#(+ am on brownie duty so I need to go make some of those real quick at least! if I'm not back in an hours time then my mom arrived and I +)

[piningpercussionist]

I have a couple quarters so I wanted to get some trinkets from a capsule machine :D

Plus I live with Scott and a clone of me violently blew up in his house, leaving him very traumatized, so I felt like it’d be a nice treat to make up for… that :3

-🐇 (kicking her little feeties while sitting in the cart)

... I... alright then.

*Kim sort of stares at the bunny for a moment, before turning their cart down an aisle.*

That, uh... that happen often? Should I be concerned? I'm not sure I want viscera getting on this coat... but, uh, yeah. We can get him something then. That does sound... traumatizing...

... although I'm not sure if this store has those machines. They could, I'm usually just in and out of here if I can help it- I don't usually stop for something like that. We could maybe try somewhere else, but if you see something you want to get him I'll chip in for that, I guess.

*She starts leading them down the chip aisle before stopping, looking a little surprised.*

Huh... not Chrispers, but there are Crispers. Is this what you were looking for? They've got three flavors...

And your tea- you said you wanted that iced. Do you just mean, like, one of those cold bottles they keep up front, or should we be getting tea bags or something? I'm not the most well versed in tea, that's more Rammy's thing.

[streetlight11]

Deep Scar

Summary: He used to be the popular kid in high school where everyone has a crush on him. He always gets Valentine's Day gifts be it presents, chocolates, homemade brownies, etc. He somehow brought his name to college where there were people who still finds him attractive. What happens when he bumps into a girl who treated him a lot different compared to others? Will he find out the truth behind her behaviour?

Theme: college au, childhood schoolmates but with a bad past

Genre: a little angsty, fluff ending though

Warnings: mild swearing (literally just one word), slight mention of harassment but nothing too crazy

WC: 4.6k

Pairing: Han Jisung x Fem!Reader

a/n: Hey hey :) I've had this in my google drive for quite sometime so my writing might not be so good here but bear with me. P.S the words in italics are his flashback, and hannie might sound like a jerk at one point but this doesn't portray him in real life because irl he's an absolute sweetheart :') Anyways, enjoy reading!

Coming to campus every morning only to find gifts and plenty of love letters in his locker has been becoming a daily routine for Jisung. Although he has never actually reciprocated any of them, he must admit that he did love the amount of attention that’s been drawn to him since back in high school.

He was the popular kid in school where he was known for his intelligence, charming personality and of course, his good looks.

Back in high school, girls would often slot in their confession letters in his locker almost everyday. Every Valentine’s Day, his table would be filled with chocolates and homemade brownies specially for him.

But all of those gifts would eventually be passed to his close friends for them to finish it for him.

Even now when he’s already in college, words spread around the campus of his status back in Saebom High, making everyone in Hankuk College know about him. Despite this new set of attention that was being directed towards him, he managed to make friends with a few people that he trusts.

Some of them were his classmates in college, some were his friends from music class, and some were his good friends back in high school. 

That day was no different as he walked down the hall to go to his designated locker, only to find a pink paper that had been folded into a cute little heart.

“Another love letter? Dude, at this point you should really date one of them so that this whole shenanigan would stop.” Chan said with a soft chuckled as Minho and Jeongin nodded in agreement with the elder boy. Jisung rolled his eyes as he unfolded the paper and read the confession, that was pretty much the same as the other notes he received.

All of which, never got reciprocated simply because Jisung believes he hasn’t found anyone that peaked his interest yet.

After about 5 minutes, he slammed his locker shut as the four boys began to walk down the hall, not missing the constant shy giggles and whispers from every direction. Jisung simply walked with his charming smile plastered on his face, making some girls feel their heart flutter in their chest.

Just when they had made a left turn, a figure smaller than them came crashing straight into Jisung’s shoulder, causing both individuals to stumble back a step from the impact.

“Watch where you’re going, dumbass.” The girl who was rubbing her shoulder said as she locked eyes with him firmly. Jisung was slightly baffled as no other girl would even dare to look at him straight in the eye.

“Excuse me?” He said, his voice clearly confused but the girl simply rolled her eyes at him, slightly annoyed.

“You heard me. I don’t have to say it twice.” 

“Do you even know who I am?” He asked, slowly starting to feel anger boiling through his veins.

“Do you think I care?” She taunts.

“Other girls would be scrambling away by now.”

“Oh, how exciting. Next time, wear side goggles so you can watch where you’re going.” Was all she said before she shoves past him to continue her journey down the hall to go to her class.

Everyone in that hallway was surprised with their little interaction. Some of them even snickered at her for behaving that way in front of him. As far as he knows, all the girls in school never dared to speak to him in person, nor would they even look at him straight in the eyes for they would either run away in embarrassment, or their face would turn flushed red.

Jisung tried not to think much of it as he continued his walk to his class.

During lunch, the boys had gathered at their usual table. However, Hyunjin and Seungmin were running slightly late this time. They were just a few bites into their meal when Hyunjin’s voice caught everyone at their table’s attention.

“Hey guys! Is it okay if our new friend joins us? She just transferred here so me and Seungmin offered her to have lunch with us.”

At the mention of a female, Jisung whips his head around, only to lock eyes with the same girl he bumped into just a few hours prior.

“You again? Try not to miss your mouth this time when you eat.” She said as her gaze locked on Jisung, leaving him speechless.

Hyunjin and Seungmin exchanged glances at each other in confusion but decided to just carry on with lunch as they ended up sitting with her. If she weren’t too direct, Jisung could almost agree that she was acting quite the opposite towards Hyunjin and Seungmin. Maybe with the others as well. She seemed genuinely friendly and almost effortlessly bright with them. 

If he was being honest, it almost upsets him that she treated him like an outcast as compared to the rest of his close friends. Days slowly but surely became weeks as she started to grow visibly close to Hyunjin and Seungmin probably because they were her classmates.

It was a Friday evening and they all decided to go to a pool bar where they had pool tables for people to play and also have light drinks if they wanted to.

They rented out two tables for themselves as they divided into two teams.

“Y/N! Join our team!” Hyunjin called as Y/N giggled, only for her to catch Jisung staring at her from one of the high stools beside the bar.

“I’ll join if he does.” 

She said as she nodded her head towards Jisung, only for the others to immediately drag him to Hyunjin’s pool table. The game soon started as Hyunjin served first. She seems to surprise them everytime she serves because all her shots were smooth and almost effortless. It was as if she’s done this multiple times.

“Wow, how are you so good at this?” Seungmin asked as she smiled at him, only to answer his question.

“I guess I’m pretty good at aiming.”

The boy giggled as they watched Hyunjin score a ball. All the while, Jisung was silently watching her by the side. 

Not in a creepy way but more like in a confused way. After they finished their one hour at the pool bar, they left to get dinner but she decided to call it a day for her and that she needed to go home to feed her starving kitty.

The boys bid her goodbye as she left, only for Changbin to question his friend.

“Jisung ah, you cannot tell me you’re not the slightest bit intrigued by her…”

With that, Jisung frowned as his mind came swirling back to all the times they’ve hung out with her and gotten to know her better. From all the mean comments tossed at each other like they were flat bread, to the time where she seemed genuinely concerned when Jisung nearly got run over by a speeding truck.

