#anyway unlike last update I'm PROUD of this one

[phantombegruvia]

SFTH MURDER MYSTERY - PART 20 [MULTI POV]

MASTERPOST

*CW for description of blood and death

[WAYNE MANOR STUDY - 22:59]

By the time John had caught up with Rumpled and Ethel (Helter in tow), the two were waiting by the open clock-door. Rumpled took one look at them, before going down the stone staircase. Ethel played with pencils, pushing them together and making kissing noises.

Rumpled turned back and took one, and rubbed it against the stone wall - setting it alight. It was a small light, and John didn't think it would last the whole way down. But he didn't say anything, Ethel pouted at the loss of one of her ‘dolls’.

John glanced at Helter, he shrugged before following them. John sighed, before starting his descent.

“It's a long way down,” John broke the silence.

“Aren't we going down into a cave?” Helter asked.

John answered, “yeah, and it's huge - there's a dinosaur down here! Not alive.. obviously."

“We've just got to meet up with M, and discuss what we are doing,” Rumpled said absentmindedly, “she just ran off.” The flame began to flicker, but kept alight. “Suspicious,” he added under his breath.

Ethel rhythmically repeated “nanana” all the way down, the song began to annoy John - but it wouldn't be long until they reached the end.

[BATCAVE - 23:08]

The group finally stepped into the cave, Helter, just like John was the first time, was in awe. And, if he was going to be honest with himself, he still wasn't used to the sheer size of the cave.

“Oh wow, there really is a dinosaur here,” Helter all but breathed out.

Rumpled didn't seem to care about the new environment he found himself in, “Margaery? Are you down here?” He shouted, his voice echoing. He just narrowly avoided getting sliced by a batarang, thrown lazily by Ethel. Rumpled shot her a glare, which she ignored. “Margaery? Derek?”

“I dinnae think they're down here,” John said.

“But Derek said they would be coming down here-”

“They could've gone somewhere else?” Helter supplied, “and I think it would be.. beneficial to look around in here? I mean that's clearly the system-” he gestured towards the big ‘computer’ (John recalled Margaery calling it that) “-so, where else would Wayne hide the log-in than in the secret lair where the computer is?”

Rumpled sighed, obviously on edge, “You're right, but we don't know where Margaery is..”

“Margaery and Derek have each other,” John reassured, “they'll be fine.”

Another batarang flew across the room, Ethel's giggles filled the air.

Without warning, a thick fog filled the cave, John couldn't see a thing, no matter how hard he tried.

[LIBRARY SECRET OFFICE - 22:59]

Derek followed closely behind Margaery into the secret room they found, and he was admittedly disappointed that they didn't go into the Batcave, but if Margaery wanted to come here, he trusted her.

She sat herself down at the desk, logging in to the computer. For the first time since they left the group, Derek could see her face. She was crying. Margaery never cried. Derek didn't like it.

“Margaery?” Derek tentatively asked, “are you.. alright?”

Margaery looked up at him, looking as though she forgot he was there. She wiped her eyes, trying to rid the evidence of tears, “yes, dear, I'm fine.”

“Margaery-”

“Could you help me? I need another pair of eyes-”

Derek grabbed her hands, pulling them away from the mouse and keyboard. He looked into his surrogate grandmother's eyes, “you can talk to me. You're always helping me and Titch.. let me help you, just this once.”

Margaery sighed, and pulled one of her hands away out of Derek's grip, gently placing it onto his cheek. “Oh, dearie. I appreciate your willingness to help, I really do. But I'm fine, honestly. Just the.. stress of tonight that's finally catching up to me, that's all.”

Derek didn't believe her one bit, but sighed defeatedly, “I've always appreciated you, Margaery.”

“Even when I broke your fingers?” She smiled, earnestly.

“Well, not then,” Derek matched her smile, “but.. I forgive you. You didn't mean to, you tried to help out but accidentally gave me the potion that breaks another finger-”

“Derek, I appreciate you too. You don't realise how much you helped me. You and your strange aubergine family.”

Derek gasped, dramatically, “don't let Titch know you called us that, he will go mad.”

“Well it's true isn't it?” Margaery let out a wet laugh.

“Margaery?”

“Yes dear?”

“When we get out of here, will you officiate our wedding? Me and Titch were discussing it yesterday, we would love for you to do it.”

“I would be honoured, Derek,” she tapped his cheek, and Derek smiled, wide.

And then the lights went out. They didn't come back on for a while, but Derek wouldn't know. He didn't see them come back on. At least he died with a hopeful smile.

[LIBRARY SECRET OFFICE - 23:16]

The lights came back on, but Margaery knew. She could feel his warmth disappear. She felt his joy disappear.

She felt him disappear.

She shielded her eyes from the sudden light. She lowered her hand, and it didn't take her long to see it.

In the corner of the room there was a bloodied shovel leaning against the wall, beside it lay Derek. His head, literally, in his lap. Blood sprayed from it, covering his clothes and the wall beside him.

She didn't hesitate to crawl to it. With shaking hands, she attempted to put his head back onto his neck. When she got the head in place, she muttered a spell to attach it.

It didn't work.

Of course it didn't work.

She should have known.

Nothing worked.

She idly noticed the bloodied sheet of paper on the floor, but she didn't do anything about it. Instead, she pulled her grandson's head into her arms, holding it tight, and let out a sob.

part 19 << part 20 >> part 21 MASTERPOST

[bloomshroomz]

SIMS 4 PRIDE FLAG EXPANSION

(Vertically hanging, 416 flags, no overrides, BGC)

Description and download link below the cut!

These flags are free to download on SFS. You can pick and choose, or you can download all of them!

Pride month may be over, but I'm queer all year!

A month ago, I made a massive pride flag expansion for The Sims 4. It was incredibly time consuming, but I was (and still am!) really proud of how it turned out. However, I wanted more vertically hanging flags, especially because I (and many others) prefer to hang flags on the wall vertically in real life. So, here's another expansion!

There are 22 different items in this expansion, each focusing on different subsets of identities. Unlike my last expansion, there is no overlay item; I decided not to bother because the last one didn't function super well anyway.

These are the different items in the expansion:

Vertical Pride Flag

Vertical Pride Flag - Gender Nonconformity

Vertical Pride Flag - Demigender

Vertical Pride Flag - Genderfluid/flux

Vertical Pride Flag - Multigender

Vertical Pride Flag - Abinary

Vertical Pride Flag - Xenogender

Vertical Pride Flag - Gender Modality

Vertical Pride Flag - Gender Identity (includes gender identities not otherwise covered by the previous groupings)

Vertical Pride Flag - Pluralian

Vertical Pride Flag - Sapphic

Vertical Pride Flag - Achillean

Vertical Pride Flag - Ace-spec

Vertical Pride Flag - Aro-spec

Vertical Pride Flag - A-spec

Vertical Pride Flag - Nonrose Attraction

Vertical Pride Flag - Non-monogamous

Vertical Pride Flag - Orientation (includes orientations not otherwise covered by the previous groupings)

Vertical Pride Flag - Sex Variant

Vertical Pride Flag - Movements and Subcultures

Vertical Pride Flag - Kink

Vertical Pride Flag - Disabled

Some of these categories overlap. If the identity you're looking for falls under multiple categories, check each category it might fall under! All items are §15 each.

Additionally, these flags cannot get struck by lightning, unlike the base game flags. They can also be found as both wall sculptures and wall decorations/paintings, unlike the base game flags, which can only be found as wall sculptures.

Note that there are some flags for reclaimed slurs!

This expansion was made easy with IllogicalSims' Base Game Addon. The mesh for the flags is technically kinda sorta base game, but they're attached to other decor (wall lights and posters/polaroids). IllogicalSims already did the part of separating the items, so I didn't actually have to deal with the mesh edit on my own.

Their base game addon isn't required for this CC to work (the mesh is included), but I strongly recommend downloading it anyway, as well as checking out their other stuff!

Update 7/19/2025

I've added a bi/pan flag to the "Vertical Pride Flag - Pluralian" item!

[plothooksinc]

For the WIP meme: 🗣️ 📄 ❔ 🤔

🗣️Talk about your favourite WIP

This is actually super hard. Like I love all my WIPs! (Nobody ask me which WIP I hate b/c the answer is "lol none"). Picking a favourite... well, Infinite Ricochet is the easiest to write currently and I'm looking forward to making readers scream dropping the actual plot, but.

But.

I just finished a reread of The Zaibatsu Project and honestly, cyberpunk samurai? I have so much going on in this and I'm proud of myself for taking a bunch of 19th century characters and going "nope you're all from 2029 now" and realising just how much plot I had on the go and that, actually, the last chapter I put up wasn't so terrible or poorly received after all (and I'm struggling to work out why I ever thought that.) It reminded me where I was going with it and I am very encouraged, and it is by far my most ambitious WIP and if Watsuki hadn't taken a sledgehammer to everyone's motivation to do anything with the Ruroken fandom I might actually write this a lot faster than, uh, one chapter every three years '_' Anyway, yes. Cyberpunk samurai, choc full of The Cure references, chess references, and conspiracy theories that drove people nuts on LJ back in the day back when I was writing it in serial installments. <3

📄What’s a WIP you never finished that you would like to go back and revisit?

All of them. But as I've been asked this one multiple times, let's go with Snowblind. It's the closest to being finished out of all of them, and the last time I updated I got a reviewer in her 70s going "Please don't take another 13 years to update, I probably wont' be here to read it," sob. So I whittle away some time on this one. (On them all, actually. While I'm focused mostly on Infinite Ricochet, I have indeed written 1-2 pages on everything else on my way through.)

❔Choose a random WIP and talk about it.

Infinite Ricochet, unlike its predecessor, is a sprawling take-your-time fic wherein there is a plot and I'm slowly going to keep ratcheting up the tension until people are screaming on the rollercoaster all the way down, but I wanna take time to explore relationships along the way. Like I set up certain dynamics in NRFTW that I want to play with. Literally reconstructed one of the main characters. Gave them all even more trauma! I sort of left off with one open plot thread on NRFTW deliberately which could have been left open ended, but then I thought of a bunch of other stuff and went "...hey, what if." And it's messy. It's so messy here at the start because I'm trying to lay the foundations for everything that comes later, and there's a lot that comes later. So sometimes I'm like "...is this scene really necessary" but also "no I can't jump straight to the plot because pacing let's let them breathe first" but also "oh god, the characters are talking again and I can't get them to shut up." And then trying to get from these personality/foundation-laying scenes to pick up speed with actual plot relevant stuff is surprisingly hard?

My outline for Infinite Ricochet is 8000 words long. And it's only two thirds of the fic, because at that point I went "...and by the time I get to this point the plot will look entirely different" so I stopped. Safe to say I have a lot planned. And if I can get it to work I (and hopefully everyone else) will have so much fun (for a given definition of fun), but it feels a little right now like trying to herd cats so. Wish me luck. 8|

🤔Do you have an WIPs where you wish you had chosen a different fandom/character?

Nope! I'm not a hugely prolific writer, so any time I do start publishing a fic I've already thought long and hard about my choices. Places, everyone.

Thank you!

WIP meme questions here.

[snootlestheangel]

Oh no! How? How could you “fix” it and stick to canon story line?

If you’re crying. I know I’m gonna be too!

