#that woman is just downright unfair with how hot she is

[reidmeup]

the old guard soundtrack is just as on point as charlize theron

[all-hallows-evie]

Athenaeum: 7

Warnings: Canon typical Violence is coming into play this chapter, mentions of blood, capture and WORST OF ALL:...I cant write fight scenes for crap. LOL

A/N:...so yeah...shit’s hitting the fan this chapter...not sorry about it, lol

***

Two months come and go and every time a ship lands near the outskirts you feel your heart clench. You did him rotten, what you did was unfair. He was trying to be kind but just like you always do, you ruin it.

You fall back into your daily routine: sorting, mindlessly storing away information that may never be needed again, but the kid is always at the back of your mind no matter how hard you try to push him away.

You hope he is okay.

You hope he is managing to slip through the Empire's grip as whispers begin to turn to murmurs. The Empire is rising from the ashes, attempting to be reborn, but this time it is darker. You can feel it in the atmosphere, the darkness that had clouded the sky during the reign of Darth Vader was starting to clog everything again.

You are terrified for the kid. Maker knows why the Empire wants him, but it is never a good thing to be wanted by the Empire in a way like that; a need so fierce they would be willing to burn down entire towns to find you.

The sun has just set on the horizon and the lamps all around are warming up their golden glow. You sit on an all too familiar duracrete wall, a cup of steaming tea in your hands.

The small girl from the pack of children approaches you with caution, she pushes a long strand of straight auburn hair behind her ear, "When will the baby be back?" She asks fearlessly. 

Your lips press into a line, "I don't know."

"Do you think it will be soon? We miss him."

"I hope so." You respond before you bring the cup to your lips, the hot water burns your tongue. 

The little girl seems satisfied, but disappointed with your answer and sighs before returning to the group. Her little shoulders dropping low, the chorus of “awwww” comes from the other children a few feet away.

You spend the night watching them play in the streets and making polite conversation with anyone who approaches you. You congratulate a newly wed couple as they uncomfortably ask if you might know of anything in your collection that might help them with their first child. You smile and ask them to come see you tomorrow afternoon, you'll be sure to get them what they need. "A gift." You respond when they look at each other nervously, unsure of what they could offer in trade, "We need more innocence in this world."

The moon is high in the sky by the time you wander back to your home. You catch yourself holding the spot on your chest where the child would lay his head when he was here, wrapped tightly against your body, tuckered out after a long night of play.

Sleep evades you that night. 

Something about tonight was bringing out the worst in you. Something about the way everyone around you was starting to carve their way into the universe made you feel...lonely. 

Inadequate. 

Lost. 

Again and again, you feel the urgency that only loss brings out in you, like you want to reach out into the universe and grab a hold of something - anything - to keep you from falling into the void but there is nothing. 

You need to stay busy. 

You don't remember when you pull yourself from the warmth of your covers and pad softly downstairs. The lights of your private archives hum loudly in the silence of the early morning. You slide into your helmet, the cold sticks to the inside spaces making little puffs with every breath you take. 

You start your search, finding files with old wives tales and home remedies, scanning them for anything you can think of that the new nervous parents could need. And when you can't think of anything else, you read past accounts of births in this tiny little town, taking notes on your data pad as you go.

You don't feel your eyes start to slip closed halfway through your research, you don't feel your head drop forward suddenly heavy with exhaustion, you don't feel your entire body curl up to the desk as sleep completely overtakes you, and most of all you don't feel the Mandalorian pull you from your awkward sleeping position on the table to bring you upstairs. You don’t feel him lay you on your own bed, helmet still firmly attached over your shoulders. 

You sleep through the tiny claws pulling themselves up beside you, but when the little warm body curls up under your chin your eyes finally flutter open.

Your hand comes up, landing with a soft plop between the kids ears. "Hey buddy, I've missed you." Your voice is raspy and thick with sleep.

He gurgles, little claws digging into the collar of your shirt. 

"Where's your big beskar friend?" You sigh as you sit up slightly, you hold the child tight against you with one hand while pulling the helmet from your head with your other. It bounces on your mattress as you let it slide off. You look around, running the sleep from your eyes and trying to piece together how you even got back here.

The kid reaches up and touches your chin, a shiver runs down your spine as he shares more memories with you. 

Sand and heat. Double suns high in the brilliant blue sky. 

There was a nice woman there with wild curly hair, you can feel how much she makes him happy. She's fun because she lets me get in trouble. It's not words you exchange but feelings. 

Holding the child in your arms and staring into the inky black of his eyes you can feel your resolve melting away. 

If Mando asks again, you won't say no. You'll leave this all behind...but you've got to tell him the truth first. You hide your worry behind a smirk as you turn to the child, your hand curled into a C shape as you run it down the front of your chest, “Hungry?” 

His little arms immediately spring up as he squeals.

“Not surprising.” You smirk as you inch out of bed, slowly standing with him still held carefully in your arms. 

“I told him to let you sleep.”

You almost jump out of your skin at his sudden appearance, you aren’t sure how long the Mandalorian has been standing in your doorway watching you. “Mother of a mudscupper, I didn’t think you could be so quiet!” You shout, your heart racing up your throat. 

This time he does chuckle at you before disappearing into your living area. You walk out behind him, still holding the child tight. He leans against a side wall, seemingly looking out of your window into the street below. 

“I didn’t think you’d be back.” You say as you place the child down on the thick carpet, he wobbles over to the closest data pad, tucked into your usual place between one of the cushions of the couch. 

“He likes it here. He’s safe here”

“You have a bounty nearby?” You ask instead.  

“No.” he replies, “My offer-” 

“To come with - wait.” You stop before you can finish the thought. 

You hear it before you even see it break atmo, your eyes train on the sky. Mando looks up as well, following your gaze. You murmur it as you see it land in the outskirts. “T-4a shuttle.”

The Empire.

"Fuck, you have to go Mando, and you have to go now!" You scramble away from the window, you snatch the kid from the ground and hand him roughly to the Mandalorian as you both move as far away from the window as you can. Your data pad falls from his little claws, shattering against the floor. The Mandalorian tucks the child safely away in his canvas bag, trying to keep him calm as he starts to cry and squirm. 

"Come with us."

"You won't make it out of atmo alone." You grit, "Go, I can buy you time."

He hesitates, "Why? Why does the Empire want you?!"

"Dank ferrik Mando, we don't have time for this!"

"Tell me why, tell me what they want."

You roll your eyes, your hands card through your hair harshly, annoyed doesn't even begin to describe the sensation that blooms in your chest, "For fucks sake Mando, it's because I belong to them!"

He takes a step back. If you could see his face you would put money on a look of betrayal probably etching itself into his gaze as you spoke.

You rip yourself out of your thin jacket and toss it on the ground and show your arm to the Mandalorian, the red of the ink even brighter than you remember in the daylight. This is not the way you were hoping to have this conversation. 

"You're a deserter."

You huff, "No, life would be much easier if I was. A blaster bolt to the brain and that's the end of that. I am a creation, a monster born and bred for the Empire, they are inclined to bring me back."

He is frozen solid, the only sign of life is his chest which keeps rapidly rising and falling.

You clench your fist, he's running out of time and all he can do is stand there and be shocked by the inhumanity of the Empire, "Please Mando, you need to go."

"They want the kid, something about his blood-"

"Gods damn it, will you please go?!" You were so riled up that you felt the tears starting to blur out your vision.

"Are they making Jedi? Are they making more of you?!"

He was downright impossible. "I was force sensitive when they snatched me di'kut!" You growl, "They can't make us, but they can do other things."

Chaos is breaking out on the streets outside, you can hear screams and the sound of blaster fire. Panic rises up in your throat like acrid bile.

"Look, I don't know what they want from the kid, but please don't let them get him. If he survives whatever it is that they want him for or if he survives whatever they do to him, he won't like himself afterwards."

The Mandalorian is still and you wonder how long it will take for your words to bounce around his helmet before they sink into his head. The kid cries and he finally nods, "How do I get out?"

***

You can hear them coming closer. The sounds of doors being ripped off their hinges as imperial troopers in their white plastoid armor lay waste to the houses of the people you call friends and neighbors grows louder and louder. You are scared, your heart hammers under your ribs and if you don't keep reminding yourself to breathe you are sure you are going to keel over dead. 

The Imperials drag out the men and women from their homes, shouting at them for information.

“Where is the bounty hunter?!” 

“The one covered in beskar!” 

There is no death, there is the force. The words appear in your mind like a message from some nearby god.

You close your eyes and open your door and step out onto the main road, your long handled electro-axe dragging lines into the dirt of the road beside you. You stop in the middle of the road and turn to face the small squad of troopers, a few lieutenants scattered between them, the silver emblems of their caps shine in the sun. 

"The Mandalorian was with me." You call over, your voice cuts through the chaos.

The chaos quiets down for a moment as eyes land on you. Your own gaze lands on two lieutenants in the center of the fray, you can see their eyes flicker down, as they take in the brands on your skin. You grip your weapon a little tighter under their gazes.

"Deserter!" One of them growls before the other holds him back, a tight and sudden grip on his shoulder that stops him between steps. 

The dark haired lieutenant approaches warily. "What is a Praetorian doing in these quadrants?"

You smirk as there is a noticeable nervous shuffle in the group, "You're outside your jurisdiction boys. There is no Empire or New Republic presence here, but if you insist on asking questions about the Mandalorian, you are going to have to deal with me."

"I repeat, Praetorian," The lieutenant shouts as he visibly gathers his courage and shuffles closer, "Why are you here?"

Your eyes scan his face, the small smirk growing into a toothy grin on your lips, "Let me repeat, lieutenant: you have no jurisdiction here, and if you think you rank above me...you are in for a harsh reminder." Your heart feels like it’s ready to burst from your chest, but you swallow down harshly and refuse to let it show. 

His lip quivers and fear rolls off him in tidal waves, he turns to his partner, "Kill them." 

The heat from the blasters is immediate as every blaster attempts to take you out, you ignite your vibro axe, it’s blue arcs of electricity snapping to life. You dodge a couple of shots, blocking the rest with a quick push from the force, snapping it back before regathering your focus and sending another wave before the troopers can get another shot in. 

Your wave tackles the first row of troopers, causing havoc down the next two lines of troopers. Shots ring out in all directions as troopers go flying into each other, you take this moment to jump into the fray, slicing at the splayed out troopers who are still attempting to stand. 

You try to keep tabs on the snarky lieutenant as he melts into the crowd, Imperial troopers pouring down the street en force. A blaster bolt rips through your shoulder, sending a searing flash of pain down your side. You see red as you throw your hand out and catch the trooper responsible by the throat. You fling him bonelessly into the closest hard surface, the sidewall of your own home.

 Before he hits the ground you're already preparing to lash out at the next wave, quickly flipping your axe to your good arm, but you are not fast enough. A trooper charges under your outstretched hand, knocking you over. 

The air leaves your lungs as you hit the road hard on your back. 

The troops lunge forward and you hear distant shouts:

"Bring the e-net!"

"Clear the field!"

The crowd of white and black troopers part and you see the sky darkening as the electric net fills the sky.

"Fuck." You manage to gasp before it lands against your body and pins you to the ground. You hear it hum for a moment before it cracks to life like a lightning strike. Thick arcs of blue electricity fill the air and every muscle in your body spasms. 

Your screams fill your ears, eyes brimming with angry tears as white hot pain tears through you. The pain stops for a moment, just enough time for you to see the silver shine of the Razor Crest break out of atmo at the corner of your vision. Electricity arcs again and your vision is gone behind a wall of tears and a tidal wave of pain. 

You hear the boots around you surge forward in rhythm and then darkness. 

Sweet, sweet, painless darkness.

Taglist: @prettyboyskywalker, @sunshinepascal, @perropascal, @pascalisthepunkest, @bigdickdindjarin, @kyjoraven

<<Back to Master List  II  Chapter 6  II  Chapter 8 (In Progress)>>

[crimson-snowfall]

[Birthday Fic, NSFW] Fiery

Hello everyone, so I wasn’t really planning on writing a birthday fic for Leonardo since I’m not that much of Leo stan, but since @mikotomizuki asked me for a Leo smangst (lol kinda hard to resist this hoe) and I just so happened to be in the mood when she asked me... this happened. I told her it’s just gonna be short since it was totally unplanned so I don’t know how the fuck I ended up writing ~1.8k words (which is definitely longer than my average fics)

Genre: Smangst (Smut + Angst)

Word Count: 1840 

Warnings/Tags: profanity, a little bit of femdom i guess, choking, nipple stimulation, rough sex, vaginal sex, 3rd person POV 

It had been a few decades since Leonardo moved out of Le Comte's mansion, and the main reason behind this sudden decision is currently pinning him down on the floor, pressing the blunt edge of a dagger against his neck. The woman wore a devilish grin as she straddled him beneath her, on the other hand the pureblood in question simply had a rather entertained smile on his lips.

"Feisty as ever, I see." Leonardo knocked the dagger of Arthemis' hands, earning himself a look of absolute displeasure.

"Yeah, and you're as bland as ever," Artemis sneered as she reached for the memento of her days as a vampire hunter, sheathing it back on its holster, before finishing off with what Leonardo has come to consider the woman's choice of endearment for him, "...you filthy pureblood."

Artemis got off of him, slamming the door on his face before he could even get on his feet. He found her lounging comfortably on the couch when he came in, but just as when he was about to take the vacant spot next to her, she laid down and deliberately took up as much space as her little form could cover. Leonardo chuckled in amusement before settling down on the armrest on one end of the couch.

"You know cara mia, I wouldn't mind getting a welcome home kiss every now and then." Naturally, his suggestion was met with immediate repudiation.

"Never. Also, watch those hands or I'll cut them off," Artemis growled, and Leonardo's hands just momentarily paused in their tracks. After briefly gauging her mood, his hands promptly resumed their northbound expedition, his calloused fingers ticklish against her soft legs.

His grumpy lover glared daggers at him, and just as when his prying hands were about to reach her thighs, she reluctantly readjusted herself on the couch. Leonardo wasted no time occupying the now vacant spot, before draping his arms over her shoulder, pulling her closer to him.

"Tch. Ridiculous how you ask me why I keep calling you a filthy pureblood when you always play dirty." She may be stiff in his embrace, but at least she wasn't downright turning him away.

"I haven't seen you in a week, cara mia. How is wanting a little bit of your love and attention considered playing dirty?"

Artemis rolled her eyes. "Yeah. A week. Immortality must be really tough. Too bad not even we vampire hunters could put an end to your eternal thirst."

Leonardo leaned down to press a kiss on his grumpy lover's cheeks. "Well, I do agree with you that it's rather unfortunate. However, I don't think I'll ever want to have any blood other than yours, and you know what? Maybe I can die too."

This time, Artemis gave her an incredulous look while wiping the spot on her cheeks that he had just kissed. "You know what? I hate you. You've got guts implying you can die when even the most surefire extermination methods don’t work on you.”

Leonardo simply shrugged off her tirade, before capturing her lips in a devouring kiss. She hates him, she says, but if anything, it didn't really take long for it to be evident that she probably didn't mean a single thing she said with how decisively she turned the tides as their tongues battled for dominance. The forsaken vampire hunter has always been a good kisser– probably the only woman in existence that can leave Leonardo gasping for his breath.

The fact that the vampire hunters sent her after him was likely their way of forcing her into her retirement. The average lifespan of a vampire hunter lasts for a couple of centuries, and Artemis has lived way past her retirement age. So one day, the vampire hunters gave her an impossible mission: to discover the method on how purebloods can be exterminated, and should she fail to bring the corpse of one in the span of a year, then she is to lose her honor as a vampire hunter and exit the extermination scene.

There are still times when Leonardo genuinely wonders if Artemis is still holding his 'non-killability' against him, when he would gladly drop dead for her if that's what would make her happy. Sure, it may not be fair on him, but when has he ever cared about those kinds of things? Besides, nothing can be more unfair than being subject to the cruel fate of being unable to die.

Leonardo's hands had found their way to massage Artemis' inner thigh as she busied herself suffocating him with the ferocity of their kiss. Unfortunately, before he could even make an attempt to venture deeper, he found himself once again pinned down, only this time against the couch and not on their doorstep.

"Hey bloodsucker," Artemis arrogantly called him out, "do you want me to love you?" Or so she asks, but with how fast the buttons on his shirt is flying off, Leonardo just knew that the question was purely rhetorical.

"Yes," Leo purred out, "love me into oblivion, cara mia."

"As you wish, my filthy pureblood." Perhaps it's the natural athleticism of vampire hunters, but it never fails to amaze Leonardo just how fast Artemis could strip both of them of their clothes.

Rubbing her wetness against his massive length, she began lapping up every inch of skin on his torso, leaving behind a trail of love marks where she felt like it. She'd always loved giving his nipples the special attention it craves, and this time was no different– she flicked it over and over again with her little tongue while staring him down, satisfying the remnants of her predatory nature with the vulnerable look on her pureblood's face.

"Are you trying to milk me, cara mia?" Leo asked breathlessly as he reached out to set aside stray locks of her hair away from her face, before traveling down to seize her breasts, twirling her nipples in reciprocation of her gesture.

"Just shut up and enjoy it." With those words, Leonardo felt his cock slide up into Artemis' dripping wet core, a gasp of pleasure escaping her lips as it stretched her insides. Her hands slowly made their way to perfectly curl around his neck as she rode him out, sending him into a distinctive haze of pleasure.

"Fuck," Leonardo groaned as he watched his cock fuck her sweet pussy, "you're as tight as ever, cara mia." Leonardo squeezed her ass in his enrapturement, and the hands wrapped around his neck tightened their old on him in response.

"And you're as lewd and as filthy as ever," Artemis mewled out as she devoured every bit of Leonardo's salacious expression, increasing her pace with each groan of pleasure ripping through the pureblood's throat. 

Her pace morphed into a frenzied one in no time, and she kept on wildly bouncing up and down his deliciously massive cock until she was completely taken over by the violent waves of her throbbing orgasm, her body convulsing as she soaked him with her sweet release.

Leonardo didn't gave her any chance to fall limp on top of him however, and in the blink of an eye Artemis was on her knees as her lover viciously pounded her from behind. Curses immediately filled the room as she lashed out on him over her loss of control, and smashing his lover until all the curses were replaced by nothing but his name has become Leonardo's greatest self-indulgence in the recent decades.

Being the prideful woman she is, she doesn't give in so easily, and that's exactly what makes it even more satisfying for Leonardo. The pureblood would've made her orgasm several times and she would've been a disheveled mess by the time she can no longer resist the urge to scream out his name, chanting it over and over again as though it were some prayer.

"Leonardo, please...!"

"Please what, cara mia?" Leonardo asked with a triumphant smirk as he slowly pulled out, before thrusting all the way back in with a ferocious intensity, his name escaping her lips once more in a lewd moan.

"F-fill me up, Leonardo. I want y-your filthy pureblood c-cum inside me," she cried out desperately, saying it just loud enough as to not have him make her repeat those words again.

"Now that's a good girl," Leonardo leaned forward to kiss her roughly, and complying with her wishes, he finally stopped holding back. He fucked her with with an unforgiving intensity until his hot, white release filled her up as they came together, before his body came crashing down on her.

Once she has recovered from their orgasm, she began complaining over his weight on her. "Hey bloodsucker, are you trying to kill me? You're crushing me down here."

With a low chuckle, Leonardo turned them over so that she's resting her head on top of his chest. "Better?"

"No," she denies even as she snuggles closer up against him, one hand pulling hardly on his cheeks, "you're an old geezer and you stink like one."

"Really now," Leonardo took her hand and began licking her wrists, not taking his eyes off of hers as his tongue trailed over her pulse, as though waiting for her permission.

"Just do it, really," she averted her eyes to hide her embarrassment and bit back the sound that threatened to escape her lips as he bit her down, the pleasure washing over her more than enough proof for her that she could no longer return to being a vampire hunter even if she wanted to.

After having his fill of her, Leonardo pulled her up for a loving kiss– the only one of its kind that she would always return with the slightest hints of the love she would never admit.

"I love you, cara mia," Leonardo whispered softly as his golden eyes betrayed just how much he had been longing to hear her give voice to the feelings he's certain that existed as well– but Artemis never would.

For in the same way her blood could not kill him, his bite could not turn her into a vampire– and despite their longevity, the lifespan of even the most resilient vampire hunter remains much shorter of that an average lesser vampire.

So Artemis would rather take those feelings to her grave than bind Leonardo's poor undying self with words of love.