“No… No I’m not.”

Only he knows that it was a total lie but he wasn’t going to admit it to his friends. 

His ego was too high for him to easily admit that after all these years of girls trying so hard to win his attention, all he needed was Y/N to come into the picture and that was all it took for him to finally fall for someone.

Nobody needed to know his true feelings for her. He didn’t think it would be much of a big deal so he opted to keep his feelings to himself. It was another week into April, when Chan decided to invite them over to his apartment to hang out and chill on a chilly Saturday. Chan of course included Y/N in the list, hence the reason why she was currently standing outside his apartment door.

She was wearing a brown fitted crop top, her favourite denim ripped skinny jeans, a bomber jacket and her white converse.

She was greeted by Chan as he opened the door wider for her to enter.

She made it inside only to find Felix and Minho challenging each other in a game of Mario Kart Race. Hyunjin, Seungmin and Changbin were busy playing Call Of Duty on their phones. Jisung, Jeongin and Chan were in the kitchen, cooking up some hot kimchi stew.

Y/N took off her jacket as she went to snuggle in between Changbin and Hyunjin, watching them play an intense game of COD.

She was just laying her head on Changbin’s shoulder when he jerked forward, making her body shake as he turned to Hyunjin and high fived him after winning first place. Just then, he noticed the sad pout on her face at the loss of warmth, making him giggle as he sat back down to let her rest her head on his shoulder again before he whispered.

“Sorry baby.” She giggled as she pinched his abs, making him squeak. He laughed as he corrected himself.

“I’m just kidding.”

She smiled as she nuzzled into his shoulder while they were all occupied with doing their own things. A few minutes later, the 3 boys from the kitchen came back to the living room with the pot of kimchi stew and a rice bowl. 

However, Y/N didn’t miss the subtle frown on Jisung’s face when he saw her leaning her head against Changbin’s shoulder.

The 9 of them began eating diligently as they fit in almost any possible topic they could think off. After they finished their meal, she offered to wash the dishes since they were all busy. Chan told her not to trouble herself but she insisted on helping him.

She was scrubbing the second last bowl when she heard Jeongin’s voice calling from the living room.

“Noona! Come join us after you’re done washing the dishes okay? We’re gonna play truth or drink!”

“Okay Jeonginie.” She sang in a sing-song tune as she could hear some of them chuckle in the back.

As promised, she joined them after she was done with the last bowl, only to sit in between Minho and Seungmin. They went in a circle starting from Chan. It was in a circle until it reached her, only for Changbin to eagerly raise his hand.

“Oh! Oh! I have a good one!” Changbin said as his inner corner of the lips curved up into a cute smile, making her giggle.

“If you could go back to your past, what is the one thing that you would choose not to do?” His question was good. It was theoretical but good.

Suddenly, her eyes just instantly found Jisung’s soft brown ones as she told them her answer.

“The one thing I would choose not to do? Probably allowing myself to think that whatever people said to me was true.”

The guys started to frown as they asked if something bad happened to her back then but she simply shrugged them off and told them to continue the game. It went on until it was Jisung’s turn, only for Y/N to speak up.

“I have something I wanna ask him.”

This came as a surprise for the others but they let her do the honours anyway.

“Do you remember the girl who confessed to you back in high school?” She said. His eyebrows began to link together as he frowned at her sudden question.

“Huh?”

“The one where you rejected her confession by humiliating her in front of the whole school?”

“What are you talking about?” 

“Think harder.” She said.

Suddenly, memories start to flood in his mind like a flash flood.

“H-Hi. I made these for you. I hope you like cupcakes. I k-know a lot of other girls do this for you too, b-but… I-I just thought maybe I should give you something too. I- umm, I like y-you Han Jisung.” The girl confessed as she held out the box filled with her homemade cupcakes that she took time to bake for him the night before.

She bit the inside of her cheeks nervously as she diligently avoided his gaze. Just when she saw his arms reaching out to her thinking he was going to take the box from her, he forcefully smashed the box down making it slip out of her hands.

The students around them began to laugh as Jisung lifted a brow at her.

“Did you really think I’d accept your confession? Look at you. Who would date a girl who ties their hair in pigtails, have her tummy sticking out of her uniform shirt and constantly push the bridge of your spectacles up every 5 minutes? Have you seen yourself in a mirror? Nobody will ever fall for you.”

With that being said, he kicked the metal box away to reveal the fallen cupcakes as he went ahead and stepped on them like it was an insect.

The whole school laughed at her as she ran to the girls bathroom and locked herself in there as she cried her heart out. She was only 13 so it was slightly depressing for her to go through this terrible rejection.

Not only did he reject her in cold blood, he also humiliated her in front of everybody in the process. However, what made her even more upset is the fact that he didn’t seem to feel the slightest bit of remorse for saying those things to her.

That memory was as clear as day as he winced at the thought of how immature he was back then. Nevertheless, he didn’t forget the question he got from Y/N as he went ahead to answer her.

“Yeah… Yeah I remember…”

“Do you remember what you said to her?” Her voice softened as she kept her eyes on him while the rest of them had their eyes trained back and forth between Jisung and her.

“I said… I said she should look at herself in the mirror and that no one will ever fall for her.” 

The boys were shocked by how harsh he was to that said girl. Y/N could only smile sadly to him as she slowly continued. 

“Do you feel bad saying those things to her now?” 

Without much thought, he replied something that broke her heart.

“Why should I?” With that, she tried to hold back her tears as she looked at him dead in the eye before saying these next few words.

“Looks like you’re still that same cocky bastard huh?”

She soon got up from her seat on the floor, only to grab her things to leave when Jisung stood up to grab her wrist, stopping her from taking any more steps further.

“What are you talking about?” He asked, now genuinely confused as to what was going on.

“You’re really dense for someone as arrogant as you.” A scoff left her lips as her eyes bore into his, hoping he understood what she meant. After what felt like forever, Jisung finally realized as it was as though his life just flashed before his eyes.

“Wait… that was you?!” His voice was loud as it was laced with confusion and slight disappointment.

“And what happens if I say yes? Are you gonna ask me if I’ve looked into the mirror and realize that no one will ever fall for me?”

Her words stinged like venoms as he winced yet again but this time, at how hurt she seemed. She didn’t realise this but her tears were no longer held back as a few droplets rolled down her cheeks.

“Your words hurted me back then. So I tried to ignore it and move on. But when you said your answer just now, I realized that maybe you really are just an arrogant jerk.”

She finally pulled her arm out of his grasp as she left without sparing a glance to the others. Jisung has never felt so utterly remorseful, today was the first time. He mentally scolded himself for saying those words back when he was young and immature.

He has never felt so fucked up before, this was definitely the first.

A few days went by, Y/N hasn’t talked to either of the boys, not even Hyunjin and Seungmin. Every time Jisung tried to reach out to her, she would always successfully avoid him. It has been almost 2 weeks since they last talked to her as the boys agreed to go release their stress by going to the downtown club.

They had booked a booth for all 8 of them as they sat in there with some girls coming back and forth to try and get laid with either one of them.

