#plus him doing the Macarena? Yes

[witless-winion1]

Q&A

Who’s my favorite EPIC character..?

(looks around) (equips battle armor)

Eurylochus.

[sorryitsmyfirstdayonearth]

Share

(Sam Winchester x female reader)

Summary There are only two beds, and Dean isn’t sharing, so you and Sam have to. Let’s hope you can be quiet. CWs There's only one bed. Sam being a gentleman and also a total horndog. Yes, he can be both, that's what's so great about him. Rated 18+. 2.2k words.

Sam Winchester masterlist ⏐ SPN masterlist

Just your luck that after what is the most tiring hunt you’ve been on in a hot minute, the motel you check into has only one room left, and it’s a twin.

Dean makes it clear from second one that he is not willing to share, and the way he stretches out on the bed he claims, plus your knowledge of how the older Winchester brother tends to flail around in his sleep, make you almost happy you get to share with Sam instead. Almost.

Because sharing with Sam is simultaneously the best and the worst thing that could happen to you. Best because you have had an incapacitating crush on him for a good long while now; worst because of exactly the same reason.

Sam grins sheepishly at you when you both stand at the foot of the narrow bed, while Dean is in the next one rubbing himself against his pillow like a cat. You grin back, raise your shoulders. You don’t think you’ll be getting a lot of sleep tonight.

All three of you get ready for bed, and while you’re brushing your teeth, standing in the doorway between bathroom and bedroom, you can’t help but look at Sam. He’s in sweats and a t-shirt, a V-neck that looks downright sinful on him, showing off his thick neck, the muscles in his arms, the dip between his collarbones that you want to press your tongue into, but then you haven’t seen Sam in any clothes that don’t make you swoon.

He’s fluffing up the pillows, that intense concentrated look on his face that he gets doing almost anything, and your heart hurts a little from beating so fast. Eventually you turn around, spit into the sink, wipe your hand over your mouth.

You know you’ll be lying awake for hours, if not the whole night, too terrified you’ll snore or mumble in your sleep, but more than that, you don’t want to sleep, since it would mean missing out on being so gloriously close to glorious Sam. You’ll sleep in the Impala tomorrow. It’ll hurt your neck but you’ve had it worse.

Then it’s time to get into bed. Sam lays on his back, hands crossed over his stomach as he clears his throat. He’s so damn broad-shouldered that he’s already taking up most of the bed, so you carefully lie next to him, one shoulder hanging off the side. It would be fine, but Sam notices immediately.

“I can sleep on the floor,” he suggests, not for the first time tonight. “It’s really no problem.” You shake your head, turn it towards him and he is so close, your upper arms brushing against each other.

“It’s fine, Sam, really,” you reply, but you see the worry in his face. Luckily Dean is there to distract both of you.

“Will you two just go to damn sleep?” he groans from the next bed over and you and Sam both press your lips together, hide your grins at his grumpiness.

Then suddenly Sam moves, rolls on his side. It gives you more room, but he also opted to roll towards you rather than turn his back to you, and when you look at him again, his head on the pillow, his eyes studying you carefully, all of him so there, it makes a whole host of crazed butterflies do the Macarena in your stomach. It makes heat shoot to your core where it sits, almost uncomfortably.

You sigh, and the sigh makes you realize that your breathing is all wonky, out of sync, and when you purposefully try to calm it, it makes it much worse.

“You okay?” Sam asks, frowning. You nod quickly and manage to get yourself under control. Don’t hyperventilate, you tell yourself, hyperventilating is not sexy.

You realize you’re fidgeting a little and then suddenly Sam’s arm is over you, just below your breasts. You swallow and your eyes shoot up to him.

“Are you cold?” he asks, voice low. No, you’re absolutely not. Still, Sam’s arm is already draped over you, it would be downright rude now to say you weren’t. You smile a little, nod.

“Thank you,” you whisper, and Sam smiles as well. And then, because what the hell, you scoot a little closer to him. You catch him take a sharp breath, but he doesn’t say anything. Instead, after a second, his arm wraps tighter around you, holding you there. You’re not sure what to do with your own arm so it’s sort of squished between you two, pressed against Sam’s stupidly shapely pecs.

So that’s how you lie there, suddenly looking deeply into Sam’s eyes. There’s a bright splash of hazel in them that you’ve never noticed before. You should probably say something, acknowledge how close you are to each other, make light of the situation but neither of you seems willing to break the moment.

It’s a few minutes until you feel your eyes falling shut, tiredness suddenly overtaking you. You think about fighting it for a moment, think about trying to stay awake but the warmth and closeness and exhaustion are all too strong, and before you know it, you’re out like a light.

You wake up hours later. It’s not full wakefulness, but it’s enough that you notice you’ve moved in the night. Your back is to Sam, but his arm is still hanging over you. You feel so cozy and warm that you snuggle backwards a little, press yourself against him.

You feel the hardness but can’t place it for a second, and then you do, and your eyes fly open and your lips part.

Sam’s hard. Sam’s hard and he’s pressing against the small of your back. Your breathing comes fast and shallow at the thought of it. Without really meaning to you press your ass back a little. You just want to feel, you tell yourself. Feel what Sam feels like. And yes, it’s unmistakable and the arousal blooming in you is so immediate that it makes you dizzy. You press back again, gently, and suddenly Sam’s arm around you tightens.

Oh shit, you think.

That was some pretty creepy stuff you were doing just now, and you can’t even pretend you did it in your sleep because your eyes are wide open, and even in the dark of the room, Sam must be able to see that. But then you hear his deep voice, so close to your ear that it makes you shudder.

“Don’t stop,” he says quietly and you nearly lose your mind. You swallow, and then you do it again. Sam’s arm tenses again and his breathing stutters for a second. This can’t be happening. Could you be so lucky?

You press back again, roll your hips a little, and Sam’s hand shoots to your waist. He grips you hard and then he’s pushing back, and a small gasp leaves you when you feel his outline. Of course Sam Winchester has a perfect, big dick. Because all the other stuff about him isn’t already good enough.

Sam starts slowly rutting against you and your eyelids flutter, because low little grunts leave him, sounds that you’re pretty sure should be illegal. He keeps grinding against you, and then suddenly his lips are touching the shell of your ear.

“Let me touch you,” he whispers. Your eyes shoot over to where Dean is lying, but he seems to be out for the count. You nod, and then in a rush of confidence, turn your head. You can’t quite see Sam, but he presses his face to the side of yours, his lips run over your cheekbone.

“Touch me, Sam,” you whisper, and his hand wanders from your waist over your stomach to between your legs. His hand is big and perfect and he starts drawing little circles on you. The thin barrier of your pajama is a godsend, because you don’t know if you could take Sam touching you directly right there without combusting or screaming.

His middle and index finger find the spot that makes you flinch and he focuses on that part. Your eyes fall shut and a tiny whimper leaves you. As if encouraged, Sam uses the position of his arm to pull you back against him again while continuing to rub you. Your arm lands on top of his, because you need something to hold on to or you’ll float away.

He keeps going, and he’s so damn good at it that it makes your head spin. Your eyebrows draw together and you feel your body starting to tense.

“Sam—I’m gonna—” you half moan, half whisper and his mouth is near your ear again.

“Think you can be quiet?” he asks, the edge of a grin in his voice and you press your lips together, nod.

You’re coming a second later, pressing your thighs together, nails digging into Sam’s skin, because the tension needs to go somewhere. Your legs pull up and for a few moments, you are so swept up in pleasure that you think you’re losing your mind.

As your body relaxes, your brain and muscles feel calm and relaxed, a goofy smile spreading on your lips. Sam must see it, because he presses his lips and nose against your cheek.

“I want to scream,” you whisper, eyes still closed, and Sam gives a low chuckle.

“Better don’t,” he says and in response, you grind back against him. Sam doesn’t need more encouragement than that. He leans back a little, so that he can look down at where your bodies are meeting, so that he can watch while you rub your ass against him.

Your orgasm, this entire situation, has made you bold, and you sling your arm behind you. Your hand lands on Sam’s hip, and you move it down, run it over the fabric of his sweats. Your fingers trace the outline of Sam’s cock and you hear a heavy breath leave him.

“Fuck, you’re gonna drive me crazy,” Sam whispers, his voice slightly cracking. You squeeze him once before you start running your hand up and down his length, again and again. Sam’s hand is still on your hip and balls into a fist with how hard he’s trying not to make any noise. Feeling encouraged by his reaction, you move your hand up and slip it into his sweats, wrap your hand around his cock. Oh, he’s perfect. Of course he is. Sam actually trembles a little when you touch him.

“God, you feel so fucking good,” he mumbles, voice low and raw and he presses his hand over yours where you’re holding him, squeezing through the fabric.

You keep rubbing him, stroking him, until his deep breaths come quicker. You can feel his cock twitch in your hand, and Sam’s groan is low and barely controlled and it makes you feel like you could come all over again just from hearing it. You rub him through his release, feel the wet patch from his come where he releases himself into his sweatpants. Slowly, you pull your hand back.

In the next second, Sam slings his arm around you again and pulls you close. His hand goes over your chest like a seatbelt and he cups your face, presses his nose behind your ear so you can hear his heavy breathing.

“Holy shit,” he mumbles, and you grin. After a second of recovering his breathing, Sam’s head moves, and he catches the corner of your mouth with his lips. It’s delicious, but not enough.

You struggle to move in his tight grip, but when he understands what you’re doing he lets you turn around, only to wrap you up just as tightly right after. Your faces are so close, just across from each other on the pillows and you just look into each other’s eyes for a moment.

Then you grab Sam’s big, beautiful face and kiss him. He pulls you impossibly closer and returns the kiss.

You both flinch when the loudest, most nasal snore comes from Dean’s bed. You need to press your faces against each other to stop yourselves from bursting into laughter. Sam’s hand lands on the back of your head and he pulls you against his chest, and you grin into it like a damn idiot.

When you finally come up for air, he’s smiling at you, brilliant and open in the low light of the room. His face turns serious after a second, but you shake your head.

“I know you want to analyze the shit out of what just happened,” you whisper, and Sam can’t help but smirk at how well you know him. “But let’s save it for tomorrow, okay?” He nods, stares at your face, and it makes you want to kiss him again, so you do. He cups your face, runs his fingers into your hair, then a small groan leaves him when you push your tongue against his lips.

“Fuck, you’re gonna make me hard again,” he mumbles and you nip at his lip.

“Oh no,” you whisper, voice heavy with pretend regret. Sam grins, wraps you up and you snuggle against him, your head under his chin, face against his neck where you can smell him, touch your nose against him.

“Good night, Sam,” you mutter, because within seconds you’re halfway to falling asleep again.

“Good night,” Sam says, and you can feel the vibration of it run through you. Sleep overtakes you as Sam gently rubs your back, all the while there’s a smile on your face and your heart is as big as the moon.

[boom-fanfic-a-latta]

Do it write the scenerio with raz messing with gristol raz deserves to mess with him :) plus i think itd be funny for raz to mess with gristol

If you insist! (You have no idea what you’re letting loose…)

—

"Gristol Malik's aim was true

The Fatherland did rise anew

He made a plan

And fooled the man..."

Raz grimaced as he approached the door to the Psychoisolation chamber. And I just got that song out of my head...

"Those lyrics aren't true, you know," the 10-year-old called in through the door, cutting off the singer.

With a huff, the man inside the chamber turned around to face the boy. “I was there. You weren't.”

Raz gave Gristol a deadpan look. “Sure…”

“But look, what's past is past.” The man tilted his head to the side, an expectant look on his face. “Why don't you let me out of here?"

Raz couldn’t believe this. “Nope, sorry.” As if he’d ever let the crazed Grulovian heir out, after what the man had done. I’d say he can’t be serious, but I’ve seen how messed up he is…

The boy held Gristol’s gaze, not budging.

“I must say, you’re disappointing me,” the prince said sternly.

“Well, get used to it,” Raz replied coldly. “Haven't you learned anything from this?”

“Yes! Never meet your heroes!” Gristol answered dismissively. “Maligula…what a disappointment."

“You really haven’t learned any lessons at all?” Why am I not surprised by that?

“And why do you want to know?”

"No real reason. I just...wanted to make sure I wouldn't have a reason to regret any of this."

"...Is that a threat?" Gristol gave the boy a suspicious look.

"You sure you don't at least want to apologize?"

"Ha! As if! Being a Gzar means never having to say you're Gzorry."

Well, now I want to murder him for that pun alone. Raz rolled his eyes. "You're only making it easier for me to feel okay with doing this, Gristol."

"And what, pray tell," the man demanded, "are you planning on doing? You're being awfully vague."

"Well..." Raz grinned. “Remember when I told you Maligula was my grandma? …Okay, she’s actually my great-aunt, but I wasn’t kidding around.”

Gristol didn’t look swayed by this. “Do you really expect me to believe that?”

“Well, whether or not you do, it doesn’t change the fact that I’ve inherited a certain power from her.” The boy stretched his arms in front of him, cracking his knuckles. “So, Gristol...did you know that the human body is actually 60% water?”

—

(And I have lost all motivation to continue this but basically Raz proceeds to "torture" Gristol by forcing him to do the Macarena using hydrokinesis)

[naivesilver]

top 5 adaptations of the Fairy from Pinocchio? (or maybe top 5 best AND 5 worst?)

I spent so long staring at this and wondering if I even KNEW five good Fairies, but it turns out I do, albeit mostly for asinine reasons. Anyway AHFAKKJKFHAHJKJA thank you <3

Ask me my top 5 anything

Obviously under the cut because I couldn't resist and did BOTH

The salt AKA the worst of the worst first:

1) Piccolino No Bouken

Surprised? I suppose most would have expected me to put the Disney Fairy first, and I did, too, for a while, but as I was sitting in my car pondering this ranking I realized I was SEETHING with rage about this one, so I had to rearrange things a bit. This, guys, is where my Fairy hate begins - not the book, not the Mouse's interference. This woman.

I hate her. I hate her SO MUCH, for all that I love this adaptation more than most things in the world, and that the choices made about her characterization were a huge inspiration for me. Not only does she not send Pinocchio to school, instead teaching him on her own, she is the only one to actively keep Pinocchio from his father - indeed, she makes the choice for them, saying to Geppetto's face that it would be best for the boy to be taught something before he goes back home. Who the hell are you to make this call, uh? You have known him for a day at most! You left him hanging from a fucking tree all night! I wouldn't trust you with a bloody lapdog, nevermind a child!

Also she lets Pinocchio believe she's dead UNTIL THE VERY END. She turns into a bird while he cries at her tomb. Are we fucking serious now? Leave him alone.

(Yes, this is elementary school me howling for revenge. I've been mad about this longer than reason would let me. Sue me.)

2) Disney's Pinocchio

Bane of my existence. I don't know if anyone remembers that pic of me at the Pinocchio theme park I posted a while ago, but basically in that moment they were putting up a little show to tell children a little bit of the OG story, and they asked the audience if they knew what color the Fairy's hair was - a few said blonde, and I, being on stage next to her, distinctly heard her mutter "dammit, Disney". I've been living with that mantra since then.

