#my one polite rebuttal button

[narakasfuck]

just a toy car, watching people in love.

read it on AO3

Pairing: PhayuRain

Word count: 1.5k

Rating: General Audience

Additional tags: Toy Car POV, Personification of an inanimate object (toy car), drunk Rain, domestic fluff

Summary:

Rain gets a little too drunk from partying, but Payu is there to take care of him. As in, listening to his drunken ramblings until he falls asleep.

or

Payu and Rain through the eyes of a toy car, the one perched on Payu's bedframe and used to keep his condoms.

I can already hear Rain’s voice rambling around even before the door is clumsily swung open. Judging from the way Rain is slurring his words, and that he can barely stand upright without Payu’s assistance, I think it is safe for me to assume that the boy is completely wasted right now. I briefly remember them planning about going out to celebrate Rain’s graduation with some friends anyway, I guess that’s exactly where they have just gotten home from.

“Phi Payu, be careful! The floor is spinning around!”

I hear Payu chuckles fondly as he slowly guides his younger lover to the bed, settling him down to sit at the edge of it. I totally understand Payu’s amusement though. Rain is such a big rambler even when he’s sober. But drunk Rain is a whole different level, I have seen. He talks a lot, and about the most nonsensical thing one could ever think of.

“Nothing is spinning, Rain. You just had too many drinks.”

I know Payu is generally a polite and soft spoken person in general, but I swear on all four wheels I have on my body that Payu’s voice turns ten times sweeter when he’s speaking to Rain. If I had teeth, they would have been rotten by now considering the amount of time I have spent watching them in this room.

Anyway, back to my observation.

Payu has lowered himself down to kneel on the floor before Rain. His gentle hands are undoing the buttons of Rain’s shirt one by one while he keeps his gaze on the boy’s face. I peep a pout forming on Rain’s face, lips pursued like a pair of beaks.

“Phi Payu, I told you I’m not drunk!”

I roll my imaginary eyes at the rebuttal. That’s what every drunk person would say.

Payu only shakes his head and proceeds to shrug the shirt off of Rain’s body, which Rain doesn’t protest, much to Payu’s relief. Rain has also behaved well when Payu gets him out of his jeans too, leaving him only in his underwear.

“Alright, Mister Not Drunk.” Rain giggles when Payu playfully boops the tip of his nose.

“Get comfy in the bed, I’ll be back with a cup of water for you.”

Rain does as he’s ordered, albeit a little wobbly with his movements. He crawls further into the bed, though he has miscalculated his position and accidentally settles too far up the bed. So when he leans back to lay down, his head hits the bedframe with a loud thud, making even me roll back a few centimeters from where I am originally placed.

“Owiee…” The poor boy curls up in pain like a shrimp, hand covering the back of his head. The sound must’ve been loud enough because when Payu returns back, he’s straight up charging towards Rain with concern painted all over his face.

“Clumsy baby. Are you okay?”

“Meanie bed, that hurts!” Rain has tears pooling at the corner of his eyes when he looks up at Payu. His lips wobble for an extra effect. Partly because it does hurt, but the other half is probably just him exaggerating it so he can have Payu coddling him.

I know very well that Payu is trying so hard not to laugh at his boyfriend right now. In fact I think he reaches out to hug the poor boy and caresses his head soothingly just to hide an amused smile under the pretense of comforting him. Regardless, the action manages to soothe the boy, stopping his tears from falling.

I watch as Payu makes Rain drink from the bottle he has brought into the room, and then helps him to settle down under the blanket. Payu slides himself under the same blanket soon after, once he has changed to a more comfortable sleepwear, that is. Rain wastes no time to roll over towards his boyfriend and snuggle up to his side; his head resting on Payu’s chest, right above his heart so he can hear every beat of Payu’s heart, and his arm draping  loosely around Payu’s torso.

A very domestic sight, I mused to myself. Also a very common sight. I have noticed that Rain loves skinship, and Payu is more than pleased to give whatever his boyfriend needs. So them just cuddling in bed, especially after sex, is something that I witness almost on a daily basis.

“Phi Payu,” Rain starts, hazy eyes blinking a few times trying to get rid of the sleepiness. Payu hums softly in an answer.

“Do you think the chicken came first, or the eggs?”

See? I’ve told you. This boy asks the weirdest things.

“Must’ve been the eggs,” Payu answers easily. His fingers comb through Rain’s now disheveled up hair. I saw that he had styled it properly before they left home, but all that partying must’ve messed up the boy’s hair. 

“Nuh. It gotta be the chickens. Because they laid those eggs!”

“Uhuh? Then, how can there be chickens without those eggs?” Payu raises an eyebrow up at Rain, challenging him.

“Listen, Phi Payu. I don’t think chickens are originally chickens!” Now Payu’s brows furrowed in confusion instead. So Rain continues, “I think chickens started from thousands of years ago, and I’m talking about the dinosaur era here.”

“Uh–” Rain immediately cuts him off by pressing a finger on his lips.

“I believe that chickens were created when two different species of dinosaurs fell in love. They copulated, and then they accidentally produced a whole new species of dinosaur that resembles birds.”

Payu bites on his bottom lip to hold back a laugh when Rain lifts his head up to look at him. 

Then Rain continues, “One of those bird dinosaurs then fell in love with another species of dinosaur, and their children copulated with another species of dinosaur too. And it goes on and on and on and on…”

Rain sings-songs and waves his hand up and down in the air, before he abruptly stops, and then snaps his fingers.

“And then they ended up as the chickens that we have today!”

Payu can’t help himself and lets out a small laugh at that, nodding his head in agreement in the end. I understand him. Rain is being too cute right now, there’s no way anyone has the heart to disagree with him. 

“That sounds legit. My boyfriend is very smart.”

Rain’s face lit up like the sunrise at the praise, grinning so widely that the corner of his lips stretched from ear to ear.

“Another question, Phi Payu.” He brings a finger up in the air.

“What is it now, hm?”

“Do you think–” He halts in his sentence to let out a yawn, muffling it against Payu’s chest, then continues, “That butt is a one body part, or two?”

Payu snickers at the question. But he indulges his drunken boyfriend anyway and ponders the question for a minute.

“One part. It’s just butt, one body part.” He reaches a hand around to lightly pat Rain’s butt over the layer of clothing. 

Rain, however, has a different opinion. And he shakes his head at his boyfriend.

“It’s two, Phi Payu!” He wiggles his butt under Payu’s palm, as if it is in any way helping to prove his point.

“It’s two, because they’re connected to two separate legs! That’s why we have left buttcheek and right buttcheek.”

Payu decides he can try debating this time.

“But that’s the cheeks. The combination of those is what makes a butt. Kinda like your nose, it has left and right nostrils, but it’s considered one body part. Same with butt.”

I can see the gears in Rain’s head spinning slowly to comprehend Payu’s words. Looks like Rain is losing this round huh.

“But- but that’s not the same Phi Payu!” He argues. Payu just looks at him, waiting for his elaboration.

“The nostrils are inside one big place that is the nose… The buttcheeks aren’t.” Rain lets out another yawn and this time he does slowly flutter his eyes closed. 

“They are… completely separated…” His speech is starting to slur and his voice gradually quietens down from sleepiness that I can barely hear him anymore from where I am perched on their bedhead.

“You can… you can even…”

Payu watches with fond eyes as Rain slowly succumbs to his sleepiness and drifts off into a deep slumber mid-sentence. He’s whispering something to the boy’s ear but it’s too low for me to hear. But if I am to guess, I suppose he is telling the sleepy boy how much he loves him. Like the big lover boy that he is. He doesn’t show it much when Rain is awake, but I’ve seen more times that enough how the boy has smiled so soft and sweetly when Rain isn’t looking.

Payu kisses Rain on the forehead, letting his lips linger for a bit then pulls up the blanket higher to cover their bodies properly.

“Good night, my good boy.”

I decided that I can watch them being domestic like this forever.

[vote-democrat-president-congress]

Dialing In to Fox News, Trump Offers a Rambling Rebuttal to Harris’s Speech

The network ended the live interview after 10 minutes. Beeps could be heard as the former president seemed to accidentally press the buttons on the keypad of his phone.

NY Times: By Michael M. Grynbaum and Michael Gold

Michael Grynbaum reported from Chicago. Michael Gold reported from Tucson, Ariz.

Aug. 23, 2024

Former President Donald J. Trump was watching television on Thursday night and he did not like what he saw.

His Democratic opponent, Vice President Kamala Harris, and her allies were accusing him of groveling to dictators, imperiling democracy, and betraying American values.

So Mr. Trump picked up the telephone and called Fox News. The network patched him in to its live coverage of the Democratic convention — moments after Ms. Harris had deemed him, in her speech, “an unserious man” — and the former president proceeded to issue a meandering, stream-of-consciousness rebuttal.

Several times, the Fox anchors Bret Baier and Martha MacCallum tried to interject to ask a question. Several times, Mr. Trump ignored them. “Mr. President, let me interrupt,” Mr. Baier pleaded at one point. Mr. Trump kept talking.

The call-in — which lasted for 10 minutes, until Fox News informed Mr. Trump that the network had run out of time — was hastily arranged. Network producers confirmed the interview less than a half-hour before Ms. Harris began her prime-time remarks.

Still, Mr. Trump did not want to wait until after the speech to weigh in. While Ms. Harris was speaking, he took to his social media platform, Truth Social, to provide real-time commentary.

His posts there, capitalized in a haphazard manner, were less directed at her specific remarks than at broader complaints about issues that Mr. Trump wants to keep the focus on: crime, immigration and the economy.

At times, he digressed.

“WHERE’S HUNTER?” Mr. Trump asked as Ms. Harris came onstage, reviving one of his favorite slogans about the son of President Biden, who withdrew his candidacy weeks ago.

At one point, referring to Ms. Harris, Mr. Trump asked, in all capital letters, “Is she talking about me?” (She was, often.)

Mr. Trump also accused Ms. Harris’s running mate, Gov. Tim Walz of Minnesota, of puffing up his résumé as a leader of a high school football team. “Walz was an ASSISTANT Coach, not a COACH,” he wrote.

A few minutes later, on Fox News, Mr. Trump argued that Ms. Harris had not accomplished much during her tenure as vice president.

“All of these things that she talked about — ‘We are going to do this, we are going to do that, we are going to do everything’ — but she didn’t do any of it!” Mr. Trump said on the air, complaining that “she didn’t talk about China, she didn’t talk about fracking, she didn’t talk about crime.”

His one concession? The Democrats’ convention hall. “It was a nice-looking room,” he said.

When Ms. MacCallum observed, accurately, that Ms. Harris was “having some success” with women, Hispanic and Black voters, Mr. Trump objected. “She’s not having success; I’m having success,” he said. “I’m doing great with the Hispanic voters, doing great with Black men, I’m doing great with women.”

“It’s only in your eyes that they have that, Martha,” he added. “We are doing very well.”

At several points during the call, a familiar beeping sound interrupted Mr. Trump’s remarks. It appeared that the former president was accidentally pressing buttons on the keypad of his phone.

Finally, while Mr. Trump was still midsentence, Mr. Baier moved to end the interview and thanked his guest for his time: “We appreciate that live feedback.”

The network immediately shifted to an episode of its late-night comedy program, “Gutfeld!”

The host, Greg Gutfeld, looked bemused. “That wasn’t my fault, Donald Trump,” he said, speaking to the president through the TV.

“He’s still talking, by the way,” Mr. Gutfeld joked.

https://www.nytimes.com/2024/08/23/us/politics/trump-reaction-harris-dnc.html?campaign_id=2&emc=edit_th_20240824&instance_id=132538&nl=today%27s-headlines®i_id=50236408&segment_id=175968&te=1&user_id=ba361fc7a8dda50e0479e7104bfa0b16

[cosmic-llin]

Not gonna get into a fight on someone else's post but for the record Deanna Troi earned her promotion to Commander by having several years of experience and passing multiple tests in diplomatic law, first contact procedures, bridge operations and engineering.

Also Starfleet doesn't give out ranks based on whether you're as smart as an android, because that would be a fucked up way to run an organisation, but if it did, well, Deanna can beat him at chess.

[arctic-hands]

There are plenty of kids who have their own political opinion, buuuuuuuut...

During the bush/kerry election in the sixth grade my friend Ashleigh and I went on the platform to debate each other and her whole argument was "kerry pissed on our dead soldiers in Iraq!" and I honestly could not think of a rebuttal to that because I had no way of disproving that claim and our teacher let it thru as an actual debate so I lost. And so did kerry.

dude being a little kid during an election year was THE funniest thing. kids were all just repeating their parent’s political beliefs verbatim without understanding any of what they were saying. My elementary school did a mock election and I didn’t know what was going on so I just voted for Obama because thats what everyone else was doing. My friend and I were chatting on a swing set and she said to me “I hope Mitt Romney gets elected because I don’t think Obama will get anything done” bitch you are 9

[ddarker-dreams]

Contractual Obligations. Yan Childe x Reader

Warnings: Implied stalking. Word count: 1k. →Part II.

A bewitching patch of flowers catches your fancy, standing tall and bright, boasting a rich azure shade. Content with your find, you bend down to pick the blossoms. Your cheerful mood turns sour at the slightest rustling behind a nearby tree. Not troubling yourself to look in the direction of the noise, you run your hands along the root, preparing to pluck the glaze lily. 

“How much longer are you planning on hiding?” 

More rustling. Footsteps approach from behind, a carefree laugh accompanying them. “Ah, you caught me. Could it be that I’m losing my touch?” 

For such a jovial voice, it fills you with oppressive dread, your jaw tightening at the unfortunately familiar timbre. Plagued by this unrelenting shadow, you guess that taking a refreshing walk on your lonesome is too much to ask for anymore. You weigh your options. Ignoring Childe has never done you any favors, likely fanning his flames even more. 

“You say that, but if you really wanted to, you’d go undetected.” 

Childe leans down next to your hunched over form, an irritatingly calm smile on his face. “Oh? What’s this? Are you complimenting me, [First]? If you’re not careful, I might let that go to my head.” 

“I’m sure it already has anyways,” you dismiss with a shake of your head. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d assume you wanted me to catch you.” 

“You got me there.” Childe shrugs, straightening his posture out. You take in a shaky breath, willing yourself to remain calm, painfully aware that you should be watching your tongue. To no fault of your own, Childe makes it impossible to remain polite as you normally are. Every interaction is based around him pushing your buttons for his personal pleasure. On a surface level, you know you need to be courteous, as your parent’s business relies on Fatui’s money. 

“Can I ask why you’re following me? I’m sure there are other pressing matters for you to attend to.” 

He hums, smoothing out his shirt while you work on the flower’s roots. “Work can be so boring. I just happened to be on a break when I caught you leaving Liyue, and decided to tag along.” 

Tag along. Is that what he’s calling it? It feels like every time you’re off gathering items for your parent’s shop, Childe decides to accompany you, despite your obvious distaste. 

Once you uproot the flower, Childe extends a gloved hand, that you stare at unimpressed. You take it after a moment’s deliberation, for the sake of maintaining appearances. Childe hoists you up with ease, and before you can mutter a halfhearted “thank you”, pulls you flush against his chest. Cobalt blue eyes fixate on your alarmed expression. Childe pays the most attention to your slightly parted lips, the skin beneath his eyes tightening in delight as he snickers. 

“I must confess,” he leans down to the shell of your ear, blowing on it playfully, “You’re starting to hurt my feelings, [First]. What have I done to deserve such cold treatment from you? Hm? Haven’t I been more than accommodating to you?” 

