#what the fuck is slashing. why would you say that to a four year old

[celestiachan]

what do you mean you weren’t allowed outside??

well you see i am a firstborn and i have a vagina

[anonymous-dentist]

Or: Post-Bad Romance, Cell tries to adjust to life on Quesadilla Island.

For Spiderbit Week Day Four: Murder Husbands

-

The island is a prison. And Cell knows prisons.

There are the wardens: the mysterious blank-faced bear things with guns and clipboards that follow the prisoners around asking questions and watching.

There are the prisoners: the idiots trapped on an island paradise and seemingly unwilling to try and escape.

There are the cells: buildings and statues and neighborhoods that the prisoners were allowed to make themselves that have security cameras watching every entrance and exit that the prisoners don't seem to know-slash-care about.

So. Prison.

"Pai? Why are you staring at Mister Roier like that?"

Prison. With children.

"Don't call me that," Cell snaps. "And he likes it, that's why. Go somewhere else."

The kid- assigned by the faceless overlords- just smiles cheekily in response. He clasps his hands behind his back and rocks onto his heels, head tilting slightly.

"Pais Tazer e Craft said I'm not supposed to talk to you," Richarlyson innocently says. His eyes are hidden behind his curls, but Cell can imagine that they're glittering mischievously.

Now, Cell knows that the kid is an evil genius. Like recognizes like: Cell doesn't remember much from his childhood, but he remembers looking at himself in a puddle of blood one morning after breakfast and seeing a smile that he recognizes now every time that he and Richarlyson see each other.

Richarlyson is a master manipulator. He's not even ten years old, but he can already poke and prod his government-assigned parents into doing what he wants. He hides behind childhood innocence and sweet smiles and sweeter words, but he's also a little asshole.

Of course, Roier adores him.

Of course, Cell doesn't want anything to do with him.

But what he does want is whatever Pac and Mike don't want, so he scowls and shoves his hands into his pockets and looks away.

Content, Richarlyson plops onto the grass and props his chin up in the palms of his hands. He watches Roier just as Cell was doing a moment ago, which is bound to make Roier fucking ecstatic.

Or, well, it would if Roier knew that the two of them were there watching him.

Since arriving on the island a week ago, Roier has managed to find himself an entirely new little family. He squeezed into their relationship like a strangler fig, and Jaiden and Bobby accepted him with open arms.

("Friendship", apparently. That's the thing the prisoners care about the most besides their artificially-created government spawn.

Friendship, and communication.

Idealists. Idiots.)

Roier has moved in with Jaiden and Bobby. He's decided that he's Bobby's father. He's decided that Cell is Bobby's other father, and he got Cell to agree with a knife subtly poking into his side.

Cell, meanwhile, lives in a cave. It reminds him too much of the island- the other island, not this one, but it's also natural, and the wardens don't know where it is. He's searched the area a dozen times over by now: no cameras.

One day, if he and Roier are stuck here long enough, he'll hollow it out by hand. He needs a place to keep his tools. He needs a place to hide his bed so nobody can destroy it.

He needs a place to torture Pac and Mike and teach him what real friendship looks like. Roier will be by his side, and they'll show them.

Cell doesn't miss Roier, though.

At all.

They spent three weeks practically together in the Brazilian countryside, and Roier is annoying, and Cell has had enough of him.

Entirely.

Roier is the only person besides Cell to know where the cave is. And he'll be the only one there when Cell shows Pac and Mike a real partnership. Because he and Roier are partners.

That's it.

(When introducing themselves to the other prisoners, this is how they did it:

Roier: Hola, hola! My name is Roier, I am Mexican, and I am engaged to Cell!

Cell: You can call me Cell, and I'm going to kill every one of you someday.

Roier: [Glares at Cell pointedly.]

Cell: [Sighing] And Roier and I are partners.)

Cell definitely isn't just annoyed that Roier decided to go and live with two strangers and not him.

That would be ridiculous.

Today, Roier is working on the garden with Bobby, and Cell is watching him from a hilltop a fair distance away. Jaiden is asleep. (She'd be asleep forever if Cell had anything to say about it, but that would make Roier upset. So.)

Roier glows in the sunlight. With proper access to a shower and shampoo and skincare, he's positively ethereal. His nails are freshly painted. His eyeliner is meticulous. His hair looks soft.

Richarlyson cocks his head in his hands to look up at Cell.

"Why don't you just... go hang out with him? Aren't you guys getting married?"

Cell's scowl only deepens. "Do you see a ring on either of our hands?"

There aren't any. Roier hasn't gotten any, and Cell sure as hell isn't about to start begging the wardens for silver and gold like the other prisoners would. He has dignity. He'll just dig up the materials himself and make them into rings. Somehow.

He scuffs the toe of his boot against the grass, kicking up some into the air.

"Besides," he says, voice softer despite his attempts to remain objective, "he's busy with his kid."

Roier had mentioned once that he had a child. His asshole (piece of shit bastard motherfucker evil-) ex killed the kid, and Roier killed the ex.

Cell doesn't know how old Roier's kid was when it died, but Roier seems to be doing just fine with ten-year-old Bobby. It's like he was born to be a parent, he's just so kind. He's gentle. He teases Bobby, and he teases the other brats on the island, but he doesn't go out of his way to hurt them.

Roier's smile when he's around kids is entirely different than it is when he's around Cell. His eyes are different, they're... they're just different.

"You're literally also Bobby's dad," Richarlyson dryly responds.

He pauses, and then he asks, "Wait, does that make me Bobby's brother?"

"No," is Cell's immediate response. "You aren't even my son."

"No, I am. Cucurucho says so."

"And I say you're not. You have Felps."

"And Pais Pac and Mike."

A foul taste fills Cell's mouth.

"See?" he says. "You already have plenty of parents. You don't need me."

"Maybe," Richarlyson acknowledges. He smiles, and Cell can't tell if he means it or not. "But I want you. You're cool!"

"I know that," Cell scoffs. "But you shouldn't be hanging around a killer, kid. None of the other kids will want to play with you."

"So what? They don't like me, anyway."

Ducking his head to look at the grass, Richarlyson starts tearing some of it up.

Cell winces. He... doesn't know how to deal with kids. It just isn't what he does. It's what Roier, does, but Roier is busy with his actual family now.

In the garden, Roier laughs. He drops a flower onto Bobby's head and ducks away playfully as Bobby swings his sword at him in retaliation.

(Roier's smile is beautiful. Cell doesn't know what beauty is anymore, but he knows this.)

During the war, BadBoyHalo once told Cell that he was too kind. He wouldn't survive that way, and he almost didn't. He didn't start winning battles until he started being mean, and he's been mean ever since. That's simply how the world works.

Cell rolls his eyes up towards the sky. With a grumble, he settles onto the grass next to Richarlyson.

"You're too young to be depressed," Cell says. "So stop that. If the other brats don't want to talk to you, then don't talk to them. They're assholes. Fuck 'em."

Richarlyson frowns. "But that's mean. I want to be their friend."

"And they don't want to be yours. What are you going to do about it?"

Bobby is chasing Roier around the garden, now. Cell loves watching Roier move, he's so... wow with everything he does: long limbs, muscles. Wow.

Richarlyson doesn't say anything for a moment, so Cell takes the silence as an opportunity to keep watching Roier. He wasn't lying earlier, Roier loves to be watched. He practically begs Cell to do it, and Cell is happy enough to play along.

(Sure, Roier hasn't moved in with him, and he hasn't gotten Cell a ring, and he hasn't really done much with Cell, but he wants to be stalked. Fucking freak.)

(Cell isn't much of a stalker, but he'll do it for Roier. He'd do anything for Roier, and isn't that a novel thought? This is a real partnership, fuck you, Pac and Mike.)

Eventually, Richarlyson lets the grass in his fingers fly into the wind.

"I'll make them be my friends?" he tries, looking to Cell for approval.

Cell shakes his head. "That doesn't work. I've tried, trust me. In prison, you have to force people to be your friends. Those relationships don't last. They'll stab you in the back at the first chance of an escape."

"Uuuuugh, then what?" Richarlyson groans. "They all hate me!"

"How do you know?"

"Uh, because they're all siblings and I'm not related to them? Duh?"

Wow, what a stupid kid. He really is Felps' son.

Sighing, Cell nudges Richarlyson's head with his hand. He maybe ruffles the kid's hair a little, but not purposefully.

"They don't know you, idiot," he explains. "How can you be friends if you're strangers? Have you even tried talking to them?"

"No. Because they hate me."

"They don't trust you. Big difference."

Looking right at Roier, Cell continues: "Trust is the most important part of any relationship. From trust comes honesty, and from honesty comes everything else. You need to prove to the other kids that they can trust you."

Richarlyson leans into Cell's touch, still frowning. "Okay, but how?"

Cell shrugs and yanks his hand away. "Hell if I know."

"You trust Mister Roier."

"He's- he's. Roier." Cell's heart twists fondly in his chest. "I don't even know how he did it."

"Oh," says Richarlyson. He smiles, then. "That's nice. You two really are partners, aren't you?"

Cell scoffs, "Of course we are."

"So that's why he's been staring at you for the past, like, five minutes."

"What?"

Cell blinks a few times, scrunches his eyebrows together.

Indeed, Roier is looking at him now. He's looking right at him, eyes glittering in the sun, smile so wide that his jaw has to be aching.

How did Cell not notice? Was he really so caught up with Richarlyson's kid drama? Ugh, he's getting weak. He needs to kill someone.

Roier waves a hand and shouts, "Gatinho!"

Cell raises his own hand in response. "Guapito."

"Come here! Bring our son with you!"

Richarlyson squirms happily at that.

"See?" he crows. "I am your son."

"Yeah, no," Cell huffs.

He stands, anyway, and he brushes the grass off of his pants.

He doesn't rush down the hill, not like Richarlyson does. He might run a little, and his heart might skip a beat as he gets closer, and his face might be fighting a smile, but he doesn't rush.

At all.

Roier meets him at the bottom of the hill with a hug so tight that Cell's lungs threaten to collapse inside of him.

"I missed you," Roier murmurs. "Don't leave me again."

Cell can't help it. He hugs Roier back just as tightly and grumbles, "Says the one ditching me to play house with some strangers. What do you mean, 'don't leave me again'?"

Roier gasps, and it sounds like he's going to cry for just a second.

But then he starts laughing, hard and loud.

"You're jealous!" he declares.

Cell feels himself flush red.

"No," he says, pushing himself out of Roier's grip and turning around entirely to face away from him. "I'm not."

But Roier just hugs him from behind, chin tucking itself right into the crook of Cell's neck.

"Thank you for watching me," he hums.

Cell grunts. For some reason, he can never speak properly around Roier. It's like his brain just shuts down, it's embarrassing.

He doesn't like being held from behind, though, so he grabs Roier's hands and turns back around. Roier, for whatever reason, twirls in Cell's loose hold like a ballerina.

"Wow," Richarlyson comments from somewhere out of sight and out of mind.

"Ew," Bobby agrees, equally ignorable.

Roier would look so good covered in blood right now, Cell thinks. Red is his color. Cell doesn't have a favorite color, but the closest thing he can think of would be the shade of red Roier's face always is when Cell is killing someone.

Leaning in close, Cell murmurs, "Screw the kids. I'm hungry. Let's get something to eat."

Roier's eyes light up. "Brazilian?"

Cell ponders. And then he shakes his head. "Not worth the trouble. I'm thinking... Mexican?"

His voice pitches up slightly, questioning.

"Mmm, Quackity, Mariana, or Missa's place?" Roier asks.

For whatever reason, Cell thinks back to a week ago when Quackity and Mariana and Slime had tried stealing Richarlyson away from him... and the others. Missa behaved, he's safe (today.)

Cell's arms find themselves draping over Roier's shoulders loosely. Their heads lean closer together until their foreheads are pressed against each other.

Roier's eyelashes are long and beautiful. He doesn't really use mascara, so it's all natural. He flutters them delicately as Cell thinks.

"Quackity," Cell eventually decides. He smiles crookedly. "Fast food."

Roier's canines aren't as sharp as Cell's are, but he's still borderline vampiric. Wow.

Cell doesn't feel ready to kiss Roier yet- he's still working on speaking around him. But he still considers it as Roier looks up at him through his eyelashes.

One day, he thinks. What did Bad always say, "save it 'til marriage"? Cell can do that. He just needs to figure the rings out first.

"As you wish," Roier breathes.

The kids both groan and wander off to do their own thing elsewhere, but Cell couldn't care less. They aren't his, no matter what Roier says.

And they never will be.

[dirtbra1n]

curious as to what you think about asogi & ryuunosuke then, if you’ve played dgs and if not then what about lang & shih-na

hey anon can we make a pact to pretend the reason I haven’t gotten to your ask until now, four months later, is because the investigations collection announcement from last month came to me in a dream a full calendar season ago. could we do that for me. I’d really really appreciate it Okay thank you

what I’m going to do is come back to asoryuu at an even later date because there’s a history there for me personally that I want to maybe polish some more. and to a more relevant point That investigations collection announcement from last month sent me into an ace attorney fugue the likes of which I haven’t had the opportunity to really revel in since I was probably 12 years old. so we’re covering lang and shih-na since my feelings are still fresh from my rush playthrough of aai1 uhhh three days ago.

should go without saying that there are spoilers here. this is my formal request of anyone who has not yet played through or watched a playthrough of Ace Attorney Investigations: Miles Edgeworth to do so before continuing to read. because it’s good. these are good games I would not lie to you about this

without going back to review the way I was initially playing by the ask game (loosely) I’ll say plainly I both understand lang and shih-na and buy into it. SOOO much. so much I’m so sick with it. I love tragedy! I love crying into my hands! like Jesus christ

so honesty hour. besides watching a playthrough of investigations 1 probably about halfway through a few years ago I hadn’t gone into investigations besides my usual autistic osmosis. the calisto yew—shih-na reveal was news to me, miraculously. after this many years Like eight years. delivered through a comic I need to hunt down EDIT: I FOUND IT. going into investigations hot on the tail of this understanding meant I got to experience the plot twist retroactively, at its best.

that shit hurts bad!!!!!!!! so fucking bad So so fucking b

like I know you get it this is why you asked me about it. but jeeesus christ What if you were introduced to the worlds most likable man who hates your guts Presently and his girl best friend-slash-subordinate-slash-partner in crime. prevention. and what if in the span of some of miles edgeworth’s most exhausting days on record you learned that this man views all of his subordinates as family, all like 99 #1s of them, and their extended families as family. and what if in that context shih-na, as his own personal private #1, who goes everywhere with him and assists him in everything and points and removes her sunglasses in perfect tandem with him, What if she was accused of a murder.

he’d defend her, right? obviously. he’d believe in her innocence and grin in your face as he proclaims this, because he’s not kidding and not lying, not anything less than fully dead serious. she’s his number one. he strives to be hers in turn.

what if you caught her in a lie, an inaccuracy. what if she started slipping, sweat beading. what if she cracked into a person he’s never met before. what if you were right and he was wrong, and she was guilty of murder*, and she pulled a gun on an innocent girl—whom she had earlier tried to pin the crime on—and was now holding her hostage.

let’s put the hypotheticals from the outside-in aside:

you are shi-long lang. a detective you look up to, worked under for a time, is pointing a gun at shih-na’s back. you know now the full weight of the things she has done.

this is the only option.

you place yourself between the gun and her back. you wrestle the gun pointed at that girl’s head elsewhere.

a bullet shoots into your thigh.

like taking a step outward again shi-long lang is going to carry a physical scar in his leg, for all intents and purposes from her, for the rest of his life, and it was put there because he put himself in the line of fire FOR HER. it is not going away. despite all her betrayal and deceit and the gun to kay’s head she was still his subordinate, and his family, and someone he loved, so he would take a bullet for her and he took a bullet from her.

I'm sorry, Detective Badd, but no matter what sort of past she may have had... ...or even if she is a spy, it doesn't change the fact that she is my subordinate. And as long as she is, I can't allow any harm to come to her, not even from you!

it is not going to go away.

so if you see me throwing up everywhere. that’s why.

tldr

[ivorydoves]

Some stuff from @that-dense-idiot and @bluepotatorw reading homestuck with and slash or for me :3 Fritz when I find you

For context, blue was reading in a robot voice for everything except when she read the pesterlogs so XP

Also I’ve never read homestuck so. Help me

(Most o’ these are blue because fae’s extremely funny XP)

—

“John’s gonna try and convince you he’s heterosexual multiple times. He’s lying to you.”

—

“Betty Crocker doesn’t deserve a Wikipedia page”

—

“You would retrieve a male, you little freak.”

“Are you making fun of me or John Egbert?”

“John Egbert AND you at the same time…”

—

“Check the mail. You would.”

“What does that even mean :(“

“You would check the male.”

—

“And I’d assume he knows his father so that means he put all the mail on that seat and then took half inside and left the other half there.”

… [there’s more conversation here but I’m typing this in real time so. Whoops?]

“What the fleep!”

—

And then we spent a good bit of time trying to get the music to work with fritz’s adblocker.. I think? I know nothing of technology my brain is filled with nothing but mermaid cake sprinkles /ref

—

“Bros gonna jork it with the cake.”

“Bros jorking it cake style.”

“Jorking it dessert style.. jorking it confectionery style.”

—

“I actually just forgot how to say cake just now that wasn’t even a bit.”

—

“They did surgery on a cake holy shit.”

—

“Check pesterchum. Fuck off, McConaughey.”

—

“and it was named after me—this is TOTALLY not foreshadowing—“

—

“There wasn’t a package in the mail that NEVER happens—YEAH, there was a big red one >:T”

—

Then I went to go use the restroom and came back to a discussion pertaining to what lexapro is

—

“Sillydex. That’s what MY sylladex is called.”

—

“Fuck, go back! Switch back to stack modus-”

—

“Why’d you turn into Goofy?”

“Why WOULDN’T I?”

—

“I’ll be tentacles. I’ll be [I am not bringing this up]”

“BLUE, SHUT THE FUCK UP.”

“Fight, fight, fight!”

“Fight, fight— oh shit wait I’m the one fighting”

—

“Generally I am not able to move things around in your room from where I am-?”

“But you’re not playing a game :< You’re not playing the Sburb Beta.”

“Yeah you’re right I don’t know why we ever questioned this.”

—

“She can also do this!”

“It’s a REALLY good game, I don’t know what to tell you.”

__

“Why are you making Rose British?”

“She’s not British, what the fuck are you talking about.”

“She’s like the teensiest bit British.”

[Blue makes the most miserable little noise]

—

“It’s called picking things up you FUCKING MO—“

—

“Look me in the eyes and tell me that someone who uses the words ‘I think they are elegant’ ISN’T British. Or, not even British, SOUNDS British.”

“Like Rarity from My Little Pony :{“

—

“Welp. Now you really ARE at Home Stuck.”

—

“So really they’re just Undertale speedrunners.”

“I guess?”

“You don’t know what that means at all, do you?”

“No :^”

—

“I was about two years old and right about when I dropped a TV on my head.” <— Blue’s (partial) response to me saying fae wouldn’t know if you could install Pesterchum and Fritz saying she wasn’t alive by that point

..

“When I was four I dropped a jelly jar on my foot :3”

—

“Well four year olds skulls are also pretty fragile—“

—

“And when I got home from the hospital I immediately fell on my head.”

“You WHAT??”

“Yeah, it was the first thing I did.”

“This is the type of shit we talk about when you leave the call, by the way.”

—

“Ah yes, the scientific name of ‘enormous complex thing’.”

“Obviously :>”

—

“Tell me what is wrong with this picture.”

—

[hitchell-mope]

(Third film. After “who better than me”. The screen splits in two, similar to the end of Do You Wanna Build A Snowman from Frozen as Uma rushes to the door and pounds on it, crying her eyes out, begging Gil not to leave her as he runs away in a hurry)

Uma: GIL! GIL!!!! DON’T LEAVE ME!!!! I DONT WANT TO BE ALONE GIL!!!! PLEASE!!!! PLEASE DONT LEAVE ME!!!! I don’t want to be alone. I don’t like the dark.

(Meanwhile, in another part of the palace, the rest of The Royal Court are celebrating the completion of the rebuilding process. To that end. Mal and Jay have jumped up on the bar. This is when “if I didn’t have you” happens. After the song. Carlos shoos Mal and Jay off the bar, takes their place on it and addresses the others)

Carlos: yes, yes. We rebuilt everything. We’re so smart. We’re so happy. Yaaaay! But do we really want my mother hogging the karaoke machine? I think not.

Ben: low blow buddy.

Carlos: but true father. But. True. Now. Who wants ME to perform?

(Everyone cheers)

Carlos: good answer. Diego. With me.

(This is when “it’s all love” happens. After the song. Evie stands up and raises her glass to Carlos)

Evie: thank you for that C. Now who would like to hear me and Doug sing a real song?

Quinn: please.

Doug: how does no.20 sound?

Evie: I loooove no.20. Nobody join in. Just us two. Lonnie. Hit it.

(This is when “don’t go breaking my heart” happens. After the song)

Anthony: that was very nice guys. But how about we all have a go now?

Evie (whining): oh but why.

Mal: because he said so. You gotta respect your elders sis.

Anthony: hurtful.

Mal: ah but true.

Anthony:....yeah....Let’s see now. No.48? Carlos?

Carlos: that’ll do. Ma? Pa?

Ben: ooooh yes.

Mal: ‘bout time we did a group number.

Freddie: then let’s do it!

(Everyone looks at her quizzically)

Freddie: what? I haven’t said anything for a while.

Everyone: let’s do it!

(This is when “sing” happens. After the song. Hadie gently removes his hand from Anthony’s and approaches Mal)

Hadie: hey Mally can we talk?

Mal: hey bro. Wanna drink? We got beer, vermouth, whisky, vodka. Not gin because it Carlos nightmares. What’re you in the mood for?

Hadie: we need to talk about Harry.

(Mal’s hand, still holding her knife, zooms to a stop less than an inch above a martini olive. Thinking fast, Ben magic’s away the knife and every piece of sharp cutlery away from Mal)

Mal: thank you sweetheart. Could you um. Take everyone but uh the boys and Evie away somewhere else. Please?

Ben: as you wish. And Hadie.

Hadie: yeah?

Ben: you’ve fucked up. Again.

Hadie: yep.

(Ben teleports the others away, leaving Hadie alone with the core four)

Hadie: okay hear me out.

Mal: no.

Hadie: Mally please.

Mal: I said no Hadie. How many times do you want to say it? No. No. No. And no. Is that enough for you? Or maybe you want to hear it in a different language? No. Óchi. Non. Nō! Is that enough for you Hadie? Is it? Is that enough for you big brotha?

Jay: don’t do the accent. You sound like a chav.

Mal: right. Sorry.

Hadie: Mally please. He was our brother. The least we can do now that the trench has opened is go look for his remains.

Mal: no! It was your brother! Your fault! Your mistake! Not mine.

Hadie: what’s that supposed to mean?

Evie: believe me. You do not want to know.

Mal: we’re not looking for it. Because the current most likely scenario is that an angler fish has already found it, eaten it and she’s it out.

Hadie (nearing tears): don’t talk like that. Please don’t talk like that. Our brother deserves a fune-

(Mal let’s put a cold, high, piercing laugh that sends ice up everyone’s spine and she doesn’t stop until Hadie backs away)

Mal: you really think it deserves a funeral? Did Carlos to get chased down and slashed open with a hook when he was eleven years old? Did Ben deserve to be kidnapped and early just because of his connection to me? Don’t you dare tell me what it deserves. Because as far as I’m concerned. It already got what it deserved. And my only regret is that I didn’t kill it myself.

Hadie: you don’t mean that.

Carlos: the hell ahead doesn’t.

(He takes his shirt off)

Carlos: this right here on my back. Where it flayed me open like a haddock on a board. It’s been seven years and you still see the scars. Does that seem like the image of your brother that you had in your head? Does it Uncle Hadie?

Evie: I saved Carlos. I pulled Harry off of him. And broke Harry’s leg in two.

Jay: that’s why Mal let Evie into the gang.

Mal: after I kicked her into the barriers roof for tattling on us when we were eight.

Carlos: take a good look Uncle. This is what your precious innocent baby brother did to me.

