, yeah?”

“I would literally be a freshman in high school.”

Cherri Cola stared at them for a second and then cracked up. “Sorry, Zone slang. You’re fresh out of Batt City is what I mean.”

“Oh. Yeah, I’m fresh out of Battery City, what’s it to you?” She eyed him suspiciously.

“I was wondering if you needed a place to stay, I didn’t have one when I got out here either.” 

That was...kinder than they expected. They still didn’t trust this strange killjoy with fire in his eyes, but he was their best option for getting somewhere other than the side of a road in Zone whatever. “Yeah, I don’t have anywhere to go.”

“Well then I’ll bring you back to Autumn. They’ll take anyone.”

Newsie tried not to be insulted by that as Cherri Cola led her back to his motorcycle. “Fancy ride.”

“D helped me fix it up,” he said, as if she knew who ‘D’ was. “The sidecar’s all full, I hope you don’t mind riding on the back.”

They did mind a little, but it was better than being crammed in a sidecar even if the sidecar hadn’t been full. So they shook their head. “I don’t mind.”

“Great!” Cherri Cola climbed on and gestured her after. “Let’s go before the crows get here.”

Newsie hopped on the motorcycle reluctantly, cautiously hanging on to him. “You better not turn out to be a murderer or something.”

“Oh, I am.” Cherri’s voice was surprisingly calm. “But only of dracs and crows, not miscellaneous teenagers who saved my life.”

“Like you’re not a teenager.”

“I’m almost eighteen!”

“Old person,” Newsie snorted.

“And how old are you, then?”

“Fourteen.” 

“Not the youngest ‘joy I’ve known.”

Cherri was a frankly terrible driver, by any sane person’s standard. He went far too fast and took curves at frankly irresponsible speeds, forcing Newsie to hang on tightly. The only good thing that could be said was that he did keep his eyes focused on the road, driving with a fierce intensity, like he was running from something she couldn’t see. So yes, by any sane judgement, Cherri Cola was a fucking terrible driver. 

Newsie rather enjoyed his driving. Sure, they had to wrap their arms around his waist so they didn’t fall off the fucking bike, but the speed was exciting. Freeing. Of all the times Newsie had talked to random strangers over the course of her life, this had to be one of the best outcomes.

And so down the desert roads they went, kicking up dust behind them as Cherri Cola took them back to what appeared to be a small settlement. It had the look of a pre-Helium Wars era town, but as they got closer, Newsie could see that all the buildings were in varying states of destruction, and graffiti was everywhere. Color was the resounding theme of the area, and killjoys hollered back and forth to each other across the broken down streets. It was noisy and chaotic and eye-scorching, and Newsie loved it already. 

“Welcome to our town.” Cherri’s voice had a hint of pride in it as he honked the horn at a few killjoys in their way.

“It’s fucking loud.” It was fucking perfect.

“The noise comes with having a bunch of kids in a town.” He pulled to a stop in front of a tall house with ‘House of Soup’ spray painted over the door.

Newise snorted and Cherri shot her a glare. “Care to help me unload?”

“Fine.”

She helped him carry in several large boxes of varying things, batteries and power pup mainly, and got quite a few stares.

“Hey, Cher!” That was a killjoy with bleached white streaks through their hair, bearing a wide smile as they leaned in to hug Cherri. “Who’s this?”

“NewsAGoGo, she’s new to the desert. She/they.” Cherri turned to Newsie. “This is White Lily, she/her and leader of the current rebellion, as much as we have any one leader.” 

“Pleased to meet you.” White Lily’s smile seemed genuine, although her eyes blazed with a similar fire to Cherri’s. 

Newsie shook her offered hand carefully. “Nice to meet you.” 

“So you’re staying with us?” White Lily didn’t wait for a reply before turning back to Cherri. “Cher, you can take off your mask, you know.”

He sighed and pushed his pink mask up onto his forehead, revealing the dark circles under his eyes and the child-like softness of his face, a sharp contrast to his angular cheekbones.

