#turns out in certain parts of PA you will get a free drink if you kill the bottle

[resolvebound]

His Cabin. Part 2 (Part 1 here)

(see, very rough floorplan)

Set among some sturdy trees to protect from harsh storms, yet not too close as to never see or feel the sun’s warmth, the cabin could be classed as rather picturesque. Featuring a steeply pitched roof to prevent snow from settling too thickly, and a covered porch to offer protection from the elements, it seems an inviting place (in Gray’s opinion at least). On finer days, the outside furniture of two chairs and a table often sees use in the morning or evening, when Gray enjoys the peace of a meal or drink outside.

Within the cabin, the free-standing fireplace draws the eye as soon as you walk in. Its old but well maintained and looked after, boasting polished surfaces that speak to the recent revival of its life. In the colder times, the fireplace heats the living room/lounge and kitchen very well, reaching even into the bedroom and studio on the right side, if their doors are left open.

The wooden floors have been replaced over the years, with care taken to replace the ruined planks with the same type of wood, so that the repair still fits with the tone of the original. The floors are smooth and dark, a rich and warm shade, the same as the logs and beams used for the walls and structures, making the main descriptor of the interior “cosy.” Adding to that, a couple of large rugs lie in the living room, with another in the bedroom, aiming to lessen the chill that can come to the floorboards during certain times of the year.

In the left corner of the main area, the couch sits invitingly with a worn, yet very comfortable armchair beside it. They hold a few squashy cushions and a soft blanket and wait beneath the natural light provided by the nearby windows, or in the evenings, rest with the glow from the fireplace or lamp nearby. Beneath one of the windows, a large woven basket, plump with a patterned pillow, is ready to accept the sleepy company of one of Gray’s dogs (yet when Gray is not around, the dogs tend to make their bed on the couch instead).

Extending from the living room, the kitchen looks to the back of the property. On the small side, but perfectly functional, the kitchen is kept simple and well stocked. The pots, pans, and various dishes are held by a robust shelf, and their size perhaps reveals the fact that he doesn’t know the meaning of cooking small portions. While standing in the kitchen, it’s easy to stare out the windows and get lost in thought (dangerous to do if you’re cooking). The view of the woods is typically rather peaceful, as long as seeing dark shapes moving at night isn’t off-putting to you.

The kitchen also holds the back door of the cabin, which leads onto another covered porch. Unlike the front, this one tends to be where additional firewood is kept, waiting to be carried inside and used, as the weather has a gentler touch on this side of the small building. A modest little utility room is kept to the side of the porch, a place where laundry is done and muddied boots and tools live. The small sink in this room occasionally makes a rather unnerving gurgling noise, and the pipes seem to creak threateningly, the sounds carry through the wall shared with Gray’s bedroom and sometimes wake him during the night.

Quite purposefully, his bed takes up most of the limited space in the bedroom. He tends to sprawl out in his sleep (not to mention the tossing and turning he’s prone to), and in his opinion, a bed should be the biggest thing in a bedroom and there needn’t be much else there. The bed in question is extremely comfortable, with a newly built wooden frame and quality mattress, and he has a feather/down quilt that always holds the perfect temperature. The bed is hardly ever made, the blankets always rumpled and inviting. Aside from the bed, the room also holds a solid chest of drawers and a bedside table. Set into the wall, an inbuilt closet with folding doors contains additional space for clothes and other items needing storage. A lovely painting of a forest scene adorns the wall on the space between the door and the closet, so that he can look at it from his bed and admire the style in the times where sleep is trying to elude him.

On some nights, the slow and steady drip coming from the bathroom next to him is somehow relaxing, yet on others, it’s irritating. The drip is often fixed and often returns, perhaps the old style clawfoot bathtub it falls into would be too lonely without it. The small room contains the usual amenities (albeit rather cramped), all somewhat recently installed and keeping in style with the rest of the cabin. Above the sink, the mirror is the only item not yet updated, the one thing that has observed and remained since perhaps the beginning. It’s rather small and speckled with age, roughly edged with the darkness of deterioration. He’ll get around to replacing it, one day, he says.

Lining one of the walls outside of the bathroom, and in several other places, bookshelves fit neatly into place. Some of them are rather bare, only holding the odd book or thing, but others are full of books, objects, and one or two small wooden chests. A few picture frames scatter themselves throughout the shelves, adding a little life and colour with their artwork. In the safety of his own space, he supposed he could admit to being a collector of mementos and other things that caught his eye.

In a similar vein, there was a safe place where he could also admit and practise his artistic hobbies. The studio, as he thought of it as, was the first room on the right and captured lovely natural light for a decent amount of the day. A desk in the corner of the room held the light from the windows and offered a steady surface for smaller works, where the square table allowed for projects that were a little bigger in scale. The organised chaos of the room might have seemed a tad overwhelming to some, but he knew his system well. Surplus supplies or those that he used less frequently were stored in the closet, along with a few finished works of his. The room might have been where art was created, but it was not the room it would be displayed in, (unless half-finished projects were what was desired) as there was no such room in his cabin for that, he never cared for his end results, just the process of creating them.

Creativity and perseverance, two parts of his very foundation, helped him rebuild the cabin into what it has become, his home. To look at it, inside and out, gives the knowledge that everything has been done with great care. It is a quiet, comfortable, restful place, with unique aspects and intriguing insights within, if one cares to observe them.

[nickgerlich]

Start Me Up

One of the most powerful forces in the world is music. It is something that shapes our lives, to the extent that Daniel Levitin wrote of it in 2006 in “This Is Your Brain On Music.” In it he explained how the music of our pubescent youth—you read that right—becomes the music that defines the rest of our years. It is my music, and when I hear those tunes from the magical music years of my life, I am instantly swept away to a different place.

It explains why restaurants and stores use music as part of their atmospherics. I swear that the Walmart near me plays music over the PA that best matches the demographics of those people likely to be shopping in certain time slots. I tend to visit there around 3pm most days, and I hear an upbeat blend of classic rock, from the Beatles to CCR. It gets people humming and singing along. And—here’s the best part—in the mood to spend.

Movies and TV shows are also guilty of licensing songs, the hooks that sink deeply into viewers and help them relate better to what is on the screen. Of course, it’s all about your target audience, because you probably don’t want to be spinning G-Eazy when your aging Boomer target craves some Journey.

And then there is the music that somehow manages to transcend time. The Rolling Stones are one of only a handful of artists whose music is still just as hot today as it was—wait for it—61 years ago. They have a lot in common with successful marketers, giving people exactly what they want.

I laughed out loud when I read of the new partnership between Keurig and the Stones for a limited edition iced coffee kit. The machine is emblazoned with the Stones’ familiar Hot Lips logo. Oh, and what music, you ask?

 “Start Me Up,” of course, their 1981 hit from the Tattoo You album.

But but but…didn’t the Stones also license that song to another marketer many years ago? You would be right if you said “Yes.” Back in 1995, when Microsoft was readying the launch of Windows 95, they licensed the same song. I suppose the Keurig people were thinking that if it could help sell an operating system, surely it could help sell an iced coffee maker.

The Stones were accused of being sell-outs, though. This was long before artists who have recently been selling their entire catalog of music and lyrics to publishing houses to the tune of hundreds of millions of dollars. I guess we’ve just accepted the fact that these artists can do whatever they darn well please. And maybe they really are going to take it with them when they die.

As for the Stones, though, these guys are so old they’re not even Baby Boomers. Both Mick Jagger and Keith Richards will turn 80 this year. Here’s the crazy part: While we have witnessed that the life expectancy of a hard-rocking musician is somewhere between 65 and maybe 72, Mick and Keith are proving that means are just the calculated average of an array of numbers, some big and some small.

These guys are still crushing it, too, and Keurig was wise to partner with the Stones, just in time for Father’s Day. It is marketing gold meets marketing gold, Babe Ruth and Lou Gehrig on the same team. Keurig redefined how we drink coffee at home, in the office, and in hotels. Never mind the inconvenient truth about all that K-Cup trash, it’s just a heck of a lot easier to make your coffee a cup at a time. And the Stones are just so good that, well, I think the Super Bowl better hire them one more time for a halt-time appearance while they still can.

If you’re looking for a gift for the old man, this might just be the ticket. It’s $140. Maybe I should send this blog to my daughters, and if you are a family man, feel free to do likewise. Because you sure don’t want to hear any of us old guys singing about how we can’t get no satisfaction.

Dr “I Try And I Try And I Try” Gerlich

Audio Blog

[veryfictitiousdemons]

File this one under “silly ficlet ideas that’ll never get posted anywhere else”, except this time it’s OCs instead of Persona. And by ficlet, for once I actually mean it. 

Because sometimes right now, I have thoughts other than the Goro Akechi brainrot and shuake attic trash thoughts over on AO3

When Valeba talked about “knowing a place” to rest while she traveled with Mayola and Dontoc through Alternia gaining political allies, Mayola should have expected a place like this. Valeba wasn’t like her and Dontoc. Brownbloods, especially brownbloods unable to escape the Alternian meat grinder through stardom, struggled to gain access to most places midbloods had regular access to, much less high-profile seadwellers like a bastard heiress vying for the throne and former matesprit to the Heiress Apparent. Sure, Mayola preferred seedier places to a degree (they kept their head down about someone like her making her presence known – sure the potential positive attention was nice, but they had a customer base that preferred not seeing seadwellers at every opportunity), but that hardly meant she ended up visiting them much. Especially not anymore, with cameras and reporters paying far more attention than they ever did before she announced her attempt at the throne.

Still, when Valeba took them into the dingiest, dirtiest, emptiest bar possibly anyone could possibly find in some backwater town on the way to Gusthollow, all while promising it’s not that bad, trust me, it took all of Mayola’s little self-restraint to not tackle Valeba straight into the nearest dilapidated stickball table and demand to take her to some place not infested with termites.

Self-restraint, which of course meant Dontoc putting a hand on her shoulder and giving a fuming Mayola that obnoxious please do not fuck your kismesis in public while I’m here look. “I’m her moirail, not your auspistice,” he reminded her gently.

As if Mayola pinning her kismesis onto the table to knock some sense into her meant anything was going to happen past that.

Valeba, seemingly unconcerned, plopped herself down in the creaky barstool closest to the bartender.

“You know the best thing about places like this?” she asked as Mayola sat next to her, shooting daggers the whole time. Dontoc chose not to sit at all, opting instead for standing behind the both of them.

“A guarantee no one listens in on our potential conversations?” he said.

Mayola rolled her eyes. “Donny, who the hell’s gonna fucking eavesdrop on us?”

“Mayola, you are going to try to take down Careen. Do not be so arrogant to think Femrey does not have connections everywhere.”

Valeba shook her head, ponytail rattling between her horns. “Don’t worry. We’re fine here. I know the bartender. Wouldn’t have suggested it while we wait for the 4-wheel device otherwise. You also,” she paused, heralding the bartender over with a wave of her hand, “got it wrong. The best thing about places like this is if you kill the bottle with your shot, it’s a free drink.”

Mayola sneered, “Val, that is the dumbest piece of shit to ever come out of your food chute—”

“—Oh like you’re suddenly some eloquent silver tongue—”

“—Like, maybe I’d geddit if was some kinda thing for a specific bar, but all shitty places like this? Completely—”

“—Maybe if you got drunk at places other than Shipwreck Cove—”

“What’re you having tonight, Huntress?”

The gruff voice of the bartender cut straight through their argument. He’s a rustblood. Old, with horns cracked and jagged at the edges and frayed short hair. He also called Valeba by a title and not a name, which piqued Mayola’s curiosity, but not enough to pry.

Behind her, she’s almost certain she heard Dontoc mutter something about how he never should’ve offered to come and get Icasui stuck between the two of them.

Valeba turned away from Mayola to face the bartender. “Single malt barely alcohol. Whatever’s cheapest. Neat and short, preferably.”

Mayola scowled. “Hey hey, you don’t gotta go cheap I’m right—”

“Mayola, you don’t have to pay for me. We’re in loosely defined, casual kismesis where I also happen to be your lowblood ambassador for this whole fucking trip.” And did Mayola hate every second their kismesis remained casual, but she wasn’t about to go into all her weird blackrom insecurities after the Gliden clusterfuck. “If you started paying now that’d be weird.”

“It ain’t weird to be--!”

She was interrupted by the sound of glass thumping against something hard and plastic. In front of the two of them was a small glass of whiskey. “You culled the bottle, so this one’s on the hive,” the bartender said.

Valeba laughed, that stupid light and airy sound that was so counter to her usual deadpan. “Told you.”

Mayola responded by moving to push Valeba straight out of the chair. But naturally, Valeba was always a step ahead of her and braced herself against the counter, making Mayola’s attempt useless. “Shut the hell up.”

[y0itsbri]

Falling for You

ballet au one-shot for @gallavichthings 's a.u.gust

summary: dance instructor mickey! ian keeps messing up the lifts with the dancers, and mickey cannot have his girls injured because of this himbo, even if he is hot. he makes ian stay after class to practice on him -- and he swears there's no ulterior motives. but they're so close and his hands are all over him and he can feel his breath and it is so unprofessional but fuck it.

words: 2k

Mickey had a new guy in his class that wasn't doing... well... by any standards. Alright, the dude sucked. Mickey had been a ballet instructor for several years and not once has he met a dancer as uncoordinated and unbalanced as Ian fucking Gallagher.

Somehow, Ian had managed to not only rip the ballet barre off of the goddamn wall in his attempt at a grand plie, fallen flat on his face after pas de chat gone wrong, but he also managed to launch his fellow ballerinas onto the floor instead of the air.

He was a disaster.

Mickey had better shit to do with his time at the studio than patch up his dancers, and studio, after Gallagher's classes. Svetlana's father would have his ass if she got injured on his watch. And Ian being the only guy in their class, there was no way for him not to share the front-and-center spotlight with Svetlana.

Yeah, Mickey wasn't letting Ian any-fucking-where near Svet if he could help it. At least in his current state. Dude was a piece of work.

Mickey figured he would be a lot more upset about all this if Ian's apologetic puppy dog eyes weren't so goddamn convincing.

Fucking Gallagher.

--

"Ayo, Mands! Come help me with this!" Mickey called, echoing in the studio, now nearly empty besides the Milkovich siblings and a six-foot-tall ginger man looking both utterly clueless and utterly terrified. Mickey was utterly hopeless.

Mandy popped in the doorframe, sliding her shoes on but leaving them untied.

"Can't! I got actual shit to do! I don't live and breathe the studio like your sorry ass. No offense, Ian, my brother is great, please stay. Full offense, Mickey, get a fucking life!"

Mickey was left speechless and slightly embarrassed by Mandy's outburst and only managed to flip her off before she was out the door.

"Charming sister you got there," Ian let a quiet laugh slip before schooling his expression at Mickey's lack of amusement.

Mickey sighed and rubbed his hands down the length of his face for a moment. Ian and Mickey held eye contact a bit longer before Mickey abruptly straightened up and clapped his hands together. The noise startled Ian from his own amused trance.

"Alright, Clifford, how do you feel about private lessons for a little bit until you're not tripping over your own feet?"

Ian stepped forward to argue, but, proving Mickey's point, stumbled over the shoes on the floor in front of him. He didn't miss the way that Mickey's mouth quirked up on the side.

"Can't afford extra classes," Ian shoved his hands into the pockets of his sweatpants.

"It's on me," Mickey swiped his top lip. He didn't miss the way that Ian's gaze lingered on his mouth,"Kinda need you..." really want you, "to, uh, look good..." as if he doesn't already, fucking red-headed alien-looking motherfucker, "on the floor..." of my bedroom, goddamn it, Mick, get it together! "the, uh, dance floor."

Ian paused, considering the way that Mickey was stumbling over his words in a way that one might call endearing, another might call the-worst-fucking-experience-of-his-life.

"I'll do it."

Do me. Seriously, go drink some water, oh my god.

Mickey literally took a sip from his water bottle, hoping that it would at least calm his nerves. He was a professional!

He crossed his arms over his chest. "You free after class?" A pause, "To work on some skills, I mean."

"It's a date," Ian smirked, leaning down to pick up his shoes from the ground in front of him. By the time he was upright again, Mickey had already started walking away, but the blush on his cheeks and the back of his neck could be spotted from a mile away. He was utterly fucked.

--

Mickey yawned and got up from his stretching position on the floor. He walked over to the stereo, systematically knocking his dancer's feet on his way over until they were all turned out and pointed.

"No Orange Boy today?" Svetlana asked, meeting Mickey's eyes with a challenging stare.

Mickey ignored the chorus of "He's so hot!" "Have you seen his arms?" and "Ian's the nicest!" from the rest of the girls.

Svetlana raised her eyebrow in question and Mickey's defenses flew out the window. This goddamn power dynamic was going to be the death of him.

"I put him on private lessons until he's no longer a disruption to the class," he shrugged.

"Aww," one brunette pouted.

"Disruption to class or disruption to tiny bulge in your pants?" Svetlana smirked, earning some scandalized gasps from the other dancers.

Mickey flipped her off, "The fucker made me take out a greater insurance policy with all his accidents, don't be fucking absurd."

A blonde nodded understandingly from the back of the class, "My ankle is still a little funky from the last lift we tried."

Mickey held his arms out in a display of I-told-you-so and Svetlana rolled her eyes.

"Great!" Mickey clapped his hands together, earning the full attention of his class as they hurried to their feet, "Now that all the hot drama is outta the air, let's do a quick warm up combo across the floor. Chasse step pas de bourree double pirouette step arabesque, in 5, 6, 7, 8..."

--

Ian had been waiting outside the studio for the last ten minutes of class, more-so watching his instructor shift around than paying attention to what the dancers were actually doing. That's probably what got him into his current predicament, and he couldn't decide whether that was a curse or a blessing. Mickey's arms flexed as he pointed across the room to call out someone's weak spot.

Yup, it was a blessing.

Oh shit, Mickey was looking his way. Was this a double sided mirror? No, of course not. Why would there be a double sided mirror? Oh, Mickey was definitely staring at him. Fuck. Wait, did he just wink? No way, he must've just blinked. With one eye. Yeah, totally normal. Nothing to overthink, Ian.

Get it together!

--

Mickey dismissed his class five minutes early and it had nothing to do with the Jolly Ginger Giant standing outside his studio.

While most of his dancers wordlessly accepted the easy out, Svetlana stayed back to taunt. "Have fun with private lessons," she sneered, jerking off an invisible cock.

"Choke on it," Mickey retorted tossing her warm-up jacket at her face, which she swiftly caught.

Svetlana turned and made a show of looking Ian up and down, his cheeks turning pink under her intense gaze. She faced Mickey head on, "You will be vegetable stew by the time this man is done with you."

The fuck does that mean?

Sometimes Mickey thought that Svetlana spoke in riddles just to mess with him. He blamed it on the Russian accent, never mind he was part Ukrainian himself. The languages were similar, but not identical, fuck you very much.

But, damn, forget that, Gallagher looked good. He was wearing his usual white tank top and grey sweatpants, but Mickey never got the opportunity to openly ogle in class. Not that that was what he was doing now.

Ian returned the long look appreciatively before stepping closer and Mickey snapped back into professionalism, well as far as professionalism goes, Milkovich-style.

He turned his back on the bane of his pathetic existence and snapped a quick but polite, "Get your shoes on and we can get started."

"Oh, right."

That seemed to be enough to get the gears in Ian's head going again as he dropped his bag to the floor, echoing in the truly empty studio, and dropping down onto the floor himself to secure his ballet shoes, which may as well be clown shoes for as big as his feet were. Mickey fit into the same brand as the girls, but he had to order special for Gallagher.

"Thanks for doing this, Mickey."

Mickey. The way that this man said his name was making him feel all sorts of flustered that he would most definitely deny.

"Mandy said you don't usually make exceptions."

"Gotta catch you up to speed or you're gonna be dancing with the 5 year-olds, man."

Ian tilted his head considering.

Mickey frowned, "Don't do it."

Ian smirked and Mickey had to look away as a grin and blush creeped up on his own face.

"Alright, so we'll start you off with the basics."

Mickey went through their normal class routine, but broke it down slowly, pausing to explain certain positions in details he couldn't afford to spend time with in class, specifically how not to fall. It should have been fairly obvious in his opinion, but Ian still managed somehow. The first few times, he was on the floor before Mickey even knew he was going down.

But the third, Mickey made a mistake. Mickey instinctively reached out to catch him.

As soon as he realized where his hands were, he pulled them off like he'd been burned, which he may have well been. He pulled his gaze to his feet, studying the floor while he composed himself.

"Mickey," Ian waited until he looked up, and then he spoke so quietly, "You can touch me."

And what made things worse was that Ian's dazzling eyes left little to the imagination. They both knew where this was going, and the moment was too intense too quick. The longer their eyes held, the hotter Mickey felt his neck grow.

"Ya know," Ian stepped closer. "To fix my positions..."

Mickey swallowed, "Uh, I think we're done for today."

He regretted the words the moment they left his mouth. He never meant them to begin with. But if Ian stayed any longer, Mickey was going to climb him like a tree and that really wasn't under his personal code of professionalism, no matter how loose those terms may be to begin with. It was getting late anyways, he reasoned with himself.

"What about the lifts? That's the important part, right?" Ian questioned, eyes pleading like he would die without this one skill being taught to him by his oh-so-unprofessional instructor.

Mickey sighed. Ya know what? Fuck it.

Mickey sauntered over to Ian, pressed his back to Ian's front, and grabbed one of Ian's massive hands and placed it on his own waist.

Ian gave an experimental squeeze and Mickey softened in his grip.

Ridiculous.

"We're not doing the lift are we?" Ian murmured breathily, hot air making the hairs on the back of Mickey's neck tingle.

"What do you think, Firecrotch?" Mickey pushed his weight back into Ian's chest, which would be the second mistake of the day.

Ian toppled over backwards, landing with a painful sounding thud and sending Mickey down on top of him before he rolled off the the side with a groan.

Ian started laughing and Mickey was concerned. Was this idiot actually fucking concussed this time? He wasn't sure how he would explain this to his insurance company.

Mickey straddled Ian's lap, gently slapping his face, "Are you good, man? Alive?"

"Never better." Ian was still smiling like an absolute goof.

Mickey raised an eyebrow in concern.

"Seriously, I just can't play things cool," Ian raised his hips to grind against Mickey's ass, "Obviously."

"You're an idiot," Mickey rolled his eyes, and all Ian could do was grin and reach up towards Mickey's neck, pulling his down until their lips almost touched, sharing breaths and excitement.

"Maybe," another breath, "But I still got you to fall for me."

It was Mickey's turn to laugh, more of a raspy exhale than anything. His "fuck you" was almost lost between them as they fell together at last.