Mal: just not the scar on his neck. That was all Cruella.

Hadie: why don’t you have a belly button?

Jay: our fault.

Mal: yeah. We were eight. We didn’t know what navels are because we don’t have them and we thought it was a wound. We vanished it.

Hadie: huh. Anyway, anyway. I’m begging you. Please. Allow a search for our brother’s remains so he can be properly buried.

Mal: no.

Hadie: why not?

Mal: because I didn’t like it. Ben didn’t like it. Jay, Carlos and Evie didn’t like it. Nobody liked it apart from you and dad.

Hadie: Uma liked him.

Mal: oh. I don’t see you beseeching her to throw it a funeral. Now I wonder why that is(?) Oh yes. Because YOU hate her. So you come crawling to me in the hopes that I’ll forget that I hate him once look into your sad, sad yellow eyes(.) You bet on the wrong dragon Haydes. Now get out of here before I horrifically lose my temper and conveniently forget that you’re my brother.

Jay (getting an idea): hey Mal. What if we....

(He leans over and whispers in Mal’s ear. As he does so Mal face splits into a very wide and very cruel Cheshire Cat grin)

Mal: ooooh. I like that. Yo Hadie. (She sends a stream of magic into Ben’s walk-in wardrobe)

Mal: though there you’ll find a little mock up theoretical funeral for Harry planned by us. But be warned. Once you’re there you can’t leave until the sequence is over.

(Hadie speeds through the door)

Mal (aside to the others): he is soooo gonna regret that. Let’s go.

(They all walk into Ben’s wardrobe. On the other side is a lavish outdoor funeral. Very traditional. Bright and sunny. Everyone is wearing black. A giant portrait of a bruised and battered Harry is hanging on a black velvet curtain behind a podium. Carlos steps up to the podium. This is when “homecoming” happens. After the song. Persey gets back to their family’s residence)

Persey: hey guys. Can’t stay long. Somethings up with u-Kay. What’s dad doing?

Persephone: Sherlocking it my dear. Your father is Sherlocking it.

Persey: not a word.

Persephone: right. Sorry. Your father is going through her brain in hopes of finding a memory of Harry being happy to see her.

Persey: why?

Persephone: she thinks she saw Harry earlier.

Persey: what?

Hades: I don’t think I saw him. I know I saw him floating across the courtyard. Not eight hours ago.

Persey: eight hours. Dad listen to me very carefully and think extremely hard. Where was “Harry” supposedly going?

Hades: to the enchanted lake.

Persey: right. Okay. Oh boy this is bad. This is very, very bad. Mom. Stop dad from trying to find Harry. By any means necessary. I gotta go.

Persephone: where are you going?

Persey (already running out the door): to circumvent disaster!

(On their way back the kings office Persey bumps into Gil who’s heading in opposite direction. The two of them spin around, holding onto each other’s arms until they settle down)

Persey and Gil: where’s Mal? How should I know? I just got back! I’m asking you! Stop copying me! Argh!

Persey: oh this isn’t gonna work!

(They spot Ben coming out of the castles bar)

Persey: BEN! Benbenbenben! Come with us!

Ben: whoah! What’s happening? Where are we going?

Persey and Gil: we’ll explain on the way!

(Back in the kings residence. Mal is at the bar, once again, pointedly ignoring her older brothers pained pleas)

Hadie: please Mally. Please. I know you can get Ben on side. I can do the rest.

Mal: Carlos. You and Doug have been reading up on dimensions of magic. Do you know if a god can be executed?

Carlos: yes. But they’d reconstitute in ten working days.

Mal: good. If Hadie keeps bleating then we can hang him.

Hadie: you don’t mean that.

Carlos: oooh but she does.

Hadie: no. No I refuse to believe that. If she didn’t feel anything about our brother dying she wouldn’t have those tears in her eyes CHRIST!!!!

(Mal’s had enough and thrown a bottle of bourbon at Hadie that narrowly misses shatters against the wall behind him)

Mal: ENOUGH HADIE!!!! ENOUGH!!!! OKAY!!!! ENOUGH!!!! WE HATED IT!!!! WITH EVERY FIBRE OF OUR BEINGS WE HATED IT!!!! AND RIGHT NOW-oh my god Carlos! I am so sorry!

(She rushes over to Carlos and pulls him into a crushing hug)

Carlos (unaffected but embarrassed): I’m okay, ma. Ma, I’m okay. Finish what you were doing.

Mal: are you sure?

Carlos: yes. I’m sure.

Mal: okay.

(She uses magic to throw Hadie throw the wall. Next thing he knows, Hadie’s falling through the blackness until he lands in a void filled with the rotting corpses of Harry Hook)

Mal (her skin green and covered in scales, her horns large and curling outwards, her hair and dress purple flame, walking through the corpses and tearing them apart like tissue paper as her voice reverberates inside of Hadie’s head): you want ussss to locate and hold a funeral for a dead basssstard who we hated and who hated ussss! And after all of thissss I have. Jusssst. One. Quesssstion.

Hadie (on his knees, his hands covering his ears and sobbing his eyes out): WHAT?!?! WHAT?!?! WHAHAHAT?!?!

(The illusion ends and they’re back in the kings residence)

Mal: why?

Hadie (still shuddering in terror): huh?

(This is when “requiem” happens. After the song. Ben, Gil and Persey rush in, panicked and very, very scared)

Gil: is everyone okay?

Mal: yeah. Yeah I um. I just had a little tiff with my big brother.

Carlos: the moron thought he could beg us to look for hook’s corpse.

Gil (chuckling nervously): about that....heheh.

(Cut to the Enchanted Lake)

Mal (from hundreds of miles away): WHAAAAAAAAAAT?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!

(Back in the palace. Mal and Gil are running at full speed towards Milo’s offices. On their way they pass Ben’s Ego and Mal’s Id)

Ego: this is really bad isn’t it?

Id: oh honey. Only for Uma. For us it’s all going to be wildly entertaining.

(He looks directly at the audience again)

Id: enjoy.

(Mal and Gil are greeted by Facillier at Milo’s observation office. Through the two way mirror Mal can clearly see the spectral Harry floating around Uma’s terrified head)

Mal: shit.

Gil: he really is back then.

Facillier: not fully your highness. Nothing more than a ghost.

Mal: a poltergeist you mean.

Facillier: you need your fix this your grace.

Mal: not Celia. Not my problem. By the way. How the hell can you see it?

Facillier: I was dead once. The after effects are exceedingly long lasting.

Mal: oh.

Facillier: and yes you do need to help my daughter. You’re family. And this is what family does for each other.

Mal: oh god how did this happen?

(This is when “the kids aren’t alright” happens. After the song. Ben walks into his office to find Mal, Evie, Hades, Persephone and the twins lined up in front of his desk in military fashion)

Ben: not that I don’t like a nice family meeting but why do you all look like you’re waiting for me to tell you to activate the Zords and stop Emperor Grumm?

Mal: Persey and Gil were right. Harris a ghost and it’s haunting Uma.

Ben: ah. Wait. If this is about Uma why is Evie here?

Doug: Persey’s holding her sewing machine hostage.

Ben: that’s fair. Okay so. What’s the first order of business? Oh and uh. At ease.

(The gods and demigods relax)

Mal: we need to figure out how it came back.

Doug: Carlos thought it was the black cauldron.

Hadie: but I deactivated it when we won.

Ben: how so?

Hadie: I’m a god. I jumped into it then reconstituted a few seconds later.

Ben: if you say so Captain Jack. Right then. Any other theories?

Persey: oh no. Oh nononononono

Mal: what?

Persey: I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry.

Ben: what Persey? What is it?

Persey: I think it was me. I think I left The Door open when I sent Verna to asphodel during the Processing.

Ben: right....

Mal (thinking quickly): Pain! Panic!

Pain and Panic: princess?

Mal: go to the underworld. Check and double check every door and opening. Make sure none of the dead can get through. We can’t risk any more leakages.

(The imps disappear)

Mal: Boss. Take dad and Hadie back to Olympus please.

Persey (nearing tears): Mal I am so-

Mal: it doesn’t matter. I don’t care about that. This is just a precaution. We can’t afford to have them trying to talk to it.

Persey: right.

(They teleport themselves, Hades and Hadie back home)

Ben: good thinking Mal.

Mal: thanks.

Doug: what do we do about Uma though?

Evie: I say we kill her. We can use your axe.

Mal: shaddup Evie. We’re not doing that. We’ll have to isolate her in her suite

Ben: are you sure?

Mal: yes. No. I don’t know. All I know is we can’t have Uma walking around until we get rid of the ghost floating about her head. We need to protect her as well as everybody else. Because if she finds a way to bring it back. We are all screwed.

(In Uma’s suite. She’s shivering with terror as Harry’s ghost gently unravels her now fully lavenderbraids. This is when “it’s a dangerous game” happens. After the song. Uma wrests herself away from his grip)

Uma: you’re not here. You can’t be here. You’re dead. I saw you die. You’re dead!

Harry: I know that. Why’d ya think I ain’t got legs? But you can fix that.

Uma (covering her ears with her hands in a futile effort to block Harry out): you’re not here. You’re not here. You’re not here. You’re not here.

Harry (taking Uma’s hands off of her ears): oh but I am. You can’t escape this Uma. I need to come back. To prove them wrong. To prove my bitch sister wrong. We need each other.

Uma: NO!

(She turns towards the mirror but she can still see Harry. This is when “my demons” happens. After the song. In the infirmary. Mal, Gil, Freddie and Celia are watching as Uma gets sedated)

Gil: is he still here?

Mal: yep.

Celia: I told her. Back in Arendelle. I fucking told her this would kill her.

Freddie: what’s happening to my sister?

Mal: Harry’s back. He’s haunting Uma. And what the hell do you mean by you said that what would kill her?

Celia: she tried to switch her magic from sea witch to voodoo.

Mal: shit.

Freddie: I’m not following. Like. At all.

Odie: there’s a hierarchy to magic.

Mal: yeah. Gods, genies and dark fae are like the top three.

Odie: correct child. Vooodoo is near the bottom. Just above regular, run of the mill witches.

Freddie: but Diego? And Ben, Lonnie, Doug and Gil?

Odie: magic can be given sweetness. Either willingly or unconsciously.

Mal: like that that tornado I made that turned Ben into Hybrid?

Odie: correct again. You’re good at this your maj.

Mal: yeah well between Doug and the library I learnt a lot. 

Celia: and those exosuits from before?

Odie: same principle. It was Mal, Jay, Jane and Evie, and later Ben, granting magic to those without.

Mal: what does Uma need right now?

Freddie: what makes you think my grandmother knows?

Mal: it’s her modus operandi. Ditch the shallow and jump right into the deep end. But please don’t be cryptic. I am not in the mood for that right now.

Odie: simply put. One of em needs to let go. And since Harold Icarus Hook-

Celia: Harriet.

Mal: what?

Celia: Harriet named him after her. So technically his legal name is Harriet Hook Junior.

Mal: whoa....

Odie: indeed. So since Harriet Icarus Hook is the one haunting my eldest granddaughter, showing a truly breathtaking degree of stubbornness even among pirates.

Mal: it has to be Uma. Excuse me.

(She teleports into the dungeon. Once there she uses telekinesis to crash Cj’s head into the bars four times before throwing her into the back wall)

Cj: what the HELL!?!?

Mal: yo Harriet!

(Harriet cowers in fear until Mal holds her hand out for a fist bump. Which Harriet gladly acquiesces to)

Cj: what was that for?

Mal: feeling generous today. What’s that smell?

Cj: our lavatory situation.

Mal: I told you where the bathroom is.

Cj: we’re on protest.

Mal: stanking up the cell the pair of you gave to live in isn’t going to punish US. Just you. Both of you remember this. Behind that wall, middle stone in the centre panel, is a bathroom. Full amenities. Including two walk in wardrobes. One for each of you. Everything is self replenishing.

Cj: why didn’t you tell us this before?

Mal: we did. You’re just pricks.

(With that she teleports back to the infirmary and into the fire)

Mal: oh god what now?

Ella: she just started seizing. We don’t know why.

Mal: I think I do. Uma. Uma can you hear me. Cuz-zen

(Uma spits at Mal)

Mal: I’m guessing this is Harry.

Uma (in Harry’s voice): took long enough ya bitch. DONT FUCKING LOOK AT HER YOU BLOODY TRAITOR!!!!

(Gil cowers and turns towards the wall)

Mal: it’s okay Gil. Uma’s strapped down. Hook can’t hurt you. What do you want with our cousin?

Uma (still in Harry’s voice): just her.

(Both Harry and Uma’s voices scream in unison. A thick plume of blood red smoke shoots out of Uma’s mouth which results in her vanishing into the ether)

Mal: find her! Find her NOW!

(She heads to Ben’s office only to find him waiting for her at the closed door)

Ben: we have a slight problem.

Mal (exhausted): another one?

Ben: yeah.

(He opens the door to find Maddie and Quinn standing in front of the desk looking excited)

Ben: they refused to leave until they talked to us together.

Mal (aware of the insanity that’s about to unfold): oh boy. Let’s get started then.

Maddie: why is a raven like a writing desk!

Ben: because Edgar Allen Poe wrote on both. What was it you wanted to talk about?

Quinn: Maddox and I have a theory.

Ben (though an incredibly forced smile): about what?

Maddie: the daughter of the sea and the shadows.

Quinn: not the diminutive pain in the ass. The demented one.

Mal (aside to Ben): well ain’t that just the pot calling the kettle black?

Ben (the incredibly forced smile still plastered on his face): shush.

Mal: so. About Uma?

Quinn: ready?

Maddie: indubitably.

(This is when “white rabbit” happens)

[spaceumbredoggos]

So much for stardust chapter twenty four

“Can I examine Kenz? Please?”

Bee handed me over as Ford took X rays of my lungs. “Severe pneumonia.” Ford sighed. “Can I take a shower now? I smell like a litter box.”

“Care to explain what you were doing with Bee on the couch?”

“Care to explain why that’s a problem?” I noticed a hickey on my gills. “Look, I know you’re going for the whole protective dad thing, but I’m a young adult. I can make my own poorly guided decisions. I got carried away, and…” I started giggling as Ford raised an eyebrow. “Carried away?”

“I may have a little crush on her…” I coughed. “She’s sweet, cuddly, and…” I felt myself heat up inside. “Look. All I’m saying is, be careful.”

“I know…” I couldn’t help but think about Dipper. “How’s Dipper doing?”

“Bill fucked him up pretty good.” Ford was grim, showing me the results of Dipper’s drug test. “Oh shit. That’s bad. Is he okay?”

“I’ve seen Dipper survive worse.” Ford sighed. “But what’s going to happen next is that Bill is gonna target you.”

“Target me?”

“Kenz, whatever you do. Don’t sleep for the next few days.” Ford started to frantically pace back and forth. “Bill knows about how, what’s the word—“

“I’m not continuing this discussion if you’re gonna slut shame me. Honestly. I thought you were above that.” I furiously stood up, turning around. Ford’s jaw dropped as I sulked off to the living room. I turned on the TV and started watching Rio. “Kenz—“

I flipped Ford off, curling up tightly and holding back the tears. “I just don’t want you taken advantage of—“

“Who gave you the authorization to care? You’re not my dad and you’ll never be.” I turned off the TV and took the first dose of my antibiotic. I stormed outside, climbing up a tree.

I watched below as birds fluttered and bugs flew past. It was a peaceful spring afternoon, despite the moody tension. I noticed a doe and her fawn walk through the woods. I smiled, watching the pair waltz through the greenery.

Suddenly, I heard a familiar shriek in the forest belonging to a voice I thought I would never hear from ever again. Instinctively, I transformed into my Umbredoggo form and bolted in the direction of the shriek. A tall shadowy figure loomed over a tall woman with blue eyes with medium length platinum blonde hair and unmistakable blue eyes. She was wearing camo hunting gear and frantically panicked to get her gun.

The shadowy monster changed form into that of a giant hairy beast with fangs and bright amber eyes. “Hold on!!!”

“McKenzie?” I tackled the beast and wrestled it down the hill. The beast transformed into my exact form. Shapeshifter! I slashed at it with my claws, which caused it to run off into the woods. I collapsed from a wound on my chest, reverting to my human form.

The woman rushed up to me, noticing the wound. “Oh my god! McKenzie!!!” She gave me a hug as I drenched her camp coat in my blood my accident. Hailey. My heart lurched as my cousin hugged me. “What the fuck are you doing in Oregon, Hails? And in Gravity Falls?”

“I’m on spring break, silly goose.” She smiled before panicking at the sight of my wound. “What are you doing here? I thought you moved in with your grandma and—“

“Ditched the Rogers making ‘false’ allegations of abuse from my father?” I shook my head. “Try fleeing from a pandimensional demon who wanted your ass for years and… Fuck. I can’t really tell you the full story. Just make sure I don’t pass out.” I leaned on my cousin as she walked me back to the shack through the woods. She knocked on the door, to which Stan answered. “Hailey!!!”

“Hey Grunkle Stan.” Stan nearly panicked at the sight of the wound on my chest. “Uh, make sure that Ford doesn’t find out—“

“That I don’t find out what?” Ford’s face was pale as he noticed the wound on my chest. “Kenz!!!”

“I don’t need your help, old man!!” I turned away, only to collapse on the ground with blood tricking from my mouth. “Kenz!”

“I’m just glad I got to see my cousin.” I smiled, thinking that this was the end. But Ford immediately went to work patching up the wound. “You should be resting. You have pneumonia.”

“Kenz doing anything but rest? Hah! They’re the laziest person in the world.” Hailey tried to alleviate the situation with comedy. “Not fucking helping.”

“Come on. Loosen up.”

“Says you. You always prided yourself as the grumpy one.”

“Since when did I do that?” Hailey sat down on the couch next to me. “Oh that’s right. You have the memory of a goldfish when it comes to our childhood. Probably because—“

“Because what?”

“Never mind. You won’t believe what I have to say anyways.” There was bitterness in my voice. “I mean it’s fucking clear that you were the better one of us. You never had an issue in your life. I don’t envy you though. Because if I did, that would be just sad and petty.” I curled up to hide my wound.

“What happened to you?” Hailey was visibly holding back the tears. “You’re even more grouchy since before you left.”

“Glad to know that my attitude is appreciated.” I noticed Mabel walk into the room. “Who is this?”

“My name’s Hailey. I’m Kenz’s cousin.”

“Careful. Mabel tackled hugs. She’s like if Cameron grew up and ate nothing but cocaine.”

“HI HI HI!!! MY NAME’S MABEL!!!!” Mabel tackled Hailey to the ground. “Are you Kenz’s cousin that they—“

I cleared my throat. “Sorry. I thought I heard a bit of drama—“

“Mabel. Can you butt out of it? We’re just adult cousins.” I sat up, crossing my arms. “Oh. Okay.” Mabel left the room as Ford approached me. “Don’t even bother.” I grabbed my phone and started scrolling through Pinterest, looking at pictures of Pokemon.

“And, there’s the Kenz I know. Always on their phone. Not bothering to interact with their family.” Hailey rolled her eyes as I angrily put my phone down. “I don’t need to fucking hear from the peanut gallery over here.”

“Language.”

“English!!!” I turned away from Hailey. I’m not even gonna bother asking for a thanks for saving her life because I don’t need it. It’s just what anyone else would have done when they saw someone in distress.

“Well thank you for saving me from that monster. Although I’m a little confused. I saw that there was this other monster fighting the monster that had me cornered. It looked like a wolf deer with wings like a bat. And it had your voice. Man, did you get bitten by a monster and now you have that freaky monster form?”

I curled up tightly, unwilling to respond. “Kenz. Why are you so grumpy?”

“Believe me. I’ve been trying to decipher that for weeks.” I glared at Ford as he stifled a laugh. Mabel walked back in, noticing the agitation in my gaze. “What’s up with them?”

[studentinpursuitofclouds]

After several posts about Lance as a father, and also after a funny comment from @bored-farmer about The First Slash clan as a babysitters for Lance and the Farmer's child, I decided to write a small... fic? If you can call it.

In this story, I left the child and the Farmer neutral (like son or daughter, and Farmer pronounce what you want), so that it fits the other OCs in any way they want to come up with!

Also, the SVE Wiki doesn't have a similar pronunciation description for Guild members, so I made the classic Edmund, Drake and Gale - he/him, and for Brianna - she/her (simple because it's hard to translate others pronunciations in my language, but feel free to give in your own HC pronunciations that you want!)

Story under the cut! And feel free for feedbacks 😃 (and sorry for mistakes, English is still hard)

Warnings: language

________________________________________

Ah, Fable Reef...

Lonely, small, but still such a beautiful and lively island in the middle of a vast ocean, far from the mainland. Few people know that the headquarters of the famous Guild called The First Slash Clan is located here. For them, this is a very convenient post for protecting the ocean from any impending threat. And they chose a very good place - what a beautiful views from this island, truly admire! A breathtaking sunset, exotic palm trees with growing coconuts, crystal clear water with a huge school of fish around, colorful corals, local fauna in the form of small crabs, crustaceans, mollusks...

"Where is... Where is that brat!? Where? Fuck, fuck, fuck, fucking hell!"

"Language!"

Hmm, yes. These voices are, one might say, another representative of the "fauna" on this island. Namely - the brave members of the Guild mentioned earlier.

"Cursing and shouting won't help the cause, Brianna, - Edmund tried to remain calm and hide his worries in front of his friend and colleague, although in the current situation, it became much more difficult to do this every minute. - Moreover, the child can be nearby and hear all your scolding"

"Believe me, this little asshole still don’t understand shit no matter what am I saying", - Brianna snapped back at Edmund at his moralizing. She did not want to be rude to him, but her nerves began to slowly surrender.

To be honest, the situation was laughably absurd. Losing four-year-old child of Lance and his partner on a small island...

And how did it all start? And it started on Wednesday, everything bad always happened on Wednesday, Brianna thought. It seemed to be an ordinary day, nothing remarkable, nothing foreshadowed trouble. But then she, Drake, Edmund and Gale got an order from Jolyne to watch the Lance's baby for one day. Second-in-command and his spouse had to go to a very important meeting with Magnus and Camilla for almost the whole day, while Jolyne herself went to a meeting of the Guilds on the issue of a torpedo trout. The child was left in the care of four adventurers with Gale at the head, and it seem that it would not be so difficult to take care of the kid. If they only knew how this event will turned out...

For half a day everything was alright: the kid was not particularly capricious, was full, clean, sitting on a pillow in the main hall and drew something with crayons on paper, while the adults were in the same hall doing their usual things. And then bam - and the child disappeared after the magic cotton. Parents, of course, warned that the baby may have small manifestations of magic. The key word is "small".

At the age of four, to already manage, albeit not consciously, chaotically teleport - a talented little one, truly a child of Lance and Farmer. The distance of the teleporters was short, literally two meters from the old point. But before the adults had time to pick up the child, the fidget with a small cotton disappeared from the hall of the headquarters completely. Adults had no choice but to start searching for the "missing little magician".

Brianna couldn't understand why Lance can't just hire a nanny in their hometown. Why should they be the babysitters? Ah yeah, because it's a magical child, with the "gift". It is unlikely that the nanny would be able to keep track of the baby, who would cast mini fireballs or levitate throughout the house. But at least in this case it was possible to push the blame on the nanny, or the same parents. It's not good to think like that, but she's just so tired.

While she and Edmund were standing on the sandy shore and exchanging not too pleasant words, a worried Drake ran up to them:

"I've already searched everywhere, - he said, out of breath, - the main hall, our rooms, the rest room, the armory, the closet with elixirs, combed the entire coast - I can't find the little one!"

Poor Drake, it would seem, he is ready to burst into tears on the spot from the hopelessness of the situation and from the realization that he let his dear friend and idol down.

"Hush Drake, do not lose heart. The kid should be nearby, maybe they just accidentally became invisible. This happened to me as a child when I spilled a potion on myself" - Edmund, hearing the sad tone of the pink-haired Adventurer, began to calm him down.

"You were already a daredevil then, weren't you, Edmund?" - Brianna, of course, will not miss the opportunity to tease het friend, especially since this will somehow help dilute the directed situation. To her caustic comment in his address, Edmund decided to tactfully keep silent.