You swallow thickly, your stomach churning at how Childe’s voice dips lower, the dangerous sound ringing alarm bells in your head. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” 

“Oh, you don’t?” he inquires, and you shake your head. “In that case, I’m more than happy to remind you.” 

Childe pulls back so he can return his attention to your endearing facial expressions. At this close proximity, it’s impossible to ignore the height difference, the man easily towering over you. He tilts his head, messy copper hair falling into place soon afterward. Every ounce of your strength is dedicated to maintaining his piercing gaze, to salvage just an ounce of your honor, unwilling to fully relent to the pressure he exerts. He smiles at this, clearly pleased. Childe places his hand underneath your chin, delicately lifting your head to inspect you closer. 

“Do yourself a favor and don’t forget what would happen if I came to collect your shop’s debt now.” 

You want to offer a stinging rebuttal but the words die on your tongue. He’s right. Whatever the reason may be, the notoriously uncompromising Fatui have been lenient with your parent’s debt. You’ve had your suspicions, most of them relating to the person in front of you now, but hearing it aloud from him makes it far worse. 

Eyelids fluttering shut, you push down the bile rising in your throat to hopefully appease him. “You’re… you’re right. I’m sorry. Thank you for all you’ve done.” 

“Ah, how cute is that,” Childe sighs, running his pointer finger along your bottom lip. The cool leather sends shivers down your spine. “That look of frustration is so adorable on you. You’re making this even harder on me, I don’t think I can prolong it much longer.” 

Your face flushes at his words, eyebrows furrowing in confusion. “What do you mean by that…?” 

“I guess I wasn’t clear enough. I still have every intention of collecting your debt -- it’s owed to me after all -- but it’s not Mora I’m going to be taking.” 

Childe smiles but it doesn’t reach his eyes. You watch how his expression darkens, unable to look away, despite wanting to do nothing more. When did it become so difficult to breathe? Every one of your senses is on high alert. From the running stream by your side, the breeze rustling your hair, and the electrifying aura that radiates from Childe. Ever the one for dramatics, he pauses to greedily drink in your appearance.

“I’ll be taking you instead,” he finally releases his vise-like grip on you, stepping back with grace. “So look forward to it, okay? I know I have been.” 

Childe starts on the path back to Liyue. You stand there, stunned into silence, eyes wide as saucers. When you don’t follow after him, he turns his head and beckons you to his side. Your stomach drops as he goes to speak up again. 

“Come, [First], I’ll walk you home. Wouldn’t want anything happening to you, now would we?” 

[tiffdawg]

Everlasting | A Javier Peña x Fem!Reader Miniseries

Gif: @javier-pena

Pairing: Javier Peña x Reader (fem; no y/n)

Word Count: 2k

Rating: T | Warnings: A little bit of angst but a whole lot of pining. Overall story rating will be M. 

A/N: My first fic update in months! How I’ve missed you all. This is just a fun little miniseries I’ve wanted to share for so long! This story is all because @miss-me-jack and I were dreaming about step dad!Javi (hint hint) forever and ever ago. A big thank you to @themilesgmorales for letting me ramble about this constantly and hyping me up when I needed it most!

Read on AO3

My Masterlist

… . …

Part One 

“Get dressed.”

Chucho’s voice was soft but the command was stern. Familiar. Javier narrowed his eyes at his father from his spot on the couch. He was still in the clothes he’d worn to the morning mass Javier had refused to attend. It was a Sunday afternoon and there was no pressing work to be done around the ranch and Javier had intended to do little more than polish off the six-pack waiting for him in the fridge. 

“Why?” he finally asked out of curiosity. 

“You’ve hardly left this house since you got home three months ago.”

“I’m retired,” Javier joked without humor.

“I didn’t let you move back home so you could sit around feeling sorry for yourself all day,” Chucho replied tersely. “Now, get up. And wear something nice.” 

Javier eyed him skeptically for a moment but, lacking a decent rebuttal and knowing deep down that his father was right, he acquiesced with a sigh.

… . …  

Javier slammed the passenger door of his dad’s old truck behind him as he slid his aviators to the top of his head and scanned the scene before him, eyes squinting in the bright spring sunlight. His dad had driven them to a local park, one Javier frequented both as a kid with old friends on hot summer days and a teenager looking for a place to drink late on weekend nights. In fact, he still had a scar on his elbow from the time you’d dared him to climb the ancient oak tree in the center of the park and he’d drunkenly agreed only to fall flat on ass. A small smirk played on his lips at the memory.

Now, a dozen or so kids chased each other around a brand-new playground while a group of adults looked on from the picnic tables decorated with pink tablecloths and a few matching balloons. The kid’s squeals of joy and the parent’s idle chatter was cut only by the light music drifting from a portable boombox. He couldn’t spot a single familiar face in the crowd. 

His dad came around the car, slapped a hand on his back, and pushed him forward. 

“Pops, why the hell are we at a kid’s birthday party?” he asked even as his feet led him toward the chaos.

“You’ll see.” 

“What the fuck…” he trailed off, hist question forgotten when his eyes landed on you. 

You looked exactly like he remembered. Effortlessly beautiful in a white button down and cut-off and at ease amongst a crowd. Politely excusing yourself from your current conversation, you greeted Chucho warmly with a hug and a kiss on the cheek. Still a few steps back, he watched the interaction closely as the two of you caught up. More than that, it sounded like he’d seen you often over the years. It was a small town. Or at least that’s what he told himself. And even after all these years, your smile was exactly as Javier remembered. Bright and beautiful and irresistible. The kind of smile that set your eyes alight and sparked a fire deep inside his chest. He’d naively thought time and distance would fix that. Not for the first time, he was wrong.

Javier snapped back into his senses when he felt his dad press a small, wrapped box against his hand before walking away to join the party. That left the two of you. Alone.

At least you were still smiling. Only now it was almost bashful as you tucked your hands in the back pockets of your jeans and rocked on the balls of your feet. A nervous habit he remembered fondly.

“How long has it been?” Javier asked, unsure where to start.

“Oh, god... a decade?” you suggested with a laugh. Reaching up cautiously, you ran the pad of your thumb over the lines in the corner of his eye. “Too long,” you added softly. Before he could so much as lean into your touch a wicked grin split your face. “You got old, Javi.”

Didn’t he know it. He let his eyes trail the length of your body. “You look better than ever.” 

“Still a charmer, I see. Guess some things never change.” 

And just like that, the two of you fell into your old repertoire. 

“You have any idea whose party this is?” he asked, glancing down at the gift wrapped perfectly in pastel pink paper. 

“Actually, I have an in with the birthday girl.” You turned to the crowd of kids and waved one over. A young girl sprinted toward you and jumped into your arms. You caught her with ease but faked a groan as you hoisted her up, settling her on your hip. “Sometimes I can’t believe how big you’re getting.” She giggled, showing off her toothy grin.

That smile hit him like a cold bucket of water and his very blood seemed to freeze in his veins. That was your smile. 

“Your daughter?” he asked, his voice almost a whisper. As ridiculous as it was, some dark, traitorous part of his mind that he couldn’t even begin to understand had the audacity to be jealous. As if you weren’t supposed to have someone else’s child. The last time he saw you, you were moving into your new home – with your husband.

He’d thought about you often over the years, usually late at night when the job kept him from sleeping and his mind liked to wander, to drown him with old memories and conjure up an alternative life where he was actually happy. He pushed away those dangerous thoughts as he glanced between you.  

Before you could answer, the little girl whispered to you loud enough that he could hear. “Mama,” she started excitedly as she tugged on the collar of your shirt, “it that Javi?”

Both she and Javier looked to you for an answer.

“Yes, it is,” you answered, sheepishly avoiding his gaze as you busied yourself wiping a smudge of dirt off the girl’s cheek. Something between his ribs constricted at the thought of you telling your daughter about him even after all these years. “Javi, this is my daughter Elsie.”

“We have cake,” she offered as a greeting. He raised a brow. A bit strange, but what did he know about the mind of a kid. He played along anyway.

“How many candles are on top?” he asked. Elsie held up three fingers and you gently corrected her. She tried again, this time proudly displaying four tiny fingers.

“This must be for you,” he said, holding out the gift. She thanked him politely as she gently took it from his hands with a look that could only be described as childlike wonder.

“Why don’t you put that with the other gifts and go play with your friends,” you suggested. She ran off as soon as her sneakers hit the ground. As you turned to watch her fondly, he caught sight of the small tattoo that matched the faded one tucked behind his ear. “Help yourself to some food. There are juice boxes in the blue cooler but if you dig to the bottom of the red one you might find a couple of beers,” you explained with a wink, oblivious to the thoughts swirling around his mind.

He nodded but before you could walk away, he reached for your hand. “How did she know who I was?”

“Oh,” you started, looking down at your feet rather than at him, “I, um, I still have that old photo of us at your dad’s fiftieth hanging in my office at home.” 

“The one where you smeared frosting on my face?” he asked, feigned annoyance lacing his voice.

“Yup,” you answered with a satisfied grin. Then you shook your head. “For whatever reason, she’s obsessed with it. Kids are weird like that.”

Javier had a copy of that photograph stashed away somewhere, but he hadn’t looked at it in quite some time. It’d been years since any memory of you didn’t spark a dull, burning pain in his chest. More than a decade. Still, he remembered his fake scowl almost as well as he remembered your brilliant smile. Hell, he could still hear the musical laugh that bubbled past your lips in that moment. 

“It’s a good photo,” he offered after a beat.

“Yeah. A good memory too.”

Your hand slipped from his but Javier followed without hesitation.

… . ...

With her infectious laugh and easy way of interacting with everyone she met and leaving them happier for it, Elsie reminded Javier so much of you. Two bright souls in a disappointingly dark world. In between games of tag with her friends, she charmed the adults who in turn showered her in affection. Even now that she’d blown out her four candles and the cake was cut, she insisted on helping you pass out slices to her friends and family. 

“Gracias, niñita,” Chucho said as she carefully handed him a plate. 

“De nada,” she answered cheerily. 

“Cute kid,” Javier commented absentmindedly as Elsie bounded off.

“Just like her mamá.”

“No kidding,” Javier scoffed. He then lowered his voice as he leaned close enough to his dad to ask the question that had bothered him all afternoon without anyone overhearing. “Where’s John?” 

“They divorced a few years ago,” he replied as he drank from his bottle of beer. “From what I heard it was messy.” 

Javier’s heart sank. That was the last thing he wanted for you. You were supposed to be happily married with a white picket fence – everything you ever wanted. That’s what he’d thought he’d left you with. Hell, that’s what he always told himself on those long, lonely nights.

A soft tapping on his hand drew him from his thoughts as Elsie offered him a paper plate with a generous slice of cake. 

“Thanks for coming to my party, Javi,” she said as she handed it to him.

 “Thanks for the cake,” he retorted with a wink. 

Elsie giggled into her hand and ran off to take her place at the head of the kid’s table. 

It was then he noticed you watching the scene with an amused grin. “You don’t have any kids?” you teased as you sat next to him. “You’re a natural.”

“None that I know of,” he said dryly. You made a face and he quickly brushed past his comment. “Never married.”

“So I heard.” Your tone lacked its previous playfulness and his eyes dropped to your fidgeting hands. Perhaps unconsciously, you touched your own bare ring finger. “If you’re free anytime this week, maybe we could grab a drink.” you suggested tentatively.

“Are you asking me on a date?” he asked suggestively, nudging your shoulder with his. 

“You wish.” You rolled your eyes at him but laughed. “I just figured we have a lot of catching up to do.” 

“I’d like that,” he answered seriously that time, earning himself another one of your sweet smiles. Before he could so much as suggest a day, you dipped your finger into the pink frosting of his cake and dabbed it on his nose. You suppressed a laugh while he resisted an old, familiar urge to kiss you. Javier was never meant to survive an encounter with you. 

“I’m really glad you’re back, Javi,” you said as you stood to rejoin the rest of the party.

“Yeah, me too,” he mumbled as he watched you leave. For the first time in the three months since he left Colombia, that felt true.

So he just ignored his father’s mumbled “you should listen to me more often, mijo.”

... . ...

Thank you so much for reading! 

... . ...

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(I apologize if I forgot to tag you – my taglists really need reorganizing!)

[emileesaurus]

i also need a distraction from being depressed about the state of loustat politics SO! may i present you with one of my fave loustat headcanons which is: Louis is so goddamn stubborn that he ABSOLUTELY continues their fights in the bedroom. he is so good at multi-tasking and he WILL fuck lestat while delivering a perfect rebuttal. absolutely brutal debate partner tbh

I LOVE THIS... You know they're both phenomenally stupid when they're horny (this was 50% of why Louis agreed to become a vampire in the first place) but Lestat's IQ plummets into the negatives when Louis actually initiates things.

This doesn't quite match your prompt, because apparently I'm in the mood for fluffy nonsense today. 500 words, PG-13ish, belligerent smoochies.

"You see? I was right: you always use sex to change the subject."

"Sex and violence, chéri. Were you in the opposite mood? I wouldn't mind breaking some furniture, I've had my eye on the most magnificent seventeenth century oh— oak— desk—"

Louis sucked at Lestat's throat without breaking skin; his pulse throbbed against Louis's tongue and echoed beneath his silk shirt as Louis unfastened his buttons. His thighs tightened around Louis's hips as he straddled Louis's lap on the sofa, and Louis felt his own heartbeat quicken in response — some useless mortal instinct that he distantly wished he could still act upon.

He sucked, slow and rhythmic, drawing at Lestat's pulse as though he were drinking, and when he dragged his fangs against the raised vein in his throat, Lestat gasped and clutched at him as though he were succumbing to the swoon.

It took all the self-discipline Louis possessed to pull away. He pressed a soft, regretful kiss to the pale mark he'd left, already fading, and contented himself with Lestat's shiver of desire.

"I'm not as easily distracted as you are, Lestat." Louis cradled the nape of Lestat's neck, dragging the sharp point of his thumbnail teasingly across the sensitive spot he'd just abandoned.

Lestat's silver eyes were dark and half-lidded, a smug, dreamy smile on his lips. He always looked so proud of Louis when he managed to be wicked — when Lestat could bring out his devious side. "And yet here we are…"

"Proving my point…" Louis echoed his tone, a habit he had picked up from Lestat over the years.

"Which was what?" Lestat batted his eyelashes innocently, which only made him look more debauched. "Remind me."

"That you use this to get out of difficult conversations." Louis splayed his palms against cool skin and felt Lestat's quiet, pleased groan beneath his hands. Was this how it felt to play an instrument? To coax a bit of music out of something beautiful? "So that you don't have to be wrong."

Lestat let out a breathless laugh, tipping his forehead against Louis's, golden hair falling in a curtain around them.

"I'm never wrong."

Louis dismissed that with a quiet hmm. "So you don't have to be vulnerable."

"I'm vulnerable now. Look." Lestat craned his neck, offering himself so shamelessly that Louis's fangs ached with the urge to sink into his flesh. His pulse raced with anticipation, with the instinctive desire to feel Lestat's heart beat in time with his own as the rest of the world fell away. "You can do anything you want to me."

It was astonishingly effective. If it were anyone but Lestat, Louis would have dropped the argument entirely. But if it were anyone else, he wouldn't have been in this situation.

"You are an absurdity," Louis whispered, and kissed him softly on the lips. "Then you admit it?"

"I admit nothing," Lestat said, sliding his arms around Louis's shoulders and nipping sweetly at his mouth. "I'm under duress."

[bookofmirth]

You defend Lucien “We exist to rule” Vanserra

I understand that we should be able to analyse and critique characters that are morally grey and I agree. However, I think it’s interesting that you’ve blocked people that have tried to have civil conversations with you online when you don’t agree with their takes. And also purposefully bait people. It won’t result in “polite discussion”. You’ve hurt actual people (maybe consciously or unconsciously) with your comments and people have tried to bring it to your attention. Your experience is valid but it’s not the only valid one out there. We can all do better and that includes you.

