#which makes her having a tattoo way funnier actually

[of-stars-and-fireflies]

V-Day 22 BONUS - Ruby Haida

“Eh, what’s this for? It looks kinda…” Ruby turned the heart-shaped box, decorated with faux roses and a lace ribbon in her hand. “I’m not a guy, but, thanks though.”

Unease began crawling up from Mina’s stomach, but she held it at bay. “It’s not meant for a guy…it’s meant for you.”

She blinked.

Mina chuckled. “I know you’re a tomboy, but I can get you something cute, right?”

“Ah, yeah, I guess. It just seems a little…much, for a friend, is all. It’s nice though.”

Her chest tightened, and a blush formed on her cheeks. “It’s not for a friend…it’s…you know, I like you…”

“Oh.”

“Like…like you, like you.”

“...Oh.”

“Yeah…”

The awkward tension weighed them both.

Then, Ruby burst into chuckles. “Ah, well, now I feel bad.” Before Mina could ask, she continued, “You beat me to the punch. I should have gone with my gut.”

“...What?”

“With all the guys around, I didn’t think I’d have a chance.”

“Wait, so…” Her dull lavender eyes lit up with hope.

“Wasn’t sure how to ask if you were into women.”

Mina’s hands steepled delicately, eagerness radiating from her as she drifted a little closer, “So…does that mean you like me back?”

Ruby smirked. “Yeah, I do. Have for a while now.”

Her heart leapt with joy.

“Wasn’t sure how to handle this…I’m a bit old-fashioned, y’know? But,” she lifted the gift slightly, as if gesturing to it, “I’m glad it worked out in my favour.”

“I am too.” Mutually reading the signals, they reached out and intertwined their fingers.

“Ah, do you want me to get you something real quick then? Or…maybe in a month? It's not exactly traditional, but...”

Pressing a finger beneath her lips, she thought about it. “I can wait a month.”

“Okay. Then, uh…I guess the doings of the day are my choice?”

A nod.

“Alright.” Ruby started on the path. “How ‘bout I tell you my recent findings with tyrosine kinase inhibitors in organic liposomes?”

“What…”

“I’m kidding. I’ve always wanted to sit by the fountain with you. That cool?”

With a gleaming smile, she nodded. “Absolutely.”

[knavesflames]

since we are both sick in the head, i request biker arle headcanons (both sfw and nsfw)

oouuhhh thinking about biker arle who looks all intimidating and has tattoos showing up to your doorstep with flowers and melts when shes around you

im gonna throw up

thankyouiloveyoubyee

We truly are sick in the head. Literally what is it about this woman that has us in such a chokehold actually it’s so stupid but UGH. I have not once simped over a fictional woman as hard as this. Anyway, screaming, crying, throwing up at the thought of her

Anyone notice the references to a couple people in server?

Word count: 1159

Contents: fluff, soft arle, she’s scary but she’s not

Fluff utc!

Arlecchino. Everyone knows her. Who wouldn’t know the biker filled with tattoos, going around cursing like a sailor and never being seen without that stupid motorbike? She’s scary, intimidating. Even the grown adults shy away when they hear the familiar engine from afar, or refuse to look at her when she grumbles out that she wants to buy coffee. Even the store owner who supplies her parts for her bike and accessories for her stumbles over his words when she says she wants a new helmet. This one just doesn’t make her hair look nice when she takes it off, she says. The store owner is too intimidated to correct her, and tell her that it is not, in fact, the helmet’s fault.

The people in town also seem to be a little wary around you, too. They seem to know that if they say the wrong thing, or cause your face to fall or crumple, or cause tears to fall from your pretty eyes, that they’ll soon be facing the wrath of Arlecchino. Nobody seems to understand how you managed to break through her walls, how someone like you, so opposite Arlecchino, has her melting. Everyone sees it. Do they comment on it? Do they want to face her piercing glare, and whatever else she would do? Not a chance. It’s a little comical, though, seeing someone so tough looking, waiting outside of a store holding your cat, holding her in her arms while she feeds it treats every so often, going so far as to buy and place a bandana around her neck to surprise you. She does this all with a straight face, of course. It’s second nature to her, she’ll do anything for that smile of yours, the same smile that makes her feel like her insides have been set ablaze, makes her feel like a blushing teenager all over again.

You yourself think it’s adorable. Walking out of the store to see her holding your beloved cat (you joke that the cat is more important than her to see her pout) (you reassure her straight after that they’re on the same level, just to watch her pale cheeks flush a light pink). In reality, she makes you melt just as much. You have to hide the grin forming on your face when she speaks to you in that stoic voice she always has.

“Look. She looks dashing, I think. Matches my bike. I should get her a helmet.. I will ask someone to custom make one, I can take her on rides.” You cut her off immediately with an “absolutely not. My cat is not riding on a motorcycle.”

“Oh. Okay. I am still getting her a helmet. I want us to match.” She responds, her face completely blank, which makes everything funnier. You stand on your toes to kiss her cheek, pretending you don’t see the way her eyes widen. “My two favourite beings staying safe, wonderful.”

Even the notion that she’s one of your favourite things has her turning on her heel to conceal the ever growing blush on her face. She finds herself blushing often when she’s around you, she realises. She realises also that her words falter when you tell her to not speed, to make sure she’s wearing the correct material, that no, she doesn’t need to try and look sexy, that you find her the sexiest when she’s wearing the correct things.

She’s out riding for longer than usual, this time. The evening is dragging on, and she ALWAYS texts you when she’s home. She knows how you worry.

She is, actually, finished with her evening ride. Riding her bike as the sun sets is freeing for her. She likes to picture all of the negative shit being left in the wind as she drives. This evening, however, she drove past a field. A field decorated with different wild flowers she just knows you’d love. So, she slows to a stop, parking her bike in a way she knows won’t get it damaged. Her bike is her prized possession, second to you. She wades through the flowers, finding the best ones, slicing the stalk with her nails, the ones she kept long and not filed blunt (for your sake, of course). She grumbles to herself when the ovule gets under her nails. Once she deems the small bouquet good enough, she drives to you. Stopping just a little ways from you, she ties her boot lace around the stalks of the flowers, tying a clumsy bow. Arlecchino being Arlecchino, fixes herself as best as she can before she finds her feet moving towards your door.

When you rush to open the door after hearing her familiar knocking pattern, your own words falter for once. There she is. Stood in that shirt she KNOWS shows off her arms and the tattoos she knows you love, stood in those jeans she and you know all too well shows off her ass. She’s caught you staring, it’s the reason she wears them. And in her hand sits a messy, slightly wilted bouquet of flowers, clearly handpicked, hand cut (or rather, nail cut, you can see the residue under her nails), tied clumsily with a boot lace of all things.

“Here,” she mutters, “I thought you’d like these. Sorry they’re all.. weird.” You’re silent for a few seconds before she speaks again, a little defeat in her tone as she glances away, a sad frown twisting at her features despite her attempting to hide it. “Never mind. It was stupid. They’re ugly now, anyway. Have a good night.”

She goes to turn, but your hand shoots out and wraps around her bicep before she can leave. “Stop it. I love them. I don’t know what to say because you’re so.. adorable.”

“I’m what.” Her voice almost sounds shocked, if it wasn’t for the rough attempt at stoicism. She never thought she’d be called adorable in her life. She’s not meant to be adorable. She doesn’t want to be adorable. Her insides say otherwise, when she sees your soft eyes, filled with small tears, and your eyebrows furrowed in a look of pure adoration. You snatch the flowers before she can take them away, immediately walking into your home and placing them in a vase in the middle of your living room. She watches, straight faced, no indication of her feelings until she huffs, her face bright red.

“Turn on the air condition. It’s fucking hot in here. Where’s that kitty of yours, I want to see if she liked the fox toy I bought her.”

You look at her once more, a giggle rising in your throat as you tilt your head towards the cat tower, your eyes following as she moves towards it. You realise just how much you love this woman. At the same time, she realises she probably wants to spend her life with you, if you’d let her.

[power464646]

The way people talk about non-mammalian pets on this website is crazy. You could post a video of a pet tarantula perfectly walking up and down the keys of a piano to play the right hand to the opening of Firth of Fifth by Genesis and still there'll be some jerk in the notes going like "EWW GROSS KILL IT". Ignore this person. You have to post the video anyway. When you do, that'll be our sign to send someone to meet you at the corner of Williams and First at 11 P.M., sharp. Look for a woman in a brown parka. Make sure you weren't followed, and don't bring a phone or credit card. Take a bag containing twenty thousand dollars in cash only. Help her count it, too, numbers aren't her strong suit. She actually dropped out of high school and became a junior hockey player, in fact. She'll say, "but now that you know that, I have to kill you!" Then she'll see the look on your face and passive-aggressively apologise and tell you it was only a joke. You'll say then why didn't she laugh, then, and she'll say she thought it was funnier than it actually was. Then she'll lead you to an abandoned back-alley tattoo parlour and tell you to take off your shirt. You'll explain that you're shy, but she'll insist, and promise that she won't laugh or anything. When you do take off your shirt she will chuckle slightly. She won't explain what she's tattooing into your back as she does it, but you can feel it might be a QR code. Then she'll take the money and bid you adieu, and you'll put your shirt back on and, other than the pain of having a fresh tattoo, won't think about it any further until three days later when two men knock on your door. They will look nearly identical, but they aren't actually related. "But we are married!" the taller of the two will explain. "To the job," the shorter will reply. "Precisely," the taller will answer, to which the shorter then concludes, "yes, we are precisely married, to the job". Don't underestimate these men, though. They kill people for a living. The shorter will remove your shirt and begin asking you a series of personal questions, such as whether or not you have ever seen something which had compelled you to turn to the supernatural for explanation, or whether or not you had ever felt more guilty for failure to apologise for something than you had for doing that thing in the first place. You must answer these questions truthfully and without hesitation. The taller will struggle with the QR reader on his phone, and occasionally ask your help here and there. The shorter will stall for time while the taller figures this out by very obviously improvising more questions. You must still answer quickly and honestly. At one point he will ask you how you taught a spider to play Dance on a Volcano: he is testing you. You must explain that it's playing Firth of Fifth in the video, even if it happens that you have also taught it to play Dance on a Volcano. The taller will finally get the app working and scan your back. The two will then be on their way, but ah, before they go, could they grab a bite to eat? You'll say sure, why not, and they'll find a bowl of homemade guacamole in the fridge that you were really proud of and take it, bowl and all, even though you were saving it for a party that night. The following day you will find one hundred and fifty thousand dollars in cash by the foot of your bed. The person who left unnecessarily rude comments on your video will never show up in your notes again. You will presume they were merely a front for organised crime and no longer need you. This is true, but built on a faulty assumption. You will find your tarantula that morning already on the piano, suddenly able to play Al Stewart's Year of the Cat.

[hyperfixation-train-station]

Chapter One

✧ Word Count: 1908 words

✧ Author’s Note: This starts at the choosing ceremony after the test has already been done. Four and Eric are also actually friends in this because I think that is a funnier dynamic then them hating each other.

✧ Summary: After making her decision to join Dauntless, Wyn runs into a familiar face on the rooftop of the Dauntless building, she was not expecting to see him so soon, will he remember her? Will he hinder her chances at succeeding at Dauntless?

✧ Warnings: foul language

Everything before this moment will be forgotten, I declare. Anything before the sound of my blood burning on the dauntless coals at the choosing ceremony will no longer exist. I escaped them, they won’t be able to use me anymore. This is my new life and I intend to leave every part of my past in Candour behind, for good. 

I don’t turn back to see the looks on my faction's face, I won’t give them the satisfaction. Instead I turn and walk to my new cheering faction with my head held high, for the first time in years I smile and let excitement overtake me.

The rest of the ceremony is a blur, filled with loud sobbing from parents and cheers from the faction chosen. I didn’t pay all that much attention after my turn at the bowls. When the ceremony finally comes to an end I rise with my new faction… no, that's wrong, it is just my faction now, I have always belonged here despite not being born in Dauntless, I was born a Dauntless.

Once out of the building we all start running, I follow along making sure to keep up with the Dauntless born, I am already starting at a disadvantage to them, so I want to stick close and observe them the best I can. I already know we are heading to the train tracks. I started observing the Dauntless years ago to prepare for this day, I didn’t need the test to tell me where I belonged, that was set in stone since birth. I follow behind one of the Dauntless born, watching her black ponytail swing back and forth as I follow her up the bridges column to the train tracks. She has quite a few tattoos already that I admire. Once at the tracks we wait for the tell tale sign of the rumbling of the train to know it is coming.

“Get ready” the Dauntless girl I followed yelled to the others, I turned and saw the train approaching and started running behind the girl again. I feel the rush of wind from the train as it speeds beside me, she jumps, grabs the handle on the outside of the train car and hits the button to open the train car door before disappearing inside the train car. I copy her movements and make it into the train with the same amount of efficiency as the girl. That was a lot easier than I thought it would be. I look around the train car and only see the black clothing of the Dauntless born around me. I seem to be the only transfer that made it into the first train car. 

“Hey Candour” the girl with the black ponytail says “what’s your name?” 

“Wyn” I reply, rolling my eyes at the use of my old Factions name, but I don’t fault her, as I would call her Dauntless in the same context “and yours? 

“Rory” she says “it’s pretty impressive that you kept up with us and made it into this car, I have high hopes that I will see you around the compound for… well the rest of our lives I guess”

“Is that your way of saying you think I will pass initiation, which I know I will, and that you want to be friends?” I say with a smirk, enjoying her shocked expression at my blatant statement.

“You know what yeah, I like you” she says and turns to the rest of the Dauntless born “I call dibs on this transfer being my adoptive Dauntless” I hear many groans and comments about that being unfair from the other Dauntless borns and can’t help but laugh at their antics

“Alright Wyn get ready” Rory states

“Ready for?” I say, but I get my answer when they start jumping onto the building roof our car is currently in front of.  I don’t have time to think before I leap out of the car myself to make sure I am not left behind. I manage to land on my feet and scowl at Rory

 “couldn’t have given me a bit more of a warning asshole” she just laughs and shrugs with a massive grin on her face 

“Where is the fun in that” she says, I huff and turn to watch the others jump out onto the roof, I notice some who refuse to jump and stay in the train cars. I nudge Rory with my elbow and ask 

“What happens to the ones who didn’t jump? The trains don’t stop, how are they expecting to get off?” 

“Well they become factionless, but I think a patrol is sent out and they essentially throw them off the train” I raise my eyebrow at her response “Like throw them off onto a roof like this” she clarifies and I nod. 

I continue to look around at my surroundings when my eyes halt on a familiar set of eyes. I feel like it was a lifetime ago when I first saw the dauntless boy's—well, man's now—face in front of me. He's grown a lot since that fateful day a little over a year ago, gaining more muscle and tattoos, but those piercing eyes will always be seared in my memory. Nobody could ever forget eyes that reach as deeply into the soul as his do. My knight, clad in his faction's colour black instead of armour, looming ominously at the edge of the rooftop, his arms crossed, casting his gaze on my fellow initiates, taking in every detail he can, as he always seems to do. His demeanour makes it quite evident that he is a valued and significant member of Dauntless. Will his memory of me help or hinder my time as an initiate? I never imagined I'd see him in such a short time. The memories of that day flow through my mind again, and I can feel anxiety rising in my throat. I felt his eyes linger on me as he scanned the crowd. I inhaled slowly and met his gaze yet again. I only needed to glance into his eyes to know that he remembers me precisely as I remember him. I attempted to shrink into myself to escape from those eyes, wrapping my arms around myself - feeling vulnerable in his gaze. Then it all clicks into place. This is why I'm here: to put an end to hiding and living in fear. I force myself to keep my arms by my sides and maintain eye contact with him while the realisation races through my head. A part of me wants to look down and submit like I've always been instructed to, but another part of me tells me that this time, I won't be the scared girl he had to save; instead, I'm dauntless and I'll prove to him and everyone else that fear can no longer control me and that fear should be afraid of me. 

We break eye contact as he begins to speak,

"All right, listen up!" his voice filled with authority that instantly silences the crowd 

"I'm Eric. I'm one of your leaders. If you want to enter Dauntless, this is the way in." He motions off the side of the building we are on. I feel a wave of unease and confusion run through the group of us. Does he mean we have to jump off the side of a building just to enter Dauntless every time? Seems a little inefficient to me.

"And if you don't have the guts to jump..." he pauses, looking around the crowd once again "then you don't belong in Dauntless."

"Is there water at the bottom, or something?" a loud mouth Candour boy asks. I scoff, of course leave it to Candour to not be able to shut up for longer than 30 minutes. 

"I guess you'll find out." Eric responds, giving the boy a once over "Or not." he shrugs. I quietly chuckle, finding it amusing how easily Eric put the boy in his place. I see Eric’s eyes dart to me for a second before looking away. 

