#sometimes you are doing Shakespeare in the park and don’t have the time to change in the changing tent

[antigone-ks]

Lantern of Evil

It's been almost 5 years since I posted this on AO3, so I thought it was time to clean up some typos and put it onto Tumblr.

MASTERLIST

Summary:

“You’re in a good mood today,” Natasha commented, holding the phone steady as Tony and Sam devolved into a slap fight. “Haven’t seen you smile this much since, y’know.”

“This is quality entertainment,” Steve said. “You don’t get this every day.”

“No you do not.” She turned the phone toward Bucky, who whistled as he sprinkled sea salt over the meat. He looked up, winked directly at her, then tossed the rest of the seasoning like a long-haired Salt Bae.

“But you seemed pretty chipper when you snuck back in before the show started.”

***

Or, Steve gets de-serumed and falls in love over art, old movies, and taxi dances.

Rating: E for Explicity, Eventually

Tags: Steve Rogers/Reader; Plus Size Reader; Natasha Romanov (Marvel); Tony Stark; Sam Wilson (Marvel); James "Bucky" Barnes; background Bucky/Nat - Freeform; Skinny Steve Rogers; Pre-Serum Steve Rogers; Post-Serum Steve Rogers; De-Serumed Steve Rogers; all of the combinations of serums and Steves; Slow Burn; Awkward Flirting; Awkward reader; Awkward Steve Rogers; neither of these goobers know what they're doing; shameless Letterkenny reference; False Identity; horrible misunderstandings; love in art galleries; love on bridges; love on front porches; will earn rating in later chapters; I hope; inappropriate use of a history degree; Short Reader; Profanity; Fluff; Angst; Fluff and Angst; Smut; Oral Sex; Vaginal Fingering; Making Out; definitely third base; not all-the-way parking but pretty close; Biting; Cunnilingus; Fellatio; Vaginal Sex; Steve wants to be clear that this isn't fucking; Making Love

Chapter One: The Greens of June

And all the greens of June/ Come blowing through the door/ They make me want to live/ Like I never have before

____________________

You settled onto the bench, bag on the floor. The museum had barely opened – a bad sign; it meant you were either blocked or stir-crazy. Or both. Both was bad. You’d had the museum on your list of things-to-do-if-you-had-time, but when you’d first come to town you’d expected that there would never be time. You were getting the change of scenery and relief from responsibilities that you’d always wanted, so of course you never imagined that the same old problems would plague you.

Namely, writer’s block. Imposter Syndrome. “Every word I write is trash and I should sleep in the dumpster”-itis.

You’d gotten this amazing opportunity to take a sabbatical, move half a continent away, and just research the hell out of your magnum opus, a stroke of historical genius. Or what would be your magnum opus, if you could get the damn thing off the ground. Right now it was stuck at brevi opus.

Opus minimis.

You had piles of research, and a good starting point, but you either got stuck on the writing of it or spent days on end organizing the data until the sun coming in the curtains made you feel like a Morlock crawling out of its hole.

So you’d hit the museum.

It’d actually been working pretty well for you, the last few weeks, and you’d started making it part of your routine. Rather than wait for the Bad Times to force you out of the house, you’d come down every two or three days and just . . . pick something. A painting, a sculpture, whatever caught your eye, and you’d study it until your mind felt clear. Sometimes your mind would wander far enough afield that it circled back to your work, and you’d excitedly jot down a new avenue to explore or a turn of phrase you liked. Sometimes you got nothing but a peaceful feeling. Either way, it was good for you, and the initial guilt you’d felt at not being Productive At All Times had faded.

It sort of was productive, anyway. You told yourself so.

For the last couple of visits, you’d sat with Hamilton’s Joan of Arc and the Furies. It was Shakespeare’s Joan, about to be captured by the English and burned for heresy. It’s not . . . good . . . you think, you don’t like it, but there’s something about it. It’s like two different paintings in one, dark and bright, overbearing and reticent.

There aren’t many people around yet, no kiddie camp visits today, so you’re alone in this part of the gallery. The docents are used to you by now, and don’t bother eagle-eyeing you. You lean your chin on your hand and stare hard at Joan, at her Merveilleuse gown, which, like, didn’t Hamilton know she wore pants? Like, famously? But anyway.

“You know,” a deep voice said, “I’ve always wondered what’s going on with the light down by that first fury. What does it symbolize?”

You look over your shoulder at the speaker, a slightly-built blond man with a sketchbook under his arm. He’d shown up a couple of times before, wandering around with more purpose than the average tourist, like he knew which pieces he liked and why. He had a delicate face and serious eyes with just ridiculous lashes. You smiled uncertainly.

“Like, where even is it coming from? Under her skirt?” you ask, and he looks down at you and whoa nelly those are very blue eyes and chuckles.

“Is it the lantern of justice?” he says, quirking an eyebrow.

“Probably not in Shakespeare. Maybe a lantern of evil.”

“She keeps a lantern of evil in her skirt?” He’s smiling openly at you now, and it’s a really nice smile, and that’s the only excuse you have for what comes out of your mouth next.

“Lantern of evil – in my pants!” you chirp, grinning.

His eyebrows shot up and he gave an incredulous hah.

“Like, like the game?” you say hurriedly. “Where you add ‘in my pants’ to a quote, or a movie title?” You can hear your voice rising nervously and fiddle with your glasses to avoid looking at him. “One ring to rule them . . . in my pants?”

He’s laughing now – probably more at you than at the joke – but it’s enough to relax you a little bit.

“I have never played that game,” he said, eyes dancing. “But I know just the person to try it with. I’ve seen you here before,” he went on, glancing back at the painting. The tips of his ears went very pink.

“Yeah, this is turning into my happy place when work’s not going so well.” You look at Joan again and clear your throat. “I think I saw you, too . . . maybe Sunday?” Not that I noticed you. I’m not a creeper. I notice nothing. I can barely see.

He nodded and shrugged. “Probably, yeah. I’ve been here a lot over the past week.”

“Work got you down, too?” you ask. He kind of purses his lips and nods. Taking a breath, you gesture to the empty half of the bench. “Want to share Joan with me? She’ll take your mind off it.”

His smile is a slow, gentle thing, and even though you say nothing more until it’s time to leave, you feel warmer for sitting near him.

***

“Because they’ll clog up the drain.” Tony’s voice is clipped.

“They get rid of odors,” Natasha points out.

“So it was you.”

“You think I drink that light roast nonsense?” She looks up as Steve enters, the light of battle in her eyes. Well, the light of annoying Tony. It’s not hard. “Weak.”

“Now you’re a coffee snob, Romanoff? You – “ Tony points a pair of tongs at Steve “ – do some reconnaissance, rally the troops, whatever it is you do, and catch this villain.”

Steve clucks his tongue and fails to hide a grin. “Coffee grounds again? You know, we could just get a Keurig and solve that problem easily.” He ducks as both Tony and Natasha turn on him, allied in outrage.

“Just for that,” Tony says, “you get whichever steak I overcook.”

Steve eyes the barstools at the island. He can get into them now, but it involves just enough scrambling that it hurts his dignity. No one said anything the first time he did it, not even Tony, and that was somehow worse than teasing would have been. He’s not broken, for God’s sake. He’s a man of temporarily reduced stature. It’ll be fixed in no time, Bruce and Tony and Helen have promised, but . . .

He’d read a book once that described a gnome as a person whose ‘belligerence was compressed into a body six-inches high and, like many things when they are compressed, had an inclination to explode.’[1] Steve didn’t consider himself belligerent – although he had the urge to cross himself in penance and hope that Bucky was in a different building when he thought it – but he did feel like every human emotion was currently packed into a body too small to hold it all. This body didn’t fit, except that it did, and Steve honestly wasn’t sure which feeling was worse.

He leaned against the counter with – he hoped – an insouciant air and nodded at Tony. “’s long as I can gnaw through it.”

“Are you impugning my grilling skills, Rogers?”

“Wait, you’re gonna grill those?” Sam and Bucky entered the kitchen, apparently fresh off a sparring match. Sam’s skin glistened with sweat, and Bucky wasn’t much better off. Sam might not have super serum in his veins, but he wasn’t a pushover in the ring.

“How else d’you cook ‘em?” Bucky asked, wrinkling his nose at Sam.

“You sear ‘em on the stovetop in a cast-iron skillet,” Sam said, holding up one finger, “finish ‘em in the oven,” two fingers, “serve with a garlic-herb butter.” Three fingers, waved in Bucky’s face.

Natasha leaned on the counter next to Steve and pointed her phone toward the argument. “Every time,” she whispered, hitting "record."

“Every time,” Steve answered.

“In the oven? Cook like a man, Sam!”

“Grill makes ‘em too dry,” Sam insisted.

“Hey!” Tony snapped his tongs at Bucky. “My meat. My rules.” He straightened his shoulders under Sam’s withering look. “On the grill, flip once a minute for the good grill marks.”

“That’s overhandling.” Sam’s tone suggested he was heading straight to church to light all of the candles for Tony’s soul.

“Wait – everyone, wait,” Steve broke in. Natasha quirked her lip at him, annoyed that he was ruining the show. He winked at her. “The real issue here is, aren’t you gonna season those things?”

“Yeah, where’s the salt and pepper, bud?” Bucky asked.

“Don’t start with me,” Tony warned.

“Where’s the steak spice,” Sam asked, rummaging through the cupboards. “I made you a steak spice months ago. My own blend, Tony. I gifted it to you. I’m not eating one of your bland-ass steaks again.” Tony abandoned the meat in favor of bodily hauling Sam away from the cupboards, giving Bucky time to grind at least a little peppercorn on each of the steaks.

“ – my steaks alone!” “ – killing the flavor, man. Killing the flavor!” “ – oversalting!” “ – can’t cook ‘em right, you leave it to someone who can!”

“You’re in a good mood today,” Natasha commented, holding the phone steady as Tony and Sam devolved into a slap fight. “Haven’t seen you smile this much since, y’know.”

“This is quality entertainment,” Steve said. “You don’t get this every day.”

“No you do not.” She turned the phone toward Bucky, who whistled as he sprinkled sea salt over the meat. He looked up, winked directly at her, then tossed the rest of the seasoning like a long-haired Salt Bae.

“But you already seemed pretty chipper when you snuck back in before the show started.”

Steve’s eyes were wide with injured innocence. “Snuck? Back in? I –“

“Can it. I don’t care – probably no one will recognize you – but if Tony finds out he’s going to turn into Chicken Little about security.”

“Tony can go lay an egg,” Steve said firmly, making Natasha snort with real laughter.

She sighed. “As hilarious as this is, I’m getting hungry." her voice carried across the kitchen. "Knock it off of or I’m calling Rhodey in.”

Tony straightened, Sam’s arm still around his neck. “Betrayal, Romanoff. I feel betrayed.”

“Yeah, no calling in the brass,” Sam complained. “We can settle this on our own.”

“Better settle that meat on the grill before the others get here,” Steve said. “Want help?”

“Excuse me,” Tony said, affronted. “I can handle the meat.”

The words left Steve’s mouth before he could stop them “ – in my pants?”

Natasha dropped the phone.

____________________

[1] Terry Pratchett, The Fifth Elephant

case/lang/viers – “Greens of June”

And all the greens of June/ Come blowing through the door/ They make me want to live/ Like I never have before

Read Chapter Two

[jroycethethird]

setting: sometime after the full moon, briar-rose’s apartment

featuring: royce van doren iii & briar-rose reed @briarreed

The question that had been on everyone’s mind since they felt something amiss had soon after been answered. A death. There had been a death in the coven. It came as no shock, they had been waiting for some time now to see the end of the curse wrought by Rohan realized, but it hadn’t changed the impact. A life was taken, and someone would forever be changed. This was the baseline fact. When the news broke, there was a sigh of relief but then came the surreal aftershock of it. The Supreme’s sister had been the one to pay the price, and now she was a vampire. Severed from her magic, from that fundamental thing that he suspected in huge part made her who he was. What would Royce himself be without magic? He couldn’t fathom it, couldn’t fathom going through such a drastic change, all in one torrential night.

Royce thought for a flash of a second to read Poppy’s thoughts on it, to glean what she may have been feeling as she addressed the group but ultimately chose against it. Some things he felt were truly too private. Instead he looked at his own sisters among the other witches, looked at the relief and grief stricken looks in their eyes. Relief they were alive and no longer threatened, grief over the loss of another. He wondered how it would have been for him had it been one of them, but Royce couldn’t handle the painful thought for too long. He would be broken, even if they came out immortal and strong after the ordeal. How does one cope? Pushing that fruitless thought aside, he’d made up his mind then and there on what he would do next: He would go and visit Briar-Rose Reed.

It was only right to pay your respects to the dead, after all.

Speeding to a halt on the side of the road, in a spot that was clearly not meant for parking, Royce emerged from his cherry red ‘63 Datsun Roadster in a fine linen suit, hair combed elegantly back from his face. He loathed Downtown, but some tasks came with necessary evil, or so he thought as he tried to follow his phone navigation to her door. He knocked twice, plastered on a pleasant grin when the knob turned… only to be greeted by a giant oaf of a man. A vaguely familiar one at that. “Jimmy?” Royce asked with a furrowed brow. “Jimmy Callahan, what are you doing here?” Did he get the wrong address? He swore he double checked and this was right.

The other man frowned in confusion before slowly responding, speaking each syllable in a way that to Royce felt like the giant was speaking for the first time. “…You know my name is Julian, right? Julian Chandler. Is this some kind of bit?”

Huh, could have sworn it was Jimmy Callahan, Royce thought. “You learn something new everyday,” he waved at the brunette dismissively. “Tomato, Tomahto, whatever Shakespeare said about roses and different names — Say, maybe you can help me, clearly I have the wrong address. I’m looking for Briar-Rose Reed’s home? Is she your neighbor?” The man grew defensive and narrowed suspicious blue eyes at Royce, which he instantly resented.

Jimmy, or, sorry, Julian as he claimed to be, raised a brow, “No, this is her place… Is she expecting you, because you know she’s been through a lot, Van Doren. I think she’d maybe like to be alone—”

”No, she isn’t expecting me, but I assure you it’s a cordial visit,” Royce said, a direct response to the suspicion that was evident in the vampire’s mind. When Julian’s mouth opened to speak again, he quickly cut him off. “Look, it’s Coven business, at least… A final bit of it, if you don’t mind I’d like to talk to her for just a bit.” It was silent and he noticed the way the man turned his head slightly back in the house, his lips barely moving. Royce raised a brow curiously, but only smiled politely when the other man slunk back into the shadows and allowed him space to answer.

It hadn’t been long, following the giant man further in, before he’d seen the girl in question. She didn’t look much different from the last time he’d crossed paths with her, looking just like her ordinary self. Of course, she’d look that way forever. With a small sort of grin, Royce greeted her with a raise of his head. “Briar-Rose,” he sing sang her name. “I’m sure I’m not the first, but let me be the latest to say immortality becomes you,” he said with a small sort of smirk before his features softened to a bit. That was until he spotted the tall shadow lingering in the corner. “…Does your bodyguard ever take a break?” He quipped. “Go on, go on now, Jimbo, go read some books, shoo,” he waved at him. Julian frowned and exchanged a look with Briar before he announced he’d be going to another room. Royce watched the tall man leave and murmured, “Out of sight, but certainly not out of ear shot, hm?” He turned then to the young woman before him.

“The Sup…. Poppy broke the news to the coven,” he started slowly, delicately, trying not to focus on thoughts he figured were burdened with grief and powerfully sad emotions. Emphasis on try. “I know words mean so little, and I’m sure you’ve heard it all, but… I’m very terribly sorry that this happened to you.” He ran through what ifs, a lot of them since he’d started sticking around town more. What if he had taken this job more seriously? What if he’d helped put the foot down more strongly on dark magic usage? What if they could have prevented this? Would she still be normal, whatever that meant in a town like this? He had been quietly responding to the damages the witches did around town in his own way. He gave Todd Miller a job to help him sustain himself in his new life, he offered to help finance the repairs at the hotel and casino, and now he was here. Now Royce was looking a former witch in the eye and trying to give his condolences to all she lost. To the person she no longer was. “May I sit with you? For a bit… I know you’ll think it’s not genuine, and it might not be, but I’m here, at least one final time, as the coven advisor to see a fellow witch. One who I think might just need some company?” He didn’t see Briar-Rose when he looked at her then. He saw Kathy or Cec, his darling little sisters whom he would be devastated to see in that same spot. That was the thought that propelled him to be there. He wasn’t a nice man, not really… but he could try. He thought maybe he had it in him to try this once.

[mrpenguinpants]

Genshin: Roommate HCs [V1]

To be honest, I just wanted to ramble some more and let my brainworms take over. This is sorta late but Happy Valentine’s everyone! I was gonna post this earlier but this honestly took me a long time to write so I moved it to today. 

Once again, this is 90% crack 10% content. Seriously, as much as I love writing this non-serious fics. Why do you people like this?

—

Based off my ramblings with Keqing anon: Link

Genshin: Holding Hands [V1]

Genshin: When you’re cold [V1]

Genshin: University AU [V1]

Genshin: Royalty AU [V1]

[Masterlist]

—

[taglist]  <- if you want to be added, please read this first.

@youaskedfurret @diaxfeliz @wintergreen-aix @kaechu @thegayrubberducky @lovelykittycatmeow @yuunoagivesmelife​  @dokidokisama @rokipersonal​@minakohasmanyhusbandos​ @strwbrry-lia @tigerpriestess​ @yuu-yuukurotsuki​ @hanniejji​  @mikeysbike @unionwitch @musekala @sunnshiii​ @stanzastic @akaasea​ @xoneaboveallx​ @adoring-ghost​ @asheseiler​ @childelover​ @dilucsz​ @dai-tsukki-desu​ @thicmitten​ @nonniechan​ @htnicayh​ @genshins1mpact​ 

---

Diluc

What? Diluc has a roommate? Did you blackmail him in living with you? Is that even possible? Did you throw yourself in front of his car because you needed someone to pay for your student loans and the easiest way was to file a lawsuit? In this economy no one would blame you. Diluc seems like such the self-isolated character that would murder his roommate in cold blood but in reality, he act’s detached from the world because he forgot how to socialize and he’s desperately trying to cover it up without choking. That or he’s trying to learn how to astral project. If he could drink away the pain he would but instead he buys 20 packs of grape Kool-Aid and injects it into his veins. 

Does not and will not ever have a normal sleeping schedule. You’ll wake up to him working, come back home to him working, and will sleep to him still working. His daily dose of Vitamin D is from the brightness of his screen rather than the sun and he’s filter feeding at this point. It’s concerning. He’s going to crumble and he’s bringing the world down with him. Through the power of tax evasion. But as soon as he needs to walk out into society, he pulls movie magic and looks like perfection. It’s both physically and mentally disgusting. 

He’s actually is a really nice roommate to have just so long as you give him space. Great cook and knows to clean up after himself. Though he does have crash and burn days where’s he’s completely out of commission. You could set the entire apartment on fire and he would sleep through it. The entire two weeks are dedicated to zombie eye marathons and then he’ll suddenly collapse and sleep for 46 hours straight. When he wakes up from his hibernation he’s the most groggy and nonsensical person. His life blood is coffee because you keep hiding the 5 hour energy away from him because, you know, life is enjoyable and those cancer bottles will actually kill him.  

“University sucks our money out of our bodies faster than our will to live.” 

Beidou [Happy Birthday Queen 💕]

Despite her appearance, she’s actually really strong and it scares the piss out of you when you’re doing something or scrolling through your phone mindlessly and you suddenly get your spine re-arranged when she slaps you on the back to ask what you’re doing. Likewise, when she hoists you up and throws you over her shoulder so you come with her on her 3am convivence store raids for alcohol. It’s either you change now or else we’re walking out of the apartment in your t-shirt and no pants self. She can and will carry you under her arm that way. It’s both incredibly attractive and horrifying at the same time. 

She’s really friendly and a great talker if you’re alright with her “I must hold you in my arms, fresh prince of bel air style”. It doesn’t matter if you’re taller than her, she’s doing it. She does however, get in a bit of trouble from her rowdiness and you often get noise complaints but Beidou just passes them off to Ningguang and everything is fixed. She has ovaries of steel when neighbors rather confront her personally and she’s ready to 1v1 in the parking lot. You’re trying to desperately hold onto her shirt to stop her from pile driving your neighbors for the third time this week but she’s too strong.  

She’s constant party until we die attitude and suffers the hangover in the morning. It’s actually really funny to catch her in her hangover moods because whatever filter Beidou had, which is none, is gone. She really takes “cursing like a sailor” or the next level and the amount of creativity she comes up with is actually impressive. She can be a bit messy but she’s really likeable and always down to go anywhere with you as long as you’ll do the same. It’s a very ride together, we die together situation. You’re my best friend, you’re dying with me. I’ll see you in hell. 

“Imma T pose over my dad and then crash the car into the parking garage.” 

Kaeya

Kaeya on the surface seems like such a chill roommate. And he is for the most part. But he’s such an ass. Your things are his things, no questions asked. If you just bought a really nice sweater or you had leftover food, that’s his now. He’s innocent until proven guilty even if he’s literally holding your lunch. The pure amount of bullshit he can spit out to convince you that no, he did not pull the fire alarm because he wanted an excuse for not going to work, puts him on Shakespeare level. He’s also very pretty, way too pretty, sir can you share some of your genes? 

But aside from that, he’s actually super dependable. You forgot something at home? Sure, he has nothing better to do so he can bring them for you. We’re missing eggs? No problem, he’s just by the store. You’re 95% sure that he just wants to be cheeky and make you thank him for 20 minutes before he actually hands you what you asked for. It’s better for you if you never tell him anything you’re afraid of because Kaeya has no social cues, or more like he throws them out the window, and he’s probably a psychopath. 

He’s incredibly private of his room and things despite his attitude towards yours. You’re convinced he either has a secret lab or that’s where he’s storing the bodies. I was the good guy but due to unfortunate circumstances, I need to stab a bitch. But he’s a really good serious talker for those 3am, because everything happens at 3am, talks about life and the meaning of the universe. It absolutely wrecks your sleep schedule but some of the things you talk about are the most crackhead things like what’s the lowest amount of money someone would have to pay you to walk outside without clothes? It’s a legitimate question. 

“Never before have I been so offended with something I 100% agree with.”

Jean

Okay, what world did you save in a past life to live with his absolutely wonderful woman? Mother Teresa take a load off, take a seat. You have nothing to worry about. She’ll bring home little treats back home and it’s the most wholesome thing ever?? Is this what love and affection feels like? We’ve been starved for so long. She says it’s not a big deal and anyone would do it BUT THE MOMENT SOMEONE BUYS FOOD FOR YOU. IT’S A MAGICAL MOMENT. They are forever stuck in your will until proven otherwise. An absolute ray of sunshine that must be protected. 

She does get super busy so you don’t often see each other or get to hang out as much. She’s a bit of a workaholic but a lot more easier to talk her into taking a break. She’s also a pretty decent cook but she prefers baking and jesus christ, girl can you calm down? Be still my beating heart, I’ve been smitten. Has mother hen vibes that you’re not sure if she’s your roommate or if she adopted you into her family. It’s time to start a petition for the Jean protection squad. Given the opportunity, I would aggressively hold your hand. 

She’s always open to whatever you want to do. Any recommendations or things that you like she will try out at least once despite her busy schedule. She’s lowkey lonely because work consumes her so any time you want to hang out or do something together, she jumps on it like she’s feral. She get’s a bit shy to ask if she can join in on your plans because she doesn’t want to bother you or intrude no matter how many times you tell her that’s okay, she still get’s a bit iffy about it. Please save this girl before she trips. In your arms. Platonically. Just kidding haha. Unless?

“I can’t wait to see you happy and not hating everyone again haha.”

Childe

First impressions of Childe were great, until he opened his mouth and you realized how much of a two brain cell child(e) he was. He has two braincells because they constantly have to 1v1 in his brain. He’s lived with a lot of siblings so he has no social awareness or concept of privacy that you’re lucky if you come home and he’s half-dressed. It doesn’t matter if you’re 2 weeks older than him, he’s going to call you 82 years old and why your bones aren’t being fossilized at this point. He’s such a little shit, this fucker licks the yogurt lid peel.  

He get’s really restless when he’s stuck under house arrest, because apparently 1v1ing in the parking lot of a Wendy’s is illegal for some reason, so he makes dying whale noises until he get’s to go outside again. But he’s actually a really wholesome guy, probably because of his younger siblings, that he’ll sometimes get you something because you seemed down and it’s such whiplash? Who is this man and where did he come from? You’re starting to have a change of heart before he tells you that he got banned from the library for accidently punching the school’s computer. How you “accidently” punch something you have no idea but Childe always comes home with some sort of injury. Maybe he’s just incredibly clumsy. For your sanity, you’re going to go with that. 

He’s actually so uncultured that it’s crippling. You can’t blame him too much considering his upbringing and it’s great that he’s so interested in learning new things but...child no...It makes you want to take your spine out of your ass and rip it like a Beyblade. Watching him take chopsticks and stab his food like it’s marshmallows makes you want to fall into a blackhole and let the chair consume you. 

“I, too, fantasize about beating the living shit out of people.”

---

Is this another tag yourself game cause I resonate with Diluc. I’m crying in insomnia. As much as I enjoy writing these fics I absolutely hate tagging them. I remember I used to have a tag anon but that was back when I wrote for bnha. 

Valentine’s Day was fun tho. I had a drinking game with friends as we played league then ended it off with a movie night. 

[theexleynatureblog]

To Be, or Not To Be Invasive

European Starling, invasive to North America.

Anyone familiar with Shakespeare’s works knows he liked to include birds in his play, including starlings, nightingales, and skylarks. All these birds are native to Europe. 

Some of you may already recognize one of these pesky birds, but not in the UK. Starlings managed to cross an ocean to wreak havoc on native bird species. They have now become one of North America’s most common species, out competing other birds for food and nest sights. This article by Walter D. Koenig, of the University of California, Berkley, goes further into depth of the environmental consequences of these birds.

In summary, every species of plant and animal adapts and evolves for its specific environment. Sometimes these adaptions are obvious, like dolphins having fins to swim instead of legs to walk. Sometimes, they are less obvious. How different can a bird from Europe be from a bird in America? They are in fact very similar, as that they occupy the same ‘niche’ or ‘role’ in the environment. They eat some of the same stuff, or forage in the same way as birds in the US. 

Now, a lot of native species eat the same bugs and berries. This should lead to competition between them, but birds have figured out ingenious ways around this! 

This little picture shows the same tree with different kinds of warblers. The parts of the tree shaded black are where those particular warblers like to forage. Although there is some overlap, every bird has a different place in the tree that decreases competition and allows similar birds to coexist. Darwin’s Finches are another great example, except instead of territory, the birds differentiate themselves by beak shape.