Re: blocking - I block people who are rude. I block people who are racist. Who are bullies. Who support bullies. I block people who play the victim when being called out for racism. Who try to bully women of color out of the fandom for calling out bad behavior. I block people who can't tell the difference between a fictional character and a real person. I have many reasons for blocking people, and if I decide to block someone because their theme has a lot of purple and I decide that today I hate purple, that's my prerogative. I don't owe anyone in this fandom anything.

Re: baiting people, yes, sometimes! People test my patience. I'm not going to play fake nice if I don't feel like it, especially with people who have shown a history of being immature bullies. Feel free to use the block button if you don't like how I handle myself in the fandom.

Re: me hurting people, I have had one (1) anon explain to me how I made them feel, and I apologized to them for that. Other than that, all I've seen is "you think Az is toxic!" Well, yes? And? I've had a whole lot of people try to come for me for making those arguments, and seen jack shit by way of a reasonable rebuttal about why me calling a fictional character's behavior alarming is a bad thing for real people. If anything, I'd think that discussing emotional abuse in a fandom space could be really enlightening for people, especially women, who might end up in those situations and unable to see it for what it is.

This fandom has gotten incredibly good at playing the victim lately. "Your statement about Az hurt my feelings", "when you called me a racist that was mean", "not all elriels/gwynriels/eluciens!" "when you said X thing about Y fictional character I took that personally!" It makes it really hard to take claims of bullying or harm seriously. Especially given my experience in that Discord this week, which I assume you are familiar with.

See, the thing is, I am not going to change my reading of his character because, as you have pointed out, I have personal experience with being in an emotionally abusive relationship. Which, by the way, no one has publicly acknowledged as being valid. I am not going to set my own personal experience aside just because someone else's experience is different.

If this were an issue of sexual assault, would you still come for me? If this were about physical abuse, would you still try to say I shouldn't speak my mind because someone else's bones were broken and so my bruises don't matter?

I am actually open to discussion with people who have different opinions than I do, but people come at me sideways with bad intentions constantly. If I have to be on my guard, I'm going to be on my guard. This is a fandom, and I don't have to spend my time engaging with people I don't want to, or discussing topics I don't feel like discussing. Sorry to tell you, but I don't feel the need to please everyone all the time.

[thiswaycomessomethingwicked]

please tell me your headcannons about the silly old traditions and funny hats and gowns worn at the Assassins Guild graduation ceremonies (bonus points: Vetinari occasionally attends as a distinguished alumnus; differences for those not taking the black) Downey has to make a speech

I love this ask, thank you so much. <3 

--

Downey has added feathers to the hats because it’s Downey and he believes all hats need a nice feather. 

Vetinari: . . .I refuse. 

Downey: It’s a single, white feather. Very stylish. 

Vetinari: You can’t make these hats stylish. It’s impossible. 

Downey: That will not stop me from trying. 

-- 

First it must be said, I place most of my Discworld fashion firmly in the “anywhere from 1350-1650″ camp. Which means there’s lots of diversity but it’s all still very late medieval/early modern. This is a just-me thing though, as the books are all over the place with the fashion. There seemed to be a sense, in the early Watch books, that fashion went backwards (i.e. the more recent, to our mind, the clothes the more old fashioned they are on discworld) but that was quickly abandoned partway through the series and then it became a hodgepodge. 

I still like the early modern feel and so am keeping to it. You can pry Downey’s stupid fucking doublet with its black pearl buttons and his slouchy hat with the Florentine “I’m very gay” feather from my cold, dead hands. 

--

This got long so it’s under the cut. 

Fashion first, because this is Downey and the Assassins we’re talking about after all. 

So I imagine the hats that the professors/teaching staff wear are the slouchy ones like these. This is modeled off of hats that were in fashion when the guild first instituted formal graduation ceremonies which are relatively recent (for a given value of “recent” i.e. only circa 150/200 years ago). 

The students graduating with the Black get the slouchy hats too. The ones who didn’t take the black get the more familiar flat board graduation cap. (Students 100% balance things on top of the flat board cap. This may or may not be desired by the cap-wearer.)

The formal, ceremonial gowns, indeed the entire outfit, for the teachers are hilariously ornate because of course they are. It’s the Assassin’s Guild. 

All ceremonial gowns would be different iterations of the houppelande. 

Beneath the gown there is the Assassin’s black of the doublet with a long-ish skirt beneath the belt (knee length? perhaps floor - but then it starts hitting gown territory). The doublet is form fitting at the top, belted off with the skirt below. Naturally, there are very nice buttons. The linen undershirt is white and can be seen at the collar and wrists. Leggings/tights/hose/whatever you want to call them, also black and worn with dress shoes, not their usual working day boots. All men present wear this, including Vetinari. 

(Downey: No grey-blacks allowed on stage unless it’s representing your specialty and I know you didn’t specialize in astronomy and quantum mathmatics. 

Vetinari: 

Vetinari: But it’s My Colour. 

Downey: Put the doublet on.) 

Women on staff are also all in black, but it’s a dress over a kirtle which is over their undershirt which can be seen at the cuffs. The dress et al is also form fitting on the top with tightly buttoned (or laced) sleeves, then there’s the belt and full skirts after. Dresses are always worn with a high neckline. They too have formal dress shoes, though you can’t see them. 

The ceremonial gowns are black with coloured lining and trim. I’m thinking the sleeves are large and pinned back to show the lining which represents the general field you’re a specialist in. So, green for biology; red for literature/linguistics; white for deportment/dancing; blue for history; yellow for mathematics or whatever. The lining can be dual-colours if applicable. The trim will accent the lining but doesn’t mean anything in particular.  

The slouchy hats, however, tell you what the person specialized in with regards to their training i.e. poisons; knife work etc. 

Some gowns have that long drapey hood that is purely for aesthetics, but not all. I’m thinking if your specialty is stealth (coughHavelockcough) you get it. But, of course, as a specialist in stealth you don’t want people knowing that so no one who qualifies for a drapey hood wears it. 

Students wear simple black gowns with relatively short, deep cut sleeves so you can see more of their doublet beneath. Boys wear the usual doublet/hose combo (kind of like this) and girls the formal dress/kirtle combo (think this, but all black and with less jewels and tighter sleeves) beneath their graduation gowns. 

All gowns on students and staff alike are closed in the front - either with buttons or ties. 

Aside from the hat distinction between those who are taking the black and those who aren’t, the gowns for those taking the Black are all black and have the drapey hood. Those that aren’t taking the black have gowns trimmed with a dark colour - maybe blue? grey? something that blends but still is distinct.

--

Ceremonial Nonsense 

The graduation is held in the great hall where the students usually dine on a day-to-day basis. Parents are allowed and all families get a “plus two” for grandparents or family friends or whatever. 

There are two separate ceremonies - the first is for those taking the Black. That’s the one where Downey forces Vetinari to give a speech as he is Guild Provost and one a Distinguished Old Boy etc. 

Downey does his speech first and usually lines up those coming after him (Vetinari; Mericet; Lady T’Malia is what I have in my head. Though Mericet can usually convince Downey to sub in someone else as he is Too Old For This Shit).

For those taking the Black Downey will pepper in Fun Facts About Assassins and Helpful Pro Tips for Life (some of which are more helpful than others). Vetinari’s speech usually offers subtle rebuttals to Downey’s more outlandish life advice. Lady T’Malia’s is a universal favourite because she has the dry, disdainful wit of a person who has seen way too much nonsense in her life and has lived to continue to roll her eyes at it all. 

Mericet, when he’s made to do a speech and can’t pawn it off on one of the younger staff, is always very short. His record time was 15 seconds wherein he got to the podium, looked somberly out at his soon to be former students, and said “All I can say to you is, good luck and don’t die” then he sat down. Downey could be heard to mutter: Really?? rather loudly. 

Vetinari, more out of a desire to cause Downey some form of annoyance than anything else, will drone on for a long time and pepper in weird references only the headmaster of the guild will understand. He makes a few tiger jokes every year to which Downey, when he gets up to introduce the next speaker, will reply: “You really need to get over that”. No one knows what they’re talking about. However, the students always haaate it when Vetinari takes the podium. There is much sighing and sliding down in seats out of boredom. 

The students are called up to the stage the receive their diploma in order of their name and it’s done by house (so viper house then black widow then poison dart frog or whatever they all are). 

Weapons are expressly forbidden on all students after that One Unfortunate Incident back when Cruces was headmaster about which the least said, soonest mended. 

Back when Downey and Vetinari were graduating, when weapons were allowed, all students were given a ceremonial sword and they got to wear it when they went up to take their diploma. Students still get a ceremonial sword (or dagger, depending on preference) but they are received after the ceremony. 

The infamous ring is presented alongside the diploma. 

For those not taking the Black, it’s still the same roster of speakers but it’s usually a faster ceremony (though, that is changing over the years as the Guild is sought out more and more as a general-purpose educational institution for parents seeking a classical education for their children). 

Students in this group are also gifted a ceremonial sword but they’re allowed to wear theirs during the graduation ceremony because most can do nice, polite, gentlemanly dueling and not much else. Unlike their colleagues who can use it in increasingly diverse and experimental fashions. 

After both ceremonies are complete there is a grand dinner with students and their families and much conviviality. Under Downey’s reign as headmaster the amount of “accidental deaths” that occurred at this dinner have decreased dramatically. Mostly because unlike previous headmaster, Downey thinks it a waste of a good education to knock someone off so soon. Also, it is deplorable manners and not civil.

(Vimes, “It’s also immoral.” Downey, “I fail to see your point, commander?”) 

Wait at least a year or two until inhuming that One Guy who was A Class A Cunt During Maths. Or, if they’re really that bothersome, at least have the grace to wait until after the pudding has been served. 

--

Pre-graduation tomfoolery 

The graduating class, as a whole (well, those who survived the Run and those not taking the Black who haven’t accidentally fallen down the stairs), have two weeks between end of term and graduation and tend to run absolutely wild. 

Downey’s main rule is: no one is inhumed, his dogs are left alone and nothing is set on fire; flooded; booby-trapped; or exploded etc.* 

*see fine print for continuing list. 

It is considered a grand tradition for each house to prank their house master. One year, students cellophaned everything in Mericet’s office. Including individual pages of books. Downey thought this absolutely Delightful. Mericet said, “that’s it, I’m retiring.” Which is, coincidentally, what he says every year. 

Students will also strike up a very large game of Gotcha (i.e. Assassin) over the course of the intervening weeks between Term and Graduation. It used to be a very deadly endeavour but due to Downey’s new rule of “no inhuming until after graduation you daft kids” it’s just become a way to dunk on people. 

These are also the weeks that students clean out their rooms which is always an adventure. Many will try and discreetly sneak out their illegal pot plants and shroom logs. Those that hide them in places that aren’t their room will have minor panic attacks because Lady T’Malia and other staff enjoy rounding up the plants ahead of the students and watching the fallout. 

(Vetinari: I really should tell Vimes you have enough here to supply everyone in the city for a decade. 

Downey: Leave my drug collection alone.)

There is a lot of Lady T’Malia and others being like, “You all do know we hid our illegal shit in the exact same places, right?’ 

Students will also throw end-of-year ragers in the common room which the staff pretend to know nothing about. These tend to get very messy very quickly. Downey will show up around 3am to shut it down, though. Because some people need to sleep and aren’t 18 anymore. 

--

Anyway, that’s the long and short of my headcanon for Guild Graduation nonsense. All in all it’s a rowdy if somewhat bittersweet time. Downey secretly gets a little teary eyed over it. Aww look at his tiny little murderers going off into the big wide world. He remembers when they first arrived with knobbly knees and big eyes. His paternal side comes out in full force. 

Vetinari: it’s very good you have hundreds of students and several dogs because I don’t know what you’d do without them since you’re basically 110% a dad. 

Downey: i might have gotten married. What a horrifying concept. 

Vetinari: 

Vetinari: I have weird feelings about that which I am not going to explore in any great depth. 

--

Thank you so much for the ask! <3 <3 

[parkersharthook]

Love For All

Peter Stark-Rogers & Stark-Rogers!reader (twins)

warnings: mentions of drinking/being drunk, pretty fluffy

1.8k+ words

series masterlist

a/n: happy pride month (lol I queued this in february just so I didn’t forget to post it) anyways im bi and pls know my page is a safe space for everyone 💗💜💙

Fluffy piece where Tony and Steve are chosen as the grand marshalls for the pride parade and it becomes a family affair.

“this just in, you all officially have the coolest dads in history!” Tony bellowed as he dramatically entered the common space, Steve right behind him with a plethora of eye rolls.

Right as you were about to protest, Bucky chimed in, “neither of you are my father.”

“with the way I’ve saved your sorry ass? Might as well be.”

“saved my sorry ass? Oh Stevie, have you forgotten who pulled your ass out of every back alley fight you got into? Or have the years 1932 to 1941.”

“I did not start a fight in 1932!” Steve argued back, hands placed firmly on his hips.

“bullshit! 5 years old, playground 2 blocks over, Arthur Williams.”

Steve frowned slightly, “damn I forgot about that.”

Beside you Peter snorted, “you got into a fight when you were 5?”

“Wow darling, you came out of the womb with righteous indignation didn’t you?” Tony added with a small smirk as he moved to rest against the back of the couch.

Steve threw his hands up in defeat, “oh haha laugh it up. Yes I’m old, yes I’m stubborn. Can we please just go back to how we’re cool?”

“Wait before that, back to the ‘not my fathers thing’ does this mean you see yourselves as the team fathers? Because if you’re adopting more people, I want in!” Clint said cheerfully.

“Sorry we capped out at four.”

You stuck your tongue out at Clint with a little ‘ha ha’ because you were mature like that. “anyways… why do you think you are the coolest dads? I wanna get my rebuttal in soon.”

Tony bopped the back of your head playfully as he dropped a very rainbow piece of paper into your lap. Peter instantly leaned into your space to read it. You pushed him back with a shove to the forehead. “relax nerd I’m gonna read it out loud.”

“hurry up I’m getting antsy.” You threw an unimpressed look at Clint who had practically crawled into Bucky’s lap to get closer, not that Bucky minded.

“Chill.” You smoothed out the paper and held it up, “All hail the next Grand Marshals of NYC Pride, Tony Stark and Steve Rogers. We are happy to formally announce the two superheroes and super husbands as our fearless leaders of the float parade this year.”

“That’s the public announcement they put out, turn it over to read the letter they sent us.”

“Dear Mr. Anthony and Steven Stark-Rogers, we are so excited to welcome you into our NYC Pride Parade family. As this year’s appointed Grand Marshals it is both our duty and pleasure to pass the Pride Baton over to you. Included in this letter you will find the rules and expectations of our Grand Marshals, as well as what is permitted for first floats. We would love if you extended this invitation to your entire circle of family and friends to join you in the parade and on your float.”

You put the paper down and tilted your head back to stare at your dad, “you? Grand Marshal? Really?”

“What’s so shocking about that?”

“umm…. You’re old and not cool.”

Bucky sputtered a laugh beside you as Tony bopped you on the head again.

“Was this your way of telling us to come to pride with you?” Peter asked.

Steve shook his head as he flopped into a nearby loveseat, “actually this was our way of telling you that we need your help coming up with ideas for the float and how to decorate it. But of course we want you to join us on the float, we’ll be inviting the rest of the team as well.”

“I’ll help decorate but Bi-derman is making another appearance this year.”