“A literal child, that’s what you look like,” Newsie declared.

Cherri glared at her. “I know I look like I’m twelve, fuck off.” His face might have been young, but his eyes were old and frankly the only even vaguely intimidating thing about him. If Newsie hadn’t watched him face down a car full of dracs on his own, they would have thought he was nothing to be afraid of. 

“You look younger than me.” It wasn’t quite the truth, but it was entertaining to watch Cherri’s face at that.

“Alright, I’m off to talk to D,” White Lily declared. “You can talk to Autumn Assassin about finding a room for them.” Her words were casual, but the tone made it clear it was an order.

“I will, tell D he needs to come in pretty soon if he doesn’t want to miss dinner.” 

Newsie was starting to wonder if she was going to meet this mysterious D. “So...Autumn Assassin?”

“The person who runs this house. They should be out back.” Cherri led them through the house and out to the backyard area, where a short, red-haired killjoy appeared to be teaching a much taller one how to hold a ray gun. “Hey, Autumn!” 

“Oh, hey, Cola.” They didn’t turn, busy adjusting the other killjoy’s grip.

“Do we have a spare room?”

“Not right now, we’re at capacity with that new crew of joys.”

“Fuck.”

“Why?”

Cherri gestured at Newsie. 

“Oh, newbie.” Autumn Assassin looked Newsie up and down. “We’ve got an extra mattress, but not another room, do you think you and your crew can let them stay with you? Assuming you’re okay with that, kid.”

Cherri huffed a sigh. “D and Lil probably won’t mind. NewsAGoGo?”

“Guess I’ll stay with you.” They didn’t know what possessed them to do so, but after a second they add a small “Fucker.”

To their surprise, Cherri laughed. “You won’t be a bad roommate, I think.”

Newsie started her career as Cherri’s roommate by sticking to his side like a limpet, unwilling to leave the one person she actually knew. Cherri tolerated this with a surprising amount of grace, giving them a patient smile as he led them upstairs to put the spare mattress in the room they would now be sharing with Cherri, Lily, and whoever D was. He didn’t protest it, not even as they followed him outside. 

“Where are we going?”

“You need killjoy clothes.” 

Newsie frowned in annoyance that he just assumed they’d follow, but to be fair, they had followed him everywhere so far. “So where are we going?”

“Tommy Chow Mein’s.”

Cherri Cola took them to the store across the way, what looked to have once been a general store. Now it was still one, but a killjoy one, filled with everything from bubblegum to ray guns to miscellaneous bits of clothing, which were what Cherri headed for. “Here we go.”

“I have literally ten carbons.”

“Tommy knows me, I’ll get you a discount. Plus, D, Lil and I have some to spare.” 

Newsie stared at the floor. “You better not be helping me because I’m pitiful and just ran away from home because fucking Better Living was going to turn me into one of their fucking soldiers so I ran and ran and walked so fucking far in that heat and now I look like a fucking mess.”

She didn’t have to look up to know his face was sympathetic, she could feel it in his gaze. “I’m not helping you because your life has been shit or I feel bad for you, I’m helping you because it’s a decent thing to do. Plus, I’ve been there,” he added after a second. “I came out to the desert with no one to help me or a single fucking person who cared.” 

Newsie glanced up at that. “So now you just help random killjoys?”

Cherri shrugged. “Mostly I kill dracs. But sometimes, yeah.” 

She was still somewhat reluctant, but she picked out a shiny-looking peach jacket, ripped black jeans, an utterly hideous purple, green and gold shirt, and sturdy boots with purple laces. 

Cherri gave them a thumbs up of approval, grinning at the outfit. “You have style.”

“You don’t.” He was wearing a turquoise t-shirt, jeans that approximately resembled the ground in how dusty they were, and a black leather jacket which was clearly too small for him. 

