#… to draw them I’d have to assign them races and I’m not sure what to do w that rn. anyway now I have to tag every character don’t I ughhh

[enzymedevice]

Haven’t posted art in so long because I’ve had the most terrible art block and am failing at commission work so hard that I’ve forgotten what it’s like to upload stuff without anxiety, oops. Anyway, homed stuck

[skylarmoon71]

Baldwin De Clairmont (A Discovery of Witches) - Extra

The first few weeks are challenging. You do your best to follow every instruction Diana gives.

“You can’t force it.”

Your hands drop and the little glow at the center of your palm disappears. You sulk, dropping into the chair.

“This is hopeless. I can’t do it.The more I try to control the harder it becomes.”

“That’s because you aren’t trying to control it, you’re trying to stifle it. You’re afraid to draw too much, so you’re pulling very little.”

Diana flicks her wrist, and the very same flame that had ignited in the room earlier is back. Except this time it looks more centered than your own. Her palms close, and all at once it’s gone.

“I was just like you. I rarely used my powers at the very beginning. I thought life was better without them. But now I have something I’d like to protect.”

Her eyes drift to the back, possibly thinking of the nursery. You send a smile.

“Your children are beautiful.”

“Thank you.”

You’re both seated now.

“When I met Baldwin I thought they were his kids. He just looked so domesticated and happy. I haven’t really ever seen him smile other than when he’s with Rebecca and Phillip.”

“Maybe he hasn’t found a reason to smile yet.”

You ponder on that.

“So..he’s not seeing anyone?”

Diana has a big smile.

“Who’s asking?”

You’re a bit embarrassed now.

“Am I being that obvious?” You flush.

“It’s endearing. Have you told him?” You shake your head aggressively.

“Of course not. I don’t think he's very interested. He doesn’t seem like the type. “

Diana nods in understanding.

“It’s been my experience that the De Clairmont men have a harder time admitting their feelings. Give it time. I’m sure when you’re both ready, the opportunity will present itself. “

“I guess so.”

You had just as much experience in magic as you did relationships.