Nobody asked you to make that puppet sentient, ma'am. He doesn't owe you shit. Aside from that, just like Jiminy Cricket, she ruined her character in a good two thirds of future adaptation. And while we're speaking of Jiminy, WHY did she think it would be a good idea to entrust a little boy to a slime ball such as him? He's too horny to have an ounce of sense. Conscience, my ass.

Basically...begone, asshole.

3) Pinocchio and the Emperor of the Night

This film is so horrible, the Fairy had no chance to be decent at all. A cheap copy of the Disney one, with the addendum that she turns MULTIPLE toys into living beings while holding them responsible for whatever they do after. Basically Victor Frankenstein, but make it a poorly dressed woman from a direct-to-TV movie that shouldn't have existed at all.

-100/10, at least you're pretty, but by God, SHUT UP.

4) Once Upon a Time

Honest to God if she doesn't keep her filthy hands off my faves she's gonna get a slap across the face so strong her Wish Realm self ought to feel it sting. I am not exaggerating.

Seven seasons in, she hasn't done ANYTHING useful that I can remember. She's not even good at her own fucking job! Not only that, she's traumatized and guilt-tripped a good chunk of the population of Storybrooke, including first and foremost my beloved son August. The Pavlovian reaction I had every time she appeared on screen can't be described in coherent words, only in eagle screeches.

She's wrong. On principle, she's wrong. Let's move on.

5) Luigi Comencini's Le Avventure di Pinocchio

Doesn't rank higher only because she's played by Gina Lollobrigida (my beloved). She's book accurate, which means she'd be annoying as fuck as it is, but what little they added only makes her worse.

She has the gall to tell Pinocchio she'd like to see him happier. Like, apart from the fact that the ghost of his father's deceased wife isn't exactly the most reassuring person to hear it from...Said father has been swallowed by a giant fish. You told that boy he's only going to see his father if he studies hard. You keep turning him into a puppet anytime he misbehaves. What did you expect, that he would do the Macarena every time he entered your house? I am honestly too shocked to say any more. What the fuck.

.

.

.

Okay, I've been enraged enough for a single night. Let's move onto brighter shores!

1) Enzo D'Alò's Pinocchio

Enzo D'Alò knows what the fuck is UP!!! The only one with the courage to let the Fairy be a weird little girl - not only for a short time, but up until the end of the movie! That takes guts! Balls of steel!

I've said before that this movie has nothing memorable to it, and it's true, but also...Pinocchio wanted a sister so bad, and the movie gave him one. And they even explained the plot hole of the medallion with Pinocchio's face in it! That's twice as good as the fact that they cut out the most awful parts of her story, which is already delightful.

Thank you, Mr D'Alò. You have my trust until the end of days.

2) The Adventures of Buratino

Speaking of weird girls, this one is officially balls to the walls enough to gain my respect. She's bothersome to Pinocchio, but she's bothersome to everyone and everything, so I'll let it pass. Her role is exclusively to appear out of nowhere and do batshit insane stuff for no good reason at all. A star.

Plus, other than having an handwashing obsession that I've felt very keenly in the past year and a half, she also has a boyfriend - her and Pierrot are the original girlboss and malewife, I'm not accepting any criticism on the matter.

(Fun fact: when I was a young kid I once dreamt that the Piccolino No Bouken Fairy was dating a big, buff and blonde farmhand. He wooed her by gifting Pinocchio a dog. Apparently I've always been very interested in Fairies getting a love life and staying the fuck away from my specialest little boy.)

3) Pinocchio miniseries

"Serena, but you said you were disappointed in this adaptation so many times!" True. But consider: I am also very, very queer, and Violante Placido being motherly and wearing wispy dresses stirred SOMETHING in 11yo me that I can't very well ignore.

In hindsight, she and the Cricket probably had something going on behind the scenes, which is a shame. Miss Fairy, I swear, you could do better than Luciana Littizzetto in an ill-fitting green suit. She's gonna break your heart and lose your puppet charge in a crowd of little idiots. Do me instead.

4) Pinocchio Vampire Slayer

This woman kills monsters - and she's damn good at it! Honestly, so badass, and such a good mother figure too, even in trying times. I don't want to spoil the comic much to those who haven't read it, but she and Cherry are the highlight of the first volume and I am very fond of them. A+.

5) Matteo Garrone's Pinocchio

This one's book accurate, too, but Garrone did something with her that almost burst in tears in a crowded theater. She's awful, and irritating, but she's...she's so human, too. I can't rage against a Fairy that's so impossibly human even during the smallest of scenes. It breaks me over and over again.

Look at her SMILING, for pity's sake, am I supposed to think there's some warmth in the dead lady? Fuck you, Matteo, what did you do to me? I am an honored Fairy hater. You're going to ruin my reputation if you keep this up.

[p1nkwitch]

Hi, I really like you writing. Could I get 51. for some ship with Jon? (preferably jongerry, but if you don't ship it jonmartin is fine too. also feel free to make is as soft as you want!)

Oh no no, I love JonGerry i actually like it more than Jmart. The potential was there so here!! Have some fluffy and fun bbys enjoying hanging out.

51- Public kiss JonGerry

Au where they work in a normal job

Jon is nervous, the institute is having a party and Tim invited him to hang out with everyone and he was already panicking. He is their boss, but he had been so insistent and when he mentioned that they haven't been able to just spend time in a group since his promotion…

Made him cave in feeling guilty.

Still he was very worried that he might make the wrong impression, Gerry who was cuddling Melon Princess looked at him amused from the couch.

“What?” He is snippy which is not fair, still he knows him enough to just snort an answer back.

“Cmon Jon, you said Tim is your friend. I'm sure it won't go badly” He doesn't understand, he doesn't.

“Yes, but that was before, now i'm his boss and- and i know i didn't deserve it, but i wanted that promotion and maybe they don't-” A cat is put in front of his face.

“Hi dad, mew, i think you are being paranoiiid, pet me and it will calm you down!” The complete dry tone makes him choke a laugh and pick up Melon from him.

“Thanks” He shrugs and kisses his cheek.

“How about this, I tag along, if anything they will be more focused on me that in you?” Usually he would refuse him, but he deflates and agrees, anything to keep him more calm will do.

“Please..” Gerry smiles at him and Jon feels his cheeks burn, he is so lucky to have met him, and to be the recipient of said smile. Gerry was far more… subdued before, but now he is far more open and he is happy to think he helped and likewise he is helping him too to not be so closed off.

“Of course, I will change, I'm sure they will be far more focused on my hair, apparently everyone is!!!” Jon snorts and sits to wait for him.

“Maybe if you let me help dye it-”

“Oh fuck off Sims-!!” He grins.

They all stare. Sasha, Tim and Martin all stare, not at him, but at Gerry who decided to come in his favourite clothes, which, now that he thinks about it, are not exactly what you would wear for an office party, but he had been so relieved that he did not question it until it was too late.

“So this is my boyfriend Gerry, i… hope you don't mind? I remembered you always insisted on seeing a picture…” Tim opens his mouth and closes it a few times, but ends up grinning like he saw the best thing ever.

“Pleasure to meet you Gerry!!” Sasha and Martin also say hi and then they all go to get some drinks and talk while everyone at the institute sort of mingles around. Its a little bit awkward at first but once Sasha asks about Gerry's job and he mentions that he sells paintings he makes plus working half time in his own bookstore, things smooth out fairly easily.

Tim talks with him and gets Martin to join, who looked a little bit uncomfortable, but was ultimately by the end of it having fun. Jon feels Gerry interlace their fingers under the table and he smiles. 

At one point Tim, slightly drunk, declares they should have a karaoke contest. Elias for some god forsaken reason had thought it would be a nice addition to it, drunk or tipsy people would all go there. In fact he has seen several people from research perform a group rendition of bohemia rhapsody in slightly off key tune.

Jon was also as a matter of fact tipsy, not enough to just embarrass himself like that, he has actually a fairly good tolerance for alcohol. Sasha joined him and after egging Martin one the three made their way there. He picked his cellphone and went to record.

“They are nice”

“Mm” He keeps recording Tim trying to do a slightly bad macarena while singing total eclipse of the heart with Sasha and Martin.

“It looks like they are having fun…”

“Yeah, im making sure they will remember on monday”

“... Jon” He turns at him and sees the mischief. Oh no.

“Err yes?”

“I never sang karaoke” And. well shit. He lets out a breath,

“Awful and incorregible” His lips are up in a crooked smile that is more accentuated by the dark purple lipstick. 

“Fine, fine!” Gerry grins so joyfully and happily that it feels like he was staring at the moon all pale and beautiful, his boyfriend leans forwards and feeling his breath catch on his throat he closes his eyes and lets him kiss him. His left hand goes to his cheek to caress it and he has to lean back a little bit because he presses himself closer, Jon feels giddy, its nothing beyond their lips pressing together by his own personal preference towards the activity, but no matter how many times it always feels just as perfect as the first time it happened all those years ago.

Gerry pulls back a little bit and kisses him softly a few more time, each one making him feel more and more like he was floating, but before he could say anything the bubble he is in burst when someone wolf whistles at them and then-

That's when he remembers that he is at a work party and he got kissed by his boyfriend in front of everyone. Gerry must realize it too, because he flushes too but smiles nonetheless.

“OY, DONT MESH WITH MY MATE. I CAN KISH TOO-” Tim who was very brave, drunk and trying to help , grabs Sasha and kisses her, before turning to  Martin’s and giving him one too.

Everyone around who was in a relationship looked at him, shrugged and kissed their partners while the others cheered them on.

Jon snorts and then starts to laugh incredulously. Gerry joins him and he ends up putting his hands on his shoulders while he grabs his waist, they lean against each other laughing and actually spinning a little bit at the ridiculousness while  adding a few more kisses along the way, even if everyone was watching no one seemed to care. And Jon felt finally at ease.

Enough so that he sang a few songs with Gerry who looked way too happy and managed to snatch a few more kisses. That is until he decides to sing the song that he was Performing the day he met Gerry while at a mechanisms concert.

To say that everyone lost it by the end of Red Signal would not be an exaggeration.

Jon had a lot of fun and seeing his boyfriend laugh and joke with Tim and the others while holding his hand, he felt that things were settling better than expected.

By the time they are in bed that night he kisses him a last time before turning off the lights and telling him how much he loves him, he always looks surprised by it, but while blushing a little at it, even now, he tells him as much.

“Thanks for coming”

“Thanks for amusing me and dedicating me that rendition, I think Tim almost has a conniption” Jon laughs.

“He wanted my secret past, he got it”

“That he did gnight... jonny”

“Shut up.... Night Ger”

[pollylynn]

Title: Tactical WC: 900

“I had all these plans, you know?” — Alexis Castle, Time of Our Lives (7 x 06)

“You had a plan?” She sounds skeptical. Even with her face mushed into the pillow and her breath still coming in quick, exhausted little pants, Detective Mrs. Beckett Castle sounds skeptical. 

“I had many plans.” He sounds confident. Even though each word has a caesura to keep it company. Even though the weak sound of his voice is practically inaudible beneath the pounding of his heart, Mr. Not Detective Castle Beckett sounds confident. “My back-up plans had back-up plans.” He demonstrates how confident he is by heaving himself from his back to his side so that he can stare, nose-to-nose, right into her eyes. “I was working my way back to you, babe.” 

“And how many of these back-up plans involved variations of holding on to the artifact and wishing really hard?” She, not to be outdone, works her way up on to her forearms. She readjusts her skepticism array so that it hits him full force. “Holding the artifact and wishing really hard while rubbing your tummy and patting your head, maybe?” She screws up her face like she’s thinking about it. “No, that thing’s heavy. You’d have knocked yourself out again.” 

Again. As if he had been the one to knock himself out the first time. The accusation is wicked enough that he makes a grab for her, but she must be soaking up the candlelight to recharge her devilish powers. She somehow manages to duck away. She somehow manages to rise all the way to her knees, and in the process, distract him with a rather spectacular view. 

“Maybe it was holding the artifact, wishing really hard, and doing the Macarena?” She demonstrates, as well as anyone can demonstrate the Ancient Artifact Macarena from their knees while teetering on the edge of a king-sized bed. And if one is Detective Mrs. Beckett Castle, that’s pretty damned well. 

But devilish powers or not, spectacular view plus disturbingly sexy upper-body Macarena or not, the game is afoot and Mr. Not Detective Castle Beckett is honor-bound to respond, and respond he does. Finding his own devilish-power reserves, he pushes himself up and snatches her around her undulating waist and flips her to her back. He slings one thigh over hers and pins her upper body to the mattress with one heavy hand. 

“Mrs. Castle,” he purrs right against the spot that drives her crazy, the one just below her ear. “You know I’m an Electric Slide man.” 

She laughs uncontrollably even as her exhausted body responds to his touch, to the weight of him on top of her. He laughs uncontrollably even as he works his way with lips and tongue and teeth and inquisitive fingers over every inch of her. They both laugh uncontrollably as they wear one another out, for good this time. Although for good, of course, is what they said last time. 

But she’s nodding off, this time, is Detective Mrs. Beckett Castle. Her devilish powers may have dropped too low for even the candlelight to be effective. She is not grilling him on his parallel universe escape strategies—at least not in anything anyone would recognize as coherent sentences. She’s nodding off, and he’s not far behind. 

HIs mind is still just a little busy, and even though he feels right and satisfied in every part of himself, body and soul, the thought of sleep is still just the tiniest bit daunting. He knows this is right—getting married right here, right now is the rightest thing in the world even if it’s also a homonymic, tautological nightmare for a writer. He knows this is what his unconscious mind was trying to prod him toward, and the uninterrupted joy she has been exuding—that she is still exuding even as she nods off—tells him that just this once, his unconscious mind might have had a point. 

But just in case, he wants to work through his escape plans one more time before he follows her into blissful, exhausted sleep. He just wants to be absolutely sure, in case of unconsciousness-induced shenanigans, he has a clear path to follow back to her—back to this perfect world. 

He laughs to himself thinking about the artifact, the Macarena, and the Electric Slide. An unfortunate number of the plans he’d managed to generate in his two days through the lookingglass were artifact-based. He wasn’t rolling in options there, though. He thinks, with a painful hitch in his breath, about the seeming impossibility of getting Alterna-Ryan and Other-Sposito on his side and the number of plans that would have blown out of the water. But the painful hitch passes. 

He recalls the feeling of his daughter, at last, launching herself into his arms and the heartsore relief of a chasm crossed, a rift mended. He thinks of Captain Beckett, stern and painfully lost, walled off from the world and full of self-doubt. He thinks of her saying yes to what she thought was a date, of her coming after him, saving his life, and him—at last—getting to save hers. 

Make her fall in love with you, he tells himself with a sigh of satisfaction as he begins to nod off. Make her fall in love with her. It’s his plan for this and every other universe. It has always been his plan. 

