#“i can excuse murder but i draw the line at smoking”

[grizzersmamma]

Son of Zmei | Fae AU | Nikto x F!Reader | Part 2.

Overview: Nikto confronts Mr. Petrov & Reader gets a visitor who drops some new information.

A/N: Second part babyyyyy! I’m on a roll now. Shorter than the last part, but the next one should be a bit longer. Continuation of my little Nikto fic based on the Fae AU by @ghouljams​

Warnings: Murder, Arson.

Series Masterlist: Here

CoD Masterlist: Here

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The man kneeling at Nikto’s feet is quivering like a leaf in the breeze, head pressed to the floor in a deeply exaggerated bow. It does little to quell the simmering rage that burns just under his skin, leaving him to huff out a plume of smoke in his agitation. Clearly, this pathetic excuse for a human doesn’t understand what kind of situation he’s in.  

“Mighty Zmei, forgive me for failing you,” the irritating cretin pleads, “allow me to try again, I can do better!”

He can’t help the growl that rumbles out of him, one of his lips curling to show off his pointed canine. “You offered a life, willingly given, in exchange for your own,” he hisses, starting to circle the human, “you think I cannot take a human if I desire one?” Petrov jumps at his sharp tone, mouth opening and closing silently.  

“O-Of course not, I-”

“You think I am a fool? You would try to deceive me? To break your word by offering the life of another who has not agreed?” His words get louder with each passing syllable, sharp teeth now on full display in a horrifying snarl.  

“Never, All Powerful Zmei! I could never hope to trick someone so wise!” the coward grovels, stinking of fear.  

The black shepherd dog snaps it’s jaws at the man’s face and the raven, perched on one of the chairs, caws angrily. The animals are growing restless at the clear disrespectful behaviour of the human, goading Nikto into action. “We have given you a chance to repay us, the deal is off.”  

It seems Petrov has some spine, for the man straightens, “merciful Zmei, to throw away the years of work I have dedicated to you, it would-it would be foolish!”

The heads of all three dark figures, man, bird and dog, all snap to glare at the human. “We are no fool!” their voices join together, speaking as one entity. Their bodies have begun to shift, twisted and drawing together, the lines between the three different creatures growing blurred. “We require your services no longer.”  

Minutes later, Nikto, the dog and the raven stand together in the street. They watch as the house belonging to Petrov burns steadily, flames casting dancing shadows across the nearby houses. The smoke does not bother them, nor the heat.  

Eventually, they turn to leave.  

The raven flies off ahead, while the man and dog walk. “Return to the female. She is oblivious, too fragile to be near so many Fae,” he spits the word in disgust.  

“Would such a weak creature be a suitable mate?” the dog replies, an exact copy of Nikto’s voice.  

He simply snorts, “we are strong enough for the two of us,” he says simply. The two part ways, Nikto to return to their home and the dog to return to his duty protecting their newest prize.  

When the sun rises, you wake with a large, furry body pressed up against you. It startles you, until you recall the events of yesterday. You had been exhausted after returning home, emotionally and physically drained from needing to walk so far back to your home after enduring such a terrifying encounter. The dog had refused to leave when you’d tried to shoo it away and, reluctantly, you decided to allow the canine into your home.  

It would be wrong for you to abandon the poor dog after it had followed you all the way back to your house. The man who owned him was a creep, but you couldn’t find it in you to leave an innocent dog out in the street where anything could happen to it.  

The dog in question wriggles about slightly to get comfortable, kicking you with big paws while whining loudly. Clearly, he was unhappy with you disturbing his rest, because he rolls over, putting his back to you with a rather dramatic sigh. It’s admittedly rather adorable, even if you don’t recall inviting the animal into your bed. The blanket you’d put on the floor for him is untouched, clearly not good enough for the massive ball of black fur.  

“You need to go home, buddy,” you mumble, stroking the animal’s silky fur. You know it’s not safe to have an unknown dog in your home at all, let alone sharing your bed, but you get the feeling you aren’t in any real danger.  

This thought is confirmed when the dog turns its head to try and nose at your fingers, offering them a small lick.  

When you finally gather the strength needed to get out of bed, the dog is more than happy to follow after you, hopping down from the mattress and onto the floor with a loud thump. It treks through the house, patiently watching while you complete your morning routine.  

You don’t have any dog food in the house, so you offer him some leftovers from your dinner a few nights ago after ensuring there isn’t anything poisonous to dogs in it. He doesn’t seem to mind the food, snapping it up at rapid speed.  

Not needing to be at work (and not planning on going back), you’re sitting comfortably on the living room couch, a warm drink in hand, while your canine companion takes up the rest of the couch. You had attempted to tell him not to climb on the cushions, not wanting dog hair shedding all over everything, but your words fell on deaf ears. So now, you sit on the furthermost cushion with the dog resting its huge head on your thigh.  

After a little bit of Googling on your phone, you believe you’ve figured out what breed the dog is. He’s huge and fluffy, clearly built for a cold climate and likely a livestock guardian dog of some kind. It took a while, but you managed to narrow it down to a Caucasian shepherd thanks to the abundance of pictures on Google Images.  

He’s sweet, but you’re not sure you’d be able to afford to feed such a huge dog, especially now you’re abandoning your job. It would be best for you to drop the dog off at the local vet. He’s probably microchipped, and if not, you’re sure they’ll be able to track the owner down. Such a huge dog is probably fairly memorable to someone who will know how to find his owner.  

You’re startled from your peaceful morning by a knocking at your door.  

The dog leaps to his feet, scampering to the front door with a snarl on his face. He starts barking, pacing back and forth. You’re a little anxious to try and get between the dog and the door, but he thankfully seems to back off once you draw close.  

When you pull the door open, you’re met by a police officer. “Good morning, miss,” the man seems anxious, glancing warily at the massive dog growling at him from behind you.  

“Hi,” you greet slowly, unsure, “is there something I can help you with?”

After confirming your identity, the man sighs softly, offering you a sympathetic smile, “I’m very sorry, but I’m here to inform you that your employer, Mister Petrov unfortunately passed away last night.” You blink at that, swallowing nervously, but the man must not notice, for he continues, “there was a fire at his apartment block.”  

“Oh... that’s horrible...” you’re not sure how to respond to that, stunned.  

Were you responsible for what happened? Was the strange, masked man, Nikto, responsible? A nervous sweat breaks out across your forehead.  

“A lawyer will be around shortly to discuss the assets afforded to you.”

“The assets?” you asks.  

“Ah, yes, it appears Mister Petrov left you some of his assets in his will, miss,” the officer smiles, oblivious to your internal battle. He offers you a brief farewell that you numbly return before leaving you once more to your own devices.  

The dog offers you a bark, nudging at your side when you continue to stare after the officer’s retreating form, snapping you out of your stupor. With a deep sigh, you step back into your home and close the door. You gently lean your head against the door, taking a moment to collect yourself.  

When you turn around, the dog is staring at you intensely.  

“What?” you ask him with a snort, as though he could actually respond to you.  

“You are a strange human,” the dog says.  

You faint on the spot.  

[0w0whatisthis]

gonna play a genesys game in the future and I already love my character Oh No

his name is charlie and he loves crime, history, and fake cigarettes because smoking is bad

[angelasscribbles]

Savage Love Prologue

Series: Savage Love

Fandom: The Royal Romance

Characters: Agent Riley Brooks, Liam Rys, Drake Walker

Song Inspiration for series: Savage Love by Jawsh685 and Jason Derulo

Rating: NSFW 🍋🍋🍋🍋

Warnings: Very Lemony, so many lemons

My other stuff: Master List.

Finally, a fucking break. I cashed out my tips and waved to the manager as I got the hell out of there. I’d been deep undercover in New York City for just over a year, pretending to be a waitress in a sketchy bar on the lower east side. I had worked my way up from the public area to slinging drinks in the back room where the real shit went down.

Rico Mendez was the son of the leader of one of the biggest drug cartels on the east coast. He was my target, and I was his type. Yes, my physical attributes were the exact reason I drew this particular assignment.

Rico was young, cocky, good looking and brutal. If he hadn’t been a sociopath, we could have gotten along. His smoldering good looks and rippling abs put him firmly in the category of my physical type too. Listen, I like the bad boy vibe as much as the next girl, but I draw the line at murder and human trafficking. That’s ok, I wasn’t there to marry him, I was there to take him down. And take him down I would. Just not today.

Today was Thanksgiving and even the mob took the day off to spend with family. I had no family in the states and couldn’t blow my cover by contacting them even if I had. I wasn’t surprised that Rico hadn’t invited me home with him, he had a fiancé, and I wasn’t her. I was the side chick. It didn’t matter. She was a prop, the spoiled daughter of a wealthy business associate. He probably never talked about business around her. I got what I needed from dropping off drinks and hanging around to play a little slap and tickle. I dangled the goods in front of his face but played a damn good game of hard to get. The more his desire turned into the frustration, the sloppier he got. We were very close to a bust.

But tonight, I was free and alone in New York. It was a chance to let my hair down. I grabbed a quick shower then shimmied into an emerald green dress with a short hemline and a plunging neckline. That’ll get the boys attention, I thought with satisfaction. Yeah, it had been a while. The cat and mouse game I was playing with Rico left me a little on the frustrated side and I couldn’t risk fucking anyone else in his circle. It would blow up all my hard work and I was ready to wrap this case up. But tonight, tonight Rico was otherwise occupied, and I headed for Times Square.

I slipped into the upscale club with no issues. I knew the bouncer; I’d helped his brother out of a jam the last time I’d been in New York. The music was pounding, the dance floor crowded and the drinks flowing. You’d be surprised how many people are out on Thanksgiving. All the lonely people. I ordered a drink and was making my way back across the room when some oaf ran right into me. My drink crashed to the floor and his sloshed all over me.

“Excuse me miss, I am so sorry!”

I glanced up in annoyance then my breath caught in my chest. Holy mother of God this man was gorgeous! Hello, I think I just found my extracurricular activity for the night. Thank you sweet baby Jesus!

He started trying to dab the spot dry with his napkin but quickly realized he was touching my breasts. His hand dropped and he turned about three shades of scarlet. It was adorable. He was adorable. And hot, did I mention he was smoking hot?

I gave him a sultry smile, “Well hello tall, dark and handsome. If you wanted to touch me, you could have just come up and asked.”

I didn’t think it possible a moment before, but he turned a shade darker. “I….ah….”

“Cat got your tongue?”

He recovered, still blushing, and found his voice, “I’m sorry I was so careless, can I please buy you another drink to make up for it?”

“Oh, absolutely!” I gave him my most dazzling smile. The night just got interesting.

He glanced around, then slipped an arm around my waist and guided me to a table, he motioned a waitress over and we put in our drink order. He leaned across the table, raising his voice to be heard over the music, but I still couldn’t hear him, so I slid over in my booth and motioned for him to join me on my side of the table.

A smile lit up his face as he slid into the booth next me, dropping an arm across my shoulder as he leaned down and spoke directly into my ear, “I was saying that I’d be happy to pay for your dry cleaning as well. Again, I’m so sorry, I’m not used to such large crowds.”

Hmmm. Interesting. I raised an eyebrow, “You must not be from New York.”

He chuckled at that, “No…no, not at all.”

“Not from the states at all, are you?” I asked.

He seemed surprised, “What gave it away?”

“Your accent.” I said as I picked up the drink the server just deposited in front of me. “It’s very …. European.”

I couldn’t quite place it.

He looked away then back at me, “So how about you? Are you from New York?”

Trying to change the subject. He doesn’t want to tell me where he’s from. Even more interesting. I smiled coyly, “Oh, here and there.”

He laughed at that, and I decided that I liked his laugh. It was pure, like him. He gave me sweet and innocent vibes. But not naïve. I like a good puzzle. I like sweet and innocent. I find the act of corruption fun, fulfilling. It’s a hobby.

We flirted some more. He laughed a lot. I got the feeling he’s not use to anyone saying whatever the hell pops into their head. He seemed to find it charming. Lucky me. We still hadn’t exchanged names, which suited me fine, but it was odd. Most guys by this point want my name, phone number and a promise never to look at another man again.

We danced to Don’t Stop Believing by Journey, his arms wrapped around me, holding me close, our hips pressed together as we swayed back and forth. His eyes ran down to my lips and lower then he cleared his throat and pulled me closer. I laid my head on his shoulder and he rested his on the top of mine.

He was smart, funny and did I mention hot? So, when he mentioned wanting to see the statue of liberty, I was all over it.

“No, you can’t be serious, there’s no way! It’s 1 in the morning!” He was a little drunk, but so was I, as we stumbled along the docks.

When the ferry showed up, his mouth dropped open. Adorable, I told you. The expression on his face when he turned to me took my breath away. “How?”

“I have my ways.” I teased. I couldn’t tell him that I had connections with the Port Authority because of my ties to NYPD, homeland security and Interpol, now could I?

“No one has ever done anything like this for me before.” He looked at me like he was in love or something.

“Something told me you could use it.” I shrugged. No use getting sentimental, he’d already told me he had to fly home tomorrow (but he still hadn’t said where that was) and I was back on the clock at dawn anyway.

We saw the statue and on the way back, I decided to kiss him. On the ferry, under the moonlight, it was romantic as hell, not gonna lie. Not that I do romance. Hell no. But this wasn’t real anyway. Tomorrow I’d go back to real life. Tonight….., tonight, why the hell not? So I grabbed him by his dark, silky hair and I tugged those full, gorgeous lips down to mine and I kissed him like I meant it. I kissed him like he was everything. Because in that moment, he was.

He drew back, panting, his hands gripping my hips firmly, forehead pressed to mine as he stared into my eyes like the answers to the universe were in there or something. “I don’t even know your name.”

“I don’t know yours either.” I countered.

He looked sad when he said, “I- I can’t really tell you who I am-“

“That’s ok,” I assured him, “But I have to call you something.” I thought for a moment then said, “I know! You’re just a city boy, born and raised in south Detroit. So I'll call you Detroit!”

That pulled a laugh from him and eased some of the sorrow that had fallen across his features.

“What should I call you?”

I considered that for a moment and settled on something nearby, “Brooklyn!”

He laughed, “Ok then, Brooklyn, what a lovely name.” He took my hand in his and rained kissed all over it. I mean, who does that? Again, adorable!

When the ferry docked, I grabbed his hand and said, “Come on Detroit.”

“Where are we going?” He laughed as he followed me.

“Oh, I’m not sure.” I stopped walking and he stumbled into me, “Where’s your hotel?”

“Oh, I- I wasn’t expecting- I mean, you don’t have to-“ I shut him up with a kiss.

“Oh, believe me, I want to! Now shut up and take me to your room!”

We made our way back to his hotel, stumbling, laughing and all over each other. We found ourselves alone in the elevator, so I shoved him back against the wall and pressed myself against him. He moaned in response, his arms going around me, hands digging into my ass. I ground myself into him, feeling his length hard against me. I threw my head back and guided his head down to bury in my cleavage. His hands slid back up my body to grasp my back as he pulled me in tighter, nuzzling between my breasts.

Ding! The elevator door slid open and we pulled apart, breathless, me adjusting my dress back into place. The hemline had ridden up and the neckline was askew. He reached his hand between his legs to adjust things then murmured a hurried “excuse us” as he slipped an arm around me and pulled me past a group of giggling college kids.

We were all over each other again before we made it to his room. He fumbled for the key card while trying to keep his lips on mine the entire time. Finally, the door opened and we tripped through it. He kicked it shut behind him as he struggled out of his shirt, lips still locked on mine.

I stifled a giggle at his desperation and pulled back a little to whisper, “Slow down Detroit, we have all night, I’m not going anywhere.”

He let go of me as he lifted one leg off the ground, barley maintaining his balance while pulling at his shoe, “How do I know this isn’t all a dream and if I blink, I’ll wake up and you’ll be gone?”

I giggled again. Oh, this one was fun. I swayed my hips and started doing a little strip tease. He froze, leg in the air, one shoe off, one shoe on, mouth hanging open as I peeled the dress off my body.

“Shit!” He lost his balance and hit the floor.

“Are you ok?” I asked in alarm.

“Fine! I’m fine!” He grumbled as he climbed back to his feet, “Nothing hurt but my pride.”

“I’ll take it as a compliment.” I said, spinning to give him a full view of the lacy bra and panty set I was wearing.

“You should.” He said, eyes wide. “I think I’m going to sit down, just to be safe.”

He plunked himself into a chair and finished removing his shoes and socks then he stood and made his over to me.

When he made a move to embrace me, I danced out of his reach, just for fun. “If you want me, come and get me!”

“What?” He asked as laughter erupted out of him.

I gave him my most seductive smirk then took off across the room. He barely hesitated before he dashed after me. I ran toward the bed and leapt onto it, intending to shoot off the other side but he launched himself after me and tackled me to the mattress. I shrieked with laughter as he pulled my body toward him and flipped me over.

Staring up into his eyes I purred, “Well you caught me, what are you going to do about it, huh?”

He paused for a bare moment to stare down into my eyes then he lowered his head and his lips trailed everywhere. I was splayed out on the bed under him, arms stretched up by my head. He pinned my arms to the bed as his mouth made its way along my neck, across a shoulder and down to slide across my harden nipple through the lacy fabric of my bra. I arched up into him.

He had to let go of my arms to remove my bra. I used the opportunity to unbutton his pants. I sat up a little so the bra would slide off easier then I shoved at his pants and underwear. He released me to step off the bed and let them fall to the floor, then he kicked them casually aside and pushed his fingers under the waistband of my panties, now the only article of clothes left between us. I eased my hips up a little so he could rip them off me. His impatience was palpable. I liked it, I felt a warm gush of wetness at my center. I grabbed his hand and guided it between my legs, “See what you’ve done, you naughty boy?”

His head fell back and a guttural moan issued from the back of his throat, “Fuck me!” He hissed.

“Oh, I intend to.” I quipped as I wrapped both legs around his waist and used them to pull him back toward me.

He collapsed forward, catching himself with his arms so that his full weight didn’t fall on me at once. So thoughtful.

He stared down at me and I looked up at him, I ran my tongue across my lips invitingly. I felt him shudder under my touch as I ran my hands along the muscles of his back. I gave another tug with my legs and whispered in his ear, “Now fuck me like you mean it.”

“Oh my god!” He groaned. Maybe he wasn’t used to woman talking dirty to him, but he seemed to like it so I decided he needed a little more.

I ran my hand through his hair, then I tightened my grip around a good handful of it so I could pull his head down to mine. I brought my mouth to his ear and let out a trickle of breath, just to tease him a little. He shivered. Making sure my voice was breathy so he continued to get the full effect of my warm exhales tickling his ear, I whispered, “Come on baby, I want to feel you inside me right now. I want that hard cock of yours sliding in and out of me, I want to feel you cum inside of me. Fuck me, now!”

“Stop,” he whimpered, “or I’m going to cum before I even make it that far."