Tony slapped his forehead, “can you take your old suit at least? The paint was a bitch to get off last time.”

Peter rolled his eyes, “the old suit chafes.”

You grimaced, “I hate this conversation.”

“I think you should do a dog themed float, Lucky can be our mascot.”

Bucky sighed, “of course that’s your suggestion.”

“what about the history of pride? Recognizing the Stonewall Riots and the two black transgender females that started it all. Plus then we can also advocate for Black Lives Matter. Make it clear that to support one, you have to support the other. Educate and entertain.”

Tony smiled, “that’s not a bad idea y/n.”

Steve looked at you with hopeful eyes, “are you willing to help organize and coordinate?”

“can I invite friends to help?”

“yes.”

You smiled, “then yes.”

------

“when I said organize and coordinate, I didn’t mean take over the conference room we use regularly for avengers meetings.” Steve said with a deep sigh

“it’s the only one with a vending machine.” MJ helpfully pointed out, taking another large bite of her pizza slice.

“yeah it was the only way to get Clint to sit through meetings without leaving to get food.” Steve explained as he stepped into the room and took in the large array of papers everywhere. The four teenage girls that occupied the room were all busy with one thing or another, looking intense and determined.

MJ snorted, “figures.” Her hand ghosted over the page again, dragging the pencil with it and creating another addition to her sketch.

Steve’s brow furrowed for a moment and he took a step closer to get a better look, “is that me?”

MJ nodded coolly but offered no other explanation. Betty huffed a laugh, “we’re trying to design both you and Mr. Stark crown-like head pieces.”

“crowns?”

You rolled your eyes, “Pops, you really do only hear what you wanna hear. Crown-like head pieces. I know dad would go for a full ass crown but I knew you wouldn’t and we want you two to match.”

Steve studied the photos of celebrities that were projected on the wall. “and that?”

“The 2018 Met Gala. Theme: heavenly bodies. There were a bunch of great head pieces that night, we’re using it for inspiration.” Gwen supplied, “let us know if there’s any you like.”

“I wanna go in a Cardi B direction.” You stated without taking your eyes off your computer screen, you’ve obviously already committed every possible headpiece to memory.

“don’t taint his selection with bias!” Betty cried

MJ waved her off easily, “there’s no way he knows who Cardi B is.”

“thanks for the confidence MJ.” She just smiled cheekily at him.

“I think he should choose something like what Frances McDormand was wearing.” Gwen stated with a small smile

MJ laughed, “as much as I think that would look amazing, there’s no way he’s picking that.”

“who’s this?”

You barely had to glance at the photo to recognize the red and gold dress and of course the iconic headpiece, “Black Lively.”

“Okay well I like that, it’s simple.”

“what about…” Gwen drawled as she typed something and new photo, a larger one, took over the whole wall, “Something like SZA’s?”

Steve took a step back and grimaced slightly, “it’s kinda… big.”

“But if it were smaller?” Gwen pressed politely

“I suppose.” Steve glanced around at the four girls. “You guys have a lot of stuff planned.”

“Oh yeah.” You looked up with a big grin, meeting your dad’s eye. “It’s gonna be great.”

“You’re not designing us costumes too are you?”

“Well Tony specifically said not too and that he already had something planned.” MJ said before eyeing Steve up and down with the critical eye of an artist, “But we could design something if you wanted us too.”

“No, I kinda of already have a plan too.”

You rose a questioning brow, “oh yeah? Please tell me you’re not going to be wearing something boring.”

Steve rolled his eyes at you and obnoxiously bumped his hip into your side as he walked out, “I’m not clueless on how to dress for Pride. Plus, I like dressing up for it, it’s fun. And it’s not something we got to do back then. I’m planning on taking full advantage.” And with that he walked out dramatically and closed the door.

Betty laughed slightly, “ten bucks that he paints the shield.”

Gwen shook his head, “No way. I think he’s gonna wear one of the flags as a cape.”

MJ clicked her tongue, “I know for a fact he’ll be wearing his ‘trans rights are human rights’ shirt.” Pause. “and probably his rainbow pants.”

You looked at MJ with a perplexed expression, “why do you know about my dad’s rainbow pants?”

MJ smirked slightly, “he wore them to pride a few years ago. Plus, me and peter talk about things. You’re not the only Stark-Rogers twin I hang out with.”

Gwen obnoxiously nudged Betty with her elbow and a large wink, “Oh yeah… she talks to Peter.” MJ scowled at the two as you snickered behind your hand.

MJ grumbled slightly, “let’s just get back to work.” It was silent in the room until the three other girls heard MJ mumble, “I never have to deal with this at college.”

You burst into a fit of laughter.

------

Pride was without a doubt a 100% success.

The float looked great. The area had already been swept for trouble. One Grand Marshal was moderately drunk. And Everyone was dancing and partying. Perfect.

Even the float attendees looked great. Clint was the brightest of the all. With no shirt on, glitter all over his chest, a rainbow tutu around his hips, tight purple booty shorts underneath, knee high socks with the pan pride flag on them, plus his signature purple converse… he looked good.

You’ve been snickering every time you catch Bucky not so subtlety looking Clint up and down. But that being said, Clint was doing the same to Bucky because he had someone managed to get the stoic and whiney super soldier into a rainbow button down. Nothing else, as that wasn’t Bucky’s jam. He paired the shirt with simple jeans but you were sure that he would be covered with glitter later.

Peter had been swinging around the parade, his first Stark suit now painted a vibrant pink, purple, and blue. Plus there was a large, messily painted on heart over where the spider sat in the middle of his chest.

You and all your friends had taken up the dance floor on the float, and if you said so yourself, you all were killing the dance moves.

Tony was more than tipsy because Bruce was on babysitting duty tonight for Morgan, so he let himself go and lean heavily against his husband, who just grinned at him all lovingly.

In the end, it was a good day. You threw beads and candy to the crowd, joining them at times for drinks and dance parties. You laughed endlessly with your friends and your family. And yeah… it was a good day.

Plus, all your friends had been correct.

Steve wore his trans shirt in solidarity with the ongoing movements and the float.

He wore his rainbow pants because they were “super fashionable y/n” and to support everyone.

He painted his shield purple, blue, and pink to show off his own sexuality and support Peter.

And he had a pansexual flag tied around his neck to match with Tony’s pink, yellow, and blue shirt.

He looked great.

[warsofasoiaf]

Hey man, sorry you keep getting all these gotch hate-ask questions. While I don't always agree with all your views I think your a principled person without malice in your opinions. Its kind of absurd that political troll types are giving grief to a fairly small time fantasy and politics tumblr account, seems very petty and I admire you not falling for the bait of such questions.

I've actually had a huge number of trolls doing much the same for ASOIAF opinions, the worst in terms of disgust probably being when a Doran Martell supporter raised the actual Nuremberg defense for supporting the loyalists in Robert's Rebellion, so it's nothing new.

Speaking about politics does invite criticism, not just in the age of polarization but all the time. And I have no problem with people disagreeing with me. My Irish blood loves debate, after all, and if I didn't expect any response like that, I'd be a fool. I'm certain there are plenty of people who looked at what I've said on anything, from my anti-communist beliefs to my criticisms of FDR to my absolute loathing of Trump, disagreed strenuously, and if they wanted, could easily write an entire rebuttal stretching paragraphs about why my ideas or conclusions are wrong. I regularly read books of people I disagree with, even if I end up not agreeing with the premise - it's why I read @racefortheironthrone's book (and to support him 'cause he's cool, but that's irrelevant). Heck, I regularly disagree with @stefansasse on a bunch of stuff, and I podcast with him on a regular basis. Heck, we even talked about the US Presidents and (hopefully), came away with a better appreciation of the other's viewpoints.

I think primarily that most folks that read this blog are fairly decent folks, and I've been fortunate that while I've gotten a fair amount of silly Anon-spam, I've also received nice words like this Anon up here, and even better, interesting questions that are fun to explore and that people love. Honestly, one of the reasons I like to do these worldbuilding posts is that people love to read them, and I entertain the belief that people take stuff from them and use them - in their own creative works whether that be writing, table-top gaming, whatever. The idea that exploring these topics enriches folks, even for just a couple of minutes in some backwater blog on the internet, whether it be history, or creative fiction, or ASOIAF, is why I keep doing it. Honestly, it's funny at times to get trolls (that's usually why I respond with mockery - because it's funny), but the true joy is giving and receiving from plenty of you fine folks, Anon and account alike. It's why I don't think I'll ever have a Patreon or a donation button, I don't want anyone to feel obligated to support me just like I don't want this to feel like a chore, something I do because the donors are giving. I'm going to keep doing it as long as it keeps being fun.

Have a good one, everyone, and thank you for the good words, Anon.

SomethingLikeALawyer, Hand of the King

[wlw-lovestruck-fiction]

Well. In light of the recent vanessa fic, I am going to request a few things. How about Helena going to MC's high school reunion?

WARNINGS: Intolerable sexist arseholes Referenced rape culture Blood and minor violence Written by: @evoedbd ******************************************