I'm fuckjng sobbing right now, Tats, it's bad

Major Character Death warning for below the cut

So, I don't know if it's just me but the main reason Soap's death just sucked in like a bad storytelling way is that it felt so anticlimactic? Like, there was a bit of emotion but it was lacking and just felt weird and out of place. And then the scene with his ashes? Just like did he not have family? Was this something after an official funeral for him? That scene also just felt really fucking awkward.

Anyways, yeah I "fixed" those issues. In other words, I'm here with proper storytelling to make it hurt like it was supposed to.

When Ghost and Gaz are coming in, just after the bullet is fired, all Price can hear is the broken, desperate way the lieutenant screams for Johnny. After the bomb is defused, and they're all standing there when the realization hits. Ghost is already on his knees, hands hovering just over the bloody wounds on either side of Soap's head. For a moment, the only sound is the ragged, heavy breathing from Ghost as his whole body trembles.

Price can't even get the words out to update Laswell. Can't force himself to use the proper terms. Just manages to blurt out with a broken cry that "Soap is gone". And those three words are daggers to their hearts. Gaz lets out a small whimper and he turns and looks away because he just can't bear the gruesome sight before him. And Ghost lets out a sound so unlike him, no one really knows what it was. A growl, a whimper, a plea, a confession?

The quiet, mournful whisper of "You're supposed to be with me" doesn't go unnoticed by Price and Gaz.

In the plane, heading back to wherever, Soap's body carefully concealed and hidden away. And Ghost finally speaks. Tells them of a private conversation the pair had before everything kicked off. How Soap told him he'd want a proper funeral, nothing fancy but a send off nonetheless.

Ghost tells them how Soap wanted him, Simon, to go to the spot in the mountains overlooking the water and spread his ashes.

To let him go.

By the time Soap's family is notified and arrangements are being made, Ghost is nowhere to be seen. He's disappeared, vanished like the specter he's rumored to be. And Price is doing his best to assist with the arrangements, doing his best to notify those he'd think deserve to know that John "Soap" MacTavish is gone.

And Gaz is struggling. He feels he's lost two best friends. He feels like he's mourning alone, lost without the lieutenant there.

Lost without Soap and Ghost, Ghost and Soap.

It's the funeral now. Soap's family is a wreck, yet just like him, they're facing the dark with mournful smiles, not letting the darkness of the day chase their light away.

Laswell is the first to approach his parents. She praises their son and how well they raised him; saying he was a good man and a good soldier. Saying he died to save hundreds more. That they should be proud of how selfless and brave a man their boy was.

Price is the second. He apologizes. He never expands on why he's so bloody sorry. He can't. He can't bear to tell them that the bullet should have been for him but Soap took it instead. That Soap sacrificed himself for him. Because Price doesn't believe he deserved to be saved like that.

Gaz is the third. He tells them he'll miss his "brother", that he wishes they were all meeting under better circumstances. The conversation doesn't last long; Gaz walks away before he loses composure.

Alejandro and Rudy are next. Alejandro tells them of how Soap saved his life, how he is eternally grateful for the man. He tells them they should be proud, and yet that it is still okay to mourn the loss of a hero. Rudy prays with Soap's mum.

But the one person to never approach them is Simon Riley. He stands off to the side, looking lost yet emotionless all the same.

Soap's mother asks Price and Gaz something: "What about him?"

Price tries to deflect it, tries to say she shouldn't worry about others, this is her son's funeral after all. But she stops him. She tells him that "while he rarely spoke of you all, he spoke highly still. So I ask you, what about him?" And Price doesn't have an answer.

Gaz tells her "He's dissociating really bad. He's just not coping well at all."

And Price speaks on how special the two were. How they survived some serious shit together, just the two of them. How they were an unstoppable duo, a perfect pair on and off the field. That "wherever Simon went, Johnny followed."

The procession is rough on everyone. Price and his father take the front end of the casket, while Soap's brother and Gaz take the back. And as they walk down the aisle, the reality sets in for everyone there, and there's not a dry eye.

All except for Ghost. Who remains at the side, expressionless and slightly unfocused.

A candle is lit for him, and a line forms before his casket. Alejandro, Rudy, Price, Ghost, and Gaz.

Alejandro salutes first, and Rudy follows.

Price's arm raises firmly despite the quivering of his breath.

Ghost's arm raises slowly, like he's moving through water and his face ever so slightly twists with an almost confused pinch of his brow.

Gaz is the last to salute, eyes squeezing shut as tears fall down his cheeks.

But in that moment, something changes. Simon sees Johnny smiling at him. He hears himself ask "Are you with me?" only to hear the distant whisper of "Always, Lt."

But Johnny wasn't with him.

Johnny never got to know how much Simon loved him.

And Ghost broke. His hand dropped as his knees buckled, a painful cry worming its way out of his chest. Sobs rattled him as he put his head to the ground, the cold stone of the church floor seeping into him. He cried and sobbed and wailed, kneeling on the floor with his head to the ground. And he begged, he pleaded, he confessed

You're supposed to be with me

[my-castles-crumbling]

Hey! It's gc anon, as you've so named me, here's your update! (very confusing...)

Also, good luck on your new job! Wishing you luck 🫶🫶

So, I don't know if I clarified this in the first ask, but the 3 people in my class who were in the friend group and chat were NOT active in the crap talking, i just know they were in the chat. It was only Jacob and two other people. I suppose it's also important to note that those three ppl (the shit talkers, ima call them the Plastics bc mean girls is iconic) are completely gone from the school I attend where we all became friends. I will never see any of them again. Anyways, back to the point.

I was nervous going into that class and seeing them all, even not truly knowing what they specifically thought. It was odd though. They all greeted me like normal, and then right in front of me were talking about the hangout they had without me, not even trying to hide it. That was kinda weird flag one. By the end of the class I decided that I was going to ask them what I did to the Plastics and/or the rest of the group, and I would say that I saw the messages off of someone's lockscreen. So that's what I did.

And when I tell you they were shocked and appalled. Like shocked. Like this guy:🫢

They said that they were told by the Plastics and thought that I didn't want to be friends with them... that I was "stepping away and making other friends." For context...these ppl were my best friends, like my whole world last year. They said they hadn't read the gc (not really suspicious as none of them were normally on insta, which is where the gc was) and they had no idea what it's about. They were also adamant that the Plastics had not given them any context. It would explain why they would talk about the hangout in front of me, assuming they thought I didn't care.

Frankly, I don't know at this point. They could be lying to save face (we're all in theatre, and I know they're all very good actors, so I can't leave it out of the question even though I find it unlikely) or they could be sincere. I'm leaning towards sincere however because when I walked into class today, the second day, they were all very eager to talk to me and joke around, even getting us in "trouble" a couple times for talking too much. They seemed to enjoy my company.

I'm not sure of anything at this point, I am very bamboozled, but I've sorta made some half baked decisions.

1. All the Plastics are no bueno and I won't affiliate with them at all. Which, if you recall, is very easy seeing as the three of them are gone from my vicinity.

2. The three people in my class seem safe, but I'm not going to get in deep friendship with them again, because they could be lying. Why they would, I don't know, but I also know to not trust things as they seem when it comes to teenager drama.

3. At this point, I still don't know what I did, and I've decided I don't wanna know. That is not my problem, and if I knew, I would probably obsess over it and take down my mental health. I have a total James Potter complex where I want everyone to be happy but forget to take care of myself, so this is me trying to put my sanity first.

I don't know if this completes the gc anon saga, but it looks like it's done for now. I'll update you if there's a major update I suppose.

Thank you for being kind, you deserve all the good things this world has to offer, truly.

Ciao!🫶

Hi!

I think your decisions (1, 2, 3) are perfect. It sounds like you know yourself and the other people involved pretty well, and I'm proud of you for handling this all well! Keep me updated if anything else happens!

[alottanothing]

Kismet

Summary: Evie prepares a meal for the stranger who helped her and finds herself more than a little smitten.

Previous Part: Hope

Word Count: 5707

Warnings: Language

Tag List: @ramilicious, @txmel, @edteche2, @gloriousdarkangelsworld, @diasimar, @xmxisxforxmaybe (Let me know if I missed you, or if you would like to be added to the tag list)

A/N: Okay, I almost didn't get this up today because I was up most of the night sewing kilts for Highland Weekend at the Ohio Renfiare. BUT I stayed awake and did my final read-through, so this should be mostly okay. I skipped a couple steps in my editing to get this up on time but I think, for the most part, it's okay. If you see a grammatical booboo, just ignore it, I'll get in here sometime this week with my other two editing steps and find it, then repost this. Capisce? Okay, cool...now. I hope you enjoy it, I also hope my trying to phonetically write Mer's accent doesn't get too annoying. I know you really shouldn't write accents, but I think it helps add to the characters. And I do try to keep it to a minimum so it doesn't get annoying. Thanks for the love the first part received last month! I know waiting so long between updates is a bit sad after weekly updates with LtR. But life is busy right now and once a month is all can guarantee.

Jonny did not know how to keep a house.

In fact, Jonny did not know how to do much more than drink, argue, and get into fights. He was nothing but a thorn in Evie's side—never mind how much she needed him for a place to lay her head. A necessary thorn was still a thorn. Given the opportunity, she would rip it out as soon as she could and dress the wound promptly so she was finally able to heal better. She stayed only because she had no other choice. And every time Jonny raised his voice or stumbled in reeking of alcohol and red-faced, Evie could hear her best friend's warning in her head. Cynthia had begged her not to go with him, but she hadn't listened.

Oh, how she wished she had.

Luckily, Jonny wasn't the kind of man who liked to stay home which eased the ache of the ever-present thorn in her side. Whatever money he did have, he spent out on the town—the town being New Orleans. Like Evie, Jonny had been born and raised in the Big Apple, the noise and the chaos was part of him. As such, he hadn't taken to the quiet suburban life Bridge City offered as well as Evie. She liked the quiet, easy flow of the sleepy town. Her housemate loathed his new home. He thrived in disarray, thus, he found a group of like-minded young men to run amok with in the neighboring metropolis every chance he got.

If Jonny had been any sort of amicable company, the notion of him leaving most every night to wreak havoc several miles away would have been upsetting. Thankfully, his penchant for city life meant a good portion of Evie's days were spent out from under Jonny's tyranny. The hours he was gone were blissful and calm, and she relished in them. Whether she was creating art or tending to chores around the old house, Evie didn't care as long as Jonny wasn't there—never mind how lonely the routine often was.

Evie had never gotten the chance to meet Jonny's maternal grandmother, though she suspected she would have liked to. Unlike her grandson, she seemed like any other sweet elderly woman judging by the furnishings she'd left behind. There were dozens of lace doilies, and table cloths with soft patterns, decretive china even, but it was the plethora of photos the old woman kept that told Evie she'd carried a kindly heart. All of them were kept in pristine albums or intricate frames; they were the only barbles that seemed to have been cleaned or dusted with any regularity which spoke of how much she must have treasured them. Evie loved those tiny trinkets and black and white memories. It didn't matter that they were not her legacy of family heirlooms to keep, she adored them anyway.

She couldn't count the number of times she'd replaced a broken frame that had fallen victim to Jonny's drunken belligerence or scrubbed tirelessly at a stain he'd left on the patterned tablecloths. It proved to be a hefty undertaking, but dwelling in the fantasies of someone else's history let her forget the grief of her own. She was willing to sacrifice a little elbow grease if it allowed her mind to roam away from the shadow that never really seemed to vanish.

