#why yes i am woefully behind why do you ask

[ladykailitha]

A Holly, Jolly Harrington Christmas

Hello and welcome to my Christmas AUvent Calendar! Every day from now until the 24th I will be posting a ficlet that is 500-1500 from an AU I've done over the years.

All stories will be marked with the tag #12 aus of christmas so you can follow along as I will only be tagging my permanent list for this (it would get too confusing otherwise).

The next one on our list is: The Reunion verse. You can read the story here. All links will be to the first chapter, but the chapter itself will have links to the rest of the story.

Thanks to @bookworm0690 for help with the title.

Day 1 Day 2 Day 3 Day 4 Day 5 Day 6

~

The newly blended Munson/Harrington clan was experiencing the Christmas holiday for the first time.

Edie knew to sit back and watch the chaos. Harri and Eddie did not. She braced for the sonic blast that was about to occur in three, two, one...

“What?!!” Steve squawked. “You guys didn’t do Christmas? But how? Why?”

Harri and Eddie shared a glance and then Eddie just shrugged. “Jai was Muslim and I prefer Halloween. You don’t get mocked for Santa bringing you socks instead of toys when it’s a candy free for all.”

Steve blinked at them in confusion and then tilted his head to side. Edie hid a smile behind her glass of chocolate milk. She always thought her dad looked like a puppy when he did that.

Apparently so did Eddie.

“Oh, no,” he whispered. “The puppy dog eyes.” He turned to Harri. “What have we done?”

“Buckle up, buckaroos!” Edie said cheerfully. “Dad’s going to give you two a crash course in Christmas cheer. He’s almost militant about it.”

“I am not militant,” Steve huffed, putting his hands on his hips. “Just very well organized.”

Edie turned to the Munson boys. “Santa wishes he was as organized as Dad, and the fat little elf has magic.”

~

Eddie realized all too quickly that Edie had absolutely undersold the militant aspect of the Christmas mania that overtaken their home. They had decided to move in Eddie’s place (so he wouldn’t have to rebuild his ridiculous setup regarding the identity of Harri’s surrogate mom. They had told him after the wedding to forestall any meltdowns, but Harri had taken it like a champ and understood why there was so much secrecy.

But Eddie was digressing and his spouse was decorating. It had started innocent enough when he put up the first tree in their main hallway. Then second went up in Steve’s office, in the corner of the room. Then the third one went up in the family room. And this one was the presents and for everyone to decorate. Not the other two. Those were just centerpieces.

Steve scoffed when he brought it up. “You mean like the ten foot skeleton that was there only two months ago? Or the dragon that was on top of the house? Like those decorations, my love?”

Eddie blinked at him for a moment. So, yes. The Munsons had gone all out for Halloween. “Point taken, sweetheart. I will bow to your superior knowledge in this regard.”

Steve nodded smugly. Eddie should have known what was coming next. But he was woefully unprepared.

The train set went up complete with a ceramic Christmas village and its residents. It had working lights on the houses, street lights, and even traffic lights. Eddie had asked Dustin how it all worked.

“Fuck if I know, dude,” Dustin said, “by all rights it shouldn’t. Only Steve in his bumbling way could create such a mess of wires and connections that somehow feedback on each other and still fucking work.”

Eddie looked over at his husband with new appreciation. Because yeah, only Stevie.

Then he learned that there were two Christmas parties. One for the company which was not mandatory, but Steve went all puppy dog eyes and it might as well had been. And the other was the friend and family party.

According to Jeff who had gone to these the last couple of years, was the party. Like Steve hired a Santa Claus to pass out gifts, the food was catered, full professionally tended bar, the works. If Eddie thought the charity gala was obscene, this was that on crack.

The office Christmas party was a blast. Eddie spent most of the time learning new swear words in ASL from Steve’s secretary, Vanessa until her husband Nate dragged her away to meet someone in his department.

Then he spent the rest of the time teaching Dustin the new swears.

Then the day of the Christmas party arrived. And there weren’t as many people as Eddie thought there were going to be. He thought it would be wall to wall with stars like the gala and their wedding reception. But no. It was just friends.

But make no mistake the intimacy of the party did not make it any less grand. In fact, Eddie would have gone as far as to say it made it more intimate.

Eddie slipped his arm around Steve waist and pressed a gentle kiss to his neck. “This has been fun, sweetheart. Thank you.”

Steve flushed with pride. “You’re welcome. I hope Harri is having a good first Christmas.”

“Oh yeah,” Eddie said with a grin. He pointed at his son dancing goofily with his friends. “I don’t think I’ve seen him this happy.”

And then as if called Harri came bounding up to them all smiles. “This is the best holiday ever! Thanks Steve!” He hugged Steve tight.

“You’re welcome, Harri,” Steve said warmly.

Then Harri left the way he came, practically vibrating with joy.

“Betrayal by my own flesh and blood!” Eddie gasped clutching his chest.

Steve shook his head. “As though you don’t have Edie hook, line and sinker for Halloween.”

Eddie looked at Steve for a moment. “Did our children get swapped at birth? Because that is the only explanation.”

Steve just shook his head. This year was the best Christmas he had since his divorce, because Eddie and Harri were apart of it now. And that’s what made it the best holiday ever.

~

Day 8 Day 9 Day 10 Day 11 Day 12

Tag List: CLOSED

1- @itsall-taken @redfreckledwolf @zerokrox-blog @sadisticaltarts @dolphincliffs

2- @gregre369 ​@a-little-unsteddie @chaosgremlinmunson @cryptid-system @kultiras

3- @maya-custodios-dionach @goodolefashionedloverboi @val-from-lawrence @carlyv @wonderland-girl143-blog

4- @bookbinderbitch @bookworm0690 @forgottenkanji @dreamercec @blondie1006

5- @yikes-a-bee @awkwardgravity1 @genderless-spoon @fearieshadow @thesecondfate

6- @dragonmama76 @ellietheasexylibrarian @thedragonsaunt @useless-nb-bisexual @disrespectedgoatman

7- @counting-dollars-counting-stars @tinyplanet95 @ravenfrog @swimmingbirdrunningrock @lingeringmirth

8- @gutterflower77 @a-lovely-craziness @just-a-tiny-void @w1ll0wtr33 @beelze-the-bubkiss

[ten-cent-sleuth]

A Galling Yoke, Part 8

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for the “You’re just in love with the idea of being in love” and “Do you want me to leave?” squares on my July Break Bingo card

See this post for main info, including a masterlist and synopsis. See this post for warnings.

Word Count: 2.2k

Pairing: Sherlock Holmes x f!Reader

Rating: Teen

You couldn’t breathe. You couldn’t move. You couldn’t think.

With a mere half-dozen words, Sherlock had shattered the fragile dynamic you had so carefully pieced back together for you two. After fifteen years apart… Why would he—? How could he—?

“I am in love with you.”

The words echoed in your head, rippling from end to end of your skull as an earthquake rips through a city. Sherlock was still speaking, one hand on his waist and the other gesticulating, but those six words had submerged you in water—boiling, acidic water—and you heard nothing past them.

“I am in love with you.”

You had been completely, woefully caught off guard by Sherlock’s declaration. He had shown up at your doorstep two days after you had last seen each other—the day you had met Miss Algar together—which had been unexpected as well, though not shocking: Sherlock had taken to showing up whenever he wished, and even Mr Rogers was becoming inured to his abruptness. Having assumed the detective had made headway in hunting down the hitman, you had eagerly welcomed him into your sitting room; your excitement had wilted into worry as he had gotten up from his chair after only a few moments then begun pacing silently. You had only just thought of a tactful way to ask him what was the matter when he had blurted out—

“In vain I have struggled. It will not do. My feelings will not be repressed. We were separated for a decade and a half, I know, but I never stopped thinking—caring—about you, and I have recently understood that these feelings have been of a…have all these years been of a romantic nature. My lady, I am in love with you.”

Blast.

It was a good thing you were sitting.

In love with you…?

The last time you had heard those words, they had been out of the mouth of slimy, toadying Mr Sulyard, back when he had offered for your hand. He had been lying through his teeth. He had known it; you had known it; however, you had also known that your father would have given you no choice but to accept, so you had lied through your teeth right back with a humbly delighted yes. Edmund, “in love with you” as he was, had been good to you in public and anything but behind closed doors.

“I am in love with you.”

To this day, Edmund’s family happily remained ignorant of their son and brother’s blatant derision and cruelty, although they espoused how much they admired your personality and your accomplishments whenever you saw them. Your own father claimed to be pleased with how you turned out and to care about your wellbeing, yet he imposed his desires above all else.

“I am in love with you.”

Even William had never chosen you before his comfort. He had expressed his concern when he had heard of your and Edmund’s engagement, knowing a little of the man’s reputation from Harrow and a lot of your ill-matched disposition. Despite this worry for you, he had not stood up for you, not when it would mean fighting with Lord Coltidge, not when it mattered most to you.

And Sherlock—

“I am in love with you.”

Dearest, most beloved Sherlock—

“I am in love with you.”

How could he have forgotten what he had done to make you discredit love, or at least distrust that anybody loved you?

Through your agony, you closed your mouth from where it had been hanging open, then you clutched your hands in your lap to stay their trembling, then you lifted your eyes to finally meet Sherlock’s.

“My resolve to tell you these things hardened when I realised I was struggling to focus through your absence these last couple of…”

He paused his speech once your gazes locked, and when he smiled gently at you, you forgot you were supposed to be thinking of a response. Then he spoke: “Of course, we cannot do aught about it until this case is over.”

You blinked. The utter pragmatism of such a statement within a romantic spiel jarred on you. “What— What do you mean?”

“We must focus on the case, then we may settle all personal matters.” He waved a dismissive hand. “The emotional qualities are antagonistic to clear reasoning; we must not let them get in the way.”

And suddenly, sharply, you remembered the pain he had caused you—was, apparently, still causing you—and laughed. It was a too-big, too-loud thing, with haphazard edges and a dangerous echo, and it brought tears to your eyes.

This time, Sherlock blinked at you. “Why do you laugh?”

“Sir, you need not worry about being too emotional during this investigation,” you said, “for I can settle this business matter for you straightaway. It would appear to me, Mr Holmes, that you are simply in love with the idea of being in love.”

At that, he actually scoffed. “That is ridiculous. Why would I want to be in love? It deludes the perfectly reasonable mind; it softens one’s senses, warps one’s thoughts. If I could avoid it, I would.”

You ground your teeth for a moment before speaking to make sure your voice remained even. “That is precisely the reason. Despite your attempts to void your heart of tender feelings, you know you long for a profound bond with the perfect companion—you know you could be happy in such a relationship. Above all, you know you are happy now that you think you have found it.”

“Perhaps you have the right of it,” he said. “Yet would you expect me to rejoice in a shallow bond with an imperfect companion?”

The icy exterior you had pulled around yourself cracked—was he speaking of you and Edmund? Was he truly critiquing you for accepting such a bond with such a companion?

He arched an eyebrow. “Ought I to congratulate myself on the hope of a relationship that would decidedly add wretched complexity to my life?”

The ice broke apart entirely. “Is that why you left me?” you demanded. “Coming to London for me would have been wretchedly complex?”

His countenance darkened. “You left me, my lady. I waited for your return to Ferndell for months—I counted the days, pathetic me!—and in your stead, I received notice of your engagement to another man.”

“I had little choice in that,” you exclaimed, “and I had no ability at all to go back to you. How could I, a young lady with no money and no chaperone, make it all the way down a London street, never mind onto a public conveyance to Shropshire? You, the gentleman, were the one with the power to come to me!”

Shaking his head, Sherlock moved away to stare out the window. Before you could decide whether to stand and follow him, he said, quietly but with a strong and sweeping undercurrent, “What power, petal? I promised you that I would not hold you back. I promised you that I was nothing short of glad that you would get a come-out ball and a curtsy before the queen like all the proper rich ladies do. I promised you that I would happily let you go if you found a proper rich gentleman at some party that suited you better than I. Those promises took all the power I had.”

With a shaky breath, you pressed a hand to your sternum, vain as the attempt was to keep your heart from falling apart. “You… You also promised me that you wanted to marry me, that you would protect and provide for me. You promised me that you loved me, Sherlock.”

He whirled around. “You promised me the same, my lady.”

“And I do!” Your hands flew to grip the armrests at your sides. “That is, I did— I…”

His gaze softening, he stepped towards you. “Petal…”

You pushed yourself to your feet and looked away from him. “What does it matter how I feel or felt? Though I did not need you to rescue me, I did want you to fight for me.” You met his eyes. “That you did not—that the love you felt for me was so easily given up on—is a fact, and fact comes before feelings, does it not, Mr Holmes?”

He frowned. “Do not throw my words back at—”

“They are not merely your words, sir, they are your core values and their consequences! You only commit as far as reason goes; once logic dictates the chances are uncertain, you become uncertain.”

His frown deepened, but he did not respond.

“I do not want someone to choose me when it is sensible, Sherlock,” you said, softly, desperately. “I want to be chosen when it is totally nonsense, through total nonsense. Was it not nonsensical of me to pray for you to show up before the wedding so you could tell my father I had another acceptable option? Was it not downright imbecilic of me to sit and stare out the window and wait for you after Edmund died? Still I did those very things, all the while you…you could not even accept the risk of visiting me to see if I was all right.”

“We…” His voice trembles, you noted with disbelief. “We have another chance now.”

You shook your head, straining on your neck, weighty on your shoulders. “Another chance to be friends, perhaps. But, Sherlock, you are still uncomfortable with coming to me if it means stepping beyond reason, and I… I ought not to ask more of you than you can give.”

“No,” he said, crossing the room in two strides. “No, my lady, ask— Demand everything you would of me, I—”

A knock came at the sitting room door.

You took a moment to consider Sherlock’s pleading look, then turned away and sighed, “Come in.”

Rogers opened the door but barely had time to announce, “Lord Coltidge for you, my lady,” before the earl himself was striding into the room.

“Daughter,” he said, “I care not that you have another visitor; I am your father and you shall speak with me. How could you have stained the Voss family name so recklessly, you—” He stopped short when he finally noticed Sherlock. “Holmes? What—?”

“My lord,” he greeted. “I apologise. It would appear I am her ladyship’s other visitor.”

Your father, brow furrowing, looked between you and Sherlock a few times. “You are here about the case?”

“No,” he replied.

“Yes,” you said at the same time.

Sherlock blinked. “Er, that is, yes, your lordship, I am here about Mr Sulyard’s death. I wished to inform my lady of developments of a…of an idea she gave me some days previous.”

“Is that so?” He turned cutting eyes onto you. “Would this idea be that your husband was seeking satisfaction in another woman’s bed?”

As you flushed hotly, Sherlock stepped in front of you, blocking your father’s view. “Lord Coltidge!” he cried. “Such vulgarity is hardly appropriate in a lady’s hearing, is it? Besides, I can scarcely credit that you would rather shame your own daughter rather than the gentleman who would dishonour his word by breaking his vows.”

You gulped—you had never seen your father turn that particular shade before.

“I think you best leave us now, sir,” snarled the earl.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” retorted Sherlock, sticking his finger in the air with all the confidence of someone who actually had authority to warn anybody here. “Officially, you have no say in this house; it has been her ladyship’s property for a decade.” Then, he turned around to give you his full attention. “Petal, do you want me to leave?”

He was so soft in that moment, in his voice and in his eyes, that you nearly shook your head. Indeed, your heart pleaded for him to remain, for the bubble of safety that came with his presence to not be burst. But he couldn’t remain. You couldn’t afford relying on him in such a vulnerable position—you simply weren’t ready to pick yourself off the floor if you leaned on him and he walked away once again.