"Shall we recheck the main hall and rooms then? I feel that the child is somewhere nearby, but I cannot find it", - Drake suggested.

"Uugh.. - Brianna sighed wearily and rubbed her temples in hopes of easing her headache. - Ok, let's do it. But we also need Gale to help us too. Where the hell did he go?!"

"I saw him in the armory, he then teleported somewhere. Maybe he's looking for the shore again? Or..."

"Greetings, my dear friends" - A familiar voice came from behind.

The three adventurers gasped in surprise and abruptly turned their heads towards the source of the sound. Lance was already approaching them, a smile on his face, clearly pleased to see his friends. Behind him was his partner, beloved Farmer, who smiled as broadly and sincerely at their friends from the other Guild. Apparently, poor trio forgot that the parents always teleport silently to the island.

"We apologize for the delay. The meeting dragged on, mostly due to Camilla, who couldn't keep her ass still and interrupt and tease everyone" - The Farmer looked apologetically at the trio of people in blue raincoats.

Lance laughed softly at his soulmate's comment and said, "Careful, my love, or Camilla might hear you"

Then the gallant adventurer looked again at his three colleagues:

"I hope our little one hasn't given you much trouble?"

"I missed my baby so much! - The Farmer said impatiently. - So, where is our precious little treasure?"

Brianna looked at Lance and Farmer like she was seeing them for the first time. Edmund tried to find words that would not cause a sharp panic and the inclusion of the "a la crush-break" action. Drake, on the other hand, was standing, looking at Lance, and small, shiny water droplets appeared on the corners of his eyes. Another second - and the young adventurer is about to cry.

Edmund decided to break the silence: "Lance, the baby is now, uhm, is..."

"Here"

All five turned towards the entrance to the Guild building. Calm Gale approached them, with a chirping and joyful missing child in his arms.

"I decided to show the kid my small collection of shells before leaving. The kid was very interested in them"

In confirmation of his words, the child waved his arms cheerfully, holding a beautiful small rainbow shell in left palm.

"I'm glad that you also had a good time, - Lance picked up the baby in his arms. - "Apologize again for such a sudden request."

"It's okay Lance. You two and the kid are always welcome. I think Jolyne would say the same"

Briana, Edmund and Drake were still silent until at the end of the conversation they said a short goodbye to Lance, Farmers and their child. Now their attention has been completely switched to Gale.

"Gale, what the fuck was that?" - Brianna, even after the shock, did not miss the opportunity to express her emotions rather vulgarly towards her colleague.

"Well, the shell version was much more plausible than the version that the child teleported into another dimension."

"Another dimension?!" - Edmund said too emotionally.

Brianna just sighed and headed towards the entrance to the Guild: "...I need drink, something strong. Edmund, where the hell is your whiskey bottle? I know for sure to have a supply"

"But we're on duty... What would Jolyne say", - Drake tried to protest weakly.

Gale put a hand on Drake's shoulder and smiled warmly.

“I think Jolyne would have had a drink in that situation too.

[zalrb]

OTH 3X03 REWATCH Review

1. IIIIIIIII DON’T WANNA BE ANYTHING OTHER THAN WHAT I’VE TRYNA BE LATELYYYYYYYYYYYY

2. “Should’ve used your stage name.” Lol, petty Nathan, I like it.

3. Also, in my high school, our lockers were supposed to be our same lockers for the whole four years but a) we moved lockers if we felt like it b) we didn’t even really use lockers, we just brought our bags to class.

4. Guys, their chemistry has DISAPPEARED

5. The whole plot line of these girls making fun of Haley for being a rockstar is just ... why? Like, I get jealousy, like I’ve heard of teen singers who got their, like, tires slashed by students and stuff because of their celebrity but this just rings so false.

6.

THE 00S WHAT A TIME!

7. Dan, shouldn’t you be focused on rebuilding your dealership?

8. Whitey is just so useless.

9. Was medical marijuana not a thing yet? Wasn’t it a thing in the 90s?

10. I know Dan thinks Lucas tried to kill him but this is your, like, 17 old son.

11. “I don’t care how many board members got their cars at cost, 40 years of coaching should count for more than that” not to side with Dan but one is more effectual than the other, Whitey, you’re a terrible coach. Which again. This is not a basketball town. In FNL, Eric loses ONE game in season 1 and the entire town freaks the fuck out and is like, we win SEASONS here, not games.

12. I like how they make it seem like adoption isn’t a lengthy process and that Ellie was just like yep this couple and that was it.

13. The funniest thing about the Haley/Nathan detention SL for me is that this ACTUALLY happened to me (minus the marriage or EVEN the dating) with my best friend and my French teacher. We weren’t talking because of the whole I realized I liked him thing and we weren’t sitting together in class anymore and I guess he would glare at me from across the room and sometimes we just ended up in huge fights in the hallway and we had French class before lunch and she told us both to stay behind then kept us in the room with her for the whole lunch hour so we could talk. She did it again after school another time.

14. “See you at lunch”, I’ve never seen you two together at lunch.

15. “Are you Kelly Clarkson?” “WANNA SAY THAT TO MY FACE?” WHAT is the insult here.

16. OK it IS really intrusive for Ellie to just be UP in Peyton’s room, going through her art, like I would be pissed off too but also

I need her to give it a rest, like I’m tired, Peyton.

17.

Like, I CAN’T. It also doesn’t help that Hilarie isn’t a great actress so this just comes across as whining as opposed to sheer devastation. Like, go find Jake and be giddy again please.

18. Everyone just loves calling Brooke a whore, man.

19. Oh, Peyton, looking at the stoplights. Ofc. At least she’s not driving this time I guess.

20. “Sometimes you guess right. You guessed where to find me.” Who wouldn’t know where to find you, Peyton. My god.

21. Mouth you’ve been annoying this WHOLE episode.

22.

but Lucas has NO right to be the one to tell him this. You end up painting Brooke’s red door black, sir.

23. Why is the MAYOR here? OK.

24. Lol I can hear Leyton shippers talking about how Peyton always brings up making out with Lucas as an indication that she wasn’t over him and that Leyton was always in the background but Peyton also always brings up making out or Nathan being horny for her all the time around him too and in fact in season 2 has to remember not to talk like that in front of Haley, so that’s just Peyton’s thing, she just talks about making out with guys she’s made out with before.

25. Dan is just fucking EVERYWHERE

26.

1. This is redundant, just say booty call.

2. We’ve never actually SEEN this. This just seems like conjecture.

27. I’m sorry but I found this delivery SO funny. This is not better, Nathan.

28. This always made me laugh because this is just regular pjs, it isn’t sexy, but she’s in her underwear instead of pants, so I guess

29. THE CHEMISTRY IS JUST GONE

30. Every time I see Whitey I’m like WHY

31. ALWAYS LOVE, HATE WILL GET YOU, EVERY TIIIIIIIIIIIIIIME. Nostalgia.

32. Then Lucas’  fucking voiceover ruins it.

33. Because we all know that a podcast is a sufficient substitute for therapy from a licensed professional.

34. THE LETTERS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

35. I also realize that I like Naley when they’re together but don’t care for their buildups.

[nctsworld]

two nights, one you

✩‌ jaemin ‌x‌ ‌reader‌ ‌|‌ fuckboy!jaemin | strangers (who f*ck) to (brief) enemies to lovers | ‌10.9k 

SUMMARY‌ ‌⇾‌ a last-minute one night stand gone awry is extended into two nights when you’re snowed in at the cute (but rude) stranger’s apartment on christmas eve. [loosely based on the movie, two night stand] // part of the x-mas in ncity collection  GENRES ⇾ crack | smut | fluff  WARNINGS‌ ‌⇾‌ ‌lots of bickering and dialogue, smut, oral s*x (f and m receiving), fingering, mentions of alcohol/drinking, swearing, bit of angst before the end, jaemin’s an asshole... or is he? RATING‌ ‌⇾‌ explicit TAGLIST ⇾‌ @infnteen​ 

AUTHOR’S NOTE ⇾ it’s late (and long fsldkm), srysry but here it is! i hope the humour comes out in this and look away if falls flat zzz fingers crossed that i can finish the last two installments for this collection asap! 

⇾ gif created by me, please don’t repost or share without credit!

Maybe it’s because it’s the evening of Christmas Eve Eve and you’re feeling more lonely than usual.

Maybe it’s due to the two glasses of wine you guzzled down in the span of fifteen minutes that get you buzzed.

Maybe it’s your prominent six-month dry spell and you’re in desperate need for some much needed rain in your drought.    

Or maybe it’s just pure impulsiveness.

Regardless of the reasons, you’re aiming to get laid tonight.  

It’s 9:45pm as you make the rounds on Tinder. You’ve used it in the past, searching for a relationship in vain, but haven’t used it much since you broke up with your last partner. Bringing the app alive again, you’re already bombarded by distasteful messages, off-putting one-liners and jokes, and swiping left more than you’d like.

You haven’t had a one-night stand before, but isn’t there anyone on here that is just a little bit attractive, nearby where you are, around your age, and is somewhat chivalrous about the topic besides saying DTF? Maybe you need to lower your standards if you want to get dicked down tonight.

But then, you land on him.

One Na Jaemin, 20 years old, and only four miles away from you.

Scrolling through his profile pictures and Instagram feed, you assume that he’s into photography, is on the athletic side from the various hobbies he partakes in, and he must be at least half-aware of his beauty because there’s the occasional pic that shows off his lean, toned arms, which, if you can be frank, is more flattering than the shirtless ones you constantly see. Oh, and he attends the same university as you.

The cherry on top? His bio is simple and upfront:

“Not up for anything serious, but always down for a good time ;)”

You swipe right without hesitation.

“It’s a Match!” flashes instantly at you. Your mouth swings open in disbelief.  

Usually, you’d wait for your matches to message you and play hard-to-get, but not tonight. Tonight, you’re initiating and leading all the conversations, completely driven by your thirst.  

Messaging Jaemin is a breeze. He types with more than half a brain, and he flirts, but it isn’t overwhelming or repulsive. Segueing the current topic, you drag your bottom lip upward as you send the following message:  

so, hypothetically... if one were to have good time with you would tonight work?

Not even twenty seconds later and he replies with:

-wow, dont you go straight to the point -im impressed -but yeah -tonight works ;)

He’s quick to send his address.

-let me know when ur here and ill come get you out front!

Smacking your lips together, you squeal to yourself in the comfort of your home, excited to meet with him, but then a thought hangs over you—this feels a little too good to be true. Horrible scenarios run through your head, so your fingers dash across your phone’s keyboard:

tbh i haven’t really done this b4 so im kinda new to this is it ok if we video call or smth? gotta make sure you’re real and not a serial killer i’m sure you understand 😛

-for sure for sure -totally get it -ive had my fair share of fake girls and serial killers so i feel u 😛

Grateful for his consideration, you rush to rearrange your hair after you send him a Zoom link, hoping you look decent enough to not have him back off from his initial offer. He appears in the video call on his phone with the front-facing camera on a few seconds after you connect.

“Hi,” you chirp.

A corner of his mouth lifts. “Hey.”  

Okay, he’s definitely cuter in real-time than in his pictures.  

“You know, I’m not gonna lie, but I lowkey expected to see a dick or something,” you joke in an attempt to dispel your nervousness.  

“Same,” he chuckles, running a hand through his black hair.

Oh God, he’s not just cute—he’s devastatingly gorgeous.

“So, this is my place...”

Jaemin moves around with his apartment in the background, revealing his living room first. Envy prods you as you note the brick walls, high ceiling windows, and well-appointed furnishings.

Recalling his address, you ask, “How’d you get a place in the heart of the city?”

“Lucked out,” he shrugs. His phone shakes a bit as he’s still moving. “My friend slash roommate—who is at his girlfriend’s place tonight, so we have the place all to ourselves—his parents own the condo and they gave me a friend discount on the rent.”

He finally stands in one place and turns the light on to reveal a room. “And this is my bedroom.”

Nothing out of the ordinary. A desk table with a gaming set-up, in tow with a gamer chair, and a decently-sized bed beside a nightstand.

“Oh, and here’s my closet.” Jaemin’s on the move again as he opens his closet doors. “Just to make sure you don’t think I hide the skins of my past one-nighters in here.”

A bubbly laugh rises from you. “Okay, I didn’t think of that before, but now you’ve planted the seed in my head. Maybe you hide them in the other rooms.”

“Nah, my roommate would kill me if I did.”

Both of you laugh in unison, and you bob your head with puffed cheeks.  

“Okay, it all seems very promising. I’m going to get ready and I’ll guess I’ll see you in a bit, Jaemin.���

“Sounds good,” Jaemin nods, then winks. Although you’re sitting down, he’s still able to get you weak in the knees. “See you soon.”

You end the call and rush to bundle up for the snow starting to come down outside. A twenty-minute train ride later, you’re at the front door of a rustic, industrial apartment complex. After informing Jaemin you’re outside, you glance up at the snowflakes falling from the dark pink-grey sky, anticipating for what comes next.

Sex with a hot guy, what can go wrong?  

So, you must’ve jinxed it because the sex is...  

Unsatisfying. Finished faster than you’d like it to be. Sadly, overall disappointing. If you had to rate it, three out of five stars, at best.

But hey, he came, and you sort of did, and it wasn’t the worst sex you’ve ever had. It half-quenched your dry spell.

And enough happened that it tired you out, leaving you passed out in the handsome stranger’s bed until morning.

In the morning, your eyes slowly flicker, unused to the foreign, sweet scent engulfing you in your bed. Correction: Jaemin’s bed.

Your eyes flicker faster as you glance through the almost wall-sized window. The snow hasn’t let up from last night. On the contrary, it seems like it’s snowing non-stop. You groan at the thought of going home in this weather.

The bed is without Jaemin’s presence as you reach for your phone on the nightstand. 10:36AM and a few notifications greet you. You rub your eyes and start combing through them, rising upward to sit up on the bed.

“Morning. You’re finally up.”

Peering up from your device, Jaemin’s standing by the door with folded arms. His plain sweater and sweatpants match the colour of his hair. The dazzling smile he gives is so contagious, you’re not even conscious of catching one too.  

“Out you go.”

You blink.

Once, twice, and then you tilt your head as you stare blankly at him, uncertain if you heard him correctly.

After a few moments, because you’re not moving an inch, his smile dissipates and he cocks an eyebrow in expectancy. A serious expression rolls over his face.  

Suddenly, Jaemin strolls to the side of the bed and hitches his thumb towards the door.

You definitely heard him right.

And he’s dead-serious.

You replay the video call from last night, dissecting how you thought he was nice and funny and—

Realization dawns on you.

Why would you expect anything more from a two-faced fuck boy?

Still awestruck by the situation, you’re still solid as a statue, so Jaemin takes matters into his own hands and grasps you by your elbow, casually dragging you from his bed like he’s taking out the trash.  

“What the fuck?!” you screech.

“C’mon, let’s go. Out out.”

“My clothes, though!” you protest in the middle of the hallway. He sighs in frustration, scurries to the bedroom, and returns with a small pile in his arms, then continues to drag you to the front door.  

“Are you always this pleasant with your guests the morning after?” you rage, putting on the rest of your clothes by the door. “You don’t even have the decency to offer me tea or coffee?”

“This was a one-night stand, not a bed and breakfast, sunshine,” he says as he watches you put your shoes on. He’s folding his arms again and leaning against the wall, his attitude dripping with smug. If he wasn’t a stranger, you’d punch it off his face. “You weren’t kidding when you said you were new to this, huh?”

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?!”

“It means you’re a borderline virgin who needs to toodle-loo, get going and gone because you’re overstaying your welcome as we speak.”

Finishing putting on your coat, you’re fuming as your jaw hangs at the personal jab over your skills in bed. Jaemin swings the door open and shoves you through it.

“But I’ll admit, it was still nice having sex with you!” he chimes with a sickening grin and a hand on the door.  

“Aw, thanks asshole, wish I could say the same,” you sarcastically reply, resting a palm upon your chest.  

He scoffs. “From what I heard last night, I think I can confidently say that you had a great time.”

Flashbacks replay in your mind of your screaming fest from underneath him. Little did Jaemin actually know—

“You know, for someone who I assume has many one-night stands,” you spit with squinted eyes. “I’m surprised you can’t tell when girls fake it.”

You must’ve hit a sore spot because he grinds his teeth and you could almost see the steam coming out of his ears.

Oh yeah, you’re definitely the winner in this fight.

“Okay, you know what, Merry Christmas and fuck you. Have a great life!”

“Fuck you, dickface. Wishing you a miserable Christmas!”

With a bitter smile, you flip him off as he slams the door in your face.

Carrying a basket filled with dirty clothes, Jaemin’s on the way down to the laundry room in the basement of his apartment with his shoulder scrunched up, squeezing his phone to his ear.

“Bro, she had the audacity to say that I didn’t make her come when she was screaming my God damn ear off—”

As he steps down the short flight of stairs and passes by the foyer area by the main entrance to the building, he notices you’re still here.

“Shit, uh, Jeno,” he mumbles. “I’m gonna have to call you back.”

He stuffs his phone into the pocket of his sweats and calls out to you as he strides closer. “Are you resorting to stalking me by my front door now?”

With crossed arms, you peer over your shoulder, eyes full of bitterness.

“Like I wanna be anywhere near you right now,” you grumble. You jerk your head towards the thick, wooden door. “It’s jammed from the snow.”

The laundry carrier shakes his head and places the basket onto the floor. “A little snow never hurt anyone. You’re probably just too weak.”

Stepping aside and holding out an arm, you signal for him to give it a try.

Jaemin twists the handle and, lo and behold, it doesn’t open. His forehead crinkles as he tries again and again, using more force each time.

Glancing through one of the partially frosted windows adjacent to the sides of the door, he notices the snow has piled enormously high, almost to the height of his chest.

“Well, shit.”  

Reluctantly, Jaemin brings you back to his apartment. You’re technically his guest and if he left you in the foyer to freeze, trouble would surely come his way, whether it be in the form of his landlords (also known as his roommate’s parents) or the police.

Without a word, he settles a spoon in a bowl, a carton of milk, and a box of cereal onto the small kitchen table.

At first, you stare at it venomously in rejection, thinking you can easily last a day without any hand-outs from this son of a bitch, but your stomach roars ferociously three seconds later.

As you chew across from him, you enjoy the company of your phone over him, while he does the same but with a cup of coffee in hand.

After finishing your food, you adamantly place your phone down and lean back into the chair, boring holes into his head.

“Why are you such an asshole?” you seethe observantly.

“Why are you such a bitch?” he retorts, not pulling his gaze away from his phone.

“Because you started it,” you say slowly, stating the obvious.

“No, you.”

You sigh defeatedly at his childish behaviour. The weather apps predict the snow will (hopefully) die down by tomorrow morning, thus you’re officially stuck with him for the next twenty-four hours or so. Your hands rake through your hair.

“Whether we like it or not, the snow isn’t going away until tomorrow. Merry Christmas Eve to us, I guess.”

He’s still glued to his phone. You exhale another sigh.

“Since we’re not getting out of this until then, can we just...” You soften your voice. “Start over?”

His eyes are still on the screen, but from the way his shoulders tense and how he stops scrolling, you know he’s considering your proposition.

“At least call a stalemate over this.” You drift your hand in the air, gesturing between you and him.

Blowing out air and shaking his head, he rests his phone onto the table.

“Fine.”

He crosses his arms, imitating you, and the two of you sit there, staring at each other in a long silence.  

One minute, to be exact.

You’re the one to break the silence game by running your hands over your face, letting out a hybrid of a groan and laugh.

“God, the fact that we had sex makes this kinda awkward, huh?”

Jaemin’s exterior melts slightly, letting out a snicker. He shrugs, “Then let’s just pretend that we didn’t have sex.”

“We can’t just pretend that we didn’t have sex,” you say, holding two upturned palms near your face.

“We did it, it’s done. I’ve seen your penis, you kicked me out, and you labelled me a prude—” You dart a finger towards him. “—which I am far from, by the way. All of those are pretty huge things.”

One of the corners of his mouth raises high. “Are you saying my penis is huge?”

“No, the implication of said penis is huge. Wipe that smirk off your face.”

He stretches an arm, holding an imaginary microphone to your face. “Do you deny that my penis is huge?”

Rolling your eyes, you swat his fist away. “What am I, on trial here?”

“Do you plead the fifth then?”

Annoyed, you roll your eyes again. Why do you get the feeling that you’re probably going to be doing this a lot more today? Another feeling tells you that if you don’t answer his question, he’ll probably pester you until you do.

You tilt your head side to side. “It’s... decently sized.”

“Bigger or smaller than average?”

“Perfect...” His eyes light up. “...ly average.” And a frown rolls over.

He squints his eyes accusingly at your sneer. “Are you lying like you did before about faking it?”

You scoff. “I wasn’t lying about faking it, and I’m not lying now about your average sized dick.”

Jaemin releases a disgruntled grumble and lifts his cup to his face. You notice he likes to take his coffee black and bitter, presumably like his heart.

“So, Miss I’m-Not-A-Prude-and-I’ve-Definitely-Had-Sex-Before.” His eyebrows perk up on the word definitely. “What’s your story? Why the last minute one-night stand?”

Shrugging your shoulders to your ears, you reply, “Haven’t had sex in a while.”

“When’s the last time you had sex?” he asks mid-sip.

“Half a year ago,” you respond nonchalantly, perching your chin into your palms.

Jaemin immediately chokes, almost spraying the coffee through his nose.

“Half a year?!” he gasps. It takes him a few hits to his chest to dispel the coughing. “Six months?!”

“Wow, you can count!” you exclaim in a condescending tone. You change the position of your hands so that your chin is now atop of the back of your curled fingers and tilt your head. “Can you also spell?”

“As a premed student, I can assure you that I am capable of doing both,” he says with a slight strain due to the coughing fit. The humble brag brings on another eye roll. Of course he’s a premed student with the attitude he wears.

“It’s just—” He clears his throat and swallows the last bit of coffee stuck in his windpipe. “—The last time I had a dry spell was for like, a month, tops.”

So the fuckboy gets laid way more on the daily than you expect. You’re torn between being envious over how much action he gets in comparison to you, or remorseful, since you’re now just one of the many notches on his bedpost.

No matter, sarcasm is always the best defence mechanism.

“Good for you, Jaemin. I’m sure you’re very proud of that.”

There’s an awkward beat. His head hangs for a moment while his thumbs stroke the sides of his cup. A strange pinch of guilt occurs. Did you overstep an unspoken line? But then he drags himself back to reality in a heartbeat.

Jaemin brings the cup to his mouth again, mumbling, “At least the sex on your part makes more sense now; you’re rusty as fuck.”

Completely aware of what he said, you trash your guilt entirely and narrow your eyes. “What did you just say?”

Following a long sip, he hums, “Mmm, nothing.” Soon after, he stands up with his cup.

“I’m gonna go game now. Feel free to watch Netflix on the TV and stay in the living room.”

As if you had anywhere else to go...  

He begins to walk towards his room as you mutter under your breath, “I’m not a dog.”

“Says the bitch,” he pipes up, taking you by surprise.  

“Thought we had a stalemate?!” you shout, leaning your head forward as you watch him entering his room.  

“Doesn’t mean we’re on peaceful terms!” he sing-shouts.

The flinging of the closed door echoes throughout the apartment.

Regret surges through you. You just had to choose a fuckboy fluent in assholery and end up incidentally being isolated with him during a snow storm on Christmas Eve.

You wonder if you can handle being around him for the next twenty-four hours without killing him first.

During the afternoon, you’re on the living room couch, playing a show as mostly background noise while you’re on your phone. At one point, your phone unsurprisingly begins to die and you tread over to Jaemin’s door to ask for a charger and if you can also take a shower. He’s still annoyed by your existence, but at least he hands you a charger and lets you know where the extra towels are.

Stepping into the living room with the towel in your hand as you dry your hair off, you peer out the large living room window and see nothing but white engulfing the streets and buildings as far as the eye can see.

You pray the snow will eventually stop as soon as possible so you can head back home.

By the middle of the afternoon, Jaemin emerges from his bedroom and shocks you by plopping down on the opposite end of the living room couch from where you’re sitting.

“Bored?” you ask, eyes fixated on the TV screen.