For all the effort Evie put in on the interior, the cottage held little in the way of curb appeal. The porch was sunken in the middle, the paint was peeling off in chunks, and the yard was mostly weeds. Worst, however, was the screen door which squeaked so loudly, every dog in the neighborhood howled in protest every time someone crossed the threshold. The outside needed love that Evie simply didn't have the energy to lend. Despite the grit, however, the foundations were sturdy enough that she didn't worry. The cottage proved to be stronger than she looked—a feat Evie felt she had in common with the old house. And while it was a swell enough place to rest her head, it never truly felt like home. Home was somewhere safe, and as long as Jonny lived under that roof she wasn't safe. Not really.

Fortunately, Jonny wasn't home when Evie returned after her run-in with Mr. Shelton—Mer, she corrected herself with a hint of a giddy smile. Without her housemate there, her evening promised to be hopeful instead of lonely, and she wasted no time in figuring out what to make for dinner.

With her red pumps replaced by her worn-in slippers and her blue checkered apron secured around her waist, she set a pot of water to boil and dialed the phone conveniently located in the kitchen. Every evening she called her sister-in-law to pass the time and keep up on unimportant gossip back home; this time, however, Evie was excited to finally have some good news to share.

"You got the job, didn't you?" Cynthia Clarke asked on the other end, sounding hopeful. "I knew you would."

Evie grinned, still amazed how the sound of Cyn's voice always seemed to settle some of the ever-present anxieties buzzing in her head. She missed her friend so much.

"I didn't even say yes."

"Did you or did you not get the job?" Cynthia pressed.

"I did," Evie confirmed and her smile grew hearing her friend cheer on the other end of the phone.

"See! I knew it." Cynthia said. "My gut feeling is always right."

Evie rolled her eyes and shook her head fondly.

"I think I'm gonna like working there too, so that's good." she mused as she stood at the stove, eyeing the pot of water she’d set to boil.

"That's so great, Ev. I'm so proud of you." Cynthia paused before continuing. "So, what are you up to tonight? Avoiding Jonny?"

"Sorta," Evie nodded even though she knew her friend wouldn't see.

As she continued to watch her cooking pot of water she told Cynthia all about her trouble with Jonny's car and the man who'd been so kind to help her.

"Wait. You invited the stranger over who fixed the car?" Concern was heavy in Cyn's voice, and Evie half expected a lecture to follow.

Despite knowing each other since childhood, Cynthia had taken on the role of her protector since Evie's family was no longer in the picture. The war had claimed Evie's father, and brother—although they'd never found her brother, Jimmy after he disappeared behind enemy lines. Evie never lost hope that Jimmy would one day be found, Cynthia though, was certain her husband was never coming home. After Cyn’s brother, Charlie, died at Normandy Cynthia had difficulty believing anyone was going to make it home. As for Evie's mother, losing a child and her husband to the war was too much for her tender heart and she passed not long after. Ever since, Cynthia was overcome with the need to act as Evie's guardian.

"He wouldn't let me pay him," Evie explained. "So I'm making him dinner—it seemed like the least I could do."

"I suppose…." Cynthia didn't sound convinced, if anything she sounded slightly irritated there was no quick way for her to argue the logic. "Just be careful, Evie. You don't know this guy—he could be another Jonny Doyle. Or worse."

"He's not," Evie said quickly. She wanted nothing more than to tell her friend all about how benevolent Mer was, but she decided against it. Cynthia would only argue that point somehow.

A long pause followed, and Evie wedged the receiver between her ear and shoulder so her hands were free to work on the meal.

"So, what are you cooking?" This time, there was a hint of jest in her friend's tone when she spoke.

The art of cooking was one creative outlet that Evie struggled with, second only to music. In her youth, her mother did all the cooking—it was a passion of her mother's—thus Evie had done little more than watch in wonder as her mother whipped up meal after meal effortlessly. Breakfast she the meal she was probably best at, apple pies too, but anything beyond that Evie required a step by step guide to prepare. And even then she lacked confidence. Thankfully, when she'd fled south, she remembered to grab her mother's cookbook. It was a cumbersome tome with yellowed pages and notes scribbled into the margins: a piece of art itself cultivated over years of collecting recipe after recipe starting the moment her mother stepped off the boat that brought her from Ireland. And like a witch and her spellbook, Evie depended on it.

"Spaghetti with garlic bread," Evie admitted feeling as though the meal lacked a certain something.

Pasta was something she knew held a low degree of difficulty when it came to preparing. Surely she couldn't mess up pasta.

“Mmm, I can almost smell it,” Cynthia said.

“Shut up.”

“No, seriously,” Cyn replied. “You’re mom’s spaghetti recipe was always my favorite.”

A doleful smile pulled at the corners of her lips, thinking back to her mother happily cooking in the kitchen as she sang a Celtic tune. It seemed strange that those moments would never again play out, instead they’d become bittersweet memories Evie could only relive in her mind.

“Mine too,” she murmured, suddenly missing her family.

Neither of them said anything for a moment, and Evie’s mind roamed the dregs of her grief before blinking back into reality and the hope of something happy to come.

“I need to go, Cyn,” Evie told her friend with a sigh. “I don’t want to burn the garlic bread.”

Cynthia chuckled and said her goodbye, only after making Evie promise to call her in the morning to let her know how everything went.

With her second hand restored after hanging up, Evelyn reached for her mother’s cookbook to give the steps another look over to ensure she had done everything and added every herb and ingredient she was supposed to. She’d followed everything perfectly, even factoring in the little notes scribbled into the margins left there by her mother—those she smiled at fondly and traced the fading ink with her fingers. Everything was as it should be. Even so, without a taste, Evie knew the sauce she had prepared would never be as savory as what her mother made so effortlessly.

“You were the artist in the kitchen, Ma,” she said with a shrug. “I’ll stick to paper and canvas.”

For the smallest of a moment Evie thought she would hear the warmth of her mother’s laugh, and when it never came she sighed again, trying not to dwell on the shadows behind her. What mattered was the light ahead.

Despite her lack of confidence, the meal came together without any severe hiccups. The noodles were not overcooked, the sauce was a complementing mix of savory and sweet (though, as she had guessed after a tiny taste, was not nearly as good as her mother's) and the garlic bread was nicely golden. A small tingle of pride manifested in the form of a surprised, but satisfied, smile as she surveyed the dinner before her.

“Not bad, Ev,” she told herself, knowing her mother would have been delighted.

With the cooking done, Evie threw a glance over her shoulder to the clock mounted on the wall, triggering a surge of anxiety to bubble in her gut. Stranger, perhaps, was the amount of excitement coursing through her veins. It was as though all of her happiness was riding on whether or not she would see Merriell again. None of it made sense; the man was little more than a stranger. The coupling of nerves and delight was not a feeling that put her ill at ease, however. She trusted it. And it was that peculiar sensation that seemed to fuel her movements.

With a few minutes to spare, Evie wandered into the small bathroom to freshen up. She made sure her hair was still pinned the way she liked—up and pretty. Her make-up was holding up nicely despite the heat; all she needed was a fresh layer of lipstick to complete the illusion of a put-together young lady. It wasn't often she wore a dress with heels and a face of cosmetics—she liked to when the opportunity arose, but she was just as comfortable in a pair of old overalls and smudges of charcoal on her face.

Just as she wiggled back into her red pumps—discarding her worn-in house slippers with a couple of calculated kicks—a knock on the door signaled Merriells arrival. Immediately a grin curled onto Evie's lips and her heart began to pound an anxious-excited rhythm. A blush threatened to color her cheeks to give away the torrid muscle beating in her chest—her ever yearning heart already making leaps and bounds for a man she had known for mere hours.

Don't be ridiculous—she warned herself taking in a deep breath to curb the eagerness coursing in her veins. Untying her apron, she tossed it along with her discarded slippers and went to answer the door, taking one last deep breath to steady the fervor in her heart.

Merriell had changed and showered. The sweet bouquet of his shampoo coupled invitingly with the musk of the aftershave he'd chosen, making it difficult for Evie to keep from soaking in the scent he carried. His curls were still somewhat damp—too much moisture in the air to keep the heat from drying them on his way over—though they fought to spring back into their previous fluff. The grease-covered, jeans he'd been wearing had been replaced by a nice pair of tan slacks, and the buttoned shirt he wore was a soft shade of green that made his eyes glitter a deeper emerald as he stood under the glow of the porch light. All Evie could do was stare—utterly beguiled—every rational thought in her head lost to her.

Mer smirked, amused by her ogling. "Hiya."

Evie blinked, coming back to reality, suddenly feeling foolish, and uttered a nervous "hi" before swinging her arm to invite him inside.

"Come in."

Merriell's smile grew as he crossed the threshold, inhaling deeply. "Mm, smells tasty in here."

He gently forced a bottle into her hands as he passed on his way to investigate the savory smells in the kitchen.

"I wasn' sho what ya was makin', but I figured wine usually goes with anythin'."

"Oh, thank you." Evie glanced at the label, unable to read the French words printed there. "You didn't have to bring anything."

"I know," Mer shrugged, placing his hands in his pockets. "I just wanted to make a good impression."

There was something almost boyish when he smiled then—cheeks coloring pink ever-so-slightly—that made him even more of a mystery. One Evie was eager to solve.

"Well," she said placing the bottle on the kitchen table. "It should go perfectly with dinner."

His expression lost a hint of its boyish charm as it grew into a look of delight.

"Make yourself at home," Evie gestured vaguely between the table and the sofa in the living room as she ventured to the cabinet where the stemware was kept.

She placed two crystal glasses on the table along with the wine and retraced her steps to fetch some of the nicer china Jonny's grandmother had kept. Mer watched her, his gaze, gentle and attentive, and a little bit yearning as she methodically sat the table.

"Need help with anythin'?" he asked finally.

"Nope," She replied with a smile. "Everything is almost ready."

The hearty red sauce on the stove was beginning to boil again which told her it was hot enough to serve, and Evie eyed the pot with scrutiny, praying silently her attempt at cooking would go over well.

"I'll pour us a glass then," Mer announced.

"Great, lemme…" Evie spun to fish for the corkscrew in the drawer of misfit utensils, finding it, only to turn to see Merriell holding his lighter against the neck of the dark bottle just below the cork.

Before she could ask, a loud pop sounded, causing her to jump as the cork went flying.

"Oh my goodness!" she laughed, a little surprised, a little impressed. "Where did you learn to do that?"

Mer shrugged, a sly expression on his features, and left her question unanswered.

"How much ya want?" He held the open bottle over the top of her glass, waiting patiently.

"Enough," she said, tossing him a coy smirk without really meaning to.

He bit his lower lip as he smiled, chuckling under his breath when he poured a generous glass of red wine for each of them. She thanked him as he took his seat and grabbed his plate to dish out their dinner.

"How much pasta would you like?"

Mer's face lit with charm and mischief as he turned to face her.

"Enough," he grinned.

The expression on his face was playful, his smirk devious and amused by his own response and his cheekiness settled warmly in Evie's stomach. Not only did she revel in it, but she also played into his whimsy and scooped as much spaghetti into his plate as she could before coupling it with the savory sauce and a slice of bread.