So, if this is the case, why can’t starlings just find their own little gig? The thing is, this process can take hundreds of years if it is behavior, and over thousands if it requires a physical adaption. 100-and-so-years is a blink of an eye in evolutionary time. Evolution is a constant and too-slow-to-see-happening process over time. The environment changes slowly enough for the plants and animals to just barely keep up with it. If a major change happens quickly (something that’s been happening a lot recently thanks to humans) organisms don’t have time to respond, and they die. This can be caused by anything - volcanoes, major and unusual floods, rises in temperature, and invasive species.

The European Starling doesn’t even have to adapt, it has it’s own method - bullying. Its size and aggressive nature get to the food first before any other bird. If they see an occupied nest they like, they’ll simply evict the current family -and even unhatched eggs. They also have large broods of quick-growing chicks. Starlings can out-number and out-compete other species.

Flock of Starlings

Hopefully by now I’ve made you see some of the dangers of releasing exotic species into a non-native habitat. If my explanation is good, you all should agree ‘yeah, Starlings do not belong here, we need to get rid of them if we care about bird diversity in North America.’ Perhaps some of you are thinking ‘Wow, this is really bad. Why did we release these birds here in the first place?’ I’ll tell you, but fair warning, the story may cost you a little faith in humanity.

Central Park, New York City, USA.

I will start this story by explaining something about Europe. Since medieval times and until the last century, Europeans sucked at wildlife management. They had this idea that land was property only available to the royal and rich. Kings hunted for sport, large ‘scary’ carnivores like wolves and bears were hunted to extinction, and then, they went all across the world spreading their poor ideas of ‘wildlife management’, including into America which, up until settlers arrived, had bountiful populations and diversity thanks to the native groups. By 1900′s, a lot of animals were over, on, or near the brink thanks to combined habitat loss, habitat loss, and a need for ‘aesthetic.’

You see, Europeans had this habit of taking a little piece of home with them to new colonies. This meant planting native European trees and plants in their yard, bringing livestock and pets, and in some extreme cases, releasing wild animals.

Does this sound like a bad idea? Oh yeah - but as I was explaining earlier, Europeans had a horrible understanding of wildlife and management. People didn’t know much about food webs or niches or disease spread - they wanted to hunt wild boar and see birds that reminded them of home.

That brings us to 1890′s New York City, where a German immigrant wanted to do just that. Eugene Schieffelin was a rich kid - son of a lawyer - and a drug manufacturer. He also happened to be an ‘amateur’ ornithologists and a fan of Shakespeare. He was a member of various scientific communities (even though his background in science seems a little shaky).  The New York Genealogical and Biographical Society, New York Zoological Society, and the American Acclimatization Society of which Schieffelin was a founding member. The groups aim was quite literally to exchange plants and animals across the globe. Back then apparently, you could be a member of three different scientific communities and still be a complete idiot.

The American Acclimatization Society had previously released various birds based on Shakespeare’s plays, but non of them had taken (hmm I wonder why...). That is, until Schieffelin released 60 starlings on a cold sleet-y day in Central Park. 

The birds finally took, and they haven’t stopped.

So, today America is stuck with over 200 million of these birds thanks to a rich white boy playing scientists who stood Shakespeare a little too hard.

Now, we got this invasive species - so what do we do?

Nothing much, apparently. Even though its becoming increasingly clear how much of a danger this bird is to native wildlife, it’s starry feathers still saves its feathery rump under the umbrella of aesthetic appeal. While they are not protected under the Migratory Bird Treaty Act, they are also not hunted nor systematically removed. Its funny, we did this so easily to pigeons and bison in the 1700′s with less people and equipment.

The birds are only removed if they are causing direct human interference, like it they are nesting in a house or in an area where scientists are trying to conduct research. An those cases, traps are set and exterminators called. Much of the effort goes to prevention - using electric shock or metal spikes to keep the birds from nesting/roosting on building ledges. Harassment only produces temporary results, and poisoning is too non-targeted to be effective. Traps can only get a few birds at a time, and must be maintained and checked constantly. Shooting may be one of the only options, except its not practical in a suburban or urban neighborhood.

I know it sounds cruel. It is by no means the fault of the bird for doing bird-stuff. In fact, it is the fault of humans for bringing the birds here, and we must make that right.

Sources:

BBC

Smithsonian

The History Blog

Western Extermination Company

NYIS info

[villainousshakespeare]

Bobby’s Playdate Part 2

Part 1

The pandemic is keeping Tom idling in London by himself. One positive is that wearing the mask helps him avoid recognition, allowing him to wander in the park with his dog, Bobby. On one of their walks, Bobby becomes smitten with a dog named Lulu and Tom is equally enchanted by her human. Can the Hiddleston men manage to find a way to see the lovely ladies again?

Tom Hiddleston/OFC

Chapter 2 of4

Rated M - Pandemic, Fluff, Quarantine, Masks, Adorable Puppies, Meet Cute, Second Part May (will) Contain Smut

@yespolkadotkitty @just-the-hiddles @hopelessromanticspoonie @wine-and-whines @arch-venus25 @caffiend-queen @devilish–doll @enchantedbyhiddles @hiddlesholic @i-do-not-fangirl-i-fanwoman @kellatron55 @ladyoftheteaandblood @latent-thoughts @gorgeous1974 @maryxglz @myoxisbroken @nuggsmum @nildespirandum @pedeka @redfoxwritesstuff @sinfully-lustful-darling @vodka-and-some-sass @wrathkitty @kingtwhiddleston @wolfsmom1 @poetic-fiasco @shiningloki @dangertoozmanykids101 @bookworm-christina @thecutestlittlebunbunfairy @amwolowicz @delightfulheartdream @frostbitten-written @what-a-flammable-heart @tom-hlover @nonsensicalobsessions @myraiswack @loki-yoursaviourishere, from-hel-i-with-love, @sweetsigyn, @fictiondoesitbetter, @ms-cellanies @evieplease @viviennes-tears @turniptitaness @cynic-spirit @spooky1980 @ghostypau @viviennes-tears @lady-loki-ren

I am so sorry I took so long to update this! First I was distracted by a super busy week, and then I decided to rework what I had in store for it. It took a while to redo, but I have decided to make it a 4 part story. Hope you enjoy, and that the wait was worth it!

The day had started out like every other since the lock down began. Leia had slept late, having no where to go. A cold, wet kiss on her nose from Lulu woke her up when the pup could no longer wait to be let out and grumbling she had taken her out for a quick walk up and down the block. After two cups of coffee and some melon, Leia had realized that after three months of enforced solitude, both she and her dog had gotten decidedly surly. It was time to get out, even if it was only to the local park.

Lulu’s excitement when she took out the little pink and white checked dress had been enough to put a smile on Leia’s face. Really, the small dog was a ridiculous creature, but she could be such a bundle of sunshine. After they were both outfitted – Lulu in her dress and Leia in a comfy outfit and mask, they made their way to the nearby park, enjoying a leisurely stroll around the newly green paths. She wished that Lulu was not too timid to play in the dog run, but after spending a year in the shelter the poor thing was terrified of other dogs.

That was why she was so surprised when Lulu’s tale began to wag excitedly. Normally she would have been cowering and whimpering in fear at the sound of another dog approaching, but for once her reaction was completely different. She jumped up from where she had been snuggling on Leia’s lap and perked up her ears, tongue lolling out happily. When the chocolate spaniel came trotting around the bend, she even jumped of Leia and strained at the leash to meet him.

Keeping a tight hold on Lulu’s leash, Leia let her eyes travel up the lead attached to the strange dog. It was quite a long trip, as it happened, past a pair of long legs in torn jogging pants, a faded shirt that would once have been bright blue, and a plain black mask until she got to a set of smiling blue eyes that made her heart stop.

“I’m sorry,” the man said, “I promise he is completely friendly.”

She had known who he was instantly, of course. No face mask could disguise those cheek bones, the copper curls that brushed his collar, or the baby blues that had sent a million fan girls swooning. If she had had any doubts, one word from that sinful voice, a verbal caress of polite friendliness, would have stamped it out. She had seen almost all of his movies, after all, and quite a number of his promotional appearances as well.

“It’s okay, so is she,” she replied struggling to keep her voice normal and grateful for the mask that hid her stunned initial gape. “You know, she’s usually quite shy, but she seems to like him! May I pet him?”

And then Tom Hiddleston –  The Tom Hiddleston! – had sat down on the bench next to her while she petted Bobby and struck up a casual conversation! She had kept her eyes on the pups at first, afraid that if she looked at him, he would see the excitement and intimidation in her eyes. He introduced himself, needlessly, of course, and she gave him her name in a kind of daze. She realized that he had only provided his first name and had the quick flash of insight that he might be enjoying the idea of anonymity. If that were the case, she would not want to spoil it for him by gushing. Uncertain of what to do, she let the obvious joke about her name lead her to mentioning Marvel characters. That way, she decided, he would have a segue to talking about his career should he want to. When he let it slide and quickly changed the subject, she decided that her assumption must have been correct.

Which was absolutely fine with her! She was sitting and talking to Tom Hiddleston! While she would, of course, love to pick his brain about Loki, or Shakespeare, or any of a dozen projects, she was more than happy to listen to him discuss his dog in that proud pappa voice. By the time she had told him the story behind Lulu’s dress excitement she was reasonably settled and could actually manage to look him in the eye without blushing.

She had met a few famous people in her time as a London tour guide, and many of them had been a colossal let down. Tom was not one of them. He was everything she had ever imagined or hoped he would be. Kind, funny, clever, a little prone to talk on about any subject he happened on, but in all a delightful conversation partner. She was disappointed but not surprised when he had to leave, but she didn’t want to be too greedy; it was already one of the most magical afternoons of his life. When he mentioned running into them again, she almost squealed with excitement, just barely managing to keep her face impassive.

Thus began a fairy tale of month for Leia and Lulu. After two days of rain, during which she was certain he would forget all about her, they had found the boys again at the same spot. Leia half wondered if she were simply dreaming, but if so, she had no desire to wake up. They met up with Tom and Bobby most days, walking for hours sometimes as they discussed London, their childhoods, school. She learned quickly that he changed the subject instinctively whenever anything came up that might lead to his career. She could respect that. It must be hard, she thought, being always in the public eye. For her own part, Leia tacitly decided to keep the subject of her book a secret. After all, a fantasy story based on Norse Mythology, with Loki playing a leading role, was bound to bring up the sort of conversation he obviously wished to avoid.

As time went on, she began to forget he was a movie star and just think of him as her friend, insane as that struck her when she stopped to look at it. Oh, she was still absurdly attracted to him, but it was no longer for his stunning character portrayals or teasing banter with interviewers. No, the teasing banter she was interested in now was much more personal for her. He was delightful company, unfailingly polite, quick with a wickedly funny comment or a profound musing on life. In short, Leia was well and truly smitten. Hopelessly, she thought with a sigh.

When he invited her to his home, she could barely believe it. A casual acquaintance in the park was one thing, a dinner chez Hiddleston was completely different. She knew it was in large part for the sake of the puppies, and that was fine. Lulu was as besotted with Bobby as Leia was with Tom, only in this case it was obviously mutual. Leia would just have to be careful to guard her heart. She was not a part of his real life, and she needed to remember that, even if they never discussed it.

***

Bobby started barking seconds before the buzzer rang, his tail wagging back and forth at a frantic pace. Tom, scarcely less excited, gave a quick glance in the mirror before slipping on his mask and opening the door.

Leia stood on his doorstep looking even more lovely than usual. Her simple leggings and long tee had been replaced by a pretty, floral sundress in shades of red and yellow and her hair, usually tied up or back, was long and curling about her shoulders. Tom swallowed and tried to keep his eyes from doing too obvious an up and down of her body. It was difficult, considering the shape of her legs and amount of them showing. Lulu’s yip drew his eyes down to her, and he saw that she was dressed in a purple polka dotted number for the evening, her hair sporting several sparkly clips to keep her braids from coming undone.

“Hi, welcome!” he greeted them, straining to keep Bobby from leaping out the door. “Won’t you come in?”

“Thanks,” she smiled with her eyes as he ushered her inside.

“You found the place alright?”

“Your directions were perfect,” she assured him, glancing around at his newly bare entryway. “It’s quite the posh street you live on! I don’t think I’ve ever been into one of these houses.”

“Oh, it’s just like any other home,” he said modestly, feeling stupid as he did. His house had an electronic gate (that he had left unlocked for her) and a private surveillance system. He knew it was not the usual home. “I can give you a tour later if you like.”

“I’d love that. Whatever you have cooking smells delicious!”

“Thanks. I’ll have to check on it in a bit. For now, though, why don’t we go out back? I have some drinks chilling.”

He gestured for her to proceed him and subtly steered her past the kitchen and living room and out the sliding glass doors into the back. The yard was pretty, a nice square plot with flowers growing along the fence on three sides and one large tree giving shade. A table with four chairs and a grill stood on a little stone area, and Tom had set it up with a selection of glasses for beer, wine, and mixed drinks. A pitcher of iced water stood next to a bottle of dry rose in an ice bucket, and another small bucket contained iced beers.

“Here you go, Bobby,” he unleashed the spaniel who instantly tore off around the yard, looking for his favorite toy. “Why don’t you two have a nice frolic.”

“Oh Lulu, this will be fun!” Leia cooed to her pup, also removing her dog’s leash.

As the little dog scampered off after Bobby, Tom took a deep breath and turned to her owner. Now was the moment he had been waiting for.

“I suppose since we are alone and outside and all… as long as we stay six feet apart… would you mind?” he gestured towards his mask.

“Not at all. Oh, and I got my negative test results back. I have a copy on my phone if you want to see them!” she offered.

“No need, I trust you,” he was quick to assure her. “I got mine as well.”

It was strange – until a few months ago he would have felt tremendously awkward wearing a mask around another person. Even when he had needed to wear one for a few scenes in Only Lovers Left Alive it had seemed tremendously cumbersome and rather silly. Now though, Tom realized that he could not remember the last time he had been around another person without one. There was something shockingly intimate in the act of taking it off in front of Leia, and he found himself feeling almost shy. Blushing a bit, he unhooked the straps from around his ears and took the fabric from in front of his mouth, setting it on one of the chairs.

His eyes fastened on her as she reached up to do the same, the red mask peeling away to reveal a small bow of a mouth, pink lips curved in a slight smile. Her chin was slightly pointed and had a cute little half dimple to one side. Smile lines were just barely visible and added to the appeal of her face. It was a very kissable mouth, he decided.

“Hi,” he said, rather fatuously, face breaking into a sheepish grin. “I’m Tom.”

“Hi Tom,” she smiled back, and his heart skipped a beat. “I’m Leia.”

They stood there for a moment, staring at each other, until he cleared his throat and pointed to a chair.

“Please, have a seat,” he managed to say. “As you see, I have wine, beer, water, or I could make you a cocktail if you’d rather. Or lemonade if you prefer a soft drink…” he realized he was babbling and cut himself off.

“Wine would be nice,” she said, sitting down and crossing one long leg over the other, giving him a lovely glimpse of her thigh.

“Right, wine it is,” he said, uncorking the bottle and grabbing a glass. “I hope it’s alright. My sister loves this brand, she brought it when she was here last, and it is better than anything I would have known to get.”

“Not a wine guy?” she asked, accepting the glass from him.

“Oh, I like a good hearty red with a steak now and then, and I will definitely have some with dinner tonight – I hope you like Italian, by the way – but for casual drinking, I’m more of a beer or scotch fan myself.”

While he prattled on Tom opened up one of the beers and poured it into a pint glass. When the foam had gone down a bit, he raised the glass and tilted it towards her.

“To deepening new friendships,” he dared to say, eyes finding hers.

They clinked their glasses, and he took a long sip of the hoppy beverage, hoping he hadn’t over stepped.

“To embracing human interaction!” she added. “Selectively, of course.”

Well, she obviously didn’t recognize him. That was a relief. He had been half worried that she would shriek, or become tongue tied, or worse. It was remarkable to him how many women seemed to have extreme reactions to meeting him. He was so ordinary! Just an overgrown ginger kid from Wimbledon. It wasn’t like they were meet Daniel Day Lewis for god’s sake. On the other hand, he couldn’t help feeling the tiniest twinge of disappointment. He worked hard at his job, after all, and was proud of the reputation he had developed and of the work he had done. It was strange, with how up on everything Leia always seemed, that she didn’t have any knowledge of Marvel at least, or The Night Manager. Still, some people didn’t watch a lot of movies and TV, or if they did it was more intellectual fare.

They both leaned back in their chairs and watched the dogs play chase back and forth. Tom found his eyes drifting back to her, staring at her mouth. He had never realized just how much a person’s mouth said about them. Leia’s smiled as a default, giving her a more youthful look than she had when it was covered. There was something fresh and approachable about her that he was drawn to.

The conversation was light and easy. Neither of them had been doing much of anything lately, so they resorted to telling older stories from their childhoods. Tom was amused to think of Leia playing with her friends, insisting that no, she wanted to be Han Solo despite what her thoughtless parents had named her. Tom, of course, had wanted to play all of the characters, and delighted her with his spot-on Darth Vadar and Grand Moff Tarkin impressions.

“You were a terror, weren’t you?” she laughed as he described bossing his sister about the correct way to make the light saber noises.

“A bit, yeah,” he admitted. “Emma and Sarah would probably say more than a bit. They had it coming though.”

“I’m sure they would agree with that, too,” she said sarcastically.

“It’s not my fault they couldn’t take direction,” he grinned. “I’m sure you would have made an excellent Han Solo. With the proper lessons.”

“Perhaps you can make me your student after dinner, if we have enough wine,” she suggested.

He knew she meant it innocently enough, but he felt a blush creep up his cheeks at the image her words planted in his mind. Leia in a schoolgirl outfit, bent over his desk flashing through his brain was enough to make him reach for his beer and gulp down more than was advisable. She seemed to realize after a moment, as she too reached for her glass and took a long swallow.

Lulu chose that moment to break away from where they had been digging around the tree and came running over to them, something grimy hanging from her mouth.

“What have you got there, peanut?” Leia sked, sounding a bit relieved.

“She seems to have unearthed one of Bobby’s treasures,” Tom smiled, glad of the distraction himself.

“Here, princess, you want me to throw it for you?”

Leia held out her hand and she happily dropped the toy into it. Tom looked at the toy and felt his jaw go slack and his eyes frantic. It was Loki. Of course it was. One of Bobby’s favorite toys, naturally, given to him during the lead up to one of the movies, the thick ropes of green and gold formed a long God of Mischief chew toy/tug of war combo, complete with horns. Tom licked his lips, glancing quickly at Leia, only to see that she was smiling down at her fluffy pup.

“Oh, Lulu, Look! It’s just like yours, only a bit more loved,” she said with a laugh. “Good girl, saving the handsome prince from a shallow grave. Loki never stays dead for long!”

With another laugh she took the toy and threw it across the yard, Lulu and Bobby both quickly scampering off after it. Tom gaped at her, uncertain what to say.

“You must have a lot of those,” she commented off handedly.

“You… you know?” he stammered.

“Know what?”

“Who I am?” it sounded stupid and conceited to his own ears.

“Well, I hope so since I’m in your home.”

“No, I mean you know what I do for a living,” he ground out, feeling like an utter ass.

“Of course,” she told him, quirking her lips.

“Since when?” he choked out.

“Since the first day. You’re not exactly easy to mistake, Tom.”

“Why didn’t you say anything?”

“You didn’t seem to want to talk about it. I figured it must get old, people falling all over themselves around you, treating you like you’re not even human.”

“Yeah. Yeah it does.”

“So I took my cue from you.”

“I see,” he was completely flummoxed. “And you have a Loki toy? For Lulu, I mean?”

“Of course, he’s our favorite! Poor, misunderstood boy. You know, I am glad I have the opportunity to tell you now how good you are. And not just as Loki. You were breath taking in Betrayal.”

“You saw Betrayal?”

“Twice. Stunning work.”

He knew his mouth was opening and closing stupidly, but he couldn’t seem to stop it. She had known, all this time. She had been humoring him by not talking about it. He was not entirely sure how to feel about that.

“Tom is everything alright?” she asked, sounding concerned.

“Was that why you talked to me?” he heard himself asking. “Why you agreed to come over? Because I am famous?”

“No,” she said slowly. “I came over because you asked, and because I like you. Yes, I was a bit star struck at first, but I got past it. Are you angry? I just assumed you realized.”

“No. No, I didn’t. I… I should go check on dinner.”

“Tom, really, are you okay?”

“Yeah, absolutely. Be right back.”

Turning tail, he fled into the house, mind in complete turmoil at the new turn of events.

[envyofthegods]

here is my headcanons for which taylor swift album would be each of the dead poets favourite and why. 

neil perry: folklore 

- i feel like this is self explanatory

- literally taylors rendition of shakespeare 

- it has incredible storytelling and lyricism which neil is a sucker for and also big escapism energy, which lets be honest is one of the reasons neil loves acting so much

- its cottagecore meets magic/fairy vibes which imo is neil to a T 

- ‘mirrorball’ was literally written about him 

- his favourite song is ‘cardigan’

- he has definitely cried while listening to ‘this is me trying’ 

todd anderson: evermore and red

- sad boi hours 

- lets face it todd is one of those people who loves to cry. he likes to go somewhere quiet to just sit alone and let it all out and these two albums are his go to for that 

- he’s also a hopeless romantic at heart so all the love songs hit him in all the best ways (hes definitely a secret stay stay stay stan)

- mans is a poets so he loves good lyricism. between ‘all to well’, ‘state of grace’, ‘champagne problems’, ‘coney island’, ‘evermore’ and a bunch more, both these albums knock it out of the park. 

- ‘gold rush’ was literally written about todd the minute he laid eyes on neil

- his favourite season is autumn

charlie dalton: reputation 

- this man loves people standing up for themselves 

- he definitely cried listening to the album knowing taylor was doing better after what happened to her

- this man HATES bullies. (thanks to nolan and his dad)

- he definitely screams ‘this is why we cant have nice things’ at the top of his lungs whenever it comes on 

- his favourite song is ‘don’t blame me’ (he definitely has a thing for religious undertones when it comes to sex) 

- he’s a ‘getaway car’, ‘cruel summer’, ‘august’, ‘gold rush’ stan

- he secretly really likes all the love songs (don’t tell the other poets) and he sometimes listens to ‘gorgeous’, ‘call it what you want’ and ‘delicate’ when he’s alone and daydreams about meeks like a lovesick puppy

steven meeks: fearless and lover

- meeks and pitts are fearless stans all the way. they definitely became swifties during fearless era so it has sentimental value and they also just LOVE her country stuff

- meeks also adores lover. he thinks its some of her best work and he also just loves how happy and good vibes it is, while still being so lyrically and sonically impressive 

- hes definitely a sucker for a good fairytale romance so his favourite song is ‘love story’. he’s just glad romeo and juliet could have a happy ending for a change 

- paper rings is his favourite song off lover and he can’t not dance if it comes on. he also made charlie and him matching paper rings when the album came out. 

- meeks loves his family a LOT so ‘the best day’ also has a special place in his heart

gerard pitts: fearless

- he and meeks joined the fandom in fearless era so its very nostalgic for him 

- pittsy loves taylors country vibes and he’s secretly also a debut stan 

- his favourite song is ‘the other side of the door’. he sings along to the bridge and outro at the top of his lungs every single time

- he definitely went through an intense country music phase at some point bc of taylor but in the end only her stuff really stuck long term. 

- he’s hoping for her to make another country album some day 

(fanon) knox overstreet: 1989

- this man loves pop music. but not just popular music, music that sounds like proper GOOD pop.  

- ‘style’ is definitely his favourite song 

- he also loves ‘out of the woods’ and thinks the bridge is a masterpiece. he definitely accidentally got deep into the vehicular manslaughter theory

- at some point he tried using ‘how you get the girl’ to actually get a girl

-  he thinks ‘shake it off’ is amazing and will come after anyone who disses it

- cried the first time he listened to clean (i feel like his sister went through some kind of mental illness) 

[detectivedamian]

As usual, following Jon unintentionally breaking Damian’s heart, Jon realizing he’s head over heels for his best friend, and the ensuing miscommunication:

Damian approaches Jon with a ticket to an expensive, exclusive cruise. Jon is skeptical at first: who else is coming along? Nobody, Damian assures him. This is strictly between the two of them-- and he needs to keep it quiet. Jon, of course, is elated. A cruise! Over summer break, their most sentimental, important season! How romantic! He’s swooning the whole trip over, imagining all of the adventures they’re going to go on and all of the memories they’re going to make.

And then they get to the cruise, and actually their tickets are complementary as they’re meant to be masquerading with an all-kids group whose members keep going missing. This is a mission. Damian is very confused about why Jon is snippy and moody the whole trip.

---------------------------------

At some point, Jon gets into trouble as Superboy. He gets his body swapped with some female artist visiting Metropolis. This chick is somebody Damian has told him time and time again that he appreciates, that her art is dark and it feels like she understands where he’s coming from, she isn’t a “simpleton”, and he can sense the maturity and artistic integrity in everything she does. Jon, of course, is jealous, he’s totally convinced Damian likes this girl. So while Kon and the girl (in Jon’s body) are looking for a way to undo this, Jon decides to go mess with Damian a little.

How funny would it be if the “mature, poetic, distinguished” girl of Damian’s dreams shows up and acts more like Jon? Hah!

Well, not very funny, actually, because Jon quickly finds that, while put off and confused, Damian kind of seems to like her-- him? Jon her. He suggests the same things he did as Jon, the paddle boat, sitting closer, reading romantic Shakespeare pieces together, and Damian goes pink, but does it all without complaint. When Jon reaches across the boat the take Damian’s hand, Damian actually squeezes it and looks into his (her) eyes. Jon is actually starting to get a little upset that this was so easy, and not to mention, he’ll have to return to his own body sometime.

But then again, this is everything he’s ever wanted. To be with Damian, to be in a romantic setting, to have Damian looking at him like that. He pulls Damian closer, and he leans in.

Then Damian presses a finger to his lips. Jon’s eyes pop open in surprise, and behind the finger, he mutters “something wrong?”

Damian looks sad and says “You understand pain better than anyone else, any competent artist could tell as much from your portfolio.” Jon is confused. Damian’s eyes become dark, and he lowers his head. “I was drawn in by your work, you know why?” Jon blinks and laughs nervously, because no he has no idea why? And Damian sighs and says “That collection you debuted in Metropolis was inspirited by a broken heart, was it not?” Jon, of course, agrees, because what else is he going to do? So Damian continues to say: “That is where my heart is, too. I do not usually speak of these things, but my love has been unrequited for some time, and the longer it goes on, the more I fear myself a fool.” And Damian explains-- how upon meeting her, he was shocked to find she was in fact cut not from his cloth, but his... friend’s, that being with her today has given him a taste of what could have been. But, he laments, this person is his friend, only his friend, and the closer they get, the harder it is to hide how he feels. Things keep happening that get his hopes up, but he knows it’s all in his head. This friend could never see him that way.