Just then, Jisung’s eyes seemed to scan the room only to see a familiar figure dancing freely on the dance floor. He frowned as he rubbed his eyes to make sure they weren’t playing tricks on him.

He double confirmed that it was in fact Y/N, as he got up and left the booth ignoring the boy’s calls.

Right when he was about to reach the dance floor, he saw her deliberately get dragged through the sweaty, intoxicated humans and towards the back door. He followed them close behind as he saw her struggling to free herself from the man’s hold.

The minute she was out the back, the man pushed her against the brick wall as he attacked her neck forcefully.

“Stop!” She begged.

The man ignored as he started to caress her waist and moved up.

“Stop it!” She tried again as tears started to roll down her cheeks desperately.

The minute she managed to put a distance between herself and the man, the metal back door swung open harshly only for her to lock eyes with Jisung as he rushed down the steps, only to land a solid punch to the man’s jaw.

The man fell to the ground drunkenly as he struggled to stand back up.

“What the fuck man? Get your own girl!” The man said as he grabbed Y/N’s wrist and was about to pull her when Jisung roughly shoved him off again.

The man threw a few drunk punches to Jisung and soon they were both in a fist fight. The two males were starting to have blood clots and bruises all over their bodies and faces when Hyunjin and Changbin came to stop the fight.

“Jisung! Jisung! That’s enough!” Hyunjin yelled as they both grabbed Jisung by his arms and pulled him back.

“Don’t ever touch her again.” Jisung growled as the man stumbled back into the club.

Y/N frowned as she visibly hugged herself, only to see Hyunjin and Changbin give Jisung a subtle nod before they both went back inside, giving privacy to Jisung and Y/N. Once they were alone in the dark alley, that’s when she spoke up.

“Why did you come? Afraid someone might fall for me?”

“You clearly weren't comfortable with him.”

“So what? Why do you care? It’s not like he would fall in love with me. Who am I for someone to even like me? Right?”

Jisung frowned as he called out her name softly but she was quick to intercept.

“I didn’t go to Hankuk to get back at you for what you did to me. Never in a million years did I think I’d even see you again. But now that you’re standing here in front of me, that very day comes back to haunt me again. Because of your words, I have been so afraid of falling for someone, even just a tiny crush. That’s what you did to me Han Jisung and I don’t think I can ever forgive you for that.”

With that being said, she turned in her heels and left. Jisung stood there like an idiot as he cursed himself for letting her walk away yet again. 

If this happened back in high school, he would probably laugh at her. But now that he was actually starting to like her, he has never felt so upset and disappointed. This was probably even worse than a break up.

She refused to speak to him for days after as she avoided everyone in the friend group.

It was a gloomy Friday night as she was laying on her couch sideways, watching a sappy romantic movie to drown her sadness. She was wearing a loose sweater that made it look like a dress on her. Her calf high socks and a pair of shorts she always wore to sleep.

She had just thought about what she could get for supper when there was a knock on her door.

“Who the hell comes at a time like this?” She thought to herself as she went over to her door and opened it without checking the peephole first. She almost stumbled as she locked eyes with the same pair of brown orbs that she’s been trying so hard to avoid for the past few weeks.

“Jisung? What are you doing here?” She asked, genuinely shocked at how he knew her address.

“Y/N, can we talk?”

“There’s nothing to talk about.”

“Please just hear me out. I don’t need you to say anything, I just need you to listen.”

She fell silent for a moment before she opened the door wider for him to enter. Once inside, he followed her to her living room, only for them to sit 3 feet apart. She urged him with a slight nod as he took a deep breath and soon began.

“Look. I know whatever I did to you back then was horrible. It was my ego talking. I didn’t know any better. We were so young… How could I possibly feel bad at the time when all I thought was to reject you?”

Just then, she cut him in by saying something that made him rethink his choices.

“You’re telling me that everything you said to me meant nothing to you just because it wasn’t you who received it?”

“I… I wasn’t thinking. I was young-”

“Bullshit. Even a 5 year old kid knows what’s nice and what’s hurtful to say to others. Don’t pull the young card on me.”

“Y/N please-”

“Get out. If you’re still gonna be the same arrogant, highly egoistic jerk then get out. You’ve said things that left a deep scar in my life and here you are saying it doesn’t mean anything? Get out.”

“Y/N-”

“I said get out!” She finally screamed as her chest was heaving, her tears streaming down her face in anger but she didn’t care. She got up as she dragged him to the door, while he tried to fight back. The minute he was out, she slammed the door behind her only to lock it as she found herself sliding down the door, only to sit on the wooden floor.

Her cries were soft, but they were filled with so much pain. On the other side of the door, Jisung could hear her cries as he too kneeled on the ground with his hands against the door.

He could hear her loud and clear as he felt his heart shatter into a million pieces. He couldn’t bear to say a word to her as he remained quiet.

The next morning, Y/N woke up suddenly wanting to get herself breakfast to clear her memory from last night. She got out of bed, took a warm shower, got changed into her sweatpants, a big hoodie and a cap. She unlocked her door and had just taken a step outside when she jumped at the slight of Jisung seated on the ground beside her apartment door.

Since he was a light sleeper, the sound of her door opening, woke him up as he quickly got on both feet.

Before she could re-enter her apartment, he pressed his palms against the door to prevent her from closing it as he spoke up softly.

“Y/N, please, please let me explain.” He begged as she wasn’t sure why but she decided to let him in. Once he was inside, they didn’t even bother to go anywhere further into her apartment as he stood by the door and began to explain himself.

“Y/N, please listen to me. I know what I did was bad. At the time, I didn’t realise how humiliating it was for you. But now that I’m an adult, I realized that my actions were extremely horrible and I would never, ever do that to anyone now.” He paused before he continued on.

“I know that whatever I said and did back then, I can’t take any of it back. And I don’t blame you for not forgetting or forgiving me for it. I admit that I deserve this from you. All I ask is for you to give me another chance to start over. But I understand if you want nothing to do with me.” He said with a tiny hope laced in his voice although he wasn’t so confident that she would forgive him this time.

She knew he felt guilty for whatever he did back then so it wasn’t wrong for her to give him a second chance right?

“How would I know you’re not just acting this way to set me up for humiliation again?” She asked.

“Would I say all those things and bring my ego down just to prove that I felt like utter shit after everything you told me, only to humiliate you even further?”

“Nobody knows what your ego is capable of.”

“If my words won’t convince you, would my actions do?”

“What if you do it, only to leave and tell on me to everyone else?”

“I can’t seem to get your trust now, can I?”

“Try being in my shoe and you’ll know.”

“Y/N please… I know I left a deep scar on you emotionally and mentally back then, but please… I beg you, please just… let me start over. I need you to trust me just this once.”

“Fine. But if you abuse my trust, I’m never speaking to you again.” 

“Believe me, you have no idea how fucked up I felt that night at Chan’s.”

Right after he finished his sentence, he didn’t waste anymore time as he reached up to cup her face in both hands and soon kissed her. She instantly melted against his body as he pulled her closer by the waist. His kisses were so gentle, as if he was afraid he would break her again.

His touch was soft as he slid his hands under her shirt only to draw random patterns onto her waist.