“We have had a…trying conversation,” you whispered to him. “Perhaps you would like to go home and relax now.”

His eyes were stormy as he glanced at Lord Coltidge and muttered, “What I would like to do is…,” but they cleared when he focused on you and sighed, “…whatever you would prefer, my lady.”

You smiled your gratitude towards him, but you knew it was cold comfort as he stalked past the earl with an unhesitatingly aimed dark look. He paused at the door to say over his shoulder, “I shall keep you apprised of my progress.”

“Good man,” replied Lord Coltidge, though you knew Sherlock was speaking to you.

You held your breath, waiting to meet Sherlock’s gaze once more, but he quitted the room and closed the door with nary a glance back. Although you suddenly felt more brittle than you ever had, you squared your shoulders and turned towards your father.

“Good afternoon, sir. Please, take a seat. How is it that I have stained the family name this time?”

Thank you for reading. I had a lot of fun writing this chapter lmaooo. I hope y’all enjoyed the Jane Austen and Arthur Conan Doyle quotes? :P Feedback is always welcome!

[akumanoken]

It was well into the afternoon, near sunset when Ayato knocked at the door to the king's study, opening it up with a benign grin. "Fujimaru? You asked to see me?"

"You scheming bastard," Fujimaru spat as the door closed behind the prince. "You must be pretty proud of yourself… you think you have me in a corner, don't you??"

"I don't know what you're talking about," the prince stated cooly. "I merely stated fact. You have been doing quite a bit of relaxing as I have done much to see that Makoto is working as it should. It is not just I who think so, but the council has also seen that I am the one keeping things afloat. Hence, if you are going to be enjoying your leisure, I find it's only fitting that you do it for the long term. I can tell you from experience that the northern manor is a jewel of the island.

Fujimaru would strike the man if he thought he would be able to get up afterward… "And so you plan on outsing me??"

"No. I plan on you willingly giving myself and your "daughter" the crown. Sakura has been working hard as he can, and has been commended for his work as next in line for Queendom… If you thought you would perhaps have a grip on me or crush me under the weight of responsibility, know that I had trained to be king long ago when you were first starting your abuse of my wife."

His eyes grew stormy and dark then, green eyes flashing like lightning. "And yes, it was abuse. What you did to the person I love is nothing short of horrific and terrible. The only reason why you still draw breath is by the grace of Sakura's mercy and I would thank you to remember it."

Once again, that BOY was mentioned. Damn him!!! That failure of a child… Sakura was a thorn in his side, an eyesore since he first made his raucous self heard at birth. Ever since then, he had trained the child to be quiet and useful… and now it seemed the thing had only spurred the end of the king's power. All because he could not select a proper suitor… could not accept the prince that was planned for him. And now the man in front of him had the audacity to call his immaculate, careful training abuse!! Ungrateful brute!!

It was written all over Fujimaru's face, and Ayato glowered. "It is simple. You have already done your damage, and have made it so the fate of the entire country rested on a young boy's shoulders who did not deserve such treatment or martyrdom. He would've died and his blood, and the blood of all of Makoto would have been on your hands. Had it been anyone else, a war would have started and your island would have been woefully compromised. So I am giving you a chance to leave, Fujimaru. On your own. Because right now, the only people who know…. are us. Not even the council could look at you the same if they knew just what you did to the country's most prized flower."

Fujimaru's face paled. He was… being put in a corner. He puffed up. "As if you would do such a thing… the child would never---"

"SAKURA!!!" He growled, banging the table aggressively. The king jumped a mile. "Your. child. has. a. name." He stalked closer then. "He would be difficult to convince… but it's not what you care about. Trust me, I know what's going through that head of yours, and you're right. Sakura would carry no scars for revealing the truth… the country would not look at their princess any differently… but you…. I wonder what they would say about you. I wonder how easily you could walk the streets of Makoto knowing everyone would turn their backs to you? Even knowing that Sakura would make sure you have everything you need, you'd lose the one thing that matters the most."

Ayato pulled away then, bowing in deference. "Please think it over, Your Majesty. I am sure we can come to an agreement that satisfies all parties." He turned on his heel and left the room, smirking at the crashed vase as he walked away.

[sunsetshifting]

hello! i have a question, can you explain clones and how they work?

(Answering the oldest asks first! Please forgive any unclear bits, I wrote this right before I took my little break~)

Sure! Sorry this took so long, I was having a break from the blog to deal with some IRL stress <3 yk how it is haha. Regardless, I’m happy to share my thoughts on the topic!

Clones are quite the contentious topic within the shifting community, but I’ll do my best to explain it, anyway~

'Clone' is a non-literal term for the version of oneself that remains after you've shifted.

They are, all things considered, just another version of your consciousness.

But how does something like that even work?

.

As stated earlier, the version of you that remains after you've shifted out of this reality is often referred to as a 'clone', though that's not an entirely genuine name for what they truly are!

Your consciousness is infinite, spread across the equally infinite multiverse of existence. Each version of you, across any reality, has a consciousness just like your own (When shifting, we actually merge with our DR self's consciousness, rather than taking it over/filling out an empty spot! Pretty cool, huh?) As such, when you shift out of this reality, something has to fill in the gap. This is where 'clones' come in!

Clones are, in truth, just other versions of oneself. Given the infinite nature of one's own consciousness, it's not too hard to leave behind another version of it to take care of things in your absence.

(For lack of a better example, think of your consciousness as an infinite water source (the 2x2 sort) in Minecraft. No matter how many buckets you take out (or universes you spread yourself across), there is always more to replenish it.)

.

So now we know what clones are, technically, but what do they do?

Well, they do whatever you would’ve done! Your clone is literally just you. If you would’ve spent all day playing videogames, so would they. If you’d normally be working or doing chores, they aren’t going to flake on them just because you’re not there to witness it.

Sunny, it can’t be that simple- and yet it is.

Clones are one of the woefully over-complicated topics of the shifting community, and something people tend to focus on way too much at the start of their journey (not that I’m discouraging asking questions! Quite the opposite!) They are also one of the topics that tend to get quite a lot of misinformation spread about them, which I’m happy to help clear up^^

As such, I’ve got a little FAQ here to assist!~

.

FAQs

Why are they even called 'clones'? (And is there a better term for them?)

Though I’m not 100% certain on where the term originated, my best guess would be early shifttok (think the Draco shifttok era.) Most likely, someone came up with the term off-handedly, not intending for it to be the official term (or generally not thinking too hard on it), and it simply stuck with the community long-term.

As for there being a better term, it sort of depends on who you ask! Some people just call them other selves, some people don’t give them a name, it’s really up to the individual. Personally, I only refer to them as ‘clones’ within the confines of the script, and when discussing them outside of that context, I refer to them as “other selves” or just “me”.

.

What happens to them when you/I shift back?

Same thing that happens when you shift to your DR! You merge with your ‘clone’/other self. This is why you end up with all the memories that your ‘clone’ had created in your absence (if you were gone long enough for them to go around and do things.)

.

Am I a clone?

If you’ve got the wherewithal to question this, then the answer is probably no. Were the answer to be yes, it still wouldn’t matter, as clones can still shift, and are equally as valid as the other consciousness that they split off of.

.

Can I script changes to my ‘clone’?

Unless you’re manifesting in addition to everything else, then the answer is probably no. That is, unless you plan on shifting to a new “base” reality (aka a new CR), wherein you could reasonably script whatever you liked.

If you plan on returning to your regular CR/OR, though, then the answer is no. If you wouldn’t normally get straight A’s or workout daily, then scripting that your clone will won’t do anything, as they have just as much free will (and motivation to do those things) as you do.

.

Does my 'clone' know that I've shifted?

For some reason, this seems to be an extremely contentious question within the shifting community. To keep things simple, it seems to vary from person to person. Some shifters claim that their clones are aware enough to write down various things about their shift, some shifters claim that their clone had no idea. Personally, I was asleep for my whole mini-shift, so my clone didn’t really have the time to do/think anything. (I will happily update this section once I’ve fully shifted, however!~)

.

I hope those answers helped in some capacity! Like I said, I wrote this all right before I took my break, so it might be a little fuzzy. I was pretty tired that day :<

I'll be getting around to all the other asks in my inbox (8 in total) within the next few days! (Today included!) I'm attending a birthday party later today, so I won't be back for a good few hours, but once I am, I'll get right to work on those asks! If I find the time, I'll try to work on them while I'm at the party!~ (If anyone's curious, it was my nephew's second birthday a week ago! This is his second party, as my dad couldn't attend the first one, so it's a lot smaller and more casual :3c)

Happy to be back! And as always-

<3 Happy Shifting! <3

[rhyssands]

oct 7 - "please stop saying 'nuts'."

prompt: chestnuts rating: g wordcount: 744 characters: Papyrus, Sans, Undyne warnings: none prompt from this post, read it on ao3 here

——

"Brother," Papyrus says, from behind him, "... Aren't... Aren't roasted chestnuts a... Gyftmas tradition?"

"Huh?" He asks, from where he's sitting, merrily roasting chestnuts over a fire that Undyne set while cooking, "Oh. Yeah, I guess. Weird."

Papyrus is silent for a long moment, and when Sans glances over he's giving him an uncomprehending look. Sans quickly averts his eyes back to his chestnuts to hide the grin pulling at his mouth. Harmless little practical jokes like these are fun, because the worst thing he's doing is confusing Papyrus and anyone else who happens to pop by their house and see him roasting chestnuts over their flaming countertop.

"... Where did you even get chestnuts?" Papyrus finally asks, sounding truly confounded, "I know you didn't buy them the last time we were at the store. I don't think the grocery store we go to even sells chestnuts."

"Meh," He says, "Don't worry about it, Paps."

"I am very worried about it, Sans!"

Thankfully, despite how confounded he sounds, he's definitely not as upset about it as he's pretending he is. Papyrus is well-trained in the fine arts of playing along and committing to the bit — two of the very precious few things he learned from Sans that neither of them resents him learning, and both are a particular Sans-flavored type of nonsense that Undyne is woefully unprepared to deal with.

Papyrus-flavored nonsense is Undyne's specialty, after all the years that she's known him.

Sans-flavored nonsense still leaves her floundering more often than not, especially when Papyrus deigns to participate in it.

When he glances over his shoulder again, she does, indeed, look like she's floundering. She's completely flabbergasted, in fact.

"Why, bro? You don't think I didn't get enough for everybody, do ya?" He asks, innocent as a newborn pup. "There'll be plenty to go around."

"The quantity of the nuts is of no concern to me," Papyrus dismisses, with a keen and mischievous glint in his eyelights Sans can't help feeling proud of, "I am far more concerned over the means by which you acquired the nuts, Sans."

The best part of bits like this is that they're so painfully normal for he and Papyrus' relationship that most of the fun comes from seeing how long they can drag it out before one of them cracks. Frankly, Papyrus usually folds first, because he reaches a point where he can't help laughing as he begs Sans to please stop so he can get back to being productive. Today, though, Sans is barely clinging to his composure.

For some reason, having an 'argument' with Papyrus about the means by which he acquired the chestnuts he's roasting is just hitting him right where it metaphorically hurts. It's really getting him.

Maybe it's that Papyrus keeps saying 'nuts'.

He begins to open his mouth to reply, but he's cut off by Undyne.

"You know, actually, smallfry, I'm also concerned about the means by which you acquired those nuts." She says, even more confounded than Papyrus.

"Yes, as you should be. His acquisition of these nuts truly a mystery!" Papyrus says.

Sans can't help it. He breaks.

He shoves his face into his hand and laughs helplessly into his metacarpals like that'll do anything at all to muffle him. "Oh my God, Paps," He half-wheezes, "Please stop saying 'nuts'."

"Only if you tell me how you got the nuts." Says Papyrus, merciless.

"Stars," Sans gasps, trying to sober himself, "I— I bought them last Gyftmas, Paps. There was a seasonal promotion. They're pre-roasted. I'm just setting them on fire for the laughs."

"Of course you are," Papyrus sighs, but he sounds amused, "I suppose I'll stop saying that word, then. Can I put the fire out now?"

"Yeah." He snickers, "Go for it. Undyne's face was worth the effort."

"It very was," Papyrus agrees, to which Undyne gasps in offense.

"You nerds were just trying to get a reaction out of me!" She deduces, "I oughta wallop you both!"

"Wallop me twice," Says Papyrus, as he grabs the fire extinguisher, "Sans can't take it."

"Rude." Sans says, knowing very well that he's completely correct, "But yeah, we were. You should be used to that by now"

"You're a horrible influence on him!" Undyne says, but he knows she's joking and he therefore doesn't mind, "Turning my bestie against me like this. And for what? Laughs?"

"Well, yeah. Always."

The fire is put out in short order, and Sans hucks the chestnuts straight into the trash. Hopefully Undyne won't set anything else on fire tonight, because he's running out of random items to burn over the flames to mess with her.

[kittttycakes]

F, S, U for the fanfic asks? I’d love to pick your brain.

F. Share a snippet from one of your favorite dialogue scenes you’ve written and explain why you’re proud of it.

This is the hardest one to answer!! But a lot of fun to think about, so, from chapter 4 of as heart for heart, I really loved this exchange:

She was carefully cutting her chicken when she ventured to ask, “You mentioned a sister. Do you have any other siblings?”

He glanced over at her, barely making eye contact before replying, “Yes.”

Her jaw clenched, nearly imperceptibly, as she waited for any further response. How many, what they did, where he was in the line up, she would take anything at all, really, if it just meant he would say more than two words in a row to her.

She felt Hob looking at her, but did not look back, determined to see it through. “I used to wonder what it would be like, having siblings. I was an only child growing up, but there was a whole group of us, around the same age, that all lived close enough together that we could spend our free time together. I always thought having siblings would be like that, but that’s rather silly, isn’t it? Not everyone gets on with theirs, I know.” Grace shifted slightly in her seat, starting to uncross her legs before remembering how small the table was, resulting in her rather sharply jabbing the toe of her shoe squarely into Tom’s kneecap. “Christ—I’m sorry. I’m not usually this clumsy, I swear. Small table, bad day, one or the other or both.”

“She usually lives up to the namesake,” Hob said with a soft smile, reaching over and lightly putting his hand on her forearm, squeezing gently, once, reassuring, before letting go.

The entire dinner is SO awkward and so tense, and I feel like the shortness of Dream’s answer and Grace’s desperate talking just to fill the air really gets that across, culminating in her (mostly…) accidentally kicking him square in the knee, and Hob, who wants so badly for the dinner to go well, trying to make her feel a bit better. I think this exchange sort of gives a good idea of the atmosphere of this dinner table, and where everyone is at from Grace’s POV.

It’s also such a good chance to see Grace in an environment where she’s feeling a lack of control over the situation and a little uncomfortable, and getting to see her response to that (she doesn’t fight or flee, she fawns).

Honorable mention to Hob’s “Shroedinger’s human” line in chapter 7 because I thought it was funny.

S can be found here!

U. Share three of your favorite fic writers and why you like them so much.

This is also so hard, but as long as we acknowledge this is in no particular order AND is based a lot on what I have read most recently (tagging them here so everyone can go check them out):

@just-french-me-up has an absolutely brilliant WIP right now that I cannot get enough of (Three Hundred Years of Longing). Her other works are also incredible, I personally think about Sworn Hand and As Tantalus Reaches for the Apple at least once a week. She is so good at dialogue, at atmosphere, at fleshing out characters and making them so real and so vital, like living breathing people…I honestly could go on for a very long time so I’ll stop here.

Moorishflower writes some of the most beautiful prose and dialogue and was one of the first authors I read when I started to get into Sandman fic, I am woefully behind on Little Histories and Beautiful, Strange, and New, but both are knocking my socks off utterly. I feel the full spectrum of human emotion while reading fics by moorishflower. I am both in awe and jealous of the command of language, and reading a new chapter or new fic is always bound to be a delight.