Maybe time really was the key for both of the mysteries in your life.

~~~

“Don’t forget the assignment due on friday. Be daring, step out of your comfort zone.”

With those words the class ends and your gaze diverts to your slides. It was easier to teach about ethics and making willful decisions than actually implementing it into your life. There’s a hollow knock at the entrance and you lift your head. The familiar tailored suit is the first thing you see.

“Baldwin, what brings you to this part of Oxford. Spotted another witch?” You poke fun at him. When he gets closer you notice the bag in his hand.

“I brought a peace offering of sorts. In our first meeting I was rather rude. I hope this can suffice as a reasonable apology.” He holds out the paper bag, and you take it. When you reach in, there is a single rose laying on the container of food prepared.

“My mother is quite the cook. She insisted that I prepare her recipe specifically for this occasion. A sincere apology. Very hard to come by, especially from a De Clairmont. "

To your surprise, he smiles. You can’t stop the blush on your cheeks.

“Thank you..really. This is very sweet.” Your heart is racing, and you know it’s too much to hope that he doesn’t hear.

“My pleasure.”

You place the container on your desk, lifting the rose. Inhaling softly, you smile.

He’s so charming that it should be a crime. Your eyes raise, a bit startled that his eyes haven’t truly left your form since he entered. He’s close enough that you get a good whiff of his cologne. It is alarming how tempted you are to close the distance just to get a better smell of him. You’ve known this man no longer than a few weeks.

“I’m assuming you have more classes to attend to, so I will not take up any more of your time.” He takes one step back.

“Enjoy your lunch.”

With a soft bow, he moves away, turning on his heel. There’s not much you can say. So you watch his confident stride as he leaves.

~~

Baldwin’s trip to Matthew’s home was usually due to his relief that his visits were no longer due to some conflict. Another was well..more personal.

“Can you say uncle Rebecca.” Baldwin bounced the infant in his arms with a smile. Trying to pull the words out of the child’s lips.

“Come on dear, say uncle.”

“Still trying to get my daughter to pick a favorite, brother.”

Matthew raised a brow and Diana couldn’t stop the little laugh that left her at the way Baldwin tried to play it off as if he hadn’t been caught red handed.

“I’m certain she loves me more.” He claimed with his head held high.

“Un..ca..”

They all paused at the little murmurs, and Rebecca smiled, her two front teeth peeking out.

“Unca!”

Baldwin’s eyes lit up brighter than a star as he jumped to his feet with a cheer.

“Yes! I’m your uncle, good job Rebecca!”

His praises made her continue to giggle cutely and Matthew couldn’t stop the smile at how elated his brother was. He’d always hoped that he could regain his family to the unity he knew he could have. Seeing Baldwin so unapologetically happy was more than he could ask for. Diana rushed to Rebecca’s side, pressing little kisses to the girl’s face as Baldwin continued to celebrate, like an adult of course.

Jack walked in just then with Phillip in his hands.

“Father, you won’t believe what happened. Phillip, he said my name!”

Jack was wearing a similar expression as Baldwin, and Matthew couldn’t help it. He released a loud laugh that his wife shared with him.

“It seems our children have found their first admirers. “ Matthew chuckled.

One thing he knew for sure, these children were protected.

~~

This particular afternoon Diana insisted that you do something stress relieving. Not the usual learning spells or harnessing flames in the kitchen. So as you sat on the roof of your house, your eyes directed at the stars. The vibration of your phone is what pulled you attention. You looked down, smiling at the message.

“Diana told me you’re resting today. Would you like some company?”

Your pulse increased just a little at the suggestion of an invitation.

“I would like that.”

You copied your address, sending the link to him.

The fluttering of clothing in the wind makes you look down. To your surprise, there he stood. Wearing a loose sweater and jeans. It was a little weird seeing him without a suit. For a moment you just stare. Because who knows how long until you’ll see him so relaxed.

“Aren’t you going to invite me up?”

You blink.

“Y-Yes of course!” You scramble to your feet, accidentally missing a step. You jolt when your feet skid down the side.

“(Y/N)!!”

You shut your eyes in a panic. All you hear is the swishing of the wind as you’re caught.

“(Y/N)...”

You haven’t crashed, so you can only assume that Baldwin just saved you. He’s holding your bridal style, and you finally open your eyes. You’re in awe, because his feet aren’t on the floor like you expected. Both of your feet are hovering above the ground. You’re at the right level with your roof. If you moved a bit closer, you could probably jump back on. Baldwin’s eyes follow you as your bodies begin to drift slowly to the ground. His feet touch the dirt, and he lets you down slowly. You look around, the small sparks of light fading as if they weren’t even there.

“Did I..do that?”

“I assure you it wasn’t me.”

You can hardly believe it.

“It appears you have more control than you initially thought. Well done.”

He’s wearing that smile again, but this time it’s amplified. Because it’s doubled with pride. You’re still somewhat holding onto him.

“Thank you for..catching me..”

“My pleasure. In the future I insist that you be more careful.”

He pushes a stray lock back, and you let out a soft breath. This time, you know that it’s impossible to calm your heart down. The way his eyes now bore into your own, it’s driving you a bit crazy.

“Your heart is racing.”

He murmurs.

You swallow.

“W-What do you expect?”

He shifts, leaning a bit closer. This time, his hand moves to your cheek. His gaze falters. Because he can’t resist looking at your parted lips. They’re so inviting. Alluring. He slowly moves in. The suspense nearly makes you hold your breath. Your eyes lowering in anticipation, but before they can fully connect, he pulls back. His eyes move to your hand that’s gripping his sweater, and he takes notice of the slight shake in your palm. He moves back.

“I..I apologize.”

You’re confused by his words. He’s no longer within your reach. You can see what appears to be shame.

“Baldwin you-”

He gulps, rushing off. He’s gone before you can say much more, and you’re just left standing there.

~~

For the days that follow, you don’t see him. You’re a bit scared to go to Diana’s, because you aren’t sure you can deal with running into him there without it being awkward. So you make excuses about adjustments to your schedule. It’s apparently working, because Diana never pressed. You feel like a coward. Why couldn’t you just talk to him like an adult. Maybe it’s because whenever you close your eyes, you see that guilt.

He really thought he’d done something wrong.

That’s what made it worse. There’s a good chance that he’s still thinking that his actions were unwanted. It makes your chest hurt.

So you can only imagine how he feels.

“Is there a reason you are hiding out here?”

Matthew’s voice startles you.

“M-Matthew.”

You shuffle, reaching to start packing your items from the desk. Unconsciously your eyes move to the door. He sees the hope in your eyes, recognizes it. Matthew’s mind drifts back to the conversation he’d recently had with his brother.

“Did she say that she was frightened?”

“She didn’t have to Matthew, I could see it. Her hands were shaking.”

“Is it possible that she was merely nervous? From what Diana has told me, fear seems out of the question. “

Baldwin halts his pacing.

“What exactly did Diana say to you?”

He hadn’t meant to disclose that particular information.

“It doesn’t matter what she said. Why not just talk to her?”

Baldwin looked about ready to pace again.

“There’s no use, I was reckless. She’s barely even learned how to use her magic. Am I not just taking advantage of her kindness. I should not have gotten involved.”

“We both know that was never an option.”

Baldwin’s attention is now fixed on him.

“I’ve seen the way you look at her brother. What you desire from her is much more than friendship. You yearn for her, crave her. The same way I have always been taken with Diana.”

Baldwin’s hand clenched. Sometimes it was annoying the way he was always able to read his emotions.

“What is it with us witches that keep putting you Clairmont’s under a spell.”

Diana walked out from behind the hallway, moving to Matthew’s side. Baldwin felt a bit bashful that not only did his brother know of his affections for the woman, but now so did Diana.

“I cannot stop thinking about her. “ He admitted helplessly.

She could clearly see the last couple of days had not been easy. Especially juggling the assumption that the one he cared for so deeply was afraid of him. Diana merely gave a smile.

“Then tell her how you feel. “ She urged.

“The rest will work itself out.”.

That’s what he’d said. Now that Matthew was standing in front of you, it was so obvious to him. Had you been scared, there would have been more panic. Not this flustered reaction. He could see anticipation, longing as you hoped that Baldwin would just waltz in. On cue, the very man stepped forward from behind the door. You halted your actions, and Matthew gave a nod.

“I will leave you to it.”

His steps grew further away, and when you heard the door close, you forced yourself to calm down. Baldwin closed his eyes, tilting his head to the right. The thumping of your heart brought a smile to his face. He’d heard enough beats to differentiate between panic and excitement.

“Are you that happy to see me?”

Your eyes sprung open as if you just realized that he could in fact hear your heart running a mile a minute. Fidgeting, you do your best to get everything at a reasonable level. Baldwin only stopped when he was standing on the same platform. He was closer, yet still at a distance.

“I came to apologize for what happened. I should not have been so impulsive. I never intended to make you uncomfortable.”

So your suspicions were correct.

“Why..why did you think I was uncomfortable?”

“Your hands, they were trembling. I just assumed that you were-”

“Scared.”

You can’t imagine being afraid of him. Not anymore.

“I was just a little nervous.” You confess.

“I-If I’m being honest I’ve always been a bit cautious in relationships. Not everyone is willing to accept that they might be dating a witch. When I found out I guess I kept at a distance. I was always scared I’d become like my mother so I figured it was better to save someone the trouble.” You wring your hands self consciously.

“But then you and Diana showed up. For the first time in a long time I was hopeful. For my magic and..”

Baldwin is unconsciously getting closer.

“For you..”

Those are the words that get to him.

“So you don’t fear me?” It sounds like he needs to reassure himself.

“Well I mean you do frown a lot. You’ll get wrinkles, immortal or not.” You smile at his unimpressed look at the little jab.

“But no, I’m not afraid of you. You just make me a little nervous. Especially when you look at me like that.”

Like you’re someone he’s infatuated with.

“Would it be okay if I were to..”

You nod eagerly.

“Yes.”

He moves quicker than you expect, and you squeak when his lips are pressed to your own. His hand immediately finds purchase in your hair. You moan at how demanding this kiss is. Like he’s being starved of it. He takes a step forward and you move with him, hand flattening on your desk behind. Baldwin reaches for your thighs, hoisting you unto the desk. He doesn’t part to get a breath. No, the adjusted position has given him better access.

He’s standing between your legs, and you grip at his coat, trying to push it off his shoulders. He’s happy to oblige. It’s off in seconds, and your fingers dig into the shirt. Baldwin tilts his head, and you open your mouth to get a better taste of him. He inhales, and you release another moan when he pushes off the items on your desk to give you some space. You lie back, and he climbs on top.

The sound of something hitting the floor from afar is what makes you both pull away.

Standing inside your classroom now is one of your students. He looks a bit shocked. That shock changes quickly.

“Yeah Ms. K get it!!” He cheers. Your face is every shade of red.

“J-Jonathan wait!”

“Don’t let me stop you, see you tomorrow!” He’s gone, slamming the door.

Your eyes move back to Baldwin who’s panting, hair disheveled.

“My..apologies..”

You bite your lip, pulling him back in for a kiss. He groans, pressing his palm to the desk as he returns it with just as much need.

[writingwithcolor]

Does my spoiled Black princess act “too white”? Plus possible forced caregiver role

Anonymous asked:

I just had someone on Discord complain that a black character of mine comes off as “too white” (Read: Whiny and immature). The thing is: I did that on purpose. She’s a princess, a sheltered, spoiled one at that, and much of her character arc revolves around her journeying into the outside world for the first time and learning to grow tf up. I explained this to the guy, but he stuck to his guns and said that even with that context in mind, it’s still an issue.

So I’d like another opinion on this: Is there anything I should change? Not her race, though. She has a very particular character design for which I want her skin to be as dark as possible.

And I’m not sure how important this last bit is, but I figure this is the kind of thing you’d want to know: She also has a little (white) kid tagging along with her, but she’s a massive jerk to him for the first quarter of the story because she doesn’t want him there. But she cut a deal with his brother to take him with her, and as insufferable as she can be, she has a strong code of honor.

I would like to start by saying that acting “too white” is not a thing. Her personality should be defined by how she was raised, even though that can be influenced by the culture in which she grew up. I know that many Black communities, from the Caribbean for example, tend to have a stricted education. Populations who once were subjected to colonialism or faced racism by immigrating generally have education views marked by trauma : we are held to higher standards to represent our community.

Does that story takes place in our world and or in a fantasy world ? If it’s in our world, depending on where she’s from, chances are high that she went through a not-so-spoiled education, even though I don’t know about African royalties. If you’re writing fantasy, you’re free to do what you wish and her being immature fits her education.

However I would be a bit more concerned about the White kid hanging with her. Your description makes me think of him as a… pet, kinda ? And it draws a weird parallel with European royalties a few centuries ago having Black servants, a bit like a reversed situation. Where is the kid from, is there racism in your world ? Is there a reason why the brother wants her to take him with her ? What is the thing with that kid. I’m more concerned about that part than the princess’ personality to be honest.

- Mod Lydie

This guy in your discord just sounds ignorant. Black people are not all assigned to a set descriptor of personality traits. A princess with a sheltered, spoiled and whiny personality is not reserved for only white people. BIPOC, and particularly Black people in this case, come from all backgrounds and personas. 

I would ask this person, “what would a princess who ‘acts Black’ act like to you?” Based on his mindset, I'm sure having a Black princess at all is a stumbling block. If your audience can’t envision a Black person who doesn’t act and think the way they envision that all Black women must, that’s their own racist bias to overcome. 

Let them feel uncomfortable as they get to know characters that are not caricatures who soothe their stereotypical assumptions.

White kid tagging along, forced to care for them

As for the kid: Like Lydie, I find this bit concerning. 

Questions I have:

What is the purpose of his presence?

Is she being forced into a caregiver role without her consent? Whether out of obligation, morals, or having been tricked?

Is this kid meant to teach her a lesson on being humble?

Forcing a Black girl who is arguably “too whiny, immature, and spoiled” into caring for a (white) child can feel a bit like forcibly humbling her into servitude for being too “uppity.” For context: Black people that have nice things and act proud of their lifestyle are often seen as thinking they’re better than other Black people, aka the uppity stereotype. Keep in mind that people who think Black people should not have these luxuries or be proud of their success love to see them “knocked them down a peg” in an attempt to humble them. But why do they need to be humbled?

Perhaps your princess does have some less than favorable traits. Ask yourself if they need to be “corrected” by servitude, if at all? Seeing character growth is a part of stories, yeah, but there are other ways she can undergo that process without going from princess to Mammy.

Here are some examples of ways to create character growth for the princess without servitude being involved.

Character growth without caretaker role ideas

Having a character tag along with her that doesn’t need her care, but building a real friendship (or romance) with them that helps her be more considerate for others.

Or this character does not fear her whiny attitude and challenges her throughout.

She sees how other people live, act and love. This makes her reflect on her own actions and / or long to be included.

Experiencing a life changing event or loss that makes her reflect on her own actions.

Overcoming real challenges, self-care and hard work that causes character growth and humility, without humiliation.

The child tags along, along with some else that does the caretaking. (Parent, sibling, servant). Even without having to do much for caregiving, she experiences growth as she starts to care or like the child.

So long story short: There is so much thing as a Black person who acts white. That’s simply people who can’t envision Black people beyond stereotypes, and that is a “them” problem, not your story’s. Carry on! We do recommend you avoid forcing the Black princess into servitude in an attempt to amend her personality. See the suggestions above.

~Mod Colette

[luvmxmh]

dad fit meets grandmacore

ADRIAN APPRECIATION WEEK

Day 2: favorite outfit / fake dating

Pairing: Adrian Chase/Reader

Disclaimers: gender-neutral reader but is described with traditionally-feminine clothing, a police officer interrupts adrian and reader making out

Word Count: 1.8k

Summary:

“—can you call me Adrian now?”

You blink, trying to reorient yourself for a second. How in the Vigilante logic did the pain not register for him?

You know what? Fuck this.

Grabbing him by his collar, you kiss him intensely.

“Sure thing Adrian.” is the last thing you say to him before making your way out of the car.

Is your life a goddamn sitcom?

Author's Note: i have accepted the fact that i can never be punctual a day in my life (unfortunately). so um i'll be double posting day 2 & 3 within today and day 4 a little more later than that

Cross-posted on AO3

Black ops meetings often mean you have to dress professionally—or as professional as you can get without drawing attention from other civilians.

It’s not exactly an inconvenience to you. You’re a bit on the meticulous side of things when it comes to conjuring an outfit of the day. But it does feel like a two-person household whenever you assess your closet.