A/N: Alternate Universe Escape Plans—A THING. This. Not a thing. 

images via homeofthenutty

[honestgrins]

Pretty Good Bad Idea || Klaroline

As the CEO of admitted hellcorp Original, Klaus was used to professional criticism. Caroline, however, was really, really good at it.

.

The ballroom was full of people, animated and cheery with the holiday spirit. Original's annual corporate celebration grew more lavish by the year, thanks to Rebekah taking full advantage of the expanded budget she'd sweet talked out of the board. Well, she'd sweet talked Mikael, who strong-armed the rest of the members into compliance as a boon to employee morale.

Never mind the numerous proposals Klaus tried to implement in order to actually improve salaries and benefits, he thought bitterly to himself. Heaven forbid the board approve any of his initiatives, he was just the CEO. He should have known Mikael wouldn't allow him to wield any real power within the company; if anything, he was more constrained than ever under his step-father's thumb. Still, he was good at his job and they were all billionaires for it. 

He ran the highest valued company in the world, yet he was miserable at his own party. Somewhere, a very small violin was surely playing for him. Groaning at his own self-pity, he made his way to the bar. Whatever specialty cocktail Rebekah had the waiters passing around wasn't nearly strong enough for him.

Ordering a scotch, he leaned back to survey the room. His sister was coaxing her date onto the dance floor; his own date was chatting with his mother. He rolled his eyes at the sight. Clearly, Genevieve was getting too comfortable with imagining herself his girlfriend. If she thought ingratiating herself with Esther would improve her chances, she deserved whatever his mother threw her way. Intimidating the significant others of her children was a point of pride for her, until those that made it all the way to the altar met her complete approval.

Honestly, it was easier to avoid serious attachments altogether than face that kind of scrutiny. He sighed, wondering when Genevieve lost sight of their casual status.

Before he could text his assistant to send a breakup bouquet sometime during the next week, however, his gaze caught on Mikael and a woman hanging on his every word. She was dressed more simply than most of the guests, but her jumpsuit was sleek and well-fitted. Blonde curls gently fell down her back, red lips tilted up in a curious grin.

She was beautiful, and Klaus couldn't take his eyes off her.

But nothing could make him willingly approach Mikael, let alone in public with witnesses to what would surely be a hostile conversation at best. They mostly traded barbs via intermediaries, and their familial relationship had never been better. Her, though, he would have to maneuver an introduction to her. 

His moment came when Esther interrupted them to claim a dance with her husband, the younger woman demurring with a nod. No handshake - they must have known each other already. Interesting.

Left alone, she slipped toward the bar, and Klaus couldn't help a sly smirk that he hadn't needed to intercept her at all. Instead, she was walking straight toward him. He threw back the last remnants of his glass, turning to order a refill just before she stepped up next to him. "Can I get a ginger ale, please?"

The bartender quickly went about his business, but Klaus seized the chance of a briefly captive audience. "I don't believe we've met. Klaus Mikaelson," he greeted, offering his hand.

She seemed to be biting back a smile, shaking his hand like she was laughing at him. Eager to be let in on the joke, he was content to bide his time. "Caroline," she responded. "Caroline Forbes. I'm surprised. I was under the impression you don't enjoy company parties."

His eyes narrowed, wondering what tales Mikael had been telling. He had no desire to talk about him, however. "They have their upsides," he hedged. "You're here, for example."

"Charming," she laughed. The bartender finally slid over her drink, but to Klaus's triumph, she didn't move to rejoin the crowd. She watched him shrewdly while she sipped. "Do you flirt with all your employees?"

"You're not one of my employees."

Her expression turned skeptical. "You have hundreds of thousands of employees all over the world," she shot back. "I doubt you have them all memorized."

Klaus smirked from behind his glass, thoroughly enjoying the taste of victory. "It would take some studying and better context, but I'm better at knowing my team than most expect. That said, I do recognize your name, and not from the Original directory."

With a dejected sigh, she gave a rueful smile. "Damn that byline exposure."

"For good reason," he noted. "Your writing is particularly memorable, love. I think I have one of your articles hanging on my wall. 'Nepotism is Alive and Well: Another Mikaelson Assumes Role as Original CEO' was one of yours, wasn't it? I had a few headlines to choose from when I moved into the new office, but I liked the bite of that one." Honestly, he kept that one to remind himself that he ascended to the position despite Mikael's wishes; that others assumed Mikael tacitly endorsed his leadership was just a fringe benefit. "I wasn't aware Rebekah invited press to the party."

"She didn't," Caroline admitted. "My roommate is on your security team, though, and he brought me as his plus-one."

"Josh?"

"Enzo. San Francisco is an expensive city, and you have a habit of not paying your staff an adequate wage to live here."

He shrugged, feigning a lack of concern when he'd been arguing for exactly that to improve retention. It was more a ploy to keep employees loyal to him rather than Mikael, but he was still making the effort. "Yes, I'm sure you're the breadwinner, what, with your esteemed work at the local paper."

Her cold smile burned right through him, and he'd never been so delighted. "At least my pittance of a salary comes with integrity and a firm grasp of ethics. You should stop by our union meeting sometime, see what it looks like when workers actually have a say in their standards."

"My employees are free to petition their managers for a negotiation," he answered easily, enjoying her little, indignant huff.

"And your managers are trained to pass the petition up the ranks until it's nothing more than a bullet point on your morning memo, which you pass off to one of your directors without taking the terms into consideration."

Smirking, Klaus tipped his glass to her. "I assure you, my morning memo isn't listed in bullet points."

"That's not an answer," she insisted, her voice stern.

It only made his smirk deepen. "No, you'd have to talk to my media director for that. She's right over there, doing a poor rendition of the Macarena, I believe. Care to dance, love?"

Caroline rolled her eyes with a scoff. "You know, I also talked to Genevieve tonight. She actually introduced herself as your date, which is so sad that I can't even laugh about it. You should ask her to dance. You're not even worth the calories I burn talking to you."

Oh, how he wanted to change her mind about that. "Yet here you are, crashing my party. What's the story this time?"

Her jaw tightened as she seemed to consider her best course of action. He was pleased when she favored bluntness, a trait he ascribed to her natural personality. "Rumor has it you're trying to force your father out of the business. Any truth to that?"

The room might have frozen with him, not that he was paying it any attention. "For a journalist with integrity, you're putting an awful lot of trust in Mikael Mikaelson as a source," he bit out.

"I am a journalist with integrity," she replied in kind. "That's why I'm verifying the firsthand account of a very high profile source within the company. I can see he's paranoid and holding onto his chairmanship with a white-knuckled grip, and he has a history of twisting media attention to his favor. But then," she paused, watching him carefully. "So do you."

How else was I supposed to wrest the chief executive from him? he wanted to ask, but it would do no good to confirm her suspicion - not while Mikael was clearly making moves against him. Best the board as a whole didn't find a reason to remove him as CEO, and proving how well he manipulated them would surely create a motive to do so. "As I said, feel free to seek comment from my media director. Preferably during business hours, of course."

Her smile returned in full force, leaving him wary and completely taken. "Of course, sorry to disturb you, Mr. Mikaelson."

"Miss Forbes," he nodded. She brazenly held his stare for a long moment before she turned and strode away, the path she cut through the party holding his attention for far longer. That wouldn't be the last time they went head to head. 

He'd make sure of it.

[slashhinginghasher]

Social Engagement for Misanthropes: Jesse Cromeans x Marena Polunochnaya

Jesse Cromeans cleaned up nice, and he damn well knew it. It was one of the first skills he’d cultivated after leaving his shithole hometown. One of the best ways to get money, he’d found, was to look like you already had it. The looks he got from women (and some men) were a welcome (some would say unnecessary) boost to his ego, and a sharp suit could always be counted on to draw the piggies out of their pens. The first few times he’d worn designer had felt strange, like a kid playing make-believe, though after a while it became as natural as breathing.

Now, as he stood in front of the mirror in his walk-in closet and fiddled with a tie he hadn’t touched in over three years, he felt a bit like that broke, backwater kid again.

He didn’t particularly want to attend this event, but it was, unfortunately, somewhat necessary. Spann had called it “proof of life” when she handed him the invitation, an actual, physical piece of paper that had been calligraphed and embossed within an inch of its life. It contained phrases like “humble gathering” and “the pleasure of your company” and had, apparently, been mailed with an honest-to-god wax seal.

Pretentious prick.

Jesse had been to his fair share of “humble gatherings”; you couldn’t conduct real business without them. They were mind-crushingly boring affairs, a slow-moving social dance of caviar, expensive booze, and pathetic attempts at wit. If nothing else, the people-watching was usually interesting. For all their “good breeding”, wealthy families could be far more dysfunctional than the most slovenly of small town homes. Upper class socialites didn’t blink at multi-million dollar checks, but flash a bit of ink and they’d fall over themselves to choke on his cock while their husbands talked golf in the next room. He’d even picked up a piggy or two at a few events, though you had to be extra careful with that (chain of association and all).

But he hadn’t shown his face in public since it had been ripped off and reattached, and some of his business contacts were getting suspicious. Spann’s iron-clad assurances were no longer enough to quell the rumors that Jesse Cromeans had died, or been deposed, and that someone else was running the company under his name. And that just would not do. He’d RSVP’d immediately, memories of Preston’s failed takeover flushing his system with old rage.

At least he’d be guaranteed some interesting company tonight, he thought, smirking at the garment bag draped over the stool next to him as he tapped out a quick text.

💀���: COME UPSTAIRS, I HAVE A SURPRISE FOR YOU

Macarena: IF IT’S YOUR DICK I DON’T WANT IT

Jesse chuckled and went back to his tie, certain that either Marena’s curiosity or the urge to insult him to his face would bring her up shortly. He knew bow ties were traditional for black tie events, but wearing a fucking bow around his neck was a concession he’d never been able to force himself to make. Besides, he had a reputation for being… unconventional, and reputation was everything. Satisfied with the crisp Windsor knot, he shrugged on his black waistcoat, secretly pleased with the way it showed off the breadth of his chest.

“You look like a goth pirate,” came Marena’s voice from the doorway. “What the fuck.” As usual, he hadn’t heard her approach. She was the only person he knew who could sneak up on him, which was fun. Made things exciting.

“Haven’t you ever heard of ‘black tie’ before?” Jesse signed with a grin.

“Call me surprised then. Are we done?” In lieu of a verbal response, Jesse tossed the garment bag at her. Marena unzipped it enough to peek inside, then immediately re-zipped it.

“No.”

“Yes.”

“Nyet.”

“Can’t go to a gala wearing that,” Jesse replied, looking pointedly at her worn t-shirt and jeans. Marena threw the garment bag back and crossed her arms.

“How sad. Guess I won’t go.”

“Sure you will. I can think of a few things to make it fun.”

“So can I. Like not going.”

“Not an option.” Jesse was struggling to smother his laughter. The stubborn furrow of Marena’s brow was too cute to keep a straight face around.

“Why are you going?”

“Business.”

“And that has what to do with me?”

“You’re my plus one, little wench.” Marena visibly cringed.

“If we’re being pirates, I want a fucking sword. And I don’t mean your dick,” she snapped, cutting him off before he could sign a single word. Jesse’s shoulders shook with a full-body laugh, composure completely shot. He cupped Marena’s face in both hands and kissed her forehead, which he knew she hated, before pressing the garment bag into her hands once more.

“Try to look a little less like a corpse,” he advised, stepping around her to grab his dinner jacket. A litany of Russian curses followed him.

***

Marena’s concession to not resembling a corpse was a violently red lipstick that made it look like she’d been eating human hearts for every meal, which Jesse immediately wanted to smear across her face. The dress was black, of course, with a high collar and long sleeves. It would have covered her neck to toe had she not hiked one side of the skirt nearly up to her hip while she slipped a set of throwing knives into the holster around her slender thigh.

She made a compelling argument for ditching, Jesse thought, feeling a familiar tightening in his slacks. He couldn’t resist smoothing a hand along her exposed leg, fingers coming to rest just shy of her underwear.

“Once this dress comes off, it’s not going back on,” she warned.

“Noted and appreciated. You still have to come to this party.”

“Fuck.”

“Later.” 

Marena said nothing, just glared at him through her curtain of hair - which she had brushed just enough that the messiness looked intentional - and let her skirts fall back down to her ankles. Jesse quickly ushered her out of the room before he could do something ingenious like cancelling all of his commitments for the next month and spending the entire time in bed.

The ride in the Bentley was tense and silent. A sick pit of nerves was brewing in Jesse’s stomach, all too similar to the way his boyhood self felt on the way to school, and that was ten kinds of bullshit. He was a grown man. He was motherfucking Chromeskull. He should not be feeling like a little kid about to face a playground bully. But he was finding it very difficult to push the feeling away. His face looked a damn sight better than it did several years ago, but it would never go back to the way it was before, and he was about to walk into a room full of people who treated a minute blemish like a national scandal. He wanted his mask. He wanted to say fuck it and just keep driving until he hit someplace tropical. He wanted to kill something, to drown his insecurities in blood and adrenaline.

He half-wished he’d flown Asa out to rig the whole venue beforehand in case things went south.

Beside him, Marena was deathly still, one white-knuckled fist gripping the fabric of her skirt. She looked a million miles away, lost in whatever personal hell her own brain was conjuring for her. Jesse reached over and squeezed her hand, running his thumb over her knuckles. It was his version of a concession; a silent expression of gratitude. The fact that Marena didn’t push his hand away was a testament to how anxious she was.

“I still want a sword,” she grumbled. Jesse smiled and chucked her under the chin, which she also hated, and felt the knot in his chest loosen a bit.

***

It wasn’t as bad as it could have been. People stared, of course, but they were too “polite” (which was money-speak for “two-faced”) to say anything to his face. There were far more eyes on Marena, which Jesse both loved and loathed. The women’s jealous eyes tracked her every move like sharks scenting new prey, which was admittedly hilarious to watch; but the barely-concealed desire on the men’s faces sent prickles of possessiveness down Jesse’s spine. He kept his hand glued to Marena’s lower back, low enough to skirt the line of what their current company would consider decent.

If there was one thing the rich understood, it was possession.

“Cromeans!” the host bellowed, arms spread like they were old friends. “Still alive and in the flesh, I see! Some of the lads were getting worried!” A few of the “lads” murmured noises of agreement while the host gave Jesse an overly enthusiastic handshake. Jesse could feel their gazes catching on the eyepatch and the new curl of his lip, and he almost wished one of them would say something, just to give him an excuse to lash out. But the host’s attention wandered over to Marena, whom he foolishly deemed to be a safer topic of discussion.

“And who might this lovely creature be?” he asked, ignoring the sinful glances his wife was casting Jesse’s way.

“No one of consequence,” Marena replied sweetly with a tight, close-lipped smile. The man tipped his head back and guffawed, trying not to wither under the combined weight of Jesse and Marena’s unimpressed stares. He forged ahead anyway.