(side note: this was the lift that they were going to do, so i feel like the hand on the waist makes sense -- gotta have a visual lmao)

[beermanoftana]

chapter 1 — when lives begin to collide [2.1k]

description  —  you and peter begin vying for the attention of a children’s books publisher.

genre — from past lives lovers to present lives rivals. fluff. angst. slow-burn.

warnings — some mistakes here and there. slight cussing. totally au.

a/n — i can’t find the op anymore but they made a post about this kind of plot. i really thought it’d be interesting to write one so here’s my take. not forcing you to read it but if you do, feedback would be greatly appreciated! thank you!

masterlist

“I can never erase my past. But the present is my pen and I can write a better future. After all, I am the author of my life.”

It was written in capital letters.

‘Damn,’ you thought. ‘That hit hard.’ You read it over and over, trying to take every single word in. It was true and it really did hit you hard. You were not proud of your past, but you were trying to make amends now, and you hoped that it would lead to something better. And that is exactly why the quote felt like a sharp pang in your heart.

You were sitting down on the last step of the education building on campus. The notebook with the quote you have written lay on your lap like an open book. You had just finished your lunch and were waiting for your friend to arrive. Y/fn woke up too late for the morning sessions but you agreed to meet them when they said they were on their way.

You were chewing on your bottom lip, careful not to bite it too hard. That was a habit of yours. Whenever you were anxious, you would chew on your bottom lip, sometimes without even realizing it. But you were not anxious because your friend was going to be beside you any minute. No. It was because it would be the first time you would show your professor the children’s story you wrote. What made you even more nervous was that they were the next class you had.

Writing short stories was a passion of yours. You loved making up characters and scenarios in your head and would write them down on any scrap of paper you could find. But that was all you could do. You knew children’s books always had illustrations, unfortunately, you could not draw to save your life. You were thinking that perhaps when your story would be chosen for some award or anything, they would find you an illustrator. That was how it usually worked, right?

“Hey.” You snapped out of your thoughts, froze your teeth, and looked up. “You okay?”

“Hey,” you greeted back. You shook your head, closed the notebook, and placed it inside your bag. “I was just thinking,” you admitted. “About showing Professor Y/pn my work. You think they’ll like it?”

Y/fn sighed. “Of course, Y/n. We’ve gone over this before, haven’t we?”

You frowned. You didn’t like the way they said it. You shrugged and pretended not to care. “Right. Okay. Let’s just get to class.”

You both walked up the steps and waited for an elevator to bring you up to your floor. Once you arrived inside the classroom, you noticed that some of your classmates were not in yet but your professor was fiddling around with their laptop. You placed your book down on the table, took out your binder filled with your writings -- and you could proudly say that you filed them by title in alphabetical order -- and took a deep breath before walking up to the front of the class.

You cleared your throat and called them, “Professor Y/pn?” That came out more like a squeak rather than the tone of voice you would give when you wanted to start a casual conversation.

Your professor turned to their side and smiled at you. “Yes, Ms. Y/ln? What can I do for you?”

“Well...uh, I was wondering if you could take a look at one of my written works. I need a professional’s opinion so that I know where I can improve on and all that. I mean, if it’s not too much trouble for you.”

“Of course, of course!” they said with a grin. “No problem at all, Ms. Y/ln. I’m honestly surprised that you came to me for a new point of view.”

“No one better than my favorite professor,” you said, copying their grin. “And I’m not just saying.” You giggled.

Your professor laughed. “Well, alright then. Which one should I check out?” They beckoned you to give them your binder and you obliged. “Oh, this is a little heavy,” they chuckled as they held your binder. “You must be quite a writer. Well, you always have been one of my top students in my class.”

“Just here,” you mumbled. “Not so much the others.” You took a deep breath and exhaled. “I was hoping you could look at The Bee and the Queen. Though maybe just that for now, I don’t really have much confidence with the others yet.”

Your professor waved their hand. “Right, of course. I promise not to pry. Do you mind if you leave this with me for now? I’ll give it back after class.”

You saw this as some sort of sign of commitment. Maybe, if they liked your story, they would be willing to work with you. “Yes!” you nearly shouted. “I mean, yes, professor. I’d really love that.”

They smiled. “Alright, I’ll check out The Bee and the Queen and I’ll jot down some notes.”

“Ehrm….”

“On another piece of paper, of course,” they laughed. “Don’t worry, even without the look on your face, I wasn’t going to write it on something so precious.”

You sighed in relief. “Thank you, Professor Y/pn. Thank you so much.”

They nodded. “Off you go, class is about to begin.”

The whole two hours class seemed even longer than usual. Your knee bounced constantly and you kept looking at your watch every minute. There was a seatwork, an essay about children and why they were more inclined to language at a certain age, and at some point, you looked up and saw your professor with their reading glasses on and had your binder open. Finally, the class was dismissed and you waited a bit, hoping for them to call you.

“I’ll go ahead,” Y/fn informed you.

“Sure,” you replied without looking at them.

As your classmates left, your professor smiled and gestured for you to come to them. You pursed your lips and briskly walked to them. “Well?” you asked. “Sorry, that came out a bit rude.”

They shook their head. “Well, Ms. Y/ln. I do like the concept and your style, but we need more creativity. I’m not saying that this isn’t creative, no, not all. But remember these are children we’re talking about. They need something that will catch their attention. They need to stay focused. I’m happy that you managed to apply the moral of the story in examples at the end. But again, put some more sugar in it. You get what I mean?”

“I think so.” You nodded.

They smiled. “I’ll give you a week to come up with something new. And if I’m impressed, you can work with an acquaintance of mine.”

Your eyes widened. “Really?”

“Just show me what you got,” they said with a smile.

“Yes, Professor! I’ll think of something way beyond creative, I promise.”

“Let’s start small, Ms. Y/ln.” They chuckled. “We’ll work our way up as we go along.”

You nodded excitedly. “I won’t let you down, Professor. I promise!” You reached for your binder and bowed. “Thank you!”

They chuckled once more. “Go on now, Ms. Y/ln. You’ll be late for your next class.”

You ran to your seat, grabbed your bag, and waved at them. “Thank you!”

Days later, you were in a coffee shop. You were going to meet up with Y/bfn and you two would be brainstorming on how to make your story better. You already had a concept, you just needed to write down how you were going to execute it. Luckily, your best friend knew you all too well.

You had just gotten the tray with both yours and your best friend’s drink -- because really, you two knew each all too well, too. The place was packed and you had a hard time looking for a vacant table. When you did spot one, as soon as you reached it, another person had arrived as well.

“Oh. I’m sorry, I didn’t realize you were eyeing the table, too.”

You looked to your side to see a tall, blonde boy with very nice blue eyes. He, too, was holding a tray with two drinks. “You can have it,” you said. You didn’t know why but you were feeling a little bit bitter. “It’s fine.”

“No, no, please. Take it.” He tilted his head to gesture to the table. “It’s fine. I’ll just stay by the bar. My sister wouldn’t be here for a while, anyway.”

You brightened a little. “Neither is my friend.”

He smiled. “So…?”

You blushed a little. “I...I guess we can share for now?”

He nodded. “Yeah, that’d be nice.” He waved his hand to allow you to sit first. As soon as you both placed your trays on the table and sat down, he introduced himself. “I’m Peter.” He held up his hand for you to shake.

“Y/n,” you replied and shook his head. 

“Do I know you from somewhere, madam?” he asked.

“Does that line always work for you, sir?” you giggled and rolled your eyes.

He had nice hands. A little calloused but still nice. “I...um...do you live around here?” The shop you were in was inside a subdivision and you haven’t seen anyone as beautiful as him. ‘Oh shut up.’ You were always around thanks to your best friend living around the corner and you pretty much have seen everyone.

He shook his head. “My sister has a friend who lives here. I was in the area and she said we should all hang out for coffee.”

“Oh.” You nodded. “My best friend lives around here. I’m always here. Maybe that’s why I don’t recognize you.”

He nodded. “I’m from the other side of town, actually. Well, my job brings me everywhere so I guess it depends.” He chuckled as did you. “I’m an engineer.”

“Education grad student,” you said. “I work part-time as a PA for my parents. I mean, I was willing to do it for free since they are my parents but they sort of bribed me and said they’d be paying my tuition instead, so….” You didn’t know why this was embarrassing for you to admit.

“Mind if I ask what kind of business your parents run?”

“It’s a multinational company.” ‘Stop being embarrassed, it’s the truth for goodness sake.’ “Y/cn.”

“Oh! Yeah! I know that.”

You forced a smile. “Yup.” You two became silent and you began chewing on your bottom lip but you immediately stopped. It was getting a bit awkward so you decided to get your drink and tried to open it. Unfortunately, it was sealed too tight. Peter could definitely see you struggling, he offered for him to try and held out his hand.

When you gave it to him, you came into contact with his skin.

“It worked on you, didn’t it?” he said with a goofy grin.

You laughed at his confidence. “Not really.”

“Ah! But that usually means it did but not so much.”

You scoffed. “It means no.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“Well you should.”

Once he was able to open it, he gave it back to you. Your pinky touched his index finger.

“Oh stop it!” You stomped your foot and folded your arms.

“That’s not very lady-like,” he said.

“I don’t care.” You stuck up your nose. “You are impossible.”

“I would like to say that I am impossible to others. I’m always possible when it comes to you.”

“For some strange reason that makes sense.”

He chuckled. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to get your dress dirty. No need to get all stubborn with me.”

You pouted. “I am not being stubborn.”

“Oh yes, you are.”

You sighed in frustration. “You are impossible, Peter Pevensie.”

“Thank you.” You took a sip and subtly watched him drink his. “I didn’t expect them to take this long.”

“Same,” he murmured. He checked his phone and excused himself.

You watched him leave and then you were left alone. You thought of the surge of electricity that you felt whenever you came into contact with one another. Did he feel it, too? Goosebumps crept up to you and you shuddered. “Stop it, Y/n.”

Peter came back and smiled. “They’re almost here.”

“Oh, that’s good.” Then you realized how that may have sounded. “Not that I didn’t enjoy your company, Peter.”

He chuckled. “Don’t worry about it.”

‘And I like your company a little too much, even if it did get a bit awkward.’

The door of the store opened and you saw your best friend enter.

“Oh, there's Y/bfn,” you said. You waved your hand for them to see you. Your best friend found your signal and walked up to you with a smile.

“Ah, and there’s my sister,” Peter announced. Behind your best friend was another girl around your age. She was very pretty. “Oh.”

You looked at him as he said that. There was a slight tone to it but you couldn’t figure out what. You looked back at your best friend. “Oh.”

[lovelylogans]

honey, you’re familiar (like my mirror)

see other chapters, notes, and warnings here!

chapter one: qualia

qualia: in philosophy and certain models of psychology, qualia are defined as individual instances of subjective, conscious experience. philosopher and cognitive scientist daniel dennett once suggested that qualia was "an unfamiliar term for something that could not be more familiar to each of us: the ways things seem to us.”

JANUS

Janus almost always develops a headache when he has to deal with the latest idiot intern at the firm, but this headache is beyond the pale. Then again, so is this intern. He has never met a uni student that is more destined to become an obnoxiously vocal Tory. It’s like someone granted a novel about Etonian history his wish to become a real boy.

“Out,” he bellows at the intern who has been attempting to stick himself to Janus's side, unable to pick up on the fact that his repeated mentions of his father, you know, the chancellor of the high court, is doing the opposite of impressing everyone around him. 

This intern—Janus is going to make it a point to never remember his name now—has probably never been yelled at in his life. He gives Janus a very offended look, sniffs, and retreats from Janus's office, likely to bother whatever barrister he hasn’t yet told about the blatant nepotism that has gotten him into their office.

Janus puts his elbows on the table and pinches the bridge of his nose, breathing slowly in and out. Though the intern has certainly exacerbated the headache at hand, he’s had the headache since he inexplicably woke up at four in the morning. 

He’s taken paracetamol, he’s tried hydrating, and drinking caffeine, and rubbing his temples, and even wearing the blue light glasses Key swears by, but there’s been no luck. His head’s throbbing just as badly now as it did when he woke up from a dream about a strange American wearing a pale brown cardigan and a pink tie.

The man had gone pale and sweaty as if he was ill, leaning back against air, clutching at nothing, like he’d hoped to find someone’s hand to hold, but despite the pain he seemed to be in, he’d stared straight at Janus, beaming and wide-eyed. 

“I see them,” the man had whispered. He’d opened his free arm as if to offer a hug. “Oh, they’re beautiful. You’re beautiful, my dear. My darling.”

You’re beautiful, my dear, my darling…

Janus rubs at his forehead. If he’d been so beautiful and dear and darling, he would have appreciated being left without this migraine as the price of the compliment.

“You,” he barks at the nearest intern walking by his office—a mousy little thing, a girl who’s swimming in a cardigan that makes his eyes throb with a familiarity he can’t recognize—“I’ll let you assist on this case if you get me a tea with two sugars, right now.”

She perks up. “Really?”

“Right now,” he thunders, and the girl practically squeaks before she heads for the building’s refectory with its in-house café.

Janus tries his hardest not to smile to himself, really he does, but the best part of intern season is scaring the interns. What is he supposed to do, not revel in their suffering?

He’s about to reach for his smartphone resting on his desk when he feels a buzz against his sternum.

He pauses, glances toward the door, before he swivels around his desk chair and opens a lower cabinet as if he’s searching for a file; instead, he reaches into his innermost breast pocket to pull out his other phone. This one is a good deal cheaper than the one resting on the table; that is by design.

He glances at the window to double-check the reflections, that no one is watching him—they aren’t—before he unlocks the phone and looks at the message.

K: jazza, you found anything yet?

Janus scowls at the phone. Honestly.

J: Do you want to get arrested, Key? Because rushing this job is how you get arrested.

K: aint that the reason ur a big fancy barrister in the first place

J: Do they want to put up the rush fee?

He turns back to his desk and manages to get some actual, legal, non-shady work done before the phone buzzes.

K: no.

If pixels could look sullen, these ones do.

J: Then tell them to put up or shut up.

A pause.

J: And don’t text me for inane little updates during actual people’s work hours again. You are specifically only to contact me during these hours for emergencies.

He shuts off the phone and tucks it into his breast pocket again before Key can respond. The nerve of some people. He’ll do the work, fine, but people needed to realize they’d get what they paid for. For the information that Key’s clientele wants him to retrieve, they’ll have to put up quite a bit more cash for him to move at anything beyond a snail’s pace.

A knock at the door. Janus gives the girl his most imperious look. 

“Here you are, sir,” she says, handing over one insulated to-go mug, keeping another one in her hands. 

“Yes, fine, fine,” he says, taking it. “What’s your name again?”

“Emma, sir.”

“Emma,” he repeats. He takes a sip of the tea.

Or, he expects to take a sip of tea. What he gets is a mouthful of coffee. 

Very good coffee, very high-quality coffee, but coffee, and lukewarm at that. He pulls a face instinctively.

“What did you get me?”

Emma immediately looks petrified. “Tea with two sugars, sir?”

Janus frowns at her, then examines the side, where the tea option is ticked off. If they’ve managed to mess up the order, at least they’d given him the good-quality stuff, even if it did taste like it had been sitting on a desk for an hour. He takes another cautious sip.

Tea. Sweetened, hot tea, fresh from the café.

He’s never had a headache this bad before. So maybe he doesn’t know that headaches this bad can mess with his sense of smell. And temperature. Now that he thinks of it, he is feeling really quite hot, even though the building’s air conditioning is blasting.

“...Very good,” he says slowly, and then proceeds to nudge a perilously tall stack of manila files toward her. “Read the top one so you can get reacquainted with the case.”

Emma takes the file immediately, and, just for a moment, just for barely a flash, Janus could swear he’d seen someone walking in the hall in their pajamas and bunny slippers in the reflection of his office windows.

He looks at it more directly.

No. It’s just Emma’s reflection and his. Janus's office, furnished in dark woods and leather desk chairs, his fine suit, the damningly recognizable birthmark and scar splashed across his face.

Janus frowns at himself in the window, turns away, and reaches for his own manila file.

VIRGIL

Getting off the plane from America to South Africa is always an experiment in temperature adjustment. 

He takes off his hoodie in between the shuffle of getting off the plane to going to the baggage claim, tying it around his waist, leaving him just in a purple t-shirt and his ripped jeans. 

It doesn’t help that he’s got a headache that’s absolutely killing him.

By the time he gets there, his baggage is already waiting at the side of a woman with her hair wrapped in a scarf, her glasses resting low on her nose; they look new, and it makes Virgil’s chest hurt—what else has he missed since he’s been across the world?

Virgil’s mother, Andisiwe, beams at him. “Virgil!”

“I’ve missed you, Mama,” he says in Xhosa because ever since he was a child jetting back and forth for school breaks she’s been worried about him losing his mother tongue. 

She laughs, hugging him tight and warm, and he wraps his arms around her in kind, closing his eyes tight. This is the longest he’s been from her since he was born. She’d been in America to teach for a year and a half at Johns Hopkins when she’d met his father, and then Virgil happened. 

He couldn’t have gone back to South Africa with her, a black woman with a mixed-race child, not during apartheid. His white father had had to bring him home to his white wife, and white children, and initiate what would eventually become a long, messy divorce.

But he doesn’t like to think about that, and he won’t, not today, not when he’s finally back here. He’s missed her, and Pretoria, and his jacarandas, and his grandmother’s recipe for coconut pitha, and umngqusho, and proper, African coffee more than he can say.

All he’d drunk in the States was tea because he didn’t want to be reminded of home; he can taste it lingering in the back of his throat, even now.

“Or should I say, Doctor Virgil Wright-Nkosi,” she says, beaming at him wide, and Virgil ducks his head, grinning even through how awkward he feels. 

“I’m a doctor of botany, it’s not the same as you,” or Dad, he tacks on in his mind, taking his suitcase and gesturing her ahead of him; she trades him with a to-go cup of coffee, which he sips eagerly. It’s such a perfect taste of home that he doesn’t even care that it’s lukewarm.

“Quite right,” she says, leading their way through the airport. “Ph.D. is different from an M.D., I’m thrilled my employer has taught you so excellently in your undergrad—”

Virgil laughs, again, but his foot slips on the smooth airport tile, and he looks down instinctively, and his breath catches in his throat, laughter dying in his mouth, freezing where he stands, because if he takes one more step he is going to die he is going to die he is going to fucking die—

There’s this tight feeling across his chest like a band and suddenly he’s not looking down at clean airport tile but he’s looking down at a yawning expanse of air between himself and the ground at least three stories up and he’s standing on a thin metal bar and if he keeps moving he’s going to fall he’s going to die

“Virgil?”

Virgil looks toward his mother, breath seized in his throat, and—

And he’s at the airport again. Bustling crowds, pinging PA system, his mother, a hand reaching toward him in concern.

“Virgil, are you all right?”

Virgil swallows once, twice, squeezes his eyes shut, and shakes his head to clear it; he opens them again.

Airport. His mom. The crowd. And, just a flash, weaving in and out of the people, there’s a big man with tattoos, and he’s wearing bunny slippers. It’s strange enough that it manages to shake him out of it better than any physical gesture could.

“Yeah,” he says, and his voice sounds strained to his own ears. “Yeah. Um—jet lag, I think.”

Andisiwe surveys him, before she nods, once, decisively.

“Finish that coffee,” she says. “You know how much worse it’ll get if you let yourself fall asleep now.”

Virgil takes a long pull from his cup—bitter, dark, African coffee. Home. He’s home.

Jet lag, he tells himself. Jet lag, and that weird dream you had on the plane. That’s all this is.

REMUS

“The fucking rat bastard bitch-ass sorry shit-stain of a cunt,” Remus pants to himself, as quietly as he can when he’s heaving for breath and sprinting along the forest floor. Remus wasn’t particularly athletic in the first place—one doesn’t really become a horror author if they’re a star athlete, do they?—but when one is running for their life, things like “stitches in my side” and “is that blood I taste in the back of my mouth” kind of take a back seat to things like, you know, continued survival.

Remus nearly trips over a vine, which he verbally abuses for a few hundred more feet, (“fucking useless pieces of shit fucking—”) before he manages to slip and stumble into the shelter of something like a cave. He checks it—as much as he likes wildlife mauling other people, in theory, it kind of goes against this whole survival thing if he wanders into a cave only to get his throat ripped out by a bobcat.

As he casts back the hood of his jacket and mops his brow of sweat, looking back and forth to ensure he hasn’t been tracked, and his heart rate returns to something like normal, turns his mind back to Miguel fucking Contreras. 

That fucking bastard was lucky he was dead, and even so, Remus might go back and dig up his freshly-turned grave with nothing but his own two fucking hands and he’d gladly break a hundred of his fingers and turn his knuckles into right-angled wrongness just to reach in there and grab his rotting corpse and wring his neck to kill him again.

He didn’t even kill him the first time, that’s the unbearable thing! He’d wanted to kill him and someone swooped in and did it before Remus ever could!

Remus spits on the ground, furious, and even more furious that everything with him is so vital he can’t risk destroying any of it in a rage—his clothes, his last couple testosterone pills, a burner phone he’d stolen off someone who reminded him of his own wretched abuela a couple cities back and kept shut off ever since. She’d been yelling at some homeless kids trying to get some pesos for a goddamn meal, though, so Remus felt as if he’d performed a public service by making her day worse.

He’d managed to snatch her purse and empty it out, too. The kids got a meal, Remus got a meal, everyone won.

Remus chances a peek around the forest once again, just to ensure he hasn’t been tailed, and—

He shrinks back into the cave at the sight of a large man jogging by. He’s very big, very tall, very tattooed, and very confused, by the looks of it. Like he’s sleep-walked miles into the forest and now doesn’t know his way back.

The man pivots on his foot, walks out of Remus's view behind a tree, and doesn’t resume walking again.

Remus's eyes narrow. He tenses his muscles, ready to start sprinting again, but that man had looked rather big and strong, and therefore much more decisively athletic than Remus.

But minutes pass, and the man doesn’t emerge again.

Remus creeps out, just enough to see past the tree, and—

No. The man is gone.

Anyone else might think that they were losing it. Anyone else might think that they were going crazy.

Remis is fully aware that he’s crazy, though, so he shrugs and returns his attention to sorting through his bag, except—

His fingers run through the money he has, and they aren’t pesos anymore. Remus frowns at the sight of the money, holding it up to the meager light to see it.

There definitely isn’t an old white lady on pesos usually.

“The fuck?”

“Erm.”

Remus whips his head around, very suddenly aware that he isn’t in a cave anymore.

He’s in an apartment. A swanky apartment. The air conditioning is blasting—Remus hasn’t been in air-conditioned surroundings for so long, and he nearly melts under the feel of it, cooling the sweat coating his face, running down his back.