On one end of the rack, there are clothes dark enough to be worn by Harcourt. They’re your go-to for whatever the hell ARGUS assigns you to. That is, unless they’re sending you undercover.

Then here’s the clothes you wear that made some kids from your block call you… grandma.

You really shouldn’t get agitated over this. These are the stuff you like to wear off-mission. So what? It was either this, or vintage housewife—which you’re actually relatively impartial about. At first you thought it would be funny to wear your grandmother’s hand-me-downs, then you realized how comfortable you felt in them and that fanaticism for old people-esque clothes spiraled from there.

You’re glad the team never hangs out at Fennel Fields anymore. Their penne is gamey and you can’t risk being associated with Chase at his other job. The only exception might be Peacemaker, who’s known to be the object of Chase’s shameless admiration.

You’re quite glad you hang out with a posse of weirdos, because you don’t think anyone else will tolerate a thirty-something year old hanging around the block in what looks like some Golden Girl cosplay. You’re the agent usually sent for infiltration missions, so it’s ironic and you like it.

“Do they always look this suspicious in casual wear?”

Speak of the devil.

“No, Leota.” You sit down between her and Economos, “I’m just fifty-years-old.”

Economos sighs, “Yeah that’s just how they dress outside missions.”

“I don’t think even young grandmas look this young!” Smith exclaims, his gloved hand referring to you as you remove your sunglasses. It’s not even that dark out, but you went with it because summer solstice basically chose your outfit consisting of a floral head scarf, a cardigan over a button-up and long, breezy skirt. It just made sense to you to wear it today, tripping over air aside.

“I was half-expecting you to show up in clogs,” Harcourt quips.

Okay, wow.

“So I’m resident grandma now?” You grumble. You don’t want to admit you did almost wear clogs because you couldn’t find your more comfortable doll shoes from the rest. “Don’t answer that. It’s rhetorical.”

“I think you look great,” Chase says to you from across the booth, “If I were a grandma I’d think you’re super fashionable.”

Smith scoffs and elbows him, “Stop sucking up to them, dude. You look like a single father who’s sworn to only go after cougars now.”

“I’m not! And I don’t! I’m bisexual and I don’t discriminate against gender, race and even age. Hypothetically, if I was a GILF hunter, I would proudly say it.”

“I appreciate the compliment Chase, but never say GILF ever again.” You sigh.

Adebayo nods in agreement and resignation while Economos already has his face in his hands.

Harcourt rolls her eyes, “Okay guys, that’s enough.”

It doesn’t take long for your group to get comfortable (if they weren’t already) as your meals get served. Dinner is as mundane as usual; it’s probably to offset all the other non-civilian shit you do on (mostly) weekdays.

The restaurant sends a waitress to politely kick you out once they’re nearing closing time. Adebayo and Harcourt carpooled here together while Economos, Adrian and Smith have their own cars.

It’s too late into the night to catch a bus ride, and you’re certain your feet will kill you if you walk. You really should’ve biked your way here. You spot Chase fiddling with his pockets

“Hey,” you say when you approach him, “Is it okay if I tag along with? I don’t have a ride home, and I’m too anxious to wait at any of the stops here.”

“Oh, sure I don’t mind. Just—just hold on a sec.”

It’s your usual summer night, and you’re glad most of what you’re wearing right now are modestly appropriate for the chill. You lean back to Chase’s car, trying not to imagine what his muscles look like beneath his wool sweater.

“You look like a Golden Girl, you know.”

For effect, you try to pose like they did. Unfortunately, their signature poses would consist of four people. You aren’t four people in the physical sense, but right now you don’t think undercover identities could be relevant to the conversation.

“Is this a good enough impression.”

He blinks and you quickly drop the dramatic stance. How embarrassing. You pretend to rummage around the messenger bag you’ve slung on your shoulder. Not in a across-the-body type of sling of course, lest it disrupts your aesthetic.

You didn’t even confirm if he’s watched Golden Girls. Goddamnit. You try not to remember how strangely you’ve inflected the word ‘impression’. Goddamnit. Oh man. Goddamnit.

“Sorry, um. Forget I did that.”

As if on cue, he grins at you brightly, like you actually made him forget on command. What weirdos, the both of you.

“Well, I think you look cute. Even for a grandma.”

“You look great yourself,” you say, scanning his outfit, “Dad.”

He looks down at his shirt-sweater combo before looking back up to you, “Do I really look like a dad?”

“You kind of stand like one too.”

“I’m not posing.”

You laugh. “Scared you’ll embarrass yourself like I did?”

“Yes to the first half and no to the other half,” he says, “I don’t think it was embarrassing. Maybe a bit awkward for your angles, though.”

Once he finally finds his keys he opens the car door for you and you attempt to get in as gracefully as you can manage with your skirt on.

This would be the first time you have been inside Chase’s Sebring. “Your bat-mobile’s nice.”

“Dude.” He looks at you incredulously as he gets into the driver’s seat. “It’s the Vigilante-mobile.”

You shrug, “Same difference.”

“I don’t know what made you think that, or what even was your thought process behind that, but—”

Throughout the ride he gets into multiple tangents from what you started the conversation with. You can’t exactly complain. His enthusiasm rubs off on you, magnified by the jazz playing on the radio when he put a DVD in.

It dawns to you how little you feel the time has passed when Chase parks by the curb to your apartment building..

“So… this is your stop.”

“I know where my house is, Chase,” you chuckle. “Nervous that the night’s ending?”

From what you could distinguish from his expression, he seems disappointed. His gaze remains fixed at the road, and you wish he would at least look at you as you take your leave. “Honestly, kinda. You’ve been great company.”

They orange glow of the nearby lamp post and the harsh shine of the moonlight paints a pretty picture on his face. Or maybe he’s just really handsome, you honestly can’t tell.

There’s a feeling in your chest that compels you to move closer to him—a leap of faith—, a tentative something that just feels right.

Just as you lean forward to press a chaste kiss on his cheek, he turns his head to you.

Chase looks as surprised as you feel. You probably look like a duck from his perspective right now.

You break the accidental lip-lock, ready to apologize when he dives in straight for your lips. He’s intense, probably out of practice but the way he’s holding down your thigh  and your face right now is oh my god—

You wrap your arms around his neck, desperate to feel him closer. He caresses the space between your ear and your jawline as he cradles your face in his palms. It almost feels too intimate, like you’re rushing into this but you lost all care in the world when he kisses you with such fervor you forgot this isn’t what you’ve planned for,

Chase pulls away to catch his breath. You can’t say you blame him, but his flustered face leaves you breathless in a different sort of way.

“I’ve been—”

A series of knocks interrupt him, catching both of you off-guard. You look behind him to see a police officer. Motherfucker.

Even through the window, his voice is audible. “My God, what are you kids doing in there?”

Oh, holy shit.

“It’s alright officer, we're divorced.”

After that awkward confrontation with the officer, it leaves you in a weird limbo of a situation with Chase.

“So what do we—”

“Hey, I think I’ve liked you—”

“You what?”

Chase does this weird thing with his lips where it scrunches along his nose. It’s strange but you wait for him to say his piece.

“I think I’ve liked you for a while and I just wanted to let you know that. I know I’m not the best at expressing my emotions but you just… bring it out of me.”

“... seriously?”

“If I was being sarcastic, I think I would say it.”

You stare at him in astonishment, so he proceeds to say, “I was about to ask you earlier if we could hang out, just the two of us this time. Then that cop just had to show up to ruin the mood—”

“I’d love to!” you say, more enthusiastically than expected, “I mean, yeah. I’d love to.”

“Okay,” he nods. “Okay. Okay. That’s more than great.”

You place a hand on his shoulder, preparing to lean in to kiss his cheek— for real this time—as a way to say goodnight.

“Oh, and one last thing—!”

The first time, it sent your mind reeling because of how romantic (albeit a bit dubious descriptor you have to admit) it was. The second time he accidentally fucking headbutts you.

“—can you call me Adrian now?”

You blink, trying to reorient yourself for a second. Is his head made out of stone? How in the Vigilante logic did the pain not register for him?

You know what? Fuck this.

Grabbing him by his collar, you kiss him intensely before making your way out of the car.

“Sure thing Adrian!”

Is your life a goddamn sitcom?

You flop on top of your comforter (“—ow!”), burying your face in them. It’s not even past eight yet but you feel exhausted already.

Adrian’s (Oh my goodness, Adrian. That’s half of his government name that you could say now) probably still driving to his place. You hope he’s touching his lips, thinking about yours, like some rom-com scene.

Sitting back against your pillows, you put on your bifocals to continue your progress in candy crush, using solely your index finger to move the colorful candies. For all your denial, you do act like a grandma. And for the sake of fashion stereotypes (and your amusement), you hope Adrian acts a little like a dad too.

[imagineimpact]

Could I please request a one shot for scaramouche where the reader and childe are best friends, and the reader is dating scara. But none of them have any idea that they know each other. And the reader decides ‘hey i’m going to make the two closest people to me meet each other’ and once they show up they’re standing there like🧍 ‘so THIS is the idiot you call your best friend??’ And childe sees this as the perfect opportunity to tease scara more cause damn he actually cares for someone?? Tyyyy

I've had this written for 2 weeks or so and I forgot to post it, I am so sorry for being such a moron.

But here you go! I love the dynamic of Childe and Scara being annoyed at each other all the time but still being, you know, obliged by each other's company.

Anyway...

You've Got to be Kidding Me

Scaramouche x Reader (ft. Childe as the Best Friend)

You were laying in bed beside Scaramouche, a late night together behind you. You silently watch him resting, his face seeming so serene in the covered light of the morning hours together. You have plans for the day so you would have to be up soon, but you had hoped that he would be awake before you left.

As you gently touch his cheek, he stirs toward you in a pleasant instinct that makes you feel warm and puts an equally pleasant smile on your face. His eyelids open slowly, with a few blinks as his eyes adjust his sights to you.

“Good morning.” You say quietly, not wanting to startle him too much.

“Mmm.” He pulls you closer to him, drawing you near for a kiss. “This is a nice surprise.” He wraps his arms around you.

“What do you mean?”

“I thought you had to leave early.” He ran a hand through your hair. “To meet with your friend.”

You kissed him again. “I do have to. I just wanted to see you before I left to meet him.”

“Him, right.” He spoke as if only just remembering.

“I should bring you to meet him some day.” You say mindlessly, kissing his cheek again as you move away from him to get ready.

“Perhaps.” He watches you leave the bed, eyes wandering over you as you search for clothing to wear.

“You’re both very important to me.” Your hands reach for nice but informal clothing, perfect for the occasion.

“Well, if that’s what you wish, then I can meet him.” Scaramouche sits up, leaning against the headboard with a stretch. You begin to dress as he talks. “Of course, I cannot guarantee that he’ll make it out alive if I see him trying to-“

“He isn’t like that.” You dismiss simply with a chuckle. You look over at him through the dresser mirror, knowing fully well that he’s serious. “But anyway, don’t you have Harbinger things to do today?”

“I’m on assignment, yes.” He gets up from the bed and takes hold of your hand, spinning you to face him. “But I can see you to your destination, maybe so that I can meet this best friend of yours.”

“You would do that?” Your eyes wander through his, seeking that softness locked deep inside. He brings it out in his smile.

“For you, anything.” He kisses you again, lightly, before also getting dressed.

~*~*~

It doesn't take you too long to arrive at the location, a nice spot outside of the tea house where you met your best friend every time, but you were still a little bit late on account of your boyfriend also needing to get ready. Scaramouche dotingly keeps to your side, insisting that he was sure that your friend would be fine if you were just a little late. He carries his hat with him, holding it in the hand that wasn’t around your waist or holding your hand at various points during your travels.

Near the location, you step away from your boyfriend to search for your expected company. “There!” You nearly jump up with sheer happiness when you spot the tall redheaded Snezhnayan across a short distance. You nealy send Scaramouche flying when you grab his hand and hurry toward him. Scaramouche has to slow you down in fear of drawing too much attention to you both, and as you move through the crowd, you finally reached him.

“Childe!” You excitedly tug on his sleeve to pull his attention away from his far-off staring. “It’s so nice to finally see you!” Scaramouche tenses up beside you, stiffly pulling you to him again.

“Ah, hey there comrade!” He turns to smile at you, but then his eyes flick up to your company.

“I brought my boyfriend along to meet you, I hope you don’t mind too much.” You give him a soft smile, eyes sparkling with a mixture of excitement and fear that the two people you love most will despise each other.

Childe’s eyes flicker between you and Scaramouche, and you stand to the side watching the two silently stare at each other. Neither say anything for an unnerving amount of time.

Your mind begins to race with a myriad of questions. Did you do something wrong? To the both of them, your expression must have the clearest look of confusion and worry that has ever existed.

Then, Scaramouche takes a sharp breath, and speaks, eyes not shifting even slightly away from Tartaglia. “So this is the idiot you call your best friend?”

“Idiot?!” Childe laughs placing a hand on his hip and bowing his head slightly to stare down at the shorter male. “I think even you have to give me more than that-“

“Absolutely not.” Scaramouche’s eyes narrow. Childe, on the other hand, simply turns to you and, smiling far too much, places a hand on your head. You nearly chuckle, but the confusion setting in makes the sound choke into a puzzled smile.

“You two... know each other?” Your question barely has time to linger in the air.

“We... work together.” Scaramouche explains, wrapping a hand around your waist to keep you beside him, eyes locked on Childe. A silent signal to him.

“Oh. That... actually makes sense.” You peer over at your best friend, who has a playful smirk spreading across his face.

“You know how much I don’t like to talk about such business.” His eyes flicker away from you. “I didn’t know you were such a softie, Scara.” Childe raises a teasing eyebrow, leaning down slightly. The intensity of Scaramouche’s glare didn’t seem to match the playfulness that Childe held. “And here I thought you had no heart.”

“Don’t call me softie.” His arm around you tightens. “I have the mind to kill you right here.” Childe simply laughs, placing a hand on Scaramouche’s shoulder. He tenses even more, impossibly so. “Get your hand off me Ajax.”

“Okay, okay.” He holds his hands up in defeat, still chuckling to himself. “Look at you, caring about someone so dearly. That looks like a tight hold there.”

Scaramouche loosens his grip on you, letting you slip away from him as he steps up to Childe. “Don’t try anything, or I swear to-“

“Don’t worry, you can trust me.” Childe tilts his head, leaning down to meet his eyes. “We’ve been friends for a long time. And besides, I’d never try to take away something so absolutely dear to you. It gives me far too much to tease you about.”

“Ajax you-“

“Woah, hey.” You gently push them apart, and they bend to your will as if neither possesses the strength to resist such a movement (which they so obviously could). Their gazes both soften.

Scaramouche turns back to look at you, that tension leaving his body completely when you reach out and take his hand. “Come on, how about we all get something to eat? You say, giving him a soft smile. He can’t help but do the same.

“Alright.” He lets you kiss his cheek, a small reassurance that everything’s alright.

Childe circles around, examining Scaramouche’s expression before giggles bubble out of him. “Oh, you two are adorable.”

“I better not hear a word about this again, Ajax.” Your boyfriend tries to assert, but the pink of his cheeks and the embarrassed tone he has makes the threat dissipate in the wind. Childe leans an arm on his shoulder, prompting the harshest glare you’ve ever seen from your dearest.

“Hey, come on.” You hold in a giggle, but as you lift a hand to cover your mouth the sounds escape you.

“Oh, not you too.” Scaramouche huffs, face reddening.

“I can’t help it, you’re just so adorable.” You squeak back the giggles,

“Aw, maybe he is just so adorable.” Your best friend teases, ruffling Scaramouche’s hair.

He calls your name, very softly. Suddenly quiet. “Did you really have to chose this utter moron to be your best friend?”

“You can’t choose your best friends.” You shrug, grabbing both of their wrists and pulling them apart. “Just like you can’t choose who you love.”

“But him?” They say simultaneously. You look to both of them, chuckling.

“Of course.” You shake your head. “And of course.” The laugh you let out is met with a collective sigh from them both, but you nonetheless start walking away, leaving the bickering two to trail along with you.

This day was going to be fun.

[ejzah]

A/N: I know, you’re probably sick of me talking about this topic. Speculation for the upcoming episode where Kensi and Deeks are supposed to be preparing for their home safety check. Honestly, I’d thought they already finished that step by now.

***

We Got This

“Ok, I’ve double checked all the locks on the cabinets and swept the floors again,” Kensi listed off, smoothing her hands over her thighs. She’d thought of wearing semi-formal wear, but one of the adoption blogs she now followed suggested more casual clothes during the fostering process.

Right now they were waiting for their assigned social worker to arrive to approve their home. Kensi and Deeks had taken the past two weeks to finish any home repairs, deep clean, and ensure they met every area on the provided checklist.

“And the gun safe is locked and in the spare closet, which is also locked,” Deeks added. “Oh, and I made sure the water heater was set to 105 degrees.”

“Then I think we’re all set.” Kensi glanced around the living room, searching for anything that might be out of place. Their social worker hand assured them she wasn’t going to pick their lives apart and was certain they would pass with flying colors. She still felt like it was a test and felt woefully unprepared.