Just then, he pulled away from her lips but it was so addicting he couldn’t help but peck her lips one last time before he spoke up.

“I’m really, really sorry Y/N for everything back then. I couldn’t help but feel like complete shit after that night when I found out that was you. You don’t have to forgive me, I totally understand.”

Y/N just smiled as she gently tangled her fingers in his hair at the nape of his neck before she spoke up.

“Would I have let you kiss me if I was still mad?”

He remained quiet as she then continued.

“Besides, I’m giving you a chance to redeem yourself so please, don’t take advantage of this.” She warned gently.

Jisung kissed her for slightly longer before he pulled away and whispered against her lips.

“I promise.”

With that, she smiled as she wrapped her arms around his waist, burying her face in his chest while he snaked his arms around her smaller figure. 

Ever since then, Jisung did everything he could to redeem himself for what he did to her back in high school. She slowly began to fall for him as she gave him a solid second chance and she could see how genuine he was now whenever he did something nice for her. Even if he didn’t say it out loud, she knew that he really tried his best to win her heart. And it worked.

~~~

[jamilelucato]

Seventeen [D. M.]

Pairing: Draco Malfoy x Slytherin!Reader

Summary: Based on the song Seventeen, from the musical Heathers; y/N and Draco have a conversation at the Malfoy Manor during the war that can change everything. But will it?

Hogwarts Masterlist || Musical Hogwarts Masterlist

A/N: So this is one of the fics from my personal project of making hp fanfics from musicals songs and this is the first one! It’s a bit angst, but I love the song and I think it fits perfectly with Draco and y/N. Hope you guys enjoy it and stay tuned for more fics like this!

Words: 1.743

“Fine!” you shouted, locking the door behind you, keeping both you and Draco inside. He wasn’t angry at you, but the amount of strength you used to close the door scared him a bit. You were the last person he expected to throw a fit.

It was the third week in a roll that you got locked up in the Malfoy Manor, and, although huge, the place was getting on your nerves. Draco was actually saving your life, but you were getting uptight.

Since you were a Slytherin and Draco’s girlfriend, he found it’d be easier to hide you at plain sight. At first, you were sceptical, but there was no other option. You came to the Manor and started pretending to be from a forgotten line of Purebloods.

The fact was you were a half-blood, daughter of a wizard and a muggle woman. There was a big chance Voldemort and the others wanted your head, but maybe they could spare you. There are, after all, a lot of mudbloods, completely mudbloods, yet to be hunted. Somehow, though, the idea didn’t make it easier.

“We’re damaged, really damaged,” you sighed, staring at Draco’s eyes. He was sitting on the bed that had been his and yours since the begging of your stay. He didn’t want you sleeping in a room where he would have no idea of what happened — you could receive “unwanted” visitors and get killed. “But that does not make us wise!”

For you to have a room for yourselves, two things had to happen, and they were both requested by Voldermort.

First: get engaged. That was more demanded from Lucius and Narcissa then Voldemort, but he agreed, so. That was also not trouble: that same night Draco gave you a ring. Apparently, he was going to do it — he just didn’t think he’d have to do it in the presence of almost fifty death-eaters.

Second: get the dark mark. That terrified your guts, so you hadn’t get it yet. Draco was stalling the death-eaters, especially Bellatrix, who at every opportunity asked if you were ready. He’d invented something about you being allergic to brands, but it wouldn’t do much more.

“We’re not special — we’re not ‘different’” Draco was surprisingly quiet. He was deep down just like you; he didn’t want to be doing those things as well. “We don’t choose who lives or dies!”

You sighed again. Your fight wasn’t against Draco.

“Let’s be normal; see bad movies, sneak a beer. Bake brownies or go bowling,” you avoided his pity eyes. “Don’t you want a life with me?”

You sat down next to him. “Can’t we be seventeen?” ha, that was rather funny. Be seventeen! You two should be at school, you two should be laughing around the corridors of Hogwarts, he should be playing Quidditch, and you should be having girls night at your dorm room. But now that was all gone, like a distant memory.

Draco was never your best friend, but he was someone nice to have around. He would never admit it, but he was a good student with perfect grades; because of that, more times than often, you requested his help to study. So, when on the sixth year he stopped helping you out, you noticed he was different. Darker.

It was on that year that you realize you had feelings for him. You two came to some sort of agreement around that: both were in love with each other.

It’d be beautiful if it wasn’t so tragic: Draco was already depressed because of his mark and his duty to Voldemort. You couldn’t fight against him, and you couldn’t betray him — the only choice was to stay hidden until you couldn’t anymore, and he had welcomed you into the Manor.

How nice was that? Teenage love and, now, an engagement where the involved haven’t kissed each other yet?

“If you could let me in, I could be good with you,” your voice was barely a whisper, but somehow he heard.

His hand reached for yours, and you looked down at the simple touch. “People hurt us,” you pointed out, taking a great look at his mark, forever on his arm.

“Or they vanish,” he added, reminding you of your mom and dad who had disappeared. It wasn’t their fault — you asked them to vanish — but you still missed them every day.

“And you’re right, that really blows. But we let go—”

“Take a deep breath,” his words seemed to reach every part of your brain and tranquillize you along the way. You hoped your voice had the same effect for him.

“We’ll go camping,” you suggested with a faded smile, trying to make the situation more fun. It didn’t need to happen right now, but maybe one day, yes.

“Play some Gobstones,” he sighed, starting to play your game.

“And we’ll eat some flavour beans,” you looked up in an attempt to meet his gaze. “Maybe prom night.”

“Maybe dancing,” he finally stared back at you.

“Don’t stop looking in my eyes,” you smiled, taking your hands out of his and holding his face, making him keep his gaze on you.

“Your eyes...” he repeated your words, a sign that he was lost in thoughts you could only imagine. Lucius didn’t trust you completely so many times he needed to ask things from Draco, he asked him alone. You had no idea what he and Voldemort were planning from Draco, but something was coming, especially after he failed at killing Dumbledore.

“Can’t we be seventeen? Is that so hard to do?” he tilted his head like he was melting at your touch. “If you could let me in, I could be good with you.”

“Let us be seventeen if we still got the right,” Draco said. His hand that was before laying on your lap lost without your hand traced a path around your body so it could meet your face just like you were doing.

“I wanna be with you,” you said, informing him as if for the first time. Those words expressed more than staying at the Malfoy Manor — they meant you wanted him, you wanted to be his for real.

“I wanna be with you,” he replied. Before the first tear fell from your eyes, his lips touched you for the very first time.

He had kissed your hand before and even your forehead on a cold night. Your heart had stopped both of those times, but nothing like now. It was a new experience; kissing Draco couldn’t be compared to anything you two had done before.

Your hands, once holding his chin, were now wandering his silver locks and finding pleasure with the texture. His hand that was on your face pulled you even closer and the other one once free was now wandering your body with the same eager as you.

“Yeah, we’re damaged,” you muttered when his lips reached for your neck — experience in a whole other level.

“Badly damaged,” he whispered back.