“Helena… my feet hurt.” Kya’s soft, plaintive voice rung like gunshots in Helena’s ears. To hear that Kya was in pain caused a war of sensations within the Sorceress, turning her chest into a battlefield as she aimed to pick out her own thoughts amidst the din. The music was too loud. All pulsing beats and pop hits that all bled into one another in an unpleasant screech. With all the beauty Kya’s people could capture, the fact they abused that power to capture such meaningless garble was bad enough, but the songs that Helena’s ears had picked out went beyond this. The images of men taking what they pleased, or endlessly fucking hoes and capping foes… it set her teeth on edge. Why would anybody wish to put a cap on someone they disliked so much? It was absolutely beyond her. After all, she had seen the selfishness of humanity. She had seen people who would do precisely what the songs fantasized about. She had been one of those prizes. The pet. The mess left behind once a tyrant had finished with her for the night. She had been the violated girl dragging herself across the floors because she couldn’t walk, trailing blood. Why did some of Kya’s people find this concept worth celebrating? How many even knew what they danced to? “Helena?” This time, Kya’s voice was pleading. A gentle touch to Helena’s ravaged senses. This was accompanied by the lightest touch to her forearm, fingertips begging for more yet restraining themselves until Helena gave consent. The Sorceress had to close her eyes, to stop watching and picture a much calmer place. An open field, filled with flowers that had no name, not in this world. Flowers woven through black hair, accompanying laughter that became wings for Helena’s soul. She didn’t particularly want to open her eyes to the gyrating crowds. Around her, she could feel a thousand candles, each flickering in time with the sea of sorry, middle-aged bodies awkwardly trying to reclaim their youth. All dressed in finery above their means as they tried to convince everyone of their success and happiness, even as they reeked of misery. An ocean of people, all smiling politely whilst firing knives from their tongue, shooting daggers from their eyes. Alcohol flowing a little too freely, too dangerously. Control, so willingly abandoned. It was as if none of them knew its value. As if none of these people had ever seen or experienced control torn away completely, until even the breath a body took was at another’s whim. Then there were the lights. A spinning ball reflected everything, casting a thousand fragments of light across the floor, growing larger as they grew further from the centre. Spinning chaos across the wooden floors, illuminating the deep blue lighting, catching in the mist across the dancing masses. An unnatural mist summoned by machines… and Kya said her people possessed no magic. “Helena… are you with me?” The longing to answer hit her harder than a boulder from a catapult against a crumbling castle wall. Gods, how she wanted to open her eyes and find only one person before her. Yet, she was surrounded; drowning in the sea of bodies as the unnatural mist lapped at her ankles. As elbows collided with her, or fingers nipped at the bottom of her hair like vultures testing the fight left in their meat. Her heart pounded, beating against the cage of her chest much like how her magic pulsed with her fears. Limbs tingled; fingers began to move on instinct. Then, warmth. So much warmth. Enough that she gasped. Instantly, her lungs filled with air; her nose with that delicious mix she had never quite learned. Something soft, something smoky and then a hint of spice. Always, it was sweet. So very, very intoxicatingly sweet… but not sugary. The underlying bitterness of coffee tempered sweetness so deliciously that Helena found herself devoured by her craving for that scent. A second inhale gave her more, slowly begun to redirect her roaming senses to a singular focus. It was enough for her to open her eyes. “Welcome back.” A kind voice fell from naked lips. The smile upon them was small, nothing intended for the world to see. A secret amidst the crowd, the last life jacket on the Titanic. Just seeing it was enough for Helena to be saved. Shining grey eyes accompanied that encouraging little smile. Adoration glistened in beautiful grey depths, outshining the tinges of concern playing flecks in bluestone. In the swirling lights and dulled room, stone was more akin to gems than cobble, captivating Helena’s attention for far longer than society deemed polite. She could care less. Museums held marble statues of deities past, depictions of Aphrodite to stare at for hours. Marble was incomparable to the greys, Aphrodite a hag compared to the graceful woman donning such a flowing black dress. Elegance in its purest simplicity. “As if I could ever be parted from you.” Helena gave her best attempt at a purr. It was effective, given the creep of pink over Kya’s pale cheeks. Pale, not bloodless, Helena reminded herself. Bloodless was danger. It was the colour Kya had gone after the Queen’s spell struck her. It was the colour Kya had been when the Queen held a blade to her throat, when the Queen tormented Helena into confessing every pain, tried to make Sorceress scream and kneel. Tried to break her. Bloodless was the Witch Queen leering over a terrified girl, or ordering her most loyal man to ensure said girl was prepared… Helena flinched. Faster than Helena could blink, Kya’s hands left her, gathering in front of said woman’s chest. Kya held her hands there patiently, as if they were to be bound. Somehow, the speed and implications of such a gesture did not spark further fear within Helena, did not reignite the painful memories lapping at the edge of her consciousness. How such gestures could be made soft and welcoming, appealing even, still befuddled her. Flummoxed, her breath caught, even as Kya spoke. “Helena, I’m going to grab your tie, ok? I won’t pull, and my hands won’t move until I know you are ok. If you need to grab me, that’s ok. I know you won’t hurt me. We can just sway.” “The music is too upbeat for such a slow dance.” Came Helena’s rebuttal, even as her body moved to follow Kya’s suggestion. Cautiously, she gathered Kya into her chest, holding the otherworldly beauty there as if the world might snatch her away. Beneath Helena’s pale skin magic simmered. It heated her veins, writhing and bubbling like serpents of heated tar. She could feel the sparks escaping her control, trapped between her skin and her silken black button up. Kya had expressed her appreciation for Helena’s suit, several times, yet Helena had not seen the appeal until just now. The darkness of her shirt slimmed her down a little, whilst also concealing the fact she was sweating bullets. Her turquoise suit jacket was cut to perfection, emphasising both the strength of her shoulders and her feminine curves, without drawing attention to an overly generous bust. The matching pants fit her like a second skin, showing off impossibly long legs right to heels which meant business. Not only did they elevate her above the heads of many men, they also screamed womanly power. That she could, and would, step on any fool who crossed her path. Then, there was her crisp white tie… the very tie currently embraced between Kya’s gentle fingers. “Who cares about the music? We make our own rules, babe, always have. This was meant to be something fun, Helena. I didn’t think it’d be like this. I just thought it’d be romantic. Like going to prom with my soulmate, instead of some boy who expected me to finish the night on the backseat of his car.” “That boy dare-“ “He didn’t try to physically force me. He was confused as to why I wouldn’t, tried to convince me verbally, but he never laid a hand on me. He wasn’t a bad person, just an ignorant one. He was influenced by the wrong people. He actually wrote me an apology. It doesn’t makes my memory of prom the best.” “Yeah, had a bitch, but she ain’t bad as you. So hit me up when you passing through. I’ll give you something big enough to tear your ass in two” “ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME?!” Kya exploded, her wrath erupting in an enraged shout. Her voice carried, drawing countless gazes to the human embodiment of furious flames about to claim their penance. Kya’s entire body trembled, almost as if her growls were causing her to vibrate, and her cheeks took on a hue often associated with a devil. The fire in her eyes seemed poised to devour the world in its search for vengeance, yet Kya tempered it to three precise culprits. Three large men, all crowding around an uncomfortable-looking DJ who cringed as the song continued to play across a stagnant dance floor. “What’s wrong? Don’t like the music, dyke?” The first man sneered, his voice grating from between crooked teeth. His mates laughed, playfully jabbing him in his well-padded arms, hooting their drunken approval. His large belly jiggled as he laughed. Helena’s eye was drawn to his shirt, specifically the valiant efforts of a single thread stretched between a disconnected button and said shirt. “You’ve been playing rape culture bullshit for over half an hour. Do you even know what half of this shit means? Slip her a Molly? That is roofies! Drugging a woman’s drink to sleep with her, cause that’s totally sexy. That Nirvana song? It is literally about a rape victim. Did you idiots even stop to think that some people here might have gone through that?” Kya’s accusations were sharp, to the point, a jab of a blade straight to the ribcage. “We thought it was setting the mood. Isn’t your bitch DTF? She looks the type.” The second man taunted, giving a poor attempt at a suggestive wiggle of his brows. This man appeared more in shape, lithe, with the veins standing stark beneath his muscles. However, the stench of alcohol was only smothered by the copious amounts of noisme body spray he stained his wrinkled shirt with. “This isn’t the 1800s, dude. Women have the right to get married and be together outside of a Pornhub video.” Kya’s tone dropped along with her brows, her expression challenging, daring the men to come up with a retort worthy of her. “It isn’t rape if the bitch wants it.” The third man jeered. Unlike his counterparts, he appeared clean and put together, something Helena might have even called attractive before he opened his mouth. A good-looking man, ruined by his horrific mouth or corrupt by the company he kept. “What happened to you three? How can you be so cruel as to deliberately target someone just for existing? I know you’ve been watching us and noticed Helena’s reactions.” Kya’s words struck Helena to the core. Suddenly everything made too much sense. How the songs had seemed to only get worse and worse, their violations and sexist attitude more crudely represented. More stark. How the music had steadily grown louder and louder, until their sounds had burned into Helena’s consciousness. Until they became shadows which she could not be free of. Shadows where leering eyes hid, a pride of lions or a pack of wolves slowly circling their prey. What she had dismissed as a trickle of sweat down her back now stood out, an instinctual twinge, a warning. One she had not taken heed of. It left her wondering, was anywhere truly safe for her aside from Kya’s arms? Even in this strange new world, where nobody knew her crimes, she found herself persecuted. Had coming here truly been the new start she believed it to be? Or had she just fled her own insecurity into a pit of newer, wiser vipers whilst she played catch up for over thirty years of missing knowledge? “This is America, we have the right to listen to what we want.” “You have a constitutional right not to be a colossal dick.” Kya fired back without pause. This earned several snickers from around the room at the man’s expense. She wasn’t done, not even close. Kya continued, launching into a scolding with enough disgust in her tone to cow the watching crowds. “After everything she has done for this damn country, hell, the world, she deserves ONE night without some douchebags throwing shit at her. All we wanted was to come and have a lovely night out, not cop sexual harassment from a failed security guard, an alcoholic and a walking advertisement for how not to be a man all trying to relive their high school glory days.” “What? She got bored of servicing all the real men and went for her own bitch to boss around instead?” The second man taunted, snickering loudly at Kya’s repulsed expression. The expression was barely a flicker on the way to a smile. No, a smile implied genuine joy and happiness. Kya’s expression was something far darker. Ink dropped into water, sinking to the bottom of the glass. Purity tainted by malicious intent. Helena internally flinched. That expression was unlike anything she had seen from Kya before, save when Kya dealt with the Queen. It was the closest Kya could ever come to such wickedness; the closest Helena could bare to see her fall. “Oh I get it now. This is about your inferiority complex that no woman as gorgeous as Helena would want to be within ten feet of you unless it was to deliver a restraining order.” Kya’s voice was so calm, so crisp and clear, yet somehow a sneer. Something that even the Witch Queen could never truly pull off. It all happened so fast. Faster than Helena could even react. One moment, Kya was snarling in the face of some asshole, the next he had reached out in a sloppy attempt to smack her. Kya was faster. In a blink, she had grabbed the man’s wrist, grip unyielding, stepped into his space and twisted her body. Just like Helena had taught her. The man went plummeting to the ground in a flurry of ill-fitting formalwear and disgusting body spray. The collision was bone-jarring, filling the room with an audible thud. Before anybody could do anything more than gasp, the third man launched at Kya’s exposed back. Helena’s heart leapt into her throat, her magic burning beneath her skin in preparation to unleash. It was a pointless endeavour. Kya moved naturally, as fluidly as a trickling stream with the passion of a dancer and the heart of a knight. Her elbow came up, driven into the man’s nose without a moment of hesitation. He too fell, left with only his hands to try and still the raging current of blood pouring between his trembling fingers. His hands desperately palmed the broken mass of his nose, which made his cries sound wet and gargling. A second strike, a vicious kick to his groin, ensured he would not be getting up again. Helena arched a brow. That was not something she had taught Kya. “How?” The most rotund of the three questioned, wisely keeping his hands well away from Kya as she stormed up to him. Helena knew his fear, it was once an intimate companion to her afterall. He looked at Kya as if she were the Witch Queen, something which sat uneasily in Helena’s gut. Even here, Kya was not the Queen. She had not taken evident joy in her power over these men, nor in their fear. Kya wore an entirely too calm expression, as if the violence had been a bore to her. As if the blood running down her arm was something to be nonchalant about. She was silent as she reached out, hooking a single finger into the string stretched between button and shirt. Finally, it gave out, snapping under the added pressure. Then, Kya spoke, her voice kept low as if to protect the man from further humiliation. “My wife is a war hero. I’m not the scary one.” She informed, using the tails of his shirt to wipe the blood from her arm. At Kya’s words, Helena noticed the room focus on her for a moment, awe and respect flooding their eyes in a manner that was entirely too familiar. Too uncomfortable. It was the awe and fear of Reiner’s army. How long would it be until they too saw the monster she could be? Could that be how they now viewed Kya? “She’s earned her peace, and I’ll fuck up anybody who tries to attack that. She shouldn’t have to kill anybody else to protect this country, let alone deal with shitfucks like your friends shaming her for having an ounce of happiness.” Kya continued, eyes blazing dangerously. That. That there was something the Queen never had. The heat in her eyes, the fire and compassion. Helena’s heart rose in her throat. She’d seen this scene before. The Queen, leering over her prey, leaning down to mock their failure before she crushed them. Now Helena could see it. Kya’s connection to the Queen. The heat had faded from her cheeks, yet that heat seemed to have migrated to her eyes. Where the queen froze, Kya blazed, charring the man’s willpower to cinders with but one annoyed glance. Her focused glare had him trembling, fearing what she might do next. Helena felt that fear. Had the queen claimed her lover? Was she to truly lose her happiness now? Was fate so cruel? “Your friends will need medical care. That elbow could have broken more than his nose, and your other buddy smacked his head pretty hard.” Kya added, concern filtering into her expression for a microsecond before she turned. With the grace and confidence of a Queen, she strode over to the first man, her dress fluttering around her knees like wisps of shadows and silk. She leaned down towards the man, crouching so that she could speak directly to him. “If I ever hear you dared touch another soul without their consent, then you will no longer have hands.” Kya warned, her voice a tide of outrage tempered by her own compassion. Her hand upon him reminded him to stay down, but also touched with concern. Feeling how his heart rose to meet her palm. Despite his unfocused gaze, he afforded her his full attention, staring at her as if he was looking upon an Angel. No, not an Angel. A Valkyrie of Nordic legend. A guide to the lost heroes, the one to guide their souls to peace. Helena understood, for she gazed in utter devotion. This Kya was a new creature, one embodying her soulmate, channelling Helena’s protective energy in a uniquely Kya way. Helena couldn’t help but smile, to grace her protector with an approving twitch of her lips and a nod. Kya was not the Queen, nor did she continue her violence when it was not in defence. She had picked up arms in this moment so Helena would not. So Helena did not have to. Just as Kya had promised, she protected Helena’s peace. Kya rose after a few more moments, stony eyes softened to gems as she gazed upon Helena. The Valkyrie extended her hand, fingers imploring Helena’s to weave between them with a silent little wiggle. Helena, a lost soul if ever there was one, was helpless to do anything but reach, to accept the hand offered to her. With the softest of smiles, she entrusted herself entirely to her soulmate, her Valkyrie, trusting that if Kya was not her peace then at least she would lead Helena there.

[dontmeantobepoliticalbut]

Conservative Supreme Court nominee Amy Coney Barrett refused to tell senators if she would vote to overturn decisions that provide legal protections to birth control and same-sex marriage, prompting one Democratic lawmaker to say her silence on those issues left him “stunned.”

Senate Judiciary Committee member Richard Blumenthal of Connecticut and the federal appellate judge clashed in one of the most pointed exchanges of the second day of her questioning by the panel. He pressed her on past decisions by US federal courts, including the Supreme Court, on both hot-button issues.

As she has on issues ranging from the 2011 Affordable Care Act to whether a president can both pardon himself and unilaterally delay an election, Ms Barrett declined to state clearly how she would rule if challenges to those previous decisions reached a high court on which she was a jurist.

“I am surprised and I think a lot of Americans will be scared by the idea that people who simply want to marry or have a relationship with the person they love could find it criminalized, could find marriage equality cut back,” Mr Blumenthal said. “I think it would be an America where I wouldn’t want to live.”

Though she remained cool and calm, as she has the entire three days of her confirmation hearing, the nominee did appear less-than-pleased with the line of questioning.

“Well, senator, to suggest that’s the America I want to create isn't based on any facts in my record,” she said, despite writings she has published in law journals taking conservative stances on those and other matters. 

She contended a passage from one of those articles he read aloud merely reflected her saying that judges questioning the legality of such issues is “par for the course” in a legal decision-making venue.

[brideofedoras]

Under Covers, pt 2

Rating: 18+

Warnings: mentions of masturbation, arousal and sex dreams

Word count: 2900+

Under Covers

Thank you all for the lovely responses to Under Covers, I know that surprise twist was evil of me (but I don’t regret it, it just felt right!).  I received a few requests for a part two, and a suggestion for it to be Cooper’s POV.

So... here is Uncer Covers, as told by Cooper...

And, because I’m just as horny for William Cooper, there will be a part three!  Mwuah!  Love all of ya!

@urban-trek-thru-middle-earth​ @emily-strange​ @nora-hewlett​ @to-boldly-nope​ @pandaqueen7799​ @bakerstreethound​ @portals-to-a-new-world​ @below-average-fangirl​ @writerdee1701​ @ladyreapermc​

Cooper reached for the travel mug in the console… but his fingers curled around nothing.  A quick glance away from the early morning traffic showed an empty cup holder.  “Well, that’s just typical,” he snarled grumpily.

His morning was off to a fan-fucking-tastic start, with a burnt Hot Pocket, his much-needed second cup of coffee forgotten on his desk at the office, and a restless night filled with some incredibly hot dreams of the only person he could one-hundred percent trust at work.

Ember.

She was a blessing, whether she knew it or not.  Quiet, intelligent, efficient, with an uncanny ability to anticipate his needs.  Beautiful.  Sexy.  A big flirt who had done a lot for his ego and self-esteem these past few months, and making him remember he was still a red-blooded man.

Last night’s solo sex on the back deck with a cigar and bourbon, fantasizing about having her on the glider swing or spread out on the patio table… bent over the deck railing…  

“Down, dammit,” he glared down at his crotch when he felt that familiar stir.  

Evidently that quick wank in the shower earlier hadn’t helped.  

God, he hated waking up horny.

It was going to be a dreadfully, painfully, long weekend, he thought as he signalled to pull into the parking lot for Ember’s apartment building.

When the file detailing the op landed on his desk he had immediately known he would assign Ember as his partner.  She did not have a lot of field experience, and had zero undercover experience, but she was a quick learner and self-sufficient.  He’d seen her wipe the floor during hand-to-hand combat training under Kordesky (he was supposed to be teaching that course, but at the time he’d been recovering from busted ribs from an op gone wrong).  Men three times her size hadn’t stood a chance.

It had both terrified him and turned him on.

But an entire weekend, maybe a tad longer, pretending to be a couple on a romantic getaway to nail a bad guy, with her…

Fuck, I’m screwed.

With a frustrated sigh he plucked his phone from the holder on the dash (strictly for GPS reasons) and pulled up the last text thread.

I’m outside.

His hazel eyes flickered to the old limestone building built in the ‘30s and remodeled, what, twenty years ago, into an apartment complex, wondering which part of the structure her apartment was in.  

His phone chirped in his hand.

Be down in a minute.

He groaned, his eyes dropping to his zipper once more.  I won’t.

If he survived the weekend, it would be a miracle.

He started to put the phone back on the clip when he realized he needed to tell her he wasn’t in his SUV.

Black Mercedes sedan.

Her response popped up a second later.  No Porsche?

He chuckled.  “No, no Porsche,” he mused out loud.  He’d thought about it, the sweet little Roadster the CIA had confiscated a while back.  Gorgeous car… but not ideal for a six hour drive to North Carolina.

Didn’t want to look like a man going through a midlife crisis, he texted back.

A classic sports car and a sexy young woman would most definitely make him look like he was.  Well… so would the Mercedes, but it drove like a dream and wouldn’t kill his back or ass for the long trip.

You’re too young for a midlife crisis.

“Oh, you’re flirting, Sweetheart,” he groaned.  He shook his head to clear it before pressing his hand hard against his crotch.  “Behave, dammit, stay down.”

He had no idea when he’d find the opportunity to handle that particular issue.  The little bungalow on the beach they’d be calling home for the next few days only had one bedroom.  Light, airy, lots of windows and a door opening out onto a veranda, a king size bed--

He pulled himself from his thoughts when he saw Ember step out of the building.

“Fuck.”

God damn was he screwed.

Ember was dressed in a snug, scoop neck tank top and cutoff shorts that showed off her long legs.

Legs he’d dreamed of wrapped around his hips.  Draped over his shoulders.  Hooked over his elbows.

“Now is not the time to rehash your favorite fantasies, William,” he scolded himself as he climbed out of the car.  He took the opportunity to adjust himself and straighten his plaid shirt to try to conceal the ridge in his jeans before he walked around to the trunk to open it.

Did she nearly trip over her own feet?

He kept that question to himself as he took her suitcase from her and stowed it next to his.  He carefully shut the lid before turning his attention on Ember.

“Get in the car, Kid.”

She immediately bristled before storming off.

Oh shit, he sighed heavily as he watched her yank open the passenger door.  He quickly rounded the car to climb into the driver’s seat.  “Easy there, Tiger,” he looked over at her.  “You okay?”

She shut the door and buckled up before taking in a deep breath.  

Yeah, Cooper, you hit the wrong damn button by accident, he realized.  Better salvage this and fast!

“Yeah.  Sleepless night.”  Her smile was faker than the phony IDs his buddy had made for them in high school.

Yup, wrong button.  

He frowned in sympathy.  “Worried about the op?”  He was giving her a bullshit excuse for her temper flareup and he knew it, but he also knew Ember would not admit him calling her “kid” had upset her.    

Her smile fell, allowing him to see how tired she was.  “You could say that.”