“Well who wants to go first” Eric says crossing his arms

“Me” I say without thinking, I take a breath and walk towards the edge of the roof beside Eric, I stand up on the ledge and look at Eric, we make eye contact for a second before I break it and look down and see there is a hole in the roof of the building about 30 ft below us, but through the hole it is just black, so I have no idea what is down there, but there has to be something. They can’t kill us all on the first day, that wouldn’t make sense. I am about to step off the ledge when I see a streak of blue that crashes into Eric, sending Erich crashing into me. All I hear as the two of us fall off the edge is an unfamiliar voice yell

“Wait no I want to go first” 

I feel the air flowing around me, I’m falling, it is honestly quiet peaceful, I start to let my mind drift, enjoying the air flowing through my fingers, it felt like I was falling for hours before I hear Eric mutter “oh fuck” I feel him grab my arm and pull me into his chest so that he is under me, then we hit a net, bounce once, twice, smack, my head bounces off of his. Ow that hurt like a bitch, when we are finally flat on the net I groan and look up at Eric

“Why the fuck is your head so goddamn hard” I ask already feeling kind of dizzy, I hear Eric chuckle and then a new voice say

“Um Eric? And a new person? Why did you guys jump together?”

“Obviously we didn’t do this on purpose Four, some idiot Erudite boy ran at her so he could be the first jumper instead, but knocked me off and well I accidentally hit her and took her down with me” Eric grumbles, handing me to Four who lifted me off the net while Eric climbed off the net himself

“Are you hurt?” Four askes, I look up at him and giggle seeing four of him spinning around, how ironic,

“Ha ha there are four of you spinning around just like the number and your name” I tell him with laughing, Four just gives Eric a look 

“I think she is concussed” He said

“Yeah she smacked her forehead against mine when we landed, I’ll take her to the infirmary while you and Lauren deal with the rest of them” Eric says, then turning to me “What’s your name?” Eric asks me

“Wyn” I say, “But like spelt W-Y-N… I’m pretty sure” I say rubbing my head

“Okay, First jumper Wyn” Four yells to the others.

“Alright ready to go” Eric asks, before I answer he picks me up bridal style to carry me to the infirmary

“I could walk” I say

“You could, but this is easier, I don’t need you getting lost on the way and I have to come back and find you anyway” He says, I huff and cross my arms

“Whatever you’re lucky i’m tired anyway” I say while leaning on his shoulder and closing my eyes

“Wait no don’t sleep… shit” is all I hear Eric say before I fall asleep.

[stinkycartman]

hey who's ready for another stupidly long post but this time its about the goth kids??? ii think lets start off with Michael i do not see a lot of fanart or acknowledgements of him being wasian then again im not sure i'm too deep into the goth kid side of the fandom for that so my apologies if im wrong here.. but on that note he is wasian, we do see his dad with curly hair but i think it's much funnier that 1. he either gets a perm or 2. he wakes up extra early to curl it every morning. to me he is 100% trad goth, the fits, the makeup all of it. I think maybe he leans more into 1980s trad goth, and his make-up wouldn't be as extravagant as some trad goth makeup if that makes sense?? not as heavy. i think he'd thrift a lot of pieces, it's the best place to find those old vintage outfits, good for cheap trench coats which is a STAPLE in his wardrobe. Definitely shoulder pads and going for that sort of triangular silhouette. i know he's listed as edwardian gothic in his wiki but i just feel like... 1980s trad trust me wink face. Going next to Pete his outfit is a little fancier just going based of the bolo tie because um... so i'm kind of swapping the fashion here and saying Pete kind of leans into a more victorian kind of goth, once again maybe less fanciful seeing as he's only 10 or however old a fourth grader is. More button-ups with frilly sleeves and like frilly necklines, like a vampire but dont you dare. ever EVERR imply his fashion is vampiric. I do, like all of the other kids, believe he does take a lot of fashion from trad goth though of course. I think he already wears platforms?? I'm not sure whats going on with his shoes but i think he wears them eitherway. Big teased hair, always looks like he's mildly balding when roots come in but it's not as bad as it would be if he was blonde. Henrietta im so avoiding firkle... ANYWAY!!! Henrietta, trad goth makeup BUT i think she'd lean more into romantic goth fashion, big sleeves and long dresses with lots of jewlery. She has that pretty extravagant trad goth makeup that Michael doesn't do, white base heavy eyeliner (this is despite her character being the only one to actually not wear eyeliner..) but you know!! the works!! we already see her with colored lipstick so i think she'd continue to use the funky colors on her lips. Henrietta for sure rocks a bats nest and soo so much of that got2b hairspray, like that is STAYING in place. not budging at all. firkle... i know he's considered to be the most goth out of them but he's also like 5 years old??? I don't know if he'd really delve too deep into any category BUT trad goth. A much more casual approach to it though becauese again he's 5!!!!!!! he probably uses his moms makeup and has like eyeshadow on his lips. Either that or he got one of henriettas old purple lipsticks. his PC design is definetely way more hardcore, like full of tattoos and piercings so i like to believe he constantly rocks fake tattoos and like those little glue-on balls.. that'd be cute. I'm not so sure it'd be easy to thrift trad goth clothes for little little kids so i'm guessing he has a lot of like normal looking clothes that are just black or got onesof his parents to do diy stuff. dont know but he's probably the coolest kindergartner in the world. absolutely gives himself stick and pokes and piercings in the school bathroom. im more scene myself but have really been getting into 1980s trad goth lately and have always been in the goth space .. maybe I AM firkle

[chaosandcrimson]

no way is that DELILAH BOWEN.. they're a 26-year-old HUMAN notoriously known for being LAZY & BLUNT but there are some people who have seen them being CLEVER & ENTERTAINING. if you ask me, they remind me a lot of wornout notebooks filled with song lyrics, the sound of roaring laughter, and the ability to turn anything into a joke, but that could just be because they're considered the BRILLIANT BUT LAZY around town. just keep an eye on them & see if their true colors shine through..

She looks at life like it's a party and she's on the list She looks at me like I'm a trend and she's so over it I think her ever present frown is a little troubling She thinks I'm psycho 'cause I like to rhyme her name with things

OVERVIEW

Name: Delilah Eloise Bowen

Nickname(s): Lila (by family), Del

DOB: October 18, 2098

Age: 26

FC: Daisy Edgar-Jones

Height: 5'7"

Pronouns: She/Her

Sexuality: Pansexual

Occupation: Lyricist / MC at The Punch Line

Relationship Status: Single (Open)

[+] clever, entertaining, zealous [–] lazy, blunt, uncaring

BIOGRAPHY

Delilah likes to joke that she was definitely an accident considering the large age gap between her and her older siblings. She's pretty sure that's actually true, which in her opinion makes the joke even funnier than it already is, and not less.

She spent her entire childhood and adolescence, from elementary school all the way through to high school, being told by every single teacher that she would ace their class if she simply applied herself. It never fazed her, and it never changed her behaviour. She was definitely lazy, but not because she lacked ambition; she was simply very selective about her interests, and couldn't be bothered with anything that she didn't care about. She did not care about school.

What she did care about was applying herself creatively. She had always had a way with words, which over the years translated into a number of unpublished short stories, a lot of personal poetry, and a slew of comedic rants she posted online because she thought it would make other people laugh. It did, which only encouraged her to continue experimenting with humour and entertainment.

It was when she added the element of performance that things really clicked. Writing and playing comedic music brought together everything she enjoyed doing, and she saw some success with that, even if it was only locally.

Despite being a lacklustre student, she was able to ride that small amount of success all the way into college on a partial scholarship. She worked part-time bussing tables and bartending at a local comedy club to make up the rest.

It was in college that she met two of her best friends, Sylvan and Orpheus, and eventually started writing a musical with them. She was the lyricist, Sylvan was the composer, and Orpheus was the person who actually understood how stage productions worked. They're still working on it, in spite of the fact that Orpheus eventually had to drop out of the project due to other commitments.

After college, she continued working and performing at the comedy club, eventually becoming the resident MC. She is known for bringing her guitar on stage and writing impromptu verses to roast audience members with. She has definitely gotten in trouble for accidentally taking it too far, but she isn't trying to be offensive, and she can usually acknowledge when she's crossed a line.

Growing up, she never seemed to care what other people thought of her, but that isn't strictly true. It is accurate that she doesn't particularly value the opinions of people whom she herself has a negative or neutral opinion of. But if you're close to her? Yeah, she cares what you think, even if she very rarely shows it.

MISC

She has a tattoo of an apple on her wrist. It's a reference to the song Hey There Delilah by Plain White T's, which many people have tried to use to annoy her, to absolutely no avail. She fucking loves that song.

[jaggedwolf]

CR2 genderswaps, ranked

Obviously subjective opinions, file your complaints with someone else.

All genderswaps are to the gayest possible versions of themselves, because I am like this. (In other words, bi->bi, gay->gay, straight->gay). Pros is more of “interesting possibilities” section.

....this was supposed to be all of the Nein but I wrote this post in 2020 and apparently stopped after the top three so that’s all you’re getting! I think it was going to be Fjord and Yasha after the top three, and then Nott and Caduceus are like, the absolute least interesting to consider for this, why would you ever.

F!Caleb

Pros:

Look, for me, F!Caleb takes everything I like about the guy to the next level, while everything I dislike about him become things I’m here for her. Incredibly brilliant wizard with a dark past that she hates herself for? Nice.

Beau/F!Caleb as a ship is still one that murders me. They were colleagues oh my god they were colleagues

Cons:

Genuinely trying to find one...ah, here, I think of canon!Nott as very straight, so losing Nott->Caleb seems unfortunate. But we’re not in canon territory here, my dudes. Nott can still think this smelly hobo looks attractive in a jail cell, and she and Beau bickering about it becomes even funnier.

M!Beau

Pros:

There’s something to be said about M!Beau being the son Thoreau asked for, but still absolutely not the one he wanted - the boy has no care for propriety, he sleeps with the workers, he flippantly ignores the daughters of nearby important families, he gets so unbecomingly emotional in these family arguments tsk tsk

Which is to say, family angst-wise, I think canon Beau draws a little bit of comfort in that she was never given a fair shot because of the son nonsense. M!Beau? Nah, that’s all on him, or at least that’s a pretty easy perspective to have.

Rummaging through the candidates for M!Beau to flippantly hit on and realizing that it has to be Fjord is cracking me up. This half-orc cannot escape being flirted with. 

M!Beau/Molly probably happens in a hit-it-and-quit-it type fashion while in Hupperdook, between all the arguing and horny energy actually synergizing. And then Molly dies, and so Beau gets to be even more fucked up about it :D (And that tattoo...damn)

Absolutely nothing changes with the Nott dynamic, which is fun to realize! Except maybe now they both agree the minotaur is hot.

Cons:

Probably not BFFs w Jester and I can’t abide that :( Their friendship really did kick off with the roommate stuff. Aw, would Jester end up rooming alone whenever Yasha wasn’t around? Maybe that would get them to somehow still room together

?????? with Yasha - maybe closer to the canon Caleb dynamic. Though actually, hm, I wonder if M!Beau would be more confrontational with her since he has neither guilty feelings or horniness distracting him. (Less jokingly, I do think canon Beau reacts to women differently, even outside of attraction being a factor, in a way where she’s more....protective or considerate of them.)

M!Jester

Pros:

Has read all the gay smut that has ever existed, has recs, yes, still thinks that’s how romances work.

Overall, it’s kinda fun to imagine the slightly naive and very affectionate Team Heart of the Nein being a dude! Regardless of whether or not the Nein are still as protective of him, which is also an interesting question.

Both him painting wildflowers for Yasha and Caleb saying Jester is the one who changes people remain good moments

Marion still calls him Little Sapphire, duh

Cons:

Again, the Beau dynamic is all ???

but it makes one contemplate m!beau/m!jester, which I am not opposed to

I suspect M!Jester would not be very popular (funnily enough, the caleb and beau swaps above might also swap the populations who really like them)

[captaincassianandorr]

Australian Survivor: Titans V.s Rebels Ep 3

-Middle Aged Mafia is a cool name for an alliance honestly. -Also Peta tattoos are not that intimidating really. Between her and Kelli my nerves are grating -Omg Kirby I love her. "This is not Love Island. This is Survivor." -I'm loving the tribe dynamics and how normally what would happen is the young people would band together and vote out the weak and on both tribes, it looks like the older people are banning together (banning? banding?) instead. Which I love to see. -Peta "Come into the majority," to Kirby. Peta...you are FOUR out of TWELVE. 4/12 is not a majority. -Purple edits do make me sad. We've not heard ANYTHING from Scott, Aileen or Kitty really. I mean I know Kitty is there but I don't know anything about her REWARD -Viola is a beast. I love watching her in competitions. -Battle of the Speedos here with Nathan and Alex. Nathan was so quick there. -I like Feras more than I thought I would. I thought I would hate him from the bios/videos lol. -Mark was so quick there at the reward. -Lol Nathan saying it's his charm that's helping him in the game. Haven't they written your name down twice? -And Peta finds an idol. -Immunity challenge time. -AND we actually hear from Garrick! He speaks! And Aileen speaks! (briefly no confessionals yet) -Rebels trying to throw the challenge but doing horribly at pretending they are not. It's not usually a very smart idea to throw a challenge. -Jaden just went through the bag like it was nothing. -And the Titans still almost losing even though Rebels are trying to throw the challenge lol. -Tobias also doing awfully on the slingshot challenge. -Kirby <3 Doing what a guy couldn't and shooting the stacks of blocks down easily. -LOL this is so chaotic and funny with Rebels trying to throw it but Titans possibly ruining their plan. But the Titans win immunity for the first time. -"We threw the challenge," Yes yes you did Alex, but you almost won it anyway which made it funnier. -Trying to get rid of Kelli does make sense to me in a way. The way she talks about the guys is just a bit ick. -Garrick is definitely suspicious about the throwing of the challenge saying that he and Feras were the only ones pushing the cart. And he got a confessional! -Loving this blindsides. Actually all 3 of these episodes vote outs have been fantastic. -Kelli is not the best actor in the world. Had to agree with Garrick when he said she's hopeless mate lol. But on the other hand I'd usually prefer chaotic/hopeless players over boring ones. -Peta asking if she's missing something. Yes, you are missing something. 4 is still not a majority. -I'm loving Kirby's gameplay here. Sneaky and puts her in good position in both the cuddle crew/the other alliance. -Kelli's bad acting at the tribal omg. no one is safe. I hope Peta doesn't play her idol -Feras is interesting me. He's so chaotic and thriving in the chaos. -Time to vote. -HEHEHEHE a blindside coming. I love a blindside. -Raymond is so awkward "I hope it's not me going home." Well I did see a few votes for him in the votes -The editing of these vote readouts is beautiful because it makes it seem like Kelly/Raymond are going home and then Peta gets votes lol. -And then the cuddle club was 3/4 (learn what a majority is guys) -Oooh the preview for next episode ahhh how can I wait until Sunday for that? WHAT IS IN THAT BOX? I want to know! Never seen that before on Survivor. -And Peta saying the "minority" rose up to take control lol Peta no you were in a minority but thought you were in a majority.

[snarkformysanity]

House of Earth and Blood Chapter 1

Okay, so I've just slogged my way through ACOTAR. And I don't think I'll be able to make it through Crescent City without somewhere to vent my thoughts, and so, here we are. Enjoy, or not, at your discretion.

We open with our protagonist, Bryce, at her workplace of Griffin Antiquities. Someone named Danika is apparently pounding on the door, which means it's Thursday. Hopefully we'll learn why this means it's Thursday, but I shan't hold my breath.

“Open the Hel up, B. It’s hot as shit out here!”

Now, I figured we were in for some Nordic vibes when I saw the world was called Midgard, but… well, it just feels strange to use "Hel" like this. Probably because I sincerely doubt these characters are actually Norse, and it's more a case of "hell" being too pedestrian for this book. We'll see, I suppose. It doesn't fill me with confidence either way.

“What the fuck does rootling mean?”[…] “You’d know if you ever picked up a book, Danika.”

Being Australian, I'd say this is far funnier than the book probably intended, but… seeing as this book is by Sarah J Maas, for all I know it was 100% intentional. sighs

We hear the voice of someone named Lehabah, who tells us that someone else named Jesiba doesn't like Danika coming in. Bryce lets her in anyway.

[Bryce had] barely untangled [Danika's plait] before Danika’s slim fingers were unbuckling the straps that kept the sword sheathed across her worn leather motorcycle jacket.

A sword and a motorcycle jacket? Presumably if motorcycle jackets exist, then motorcycles do as well? Why a sword, then? Is there a reason despite presumably superior technology existing, or are we returning to our classic fanfiction katanas because swords are just cooler than guns? I mean, I agree, but if you want to use swords you probably shouldn't set your story in a world where they're obsolete.

Bryce reminds Danika that Jesiba doesn't like her, and we get an infodump on who Jesiba is - a born witch who defected to the House of Flame and Shadow who knows many spells and turns people into animals.

…from the little blurb before the start of the book, I got the impression that the houses were ways of categorising the various magical beings, by species/type. What exactly does defecting from one's original house entail? Is Jesiba no longer a witch, then? Would a water nymph no longer be a water nymph if they decided to switch houses?

Bryce had never dared ask if the small animals in the dozen tanks and terrariums had always been animals.

I feel like perhaps you should. Out of concern for your own safety even if you don't care about the potential victims.

We learn about the Vanir, an umbrella term for all non-human/natural animal creatures, and that neither Danika nor Bryce care much for cleaning up their dirty, stinky gym clothes. Apparently Bryce forgot to wash them last time because she and Danika smoked too much fantasy weed. No, really.