Jon takes both of his hands, asks him who this person is, because he’s pretty sure it’s him but he needs to know. Damian opens his mouth to respond, but the creature responsible for this little body swap intervenes before Jon can hear his confession.

From here, Jon now has to fight this thing in a totally human body, and Damian has to protect him (her). It’s in the midst of this fight that Kon and this girl (in Superboy’s body) show up. Damian starts barking at her to do something useful, and she’s very confused about why this random kid is talking to Superboy like this. Meanwhile Jon in her body, next to Damian, is gesturing for her not to respond, and he yells out “Grab it by the tail!” Which she does.

Damian takes this as an opportunity to end this, while it’s distracted, but unfortunately for him, this thing is a little too aware of what’s happening-- Damian gets  hit or two in with a tree branch he found, but it’s useless. It grabs his body and throws him across the park. Jon helplessly watches, hand extended, as Damian gets flung a football field’s distance, and the girl flies after Damian.

This is when the body switch happens again. In his panic, and with the willpower only a super holds, and her urgency to not have the traumatic experience of watching somebody die, Jon and this girl switch bodies again.

Damian’s flying through the air, wincing, trying to grab any tree that passes by just to slow himself to a halt. But then there are arms around him, and he’s pulled into somebody’s chest. Jon, now back in his body, takes the brunt of the damage, which is nothing at all to him. They roll around a few times, until they land with Jon on top of him. Damian slowly opens his eyes to see Jon, who is smiling down at him. Damian is breathless as Jon looks over his face and says: “You okay...?” He can see the red in Damian’s face, and he just kind of... knows. It’s him. Damian’s in love with him.

Damian blinks back to life and wacks him on the chest, yelling, “We’re in the middle of a battle here, Superboy! Head on the field!”

With Superboy back in his body, and Kon there to help, the creature is taken care of pretty fast. Superboy lands with Damian on his arm, and the girl, now back in her body, comes running over. Her entire personality has changed, Damian notices with some bewilderment; she’s a lot more monotone and smooth, charming but the way a witch in the forest is. Nevertheless, Damian takes her hand and presses a kiss to it, thanking her for her time, today. She’s amused, Jon is twitching behind Damian’s shoulder, fuming. Jon crosses his arms and pouts while Damian says the last of his goodbyes.

Jon decides to keep this whole thing his little secret.

---------------------------------

From here on, though, Jon is more sure of himself when he tries to get mushy with Damian.

Instead of turning around for Robin to climb on his back, Superboy wraps an arm around Robin’s waist and pulls them flush together. (Damian sputters and gets snippy and demands not to be manhandled. Jon ignores him).

When Damian’s lifting weights, Jon will spot him-- but instead of messing with him by putting a finger on the weights, he sets his hands over Damian’s and counts with him. (Damian quickly grows flustered, the most Jon has ever seen him. He refuses to look him in the eye.)

When there’s a pretty girl in distress, Jon still does get a little pink, but the moment he sees Robin withdrawing to give him the space to flirt, Superboy will wrap his arms around him from behind under the guise of flying them back to base. Robin hates being restrained this way and ends up squirming enough to wrap his arms around Superboy’s neck so he feels more secure. He WILL avoid conversation unrelated to the mission, and he WILL avoid looking him in the eye.

At Christmas, Jon will purposely catch Damian under the mistletoe, and while Damian is going on a rant about how they are not the target of the tradition and how it’s a poisonous plant, Jon will lean in and squeeze him tight and blow raspberries into his cheek. Damian squeals.

Jon stares more openly at him, and it makes Damian nervous. He demands answers, but Jon won't give him any. He just evades and talks about their current mission, or pretends to be curious about something Gotham-related.

Jon will rest his head against Damian’s shoulder when they’re lazing in their fortress. Damian tells him to get off, but he doesn’t, and Damian relents because he does, in fact, crave this contact from Jon.

Jon will sometimes mess with him and get a little too close, lips a little too near, and Damian will push his face away with his whole hand, loudly proclaiming him to be in his space. Jon can see the pink under his mask.

Jon will ask for a reward for saving Robin on a mission, then pointedly poke at his own cheek, indicating he wants a kiss. Damian is convinced he’s joking and not at all serious, so he laughs at him. Jon sighs. He’ll make Damian realize this is mutual eventually.

---------------------------------

At one of the galas, an extravagant wedding announcement, a slow song plays, people are holding each other close, looking into each other’s eyes. Even Bruce is on the floor with some beautiful rich woman. Jon inches his way across the floor and taps Damian on the shoulder. Damian turns around, eyebrow raised, and Jon coughs into his hand, cheeks turning pink: “I guess we should probably dance or something, huh?”

Damian frowns and responds, “You’re here as my friend, Jon. I don’t need a pity dance. If I wanted to flit about with a high-class harlot, I would.”

Jon sets his hands on his hips: “I was asking because it looks like fun, but I guess you’re allergic to that sort of thing, aren’t you?” And that will not fly, because the only reason he declined was because he could, because the media won’t care about him rejecting his friend’s dance.

Damian glares at him and goes to grab Jon’s hand, only to find Jon is already reaching for his. To his surprise, Jon pulls him close, one hand at his waist, the other holding the hand Damian hasn’t set to Jon’s shoulder. Jon leads pretty easily, despite Damian knowing the steps more fluently. Damian expects Jon to dance a little goofier, but this is... tender. (That was, of course, Jon’s intention.) Jon’s eyes won’t leave his, and that look in his eyes is making him nervous. He hides that he’s swallowing and says, “Jon...?”

Jon’s smile just softens, and he pulls him closer. To Damian’s surprise, Jon sets his chin on his shoulder, dance turning to a light sway. It makes his heart stop, and Damian can feel his whole body melting at the touch. He wants to pull away, to push Jon off and make a show of how perfectly platonic his feelings are-- but this may be the only time he ever gets to hold Jon like this, with an excuse like this. He leans his head against Jon’s shoulder and slides the hand at his shoulder down to rest against his heart. He can feel it beating against his hand. (Jon can hear Damian’s, and he’s tempted sorely to bury his nose in his hair, but he doesn’t. That would be weird. So he turns and smiles into the side of his neck. He knows Damian can feel it because his heart skips a beat.)

[five-rivers]

Glowsticks

Sneaking in before midnight on Halloween~

This is another continuation of Exhumed.

.

.

.

McGee had talked to several people about the strangely popular gravestone.  What he had learned made him feel sick.  Literally. He wanted to throw up.  First, the person buried there was the kid that had been found in the park.  Second, the locals had made him into a cult figure practically overnight.  

Or, at least, a tourist trap figure.  These people had no shame.  

On the other hand… Didn’t they say that Daily person was in charge of cults?  Did Amity Park have a cult problem on top of everything else that was going on?  Was the cult the problem, the root problem?  If there even was an actual cult…

Cults were dangerous and took vicious advantage of legal loopholes.  Maybe he should call the FBI.  They were the ones that were supposed to deal with cults.  

He took a deep breath, pulling himself together. No.  This was his case.  His job. He didn’t know that there was a cult involved, not yet.  Besides, it didn’t matter if they were religious so long as they were breaking the law.  Yeah.  

“Are you okay?”

McGee almost jumped out of his skin, his hand twitching towards his firearm before he realized that the person who snuck up on him was a kid.  The kid from earlier, to be precise.

The boy’s eyes narrowed.  “Were you about to pull a gun on me?” he asked.  

“No,” said McGee.  

The boy blinked, suspicion still evident on his face. “You’ve got to be more careful with guns,” he said.  “There’s no reason to go for one just because someone surprised you.”

McGee didn’t grace that with a response.  “What are you doing here, anyway?  Weren’t you across town, earlier?”

“Yeah.  So were you,” said the boy.  Danny. His name was Danny Fenton.  “Why are you here?”

“I asked first.”

“You shouldn’t ask questions you aren’t willing to answer yourself.”

What the hell was up with this kid?  “I’m just trying to get a better feel for the town.”

“Hm,” said Danny.  “I help out here at the cemetery, sometimes.  Got to lay all those ghosts to rest, you know?”

“Don’t you think that’s a little much?” snapped McGee. “Death isn’t supposed to be a roadside attraction.”

“Oh, don’t worry.  We take death very seriously around here,” assured Danny.  “But seriously.  I do help out.  The caretaker lets me take that stuff away when it gets to be too much.”  He nodded at the blank headstone and all the offerings around it.  “Mom likes the flowers.  Jazz is making a collage of some of the cards.  You know.  Stuff like that.”  He shrugged, angling himself away from McGee.  “Someone left a tiny copy of the Tempest once.  In one of those teeny tiny books.  Post.  It had that one passage from Ariel’s Song decorated.  It was nice.  I liked it.”

“What?”

“Ariel’s Song.  Full fathom five thy father lies;/Of his bones are coral made;/Those are pearls that were his eyes;/Nothing of him that doth fade,/But doth suffer a sea-change/Into something rich and strange. Shakespeare.  I think it’s supposed to be a commentary on ghosts, but the guy in the play isn’t actually dead, people just think he is.  So, I’m not really sure how to take it.  You’re a detective, right?  What do you think?”

McGee stared at the teenager. The kid who was buried there was his age.  “This isn’t a joke,” said McGee.  “A person is dead.”

Danny tilted his head. “I’m not joking?”

“How are you even connected to all of this?”  McGee waved his hand, frustrated.  

“I just told you how I’m connected to the cemetery.  If you mean the town…  Well, I do live here.”

“Why do Patterson and Collins know you?”

“I know everyone,” said Danny.  He started backing away.  “You should go get something to eat soon, if you don’t want to be late.”  He turned and disappeared in the crowd.  

What the hell.

.

McGee did not go to get food. He went back to the station.  He had some questions to ask Cameron Daily, and he got the impression that the man was the kind of person to practically live at work.  

When he opened the door, though, he had to stop.

“What is this?” he asked, loudly.  

“Glowsticks,” said one of the secretaries.  “You have seen them before, right?”

“Yes, but why?”

As much as the police department had been infested with Christmas decorations before, it was now covered with glowsticks of all varieties.  

The secretary shrugged. “You’ll find out.  And, no, this isn’t hazing.”  She broke a new glowstick with a snap.

“Right,” said McGee.  “Where’s Daily?”

“Cameron Daily is in the computer bay,” said the secretary, pointing.

“Thanks,” grunted McGee, once again wondering why there was a separate computer bay when everyone had their own desks, computers, and, in some cases, additional laptops.  

Screw it, he might as well ask.  

“Hey, Daily.”

“Mm?”

“Why’s there a separate computer bay?”

“Oh, it’s shielded,” said Daily.  

“Shielded.”

“Yep.  No signals, and the Fentons did some pretty neat stuff to the walls.  Bunch of, ehm, nasty hackers.  We learned our lesson, eventually.”

“The Fentons.”

“Yeah.  And Foley did the firewalls.”

“They’re the ones who did the computer filing system.”

“Uhuh.  Kids are geniuses.  The parents aren’t too shoddy, either.”

“The—” No.  There was no way.  “Are they the same Fentons that hunt ghosts?”

“Yeah.  You wouldn’t think it to look at them, but apparently they live off of their patents.  Made a bunch of fiddly little things that every other mass production factory in the country uses.  Also, they own a toilet paper company.  Not my favorite brand, but it isn’t the worst, honestly.  Kind of wish we’d buy it here, but, no, we get that gross single ply. I swear, that stuff should be classified as a crime against humanity.”

“You let the ghost hunters deal with your computer security.”

“Oh, I know that tone. You met them, huh?”

“Just the kid.”

Daily looked up at McGee over the computer.  “What?”

“I only met the kid. Danny.”

Slowly, Daily uncurled from his hunch in front of the computer.  The man was taller than McGee thought.

“Then what’s your issue? Danny’s a good kid.”

A good kid whose parents were allowed to run roughshod over the town, who was allowed to steal from graveyards, and knew all of the police officers.  For some reason.  

“I heard you’re in charge of monitoring the cult?”

Daily snorted.  “You make it sound like there’s just one.”

“Excuse me?”

“Well, after all the ghosts, most religions had to modernize, you know?”

Oh, god, this was part of the tourist trap.  Or the tourist trap was part of this.  Did they recruit from people who actually believed this nonsense?

“There’s more than one cult?”

“Yep.”

“Sounds like quite a job.”

“Eh.  I’m mostly just keeping track of their online activity.”

“So, how are the Fentons involved?”

“They aren’t.  They’re pretty areligious, overall.  Danny’s been almost kidnapped a few times, though.”

“What?”

“What?”

“Kidnapped.  By a cult.”

“Cults.  Gotta remember the plural, man.  Cults.”  Daily was hunching again.  “But, hey, if you’re interested in the subject, I can give you a thorough run-through of this new group that started up last week.  Their philosophy is wild.  I can’t even tell you—”

“Hey.  You’re early,” said Patterson, leaning through the door, her braid swinging.  “Great. Have you eaten?”

“Yes,” lied McGee.  

“Get better at lying,” said Patterson.  “Come on, let’s go.”

.

Patterson and Collins weren’t the only ones there.  In fact, there were more people in the station than there had been that morning. All with glowsticks.  Said glowsticks were being loaded into unmarked cars while office staff and police officers whispered back and forth.

“Did you get the green stuff?”

“Yeah, don’t worry. Gave me more than enough.” Glowing green milk jugs were loaded into a car.  The car McGee would be riding in with Collins and Patterson.

‘Green stuff.’  Was this some kind of bizarre drug smuggling ring? McGee had fallen behind in drug slang, if so.  ‘Green stuff.’  Were they lacing it with glowstick fluid?

Never before had he felt so lost on a case.  Amity Park was messed up.  

“You’ve got the howlers hooked up?” asked Collins.

“I asked Daily to do it this morning.”

“But did he do it?”

“I mean, it looks like it. Are the howlers really that important?”

McGee had no idea what was going on.  

The cars all started off in a group.  Their car was the last to leave and soon peeled off to trundle slowly down back roads.  

“You probably have questions,” said Collins.

“You could say that,” said McGee.  

“You’ve been a good sport about them,” observed Collins.  

“So,” said McGee, drawing out the word.  “What is this about?”

Patterson swallowed a laugh. “Ever hear of the Men in Black?”

“Look, I’m humoring the ghosts.  Conspiracy theories are where I draw the line.”

“Keep telling yourself that. Maybe it’ll stick.  Anyway, here in Amity Park, we deal with their less intelligent cousins.  The Guys in White!”

“That’s not their actual name,” said Collins, glancing back over his shoulder.  “But, well, their appearance fits.”

“Alright, let’s say I believe you.  What does this have to do with the jugs of glowstick fluid in the trunk?”

“Oh, that’s not glowstick fluid,” said Patterson.  “It’s waste from the reactor that powers the town.”

“Don’t worry,” said Collins, hastily, the car swerving somewhat.  “It’s completely harmless!  Not radioactive at all!”

“That’s not what—” started Patterson.  

“You absolutely will not get cancer from it!”

McGee raised a hand.  “You have nuclear reactor fluid in the trunk?”

“It isn’t nuclear reaction fluid,” protested Patterson.  “It’s—"

“Back on track,” interrupted Collins.  

“Yeah.  Anyway.  It’ll trip the Guys in White’s sensors—”

“Eventually,” Collins grumbled.  

“—so we can lead them on a chase.”

“And…  why do we want to do this?”

“Because it’s a quiet month,” said Patterson.  “Don’t want the Guys to get antsy.”

“What does that even mean?”

“It means what it means. You’ll see in January.”

McGee looked between his two ‘partners.’  “Are you trying to get me to quit?”

“Because you’re a spy for the county?” asked Patterson.  “Oh, no, never.”

Before McGee could process that statement, the car’s radio crackled to life.  

“We’ve got a class-3 northbound on Orion at 35 miles per hour.  Ectosignature suggests an amorphiform ghost—”

“Hah!” shouted Patterson. “That’s us!  Punch it!”  She twisted the dial on the radio as Collins slammed his foot into the accelerator.  “Bogey to Redrum!  We’ve got followers!”

“Copy, Bogey, this is Redrum. We need a few more minutes to set up. Can you stay out of sight?”

“The hell?”

The radio crackled.  “Forgot you had the new guy!  Don’t shake him up too much, okay?  Over.”

“Copy.  Collins you catch that?”

“Yeah, don’t worry, I’m taking Pan and Laurel.  The holiday tour.”

“Ooh, good choice.” Patterson held up the radio again. “Yeah, we can manage.  Over.”

Collins went faster. For the next several minutes McGee occupied himself with not throwing up.  He succeeded.  Barely.

“Bogey, this Cam,” said the voice of Daily, “followers are gaining.  They’re on Brassica, just passing High Street.  Triggered the speed cameras.  Over.”

“How many and what type? Over.”

“Three gliders.  Don’t think they’ve spotted you yet, though. Over.”

Gliders?  Who did these people think they were kidding?

“Copy, over,” said Patterson. “Not like those guys care about speeders, though,” she muttered.  McGee could barely hear her over the beating of his own heart.

“Sharp right, brace yourselves,” said Collins, split seconds before matching action to words.

“Redrum to bogey, we’re moving out now, over.”

“Copy.  We’re on our way.  Over.  Head to the park, Collins.”

“Gotcha.”

It didn’t seem possible, but Collins somehow pushed the car to go even faster.  Then, just as quickly as the whole ridiculous thing had begun, the car skidded to a halt in a parking lot.  Seeing his chance, McGee clawed at the door handle and dragged himself out onto the pavement.  

Collins and Patterson, meanwhile, were pulling the almost-certainly-toxic waste out of the trunk and launching it into the glowstick-filled woods with—

“Is that a bazooka?” demanded McGee, so far past his wit’s end that he couldn’t even see it anymore.

“Nah, just a modified T-shirt canon,” said Patterson, stowing the object away again.  “Fentonworks special.”

“I don’t believe you,” said McGee.  

Three – Three things – McGee did not want to call them gliders – raced overhead, jets roaring and wind whistling.  They came to a stop approximately where the ‘reactor waste’ had fallen.  

“What the hell?” whispered McGee, passionately.  

“Come on,” said Collins.  “Time for us to go.”

“Yeah, better to spectate from afar,” agreed Patterson.

“I agree,” said a third voice.

“Oh, Danny,” said Patterson.  “Didn’t expect to see you here tonight.”

The boy walked into McGee’s field of view and glanced down at him before shrugging.  “Couldn’t sleep.”  He looked up, at the park.  “Thanks for this.”

“Had to get them to blow this month’s budget somehow,” said Collins.  “But, really, we should all go before the fireworks start.”

Danny sighed.  “Hope they don’t blow up the fountain again.  It just got fixed.”

“Same,” said Patterson.

“Well, see you later.”

“Yep, we’ve got that wellness check tomorrow,” said Collins. “You don’t have any excuse to forget, this time.”

“Yeah, yeah,” said the teen, waving over his shoulder as he walked straight into the dark.

“What,” said McGee.  

“That’s just Danny for you,” said Collins.  “Great kid.  Super creepy.”

“Yeah.”

“How’d he even know we’re here?” asked McGee, trying to keep his voice even.  

“He did give us that eeeeehhhhhhh—reactor waste,” said Patterson.  “Come on, get up, we’ve got to—”

A small explosion sounded from the park.  

“Seriously.  I don’t want to have to pick you up.”

“I’d wind up doing most of the lifting,” grumbled Collins, who was sliding into the driver’s seat.

Patterson put her hands on her hips.  “Excuse you?”

There was another, larger explosion.  McGee climbed back into the car.

As they drove, he realized that no one had made fun of his name. Not even once.  

Amity Park was weird.  

[meat--grindr]

another trans man fixated on Martin here!! 💕

could i request some NSFW of an ftm S/O teasing Martin while hes on the phone trying to do another interview as The Count? not a lot of talking from the S/O while hes on the phone, mostly physical stuff & feeling him up thru his clothes. the rest is up to you >:)))

(def going to use as a drawing prompt im just so so embarrassed to request off anon 😔😔😔)

Alright, so, this prompt has been living in my head rent-free ever since I first read it and I am so freaking excited to finally get to it. I’m sorry it took so long. I will admit this was a bit of a challenge for me because I am notoriously bad at writing dialogue. But I feel like it was good practice. Sorry if it sounds a little stilted in spots, I’m still learning.

Please, please, please link me to that art if you ever get around to it! You knocked it out of the park with this prompt and I’d love to give the art some love if you’re comfortable with sharing!

The Count Didn’t Count on This – Martin Mathias (Trans-Masculine Reader) – NSFW.

·       It’s late, and for once, you’re exactly where you feel you should be at this late hour—not sprawled across a chair reading, or gazing out of the window, watching the cars pass and counting the neighbours’ lights as they flick on and off in lieu of stargazing. And for the first time in at least a week, you’re not trapped at your desk, frantically typing the final draft of a paper, hindered by the slow keys of a typewriter that does not care a whit about the deadline steadily hurtling toward you. No, thankfully, this night has brought with it far more comfortable circumstances—you find yourself in bed, tired bones sinking into the plush mattress, consciousness caught in the bleary space between sleep and not.

·       Even better, you aren’t alone.

·       Tonight, your bed is warmed by another body, long and thin, curled tightly against your own, as though it were some sort of crime to leave even an inch of space between you. A bony hip digs into your thigh and you’re sure the press of your head and shoulder against his chest must make breathing difficult for him. But he’s made no attempt to shrug you off or shift your weight to a more comfortable spot, so you likewise let it be. In all honesty, you’re simply too comfortable to bother and you feel it’s safe to assume the same is true for Martin too.

·       The slow, even beat of his heart pulses against your cheek, and his long fingers stroke absently over your bare shoulder. The rough texture of burgeoning callouses catches against your skin—the sensation, though not wholly unpleasant, makes you shudder. Sometimes, you forget Martin works with his hands. When you hold them, they seem so delicate—his long fingers better suited to playing the piano than tightening screws or hammering nails. But he’s good at repairs and more importantly, he seems to find enjoyment the work. It certainly keeps him busy enough on the few afternoons that Cuda isn’t running him ragged in the shop, much to your personal dismay. But his nights—the nights like this—belong to you and you alone.

·       Your eyelids flutter closed, and for the first time in what feels like weeks, maybe even longer, you feel like you can rest. Really rest. Dimly, you find yourself wondering if it had more to do with finished papers and diminished responsibilities, or the reintroduction of the physical intimacy you’ve been missing so dearly. Though you can’t say for certain, you have a sneaking suspicion it’s the latter.

·       The longer you know Martin, the more you’re convinced that there is a preternatural bubble of calm that hangs around him. You can feel it in the way even the grouchiest old women in the store seem to soften toward him—hiding small smiles behind their sleeves, sometimes even calling him ‘dear,’ or in the way Cuda’s volatile temper deflates when his cruel words slide off Martin’s back as though he’s heard it all before from people who frightened him far greater. You’ve seen it at work on the feral cats that roam the neighbourhood—while they hiss and swipe at the children who chase them through the dusty streets, they sit willingly at Martin’s feet, rubbing against his legs with a familiarity that borders on friendly. And it’s in the way he looks at you—looks into you with those dark eyes that seem far too old for that handsome, youthful face—intense and all-seeing, but never judgemental. He is a point of unflappable calm in a world which never seems to slow for even a second. That calm has settled into you now, seeping into your bones as you lay there, listening to his heart thumping in the darkness.

·       The low crackle of the radio hovers at the edge of your hearing, a burst of static cutting through the droning voices. You’d stopped listening properly ages ago—the third time the DJ had made an attempt to dismiss his latest caller. It was an old man who was seven shades of pissed about the ‘teen-age hooligans’ who were ‘tipping over his bins every night and eating his trash.’ Of course, everyone with half a brain, including the host himself, knows it’s an animal—probably a raccoon, or a family of raccoons, but this old geezer has somehow convinced himself it’s a gaggle of ‘Satan-worshipping teenagers who have been brainwashed by heavy metal music and Pepsi Cola.’

·       Okay. Sure.

·       It’s utterly ridiculous, and just the sort of thing you’ve come to expect from the people who live in Braddock. Or the ones who call in to a show like this anyhow.

·       In a way, you feel bad for the poor DJ. Sure, he welcomes strange callers of all kinds, from alien abductees and bigfoot hunters to bereaved parents who teenagers are ‘just growing up too fast,’ or ‘a little too interested in the works of William Shakespeare.’ He even encourages them at times, but you’ve got to draw the line somewhere, and in your mind, this, funny as it may be, is probably it. You’re sure whatever the station is paying the guy, it isn’t enough to suffer through being called a ‘brainless sack of human garbage’ by a crazy old man.

·       “And that’s about all the time we have,” Despite his cheery tone, the poor guy sounds exhausted. “Thank you for calling!”

·       Another burst of static drowns out the old man’s reply, but you’re sure that whatever he’d said, it was not ‘radio-friendly.’

·       “…our next caller. You are on the air, Sir!”

·       “Yeah, uh…hi, Barry.” The man sounds young—probably not much older than yourself—and very nervous. He must be a first-time caller. As he and the DJ share opening pleasantries—what’s your name, how old are you, where are you calling in from tonight, is that a cat I hear in the background? —your attention begins to drift again. You teeter for a moment on the edge of sleep, the clean scent of your linen sheets and Martin’s shampoo filling your nose.

·       “I was just wondering if you’ve heard from the Count again since last time?”

·       And just like that, you’re awake again, attention fully focused on your radio and the funny little show that whispers through it.

·       The caller is asking about Martin. A cold shiver rumbles through your body. People ask about Martin on the show all the time—of course, they don’t know that’s who they’re asking about, but you do. It’s so strange, to hear a stranger talk about someone you know so well—even worse when they speak about him like they know him too. Sometimes, they make you laugh with their outlandish theories, but sometimes they make you sick—sick with worry: when he’s threatened with violence or exposure, sick with fear: when they make guesses that hit a little too close to home, and sick with jealousy: when they claim to have had an ‘encounter’ with him, or worse, try to set one up on air.

·       You know about Martin, of course—that he is a vampire, or at least he thinks he’s a vampire. Whether or not you believe him is another question entirely. He certainly does not abide by the ‘vampire rules’ as you know them from stories and television—he doesn’t sleep in a coffin, filled with dirt from his homeland or otherwise, rather he sleeps in a bed (curled up beside you more often than not these days). He cuts a handsome figure in mirrors and the photographs that you have pinned up above your desk. He walks about in the sun most days without complaint despite his pale complexion, and though he may not be a sleek. Predatory creature that oozes confidence, grace, and sex appeal, he’s no slouch either—lithe and handsome in a boyish sort of way, all knees, elbows, and wide dark eyes.