But I’m nothing if not relentless, “Then you better hurry.” I lifted my hips up and he slid inside of me.

His thrusts quickly became frantic, “Oh fuuuuuck, you feel so fucking good!”

“Mmmm.” It was the best response I could give in the moment. He smelled amazing and as he picked up speed, and began to perspire, his scent intensified, it was almost enough to send me over the edge all by itself. No one has the right to smell that good.

I thrust up into him, my fingers digging into his ass to propel him on. I could feel every nerve ending in my body at that moment. I rubbed myself against him as he buried himself in me over and over again until my vision blurred and the most intense orgasm I’ve ever had crashed over me causing me to cry out then I bit down on his shoulder, hard.

I felt him pulsing inside me as he collapsed on top of me. He rolled off of me but then pulled me back to him to shower kisses along my neck and across my shoulders.

“That was amazing, you’re amazing! Thank you for the most amazing night of my life!” He grinned at me like he had just won the lottery or something.

I giggled. That was just the post orgasmic bliss talking. “You’re pretty amazing yourself.” I told him.

His gaze grew serious, and he whispered, “I should tell you who I really am-“

“No.” I put my finger across his lips, “This is enough. We both have obligations to return to tomorrow, just let tonight be what it is, a perfect interlude.”

Several emotions slid through his eyes, but his only response was to whisper, “Spend the night? Sleep with me?”

I mean, why not? I was never going to see him again anyway.

[tibby]

do you have any more thoughts about lawrence amanda adam living together

boy DO I:

it wasn’t like, an instant thing - lawrence was still sorting out his divorce, adam was still wary around them and spending half his time at his shitty apartment even if being there now brought on panic attacks, and amanda was reluctant to leave john alone. but then adam and lawrence get together and amanda starts spending more time at their place whenever she can bring herself to leave the warehouse, and then john dies and she just sort of. moves in all time. she never asks and the others never offer. but. you know. murder families don’t have to talk to communicate.

lawrence cleans, adam looks after the vegetable garden, amanda fixes shit up around the house

whenever there’s no trap business to attend to and lawrence is off working his boring real person job, adam and amanda hang out together and smoke and listen to music and have their version of a heart to heart while painting each other’s nails

lawrence has primary control over the decor because he technically pays the biggest share of rent but that did NOT stop amanda and adam from hanging up band and movie posters of shit that lawrence has never heard of.

they DO have weekly movie nights on a thursday. hoffman is invited as long as he brings the popcorn. logan is not. lynn has a standing open invitation but usually has better ways to spend her time. they invited perez once to watch carrie with them and strahm got all mad about it

adam takes so many photos of them all and they’re all stuck to the fridge alongside like, drawings that diana did and the weekly supermarket/home depot shopping list

they have a swear jar that they only use when diana is around because. well. they don't want to corrupt that child anymore than they already have. "i can excuse murder but i draw the line at swearing in front of my child" - lawrence gordon, probably

adam's cat bastard does NOT love anyone besides adam, but DOES tolerate lawrence because he's adam's mate and amanda because, you know, the insane lesbian desire to protect adam faulkner-stanheight is a bond that cannot be broken

one time adam was rearranging the furniture and setting up actual lights and amanda walked in from building shit in the murder basement. and was like what's going on. and because it's adam and he wanted to take tasteful sexy pictures and offered to do them with amanda for lynn. and it's not the weirdest thing lawrence has come back to.

they all still have traumas and nightmares obviously, and amanda has unspoken free reign on adam and lawrence's bed on the nights that are bad for her. she'd never openly ask, but she knows that she can tiptoe in and curl up with the only two men who never tried to hurt her, seek comfort in their warmth and love. and they won't bring it up the next day and make her uncomfortable. it's just another sign of home.

[tommyspeakycap]

I just wanted to say i love your imagines 😁 also, love how the fandom agreed that if the shelby's had a sibling who isn't straight, they would support them! They are quite literally the "I can excuse murder, but I draw the line at being homophobic" quote 😂 i think that is awesome. Stay awesome!

definitely!! they’re super supportive and i can just IMAGINE the reaction of the family if anyone were to say anything. enjoy a short blurb with Polly, Tommy and Alfie having a meeting in the Garrison when someone makes an untoward comment pointed at little shelby’s sexuality.

“What did you just say?” It isn’t so much the words that he speaks, but instead how they are spoken. They were scarily, chillingly cold. Tommy appears calm, almost eerily so as Polly looks slowly between her nephew with his hardened glare moving from his ash tray to stare intently at the two men sitting in suits far too nice for the type of pub that the garrison was who had tried to get Tommy’s support in terms of protection for their business. Admittedly, it was a big business, but Tommy Shelby goes with his gut and his gut said no. And on their way out, these two men in their annoyance made what would come to be their biggest and possibly last ever mistake.

An incredibly deafening silence had fallen over the pub as soon as those words left that man’s mouth expecting a chuckle of men to follow. No laughter followed at all. No more chortles of men or shouting for pints. No more clanging of glasses and conversation bouncing off the walls. It was dead silent.

Then there is a laugh. A loud, bellowing chuckle and howl that stops only to allow for a loud sigh and a long slow clap as he walks in scuffing his heels. That person is ever the drama queen Alfie Solomons with his metal cake tucked under his arm as he wears a darkened smirk. “Who the fuck are you?” One of the business men in the tailored suits asks the burly Londoner in his bakery clothes. “Who the fuck am i?” Alfie repeats, “Who the fuck are you?Assuming you were the one who had one of my boys here killed yeah?” He sneers, his arms crossed over his chest with hands holding onto each opposite bicep tightly. “Yeah and?” The businessman in the dark navy suit asks pompously, “Thought murder was you lots thing eh?” He says, glaring back at Alfie Solomons until the slow steps of a now standing Tommy Shelby makes heads turn in his direction.

Polly watches on as she smokes a cigarette. She doesn’t bother to kick up a fuss, she knows that the two men who dared make a comment about her niece would be dead by the time darkness fell of Birmingham that evening. She simply stands up and brushes past the men, “Everybody out!” She booms, her strong voice echoing through the silent pub. All of the men immediately begin to scuttle out rapidly until the last man lets the door bang behind him. That’s when Polly turns around, glaring daggers into the men as her heels click towards them. “One day men like you will learn to respect women. Until then, it’s a lesson you’ll have to be taught.” And then she simply turns again and walks away, offering a nod to Tommy and Alfie and leaves the pub.

“Murder our thing eh?” Tommy hums lowly, his voice dripping with venom and drowned in his own type of subtle murderous rage. “What do you think about that, Alfie?”

Alfie shrugs his broad shoulders, tilting his head sideways slightly as he furrows his eyebrows even more and takes further steps towards the two men, scuffing his feet lazily as he does. He only stops when he’s right up in the navy suit wearing man’s face as Tommy stands somewhat menacingly a few feet behind the man in the darker black suit with an irritating pocket square. “Well I don’t know, Tommy.” Alfie mumbles, “And you?” He asks.

Tommy inhales deeply in faux thought, narrowing his eyes. “I wouldn’t say so.” He pauses, “Circumstance allowing, we certainly can excuse it.”

To that Alfie nods with a sickening grin. “Oh certainly Tom, certainly.” He snarls, fear rolling clearly through the two businessmen’s eyes as Alfie leans in closer to one man with a white knuckle grip around the metal cane he carried and Tommy stands close enough for the other man to feel his breath down the back of his neck threateningly. “Homophobia though, Alfie? How is it we feel about that?”

“Well,” Alfie growls, “We just don’t fucking stand for IT!” Alfie finally allows his temper to break, his voice raising to a loud bark as he draws back his arm only to swing it straight back forward to make a clang and a thud against the ribs of the man in the navy suit at the same time as Tommy leaps forward and wraps his strong arm around the neck of the other man, squeezing tightly with his elbow despite clawing hands. Both men are barley conscious when Tommy snarls his final words to them, “No we certainly fucking do not.”

And then he snaps that neck his arm is around, and Alfie Solomons treats the other like a piñata under his red stained metal cain.

The two men may be no type of upstanding citizen, but when it comes to the defence of Tommy Shelby’s darling youngest sister who Alfie had also somewhat adopted as his own sister, they tolerated absolutely nothing. Especially not slander or any comments regarding who the girl with the heart of gold falls in love with.

[lena-in-a-red-dress]

Loved your tags on the Brenda Strong reblog! We need it as the new supercorp au!

Well, sOMEONE gave me an idea of OG!Lillian losing her memory and staying with Eliza for a while, and all day during work I was daydreaming of amnesia!Lillian slowly being told her life and being eager and excited to meet her daughter, only to find herself facing off against each member of the superfriends first as they try to suss out whether the memory loss is legit and/or whether she deserves to be in Lena’s presence. But finally she passes the final test (Kara) and when Lena still resists meeting her, Lillian overhears her trying to explain why it’s a bad idea. “None of you get it: she is a master manipulator. Lex didn’t exist in a vacuum-- he had to learn it from somewhere, and he learned it from our father and from her.”

But Kara ultimately talks her into it, and Lillian finally finds herself face to face with the woman who is her daughter. Her beautiful, beautiful daughter. Except her daughter doesn’t do anything except sit there-- no eye contact, no attempts at conversation. Lillian finally breaks the silence. “It’s so good to finally see you...”

She reaches over to take Lena’s hand, but Lena pulls away before she can make contact. Lillian instead lets her hand rest on the table between them. A peace offering. 

“I’ve heard a lot about you. About your work in National City.”

Lena doesn’t respond.

“They say you’re a such a force for good--”

“Just-- stop,” Lena says finally. “You might have fooled them, but I’m not.”

“What they’ve told you is true-- I don’t remember--”

“And even if that were true, I’ll let you in on a little secret.” Finally, Lena meets her eye, but her gaze is cold. Cruel. “You are not a good person.”

Lillian’s heart falls, and only now does she realize how bad an idea this had been.

“I spent half of my life trying to earn your love and the other half trying to get away from you. Don’t think for a moment that I’m going to let you weasel your way into my life after I’ve finally gotten you out of it.”

So... it doesn’t go well. Ostensibly, Lena and Kara are in Midvale to visit Eliza over the fourth of July weekend. Kara planned to spend the night in her childhood home, but Lena refuses. 

“I won’t be under the same roof as her--”

“I’ll leave,” Lillian says. 

Eliza looks at her in sympathy, but doesn’t protest. “Perhaps it would be for the best. We can put you up in the local bed and breakfast for the weekend, and then after...”

After. After doesn’t matter to Lillian. Not when her only free and living child wants nothing to do with her. She lets Eliza make the plans, and collects her meager belongings into a borrowed suitcase. In a bout of stubborn refusal to quit, when Eliza invites her to the community cookout and fireworks display, Lillian accepts. If only to be in the vicinity of Lena, to observe her daughter and feel a part of her in even so distant a way, if only for the opportunity to show Lena that she is different than whoever she might have been.

But when she arrives the following afternoon, she learns that Lena remained behind alone. “To watch the house,” Eliza says, though the excuse is clear to everyone who hears it. Lillian also notices that her daughter’s partner Kara is also missing. 

“Called back to work in National City,” is the official party line, but Lillian isn’t sure she believes it any more than she believes Lena’s excuse. She tries to enjoy herself, but her thoughts are blocks away, with the woman who refuses to be her daughter.

The evening deepens to night, and as the fireworks display commences, Lillian tries to lose herself in the explosions that rock the very air. Soon though, the feeling of wrongness that’s been following Lillian all night catches up to her with a foggy sky and the scent of not sulphur, but woodsmoke.

“Fire!” a voice cries. “Fire! Fire!”

All heads snap towards the distant voice, and widen when they spot the glow of a building fire in the direction of Eliza’s cul-de-sac. The crowd on the beach move as one towards the scene, Lillian at the lead. Heart pounding against her ribs, she hears the wail of sirens approaching: too distant, too slow.

“Lena!” she screams as the burning house comes into view. “Lena!”

Lena isn’t on the street-- she isn’t anywhere to be seen. Realization hits like a bolt of lightning, and someone tries to hook an arm around her as she makes for the front door. Lillian wrenches herself free. “My daughter is in there!” 

 They aren’t strong enough or quick enough to stop her before she barrels through the front door. Lillian’s brain works rapidly to piece together that if the fire started on the ground floor, then the only reason Lena wouldn’t have made it out is if she were asleep on the top floor, where she would likely be unconscious from smoke inhalation. She thunders up the stairs, coughing as the smoke grows dense. Staying low, she sweeps through each room until she finds Lena in the attic room, unconscious on Kara’s bed. 

Lillian gathers her daughter up as best she can and drags her back downstairs, through the front door and out onto the grass of the front lawn, coughing all the way. Eliza and her daughter Alex look at her as though they’ve seen a ghost, but all Lillian can think of is that her daughter isn’t coughing.

“She isn’t breathing!” she cries, desperately. Tears spill down her cheeks, and not just from the smoke. Without hesitating, she lays Lena flat and begins to administer rescue breathing. Counting and breathing and crying, her world narrows to her task alone, until the hands of paramedics crowd her vision, moving her aside even as they reach for Lena.

“It’s all right ma’am,” one says gently. “We’ve got her from here.”

Lillian follows them to the hospital, and waits as her daughter is treated for smoke inhalation. Soon, she’s informed that Lena is comatose, and on a respirator. 

“I’d like to sit with her, please.”

No one thinks to tell her no. And so Lillian waits, for hours, over a day for her daughter to wake. Doctors come in and apprise her of Lena’s condition, but nothing prepares her for the fear that creeps into Lena’s eyes when they finally open, and she realizes there’s a tube down her throat. Nothing prepares Lillian for the way that fear amplifies the moment Lena lays eyes on her.

“Sweetheart, please,” she begs, “it’s okay, you’re okay. Please, calm down--”

But when Lillian reaches for her daughter’s hand Lena recoils again, and begins to thrash against the restraints that have kept her from pulling out her tube. Choked, muttering sobs emerge around the tube, and sickening gurgles chill Lillian to the core even as a new body inserts itself between them.

“Lena!” Kara says, taking Lena’s face between her hands. “It’s okay, I’m here. You’re safe. I promise you’re safe. Please, calm down... come on, breathe with me. In... out... don’t fight the tube, Lena, okay? Breathe with it... in... out...”

Slowly the monitors cease their shrill screaming, and only then does Lillian realize that doctors have converged as well, only to hold back until Lena was calm again.

“It’s okay, Lena. She’s leaving. She’s leaving...”

And Lillian does. She leaves the room, and doesn’t look back.

---

She can’t leave the hospital. Lillian makes it as far as the emergency room doors before the pull of Lena draws her back. This time, she sits with the others, waiting with bated breath for Kara to come back with news. 

When she does, Kara sits next Lillian directly. 

“They’ve extubated her,” the girl says softly. Woman, really. Kara is young, comparatively, yet old beyond her years with a weight Lillian can’t quite place. She offers Lillian a tired smile. “She’ll be okay.”

“She was afraid of me.”

Kara nods, not bothering to deny the truth. “She thought.... well, it doesn’t matter what she thought.” She runs a hand across her eyes. “You saved her life.”

“She’s my daughter.” The words come soft, almost plaintive, as though Lillian herself can’t quite believe them. 

“Thank you,” is all Kara returns.

---

Lena’s released a few days later. Kara takes her home to National City, and Lillian believes it to be the end of anything she might have had with her daughter. She tries to banish it from her mind, and focuses instead on Eliza, who now has the unfortunate burden of having had her home burn to the ground. They, at least, are friends, and Eliza seems to appreciate her support, however meager it is. 

Two days later, Lillian gets a call she isn’t expecting. 

“She wants to see you,” Kara says.

Lillian leaves Midvale that very minute with Eliza’s blessing. She makes the drive in record time, and soon finds herself in an apartment that’s both lavish and cozy, full of a warm life she thus far hasn’t been privy to. 

In the bedroom, Lena sits propped up with pillows, a box of tissues on one side and a waste bin on the other. “Sorry for the mess,” Lena croaks, cracking open one eye as the door creaks shut behind Lillian. “What I’m coughing up hasn’t exactly been pretty.”

Lillian sits on the furthest end of the bed. She itches to reach for Lena, to care and to mother her, but folds her hands in her lap instead in deference to the undercurrent of wariness that still runs through her daughter’s voice. 

“You saved my life,” is all Lena says after a moment. “Usually you don’t do that unless you have an ulterior motive. Like murder.”

Lillian flinches, but then freezes when she catches the slight hint of a smile playing at Lena’s lips. 

“Joking,” comes the rasping assurance. “Old-you would’ve gotten it.”

Instead of jumping in on the joke, Lillian finds herself fighting tears. “I really haven’t been much of a mother to you, have I?”

“No, you haven’t.” But this time it comes without malice, without judgement. 

Lillian wipes her eyes. “I’m so sorry, Lena. I wish-- I wish I had been better to you. You-- you deserve--- every happiness.”

“I do,” Lena agrees again. “But the good news is, I finally have people who let me believe that.”

“Good,” Lillian says breathlessly. “That’s... good.”

A long moment of silence passes between them. 

“I believe you,” Lena admits finally. Her shoulders lift in a shrug. “I don’t know what that means for anything between us, but--- I believe that you’re not... yourself.”

Lillian nods carefully. “It’s hard to hear the things I did. It feels like some other person entirely. I know it’s not,” she says quickly, “not really. But... I want to be better than her. Than who I was.”

Lena looks at her carefully. This time, Lillian looks back, holding her daughter’s gaze. 

“Will you help me?”

[yelenasdog]

heavy is the head that wears the crown (mob!arvin russell x fem! pastor’s daughter! reader)

genre: angst+fluff

summary: arvin had always heard the saying “heavy is the head that wears the crown” but never truly understood what it meant. not until now

words: 4.06k

warnings: since this is based off of a tdatt, family death, mentions of death, mentions of mobs, kissing, marriage, murder, smoking, suicide, cancer and i think that’s it. it’s also kinda melodramatic, and i haven’t watched tdalt in a while so a lot could be plot inaccurate also idk anything abt the mob or mafia so like dont k*ll me thx i just like joe pesci

a/n: first, i owe the amazing concept of mob!arv to @kelieah ! so go follow her for more mob!arvin goodness!! basically i’m obsessed w 90s mob movies and watched goodfellas and casino and few too many times lately and oops here we r! i tried to write this from the narrator in tdatt’s view, so if u wanna read it like that then cool! btw the pic w the dress is just an idea of the dress reader is wearing not what she looks like! ok enjoy i’ll stop rambling

·。·。·。

“So, Arvin. I was told you paint houses? That true?”

Arvin hesitated, opening his mouth and closing it again. He wasn’t a painter, no, he killed people. For a price, that is.

But rather than saying no, the jab in his side from his uncle told him to answer otherwise.

“Yes, sir. It is.”