"Too bad I'm way above mistaking my debauched, carnal desires for mushy feelings of love, my filthy pureblood," Artemis lied with a weary smile as her exhaustion finally took a toll on her, and it didn't really take much time for her to doze off peacefully on his chest.

Leonardo watched her with lonely smile on his face, combing his fingers through her messy hair, "Then I'll try my best not to yearn for those words," he murmured before allowing the comforting embrace of sleep to take him to the land of dreams.

And in his dreams, his beloved Artemis would openly profess her love for him.

[grammartrolls]

Stepping In: A Hyperbolic Drabble

that’s right i’m actually posting writing on here deal with it

ship: hyperbole (foseti x apiuma) (and a little bit of apiuma o8< natter >8o foseti)

When Foseti Mafdet agreed to play a video game with a bunch of people she barely knew, if at all, she never expected to become a god. She wasn’t much of a gamer, after all, so when her moirail told her about some game called “SGRUB” in which the players make “a new world” she assumed it was some kind of metaphor. 

But here she was, a newly made god of a newly made universe, arguing with a bunch of other newly made gods about how the newly made rules should function in this newly made universe. 

It was exhausting and excruciating.

Watching the highbloods argue for a stricter caste structure, arguing with her more radical minority for a deletion of the hierarchy…it all became very tedious very quickly. It was a new, different kind of tediousness than Foseti was familiar with. It was…newly made.

Godly, even. You know, Foseti used to be an atheist before this all happened, but all of this bullshit has made her more open to the idea that perhaps there are gods…and maybe they were just as exhausting and annoying as these ones. It would explain why their world is so fucked up. 

Foseti wished she was still an atheist. Ignorance is bliss, after all. 

Back on her home planet, discussions took a different approach. Sometimes they were violent, but Foseti tried her best to keep them peaceful. Terse, but peaceful. But now things are significantly different. Now, the two sides were no longer arguing for the long term or the theoretical. Not that Foseti had any desire to argue in pure theory, being a woman of pure praxis, but regardless, discussions were now discussing…the Now. The immediate. The Thing That Is Literally About To Happen. 

The birth of a new universe.

…It got exhausting. Breaks needed to be taken. So here she was, taking a break… when who chose to saunter in but one Apiuma Abella. 

Oh, how Foseti hated Apiuma Abella. 

There were many annoying things that happened at these godly debates. That seadweller, Pequod, and his outlandish idea for a vengeance-based universe…the clown, Latena, arguing for a stronger military, Shakti being…Shakti. Even her own moirail got on her nerves, with his refusal to care about how stupid his optics look when he screams about “lowblood supremacy”. 

But by far the worst actor in these debates was Apiuma Abella.

It’s easy to see that Apiuma should, one would think, have the most skin in this game. Foseti knew that Apiuma didn’t even leave her house back on their home planet because she would immediately be culled in the street. Apiuma had a chance to help Foseti create a new universe built on equality, where lowbloods finally had the rights they deserved.

But, no, apparently Apiuma is blissfully unaware of any oppression that existed in their world. 

At least, that’s what it looks like to Foseti! It’s how it would look to anyone! 

The reason Apiuma was easily the worst part of these debates is her insistence on giving “everyone a chance to speak”. Ugh. What grift. 

The very idea that Apiuma, easily the most oppressed person here, would insist on hearing “everyone’s side”, when one of the “gods” at this table wants her and every other lowblood dead was downright insulting to Foseti. 

And here came she, likely going to spread her “moderate tolerance” somewhere else. Not that…there was anywhere else to go, of course. They were on a…giant spaceship… whatever, it’s irrelevant. 

As Apiuma passed Foseti, she shot a quick look at her. 

Foseti repaid it in full. “Apiuma.” She said, tart. 

“Foseti…how’s it going?” Apiuma responded, attempting to veil her clear upset…ness. 

“Not good.” The rustblood responded coolly. She wanted it to be obvious.  

“Oh. I’m sorry. That’s a shame.” Apiuma said, perhaps in an attempt to genuinely feel for Foseti, before attempting to leave again. 

“It’s because of you, you know.” Foseti said, rising. 

Apiuma stopped and turned around. “What? What did I do?” She said, incredulous, hands on her hips.

Foseti stepped forward and stared the yellowblood down. It was times like these, their confrontations, where the aesthetic difference between the two of them was thrown into stark contrast. Foseti was taller, slimmer, but not without muscle. She had tattoos and piercings. Her hair was big and loud. She was a punk! Apiuma, meanwhile, was small. Squishy. Cute. Undeniably cute. Frustratingly adorable. And soft. And nice to look at, yes, Foseti can admit it! But she still hated her. But, god, she was cute. Being a kismesis is weird sometimes. 

In these confrontations, Foseti couldn’t help but feel some sense of satisfaction, even if it was buried under all the anger, in the visual tension between the two of them. Foseti was staring her down, tall and lean. Apiuma was staring up, not weakly, Foseti could admit. There was a fire in her adorably and comically big eyes. The contrast was attractive to the both of them. They were both equally strong in their relationship, and although they despised each other, they gave each other a fire and a passion. This was, Foseti presumed, the essence of a kismessitude. The two of them hated each other. But, god, it was hot. Being a kismesis is weird in general.

But that’s not what this is about. This is about something less personal, of course.

“What did you do? You platformed a supremacist!” 

“What? What does that even mean?” 

Of course Apiuma didn’t understand. 

“Of course you don’t understand…you are so insistent on hearing “other opinions” that you refuse to deplatform one that should absolutely not have a seat at the table.” Foseti snipped, bitter.

“A seat at the…are you talking about Pequod? You know he did a lot to help us in the game! He gave the killing blow to the Black King! We all saw it! He literally helped us win the whole game! He earned his seat at the table like all of us. Also, can we go back to ‘of course you don’t understand’…? What the heck is that supposed to mean!” Apiuma buzzed. 

Foseti crossed her arms. It’s true that Pequod did a lot in the campaign. That weapon of his, the Stygian Shade…? It certainly carries a lot of firepower. But whatever, his actions don’t change the fact that his beliefs are toxic as shit. “He literally still believes in a blood hierarchy and actively advocates for it. He literally just did that. You were watching, weren’t you?” 

“Of course I was watching!” Apiuma huffed, also crossing her arms. A yellow blush colored her cheeks just a bit. 

Cute. Foseti tried to suppress a satisfied grin. 

“This isn’t even a political discussion...” Apiuma spat, somewhat under her breath.

“What! What are you even talking about! ‘This isn’t a political discussion’? That’s ridiculous, and you fucking know it. When discussing the making of a new universe, the politics of that universe are kind of vital, don’t you think? And including supremacists like Pequod, or grifters like Marina, or war-advocators like Latena is not the morally responsible thing to do, don’t you think?!” 

“Well, if it’s such a political discussion, I don’t see why you have to involve everyone, especially people who want to stay out of the politics, like me!” Apiuma burst. 

Oh, here it is. The moment Apiuma pulls out the ‘apolitical’ card, and Foseti gets to pull out all the stops. 

“Oh, that’s right, I forgot you don’t actually care.” Foseti said dryly, turning around. 

Apiuma gasped. “How dare you!” She rushed in front of the rustblood. “How dare you suggest such a thing!” 

“Well, if you actually cared, you would be willing to take the steps needed for equality.” Foseti shrugged. “But instead you choose to be a caste traitor.” 

“C-Caste traitor!?” Apiuma repeated, shocked. 

“I said what I said. You have repeatedly refused to take the necessary steps for lowblood liberation, and continue to do so now.” Foseti leaned forward, and rested her hands on her knees, getting close to Apiuma’s adorable face. “What other word is there to use but traitor, babe?” 

Apiuma puffed, clearly offended. 

Normally, Foseti would not use such…incendiary tactics. She was normally far more professional than this, but there was something about Apiuma…

“What, so I’m supposed to join the revolution like a ‘good lowblood’? I’m supposed to be blacklisted from every major city, I’m supposed to be enemy no. 1, like you, babe? Sometimes, people just want to cope.”

Foseti backed up quickly, a bit surprised. Apiuma didn’t usually have stops to pull out like this. She was kind of impressed. 

“Besides, it really is none of your business at all what I think or believe or do with my time. I have a right to do things completely unrelated to politics. It’s, honestly, pretty offensive, really, how much you harp on my apolitical…ness, since it’s obvious you only do that because I’m the lowest blood color among the whole team. Why should I have to be staunchly political, like you? Because I’m a lowblood? A near-mutant? It’s super unfair and annoying, honestly.” Apiuma crossed her arms, and looked away. She was frowning, but Foseti could see a satisfied glint in her eye. 

Clever. Foseti wasn’t expecting all of that. Not that Apiuma wasn’t clever, of course, but this is usually the part where she gets flustered and walks away. Or they make out. It’s really 50/50 at this point. 

Foseti averted her eyes. She honestly didn’t know what to say. It’s…possible that…Apiuma might…be right. But it doesn’t matter.

“The fact still stands that your refusal to stand for our rights shows that you, on some level, don’t care. Or you just can’t be bothered. Either way, it’s disappointing. And yes, a large part of that is because of your blood color. I find it unbelievable how apolitical you are because of your caste. You have the most to gain and the most to lose in the movement, so why don’t you choose to stand up?” 

Foseti prided herself on that answer, especially since it clearly upset Apiuma more.

“I hate revolutionaries!” Apiuma threw her hands up, clearly frustrated. “Nothing anyone does is ever good enough for you! Why can’t you just accept that some people don’t care about politics without calling us ‘grifters’! That a lot of us just want to live our lives and not have to think about any of that stuff!” 

Foseti was surprised. And angry. Not at Apiuma responding at all, no, she found a great satisfaction in their debate. But the idea that anyone, especially with a blood color as low as Apiuma’s, wouldn’t want to think about the problems that plague their society, wouldn’t want to fix it, made Foseti furious. 

“…Whatever.” The rustblood said, bile coating her words. “I shouldn’t keep you. You probably have clown makeup to paint on, don’t you? Faygo to drink? I bet you have to go play ‘make-believe highblood’.” Foseti crossed her arms again and looked away, satisfied at such a line. 

“That would invalidate everything…you say…” There was a silence. 

Apiuma wasn’t responding to Foseti’s insult. That wasn’t normal.  

Foseti looked down to see a completely different expression on her kismesis’ face. 

Shock, offense and hurt was splayed on Apiuma’s cheek. The small yellowblood looked down at her feet. 

“I…” Foseti could hear Apiuma’s voice shake. Her face was obscured from view, but immediately Foseti got that feeling in the pit of her stomach that she said something she really, really shouldn’t have. Apiuma held her hands together, and Foseti could see they were shaking. Oh, no, no, this wasn’t how it was supposed to go. A kismesis isn’t supposed to make their partner cry. Er…well…this wasn’t how it was supposed to go.

“Hey…” Foseti reached out. 

Apiuma ran away. 

Oh, shit. Shit, shit, shit, did she just fuck this up?

“Wow, you fucked that up.” A different voice. 

Foseti turned around to see a familiar, bespectacled, nihilistic near-jade. “Oh, it’s you…” Foseti sighed. “What are you doing here? Er—how long were you standing here?” 

“Enough to know you have royally fucked up.” Natter Schlau stepped forward toward the rustblood. 

Foseti didn’t have particularly high regards for Natter either. She was, perhaps, just as apolitical as her moirail-turned-matesprit, but at the very least she has a more philosophical justification. It’s a bullshit one, but at least she has one. Regardless, most of her interactions with the nihilist were unpleasant, but that’s probably just because Natter is an unpleasant person. 

“Why didn’t you rush to your matesprit’s aid earlier?” Foseti asked, with a slight sarcastic twinge.

Natter shrugged. “I assumed it was some strange blackrom courtship ritual.” 

Foseti shrugged back. “…It kind of was. But…ah shit…I really went too far with that last comment. The ‘make-believe highblood’ comment. That was a terrible thing to say.”

It truly was a shitty thing to say. 

“Yes, terrible would be the key word. How did you even know that?” 

“Know what? I made that up.” Foseti rubbed her temples. “It…it was hyperbole, you know? I was being facetious.” 

“Oh…” Natter groaned slightly, before rubbing her eyes underneath her glasses. “Well. Congratulations. You have picked upon a very sensitive wound.” She gestured sarcastically. “Good job.”

“Wait…don’t tell me…”

“Alright, I won’t.”

“I’m being serious. Apiuma…actually pretends to be a highblood?” Foseti asked in disbelief.

Natter sighed. “…Sometimes. I have caught her doing that, yes. She practices putting face paint on and pretending to be a purpleblood. Honestly, I don’t know if she is play-pretending at being a highblood or genuinely desires to become a subjuggulator, or a convert, or however that heathen cult works,”

God, Natter could be an asshole, even to the assholes.

“Regardless,” the near-jade continued, “She sometimes practices putting on clown makeup. I’ve asked her about it. We’ve discussed it, but as of now she does not desire to discuss it further, so I leave it at that.” 

Foseti sighed and ran her hands through her hair. This…this was weird.

“Oh…fuck…I fucked up so bad.” She began massaging her eyes, feeling a headache coming on. 

“Yes.”

Well, at least Natter was direct, if a bit abrupt.

Foseti struggled a bit. She was not a bad kismesis. Apiuma has said that, and Foseti understands what a bad kismessitude looked like. No, neither of them were overly abusive or wanted each other dead. It was just little jabs and pokes, stabs and gripes, that made a good pitch relationship. And Foseti was pretty sure that she and Apiuma have that. Well. It might become ‘had’, if Foseti doesn’t go patch things up. Oh, and Foseti definitely knows she’s going have to be the one to fix this. But apologies are not…her strong suit. She’s apologized before, of course, as has anyone, but it never gets easier. She sighed. 

“I’ll fix it. Don’t worry.”

“I am not worried. Apiuma is stronger than you think. She is very unstable, of course, but who of us isn’t?” 

Again with the thoughtful insights. God, Natter was insufferable. But she was right. 

“However!” Foseti pointed out. “Her unstable nature does not make my points any less valid.” She said, mainly to herself. 

Natter cocked an eyebrow. “What does that have to do with anything?” 

“Our debate. I know when I go apologize she’s going to try and say that her feelings being hurt makes her arguments somehow more valid. They aren’t.”

“Oh. That. How tedious you two are sometimes.” 

“You’re one to talk.” 

“Fair enough.” Natter pushed up her glasses. “What was that whole event even about anyway?” 

“Ugh!” Foseti cried out. “What it’s always about! Apiuma is so…apolitical. I don’t get it.” 

“Oh, right, the same thing you two are always, always talking about.” The exasperation in her voice was obvious, as it always was. “Honestly, I don’t think your argument is as valid as you say.” 

“What makes you say that.” Foseti asked tersely, with another cross of the arms.

Natter sighed greatly as she is wont to do. “Very well. I shall explain. I believe there are several things about Apiuma that you simply do not understand. Mainly, her disposition. It is simply not cut out for politics. As you have seen, Apiuma is a highly sensitive person. Personally, I think that makes her beautiful and empathetic, but it is not a very practical skill with politics, I think you would agree?” 

Foseti shrugged. “I guess.” Natter did have a point. Foseti herself has had to cultivate a pretty tough skin, and a soft egg like Apiuma probably wouldn’t thrive if she was in Foseti’s position. 

“Furthermore, Apiuma has had more hardship than you could possibly know. She has not left her home in sweeps. Well, I mean…now she has, but before we began SGRUB, she hadn’t walked out her own door in a long time. She has suffered greatly, due to her, frankly frustrating, refusal to go hemoanon. And, honestly, I think you would agree that her refusal to hide her blood color is somewhat radical, yes?” 

Foseti looked away. “Sure. I can admit that.” 

“In all this time hiding away, it would have been easy for Apiuma to cultivate an attitude of negativity, of sullenness or anger. But, instead, she chose joy. She chose…pretty things…” Natter paused, slightly lost in appreciation for her matesprit. Despite her dislike of both of them, Foseti could acknowledge that they had a very healthy relationship. She would be lying if she said she wasn’t a bit jealous. 

“Anyway. Apiuma has turned herself into a person that would rather focus on joy and positivity than being mentally bogged down by politics and revolutionary action.”

Foseti puffed a bit. “You can be a revolutionary and be joyful and positive.” She said, prickled. 

“Ah yes, because you are clearly a person overcome with virulent joy and light.”  

Foseti narrowed her eyes and pointed a finger at the nihilist. “Look.” She said, sharp. “I’m only harsh and cold because my movement requires me to be so.”

Natter chuckled a bit, and pushed up her glasses once more; a classic smug Natter manuever, one that she performed every time she felt she made a prescient argument.

“Do you think Apiuma should become you?” 

Foseti stopped. Huh. Hm. 

That’s a weird question. Foseti thought about it for a moment. 

“Let us phrase it like this. Do you think the world would be better if people in it were more like you?” 

Foseti fumbled. “I mean…” She means…it kind of would be? If people were more practical, simple, honest, and strong, the world would be a better place. It would certainly be better for the lowbloods. 

“Y…Yes. It would be. The world would be better if people acted like me.” 

“And do you see a problem with that mindset?”

Of course Foseti did. The moment she verbalized it, she recognized the problem.

“Not everyone can be Foseti Mafdet. Some people are just really not cut out for it, and it would be counterproductive, irresponsible, harmful and stupid to believe otherwise. I am sure you would agree.” Natter stated, frankly.

“You’re right.” Foseti conceded. 

“And someone like Apiuma is absolutely not cut out for it. Obviously. She herself would agree. And so she has every right to not engage in something that would clearly cause her great mental duress. Besides, she kind of already is under mental duress. The very act of existing as she does gives her a great amount of mental struggles. I think you can understand that, being a lowblood yourself.” 

“Of course.” Foseti nodded. Yes, she herself has long buried trauma that simply comes from existing as a lowblooded troll. The attacks, the losses…yes, Foseti understood that pain acutely. “I get that.” 

“So it would be irresponsible to put her into further mental and physical danger. Apiuma is a lot more vulnerable than you.” 

Foseti nodded. “Fine. I can admit that she doesn’t have to become a revolutionary. But she could afford to care more about our plight.” 

“And who are you to say she doesn’t? You do not hear the conversations we have, her and I, and you would be surprised at some of the opinions that Apiuma possess. They are more radical than you might think.” Natter replied.

Foseti narrowed her eyes a bit. “Even if that is true, it sometimes feels like she doesn’t even know how we suffer.”

Natter scoffed. “What a preposterous notion. Of course she does! She is, arguably, more oppressed than you! Not that we should play that kind of game. Again, she cannot even leave her house.”

Foseti raised her hands defensively. “Alright, alright, I get it, I get it. I may not agree with her, but I get it.”

“Oh, do not mistake me,” Natter interrupted. “I have no desire to defend my matesprit regarding some of her arguments. I think several of her opinions are rather indefensible. The idea that someone like Pequod should have any say in how this new universe unfolds is demonstrably stupid. The man can barely function as a social being.” 

Foseti chuckled a bit. Hm. Maybe Natter wasn’t as apolitical as Foseti had thought her to be. 

“I agree with you that someone like that should probably be deplatformed. Apiuma’s fixation on not hurting anyone’s feelings is rather ill-advised in this regard. Her repeated refusal to disavow outwardly supremacist rhetoric and people is something her and I are working on. Frankly, it disturbs me that she thinks like this. What if some brigand or blackguard demands something heinous of her and she cannot find it in herself to refuse, for fear of hurting their feelings? It is something that frightens me, not that much frightens me, of course. No, I don’t think any of us are qualified to be gods. Even me. Well…” Natter thought about it. “No. I am as flawed an individual as any thinking being. Really, what is thought? What is a being?” 

Wow. Even when Natter makes a cogent argument, she is still insufferable. It’s a skill, honestly.

“Anyway. This is why I believe that she shouldn’t even be involved in this discussion. But it seems you have somewhat forced her hand.” 

“What?” Foseti  replied, curious. 

“Well. You are kind of forcing all of us to attend these meetings.” Natter said, frankly.

“I think that’s a reasonable thing to do.” Foseti replied, a bit offended by the implication. “We all beat the game, so those of us who have reasonable beliefs should work together to create our new universe.” 

“And yet you find yourself frustrated at Apiuma for being bad at realpolitik when you yourself have forced herself into the position! You have created your own problem here, Foseti,” Natter removed her glasses and polished them. “You force her to do something she is bad at, and then hate her for being bad at it. I am not saying the two of you cannot have conflict. You are kismeses. You hate each other. That is, how you say, the point. But you should at least acknowledge the slight fuckery of the issue here.” The jade punctuated her point by slipping her glasses back onto her face, and gazed at Foseti expectedly.