·       In fact, the only requirement he seems to meet on the proverbial ‘vampire checklist’ is his fixation with blood—and the need to consume it. Maybe that means something, maybe it doesn’t. You’ve come to the conclusion that what you think really doesn’t matter in the end—your opinion isn’t going to sway him on the subject one way or another. This is a truth about himself he believes perhaps more deeply than anything else. Who were you to try and change that?

·       So, you do your best to take everything in stride, and when you can’t, you humour him. Still, every once in a while, something will trip you up—you still can’t quite decide if he’s joking about being over eighty years old or not. But you do your best. You had even let him feed on you once. Though only once. In the end, it was Martin who had decided the experience was not one he would like to repeat.

·       He had laid you out on your bed, “I don’t want you to get hurt if you faint.” Though you’d told him nearly a hundred times that you’d be just fine, that you’d had blood taken before at the hospital, he had insisted.

·       You had expected things to be different. For a start, you had expected him to climb into your lap, to press his lips against your neck, seeking your pulse the way it’s done in the movies. Instead, he’d taken out a little white kit from his bag. He had unzipped it and laid it out on the bed, revealing a little bottle of clear liquid, a row of sterile, hypodermic needles, and a pack of fresh razor blades.

·       His long fingers fell upon the needles, caressing them lovingly one by one. Much to your relief, he did not pick one up. As if he could sense your apprehension, he’d said, “Don’t worry, I won’t need these.” He’d glanced up at you, measuring your reaction, “I won’t need them because you’re not going to fight me. Are you?” It wasn’t really a question. You shook your head, and the corners of his lips quirked up into a smile, “Good. It’s so much easier when they don’t fight me.” Those words had made you shudder. He really had done this before, then. Part of you hadn’t believed him—he seemed so…harmless

·       He’d picked out a single blade from the package, meticulously removing the white paper wrapping, taking extra care not to tear it, or let the blade cut into it. When he was through, he folded the paper into a neat square and dropped it onto the comforter. He lay the blade flat on his palm for you to see. “I don’t have pointy teeth, you see.” He took your hand, opening his mouth and guiding your fingers along the edges of his flat, dull teeth. “They aren’t sharp, so they don’t cut deep enough. You understand?” You’d nodded and he had kissed your fingertips gently, one by one.

·       “I’ll be careful, I promise,” He’d said, “I’ll only take a little. Just enough to take the edge off.” Despite the hungry glint in his eyes, you’d known he was telling the truth. He didn’t need to reassure you of that. You trusted him. Besides, you had asked for this. At least, he’d stopped asking if he still had your permission every five minutes. Of course he did.

·       And yet. Your heartbeat had kicked up, jittering like a frightened bird when you’d seen the needles and the razor. It was as though actually seeing them had made the whole situation feel more real. There was no denying you were afraid, but you didn’t tell him to stop—you didn’t want to. You had made up your mind. You wanted this; wanted to help.

·       He’d held your hand in his own like it was a thing made of glass. His fingers gripped the razor with a practiced grace as he held it just above your palm. Watching him, you were struck for the second time by just how rehearsed this seemed. How many times had he done this, with or without permission?

·       “Take a deep breath for me, okay? There’s a good boy.” Did he talk to the others too? Even the ones who fought back? You could picture him, chattering softly against the skin of some poor soul, sprawled limp across the floor.

·       Limp or lifeless?

·       The thought unsettled you, but you did as you were told, filling your lungs nearly to capacity as the sharp edge of the blade bit into the meat of your palm just below your thumb. As promised, he had been quick, pressing only as hard as was necessary. Even so, the sting of it made your flinch, your hand jumping in his own. His fingers tensed around yours, the tightness of his grip reflected in the grimace that flashed across his face as he bent his head to seal his lips around the wound.

·       You had expected to feel him pulling the blood from you, but he simply let it flow into his mouth, the coppery taste heavy on his tongue. He exhaled through his nose, long and low—a pleased sound. Something about that set you more at ease. He hadn’t recoiled or wrinkled his nose at the taste of your blood. You hadn’t even realized you were worried about how you tasted until that moment.

·       You had started to feel dizzy beneath him—dizzy not from a loss of blood, but the wet heat of his mouth against your skin. Your heart had stuttered in your chest as his tongue probed gently around the edges of the wound, soothing your sparking nerves, even as the blood continued to drip down his throat.

·       When at last, he pulled away, his face was flushed, and his breath came hard; his chest heaving as though he’d just run a great distance. Immediately, his hand shot to his front pocket, fingers searching for the roll of gauze bandages he’s swiped from Cuda’s first-aid kit.

·       He’d wrapped the clean white fabric around your hand with such care it made your heart ache almost as much as the wound itself. When he was finished, he’d flipped your hand over and pressed a gentle kiss against your knuckles. Then, he spoke. His voice was small, barely more than a ragged whisper, “Thank you.”

·       “Was that…was it okay?” Your skin felt feverish, as though the heat of his mouth had seeped into your flesh and was burning you from the inside out. And the dizzy feeling had only grown worse, forcing you to squeeze your eyes shut for a long moment.

·       Martin was still struggling to get his breathing under control, “Yes. I-It was good…better than good, actually. But…”

·       “But?” Had you done something wrong? Had you tasted bad after all? You cracked open one eye, then the other. The spinning had mostly subsided, but you still felt unsteady. “What can I do better next time?”

·       He’d gone stiff all over then, and his reply had come sudden and sharp, “No!” He cringed, the force behind his words clearly surprising himself as well. When he spoke again, his voice was softer, “No ‘next time.’ I…I can’t stand hurting you like that. I won’t do it again.”

·       You’d gazed up at him, blinking in confusion for a second. Then you realized what he’d meant—you had flinched when he’d cut you. Oh.

·       You reached up, cupping his cheek, “Oh, Martin. You didn’t hurt me. Not really.” It wasn’t strictly true—it had hurt a little, but you had been prepared for it to. You brushed a stray droplet of blood from the corner of his mouth with a careful swipe of your thumb.

·       “Yes, I did. I saw it.” You had tried to protest further, but he’d cut you off, much to your surprise. Martin almost never talked back like this, though perhaps you’d simply never given him a reason before. “I saw you flinch. I won’t put you through this again.”

·       And he hadn’t. Though you’d brought the idea up more than once, he had dismissed it each time with the same stubborn shake of his head. If Martin was anything, he was true to his word.

·       “…and it’s been such a long time since we heard from the guy.”

·       The DJ hums in agreement, “It has indeed, my friend. Maybe we’ll hear from him later tonight. If you’re out there listening, Count, don’t be a stranger! Give us a call,” He begins rattling off the stations toll-free number. “We’re all dying to hear from you again!”

·       You feel Martin stiffen up against you. You knew about the interviews he had done; you’d even heard one of them, back when Martin was little more to you than a silent, sullen face behind the counter at Cuda’s shop. And even when he’d started talking to you, he sounded different over the radio—his voice was deeper, and he sounded so confidant, so sure of himself when he talked about his ‘sickness.’ He almost never sounded like that in day-to-day life. You weren’t embarrassed to admit you found it attractive.

·       Martin on the other hand, was mortified to know you had heard him. He had known that people were listened to him, obviously, but they were supposed to be strangers. You actually knew him, and he’d talked about sex. Of course, reminding him you’d done a lot more in your time together than simply listen to him talk about sex did little to lessen his horror.

·       Of course, you also knew he’d been doing fewer and fewer interviews now that he had you to talk to and share his life with. But on occasion, when the pleading from the DJ gets too desperate, or he was simply that bored, Martin could be coaxed back onto the other end of the phoneline once again.

·       You glance up at him, but in the darkness, his expression is unreadable, eyes cast down toward the end of the bed, long lashes throwing feathered shadows across his pale cheeks. From the very beginning, he’s been hard to read. As you’ve come to know him better, you’ve needed to get comfortable with the idea of asking when you want to know something you could easily intuit if speaking to anyone else. He’s very good at hiding his thoughts and feelings behind a neutral expression and placid silence, but he would tell you almost anything if you asked him directly; so long as he had the words to explain it to you.

·       Do you want to make a call, Martin?”

·       For a long moment, he’s silent, turning the idea over in his mind a few times. You had never actually been with him when he’d done an interview in the past. He’d usually wait until you were three days deep in an assignment with no quick end in sight, or out of town with family. Maybe he would be too embarrassed to do it with you here or maybe he’s just not in the mood tonight. But, after a minute, he tilts his head down toward you and says, “Why not?”

·       The radio crackles out a jaunty tune—a commercial for some small business or another. “I’ll call in a few minutes. He doesn’t seem busy tonight.” Martin sits up, bracing his back against the headboard of your bed, and dislodging you from your perch. You grumble a little, irritated by the loss of your comfy spot, but you crawl into his lap anyway.

·       You press soft kisses into his skin, beginning at his hairline, and trailing down over his forehead, the bridge of his nose, his cheeks—the right then the left—the very tip of his nose, and finally his lips. He smiles against your mouth, leaning into the kiss with his whole body.

·       When you pull away only a moment later, you can practically hear the pouty turn of his mouth. He whines softly, but you pay him no mind, trailing kisses down his chin. “Are you nervous, Martin?” The question comes out muffled by the soft curve of his jaw.

·       “Not really, no…” He trails off, eyes cast to the ceiling, “I like the attention, I s’pose.”

·       You pull back to look at him, barely stifling a snort of amusement, “Don’t I give you enough?”

·       His eyes slide from the ceiling, falling upon you dark and wide. For a moment, you think he’s taken you seriously, but the pouty turn of his mouth breaks into a blinding grin, “You give me lots, sure, but I’m a creature of the night, remember? We always want more.”

·       The two of you sit there for a moment, gazing into each other’s eyes, the silence stretching on into the night. Then, you collapse into each other in a fit of giggles. Martin buries his head into the crook of your neck, shaking with quiet laughter. Sure, when he’d said wasn’t untrue, but when he put it like that, it was hard not to laugh.

·       “Welcome back, everybody. It’s almost the top of the hour at 01:57! I’m your host Barry…”

·       You hadn’t even heard the ads end! Martin scrambles for the chunky landline phone that rests on the beside table, nimble fingers punching in the numbers at speed. Though his calls had become less and less frequent, he evidently kept the number somewhere in his memory.

·       Martin’s voice is hushed as he speaks to whoever manned the phones down at the radio station, muttering something about ‘the Count.’ As he speaks, he winds the coiled phone cord around a delicate finger. It’s a simple, distracted habit of Martin’s but it makes your heart flutter whenever you catch him doing it.

·       You stretch your arm as far as you can, reaching for the radio, unwilling to give up your perch in Martin’s lap for even a second. Your fingertips brush the cool metal—once, twice—then you manage to curl your fingers around it. Pulling it into your lap you turn the volume down low so only you can hear it.

·       “I’m just getting word that we have a special guest on the line,” the DJ sounds positively elated, “Folks, it looks like the Count is back in town. Hello, Count! Where have ya’ been?”

·       Martin hesitates for a moment, his jaw working as he searches for the words, “Around.”

·       There is a definite lag between the words in his mouth, and those same words coming through the radio. The dissonance confounds your ears and makes your head ache in a dizzy sort of way, but you want to hear both halves of this conversation, not just Martin’s.

·       “So, what trouble have you been getting into since we last spoke, Count? Murdered any pretty ladies recently?”

·       There’s a smile in Martin’s voice, “Not ladies, no.”

·       “Oh really? Any men then?”

Martin glances down at you, though he makes a non-committal noise. The DJ takes a breath, as though he’s going to say something, but Martin cuts him off, “I wouldn’t call what I do murder, anyhow.”

·       “No? But you still need to drink blood, right?”

·       “Oh, yes.”

·       “How have you been getting your food, then? Don’t vampires uh…kill with every strike?”

·       Martin laughs, a soft, breathy sound that sends a shudder through you. “I’ve been managing.” His tone is damn near conversational. You gaze down at him, marvelling at how easy this seems to be for him. The Martin you’ve come to know and love rarely (if ever) speaks to strangers, and when he has no other choice, he’s never this talkative. It’s strange, but by no means an unwelcome change. You nuzzle against him, letting his voice thrum through your skull as it vibrates around in his chest.

·       “Enough talk of blood and guts, Count. What about your other problems, huh? Tell me, are the streets of Braddock safe at last from the real terror stalking them? Have you…” He pauses conspiratorially, “Found yourself a girl yet?”

·       Those words drive an icy spike of hurt deep into your guts. No, he had not found himself a girl. Martin must have felt your jaw clenching, as his free hand begins to card through your hair—soothing and soft.

·       “I’ve found…someone.” The implications of that word settles you almost as much as his touch. ‘Someone.’ Not a woman, but someone of significance, nonetheless. He bends down to press a quick kiss into the crown of your head. “Someone special.”

·       The DJ gasps, sounding scandalized. “Someone special! Well, I never. Good for you, Count.” You can’t say you’re a fan of the man’s tone—pleasant enough, but with a sharp edge that borders on condescending. But there’s little you can do but grit your teeth and bear it. “How long until you suck this one dry and move on?”

·       Wow. Fuck this guy. On some level, you’d known he was an asshole—sure you felt bad for him when people were rude, but he could dish it out just as well as he could take it. Every once in a while, he’d push a caller too hard or make a snide comment the conversation could have done without. You didn’t like hearing it when strangers were involved, and now that you were the subject of such a comment, you like it even less. He makes it sound like you’re some random conquest, or worse, little more than a meal to Martin. How wrong he was.

·       Suck this one dry and move on? Fat chance, Buddy. Though, his wording did give you an idea…maybe you could make this night just a little more interesting for the both of you.

You sit back, uncurling your legs and dropping your knees to either side of Martin’s hips, straddling his lap properly. Settling your weight back into his lap, you pull a face, pointing to the radio in your lap and mouthing, ‘What a jaggoff!’

·       Martin’s lips press into a thin line as he tries to stifle his laughter. He nods sympathetically but doesn’t say anything about it to the DJ. He’s slow to anger, preferring to divert the conversation rather than cause a scene. You can’t help but admire him for that. You lean forward, stamping a kiss against his collarbone.

·       “I…uh…try not to eat the things I love.”

·       “Ooooh, so it’s love, huh?”

·       You roll your eyes at the DJ, though you can’t deny hearing Martin say he loves you sends a little thrill through you—it was the same thrill you’d felt the first time he had said it to you, and the same thrill you hoped to feel for years to come. You trail little, open-mouthed kisses up the column of Martin’s throat, your mouth feverishly warm against his skin. A shudder jolts through him like an electric shock as your teeth scape across his Adam’s apple. You grin against his flesh, sliding up to nip along the underside of his jaw. There is a sensitive spot at the very corner that you love to exploit, and now seems like the perfect opportunity to do so.

·       Your teeth graze over the spot and his body jitters beneath you. His voice catches in his throat, though if the DJ notices, he doesn’t comment. You nip gently at the spot, reddening the pale skin as you worry it with your teeth. You long to suck a bruise there—the purple-blue hue would doubtless look stunning against the pallor of his skin, but you knew Cuda would have a conniption if he saw it, and you didn’t want to put Martin through that again. Not after last time. The pair of you had agreed that perhaps in future, it would be better if any hickeys you left remained under your clothes.

·       Pressing one final kiss against that spot, you pull back to look at him. You can tell he’s getting flustered—there’s a flush beginning to creep up his neck from beneath the collar of his t-shirt, deep pink and blotchy. You know, given time, it will reach his cheeks, the colour blooming high on his cheekbones. When you get him worked up enough, you could make Martin blush to the very tips of his ears. It was adorable.

·       Your fingers dig into the fabric of his shirt as you drag your nails down his chest. His teeth catch his lower lip. You can almost hear the whine trapped behind those pearly teeth.

·       “Why don’t you tell us a little about this special someone, Count?”

·       Martin hesitates, “I don’t know about that.”

·       “Nonsense! You can tell your good ol’ pal Barry. Who am I gonna tell?”

·       Martin isn’t that stupid. He knows Barry doesn’t need to tell anyone anything—he’s live on air, he’d be telling them himself. His eyes flick down to yours, searching for something, be it permission or resistance. He pulls the phone away from his ear, resting it against his shoulder as he waits for you to make up your mind. You know he’d hang up in an instant if you asked him to—he’d likely do you one better and never call in again if the DJ was just going to ask questions about you all night long. But you trusted Martin not to give too much information away—he’d managed to stay hidden all this time, after all.

·       You nodded at him, smiling and thumbing gently over a nipple. Though your touch is light, and the sensation is dampened by the fabric of his shirt, Martin makes a sound as though he’s been punched in the stomach. He shifts beneath you, tucking the phone underneath his chin as he moves.

·       You grip the striped fabric of his shirt, working it in your hands. You lift it a little, fingers slipping just beneath it to splay against the flat plane of his stomach. His skin is warm and soft beneath your hands. You look down at him, arching a brow and asking for permission with only your eyes.

·       “Fine.” He says, and though the word is an answer for the DJ’s pleading, he’s talking to you, looking directly into your eyes—granting the permission you were so hoping for.

·       “Great! So, how long have you been together?”

·       You fall into him, hands pushing the soft cotton of his shirt up over his chest. Your lips are on his skin in a matter of seconds, trailing kisses across every inch of exposed skin—stomach, ribs, hips, and everything in between.

·       “It’s been ahh—” His words are cut short by a tight little moan as you bite down hard just below his left nipple. However, he manages a solid recovery as your tongue laves over the spot soothing the sting, playing the whole thing off as though he had needed time to stop and think about it, “—bout a year, maybe a little longer.”

·       Clever boy.

·       You drag your tongue a little higher, flicking over the sensitive skin of his nipple. He arches into your touch, hips canting up against yours, threatening to buck you from your perch. He tilts his head, trapping the phone between his cheek and his shoulder, reaching for you with both hands.

·       He takes your cheeks into his hands, pulling your head away from his chest. You grin up at him, taking in his expression—his pupils blown so wide with want they swallow all but the slimmest ring of brown iris, his lips parted and shining in the semi-darkness, flushed to the tips of his ears.

·       You surge up to kiss him, remembering only at the last moment, he needs to keep his mouth free to carry on the conversation. With a huff, you divert your course, and fix your lips back against the skin of Martin’s neck.

·       He swallows hard as you press your lips back against his pulse, pushing his hips back up into yours. You can’t keep the grin form your face as you feel him pressing up against you—the outline in his pants far more noticeable now.

·       His hands tremble slightly as they search for yours, dragging them down to the front of his jeans. You grin widens as you press down. Even through the thick denim, you can feel his cock throb under your palm. Someone’s excited.

·       You look down at him and he turns his head away, flushing a shade darker. He was so easy to wind up like this, it was almost unbelievable. A few kisses here, and gentle touch there, and he was a blushing, whining mess spread out on your sheets for you to enjoy however your pleased. You had chalked the over-sensitivity up to a lack of experience, and had expected it to fade after a few months, but it hadn’t. He was just that reactive, not that you were complaining.

·       With deft fingers, you pop the button of his jeans, quietly dragging the zipper down. He lifts his hips, wriggling helpfully as you drag his pants and underwear down over his thighs.

·       His cock bobs free, flushed and leaking already. You ghost the pads of your fingers over the soft skin of his shaft, and he shudders, his whole body tensing. His knuckles are white where he grips the phone, and his jaw is tight with the struggle of keeping quiet.

·       You wrap your hand around him, stroking gently from base to tip. His back arches off from the headboard, and he falls forward, burying his head in the crook of your neck. The phone receiver bumps against your collarbone, hard and hollow. The plastic is pleasantly cool against your feverish skin.

·       “Is it different being with a…uh…forgive the expression, normal person?”

·       “They’re a…” His laugh is breathy, almost a moan as he glances down at you, “a real handful.”

·       You barely stifle a laugh. You glare down at him in mock disapproval, and he sticks his tongue out at you. Cheeky little bastard. Though the colour still sits high on his cheeks, and his breathing comes through parted lips in short puffs, he seems to have adjusted well to your pace.

·       “Nothing you can’t handle though, I’m sure. Do they know about your…condition, shall we say?”

·       “They are aware, yes.”

·       The DJ laughs, “And how did that go? Can’t be an easy thing to hear—that your boyfriend might vamp out and eat you whole!”

·       Martin sighs, “I already told you, I don’t eat people…” His voice is much steadier now, even as your fingers brush along the sensitive spots on the underside of his cock. That means its time to switch things up. You can’t have him getting too comfortable. Where would the fun be in that? You tighten your grip—something that usually makes Martin thrash against the sheets and sob into your pillows—and begin to swipe your thumb gently over the tip of his cock with every upward stroke. He almost drops the phone as he yanks it away from his mouth. He covers the receiver with a shaking hand just in time, as a soft whine slips through his teeth, “Oh, fuck…”

·       You press a finger up against your lips, reminding him to be quiet. He presses up into your fist, his hips stuttering as your thumb traces a lazy circle around his head. His free hand flutters nervously about his mouth, as he tries desperately to keep quiet. His breath comes sharp and quick though his nose as he struggles to keep control. You shift your weight, pinning his hips back down with your thighs, and though he tries to buck back up against you, you hold him firmly in place. He whines high in his throat, shooting a pleading look up at you, but you just shake your head and point at the phone, ‘Keep going.’

·       Slowly, Martin brings the receiver back up to his ear. His tongue flickers out over his lips and he lets out a shaky breath, “S-Sorry, I didn’t catch that?”

·       “I said, ‘let’s circle back to what you said before,’ about not eating what you love. Why not? If you don’t need to kill to feed, why not feed on this special someone? Surely if they love you back, they’d be willing.”

·       You slow your hand, wanting to give Martin a fighting chance at answering. You were momentarily intrigued by the DJ’s line of questioning. You knew why Martin didn’t want to feed on you, but you were curious as to what sort of excuse he would give.

·       “W-Well…it’s come up mo-ore than once but…” Martin goes silent as you squeeze down on him, his posture going rigid, his head thrown back against the headboard.

·       The DJ lets the silence hang for a moment, but when Martin doesn’t finish his thought, he cuts in, “But…? You still there, Count?”

·       You let up, and Martin takes a big gulp of air, as though he had only just remembered he needed to breathe. “Y-Yeah, I’m here. It’s…it’s complicated.”

·       “Oh yeah? How?”

·       “Well, it’s not about whether they’ll let me or not…” He takes a shaky breath, his eyes fluttering closed for a moment as he steadies himself. When he speaks again, his voice is low, barely more than a whisper, “It’s that I want more.”

·       He tries in vain to buck up into your fist, his hips rolling in shallow, abortive little thrusts. His teeth are sunk into his lower lip, his eyes boring deep into your own.

·       ‘I want more.’ Those words were meant for you.

·       You blink down at him, momentarily dumb founded. Then a grin spreads across your face, sharp and hungry. If he wants more, you’ll give it to him—you’d give it to him until he was begging you to stop.

·       Sliding down his body, you know this is risky. Martin has never been good at keeping quiet, especially not when you’ve got your mouth on him. But the idea is simply too enticing to pass up on. When were you ever going to get the change to suck his cock live on air again? Besides, this might be good practice for him in the art of keeping his voice down—not that you didn’t love to hear him, it just might be nice to keep your…activities a secret from the whole neighbourhood for once.

·       You wriggle down onto your stomach, bringing your face level with Martin’s cock. Settling yourself into a comfortable position between his knees, you bend your head, pressing a gentle kiss against the tip of his cock.

·       He makes an involuntary choking sound in the back of his throat. You look up at him, resting your chin on the tops of his thighs. You want to give him the time he needs to make up his mind. If he tells you ‘no,’ or pushes you away, you’d gladly go back to stroking his cock and kissing his neck. You would get just as much pleasure from the shivers and whimpers you could wring out of him that way.

·       But he doesn’t tell you no, rather he pushes his hips up against you, pressing the tip hard against your lips. You flick your tongue out, ghosting for only a moment over his sensitive flesh, but it’s enough to make his eyes roll back, his long lashes fluttering against his cheeks. You do it again, and his mouth falls open. Though no sound escapes the look on his face is just as glorious.

·       This is going to be fun.

·       You crane your neck, opening your mouth and gently taking the head inside.  Martin’s free hand shoots to his mouth, and he bites down hard on the meat of his palm to stop himself from sobbing out loud. You press your tongue flat against him, dragging it slowly against his hot flesh. He thrashes beneath you, jostling the phone against his cheek.

·       Carefully, you sink further down on him, taking him in inch by inch. He lets out a long sigh around a mouthful of palm.

·       “What was that, Count?”

·       “Oohh…nothing,” Martin grinds out, “Just…closing a window.”

·       The lie was flimsy, but the DJ, despite his skeptical tone, didn’t seem interested in pressed him on it further, “…Right…so how is your control around this person, huh? Do you ever get the urge to just go to town on them?”

·       Martin’s laugh comes out as a low purr, and he bucks into your mouth once, “Mmm, sometimes.” Ever so slowly, as you’ve sunk down onto his cock, he’s been curling in on himself. His head now rests atop your own, and you can feel the heat of his cheek radiating against your scalp. If that heat is anything to go by, he must be positively scarlet.

·       “And what does that entail for you exactly?”

·       With a little jolt, his cock brushes up against the back of your throat. You swallow down a little choking noise, breathing steadily through your nose in an attempt to calm your gag reflex.

·       The warmth of Martin’s cheeks is suddenly gone as he straightens up again. His head hits the headboard with a thump. “I-I just wanna…” He swallows thickly, his breath coming hard, “Push into…p-push my teeth into their throat and just,” He bucks up into your throat, either unable, or simply unwilling to stay still any longer, “just take what I want.”

·       “Their…blood?”

·       You swallow around Martin and his back arches so far he practically lifts off the bed “Yes! Yes, everything they have to give!”

·       “Right…for a moment there it sounded a bit more, uh, sexually motivated than that.”

·       Again, your throat contracts around him, and a hiss of air escapes through his teeth, “No difference really…”

·       The DJ is silent for a moment, “Now that’s an interesting tidbit about you, Count. I’m sure all the ladies out there would love to hear more about that.”

·       Marin fucks up into your throat again with a soft groan, “I’m…I’m sure they would but,” His breath is coming harder now, “unfortunately, I’m taken.”

·       The DJ laughs, “Hear that, Count? That’s the sound of hundreds of hearts all over Braddock breaking. Sorry, folks but it looks like you’re out of luck.”

·       Oh. He’s taken alright. You can just imagine the anguished looks on their faces when you learn he gets taken almost every other night by another man.

·       Though you’d love to keep him in this position, you’re struck by the sudden, possessive urge to have him on his back. You tap his thigh thrice in quick succession and Martin withdraws almost immediately. He’s always so respectful of your wishes, even if he whines a little when his cock slips from the wet heat of your mouth. The sudden chill of the air on his wet cock sends a shiver through him.

·       You scoot back, grabbing Martin by the calves, and pulling him down into a more horizontal position. He fumbles with the phone, as it slips from his grasp, landing on the bed near his shoulder.

·       “What’s going on, Count?”

·       “S-Sorry, I just…I just dropped the phone is all. I’m…I’m feeling awful shaky these days.”