A white man lowers his glasses down his nose and frowns at Remus. The way his mouth moves twists up the scar on the side of the face. He’s holding up a handful of pesos.

“Well, first of all, I really need to send a note so they improve security around this place,” the man says in an undertone. Then, “second of all, if it’s all the same to you, I’m going to need those pounds to pay for my takeaway.”

Remus stares.

“I’ve ordered Indian food to my office,” he continues, “and I’d think that they’d prefer the national currency in exchange for my food. I’ve been craving samosas something awful.”

Samosas do sound good. Any food sounds good, Remus thinks, as his stomach growls with envy. 

Remus slowly extends his handful of the old white lady money. The white man places the pesos into Remus's hand, taking his money back at the same time.

“Much obliged,” the white man says and disappears. 

Remus blinks down at his handful of pesos, then looks around. No more air conditioning, or swanky office, or promise of takeout. 

He shakes his head.

“If I hadn’t lost it before,” he mutters aloud and goes back to counting his money.

Well. It’s not like Remus's brain is any great loss.

LOGAN

Logan gives a cursory peek through the telescope and grumbles, pulling back and rubbing his forehead. Fantastic. On top of this untimely migraine, his equipment has decided to throw a tantrum, too.

He’s known technology can be fiddly even in the best of conditions. He’s known that cold can adversely affect equipment. And yet, for some reason, it is still constantly frustrating when it does happen. Which in turn is frustrating; he should expect cold conditions to interfere with any equipment that he uses for his space research. He’s in Antarctica. 

Logan makes effort to simply narrow his eyes at the telescope before him, fiddling with the lens. He has half a mind to ask it there, will you behave now? but considering it is simply scientific equipment, it will not answer. Therefore, there is no reason to speak.

Logan rubs his forehead again, and, for the brief moment before his hand obscures his eyes, he sees a flash of something.

Logan squints, lowering his hand. But no, he decides; he just sees snow, rock, the local wildlife. 

But for a moment he could have sworn, while he was looking out at the sea, that he’d seen a large, tattooed man looking out at the sea, too.

No, he decides. It couldn’t have possibly been; this headache, coupled with the general brightness of the world right now, is making him see things.

There is no way he’d just seen, in the midst of an Antarctic island, a large, tattooed man in pajamas and bunny slippers.

ROMAN

Fuck if it’s not early, but fuck if he’s not having a blast.

“Do we wanna run it one more time?!” Roman hollers down from the catwalks.

“I should’ve known better than to give you a fly scene,” María says ruefully. Roman blows down kisses from where he’s strapped in, harness tight across his chest, the camera crew looking dutifully to María to see what the verdict is.

A long pause. She sighs and waves a hand. “Set up for the close-up landing!”

Roman whoops to himself, shifting on his own two feet. He never gets to do stunts, much less stunts like this. All his movies are machismo, punching people and firing guns, and sure, this one is full of all that, but at least this time he gets to spend a day flying around on wires like he’s a superhero.

Which is ironic, considering he’d started his career in movies as a stuntman. But now his pretty face is too high-market-value to risk it doing the thing he’s been trained to do.

But whatever! Today he gets to fly around! Today he gets to throw himself into saying his lines! Today he gets to throw himself into his script and his acting and his costars! 

Today he gets to spend it on set and not lying in bed taken down by this godawful migraine and scrolling through his phone with his heart in his throat to see if there are any developments in the news! 

Today he gets to tell Sasha all about the day he’s had in his usual bright and happy voice! It’s a great day!

Roman shuffles on his feet, waiting for the “action!” to be called when he hears the tell-tale rumbling shriek of a plane flying overhead, and Roman bites back a sigh; that’s going to delay the shoot of the scene for sure while they wait on that, so Roman slumps, looking for something to occupy either his hands or his brain with, but then—

“Quiet on set!” María barks. 

“We aren’t going to hold for the plane?” Roman asks, confused.

“What plane?” María says.

“I thought—” Roman says, and frowns; from where he is in the catwalks, he can’t exactly look up and see the sky, but even then the angle of sound seems wrong; it’s like he’s walking past an airfield, planes taking off and landing all at once.

“Never mind,” Roman calls down weakly. “Thought I heard something, must have been tech stuff.”

María looks up at him, eyes narrowed briefly before she shrugs, and repeats, “Quiet on set!”

Roman shakes out his shoulders, intent on getting into the mind of Pablo Márquez, and out of his own.

⁂

Roman’s got an icepack under his shoulder and on his forehead, eyes squeezed tightly shut.

Okay, so, maybe he got a bit too into it today. Whatever. It’s not his fault he’s stuck with a killer migraine, and it’s definitely not his fault that the person who fastened his harness clearly didn’t know what he was talking about; you’d think that now he was the big star, people would be more cautious with him than they were when he was a stuntman, but what does Roman know? He’s just the pretty face.

But whatever. He’s got a breather for a while as his costar shoots a few scenes with her supposed father (a twist of the movie is that her father is not, in fact, her father) and so he’s taking the time to sit and relax.

He’s going to relax.

Really.

...oh, who is he kidding. Roman immediately rolls to grab his phone from where he’d set it on the minuscule table in his trailer, and loads the page to El Universal.

He’s got the search down to a science, really. He starts with the wider, more professional news sources—ergo El Universal—and then gradually meanders his way down, through the magazines, then the tabloids, then the blogs dedicated to the writings of R.J. Duke.

When he’s really desperate, he checks Twitter.

He turns out to be really desperate every day, though. 

He isn’t really sure how not to be desperate when one’s brother is on the run for committing murder.

He definitely isn’t sure how not to be desperate when one’s brother is only revealed to not be his brother under a thin guise that someone might find out any minute.

He absolutely isn’t sure how not to be desperate when any day now, someone will crack it, and they’ll raid his apartment to see if Roman was hiding him (Roman would absolutely hide him if Remus would just come to him) and ask him questions, and how is Roman supposed to respond when they ask him if Remus would be capable of murder, no? Fucking obviously Remus would be capable of murder.

And the thing is, he is desperate. He’s desperate to get news of how Remus is doing, where on earth Remus is, if he’s okay.

And then he wonders what kind of person he is, to be so willing to set aside that his brother might have killed someone. He’d like to think that he’d do the right thing and turn Remus in, but he is also sure that he absolutely wouldn’t.

But the question is, does Remus know that? Does Remus know that Roman would throw everything, everything—his fame, his fancy apartment, his money—just to be sure that Remus was safe, that Remus was with him?

They’d been so entrenched in their petty disagreements over the years that Roman isn’t sure that Remus does.

The thought that his brother might not know Roman loves him is a thousand times more painful than this headache will be.

Remus is his brother. His twin brother, the only person in the world who understands Roman; for all their differences, for all their disagreements, he and Remus have always understood each other. They’ve always been on a wavelength no one else has, in sync and in step with each other. They’d even been born at exactly the same time, by virtue of their mother’s c-section. 

How is Roman meant to just set that aside?!

So he lies on the couch in his trailer, scrolling obsessively through a Twitter search of his brother’s pen name and his legal name and his actual name, eyebrows drawn together further and further.

He’s so lost in chasing down clues, he doesn’t even notice the large, pajama-clad man appearing in his trailer and disappearing again, between five blinks of the eye.

PATTON

The view in front of Patton is crystalline and beautiful, dark gray rock and snow a blindingly clear shade of white and the ocean, constantly shifting between deep, lovely blue and bottle-green depths; ice, and rock, and the sun glinting off the sea and the snow, so bright that it almost hurts to look at it. 

It’s so lovely that Patton would gladly spend all day looking at it, if not for the deep chill working its way into his bones as if he’s been here for months instead of minutes. Which is kind of confusing, but he doesn’t think his flannel pajamas and bunny slippers probably don’t make the cut of approved winter gear, so that might be it.

And also the part where Patton went to bed in his apartment in Auckland because of his blindingly bad migraine, and he has woken up in some wintry wasteland. That part’s kind of confusing him, too.

There’s a particularly sharp gust of wind, and Patton squints, turning his face away and lifting his hand. The breeze lessens, and Patton lowers his hand.

He’s in an office.

A nice office, the kind with hardwood floors that would click under his feet if he weren’t wearing slippers and the big, floor-to-ceiling windows that speaks of a recent, expensive renovation, a door ajar. He walks forward to peek into it—

—and finds himself looking inside of a cramped little trailer, a man flung out dramatically on the couch, one arm over his forehead, not able to cover the anguish on his face, and the other scrolling through his phone.

He takes a step forward, and just like before, without any sense of transition, just one blink and he’s not in a trailer anymore, he’s outside, standing at the foot of a mountain stretching for forever above him, moving quickly on his feet, jogging alongside a hooded man sprinting down a barely-worn path—

He takes a step forward, and his foot lands on the carpet.

“Goodness,” a man says, with a familiar, amused tone. “You’ve been walking quite far, haven’t you?”

Patton looks up to see a man—the parent he’d thought he’d seen yesterday. He’s in the same cardigan and dress shirt, looking rather rumpled, but his tie has, at least, been loosened from around his throat. The lights are off, the only light filtering weakly through the windows. The man is lying down in his bed, looking pale and sickly.

The room would look quite depressing if not for the laptop blaring a cartoon—an American one Patton doesn’t know—and various assorted cartoon art and sculptures as clutter around the room. His duvet has a subtle pattern that Patton, after tilting his head, looks a bit like gemstones.

“...I think so,” Patton says cautiously. “But it doesn’t feel like it.”

“No, it never does,” the man says, smiling. “Even when you’ve walked halfway ‘round the world.”

For lack of anything to say—other than who are you, what’s happening to me, what on earth is going on—Patton keeps quiet.

“I like your tattoos,” the man continues.

“Oh, thank you,” Patton says, twisting his arms so that the cardiganed man can see them, swelling with pride. They are a big part of his culture, his history, himself, after all. “They’re tā moko.”

“Tā moko,” the man repeats as if committing it to memory.

“I’m Māori,” Patton adds because he can place the accent now—American. And, well, nothing against Americans, it’s just that he isn’t sure how much the average American knows about the indigenous populations of other continents.

“Indigenous to,” the man says, and his eyes narrow for a moment. “New Zealand, right?”

Patton nods to the man, before he says, “Where am I?”

“Oh, excuse my manners, please sit down,” the man says, gesturing to an empty spot on his comfy-looking bed. Patton sits. It is comfy.

“I’m just so excited, you see, I’ve spent most of the past day recovering, so you’re the first one I’ve met. I’d expect you to be recovering, too, this is either a fortunately-timed fluke or you seem to be getting the hang of this very fast. Doesn’t your head hurt?”

“Terribly,” Patton admits, then, “First of who?” 

Before the man can answer his question, his brain flashes with images from today—an airport, dark catwalks, a yawning cliff face, that fancy-schmancy office. 

“Well,” the man says. “I’m Dr. Emile Picani.” 

For whatever reason, it feels like he should have known that name already; his name slips into Patton’s mind like a key turning a long-forgotten lock.

“And,” the man continues, “you’re technically wherever your body is now.”

“Auckland.”

“Auckland,” he repeats. “Patton the Māori from Auckland. Oh, how wonderful, I don’t think I know any of our kind anywhere near Australia or New Zealand yet.”

“Our,” Patton says, and his brow wrinkles. “Our kind?”

“Patton, my darling,” Emile says warmly, leaning forward to put a hand on Patton’s. “Have you been walking around in other places? Feeling things that aren’t there, seeing people that aren’t there?”

“Yes,” Patton says.

“Those would be your cluster,” Emile says, and the word buries itself deep in Patton’s heart with an aggressively radiating kind of warmth, instantaneously fond, like he’s loved them all along but just now realized it. My cluster. It may as well be my family, that’s how much love he feels. 

“Your body is in Auckland, still, but right now, your mind? You’re visiting me in Florida.”

Patton can’t help but smile a little. “I’ve never been outside of New Zealand before.”

Emile smiles back at him, warm and comforting, and it feels just as familiar as looking at the face of his father.

“Patton, dear, you are no longer just you.”

REMY

Remy turns from where he’s making a mug of green tea to see that he’s in Emile’s room.

“Babe,” Remy says, reflexive, before he sees the look on Emile’s face; and he understands immediately.

“Fuck, are they still here?”

Emile, still smiling, shakes his head just a touch regretfully. “You just missed him.”

That piques Remy’s attention. “Him? You’ve got a son?”

“He’s not technically my son,” Emile says bashfully; they swap, effortless after so long, and Emile takes a sip of Remy’s green tea using Remy’s hands, Remy’s ] mouth. Remy takes that time to use Emile’s body to settle more comfortably in the bed, and he places a cool, wet washcloth across Emile’s forehead.

They swap back without losing a beat; this rhythm between them has existed for a decade, Emile’s psychic birth isn’t about to trip them up. Sure, it looks different to him than it does to Emile; right now, to Remy, it’s like Emile’s curled up in his Nicean apartment, just at home in France as he is in Florida. To Emile, he knows, it’s like Remy’s appeared in his bedroom, oddly dressed for the Florida spring.

“Your psychic son, then,” Remy teases, then it clicks. “Wait, you’ve seen one of them already? How long did it take one of us to see Harley after the activation—?”

Emile waves a hand in a so-so type gesture. “Linny saw Dalisay and she kind of served as a mentor for her, didn’t she? That was the closest to a non-cluster visit that we got.”

“And that was after three days or so,” Remy muses. “Hm.”

“Yeah,” Emile agrees. “I dunno if it’s a fluke or if Patton’s just really well-adapted for this life.”

“Patton,” Remy repeats. 

Honestly, he isn’t really sure how to handle this; the closest he could get to preparing for his boyfriend’s psychic birth is googling things about being a stepdad, and that’s not even slightly close to what’s actually happening. Bonding with the stepkids can only really happen if Emile’s lucked into a cluster with a Frenchman, Frenchwoman, Frenchperson, whichever.

Emile quirks a brow at him, knowing what he’s about to ask. “New Zealander.”

“Fuck,” Remy says. “No in-cluster education for Patton, then. Do we know anyone there, baby?”

“I’d have to check with the Archipelago, and, well,” Emile says, gesturing vaguely to himself; he’s laid out in bed, and, with the washcloth on his forehead, he really does look quite ill. Out-of-cluster visiting might be too much of a strain right now.

Remy frowns, taking the washcloth in hand and gently dabbing Emile’s forehead.

“Tell me about him?”

Emile beams.

“Oh, Remy, he’s wonderful. Simply fantastic! He’s Māori—indigenous population—and he’s got all these interesting tattoos. I’ve been researching, look,” Emile says, tilting his phone so that Remy can see.

Remy takes it. He sees swirling designs, up and down arms and legs, neatly segmented lines filled with various patterns, a few portraits of tattooed faces.

“—the tattoos themselves have a really interesting history, but I have a lot of reading to do when it comes to the Māori population itself. I've already tried to put a few books on hold at the university library.”

“What’s he like?”

“Big, tall,” Emile says, gesturing vaguely with a hand where the top of Patton’s head would compare with his own. “It’s late there, or early, I think, he was still in pajamas. Bunny slippers.”

Remy smiles at that, knowing for a fact that Emile’s wearing his knee-high muppet socks. “Takes after you, then.”

“Maybe,” Emile admits, then, “oh, all right, probably. We have a lot in common, at least, even if we don’t have any solid evidence on if cluster parents influence the traits of their cluster.”

“Influence, schminfluence,” Remy says.

“But he seems very nice, very polite. Wasn’t too shaken by appearing in America.”

Emile’s brow creases.

“I think he needs a cluster,” Emile says, very quiet. “I think he needs them badly.”

Remy isn’t sure what to say to that, so he puts a hand on Emile’s cheek, attempting to check his temperature.

“Harley should have given us the equivalent of psychic sex-ed,” Remy mutters irritably. Emile’s skin, always soft, is warmer than Remy would like.

Emile yawns. “Not gonna disagree with you there.”

Remy tugs up Emile’s blankets to tuck him in. Emile smiles up at him, a little bashful, a lot sleepy.

“Cuddles?” Emile mumbles, holding out his arms, entreating.

And, well. What is Remy gonna do, not cuddle his incredibly adorable boyfriend recovering from psychic birth?

[edrodgg]

My Candy Love - Love Life | Episode 5 Guide | Nathaniel

Outfits:

The first is for Nath / Hyun.    

The second is for Castiel / Priya.  

The third is for Rayan.

~ Translated content, so wording may be slightly different in My Candy Love.

Negative answers ( - )

Positive answers ( + )

Neutral answers ( / )

PA: 1350 ( approx, with Agatha ).

Nath: Ah ... do you want me to go?

Evidently! After experiencing the stress of the Cozy Bear for a month, we will toast his rebirth! ( / )

Oh ... well, well ... do what you want. ( / )

Why? You do not want to come?

Nath: Or worse, with some rich old men who explain contemporary art to me ... and as a gift, who also explain life to me!

So are you afraid of art lovers ...? I just dropped a myth. ( + )

I would have liked, yes. But anyway, I'm not going to force you.

But I would love for you to come. I want you to be by my side for the occasion.

Hyun: Well what do you say? Do we record?

I prefer not to ... When I see everything that is happening to Castiel, I do not feel like exposing myself online. ( - )

Okay, why not?… Anyway, it's not as if the same thing could happen to me as to Castiel. ( + )

Nina:

But then, you haven't told me ... Who is the lucky one?

It is normal to be on the nerves when you are ... in love. ( + )

Agatha is at the entrance to the university, before going to Leigh's shop. :)

Gabin: By the way, he and Leo have gone on vacation for fifteen days. A little respite, go ...

Than!? It's disgusting! I thought they were friends ...

But why? Precisely, it's time to support each other, right?  ( / )

Gabin:

You are right about Castiel. Although he will never show it, he must feel sorry that his friend does not call him.  ( / )

Honestly, your friend goes too far not responding. For him, Twitter is right and Castiel is a thief! 

Gabin: I think he wants to talk to Castiel, but since the record company does not trust him, he is afraid of being like the black sheep.

He is also not asked to leave the label.  Simply call a friend when you're having a bad time. ( / )

In any case, he's not scared of being a bad friend… While on vacation, Castiel is savoring him.

Rosa: Well, anyway, I imagine we will know when we should know ... But this silence does not tell me anything good ...

Poor ... he was not doing well on a professional level ... and if it's over between them, it's like going back to the starting box. ( - )

It is not easy ... But hey, between us, if it was over between them, Alex has looked for it a bit, right? ( + )

Rosa: However, passion, by nature, is made not to last ...

He has always been a romantic ... ( / )

Don't you think that passion can last? However, you and Leigh ... ( / )

Rosa: Do you think I see him with the eyes of a high school student who is experiencing her first crush?

I do not agree! Look at me, we still have the passion!

It is true that seen like this ... It would be rather ridiculous. A couple evolves. ( + )

Leigh: Hello Candy. All good? Hasn't she knocked you out with his psycho-blabla? I've heard it from afar ...

Haha, no, I'm fine. At least she likes her job! Also, you're right. ( + with Rosa )

Let's say we want it as it is ... ( - with Rosa )

Castiel: Candy! What are you doing here? We had arranged?

No, it's just that ... I went to see how you were. I'm worried about you. ( - )

Wow, you seem happy to see me, I'm very happy ... Can't you come to see a friend in an improvised way? ( + )

Castiel: And do you really believe him? I don't know what to think ... I just get all of this fed up.

I think Gabin is wrong about Zack. I think he is just an opportunist. ( - )

Not everyone reacts the same way to stress. Apparently he only knows how to do like an ostrich. ( + )

Castiel: Without forgetting all the videos that will not stop appearing ... I'm not sure I want to give the matter a boost ...

Come on, Castiel ... I would like to celebrate the salvation of the gallery with all my friends. If you don't come, it won't be the same ... ( - )

Since when do you let other people's eyes dictate your behavior? Who are you…?  ( + )

Eric: My parents traveled a lot for work. They are musicians.

It should not be easy to grow up without having your parents at home ... ( / )

Musicians? I did not know, I did not know it! It must be great that your parents are artists. ( / )

Eric:

I'm not used to hearing people talk like that, I find it funny. ( + )

The truth is that sometimes I would need an interpreter to understand you.

But I like it. It has a certain charm! ( / )

Eric: He's not in trouble, is he? If that's the case, you know you can count on me ...

Can you keep a secret? It is important... ( / )

Oh, no. Well, not that I know of. But he told you what he was doing here, right? A story of ... I don't remember anymore, I've only brought them coffee. ( - )

If you participate in the video

Dan: It is a matter of principle and elegance. Do you understand

Excuse me, but if I take care of the organization of the event I am free to do the promotion as I want, right?

No problem. There will be no more videos. Roger that. I would not like to contradict you ... It was just ... ( + )

Dan: Just like tattoos! What do you think, Candy?

I ... I really don't have a clear opinion on the subject.

Sorry Dan, I think tattoos are part of art too. I think a tattoo can be as exciting as a painting. ( + Rayan and Dan )

It is true that it is a pity that this artistic expression is so closely linked to its support ...

Nath: It seems that human nature does not evolve much, it matters little the level of education ...

This ... has a great sense of justice. It's another reason why I love him! ( + )

Nath! Stop. If you're going to be rude to my guests, I definitely would have preferred you to stay home! ( - )

Priya: So ... It would be nice if ... I'd really like to talk to her. What do you think?

Listen, if it's as important as you tell me, I'm going to introduce it to you. Although it was very clear about it last time. ( + with Priya / - with Yael)

I'm very sorry, but the last time was very clear about it. It is a delicate subject, I do not want to insist. ( - )

Alexy: Of course, it's true! We are at your house! Can you pay me a drink?

No way. You've had enough to drink tonight. ( - )

You know what? You and I are going to make a bet ... If you can drink a glass of water, invite the house! ( + )

Alexy: But I love him! Why didn't you want to hear me ...?

Don't you have a little idea why? I remind you that your behavior has not been ... irreproachable. ( + )

Calm down, Alexy. Anyway, you are not in the best state to think about all this ...  ( - )

Alexy: You see, Candy ... He has already turned the page ... Three years together and he is sleeping with another two weeks later.

And at the same time, can we blame him for wanting to turn the page?  ( - )

That doesn't mean anything, maybe he's just trying to feel better. ( + )

Nath: Well I'm glad Morgan is having a good time. He deserves it. I honestly think Alex screwed up a lot with this.

Yes. Obviously, I have not said so, but I think the same and have tried to make him understand. ( + )

True, but anyway what happened to him tonight is a bit harsh. I mean ... people make mistakes. ( - )

[rovewritesit]

Angel Of My Dreams (Chapter 1) John Deacon x Reader Series

I’ve read so many fan fics in the past four months and I thought it was high time to try my hand at it. I’ve created this side blog so that I can 1) Express my love for Queen and 2) Not annoy the randos from high school and college who still follow my main. This’ll be a slow burn folks, so hold on to your hats.