Foseti shifted slightly. “Fine. She doesn’t have to come to the discussions anymore. But what in the shit is with the ‘make-believe highblood’ stuff!” Foseti threw her hands up in frustration. 

Natter furrowed her brows. It looked like genuine offense was taken there. “You should know, Apiuma fully understands that her fixation on highbloods is extremely unhealthy. That is another thing her and I are discussing. And frankly, her relationship with her own marginalized identity is absolutely none of your business. You had no justification to make a comment as hurtful as that, and furthermore, you have no right to continue to poke the wound. It would be best for the both of you if you both forgot that you said that, but since you cannot, I would suggest you do not mention it again. Besides, who are you to judge how a lowblood copes with their lot in life? Some of us fight back, some of us fantasize, all of us know our own pain. It is offensive to assume otherwise.” Natter crossed her arms, clearly tense. 

Foseti turned away from the near-jade, caught in her own thoughts. Natter was right. This obsession with Apiuma’s trauma responses is horrible for their relationship. She turned back. 

“You’re right. Thanks.” 

Natter sighed slightly, loosening up a bit. “Of course. I care deeply for my matesprit, and desire her to have a healthy kismessitude. By the way,” Natter narrowed her eyes to slits. “If it decays to abuse, I cannot guarantee your safety.”

Foseti cocked a very unconvinced brow. “What even is your strife specibus?” 

Natter shifted slightly. “…I wield a very dangerous shovel.”

“…Right.” Foseti bat the issue away. “Anyway. Thanks.”

A sense of guilt still hung in her head, but she felt more open knowing what the next steps to take are. 

Foseti looked toward Natter. “You know…you’re a pretty great mediator.” 

“Hm.” The near-jade thought about it for a moment. “I suppose I am. Anyway. I must be off.” Natter began to walk past Foseti, in Apiuma’s direction.

“Where are you going?” Foseti asked.

“I am going to comfort my girlfriend. I wish you the best, Foseti.”

And with that, the nihilist left, following her matesprit. What an asshole. She was right, of course, but she was still an asshole. 

Foseti Mafdet took a deep, godly, breath, and decided the next best course of action would be to head to her room to sleep and think. 

...And so she did. And the dreams were good.

[chi-knight]

Here's my rant about the new Harley Quinn movie. I love Harley Quinn and Margot Robbie ALOT and I was really excited to see this movie, so I feel bad for saying anything negative about it.

First off..The general audience wanted a full-blown Harley Quinn movie with characters like Poison Ivy & Catwomen and yes...the Joker as well. It was a no-brainer. But, instead we get something nobody asked for, a toned-down Harley Quinn movie that seems to only want to appeal to Women. The problem is that Men and women both love Harley so just wanting to cater to women and making every dude in the movie a terrible person is pretty unfair to say the least. If you want a movie to succeed and to be great, you can't demonize the entire male population. Just like how the Terminator dark fate movie had. Second, is that the director didn't seem to really get who Harley Quinn is as a character. Margot Robbie let it slip in a recent interview that she had to keep reminding Cathy Yan that Harley Quinn is a terrible person..when she tried to water her down. I believe that David Ayer perfectly understood who Harley truly was as a character and that's one of the reasons Harley Quinn was the best thing to come out of Suicide Squad. Why hire a director that is inexperienced and doesn't really understand the character?! Also, the writing sucked..so I feel like they just wanted to hire anybody as long as it's a woman instead of looking for someone that is actually a great writer and is qualified for the job.

I read some reviews saying that this movie is very much like Deadpool and has like a Quentin Tarantino vibe to it..I was very excited to hear this, but i didn't find that to be true at all. It does have Deadpool elements with Harley breaking the 4th wall, but it's not as outrageous and daring as Deadpool and to compare it to a Quentin Tarantino movie is downright disrespectful. I don't care how many times they swore in Birds of Prey and a blown up body..it does not deserve to be rated R. If you fight so hard for an R rating, make sure you go all out!! Same issue with Terminator: Dark Fate..everyone involved in the movie kept bringing up the R rating to get people excited for the movie, but guess what?? It didn't feel like an R rated movie at all! I feel like was tricked into seeing both of these movies.

I do not think Birds of Prey is a terrible movie, despite all my ranting...It had some great moments, like the egg sandwich scene and drunk Harley at the club. But a few great scenes cannot make a great movie. I did like Black Canary, I thought she did a good job..so did Huntress..despite a very small role in the movie..but neither were fleshed out enough for me to even care for them or any of the other characters. Harley felt more like Harley in the PG-13 movie Suicide Squad. In this movie, I feel like for most of the movie, she was taken a couple notches down. I also think that her costumes were really tacky..like they got the clothing designer for hot topic to design the costumes. Harley Quinn is a sexy character, so taking that away and trying to turn her into a tomboy was a disservice for the character.

The final battle scene felt like rehearsal footage. You clearly see Huntress stab a bad guy to death and as the camera moves, you see him run off to the side. The editing was sloppy. I would say the editing is just as bad as Suicide Squad. My favorite thing about this movie is the music and the music videos..Doja Cat's music video is what this movie should have been.

I still love Harley Quinn and I can't wait to see what James Gunn comes up with for her in his Suicide Squad movie.

[poiwritesnstuff]

October 12th

(Date on the label is the date featured in the story. Enjoy!)

The common room that connected the Head Boy’s quarters to the Head Girl’s quarters held a small couch set around the fireplace and a couple of small tables. At the table closest to the fireplace sat a tired lump called Lily Evans. Lily was currently slumped over the table, her red hair covering an open textbook, and her right hand was clutching a quill leaking ink on her unfinished Transfiguration essay. Draped around her shoulders was a blanket and there was a mug of tea that was still piping hot even though it had been poured and placed there an hour ago. 

She woke with a start and reached to rub her eyes when she heard, “You’ll give yourself a black eye doing that, Evans.” She blinked once and realized that her hand was covered in ink as well. 

Turning back, she found James lounging on the couch behind her, an arm thrown over his eyes and a small stack of textbooks sitting on his stomach. He grinned, dark brown eyes peeking out from under his arm, illuminated by the firelight. She turned back to her essay and carefully vanished the spilled ink, but the desire to keep working on it had vanished with it. Lily picked up her tea and walked over to the couch, gesturing for James to sit up so that she could sit next to him.

“You could have gotten your own chair. I was quite comfortable, you know,” James complained. Lily rolled her eyes as she kicked off her shoes and curled up on the couch, mug resting on her knees.

“The other seats are too close to the fire. This is the best spot to sit.”

“Yeah, that’s why I took it.” He watched her, studying her thoughtful mood as she sipped from the mug and stared into the fire. “I was thinking of marking my territory, in fact, right until you pushed me out. Thought I’d whip out my tackle and piss all over it, see.”

She snorted. “Thanks for the tea. I didn’t realize you knew how I liked it.”

“Yeah, because it’s bizarre. Half milk and half tea and a single granule of sugar. You’d get on great with my mother.”

“And you brought me a blanket.” She looked at him, cheek pressed against her shoulder, expression unreadable.

“I brought me the blanket. It just liked you better.” His cheeks were heating up faster than the fire could warm him. It was unfair, frustrating, downright maddening that she should sit there looking so lovely and looking at him and he was barely holding it together under her gaze.

“No reason it should.” She looked away again, focused on drinking her milky tea.

“It likes that you drew up the prefects schedule last week since I was recovering from the weekend, that’s all.”

“It doesn’t need to pay me back for that.” She lifted the blanket off her shoulder and offered it to him, avoiding his eyes the whole time. “James.”

She was trying to kill him.

Body tense, James took the offered end and wrapped it around his shoulder, acutely aware of the fact that he was sharing a blanket with Lily Evans in a room alone late at night and, as far as he could tell, he was awake. He held himself still, trying to calm his speeding heart and the seven different spots on him that suddenly all itched at once.

Lily Evans hated him. Had hated him. Had gone from explicitly hating him to disliking him to nothing-ing him. Had finally made her peace with him late sixth year and was friendly to him, perhaps even with him. Lily Evans was finally a friend.

And as for him, James Potter had gone from friendly to arrogant and bored and intrigued to persistent by force of habit to actually interested to liking her to being genuinely in love… to being heartbroken. To waking up to the idiocy of years past, to understanding that being genuinely in love hadn’t started back in third year when his body first reacted but on the train ride home after their fifth year, when they finally had it out so angrily and honestly that he hadn’t hoped to ever talk to her again. To slowly but surely building the wall against his feelings so that he could focus on himself, so that he could become the person he once thought he was. To prove that he deserved a love as good as hers, even if he’d never get it. To realize that there was a world outside of Lily Evans and his obsession and even Hogwarts, one shrouded in a growing darkness that he was fast approaching without a clue about how to fight it.

And now they were sharing an itchy woolen blanket on a too-small couch that was apparently called a loveseat and her pale hand was curved around her arm and centimeters from his bare skin and he thought for a moment that perhaps he could do without this madness and perhaps Dumbledore would understand if he couldn’t be the Head Boy anymore because he’d rather throw himself to the giant squid than let all of his idiotic feelings come back and take over when he had finally got on her good side.

“Thanks, Evans.”

“James,” she said, and he once again had to rein in his racing mind. “What are you doing on Halloween?”

“Um.” Before he could respond, she continued speaking.

“No, you’ll have something planned for Halloween, surely,” she mused.

“Maybe not,” he protested a little too quickly. “It might be time to retire that whole pranking gambit. I’ve been busy with all this and we haven’t had the time to plan anything. I don’t think it’ll happen.”

Lily seemed surprised, and not in a way he expected. “What, you’re going to give up on your final Halloween prank? You’ve played Halloween tricks every year we’ve been here. You can’t tell me that the Marauders would give up on their chance for a last hurrah. It’s your last year to do something.”

“We’re too old for that now,” James insisted. “We’re all of age, and the tricks and jokes are childish. Besides, look at what the world looks like. We can’t pretend like we’ll be in school forever and things’ll always be fun and games. It’s time to--”

“That’s exactly why you should do it.” Her fingers wound around his arm, then the wrist and the rest of her arm. Her knees moved down, brushing against his thigh as she leaned toward him. Fire spread from every point that his body touched hers. The itching on the small of his back made him want to howl in pain.

“I… don’t follow.”

“It’s terrifying out there, not just for me or the rest of the muggleborns but for all of us. I think we need a reminder that things aren’t all doom and gloom. Something that feels normal, like everything isn’t going to change. And what’s more normal than a Halloween prank by the Marauders?”

He could feel her shoulder pressing against his tricep.

“I’m Head Boy,” he protested weakly.

“So you are. But you’re also James Potter. I doubt Dumbledore put you here to stop you from being yourself. Maybe he thought we needed a Head Boy who could remember how to laugh.”

He couldn’t suppress the shiver that ran down his spine as he thought for a moment. Maddening woman. Since when had she understood him? And why did it have to be now when he couldn’t do anything about it? 

But then… perhaps he could. “Sirius.”

“What?” Lily pulled back from James to look at him, only to find that he was pulling the blanket off of his shoulder.

“I already told him I wasn’t keen on it, so he’s angry with me. I’ll have to sort things out with him before we can do anything, but I’ve got a couple of ideas already,” he said absently, pulling on his shoes and searching for a sweater to pull over his shirt. “Remus and Peter will be easier once I’ve got him on board, but it’ll be brilliant, I promise.”

He stopped in his frantic searching to look at Lily, matching her confused smile for a glowing smile of his own. James crossed the room again in a couple of strides. When he was close enough to see Lily looking up at him from the couch, he handed her the pillow from the armchair and pulled the blanket more securely around her shoulders.

“Thanks, Evans.”

“Of course, you’re welcome,” she said softly, watching as he walked away. Just before he opened the door, Lily called after him. “Wait… wait, James, wait!”

“Yeah?” He asked. Lily suppressed a laugh at the sight of James with his sweater half on, hair wild and eyes glowing with excitement as he beamed at her.

“I was trying to ask if you’d maybe be free on the Hogsmeade weekend before Halloween to have tea. Maybe Madam Puddifoot’s or the Hog’s Head? You could show me how tea ought to be prepared,” she offered.

James nodded. “Yeah, Evans, it’s a--” His smile dimmed for just a moment. “For sure, I’ll see you there.”

[leeuwchen]

Can you write the 14 for Angst and Fluff for Ringsy? Thank you.

This one took a while but here it is (including minor spoilers)

“Can you shut up for once in your life?” –

“Am I your lockscreen?” “You weren’t supposed to see that.”

 If Easy Winter had to rate the different versions of Richard Beckmann, this one would be particularly difficult to put a number on. Sleepy Ringo for example is shockingly cute in 8 out of 10 times and therefore easily a candidate for a high score.  Hungry Ringo on the other hand is almost always unpredictable and can go from weirdly hot to downright annoying within a split second but would still nick 9 out of 10 points because he looks so content when being fed that one can’t help but falling in love with him all over again. And then there is Smug Ringo, like the one standing right in front of him inside the kiosk now, who is clearly meaning no harm but saying all the wrong things, nevertheless.

“Sorry, but can you please repeat, what you did to my place?”

“I reorganized it.”

Easy takes a look around and sighs.

“Reorganizing, you say? Reorganizing is putting the chocolate bars from the right-hand to the left-hand side because they are easier to grab for you from there but this…”

He has no idea how to finish the sentence without sounding too annoyed. There are new shiny price tags on all of his products and a plastic-coated list with new “buy together - combination deals” that Ringo probably would call improvised but is still looking more professional than most of the stuff Easy has put up here lately. It must have cost his husband a great deal of his working day to come up with this concept.

“How long did all of this take, Ringo?”

The tall guy in front of him shrugs nonchalantly.

“Ahhh, don’t worry about that. I had your numbers before-hand since I did  your taxes yesterday, so I knew your price calculation was a bit…”

“A bit what?”

Ringo furrows his brows tentatively.

“A bit… not so good?”

“Meaning?”

There is a long sigh coming from very deep-down Ringo’s chest before he calmly tries to answer the question, clearly feeling that they are at the verge of a fight now.

“Bärchen…”

“Don’t you Bärchen me now, Hase, I mean it. The kiosk is doing just fine without you meddling with my calculations.”

“Exactly, Easy. It is doing just fine. But it could do so much better. Here… take a look at today’s earnings and you’ll see what I mean.”

Ringo opens the cash register and yes – no need to count there – this is more than Easy would have made on an average Sunday, he has enough experience to see that right away. So why isn’t he happy about it? Why does he feel like picking a fight? He knows Ringo is the smart one… he always has been… and normally it doesn’t bother Easy. He knows Ringo is unchallenged at the moment, having no job and no real perspective for once in his life. He should just let him have this… but he can’t, and he doesn’t know why. Meanwhile, Ringo is still looking at the money he made proudly. “Oh”, he suddenly exclaims, “and Leni still owes us 2 more Euro since she didn’t have enough money to pay for her soft drink and chocolate sugar rush…”

“Leni doesn’t have to pay more than before… she’s family!”

“First rule when owning a business: No family favours!”

“Bit rich coming from someone who never pays.”

Ringo chuckles softly and helps himself to some wine gum.

“Okay, let’s say I am the one exception you are allowed to make.”

“Allowed to?”

There is a warning in Easy’s voice but Ringo seems completely oblivious to it. In his world, showing his husband the money clearly is enough to prove himself and his arrangements right.

“Well, I won’t write a penalty scale or something like that but you should really listen to me. I’ve studied business administration after all. I know how to avoid suboptimal calculations. Just don’t worry about it if you are not interested in doing the mathematics yourself. It’s peanuts to me, really. And you know what else? I must admit… I never thought of this place like that, but it does have some potential. If only you would - ”

“Can you shut up for once in your life?”

The words are out of his mouth quickly and they are not even true. Sure, they both can get wordy at times (who in this street can’t?) but they are also good at finding the exit, giving the other one some space and getting back to their respective points calmly after a while. So, this whole shut up for once-stuff is hell of an unfair thing to say and Easy knows that but it’s too late now as Ringo has indeed shut his mouth and nods silently before turning around to leave.

“Honey, I…”

But his husband is out of the door already and for a moment, Easy waits for the door of the kiosk to slam shut behind him but it doesn’t and somehow he doesn’t feel relieved by the silence.

                                                        *

“Sorry, but I think, you gave me too much change. The tag says 2.50 - There.”

The young woman points at one of Ringo’s new signs and shows Easy the money in the palm of her hand. He raises his shoulders defensively.

“No, no. It’s still 2.25, forget the sign. My new temp mixed up some of the prices.”

She smiles at him.

“Okay, cool. I was just wondering and didn’t want to trick you.”

“Don’t worry. Everything around here stays the same.”

The woman walks away and grinning Leni steps up to the window holding up a coin.

“So, I don’t have to pay you the 2 Euro?”

“Of course not… just forget it, please.”

Leni puts the money back into her pocket and takes the wine gum Easy is handing out to her. “Good, but don’t forget to tell, Ringo”, she says while chewing, “out of all of my dads around here, he is the strict one.” Easy smiles.

“He didn’t mean it like that. He just wanted to help my business.”

“And did he?”

Sighing Easy helps himself to a chocolate bar and narrows his eyes thoughtfully.

“He did.”

“But?”

“He might have been a little bit… overachieving.”

“I’m shocked and surprised… since normally he is known as such a laid-back person.”

Easy chuckles quietly.

“I know, I know… you can’t hand him a project and expect him not to act on his business instincts. But you know what’s really bad?”

“What?”

“I acted like a complete asshole.”

Reaching through the window to get some more sweets Leni eyes him suspiciously.

“Well, now I’m really shocked. Shall I set up a fake photo shooting a bit outside of town to get you two to talk things over or would it be enough to take over your shift here so you can go and apologize?”

“Would you do that?”

“What do you think?”

                                                         *

 Tobias and Vivien are standing in the kitchen cooking together when Easy enters the flat share.

“Oh, hi. Is Ringo in our room?”

Tobias shakes his head while putting his hands around his girlfriend.

“Do you really think your hubby would voluntarily stay away from food? Unless… were the two of you fighting?”

“No! Well… not proper fighting… I… I said a pretty stupid thing. Really, really stupid.”

“Well, then”, Tobias says calmly and points to the ceiling with his index finger, “I would have a look around the roof top terrace if I were you and hope that my brother hasn’t picked up a hot blonde on his way up there… hey.” He rubs his rip cage with indignation as Vivien has forcefully pushed her elbow there. “Don’t be an ass!”, she tells her boyfriend who gently puts his face against her shoulder holding her closer and with a small trace of jealousy Easy leaves them alone, heading to the roof.

Ringo is sitting in the small hut, his laptop in front of him. Carefully, Easy knocks on the door frame.

“Can I come in?”

Ringo looks up from his work.

“Well, there is an entrance fee but since you are family I am not allowed to take it - so be my guest.”

His words don’t sound like a real invitation so Easy decides to lean against the door frame instead.

“I’m sorry I told you to shut up when you weren’t saying anything wrong… and even if you had been saying something wrong that wouldn’t have been an acceptable way to handle a dispute.”

Ringo nods and hums approvingly.

“I only wanted to be helpful and the new prices weren’t unreasonable. They were still fair offers.”

“I know”, Easy mumbles and pushes himself away from the hut’s frame to slowly walk inside.  “It’s me, really. I am really emotional when it comes to the kiosk, you know?”

Ringo chuckles.

“I might have noticed. But I meant no harm. Nothing would have happened to it.”

Strolling around the inside of the hut, Easy tries to find the right words.

“As a photographer I do like all the different locations, the weird customers, the constant change… the challenges… but when it comes to the kiosk, I want everything to stay the way it is. The same people coming back there every day buying the same stuff, having a nice chat, mostly about the same two or three topics. It’s home. Well, no… you are home… but it’s still something very emotional and to me the kiosk doesn’t need to do more than provide for a fair living so when you made all these changes it felt like you were belittling what I have built there and that striked a nerve. I’m sorry, I know you only meant well.”

He is looking down at the man sitting on the old worn-out sofa. Ringo is looking grave, fumbling around his nose bridge with one finger for a few moments before clearing his throat.

“I see. Well… we all have our soft spots, I guess. You see, whenever you tell me that I meant well it reads to me that I may have meant well but still acted like same old evil Ringo.”

“Wait? What?”

Easy is sitting on the couch next to his husband before even realising.

“That’s not what it means. Not at all. We have left that behind for good, okay? You don’t need to prove yourself to me and you are allowed to make mistakes like everyone around here does without being judged harder because of stuff you did in the past and it wasn’t even a mistake, it was… wait… Am I your lockscreen?”