Right—she’d forgotten to bring home the leotard and tights to wash after a lunchtime class two days ago. Mostly thanks to Danika sending her a video of a heap of mirthroot on their kitchen counter[…]They’d smoked enough that there was a good chance Bryce had still been high yesterday morning when she’d stumbled into work.

We learn a few misc details about the characters and world: Danika ate Bryce's noodles, Bryce got a tattoo that still hurts, Vanir heal faster than humans, Bryce is half-human, satyr and nightstalkers exist and Danika is covered in their gunk, Danika has a tattoo that signifies she belongs to something called the "Pack of Devils"… there's a lot of infodumping going on.

Bryce had always wondered why Jesiba bothered with an old-fashioned generator—until the citywide firstlight outage last week. When the power had failed, only the generator had kept the mechanical locks in place during the looting that followed

Having a backup power source is an old-fashioned concept?

Bryce tells us that Danika taking a shower means she's about to meet with the City Heads, of whom there are apparently seven. We learn Danika's grandfather is the Prime of the Valbaran wolves, whatever that means, and that her mother, Sabine, is the Alpha of the Scythe Moon Pack, a shifter unit in the city's Auxiliary, and she apparently hates Danika. It seems Danika is the preferred heir of her grandfather, even receiving a sentimental sword from him, and this pisses her mother off.

Sabine had never forgotten that humiliation. Especially when Danika carried the blade nearly everywhere—especially in front of her mother.

Make of that what you will.

Danika is meeting with these City Heads because someone named Philip Briggs is being released today, due to a technicality caused by messed up paperwork, apparently.

She clenched her slim jaw, the glow from the firstlights in the glass sconces along the stairwell bouncing off her dirty hair. “It’s so fucked up.”

I'm not sure what a firstlight is, but I feel like I would like to know.

Instead, Bryce tells us that there's a human rebellion in a place called Pangera, and that Philip Briggs had been trying to bring said rebellion to Valbara, which is presumably where our protagonists are, committing terrorist acts to do so. Danika and her wolf pack were apparently responsible for catching him.

Briggs made no secret of his goal: a global conflict that would cost the lives of millions on either side. Lives that were expendable if it meant a possibility for humans to overthrow those who oppressed them—the magically gifted and long-lived Vanir and, above them, the Asteri, who ruled the planet Midgard from the Eternal City in Pangera.

I mean yeah, war and millions dying is bad, but it's kinda hard to hate the guy when it's one of the oppressor-class whinging about the oppressed fighting back. There'd be no need for such a war if there were no oppression happening, after all. Kinda brought it on yourselves.

We learn even more about Bryce's moral leanings.

As one of the most elite shifter units in Crescent City’s Auxiliary, the Pack of Devils patrolled the Old Square, making sure drunken, handsy tourists didn’t become drunken, dead tourists when they approached the wrong person. Making sure the bars and cafés and music halls and shops stayed safe from whatever lowlife had crawled into town that day. And making sure people like Briggs were in prison.

I don't know, something in the phrasing of it bothers me. "When they approached the wrong person." Makes it sound like the crime is in the approaching, not in whatever it was the "wrong person" did to make them dead tourists. And the use of the word "lowlife", too… yeah. Getting a real air of superiority from Bryce here.

More names of things are flung at us: a 33rd Imperial Legion of angels, a Govenor, Micah Domitus, Archangel of Crescent City. Danika apparently plans to snarl in his face about Briggs' release being unacceptable. We're told the titles of the rest of the leaders, and honestly, I'm probably not going to be able to remember them until they become relevant to the plot in some way. There is a lot of infodumping going on, and I've only got so much brain RAM.

The humans in Asphodel Meadows had no Head. No seat at the table. Philip Briggs had found more than a few sympathizers because of it.

Golly gee, I wonder why those pesky humans are rebelling? Hmmmmmmm. Mystery. Bryce doesn't wonder though, she just tells us more about Archangel Micah, Head of the CBD (which, yes, means Central Business District in this book. It's a bit hard to get a read on the tech level here ngl).

Danika started walking down a set of steps several pages ago, by the way, and she's just now reached the bottom. We hear her greet something named Syrinx.

Jesiba had purchased the Lower creature two months ago, to Bryce’s delight. He is not a pet, Jesiba had warned her. He’s an expensive, rare creature bought for the sole purpose of assisting Lehabah in guarding these books. Do not interfere with his duties.

Bryce, of course, ignores this warning and treats Syrinx (who is a chimera) like a pet. But apparently Jesiba doesn't care enough to monitor the situation, so all is well. I am also noting the use of the term "Lower" creature there. Perhaps it's just a term to refer to non-animals of animal-level intelligence (which is really a distinction that shouldn't be drawn in worlds were such creatures are normal, so it's kinda immersion-breaking when the distinction is drawn for the sake of the audience. But I digress). Or perhaps it's more signs of Bryce's superior attitude? We shall see.

Danika banters with Lehabah, who is apparently a fire sprite. And then Bryce's phone rings.

Heels sinking into the plush carpeting, Bryce reached the phone before it went to audiomail, sparing herself a five-minute lecture. “Hi, Jesiba.”

......don't you mean voicemail? You didn't rename motorbikes, or the CBD - why randomly rename this?

Anyway, Jesiba threatens to turn Danika into a lizard, and the chapter ends.

[wonderpommey]

For someone like Roman “everyone wants to fuck me” Roy who couldn’t handle being confronted to someone’s genuine desire for him in previous seasons (the trainer relationship is transactional, Grace excites him when she wants someone else, he hates when Tabitha gets aroused). 

I think we kind missed that not being attacked by Gerri’s desire seems to create a safe space for him to develop a more reciprocal attitude. Is it because he thinks she won’t want him back or because it creates space for him to start craving reciprocity? That question is still up in the air. But certainly, this season moves away from the S2 pretend abuse from Gerri and has been a festival of words of affirmation from her “Great instincts, we have something going, visionary, well done”, as many self-esteem boosts that really don’t seem to turn him off. 

Propositioning her is a big escalation from their S2 stuff which didn’t involve her desire at all (the only evolution was around her consent), and unlike with Tabitha/Grace, sex isn’t something she asks for, so there’s no reason to offer.

His idea to “sleep with Laurie” is him going “alright I can see that you want that, maybe we can include him in our thing...” as long as I’m not getting left out.

The items initially are also about giving her something he thinks she wants and is being minxy about because Gerri historically is “this is unacceptable/get in that bathroom”. I think the dick pics were so interesting this season because they’re so much more than just unsolicited x rated items. Roman keeps facing pushback from Gerri sexually & emotionally and in the end he figures out a neat little way to make sure she cares about him; Putting his dick in her scissor hands, just like he did when he was considering teaming up with Kendall, giving her blackmail material, giving her prejudicial information. Forcing her to show him how she feels through protecting him or destroying him.

It’s awkward and misguided but there a definite move towards opening himself up to what Gerri wants and finding out how she feels about him. For Roman, that’s interesting because it’s so unusual. He’s never concerned himself with what his partners actually wanted. There’s also a move towards wanting care/affection from her “you love the boot because you love being kicked by it”, seems he’s starting to explore how untrue that can actually be with both Gerri and his dad. ETA - Someone also raised a good point to me and that’s how Roman has also revealed more and more of the sides of himself he may - rightly or wrongly - be ashamed of; “fuck Laurie” and the tattoo brothers thing. There’s a desperation to reach intimacy made even funnier by his dismissal of Shiv in episode 7 “Yeah I love people getting to know me”.

[whatifyoulivelikethat]

closeted | jjk

pairing(s): jungkook x reader

summary: Jeon Jungkook doesn't like you and you don't like him. Your friends and his friends decide enough is enough and they lock you in a closet together to settle your differences. Mhm.

warnings: language; implied slut-shaming; alcohol consumption; fuckboy?Jungkook x (technically noona) fuckgirl?reader, ft all other BTS members being... helpful? lol; enemies-to-lovers

–

“Jeon Jungkook? I don’t really have any thoughts about him. Isn’t he kind of a fuckboy?”

“Oh, her? Ah, there’s nothing to say really. Doesn’t she like to mess around?”

Those were your opinions about each other, which was now why both you and Jeon Jungkook were stuck in a closet in Kim Taehyung’s parents’ house.

“Taehyung, let us out right now!”

“Not until you two stop hating each other!” announced the booming, baritone voice of Kim Taehyung on the other side of the door, slightly tipsy and yelling over the loud music.

“We don’t hate each other,” came the silvery growl behind you. Jungkook shoved you slightly to the side so he could slam his fist against the heavy wood. You scowled, jerking away from his touch. “Stop being stupid and open the door.” His short ponytail at the back of his head swayed as he tried to shoulder the door, only for you to hear more bodies press against it.

“Nuh uh, Jungkookie,” Park Jimin snickered, sounding drunker than Taehyung even though the two of them had probably consumed the same amount. “Can’t muscle pig your way outta this one.”

Taehyung and Jimin burst into giggles on the other side of the door as Jungkook fumed next to you, long black bangs flaring as he clicked his tongue and rolled the sleeves of his black sweatshirt up, eyes narrowed, jaw tense.

You threw up your hands as Jungkook backed up and ran into the door with a loud thunk!

Nothing except Jimin, Taehyung, and squeaky laughter adding to the mix.

“We don’t even talk to each other,” you muttered as Jungkook shook his head vigorously and prepared to rear up again like a stubborn horse.

“And that’s the problem!” Kim Seokjin tittered in between bursts of laughter. “We’re all friends, except the two of you that like to pretend the other one is a fucking tree rather than an actual person.”

Jungkook collided with the door again and the single lightbulb hanging from the ceiling flickered ominously.

“Who cares?” Jungkook roared, throwing his head back and pushing his hair away from his face with two hands. You rolled your eyes as he smacked the closet door.

“We do,” said a fourth, trying to be the voice of slurred reason. “In order for our shared friend group to have harmony, we two should work out your differences in a civil, dignified manner and discuss the root of your negative relationship.” You made a face and glanced at Jungkook, who made a similar confused expression. How much did Kim Namjoon drink? He sounded like a drunk philosopher.

“Locked in a closet is not civil, Namjoon,” you pointed out.

“Yeah, but it’s funnier,” Jung Hoseok laughed cheerfully, knocking on the door. “You two good in there? Not ripping off each other’s heads yet?”

“We don’t hate each other,” Jungkook repeated, giving up on fighting the door now that five people were holding it down. “I don’t see what the big deal is.”

“What’s the reason then?”

“Huh?” you shouted through the door. Jungkook rolled his eyes at you and you rolled your eyes back.

“What is,” Taehyung repeated, slower this time, emphasizing each syllable. “The reason that you guys are so hostile towards each other?”

“Did he eat some snacks you hid one time?” Seokjin piped up. “Because that would piss me off too.”

“That already pisses you off, hyung,” Jimin cut in. “You always bring it up.”

“Because he does it all the time! No matter where I hide them!”

“Your hiding places a pretty bad, hyung.”

“Namjoon! You’re supposed to be on my side!”

“Eh?”

“The side of reason and being right!”

“Hah…”

Jungkook clicked his tongue again and shoved his hands into his loose cotton pants. They were black and white striped and looked more like pajamas than actual pants. He hadn’t even bothered to get dressed to hang out with his friends. What a weirdo. You sighed, looking away, staring at the wall instead. Why look at Jeon Jungkook? Everyone looked at Jeon Jungkook. You didn’t need to add to that ego.

“Hey.”

“What?”

“Why are you wearing hyung’s shirt?”

You glared at him from your periphery. He was leaning against the wall, hunched over, glaring back.

“First of all, this is my shirt,” you snapped. “Second of all, they’re all your hyungs. Be more specific. And third of all, Yoongi only borrowed it because he said he was cold and this was one of the few things that fit him.”

Jungkook shoved his tongue into his cheek, looking at your black-on-black long-sleeved shirt with a moon tarot card design. He narrowed his dark eyes, giving you a piercing stare. You ran a hand through your hair, cocking your head away from him haughtily.

“Yeah, but you knew which hyung I was talking about.”

“Because only one of them has borrowed this shirt, idiot.”

“That’s not very nice,” Hoseok chided from the other side of the door. “No name calling in there!”

“You’re not very nice,” you retorted at the door, suddenly remembering that they were out there listening. In fact, one of the loons had turned down the music so the five of them could hear the exchange better. Mature of them.

“Why don’t you two say something you like about the other?” Namjoon suggested. “Compliments might help lessen the tension.”

Your eyes shifted to Jungkook’s clenched jaw, a vein popping on his neck. Yeah, okay. He noticed you looking and you jerked your head away, staring at the wall again.

“This is stupid. Why do we have to do this?” you complained.

“You look pretty good from the back.”

You flinched, irritation rising. Did he just–?

“For an older lady, that is.”

A muscle in your eye twitched. “Yeah, well, every guy says I look good from the rear view.”

“That’s not a compliment, Jungkook,” a deep, raspy voice from the bottom of the door.

Jungkook lifted himself off the wall, making a noise of surprise. “Yoongi-hyung? How long have you been there?”

“The whole time,” Jimin giggled. “He’s been pretending to be asleep.”

“I can’t sleep anyway,” Min Yoongi grumbled. “You guys are loud as fuck.”

“Nah, you just wanted to listen to the shitshow of these two,” Taehyung teased. There was the sound of a hand smacking of a shoulder and a disgruntled grunt at the bottom of the door.

Seokjin called your name loudly. “Yah! You haven’t said anything, backhanded or not!”

You grimaced and glanced at Jungkook again. He still looked surprised and, for a single second, you thought he looked pretty cute with his big round dark brown eyes and parted pink lips in an ���o’. For a single second, he didn’t seem like that ‘hot guy’ that literally everyone, not just women, but men too, everyone was head-over-heels in love with, Jeon Jungkook, ‘hot guy’ with tattoos and a handsome face.

Blech.

You shifted your eyes away and stared at the corner. “I guess you might not have only one brain cell. Maybe you have two or three.”

“Ooh, nice, that’s a great one,” Jimin agreed behind the door. “Three is being generous, noona, well done.”

“Shut up, Jimin-ssi.”

Ugh, this shit was so dumb. And what kind of closet was this anyway? It was full of coats. A lot of them were more neutral colors, but there was the occasional muted jewel tone. Why did Taehyung’s family need this many coats and why was this closet on the upper floor? Some of them were neatly tucked in clear plastic covers. Oh. Probably to prevent them from getting moth holes, huh.

“Why do you hate me, anyway?” Jungkook muttered. “I’ve never done anything to you.”

“I don’t hate you. I just don’t like you,” you huffed.

“Why not? What did I do?” he sighed, reaching over and placing his hand on your shoulder.

You whipped your head around, narrowing your eyes. “Don’t touch me.”

He removed his hand, backing up with his hands in the air. “Whoa, okay, jeez. It’s just kind of hard to talk to you when your back is to me.”

“Hmph, why? Precious Jungkookie wants attention? Wants everyone to dote over him and love him?” you mocked in disgust, crossing your arms.

He twisted his lips. “… distracting, that’s all,” he mumbled.

“Hah?” You leaned forward, raising an eyebrow. “You forget how to talk?”

Jungkook looked away from you, frowning. “Sometimes, yeah. You’re kind of pretty.”

You blinked at him. What? You didn’t expect him to say that.

“In some lights, anyway.” He pointed up. “This one is pretty dim, like you.”

That was more like it. “Takes one to know one.”

His eyes shifted back to you. “What? A pretty person to spot pretty?”

You growled and scoffed, rolling your eyes. “See, this is why I can’t talk to you. You’re so full of yourself. All you ever do is think about is showing off how much better you are. How cool you are.”

“That’s because that’s all they ever talk about.”

You paused at his downcast tone. Your eyes drifted from the wall to his face. Jungkook wasn’t looking at you. His eyes were on the ground and he was rubbing the back of his head, frowning.

“I envy the way others talk about me. They always have such a perfect image pictured.” He inhaled deeply, slumping against the wall again. “It’s hard to live up to the picture everyone has of me in their head. Sometimes I don’t even want to try anymore so they give up and leave me alone.”

What?

His dark eyes shifted to you, half-shrouded by his long dark hair, tan skin glowing even in this dim closet light.

“I envy you,” he snapped, irritated edge to his voice. “I know you hear all that crazy shit they say about you, but you do whatever you want anyway. People call you a slut and you just invite all the hyungs over to your place and watch movies all night. People say you dress weird and you show up in big fur coats and wacky t-shirts and knee-high boots. People say you don’t know what you’re doing, but you can calculate your change faster than the cashier with the fucking computer.”

You gawked at him; jaw slightly slack. It took you a second to collect yourself. “It’s… not that hard. It’s basic math.”

“Hmph, yeah, well, I suck at math,” Jungkook muttered. “I’m not smart like Namjoon-hyung.”

“You’re good at a lot of things, Jungkook.”

“Like what?” he accused, putting you on the spot.

“Uh… you can draw. Namjoon draws like a five-year-old.”

Jungkook snorted. “Taehyung can draw.”

You raised an eyebrow. Honorifics, where? “Not realistically like you can. It’s a different style. Weirder.”

“I’m not weird,” Taehyung said through the door, voice half-muffled.

“Yeah, you are,” Jungkook replied without looking away from you.

“You’re kind of like an alien. In a good way,” Jimin added hastily.

“You’re kind of like an idiot,” Taehyung shot back.

Slapping sounds ensued outside the door.