Despite being only strangers, the atmosphere that bloomed that evening was not marked by any hint of bashfulness, instead, it was relaxed and amiable. Warmth that Evie had longed to dwell in again—that unrefutable kindness she'd lost with the passing of her family—flowed uninhibited from the man sitting adjacent to her. His conversation was cautious but still jovial and genuine. It was the first time since running south Evie could recall what life felt like without grief and fear weighing upon her. Merriell was a stranger, but she felt safe with him. Jonny had never made her feel that way.

"So," Evie spoke as she twirled the last bit of pasta with her fork. "What is it you do, Mr. Shelton?"

Mer cast her a look of disapproval—no doubt in retaliation to being addressed so formally—before his features softened back into a neutral, yet somehow still amused side smirk.

"Nothin' too excitin'," he stated vaguely. "The odd jobs are what I like ta do the most—like fixin' ya car this aftah noon."

Without really meaning to, Evie leaned forward, resting her elbow and chin on the table, utterly enchanted by the beautiful stranger at her table.

"You like to get your hands dirty, huh? Fixing things?" she was entirely too intrigued with the thought of what he could do with his hands.

He shrugged, suddenly modest after a foray of playfully arrogant smirks and glances. It made him abruptly twice as charming.

"I've always had a knack for it, I guess." Merriell finished the food on his plate with the help of his remaining garlic bread to mop up the sauce still left on his dish.

"What about you?" he asked after chewing. "Ya workin' anywhere?"

All at once, a proud smile lit up Evie's face. After all the excitement of seeing Merriell again, she'd almost forgotten about her good news.

"Actually, I just got a job today—the general store downtown, Southern Comfort."

Mer's face lit up too, "Birdie's place?"

"Yeah, you know it?" Of course, he knows it! She thought, Bridge City's population was slightly less than the number of people who lived in a single district back home in New York. Everyone knew everyone else.

"Sho do—I was practically raised there…ole Birdie's like a second mothah to me."

"Really?" Evie found a great deal of comfort in that notion. In fact the more she thought on it, the more she realized how similar the old woman and Mer were; they radiated the same magnetism and sincerity.

"Mmhm," he nodded, his eyes focusing elsewhere as the veil of memories danced across the contours of his features. "My mama used ta work there…once upon a time…"

"Does she still work there?"

Merriell's face lost a hit of its levity and he swallowed as though to fight off the onslaught of sudden emotion threatening to cast a shadow onto his expression.

"No…" he said softly. "She—uh—she died, about a year ago."

Shit!

Abruptly, sick knots twisted into Evie's stomach, feeling callous, but understanding of the quiet misery he hid under layers of charm and arrogance.

"Merriell, I'm…I'm sorry—I didn't mean…"

He met her eyes and cast her a quick smile—doleful, but enough to ease the awful feeling in the pit of her stomach.

"It's okay," he reassured her, reaching for his glass of wine and taking a good gulp before changing the subject. "Birdie's great—you'll enjoy workin' for her."

"I hope so…" Evie said softly, still too embarrassed to meet Mer's glance longer than a second or two.

For the first time all night the atmosphere they shared felt cumbersome—perhaps more melancholy—than she'd wanted it to get. Evie sat, worrying her bottom lip, her fingers toying with a loose thread in the table cloth as she stole quick glances through her lashes in Mer's direction.

He was nursing the alcohol in his glass with the same sadness she'd caught plaguing him as he sat at the bar hours ago. And while Evie was eager to know if his grief stemmed only from the loss of his mother, or perhaps more, Merriell was still too much of a stranger to warrant such questions. It didn't matter how easy it was to be near him, she had not earned the right to know his narrative.

A soft sigh broke past her lips as she fought to find a way to properly allay the gloom that was quickly ruining an otherwise wonderful evening. It wasn't until her eyes found their desert sitting on the counter, waiting to save the day, that she perked up.

"Got any room for apple pie?" Evie asked with a hesitant smile. She hoped he wanted to stay long enough to have a slice, though she would not have blamed him for wanting to leave.

Immediately Mer perked up too, the shadows on his features retreating with the promise of something sweet.

"I was countin' on it—seems as how you promised a slice earlier," he said with a boyish grin.

When she stood, he did too, helping clear away their dinner plates, and letting them soak in the sink to be washed later. Evie cut them each a slice of apple pie and the delight on Mer’s face made her smile too seeing him lick his lips as his grin continued to grow. Catching that flash of his tongue was like a bolt of hot lightning striking her without warning; a blush rose so quickly on her cheeks Evie had to look away to keep the blunder a secret. Thankfully, the pie was more than enough to hold Merriell’s attention away from her.

“Mmmm… Almost looks too good to eat,” he said ogling the desert in front of him.

When Evie chanced a look his way, the expression on his face caused her to chuckle, “‘oughta be, I made one for my pa every year for his birthday since I was nine. It’s probably the only thing I have any confidence in making in the kitchen.”

“Coulda fooled me,” Mer quipped as he loaded his fork with as much pie as he could.

The moment he took a bite, his brows creased, and eyes closed as he chewed painfully slow. Those few seconds were like agony. Evie’s heart was pounding in her chest with so much anticipation she feared she might faint as she watched him sample the only thing she could actually make that was worth a damn.

“Fuck me, if that ain’t the best apple pie I’ve evah had the pleasure of tasting.”

A somewhat nervous, but relieved chuckle sounded in the back of Evelyn’s throat as she watched Merriell shovel a larger bite of pie into his mouth.

“Mmm… Yep. God damn delightful.”

“Stop,” Evie said sheepishly, suddenly afraid he was overselling his reaction to keep from hurting her feelings.

“No,” he wiped his mouth and leaned across the table to meet her gaze with a sincere expression that stole away all the doubt writhing in her stomach.

“I mean it. If I wasn’t so full of pasta, I’d eat that whole damn pie right now.”

“Well,” Evie grinned softly, trying not to let her blush color her cheeks too obviously. “Thank you. And you’re welcome to take the rest of it when you go.”

Excitement took form on his face with a smirk that was sweet but roguish all at once—a sort of debonair charm that amplified his magnetism—as if his bright eyes dark curls and razor-sharp jaw did not make him alluring enough already. Again she had to look away knowing the pink in her cheeks would be too strong to combat.

“Imma have ta take ya up on that offah. An’ I’ll be thinkin’ ‘bout you every time I cut me a slice.”

That blush was unstoppable; her heart was suddenly so smitten, it felt as though butterflies were fluttering merrily in her stomach. She felt weightless with warmth and hope swelling in her bosom, fearing any slight breeze would carry her off. It was ridiculous how at ease Evie felt sitting there eating pie with a complete stranger. The conversation had been easy all night; even when it had delved into less savory topics he still made her feel comfortable. Evelyn had forgotten what it was like to be in the company of a man who wasn’t easy to anger, who was genuine and kind and wanted only to live in the moment.

For a time the whimsy of the atmosphere faded as the warmth in her heart ached, suddenly missing her brother James and Cynthia's brother Charlie. Both of them were good men, kind and genuine—like Merriell—but they had been swallowed by the rages of war. Brave young men were lost forever, while a man like Jonny Doyle was still alive How was that fair?

No matter how pleasant her thoughts could be, they always fell back to the grief that plagued her. She sighed, deeply, pushing those intrusive memories back into the depths of her mind so she could find joy once more in the moment with a kind stranger.

When Merrill finished his plate he made a beeline for the sink full of soaking dishes.

“Oh, no,” she said jumping to her feet. “I can do those.”

Merriell, however, shook his head. “Uh-uh, you did the cookin’, I can do the cleanin’.”

When Evie tried to argue, Mer simply shook his head, his grin amused but determined as he kept scrubbing the dirty dishes.

“Let me help at least,” she suggested. “I’ll dry and put them away.”

Before he could protest, she snatched the freshly rinsed dish from his hand and began wiping away the droplets of water clinging to the porcelain surface, throwing him a smug smirk that made him chuckle.

“Alright,“ he smirked.

She watched him for a moment not really paying attention to her task as he scrubbed the old plates clean, overcome with a blissful vision of peaceful domesticity. It made her stomach fill to the brim with whimsy and her heart was fluttering again; had this stranger bewitched her already? Or did what she feel bubbling lightly in her gut like a seltzer stem from an end to her loneliness—even if it was only for a few hours? Evelyn didn’t know. Nevertheless, she was intrigued with a profound feeling and she wanted to dwell in it for as long as she could.

Occasionally as he would hand a freshly washed dish her way, his calloused fingertips would brush against her skin, igniting a spark she didn’t know how to react to. It was more than an amicable tingle racing from the tips of her fingers right to her heart. And each time they touched, Merriell would cast her a gentle smile that held nothing more than his inherent charm and magnetism. She wondered if he felt it too, or if her need for companionship was playing a dirty trick on her.

When the dishes were all back in their usual places—the night drawing to a close—Evelyn realized she was not ready to say farewell to her Beautiful Stranger. She longed to stay up all night just chatting with him, she did not care about what, Evelyn only wanted to stay encompassed a while longer in the blissful warmth he brought into her life. Once he was gone, all she would be able to do was stay up and ponder the significance of those little touches and the sparks they brought.

Thankfully, Merriell lingered on the old rickety porch, one hand in his pocket, the other holding onto his plate of leftover pie, seeming to stall their inevitable departure.

“Well,” he said with a grin. “Thank you for invitin’ a stranger ovah for dinna.” He paused, glancing at the leftover pie in his hand. “Can’t recall ever having a better plate of pasta, an’ nothin’ evah gonna beat this pie.”

Evie quickly looked at her feet to hide another blush.

“It was the least I could do,” she told him before looking back to meet his eyes. “You have no idea how much of a savior you were this afternoon…”

A glint of concern flashed in his eye, his brows beginning to crease as his unspoken question lingered between them.

She thought about telling him—telling him how Jonny was nothing more than a throne in her side, and how much she cherished Merriells company—but Mer was still a stranger. It wasn’t right to unload so much onto someone she’d only known for a few hours.

Before Mer could offer any reply, the sound of screeching tires stole all their focus as an old wagon pulled along the curb—narrowly missing a collision with the mailbox. The rowdy passengers were laughing and shouting loud enough even before the door opened to let Jonny stumble out. He staggered on drunk feet and screamed a handful of profanities to his buddies in the car which made them all roar with laughter.

It was only after the wagon full of hooligans pulled away that Jonny began to stagger towards the house, and it was exactly then that Evie’s fluttering heart became consumed with panic.

She and Mer watched him cross the yard, unseen, both frozen: Evie in fear and Merriell in confusion. Jonny’s intoxication level inhibited him from taking notice of them until he was at the base of the steps leading onto the porch. Immediately, his eyes narrowed and he frowned.

“Who the hell are you?”

“Jonny, this is Mr. Merriell Shelton,” Evie said quickly, willing her voice not to shake.

The Doyle’s were not known for their hospitality, nor were they known to trust most people. Especially strangers.

“He helped me this afternoon with a bit of trouble I was having,” she explained vaguely, hoping to thwart any more suspicion. “I made him dinner to say thank you—he’s just about to leave.”

Jonny eyed Merriell, seizing him up as best he could through drunken lenses. Mer stood his ground, eyeing him back with a subtle intensity that never so much as cracked under Jonny’s scrutiny.

Finally, being the better man, Mer held out his hand in a friendly manner, “nice ta meet ya.”