“You’ve got the easy job,” he reminded her as he started the car.  “Look pretty, flirt, be coy.”

Inwardly he flinched.  Wow, Cooper.  That was smooth.

“You call that easy?”  The blush staining her cheeks was downright adorable.  “I can’t flirt my way out of a paper bag if I tried!”

He grinned.  Either she’s in denial about flirting or she’s clueless that she’s a natural.

“‘Your tie brings out the gold in your eyes, Boss’ ring a bell?  Or ‘You’ve got a bit of powdered sugar on your cheek’?”

God, he could still feel her hand cupping his jaw and her thumb brushing over his cheekbone.

Her blush grew brighter.  “A compliment and a gentle warning before a meeting are hardly flirting!”

“You were flirting,” he grinned even more.  “And the plate of extra cookies left over from your Christmas dinner?”

“Figured your kids would like some cookies, and I had more than enough left over!”

Uh-huh.  A whole plate piled high with monster cookies, his favorite fucking kind?

“That’s what break rooms are for,” he couldn't help but chuckle.  “Pretty sure Sanderson would ask you to marry him if you bring baked goods in.”  

Please forgive me.

Ember shuddered and turned a little green.  “Pretty sure he lives in his parents’ basement.”

“Yeah, he has that personality,” he slowed for a stoplight.  “Not your type, then?”

Please say no.  You deserve so much better than him.  Or me.

“Have you ever heard me flirt with him?”

He busted out laughing at her sassy rebuttal.  There’s my girl, he struggled to get the mirth under control so he could speak again.  “No, no, I haven’t,” he shot her a look.  “You can give Wilkes a run for her money in the ice queen department when you’re dealing with him.” 

She finally smiled.  “I hope you’re giving me a compliment and not calling me a frigid bitch,” her own voice was laced with a touch of humor.

“She’s the frigid bitch and she wears that badge with pride,” he pointed out.  “She made Sanderson cry a couple of times.  You’re at least polite.”

“Maybe I shouldn’t be,” she mused.  “And I don’t flirt.”

Oh, Honey.

“‘You’re too young for a midlife crisis’?”  He struggled to keep another grin at bay.

“Not flirting!”  She twisted away from him.

But not before he glimpsed the splotching blush dotting her chest.

His mind went south before he could stop it.  Does she blush like that after an orgasm?

God dammit.

“What is it, then?”  He mentally shook himself to get his mind back on the conversation.  He winced when her head thumped against the window.

“The truth.  Thirty-five is still young,” she sighed.  “Age is only a number.  What matters is how you feel inside.  Take Grandpa-- er, Henry, for example.  He’s eighty-five, still working downstairs, running circles around the younger desk jockeys.”

“I need to find out what his secret is,” he joked.  Sometimes he needed more energy to make it through the day.

“No!”  Her voice squeaked.  “You don’t want to do that!”

His jaw dropped as he looked at her.  “Wait, he really has a secret?  What is it?”  He needed to know.

She blushed again.  “Nope,” she shook her head as if she were trying to shake off an unpleasant thought.  “It was bad enough overhearing it.  I’m not telling you.”

Oh.

Must’ve been something dirty if she was blushing like that.

“H-how long of a drive is it again?”

Did her voice just crack?

“Six hours if the traffic isn’t bad,” he answered.

“Straight through, no stops?” 

He chuckled.  “I’ll make a couple of stops, I’m not a monster.  You have breakfast yet?”  He glanced over to see her shake her head.

“There’s a coffee shop up ahead,” she pointed out.  “They have donuts and breakfast sandwiches.”

His stomach grumbled quietly.    “Any recommendations?”

“The omelette sandwiches are to die for,” she paused to cover her yawn.  “They come with sausage and cheese.  You’ve already had their donuts.”

His mind tripped back to the massive powdered sugar donut that had led to her soft touch that fateful afternoon.  His unintentional groan at that memory bordered on sinful.  “Might have to order a dozen for this weekend.”

“Better make it two dozen.  I’m not crawling out of bed before ten a.m. this weekend.”

No, down, he stubbornly told himself off at the images popping into his head.  “You’ve already claimed the bed, huh?”  He inwardly grimaced at the husky and teasing tone in his voice.  Who’s flirting now, Cooper?

“Figured it was a given since I’m a woman and you seem like the kind of guy who would take the couch.”

She had his number.  Damn, she really is good.  “Sweetheart, my back can’t take sleeping on couches even for a little catnap anymore,” he signaled to turn into the lot for the coffee shop.  

Liar, he ratted on himself.  He’d spent too many nights on the couch before Michelle asked for a divorce when she finally decided she couldn’t take being a CIA agent’s wife anymore.  If it weren’t for his kids he would not have gotten the couch for his new place.

“The bed’s a king, isn’t it?  We could share it.  I promise to be on my best behavior.”

He coughed to cover a strangled groan.  Share a bed with Ember?  All weekend?

Fuck.

“What?”  She asked.

“You’re flirting again.”

“No, I wasn’t,” she frowned at him.  “My brain loses its filter when I’m running on very little sleep.”

“Always an excuse,” he rolled his window down.  “What kind of coffee?”

“Just ask for the Emberleigh special, they’ll know.”

Cooper was pretty sure the barista, Tomer, was eye-fucking him.  Not the first time that had ever happened, but it sure as hell was the first time a guy was so bold about it.  And the not-so-subtle looks he was giving Ember were poorly hidden.  

Oh, yes, I’m gonna be the topic of conversation the next time she stops in, he chuckled to himself.  It was both amusing and flattering.

By the time they hit the freeway his two breakfast sandwiches were demolished and she was barely finished with hers.  He shifted to get comfortable.  Long trips by car were never fun, the miles monotonous and the seat unforgiving.  

Flying had not been an option.  The department could not justify using the jet for a weekend op, which left commercial flights.  He personally hated that option.  Checking weapons and other tools of the trade through security was a headache he did not want to deal with.  It was easier to drive.

“Should we go over the parameters again?”

It never hurt to go over plans a few times, and with this being Ember’s first undercover op he wanted her prepared.

The breathy “no” from her caught him off guard.

He shot her a quick glance.  “Seat reclines if you want to take a quick nap,” he swallowed the groan at the mental images of her stretched out on her back in that leather seat, him leaning over her…  He shifted in his seat when his jeans grew a little tight again.  “If you want to turn the radio on, go for it,” he cleared his throat (and his head).  “I listen to just about anything.  Except for the new crap.”

“Yeah, I can’t listen to that stuff, either.”

Thank god.

“I can Bluetooth my phone if that’s okay?”  She asked softly.

“Go for it,” he nodded.

When the opening guitar licks for one of his favorite songs began to play he grinned.

God, if this song wasn’t the ultimate euphemism for sex.  And the tempo.  Jesus Christ.

And the fact that Ember had the Scorpions on whatever playlist she had?  His crush on her grew that much more.

It reminded him of his high school days, his first car, T-tops off and cruising the strip rocking out to AC/DC, pretty girl in the passenger seat.

Sometimes he missed those days, not having any responsibilities other than keeping his grades up for football.  

He drummed his thumbs on the steering wheel and sang along off-key.  He found himself really getting into the music and tried to tone it down, but after catching Ember trying not to stare he decided to put his all into it.

And all bets were off when his favorite Def Leppard song came on.  

They played random road trip games when he wasn’t rocking out.  Counting state license plates.  Slug bug (or punch buggie as his little Katie loved to holler, especially when she saw the blue ones).  Billboard alphabet.  Count the road kill (gruesome but it worked).  I spy.

When she yawned for the tenth time in about as many minutes he realized why she was playing the games.  She was trying to stay awake despite repeated suggestions to recline the seat back and take a nap.  He even threatened to sing her to sleep.

She stubbornly insisted she needed to stay awake to help him watch traffic.

Somewhere along the way she did fall asleep.  He smiled to himself when she sighed in her sleep and shifted to get comfortable in her seat.  As carefully as he could he reached over to slip her sunglasses off and laid them on the dash.

No way was he waking her up any time soon.  She needed to rest up.  

He was humming along to “In The Air Tonight” and miming the drum solo above the steering wheel (it was a federal offense to not perform the drum solo) when a soft whine came from the passenger seat.  He quickly glanced over at the distressed sound.  “You okay over there?”  He pressed the button on the steering wheel to turn the volume down even more for the radio.

She shifted in her seat, head lolling toward him before a quiet snore reached his ears.  He chuckled and shook his head before he turned back to watch the road.  They were ten minutes from the nearest fast food restaurant and despite still being full from breakfast he needed to go to the bathroom and stretch his legs.  He just didn’t have the heart to wake Ember up quite yet.

A few minutes later she drew in a deep breath and moaned.

That moan sounded suspiciously like his last name.

His grip on the steering wheel tightened.

Ember shifted and moaned again.  “We… shouldn’t…”

He felt his cock begin to stir at the soft little sounds coming from her.  Sounds he had fantasized about more than once.

“Oh… god…” she squirmed.

Fuck, his jeans were uncomfortably tight.  Cooper flipped the turn signal and checked his mirrors before exiting the freeway.  

Her moans and gasps were more frequent now, with his name whined out a few times.  He drew in a shaky breath, that last guttural moan damn near making him cum right there.  

It would be cruel to wake her up, he thought as he pulled into McDonald’s parking lot.  But he could not sit in the car and listen to her have a sex dream about him.

“Oh… god… Cooper…”

The way she was panting.

The way his cock was throbbing dangerously.

He hated himself, for having no choice but to listen to her pretty little sex dream sounds and for waking her up before she could…

No.  Do.  Not.  Think.  About.  It.

“Ember,” he gently squeezed her shoulder before he chickened out.  “Wake up, Sleepyhead,” he murmured gruffly when she blinked her eyes open.  “We’re stopping for lunch.”

She looked disoriented, and he kicked himself for interrupting that dream.

He pulled away, breaking contact before his body could overrule his brain and pounce on her.  “I’m surprised you fell asleep with my singing.  Never worked on my kids when they were little.”

When she remained quiet he looked over.  “No comment?”  

“No!”  Damn, that blush was beautiful on her.  “N-no, I… I guess a smooth car ride combined with a sleepless night put me to sleep.”

“Yeah, that’ll do it,” he agreed as he pocketed the keys.  “Come on, I’ll buy you lunch.”

[svtntntn]

part of your world (1/2)

the little mermaid!au

inspo: the little mermaid, both the disney version and the classic fairytale but make it somewhat similar and different at the same time

you long for life above the surface and get your wish when you make a deal with the infamous witch of the sea

——

“(y/n), there's a reason why all merpeople are banned from going above, from breaking the surface and going on land." Seungkwan fiddles with the end of a seaweed fiber as he follows after you. "We wouldn't survive there, it's dry and hot and nothing good ever happens when we set tail on land!"

"Those are just rumors, Seungkwan! For goodness's sake." You circle around the vacant ship and slide between the broken wooden panels, entering a decaying room flooded by the water. You begin rummaging around the bedroom for what you can scavenge, finding all the interesting knick-knacks you can hide back home.

"No they're not! I heard it from Hansol, who heard it from Mingyu who heard it from Yugyeom and Jungkook! They know someone who went to the surface and didn't come back! And they couldn't even tell anyone what happened! Nothing good comes from the surface, (y/n)."

“There’s tons of cool things that come from the surface, Seungkwan! Just look at this rectangular box! It lights up and plays sounds!” You press down the white button along the side and the instrument begins to glow with its diamond gem at the top, muffled sounds creating small bubbles. "Granted we need to be above to hear it better—but this is just one of the many things that are up there!"

“(y/n) put that away!” Seungkwan pushes your hands down and cautiously glances about, “we’re not allowed to be in possession of land instruments.”

You continue to let the music box play, making up your own tune as the bubbles rise from the machine. “Imagine what your father would say if he saw you with that!" Seungkwan angrily whispers as you hide the music box in your satchel. “Besides, all the humans do above the surface is litter the seas with their trash—they're killing us, (y/n)! They do nothing but pollute, pollute, pollute!"

He wasn't wrong.

Your father had to take extra precaution with the sudden pollution among the eastern coast of the kingdom, the new influx of treacherous toxins poisoning the merpeople and their children.

"I'm sure they don't mean to do such a thing." You circle around the room before going to another, jimmying the closet doors open and peering inside.

Seungkwan frowns as he hovers in the center of the room, cautiously fluttering about with his arms crossed, "you don't know them well enough to know that."

You oppose, "and neither do you." Swimming over to the adjacent desk, you gently pull on the drawers, finding small trinkets cluttering the bottom alongside wilted parchment paper. Underneath it all, you find a sterling silver necklace gleaming behind a murky photo, a star pendant with various etching along the back's center.

The photo pictures a trio of land people—a woman with two younger children in front of her, both boys with their faces pulled into wide smiles. Their clothes in the photograph look worn and stained with something unusual, their hair sorely grown out but they look happy and content… they look normal.

They don't look like the monsters, not at all.

Your heart aches as you look closer in the photo, noticing a bright spot between the lone woman's collar bones, the blip shining like the star in your hand.

"(y/n), can we leave now?" Seungkwan moans, "we have to go otherwise we're going to miss your father's ceremony."

"Oh no! How could we miss such a thing?" You gasp in fake surprise, tucking the necklace and the photo away in your satchel before exiting the ship.

"I swear, (y/n). It's a wonder that you're still your father's favorite daughter." Seungkwan shakes his head as you two swim back within the kingdom's limits.

"And it's a wonder that you're still my favorite of all my father's assistants," you rebuttal back with a smile.

~

“Come on, Seungkwan! Please! You can be my lookout.”

"I'm tired of being your lookout! I refuse to be your lookout any longer." Seungkwan pouts as you rise to the surface, the merman's eyes raising in alarm as he scrambles after you. "(y/n)! You have to stop doing this! Your father has reprimanded you once already for your land collection, you—"

"Seungkwan, don’t you want to know what it’s like on the surface?" You sigh heavily. "Don't you want to want to go about and discover what's out there?"

"Don't you want to know what's like living above?" You break the surface and dreamily collapse on a lone rock, the sun warming your skin as you scan the nearby beach from a distance.

"(y/n), what if they see you? Get down!"

"Oh shush, Seungkwan, they're not going to see me," you wave off.

Two lone figures lay on the sand from where you watch, one immediately spiraling up to the tune of music coming from the second one's guitar. The first one's movements cut through the air and flow like water, the duality of the motions amazing you as the musician plucks the strings with ease.

You feel your friend nudge you in agitation, “oh stop, Seungkwan! I just want to see what they're really like, is that too much to ask for?” Your eyes continue to focus on the heavenly figure, watching him dance along the shoreline with ease till the other figure joins him, his mouth open in song as they prance to the opposite end of the beach.

They make the use of their two legs look so… easy. To be able to bounce and jump and move with ease? With two legs?

What was that like?

You glance down at your own tail, the array of scales neatly shining a brilliant blue color as the sun beats down on them. As you dip your tail back into the sea, the scales blend in seamlessly with the water, with the cerulean ocean waves, with those of your kind.

Seungkwan pokes at your tail with his finger, splashing you with water using his own tangerine-colored tail.

"Okay okay, let's go." You roll your eyes and dive back below the surface, half-heartedly listening to Seungkwan's heated warnings about the land people for the millionth time. The warmth of the sea is different from that of the sun, it's comforting and yet all too familiar at the same time, reminding you of your safety, of your status as one of the princesses of the sea, as a mermaid down below.

~

"(y/n)? How many times are you going to break your father's rules?" Seungkwan calls out to you as you break the surface of the water, swimming in the direction of the ship before you.