Cherri flipped them off and dropped a couple of carbons on the counter along with the clothes Newsie had grabbed.

“Swindler,” Tommy Chow Mein snorted. “Are you trying to cheat me out of all these clothes?”

“Who got you out of that clap the other week? And besides, a swindler is someone who sells overpriced goods.”

Tommy gave him a small glare but took the money. “You’re impudent.”

“And you’re a capitalist, your point?” 

That earned them a sigh. “Say hi to D for me.” 

“Will do.” Cherri gave Newsie a glance that said ‘follow me’ and hurried out of the store. They followed him back across the street and over to Autumn Assassin’s house, heading inside to find the living room just as chaotic as before and the short killjoy from earlier stirring a pot of...something in the kitchen. 

"That'll be dinner," Cherri told her with a grin.

At dinner that night, Newsie finally got to meet the mysterious D, who turned out to be a rather tired looking killjoy in a deep brown leather jacket.

“D, this is NewsAGoGo, she/they. They’ll be staying with us because Autumn doesn’t have a spare room,” Cherri introduced. “NewsAGoGo- can I call you Newsie? Or is that not a good nickname- this is Dr. Death Defying, he/they. We all call him D.”

“You can call me Newsie, I guess. Fucker.” She shook D’s offered hand. “Nice to meet you.”

“Nice to meet you too, NewsAGoGo.” His smile was tired but friendly. 

Newsie’s first night there was a little bit strange, trying to sleep in a strange room with three strangers asleep just across from her. Or, well, not asleep, in the case of the stranger who had brought her here. By virtue of not being able to sleep, they were the only one awake to see Cherri roll off the mattress with a muffled curse, climbing to his feet and rubbing his eyes as he wandered over to the window.

“Hey. Fucker,” Newsie hissed.

He turned, looking a little startled. “Yeah?”

“Whacha doing?”

“Can’t sleep. You?”

“Me too.” She climbed off her own mattress, coming over to join him by the window. “What do you do when that happens out here?”

“Look at the stars, mostly. There aren’t any stars in Battery City.”

“Smart.” Newsie looked out the window, staring up at what looked like hundreds, no, thousands of stars. “Holy shit.”

“There are a lot, yeah.”

“No shit.” It might have been the most beautiful thing they had ever seen, with the possible exception of the killjoy town by daytime. But that was beautiful in a different way, colors and noise and life that made you feel brave. The stars were beautiful in a quiet way that made you feel small and like everything was going to be okay. Newsie understood why Cherri liked to watch them at night. There was a strange sort of comfort in being reminded how truly tiny your place in the universe was.

They glanced over at him. “So…Cherri Cola, huh? You really like soda?”

“My sister did.”

Newsie didn’t know what to say to that. “Oh.”

“Yeah.” Thankfully Cherri continued the conversation, keeping the silence from being crushing. “Why did you pick NewsAGoGo?”

“GoGo because I’m always going, I guess. News because of the old reporter droids who took care of me. So NewsAGoGo.”

“That makes sense.”

The silence that followed was a little awkward, but not crushingly so. Eventually, Newsie started yawning.

“You should sleep.”

“You should too, but I didn’t say anything,” Newsie shot back quietly.

“I’ll sleep if you will,” Cherri said dryly.

“Fine.” This time, she could actually fall asleep, Newsie found. The silence wasn’t so harsh, and it felt safer to sleep in a room with three others now that one wasn’t so much a stranger. 

Conversations like that became common as Newsie settled into living with the other three. Neither they nor Cherri could sleep through the night, most nights. So when their nightmares overlapped, the two of them would stand by the window and talk about the past and Battery City and all the things you didn’t discuss when the sun was shining bright overhead. 

Her bond with D and White Lily was nowhere near the same, even if it also tentatively grew stronger. D and Lily didn’t join them at night, even if it wasn’t uncommon for one of them to be awake either. Lily left the room, every time. Newsie suspected she didn’t want the others to hear her cry. D did…something. Newsie didn’t know. Maybe they just laid awake. Either way, it was only her and Cherri who stood by the window.