“You weren’t supposed to see that.”

With a swift movement Ringo pushes the screen of his laptop down but Easy is still grinning at him when he turns around again.

“Why am I your lockscreen? I thought your lockscreen was supposed to be something you envision for your future or something you identify with like this ridiculous picture of a shark Huber has put up in his office.”

“I think, you kind of answered your question yourself”, Ringo mumbles softly, putting an arm around Easy’s shoulder, pulling him closer to his side.

“Getting rejections to all of my applications isn’t the nicest experience so from time to time I like to look at something that makes me feel better about life… myself… the future.”

“And that’s me?”

Ringo rolls his eyes.

“Now that’s fishing for compliment but yes – if you must hear it – it’s you. Always you… well, almost always. I sometimes have a look around Saskia’s bakery webpage to decide which pastry will cure my poor unemployed soul but I guess that’s the kind of cheating we both can live with, right?”

Smiling, Easy nudges his nose against the soft skin of Ringo’s neck.

“Maybe. But better not tell me too much about it, I can be unreasonably at times and I am again very sorry for how I acted today.”

He gently kisses his husband’s cheek, waiting for Ringo to turn around for a proper kiss but the other one just sighs and lets his finger run through some of the curly dark hair in Easy’s neck.

“Don’t worry about it anymore, okay? It gave me a business idea after all.”

“It did? Well, let’s hear it then!”

Easy frees himself from Ringo’s hug and sits up excitedly. Ringo seems to be a bit unsure for about one second but when Easy nods at him encouragingly, said insecurity vanishes visibly.

“Well, I thought… not all small businesses are against change… and there have to be tons of people who just started or took over a business and don’t adapt numbers as quickly as I do so they would be thankful for someone going over their calculations pointing out flaw- I mean, not so well designed strategies. I have already emailed someone I know from university about it who went into that direction in Frankfurt… not that I really need the advice.”

“Of course not, you are Richard Beckmann after all.”

“So, what do you think?”

Ringo is looking positively excited now and Jumpy Ringo is a solid 10 in 10 out of 10 times so Easy can’t help but kiss him hard before he answers his husband’s question.

“It does sound like the perfect thing for you to do.”

“You really think so?”

“I do.”

There is a sigh of relief coming from Ringo and his upper body kind of slums back against the sofa’s backrest.

“Oh good, because I wasn’t sure if I might be losing it.”

Contently, Easy rests his head on Ringo’s chest, putting his arm around his slender waist.

“I really think, you would do well as a freelancer. Huber was always holding you back and claiming the glory for all your hard work.”

“Yeah, getting some appreciation would be nice for a change.”

For a while they are sitting there in silence, huddled together until suddenly Ringo’s cell phone beeps and he wiggles around a bit helplessly because Easy is not willing to give up his comfy sleeping position on his chest. When he finally manages to get his mobile and checks the message, he chuckles triumphantly. “What is it?”, Easy inquires drowsily and the telephone’s screen is pushed in front of his nose showing a picture of Leni who has put up today’s earnings in little towers of coins on the kiosk’s desk. “You have to read her message as well”, Ringo demands. Easy scrolls down to the picture’s caption. 

“RICHARD BECKMANN, BUSINESS GOD!”, he reads proudly.

[alitheamateur]

A Taste of Home-Chapter 6

Warnings: Language. Fluff.

You dizzied barefoot around the torn apart suitcase in the floor of your hotel room. It seemed as you’d packed every essential for your time in Malibu, except the perfect ensemble for a date with Chris ‘full of surprises’ Evans. Were jeans to casual? Would heels be over the top? Did you need to wear matching undergarments….?

Assumption isn’t a good look, although maybe better than downright desperation.

Your body wanted him down to the very lowest layer of your flesh. It was needy, and maybe drastic. Careless even. But, your every thought was sickeningly consumed by the daydreams of you in his bed. Whether it be due to his righteous kindness, his charming wit, or those damn fitted t-shirts would be an eternal unsolved mystery. But, you knew he was well aware of his plethora of desirous traits, and more pathetically you were alright with the way he purposely highlighted them.

A: I need something to go on here, Evans. Where are you taking me?

You spritzed rosy perfume over the naked span of your body, and into the stretched line of your neck under your loosely fallen hair. You’d rather look impatient and ruin the surprise rather than dress inappropriately for the occasion, so you texted him.

C: Casual. No heels. Bring a sweater. And Amelia?

A: Chris?

C: Stop worrying.

C: See you in an hour. Smile, gorgeous. Today was a good day.

Your lips obeyed his command and you felt a lax smile creep onto your cheeks.

Choosing the most practical outfit in your suitcase, you pulled the thin straps of a loose, blue cotton dress up, it’s hem dragging to the middle of your thigh. It seemed your hair, once perfectly plain and straight from the earlier photo shoot, had disagreed with the humidity of the hot afternoon. Your blonde, swirling curls were raging at full attention, wild around your pink-stained cheeks.

The dip of its neckline sagged tastefully low, but enough to display your most confident feature. You truly never felt even the slightest bit comfortable in your own skin, which is why clothes sang to you. If your own skin wouldn’t do the job, you’d make it a hobby to find the most perfect piece of fabric to boost where you lacked in self-confidence.

Swiping a melon, lip-plumping balm over your mouth at the bathroom vanity, your phone buzzed.

Shithead: I’m in Boston on business. I’ve got the papers with me, so let’s meet around lunch tomorrow to discuss. You may bring a lawyer, but good luck paying for one.

So many replies that still wouldn’t do his most undesirable actions justice cluttered around your thoughts, but you composed yourself, prepping to defend his unacceptable demands as an adult. Sort of.

A: With your very prompt notice of one day, it seems I’m out of town until day after next. You can either wait, or leave them with my parents. I sincerely hope you choose the latter.

He read instantly your answer, and a reply was in hot pursuit.

Shithead: Out of town? Why?

A: Business. Mine, not yours.

Your thumbs patted against the screen, waiting for the awful reaction your vague explanation would undoubtably ensue, just as a knock patted on the locked door of your suit. Rather than let the sour taste of Ben ruin your evening furthermore, you shifted the off switch and marched towards the man waiting in the hall.

You picked up a small clutch on the way, but it fell to the floor, probably in slow motion like your jaw, when you answered his knock.

Instantly, you elected once back in your bed tonight, you would make yourself decide whether you liked suited, James Bond-like Chris, or this Chris more. The easy jeans, half-torn at the collar t-shirt, dirty sneakers Chris standing in your doorway, smiling behind midnight black sunglasses.

You could smell him with the wind of the opening door, and you hoped he got a warm dose of your scent, too, knowing what the sweet scent of a woman could do to the male species.

“I was going to call, but I thought I’d come up to get you instead. You know, manners and all.” He rolled his eyes, his shoulders danced in a nonchalant shrug.

“Manners are nice, yes. Manners are always good, right?” You wondered if he noticed how you seemed to always get a case of these weird hiccups when he was around.

“Sometimes I like a little impoliteness. It has its place on occasion, wouldn’t you say?” Chris greeted you with a kiss to the feverish curve of your cheekbone, his words humming into your ear not by accident.

You disregarded his already unfair advantage for the evening, and boldly counteracted.

“Oh, definitely. I couldn’t agree more! I may have thrown my manners out the window a time or two, and been downright bad mannered.”

Chris chuckled, and I watched him gulp down his Adams apple. He may have been better at hiding his attractions than you, but you noticed the little hitch in the pattern of his breaths.

You whipped of the switch of your light on that note, double checking your keycard for the room was tucked away in your wallet, and strolled next to him down the abnormally quite hall.

“I see the hair is back,” he commented, staring at the lit-up buttons on the wall of the elevator. “I like this Millie much better. Not that the other version isn’t…. well, it isn’t… you look beautiful. I’m trying to say that you look fucking beautiful, Amelia.”

The way his words stammered on his tongue like a confused drunk pleased you.

Nervous. You, make him, nervous.

“ I don’t think you need little old me telling you how handsome you are, Evans.”

The drop to each floor ticked by like an infinite second, and with every moment your pull the him itched stronger. He seemed to possess his own magnetic forcefield that your body’s every molecule responded to, which made the resistance inexplicably painful. Alone. Trapped in the silent solitude of the elevator, you locked stares. The icy glimmer in his eye played from dangerously calm, to shuddering sensuality when he looked at you. His emotions battling to behave, or otherwise. And, God, his smell. The divine smell of him alone made you think of sex.

When we dinged to the lobby, you gasped in relief at the fresh, open air as you stepped outside the elevator car, needing a momentary escape from his irresistible, palatable force. You felt in control of your senses for a moment, until Chris moved his veined hand to the exposed skin between the blades of your shoulders, close to your sweating nape.

“My car is out back waiting. This way.” He pulled.

The two of you escaped the treacherous clutches of the frenzied paps snapping photos, and tucked yourselves safely into the back seat of an SUV that seemed to follow him around. You buckled yourself into the seatbelt, squirming a bit with the strange feeling of unusual silence.

“Tess was raving about you after you left today. She was beyond impressed.” He caught your attention from gazing out the window at the swaying palm trees.

“I had an amazing day, Chris. That is exactly how I pictured my life when I started up the blog, and it came to pass, finally. All thanks to you.”

He groaned, but with a smile. “If you thank me one more time, I’m dropping you off on the side of the road. Its what friends do, Millie. Help each other.” He swallowed your hand into his. “And besides, seeing you so smiley the entire afternoon was well worth it.”

He pulled his lip between his teeth, as if he was the one suffering from his salacious thoughts. Your self-control, however much longer it may last, was admirably unwavering.

The car slowed, and somehow you managed to shake yourself back to some form of reality to make note of where you had ended up. Pulling into the emptying parking lot next to a sandy beach, Chris leaned to do the service of unbuckling your belt.

“Don’t touch that door.” He commanded as he dropped to the ground, leaving you alone in the second row of the vehicle.

Confused, you followed his jog around the car through the hazy tint of the black windows until he landed directly outside your door, where he pulled it open, offering you his hand.

The sun was still hanging droopily over the endless span of blue, fluffy caps of white waves rolling to the shore. You internally hoped whatever he had planned, you’d at least get to watch the orange-y glow of the sunset fall over the Malibu beach.

“Come with me. It’s just around those rocks there.” Chris tucked your hand into his palm, and you wished he had given you a moment to dry the nervy sweat between your fingers.  

The tepid wind whipped your dress to and fro, along with the wave of your hair as he guided you down the sandy hill of a rocky, secluded cove.

“I hope this is alright for a celebration? I wasn’t sure if you’d feel up to a big crowd after your busy day.  

The hinge of your jaw broke open, and a gasp fell from your lips. A blanket, what looked to be made of expensive chenille was laid into the sand, a basket holding it back from escaping with the gusts of welcomed ocean breeze. There were 2 fluted glasses turned upward onto the lid of the picnic basket, next to a chilling tin of some sort of bottle sealed with gold foil.

“You did all this? How did you manage to pull all of this together in what, 3 hours?!”

“I can’t take all the credit, no. As badly as I want to claim entire responsibility for the look on your face right this second.” Chris brushed back a curl of your hair away from your face, the tips of his fingers lingering heated at the corner of your mouth.

You turned into his touch, happily abandoning your better judgment. Hoping to see that mischievous, roused glaze paint over his eye, you barely popped your lips into the curve of a kiss to the pad of his finger. The stir of his usually sure demeanor crumbled, and you relished that it had been at your hand.

“Behave, Chris.” You heard him mistakenly whisper to himself. 

*If you’d like to be added, or removed to the tag-list, let me know*

TAGS: @miidailyinspiration @eap1935 @littleluna98

[dcbbw]

Timing--Part 3 (Road to Ramsford--Liam)

This is Part 3 of my second fanfic and it’s my version of events once the gang travels to LA to find Tariq. In my version, he refuses to come forward and Riley makes a painful decision.  It was supposed to be a one-off, but the story kept growing. Thinking there are least 2 more parts. I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. Please excuse any typos and/or grammatical errors. PS—my Liam is Asian Liam, and my Riley is tall, like me.

All characters belong to Pixelberry.

Song Inspiration: When You Break, Bear’s Den: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uCDnRqzr9kM

Tagging @gennesaret @speedyoperarascalparty @sirbeepsalot @lauradowning29 @liamxs-world

Word Count:2250

Liam X MC, Liam X Riley

Liam stared moodily out the window of the SUV. Bastien was driving. Despite the adrenaline rush that allowed him to quickly shower, change clothes and pack his bag, he now felt spent and drained. His heart was still physically paining him. So this is what it feels like to let it all out. 

Ever since he was a child, his Father had taught him to never show emotion. Good leaders were stoic leaders. The people took their cues from their leaders, and emotions were dangerous. It could lead to wars, turn allies to enemies. Except for crying over his mother after her assassination, Liam had gone through most of his life emotionless and expressionless. Oh, he smiled when appropriate, and expressed outrage against injustices, but for the most part he tamped down his fears, insecurities, and anger. He expressed those emotions through sex, but because he had his mother’s selfless and caring nature, he rarely got to express himself.

He did not want to use anyone, he did not want to cause an unsuspecting woman unnecessary pain. He had not been raised to expect romance or love in his life, and until Riley, had no idea how those emotions even felt. Everything was political, even his courtships. The ladies presented at the social season had come from the best families, with powerful connections across Europe. Compatibility was never the goal….a powerful alliance was.  Until Riley. Riley changed the game. With her, he felt he could have the love he craved and the strong leadership Cordonia needed. With Riley, Liam the Man and Liam the King could finally become one person.

When she told him she was leaving him, he had never before felt so helpless, and there was no way he could shove all of the emotions aside. Damnit! He was King of Cordonia. And unable to save the woman he loved or stop her from leaving. Short of Tariq clearing Lady Riley’s name unequivocally, her name would always be associated with undeserved scandal. No matter how many titles she held, no matter how in love they were. If only Constantine could come forward. How ironic that his Father’s role in this act of betrayal, done for the good of the Country, could not be brought to light….for the good of the Country. Riley’s words echoed through his head. I will never be your wife. That is all I have wanted. “And all I want is to be your husband”, he said softly to the passing scenery.

Liam wondered what his social season would be like if Riley had not come to Cordonia to participate. If they had never met. More than likely, he would have chosen Olivia.  Why not? Lifelong friends, and she was in love with him. But he knew Olivia was not the one for him…yes she loved him, and wanted his happiness, but Olivia did not want to be the one to make him happy. The Statue of Liberty would not have happened with Olivia….she would have questioned why he wanted to visit such a tacky tourist trap, and told him they could go next time. As if Cordonia was a day trip away from New York.

There would be no conversation with Olivia save for the glory days of the Nervakis family, their youth, and catty gossip about the ladies of the court. He needed someone he could both teach and learn from. Olivia came across to everyone as a one-upper braggart who knew everything. Of course there was more to her than that: Olivia could be caring, kind, loyal, even downright funny when she wanted to be. But she rarely showed that side to anyone, including Liam. That woman had so many guards and insecurities in place, she made Liam at his most stoic seem emotionally open.  

But that kiss in Lythikos on the dance floor that night….it almost made him think that Olivia could be a viable option, at least on an intimate level. Almost. On the dance floor, Olivia had grabbed him and forced an insistent kiss upon him, and after his initial shock, he found himself responding to it. Olivia was wearing a perfume that smelled of lavender and powder, and her breath held a hint of the wine she had been drinking earlier. As her soft tongue explored his mouth, her hands roamed his back, alternately pulling him close and pushing him away. He found himself growing hard under her ministrations.

The audible gasp from the attendees snapped him back to reality, and he pulled away, but it was a little too late. By the time Liam looked around the room to gauge reactions, everyone had gone back to whatever they were doing. All of his so-called suitors cared not one bit that their potential fiancé had just made out with the Duchess of Lythikos in front of everyone. Except Riley. The look of shock and jealousy on her face as she stared at him disbelief caused him pangs of guilt, while his ego was completely stoked by it. She cared. Not that she had not shown it in a million other little ways before then, but her jealousy was tangible proof that she really was here for him, and not a title or crown.

She shook her head angrily at him, then turned to Maxwell who took her arm, and led her away from the dance floor, presumably to get drinks. Liam felt a twinge of jealousy himself at seeing the proprietary way Maxwell had taken Riley’s arm, at how Riley had turned to him for solace and comfort.

He looked at Olivia. “May I speak with you outside, Lady Olivia?” Olivia arched her eyebrow knowingly as she slipped her arm through his, leading him out to a private balcony. When they reached the balcony, before Liam could even let the fresh air clear his head, Olivia was trying to kiss him again. Liam firmly but gently pushed her away.

“Olivia, that behavior in the ballroom was unacceptable”.

“You seemed to enjoy it, before your princely decorum kicked in.”

“I had a lapse in judgment. Your behavior was embarrassing to yourself, and unfair to the other ladies”.

“What about your behavior, Liam? Or am I the only embarrassing one here?”

“Again, a regrettable lapse in judgment on my part. We both owe the ladies an apology.”

“You mean lady, don’t you? It’s the American, right? Because no one else gives a shit. “

Liam looked at her, his face unreadable. “To all the ladies, Olivia. “

“Oh, please Liam. The entire country sees how you look at her. She saw the kiss and is pissed at you now. Look, you know how I feel about you, and it is obvious you do not return my affections. However, it would bode you well to remember that your choice affects more than you, and is about more than you. This is about choosing the best Queen for the country, not satisfying your libido or walking around starry eyed over a pretty face.”

“I am well aware of my duties, Lady Olivia. I shall be returning to the ball now. Would you care for me to escort you in?”

“No.” Olivia’s voice was angry, her tone cold.  After a few moments, she sighed. “Just go Liam.” She felt tears pricking her eyes, and turned away from him, waving her hand dismissively. “Just don’t lose sight of the true purpose of this social season.”

Liam hurried back to the ballroom, eyes searching the crowd for Riley. He saw her turning away from a conversation with Lady Kiara. He tapped her on the shoulder. Riley turned. With a wide smile, Liam said, “Lady Riley, fancy seeing you again!”  It was a facetious remark, meant to deflect any tension between them.

“You kissed Olivia.” Her tone was flat but her eyes were shooting daggers.

“Olivia kissed me”, he corrected. “It was an unwanted advance.”

“You should have thrown her off you! Since you did not, and let it go on as long as it did, I can only presume you enjoyed it. “

Liam evaded the indirect question. “I took her outside to speak to her about her….inappropriate behavior.”

“Oh, after a kiss like that, you took her outside?” Riley’s tone was now indignant and incredulous. Riley gestured around the ballroom. “You couldn’t talk to her in here? Not enough privacy for you, my Prince?”

“Please, Lady Riley. Meet me later this evening. I would love to show you the view from the Grand Suite. It’s truly magnificent. And you’re the only one I want to share this with.” Liam did not know what else to say. He sensed Riley’s anger growing with every word he spoke, and this seemed the best way to diffuse it and to show her how special she was to him. They both knew no one else got private invitations to spend time with him.

She looked at him coolly, neither eyes nor expression giving anything away. “I make no promises.”

As Liam waited in his suite for her later that night, lighting candles around the hot tub, he hoped against hope Riley would come. And that was the moment he realized that he was in love with her. The thought of her not coming filled him with sadness and fear. The later it got, the more frantic he became. At some point, he heard piano music. A haunting, beautiful piece made even more so by the quiet of the house. Then some amateurish tinkling. Then silence. And still no Lady Riley. He let out a deep sigh, and had just sat on the side of the bed, his head hanging and shoulders slumping when there was a knock on the door….

Liam dragged his thoughts away from the what-ifs and the memories. He gave a deep sigh as he rubbed his hand across his face. Riley. He was so utterly and completely in love with her. He wanted to know all of her and to share all of him with her. Maybe she would reconsider and accept his offer of the Valtoria Duchy. It would at least buy them more time, and tie her more permanently to Cordonia. Maybe Tariq would finally come forward. So many maybes. All he knew was he could not go back to life without her.

He meant it when he said he would abdicate. Marriage with Madeleine was a fate worse than death, and he truthfully did not think he could go through with it if it came to that. He did not want to be with anyone else, nor did he wish to be shared. Not physically, mentally, or emotionally. Fuck Madeleine’s proposed arrangement. It was Riley or no one. If the phone call to Tariq proved fruitless, he would find time to discuss the legalities involved in abdication with Bertrand. He knew Olivia would be next in line for the Crown, but was she ready? Or more aptly, was Cordonia ready for Olivia?