“But...” you tried to continue, but his lips met yours once again, shutting you up.

“Your love’s too good to lose,” he added, pushing you back a little just so you could see his eyes and know that he meant it.

Draco wanted you. He wanted all of you. Not just for the night, but for the next, and the other, and the next after that. He knew he loved you for a while, but with the war happening, things got a little foggy. His priorities were mixed.

His father had just some minutes ago told him that he knew you were a half-blood. Lucius told Draco that you wouldn’t be killed for that, but since it meant your father was married to a witch, they’d hunt down at least the two.

“They will be killed, son, don’t get me wrong,”  said Lucius in a warning tone. “The problem is they’ll probably want her to do it.”

So, yeah, Draco was mad when he got in the room he was sharing with you. He was enraged to the maximum. It was something having Voldemort forcing him to do things — it was a complete and unacceptable other thing him wanting you to do things.

You are perfect; you are his light. He wouldn’t bare seeing you going dark.

So, while he was snogging you — and don’t get me wrong, he was loving it, he was over the moon about that part —, he was planning a way to escape the Manor. It wouldn’t be easy, but it wasn’t impossible. He would need his mom, but he was sure she’d help.

You and Draco ended up in the bed, naked. You guessed all that angst and the war could not stop the teen hormones. Not that you were complaining — Draco was great at it. He was gentle but firm, a combination that surprised you.

You were not very sure of what to do, but Draco was patient.

“Tonight is not about me.”

“That will be a first,” you said, trying to defuse the tension.

He smirked at you in that way that only he knew how. It made you jealous, you really wished you could smile like that.

“I’ve got a plan,” he said when you were laying on his chest. His voice was barely a whisper. “Tonight, we’ll run away. I’ll ask mom, she’ll know how to help, and some house-elves can stock food in a bag...”

“Draco?”

“Yeah?” you looked up at him.

“You’re really going to run away with me? You know you don’t have to, right?” you didn’t know how to proceed. “I mean, you are safe here. ”

“If I am what you choose,” he said with a soft voice, “then I’ll do what’s needed to see you protected.”

You kissed him again, and again, unable to stop. It could have been a happy memory if it wasn’t for the background.

A knock on the door froze you two. Draco was faster, he got up and inside his pants. He was at the door when he turned back to face you, and you nodded for him to open.

Narcissa head popped in, but she was so anxious she didn’t even take a good look around.

“Draco, we need you downstairs. I think we’ve got him!”

“Who?”

You crawled the bed, leaning towards the door.

“I think we’ve got Potter.”

[pengychan]

[Coco] Nuestra Iglesia, Pt. 18

Title: Nuestra Iglesia Summary: Fake Priest AU. In the midst of the Mexican Revolution, Santa Cecilia is still a relatively safe place; all a young orphan named Miguel has to worry about is how to get novices Héctor and Imelda to switch their religious vows for wedding vows before it’s too late. He’s not having much success until he finds an unlikely ally in their new parish priest, who just arrived from out of town. Fine, so Padre Ernesto is a really odd priest. He’s probably not even a real priest, and the army-issued pistol he carries is more than slightly worrying. But he agrees that Héctor and Imelda would be wasted on religious life, and Miguel will take all the help he can get. It’s either the best idea he’s ever had, or the worst. Characters: Miguel Rivera, Ernesto de la Cruz, Héctor Rivera, Imelda Rivera, Chicharrón, Óscar and Felipe Rivera, OCs. Imector. Rating: T

[All chapters up are tagged as ‘fake priest au’ on my blog.]

A/N: Threatening Ernesto is, canonically, a very bad idea. [Art by @swanpit​ and @lunaescribe​!]

***

The funeral of Jesús Ibarra was a brief ceremony, with few people attending, but solemn nonetheless. Of course, Ernesto thought, good old Juan wouldn’t have gone about it any other way: whoever that man had been, whatever he may have done in life, he would ensure he got a proper ceremony and a decent burial. Which was precisely what the note had asked for. 

A coffin had been quickly put together, with Chicharrón complaining about having to dig a grave on such a short notice even though he spent most of the afternoon chewing tobacco and drinking, making it perfectly obvious that either a grave was magically digging itself or someone else had been roped in to do it for him.

And honestly, the way Héctor discreetly tried to rub his aching back throughout the ceremony left very little doubt over who that unfortunate soul had been. It would have made Ernesto smile, if not for the fact his mind was a little too preoccupied with the fact Federales were so damn close to Santa Cecilia. It wasn’t good at all, and the thought had kept him up at night.

… Well. It would have kept him up at night if he’d spent it on his own, but he’d just so happened to pay Juan a visit and tire himself out enough to fall asleep, and if he’d dreamed at all he couldn’t recall any of it. No nightmares to jolt him awake. 

Those rarely happened with a warm body in the same bed. 

“Amen,” Juan spoke up suddenly, closing the Bible, and Ernesto was snapped from his thoughts, muttering ‘amen’ along with everyone else. As the nuns turned to leave the chapel, he stepped forward to help Héctor, Chicharrón and Gustavo carry the coffin to the cemetery. 

That was… not an easy task, because the gravedigger was about as tall as a barrel and the sexton was still a good deal shorter than both Ernesto and Héctor, but they somehow made it to the grave without incidents - good news, because Juan would probably have a heart attack if they accidentally spilled the body out. The coffin was lowered in the hole, and both him and Gustavo were quick to leave before Chicharrón could get them to do his work and fill the grave. Héctor wasn’t as fast as them but really, at that point he only had himself to blame. At least he had been able to dodge any more extra work for the da--

“Padre Ernesto! Padre, have you seen Miguel? I can’t find him anywhere!”

As he turned to face Madre Gregoria - who looked both concerned and absolutely furious - Ernesto held back a groan. Maybe he had not, after all, dodged any more extra work for the day. “I don’t think you need to worry, Madre. Miguel wanders around the the tim--”

“But a man has just been murdered, Padre!” Madre Gregoria insisted. “This is no time for a boy to be wandering on his own!”

Ah. Ah, right - they hadn’t made the real circumstances surrounding the stranger’s death widely known, because the last thing they needed in case Federales did get there was having them know they had granted a blessing and a funeral to a rebel; in those times, it may be enough to be branded traitors and become targets themselves. Yes, the Church had a duty to all of the fallen, but Ernesto had already seen how little that mattered when the fallen belonged to the wrong side. He’d seen it in the eyes of a dying priest beneath the hanging bodies of the men he’d only tried to grant the last rites to.

“... Padre?” Madre Gregoria called out, a little puzzled, and Ernesto recoiled, realizing only then that he’d been scowling at thin air. He cleared his throat. 

“Keep this to yourself, but we have reason to believe the man we buried died in a skirmish some distance from here, and was brought here so he could have a proper Christian funeral,” he said.

Madre Gregoria blinked, taken aback but relieved. “So there isn’t a murderer in our midst?”

Me. There’s me.

“You know they’re going to get you in the end, don’t you?” Alberto’s corpse had told him.

“It could get me killed, Miguel,” he’d said. “You must never say it aloud again, do you understand? Don’t make me-- remind you again.”

Don’t make me kill you, is what you meant. Someone almost killed that boy and it was you.

“No,” Ernesto said, forcing a smile on his face. “We don’t believe there is such danger in Santa Cecilia. I will look for Miguel - do not alarm the others. I am sure I’ll find him.”