Jonny cast a prolonged glare at Merriell's open hand, his brows furrowed and part of his lip hiked up in a sort of snarl. Instead of returning the kind gesture, Jonny made a show of spitting at his feet before tossing his heavy leer at Evelyn.

"Evie, do not invite any more strangers into my house. I don't care if they are dying." He shoved past them both, purposely bumping Mer's shoulder (most likely in hopes to start something) muttering as he went: "I don't trust any of these filthy southerners."

Shock sent Evie's jaw slack; this time the redness in her cheeks was a symptom of embarrassment instead of infatuation. She should have known Jonny would say something rude and uncouth. Without another thought, she grabbed Mer by his sleeve and pulled him across the lawn until they stood next to his truck parked along the curb.

"I am so sorry about him," she said, crossing her arms and glaring at Jonny's house, ashamed and angry.

Mer shrugged as he placed his partially eaten pie in the passenger seat through the open window before fixing his hands in his front pockets.

"Ya boyfriend's a bit of an asshole."

"He is not my boyfriend," Evie corrected vehemently. "I don't think he knows that though. I'm just staying here until I can figure some things out."

Merriell was quiet a moment, nodding silently. It seemed as though he was taking his time processing the whole situation. There was compassion on his face and behind his eyes, but it was guarded somehow. Evie caught it though and she was grateful when he didn't ask the questions plainly forming in his mind.

"Well," he said finally, his tone light as one corner of his mouth quirked into a grin. "Since he ain't ya othah half, I feel more inclined ta leave ya with this…"

Gently, Merriell caressed her upper arm as he leaned forward to plant a tender kiss on her cheek. He let his lips linger slightly longer than was common for such an act, that all at once wove a new hopefulness into her heart.

"Dinna was swell," he added as he pulled away, his smile somehow more charming than it had been all night. "Hope I see ya again, Evie."

"Me too," she murmured.

Evie watched as he got in his truck to leave, her hand held to the cheek he'd graced with his kiss. And when he drove away, it took everything inside of her to keep from running after him.

[harryswatermelonsegment]

Pool Party

Pairing: Reader/Harry Styles

Rating: R, text book smut

Word Count: 5k 😳

Warnings: Slight sub/dom tones I guess? & alcohol consumption

A/N: Sorry this is late, life somewhat resuming here in the UK so it means I’m back at my job. I managed to fall asleep mid edit folks 😳, this is my entry for the @helladirections Summer Feeling Fic Challenge, with the prompt “pool party” click the link for the masterlist. I’m still writing two more, one for @berrynarrybanana ‘s Sex Bucketlist Challenge but it’s turning out to be a 20k slow burn I wasn’t expecting 😬.Oops. But enjoy this one, I’m proud of her. My one other blatant thirst fic can be found here. Reblogs get free gratitude for the next 5 years 🍉💕

You'd been friends with Jeff since your teens, when his parents (despite their wealth), wanted him to get a job at the restaurant you worked at. In their rightful thinking, they wanted him to learn you had to work from the ground up.

Despite your clearly different class background you found a ton of common interests making the whole thing immaterial. He was a caring, down to earth guy and you were both people who really enjoyed sarcastically taunting each other every shift. You'd got used to visiting his house in the hills even though you'd been scared to get lost at first around his parents large house. Becoming solid friends quickly, you'd managed to keep in touch, as much as adult life would now allow anyway.

You knew his main role was managing a pop star but you'd not caught up in a minute and when you did, you kept your job chat out of the conversation where you could. This is why, as you barge through the kitchen, to the pool outside, you're shocked to nearly knock a stunned Harry Styles onto his behind.

"Fuck, shit I'm so sorry" you clutch your chest looking at the red wine on his tank top and his now empty glass. The soiled garment was tucked into some dressy shorts and partly covered by a loud hawaiian patterned shirt. Oh god what had you done?

You were quite honestly mortified. You'd never actually met the man himself, usually meeting Jeff at his for a few drinks or at a restaurant. You'd heard him mentioned in stories about travelling or how his campaigns were running Jeff into the ground with meetings. So, although you weren't a massive fan of his per se, in the way you didn't ask Jeff for updates or info, the way you'd hope you'd meet the attractive pop star was definitely not this.

He looked down at the offending stain then back up into your eyes, keeping his head angled down and blinking through his lashes. You couldn't read his blank expression and it put you on edge.

Maybe it was the heat trapped in the doorway, but as your eyes stayed locked you suddenly felt a fire spread from your navel up to your cheeks, and then from your center down to your toes. Your lower stomach clenched as you stared back at the guy covered in a good 2007 French rouge.

Fuck me he's pretty, you thought.

A rapid film reel of moments; sweaty bodies, those large biceps holding you against the nearest wall, smacking of lips against skin and moans of release flashed in your brain.

It had definitely been a while since you had got laid in your defense, your mood and pent up sexual frustration getting worse by the day as you tried and failed at the L. A. dating scene. Maybe you were picky, but horny and picky was an awful place to be.

However, the reality of the embarrassing scene you were currently a star of, flipped you back into the present.

Seemingly over the initial incident and hopefully not a mind reader to your thirsty brain, he takes you in and smirks.

Harry knew from the way your breathing hitched looking at his torso that you were at least a bit interested. He had clocked you the second you walked in through the big glass doors. A shirt of a band he liked and a natural beauty he wanted to spend some times with you he pondered. Ideally naked.

Zig zagging across the world promoting the album and had left little time to enjoy another person. Status and obligation to his job making it hard to just go out and meet someone. But here you were, dressed unlike anyone else, looking absolutely adorable in your embarrassment. You must be trustworthy if you're in Jeff's home,he wasn't a "bring your friends too" kind of host with his clients usually around.

This could be a fun evening for you both, he thought. Something unspoken, almost magnetic, drawing you both to one another. Surely that wasn't all his side right?

"I was told it was a good year, but I wasn't planning on consuming it quite this way?" inwardly he rolled his eyes at the barely there quip. But you laughed anyway.

"I am so, so awfully sorry, look, let's see if there's some dish liquid or something, possibly some of my next months rent in there too if I have to replace it" you let out a nervous laugh as you walked towards the kitchen. But in all honesty you weren't kidding.

Harry laughed at your sarcastic remark, impressed by your confidence in owning the situation and getting on with things. He casually watched your hips sway past a few people in to the open plan kitchen with as much subtlety as he could, you were confidentially locating all the parts needed to try and remove the offending stain.

"You seem to know your way around 'ere. I'm er…I'm Harry by the way" awkwardly waving as you mixed some solution in the sink drenching a sponge in it.

"Yeah" you smiled turning from the sink with the damp rag "known Jeff a good while, have definitely spilt red wine here before. I'm Y/N" you giggle. The beam from his own mouth matching.

"Ah! Y/N, of course, I've heard him mention you, didn't you once hide rotting mackerel in a unpleasant guys blazer?" he chuckled

"Heyyyy. Only after he spanked my ass getting him the check. Deserved a hot plate to the crotch too" you shot back.

You weren't sure where to go from here the thought of wetting down the white tank yourself definitely appealed but also seemed far too forward.

"Um…" you began gesturing with the sponge in your hand. You expected him to take it from you to sort himself out but..

"Oh yeah sorry" he replied shimmying his shirt off, dumping it on the back of a bar stool, then, crossing his arms across his stomach and lifting the tank top over his head you were slack jawed and frozen taking in the lean muscles and tattoos littered intermittently across his abdomen. He spread the top across the islands worktop flat, then grabbing the sponge with a simple "thanks" and knitting his eyebrows together in concentration as he tried to rid the dull red mark from it's center.

You still hadn't moved. A pink twinge to your cheeks as you watched his shoulder blades and back muscles scrubbing. Dirty thoughts circling your brain still.

"I would have helped you but I didn't want to start a wet tshirt contest in such a high end establishment yknow?" you thought out loud.

"Oh yeah, good call. I'm fiercely competitive Y/N so would probably be under that fancy waterfall thing by now showing off m'moves in my pants" he wiggles his hips trying to suggestively show you his "moves" but you can't help but smirk at just how endearing this man is. Dammit.

When he's finished with his shirt he drapes it over another barstool before handing you the sponge back.

If anyone asks him if he blatantly and deliberately got naked to gauge if you were into him he'd definitely deny it. But the truth is, he definitely did. Luckily for him, with the way you bite your lip and drag your eyes down his flesh as he brushes past your side to get back to the sink, he's right.

"Speaking of getting in the water in your" you use air quotes "'pants' I'm off to get out of mine" you declare, pushing yourself from the counter and keeping eye contact a second as you stroll back to the sliding doors leading to the pool.

"I… What??"

" The pool Harry?.... What did you think I meant?" you narrow your eyes and press your lips together before shutting the glass door again and turning once more to smirk at the opened mouthed man still by the sink.

--------------------------------

You'd been schmoozing in the water for a few hours now. There were probably only 20 or so people still here and the 3rd frozen marg had got you buzzed. You were in the small hot tub type pool, attached at the top of the main one on a slightly higher level. You hadn't seen Harry for a while but the last few times you caught his eye he'd been surrounded by at least 3 other people fighting for his attention, so you banked your flirtations to soothe your own ego, grabbed another marg and tried to forget about how he had started a tornado inside you, yearning for his hands on your thighs and head peering up at you from where they met in the middle. The strong pull of lust was clearly in your head then. What a shame.

You put it to the back of your mind as you finished catching up with Glenne. Both flushed and giggly as usual, she was the perfect match for Jeff and their chemistry unmatchable. You always enjoyed hanging out with the both of them, if anything, they gave you hope your own match may be out there. She left you in the tub alone, as she went to grab herself another drink and check on her host duties boyfriend.

"Don't you find drinking whilst already in water the weirdest thing?" you look up to find Harry standing over your right shoulder as you sit with your back against the pool wall and your elbows propping you up behind you, drink in one hand. His eyes unsubtley slip down to where your breasts lay pushed together in your halter neck bikini. You definitely weren't imagining it then. Fucking fantastic, you think.

"I mean drowning yourself on the inside from the alcohol and being in more than 4 inches of water really adds a danger element to my life if I'm honest" you reply sipping your drink.

And there goes those dimples again.

He's just in a pair of yellow swimming shorts now which doesn't help the alcohol flush at all. Sitting by your right side, putting his short glass full of amber liquid and ice, on the side of the pool and sliding in to join you. He leaves a small gap, as to not appear a total letch but your smart mouth has him hooked.

Taking a sip of his drink with the water up to his collar bones he hums.

"I do feel incredibly dangerous now, you've got a point"

"I mean if you think that's danger" you edge closer, not drunk but buzzed enough to take your chances you whisper into the shell of his ear. "You should see what thrills are in the guest bathroom. 1st floor on the right? " he chokes on his drink as your suggestive whispers make his dick twitch. He definitely couldn't get out of the pool for a while.

You're gone before you get a verbal reaction. If this all goes badly then you can just hide in there and slip out to an Uber and never see Jeff again right? Right. Cool.

With a soft white towel around you and your heart rate high as you reach the main guest bedroom you enter the room, you notice a large weekend bag in there and freeze. Shit. Someone's staying over, you hadn't factored that in, but a glance to the tag and the embossed H. E. S tells you you're good. Well, if not you'll just be a creep hiding in someone's bathroom but let's not think about it too much. Your faux confidence was working well so far and what other chance was going to arise like this one? Hot celebrities need fun with strangers too right?