“You always did have a penchant for… unusual company, Cromeans, I’ll give you that. Tell you what,” he rubbed his hands together eagerly, “I’ve got a bottle of Lagavulin with your name on it in the gentlemen’s lounge. I’m sure Genevieve here can handle your lovely companion for a bit while we talk business.” He beamed benevolently at his wife, who looked as though she’d rather eat glass.

“Of course, dear,” she said, pasting a megawatt smile on her botoxed face. “It’s such a treat to see a new face around here. I’m sure the other girls would love to meet you.” She swept away towards a group of tittering young women draped in diamonds and pearls, Marena following with the stiff spine of a person walking to their execution. Jesse felt much the same way as “the lads” filed into the oak-paneled gentlemen’s lounge.

“Business” was code for the same inane bullshit being discussed in the ballroom, with the addition of whiskey, cigars, and complaints about wives and mistresses. These conversations were usually a goldmine for Jesse. As a mute, he was rarely expected to be an active participant, and the number of weaknesses people revealed when they assumed they were surrounded by allies was astounding. Tonight, though, he was twitchy and bored, distracted by thoughts of Marena stabbing one of those debutante brats through the eye with the stem of a champagne glass. As if on cue, his phone vibrated.

Macarena: I’M GOING TO KILL EVERYONE IN THIS BUILDING

💀🖕: DON’T START WITHOUT ME

Macarena: IT��S CUTE THAT YOU THINK I WON’T TAKE YOU OUT FIRST

💀🖕: AWW YOU THINK I’M CUTE?

Macarena: I WILL RIP YOUR SPINE OUT AND BEAT YOU WITH IT

💀🖕: DON’T TEMPT ME WITH A GOOD TIME BABY ;)

Macarena: THIS FUCKER KEEPS TRYING TO GET ME TO DANCE

Macarena: CAN I KNEECAP HIM

Macarena: I’M GONNA KNEECAP HIM

The little bastard’s kneecaps were spared when a staff member scuttled into the lounge to inform the host of some dire emergency, effectively breaking up the little gathering. Jesse strolled back into the ballroom and spotted Marena at a table near the exit, cornered by a little bitch with slicked-back hair and a greasy smile. The waves of irritation coming off of the girl were palpable and her smile obviously fake, and Jesse couldn’t decide if the guy was too stupid to notice, or was ignoring it because he had that effect on every woman he spoke to.

“Come on, baby,” he goaded, and Jesse could have broken his neck just for that, “it’s just one dance. Didn’t your mother ever teach you manners?”

Marena’s smile froze on her face, and Jesse could practically hear the Kill Bill sirens going off in her head. The barb would’ve worked on any other woman in the room - horror of high society horrors, to be considered ill-mannered! - but for people of Marena and Jesse’s backgrounds, it hit much harder and much deeper.

“No,” she said, rising slowly and deliberately from her seat. “She didn’t.” She turned on her heel, leaving the idiot to gape at the failure of his clumsy manipulation tactics. Jesse grabbed her elbow and she passed and made a beeline for the exit. Not that he didn’t relish the prospect of a bloodbath, but initiating one right now would make future business dealings… complicated.

He memorized the fucker’s face on their way out, though.

***

Marena spent the next few days in a well-deserved sulk, resulting in the destruction of two punching bags and a serious case of blue balls for Jesse. He’d really been looking forward to ripping that dress off of her, damn it. He distracted himself with work and few more personal arrangements. At the end of the week, he tracked her down on the rooftop deck.

“Say your piece and fuck off,” she growled as he stood silently next to her chaise lounge, hands behind his back. She sounded exhausted and looked as though she hadn’t slept in at least two days. Affecting an air of mock seriousness, Jesse moved in front of her and bowed, offering her conciliatory gift on open palms.

“You did not.”

The shashka’s scabbard was a deep midnight blue, with subtle patterns of tree branches embossed in the fine leather. The hilt was smooth, black horn. The blade gleamed in the afternoon light as Marena unsheathed it with a fluid schnick.

“You are the absolute worst fucking person in the world,” she said, the corners of her mouth twitching dangerously close to a smile. A glint of wicked delight sparkled in her eyes as she gave the sabre a few experimental twirls and slashes.

“Only for you, baby,” Jesse replied with a cheeky grin. “Want to test it out?”

***

All it took was a pair of handcuffs and a dark warehouse to really bring out the bitch in some people. The asshole from the party (Jesse really needed to come up with a term for male piggies if this was going to be a recurring thing) had been tied up for barely a day and he was already a sniveling mess. Jesse, on the other hand, was in a great mood. He had his mask, his camcorder, and his favorite knife, and judging by the way Marena was practically purring as she traced her fingers around the shashka’s hilt, he was for sure getting laid tonight. 

The rich bitch didn’t recognize Jesse with his face covered, but his eyes went wide and he started screaming obscenities into his gag when Marena stepped under the light. She yanked the fabric out of his mouth.

“You fucking cunt! You’ll fucking regret this! Do you know who I am? Do you-” All the blood drained from his face when Marena drew the sword and held it to his throat in a lightning-fast move. He swallowed hard, the tip digging in just below his Adam’s apple and drawing a bead of blood. She really was a natural with that thing, Jesse thought as he circled the tableau with his camera. It was hot as fuck.

“Hi,” Marena said.

The man sweated in silence.

“I wanted to go back to our conversation a few nights ago,” she continued. “About my mother.” She let the sword drop to her side and the man relaxed fractionally.

“See, she did not teach me manners, but she did teach me a lot of other things.” She pushed the gag back into place and patted him a couple times on his quivering, tear-soaked cheek. Then she reached into her pocket and pulled out a black butterfly knife.

“Lesson one: bleeding.”

[austennerdita2533]

Slide on back, into this hometown photograph

Summary: Rory and Jess are just two old friends who find themselves perched, shoulder-to-shoe, on the gazebo steps with autumn dusk at their backs and a bottle of Miss Patty’s wedding whiskey between them, plus one glass each.

The night may be young but the sparks between them are not. After all, there's nothing like a celebration of love to stir old feelings...

(Canon divergent + Wedding Reception Fix-It) (Best Man Jess + Maid of Honor Rory)

(AO3) (FF.net)

It starts off innocent enough, he thinks.

There’s a short ceremony, frilly anecdotes, laughter. No bad moods or empty chairs. Fresh, crisp weather and cinnamon sticks. An exuberant motormouth bride who’s escorted by her beaming grump of a groom. Quirky table settings. Leafy napkins. Champagne. Live music once the band finishes tuning, the set list comprised of a multitude of Lane-approved songs from which the guests can choose and then be entertained for hours upon hours. Plus so much engorging food it’d make Willy Wonka himself bust twenty belt loops.

There’s no shortage of eccentricity whirling about at all times either. It’s more like a clownless circus than a wedding soiree what with a pig ring bearer and an accessorize-your-own snow cone booth that’s parked near the diner, not to mention the roster TJ’s circulating through the crowd so he can captain a new flag frisbee league on a vacant Doose-owned lot that was, supposedly, the site of a lettuce stampede a few months ago, but none of that’s surprising at an event like this one. Not here. Not for a town like Stars Hollow, no way.

Somehow that’s fine. Preferable to him, incredibly enough. Whatever.

It seems Jess has grown more tolerant of this place over time, who knows when exactly, but the blaring lack of Elvis Costello lyrics in his brain these days makes it true. A begrudging fact to be more accurate. And although confessing such an abhorrent thought would’ve scandalized his teenage punk of a self into incredulity once, now, despite the close-knit insanity that abounds everywhere he looks or moves, and with the sum of it being nothing short of entertaining and refreshingly jarring to behold, he finds he doesn’t hate it here any longer.

Nope. Consider his attitude changed. His resentment markedly dissipated. Hell, one could almost accuse him of looking forward to his visits back every now and again.

Isn’t that wild? Princess Bride inconceivable at best. The thought is so downright riotous he wonders if perhaps one of Babette’s lawn gnomes may’ve hypnotized him back in 2002.

(If pressed on the veracity of that pleased-to-visit accusation, though, he swears he’ll deny it. One hundred percent. Scoffing through his teeth for extra measure like the smart-assed delinquent Taylor probably still assumes he is at his core.)

It probably helps that no pesky or unfortunate stirrings from the past have dragged him asunder in Stars Hollow for a while, either. And for that, he’s grateful. It allows him to breathe easier at present. Relax. Relieved, frankly, that he and Rory can be at this reception together without awkwardness, without misgivings of any sort. Both of them enjoying the tulle-tied pomp and swirl of festivity around them instead.

It’s nice, isn’t it, Jess admits to himself as he peers at her sideways. Whatever this is. Her mouth’s poised around a pumpkin-headed utensil with her nose scrunched ironically at the moment, blue eyes shining, all while another five references rest on the tip of her tongue that are bound to amuse him once they fly out, and fly out they will. Shortly.

Yeah, he decides with a crack of his knuckles and a lazy smile. The comfort and familiarity they’ve always shared is still there, stirring subtly. It buzzes around them like a cozy undercurrent with no off switch.

Despite the many years he and Rory have spent apart, and no matter the surplus of sparse emails, text messages, or outdated addresses they have or have not exchanged in all that time, they always seem to fall back into it as soon as they reunite, don’t they? Ease. Amity. That ability to simply be who they are.

Like a worn yet jostled feather drifting on air, or an inked over whisper emboldening in the back of his mind, Jess feels the inevitability of that settle between them again.

Their gazes connect, spark, but there’s no pressure. There’s nothing to crinkle meaning into what they are or are not this evening. No expectations whatsoever. Just two old friends who find themselves perched, shoulder-to-shoe, on the gazebo steps with autumn dusk at their backs and a bottle of Miss Patty’s wedding whiskey between them, plus one glass each.

The alcohol is a tasty addition to the cake they’re sampling.

As it turns out, there are twelve different kinds thanks to the chef and best friend of the bride who seems to have arbitrarily decided that sugary gluttony doesn’t apply to those with the last name Gilmore. Or to anyone else who dares to try and eat alongside them tonight in button-popping solidarity. Not that Jess is complaining or anything, because he isn’t. And that’s shocking on its own given his disgruntled history with town events.

With ice cream by the dessert wayside or not, though, he’s satisfied. Stuffed full but content. Each slice of cake he’s tasted - number seven and counting - has been delicious. Just delicious.

Still, with no iron stomach of his own, and a frosting limit they’ve long since surpassed, he finds he appreciates the boozy reprieve more than she knows.

Liquid celebration, Rory calls it as she pours. And he agrees. It’s the perfect phrase, smiling broader then because he knows the warmth in his chest has nothing at all to do with a stupid drink or a home-brewed fifth of whiskey, though he can’t deny the heavenly sting a perfectly aged malt elicits as it slicks down his throat in one smooth swallow. Nor does it come from the next generous swig or two he takes after they toast beneath the twinkle lights Kirk has accidentally ripped loose because he caught the bridal bouquet with his teeth earlier - yes, his teeth - thankfully landing in decorative hay instead of atop Sookie’s elaborative dinner buffet, but it has everything to do with those canoodling newlyweds in the center of the town square over there and the emotion that had shone from his uncle’s face during his Best Man’s speech. A moment that had Lorelai blotting at her mascara in touched surprise herself. No matter how much she’d love to deny it.

He knows that whatever’s sloshing through his insides may have something to do with her, too. Rory. She’s propped against him, barefoot, her toes pinched and sore after too many hours in uncomfortable shoes, babbling and laughing like old times. Like there’s nowhere else she wants to be.

Though Jess is by no means a sentimental man himself, not in an overt way in any case, it’s safe to say a few more kernels of feeling have popped out of him today given the occasion and - yeah, okay - maybe because of the surrounding company as well.

Bizarrely, with her one arm looped around his bicep, and pop culture references rolling off her tongue like a dictionary game, he feels as if he’s come home in a way. Not to a place per se, but to a select few who’ve scooted aside and made room for him in their lives. Including him as if his presence matters. Treating him as though he belongs unconditionally; no matter what, no matter when he may or may not pop around in the future.

It’s an oddly pleasant feeling, to be regarded. Disarming for a man who’s spent most of his life feeling abandoned, on his own much of the time.

So the warmth gushing through him at present is not only foreign, unsettled in potency, but also painstaking and persistent. At least in the sense that it continues to vibrate gently inside him as he and Rory sip their drinks in companionable babble and quiet.

He feels the buttery splash: an amber liquid molting against his ribcage that requires no draining or denying the more the wedding revelry sinks into the background and it’s just them. Just this. Just reminiscence and emotion regarded like a snapshot photograph. It’s something which continues to evade conscious defining as the minutes continue to tick away faster and faster because it turns out the woman next to him is a not-so-innocuous additive that somehow manages to sharpen then inebriate his senses without trying. She simply talks, talks some more, and all feels right with the world.

Huh. Isn’t that something?

Odd, probably, that Jess is not at all freaked out by it when he knows he should be. He faults the booze for that, definitely the booze. It muddles everything.

“So how many broads have you wowed with your dance moves so far, Gene Kelly?” Rory asks as she refills his glass and hands it over.

“None.”

“You’re kidding.” Incredulous, “You haven’t danced with anyone?”

“Nope.”

“Come on!”

“Sorry to disappoint you,” he shrugs.

“How? I mean…you must’ve been forced to endure the Macarena or the Cuban Shuffle or something! Or, I don’t know, maybe Miss Patty and Babette roped you into a three-to-tango situation so they could fight over who got to dip you before one of them accidentally grabbed your butt? Those two tend to become rather handsy after they’ve hit the hooch. Always going after some young stud and mistaking him for Miss Patty’s Prospective Husband Number Thirteen, so it’s okay. I’ll listen.”

“It’s just us,” she elbows him, grins playfully, “you can tell me. You can own up to your bad luck. It happens to the most unassuming of former hoodlums in the Hollow. I promise I won’t make fun of you for it…” She slides her tongue across her teeth to repress a laugh, “Much.”

When Jess waves this off as inaccurate, too, Rory looks all the more aghast while a tinge of scrutiny causes her forehead to scrunch. Intent to assess whether or not he’s telling the truth.

“Fine,” she rests her chin on his shoulder and sighs. Takes a sip of her drink. It appears something in his smirk has convinced her to change tactics. “But I still don’t believe you.”

“Ouch. I feel like I should be offended by that,” he laughs.

“Wait, crap. Crap. That’s so not what I meant! Let me—” A pause. “It’s only that Grandma’s been pouncing on people since the music started,” she says, “shoving any poor sucker she could find under the twinkle lights so the photographer she hired - against Mom’s encyclopedia-length DON’T YOU DARE pre-wedding conditions, might I add - can snap a plethora of suitable candid photos for her expensive Lorelai Gets Married album. I, myself, was paired with Michel no less than four times! Four!”

“So the point I’m trying to make is this: nobody is exempt from at least a twirl or two before the night ends.” Poking him, “Not even you.”

“Funny how that falls somewhere between an offer and a threat, Gilmore,” he says with an unexpected twinge once he realizes what she’s suggesting.

“Oooh. Finally caught on, did you?”