Bastien interrupted his thoughts. “Duke Ramsford called me; he wants me to join him after the festivities to discuss Tariq, and possible Cordonian precedents that may yield...favorable results.”

Liam’s body straightened up as he turned away from the window to meet Bastien’s eyes in the rearview mirror. “I want to be there when you do so.”

“Your Majesty…it’s best that you not be there. You are in way too deep, and may be a bit….irrational. Let Duke Ramsford and me discuss, and present you with the findings. Besides, are you sure you want to spend a night free of obligations with us when Lady Riley’s time is…. limited?”

Liam fell back in his seat and returned to blindly staring out the window without answering. Riley, he thought.

When the SUV pulled into the Beaumont’s driveway, Liam felt a tad more hopeful. Not a whole lot, but enough to be able to push aside his fears of what the next two days held. He needed to stay positive and in the now, if only for Riley’s sake.

While he was happy to be seeing and spending time with his friends outside of courtly events, he also wished it was just he and Riley this evening. Just the two of them for the next 48 hours. At least they would have the nights. He grinned at the thought of sharing a bed with her. Of undressing her, of her hands on him, of touching and tasting her everywhere. He felt stirrings in his loins, and had to wait a few minutes to let his excitement subside before exiting the vehicle.

Climbing out of the SUV, Liam reached in to grab his overnight bag off the seat. He slung the bag over his shoulder, and he and Bastien made their way to the front door. Taking a shaky breath, Liam rang the bell.

[realmofextremepossibility]

Verboten

AU | Part 1/3 | PG - NC17

This was originally supposed to be an @xfpornbattle prompt, but of course, I never finished it. I’ve never really written anything multi-chapter before, so we’ll see how it goes.

**

Naval Air Station North Island, San Diego, California

June 1981

The salt of the sea tangled in her wind mussed tresses. She scrunched her toes deeper into the sand as the surf lapped at her ankles, a siren call beckoning her back to its depths.

A pair of strong tanned arms swept around her suddenly from behind and pulled her firmly against the chest of their owner swaying them gently from side to side, her burst of surprised laughter breaking over the crash of the waves. Her eyes slid closed and lips upturned as his soft lips nuzzled their way from the freckled skin of her shoulder, across the fine bones of her clavicle and up the curve of her neck to her ear.

“God, you are so fucking beautiful, Dana”

He pressed a gentle kiss in that sensitive spot just beneath it before pulling it into to his mouth. His hands crept lower on her hips, long curious fingers edging beneath the suit line, dancing their way towards the thin strings holding the sides together. A gentle tug on her ear…a gentle tug on the strings…closer and closer…

The sound of a car crunching in the driveway gravel jolted her eyes open and her hand from her panties. She jumped up in a panic, quickly wiping her hand on the towel she had laid down.

She peered out the window, her pulse speeding up and another gush of arousal flooding her already sopping underwear.

Fuck. It’s him. He’s here.

Fox Mulder was 19, brilliant, and beautiful, the star of many a late night teenage fantasy beneath the sheets in her darkened bedroom. He was also the on-again, off-again boyfriend of her older sister, Melissa, the forbidden fruit of her lust at whom she was forever allowed to look but never touch.

His tall, lanky frame leaned unaffectedly on the hood of his beat up Jeep, the epitome of cool, hair swept back and aviators perched on his aquiline nose, entirely unaware of the flurry of teenage anxiousness he was causing two floors up.

Her heart rampaged in her chest as she moved from the window to root around in the top drawer of her dresser, flinging her oversized t-shirt over her head in the process.

Damnit, pull yourself together, Dana. You can do this. This is your chance.

Her hand finally landed on what she was looking for and she pulled out the tiniest black bikini she had ever seen, let alone owned. The push-up cups gave her just the right amount of cleavage without looking too risqué and Melissa had insisted she buy it after dragging her to the mall last weekend.

"You need to learn to live a little, Dana," she'd chided, as she shoved her into the fitting room with the scrap of material. "You look smokin' and there isn't going to be a boy in town that can keep his eyes off you!"

Ahab would freak if he knew she had bought something like that. She looked in to the mirror to settle her breasts just right in the top before tugging on the barely there high waisted gym shorts her mother had expressly told she was not to wear in public. “Hot pants” were entirely inappropriate for a captain’s daughter. Her heart picked up speed at the illicitness of it all. Maybe Missy was right, she did need to get out of her comfort zone. And she knew exactly whose eyes she wanted on her.

Melissa and Mulder had been a thing since they met their sophomore year of high school and had broken up and gotten back together more times than she could count. Dana had been just a lowly thirteen year old in junior high, forever in the shadow of her beautiful older sister, but Mulder never treated her that way.  

He was always kind, asking about school and her science classes, indulging her ramblings on Einstein and physics until Melissa pulled him away insisting she was boring him. He never seemed bored though. Bored people didn’t ask that many questions. Relevant questions at that. In a house where she was constantly talked over by Bill Jr. and Melissa, it was nice to have someone interested in what she had to say for once.

It was an innocent wish of a happy 14th birthday and kiss on the cheek that had changed everything. She'd stammered her thanks as her face flushed the color of her hair. Bill Jr. had teased her mercilessly for weeks afterwards. Her hand strayed to her cheek, certain she could still feel the gentle pressure of his soft lips on her skin, even three years later.

She smoothed her hair and leaned into the mirror, dabbing on just a hint of lip gloss and a few swipes of mascara, opting for the more natural look she knew Mulder preferred from one of the occasional eavesdropped conversations she had been privy to over the years.

Dana knew Melissa cared for Mulder, but she wasn’t the type of woman he needed. She was flighty and impulsive, and uninterested in settling down with one guy.

"Life is too short to tether one’s heartstrings to a single person so young, Dana," she'd once told her younger sister. "I want to follow my heart, be free to give and receive love."

What Mulder needed was someone stable and grounded. Someone to hold him when the nightmares about his sister woke him up crying and shivering in a cold sweat. He didn’t need someone to wave healing crystals over his head and babble about the deeper meanings of dreams and how they were the key to unlocking the subconscious.

Okay, so maybe she had eavesdropped more than just a few times. And Mulder’s bad dreams and beauty preferences weren’t the only thing she had “accidentally” overheard.

She’d heard him sneak in Melissa’s window one night, when they thought everyone else was asleep. Their shared bedroom wall was thin and hushed conversation quickly gave way to creaking springs. She could hear his muffled moans and felt an unexpected tingle down below.

She'd closed her eyes, imagining that she was the one making him make those noises. She hadn’t meant to, but she'd suddenly found her hand wandering lower of its own accord, pressing against the heat of her center. She'd quickly snatched her hand away, the nuns’ constant warnings about masturbation being the devil’s handiwork ringing in her head. But she couldn’t stop thinking about how good it felt.

In that moment, her innocent crush had turned into a full-blown obsession.

Dana Scully was a good girl. She was obedient and polite and god fearing. The heady rush of doing something so bad and wrong and downright naughty was intoxicating, even better than the time she sneaked one of her mother’s cigarettes in the dark. It was too tempting to resist. Night after night, she listened for his voice through the walls, a pile of soiled panties growing beneath her bed until she was alone in the house to do her laundry.

She took a final look in the mirror with a pop of her glazed lips and light spritz of Jovan Musk on her pulse points. “Discover the power,” the TV commercial had declared, claiming to bring more men and women together than any other fragrance in history. In a world filled with blatant propositions, brash overtures, bold invitations and brazen proposals, she was going to get her share. Satisfied, she slung her beach bag over her shoulder and headed down the stairs.

She wasn’t one of those immature girls littering the pages of her notebooks with hearts and his name in a loopy cursive scrawl. Mrs. Fox Mulder. Not anymore anyway. No, she was a woman. A woman who was going to show him that she was more than Missy’s kid sister.

As she made her way down the front steps to the driveway, he was still sprawled, god-like, against his car, chewing on that much fantasized about bottom lip and pensively shucking sunflower seeds with his tongue, an errant lock of hair flopping into his eyes.

Dana's fingers twitched with the urge to brush it back and just slide her fingers through his hair, certain it was as soft as it looked.

Keep it cool, Dana. You got this. Shoulders back, stomach in, chest out. Cool, casual, breezy, confident.

She strutted towards him with a subtle sashay of the hips, her chin tipped with an air of disinterest.

Mulder lifted his sunglasses slightly to peer over the mirrored lens, his eyes flitting briefly over the newfound curves of her body that had bloomed since she’d last seen him. Dana felt her face flush with a streak of pride and bit her lip to keep from grinning, willing herself to keep her cool. She had only recently become accustomed to having this power over men, and she’d be lying if she said it didn’t thrill her. For once, boys actually looked at her, instead of just Missy.

“Oh, hi Mulder,” she tossed out as casually and breezy as she could manage. He never let anyone call him Fox.

He pulled off the sunglasses, training the full force of his smile on her, the bright white glinting in the noonday sun. Her insides turned to mush and her knees went weak. He had no idea of his effect on her. It was entirely unfair.

“Hey, Dana!”

Just the sound of her name on his lips made her stomach flutter and crotch moisten again. She could listen to that throaty monotone for hours. She took a deep breath in a futile attempt to settle her nerves and prayed the thundering echo of her pulse wasn't audible outside her own ears.

"What are you doing here? Didn't Missy tell you she was going out of town for the weekend?"

“Oh…” Mulder murmured, his smile fading. He shook his head as if to clear it, suddenly looking like a lost puppy who couldn’t find his owner. “Yeah, I guess she did mention that. I must have forgotten. Sorry, I should go.”

He reached to put his sunglasses back on and turned towards the car.

“Wait!”

Mulder jumped, startled at the force of her tone and her sudden hand on his arm.

Perfect, Dana...that was absolutely chill, cool, calm, and collected. Fantastic.

“You should come with me to the beach,” she offered brightly, doing her best not to frighten him anymore than she already had. “It’ll be fun! Plus, I hear it rains a lot in England, so you should enjoy the California sunshine while you can.”

He smiles softly at her, his mood seeming to lift. “Yeah, okay. I'd like that.”

"I was planning on going down to Coronado -" she began, frantically stopping midway at his scrunched nose of displeasure."But if you have a better idea, I'm down for anywhere!"

Mulder chuckled and rested his hand against the exposed small of her back to guide her towards the Jeep, sending a rash of goosebumps across her skin.

“Actually, I think I do. Hop in, kid. I know just the place.”

[ladyloveandjustice]

Summer 2018 Anime Overview: Planet With

What a strange, unexpected little gem this show is.

Planet With follows an amnesiac young boy named Soya Kuroi who lives with strange roommates- an upbeat but mysterious girl named Ginko and giant cat monster ...thing. One day, a strange alien spaceship arrives where Soya lives and a squad of superheroes valiantly battle to protect the town from this threat. Ginko shows up and tells Soya he needs to jump in this giant cat robot and fight. No, not fight the invading aliens. He has to fight the superheroes.

Planet With starts out being jam-packed with plot and unabashedly weird and stays that way. The show moves at an absolutely breakneck pace. It stuffs 50 episodes worth of robot anime into twelve, and contains like three different climactic battles. There’s even a time skip. But the weird thing is...it works. Planet With is downright inspirational in its storytelling efficiency. It packs in so many characters and SO much happens, yet somehow it manages to use its time wisely enough that I ended up caring about pretty much all of its many characters and their development felt natural rather than forced. And despite the intensity and volume of events, the plot remained coherent and entertaining. 

There were a couple parts that did feel rushed, and since it was so much at once I feel like I need to rewatch to fully grasp the series, but most of all, I’m impressed by the way this show somehow distilled The Full Wacky Space Battle Anime Experience (tm) into a short time frame. And the animation is good! It is bold and action packed and works well for the show. 

And the quickness of how Planet With handled things made it downright refreshing (and hilarious) at times. I’ll give an example: Soya’s civilian friend (and obvious love interest), Nozomi, catches on extremely quickly to the fact he’s doing robot battles, basically guesses his entire backstory based off his weird behavior and just as quickly starts questioning him about it. Soya’s reaction to this is to freak out and run away- at which point Nozomi football tackles him and basically yells “NO ITS OKAY YOU CAN TRUST ME!” and he quickly gives in, explains his weird situation to her, and is like “uh. so. not sure if that sounds at all believable but. you asked.”

Not only is the honest communication nice to see, not only does it genuinely sell that Nozomi s the smart cookie the narrative has set her up to be, but its charming as hell and feels so natural to who these characters are. The fact Soya’s first reaction to being exposed is to just stammer and BOLT DOWN THE STREET reminds you that, yes, this is a teenager, and Nozomi’s refusal to let him get away and how she throws all dignity out the window to make her point is just....it gives me so much affection for them both. They’re kids and they’re ridiculous and I love them. Having Nozomi let in the loop so quickly is refreshing, it makes their relationship feel genuinely trusting and equal, there’s just a lot going on in just that one scene that I love.

Let’s talk about character a little more, because Planet With has a very vibrant cast. Soya comes off as a typical hotheaded shonen protagonist, and well, he is, but as you learn more about him and the situation he’s facing, you realize he’s trying his best to cope with some huge stuff. He has a good arc and matures a lot. What especially struck me is this moment where Soya realizes he has no reason to fight anymore, he’s just a kid who’s not involved, he shouldn’t be asked to do this, and though he’s been channeling his grief into fighting, he just can’t anymore, he’s tired and overwhelmed and sad. It’s nice to see the show touching on how unfair it is to ask a child to fight, and actually having the other characters react to this with understanding rather than trying to force him to continue is....really nice to see.

Each character has their own fears and insecurity to grapple with,which is especially apparent in the scenes where the spaceship messes with their minds and gives them the dream world they desire- a couple of those scenes are genuinely heartbreaking and striking.

Even the antagonists are given layers and its shown why they think what they’re doing is right. The show centers thematically on how to suppress and respond to violence and it explores various sides of that debate. Can humanity be trusted with power? Is extreme pacifism or extreme force the way to deal with problems? What is the value of revenge? Is freedom or safety more important? Can we forgive and move past horrible wrongs? You may not end up agreeing with the show’s conclusion on all this, but the fact it confronts these questions so directly and really gives them some thought is nice. You can see WHY this is a conflict, and where both sides are coming from.

The show also has a pretty good-sized and solid cast of female characters and doesn’t treat them like garbage! it actually gives a lot of them solid arcs where they develop and go through all kinds of different emotions, always a plus! 

Ginko may give a slight impression of being a airhead catgirlmaid cliche at first, but she soon shows herself to have wisdom and depth- her role in the narrative was one of the most pleasant surprises. She was way more involved in the fight than I thought she’d be and the found family she formed with Soya is one of the sweetest things about the show. 

Nozomi’s character development is largely tied up in her relationship to Soya, so I kinda wish she had stuff going on besides being his supporter, but I do adore how she was treated with respect by the narrative, bought in on things as a civilian, and how brave and smart and loyal she is. She’s inspiring to Soya with her kindness and inspiring in general. And their relationship is genuinely sweet.

There’s an entire mini-arc focusing on the bond between two of the superhero girls- Miu and Harumi- and it is very dramatic and very gay and very about ladies inspiring and connecting with and saving each other, y’know, all the stuff i’m here for. We also had Benika, a badass lady is a suit (always gets a thumbs up from me) who had her own arc, and a woman who was on the semi-antagonist side. The women are all treated as competent and capable in combat. 

The show is relatively mild on fanservice for a shonen-mech show and doesn’t get too gross or over-the top- probably the most noticeable scene is a conversation in a hot-tub, and even that doesn’t have ridiculous camera angles or anything. Mostly anything fanservice-y is goofy and tongue in cheek, rather than humiliating or non-consensual. The show actually has the honor of containing the only anime boob joke that’s actually made me laugh in recent memory (the over-the-top narration was on point). (There is one questionable element to warn for, namely an adult{?) woman briefly disguises herself as a high schooler and acts pretty flirtatiously with minors- thankfully it doesn’t go too far, but its something to watch out for.)

Planet With’s sense of humor and fun is just great in general. It deals with some serious and emotional topics, but never loses that whimsical, weird edge. It was clear from the beginning, when the super-threatening alien spaceship was some weird happy bear thing marked “peas”, that the show had a wonderfully bizarre and goofy atmosphere and it never loses that. Soya being endlessly foiled in his quest to eat some meat, the bizarre anthropomorphic animals, our heroes aggressively meowing as a battle cry- the show is so unapologetic in its weirdness and not afraid to embrace all the wonderful, colorful silliness inherent in its genre. 

Basically, if you like giant-robot shows or action shows or even weird cat and dog monsters, I really recommend this show. Its a fast-paced wild ride full of fun characters and colorful storytelling. It’s occasionally cheesy, often bizarre, a little dizzying and sometimes genuinely emotional- but it’s always an experience and I had a good time watching it.

[wonderfulworldofmichaelford]

A Look Back on the Twilight Saga

I have never felt older than I have this year, in which the film adaptation of the first book in the Twilight Saga turns ten. Ten years ago, that movie came out, three years after the book. And what a book and movie they were! They inspired so much rabid devotion and equally rabid pushback, with people gushing over the beautiful romance in equal amounts as people saying how the books were offensively awful and filled with misogyny and romanticization of abusive relationships. Golly, I sure am glad discussion of fiction has improved since then and we don’t have dumb arguments like that anymore!

All joking aside, it is pretty interesting to look back on the series. With the passage of time, and the release of so much young adult fiction in cinemas between then and now, I have to say that looking back… Twilight is a pretty good film and, for the most part, a pretty good series.

Now, such a bold statement could never have been made in that period during the heyday of the series, where the popularity of the series was slowly souring and people began openly rejecting the series as trash. But I feel that rejection was just part of an obnoxious cycle I’ve seen a lot in recent years, where anything remotely popular with audiences (such as Frozen) becomes hated at the peak of its popularity, seemingly because of the sole fact that it is popular and not really due to anything having to do with the actual overall quality.

See, here’s the thing: despite the series having a reputation for being poorly written tripe, it really is a lot better than anyone gives it credit for. Now, I’m not going to say the writing is on par with other young adult fantasy series of the time, like Harry Potter or Percy Jackson, because that is just patently untrue. What the Twilight Saga was, and what it always seemed to aim for, was the level of quality of a tacky airport romance novel you pick up while waiting for your flight to kill time. It’s nothing but wish-fulfillment fantasy in which an unhappy young woman becomes the reason for living for several unfathomably hot supernatural men, a sentiment that quite frankly resonates with the modern atmosphere towards supernatural romance and the prominence of self-proclaimed “Monsterfuckers.” Bella’s situation is pretty much a dream come true, is it not? Among tacky supernatural romance novels, Twilight and its sequels are easily the queens of the genre.

Here’s the thing that really sets the Twilight Saga apart, though: there is actually a serious amount of thought and care put into nearly all aspects of the romance’s universe save for the actual romance. Every single member of the Cullen family has a fascinating backstory: Carlisle was a vampire hunter turned vampire who proceeded to venture across the world in the ensuing hundreds of years building up a family and practicing a different way of living; Alice was committed to an asylum and has a past shrouded in mystery; Jasper was a soldier in the Confederate army who was turned into a vampire and tasked with raising a vampire army; Rosalie’s backstory is Kill Bill, BUT WITH VAMPIRES!; and Emmet, while easily the least impressive of them all, still died apparently fighting a bear, and considering how he is one can only imagine what on earth he was doing. Esme is the only Cullen without a deeply fascinating backstory, but even what little we do get is a bit tragic: she lost her child and so committed suicide, or attempted it anyway. There’s absolutely no need for all of these rich, complex backstories for characters in a throwaway romance novel, and yet here they are. And that’s not all.

The rest of the world and overall vampire society is presented in a very interesting way. The Volturi in particular are a fascinating idea, a secret cabal of vampires who rule over all other vampires with an iron fist, but one that is, while a bit tyrannical and unforgiving, seemingly necessary to preserve the existence of vampire society. Hell, their rules don’t really seem TOO harsh, and they only really spring to action when there are vampires fragrantly and blatantly exposing themselves to human society. They wish to keep the vampire world hidden in the shadows, where they can feed in peace away from prying eyes. Their position is understandable in a lot of ways. They also have a very interesting history to them, having apparently wrestled power over vampirekind away from a sect of Romanian vampires. Now, I did say they are a fascinating IDEA; in execution, they always tended to be a bit… useless. Their appearances in New Moon and Breaking Dawn are ultimately wastes of time, as they are never really opposed in any sort of meaningful way and get away in the end with the status quo wholly unchanged. No impact is ever made on vampirekind when they’re involved, which almost makes me wish that they were kept in the shadows and used far more sparingly. Their influence over events in Eclipse, where they only send out their powerful agents, showcases that Stephanie Meyers could use them very effectively when she wanted to.