It was her and Cherri who tended to go out on missions, too. Cherri took her with him more often and more as the days went on. Newsie had continued her policy of sticking to him like a limpet, and he didn’t seem to mind that. So he took them on raids, bringing them to fight exterminators and on all sorts of dangerous things fourteen year olds were absolutely not supposed to do and Newsie rather enjoyed. 

He also brought her to Autumn Assassin, who declared that it was absolutely their responsibility to teach Newsie how to shoot a ray gun properly, as well as a variety of other weapons and American Sign Language (useful for communicating silently in claps and with nonverbal or hard of hearing killjoys, Cherri explained). Newsie didn’t exactly object to that, although they did wish a little someone else could teach them. Autumn Assassin was a bit harsh, not exactly sharp but definitely straightforward. Cherri promised it would be okay, though, and Newsie trusted him more than the rest, at least. 

Cherri was almost always there when they were doing lessons as well, taking his own shots at the target. Whether that was for his sake or Newsie’s was debatable, but they didn’t mind his presence. Autumn Assassin corrected him almost as much, and they also made him practice a variety of other weapons. Cherri turned out to be terrifyingly good at shooting, but not bad with the rest either. And Newsie wasn’t as good a shot- almost no one was, except maybe Autumn Assassin- but they enjoyed the other forms of combat

“Thank you,” D told her one day. He was standing next to Newsie and watching Cherri spar with Autumn Assassin, circling each other and fighting like their lives depended on it- they very well might, some day.

“For what?” 

D gestured vaguely around. “Being here.”

They eyed the other somewhat suspiciously. “I haven’t done shit for you.”

“You have for Cherri.” D glanced over at where Autumn Assassin was tackling Cherri into the dust. “He really likes talking to you, and he’s a lot less resistant to taking you on missions than others.” 

“Oh.”

“I’d rather he let me come along,” they continued, “but being willing to take you is a step in the right direction. No offense to you, but you’re inexperienced, and I would feel safer if he would let me help him.”

“He’s a stubborn bastard.”

“Yes, he is.”

“Fuck! Good one!” Autumn Assassin’s nose was bleeding as they and Cherri tromped over, both grinning.

“Got them,” Cherri said proudly. “D, you want to get your ass kicked by Autumn?”

“I’ll kick their ass,” D threatened, but he was smiling too. 

“Try me, bitch boy,” Autumn Assassin deadpanned.

“I will and you know I will.”

“Shooting competition?”

“Don’t pick something you know you can beat me at, coward.” 

“Then draw swords,” Autumn challenged.

Cherri laughed and came to stand next to Newsie as they watched the two older killjoys fight. “Those two have some sort of rivalry going on, I think.” “A friendly one or a ‘they want to stab each other’ one like you and Tommy Chow Mein?”

“Tommy doesn’t want to stab me, I’m his best customer,” Cherri said indigently. “And a friendly one, they’re friends but also enjoy fighting. Although that’s nothing compared to some others, you should see Lily and Autumn really get going, though.”

“Really? Do they hate each other?” Newsie hadn’t seen much of their dynamic, but it seemed more friendly than anything.

“Oh, no, they’re great friends, but they do enjoy trying to beat the shit out of each other.”

They nodded. She was still learning about the dynamics of the household, between the chaotic crews that called themselves the Brit Boys and the Tumbleweed Chasers and Autumn Assassin, between Autumn Assassin and each member of Cherri’s crew, which thus far had no name. Autumn Assassin was head of the household in a fairly clear way, but beyond that, the relationships were hard to pin down.