The Pastor nodded, taking a drag from his cigar, imported all the way from Cuba. He then placed what was left of the long stick in the crystal tray in front of him, the tapping of it on the reflective surface seeming almost deafening.

“Can all your family be traced down to one place, son?”

Arvin gulped, avoiding his eyes, darting his own around the heavily decorated room. Another jab to his side. He winced, meeting the older man’s eyes. He may not know much about the life he was about to enter, but he knew enough about what that meant.

“Yes, sir. They can be, minus my father and my mother. They’re gone.”

Not even a full beat of silence later, the Pastor spoke.

“How’d he die?”

Arvin was taken aback, though he knew that question was coming. His jaw clenched, as did his fist by his side. If the Pastor noticed, he didn’t speak on it, barely lifting his eyes from the document resting on his desk.

“Suicide, after the war.”

“And your mother?”

He took his lip in between his teeth, feeling the skin break, the tears well in his eyes for reasons he would excuse as the pain he was inflicting.

“Cancer. It happened when I was young, I didn’t barely even know her.”

The pastor looked up, slimming his eyes. This time he did notice the glimmering droplets, welling up in his chestnut colored eyes, threatening to fall. He appreciated the boy’s attempt to keep his emotions in check in front of his would be superior, leaning back into his chair.

“It’s alright, boy. You’re allowed to cry, it was your mother.” His southern accent was thick like molasses, his words drawing out. Arvin still felt that it wasn’t acceptable, though, so he only sniffled and directed his chin further up towards the ceiling. He stood there for a while, nerves running through his every cell. It was electric, like white lighting making its way through his veins at a painstakingly slow pace.

“Right then.”

The pastor stood, walking towards Arvin and his uncle. His expensive loafers tapped along the cold floor as he went, the sound pestering to the ears of Arvin, taunting him. He reached a soft hand out, which the boy standing opposite to him gladly took. He observed how the Pastor’s hand was without scars, calluses. Anything that would point to evidence of him being a killer, doing his own dirty work (or “the Lord’s work” as he liked to put it).

“Welcome to the family, son.”

And as Arvin smiled widely and shook his hand with an iron grip, he began to wonder what his new life would entail doing the “Lord’s work”.

He thought he had a pretty good idea, but boy, was he wrong.

“So, how’d it go?”

It was later, and Arvin was sitting with one his most favorite people, Y/n. The pair were resting in an open field, the wildflowers around her just almost competing with the beauty she held. He bashfully looked to the dirt under his shoes, noticing how only inches away, her hands picked at the damp grass.

“Went well, I think. He told me I’m ‘part of the family now’.”

She smiled at him, and in that moment with her hair so widely astray, and wearing that pale blue dress he adored so much, Arvin’s heart felt a certain emotion he hadn’t necessarily felt for someone at this multitude before. He had felt it for Lenora, his mother, his aunt and uncle. But it was different, then. Because now as he sat with her by his side, his love for her was realized at its full potential.

She began to ramble on, congratulating him on becoming a member of her father’s so called “family”, telling him how proud she was. He couldn’t keep focused on the sweet words that were falling from her lips like honey, though, as he was too caught up in his own head, his own thoughts.

“Arv?” She asked, voice laced with slight concern, but mostly with curiosity.

“Sorry, darlin’. Just thinking.”

She blushes, it’s the first time he’s called her that before. She tries to carry on conversation, though with her heart beating through that pretty dress of her’s, it was a bit difficult.

“About what?” She questioned, doing her very best not to pry too far, to be invasive in the very reserved Arvin’s mind.

Truthfully? He was promising himself that he would marry her one day, make her his wife. But telling her that he was only thinking “‘bout the future” would have to do. I mean, truthfully, he really was!

So he answered her, and she was content with said answer, abandoning the subject and returning to many praises for Arv. The standards for the “family” were high, and though she believed in him fiercely, she knew that at his core Arvin was the sweetest soul she’d ever met, and she was skeptical he could put that aside to do whatever the job would require.

“Arvin?”

He looked up, and she nearly lost her breath. It was Arvin’s sunkissed skin, tanned from working under the hot sun, the beams beating down on him. Or perhaps it was the freckles that lightly dusted his crooked nose, like a constellation from the cosmos above. Maybe even it was the mop that sat on his head, the color all the same of those sweet brown eyes of his. Whatever it was, she felt it could only mean one thing.

Y/n Y/l/n was confident she loved Arvin Russell.

“Hmm?” He asked, tilting his head like a confused canine. Adorably endearing, she thought.

And though she had much to say, she was afraid that if he were the dog in question, then the puppy had got her tongue, so to say.

“Y/n/n?” The boy said, nudging her with his elbow, making a melodious giggle erupt from her chest. “What, cat got your tongue?” Arvin teased, and she only shook her head and smiled, as he had no idea how correct he really was.

“You could say that.”

The two shared laughs over the exchange, and at some point (neither of them are quite sure when, how, or who leaned in first), their lips connected in a short and sweet kiss. It seemed that it only lasted for a moment, and as soon as they pulled apart, Arvin and Y/n both were dying for more.

But they resisted, Arvin reaching out a cautious hand to entangle with hers. She bashfully grinned, as did he (though he did his best to resist).

“Y/n, I really like you.” He had said, his thumb running small circles upon her skin. “And correct me if I’m wrong, but I think you like me too.”  He laughed, nervous notes to the sound.

“And well, I was wondering if you’d like to be my girlfr-”

And with a light groan, Y/n had wrapped her arms around his neck, pushing both of them to the ground. She connected their lips, the kiss so oddly blunt, an attack on his lips that he had no plan of fighting off. His hands found her hair, and her’s moved to the sides of his face, holding him so tightly, as if she was afraid he would let go.

“Yes.” She pulled away panting, her lips swollen, his flushed. “Yes, I’d love to be your girlfriend, Arvin.”

They smiled as bright as the setting sun above them, and Arvin pulled her close as she buried her face in the warm crook of his neck. They stayed like that ‘till the sun went down and the stars came out of hiding, the cool summer breeze blowing around them. They both still felt it, then, the love they had only just began to realize was there. And they would continue to feel it for years to come.

Like when Arvin would get back from a job, sometimes with blood splattered on his crisp white shirts, his dirty work getting, well, dirty. She would slowly peel it from his body, taking care to make sure he wasn’t hurt. She would do her best to wash the crimson stains from the fabric, sighing if it was seeming to be of no use. Arvin would come up behind her where she was working at the sink, wrapping his strong arms around her middle and resting his head on her shoulder.

“I’m sorry, Arv,” she would start, blowing a stray strand of hair out of her face, “damn thing won’t budge.” Arvin would just chuckle, reaching up a gentle hand, gentle only for her, to tuck the hair behind her ear, quietly speaking.

“Well I think it looks pretty good, darlin’. It’ll do just fine.” He would spin her around to face him, and pepper small kisses on her skin, smiling at her reaction. And if he was hurt, she would take care to use a warm washcloth, wiping the scarlet splatters from his creamy complexion. 

The juxtaposition of the shades was always bewildering for her, oddly beautiful in a way. She never said so, though, only muttering praises of how proud she was, how strong he is, things like that. And Arvin would watch her, honey colored eyes following her as she moved about to fix him right up. No pain would have any real effect on him, not when she was there to reassure him, make him whole again.

As Arvin moved up in their small town world, in the “family”, he remained just as kind, just as gentle. Nothing really changed, no, only the lines on his forehead deepening and the crows feet becoming darker when he smiled; And Y/n’s role, as well. She stopped cleaning him up, stopped trying to rid his shirts of bloody reminders of his living. Arvin seemed to no longer be “painting walls’, but rather making sure jobs were done, everyone was staying in their places.

And things led to another, and all of a sudden Y/n and Arvin were moving into a big house, bigger than Arvin had ever even been in before. Deals and arrangements were made, settlements too.

One regular Tuesday, Arvin came home from what Y/n could tell had been a long, long, day. He was exhausted, but had this unmistakable look of excitement and joy plastered to his face. He had come in bursting through the door, not even taking off his hat or overcoat before making his way over to Y/n and kissing her silly.

“Well hello to you, too, Arv.” She laughed, amusement and curiosity both equally swirling around in her brain, wondering what could possibly have inspired this behavior.

“Things are happening, sweetheart, good, good things.” He took her hands in his, briefly shaking them before planting a kiss to them and walking away, a big smile on his face. And truth be told, not that she would admit it, it scared the Hell outta her. She wasn’t quite sure as to why, but something was itching at her brain, warning her that whatever was brewing wasn't a good thing. But nevertheless, she maintained her grin, painted lips never faltering.

The next day, when the “good things” were supposed to be happening, Arvin was seriously wondering why on God’s green Earth he had expected this to be easy.

“Come again, son?”

Arvin swallowed, shifting on his feet. He mentally scolded himself for ending up in this position again, standing in front of the Pastor’s desk, all kinds of confused. But it had to be this way, it was for the best, he knew. The sun shone through the window above the desk in front of him, right into his eyes, nearly blinding him. The Pastor didn’t really care, though.

“I’m asking for your blessing to ask Y/n’s hand in marriage, sir.”

The older man slowly nodded in understanding, taking a long drag from the expensive cigar between his fat fingers, the gold ring on his pinky also shining brightly under the harsh sun’s light.

“I just thought that after our arrangement-”

“Arvin, I don’t regret making you an heir, I don’t.” He stated, blowing out a long stream of smoke. “Hell, I can feel something big and bad coming, boy, you understand? I know God’s will is holding out on us, on this family. But it’s running thin.”

The young man clenched his jaw, internally cringing on what that might mean to the family, for the family, what it meant for Y/n. He bit his tongue, feeling the iron seep onto his taste buds.

“And I know those damn Teagardins are plotting, they’re plotting for our downfall. Making you next in line is something they won’t see coming, and I trust it’ll stay that way. But I don’t quite understand

“Well I love your daughter, I love her so much that it hurts. And if worst comes to worst…” he stopped, his bottom lip wavering for a moment, trying to carefully dance around the different outcomes of this conversation. “I feel I’ll be better able to protect her if we’re married, if she’s truly mine.” That part might have been a lie. Y/n has never been his, never would be. She was her own person, outside Arvin, outside the family. It was what he loved about her above all else.

The Pastor was quiet for a moment contemplating his response, calculating it.

“Would you die for her?”

“Yes.” The answer came without thought, it was automatic for Arvin.

The Pastor smiled widely, lifting his arms.

“So, when’s the wedding, Arv?

Turns out, it was exactly a year, a month, and 6 days until Y/n and Arvin would tie the knot. Arvin had spent time, waiting to find the perfect moment to ask her the big question. He had decided on a night where the moon was bright and the sky was clear. They sat together in what they had donned “their” field, the greenery around them rustling in the wind. Though he was nervous, he had delivered a stunning speech that had taken poor Y/n’s heart by force. It ended up with both of them crying like babies and a shiny ring on Y/n’s finger.

The wedding itself had taken place on a beautiful summer’s day, and Y/n had worn a pretty white dress that had made Arvin almost faint when he saw her, standing there on her father’s arm. She was all decked out in the most expensive diamonds and pearls, courtesy of her father, making her shine like a crystal of sorts.

It was the best night of her life, Arv’s too. But the joy they had felt must have an inevitable end, as the worst night (Arvin’s too) was soon to follow.

It had been an ambush, the death of the Y/l/n family. The death toll had managed to wrack up every member immediate member of the esteemed mob family, including the Pastor, his wife, and their two sons. A bomb planted in the trunk of their Cadillac that had gone off, placed there by who knows. 

When Arvin had heard, his immediate reaction was to thank God that Y/n had decided to stay with him that day, to go lay in the fields just the two of them. Immediately after she had been told, she had fallen into Arvin, her entire body weight being put into his arms. Sobs wracked through her frame, her tears dampening Arvin’s yellow button up.

Once she had “come to”, Y/n had grown to be furious rather than sad. As when you look at the lineage of her family, look at the ranks of the mob and who’s to rise to power when the one in front of them dies, well Arvin was right after Y/n’s big brother, Jamie.

And Y/n had loved her big brother, she had loved him very much and would like to believe that Arvin, her sweet, sweet Arvin, would never do anything of that multitude just to satiate his hunger and appetite for power. The hunger for power she wasn’t even aware he possessed. But how in the Hell was she even supposed to be sure?

“I want to believe you, Arv, I do. But I can’t! It don’t make any damn sense, Arvin!”

“You really think that low of me, Y/n/n?”

Y/n had been shouting, trying to confront him for a crime he hadn’t committed. But Arvin was calm as he spoke, his eyes only watering and his voice only bordering on wavering. Y/n reached a trembling hand to her scalp, pulling lightly on her roots. The tears slipping down her face were hot and salty and she hated it so much.

“What else am I supposed to think?” She lifted an arm, sniffling before putting her other one on her waist, the blue of her dress, the same dress Arvin adored so much, just barely matching what was to become of her mood. She was started to regress, the red hot anger from before transforming to a stormy blue of unsure waters.

“My whole family is dead, and it just so happened that you asked me to stay with you the day they died! My whole family is dead!” She screamed, her voice a crescendo of sorts. “And everyone is clean, Arv, except you. You got the motive, you got the alibi, I’ll give you that much.” She paused, briefly wiping her nose and looking to the blank wall to the left of her father’s office. “It’s funny;” she dryly chuckled, and Arvin looked up.

“You went from doing my daddy’s dirty work to gettin’ some poor bastard to do your own. Ironic isn’t it?”  

Arvin stepped towards her, pain twisting his insides up to see his best girl afraid of him, cowering away from his touch.

“You still have me, Y/n. I’m your family.”

She looked to her feet and back to him, shaking her head.

“No, Arv. You’re not. And you will be sorry for what you did to him, to all of them. You will be.” She said, walking away with her heels clicking heavily on the wooden floors. Arvin stood still for a while, not quite sure where to go next. But it dawned on him as the stained glass shone down on his feet in the most poetic manner, that he was already there.

So he dragged his feet along with him, breaths ragged and short, his head slowly tilting up towards the glorious light. He only had to go a few feet, before he sat down in the old leather chair, the only emotions he felt being those of an imposter. He thought back to all the nervous conversations he’d had with the pastor while he was sitting in that chair, a trembling Arvin usually standing opposite, awaiting instruction.

He darted his eyes across the mahogany surface in front of him, looking at all the various things that he only could associate with Y/n’s father. His valued cigar box, the crystalline tray that rested next to it. (He swore he could still smell the fresh smoke, wafting from the little dish.) He opened it, the latch clinking before his hand reached in and his fingers clasped around one of the thick rolls of tobacco. Before he could light it, he felt overwhelmed all of a sudden, and dropped it back into the box, slamming the lid.

He laid back, resting his weary head. Arvin took a deep breath through his nose, exhaling through his mouth, before falling into a not so peaceful slumber.

He was only woken minutes later, Joseph, Y/n’s uncle, wanting to know if Arvin had seen her lately. He shook his head, muttering an annoyed “No”. Joseph got the idea relatively quickly, exiting the room. He heard the chapel’s doors close, taking that as his queue to leave once he saw the time. So he grabbed his hat and his coat, leaving the office and making his way through the dimly lit space. His attention was caught, though, by the cross by the front pews, so beautifully shining. Arvin put down his things, and walked over to the pew, sitting down on the uncomfortable hardwood. He bowed his head, putting his interlocked fingers utop the surface in front of him.

He hadn’t done this in awhile, this whole praying thing. It seemed naive in his way of life, with the things that happened around him, the people lost. But nonetheless, if ever, now was a good time to try.

“Heavenly Father, I, I, uh, I need to talk to you. To, uh, set the record straight.” His hands were sweaty, tears welling in his eyes.

“Y/n, she’s- well she’s the love of my life, God, and I don’t think she loves me anymore. Hell, she wants me dead. But I don’t blame her, I couldn’t ever. Not after...” he paused, his bottom lip shaking, “Not if she thinks I killed her family. But I didn’t, Father, I didn’t and I could never. But she don’t see that. I need her to see that.” He raised his voice, the bitter droplets rolling down his reddened cheeks, hitting his shoes.

“I can’t live without her, I won’t. So I guess I’m askin’ you a favor, Lord. Just… let her know I didn’t do it, that I would never hurt her.” His voice cracked, his words barely audible, not that whoever was listening cared.

“That I love her so much.”

Arvin muttered something of an “Amen”, and then just sat there for he wasn’t sure how long. His silence was interrupted by a mellow and raw voice, cutting through the silence like the sharpest dagger.

“It was the Teagardin family. I just found out.”

Arvin stood and turned so fast he dizzied himself, having to hold onto the back of the pew for stability. His bottom lip quivered, his flushed features gaining a confused look.

“Y/n/n? How long you been there?” He questioned, not bothering to wipe his eyes. She shifted from one foot to the other, fumbling with her hands.

“Long enough.”

There was a mutual understanding at her few words from the two of them, and an apology within them all the same. Her eyes were bloodshot, her nose runny and her overall appearance disheveled. Despite that, just the fact that she was there, to him, made her the most beautiful girl in the world. 

Arvin could tell she was holding herself back, her emotions, too, as she started to speak, barely able to get through a sentence as she rambled about how she shouldn’t have assumed things, and that it wasn’t right of her to accuse her beloved of something so dire. But none of it mattered to Arvin as he strode towards her, her words only ceasing when he finally wrapped his arms around her.

“I’m so sorry, Arv.” She sobbed, gripping onto him for dear life. That was all she said, repeating it over and over again with the exception of “I love you” also being reiterated. 

Her husband spoke over her hushed tone, saying “It’s alright, doll, I know. You were right to think that, it’s not your fault. It was never your fault.” They continued that way for some time until they both regained their bearings, Arvin wrapping an arm around her shoulders and walking down the front stairs of the chapel. 

“Let’s go home, sweet girl.” He had said, so they did. Arvin kissed the side of her head, regarding once more how he loved her, before starting the ride home, his hand on her thigh the whole time, not wanting to let her go for even a second.

His mind was plagued with thoughts of the past, and he remembered an old saying he had heard long ago. What was it? Ah, you know what they say.

“Heavy is the head that wears the crown.”

·。·。·。

how we feeling folks did we like? gimme feedback if u wanna! mwah love u, take care of urself

 xx hj

[stellabat]

Hank: i can excuse murder but i draw the line at smoking

Deimos: YOU CAN EXCUSE MURDER???????????

[niksixx]

America’s Most Wanted

Requested: Kind of :D 

Pairing: Duff McKagan x Fem!Reader 

Description: While you and Duff are lovers, you’re also killers. A modern day Bonnie and Clyde love story. 

Warning: Mentions of murder, blood, stabbing, guns, etc. I tried not to make this fic graphic, but please read at your own risk if you believe this piece will trigger you. 

A/N: I am blessing you all with a Duff fic because I know how much you lovely humans wanted me to write something for him!! It’s a different type of fic, I consider this ‘horror’ but again, I tried not to make it super graphic that way you can still enjoy it! 