Amused, he leans forward on his elbows. Cocks his head, “I suppose this means you’re asking if I’ll pencil you in, miss?”

“Indubitably, sir. Well—both you and your two left feet that is,” Rory amends with a wink.

“Lame. What a poor choice of cliché. “I mean, listen, I lived in New York City and could prove to be Fred Astaire swingin’ good for all you know.”

“Are you?”

“Hell no.”

Laughing, “Good. You nearly had me worried there. I’m no Ginger Rogers either so we’ll be well-matched. Now up, up, up!” she says with a finger snap. “Time to show me how well you dip, mister.” A hand curled around his tie, which she’s flapping against his shirt, Rory stands and yanks it over her shoulder with a conspiratorial smile.

Without warning, she tugs Jess behind her into a swell of bodies and music before enough sense returns for him to concoct an excuse and wriggle out of it; which, were he to attempt it, would classify as a Luke-like default in every way.

Seemingly determined to claim at least one dance, though, Rory brokers no room for argument. She wastes no time in wrapping his arms around her waist. Next she moves her feet, her knees, her hips to the acoustic beat of the song in the hopes he’ll mimic the movement.

It doesn’t take long to match her rhythm, with him transitioning them smoothly from a sway into a rock.

They teeter closer and chatter to fill the empty space. To curb the tension. Her head brushes against his cheek a little too intimately during the chorus, her touch tantalizing on his nape, but neither one of them draw back. Neither one of them pull away.

Numerous sets lapse before they retreat back to the gazebo perch, their cake and whiskey stash replenished, the hour growing late.

The guests have largely cleared out by now. Only a few stragglers remain who are too drunk, too comfortable, or too tired to care about two old friends who have slipped off together again. Alone.

Apparently all it takes is a wedding party to nip Stars Hollow’s “nosy neighbor” defect in the bud temporarily. Amazing, isn’t it?

Content to watch Rory slide her arms through the sleeves of his jacket, which he’s just draped over her shoulders before the November chill can make her shiver, Jess allows himself to rake over her features for a second, unhurried. To catch a whiff of her floral perfume. Bottling up another memory. Then he becomes much braver than he usually dares by reaching forward to thumb off a fleck of leftover icing on her cheek, chuckling because she flushes, because she pats around for a napkin in vain, holding her eyes longer than he knows he should afterward because her pout is adorable and cuter than he remembered and - oh, screw it - he might be slightly tipsy. He might be drunk off the curves of her face.

Shit. What if things between them aren’t as simple and benign as he wants them to be?

She looks pretty, man. Too damn pretty.

Jess realizes he may be lost for good now, dazed by sweet proximity. He’s a satellite slipping back into the gravity of the once-upon-a-them he thought had broken off long ago, gone astray, combusted so as to no longer be a part of this reality. So what is happening?  

Soon Rory’s blinking back at him.

Embarrassment fading, a small smile forms at the corner of her mouth, the moonlight a trickle of pearls on her skin. One, two, three seconds more and everything else recedes further when she catches him lightly by the wrist before he can think to pull away.

The move surprises him. That ABORT, ABORT frequency in his mind has dulled down to a slow hush, a simple nothing.

They’re alone here, cocooned in a little niche they’ve procured with happy understanding of the other’s needs. This shared solitude is an alcove. Their temporary respite from the remaining crowd and today’s craze.

Swallowing, his throat suddenly dry, Jess stills. Rory idles, her face paned in gentle curiosity. Their gazes tangle with something precarious, a question, something long since buried.

Can this be happening again? Really? Can an ember this old, this burnt up, return to the wick and still catch flame?

Once she shifts closer on the gazebo steps, however, tilting into his touch, her skirt spilt across his legs, he doesn’t bother trying to retie the knots around his heart. What’s the use? There’s a stupid sonnet of nothing and everything building inside of him that he hopes to find the strength to voice before it dissolves in his mind and it’s too late. But he can’t find a pen. He can’t write it down. There’s no room left in his head for words at this point, anyway.

Helpless, he’s stuck on the other end of her spaghetti string like that stupid Disney mutt, the Tramp, and he hates himself for it. Hates it. Yet still owns it all the same.

It’s too exhausting trying to figure out what the hell it all means, so he doesn’t try. Doesn’t analyze.

He’s so sick of rebuffing those edge of seventeen flutters that lurk in his recesses like a hot spot. A reservoir of feeling. He’s so done with all these highlighted passages in his periphery that refuse to fade with time.

He can barely breathe let alone think about the erratic drumbeat spiking in his ears after her palm glides over his pulse point, down the cuff, up his sleeve…

He can hardly refuse when she’s crumbling his self-control, towing him in like he’s already caught…

So he lets go.

Surrenders.

Giving into the ache before it swallows him up whole.

The air charged, unable to glance away, Jess lets his hand fall. Rory takes it into her possession immediately. His other one hovers in the air a moment, tentative, then comes to rest on her shoulder.

It seems the lapels of his tux jacket have flattened a few tendrils of her glossy hair beneath the collar, so he slips a hand underneath it to free them with a deft brush of fingertips against her neck without a word. Afraid to break the spell. Afraid to move even as they both lean in and bump a whiskey glass with a little plink from a clumsy ankle, and smash it to pieces.

Distracted, neither one of them flinch. They disregard the shattered glass entirely.

Eyes locked, resistance faltering, Rory tugs him once, gentle and prodding. Though encouragement is plain in her face, it’s courage he lacks. It’s courage he needs most.

With only a breath left to cross, to finish it off, and with their foreheads already touching, Jess knows one inch more will doom him for certain. He knows one inch less will kill him right where he sits, no joke. And jeez, how big of a chump he feels to admit it without blaming something else first.

Does she notice, he wonders? Does she perceive an iota of this conflict? Can she sense the war he’s losing or has he gotten too fucking good at inscrutable emotion?

“Jess?” she asks softly, the sound more like a pant than a whisper.

“Yeah?”

“Should…are we about to do something smart or stupid?”

“I…” reeling, “I don’t know. Could go either way.”

“If you had to pick?”

“Do you, uh,” he pushes bangs from her face, “do you really need an answer?”

“Only for clarity’s sake,” she says, “but yeah.” Biting her lip, “If you can.”

“Right.”

“So?”

“Both then,” he says with a protracted sigh. He won’t lie to her; he never could. “Definitely both.”

“Right. Okay.” She mulls it over. Her eyelashes flit against the bridge of his nose. “Both.” Tenderly, Rory cups his jaw, runs her fingers through stubble that never used to grow there until he’d reached his late twenties. “I think,” her mouth ghosts against his cheek, beckoning, “I think I can live with a little contradiction in my life,” she smiles. “Can’t you?”

There’s no turning back after that.

His lips throb, they’re already bruised with want. Burning. They’re already smarting from a mark of affection Jess remembers too well from his past dreams but knows hasn’t been anything concrete in years, not given, not taken, not tasted since they were a couple of kids and bad timing was the ultimate champion reigning between them.

But there’s not a single obstacle in their way now, is there? No problems. No boyfriends or girlfriends lurking. No friends, no family members, no town folk who are raining down judgment or wondering if they’ll regret this in the morning.

So where Rory leads next he’s bound to follow. He feels it in the bending, in the liquid pooling of his bones. Who is he to resist? Who is he to try and temper the fire spreading through him like a nuclear bomb as she wraps her arms around his neck? Pulling him in, holding him against her like she never plans to let go again.

Jess shuts his eyes. Decides to close the remaining distance. He’ll take this chance, damn those consequences, worry about cauterizing the hurt he’ll more than suffer from later.

Yeah, later…

After all, how can he pretend any of this is innocent? What could be less indifferent than making out with his ex-girlfriend behind a gazebo at his uncle’s wedding reception?

Reckless or not, he’ll live with it.

[kamekamelea]

had no idea that you're in deep

A long time ago @amydancepants-peralta requested a prompt from the cliche prompts list and I know it’s been too long but it’s finally here, and I hope you enjoy this what was supposed to be a little fic I’ve created based on your prompt Renee 💖 I hope this makes your August even better, even if only a little 💕

Also I’d like to point out this fic wouldn’t have happened without @b99peraltiago‘s endless support and passion for this story, so thank you Adele for being there feeding me with amazing ideas and tropes 💕

read on ao3 (bc I’m incapable of writing short fics…)

16. I need a date for this wedding

Feeling his big and warm palm on her waist, his breath on her cheek and his fingers intertwined with hers, Amy thinks there is no place more magical and tempting to be than Jake’s arms. She sees a soft smile from the corner of her eye, so she reciprocates it with a glowing beam, with nothing holding her back. The distance is small enough for her to see freckles on his nose, normally hidden from her sight, and his pupils changing their size due to shimmering lights. What really catches her attention though are his lips. Full and red in a mouthwatering way. And formed in that big smile she’s extremely attracted to. He’s close, probably closer than he’s ever been before and it’s hard for her to think straight.

It’s a hiss that escapes those glorious lips of his that shakes her out of the reverie.

“Yeah, I’m still as bad at it as I used to be.” Knowing she has once again stumped on his toes, Amy apologizes in a joking manner, utterly embarrassed by her poor dancing skills.

“ ‘I’m still as bad at it as I used to be’ - title of your sex tape!” Jake chuckles in her ear and despite rolling her eyes at his antics she also joins him in the laughter. It’s such a beautiful melody, the romantic song in the background doesn’t stand a chance against the sound of it.

The dance floor is crowded and Amy uses it as an excuse to snuggle into Jake’s chest, leaning onto him for support, since the alcohol running through her veins makes it hard for her keep her balance. Either that or the cloud of Jake’s cologne overflowing her nostrils, his gentle touch and the way his voice resonates in the air around her (as he whispers quiet jokes regarding all her aunts, uncles and cousins ever since the party started), that makes her go weak in her knees.

“I thought you went to a dancing class with Teddy.” It’s more a question than a statement and the muscles in his back seem to tense, though that could be just Amy imagining things.

“I’ve seen him once doing the macarena dance and came to a conclusion that us both engaging in a dance would be a great offense to this discipline, so I gave up on this idea.”

He nods with an amused smile on his face and Amy drowns once again in his soft gaze tonight.

It’s amazing really, how light and relaxed she feels tonight, having him by his side. Amy’s supposed to be freaking out, surrounded by all of her crazy - sure, lovable, but still crazy - family. Instead, she’s calm and happy, smiling so hard her cheeks start to cramp. And all of that is this man’s doing. Jake’s completely unaffected by her family’s dorkiness and weird habits, joking with her brothers and charming her mother. Well, trying to - Camilla is a hard nut to crack and not easy to charm. Unlike her daughter who’s fallen hard under his spell and without noticing. She was anxious to ask him to go to her cousin’s wedding as her plus-one, afraid of rejection but also of the scenario in which he’d say yes to that crazy offer (afraid she wouldn’t be able to keep her cool around him). But now, as she sways smoothly in his arms, Jake’s laughter ringing in her ears, she couldn’t have been more happy about the outcome.

(Even though Amy’s aware that the ache of him not being hers will become even more unbearable when this night comes to an end, after she got a glimpse of what they could have been but will never be.)

“Thanks for coming here with me, Jake. I know it’s not the way you usually spend a Saturday evening.” She smiles apologetically at him, truly thankful for his presence.

The song changes, and the melody turns into a more energetic one, making Jake immediately react by adjusting the flow of their – quite clumsy – dance to the music. He lets go of her waist and steps back, extending the distance between them to grab the hand she had on his shoulder a second ago. And just as the disappointment is beginning to show on Amy’s face at the newly found - and rather unwelcome -  gap between them, Jake starts to twirl her and spin, doing all those moves Amy’s always considered to be elaborate. Yet it feels like there’s nothing simpler in life than doing all those twists with his help and guidance, moving away and back - straight to his arms.

“You mean going to a party with free food,-” he releases her from his hold, twirling her forward but never letting go of her right hand. “adorably hilarious childhood stories your brothers can’t wait to share and endless possibilities of teasing you about your dancing skills?” His palm finds hers, the one she never knows what to do with, whenever her dance partner lets go of it. “And all this with a gorgeous girl by my side?” Jake pulls her gently on her arms, but with a force strong enough for her chest to collide with his. His eyes twinkle as he shoots her a toothy grin. “And this girl is also my best friend?” He lifts their linked hands above their heads, and twist them, causing Amy to turn with her back to him. “Yeah, I’d say this night doesn’t stand a chance against all the other Saturday nights I’ve spent on my couch, drinking beer and watching TV.” Suddenly their crossed arms are down back again, this time on her stomach as he brings her in. “You owe me big time, Santiago.” His chin rests on her shoulder, her cheek tingles at the slight touch of his own and when she tilts her head in his direction her lips almost find their way to his smile. The beating of her heart is fast but it’s definitely not from the physical effort and if he’d said those painful two words - best friend - in any other setting it would have hurt, but not now. Not when she feels like the most delicate treasure in his embrace.

It only lasts for a few seconds before he lets go of her again, though more reluctantly than before and engages her in another round of spins. Not ready for the change of pace, as the rhythm of the song quickens again, and distracted by the laughter that escaped her once he started to twirl her all around him, she stumbles on her own feet, losing balance and already preparing for impact with the cold ground. But Jake’s an alert partner - both in dancing and police work - and he catches her, encircling his arms around her hips and torso. He lifts Amy effortlessly, chuckling at her clumsiness and puts her steady on her feet. He loosens his hold on her shoulders and Amy already misses the warmth on her bare skin.

“At least this time you didn’t make me dance with one of your oak-old aunts…” His lips twist in a playful smile and Amy erupts into giggles, shaking her head at his goofiness. Her cheeks are warm after their enjoyable dance and she’s sure they’re just as red as they burn. So she grabs Jake by his forearm, pulling him in the direction of the refreshments’ area, teasing him mercilessly in the meanwhile about the great crush Gina’s aunt had on his butt.

But, if Amy was honest with herself, she would acknowledge that the only person with a real crush on Jake Peralta’s butt is her. And she’s crushing hard.

READ REST ON AO3

[lovemesomesurveys]

Have you ever known anyone who was homeless? Yes.

Do you watch movies with the subtitles on?   Usually. I always do if I’m watching something on Netflix cause I just keep that setting on. I’m not hard of hearing, but I feel like I just...absorb it more? *shrug* I don’t know. Sometimes I’ll misunderstand what is said or miss it entirely, but subtitles keep that from happening. Plus, when watching certain things for whatever reason certain parts are quieter even with the volume turned up. 

Did you have a treehouse when you were younger? Nope.

Would you rather watch them or play them?   Uh, I’m going to assume you’re talking about sports, in which case neither.

If you were a journalist, what types of stories would you want to cover? Entertainment news. I actually took an entertainment journalism course in college. It was my last semester and I just needed a few more units (the courses for my major were all done) and that was one of courses I took. 

Do you think American Idol is rigged? I’ve heard that, but *shrug*

Have you ever participated in any type of medical study? No.