I didn’t kill him, didn’t have to. They won’t give me away. I’m safe as I can be. No one has to go.

No one needs to die.

***

A funeral was… not the best way to start the month, if John had to be absolutely honest. 

Of course they were rarely a pleasant affair, but there was something especially sad in burying a young man of whom they knew a name and nothing else - whose family, if he had one, may not even know of his passing, and may never know where he was buried. It saddened him at a deep, visceral level. It might be him one day, he knew. If he failed to redeem himself in a way that made him deserving to return home, to have his family back, he may one day be buried someplace where he knew no one, with no one to mourn on his grave. 

The thought had been in the back of his mind since the moment the body had been found, but he’d done his best to ignore it. He was still doing his best to ignore it, really, focused on developing some of the photographs he had taken at the hillside the previous morning.

They had turned out well, and he was especially pleased with the photos of the parish’s bell tower with the rising sun just beyond. He rather wanted to develop the photos he had taken with the Brownie, too - Father Ernest’s photo, a voice whispered in the back of his mind, that’s the one you want - but there was some film left to, so it would have to wait. He’d finish the film some other day, he decided, and then develop the photos.

He never would.

***

“A peso for your thoughts, niño.”

Ernesto’s voice rang out suddenly behind him, causing Miguel to recoil and nearly fall forward into the stream. As he looked up towards him, he noticed that it was getting dark - he’d been there a while. Ah, he was probably late for dinner, which meant he’d go to bed with an empty stomach after a good telling-off. 

He groaned. “Did the sisters send you to find me?”

“Madre Gregoria did.” 

Just as he’d feared. Miguel sighed, maybe just a little dramatically, but it was warranted. He would be grounded until the end of June now. “How mad is she on a scale from one to ten?”

“I’d give it a good eight, but I think I can smooth things out down to maybe four if we tell her you were still upset over finding a dead body. I offered to look for you before she started a search.” Ernesto sat next to him on the bank. “All right, what is it?”

“Nothing. I’m fine,” Miguel replied, looking back down at the water. 

“You’re a terrible liar,” Ernesto informed him with a chuckle, then paused. When he spoke again, he sounded more concerned. “What’s wrong? Is it about the dead hombre?”

Ah, that. Miguel shrugged, feeling a smidge guilty for not being really that upset about it. 

Finding the body hadn’t been fun, and he felt bad for the man, but that was it. He didn’t know him, hadn’t even seen his face. “It’s… not that. It’s just-- well--” 

They’re going to marry and have their own kids and I… I wouldn’t fit. I wouldn’t fit anywhere.

“... They don’t need me anymore,” Miguel forced out, his attempt at keeping his voice even failing miserably. He dared glance up, and saw Ernesto’s confusion giving way to a knowing look. Of course he’d know what he meant: Miguel had slipped up before, and he’d picked it up. 

“You’re hoping they’ll get you out of the orphanage, huh?”

But it wasn’t going to happen. It had never really been on the table, and why would it? Miguel looked away, his vision suddenly blurry. He blinked, and something wet ran down his cheeks.

"... I mean, it was stupid, really," he said, trying to keep his voice firm while wiping his face with a sleeve. "I know Héctor and Imelda are not going to adopt me. They're going to have their own kids, and they're not that much older than me anyway. And in a few years I'll be old enough to leave the orphanage, so--"

"Well then, why don't you leave with me once the war is over with?"

"Huh?" Miguel blinked, taken aback, and looked up at Ernesto without even thinking that his eyes were still wet and his nose all red. "Leave?"

Ernesto grinned, and dropped a heavy hand on his shoulder. "Well, of course. I'm not going to stay here forever, muchacho. I'm a musician, remember? Once this war is over with, I'll drop the priest act and leave to pick up right where I left off when they dragged me into the army."

"... But what if Huerta wins?" 

Ernesto made a face. "Thanks for the optimism. In that case, I'll only need to change my name to... I don't know, Pedro. Or Jorge. I'm partial to Marco Antonio. Whatever the name, I'll go out there and become the greatest musician of all Mexico. Just you wait," he added. He seemed so sure of it, Miguel found it easy to believe it possible; he made anything sound possible..

"And you want me to come with you?" he asked, something in his chest warming up. "Really?"

"With a talent like yours, why not?" Ernesto laughed, ruffling his hair. "Will add a cute factor to the performances, too. Draws more of a crowd. And it will be fun, no? The world will be our family. Two musicians wandering Mexico, looking for fame an- oye, careful!" he laughed, rearing back a little when Miguel threw his arms around him. “No need to get us both in the stream.”

Migued looked up, his smile so wide his cheeks ached. “Can we go to Mexico City? I always wanted to see Mexico City!”

“Sure! All the biggest cities. That’s where crowds are, no?” Ernesto ruffled his hair, and Miguel was too ecstatic at the idea to even remember how upset he’d been only minutes earlier. Leaving Santa Cecilia, travelling, seeing more of the country - more of the world - was that not what he’d been daydreaming about the day Ernesto had arrived? Maybe it was meant to happen, Miguel reasoned, that Ernesto would come there of all places he could have chosen to hide. He would take him out of there, and who better than him? Miguel’s only real skill was that he could play and sing - he could make a living out of that, and Ernesto could teach him how. 

Héctor had taught him a lot, but now… now he was going to have a family of his own. He wouldn’t have any more time. It hurt to think, it really did, but Ernesto’s words were echoing in his mind, dripping with promise, and he was drawn to them like a moth to the flame, the hurt fading the more he mulled over it.

The world will be our family.

***

“So, wait, run this by me again. You thought Imelda was leaving the messages.”

“Yes.”

“And you thought Héctor was leaving them. You each thought the other was our contact. ”

“Exactly.”

“You’re both idiots.”

Sofía’s assessment was harsh, if probably somewhat fair, so Héctor decided not to argue against it. Imelda, on the other hand, did argue against it. 

“I received a letter telling me to meet in the basement, and he was there,” she muttered. “What else was I supposed to think? You’d have come to the same conclusion.”

“And I had received the same letter,” Héctor immediately added, suddenly feeling an obligation to support Imelda in declaring that they were not, in fact, two idiots. “And I found her in there, so-- huh. Why are you laughing?”

Sofía didn’t answer right away, too busy snickering for a good minute. “Hahahaha! So that was-- oh my God, that is how it happened? And here I thought it had been a failure - this is hilarious!”

Imelda raised an eyebrow. “Is there something you know that we don’t?” she asked, in the tone of someone who demands an answer. Sofía grinned at her, wiping a tear of mirth from her eye.

“Hah! Those messages were not from our contact, whoever it is. It was Miguel to write them.”

Imelda blinked. Héctor’s jaw almost fell.

“He-- what?” 

“Well, that, or Ernesto wrote them. But Miguel was definitely involved.”

As Héctor kept staring with his mouth hanging open, Imelda seemed to recover from her surprise and glared. She suddenly looked more than ready to dish out physical violence, or the scolding of the century. Most likely both: physical violence upon Ernesto, scolding of the century for Miguel. “Why in the world would either of them--”

“To make you meet in a secluded dark place, why else?” Sofía cut her off, rolling her eyes. “Not that Miguel had that in mind, of course. He probably had a more romantic vision of it than either me or Ernesto did of how that little nightly meeting might go, but--”