Entering the bathroom you rub the towel over you, leaving mostly dry skin. You'd peel away your bikini if you were definite you wouldn't need to peel it back up your limbs should this plan backfire. You move to the mirror to adjust the black flecks from your minimal makeup dispersing under your eye and just as you're about to smooth down the stray baby hairs that humidity has got to around your face, you see Harry appear in the mirror behind you. Your belly flipping over and over with the thrill he'd took the bait.

Wasting no time he smirks and holds your gaze, wrapping his hands around your waist whilst his lips attach to the junction of your neck and collarbone. His tongue drags over your soft skin and he licks and softly sucks swirls onto it with his plush lips.

"Hm. You're right. This is a more fun type of danger" he says between kisses but before he's even finished his sentence you've spun around in his arms.

The bottom of your spine cold against the marble countertop, arms around his neck as you smash your lips into one another's with urgency. Tongues and wet noises as you get to know one another through your bodies alone.

He runs his hands down your back and presses his hard length against your thigh. He's definitely packing you think as you lift up a little rub your pubic bone against his front, panting out a little moan as the sweet friction of your bodies colliding sends you into overdrive. Catching the noise through your parted lips he gently tugs on the bottom one, teeth grazing the supple flesh. This combined with his large palms kneading your ass and pulling you further, tighter, into the roll of his hips. Only two layers of damp clothing separate you,forcing your lips to break from his mouth and fully moan, not caring who may be around. You could not remember the last time a perfect stranger knew your body quite this well.

His own grunts were speeding up when he suddenly grabs the back of your thighs and hoists you up beside the sink, you gasp in shock but it was more the way the lean man thrusted you up there like it was nothing. What else could he do? You expect him to go back to kissing you but instead he pulls back with his rock hard erection outlined in the wet shorts he still has on. Looking at you dead in the eyes both raging with lust and concern. Whilst you try not to worry how you were going to accommodate him inside your tight walls.

"Is this…? I mean, you want this too right?" his hands are resting at either side of your parted thighs. You nod. "Need you to say it Y/N" he steps forward, lips wet and brushes the pad of his thumb across your bottom lip that was now puffy and pink from the earlier biting. He knew you were down to fuck, but now he wanted to test your preferences. What kind of fun you were about to have shall we say. So when you lick his thumb tip, holding his fist still and grazing your wet tongue up and down from knuckle to tip before closing your eyes and humming around the entire digit, he knew you were both in for a good time.

Removing the thumb he whispers a barely audible "fuck me" before smashing your lips back together, tongues massaging together as he peels your underwear to the side with his hand swiftly and presses digit you'd lubricated with your mouth against your clit, moving it fast from side to side with just the right amount of pressure to make your head spin. Gasping, you throw your head back, hands clasped around his neck as you lean back and feel yourself start to leak a little with arousal. The few spots dripping down on to the counter.

You could say it had been a while but really this guy was moving his way round your body in the same way you tune a guitar in key. Calloused fingers applying the right amount of pressure as you felt yourself start to get to the edge already. He was kissing down the front if your chest, between your breasts, not missing a beat when he pushed both triangles of your bikini aside and you moaned loudly as he kissed and sucked hard around your nipple, tentatively pulling it between his teeth firmly, the sound you let out made him clamp a little harder before sucking in the whole nipple again, soothing the skin his tongue. Most likely leaving a mark behind, but you kind of liked the idea of proof he'd been devouring you in all honesty.

You were becoming blissed out from all the stimulation. Clenching and moving your hips around nothing but this magical thumb working your clit up and down hard. You were overcome with this whole situation playing out the way it had. You broke away from his mouth again.

"Oh fuck.. Harry, I'm… FuckFuck I'm going to come, I'm gonna fucking… Ahhh" he pulled back one arm steadying you as your head hit the mirror behind you in your release. He just watched you and slowed his thumb down watching as the liquid cascaded onto the counter.

After you'd come down you open your eyes and shyly smiled before kissing him passionately, his hands moving around your waist tightly. You moved your hand to his shorts, teasingly grazing the outline of his cock between your fingers in hopes of repaying the favour. He does a single throaty laugh and removes your hand, holding himself against his thigh. You look at him in confusion when he splutters,

"Sorry, sorry its just I'm going t'blow my load if you touch me." then he's back on your lips "Too. Fucking. Sexy" he says between wet kisses to your jaw, neck and clavicle. "Wanted to do this since I first set eyes on you" one hand is on the back of his neck twisting nape curls between your fist whilst the other rests behind you, stopping you from hitting your head on the mirror again.

"Oh yeah? Before or after I ruined your clothes?" you laugh teasingly as he slides his hands around your back to finally remove the bikini top properly, lifting it up over your head and tossing it aside somewhere on the floor. He let's a laugh out himself completely entranced still by how natural you are around him, it was often hard to connect with strangers in his position.

"I'd spotted you walking in, was trying to open the door for you m'love" he says before sucking a red mark into your breast and massaging and pulling the other nipple slightly with his hand.

You struggle through sharp intakes of breath for a reply.

"Well….ah...that's what chivalry.. Oh.. Get's you these days I guess" and you're both laughing a little.

"Hmm. Have to try harder with my manners then won't I? I mean, I've got to clear up the mess I've made here" he cups his hand against your pussy rubbing it up and down a little with his palm. You let out a guttural noise at the friction. "Ladies first and all'tha too right?" he giggles again at himself.

You're practically cumming right then, you couldn't remember the last time someone actually went down on you. Your previous boyfriend not particularly into offering you foreplay. A main point of why he didn't stick around too long.

Harry kisses down your abdomen now, soft sloppy, sensual pecks, humming into your skin every so often in appreciation as he works at removing your soaked bikini bottoms with his hands, pushing them down to your knees before you help, letting them fall from the remaining ankle to the ground.

Harry is moving far too slow for you, kissing across each hip down to the top of your slit, breathing over where you desperately need him before paying the other side the same attention. Then he's licking up each crease where your thigh meets your pelvis.

"Y/N, just.. Just turn, that's it and lean back as far as you can there, shuffle forward until can't balance anymore" you shift your ass as forward as possible on the lip of the sink and prop yourself up on your elbows trying to be as flat as possible on the cold counter as you could, your toes behind the sink with one foot the other dangling over the edge. You keep you thighs open as Harry hunches over the counter where you now lay diagonal. He places his arms under your thighs and bends your legs flat out as he can stretch you, you're expecting some more teasing but he just looks down at your pussy licking over his lips and almost whining before burying his tongue inside you immediately. The force of his tongue lapping up your previous climax causes you once again to knock the side of your head against the mirrored wall. You turn and watch the scene almost as a spectator, witnessing yourself bare to this beautiful man, curly brown hair between your fists and making sounds like he's savouring every taste. He catches you watching before taking his mouth off you, immediately, you're whining in protest.

"Watch my eyes not my reflection baby, I'm right here"

His authoritative tone eclipsing every thought you had about the casual nickname, you stared down at the wonderful site of him lapping and suckling on your clit. Pointed tongue and firm laps against the swollen button. He then starts lapping up at your glistening hole,unhooking an arm to spread your lips open between his fingers and licking right from the bottom to the top with all the sloppy wet noises involved. He was feeling you contract as he locked faster and faster over you. His tongue deserved an award never mind his music. You couldn't believe you were on the brink of a second orgasm so quickly but when he sunk his middle finger into you at the same pace his tongue was working at, you were screaming his name into the extractor fan above before you knew it. You felt waves of liquid cascade from your pussy as he gently lapped up the produce of his work from you. You flinched in overstimulation but he cleaned up every last drop tenderly before carefully closing your legs and pivoting you round to your previous sitting up position on the counter. Neither of you had spoken a word since you came but as he leads your arms to drape over your shoulders, holding your fucked out body against his chest whilst peppering your temple with soft pecks . Then he kisses you intensely, letting you taste the sweet juices of yourself on his lips. You hummed in approval of the sweet taste as you came round.

A few minutes of carnal making out and things were heating up again. Your hands cupping his jaw then sliding to graze fingernails up and down his back, digging them in a little harder now and again and causing goosebumps to pierce through the skin rapidly under your touch.

You could feel him swallowing down grunts from the friction he was getting from his shorts covered cock brushing up and down between your slick folds.

He'd made you cum twice. Hard. He always got off of making his partners cum of course, so he was feeling beyond turned on and the slight heat of your glistening folds against his length was almostvsending him over the edge.

"I want you inside me" you whispered against his lips desperately.

No sooner had you said the words, his left hand was frantically searching through the vanities top drawer in hope. Finding a packet, checking the date quickly then tearing it between his teeth, spitting the seal onto the floor and pushing his shorts to his ankles, stepping out of them at speed before kicking them away.

He smirked when he caught your eyes bulge at his cock. He knew it was above average but the reaction was always a further compliment he thought.

Stepping forward he put on a show of putting the condom on, first rubbing the drops of sticky pre cum at the head and down his length keeping his eyes locked to yours as you wriggled on the counter with anticipation. He whined a little as it squeezed him rolling it on, so red and over sensitive from turning you on. So that's why, when you grabbed for it, he stilled your hand. Dimples appearing back in his cheeks as you looked again in confusion. He kisses you, languishing the moment before grabbing you forward from the countertop to the floor again, still keeping your lips attached. He lightly grips at your hips and turns you round to face the mirror once more.

Harry lightly grabs your throat, and the way you whimper and push your ass back against him, makes him mentally bank that idea for later perhaps. He runs his left hand up the column of your neck lightly holding your jaw between his thumb and forefinger, forcing you to look at him with his hand on your face and the other already working up and down your folds.

"I want you to watch us. Want you to watch yourself come apart. Want to watch you cum around my cock yeah? " he whispers in your ear. You noticeably shiver with excitement of what's to come.

"Please Harry, please, need it, need you."

You watch yourself babble and beg for his cock. The pathetic whimper from yourself as you try and circle your ass into his crotch again to encourage it happening. You were never patient and he's driving you insane here.

Bringing two fingers infront of your lips as you watch yourself in the mirror he looks you dead in the eye through the reflection.

"Spit" so you do, "good girl" he says kissing your cheek. His saliva lubed fingers are back rubbing your clit quickly whilst his knee nudges the back of yours to spread your feet wider as he kisses the back of your neck and shoulders. When he pauses next you're not expecting the hard thrust of him entering you entirely, sure you were dripping wet with the result of two orgasms but you cry out in a mix of stretch and pleasure as he pounds into you at a furious pace. His spare hand not on your clit is holding the bottom of your spine down as he keeps up his rhythm. His pace was that of a man desperate for release after watching you fall apart on his fingers and tongue. The build up meant he was already close as you tight walls fluttered around him. He pleads with you to stop tightening your walls around him or he's not going to last he whimpers.

You were already close again, you'd never cum this many times or this quickly in your life but you were ready for another round and by the sounds of him and the stutter his pace kept slipping you knew he was close too.

You quickly removed his hand, sucking your own fingers into your mouth to replace his own at your clit.

"M'gonna cum, but… OhOh fuck.. But need you harder. Deeper" you manage to get out.

He grunts a curse before squeezing your hips at a pressure that will leave marks tomorrow but the delight in the speed he was now able to snap his hips against the swells of your ass, was well worth it. It only took a few more seconds with the fingers that knew you best, for you to gush against his cock. Feeling absolutely exhausted you slump your sweaty chest onto the cold counter.