·       “Oh, yeah? How long has it been?”

·       Martin’s tone is distracted, “Ages.” He is far more focused on you, his dark eyes trained on yours as you loom over him.

·       The DJ asks another question, but you’re not listening as you slip Martin’s slick cock into your mouth, wasting no time in taking him back into your throat where he belongs.

·       Though you can’t make out his words so well over the rushing in your ears, Martin’s voice sounds strained, slightly higher than usual. He’s fighting the pleasure hard.

·       His free hand fists itself in your hair, pushing you down tighter against his cock. You swallow hard, trying desperately not to gag as he rolls is hips into your mouth. He’s come such a long way since the first time you asked him to fuck your mouth. He’d been so nervous that you did most of the work, bobbing your head faster and faster until he’d spilled deep into your mouth. He had apologized for almost an hour after, thinking the rasp in your voice was all his fault. Now? He’s practically asphyxiating you, and you hadn’t needed to say a word.

·       Martin is shaking—his thighs tremble on either side of your head, and the phone in his hands nearly slips from his grasp again with the force of the tremors passing through him.

·       You hollow your cheeks and he’s forced to cover the receiver again as a series of whimpers tear free from his lips. You press your tongue flat against the underside of his cock, and he sobs, his hips canting up off the bed.

·       “I-I’m close,” His frantic whisper comes tight through his teeth, an edge bordering on panic creeping into his voice. You grip his thigh and redouble your efforts, gaining a high whine in return.

·       “Hey, Count? Count there’s a lot of interference on your end…I can’t really hear you. I think this is where this conversation has to end, but call back another night, huh?” Martin doesn’t even respond, he simply slams the receiver back into the cradle, ending the call.

·       Almost as soon as the call has disconnected, he’s a whimpering mess. “Oh, fuck! Your mouth…I-I can’t! Is it okay? Is it okay if I…?”

·       He can’t bring himself to say it, but you know what he means and hum a soft affirmation around his cock. He cries out as the sound vibrates around his over-sensitive flesh.

·       With a whimper, he fucks up into your mouth, once, twice, then he shudders, his whole body going rigid as he cums. His knees clamp around your ears, squeezing your head as he shakes with the pleasure. His fingers pull at your hair, any tighter and you’re sure he’ll pull some out. But you press on, hollowing your cheeks, letting him ride the high for as long as he can.

·       The sound he makes as you swallow around him is nothing short of wrecked. His fingers claw the sheets as though he’s trying to drag himself away from you, from your mouth, but his body remains locked in place beneath you.

·       His cock twitches against your tongue as you slowly pull back, the wet drag of your tongue digging raw little whimpers from his throat, and a shudder passed through him when you pull of and his cock is again exposed to the chilly air of the room. His hips press forward, seeking the tight heat of your throat again. It would seem almost desperate if the motion wasn’t so sluggish, almost sleepy.  

·       He reaches for you then in the dark. His hands, hot and sweaty from exertion and gripping both the phone and the sheets for so long, grasp either side of your face as he pulls you up for a kiss.

·       The salty taste of his cum still coats your tongue, but he doesn’t seem to care as he presses his lips against yours with a desperation you rarely see in him.

·       Pulling back, you whisper against his lips, “Was that enough attention?”

·       He smiles, “For me? Yes.” He presses another soft kiss against your lips. “But now it’s your turn.”

[crashdevlin]

Another Second Chance 1- Black Hole

Another Second Chance Masterlist,  Happily Ever Eventually Masterlist

Author’s Note: The final (hopefully) installment of the Happily Ever Eventually RPF series.

Summary: It's been five years since Jensen broke Y/n's heart and she's avoided him completely, but avoidance only lasts so long.

Pairing: past Jensen x Reader

Word count: 2302

Story Warnings: past cheating, little bit of background angst, mostly no warnings.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Things change. Either gradually or in catastrophic leaps, things change. Fact of life, unfortunately. Songs have been sung, books have been penned, movies have been made, all centered around that single inarguable fact.

When I was a younger woman, I thought that nothing really ever changed, that the facts of my life were that I was weak and stupid and I was always going to be in love with people who didn’t want me and were too good for me, that I was going to be miserable and alone forever. I was certain that I was the same person at 26 that I was at 16 and that’s just how things were always going to be.

I can honestly say, at 34 years old, I’m a different woman than I was at 16 or 26 or 30...and I may be alone, but I am not miserable.

I’m successful. I’m happy. I have friends and I have fans. I am well-rounded and, despite a hundred things working against me, well-adjusted. I’ve learned that I don’t need to be dating someone to be happy. In fact, without all the drama surrounding me whenever I do date someone, I’m happier. I have my children and I have my friends and I am happy. 2025 is shaping up to be one of my best years yet and I am ecstatic to see where it leads.

I’m sitting at my computer when my phone goes off. I don’t recognize the number so I Google it. King Woods Private School, the school Jensen wants to send Mav to. Weird that they’d call me when Jensen has primary custody. I answer immediately. “Hello?”

“Is this Miss Y/l/n? Maverick Ackles’ mother?”

“Yes, I am.”

“Hi, Ma’am. I’m Caroline Smith, Dean of Admissions for King Woods Private School. Your son’s father applied to our institution for the Fall semester for Kindergarten.”

“Oh, yeah. He told me. Said his father is very excited to get him in there.”

“His father didn’t tell you?”

“Mav’s nanny mentioned it, too, but...Jensen and I-”

“Had a very public falling out a few years ago, we’ve done our research,” she interrupts me. “But the thing is, King Woods is a very family-oriented institute and we need both parents to participate in all activities like monthly PTAs and volunteer nights. We need to make sure that both active parents can work together amicably. On that note, we have an admissions interview with little Maverick on Friday and we require your presence. Can you make it? 10:30 am.”

“Ten-thirty on Friday? Y-yeah. I can...I can totally do that. I will...see you then, Mrs. Smith.”

“See you then, ma’am. I’m looking forward to meeting you and your son. Goodbye.”

“Goodbye.” I set my phone to the side of my laptop and take a deep breath. Jensen and I haven’t been in the same room since NolaCon 2020. We’ve emailed a few times, but haven’t even spoken on the phone...in several years...and that’s better. It’s better for everyone if we don’t talk because then we don’t argue and we don’t fall into patterns that leave us in bad shape.

But for Maverick’s future, for Maverick’s good, I will have to do it.

I call Misha. He encourages me and tells me it’ll be okay. He supports me. He’s an amazing friend, has been for years, one of the few I got in the breakup. Most of our friends specifically didn’t take sides. Kim and Briana and Misha, they sided with me...the girls a little more vocally than Meesh, but it ended up a small rift between Misha and Jensen. I put an end to J2M and it hurts a bit when I think about it. They still talk sometimes but nothing like they used to.

Jared still talks to me every once in a while, but he sided with Jensen. Of course he did. Jensen’s his brother. But Jared tries to keep me involved in his life, he tries to stay a friend...but he’s Jensen’s first, always has been.

“It’s gonna suck,” I say, shaking my head.

“Yeah. But still. You gotta do it, right?” Misha says and I chuckle. To the point with Mr. Collins.

“Yeah. I gotta do it. It’s just...I haven’t seen him in years. I mean...except pictures on Instagram. It’s gonna be weird.”

“You know what I say about weird, right?”

“Yeah. But this isn’t the GISH and Random Acts kinda weird, this is...a pit in my stomach that feels like a bowling ball and a fear of reversion to the person I was in the past kinda weird.”

“You’ve grown too much to revert and that bowling ball will go away when you get comfortable again.”

“That’s…that’s the problem. What happens if I get comfortable with him again, Misha?” I’m scared of it. “He’s like this black hole that sucks me in every time and the only way I’ve been able to stave off the destruction of my universe these last five years is to keep my distance. I don’t know what to do when I’m in close proximity to the black hole.”

“You can do this, Y/n. You won’t have any problems...and maybe Jensen’s grown over the last five years, too.”

“Well, you’ve talked to him more than I have. You’d know how much growing he’d done.”

“Yeah, but it’s not like we’re spending all our time together anymore.”

I nod. “So...hope for the best, that he’s grown and things will be okay, and keep my distance from the dark vortex.”

“Exactly.” Misha smiles and looks directly at the camera. “You got this.”

Yeah, I do. I got this.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I wear an embroidered black silk Joanna Mastroianni dress to the interview. Not a lot of makeup, but enough to accentuate my features. I keep my hair out of my face and I wear sensible, cute shoes. I look good, but not like I’m trying to look good. I look like I’m trying to look presentable and classy for the people in charge of my son’s education.

I make it to the school first and I sit in a plush chair in the waiting room and wait with my legs crossed neatly to the side. I pull out my phone and start playing a game of Solitaire.

“Mommy!” Maverick’s voice pulls my attention away from the Seven of Hearts that is stuck behind the Six of Diamonds that is arresting my forward momentum in the game. I smile as he runs at me, full-speed, and I slip my phone in my purse as he throws his arms around my neck. “I missed you!”

“I missed you too, Mav!” I exclaim. I lean back and look into the beautiful green eyes he inherited from his father. “Have you been having fun with Daddy?”

“Yes! All the time!” Mav says.

He turns his head to look at the door to the lobby as Jensen walks in. Holy shit. He let his hair grow out a bit...little longer than when he was playing a demon. It's multi toned, what would be called 'Salt and Pepper' in any other man, but it looks more like 'Walnut and light Roux' on him. He's rocking his ginger beard and it has some actual salt in the color. He's wearing a blue suit...a masterpiece tailored to take away your breath. The man knows how to make an entrance.

He's still gorgeous...and I’m still stuck on him. Fuck.

I stand and take Mav’s hand as Jensen steps closer. I focus on his forehead. I can’t look at those eyes. I can’t look at those lips or those freckles on his cheeks. Forehead is safe. He tucks his hands in the pockets of his slacks and licks his lips. “Hi,” I greet him, and my voice sounds awkward, too high-pitched.

“Hey,” he responds and oh, God, that voice.

Breathe. Stay away from the singularity, avoid being pulled into the black hole. “You doin’ good?”

He nods. “Yeah. You?”

“Just fine.” Dying, being sucked into a vortex in space.

He opens his mouth like he’s gonna say something else when a tall brunette woman in a smart pantsuit walks out of the office. “Mr. Ackles? Miss Y/l/n?” We nod as she drops to kneel in front of Mav and me. “And this must be little Maverick.”

Mav turns and hides his face in my skirt. “Sorry. He’s a little shy around new people. He’ll warm up to you.”

“It’s okay. It’s natural.” She stands and extends her hand to me and then Jensen, shaking our hands. “Good to see you both here. So, we’re going to take Maverick in and watch him play a bit, get a sense of his social and developmental placement and if he’s a good fit for King Woods, then we will make that happen.”

Jensen and I nod, then I gently pull Mav away from my legs. “You’re gonna go with the nice lady and play with some toys, answer some questions, okay? You can rock that, right, buddy?” Mav nods and smiles at me and Jensen.

“And you two will be just fine out here together, right?” Mrs. Smith says. She’s making sure we won’t freak out on each other. Freaking out on each other is not the problem.

“Of course we will,” Jensen answers. “We’re gonna park ourselves right here in these chairs and wait for you to tell us how brilliant our boy is.” He winks at the woman and she swoons a bit...I have to stop myself from doing the same as I step back toward the chair I was sitting in before. She offers Maverick her hand and he looks back at me before he takes it and follows her as she leads him away toward a playroom. I play with the hem of my dress for a few moments as Jensen takes the seat next to me, his bowlegs stretching out in front of him a bit. “So...listened to that cover album you did...with, uh, Rob, Rich, and Mark. It came out real good. ‘A Little Dive Bar in Dahlonega’ was perfect.”

I look down and my cheeks heat up. “Thanks. Uh...you and Steve are working on Volume Four, right? How’s that comin’?”

“Pretty good. Not bad at all, actually.” There’s a moment of silence and I sneak a look at him. He’s biting his bottom lip. Black hole, black hole, black hole. “Oh, and how’s that Shakespeare thing goin’?”

My eyes light up and I look over at him. “Midsummer! Yes. My pet project! It’s coming. Rich has signed on to direct a few episodes and Matt signed up to be my Puck. I’m really excited to see what we can do with that universe. Fairies are so my jam!”

“Are you just producing and writing it, or are you gonna be acting in it?” he asks, leaning forward, showing interest, active listening.

“I’m Hermia, actually. It’s coming along very well.”

“That’s really good. I’m...happy for you.” He smiles and I bite my tongue. God. This is bad. This is so fucking bad. I look away from him. “So, uh, I heard that you RSVP’d to Padalecki’s July Fourth barbecue, but you never showed up.”

I shake my head and sigh. Of course Jared told him I flaked on Independence Day. “Yeah. I was, uh...I was gonna go but-”

“But then you heard my shoot in Georgia got rescheduled and I wasn’t gonna be in Atlanta like I planned so you decided not to risk runnin’ into me?” he guesses.

“Yeah.” I nod and look over at him. “It was fine. I ended up watching fireworks with Nova over Skype.”

“You know...it’s been years. You don’t have to avoid me. We can be adults. Jared misses you.”

I lick my lips and nod. “It’s just hard for me to be around you. I miss Jared too, but I can’t be around you. It’s too hard.”

“This is hard?” he asks. I open my mouth to respond ‘Unbelievably’, but he keeps talking. “Because it’s not hard for me. It's the most natural thing in the world to me.”

I close my eyes and shake my head, settling back in the chair to lean away from him. “This is why it’s hard.” I open my eyes and pull my phone out to finish that game of Solitaire.

He doesn’t say anything else until Mrs. Smith walks out with Maverick fifteen minutes later. “They had a lot of toys in there!” Maverick shouts.

“Indoor voice, Mav,” I say as I stand up. I focus on Mrs. Smith. “So?”

She smiles brightly. “He’s a brilliant child. We would absolutely love to have him here at King Woods.”

“That’s great news!” Jensen exclaims.

“Indoor voice, Jay,” I joke before it hits me that I just called him ‘Jay’ and teased him. Slippery slope. Don’t get comfortable. “Uh, a-anyway. That is great news.”

“We’ll send you the information for tuition and supplies. It was wonderful to meet you both,” Mrs. Smith says.

I bend down and give Mav a hug as she walks away. “You’re awesome, kiddo. I’ll see you this weekend, okay?”

“Okay, Mommy!”

He runs to his dad and I pick up my purse, stepping toward the door. Jensen puts his hand out as he picks Maverick up to hold him on the other side. He pulls me into a half hug and I go stiff as his hand lands on the small of my back. God, he smells so good...and his hand is so big and…

I pull away and lick my lips. “You and Daddy have fun, Mav!” I almost run out of the lobby and into the parking lot.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

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[joysmercer]

Brooklyn Nine-Nine Season 7: A Timeline

Season 6 Finale: Wednesday, 5/8 to Wednesday, 5/15/2019

E1 (“MANHUNTER”): Thursday, 6/6/2019

E2 (“CAPTAIN KIM”): Friday, 6/7 to Monday, 6/10/2019

E3 (“PIMENTO”): Tuesday, 6/18 to Thursday, 6/20/2019 + Thursday, 6/27/2019

E4 (“THE JIMMY JAB GAMES II”): Friday, 6/21/2019

E5 (“DEBBIE”): Saturday, 6/22 to Sunday, 6/23/2019

E6 (“TRYING”): Monday, 6/24/19 to late January 2020  

E7 (“DING DONG”): Day 1 to Day 3, mid-March 2020

E8 (“THE TAKEBACK”):  Friday, 3/27 to Monday, 3/30/2020

E9 (“DILLMAN”): around 4/10/2020

E11 (“VALLOWEASTER”): Thursday, 10/31/2019 +  Friday, 2/14/2020 + Sunday, 4/12/2020 to Monday, 4/13/2020

E10 (“ADMIRAL PERALTA”): mid-May 2020 + around 6/17/2020 + Friday, 6/26 to Saturday, 6/27/2020

E12 (“RANSOM”): Day 1 to Day 3, mid-August 2020

E13 (“LIGHTS OUT”): Day 1, around 10/20/2020

explanations for the dates are under the cut!

Things to keep in mind:

The B/C-plots, for the most part, are not included in the calculation of the times here, because they rarely have the same number of days as the A-plot. 

I didn’t take weekends into consideration unless otherwise noted. There is a weekend squad, but we know that the regular detectives also sometimes work weekends (enough so that on more than one occasion, Holt has rewarded them with “weekends off”).

Time-stamps within the episode are used as guidelines, but not always as the rule, unless there is a specific number of days given.

7x01-early 7x06 all have to happen in June so that they can start The Amy Way in July. Please refer to 7x06 for the explanation for the dates on these episodes.

Season 6 Finale: 5/8-5/15/2019 

Has to start and end on a Wednesday; two or more weeks must pass until 7x02.

7x01:  6/6/2019

As per Amy's period in Trying, it has to be at the beginning of the month. 

Continuity: Since patrol cops spend “6 months on the same beat,” which Holt is still doing in December, assume that when Debbie says it’s his “first week on the job,” she means his current beat.

Continuity: her period technically is supposed to start somewhere between 6/2 and 6/7. Assume when she says it’s “late,” she means by just a few days. After all, for the July calendar to be accurate, it can’t be late by more than a week.

7x02: 6/7-6/10/2019

Day 1 – cold open // Day 2 – they meet Cpt. Kim // Day 3 – Party // Day 4 – last scene

Kim got an “email from two weeks ago” from Wunch. Cold-open is on 6/7, a Friday (because Rosa has the weekend off and, therefore, wouldn’t be there to meet Wunch on Day 2 of the episode). The timestamp on the last scene—Day 4—says that it's a Monday. 

7x03: 6/18-6/27/2019

Day 1, 6/18 - cold open

Day 2, 6/19 - visit Pimento’s doctor; Pimento spends the night at Charles’s

Day 3, 6/20 - HR seminar + Pimento in hospital

Day 10: “One Week Later” from Day 3.

Per the cold-open, Amy is ovulating during this episode. Also, Jimmy Jabs are on 6/21.

Continuity: The Masked Singer finale/premiere dates don’t make sense. But the contestant they mentioned didn’t even exist in season 1 of TMS, so it’s excusable.

Continuity: The last scene takes place during “Trying.” Roll with it.

7x04: 6/21/2019

14 days since Rosa last took a vacation—7x02—and a Friday because Amy skips a seminar that was probably wasn’t scheduled for a weekend.

Continuity: Rosa and Jocelyn had apparently been dating “a year” at this point. It was probably shorter than that.

Continuity: This episode most likely takes place before Trying: Jake mentions Amy being more, erm, adventurous now that they’re trying to conceive, and that doesn’t really fit in with the overly-scheduled sex UD-ing that was happening from July 2019 and onwards. Plus, the stress/potential injury that such a competition would bring definitely doesn’t fit in with The Amy Way.

7x05: 6/22-6/23/2019

Debbie steals the cocaine at end of 7x04; assume 7x05 is the day after. The final scene is the day after the rest of the episode.

Continuity: They mention Debbie’s journals from “this year,” and specify that they were written on “August 21.” Assume this means August 2018.

7x06: 6/24/19 - late January 2020  

On the calendars in the war room, “Menstruation” lasts about five days and starts around the 4th of every month; “Ovulation” starts around the 15th of every month and lasts about a week. Amy presumably took a pregnancy test at the very end of every month—not only were these scenes always followed by calendar flips, but she would have to take the tests at least two weeks after ovulation but before she got her period.

The calendar invites/The Jake Way happen in June—so Amy still has to be ovulating at the start of the episode—because they start The Amy Way in July. 

The Amy Way fails for the last time in December. The pregnancy test she takes before Hitchcock announces that his girlfriend is pregnant was late December (around 12/30). The next test she would take—the last scene in the episode—would be late January (around 1/30).

Assuming it isn’t a false positive (which is unlikely, considering her doctor would have double-checked this before putting her on fertility medication), the earliest she can get pregnant would be mid-February.

7x07: lasts about a week and ends mid-March 2020.

Has to be after 2/14 but before 4/12, based on Holt’s uniform changes in Valloweaster. 

It’s very likely that Amy’s just a few weeks pregnant here since she wasn’t suspicious at all until her doctor brought it up; if the hormones messed up her cycle a bit and she got pregnant mid to late-February, she was 3-4 weeks pregnant in this episode and wouldn’t have noticed until taking the test.

Continuity: I’m assuming that the “Ebola Doctor” was Craig Spencer. He contracted the virus in 2014, so “six years ago” makes sense.

7x08: 3/27-3/30/2020.

Since it’s Holt’s first day back, this episode is relatively soon after 7x07, but with a week or two in between to account for paperwork and official promotion procedures. 

Day 1: Friday (The bachelor’s party is over the weekend)

Day 2: Saturday (heist)

Judy’s friends were clearly arrested at nighttime, and that + the change of clothing indicates that Jake and the Judy’s had to have come home the next day.

Day 3: Sunday (Jake comes home)

Day 4: Monday (last scene)

Continuity: The screen on the computer that one of Judy’s men hacks into says “Last Login: March 27 2015.″ Since this episode obviously takes place in 2020, just ignore that.

7x09: ~4/10/2020

Earlier than June—Terry’s kids are still in school (Spring Semester). Also probably(?) a Friday, since Terry’s kids have a concert and it’s unlikely they’ll have one in the middle of the week.

The Friday before Easter (7x11) is April 10.

7x10: Mid-May 2020 (cold open), ~6/17/2020, 6/26/2020-6/27/2020

Cold-Open: pregnancy reveal and end of 1st trimester. 

Day 2: Jake tells his father that they’re having a sex-reveal party “Next Friday,” indicating two Fridays after this day. Therefore, this conversation happened around June 17, 2020 (The Wednesday that is approximately 18 weeks from mid-February).

Day 3: Friday, Day of the party (June 26)

Day 4: Amy finds out; day after Day 3 (June 27)

Continuity: The entirety of 7x11 takes place before this one.

7x11: 10/31/19, 2/14/20, and 4/12-4/13/2020

7x12: Day 1-Day 3, Mid-8/2020

Day 1: Cold Open

Day 2: find cheddar

Day 3: B- and C-plots end

Shakespeare in the Park is usually held in Prospect Park over the summer. Halfway between 7x10 and 7x13 is the end of August; I made it mid-August so it’s still technically “Summer.”

Continuity: Amy’s only 6 months pregnant in this episode and her baby shower is the weekend after. However, in season 5, Gina also had her baby shower at around 5/6 months, so this isn’t unusual for these characters. Plus, this is Amy we’re talking about—she probably had a registry ready to go within days of finding out about the pregnancy. 

7x13: Day 1, late-10/2020. 

The elevator expiry is listed as 12/20/2020 and it was inspected “4 months ago.” elevators in New York are inspected every 6 months, which means that the last inspection was 6/20/2020 and it is now (mid to late-)October. 

Later in the month (10/20/2020* or later) matches up with Amy getting pregnant in mid-February: her due-date would be mid-November, and it makes sense for her to start maternity leave about 3 weeks beforehand. 

Continuity: Amy going on leave so early explains why she didn’t have a maternity bag stashed somewhere in the precinct—we all know that she would have had one had she been working right up to her due date. Also, although Amy’s FOMOW would make her want to stay at the precinct right up until she gave birth, if her doctor recommended her to take rest earlier (which is likely, given how stressful/strenuous her job is…), she would have followed those orders properly.

Thank you to @feeisamarshmallow​ for talking through this with me!

* baby Mac could definitely be either a Libra or a Scorpio :)

[silverlightqueen]

Mischief Managed: Riddikulus

Across the United Kingdom, millions of children attend school every day, studying Maths, English and Science, but deep in the Scottish Highlands, a lucky thousand schoolkids get to study Potions, Charms and Defence Against the Dark Arts. Whilst the rest of us learn names like Shakespeare, Avogadro and Fibonacci, they learn names like Goshawk, Bagshot and Scamander. Whilst we learn how to do algebra, how to analyse poems and how photosynthesis works, they learn how correctly use a Conjuring Spell, how to brew a Draught of Living Death and how to fly a Nimbus 2000. And naturally, school children will always find a way to misbehave, to get up to no good, to make mischief, but when you add spells, potions and magic into the mix? Let’s just say... they get up to more than just mischief. Welcome to Hogwarts.

hogwarts!au, ot7 x y/n - comedy

Rating: PG15 (brief mention of sex and genitalia, profanity)

Word Count: 3k+

a/n: check the masterlist before you read!! here is the first instalment of my new hogwarts drabble series called Mischief Managed! I really hope y’all enjoy this, lmk what you think and hmu if you wanna be on the taglist! x

silverlightqueen masterlist

Riddikulus (Boggart Banishing Spell)

Type: Charm

Pronunciation: rih-dih-KUL-lus

Description: A spell used when fighting a Boggart, "Riddikulus" forces the Boggart to take the appearance of an object the caster is focusing on. Best results can be achieved if the caster is focusing on something humorous, with the desire that laughter will weaken the Boggart

Etymology: Latin word ridiculus, "laughable" (but perhaps "absurd" or "silly" in this context)

Notes: The effect of the spell seems to rely primarily on the state of mind of the caster. It doesn't actually change the shape of a boggart into something humorous, but rather whatever the caster is concentrating on at the moment of the casting, as when Neville was thinking of his grandmother's dress. Presumably, Mrs Weasley couldn't take her mind off of her fears for her family, so the Boggart was changed into other members of the family rather than something humorous

‘Good morning, students,’ Professor Lupin’s clear and calm voice echoes through the classroom, cutting all conversation short as we look up at the newest teacher to take on the ill-fated role of Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher. ‘Good morning, Professor,’ we chorus back, watching as he walks down the steps, his dark brown robes billowing out behind him.

The second his foot touches the floor, the wardrobe in the centre of the room shakes, all of us jumping at the sudden noise. We watch as it continues shaking sporadically, its short wooden legs colliding with the worn floor, the noise echoing around the room.

‘Intriguing, isn’t it?’ Professor Lupin asks into the silence, all of us still and watching, waiting for the wardrobe to move again. ‘Would anybody like to venture a guess… as to what is inside?’ Lupin drawls, his words met with a few moments of silence before Kim Namjoon raises a hand. ‘Is it a boggart, Sir?’ he asks, a smile breaking across Lupin’s tired face. ‘Very good, Mr Kim. Can anybody tell me what a boggart looks like?’ ‘No one knows. Boggarts are shapeshifters. They take the shape of whatever a person fears most. That’s what makes them so…’ Jeon Jungkook trails off, face serious as he looks to Professor Lupin who nods and finishes the sentence for him; ‘so terrifying, yes, Mr Jeon.’