“Absolutely nothing happened,” Imelda snapped. As in, a lot had happened, but not… that. 

And thank God for that, Héctor thought, because it would have made things a touch awkward when José and his men showed up.

Unaware of his thoughts, Sofía sighed and waved her hand. “I know, I know. Saving yourself for the marriage bed. By the way, if either of you needs any advice--”

“What-- we do not!” Héctor protested, face heating up.

“Oh? Prior experience?” Sofía asked, raising an eyebrow at Héctor - who, in fact, did not have prior experience and found himself fervently wishing the ground would open up to swallow him. 

“Enough!” Imelda’s voice was almost a snarl, her face suddenly very, very red. “This is not about our-- our marriage bed. We’re not married yet, and this is extremely inappro-- what?” she paused when her gaze fell on Héctor, and the big dumb smile spreading on his face. 

“Yet,” he almost sighed, because ah, they were going to marry once all that was over with and he could scarcely believe it. Imelda seemed to get just a little redder in the face, but her lips curled in that small, secret smile of hers for a moment before she turned back to Sofía.

Who, on the other hand, seemed less than intimidated. “Awww,” she said, grinning, chin resting on her folded hands. Imelda scoffed. 

“Inappropriate,” she muttered, looking away, and downed her glass of mass wine in one gulp.

***

“I can’t believe I’m saying this twice in less than three days, but - a peso for your thoughts?”

“Huh?” John blinked, looking up from the homily they were putting together for the following Sunday, sitting at the desk in the sacristy. Leaning forward across the desk, Father Ernest poked his forehead between his eyes. 

“You’ve got a wrinkle right here.” He said, leaning forward some more until their faces were… close. Very close. Unnecessarily close. John cleared his throat and looked back down at the homily he was writing.

“Well, I am-- focused on my task.”

“You’ve got something on your mind.”

“It’s nothing, I was just thinking about…” he sighed, and put the pen down. “The man we buried two days ago.”

Father Ernest raised an eyebrow. “What about him?”

“I simply found it… saddening. That he’d die like that, so far from home…”

“Well, we don’t know where he’s from maybe it isn’t that far--”

“Without his family to bid him goodbye, is what I mean,” John cut him off, and Father Ernest fell silent for a few moments. 

“... I see,” he finally said, his voice a little more somber. He didn’t prod for John to speak again, but he did anyway, gaze still fixed on the drying ink.

“I am willing to give my life to the Lord if need be, but I hope… I hope I’ll be able to return home, one day. Even for just a visit - a holy man, having accomplished something great. So that my father may call me his son again, just one more time. So I can embrace my mother and see my siblings again. It is… not too much to ask, is it?”

“No,” Father Ernest said, very quietly. “It is not too much. It’s too little, if anything. They are the ones who don’t deserve this kind of devotion.”

John shook his head. “I failed them. The Bible says, honor thy father and--”

“It also says not to stir up anger in one’s children.”

“He did not-- he was trying to protect my siblings from…” he paused, and swallowed. He didn’t protest when Father Ernest’s hand reached to tilt up his chin. He looked back at him, their faces so close he almost felt the warmth of his skin. It didn’t occur to him that they were in the sacristy, that anyone could walk in, that it was inappropriate. In that very moment, it did not seem inappropriate at all; just comforting beyond words. “I am just tired,” he murmured. “I’m tired of being an outcast.”

“But you are not,” Father Ernest said, eyes fixed on his own - those brown eyes with specks of amber, ah, if only he could photograph them now. “You’re doing well here, no? Helping out the people here. Keeping everyone fed, what’s holier than that?”

“I… keeping them fed is not enough, I am to… to shepherd their souls…” John paused and swallowed, thinking back of the smiles the day the supplies arrived, Miguel thanking him, the pats on his shoulder. People smiled more often at him, now, and it was like a balm to wounds.

He managed a smile, and Father Ernest smiled back. John averted his gaze from his eyes and maybe looking down was not such a bright idea, because suddenly all he could focus on were his lips. They were so close, he thought, if only he leaned in just a little more, as Father Ernest was doing now… ah, there - the soft brush of lips on lips, and John’s eyes fluttered closed as he found himself unable to think of a single good reason to pull away. 

And then there was a knock on the door, which was in fact an excellent reason to pull away. 

They did, hastily, and John cleared his throat before he focused on the letter and calling for whoever was outside to come in, praying to God his face had not turned into something vaguely resembling a tomato as the sudden heat on his cheeks seemed to suggest. 

The door opened, and one of the nuns - Sister Lucy, was it? - was in the doorway.

“I’m sorry to interrupt - there is someone who wishes to confess herself. She says it is quite urgent - asked for Padre Ernesto specifically.”

“Ah, the Cordero widow,” Father Ernest said, sounding rather amused, and stood. “I’ll go right away. I suspect I know what she has to confe--”

“We do not discuss or divulge confessions,” John spoke up, cutting him off and holding back a grimace. Of course Father Ernest had already said too much in his presence before, and he rather wished he would scrub that particular mental image from his brain. He could have lived a very happy life without ever knowing how friendly a widow well in her sixties could get with handymen two or three decades younger.

And the way Father Ernest had briefly talked about it, it sounded like she was more interested in trying to entice a good-looking young priest to be next rather than actually repenting, which John found… somewhat aggravating. 

“Right, right,” Father Ernest was saying, waving a hand. “You know I jest. I’ll be back as soon as she’s done to keep working on that homily,” he added, grin just a little too wide, and walked out of the room while John was left trying to will himself into not turning red, again. He cleared his throat and picked up the pen again, glancing back at the homily and rubbing his lips with the back of his hand.

They still seemed to tingle from that light touch and ah, it was wrong, he knew. That was a gesture reserved for man and woman, for man and wife, not for… for… whatever they were. Somehow, it felt more intimate - more taboo - than anything else they had shared. 

“Um, Padre John?” Sister Lucy spoke up, causing him to recoil and look up from the homily again; he’d been so lost in thought, he’d assumed she had left. But there she was, and she was holding out… a letter? “This just arrived for you.”

Ah, that seal - the Archdiocese of Antequera. They did get his letter after all, John thought, feeling rather guilty; so long had gone by without an answer, he’d rather begun to hope it had become lost on the way. He certainly hoped he had not landed Father Ernest in any trouble. 

If he did, well, he really ought to answer immediately and set things right, tell them he’d been mistaken-- well... perhaps he’d say he’d been too quick to pass judgment, and that Father Ernest had shown marked improvement, proving himself a capable shepherd of souls. It would smooth things out, John thought, and took the envelope, feeling rather sheepish.

“Thank you, Sister,” he said, and she nodded, leaving the sacristy. As she shut the door behind herself, John sighed, opened the envelope, unfolded the letter, and began reading. He didn’t read very far, and sheepishness quickly turned to confusion, which grew and grew with each line as his gaze moved past the greeting and on to the meat of it.

With all due respect, we believe - as certainly you have by now realized - that you’re mistaken. Padre Joaquín is no novice, his seminary days far behind him. He was highly recommended for his strong leadership, a very important asset in such turbulent times, when faith is tested. Is there a possibility you met one of the novices instead? Language can be a barrier…