“Nope,” he replies, popping the p as he says it. His slings his arm around the top of the couch.

“Gotta keep an eye on you in case you do something.” Turning away from the screen, he faces you and motions circles with his hand. “You’ve got a little crazy in you, I can feel it.”

You quickly glance over at him, but try to refocus on the TV. “Need I remind you that you’re the crazy one, dragging me out of the apartment right as I woke up.”

That compels him to turn his whole body towards you. “Well, you’re the one who wanted a last-minute one-night stand.”

You match his stance. “As if I’m the first girl in your bed to stay in the morning?”

“Actually, yeah.” He aggressively tilts his head to one side. “Most girls leave before I even get up. The other percentage don’t fight me when I ask for them to go, so it looks like you’re the odd one out.”  

You press your lips together, refusing to admit that maybe he has a point, under the assumption that he’s telling the truth.

Jaemin twists his body back to the screen and adds, “I make it very clear on my profile that I don’t do morning afters, sweetheart.”

And you agree that his profile is clear about his intentions, but that doesn’t mean you can condone his shitty behaviour.

“Well, sorry that I expected just an ounce of respect instead of getting kicked to the curb after you stuck your dick in me,” you grumble, shifting back to the show and crossing your arms.

“Morning afters lead to attachments, and attachments lead to feelings, and feelings lead to relationships,” he says the string of words clinically, as if it’s a mantra that he lives by.

Your eyebrows knit together as you whip your head towards him once more, studying him.

“And what’s so wrong with that?”

Deliberately averting your gaze, Jaemin grates his tongue between his teeth, a slight tsk audibly heard, and his chin juts out. There’s definitely a story behind his ways. He huffs and changes the subject.  

“Seriously?” He holds a hand out. “You’re watching this trashy show?”

Squinting your eyes at him, you could probably interrogate him further, but you decide otherwise.  

“It may be trashy,” you concur, looking at the TV. “But it’s my trashy comfort show.”

Following an over-the-top acted out scene between the show’s main love interests, Jaemin shoots up from the couch.

“Yeah, no, I can’t handle this. Can we either put on something else or game or something?”

“Why don’t you go back to your room to game, Mr. I’m-Not-Bored?”

“Like I said, I gotta keep an eye on you,” he says while bending over in front of the TV, already setting up the Playstation. He tosses you a controller as he strides to his side of the couch again.

He mumbles to himself, “Need to make sure you don’t go crazy from the lack of human interaction.”

Either Jaemin is selfish and only looking out for himself, or he wants to make sure you’re not feeling lonely in a stranger’s home.

Likely the first reason, you deduce—because why would a guy like Jaemin care about a mere one-night stand?

Admittedly, you’re not the best at games, especially at fighting ones. You can comprehend the move lists, but you like to live by button smashing the controller and repeating moves over and over.  

So it’s hilarious when you beat Jaemin every round with your surprisingly fruitful technique.

“Okay, this is bullshit,” Jaemin complains, sticking his tongue out in irritation. His ass is currently being handed to him on a plate again since you’re almost done killing his character off. “You must be lying to me; you have to be a pro player or some shit.”

Jaemin’s health bar is dangerously low as your character jabs his with a sword. He winces out loud and you snicker.

“Why do you think I always lie about everything?! Dude, you have serious trust issues,” you joke before you steal the opportunity to slice his character. One more hit and he’s done for.

“I do not! I just—nooo!”

You rise to your feet and pump your arms in the air, turning in circles in joy over yet another win.

Sulking, Jaemin eyes your little dance from his end on the couch, but as he watches you more, a feeling balloons in his chest. Something he hasn’t felt in a long time.

Finally coming down from your post-win high, you spot an emerging grin from the corner of your eye, making you pause.    

“What?” you eye him suspiciously.

Your suspicion pops the sensation in his chest and, like a fish out of water, his eyes widen and his grin melts away.

“Nothing, uhm.” He ruffles his eyebrows and palms the back of his neck, quickly facing the TV. “Let’s go one more round and then we can switch to another game—”

Suddenly, the TV and surrounding lights switch off. Both of you waver your eyes, anticipating for them to come back on, but they unfortunately don’t.  

Jaemin rushes over to the window. When he swivels his head towards you, his face darkens.

“Looks like it’s at least the whole block. The streetlights are out too.”

Without another word, he dashes to the linen closet and brings back several blankets. He calmly explains that there won’t be heat since it’s connected to the electricity, so it’d be best to keep warm with the extra layers.

Not wanting to scare you, he doesn’t add the fact that due to the huge windows in the apartment, more unnecessary cold air will come in, but you’re already cognizant of it from your own logic and since the remaining heat dissolves rapidly.

You groan and retreat into the massive blanket over your shoulders, turtling your head.

You can’t believe you’re going to fucking die in this asshole’s apartment on Christmas Eve.

On the ends of the couch in your makeshift blanket jackets, both of you attend to your phones for a while.

From what people and the news outlets are saying, it’s not just the block, but the whole city grid is out. You frantically text your friends, giving updates on how you are and half-jokingly telling them that you’re going to die with your dreadful one-night stand. Some time passes and Jaemin tosses his phone  off to one side.  

“Well, since there’s nothing else to do and we should probably conserve our phone batteries—” You glance up at him from your phone and pout. Slowly nodding in agreement, you toss it aside too. “—why don’t we play a game of ‘I’ll-Give-You-Pointers-on-How-to-be-Better-in-Bed’?”

A smile burgeons on his irritatingly handsome face and your eyes roll. At this point, you wonder if the reaction is conditioned into you. “It’ll be my early Christmas gift to you.”

“Wow, so thoughtful, how could I ever thank you?” You drag the blanket closer to your chest in false gratitude.

You think for a serious moment if you really want to go through with this. Hearing Jaemin run his mouth on you unwarranted is already painful, but to give him the go-ahead to do so? Especially criticizing your skills in bed?  

You blow out a sigh, noting the slightly visible cloud. You’re grateful Jaemin has thick, downy blankets.  

Well, if you’re going to die, may as well know what went wrong, right?

“Fine, but if we’re playing this game, we have to say everything honestly and take the criticism we get.” You point a stern finger. “No rebuttals, just acceptance.”

“Wait.” Jaemin crinkles his face in genuine confusion as his hand peeks out from his blanket.

“You have things to criticize about me in bed?”

Your lips tremble before you burst into laughter. Displeasure is on Jaemin’s tight-lipped face as you laugh for a while, almost keeling over in your blanket ball onto the hardwood floor. “How conceited are you, oh, my fucking God?”

He slices his hand through the air. “I’ve never had any complaints—”

“Because you’re too busy focusing on your own orgasm, you selfish dickwad,” you say as your laughter dies down.  

He sits in his snit for a few more moments until he gets over it.

“Fine, fine,” he huffs. Jaemin knows he’s not going to enjoy this, but he’s the one who suggested it. He can’t back out now. “Let’s just get this over with, you go first.”

With your blanket held by your chest, you hop off your end of the couch and shuffle over in front of him where he’s seated. Beaming, you begin.

“Let’s start with foreplay.” Jaemin’s eyes light up with confidence, thinking he’s at least decent with that. You crush his expression as your lips purse and you shake your head.

“Non-existent.”

“What do you mean?! I kissed you as you took off your clothes.”

You stick your free hand out from your blanket, extending your index finger.

“One: you only kissed my lips. You know, there are other parts of me to kiss, like, I don’t know, my neck, my arms, my shoulders.”

You extend another finger. “And, two: it’s weird to not help someone take off their clothes. Like you’re in a super rush to get somewhere or something—”

“We’re fucking!” he cuts in sharply. “This is a one-night stand, not a relationship.”

Closing your eyes and dropping your head, you pinch the bridge of your nose. You sigh in exaggeration.

“Thought we agreed no rebuttals...” you softly sing-say.  

Jaemin’s head sinks a little into his blanket. “Sorry.”

Removing your hand, you shrug. “Maybe there’s some rule that I don’t know about one-night stands, so this could be on me.”

You start to aimlessly tread back and forth in front of him, dragging the blanket along too. “But fuck, foreplay is foreplay for a reason. You work your way up to the heat of the moment and it makes sex much better, regardless if you’re in a relationship with the person or not.”

“Next point.” You stop walking and direct your focus on him. Pointing your finger and looking him dead in the eye, you ask, “Do you know what a vagina is?”

He snorts with a simper. “Uhhh, is this a rhetorical question?”

“No, I’m legit asking,” you say with a raised eyebrow and snarky smile. “Because when you went down on me, all you flicked your tongue at was the outside of it, also called the labia if you didn’t know.”

“I’m premed, of course I—”

“Which is great! But you didn’t go any deeper nor did you go near my clit.”

You thrust your finger again. “Do you also know what that is?”

“Yes...” he groans with the flickering eyelids.

You swipe your arm through the air. “Maybe make use of it, and not only when you go down on girls. Even during sex, touching it is great.”

“And lastly,” you continue. “I’ll be honest here, you have a decent dick.”

Jaemin waggles his finger. “So you were lying before—”

“I wasn’t lying,” you retort firmly. “But anyways, you’ve got the stuff, but why don’t you put it to better use?”

With the following words, you attempt to gesture with your body and execute moves as graphic visuals. Jaemin giggles at the sight.

“Vary the speeds and the angle, don’t just slam it in me and go crazy fast from the get-go. Build up to the climax. Jesus, I couldn’t even get close to coming because you’re like a jackhammer from start to finish.”

When you finally finish, Jaemin’s giggles morph into hollow laughs. Frustration is blatant on your face, pondering if he even absorbed a single word you said.  

After he calms down, he asks, “Are you done?”

You mumble, “Yeah, I think so.”

The two of you switch places. He shuffles onto his feet with his blanket while you sit back on the couch.

Jaemin pulls the blanket across the floor as he ambles. “Okay, your head game is decent—”

“Excuse you, my head game is strong.”

“Uh-uh, rebuttal,” he points out.  

You sigh. Pinching your fingers together, you drag the invisible zipper across your mouth, then wave your hand, allowing him to resume.

“Your head game is decent. You definitely can deepthroat, but—” He mirrors you from before and extends his index finger.

“One: this happened only a few times, but your teeth scraped against my dick, which is why I assumed you were a borderline virgin.”

You fume silently at the accusation, attempting to not speak up with a heap of rebuttals. But he wasn’t wrong—if you teethed on his dick, that’s a classic virgin move.

“But that’s okay, because we already established that you’re just rusty.” Jaemin flashes you a fake comforting smile as he continues to pace. You flash him one back.

“And two—” He holds another finger out. “Don’t be scared to use your hands and stroke me. Give my dick some love. If it’s too wet, just wipe your hands on the bed or something.”

“Okay, duly noted,” you hum. “Next.”

“Don’t be scared to touch me.”

“I touched you so much during—”

He shoots you a glare. You roll your mouth inward, your lips disappearing instantly.

“Your hands were mostly on the sheets, which is hot, but guys like to be felt up too.”

The attractive individual peers up for a second, thinking to himself. “Even hotter when a girl feels herself up during the fucking, but that’s beside the point. Baby steps, just remember to touch the other person.”

Jaemin does a full-stop and faces you.

“And just... don’t fake it.” Distress is evident in his pout. You hate to admit it, but it’s a little cute. He raises an arm and jerks it in the air. “Why do girls fake it?”

“Because guys with egos like you can’t handle criticism,” you reply bluntly.  

“What are we doing, having this conversation, hm?”

“We wouldn’t be having this conversation if it didn’t snow in and keep us here together.” You peel a hand away and gesture to the window. “If I walked out of here this morning, you would’ve just fucked the next girl the same.”

He defends himself, “Faking it just feeds our egos.”

“Yeah, well, if I told you afterwards that I didn’t come, what would you do?”

“Try to make you come in other ways?”

Shaking your head, you scoff. “Guys like you aren’t that considerate.”

“You’re right.” He assents, holding his pointer finger against his chest. “Because guys like me aim to please.”

A brilliant thought leaps in his mind and Jaemin gasps. You can only assume bad things from the wicked smile he sends your way.  

“Why don’t we try it again?”

Perplexed, you squint at him.

“Try what again...?”

“Sex,” he says enthusiastically.

You blankly stare at him.

“You’ve gotta be joking,” you deadpan.

“I mean, there’s nothing else to do and it’ll keep us warm.” 

You continue to stare at him until you groan.

“Oh, my God...” Your blanket droops a bit off your shoulders as you drag your palms across your face. “I cannot believe I’m stuck in this snowstorm with you out of all people...”

Sitting next to you, Jaemin persistently reasons with you. “Think of it also as another learning experience for the future partners we’ll have.”

“Yeah, if we don’t die first!” you shriek.

“We’re not going to die,” Jaemin replies in a mocking tone and a dart of his tongue.  

Outside the window, the snow seems to have slowed down, but not by much.  

God, Jaemin better be fucking right because you want to live to see another day.  

“Fine,” you mutter and match his gaze. “But we have to be vocal throughout the whole thing. Say whatever’s on our mind.”

“Fine,” he agrees to your terms. He produces the same wicked smile again. “But can we film it then? So we can study it after?”

You fire him a death glare that melts his face off, even in the frigid atmosphere.

“I’m joking, I’m joking,” he says, waving his hand.

They say that jokes are half-meant true, but you think Jaemin fully meant it. Still in your blanket jackets, Jaemin snags your free hand and leads you to his room.

“You gotta give me credit for trying, though.”

“No.” You shake your head with an unwilling smile creeping on the edge of your lips. On second thought, maybe the joke was a little funny, but you still stand by your opinion that he’s the most annoying person in the world. “I don’t think I will.”

“Thank God Chenle has so many scented candles...”

On the edge of Jaemin’s bed, huddled by the blanket, you watch him light up several large jars, placing them on his nightstand and desk in hopes to brighten the room. It’s already late afternoon, but one could mistaken it for nighttime with the muddy sky due to the snow.

“Is Chenle your roommate?”

“Yeah,” Jaemin answers with a slight shiver, igniting the last candle near the bedside. He removed his blanket when he went to nab the matches and candles. “His girlfriend gets free ones from work, so she always gives him a shit ton, even though he never uses them.”

With a glowing hue against his face, he blows out the match. He makes his way to you, a cocky grin plastered on him, as he says, “Guess we’re making use of them now, though.”

Before you can even respond, Jaemin gets right down to business—sitting beside you on the mattress, he palms your face and drags you in for a kiss. You softly yelp, but immediately reciprocate.

The cover falls off your body as you reach to touch him, fingers drifting over his solid arms.

You don’t want to stroke his large ego, and maybe it’s because you haven’t had anyone else on you in a while, but Jaemin’s kisses are something else.

The cushiony pair of lips always executes enough pressure against your mouth, increasing and decreasing on command in perfect tandem and timing. His hands hover over your waist and the nape of your neck, fingers sinking into your hot skin.  

His mouth trails downward the side of your neck. You crane your head back, indulging in his caresses as soft moans trickle out.

He gently signals for you to recline back and lay onto the mattress, moving the sea of blankets aside. Inclined on his elbow, almost atop of you, his cool fingers glide under your top layers, his thumb stroking against your stomach.

Pulling away from your body, he tugs on the ends of your clothes. You rise from the bed to better the angle for him to discard of them.

The hairs on your skin are standing on end from the frigid air, but you’re too focused on Jaemin’s mouth migrating over your upper arm and your bra-covered chest to care. Without notice, he stuffs a cup of the bra to one side and takes your bosom into his mouth.

Air’s seized from your lungs and your core contracts from the pleasure. Your fingers tug on Jaemin’s luscious locks and his free hand squeezes your unoccupied breast.    

After a few twirls of his tongue and a gentle drawing of his teeth on the pointed tip, he mumbles hotly into your chest while he thumbs your other nipple, “Foreplay still non-existent?”

“It’s better, I guess,” you sigh with fluttering eyes. His chuckling reverberates against your cleavage, a sign of amusement from your obstinacy. A gasp pierces the room as Jaemin repeats his actions onto the other breast.

He aids you in taking off the rest of your clothes and, obviously aware of your goosebumps and shuddering, tells you to get underneath the blankets while he strips himself.

Under the toasty ocean of layers, despite how both of you are bare-boned and how easy it is to jump into the main act, Jaemin purposefully continues to prolong the foreplay. Side by side, your lips meld endlessly; your legs and hands are intertwined in an amorous pretzel.

Jaemin ensures he doesn’t leave any part of you untouched—the pads of fingers virtually graze over every inch of your body. Each grip and drag of his digits sends you in a frenzy. Your chest is pressed into him and your eyes are blinded with desire.

In the back of your mind, you think about how you were right about foreplay working up to the heat of the moment—literally, because you’re dripping, he’s hard, and you two have embraced so much that you don’t need the blankets anymore.  

On the other hand, you wonder if Jaemin was right about skipping foreplay, because with every whisper of each other’s name, the intimacy rises immensely. You don’t know him, and neither him with you, but you’re both freely drowning in one another in a plane beyond the lust.

Although the room’s beginning to smell of a mix of all the scented candles, Jaemin hones in and drinks in your sweet aroma and your entirety behind his hazy eyes and already tousled hair. All of a sudden, one drag of his fingers over a particular sensitive spot on your body makes you giggle.

“I’m ticklish over there.”

“You mean right—” He drums his fingers over the area again. “—here?”

With a toothy grin, he generates more suffering from you and you begin to lively howl. Soon enough, you beg him to stop.

“You’re such an asshat, c’mon, let me live!”

When he ceases, his head hangs over yours and your gazes connect.

The same feeling blooms in his chest from before in the living room.

He gulps as his eyes waver over your face, unknowingly tracing your beautiful features and etching them into his memory.

Your starry eyes. Your glowing aura. Your everything.

You barely register the change in his expression because he quickly tramples on his moment of weakness by kissing you passionately.

Jaemin whips the blankets aside as he lowers himself between your legs. Your eyes are fixated on him, matching his stare, until he starts to devour you by swiping against your lustrous folds. Your back bows, and, following a few more licks, Jaemin makes a point of his knowledge of the vagina by spreading your lips and ravishing your pussy, tongue penetrating deeply.

Rippled moans release in harmony with your undulating chest. You swear you’re getting more wet, too wet, likely making it overwhelming for Jaemin, but he’s eagerly lapping every drop up.  

“How’s that?” he inquires with a grin, hovering over your trembling nether lips. His mouth is evidently glossy, even under the dim lighting.

“Good,” you pant in the most nonchalant tone you can muster up. “Very good-ahhh—”

Jaemin kindly interrupts you by tonguing your clit as he fingers your sex deeply, shattering your fake indifference.

“Move your tongue up more,” you direct, creasing your eyebrows in despair. He follows your direction, and droning moans ensue.

Jaemin’s immersed in your pleasure, but also adding to his own. The more he laps up your wetness, the more he grinds his length against the bed, aching to be inside of you.

Your desire pulses faster, contracting tighter against his fingers, body winding tensely by the second.

“Fuck, Jaemin,” you whine, leaning your head to one side with a parted mouth. “I’m close.”

He draws back and temporarily replaces his tongue with his thumb.

“Good,” he pants, cocking his head to one side. His eyes are filled with determination. “Because I’m not stopping until you come at least two more times tonight.”

You exhale a light laugh. “That’s ambiti-ohgodohgod—”

His tongue works wonders on your clit once more, so much that he has to brace your bucking hips.

Okay, maybe Jaemin did learn a thing or two and actually listened to what you said during your critique.

But now it’s time to demonstrate to him what you’ve learned.

You don’t need much of a break to catch your breath, nor do you want to immediately freeze due to inactivity, so you pull Jaemin in for an intense kiss, tongue dipping into the remnants of your own nectar, then beckon for him to take your former place on the bed.

Perched on the bottom of your feet, you’re on one side of Jaemin, lackadaisically fisting his prominence. After a few strokes, you gradually swallow his inches, keeping in mind to relax your jaw and to not rush in order to avoid any potential teething. You do this to prove yourself worthy of giving head, but also in spite, because you absolutely do not need Jaemin to brand you a virgin again.  

You read his quiet groans and his long fingers running lazily through your hair as a positive sign and advance further.

Carefully, you rest your tongue beneath the underside of his cock and bob your head, licking him until he’s sopping with your saliva. His grip in your hair grows in strength as his length reaches the end of your throat, his groans becoming more and more drawn-out.

A needy whimper leaves him as you suddenly withdraw. Dribbles of your spit follow, and you wipe it off with the back of your hand.  

“How am I doing?” you glow in a pant, lazily stroking the doused shaft.

He simply nods with half-lidded eyes, barely able to look at you. “Yeah.”

You snicker at him in his breathless position, a prickle of pride running through your spine over the fact that you blew his mind as much as you blew his dick.

“Use your words, Jaemin.”

Teasingly, your fingers curl around his blunt head, soothing the sensitive tip and sending jolts throughout him.

“Fuck—” he pulls his bottom lip upward. “Awesome. You’re doing awesome.”

“Anything to critique?”

“Mm-mm,” he shakes his head restlessly. You revel a bit more in having the upper hand on him a little while longer. You grip him tighter and hasten your speed, leaving him gasping for air.

“Am I still rusty?”

“Nope, nope,” he croaks, voice rising to a whine. “Definitely not rusty.”

“You sure?” His cockiness has transferred over to you.

“Yes, yes—fuck, slow down, please,” Jaemin begs.    

Granting his wish, you abate your rhythm and free his inches from your touch.

You wipe your hands on the sides of the bed while Jaemin rummages through the drawer of his nightstand and hastily rolls over the rubber over himself before he prepares to enter the body beneath his.  

Recalling your advice, Jaemin mindfully starts off slow. You sigh blissfully in sync to his thrusts. He adjust himself, attempting another angle, and you draw in air between your teeth.

“There, there—“

Jaemin’s quick-witted and keeps at it, plunging a bit more vigorously. Out of habit, your hands grasp onto the bedsheets, but you wittingly attach them to his frame. Hands grazing his neck, his firm pecs, and his taut muscles.  

“Touch-touch my stomach,” he orders in a hush.

You hands follow through and feel up the flexed valley of his abs. Feeling up evolves into desperate gripping and even the slight dragging of your nails.

“Your abs are so fucking hot,” you state thoughtlessly, eyes eating up the view alongside his cock disappearing in and out of you. “Jesus, fuck.”

“Yeah?” he rasps with that devilish smirk of his. God, you want to smack it off him, but not right now—not when you’re reaching euphoria. “You’re not just saying that?”

Oh, you’ve definitely stroked his ego now, but there’s no turning back. Truth spills from you on a whim.

“You’re a fucking masterpiece,” you gasp acutely.

You’re starting to wither away, yet, as if they have a life of their own, your hands drift away from him and find a new home atop your breasts.

“You make me feel so good, Jaemin...”

Jaemin’s eyes go wide. His mouth hangs at the lewdness of you touching yourself.

“Fuck, holy shit.”

His gaze doesn’t leave your ecstatic face or humming body for a second as you knead your breasts and tweak your nipples between your fingers. Your back arches further when Jaemin deepens his sweet, fulfilling thrusts. He’s holding himself back, not wanting to end this beautiful deed just yet.

The stimulation bursts over your body, both from your own doing and Jaemin’s.  

You plead, “Faster, please, faster.”

And he complies, but he also rubs your bundle of nerves, causing a tight knot in you to build up and your shallow moans transform into heavy screams. You clasp onto his back and claw at the protruding shoulder blades.  

“I’m-I’m—”

You clench, both with your core and your nails digging into him, but Jaemin’s unrelenting, capturing your second peak for the evening.

Instead of coming after you, he shockingly veers lower and closer to you and curbs his pace.

“Was that real?”

You respond with an exhausted nod. Oddly, the smile he shows this time isn’t arrogant, but warm and teetering the line of tenderness. His lips fuse with yours before they stray towards your neck. The passion stews as he sucks your tits, all the while lunging laxly into you.  

With an obscene pop!, Jaemin removes himself from your nubs.

“Ready for the last round?”

His fast thrusts, hitting you precisely in the best spot, cloud your already weakened logic, deterring you from making any response.    

Perspiration is blatant on both individuals. For him, his forehead glistens gorgeously with his damp hair. For you, the back of your bent knees are gluing together. Your bodies are about to pass out, but you both persevere until the end.