Ark, who I have been reading fic from since…2012, perhaps? and who I have followed through a few fandoms, writes some of the absolute best characterization I have ever seen, full stop. Les Mis, CA:TWS, Sandman…I consider myself VERY lucky that I’ve ended up reading fic for the fandoms Ark writes for.

(Also, this feels like a good place to note that the AO3 account associated with this username is different than the AO3 I comment under/have written previous fic on, which is ditvin, so if you see me in the comments section on AO3…hello!)

[eirian-houpe]

Twenty Questions for Fic Writers

I was tagged by @kelyon

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

89

2. What's your total AO3 word count?

1,451,688 (Whoa!)

3. What fandoms do you write for?

The Mummy Franchise UC: Undercover Sleeper Cell (TV) Stargate: Atlantis Tolkien Halt and Catch Fire Star Trek: Discovery Once Upon A Time Stargate: Universe Cobra (TV) Stranger Things Foundation (TV)

Those are the ones that are kind of... in their own right, but with a few crossovers there are other fandoms too. You can ask me about those if you like.

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

The Library Beneath the Clock Tower

Laer o Faen

Beauty Compelled

Disparate Pathways

Bluebell

5. Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

I always do, though I am currently woefully behind. (I hope to remedy that today). I believe reader/write engagement is a gift, and one to be encouraged and celebrated.

6. What is a fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

OMG... Angstiest.... um... I try not to end with angst. I fill the body of a fic with angst, or start a fic with lots and lots of angst, but ending...? I don't know. Maybe someone can tell me?

7. What's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

I think that's subjective, honestly, because I think they're all pretty happy in the end, but the degree to which the fic makes a reader feel happy is dependent on how the reader feels about the characters, I guess. As a writer, and I suppose because it's the most recently finished, I'd probably say, Disparate Pathways.

Of course, both of the above questions rely on fics being finished before judgements are made, and I have so many WIPs...

8. Do you get hate on fics?

Not here, nor on AO3. Way back when... I got a little bit of hate on 'the site that shall not be named' - but it smacked of jealousy, so... I dunno. I've since deleted everything from there in any case. Moved it all elsewhere.

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

I do, yes, but I like to think it's never gratuitous. It's all couched within the the progression of the fic, and usually heavily romance driven.

10. Do you write crossovers? What's the craziest one you've written?

I never used to write crossovers. For me there needs to be an internal consistency and reason for bringing characters from one work into another, and a good reason at that... and then I started Rumbelling things... and then @peacehopeandrats challenged me to write a particular fic, and this is a multi-source crossover, including: Cobra, UC: Undercover, Falcon and the Winter Soldier, Miami Medical, 24 (TV), and Airforce One is Down, in the one fic.

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

To my knowledge, not a whole fic, no, but someone once stole a concept and /part/ of a fic I'd written (on the aforementioned never to be named site). I was told about it by someone who was a reader of my fic. The person denied their wrongdoing, but eventually - after much calling out - removed the offending fic.

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

Not to my knowledge.

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

I have, yes. Forbidden Loves and Stormy Nights was written with a whole lot of people whom I consider great friends, (@peacehopeandrats, @jackabelle73, @reolf @blueboxesanddeerstalkers, and @shadowedoracle for another beautiful friend @deliriumsdelight7 on the occasion of her birthday.

14. What's your all-time favorite ship?

There are two, and I can't separate them. There are several similarities in the overall nature of the ships: Rumbelle, and Michael/Teyla.

15. What's a wip you want to finish, but doubt you ever will?

Laer o Faen, and I don't necessarily doubt that I ever will, it's just there's such a lot to write... you know?

16. What are your writing strengths?

I think it's in my worldbuilding and descriptive language.

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

I can often be very wordy. I don't know how to write short fics.

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language for a fic?

Language and dialect both, yes. My most ambitious is the Sindarin in Laer o Faen.

19. First fandom you wrote for?

If you don't count Blake's Seven, which I wrote for when I was 11, then it would be The Mummy franchise.

20. Favorite fic you've written?

Oh, come on. That's like asking a parent to name their favorite child. I am very fond of Disparate Pathways, though, as well as Library...

Thank you, this was though provoking (and eye opening) I tag whoever is left that hasn't already done it and wants to.

[annuli-grime]

Donald

In late August I was vibrating at such high frequency I could hardly sit still without something brown in my hand. I'd walk up and down the west end streets, pacing and bristling for a fight with my alley cat eyes.

I stopped one night at the tents alongside the tree-line, across from the cemetery, to shoot the shit with the guys living out that way. I never felt unsafe with them, especially with Grimm at my side, just in case, my tenacious familiar. Over time I built a friendship with one man, Donald. He was wily, quick to smile and laugh hard at his own jokes. In his 60's, perhaps, sometimes it's hard to tell when the grind of time and addiction wears on a person. Lanky and tall, maybe 6'2", he might've been homeless but when he stood he was a built tough man.

The heat was unbearable at this point in the year- an oppressive humidity that made my ears ring and my limbs drag in slow-motion behind me. One day I'd bring him water and popsicles and beer, another I'd take him shopping at the dollar store. I remember he looked so incredulous when I said I had 40 bucks to spare and to get whatever he wanted. Then his eyes became sad and worried, those lines on his face more pronounced and easy to fall into than the previous trenches of shock.

"I can't take much, people will steal it from my tent" he muttered, replacing a 4-pack of mandarin cups on the shelf. "Fuck that. I'll keep it at my house and come down to hang out with Grimm and bring it to you." I grabbed 2 4-packs and threw them in the cart, Donald barking out a laugh as I rounded the end of the aisle with a heel-click.

Once, Donald had a shit day. Someone broke into his tent and stole some water and broke one of his poles. So I, ever the reckless optimist with a secret bleeding heart, rolled up to the camp and shouted out the window; "YO DONALD, GRAB YER LAUNDRY!" "What, why?" - he was puzzling over a newspaper in the circle of other men, Natty Daddy in hand. "Cuz you're coming over to do it, obviously" I grinned and unlocked the truck door and he immediately shot up, stuffed his shit in a trash bag and ran over. I remember how much he resembled a grasshopper with his spindly long legs.

When he got to my apartment I started his laundry and told him he could shower and I'd get him some clean clothes to borrow. I pawed through my drawers to find something suitable for his frame and personality, settling on two sentimental articles of clothing - a Ramones t-shirt from an ex that I had cut into a muscle tee and blown the sides out of and a pair of black sweatpants my best friend let me borrow 12 years ago.

Gratitude stops wildly and woefully short. The man beamed and exuded a whole new air and it brought me so much fucking genuine joy to give something to him that helped him feel like he could wear a whole new skin. I threw out his old trash bag he had previously used to lug his clothes over in, neatly folded his clean clothes in a re-usable bag, and told him he could escape drowning on land by crashing on my couch for the night. 10,000 BTU's of cold air next to his head, along with clean pillows and blankets. He asked if I was sure and I said yes, provided that if he spent the night he was in charge of making the AM coffee. He chuckled and acquiesced, then we proceeded to get very very stoned and watched true crime videos and ate several bowls of my homemade chili. That night, Grimm slept by his side all night, ever watchful, with periodic breaks to sniff and give him kisses apparently.

I woke up to find a fresh pot, folded blankets, and a note saying thank you that had what looked like maybe a tear drop on the edge, fuzzy blue lines bleeding into his handwriting. A few days later my pocket rang and Donald's name was on the screen. But when I answered it, it wasn't Donald. It was his son.

And that told me everything I needed to know about the subsequent conversation

[beepboopiloveyou]

Art is not a carriage, it's not a vehicle. Its purpose is not to be efficient, to do a practical job with as little effort as possible.

Oh okay, here we go into the ableist diatribe of "effort" and "blood sweat and tears" to justify art's "value" in our labor-centric capitalist society.

Art is wonderful, from a baby's first drawing, inexperienced and unskilled, to the paintings adorning the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel.

I thought you just said art shouldn't be as little effort as possible? Do you think a baby scrawling with a crayon has any effort or intention behind it? (besides the obvious "this stick is cool and I like making cool lines on surfaces with it")

If you consider yourself an AI artist, I ask you: are you proud of yourself when the computer has completed another image that you will claim as yours? Do you look at it and feel the joy of having created something?

As an artist and designer that uses a stable diffusion tool, yes: after two hours of developing words that trigger the right understanding in the model set, weighting words so it properly picks up on certain details, configuring how far it can venture outside of the prompt, creating negative prompts to put up some guard rails, maybe utilizing a Lora for more style and subject focusing, making tweaks after every set of 4 come out, and then curating a final pack of images, yes, I look at it and feel joy that I created things.

Does the generative process teach you how to see the world better?

It teaches me how to envision and describe it better, yes. It helps me translate my mental images into art direction in a very fun way, like a thought puzzle.

With every image created, do you evolve?

I do! I get better at utilizing the GUI and I get faster at boiling down to what I want. I get familiar with different models and how they excel in different types of imagery (more painterly vs photorealistic, for example).

Do you understand the planes of the face better now than 1000 images ago?

Do photographers? Do poets? Do lighting designers? Do generative coders? Do cartoonists? The answer is yes, but in very different ways, so why does that matter?

Do you know what rim light is, and where to put it?

I just googled it, so thanks for the tip! Yeah I know where it goes now.

Do you understand light sources?

Here's a prompt for that:

"a polished ((glass)) pyramid sculpture (((refracting))) warm hazy (light) into a cozy bedroom during golden hour"

Tones?

Can you tell me an rgb hex value by looking at it? (this whole part is so gatekeepy btw)

Could you take a piece of paper and shade a portrait by yourself?

Yeah I did that a bunch for my BFA.

A digital artist uses a pen to put colors on screen, chooses where to put each brush stroke, when to smudge or use the liquify tool. A 3D sculptor manipulates basic shapes into characters just like a traditional artist molds clay. An AI "artist" doesn't make any of the thousands of choices that lead to the creation of a real piece of art.

Ahh, this is where you truly don't know what you're talking about. Inpainting, outpainting, using images as sources, training custom models, and literally any hardcore stable diffusion tweaking make these statements woefully ignorant.

"But art is hard, and I'm not good enough."

Art isn't hard, art is actually very easy. Like a baby that's drawing! "I'm not good enough" is toxic as fuck. "Good" is so so subjective. For most people what they're really trying to say is "there is a gap between what I'm imagining and what I'm rendering." "Good" shouldn't fall into that. "Good" is a trap. "Personally satisfying" should be what people aim for with their art. Fuck "good."

I've been drawing since I was a baby, and I still have a long way to go. And that is also fine, because art is a lifelong pursuit, growing, changing, just as I am.

I'll take this on the side of good faith because it honestly could sound more gatekeepy than not ("well I've spent my whole life doing art, how dare you dabble in it"). That's genuinely really awesome that you have that passion, man. This AI thing is one point in a lifetime's worth of human innovations that give ideas to artists for new work. 35 years ago, people were scanning themselves into Macintoshes and printing themselves out life size on dot matrix paper reels. 50 years ago, a woman led a performance piece involving scissors that changed the world. 60 years ago, people were photographing dirt trails that they formed themselves in the middle of nature. 100 years ago, a guy put a urinal sideways on a pedestal in a gallery and it's still talked about today. Art isn't just about illustration. And sometimes laborious effort is barely required to make good art.

You could draw a crooked circle on xerox paper and it will look better than all the AI art in the world. Because you made it. Have some faith in yourself. Your vision has more artistic value than what that computer generated.

The people who want to draw will still keep drawing. The people who want to casually prompt things will casually prompt things. The people who will utilize AI as a professional tool will continue doing so (it's now becoming a trend in concert visuals because of how naturally trippy it is). People make computers generate all kinds of beautiful things and there's no reason they should stop just because you prefer a pencil.

I'm trying. Are you?

"My art has effort. My art has provenance. I'm working hard at it. Hard work means value. Mine has more value. So you think yours is as valuable as mine? I've worked my whole life to make my art valuable. Since I was a baby. If it's not valuable, than what did I work so hard for??"

I dunno tbh. I don't think anyone can answer that except yourself. Art at it's most revered should be valuable to you. Anyone else is just a bonus. This isn't a competition. Or is it? Is everyone's art beautiful because they expressed themselves in a way, or are we going to shun the quadriplegic who has been more elated in the past year using midjourney than they ever were trying to paint with their mouth? Are we going to shun the pre-teen generating anime costumes who will develop an interest in fashion design? Fuck all that. Art is for everyone. Tools are for everyone. There will always be levels of bespoke craft and talent. There will also always be levels of thought, theory and ideation. Let people make their art. Let people be happy with their art. Just because AI reaches levels of talent that you worked hard on doesn't mean it's the same value. Value is meaningless. Focus on your art. Let others make theirs. I promise that whatever issues you're having with your art is a you problem, not an AI problem.

EDIT: and thanks for taking this off your reblogs 🤣

"Why are artists so butthurt about AI art? Horse carriage drivers didn't complain when they invented the car, they were just grateful that the technology evolved and made it easier to get around."

Art is not a carriage, it's not a vehicle. Its purpose is not to be efficient, to do a practical job with as little effort as possible. Art is not something that can be automated, because its artistry lies in the humanity of its creator. Art is wonderful, from a baby's first drawing, inexperienced and unskilled, to the paintings adorning the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel.

If you consider yourself an AI artist, I ask you: are you proud of yourself when the computer has completed another image that you will claim as yours? Do you look at it and feel the joy of having created something?

Does the generative process teach you how to see the world better? With every image created, do you evolve? Do you understand the planes of the face better now than 1000 images ago? Do you know what rim light is, and where to put it? Do you understand light sources? Tones? Could you take a piece of paper and shade a portrait by yourself?

"AI software is just like Photoshop or Blender, the next step in artistic technology".

It's not though, is it? A digital artist uses a pen to put colors on screen, chooses where to put each brush stroke, when to smudge or use the liquify tool. A 3D sculptor manipulates basic shapes into characters just like a traditional artist molds clay. An AI "artist" doesn't make any of the thousands of choices that lead to the creation of a real piece of art.

"But art is hard, and I'm not good enough."

Neither am I! Man, I'm not the worst artist in the world, but I'm not great, still not at the level I would like to be. Sometimes I draw something and I look at it and realize that it sucks ass! Sometimes I post a drawing online and realize that I drew a character out of proportion, that the light source is not consistent, that I've shaded outside the lines! And you know what's great? That I get to have an understanding of what I did wrong! I get to evolve! I redraw something from 5 years ago and realize that my composition is much better, my shading more believable. And I know that in 5 more years, I might redraw it again and pride myself in how much I've evolved.

I've been drawing since I was a baby, and I still have a long way to go. And that is also fine, because art is a lifelong pursuit, growing, changing, just as I am.

It's okay to not be good. Hell, it's okay if you don't even try to get better. By drawing, you WILL. It's inevitable that, by practicing, you'll learn.

You know what will not make you a better artist? Software that will generate your "art" for you. The result might look more complex than what your skill level allows you to create right now. But it doesn't look better. You could draw a crooked circle on xerox paper and it will look better than all the AI art in the world. Because you made it. Have some faith in yourself. Your vision has more artistic value than what that computer generated.

"If you're afraid that AI will steal your job, learn to draw better!"

I'm trying. Are you?

[friendofspidermannedleeds]

Fictober - Day 29

Prompt #29: “back up!” Fandom: Spider-Man (MCU) Rating: G Warnings: None Characters: Peter Parker & May Parker & Michelle Jones  Words: 589 Summary: May takes the kids to a state park for some outdoor education. 