I feel a pair of hands land heavily on my shoulders, making me jump in shock, and I turn to give Park Jimin a dirty look for taking advantage of the tension in the air, the boy giving me a mischievous grin in return. ‘Luckily, a very simple charm exists to repel a boggart. Let’s practice it now – without wands, please,’ Lupin says, everyone freezing with their hands halfway into their robes, hands falling back to our sides. ‘After me. Riddikulus!’ he says with his chin jutted out, enunciation clear and loud. Everybody repeats after him, a loud chorus of ‘Riddikulus’ ringing out into the air, but I feel a little stupid to do so, and so do the other Slytherins around me, it seems – there is silence from our corner of the group.

‘Very good. A little louder and clearer this time, please, and can we have our dear Slytherins joining in too?’ Lupin says with an amused glance over at us, the rest of the class turning to look too, and promptly looking away when Min Yoongi pushes himself away from the wall, daring them to say something. ‘Listen. Riddikulus!’ Lupin says, and I push down my pride to join the others in repeating after him, ‘Riddikulus!’ ‘This class is ridiculous,’ I hear Jimin muttering behind me, our friendship group stifling our laughs with the sleeves of our robes.

‘Very good. So much for the easy part. You see, the incantation alone is not enough. What really finishes a boggart is laughter. You need to force it to assume a shape you find truly amusing,’ Lupin explains, and despite myself, I’m intrigued to see one of these boggarts in action. ‘Let me show you an example. Hoseok, would you join me, please?’ he says, turning his kind smile to one of my (only) friends in Hufflepuff house. The Hufflepuffs generally aren’t that bad, definitely more bearable than the know-it-all Ravenclaws, though even they’re easy to deal with than the Gryffindors, with their stupid bravery and lack of self-preservation.

Jung Hoseok looks like he might wet himself, his usual sunny persona disappearing and replaced by a pale face and scared wide eyes. ‘Come on, don’t be shy,’ Lupin prompts, and Hoseok’s friends push him forward, the boy stumbling towards the wardrobe. ‘Now, don’t tell us aloud, but just have a think about some of the things that frighten you the most, so you can prepare yourself for the boggart,’ Lupin says kindly, Hoseok nodding nervously as another Hufflepuff, Kim Taehyung, whispers, ‘we’ll be stood here all day; he’s scared of everything.’ Giggles ripple around the room as Lupin leaves Hoseok to think over his fears and comes to stand in front of us.

‘The thing you must remember about boggarts is that they will transform into your worst fear. Some of you may not even know what that is – we’re all scared of bugs and heights and things like that, but what about the things we don’t think about or encounter regularly? There is no way of knowing what your boggart will turn into, because we all have more than one fear, so make sure you are thoroughly prepared to use the incantation as soon as you face the boggart. Understood?’ Lupin says seriously, a shiver running through me as we all nod – no one’s laughing anymore.

‘Right, Hoseok. Are you ready? Have you had a think?’ Lupin calls to the Hufflepuff boy, who nods reluctantly, gulping. ‘Here we go then, wand at the ready. One… two… three!’ Lupin says, waving his wand at the wardrobe, which creaks opens slowly. We all crane our necks to see what’s in there, but it’s dark and there’s nothing to be seen. Hoseok looks like he might faint, the hand holding his wand shaking. And then we hear it; a little hiss.

Before anyone can register it, a snake is slithering out of the darkness of the wardrobe, thick, green and black, leaving a trail of slime behind it as it glides across the floor towards Hoseok, who’s frozen in terror, watching its forked tongue poke out from its mouth, letting out loud and threatening hisses. ‘Think, Hoseok, think,’ Lupin prompts, and the boy seems to wake up, nodding as he lets out a meek, ‘Riddikulus!’ It works, though, and suddenly the snake is transforming into a balloon, the kind that entertainers make at children’s parties, Lupin swiftly grabbing onto the string it’s attached to before it can float up to the ceiling.

‘Are you trying to send us a message, Hobi?’ Yoongi calls to the Hufflepuff, the boy looking considerably less scared as he turns to us with a smile. ‘Yeah. Anyone’d think you’re just as scared of us,’ I grin, the boy laughing. ‘You guys aren’t anywhere near as scary as real snakes.’ ‘Yeah? I’ll show you scary,’ Jimin says threateningly, a small smile on his face, and Hobi rolls his eyes amusedly, grinning as Lupin watches our exchange with interest.

‘Wonderful, Hoseok, fantastic job. Now, can we form a line?’ he says, our classmates sprinting to the front of the line before he can even finish speaking, and I roll my eyes at their eagerness. ‘Come on,’ Jimin says, hooking his arms through mine and Yoongi’s, dragging us towards the middle of the line. Our classmates move out of the way for us, and I thank them with a smile, Yoongi and Jimin exchanging an amused glance; they always tease me for being nice to people, saying it’s unlike a Slytherin, but I beg to differ – I’d say it’s very Slytherin to be nice to people, knowing that being nice gets people to like you, do things for you. The typical Slytherin way is to get people to fear you, but I’d prefer them to love me – it’s better to have people willing to do things for you, though I guess a little bit of fear doesn’t hurt every now and then. I think I’ve found a good balance between the two.

‘You Slytherins. Think too much of yourselves to rush into the queue, and then push in front of everyone else,’ Kim Seokjin says from where he’s stood in front of us with Hobi and Namjoon, the three of them turning to us with big grins. ‘Shut it, Kim,’ Yoongi says with a grin, holding out a fist for the three of them to bump theirs’ against. Jin’s a Gryffindor, one of the very few of them that I can stand to be around for longer than ten seconds, and Jungkook is another, simply because I’ve never laughed more at anyone than I have at those two when they’re together. They’re like a slapstick comedy duo, and I guess they can be nice, sometimes. Considering we’re in different houses, we actually spend a fair bit of time together – maybe too much time. We share nearly all our classes, and Jungkook’s on Gryffindor’s Quidditch team so I see him at practices and at matches, and we all sit together in the Great Hall from time to time, with Hoseok, Taehyung and Namjoon too.

Namjoon’s a Ravenclaw, and it shows in lessons. Outside of lessons, though? It’s a wonder he's still alive, if I’m being completely honest. The boy is clumsier than anyone I’ve ever met. But he’s kind, and you can actually have an intellectual conversation with him – intellect is something they have in common with us Slytherins. The school’s all about ‘interhouse relationships’ and ‘Hogwarts unity’, and they’re always pushing that stupid agenda onto us, so we’ve got a few friends from other houses – not many though. We Slytherins are an exclusive people.

‘God, Taehyung must have run to get to the front,’ Jimin says, all of us turning to look where he stands in front of Professor Lupin, wand at the ready, face determined. Lupin releases the balloon, the room falling silent as we all watch with interest, wondering what Taehyung’s worst fear is going to be. The boggart turns and spins in the air, a big blur before him, and we all wait with bated breath. And then it turns into Taehyung. ‘He’s scared of himself?’ Hobi asks, all of us looking at each other in confusion. Before we notice that the boggart Taehyung is… morphing before our eyes. His back becomes hunched, his skin sagging and taking on a leathery texture, his healthy dark curls greying and thinning, strands of it actually falling to the floor, his broad and strong body becoming shrivelled and small, and when he smiles, his sparkling perfect white teeth yellow completely and some of them fall out, leaving atrocious gaps. He’s aging.

‘Oh, my God,’ Taehyung whispers, face covered with horror, and we all burst out laughing. His worst fear is aging. As though he can’t bear to look at himself like that again, he calls out the incantation, waving his wand, and the old (ugly) boggart Taehyung becomes a younger, more handsome Taehyung, not like the one we know now – more like a Taehyung in his mid-20s. He’s so handsome I feel myself swooning a little, Yoongi side-eyeing me amusedly as I rub at my nose, trying to cover how much my face has heated up. All of the girls and some of the boys are just as flustered as me, and now Taehyung looks pretty impressed with the effect that handsome boggart Taehyung is having on us all.

He makes his way over to us with a grin, and I instantly shake off my flustered state, rolling my eyes at his smug face. ‘D’you see how handsome he was? I’m betting I’ll look like that in ten years’ time,’ he says proudly, the boys all exchanging amused glances. ‘y/n’ll happy then,’ Jin says with a grin to me, and I nudge him with a scowl, Tae raising an eyebrow at me. ‘Don’t, Tae, I swear, I’ll hex you,’ I say warningly, brandishing my wand at him, and he just holds his hands up, grinning smugly. ‘You’re scared of aging?’ Namjoon asks the question we’re all wondering, and Tae sighs with a roll of his eyes. ‘I’m scared of aging badly. I want to still be handsome and… use my body properly when I’m old,’ he says with a smirk, the double entendre plain, and I can’t help but scowl at him when he turns his amused eyes to me. ‘Please never talk about wanting to still be able to have sex when you’re old. I don’t want to ever picture old you with your dick out,’ I say bitingly, everyone laughing, including Tae, as we picture the boggart we just saw attempting to have sex. I shudder, shaking away the thought.

‘Look, look, it’s Jeon’s turn,’ Namjoon says, our attention turning to the front where Jungkook’s stood in front of Lupin, who holds Jennie’s boggart in his hands – it was a load of bugs before, but she turned them into dumplings. ‘Ready, Jungkook?’ Lupin asks, the boy nodding, before Professor Lupin throws the dumplings up in the air, and they stay up there, slowly transforming into Jungkook’s boggart. It drops to the floor once it’s transformed, and I crane my neck to see what it is, only able to see flashes of metal here and there, my peers all in the way. ‘What the fuck is that?’ Jimin demands, and when I catch sight of it, I burst out laughing, Tae, Jimin and Hobi not understanding why me, Jin, Namjoon and Yoongi are practically wetting ourselves with laughter.

‘What is it?’ Tae demands, but none of us are in any state to answer him, Jin rolling on the floor as Namjoon clutches at his stomach, Yoongi’s shoulders shaking as tears run down my face, our laughter echoing around the room. By the time I’ve managed to compose myself, Jungkook’s turned his boggart into a small bonfire, which Professor Lupin is attempting to contain so that it doesn’t set fire to the entire classroom, which is all made out of wood, by the way (I know the school’s old, but it really wouldn’t kill them to do a little refurbishment).

Jungkook makes his way over to us, looking sheepish when he sees the way we’re laughing at him. ‘Don’t laugh – I’m genuinely terrified of them,’ he says embarrassedly, setting us off again, and the three purebloods in our friendship group don’t look too impressed at being left out of the joke. ‘What was it?’ Hobi asks, and Jungkook sighs. ‘A microwave,’ he says quietly, the four of us being hit with another wave of laughter. ‘Why… the fuck… are you scared… of microwaves?’ Jin demands between laughs, and Jungkook looks at his feet, face red. ‘I always have been. They could just blow up at any moment,’ he says in a small voice, and as much as I do feel for him, I cannot stop laughing.

‘Sorry, hold on, I hate to interrupt you muggles and your little inside joke, but what the fuck is a… microwave?’ Jimin demands, and we all shoot him dirty looks. ‘We’re not muggles, Jimin, don’t say that again. We’re just as much wizards as you are,’ I say coldly, and he holds his hands up apologetically. ‘I know, sorry, you know I don’t mean it,’ he says honestly, and I nod, biting back my annoyance. Jimin was raised in a pureblood household, as were Tae and Hobi, but neither of them had quite the upbringing that Jimin did. Slytherin pureblood families are… maybe the worst you can ever encounter – they’re proud, rich, privileged and thrive off their supposed ‘supremacy’. Jimin was always taught that purebloods were the only wizards that deserved to be wizards, that half-bloods were dirty half-breeds and that muggle-borns were an abomination to the wizarding race. Joining Hogwarts, he was exposed to more ‘dirty half-breeds’ and ‘abominations to the wizarding race’ than ever before, and he even became best friends with two half-bloods – myself, and Yoongi. He’s trying to eradicate the views that were instilled in him all his life, and I understand that he can’t help it sometimes, that the words come out before he can correct himself, but that doesn’t stop the way I get annoyed with him. The others control their anger better, and it surprises me sometimes, considering Jin and Namjoon are both muggle-born – I would think they’d get more annoyed than anyone, but they handle Jimin’s stupid comments well.

‘A microwave is an electronic kitchen appliance,’ Jungkook says, the three purebloods looking at him blankly, and he sighs. ‘It’s a machine that cooks food,’ he says simply, the four of us stifling our laughter. ‘So you’re not scared of… I don’t know, getting injured in a Quidditch match, or dementors, or even You-Know-Who, but you are scared of… a machine that cooks food?’ Tae asks, and Jungkook lets out an irritated noise. ‘They can blow up at any moment!’ he repeats, all seven of us bursting into laughter now, and Jungkook sulks for a few moments, his scowl quickly becoming a grin as he joins in with our laughter.

‘Right, students, I’m sorry but that is all we have time for today! Class dismissed! Lupin calls out amongst complaints and grumbles, but I’m secretly relieved; I’d rather not have everyone find out my deepest, darkest fear. We all head towards the door, Professor Lupin bidding us goodbye as we leave. ‘I wanted to find out your guys’ fears too,’ Jungkook says as we step into the corridor. ‘Why? Wondering one of us might be scared of an electrical appliance too? Maybe a fridge? Or an oven?’ Jin teases, the boy shoving him. ‘You’re all teasing me, but Tae’s scared of getting old!’ ‘That’s nowhere near as bad as being scared of microwaves. What is scary about microwaves?’ ‘They can blow up at any moment!’

[jesangel1503]

30 Day Challenge:Day 3 Topic

LET´S TALK ABOUT FRIENDSHIP

I can see this is a quite interesting but a bit sensitive topic for me. I just needed a time off to clear my mind so I can be able to cogitate on this familiar topic for everyone.

Let´s go straight to some few facts about friendship? Where did this word even came from?

So I browsed in and found out that friendship is a word of Germanic origin has existed in the English language since its founding in Old English. Back then, ‘friend’ existed as ‘frond’ which was the present participle of the verb fron, ‘to love’. The root of the verb was ‘fr-’ which meant ‘to like, love, or be affectionate to’. We can still see the remnants of this verb every day of the week- Friday or ‘day of Frigg’ is devoted to the Germanic goddess of love Frigg.

Source: whitesmoke.com

So much for it´s root word, let´s do some more researching. Many famous people have shared their thoughts about what friendship is for them. Now, maybe we can get some friendspiration from them!

Helen Keller

"I would rather walk with a friend in the dark, than alone in the light."

J.K. Rowling

"It takes a great deal of bravery to stand up to our enemies, but just as much to stand up to our friends."

Abraham Lincoln

"Do I not destroy my enemies when I make them my friends?"

Eleanor Roosevelt

"Many people will walk in and out of your life, but only true friends will leave footprints in your heart"

Bob Marley

“The truth is, everyone is going to hurt you. You just got to find the ones worth suffering for”

William Shakespeare

“A friend is one that knows you as you are, understands where you have been, accepts what you have become, and still, gently allows you to grow.”

Jennifer Lawrence

‘‘No matter how tired I am, I get dinner at least once a week with my girlfriends. Or have a sleepover. Otherwise my life is just all work.”

Marilyn Monroe

“Experts on romance say for a happy marriage there has to be more than a passionate love. For a lasting union, they insist, there must be a genuine liking for each other. Which, in my book, is a good definition for friendship.”

Drew Barrymore

“What’s helped me is having really good friends I know I can rely on. Cameron Diaz is one of the greatest friends anyone can ever have. She has so much love to give.”

Selena Gomez

“Every single problem I ever have is healable by Taylor Swift. If I ever I have an issue, Taylor has gone through it – she gives the most thought-out answers. And what I love about Taylor is that she does believe in the whole love story and Prince Charming and soul mates. Because of her, I haven’t lost faith.”

Emma Watson

“My two best girlfriends are from secondary school. I don’t have to explain anything to them. I don’t have to apologise for anything. They know.”

Jennifer Aniston

“We come from homes far from perfect, so you end up almost parent and sibling to your friends – your own chosen family. There’s nothing like a really loyal, dependable, good friend. Nothing.”

Oprah Winfrey

“Lots of people want to ride with you in the limo, but what you want is someone who will take the bus with you when the limo breaks down.”

Ariana Grande

“The best part about having true friends is that you can go months without seeing them and they’ll still be there for you and act as if you’d never left!.”

Whew, they are really inspiring isn´t it? But lemme give you bits of how I view and value friendship. So I´d like to answer some of these challenging questions I have found and that maybe can help me dig in to what´s really coming to my mind about this topic. As you read along, you are free to answer on your own and find out? Well, this is a writing therapy for me. I thought it might be nice to put my thoughts into writing and share it with you ( Well, only if you are interested to do so) But yes, this is entirely my thoughts. Some of you might disagree about my answers and what I have been writing in this little writing space of mine, but I don´t really care! As I have said, this is my therapy. If you judge me based on my thoughts, it´s totally on you and if that amuses you, well IT WILL BE MY PLEASURE :)

QUESTIONS ABOUT FRIENDSHIP

Can you describe one of your closest friends.

It´s so hard to choose which one of them that I particularly should talk about. All of them are special to me in their unique ways. But let me describe you one of my bestfriends, whom I met when I was an aupair in the first town I lived in here in Denmark. It´s funny though because this friend of mine, came to me by fate and the first time we met, we just click, you know. Like she´s that angel from heaven, who´ve brought me and would bribed me with food to keep me from not ditching school, because for her, it would be boring without me, and that she’d prefer me than the other filipino ones at the school. She would just call me and say, “Hey, wake up and get dressed. We´re off to school,and ahh uh don´t even say a word because I am already here, parked outside your house waiting for you. And, I´ve brought us Dinuguan and Pancit for lunch! Hurry!”.. So hard to refuse right? Oh yes, she is that kind. There are no other negative feeling around her, around us everytime we were together. We got along well so fast even at the very first day we´ve met. Since then, we hang out a lot. Sometimes cutting classes and going off to the second hand shop in town together or hit the mall, or just eat out in our favorite eat all you can Asian Restaurant. It´s just pure and honest friendship. I could sense she feels the same way too. It was never hard to be myself when I am with her. You know that feeling where you can´t feel any insecurities at all and you don´t feel that you are judged whenever you are sharing sensitive moments with her. I could say that is one of those few and rare friendship I have that I truly treasure the most. 

Do you have any childhood friendships that are still strong today? Tell us about them.

I have a childhood bestfriend, and we have shared plenty of childhood memories together. I have been born in a family with no sisters so she is like a sister to me. Back then, she was living with her family in a house just a few walks from our house. I always spend time with her at their place when my parents were not home from work and she would come for a sleepover at our house during some of the weekends.. During my trip home last 2017, we were able to spend time together for a week. And still it´s as if things between us haven´t changed at all. She is still that friend who turned into family, and we assured each other that we we´re still gonna have each other´s back no matter what. Up until now, we´re still able to catch up, though I could say only through online. We both think we´re okay with the LDR thing. Haha! 

Do you have any long distance friends?

I have, in fact, so many of them! As I reside now in Denmark, so the only communication we have is the internet. The first one I talked about she lives in the UK and my childhood friend lives in the Philippines. Most of my other closest friends are residing in the Philippines, UK, US, Australia, Canada, Japan and a few ones in the Middle East.  

Do you think it is a good idea to borrow money from a friend? Why or why not?

This is a quite sensitive topic for me. But I do have views regarding friends and money matters. You know, in my entire life, I have tried to avoid situations involving friendship and money. I just don´t. I mean, I cherish people so much, and to ruin a relationship and lose a cherished friend because of money issues is a bit awful for me. I’d rather NOT. Just NO. 🙏🏻

Do you make friends easily?

I can make friends easily. And I do have a loud mouth. I am so excited to meet new people and talk with random people on the street and just smile and say hi. For me, it´s a bit of heartwarming when people comes to you, say hi, talk to you and get excited to know you. So I often think people would also want that. But given the fact that many people are too reserved, I also know my boundaries. It´s only when I feel like people would also wanna chat. I mean, like saying hi to the old lady beside me in a bus full of busy people. It could be lonely to be old, I think. Not many people are interested in talking to them. A few old people I met and talked with, they were all excited and thrilled to talked with me about their day, about their lives and jobs before and what life meant for them. For me, they have seen a lot and experienced a lot from all those years living in this world. It´s just compelling to learn from them! 

Has a friend ever let you down?

I have experienced it many times. But based from it, I always try my best to understand them and listen to them more. Humans as we are, we often make mistakes. And that includes letting a friend down. May it be a small or a big deal, but friends that are meant to last, are the friends, who still thinks of how to mend things up than to make things worst. So a friend´s apology and forgiveness is always the best ingredients to make things last.

If the trust was broken, and there is no way you can bring back what you both have had before. I just let go and pray for them. In life you will learn who you should trust and it´s always gonna be the ones who will still be there for you despite the odds. You will learn a lot by gaining and losing friends. 

Have you made any friends over the Internet?

I do have a plenty of them, with a few true ones though. But I do treat them as rare jewels that have helped me with my sanity being away from my family. I find it peculiar at first, but I have developed such strong bonds online, to take note that we haven´t even met yet! How cool is that!? Knowing and learning from a person you never met, sharing various experiences, thoughts, opinions are quite an overwhelming experience. When you get to know someone online, whom you can confide feelings to especially the things you can never share with anyone from your family or friends personally, was such a great help for me. During my first few months in Denmark, I have suffered a lot from a breakup plus the difficult adjustment phase I was going through by then. Living in a foreign country was quite a challenge for me. Even though I have my cousins and some few friends, but it was not enough by then. Because at the end of a tiring day, alone in a room, it was nice and comforting to have some people online, listening to your rants and cheering you up and helping you get your mind off the negativity and mind bugging thoughts and worries. I could say they are the ones I´d like to keep and hoping I can personally meet some of them someday too!

How do you maintain a good friendship?

I always make time to let them know that I still think and care about them. And of course, to never ever forget each of their special occassions!

How many people do you consider your "best friends?"

4 bestfriends; One is a bestfriend from my childhood years, one bestfriend from highschool, another one from college, one bestfriend whom I met in Denmark. 4 online bestfriends, one of which I already met. 

What is a best friend?

For me, a best friend is a special connection between 2 people, where there is mutual understanding of each other, where there is a bond of trust, openness, willingness to care and look out for one another, despite the distance and circumstances. Where two people feel there is no need pretending, where they can both be themselves when they are together and where two people thinks of each other as their own PERSON to run to, and be comfortable with.

What is the longest friendship that you have had?

My childhood friend; we have been friends since we were so little. So maybe that´s what you call a friend for a lifetime. 

What qualities do you think are important in a friend?

When you don´t get judged by the person and when they don´t talk negative things behind you and without you knowing.

What things should friends never do?

For me, I don´t like to compare myself with my friends. They have their own skills, talents, and own beautiful and unique lives. So maybe that is what a friend should watch out for. Insecurity and jealousy are both destructive in so many ways. Just be happy for a friend´s success and achievements.

Do you think it is possible to have a best friend of the opposite sex without becoming a girlfriend or boyfriend?

Oh, I do have a lot of friends from the opposite sex. I do happen to have one really close to me, so from a certain time, we were calling ourselves bessies. But, it did not last long. We both have jealous partners by then, so to respect each others partners, we agreed to have boundaries and thus avoiding conflicts as much as possible. 

I also often get cringey whenever a male friend of mine that´s close to me, then we´ve had our bond, and then he gets a girlfriend, and i often get jealous, but not that I have feelings for the guy, but as a female friend, I just get jealous and often felt bad about lack of attention from him afterwards. So I tend to not get too close with male friends because I know it will just turn me nuts! But I am improving myself to just be understanding and to wish all the best for them! It is the best thing I could maybe offer to a close male friend of mine if ever.

Do you think it would be possible for you still be friends with an ex-boyfriend or ex-girlfriend?

Of course, but only if all issues were resolved. So it´s totally okay and possible for me to still be friends with my exes. I mean, they were also a part of my life and we´ve shared some good memories together too! I am teaching myself not to be bitter with the past you know. It´s good not to hold grudge on anyone especially when they were once the people you cared most and loved you as well.

Do you believe your parents should be your friends?

My parents are my friends. And so as my brother. It´s been like that in my family. It always feel better when they are ones comforting you than anybody else.

What do you like best about your best friend(s)?

They are still there for me, even if they are far away, and if I see them again, it´s still gonna be the same, no insecurities, no pretendings and no negativity. 

What are some ways your best friend has influenced your life in a positive way?

One of my bestfriend´s view about God inspired me the most. We have the same thoughts and often go late to sleep talking about a lot of stuff about life and religion. That means a lot to me.

What do you do when you have a misunderstanding with your friend?

If it was my fault, I often offer an apology. And if it´s the other way around, I always show that I can listen and try my best to understand their reason and forgive if necessary.

What type of people do you get along with best?

I don´t prefer any types actually. I just sync in with them. I think when people are meant to have a lasting impression on you, they just do. Because I think the universe conspires the people whom you will meet. Some will come and stay, some will just go and maybe leave something for you to learn. So for me, I just blend in when someone comes along and get on with the flow. I always follow the positivity flow. If i can sense a negative vibe, I tend to not fully entrust myself. Though I give many chances to people, for I always believe that sometimes the people I met and how they are, if they mean or like that negative, is because of what they have been going through in life. May it be a bad experience or a childhood trauma. We should always shed light to these people and give room for them to be understood.

What quality do you admire most in people and which one do you find the most objectionable?

If I happen to met someone who´s mind is just as beautiful as their face or personality, and then it´s just natural for us to have a good conversation in a way that´s not awkward and trying hard. Then it´s my type of person..  I don´t care if we have different views, I am bound to respect all of them. It´s just when a person knows how to choose the right words and right thoughts in that certain moment, then I am going to be rooting for that person. 

Tbh, I don´t fancy people who praises themselves a lot and think that they are always right all the time. And also, even when in an argument, no matter how big or small the issue, it´s always the tone of voice that matters to me the most.  How you say something affects what you say.  

Is getting along with others a natural ability from birth or does it have to be learnt?

For me, getting along with others is a continuing learning process. I mean up to now, I am still learning and developing my skills every day because I love to keep people who are worth keeping. And I believe there is no such skill that one can be born with a natural talent for getting along with others. It must also first be taught at home. The family is the necessary factor to develop one´s values of friendship and we will just continue to learn more and hone it as we venture out into the big world.

How important is forgiveness in human relationships?

I have been taught that it is an essential thing for us to grow and be matured. Forgiving is accepting one´s offering of peace and understanding that he or she have made a mistake and is willing to make up for it. And so as asking for forgiveness. We often commit mistakes and hurt people, that´s how human we are. So it´s important to lower one´s pride and ask for forgiveness, no matter how hard it may be. Accepting one´s own mistakes is an act of maturity, and i can say it´s also not easy but it´s necessary for human´s social growth and behavioural adaptability in the society.

Do you tell your best friend everything?

It´s funny because each of my bestfriends have their own unique qualities; one is better at the whole education and knowledge thing, other one is good at the practical thing and wise things, the other one I can confide some sexual issues and other emotional things and one I can have a good conversation about God and life. So basically, I don´t tell everything to each one of them but I go to one where I need their expertise and where they can also relate from.