As you convulse and perish together in beautiful agony, coincidentally enough, the bulbs in the room and in the streets leap to radiance.

Together, you collapse onto the bed side by side, panting heavily and laughing.

“Told you we weren’t going to die.”

You turn your head to see Jaemin looking at you with a cheeky grin. In retaliation, you stick your tongue out.

By nighttime, it’s finally stopped snowing outside. However, the streets won’t be cleared until morning, at the very least.

But... you’re surprisingly okay with that.

In a turn of events, the sex inexplicably makes the two of you warm up to each other. There still is targeted banter and tension between you, lingering from before, but it’s less hostile and more playful.

During a fancy Christmas Eve dinner of microwavable pizzas, you poke fun at each other’s majors and discuss your respective hobbies in depth, especially his love for photography. Jaemin even asks if he can take a picture of you, claiming that the kitchen lighting actually looks nice on someone for once.  

“Is that how you collect the memory of your one-night stands? Instead of hanging their skins in your closet, you sweet-talk your way and keep all the photos of them?” you joke, referring to the video call from yesterday night. It feels like an eternity ago, but snowstorms tend to do that.

He chuckles behind the camera as he snaps a photo of you scrunching your face cutely.

“Yeah, but you’re the first one who has clothes on,” he says, glancing down at the photo on the camera roll.  

“Ugh, gross,” you cringe and take a sip of tea.

Jaemin doesn’t add anything further. He leaves out the fact that he never keeps any traces of his one-night stands, that you’re the first girl he’s taken a picture of in a while.  

After a few hours of more talking and even some gaming with one another, sleep is much needed. Jaemin offers an extra toothbrush and a sweater and pair of sweats to sleep in. You’re facing each other on his bed, noses almost touching.  

“It’s been a while since I haven’t had sex with a girl before I slept next to them,” he whispers, adjusting himself comfortably. The side of his face rests on his piled hands. “It’s kinda nice.”

You cover your mouth as you yawn, then lay your hand back under your head, reflecting the same position as Jaemin.

“You know, it might be my sleepiness talking, but maybe you’re not the worst person in the world to be stuck with during a snowstorm.”

A lovely chuckle echoes in your ear. “I’m glad you’ve had a change of heart.”

After a few moments, your eyes are fluttering to a close until he softly calls out your name.

“Hm?” you stir awake, but not by much.

“Do you...?”

Jaemin doesn’t know what’s gotten to him, doesn’t quite understand why the defences he built for so long are crumbling down in only a day of knowing you.  

And yet, something urges him to give it a chance.

Blowing out a shaky sigh, he anxiously intertwines his fingers with yours. You hum softly at the action and a small smile blooms on your face.

“Do you want to go on a date with me sometime?”

“Hm?” His question doesn’t take you aback as much as you would be if you were fully awake. But even in your drowsy state, you have quips in hand. “Jaemin, the notorious fuckboy and serial one-night stander, wants to go on a date?”

“Yeah,” he replies gently, brushing your loose hair out of your face.

Another yawn. “I thought you said you don’t want feelings and relationships and all that shit.”

His fingers trace your pretty jawline and shrugs. “One date doesn’t mean we’re going to be in a relationship, I’m sure you know that.”

You pause for a good two seconds, but the two seconds feel like forever for Jaemin.

“Mmm, fine. One date, just one.” You barely hold up your pointer finger. “And only because it’s Christmas tomorrow. ‘Tis the season to be giving...”

Relief washes over Jaemin in the form of a smile. Embracing the blatant feeling in his chest this time, he plants a light kiss on your nose and wishes you sweet dreams, even though you’ve already fallen soundly asleep.  

Sunlight pours over your eyes on Christmas morning.

Déjà vu peculiarly creeps up on you, but the only thing that’s the same as yesterday is waking up in Jaemin’s bed.

He’s next to you this time, deep in his peaceful slumber, instead of waiting for you to leave by his doorframe. The snow has finally stopped, and you think you hear the faint noises of snow plows outside. You inhale deeply and also notice the faded aroma from all the scented candles from last night.

The scenes of yesterday flicker across your mind. The incredible sex. The talking. The dinner. The interlocking of his fingers with yours.

The date he asked you out on.

You stare at him, watching him sleep with a sense of content.

Turning your body, you routinely check your phone, which is charging beside his. You have a slew of Merry Christmas texts from several chats and a few private messages from your friends.

Your attention falls on Jaemin’s phone when it lights up with a notification, likely texts from his friends and family too.

But that’s not what you’re focusing on.

Your heart sinks at the sight of his lockscreen.

It’s a picture of him and a girl kissing.

A twinge emerges in your chest and twists harder and harder.

Jaemin being a fuckboy, you can respect. People can do whatever they want with their lives.

But to cheat?

That’s unforgivable, and a true sin if there ever was one.

You scramble to dash out of there, careful not to make any noises in fear of waking Jaemin up. However, Jaemin’s sensitive to the sounds of the front door, so he rouses awake. His eyes flit open, noticing how you’re gone. He then sees his phone blowing up and adds two and two together.

With his phone in hand, Jaemin rushes to get on a coat and stuffs his feet into his boots, not giving a shit that he’s wearing his thin pajamas in the coldness. He’s bounding down the flight of stairs and onto the bright, white wonderland of the streets.

He swivels his head and catches sight of you almost past down the block, slowly trekking through the thick snow. Jaemin sprints, as much as he can, and hops towards you.  

He yells your name, making others on the street turn, but you don’t. You continue forward without looking back.

“Wait! I can explain!”

You’re trying to gain speed, but cardio isn’t your friend. Thankfully for Jaemin, it’s a close friend for him.

“I don’t wanna fucking hear it, Jaemin,” you grunt, hearing the rapid crunching of his shoes coming closer. “Get lost.”

“No, listen to me for a second.”

The boyish man grasps you by the arm and turns you around. You throw his arm away from you and he holds his hands in the air, letting you know that he respects your space. He drops his hands and sees that you’re seething, even worse than you were when he kicked you out yesterday.

“How are you going to explain your lockscreen with you kissing your fucking girlfriend?! Hm?”

“Ex,” he pants in clarification. “Ex-girlfriend.”

Your eyebrows mesh together in utter confusion.

“Okay? That doesn’t make me feel any better, knowing that you’re still hung up on your ex.”

Jaemin shakes his head and rakes a hand through his hair. You note the large clouds he exhales and how he’s barely wearing any clothes. A tinge of sympathy passes through you, wanting to give him some of your clothes for extra layers, but you smother that quickly in your state of rage.  

“I’m not hung up on her. Remember you asked me yesterday why I don’t want girls to stay the next morning?”

You cock your head impatiently, as if saying, “Yeah.”

“Well, I don’t want to attach myself to girls. I can’t. I...”

He lowers his head to one side. Shutting his eyes, a long puff emits from his mouth.

“She cheated on me.”

The snow plows in the distance can’t compare to the pumping of your heart in your ears. All the feelings you felt in the last day, but especially in the last fifteen minutes, jumble together in your head, making you feel uneasy and unsure of what to exactly feel or comprehend of the situation.  

But you do know one thing, despite the fact that you two barely know each other, the pained look on his face is real—that this is the untold story behind his ways.  

Jaemin lifts his head and holds out his phone for emphasis. “The lockscreen serves as a constant reminder that dating and feelings will and can fuck me up.”

Carefully, he steps a little closer to you and slowly cups your face in his shaking hands. You don’t pull away nor is there the same anger from moments before, so he daintily runs his thumbs over your cheeks.

“Until you showed me yesterday that maybe I’m willing to give it all another shot. Risk it all for fuck knows what, but you make it look like it’s worth it.”

He continues his ramble after adjusting some of your hair from the ongoing breeze.

“Sure, it’s Christmas today, but I don’t want you to say yes to going on a date with me just because it is. I want you to say yes because maybe you like spending time with me just as much as I like to spend it with you.”

You’re completely disoriented—your eyes are shifting everywhere but his eyes and your lips are quivering with no words coming out. He sighs understandingly. 

“Look, I know you’re probably having second thoughts and you don’t have to give me an answer right now. Think on it for as much time as you need, but I want you to know that I genuinely like you and I want to go on an actual date with you.”

He peels his hand away from your face and raises it into the air as if taking an oath.

“I, Na Jaemin, the notorious fuckboy and serial one-night stander, will devote to monogamy once again if it means I can date you.”

His hands grab yours, kisses the back of them, and then he presses one kiss onto your icy cheek prior to walking away.

“Merry Christmas,” he says with a sad smile. “You know where to find me if you change your mind.”

Later that evening at your large family’s Christmas party, you take another dreadful gulp of your wine.

It’s the happy holiday season, but why does everyone feel the need to stick their nose in your dating life? Well, really, a lack there of.

“Why are you still single?” Layers of their voices resound the same question in your head. You take another swig.

Potential unsaid answers that you kept to yourself fly around as you swish the drink in your glass.  

Because you choose to be.

Okay, not really, but it’s the easiest answer.  

Because you haven’t found the right guy to get you back in the game.

What does that even mean? What makes the right guy even right?

The right guy? It’s someone who makes you laugh, someone who gives as good as they can take it, someone who wants you just as much as you do.

The cogs move in your head as you take one more sip before you finally come to the conclusion—  

Because you didn’t find the right guy until last night.

Despite the mess of today and yesterday morning, you realize that Jaemin is... actually sort of sweet. Annoying, yes, but he keeps you on your toes. It’s a plus that he’s easy on the eyes, but it’s a bigger plus that he’s even easier to talk to.

And if he can find it in his scorched heart to trust you, you can find it in your heart to trust him too.  

You quickly say your good-byes to your family and let them know you have other plans with friends tonight.

As the Uber rolls up to his apartment building, you realize you probably should’ve messaged him on Tinder, but it’s worth a shot to see if he’s home. Anyways, impulsiveness is a controlling entity, as evident from your Christmas Eve Eve’s adventure.

And in retrospect, perhaps Jaemin was the perfect pick of the crop after all.  

Someone’s entering the building and lets you in behind them. You take the stairs two at a time and hear booming music coming from his floor. At first, you assume it’s from other apartments, but it’s all coming from one—his.

Without a thought, your knuckle taps the door.  

A handsome figure that’s definitely not Jaemin opens the door. Behind him, you see a group of young men scattered around the living room, and some have a few girls tucked under their arms.

The man eyes you up and down with a spark in his eye. He’s not Jaemin, but he surely reminds you of him.

“And who might you be?” he asks.

“Who’s at the door, Jeno?” An unknown male voice hollers in a high pitch from the couch. He’s one of the guys with a girl attached to him.

You blink. “Uhm, I’m—”

“She’s with me!” Jaemin shoves the flirty stranger aside and tugs you by your wrist, making headway to his bedroom. He flips the light switch on and the door clicks shut.

“What are you doing h—”

You cut him off with a kiss.

An innocent one, at first, with hints of alcohol on each other’s lips. Your arms wrap around the other and the passion increases with the mingling of your tongues, each party tasting and confirming the specific drinks you both consumed tonight.  

Jaemin forces himself to pull away and presses his forehead against yours. “Did you just come all the way here to kiss me, or...?”

“Maybe I came over to ask... if I can stay with you for another night?” you playfully ask, fingers intertwining behind the nape of his neck.  

He chuckles heartily. His fingers sink into the sides of your waist. “Is my dick that great? The sex with me that amazing?”

“Mmm, that’s definitely a benefit,” you agree, fluttering your nose against his. “But I want more than that—“ You poke a finger to his chest. “—I want the man behind the dick.”

Your gazes converge, bringing you together as one.

“I want to go on that date with you. I want you, Jaemin.”

He flashes a megawatt smile that could compete with a million Christmas lights, but it fades suddenly and you’re unsure why he seems like he’s about to bawl his eyes out.

“That’s so beautiful, I might cry.” He brings a finger to his eye, pretending to shed a tear.

Oh, yeah—you’re definitely going to need to hire someone to constantly shove your eyeballs back into your sockets if you’re going to date Jaemin.

“Oh, shut up,” you whisper, yanking him in for another kiss.

Three dates later, including a memorable New Year’s Eve, you finally decide to rid of the Tinder app for good.

With his arm around you on his living room couch, Jaemin glances over your shoulder.

“Really? You’re finally deleting your Tinder?”

You snort in disbelief. “That’s gold, coming from the King of Tinder himself. When did you delete?”

He turns to face the television and shrugs coolly.

“Maybe I didn’t.”

“Wouldn’t put it past you,” you nod, eyes still on your phone.

“Nah, I’m kidding, I did.”    

You sharply turn your head.

“No way. When?” you press with narrow eyes.  

A shy smile emerges on Jaemin’s face as he picks his pants over his thighs.

“On the night of Christmas Eve, after you agreed to go on a date with me.”

[thewincestgospel]

Wincest and J2 High School Fics

2028 AD by inlustwithsammy 

It's in 2028. Sam and Dean got reincarnated and they have no idea who they were in their past lives. They live a normal life as high school students. They grew up as best friends who live close to each other. Dean is still a playboy. Sam is still a nerd. Some things never change.

a first time for everything by riyku  In which Jared announces that his family is moving, and Jensen suddenly becomes very concerned with time.

A Little Less Sixteen Candles, A Little More "Touch Me" by gothpandaotaku

Sam Winchester, the jaded new kid at school. Dean Winchester, the school badass who rides a motorcycle to school every morning. When they collide, sparks fly- the wrong kind. It's hate at first sight. But over time they find they have a lot more in common than they thought...

All The Other Kids  by AureaMediocritas   Dean and Sam roll into another high school. The first weeks through five students' eyes.        

Baby Steps by cherie_morte    AU: Jared is nine years old when his mom marries Jensen's dad.

The Ballad of the Invisible Boy by dollylux   This is a story of adolescence. This is a love letter for the slow burn, for Led Zeppelin, for the 90s. This is the first of two sets of stories about how Sam and Dean didn’t fall in love. They never had to. It was always there, this desperation between them, like a real, breathing thing. When they came together, it was inevitable. As sure as continents colliding, as the phases of the moon and the life and death of stars. This isn’t a love story, but it’s a story of love.SeriesPart 1 of Invisible Boy.

Becoming What We Pretend To Be by locknkey  In a fit of pique Sam brags to his high school friends that he can get Dean as his boyfriend. Dean's never been able to say no to Sam. Pretense is a slippery-slope when you're romancing your brother and it's all too easy to for the lines between what's real and what's fake to become blurred.

Bend and Break by Winmance  If Jared had to describe his life, he would say that his life is lonely. Between the bullying and his parents lack of interest, the only true joy he has is Jensen, the baseball player with who he's having sex. But everybody has a limit and Jared is about to find out his own.

Best Birthday Ever by ballsdeepinwinchesters prompted for: w[ee]cestiel + bottom!Sam For Sam’s sixteenth birthday, he only asked for one thing. He didn’t want a car, or money, or even a dog (Dean hates dogs). All Sam wanted was to get f***** by Dean and his friend, Cas.

Bitchface No.5 by bookworm1805   There's a new kid in school and Sam is being a bitch, but Dean doesn't see how the two things are related.5 stars

The Craziest Thing by thefourofswords  Sam and Dean find themselves de-aged back to 18. The only solution anybody seems to have is to go back to high school.

Crown and Anchor Me (or let me sail away) by Sena Sam Winchester is fifteen years old, at yet another new high school in yet another state, he doesn't get along with his distant, distracted father, he's figuring out that he likes guys just as much as he likes girls, his clothes never fit and his limbs ache at the joint ever since his growth spurt started, he has to study for the PSAT and, oh yeah, he's a little bit in love with his brother, Dean, who's taken a break from hunting monsters to work at a local garage for minimum wage.

Flagstaff by  Linden  John tracked Sam down in Flagstaff, four days after he got home to find him gone.

Go, Dean... by orphan_account  Prompt: Teenage Dean joining the football team and Sammy cheering him in the stands, Dean calling him his little cheerleader and making him wear the outfit while he rides his big brother... How's that for enduring football?

“Thought you wanted to be my little cheerleader, Sammy,' Dean said, tossing the gathered supplies onto the bed and crawling back between Sam’s legs. His lips sealed themselves to Sam’s, and he kissed him breathlessly. 'Loved watching you bounce up and down out on the field, everyone watching you, wishing you were theirs.'”

Good as New  by  sixtysevenlmpala  When an asshole at Dean and Sam's high school breaks Dean's amulet, he doesn't react well. But as always, Sam's there to make it better.

Hope You Don't Mind by compo67  Jared has no problems being an introvert in a family of extroverted women. He enjoys his alone time as a freshman in high school... that is until signs for prom start showing up. With both his sisters going, he begins to wonder if maybe his time alone is a little lonely.

I'll Give You What You Like by soulmatecest Jared is, by all means, the worst cheerleader in the world.He absolutely fucking sucks; Jensen’s not even sure how he made it to the cheer squad and why would anyone take a look to his really bad dancing moves and still think ‘oh yeah, we definitely need to get some of that for the team.’Jared is honestly a disaster at this.And yet, Jensen has done pretty much nothing apart from staring at him most of the game as Jared dances terribly in a short skirt. Because even if Jared sucks, he’s also the most beautiful omega Jensen has ever seen.

The Jock and The Nerd by JuniperLemon  Unrelated Wincest High School AU. Sam and Dean go to the same school. Dean asks the school nerd, Sam, on a date. Little do they know that it'll lead to so much more. Is there more behind Sam than what meets the eye and how will John react to Dean's bisexuality?

Kiss Me by lotrspnfangirl  Worst case scenario: Jensen would be freaked out and spend the next three weeks until graduation, completely avoiding Jared and not speaking to him. And as much as that would hurt… It was only a dollar to get a kiss from Jensen at the kissing booth.

Little Pieces by compo67 Jensen the Bad Influence is better known as the town hellraiser. He stays out late, skips class, and takes bets on chess games after school. His partner in crime happens to be Jared, raised in a strict Catholic-Protestant household, and reigning chess champion. Together, they've skimmed five hundred dollars from their classmates with no end in sight.If they can survive high school, conquering the rest of the world must be a piece of cake.It just happens that the world has something else in store for them--something no one planned for in a million years.

Mr High School by  kinkylittlered This is for a bingo competition on livejournal. Each chapter has prompts. AU Sam is a popular boy in high school and Dean is an invisible boy who is coming to terms with his sexuality. Each chapter will have different warning, eventually leading to slash

Putting On A Show by BewareTheIdes15  Lightning fast Dean's grin slants into sly and Sam's stomach lurches hard enough that his lungs get jealous and jump in on the action. Without so much as a glance in Sam’s direction for approval, Dean lifts one shoulder and says, "I'll make out with Sam."

Say the Words by dollylux  A new boy rolls into town, and Jensen Notices. (And... his girlfriend notices him noticing.)

Touch and Go by versaillesatnight  Dean Winchester doesn’t date. He fucks around, sure, but the whole dating thing? He’s never seen the appeal. Enter Sam.

Verses Like Yours and Mine by rivers_bend Sam and Dean are regular brothers--no hunting, no demons--who fall in love anyway.

White Knight by echoes_of_another_life  Jensen is a senior and protects shy freshman Jared, who is being bullied.

Worth It by saltandbyrne Turns out the only thing more uncomfortable than sitting through class with a half-woody and a pair of panties wedged up your ass is doing it while your panties are soaking wet from your brother's mouth.(Sam is 14).

You Didn't Listen When You Went To School by Posse Magnet (rhink_is_my_kink)  The kids at school know the new Winchester brothers are different. Everything about them is strange. From the way Dean effortlessly completes any physical challenge that gym class can throw at him without even breaking a sweat. To the way Sam is the smartest kid in all his classes, even though he's a freshman, and all his classes are college-level and full of seniors. But the most peculiar thing about the Winchesters, the thing that everyone notices: the way they come tumbling out of empty classrooms, closets, bathroom stalls, untidy hair, messy clothes, cheeks flushed with a color that’s almost as intense as the color of their lips.

you're a real f*ing page-turner by  grace_fully Jared's days pretty much all run together, one big muddy mess of emotional turmoil and confusion and shitty friends and shittier classes. not to mention that his best friend is equal parts awesome and a complete jerk, his little sister is also kind of a jerk, and he thinks privately that someday his books are going to be the only thing to stand by him in the end. luckily, life has a way of turning things around on him.

Your Pretty Face Is Going to Hell by sonofabiscuit77 While the Winchesters are living in a small-town trailer park, sixteen year old Sam accidentally spies on his brother with an older man. The discovery triggers feelings in Sam that lead him and Dean down a path which will change their lives forever.

[cosplayproblemsposts]

Polkadot Man x M! reader Pt 2

Warning-Vent and a little bit of fluffy.

Summary: you manged to find out the truth but it didn’t help the fact you were still clinging onto something that has been proven true. Abner couldn’t help but comfort you even if you keep on rejecting every advantage. The thinker couldn’t help but feel a sense of justice but also a hint of guilt.

You sat within the bus eating girl scout cookies that you bought against Rick’s thoughts pressured on the cookies. “I can’t believe you actual bought girl scout cookies” Rick pondered on your childish behavior. “Your just jealous for your not stuffing your face” Rick rolls his eyes but smiles and gives you a fist bump. 

Cleo grins for Rick stomach growls “And when was the last time you ate Rickie” you tease. Rick huffs and takes the offered cookies and says “Shut up” you hum. More boxes of girl scouts cookies are handed out to everyone expect Nanaue for he doesn’t eat such foods.

“I like strawberry” Abner mumbles to which cause you to trade over your strawberry for his chocolate ones. You gave him a sly wink to which cause him to hide his face with the help of the box. 

“Hey why are you afraid of rats?”  Cleo asks Robert while you moved and took a sit beside Abner. “Why are you so in love with them ratcatcher 2?, you know what I think?, I think you have serious case of daddy issues” you frowned at Robert. Robert isn’t exactly known as a expressive type and everyone can see it regardless how cold heart he is you know otherwise.  

 “I have no issues with how much I loved my father” Robert sighs “You remind me of my daughter that’s why I’m here”. You couldn’t help but smile while biting into a cookie. “Why are you afraid of rats?” Cleo once again asks the same question. “My old man. when I was a lad, if I didn’t finish a task right, he would dole out a punishment. And one day, he just locked me in a create for twenty-four hours. And it was full of starving rats”.

You sighed and whistled to gain Roberts attention and threw three cookies at him, he caught all three of them. “As imperfect my father was ,he loved me. I wish I could give that to you”. ‘Don’t worry yeah?, I’m gonna get you out of here alive” Cleo smiles “I’m going to get you alive out of here”.

“What about clock” you hummed “Your oddly quiet” Robert pips up “Oh yes whats your story”. Cleo smiles up at you while Abner turns his attention to how close you were. “I don’t want to bore anyone to death” Rick scoffs “Shut up and tell us, I’m all eyes and ears” you frown at him. 

“Uh...where do I start, I was born in may the 18th 1918″ you thought of how you lost your mother. “My mother died after bring me into the world. I was small but strong while my father walked out of my mothers life the moment he found out she was pregnant”. Cleo frowns “So my granddad took me in so all I knew was that I had to live through a time era where if you were caught crying even a little your shamed for it”. Abner places a shy but comforting hand on top of yours “I was different I knew that but different made me strong and I reached for knowledge”.

“I found it easier to keep to myself until Benjamin came along in shape of defending me” you chuckled a little. “He is my childhood friend who glued himself to me from the very beginning, you see we both grew up in the back houses” Cleo frowns out of confusing. “That is what we called them, it’s just houses that were mistaken for apartments” Cleo nods. “I remembered getting into fights with older boys and I was an idiot for believing that I’ll win but I never did” Chris now understand why you protect Abner. 

“But I ain’t no coward for I didn’t run away from a fight other then that the old crow wouldn’t let it go” Robert chuckles or something like that. “I would come home all scruffy every two weeks to the crows dismay” Rick nods. “Years past and I was top of my class even tho I caused trouble and had been caned for it” Abner winces at the thought of it. “I enrolled into university but halfway through my second semester I dropped out to join the air force in 1939 August the 18th” you had to take breath. “I had trained enough to find myself within the sky in the midst of 1942 defending my country” you found yourself growing a pit in your stomach and you felt like vomiting.