Jungkook scratched his head, messing up his black hair. “I’m just saying I wish I was a little more like you sometimes.” He coughed. “Only sometimes.”

You ran a hand through your hair. “Well, I kind of wish I was like you sometimes,” you admitted, looking away from him. “I wish people would say nice things about me like they do for you. I wish people would praise me without reason. I wish people would fall in love with me like how they fall in love with you, without even knowing you.” You scoffed bitterly, flicking a hand carelessly. “Instead, they just play pretend and mess with my feelings because they think I’m easy.”

You left out a heavy sigh, weight off your chest. You hadn’t meant to say all that, but oh well. It was out there now.

So dumb.

“Then, when they find out I’m not, it’s my fault for some stupid reason. Like it’s my fault you painted this fake picture of me in your head.”

You felt something touch your outstretched hand. You jumped, seeing Jungkook’s right hand touching your fingertips, hand ink standing out against his flexed fingers. You almost pulled back. Almost. Then you caught the look in his eyes and stopped, mesmerized by the seriousness in his dark brown orbs.

“I meant it when I said you were pretty,” he whispered, barely audible.

Your eyes widened.

Your pulse raced through your veins.

“You… you said only in some lights,” you whispered back.

Jungkook lifted himself off the wall. One step. Two steps, towards you. You could have backed up. You could have slapped his hand away and yelled at Taehyung some more to let you out. Men were stupid. They ain’t shit. They play with your feelings and only want to use you. Dudes are just fuckboys.

Except Jungkook confirmed he wasn’t, just now.

And you confirmed you weren’t the female equivalent of a fuckboy – a fuckgirl?

For some reason, that made this different now.

This moment.

Jungkook looked down at you, tilting his head, brown eyes curious. You spread your fingers a little more and laced them with his, pressing your fingertips against the back of his hand as he pressed his against yours. You tilted your head the other way as he leaned down.

“I said you’re pretty in some lights,” he breathed. “You’re beautiful in all of them.”

He stopped just above your lips.

Pausing.

You lifted yourself up to close the gap, holding his hand tightly.

Mouth to mouth, resuscitating something that was almost dead because of misunderstandings and surface judgements, whispers and rumors clouding the truth, because everybody talks, everybody talks, everybody talks… too much.

For some reason, you expected Jungkook to smell musky or woodsy, something manly, but, in actuality, his cologne was light and sweet, barely there, like a fresh summer’s breeze. It was you that smelled more intense, your coffee and cream perfume mixing with his fruity scent, dominating a little, just like how you pressed harder into his soft lips, capturing them, surprised that was pleasant, almost sweet but with a hint of spice, the tip of his tongue teasingly brushing against your lips, and you drew back, narrowing your eyes at him.

He smiled a little, squeezing your hand lightly.

“That was nicer than I thought,” he murmured.

“You’re not that bad yourself,” you muttered, frowning a little at the heat rising in your cheeks.

“You guys still alive in there?” Yoongi asked gruffly from the ground, his voice drifting under the door.

“Did they kill each other? Should we open the door?” Seokjin wondered.

The doorknob began to turn.

Jungkook started and reached for the door.

You jumped and reached for the door.

A thin crack of light appeared.

Your hands intertwined, grabbing the doorknob and yanking it closed before it could fully open, both swiftly locking the door together with a firm click. The doorknob shook, confused noises on the other side of the wood.

Jungkook stared at you, brown eyes wide. “I… I just… thought we were getting somewhere,” he whispered under his breath.

You scratched your cheek with your free hand. “Yeah… we were getting somewhere... with this.”

The doorknob rattled violently.

“Excuse me, you two?” Taehyung shouted through the door. “Why the fuck is the door locked?”

“Uh…” you started.

“It’s jammed,” Jungkook shouted back.

“Nope, it’s definitely locked. I heard it,” Yoongi said from the floor.

“That bastard,” Jungkook hissed quietly, stepping closer to you.

“Why is it locked?” Jimin accused, sounding peeved. “Hmm? You two doing some naughty stuff?”

“Scandalous,” Seokjin and Hoseok gasped in unison.

Jungkook glanced at you and you shrugged, mouthing, maybe? He mouthed back, I thought you weren’t easy. You chuckled, speaking softly to his chin.

“We already spent all that time being hostile to each other.”

“So, you admit to the hostility.”

“Sure, if it helps your delicate baby brain sleep at night.”

His free arm wrapped around your waist, pulling you to his chest, kissing you again, holding your hand tightly, muttering against your lips, you’re kind of annoying, and you muttering back, you’re actually annoying, and him smiling between gentle kisses.

“I have to find the key, fuck, what the hell are they doing in there?”

“Are you sure you wanna know Taehyung?” Yoongi yawned from the ground. “What if you open the door and you’re scarred for life?”

“They were supposed to find common ground, not get handsy!” Taehyung shouted back, bounding away with Jimin’s disapproving sigh following. In the closet, Jungkook let go of your hand, kneading your waist as you wrapped your arms around him, both of your hands on his broad back, moaning softly into his lips as he sighed into yours, the kisses more audible now, hands exploring as Yoongi sat outside the door, clicking his tongue knowingly.

“You’re handsome, huh,” you breathed against his kisses.

“In some lights?” he teased.

You laughed, slipping your hands under his black sweatshirt, running your fingertips on his skin, making him gasp into your kisses.

“Yeah, in some lights.”

Outside the closet, Yoongi and Namjoon sat side by side, Seokjin and Hoseok long gone from secondhand embarrassment. The sounds from the closet were escalating, clothes rustling a little too much for two people who supposedly hated each other. But, as Yoongi and Namjoon discussed calmly, there were plenty of signs that indicated that those weren’t their true feelings.

“If you think about it, they’re a good fit,” Namjoon chuckled, amused as he heard Jungkook yelp. “This whole stuck in the closet thing was more fruitful than I thought.”

Yoongi laughed, raspy and full.

“Why do you think I suggested it?”

--

masterpost

[lovemesomeharry]

MAKE YOU MINE

Warnings: Curse words, angst, smut

Words: 8.6k

Summary: Harry and Y/N have been friends for a long time until Harry catches feelings and everything gets worse before things get better.

Y/N had always seen him as a star, always shining bright in the most devine color. Everybody knew and saw that he was the sharpest one among everyone but he would never dare to brag about it. To him, everybody was shining too and that just made him even more beautiful.

That's why Y/N loved to observe him. Whether it was him on stage, singing his soul out, and losing control in the best way possible just to make the crowd go wild and become alive.

Or he could be working and his best friend would try to remember in which angle the tip of his tongue stuck out between his rosy lips and his nose would twitch slightly when he was whispering his written words to himself just to let it taste on his tongue.

Or it could be in a situation like this one right here. Y/N watched him how he interacted with people, slightly tipsy, giggling too much and awfully affectionate. Those adorable dimples appeared on his cheeks as he flashed a wide smile to anyone that came to his sight. She couldn't hear what he was saying but it didn't prevent her own smile from appearing on her face as if she’d been a part of the conversation. Even if Harry was telling one of his usual bad jokes, everybody would still end up laughing because it was Harry who told them and he was so damn good at selling those awful jokes.

Y/N wouldn’t say that she was the opposite of Harry, but no one has ever come close to Harry’s charm and his approachable body language. He was a people's person and no one could deny it.

As the night went on Harry kept on drinking and became cuddlier, gigglier and his need to talk to his beat friend grew immensely.

Once he had spotted her a wider grin adorned his face if it was possible at this point, and anyone must have wondered how it didn't hurt to smile like that. He hadn't seen much of her because he was too busy chatting up the other guests, but he was about to change that.

“Y/N.” His words were slurred and a giggle followed right after he was successful at scaring her by approaching her from behind and nearly shouting into her ear.

She turned around, with a pouty mouth, and slapped Harry’s tattooed arm. “Why would you do that, asshole?”

Harry rubbed at the place where she had slapped him, even though her hit wasn't hard and he wasn't really in pain. “Ouch! You’re so mean. I just wanted to talk to you.” With his finger, he tapped the tip of her nose. “Wouldn’t have come here if I knew you were gonna be a meanie to me.” He moved his face right in front of hers and she could totally smell the alcohol he must have in his system.

“What do you mean? When have I ever been nice to you? I can't stand you.” Now she was grinning from one ear to the other as she watched how Harry’s faced dropped. She loved to mess with him but when he was drunk it was a lot funnier. His brain couldn't comprehend the sarcasm and it made him believe that she was saying the truth.

His eyes lost his previous spark and the corners of his mouth were turned upside down as he let the one curl fall onto his forehead to cover up the crease forming between his two eyebrows.

He looked so adorable, but of course, Y/N wasn't the one who would tell him that.

“Take that back.” His tone was demanding but whiny and he crossed his arms in front of his chest as he took a step closer to her. He strengthened his posture but in his drunken state it just looked too funny and Y/N couldn’t help but laugh at his poor attempting to be intimidating. It just made him even more unhappy, as he put both of his hands at each side of her head and pressed his hot skin on the cool wall, coming so close to her that their noses almost touched.

She felt his hot breath on her upper lip as she shook her head. “No, I never liked you. Deal with it.”

Both were staring at each other and totally forgot the people around them and what situation they were in. The only sound they heard was their own heartbeat as they canceled out the rest of their world.

His green eyes looked at her slightly opened mouth and for a short moment, he hesitated before he pressed his lips to hers. She let out a surprised squeak when she felt his soft mouth on hers, sloppily kissing her. The kiss was short and she couldn't really comprehend it when he let go of her. “How do you like me now?” His voice was deep enough go make chills run down her spine and she couldn't believe what just happened.

He really kissed hee, his best fucking friend. She could still feel his soft mouth on hers and taste the bitter alcohol he had previously.

Y/N felt like as if she was dreaming, but when Harry just walked away she knew it wasn't one. In her dreams, he never walked away afterward.

She didn't really know what to make of this situation and tried to keep a cool head but the fast-beating heart in her chest made it not an easy task.

Would he remember him kissing her? Was he going to regret it? Are things going to be awkward between them from now on?

As bad she wanted to reminisce the kiss and do this again, she was scared that their friendship was hanging on a thread. So her enjoyment was cut short painfully for the rest of the night.

When Harry came by her house with fresh croissants and two coffees Y/N swore her heart stopped for a second.

He looked not as happy as he did a few hours ago and dark shadows painted his skin right underneath his eyes. He looked so tried but tried to cover it up by wearing a beanie and a gigantic hoodie. But it just ended up making him look even more tired and cuddly at the same time.

Y/N really wanted to focus on his looks but after what happened yesterday she hadn't had a chance to talk to him about the kiss. It was making her crazy not knowing what was going through the brits head.

The small voice inside her head told her he was going to regret it. He’d let go of her and wonder how he could have ever done that. He was going to call her names, or at least that's what her head told her. Even though she knew exactly Harry would never go as low as to call her names, she still feared the possibility. Even if it was.t his nature. Besides she wouldn't know how to feel if he’d ever been so rude to her. It would entirely mess up her confidence because she cared about his opinion too much for her own liking.

“Are you ok?” He had asked after staring at her for a solid minute and her not catching him doing so. A worried look took over his soft features as both of them sat down on both ends of her white couch. Much to Harry’s displeasure who wanted her to sit closer to him.

“What?” She shook her head as if she was trying to get those thoughts out of her head. “I’m fine.”

Suspiciously Harry raised his eyebrow. “No, you're not. You’ve been awfully quiet, love.” His leg was bouncing up and down and his entire body sank into the couch. He looked relaxed and Y/N wondered how he was so calm when inside her she was in such troubles. How was he so calm when it was his fault that she was in such a troublesome situation?

She was going to ask him about the kiss, but he was a bit faster and began to speak. “Is it because I kissed Naomi?”

Now Y/N’s head perked up. “Naomi?”

He nodded his head. “Yeah, I was a bit too drunk and kissed her. She texted me this morning asking what that meant.” He sighed as he pat his left leg. “It was so awkward. I had to explain to her that I didn’t think much of it.”

Y/N tried to listen to her best friend as he went on about it, but she couldn't really listen anymore when the small voice laughed at her. Of course, he didn't think much of it and he probably doesn't think much of the kiss they both shared, apparently on the very same night too. But she couldn't help but wonder if he could assume what she was feeling for him? Did he kiss anybody else? Could he still remember their kiss the way she did?

Why would he when he could have anyone? Harry always loved the attention he got from girls and was just taking advantage of his situation.

But Y/N just wished he wouldn't have brought her into this mess, because her heart was too fragile to come out without any bruises.

He's actually gonna try to let it go. He asks his heart to beat slower each time, but he can't get it right when he sees her in front of him.

With her wide smiles, her bright eyes and the loving charisma that she radiates so naturally, everywhere and at all times, it is impossible for him to keep a clear head. And if he is completely honest with himself, he does not want to keep a clear head when it means that she will not take up most of the space in his brain.

Ever since he had first heard her voice, it had echoed in his ear. Day and night. But it was not a nightmare. On the contrary. Her soft voice sounded like his new favourite song that he could listen to in a continuous loop without ever being saturated by it. Fuck. He would even play it at his concerts, he loved it so much.

That's how beautiful he thought she was.

He never wanted to admit to himself that she had his vulnerable heart in her hand and could do whatever she wanted and he wouldn't stop her. She could ram thousands of knives through it and he would thank her with a painful smile.

He felt pathetic. He felt so helpless. But most, he felt so stupid.

But it got worse when his eyes gleamed with jealousy. The sparks that sparkled for her were mixed with the gasoline that his jealousy fed him. A menacing fire was seething inside him, ready to spread. But it was not a fire of passion that spread a pleasant warmth in his body, but something that could destroy everything around him.

Harry was never a person who longed for revenge or liked to see others suffer. He is really not a sadist, but in that moment he became one.

Because a stranger dared to touch his Y/N where he should not touch her. He wanted to stomp to them and drag him off her.

But he could not do that.

First of all, that wouldn't do him any favors, because it would be just what the the press was waiting for. They already loved to fabricate the wildest stories about him, so, he didn’t really need to give them the satisfaction of a real story.

And second, the more pressing matter, she was not his Y/N. At least not in the way that he would like her to be.

That's why he leaned against the cool wall, sipped on his beer, and watched the two of them with eyebrows drawn together instead of doing anything. At least for now he decided to lay low.

He didn't even understand what she found attractive enough about him to let him talk to her. The stranger seemed like a lowered version of Michael B. Jordan, yet he seemed to be able to make her laugh. Her eyes always sparkled with the stars and Harry wished so much that he was the reason for it and not the prick in front of her.

Jealousy clouded his vision because Y/N felt that the stranger in front of her, whose name was Nick, was not a condescending version but came so damn close to the actor that the sight softened her knees. He bared his straight teeth when the opportunity presented itself and she could swear that she saw her own reflection in them.

“Would you like to continue this conversation in private?” Nick asked, coming dangerously close to her ear. She smelled his strong perfume and felt his hot breath tickling her skin. She sucked the air sharply and bit onto her lower lip as he graced her earlobe. An exciting sensation ran through her sensitive body parts but mostly, she could feel the tingling sensation between her legs. It had been too long since she’s been with a man.

Her fingers ran up and down the edge of her glass as she nodded. She tried not to appear too excited, but she didn't suspect she was doing a good job, as a playful grin spread across his handsome face.

The more she was pleased, the angrier her best friend became, still staring at them with an eagle eye, as if he was ready to grab his prey any minute before anyone else got the chance. Harry couldn't hear what she was saying, nor could he lip-read, which he regretted at that moment, but his alarm bells began to ring when the stranger stood up and took her delicate hand in his.

It hadn't taken him a minute to act and if his brain hadn't been completely clouded he would have thought he was foolish. How could he run after a girl who is only his best friend? She gets to go anywhere with whoever she pleases. Even if it was a Walmart version of an actor.

As he stood just inches away from the guy, he realized what he was doing and how ridiculous he probably looked. It's not like he didn't has his fair share on body counts.

But before he could change his mind, Y/N glimpsed at him with a questioning look. She raised her left eyebrow, almost as if to ask him if everything was okay.

Harry wanted to say no, even scream it out loud. But he choked out what was going through his mind at that moment. “I-I've lost my car keys.”

In his mind, he threw a bunch of curse words at himself and he would have absolutely no problem if a black hole appeared underneath him that could suck him in.

“What?” He heard Y/N's confused voice and the stranger finally looked at him. On his face, Harry could see the amusement again. Of course, he thought Harry was a fool and he, too, admitted to being one.

He swallowed the lump down his throat. “I can't find them anymore.” Harry had no intention of making that sentence sound like a question because it made his obvious lie even more obvious.

“Is it in your po-”

“-No” He nearly blurted it out. “You got to help me.”

Y/N looked sceptically at Harry. She knew him well enough to be sure he would never lose his car keys. He could lose his rings, but he would never lose his car keys. His car collection, which consisted almost entirely of vintage cars, was his pride and joy and he treated them like his own children.

Visibly annoyed and irritated by his actions, she sighed. “Are you sure?”

He just nodded and she struggled with the urge to ditch him to have her fun with Nick. But how could she be so heartless and abandon her best friend, even though he lied to her straight on without batting an eyelid? But somehow his eyebrows furrowed and the nervous lip chewing had gotten to her. So she turned to Nick with an apologetic look, but he understood the situation completely and put a reassuring hand on her shoulder.