Series summary: After reluctantly joining a band with your childhood best friends, you are thrust into oncoming stardom with no sea legs and an overwhelming sense of anxiety. But you just might find your way, thanks to some seasoned pros by your side. And the interest of one particular bassist.

This series is a work of fiction, and is loosely inspired by real people and events. Absolutely no offense is meant to actual Queen or their families.

PART 2 - PART 3 - PART 4

Pairing: John Deacon x Reader (eventually)

Chapter Warnings: Lots o’ curses

Chapter Summary: This is basically just some set up for the series. No Deacy yet, but a meet-cute to happen very soon! I got the band name with the help of some random band name generator so be kind. I’m hoping to introduce in some songs readers may not have heard - I was thinking of “Heart of the Night” by Juice Newton while writing this, hence the single name and album.

Song/Title Inspiration: Angel - Fleetwood Mac

- - - - - - -

Days of Our Lives Documentary Shoot - 2010

(Brian May and Roger Taylor Joint Interview)

“The early 80s were huge for us, for sure. I believe we were at our biggest then, internationally speaking.” Brian states, glancing over to Roger.

“Yes, Another One Bites the Dust really set things a-flame I think. The traveling and playing were constant. The crowds getting bigger by the venue. Parties, hotels, girls, more parties. We were meeting just so many people.” Roger adds.

“And one of those being a certain American female rock singer.” The interviewer adds quietly from off-camera.

Roger glances over to him with a questioning look, but Brian catches on quick, like always.

“Ah yes, that particular rock goddess. We did meet her around then, I believe, yes. Maybe a few years after.” Brian says knowingly, still playing along.

Roger stares into space with a confused look on his face until the realization hits him. “Are we talking about Y/N?” Roger mutters to Brian. “Yes” Brian chuckles, patting his friend on the shoulder.

“Oh, what a spit-fire she is! Not back then though. Fred really worked some magic with that one. Almost inseparable those two were.” Roger laughs out, a wave of nostalgia washing over his face.

Brian raises his large eyebrows, “Deacy would beg to differ I think.”

Roger smirks, “Oh, well that’s a whole different story.”

- - - - - - -

1982 - MTV Studios, New York City

You run your hands up and down your thighs, trying to will your left knee to stop repeatedly bouncing up and down. The satin of your pants does nothing for the layer of sweat on your clammy hands. You fold them together in your lap and gaze around the studio instead, taking in the bustling of crew members as they ready for the pre-taped interview. The god-like VJ, Alan Hunter, sits in a chair off to the side as someone artfully pieces his blonde locks into place. He grins over at you with a small wave. You limply lift your hand in a greeting, pasting on a small smile that doesn’t reach your eyes.

You catch your pained expression as you glimpse a monitor off-camera. A friendly woman backstage had painted your face to the point of being almost unrecognizable. Gone was the evidence under your eyes of the restless sleep you’d fought the previous night. They were wide and doed, rather than their normal crescent shape. Your lips full and vibrant, your hair bounced and fanned out around your face. And your skin seemed to be glowing, masking the spots that had popped up overnight from stress. You looked every bit the rock goddess the label hoped to paint you as, and the exact opposite of the nerves currently threatening to overtake your body.

“Y/N, I can feel you vibrating from here. Take a deep breath. It’s gonna be fine.” Rich commented from beside you. His legs were splayed out, his arms bent behind his head. Looking as relaxed as can be, as if he were on his couch at home catching a movie marathon, about to doze off.

“How can you be so calm right now?” You rush out. “Who knows how many people are going to see this interview. Do you know how many times a day I accidentally let the F word fly out of my mouth?”

Rich lets out a snort. “I happen to know exactly how much you curse, thank you. Yesterday you said fuck 3 times in one sentence. It was charming, my mom loved it.” He moves his right arm to squeeze around your shoulders. Usually, it would be a comforting display of friendship, but you shake it off.

“And look at those three. Already so at home, I see.” You nod to the three other members of the band. Steve is exuding energy like yourself, but it’s excitement that bubbles from him. His eyes flit around the room quickly as he taps out some unknown rhythm on his bent legs. A wide grin permanently fixed on his boyish features.

At the far end of the couch, Eddie and Lawrence are wrapped up in a not-so-silent game of knuckles.

“Son of a-- Will you take off those damn rings? It’s my turn and I’m still getting bruised.” Lawrence huffs. Eddie wiggles his long, skilled, silver-clad fingers in front of his face and raises his eyebrows. “It’s all about the look, baby. Gotta play the part of the guitar god.”

“Will you both knock it off.” You call over to them. “We need both those sets of hands in playing shape for tomorrow night.”

Eddie turns, probably to counter with some playful comment about how you mother them too much, but Alan approaches.

“Alright, guys. And girl.” He flashes his perfectly white teeth your way again. “We’re about 5 minutes out from going up. Anybody need anything? Water, vodka, beer…” He turns his gaze to Steve, who is still tapping lightly on his legs. “A Xanax, perhaps?”

“Waters all around would be great, thanks.” You offer. Alan nods to a twitchy PA waiting to his side and they hurry off.

“Oh wait up, a Bud Light too, if you have any!” Eddie calls after them. The other three boys echo the same as well.

“You can take the boys out of Long Island…” you mutter to yourself. Rich teasingly pokes your side. “And something stiff for the lady!” He shouts out.

“In all manner of ways” Steve giggles. You feign a shocked expression and reach over to place a gentle slap to the side of his head. He looks over with big apologetic eyes and you stifle a laugh.

In record time, the lanky PA rushes back over with a myriad of drinks, all threatening to topple over on the tray they were precariously balanced on. Another PA trails behind, handing you all water, which you’re in desperate need of. They hand the drinks out one by one and stop before you. “Your water, Miss. And I didn’t know what you liked so I have a jack and coke, a whiskey sour, and a gin and tonic.”

“The gin and tonic is great, thanks.” They hurriedly hand you the drink and go to turn away. “Love your hair by the way.” You tell them. “I’m absolute shit at styling mine. Guess I’ll have to learn now.” They smile back at you and run a hand through their short locks before disappearing amongst the rest of the crew.

“Okay, we’re ready to rock n’ roll!” Alan exclaims, getting the band’s attention as he sits down in a chair next to your side of the couch. “We’re going to start off with a few basics on the band. Your lower thirds will have your instruments labeled but feel free to explain how you guys started out, your influences, your process. I’ll prompt you in between and then we'll talk about the album and promote your upcoming tour towards the end. Should take 15 minutes tops, so keep your answers brief. But I won’t say no to any rowdy stories you want to throw in.” He finishes with a wink.

The band nods along as you gulp down a breath, your palms becoming even slicker. The stage manager’s high voice rings out around the studio. “Playback ready! Live to tape in 5.. 4...” Rich places a hand over your knee and gives a squeeze. “Light em’ up, Bun” he mutters in your ear.

“3.. 2..” She holds up a finger and then points it at Alan, a wide smile already set on his face. The camera light flicks red as the MTV open plays from speakers around the room. Alan beings as the song fades out.

“We’re here in the studio and boy, am I excited to get to know this next band. Over at MTV we’ve been watching the steady rise of their single “Heart of the Night” on the charts. And as an added surprise, they’re here to introduce their very first music video. I’m very pleased to welcome to the studio, Lo & The Limbs!”

You try to relax your face as a camera pans across the band and settles on a two-shot of you and Alan. You know your eyes are gleaming with anxiety so you glance down the couch, silently praying for one of the boys to take the lead.

“Thanks for having us Alan, it’s such a trip to be here.” Eddie says with ease, resting his forearms on his knees.

“So, I have to ask. Who is Lo? Is it you Lawerence?” Alan questions the piano player.

“Oh god, no.” Lawrence chuckles. “Our high school was affectionately called Lo High, for Long Island HighSchool of the Arts. So we sort of tacked that on while playing during those years to let people know where we were from. That and well, as you can see we’re all above 6 foot except for Y/N, so a lot of limbs going on here.”

Alan gives a short laugh. “You released your debut album, Quiet Lies, earlier this year to growing success. Why don’t you tell me how you all started out.”

“Well, the boys and I have been together for a few years. We’ve been friends since grade school and we always just used to jam about. As we got older we started playing local bars back on Long Island to mostly middle-aged crowds, trying to break in, but it wasn’t working. Then Rich had the idea to invite Y/N to join up and it’s all kind of all taken off from there.” Eddie explains.

“We needed a pretty face to balance out all these ugly mugs” Steve pipes up.

“It took a while for her to finally concede though. She was off being too studious for the likes of us.” Rich adds on with a smile and nudge to your side. Your eyes grow wide as you feel a question directed at you coming on.

“Is that true, Y/N?”

“I- I guess, I was at NYU studying documentary filmmaking.” You choke out, but continue on. “Love this lighting set up, by the way, it really hides all sins.” That gets a light chuckle out of the crew surrounding you.

“And these sins you’re hiding are…” Alan grins but quickly bounces to the next topic. “Certainly a good call, Rich. Heart of the Night is the only song off the album that Y/N is singing lead on and look how well it’s doing. How did that happen?”

“Most of our songs were already written from before when we finally got the money to record. We wanted Y/N to feel a part of it, so she went on and wrote Heart of the Night and we were all very pleasantly surprised that it’s become such a hit.” Steve explains. “She also directed the music video we’ll be debuting today. I can’t believe she let us do all the things we did in that… well, you’ll just have to see for yourselves. We can be a bit of a handful.” The boys all chuckle.

“That and she plays the weirdest collection of instruments. Rhythm guitar, any type of strings, the saxophone… She's a boss on the harmonica.” Eddie turns to you as he speaks. “You just need to get over those pesky little nerves about your singing, Bun!” He points in your direction.

You feel the heat rise behind your perfectly painted cheeks at the slip of your nickname. You cast your gaze down at your lap. Not liking how the conversation has turned directly onto you.

Alan quirks an eyebrow at you. “Bun?” He teases.

You have yet to lift your eyes when Rich answers for you. “Bunny, an affectionate nickname. It’s stuck around since grade school when she wandered into Lawrence's backyard in search of a rabbit she was chasing.”

“A rockstar called Bunny. There’s a first for everything.” Alan quips, but quickly notices your displeasure in the current topic. Sensing your growing panic, he addresses the rest of the group. “This has been quite the debut album, with more hits sure to come from it. Any bands you’ve taken inspiration from while writing and producing?”

Rich jumps at the question. “Fleetwood Mac would be a big one. The way they layer their sounds is just unmatchable. You catch something new with every listen of an album of theirs.”

“I can’t be a pianist from Long Island and not mention the granddaddy, Billy Joel.” Lawrence adds. “His songs take you on such a ride. They’re full stories, each one of them.”

“And you, Y/N?” Alan directs the next question. “Who will you be drawing inspiration from when you write your next hit single?”

You smile to yourself. “It’s gotta be Queen for me. I’ve loved every one of their albums. I mean, the way they’ve changed their sound just in the past few years alone. They’re always transcending. Never afraid to try out something new or weave a different genre into one of their songs. But you always know it’s a Queen song. I saw them 2 years ago when they played the Garden, and fu--” You catch yourself as you get more animated. “And they were all just so on. Perfectly in sync. There’s something so distinct about their sound, so practiced. I’d love to get to their level, to be able to experiment like that. To give joy in the way they’ve given it to me.” You finish. Realizing you’ve rambled for a bit, you turn your eyes downwards yet again.

“I think that’s the most I’ve heard you talk since you came into the studio!” Alan laughs. “Well, you heard it here first folks, Y/N L/N is a Queen fan, just like the rest of us. I’m sure you’re just as excited about their new album as well.” You nod quickly as Rich hides a smile. Knowing full well you’ll be first in line to purchase their new album, Hot Space when it drops.

“But before you get off to writing more hits, I believe you have a tour coming up!” Alan states, signaling that the interview is wrapping up.

“Yeah, we have a small American tour starting in February. But until then we’ll be opening up for Hall and Oates during their tour of the NorthEast next month.” Steve says excitedly, bouncing slightly in his seat.

“And with that, I think we’ll roll into the long-anticipated music video and directorial debut for the lovely Y/N L/N. Thank you all so much for coming in today and I can’t wait to see what’s next on the horizon for you. Here’s Lo & The Limbs with Heart of the Night!” Alan keeps his painted smile till the red light vanishes from above the lens on the large pedestal camera in front of him.

You breathe out the breath you’d been choking on as Rich puts an arm around your shoulders. He leans in and whispers lightly, “And only one hint of a fuck, ladies and gentlemen. She might just make it in this business after all.”

- - - - - - -

One Month Later - Veterans Memorial Coliseum - New Haven, Connecticut

The Limbs bound off the stage in full force, glistening with sweat and excitement. It was the largest crowd they’d played for by far. 10,000 people cheered from the audience as roadies and crew moved around them to set up for the main act, Hall and Oates. Rich spreads his long arms and huddles the rest of the group into a family hug, your skin sticking to one another, the smell of sweat filling your noses.

“I just want us to all remember this moment.” He speaks to the group, foreheads touching. “Even if nothing happens past this album. That was insane.”

“Absolutely bonkers, dude!” Steve says and he bounces up and down beside you. You all take a deep collective breath and squeeze.

“Alright, get off of me you fucks.” You laugh, untangling yourself from their vast expanse of limbs. “We all stink and I have to get out of all... this” You gesture to the skin-tight bodysuit your best friend, Dawn, had insisted you wear. Eddie presses a light kiss to your temple as he lets you into the dressing room first to change out of their view.

You close the door and sigh, glancing at yourself in the mirrors that line one wall of the room. Your eyes are bright, your hair is two times the size of when you went out on stage an hour before, and your makeup looks like you’d been in a fight. Grinning to yourself, you start to unlatch the halter top of the bodysuit, excited for the air to cool your skin.

Just as you are about to shimmy out of the rest of the ensemble, the door bursts open.

“Shit! Lawrence, what the hell?!” Scrambling to cover your top half.

Lawrence trains his eyes to the ceiling as he speaks. “Bunny, you gotta… just cover up and get your ass out here. You just... You gotta see, c’mon.”

Flustered, you hurry to redress your sticky body. After making sure everything is properly covered, you step out into the hallway backstage, already glaring at the boys. They’re all tight-lipped, staring at one another. “Okay, someone want to tell me what the hell is going on?” You say loudly. “Shhhhh” Rich hisses as he gestures behind him with a shake of his head. You glance over his shoulder to see the backs of two men. John Hall and Daryl Oates.

“Yeah, okay... I don’t get it. We’ve hung out with them like 5 times. Why are we fangirling?”

Rich widens his eyes at you and you glance back at them again. This time they part and you can catch a glimpse of who they’ve been talking to.

The flash of a tight leather jacket, a mustache, and two front teeth shining while laughter erupts from behind them.

You gasp.

“Fucking, fuck. That’s Freddie fucking Mercury.” You say, a bit too loud.

The bold man in question locks eyes with you. Something mischievous dances behind them as he narrows his gaze. Daryl and John move to their roadies to get fixed up before heading out on stage and Freddie lets out a sharp burst of laughter as he makes his way over. Your stomach churns with embarrassment but you can’t tear your eyes from his.

“Quite the redundancy of expletives, my dear. All you had to do was say hello.” he grins at you, all teeth. You’re not one to get too clammy in front of other musicians, but your voice gets trapped in your throat. You pray to whatever gods are out there that your eyes don’t get any wider.

Eddie’s easy charm luckily saves you. “This beautiful songstress right here is Y/N L/N.” You barely lift your arms as Freddie pulls you in for a light hug and kiss on the cheek. “But you can call her Bunny.” Eddie grins. So much for easy charm you think as you stare daggers into the profile of his face.

“Ha! Bunny? Oh my, that is wonderful.” Freddie chuckles. “It sounds as if you’re a socialite... Or a stripper. I can’t tell.” He beams at you. You can’t help but beam right back.

“Come along. Let us watch the show and you can tell me which one it is.” He says with a wink. “And introduce me to these giants you call your band.” He grabs your arm and leads you off, the boys in tow. Bouncing with excitement for what’s to come.

[gaycrouton]

M and S have sex while they're both wasted

The world was spinning. Or was it him?

One celebratory drink in their motel room had somehow turned into several. He couldn’t count right now, but he could tell it was a lot from the amount of bottles and cups that were currently adorning the hotel thingy.

What’s it called? Ott-o-man.

He chuckled lightly at the dumb word and Scully started laughing just because he was. He thinks that’s why they didn’t stop. There was definitely a time when they’d commented on being drunk, too drunk, but they didn’t stop. They were having fun, they were laughing - they never got to enjoy themselves like this.

She was flushed from drinking, the Irish in her coming out full throttle tonight as she threw them back like a champ. But now, hours later, he could see just how much it was affecting her. She was swaying back and forth while sitting on the bed a foot away from him. Her eyes were glassy and a small, drunken smile had taken permanent residency on her face. Her hair was tousled more than he’d ever seen it before and her blouse was unbuttoned so low he could see the tops of her boobs.

Scully’s boobs. Another giggle escaped his lips.

“You-you’re so pretty,” he gushed, trying to stabilize himself on the bed so that the painting of a flower on the wall would stop moving.

“You think I’m pretty?” she asked, a goofy laugh bellowing from her chest as she clumsily tried to tame her hair with her hands.

“You’re not just pretty. You’re beautiful,” he exclaimed, easing himself up higher on the bed.

With much difficulty, she kicked off her shoes, each landing with a loud thud on the floor, before crawling closer to him on the bed. “Can I ask you somethin’, Mullher?” she asked, the alcohol slurring her speech.

“O-of course, Scully. You can ask me anythin’. Always,” he reassured with as much sincerity as he could muster. Her tight skirt wasn’t meant for crawling on beds, so the fabric was moving higher and higher up the creamy expanse of her thigh everytime she scooted closer to him. If he was seeing right, which he easily might not be, he could see a pair of bright blue panties flashing at him.

“Mulder!” she laughed, putting her hand in between her legs and shielding his view, bringing her knees together so her hand was trapped.

“Oops,” he chuckled, putting his hands up in exaggerated guilt. “Sorry, Scully.”

“It’s hard to s-sit in this,” she explained, highly amused by her fashion faux pas. He was just about to recommend she take it off when she fell on her side and rolled so she was facing him, her hands going to her waist. “It’s n-not comfe-ertable,” she explained, her fingers fumbling with the zipper at the side.

He’d had a chub for what felt like since she came into his room, but at the sight of Scully disrobing, albeit clumsily, it instantly turned into a full blown, leaking hard on.

“Did you wanna ask me somethin’, Scully,” he asked, putting his hands in his lap as he watched her boobs jiggle on her chest while she tried sloppily to undo her skirt.

The button came off and she let out an audible sigh of relief, sliding the zipper down with ease. “Umm,” she mused, lifting her hips and, after a few tries, flinging the skirt to the ground.

Scully lay on her back, just in her top, a pair of blue, lacy underwear, and her little white socks. She started toeing her socks off, the muscles of her thighs moving under her skin as she did so. “Oh yeah!” she exclaimed, sitting up when both socks were on the floor.

She crawled so she was sitting up again, crossing her legs as she sat facing him. “Will you answer honestly?” she asked with exaggerated seriousness.

“Scout’s honor,” he promised, saluting.

“Have you ever,” she interrupted herself by giggling, covering her face as she did so and he felt himself laughing in response. She looked back up at him, her bright blue eyes looking somehow bluer through her mirth. “Have you ever thought about fucking?”

His eyes bulged in his head at the crudeness of her language and it caused them both to laugh again. “Fucking?” he asked. She nodded and he joked, “Have you seen my porn collection.”

“No, no, no,” she giggled, shaking her hands in front of her face. “Have you ever thought about fucking me?” she asked.

His jaw dropped open, his eyes inadvertently flicking down to that thin little patch of fabric that was concealing her pussy from view. If it was brighter, he was certain he could see the indent in the fabric where her lips met. Mulder’s eyes roamed up her body until he was staring into her curious eyes. “I think tha-’s all I ever do, Scully,” he admitted.

A cute smile spread across her face so hard that he could see her dimples. “Do you think about fucking me?” he asked.

She cocked her head so that it was leaning on her elbow. “Of course, Mu-Muller. Look at you!” she exclaimed, leaning forward so her hand was sloppily stroking his abdomen. “You’re beautiful. And you have abs!” she proclaimed.

“Barely,” he laughed, enjoying the feeling of her touching him.

She tsked in disapproval and lifted up his shirt. “Oh, really? Then what’re these?”

He shivered as she traced the faint lines with her finger. “My abs,” he admitted with a laugh.

“Why don’t we?” she slurred, looking up at him from her bent over position.

“Why don’t we what?” he asked, too focused on looking down her shirt and enjoying her hands’ ministrations.

“Fuck,” she asked, her hands dipping a little lower so that she was touching the beginning of his happy trail.

The erection he’d been sporting started hitting the underside of her forearm. She noticed this, and let her hand fall to the front of his dress pants, rubbing her hand up and down the length of him. “Scullee,” he gasped, bucking into her hand.

She sat back up, releasing her hold on him. His cock missed her warmth immediately until he realized she let him go only so she could whip her blouse over her head. As she was doing it, it got stuck, so she was just sitting there on the bed with her midriff and bra partially exposed while her arms flailed in her shirt.

Unable to help himself, he leaned forward and started tickling her sides, laughing as her whole body twitched and jerked. “Nooo, Mul-der, help me!” she laughed, squirming on the bed.

Mulder eased himself up onto his knees in front of her, smiling down at her trapped head while he stuck his fingers under the rolled hem of her shirt. “I’m helping, I’m helping,” he reassured with a smile.

She wiggled from side to side, the fabric rising up with her movements until she was free, the shirt flying forgotten into the corner of the room. She matted her hair back down with exasperation and dramatically sighed. “That’s what I get for tryin’ to be sexy,” she laughed.

“No,” he shook his head, using his hands to push her shoulders lightly so she fell onto her back on the mattress. She looked dazed from the movement, but her focus was honed in on him as he crawled between her legs, nestling his hard on into her pubic mons as he trapped her with his weight against the bed. “This is what you get for bein’ sexy,” he murmured, rocking his hips against hers.

A breathless laugh escaped her lips as her hands grasped his biceps. Her eyes fluttered shut as she lifted her hips up to his, grinding her heat against him. His erection started feeling uncomfortable so confined in his pants and boxers, but the sensation of grinding her into the mattress with it felt better than anything. “You ‘ave too many clothes on,” she complained.

“Funny, I was thinkin’ the same thing,” he replied, easing off of her so he could whip his shirt off and shove his pants and boxers down his legs. He got a little caught, being he hadn’t taken off his shoes yet, so it took him a little longer than he’d wanted.