“Sheila should be here any minute,” she said and Deeks nodded. Drawing in a deep breath, he rolled his shoulder a couple times and started shaking his arms, reminding her of a swimmer preparing for a race. “Uh, Baby, what are you doing?”

“Psyching myself up,” he replied, drawing in another short breath. Now that she examined him a little more closely, she noticed that he was a little pale and had that slightly wild look in his eye she’d noticed during particularly stressful times.

“Ok, Sweetie, you need to calm down a little.” She stepped in front of him and pressed a hand over his chest, feeling his heart pound through his shirt.

“I’m trying.” He looked beyond her, dragging his teeth over his lower lip. “I just keep thinking, what if something goes wrong. I know Sheila keeps saying that it’s not that big of a deal, but there’s a reason they do these house checks. Right? And what if we forgot something?” Deeks flicked his hair off his forehead then immediately shook it back into place, his anxiety playing out in excessive twitchiness

“And I just keep thinking if this doesn’t go right, I don’t know if we’ll get another chance. We’ve got enough negatives on our side as it is.”

“Hey, hey, stop talking like that,” Kensi said, grasping him by either arm. She was used to him talking her down from these sorts of crises and it felt strange to be on the other side. “Deeks, maybe we’re not the most traditional candidates to be parents, but we have a lot going for us too. We have a support system, stable jobs, a good home, and most importantly, we’ll love any child more than anything.”

Deeks closed his eyes again and nodded, clearly pulling himself together.

“Ok.”

“We got this, Deeks.”

“Yeah, we do,” he agreed, managing a shaky smile.

“You are going to be such an amazing father,” Kensi added, stretching up on her toes to kiss his forehead.

[adorethedistance]

A Pretty Good Bad Idea - Owen Joyner x Reader

JATP masterlist

Warnings: swearing, peer pressure kinda, very mild n fluffy

Words: 1865

Summary: Touring with the Julie and The Phantoms cast as a dancer has been the best time of your life, and the only thing that could make it better is the reciprocated affections of a cute, blond drummer.

A/N: So this piece is 1) inspired by this interview and 2) entirely self indulgent. It’s something I haven’t been able to get out of my mind every time I’m doing warm ups, and putting it down on ,, digital paper is my only way to get rid of it lmao. I hope y’all enjoy bc I know this scenario makes me really happy and I love sharing my joy with y’all.

I let out an involuntary whine when I roll forward into my almost-center splits. My hips are so sore from yesterday’s performance I had to force myself to start stretching in the first place. Getting a head start, I arrived at the concert venue an hour earlier than call time to get my lengthy stretching routine out of the way before the other girls show up. Slowly but surely, the rest of the dancers arrived and we began getting ready together.

“I have a speaker!” Tori announces to the room upon entering which makes me jump up from my seat.

“Yes! May I do the honors and bless y’all with my musical theatre playlist?” The rest of the group cheers, exposing themselves for the theatre kids that we are. After hearing the chime that signifies the speaker-phone pairing, a few seconds pass before “Cell Block Tango” begins to play. The entire group feigns outrage but we know all the words and soon indulge in such shameful pandering. A good pre-show playlist is what really gets me amped up for performing and after yesterday’s queue of ‘today’s hits’ pop, the musical theatre is a nice change of pace.

Since I’d gotten here so early, I decided to do my makeup before stretching and I still had time to spare. The only thing left for me to do was to get in costume but I’d wait until a little closer to showtime so that I could still eat and drink for the time being. This also meant I was free to roam and bother other people as they got ready, doing what I’d done almost an hour ago.

“So, Y/n?”

“Hm?”

“What’s going on with you and Owen?” I feel my breathing halt for a microsecond before looking up at, one of the other dancers and also my friend, Ella. My eyebrows are cinched in confusion as I try my best to figure out what it is she’s getting at.

“I don’t know, Ella. What is going on with me and Owen?”

“Oh come on. Your Instagram story from yesterday?” Oh. That.

“We just went to lunch?” I seemingly ask more than state.

“Yeah. Just the two of you. Don’t hold out on us, we wanna know what’s going on!”

“Really, Ella, there’s nothing going on. We’re just getting to know each other better.”

“Just getting to know each other better? Or getting to know each other better?” Tori butts in, dusting her cheeks with a subtle highlight.

“The first one?”

“How many times have you hung out?”

“Just the once.”

“Are you planning another date?”

“It wasn’t a date-”

“Do you want us to help wingman you?”

“I really don’t-”

“Hey.” The rapid-fire of questions cease when the gang of us look up to see Owen himself standing in the doorway.

“Speak of the devil,” Tori snickers as the rest of the girls slowly disperse and smugly resume doing their makeup. Owen makes a face in reaction to her comment but chooses not to pry.

“Could I borrow some hairspray? This one piece of hair won’t stay.” Despite each of the girls having a full can of hairspray on hand, nobody makes a move to give him the product, indicating that I should be the one to help him out. Rolling my eyes at the look Ella is giving me through the mirror, I stand from my chair and hand Owen the can of hairspray. He then looks straight ahead and moves to use the product but I stop him before he can.

“What’s your plan?”

“What?”

“Are you just gonna spray the piece?”

“...yeah?”

“That’s not gonna work since the rest of your hair already has product in it. Can I help you?” Owen nods amiably and takes a seat after I gesture for him to sit in my chair. I then realize my mistake as I need the comb on the grey countertop, and have to consequently reach past Owen in a way that wouldn’t be so compromising had I not worn such a low-cut top. Thankfully it’s over as fast as it began, and walking to the sink in the corner of the dressing room, I run the cool water over the bristles. It isn’t until I turn off the tap that I notice how eerily quiet the room had gotten. None of the girls are talking, attentively studying my every move as I cross back to Owen.

“Is this Chicago?”

“Uh, yeah, We’re listening to my musical theatre playlist though, not the whole soundtrack,” I respond in spite of the nervous laugh that falls from my lips. The slight slouch in Owen’s posture doesn’t help me to see what I’m doing clearly enough. Using my index finger and an upturned palm, I tilt his chin up to get a better look at his hair, willfully ignoring the fact that he’s staring at me right now.

Still, silence fills the room as I take the wet comb through the front section of his hair where the stubborn strand won’t stay put. Once the water binds the pieces together, I grab my can of hairspray and struggle to uncap it. The outside is slick from god knows what, but thankfully Owen doesn’t let me struggle anymore and holds up his hands to wordlessly offer his help. I hand him the can, and he pops the top off after barely struggling. Handing the can back to me, he holds onto the lid, and the entire exchange remains completely silent.

I have to work quickly in my next step, but it’s not enough to distract from the fact that everyone in the room is watching me intently. Holding the aerosol can away from the crowd of people, I put some of the product on the comb and quickly work it into Owen’s hair while it’s still wet. Once the comb has formed his hair to my liking, I stop brushing it through in fear of the now dry hairspray ruining the shape. Then, I use my left hand to shield Owen’s eyes from getting any product in them before spraying the offending area to seal in my hard work.

The sound of a cell door sliding closed signifies the end of the song, and I wait for a second, eagerly anticipating the next song to play. Upon hearing the staccato piano notes of “Bad Idea” from Waitress, a smile appears on my face.

“I love this song.” Lunging back on my right leg, I create a little distance between us to make sure I didn’t completely butcher the rest of his hair, singing as I do.

“It’s a bad idea, me and you.”

“I know, I totally agree.” Pleasantly surprised by his joining in, my smile grows bigger.

“It’s a bad idea, me and you.”

“I’ve never known anything so true-”

“It’s a terrible idea, me and you.” The effortlessness that the two of us find in harmonizing is a genuine shock and an absolute thrill all at once. Once Owen sees how excited I am by his joining in me, it’s like a switch had been flipped; the two of us immediately slip into Actor Mode and begin to sing the song as if we were performing it on a Broadway stage.

“You have a wife.” I take a small step back out of the character’s hesitation.

“You have a husband.” Owen mirrors my action.

“You’re my doctor-” I cross my arms across my chest, but release my right hand to gesture to Owen standing in front of me.

“You’ve got a baby coming-” He uses both hands to gesture back to me in my ‘pregnant’ state.

“It’s a bad idea, me and you,” the two of us turn slightly away from facing one another in false bashfulness. When the music picks up, the two of us avidly step toward one another to come together. In perfect synchronization, I grab Owen’s forearms and his hands face upwards to hold onto my elbows.

“Let’s just keep kissing ‘til we come to.”

“Heart, stop racing, let’s face it-” Owen pivots his step out to the side to face forward, extending his right arm which cues me to turn into him and take his other hand to spin out.

“Making mistakes like this will make worse what is already pretty bad.” Then he extends his right arm forward, and I turn into him once again.

“Mind, stop running. It’s time we just let this thing go.” Instead of spinning out again, I stop in front of him where he wraps both of his arms around me.

“It was a pretty good bad idea,” in our harmony I cast my gaze upward to see Owen staring right back down at me, and I feel like I’m seeing stars, “Wasn’t it though?”

The two of us continue dancing and singing with one another as if the rest of the world doesn’t exist. It’s only the two of us, here and now. The other girls in the room don’t miss the way I seem to smile like never before, and I sure as hell don’t miss the way my stomach fills with butterflies. When he holds me so close and dear for each intimate moment of the song, I’m seeing stars. A bold happiness consumes me, the same happiness I felt when Owen and I laughed over lunch in that small pizzeria.

The final harmony draws the song to a close and when it finishes, the two of us fall into a breathless kind of laughter.

“I didn’t take a big enough breath for that last part.”

“Me neither.”

“Your hair stayed intact.”

“I must have a pretty good stylist.”

After recovering from our laughter the two of us wind up in a palpable stupor as we stare into one another’s eyes. A few blinks and my trance is broken, I become aware of our surroundings.

“I should get dressed soon, and you definitely need to get dressed.” Owen nods still somewhat breathless.

“Yeah. See you later for pulse?”

“Save me a spot,” I joke as he backs out of the threshold of our dressing room. Leaning against the doorframe I watch him disappear into his assigned dressing room with a small smile still lingering on my features.

“Just getting to know each other my ass!”

“What the heck was that?”

“Are you sure you don’t want us to wingman you?”

“Do you even need a wingman after something like that?”

Turning on my heel, I face the bunch of insatiable dancers and shake my head in disbelief.

“We were just acting, you guys.”

“Liar.”

“Excuse me?”

“Maybe you were acting, but he sure as hell wasn’t. Did you see the way he was looking at you? He is totally in love with you.” Ella shakes me by my shoulders.

“He’s just a really good performer is all.”

“When is your next date?” she completely ignores me.

“Okay-”

“Oh, and I want to be the maid of honor at your wedding-”

“It was just a song, Ella.”

“-Oh my god you guys are gonna have the cutest kids! I mean, your hair with his eyes and cheekbones? Ahh! The cutest.”

***

A/n: the way that being on tour isn’t the most unrealistic part of this fic, but instead Owen actually knowing the lyrics is? Work diva.

Taglist: @caitsymichelle13​ @kaitlyn2907​ @itz-jas​ @crybabyddl​ @kcd15​ @kinda-really-lost​ @calamitykaty​ @morganayenneferburnham​ @n0wornever​ @dream-a-little-bigger-x​ @mrstodorooki @vicesvsvirturesfanfic @curlybrownhairedboys​ @amazinggracy​ @kaitieskidmore1​ @asdfghjkl-fanfics​ @ghostlygreenbean​ @juliefromaustralia @merceret​ @jemimah-b99​ @ifilwtmfc​ @thesweetestsinner​ @imsydneywalker​ @lovesanimals​ @thebloodthirstyvampress​ @bumbleberry-pie​ @losers-club6​ @tefilovesreading​ @dmcfarland1​@joynerxmercer @kexrtiz​ @talk-on-the-street​ @phantompogues​ @konciousdreamer​ @sunsetcurvej​ @warmnesss0ul​ @celestialmolina​ @lilyjoyner​ 

[sergeantsporks]

Whatever It Takes

Rating: Teen and Up, Gen

TW: Self-harm, attempted suicide, emotional manipulation

“While I’ve got you here, want to hear the complete history of wild magic? I’m sure you’ll find it very interesting, considering that you’re old enough to have lived through it.”

“I am not, you little brat. Shut your mouth, I don’t want to listen to your voice.” “Yeah? What if I don’t want to shut up? What if I feel like singing?"

Hunter is a difficult prisoner to keep, and Lilith and Eda are about to find that out the hard way.

Ao3

Ch 1/4: Assassins

“Eda! King, Willow, Gus, Amity and I are going to the Knee for some training! Be back in a few days, love you!”

“Bye! Watch out for coven scouts!” Eda called back, watching Luz and King walk out the door and down the path. The instant they were gone, she whipped out the scrying potion Lilith had given her, and her crystal ball. “Liliiiiiiii!”

Lilith’s face appeared in the crystal ball. “Edalyn! I finished drawing those maps of the keep. Have you managed to…?”

Eda sighed. “Not one single BAT left. I was hoping maybe there was one or two I never met, but nope. Raine really did decide that they would take down the throne with three teenagers.”

“And you.”

Eda felt her face heat up. “Lot of good that did them. Ugh. You’re sure Belos didn’t tell you anything else?”

“Not a single thing. I think he was always planning on replacing me with the Golden Brat as coven head, he just wanted me to get that portal first.”

“Alright, what do we know? Day of Unity bad, but Belos needs all of the coven heads to do it. So we take one out. Same plan as before, just this time we get one alone. You and I can handle one measly coven head, especially since I’ve learned a few feathery tricks since last time.”

“Which one? The Golden Guard? He goes out on missions alone a lot, it wouldn’t be hard to ambush him.”

Eda’s eyes narrowed. “Hold that thought, Lilith. I can think of another one who I’d really like to get my hands on. We might be able to kill two birds with one stone.”

“What’s that?”

“Darius. He likes to talk, and he’s a prissy coward. Not to mention, he was the last person who I know saw Raine. If we go after him, we might be able to find out where Raine is, and if we can rescue him, then we’ll have a coven leader dead AND more information on the day of unity.”

“I’ve always wanted to kick mud on him and his stupid fancy cape. Watch that scrying potion, and call me the next time Belos sends him out. We’ll have to move fast. Will you be bringing Luz along?”

Eda shook her head. “No. The fight Raine started—it’s my fight. She needs to focus on her schoolwork, and on making her portal home. Plus Luz, she… ah, she has a big heart. And most of the time, that’s a good thing, but when it comes to an assassination… I don’t think this is a part of my life I want to share with her.”

“Alright. The two of us should be able to handle it on our own. Just say the word, sister.”

Xxx

Hunter knelt before Belos’ throne. “You wanted to see me, sir?”

“Ah, yes. It has come to my attention that there will be an attempt on Darius’ life.”

Hunter nodded. “I’ll assign him a protection detail immediately.”

“No.” Belos leaned forward. “I want you to protect him. Personally. And… discreetly. Darius will know that you are protecting him, of course, but I want you to stay hidden, so that the assassins will not know you will be there. Catch them if you can, kill them if you can’t. Above all else, I need Darius alive. Don’t let him die.”

Hunter inclined his head. “Yes, sir.”

Xxx

“Ready?”

Eda nodded, pulling up a scarf over her face. “Watch out. His abomination form can be a real pain.”

Lilith threw a potion to the ground in front of Darius, and it erupted in a haze of smoke. Eda shifted into her harpy form, and Lilith grabbed onto her talons. Eda flew them down, dropping Lilith and dive-bombing Darius, her talons ripping at his skin.

He shifted into his abomination form at the last second, coughing from the smoke. Lilith came up behind him, slapping a glyph paper onto him. It glowed, and the goop he was made of started to freeze, stopping him in his tracks.

“Tell me where Raine is!” Eda demanded.

Darius rolled his eyes. “This is ludicrous. You aren’t going to win.”

“You seem awfully confident for someone who’s about to freeze into a popsicle,” Lilith snarled.

Eda felt, rather than saw, the attack coming, and she yanked Lilith out of the path of a little blur of gold. “Oh, great.”

Darius broke free of the ice by shifting back to his witch form. “Nice of you to turn up.”

The golden guard didn’t respond, instead launching another attack at Eda, singeing one of her wings. She growled, tackling him, but he zipped out of the way, sending another blast of magic that she just barely managed to dodge.

Lilith slapped a glyph combo on the ground, and vines burst out of the ground, surrounding Darius and Hunter in a wide circle, and then lighting on fire. “Nowhere to run.”

Eda dove once again for Darius, snatching his shoulders in her talons and ripping through his cloak and skin, but another blast from Hunter made her flap backwards to avoid getting hit. Lilith froze the ground, turning her ring of fire into an ice rink as well, melted on the edges. Her sister had strapped fire glyphs to her feet, allowing her to melt the ice and create a stable place to stand wherever she stepped. Eda flapped up, then dove again, this time aiming for Hunter. He zipped to the side, but almost immediately slid on the ice, nearly slipping into the fire ring. Eda dove again, smacking him to the side with one of her wings. He skidded across the ice into Darius, who was fending off attacks from Lilith, back in his abomination form.

Lilith tossed a piece of paper up to Eda, and Eda dove back down, slapping it on Darius’ shoulder. It was the ice glyph again, and the coven leader started to freeze.

Lilith whipped out another glyph. “Nowhere to go, Darius,” she taunted.

She activated her glyph, and Eda soared up out of the way as a blast of light and fire shot out of the glyph.

Darius was half frozen, but he shifted back to his witch form. It happened almost too fast for Eda to catch, but as Lilith’s spell raced toward him, Darius grabbed a dazed Hunter as he struggled to get up and whipped the guard around in front of him, using him as a shield.

The spell struck them, hitting Hunter square in the chest and sending both of them flying backwards. They crashed into Lilith’s flaming wall, breaking the vines and skidding into a tree.