*Picture is NOT mine. Found on Google. Credit to the owner.* 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The streets of Los Angeles are uncharacteristically quiet at four thirty in the morning. Normally buzzing with crowds of inebriated young adults who spill out to the sidewalk after a night at the Roxy, they have become calm and eerily so. Illumination from the lamp posts provides the only source of light throughout the city in the late hours of the night. Stores and clubs remain closed for the second week in a row. Workers and customers alike are suffering, but the safety of the LA citizens is at stake.

The police and the FBI are frazzled. Patrolling the streets is too dangerous. One by one the death toll increases, with each murder more gruesome than the next, always unprovoked. Media outlets across the country keep the American citizens informed. The mugshots of the murderers are on every news channel, and posters are hung on every telephone pole. The two killers are wanted dead or alive, and they are Bonnie and Clyde resurrected.

Sitting at the base of a tree is one of the killers, the more experienced of the two. He goes by Duff. Long leather clad legs are splayed out in front of him as he cleans the fresh blood from his knife with a towel that has seen better days. Beside him hidden in the grass is the lifeless body of a twenty-nine year old man who had made the mistake of stepping outside his home. The scent of blood is strong, but Duff’s used to it. After brutally ending the lives of thirty innocent civilians up and down the west coast, the pungent odor is rarely a bother. In fact, Duff finds it comforting.

At first glance, Duff appears just like any other man in Los Angeles. That alone makes him deadly. Tall, blonde, and adorned in leather assets from head to toe, he’s intimidating. But it’s not the kind of intimidating that urges people away. He possesses an allure that pulls them toward him, draws them in. And then, when they least expect it, he strikes. One and done. Swift and clean. No remorse.

With his back against the base of the tree, Duff scans the empty streets, looking for any sign of life that is foolish enough to leave the safety of the indoors. He knows the police are doing everything they can to locate him without putting themselves at risk. He is aware that cities all across the country are terrified that they’ll fall victim to his murder spree. And yet there are still people who choose to enter the outdoor world, exposing themselves to potential harm. There is always the option of breaking the glass windows and terrorizing the people who choose to stay inside, but that isn’t the name of the game. Duff waits for his victims. He never goes looking for them.

Heels clicking against the cement pavement grabs his attention. Turning his head toward the sound, a petite woman in a red peacoat has a bit of hustle in her step as she pulls the jacket tighter to her body. The naive little thing is alone, checking over her shoulder once, twice, before exhaling a breath into the air.

From his pocket, Duff digs out a cigarette. Holding it between two gloved fingers, he lights it and casually blows a ring of smoke into the night. “You know darling, you shouldn’t be out here all by yourself.”

The clicking comes to a halt. Caught in the midst of her venture home, the lady stops and turns, worry lines etched in her forehead. Duff sighs. Poor thing doesn’t know what’s coming for her. “I know. I’m coming from a friend’s house. My apartment is just down the street.”

Duff heaves himself to his feet, brushing off the dirt and grass from his body. Shockingly, the lady doesn’t budge, but her eyes watch his every move. Stuffing his hands in the pockets of his jacket, he lets the cigarette dangle from his lips. A few steps forward and he’s standing in front of the young woman who squares her body defensively. She doesn’t recognize him, another shock, as his face has been plastered all over the 11 o’clock news, but her guard is high.

“At four in the morning?” Duff asks incredulously, playing the part of an intrigued stranger. He uses his charm for an advantage. The woman smiles a little, relaxing her shoulders. Duff notices. “What were you doing?”

He doesn’t have to do this. He doesn’t have to pretend to care, to warm up his victims before the hunt. But killing is a game, and games are meant to be fun. “I was planning on staying over, but I have trouble falling asleep in homes that aren’t my own,” Her eyes travel the length of Duff’s body before settling back on his face. She has trouble reading him. “What’s your excuse for being out so late?”

A few feet away, a shadow emerges from behind the cars parked along the street. Straining his neck to get a closer look, Duff recognizes the shadow and snickers to himself. Curiously, the lady turns her gaze just as the shadow disappears behind a different car. “I have trouble sleeping. Past trauma,” Duff lies casually, eyes downcast at the cigarette in his mouth. “Fresh air and a smoke usually calms me down.”

“I’m sorry to hear that…”

“Duff,” He answers back with a slow smile. “And you are?”

“Linda.” A wary smile surfaces on her lips. The rise and fall of her chest is normal, not as panicked as it was before.

The shadow in the background slithers around the cars, inching its way closer. It’s on the hunt for its next prey, but Duff shakes his head, chuckling under his breath. He looks to Linda again, who stares back quizzically. “Well, Linda, it was very nice to meet you. It’s late, though, and you should head on home.”

With a curt nod, Linda tugs her purse higher onto her shoulder. “It was nice to meet you too, Duff.” Linda attempts to step around him, but Duff sidesteps and blocks her path. Linda straightens, the muscles in her face tightening.

“One more thing,” In the shallow pocket of his leather jacket, Duff runs a thumb over the tip of his blade, leaning toward her with a smirk. Linda recoils, and he deadpans. “Don’t scream.”

For a split second, Linda’s fight or flight response is activated, only to be cut off by the sharp pain of a blade wedged in the side of her ribcage. A gloved hand covers her mouth, suppressing the soft whimpers of agony. Cocking his head, Duff stares into her eyes as tears spill over the apples of her cheeks. With a quick, slick motion, Duff pulls the knife from her side before penetrating the skin just above her collarbone. Lightning quick, the shadow emerges from the darkness and hurls itself at Duff, knocking him against the brick wall of a building just a foot behind him. If only the shadow had been quicker, not as hesitant, then it may have claimed Linda as its victim.

Now under the light of a lamppost, the shadow appears in its true form. The second killer. Dressed head to toe in black garments, the boxcutter held tight in its grasp, it takes one step forward, lips curled back in contempt.

“Fuck you, Duff. I had that.”

The anger in your voice turns him on, the opposite effect that it should have on his body. You were right. Linda was your kill, but she’d been alive for far too long. Things didn’t always have to be planned. Excessive planning, while it worked in most cases, could end up being a weakness. Sometimes, you just needed to go for the quick kill.

“I am so sorry, sweetheart,” Feigning innocence, Duff gestures to Linda’s lifeless body as he blows a cloud of smoke into the air. While he’s positive Linda is as good as gone, there was always the chance she was grasping at life by the skin of her teeth. And if she was indeed just another lifeless body bleeding out on the concrete, Duff would enjoy the sight of you exploding in anger right in front of him. You were always more beautiful that way. “But her apartment was down the street. You were just a bit too slow, darling. She would have made it home alive.” Your eyes fall downcast. Duff sighs. “Tell you what. Check her pulse. If she’s still breathing, I’ll let you finish her off.”

Crouching down to the pavement, you slip your hand into the collar of Linda’s peacoat, two fingers positioned on the side of her neck. Blood trickles onto your hand, the pungent liquid dripping down the side of her neck to her ear. Closing your eyes, you concentrate on finding a slow beating, but the only pulse you feel is the one flowing through your fingertips.

Eyes narrowed to slits, you watch as Duff chuckles from his place at the wall, taking drag after drag of the cigarette. He knew she was dead. He was toying with you. Teeth clenched together, you find yourself pressing his back further into the bricks, snatching the white cancer stick from his lips, and crushing it under the heel of your boot. You hold the blade against his neck, applying just a bit of pressure to make him slightly squirm under your touch. Neither you nor Duff are strangers to rough play.

He blinks in pure astonishment before curling his lips into a sly grin. Your fingers twitch, itching to wipe the smile off his face, but he’s caught your wrist far too many times in the past when you’ve tried. “Someone’s a little angry, aren’t we?”

Linda’s blood smears over Duff’s lips as your fingers graze over his face. With your lips by his ear, you reply breathily, “Don’t ask questions you know the answer to.”

Pulling away, you let your hands drop by your side, curling and uncurling your fists as a way to release the tension in your body. It was your kill. How were you supposed to get better if Duff claimed the victims for himself?

“Maybe you need more training.”

Your blood boils, eyes shifting back to Duff’s smug face. If you needed more training, it was his fault. “Maybe I need a better teacher.” It was easy to get under each other’s skin, although most of the time it was playful banter that morphed into sexual tension. From the bulge in his jeans and the hazy look in his eyes, you knew Duff was dangerously close to claiming you on the sidewalk.

“Temper, temper,” Duff taunts, pushing off the wall with the sole of his boot. The way he eyes you is how he gazes at his victims, like prey, but there’s a side of Duff only you’ve seen. Despite his primal instincts and the nagging urge to have his way with you whenever and wherever, you meant more to him than that. “You have a sharp tongue, sweetheart,” You tilt your head confidently upward, not breaking eye contact as he towers over you. Trailing a gloved hand over your exposed collarbone and up the side of your throat, his fingers slide around to grip the nape of your neck. With untamed hair, crazed eyes, and lips smeared with the blood of the fallen, he’s a madman, a killer. And while the feelings between you aren’t rational, you can’t deny your love for the wild criminal. “Show me what else it can do.”

His lips draw you in like a magnet. Many kisses have been shared between you and Duff, but your heart still beats wildly like it did the very first time. With his hands on either side of your face he keeps you still against him, lips moving in a frenzy before biting down on your lip. He’s rarely gentle, and it drives you mad.

The taste of blood floods your tongue as his tangles with yours, hot, heavy breaths fanning over your face. Your body tingles with fervent need, stomach twisting in passionate knots. As much as you want to enjoy the kiss, the taste of him, you pull back reluctantly, the thoughts in your head overwhelming the rest of your senses.

Duff’s hands cradle your face with a gentle touch. He eyes you with a hard look, a look that warns not to lie. “What’s going on in that pretty head of yours?”

The words spin around in your brain. Did you really need more training? In only six short months, Duff taught you everything he knew. You followed his lessons, mimicked his every movement, practiced until your muscles ached from the pain. “Am I disappointing you?”

Duff’s eyebrows furrow. His hands fall to your waist, tugging your hips firmly against him. “Disappointing me? Hardly. Sweetheart, you amaze me.”

“But you said I need more training.”

He chuckles softly. “And you do. That’s not a bad thing. But you’ve already come so far. Just a few months ago you were a dainty little thing who loved watching romance movies and baking cookies on Friday nights. Now you can shoot a gun with your eyes closed.”

“And you were just getting out of prison,” Snaking your arms around the back of Duff’s neck, you pull him closer to you, noses brushing tenderly. If it weren’t for Duff’s inmate taking the blame for the murder, he still would have been staring at the prison walls. How they were able to fool the system into letting Duff go was unfathomable, but he was here with you now. They had let a man guilty of first degree murder walk free, and that man turned into one obsessed with death. Along the way he found you, recruited you as his companion, and now couldn’t picture a world where you weren’t by his side. “I was smitten with you from the moment we met. And I knew you were trouble. I just didn’t care.”

“And look at us now,” Duff grins, stealing a quick kiss. Tendrils of wavy blond hair tickle your cheeks when he dips down to your lips. You never understood why he felt the need to steal them. Anything he wanted, you gave willingly. The rest of the world saw his demented and damned soul. You were fortunate to know every complex piece of him, but not all of them were rooted in evil. His love for you was genuine, unwavering, quite possibly his only redeeming quality. “America’s Most Wanted.”

Your head snaps over to the sound of an apartment door closing. Jogging down the steps and onto the pavement, a man untangles a green leash before hooking it onto his dog. The word screams in your head. Target.

Duff is already smirking when you look back at him. He gives you an encouraging nod; You dig into the back pocket of your jeans, pulling out the boxcutter with a sly smile. “Go get ‘em, sweetheart.”

[eds-trashmouth]

Up In Smoke

A/N: Someone teach me how to do a read more on mobile, everytime I try it doesn’t work. This was supposed to be short.

Pairing: Reddie

-

Up In Smoke

If you asked Eddie Kaspbrak two years ago if he’d ever be caught dead at a college party, he’d straight up laugh in your face. Eddie and parties just didn’t get along. Too many people. Too much screaming. Too many germs. Not enough hand sanitizer in the world. So why exactly is he currently sitting cross legged in a much too large bean bag chair in some grunge kid’s basement? Turns out he’s a sucker for dark curls and deep eyes.

His professor dismissed class and he was out the door. His next class was all the way across campus and he had small legs. What started as a brisk walk quickly turned into a full jog as he made his way to his math class. He was so focused on being late he didn’t see the door to the cafe opening until it hit him. Literally hit him, sending him and his entire stack of books and folders to the pavement. He was so worried about his papers at first he didn’t even realize the taller boy watching him with a warm smile. After he collected his things he finally thought to give this person a piece of his mind for hitting him with the door like that. He glared upward, finding the most beautiful guy he’d seen on campus. His curls seemed to all have a mind of their own, and his eyes glistened like the ocean during sunrise. Perhaps he’d seen too many rom coms but this was the man of his dreams. And he’d just thoroughly embarrassed himself. He was in such a daze he couldn’t even remember why he’d wanted to yell at him in the first place. They both just stared in silence for a few moments before the taller boy spoke.

“I guess you could say you really fell for me huh short stop.” The other boy grinned down at Eddie. With a scoff Eddie rolled his eyes and quickly looked away. Maybe he was concealing a blush, maybe he wasn’t.

“Not even! You hit me, remember? If anything I fell BECAUSE of you.” He glanced to his watch, he was sure he’d be late by now.

“Then I thoroughly apologize, my good sir. Let me make it up to you.” His voice suddenly shifted to an absolutely horrible British accent, making Eddie’s nose scrunch up before he glanced back down.

“How would you do that exactly?” Eddie stood, already starting to walk at a slow pace. “I’ve got class right now so I’ve really gotta go.”

“My friend Bev is having a party this weekend. Come.” He didn’t move from his spot, raising his voice for Eddie to hear.

“You don’t even know my name.” Eddie didn’t turn around. He was too late to be worrying about a party he’d never go to. “I’m sorry, I really gotta go.”

“I’d like to know.”

He kept walking.

That was on Tuesday. By Wednesday he’d decided he was maybe too harsh on this mystery guy. He shouldn’t have just walked away like that. Thursday brought even more regret about never getting his name or an address to that party. Even though he’s never go of course. Friday was like a miracle. His roommate, and best friend, Bill came barreling into their dorm shouting about some hottie that invited him to a party. Named Beverly.

They’d been there about two minutes before Bill made an excuse to find Beverly. Leaving Eddie to fend for himself at a strangers house. It took longer than it should’ve to find the kitchen and procure a drink for himself before finding the basement. So here he was, trying desperately not to touch anything. Sitting in some bean bag chair. Silently hoping the discomfort didn’t show on his face. There weren’t nearly as many people downstairs as there was up, but that didn’t make him feel anymore relaxed.

There was a pool table in the corner of the basement with a decent crowd around it. One corner was a group of girls just giggling away at some jock, and the next was a small circle of people passing around a joint. Eddie had never thought about smoking in the past but he wasn’t necessarily against the idea. Just not at a party with a bunch of strangers. He sat there with his solo cup in his hands, and his hands in his lap. He just glanced around for a little while, before his eyes met his cup and stayed there. Why was he here? He didn’t even like parties. He hadn’t even seen his mystery guy yet. Maybe it was a different Bev? This sucked.

“Hey short stop. Fancy meeting you here.” A body plopped down on the bean bag chair next to him. He watched his drink slosh in the cup before settling once the chair stop moving. He looked up at the boy next to him. Met with a beautiful smile and those ocean eyes. Eddie couldn’t help but swallow.

“Uh, hi. My friend Bill got invited, so here I am.” Eddie rubbed his hand across the back of his neck, one of his ticks.

“Well, you got invited as well. Before you ran off on me.” The boy smiled but it didn’t seem as bright as before.

“Oh...yeah. I’m sorry about that, I was late for class. And I dropped my books. And I was just flustered.” He looked down to hide the obvious blush he felt across his face. He felt the other boy shift a little next to him. Looking up he was met with another bright smile and a small laugh.

“I didn’t mean to get you all flustered,” he looked to Eddie’s cheeks before continuing. “Well, maybe I did. It looks mighty cute on you I must say.”

The blush on Eddie’s cheeks burned brighter.

“What’s your name? You can’t keep flirting with me without telling me your name.”

“Feisty I see. Perfect. Richie Tozier, at your service sir.” He put on another terrible British accent before thrusting his hand out for Eddie to shake. “And, who might you be? M’lord.”

Eddie took his hand into his and laughed a little too loudly before answering.

“Eddie Kaspbrak. Nice to meet you Richie.” He hated the formality of his voice.

“So, Eds. What are ya doing all by yourself? This is a party. What happened to Bill?” Eddie sighed before looking down once again.

“I’m not really a party person. And Bill left me to go find Beverly or something. I’m fine here. People can uh, make me anxious.” Everything suddenly felt too quiet as Richie sat there with nothing to say. Eddie was about to apologize for his weirdness when Richie stood up.

“Then let’s go. I know a place that’s quiet. No people. And I’ve got a little weed too.” He reached out his hand for the smaller boy. Eddie wasn’t sure what had gotten into him, and he wasn’t sure this wasn’t some plan to get him alone and murder him. But he didn’t think it was. So, he grabbed Richie’s hand and followed him out of the house.

Richie led him to a large hammock on the side of the house. No one was outside, especially on the side. Just like Richie promised. Eddie could feel himself relaxing already. Richie opened the hammock and slide inside. He patted next to him.

“Pop a squat Ed boy. It’s big enough for the both of us.” Without second thought Eddie slid in too. Their bodies were pressed together so closely Eddie was sure Richie could feel his heart hammering in his chest. Eddie decided to scoot before he’d died. Putting just enough room between them that they weren’t touching. If Richie minded he didn’t show it.

“Alright Eds. How do you want it?”

“Excuse me.” Eddie’s voice cracked as he looked at the other boy, baffled.

Richie was digging into his pocket and pulled out an old Altoids tin. He brought it out with a boisterous laugh.

“Relax Spaghetti, I meant joint or blunt.” Eddie cringed at the nickname.

“I’m drawing the line at Spaghetti. The others were bad but that’s just awful.” Another blush appeared on his cheeks. “But, uh, I haven’t smoked before. So. I don’t...really know.”

“Oh, I guess I just assumed. It’s college so everyone I’ve met smokes. We don’t have to.” He started to put away the tin.

“No! No, we can. I just. I used to have asthma. So, I don’t exactly know...how.” Eddie looked down once again, slightly embarrassed. Richie just smiled down at him and pulled a joint out of his tin.

“I’ll teach you, and you don’t have to hit it if you change your mind.” He fished a lighter out of his other pocket and flicked it. Eddie watched as he touched the paper to the fire and the flames seemed to lick the joint to life. Richie touched it to his lips as smoke began spilling off. He inhaled and the cherry started to glow even brighter. Eddie was in a trance, watching Richie’s mouth pucker slightly to fit the joint, and smoke roll out as he exhaled. The smoke danced across his features as Eddie thought to himself just how beautiful the taller boy was.