When he turned back to her, she’d stripped her bra and underwear off and was currently reclined on her back, touching herself while she watched him. He watched in rapture as her fingers swirled around her bundle of nerves before plunging into her tight heat.

Realizing that was his job, he crawled back over to her and situated himself in between her legs, grabbing his cock in his hand and knocking her fingers out of the way with it so he could coat himself with her arousal.

She laughed at his insistence and moved her hands to the back of his neck, pulling him down so she could kiss him. She tasted like wine coolers and vodka as her tongue invaded his mouth. He’d always imagined Scully would be an amazing kisser, and she was proving him right. Even through the drunken haze, she was driving him wild - from the little sounds she was making while he ran his tongue over hers, to the way she was arching her back to maximize the amount of skin touching.

Scully lifted her leg up onto his hip, and he could feel the heat of her radiating onto his cock. Unable to resist it any longer, he plunged into her.

His breath was stolen as she broke the kiss to gasp, her eyes shooting open as their bodies finally met. Part of him realized he should have prepared her better and he let out a breathy, “I’m sorry,” stilling himself inside her even though every fiber of his being was telling him to start thrusting his hips.

“No. Keep going,” she commanded, pushing into his lower back with the heel of her foot.

Her wish was his command, so he pulled all the way out before thrusting himself back in as deep as he could go. She cried out again, her nails scoring his back as he continued to do the motion over and over again, picking up speed in time with her cries. “God, Mulder,” she groaned as he leaned up, grabbed her ass, and pulled her closer to him on the bed.

He was certain he’d never felt anything so tight and wet in his entire life. His intoxication made it feel like their bodies were melting together and they were becoming one. His entire body felt fuzzy and warm except for where they met - it felt like all the blood in his body was rushing to his cock and every slap of his body against hers was a bolt of electricity.

Mulder was bucking against her so hard, the bed was knocking aggressively against the wall, a drum beat acting as an accompaniment for the intensity of this moment. Her hands had moved to cup her breasts, which were bouncing lewdly on her chest with their movements.

He moved one of his hands down towards the apex of her thighs and he started rubbing her clit mercilessly. Her brows furrowed and her head fell back into the pillow as she whined in appreciation. However, his hand being occupied threw off his weight distribution and sent him falling forward into her, his chest falling right on top of hers.

The vibrations of her laughter rocked his body lightly and he couldn’t help but laugh with her. “I’m smooshing you,” he stated, kissing her before rolling to the side.

“Wait,” she stated, noting how he was going to get back up. She rolled over onto her side, mimicking him, and lifted her top leg to rest over his. “Le-’s do it like this,” she requested. “We won’ fall that way.”

He nestled up close to her, grabbing his dick and shoving it between her legs so he could align them again. “Have I ever told you how fuckin’ smart you are?” he asked before ramming himself inside her, grabbing onto her hips as he resumed thrusting.

From this position, he could feel her ass as it squished against him every time he slid into her. He was certain in the morning she was going to have bruises from his fingers digging into her hips, but from the expression of ecstasy on her face, she was loving it. He nestled his face into the crook of her neck and started sucking on the delicate skin there, enjoying the way he could feel her pulse thrumming. “Oh my god,” she murmured, moving her hand in between her thighs to resume what he’d started.

He could feel the way her pussy was starting to contract around him as she was building herself up into a frenzy. “Yeah, that’s it Scully,” he coaxed, leaving a wet spot on her neck from where his mouth had been. “I want to feel you come.”

She tilted her head to the side so he could kiss her, and he instantly covered her mouth with his own. He could feel her sharp intakes of breath as he started picking up the pace, and in only a few moments, he felt her jaw drop open as she was coming.

He started bucking into her unrelentingly as she spasmed and twitched around him. “Fuck, Scully!” he cried, thrusting as deeply as he could before spurting hot inside her.

She turned her head to the side again and kissed him as he tried to catch his breath, overwhelmed by the sensation. “That was-” he began.

“Amazing,” she finished, giggling against him.

Their bodies were sweaty against each other, but all he wanted to do was keep her in his arms. He let go of her hips, noting the angry red marks he’d left as he eased his arms around her, bringing her flush to him.

His cock was starting to soften and fell out of her, resting spent in between her thighs as his come leaked out of her. He pressed a kiss to her sweaty temple and saw her eyes flutter shut, and a small sated smile graced her lips.

They’d exhausted themselves from the excitement, and that mixed with the booze had them knocked out not long after.

——————————————————

The bathroom shining through a cracked door.

The sounds of sickness.

A woman moving around the room.

His door shutting.

Through the pounding headache, he could remember waking up a few times in the night, but it didn’t make sense. They’d been drinking, they made the comment about being too drunk… and then?

He thought it was a dream.

He would have been certain it was a dream if it weren’t for the stickiness he felt around his penis, the blue panties he found near the lamp, and the red marks marring the neck of a partner who couldn’t meet his eye.

[swanqueeneverafter]

The Once & Future Queen Pt.2

Storybrooke. Present. Mayor's Office. (Snow White sits down with the brand new Reporter for the Daily Mirror.) Reporter: "So, Snow White, tell us about what's been happening in Storybrooke recently?" Snow White: "Well, as you know it's been a pretty tough time for our family and Storybrooke's community as a whole. The last time Emma went back in time, she was back before any of us could notice, but it's been a week already and we just don't know when she'll return." Reporter: "You say 'when' as if you're certain Emma will be back?" Snow White: (Nods:) "Absolutely. There's not a doubt in my mind that Emma will be back." Reporter: "What makes you so sure?" Snow White: "Because that's what we do in our family. We find each other. Always." Reporter: "I see. Moving on slightly, Tiger Lily and Mulan were also victims of the time travel spell. How do you see them coping with their current situation, wherever they might be?" Snow White: "Mulan and Emma have travelled together before. She's a strong leader and excellent fighter, so I'm very glad that they're together in this. As far as Tiger Lily's concerned, I couldn't say." Reporter: "There are rumours that Tiger Lily was once Morgause's Fairy Godmother. That it was she who took the child to be raised by the High Priestesses of the Old Religion." Snow White: (Shaking her head:) "Uther Pendragon is the one responsible for what happened to his daughter." Reporter: "Very well. Tiger Lily's wand was found amongst the wreckage of Camelot's council chamber, is that true?" Snow White: "Unfortunately, yes. If Tiger Lily had managed to hold onto her wand, I believe she, Emma and Mulan would have already returned to us." Reporter: "Because that's how your daughter returned from the past the last time?" Snow White: "Correct." Reporter: "Okay. One last question for now then." Snow White: "Fire away." Reporter: "With Emma now missing, it neutralises the one thing Storybrooke had in its favour above all the United Realms; the combined magic your daughter shares with Regina." Snow White: (Shifts uncomfortably in her seat:) "And your question is?" Reporter: "Knowing that Morgana and Morgause are both still free, should the people of Storybrooke be concerned for their safety?" Snow White: (Takes a breath:) "As some people are aware, I have been taking over some of Regina's mayoral duties lately, which includes assuring the people that things are well in hand. All I can tell you is that as long as Morgana and Morgause are out there, no one knows what their next move might be."

Seas of Meredor. (Morgause and Morgana continue across the sea with the ferryman. Wyvern shriek as they fly around the fortress while the boat continues to the isle.) Enchanted Forest. Past. (Tiger Lily and Tinker Bell sit talking outside a tavern.) Tinker Bell: "Wait, so you're telling me that not only are you from the future, but where you're from those two are married?" Tiger Lily: "Shh, keep your voice down. (Nods:) Yes and they have a son and daughter together." Tinker Bell: "Wow. I guess the Pixie dust did lie." Tiger Lily: (Shrugs:) "Not really, I mean it did lead Regina to her True Love." Tinker Bell: (Considers, then smiles:) "Yeah, I guess that's true."

(Sitting at another table, Emma and Regina talk while Mulan stands a short distance away looking pensive.) Emma: "So, why didn't the King take you with him on his royal visit?" Regina: "Oh, my husband and King Midas are old friends. With Midas now a widower, Leopold thought I would be too bored while the men discussed business of state." Emma: "I see." Regina: "To be honest I think he much prefers when I stay at home to look after his daughter, Snow White. (Catches herself:) I'm sorry, that was rude of me, we've only just met and here I am burdening you with my problems." Emma: "Not at all. It must be hard to be viewed more as a babysitter than a wife." Regina: "Yes. Although in some respects, it's very much a relief." Emma: (Reading between the lines:) "You and the King haven't..." Regina: (Shakes her head:) "Oh, no. I am barely older than his daughter, and as 'Royal babysitter' it would be unseemly for the King to be sleeping with the help. (Both women chuckle at this:) There I go again, being most indiscreet about palace life." Emma: "Perhaps I make you feel comfortable enough to speak your mind?" Regina: (Smiles:) "I think you're right. (Picks up her tankard:) It's a refreshing change." (They clink their tankards together and drink.) Royal Guard: (Approaching their table:) "Queen Regina." Regina: (Turns to him:) "Yes?" Royal Guard: "Snow White sent me and my men to find you. She became worried when you weren't in your room this morning." Emma: (Under her breath:) "God forbid." Royal Guard: "What was that?" Regina: "Well as you can see, I'm fine, thank you very much." Royal Guard: "I have orders to escort you back to the palace." Regina: "And so you shall, after I am done speaking with my friend here." Royal Guard: "My orders-" Emma: (Rising from her seat:) "Listen, pal. The Queen and I were just talking, there's no need for-" Royal Guard: (Draws his sword:) "Stand back, wench, or I shall have you arrested." Regina: (Also stands:) "On who's authority?" Mulan: (Running in:) "Come on, Emma. Let's go." Royal Guard: "Listen to your friend, Miss, or there will be trouble." Regina: "Now wait just a minute." Royal Guard: (Grabbing Regina's arm:) "I'm sorry, Your Majesty, I have my orders." Emma: "Hey! Get your stinking hands off her!" Royal Guard: "Out of my way, harlot." Regina: "Hey, you're hurting my arm!" Emma: "That's it." (Emma hauls off and punches the guard, sending him to the ground. Sighing resignedly, Mulan draws her sword and turns to the oncoming guards. Dispatching them quickly, the warrior turns back to see Emma straddling the man and beating his face to a pulp.) Mulan: (Pulling Emma off of him:) "Now we really need to go, before reinforcements arrive!" Emma: (Giving Regina her most regal bow:) "It was a pleasure, my Queen." (With that, Mulan and Emma take off running into the woods while Regina waves after them, smiling. As the Royal Guard staggers to his feet behind her, Regina elbows him in the face, knocking him unconscious.)

Isle of the Blessed. Present. (Morgause and Morgana approach an altar.) Morgause: “Samhain is almost upon us. We must hurry.” Morgana: (Stops walking:) “I can’t do this.” Morgause: “Sister. (Takes Morgana’s hand and together they continue forward towards the altar:) Remember what I told you. It is the only way. What you are about to do will affect everyone, even you. But most importantly, it will bring our enemies to their knees. You must be strong, remember that. (Morgause presents Morgana with a dagger:) Do not be scared. (Morgana takes the dagger:) I am not long for this world. There is nothing left for me here now. (Morgause weakly climbs onto the altar stone and takes Morgana’s hand:) Please, Sister, let my parting be my final gift to you.” (Morgause lies down.) Morgana: (Standing beside the altar, dagger raised:) “Eala leofu sweoster, paem gastum befaeste ic pe. Alys pa peoster pe inne onwunap.” (Morgana poises the dagger to strike, her eyes glow and she plunges it into Morgause’s chest. Morgause gasps. Morgana is blown off her feet.)

Xena & Gabrielle's Campsite. Woods. (Xena attempts to sleep while Gabrielle sits stargazing.) Gabrielle: “Looking out at the cosmos makes you think... about where we are... where we’ve been...where we’re going now.” Xena: (Rolls over and looks up:) “Yeah... and like the bigger now. Look. (Pointing towards the distance, both Xena and Gabrielle stare at the unusual activity taking place in the sky:) Have you ever seen anything like that?” Gabrielle: “No. But I think we’ve finally found where Morgana and Morgause are. What do you say?” Xena: (Nods:) “I say, let’s go check it out.” Isle of the Blessed. (Cailleach strokes Morgana’s cheek and Morgana wakes. Morgana sits up and sees the cloaked woman standing in front of the rift.) Morgana: “Who are you?” Cailleach: “I am the Cailleach, the gatekeeper to the spirit world. You have torn the veil between the worlds. (Eerie screams echo from the rift:) The Dorocha. They are the voices of the dead, my child. And, like the dead, they are numberless. (Morgana looks around in fear:) You are right to be afraid, Morgana. Your enemies will rue this day and all the destruction it brings, but you must beware. Tearing the veil between the worlds has created a new world, and you will not walk through it alone. The one they call Merlin will walk in your shadow. He is your destiny, and he is your doom.”

Enchanted Forest. Past. (Having successfully evaded capture, Emma and Mulan find themselves outside yet another tavern. When the heavens begin to open however, they have little choice but to enter.) Tavern. (A man is scrubbing the floor of the tavern.) Man: “Ah, great to see the Sheriff didn't scare everyone off. (Stands:) What can I get for you?” Mulan: “Oh, we didn't come here for the ale.” Emma: (Looking around:) “Nor, clearly, for the ambience. We came... (Turns to see the man, who is revealed to be Robin Hood:) Uh...” Mulan: (Stepping in:) “To get out of the rain. Do you have rooms here?” Robin: “We do, yes.” Emma: (Regaining her thoughts:) “Great. We’ll take two.” Robin: “Yes, well, uh, they’re not free.” Emma: “Right! (Pats her pockets:) I don’t seem to... Mulan? (Mulan shakes her head:) We don’t actually have any money.” Robin: “Then you have a problem.” Emma: “But we’re willing to work for a room. Right, Mulan?” Mulan: (Nods:) “Certainly.” Robin: (Looking Mulan up and down:) “I'm not in that line of business anymore.” Emma: “No but, it seems, you won't be in the tavern business, either. Was that a tax notice I saw on the door?” Robin: “Get to the point.” Emma: “Please just let us stay here and we’ll work for room and board. You can’t say fairer than that?” Robin: (Considers:) “Hm. My wife was thinking about hiring some extra hands around the place.” Emma: (Laughs, relieved:) “You’re married?” Robin: (Confused:) “Yes.” Emma: “That’s wonderful news.” Robin: (To Mulan:) “Is your friend all right?” Mulan: (Nods:) “She’s had a long day, probably light-headed from exhaustion.” Robin: “Shame. I could have done with you starting tonight. This floor’s playing havoc with my knees.” Emma: (Reaching out for the cloth in Robin’s hand:) “Not a problem! So we have a deal, right?” Robin: (Hesitates then hands over the cloth:) “Agreed. (Removing his apron:) Your rooms are up the stairs to your right. Now if you’ll excuse me ladies, I think I’ll turn in and give my wife the good news.” Mulan: “Good night.” Emma: “Yeah, night.” (Robin leaves.) Mulan: “I don’t know what you’re so happy about. We just escaped the royal guards to work for a man wanted by the Sheriff.” Emma: “Oh, details details. Think big picture, Mulan. Now we have a roof over our heads, Robin Hood is married and I just flirted with a younger version of my wife.” Mulan: “Yeah, about that, I thought you were concerned about messing up the timelines?” Emma: (Agitated:) “You are just determined to see the bad side to everything, aren’t you? Look, don’t worry, I know what I’m doing. Now quit worrying, grab a sponge and help me wash this floor.” (Although still concerned by the day’s events, Mulan decides to let things go for now, instead concentrating on finishing the tavern floor so that they both might get some sleep.)

Village. Present. (On their way to investigate the odd light in the sky, Xena and Gabrielle pass through a village.) Xena: “It’s too quiet.” (They enter the village and all is silent. A door creaks loudly and they freeze until a goat bleats and wanders out. Continuing on, they enter one of the houses. Inside, they stare at the frosted corpses of some of the villagers.) Gabrielle: “What could have done this? (They turn as something flies past them:) You see that?” Xena: (Shakes her head:) “We are literally chasing shadows. Come on.” (They exit the house and search the village, now bearing torches. Xena splits off from Gabrielle when she hears a door shut in a barn. Gabrielle walks around cautiously and a chicken jumps out at her. She sighs in relief. Something shrieks quietly behind Xena and she sees a wisp of it as it exits the barn. Xena chases the shrieking wisp but loses it. Screams echo around Gabrielle. A wisp shoots straight for her.) Gabrielle: “Xena!” (Gabrielle uses her torch to repel the wisp.) Xena: (Running to her:) “What happened?” Gabrielle: “There’s something out there!” Xena: “You saw it?” Gabrielle: “When it saw the light, it fled. I don’t think it’s something you can chase or something you can kill.” (The shrieks echo.) Xena: “We need to get out of here.”

[katsukikitten]

Irritated 3

Bakugou and Izuku stand in line for quick ramen while you stand at a different vendor for a sub. You're salivating as you think of what you want on your eight inch.

A ping rings out from Izuku's pocket, he fishes for his phone almost dropping it with burning cheeks as Bakugou rolls his eyes beside him. The ash blonde watches the deep emerald man's face contort.

"We don't have time to eat!" Izuku exclaims.

"What?" A snarl from beside him.

"'You and Bakugou have an interview at 230 with the rest of class 1A in building A. Please keep Y/N in the same vicinity as you. Sorry for the last minute add on.'" He reads aloud, watching Bakugou's face sour.

"Wow that dick." Bakugou hisses as he looks over the food court before spotting you, "I guess I'll grab Y/N. Are we even in the right fucking building?"

"I'll look it up n..now!" Izuku unfolds the map of the convention center looking for where the q & as are normally held in building A as Bakugou stomps after you.

You're literally next in line, already got in your head what you're going to get before a strong hand pulls at the crook of your arm. Your blood runs cold while your heart accelerates, you hadn't seen the green eyes cuck follow you into the food court. He got a phone call and headed back in the direction of where you first saw him.

"Don't fucking tou..." You turn with furious eyes faintly glowing to your assailant only to hesitate when met with burning and fastly narrowing blood red eyes. He tugs you harder, vice grip on your arm threatening to bruise ruining any positive points he earned today. He drags you all the way to a panicking Izuku before you yank free of his deadly fingers.

"What the fuck I was literally next?!" Hunger further fueling your anger as you stare down Bakugou. He faces away to avoid an argument, angry himself to miss food.

Angry, though he will never admit it, that you had such a negative reaction to his touch.

Izuku fills you in as you're dragged to the giant conference room. The three of you flashing your passes to security to allow y'all to enter. They open the doors and tell you to sit in the reserved seats in the front of the stage at least five minutes before the event begins.

"This is bullshit you know?" You growl, doing what you do best taking it out on Bakugou.

"Yea becuase this was my fucking idea in the first place." He snaps back to you, crossing chiseled arms.

"Guys. Please. You were doing so well." Izuku tries just to be met with harsh glares.

"Bakugou Katsuki?!" A deep male voice rings out just barely over an excited womans voice shouting.

"Deku-kun!!"

Two figures approach quickly, Bakugou stiffens before slightly relaxing as none other than Red Riot walks striaght for him. While a chestnut haired woman comes for a blushing Izuku.

A cat smile creeps on your face as you figure this is the girl Deku was talking about. She hugs him in time with Red Riot hugging an angrier by the second Bakugou.

"Oi shitty hair let go of me damn it!" He snarls, cheeks slightly flushed before he is released. Ruby red eyes fall onto you before they shine with delight.

"Ah THE Tejina? I'm Kirishima!" He offers you a wide toothed grin before nudging Bakugou, "Is she your girlfriend?"

"HELL NO!" Both of you answer in unison as a beautiful bubblegum pink skinned woman approaches. She holds onto Kirishima's arm, looking too amused for your liking.

"I don't know they *do* kinda sound like they're dating." She laughs as red eyes narrow on her form. She extends her right hand to you.

"I'm Mina. Tejina, I just *love*your Instagram!! You HAVE to take me to that cafe you post the catppuccinos from!!!"

"Please call me Y/N." You smile, already loving the vibe of two very respectable heroes, "They make frogs shaped ones in spring!"

"Oh they do? Asui would love to see that!" She exclaims. The cracking sound of the PA system silences your reply as a voice rings out overhead.

*"Q&A with the famous class 1A in year 20XX will be commencing in t minus five minutes."*

"Well that's my cue!" You say as you begin to make your way to your seat.

"Join us for dinner!" Mina calls out and you give her a thumbs up before sitting in a section by yourself. For once you're thankful that you are not sitting in a seat at one of the many long tables on the stage and that you're a part of the crowd. You glace over your shoulder to sweep the room as you would normally do but you pay even closer attention, waiting for your eyes to catch dark grass green ones. You sigh with relief when you do not see them and settle into your chair as the lights dim a little.

"Welcome fans to the exclusive event of a rare Q and A panel for the famous class 1AAAAAAAA" The host announces as he brings his hand to point to left stage. The twenty alumni walk out as screams erupt behind you. Loud enough you'd think your ear drums burst.

"DEKU HAVE MY BABIES!!"

"RED RIOT GIVE ME YOUR RED ROCKET!"

"PINKY SPIT ON ME!!!!"

You roll your eyes over the typical fan thirst solidifying your original thinking about fans. That they place their idols on a pedestal forgetting that they too are people. Living and breathing just as them but with the pressure of responsibility being ten fold.

"Now we have gotten a majority of your questions from Twit handle @askconanything but we have made time for a special few to get a change to ask their burning questions." The host smiles at the crowd and their clapping echoes through the building as if it were thunder.

The questions are typical and directed to the team as a whole. Some ask for the dirty details of certain missions or even as simple of how do you take your coffee.

Some how they all answer, none of their responses surprising you.

Sato takes his with lots of sugar, even saying the old joke of "I like a little coffee with my sugar."

Todoroki likes his iced and black, Momo does not drink coffee instead an earl grey tea with light cream. Mina prefers a hot chocolate but would settle for a cuppocinno with an animal made from the froth. Denki likes anything as long as it has three expresso shots. Kirishima loves flavored creamers, a glutton for the seasonal creamer that comes out in the grocery store.

You roll your eyes as he blatantly hints that he's a pumpkin spice whore.

Izuku's you already know because it once surprised you as it does the whole crowd now.

As if his coffee order determined some personality trait we all missed.

"Oh I like my coffee black." He smiles and the crowd gasps while one fan screams I told you so!!

"And you Bakugou?" The host prompts looking at the last hero on the panel. He sighs angrily before answering.

"Iced, winter summer dont give a shit iced. Heavy heavy cream. Sugar and a pump of vanilla." He snarls crossing his arms as the host was surprised to even get a response from him.