Where is a good place to meet a new boyfriend/girlfriend?

I don´t think there is such a good place to meet a new bf or gf. It will just come to you as if the universe worked on it so he or she will get to where you are and bump into you. You just need to be patient. And if there is no one, just be your own gf or bf. What´s important is you love yourself and happiness is from, within you. You can still be happy without someone. You just need to unleash that thought in your mind often.

So much for this friendship thing, I hope I don´t bore you too much. Well, write to me if ever you have other thoughts about what I wrote! Ciao!

[stardancerluv]

Puzzle Piece

Part 8

Summary: Ford finds out some interesting things out about his relationship with reader. His ex-companion werewolf, proves to know more and more. But will he in the end heed the advice he is given.

Warning: Smut implied at the end...boob touching/teasing but nothing further.

Ford felt invigorated, he couldn’t remember the last time he felt this good. Being with a human, well if he was honest with himself, loving a human was fantastic.

In the past, he had been a love sick puppy just hoping for a scrape here or there. He grew up fast after that. It didn’t take him long to realize he hated obligations. They irked him. He had always been number one. No one else truly mattered. That was probably why deep down when things ended, and not always with the best outcome, he had not particularly cared.

The idea of protecting you, loving you excited him. There was so much he wanted to do for you. The only problem was, you still tended to faint. That bothered him. The bartender still could not figure out why. The only thing that made sense was that you were a human and he was a ghoul. Despite hating his maker for reasons that were too many, he wished he could talk to him about this. There had to be something he could do.

Sliding into his leather jacket and pulling on his boots, he was eager to meet you in the park. He pushed his worries aside.

He was walking along when he felt her. Rolling his eyes, he turned before she could say something.

“What do you want?”

She stopped. “How did you know it was me?”

He sighed and ran his fingers through his hair. “I could feel you.”

“Um, ok. Well we need to talk.”

He put a hand on his hip and looked down at the short werewolf. “We need to talk. Right.” He repeated dryly.

“Look Ford, I’m serious. It's about your human.” She made a face.

He rose an eyebrow, he knew she was jealous.

“Look, you still could kill her.”

“I haven’t yet.”

“One more time and well you could.”

“What do you mean one time?”

“Humans don’t just faint.”

He smirked.

She tugged on his leather jacket. “Will you listen to me, she is not fainting because of your prowess.”

He grimaced. “You really know how to be a downer, Tammy.”

“Look, I’m very jealous of your human. I had always wished that you’d want to be with me like you want her. But since you’re not, the least I can do is prevent you from killing her.”

It was a lot to listen to. “Tammy?”

“Yes, Ford?”

“Why?”

“Why?”

“Yeah. Look, you’re cute for a werewolf. Why not find someone who wants to go marking territory or howl at the moon with you?”

She rolled her eyes. “Because as horrible of a ghoul as you think you are, you have a good heart. None of our kind have one, good or otherwise.”

He shrugged. “I don’t know. I guess.” He pressed his lips together. “Is she really that close to death? I mean, why haven’t my passions just changed her?” There had been one or two times, it has happened, he thought annoyed.

She shrugged. “Maybe there is something special about her. I mean with every breath she surrenders, she gives to you.”

“What the fuck do you mean by that?”

She closed the distance, her cold hand laid over the thin fabric of his t-shirt. “Your heart is getting stronger and stronger.”

He brushed her hand aside. “That can’t possibly be that. The butcher, he’s been supplying me with some amazing meats.”

“You’ve been eating less and less, haven’t you?”

“Yeah but like I said, I have been feeling very well. Just by being around her, this energy just flows from her. I feel unstoppable.”

The werewolf shook her head. “That’s her life. She, her soul or something is just giving you her life force.”

“Then what am I supposed to do.”

“Honestly, I don’t know. I’ve never heard of this.”

“Well, I don’t want to kill her. I also can't just abandon her, that stupid vampire is still lurking in the shadows.”

She nodded, looking past him and then back at him. “Maybe if you do, he’ll leave.” She shrugged. “He loves drama but if you give her up, maybe he will just walk away.”

“Keep on looking, maybe I will just fucking make her.”

“Ford, a new ghoul hasn’t been made in decades.”

He shrugged. “Not my problem. I didn’t have a choice.”

“At least let me make her a werewolf or something.”

“No.” He ran his fingers through his hair. “Maybe I could save all of us. I could just kill her.” A sharp pain sliced through him.

“Ford.” She screeched. “You can’t do that, you love her.”

“My love already is. Shakespeare and many a poets before and after him wrote of it.”

“I’ll think of something.”

“Fine. Well, I have to go. I’m already late.”

*****

The idea actually disgusted him. He was just so angry. How could being with you kill you? Sure sometimes you grew as pale as him. The fainting persisted and lasted longer. Honestly he fucking loved you and well, that really couldn’t possibly be it. It had to be something else. Stupid fucking werewolf.

Entering the park, he could instantly smell you. It put a smile back on his face. He’d prove them wrong. You were his, no one was going to take you away, least of all him.

He laid a hand on either side of you as you sat on the bench. “Hi baby.” He practically purred.

You jumped but then giggled. “Ford, you beast.” You tilted your head back and smiled at him. He got close to you, he could feel as your breath was warm on his face. “Did you miss me, baby?”

“I did.”

He captured your lips, you easily deepened it sitting there. A fiendish idea prickled his mind as he kissed you back. He let his hand drift down the front of your dress, till his hand was over your racing heart. Feeling it thud or how you inhaled sharply before breaking the kiss, excited him.

“Ford. What if someone sees us?” Your hands flew to the front of yourself, trying to deflect his touch. It wasn’t working.

“They will see a man who loves to touch his girl.”

You wiggled where you sat. “But.. But...” It was obvious, you were not succeeding.

“But what, baby?” Easily he moved his hand, his fingers smoothed under the lacy fabric of your bra and he cupped one of your breasts. “Now I am actually groping you.”

A soft sound came from you.

He let his thumb graze your growing nipple, it pulled another sound from you. “Shall we go baby or am I making you feel good?”

“You are.” You panted, as you licked your lips. “Please take me home.”

He easily slipped his hand out only to caress your throat. “I will happily take you home.”

@mac-n-cheesie @shantellorraine @vcat55 @fandomgirl800

[reshirement]

30 Questions

I was tagged by @lordoftherazzles who is always fantastic, thank you so much my dear. <3

1. name or nickname: jess 2. gender: 3. star sign: virgo 4. height: 5′3ish 5. time: 2:10 am 6. bday: september 7. fav band(s): fleet foxes, glass animals, sleeping at last 8. fav solo artist(s): fiona apple, david bowie, chris cornell 9. song stuck in your head: no roots - alice merton 10. last movie: yentl <3 11. last show: hannibal 12. when did i create this blog: this account was technically created three or four years ago, but all the old posts were deleted and the blog changed to the current one sometime in early 2020, i think. 13. what do i post: i reblog mostly bagginshield content, but lots of other lotr-centric posts, gifs, thoughts and fanart from a variety of amazing blogs. unless, of course, you're talking about what i post personally, and that's just the occasional drawing, and some weird rambling. 14. last thing i googled: how to distract my cat overnight so i don't shove him in a box and sit on it because congress has been a real bastard lately and i'm tired of getting booped in the eye at 3AM (google is terrible with specifics, by the way.) 15. other blogs: i'm going to put my active ones because i've had about 40 in the last decade or so, and that's this blog and @squeakysleeper 16. do i get asks: two weeks ago i would've said no, not really, but i've been getting some really grumpy anons lately 17. why i chose my url: i was initially roaringpines, but then i saw 'reshirement' in an ao3 tag somewhere and i was just like, yep that's the vibe 18. following: 328 19. followers: 358 20. avg hrs of sleep: it's either 1-3 or 10-12 depending on the day 21. lucky no.: according to the only lucky number generator i found during a twenty second search that had nothing to do with lottery numbers, i have five of them. five, nine, one, eight, and for some reason, eight again. 22. instruments: i can play a few songs on both piano and guitar, but lack the ability to play anything organically. 23. what i’m wearing: jeans. 24. dream job: unfortunately, i haven't quite figured that out yet, though i've done many different things over the years. 25. dream trip: spending a month driving up and down the west coast with my three best friends. 26. fave food: anything free. 27. nationality: american. 28. fav song: make you better - the decemberists, but it changes all the time. 29. last book: technically 'the complete works of william shakespeare' but i was just brushing up on henry iv to help someone who is taking a class. 30. top 3 fictional universes i wanna live in: all the universes i can think of right now are often generally a terrible place for innocent bystanders. maybe tolkien's if i could be well-traveled without dying horribly. the jurassic park universe possibly, because knowing there were living dinosaurs somewhere in the world would be neat, aaaaand for the last one i would like to live in a universe where i am not absolutely terrified of the sea because i really love fish.

as for NO PRESSURE tags, let's do @tamloid, @yacrimago, @weirdo-with-a-nametag, @brglhobbit, @zeldapanda and @lindirs-gaze as as well as anyone else who is interested and tag me so i can see your answers! <3

[hecohansen31]

Of Faes and Goblins

Fae! Aethelred+Changeling! Reader+Goblin! Ivar

(A/N): Happy birthday, Sophie, @maggiescarborough​!

So to celebrate your beautiful day and to show how much we support you and apprecciate all you do for this beautiful comunity, we thought of sharing with you a few creations to celebrate properly your lovely day!

My idea is basically an interactive story, as in: you’ll be faced with a few choices and you’ll decide the turn of events of the stories, so be sure to let me know what you prefer to happen and I’ll try my best to follow your choices.

For the rest, do enjoy the surprise and the idea!

Have a lovely birthday, beautiful! (with not too much heathen and your beloved sickly looking Saxons!).

SUMMARY: After your life turned out to be a complete lie, you find yourself faced with many choices and even more importantly with two annoying males.

WORDS: 9,8 K

WARNINGS: Mention of Violence, Kidnapping, Fighting (yeah this is very much taken from ‘The Dark Faerie Tales’ by Holly Black), Everybody is A Faerie.

Changeling were extraordinary creatures.

And you had been lucky enough to be one of them.

You had discovered it once you had moved back to Ireland, having transferred to North America for a scholarship after high school, feeling like Ireland was too tight for your dreams.

A sensation only worsened by your mother’s horrible mental health…

… although with time you had discovered that she knew the truth, all along.

Since you had had memory, your mother had said you weren’t his child, gaining quite the judging of everyone around her, and right after she had started making such claims, doctors had dosed her with medical drugs to keep her tame.

Even more after she had even tried to leave you in the wood nearby your family’s manor, the one you stayed at with your grandma.

Your grandma was the only person that had constantly supported you and she was the woman who had raised you as your own mother laid in bed, either passed out for the drugs or trying to ignore you, since only seeing you would make her faint.

Eventually your grandma had been the one to push you away from Ireland, suggesting that you pursued your dream outside of the beautiful land that had been your sole home.

She had given you the strength to believe in yourself, although the first years in America had been passed adapting yourself at its big cities and its enormous crowd.

But now that you were back from them, you felt almost uneasy in the small village you had grown up with, everybody looking too changed and yet the same, looking at you with distrust and envy, although you hadn’t become a famous star or an important businesswoman.

But the fact that you had escaped that strict mentality was enough.

You had come back for the same person who didn’t want you there.

As of lately your mother’s heart had been thoroughly weakened by the drugs (medical and not) and she had already had an heartattack.

Your grandma had explained it to you in one last call that sadly your mother’s life was becoming thin, pleading with you to come back, although you weren’t sure that your mother wanted you back.

You weren’t her child, after all.

At first, as a child, the way she uttered those words had hurt you in ways that pierced your tiny skin, making you completely detached from the affection of that woman, soon starting to call her simply by her name and nothing else.

And even sooner you had erased her figure, pushing your grandma in her place.

But now even she was tired, and you could hear her ache in the tone of her voice.

Although your mother might not want her title, your grandma still remained her mother and she suffered for both of you her mistakes.

Eventually you had been convinced by your mother, herself, a secret call, at 3 a.m. in the morning telling you to come back, because the faeries had told her that if she gave you back, they’d make her see one last time her true child.

‘… my inion’ the way the name had sounded on the tip of her tongue made you uneasy, because you had never heard it, but you had reasoned with yourself that maybe in your mother’s delusional words there might be some kind of truth.

And there was.

Almost too much.

Back then you had simply thought that she had finally come to the conclusion that you were her daughter.

So, seeing you again would have allowed her to rationalize and finally accept you as her daughter, something for which you strived for, although you had for long years tried to convince yourself that her approval didn’t matter, in the slightest.

But any hope had disappeared when after a flight of twelve hours, your mother had refused to face you, much to your grandmother’s and your annoyance, although the older woman welcomed you in again as a warm mother, having cooked your favorite meal, something that brightened your mood.

You spent a nice few days back in Ireland, although your mother didn’t seem interested into acknowledging your presence and whenever you were together, she’d stare at you with mighty intensity in her eyes and once you had heard her mutter ‘when will they come for you, silly girl? I want my real child back’.

And in that moment, you had dreaded the thought that had come to your mind.

You had wished that she would have just died.

It was less embarrassing, and it would have been a trauma she could deal with, instead of being stuck in the eternal limbo of ‘will she ever love me? Or will I be for ever the faeries’ daughter?’.

But then that fateful night had happened, and you had been the one thinking that you had grown as crazy as her, as you heard a melodic song being sprung from nowhere.

Something ancient that couldn’t be found on Spotify for sure, although you loved it.

But it just wouldn’t let you sleep, and eventually you peaked outside of your house to check what was going on, although you wouldn’t be surprised to find your neighbor having a concert.

They were quite the musical people.

But it was none of that.

And once you had moved a step outside of your house, the music seemed to slowly lead your step.

And although you weren’t aware of it, soon your body was led through the wood around your manor.

The moon was the only source of light and as you looked up, the music interrupted itself suddenly.

And you were in the middle of nowhere, in simply your skimpy pajama of an awful color from too many washings, and a big print of a teddy bear on it, the writing next to it completely scraped off, nothing as luxurious as the dresses of the people around you.

You almost thought that your neighbor were having a Renaissance fair in the middle of woods, some kind of ‘Shakespeare in the park’ movie, although the dresses belonged to every period in history and not a peculiar one.

Women were dressed in round gowns, puff and big, and tight corsets, meanwhile men looked like they had come from the nearest BDSM club, all dressed in leather and open shirts.

And the jewels they wore, both males and females: silver and gold that shone so bright, absorbing almost the brightness of the moon, intensifying it with their colors and the gems shone of every color in the rainbow, sometime even all together.

And for a moment you were so lost in your rapture that you forgot to wonder what was truly happening here.

The only thing that could come up to your mind was the Hamelin’s flautist, driving the mice to their demise, something that made a sudden shiver fall down your spine, even more when you noticed that they were all somehow armed.

And that wherever the moon didn’t touch, their skin seemed anything but human, having some present slight deformation and animalistic traits, enough that you thought to have wandered in a fairy tale.

A dark one, such as the ones that the Grimm’s brothers wrote.

‘Lady (Y/N)’ somebody called out to you, but you couldn’t identify anyone speaking, almost as if the voice had its original place in your mind, calling out to you loudly, in a way that gripped tight your skull, keeping your eyes on the fable-like cortege ‘… we hoped to meet you again’.

‘… I don’t…’ your voice sounded silly and echoed in your empty head, suddenly cleared of anything else other than that voice and the images of that magic in front of you.

This must be a crazy nightmare.

Or a horrible joke.

‘…  she doesn’t know when to shut up’ this time it was a feminine voice, harsh and tight ‘… are you sure, my son, that she is the one you want to choose?’.

Her voice concealed an obvious disgust, almost as if it was painfully obvious that you were beneath her.

Then why had they come for you.

‘I don’t understand what is going on’ you breathed out, finally able to push the words out, although the woman’s words still echoing in your head ‘… I should be in bed… is this… is this a dream?’.

You almost wanted to mutter that ‘it must have been “A Midsummer Night’s Dream” ‘.

‘… no, it isn’t’ the male voice was low, almost comforting and the tightness in your skull was lightly relieved allowing you to feel more comfortable.

Suddenly you felt your breath quickening up, enough that you feared a panic attack.

‘… then if this is a joke, it isn’t funny!’ your voice spoke loudly ‘… you take the newcomer in city and give her the scare of her life! That’s what you fuckers do! If this is it, I won’t tell the cops, but you have to let me go!’.

‘It isn’t either a joke’ the male voice was different, evidently deeper, almost as if who spoke was more grown up ‘… and whatever human forces you want to conjure they won’t help you’.

This brought dread to your stomach and your breath quickened, enough that you felt choking yourself up deeply, and soon all the air in your lungs finished, and it didn’t take you much to see black.

You woke up in an unknown place, smelling heavenly, something that eased your senses, meanwhile whatever you wore was as delicate as a petal, comfortable enough that it brought you to shift in bed, till you realized that your pajama would have been quite less comfortable.

Hence somebody had had to change you in whatever you were now wearing.

For a few minutes you hoped unrealistically that it had been your grandmother, although you were aware of not owning such luxurious garments.

It would have been a nice dream, before you woke up to the reality.

That seemed more like the dream itself.

You were inside what seemed like a flower, the light barely flicking through the rosy walls of utter silk, meanwhile they closed and opened around you almost as a flower, and the smell was also delicious, lulling and clean.

But then your reason finally came back.

And you realized that you weren’t at home, no matter how reassuring the atmosphere was.

You had been kidnapped.

By some kind of weirdos in tight robes.

Gosh, could it have sounded more like a drugged-out dream?

Had you accidentally taken some medicine from your mother’s cabinet?

But then as you turned lightly your skin was scratched by something and you saw a rose being laid on the pillow next to you, its thorns lightly gracing your face, making you realize that if you were feeling pain… this wasn’t a dream.

And you had seriously fallen asleep inside a flower, like Thumbellina.

But what truly got a scream out of your throat as your senses came back was the purple-skinned girl next to your bed, checking on you, as she folded a ridiculously puffy dress, unlike the simple one she wore, matching her golden feline eyes.

Her legs were also animal-like, almost as the one of a tiger, slender and hairy, colored of a bright orange that clashed with much strength against her skin color, effectively taking your mind away from the thought of being in danger.

Till she screamed back at you.

And you jumped out of bed, grabbing the first thing that you could see in your line of sight, which was a lamp, made of wood, with a small spirit inside of it, shielded by glass, the small being protesting loudly, with its fists, something that almost made you lose your grip onto the delicate object, saved by the purple girl, half-tiger and half-human.

If she was human.

Although you hadn’t seen many blue humans.

But if she wasn’t human… this opened so much possibilities that tricked with your mind.

“… my lady…” she didn’t seem to be in slightest much more informed or calmer than you “… you should calm down”.

But you didn’t and moved to collect something else, to shield and protect yourself, eventually settling on a pillow full of daisy, the same one where you had laid your head till a few minutes before.

“… where the fuck am I?” your voice was low, but it broke lightly in the end with hysteria.

“My lady, you are safe” the purple being spoke, as she settled down the lamp on its rightful place, lightly brushing against you, as you pushed the pillow in front of your chest, accidentally making a few daisies fall down onto your feet “… nobody will hurt you”.

“… I was kidnapped! You have already hurt me!” you replied tightly, choking on the words, as you felt another attack coming onto you, and the woman gently held you up “… I should go back home! I need to go back home!”.

“You are home, my lady” you were honestly annoyed by the way she pronounced your title, almost as if it was the most normal thing ever.

As if you belonged there.

“… this isn’t my home! My grandma isn’t here brushing away my hair and there isn’t even that bitch of my mother… Gosh I am fucking missing her right now!” your outburst strangely excited the small fire being in the lamp and as you looked at it too closely, shielded from it by your pillow, meanwhile the tiger-lady moved away, clearly thinking you needed your space.

The small creature was male-like, naked and with flaming hair, changing colors as the intensity of the flame became stronger.

And it talked, although it whispered lowly, almost child-like, chanting what seemed a bawdy dirge and you cursed again, being mimicked by the small being.

“… perfect! Kidnapped and pushed to meet a fucking perv of a fire spirit” you commented, gently caressing your forehead “… this can’t be true! Magic doesn’t exist!”.

“It does” the voice was different from the one of the blue-skinned being and it was much louder than the fire spirit’s one, although it seemed quite young, and you remembered you had heard it in the clearing.

And when you raised your eyes from the pillow you found a charming young man, barely younger than you, with long flowy hair, coming to his shoulder in light waves at its end, of a dark color that highlighted his enchanting blue eyes.

He wore a complex robe, although it seemed much more relaxed than the one you had seen in the clearing, having shed any elegant and expensive detail, except for a few earrings that caught your attention, pushing itself onto the peculiar shape of his ears.

They were pointy.

Like faeries.

You knew that people sometimes would undergo surgery to obtain such a shape, and you had been blessed with slightly pointy ears, something that had made many Halloween costumes easy for you.

But the way his ears looked…

… it seemed natural.

Because it was.

“Niahm, can you please leave us alone?” he spoke, although again his lips didn’t open, and you wondered whether it was again only in your head or you were starting to go mad.

But also the tiger-lady seemed to have heard it, bowing her head to the beautiful man, as she  moved outside, leaving you alone with him and you quickly managed to grab again the lamp, moving into a defensive position.

“Don’t think of hurting me, bastard” you muttered between gritted teeth “… I’ll destroy this and set you on fire”.

A sad smile appeared on his face, almost as if he was amused, but understood your reasonings and something in you relaxed strangely, as the man moved to push himself onto the bed, putting a lengthy distance between you and him.

And then you ran.

Ran outside, but before you could do much more, as soon as you shifted the curtains that were the walls of the chamber you found yourself almost falling to your demise, since outside of the whatever you had waken up in, there was nothing.

And underneath it, the ground… many many meters under you.

“… what the hell” your voice was low, and you quickly turned behind, closing the curtain behind yourself, as the young man looked at you with a knowing smirk.

“Smart move” he commented “… you don’t have wings sadly. Pixie sometimes are lucky enough to have them, but you don’t seem to be the type”.

“… pixie?” you asked, as slowly you felt everything you knew crumbling to the ground, your own knees buckling up underneath you “… this can’t be true”.

“It is true” replied the young man, adjusting on the bed, although he seemed rather elegant, also with his legs crossed in a relaxed position, making you notice that although his legs were lithe, he certainly had the posture of a royal person.

Head straight and clear eyes.

“… faeries exist, exactly like magic, and deep down you know, (Y/N)” again that voice in your head and you stupidly went to close your ears to prevent yourself from listening onto him “… you know because you are one of us, truly”.

And slowly, almost as if a cover had been opened from one of the trunks of your memory, slow images appeared in your mind, of you seeing faeries everywhere.

Meanwhile you were lost in the woods, after your mother had left you, small dwarves leading you back home, as they gifted you a wreath of roses and thorns that didn’t bite your skin.

Meanwhile you collected flowers for your grandmother, a few small faeries helping you, as they played with your hair, taunting you with soft whispers.

Meanwhile you left Ireland, a small cohort of little magical creatures accompanying you as you left your home.

And all of this had been hidden in your mind since you had left Ireland.

You had known magic, indeed, because you were one of them.

You were a changeling.

As your mother had told you.

“… my life…” you felt yourself choking up on your own tears, as the man quickly moved closer to you, dropping on the floor in front of you, as you shifted your face away, not wanting to show weakness, although again your eyes were beginning to be quite clouded “… my life is a lie”.

“And my mother knew it all about it” blame shifted in your body, as you remembered how easily you had called her ‘crazy’ all this time, when she had known all the truth about it “… this isn’t right, still… aren’t… aren’t changelings supposed to live with the humans?”.

The young man retreated from you, almost as if your lips had mumbled a tight accusation against him.

“… you are to marry my brother”.

Hadn’t all of this been quite crazy already, you would have started crying.

But instead you giggled hysterically, before you realized that he wasn’t joking.

“I don’t even know you!” you screeched, and before he knew it, your hands had clawed at his shirt, but as your hands came in your full view, you noticed that if you had thought that the crazy tiger-lady looked weird in blue and orange, you were now a shade of mauve that almost made you think you weren’t in your body anymore.

But you were a faery, after all, now.

It shouldn’t have shocked you that much.

Although it was utter crazy.

“… well then I can solve that quickly!” replied the boy, almost as if you hadn’t broken down two times already “… I am Alfred, and you are marrying my brother, Aethelred!”.

“That doesn’t solve much” your voice was grim, but you were too tired to fight, already thinking about the fact that you had discovered that you were a faery for a minute and you already were in a crazy amount of troubles.

“I can’t marry him”.

“Not with that attitude!” commented another voice, deeper and definitely much more mainly and you turned to take a small peak at whoever had joined you, discovering that the man was quite the picture of Alfred.

Same light eyes and dark hair, but he had a more mainly appearance, with a fresh unshaven beard and tight muscles, definitely much more robust than Alfred, who lightly ducked his head low, at that appearance, some sense of uneasiness shining in his eyes.

Meanwhile the other man’s showed arrogance as they took you in.

And it didn’t take you a genius that you were looking at your future husband.

“… I don’t think that I am even remotely ready to marry someone” you spoke loudly, spurred on by that amused annoyance you saw in his eyes, meanwhile his lips moved in a smirk and you pushed yourself up, although it didn’t solve much since you were still much smaller than him.

“Who is every ready?”.

“Don’t you have something smarter to say than idiotic answers” you replied, hissing through his teeth, as you pushed him away lightly, feeling like you were trying to push away a wall of muscles.

“… I don’t want a stupid changeling as my bride” he uttered wickedly, his humor certainly reminding you more of the faeries you had read about, accompanied but the dangerously darkness that characterized them, although they might dress in pink tulle and ride white unicorns.

“… I don’t want whatever the fuck you are as my husband” you mimicked him, crossing your head over your chest, solely now noticing that you weren’t wearing anything more than a nightgown that was the same color of your skin, making you seem naked.

“Aethelred, don’t taunt her” Alfred’s voice suddenly seemed deeper, laced with a troubled annoyance, and he set himself between you both, almost thinking that there might have been some kind of fight from you two, and you just watched the haughty faerie in front of you with your best glare.

“Mother wouldn’t like it to see you talk like that to your future bride” continued on reprimanding him loudly Alfred, and this time the arrogant annoyance became a truly hateful feeling and you couldn’t deny that you wouldn’t have liked it either, if your younger brother treated you like that.

“Mother doesn’t fucking care. She just wants to continue on screwing her pathetic humab lover…” the comment scandalized Alfred, but before he could say anything, Aethelred’s attention turned to you “… you aren’t one of us, you’ll only taint my bloodline, with your dried up blood”.

“Don’t worry, I don’t have any intention to even come near your prick” you retorted loudly “… I do think that you probably find much more pleasure from whatever is showed up your fucking ass”.