“I’m so sorry.”

He laughed. “Don't worry about it. I get it.” For a brief moment, Nick looked at Harry and put his best smirk on his face to show him he understood Harry's true intentions. But that didn't stop him from whispering something into Y/N's ear and gently kissing the spot behind her it.

Harry's eyes were about to fly out or Nick was about to fly across the room. He couldn't decide what would happen, but his guess was on the second one.

Y/N nodded after the stranger and when her eyes finally met Harry's they suddenly became cold and annoyed. A shiver ran down his spine when he realized that and he really knows which fuses were blown that he had freed her from that guy.

“I have seen the keys-” he started, but Y/N interrupted him with a horrified laugh.

“Cut the bullshit, Harry. I know you didn't lose your fucking keys.”

He had to swallow hard, but his throat still felt dry. He thought about what he could say to her, but her annoyed look somehow cut off the oxygen to his brain. So he was forced to take his emerald eyes off hers and instead looked through the crowd in the club that was already staring at them.

“Can we settle this somewhere else?” With his painted index finger he pointed in the direction of the curious onlookers, which is why she agreed.

It was at moments like these that she completely forgot who he really was. He is not just her best friend, a colossal pain in her ass, but also an A-list celebrity.

Harry exhaled the hot air, and gratefully grabbed her arm to pull her along.

He pulled her all the way outside, where the cool air whipped Y/N's skin and she only now realized how stuffy it was inside. The glowing moon stared down at them as Harry ran to his car. As they stood in front of it, his eyes drilled holes in her head and she raised her arms on her hips.

“Cat got your tongue?” She first broke the tense silence.

It took a moment longer before he finally found the ability to think clearly again, but his eyes were too busy marveling at her delicate features in the moonlight. He had to admit that the light made her look even more magical and her skin practically glittered. He tried to turn his eyes away from her, but she looked so ethereal and it didn't help him that he got to see so much of her soft skin. To do himself a bittersweet favor, Harry opened his car door with the supposedly lost key, which made Y/N laugh sarcastically and get into the car after him.

She was right.

“I didn't lose my car keys.”

“No shit, Sherlock.”

He reached his hand through his frizzy curls, which were slightly sweaty. “The guy was... weird.” He sighed slightly frustrated with her for not dropping the topic but also himself for getting into the mess he was currently in.

“Weird?” Y/N asked, sounding almost amused. “He looked like Michael B. Jordan, for fucks sake!” She couldn’t believe her best friend, because she was usually the one telling him if a person seemed off but he’d ignore her advice. So who did he think he was for rescuing her?

Harry didn't like the feeling that was brewing inside of him that could cause a series of hurtful words to leash out of his mouth. So he simply bit the inside of his cheek. Of course, she thought he looked like him.

“He only wanted to shag you.“ His deep voice spit the words out like venom. Both of his hands gripped the steering wheel hard enough to make his knuckles more visible.

She scoffed. “I was obviously looking for a husband at a club, right?” Y/N rested her back against the soft Italian leather and turned her head to notice his clenched jaw.

He really hated it when she was sarcastic with him and even more when she rolled those pretty eyes of hers.

“Why are you so pissed, H? Not that I ever cockblocked you.”

He tried to stiffen his breathy laughter, because she had no idea what she was doing to him. She did, in fact, do that, just not in the same way Harry just did and maybe it wasn’t fair of him to blame it all on Y/N because she had no idea what was going through his head. But yet Harry felt like she should know that she's living in his daydreams with him, that she's the first thing he thinks of after waking up and the last person to fall asleep to. He occasionally dreamed of her and as the nights got lonelier he’d imagine her laying beside him. He couldn't even shag anyone without thinking of the incredible girl sitting on his passenger's seat right now. He would compare every girl he tried to get into his bed to her and sometimes, no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't take the stranger back home, because his heart was aching for somebody else. So yeah, she was a cockblock to him. The most annoying one he's ever had.

“Actually you did. Remember how Chloe was apparently using me for fame?” Chloe was the blonde and bubbly girl who was all over Harry just a few days ago when he and Y/N went to the gym together. She was all over him since the minute he stepped foot into the gym and even though he could see Y/N’s glaring stare on them he flirted back. His best friend even tried to warn him, but he shrugged it off and went through with a bathroom quickie.

And what makes it worse: Chloe wasn’t the only one. There were many more like her.

Thinking back he really didn’t understand why he had done all those things when he was never interested in those girls. Or maybe he does know why. He wanted to make Y/N jealous. See if she would give him any sort of reaction, but that never came. So now thinking back he didn’t understand why thought it was a good idea playing with peoples hearts and give them the two minutes of fame that they craved so badly.

She looked at him with disbelief. “She was! But I guess I’m sorry for caring about your reputation?” Her head slightly bounced off the seat as she crossed her arms in front of her chest. “I really don’t understand why it’s such a big deal who I shag.”

And honestly Harry wished he would feel the same way, but he just doesn't.

“Because you shouldn’t spread your legs for every guy.”

And Harry wished he just didn't say that.

Her delicate features twisted with anger as she straightened her posture so she could have a better look at him. She wanted to make sure that he really said those words but to her dislike he did.

A bitter taste lingered in her mouth and her whole facial expression turned sour.

“Excuse me? You’re calling me a slut, when you're the one with a new girl every week?” She raised her voice and truly couldn't believe how the conversation progressed from his ‘lost car keys’ to him accusing her of such things.

Harry’s tense fingers gripped slightly at his wild curls, obviously unhappy with his poor choice of words. “That’s not what I mean.”

“Then fucking enlighten me please? Because right now you’re acting like an asshole!” Her heart was beating rapidly and with each heartbeat, she felt a sharp pain shooting through her entire body. Of all people, she would’ve never expected Harry to insult her and make her feel dirty. Almost as if she was easy to have when it was most definitely not the case. But his little accusation broke her heart and her self esteem in a way that she had to question every decision she has made so far.

“It’s just” He started not really knowing where to go with his words. “I fucking like you.”

She sneered not catching on the real meaning behind Harry’s confession. “I like you too, but I don't walk around and call you a man whore.”

How could she be so stupid sometimes? He really wanted to ask her that. Because it was hard enough to admit that once but having to explain it to her was so much worse.

“You don’t get it, Y/N. I really like you.” He watched her face carefully as the panic spread through him. He can’t believe he told her like that, or at all.

Y/N was confused. So extremely confused and angry. Not for lying to her, cockblocking her or initiating that she’s a slut, but for the fact that he had the audacity to do this to their friendship. Once again. She barely had gotten the kiss out of her memories.

“You’re drunk, right?” She picked on her nail polish, slightly taking small bits of it off as she started at him with disbelief. Why couldn’t he just lose his car keys? “This is a joke.”

He didn’t know what to say to her anymore, so he stayed silent and took his eyes off of her.

“Harry, you always do that.”

“Do what?” Now it was his time to be confused.

“You’re not into me. You’re just bored.” She sighed heavily. Y/N didn’t want to reveal what she was thinking of his love life knowing that he wouldn’t like it. But at the end of the day he’s a relationship person. It wouldn’t be too bad if he wouldn’t fall so fast for the first person who gave him a little bit of attention. Because when he’s single he’d get all lonely and eventually falls in love with the first person he sees. It has always been like this, that’s why Y/N refuses to give in to him and let their friendship take the fall. Because Harry never got anything out of these relationships, besides a broken friendship and always a broken heart. “You always do that, you know? H, you just want attention.”

Harry thought he’d be able to smile if she’d slice his heart open, but the little cuts are already painful enough to make his eyes tear up if he wouldn’t fight it. “So my feelings are not valid and I just want attention?” A bitter laugh left his slightly quivering lips. “I think I got enough of that.” He shook his head at himself for letting those words slip out of his mouth. He knew she didn’t feel the same but at least she could’ve let him down less harsh. “You could’ve just said you don't feel the same.”

“Trust me you won’t feel the same when somebody else comes along.” He will, or at least that's what he thought. But it hurt like hell hearing her not taking him seriously.

He started the engine of the car without shooting a single glance her way because looking at Y/N would make him feel worse and he didn't know how much strength he had inside of him to not let his tears appear at this waterline.

He felt stupid. He felt humiliated. But mostly he felt so incredibly broken and scared.

He always knew him and Y/N was never going to be a thing because she didn't feel the same. How could she? She only saw him as her friend and Harry knew she deserves someone better. Someone who could give her the world, when Harry would have to hide her from it.

But Harry was so scared as he took her home and a million thoughts were running through his mind. He probably changed everything between them but he hoped he wasn’t going to lose her completely.

But he couldn't help to wonder if he just ruined their friendship?

It had been a little bit over a week since Y/N had last seen Harry. He dropped her off at her place and before she could say a thing he drove off again. So everything was left unspoken between them when all Y/N wanted to do was to talk it out with him. But she was scared. She didn't know how he’d react or if he'd want to talk to her.

And she’d understand if he didn't.

She knew she hurt him. That was her intention. She knew he would’ve stuck to his feelings if she didn't push him away to save their friendship.

They had come a long way and she wasn't sure if it was worth it throwing their close bond away for Harry’s small interest in her.

She’d be lying if she said the thought never crossed her mind. In fact, it did way too often for her own liking. It was just too hard to be platonic with him when he was too good at using his charm on her.

But at the same time that was another problem. He did it with everyone. So how could Y/N be certain he wouldn't get tired of her after they'd let their feelings take the upper hand?

No matter how hard she tried to ban Harry from her thoughts he’d always find his way through her thick skull. It was impossible for her to forget him when the image of his pained face was still haunting her and the only sound she heard was his strained voice.

She just hoped he as doing alright. That he wouldn't take it too personally and would get over it. The best-case scenario would be that they could laugh about it one day and would wonder how he could ever think to have feelings for his best friend.

But for them to reach that stage one of those stubborn people would have to give in and Y/N wasn’t sure who would be brave enough to take the first step. It has never been her strong suit and neither was it Harry’s.

Y/N spent her whole afternoon by being lazy. A quality she had started to be familiar with. It took her a while till she actually got out of her warm bed and before she really kicked off her day, she had a quick scroll through Instagram. But she regretted that almost instantly.

Pictures of Harry and a blonde girl were plastered all over the internet and she couldn't help but narrow her eyes at the familiar face. Chloe.

She bit the insides of her cheek a little bit too harshly as they seemed very cozy with one another at a concert last night, both of them dancing and hugging each other in a way Harry never did with Y/N. His hands were a little bit too low and her mouth came his dangerously close, but there weren't any pictures of them kissing, which made her sigh in relief.

She shut down her phone and threw it onto her bed and crawled underneath her blanket.

Y/N knew she shouldn't trust whatever she saw in those pictures because a bad angle could make anything look fishy. She experienced this firsthand when she and Harry became friends. Everybody seemed to believe that something was going on between them and an innocent hug could be interpreted as a passionate goodbye of two heartbroken lovers.

But no matter how hard she tried to tell herself that those are just pictures and no real confession, her brain wouldn't let her believe it.

If Harry liked her so much he would try to talk to her instead of waltzing to the next best thing. Y/N knew how he was and she’d predicted the unavoidable outcome. Sooner or later Harry would've become bored of her and leave her for someone new, someone more exciting and their friendship would be at the exact same place as it was at that moment.

She didn't like how both outcomes predicted how her heart would beat painfully in her chest and she wondered if Harry’s heart felt that even if it was for just a second.

It’s been exactly 22 days since Harry and Y/N last interacted with one another and Y/N couldn't help but count the days herself. She doesn't know when she picked that up along the way but at least it was getting easier for her to get out of her bed in the morning. So she thought it was better for her to look at the bright sight.

Besides she was happy to not have seen any more pictures of Harry and Chloe. So she believed it was nothing serious to him, even if the little voice echoed in her head how they both have gotten better at hiding from the rude photographers. But even if they weren't going out anymore she wouldn't be shocked. When has something like this ever meant anything to him?

But she banished those thoughts as she tried to go on with her everyday life.

Y/N really couldn't believe how much he was actually involved in her life. It could be an ordinary situation where she saw something cute, took a picture of it and her hand immediately swiped to Harry’s name so he could have a look at it himself. It happened without her knowledge and if she wasn't so fast she might have sent him accidentally a message already.

But it wasn't just that. It would happen if she got a coffee before going to the gym. Even though she had to go to a different café after changing her gym to avoid running into Harry. She’d order two drinks before it was too late and she stood their like an idiot wondering what she should do with the bullet coffe she hated but he always drank.

And what was more embarrassing was the fact how she would always think of Harry first, before she thought of anybody else, including herself.

That’s why her heart broke every day a little bit harder instead of trying to heal itself, but she slowly learned to get used to the heart ache.

But the sudden realizations kept her up all night and she wondered how she could've missed the signs when they were lying right in front of her very own, and apparently very blind, eyes.

Maybe it was because of her blind eyes or her slowness after working multiple hours without catching a break or her not being able to fight back the urge anymore after doing so successfully for 22 days that she sent Harry a picture of a cute dog she had found on Instagram.

When her brain finally processed what she had done, the horror on her face was obvious. She tried to delete the message but to her misfortune Harry had already seen it.

The grey bubble appeared which made her stop breathing as she waited anxiously for his response. Was he going to tell her to delete his number and leave him alone?

Harry – 09:34 PM

Can I come over?

Finally, Y/N let some oxygen inside of her again. She had to debate a bit with herself and tried to make up an excuse why he couldn’t come over. But she decided against it.

Y/N – 09:36 PM

Sure

She wanted to add a ’please’ but decided against it as she didn't want to sound desperate.

After she had sent the message her legs were bouncing up and down and she’d casually get up and rehearse a conversation that might happen.

She was nervous. She was so extremely nervous because she didn't what he was going to say.

But she knew what she had to say. She would do anything in her powder to avoid ending their friendship because the last few days had already felt like hell to her. How was she supposed to live like that for the rest of her life?

And when he finally rang her doorbell her mumbling stopped and she stared at the door trying to look if it really was Harry behind it. But she had no supervision so she began moving towards it. With unsteady steps, she opened it up to reveal a distraught looking Harry.

His puffy eyes looked even darker and heavier compared to when he was hungover and the little beard he grew made him more attractive but also proved that he hadn't been taking care of himself in a while, as his hair also looked a little bit greasy from where she stood.

They both just stared at each other, unable to exchange words but Y/N had hoped that she looked better than him. But she couldn't be positive about it because she wasn't exactly taking care of herself either.

Still, in silence, she opened the door a little bit wider to let him come him. When he did she caught a small whiff of his fresh cologne and her eyes wanted to tear up right at that moment.

She had missed him so much that just his scent made her already feel more at ease and all she wanted to do was to collapse in his chest and let him pull her closer by wrapping his strong arms around her body.

She wanted him close to her again.

For a moment the silence still remained and their were staring at their feet before they both started talking at the same time.

“I’m so sorry.” Did the two of them say at the same time with the same pain lingering in their voices.

He looked up first with an hopefull expression. He was so scared that she wouldn’t say anything and simply tell him to get his stuff out of her place. He was fearing for a text like that for so long, even today when her name popped up in his notifications. But once he saw the dog picture he was able to relax a bit and didn't hesitate when he asked if he could come over.

Now they were both standing there and hoping that it wasn't the last time they'd see each other.

“No, don’t be. It's my fault.” She started to say, still looking at her feet and playing with the hem of her sweatshirt as she stood there awkwardly in the middle of her living room, not knowing what to do with her body. “I shouldn’t have dismissed your feelings.”

A minor pain shot through his body as he remembered the heartbreaking memory. But he couldn’t be mad at her for doing so and just by looking at her he was sure he would never take that personally, especially after initiating that she was easy to have. “I-I know you don't sleep around and you don’t open your legs for everyone. I’m sorry about that. And lying to you.” He shook his head as she tried to speak again and at the fact that he actually said all those things to her.

“And I’m so sorry for being so bitter after the kiss. I should have not let my anger out on you. You were drunk.” She finally dared to look into Harry’s conflicted face. His hair was a little bit longer than she remembered as his curls seemed to tickle his neck and the patchy beard made him look more mature than he did before.

He furrowed his eyebrows. “What kiss?” Harry’s brain tried to remember when the kiss could have happened but there were no memories of him kissing the girl in front of him. He was sure he could not forget kissing an angel, or could he? “We kissed?”

Y/N nodded. “Yeah, at the party?” She bit her lip and tried to play it cool. “You kissed Naomi on that day too.”

“Wait a minute, I kissed you too?” As his brain started to work and a distant remembrance popped up when he pressed his lip to Naomi’s in a drunken state. But he could not remember kissing Y/N, but he wishes he did. “How could I forget that?”

Y/N laughed trying to ease the situation when the tension was becoming too much for her. “It’s not like it meant something to you.”

And with that, she did not only hurt her heart but also Harry’s, who actually showed her what an effect her words had on him. “Is that why you think I’m not being serious?”

Y/N didn’t want to nod her head. She didn't want to give him an answer he was waiting for so long. So she didn't, even if both of them could stop cutting deeper into each other's hearts.