"I'm not breaking them—I'm just…"

"Y-you're what? Not abiding by them? Just to see surface people up close?" You ignore him once again as you come close to the edge of the ship. "(y/n), now is not the time for this. You heard your father, you heard the council; there's a bad storm coming tonight and it's safer to be at home."

You watch the sailors celebrating all around the ship, raising their glasses in celebration and entangling themselves in a merry circle and dancing to their hearts' desire. You take another glance at the dark sky, the clouds blending in with the night and hiding the unknown danger.

"But they don't know that. I could try to help them somehow, tell them to go in another direction away from the storm. We can't just leave them to weather the storm alone, Seungkwan. It wouldn't be right."

"(y/n), you shouldn't interfere like this." You pull yourself up to the side of the ship, carefully peering onto the deck as you duck behind one of the many wooden bars.

Your eyes catch on a man sitting on the staircase close to you, watching the rest of the sailors dance merrily with a soft smile. His dark eyes are enticing, and yet they look troubled. Many of the sailors stroll by and invite him to come to the middle of the deck but he shakes his head and declines till another figure stops in front of him.

"Soonyoung! C'mon you need to relax, we're on track to return to shore in the morning," the man confidently wraps an arm around Soonyoung as he sits next to him, offering him a cup of liquor from one of the shipmates. The man's eyes sparkle from the lit torches around the ship, his wide smile catching your gaze. "If there's someone who should be sulking here, it should be me, not you."

Soonyoung takes the cup possessively and puts his lips to the rim, drinking a small amount till he pulls back, wincing from the strength of the liquor and keeping his eyes locked on the crew. "I'll never understand how you could just sit by and let this happen to you, why your parents are so intent that you marry someone else to rule your own kingdom." He swishes around the drink in his hand as you notice a nervous bounce in his leg, his hand slightly tremoring as he holds the cup. "Since when did you need a wife to become king?"

This man was a prince? Of the land?

The prince shrugs, "It's more for our kingdom’s tradition… for politics, really. My parents want our people to be able to trust two figures at the top, not just one. It's like a check and balances but for public image… for our people to know I have a heart, to know that I'm not some soulless dictator or some loser."

You find yourself agreeing at the sentiment, knowing that in due time, you were responsible to find someone to marry to take on the crown. It was tradition, it was within the rules to marry once you were of age to take the crown. The pressure to find someone of royal blood to marry and be with forever was daunting and yet it was the very same position this prince was in.

"You're not a loser, Chan." Soonyoung affectionately tussles with Chan's hair, "you're a royal loser." He runs off with the drink in his hand just as the prince shouts back, chasing after him with a smile.

"What happened to warning them?" You hear Seungkwan mumble begrudgingly, "all I see is you making googly eyes at the prince."

You can feel your face go warm suddenly at Seungkwan's statement. "I-I will! I need to figure out how." Your eyes scan the ship and you notice a bell on the opposite end, the length of the rope connected to the ringer long enough to grab from the side of the ship. "There! I just need to swim over to the other side and ring the bell to warn them."

Seungkwan squints to find the exact bell you're talking about, noticing how high you still have to get to the end of the rope, "Don't get too close, (y/n)."

"I won't get too close, promise." You swear to Seungkwan, diving back into the water in earnest.

~

Okay so, this was definitely breaking that promise.

You're wrapped around the man you first laid eyes on as he helplessly falls deeper and deeper into the water, his eyes shut closed while less and less air bubbles come through his lips.

Wreckage from the ship continues to drop all around you, the abundance of wood and ropes and metal all creating a dangerous maze for you to maneuver yourself and Soonyoung around.

You notice another body weakly falling in the distance as you almost reach the surface, "Seungkwan! Help me! Get the prince!" You point in the direction of the drowning prince, your other hand busy wrapped around Soonyoung's waist as you push to the ocean's surface. You and him break the surface and you fight to keep his head above water as you begin paddling to shore, the thunderous rain pouring down on you and challenging your vision.

Seungkwan follows behind you, struggling with the prince and muttering curses under his breath before reaching the shallow end of the beach, his tail now giving himself a hard time bringing the prince to shore.

The moment you drag Soonyoung along the banks of the beach, all the aches and pains in your muscles melt away and you can't help but want to stay. The sand melts between your fingers as you claw your way up the shoreline, dragging his body as best you can without hurting him.

The clouds along the shore are a faint gray, wisps of white delicately painting the sky amongst the pale blue haze. You already know it already must be close to dawn from the warmth of the sun slowly rising from the sea, the rays bathing the man before you in an orange glow.

His eyes are completely closed as you hover over him, drinking in the sight of an actual person from the surface. You trail your fingertips along his face, feeling the soft skin as you carefully lay your head on his chest to listen for a heartbeat. You can't help but feel goosebumps ripple on your arms as you hear a faint thump in his chest, ignoring your racing heartbeat in favor of his own.

"He's so beautiful, so surreal." You whisper to yourself in awe. Soonyoung's face suddenly tightens and he shouts in pain, calling out for someone whilst his eyes remain close. Seungkwan hurries you to quiet him before you do the only thing you can think of: singing to him.

You murmur a soft melody in his ear, tenderly stroking his forehead as his pain slowly subsides and he drifts off back into unconsciousness, looking more peaceful and at ease than before.

"The prince, (y/n)." Seungkwan yanks the man next to you as you copy the same actions from before, checking for a heartbeat before examining him closer. His eyes slightly open and droop back closed as you hear his heartbeat loud and clear, his pulse strong in your ears.

You take a moment and stare among the wreckage that washes up to shore next to you, moving a broken plank to prop their heads up as to avoid the incoming waves of water.

"(y/n), you did the right thing... They're going to be fine. We have to go back." Seungkwan tugs your arm and quietly nod, pushing yourself back into the sea and away from those you rescued.

The prince groans again in pain and flickers his eyes open, noticing your face hazily before the residue of the saltwater forces his eyes closed. "Wait, come back!" He sits up and haphazardly tries to rub his eyes quickly but the moment he opens them, you're gone.

Seungkwan and you you hurry back behind a slew of boulders and rocks half-covered by the seas as you hear men rush down the shoreline and flock over the prince and Soonyoung, gingerly waking the latter and bringing him to his feet.

Your heart melts in earnest as you duck below the water, waiting for someone to wander back looking for you with open arms, but you sigh at the reality of the situation. Turning back and entering the water, you miss the way Soonyoung looks out into the ocean before letting the guards guide him and Chan back to the castle, entranced by the voice that saved him.

~

"Are you coming with me or not?” You grouch at Seungkwan, who apprehensively follows behind you with a nervous look in every direction.

"Y-yes, but I don't think you should be doing this (y/n). The witch is known for her trickery, you might end up one of her prisoners or something! I don't feel good about this." You feel Seungkwan's hand tighten in yours as you approach the cave, "i-is the witch in there?"

"N-no, no one is here." You're alone in the dark cavern, a wave of icy, cold water surrounding your body as you swim towards a single orb of light set above a lone stack of stones.

The closer you get, the colder you become, your skin alive with goosebumps trailing all over your body. Even your scales harden, the protective layer feeling something unsettling in its wake.

"What brings you here, lonely, little princess? Get lost on the way to the coral reef?" A sinister voice mocks you but there's no other bodies except you and Seungkwan in the cave. "O-or how about exploring your land with your pesky little sidekick provided by the King? Come to take this corner of the seas as your own?"

"(y/n), let's leave now. This isn't right." Seungkwan tugs on your arm but you shake your head.

"No." You grit your teeth together and turn to face the witch at the end of the cave, "I came here to make a deal with you. I heard you can make me like—"

"The people above the surface?" The voice matches the face of the infamous, banished witch of the sea, manically smirking just as your eyes widen in surprise. "Isn't that right, dear? You want to become one of them." Her voice circles about you in a dark, murky cloud, the water chilling your spine. "Trade your beautiful tail for a pair of legs? What would your father say? What would the almighty King say?"

You ignore her attempts to rile you up, clenching your fists tightly and taking a deep breath. "So you can do it?"

The witch rebukes your question with a loud sneer, singing to you, "Of course, I can, but not for free, princess. Everything comes with a price."

Seungkwan tugs on your hand again but you let it go, "what's your price?" You grip your bag closer to you as you peruse what you could use to trade with the witch.

"Oh, nothing in that bag could ever pay, dearie. I just want a little something…" She ponders for a moment, rising above you and circling around the cavern. "Your voice."

"M-my voice?" Your hand immediately touches your throat as if to protect it from harm. You swallow deeply and bite your tongue.

"Tit for tat, princess. Something priceless for something priceless. Unless you don't want a pair of legs to roam the surface, a pair of legs to walk and run and call your own?"

"I-I do… but can I get my voice back at the end of this all? Isn't there something I can do to get it back?"

"Sure sweetie." The witch says dismissively with a roll of her eyes, pursing her lips evilly, "you have eyes for someone handsome, don’t you? A certain prince you rescued days ago? Become queen of the surface and you can surely get your voice back after this is all over." Turning to her cauldron, she pours various liquids and shriveled kelp into the vat, churning it several times over while adding more sickening ingredients from within her cabinet. "I'll give you what—like a month? To get the prince to fall in love with you? You’d complain if I gave you less, wouldn’t you."

You nod nervously as she sprinkles in the finishing touches, reaching deep within the cauldron to pour you her latest concoction. You reach out for the potion but she draws her hand back, "Wait, before you take this, you must sign this."

A scroll composed of seaweed appears before you, line of poetry scrawled on the page in thin, white letters.

a pair of legs you seek, a pair of legs you get

in exchange, your voice

now a simple bargain is met.

thirty days to make a vow

only with a true prince of the crown

become queen among the surface and forever you shall stay

with a pair of legs, your voice will come back as you lay.

"Just know that if you fail to become a queen of the surface, you are forever to be under my reign, princess, under my control. If you choose to sign it at the very bottom, then you have a deal, princess."

Your hand shakes you sign your name with a flourish, the parchment disappearing within a mere minute and the witch’s potion extended out to you in its place.

The potion tastes of thick seaweed, a dark green sludge followed by just a hint of something sweet—is it a nectar of some sort? The thought leaves your mind just as you can feel the mixture deep in your stomach, a prickly sensation carving your insides with tiny little daggers till the pain swallows you whole and your world turns dark.

~

The world is suddenly so bright behind your eyelids, a blindingly clear sky appearing when you open your eyes carefully. Sun rays beat down on you and you can feel your skin tanning under the bright star, your hand grasping at the ground beneath you to level yourself.

A heavy weight sits on your bottom half, the feeling of numbness in your legs that echos and reverberates through to your feet.

Your legs.

Instead of your singular, curvy tail scaled with your navy blue ridges, you have a pair of individual legs, the scales replaced by smooth skin sensitive to every movement, every hair, and every grain of sand beneath your body.

It takes every ounce of strength to lift one leg, moving your ankle in circles before flexing your foot completely. The pain dulls deep inside your limb as you let down one leg and try to do the same motions with the other, naturally biting your lip in concentration.

The shoreline you lay beneath is all too familiar to you, the view from the sand a picture you've seen before. There's wreckage beside you: broken wooden panels laying about, splintering wood poking up from the sand, torn rope strands and a fraying white canvas sheet meant for a sail. You manage to yank the sheet over your body and wrap it around, using the rope to tie it together as you've seen in photographs of women from the surface.

Your satchel lies on the sand next to you, your land artifacts safe from harm and collected together at the very bottom. You grit your teeth together and slowly work your way up on your feet, a static-like sensation coursing through your legs as you concentrate on moving one foot in front of the other, shifting your weight somewhat evenly. 

You're too busy focusing on trying to walk that you don't even notice a figure running up to you.

"Excuse me, miss! Who are you? You're not supposed to be on this beach." The voice sounds familiar as you look up from your feet and immediately recognize the man waving his hand in front of you dumbly.

"Uh, hello? Miss?" Soonyoung's hands are on his hips as he stares at you in disbelief. The moment you try to shift your feet without looking at them, your balance is gone and you grab the first thing you can to steady yourself: Soonyoung.

You reach forward and latch onto him as you lose your footing and he's surprisingly stable, helping you stand on your own as you feel electricity surge through your veins, your heart skipping a beat at the mere touch. "Are you okay?"

You open your mouth to speak but nothing comes out, your eyes falling to your legs as you remind yourself of their price.

"Soonyoung, who is that?" Another figure steps behind Soonyoung and his eyes go wide. "Wait, you look awfully familiar… have I seen you somewhere?" He leans closer to you, staring into your eyes as he smiles from ear to ear. "My name is Chan, I live near here." He scans over the wreckage behind you and your tattered dress. "Are you okay? Are you hurt? Where are you from?" He actively frets over you with many questions, taking your hand in his to scan all over you.

You feel a pair of eyes still staring at you and you lock eyes with Soonyoung again. "This is Soonyoung, he’s one of my closest friends," Chan explains. "Were you on a ship nearby? Are you lost from your friends? Your family?"

You nod meekly and clutch your satchel close to you.

"So you really can’t speak?" He asks again, "do you have a name at least? I mean, I'd call you 'beautiful' but…" He trails off as you hear Soonyoung scoff and groan at the cheesy line.

You notice a broken branch of driftwood and quickly drag it across the sand, managing to write your name in script and pointing to yourself.

"Oh, (y/n)? (y/n)!" Chan grins. "Beautiful name for a beautiful person." His gaze lingers on you longer as you smile and blush. "Uh, why don't you come back with us? We can help you find your family or friends or someone you can stay with…?"

You nod eagerly and loop your arm through Chan's as you two and Soonyoung walk the pathway back to Chan's kingdom, back to where an elegant castle sits a couple feet away from the shoreline, overlooking the bright blue sea. The prince situates you with some of the staff and they whisk you away to wash and clean you of the sand and salt of the sea.

Soonyoung watches as you hesitantly follow the women to one of the many bedrooms in the castle, only trusting them once Chan promises he'll be back soon for you as soon as he can. He observes his best friend rush up to his own room and quickly lay out clothes to change into, especially considering it was nearing evening and he knew Chan would ask you to stay for dinner.

Which would also mean dinner with him as well as Chan’s one and only guest in his castle.

But after dinner, what was he going to do? What was he thinking?

"I've seen her somewhere, I know it. She looks so familiar, I just don't know where or how." Chan mutters aloud, already knowing what he was thinking. "Her eyes, they're beautiful… It sounds stupid, I know I've seen her, I think she rescued us, but... I know I wouldn't forget her if I saw her anywhere else."

Soonyoung sighs as he remembers watching you walking on the beach—or struggling to walk—would be a better word for it. He remembers the moment you caught on his arm to balance yourself, remembering how his skin came alive with goosebumps at the simple touch of your skin on his.

He couldn’t lie to himself, Chan was right: you were beautiful. Anyone with a pair of eyes could see that.

No.

He really shouldn't be thinking of you like this. Chan was clearly taken by you the moment he laid eyes on you and yet, Chan had other priorities to think about.

“Your parents are going to throw a fit when you bring home a girl shipwrecked from the beach and not from the crown.” Soonyoung remarks, "you know they're expecting you to get married before your coronation—and to someone of royal blood."

Chan grunts in response and Soonyoung rolls his eyes. He didn't like reprimanding the prince for his choices, but he was fine days ago when they were talking about his royal marriage for the sake of public image, so seriously—what is going through his mind now?

Soonyoung stops him from exiting the door, "What are you going to tell them about (y/n) then?"

“My parents won’t know that she's from the beach or the sea, because they’re going to think she’s with you.”

"W-what? You—no!" Soonyoung glares at him. "What makes you think your parents are going to believe I'm with her?"