“No!” Eda yelped as Darius rolled to his feet, pushing Hunter off of him and racing away. “GET BACK HERE, YOU COWARD!”

Lilith caught her leg as she started to fly after him. “Edalyn! We got what we came for!”

Eda twisted back to look at her sister. “What are you talking about?! He’s getting away!”

Lilith nodded to the limp golden guard on the ground. “He’s the head of the emperor’s coven, Eda. Coven leader. We got what we needed.”

“You didn’t…”

“Kill him? Doubtful, I designed that glyph with the intention to blast Darius’ abomination form apart so he’d be forced to return to his witch form.”

Eda landed next to Hunter’s limp form. His helmet had been cracked hard enough to fall off. Beans. Despite the fact that her wing still stung from his attack, it was hard to remember how dangerous he was when he looked like this. He was just… some kid. If it weren’t for Belos, he might even be one of Luz’s friends.

“Well? Finish it. This is how we stop Belos!”

“He’s just a kid, Lili. I can’t kill him.”

“I can.” Lilith stormed forward, holding an ice spike. She held it pointed right over Hunter’s heart. “Goodbye, Golden Brat.”

Eda waited. Lilith didn’t make another move. Her sister’s hand was shaking on the ice spike. “Soooooo, are you going to do it, or…”

Lilith tossed the spike to the side. “Alright. Fine. I can’t kill a kid either, even a brat like him. But we blew our shot with Darius, what else are we supposed to do?”

Go figure that her sister had no problem trying to kill Luz, but now, when child-killing was a skill she needed, Lilith had decided to be a better person. “Lili, how do they appoint new coven leaders?”

“There’s an initiation—”

“No, like, what about the old coven leaders? What do they do to them? If they specifically need coven leaders, what do they need about them?”

Lilith frowned. “I… I’m not sure. Darius, he can turn into an abomination. Eberwolf has an extra beast form. The leaders before them had the same abilities, if memory served. But they didn’t have them before becoming leaders.”

“Okay, what about the old leaders?”

“After the old leaders retired, they lost those abilities.”

Eda snapped her fingers. “It’s passed on. From leader to leader. Belos never intended to keep you as the coven leader, so there was no need to keep you around to switch coven leaders. Whatever it is that makes the head of the emperor’s coven special… he’d already given it to Hunter, I’m betting.”

Lilith crossed her arms. “Of course.”

“Lilith, can we leave the self-depreciation for later? I think I’m onto something. Belos needs the old coven heads to pass on the powers—I don’t know what happens if one of them dies, but if the old coven leader is alive, they’ll need that coven leader to pass on their power. So if we just keep Hunter…”

“He’s minus a coven head!”

Hunter groaned and stirred on the ground. Lilith yelped and bashed him over the head with her staff. “Stay asleep!”

Hunter went limp again, and Eda grinned. “Yowch, there, Lili.”

Lilith pinched the bridge of her nose. “I’m… not certain that keeping him prisoner is the best idea, Edalyn. It’s a lot harder to hold someone against their will than it is to kill them. Especially the golden guard.”

“From what I’ve seen out of Kikimora this far, it might be just as hard to make him stay dead.” Eda glanced down at Hunter. “And besides, I… I want to ask about Raine.”

Lilith sighed. “Oh, Eda. The emperor… he’s not a merciful man. You might not like the answer.”

“Please, Lili. We can tie him up in the basement, Hooty can hide the door so that Luz won’t find him on accident when she comes back, and if you help me keep an eye on him, he won’t get away.”

“And how long are you planning on keeping him in your basement? Until Belos dies? Until you die? You can’t just keep someone tied up for their whole life, it would be kinder to kill him.”

Eda rolled her eyes. “Fine, if I promise to take him for walks, and buy all of his toys with my own money, and housetrain him really well, can I keep him, Mom?”

“This isn’t a joke, Eda! You are planning on keeping a dangerous individual in your home! He will try to escape! I wouldn’t be surprised if he tried to kill you on his way out!”

“Day of Unity, Lilith. I think… I think it may be a one-time event, a chance that doesn’t come around often. We just have to keep him until then. If Belos ramping up his wild-witch catching is any indication, then it must be coming soon. Help me? Please?”

Lilith sighed. “Fine. But when something goes wrong—”

“When? Geeze, put a little more faith in me, Lili!”

“Yes, when something goes wrong, I am absolutely going to say ‘I told you so.’”

Xxx

Darius knelt before Belos’ throne. “My lord!”

“Darius. Where is the Golden Guard?”

“You were right. There was an attempt on my life. The Golden Guard stayed behind to ensure my escape.” No need to mention that it hadn’t exactly been of his own free will.

“Oh?”

“Yes. I would have stayed, but I know how important it is for the day of unity that all coven heads are present, so I’m afraid that I had to retreat.”

Belos leaned forward. “I’m sorry, what was that last part?”

“I… know that all of the heads of the covens must be present?”

“Interesting. And what, pray tell, is the Golden Guard, other than my right hand?”

A bead of sweat dripped down the back of Darius’ neck. “The… head of the… emperor’s coven?”

Belos stood up, his eyes flashing that terrifying glowing blue. “Exactly. So, what, pray tell, does that say about the Golden Guard?”

“That you… need him to be present on the Day of Unity?”

Darius didn’t see him move, but in an instant, Belos was right in front of him, staring into his eyes with those creepy flaming blue ones. “So you can figure it out.”

“My Lord, I’m sorry—”

Belos put a hand on his shoulder, squeezing just tight enough for it to hurt, and steered him out the throne room door. “You will go out there and correct your mistake. You will go back to where you left him, and you will find out what became of him. Oh, and Darius?”

Darius gulped. “Y-yes, my lord?”

Belos released his shoulder. “Don’t bother coming back without him.”

Ch 2

[jasontoddiefor]

Title: threads spun

Summary: In another life, Obi-Wan Kenobi would have fought plenty of other Jedi Masters for the right to train little Luke Skywalker. In this one, Luke is 19 and just lost his family when Obi-Wan teaches him how to do a proper Padawan braid.

AN: I’M BACK FROM NANO WITH NEW FANFICS.

The boy just lost his whole world, and he clings to Obi-Wan's robes with shaky hands. His eyes are bright blue, his hair a fair gold color, and for just one short moment, Obi-Wan isn't sure whether the child in front of him is nine or nineteen, whether his name is Anakin or Luke.

It is the reason he gave Luke to his family in the end, even when the Force and all his selfish desires were screaming at him not to. The newborn, the son of his Padawan, the child that was Luke Skywalker, had deserved better than a broken man who didn't even know who he was without a thousand lights illuminating him. A man who'd risk forgetting that he was not holding the child he had raised, the child he had left to burn.

Obi-Wan closes his eyes and the moment passes. 

He doesn't ask the boy if he's alright because it is obvious that Luke is not and it would be cruel to demand an honest answer. Luke can't be standing straight after he experienced such tremendous loss for the first time, nobody would, and Obi-Wan is saddened that he can't give Luke the time to grieve.

Despite all this pain, Obi-Wan still dares to hope for light and life.

He is relieved to see that Luke doesn't take all the hurt and anger to hide it within himself. Obi-Wan has never taught Luke a single lesson about Jedi philosophy, the way they grieve and handle all the emotions that are too large for this world, those that are capable of tearing the galaxy apart. And yet Luke controls his feelings exactly as a temple-raised youngling would, not pushing them aside or letting them overtake him. He takes timed breaths, centers himself on the world surrounding him and not on his anxieties. Pride fills Obi-Wan's heart as he watches peace and balance return to Luke's mind.

In another life, Obi-Wan would have fought plenty of other Jedi Masters for the right to train him.

He can almost hear his family laugh at him, playful jabs about him being so eager to train yet another Skywalker and see what colors they could draw nebulas in. It isn't Obi-Wan's fault; he has always loved a challenge, and Luke, racing in Beggar's Canyon at an age no boy should step into that death trap, would have certainly been a joy to teach and guide.

He could have taught him so much, so much he still needs to teach him, but the clock is ticking and time has always been a cruel mistress. Not purposefully, she wouldn't dare, but she is absolute and eternal, and like death, she takes.

Obi-Wan silently wonders how much time he has left. He knows exactly where they are heading and despite the legends he has wrapped around himself in his exile, he's neither crazy nor a fool. They are attempting to pull off a plan that they wouldn't even have dared to suggest during the Clone Wars, not with so many untrained people. He's been called reckless plenty of times, his ability to talk himself out of seeming like an adrenaline junkie being his only saving grace. Still, Obi-Wan is acutely aware of the danger they are in.

But they have no other choice. They may have the Death Star plans in their hands – and wasn't it utterly predictable that it would be Artoo to carry the plans for a weapon of mass destruction? – but Leia can't stay in the Empire's hands.

Luke and she were so strong in the Force at their birth already. While Obi-Wan is convinced that Bail must have taught Leia at least some shielding techniques, half-trained children can't withstand a Sith Lord for long. Should Vader or worse, Palpatine, learn what Leia could become capable of, they would have so much more to worry about in the future.

The Rebellion might as well be lost.

"You have grown into a fine young man, Luke," Obi-Wan tells Anakin's son instead.

"I have?" Luke echoes, curiosity coloring his voice, highlighting a cadence similar to Padmé's despite his heavy Outer Rim accent.

"I brought you to Tatooine," Obi-Wan tells him. The journey hadn't been an easy one. They had to change ships multiple times and every time somebody had mistaken Obi-Wan for Luke's father, he had wanted to stop and cry like the infant in his arms. "You were a very sweet baby."

"Oh." Luke falls silent again, but his hands have stopped shaking. In his dirty white robes, he reminds Obi-Wan just a bit of a messy Padawan. He wears Anakin's lightsaber well, even if he doesn't know how to execute even the simplest of lightsaber forms. Frankly speaking, it is a bit terrifying to see how quickly he picked up the weapon and had gotten comfortable with it. The Force curled around Luke's every movement, guiding him like a beloved teacher.

Luke will need a teacher if he is to face the darkness that would catch up to them soon.

Obi-Wan feels much older than he actually is. The fault lies partially with the harsh marks that Tatooine has left on his body, but also with the life he has led. He isn't sure if he can teach another student, no matter how much he wants to, but he has to try at least for Luke's sake. That is, if the boy truly intends to follow the path of the Jedi.

"Luke," Obi-Wan says seriously, thinking of the one who gives life, the name granted to such a young child, "Do you truly want to become a Jedi?"

"Yes." There is no hesitation in Luke's reply. "I want to follow my father's footsteps."

No, Obi-Wan wants to weep. You don't. You can't ask me to cut you down as well; I couldn't bear it.

"It is admirable to want to follow the path of someone you respect," Obi-wan starts carefully instead. He can't tell Luke what became of Anakin Skywalker. The child deserves better. "But I am asking about your own inclinations. The path of a Jedi is not an easy one, and you have to follow it for your own sake if you want to succeed."

Now Luke does hesitate. He looks down at his hands, curls them into fists and relaxes them again.

"Yes," Luke finally replied. "Yes, I want to be a Jedi."

"Then I'll hope you'll give me the honor of teaching you. I'd like to take you as my Padawan."

Obi-Wan had said these words over three decades ago to another lost blond boy, the language a little different, their surroundings certainly more peaceful than the ship of a smuggler. He tries to banish the image from his mind.

"Padawan," Luke repeats slowly. "What does it mean?"

You should know, Obi-Wan thinks. You should know what it means and be overjoyed and celebrate this day.

He can't hold it against this boy, not even against himself or, dare he think it, Anakin because choices had been made, but away from it all, Obi-Wan can only blame the Sith who ruined them, continues to hurt them.

"It means that I want you as my student, teach you all I know so that you may surpass me someday."

Bring us back to the light, rebuilt all that we lost. Obi-Wan is asking him for so much when just days ago it would have been enough for him to someday see Luke marry that boy he's been crushing on for years and live the rest of his days happily, far away from the war.

And now he dreams of home again, the rooms full of plants and droid parts, poetry collections, board games, and warmth so kind and all-compassing that no nightmares can haunt you.

"You'd really teach me?" Luke asks as if he'd be honored and the right to be taught not already something he possessed since his birth.

"Of course."

"I'd be honored to accept," Luke replies with a shy smile.

Obi-Wan returns his smile and reassuringly squeezes his shoulder once. Luke leans into the touch and so Obi-Wan lets his arm linger around the boy's shoulders as he continues to explain traditions long lost. "Traditionally, we would now braid your hair and put in the first bead."

"Braid my hair?"

Obi-wan nods and thinks of all the times his Master ran his fingers through Obi-Wan's hair, tugging at his braid and saying one thing or another he hadn't paid any attention to because he'd been too awestruck by the fact that he had a Master at all. "Yes, all Padawans of the Jedi Order have a braid. It shows your dedication to your studies and how serious you are about them. It means that you know that this is not an easy task or an easy path to take, but that you are willing to walk it anyway."

Luke thoughtfully looks at Obi-Wan, then he reaches up with his hand, putting a strand of hair behind his ear.

"My hair is not long enough to braid it properly," Luke mutters, dismayed.

He's pouting more than he is actually hurt by the thought. Nevertheless, if he lingers on it, he might ask more questions about what other chances life has denied him and because of it, Obi-Wan wants to distract him quickly.

The distraction comes at the price of remembrance, a fourteen-year-old Padawan clinging to what remained of his braid, burying his head in his Master's chest, and crying after enduring days of torment. Obi-Wan had fixed Anakin's hair then as well so he wouldn't have to deal with too many looks once they were back at the Temple. His braid had been short, but it had been there. For a moment, Obi-Wan tries to recall who had assigned that mission to them, whether Sidious had already sown his seeds of discord then.

He lets the moment go. "Don't worry, I can help you."

He had done plenty of braids during his as a Padawan and later as a Master. When the war had been going on, he had helped frenzied Padawans countless times with their braids.

There was an almost meditative process to the act of braiding and letting others braid your hair. It had soothed innumerous over the centuries and now it will once more calm another. Luke sits still when Obi-Wan begins to part the stray strands of hair on the left side of his head into three. Luke's hair really isn't all that long, but it is definitely more than enough to work with. Slowly and withs steady fingers, Obi-Wan braids another bond with his second Padawan. Luke is a kind child and this war will hurt him incredibly. Obi-Wan can only hope that what he will pass onto him will be enough to have him keep his path, to wander in the light even when the darkness reaches for him with the intent to consume.

Once Obi-Wan is finished with the braid, he reaches for his belt, takes an old leather cord from there, and wraps it around the tip of Luke's hair.

"And finished," Obi-Wan announces.

Luke, who had closed his eyes, opens them and immediately reaches for the hair, twirling it between his two fingers in a fashion reminiscent of Obi-Wan in his youth. He had only managed to get rid of that nervous habit after his won braid hat been cut. Whether Luke would act similar, Obi-Wan doesn't know, but the thought of seeing Luke ascend to the rank of Knight of the Order, no matter how small, splintered and broken it is right now, it makes his heart beat a bit quicker.

"How does it look?" Luke asks.

"As it is supposed to," Obi-Wan replies. "I believe Mr. Solo has a mirror in his fresher if you want to take a look."

Luke races off before Obi-Wan can say anymore. He returns a few minutes later, already with more color in his face than he had in the hours before.

"Thank you. Master." Luke tags on the honorific only belatedly, unsure whether it fits and it is all the convincing Obi-Wan could ever need.

"You are welcome, Padawan."

Obi-Wan Kenobi has a student once more and he will not fail him.

[writingwithcolor]

Assigning race to a character that dies in preventable accident

@mindfulwrath said:

I'm plotting a story wherein a remote space station has decided to become independent after one of their crewmates died in a preventable accident (due to mismanagement by the corporation that owns the station). I'm struggling with what the race of this particular crewmember should be (if it should be specified at all). On the one hand, a white martyr feels overdone; on the other hand, making the death of a person of color the inciting incident feels exploitative. The A-plot is intended to be more lighthearted, with the station crew collaborating to keep their independence plan a secret from management, while the B-plot focuses on honoring the life of the lost crewmember. Is there a way to write this setup sensitively, or do I need to go back to the drawing board? Are there issues with the setup that I haven't noticed? Thank you all for maintaining this excellent resource and continuing to answer questions!

Here’s some things to ask yourself as a writer: Why is this plot point compelling as a part of your setting? Why does writing this feel different to you with a white person versus a person of color? Reference this post Tragedy exploitation and do-NOTs as a non-OwnVoices writer, and examine your narrative in relation to the mentioned points, especially activist/rebellion narratives and escape narratives. Is your story going to be PoC-centric otherwise beyond this character if you choose to make them a person of color?

I’ll give you some starting points to consider in the narrative, much of which you’d need to think about whether or not the character is white.

1. Plot focus

How heavily is the B-plot going to focus on the accident and the tragedy for the character? How heavily will it focus on the other crew members' perspectives? Why is this incident specifically the inciting plot point as opposed to general abuses of the crew by the corporation or something that causes damage which they cannot get the resources for? How prominent will the death itself be as a part of the narrative? Is death absolutely necessary to give this narrative dimension?