Slowly Harry got closer to her. The wooden floor underneath him creaking with every step until he was close enough to touch her face gently and make her look at him. “Naomi doesn't matter. Chloe doesn't matter. No one does. But if I remembered kissing you, I would be over the moon.” His heart was beating at high speed as he confessed his feelings, hoping that she would too if she was into him. “Because you do matter to me.” With his last part of the confession, he pressed his forehead to hers and tried to hold her close. His eyes closed shut and he focused only on her breathing.

Y/N’s feelings were all over the place. She was happy. She was scared and she felt nauseous. Was this all happening? Was the guy she has been crushing on for a few years now finally confessing his feelings for her?

“You don’t remember the kiss?” Her voice was hoarse when asked and Harry almost immediately shook his head. “Shall I refresh your memory?“

His eyes were about to bulge out of his head and his hands gripped her face a little bit harder. He stepped away from her a little so he could see the sarcasm on her face. But she wasn't joking. She was being sincere and once Harry realized that his lips came crashing into hers.

His feathery lips sucked on hers before he opened his mouth a little and teased her with his tongue to let him in. Once she did he wanted to moan into her mouth at the sweet taste she provided him with. Her hands were roaming in his hair and he didn't even notice when she slipped his beanie off of his head and started tugging at his curls.

This is all he ever wanted. That is all she ever wanted.

She was amazed by how soft his lips were and he couldn’t grasp the fact that she tasted sweeter than her scent and so much more addictive after getting a taste.

Slowly Y/N started to walk backward until she felt the couch on her legs. She pulled Harry on top of her when she sat down and hungrily continued the kiss after the short break.

His hands were sliding down her face, her neck and eventually came to a halt as he touched her hips to keep her steady. He can't imagine how she let him kiss her again. It all felt like a dream to both of them and they were not ready to wake up anytime soon.

He slipped his lips off hers, trying his best to catch his breath, before trailing kisses up and down her neck. Her small hands we're still playing with his curls and when she started to pull at them he moaned into her neck. He had waited so long for this to happen.

Y/N pushed her chest into his and once he pushed her into the soft cushions he continued to kiss her body. His kisses we're short but he didn't forget a single spot to love. She watched him with hungry eyes as he began to move lower and lower until he was between her legs. He looked up between her thighs, finding Y/N in a needy state. “Is this ok?”

She nodded and waited patiently for him to continue.

“Talk to me, love. Tell me.” His voice sounded so soft and she could swear she felt a tingle between her legs because of his voice and the nickname he had used.

“Yes. Continue, please.” He giggled at how breathless she already sounded and because of those big eyes she made.

“Your wish is my command.” His fingers slipped off her grey shorts and he had to stiffen his laughter as he saw her Spongebob panties.

Her face heated up and her cheeks were painted a faint rosy color. “Don’t laugh. I wasn’t expecting for this to happen.” With both of her hands, she covered up her face, clearly embarrassed. But Harry couldn't care less what she wore, in his eyes she always looked ravishing and like a goddess walking this earth.

“Don’t hide your face, love.” He moved his body up again, just to stroke her cheek and looked deeply into her eyes. “You look absolutely stunning.” The intensity of his stare made her knees weak and goosebumps run up her spine.

She nodded her head when he leaned down and planted a soft kiss on her lips. “Let me make you feel so pretty.” He kissed the tip of her nose. “Let me make up for what happened.” He kissed the heated skin of her forehead and stroke her hair behind her ear. “Let me make you mine.”

She nodded again, but when he rose his eyebrow she expressed herself, how he requested from her. “Make me yours, Harry.” With a smirk, he kissed her lips slowly, bit onto her lip, and pulled on it, which earned him a small whimper from her. A breathy laugh left his mouth and with his right hand, he slid down her body and gripped the hem of her panties. One last time he searched for disapproval or even just hesitation in her eyes, but when he could not find that, he dove right into the action.

His hand slit into her underwear and he started to rub small circles on her clit. He was soft at first, very careful and he didn't want to destroy his flower, his little petal, who looked too good for him. Who was too good for him. She closed her eyes and through her open mouth, quiet moans slipped through it. Harry was too focused on her delicate features to pick up the speed, only when she took his hand and started grinding on it, he started to put all his energy to make her feel good.

His long fingers pinched her pulsating clit and he could feel how wet she had already gotten, as his fingers started to slip. “Do I make you feel good?” He looked at her with those dimples appearing in his cheeks and he realized at that moment that he wanted her beneath him so many more times in his life. Only her, for the rest of his life.

“Yes.”, she moaned as his finger teased her wet slit. ”I need more.”

“Tell me what you need.” She opened her eyes, looked at him pleadingly as she moaned out his name. Harry swore he could cum if he saw her like this again.

“Want you inside me.” She kissed Harry’s cheek and moved her kisses along his sharp jawline, desperately searching for his soft spot. But before she found it he held her head back, to make her look at him.

“Not today. I need to make it up to you, angel.“ With that he lowered himself until his face was right between her thighs. With anticipation she bit her lip and stared at the green eyed boy, who was slowly removing her underwear. Her face was heating up, and the electricity she felt, whenever he touched her, made her want him even more.

“God. You’re so pretty.” He admired her one last time before his hands found her swollen clit to play with. “You’re so wet for me, baby.” He moaned and felt his own pants tightening around him.

His circles became rougher and faster and she couldn’t help but grasp his hair in her fists. Low moans escaped her mouth and she couldn’t help but arch her back.

“I want to taste you so bad.” He breathed on her pussy. “Can I taste you?” He looked up from between her legs to catch a glimpse of her nodding her head in ecstasy.

“Yes, please.” It didn’t take him long until he licked her slit clean before he focused all his attention to her clit again. With his plump lips he sucked it in and swirled his tongue around it.

Y/N jolted up from the pleasure she got and tugged at his hair to pull him closer to her. He let out a breathy laugh only intensifiying her feelings when she felt his mouth vibrate against her. “Harry.” She moaned as his fingers found their way to her wet entrance. He parted her lips and buried his tongue inside her again for a quick taste before he let his fingers do their magic.

At first it was just one, then two, before he started pumping his fingers in and out of her and he kept his mouth on her clit. Sweat was forming on his forehead and Y/N tried her best to keep his hair out of his face so she could see him whenever he looked at her. Her walls started clenching around him and her legs were starting to get tired.

Harshly she gripped the mattress and tried her best not to scream when he hit that spot inside her that made her see stars.

“You’re so thight, baby.” Harry moaned after he flicked his tongue over her clit harshly and his fingers were picking up on speed. “Do you want to cum, love?” She nodded her head, eyes closed, much to Harry’s dislike. “Talk to me.” His movements came to a halt which made her thrust her hips forward desperately.

“Please, Harry.”

“Please, what?”

“Please make me cum.”

He laughed before he buried his head between her legs again and began to eat her out as if she was his last meal and she couldn’t help but let her legs shake, and those moans out, when she felt the beard scratch her on all the right places. Harry was painfully hard himself but hearing and tasting her made him almost combust in his pants.

When his fingers picked up speed and she pinched her own nipple, her walls began to thighten around him and with one last moan she let herself go. “Fuck. Harry!” She closed her eyes shut, her back arched off the white material and helplessly she tried to breathe again.

Harry watched her with such adoration in his eyes as she came down and gave her pussy one last kiss before he held her face in his hands. She didn’t care that he was still covered in her juices and smeared it in her hair.

With a playful grin he looked her up and down and once her breathing calmed down a bit she gave him a small peck on his dimple, making it deeper on his cheek. Butterflies erupted in both bellies and a giddly feeling made both of them feel warm inside. With his thumb he stroke her cheek and rested his forehead on hers again.

“Are you mine now?”

[esmealux]

I'll bite. 13 and 35 look like they might be fun together. 😈

Thank you so much for this fun prompt, Shelly ❤ The opportunities seemed endless, but in the end I went with this. I hope you like it.

Once again, I screwed up at brevity, so this is 1.9K (:

13. Someone does something stupid + 35. 'You wanna bet?' 'Care to wager?'

Never make a bet with the Devil.

A deal, if you must. But do not bet against him.

Not because he’ll take your soul or anything; he won’t even necessarily take your money.

But because he can’t handle it. He can’t. He’ll stop at nothing to win, and when he doesn’t—when he can’t shoot down a bottle of vodka with a slingshot from 400 feet away, or blow a soap bubble with his nose, or fly to Sweden and back in under thirty minutes (the latter he did do, but a drug test showed he’d taken EPO)—he’ll walk around in a pathetic cloud of self-pity, sulking and pouting to an unbearable degree for days on end.

So if you care about the Devil, don’t bet with him. It’s for his own good.

It really is.

And yet-

Chloe picks up the dirty plates from the coffee table as gunshots fire around her. It makes her a little uneasy, how real it sounds through their newly installed surround sound system. One so expensive she doesn’t even want to know.

Their just as overpriced (and unnecessarily big) TV is bathing Lucifer in white-blue light as he stares at the screen intently. He did want to watch the movie with her, but she’s not much of a Weaponizer fan, and she’d like to clean up before she snuggles up next to him on the couch and inevitably falls asleep. As she’s gathered all the dishes in her arms, however, she can’t help but pause and glance at the film for just a second.

‘Yeah, like that could actually happen,’ she snorts, watching the car jump across a considerable gap in a bridge, flip mid-air, and land on all four wheels on the other side. ‘I mean, no one’s ever done that.’

As soon as the words leave her mouth Chloe knows she’s made a mistake.

Lucifer pauses the movie—because God forbid he misses five seconds of a film he’s watched thirty times—before he looks up at her with a lifted eyebrow and a devilish grin.

‘Is that a challenge, Detective?’

Chloe glares at him, her jaw clenching. ‘It’s not possible,’ she states firmly, which is even worse, because now he can only reply with-

‘Care to wager?’

Chloe wants to kick herself.

‘There’s no way in Hell you’re doing that,’ she tells him, nodding towards the paused screen before she heads for the kitchen to start the dishwasher.

‘Why? Because my worried girlfriend won’t let me?’ he calls after her. ‘I’m invulnerable, remember?’

Chloe refills her wine glass, generously, and returns to the living room.

‘No,’ she objects, careful not to spill Pinot Noir on the couch as she settles against Lucifer’s warm, silk-clad side. ‘I just know you’ll never forgive yourself when your beloved Corvette rams into a cliff.’

Lucifer gasps and scoffs. ‘As if I’d ever risk such a sweet beauty like that!’ He plucks the glass out of her hand and takes a sip. ‘And even if I did, she would not, because I would succeed, first try.’

‘First try? Really?’

Chloe grabs the remote and replays the last fifteen seconds. Looking at it a second time, it’s even more ridiculous. The background is so obviously a green screen it’s not even funny, the flip is clearly made using some sort of outdated CGI, and they haven’t even bothered making it look like there’s a real person in the car. Also—Chloe doesn’t remember much from school, but she’s pretty sure the entire stunt defies physics as the car leaps, practically flies over the 150 feet gap, all the while rotating 360 degrees sideways.

‘Maybe third,’ Lucifer admits.

Chloe shakes her head and sighs.

‘I can do it, Detective.’ He looks at her like it’s a threat. ‘And I will.’

Oh, he will definitely try. The determination in his eyes leave no doubt about that. But he can’t possibly copy that stunt with an actual car and an actual gap. There’s just no way. And she shouldn’t spur him on. She really shouldn’t. But the idiot’s gotta learn at some point, and if she’s gonna have to deal with his childish disappointment (and she will), she might as well get something out of it.

‘Fine,’ she shrugs. ‘What are we betting?’

He grins at her, brown eyes twinkling with excitement.

‘If—nay, when I win,’ he answers promptly, and Chloe rolls her eyes, ‘I’ll finally get that thing I’ve always wanted.’

Chloe stares at him, comepletely clueless. If his tone and stupid smirk are anything to go by, it’s not a pet shark he’s talking about.

‘One... re-enactment for another,’ he clarifies slowly, his dark gaze gliding over her body before his eyes flicker to the glass doors leading to their terrace—and their outdoor hot tub.

Chloe fights the urge to roll her eyes again.

‘Okay,’ she agrees, internally reminding herself it doesn’t really matter. She gives him a cocky smile. ‘And when I win?’

Lucifer chuckles as if he finds her adorably naïve. Asshat. Still, he says, ‘You’ll get anything you desire.’

Chloe thinks. There’s not much she desires he wouldn’t give her anyway. She could have him do paperwork for a month, but he’d just mess it up, and she’d have to listen to his complaints about ‘torturous boredom’ and ‘purgatory’. She could also go for something funnier, like have him wear t-shirt and sweats to work for a week. But that would just be cruel, wouldn’t it?

‘I don’t know,’ she tells him, but the words are barely out of her mouth before Trixie’s enthusiastic voice sounds behind them.

‘I might have an idea!’

Lucifer sighs and gives Chloe an unimpressed look before he shifts slightly in his seat to look at her daughter.

‘Alright, but only because your mum lacks creativity like a sober Faulkner.’

Trixie walks around the couch and comes to stand in front of them, a mischievous smile on her face.

‘Please don’t tell me it’s a unicorn on the cheek,’ Lucifer huffs, taking another gulp of Chloe’s wine.

‘It’s not,’ she assures him and holds out her iPad for him to see. It’s a doodle of a small, fluffy goat with pink fur. ‘I was thinking something more… permanent.’ With the hand that’s not holding her tablet, Trixie pats a spot on the left side of her upper chest.

Lucifer slowly removes the wine glass from his lips, and the sheer horror on his face makes Chloe snort with laughter.

He stares at the small, inarguably adorable drawing like it’s a personal insult, glances down at his chest with dread, and looks back to Trixie.

‘You little Devil,’ Lucifer grumbles, but there’s no trace of hostility in his voice. If anything, he sounds a little impressed. He grabs Trixie’s iPad from her outstretched hand and studies the pink kawaii buck for a second, as if he’s seriously considering saying yes to the deal.

Eventually, he sighs. ‘I’m in.’

‘Lucifer-’ Chloe immediately begins to protest. He’s not gonna win this bet, and she knows how downright intolerable he’ll be when he’ll have to get a cute, chubby animal—one that, to him, represents mockery and misconception—tattooed onto his skin. She's tired already, just thinking about all the whining she'd have to deal with.

But it’s too late. Her boyfriend and daughter shake hands, and the deal is settled.

Chloe palms her face.

‘Wait, what do you get if you actually manage to… whatever it is this time?’ Trixie asks, her small hand still clasped in Lucifer’s.

Chloe looks up at him, heat creeping up her cheeks. Their eyes meet shortly before he looks back to her daughter, visibly conflicted.

‘Eh…’

It’s not so much a word as it is a breathy, high-pitched sound, partly stuck in his throat. But it’s answer enough for Trixie.

‘Forget I asked,’ she quickly says, her face scrunched up in disgust. ‘I’ll be in my room.’

She takes her iPad back and leaves them alone on the couch.

‘So, I guess it’s tit or tat, then,’ Lucifer remarks with a chuckle, glancing down at Chloe’s chest.

She snorts and smiles, despite herself.

‘But, I mean-’ He grabs the remote and plays the scene a third time.

He must not see the same utterly absurd and almost comically impossible stunt she (still) sees, because he leans down and whispers in her ear, ‘Better start rehearsing your lines, Detective.’

Chloe shakes her head at him and snuggles closer to his body.

*

‘You’re lucky I like your mother,’ Lucifer mumbles as the needle pinches ink into his chest.

He’d driven off in a ‘cheap’ Porsche this morning and returned eight hours later, looking like he’d literally been fed to the wolves and with no Porsche.

‘Hey honey,’ she’d greeted him, hiding her smirk behind her cup of tea. ‘How’d it go?’

He’d answered with a grunt, blamed the Germans for making their cars too ‘praktisch’ and the Italians for not making theirs fast enough (he’d controlled for variables) and finally concluded it was all his dad’s fault because He ‘created that pesky gravity’.

Then he’d handed her an ornate, black business card and looked at her as if he’d picked his own casket.

Chloe had bit her cheek and hugged him before driving all three of them to the high-end tattoo parlour he’d requested.

‘You okay there?’ she asks him, letting him grip her hand tighter. The fact that he isn’t feeling any actual pain—‘any physical pain, Detective!’—makes his wincing all the more pathetic. Still, she feels a little bad for him.

‘No.’ He bends his neck to peer down at his chest, and pouts. ‘I’m not.’

Trixie grins beside him. ‘I think it looks cool!’

‘Of course, you do. You’re a twelve-year-old girl.’

The smile on Trix’ face turns into a smirk. ‘A twelve-year-old who girl you lost a bet to.’

Sighing deeply, Lucifer turns his head to scowl at her like she’s his annoying little sister and not the stepdaughter he’d go to the ends of the universe for.

‘It’ll be gone in a few months,’ Chloe reminds him, earning her a funny look from the tattoo artist.

The muscle in Lucifer’s jaw ticks. ‘It’s not even finished yet and I already hate it more than I ever did my bloody wings! How am I supposed to endure this… horned cotton candy for months?’

Chloe takes a deep breath. She brought this on herself. She knew she shouldn’t have made that bet with him. She knew he’d be an insufferable drama queen.

She also knows, after hours of hearing him moan, that he’s not gonna shut up about ‘deceitful special effects’ and ‘useless laws of physics’, much less the ‘vile, little creature marring his muscled chest’. Not unless she does something.

So Chloe does something.

For the second time in her life, she gets naked in—and out of a hot tub.