“I was battling above a filed like nothing had gone wrong in the first place, the very Nazi manged to slash me out of sky” Robert doesn’t know anything about the air force but can see it. “I found myself hurrying to my death until an enemy pilot collided with me but I didn’t meet death instead I found myself two days before the whole entire event”. “Other then that when the fall of Poland had happened I had to be the last to know” You squint at the box of chocolate cookies before you.

“Around the time Benjamin had been set off to Poland and hadn’t returned so when I had been shipped off to Poland, I searched for him” Robert clears his throat. “I think that’s enough” Robert could tell that you didn’t want to go any farther with your side of the story. Abner squeezes your hand and when you notice you move your hand from his to which caused him to shutter away.

“Hey penis-maker, we’re on a mission” Chris makes a face “Easy inspector gadget. A little drink never hurts nobody”. You frowned at the idea but you really need a pick me up so you gone with the flow. “Expect the thousands of people killed in drunk driving accidents every year” Abner commented. You stare at him and could tell he was still a little hurt from you moving away from him.    

“Here’s to last three hours of being alive” Robert didn’t agree “I’ll be alive. You speak for yourself”. You drank your drink like a shot and didn’t hesitate to ask for another. You find yourself laughing and watch as Abner gag on his drink to which cause you to pat his back. “Easy there dots, you want to be somewhat sober” Abner nods.   

Everyone found themselves dancing with the music blazing in the background. You watch them fail at one of the most simplest thing in the world and you couldn’t help but laugh. “C’mon Y/N join us” Abner spoke while holding out a hand. “No you guys got it handle, I’ll just get in the way” you weren’t an upbeat dancer your more of slow dance type of guy. “No your not, you need this too” You smiled but caved in “Fine”. You took a last swig of your drink before standing up to dance with him.

You held onto Abner’s waist from behind and dance with him, for the truth you weren’t that bad. Abner sways his hips in synced with yours and you couldn’t help but evolve your arms around him. Swaying with your face just a few inches off from his right shoulder. You held his hand and kept on swaying while the both of you smile and laugh. You tugged him back to which cause him to look down at you, you grin and “Damn you are one dish”. Abner frowns out of confusion but by your grin it must be a good thing.

Abner turns around and stares down at you and without warning he captures your lips with his. You stood thunderstruck but kiss back after a few seconds, it never accrued to you how soft his lips were. How gentle and shy he can be, how easy a red tent grows across his cheeks. He had to be the most sweetest thing you ever had met. Far too sweet, Abner had to be the number one candy in the world. 

The two of you pull away with a small smiles on each other faces. You hum and kept on swaying to the music until Cleo poke Abner side. “Sorry for breaking you two up but you gonna have to focus for his here” you look and saw The thinker himself. You nod before parting from Abner to keep an eye on the weirdo over at the bar with Robert pressing a gun to his side.

But now here your with this odd looking man making a way to the back door with him mouthy off. “If you think that big mouth of yours is gonna save you sadly think again” he hums at your words. “Your the 1940′s guy right” you grow surprised “Pardon” he just smiles. You push through to the back only to see half-naked women “Sorry Loves we just want to get by” they screamed of course. 

A solider turns to us but Cleo makes a rat shove it’s way into his mouth to which cause you to frown. “Ah geez now you don’t see that everyday” you watch the man squirm while the others moved on. “Now that is nasty” the man reach a hand out to you but you declined his odd muffles for help. “Sorry mate it’s more like a you problem” he still lays there until he just stop moving. You made a face “Oh my goodness that’s fucking gross” you watch the rat scurry off somewhere else. You flinch when the rat doubled back and ran pass your right shoe “Ugh, fuck no” you shiver “Y/N!” you hear Milton call out.

“That was a gross way to die” Cleo only sighs “I’m sorry if that creep you out”. “No I didn’t mean it in that way for it was unexpected” Cleo looks up at you and smiles. You can tell she is still jumping “Welp weirdo how does it feel to be here” the man only grins. “Benjamin called out to you but you never came” you glare at him and kicked him. “Y/N” Abner spoke softly “Don’t his just lying” you frown and said “Yeah, his just lying”.

“Look Abner about before I..” you were cut off “don’t worry about it  we all have our ups and downs”. “For I killed my mom” you frown and by his very life you can tell he had done it for the greater good. “I know Abner and I’m truly sorry” Abner smiles and lays his head on your right shoulder. “Num Num” Nanaue says so you groaned “No, he isn’t Num Num’s” Nanaue seems disappointed.

Abner cuddles into your right side “Hey Abner” he hums “What are you gonna do once your free”. For the truth Abner doesn’t know himself “I don’t know” you smile. “You can see the rest of England with me then” Abner smiles and says “I’ll like that. Cleo came and said “Hey can I join” you smile and move over for her to join. She took your left while Abner has your right, Weirdo looks at you three before he started pondering over his own life.

“Okay so operation Harley” Rick says to each of us while we all nod.

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

I know I said two-parts but I’m gonna stop here for now.

[sweetdreamling]

assholes - ( gen avengers )

Summary: Your friends can be such assholes sometimes.

Pairing: Hints at Reader x Loki, but nothing serious.

WC: 2.3K

A/N: This is a super old one shot. Originally it was just Rhodey and Tony, but I just rewrote it and added more characters. I'm back in my marvel writing feels. Since I'm a POC myself, I mostly picture the reader like me. Though I go for gender-natural terms. Hope you like it.

"He's such a dumbass sometimes," you snicker, watching Thor try and fail to work the toaster. "But it's adorable. It's like watching a clueless golden retriever. Zero thoughts, head empty."

"That's rude, Y/N." Sam hides a smile as he walks over to Thor, helping him with his apparently "impossible" task.

"How long has Thor been on Earth now?"

Steve looks thoughtful for a moment before replying, "I think a couple of years. But, even I know how to work the toaster. I swear I've seen him use it before."

"Hmm, Loki did say Thor likes to pretend that he's a dumb blonde."

Steve rolls his eyes at the mention of Loki's name. "You're still talking to that maniac?"

You shrug, "duh, he's my friend, and sometimes you guys can be a little too much. He's my escape."

Steve raises an eyebrow as he slides a plate of chicken alfredo to you. "Why do I get the feeling you're sleeping with Loki?"

Throwing him a smirk as you picked up your fork. "Maybe I am. Maybe I'm not."

"I'd prefer the latter."

Sam shakes his head as he hears the conversation. "Please stop talking about him before he pops up. We don't need him to add to the chaos in the tower."

"Loki's always in the tower; you guys just don't know it."

Sam and Steve look alarmed as a grinning Thor takes a seat beside you. "Y/N is right. My brother tends to come at such odd hours, but he's in the tower daily with Y/N."

"Does Tony know this?" Steve demands.

"Oh yeah, he literally burst through my door with his suit the first time Loki appeared in the tower. We came to a compromise if you catch my drift."

Sam lets out a noise of disgust. "Okay, no. We don't want to hear about it. As a matter of fact, forget that we even brought Loki up."

Thor and Y/N share a laugh as Steve shakes his head.

The duo's laughs are cut off when Y/N's cellphone starts to ring. Everyone's confused, staring at the cellphone sitting on the counter.

It rings a few times before going quiet.

"I have no clue who'd be calling me at one am," Y/N says as the phone lights up again.

"I mean...shouldn't you answer it and see? Could be important." Steve replies.

"My parents are sleeping at this time of the night. Everyone else that's important to me is currently in the tower, Steve. I'm sure FRIDAY would let us know if anything's happened to them."

Sam snatches the phone off the counter, answering it mid-ring.

"Hello?"

"They're asking for you." He frowns before handing the phone to a confused Y/N.

Furrowing your eyebrows, you reached out, taking the phone and bringing it to your ear.

"Hello?" You questioned.

"Hello?" The unfamiliar, hushed, and husky voice rang out.

"Heard you were looking for me. Who is this?" You asked, exchanging glances with Steve, Thor, and Sam.

"Who is this?" The caller repeats your question.

"I mean, you're the one that called me. So what do you want, creep?"

The only thing you could hear from the other side of the phone was heavy breathing.

"Are you going to say anything besides breathe on the phone?" The person doesn't say anything, so you shrug, hanging up the phone.

"Who was it?" Steve asks.

"I don't have a freaking clue. All he did was breathe on the phone." You respond, going back to your dinner. There are a few minutes of silence before your phone starts ringing again. You shake your head at Bruce as he reaches for the phone again.

"Let it ring, probably the same idiot. He'll get tired eventually."

Ten minutes later, the four of you were at your wit's end. The ringing didn't stop.

"Y/N, I beg you to please answer your phone before I smash it to a thousand pieces." Thor bemoans as the phone goes off once again.

Letting out a frustrated sigh, you snatch the phone back up. You placed the phone against your ear. "Hello?"

"Y/N, you know it's rude to hang up with someone. I thought you knew better than this."

You roll your eyes, "What do you want? You've called my phone nonstop for the past ten minutes!"

"I just want to talk Y/N! We can talk and become the best of friends."

"You're out of your goddamn mind. Do yourself and me a favor and stop calling my phone. I'm hanging up now." You snap, pulling the phone away from your ear.

"YOU HANG UP THIS PHONE BITCH, AND I'LL GUT YOU LIKE A FUCKING FISH!"

It was clear that Thor, Sam, and Steve heard his threat as alarmed expressions overtake their faces.

"Y/N, give me the phone," Steve says through gritted teeth.

"DON'T YOU FUCKING DARE GIVE ROGERS THAT PHONE!"

You stare down at the phone in shock before anger takes over your expression. "Who the fuck do you think you're talking to?! I don't know who the hell you are or what the hell you want with me, but I'm telling you now to leave me the fuck alone! Come near me, and I'll be your last day alive!"

The creep begins to laugh over the phone. "Oh, Y/N....your petty little threats don't scare me. All I want to do is play a little game, and then I'll leave you alone. I promise!"

"Fuck no! Leave me the hell alone!"

The creep lets out a growl. "I want to play a game. A simple one, call it movie trivia. Answer it correctly; you and your little trio of morons will survive."

There's no warning as the lights go out, leaving the four of you in absolute darkness.

"Answer wrong; you die. Don't even bother calling for help. Your little friends and A.I. are all...out of commission."

All of you glance around and then at each other uneasily. "Don't even think about it. I'm watching your every move!"

Sam lets out a sigh. "This is a fucking nightmare."

"What the hell did you do to our teammates and FRIDAY?" Steve was gripping the counter, glaring at the phone that you'd placed on speakerphone.

"Don't worry about that. I can see you, Thor. Try summoning your precious hammer, and I slit Barton's throat!"

Thor looks disgruntled as he drops his hand. "Very well."

The creep chuckles, "That's more like it."

"I'll ask again, what the hell did you do to our teammates?!" Steve questions again.

"I can hear the desperation in your voice, Rogers. Don't worry, your pretty little heads, I haven't done anything so far. Their fates depend on you four. We win the game. and I'll let them go."

"We can't trust your word, man. We need proof." Sam says.

The creep hums, "That is true. Look for yourself."

A hologram of security footage pops up. "Say hello to your fellow avengers!"

Your eyes widened as you took in the sight of your teammates, bound and gagged to chairs in a circle. Tony, Clint, Bucky, Wanda, Vision, and for some odd reason, Pepper was there as well. Clint and Tony were the only ones awakened and were frantically shaking their heads.

"You sonofabitch." Steve curse, running a hand over his face. "What do you want?"

"A simple game. Are you ready to play now?"

"YES! YES! We'll play your stupid ass game! Just don't hurt our teammates!" You say, placing a hand on Steve's shoulder.

"That depends on how well you do with my trivia! Tell me Y/N. Do you like scary movies?"

"Yes."

The voice tutted. "Then you should be very good at this game then."

You take a deep breath, hoping your racing heart would calm down. It frightened you how easily someone snuck into the tower, basically kidnaping your teammates and holding them hostage.

"Question one, How many people does Jason kill in the first Friday the 13th film?"

You furrow your eyebrows, looking at Steve. He shrugs, looking hopeless. "I'm so sorry, but I haven't seen any horror films."

Sam snaps, making a zero with his hand. "He didn't do any killings in the first Friday the 13th movie!"

The creep hums, "who did the killing then?"

"His mother!"

"Bravo Y/N and Sam! "The voice praises the two of you.

"Question two, how many knives does Freddy Krueger have on his gloves?"

"Four. He has four!" Thor calls out.

"Yes! Good boy, Thor! It appears you aren't as stupid as I thought!" The voice laughs once again. "Next question...Which room does Dick Hallorann tell Danny to stay away from in The Shining?"

"I heard Tony mention sometimes once about room 237 as a joke. He said it came from a film called The Shining. Is that it?" Steve says.

"Is that a question or the answer, Rogers? And no, don't help him!" The voice yells as you go to tell Steve it was correct.

"I...It's the answer."

"CORRECT!" The creep gives a round of applause. "Now, last question, who is the Ghostface killer in Scream 4?"

Oh, shit, there was so much going on in the Scream series, you couldn't keep up. Besides the first two movies, you kind of gave up watching them.

The four of you were exchanging frightened and panicked looks when no one answered. You took a deep breath and said the hell with it.

"Roman Bridger!" You cried out. "It was him! Right?!"

There was silence on the other line before the creep said the words you dreaded, "Wrong answer Y/N."

The four of you were surprised when two cloaked figures appeared in front of your unconscious teammates. One head Tony's head up as the other slashes him viciously across the stomach.

"TONY!" All of you cried out as blood began pouring from his shirt, and Tony lets out muffled cries of pain, fighting against the ropes.

The two cloaked figures turned, waving at you mockingly.

"Are those Ghostface masks? We're really dealing with a fucking Ghostface copycat groupie?!" Sam says, bewildered.

"Come out and play with us!"

Your nails dig into the palm of your hands as you stare down the copycat Ghostface on the right. There was something familiar about them.

"You're going to pay for hurting our dear Anthony, you fool." Thor looks furious; the rage in his eyes was clear to see.

"You'll have to catch us first!" There was a slam of a door down the hall, and you all turn your heads in the direction.

"We were the only ones on this floor. No one knows we hang out here." Steve says, glaring down the darkened hall.

"You will need weapons Sam and Y/N. Steve and I will use our brute strength to defend ourselves. " Thor says, grabbing the skillet off the stove, handing it to you. He gives Sam the butcher knife Steve was using earlier.

You and Sam exchange glances, the message clear in your eyes. 'Did he forget we're both trained fighters and can defend ourselves weapons or not?'

Steve leads the way as you slowly creep down the dark hall. "I've got nothing-" A swift punch to the jaw cut off his words.

"HOLY SHIT! STEVE!" Sam calls out, rushing over.

"I'm fine, Sam. They came out of nowhere. They're on this floor somewhere. We've gotta look for them."

"Oh, there's no need to look for me. We're right here." Sam lets out a yelp, falling to the ground, clutching his side.

"Shit, guys were humans and can't really see that well in the dark. You're going to have to use your weird-ass super senses and find them." You say, fumbling around until you find Sam's outstretched hand. You help him sit up, leaning on you for support.

"Stop being a coward! Come out and face us!" Thor yells out.

"This shit feels like it's from a low-budget horror film," Sam mutters to himself.

You nod in agreement.

Suddenly you feel a hand on your shoulder and a voice whispering your name in, "Y/N..."

Letting out a yelp, you grab their hand, using all your strength to flip them over your shoulder.

"FUCK!" You didn't waste any time kicking the shit out of this asshole.

"YOU MESSED WITH THE WRONG AVENGER ASSHOLE!"

"Y/N! Y/N, IT'S ME! IT'S ME, SCOTT!" The cloaked figure shouts, reaching up and snatching his mask off. Scott's now bruised face stared up at you as the lights flickered back on.

You glanced up to see Thor holding Loki in a headlock and Steve scowling at Clint. Sam was frowning at Tony, who was smirking.

"There's no need to be all upset, brother. It was a mere prank; you know I've done far worse than this." Loki lets out a grunt as Thor tightens his grip.

"I recall the numerous times you've stabbed me, bitting and nearly gotten me killed. But, these are our human friends Loki, and they are far more..." Thor trails off, staring at Scott, who was holding his head.

"You guys are such fucking assholes. A prank is putting something funny and straightforward. This shit wasn't funny; it was fucking terrifying. We thought Tony had gotten stabbed! Our teammates had gotten kidnapped, and FRIDAY was harmed." Sam growls out, crossing his arms and shaking his head.

"This was out of line, guys. I'm disappointed." Steve's "I'm Disappointed In You" face and tone of voice were enough to ruin anyone's mood.

"There was no real harm done, guys. Lighten up," Tony tries to brush it off.

"No harm do-" You start before shaking your head. "No, I'm not saying anything. I've gotta go take my rage out in the training room, come on, guys." You motion for Thor, Steve, and Sam to follow you.

"We're going to prank them back, right?" Sam questions as you guys get into the elevator. '

"Oh, for sure."

[rhysismydaddy]

An Artful Revenge Pt. 1

First part of The Archeron Damnation series. 

~Rhysand~

Have you ever had everything you’ve ever wanted dropped in your lap like a present? 

It makes it so easy you almost don’t even want it anymore. 

Before today, this had never happened to me. For over thirty years, I’ve worked and fought and killed for everything I’ve wanted. Nothing about my life has been easy. 

Until today. 

Until a young, beautiful woman paused to look at a piece of art, oblivious to the monster who stood behind her. 

As soon as I looked up and saw her, I felt like an anvil fell on my chest and robbed me of air. I couldn’t fucking breathe.

For the first time in my long, miserable life, I was utterly speechless as Feyre Archeron tilted her head contemplatively, as if the slab of paint was something that required great concentration. 

Her focus was so singular it gave me more than enough time to figure out what I wanted to do. 

But I couldn’t concentrate enough to even do that. Not yet. For now, I just took her in. Photos didn’t do her justice, honestly. Sandy blonde hair, a slight frame more than pleasing to look at from the back, defined cheekbones, full lips. Beautiful. 

It was almost unfair for someone like her to be so beautiful.

She had a hand on her chest and was completely still as she looked at the work in front of her, like she almost couldn’t stand the rush of emotions it gave her. 

I understood the feeling. 

My friends often tell me I should go on the road as a mind reader or fortune teller or some other bullshit. The point is, I’m pretty decent at reading people. 

And just from the way the woman in front of me is looking at an overpriced, ugly piece of art, I know she’s innocent. 

She has no idea who she used to share a bed with, no idea what kind of evil she invited into her life with a smile. 

I also know I can’t let it change things in the slightest. Innocent or not, beautiful or not, I’ve been trying to find the perfect moment to worm my way into her life and turn it fucking upside down. 

And she’s just handed it to me on a silver platter. 

I’ve been looking for her, and I’ve finally found her. 

She’s mine.

~Feyre~

“You like it?”

Gasping and pressing my hand harder against my chest to calm my racing heart, I spin around to face whoever just asked such an obvious question. 

And the first thing I can think is, He’s more beautiful than the painting. 

The stranger’s casually leaning against the opposite wall, hands in his pockets, confidence and wealth and class draped over him like a very impressive, very handsome mask. 

He’s concealed in a jet black suit, but somehow I can tell he’s impressively built; it’s like strength and power are radiating off of him. His face probably took the gods years to craft, the sharp angles of his jaw and slash of his brows perfectly creating the most alluring thing I’ve ever seen. 

Dark hair, piercing violet eyes that scan me head to toe, and smirking, sensual lips complete his features. 

He’s the most attractive male I’ve ever seen. And I’m an art major who frequently finds herself painting models, so that’s saying something. 

“You like it,” he states, whatever he finds on my face taking away the need for a question mark. 

“I do,” I confirm, forcing myself to turn back to the painting and stop gawking like an idiot. 

He surprises me by asking openly, “Why?” 

The painting in question is one of the most revered paintings in the world: Dancers in Blue by Degas. But he’s asking in a way that makes it clear he genuinely doesn’t know why people pay to look at it.

Running my hand through my hair, I try and put it into words. “There’s just so much... energy in it. The background’s nothing but a bunch of paint splatters, and yet you can feel it almost. The dancer’s excitement, the energy of the crowd. It’s breathtaking.”

There’s a beat of silence, and I cringe inwardly, thinking of how weird that probably sounded. 

Then, “Would you like it?”

Only four words and they almost knock me on my ass. I spin back around so fast he chuckles, eyes wide, and sputter, “Would I what?”

I mean, it’s clear he’s rich, but there’s rich, and then there’s buying a Degas rich. 

“I was planning on buying it anyway. It should belong to someone who loves it as much as you obviously do.”

“What?” I repeat, still not understanding why he would offer something like that to a total stranger.

“I presumed you to be intelligent, but if you keep asking that question, I might have to amend that.”

I narrow my eyes, somehow intelligent enough to pick up on the insult. “I’m just confused. I mean, you look rich and all, but that painting’s worth $45 million dollars. And you just asked...”

“If you want it.”

Putting my hands on my hips, I regard him speculatively. “Which psych ward did you break out of, exactly?” 

He smiles, amusement twinkling in his eyes. “The way I see it, you have two options. You can accept the painting and stare at it from home, or I can buy it and hang it with the other one and never give it a second thought.”

My mind can’t stop running, and I think if I wasn’t determined to not completely embarrass myself, I’d collapse to the ground and sob at the impobability of this situation. “What do you mean the other one? You already have a Degas?”

“The pink one,” he confirms casually, flicking a nonexistent fleck of dust off his jacket. 

“You have Dancers in Pink?” He nods, lips twitching at the look on my face. “And why, exactly, are you buying priceless pieces of art if you don’t like them?”

“It’s not priceless. You just told me it’s worth $45 million.” I scowl at the non-answer, and he shrugs. “Someone I don’t care for likes them.”

I connect the dots slowly. “So you buy them so he can’t.”

He nods. 

My mouth falls open, making him smile again. It’s dangerously attractive and distracting, but I still demand, “Who the fuck are you?”

The stranger laughs outright at that, strolling forward and offering me a tan, tattooed hand with practiced ease. I notice there’s a platinum, engraved ring on his pointer finger, and I stare at it for a moment because it looks strangely familiar. 

He seems to pause as I look at it, holding his breath. I’m probably acting like a total weirdo, so I snap out of it and take his hand. 

Because he’s rich and confident and beautiful, he feels entitled to drag his calloused thumb across the back of my hand. 

And because I’m poor and stupid and at the end of the day, just a woman, I blush. Which only gets worse as he notices and smirks. 

“My name is Rhysand.”

“Rhysand what, exactly? Rockefeller? Vanderbilt? Carnegie?” I run out of rich families and fall silent, and he gives me a look like I’m the most amusing thing he’s ever come across. 

“Rhysand Azara. When you google me, you won’t find anything of consequence, I’m afraid.”

The way he says when instead of if makes me blush again, because I’d been waiting for him to leave so I could pull out my cracked, struggling little phone and do exactly that. 

He looks at me expectantly, and I realize I haven’t said a word, just held onto his hand like a toddler being led across the street. “Oh, I’m Feyre.”

Rhysand just raises an eyebrow. 

“Feyre Archeron.”

“And what would I find if I were going to google your name?”

I notice his statement has an if, but I answer anyway, stating facts nervously like an army cadet reporting for duty. “I’m an art major at UChicago. From Missouri.”

“What else?”

“There’s really not much else.”

He tsks, telling me this answer is unacceptable, but doesn’t press it. Instead he shocks the hell out of me once again. “Have dinner with me tonight.”

It isn’t a question, but it isn’t quite a demand, either. It’s a statement, and it’s said like he already knows what my response is going to be. 

But like I just told him, I’m a college student. 

Which means for the past three years, I’ve been dealing with college boys. 

I’ve been asked to “hang,” “smash,” and even to go to coffee on a few rare, wonderful instances. But never, in my entire life, have I been asked---or told--to go to dinner by someone like him. 

I realize it’s because I’ve never met anyone like him. 

Even my ex-boyfriend, who’d been well off and older, was nothing like him. Compared to the man in front of me, everyone else seemed... juvenile. 

They were boys, toddlers even, compared to the man still gripping my hand.

It prompts me to ask, “How old are you?”

He smiles. “Too old for you, I’m sure. Have dinner with me anyway. For the sake of the painting.”