His orgasm taking him by surprise when you clenched up to milk him dry. He all but shouts your name as his hips stutter and you feel the warmth of his cum fill the one barrier between you.

His lips were back on your sweaty neck for a second whilst he disposed of the used condom. He ran the walk in shower and wordlessly you took his offered hand to join him under the hot spray. You'd never had an encounter end like this before not that you were a seasoned professional but after 3 orgasms the way his hands moved round your body under the water, washing away your antics with sweet strawberry-banana smelling suds on the flannel, left you with a warm floaty feeling the worn off alcohol never had.

He gently wipes your makeup from under your eyes then, smiling at the cute way your nose wrinkles slightly as he rubs at each eyebrow.

"I don't even have words" you finally laugh out blushing, not able to stand his gauge as you say it.

"Oh. So that's how to make that smart mouth o'yours stop is it? " he grins, you gasp in mock offense and go to say something but going under your chin with his thumb with his forefinger to connect your lips under the warm water spray he kisses you when you pull away you can't help but ask.

"So does this make us even on one ruined fancy vest then?"

"Hmmmm" he ponders with both hands on your face looking at the ceiling out if the falling water. " I'm not sure, I mean it was a custom, pretty high going rate those yeah"

"Yeahhhh you're right, you're right. Better factor in the cost of the custom job then hadn't I huh?"

You hurriedly sink to your knees on the tiled floor.

[sloppdaddy]

Chapter two

10 years later…

Aang's Perspective: I have aged 10 years and so have my kids. It is just me on the island. The kids occasionally, Tenzin being the most often, visit me. My youngest boy currently dating Toph’s older daughter is something that I will have to get used to, although it does get Toph to visit the island more. Other than the occasional visitors it will remain just me until Katara returns.

Several years ago we learned that the new avatar is a young water tribe girl from the south named Korra. Katara left to train her in water bending, our daughter Kya alongside her. My eldest son, Bumi, left to join the Fire Nation army. Being a non-bender he says, “I have to give myself a purpose.” I am very proud of him, while he doesn’t always know that. I stayed here to look after the city that we’ve built from the ground up. Recently, there have been smaller issues within our new society that Toph’s Police Force has gracefully handled.

I am extremely grateful for the friendships I made during my youth, for their worth and company has lasted a lifetime. Zuko and Mai are left in the fire nation continuing the repairs of the past. Last I heard from Mai, their daughter Izumi left to travel the world to learn the history of the other nations so she could become a well-cultured firelord. Her son and husband went along with her, teaching Iroh II how to become a leader and master firebender as well. Sokka sends me letters once in a while telling me about what he has accomplished. Sokka, while he is one of Republic City’s most prized ambassadors, returned to the southern water tribe as chief. I miss all my friends dearly, and especially miss my wife Katara. I wonder a lot about how she's doing.

Unlike Sokka, she sends letters once a week, updating me on Korra’s training and on the weekly events. Hearing of Sokka’s success as the chief brings me happiness. I am proud to know that the sarcastic, meathead boy grew into the man that we always knew he would be. Accessing his leadership in the tribe was amazing to hear, his good ideas and funny jokes are sure to help lead the southern water tribe into success. Sokka’s leadership will also help the water tribe become a force to be reckoned with. While I sit in my living room, in my pose, I can’t help but stare at our photo wall. The pictures of my family many years ago, next to the photo of my dear friends, accesses a sudden wave of sadness that covers my body.

I previously had wanted to meditate, but now all I can think of is how lonely I am here. I decide to take Appa to the mainland to visit Toph. Maybe her and I can chat about the city, something to get my mind off of this sadness.

Appa lands on the roof of the police building. I scratch his head and tell him he can return to the island, I still have the bison whistle from many years ago. He grunts and flies away. I descend the stairs to the floor where Toph’s office sits. I see through the glass walls, she’s sitting at her desk, feet up, snoring. This is the Toph I’ve always known. Usually I would knock, but playing a joke on my good friend seems like a better option. I enter silently, closing the door behind me. I send a single gust of air towards her, sending her chair toppling backwards. I hunch over laughing, and her head pops above the desk. It’s the hardest I’ve laughed in a long, long time. She blows her hair with her breath, disappointed. “Twinkletoes, why’d you have to do that?” I still can't stop laughing, some things never change, even that silly nickname.

“Toph, I've said this before, I’m 48 years old. Can’t that nickname be retired?”

“Oh Aang, it will die with me, and that won‘t be for many years. The short answer is no. Too bad.” She laughs. I sigh whilst trying to stop from smiling.

Apparently it shows through, “Twinkletoes, you know you love me.” This time my smile is verbal. I laugh. She walks around the desk to give me her trademark punch on the arm. As she’s leaning back on the edge of her desk to sit she asks, “Why are you here anyway? Usually I'm the one forced to that island off shore.”

My heart rate rises, I don’t want to explain why I’m actually here, but she can tell when I lie. Either way, I bluff. “I just felt like it was my turn to come down to you”. I can tell she saw through me, her face changes.

“Oh c’mon I know you’re lying, why are you really here?”

I can't beat this, it’s Top anyway! She cares enough about me to take this seriously. I know it. “I was feeling down,” I rub my head, “Being alone on that island has been getting to me. I miss my family and my friends. I needed to see you, hoping that we could talk and I could get back to normal.” She stays silent for several moments. I can tell she’s debating on what she wants to say. Then she takes a deep breath and begins.

“Aang, you told me friendships can last more than one lifetime right?”

“Yes? What about it?”

“Well, if it's really possible then you should know that no matter how far our friends go, they’re still close to us.” She lets out a sigh. “Twinkletoes, that was such a struggle, I’m never this supportive.” She giggles and punches me again. I laugh along with her, having her reassurance is something to take advantage of.

Later Toph and I go out for dinner to the best fire nation restaurant in the city. We chat about the future of the police force and about the new avatars' future. By the end I knew my mood had changed. I am, after all, not alone.

[rainywritingsx]

Torn • BNHA X OC • Chapter 1

You can find the prologue here. I thought posting the first chapter would be fun too and I’m thinking of updating the fanfiction weekly if people really like it. Please let me know what you think! Leave a like or reblog if you enjoyed it please. I think that’s it, enjoy reading and I hope you have a wonderful day!!

xxx admin rainbow

Words: 1622

“I don’t think you realise how dangerous you could be.” My twin brother smirked as we made our way to school.

"Seventy percent of the human body consist of water, and you have the ability to control any fluid in the universe! You can basically make the whole world your slaves if you train your quirk enough." I sighed softly, not feeling the need to reply to his boring words that I'd probably heard a million times already. I was born with this power, did he think I wouldn't have figured that out after fourteen years?

I mean how couldn't I, when my father, despite my mother's protests, had been training me since I was four up until this year, because according to him training at school would be enough.

"Mom and dad will be so proud when you can finally go into the field too, Janie." He said, his voice dripping with pride and

excitement for my future. I, however, wasn't as interested in that, I must say. But I didn't say that out loud of course, due to the fact that I know that's not what he'd like to hear and I wasn't in the mood to argue with him right now. Not like I ever was in the mood to do that.

You see, unlike my younger siblings, I had the big responsibility which would be given to me as soon as I became the new leader of the so-called 'villain world', which would most likely happen as soon as my parents decided to stop - that would take a while considering they found their job absolutely lovely. Any villain would've been stoked for something like this, but me? I despised it from the day I was born.

Yes, there was a very small proportion of 'villains' that actually had some rational ideals, like them not agreeing with some situations though they were seen as 'right'. For example: Stain, the hero killer, didn't have the worst ideas in my opinion. He didn't agree with the fact that some heroes didn't become heroes with the intent of helping people. All they wanted was fame and glory. He decided to kill anyone he deemed unworthy of being a hero and kept the worthy ones alive. So, yes, his way of handling them was a completely different case but he had some decent morals.

However, the majority of this community was filled with people who just wanted to inflict pain on others, see their terrified faces before taking away possessions or sometimes even their lives. I did not want to associate myself with people like that.

And those were the exact kind of villains my parents were. As parents, they were just normal people but everyone knew both went ballistic during fights against heroes. There were some stories of heroes who could still hear my mother's psychotic laugh as she killed their allies. My dad would always look his victims right in the eye as he did whatever he wanted to do. I can't even imagine the amount of sins that they must've committed.

They expected me to be at least as crazy as them when I took over, but I wasn't even planning on becoming a villain at all. Even if some villains had ideas that seemed okay, it didn't make up for their actions. I wanted to become a hero and whether I'd become famous or not didn't matter to me. Helping people was all I wanted to do. However, we should put the emphasis on "wanted". I couldn't become a hero, my whole family would consider me absolutely insane.

We entered the school and parted our ways since we had different classes until lunch break. I never minded that, to be completely honest. We weren't the type of siblings that couldn't live without each other. I didn't have that relationship with any of my siblings. (I've got three younger brothers, I'm thirteen minutes older than my twin brother so yes I'd consider myself older, the others are twelve and ten.) Sure, we all cared about each other but we didn't have the tight bond some siblings do have. I thought that that was partly due to my parents, who never really let us do things together to get closer to each other. It was only when we got older that we started doing some things together. Maybe it was also due to our ideals being different but of course he didn't know that.

As for my two other younger siblings, they were a lot closer to each other so there never really was a need for them to have this really tight bond with my brother and I. Those two were completely fine as a duo.

I entered the classroom, not saying a word as I walked over to my seat. I also never really bonded with my class either. It didn't have to do with what I though, but more because of the fact that I was the daughter of the two most notorious villains ever. Nobody would ever talk to me and I had the tendency to be quite shy at first, so I never took the first step either.

"Alright everyone! Please open your books, classes will start now!" Our English and homeroom teacher, miss Deceit said with a bright smile on her face in the same annoyingly high tone she always used. "Today's lesson will be really exciting!" Maybe her name gave it away already, but she was a teacher who was great at creating illusions. After training for years and years, she could make someone's biggest fear and taunt people with those images. And people tend to do strange things when they're absolutely terrified... Sometimes a slightly less deathly version of that is used as a punishment for students, but only in very extreme cases. Now that she had reached an older age, she mostly used her quirk to make classes more fun than they actually are and the majority falls for it, but my parents taught me how to deal with quirks like that so it almost became like a reflex that I saw right through it.

And if you were wondering how on earth some of these villains were able to even set a foot in the outside world, there were two answers: serving in jail and fake identities. Some villains were able to get away with certain crimes and that way they got a shorter sentence, so after they served in jail they could just return to society. Other villains made fake identities and at my school they never turned people to the police. 'Villain code' is what they call it. You help other villains when they need it but you never ever call the cops on them.

The day seemed to last forever, but after villain training I could finally go home. I almost ran out of class, not wanting to spend another second with these people. My brother finished early today and went away to hang out with some of his friends, so I was on my own. It wasn't like I missed much though, no offence to him.

I frowned when I noticed a big sign set on the usual path I took to my home. It said that work was being done on the road, which meant I had to take a different road, a longer one sadly. I sighed quietly and then continued walking again. Before I could think my feet stopped on their own, making me almost fall in surprise. I looked up and gasped when I noticed it.

UA high.

The school I had admired since I was a small child, because that was the school where heroes were made. If you wanted to become a hero, you knew you just had to attend UA.