Whether it’s mentioned as happening beforehand or within the narrative structure and whether it happens on- or off-screen all matter in this scenario. Placing extreme emphasis on the tragedy and how much pain it causes to the other characters can get fridgey very quickly. Based on what you sent us, I’m fairly sure you want to avoid that, so I’d tie in some of the lightheartedness of the main plot and talk about what the character meant to the crew beyond their death. Also, is the character who dies an integral part of the crew or are they isolated? Going too far one way or another can get you into martyr/fridging territory very easily.

2. Character background

If the character is white, can you get around the common tropes of a white martyr? Is the setting diverse enough to where this character could die/get injured without the scenario feeling like white martyrdom? This will heavily depend on how you design your crew for the scenario, and relies on informed choices about the make-up of the crew. It also depends on how the conflict ties into race and racism, and intersectional issues such as gender, religion, and sexuality. You don’t have to fixate on racism if it’s not one of the main themes, but in order to avoid exploitation, fridging, and martyring marginalized characters, you need to consider it in context.

If the character is a person of color, are they the only person of color on the crew? Are they one of a limited number within a predominantly white institution? This is where you want to be really careful of fridging/martyrdom. I would suggest having people from a variety of backgrounds within your crew, and at least a few other people coming from a similar background to the dead character in order to avoid isolating the character ethnically.

In terms of a character of color’s individual background, is there a specific group you’re looking into that the dead character would be a part of? Person of color is an enormous category, and you’ll need to get more specific to really consider the effects on any particular group that you choose. This is where tragedy exploitation can get very overt--tread carefully.

3. Nuance

If you really want to write this sensitively, the dead character can’t just be a symbol; they need to be a person. If you make them compelling and nuanced as a character in the minds both readers and other characters, give them dimension beyond ‘character being mourned’, establish diversity with purpose in your setting, and do some research into groups and customs that you can respectfully include, I think you can avoid the common pitfalls.

One final thing to consider is, again, whether you actually feel comfortable writing about this concept with a person of color. You need to evaluate your motivations as a writer for this plot point and consider whether you are ready to write this scenario.

~ Abhaya

[chaoticpuff17]

A Dangerous Game

part 19

masterlist

Hello darlings, just a reminder that this Namjoon is an asshole, and we do not stan his behavior. He is particularly asshole-ish in this chapter, my apologies. But I hope you all enjoy! --- chaotic puff

Namjoon awoke feeling happier than he had in a long time. He was sated, and he had the love of his life naked in his arms. Normally, Namjoon would have already been up and ready for work, but he wanted to be with Y/N when she awoke that morning. He almost felt as if she would vanish from his arms, as she was so prone to do, if he left her now. It felt almost like a dream to have her in his arms like this after so many long weeks of her disdain.  

He couldn’t help but chuckle to himself as he looked down at her peacefully sleeping figure. He’d worn her out the night before taking her three more times before he’d been satisfied. He didn’t think he’d ever get enough of her. But he’d never have to. She’d promised him her life, her submission. His arm tightened around her possessively bringing forth a sleepy whine from the woman as she unconsciously snuggled closer to him, something she never would have done if she was awake.

Carefully, so as not to wake her, Namjoon reached over to the nightstand to grab his phone calling Miss In to request breakfast be served to them in bed this morning. His queen deserved the best after all, and he knew she would be sore after their activities the night before. He’d have Miss In run her a bath after breakfast, something to help sooth her aching body. He’d have to call Seokjin in as well. The pair hadn’t used any protection the night before, and it would be good to check on her health and see if she was on any form of intrauterine or implanted birth control as well as to discuss the possibility of a pregnancy if she wasn’t.

The idea of his child growing in her belly excited him. Namjoon had always wanted to be a father, and he was confident that Y/N would make a wonderful mother for his future heirs. Three children he thought to himself. Three little versions of them running around the estate. That would be perfect. Of course, so long as she wasn’t pregnant already, they would have to wait till she was more settled. She had promised to love him, to be his wife, but Namjoon knew better than to assume she would love him overnight. He would still have to woo her, and she, stubborn creature that she was, would not make it easy on him. But she would comply. Her precious Jackson’s life was on the line if she did not.

He had no problem keeping the man imprisoned as leverage. No, he wouldn’t hurt him. Namjoon was a man of his word after all, but Y/N, the poor thing, had never asked for his release, only his safety. That was her mistake though. Namjoon wasn’t one to add onto a deal when he did not have to.  

Namjoon froze as he felt her stirring in his arms, groaning sleepily as she curled into his chest clinging to the last vestiges of sleep too hazy yet to realize where she was and in whose arms she was curled.

“Wake up, jagi.” He cooed gently moving her hair out of her face.  “Breakfast will be here soon.”

Her eyes opened blearily, blinking the sleep from her eyes as she squinted at him in confusion. “Breakfast?” He hummed in amusement watching her try to fight off the sleep that threatened to pull her back under.

“Tired, jagi?” He asked lazily tracing the love bites that littered her neck and collar bones. The moment did not last long though, as the realization of her situation his not long after. She sat bolt upright clutching the covers to her chest staring at him with wide eyes as he sat up following her. “Good morning, jagi.” He chuckled in amusement kissing her shoulder, entranced by the little freckle there and ignoring the way she stiffened at the contact.

“Clothes?” Came the strangled question her voice still rough with sleep.

“I’ll grab us both something from the closet. Miss In will be here with breakfast soon.” He hummed pulling her in for a quick kiss before he left the bed.

She sat there faintly trembling in the morning light as she tried to process everything that had happened. The one thing that kept pulling her attention though was the soreness that radiated from between her legs. She winced remembering the activities of the night before. Namjoon was a conscientious, but he was by no means gentle. He craved her pleasure as well as her submission, and he was not afraid to take them both from her. After their first time, he’d been far more demanding, far more dominant, and she could feel the after affects all over her body from the bruises on her hips to the hickies littering her skin. She poked at one of the many marks experimentally only to wince when she found it particularly sensitive.

Namjoon returned a few minutes clad in a pair of low hung pajama bottoms with a soft sea green nightgown in his arms.  She was grateful for the covering but annoyed when Namjoon insisted on slipping it onto her himself and protesting when she tried to leave the bed.

“Namjoon, I need to use the restroom.” She grumbled extricating herself from his arms. Was the man suddenly an octopus? Why did he have so many arms? It seemed like every time she removed one there was another to take its place keeping her trapped in his embrace.

He pulled her in for another kiss, this one far more demanding before he released her. “Hurry back.” He ordered gazing at her with such a loving expression that it made her feel physically ill.

She washed up quickly gazing at herself in the mirror. There were prominent dark circles under her eyes, a testament to both her harrowing day and her lack of sleep the night before. In the mirror she could see the full extent of the damage Namjoon had done to her body. The marks were a range of lighter red marks to far more aggressive bruises that shone an angry purple color. There wasn’t enough makeup in the world to cover these marks. She’d have to see what her options were for scarves and turtlenecks. She was not about to give him the satisfaction of walking around the estate with his marks displayed for the world to see. She had a feeling he would enjoy that far too much.  

There was only so long she could hide in the bathroom though. She did stop in the closet on her way to pull out a long robe and a pair of panties to give herself an extra layer of protection.

Namjoon beckoned her back to the bed as soon as she emerged, pulling her back to lie against the pillows with him though he did give the robe she’d put on a look of distaste.

“We still need to talk about your punishment, jagi.” He murmured into her hair as his long fingers played with her own much smaller hands.

“Punishment?” She asked dread curling in her stomach.

“You knocked Jimin over the head, cut your ankle monitor, and fled the estate. I think a punishment is in order, don’t you?”

She froze. “I thought that was what last night was.” She murmured bitterly.

His hold on her tightened. His previously warm smile suddenly gone replaced with a cold stern look. “I seem to recall you being very pleased last night with my cock buried in that sweet little pussy of yours.” He growled slipping a hand through the folds of the robe to roughly grip her breast, brutally pinching the nipple. “I’m sure I can refresh your memory if you’ve forgotten.”

She squirmed pushing his hand away, and he let her, removing his hand to instead bring her face close to his. “You agreed to this, jagi.” He reminded his lips only a hair’s breath from her own.  

“I know.” She whispered swallowing thickly.

“Our time together is not a punishment, jagi.” He whispered against her lips. “You’ll come to see that in time. I can give you a good life.” He murmured pressing his lips to hers. “I can give you the world.”

“So long as I never leave this house.” She scoffed pulling back.

“You can earn that privilege in time, but you and I both know you’re not ready for that. You bludgeoned a man.”

“Is Jimin okay?” She asked looking down at her hands guiltily.

“Jimin will be fine.” Namjoon waved off her concern dismissively. “He’s been sent out on assignment.”

“Like Jungkook.” She felt bitterness welling up in her throat.

“Like Jungkook.” He agreed saying no more on the topic.

It was a grateful break from the tension when Miss In came in leading a small group of maids to deliver a western style breakfast in bed.

“Sajangnim.” She bowed paying her respect to the master of the house. “Bu-in.”

“Thank you, Miss In.” Namjoon waved her off dismissively. “If you could return in an hour to draw a bath for the lady.”

“Yes, sajangnim.”

“And call for Dr. Kim to come.”

“Yes, sajangnim.” She bowed again before shooing out the maids to give the master and the lady of the house their privacy.

“Why is Seokjin coming?” She asked picking at her toast. She was incredibly angry with Jin for being part of Namjoon’s plan, for putting a chip in her neck like she was some sort of dog, and had no wish to see him.

Namjoon sipped at his coffee watching her carefully from the corner of his eye. “I’d like for him to take a look at you.”

“Why?” Her tone was sharp, layered with suspicion.

“Because I was rather rough with you, and we didn’t use any protection, jagiya.” He smirked into his cup of coffee watching as the color drained from her face.

“Oh, god.” She whimpered her head dropping into her arms.

“Of course, we’ll bring in a gynecologist to take a look at you another day, but for now Jin will do just to make sure you’re alright, and prescribe some birth control.” He spoke of it like it was nothing, but it was everything to her.

They hadn’t used any protection. Yes, the odds of her being pregnant was slim after only one night, but her mind was racing. When had her last period been? When was she due to ovulate? Could she have been pregnant?

“Of course, it wouldn’t be ideal for you to be pregnant now.” He mused. “You’re still not settled yet, but if you are you are.”

“I don’t want a baby.” She whimpered feeling bile rise up in her throat.

“Not yet at least.” He agreed. “It would be better to wait.”

“No, Namjoon.” She repeated her voice low and grave. “I don’t want a baby. Ever.”

Namjoon set down his cup and gave her an indulgent smile. “Of course, you want a baby.” He tutted. “Perhaps you’d be more settled with one.” He mused rethinking his decision to have Seokjin prescribe her birth control. As much as he knew she hated it, he did know her, and he knew she would never leave her child behind just as well as he knew a child would make it all the harder for her to run.

“No, Namjoon, I don’t.”

He chuckled darkly his smile turning from indulgent to something far more cold and sharp. “We will have a child, Y/N. An empire needs an heir, and you are my wife.”

“No.”  She repeated her voice firm, unyielding. “I promised you I would be your wife. I promised you my love, and I can try even though the thought of you makes my skin crawl, but I did not promise you a child.”

“I’m afraid, my love, that you did agree to it. ‘Whatever you want’ where the words you used, if I recall.” He growled placing an kiss to the junction of her shoulder. “I would hate for anything to happen to dear Jackson just because you couldn’t comply with the terms of our agreement.”

Her blood froze in her veins. “You promised not to hurt him.” She pushed away from him looking at him with an almost wounded expression.  

“And I’ll uphold my end of the bargain, so long as you keep yours.”

“You sick, bastard.” She hissed hands trembling as she restrained herself from throttling him. “You would force me to carry your spawn?” She spat glaring at him with renewed fire in her eyes. She would not bring a child into this house.

“I would not force you to do anything.” He refuted his jaw clenched as he tried to reign in his own temper. “You are my wife, and we will, in time, have children.”

“That certainly doesn’t sound like a choice to me.” She huffed getting up from the bed and walking away.

“Where are you going?” He called after her frustration coloring his tone.

“To take a bath!”

“You’ve barely touched your breakfast.” 

She said nothing more, choosing instead to throw an obscene gesture over her shoulder instead as she disappeared into the bathroom.

part 20

[wkemeup]

Call to Action

inbox request: “hiii i'm really curious what's gonna happen if bucky gets assigned to work undercover again? 🥰“ by @sarge-barnes-sir​ ❤️ pairing: bucky x reader chapter word count: 1.7k warnings: sweet loving angel bucky, kas cant let go of this series yet  a/n: surprise!!! we’re not done with our Sundays yet! I do plan on doing more of these, so keep sending in ideas if you have them!  🌹series masterlist 🌹

You woke to an empty bed; sunlight streaming in delicately from the soft overlay of ivory curtains and the soothing scent of a freshly steeped tea at your bedside, steam still rising from the mug. Stretching your arms up over your head and then out to the sides, you frowned as your fingers curled around the empty sheets beside you.

“You can’t ask me to do that, Steve,” Bucky’s hushed voice carried from the kitchen.

You turned to the door, narrowing your eyes upon the thin crack in its frame. It wasn’t unusual for Steve to be at the apartment, but the clock to your left told you it was far too early for a friendly visit. Judging by the tone in Bucky’s voice, it couldn’t be anything good.  

“It’s not me, Buck. It’s way over my head.”

You quietly pushed aside the sheets, setting bare feet on the hardwood floors and grabbed for the robe hanging over the bathroom door. You slipped it quickly through your arms and wrapped it at the waist before you carefully pushed open the door. Disregarding the state of your hair laying frizzy and untamed at your shoulders, you crept down the hall.

Bucky was pacing in the kitchen, hands clenching at his sides, head shaking defiantly as he muttered under his breath. Steve sat at the table, watching with every stride Bucky took as he laid back into the chair; though the rigidity of his posture betrayed the calm persona he put on.

“I’m not going back under,” Bucky asserted. He didn’t seem to notice you emerge from the hallway as he continued to pace divots into the tile of the kitchen floors, but Steve did. His back straightened, his expression melting into something mirroring an apology as he met your eye.

“I’ve been out for almost a year,” Bucky continued, stare focused on the floor, tunnel-visioned and disregarding Steve’s attempts to draw his attention to you. “I told Fury I was done, Steve. He can’t pull me back in! Hydra was my last job and I’m-- I’m not leaving Y/n after everything we went through. So... So, you can tell Fury to fuck off!”

An unsettling silence took over; only Bucky’s muffled footsteps and labored breaths carrying through. You hadn’t realized how tightly your jaw had clenched until you tried to speak.

“They’re sending you undercover again?”

Bucky froze dead in his tracks, his head snapping up to find you watching him from the hallway. His eyes were wide, lips parted. He uncurled his hands, though it looked as though it ached to do so, and brushed them on his pants. Light blue plaid, white t-shirt with the neck a little stretched out. He was still in his pajamas.

“No,” he answered quickly though it wavered in his voice. He closed his eyes, hearing the hesitancy and he dropped his chin to his chest. He took a minute, found his breath, and when he looked at you again, he softened, a smile pushing up at his lips though it seemed forced. “I’m sorry, sweetheart. I didn’t think you’d be up so early.”

Bucky made his way to you, his hands gently settling on your shoulders and soothing their way down your arms to encase your hands in his own. You kept your stare on his chest, trying to find something to focus on, and it helped as he squeezed your hands. Something real. Something solid. Bucky.

“I thought you were training recruits,” you murmured.

“I was.” Bucky winced as it came out. “I am.”

“Fury’s used to relying on Buck for this stuff,” Steve explained, slowly standing from his spot at the table. “He wasn’t happy when Bucky stepped down from the field. You’ve got to understand, he lost the guy who’s got more successful undercover OPs than anyone else in the Bureau. Bucky’s good at what he does. He put a lot of bad guy behind bars and saved a lot of lives.”

You knew. Probably more than most people.

“They can’t make him, can they?” You hated how small your voice sounded; frail like a child’s. You wrapped your arms around Bucky’s waist, afraid that if you lost contact with him for even a second, he’d be pulled away. You missed how Bucky glanced back in Steve’s direction for the same assurance.

“No, they can’t,” Steve replied calmly, a slight smile on his lips just barely noticeable.

You nodded, though it didn’t ease the racing in your heart. You held your arms tightly around Bucky, listening for his heartbeat to center yourself. “Do you want to?”

“What? Of course, not,” Bucky replied without skipping a beat. “Why would you even ask that?”