“Do you wanna try?” Richie caught his eyes and held out the joint. Eddie mustered up everything he could to nod and grab it. He placed it between his lips, trying to copy Richie’s prior movements, and inhaled. It took exactly .5 seconds for Eddie to explode into a coughing fit. Holding the joint out for Richie to take it back. Richie took it immediately, smiling silently. Eddie suddenly felt a hand begin to rub his back. Once he’d finally finished coughing he sat up with a shy smile.

“Sorry, maybe I did it wrong.” Richie’s smile grew, it’s like his smile never left his face. Eddie really liked it. Especially when it was directed at him.

“Well, there is another way we could try.” Richie raised his eyebrow. “We could shotgun.”

“W-what’s that?” Another smile from Richie made Eddie’s insides warm.

“You just sit there, look pretty, and when I blow smoke out you breathe it in. It’s easy, I promise. Do you wanna try?” Eddie once again nodded, placing his hands in his lap.

“Uh, yeah I’ll try it out. Why not?” He let out a nervous laugh as Richie brought the joint back to his lips. Eddie watched as he inhaled but the time he held it in. Richie’s hand reached for his face, a gesture Eddie wouldn’t reject. Richie’s thumb found his mouth, slightly pulling down as a signal for him to open. Eddie opened his mouth just enough to gasp. Richie’s face was inches from his and he couldn’t look away. The look on his face had to be one of bashfulness. Eddie felt as Richie slowly blew smoke into his mouth. Their lips practically touching. He inhaled as best as he could before pulling back and holding it in a few seconds and exhaling.

“How was it? Better than before?” Richie also pulled back out of his space, smirk still evident on his face.

“Def-" his voice cracked, "Definitely. I didn't even cough that time." His eyes betrayed him, glancing down to Richie's lips as his tongue swiped along his bottom lip.

"I'm glad you enjoyed that more. Do you want another hit?" This time Richie's eyes traveled down and Eddie definitely saw that. Swallowing harshly.

"Yes. I'll take another." This time Richie left his hand on the side of Eddie's face, waiting for him to open his mouth. He parted his lips as his eyes slid closed. He felt Richie's lips grazing his own and he couldn't stop himself. He leaned in. He felt the smoke swirl between them as their lips met, finally. Richie didn't pull away, in fact he pushed closer, grabbing the back of Eddie's neck and pulling him in. By the time they parted they were both practically panting. Richie's eyes opened softly, looking down to Eddie.

"That was nice. Best smoking partner I’ve ever had.” His hand still rested on Eddie’s neck. Eddie’s mind raced, unsure where to go from here. He cleared his throat.

“Yeah. It was...nice. You’re the only smoking partner I’ve had so I suppose you’re the best as well.” It was Eddie’s turn to smirk.

“Fuckin rip my heart out why don’t ya Eds.” Richie’s laugh echoed off the exterior of the house. It might just be Eddie’s new favorite sound. He laughed with him and pushed himself back up to kiss Richie. Maybe parties weren’t his thing, and putting himself out there was scary. But, right now, lip locked with tall, dork, and handsome? He’s so glad he came.

Taglist

@richietoaster @geckolover001 @losers-gotta-stick-together @aesteddie @elhopps @mexicanqt @punkrocktozier @richietczicr @tozier-club @kristashae @princesass-theresa @dandeliontozier @doctor-lobster @queennugget3 @halfway-happy353 @reddieafterdark @beep-beep-reddie @hmufinn @stanuterus @not-reddie @curlywheelers @i-is-gazebo @temptedtozier @reddie-to-fight @girasol-eddie @mirandonsky @annoyingtozier @sedanleystanley @richieshawaiianshirts @tyrror @slingingwingingspidey @themarvelousmissmadge @eddiefuckinkaspbrak @constantreaderfool @muffin-berry @eddiekazier @reddie-to-go @did-someone-say-reddie @queen-sock @morganhoran1671 @multi-fandom-wby @castielwinovak @jawnlawk @eddiesgazebos @artemisiacrybaby @katherineni

[cxmetery-gates]

VALOR - DARTH MAUL

CHAPTER ONE: THE HUNTRESS AND THE HUNTER

SUMMARY: After attempting to kill a Sith lord unbeknownst to her, Ucilla Zykoff realizes she has made a grave mistake. WORD COUNT: 3.4K NOTES: Chapter one here we goooo! Love a couple who want to murder each other on sight. Sorry it took so long. I had so many ideas ready to go, then life got in the way. Anyway! I have a discord that my readers can use to discuss the story! It also let me share my silly memes and get to know y’all. Thank you for reading! WARNINGS: general sci-fi violence

VALOR MASTERLIST

AS THE SUN BENDS BEHIND the horizon, the cover of night encapsulates the city. With the rising of the moon, the mission is awoken.

Dusk phasing into night elapses with a stillness, but as a gust of sudden wind shakes the shutters as it passes, a chill runs up her spine. Startled by the sounds for a fleeting moment, a sigh passes through her lips before turning into a bemused hum. Cool air drifts over her skin, soothing yet awakening. With the seasons beginning to change towards a wet, flourish spring, the air is crisp and dry from a winter willing itself to create one last frost before retreating once more. She would be offworld long before the petals started to bloom.

Once the last of the day's shadows unite into one blanket of darkness, Ucilla Zykoff stands from the measly excuse of a bed to glance out the window through the slits of the shutters. Her icy blonde hair is pulled back with a tie resting against the nape of her neck, a few hairs escaping to try to obscure her sight. Her golden eyes watch figures tuck into their homes, counting down the seconds until their lights are shut until the next morning. It will not be long before the impenetrable sound of the night life masks her task from wandering eyes and ears. Tucking strands of hair behind her ear, the young woman leans back on the wall of her room. Cobwebs cling to the fabric of her clothes as she does so.

The establishment is nothing to rave about, though the dusty room and a firm cot above a noisy cantina is a luxury in comparison to other make-shift lodgings. The bounty hunter has grown used to rocks boring into her spine, cramped spaces, and days without sleep— typical for someone in this line of work.

Across from her, a sniper rifle stands against the opposite wall. The durasteel has seen better days, but so has she. Ucilla pushes herself off from where she leans, making her way towards her weapon. It is surprisingly light due to Ucilla's modifications. Positioning her sniper rifle in her hands, Ucilla now waits patiently for movement off in the distance. The barrel of the gun sits between the slightly ajar shutters, invisible to any bystander. Waiting was part of the job, and she has become very good at it.

Ucilla scans the rooftops of the city buildings using the scope attached to her weapon. The infrared colors become all too boring as the sight hardly changes over a period of minutes. The job is similar to any of the other hundreds she is taken: hunt, locate, go for the kill. All her missions become an identical cluster after a while.

The night carries on and Ucilla's eyes are beginning to sore from being trained on movement. All she wants is to get the job over with and allow herself to indulge in the reward. Bounty hunting is not a line of work that she believed would ever suit her, but with the hefty rewards for high targets, the comfort of credits is enough to keep her coming back. Even though Ucilla could buy a small house or decent apartment for what she currently has in Republic credits, settling down never seemed to work out well for the Scaki. She had not even returned to her home world, despite having every reason to do so.

Where once soft mummers acted as a hush over the city, now the lights and the noise of cantinas flood the dark alleys and streets. The city is preoccupied by dreams or by those wishing to live in dream, opting for late nights in hopes to escape from the trivial lives they find themselves in. As such, Ucilla would remain unbothered.

As the sound of drunken men and flirtatious women reverberate as echoes under her feet, Ucilla uses the increasing noise from the cantinas around the area to mask the sound of her ignited weapon. No one would hear a whirling buzz or the unexpected cry when a tankard had drowned out all their senses.

Ucilla is good at her practice. She must. There are many hunters who would not bat an eye in killing her if she stood in the way of an expensive bounty. Trial and error led her to where she is, and it did not take long before her use of stealth, accuracy, and efficiency turned her into a highly sought out freelance bounty hunter.

Though she would never admit to it openly, Ucilla has a slight advantage on her associates. One being evident by the cylindrical weapon always hidden at the bottom of her satchel that has not been ignited in years.

Ucilla learned long ago that studying a target is far more beneficial than making things quick and messy. After all, depending on the target, the price typically rises each week. For instance, in the scope of her rifle, Ucilla now spots the man who disclosed a long list of individuals working for one of the galaxy's biggest crime syndicates: his bounty doubled just two days ago.

Over the week and a half, she spent watching Jaro Linst, Ucilla had memorized the snitch's schedule. In the morning, he wakes early to have a large breakfast. He stays indoors during the days, but he typically makes a run to a shop or the market before noon. He seldom has guests, but when he does, their either men being paid to protect him from the Hutts or Twi'leks being led by chains. When night envelops the area, he is bold enough to bring his guests to the rooftop of his hideout. Linst's eyes are always shut as he takes the first breath of the nighttime air, absorbed in the taste of prolonged freedom.

Just as she suspected, Linst reaches the top of the building with a drink in his hand and his broad, tall body open to whatever blaster fire she could afford to waste.

However, unlike most nights, his face is turned downwards, and he is not entirely alone.

Trailing behind the man, a figure in all black has their face hidden by a heavy cloak with a hood. This offered no indication as to who this mysterious person may be. Not that it mattered. Her bounty was clear: kill Jaro Linst and get the reward, no matter what happens.

Her sniper-rifle is angled towards her bounty but, given the fact that Linst may have more hunters on his trail, Ucilla decides on removing the additional threat first. In the scope, the hood still conceals the face of the new target.

No matter.

She pulls back on the trigger.

The shot rings out near silently and in perfect alignment.

But it never reaches the head of her target. Instead, it ricochets off a familiar weapon and embarks on a mission straight towards her forehead.

Ucilla dodges the attack, rolling her back against the wall of her hotel room just in time as the red blaster fire digs straight through the opposite wall. Imagining if she had frozen for half a second more, Ucilla offers her blessing to the makers for her reflexes.

Clutching the gun to her chest, Ucilla finds herself now semi-frozen in fear. An icy feeling coursing through her veins offers no help in alleviating the shock. Instead, she releases the breath she was holding from stupor, blinking away the cloudy vision.

The brightly colored weapon that shot her fire back was one she had used long ago. This time, the blade was not lilac in color. Even the most uneducated creature could sense the danger that flows through the shaft, the deep dreadful color that exuberates caution.

A bleeding kyber crystal resides in that blade, crimson in color.

"Kriff."

Wasting no time, Ucilla lowers herself to the ground, carefully making sure the lightsaber wielder could not see her through the shutters. Cursing in every language she knows, Ucilla crawls on her belly until she finds the brown satchel at the foot of the cot. In haste, the blonde slips the strap over her head, hugging across her chest tightly, but there was no time to adjust. She flings the rifle over her shoulder before hurriedly skidding out the door.

On her way out, Ucilla pushes through drunken patrons to reach the bar to slam down a handful of credits on the counter in front of the inn keeper, continuing to walk towards the exit as she does so. The inn keeper raises his voice, calling out that she owes him more, but his voice is drowned out among the crowd and she is already gone.

Lifting her wrist closer to her face, the Scaki swipes through her holocom until Jaro Linst's bounty appears. Despite the large sum, Ucilla presses down on the option to forfeit. There was no chance she would go near a mission that was compromised by a Dark sided individual.

A Sith.

Ucilla could not calm her heart, the organ forcing blood to pump fast through her body. The reverberation echoes in her ears. But the headache is nothing in comparison to what the Sith could do to her.

She was almost to the heart of the city when an impeccable drought in the energy stifled her movements. The atmosphere is heavy, darkness tingling at her senses. Ucilla's hair stands on end at the sensation. Against her better judgment, she freezes.

Moments later, Ucilla's thrown off her feet, landing hard against a wall before crumpling down.

The blow had torn the breath right out of her. Gasping, Ucilla reaches for her chest, gripping the long, worn leather vest tight in her palms. From the inside pocket above her heart, she pulls out a circular object, yanking the pin out of place before dropping it to the ground.

Footsteps draw near. Instead of wasting her time, Ucilla prances from her crouch and bolts up the side of the wall, using rails and the closeness of the buildings as her foot and handholds. She forces her body to move swift and precise, just as she was taught years ago. By the time she reached the roof, the smoke bomb had gone off. All Ucilla can do is hope that the distraction is enough.

Ucilla is left without much of another option. The shingled roofs were difficult to adjust to at first, some coming lose from her added weight, but eventually her footing held on and she was off like a speeder. Running along the tops of the buildings, jumping to the next one with grace and stead, Ucilla knew when to dodge attacks and when to advert her direction. It was not the first time she was running away from a foe, and she had a feeling it would not be the last.

Daring to look back, Ucilla feels her heart drop. The man following her copies each step, leap, and now, he is close enough to claim her dead, for real this time.

With no other option, Ucilla calculates her jump. Instead of throwing herself far enough to reach the next building, she leaps down several stories. Thankfully, they had come across the hub of the city and a canopy breaks her fall, bouncing from the cloth and onto the ground once more. The moment her tall boots hit the earth, she is off running again. With so many people wandering the streets, Ucilla hopes she can blend in, even though she is seemingly the only one in worn clothes and dashing through the streets.

The city is vast and incredibly narrow— easy to get lost in⁠— but Ucilla had been here for quite some time, learning every back alley and corner shop during her weeks on the planet. With this knowledge in mind, surely, she has some advantage over her opponent. How likely is it that they, too, has memorized back alleys that leads to the shipyard?

Ucilla felt as though she could feel their breath on her neck, their fingertips just centimeters from gripping her hair. As if possible, her legs pushed harder than ever before.

Ducking into a back alley, Ucilla used her petite figure to maneuver through the garbage, boxes, and drunks that scattered the path. To her surprise, the person following was not prepared for the turn nor the obstacles in their path. They had fallen behind. She takes this moment to press her back against a wall between two strangers, pulling her hood further to hide her face.

It was not long after when Ucilla feels the dark ease away. She needs to know if he still lingers. Before she can make it safely to her ship, she will have to know how far behind the hunter is and if he can easily make it onto her ship or destroy it in some way.

Any normal foe would have mistakenly moved on from the area, never to find her again. Though she has never faced off against a Sith before, nor does she know anyone who has, what Ucilla does know is that there is no telling what a creature fueled by uncontrollable emotions with an unpredictable nature will do.

Before the drunken men could ask once more if she would like a drink, Ucilla pushes herself from the stone wall, cautiously making her way through street after street, back alley after alley. Her heart hammers in her chest no matter how she tried to stop it. Without knowing what kind of species the dark side wielder is, she has no conclusive answer if he can hear her labored breathing. As she sticks to the shadows of the city, Ucilla sends silent prayers to the makers to spare her this time.

With each step nearing the shipyard, the amount of people out and about grow less and less. By the time she was within blocks of her ship, only a few stragglers walked the streets. She felt lucky, allowing herself to walk faster even if the passersby gave suspicious looks.

Ucilla is no more than a block from the garage where her ship was located when she tumbled to the ground, a powerful blow toppling her, a wrestling match ensuing to determine life or death.

Kicking the figure off her, she throws a punch blindly. The huntress's punch misses the figure's jaw by a second, but that does not stop her from swinging again.

To her surprise, the saber is not ignited, nor does he go to reach for the weapon. The Force wielder instead copying her hand-to-hand combat. Maybe they thought she deserved a fair chance, or maybe they were simply trying to torture her into submission.

The hunter was the first to strike a powerful blow.

Ucilla's nose begins to bleed upon the impact of a fist, knocking her dazed for a moment. In the haste of her backing up and the figure coming forward, Ucilla did what any bounty hunter would have done.

Perhaps the cloaked Sith was not expecting the blaster to be drawn and the trigger to be pulled so fast, because the hunter is thrown off balance by a bolt embedding itself into their shoulder. A sound akin to a growl shakes Ucilla to the core.

When his head turns back, the hood from his cloak falls, just enough to give Ucilla a picture for her nightmares.

A male Zabrak. How interesting. Ucilla's eyes run over the intricate black tattoos on his face, trailing from where they start down to where they disappear beyond his dark robes. The red and black contrast is frightening to some degree, but Ucilla has faced worse. His appearance matches the fiery energy he exudes. Horns adorn his skull, several points wrapping around to remind Ucilla of a crown. Glowing, boiling amber of his altered eyes catch her attention.

So full of hate and anger; a storm that brings no calm in the wake of its destruction. There is a moment where Ucilla wonders what happened to this Sith, the journey that led him here to strike her down.

A Sith deals with the lust for absolute power, the destruction of the universe to make their strength known. To conquer is all they know, no matter who stands in their way.

He bares his teeth, and Ucilla can feel the rage coming from him. Rather than sticking around to anticipate his next move, Ucilla shoots several more times in the Zabrak's direction then begins to run to where her ship waits.

She can feel his decision, the way his anger directs his actions, how his natural rage bubbles over, destruction always existing, white-hot. There was no other warning before the Zabrak throws the dual blade at her. Instincts kick in. Ucilla turns on her heel to hold out her hand, something she has not done in years.

In midair, the blade is still. One entity aims to kill, the other refuses to let death take her.

The blade then falls, dust splashing along the steel. Both watch the unignited weapon on the ground. Simultaneously, both look up, their eyes meeting with new sentiment.

The tension is heavy in that street. Neither can predict what the other is thinking nor what moves they plan on making. However, there is something that Ucilla can read off the Zabrak. The squint to his eyes combined with wrinkles forming on his forehead tells her that his mind races with questions. After all, he most likely was not expecting the night to end with a woman one-upping him in the Force. Like a switch, Ucilla suddenly feels the anger exploding from the Zabrak; he is not going to let her get away.

But Ucilla is faster. Her secret is already out, and she has no time to waste. Reaching up, she uses the Force to bring down the archway, the stones and rubble falling on top of the tattooed Zabrak. She hears him cry out in anguish, but she does not stay long to hear anything else.

Ucilla is quick to slip into the cockpit of her ship. Her voice has once again resorted to curses in a number of languages as she flips various switches. A loud sigh of relief exits her when the sound of the engine roaring to life reaches her ears. As she activates all the right gears to get her off the dry planet, she takes one last look down to the earth: her blood runs ice cold.

There, close enough to stop her if he wanted with a single slash of his crimson ignited saber, is the Sith. His hood has now returned atop his crowned head, though it does little to obscure his glowing amber eyes.

His actions, or lack thereof, surprise Ucilla, the woman he had been hunting for a good mile through a city. And now, he stands there, seemingly unfazed, without care as she makes a successful escape. Escaping was certainly part of the plan, but the fact that the Zabrak has forfeited in spite of being so close to winning is annoying to some extent.