The werewolves are a bit less effective. While they do have an intriguing backstory, there is something a bit… problematic about shoehorning a bunch of fictional elements onto the real Quileute tribe. On the other hand though, a positive and heroic portrayal of Native Americans in fiction is never a bad thing, and Jacob Black is easily one of the more sympathetic characters until halfway through Breaking Dawn. It’s a very tricky, mixed bag. I kind of wish that the issue with the handling of Native American folklore was the biggest controversy with the series, but there’s actually one far worse and even stupider.

The Twilight Saga has come under fire for being a negative influence on young women, for romanticizing abusive relationships and stalking, and for being some sort of massive insult to feminism. Now, these arguments aren’t wholly without merit, but the issue is that they are being filtered through human understanding and imposed on fictional creatures in a fictional universe. If a real-life human acted as clingy, impulsive, over-protective, and obsessed as Edward is towards Bella, yes, it would be absolutely terrifying. Here’s where I let you in on a little secret, though: Edward Cullen is, in fact, not a human. He is part of a race of ageless semi-undead beings who live off of blood and glitter in the sunlight. He immediately sees his soulmate in Bella and goes out of his way to ensure they end up together, acting on the instincts granted to members of his kind. Trying to fit all of his actions into a human narrative is as fruitless as if an ant tried to explain humanity to his colleagues filtered through his ant experiences. The fact is, Edward operates on a far different moral code than humans. This is not uncommon for vampires in any fiction; Marceline of Adventure Time fame is a vampire who is certainly not above doing some rather sketchy stuff, for example. While Edward’s actions can come off as bizarre and creepy to humans, for a vampire, Edward is actually downright romantic and even benevolent. One also needs to take into account that Edward is a kissless virgin who has spent a hundred years doing nothing but reading romance novels and listening to classical music, which would go a long way to explain his awkward and sometimes offputting ways of trying to replicate human courtship rituals with Bella.

The criticisms leveled at Bella are rather unfair as well; while she often finds herself a damsel in distress, it rarely is something she doesn’t want. When Bella is in danger, it’s because she wanted to be there and put herself there. Yes, she does get into trouble, but that’s mostly due to her being a stupid horny teenage girl with zero impulse control. Recall New Moon, where she constantly did dangerous stunts so she could have hallucinations of Edward chastise her. Bella is, quite frankly, an adrenaline junkie, and I feel she’d rather resent being called a damsel. Even the times when she is in danger, it is no real fault of her own, but rather the fact she is a normal human out of her depth in a supernatural world. Bella is not Blade, she is not Van Helsing, she is not Alucard; she is Bella Swan, normal teenage girl, and she tends to be as effective as your average teenage girl in situations where superpowered monsters are hunting her. Imagine if we applied these sorts of criticisms to other characters in fiction… “John Conner in Terminator 2 is such a worthless damsel in distress character, why does he not just fight off the T-1000?” or how about “Why do the kids in The Goonies not take the Fratellis head-on? Why do they constantly flee from them when they cross paths? And Chunk, getting captured by them, what a pathetic damsel moment.” People not being successful in areas where they are out of their element is not some horribly evil thing. I also resent the idea the series is some horrible, anti-feminist work, particularly because the entire series revolves around Bella’s choice, and when she is not given agency she goes out of her way to take that agency. For all the flaws of Breaking Dawn, and there are many, I will give it this: presenting Bella as being in the right for wanting her choices respected is a good thing. With that in mind, I think the entire series is a lot more feminist than many are willing to admit.

And look, I’m not saying this book is a flawless masterpiece or anything like that. I have mentioned this is definitely a book more impressive for the world it creates than for the actual romance it centers around. But I do feel that, generally speaking, the books never descended to the point many who criticized the books say they did. I say “for the most part” because I cannot even muster up enough good will to say a single good thing about Breaking Dawn. But generally, the writing quality is decent. Even some of the twists on vampire lore are interesting and refreshing.

For instance… the sparkling. This is one of the most infamous additions to the lore of vampires in Meyers stories. When in the sunlight, rather than bursting into flames as vampires tend to do in fiction, their skin sparkles and glitters as if it was encrusted with diamonds. It does sound silly, and it really is, especially when they show it off in the movies… and yet, it is actually far more accurate than just about every depiction of vampires in nearly 100 years. You see, the idea vampires are killed by sunlight is actually a relatively new addition to vampire lore, being created for the famous silent masterpiece Nosferatu because they couldn’t come up with any other way to kill the vampire. In the original novel of Dracula, for instance, the titular count strut about during the day with no ill effect. So, by accident or perhaps by some better understanding of the creatures than most writers, Meyers was more accurate than nearly all contemporary portrayals of the characters. Also interesting – but not nearly so to the point I feel the need to dedicate a whole new paragraph to it – the idea of vampires having a sort of “love at first sight” thing that allows them to discern their soulmate was copied by Hotel Transylvania, so I feel like that addition to vampire lore has its merit as well.

The film adaptations tend to not truly fix the flaws with the storytelling, but instead to paint over them with some truly inspired silliness. The utter apathy Robert Pattinson exudes for his role as Edward Cullen is palpable in how he acts, and it tends to make Edward’s creepier actions actually less threatening than the were in the books – and I’d argue there he wasn’t particularly threathening, despite his angsting. Taylor Lautner’s oft-shirtless portrayal of Jacob Black seems a lot more genuinely, but equally cheesy; his and Pattinson’s onscreen chemistry really gives them the feel of two romantic rivals, which makes it easy to see exactly why there was such a devoted following rooting for one or the other back in the day. Then we get to Bella.

As usual, Bella is a horribly misunderstood character here. It’s easy to blame the books for how one-note Bella appears in the movies – as a romance protagonist, Bella has enough personality for you to care while still being enough of a blank slate that you can put yourself in her position so that you can fantasize about the outcomes – but I almost feel like her portrayal was a deliberate choice. Kristen Stewart is actually a very good actor when in the right role, and I feel like even in the past I’ve been too hard on her portrayal of Bella. I think I might go so far as to say her version of Bella is better than the book, because Stewart actually does inject some vapid, awkward teenage girlishness to the role. That’s something wonderful, especially about the films – the teenagers, more than a lot of other series, tend to feel like real people. They say the dumbest stuff imaginable, but really, is that not what being a teenager is? Everyone was a stupid, vapid idiot as a teenager, it’s just how teens are. So all t hat combined with everything else that has been said, does any part of Bella’s characterization truly feel THAT abnormal for an otherwise normal, brooding teen thrust headfirst into the world of the supernatural? I personally don’t think so; Bella is actually one of the most real characters of the series, an anchor to humanity in a sea of supernatural strangeness, a character that is absolutely perfect in her dull, flawed, overly-romantic personality. She may not be the strongest, or most interesting, or even the most pleasant character in all of fiction… but she has an air of realness to her few other characters can hope to achieve. Perhaps this is why a lot of people rejected and mocked her; it’s so much easier to dismiss and belittle something than accept that it is something real, warts and all. No one wanted to accept the less pleasant parts of Bella, and so she was rejected by all except the fans of the book; meanwhile, seemingly disinterested goth girls would be fought over by two equally strange men for her affection, all while she talks in a sort of half-awake near-monotone.

I was in that situation myself. It’s all real teenage bullshit.

I feel like this more than anything explains why the Twilight Saga ended up being violently rejected by so many people: too many people saw through the supernatural elements and into the real life teenage angst and did not like what they saw, as it reflected their own experiences. It’s so bizarre to say, but Stephanie Meyers may have been too real for her own good, and her portrayal of angst-ridden teen love triangles may have been just too close to home for a lot of people. I’m sure a lot of older people had negative experiences in high school as I did, so anything that reminds them of those stupid, painful years is not going to seem pleasant. With other stories that feature realistic elements with supernatural settings, such as Harry Potter, Percy Jackson, and so on, they never really faced this kind of scrutiny and rejection as while they also are grounded with realistic portrayals of their teenagers, they also take place in overtly supernatural settings; there is no place where an experience could be like that of Hogwarts or Camp Half-Blood. But there’s probably of plenty of places like the dismal, dreary town of Forks, Washington, a perpetually cloudy town out in the sticks where nothing ever seems to happen. Reading about teen angst in such an agonizingly depressing setting will not go over well with anyone who has had negative experiences in regards to the elements portrayed, supernatural dressing or no.

Looking back at the Twilight Saga, after years of imitators of varying quality and numerous attempts by mediocre young adult franchises to capture this saga’s lightning in a bottle, the stories sans Breaking Dawn seem to have aged quite well, and hold up a lot better. Removed from the rabid fandom, overwhelming hype, ad constant mockery, the series stands as a solid and kind of cheesy young adult romance series, one with superb worldbuilding that I have yet to see any young adult series after it match and an absolutely fantastic ensemble cast that is just rife with fanfiction potential. I find that even the lead trio, be it in the films and in the movie, have a lot more layer and depth to them than initially thought, with Bella in particular a character I feel deserves some serious reevaluation. And while I’d never call the series a masterpiece to rival Harry Potter, Percy Jackson, or Lord of the Rings, I do think that the series is good enough to unironically be enjoyed. While there is of course plenty to snark at here – it’s a story featuring a rather honest depiction of teenagers, after all, and teenagers are idiots – I think there is a lot more to like than the insane hatedom of the book ever gave it credit for.

And even if you can’t bring yourself to admit the series is genuinely good (albeit cheesy), there’s no denying that it had a pretty good impact on popular culture. Aside from being the basis for Vampire Sucks, which has the honor of being the only genuinely good Seltzer and Friedberg film, it put supernatural romance stories back into the mainstream again. The biggest example of a supernatural romance film that I can see got a lot of mainstream recognition was 1990’s Ghost, which is held up as a romantic classic; while there were plenty of supernatural romance films between then and Twilight, none of them seem to be recalled fondly or even at all, and none of them can even come close to saying they had the sort of cultural impact Ghost did. Twilight, though… it had a huge impact. Without Twilight, we probably wouldn’t have gotten Warm Bodies, we probably wouldn’t have gotten Horns, and honestly? We probably wouldn’t have gotten The Shape of Water, or more realistically, the movie would not nearly be as accepted. Twilight for better or worse conditioned us to see the humanity in supernatural entities and find attraction in them (not exactly a new idea as far as vampires go, I know, but it definitely put it in the minds of young adults). I can easily see the genesis of the modern crowd of people lusting after the Asset, Pennywise, Godzilla, and Venom being the Twilight Saga; it was a gateway drug that put in the minds of youths “Hey, monsters can be really sexy. Like, REALLY sexy.”

The Twilight Saga is truly a fascinating work, for better and for worse. There is a lot in it that I really admire, and there’s plenty in it that I resent, but even at its worst I can never say that the series was boring. For all the flack I give Breaking Dawn, it is still far more readable than any of the garbage Cormac McCarthy has ever shat out, and nothing in the series was as overtly misogynistic as some of the dialogue in Ready Player One. As cheesy as the film series got, the first was a surprisingly effective indie supernatural romance and the third was a gloriously Gothic cheesy delight, with the second being the awkward but still enjoyable middle film and Breaking Dawn: Part 1 being the only genuinely awful film in the series; nothing positive could be said for the slew of imitators that crawled in this film’s wake, such as Beastly, Red Riding Hood, and even some of the would-be successors to this franchise such as the cinematic adaptations of Percy Jackson, Divergent, and The Hunger Games among others, which despite them being based off of books of far greater critical acclaim had absolutely no respect for their source material the way the Twilight Saga films did. As silly as some of the acting in the movies was – and it got very silly, considering the lead three all seemed to actively despise their roles – none of their acting was as painfully bad to sit through as Jennifer Lawrence’s attempts at acting in the first Hunger Games film, or the entire cast of the Percy Jackson movies. I would never say that Twilight is the absolute pinnacle of young adult literature, but I think a lot of us had our judgment clouded back in the day, and with the benefit of hindsight I think it’s safe to say the franchise was a lot of fun; I’d even go as far to say that it is an underrated work of genius in many aspects.

Removed from the climate that created it and put into a world it helped shape, I think the tale of Bella Swan and her romance of the angsty immortal Edward Cullen resonates quite a bit better. So thank you to Stephanie Meyers and everyone involved with the film series, because without your work, the world we live in would probably be a much less interesting place, with far fewer people horny for monsters. I really don’t think I would want to live in that world.

[ikesenhell]

A Family Tree

Bloodline, Chapter 3. You can find all other IkeSen works of mine here. NOTE: Ayana is @jindalraekarkki’s lovely OC! Thank you so much!

Masamune and Mitsuhide nicknamed the archivist ‘Princess’. It was their idea of a joke, prompted unbidden by a remark Nobunaga made at the office. Something about Ieyasu ‘rescuing a Princess in distress’. 

“Very funny,” he snapped irritably. It wasn’t as if he needed a reminder on how he’d endangered the poor woman. The whole situation was his fault. “Back to the important things. Do we have some kind of a lead on this?”

“As it so happens? We do.” Mitsuhide set down some paperwork. “The accelerant used for the fire is actually quite similar to the products we found in the office Masamune cracked into. It appears that someone in our current investigations to the mob has not only figured out that Ieyasu is involved on our team, but is taking an interest in obscuring how his family plays into their organization.”

“So let me see if I understand.” Nobunaga twirled a pen idly over his desk. “The Mob not only was in possession of photos of the Tokugawa family, a pair of former CIA agents deceased over a decade and a half, but figures out that their son is also in connection with the CIA, and that he is investigating on his own into this?”

Masamune frowned deep, his blue eye glittering. “That sounds like a mole to me.”

The men fell silent.

“I’ll certainly be branching my investigations into that possibility,” Mitsuhide remarked lightly. “Don’t you worry about that. In the meantime, we need to move the Princess into protective custody.”

Ieyasu grimaced. How unfair was this? The poor woman would have to completely uproot her whole life, disrupt everything she knew--and it was all because of him. He clenched his fist tight. 

“Have some opinion on the matter?” Nobunaga cocked a brow at him. “You appear tense.”

“No opinion.” He replied brusquely. It wasn’t as if that train of thought mattered. But Mitsuhide kept staring, a knowing look emerging on those snaky lips. Of course Mitsuhide could tell what was wrong.

“How about this?” Mitsuhide suggested. “Our dearest Princess is likely a valuable resource in our investigations. She’s already played a part, after all. We could move her into Ieyasu’s custody.”

“Intriguing. Do tell.” Nobunaga folded his fingers together, resting his chin on the lattice of his knuckles. 

“As excellent as Mitsunari is at his job, it’s known that we’re stretched a touch thin. I already took the liberty of looking into her background, and she is squeaky clean. We could employ her as a civilian contractor for this particular case. It would free up our process and provide Ieyasu with a bit of needed interpersonal interaction.”

“I don’t need interpersonal interaction,” Ieyasu snapped. The idea of having someone in his personal space was almost offensive. Granted, he did owe her that much, and Mitsuhide was right--but still. “And I don’t need a random woman living in my house.”

“No? Not even with all the benefits of someone assisting you on your case? We all know of your aversion to working with Mitsunari.”

Damnit. Ieyasu ground his teeth tight together. He was up against a rock and a hard place, and everyone knew it. “Fine.”

Apparently she didn’t have much. Maybe she just hadn’t brought much. Either way, when he picked her up from her apartment, she only had two large suitcases and a confused expression.

“What’s with that face?” He snapped harder than he meant. “Come on. Is this all you have?”

“It’s all I need. I didn’t think it would be polite of me to load up your space with my things.”

Well that was downright considerate. He felt bad for being rude already, but an apology wouldn’t unstick from his throat. Opting for silence, he placed her things in the back seat and drove them both to his place. 

He had a three bedroom apartment and frankly no reason for all the space. If he were honest with himself, he’d gotten the extra rooms partially for if Masamune decided to come over and crash, partially for space for his own collection of books, partially for an office. Converting the spare room he’d meant for Masamune wasn’t a stretch at all--he’d just gotten some new sheets and towels. Quiet as a mouse, she slipped into the room and looked around. 

“Thank you so much,” she murmured. “I’m sorry to be in your way.”

What was he supposed to say to that? It was his fault she was there. Ieyasu reached for words and finally settled for, “It wasn’t that much trouble.”

Clearly he’d missed the mark. She didn’t look assuaged at all. Desperately trying to wriggle his way from the situation, Ieyasu added, “The office is free for use. Mitsuhide sent you some clearance. I’ll put the folders and files you can use in there, and the payment processing is going through. Questions?”

“No, not really. Thank you.”

She was quiet for certain. Ieyasu half-forgot she was there some days. All that ever reminded him was the soft hum of some song or another, the gentle clink of mugs in the morning and the scent of food cooking. As far as roommates went, she was courteous and clean. As for the rest? He wasn’t expecting much. How useful could someone entirely outside the CIA training regimen be? It wasn’t that she was a subpar researcher (not that he knew if she was or wasn’t), but he just didn’t have hope. 

But Mitsuhide kept presenting him with dossiers, so he kept bringing them to the office, stacking them with the others. She neatly cataloged and read and took notes, but Ieyasu wasn’t expecting much. 

And then one morning she walked into the kitchen as he was brewing coffee, holding a file in her hand. 

“Do you mind if I ask you a question?”

“Mmm?” Yes, he thought, but he just looked at her expectantly. 

“I’m sorry. It’s a little invasive.” But then she paused. “You were raised by an uncle, weren’t you?”

That was a weird question. He lowered the mug. “Yes?”

“I--” The Princess paused, thinking about her words before finally coming out with it. “Are you sure you’re related?”

Ieyasu stopped short, staring at her. “What kind of a question is that?”

“I know that sounds weird,” she rushed out. “I know it does. But I did a little looking into your familial background, and something isn’t adding up. So I went through your uncle’s history. He supposedly graduated from Princeton, same as your father, but--well, just take a look.”

She fished through the folder and produced several pictures, laying them out for him. That pang of familiarity rushed through him once more. It was him--that mystery man in the newspaper clipping from ‘93. Except now it was a smiling, younger man on the Princeton Yard, baseball bat slung over one shoulder and a slight caption underneath. I. Tokugawa, first baseman. 

“What the fuck,” he blurted out. The whole world tilted under his feet; he sat heavily on the floor, struggling to make sense of it. That was his uncle. That was his uncle. So much now swirled into focus. His ‘Uncle’s aversion to talking about his parents--how they didn’t have a resemblance--how he’d never met anyone else in the family--it wasn’t even his family. Who the fuck was that man? Who was that stranger?

The cold press of a cup into his hand jerked him from his reverie. The Princess stared into his eyes, concern etched in every line of her face. His first instinct was to withdraw. He didn’t need her pity. Familiar irritation rose hot in his throat; no doubt she saw him as a poor orphan, a pitiful thing abandoned by his own blood. But as his fingertips closed around the ice water, he came back to himself. She wasn’t pitying him. She was genuinely worried. 

“That’s a lot to process,” she murmured. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to shock you, but I couldn’t think of any other way to tell you.”

For a single second, he appreciated the hell out of her. He’d undersold her on every respect, and here she was, shining in every conceivable way. What an ass he’d been to her. How was he supposed to right that? He gulped down the ice water, looking for anything else to do aside from answer. At last, he found his voice. “I told my Uncle--or whoever that was--about the photo in the paper I’d gotten. He’s the mole.”

She paused. “Are you certain? How did he figure out you were part of the CIA? The link between which specific place and the paper?”

“Not a clue.” He struggled to his feet, screwing down his resolve. “Not a damn clue. But I’m going to find out.”

[ellynefics]

Bane

Of an Angry Wizard Named Kihyun, Part 1/5

Bane (you are here) | When You Wish (coming soon) | Blind | Curseblock | UNTITLED 5

genre;; Realistic, Civilian!AU, Bad Boy!Minhyuk

pairing;; Lee Minhyuk x fem!reader

plot;;

@exomyapotheosis: “I would like to request a Minhyuk one shot in which he is a "friend" with whom you're always fighting. He keeps on piking [sic] up on you every time you're out with your friends to the point that you got mad about it. You decide to ignore him, after a while he gets upset. And when one of your friends ask him about that he confesses to you in front of everyone.” (a/n: The wording of this request wasn’t quite clear to me, so I did my best to interpret. I also threw in the bad boy and cursed twists so I hope you don’t mind !! Enjoy and thanks for being my first requester ever ❤︎)

Lee Minhyuk. AKA, that dangerously handsome guy in the leather jacket; the thorn in your side; the closest you’ve had to a worst enemy since that bitchy girl in seventh grade. Every time you go to the bar with your friends on a Friday night, he’s there, without fail. If there’s one thing you hate most, it’s being teased mercilessly, and he seems to know that. He’s always spouting some terrible--or sometimes even downright rude--pick up line. What gave him permission to act so entitled? Well, little do you know, that you’ll find out.

warnings;; slight bit of angst, smoking, drinking

words;; 5114 (5.1k)

“You know that if you don’t want to come here anymore, we really don’t have to, (Y/N).”