You shrugged. “You’ve saved so many people. You're clearly meant for this work, Bucky. I don’t want to keep you from that.”

You knew what that felt like; to be held from the one thing that made you feel whole, to be pushed into the shadows of a life you were never meant for, to be cast off to something less than what you deserved. It was different from what Brock had done to you, but it still had the same result, didn’t it? You were keeping Bucky from the job he dedicated his life to.

Bucky shifted slightly in his stance and he gently began to pry your arms from around him. It caused a jolt of panic at first, but then his hands soothed their way up your arms, to cup at the side of your face, guiding you to meet his eyes; stunning painted brushstrokes of blues and greys and oceans and summer skies.

“You’re not keeping me from anything,” Bucky told you, a sincerity heavy in his voice. “I promised that nothing would take me from you again and I meant that. I’m not leaving you.”

Your eyes fell downcast, struggling to hold his gaze. “But if I wasn’t around--”

“But you are,” Bucky pressed, leaning forward to kiss your cheek, then the other, then the tip of your nose, until he pulled back with a smile. “I love you, sweetheart. That changes things. Before I met you, I would have taken any case I could get my hands on for the excuse to throw myself into a world that wasn’t my own. I would have jumped at the chance to pretend to be someone else for a while and lose myself in a new identity. But I don’t want that anymore. I want to be here. With you. I want to spend all my days loving you. Is that so much to ask?”

Another kiss to your temple, then your jaw, your cheekbone, until you were smiling again. He was so beautiful when he looked at you like that, like he thought the whole world of a woman who spent so many years told she was nothing.

“I just don’t want you to wake up one morning and feel like you lost something by being with me,” you explained slowly, quietly, and your eyes trailed down to his chest to avoid his eyes.

“Not possible,” Bucky eased and you felt his lips as the touched the crown of your head. “There hasn’t been a morning that’s gone by where I haven’t woken up feeling like I’m the luckiest man alive.”

You looked up at him, awe and wonder, stunned silence, and he gently leaned forward to press a chaste kiss to your lips. Steve was still standing in the kitchen, averting his gaze, though he was smiling. Bucky brushed a thumb over your lips as he pulled back.

“Doesn’t matter what I do for a living,” Bucky continued. “You’re by my side. That’s all that matters.”

You grinned up at him, a laugh bubbling under the surface. “But you hate the recruits.”

“I don’t hate the recruits,” Bucky argued, rolling his eyes when Steve began to snicker from the kitchen table. “They’re just little shits that would walk head first into a wall if I didn’t hold their hands.”

He was laughing again, bright and joyful, and tension hanging thick in the apartment began to dissolve away. Bucky turned back to Steve, his arms held tight around you.

“We good, brother?”

Steve nodded, a rare smile upon his face. “Yeah, man.”

“What will you tell Fury?” Bucky asked.

Steve pursed his lips. “Pretty sure if I remember your words correctly... ‘fuck off.’”

Bucky winced. “Maybe not that.”

Steve shook his head, that same carefree smile on his face he reserved for quiet moments like these upon his face. It was really quite sweet when you thought about it. This broad, stoic man with the weight of his team on his shoulders who only learned to let go when he knew it was safe. He cared so deeply for his friends and you were proud that Bucky had someone in his life like Steve.

“Sam’s been itching for his turn in the field for a while now anyway.” Steve shrugged, beginning to gather his things and head to the door. “I’d say it’s about time we break in the new kid to fill his spot. Danvers is a hell of a recruit, Buck. You did good.”

“She won’t take your shit, Rogers,” Bucky teased as he squeezed you a little closer. “Sam's either. Nat will love her.”

“She’ll fit right in.” Steve laughed.

There was a pause, a beat, and Steve held his stance by the door for a moment longer.

“I never thought I’d see a day when Bucky would turn down a job,” Steve said, leaning against the frame. There was a gratefulness in his eyes as he looked at you, a soft smile upon his lips. “It’s nice to see you happy, man. You got a good woman to thank for that.”

Steve nodded at you, an appreciation you weren’t sure you’d ever be able to grasp completely, and you smiled back at him. Bucky chuckled a little, heat rising in his cheeks and he nodded in agreement. As Steve, turned to leave, you felt Bucky press a kiss to your forehead; the little reminders that he was there, that he loved you, and he wasn’t going anywhere.

[reefartandwriting]

Sleepover (Inspired Oneshot)

When Luz had first asked her to sleepover, Amity had declined, saying her parents would never allow it. But later that day Amity had come back with a flushed face, asking if the offer was still available. Luz’s face lit up as it often did in excitement, and she pulled the fellow witch into a tight hug.

Luz didn’t even ask why or how Amity changed her mind, she was so happy to be able to hang out with the girl she didn’t care. Unbeknownst to her, Edric and Emira had found out and covered for their dear baby sister to go “Hang out” with her new “Friend”.

The rest of the school day wasn’t too eventful, Amity forced herself to focus on her assignments so she didn’t have to think about how hard it would be to stay calm in the presence of her crush. Luz however, was openly very excited, telling Willow and Gus about all her plans for the evening, allowed time for a mini Azura book club, some board games she had taken from the weekly human trash day, and a lineup of hilarious videos she picked out just for Amity.

“The last time and only time I ever really had a sleepover was the night of the moonlight conjuring! and I mean obviously that was fun, but it wasn’t as much of a sleepover as I expected.” Luz went on, crossing her arms loosely and smiling.

“Yeah, too bad we couldn’t come tonight…” Willow muttered, feigning disappointment. “All that sounds super fun too.” She likely could have came, but when she had heard Amity was able to go, she decided maybe the green haired WItchling and the clueless human could benefit from spending the time alone. Since Grom, hearing about their dance, and how Amity had acted since, she had guessed they liked each other.

“Aww, Willow…” Luz said with a smile, “...don’t worry, We will have a full owl house gang sleepover soon. I just gotta find out when Eda would be okay with it again.” She turned her attention back up to the teacher, while Willow turned back to Gus with a wink.

The poor illusionist was down, accepting of Willow’s plan, but still saddened he wouldn’t get to learn more about humans. Willow felt bad for making him miss out, but she couldn’t watch her two friends continue to dance around each other like they had been doing without losing her own mind. She offered the younger boy a comforting pat on the back.

The minute the bell rang, Luz was off, spinning around while running to wave goodbye to her friends, bumping into another student, then disappearing out the door and down the hallway. Willow just rolled her eyes with a smile.

Amity had debated on whether to wait for Luz, or to go home to pack a quick set of clothes for the next day. While debating however, Luz came bolting out the front doors of Hexside and skidded to a stop at her side, startling her into dropping one of her books.

“Oh gosh, sorry Amity!” The human apologized, quickly picking up and dusting off the book. “I didn’t mean to scare you. I’m just excited.”

Amity blushed, offering a small smile. “m-me too.” She took the book back, breathing deeply to calm herself. “I’ll have to just meet you back at the Owl House in a bit, I need to go home for a minute first.” SHe looked back up, concerned. “If that’s okay? Do humans have any rules about that?”

“not really?” Luz shrugged. “I can walk you that way, if you want. At least for a little. I know it’s probably not the best idea to get too close, in case your parents see you with me.”

“yeah…I think it would be better if I just walked alone.” the witch said sadly. “I’m sorry I have to kinda hide our friendship… at least, yknow, from them.”

Luz just smiled, making Amity’s heart speed up. “Don’t worry about it. I know you just want to make sure we get to stay friends. I’ll see you soon?” Luz turned just a bit, toward the Owl house.

“y-yeah.” Amity stuttered, mentally kicking herself for not being able to speak normally. “It shouldn’t be more than an hour.”

“Coolio!” she said with pep, starting to walk away, offering a cute little wave as she went. Amity watched for a moment before turning, covering part of her face with one of her hands in embarrassment. 

“This is gonna be rough…” She murmured, as she started her walk home. Thankfully, she arrived quickly and escaped with only a tad of sibling teasing, shutting a door in their face as mild punishment. The walk to the Owl House was quiet and Amity was grateful, taking the time to psych herself up and calm herself down. 

She emerged from some trees and there it was, hooty visible and poking at the ground for some reason that Amity didn’t really care to ask about. She walked up calmly, Hooty perking up.

“Amity! HOOT!”

“I’m here to see Luz, Bird tube.” she said flatly, getting uncomfortable even just looking at him.

“Aye aye! hooty hoot!” he opened the door, and she walked through, grateful to be done with him till the next morning. She turned to see Luz on the couch with King, drawing something with her tongue sticking out in concentration. Immediately her only thought was how cute it was. 

Luz didn’t notice her for another second, looking up and brightening up again, leaving the art to walk over and pull her once again, into a hug. She wondered if she would ever get used to Luz’s touchy nature. She never minded, but the heat that rose in her face every time was something she hoped would fade.

The human pulled back, keeping her arms on her shoulders. “The walk okay? I mean- sorry, uh… that sounded weird. I meant like, the trip over here, walking…” She flushed, laughing at herself nervously. “...Nevermind it was a stupid question.”

“Its okay…” Amity chuckled back, smiling. “...what’s the plan?”

“I am SOOO glad you asked!” Luz answered, sweeping to the side it a goofily grande gesture. “Upstairs, we shall begin tonight’s activity’s!”

Amity laughed again, walking towards the stairs with Luz following close behind. “I just remembered I never came up here last time I was here... “

“Oh it’s nothing super secret or interesting. Me and Eda’s rooms are up here, and further up is just kinda... “ She stepped ahead, waving her hands. “...Magicaaaaal storage!”

Luz over took her on the stairs, silently leading her towards the balcony, where a handful of board games sat out, ready to be played. Amity tilted her head, and Luz turned to gesture at them.

“Some of the pieces are missing, so I improvised, but they're still playable. I even made a tiny Azura and Hecate, if you want to play one of them!” Luz looked excitedly back to meet Amity’s eyes, waiting silently for a response.

Again, the witch found herself flushing red. Did Luz mean to be this cute all the time? Of course not, she was just a stupid adorable human, Not aware of her effects on the poor green haired girl. “Thats really… sweet, Luz,” She managed after a minute. “ I’d love to learn how to even play. Is it complicated?” she glanced at the busy looking board.

“Oh no, it just looks that way. Here come sit, I’ll explain the basics and then anything I miss I’ll explain as we go.” She plopped down on the opposite side of the board from where Amity stood, waiting for her to sit. 

A few hours later, they had managed to play two of the board games a couple times, and Amity had even won! though, she couldn’t be sure if Luz went easy on her that round to let her win. Which, either way, made her feel great. Her nervousness had faded, and while they played they discussed Azura. After a 7th or 8th round, Luz led her back by her hand to her bedroom, showing off some of her stuff that Amity hadn’t cared to look at when she came here the day of Grom.

They then ended up side by side leaning against the trunk holding Luz’s clothes, watching stupid videos that made the little witch laugh until she was crying, Luz smiling goofily everytime she did. It made her so happy to see the girl laughing and smiling and crying happily to stupid videos. A familiar gut feeling emerged after AMity doubled over laughing at a child running into a door, But the the human immediately pushed it down. Amity sat back up chuckling and the two met eyes, turning away collectively with blushes on their faces.

Luz was the first to speak, scooting forward and standing up. "It's getting a little late, give me a sec and I'll go get you a pillow and blanket." She walked out of the room, and Amity looked around the room again, trying to distract herself. She saw Luz's notebook for spells, the one she had during the Convention when they officially met. Next to it were prepped sticker spells like the one she used at Grom. A few Azura books layed lazily on top of each other not too far from that.

Luz came back in, plopping a soft looking blanket and a pillow down right next to her own sleeping mat. Amity almost asked why they were so close, but just watched Luz arrange it loosely into a decent sleeping place before plopping down and smiling. 

The witch got up to take the few steps, pausing for a second and making a decision she wasn't even really sure about. But they were both tired. Maybe the memory would fade. She took a breath and looked away as she crouched, on her way to laying down. "Hey, Luz…"

"Yeah?" She replied, finally laid down and facing Amity.

"Have you ever thought about kissing a girl?" Her voice went a bit quieter, as if she was afraid of saying it for anyone to hear. She layed down, mirroring Luz's position and meeting her eyes.

The human girl froze, and for one of the first times ever, Amity saw her tanned skin flush into a full reddish blush. The pause made her nervous, waiting for Luz to answer, her mind racing silently through what she could say. 

After another moment she smiled goofily but with a hint of nervousness to it. "Well, I am now." She breathed out a bit heavier than usual, almost a Huff of laughter.

Amity was quick to feel her face heat up. Of all her split second expected answers, that was not one of them. Oh god-

"Amity?" Her friend said, worried. She scooted closer, taking Amity's hands and looking concerned. "Are you okay?"

Her brain scrambled to find an excuse for her face, chuckling a bit as she did. "What, me? I'm fine! It was a dumb question-" it was fast. Luz was so close she felt like she was malfunctioning. That this nervous energy would consume her, maybe even kill her. This girl is gonna kill her by being this close. Another split second after that she felt she had to defend the fact she asked the question, and went off. "I mean- who likes y- girls, d-definitely not Amity Bligh-"

Luz had listened, a mixture of worried and confused, but feeling the same feeling in her gut from before. Is that what she was feeling? She wanted to kiss Amity? The rambling could go on, or she could… she didn't think much about it, grabbing Amity's face gently but firmly, and planting a kiss on her lips. For just a moment she stayed, then moved back, Amity freezing up. 

Somehow her face managed to get redder, and Luz laughed at how cute it was. "Was that okay?" The witch continued to struggle to form a word, sputtering and freezing, blinking quickly while looking back at her. "Amity?"

Her heartbeat had never been more audible, and her brain was officially fried. Luz had kissed her. Her first kiss was with Luz. She was asking if it was okay. Form words, say yes, say something. But she just sputtered, and after a moment more she groaned, covering her face and shrinking up to try and hide her embarassment. This girl-

"I'm… I shouldn't have, Amity, I'm sorry… I just thought- and feelings-" Luz muttered out, trying to justify it, or make Amity feel better. Did she just screw everything up?

Amity shook her head, peeking and then moving quickly to pull the stupid human closer, hiding her face in her chest instead of her own hands. It was sort of relieving to know that her heart wasn't the only one beating fast, and she finally managed to speak. "N-no don't… I just- I really… uhm…" she breathed in and out one more time. 

"I-i liked it…"

Inspired by a 11 part comic by @nullehero on Instagram they make great art 👌😗

[thewritingginger]

Valentine’s Day In

This is a bit late to say the least, I was hoping to post this on Valentine’s Day but school work had my ass occupied so for the past week I was going back and forth between school work and writing 😒 

Also I know I have a bajillion wips todo, a few of which are Valentine’s Day prompts 

bUt

I got a super cute fluffy idea for Valentine’s Day and the motivation came to me so I hope we can let it slide for now. Right?  😅

Anyways I hope you enjoy ~ Also I wrote this while listening to THIS, so if you want you can listen to it while you read as well :3

Fandom: Obey Me! Pairing: Satan x GN! Reader  Word Count:  2,866 words Warning(s): Cheesy, kinda rom-com-y, probably not perfect lol

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

The forecast was said to be sunny with slight cloudiness. When you opened the window this morning the sky was indeed cloudy, but instead of sun it was matched with a downpour.

You and Satan had planned the whole day together.

Starting with a relaxing morning of talking and reading in eachothers arms. Then to go for a walk around town, window shopping till dinner time. But since it was stormy outside and you weren’t really in the mood to get dressed up to then get soaked.

But although going out wasn’t really an option anymore, you were still going to spend your day relaxing with Satan as you’ve already planned.

The agenda was already in motion as you and Satan started your day having breakfast together, followed by hanging out in his room reading and cuddling. When it came to be around noon you went to take a shower. Once you were out, your hair still damp, you headed back to Satan’s room. But when you knocked on his door and opened it, the room was empty.

“Hmm.” Since he wasn’t in his room, you went to the study. But came to find he wasn’t there either, infact, he wasn’t anywhere in the house. ‘Where the hell is he?’ Letting out a sigh, you headed back to your room and texted him.

Y/n: “Hey, where are you?”

Satan: “Sorry, something came up and I didn’t get a chance to tell you. I should be home in a couple hours. 💚

Closing your messages you sigh, falling onto the plush mattress of your bed.

Since Satan wouldn't be around for a while you spent your time doing some work. In the time waiting for him you finished up an assignment for class and tidied up your room a bit. Nothing too exciting but it beat just sitting around. While scrolling through Devilgram you got another message from the awaited demon.

Satan: “I’m probably gonna be another hour or so.”

Sitting up in bed, feeling a bit defeated, you leave to go downstairs. On your way down you ran into Beel and Belphie. “Hey, Y/n.”

“Hey, Beel. Whatcha guys up to?”

“Nothing much, actually we wanted to see if you wanted to come hang out for a bit.”

Considering the request, you accept. “Sure, why not. Satan won't be home for a bit longer anyways.” You say, a bit sadder than you intended.

“Great! I got some new snacks I want you to try. Come on.” Beelzebub says with a smile, throwing his arm over your shoulder.