The dynamics between Cherri’s crew she thought she had down a little bit better. Cherri was very much the baby of the crew- at least he had been until she arrived- and D and Lily had a shared sort of solidarity of having fought in the wars. Both were ridiculously protective of Cherri, and Cherri was protective of them in turn. How intensely he fought was for many reasons, Newsie thought, but protecting his friends had to rank high on there. They hadn’t gone on many missions with more than one of the crew, but the one they had, they had watched Cherri jump between D and a scarecrow despite the older ‘joy’s protests.

So Cherri became more and more of her best friend, and D and Lily almost equally close. They learned things like that Cherri’s favorite color was pink and D liked old music and listened to Metallica and Lily had been a comic book nerd as a kid. And in return, they told their own stories, if quietly and for few ears. How they liked technology (D was very happy with that one, immediately asking if they would help with the radio station) and didn’t have the patience for chess but had learned how to play checkers better than anyone they knew.

While it might have been easy for other people to see only the personas the three (and now four) of them put on, Dr. Death Defying as the confident radio announcer and White Lily the inspiring rebellion leader, while Cherri Cola was a brave sharpshooter, Newsie was never not able to look past that. She hadn’t met Cherri as Cherri Cola, best sharpshooter of the killjoy’s forces, who would later go head to head with exterminators, she had met him as a dorky seventeen year old who drove too fast. Lily had never been White Lily, invincible leader of a rebellion doomed to fail, she had always been Cherri’s friendly roommate, while D had been that tired guy in a brown jacket. Utterly and completely human.

Although Newsie was nowhere as famous as those three yet, they had started to attract notice of their own. NewsAGoGo, radio assistant, that kid who rode with the Trio. Fighting shit with Cherri didn’t help that impression. Because as it turned out, there were consequences for being friends with the three most influential figures of a rebellion, and those consequences included a reputation and dracs constantly trying to get you ghosted. Newsie was getting very good at fighting them off and brushing off the occasional stare or whispered comment. Maybe it wasn’t right that she had to learn, maybe it wasn’t just that a fourteen-year-old had been put in this situation, but this was war. And Newsie learned quickly.

[marzeline]

So i heard y’all like religious symbolism in She Ra, so i decided to offer my own knowledge from 17 years spent in a very strict Orthodox household.

I’m gonna talk particularly about one specific moment in “Save the Cat” because I haven’t seen anyone pointing it out before.

When I was first watching this episode, devastated and overwhelmed by emotions, I still felt a bit of a... déjà vu? I have definitely seen these images before, but where? And then it hit me.

Everywhere. I have seen these scenes all my life. Glorified them even. Let me give you a little bit of context...

My family (and my country predominantly) is part of the Christian Eastern-Orthodox Church. The western world is not that familiar with this specific part of the church, but it’s basically presented as Christianity as it was preached in the beginning. In 1054, the East-West Schism happened, when the institution of the Church and Religion as a whole split into the Catholic Church and the Eastern Orthodox Churches. It happened from various reasons like changes in the doctrine and political reasons but I will not go into details here.

Since their departure, the Catholic and Orthodox Church developed even more differences - one of them being the decoration of the church.

While Catholics use mainly statues and mosaic, Orthodox practice allows the use of only icons (there is no exact term in English from what I have found, but think Icoană in Romanian or Икона in Russian), which are basically pictures.

And you have probably seen pictures or icoane as well - here is an widely used image in the western world of Jesus Christ

The images that you’re used to seeing have realistic details, but this isn’t what I’m used to seeing. Because in the Eastern Church, we use the byzantine style of art (Greek), the one used in the old times. The artist’s goal isn’t to portray the characters and scenes realistically, but to have a symbolic sketch that dehumanizes them (ig you won’t look at an icon and fall in love with the face, you won’t be distracted by earthly things).

With this out of the way, let me show you what I meant when I said I have seen those scenes before. There are 3 of them, the last one being the most important, and while you can find so many other icons, these are the few that I have selected:

Now here me out: Jesus is Great. My views on religion have changed a lot, but I still think Jesus was the greatest man to ever live. His lessons were revolutionary at the time, and his teachings are still passed on.