Bakugou's was the only one you never would have guessed. You thought it would be black like Izuku's not the exact same way you took your coffee. Especially not after the time you brought coffee to one of the first meetings with Director Yami, Izuku, yourself and Katsuki. You bought two of your order just to spite Bakugou. Thinking he would be too prideful over ice in his coffee. Little did you know he had a mean petty bone in himself too.

But for it to be his preference? That couldn't be right. Had you ever seen him with an iced coffee before?

You snort as you question if you've ever even paid Bakugou more than a glance before this weekend started.

A few fans ask interesting questions about being students and what the dorms were like.

What their agencies look like and one even begs for a personal story about training with Bakugou was like that Kirishima happily answers while small pops catch your eye.

Oddly enough you're enjoying this Q&A, the vibes and banter that this class had with each other was astounding.

It made your heartache for more and for great friends of your own.

"Okay now the question I know you've all been waiting for!!" The host cannot even finish his question before the crowd erupts again. Some how knowing where he is going while you struggle to guess, "Relationship status!!!"

He seemingly picks members at random, staring with Minta. Who has oddly grown to normal height and even looks like an average person but his eyes still sparkle with that perverted gleam.

"Single." Is said by 16 of the class of twenty.

"Taken." Todoroki says simply, holding up the hand of Momo who sports a larger than life diamond. Mixed emotions are expressed by the crowd briefly before the host turns his quisitive gaze upon Izuku.

He is blushing furiously, fighting to keep his eyes from wandering to a certain brown eyed girl that proclaimed her status as S I N G L E.

"Si..Single." His first stutter of the whole hour and forty five minute event. Women scream as if they've won the lotto.

"Bakugou? Is their anyone special in your life?"

He narrows crimsom into slits before baring his teeth.

"What kinda dumbass questions are these?" It comes out dark but you hear the whimper of some of the women behind you.

"Your fans are dying to know! There isnt a single person for our lone wolf Ground Zero? No one that makes your heart race? Your palms hot? And not with explosions." The host graciously recovers and you see a faint flush creeping on his cheeks. You watch as he clenches his fist, biting the inside of his lip to keep from exploding. He holds a death glare with the host before sucking his teeth, a smile is painted on his lips. A smile that turns deadly cocky.

"The only love I have is for being number one."

Girls swoon in their chairs as some scream.

"I'LL BE YOUR NUMBER ONE KATSUKI!!"

Something about it makes your stomach clench but honestly are you surprised?

The man would rather have one night stands and only commit to work than to have to commit to another human being. You roll your eyes as the host smiles while agreeing before turning his gaze to bubblegum pink skin.

"Well I did just get this." She says slyly holding up her left hand, showing off a gleaming diamond. The crowd chants 'Who who' like a parliament of owls in the dead of night though you silently chant along with them having last heard of her being single.

"Well he's cute for starters." Mina cooes and you do not miss the blush that rises on the ruby eyed man next to her. Excitement suddenly bubbles in your blood as you wait on the edge of your seat for her to say what you're thinking.

Golden moons suspended in the black of night slide over to her shining gem. The silence of the room is unbearable as more that 150 people wait on baited breath.

"Kirishima yall!" She finally gushes and everyone is over joyous. Documenting it all before the media even had a chance, "I kept it in the dark for so long because I wanted my fans to know first."

And that had you feeling some type of way. Truly struck you as you thought of what that must be like. To be so close to your fans to want to announce to them first. As if they were friends, family. Guilt plagues you for a moment before you make a promise to yourself.

To be a little more open like Mina.

The class picks dinner at a restaurant with outdoor seating, its packed from both business and following flocks of fans keeping you just slightly on edge. You all wait while they gather a table together on the patio beneath the string lights and the slowly setting summer sun. For a moment you're left in the back, feeling like a stranger looking in through the picture window of a dining room.

As if watching the large family sitting around the table eating, laughing, all enjoying one another's company as they feast on the holiday dinner while snow piles high on your shoulders.

You feel the chill and weight now, fighting back to urge to reach out to the nearest bicep, to cling to the strong arm until you can swallow your self pity.

Along with friends you never really had family either. You ate in an empty apartment on every birthday, holiday and any day in between.

As the group is guided to be seated you put on your best mask, the one you wear when you tell people they will be okay when you know full well that their life has been altered forever. That even though the initial danger is over they will have to carry the weight of their trauma for years to come. No one ever mentioned that you too would carry their trauma with you, little pieces tucked neatly away in your pockets and purse.

No one notices your facade as you joke with them, as you feign a laugh.

No one but red eyes.

You sit between Kirishima and Bakugou. Across from Mina and Izuku, who's wide jade eyes are focused to the woman on his right with chocolate brown hair.

Eventually your smile becomes genuine as does your laugh. As if someone saw your withered frame illuminated in the dark night by the warm glow of their dining room staring in.

And instead of scaring you away they invited you in. Moved chairs around to accommodate you, even made you a warm plate.

That's what it feels like anyway when you laugh at Kirishima's joke at Bakugou's expense.

"How the fuck was I supposed to know she wasn't going to like spicy?!" Katsuki growls after Kirishima finishes a story about an ex girlfriend of Bakugou's who hadn't been in the picture long. Bakugou glares before gathering noodles with his chopsticks. Slurping on the very same spicy ramen from the story.

Kirishima leans in close, ruby eyes glittering with mischief as he whispers in your ear.

"I dare you to take a bite of his Narutomaki and offer him the rest. It's his favorite part."

"Give me 20 bucks and I'll do it." Your eyes mirror his with endless trouble twinkling in the low light. He glances between the ramen and you before a wide toothed smile pulls at his lips.

"Deal." A breath of a whisper. You snatch your chopsticks up and dip into his bowl, grabbing onto the small red and white swirl with ease before taking a bite of. The table is silent as they watch you do the forbidden. One should never steal food from Bakugou, especially not his fish cake.

But you do and then you have the audacity to offer it back gently, sticks poised in a way that the other half is facing him and easy to grab with his mouth should he wish.

He glares at it while the whole table waits with held breath. Izuku watches, ready to pounce with a Kaachan to avert his attention from your ever growing cocky form.

Instead of explosions or a flip of the long table, teeth gingerly take the other half of the fish cake.

You blush furiously as he holds eye contact with you, lips still over chopstick. It was as if the world fell to a black backdrop as he stared up at you.

"Are you sure she's not your girlfriend?" Denki finally asks breaking whatever spell was on the two of you. Bakugou quickly bites down harshly, snapping the chopsticks in his mouth like a heathen. He spits the two tips perfectly into the electric man's food before baring his teeth.

"I'm fucking sure." His tone is deadly before he continues to eat his ramen, "OI the fuck are yall looking at?! Finish your dinner."

Everyone returns to eating but you as you seem to almost be frozen in place. Replaying what just happened. How could someone so...so...so God damn harsh be so gentle. Or even look up at you with a gaze that was heated with something other than malice or hate for you.

You're brought back to reality when Kirishima offers you another set of plastic chopsticks.

"Yea I think you might owe me forty now." You joke and his laugh rings out over the patio.

"Desert anyone?" The waiter asks from behind you. You turn with glee, ready to announce that you will have the death by chocolate cake, that is until you are met with forest green eyes that are trained solely on you. No notepad in sight as the rest of the former class belts out what their sweet tooth is craving.

Your mouth goes dry and you fight to keep the blood from draining in your cheeks. You look over his face noting the odd, slightly hysterical smile he wears as you force yourself to control your face. Bringing your features into that of boredom, if he knew you recognized him that would only solidify the validity of his stalking.

Truly giving his actions purpose as to how he got here and how the hell he got a uniform for the restaurant.

"I'll take my check please." Your voice comes out apathetic as you turn away from him but before you do you notice the hurt that flashes in his eyes.

"Coming right up miss." His voice comes out smooth, normal but you hear the difference. The odd undertone that comes with an unstable mind that believes they are entitled to what they want.

It is a voice you will not be able to get out of your head soon enough.

You cannot stop your hand as it flies under the table to grip onto Bakugou's thigh with sharp nails biting through the fabric of his pants. He parts his lips to yell but his threat for you to be patient dies in his throat when he feels just how tightly you're holding onto him.

Hard enough to shake from the strain of holding back. Your petite hand glowing faintly. He looks over his shoulder then but cannot see anything out of the ordinary before his eyes shift back to your hand.

He does not let his eyes linger long knowing that anything over a second would give you away. Even as you laugh with Mina, your hand stays glued to his thigh.

You fight the urge to cling to Bakugou or Izuku as the three of you walk down the darkened streets. You're exhausted, angry and more than ready to take a scalding hot shower before going to bed. Once you three walk through the lobby doors you sprint up the stairs, too impatient for the elevator as you stare at room number 404 you remember that your key lies inside, forgotten on the coffee table.

No matter, you've picked plenty of locks or had the door seemingly open from within with your power many times before. You flick your wrist and the door opens of it's own accord before you slam it shut rushing into the bathroom to peel off your second skin.

You hear grumbling from the hall and your ears just barely pick up Bakugou's words.

"I still have her damn card."

"Just hold onto it Kaachan, she's had a long day.

Their doors slam in unison and the sound still causes you to jump although you knew the sound was coming. You take a few collected breaths as the soothing steam fills your lungs as it does the small bathroom.

The vapor dances in the light as you attempt to towel dry your hair and mostly fail.

You give up half way through, abandoning the towel as you exit the bathroom to the small bedroom. You see a shadowy figure sitting in the chair by the bedside and flick your wrist flinging it into the ceiling for it to come crashing back down before you flick on the lights.

You laugh bitterly to yourself when you see the lewd shirtless Bakugou staring up at you, having somehow forgot your ridiculous purchase and good time.

A heavy exhale leaves you as you dig in your bag, finding the bralette and cheeky black underwear you planned to wear for bed. Sliding them over your thick frame with ease, flopping on the bed with the Bakugou pillow. Looking at his flushed cheeks give you a laugh, bringing you back to leaning against his muscular frame to reach your wallet.

The way he looked up at you beneath long lashes, how his eyes held new life. No longer were you under his scorching gaze, it had softened. Become warm.

Your own cheeks burn as you slam the pillow down.

"So Kaachan the fish cake is your fav huh?" You ask softly to yourself as you force memories of him yelling at you during missions to the forefront of your mind.

It works for the time being, you punch the pillow in its "gut" before turning on your side trying hard for sleep.

Just as you begin to loose where your dream starts and your conciousness ends you hear talking in the hall.

God you hated hotels as you're woken by the commotion. They are drunk from the likes of it, screaming of how great of a time they had as they make their way down the hall. You turn facing the door with a growl, squeezing your eyes shut.

You hear footsteps again but this time they do not bypass your door and they seem to stand before it. You prop yourself up on your elbow as you hear the door jiggle.

"Are you sure this is her room?"

Your heart begins pounding in your chest, you know that voice.

You were determined to commit it to memory despite only hearing a sentence from its owner

"Yes I'm sure."

"Give me a key." The voice comes out dark and your throat dries as you silently shift from the bed onto the carpet with bare feet.

"I cant. I shouldnt have even brought you this far cuzzo."

"Useless." He snarls as he activates his quirk, a flesh colored liquid pools beneath the door, struggling to get in through the cracks.

You back up until your hands are pressed against smooth glass. You gently ease the door open before sliding it shut behind you. You stand on the balcony looking left and then right before wondering which room is fucking which.

Was Deku to the right? The left? You weren't sure as time ticked by too quickly. His quirk must not have worked so you watched the door handle jiggle again causing your skin to crawl as you scramble to the balcony to your left.

You hoped and prayed two things.

One that whomever was trying break into your room would leave once he was unsuccessful.

And two that you were not on the balcony of a certain hot head as you eased yourself into the flimsy plastic chair.

You couldn't stand the thought of showing him any more vulnerability this comic con. You hug your knees as the voices and bangs from the hall are drowned out by the loud traffic below.

Wishing for this nightmare to end.

Oh but my sweet child it had just begun.

[stainedglassgardens]

Watched in May

A Russian Youth (Мальчик русский) Sicario Fedora LoveTrue The Platform Water Lilies (Naissance des pieuvres) The Assistant The Half of It Tomboy The Last Man on Earth Beanpole (Дылда) Mommy The Fall Girlhood (Bande de filles) Carnival of Souls Marguerite & Julien Portrait of a Lady on Fire (Portrait de la jeune fille en feu) This Magnificent Cake! (Ce Magnifique Gâteau!) Romantic Comedy Transnistra Eraserhhead The Farewell Emma. Late Night Charlie's Angels Birds of Prey (and the Fantabulous Emancipation of One Harley Quinn) The Ancestors Came Suicide by Sunlight Anthropocene: The Human Epoch A Perfect 14 Westwood: Punk, Icon, Activist Free Radicals Aniara Vivarium La Pointe-Courte Diary of a Pregnant Woman (L'Opéra-Mouffe) Salut les Cubains Uncle Yanco (Oncle Yanco) GUO4 Atlantiques Sitara: Let Girls Dream Lions Love (Lions Love... And Lies) Živan Makes a Punk Festival (Živan pravi pank festival) Plastic and Glass The So-Called Caryatids (Les Dites Cariatides) The Octopus (La Pieuvre) Hyas and Stenorhynchus (Hyas et sténorinques, crustacés marins) Sea Urchins (Les Oursins) Bernard-L'Hermite (Bernard-l'Ermite) The Sea Horse (L'Hippocampe ou "cheval marin") Voyage to the Sky (Voyage dans le ciel) Le Vampire Freshwater Assassins (Assassins d'eau douce) How Some Jellyfish Are Born (Comment naissent des méduses) Shrimp Stories (Histoires de crevettes) The Love Life of the Octopus (Les Amours de la pieuvre) Acera, or The Witches' Dance (Acera, ou le Bal des Sorcières) Pigeons of the Square (Les Pigeons du square) The Slumber Party Massacre Jane B. par Agnès V. The Cranes Are Flying (Летят журавли) Crystal Swan (Хрусталь) Take Me Somewhere Nice Microhabitat ( 소공녀) The Unforeseen

Did not finish

Swiss Army Man (Daniel Kwan and Daniel Scheinert, 2016) Braid (Mitzi Peirone, 2018) A Secret Love (Chris Bolan, 2020) Calder's 1927 Great Circus (Le Grand Cirque Calder 1927, Jean Painlevé, 1955)

Did not like

Sicario (Denis Villeneuve, 2015) The Platform (Galder Gaztelu-Urrutia, 2019) The Half of It (Alice Wu, 2020) Sitara: Let Girls Dream (Sharmeen Obaid-Chinoy, 2019)

I could take them or leave them

Fedora (Billy Wilder, 1978) LoveTrue (Alma Har'el, 2016) This Magnificent Cake! (Ce Magnifique Gâteau!, Emma De Swaef & Marc James Roels, 2018) Romantic Comedy (Elizabeth Sankey, 2019) Eraserhhead (David Lynch, 1977) Late Night (Nisha Ganatra, 2019) Charlie's Angels (Elizabeth Banks, 2019) Free Radicals (Len Lye, 1958) Aniara (Pella Kågerman and Hugo Lilja, 2018) Birds of Prey (and the Fantabulous Emancipation of One Harley Quinn) (Cathy Yan, 2020) The Ancestors Came (Cecile Emeke, 2017) GUO4 (Peter Strickland, 2019) Živan Makes a Punk Festival (Živan pravi pank festival, Ognjen Glavonić, 2014) The Unforeseen (Laura Dunn, 2007)

Films I enjoyed

A Russian Youth (Мальчик русский, Alexander Zolotukhin, 2019): Went into this with the single aim of improving my Russian. Loved the back-and-forth between “the story” and the orchestra playing the score to said story. The “story” itself is also tragically moving

Water Lilies (Naissance des pieuvres), Tomboy, Girlhood (Bande de filles) and Portrait of a Lady on Fire (Portrait de la jeune fille en feu) (Céline Sciamma, 2007, 2011, 2014, 2019): I saw all four of Céline Sciamma’s films practically in a row! I liked all of them, don’t think I prefer one over another. And I recognise she’s a talented filmmaker, even though she’ll probably never be a favourite

The Last Man on Earth (Ubaldo Ragona and Sidney Salkow, 1964): A good... vampire-zombie film... that is worth sticking with even though you might find it too ordinary at first

Beanpole (Дылда, Kantemir Balagov, 2019): This story is fucked up! I liked it up to a certain extent, but I suspect it was mainly because of the historical and geographical setting. If you like post-WW2 Russia and this is the film for you

Mommy (Xavier Dolan, 2014): The portrayal of the titular mother hit a bit too close to home... This was my first Xavier Dolan film and I was not disappointed. Only drawback: Céline Dion’s song “On ne change pas” has been stuck in my head ever since

The Fall (Jonathan Glazer, 2020): It was... good? From the publicity it received on Mubi, I thought this was going to be a feature film, so yeah, I was disappointed, I loved Sexy Beast and Under the Skin so much

The Farewell (Lulu Wang, 2019): I really liked it, I think this didn’t get nearly enough praise -- but I was expecting something life-changing when I “only” found this very good

Emma. (Autumn de Wilde, 2020): This adaptation felt like Autumn de Wilde really, really wanted her film to be shown in as many classrooms as possible. It was enjoyable! I liked her additions to the book, and I appreciate the challenge she took up

Suicide by Sunlight (Nikyatu Jusu, 2019): A good short vampire film about Black vampires who are protected from daylight by their melanin

Anthropocene: The Human Epoch (Edward Burtynsky, Jennifer Baichwal, Nicholas de Pencier, 2018): Stunning visuals, sobering message. Somewhere between Koyaanisqatsi and Unser Täglich Brot in tone

A Perfect 14 (Giovanna Morales Vargas, 2018): This, by necessity, doesn’t cover everything on the subject of plus-size models, and practically speaking I didn’t learn anything -- but it’s well-made, and the personal stories of the main interviewees make a good, contrasted portrait

Westwood: Punk, Icon, Activist (Lorna Tucker, 2018): I came out of this feeling as if Vivienne Westwood wasn’t that interesting of a person, which I’m sure wasn’t the director’s intention... still, it was informative enough

Plastic and Glass (Tessa Joosse, 2009): A short somewhat-documentary about a choir in a recycling facility. Good music

The Slumber Party Massacre (Amy Holden Jones, 1982): Finally saw this! Very surprised to learn this was written by Rita Mae Brown. It was good as far as slashers go and of course, it is nice to watch something from that era that is not appallingly sexist

The Cranes Are Flying (Летят журавли, Mikhail Kalatozov, 1957): I guess I had to read about this afterwards in order to see how unusual it was for the time it was made. While I watched it I enjoyed the way it was filmed but the story left me indifferent, and I thought it lacked subtlety

Crystal Swan (Хрусталь, Darya Zhuk, 2018): A very aesthetically pleasing story set in 1990s Belarus, about a young woman who wants to emigrate to Chicago for the love of house music... the story will keep taking you unexpected places from there. The costumes are perfect, the soundtrack is interesting. It does feel a little as if it were made for export, and I thought it relied quite heavily on stereotypes about Slavs

Take Me Somewhere Nice (Ena Sendijarević, 2019): This coming-of-age road movie about a Bosnian girl who was raised in the Netherlands and comes back to visit her father in hospital has everything... drugs, violence, death, even cute dogs. The pastel palette makes it very satisfying

Microhabitat ( 소공녀, Jeon Go-woon, 2017): This film about a woman with a minimum-wage job who would rather leave her flat than quit smoking and drinking whisky just spoke to me

La Pointe-Courte, Diary of a Pregnant Woman (L'Opéra-Mouffe), Salut les Cubains, Uncle Yanco (Oncle Yanco), Lions Love (Lions Love... And Lies), The So-Called Caryatids (Les Dites Cariatides), Jane B. par Agnès V. (Agnès Varda, 1955, 1958, 1964, 1967, 1969, 1984, 1988): I decided to watch all of Agnès Varda’s films that are on Mubi France and that I haven’t seen already, in chronological order. This feels a bit like a chore sometimes, but I find it rewarding. It’s strange to think that even a few years ago hers was a name I’d heard a few times but that didn’t mean anything to me. And I know I can be merciless when it comes to French cinema. Anyway... I like what I’ve seen so far (the above plus Cléo and Vagabond), I like that someone can just pick up her film camera and make a short about caryatids... generally speaking I like Varda’s approach to film that makes it seem more accessible to people like me. I don’t think all of her films are particularly good, but I like that she made all of them. I never did particularly like Cléo, and I didn’t particularly like La Pointe-Courte in spite of the fact that it was shot very close to where I’m from. Of the above, my fave was probably Lions Love, even though (or because?) it doesn’t very much feel like a Varda film. Uncle Yanco is a close second. I’ve got three feature films left now

Films I loved

The Assistant (Kitty Green, 2019): Unfortunately enough, this reminded me of an internship I did a few years ago... I found it uncomfortably realistic, and thus very good. Julia Garner is perfect, as usual

Carnival of Souls (Herk Harvey, 1962): I watched this because it is a classic, expecting it to be over-the-top and not nearly as scary as I found it... a very good surprise

Marguerite & Julien (Valérie Donzelli, 2015): It’s hard to talk about this in a way that will make people want to see it without making me sound like a huge weirdo but here goes. It’s a story about a brother and sister who are madly in love with each other. It takes place in a fantasy past and is told like a fairytale. If you think it’s impossible to turn this premise into a good film please watch this

Transnistra (Anna Eborn, 2019): With this film I discovered the existence of the tiny unrecognised state named Transnistria... I also discovered Alla Pugacheva, who is part of a great nostalgic Russian soundtrack with Kino amongst others. The story is one of those documentaries about youth that punches you right in the gut. Definitely recommended

Vivarium (Lorcan Finnegan, 2019): This is the type of what, for lack of a better term, I call “minimal science fiction” that I really enjoy. I’ve thought about it a lot since then. I don’t know why people generally didn’t seem to like it. I thought the premise was terrifying and nightmarish, and the actual film effectively claustrophobic. Plu:s Imogen Poots

Atlantiques (Mati Diop, 2009): This is the short, not the feature film of the same name. I’ve heard a lot about Mati Diop and I saw this the second it became available on Mubi France -- and I didn’t regret it. Can’t wait to see Atlantiques, long form

The Octopus (La Pieuvre), Hyas and Stenorhynchus (Hyas et sténorinques, crustacés marins), Sea Urchins (Les Oursins), Bernard-L'Hermite (Bernard-l'Ermite), The Sea Horse (L'Hippocampe ou "cheval marin"), Voyage to the Sky (Voyage dans le ciel), Le Vampire, Freshwater Assassins (Assassins d'eau douce), How Some Jellyfish Are Born (Comment naissent des méduses), Shrimp Stories (Histoires de crevettes), The Love Life of the Octopus (Les Amours de la pieuvre), Acera, or The Witches' Dance (Acera, ou le Bal des Sorcières), Pigeons of the Square (Les Pigeons du square) (Jean Painlevé, 1928, 1929, 1929, 1930, 1934, 1937, 1945, 1947; Jean Painlevé and Geneviève Hamon, 1960, 1964, 1965, 1972; Jean Painlevé, 1982): I didn’t know who Jean Painlevé was before I decided to watch The Octopus. As it turns out, I am a sucker for well-made nature documentaries, and since all of these are short films, I ended up watching them all, in order of release, over the course of one afternoon. It’s a little bit crazy that these were getting made as early as the 1920s, and I can’t imagine what it would have been like to see them in theatres nearly a hundred years ago. Anyway these are all good, although I wasn’t expecting the vivisection that seems to have been par for the course in the early days

*

Yes, I really did watch 65 films in May. It becomes a little less impressive considering a fair amount of those were shorts, but still. Unemployment!