--- 

“Peter!! Back up!!”

Freshman year of college starts in just a few weeks, and May, Peter, and MJ are spending the day at Letchwork State Park. A week before, May voiced concerns that Peter had grown up “nature-starved.” Apparently, kids were supposed to “see more of the earth” before dooming themselves to libraries and lecture halls, and May was distraught hers was a city boy who had never seen the Grand Canyon. That option being out of the question, they’d opted for Letchwork, “The Grand Canyon of the East.”

Peter and MJ are overlooking a gorge when May’s panicked warning interrupts the sightseeing. He looks over his shoulder at her spot on the safe, paved viewing area.

“May, relax! I’m not even on the edge yet.”

MJ’s standing a good six feet behind Peter’s vantagepoint. “Close enough, though.” She says, hugging her arms across her torso and looking less-than-enthused at her boyfriend’s antics.

Peter backs a few steps away from the gorge.

“What’s the big deal, anyway?” He turns to face the women. “If I fell it’s not like I couldn’t…” He trails off as more tourists arrive at the lookout, phones in hand. He retreats to where May stands, MJ following.

May frowns. “So it wouldn’t be suspicious if a kid falls into a gorge, sticks to the side and climbs his way out, unscathed?” She says quietly.

“Or if that idiot kid’s sticky hands break pieces off the side of the ravine, ruining a precious natural resource with his dumb-assery?” MJ adds.

Peter raises his hands in surrender. “Kinda feels like you guys are ganging up on me right now.”

MJ shrugs. “We kind of are.”

“It’s insanely hot out here,” May observes as they stand in the sun, “what do you say we head back to the city and catch a movie?”

“What?” Peter asks. “Whatever happened to the plan to redeem my lack of ‘outdoor education?’ I thought this was a day-long family nature outing of hikes and picnics, vital to my dying childhood?”

May laughs. “Yeah, I guess I read all that in one of those family magazines at the dentist’s,” she admits, squinting at the wall of pine trees across the gorge. “And this scenery’s beautiful and all, but I kind of used it as an excuse to spend time with you two.”

Peter is touched, but he also feels a little guilty. Because he and MJ’s relationship will soon become long-distance—she’s going out of state to her school of choice, and he’s staying in New York so he can continue being Spider-Man—they have been spending every spare moment of their summer together. It’s been wonderful, but it’s also meant that Peter’s neglected May more than he’d intended, subconsciously ignoring her hints that they spend a little time together before college begins.

“A movie sounds great, actually.” He says. “Or whatever else you guys want to do, as long as we’re all together.”

MJ slips her hand into his as May beams. “Let’s go, then.” They begin walking back to the parking area.

Peter looks at his aunt. “So, just to be clear, my brain’s development has not been stunted by a lack of nature?”

“I think your full-ride scholarship to ESU proves that you’re at least okay academically.” May answers. “Not sure about the rest. What do you think, MJ?”

“He’s okay I guess.” She smirks. “Unless your magazine mentioned that being nature-starved can impact height?”

Peter’s mouth hangs open in mock offense. “You two are ganging up on me!”

[hausofmamadas]

NO MAMES KITTEEEE | Bc here we stan a side character with moxie y moda tan shingona

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✴︎ Good morrow, mi gente 💃🏻💃🏻 ✴︎

Can you actually believe someone asked me to dump summore gifs out into interwebs instead of me unsolicited shoving them down everyone's throat. I know, revolutionary. One for the books really and truly. But I did get an honest to goodness gif request from my df, dear friend @cositapreciosa (with additional support and screaming in caps from @narcolini)

cositapreciosa: *beeeep* hi Kay it's meeee, you said i could send some request your way, may i have a small gif set for our Kitty 👉👈 they can arrive whenever because i don't think i have another kitty fic for the moment, but i'll make sure to do one to baptise the new gifs 😌

narcolini: honestly… there are so few gifs of him that any would be a dream..

Am I woefully behind on react reblogs because I decided to make these??? and work this other Javivid instead Why yes, yes I am!!! I'm so glad you asked you didn't but as my dfs so thoughtfully pointed out, there is a distinct lack of Kitty Paez gifs in these here interwebs, the supply is abysmal, and it was a historic injustice that needed to be corrected esp because there are quite a few bomb ass Kitty fanfics in existence (see ⇢ here and ⇢ here for examples) and any future fics are in desperate need of visual aids and by visual aids, I do mean Bad Bunny shirtless and smiling and laughing like he is literally the sun itself and feeling fucking fine about it

᪥

Narcos: Mexico - Season 3, Como La Flor

⌁

Narcos: Mexico - Season 3, Los Juniors

⌁

Narcos: Mexico - Season 3, Boots on the Ground

⌁

Narcos: Mexico - Season 3, La Jefa

⌁

And yeees, yea, I know you said "small gif set for our Kitty," and liiiiike I don't think.... it's not every single scene Kitty's in...? but ngl 👉👈 once I got going 👉👈 kskskskksksksk i couldn't stop. So instead of making 10, I made like 30. I just love him so much, enserio Bad Bunny estaba en una in this role and it's a travesty he wasn't featured more tbh like literally if we could just take every part rat-faced Romeo you know the one i'm talking about, the one with the Beetlejuice jacket, c'mon I'm not the only one who thought it, it's okay, this is a safe space is in and replace him with Kitty, it would satisfy a fraction of my need for more Arturo Kitty Paez. Like mans isn't even really a full blorb for me? Like he doesn't consume my every waking thought I only have so many thoughts and we all know the blorbs those are tied up over skskskks but every time he's on screen, I can't look away and I can't stop smiling?? yes, even when he's doing terrible thinks like street terrorism. So yeah in conclusion, Romeo was a waste and in this here house, Kitty is the one true narcojunior okay.

᪥

PS. some bonus Món gifs that just idk magically found their way into the mix somehow, i have no idea, not sure, no tengo ni idea como han llegado esos ahí, mis cabrones, lo siento pero era impotente pa detener esto

↑ and this was the exact look of satisfaction on my face when i finished all these ↑

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taglist(have some gifs): @ashlingnarcos @cherixrosa @purplesong1028 @criatividad-e @tinylittleobsessions @cigarettesaftersunset @artemiseamoon @narcos-narcosmx @thesolotomyhan @mandaloria314 @bellinitini @narcosmx @alreadywritten @drabbles-mc @complete-nonsequitur @narcosmx @dashavau

[edith-hyde]

Norman Osborn X Female Reader

I Forgot My Umbrella - Part 24

Word Count: 3339

Summary: You try to learn more about Norman and his interests while Norman takes a big step and introduces himself to your friend Tracy.

Warnings: Age gap. PG.

A/N: It's just gonna get sappier from here folks. Seriously. Fluffy, sappy, cheese is in our future.

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It was well after noon by the time you woke up, as you had stayed up late hanging out with Tracy. She ended up telling you more about Dan’s horrible behavior and you were starting to really worry for her. The Dan you knew in college had always been an idiot, but was he really capable of all that she claimed? He had not only been verbally abusive but physical as well. You certainly trusted Tracy over Dan, but still. He just seemed too stupid and immature to be all that scary. 

Hearing her horror stories made you exceedingly grateful that Norman was not anything like that. And thinking about that just made you miss him. 

After your shower, you shuffled into the front room to find Tracy still asleep on the couch. With a shake of your head, you tiptoed up to the phone and dialed Norman’s number. You didn’t have to wait very long at all before he answered. 

“Hello?”

“Hey, Norman. Can you talk?”

“Absolutely.”

You sat down on the floor, hiding behind the kitchen island as you whispered into the phone. 

“Tracy is still asleep and I just wanted to talk to you for a bit. I miss you.”

Norman chuckled. 

“Y/N, it’s barely been 12 hours since we last spoke. I thought I was going to be the clingy one in this relationship.”

You stifled a laugh, trying to keep quiet for Tracy. 

“Well you thought wrong, Sir. I can be just as clingy.”

“I am not one to complain about that.”

“Good… by the way, I told Tracy about us.”

“How did she take it?”

You shrugged even though he couldn’t see you. 

“Pretty well I think. She admitted that a lot of her opinions are based on those goofy articles from the Daily Bugle. I think she’s willing to give you a chance.”

“So when I meet her I should try to make a good first impression.”

“Yeah. But that shouldn’t be too hard. Just be your usual charming self. It worked on me.”

“Your faith in me is woefully misplaced,” Norman scoffed. 

“I don’t think so,” you said with a smile, “I think when you meet Tracy, she’ll understand why I love you. Same with everybody else.”

“I hope so.” 

A silence settled between you as you tried to think of how to continue the conversation. 

“Say, Norman?”

“Hmmm?”

“What’s your favorite color?”

Norman laughed and you instantly felt silly for asking. As Norman answered, you could hear the smile in his voice. 

“I suppose it’s black. And what’s yours, my dear?”

“I dunno. It honestly changes from week to week.”

“That tracks… May I ask you a question?”

“Isn’t that technically a question?” You giggled. 

Norman huffed and you stifled another laugh. 

“Yes. You may ask me a question.”

“Do you prefer chocolates or flowers?”

You thought for a second before smiling. 

“Chocolates. They don’t wilt and I can eat them.”

“Duly noted.”

“What about you? Flowers or chocolates?”

“Chocolates,” Norman answered without hesitation. 

“Should’ve known,” you chortled, “Do you have a favorite book?”

“Not really. I read a lot of books on scientific discoveries. Been a while since I’ve read for pleasure. What about you?”

“It’s hard to pick a favorite.”

“Well, what was the last book you read?”

“The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde. Great book.”

Norman suddenly burst into laughter, making you jump. 

“What’s so funny?” You questioned as his laughter tapered off. 

“Nothing, sorry. Just… oh the irony.”

You scowled but Norman didn’t give you time to question him. 

“How would you feel about coming over tomorrow night? You could bring whatever movie you like.”

“I’d love to but…”

“But what? Is something wrong?”

You bit at your lip as you tried to think of a way to voice your concern. 

“Well… we’ve just been doing stuff that I like these past two weeks. Which is just watching movies. What about what you like to do?”

“What I… what I like to do?”

Norman’s confusion was clear in his tone. 

“Yeah. Like is there anything you want to do?”

“I want to spend time with you,” Norman replied without a pause. 

“That’s very sweet,” you smiled, “But it’s not fair if we only do whatever I want to do. I wanna know what you like to do.”

Norman remained silent for a moment. When he spoke you could imagine his eyebrows knitted together. 

“I’ve been a workaholic for the past 12 years, my dear. If I ever had any free time, I would use it to work or go to galas to try and impress people. I have no hobbies or interests outside of Science and my company.”

“What about before OSCORP?” You questioned, “What did you like to do back in college? I know you said you liked comic books and that you and Otto would watch old black and whites. What else would you do?”

Norman started chuckling to himself as he recalled his younger years. 

“Well… I built models occasionally. Otto and I experimented with stuff and made a mess. I also enjoyed…”

“Enjoyed what?” You prompted. 

“It’s been so long, Y/N, it's honestly hard to remember. And I’m not the same man I was back then. I highly doubt I’d have much interest in what I used to do.”

You chewed on the inside of your lip as you contemplated what he said. 

“Then we’re just gonna have to figure out what you like now.”

“Pardon?”

“We’ve gotta find you some hobbies! Something for you to do. Or maybe something we can do together. We need more date ideas than just staying in and watching movies. I mean, unless that’s really all you wanna do. Cuz I don’t mind at all. I love movies. I know there’s a lot you haven't seen but I don’t want you watching all these movies just because you think-”

“Y/N,” Norman interrupted, “Darling, it’s fine. I’m not that hard to please. Just so long as I’m with you and you’re happy, I’ll be alright.”

You sighed, hanging your head. 

“I just want you to enjoy yourself. Have some fun.”

“Y/N… I’m a bit too old for-”

“Ah-bub-bup! Don’t start with that,” you scolded, “You’re never too old to have fun.”

“If you say so.”

“I do say so.”

Norman chuckled and you could imagine him shaking his head. 

“You’re something else, you know that? A real piece of work.”

“I try.”

“Never stop being you,” Norman requested. 

“Couldn’t even if I wanted to.”

“Good. Now about tomorrow, I don’t think we need to go all crazy. I really am fine with watching a movie or two. We still need to watch the third Back To The Future.”

“You’re really invested in that, aren’t ya?” You giggled. 

“From a purely scientific view,” Norman said as he mocked a serious tone, “Time travel may very well be the next project at OSCORP. I’ve been taking notes.”

You laughed, not even bothering to be quiet. This caused Tracy to groan and you peaked around the corner to see her sitting up. 

“Oh poo. I woke up Tracy. I better go.”

“If you must. I’ll see you tomorrow around 5. We can grab dinner. And maybe… maybe I’ll think of something we can do that I enjoy.”

“Sounds perfect. Bye!”

“Goodbye, my dear.”

Standing up, you hung up the phone and started shuffling around in the fridge looking for breakfast. Tracy gave a yawn and after a moment she finally registered that you were in the room. 

“Were you talking to someone?” She asked groggily. 

“Yeah, I called Norman.”

“He calls you after midnight and then you call him again today? Jeez, you guys are worse than teenage girls.”

You rolled your eyes as you set a carton of eggs on the counter. 

“Do you want me to spit in your food or not?”

“Please don’t,” Tracy grimaced. 

“Then be nice.”

You pointed a spatula at her and she scoffed. After a moment of pointed staring, the two of you started laughing. 

You were glad that, even though Tracy didn’t understand or agree with your relationship, she was able to remain your friend. And it gave you hope that your family could do the same. 

You also hoped Harry would accept you. 

He is Norman’s son, so he is a crucial part of his life. If Norman fully rebuilds his relationship with him, the two of you would have to tell the younger Osborn that you were dating. 

Boy, won’t that be fun? 

——

Saturday came and went. So did Sunday morning. You spent most of your time with Tracy and you were happy to see her acting like her usual self. It seemed like she was confident in her decision to break up with Dan. Unfortunately, she was reluctant to call the cops and insisted that it wasn’t necessary. Supposedly Dan just needed time to get over himself and he would eventually leave her alone. You weren't so sure but you trusted Tracy. 

As it drew closer to 5, you started getting antsy. You had told Tracy you would be going out tonight and she insisted on helping you get ready. But nothing you chose was good enough apparently. 

“You need to dress up more!” She declared as she started rummaging through your clothes, “Wear like a pencil skirt or something!”

“I dunno, Trace. That isn’t really my style…”

“Trust me, it’s worth it just to see his jaw drop to the floor.”

“I don’t even own one.”

Tracy flung some shirts and skirts out of your closet with a groan. 

“Don’t you have anything more modern? Did you buy this at a thrift store?”

Tracy held out one of your favorite blouses with a scowl. You quickly snatched it from her. 

“As a matter of fact, I did. There’s nothing wrong with buying second-hand.”

“Why couldn’t you buy second-hand designer?”

You rolled your eyes. Tracy stuck her head right back into the closet, rifling through your stuff. You knew she didn’t mean to sound so judgemental, but you were starting to get annoyed. Your style was your own and you were happy with it. 

“Let me just wear a blouse and some slacks, please.”

“You wanna wear pants? Honey, you should wear a dress! This is a date for heaven's sake!”

“But we’re just going to watch a movie after dinner. There is no reason to get all fancy! Plus it’ll be super uncomfortable- trying to watch a movie in a dress. I have half a mind just to go in sweatpants.”

Tracy pulled out of the closet to give you a skeptical glare. 

“You think you’re going over to his place just to watch a movie? Please, how old are you?”

Tracy returned to the closet and you instantly felt your face turn red with embarrassment. There was no containing your anger now. She had gotten on your last nerve. 