Have you ever taken a road trip with no destination in mind? I wouldn’t say a “road trip,” but I’ve gone on aimless drives before. <<<<

Do you give good directions? Nooo. I’m the worst, don’t ask me.

What do you think of when I say the word ‘lumberjack’? Plaid and axes lol.

Have you ever lied about your weight? Why? No. I’ve had no reason to.

Do you know how to do the Macarena? Yeah.

Have you ever tripped over one of your pets?   No.

Have you ever been stuffed into your locker? No, but that’s something I thought happened all the time cause of teen movies I saw growing up. 

Can you make another person blush easily? Uhh. I don’t think so? I don’t try to. I’m not a flirtatious person.

What would you change about the way your parents raised you? Nothing. I have the best parents, I can’t blame them for the mess I turned out to be. That’s 100% all on me. 

Do you have to look perfect before you go out to the store? Ha, no. I stopped caring years ago. I used to care about what I wore and attempted to look decent with makeup and do my hair, but I don’t have the motivation or energy for that anymore.

What is your state’s motto? So, I had to look it up and apparently California’s is, “Eureka.” Ah, upon further research it makes sense. We’re the golden state cause of the gold rush and “eureka”, which means, “I’ve found it”, was a common phrase used when someone found gold.

Are there any holidays that you feel are completely pointless? Yeah.

Have you ever gone to work with one or both of your parents? Yeah. My mom worked at Borders years ago and I used go with her sometimes. My dad worked in the mall growing up and I went with him a lot, especially as a teenager.

What is the funnest sport that you got to play in P.E. class? I didn’t enjoy any of them.

Have you mastered the plastic guitar yet (Rock Band, Guitar Hero)? I rock out hard on easy mode. haha. I haven’t played in yearsss, but I’ve actually been really wanting to.

What is one cause you know you’ll ALWAYS support? Ones like ASPCA.

What animals creep you out? ALL bugs/insects and reptiles. Also, a lot of sea life. I have an irrational fear of killer whales.

Have you ever done a walk/run for a charity or similar cause? No.

Do you like the smell of gasoline?   I actually do.

When was the last time you had a piggyback ride? Not since I was a kid.

Have you ever owned or used a telescope? Only the kind for science classes.

Do you have to see or witness certain phenomenons to believe them? Certain things.

Do you know/remember what Shrinky-Dinks are? Whoa, yeah. There’s a memory I forgot I had. I loved doing those as a kid.

Do you talk to store clerks like you know them? No. I’m not the chatty customer. I don’t say anything unless they do, which is usually just them asking me if I’ve found what I needed and/or how I’m doing. 

In your town, are a lot of stores closed on Sundays? No, but a lot close early.

Do you dislike song remixes? Not always. There’s a lot I do like.

When was the last time you hula-hooped? Never.

Have you ever played Magic: The Gathering? No.

What are your thoughts on role playing games? Never had an interest in them. Do you get an adrenaline rush just from watching videos of roller coasters? I probably would if I actually watched videos like that. I’m sure I’d feel anxious just watching.

Do you like watching shows that deal with forensics? Yeah.

Do you want to have a bachelor/bachelorette party before you get married? I don’t even plan on getting married. I just don’t see it ever happening.

Ever been texted by mistake and played along & acted like you knew them? No. I wouldn’t even respond.

Would you ever get a name tattooed on you?   I would maybe do something that reminds me of a loved one (I’m referring to family, like my mom) rather than their name. I don’t see myself getting a tattoo at all, though.

If you could have unnatural colored eyes, what color(s) would you choose? Hmm. Rose gold would be cool.

Do you always remember your dreams?   No, I rarely do. I typically forget them soon after I wake up.

Who is your favorite late night talk show host? I don’t watch any anymore, but I used to watch Conan and Jay Leno back in the day. I was there for the big Tonight Show drama of 2010.

Do your parents dress like they’re years younger? Does it gross you out? No. 

Do you know who Seth MacFarlane is?   Yeah.

Do you try on clothes in dressing rooms and take pictures? No, I never try on clothes at the store.

What is a band you can’t stop listening to right now? There isn’t one in particular, currently.

[saint-patrice]

Can you do the picture thing with pasta?

i can indeed my friend! 😎 i love our czech noodle boy with all my heart, so let’s get this show on the road:

see here for other posts like this one! i am also taking requests for ‘em :)

i’m putting this photo first because i found it to be personally and deeply transformative. i have always adored pastrnak, but was on the fence for a while as to whether i also found him physically attractive. this picture give me an aggressive shove off of said fence, and i then proceeded to land in a pile of my own feelings for this man. not that he even needs it in the first place, but that shirt is doing miraculous things

🎶 walk, walk fashion baby, work it move that bitch crazy🎶 despite his teammates’ best efforts to take the piss out of him for it, pasta really is our resident fashion icon, and i love that. this suit is stunning, and i’m usually iffy about suits w sneakers, but it actually looks rather lovely on this occasion. i now feel inspired to go find a pair of renaissance-looking floral trousers of my very own

joyous!! a beautiful ray of sunshine!!!! we are so lucky to have him, i really really love the energy and ~vibe~ he seems to bring to the team. my sample size of one (me) perhaps makes my findings unreliable, but i do believe that it is scientfically impossible to not smile when looking at pasta smiling

i go completely apeshit every time i see pastrnak’s tattoo - it’s absolutely gorgeous. if i remember correctly (please holler at me if i’m wrong), a lot of it is in memory of his father too, which is really nice. pasta is an amazing player in his own right, but when you hear about his childhood and what he had to work through, i think it makes you appreciate what he’s managed to achieve - especially at such a young age - all that much more. we’re proud of you pasta!!

noodle man says gay rights. fuck yeah!

is there a shortage of snacks in the nhl?? why does everyone feel the need to munch on their equipment??? i’m so confused. whatever the case, this is hella cute, and makes me smile like an utter fool 

oh no, there he goes :(

sometimes i’m having a bad day and then i remember this picture exists and you know what? smiles is better. pasta would make a good life coach. it will not solve your problems, but sometimes just putting on a smile can make them seem a bit easier. anon i’m so sorry, you probably just wanted a lighthearted photo post but here we are, getting very philosophical. blame pasta. tl;dr, smiles is better and david pastrnak is amazing

what locker room shenanigans are these boys getting up to? and do i even want to know? this post was a blessing from the bruins instagram tbh. also uhhh boy’s got some fuckin legs jesus h christ 👀 watch where you’re putting those things

oh my god!!!! who let him look this good holy shit. i think navy might be pasta’s colour, and i can totally get on board with the navy/coral combo too. absolute style king, through and through

this is, i think, my absolute favourite pasta lewk. it’s fairly simple, but i love the colour scheme (see my above point), and the matching waistcoat + jacket really make it. i am also smitten with those shoes for some reason. plus i think the headband is literally just so good???? like hell yes, i am very much here for all of pasta’s hair accessorising 

something in me feels like pasta frequently gets in mild trouble with the bruins pr team because he is just slightly chaotic. case and point: mr pastrnak just distributing gatorade thingys to the audience at the all star skills event lmaoooo i love him

the grey shirt is back - be still my beating heart. oh lord. he looks so fucking good. i cannot stop looking at this

okay so pasta literally scores the dirtiest, sexiest goals i’ve ever seen. do yourself a favour and look up some compilations on youtube. thank me later, because every single one of them is fucking delightful, with the occasional one honestly getting me a bit hot and bothered 

i wouldn’t put it past him to just walk into td garden on a tuesday in april with this getup 

this is a strong candidate for my favourite social media interaction ever. “hey spaghetti man” is such a strong opener and i think it gave me whiplash, but nothing can be as iconic as “it calls style in europe”. sometimes that’s my response when my friend gives me a look for wearing an outlandish shirt or loud pants - they have no idea what i’m actually referencing, and also we live in europe, so they usually just try to ignore it. this is also a good photo in general, pasta looks v cute. i can only assume those jorts (let’s call them as they are, folks) were intact when he bought them but his legs, as we can see, are so powerful that they broke free 🤷🏻‍♀️

i mean this is like,, very sexy of him to look like that and that’s all i think i can safely say about this gif, at least on this new pg website tumblr has tried to create…

i reblogged this with the tag #oh…….worm? and i stand by that. like, sir?? hello??? do you have any idea what you’re doing to me???? i just cannot catch a break from this man’s sheer beauty 

(gif via @gaudreau) oh my god i actually love him - he really is our little ray of sunshine 💖 i don’t even know what tf he’s doing but he’s so cute so it does not matter. this also reminds me of that one clip of him doing the macarena in front of a green screen while wearing his skates for some media thing

this is like the only goddamn gif i could find of it but pasta passing the empty net goal to bergy during his 1000th game is one of the sweetest things i’ve ever seen anyone do on the ice???? it was just a little gesture but i think it’s a testament to the team dynamic, as well at the type of person pasta is (ie lovely). sometimes i tear up thinking about this game if truth be told (yes i’m a baby leave me alone)

i know i said i liked the blue suit the Most but this is a close second,, that is such a crisp fit he looks so mf good mmmmmmmm . also what a lovable buffoon 

handsome man alert !!!! this is not a very good picture to demonstrate the fact, but pasta has really nice eyes like i’m legitimately jealous >:(

(gif via @formulaice7) a better man would have been able to pick just one of these to include, but better men are off doing something far more productive than this, so you are stuck with me, who is chronically indecisive. but i saw these gifs and my only reaction was “oh fuck” and i do believe that is appropriate. maybe it’s just my weird opinion, but one thing sexier than shirtless? almost shirtless. (but i mean there’s plenty of fully shirtless pasta out there if u want it) the hand hanging on that hook is also kinda getting to me. he is just very beautiful

sometimes i wonder why the majority of the nhl has no personality and then i remember - david pastrnak is literally hoarding it all…!

lads, it’s official: this is the only photo i need to look at for the rest of my life. if this is not the energy you are bringing, i don’t want to fw you

and here ends my very first david pastrnak lovepost - thank you for the request anon, i hope you enjoy!!! :) i love pasta with all my little heart so i really loved doing this one and in all honesty could probably be talked into doing another one pretty easily if anyone is interested, bc there’s a lot of photos and gifs i didn’t use (i don’t want to make these like 50 photos long yknow). as mentioned at the top of the post, feel free to send me any requests you may have!!

[unicornsandphoenix]

Beat that, Cinderella

Another drarry Cinderella story based off of this post! This time with a modern twist to it!

Written once more (this time actually fitting the prompt) for the absolutely stunningly incredible @drarrymylove (I hope you enjoy!) and once again I would like to send my love to my AMAZING beta, @staganddragon

Read on Ao3 here

Draco stared at the small but bright spirit bobbing in front of him. He opened his mouth, promptly closed it, and squinted.

“So you’re…”

“A fairy godmother. Yes.”

“And you…”

The fairy, Jeni, Draco remembered, rolled her eyes. “Make the wishes of truly innocent repenters come true.”

“And I am one of these?” He said narrowing his eyes.

“Yes.”

“And because of that you want to send me to the annual Ministry Ball? Because that is my wish. To go to a ball. Tonight. Filled with people who hate me.” Before Jeni could cut in, he added, “An ex-Death Eater. In a room full of Aurors.”

Jeni crossed her little arms in a huff, her curls bouncing against her shoulders.  “Draco. Darling. We have been over this. This is literally the third time we have had this conversation over again. Can you just roll with it? Please. Just give it tonight. Until 12 o'clock.” She reminded Draco ever so slightly of Pansy. Well. A lot, really. Had they met? This would not work out in her favor, Draco decided.

“Right,” Draco snorted. “And then what, at 12 I just leave? The fancy disguise you give me eviscerates? Someone pledges their undying love for me?” Draco chuckle stopped short when he had a brief image of Potter flash through his head. He scowled. And then glared for good measure. Stupid tosser would probably just ignore him as he had been doing ever since a few weeks before Draco quit Auror training last Monday. They must have moved him up to special classes, as Draco never saw him around the ministry, and Potter had certainly not made an effort to reach out to him. Not that he should have, a cheery voice reminded him. Several conversations and flirtatious smiles doesn’t actually mean anything. Draco shook himself out of his stupor.

“Actually…” Jeni started, wincing, and Draco leveled her with a flat look. “Well. We’ll apparate you out of there. No matter what is happening. Just as the clock strikes midnight. We’ve had some… issues in the past. Mice and pumpkins, you understand.”

“Great,” Draco mumbled crossing his arms. “Even fairy godmothers aren’t perfect.” Jeni tisked at him. “How did you even get in here?” Darco wondered. “The manor is guarded against magical creatures now.” Draco paled as he sat down on his bed heavily, remembering the last magical creature that had come to his house. “Are the charms failing? What if-”

Jeni landed on his shoulder and started to pet his hair. “No, Sweetie. I’m sorry I scared you. Godmothers aren’t like ordinary magical creatures. Our magic doesn’t register the same.” Draco took a breath and shook the dark thoughts from his head.

Draco chanced a glace out to his desk. Atop sat a horrifically boring book his mother had been pleading with him to read. He took a slow turn of the room, begging for something to stick out to him, but if he was being honest with himself, he supposed he had nothing better to do. Not that his time wasn’t important. And he had plenty of people to talk to of course. It was just that. Well. His parents were in Paris, and who knows where Blaise and Pansy had fucked off to. Draco had his money on Spain for Blaise and Italy for Pansy. Plus maybe this way he could find a way to talk to Potter again, without him ignoring Draco. It was a masked ball afterall. He pursed his lips, a wrinkle forming between his eyes. Ugh. Potter would probably dress up as a lion, that gryffindor. With his stupid hair and his stupid smile and his stupid penchant for talking to all the hot quidditch stars while he was in the middle of training  and right in front of him- He cleared his throat. “You aren’t going to leave until I agree, are you?” He said, defeated.

Jeni snorted softly on his shoulder and tugged on his hair. “Now you’re getting it. Let’s get you ready!”

Draco’s eyes widened. “What, now? The ball is four hours away! It’s still light outside, for Merlin's sake!” Draco said, flinging his arm to gesture at the window, upending the small fairy forcing her to flutter away.

“You may be right, but this is a long process!” Jeni was insistent, flying up in front of his face and backing him into an armchair. “Plus,” she added, snapping her fingers in a manner that would have made any rich pureblood impressed. A piece of rolled parchment appeared and conveniently floated over to Draco. “You have liability waivers to sign.” The moment Draco took the parchment, it unrolled and spilled across the floor.