Before Ucilla has another moment to dwell on the Sith nor giving him another moment to reconsider, the YT-1210 lifts off from the ground. The Scaki's focus is drawn away from her foe despite knowing that turning her back on an enemy is a recipe for disaster. To her fortune, the Revenant makes it into the atmosphere and into hyperspace with ease.

The coordinates are placed. A safehold on Duro. Ucilla had not been there in quite some time and if she were lucky, an enemy-to-partner would be there, too. At least she would have someone to listen to her story.

The ship is set to autopilot, allowing for Ucilla to lean back in the pilot's chair, her leg bent to hold her knee against her chest. Though she is safe at the moment, Ucilla can not be sure for how long. What would she do if the Sith tracks her to Duro? Would he make her wait in anticipation as he had done in the shipyard?

For the first time in millennia, a Sith had revealed himself. At least to her knowledge: dead men tell no tales. Perhaps telling Bane about her encounter is for the best. If she becomes a successful mission for the Sith, at least someone would know what happened to her.

If anything, Ucilla knows of one plan that has not failed her yet. Just as she had done long ago, running has always been part of a good plan.

☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆

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[athena-is-a-chaotic-lil-shit]

Of Ice and Blood

Part 5

Look who's back with a 5k+ word count chapter?! Me!

I was planning on posting 1k+ at a time but stuff happened and I'm posting it all at once!

Enjoy and I'd appreciate it dearly if you reblog! Thank you!

Edit: Reached the 250 block limit so... The inevitable decision had to be made! Part 5 has a total of 3.42k words! The rest will be in a separate post <3

Pairing: Tai'chi Kashharzol (Orc) x Pearl Blackbell (Human OC/Reader)

Warnings: Cursing, Violence, brief mentions of blood and injury.

Overall SFW (but 16+ for language)

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4 Part 6

*

The walk back to the school building was quiet.

Or so I thought.

Because it wasn't. At all.

Whispers, mutterings, echoed from the rooms as we passed by.

Are they doing it on purpose, or is my hearing sharper than usual?

"Hey look it's that girl."

"You mean the freak who sat beside the orc—"

"First day of school and someone already got killed. Should've expected him to be a savage."

"You think she wears a mask to hide her identity? Maybe she's a criminal-"

Probably the latter.

I shrugged. There stood a decent amount of distance between us anyway. So it's likely my hearing.

Students were watching us with weird suspecting eyes from a distance behind the windows. Sensing apprehension and outward hate when they saw Tai'chi next to me, his face in a neutral expression. But with my nose at this proximity, he smells pretty annoyed.

Just— why are there so many people,— humans–garnering these feelings towards someone they don't even know! And to even mock him like that! How dare —

"Pearl," Tai'chi called. His rich voice resonating, making the gossips of the students stop for a brief moment before they continued. Most likely slandering my name now. I didn't know I was standing still. Looking up, Tai'chi was a decent 9 meters away, with the staff members further ahead of him. He gave me a wondering look, worry along with his natural fragrance, drifted through me, carried by air.

I straightened up and took long strides, Tai'chi beside me, to catch up with them.

"Yeah, just thinking. I'm okay." Replying, not looking up to him. He didn't ask, but I felt like he would.

************short pov shift************

He was a bit bothered by the change in your scent and looked back when he noticed you weren't beside him anymore. There you were, standing in the middle of the wide hallway, brows scrunched up in aggravation.

He called out to you, probably a little louder than he meant to, but you looked up and hastily made your way beside him, both of you catching up to the rest towards the dean's office. He didn't ask, but you answered, only making him worry even more.

**********first person pov**************

As soon as we entered the main office of the center building, we were greeted with the sight of the dean and David, together with Miss Holson. He was a white fat man, though a bit taller than me, wearing a light grey suit with a few buttons open revealing a white undershirt, and a silly yellow, violet polka dot tie. I barely held back from snorting at the sight.

Mr. Silverstone was fussing over his son, his voice raised in slight panic was heard by everyone.

They went ahead of us then.

"My son! My dear, dear David! Who did this to you?!" he cried out. Once David, that son of a bitch, spotted me, he flashed me that blasted grin of his. He was acting, pretending to be hurt.

I hardly even left a scratch on him for fuck's sake. How I regret not punching him straight in the face.

Reverting to his fake, frightened, and miserable state, he pointed at me. "I-I-It's her father! She is the one who attacked me! Along with that thing with her."

Thing?! That sick bastard!

The dean whipped his head in my direction, eyes scanning me up and down before he diverted them to Tai'chi.

Well, it seems I'll ve packing up sooner than I thought.

My shoulders sagged.

Some professors were alarmed by this, frantically pushing forward to grab his attention.

"Mr. Silverstone, we still do not know what's for certain. We must interrogate them properly and listen to each of their sides before we make a decision." Mr. Dulrik asserted, his voice strained and close to animosity. He was not pleased with what the student had said.

The elder professor from earlier followed up.

"Listen to Mr. Dulrik, sir. We cannot take any risks and ju—"

"Silence!" the dean shouted. "I will not hear your reasoning. My son has told me everything I need to know. Miss Holson supported his claims and that's enough to decide what to do with these criminals."

Criminals?!

"The girl and that orc shall be expelled from this institution immediately. We do not need any murderers or barbarians here. I have always suspected why that Ernestine brat even allowed these monstrosities to be with us. To breathe the same air and walk the same land as we do, endangering our safety no less! A pathetic excuse of a founder she is! If it were me I would've—"

"You would've what?" Words came out before I stopped myself, my voice low, but it was heard still, drawing their attention to me.

"What did you just say?" He demanded, his anger slipping out more. The room was silent, except for the subtle ticking of the wall clock behind me, and the movement of air around us.

I lifted my head and looked at him dead in the eye. "You would've what?" This time, I replied, louder.

Before he could retort I went on, emotion fueling my words as I advanced with every question asked.

"Would've banned every single, non-human race from the university?

"Would've taught every human that they are greater beings and the ones that were different were meant to be stepped on?

"Would've ordered and tolerated bullying on anyone who was unnatural and weird looking?

"Would've put them in their place?

Isolate them? Degrade them? Despise them for being alive?" No-one stopped me as I approached him, the teachers separating and making way. Even Mr. Dulrik was regarding me curiously.

I scoffed. " 'If it were me' you said. You think I wouldn't notice how everyone else, that isn't human, was oppressed and treated like shit in this school? It seems to me that you already did what you would've done, didn't you? You are no dean, you are a clown, a pillock, a dumbass, and you call yourself human? You are more monster than any of us in this room."

I breathed heavily as I stood a couple of feet in front of him. His face grew to a crimson hue, my ears catching the sound of smoke seething out of him. At the back, David and Miss Holson were dumbfounded, shocked into place, shaken like ugly statues.

Finally, the dean spoke, his fists clenching hard as he faced me, almost drawing blood.

I am so gonna beat him up. Hell yeah, I will.

"Keep out of trouble if you can." Well, shit happened Mama, forgive me.

"How dare you speak to me like that! I, a pure-blood Silverstone, a line of royalty! If we were still at war I would've had you executed from where you stand—"

"How about you do it yourself then, oh mighty Silverstone jerk?" I mocked and gave a toothy smile, then I remembered he wouldn't see it. That was all it took to have him launching himself at me, the professors running to the sides to avoid his wrath.

His hands were balled tight, a fist aiming for my face, eyes filled with deadly intent.

Oh, he really wants to kill me.

Before it connected, I sidestepped, causing him to stumble forward. Even so, he immediately regained his balance and reached to grab my hoodie. I didn't dodge this time, but before he touched me, I used my right hand to slap it away. With my other hand, fitted with my crimson knuckle dusters, I met his fist with mine. Almost instantly, he stumbled back and crouched down, his left hand holding his bloodied one.

"You bitch!!!" he screamed in agony.

I think I broke his hand.

I glanced to my brass knuckles, some of the blood covering them, merely visible because of its color.

Shattered it perhaps.

"I will have you killed you insolent brat! I'll kill you!" he cursed.

"Now, now, Silverstone, you will do no such thing." A feminine voice cut through the large room. We all turned to the door to see a slim, tall, tanned woman who seemed to be in her 40s, her slightly wrinkled face showing it. She was wearing a black high-waist pencil skirt paired with a black one-button suit and a baby blue undershirt. The lady also wore classic white loafers and white hand gloves made of leather, with her ebony hair tied up in a bun.

Everything about her screams 'important'. I scented an intimidating yet reassuring aura around her.

I met her eyes and a sense of familiarity fell upon me. I know her and I've seen her before.

Wait. Could it be— she's—

"Madame Ernestine!" A professor exclaimed.

That means she's, "The founder," I said out loud.

She began sauntering in my direction, each step clicking on the floor, carrying herself with grace.

"M-Ma-Madame Ernestine!" The dean, shrieked as he stood up, shaking, his busted hand in his chest, his back facing me. "I didn't expect you to visit this year! We could've prepared for your arrival—"

"You shut your mouth now Welmir." She spoke out, her voice firm and borderline hostile. "I've had enough of your blabbering mug. I made it so that my arrival is unexpected. Leaving my outside duties rather early and rushed this year when news got to me that you, the dean, were neglecting your duties, or so, doing it wrong. Not to mention I had my assistant install extra cameras in... certain places last year and because of that, I saw what you did in the shadows. Maybe not all, but it confirmed my suspicions of you, and so," She clapped her together, "I decided to visit you today. And what a surprise it was to see you get beaten up by this lovely young lady behind you."

Me?! Lovely—

My face warmed from her comment.

"Listen here, brat." he regarded the founder. The founder. "I do not know what you are talking about. I have done my duties and more for this university. I made it so that everyone here is safe and this girl,"— he spat— "harmed me, my precious son, and his friends!"

"And all of you deserved it, severely," she responded flatly. "You put my dear students at risk and antagonized them with your schemes, tolerating the behavior of treating other races like animals, disrespecting even the professors who are different in kind," she glanced at Mr. Dulrik and the others. "You even forced a minotaur, an elf, and a dwarven student to act the part of being in a student council, hoping people wouldn't notice the crimes you did behind our backs. Did you expect me to turn blind eye to this?"

It was all pretend?!

The mere thought of what he did to threaten them to it makes me wanna puke.

"I am furious, Welmir Silverstone. To think I believed you'd change your ways after my father's death with the renovation of the institute. Trusted you to do your job as dean and make the students comfortable, welcomed. But, no. You chose to follow his footsteps, became selfish, blinded by greed and pointless hate. You are a disappointment to all of us."

I smelled her rage under that near non-expressive facade of hers. It was spicy, like fire having an odor of its own.

"You are but a child! You know nothing of this world! This world of ours needs to be purged off of those rats. You cannot tell me what to do!" He yelled as he brought up his uninjured hand to hit her. I was about to step in when Madame Ernestine grabbed his arm and threw a right uppercut, blood spilling out of his jaw. The punch sent him a few steps back, he would have landed on me if I didn't move out of the way before he collapsed on the floor groaning and holding his mouth.

Ooh she's strong! Nice! I grinned.

"You are hereby stripped off of your job as dean along with all of your titles, properties, and henceforth banished from these grounds, together with your son and Emma Holson, whom I found out laid with him, and the abusive acts they had engaged in." Her words laced with poison, disgust and anger as she gave the final judgement.

"Never show yourselves. Ever. Again," she spat. "Take them away."

Out of nowhere, men in black suits came in and apprehended the young instructor, who twisted her heel trying to escape. She yelled at them to let her go, saying she has done nothing wrong. David, the bastard, was held in place by one of them as he struggled in their grasp. The dean— or should I say, Mr. Silverstone, in pain and bleeding, was dragged up by two others and headed straight out of the door. He shouted ;

"Mark my words, brat! I will—"

And the door slammed close.

With my gaze following them, my eyes landed on Tai'chi. I took off my dusters and waved, tucking them back up my sleeve.

He is smiling! And oh wow he's damn gorgeous— wait what?

My attention was drawn away to the lady in front of me. I got distracted by Tai'chi that I almost forgot about her.

"Oh my God I uhm— hello Madame Ernestine." I took one step back before bowing. "It's an honor to meet you. I—"

"Oh dear, please raise your head. No need for such formal gestures. I am Valerie Ernestine, founder of the new Ernestine State University." She stated as she beamed at me.

"I uh- Yes ma'am I know of you. I'm quite a fan actually— I mean! My name is Pearl Blackbell, ma'am."

Oh God, that sounded so stupid.

Then she hugged me.

"Ma'am?!" I squeaked. My arms went stiff, nervous to even touch her. Before I could, she pulled back, a gentle expression on her face.

"Nice to meet you, Pearl Blackbell."

"I- nice to meet you too Ma'am Ernestine!" I stammered, praying my face and ears isn't as red as I feel them to be.

"Please, call me Valerie."

"Ma'am Valerie."

"Just Valerie, dear."

"I'm so sorry ma'am but I can't— my mother will hit me in the head with a frying pan if I forget my manners."

"Very well, then. It brings me joy that you were raised properly by your parents."

"Thank you ma'am, I really am happy to have them, and I only hope for them to be proud of me— oh wait. Uh, ma'am Valerie?"

"Yes?"

"Am I gonna get punished or expelled?" I shrunk, expecting the worst.

"Why ever did you think of that?"

"W-Well you see, I did harm uh, students and they're probably in the infirmary right now and—"

"Oh, Pearl, no." She let out a light chuckle. "You won't be punished or even expelled for that! In fact, I saw how you defended yourself and your friend from them. They did attack you first, sweetie. And what you did was impressive!" She clapped her hands. As I stood there in relief, I couldn't help but shot up when the words sank in.

"Oh, thank you. But how...?"

"Apparently, I had my assistant install some cameras in the forest area for particular reasons. I watched you from the monitor as I made my way here," she replied.

"Oh. Oh, wow. That's actually pretty awesome," I sighed.

"Indeed, it is," she smiled. "Excuse me for a bit."

******pov shift to 2nd person (two characters)*****

Madame Ernestine turned and walked towards the remaining teachers to talk about important matters at hand.

"Greetings, my friends." She beamed at the staff and looked at Professor Dulrik and the woman who supported him earlier. "Hello, Roldo and Amila. I have missed you dearly." She bent down to hug the two of them before she went on. "I apologize for not taking action immediately. To think he did this to all of you right under my nose! Why didn't you contact me Roldo?"

"My apologies, Madame Ernestine. I didn't have any proof to show his plot against you and the others. He was very elusive and kept us very busy in our own offices for the past year with you away. That was until today, with the young lady over there standing up against his son, he snapped."

"It really is a good thing she came here, didn't she?" she whispered.

"Indeed, Madame," Amila replied.

There was a brief silence, before Valerie spoke up again. Her gaze locked at the dwarven professor.

"Roldo, my old friend, I want you to take your place as the new dean of this university. I trust you to do your duty a hundred percent better than that impudent man ever did. Will you accept this responsibility?"

"I- Valerie this is-"

"Roldo, you are wise and have seen things most of us here have not. I will not force you on something you do not want, but I put my faith in you, to help me, along with the rest of the staff, to teach everyone here that all of us stand in equal ground, and that we must respect and acknowledge each individual, regardless of their kind. No one, no student, should ever feel uncomfortable in this haven of mine."

"I understand, Valerie." The dwarf took a deep breath and vowed;

"I, Roldo Dulrik, son of Grol II, son of Frerin, accept the responsibilities given to me as dean of Ernestine State University. I will do my duty to the best of my abilities, and remain loyal to you and to this institution." He responded as he thumped his right fist against his chest.

"I know you will, my friend." Valerie grinned at him, her eyes full of trust and hope.

While they were occupied with discussing certain issues, you tried to sneak away, only to be called back by Madame Ernestine.

"Pearl, my dear."

"Yes ma'am?"

"Thank you."

She had a soft smile, emotions clear on her face, directed at you. The founder, Valerie was thanking you for your bravery, kindness and overall honesty. You simply nodded and grinned from ear to ear behind your mask. You were, however, suddenly nervous when Valerie and the two professors approached you. No, actually, all of them were, but the others are heading out of the office, perhaps to go back to their respective classrooms and start working, they gave their thanks as they went out.

"Pearl Blackbell, a wonderful name!" Professor Dulrik remarked. "May the Gods bless you and shine upon you in all your days," he grinned. Before you could reply, Professor Amila hugged you and whispered. "Thank you, for beating up those idiots," —which made you giggle— "It was the right thing to do, and also I had to defend myself. and thank you, Professor Dulrik."

"Nonsense, call me Professor Roldo, lass." He patted your shoulder as he went past you and out of the office, but not before he slapped Tai'chi's forearm.

"You best protect her if you can, lad. Even so, it is obvious she won't need protecting!" He laughed, and went on, quietly, as if whispering. "...Be her friend, my boy. Her eyes...they show the pain she had gone through. You saw that in her, didn't you?"

Tai'chi simply nodded in response. He knew what he meant.

"Then do what you must. If word ever comes to me that you hurt her, I will hunt you down with me battle axe hidden in my office, you hear?"

This time, he chuckled. "I hear you, Professor. I won't. I swear on the the name of my clan, no harm will befall on her." He told him, his voice firm and true.

"That's what I'm talking about, lad!" He replied as he finally exited the room.

Tai'chi shifted his gaze to you. You and the dean were still talking so he stood there, patiently.

"We best be on our way. We still have a number of things to set straight. We will see you around, Miss Blackbell. Don't get into trouble now." The founder giggled.

"I will try my best, ma'am."

"Oh sure you will, sweetie. Goodluck. And oh, the two of you should start going back. It's past lunchbreak afterall." She said as the two ladies sauntered past you and went out.

"Thank you, we will." You said, mostly to yourself.