My eyes became wide when I noticed huge banners hanging. Today, and only today, they would let potential new students in and take a look in the building, like classrooms etc so they could see what to expect. I tilted my head in slight confusion. Why was this done though? UA wasn't a very open school at all, barely letting any students in. I wasn't complaining though..

Then a thought struck me. Wouldn't it be strange if I came home late? I usually got home at the same time every day so it would seem odd... But then again, I was usually the first in my family to arrive since my parents' "working hours" varied and my siblings usually hung out in places after school. I'd just go to look at the school and find an excuse later.

My excitement grew with each step I took, realising I was getting closer to the school I could only dream of even seeing. The school was huge and from the start the whole atmosphere was just completely different from what I was used to in my school. It felt like one community, whereas my school was just a mix of small groups who didn't really bother to talk to other people, let alone make other friends. Maybe I could actually make some friends here...if I was even able to attend the school at all. My parents wouldn't ever approve of this in a million years of course.

Okay, I'd just take a look. Nothing more or less. Looking wasn't a bad thing for sure so why was I worried about them not approving of it? I wouldn't attend the school anyway, nope. It was totally fine, I'd be there for a few minutes and then gone before anyone could notice. Yes. I'd do that.

。。。。。。。。。。。。。。。。。。。。。。。。。。

[funkymbtifiction]

I know you've said it at least a million times but I still can't identify what motivates 8, 1, 2, 6 and 4 as enneagram types and how any type would manifest depending on its position in the triad (core second and last). I'm trying to really get a grasp of each types and I can't differentiate those because I see them as connected in their motives. I also can't differentiate 2w1 from 1w2 the sound the same so I didn't get something basics about those types.

You know, I got this FABULOUS book in the mail yesterday, called The Literary Enneagram that has… finally gotten through to me like nothing else. I could see where I’ve been making mistakes and how to correct them. Somehow, it helped it click in my mind for me – the focus on motive and not just behavior. Some of the examples the author uses I was less familiar with, but some of them are solid – like Eleanor Dashwood as a fine example of a 1w2 sexual subtype (and her sister, Marianne, as a 4w3 sexual subtype).

So, I went through the Enneagram tag today (this is what I do with my day off :P) and updated all the profiles so far typed, changing some of them based on what I have learned. I’m shifting our system to focusing on the core for each character rather than tritypes, because if you focus on that alone, you can notice integration and disintegration points and highlight them in the profile. It allows for less margin of error.

Personally, the more I read about Enneagram the less faith I have in tritypes. But, that’s an argument for another day. ;)

Back to your question.

1 - motivation to be good / perfect / above reproach / moral / improve self and others. Think Mr. Knightley, badgering Emma Woodhouse to stop interfering and work on her own issues. Or Elsa in Frozen, being so afraid of being “bad.” Or Elijah in The Originals, harping on Klaus to stop being such an ass and behave himself, while repressing all his own urges and feelings. 1′s repress their emotions. Bottle them up. Until they explode. (See: Eleanor Dashwood and her epic meltdown once she realizes she can marry Edward.)

2 - motivation to be useful / needed / helpful / find love. Think Emma Woodhouse, being so proud of herself for helping poor stupid Harriet find a MUCH BETTER marriage (despite Mr. Knightley harping on her). Or Mr. Darcy being so proud that he broke up Jane and Bingley, because she was just a social climber anyway – and why should he apologize for being helpful and doing the right thing? In other words, 2′s are proud of how helpful they are – whether or not they are actually being helpful.

So, 1w2: Emma, you’re interfering when you should work on your own flaws first. SHAPE UP, THEN HELP PEOPLE. 2w1: Why should I work on myself, I’m good already, but Harriet clearly needs my help so I’m going to give it! ;)

3 - motivation to succeed, social climb, make something of themselves, work hard and get whatever they want, even if it demands cutting corners. Think Scarlett O’Hara. Or Becky Sharp. End of subject.

4 - motivation to stand out, to be authentic, to be not-plebeian, to feel. Think Marianne Dashwood. Or Madam Bovary. Or Anna Karenina. Or Anne Shirley. Life is one big, magnificent tragedy, and every feeling must be FELT to its deepest soul. They throw everything into their emotional intensity, and become needy and clingy under stress (moving to unhealthy 2). Anna Karenina is the prime example – throwing herself after Vronsky, desperate for his affections, then becoming paranoid and needy, fearful he’s going to abandon her, and finally mourning what she has lost, before she’s even lost it. That’s a pure 4 disintegration right there. *sad face*

5 - motivation to self-protect, to be distant, analytical, and never unprepared, to become an expert. See Sherlock Holmes, in just about any incarnation of the character. Analytical, detached, reclusive, does not share his feelings. Analyzes them instead. The really weird thing was the book lists Beth March as a 5, and it made no sense to me until I realized she’s all about avoidance of real life, leaving the home, trying anything new, living in her books and among her kittens, and seeking security through withdrawing from the world – all 5 traits. Holy hell, I never imagined that would be her core, but it is.

6 - motivation to never be without a support system; prone to chronic distrust, doubt, second-guessing, and changing attitudes toward everyone else. A good example of this is Allison from Teen Wolf – rebellious one moment, submissive the next; reactive and then submissive; submits to authority and then defies it. Same with Veronica Mars. Distrusts everyone, reacts with aggression to cover up her fear. The book uses Hamlet as the main example – to be or not to be? Indecisive, ponderous, reactive, submissive, inconsistent, smothering and then distant, until he finally comes to a place of peace and self-acceptance at his death (moving to 9).

BIG CLUE: an 8 should have all the pros and cons of a true 8. All their strengths and weaknesses. 6′s often come across and/or look like 8s, because they can be counter-phobic – attacking whatever makes them feel insecure. Sexual 6′s are especially 8-like – risk takers, contrarians, and rebels.

7 - motivation to avoid pain, to live a happy and carefree life, to be optimistic and avoid feeling trapped. Think Lorelai Gilmore. Aramis from The Musketeers. Ariel from The Little Mermaid. See it, chase it. (Irony of the week: reading reviews for this book, I ran across one that said, “This is a great book! I’m a 7! I tried not to leap ahead and read 7 first… and then I got distracted and forgot all about this book!” HAH.)

8 - motivation to avoid being controlled, harmed, or challenged, through asserting oneself with power. Think Rhett Butler, refusing to conform to society, seeing through Scarlett’s bullcrap and calling her on it, and eye-rolling that she bothers pretending to be “good” when they both know she’s the most manipulative little thing on the planet. Unlike a 6, he isn’t scared. He simply IS authoritative, challenging, powerful.

9 - motivation to avoid unpleasantness, conflict, and losing other people. Often lives in their imagination to avoid the pains of real life, and is passive toward taking action – think Walter Mitty. Or Cinderella. Or Lucy from Narnia, being super nice and accommodating.

As for how it manifests, IF tritypes exist (and for me, at the moment, that’s a big if since I can’t find evidence they do) I suspect core is everything, second fix has a fair amount of influence, and your third fix is almost non-existent, since most people seem to have no  clue what theirs is.

IMO, your best best is to figure out your core, ignore the fixes, and work on self-improvement in your core and wing, since that’s where you’ll spend 98% of your time, energy, and defense methods.

- ENFP Mod

[aemcndtargaryen]

SCREAMING CRYING THROWING UP THIS IS EVERYTHING I COULD'VE EVER WISHED FOR IN A LANNISTER!READER FIC

I stayed up till 3am binging all the available chapters and I got so sad when there was no more😭 imagine my surprise and delight when I saw that update today😍

I literally love everything about this, like no joke it's not even finished yet but it's already got a spot on my ultimate faves list

such a great idea, but what's even better is that your execution of it is just chefs kiss so so gooooood

your writing is phenomenal, and the way you portray the characters and relationships? immaculate

and lannister!reader? the baddest bitch of all, I love her your honour🥺 tywin would be proud👏🏻

I love that she's so ambitious and calculating and knows how to play the game, but at the same time her feelings for aemond and helae are all there and genuine, it's a fine line and you walk it so beautifully💜

some of my fav bits off the top of my head after that binge:

- reader immediately going like 'I want him' at aemond even before they met

- alllllll reader x aemond interactions let's be real

- like their first meeting

- at the dragon pit, reader outsmarting the bullies and comforting aemond afterwards

- reader and helaes friendship, they are truly sisters in all but blood🤧 and I love how protective reader is of helae/all her loved ones

- the green boys, you write them and their relationship so well and it comes off so organic

- THE FACT YOU INCLUDED DAERON

- aegon always calling reader My shining Lady of Lannister

- both aegon and daeron being onto aemond's feelings for reader and never missing a chance to tease him about it

- just The Incident and everything that came after it

- reader sneaking into aemonds room, GIFTING HIM THE SAPPHIRE, TELLING HIM HELL BE REMEMBERED UNLIKE THOSE THAT DID THIS TO HIM AND HOW A LANNISTER ALWAYS PAYS THEIR DEBTS AND SHE'S GONNA BE THERE HELPING HIM GET WHAT HE'S OWED AND THE FORHEAD TOUCH

- when reader gets back to the keep after that 6 months absence and puts those ladies in their place like the bad bitch she is

- reader and aemond scheming together in the library, they aren't even together yet and they are already the Power Couple of KL

- the tourney? HOLDING HANDS🥺🤧 AND AEMOND HOLDING ONTO HER HAND UNTIL THE VERY LAST MOMENT BEFORE HE'S FORCED TO LET GO AND EVERYONE SEEING

- and then turning that death stare on victor and VHAGAR ROARING IN THE DISTANCE

- AND READERS SMILE AT THAT

- none of the Greens clapping when Victor crowns reader

- loved the tyland/jason/reader interaction afterwards, big fan of tyland and readers rs in general too and also how secure reader is in the knowledge that despite his faults her dad does love his kids and would stand up and protect them *unlike other people we know😒*

- reader lowkey gushing to tyland and jason about aemond in the carriage when they question whether he'd actually act on his anger, she's so smitten I love it🥺

- reader thinking she hopes viserys will cough up a lung😂 it's what he deserves 💅

- reader and alicents talk in ch8

- and like EVERYTHING THAT CAME AFTER READER WENT TO FIND AEMOND AT THE TRAINING YARD

- THE HAND HOLDING, THE FAVOR, THE SAPPHIRE, THE KISS, THE FORHEAD TOUCH LIKE THAT NIGHT

- THE HE TORE UP THAT SCAR AND FILLED IT WITH YOU!!!!!! 😭🤧💜

- ser cristons chaperoning, someone give him a raise lol

- the, that was you as a boy, you're a man now, I only pity however will have to face you tmr

anyway that was probably very incoherent of me rn, and I'm definitely missing some other fav bits, but like, you get the idea I LOVE LOVE LOVE THIS

lannister!reader and aemond are trulyyy made for each other🥺😭🤧💜

PS. not sure if you're doing tag lists, but if you are sign me the fuck up plsssss I need to know when a new chapter drops asap🥺 in any case I'll be checking for any sort of update daily (more like several times a day lol)

jaimeslanisters' masterlist

the pawn in every lover's game (lannister!reader x aemond targaryen)

When you’re ten, your father sends you to King's Landing to befriend a princess and woo a prince. A lioness growing up amongst dragons is a dangerous thing indeed.

parts: one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight

ao3 link