‘No moaning, then,’ she tells him, giving him a stern look.

Lucifer looks her up and down in awe and hunger, dark eyes lingering on the tiny red bikini he knows she’ll take off in a matter of seconds. ‘Now, there’s a promise I can’t keep.’

‘About the wager,’ she clarifies, but he’s not listening.

With a sigh, Chloe sinks into the hot, bubbling water, loosens her bikini top, and gets into character.

She is never, ever betting with the Devil again.

[thehellcatcroons]

Kyrie Head Canons

She actually isn't too terribly bothered by profanity, she thinks it's funny sometimes. However, she thinks it's even funnier when Nero gets flustered over people cussing in front of her, so she lets him think that it bothers her more than it actually does. She quite enjoys his “don't act like a barbarian in front of my proper lady” act.

Kyrie volunteers at the orphanage and offers singing lessons to the orphans who want to learn how to sing

She has a little ukulele that she brings along and uses for lessons, sometimes she makes up little songs here and there

She loves to cook and bake, and puts her whole heart into everything she makes. She regularly makes baked goods for her neighbors and the other volunteers at the orphanage. She also loves to watch cooking and baking shows, and will enthusiastically attempt any new recipes that she sees on them right away.

Her two favorite movie genres are raunchy/crude comedy and horror

She's secretly a thrill seeker and loves things like carnivals and rides

She's indescribably grateful for Nico, and adores Nero's friendship with her. She likes listening to their banter, and will go out of her way to invite Nico over as often as she can.

She sings Nero to sleep every night, delicately playing with his hair as she does.

She's a natural caretaker, the “mom friend” if you will. She's always making sure that her loved ones are always well feed and cared for.

Kyrie can sew extremely well, and often mends Nero's clothing after he comes home from jobs to save money. She'll mend some of Dante's clothes from time to time as well.

She enjoys painting, and is actually quite good at it. Nero insists on framing and hanging her paintings around their home.

Kyrie is well known in her community not just from her singing, but for being a huge part of the community as well. She volunteers, helps with the community garden, and even helps out with organizing when Fortuna has festivals.

Lemon is her favorite flavor of all time. She loves lemonade, and any baked good with lemon in it. Nero will often surprise her by bringing home some form of lemon based treat after working a job.

She loves puzzles and board games and she tries to round up the DMC Crew every now and again for game nights at her and Nero's place.

Despite her terrible ordeal with The Order, she has not lost her faith in “good” demons (Sparda, Dante, Nero,) and is never off put by Nero's demonic powers.

She bird watches when she can, often waking up early to do so. She knows all of the native species in Fortuna, and knows everything about them. Song birds are her favorite, but she loves hummingbirds too.

She loves to hike, and often goes for long hikes when Nero and Nico are out on jobs. She knows her way around the mountains and jungles of Fortuna well, and is well versed in taking care of herself out in the wilderness.

There's a small group of native deer in the Fortuna mountains that Kyrie has been feeding for years. They trust her enough to let her pet them.

She constantly tells Nero that when Dante and Vergil get back from Hell, she's going to invite them both over for dinner. She's excited that he has family, and she wants to get to know them too.

Kyrie cried tears of joy when Nero came home with his new arm, not only happy to see her love in one piece, but happy that he came home “all put back together.”

“Why don't you invite Nico inside for some food?” Is a question she asks every time Nico is picking Nero up, or dropping him off.

She's an incredibly friendly person, and goes out of her way to make everyone she encounters feel welcome and special.

Nico had to stop her from hunting Nero down in a fit of disappointed anger when they found out he left the hospital early after getting his arm ripped off. Kyrie is normally very calm and collected, but can get upset when Nero is being reckless and stubborn. She'd even asked Nico how fast she could make her a gun because she was ready to mow down hoards of demons herself to find Nero. (Nico was stunned, but managed to calm her down and let her go look for him instead.)

Despite seeming like an “innocent church girl,” she has a few small tattoos. She has a goldfinch (species of song bird) on the upper right of her back, a pink carnation on her left ankle, and a butterfly on her inner left wrist. They each hold a deep meaning to her. The songbird is a representation of herself, and since yellow is her favorite color, she went with the goldfinch. Pink carnations are her favorite flower, but they also mean gratitude, which is something that Kyrie holds close to her heart. She has been through many trials and traumas in her life, so a lot of what helps her push on is being grateful to still be alive, and being grateful to still have Nero. The butterfly symbolizes freedom from The Order of the Sword, both physically and mentally. It had been a part of her life for her entire life, but it took her family from her and caused devastation to her beloved hometown. When she felt she had finally moved past all of the trauma that was caused by them, she got the tattoo to always remind herself that she was free from it all.

Also on Ao3 :)

[whoslaurapalmer]

so i never do this but i put a lot of thought into really specific details about the structure and scene layout of (the three-part folding mirror) and i really really really want to talk about it so here are some of my notes and some general commentary 

-the crux of the fic, at least the way i had envisioned it, is what vfd does to family, how it becomes biological family vs the family created by vfd

-what vfd did to specific families: -physically separated the calibans -morally separated the denouements and the snickets -somehow brought the anwhistles closer together

-in terms of ramona and olaf, ramona was there to stress the distinction of biological family vs. vfd family but also how they’re so inextricably intertwined with each other, and olaf, this is harder to tell bc he doesn’t have a point of view here, but olaf is scoping out potential candidates for his personal group of firestarters – his own sort of “family” (ramona bc she’s a duchess, ernest because he has a similar line of thought, josephine because her husband is working with the mushrooms, the white-faced women because, well they wind up in his troupe and I have very vague headcanons about how that happens)

-related; the reason frank asks olivia about miranda at the end is because, at that point in the fic, frank feels so terrible about what he said to ernest that he’s trying to reassure himself that his family is still okay because (dewey’s right) at least they’re together, compared to the calibans, who haven’t seen each other in years. it was one of the first ideas I had when I was jotting ideas down in april and it stuck with me the whole way through. I really wanted it in there. I went back and forth before I got to this plot, though, on whether or not frank or ernest would be the one asking it. but I think it fits frank. -(ahahahahahaha the kicker being that miranda really was at the party the whole time and olivia didn’t recognize her) -anyway 

-the parallels in the fic were: -the denouements start the fic together, and end the fic alone (by being honest about how they feel about each other) -the snickets start the fic relatively separated, and end the fic together (by being dishonest about what happened during the party) -the denouements start the fic by playing their game, and the snickets end the fic with theirs -frank is mistaken for ernest, ernest is mistaken for frank -frank pretends to be ernest on accident, ernest pretends to be frank on purpose -dewey has never slammed a door in his life; towards the end of the fic he slams the tray -i….think that’s all of them. I think

-character-wise, jacques and frank both see themselves as the people holding their families together; when in fact for the denouements, it’s dewey, which I think is clear in this, and for the snickets it’s lemony, which is less clear here? but definitely something I agree with -dewey and kit see themselves as the most ‘normal’, and they both have relatively solitary positions of acquiring information -ernest and lemony clearly both vibe on a ‘question vfd’ wavelength -i was also interested in kit and ernest, as siblings who feel stifled by an older/perceived older sibling, and dewey and lemony, who are sometimes unnecessarily protected by their siblings because they are the youngest/perceived youngest -this doesn’t show up in the fic bc olaf’s parents are still alive, but I thought ramona and olaf were also interesting foils re: reacting to their parent’s deaths

-some narration notes: -frank never refers to ernest and dewey as his brothers, except in the scene where he argues with ernest. because frank doesn’t necessarily see the split of biological family vs vfd family but has definitely swayed more to vfd family -ernest and dewey always refer to each other as brothers. -similarly, frank refers to the members of vfd as associates, most everyone else refers to them as friends. -ernest refers to vfd as strictly VFD because he’s distanced himself from it, while everyone else calls it ‘the organization’ -frank doesn’t swear even in his narration when he’s thinking them and not saying them because it’s, still his narration. he still wouldn’t quite completely say the words. (oh, he’s like gansey, like that. the raven cycle is still on my brain. i had so many scene sketches where ernest and frank were way too callous to each other bc they kept coming out like ronan and declan.)  -kit’s line at the beginning is “someone in this very room has betrayed us” which is jacques’s line from the building committee meeting in unauto. the clock saying wrong afterwards is because the someone who really betrayed them (lemony) isn’t in the room. 

-the costumes, which i did decide very arbitrarily: monty: clearly a snake. olaf: sigh. wolf ramona and olivia: oh, there was actually a slight distinction that just no one notices because none of them have looked at an insect (and also because describing clothes properly but succinctly is the hardest thing. i've written fic for a long time!!!!! i did my time in block paragraph clothing description hell!!! it haunts me!!!!!!!!!!), but ramona was the butterfly and olivia was actually a dragonfly. their masks are roses because, well 1) I thought that would be cool 2) butterflies and dragonflies land on flowers…. jacques: the boxwood, but a lion otherwise. josephine: ocean widdershins: the octopus with the pirate hat jacquelyn: the gold star suit (because gustav said she should do it for a play on. star. like. actress star.) miranda: uranus’s moon named miranda. it was very vague and I put that in the fic before I decided to have her in the little scene with esme. and then i thought i would put her in that scene too. gustav: phantom of the opera.  haruki: tree frog hector: tree (not because of haruki’s costume but because i literally could not think of a damn thing for hector to be) lemony: uhhhhhh I had vague ideas he was. a cloud or something. like a stormcloud???? couldn’t pan out though. I like him in grey anyway. kit: I really just wanted her in red. with a big cape. and i spent so much time mentally deciding if i wanted her to have glasses or not in the archives that i forgot to mention her mask. everyone has one i swear to god  white faced women: did anyone recognize that was them? :) it’s not mentioned in any way at all but in my head they were all dressed identically as flappers

esme actually doesn’t have one, because I, forgot, to give her one. I’m taking suggestions. 

-references to lyeekha’s fics: -“that which is essential is invisible to the eye” is what frank says to jacques at the end of edge, and also the title of their snicket/denouement series  -it initially wasn’t in there, because I was worried it wasn’t, like, in the right tone, re: what happens in edge vs how I was interpreting jacques and frank? but i liked it a lot. so i put it back in.  -“frank quit smoking, but you didn’t” is a reference to frank smoking at the end of rigged  -guess the guest and the clock alcove are from the end of fragments, with dewey and ernest watching hotel guests. this is my favorite thing in the whole world and something i actually keep forgetting is not canon because it is SUCH the perfect beethoven parallel  -kit’s tattoo, which I was specifically imagining as the giant bombinating beast tattoo from ink on her back, which is definitely not around her neck but that was the only spot of skin she was showing so it was available and my thought was, it was kind of a low-cut in the back dress, and she was wearing the cape to cover up the giant tattoo on her back because beatrice was not there to cover it up with makeup (also bea picked out the dress.) (bea: if I can’t be there you have to make a statement) (kit: I have to what) -lemony being a “powerful, mythical figure” to the sugar bowl gen was actually something I wrote a long time ago, back in 2013, and I put it in the fic because I thought it fit, and then happened to reread double edged VERY late into the rewriting, literally THE DAY after I wrote that line in, and i saw a similar line of thought, and I was like “*cooper voice* sometimes you just get lucky ~ ” -jacques being in a lion costume, from the masquerade outfit sketches

additionally – -yes I am still cackling about ‘angel of my apple’ -angel of my apple -ANGEL OF MY APPLE  -writing olaf is constantly like, he can say the funniest fucking things. and then turn around and say the absolute cruelest shit and the balance can be difficult.  -but, angel of my a p p l e 

-i can’t believe that out of all the people here, frank and jacques are the ones having the most semi-successful romantic relationship. well, ramona and olivia, too, but frank and jacques actually kiss so good for them -i know it was very vague and it’s because writing romance is physically embarrassing, but yes that last line was supposed to be them kissing, i’m so sorry 

-undercover underwater was a last-minute addition because I didn’t want to take the time to try and google something real and good because I didn’t have the time. my guilty pleasure is super shitty hallmark murder mystery movies (I like good murder mysteries as well, thank you.) and my mom’s been reading terrible murder mysteries during lunch (where I was sitting across from her, also eating lunch, but also hiding behind my laptop and writing the fic) so I just came up with undercover underwater on the spot, but my mom came up with the tagline. it was originally ‘sleeps with the fishes’ (especially because i love the godfather movies which also, clearly has a very big stress on family vs The Family) but I thought ‘diving for the truth’ was funnier. -my mom and my brother (who has no interest in shitty murder mysteries, but loves to verbally smack them down with me re: their predictable tropes) and I decided that the plotline was something like, single woman scuba dives and keeps running into stuff (you know, hidden treasure, dead bodies, the like); her love interest drives the boat; her overbearing family member is an aunt; this is definitely like, book four in the series. there’s probably twelve books or something. (she goes on vacation on like book six and still finds a dead body, come on it practically writes itself.) (she probably owns a little fish tank......it’s a small sunny beach town.........etc etc.........) (it’s so easy to do this.)  -oh, fixer upper is the worst hallmark murder mystery series, murder she baked is the best. in my opinion. 

-dewey and lemony were supposed to have an actual conversation at the hors d’oeuvres table but every time I tried to put lemony in earlier he just wouldn’t work. it didn’t feel right. so he got saved for the reveal. -but i’m still delighted by the idea of lemony literally doing the shot of gazpacho.  -dewey uses a spoon because he doesn’t have the composure or the guts to do a shot of cold soup  -lemony was also supposed to have a scene with kit and one with jacques, i’m pretty sure, to lead up to the gazpacho conversation and the commiserating re: siblings. but again, didn’t work out. so then dewey had to fare alone in the scene. -oh!! the line about how lemony hides, in the least likely places, was actually something that was in my initial write of lemony’s scrapped pov of my ellington fic. jacques being responsible for sending olivia to the hinterlands was from a scrapped jacques fic.  -steal from your unused fic. 

-because I had to take scenes with lemony out, I had some, gaps in the night that I had to fill in (especially because this is a party more people are there than the snickets and the denouements), so that was how esme, the herpetology squad, and olaf and josephine came to be. (also olaf needed to show up again somewhere else otherwise he kind of, disappeared awkwardly, I thought?) -also because initially there was going to be a scene of bea and bertrand, elsewhere, but I wanted to keep the fic contained to the hotel, because one of the ideas I wasn’t able to put into the fic all that much was the sense of the hotel being its own world -oh, bea and bertrand don’t know that lemony used them as cover. the assignment they were working on instead of being at the party? planning the opera. the scene would’ve come right after ramona and olaf’s conversation. -the herpetology squad not only serves to highlight that people can’t tell the denouements apart (part of the foreshadowing that ernest would pretend to be frank), but was also me roasting myself because writing like a million different characters I had never written like this before had me very concerned about if their characterization was consistent, specifically for kit. (specifically, her with dewey.) also defining a character down to one base trait can be helpful when writing and creating characters, but for people no it’s not ideal. -haruki’s estimation of the denouement’s traits were not how i was mentally keeping track of them, because i definitely do do the ‘one base trait’ sometimes, but i had a lot more going on when i was thinking of them -but yes dewey is kind. in the way that bertrand is kind, but bertrand’s like, way more smooth about it. 

-lemony does not have his own pov because, for me personally, I can’t fathom writing him in any other way besides first person, and it just would not do to have one scene out of the whole fic not in third person. unless he was secretly narrating each scene, which, he clearly was not. i would’ve had to do it in a whole different style. 

-i love that dewey and kit are like ‘ahaha we’re the normal ones though’ and their normal conversation is them literally going ‘hey these creepy fish are AWESOME THOUGH’ -i looked at so many fish. for hours.  -ALL BECAUSE I came up with the phrase ‘oceanic intrigue’ as a fun phrase and decided I had to commit my soul to it and never look back. -oh, the fairy shrimp are really very cute though. and i think the cookiecutter shark is, fucked up but a neat little guy. 

-i’m eternally going to be laughing about this too  kit: where the fuck is frank frank: /three floors down, making out with jacques

-oh!! 40-49 is unassigned in the dewey decimal system (which I googled. many, many times.), and was previously biographies. there’s another section for biographies now, but because biography was the closest I could come to like, some sort of, identity category, I thought it was more fitting if it was the section that used to be biography but was now as blank as frank felt.

-dewey is the one responsible for the clock sounding like it does. he just thinks ‘wrong’ is a fun word. that, and frank recognizing jacques by sound, were from my earlier scene sketches for this when i thought this fic was going to be much, much shorter. 

[lovelylogans]

honey, you’re familiar (like my mirror)

see other chapters, notes, and warnings here!

chapter four: symbiosis

symbiosis: interaction between two different organisms living in close physical association, typically to the advantage of both.

VIRGIL

“Uh,” Virgil says, scrambling in the face of his mother—hair wrapped for the night, blinking the sleep out of her eyes, her arms crossed, “My—myself?”

Technically true, he guesses, according to some of the sensate’s personal beliefs about the connections they share with their clusters, according to Logan according to Dot. Like having other selves scattered across the world.

Andisiwe frowns. “At this time of night?”

Virgil shrugs weakly.

She frowns deeper. Then:

“You know,” she says, looking at him very intently, “your grandmother used to talk to herself at all times of day, too.”

Virgil stays silent. His mother crouches to sit with him on the floor, settling with a long sigh.