I have access to Outbuster now in addition to Mubi and Netflix, this time through my boyfriend’s account. It’s a French thing I think, and very cheap, but I’ve only just tried it with Microhabitat. Of course it was the Mubi Library thing that just completely sent me over the edge, and I want to watch all the things.

In June I hope to finish Agnès Varda’s filmography on Mubi and maybe watch some more Tarkovsky!

[fiction-in-my-blood]

Switching Sides: Part 14 (HLITF)

if anyone possibly wants to get on a tag list I’d be happy to make one

👉@theshove  ​👈

👉@kamyru👈

If you wanna catch up, Part 12 is right here! Happy reading :)

And I just want to thank everyone that’s been consistently reading this fic, I know it’s a slow burn but I think it’ll be worth it :D

Premise: Growing up in a life of crime in a Japanese mafia, Atsuko Motomori has seen enough injustice to last her a lifetime. To try and give back to the universe her family has taken so much from, she dreams of being a detective from a young age. Her twin, sharing her disgust for her father and many uncles, just wants an ordinary life away from the crime, paing and suffering. Instead, she wants to be in the spotlight with the soft notes she makes with her cello. In their escape of 2015, on their coming of age birthday, they must split ways, never to be together ever again. If one was found, they didn’t want the other dragged down with them. Atsuko, having changed her name and appearance as best she can without a scalpel, sets off to start her life of car chases and arrests.

Four years in a seemingly dead-end police station in the middle of nowhere, being passed over time after time for promotion, Atsuko finally gets a shot at her dream, having been sent to an academy for the best candidates in the country by her boss who had always kept an eye out for her. After discovering her boss may have made her bite off more than she could chew, Atsuko must become the slave of a dominating instructor!? Who so just happens to be the captain of the most famous police unit in Japan? Not to mention a total knockout! Will Atsuko finally achieve her dream? Or will her new instructor put her through the wringer?

Warnings: Language, Reference to sexual activity, Forceful nature, Abuse, Kidnapping, Torture.

~~~~~~

Another end to another day and again I found myself in the Instructor's Staff Room, diving into any work Kaga could give me. I thrived off productivity and never wanted to put the mundane tasks down, that was until one of the other Instructor's told me I needed to go to bed.

But that night was different. I wasn’t struggling to read a word or trying to figure out if I got Soma's tea and Goto's coffee switched around. It was the end of the week, which meant my test-intensive few days were just around the corner.

Although, I wasn’t as worried about that as I was worried about asking the instructor's to attend Juna's baby shower. She called me every day, demanding an updated report on who was coming and who I hadn't even asked yet. At this point I had Goto, Shinonome and Ishigami down, as well as the first guest of Soma. So now I'm standing in front of Kaga's office door, contemplating if I even wanted to risk asking him out during his private time. From what I had seen, he's got very little of it and when he did, he always found one excuse or another to pile on my workload or follow him to a stakeout. Although, there had been less of that since I returned to the academy.

I had asked Naruko and Chiba to come, just so I could have emotional support through the awkward gathering, but they were just as hesitant as I was about spending my free time with the instructors.

"You didn't gain telepathic powers. You can't open the door with your eyes." Shinonome laughed at me and I threw a scowl his way. It had been surprisingly easy to talk with him now that he wasn't always trying to make a pass at me. He just made fun of me in other ways. Like a more vocal Kaga.

"I know that." I pouted before forcing myself to knock. Luckily, the shutters were down again, so the captain didn't see me standing around like an idiot for the several minutes I did. And with that, I was beaconed in.

"What is it?" He asks, looking over a file. I assumed it was a lesson plan, although he never usually did stuff like that. He always threw us into the deep end, whether he thought we were ready or not. Taking a deep sigh, I asked.

"My sister wants you to come to her baby shower. It's at the end of the week." I explained, referring to the end of next week. His gaze shot up, firing his 'concerned-I-hit-my-head-again' gaze. "You don't have to force yourself. It's a thank you gesture if anything." I explained, sounding nonchalant if he accepted or not when truly I didn't want to see him outside of the academy. I'd be too awkward and shy to even talk. I froze when I saw the moment of silence he took to think about it.

"If you pass the exams next week I'll think about it." He grumbled and quickly turned back to his work. My brows furrowed in confusion and when Kaga noticed I hadn't moved to leave yet, he glared again. "Anything else?" His mouth flipped into a satisfied smirk at my slow reactions.

"N-No, thank you. I'll go now." A blush flushed on my cheeks when I didn't know what to say in return. Did he think I wanted him to go? Why would he bribe me with it? Confusing questions encircled my brain as I finished up the week-long task Kaga had thrown on my desk several days ago.

~~~~~~

After spending all weekend locked away in my room, pouring myself over the textbooks and notes I had made in class and the ones Naruko had made during my absence, I arrived in the Monitor Room with excitement and sky-high nerves. Never had I been happier with my insomnia, it helped me spend more time studying instead of falling asleep at my desk. I did get some sleep, of course, otherwise I wouldn't be able to perform to my full potential. Although, my excitement might have been due to how overtired I was.

"Morning, Instructor!" I waved at Kaga who strolled in lazily, hands shoved in his pockets. He frowned at my volume, asking me how I always had so much energy. Once I apologised, the other instructors trailed in for my first exam. Because no one was willing to retake with me, the PSD teams had to partake. We would be going to a casino to gather information about the dark underbelly of the hotel it resided in.

"This is Eisuke Inchinomiya. He owns the hotel and is usually found on the casino floor. Goto will go into his private room and plant a wire. You two will be out on surveillance." Ishigami announced, pointing at me and Kaga. I tried to hide the blush growing of my face remembering the last time we went undercover again.

"No surprises this time?" Kaga smirked at me and I pout at him.

"There was no possible way I could have helped that." I scowled but surprisingly he just chuckled. Then, we left to change and went for the hotel-casino.

~~~~~~

Once we arrived, with me dressed in a lavish, floor-length, flashy and not to mention curve-hugging, dress, Kaga held onto my waist to guide us around the room. Ayumu was in a room upstairs with the equipment to check if the wire was working and we all had earpieces so we could communicate with each other. Soma was dressed in a server's uniform, undercover so he could get closer to Ichinomiya if we weren’t able to distract him.

"Keep an eye out," Kaga whispered in my ear as he sat at a dice table, still holding my body close to him. Even though I was more... experienced with men than last time, my heart still raced and I hoped that he couldn't hear it with my chest so close to his. Trying to be as discreet as possible, I found the target gambling a few tables away, women either side of him.

"10 o'clock," I mumbled, letting my gaze fall back to the table as he threw the die. Ishigami gave us a few chips to play with in order to help us fit in more. Kaga looked up to see the owner winning. 

‘Couldn't he just fix the games?’ I thought, my brows frowning slightly in confusion.

Suddenly, a man approached Eisuke and started leading him away. 

"They're going to the room," Kaga announced and I could tell there was a certain panic in his voice that no one would have noticed.

"I'll distract him." Soma spoke up through the earpiece and I watched him approach the two, both very handsome, men and offer them drinks. Eisuke rejected him and kept walking without much regard to the offer or the server’s presence.

"I'm not done yet," Goto explained, having already broken into the room. My shoulders tensed up, but I removed Kaga's arm from my side and grabbed one of the chips in his hand. Discreetly sliding my earpiece into his pocket so that Ichinomiya wouldn't discover it when I approached him, Kaga gave me a look, asking what I was doing, and I steeled my nerves before discreetly rushing over to them.

"You seem pretty lucky today. Would be a shame to put that blessing to waste so early." Sliding in front of the men, I tilted my head and put on a teasing smile, letting my lip brush between my teeth. A light sparked in Eisuke's eye when he looked down at my body, the slit from the top of my thigh forcing my leg out of the confines of the dress. Luckily, I was able to cover up most of my scars.

"Come on, play a game with me?" Crossing my arms, I tap the chip between my fingers against my cheek. He smirked at the way I was trying not to blush as I spoke so suggestively. Because I didn't have my earpiece, I couldn't hear Ayumu's teasing tone at how much I had grown since the beginning of the year.

"I'm pretty lucky as well." The young blond man beside him stepped forward with a gleeful smile. Looking away, I pretended to ponder for a moment.

"Hmm, no. I want him." Stepping towards the hotel owner and grabbing the opening of his suit, I guided him over to a poker table with a lot my assertiveness than I was used to implementing.

"You should be careful what you ask for." He whispered in my ear as I took a seat next to him and a grossed out shiver ran down my spine. 

‘I asked for it but, geez, is he creepy.’

"I think I know what I'm looking for." I smiled, looking at the dealer to exchange my singular expensive chip with more, less expensive ones. Luckily, Juna and I played poker a lot as kids with candy we were able to get on our few outings from the house. It was one of the only pass times my father would allow because we wouldn't make much noise.

The game was short, Eisuke won the table, but it was enough time for Goto to get out safely with the listening device planted. 

"So, what's my prize?" Eisuke leant over me and I leaned back, using my bare leg to keep my balance behind me. His smirk was flirtatious and it was easy to see what he wanted.

"I think the money is enough." I smiled, stood up and walked back to Kaga, who was still sitting where I left him. Breathing a heavy sigh next to him to ease my racing heart, I didn't feel the arm that snaked around me again.

"You did well," Kaga whispered in my ear again, his warm breath brushing against it. I blushed, gulping at the more satisfying reaction I had to him than to Eisuke.

"Give me a second." I put my hand over my mouth, trying to stop myself from gagging at the memory of Eisuke's hand easing closer to my leg when we played. Kaga sighed at that and returned to watching the owner leave the casino, the young man following him. At some point, he had replaced the earpiece in my ear and I could hear Ayumu's silent chuckling.

~~~~~~

Once we knew the wire was working, we returned to the academy. 

"So, how did I do?" I bounced over to Ishigami, who stayed behind, still dressed in my undercover outfit. He looks at me, and then to the other instructors.

"You will know by the end of the week." He explained, neither sounding tired of how pushy I was being or teasing me and returned to his work. My shoulders slumped knowing that I would have my nerves racing for at least five straight days.

"Katsumi, you did well today. Go back to the dorm and relax." Soma came up from behind me, placing a comforting hand on my back. I tensed up from the shocked of someone touching me so suddenly but quickly tried to calm myself down from the surprise the shock it gave me. Quickly nodding and bowing to the instructors, I left the room to return to studying.

~~~~~~

When we returned to the academy, Katsumi was still making a racket. Although, when Ishigami shut her down, she finally silenced herself. It was when Soma touched her that I really realised how on edge she must have been all the time. Once she left, he sighed, as if disappointed she reacted that way.

"She surprised me," Ayumu announced as we put away our equipment into their cases. I looked at him with a confused expression to find him smirking at me. "She jumps up to save Seiji without even thinking and then is a complete wreck when she comes back to you." He laughed, likely remembering how she stuttered when I got close to her. I frowned, not liking how observant he was becoming with her.

"Don't worry, boss, I'm not allowed to make a move. She's all yours." He laughed, putting his hands up defensively and I scowled.

"What are you talking about?"

"She's your aide. Wouldn't want to distract her from her work. Even if she can't read." He laughed again and my brows furrow. 

‘Since when couldn't she read?’

"Her concussion was that bad?" Soma interjected through the glaring match I was having with the lieutenant.

"It went untreated for a long time. She's lucky she just got poor eyesight." Goto commented as he walked into his personal office. I was left in the room, contemplating why I was the only one that didn't know how much she was struggling with returning to society.

~~~~~~~~~~

After I got out of the bathroom, having had a quick shower to wash the makeup and perfume off me, I hear a knock at my door. 

"Hold on!" I called out, pulling my pyjama trousers on with a hop and running to the door with the towel still over my wet hair. There, I found Kaga leaning on my door frame. "I-Instructor? How can I help you?" I instantly started to panic, wondering what I could have done so incredibly wrong for him to come to the dorms.

"I'm coming to pick up the files from the weekend." He grunted and tried my hardest to think of any tasks he could have given me, but I couldn't remember anything. My gaze darted back to the coffee table, where all my notes were sprawled out, but I didn't see any with the colourful tags I used to organise specified crimes.

Suddenly, Kaga pushed into my room, heading for the table. 

"In-Instructor! I... I'm not sure what you're talking about." I panicked, following after him as he picked up one of the clearly outlined pieces of paper. Because I've been basically teaching myself how to read again, there are tiny post-its next to the word I struggled with.

"So you can read." He grumbled to himself and I felt my face combust into a heated blush.

"Ayumu told you about that?" I cried out, not noticing that his face didn't scowl at my volume. "I-It's not really a problem. I just needed to be reminded sometimes. I can read." I argued, staring at the blur of ink on the page because I didn't have my glasses on. They were on the table beside my studying material. I was only able to make sense of the playing cards today because I could count the coloured dots. Not that I could differentiate which were hearts and which were diamonds, the same goes for the black cards.

Then, as I'm pouting to myself, Kaga's gaze falls around the room, settling on the bottle of pills on my nightstand. His long legs brought him over quickly and he picked them up. Inspecting them, I grew more aware of how curious he seemed.

"Um, sir, what're you doing?" I stammered out in a low voice, panicking about angering him for interrupting his investigation into my personal life.

"Tomorrow's test will be held in the Staff Room. Sleep early." He commanded, putting the bottle down with a soft rattle of the pills and walking out the room.

"What about the-?" Before I could ask about his reasoning for being here, the door slammed shut behind him.

~~~~~~

The next day I was sitting in the Instructor's Staff Room, reading over my theory test. I was given a series of scenarios and had to write down how I would react. I had pretty much memorised the textbook better than the names of my classmates. But what really put me on edge was the person holding the exam.

Instructor Kaga.

He was sitting at the head of the table, staring at me like I was a suspect. I couldn't help but be intimidated. My pen wagged over the sheet of paper as I think about what I would do if a child was taken hostage.

"I want to be here as much as you do. Hurry up." Kaga spat and my heart raced at the venom in his voice. 

‘He's annoyed.’ I'd been struggling so far, but I was so close to the end that I was starting to get sleepy. Which was strange. I rarely felt tired, it was the pills that sent me into oblivion. So, why was I so relaxed now? In an exam that determined my future.

Sighing, I just decide to write down the answer that had been on the tip of my tongue for about ten minutes now. I wasn’t sure if it was right, or detailed enough, but it was what I remembered from the textbook.

When finished, I slammed the pen down and threw my head back. "I'm exhausted," I complained to no one but myself as I yawned, stretching my arms above me and behind. Kaga jumped up, taking the paper and scanning the text. So far he seemed to understand my handwriting.

Then, he made an agreeing grumble and took it into Ishigami's office. I didn't know if that was a good thing or bad, but the wave of relief for him leaving the room was enough for my eyelids to clamp shut. Waiting for him to come back out and dismiss me, I rested my head on my arms and decide it's a good idea to just rest for a bit.

~~~~~~

"You're the one that volunteered," Ishigami growled at me after I complained about all the work I had been missing out on because of Motomori's test. I frowned, going to argue but reframed because he had a point. I said I would watch her because I was curious to see how she would cope with some of the scenarios. And, she looked exhausted. I wanted to make sure she wouldn't fall asleep halfway through.

Exiting Ishigami's office, I find Katsumi resting her head on the desk. 

"You can go," I grumbled but she didn't make a move to leave. I repeated, wondering if she was stuck in her absent mind, but I heard a whimper in response. Frowning my brows, I stepped closer to her and peered at her expression.

Her face was screwed up and the arm she was resting on was flexed as she clenched her fist. I could see her chest rising and lowering quickly as her breathing raced. There was a shine on her forehead from sweat. It wasn’t even that hot in the room, the heating was hardly on.

"Stop." Her voice was breathy, almost silent. I could only hear her because I was so close. "Don't know... She's dead..," she continued. She was having a nightmare.

‘It's probably a memory.’ But, who could she be talking about? My face contorted into further confusion as she repeated herself. 

‘She's gonna have a heart attack at this rate.’ Staring down at her person, I saw the wires of the MP3 player hanging out of her back pocket. Pulling them out and trying to get the device without touching her ass, I slipped an earbud into her ear, making sure the volume was on low before I played the music. After a song, her face eased a little.

"Hm." I chuckled at how easy it was to ease her and placed the player on the table, making sure the playlist I made for her was on a loop and returned to the work I was already behind on.

~~~~~~

As I faded into consciousness again, I heard the familiar tune of my sister's cello, accompanied by the rest of an orchestra. I felt my face scrunch up in confusion, wondering why I was hearing this. I had never been to any of her shows. I wouldn't have fallen asleep during one, I would be too proud of her, and there was no way I would be watching tv when I could be studying or doing Kaga's work. That's when I remembered I was in the Instructor's Staff Room.

With a sudden breath, I lifted my head with a start to find I was still in the office. I blushed, wondering how long I had been here when I felt something fall out of my ear. Looking down, I saw my headphones. 

"When did I..?" I led off, my mouth too dry to finish my sentence.

"Finally awake?" A voice spoke up from one of the doors behind me and I spun around to see Ayumu. I frowned and blush for him to be teasing me, but then I realised it wasn’t a nightmare that woke me up like every time I had fallen asleep since my rescue.

"What time is it?" I looked back at the table for my glasses, feeling around until I found them. To be honest, I hated wearing them. They were a hassle and an annoyance that I really wished I didn't need. And Juna somehow talked me into getting these silver, Harry Potter-esc glasses which make me look 'cute'.

"You're lucky Ishigami didn't catch you." He hummed, not answering my question. Slightly disgruntled, I pick up my MP3 player and shoved it into my back pocket, grabbed my pen and walked out the room to call my doctor.

~~~~~~

"You're worried that you fell asleep without your medication?" The surgeon's questioning tone sounded amused and I pouted, explaining how sudden it was. "This is progress, Katsumi, don't freak out. Although, you should try to do it on your own time." He let go of his professionalism and laughed out loud.

"Okay." I frowned my brows, still uneased by the fact. 

‘It’s like, whenever Kaga is in the room, I can fall asleep without any guards up. I almost feel safe.’ Hanging up with a sigh, I blew my hair out of my face. 