This seemed to take him by surprised, as a strange mixture of admiration appeared in his eyes before turning in a devious smirk, his eyes shifting onto your body, as you shielded it, eventually turning around, wanting to grab your pillow and smother the arrogant asshole.

“… you shouldn’t have sent away the maid” now he talked with his brother like you didn’t exist anymore, but you were thankful they weren’t using the mind trick anymore “… you know that mother won’t appreciate it if she is either late or in a nightgown for the Promise”.

“What Promise?” you intervened, but the brothers now kept on talking between themselves, an embarrassed look on Alfred’s face “… somebody will fucking tell me what is going on? Or will I be also kidnapped for this fucking Promise?!”.

“Preferably not” sarcasm and sass was much better than nothing “… it is a ceremony before our marriage, where we promise that we won’t stab each other in the back”.

“… romantic” you muttered “… but believe me, even a swear won’t hold me back from stabbing you”.

“Faerie swears mean much more, although I do have to admit that you have the amazing ability to lie, having lived with humans for so long…” he commented “… that’s why you are here, our secret weapon”.

“What do you mean?”.

Why had these people all made this without even asking for your opinion.

“…call her maid” Aethelred simply sent you one last look before turning around.

Pity.

And you never wanted to feel like that.

Alfred seemed almost halfway through doing that when your voice became a tight whisper.

‘… can you give me a minute?’.

A minute of privacy.

A minute with the only person who didn’t seem to know everything that had been going on.

A minute to understand what you’d truly have to do to escape all of this.

Because there was no way you’d get married to that prick.

In the end you had tried not to question too much your faerie origins.

You had a much more urgent problem in your hands.

A marriage you didn’t want to attend.

A marriage in which you were a bride.

It was still difficult for you to understand what they truly wanted from you, but you wouldn’t have stayed for the real ceremony, although you hadn’t yet figured out a way to run away and go back to civilization, since you were closed off in some kind of ancient tower that looked like a flower.

Stranded away in the middle of nowhere.

So, you would have played the nice girl, till you found out how to run away.

You might not have had wings, but faeries usually had some kind of magic, so maybe you would have been lucky enough to have the power to teleport you away from all of this shit, something that you had childishly tried when the faerie maid, Niahm, had left you in bath alone.

You hadn’t found any kind of sharp objects you could use as a weapon.

You had tried breaking some kind of smelly bottles, probably filled with perfume, but they had just bounced off the wall even when you had thrown them across the bathroom, making you feel even more at unease.

Because not only you felt at danger.

But you felt damnably useless.

And pitiful.

Almost a child being dressed up in elegant gown and long dresses.

A child who had been stolen away and brought up in the human world.

You almost expected some fairy to take your hand and push you by their side as they brought you down the wedding hall.

Which should be what had happened, had they thought that they could marry you off, easily.

You would have thrown a worse tantrum than a spoiled brat in front of an entire faerie court, for sure.

Because if there was one thing that you knew in your bones about the people that you had seen around you, those two brothers were royals, truly with the way they acted and how expensive their dresses seemed.

And you wouldn’t have been married off easily.

Because you were wanted for some talent of yours.

Your had something they wanted.

And that made you valuable cargo.

No matter how annoyed Aethelred was with you.

And if there was one thing you were looking forward more than simply running the hell away from here, it was pissing off that asshole.

You were soon ready and when you stepped out of the bathroom Niahm checked you further, adjusting your dress and pushing your washed hair up, meanwhile she smudged lightly some make-up on your eyes.

‘It’s the trend of the season in the court’ she spoke as she took you in ‘… you’ll be the prettiest’.

“I better” you mumbled, annoyedly “… I might be kidnapped but I refuse not to look anything but the bestest”.

She didn’t seem to understand what you truly meant, but she simply smiled and you almost felt pity for the horrible way you had treater her.

She obviously wanted to be there as much as you did, and you couldn’t put much blame on her, although she certainly wouldn’t have helped you.

“… sorry” you simply mumbled, as she turned to you with a small smile, her voice telling you ‘not to worry about’, purring out the ‘r’s, but her eyes shone of acceptance, and then she told you to wait a bit more.

And then suddenly the sun, seeping through the petals of your new home, became more orange, hitting low the petal that opened almost on his own and then lowered itself on the ground on some kind of slide

‘This isn’t even the weirdest thing I have seen today’ you thought as Niahm moved to you.

“Would you prefer that I go first, my lady?” she probably noticed your uneasiness, since you had never been one to do this kind of things “… it is safe as life, as you humans say”.

“That isn’t reassuring” you commented, but insisted that she went first, seeing her disappear quickly over the silky slide of the pinkish petal, onto which you moved, in your pinkish dress, a shade clearer that your skin right now.

You didn’t even have to push yourself, you moved down calmly, although the fastness of it made you ditzy and you weren’t comfortable till you were again on the ground, seeing that everyone you had seen last night was now looking at you, and at your disheveled state.

And you were glad to have Niahm come and collect you, almost as a doll in embellished clothes and thick blush over its cheeks, meanwhile Aethelred, you recognized him by the elegant clothes and the piercingly blue eyes, whispered something to a creature that looked like the elves you had read about when you were younger.

Slender and so light that she blinded you.

They spoke with an intimacy that showed that your soon-to-be-husband had much more experience than you thought in womanly business.

You wouldn’t have for sure stayed around enough to see if that was true or not.

Alfred came onto you, once Niahm was done with your set-up, guiding you through a court of creature that even in your wildest fantasies you wouldn’t have been able to conceive, although you recognized a few, asking yourself whether there were humans, since some seemed almost ‘normal’, but then a twinkle of their eyes would reveal much more.

And you felt a stranger.

A powerless stranger.

“Dear sister!” welcomed you Alfred, and although you weren’t sure to trust him or even like him, you were grateful for his help, since he had been the sole source of information you had met “… let me show you around! We have all been so eager to meet you!”.

And the court did seem eager.

But in a wicked away.

As if they expected nothing more than some kind of mistake from you.

One that would have sent you away from them, since they all looked positively plotting and you could only guess what they were thinking of you, although your shade of skin wasn’t human-like, but the way you moved… was clumsy.

Horridly clumsy, if confronted with theirs.

Alfred named ladies after lords as he guided you through them, and soon you were in front of two thrones, both pushed upward to distance them from the crowd below, as if they were stronger and you could only guess this meant they were the royal-est of the royals.

One seat, still, was left empty beside them, halfway through earth and sky.

But soon you had a bigger surprise waiting for you, as Alfred informed you that the older man and the younger woman sitting on the thrones were his relatives, making him the prince of the faeries.

Exactly like his brother.

The one you’d have to marry.

As if your situation hadn’t been already bad.

“My grandfather Ecberth, he is the one who organized your wedding” and he bowed lightly his head, making you a small sign to do the same, as the annoyed old man turned his attention on you suddenly.

The whispers all around you being immediately silenced.

And you felt judged.

“… lady (Y/N)” it was the woman who spoke, and had you been intimidated by the older man, the woman’s voice spoke of pure poison, something that made you extremely uneasy “… we are blessed to see your face and not hear your horrendous screams, this time”.

You honestly thought of a few comebacks but held back your tongue.

For now, you had to play the docile card.

You couldn’t make them worry when you were in their territory, if not for your own personal safety, to make your escape easier.

“… and this is my mother, queen Judith” exhaled softly Alfred and you had to push your eyes back onto your feet, because surprise shone in them.

Alfred hadn’t seriously inherited a single drop of that poisonous woman.

And now you did understand why Aethelred didn’t like her.

“… Judith!” reprimanded her quickly Ecberth, although something similar to amusement shone in his eyes as he said that name, before turning his full attention on you, something that made you almost feel like an ant being looked up by an enormous human foot “… excuse my lovely daughter-in-law, she knows nothing of our hospitality”.

“I am grateful for your hospitality” you spoke lowly, trying to keep your sarcasm contained, although you heard Aethelred laugh at your clumsy response, his snicker catching also Ecberth’s eye, who smirked back, but with harshness in the twinkle of his eye.

“… my eldest grandchild seems to have taken after his mother” and his eyes became harsh and heavy, and you almost felt bad for the public humiliation that befell on Aethelred “…do come forward, my foul boy”.

And Aethelred almost pushed by the same enchantment that had brought you in the woods, moved himself forward and marched with a harsh expression to you, till he was by your side.

“… isn’t your wife lovely?” he asked him, a tone of mockery in his words and soon purple coated Aethelred’s cheeks in a show of embarrassment that made you almost think that this wasn’t simply an advantageous wedding, although they had told you so.

This was a punishment for him.

“I don’t have to find my wife lovely” Aethelred shot back, hissing roughly through his teeth “… I just have to find her a liar”.

Again, that accent on your lying abilities.

What did it mean?

These people could enchant others, they could fly on their own wings and sprout fire, but they were suddenly interested in a girl that could lie.

“And can she lie?” the fact that he spoke like you weren’t there got on your nerve.

But you clutched your fists harder, raising your head immediately with a smile.

“I am very pleased to have this marriage with the lovely Aethelred” each word sounded fake, but the lie smeared itself on your mouth, making the man look at you as if you were some kind of strange animal.

One that pleased him greatly.

But could bite.

“… oh Gosh isn’t it marvelous?” he commented, laughing loudly as the entire court mirrored him as if they were one with him “… a blessing upon our house”.

Everybody agreed, even the scorned queen, although her eyes marveled with something that seemed almost envy, you held your head tighter, taking in your small victory, but it didn’t last much, because soon king Ecberth looked at you again and ordered to move onto the royal dinner.

‘… we’ll get something in our stomach and then raise our cups to the promise”.

And that would have made everything painfully real.

No matter the fact that you didn’t understand what this promise fully entailed, but the thought of food might have been helpful, since you honestly just started feeling the pain in your stomach due to the hunger.

Although you weren’t sure you should have eaten everything.

You had read too much Christina Rossetti to trust any fairy food.

And in a blink of an eye, tables appeared, almost blooming from the ground, and solely now you realized you weren’t in some magical land, but you were beneath the grass, as small as an ant, enough for to inhabit the small flower you had woken up into.

You wondered how the hell had it happened, even more when your captors had been your same height the previous night.

Had you become too small?

Or had the world grown too big around you?

They didn’t call them ‘Little People’ for anything, after all.

You almost shrieked as one chair came right behind your huge dress, the layers of fabric shielding you from unwanted attention, but you couldn’t hide your embarrassment at that sudden apparition, unused to such ordinary magic, as Alfred giggled innocently, meanwhile Aethelred smirked dangerously, but still sat next to you.

The food made you nervous so you simply played around with it, wondering whether you should have tasted the purplish substance in your glass, since your throat was suddenly aching for water, but you didn’t want to die or either worse be enchanted and driven mad.

You might have had their blood, but you weren’t used to their magic and their tricks.

“… it is safe to eat” commented Aethelred as he saw your hesitation “… people will be annoyed if they find out that I intend to starve my bride”.

“Will this make me dance like crazy around the table?” you muttered holding out the purplish liquid in the elegant glass.

“No” and he noticed that you didn’t look in the slightest convinced “… I can’t lie”.

“Is it true?” you retorted, but slightly dipped your lips in the liquid, your throat begging for a bit of relief.

“… I lo…” and his mouth pushed itself in various shapes till he renounced saying whatever he wanted and instead muttered darkly “… I hate all of this”.

“Don’t even start” you shot back, as you then moved to dip your mouth further in the glass, discovering that what you had thought was an horridly powerful potion turned out to be simple grape juice, not even alcoholic “… you weren’t kidnapped for this”.

“You know why my grandfather agreed to this?” he commented loudly, as if you were seriously interested in his own problems, not having already enough of your own “… because although you might be so special for your lying abilities, you are nothing more than a human girl”.

“My skin color would suggest otherwise” you muttered, showing off a naked arm, since your arms were exposed, through light sleets “… what the hell do I have to do to turn back to my original complexion?”.

“… get away from here” it was almost a suggestion “… changeling show their true nature only in Fae reigns. Run away and you’ll be a simple human again”.

“Oh, believe me, I’d love to do just that” a sugary sweet smile appeared on your face, matched by Aethelred, showing you that although he might not lie, he was completely able to fake “… just let me know which one is the emergency exit door and I’ll be far swiftly out of your hair”.

“You have such a way with words” he spoke loudly, a bright laugh escaping from his mouth, as he raised his cup towards his mother and grandfather “… keep your tongue tame or you won’t survive in here”.

“I have every intention of not even living in here” you replied, although the threat had gotten the hair on your skin to raise, as the goosebumps went all over your body, and you weren’t sure if it was for the veiled threat or the way Aethelred was so close to you.

He was as handsome as an amazing statue, a strong facial structure and a tight smile, and eyes that shone of much more interest than he led on.

“… what is this ‘promise’ thing? Seriously” you muttered, your voice a bit lower than it should have been, but Aethelred spared you any harsh remark, instead choosing to focus onto your question, although his eyes shifted onto what had been left in his plate.

He had eaten voraciously, almost as if he expected everything to be brought away from him.

“It is the first bonding ritual to link two faeries together” he explained with a dark and ancient voice, definitely tired “… we don’t swear upon chastity or faith since it is quite common to have lovers and such, in Fae realms…”.

“… that is reassuring” you commented darkly, unsure of why you’d be jealous of Aethelred, when the sole thought of sharing a bed with him, as handsome as he might be. put you at unease.

“… I am a prince” he replied, as if that was a justification enough “… sex is simply a mean to gain power, and you should know it as well”.

“That’s what men always say and then stone women as whores”.

Aethelred seemed surprised at your affirmation and something of almost reflective shone in his face.

“We wouldn’t stone you for cheating on me” he said, and then his voice had a tougher intonation, returning to the silk-veiled threats he had been launching at you since the start of it all “… we would kill you for betraying our family”.

“… that surely reassure me”.

“The promise will prove that and ensure it” he continued on explaining “… we swear of being loyal to our families, joining us under one, in order for us to forge an alliance that will never be broken if not in Death”.

“That shit seems serious” you muttered, as you also started eating the meal in your plate, knowing that if you truly wanted to escape, you’d have to be strong.

“… it is” he confirmed “… but the promise is the least show-like of our ceremonies, then there is ‘The Dressing’, ‘The Ceremony’, ‘The Undressing’…”.

“They all explain pretty well what they entail” you commented loudly, embarrassment written all over your cheeks in a show of uneasiness that made you a weak target for Aethelred’s laugh, although he kept the conversation between you two, as he promised.

“I’ll be gentle with you, little virgin”.

Your cheeks became even redder, and you dropped half the glass onto his expensive pants for revealing your embarrassing secret, as he smirked almost playfully.

He was like a big feline waiting for his prey to lower her guard.

The stain didn’t last even a sole minute on the pants, before it vanished in thin air.

“… don’t worry, I’ll wait” he grinned at you, before he leaned in, and you found yourself stuck on the chair “… there is no intention in me to take a fruit that isn’t offered, but either way I always seem to wait for the more mature ones, falling right in my hands”.

You were too hot.

And you almost thought about drenching yourself with grape juice, to relieve that.

But Aethelred quickly moved away from him, his entire playful attire disappearing as his eyes focused on the sight of Judith hand-feeding Alfred, although he shouldn’t have the need of it, but you didn’t miss Aethelred’s longing gaze, desperate for affection.

“… my mother, too, didn’t like me” you didn’t know why you blurted it out, but it just did.

“Mothers can feel when their children isn’t theirs, so I don’t blame her” he commented, and you were surprised he hadn’t said anything truly cruel “… my situation is worse, believe me. My mother hates me for the sake of my brother’s love”.

It was an heartfelt confession and you wondered whether you should have said something but you just stared at him, unable to stop yourself from doing literally anything, as your hand held out for his, but he just shifted it away, facing forward.

And although you had no intention or interest in comforting your captors, not wanting to develop Stockholm Syndrome, you couldn’t help but feel bitter at his rejection and when you were turning around to collect yourself in a private moment, you saw something, a thick creature, dark green and horridly scaly, almost like a snake.

But before you could scream more wretched creatures appeared, and from the scream that erupted, you knew that they weren’t invited.

Aethelred was quick, noticing the creature near you, as he pushed you back, almost getting you to bump into the ground and he exited the sword and pushed it right into the creature’s chest, horridly killing him as some kind of acidic blood was emitted by the horrifying nightmare, and you shielded yourself with the fabric of your dress.

“… grab my knife, soon-to-be wife” he commented loudly, as another creature screeched appearing onto the table with a warrior scream that made you immediately cover your ears, as Aethelred shook you to your feet “… the knife! Idiotic human girl!”.

And you did grab the knife he had stitched onto his thigh, getting it out of his sheath, as he sent you a little look to where a running mob was forming, before the creatures completely circled you, leaving you no escape.

“… run forward and never stop” he explained to you, as he easily fought off another attack and you shamelessly used him as a human shield “… there’ll be an arch… it’ll make you human again just by stepping over it”.

That was your way out, although chaos erupted around you and you screeched loudly making you heavy, but you nodded at what Aethelred had said and quickly moved towards where he had pointed, trampling over a furious crowd, as guards appeared shielding the royals, Alfred disappearing under the tight arm of an armed man.

And you ducked down, sure that nobody would notice you.

But hands came for you, both scaly and both faerie, and the knife in your hold moved on its own, pushing itself through flesh and coming out marred in blood, although you never wanted to hurt anyone.

But had you stopped they would have hurt you.

You tried not to do too much damage, simply stabbing at the hands, hoping that whatever happened they’d have some kind of healing magic you had never known, and just pushed forward, eventually leaving behind the small war, and for a bit you thought it was a trap.

Some kind of dangerous ploy to prove your loyalty.

No arch was in sight.

And you were losing hope, thinking that maybe it was all a game.

A game of chase that would have belonged to those savage people, but then your eyes caught a beautiful sight: an arch, right in front of your eyes.

And you were just moving to pass it, when something blunt hit the back of your head and you went down again, cursing yourself for having thought this would have ended up well.

You were getting annoyed at waking up like this.

Not in your room and with a burning headache.

This time you knew from the start that you hadn’t woken up for sure in your childhood home, since everywhere around you was cold and wet, almost as if you were being held under earth and when you opened your eyes, you saw that you hadn’t been wrong.

Around you everything was brown, barely lighted up by the dying flame of a candle.

You couldn’t help but feel buried inside a good amount of mud, all around you in a strange structure that was reinforced with metals and rocks, such as the things that blocked you from moving out.

No soft petals, but metal bars.

You were in prison.

Had they imprisoned you for having run away?

But at the same time, you couldn’t help but feel like you had shifted away completely by the cheery light of the faerie world and you were now closed off in mud and something that smelled much worse.

You moved closer to the small candle, as you cradled it closer to you, moving towards the bars to look outside to try to understand what was going on as you realized that your color of your skin hadn’t gone back to normal, showing you that you hadn’t passed the arc.

That you were still in faerieland.

Or whatever they called it.

But you weren’t anymore in any royal court, something that you dreaded to admit but you almost missed.

Even more when you noticed what was outside for you.

Or better in the bars in front of you.

Frightened creatures that you identified as similar faeries, backed up and scared, a few of them wounded and you couldn’t help but think that although the faeries seemed true savages, they wouldn’t have done this to their same people.

Had it been the creatures that had attacked you at the royal banquet?

But soon your thoughts were answered, as you heard heavy steps starting to sound, as the creatures shrieked away from the bars and towards the darkness of their cells and your heart started speeding up, as you finally realized that you were in deep shit.

You definitely missed your small private flower chamber.

But it wasn’t the creatures you had seen at the wedding that came face to face with you, although they resembled them in the color of their skin, a deep unhealthy yellowish green.

And it didn’t take you much to understand they were goblins.

Although they were quite more handsome than you thought.

But they had an almost aggressive beauty to them, something that made you uneasy as they inched closer to your bars, snickers coming from them, as they noticed your surprised face, and you took in how many they truly were.

Four men, all with long hair, braided elegantly, almost in warrior-like fashion, but two were bigger, although at least four of them were relatives for sure, meanwhile one stood out with his tattooed face and hair falling onto his face.

But they all shared their hungry smiles, and you almost crawled back in the back of the cell when they walked in the bar, opening it up to you.

“… don’t you smell the lovely perfume of a scared faerie?” commented the smaller one, his tongue wetting his lips, in a suggestive way that made you tremble “… they always taste sweeter when they cry”.

“Hvitserk!” called him back who looked like his brother, an elegant braid of brownish blond hair and pure blue eyes “… you aren’t allowed to touch her, don’t you remember?”.

… oh, that certainly put your mind at ease.

“… yeah yeah, I know… Ivar wants her alive” commented harshly the man backing up from you, as instead the tattooed man walked forward you, grabbing harshly your arm to push you to move alongside him, meanwhile the only man that had been silent, the older of the brothers, also blonde hair and damned blue eyes, looked at you.

You kept your back straight and pushed yourself to stand taller towards him, because showing that you feared them made you uneasy.

And it would have just brought you deeper.

You might play the compliant princess.

But you wouldn’t have played the scared one.

From what you had heard you weren’t to be touched, hence you were safe.

For now.

Although Hvitserk, or whatever that troll was called, kept his eyes for the entire time on your ass.

You tried to take in the road for where you were lead, up to a pair of stairs, although you couldn’t see any windows in sight, probably because if you remembered correctly the light of the sun turned goblins into stone.

But still you weren’t able to catch the passing of time, whether you had moved away from the bloody tint of the dawn you had experienced or if it was already the rosy-fingered dawn, coming for you.

The walls still became much more sturdy and stable, made of rocks than instead mud, almost as if you were slowly walking towards the true castle, meanwhile the prisoners were simply returned to the earth where they had all come from.

You hadn’t been wrong at thinking that you had been buried alive.

And then you walked in what looked like a dark hall, straight from your darkest fairytales, with black rocks everywhere and barely a fireplace shining through the darkness of the room, as you took in the elegant and cruel assemble.

And the man who sat on a chair in the middle of it.

He looked young, probably a few years younger than you, the color of the fire making his face shine with a more normal color, almost human.

But you were sure he was a goblin.

Hadn’t it been for his horrifying teeth, sharp and pushed forward, you would have thought he might have been quite the handsome lad.

But villains always looked wonderful in fairytales.

And from what you had seen and heard, he was one of them.

“… lady (Y/N)” he welcomed you, raising himself up, although you noticed that he was in a croaked position, making you wonder whether he had been wounded or was simply tired.

Or wanted to mock you.

“… welcome in my humble home” he commented with a devious light in his eyes, again  predator taunting his prey and you honestly couldn’t help but hate that behavior, rolling lightly your eyes as you were laid onto a chair that was propped in front of him “… I take it that your staying was well”.

“My hair got a bit dirtied due to the humidity” you commented, taking on the persona of the spoiled brat “… if I get split ends, I’ll forward you my hairdresser’s bill”.

You knew that you were toeing a thin line, but the beautiful goblin simply looked at you with a smirk, as his eyes shone of interest, probably not expecting of you reacting that way.

But he didn’t let it impress him.

“… we’ll pay, goblins certainly don’t miss riches” he said, as he then moved to turn around, showing you that on the wall in the barely-lighted up a trophy shown: a golden armor, encrusted with gems all over it, definitely expensive “… my uncle Floki, made it for me”.

“… seems heavy” you commented unimpressed.

And this time his eyes showed that he had taken offense at your comment.

Good.

“You aren’t one for pretty words, are you?” he questioned you, and you felt the aggressiveness that told you this wasn’t a curtesy call.

“I might look like a cupcake in this dress, but believe me, I am not” you shot back, and although he seemed quite confused by what you said, he seemed to get the gist of the discourse, for which you were thankful.

Since it meant he might have stopped treating you like an idiot.

“… I am Ivar, the king of goblins”.

Again, you were unimpressed, pushing your face to rest itself.

“… and I am (Y/N), princess of being kidnapped, it seems”.

“This is serious” he commented, and you felt the surprised being met with annoyance, something that got you to assume a more serious expression, as you straightened your position “… and it’ll be advantageous to both of us, if you accept my deal”.

“… will you allow me to go outside to poo? Because believe me… the faeries also offered me that”.

“I can offer you your freedom”.

And that got you to finally shut up.

And stop with the sass.

Because Ivar’s eyes seemed honest.

So, it was impossible.

“… I don’t believe you”.

“I belong to the Little People, I can’t lie” but something told you that he would run around the truth, and hence you couldn’t believe him and wouldn’t have.

Till you had proofs.

“Why would you offer me freedom?” you asked, knowing that this wouldn’t be free “…what do you want for yourself?”.

“A spy” that left you surprised truly “… not many faeries can be good spies, but somebody like you, linked to the royal family and able to lie at command, might come quite handy to me… and all you’d have to do is to be my little bird, chirping information on my shoulders”.

Which wasn’t what you wanted in the slightest.

“… if I accept… how will you give me my freedom?” you asked, as your eyes danced around the room, not wanting to let him see how much you were considering his proposal.

Some part of you told you that goblins had their own agenda and you would have been caught in something in between and any way to escape would have been ruined.

But still… you didn’t see many ways to escape this prison.

Goblins weren’t certainly as gentle as faerie, and certainly although Ivar had ordered not to touch you, it certainly wouldn’t have lasted much.

So, you should have accepted, but…

… but you just wanted a normal life.

“… easily, I’ll turn you back in the human you always believed yourself to be” it seemed easy said by his mouth and although you knew that he couldn’t lie, for a minute you felt like this had a second meaning and you should be careful for that.

Everytime the villain offered the easy solution out, it meant that the main characters had sold their soul out.

“… you make it seem easy, but I don’t trust easy things” you commented, as you readjusted on the chair, lightly focusing your attention on the dress, noticing how utterly tattered it look, completely ruined.

It represented perfectly how you felt inside.

“It isn’t an easy thing, but… it is possible” he replied “… many of our species ditch our skin to enchant elegant wives, a few of my brothers can confirm it”.

A choir of snickers made you aware that it was indeed true.

“… it’s an enchantment” he explained “… it’ll make you human again”.

“How?”.

“I am not telling you till you decide whether you accept my deal or not” his mouth turned in a devious smirk.

“You might trick me”.

“… I could force you into this” he commented loudly, and suddenly you were aware that although he hadn’t shown you that he was powerful, he was much stronger than he let on “… I could have you spying for me with worse methods”.

And he meant it from the bloodthirsty expression which appeared on his face.

“But I am feeling generous, and I know that satisfied employees are the best ones” he reached out to you, as he lightly staggered down from the throne, making you notice that he wore braces, metal braces onto his body, although you assumed they couldn’t be iron, but he looked quite strong, holding his body straight.

But your eyes shifted as he moved his hand forward to you and his hand lightly moved itself in your hair, before settling on your face and strangely his touch seemed ice-cold and wet, but it didn’t startle as his eyes shifted onto you.

“… will you be my spy, little one?”.

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