“About anything at all,” she continues. “She’d talk about the snow when this country hadn’t seen snow for ten years. She’d laugh when no one told a joke, cried when nothing sad had happened. She’d make recipes I’d never heard of before. You remember her pitha?”

Virgil nods, confused. Of course he remembers her pitha. They’d have it at every large family gathering.

“That’s an Indian dessert. She’d never left South Africa in all her life, but she knew how to make pitha and speak Tamil like she was born in Bangalore. Just like you were speaking a language other than Xhosa or English just now.”

Oh, Virgil thinks, then, oh.

“So unless you started taking language lessons while studying for your doctorate,” she says, staring at him.

Virgil chews at the inside of his cheek.

“No,” he says hoarsely. “No, I didn’t.”

She nods, accepting this. “How long…?”

“I don’t know,” Virgil admits. “A week and a half? Two weeks?”

“Not long at all,” she murmurs. “ I suppose it might skip a generation. She told me once it started when she was a child. A horrible headache struck her, and once it let up she had seven new friends all around the world. When they were all ten, maybe.”

Ten, Virgil thinks, mind whirling. God, to deal with all this at the age of ten?

“Sensates,” Virgil croaks. “We’re called sensates.”

His mother offers him a smile. 

“I know,” she says. “Tell me about them.”

“One’s here,” Virgil says, and he looks at the big, tall, tattooed man. “I don’t think I got your name last time.”

The man walks from his plush apartment rug to sit on the hardwood floor. 

“Patton Taumata,” he says with Virgil’s mouth, offering a bright smile to Virgil’s mother, sitting beside him. “Māori, New Zealander.”

And then Virgil feels what Patton does next—pull seems too strong a word, but it’s the closest he has.

Sitting across from him, looking vaguely disgruntled to find himself on the ground, yet still sitting at his desk in his home office.

“Janus Slange,” he says. “London.”

He slides out of Virgil’s body to find a spot to sit that’s a bit more refined.

Patton turns his head, and Virgil turns his gaze to follow.

“Roman Regio,” the actor says, looking up from his script to gesture beside him. “And my brother, Remus. Who is currently on his way to Mexico City, which he should have done as soon as he got accused.”

“This is such a dumb plan,” Remus groans, resting his head simultaneously against the bus window and Virgil’s bed. “I want all of you batshit hallucinations to know that I don’t come up with plans this stupid. My plans are refined in the way they cause utter chaos.”

Sitting in his bed in the barracks and beside Virgil, so close their thighs almost touch, giving Virgil a thrill that shoots all the way to his fingertips—

“Logan Zieliński,” he says to Virgil’s mother, careful to sound respectful. “I was just here. I’m Polish, but I’m currently studying in Antarctica. Space research.”

They’re here. All of them here. But Virgil sees Patton reach again—

EMILE

—and Emile beams at the sight before him. Patton turns to grin at him.

“Well done!” Emile says, filled to bursting with pride. 

Patton! Reliably being able to pull them all in to visit together! That kind of skill—coupled with the fact that Patton, back in his apartment in Auckland, is peaceably planning lessons with a sitcom in the background—can take other sensates months of practice to truly achieve. 

“Is this your mother?” He asks Virgil.

Virgil says, “Um, Mom, my—cluster parent?”

Emile makes an eh handwavey gesture followed by a thumbs-up. “Whatever you’re comfortable with, I’m comfortable with!”

“—is here right now. His name’s—”

He speaks at the same time as Emile does.

“Dr. Emile Picani, hi there—!”

“—and he’s American.”

Virgil’s mother’s brow wrinkles in distaste, but she does a good show of trying to hide it.

“That’s fair,” Emile says. “Americans are—well, y’know. You’ve seen the news.”

“This is my mother, Dr. Andisiwe Nkosi. My grandmother was a sensate too, apparently.”

“Oh, that’s lovely!” Emile exclaims. “There are sensates within biological families, of course—” he gestures to Roman and Remus, “—but things are still up in the air about if and how being homo sensorium passes down.”

“Dot said the number of sensates is rising due to epigenetic factors,” Logan says.

“Oh, you’ve met Dot!” Emile says delightedly. 

“She answered many of the questions I have,” Logan says, and for a blip, they’re all sitting in the barracks in Antarctica as Logan reaches for a notebook and pen. “But I still have many questions.”

“Entirely understandable,” Emile says.

“Wait, you got your questions answered?” Roman demands, and they’re all sitting on Roman’s apartment’s massive balcony overlooking Mexico City. “I just got this one—” he points accusingly at Janus, “telling me hey, surprise, you’re not actually losing your shit!”

Janus shrugs, and they’re all surrounded by monitors, blinking with so many different points of data it makes Emile a little dizzy. “He just showed up in the mirror while I was shaving.”

“Well,” Emile says, and they’re all in Emile’s apartment at home. Emile puts a kettle on the stove. “I’m here now. So what questions can I help you answer? Or, at least, activate the Archipelago to get some kind of answer for you. If you can think of some kind of subject, there’s probably a sensate that knows something about it, but I suppose we should probably start with the sensate-specific questions.”

Remus puts up a hand and asks, loudly, “Can I use the psychic connection with other sensates to have some kind of insane worldwide orgy?”

ROMAN

Sasha is out for a key art photoshoot, so Roman has the whole apartment to himself. Which is good, because he got a bit busy last night with the whole explanation of what exactly it is that’s been happening to him, and then yelling in disgust when Remus asked gross questions about it.

Roman’s considering if he wants to paint his nails—it’s not like he can keep it, if solely for movie continuity—just to have something to do with his hands when the door cracks open.

And in steps Remus—absolutely filthy, staring at Roman incredulously, a fake mustache plastered above his real mustache that he immediately rips off.

“It worked,” Roman says gleefully. “It worked!”

“First of all, cops ain’t shit, I probably should have expected literally every police officer to sleep on the job when seeing someone suspicious board a bus, but Jesus fuckin’ Christ, your security munches ass,” Remus declares, “They let a murderer get into your apartment.” 

Roman bursts out laughing.

“It’s not funny!” Remus says, pulling off the fake beard he’d donned. “It took five pesos of stolen fake beard and mustache to fool everyone, are you fucking kidding me—?!”

Roman slides off the couch, gripping his stomach, he’s laughing so hard.

“What?!” Remus demands, throwing off the overly large trench coat he’d been huddling under.

“You,” Roman wheezes, then, “you said the plan was stupid and it wouldn’t work—!”

“It is stupid! I come up with way better plans than this, you’re telling me that you came up with the stupid kid movie plan and I didn’t?! And it shouldn’t have worked—Roman, stop laughing, your fangirls are fucking batshit crazy, could you imagine what kind of weird Wattpad shit they’d get up to if they knew how easy it was to break in here?!”

Roman is screaming with laughter, because literally all they needed was a fake mustache and beard, and ooh Roman can tell that Remus is pissed that Roman came up with this plan first because it’s such a perfectly Remus plan. He isn’t sure how much of it is a sensate thing versus a twin brother thing, but all the same, Roman knows that Remus is absolutely fuming, which makes it even funnier.

Remus storms off, shouting, “Just for this, I’m going to use up all your fancy shampoo! I’m going to take the biggest, nastiest shit in your bathroom! I’m—I’m going to eat all your soap! I will! I’ll do it! I’m eating all your soap!”

LOGAN

It’s still a little startling to look over at his notebook and suddenly find himself in South Africa, but he’s gotten a little more accustomed to it since the night before. He’s been feeling a pull to South Africa all day, like an ache deep in his chest. He isn’t entirely sure why.

Virgil glances over at him and smiles, just a little. Logan smiles back. Virgil clears his throat and returns his attention to the textbook before him.

“Roman’s plan worked,” he says. 

Logan huffs, shaking his head. Honestly. It’s like those American movies when three children stack on top of each other and wear a large trenchcoat and a fake beard to gain access to the movies, but it actually worked. 

In retrospect, Logan’s sure that Remus would have foregone his escape into the wilderness if he’d known that donning a disguise and having his rich brother pay away the arrest troubles and their psychically connected lawyer argue before the court would have worked so neatly.

However, considering that nearly every aspect of that plan is absolutely off the rails ridiculous, the escape into the wilderness must have seemed like a prudent measure to take at the time.

“How’s your research?” Logan asks, sitting down on Virgil’s bed. 

“Pretty good,” Virgil says, his tone very casual. “I think the fact that abrus precatorius—”

“The scientific name for rosary peas,” Logan assumes. He is rewarded by a nod from Virgil.

“—isn’t native to Mexico and the fact that Remus hasn’t traveled for years on end is a pretty good basis for Janus to go on. Plus, abrin—”

“The toxin?” Logan clarifies and receives a nod.

“—is incredibly toxic, to the point where anyone ordering rosary peas would probably get pinged under some kind of monitoring system. So there wouldn’t really be a way for Remus himself to get them. Miguel Contreras, on the other hand—”

“The murder victim?” Logan says, startled.

“Yes—on the other hand, he went to Florida very recently. He got back three days before his death, in fact.”

“I thought they were native to Asia and Australia?”

“Yeah, they are, but rosary peas are an invasive species, and they’ve been clocked in the pine rocklands there,” Virgil says. “Symptoms usually occur pretty quick, but it can take up to five days to show up, depending on the method of ingestion. And considering the seed of just one pea could be fatal…”

“Then the cause of death could very well be found in Florida!” Logan says. “And the only thing they have on Remus—”

“—Are threats, exactly,” Virgil says enthusiastically. “And considering the way Remus is as a person, Janus could probably get those hand-waved away as being under jest, rather than an actual threat to kill him.”

They smile at each other again, Virgil’s lips twisting wryly. 

“I’ve been wanting to visit you all day,” he says abruptly, and Logan feels that flutter in his stomach again, the one he’s been feeling since they first met; he’s willing to admit to himself that it most certainly isn’t unease, now. It is a near antonym of unease.

“I have too,” Logan admits, trying his very best to keep his voice informal.

Virgil’s smile softens, a little. “Yeah?”

“Yes,” Logan affirms, and the flutter in his stomach intensifies.

They stare at each other. Virgil’s eyes, Logan notices abruptly, are objectively beautiful. Framed by long lashes, his eyes are so dark a shade of brown they’re practically black, so easy to stare at, admiring the way a sudden shift in the lighting would illuminate the subtle honeyed depths of them. 

For a moment, Logan gets a flicker; he’s looking at his own eyes, blue and framed by his glasses, but the emotion in him doesn’t change, the fleeting thought of look how gorgeous, and suddenly he is back to looking at Virgil, and, as one, they look away.

Virgil coughs awkwardly. “This sensate thing—weird, huh?”

For the first time, Logan wonders if the feeling in his stomach is not entirely his own. If it is something shared.

But, Logan thinks, sneaking a look at Virgil taking notes, twirling his pen idly over the backs of his long fingers, he supposes that neither of them would be able to tell that, anyways.

REMUS

Remus is bouncing his leg so much that the cop near him is giving him a disdainful look.

Or maybe the look is because the cop thinks he’s a murderer. Whatever.

“Are you sure this is gonna work,” Remus mutters out of the corner of his mouth because he hasn’t gotten the hang of visiting someone in his cluster and going about day-to-day life like a normal person, the way more experienced sensates can. 

“Positive,” Janus says. He’s sitting crossed-legged beside Remus in his holding cell, where they’re waiting to be transported to the courtroom. Remus is pretty sure most lawyers shouldn’t turn up to court in pajamas, but considering that to the rest of the courtroom Remus is going to play at being his own lawyer, it’s all fine. 

“All they have on you is proximity and threats,” Janus continues. “And considering the voice in your novels, along with the parts in your dust jackets’ where you literally threaten your readers, I can get that set aside no problem.”

Remus inhales heavily and exhales just as noisily.

“Right,” he says. “Right.”

Roman flickers into sight just long enough to shoot Remus a thumbs up, and as Janus resumes spitting legal jargon, Remus feels his shoulders relax.

PATTON

“Be careful with our bezzie Buzzy Bee!” Patton says brightly. He’s crouched before Sophie, having helped untangle the string. “Let’s make sure we don’t tangle him up again, eh?”

“I will, Mr. T!” Sophie shouts, already on the run with the toy, and Patton huffs ruefully. It’ll probably be tangled up again by the end of the day.

A brief chill across his skin, and Patton shivers before he refocuses on the sunny afternoon, here, in Auckland.

By the time he’s stood upright, Logan’s beside him, in a white lab coat.

“Do you really need that much air conditioning down there?” Patton says. “Seems a bit overkill, mate.”

Logan shrugs, closing a door, hiding away some kind of equipment that looks very finicky and complex. “I’m not the one in charge of the facility.”

“Fair enough,” Patton says. “I’m pretty sure I’ll be asked to join in on some kind of game, soon. You like rugby?”

“It’s not exactly popular in Poland.”

“Hm. Guess not,” Patton says. “Probably should’ve known that already.”

“The whole sharing knowledge aspect of this does seem to be rather dependent on a variety of factors,” Logan says thoughtfully. “I don’t think I automatically know the minutiae of New Zealand history and culture just because you might; I think we have to be doing something to trigger that sharing of knowledge.” 

Patton huhs thoughtfully.

“If you didn’t know how to drive a car, for instance,” Logan theorizes, “and I did, and you sat behind a wheel and needed to drive somewhere, I would probably be able to impart that knowledge to you.”

“I can ask Emile,” Patton says, ready to turn and look in on Florida, but he’s stopped by Logan’s frustrated, “how do you do that?”

“Hm?” Patton says, turning to look at him.

“This seems to come so effortlessly to you,” Logan says. “You drop in and seem totally at ease, you could control if we all came to see Virgil a couple nights ago, and by the reactions of those around you, you don’t seem to be talking to thin air—”

“Well, we’re mostly, surrounded by five-year-olds, they wouldn’t be too phased by the concept of me having an imaginary friend,” Patton points out. Logan doesn’t seem particularly amused by this.

“I don’t know,” Patton admits. “Emile thought I was just very communicative, for a sensate. That might be it; I’ve always been pretty chatty. It also might be because Māori have beliefs about how we are all connected—people, nature, all living things—so maybe I was a little more prepared to accept that I was literally connected to other people because I grew up with that as a sacred ideal.”

They watch children run and play for a few minutes; Manaia, diving to catch a football in the game of rugby that had assembled; Sophie, racing between everyone with her Buzzy Bee clack-clack-clacking behind her; Oliver, shyly joining in on a game of hopscotch.

The grass sways in the light breeze, the sun had peeked out from behind its clouds, leaving the entire playground awash in light and warmth. The laughter of children carries on the wind. Patton’s coworkers occasionally look up from their tiny charges to smile and wish him a good day.

“It’s really rather nice here,” Logan says quietly. “I’ve never been remotely near this continent. Coming to research in Antarctica is the most travel I’ve ever really done.”

“Do you miss home?” Patton asks.

Logan considers this.

“Some things,” he says. “Kluski, makowiec, honey mead. Newspapers written in my native language. The coffee shop I studied in throughout all of university. Proper herbata góralska. My mentors. The ability to go to a grocery store. My mother.”

There’s a beat of silence.

“But I love the research I do here,” Logan says firmly. “It’s a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to be able to study down here.”

“It sure seems like it,” Patton says, his admiration clear in his voice. 

“This whole situation threw a bit of a wrench in the works,” he says.

“I think it did for all of us,” Patton says. “Not all bad, though. Remus would probably still be on the run if he hadn’t connected with Janus.”

“No,” Logan muses, a soft flush touching his cheeks. “Certainly not all bad.”

Unbidden, images flash in his mind; black coffee, an expanse of wide sunny road, the sensation of dirt under his fingernails, purple jacaranda blossoms.

Patton tries his hardest not to grin. But—

“What,” Logan says defensively.

“Nothing,” Patton says, not hiding his smile, and Logan huffs irritably.

“You know,” Patton says, “Emile’s been dating someone in-cluster for, like, nine years? They were the first people that they saw, of the people in-cluster. In-cluster relationships are apparently pretty common, which I guess makes sense. Sharing feelings, knowledge, everything—it sure can bond two people together.”

Logan’s flush deepens. 

“Just sayin’,” Patton offers cheerfully, and he goes off to join a game of hopscotch, leaving Logan with his thoughts.

JANUS

The language is different. The procedure is different. The situation is, most definitely, different. 

He’s used to English, English law, English crimes. He’s been a barrister for years, jumping from one firm to another because the latter had seen partner potential in him; it paid much better, too, which certainly hadn’t been a negative. Janus had become a well-polished lawyer, a viper in the courtroom, a boomslang to his rivals. 

He’s good at it, is his point. He’s always been good at it.

He stands, surveying the judge. A different uniform, but a similar dime-a-dozen judge. He’s seen this type dozens of times. He could debate them in his sleep.

But as he looks to the side—Remus sitting, Roman beside him, the rest of the cluster in a line past them, just peeks of their profiles past the twins—he remembers why he started to study law, too.

Because he wanted to be able to get himself and his brother out of any and every sticky situation they could ever stumble into.

Janus stands when he is bid to. He takes the oath, Remus’s mother language tripping off his tongue like it’s his own. It is now, Janus supposes. 

Roman reaches over and grips Remus’s hand. Remus pinches Roman as hard as he possibly can, but Roman doesn’t flinch.

Janus begins smoothly, “Your honor, ladies and gentlemen of the court...”