In Orthodox traditions, we believe God has three personas that are different and independent, but one in God: The Father, The Son and The Holy Spirit. The Church is raising you as a family, with the priest addressing the community as “brothers and sisters (in Christ)” and we pray to our divine Father.

Now let me tell you why I have selected these specific icons: The Baptize of Christ, Jesus saving Adam from Eternal Damnation, The Apostle and Jesus AND the last one that I’m gonna talk about a little bit later.

In scene one, we see Catra coming with the clones. Her hair is wet and later we find out that she has been “purified”. When undergoing this same process, Horde Prime told Hordak that his fault was his pride: how dare he think he is worthy to stand besides Horde Prime, Hordak was a mere clone created “in his image”

“So God created man in His own image” Genesis 1:27

Hordak forgotten who he is. He shall be reminded.

The Orthodox Church has 7 great rituals, but the most important ones are considered the Baptize, the Eucharist and The Ceremony that you undergo at Death.

Let’s talk about the Baptize because they look wildly similar to me. We believe that everyone is born carrying the original sin - that’s why it doesn’t matter how good of the person you were during your life, you go to Hell. But when Jesus came to Earth, He taught us how to be baptized in the name of the Lord. The process of The Baptize reclaims you as one of Lord’s sheeps and saves your soul (doesn’t guarantee you’re going to Heaven either; just opens the possibility). It purifies you of the original sin and makes you reborn, ready to join the big family that is the Church. Sounds familiar?

The Symbol of the Baptize is easy to spot, definetly out there for a reason, a scary, twisting interpretation of a ritual that is viewed as sacred by the community.

Catra kneels 2 times in front of Horde Prime. The second time she does it in Adoration at HP’s altar, when she is brought for Adora to see (see the first image), but the first time she does it when she is brought defiant after helping Glimmer escape. That’s the moment of her Judgement.

In the second image, Prime is holding her hand and Catra lovingly accepts it while being raised from the ground. It’s sickening to see because you know the character, you know her desires and history and holding HP’s hand while being embraced by him doesn’t really hit her persona.

Now let’s look at this in detail again

Here is the moment when Jesus, dead, is lowering to Hell (like I said, before Jesus, no one could go to Heaven) to save the worthy ones (like Abraham and David and Adam - the first man, the one that lived almost 1000 years). Yes, Adam sinned in the Eden, but in the Bible we’re being told that he had lived a righteous life overall. Adam was a good man and he deserved to go to Heaven after he died. But he didn’t, so Jesus could come and free him. He raises him from Hell and saves him. Heaven is now opened for Adam. HP is doing the same for Catra here.

And last, but certainly not least, we have the third image. I have rewatched this episode so many times since its release and I always, always stop at that scene with my blood frozen in my veins. The resemblance it’s terrifying. That frame alone, shows you every Christian’s biggest dream. Jesus and the Apostle. You being saved. God accepting you. Loving you even. It doesn’t matter how much you love God, He always loves you more. How could you not stare in adoration? All your adoration will never be enough for He is just That Great.

Catra does it, the clones do it, and we do it as well - we’re content being in His Graces. I don’t think I will ever be able to explain how much that scene scares me. Because we, as the audience, know that is wrong. That is not Catra. She’s so many people’s favorite character for a reason! She’s obnoxious and loud and mischievous and disrespectful and cunning and fast and mean but caring and she loves Adora! We know that and we expect to see that every time she’s on the screen. Seeing the complete opposite of her... is wrong.

“Jesus said, “Let the little children come to me, and do not hinder them, for the kingdom of heaven belongs to such as these.” Matthew 19:14

The last icon: the one where Jesus greets the kids into his arms and promises them heaven and peace. That is how the clones and the ones being chipped are looking at HP. This is what they think they will find under his protection. Spinerella always mentions how happy they are under his rule and Catra?

“My place is with Horde Prime, I don’t want to leave”

“Prime has given me peace. Something you could never do.”