I’m halfway sure I’m in the middle of a fever dream, about to wake up covered in sweat and wondering what the hell just happened, because this cannot be real. 

“You’re... are you actually... you’re offering to give me a $45 million painting if I have dinner with you?” I sound incredulous and wheezy to my own ears, but I don’t even care. 

Who the hell is this guy? 

“You’ll be my second most expensive date.”

“You’re insane.” I look down to where he still holds my hand, entire focus narrowing on the strength in his grip. How would it feel to have him grip me somewhere else? Rhysand gives me a look like he knows what I’m thinking, so I look at the ceiling. Then declare, “I can’t have dinner with you.”

It almost hurt to say it, honestly, because I really love that painting. 

He waits until I look back down at his face before asking, “Why not?” 

Blushing to high hell, I murmur, “It feels a little like... prostitution.”

Rhysand throws his head back and laughs, a full, wonderful sound I hadn’t been expecting. It’s easy and contagious, and I find myself grinning, even though what I said was true. 

“Dinner, gorgeous, was the deal.” He leans in close and whispers, “You coming home with me won’t have anything to do with it.”

I push him away, mind set on giving myself a few feet away from him to compose myself, but I’m so dizzy and confused and strangely turned on I almost fall. His hands shoot out, landing on the bare skin of my shoulders, and I pause. 

And really, really contemplate my life. 

Yesterday I was sitting on the floor of my dusty apartment in my underwear, eating Ramen and struggling to figure out what the fuck to put in the background of my painting. Today I’m being asked to dinner by a probable-billionaire. On the condition I accept a very expensive form of bribery. 

“I’m not going home with you, but I’ll have dinner with you.” He starts to smile, so I cut him off, “Only if you promise to not buy the painting.”

His brows narrow, a silent demand for information. 

“I come here almost every day to see it anyway,” I explain. “Besides, there’s no way I can accept it. It’ll get stolen or damaged or... I just can’t accept it. And the thought of you putting it in some forgotten hallway depresses me.”

He sighs dramatically and re-puts his hand out. “No painting. Just dinner.”

“And no sex.”

A very male look crosses his features. “We’ll discuss that later, I think.”

I roll my eyes but shake hands with him, a strange sense of finality settling over me. I shake it off, telling myself the bare mention of having sex with him is why I’m so nervous. 

~

Four hours later, I stand at the door, purse clutched in one hand, keys in the other. I’m staring at the door, practically foaming at the mouth, waiting for a knock on the other side to hopefully shock me out of my crazed state. 

I’ve been like this for ten minutes already, for some reason not wanting him to wait for a second after he got here. Or maybe I just don’t think he’s actually coming. 

Maybe I’ve been on some horrible practical jokes show, and Rhysand Azara isn’t even a real person. I’ll probably end up on television, blushing and beyond naïve, having been convinced a man who looked like a male model wanted to buy me a Degas. 

I snort, shaking my head at myself. And then almost fall down when a soft yet somehow insistent knock sounds through my small apartment. 

“Holy fuck, he’s here.”

I have no idea why I state it aloud, to myself no less, but I feel like it should be said. Hell, it should be written down in history books. If I kept a diary, I’d write in bold, underlined letters: I HAVE A DATE WITH A VERY STRANGE, VERY HANDSOME MAN.

After fluffing my hair and checking my makeup in a mirror, I stop stalling and open the door. 

He, of course, looks like sex on a goddamn spoon. And for a split second--just a moment, I swear--I debate grabbing him by his expensive lapels, dragging him backward into my apartment, and finding out what his mouth feels like against mine. 

“Feyre,” he greets, snapping me out of my perverted daydream. “You look beautiful.”

I know it’s dumb to be flattered, because it’s fairly standard to tell a girl she looks nice when you pick her up for a date, but it does my ego no harm because how I look right now took some fucking work. 

I shaved from the eyebrows down, exfoliated, scrubbed, cleansed, plucked, and spent thirty minutes deciding what to wear. 

I’d taken a gamble he’d wear a suit and dressed to match in a black dress, unremarkable save for the very low back, and simple heels. 

I step outside with him, grateful for the warm weather, and turn to lock the door. 

Rhysand makes a humming sound, and I freeze as I feel a finger drag down my spine, stopping right at the edge of the fabric. Which happens to be very, very close to something indecent. 

“Beautiful,” he states again, and hell if I don’t feel like it. 

I finally manage to get the lock closed, then spin around to face him. Up close, there’s silver flecks in his eyes, like starlight. Oh, and he smells amazing. Something manly and wintery and not sold in a bottle. 

I. Am in. So much. Trouble. 

I have no idea why this man has taken an interest in me, but I know it can only end in one way: me in love, him long gone. 

But even though I know it, I’m ready. Five minutes with him makes me feel more alive than I ever have, and even though it’s a disaster in the making, I can’t bring myself to care. 

He offers his hand and pulls me towards a--surprise--black car, one that looks expensive. After depositing me in the passenger seat, he goes around and climbs in beside me. 

“Where are we going?”

“I’m making a guess about something.”

I glance over at him. “Have you ever realized you don’t give actual answers?”

"Yes,” he responds with a grin, turning the stereo on. 

Twenty minutes later, I’m practically bursting at the seems to know where he’s taking me. 

What kind of guess is he making? Also, what does that even mean?

He pulls up in front of a nice looking place I’ve never been to--again, surprise--and comes around to open my door. Despite the crowd, as soon as the hostess sees the man leading me through the restaurant, we’re ushered into the back. 

Turns out the place has private rooms. It’s quiet and cozy, and I’m pretty sure only the president gets this kind of treatment. 

Once I’m seated across from him, menu in hand, I have to ask, “Was your guess correct?”

“I don’t know, do you like French food?”

I smile because j’adore French food, and he grins back because he somehow knew that already. 

The waiter comes to ask for our drink order, and I gesture at Rhysand for him to order mine. I know nothing about wine, and he obviously does, because he orders something fancy and expensive sounding. 

There’s soft music playing in the background, candles in the corner, and a handsome man sitting across from me. It’s the most romantic situation I’ve ever been in, hands down. 

He braces an arm on the table, watching as I take a small sip of the wine. Trying to maintain some sort of maturity, I say, “You have good taste.”

“I do,” he replies, but his eyes are on me, not the wine. “Are you almost done with school?”

“One more year,” I answer, trying not to cheer as I say it. Four years of education for an art major is kind of ridiculous to me, but it would’ve been stupid to turn down a full scholarship. 

Rhysand hums, nodding. Even though he asked, I somehow feel like he already knew that. Weird. 

“Did you go to college?”

He gives me a strange look. “My formal education stopped around seventh grade.”

It’s an effort to keep my jaw off the table, and I’m proud of myself when I say mildly, “Impressive.”

“Being uneducated impresses you?”

I scowl. “No, but having everything you do despite not being handed anything is.”

His face stays impassive, but there’s a twinkle of respect in his eyes. The waiter comes back and asks what we want to eat, and because the menu I’ve barely even looked at is in French, I get the same thing as Rhysand. 

When we’re alone again, I ask, “Okay, spill. How’d you know I love French food?”

Rhysand shrugs. “I’m good at reading people.”

I wave a hand, because that wasn’t answer enough, and he continues on a sigh. “You’re kind of... easy to read. No offense.”

“Interesting you say ‘No offense’ after calling a woman easy,” I note.

He laughs, but points out, “You’re not easy. I offer to buy you a Degas and you won’t even come home with me.”

It’s my turn to shrug. “Once again, you haven’t answered my question.”

There’s a long beat of silence. “You like French food because you like Impressionist art, and both Degas and Monet were French. Your dream vacation also happens to be Paris, and eating French food makes you feel closer to that goal.”

My mouth drops open, and he laughs soundly at the blatant display of shock, but before I can ask how the hell he knew that, the waiter comes with our food. Identical displays of delicious-smelling pasta are set in front of us. 

I reach for my fork, but he grabs our plates and switches them. 

When I raise a brow, he shrugs and says, “In case you were thinking about poisoning me.”

I snort in a very ladylike manner, tucking into my food. A soft moan escapes me, and he looks up at me, bite halfway between his plate and mouth. 

“Uh, sorry,” I murmur, blushing down the neckline of my dress. 

Rhysand just smiles, making me feel young once again. “Don’t be. I quite enjoy the sound of a pleasured woman.”

Rolling my eyes, I take another bite, managing to refrain from sounding too pleasured. “So, Paris. How’d you know?”

He doesn’t really give me an answer, just says, “I bet you have a little Eifel Tower trinket on your desk and everything.”

An embarrassed laugh bubbles out of me, because I do. I totally do. I’ve had it for three years and look at it every time I’m tempted to drop out.

“What do you do for a living?” I ask, trying to get us back on even ground. I feel like he somehow knows everything about me, and even though I’ll have to ask questions, I’m finding out at least one thing about him. 

“I’m in real estate.”

I nod, ready to just accept that answer. Then I look around us, remembering how crowded the restaurant was, and start giggling. “You own this restaurant, don’t you?”

A sigh. Busted. “Yes, I do.” 

I tsk and give him a judgmental look. “You can’t take me somewhere you own for a date. That’s cheating.”

He takes a sip of his wine. “How so?”

“It just is.” I sigh, just to tease him. “Shame. I was feeling so romanticized, maybe enough so to go home with you. Not anymore, though.”

He rolls his eyes, the gesture making him younger. “Eat your food.”

I do, and by the end, I’m so full I probably look pregnant. “Holy fuck, that was good.”

Rhysand smiles, like it’s adorable that I cursed, and pushes back his empty plate. “Dessert?” I shake my head. “Coffee?” 

“I’m so full I might die.”

Rising with fluid grace, he extends a hand. “Then come with me.”

Not bothering to ask questions at this point, I just take his hand and follow him out, noticing the city has a slight chill now that the sun’s gone down.

“Why is it women can never plan for the sun going down?” he ponders, wrapping me in his suit jacket.

“It’s a test to see if you’ll let us freeze to death.”

Rhysand chuckles and slides his hand into mine, so casually and simply it seems like a mundane thing we do every day.

I know I’ve known him for a total of five hours, but everything about today has been... easy. Natural. It’s like we just click, and I’m not stupid enough to question it right now. 

“You’re quite the gentleman,” I remark, bringing up our intertwined fingers to look at the tattoos on his skin. He’s silent for a minute, and when I glance over, he’s looking at the ground as we walk, a strange look on his face. “What?”

“You’re probably the only person in this entire world who believes that.”

I scoff, because the idea that the man next to me, holding my hand and running his thumb across my fingers, is anything but a gentleman is absurd.

“What other paintings do you have?” 

It’s a question I’ve been dying to ask since he mention his other Degas. 

“It’s a shame you’re determined to not go home with me. You could see them yourself.”

I drop his hand and shove his shoulder, my lips twitching as he laughs. “You asshole. You’re leveraging access to a private collection for sex? Men are horrible.”

Rhysand chuckles, throwing an arm around me and pulling me close. “I have a Monet,” he whispers in my ear, placing a featherlight kiss to my temple. “And a Rembrandt.” 

“I hate you.”

He releases me and grabs my hand again, then pulls me toward a dark alley I hadn’t noticed he’d been guiding me toward. “Um... where are you taking me?”

He, of course, doesn’t tell me. No, he shushes me. 

“I will not be quiet while you drag me down some seedy alley!” I’m beginning to panic a bit, because besides spending way too much time alone, I like to watch Law and Order, and this is turning into the beginning of a familiar episode. 

“Is this because I said I won’t have sex with you tonight?” Before he can respond, I blurt, “Because I probably will at some point, I’m just kind of nervous-”

“I’m not going to murder you, Feyre darling.”

“Promise?”

“Yes. Now shut up.”

Pouting like a sullen child, I shut my mouth and accept my fate. He tugs me further down the black alley, and eventually I can’t even see. Can he? Is he some sort of vampire? Am I really asking myself that?

The glow of his phone illuminates the dark for a second, and I catch the time 11:59. “One more minute.”

“Until...?”

He’s silent for thirty-eight seconds, then he says, “Until this.”

Suddenly, the space above us lights up, colors shooting all around us in a kaleidoscope of reds and blues and greens. 

Gasping, I look up to see the air above us full of glass lanterns, the surfaces painted with swirling black paint. The alley is covered wall to wall, and the end result gives the walls around us beautiful designs and dimension.

I laugh in surprise, twirling around to take in the entire place. “What is this?”

“We’re in the artist’s quadrant of the city. I don’t know why, but they do this every night, exactly at midnight.”

I spin around in a circle, arms out, smiling from ear to ear. He watches with a grin, leaning against one of the walls casually. I walk down the alley, eyes up, taking in everything. 

It’s the best thing I’ve ever seen. 

The lanterns are each unique, like they were done by different people. Some are solid colors, others are mixtures. 

I look back over at Rhysand, beams of red and blue and pink bouncing off his face, a smile playing at his full lips. It’s obvious he took me here because he knew I’d love it, and it makes me feel insanely special. 

Still giddy with happiness, I bound over to him, put my hands on either side of his face, and press my lips to his. 

For a second, we probably look like idiots, just standing there pressing our smiles together. 

Then, like we’re in synch, the smiles fall away and we start to actually kiss. 

His hands slip inside the jacket, linking at the small of my back and pulling me closer to him. He’s still leaning against the wall, back against the brick, and I put my hands on his chest, fingers digging into the corded muscle I find there. 

Rhysand pulls back for a minute, traces his fingers over my face lightly. He looks so surprised and confused, I’m tempted to ask what’s wrong. But then his mouth is back on mine, moving more fervently, and I forget all about it. 

His hands cup my jaw, tilting my face to where he wants it, then slide in my hair. 

He tastes like honey and citrus, and I slide my tongue in his mouth, desperate for more. I moan at the taste of him, and he suddenly moves, like the sound unleashed something in him. 

One hand grabs the back of my thigh, the other wrapping around my waist, and then I’m the one against the wall. The brick digs into my shoulder blades, but I hardly even notice, because he wraps my leg around his hips and presses us together. 

His mouth is sliding down my jaw, sucking on the spot between my neck and shoulder softly. I make a low sound, slip my hands in his hair, and prepare to eat him alive. 

And then the world goes dark. 

The lanterns above us turn off, casting us in darkness, but we don’t stop for a few minutes. When we’re both breathless, he pulls away with a low chuckle and releases my leg. 

I slide down him slowly, leaning against the wall for support. 

What the hell was that? 

Did I really just make out with a complete stranger in an alley? 

The answer to that question--and the one of if I’d do it again--is hell yes.  

He runs a hand over his lips, almost in disbelief, then takes a healthy step back and holds out a hand. “Come on. I’ll walk you home.”

I take another look at the disheveled hair, swollen lips, rumpled shirt. And I know without a doubt that if he were on my doorstep, looking at me with those bedroom eyes, I’d pull him inside without a thought. 

“I think I should take a cab.”

Rhysand smiles, knowing exactly why. “I’m flattered.”

“Shut up,” I laugh, pushing him away and starting back toward the busier street. 

Even though the street’s deserted, he manages to hail a cab easily, the bright yellow car slowing to a stop next to us. I open the back door, kiss his cheek, and slip inside. “Thank you for dinner. Even though you cheated.”

He rolls his eyes and shuts the door behind me. “I’ll call you.”

I nod, feeling a little ridiculous for how happy that statement makes me. Tonight was... like nothing I’ve ever experienced. It was just dinner, I remind myself, but it doesn’t do any good. 

It feels like the beginning of something. 

The cab driver glances at me in the rearview mirror and laughs. “That good, huh?”

I don’t even respond because yeah. That good. 

I’m halfway home before I realize I never even gave him my number. And I honestly wonder if I’ll ever see Rhysand Azara again. 

_________________________________________________

Part 2

@elorcan-trash @perseusannabeth @cursebreaker29 @a-bit-of-a-cactus @elriel4life @girl-who-reads-the-books @shinya-hiiragi @aelinfeyreeleven945tbln @ireallyshouldsleeprn @highqueenofelfhame @nahthanks @ghostlyrose2​ @claralady​ @tswaney17​ @rowanisahunk​ @superspiritfestival​ @thegoddessofyou​ @jlinez​ @studyliketate​ @over300books​ @bamchickawowow​ @justgiu12​ @maastrash​ @aesthetics-11​ @b00kworm​ @sleeping-and-books​ @musicmaam​ @hizqueen4life​ @maybekindasortaace​

[angloie]

Rivals. Nothing more. (1/2)

> Percy is annoyed on how Annabeth always was. Her passion to win, to suceed, to be better than him. He hates that. It's totally not hot, or whatever.

> Warnings: swearing and kinda (?) suggestive undertones, my writing

> Genre: fluff, mutual pinning, Percy having a huge fat crush on Annabeth.

You can find the second part here!

Percy wasn't very fond of smartasses who talked back.

I mean, who wouldn't? They were truly insufferable; acting like they knew everything and spat out facts here and there, all high and mighty.

Annabeth fit that description perfectly.

She's such a stuck up nerd; always beating his spot just opened place higher than him. When they spar, Percy can't help but feel a overwhelming urge pushing him to win. Annabeth struck back with the same passion, every strike, slash, push, thrust, holds her need for victory.

And when Percy does win after a long match? It feels amazing. The refreshing mood when you get exactly what you want- for once beating enemy number one. Annabeth shakes hands with him after and it infuriates him all over again. Why can't she feel more embarassed? Devestated? Shame? She walks away from the training arena calmly like she won over him.

Oh, Annabeth does feel embarassed. Devestated, too. But the look in Percy's eyes when she acts all stoic- seated stop her high horse- is simply electrifying. No better feeling than antagonizing your rivals, right?

They first meet at twelve. Both still young and insufferable, being the natural rivals they were. After all, their godly parents were two of the biggest rivals between one another: Athena and Posiedon.

Then they’re thirteen. Rivals, yes, but they can get along better now. Much better, in fact. Annabeth just feels the tiniest bit of attraction. It's just platonic. That's what she likes to tell herself, really.

Fourteen and Percy and her still bickering and arguing like usual. They can respect each other's boundaries still, all while they make crude jokes about the other. People say that they might be best friends, but the two of them shoot their ideas out of their heads. Who would wan't to be friends with that loser, anyways?

The ripe age of fifteen. Same old Percy, and same old Annabeth. They grow stronger together, and even more stronger as they progress. It's such a heartwarming thing to watch. Annabeth becomes more aware of how Percy looks. His apearance. Once a couple inches shorter than her becomes level-height. And then Percy has the audacity to grow taller than her. 

He likes to tease Annabeth about it. Holding books above her head, or anything he can grab that's hers. It's more blood-boiling when you remember the fact that people in ancient Greece associated height with power. Percy? Have more power than her? Unaceptable.

Percy on the flip side becomes more aware of how his endearing his rival becomes. Annabeth puts him in awe sometimes, incredibly witty and smart. But the snobbish attitude from her makes him want to gag. Maybe not as much as it did in the past other years. Annabeth, (as much as he hates to admit it) is someone he can trust. After years of being partners in both battle and else, that was expected. Percy still can't trust Annabeth with his blue cookies though.

Sixteen, finally. A confusing year for Percy. It becomes a growing problem for Percy when his heart beats erratically when Annabeth is near. Her shampoo smells so heavenly from where he's sitting, which is at the end of her bed. Annabeth sits crossed legged from him, flicking the pages of a book. Percy just saw the lights on from her cabin and crawled through the window. That would make her annoyed, right? No other reason; just to annoy her. Totally not because he wants to see her again.

Annabeth doesn't have the slightest clue in her mind about why she let him in. Or why he opted to sit on her bed directly, instead of sitting on one of the very comfortable seats in the large room. Annabeth doesn't complain. The cabin is empty; her other guests singing along at the campfire or elsewhere. 

Percy gets up wordlessly as Annabeth continues to stare at her book. Words are flowing through, forming, but she can't seem to focus to comprehend the book.

She notices his arrival when the bed dips with his weight. Percy has a blob of water in mid-air, floating just above the palm of his hand.

“You better not get that on my bed,” Annabeth chides, “Or I'll make sure to kill you.”

“Really now?” Percy makes the water floating towards her, threatening to soak her face. It stops inches before her- stopping from wetting her clothes along with it. She doesn't flinch.

Annabeth gives a sticky sweet smile, but her eyes say otherwise. Something along the lines of 'You better be digging up your grave now'. Percy flinches back in surprise, hands braced in a defensive position. The water shifts and floats back to him... to only float around the room aimlessly.

It's times like this when he feels truly at peace. The air is tense, sure, but he feels calmer than ever before. It's liberating.

The water leaks a bit from the moving. Annabeth is amazed how it moves so effortlessly. It's Percy moving it, but that didn't matter. Sometimes Annabeth wished she had powers... Her smarts and wits were amazing, but she felt that she could achieve even more if she had them. It's a painful thought.

Percy sits back on her bed, staring at the white celling. Different coloured sticky notes and red strings are hooked together by flimsy thumb tacks. Talk about being a nerd.

Both lost in their thoughts and a good book, the water comes back around the room to splash on-

Just fucking peachy.

On Annabeth.

“Percy!” She screeches, hair damp with liquid and some finding it's way on her white shirt. Due to the thin fabric and cool water, he shirt becomes a little more. How do you put it? transparent. Translucent.

“Oh shit-” Percy jerks upwards, moving his hands around frantically. If he stares any longer, he might become more aware of the now visible uhm- undergarments. He also might notice that they are blue, his favourite colour, and how it looks so fucking good on her. 

Okay, he's noticed all of that in a matter of seconds.

“Quit staring!” Annabeth protests more, as Percy gets up to face the wall and cover his eyes. 

“I didn't mean to!” He says, still facing away from her. “I-it was a accident!” I swear!”

“Quit you're blubbering and get out!”

“Sorry!” Percy says again, and again. “I’m really sorry!” Until he finds his way to the large mahogany door and steps out.

“I- uh-" He tries to reasonate, tries to make up with her. But it's quickly shut off when Annabeth slams the door in his face. Leaving a very stuttering and blushing Percy.

Seventeen. It's a dreadful year for the two of them.

It becomes painfully clear why Percy had been a blushing, embarrassing mess around Annabeth. Clear on why he feels like he's on cloud nine when she pins him down in the sparing arena. And incredibly clear why Percy thinks about her eyes, her smile, her everything. Even the random facts he always thought was annoying and stupid leave marks on his brain. 

The oblivious son of Poseidon denies his feelings. Just some rivalry feelings! Some of which include him wanting to kiss Annabeth so bad sometimes, or even wanting to hold hands while walking along the sand. Maybe he does have the occasional dream of some less than appropriate things. Percy's rather embarassed about that.

It's when Grover, his reliable and trustworthy best friend finally makes him realize his true feelings. Ones hidden layers of sarcasm and sharp jokes.

“You think about her twenty four seven,” Grover starts, leaning back on the thick trunk of the oak tree. Percy had just came to him mid-spar to tell him how Annabeth was absolutely destroying him.

“And you also blab about her nonstop. I dunno dude, that sounds like a crush to me.” Grover sighs heavily. Percy blinks once. Then twice. And then three times.

“Do you get jealous when you see her with someone else?”

“Yeah! It's sickening! I feel all weird and stuff, so I-”

“You have a crush~” Grover teases.

“No? I think it's just-"

“Its a crush, Percy. You're so oblivious that it'll never progress more than that.”

“What’s that supposed to mean!?” Percy scowls at him. A bead of sweat trails down his forehead, caused from the hours of training.

“It means you have to confess.” Grover simply states, getting up. His hooves clomp down on the hard-packed earth as he trails away. “You gotta do it sooner or later, before someone else does it!”

That thought makes bile rise in his stomach. Annabeth? Go out with someone's else? Other than him? No way. Negatory.

But what if she declines? Annabeth is completely free to do that; but Percy would probably die of heartbreak. And if she started to date someone? Percy would explode.

It's settled, then.

He's going to confess.

-

- a/n:

(re-uploaded to fix some mistakes, lol)

[missscarletta7]

The Broken Crown- Chapter 2

Summary: All Margaret Shelby ever wanted, was the opportunity to write her own story. Only now is she beginning to realize that her brother may have already written it for her...

Hello! Enjoy chapter 2!