“I’m serious, it’s okay. I have fun here with you and the rest of the girls.” Smiling encouragingly over at the young woman by your side, you set a hand on her shoulder, squeezing it.

The two of you were walking into your favorite little establishment on a Friday night, as was routine. Despite the familiarity, you were still excited. Your hearts fluttered in your chests, looking forward to whatever might happen tonight. However, Luna, your best friend, had concerns, which you understood. There was one negative thing about this place, and that, to her, was:

“Even if you have to deal with him every time?”

“Yeah? We’ve had too many good memories here to let them go over a stupid boy who won’t leave me alone.”

“You're right, of course. But ugh, one of these days, I’m going to snap. He chases off your dates. That makes me so angry, I swear.” It wasn’t every day that you heard calm, sweet Luna lower her voice and hiss through her teeth because of someone. Her eyes swept the room. “Is he here? I don’t see him.”

“Oh, trust me, he is.” You could practically feel a gaze boring into you. It wasn’t even necessary to turn and see who it was, because this scenario was familiar.

Sometimes you wondered why Lee Minhyuk, the epitome of bad boy, stuck to you like glue. He would be able to have any girl (or guy) he wanted with his trim, lanky, but somehow muscular body and stellar looks. Not to mention, how he always managed to somehow be hot and casual at the same time. Leather jackets and torn, stone-washed jeans were his go-to. Honestly, how good he looked was so unfair. His killer smile got hearts pounding with little effort. You didn’t usually consider smokers fair game; however, you would admit that the cigarette constantly between his lips didn’t diminish his attractiveness. It was always obvious when he was near because the aroma of nicotine and cologne rolled off of him. Alcohol often faintly joined those, as well. Just the thought of him was a cocktail of swirling emotions, one of which was definitely lust. 

He confused you, because at first, things were natural and relaxed between the two of you. Over drinks, you talked for hours about relatively normal things. Conversation flowed easily. He was charming and alluring, treating you to flashes of that smile between puffs of smoke. Minhyuk had this aura about him that had you falling in love easily. Breathtaking was the first adjective that popped into your head at the thought of him.

No amount of thinking helped, though. It was impossible to compute that his approach was pretty much a given for every time you showed up. During the many times you had been at the bar, you had become accustomed to all that was Lee Minhyuk. His intense gaze, something you had been hypersensitive to from the beginning, would always catch you right away. Then he’d approach within the first hour.

And then, things changed. Drastically. One Friday, you stepped into the bar, went to order a drink at the counter, and almost instantly felt him at your side. Something seemed off, but you really couldn’t quite put your finger on what it was at that moment. (Later, you’d realize that his confident atmosphere was missing.)

“Mm,” He purred into the shell of your ear. “Are you made of chocolate? Because you look so sweet and delicious, baby.”

You turned and gawked, slapping him on the arm. “Lee Minhyuk!”

“But I’m serious,” His eyes got wide. “Can I take you out? Because you look like trash--”

You slapped him for that one, and he sported a large red handprint on the side of his face for the rest of the night. When the other girls heard, they cheered. That was the beginnings of a love-hate relationship for the ages. It seemed that now he spouted nothing but bad pick-up lines whenever you were around. Every time one would come flying out, he’d get redder in the face. Though his eyebrows would furrow in frustration, he didn’t stop. Which, of course, you took as being unwilling to stop.

Yeah, It was annoying as hell. Somehow though, it was impossible to bring yourself to hate the guy. Tonight would be no different.

You pushed the thought out of your mind as you and Luna approached the counter. Expecting to see the usual, more heavyset tender, it came as a shock when you noticed a new guy pouring drinks. And no, this wasn't any ordinary new employee. Really, there was no other way to describe him than glorious. He had soft, feathery pink and purple hair, thick, muscled arms, an obviously toned figure under a gray polo and black apron, and--last but not least--a sculpted ass and thighs. Both you and your best friend's brains were blanking, struck dumb in an instant.

Neither of you thought it could get any better, but then, he turned around. A chorus of angels descended from heaven. How was he simultaneously sexy, but also so adorable? His ears stuck out cutely and his droopy nose made you want to coo. Flush, plump lips rimmed a wide, sparkling white smile. His name tag read, simply, Wonho. Personally, instead of his protection, you just wanted him to choke you with his biceps. When you glanced over at Luna, you knew she was far gone. There were stars in her eyes. An instant crush, no doubt.

Wonho smiled, and asked in a smooth baritone, “Welcome, ladies. What can I get you to--”

“I’ll have some of that pink stuff!” Realizing she probably sounded dumb by jumping in too early, Luna blushed furiously. There was no way she would leave him hanging, though, so she hurried on, “You know, what a lot of the other girls on the dancefloor have.”

The sexy tender broke into a grin and chuckled. “Yeah, of course. And for you, Miss?”

The question took a moment to register in your head as your brain started on a different path entirely. “Oh, ah, a Piña Colada, please.” That was your standard, mindless answer. All thoughts of how the tender looked underneath his clothes were gone from your head. Minhyuk, over on the other side of the bar, was draining shot glasses one after another. From the look and color, they were probably filled with tequila.

Luna groaned once Wonho was out of earshot and busy preparing the concoctions. “Ugh, help, I can feel my pocketbook getting slimmer already.”

“Don’t spend all night up here, and it’ll be fine.”

“But how can’t I? Look at him...he’s an entire five-course meal walking around. And his thighs, God, I wanna cry.”

“I feel you, Luna.” You gave some semblance of a chuckle.

At that moment, though, Minhyuk, who was finishing off his last shot, stole your attention again. His gaze flickered over to you for a second, but darted away. He leaned his head on his left arm, blocking his face from your view. What was going on? Despite his annoying behavior, you still considered him to be a friend, so worry crept in.

“What’s got your tongue, (Y/N)?” You sighed when you realized that Luna had caught you staring over your other shoulder.

“Nothing much really. Just...Minhyuk. He’s acting weird tonight.”

Your friend perked an eyebrow. “Oh yeah?”

“He--” It was only then that you caught yourself about to admit something sensitive. Truth was, you paid more attention to your supposed worst enemy than you let on. There was a long pause, but eventually you decided to heck with it and let it fall out of your mouth. “He never tries to get drunk, but he just finished five shots and--oh God, I think he’s ordering more.” Indeed, Minhyuk was chatting with Wonho. It was too loud to hear what they were saying, but you caught when the tender frowned, and nodded slightly.

Then he turned, and you noticed he had your drinks in hand. Your best friend was good as gone now, distracted temporarily again. It might have been you, but you thought the tender turned slightly red the moment it happened. An adorable smile on his face, he slid your drinks in front of you. “Enjoy, ladies.” Of course, he just had to throw a wink at Luna as he left. Hm, maybe your imagination hadn’t been overactive. A twinge of jealousy might have run through you then if you weren’t so hung up on the other lovely boy down the bar.

“Don’t worry about Minhyuk. If he wants to act dumb, he’ll act dumb, and it’s none of your business.” Luna commented from beside you, making you snap your head back in her direction. Fuck, yeah, you had been staring again and didn’t even realize it.

The sigh didn’t fall out of your mouth easily, but you managed a, “Right.” Your chest tightened at the thought that Minhyuk might be hurting, but why did you even care? It flashed through your head that maybe you were still hiding a bit of a crush on him. Your brain screamed at you that you shouldn’t be, though. He was constantly rude, for Chrissake.

You shook the thoughts away in favor of focusing on drawing Wonho’s attention to Luna. They’d be cute together, and you knew that your best friend had been wanting some new life adventures for months. Whether that meant a new man, travel, whatever--you just wanted to see her happy.

Around an hour, and two drinks apiece later, you had successfully gotten Luna to break the ice with the hot bartender. The two were now flirting back and forth nearly every minute they sat there, talking. Of course, you looked on, sipping on your Colada, proud that your instinct had been right.

Your best friend reached across to drag her fingertips down Wonho’s--or, rather, Hoseok's--apron. (He had supplied his real name not too far into the conversation.) “So, what does the reward for that time in the gym look like?”

“I’d certainly show you,” A gigantic, blinding grin grew on the bartender’s face. “But I might kill everyone here if I did. Not to mention, it’s against company policy, my dear.”

“Then where’s a better place?”

“How about at my apartment, after I get off?”

“Hm,” she tapped her cherry red nails on her equally cherry red lips. “Perfect.” Well, it certainly seemed that Luna was going to have a nice night. Though disappointment lingered in your breast that you were a different story, you found it in your heart to be happy.

But it only lasted for a moment. Next thing you knew, Luna’s gaze was moving, and she gasped at something behind you. There was only barely time to turn and face Minhyuk before his arms were caging you in, between him and the bar. Instantly, your senses confirmed that his shots had, indeed, been Tequila. The scent rolled off of him like a tidal wave, and your nose scrunched up. Ew. Did he know how wasted he was?

“A--are--ya m’daughter?” Every now and then, he’d interrupt himself with a hiccup. “B’cause I wanna be your daddy t’night.”

“No, thank you, now p--please get off of me.” You shoved him away by the chest, a little more forcefully than you intended, but oh well. His terrible line was like a punch straight to the chest. Daddy--the nickname definitely did not mean the same thing to you as what he was implying. Instead, it recalled fond, loving memories of your biological father. To call someone else daddy would be a stretch, and you couldn’t imagine yourself doing it. The hurt that coursed through you made you choke up. How was he so insensitive and come after you like this? Not that he hadn’t used dirty icebreakers before, but with “daddy”, he had crossed the line, and knew it.

If that wasn’t enough, he recovered quickly and came for you again. His lips drifted closer to your face, smirk taking up every inch of your vision. “Aw, c’mon. I love e’rrry bone in your body, but it would be better if I could put one’a mine in ya too--”

“Stop,” you pleaded, and shrunk back into yourself, tears pricking at your eyes. “I said no, please, let me go.”

“Lee Minhyuk,” Came a low, warning voice from behind the counter: Wonho.

And then fingers curled tightly around your arm. It was Luna, and she stood up to push Minhyuk away, as well. “What the fuck, dude?” He might have broken into flames because of her angry stare. “Come on, (Y/N), let’s go.”

“But--the tab--and Hos--”

“It's taken care of.” Taking a quick glance back toward the counter, you realized she was telling the truth. There was more than enough in won bills, and a little slip with a phone number on it: hers. Hoseok was already separating his tip and the small white paper from the payment.

It all happened so fast that your mind was reeling. You were sure that you’d have fingerprint-shaped bruises on your arm tomorrow morning. Luna had a vice grip on you as she dragged you away, towards the front entrance. Every nerve in your body was waiting for Minhyuk to grab onto you again, but he didn’t. Daring to look one last time, you were able to spot him through the crowd, struggling to move out of a bear hug. Wonho must have hopped the counter, and was trying to hold his rowdy customer back. “That shirt is sooo b’coming on ya! Take it off, an’ I’ll b’coming too--”

Not for the first time, and certainly not for the last time, fuck you, Lee Minhyuk flashed through your head.

The next night, in the same place.

“I did--what?”

“Spewed three bad, dirty lines in a row, the first of which visibly upset her, and you were too drunk to notice.”

Lee Minhyuk’s head hit the wood countertop with a hard thunk, and a low, incredulous groan left his lips.

“You ok, buddy?”

“No...just gave myself a headache. But ugh, I screwed up really bad this time, huh?”

“Uh, yeah. If she comes back next week, she'll officially be a trooper in my eyes.” Wonho sighed, his eyebrows peaking. Minhyuk almost hated him in that moment. Doubtless, something like at least I got her cute friend’s number was running through his head. “But you know that you tend to use those ridiculous starter lines when you’re drunk, anyway?”

“I had to try something different! I thought maybe that stupid curse Kihyun put on me would void if I didn’t know what I was saying.” Minhyuk whined. He rubbed the red spot as he pulled his forehead up.

“That’s what you get for messing with an angry little wizard.”

“He would have your ass on a platter if he knew you said that out loud.”

“But he isn’t here, so if you never tell him, he won’t find out.” The smirk on Wonho’s face said everything.

Minhyuk couldn’t find the will or strength for a retort. Completely and utterly defeated, he sighed and drained a nearby glass of water. No drinks tonight. He wasn't rich enough for that, anyway. Crossing his arms on the bar, he laid his head on them. What rotten luck. He was sick of it following him around, and wanted to be over and done. Five months was far too long to be spouting bad pick-up lines, especially to you. Now, he was afraid he had lost you completely, with the idiotic stunt he had (apparently) pulled.

He hadn’t asked for this. He, too, actually really enjoyed your company. After those first two chats you shared at this very spot, he had wanted to get to know you better and ask you out. He had even stopped entertaining others’ flirting when he realized his crush. However now, some stupid bit of magic had ruined everything. Minhyuk would probably never, ever be able to say anything to your face again. Maybe even look at you.

And it was all, as mentioned before, because of an “angry little wizard”--Kihyun. Yoo Kihyun, to be more specific. Minhyuk had been close with him since a young age. Together, they were part of a bunch of boys that hung out all the time. This also included Hoseok (aka Wonho), a dimpled, energetic kid named Lee Jooheon, and his opposite but compliment, a more easygoing but very random and spontaneous boy named Im Changkyun. Everyone knew that Kihyun was more than a bit irritable, and his temper flared easily. Almost as well known was that Minhyuk was one to constantly push the spitfire to his limit. Five months ago, there was a night where Kihyun must have decided he had enough. “Fucking--I swear, when you see the love of your life, you won’t be able to do anything but tell them terrible pick-up lines. And it’ll hurt so, so bad.” Then he had raised his hand and snapped right in Minhyuk’s face. The taller boy blinked in confusion at the strange gesture.

Both, at that time, had failed to realize some key things about each other. For Kihyun, it was that Minhyuk had already met the love of his life, in you; and in Minhyuk's case, it was that his friend was an actual wizard. Apparently others in their group knew, including Hoseok-hyung. A twinge of jealousy pinched Minhyuk in the heart at that thought.

In any case, Minhyuk had quickly found out that the curse was legitimate. When he went back to the bar that Friday, expecting to have a nice chat, it didn't go as planned. He went up to you, opened his mouth--and something else than what he wanted to say fell out. Something about you being chocolate, because of your sweetness. What a cringe; that was certainly one for the ages. After that, he found himself unable to stop, following it up with one about trash. Horrified didn’t seem like a strong enough word to describe his feelings in that moment. In return, he had gotten a (much deserved) slap.

It took a couple of weeks, but he came to realize that this was serious. He couldn't seem to say anything that wasn't dirty or cringey when looking you in the face. With every week that passed, he got more and more frustrated. What was worse, though, was that Kihyun refused to tell him how to end the curse. Minhyuk apologized, of course, but still the wizard didn’t let his secret go. Hell, Minhyuk had even promised not to antagonize him ever again, at least five separate times. 

He voiced this to Hoseok, whining to his bartender friend, "What if this turns out like it did with Son Hyunwoo? He's been stuck in the bear charm for forever now." It had been five years since that whole shenanigan had gone down. Though apparently Kihyun still kept tabs on him, the wizard’s friends felt concerned about the whole thing. What if he never found love or changed his heart, the two things the wizard had said would break the spell?

Nowadays, Minhyuk worried about more than just himself. He had never felt anything so strong toward anyone than what he felt with you. However, apathy for him grew in your heart; he saw it in your beautiful eyes. Your brain filed him away as a nuisance more and more, and that was the scariest thing. Minhyuk felt hopeless, except for the fact that he knew, there was only one thing he could do. That was, to keep trying. Even if it killed him, he wanted you and only you by his side. Curse or no curse, winning you over was his first priority. 

He needed all the faith and strength he could muster. If he didn’t lose any, he’d push through.

At least he hoped.

One week after everything, you were still pretty shaken up from having drunk Minhyuk in your face. Yet, when Luna asked if you could handle going to the same watering hole the next Friday, you accepted. Minhyuk was probably just a particularly big jerk that night, and wasn’t actually trying to hurt you. What he said still stung, though. A voice in your head whispered that he wouldn’t be sorry, so avoid him at all cost; but the optimist inside also insisted that there was hope. He was acting odd...there must be something going on that you didn't understand.

So you decided that you’d attempt to strike a balance between the two. 

“Luna,” you said quietly as the two of you strolled in, “If Minhyuk comes over to chat tonight, please ignore him. I’m not going to say a word until he apologizes. If he tries to get physical again, I’ll shove him away and we’ll book it...ok?”

“You got it.” Your best friend smiled, seeming pretty proud. “Good plan.”

Tonight, you stopped at your little circle of friends before anything else. Even as you stood there and chatted, the familiar under-the-microscope feeling was creeping up. Finally, you and Luna turned and approached the bar. You expected his dark eyes to be firmly fixed on your figure, but much to your surprise, that wasn't it. In fact, it was clear Minhyuk wasn’t staring. His gaze kept flitting everywhere: toward you and away, at Wonho (when the tender would come to chat quietly for a brief moment), and then to the untouched drink in front of him. He seemed scatterbrained and affected. Where was the vivacious, lively Minhyuk that you had come to know at first?

Once Wonho caught sight of Luna, his wide white smile overtook his entire face. You would probably bet that by the end of the night, they’d be calling each other baby. For now, however, the greeting was just an enthusiastic, “Heeey! What’s up?”. Both you and your best friend ordered the usual. Also as usual, you sat by and third wheeled the resulting conversation. It was basically a repeat of last week, except this time you barely even thought of Minhyuk.

That was, until there was the squeak of a barstool: the sound of him getting up. Then a tap tap of rubber soles on the floor until you knew he was right at your back. Though you felt him tremble, and sensed that he wanted to touch you, he didn’t, thankfully. He cleared his throat, and then, slowly began: “Did the sun come out, or did you just smile at me?”

At least tonight, he was being tactful and decent. Still, you ignored him, chipping in on Luna’s discussion about classes at college.

Minhyuk let out a frustrated breath. It sounded like he had been holding it for a while. “I swear you’re wifi, because you and I, we have a connection...” he trailed off, probably waiting for a reaction. Well, he wasn’t going to get one. God willing, he would keep getting this cold shoulder until you heard a proper apology. What was going through his head? Minhyuk wasn’t dumb; he was fully aware of the effects his stupid attempts at picking you up had. Why didn’t he just say sorry? He had to know that you would accept it if he did. 

After a few more lines that flew without success, he finally seemed to get the point. By that time, he sounded very defeated. Sighing, he turned away, and made his way back to his stool. As he sat, you thought you heard him say, under his breath, “Fucking curse. Can’t even say my favorite.”

This strange game went on for three more weeks afterwards. Like clockwork, you and your best friend would show up together. Once a conversation started with Wonho (who now unashamedly called Luna ‘dear’, no matter the time or place, and took her on late-night dates after his shifts), Minhyuk would stand, approach and speak a few bad one-liners (he always backed off on the dirtier ones), and retreat again. It was hard to stay mad at him when he looked like a whipped puppy. You were glad that he never noticed you stealing glances. Most of the time, you wanted to turn and wrap him in a hug. The only things holding you back were the scary memory of his arms trapping you, as well as the single, misplaced daddy line. Besides, ten or eleven of those terrible, meme-worthy compliments was enough on any given Friday. The tension was unbearable; something needed to happen. You weren’t sure what, though, that was the thing.

It was on the fourth Friday after you began the silent treatment that everything exploded. Strangely, it wasn't from either you or him, though. That night was slightly different; you and Luna ordered your drinks from Wonho as normal, but immediately left afterwards to go chat with your gal pals instead. They were a good group, and you oftentimes regretted not spending as much time with them as you did with Luna.

Not five minutes into the conversation, some of the girls’ stares into the space behind you clued you in to a familiar presence. No doubt flickered in your head that Minhyuk was there. The suspicion was only confirmed when he finally spoke, softer than usual. So soft, in fact, that you barely caught it over the thump of the bass. “Isn’t your name (Y/N), or can I call you mine?”

It would have been fine. All fine. 