“You know I’m not like that, Tracy. Nothing is going to happen. So just stop, okay?”

“I know that, and you know that, but does he know that?”

You grabbed the nearest article of clothing and smacked her with it. 

“Hey!”

“Go! Shoo! I can dress myself. Take your dirty thoughts outta my room. Be gone, you sinful creature.”

Tracy laughed as she left. 

“Alright, alright!” She paused in the doorway, “Seriously. Dress up at least a little. You deserve to look and feel pretty.”

You felt your anger subside and you gave a small smile. 

“Alright. I’ll dress up. But in my way.”

You shut the door and inspected all of your clothes. After much debate you decided on a light green blouse, a black plaid skirt, and black leggings. The skirt was a little shorter than you would like but you were still decent. When you left your room Tracy beamed at you. 

“There ya go! Look at you! Not exactly hot but you are certainly cute.”

“Is that a compliment or an insult?”

“A compliment! Now let me do your hair.”

“Ugh. Fine.”

It took Tracy almost an hour but the end result was worth it. As you looked in the mirror, you smiled and truly felt pleased with your appearance. 

“Well I better go meet Norman at the-”

You were interrupted by a knock at the door. Tracy and you exchanged glances before shuffling out of the bathroom. Tracy stayed by the couch as you went to the door. When you checked the peephole, you were surprised to see Norman standing on the other side with a box of chocolates in his hand. You hadn’t expected him to come to the door, especially since Tracy was here, but he was a gentleman through and through it seemed. 

With a loving smile you opened the door and happily greeted him, completely ignoring that Tracy was even in the same room. 

“Hey! Those for me?”

—

As soon as you opened the door, Norman’s mind stalled out like an old truck. The sight of you instantly made his heart leap into his throat. He truly felt like a smitten school boy as you smiled at him. The clothes certainly worked in your favor. 

You were beautiful. From the top of your head to the bottom of your feet. He loved every last bit of you.

Norman stepped forward to hand you the box of chocolates. As you took it, Norman pressed a kiss to your cheek and whispered in your ear. 

“You look amazing.”

He watched your nose turn pink as you looked towards the floor. 

“Thanks…”

He wanted to pull you to him and kiss you but the young woman standing by the couch behind you caught his attention. He had previously been worried about meeting her but he had spent most of yesterday and this morning thinking it over. If he could meet this girl and make a good impression, maybe he would have the confidence to meet your parents someday.

“Ah,” you turned to look at Tracy, “I should probably introduce you guys. Norman, this is Tracy Lombard. Tracy, this is Dr. Norman Osborn.”

Tracy shuffled over and Norman offered his hand with a smile. It was the smile he used for meeting investors and it seemed to work well enough. 

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Miss Lombard.”

“Yeah… you too.”

Tracy shook Norman’s hand, her brown eyes scanning him. She seemed pleased with what she saw and quickly smiled as she released his hand. 

“If you don’t mind me saying… you don’t look as mean in person as you do in the newspapers.”

Norman arched an eyebrow. 

“I suppose that’s a compliment?”

“Oh it is.” 

Tracy shifted her weight and crossed her arms. Once again she looked Norman up and down as she spoke. 

“I’ll be honest with you, Dr. Osborn. I have my doubts about you. I don’t really trust you. But Y/N usually has a pretty good head on her shoulders. If she says that she’s in love with you, then I’m gonna trust her.”

“Tracy!” 

You furrowed your brows and she smirked. 

“You good with that?”

“I understand entirely,” Norman said with a curt nod, “You wouldn’t be a good friend if you didn’t have a healthy dose of mistrust.”

Norman knew how far flattery could get him. And it seemed to be working on Tracy. She smiled and her tense pose shifted into a casual one. 

“So…. Where ya takin’ my roomie tonight?”

Norman glanced at you. 

“I thought we could get dinner at this small place I found. It’s supposed to be 50’s themed.”

Your eyes lit up and Norman couldn’t help but smile as you excitedly grabbed onto his sleeve. 

“50’s themed?!” You exclaimed. 

“Yes,” Norman laughed, “You like that?”

You nodded vigorously. For a moment, Norman got totally lost in your eyes. His smile was one of pure joy as he stared at you. You too seemed to be trapped in his gaze before you cleared your throat and addressed Tracy. 

“Don’t wait up for me.”

You grabbed Norman’s hand along with your Polaroid camera and your purse. You started pulling him towards the door, clearly eager to leave. 

“You guys have fun!” Tracy laughed. 

“Oh we will!” You called, “Bye!”

Norman only had time to give Tracy a small wave before the door was shut. He turned to you, chuckling. 

“What’s the rush-?”

You interrupted him by grabbing his coat collar and pulling him down into a kiss. He wouldn’t dream of denying you and he immediately pulled you closer. When you finally pulled away, he felt a bit dizzy.

“Hi,” you whispered with a sheepish grin. 

“Hi,” Norman laughed as he brushed some hair out of your face. 

“I missed you,” you whispered. 

Norman caressed your cheek with a smile. He still couldn’t believe that out of everyone on this planet, you wanted to be with him. To think that you missed him so much even though he had spoken to you yesterday…. He couldn’t even comprehend how it happened. But he was done trying to explain it. 

All he could do was enjoy it. 

“I missed you too,” he admitted, “More than I even thought I would. How pathetic are we, hmm? Barely able to go a day without seeing each other…”

“I hope that never changes,” you declared. 

You took his hand and started walking down the stairs. Norman opened the door for you and when you approached his car, you saw that Charles would be driving you. As you slid into the back seat, you waved at the rearview mirror with a smile. 

“Hello again, Charles.”

“Good evening Miss L/N.”

He was a middle aged man with dark hair and a stoic face. He had driven you and Norman to a few places and you always tried to greet him. He hardly ever smiled but you were starting to notice that occasionally when you said hello, the corners of his mouth would turn upward ever so slightly. 

Norman entered the vehicle and immediately took your hand. 

“You know where to go, Charles.”

“Yes, Sir.”

Norman turned his attention to you, his blue eyes drawn to the camera around your neck.

“That’s a relic,” Norman said with amusement. 

“Yeah it was my grandfather’s. I’ve used it ever since I was a little girl.”

You lifted it up with your free hand and grinned. 

“May I?”

“Only if I can take one of you,” Norman smirked. 

You snapped a photo of him immediately with a mischievous glint in your eyes. The photo printed out and you were careful not to shake it- clearly showing that you knew how to properly use the equipment. 

You set the photo down on your lap before you pulled the camera from around your neck and offered it to him. He could tell you were slightly embarrassed and shy about having your picture taken.

“You look beautiful,” Norman reassured you, “Just smile like you normally do.”

Norman released your hand so he could reach out and brush the backs of his fingers along your jaw. Your eyes closed for a moment until Norman pulled his hand away. You both smiled at each other and Norman quickly snapped a picture. 

He wanted to capture that smile so he could carry it with him. 

“There we go, perfect.”

The photo printed and he set it down on the seat just before handing the camera back. It took about 15 minutes for the first photo to develop and when it did, Norman saw you looking at it with pure joy. 

“Your eyes are so pretty,” you blurted. 

Norman couldn’t help the laugh that escaped him and he instantly regretted it. You looked dejected and embarrassed and he quickly leaned closer to you so that your faces were barely an inch apart. His hand tucked into your hair as you met his gaze. 

He had no words to explain how happy your compliment made him so instead he chose to kiss you.

[whoree321]

Hey, I believe your requests are open, so, could you please write smth were reader and Tech are friends with benefits?

Also, I’m in the same dilemma as you, cause everyone already forgot tbb and I’m still obsessed??? Like, were is everybody excitement about the show, it was gone so fast…

Anyway, thank ya <3

hello friend! this is a delicious request and i am more than happy to oblige! i’m not sure if you wanted like pure angst or like sexy successful fwb but above all else i am a dirty dirty slut for happy endings so i went light angst, heavy fluff, mild smut to get a little of everything lmaooooo. this also got a little out of control and i’m not sorry.

and literally i am suffering so much in this ever increasing drought of bad batch excitement. like i feel like the person at a party when everyone else is tired and wants to leave who’s still just way too hyped and is like “NO WAIT GUYS LETS HAVE MORE SHOTS AND PLAY TRUTH OR DARE COME ON ITLL BE FUN”. i am in absolute agony. but anyways!

a mutually beneficial arrangement (tech x gn!reader)

it was purely sex. just two friends helping each other relieve some stress occasionally. just two friends who happened to have sex with each other. until it wasn’t.

warnings: fwb, mild smut, reader is gender/genital neutral but they are penetrated by tech (amab)

word count: no idea but it’s pretty long

***

In hindsight, it really shouldn’t have shocked you that this was how things played out.

It’s not like you’d ever been friends with benefits with someone before. It’s not like you didn’t know how easily you could develop feelings for people. It’s not like you didn’t know you were maybe just a little too interested in Tech non-platonically before any of this even started.

No, you knew all of those things going into it. You made the conscious decision to be the biggest dumbass in the galaxy.

When Tech had first suggested a friends with benefits situation, it seemed like a much better idea than it actually was. You had been assigned to Clone Force 99 for a few weeks at that point and had already developed fast friendships with all of them (Crosshair even sometimes acknowledged your presence with neutrality and that definitely felt like at least an acquaintanceship). You were closest with Tech, and one tipsy night at 79’s found the two of you making out in a hallway near the bathroom. You could still remember the way his mouth tasted like whiskey as he pressed you up against the wall

He paused his assault on your lips to look at you, breath fanning lightly across your face. You whined at the loss of contact, not noticing in your haze the intensity in his eyes as he studied you, as though if he took in enough of you he would have the answer to an imposssible question. He migrated lower, planting kisses and sucking lightly on your neck until he made his way to your ear.

“Have you ever heard of people being platonic sexual partners?”, he asked low in your ear. You shuddered at the feeling of his breath and the deeper tone to his voice before you answered.

“You mean like friends with benefits?”

“Yes, that is exactly what I mean,” Tech clarified as he moved to once again nibble on the sweet spots of your neck. Had you had a little more sense, you would have warned him not to leave any noticeable marks, lest you suffer the teasing of the rest of the boys.

“I’ve heard of it, I’ve never done it before though. Why?”

“Well, given our current circumstance,” his response was punctuated by his ministrations on your pressure points, “it may be mutually beneficial for us to enter into that type of arrangement.”

You stopped him for a moment, and lifted his face so that you could make eye contact. Tech stood up a little straighter, hands running up and down your sides lightly as he gazed down at you.

“You think that we should be friends with benefits?”

Tech nodded, one hand moving to brush a strand of hair out of your face.

“I believe it would be an advantageous relationship. We could have relations while still maintaining our successful platonicity, thus eliminating the need to alter the dynamic of the squad with the complications of some trivial romance. It would also be physically beneficial. Sexual intercourse has been shown to successfully alleviate stress, as well as…”

He kept going, explaining the health benefits of sex, but it was hard to pay attention to his rambling while you tried to clear your head of the alcohol and the intoxication of his touch and figure out where you stood on his proposition. In that moment, everything he said made total sense. Granted, that part about “trivial romance” stung a little, but you could still fuck him without ruining the squad or your friendship with him, and Maker did you want to fuck him…

Uncharacteristically cutting off his rant, you responded. “I accept your offer. I would love to be friends with benefits with you.”

Tech grinned, a lust forming in his eyes at the new promise of the benefits the night was leading to.

“Splendid”

From that (mind-blowing) night, sex became a very regular thing. A mission went poorly? Frustrated sex. A mission went well? Celebratory sex. The Batch got leave time? Vacation sex. The Batch hadn’t gotten leave time in too long? Cabin fever sex. It really had started out pretty platonically, but after the first few times you could feel yourself falling head over heels for him. You knew you should stop it, Tech would never hold it against you or be upset if you changed your mind. You told yourself again and again that you would just break it off with him, but then his hands and his lips and his body would be on you, and the hungry way he looked at you would knock the air, and any ideas of making him stop, out of you.

In your defense, it wasn’t like you were the one who had suggested it. Tech had to know the likelihood that your “platonic sexual relationship” would only stay platonic for so long. Actually, you were surprised he hadn’t done a little more analysis of the situation. If he had taken into account all of the factors (the rate of failure in friends with benefits situations, each of your levels of emotionality and past relationships, the effects of living and working in close quarters, etc), you can’t imagine he would have thought it was a smart idea. If Tech had crunched the numbers like he normally would, it wouldn’t have produced favorable results. So for him to want to do it anyway, or to not even analyze it beforehand, must mean he had some sort of feelings for you, right?

This was one of the various problem in your current situation. Tech would always do things that were just on the line between “friends” and “more than friends”. He would go out of his way to do little things for you, he would share info and jokes and side comments with you that he never tried to share with brothers, he would blush when you complimented any of his work, he would stand just a little too close to you or let his touch linger just a little too long. He would suggest a sexual relationship that was highly statistically improbable to be successful.

And while Tech offered nothing but mixed signals, you took it a step further and let those mixed signals fester in your brain until you had warped them into one very clear signal: he liked you as more than a friend. You were so sure of it too. Why would he do all of those things if he didn’t like you like that? It’s not even like he treated you like some one night stand when he fucked you. He cared about making you feel good (usually it seemed like he cared more about you getting off than him), he would clean you up after and you always stayed the night together, cuddled and whispering late into the night about nothing and everything.

There was nothing friendly about your intimate nights together, come to think of it. Friends that just fucked would never treat each other so tenderly or lovingly. It’s not that completely unbelievable to think you would accidentally blurt out that you love him. Tech should have expected that.

But it was out there, unfortunately. You had committed the cardinal sin of being friends with benefits and you couldn’t take it back.

Tech’s brutal pace never faltered as he pumped in and out of you, your moans growing louder and louder as you began to approach your peak. He gazed down at you, locking eyes, and the emotion you could feel behind them was overwhelming. You could tell that he was close, with all the experience you had with him you knew his body better than your own, and he brought his hand up to softly caress your cheek.

“You’re so beautiful. I can’t believe I get to see you like this,” he huffed out, brow furrowing as the rhythmic slamming of his hips against you brought him closer and closer to the edge.

At his words, you reached your climax, and as you came undone words of ecstasy slipped from your lips between wails of pleasure.

“Kriff Tech… ah…. Tech..fuck…I love you”

You didn’t even realize it at first, too caught up in the moment, but Tech did. His eyes grew impossibly wide, and he was finishing inside you before either of you could fully process what you had just said.

As you both came down from your high, the gravity of your admission settled between you. Tech pulled out and flopped down next to you wordlessly, and for a few minutes you both just stared at the ceiling in torturous silence. And then he got up and walked to the refresher, not even looking at you once, and you felt like that was all the confirmation you needed that you woefully misinterpreted your entire relationship with him.

You lept out of his bunk, threw your clothes on, and left as silently as possible, fighting back the tears that threatened to spill down your cheeks. At least you could spare yourself the embarrassment of your words in that moment, and both of you could just forget it and move on.

Of course, you knew that pretending it didn’t happen would be impossible. You told him you loved him, and he said nothing. For several minutes. And then hid in the fresher. That was a clear rejection, and while it devastated you, you were still hoping that the two of you could just move on and be friends like you were before the benefits were added.

Apparently to Tech, you had offended him beyond repair. He never spoke to you (unless it was specifically mission oriented), he rarely looked at you or acknowledged your presence, and he positioned himself as far from you as possible at every opportunity. It had been two weeks since your slip up, and he hadn’t even made eye contact with you once.

It was agony. You missed him. You didn’t even really know what it was like to be on this squad without keeping him company while he made repairs or asking him questions about the next place you were going just to hear him talk. You missed making snide jokes with him. You missed admiring the way his goggles magnified his gorgeous caramel eyes.