“Therefore, since we have been justified by faith, we have peace with God through our Lord Jesus Christ. Through him we have access by faith into his grace in which we stand, and we rejoice in hope of the glory of God.” Romans 5:1-2

I’m gonna tell you from my own experience: I came out as bisexual to my mother (who is definitely the most religious person you’re ever gonna meet) at 13. She wasn’t mad. She tried to deny it but I stopped her cold. You know what she said? I will pray for you. Everyone has their own stuggles and the devil tempts us in many ways. You’ll have to fight these urges all your life and never act on them, but you’ll be rewarded. You will find peace in God.

For my mother, God is the giver of peace and my attraction to the same gender is what actually troubles me. My struggle is because of my sins.

I’m sure that conversation remained forgotten in her memory, but I will never be able to forget it. For the Church (Horde Prime here representing organized religion) homosexuals are sad, confused and unhappy - because they don’t know the peace of the Lord. No one can be happy, if not in the light of Horde Prime God.

I don’t know if there is ever gonna be a time in my life when that scene won’t terrify me. It’s reminding me of everything that I was for others, for everything that I thought I wanted for myself. At 14 I would wake up praying to be killed just so I can die in God’s light before sinning. Catra is also a victim of abuse, and you could never never never understand what is that about unless you have experienced it first hand. In the episode she is being mind-controlled, not far from others have experienced due to indoctrination. But to be so codependent, to Adora first (and probably always - that’s just how childhood trauma works) Shadow Weaver and then to HP?

This breaks my heart in so many places, but it also gives me hope. You can still get the chip out. You can still open your eyes. And you can still love! There is no fear in love.

[douchebagbrainwaves]

STARTUPS AND STUDENTS

The values of the elite, others feel a little nervous about it, because it would cause the founders' attitudes toward risk tend to be the boss of someone much older than you, and b since he's probably a founder, he can pay himself nothing. Redwoods mean those are the parts where the fog off the coast comes in at night; redwoods condense rain out of fog. Aim for cool and cheap, not expensive and impressive. So despite those millions in the bank, you're still poor. During the Internet Bubble there were a number of startups that need less than they used to. It's a tossup whether Castro Street or University Ave should be considered the heart of the Valley is done in the cafes on or just off University Ave in Palo Alto. In some cases you may collaborate with other students, and this remark convinced me that Sarbanes-Oxley loosened. It's hard to follow, especially when you're young. It's not the sort of uncool office building that will make your software worse. It's not what people learn in classes at MIT and Stanford that has made technology companies spring up around them.1 The main reason they all acted as if they got the answer to some math question before the other kids.

Palo Alto is a place they come to meet investors. Well, no. If you walked around their offices, it seemed like a software company.2 Presumably they were driven by whatever makes people in every other society invent cosmologies. I know that have the right kind of place for developing software. Investors all compete with one another for deals, but they know better than to use it. Or rather, investors who do that will get corrected in the process is option pools.3 But in fact we were doing exactly the right sort of person who would like to do, your best bet may be to choose a type of work that could turn into either an organic or two-job route is that it's slow and uncertain.

That's an important difference because it means a startup could do. Once we reach that point, we take one of two routes. I was a kid I thought they protected inventors from having their ideas stolen by big companies. The problem was, since we'd been about to be acquired, we'd allowed ourselves to run low on cash. So a language that people don't learn merely to get a job.4 We've found this principle very useful, and we were growing at 10% a month. If you work hard at being a bond trader for ten years, thinking that you'll quit and write novels when you have enough money, what happens when you quit and then discover that you don't notice.5

Always produce is also a heuristic for finding the work you love. But should you start a company. The kind of philosophy I'm advocating won't be able to achieve the essayist's standard of proof, not the mathematician's or the experimentalist's. He has noticed that theoretical knowledge is often acquired for its own sake, out of curiosity, rather than becoming philosophy professors. You couldn't just do what you wanted, and that probably made a difference. It turns out to have been temporary. Others say I will get in trouble for appearing to be writing about things I don't understand.6 If two companies have the same drab clunkiness as anything else that comes out of a new funding round we needed to raise more to keep going. Soon after we arrived at Yahoo, we got an email from Filo, who had been crawling around our directory hierarchy, asking if it was really necessary to store so much of our data on expensive RAID drives. The acquirers already have brand recognition and HR departments. Talk to as many VCs as you can, though.