"Because I'm asking you to pretend to be her escort in this matter."

"Her escort? They're going to immediately jump to the conclusion that she and I are—"

"Together," Chan finishes. "Which will give her time to stay here at the palace." He explains, "you're only here till my coronation ball, and that's exactly in one month. Soonyoung, I really want to get to know her. I-I thought I saw her when I woke up from the shipwreck last week, and I can't get her out of my head! I feel like I know her somehow, and I want to figure that out—figure her out."

Soonyoung sighs deeply, his hands on his hips and his lip bitten in thought over what to do.

You couldn't be the same girl who rescued him and Chan last week, there was no way it could be. He’s never confided in his best friend that it was actually a girl with a beautiful voice who saved him from the shipwreck and from his own nightmare come true.

And you couldn't even speak a word. 

There was no way you were her.

And given Chan's claim to the throne, there was no way you were going to be his queen, not when the rules specifically call for his queen to be of royal blood.

But if anyone was going to change the rules and prove him wrong, it was Lee Chan.

"Just till the end of the month?" Soonyoung tiredly asks.

"That's all I need, promise." Chan grins widely, eagerly waiting for Soonyoung's confirmation.

Soonyoung laments again with a weary expression, "Promise?" 

Chan avidly shakes his head and extends his hand out to his best friend to honor his word, standing tall and proud of himself and his abilities. "Promise." 

Soonyoung really hopes he doesn’t regret doing this. 

.

[ part two ]

[ddarker-dreams]

Puppet. Yan Charles Grey x Reader [COMM]

The phrase “your life” feels more like an oxymoron than an accurate description. 

Every task that you carry out -- from the moment the sun rises from the east, and sets in the west -- is not of your own autonomy. A marionettist pulls the strings from above, you but a mere puppet that concedes accordingly to its wishes.

You play the role of the perfect daughter, hours of tutoring and diligent planning from your parents ensuring your success. In your heart, there is little abhorrence for the distant yet prickly relationship you have with them. They mean no harm, you often have to remind yourself, when your thoughts gain a negative edge. It’s all for the greater good of the family. 

Pressing the cold glass you plucked from the buffet table against your lips, your eyes take in the sight before you. Inhabitants from high social standing cluster together, speaking of benign matters or hoping to further their position in some way. It’s a familiar scene, despite the significance of the event. 

The Queen, in all her normal benevolence, is hosting this ball in hopes of raising funds for a new orphanage in London. To turn down an invite to such an occurrence would be a kiss of death to your social standing. Your own family invested a hefty sum into the charity, a small hope of getting noticed you surmise. It’s a gamble, but nothing is gained without taking a few risks.

Your parents have an apparent agenda of their own tonight, centered around you. They’ve been introducing you to a variety of possible suitors, since you are now of the age to wed. Throughout the flood of faces you’ve met, none of them have seemed inclined to lead the conversation to taking your hand. The barrage of social interaction has sapped away at your strength, weariness settling in as the night progresses at a snail’s pace.

Being left to your own devices for what feels like the first time in hours, you lament the thought of when it’ll come to an end. Perhaps tonight simply isn’t your night? Your mother gave you a stern look when you spoke those words, critiquing every little nuance of your prior interactions. It isn’t your fault the men simply haven’t been interested in marriage, you did what was expected of you. That leaves no room for fault of your own. 

One common string of actions you picked up on, was their hesitation in initially speaking to you. It could only have been your imagination, however, they spoke to you with rigidity. Polite, yes, but they seemed eager to leave your side. Almost as if they were hesitant to even speak with you in the first place, though any reason for this is beyond you.

How peculiar. 

Your parents have left your side for a few minutes now, undoubtedly searching for another possible suitor to introduce you to. The string of bad luck isn’t enough to stop them from advancing their goals. Standing here for too long on your lonesome isn’t an option, the public eye judgmental and lips prone to entertain gossip. This night couldn’t come to a close any faster.

Adjusting your position, you consider the best course of action here. It’d be ideal to find a suitable person to speak to, but most of the people here are already in conversation with one another. Stopping a sigh that threatens to leave, you decide to get some fresh air. Distant laughter, chatter, and orchestral accompaniments go ignored as you walk to the doors of the balcony. 

Guards open the door for you, allowing you to step outside. The moon is shining brightly above, illuminating the various plants interwoven with the wood railing. Corset constricting you harshly, the ability to breathe without trouble feels like a distant luxury. Being introduced to a possible husband one after the other doesn’t help, the interactions a whirlwind of stress. 

“Not into events like this, huh? Not that I could blame you.” A male voice, light and whimsical, startles you from behind. 

Placing a gloved hand to your chest in surprise, you look back to see a young man around your age. With long, snow white hair, playful blue eyes, and wearing a white tailcoat with a black buttoned up shirt underneath. He flashes you a lazy grin, before taking his place by your side.

Your breath hitches at the unexpected advance. Whoever this is either ignorant to social rules, or cares little of them. As he takes a place by your side, you consider making an excuse to go back in. A light breeze caresses your warming skin, a few strands of hair tickling your face. 

“I wouldn’t phrase it like that,” you respond in earnest, unable to get a solid read on his aloof attitude. “Looking at the stars is a pleasant change of pace.” 

In saying so, the pair of you look up towards the sky. It’s a rarity tonight, the usual smog not as apparent. His attention returns to you soon enough, mouth set in a straight line. He considers your input, crossing his arms. 

“Hm… really? I’ve always found these events to be a drag.” he replies with a raised eyebrow, a hand pressed against his hip. You take note of the sheathed rapier, but think little else of it. The understanding the fashion choice of men has never been your strong suit. 

“At first glance, perhaps. Legends behind the constellations are what I take the most interest in. Take those five stars there, for example,” you point a finger for extra emphasis. “That one is named Cassiopeia. In Greek mythology, Cassiopeia was punished by the gods for her vanity; forced to forever be imprinted in the sky.” 

Biting your lip for a moment, you manage to collect yourself. When it came to topics you found compelling, rambling came naturally. If your mother were here she’d scold you, stern eyes saying more than words ever could.

“Seems over the top, if you ask me.” he concludes pointedly, pushing his lips to the side in thought. It almost comes as a relief that he isn’t irate with your passionate speaking, the window to criticize you for it now gone. 

A light laugh leaves your lips, skin around your eyes tightening in amusement at his blunt assessment. “Yes, well, Greek gods were not known for their compassion.” 

Mimicking your earlier action, he points to a cluster of stars in the sky with childlike enthusiasm. “And? What about this one?” 

“Ah… I don’t believe that is a constellation. It has a similar appearance, however.” you speculate with a frown, silently hoping the answer isn’t too disappointing. His shoulders droop at your lackluster response, leading you to attempt and patch it over.

“You could always make a constellation of your own. I recall doing that as a child, it’s a fun game to play with yourself.” Memories come flooding back to you of your childhood, the nights you spent creating impossible yet fun scenarios to go along with the night sky. 

Turning on his heels, he bends his face down ever so slightly to get a better look at you. Tilting his head to the side, an unidentifiable emotion flashes through his light sky blue eyes, before he returns to his former position. You feel your pulse quicken, concern over saying the wrong thing rearing its ugly head once again. 

Instead of admonishing your thoughts, he encourages them. “Humor me. What story would you give this then?” 

That isn’t what you were expecting. It’s an entertaining request, different from the dreary talk you’ve slugged through earlier. A topic that you’re well endowed in. Childlike wonder returns to you, flashes of memories from your youth returning. 

“I can’t think of anything.” you confess with a sheepish frown. “I fear my interpretations would leave much to be desired, anyhow. The original stories are too timeless to compete with.” 

Before he can offer a rebuttal, the sound of doors opening hurriedly behind you gains your attention. Your mother, eyes darting around before landing on your form, strides over to you with practiced ease. She freezes her movements when she looks over at your eccentric conversation partner, gulping at the sight. 

“Earl Grey, I take it you have met my daughter?” she guardedly inquires, showcasing a tight lipped smile. 

His title and name registers instantly, and you instantly feel an ocean of regret collapsing over you. Not only did you lose yourself in conversation with someone, it happened to be such an important individual? He could have you socially ostracized if he felt inclined to do so, being a guard of the Queen herself. 

In a desire to save face, you mirror your mother’s stoic visage; praying she didn’t catch anything you said earlier. You gulp as he holds off on a response, her eyes narrowing briefly at you in the silence.

His own relaxed demeanor doesn’t change in the slightest at the new company, finally breaking the tense silence. “Indeed I have. We were having an exciting conversation.” 

She shoots you a look that makes your blood go cold, fingers twitching by your side. The carriage ride home will be a harrowing event. You can already picture the chastising comments she’ll make at your expense, critiquing you from head to toe. 

“Ah, I’m pleased to hear she was good company for you then. Please forgive her for any slips of the tongue, she’s always been an imaginative child.” she offers a timed laugh, one that you know well. Another sign of how you’ve surely upset her with your antics.

Your mother doesn’t need to say anything else, you more than capable of reading in between the lines of her strained gaze. She’s smoothed over any possible grievances to the best of her abilities, and wants you to dismiss yourself. 

Earl Grey has kept his attention on you, paying little mind to her. You silently inhale, praying that your face doesn’t waver at your next words. Face burning in defiance of your wishes, you excuse yourself. 

“It’s been a pleasure, Earl Grey. I thank you kindly for your time.” 

---

When your father called you to his study this afternoon, you knew it would be grim news. 

The past month has been a tense one, misfortunes piling up one after the other. It all started when one of his companies main investors pulled for no understandable reason, not even offering an explanation. 

Matters only grew worse as rumors of scandal plagued him from an anonymous source, further discrediting the company's name. The staff of your house whispers that perhaps he’s been cursed by a malevolent spirit. While you initially scoffed at such an unfounded notion, you can’t help but begin to wonder if it holds some truth.

Weariness was apparent in his gaze, skin tight to the bone and dark circles underneath his eyes. Money is running out, he told you with a shameful sigh. There will be lifestyle changes in the near future, such as cutting a significant amount of staff at the estate; and even having to lay off employees under his company. 

He wanted so desperately to shield you from this frightful information, but the times are growing dire. It’s frustrating -- how all of this could happen from out of seemingly nowhere -- leaving you at the mercy of the law. There must be something you can do, but what? 

It’s the question that has led you to the gardens outside. Birds chirp contentedly, leaves rustling about in the wind. Nature always brings with it a taste of sweet solace, but today, even it fails to mitigate your anxiety. Negotiations for any possible engagements have also led nowhere, to make matters worse.

‘I could offer to sell some of my wardrobe… would that even do anything, though? It’s surely couldn’t hurt.’

Delicately wrapping your fingers around the teacup handle, you take a sip. Could it be you were not a desirable enough wife? With all the problems your family has had of late, suitors must be too cautious to approach you. As unfair as it may be, it frustrates you further. 

“I was told I’d find you out here.” 

Whipping your head around, you’re met with a sight that brings back pleasant memories. Earl Grey walks from behind a hedge, inviting himself into your presence without any hesitation. There’s a light spring to his step, like something had put him in a good mood.

This melts away instantly when he sees your downcast gaze, frowning deeply at the pitiful sight. 

“Earl Grey,” you greet with a strained smile. “If you’re looking for my father, I can show you his study.” 

Grey waves off your offer with disinterest, plopping himself down next to you. “There’s no need, I just finished speaking with him.”

You cross your legs at the information, muscles taut and frown deepening further. The investigation into possible racketeering brings a sense of shame, knowing in the depths of your heart your father would never do that. He’s been a lawful man his entire life, instilling in you good morals and reverence of the law.  

It would be impolite to ask for the state of the investigation from Grey, who was assigned to look into the rumors by the Queen. It is still a tempting prospect, but you bite your tongue nonetheless. 

‘How embarrassing… The Earl has only ever seen me in compromising situations such as this.’  

“I wanted to speak to you before I left,” Grey explains, leaning closer to your person. “Not as an interrogation or anything relating to the recent allegations. I’ve been curious about you.” 

Even at his insistence that this is off the record, it does little to help you. In the short time you’ve spoken to him, you’ve found his laid back personality to be off putting. Grey speaks whatever comes to his mind without caring how others might interpret it. This foreign confidence must come as a right to those in high power. 

“About... me?” you repeat back for further clarification, blinking rapidly and tilting your head. 

“We didn’t get to talk as much as I wanted to,” he explains, finding amusement in your wide eyes. Maintaining eye contact never felt so difficult. “And I just so happened to be here. It’s worth taking advantage of.” 

Shifting in your seat, you respond. “I’m all yours then.” 

He picks up on your poorly hidden discomfort with a frown, resting his chin on his hand. 

“Don’t feel the need to be so tense around me,” he chastises, thin eyebrows furrowing together with displeasure. “I liked how you were before more. So open and honest! It’s a breath of fresh air, really. Everyone can be so stiff and boring... it drives me mad.” 

“You must be worried about the ongoing investigation. It’ll be fine, really. There’s been no hard evidence found -- only rumors -- which is a different kind of damaging. But in the eyes of the law, it’s ultimately useless.

He winks, causing your face to flush. “Just a little secret between us.” 

You feel yourself eased by his spontaneously serious words, the affirmation much needed. Offering him a natural smile, you express your heartfelt appreciation.

“Hearing you say that makes all the difference,” you fumble over your words, incapable of hiding the well of emotion within any longer. Putting a gloved hand to your mouth, you continue. “You’ve offered me such kindness.” 

Grey perks up at your gratitude, leaning in closer. “I’m only being honest. I’ve seen the worst humanity has had to offer, but your father is nothing of the sort. And neither are you.” 

Guilt over your previous assessment of the Earl sprouts like a weed within your mind. You thought little of him at first, believing him nothing more than a soul too lighthearted for their own good. But here he is, offering you comfort in one of the darkest seasons in your life despite having nothing to gain from it. If anything, it could be a risk to his own character to associate with you.

Yet he’s here nonetheless. 

“There actually is another reason I wanted to speak to you,” he interrupts your thoughts with an excited hum. “Seeing as your father is almost entirely cleared of suspicion, we had discussed arrangements relating to you. I asked for your hand, and he enthusiastically accepted. Wonderful, right?” 

“W-wait, what?” you sputter in utter disbelief, uncertain of whether or not you’re dreaming. Is Grey being honest with you, or is this a practical joke in the works? Men from lesser standing than him looked over you as a possible wife, what does he stand to gain from this arrangement? 

He seems happy enough to repeat himself. “We’re engaged. There are some little details that still need to be ironed out, but, other than that...” 

You never were expecting to receive news of an engagement like this, your thoughts incoherent. It’ll do little for your image to so clearly reflect your inner feelings, prompting you to gain any semblance of control of your outward reactions.

This is a good thing, after all, perplexing as it is. With his connections and influence, no one would dare question your father’s integrity again. Doing so would be questioning the Queen’s own bodyguards, an extension of herself in many ways. 

Grey looks at you expectantly, unusually silent while giving you a moment to process. From his upbeat, almost sing song tone, you get the feeling he wants this engagement himself. 

“So don’t worry about those things anymore. I’ll be taking care of you from now on, after all,” he hums, looking down at you. Lithe fingers grab hold of a strand of your hair, playing with it. He’s close -- closer than a man has ever been to you -- warm breath hitting your face. “My only request is that you be yourself around me. That’s what drew me to you, and all I care for.” 

Giving you a moment of respite, he tucks your hair back into place. Grey takes in the sight of you. Afternoon sun shining upon your face, highlighting your flushed cheeks, and soft lips. Smiling with contentment, he leans back into his chair, closing his eyes. 

“Do that for me, and we’ll have no problems. A win-win situation.”