The other boys noticed the shift very quickly. They had suspected the two of you had some sort of arrangement, and they knew how close you were, so to see it change so abruptly was concerning. Hunter had tried talking to you about it a few times, but you just reassured him that everything was fine and it was nothing he needed to worry about. Wrecker and Crosshair tried to pick up the slack, and started filling in the holes in your routine that Tech used to occupy. Crosshair would sit next to you in the mornings and during briefings, sometimes trying to make little comments in your ear like Tech would. On missions, Wrecker would always aim to pair up with you, and afterwards would try to do something fun like find a sweet treat or rent a good movie.

You appreciated so much what they did for you. But no matter how hard they tried, nothing could take your mind off the wall of ice Tech had built between you. You loved the other boys, but trying to share happy moments with them when all you could think about was how much better it would be with him was becoming unbearable. You didn’t want to leave them, but you couldn’t stay with Tech being so close to you and yet lightyears away.

As you filled out your transfer paperwork, you chuckled wryly to yourself. Even without the “trivial romance”, the squad was still disrupted. In a bittersweet way, it felt good for Tech to be wrong.

***

Tech had really done his best to analyze the evidence and make an informed decision based on his findings. He had been crunching his numbers with you since the day you joined the Batch, after all. Back then, it was the probability of your attraction to each of them. Tech was fascinated with you, and right off the bat he wanted to know his odds- just out of curiosity of course (for the record, they were pretty highly in his favor).

He knew there were pros and cons to the possibility of a relationship with you. First of all, it was technically against regulation for any clone to be involved in a romantic relationship. Second of all, it was likely that such a relationship would have the potential to cause countless rifts and points of weakness among his squad (regardless of the relationship’s success). Then there was also the very possible chance that the relationship wouldn’t work out anyway, leaving both of you hurt and irreparably damaging your friendship. As much as Tech may have wanted you, the costs unfortunately outweighed the benefits.

But then he kissed you at 79’s. And you kissed him back. And there he was, kissing you at 79’s, memorizing the sweetness of your lips on his. And he knew he should stop. He had studied the data and it’s conclusions were not very good, and if he had any sense at all he would stop. But he pulled away and looked at you, took in the flush on your cheeks and the dazed look accompanying your dilated pupils and the swell of your bruised lips. And he couldn’t bring himself to part ways with you. So he offered the closest thing to a relationship he could think of: friends with benefits.

A friends with benefits arrangement would be a more than adequate solution, Tech had decided. He could be physical with you in the proper moments, and then outside of those moments everything would be just as it was before. The squad’s dynamic and mission proficiency would remain consistent, and technically no regulations were being broken since they only specified romantic relationships. Of course, it wasn’t truly what he wanted, but in this arrangement he would get to enjoy you so much more than he currently was.

Unfortunately, he had made a critical oversight. In the dim haze of the club hallway, Tech had only considered how casual sex would compare to a full blown relationship. He didn’t think to analyze it singularly. And he certainly didn’t calculate the logistics of a friends with benefits agreement when one of the friends in question already had romantic feelings for the other friend.

But Tech knew himself. He knew he could have feelings for you and not let them get in the way. He could accept what he was able to have and make peace with what he couldn’t. Casual sex seemed like a good idea when his emotions were the only ones he took into account.

He wasn’t expecting you to fall in love with him.

When you had said it, Tech thought his heart was going to stop right then and there. In the heat of the moment, he couldn’t have imagined more precious words falling from your lips, and instantly it had him spiraling over the edge into ecstasy. But then the moment ended, and you didn’t say anything. He wanted to end the silence, to find out if you really meant it, but his brain was moving too fast to figure out what to say because he really hadn’t considered this would happen. It was naive of him, he supposed, but he really had thought the two of you could have done it without the emotional complications. Part of him, of course, was thrilled, but the other part of him, the logical part, was thrown into absolute chaos at the implications of your statement and what it would mean and all the statistics and probabilities he had calculated and

And you still hadn’t said anything. Tech could see you out of the corner of his eye, face red and chest heaving with emotion. You looked embarassed, regretful, and the realization that maybe you didn’t mean it hit him like a brick to the face. Maybe it was just something that slipped out, something your orgasm-addled mind had conjured up against your will and now you didn’t know how to take it back, didn’t know the right way to tell him you don’t actually love him.

It was too much for him to process at once, and he ran to the refresher in the hopes that he could clear his head and actually think coherently about the situation for a moment. Tech couldn’t have been in there long, maybe a few minutes, just long enough to splash some water on his face, look himself in the eye, and come to the conclusion that he needed to just have a conversation with you instead of playing with hypothetical numbers in his head. But then he came back out and you were gone, and that seemed like all the answer he needed. You didn’t mean it.

That was good, right? You didn’t mean it, and the two of you could keep going the way you had been.

But the ache in Tech’s heart said otherwise. You didn’t love him. He loved you, he knew he did, and he could be ok with pretending he didn’t when he didn’t know how you felt. But he knew now. And it hurt.

It hurt everytime he talked to you, so he stopped talking to you. It hurt everytime he was near you, so he stopped being near you. It hurt everytime he looked at you, so he stopped looking. The squad’s performance hadn’t been altered, so Tech concluded that the awkwardness could be tolerated until your presence didn’t feel so much like a blaster shot to his chest.

But just like pretty much every other choice Tech had made in regards to you, that plan only worked until it backfired horrifically.

***

The Batch were back on Kamino in between missions. Tech had been vaguely aware of Hunter being called in to a meeting of some sort, but he offered his full attention as Hunter stormed back into their room and huffed his way to Tech’s workbench.

“I don’t know what you did, but you need to fix things with Y/N. Now”

At the mention of your name, Tech pretended to return to his work, fiddling with a tool and avoiding eye contact.

“I do not know what you are referring-“

“Like hell you don’t Tech! The two of you haven’t even looked at each other in weeks and now they’ve put in a request to be transferred to another unit, so don’t tell me there’s nothing going on between you.”

Tech shot up, tools abandoned and stool knocked over with the force of his standing.

“They requested a transfer?”

“Yeah, they did. Now, I don’t know what happened, but I know your little silent treatment has been hurting them a lot. I don’t want to see them go, and you don’t either. So go talk to them and fix it, or I’ll have you transferred instead,” Hunter ordered, finger pointed at Tech’s chest. The threat was empty, of course, but it had fallen on deaf ears regardless.

Tech all but sprinted out into the hall, desperate to change your mind before you left them for good. As much as it pained him to be near you, the thought of being without you was somehow so much worse. He reached your quarters and unceremoniously burst in, barely giving the doors enough time to slide open before he was moving past them.

You jumped at his sudden entrance, hand coming up to clutch your chest.

“Maker, Tech you scared me!”

“Please don’t leave”

You stared at him, taking in his appearance for the first time. His chest was heaving, like he’d just run a marathon, and his eyes were frantic and impossibly wide behind his goggles. You didn’t think you’d ever seen him so disheveled, even when you’d slept with him.

You wanted to look away, but you were conscious of the fact that this was the first time you had made eye contact in Maker knows how long and you couldn’t bring yourself to do it.

“Tech, I-I can’t stay with the way things are. I’m sorry about what I said, I know it was just supposed to be a friend thing and I shouldn’t have fallen in love with you. I really tried not to, but I did and I ruined everything and you can’t even look at me anymore so how can I-“

Tech took step closer, cutting off your rambling as his brow furrowed.

“You fell in love with me?”

He spoke so quietly, it was barely above a whisper. You nodded, confused at his surprised considering the whole issue was that you told him you loved him and he didn’t feel the same. That was the issue, right?

You could practically see the smoke coming out of his ears as he tried to process what was happening.

“I thought… I thought you didn’t mean it”

Now it was your turn to be confused.

“Why would you think that?”

“Y-you didn’t say anything. You confessed your affections for me while in a compromised state and didn’t say anything else afterwards. Your body language indicated regret and-and you left. I concluded that you said it by accident, and did not actually mean it,” he explained as calmly as he could in his rattled state.

“I left because I told you I loved you and you locked yourself in the fresher! And then you wouldn’t talk to me so I figured you were mad at me because I have feelings for you and you don’t feel the same way!”

Tech’s face broke out in a huge grin, and just as you were about to ask him why he was so happy all of a sudden, he rushed forward and passionately slotted his lips against yours. You gasped into him before immediately reciprocating the kiss, and you tangled your hands in his hair as his fingers desperately clutched your hips. Of all the kisses you had shared with him, none had felt the way this one did. There was an emotion pouring into it, one that had always been on the verge of spilling over but never had before. Eventually you broke apart, and you cursed your lungs for needing air.

He leaned his forehead against yours as you both caught your breath, and broke the silence after a few moments.

“I love you, too. I have for a significant amount of time. When you left that night, I incorrectly assumed you did not share my affections. I avoided you after because I… I was hurt. I apologize for misinterpreting your actions, and for allowing you to think that I was upset with you. I assure you, that could not be further from reality.”

You laughed giddily, bumping his nose with yours as you relished in his confession.

“If you loved me, why did you just want to be friends with benefits?”

Tech blushed and look down, a sheepish look overtaking his features.

“Well, I performed a cost-benefit analysis on engaging in a romantic relationship, and the potential complications were too great. A platonic sexual partnership offered a less risky alternative. Although, I must admit that I failed to properly calculate the possible outcomes of such an agreement between two individuals in our specific situation,” he elaborated.

“We might be the two dumbest people in the galaxy,” you joked with a giggle.

“Technically, it is statistically impossible for that to be true, given-“

You cut him off with another deep kiss, your hands coming to rest on his arms as they kept you in his iron-clad grip. He had never loosened his hold, as though he thought if he let you go, you would disappear.

Abruptly, the kiss ended as Tech pulled back slightly to look at you.

“Does this mean you are no longer transferring out of our squad?”

You grinned.

“That depends. Does this mean we can have a real relationship, not just sex?”

Tech brought one hand to rest on his jaw as he looked upwards and pretended to be deep in thought.

“Well, according to my calculations, we have already experienced nearly all of the possible complications of pursuing a romantic relationship, so I have no objection to enjoying some of the benefits,” he concluded with a playful smile.

You leaned up to kiss him again, pausing just before your lips made contact with his to make a sly comment.

“And we know how good we are at some of those benefits already”

[bloody-bee-tea]

Get Together

This fic was also inspired by this prompt from @mingcheng-prompts​

Jiang Cheng stares at the letter in his hands.

“You can’t be serious,” he says, but when he raises his eyes at Nie Mingjue he seems deadly serious.

“Of course I am,” Nie Mingjue replies and pushes a scroll towards him. “My courtship gift.”

Jiang Cheng blinks but doesn’t move.

He knows he can’t say yes—could never, not with everything that happened—but he wants to.

Jiang Cheng learned to appreciate Nie Mingjue over the course of the last few gruesome weeks, learned to rely on him and trust him to have his back in battle—and yes, maybe even fell in love with him—so of course he wants to say yes.

But he can’t.

“I have nothing,” he tells Nie Mingjue and doesn’t make a move for the scroll. “My Sect burned. My parents died. My people are scattered.”

He’s not even sure he still has Wei Wuxian.

“There is nothing I can give you.”

“Good thing then, that I’m here for you and not your Sect or for what you can give me,” Nie Mingjue easily replies and doesn’t seem put off in the least.

“No,” Jiang Cheng tells him, though the word barely makes it out of his mouth.

Nie Mingjue observes him in silence for a few minutes, before he sags with a sigh.

“I respect your wish,” he says but he still pushes the scroll closer to Jiang Cheng. “You should still take this. Consider it a gift from one Sect Leader to another, if you must.”

“I shouldn’t take this,” Jiang Cheng replies as he gets up.

If he accepts this, and finds something thoughtful, something useful, something he would like, then his resolve will crumble.

And he can’t afford that. They are still at war. His Sect is still barely more than ground into dust.

“Nie-zongzhu,” he bows low, before he walks out of the tent, away from Nie Mingjue, without looking back.

Jiang Cheng wonders not for the first time when fate will stop taking things away from him.

~*~*~

Jiang Cheng has to admit that he thought things would change between him and Nie Mingjue with the rejected courtship, but they don’t.

Nie Mingjue treats him the same as before, except that now Jiang Cheng flushes whenever Nie Mingjue comes close or smiles at him or is simply nice to him.

Jiang Cheng is flushing a lot, even though the war is still raging.

He really wishes he could have said yes to Nie Mingjue.

~*~*~

Fate does not stop taking things from Jiang Cheng. First his brother-in-law, then his sister and to top it off his brother as well.

The only thing left is Jin Ling.

And—inexplicably—Nie Mingjue.

“What do you want?” Jiang Cheng asks, a shade of desperation to his voice, because Jin Ling won’t stop crying and Jiang Cheng is inevitably going to fuck him up, just like he fucks up everything else.

“I’m here with an offer of courtship,” Nie Mingjue says and puts another letter and the same scroll on the table.

Jiang Cheng wonders if Nie Mingjue lost his mind.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” he hisses, allowing the anger to take over instead of giving in to the want and hurt.

“Nothing. I simply have made up my mind about what I want. And what I want is you.”

He sounds completely serious as he says it, too, and Jiang Cheng wonders if Nie Mingjue lost his sanity on the battlefield.

“Look around you, Nie-zongzhu,” he snaps out, aware that Jin Ling flinches at his tone and Nie Mingjue at the title.

Jiang Cheng tries to calm Jin Ling down and tries to ignore Nie Mingjue and his reaction as best as he can.

If he calls him anything but Nie-zongzhu then he’ll crumble and give in. And he can’t do that.

“I have nothing left in my life,” Jiang Cheng belatedly finishes and Nie Mingjue frowns.

“That’s not true. You have your nephew and your Sect. That is not nothing. And you have me, too, if you accept the courtship or not.”

“Why are you so—” Jiang Cheng wants to say ‘good’ but the word chokes him up.

Nie Mingjue seems to understand it anyway.

“Because you deserve it.”

“I don’t,” Jiang Cheng says over Jin Ling’s head, the boy still crying and Jiang Cheng woefully unprepared to deal with him.

“I think you do,” Nie Mingjue softly says and then stands up to correct Jiang Cheng’s grasp on Jin Ling.

It doesn’t immediately calm him down, but Jiang Cheng feels more secure holding Jin Ling like that and the small kindness is enough to bring tears to his eyes.

“I can’t,” Jiang Cheng whispers, and hides his face in Jin Ling’s baby hair. “I can’t.”

There’s a brief silence where Jiang Cheng thinks that Nie Mingjue will simply storm out on him, but then he feels lips pressed against the crown of his head.

“I’ll be here when you can,” Nie Mingjue promises him right before he leaves.

Jiang Cheng can’t bear to watch him go, and it’s only much, much later that he realizes that while Nie Mingjue took the letter with the official courtship, he left the scroll behind.

Jiang Cheng doesn’t touch it.

~*~*~

Jiang Cheng is shaking as he steps off Sandu and if he’s not careful he’s going to crush the scroll in his hand.

Maybe it would be better anyway.

“Where is Nie Mingjue?” he demands to know from the first disciple that has the guts to step close and to their credit, he is immediately led to a study room.

“What the fuck is this?” he hisses as he throws the scroll at Nie Mingjue. “What the hell are you up to?”

It seems like he caught Nie Mingjue off guard because the scroll hits him square in the chest but when he lowers his gaze at it, understanding crosses his face.

“It’s a gift,” Nie Mingjue slowly says and picks the scroll out of his robes to put it on the table.

“A gift,” Jiang Cheng hisses. “Preparing me for the fact that you’re planning to invade us?”