**************************************

Part 6 will be posted shortly! Like, shortly shortly. Like, an hour or so shortly. Stay tuned! Thank you for reaching this point uwu✨

Tags: @crackinanutshell @kokokatsworld @mitchiesdungeon <3

[miss-tc-nova]

Mine Now - Noctis Lucis Caelum x Reader

It’s not exactly fluff and it’s not the Smarmy Fluffcoat I’ve been dying to work on, but I had to finish it. Even if it’s not perfect, I had some fun. Also, a couple bonus endings because I could. 

~~~~~

               I jump out of the car, eager to stretch my legs after the seemingly endless car ride. “Thank the gods!” I groan while stretching.

               “What are you complaining about?” Gladio teases. “You didn’t drive.”

               I put my hands on my hips and follow him towards the trunk. “Look, sitting in the back with two men that barely understand personal space gets cramped.”

               “I didn’t hear you complaining that time you used me as a pillow all the way to Cauthess.”

               “What can I say? Gotta adapt; when the men can’t do personal space, neither will I.” I grab a bag, sling it over my shoulder, and grab a couple chairs.

               Prompto slaps my shoulder. “Wouldn’t it be more comfortable to sleep on Noctis? He’s got less muscle.”

               “Hey!” The offended man glares at the chocobo blonde.

               I giggle. “Noctis, let’s be honest; you’ve got muscle, but look at Gladio. His arm is as big around as my head. You definitely would’ve made a better pillow.” That doesn’t make him feel any better. “Plus, you won’t flex every five minutes to turn a damn page.”

               “Can’t be all muscle,” Gladio speaks up.

               Ignis butts in. “Well nobody is napping now. Let’s get moving. It’s going to take some time to get to the haven from here.”

               He was right; it took us three hours to get to the haven and the sun was long gone by the time we got there. Once camp is put together and we’re all set for the night, it’s time to relax, maybe play some King’s Knight. I pat my pockets. “Hey, anyone seen my phone.”

               “You mean this?” Noctis asks from his chair, displaying said phone above his head, clearly playing with my settings.

               “What are you doing?!”

               Noctis stands and smirks triumphantly. “You left it in the car. You’re lucky I swiped it before we left.”

               “Thanks for grabbing it, but why are you playing with my settings?”

               I reach for my cell but Noctis pulls it out of range. “You really should pay more attention.”

               “Says the man who slept through a bandersnatch attack,” I huff. “Now can I have my phone back?”

               A mischievous grin slips over his lips. “You can have it back if you can take it from me.”

               “So now we have a bully for a king?” I jump but he clearly expects to make a game out of this. “Noctis! Give me my phone!”

               He chuckles, easily holding said device above my head. “Come on. You can reach a griffin mid-flight; you can reach your phone.”

               “You want me to use my weapons?” I growl. “I will take you out by the shins! Don’t test me!”

               “Oh really? Show me what you got?” Reaching down, I grab his leg and jerk. Noctis effectively hits the ground. “Ow!”

               “I warned you. Now gimme my phone!”

               The man sits up, rubbing the back of his head. “I wanna say that was a cheap move but I asked for it…”

               I hold my hand out for my phone but he instead takes it to pull himself up. “Give it.” The man feigns giving it back, only to resume holding it over my head. “That’s it!”

               I lunge at the King, starting a skirmish that rolls around the campsite. Nobody draws weapons; it’s a simple quarrel over a phone so there’s not going to be any murder involved…Probably.

               My hand comes up, slapping Noctis’s and freeing the phone but I didn’t exactly think it through. The phone soars through the air and I’m pretty sure I’m about to have a useless cell phone. However, Noctis catches it before it can crack on the haven floor in a stroke of luck.

               “Phew,” he sighs. Relieved, he gives me a smile, my phone sparkles in his hand then disappears, and he jams his hands in his pockets. A second later, those cobalt eyes go wide. “Oh…shit.”

               Storming towards him, I grip his jacket. “What do you mean oh shit?!”

               Hands in the air, the King watches me like he does the dangerous fiends we come across. “I, uh, I may have just ruined your phone.”

               “WHAT?!” I change my mind: murder might be involved.

               “Well magic and electronics don’t…exactly…mesh together well. The magic tends to destroy electronics…like phones.”

               As the realization dawns on me, the anger rises. I start rattling the man. “YOU RUINED MY PHONE?!”

               “It was an accident!”

               “YOU LOST ALL MY INFORMATION AND CONTACTS!”

               “I’M SORRY!”

               I hold my hand out, silently demanding my device. Sheepishly, the King summons the stolen phone and slips it into my grasp. Turning away from him, I hold down the power button but I’m not even getting the dead battery signal, which is crap because I know there was at least 50% battery.

               “Rrrrgh!” I hurl the phone over his head and stalk towards the campsite.

               “Where are you going?!” Not answering, I snatch up his phone from the table. Immediately, Noctis starts for me. “Ah, hey! That’s mine!”

               I put some distance between us, holding the phone out of his reach. “Not anymore it’s not; you broke my phone so this is mine now.”

               His face erupts in a shade of red and it’s an interesting sight to see Noctis becoming so flustered. “No! It’s not! I’m sorry I broke your phone but you can’t have mine!”

               Ignis slips from the tent, looking over the minor chaos of me and Noctis. “What’s going on here?”

               Prompto glances up from his camera. “Noctis broke their phone so now they’re taking his.”

               I slap Noctis’s hand away from me. “We wouldn’t be in this mess if you didn’t steal my phone and then sent it to your magical alternate dimension!”

               “Oh,” Ignis hums unbothered. Then his eyes widen. “…Oh!”

               There’s an interesting anxiousness on Noctis’s face. “Come on! Just give me my phone back!”

               “No. You broke mine and lost everything I had on it,” I retort.

               “Please! Give it back!”

               Rolling my eyes, I turn to walk away. A spoon clatters on the ground and I have only a split second to get the phone out of Noctis’s reach. “Excuse you!”

               “Give it back!”

               “No!”

               This turns into the second tussle of the night with the roles reversed. I may be shorter than the King but that doesn’t mean I can’t play my own game of keep away. It’s also in my favor that said man’s desperation works against him, making him far more straightforward and easier to read.

               Noctis reaches across me once again but, with my elbow against his chest, he can’t quite steal my stolen prize. I push back and the man stumbles back, foot catching on an uneven part of the haven’s stony floor and ending up on his ass.

               Grinning triumphantly, I press the home button and swipe to unlock. That’s certainly not what I expected to see after unlocking Noctis’s phone. I expected some picture of a video game scene or a picture of his friends or his fiancée; hell, I even expected a picture of a damn fish. But not this. Noctis’s wallpaper is a picture of us, me pulled against his side as we give peace signs, dirty and bruised, fresh off a hunt; but it’s us.

               Confused, I look back to Noctis who could possibly burst into flames at any moment. I show him the picture.

               “Why am I your wallpaper?” I swear I see smoke coming off him, but he doesn’t answer. “Noctis.”

               “Are you dumb, shorty?” laughs Gladio, closing his book, clearly more entertained by us. “Why else would he have you as his wallpaper?”

               It’s my turn to burn up while Noctis glares daggers.

               Ignis starts working on dinner from his make-shift cooking station. “Indeed. He’s not exactly subtle about it.”

               “Subtle enough they didn’t notice,” Prompto says. The blonde lifts his camera to snap a picture. Now I’m glaring too.

               “Are we sure they’re capable hunters?” Gladio points out.

               Ignis replies, “Just because they’re blindingly oblivious to each other’s feelings doesn’t make them terrible hunters.”

               Noctis and I, equally flushed, glance to each other. The fight’s over; I can’t even look at him without agitating the butterflies in my stomach. Turning away from him, I take a seat at the fire and fiddle with the phone, not even caring that I’m leveling up Noctis’s King’s Knight character instead of mine. Noctis retakes his seat, staring into the fire that masks how flustered he’d been.

               The night goes on far less rambunctious than it began. I’m not sure exactly what it is, perhaps those disturbed butterflies are far more addicting than I thought, but my gaze keeps trailing to Noctis. When I would’ve normally turned away to pretend I wasn’t, I just continue staring when caught. The corners of my mouth turn up and I get my confirmation of the butterflies—he returns the expression a bit bashfully.

               I can exactly say things will progress in a natural or expected way; he’s got Lunafreya after all and I shouldn’t get in the way of that. But I highly doubt I’ll turn him down if Noctis decides to make a move.

~~~~~ 

A Week Later…

               “Can I please have my phone back now?” groans the King,

               I shift in my chair, propping my feet up on his knees. “No. You’re not getting this phone back unless you get me a new one.”

               “But we don’t have any money.”

               I continue tapping away. “Sucks for you then.”

               Prompto leans closer. “If that’s your phone now, why haven’t you changed the wallpaper?”