"I need a haircut." With my mood deflated, I made plans to get a haircut at the end of the week, after Juna's shower, which is the only time I'd have free for ages.

~~~~~~

By the end of the week, I. Was. Exhausted. With the stress of exams finally relieved, I was sitting in one of the many common rooms in the dorms with Naruko and Chiba, eating snacks they smuggled in. With the nightmares I had been having about my mother, I found my temptation getting the better of me, and I looked her name up in the policing database, just to see if something would come up on her, the screen of my computer facing away from anyone else in the room. I had never looed her up before, mainly because I was scared to know if she was alive or not. 

Scrolling through all the files the government has on her, I found she was once noted down as a testifying witness. Frowning my brows, I was about to click on the link when my name was called out. My gaze flew up as I closed the tab I had open.

"What can I do for you, Instructor Ayumu?" I flashed a smile at the man who had called out to me.

"Just checking where the party is." He smiled his usual, untrustworthy smile. I told him the address of my sister's apartment.

"I have to help set up, so I'll see you there." Forcing my 'let's-just-get-along' smile, I watched the instructor leave.

"I can't believe you get to see all the instructors in their casuals, Katsumi!" Naruko cheered once the lieutenant had left the room completely, not wanting to overhear her talk about him behind his back.

"You could too." I threw her a teasing eyebrow when I noticed her joking hesitance.

"I wouldn't want to get in your way." 

With the others distracted by another classmate coming over, I returned to the file I had clicked away from. The case was from ten years ago, around the same time my mother went missing. I read that it was a homicide case and my mother was in court to accuse the murderer. I didn't recognise the man, but his history recorded that he was suspected to be a part of my father's mafia.

"What?" I whispered under my breath when I saw the evidence used. The ring left on my pillow that night was on my screen with notes from an interrogation my mother was in.

"Lana gave it to me before she died. She said it would lead me to the answers. I don't have a clue what she's on about." There was no record of the ring being returned to any relatives or her, so she must have stolen it from the police department.

‘There was a message in the ring?’ My brows frowned further as I thought about how I had given the ring away months ago. Kanto hadn't proposed to Juna yet, I didn't know if he was planning to, but I needed that ring before Juna got her hands on it.

"Everything alright, Katsumi?" Chiba peered over as I turned off the computer and stood up, startling everyone with my suddeness.

"Yeah, I think I'm gonna get an early night. You guys have fun." Pulling my phone out of my pocket, I looked through my contacts to find my sister's boyfriend's name. The others waved me away as I put the phone to my ear. I’m sure they understood, seeing as I had just had a weeks worth of whistle-stop exams and my sister’s baby shower was the next day.

"Katsumi? What's up?" Kanto's voice echoed from the other end. He didn't sound rushed, so I guessed I hadn't interrupted their evening.

"Is Juna with you?" I kept my voice low as I headed up to my dorm room. Kanto told me he was, in fact, alone. "I need that ring back. Do you still have it?"

"Well, it's under our bed bu-." I interrupted him, asking if he could give back it to me tomorrow.

"Please Kanto. It's urgent." My mind raced with thoughts, wondering why my mother would steal evidence from a murder she testified in. 

‘How did she testify when my father would hardly ever let us leave the house?’

"Fine." He sighed, saying he had to go because Juna was calling him. With that, I unlocked the door to my room and got ready for bed.

[edrodgg]

My Candy Love - Love Life | Episode 5 Guide | Hyun

Outfits:

The first is for Nath / Hyun.    

The second is for Castiel / Priya.  

The third is for Rayan.

~ Translated content, so wording may be slightly different in My Candy Love.

Negative answers ( - )

Positive answers ( + )

Neutral answers ( / )

PA: 1350 ( approx, with Agatha ).

Hyun: Obviously, I’m not an artist. So, it’ll be a simplified version!

Oh, yes you are. Of course, you’re an artist. A honest-to-goodness pastry genius! It’s a wonderful idea. I love it!  ( + )

I’m afraid the artist won’t like it if we reproduce one of his works on an edible cake… don’t you think so? ( - )

Hyun: Well what do you say? Do we record?

I prefer not to ... When I see everything that is happening to Castiel, I do not feel like exposing myself online. ( - )

Okay, why not?… Anyway, it's not as if the same thing could happen to me as to Castiel. ( + )

Nina:

But then, you haven't told me ... Who is the lucky one?

It is normal to be on the nerves when you are ... in love. ( + )

Agatha is at the entrance to the university, before going to Leigh's shop. :)

Gabin: By the way, he and Leo have gone on vacation for fifteen days. A little respite, go ...

Than!? It's disgusting! I thought they were friends ...

But why? Precisely, it's time to support each other, right?  ( / )

Gabin:

You are right about Castiel. Although he will never show it, he must feel sorry that his friend does not call him.  ( / )

Honestly, your friend goes too far not responding. For him, Twitter is right and Castiel is a thief!

Gabin: I think he wants to talk to Castiel, but since the record company does not trust him, he is afraid of being like the black sheep.

He is also not asked to leave the label.  Simply call a friend when you're having a bad time. ( / )

In any case, he's not scared of being a bad friend… While on vacation, Castiel is savoring him.

Rosa: Well, anyway, I imagine we will know when we should know ... But this silence does not tell me anything good ...

Poor ... he was not doing well on a professional level ... and if it's over between them, it's like going back to the starting box. ( - )

It is not easy ... But hey, between us, if it was over between them, Alex has looked for it a bit, right? ( + )

Rosa: However, passion, by nature, is made not to last ...

He has always been a romantic ... ( / )

Don't you think that passion can last? However, you and Leigh ... ( / )

Rosa: Do you think I see him with the eyes of a high school student who is experiencing her first crush?

I do not agree! Look at me, we still have the passion!

It is true that seen like this ... It would be rather ridiculous. A couple evolves. ( + )

Leigh: Hello Candy. All good? Hasn't she knocked you out with his psycho-blabla? I've heard it from afar ...

Haha, no, I'm fine. At least she likes her job! Also, you're right. ( + with Rosa )

Let's say we want it as it is ... ( - with Rosa )

Castiel: Candy! What are you doing here? We had arranged?

No, it's just that ... I went to see how you were. I'm worried about you. ( - )

Wow, you seem happy to see me, I'm very happy ... Can't you come to see a friend in an improvised way? ( + )

Castiel: And do you really believe him? I don't know what to think ... I just get all of this fed up.

I think Gabin is wrong about Zack. I think he is just an opportunist. ( - )

Not everyone reacts the same way to stress. Apparently he only knows how to do like an ostrich. ( + )

Castiel: Without forgetting all the videos that will not stop appearing ... I'm not sure I want to give the matter a boost ...

Come on, Castiel ... I would like to celebrate the salvation of the gallery with all my friends. If you don't come, it won't be the same ... ( - )

Since when do you let other people's eyes dictate your behavior? Who are you…?  ( + )

Eric: My parents traveled a lot for work. They are musicians.

It should not be easy to grow up without having your parents at home ... ( / )

Musicians? I did not know, I did not know it! It must be great that your parents are artists. ( / )

Eric:

I'm not used to hearing people talk like that, I find it funny. ( + )

The truth is that sometimes I would need an interpreter to understand you.

But I like it. It has a certain charm! ( / )

Eric: He's not in trouble, is he? If that's the case, you know you can count on me ...

Can you keep a secret? It is important... ( / )

Oh, no. Well, not that I know of. But he told you what he was doing here, right? A story of ... I don't remember anymore, I've only brought them coffee. ( - )

If you participate in the video

Dan: It is a matter of principle and elegance. Do you understand

Excuse me, but if I take care of the organization of the event I am free to do the promotion as I want, right?

No problem. There will be no more videos. Roger that. I would not like to contradict you ... It was just ... ( + )

Dan: Just like tattoos! What do you think, Candy?

I ... I really don't have a clear opinion on the subject.

Sorry Dan, I think tattoos are part of art too. I think a tattoo can be as exciting as a painting. ( + Rayan and Dan )

It is true that it is a pity that this artistic expression is so closely linked to its support ...

Castiel: 

Come on, stop it, Castiel! We all know what’s happening to you is profoundly unfair. ( + with Hyun / - with Castiel )

Wait, Castiel, don’t say that. Hyun isn’t going to drop Crowstorm. ( - with Hyun  /  + with Castiel )

Priya: So ... It would be nice if ... I'd really like to talk to her. What do you think?

Listen, if it's as important as you tell me, I'm going to introduce it to you. Although it was very clear about it last time. ( + with Priya / - with Yael)

I'm very sorry, but the last time was very clear about it. It is a delicate subject, I do not want to insist. ( - )

Alexy: Of course, it's true! We are at your house! Can you pay me a drink?

No way. You've had enough to drink tonight. ( - )

You know what? You and I are going to make a bet ... If you can drink a glass of water, invite the house! ( + )

Alexy: But I love him! Why didn't you want to hear me ...?

Don't you have a little idea why? I remind you that your behavior has not been ... irreproachable. ( + )

Calm down, Alexy. Anyway, you are not in the best state to think about all this ...  ( - )

Alexy: You see, Candy ... He has already turned the page ... Three years together and he is sleeping with another two weeks later.

And at the same time, can we blame him for wanting to turn the page?  ( - )

That doesn't mean anything, maybe he's just trying to feel better. ( + )

Hyun: His break-up with Morgan? He got what he deserved, didn’t he?

Right, for sure. I sugarcoated it, but that’s kind of what I tried to make him understand. ( + / Illustration )

I don’t know… it’s a little more complicated than that. Morgan could’ve given him a second chance. ( - )

[eves-library]

Day Three // Avengers x Reader

Summary: “The goat of Christmas past? Wasn’t it supposed to be a ghost?” 

Word Count: 2585

Warnings: None

A/N: I did it! Day three is up now, and Day four will be coming today at 8 or 9 p.m. On this prompt I decided not to pair any of the avengers on this one, I liked how the interaction of the characters go. I know in these first prompts there isn’t much interaction between the reader and other female characters like Wanda or Natasha. So some of the upcoming prompts will be either paring with them or centered on them.

You were explaining the events of this week to the group of avengers that hadn’t left for free time on the holiday season, you had Thor the god of thunder, Steve Rogers, Sam Wilson, Natasha Romanoff, Bucky Barnes, Wanda Maximoff and Vision. You were explaining the type of events Christmas related they were going to attend in the next two weeks and the amount of time they were expected to stay before they could leave if wanted. “Finally we have the Winter Ball on two Fridays from now at the Captain America museum, you are expected to stay for at least an hour after the red carpet is done with and Steve you are to give a Christmas speech, I already have Matt working on it, once I go over it with him I’ll call you so we can go over it for your final approval.” You finished and close the agenda in front of you, “This is just the events for these two weeks so you guys can work your personal time between this and any mission that can come up. I cleared the Saturday before the Winter Ball so you can have a break and we go over for the schedules for the week before Christmas,” the group in front of you let out an exasperated sigh and you chuckled, “I know guys, there are too many events coming up but there is nothing I can do about it, these sort of events come with the holiday season and as much as I hate them, you are expected to make an appearance.” Everyone in the room sighed once again but agreed with you. You hade been the PR manager for the avengers for a little over a year now. Earth’s mightiest heroes liked you because unlike past PR managers you understood that between missions and the public life of being an avenger they had a life of their own, one where they wanted to spend a weekend of late mornings or late nights at bars, simply having fun. So you tried to balance their lives as best as you can, trying to only sign them up for events they needed to be at or ones they could actually enjoy. 

You were picking your things up when Sam came to you a cheeky grin on his face, “There is no getting off the hook Samuel, I already checked if any of the events can survive without your presence and it is not possible, plus most of them are charity events and I know for a fact 70% of them are not just fundraiser galas but rather actual help at the moment meetings, so please don’t even try to get yourself out of any events by moping and whining in front of me, it will do nothing to change my mind.” you zipped your bag and finally look at him, a shocked expression on his face and his teammates laughing discretely on the background. “Ouch Y/N, it hurts my feelings that you think of me that way! I was just going to ask if you wanted to be part of our Secret Santa gift exchange.” He said with mock hurt lazing his voice and you chuckled softly and shook your head, already heading for the door of the conference room. “As much as I appreciate the offer I must decline it, Sam,” you said with a small smile on your face. Sam was surely not expecting that answer, you would usually spend time with them at different activities just as game or movie nights, so naturally Sam thought you would be thrilled to be part of the Secret Santa exchange, “Why not?” 

You were kind of hoping he wouldn’t ask, you were not really a Christmas fan, believing the holiday was just a waste of time and money, but people tend no to understand your position and more times than not try to change your mind about the holiday, which makes you hate the holiday more. Usually, you will give an excuse but you certainly didn’t have one for a secret Santa exchange, as money wasn’t a thing you suffer from, especially since you work for the Avengers/ Tony Stark, so you just decided to explain him. “I hate Christmas Sam, and everything related to it. So I don’t really do or take part in any holiday-related event.” You say while walking back to your office one floor down, Sam following you. “Are you serious?” he asked still shocked by your admission, “Deadly,” you answered with an absolutely serious face. “That isn’t the truth! I saw you last year at the Christmas party Tony threw!” You smile out of pity because you already knew what was coming. “I was there for work Sam, as soon as the guests were all inside I stayed for 20 min until Tony gave his formal speech and I left.” 

Sam was beyond shocked, how could you not like Christmas, everybody likes Christmas, or so he thought. How blind he was. “What about gifts? You give gifts, right?” You shooked your head in a way you said no without actually saying the word, “I only do formality gifts, I give one to my boss or bosses and one to my PA. Other than that I don’t spend a single penny on Christmas presents. To be honest it is a waste of money and time, which I can’t afford losing.” The look on Sam’s face was priceless, who would have thought that it would only take you a simple PR manager, to express your hate for Christmas to bring The Falcon speechless and almost as white as a ghost. Sam had always thought of you as a caring, loving and warm person for lack of better words to describe you, but the person in front of him right now was acting as cold as ice, he was sure that if Natasha were in his place right now she would describe you as coldhearted. Which when it came to Christmas time you were. 

“I don’t know why you hate Christmas Y/N but by the day of Christmas Eve you’ll be in love with the holiday I make it my personal and most important mission,” he said as you enter the elevator and he backed away. You just chuckled and shook your head. 

A few days had passed since your little confession to Sam, and you hadn’t really seen him. You were currently double-checking the last-minute occurrences of the organizers for one of the fundraisers the group of Avengers was to attend tomorrow night. Definitely standing your ground when the assistant of the organization president suggested in her mail that Steve should wear a Captain America Christmas suit. You had been working as a PR for almost seven years and still couldn’t believe there were people willing to sacrifice other people’s dignity or even their own to be on a headline. You answered back as politely as you could buyyt still with a thunderous no, that even Thor would be proud of. Then the god of thunder himself walked into the common area of the avengers’ living floor with what seems small horns on top of his head and pointy ears at the side of said horns. 

He stood in front of you and you greeted him, “Hey Thor, what’s with the horns?” you asked absolutely curious about the reason behind them. There were a few seconds of silence before his booming voice was heard all throughout the vast space of the common area, “Miss Y/N! I am the goat of Christmas past! and I’ve come here to visit you!” The words took a few seconds to register in your head, but once they did the horns made a lot more sense, you chuckled and tried to interrupt him, “Wait, the goat of Christmas past?” but that was as far as you got before his booming voice was heard again throughout all the free area, “Don’t talk Miss Y/N! I am here to show you, not for you to talk!” As you were sure Sam hadn’t gone as far as to dig in your past without your consent you let the mighty God of thunder give his long speech about how Christmas is a celebration that has been celebrated for centuries and why it was so important. He went as far as summoned thunders at certain parts of his speech to emphasize his point. once he was finished with his big speech, he bowed in front of you before adding, “soon the goat of Christmas present will visit you next!” you thank him and just as you had invited him to take a seat next to you to watch something on the T.V. Sam came through the elevator doors. You called his name and he plopped down next to you just as Thor excused himself to get something to drink before coming back to watch T.V. with you. 

“So, I just a had a visit from the goat of Christmas past,” you said making an emphasis on the word goat, a teasing smirk on your face especially as you saw the confused look on Sam’s face, “You know Sam I may not like Christmas but I don’t think that is not how the story goes. Wasn’t it supposed to be a ghost?” you said as calmly as you could because you wanted to laugh so hard. 

Thor came back and sit back down where he had been seated. Sam turned to look at him and almost shouting he asked, “Why did Y/N get a visit from the GOAT of Christmas past, Thor?!” Thor took a swig from the beer on his hand and looked confused at Sam. “I thought that was what you asked me to do, at least that was what your note said.” Thor explained calmly and still very confused. You stepped in, because as amused as you were by the situation you wanted to make Sam suffer, “It’s not Thor’s fault you have the handwriting of a kindergarten, Sam. Now if you are really want to go through this I better get the visit of the goats of Christmas Present and Future with the horns and everything, okay?” you said as you got up and took the headband with the horns Thor had been using from the coffee table and dropped it on Sam’s lap. Sam was speechless so instead of waiting for an answer you just patted his head and took your stuff. Deciding to head somewhere else to wait for the goat of Christmas present.

It had been an hour since the little incident at the common area with Thor and Sam. You were currently in the kitchen a cup of tea between your hands as you read through some articles your PA had sent you about the two last events one or two of the avengers had attended. You took notes of the public opinion on them and which avenger needed to make more appearances on more public events, and already thinking on what type of events said avengers were most likely to not hate and still look good to the public eye. Then Bucky entered the kitchen. You looked up from your tablet and smiled at the sight in front of you. The Bucky Barnes, supersoldier, a former assassin, an ex-special asset from one of the most feared organizations to ever existed, was in front of you wearing the same headband as Thor had. The look on his face said he was not happy at all and he was glaring at you which just make your amusement growth, “I assume, you are the goat of Christmas present?” you asked and the glare he directed at you hardened if possible, you were sure that if looks could kill, you would be three feet underground by now. “Just do what Sam wants you to Y/N and take me out my misery,” He said slumping down on the seat across from you on the center table of the kitchen. “You know, I wonder what is it that Sam has over your head for you to agree do this,” You asked him to which he only groaned and glare at you more, you chuckled but decided to show him mercy. “Tell Sam I still have to be visited by the goat of Christmas Future before he knows my verdict,” you said and that was enough for Bucky to take out the headband and started walking out of the kitchen, “Also! I know you hate it but I do need you to go to that suit fitting for the Captain America Museum gala, tomorrow at 3 p.m., I even got Isabel, the girl you liked to be the one to do it, maybe you can ask her to be your plus one?” Bucky’s face broke into a grin and his cheeks were a little, he just thank you and before leaving he warned you that Natasha was meant to be the last “goat”. That promised to be something you thought before going back to work.

You were back at your office when Steve entered with the same headband you had seen twice today. “I saw Sam, couldn’t make Natasha wear the goat horns, uh?” You asked in an amused tone, “Bummer.” you shrugged and offer Steve to take a seat. He took off the headband as he chuckled at your antics. “Why is it that you hate Christmas, Y/N?” Steve asked you and he seemed genuinely curious, so you decided to just be honest. “I’m not sure Steve, I just never had a great Christmas experience and as years went by, I just saw it as a waste of my time and money, and just like I said to Sam the other day, I won’t lose either.” 

Steve nodded and thought for a few seconds before speaking again. “I won’t try to change your mind but can you just consider this for a moment?” he asked and you nodded so he continues to talk, “I know you don’t do any Christmas related activities but isn’t this whole parade a Christmas related activity? And didn’t you had fun? All I’m saying is that you don’t need to see these holidays as an experience you’ve hated for a while now, but an opportunity to spent time with your friends, and maybe with time we can change your perspective on Christmas, who knows. Anyway that’s all from my part I hope you agree on the Secret Santa exchange, Sam stopped everything until you tell him your final decision just in case you changed your mind, we would all love for you to be a part of it, plus see it this way, if Tony got your name you would have a very expensive gift.” You laughed at that and thanked Steve as he walked out of your office. 

You spent the next twenty minutes thinking over Steve’s words and realized you actually had fun with this whole ordeal of ghosty goats. You finally picked your phone up and sent Sam a message “Fine, I’ll take part in your Secret Santa exchange. Don’t get too excited I still hate Christmas but for the right price I can be persuaded to engage in more Christmas activities.” 

Five minutes later your phone buzzed with a new text notification, “Free lunch for a week seems fair enough for our Christmas dinner?” Maybe the holidays weren’t as bad as you thought.

[ahgahluv]

Señorita

NOTE: This is a scene for my GotVelvet/JinJoy AU on Twitter. This is completely NSFW so proceed at your own risk. Again, you've been warned.

WARNING: oral & unprotected 😉🔞

"Five, six... Five, six, seven, eight." Joy had been leading the entire dance for almost an hour now since they have started. And for the nth time in the morning, Jinyoung made another mistake.

"Jinyoung naman! Pang-ilan na yan? Sabi ko naman sayo pwede mo naman ilapat yang kamay mo sa katawan ko diba? Parang ganito oh!" She took a hand of his and placed it over the side of her upper thigh and the other on the underside of her breast. "Ganyan!"

Jinyoung had immediately removed his hands off of her body, his eyes avoiding contact with her furious ones. "Ano... Makikiinom lang ako."

She followed him inside of her house and sat by the couch, watching his lips part as he took a sip of his drink. Her head was slowly tilting to the side as her gaze fixates on the man whom her eyes slowly adored.

How could a man look so hot by just drinking? She thought.

Teka, Joy. Hindi. Very wrong. You're friends. You shouldn't let those kind of thoughts get into your head.

She tried snapping herself out from daydreaming and focus on the annoyance she felt for her friend.

Naka-ilang take na kami. Day 3 na ng practice wala pa rin. Anong gagawin ko?

Then a thought crossed her mind.

"Kung di pa rin gumana, ikama mo na ghorl..."

No...

No, I can't do that. Hell no.

"Joy okay ka lang?" he waved his hand to catch her attention which eventually worked on snapping her out from her thoughts.

"Oo, okay lang naman ako."

"Practice na ulit tayo?"

"Practice?" She scoffed, the anger she felt was finally back in her veins. "Paano tayo makakabuo ng sayaw kung ayaw mo naman gawin ng tama yung sarili mong choreo?"

"Sorry" that was the only word that came out of his mouth which had fueled her disappointment even more.

"Gusto mo ba talaga magwork 'tong sayaw?"

He just gave out a small nod as answer.

"Then fucking touch me, Park Jinyoung! Touch me! Kung gusto mo ako pa maglagay eh. Heto, dito. Kahit dito pa." she held his wrist and placed his hands over the parts he had never thought she would permit him to do so — first was her neck, then her waist, then her breast.

"Joy. Anong ginagawa mo?" He was trying to conceal it but deep down he knows to himself he wanted to do more than just that — and she knew exactly what he wanted.

"Let's try this."

His eyes widen in surprise as Joy begun stripping her clothes off right in front of him until she stood right before him with just her brassiere and panites.

"Take your shirt off." her voice was so commanding that he could not help but immediately submit to it and soon enough he was just as bare as Joy.

Both their hearts were pounding wildly as she slowly close the gap between them, placing her palms right over his chest. She dragged her gaze up at him and noticed how his once soft orbs turned into something darker.

Her fingers had then snaked around his nape to pull him down, inviting him in for a kiss which he had gladly accepted.

For the first time, they were able to feel the softness of their lips and had tasted how intoxicating it was.

Her lips travelled down from the underside of his jaw, to his neck, chest, to stomach, and then his thigh, her knees were now on the ground, fingers fumbling with the garter of his boxers before pulling it down, freeing his cock out.

Her fingers worked on his shaft, giving it slow pumps as her tongue gave the slit of his head a few kitten licks before finally shoving his manhood into her mouth.

It was her first time, but she seemed skilled at what she was doing. She knows how to make him quiver out of pleasure with her mouth taking him all in.

"Joy, please. I'm close." he gave out a warning in case she wouldn't want to have his seeds shot into her mouth, but to his surprise she went on and even paced up. Her fingers pumping the lower part of his shaft that her mouth can't reach while her freehand was massaging his balls.

His cum felt warm in her mouth. She waited for him to finish up before swallowing it all, licking off the ones that dripped down his length.

Now it was her turn.

Her back was now pressed against the sheets of her bed while he superimposed right on top of her.

Jinyoung had mimicked the pattern of her kisses. His lips had brushed over her neck down to her inner thighs, hands spreading her legs wide to allow himself settle his face right between them.

He had the tip of his tongue pressed against her sensitive bud, soon tracing the outline of her folds until it lands on her entrance.

His lips latched around her womanhood, tongue swirling inside of her core, his moans adding up the the pleasure that is shocking her up in her veins.

Her hands desperately trying to find something to hold onto, her back arching and hips bucking upwards to have more of him.

"Jinyoung, I think I'm close." she whimpers, fingers grabbing onto his hair and pulling it as she had her release.

He crawled back up to her to claim her lips with his. They shared a sensual kiss, while his fingers gently rubbed her sensitive bud in circles and then he suddenly broke off.

"Fuck."

"Bakit? Anong problema?"

"Wala akong condom na dala. Meron ka ba?"

"Wala."

Just when he was about to move away from her, she pulled him back in, gently pressing her palms on his cheeks.

"Let's do it."

"Are you sure?"

She gave his lips a soft peck before giving out a nod. "Yes, I am sure."

With that said, he had then slowly guided himself into her entrance. She winced in pain, feeling how his length stretch her walls out.

After a few seconds of allowing her walls to adjust fully on his length he had started rocking his hips forward and back, giving her slow and long strokes.

"Tell me if you want to stop."

"No, please keep going."

His lips latched over a certain spot on her neck, sucking onto it, leaving a small mark before he had moved his lips up and had it crashed against hers.

Her legs were subconsciously wrapped around his hips and her arms around his neck. Their moans made harmony to the beat of his pounding.

As much as she wanted to take things slow for her first time, her body started craving more as her heat seeks for release. And so, she had her hips rolling upwards in a faster pace and he was able to read the hint perfectly.

They had finally danced in a perfect sensual rhythm. Their tempos picking up as they both chased after their high until they have finally had their release.

"Parang iba na ata yung napractice natin?"

A soft yet faint chuckle escapes her lips at his remark.

"Iba na nga. Well, at least we both enjoyed it naman, diba?"

"Tara, kailangan na natin magpractice ng sayaw."

He had offered his hand out to her and lead her inside the bathroom to get her all cleaned up, so they could finally start the real practice.