~~~

It had been awhile since you’ve entered the twins room. The time was spent eating different treats and chatting. Feeling ready to leave you stood up, “Well I think Imma head out. I had a lot of fun with you guys but I don’t want to intrude anymore.”

“Wait!” Beel says. Belphegor sighs at his brother's outburst.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothings wrong.” Belphegor corrects. “It’s just that we don’t get to spend much time with you it seems. With you dating Satan and all, Beel just thought we could have you around a bit longer.”

You frown a bit. “I’m sorry guys, I didn’t know you felt that way.”

“Yeah, yeah. Just sit back down.”Belphie sighs, making you laugh.

~~~

Knock. Knock. Knock.

“Door’s open.” Beel hollars, not looking up  from the card game the three of you are playing. The door opens,

“There you are.” You turn towards the familiar voice to see the man you’ve been waiting for. “Sorry I kept you waiting.”

“You should be.” You sass.

“Mind if I take her from you guys?” Satan asks his brothers. They nod their heads, engrossed by their game. Putting your cards down you say your goodbyes to leave the room with Satan. Once the door is closed you smack his chest, causing him to laugh. “Woah, easy.”

“You know, you left me high and dry, right?” You cross your arms, brow raised.

“Yes, yes I did. Won’t you forgive me?” Placing his hands on your hips, he looks down at you with his gemstone eyes.

“Fine! But don’t think I’ll let it slide again.”

“I wouldn’t expect it.” He smiles, punctuating his sentence with a chased kiss.

Back at your bedroom, you walk in while Satan stays on the other side of the door. “Well, aren’t you gonna come in?” You say.

“Nope. That’s because I’m leaving you to get dressed.”

“Wait, why?” You asked, confused.

“You’ll just have to find out, won’t you.” He grins, “Now get dressed. I’ll wait for you downstairs.” Before you can say anything else, he closed the door. And with that you spent the next hour getting ready.

Stepping in front of a mirror you take a look at your work. Wearing your best outfit, admiring how the rich green fabric accentuates your body perfectly. Your hair styled. Face fresh. Brushing the invisible wrinkles from your front you head to the stairs. From the top you see Satan standing at the bottom, dressed in his finest suit. His eyes light up when they land on you, a smile accompanying the starlight gaze.

Descending the staircase you take your time letting your eyes wander down his frame.  His hair is combed back, allowing a clear view of his shape features. His body’s adorned with a well fitted suit, the breast pocket housing a pocket square in his signature color. Trailing your vision down to where his hands join at his stomach. A bouquet of peonies resides between his palms.

Nearing the end of the staircase he extends his hand, guiding you down the last few steps. Standing before him he looks down at you, words yet to be spoken between you. Bringing your hand to his lips he places a kiss on your knuckles.

“You look perfect.” He confesses, almost in a whisper as if speaking to himself. “These are for you.” Offering your hands the flowers, he smiles.

Looking down at the bouquet you admire the layered petals in variants of blush pink. Taking a breath of the sweet smell you sigh. “They’re gorgeous, Satan. You didn’t have to get me any~.” You’re cut off by a strong arm taking yours.

“Of course I did. Every beautiful person deserves the small treasures of life.” His voice is like butter. The way each syllable rolls off his tongue effortlessly, always seeming to have an answer for everything.

“Where are you taking me?”

“You’ll see.” He says with a wink.

Reaching the back of the house you are led to a door that leads into another study of sorts.

Upon opening the door you hear soft jazz and the fireplace crackling in the air. Looking around you see candles lit and flowers everywhere. A few vases of the same pink flowers in your hands scattered around the room and petals trailing a path through double-doors that lead to a patio area that has a full view of the lush garden with a pond. Outside under the covering you see a table set for two with more candles littered about. A bottle of wine and two glasses reside there waiting for you. Breathing in the smell of the earth mixed with the rain you sigh.

You’re speechless. The music. The setting. Him. It’s all perfect.

“Oh, Satan. This is… amazing. How~ When?” Your mind is racing.

“I’ve been working on it all day. Since we couldn’t go out for Valentine’s Day, I thought I’d bring it to us. Do you like it?” He asks, worried he might have done too much.

Placing your bouquet on the table, you turn around to wrap your arms around his shoulders, drawing him in for a kiss.

Pulling back you gaze into his eyes, your fingers gently raking through his golden locks. “I love it.” Satan smiles, relieved. ”So, I’m guessing that’s why Beel and Belphie asked me to hang out. You just needed a distraction, and here I thought they actually missed me.”

“Well, truthfully, I did ask them to make sure you didn’t come downstairs. Though, what they did to accomplish that I had no part in. But enough about that, please ~.” Satan says, gesturing at the quaint table. “Would you like to sit down?” Satan asks, pulling out your chair. Accepting his invitation you sit down. His fingers linger awhile after  pushing you in, as he makes his way to the other side of the table. Handing you a glass of wine he poured, your fingers hold his for a moment before separating once again. “You’re not cold are you?”

You shake your head. “No, I’m fine.” You were definitely more than fine, you actually began to feel a bit warm. The way his eyes look over you. Unable to read what he must be thinking. Your guesses and wishes of what those thoughts may be only made you warmer. Shaking yourself from those thoughts you relax into your chair.

Sitting in comfortable silence. The music playing, lulls you into a trance. Sipping your wine you sway to the mellow notes. You don't notice right away how Satan is watching you. His chin propped on his hand, a smile pulling at the corners of his lips. When you see him eyeing you, you sit up straight and laugh a bit. You feel your cheeks heat up slightly. 

Getting up, Satan offers you his hand once again.

“Won't you dance with me?”

“Of course.” You say, taking his hand.

Standing in the middle of the covered area, your left hand enclosed in his as your right rests on his shoulder. His strong arm wraps around your back holding you close. Swaying to the notes playing in the air, you rest your head on his chest. Breathing in the scent of his cologne mixed with his natural musk. His cheek rests upon your head, pressing a gentle kiss in your hair.

Looking up, your eyes meet, foreheads touching. His eyes alone are enough to speak a thousand words for him. They tell you everything he doesn’t.

They compliment you. Say how much they adore you. They say, ‘I need you!’

In this silent conversation your free hand moves to cup his cheek. The sweet touch makes him sigh into you. Reachin up he holds your wrist to kiss your palm. His eyes, never leaving yours. You can’t help the giggle that leaves your throat. The sweet yet sensual motion creates butterflies in your stomach.

Releasing you, allowing your hand to resume its place on his shoulder as his, goes to rest on your hip.

“You know I love you, right?” He says. A flirtatious glint in his eye.

“Well of course you do. It’s only natural.” You say playfully making him laugh. His toothy grin makes your heart flutter.

“Is that so? Then tell me Y/n, what else is ‘only natural’?”

Your breath gets caught in your throat for a moment. No matter how long you’ve been together he still somehow manages to make you flustered and giddy. Biting your lip in thought, you smile.

“Well, ignoring the fact you’re a demon and I’m a human.” You start. Pulling another low chuckle from the blonde. “I’d say, this moment and every other moment shared between us is. Being with you, whether in sweatpants on your bed or dressed up like we are now, every minute spent with you is perfect.”

“So you’re telling me I didn’t have to do all this then? I wished you told me sooner, it would’ve saved me a lot of time” He says with a chuckle and slapping his shoulder only made him laugh harder. But you couldn’t help but laugh along with him.

“You think you’re so funny, huh?”

“Well I’d like to think I’m quite humorous” He says, pulling your waist into his. Leaning down for a kiss but you pull away.

“Is that so? Then prove it.”

He studies your challenging eyes. Kissing his teeth he accepts your jab. “Ok. Then how do you suspect I’ll do that?”

“Hmm.” You look to the side, pondering the question. Then an idea popped in your head. “Ok Mr. Humorous, why don’t you prove to me just how fun you can be by jumping into the pond.” You say, holding back a smile. Seeing him process your request, you are about to laugh when you see him beginning to take off his blazer. “What are you doing?”

“What does it look like? I’m doing as you asked.” He says with a smirk.

You watch him remove his blazer and button up, followed by his shoes and socks. Standing straight in all his shirtless glory you take a moment to appreciate his physique. His smooth skin stretched over toned muscles. The flexing of his arm as he moves to sweep his hair back to look at you.

“What are you waiting for? Take off your shoes, unless you want to get them dirty.” He says. You let out a hum as his words shake you from your thoughts. He laughs, as if knowing what had you distracted. “You didn’t really think I’d be walking out there alone did you? I expect you to help me out since you’re the reason I’m going to be in there.”

“Fine. But only if I get to push you in.” You say taking off your shoes. He smiles at your requirement.

“Fine by me.”

Holding your jacket over your head to shield yourself from the rain as much as possible you and Satan begin to walk across the grass.

At the pond Satan turns to you, “So are you gonna push me in or do I have to jump in?” Laughing at his question but mostly at his appearance. Already drenched without stepping a single foot into the water.

“Oh I’m gonna push you in.” You say. Inching to the edge of the pond, ready to push Satan in. When your hands make contact with his hot skin a hand wraps around your wrist and before you knew it you were going down with him.

Splashing into the water you come up gasping at the frigid temperature. “Satan!” You say splashing water in his face. All you can hear is the rain and the hearty laugh coming from the demon’s chest. Slicking your hair out of your face you look at the man still laughing. “It’s not funny!” Though despite your words you couldn’t suppress the laugh that comes out of your mouth as well.

“It’s pretty funny if you ask me.”

“That was not part of the deal.”

“Well actually, our deal was you get to push me in. Nowhere in that agreement did we state I couldn’t pull you in with me.” He says, stepping closer to you. His strong arms holding you close edging away the cold around you.

“Well remind me next time to cover all bases because that was cheap and you know it.”

“They don’t call me a demon for nothing.” He says. His voice low, a small smirk playing his lips. Droplets of water fall from the loose strands of hair around his face.

“You look like a wet dog.” You say, pushing his wet hair back.

“I think we both do but that doesn’t matter, right? What was it you said earlier? No matter where we are, as long as we are together, it's perfect? Well to that I couldn’t agree more.” His words make you smile, warmth fills your chest. Wrapping your arms around his shoulders, pulling him in. Once your lips touch the arms around your body tightens, lifting you up. Encircling your legs around his waist your kiss deepens. Your tongues dancing with one another. The taste and feeling of him sends electricity through you. Your fingers coil in his wet locks. Everything around you faded away. You couldn’t feel the rain or hear the music playing in the house anymore. Your senses are completely consumed by him. His touch. His smell. Everything. You wanted it all. You couldn’t care less where you were at this moment. You’d sooner let yourself drown in the water around you than let go of him. How can one person have such an affect on you?

Pulling away, both catching your breaths, your foreheads resting against each other. Though separated, the heat between you two is ever-present. His large hand cradles your cheek, keeping you close. His eyes shut for a moment to collect himself before looking back to you. His gaze is softer than before,

“I love you more than you know. Thank you for being mine.” Your chest swells. Stocking his cheek you kiss his lips once more.

“You don’t need to thank me, Satan. But I will ask you to warn me next time you decide to throw me in water.” You tease, but you both know you don’t really mind how things turned out.

“Let’s go back inside and warm up by the fire.” He smirks.

“I’d love that.”

Satan carried you back to the study where the rest of the night was spent by the fire where many more heated touches were shared. Maybe getting soaked in the rain wasn’t so bad after all.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------- Oh lord she can never post anything on time or in a timely manner huh? . . . Nope! :)

But I hope you enjoyed this somewhat. I know it’s not perfect but I still think it’s pretty cute. Cheesy ... but cute :3

I hope you had a good Valentines day with your 2D or 3D baes.

Till next post ~ 💛💛💛

[lokidrabbles]

Perfect Fit (Loki x Reader)

Peter Parker tells reader about what Loki thinks of them.

A/N: Another oneshot, this time featuring Spiderman as the medium for Reader and Loki. Also, my headcanon remains that Loki refers to Peter as Spider Boy. As always, Gender Neutral Reader!

Warnings: None! Fluff n’ such!

Your eyes peered up from your paperwork to catch sight of the fidgeting teen sitting in front of your desk. You empathized with him. It was always some sort of hell fire when Tony or any of the Avengers reprimanded one of the outlier members for failing to complete a mission in time, or failing to follow a inward duty to protect others. Although the consequences of the damage the young Spiderman had left behind were very minimal (extensive property damage, but no one seriously hurt), Tony still upheld his duty as Peter’s pseudo guardian, and laid it hard on him.

As part of the process, you were in charge of filling all the damage reports and costs left behind by the throws of battle, and Tony ordered Peter to witness the extent of his mistake through financial eyes. Or maybe through boring clerical work. Whatever the matter, Peter looked absolutely nervous, probably dreading to hear just how much his antics caused the city (or Tony).

“You know I’m not actually going to tell you how much cash Tony is going to have to fork out, right?” You asked him, causing him to jump slightly.

“What, really? I mean, are you sure? ‘Cus I’m sure Mr. Stark wanted me to, uh, witness the depth of my carelessness.” He stuttered in response.

“I mean yes, you definitely want to be more cautious. But this, in comparison to Tony’s own damage cost analysis, is almost nothing. I’m sure this is just his weird way of wanting to make sure you’re keeping the citizens and yourself safe out there. Also I feel if I tell you, you’re going to be harder on yourself than you need to be.”

Peter let out a nervous chuckle. “Yeah, I guess you’re right about that. I really am sorry about what happened, I did try to be as careful as I could.”

“I’m sure you did kid. The important thing is that building was insured, and that no one was seriously hurt. You good?”

“Yes, yes!” He responded hastily, and you almost felt the weight being lifted from his shoulders. “I’m just glad you’re just as nice as Mr. Loki mentioned you to be.”

You shot a quizzical look at Peter. “Uh, Mr. Loki?”

“Well, yeah? Mr. Thor’s brother? I’ve seen you both together a lot here at the facility.”

Of course you knew who he was talking about, but the fact that Loki made his chipper self into this conversation was odd at best. From your documentation, you found out Loki had been assigned to this small escapade in the outskirts of the city. It actually made you content to see Tony’s mistrust in him begin to dwindle, allowing him to participate in the Avenger’s daily heroism. You could almost see his sour face once he found out this precise squad would be lead by Tony himself. But it made sense.

“What’s Mr. Loki doing gossiping about me to you?” You asked teasingly.

“Nothing bad! I can swear by that!” Peter said, putting his hands up in defense. “I think he just wanted me to feel better.”

“That’s a good one kid.” You chuckled. “It’s a miracle on it’s own to have Loki talk one word to anyone. You have no idea how long it took me to have him say a simple hello to me.”

“Really?” Peter asked, slowly pulling his hands down. “I know Mr. Loki is always very reserved, and he was a little scary at first. But he’s actually kind of, really nice too.”

“You must have a very skewed definition of nice.” You said sarcastically. You jested however. You had experienced Loki’s ‘niceness’ firsthand, in his own bizarre way. Loki’s form of nice didn’t really fall under your typical definition of it. Nice was, for example, telling someone thank you, bringing thoughtful gifts, buying someone lunch. Loki’s nice more so included telling you that you were being stupid and foolish for failing to believe in yourself, and that you should be ashamed of yourself, blah blah blah. He got the right intention, but his delivery was horrible. You cringed at the thought of poor little Peter having to go through that.

“I mean, maybe? He was very helpful during the mission, and his strategy at the whole thing. I was like, wow! He moved so fast in between everything, I had such a hard time keeping up. Though, maybe that’s why I got so distracted in the first place.” He sighed, still blatantly defeated for his error.

“Don’t be so hard on yourself though. For what it is, I think you’re a pretty talented kid too.” You said with a toothy smile. “Loki’s just a big show off though.”

He laughed in a much more relaxed manner. “Thanks, that means a lot. But I must have really taken it hard when Mr. Stark raised his voice at me. Mr. Loki approached me and told me I’d be sent over to your department and how you’d be very welcoming, nice and easygoing.”

You were slightly irritated at how Loki found it so easy to tell Peter all these likeable things about you, yet still failed to do so with you in person. Yet, you knew his reason’s to do so with Peter. Again, Loki wasn’t the most approachable man in the universe, but that didn’t mean he was completely heartless. His words with Peter, while few, were carefully chose to make the young teen feel less anxious. You mentally reminded yourself to give a him a big smooch the next time you saw him.

“I’m actually really happy to hear that.” You said, leaning against the back of your chair. “It looks like he found someone who he’s comfortable with, so that gives me some peace at mind.”

Peter became obviously confused at your comment. “I’m not sure I get that.”

“You said it best at first. He’s a scary fella. But it seems you got to him somehow. So trust me, from now on you got another set of eyes keeping watch of you, making sure you’re safe out there.”

“Actually, I think that make’s me a little more nervous.” He said sheepishly.

“Oh well yeah, be very wary of the God of Mischief.” You said ominously, followed by a snort and giggle.

“Oh, wait. Are you and Mr. Loki dating?”

Your giggles soon stopped, as your mouth remained agape in shock. Again, this was not where you expected a conversation about Loki to go to. You now felt like the nervous teenager in the room instead. Through its entirety, both you and Loki did well at keeping the relationship under wraps, understanding the impending chaos that would ensue if anyone (Tony and Thor) would find out. Well, maybe Loki could care less, but you still had a job and income to maintain. While inner work relationships were not uncommon here, there might be some adherence to having a relationship with someone who used to be on the blacklist.

“No.” You said lowly. Even you wouldn’t have believed that no.

“Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to insinuate anything like that. It’s just, Mr. Loki seemed to have talked fondly of you, and I do see you both together quite a bit. Also you both look really good together, but like not to mean you are dating or anything!”

“Okay Peter! I think we’re done here. I’ll take care of the rest, tell Tony you learned your lesson and all BS, and you can be on your merry little way, yes?” You said, rummaging through you documents, and handing Peter a crumpled up slip with your signature on it.

Peter took the slip slowly, unsure of what he hand uncovered with his innocent introspection. “Are you okay?”

“I’m super.” You feigned through a false smile. “Thanks for dropping by, but I got some more work to do.”

The young teen, still bewildered by your sudden agitation, took it for nothing and soon tip toed out of your small office. You let out a heavy breath and slumped in your chair. It seemed you were in the clear for now, and you figured Peter would be a smart kid and avoid spreading unnecessary rumors. Also for the sole fact that his life would be at risk if Loki were to ever find out he’d tattle at Tony. Still, your mind raced back to the encounter Peter had told you about, and how Loki made a worthwhile impression on the young teen. It warmed your heart knowing someone else seemed to have approved of your gloomy partner.

Towards the end of your shift, you were visited by said partner in efforts to soon spend a relaxing evening at your home. Loki casually seated himself on the seat in front of your desk, arms crossed over his chest.

“I hear the Spider boy paid you a little visit?” He asked playfully.

“He did in fact. He’s a sweet kid.” You responded, eye still glued on your computer screen. “A little naive, but sweet.”

“Stark was relentless on him today. Dare I say, I felt sorry for the lad. He looked like a scared puppy.”

You hummed in a chipper manner. “Yeah, he told me all about it. He also told me how Mr.Loki made him feel a whole lot better today.”

You heard Loki grunt, a way for him to avoid talking about it. You figured it was still awkward for him to hear about his ‘good deeds’ with the type of shit he’s gone through.

“He was very impressed by your skills set. You may have a little fan boy in the making.” You grinned, finally closing your laptop. “I think we should adopt him as our child.”

“You’re hysterical.” He responded flatly.

“I’m mad at you though.” You said as you began to gather your belongings.

Loki raised an eyebrow at you. “Pray tell why?”

“How come you tell Peter all of these nice things about me, yet you always avoid doing so to my face?”

Loki remained quiet, draw back by the nature of your question. You meant to approach the subject in a playful manner, still understanding how Loki had his own special way of showing affection. Yet, you saw how Loki rested his chin at the top of his knuckles, analyzing and concocting an appropriate answer. He looked adorable.

“I suppose I really haven’t done so.” He said admittedly. “What would you like to hear?”

You felt your face heat up. “It doesn’t really work if I tell you what I want to hear. Also, that’s embarrassing.”

“Ah. Of course.”

“Peter told me all the good things though.” You began. “It does make me happy that you think that way about me, instead of an absolute bother.”

He rolled his eyes. “I do hate your incessant ability to self-deprecate. However, everything else the Spider boy mentioned is absolutely true.”

“How lovely to hear.”

Loki stood up and began assisting you with your bags and belongings. You smiled with a strong sense of satisfaction, promptly turning off the lights in your office.

“I also forgot to mention to him that you’re amazing, and incredible.” He whispered behind you. “That I love your smile, and I love how your hand fits so well into mine. That I always look forward to seeing your bright eyes every single day, that I-”

You felt your lips begin to twist in both joy and uneasiness. You jabbed Loki slightly at his side, urging to promptly stop before you explore. “Cut it out. I can’t tolerate this level of cheesiness.”

He smirked mischievously at you. “Then I will have to draw out my admiration for you with the Spider boy if you aren’t able to tolerate it. I’m sure he would be more than happy to hear about it.”

“You better fucking not.”

---

Later in the evening, a young Peter Parker, overseeing the block from the top of a building, took note of Mr. Loki firmly leaving the facility with you, hands hidden, side by side. Upon further inspection, Peter deducted it would be best to keep quiet about this encounter, sensing how distressed you had been about it earlier today. He felt correct about his assumption however; both you and Loki looked good together.

[sad-queer-bean]

Just a little Jackpot (jack x spot) thing

actually it’s not very little, it’s decently long

Spot walks into his room.

And immediately groans. "I'm rooming with you?" He questions.

Jack looks up at him, a smirk appearing on his face. "Don't look too annoyed, Conlon. At least your roommate is hot."

Spot rolls his eyes, placing his bag on the floor. "I wouldn't go that far, Kelly." He looks him up and down. "Though, You're not that bad looking," he mutters.

A small bit of blush appeared on Jack's face, but he smirks. "What brings you to 'the World High School'?" He asks, making a sarcastic gesture with his hands at the school name.

Spot shoots him a look, sitting down in a chair next to a desk on his side of the room. "I'm pretty sure you know." He responds.

There was a fire at Spot's school, the Sun High School.

That was the way to put it bluntly.

Basically, some idiot had set part of it on fire, so the students and certain teachers were sent to the World High School for a few months until they could go back.

They were all assigned roommates with kids who went to the World High School, and Spot was stuck with Jack.

"Ohhh, right." Jack looks up at him. "The school caught on fire cause you're too smoking hot." He winks.

Spot felt his face heat up. He gets up. "I know I'm hot." He smirks at Jack, winking, and the walks out the door.

Jack's mouth falls open, gaping at Spot, his cheeks dusted with blush.

Oh, it is so on, Conlon.

~little time skip to later that day~

Jack walks over to Spot and his group.

"I swear I'm rooming with Jack Kel-" he heard Spot telling them, annoyed.

"You make that seem like a horrible thing." Jack comments, holding his books in one hand.

Spot whips around, immediately noticing Jack's smirk.

He glares at him. "You're just everywhere, aren't you , Kelly?" He questions.

Jack smirks, "Only wherever you are." He responds.

Spot glares at him even more, ignoring the blush creeping up his neck.

"Do us all a favor and kiss." Hotshot enters their conversation from behind Spot.

Spot turns to face him, his eyes wide.

Jack's smirk only grew wider. "I wouldn't mind it." He responds.

"No, no." Spot shakes his head, shutting down the idea. "Absolutely not."

Jack just chuckles.

"You know what," Spot starts, grabbing his bag. "I'm leaving."

With that he walks off. (wow what a drama queen)

"What's up with him?" Jack asks, knowing full well that Spot could still hear him. "I was just expressing my love like Romeo tells me to do."

He heard grumbled curses from Spot. And he chuckles.

Ace looks him up and down. "You've fallen hard." He mutters. "Don't hurt him." He pulls out his blade, pointing it at Jack.

Jack's eyes widen. "I'd never." He responds, his hands up in a surrendering gesture.

Ace nods, flipping the blade closed and putting it away.

Jack exhales slowly.

He turns and walks the opposite way that Spot had.

~another little time skip~

Jack and Spot were in their room, sitting in silence.

Jack was working on an art piece, one of his earbuds in his left ear and the other hanging by his table.

Spot was doing homework, English homework.

Spot grumbles, pulling his hair in annoyance. "What the heck are the seven common types of poems?" He mutters.

"Poetry unit?" Jack asks, his eyes fixated on his drawing as he sketched the eyes out.

"Yeah." Spot grumbles. "Stupid poetry unit."

"The seven common types of poems are Haiku poems, Free verse poems, Cinquains, Epic poems, Ballad poems, Acrostic poems, and Sonnets." Jack informs him.

Spot looks at him. "Never took you as one to pay attention in class." He comments.

"Was going to be kicked out of my Arts classes if I didn't pass." Jack mutters in response, still focused on his drawing.

Spot nods, writing the kinds of poems down.

After a minute, he speaks up again. "And there are 50 types of poems?" He asks, checking to make sure.

"Yup." Jack answers, subconsciously popping the 'p'.

"Thanks." Spot mutters, writing the answer down. "You like art?" He asks.

"Yeah." Jack answers, his back turned to Spot's back. "It's kinda like my stress relief." He explains.

Spot nods. "Race says you're good at it." He says softly.

"You never realize Race talks good about you until you're not listening." Jack comments.

Spot nods.

"He's exaggerating a bit though." Jack adds. "He thinks my art is so much better than it is." He tells Spot.

"I'm sure he's not exaggerating." Spot responds, slipping his English homework into his folder and closing it.

Jack finally looks away from is drawing, turning to face Spot. "You're a lot nicer and calmer right now." He points out.

"It's the coffee wearing off." Spot responds, leaning back in his chair. "Don't get used to it."

Jack chuckles. "Got it."

Jack grabs his sketch book, facing Spot as he continues drawing.

Spot just played games on his phone.

However, he couldn't help but steal a few glances at Jack every so often.

And by 'a few', he meant a lot, and by 'every so often', he meant every other second.

Jack notices after a few minutes. "See something you like, Conlon?" He asks. "You're looking at me the same way that I look at pieces of art in an art museum."

Spot may or may not have zoned out while staring at Jack.

Spot shakes himself out of it, blushing a bit. "Maybe I do." He responds, sitting up. "What are you going to do about it?" He questions.

Jack chuckles, standing up.

Spot stands up as well.

Jack steps towards Spot, causing Spot's heart to speed up.

He gently lifts Spot's chin. "Your'e quite cute, you know that?" He asks.

"May have been told a few times." Spot answers quietly, his confidence from earlier seemingly drained out of his body. "Why?" He asks.

Jack laughs. "Cause I feel myself more drawn to you every time I see you." He whispers, his thumb gently running across Spot's bottom lip.

Spot blushes. "Well, why don't you do something about it?" He asks quietly.

Jack laughed again, gently pulling Spot into a kiss.

Spot't eyes closed on their won, his mind getting lost in the kiss.

They pull away.

Spot's face was flushed and he looked awed.

Jack's face had a bit of blush, but not as much as Spot did.

Jack chuckles when he sees Spot, pulling away.

Spot felt a loss when Jack left him.

He watches Jack sit back down in his chair.

Spot sits down in his chair, laying his head on the desk as he tries to process what just happened.

Then, he noticed a picture that hadn't been there before.

It was a drawing of him.

Spot's eyes widen, his face turning red as he looks back at Jack.

Jack was playing on his phone, not looking at Spot, but there was still an unmistakable smirk on his face.

Spot blushes, looking back at the drawing.

What are you doing to me, Jack Kelly?