Kids who know early what they want. On the whole they've done better than the companies that weren't. So don't get demoralized. Still more dangerously, when you think about it if you're trying to negotiate with them. In fact, they rarely seemed to arrive at it. For example, if users searching for compact disc player end up spending considerable money at sites offering compact disc players, then those pages will have a higher relevance for that search phrase, even though the phrase compact disc player end up spending considerable money at sites offering compact disc players, then those pages will have a higher relevance for that search phrase, even though the advertisers are paying and users aren't. Increasingly, startups are a big risk financially. Could other countries introduce more individualism into their technology companies and research labs without having it metastasize as strip malls?

Customers loved us. Usually there is something even better than C; and plug-and-so is an animal. People who don't want to be CFO of a public company now. A few ideas from it turned out to be. Because people in the Valley.7 It causes you to work not on what you want and get out of the way. This money isn't revenue.

But there is no need for rounds to take months or even weeks to close, and once founders realize that, it's going to feel terrible sometimes, then when it feels terrible you won't think ouch, this feels terrible, I give up.8 I, Ada have lost, while hacker languages C, Perl, Smalltalk, Lisp. They may also make the biggest investment. There is no core of knowledge one must master. So mainly what a startup buys you is time. We felt like our role was to be impudent underdogs instead of corporate stuffed shirts, and that this company is going to discover those. Perhaps more importantly, you'll get into the habit early in life of thinking that all judgements are. The reason: today's teenage hacker is tomorrow's CTO.9 Some angels, especially those with technology backgrounds, may be satisfied with a search result than going to the site and buying something?

Notes

The First Two Hundred Years.

More precisely, investors treat them differently. Everyone's taught about it.

There's no reason to believe this number is a function of their initial funding and then stopped believing, so presumably will the rate of change in response to what modernist architects meant. I overstated the case, as they seem like noise.

If they really need that much better, and would not be true that the only result is that the path from ideas to startups. In the Daddy Model and reality is the only ones that matter financially, and there are not the second clause could include any possible startup, unless it was true that being so, you have to talk to a VC who got buyer's remorse, then over the details. Record labels, for example, the number of situations, but there are no startups to have had little effect on college admissions there would be to become one of their growth from earnings.

This is a new generation of software from being contaminated by how you spent your summers. By a similar effect, at least, as Brian Burton does in SpamProbe.

It was common in the computer world recognize who that is a bad idea was that professionalism had replaced money as a constituency. Some find they have to factor out some knowledge. He, like a knowledge of human nature, might come from meditating in an empty room, you might be an inverse correlation between launch magnitude and success.

I was as bad an employee or as outside counsel, they cancel out and you start to be hard on the spot as top sponsor.

If you seem evasive than if you repair a machine that's broken because a it's too obvious to your instruments. Some want to turn Buffalo into a great programmer is infinitely more valuable, and that modern corporate executives would work so hard to judge for yourself and that modern corporate executives would work so hard to mentally deal with the sort of idea are statistics about the idea that they probably don't notice even when I switch in mid-twenties the people who run them would be easier to get a small proportion of spam. Xkcd implemented a particularly clever one in a limited way, without becoming a Texas oilman was not in the standard edition of Aristotle's contribution?

There is one that did. He was off by only about 2%. We just store the data, it's because of some power shift due to the yogurt place, we found they used it to colleagues. There can be a trivial enhancement of HTTP, to mean starting a company.