               “Prompto!” I shout, the embarrassment rising. Getting only a glance at Noctis’s amused face, I launch myself over the back of my chair and chase down the photographer who’s now screaming ‘Sorry! I’m sorry!’ as he flees.

~~~~~ 

A Month Later…

               I pull the jingling device from my pocket. “Hello?”

               The person on the other end of the line hesitates. “Um…Yes, hello. This is Marshall Cor Leonis. I’m looking for Noctis.”

               I glance at said man. “Oh, sorry. But this isn’t his phone anymore.” Noctis frowns.

               “I see. Does he have a new phone number I could call?”

               “Nope. Sorry.”

               “Wait-”

               Before he can protest, I hang up and jam the phone back in my pocket. Not giving an explanation bothers Noctis enough for him to pester me.

               “What was that?”

               “Someone looking for you.”

               He waits expectantly, getting frustrated when I don’t give him more. “What did they want?”

               “He didn’t say. Was just looking for you. Then he asked if you had a new number but you don’t.”

               “Who was it?”

               “Some guy named Leonis.”

               His hands go to his hair dramatically. “You hung up on the Marshall?! Gimme the phone!”

               “No! It’s mine!” I step back defensively.

               “Just give it to me! I gotta call him back!”

               “It’s my phone now!”

               “Just let me call him!”

               “No!” I take off with Noctis chasing after me.

               In the distance, we hear Gladio yelling, “Get a room, you two!”

[percyinpanties]

hey I'm the pipeyna anon and that's ok!!! can u do pipeyna with piper pining after hot jock Reyna which hopefully ends happy (smutty)

just a quick warm-up, i say, i won’t spend too much time on this. i really had to resist just going on and on and on with this. i miss writing this ship, damn.

anyway - this fits really well with an enemy to lovers prompt i have for jercy, so thats what im hinting at too here.

Read on Ao3

for context : i always write college aus from a UK uni perspective bc that’s all i know and i don’t care to adapt to how it might or might not work in the u.s. (sorry)

rating: teen+ (no smut in this one, but let me tell you, this TEMPTED me)

words: 2.2k 

___

“An actual goddess” Piper says wistfully from where she’s leaning against the wall next to Percy, taking back the cigarette she’d just bummed of him. Her eyes are glued on the field, and more precisely on Reyna, smile on her face and water bottle in her hand as she jogs over to Jason standing at the side of the field. They greet each other with a hug, even as Reyna wrinkles her face, seemingly complaining about her own sweatiness.

It’s coincidence that the end of Reyna’s soccer practice collides conveniently with Piper’s and Percy’s late seminar on Mondays. It isn’t coincidence that Percy and her have taken to sharing a cigarette on the side of the building that looks out toward the field during their break, however.

 Percy makes a non-committal noise and his eyes follow Piper’s gaze while she takes a drag of the cigarette and wrinkles her nose. She needs to quit smoking for good, she thinks, and flicks the ash to the ground. There was a brief moment in first year when Piper thought that Percy might be interested in Reyna, or she in him, but luckily, nothing ever came of that.

 “You think they’re dating?” Percy asks, arms crossed over his chest now, making no move to take the cigarette back again. He’s not even pretending not to be staring, his eyes intense where they flit between Reyna and Jason. Piper on the other hand has the common decency to at least cast her eyes away every now and again before she’s caught looking for a little too long.

At the edge of the field, Reyna and Jason are standing close together now, chatting about god knows what, smiling and laughing. They’re certainly comfortable with each other, but Piper can’t say that’s much of an indication given how she’s around Percy.

 “I hope not.” Piper mutters and Percy laughs at that, even though she knows he agrees. Percy wouldn’t admit it in a million years, but Piper would bet real money that he has a thing for Jason, too, as much as he claims to hate the guy. She’d have to be deaf and blind not to notice the tension between them.

It would make sense, though, in a way. Jason is captain of the men’s rugby team, Reyna of the women’s soccer team. Some of their practices collide and the two clubs do most of their weekly socials together, and Piper’s seen the two of them hanging out aside from that plenty as well. Reyna and her haven’t talked much about Jason, maybe because Piper hasn’t actually exchanged more than five words with him and never had much of an urge to change that, but she knows that Reyna and Jason have known each other before university.

Around Jason, Reyna seems to let her guard down, something Piper has only managed to achieve a handful of times since they met during their first year.

 Jason laughs at something Reyna says, eyes bright and head thrown back and Piper can’t deny that he’s handsome, at the very least. He’s fairly decent, too, as far as guys go, and really, Piper knows she shouldn’t be hoping that there is nothing between Reyna and him if that is what would make Reyna happy.

 “Invite her to the party.” Percy suggests then, drawing Piper’s attention back from the tangent her brain was so insistent to start on. When Piper turns her face to look at him, he’s already looking back at her, one eyebrow arched. “I was going to, anyway, but it’s different coming from you yourself.”

 He’s not teasing her, it’s an honest suggestion, and technically not even a bad one. It’s Percy’s birthday this weekend, and if nothing else, it would be a good excuse to hang out again. Percy knows a ton of people, but he usually doesn’t invite too many to his party, so with any luck, it won’t be too crowded to actually spend some time with Reyna.

More than that, though, it’s another opportunity for Piper to finally get a move on. Percy, Piper knows, thinks that Piper’s pining had reached a point where it’s almost comical halfway through last year, but even so, Piper has yet to manage to actually act on her feelings.

A party is casual enough that she can always play it off as nothing serious when it ends up blowing up in her face. Piper might finally get over herself and just ask Reyna out already – although she’s tried that a few times before only to find herself tongue tied and staring at Reyna like she hung the moon in the sky. She’s been head over heels for Reyna since maybe three weeks after they met in first year, and now that they’re starting their third and final year, Piper needs to get a move on or it’ll simply be too late. Granted, she’s scared shitless at the prospect of being turned down, but at this point, even that would be better than pining forever and never finding out if she’d even stand a chance.

 “Yeah… maybe.” Piper says finally, and manages a small smile towards Percy who bumps his shoulder against hers playfully. They should be heading back inside, so Piper sneaks a last glance toward Reyna and this time, finds her looking back.

    They don’t share any classes this year, and Piper doesn’t usually run into Reyna on campus, so on Wednesday morning, she ends up texting Reyna on her way to class. She fumbles with her phone, almost tripping over her own two feet trying to type the words out as fast as possible, and ends up having to sidestep off the path to actually send the texts.

 Hey you.

we’re having a party on Saturday, it’s Percy’s birthday.

 Piper wants to add more, but instead, she bites her lip and stuffs her phone back into the pocket of her jeans. It’s almost an open invitation like this already anyway, and Piper wants to gauge Reyna’s first reaction before deciding exactly how she’s going about asking. Technically, it would be so easy to just as Reyna to go with her, specifically, to the party, but the intention might be lost over text and anyway, wouldn’t it be simpler to just invite her generally?

Piper frets throughout the entirety of her first lecture, and most of the second one, for nothing. Reyna doesn’t answer, even though the messenger app shows Piper that she’s read both texts already, and Piper tries not to be disappointed about it. She doesn’t know what Reyna’s schedule is like today, the girl might just be busy and planned on replying later. It makes sense, much more than Piper’s second thought that Reyna is not answering because Piper is annoying and Reyna doesn’t actually want to spend any time with her. She knows that thought is stupid, knowing that however does nothing to ease the anxious knot in Piper’s stomach.

 Piper finds herself checking her phone more often than not. It would be funny if it wasn’t so ridiculous, and if the lecturer wasn’t so clearly catching on that Piper isn’t paying as much attention to the class as she is to her phone. She texts Percy as well, but she knows he’s in that seminar he shares with Jason, so chances are that she won’t be getting a reply on that end anytime soon either.  In the end, she has to force herself to put her phone away and actually focus on the lecture up front, even though by that point, she is already lost as to what they’re even talking about in the first place. It’s no good, and Piper can’t deny being relieved when the lecturer eventually dismisses the class.

 She doesn’t allow herself to check her messages until she’s across campus in the coffee shop, queuing for some much needed caffeine and fishing out her phone so she doesn’t have to make small talk with anyone while she waits in line. Reyna still hasn’t replied, but at least Percy has messaged her after his seminar.

 I’m gonna strangle him, Piper. You’ll have to bust me out of prison because they are going to arrest me for goddamn murder.

 All she’d asked was if his classes were as boring as hers today, and while she had expected Percy to go off about Jason in reply, this isn’t exactly what she’d thought to be reading today. She smiles at her phone, types out a quick reply and moves up in the queue.

 That bad? What’s he done now?

 The way Percy talks about Jason makes Piper think of a Cartoon Network villain, always plotting, provoking and scheming. The few times she’s spoken to Jason, the guy wasn’t half bad, and if Piper is honest, she doesn’t quite get the vendetta these two have with each other. She suspects though that it has something to do with how ‘infuriatingly attractive, like fucking superman or something’ Percy described Jason after their first class together.

 It’s like he thinks I’m stupid or something. Got a dumb fucking project to do together and he honestly told me that he ‘needs to pass this class so iif I’m not planning to put in the work, we might as well ask for new partners right away’

Like, excuse me, bitch? My grades are better than yours, for one thing

And for another, it’s not like good-old Dodds is gonna let us switch anyway

 Piper huffs audibly while she reads the texts. It’s clear Percy’s actually upset by this, and she figures it will only get worse if they actually have to do the work together in the coming weeks. Before she can shoot Percy a reply though, she’s next in line.

Piper orders her coffee, steps aside to wait once she’s paid, and rereads Percy’s texts before she types her reply to Percy.

 Sounds like a dick move.

 Piper’s almost inclined to defend Jason for a moment, since Percy mostly doesn’t pay much attention in class, especially in Mrs. Dodds seminars – so how is Jason meant to know how much effort Percy puts in outside of it? On the other hand, though, Piper knows how Percy is, and how personally he’s clearly taken Jason’s comment already, so trying to convince him otherwise would simply be fruitless.

Once Piper’s coffee is done, she heads back outside, finding an empty bench to enjoy the break before her next class. If nothing else, at least Percy’s ranting is distracting her from Reyna, and the party, and asking the other girl out – and in between the rapid texts Percy and her are sending back and forth Piper almost forgets about it entirely. Until she has to head back to her last class, that is, and sees that Reyna has, so far, still left her on read.

 Piper hesitates for a moment, clicking on the text field without typing anything just yet. Is she going to come off as desperate if she texts again, or should she just clarify now before it gets too late and Reyna already makes different plans for the weekend?

Piper types out a few words, deletes them again and pockets her phone only to get it back out a few seconds later to try again. She shouldn’t be walking and texting, especially given that she should be going faster to actually make it to her lecture in time, but Piper knows that if she doesn’t send this text now, she’ll spend another lecture agonising over what to say.

 So yeah, I wanted to invite you too ofc :)

 Piper cringes at her wording, but figuring it won’t get much better, she sends the text anyway and finally tucks her phone back into her pocket to actually hurry to class.

   By the time Reyna replies, it’s late and Piper is sitting on the beat-up couch in her shared flat’s living room, watching something trashy on TV without really paying much attention at all. Percy is clanking around in the kitchen, making something that smells good enough to remind Piper that she should probably be getting herself some food, too. She’s about to get up and rummage through her fridge compartment in search of something edible when her lock screen lights up with a message from Reyna, and that derails any thoughts of food immediately. Piper isn’t subtle in the way she practically lunges for her phone, but luckily, Percy can’t see and judge her from his position in the kitchen.

 Sorry, long day, reads the first text, following a few seconds later by another one.

Promised Jason to hang out but I’d love to :(

 Piper bites her lip, knowing before typing out the words that Percy won’t like what she’s doing in the slightest.

 You could bring him? Percy won’t mind.

 Except that Percy most certainly will mind, Piper thinks, and grimaces. If she hadn’t come off as desperate before, she most certainly does now – texting back within less than a minute after having been left on read all day, only to offer that Reyna can bring her friend (boyfriend?) along as well if that means she’ll be there.

There’ll be other opportunities, Piper tells herself, and scrubs a hand over her face. She needs to chill, and maybe she needs to grab a cigarette and step outside and calm down before she embarrasses herself even further.

 Piper stares at the screen. How on earth is she meant to interpret this? At this rate, she won’t make it until Saturday, dying of one crisis or another before then.

 if you’re sure? I’ll ask him.

haven’t seen you in a while, would be nice to hang out again ;)

 I’m sure.

[barsandkaines]

Britta Was Never Ruined, Actually

Unpopular opinion, apparently: Season 1 Britta, particularly the Pilot and the front 13 episodes Britta, was dreadfully boring and a sore thumb in the cast. Where everyone had a neurosis or flaw to the point of comedy, Britta was a boring straight man with no funny bone to pick on. Jeff was a borderline villain who needs to be taught that his lawyer crap won’t fly in Greendale; Annie was hyper antagonistic and insecure; Abed has trouble relating to people outside of media; Shirley had intense anger issues; Pierce was a perverted bigoted old man; Troy was a hyper-masculine jock; and Britta... smoked, I guess. 

I shake my head every time people state that Britta was ruined specifically because the perfect, boring persona she had in the beginning wasn’t genuine.  Especially silly when people blame it on Harmon hating women (there are things to criticize about Community’s female characters but “them being funny” is not one of them) when Britta’s own actress Gillian Jacobs suggested that she gets more silly and goofy since that’s actually funny and also works to the actress’ talents. It’s exactly like Sweet Dee in *It’s Always Sunny in Philadelphia*. Boring as sin in Season 1 until the actress told the writers to let her be as awful as the rest of the cast. A comedy about non-functional at best, awful at worst people and you want a character who is just unironically better than everyone?  

We wouldn’t have her speech in “The Science of Illusion” or her moments in episodes like “Intermediate Documentary Filmmaking” if she was the same character she was in the pilot. And as much as people criticize the latter seasons for her “decline”, it was evident as early as Season 1. Why would Pilot episode “I have douche-vision” Britta announce to the campus that she loves Jeff Winger, and then subsequently use her newfound status as the People’s Champion to get some positive female attention in her life, then get into a spat with Jeff that eventually evolves into a friends-with-benefits situation? 

In an esoteric comedy like Community, Britta’s pilot personality did not work in the slightest and it’s not surprising that she was changed. Granted, yes, there were times where they did absolutely shit on her character entirely (remember when she shit herself?) and finding the best version of Britta is less pinning down a season and more finding the odd spikes where the writers gave a damn. For all the shit Season 4 rightfully gets, I think “Herstory of Dance” is perfect Britta: genuine interest and desire to help people, but a fundamental inability to do it right. She tries, and fails, but she *tries*. She makes a really stupid mistake but it’s out of genuine interest. The episode even explicitly calls out Jeff for using her name as an insult. We get goofy Britta humor but also character development and a sense that *despite her flaws*, the group loves her, and that’s more rewarding than if she never at a point to be disliked ever.

Judging by how this site criticizes the show, the “ideal” Britta apparently would be a woman who is always smart and right, never fails when it matters, and is beloved by everyone. Unless you are really eager for a role-model to attach to, this isn’t actually a good character. No character in the show is like this.

And I’ll be honest, it seems that people project onto the fact that Britta is characterized as a white feminist and, despite the fact that 95% of the time, when Community makes fun of her feminist values it’s not because “haha feminism”, but “haha Britta’s a hypocrite and ineffectual”, they seem to take making fun of Britta as Dan Harmon’s personal hatred towards women and feminism. 

In “Spanish 101″, the show never made fun of the idea of a protest and even defended Annie and Shirley’s idea of protesting. Britta says shit like “I can excuse racism, but I draw the line at animal cruelty.” In “Bondage and Beta Male Sexuality”, her activist former friends are portrayed as both right in that they are doing more than Britta ever did but also colossal assholes and belitting her and making her feel like shit for her lot in life. The joke’s not on feminism, it’s on Britta, who is a bad feminist but still a feminist. If the show was made today, exactly the same, it would most definitely be seen as a critique towards white feminism.

Community later introduced a “straight-man” character who actually does fit with the show; and now I’ll talk about how perfect Frankie is in every way, without being perfect in the slightest. She’s a straight man in a way that works; her grounded personality isn’t her being a buzzkill but a new way to navigate Greendale’s insanity. She wants to make money for the school so she wheels in prisoners on tablets and fawns over a murderer. Even when she’s actively against the group’s interest to be silly, they sacrifice potential comedy for actual character development, like in “Modern Espionage” where her desire to stop paintball absolutely makes sense and the characters come to realize that. Also, her making the Committee dress like toddlers to prove a point is one of the best tags. She knows how the characters tic and play off them but it’s not to shut them down, it’s to make the best of them, and in turn her.

None of that is what Britta offered in Season 1. She *was* a buzzkill. She *was* boring. And she got better. Did the writers go too far at times? Yeah. Was it overall a net positive? Absolutely? Britta is one of my favorite 

[rq-s]

Title: Perfect

Pairing: Jeon Wonwoo / F!Reader

Genre: Fluff & American College/University AU

Word Count: 2.9k+

Warnings: None.

Summary: You’re nearing your college graduation, your photography degree is practically in your hands already. But every time you look through your portfolio, something is missing. And you knew exactly what it was. 

My Masterlist 

I couldn’t help but stare. A boy with eyes that piercing and teeth that shiny was hard to come by, and he was just who I needed.

I eyed him for my entire lunch break, watching him as he sat in the grass with his back against one of the few birth trees on campus. I watched as he shoved vending machine popcorn in his mouth while reading a textbook like it was a bestseller. It was surprisingly interesting. From what I heard around campus, he was as stoic as they come, but I wondered if that was just rumor when he sucked on his slightly fingertips to get the butter off them instead of using a napkin.

“Your boyfriend knows Wonwoo, right?” I asked after getting my friend’s attention. She was directly in front of me, making it easy to look over her shoulder to the man in question without seeming too obvious.

“They’re both in music theory I think, why?” She answered just as absentmindedly as I’d asked. I shrugged and took my phone out to search my contacts for her boyfriends’ name.

“I’m gonna ask him for Wonwoo’s number.” I said, bracing for the reaction I knew I’d get.

“Oh I see~ You finally over that dry spell?” Our group of friends joked and cooed at me, teasing the fact that maybe their “frigid friend” was warming up. I resigned to let them think whatever they wanted, knowing they wouldn’t take my real reason to get close to Wonwoo seriously. He’s just the type of handsome that I needed for my portfolio.

The sun was falling, signaling that evening classes were going to start soon. For me though, the rest of the day was mine. I fell back into my bed with a thump, fingers laced over my forehead as I fought between wanting to get work done or just lazing in bed for the rest of the day.

My phone rang before I could decide.

“Hey, what did you need?” A heavy but hurried voice spoke as soon as I answered. There was no caller ID, but it could only be one man. I was taken aback at his directness; I’d just sent a text saying my name and that I wanted his help with a project. He must be an opportunist to call a stranger after so little information.

In my slow register of the situation, I heard him speed walking somewhere, mumbling “excuse me” as he went.

“If you have time, I’d like to take some pictures of you.”

“For photography? Sure, I’ll text you when I’m free, alright?” He rushed, hanging up before I could finish saying okay. How did he know it was for photography? Sure, I carried my camera with me everywhere I went, but how could he know?

“Back to back classes that are across campus from each other are the worst.” He texted me an apology a few minutes later. I assured him that it’s fine, and added a gentle pester for him to focus during class. Something about him seemed to conflict: his naturally intimidating aura clashed with his lack of formality.

I was only becoming more certain that he was who I needed.

Nearly 3 hours later he texted me that he should be free for the rest of the evening. Knowing the rules against having a guy come into the girls’ dorms, especially after sunset, I invited him to a small diner near the middle of the campus where we could talk about specifics. Luckily, he agreed.

When I arrived, he was already there with a half empty glass of soda and 2 menus laid on the worn-out table. It seemed like he’d been here a while, scrolling his phone mindlessly while he waited for me. I checked my phone just to be sure for the 5th time tonight that I wasn’t late but seeing him there alone made me feel guilty anyway.

I weaved though tables of happy couples, study groups, and families to meet him at the burgundy leather booth. He smiled once he noticed me, adjusting his beige cardigan that hung on his broad shoulders and pulling the cuffs down to cover his thin wrists - it was as if he was surprised to see me here.

“I hope you haven’t been here for too long.” I said concernedly, sitting across from him and setting my bag beside me.

“I… have. I figured it would be easier than going all the way back to my dorm for a whole 2 minutes before I had to head back down here.” He grabbed his glass with one hand but didn’t pick it up, instead he tapped his fingernails against it, making the ice hit the sides in a surprisingly rhythmic way.

“That’s smart, actually. Thanks for agreeing to meet with me.” This was a place I went often for dinner, so I didn’t need to look through the menu. This meant looking at each other awkwardly while we waited for the waiter to come by.

I tried to be discrete as I looked him over. Seeing him up close was so much different than watching him from across the park or the hallways. He was thin, but still appeared strong, that was clear even with the slightly oversized clothes he was wearing. His skin seemed silky smooth but also like it could start smoking like dry ice at any moment.

He was looking at me too, his deep brown eyes wandering my face and torso casually. The shape of his nose, his eyes, his jaw… everything was perfect. Even they way his bangs fell over his brow and how his glasses left red marks on the bridge of his nose was perfect.

“Why did you say I have ‘the look’?” He asked blatantly, but from his tone I could tell he wasn’t bothered by it.

“Oh, that… Basically, your face shape, features, stature, body type, all of that stuff is pretty much exactly what I’ve been looking to add to my portfolio.” I could already feel that awkward warmth creeping up my neck and towards my cheeks.

“You think I’m perfect?” The smirk was audible in his voice, it wasn’t the cocky smile I was used to seeing from college boys, but instead was one of delight.

“Yes.” I didn’t hesitate, and for a moment, I wish I had. His smirk fell instantly, and after his eyes darted over my face in search of something, he turned his head completely to look out the window, his slender fingers covering his mouth.

28… 29… 30… 31-

“Thanks.” He had sat still in that position before he spoke, shifting in his seat. At the same time, the waiter finally approached us. Wonwoo ordered first, and it looked as if his skin was paler than before, like his circulation suddenly dropped. I ordered my regular and the waiter left as swiftly as they’d came. He sighed as they walked away, as if he’d been holding his breath.

“So, what would I need to do?” Wonwoo asked with a hint of meekness.

“I just need you to do simple poses and let me take pictures of you. We can work together for what to have you wear and where would be best, I have some ideas already though.”

He put his arms on the table and held his hands together and fidgeted. I was truly at as loss for words with him, I know it’s impolite to stare, but it’s as if his aura was drawing me in like a magnet. He bit his cheek in thought, then took a deep breath before speaking.

“I'm not sure, I’m really busy with essays for the next few weeks.” He was hinting at something, and I picked up on it instantly.

“Oh, you wouldn’t be doing it for free, by the way. I’m not sure how long it would take so I can pay you by the hour,” His face lit up again, and his eyes caught mine. How could someone with such a chilly reputation seem so warmhearted? “Does 15 dollars an hour sound okay?”

“If you can take at least 5 hours, sure.”

After that, talking became easier and we even laughed at silly jokes as we ate, taking the time to get to know each other. It was easy to let my guard down with him, and I hoped it was the same for him. Everything I overheard people whisper about him behind his back was wrong, I knew that for sure.

“I really don’t know though, I feel like if you go to a fancy masquerade wearing a wolf mask, going around asking strange question about peoples agendas, you have to accept that everyone is going to think you’re the murderer!” Our plates had been taken back to the kitchen, we’ve gotten 3 drink refills, and we’re now both picking at a shared slice of no-bake chocolate cake while figuring own what mask each of our professors would wear to a Clue-esk masquerade.

“Maybe that was the point? Maybe someone else used that expectation against him and would frame him! Do you know how scary crows can be when they’re upset? I think it would be her.” Wonwoo seemed in his element when in a debate, even one as silly as this. I shook my head and chuckled, taking a bite of the cake with a happy hum as he finished off this ice water. We’d spend the entire evening chapping about things we both liked, and we bonded over Shakespeare. Truthfully though, I could only talk about what I had to read in high-school English.

“Excuse me? It’s getting late. We have to close soon.” A waitress I didn’t recognize came up and got our attention. We both seemed surprised, looking outside to find the sky was completely dark, the orange glow of the streetlights lining the winding sidewalks of the campus.

“I’m so sorry, I didn’t realize the time,” Wonwoo stood up just enough to grab his wallet from his back pocket, “I’ll take the check, now.” The waiter nodded and handed it to him, clearly tired from her shift. The diner was empty save for the few members of staff and the two of u. It kind of scared me how easily I’d gotten lost in conversation.

“Let me pay for half, okay?” I fumbled with my bag trying to find my wallet.

“No, I’ve got it, if you can cover the tip though, that’d be great.” He was already standing and making his way to the front where he’d pay. He paused for a moment though, sliding the check towards me with a kind smile before he left. His appearance paired with the amazing diner we’d shared made my mind go blank. Butterflies to spawned in my tummy and they dared to fly up my throat, making it tighten as if I could cry.

I took a deep breath and stood, placing a little more cash than was necessary on the table and went to catch up with Wonwoo. I stood to the side as he paid, thanking the waitress when they were finished.

“Thank you for spending time with me tonight.” I said shyly, hugging my arms close to myself to stave off the cold.

“You’re welcome. I’ll text you the date and time that I’ll be free. I trust your judgement, so just text me with what I should try to wear and were I should be.” It took me way too long to realize what he was talking about.

“Ahh right! Of course.” I hadn’t meant to sound so disappointed, but he didn’t seem to notice.

“My dorm is this way, so I’ll see you later, okay?” He stopped abruptly at a crossroads, pointing into the opposite direction where my dorm was. I nodded and thanked him again before he began to jog off.

I stood there under the lights for a few moments, watching as his slender legs and clean dress shoes took him away and into the night.

My breath hitched in sudden realization.

“I just went on a date with Jeon Wonwoo.” I whispered to no one.

“Right there! Don’t move a muscle.” It was a week later that I got to see him again. It was the weekend, and I’d decided on going to a park nearby. We stood at a small bridge that crossed a small stream that would eventually reach the river where families were fishing and having a barbecue. The weather was perfect, with bright fluffy clouds, warm sunshine, and a soft breeze.

Somehow Wonwoo wore almost exactly what I’d envisioned: a lightweight shirt over a white t-shirt, light wash jeans and sneakers. A perfect day and a perfect boy made for a perfect picture.

“Can you look up a little bit more? Think something wistful.” He was great at following instructions, and whatever wistful thing he was thinking made the sweetest smile spread over his cheeks. I knelt at the end of the bridge and took a few pictures of his profile as he gazed at the sky.

“Now look at me.” It was as if he looked through the camera lens and directly into my soul. It nearly took my breath away how naturally be could put on the boyfriend act. Luckily, my camera was my shield, and I was able to get the shot without fumbling like a starstruck schoolgirl. Mostly.

“Alright, I think that’s good.” We’d been at it for hours, wandering around the park looking for the best places. We’d been at the river where the trees gave enough shade to emphasize his features. We’d been to the swing set where he played up the careful style that I didn’t know he had. We’ve been to the rock garden where I learned he knew a surprising amount about geology.

“You think this’ll be enough?” He came around to look at the pictures with me, putting his arm around my shoulders, the sudden contact made me jump, nearing dropping my camera. I turned to look at him only to find me wasn’t looking at the pictures at all.

“Uh... Yeah I think so.”

“I’ve always admired you, you know?” My mouth hung open in shock. Surely, I’d have remembered if we shared classes together or knew each other before this. fear bloomed in my chest. Had we known each other before??!?

“Sometimes during lunch, you’ll take pictures of the flowers or of birds, and you have a sense of focus that I don’t usually see in girls our age.” He clarified, waving off my worried thoughts with his free hand. Yet again he surprises me. 

“And I always notice when you stare.” He added as one final blow to my heart, a killing whisper. My breath caught in my lungs and I looked away from him, only to feel his throaty laugh against my ear and neck. 

“I- thank you? and also I’m sorry?” I didn’t know what to say or how to react.  He let go of my shoulders and took a step away, moving in front of me.

“Don’t worry about it. I’m flattered.” His smile was otherworldly. When I didn’t respond further, however, that beautiful smile began to fall.

“I’m sorry, was that unwarranted?” He asked, gesturing to my shoulder. I still couldn’t say anything, as much as I wanted to. I could still feel pressure where his fingers pressed onto my skin, and how his breath against my neck gave me shivers. 

“I just thought that after our date that you were interested and so I-”

“What?” I blurted out, surprising even myself. His eyes went wide, and he stumbled back as if my words had hit him physically.

“Was that wrong? I’m sorry I shouldn’t have assumed!” He bowed his head slightly in what I assumed was an apology. Before I could correct him, he began to leave.

“I’ll text you with my PayPal info, okay? See you around.” He really was the flight in fight or flight when it came to social situations.

I sent a length voice memo after I got home, explaining that I wasn’t upset and that I thought I had begun to have feelings for him, or at least that I liked him and his company. He never replied. In fact, I barely ever saw him again. It was only a little over a month until graduation, so I assumed he was busy. At least I hoped so, that way I didn’t depress myself with the idea that he was purposefully ignoring me, despite the signs.

Perhaps it was because his image was the shining star of my portfolio, but I never could forget about Jeon Wonwoo.

“Alright, thank you for introducing yourself, you can go ahead and have a seat at your desk.” My supervisor says kindly, gesturing to the only un-decorated desk in the room. The older woman next to me smiled and shook my hand, and the meeting went on in what I assumed was business as usual.

Everything was clean and new and mine. My own desk in an actual company building for an actual newspaper. I tried to focus on what was being said, but I was too giddy to even sit still. 

“Excuse me, are you busy?” A heavy voice spoke up from behind me after the supervisor left the room. My throat tightened as if I could cry.

“No, can I help you with something?” I said as I pretended I was fine.

“I just wanted to introduce myself. Jeon Wonwoo, I’m a columnist.” He smiled at me smugly, extending his hand for me to shake. I did so and he winked at me. Instantly, the entire world fell apart until it was just us.

I couldn’t help but stare. A boy with eyes that piercing and teeth that shiny was hard to come by, and he was just who I wanted.