It’s—just the thought makes Jiang Cheng sick, because he barely had time to build Lotus Pier back up again. He only managed the most necessary buildings so far.

Not to mention the fact that he trusted Nie Mingjue, that he thought he was in love with him.

“It’s nothing like that,” Nie Mingjue reassures him and Jiang Cheng has to give it to him, he stays remarkably calm.

“Then explain what it is!” Jiang Cheng demands and Nie Mingjue sighs.

“I mean, I guess it was intended that way, once, when we first started? But it’s not anymore. We keep track of the layout of all the Sects. I know you all thought us stupid but Qinghe Nie always expected a war ever since Wen Ruohan first came into power centuries ago. We made it a habit to sketch out every Sect’s layout so that in the case of a war we could help them rebuild. None of you are as sturdy as we are.”

It’s a sensible explanation and it makes sense, Jiang Cheng guesses, but the hurt about the perceived threat from Nie Mingjue of all people still sits deep.

“Why give it to me?”

Nie Mingjue stares at him as if he’s stupid, and Jiang Cheng thinks that’s probably fair.

“It was supposed to be a courtship gift; my gift to help you rebuild Lotus Pier like it used to be if you wished it so. You rejected me, twice, and I thought it cruel to keep this from you despite that.”

Jiang Cheng can’t keep Nie Mingjue’s eyes any longer and so he stares down at the scroll again.

He had looked at it, of course, and he had studied it very carefully; there were paths and buildings on that plan that even he didn’t remember.

“Show me the other ones,” Jiang Cheng says, because he needs the proof that this was not simply to attack him again, now that Yunmeng Jiang is weakened beyond belief.

Nie Mingjue simply nods and leads Jiang Cheng to a huge library. It seems like Nie Mingjue knows his way around here very well, because there’s no hesitation as he makes his way over to a shelf and gets three more scrolls out.

“We even have one of the Wen Sect, in case someone more sensible ever took over once Wen Ruohan inevitably destroyed everything,” he says as he hands the scrolls to Jiang Cheng.

Jiang Cheng opens all three of them, just to be sure, but they are what Nie Mingjue promised.

“You wanted to help us rebuild,” Jiang Cheng whispers and Nie Mingjue shrugs.

“Qinghe Nie always wanted to help in the case of war,” he agrees and before Jiang Cheng can snap at him that he is deliberately misunderstanding him, he goes on. “But yes. I specifically wanted to help you rebuild.”

“Why?”

“It was supposed to be a courtship gift, remember?” Nie Mingjue asks with a sad smile and takes the scrolls back from Jiang Cheng.

“But why?” Jiang Cheng asks again, because that’s the part he doesn’t get.

Everyone left him alone; his family is dead, Lanling Jin is just waiting for him to die or move a toe out of line, Gusu Lan is too busy rebuilding themselves and for all that Nie Mingjue tried to court him—twice—even Qinghe Nie didn’t so much as offer help.

Well, Jiang Cheng guesses he has to rethink that part, because clearly Nie Mingjue did want to help.

“Why me?”

“Because you’re fierce and beautiful and strong. You’re a natural leader, you’re a good Sect Leader, a good uncle. Because I admire you and I’m in love with you,” Nie Mingjue easily says as if it means nothing to him to say all of that out loud, about Jiang Cheng of all people.

It means the world to Jiang Cheng.

“Ask me again,” he whispers, begs almost, because he’s tired of keeping himself from this.

He’s tired of rebuilding and of raising Jin Ling and having to do it all alone and if Nie Mingjue wants this, still, after Jiang Cheng was already stupid twice, then he’ll take it.

He will allow himself at least this happiness.

“Jiang Wanyin, will you let me court you?” Nie Mingjue asks without hesitation and just the thought that Nie Mingjue waited even though Jiang Cheng rejected him twice, that he still wants him, brings tears to Jiang Cheng’s eyes.

“Yes, please,” he breathes out and Nie Mingjue doesn’t waste any time before he pulls him into a tight hug.

“Thank you,” he mutters into Jiang Cheng’s hair as if he’s the blessed one here, when really, Jiang Cheng can’t believe that he should get this lucky.

“I’m sorry I was stupid,” Jiang Cheng says into Nie Mingjue’s shoulder.

“You weren’t. There was a lot going on, and I understand,” Nie Mingjue reassures him and Jiang Cheng slings his arms around his middle.

“I like you, too,” Jiang Cheng belatedly says, and even though he’s not yet ready to tell Nie Mingjue that he’s in love with him, too, it doesn’t seem to matter to Nie Mingjue.

“That’s good to hear,” Nie Mingjue gives back, and pushes Jiang Cheng away from him, just far enough to duck down and press a light kiss to his lips.

“We’re going to take this slow, okay? Rebuilding first.”

Jiang Cheng has difficulties swallowing around the lump in his throat, so he simply nods, grateful that Nie Mingjue seems to understand what he so desperately needs.

His Sect back to a point where he doesn’t have to fear for their simple survival every night, and a reassuring, steady presence at his side.

“Thank you,” he says again with feeling and Nie Mingjue smiles at him.

“Always,” he promises.

And for once in Jiang Cheng’s life, someone keeps that promise.

Link to my ko-fi on the sidebar!

[wrenhyperfixates]

Gold Writing

Pairing: Loki x reader Summary: When a charming, handsome stranger gives you inspiration for the first time in weeks, you try to guess what it is he’s famous for in exchange for his name. Warnings: none at all :) A/N: Just a little idea I’d been toying around with for a bit. Enjoy :)

Tag List: @lucywrites02 @frostedgiant @lunarmoon8 @twhiddlestonsstuff @lokistan @lowkeyorlokificrecs @gaitwae @whatafuckingdumbass @castiels-majestic-wings @kozkaboi​ @cozy-the-overlord @birdgirl90​ @myraiswack​ @mythicalgarlicknot​

Disclaimer: Gif and picture not mine

It was an uncharacteristically warm day for this time of year in New York City. Or so you’d been told, anyway. You had been living here for three months, tops; not really long enough to have a feel for the weather patterns. Either way, you were grateful for the sun’s rays coating your face, bathing you in their heat.

You turned your face away from the sky and down towards the sketchbook in your lap. It had been your hope that Central Park might inspire you, but you were still having artist’s block. It was at least better than being cooped up in your apartment all day. You didn’t really know anyone yet, save for your old friend who you had moved in next to. If it hadn’t been for them encouraging you, you probably never would have packed up and moved. They’d promised to introduce you to some people they knew, too, so you wouldn’t get lonely. Sadly, the scheduling never worked out.

And so, here you were, alone on a bench. Looking at all the couples and families and friends bustling and laughing around you, you thought you might be the only person all by yourself on this Saturday afternoon. Well, no, not the only one, you realized, spying a raven-haired man on a bench not too far away. His nose was buried in a book, a few locks of his shiny, dark hair falling out of his bun and framing his face. He looked familiar, but not in a "you knew him" sort of way. More in that you thought he might be famous somehow. No one else seemed to notice him, though.

You glanced back down at the empty pages, waiting to be filled by the strokes of your pencil. Then you looked back at the mystery man again, scooting a little closer to the end of your bench. Without really thinking about it, your deft fingers picked up your standard 2B pencil and began to sketch.

Starting with the sharp lines of his jaw, you moved onto his hair that intrigued you so. You don’t think you’d ever seen another person with hair that dark a color. Trying to get every last detail right, you kept glancing up and down. By the time you were onto the shading, you were certain that you had seen him somewhere before. The next time you glanced up, he was gone, and a frown settled on your features as you looked left and right, searching for the only subject to inspire you in days.

“It is a lovely drawing, darling,” a smooth baritone voice with a British accent said from behind you, “but I do not really think that is my best angle.”

You squeaked in surprise and dropped your sketchbook. The man somehow managed to reach out in front of you and catch it. He came to sit next to you, and as he walked around the bench, you realized just how tall he was.

“I think you dropped this,” he said with a charming smile, handing your sketchbook to you.

“I, uh, yeah. I did,” you stammered, hating how you couldn’t be as suave as him. Plus, he was unfairly good looking. “Thank you. And, um, sorry. About, you know, drawing you.”

“On the contrary, darling, there is no need to apologize. I am quite happy to have my likeness captured in such a flattering light,” he chuckled, taking off his sunglasses and revealing his brilliant blue-green eyes. “Really, I should be thanking you.”

With all the small details you were gathering, it felt like his name was on the tip of your tongue. Infuriatingly enough, you still couldn’t place it. You didn’t think he was a singer, that didn’t feel right. Though you did feel like his mesmerizing voice would be well suited to it. So, a well-known author, perhaps? He had been reading, after all. But you were woefully behind on your own reading list, so you had a feeling it wasn’t that either. You briefly wondered what even happened to the book he’d had; it was nowhere on him, almost like he’d stored it in some pocket of space.

“Oh,” you finally responded, nervously laughing. “You’re welcome, in that case. And thank you. For the compliments, I mean.”

“Ah, you are very welcome, too. It is not often I meet such a talented artist.” He somehow managed to sprawl out on the somewhat uncomfortable park bench, his long legs spread wide. It wasn’t indecent, exactly, but it somehow felt like it was. His arms were resting on the back of the seat so that, had you been leaning back, one of them would have been wrapped around your shoulder. “I do somehow find it hard to believe I was the most interesting thing in the vicinity, however. Though, I suppose I am rather flattered by that notion, too.”

His mischievous grin sent pleasant shivers down your spine. “Well, when inspiration strikes,” you anxiously chuckled with a shrug. Your nerves were still telling you he was about to get mad at any second.

“I do suppose that is true.” He cocked his head at you in the most adorable way. “Then I am honored to provide you with it.”

You suddenly felt even warmer than you had before, but you knew it had nothing to do with the sun anymore, but rather was from this enrapturing stranger. Though, this man’s smile certainly rivaled the sun.

“I hope you don’t mind my asking,” you began, “but you seem awfully familiar. You don’t happen to be famous, do you?”

“Oh, so you have not yet figured it out, then. I had been wondering. I suppose that, yes, I could be considered famous.”

When he didn’t say anything else, you continued, “Can I get a name then? I’m afraid I don’t really keep up with pop culture all that much.”

“Well, I suppose I could tell you my name.” His grin somehow grew to be even more mischievous. “But where is the fun in that? Besides, I am afraid you might start treating me differently if you knew.”

“Ok, that’s fair.” A spark of excitement lit behind your eyes as you got an idea and turned to face the captivating stranger. “How about this, I get three guesses about what it is you’re known for. If I get it right, you have to tell me your name. If not, then it can stay a mystery forever, if you want it to.”

“A most intriguing proposition. Alright, I accept. First guess?”

“Hang on,” you said, putting up your hand. “If I only get three guesses, I feel like it would be fair if I got to talk to you for a bit longer, at least. Unless I’m holding you up from something, of course.”

“I have time to spare, darling.” He stood up and offered you his hand. “Join me on a walk?”

An easy dialogue flowed between you as you strolled through the park. The way the light was illuminating his features made your hands itch to sketch him again. That reminded you to ask about his book, which he pulled out from seemingly nowhere.

“Hang on,” you said, getting your first idea. “Are you like a-a magician or a, um, an illusionist or something?”

“Well, it is interesting that you mention that. Magic is more a hobby than anything else,” he replied. “But not what I am known for, per se. Two guesses left.”

You frowned and flipped through the pages of the book he’d handed you. Hoping he’d made some kind of foolish error, you checked the covers for his name. No such luck. Absorbed in your hunt for clues, you weren’t paying attention to the world around you. Your companion suddenly grabbed you and jerked you to a stop. A ball whizzed past your head. If you’d kept walking, it surely would have hit you.

“You really should be more careful,” he playfully tsked. Then he grew more serious as he gently turned your head, checking for injuries. “Are you ok?”

“Yeah,” you mumbled, feeling flustered from the attention of his piercing gaze. He also felt surprisingly cool for how warm out it was. You looked up at him and saw him raising his eyebrows as if he didn’t believe you. “I’m fine, really,” you added more convincingly. “Just my pride that’s wounded, I guess. But you stopped me in time. So, thank you.”

“It was no problem, darling,” he replied as you set off on the path again. “After all, I can’t have you getting hurt before you finish guessing, now can I?”

Again, you giggled, simultaneously loving and hating how he had that effect on you. “No, I guess not.”

“So, have you found whatever it is your looking for in my book?”

Glancing down at the page you had open, you saw it was the story of Rumpelstiltskin. How ironic. You tried to forge a connection between the book of fairytales and this man in your mind, but were coming up empty. Unless, of course, he was going to the source material for some reason, like he was preparing for a role.

“An actor!” you said, feeling sure you’d gotten it now. You’d definitely felt like you’d seen him on your TV screen before. Plus, he was definitely handsome enough for it. “That’s got to be it.”

“While I have appeared on television before, that is still incorrect, darling. One guess remaining.”

Oh how you wanted to wipe that smug yet ridiculously captivating grin from his face. Maybe with a kiss... Nope, no. That was ridiculous; you just met him. Besides, he was famous. Why on God’s green earth would he be interested in you as anything more than an entertaining encounter to pass the afternoon? So, you’d just have to do it with the right guess. You put your thinking cap on.

“Ok, well if you were on TV but aren’t an actor, maybe it was in an interview,” you thought out loud, gauging his reaction. You were excited, but also sad that your game was coming to a close. He’d surely leave after, whether you got it right or not. You supposed you could always try to look it up once you got home, if you couldn’t guess correctly. At least it would make for a fun story then. “I suppose there’s reality shows too, but that doesn’t quite seem your style. And, I guess you could be doing the interviewing—like a reporter or something—but that doesn’t sit quite right either. Sports! They televise sports. Plus I’m not really a fan, so I could believe I’ve heard of you but not totally recognize you. So, my final guess is athlete.”

“And you are certain that is your final guess?” He had a wonderful poker face and gave away nothing as to whether or not it was right. “Last chance to turn back.”

You appraised him, thinking he looked like he could be an athlete. And maybe it was some reverse psychology, trying to get you to abandon the correct guess. You didn’t really have any better ideas, anyway.

“Yes?”

“So sorry, but that is incorrect. And you are regretfully out of guesses, darling.”

“Of course it's not,” you sighed. He seemed genuinely saddened by how dismayed you seemed, so you perked up. “It was fun, though. So I, uh, I guess I won’t hold you up any longer.”

“You are correct; this was quite fun. Unfortunately, I do have another arrangement to get to,” he said in a way that made you believe he was actually upset over it. “How about that sketch that started this all, though? That one you made of me?”

“What of it?” you asked.

“May I buy it off of you?”

Your mouth formed a surprised little circle. “I mean, you can honestly have it for free. It is an unsolicited picture of you, after all. I wouldn’t feel right accepting your money for it.”

“Nonsense, I am only offering a small amount, anyway. Say, the price of a cup of coffee?”

You smiled at your feet as you caught onto what he was saying. It made your insides feel fuzzy. Maybe you wouldn’t accept, though. After all, you still didn’t know who he was. But if you were to go on a date, then certainly he would tell you.

“Sure,” you agreed. “I would love that.”

You tore out the sketch and handed it to him. In exchange, he gave you his card and said to call him to set a time and place. You glanced down at the small paper in your hands, not yet reading it. By the time you looked back up, he was already gone. With your handsome stranger nowhere to be found, you went to actually read his information. Unable to contain your surprise, not to mention shock at how foolish you were, you gasped, and your jaw hung open.

Gold writing on a green card held the secret you’d been trying to find the answer to all afternoon. Of course he was an Avenger, a hero. You ran your fingers over his name, a small smile forming on your lips. You quickly punched the contact into your phone and headed off in the direction of your apartment.