That was, if Luna hadn't butted in. It only took a single moment for her composure to snap, in front of the girls huddled around the table. In a moment, her face filled with rage, lips trembling. Irate yelling filled the establishment. “Lee Minhyuk! You should be ashamed of yourself, pestering (Y/N)...she doesn’t even like any of your pick-up lines. Hell, you even offended her that night--you know, the one where you got too drunk to remember what the fuck you even said? And of course, you don’t have the heart to apologize. Piss off! Leave her alone! Why do you even do this anyway?”

Though you hadn’t turned to face him yet, you could practically see his eyes widen. No doubt, they were threatening to engulf saucers, and flickering back and forth between you and your best friend. He was being stared down by ten or so girls, all of whom you were sure would knock him flat with a single swing. Later, Luna would tell you that his eyebrows knit together tightly, lips pressed flat and thin. Finally, in frustration, he exclaimed, “Because I love her, ok? It’s crazy, I know, but...”

At that moment, you experienced that fabled feeling of the world slowing down just for you. A confession? Now? It wasn’t entirely unexpected, but also a little bit of a shock. Also, you realized that it was the first thing you had heard out of his mouth other than icebreakers in months.

As you took the second to think about it, you realized you felt the same way about him. Even before you had a chance to process everything, your body acted on instinct. Turning, you came to him, gazing up into his eyes, laying one hand lightly on his hip, the other on his shoulder. “Well, why didn’t you just say that in the first place, silly boy?”

“Ah, because, baby, you make me stutter. Wi--wi--will you come home with me tonight?”

You rolled your eyes and groaned; yet, your palm slid up his neck to pull him down for a brief, slow kiss. “You can stop with those now, seriously,” were the first words out of your mouth afterwards. “They’re terrible. And besides, I’ve heard enough.”

“Gladly,” he replied. The excited smile that grew on his face was the most beautiful thing you had ever seen.

Later that night, tangled together with him in bedsheets, you hummed happily. Minhyuk’s eyes blinked, near to sleep as you rubbed his chest in small circles. You had always loved the early hours of the morning, finding them calm and peaceful, before the new, busy day arrived. You had never experienced them while feeling blissed out and in love, though. It brought you a whole new perspective. There was nothing you wanted more than to spend forever here, in this warm pair or arms.

He had explained everything to you, so there was no more need for words. Apparently, one of his friends was a wizard, and had cursed him to only say ridiculous conversation openers to the love of his life. Minhyuk gave you the option to not believe him, but you did. It certainly explained how weird he had been acting for the last few months. 

However, there was one loose end, and something you wanted to ask him. A question had been pricking at the back of your brain for quite a while now, and you wanted to get it out before you forgot. (Well, not like you’d just let this whole shenanigan rest, but you wanted to hear his answer.)

“Minhyuk, baby?”

“Mmhmm?” He ran his fingers through your hair.

“One time...I heard something about how the curse wouldn’t let you 'say your favorite'. Though I’ve had quite enough of your icebreakers for a long time to come, ah--I was wondering what it was?”

If all you had to listen to for the rest of your life was his laugh, you would be happy. “Sure, I’ll tell. But, you gotta promise to not make fun of me.”

“I can’t guarantee that,” you giggled, leaning into him. “But that's part of my love, you know. Just spit it out already.”

“Ah, fine, okay.” Minhyuk wet his lips before slowly continuing, “I’ll make sure your shoes are always tied, (Y/N). Because I don’t want you falling for anyone else.” Your heart fluttered as he whispered the last few words and leaned over to kiss you sweetly.

Sometimes, good things begin with a terrible pick-up line.

[scenes-in-between]

Je Souhaite

“Well, even if it is her, Mulder, what would she be doing with Mussolini?” “Or Richard Nixon, for that matter. I don’t know. Except that they’re both men who got all the power they ever wished for and then lost it.”

Scully sighs. Why can’t this just, for once, be a scientific discovery unadulterated by the paranormal? Is that really asking so much?

“Look, as far as this woman is concerned, we haven’t got anything to go on that isn’t based on speculation or conjecture. But in the other room, I have honest-to-God physical proof of something extraordinary. Something completely unprecedented. So can we just… Is it so terrible that I’d like to enjoy this rare victory, on its own merits, without having to drag something supernatural and unverifiable into it?”

“Hey, I’m not trying to rain on your parade here, I promise,” he says, holding up his hands. “I just think that the explanation for Anson Stokes’s condition is going to turn out to be a little less quantifiable than you’re hoping for.”

The thing is, she doesn’t even care about explaining it, yet. It could take weeks or months of study, and she wouldn’t mind at all. This afternoon has been amazing. She can't remember the last time she had this much fun on a case.

“Can I ask a favor, Mulder?”

He sits back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest. “Shoot.”

“Is it possible that I could just have this for one night? No alien explanations, or answers derived from folk tales. No witch doctors or voodoo curses, no theories about non-corporeal entities or other spectral phenomena. In fact, until the Harvard medical team has had a chance to weigh in on things tomorrow morning, can we just agree to not try to solve the mystery of the invisible man at all? Please?”

“Damn, Scully, you know I love it when you talk dirty,” he says, before shaking his head and chuckling. “All right. We can table it for tonight.”

“Thank you.”

***

The thing of it is, he's certain that this “mystery woman” is some sort of jinniyah. There is no doubt in his mind that she is the one responsible for Jay Gilmore's mouth, as well as Anson Stokes’s yacht and subsequent invisibility. He is equally sure, however, that there is no reason he can't accommodate Scully’s request and let it go for tonight. He hasn’t seen her this excited about a case since… he can’t even remember when. So he decides there’s absolutely no harm in letting her enjoy the moment while she can.

It turns out to be a good decision.

Despite the growing frequency with which they have found themselves spending the night together in their off-hours, they have continued to maintain separate rooms on assignment. Scully tends to need more sleep than he does, and Mulder’s preference is still to stay up late studying case files and going over his notes. He is therefore surprised by the knock on his door a little before midnight.

She’s standing outside his room with a sheepish grin and a bottle of wine. “I’m too excited to sleep.”

She’s utterly adorable, and he can’t help grinning. “Agent Scully, is this a booty call?”

“No! I just… I thought maybe a glass of wine might help me sleep, and I thought maybe you’d want one too, and--”

“I’m kidding,” he says, chuckling. “Come on in.”

For half a second, he almost feels bad for her. She’s going to be so disappointed when this all turns out to have a very unscientific explanation. But, he figures, that disappointment is going to come regardless, and besides, she’s not going to listen to anything he might say to try and convince her of the truth right now. Better to leave it alone like he said he would. Let her enjoy the moment while it lasts.

She sets the bottle down on the dresser and pulls a corkscrew out of the pocket of the suit jacket she’s already draped over a chair. He goes to fetch plastic cups from the bathroom, coming back to find her bent over with the bottle between her knees, the patented “Dana Scully wine-opening method” in full effect. (He will never not find that both incredibly endearing and a little bit hilarious.) The cork pops out and, triumphant, she holds the bottle out toward him, then fills the cups when he brings them closer.

Once they’re sitting beside each other on the end of the bed, Mulder taps his drink against hers, the thud of plastic against plastic far less satisfying than the clink of glass on glass, but it’ll have to do. “Cheers.”

“Cheers,” she says in return, excited energy still radiating off her. He can tell she'd rather be up, pacing, by the way her foot twitches while she takes a sip of her wine.

“You know,” he says casually, “if you’ve got energy to burn, I might have a suggestion.”

She smiles, knowingly and a bit ruefully. “Mulder, it’s nearly midnight, and we’re on assignment. And anyway, I told you I didn’t come over here for that.”

“Ah,” he says, holding up a finger. “While I certainly wouldn’t turn you down if you were to change your mind, that’s not what I was going to suggest.”

“I didn’t bring gym clothes on this trip, either.”

He chuckles into his drink. “Also not it.”

A little crinkle appears between her eyebrows as she tries to puzzle it out. “Well? What, then?”

He lets the moment hang just a bit, deliberately taking a long swallow of wine while taking in the full picture of her. He is almost positive she’s not wearing a bra under that t-shirt, and her hair is still slightly damp from the shower she must have taken a while ago. The smudges of yellow powder on her face have long since been washed away, but even if they hadn’t been, she would still be the most beautiful woman he’s ever seen.

His mind helpfully leaps ahead, supplying image after image of Scully taking him up on the suggestion he hasn’t even uttered yet, head thrown back against the pillow, eyes squeezed shut, bottom lip caught between her teeth. To say he finds the idea appealing would be the understatement of the year.

“Look, Scully, the fraternization rule, by definition, doesn’t apply if you’re by yourself.”

The crinkle becomes a full-blown furrow. “I don’t follow.”

“I’m saying… there’s nothing in the FBI code of conduct that prevents you from, you know, burning off a little excess energy on your own. In your own room. Which is, I might point out, one very thin wall away from my room.” Understanding dawns in her eyes, and before she can open her mouth to protest, he continues. “I’m not trying to kick you out of here or anything. I’m just saying, you seem to think that it’s important to play by the rules, but that doesn’t mean you have to deprive yourself of one of the best sleep aids biology has to offer.”

“Mulder, if I were that concerned about the rules, I wouldn’t be in here drinking wine with you. It’s just that it’s late, and… well, sometimes that’s not as effective a sleep aid for me as it is for you.”

It’s hard to imagine that being the case, even though she has mentioned it before. Seems grossly unfair.

“But it's not that it never works, right? I mean, it might help.”

She gives a non-committal hum as she takes another sip.

“Just think about it,” he continues, adding silently, because I sure am, and it's hot as hell. “Could be fun.”

He’s lost count of how many cheap motels with paper-thin walls they’ve stayed in over the years. He has heard just about every noise imaginable coming from other rooms, and yet there’s still some primitive, lizard-brain part of his mind that lights up in neon at the thought of hearing her through the walls.

“I don’t know. Mostly I’d just like to finish my drink and try to relax.”

He already has a definite plan in mind for his own eventual relaxation tonight -- now that his mind has started down this path, the end result is all but inevitable -- but he gives up on trying to convince her to do the same.

“All right, well then I have another idea.” Downing the rest of his wine, he sets the cup aside and angles his body toward her. He motions for her to turn as well, so she’ll be in front of him, facing away. “C’mon, I’ll rub your shoulders.”

She blinks at him. “Really?”

“Of course. A little red wine, a little shoulder massage, you’ll be nodding off right here before you know it.”

“Well, thanks. That sounds… that sounds amazing, actually.”

She turns, offering him her back, and he sets to work, fingers kneading muscles still tense with excited anticipation. (He was right about the lack of bra, he’s pleased to note.) She sighs, leaning into the contact, and when he finds a particularly tender spot at the edge of her shoulder blade, she lets out a noise that sounds downright sexual. It sends a jolt directly to his groin, and what was already a gentle stirring evolves rapidly into something far more insistent. He presses both thumbs into her shoulder and is rewarded with an encore. His eyes fall closed, and his imagination immediately conjures up alternate imagery to go with the sounds she’s making.

“God, Mulder, that feels so good.”

He has to bite back a whimper.

Redoubling his efforts, he moves his hands from her shoulders to her lower back, knuckling the muscles there until she’s almost writhing. His fingertips knead alongside her spine, back up to the base of her neck and the back of her head, and his breath hitches when she lets out a low moan. He’s honestly not trying to turn her on -- he’s more than turned on enough for both of them -- but if that happens to be a side effect of his ministrations, he certainly won’t complain.

“You like that?” he can’t help asking, even though it comes out sounding far breathier than he intended.

She doesn’t seem to notice. “Mmm, yeah. I should ask you to do this for me more often.”

He wants to tell her where he would rather be using his fingers on her, but he curbs the impulse, letting himself get lost again instead in the exploration of her back muscles and in her corresponding vocal accompaniment. It is maybe the most unintentionally erotic thing he’s ever done.

“Oh, damn,” she says, and he opens his eyes, his hands hovering above her shoulders. “It’s 12:30. I really ought to go. Thank you, though. That was… I needed that, thanks.”

Without another word, she stands up, finishing the last of her wine and tossing the cup in the garbage can. He’s a little chagrined at the suddenness of it, but he’s also desperate to relieve the tension between his legs.

“You’ll forgive me if I don’t get up and see you to the door?” Her gaze drops to his lap, where the effect of his wandering mind is unavoidably evident. She raises an eyebrow, and he shrugs. “I shouldn’t think it would be a surprise anymore that you have this effect on me.”

“That’s all me, huh?” There’s a glint in her eye he’s having trouble interpreting as anything other than arousal. “And when I go back to my room, you’re going to…?”

He nods slowly, holding her gaze. “One hundred percent yes, on both counts.”

A nearly-imperceptible shiver runs through her. “Right. Well, um, I guess I’ll leave you to it. Good night, Mulder.”

“Good night, Scully. I hope you’re able to get to sleep.”

“Yeah, thanks. Me too.”

Once the door closes behind her, he heaves a deep sigh, then gets up to go brush his teeth, unable to keep from palming himself through his pajama pants, just a little. He’s just come out of the bathroom and settled back into bed, and he’s reaching over to switch off the light when he hears a muffled moan coming from the other side of the wall. He pauses, listening, hoping. When he hears another one, Mulder grins.

It doesn’t take long before he’s sending answering sounds of his own through the wall right back at her.

***

“So, what was your final wish, anyway?”

When he doesn’t answer, she nudges him with her shoulder. “What, you’re gonna make me guess?”

“Shh, the movie’s starting.”

“Mulder…”

“It’s not important. And besides, I thought you didn’t believe in any of it, anyway.”

She sighs, rolling her beer bottle between her hands. “I don’t know what to believe. That she could have actually had the power to do the things you claim -- or been as old as she said she was -- it’s just hard to swallow. But I know that you believe it, and I suppose it would explain everything that happened, even if it also seems completely crazy.”

He gives her a sidelong look that comes off as both amused and a little surprised, and she shrugs, looking away and taking another drink.

“So what changed your mind? This morning you said it had to be mesmerism or something.”

“Yeah, well, that doesn’t make a whole lot of sense, either,” she mutters, still not meeting his eyes. “I mean, it wouldn’t explain what we saw before we even left Washington, with Mr. Gilmore, or what we experienced outside the presence of that woman. Your theory, despite sounding like pure fiction, would account for, well, all of it. Everything we saw… or didn’t see…”

He laughs, but not unkindly. “I’m sorry you didn’t get your chance for scientific fame and glory as the discoverer of the world’s first verifiably invisible man.”

“Ugh, don’t remind me,” she groans. The sting of embarrassing herself like that in front of the Harvard doctors won’t likely go away for a long time.

“Sorry,” he says again, still chuckling. “If it’s any consolation, I certainly know how you feel.”

Now she’s laughing, too. “Yeah, I guess you probably do.”

For a while, they lapse back into comfortable quiet, watching the movie. She still wonders, though. If he decided not to try for a hyper-specific, all-encompassing wish that would end human suffering and transform the world into some sort of Utopian dream, then what did he ask for? What small, Mulder-specific desire would he choose to fulfill, knowing full well the dangers of having that desire misinterpreted?

“A winning season for the Knicks?” she guesses, positive she’s wrong but wanting to revive the conversation anyway.

“Huh?” He looks momentarily confused, then scoffs. “Come on, where would be the fun in that? Sort of takes the excitement away if you already know the outcome, doesn’t it?”

“Not necessarily. But okay, what about, um… a nice, quiet weekend, with no monsters to chase or conspiracies to unravel?”

“And have it turn out that the reason my weekend’s so quiet is that I’m laid up in the hospital or something? No thanks.” He turns to look at her. “Besides, you make it sound like we never have a weekend off.”

“Guess it just feels like that, sometimes.” She shrugs. “I don’t know, I’m stumped.”

“You really wanna know?” She nods, and he sighs, looking back at the TV. “If people’s wishes always backfire, or end up causing collateral damage, then wouldn’t everyone be better off if there were no jinnis in the first place?”

She raises her eyebrows. “So you mean, like the ending of Aladdin?”

He frowns. “It’s been a really long time since I read One Thousand and One Nights, and I haven’t seen a Disney movie since Robin Hood, so you’re going to have to elaborate a little.”

“It used to be one of my nephew’s favorites. At the end of the movie, Aladdin uses his third wish to set Genie free. Genie’s bracelets fall off, and he’s no longer bound to the lamp. He doesn’t have to grant wishes for anyone, anymore.”

Mulder touches the end of his nose with one forefinger and winks. Scully nods, smiling.

“And it worked?”

“Far as I can tell. The little jewel by her eye disappeared, and I had to escort her out of the office, since she couldn’t just magic herself away again.”

“Well, in that case, I’d say you probably did make the world a happier place, at least in some small way. Sort of pre-emptively, maybe.”

His mouth quirks into a half-smile. “Yeah?”

She nods again, snuggling a little into his side and turning her attention back to the movie. “Yeah.”

***

I suppose, in the end, it all makes a twisted sort of sense. Be careful what you wish for and all that. Still, it’s too bad, isn’t it? Too bad you can’t just wish away all the world’s ills. Or even, for that matter, ills far smaller and more personal.

I don’t know if it’s just that this particular jinni had a penchant for screwing with people or if it was just a function of the magic, but I thought I had it figured out. Altruism trumps self-indulgence. Seemed straightforward. Of course, that took my initial ideas off the table right away. I’m sorry for that, Dana. I would gladly have wished away whatever is wrong with my brain, wished for you to have a chance at motherhood. But I couldn’t risk either of those things falling victim to the jinni’s “creative interpretations.”

I don’t even want to think about what might have happened if I’d asked for peace on Earth last instead of first.

Next week I go in for another set of scans to see if Dr. Jones’s treatment is helping. It’s hard to know what to expect. I don’t feel any different, but I wasn’t exactly feeling bad before, so… I just don’t know. Just going to keep my fingers crossed and hope for the best.

(Screencaps once again courtesy of The X-Files Screen Grab Archive)

[blakenieves]

my father’s daughter||self para

Darren Nichols was not an overly emotional man, normally. Not prone to crying, certainly. In fact, he was generally level-headed, reading all situations with the same level of quiet interest before reacting to anything. He’d already mentally prepared himself for the knowledge that, even though he had no idea where he was going--surely, they kept the location a secret for security purposes, though what danger a group of people with extraordinary abilities could get into, he couldn’t quite guess--it would be unlike any place he’d ever seen. Probably look normal, sure, with green grass and blue skies or whatever, but with people who made his little girl look downright normal.

He was right, too, at least on that first front. The doors opened and it was a meadow. Plain, simple, just like they had at home. Hot, but not unusually so for August. Same as he’d expect anywhere. The crowd all looked like normal kids, too, in various ages from teenagers to people close to his own age, if he had to guess. The only unexpected part was that, when his eyes found his little Blake, his girl, in the crowd, tears did well up, unexpected and not entirely wanted.

Wiping them away, he began to disembark, only to find himself very suddenly on the ground, instead of up on the plane. Blake grinned at him, clearly proud of herself, and he had to take another moment to compose himself. “Hi Daddy,” she said, holding herself still a foot or so away, watching him with a cautious expression he did not recognize.

“Well, damn, Blake, give a man warning next time,” he said, words coming out choked. He stepped toward her, arms out, and she fell into them, squeezing him hard, like the way she did after he picked her up from her first sleepover party, only she was a lot bigger now. “So that’s what you been learning here?”

“Yes sir,” she affirmed, voice muffled by his shoulder, which she’d buried herself in. “Pretty good, huh?”

Darren pulled his body out from her vice-like grasp, holding her at arms’ length so he could look her over. Four years was a long time. She’d grown--not taller, but her face was different. More like her mother, he had to figure. Beautiful, for sure. “Amazing, I gotta say. And you! You’re a full-grown woman now. When did that happen?”

Blake chuckled, ducking her head away from the praise. “Probably the second y’all stopped being around to call me a baby girl.” Eyes meeting his again, she sucked her lip in between her teeth--her tell that there was something she wasn’t saying. Didn’t take no special powers for Darren to see that. “There’s some people you oughta see, but if you wanna go to the carnival, we can meet ‘em there.”

The elephant in the room. He knew his feelings toward them were a little unfair, but how else was he supposed to feel? Wasn’t like anyone prepared him for that. “Carnival first. Been years since I could buy my little girl funnel cake. Can you snap us there or do we gotta travel the old fashioned way?” Blake rolled her eyes, slipping her hand into his and leading him away from the crowd and toward some music, and he was struck, for the third time in just a few minutes, by a sudden tide of bittersweet sense. This was how things should have been, how they were before she left him. If her mom had come, it’d be perfect, but damn if he wasn’t going to try to enjoy it as best he could anyway.