OoOoOo

"Keep spendin' most our lives, Livin' in the gangsta's paradise,

Tell me why are we so blind to see,

That the ones we hurt, are you and me"

~Gangsters Paradise~

1919

"Mags." Was the first thing the young girl heard as she was gently shaken awake, "Go lay in your bed, eh?"

Upon half-opening her eyes, she saw it was Tommy who had been talking to her. Maggie only then realized she had fallen asleep sitting upright. She responded by rubbing her neck and slowly nodding. Clumsily she got off the bed with her journal in hand.

It was early. The exact time she wasn't sure, but sunlight wasn't streaming through the window yet. She entered the quiet hallway, navigating herself to her bedroom in the darkness. When she opened her door, she discovered a figure standing in the middle of the half-lit room changing clothes.

"There you are," Ada whispered out, shimming out of her slip, "Was wondering what happened to you."

"Slept in Tommy's room," She explained, yawning lightly. "Just get in? What time is it?"

Her sister nodded as she continued to change into a nightdress, slipping the fabric over her head. "It's just past four." She informed as the younger girl motioned her way around her sister to flop onto the bed, making it creak from the force of body weight.

"How was your night?" asked Maggie, moving to make her head more comfortable on the old shapeless pillow.

"Romantic." The older girl hummed, sliding into bed next to her sister. "I've never felt this way about anyone."

Maggie turned her body on her side. "Wish I could put a name and face to this mystery man." She watched her sister's eyes flash with guilt. At the realization of her thoughts were now said aloud, regret formed in the pit of Maggie’s stomach.

"I promise I'll tell you sooner than you think, I just-" Ada didn't have to finish the sentence for Maggie to understand what she was going to say: 'I just can't deal with our brothers if they find out '.

"I know Ada," was the last thing the sleepy girl said before closing her eyes and drifting back to sleep.

Eventually, she woke up again around seven in the morning. Carefully, she got out of bed trying not to wake up her sleeping sister, and dressed accordingly in one of Ada's old dresses. She also made sure to pack her journal into her book bag before making her way downstairs. Once in the kitchen, she saw Tommy reading the paper and Finn eating his breakfast.

"Morning." She said, grabbing a bowl and spoon to scoop mushy porridge out of a metal pot, which was sitting on top of the only working stove burner. Polly had most likely prepared it for them. "How did you sleep?"

Tommy knew that question was directed to him, "Better than I have in weeks." This made his sister smile as she sat down in the chair next to him. "Your writing has improved. But then again, I haven't heard you share your work since you were twelve. Pol says you won't even share with her or Ada. Why's that?" He was genuinely curious.

"I don't think it's ready to be shared yet," Maggie shrugged.

He peered at her as he set the paper down onto the table, "You shared last night."

"Only to put you to sleep." She countered, bringing the spoon to her mouth to consume the beige-colored substance.

"Going to have to sometime," he spoke sincerely. "How else are you going to become a writer, eh?"

He was right, she knew that, but right now, her writing felt sacred. As if her words were only meant for her. She was still coming face to face with a paradoxical problem. Every time she would write something down, it would instantly not be good enough. The pages of her journal seemed to have more scribbled-out lines than actual words. She just couldn't explain this feeling properly, and if she couldn't express her feelings in words, how could she write? No, sharing her words would only lead to not being understood. Her thoughts were soon interrupted by the opening and slamming of the front door.

"Tommy!" John angrily stormed into the kitchen, "It's Danny! Those fucking Wops got a hit on him."

Tommy answered back by pushing himself out of his chair and hurriedly following his brother out of the home. Finn quickly tried to follow, but Maggie grabbed him by the collar of his shirt, "Let go Mags!" he cried out.

Maggie sighed, "C'mon, let's get you ready for school." Finn could only respond with a groan, allowing his sister to lead him upstairs.

OoOoOo

The next day, a smiling Maggie was squished between John and Finn in the family car. She could barely move without hearing a complaint from John, but she didn't care, she was too excited. They were all on their way to the fair, which had been set up right outside of Birmingham. It had been so long since she had been to one. They were almost there, and she could see the big red and white striped tent peaking over the trees in the distance, so she was confused when Tommy parked the car in a clearing that was still a good distance away.

Arthur spoke up at once, "Thought you said we were going to the fair"

"Yeah, what are we doing?" She asked nervously, leaning her elbows against the front seat.

"We have business first. C'mon, bring your wits." Tommy said getting out of the car with John and Arthur following. He glanced over to his younger siblings noticing they were trying to do the same. " You and Finn stay by the car."

"Seriously?" She just wanted to have a normal day at the fair with her family. Was that too much to ask?

Tommy pointed at her to emphasize. "Stay by the car, Mags."

"What business?" Arthur questioned.

"That's the Lee family," She heard John say.

Great the Lees, thought Maggie sarcastically, as she sank into the seat. Though she did perk herself up when she saw a familiar face walking towards the car.

"Hi, Johnny!" She smiled and waved at the man.

"Well hello pretty lady," Johnny Dogs greeted as he approached the car. "Tell me, have you seen a lass named Maggie?" The teasing tone of his voice was prominent. He had not changed a bit in the four years his presence had been absent.

The girl giggled slightly at his antics, and with a playful air replied, "I'm Maggie."

"You canna be her." He overly acted out in disbelief, "Last time I saw her she was but a child!"

"Hang on a minute," They all heard Arthur say, "You're not swapping the family car for a bloody horse!"

Johnny turned around and quickly walked up to the oldest Shelby, "Of course we're not swapping it. Huh? That would be mad!"

"We're going to play two up," Tommy explained, handing a coin over to the family friend.

"Jesus." Arthur breathed out anxiously, as they all watched the pair toss their coins into the grass and lean forward to get a better view. Silently, Tommy handed over the keys to the car, much to the irritation of the eldest, "I knew it. Tommy, you bloody idiot!"

"Shut up Arthur. I won," Tommy told him, "I promised Johnny I'd let him have a spin in the car if he lost." He watched as the relief washed over his brother's face but was interrupted by collective snickering. He turned to the three men dangerously, "Are you Lee boys laughing at my brother? Are you? Eh? I asked you a question!"

"Tommy! Tommy, c'mon it's just a craic." Johnny reasoned, trying to keep everyone calm, "Get your family out of here and go enjoy yourselves at the fair before they start a war." Johnny then turned to the Lees, and Maggie was able to make out most of what he said. It had something to do about the grandfather she never met before one of the Lees replied, "Yeah, but his mother was a Diddicoy whore."

That had done it. Whipping his weaponized hat off of his head, Tommy slashed at the man's face. Arthur and John quickly joined in. Blood could be seen gushing from their faces as they all yelled obscenities at one another. Finn looked in awe at his brothers, his gaze never wavering from the fight, but Maggie felt sick.

OoOoOo

An hour later they had finally reached their original destination. Looking and walking around the fair was an amazing experience. The many rides, animals, oddities, and food all in one place were a wonderment to the many families that came out from all over the area. Yet, Maggie's level of enthusiasm was less than what Tommy had expected. She couldn't shut up most of the way there, now she was as silent as a stone.

"What's the matter with you, eh?" Tommy questioned as they walked around the fairgrounds together, "Did you want to take a spin on the big wheel ride?" He pointed up to the giant machine with carriages that slowly spun in circles.

She asked quietly, "Did you have to hurt them?" Sure, Maggie knew what her brothers did. She would be naive if she said she didn't, but she had never been a witness to it. The violence that she had often heard others speak of was now forever ingrained in her memory, becoming a standard for their future offenses. "The Lee's." She clarified although she was certain he knew what she was talking about.

"They were disrespecting us Mags," He explained as if she were younger than Finn. "You heard them."

Tommy had always tried to keep her in the dark about their business practices, which was easy when she was younger. Unlike Finn, she had always kept her nose in a book, never really paying attention to the transgressions of her siblings. But now she was beginning to notice and was starting to ask questions he'd rather not answer.

"You couldn't walk away?" Maggie inquired, looking towards anywhere but his face.

He remained silent for a moment before stiffly asking, "Do you want to get on the fucking wheel ride or not?" That was Tommy-ese for 'drop it', so she did, and added herself to the growing line. Tommy followed her lead, standing behind her he pulled a cigarette out to smoke as they waited.

Maggie was quiet the entire duration of the drive back home. The setting sun rays peeked through the gray smog as they entered Small Heath, they all noticed the place had been trashed. Broken and ripped furniture looked like they were just tossed in the streets and all those who watched the Shelby car roll slowly down the street managed to give them all a dirty look.

Arthur was the first to speak up, "Now, what the bloody hells been going on here?"

OoOoOo

Apparently, from what she gathered it had been the new copper that had been behind the trashing of their neighborhood. Maggie and Cara walked through the crowd, as they recounted the events of each other's day. Thankfully the Ryans dress shop had been spared from the destruction and Maggie told her friend everything about the fair, excluding the violent beginning of course. In front of them stood a pile of portraits that had been gathered from around all the homes and businesses of the community. Once they were lit on fire, familiar faces were lit up as well to contrast the darkness. They both soon saw Ross with a crowd of men, most likely coworkers from the BSA. Once he saw them, he waved them off and began moving toward the girls.

"Are you ever going to tell him?" Maggie asked her friend, as they watched the young man weaving his way through the crowd of people.

"I will!" Cara defended before adding, "Eventually." Maggie tried to hide her smile.

"All right ladies?" Ross greeted once he was near enough.

"So, what's all this about then?" Cara questioned somewhat flirtatiously, pointing at the heap of portraits.

"Ask Mags," Ross replied, sending the dark-haired girl a smirk, "It's her brothers that have organized all this, went 'round taking everyone's pictures."

"Oh right, because they run everything by me first." she joked, causing both her friends to chuckle. Cara soon took over in leading the conversation, but Maggie was only half paying attention. Curiously, she watched as Tommy spoke with a man that she had never seen before. He must have felt her gaze because he found her face in the crowd, causing Maggie to quickly divert her stare off her brother. Ross then pulled out a flask from a pocket inside his dark coat.

"Care for a swig?" He asked them, shaking the container slightly. Drinking alcohol was something she had never really made into a habit, for her it was only for special occasions. Without hesitation, Cara took the silver flask from his hand and drank a few gulps before passing it on to Maggie. Maggie glanced back to her brother, who was no longer watching her, but instead had gone back to his discussion with the man who was now writing something down on a pad of paper.

She grabbed the small open bottle in her hand and raised it to her friends, "Cheers." The liquid burned in her mouth, but she forced herself to swallow. She coughed at the sensation, making Cara laugh as she took the flask back in her hand, downing what was inside again. The small group of friends joked and drank for the next hour or so, as the flames of the bonfire created a comforting warmth over the burning expressionless eyes of his majesty the king.

OoOoOo

After drinking so much during the bonfire, Cara must not have been feeling too well because she didn't show up to school the next day. Not only that, but it also seemed as though Finn decided to skip again. So unfortunately for Maggie, she was fated to walk home alone. Slung over her shoulder was her book bag which carried a few books, pens, and her journal. As she walked past the first alleyway, she felt a presence quickly appear next to her.

"In need of some company?" Ross asked, tossing his finished cigarette onto the pavement.

"That would be nice." She smiled up at his tall frame, which had a good five inches on her.

He motioned to the bookbag that rested on her shoulder, "Let me help with that."

"I can carry it myself." She calmly asserted, which made the young man grin.

"Now how would it look to all these people around us if I didn't help you with that, Hm?" He waved his index finger around to point at various people going about their day, "Word will get back to my mum, and she'd beat me for not being the gallant gentleman she raised. And you'd be responsible for that. I'm only trying to save you from a guilty conscience later on."

She supposed she shouldn't let that happen. With a small smile, she passed the bag to him which he took gladly.

"Last night was fun, eh?" He continued, slinging her bag over his shoulder.

"It was," she replied, allowing her mind to wander through the fresh memories. "Though I think Cara had too much fun."

"Sounds like her," he snickered out, "Never scared of fun."

"What else do you think about her?" The dark-haired girl pressed.

"Who, Cara?" He asked and Maggie nodded. "I dunno." He shrugged, adding, "Nice I suppose."

"Oh c'mon, you have to see the way she looks at you" Maggie alluded.

"Never noticed." He admitted, looking uncomfortable.

She knew she couldn't push the matter any further than that. It was time to change the subject, "How's work?"

"Factory is on strike again." He answered her, appearing more relaxed, "Freddie thinks we should be compensated more. Guess we'd need that in order to make up for the wages we've lost."

She couldn't stop herself from rolling her eyes. Of course, Freddy had something to do with this. Though she always admired her brothers' old friend for sticking to his beliefs, she silently judged anyone whose beliefs ranged on the spectrum of radical. "Freddie needs to be more careful. As do you, he's going to get everyone in some serious trouble."

He smiled at her worried words, "He'll be fine. I heard from other workers that he skipped town after the raid. As for me, I think that a bit of trouble is the only way to get what you want."

They had just turned onto Watery Lane, their pace began to slow until they eventually stopped just across the street from the front door of her home. "You didn't have to walk me all the way home, you know," she told him as he handed her book bag back.

His hazel eyes meet her blue ones, "I'd do anything for you, Margaret," he declared seriously. She couldn't help but think that there was a hidden meaning in his words. Was she reading too much into this? He must have meant that as her friend, right?

"I-," she started.

"Maggie!" Tommy's voice rang out.

Maggie turned her head to see her brother as he made his way toward them. The girl's heart clenched at the thought of what he was going to do. Her mind had quickly jumped back to the memory of yesterday, the slashing, the anger, the blood. She glanced over to Ross, whose expression went from nervous to stoic in a matter of seconds.

"Go inside," Tommy instructed once he stood close enough to the two teens.

"But-"

"Now Mags," he commanded with a low voice. Coolly, Tommy took a drag from his cigarette that was resting in between his fingers, not taking his eyes off Ross.

With a huff and a final look towards her friend, Maggie bid him farewell before swiftly walking toward the front door of her family home. Once the dark-haired girl was out of earshot Ross apprehensively spoke, "Mr. Shelby I- I was just walking her home, I wasn't trying to-"

"I know Ross," Tommy assured the anxious young man, tossing his finished cigarette to the ground. Pol had told him that the young Murray lad had helped look after his sister while he and his brothers were away in France. Had even heard a rumor amongst some of the younger men in the betting shop that he knocked the shit out of another boy who was sniffing around Margaret. If that was true, Tommy felt indebted. He was a busy man, so he cut to the chase, "You beat a bloke that was giving Maggie trouble?"

Ross modestly nodded at his question. "You're a good lad." The gangster commended, passing the young man one of his cigarettes from its silver metal casing. He also lit a match to assist him with lighting it. "Is your Uncle Ian still living in Dublin?"

Ross had to admit, he wasn't expecting the line of questioning to head in this direction. Nevertheless, he nodded once again, removing the rolled tobacco from his lips to allow a puff of smoke to escape from his lungs. The young man's confusion ceased when he watched Tommy pull out two pounds sterling from his pocket. Ross’s eyes couldn't help but widen at the act.

"Good, I want you to do me a favor. Call him and tell him to ask around all the local pubs in town if they know anything about a barmaid named Grace Burgess." As much as Tommy wanted to say he didn't care about this new woman who had found herself working at The Garrison, he needed to know exactly where she came from and if she was telling the truth. Digging out another pound he said, "Here send this to your uncle too."

"I will Mr. Shelby," he assured, accepting the coins in his outreached hand.

Tommy turned away and began walking toward his home, without looking back he added, "Welcome to the Peaky Blinders, Ross."

OoOoOo

When Maggie entered her home, she found Polly sitting in the kitchen reading a newspaper and drinking tea. "Hello, love. How was school?"

"Fine." She replied curtly, dropping her book bag onto the floor beside the table. She immediately moved to the window, looking out just in time to see Tommy lighting a cigarette for Ross. Relief washed over Maggie, this conversation thankfully seemed as though it wouldn't involve fists... or razor blades.

Polly's eyes were now on her, "What are you looking at?"

"Nothing." Maggie tore herself away from the window to sit down opposite her aunt, pulling out her journal and pen from the book bag next to her feet. Tommy ended up entering the kitchen not two minutes later.

"I hope you didn't tell my friend that you'd hurt him." Maggie told her brother much more boldly than she felt, "He was just being kind."

He stared at her for a moment before replying knowingly, "Now why would I hurt my newest recruit." With that, he exited into the betting shop closing the doors behind him. She gapped, still looking at the shut doors trying to process how Tommy could ever involve her friend in whatever schemes he was engaging in.

Her emotions must have shown all over her face because her aunt chuckled slightly. "I wouldn't worry too much about your friend," Polly told her eyes still on the black and white paper. But Maggie couldn't stop herself from slumping into the old wooden chair before she continued writing, ultimately stopping when she felt her sister's presence enter the room.

"Good of you to join us," Polly said to Ada from behind her newspaper. "Where have you been all day?

"In bed," Ada replied. "Couldn't sleep, then I couldn't wake up, then I was cold, and then I had to go for a wee. Then I was with this bear on a boat, but that was just a dream, then I was hungry." Maggie looked up from her journal once again to see that Ada took the empty seat between her and their aunt with a massive slice of bread with a jar of jam in hand.

Maggie looked pointedly at the last of the bread that she had made recently, "Jesus Ada, save some food for the rest of us."

Ada stuck her tongue out, before looking at her aunt, "Why are you reading the paper?" Ada inquired.

"Why wouldn't I be?" Polly questioned back, picking up her teacup.

"I've never seen you read the paper. I've only ever seen you light fires with them." The older Shelby sister continued, taking a bite of her food.

"BSA is on strike" Polly explained, "The miners are on strike. IRA are killing our boys, ten a day." Though when Polly stopped talking, she continued to stare at Ada eating.

The older girl soon noticed her aunt's gaze. "What?" She asked in between her chewing.

"Stand up," Polly commanded.

"Why?" Ada questioned.

"Just stand up," Polly ordered standing up herself, eventually Ada compiled, "Side on," Polly added and Ada motioned her body to face to the side. Maggie was taken aback when Polly suddenly cupped one of her sisters' breasts.

Though Ada was much more reactionary, "What are you doing?!"

"Ada, how late are you?" Polly asked seriously and Maggie couldn't stop her mouth as it fell open slightly.

"One week." Not too bad, Maggie thought. "Five weeks," Ada amended. It wasn't ideal, but maybe she was due any day now. "Seven, if you count weekends." The girl corrected herself once again.

"Holy Fuck, "Maggie shook her head in disbelief.

Ada seemed desperate for this not to be the reality, "I think it's a lack of iron. I got some tablets." She explained to them, as Polly sat back down in her chair.

"But they didn't work." Their aunt concluded.

Ada too sat back down, "No."

Maggie gulped at her sister's answer and looked to her aunt, watching Polly as she took a deep breath. The thought process could not be seen on her face, but the young girls knew that the situation was being meticulously addressed in her mind. "Get dressed. We're going to the midwife. Let's just make sure you are before anyone makes any rash decisions."

Ada nodded, holding back the tears that threatened to spill over. Maggie's heart clenched, and moved her hand over her sisters, squeezing it slightly. Whatever was to come, they would weather through it together.

[lotstradamus]

the image of manchester united being dumb lil shits at your hotel has very much made my evening, thank you. (though i am sure you do not feel the same on this being actually on the receiving end.)

omg I wasn’t allowed to talk about it when I worked there, and then when I left I just plain forgot because I have no cause or desire to think about football, but for your entertainment here is my personal favourite story SLASH NIGHTMARE that happened to me: 

the hotel is within walking distance of Old Trafford, so when Man Utd stayed before games they were sharing the hotel with four other floors all packed full of - if we were lucky - mostly oblivious fans. naturally, they arrived at the quietest possible time, through the back, and didn’t leave their floor. as front office staff we weren’t allowed, under pain of yell, to confirm the presence of Filthy Rich Twenty Year Old Pro Athletes in the building. Manchester Evening News posted pictures of them walking into the hotel, but if someone said ‘hey, so Man Utd are here?’ we had to be like ‘WHO???’ (after the first time they stayed, people started booking with us BECAUSE Man Utd did, which was why they eventually had to start sneaking in through the back, but I did once get to tell a little kid ‘No, sorry, Man United aren’t here, but tell your dad you should definitely be standing in reception at 9pm tonight’ and he got to meet Jesse Lingard and it was precious.) 

anyway, they brought their own security guards with them and posted them at either end of the corridor to make sure no one who shouldn’t be there snuck onto the floor, and DEFINITELY to make sure the players didn’t just come down into the reception in the middle of check-in time and walk straight into lobby full of Man Utd fans because they were told to GO DOWN THE EMERGENCY EXIT STAIRS AT THE END OF THE HALLWAY and they DID NOT LISTEN and were just like Haha, I’ll Get In The Lift ! Weeeee ! (this happened.) truly just epic dinguses. and BECAUSE they were Epic Dinguses, they would constantly call the front desk because they forget to pack a toothbrush or got locked out of their rooms. CONSTANTLY. one shift I talked to what felt like EVERY MEMBER OF THE 2018 TEAM on the GODDAMN PHONE. 

so one time, Ander Herrera (yes I had to google the roster) calls the desk from the massage room and says he was visiting someone else’s room and now he’s locked out of his. a regular degular occurrence; no cause for alarm. I said I would bring a new key up to the massage room for him. the ‘massage room’ was a really poncy name for what was basically a hotel room that housekeeping had taken the bed out of so they could set up their widdle massage tables, and the lock on the door was disabled so everyone could just wander in and out of it without needing a key. despite hearing the words ‘the massage room’ and saying the words ‘the massage room’ and, indeed, understanding the concept of a ‘massage room’, I DID NOT GRASP IT. I WAS TIRED, AND STRESSED, AND EVERY TIME I WENT TO THE FLOORS I HAD TO FIELD 478279 QUESTIONS FROM THE BAR STAFF ABOUT WHETHER I HAD BEEN TO A FOOTBALLER’S ROOM, AND I WAS JUST NOT FIRING ON ALL CYLINDERS.

I get up to the third floor, Foot Ball Habitat, and I’m like ‘hey security guard, Ander Herrera in 315 is locked out of his room, he asked if we could bring a new key to the massage room.’ and then I held out the key to the security guard, assuming that he would take it to The Massage Room. I was mistaken. idk if I was radiating I’m A Huge Professional Who Does Not Care About These Men energy or what, but he was just handwavingly like ‘no problem, you can take it down to him!’ and because I WAS a huge professional who did not care about these men, I TOOK IT TO THE STUPID MASSAGE(!) ROOM(!) MYSELF. 

I knock on the door. I hear ‘it’s open!’ I push the door open. and what am I greeted with? 

of course, I am greeting with the inner workings of A Massage Room!

there are two Manchester Utd players getting massages with tiny towels over their derrières. there are three more Manchester United players just hanging out, wearing tiny towels around their nèther règions. there is half fucking dressed Ander Herrera sitting on the sofa, waiting for his kèy. AND I HAD TO WALK INTO THAT HELLSCAPE AND GIVE THE MAN HIS KEY!!! 

listen: when I say my soul left my body, I am not exaggerating. I felt what only can be described as pure calm settle over me. my consciousness ollied THE FUCK out, and a customer service robot took over. I managed, through sheer force of will, to go totally blind. I have never IN MY LIFE been more professional. I don’t know if my face did anything other than turn freakishly blank, but I said ‘here’s your key’ and Ander Herrera said ‘thank you’ and I said ‘no worries’, and the customer service robot who was Ratatouilling my body got me the hell ass outta there. I even said thanks to the security guard who was partially responsible for the trauma I was currently living on my way past. he had no idea what had Happened To Me. 

I must have been slightly Gone behind the eyes still when I got back downstairs because the guys at the bar were like Uh, Are You Good? and when I relayed what had happened in what I’m sure was a completely normal voice they nearly cried. my front desk colleague wouldn’t let me answer the phone for the rest of the shift just in case nude football players needed anything else bringing to the massage room. (they did not.) when the general manager of the hotel came in on Monday morning he was like ‘sooooo I heard Man Utd gave you a strip tease?’ and I WASN’T. ALLOWED. TO TELL. ANYONE. 

to sum up: you literally never know WHAT is going to happen when you clock in for a shift at a hotel, and Ander Herrera if you’re reading this I hate your guts