“Salazar’s balls!” Draco moaned, already feeling sorry for himself. He grumpily added on, “This better be worth it.” Jeni just smiled and conjured a quill.

~~~~

Draco pulled nervously at his stiff collar outside the ballroom doors. He was nervous. Jeni had poked and prodded him nonstop for what felt like ages, the four hours flying by and an extra half hour used just for glamours, which Draco had insisted upon as to not be recognized. Jeni had rolled her eyes again, smacked him on the head, and then begrudgingly cast some hair coloring charms and the slightest glamour to his face. It was good enough, Draco supposed. No one was going to expect him to come to the ball anyways, and without his hair Draco thought he looked unrecognizable. But he had to give her props. He looked good. His hair was now rich colors of auburn, that brought out some color in his cheeks. His face looked good, not as good as his normal face, but still, Draco supposed, good. And the clothes.

Oh Merlin, Draco hoped somewhere in that contract (which was all hippogriff’s shit from what draco could tell- “contractee will not light the fairy on fire”, “contractee will not perform the macarena while drunk and naked on a balcony”, “contractee will not publicly declare their love for any orange muggle politician”, “contractee will not buy a plane ticket for a midnight flight and then jump out of the plane with no safety gear a minute until midnight”- I mean really, Draco thought, has anyone actually done any of this? Did they have no self respect?) it stated that he would get to keep these clothes. They were absolutely magnificent. Stiff and white on the top, they flowed out to the floor in silvery terraces. The collar was high, and yet dipped in in the front to show off Draco’s chest bones and a hint of his chest itself. Silver detailing, with hints of Draco’s favorite shade of green, crossed the expanse of the fabric, small dragons Draco had been pleased to take note of moved constantly to form ever changing and ever beautiful patterns. It was form fitting, and yet, not constricting. The best feature, Draco thought, was that it made his ass look like two plump apples, ripe for eating. The entire ensemble was finished off with a mask of a dragon that seemed to be made of pure silver with brilliant green emeralds embedded into it. It was entirely fitting of a Malfoy, and Draco was in love.

Suddenly, the doors in front of him opened, and a laughing couple fell out, almost on top of him. He sidestepped them with a sneer and made his way into the ballroom.

Lights were strung up from wall to wall, covering the ceilings. A live band played on the stage to the back of the room, and all around Draco could see people talking with on another. Smiles on their faces. No one stared at him when he walked through. Well, apart from a few glanceovers and appreciative  winks. Draco smirked back at them, but he was saving his wink for someone else.

“Hullo,” a rich voice said from behind him. Draco turned, and almost kept turning right around. The face might have been glamoured, Draco thought, but he would recognize that unruly mop of hair anywhere. If not for that, the eyes would have been a dead give away. Even the absence of the scar could not take away Potter’s earnest and casually commanding presence.

Potter was dressed to the nines, and Draco had to give him props. Or at least props to Granger. There was no chance Potter could have dressed himself for this occasion. He was not a lion, but instead a stag. The outfit looked to be a version of muggle clothing, a sharp black suit, though there was moving golden details on the collar and wrists that glinted everytime the light hit them. His glamoured face was hidden behind a black and gold mask, sleek and elegant, antlers coming out from either side in a majestic sweep. His hair, Draco supposed he could do nothing about, though it did look softer, smoother. Draco could see himself running his fingers through it, gripping on to it, tugging...  Draco was staring.

“Hullo,” he replied. Draco didn’t like the smirk that appeared on Potter’s face. What was he thinking?

Potter held out his hand, and Draco, trying not to see the moment as momentous as it felt, grasped it, but Potter didn’t let him go. “I’m Roonil, but you can just call me Roo. What’s your name?” Potter asked, his eyes never leaving Draco for a second. Draco’s eyes narrowed. What kind of name was Potter playing at?

“Drac- Drake. My name is Drake,” Draco was struggling. He had wanted to confront Potter, but why was his heart beating so damn loud? Also, something was suspicious in the way he was acting.

“Thats funny,” Potter said his eyes sparkling in amusement it sounds a lot like Dr-”

“Do you want to dance?” Draco blurted, afraid at what was about to come out of Potter’s mouth next.

Potter smiled, a real smile where the corners of his eyes grew wrinkles, and tugged on Draco’s hand, leading him onto the dance floor. How long had his hand been clutching Harry’s? Had Harry noticed how strange he was acting?

Harry yanked him towards himself and settled one hand on his back, pulling him in close. Merlin, since when had Draco started to call him Harry in his head? And why was he so out of breath?

Potter lowered his lips to Draco’s ear. “Full disclosure,” he whispered, making Draco shiver involuntarily. “I don’t actually know how to dance.”

Draco covered a snort with a faux huff of disappointment as his confidence rose back up. “Well, then. In that case, I suppose I will just have to lead you,” and he swirled a laughing Harry away.

~~~

Hours later had Draco panting for breaths as Harry lowered his head to Draco’s shoulder.

“I cannot believe you said that to them!” He cried laughing.

“I did! I was fed up! Why should I have had to obliviate the poor man if I could just convince him about the aliens!” Harry said, leaning back from Draco and gesturing wildly before, sinking down into the bench they were sitting on outside the ballroom.

“But Harry,” Draco said, clutching his stomach in laughter. “This poor man quit his job to hunt spaceships!”

Draco was so caught up in his joy, he failed to notice Harry had stopped laughing, and had started staring at him quite curiously.

“You said my name,” Harry stated, perhaps with a hint of wryness. “You know who I am.”

“I, uh, you-” Draco had nothing. Dammit. And the night was going so well! He had had Harry in his clutches- To do what with him, Draco? He thought suddenly. To laugh with him? To get him to smile at you like he has been doing? Is this not what you wanted all along? And now you have him. He doesn’t hate you for what you did. He doesn’t even know who you are. You are free. “Yes,” Draco sighed and pulled back a little. “I do know who you are.” Harry frowned slightly in consideration. “A massive prat! Who would have thought that the poster boy for the Ministry Auror Program commits crimes and convinces Muggles of nonsense in his spare time!”

Harry chuckled, seemingly relieved. “Didn’t you hear? I quit about a month ago-”

“You QUIT?” Draco interrupted. His mind was racing. Maybe Harry hadn’t meant to ignore him, maybe it was all a misun-

“Why, Drake, you seemed scandalized!” Draco quickly collected his thoughts and shoved them away for another time.

“No,” he sniffed. “Not at all. You merely caught me off guard.”

Harry smirked. “I’m sure. Anyways, Drac- Drake. I- Well. I wanted to know if maybe you would like to get dinner with me sometime this week?” Harry looked up at him through his lashes. “It’s been a while since I had this much fun with anyone.”

Draco’s heart thumped. Salazar, this is it! He thought. “I would love that, Harry, I really would. But I’m afraid that I have two conditions that must be seen to first.”

Harry was beaming at him. Well, really he was rolling his eyes, but the smile was important, Draco was sure. “Let’s see what I can do,” Harry said.

Draco nodded, scooting closer on the bench, reaching across Harry to cage him in, and leaning in close. “Well first,” He said, breathing softly and closing the distance inch by inch to Harry’s mouth with his. “I need to check the merchandise, of course.” He was so close, he could see the freckles in Harry’s green eyes. They rather matched his outfit, Draco thought distractedly, watching Harry taking his own eyes with what seemed to be wonder.

“But only of course,” Harry whispered inching impossibly closer and bringing his arms up to hold Draco close to him. They closed their eyes as noses nudged noses.

“Harry,” Draco whimpered. He felt a pulling sensation in his gut and then he was flying.

Harry’s lips touched his and- wait. Were lips supposed to feel this rough? Was Harry squeaking? Surely Draco wasn’t that bad of a kisser. His eyes flew open and he spit out hair. “What the fuck!” He cried out, turning wildly around his bedroom. A wet ball of light flew in front of him, crossing her arms.

“I won’t expect an apology from you-” Draco started to reply, but held his tongue in shock when the fairy turned away from him and just held up a hand. “I don’t want to hear it.” Jeni shivered and quickly muttered a quick charm to dry and clean her hair, which returned to the bouncing curls. She looked down to examine her nails. “I hope you had a good time-”

“Would have been more fun if I hadn’t been pulled away,” Draco muttered darkly. But the fairy godmother just continued to speak as if he wasn’t even there, flexing her fingers out in front of her.

“And I hope that you don’t mind that we need to take away your clothes-” Draco let out a squawk as his clothes disappeared, replaced by a bathrobe (which, Draco would have liked to point out, was entirely too short, only barely covering what it needed to). “And please be aware that the glamour will stay in place until you decide to end it manually with a wand.” A loud bang made Draco jump, but the fairy only looked up from her nails. “Oh! I bet that’s him!”

“Who’s-” Draco started, but the fairy just popped out of existence. This was just going too fast for Draco. He heard muffled yelling from the front of the manor, where the door was creaking under the ferocious pounding. An impressive feat, as the door was larger than twice Hagrid’s height. “Alright! I’m coming!” He called out running down the hallway frazzled, confused, and still dazed after his almost kiss with Harry. “Merlin, will you stop!” He said, unlocking and throwing open the door. “Harry!” He said, shocked. Harry’s glamour was gone and he was holding his mask tightly in his fist, his hair looking as if he had run his fingers through it more than usual. How it could have gotten so messy in the span of only a few minutes, Draco could not say. He supposed Harry couldn’t say either. “What are you- how did you-” Harry knocked past him into the hallway before he rounded on him, but not without first glancing down at Draco’s bathrobe, or more specifically, his long, lean legs. It took a few seconds before Harry shook his head.

“What the fuck, Malfoy! You don’t just apparate away in the middle of-”

“I was forcefully apparated away, actually,” Draco interjected.

Harry just continued. “Were you just toying with me? What this all a large joke-”

Draco started. “Fuck no, Potter! I was literally dragged away- against my will- at midnight- wait hold on. Did you just say my name? Do you know who I am?”

Harry snorted, and moved down the hall, peaking into archways and doorways until he found one with sofas. He twitched his wand in the direction of the fireplace, which instantaneously lit up with a roaring fire. In turn, Draco, who had frantically moved to follow him after pushing the front door shut, felt his other wand twitch in response to the display of powerful wordless magic. At least the bathrobe was roomy.

“Well?” Draco demanded, crossing his arms and tapping his foot at Harry, who had sprawled on one end of the sofas in a huff. Harry scoffed.

“Really, Draco,” Harry said with a snort. Draco’s breath caught at the use of his name. But then he supposed, coming to the Manner had been a pretty sure give away. “Did you think you could get away with just casting a half-arsed glamour on your face and changing your hair color? Did you think I wouldn’t recognize that haughty sneer of yours or the way you held yourself? You even recognized me through my glamour!”

“Well,” Draco sniffed, sitting carefully on the edge of the sofa. “Your glamour was crap.” He shifted, hunching in on himself.  Softly, he continued. “And I was going to tell you. That was going to be part of the second condition. That we would accept the other without the glamours, or no deal.”

Harry chuckled fondly, but exasperatedly. “I’m still mad at you, you know,” he said with a small smile. Draco frowned, shifting a little closer and angling his body towards Harry’s. “Why did you leave?” Harry’s eyes found his, and Draco could see how vulnerable he was in this moment. “Jesus, Draco, I was really worried there for a minute,” Harry said, hands coming up hesitantly to hold Draco’s face, stroking his cheeks with his thumbs. Draco breathed in. Draco breathed out. And then told him the whole story from the very beginning, which seemed to have started days ago and not just earlier that day.

“What,” Harry asked, raising an eyebrow. “And it just so happened to strike midnight what was supposed to be the best kiss I’ve had in awhile-”

He froze, and Draco grew a smirk. “Oh, well then, in that case, Potter, I suppose I will have to make it up to you. Draco moved forward only to stop with a whine as Harry held up a hand to stop him. “What now?” He said against Harry’s fingers.

“If this is going to happen, I want it to be as Harry and Draco, with no glamours in the way. You have conditions to be met.” Draco’s breath caught, and his heart melted. “How else will I know you haven’t grown a mustache or gone hideous?” Draco scowled and Harry preformed another wordless spell to remove first the glamours on his hair, and then the one on his face, before he casually dropped his wand into the sofa to be able to continue to hold Draco’s face. Harry seemed enthralled. Draco was not amused.

“Shut it, Potter,” he said, even as he ran his hands through Harry’s soft hair.

“Harry,” Harry replied grinning, returning the motion in kind.

Draco smiled. “Harry. Shut it, Harry.” And finally, their lips touched.

Jeni watched them move into each other from her place on the windowsill, tickled with happiness. As apprehensive as she had been for combining the two assignments, both feeling guilty and both deserving forgiveness, she could not have asked for a better turnout. “Beat that, Cinderella,” she said, and promptly popped away.

[survey--s]

339.

Did you ever pretend you were someone else as a favor for a friend? I’m sure I did as a teenager, yeah. Do you think men prefer curvy women or skinny women? I think it depends on the man. Do you own a water gun? I do not. What item most embarrasses you to purchase? I still feel weird buying tampons, especially if there’s no self-checkout and the cashier is male. I remember having to go to Sainsbury’s as a student to buy tampons, painkillers and chocolate as I had the most awful period and I felt SO self-conscious, hahah. Do you know any actual dances or do you just move to the music? I know the Macarena.

Do you eat pork and beans? I’ve never tried it. What is the last thing you refered to as legit? Or do you think that term is lame? I don’t really use it. Do you give cards to people for holidays or events? Not really. I think cards are just a huge waste. Do you have anything hanging from the ceiling of your room? Just the lightbulb. The rear view mirror of your car? No, I’d find that really distracting, plus all the dogs would either play with it, destroy it or eat it. which do you prefer, dr or dentist? I don’t mind visiting either. Do you know which side your appendix is on? Of course. Do you have the fixins in your fridge to make a sandwich? What kind? Sure - we could do chicken, tuna, cheese, sausage or bacon, or a combination of any of those. We also have mayo, butter, ketchup and garlic aioli.    Are any walls of your room blank? Yes. When was the last time you ate fruit? Yesterday. I haven’t eaten yet today, unless a glass of apple juice counts as fruit? I’m cooking my lunch now. What color are your favorite shoes? Black. If someone was willing to tell your crush you liked them would you let them? I mean, I’m married, so I’d hope he knows I like him, haha. Do you know the zodiac signs of your friends? Not off the top of my head. Favorite dog ever, real life and cartoon. Well, my own dog, of course. In terms of cartoon dogs, I like Snoopy. Do you own anything with fur on it? What? Yeah, three cats and a dog, lol. I don’t own any clothing with fur on it though. Do you choose surveys based on their titles? I don’t really see surveys with titles anymore. what would be worse for you, unplanned pregnancy or cancer? Cancer, of course.