“Well, I’m glad this isn’t goodbye, Loki Laufeyson,” you mused to yourself, relishing in the way his name rolled off your tongue. “I’ll see you soon.”

[heliads]

Guns Blazing, Tides Rising (Part Four)

When Kaz Brekker announces that they’ll be working with a certain Tidemaker to help with the latest heist, Jesper knows it’s not going to end well. He and Y/N L/N have a fierce rivalry, although feelings may change over a night.

part three / series masterlist / part five

consider: secret dating but fake dating at the exact same time (ily @underc0vercryptid​ ty for the suggestion :))

Jesper’s feet flash underneath him. He’s running, faster than he has in a while. His breath comes sharp in his lungs, a silent promise to himself that he won’t be caught, not today. The flagstones are far beneath him as he runs along the roofline, but he manages to keep his distance. Maybe Jesper has more in common with the Wraith than he’d first thought.

Jesper turns his attention back to the roof he’s currently heading down, and feels a slight twinge of panic start to rise within him. He’s running out of shingled space, and the gap between houses is approaching faster than he’d like. Jesper’s eyes narrow, his hands tap once and twice at his pearl-handled revolvers, and then he makes the jump.

He hits the next house with a significant impact, one that knocks the air for his lungs for a second before he manages to swallow the jolt and keep moving. Jesper knows this part of town, knows the way the houses curve and turn as they twist down the narrow sidestreets. If he darts across this opening, down this corner of the roof, then there’s a fire escape off the back, one that empties into a nearby alleyway.

A stolen pocket watch dangles at Jesper’s side; he checks it with a furrow of his brow. He’s running on borrowed time, a moment or so too slow. He sets his jaw with a determined tilt, running even faster until he’s sure he’s going to slip and fall. Then again, he just might manage to pull this off. Jesper has had plenty of practice over the last week.

A few more seconds of running, and then Jesper is jumping again. He hangs for a moment in the air, arms rising involuntarily as he falls. Then his heels hit the fire escape with a thunk and he’s down, twisting himself over the rails to quicken his journey to the ground. He’s clear of the fire escape now, and loses himself into the mess of alleys that crowd the streets of Ketterdam, sprawling out in an untidy heap like the last remnants of a spiderweb on an abandoned window.

He crosses over one street, two, then ducks under a faded and scrappy awning to find himself in an opening in the alleyways, a back end that nobody checks except the Dregs. He’s back on safe ground, both literally and figuratively. Jesper lets out a sigh of relief, checking the liberated pocket watch once more. Right on time. Even Kaz Brekker would be impressed.

There’s a derisive snort from behind him, and Jesper’s head shoots up in a flash.

“You know, I don’t think you have to go this hard for a practice run.” Jesper straightens up, sauntering over to Y/N with a grin fit to kill. “And why is that, Tidemaker? Maybe I’m just having fun.” Y/N raises an eyebrow at this casual confidence. “Do you always get this sure of yourself after every run? Maybe it’s not so bad after all.”

Jesper leans down, stealing a kiss and swooping away before Y/N has time to think on it. “Maybe not? I’m excellent, and I’m making sure I’m excellent for this heist. We’ll have to be careful, you know. And when am I not careful?” Y/N raises an eyebrow, although her smile deceives her challenging expression. “When we nearly got caught against the wall of the Crow Club two weeks ago? When you had your hands on my dress and-”

Jesper kisses her, both because he can and because the flush in Y/N’s cheeks renders her unable to finish the sentence. “What was that, love? Talking about my excellence? Anyways, we might not be as careful as we could be, but that just makes it fun.” Y/N hums quietly, the sound deep in her throat. “Maybe. Does the fun not extend to spontaneity in heists?” Jesper groans, reaching into his coat to flip his revolver back and forth out of habit from the mention of the heist. “Try telling Kaz Brekker that you’re not following his plans. It’s not exactly a pleasant experience.”

Jesper’s fingers tighten over his revolver as he remembers the meeting of a week ago. Kaz had called him to his office yet again, and Jesper’s pulse had raced at the sight of the maps and documents littering his desk. Another heist, another escapade, another chance for bullets to fly and for Jesper to finally have a bit of fun. 

Kaz had folded his hands over his crow’s head cane. “We’re breaking into a mercher’s house.” Jesper had raised an eyebrow. “Joeri ter Steege again? Saints, this guy doesn’t know when to give up.” Kaz chuckled. “No, not Joeri. This will make ter Steege seem like a pleasant memory. We’re taking on Pekka Rollins.”

Jesper had known even from that first mention of the gang boss that this heist wasn’t going to be easy. Whenever Pekka Rollins’ name came up, Kaz got a look in his eyes, a dangerous look that only came out when bones would be broken and screams would rend the night. Brekker was gone, replaced by Dirtyhands, the boy who would do anything to get what he wanted. Blood would be shed in the Barrel, likely sooner than expected.

Kaz had cleared this throat, the sound like rough stones grinding underneath a carriage wheel. “Rollins has a mercher in his pocket. His name is Arnout Hul, and he’s got ties to banking as well as trade. He’s the perfect puppet for Pekka’s strings. Right now, Pekka wants him because Arnout has a list of names, a list that just might correspond to the Council of Tides.” Jesper let out a low whistle. “I thought the Council of Tides never revealed their identities?”

Kaz gave a tense shrug. “That’s what we thought. Could be nonsense, could be a lead. I need you to find out. Arnout Hul is hosting a party in about a week and a half. You and L/N will enter as guests, Inej and I will circle around back. You two will be getting the names, we’ll be on another tangent.” Jesper had nodded, accepting the map of Hul’s house without another word. He’s run with the Dregs long enough to understand something: if Kaz Brekker doesn’t tell you the details of a mission, it’s for the best. He won’t tell you no matter how much you question him, so why waste the breath to ask?

Normally, Jesper would have no problem going with Y/N to the party. It’s an excuse to act like lovesick fools and drink plenty of expensive liquor, what could be wrong with that? It’s the second part of the playacting that bothers him: namely, the escape. It’ll be easy enough to slip away from the party and into Arnout Hul’s office, but the chances of them returning will be significantly lower. Most likely, they’ll have to make a quick exit from there, especially with whatever Kaz and Inej are doing added to the mix.

That’s why Jesper’s been running the rooflines, making sure he’s ready to escape when necessary. The rooftops in this corner of the Barrel are similar in layout to those near Hul’s mansion, give or take a few feet. Y/N had raised an eyebrow at this when she first heard of his practice runs. “If it’s off, with some jumps bigger or smaller, won’t you get confused when we actually have our lives on the line?” Jesper had dismissed her questions with a trademark wink. “Some are a little off, but if you average them they’ll all be the same. Yes, that is how it works. I’ve done something like this before. Somewhat.”

The Y/N in front of him has now become accustomed to Jesper’s plans, and just watches with a grin as he taps the stolen pocket watch. “How was your timing this go around?” Jesper flashes her a grin. “Right on the dot. It was spotless.” Y/N steps closer, letting her fingers linger on his hand, the lapel of his coat. “I’m fairly sure I saw you stumble on one of the jumps.” Jesper takes her hand, stopping its climb and pressing a kiss to the knuckles. “You were watching me? I’m touched.”

Y/N snorts. “I was watching for weaknesses. It’s not like that.” Jesper cocks an eyebrow. “I’m sure it wasn’t. Was that why you were waiting for me like a blushing schoolgirl?” When Y/N opens her mouth to protest, Jesper closes it with a kiss. Saints, he likes riling her up. Makes it that much more fun to kiss her senseless.

Jesper stares up at the mercher’s mansion. He’s broken into plenty of these woefully wealthy houses over his time with the Dregs, stolen and blackmailed and worked hard to bring down even more. It feels strange to now be walking into one as an esteemed guest, one with a pretty girl on his arm. The girl in question turns to him now, a smile flickering over her lips at the sight of his reluctance to enter the building.

“We do have to go in at some point, right?” Jesper forces a smile. “Of course we do. Just, uh, admiring the view.” Her gaze softens, and she leans over to press a kiss to his cheek. “It’s going to be fine. We’re going to be fine. Now, come on- I intend to be shown off to all the attendees.” Jesper can’t help but laugh at that. For some reason, this small joke is enough to convince him to escort Y/N up the wide colonnade and into the main foyer of the mansion. It’s been decorated extravagantly, if lacking a little in taste, and the entire spectacle could take your breath away.

Jesper and Y/N mingle throughout the crowd, doing their best to seem like normal, law-abiding citizens of Kerch. Jesper leans close to Y/N, whispering something in her ear like a flirty compliment. “I think I pickpocketed that guy a month ago.” Y/N laughs, the sound effortless. More than a couple unpartnered mercher’s sons look over at her in unabashed longing. She whispers in turn to him, careful not to let anyone overhear. “I drowned that one’s office. Hundreds of documents, gone. He’s cripplingly in debt now because all of his stocks are waterlogged and useless.”

Jesper has to try his utmost to stop from laughing. “You know, I think you’re the only girl I’ve ever met who can keep one-upping me on crimes.” Y/N tosses a glance his way, easy and full of secrets he could only hope to keep. “That’s why you love me, isn’t it?” Jesper feels like his heart has been shot through with bullets. It is, more than she could ever know. He could love her every second of every day, and it would never be enough. He loves her more than anything he’s known before.

However, they’re on a mission, so he can’t exactly burst forth with poetic confessions. Instead, he keeps his tone light. “Of course it is. I wouldn’t love just anyone, would I?” He can only hope that this brief statement will be enough. Looking at Y/N, though, at the light shining behind her eyes, he has a feeling that she knows what he means. She understands him, and knows exactly what he isn’t saying and what he wishes he could. Jesper doesn’t think he’s ever had anyone else like this, someone who can send him a single glance and say a thousand words in the time it takes for their eyes to meet. 

An orchestra begins to play, and the couples start to migrate towards the center of the room. Jesper extends a hand to Y/N, who takes it. He spins her once before assuming the proper form, footsteps in tandem as they move throughout the dance. Y/N raises an eyebrow at him. “Since when have you known how to waltz like a mercher?” Jesper smiles like a renegade. “Since I knew I would be dancing with you.”

Y/N leans forward, lips ghosting over his. She doesn’t kiss him, though, just whispers something in the heated stillness. “I can see the door to his office. It’s down the hall to our left.” Jesper groans. “You’re sure we can’t stay a little longer?” His hands slide down to her hips, nestling there in the fabric. She grins, although he can tell from the slight intake of her breath that it’s not an easy choice. “Afraid so, Fahey. We’ve got a deadline to meet.”

Right now, Jesper is willing to curse all the Saints and Kaz Brekker that he has to leave this dance and let Y/N out of his arms, but his girl isn’t wrong- they have to be in the office and out in a short matter of time. If they miss the cutoff time, Jesper has no idea what will happen. Kaz and Inej are somewhere in this building, and Jesper has no doubt that they’re doing something that has the potential to alert a lot of guards to their presence.

Most eyes are trained on the dancing couples in the ballroom, so it’s fairly easy for Jesper and Y/N to slip from the room, shoes clicking on the tiles of the empty halls. The noise and laughter of the gala disappears behind them the further they stray from the gathering. At last, they spot the office, which is guarded by a duo of tall, broad-shouldered thugs in uniform. Jesper waits until the music reaches a particularly loud pitch, then reaches out, knocking one of the guards unconscious in a swift motion. 

Y/N reaches her hand towards the other one, directing a stream of water to flow from a nearby flower pot into the man’s mouth and nose, drowning him instantly. She holds the water there for a second longer, watching with a cool certainty as the man struggles, then releases her hold as the man crumples to the ground. He’s still breathing, at least for now. Y/N looks back to Jesper, as if daring him to be alarmed, but if she’s looking for fear, she’ll find none with him. Jesper happens to have a thing for dangerous women. It’s gotten him in trouble before, but it just makes him fall even harder for Y/N.

They open the door with a key from a ring on a guard’s belt, moving as quietly as possible. Kaz believed that the list of names would be in a safe on one of the mercher’s shelves, which they locate quickly. Jesper hovers before it, doing his best to remember everything Kaz had told him and everything he’d taught himself about picking locks. He hesitates a second, then twists his hand, reaching his consciousness out into the metal and the workings of the safe. The lock clicks open, and Jesper smirks.

There’s a single envelope resting in the safe, marked with a bloodred seal that Jesper recognizes. Kaz had pointed it out to them earlier, saying that the list of names would be marked with it. Jesper snatches up the envelope, pocketing it in a recess of his coat . He nods at Y/N, who begins to prop up the guards at the door. Hopefully, they’ll just think they drank too much and nodded off. Jesper locks the safe and door behind them, and they slip back out into the hall.

They’ve barely turned the corner when Jesper realizes his mistake. They’ve spent too long in the office, and the guests have all filed away into another part of the mercher’s mansion. Jesper and Y/N seem conspicuously lost to the squadron of guards marching towards them. Jesper feels panic rising in his chest. The guards are around the corner at the far side of the hall, about to discover him and Y/N and wonder why they’re not with the rest of the partygoers.

Jesper fishes around for an excuse, but none rise to his lips. Frantically, he turns to Y/N, who has his same panic in her eyes. “What do we do?” She hisses, and Jesper gestures towards the wall. “We pretend we were distracted.” Y/N nods once, understanding. She pulls the neckline down from her dress, letting the fabric pool around her collarbone. Jesper pushes her against the wall, letting his hands creep to her hips and up her dress. This might be a ruse to convince the guards, but Jesper can’t exactly pretend that it’s hurting him to let his lips linger on her throat, the space behind her ear, her lips which open with a sigh.

There’s a coughing sound behind them, and Jesper lets himself straighten up in feigned embarrassment. The guards are looking definitively uncomfortable. “The rest of the party has, uh, moved to the receiving hall, if you’d like to join them.” Jesper flashes them a grin, helping Y/N to readjust her dress. “Of course, officer. Thanks for the tip.” He offers Y/N a hand, guiding her past the soldiers and into the halls once more.

He doesn’t dare speak until they’re far away from the soldiers, then turns to her with a sigh of relief. “Thank the Saints, I thought we were done for.” Y/N laughs at that, the sound a pretty call in the dark. Jesper almost wishes the guards would come back so he’d have an excuse to kiss her like that again. “Well, it wasn’t the worst of alibis.” Jesper smirks at her words. “I wouldn’t mind using it again.”

They’re almost out of the building when Jesper hears the alarms suddenly raised across the mansion. He curses under his breath. Y/N turns to him. “Kaz and Inej. They must have finished their side mission.” Jesper nods, considering the rows of doors before him. “Here. It’ll lead to a side exit.” They run through the halls, not bothering to conceal the loud echoes of their steps. They dart around carriages and into the neighbouring streets, through twisting alleys. Jesper feels a rush of gratitude for all the time he’d spent navigating the rooflines and escape opportunities. Finally, all his practice runs are paying off.

Jesper can hear the shouting of guards behind them, but he and Y/N are too far away for the uniformed men to do anything to them. Jesper takes one last turn, landing them solidly in Barrel territory, then lets himself slow to a stop. His breath is coming hard in his chest, but the adrenaline rush pounding through his veins is something else altogether. He’s feeling powerful, like he might do anything tonight. And, as he looks back at Y/N, who’s regarding him with the same devil-sharp grin, he might be willing to make a dangerous mistake.

Jesper is not sure when he decides to kiss her again, only that he doesn’t ever want to stop. He’s been forced to act polite all night with the merchers, but he can finally kiss her like a criminal, someone who doesn’t have to play by the rules. He can still feel his heart hammering in his chest, but he doesn’t intend to let it stop. They’ve escaped, haven’t they? Why not celebrate?

series tag list: @kaqua​