What was the last thing you made from scratch? Uh, I couldn’t tell you. I’m very into shortcuts when it comes to making things, lol. I’m very lazy. Do you drink any hot beverages? What? Tea and coffee, and occasionally hot chocolate or warm milk. Do you put Q-tips in your ear or just round the outside? I don’t use them in my ears at all. Have you ever popped another person's zit? Yeah, I pop Mike’s all the time, hahah. It’s very satisfying. When was the last time you listened to a radio, NOT online? Uh, in the car a few weeks ago. Do you have any odious chores hanging over your head? Nope, nothing at all. What is the last thing you confessed to someone? I don’t remember. Have you ever told a friend to dump their SO? Did they? Probably as a teenager. I don’t remember the outcome, though.   Name two things you put whipped cream on? Hot chocolate and frappes. Who is the last person who saw you with bare feet? Mike. I have bare feet now. What do you think is the coolest piercing on someone else? It depends on the person. I always quite liked eyebrow and tragus piercings though, or Industrials but they look like a bitch to heal. Colored tattoos or plain? Plain ones. They last longer and look more professional IMO. Do you ever eat peanut butter straight from the jar? I have done in the past. Do you know how to ride a bike? Do you own one? Yes and yes, though I haven’t ridden it for years. What was the last pill you took for? I pulled a muscle in my back cleaning the toilet, LOL. How many devices do you own that hook up to internet? Uh, two smart TV’s, two xBox’s, a laptop, a phone, a Kindle and a Kindle Fire. I think that’s it though there’s probably more. Any best friends you only know online? Yeah, several. Do you ever talk to your next door neighbor? We say hi if we see each other in passing, but otherwise no. Do most of your friends live in houses, apartments or mobiles? Houses. Did anything shock you today? I managed to sleep in until half eight, which is a bit of a miracle for me lol. What is the thing you last stubbed your toe on? I think the bed, or maybe the baby gate in the kitchen. Favorite faux curse word?   Balls. Who do you tease most often and what about? Mike - and everything, really, same as he teases me lol. slip on or lace up shoes? I prefer slip-on ones. Thing you stress over most about the holidays. Nothing whatsoever - holidays are one of my favourite times of year.   Food you take a second helping of on Thanksgiving? We don’t have Thanksgiving here, but at Christmas I like second-helpings of pigs in blankets, stuffing and roast potatoes, ideally covered in gravy.  Would you rather spend Thanksgiving with friends or family? Either is fine. I’ve done both in the past. These days it tends to be family though, just because of COVID etc. Most disgusting bug. Cockroaches, especially those huge hissing ones. I went to Edinburgh Zoo once and you could hold them and they were the size of the guys’ palm. UGH. nastiest thing in your fridge. Uh, I don’t think there’s anything nasty in there. Food doesn’t last long enough in this house to go off, lol. song you hate but keep singing anyway. Nothing’s coming to mind. cookies or brownies. Brownies. Do you own any movie/show soundtracks? Which? I don’t own any CD’s anymore, but I used to have loads - Jungle Book, Mary Poppins, Lion King, Les Misèrables, Phantom of the Opera, Starlight Express, Cats and Evita, to name a few. How many pillows do you sleep with? Two. Favorite outdoors smell. The ocean, pine forests, bonfires. are you wearing a hoodie right now? Nope, I’m wearing a tunic dress and leggings.  Do you ever sleep in your day clothes? Only if I’m having a nap. I tend to sleep in oversized t-shirts or pajamas. Do you prefer your clothes loose or close fitting? Tight-fitting trousers (leggings, jeans, jeggings), loose-ish fitting shorts and loose-fitting tops. Are your fave pants jeans? No, they’re jeggings. Do you own any under things bought to impress the opposite sex? I’m sure there are some things, yeah. Favorite thing you've ever painted? I don’t really do painting, but I did paint our living room and our kitchen lol. Do you eat applesauce? I love it but I haven’t had any in months. Are there any songs that remind you of your mother? Of course. Slipping Through My Fingers by ABBA is the first one to spring to mind, but there are others. If you had a sister, would you prefer her older or younger? Why? I’ve always wanted an older sibling - I’m not quite sure why. What is something you wanted to say today, but didnt? I can’t think of anything. Where are your keys right now? In the back door. Is there any product you always buy at the dollar store? I never really go, but our local one has some nice scented candles and cleaning products I’ll buy if I can. Can you recite any prayers by heart? Yeah, the Lord’s Prayer. When it's your birthday, do you have the correct number of candles? I haven’t had a cake with candles for about a decade, lol. birthday cake alone, or cake and ice cream? Either with cream or by itself.

[dice-goblins-united]

Since we’re a roving band of rebel idiots, we’ve obviously attracted the attention (and subsequent wrath) of the king. The first time he kidnapped us (yes there have been multiple) he sent a tabaxi mercenary after us

Now this wasn’t some pathetic bitch ass kid mercenary. Hanzo was GOOD- he had a plus 15 on stealth. He coulda waltzed in and sang the Macarena in front of us and we wouldn’t have noticed.

Now, we were in a coastal town waiting to get a boat ride to the other continent to do stuff over there, and at this point Hanzo had been trailing us for several weeks, ever since we’d left the capital. So Max is DEATHLY afraid of the ocean, so while we were waiting for our ship, we had a potion maker (yes the same potion maker we ended up recruiting, Orik) make him some sedatives for the boat, and some sedatives we could potentially use to kidnap the king. Hanzo proceeds to go in and threaten Orik to get him to betray us.

So the next time we go in there to pick up our sedatives, Orik just kinda looks at us, apologizes, and breaks the sedatives.

Everyone else in the party breathes. I, Toy Soldier, do not.

The ENTIRE party collapses, except me. I get about two seconds of “TF?” before Hanzo grabs the back of my head and slams me down on the counter to knock me out.

And the party wonders why I was hesitant to hire him later

[attackingstarfish]

Just finished LoZ: Wind Waker...

I normally never post, but I recently wrapped up Wind Waker HD (Yes, I’m late to the party), and it is so far removed from the usual Zelda fare that I just had to compile my thoughts. And if I’m compiling my thoughts, I might as well yell them into the void.

You will have to show me physical proof that Wind Waker is not Ocarina of Time from the Opposite Dimension, where windows are the primary means of entering your house and people worship at the altar of Hello Games, because despite me being almost exactly as satisfied with Wind Waker HD as I was with Ocarina of Time 3D, the greatest sources of joy are flipped with the biggest annoyances between the two games.

Yay!

Breath of the Wild had won me over in part because the entire world felt cohesive; you could go anywhere on the map without having to encounter a single loading screen, and I had no idea Wind Waker did the same thing. The Great Sea is a vast trove of trees, pirates, and treasure, with the occasional giant squid attack or salutation from the Flying Dutchman. Each of the 49 segments contains an island that is often unique in purpose, and you’re very rarely sent to a specific island for a specific item by a specific character. Instead, the entire overworld becomes open to you as soon as you grab your sail on Windfall Island, and you have a literal sea of knowledge before you as the 49 fish that serve as your guidebook to the game take their places.

A couple of islands start off closed, unable to be reached until you get the Iron Boots or the Bow or the Hulk Hogan suplex manual, but that’s it as far as what you can’t reach, and the squares of ocean containing even these islands can be reached as early as any other zone, fish and all. The fish are easy to spot, splashing around near their respective region’s landmass, and to reward taking to initiative to explore, a surprising amount of what they tell you can be put to use immediately, like the location of the all-new extra-fast wind-changing sail the remake’s added to speed up travel. Good thing, too, because there’s a point where travel time stops being buildup and becomes padding, especially when you have to dance a round of Hands Up every time you want to change direction. Later in the game, when you’re better equipped, you could stop by one of those islands you couldn’t figure out earlier on, and figure out what to do with just one more trip around the border. Nothing pops up on your map to indicate that suddenly you’re able to access anything new, and your boat doesn’t  wonder whether the eastmost pillar on island A7 has met any nice hookshot targets lately. The game trusts that you can navigate the uses for your gear yourself, which I value. Fewer tutorials, more expectations.

Even the story serves the game’s hands-off attitude. Ocarina starts with Link going into the Deku Tree to purge it of some unspecified evil (What exactly does Gohma do in there, anyway?) before coming out to be told of his fate to kill a man he has never met before and become Hyrule’s savior. Link takes up the mantle in that game only because the gods who have not and will never make a proper appearance want him to do it. Meanwhile, Wind Waker opens with Link putting on the green tunic to make his grandmother happy for a day, right before his sister, who clearly adores him, gets kidnapped by a giant bird, and he teams up with pirates to sneak into a fortress and rescue her but instead gets bitch-slapped by Ganondorf, who turns out to own the place and the bird. In addition to being awesome because pirates kick ass, Link’s introduction to the man who wants him dead feels a lot more natural here, and Ganondorf doesn’t even come into the plot for real until the second half of the game. Link’s got a sister to save, and everything he’ll do to accomplish that goal will demonstrate him to be worthy of the Master Sword, which itself seems to prefer this organic sort of journey, seeing as the Link who set out to get the Master Sword from the beginning ended up locked in solitary confinement by the thing while it allowed the man it was created to kill to instead take over the world. Evidently the Master Sword is a strong, independent blade beholden to no one who can’t think for themselves, and anyone who disagrees can spend some quality time with the nice old man who loves to talk and talk and talk and talk.

The characters in Wind Waker feel more on the dynamic side than Ocarina’s. At first I was a bit surprised that i felt that way considering Ocarina had you view two very different versions of Hyrule, but Ocarina’s characters either don’t change in personality much between time periods or don’t make an appearance in one of the two at all. Talon’s still lazy in the future, the carpenters are still idiots, the Lake Hylia scientist is still mad, the Kokiri of course don’t change at all, you see none of the Zoras after their caves are frozen over, etc. Not to mention Ganondorf, who doesn’t get much beyond “evil Gerudo thief king who wants to take over the world because of reasons,” even if he gets a bit further than many movie/game villains and is able to demonstrate exactly what he’d do while in charge and why he’s so dangerous. Wind Waker, meanwhile, has even a fair few one-off characters with their own tiny arcs. Mila goes from stuck-up rich kid to poor as dirt and struggling to adapt, so out of her element that she resorts to stealing money from her new boss until Link catches her and helps her stay true to herself in the future. Maggie’s father starts out so desperate for Link to save his daughter that he will annoyingly stop you in your tracks every time he so much as glimpses you and repeat his pleas for help, but after Maggie is returned home and he strikes it rich through no deed of his own, he decides everyone else is beneath him and starts bitching at Link, the Rito postman, and anyone who thinks repeatedly boasting about your own fabulous wealth makes for poor dinner conversation. Even Ganondorf himself is given more than a simple desire to take over Hyrule this time around, as his belief that the rest of the kingdom deserves to suffer the way the Gerudo suffered in the desert is brought to light. 

Boo!

Part of the reason I liked the dungeons in Ocarina of Time so much is that they had a way of coming full circle at the end, or even a smaller full circle in the middle. You’d come across something at the beginning, go “Huh, that looks cool,” then move on. An hour later, BOOM, payoff, and likely in a way you didn’t even expect. The web serving as the floor in the Deku Tree and the blue stone head at the back of Dodongo’s Cavern come to mind. Plus, there were often open rooms that allowed you to get a handle on where everything else was relative to you, and gaze upon areas you’ll visit once you find the Hookshot or Hover Boots. Wind Waker’s dungeons are the antithesis of the rest of the game, they’re cramped and, for the first half of the game, overly linear. Dragon Roost never musters up much more challenge than “kill enemy in front of you, go through door in front of you, repeat,” a far cry from the wall-climbing around the first half of the Deku Tree. Re-hydrating the bombs to get into the place is arguably as clever as you get with it, which for me is the perfect representation of the amount of thought that went into everything surrounding the dungeons vs. the amount of thought that went into the dungeons. And aside from those spinning leaf wheels in Forbidden Woods that wouldn’t know what a wind was if they were fired for incompetence and forced to spend the rest of their lives at its mercy, this is best illustrated during the teamwork-based dungeons with Medli and Makar toward the end of the game .

Considering how often you have to switch between characters to set up a Mirror Shield reflect or to hit a switch or to plant a seed or because you got hit fucking once, it would’ve been nice not to have to do half the Macarena every time you want to switch to your companion’s viewpoint. It also would’ve been nice if the controls of your partners didn’t make me want to offer them to the Floormasters. That said, Medli wasn’t awful. Yes, her flight was a bit hard to direct, there was no way to halt her Link-bearing glide without throwing her, and the number of times you had to hop on the Wind Waker was a pain, but the irritation was diminished when lot of her roles involved standing still and shining light while you played as the character the game actually put work into handling. Plus, my wave of enthusiasm from the first moment I walked under a spotlight while carrying her and saw the light reflect lasted me quite a ways into the dungeon, so my memories of the Earth Temple are okay enough.

On the other hand, Makar. (I still call him Oaki, which should indicate how memorable Makar’s character is) When flying with Medli, all that was required was good aim when leaping off any ledge you were leaving, whether she was on her own or supporting Link. Makar has to fly in patterns more complex than straight lines, so naturally his controls are twice as stupid. You have to repeatedly press A to fly, speeding up or slowing down your button presses to increase or decrease the amount of lift as you go. Button mashing as a recurring mechanic, yay. Its imprecise nature becomes worse when the vertical nature of the dungeon’s biggest room has Makar rack up a ton of momentum from the amount of rising and falling he’ll be doing, leaving you struggling to adjust your frequency to keep up, with aerial endurance that makes you wonder how the Korok seed-spreading ritual has not led them to extinction by mass drowning. Fortunately, there’s a giant fan you can activate at the bottom of the room to blow yourself upward and kill any chance you have at forward progress. You’d think that being able to coast to the top of everything would be a good thing, but being in the fan’s range of “anywhere” causes Makar to eschew any direction that isn’t straight up (as his flight meter drains!), when running out of flight power has the same effect but downwards. If that wind catches you while you’re trying to cross the room, you’re left to watch as Makar is frozen in place while his energy drains to zero, wait for the fan to stop, fall several stories to the bottom of the room, and walk about two feet toward where you want to go before the fan activates again and restarts the cycle. And that’s assuming one of the many flying enemies doesn’t brush Makar and throw the camera back behind a Link who’s attempting to keep calm by doing the wave.

The combat took some getting used to. Ocarina’s combat was fine; it was easy to tell what you were in range to hit, and timing your swings properly could get shield-wielding enemies like Stalfos in a loop where continually accurate shots would finish them in seconds. In Wind Waker, Link’s attacks don’t reach quite as far as his sword would indicate; you’d think the gods would make sure their magical evil-smiting blade is most capable at the end that goes in the King of Evil, but I guess not. “Just The Tip” is a no-no with these monsters, so it’s either impale them in full or let them dominate you.

Meanwhile, you have two options for your targeting system, and they both suck. You either hold down L as long as you want to keep an enemy targeted, which before long will cause your left index finger to rebel against its draconian master, or press the button once to start targeting and press it again to target a different enemy, leaving you with no way to stop targeting the enemies and put an arrow in the switch. This wasn’t that big a deal in Ocarina, since Link had a wider vertical range with the bow and there were never many enemies hounding you  when there was another immediate objective to complete, but in Wind Waker, you can expect a rainbow of respawning Chu’s to ambush you around the clock. It sours a lot of dungeons and dungeon-themed areas for me. That’s why the Wind Waker experience was so surprising; the dungeons were a slog to get through and felt less like a collection of clever puzzle ideas suiting each region’s theme and more like an obligation to throw in because it’s Zelda, yet everything surrounding them felt engaging and intriguing enough to make me want to keep playing and find out what happened to everyone.

(Tower of the Gods was pretty cool, too.)