The letter went on to almost the bottom of the page, useless word and pleasantries, but John read none of it: they blurred into nothing as his eyes scanned the same lines, time and time again, trying to make sense of what he was reading. 

Padre Joaquín. John’s first thought was that there must have been a mistake, that the letter was not meant for him, but of course that couldn’t be it; it was addressed to him, Father John Johnson, in Santa Cecilia, from the Archdiocese of Antequera.

The wrong envelope, then. He mistakenly put this letter in the envelope addressed to me.

No… no, that was not it either: his name was there, too, in the upper left, as a greeting. John Johnson. How many other priests called John Johnson could possibly be in Oaxaca, sending a letter of complaint concerning a parish priest?

But that reply, it had… nothing to do with Father Ernest, nothing at all. John scanned the rest of the letter, reeling, hoping for a mention of him... but there was nothing. The late Father Edmund was mentioned, Brother Héctor was mentioned, the Mother Superior, John himself - but not Father Ernest. He was not named once: there was only that other name.

Padre Joaquín is no novice. He was highly recommended for his strong leadership.

I never met this man, John thought, and suddenly he felt cold. He let the letter fall on the table, heart suddenly beating so fast he could feel it thudding in his head. Something emerged in the back of his mind, a thought - barely formed, too ugly, too vile to contemplate. He chased it away before he fully grasped it but it was still there, lingering just beyond conscious thought.

His confirmed name, John thought desperately. Many priests changed their name upon taking the vows; perhaps that was it, Ernest was his given name and the letter referred to him with his confirmed one, or vice versa. That was it, it had to be it. It would explain everything, and yet…

Padre Joaquín is no novice, his seminary days far behind him. 

But Father Ernest was young, younger than John himself. He’d thought he was fresh out of the seminary, he must have been, he was too young. He’d thought of that only a few days earlier on the hill, as he looked at him sleep in the light of the rising sun, his forehead so smooth and expression so peaceful - that he was the very portrait of youth and its beauty. 

All things bright and beautiful. 

Or a temptation sent by the devil, he’d thought for a brief moment. 

God, he thought now, a cold hand seizing his throat. Oh God, oh Jesus Christ, please, no.

John shut his eyes and swallowed, trying to keep his breathing steady and calm down. He ought not to panic, he told himself, he had no reason to. There was an explanation, certainly, an innocent one. One that would not tear apart his world, one that would not make him wish he’d die from infection back in Easter. There had to be an explana--

“All right, done. That was nothing to write home abou-- Juan? Are you all right?”

John’s head snapped up as though someone had shouted in his ear and there was Father Ernest in the doorway. He looked confused and… and concerned. John let out a long breath and dared hope it was, after all, just a misunderstanding. He would feel foolish once it was explained, surely. He stood, refusing to acknowledge how fragile he suddenly felt, the coldness in the pit of his stomach, the gnawing doubt in the back of his mind that threatened to give way to horror if not chased away. 

When he spoke, he scarcely recognized his own voice. It sounded distant, and raspy, and very far away. “What is your name?”

The man before him blinked; the concern was still there, or so it seemed, but confusion grew. “Qué? Juan, are you feeling--”

“Tell me your name!” John snapped, his voice tight. He felt as though his sanity was held together with string and a prayer, and neither was helping much. The concern vanished into annoyance. 

“Ernesto. With an o at the end, for the record, which you keep forgetting--”

“Is that what your parents named you?”

“Uh, yes? I was rather young to choose mysel--”

“What is your confirmed name?”

The question seemed to hit him like a slap to the face, and he reared back, blinking fast, as though not comprehending what he’d just been asked. Then his gaze fell on the desk - on the letter, on the open envelope that very clearly wore the seal of the Archdiocese of Antequera - and suddenly his eyes went wide, his jaw slack. The confusion vanished, replaced by realization and obvious, white-faced terror. 

And John knew, the wall of denial he’d hastily tried to build up crashing down on him, pinning him down, making it hard to breathe. He gasped, stepping back, but hardly any air seemed to get in his lungs. It was as though something had grasped his chest and squeezed.

No. No, no, no, no, no.

"What was the name of your seminary?" John choked out. He almost stumbled, and as the room seemed to spin around him he saw… whoever that was instinctively stepping forward, holding out a hand as though to steady him. A wave of sudden, visceral revulsion made him cry out. 

“Don’t touch me!”

Too late, it is too late, oh God I have been defiled and it is too late.

“Tell me-- tell me the name of your seminary!”

“I…” the man he’d called Father Ernest until scarcely ten minutes earlier, the man he’d trusted with his immortal soul, seemed unable to come up with a reply. He stared in silence, skin ashen pale, while John brought a hand to his mouth.

“What…” he choked out. “What has become of Father Joaquín?”

A brief silence, and he looked away. John would learn only much later that Ernesto hadn’t known the name of the priest whose robes he’d donned until that moment. “... He’s dead. He was sent to replace the previous parish priest, but he never made it to Santa Cecilia.”

A shaky breath, and John found himself asking. “When… how…”

“A group of revolutionaries. He tried to give the last rites to two soldiers they were about to hang. It was enough for them to decide he was an enemy and leave him for dead, tied to the tree they hang from. By the time I got there, it was... late. Too late. I couldn’t help him.”

Horrifying as the notion was, there was a frail sliver of hope and John clung to it with all his might. Perhaps he was, after all, a young priest - trying to fill up the shoes of a mentor, to carry on his legacy. Maybe Father Joaquín had been to him what Father Joseph had been to John and grief works in odd ways, maybe… maybe…

“Was he your… your mentor, or… are you a novice… why did you take his place, how come the Archdiocese doesn’t know? Did you not report it-- he ought to have got a decent funeral, you… you…”

“John…”

“Are you a priest at all?” John forced out the question, dreading the answer but ah, he had to know, he needed to know, even if deep down he knew the answer, had seen it in those eyes, in that expression like that of a trapped animal. He still prayed for a yes, a nod, anything.

Please, tell me you are. I will believe you. Oh God, will believe anything you say. 

For several moments, Ernest stared - his expression suddenly blank, his eyes the only thing in his face that moved at all; John could almost imagine his brain working quickly behind them and it was that, the calculation, that made the answer plain once and for all. 

He was no priest. He was no novice. He’d never been a member of the clergy at all. 

As John’s knees threatened to give in, Ernest drew in a long breath and spoke quietly.

“If word of this comes out, I’m a dead man,” he said. His words barely registered.

“No.” John’s vision turned blurry, and he shook his head, shut his eyes. Tears fell down his cheeks, dripped down his chin. How could it be, how could he have been so blind? His unconventional way of holding Mass, the unhortodox behavior, his leniency on sin and the frankly awful Latin - it all made sense now. How could he not know?

“No.”

“Please, listen to me. I had--”

No. I have listened enough. I have listened too much. 

All those times he’d reassured him. All those nights beneath the same blanket. Every word he’d said, every absolution he’d uttered afterwards - a lie. Worthless. All he had done was place stain upon stain on his soul, drive him deeper and deeper into sin, and he’d pretended to absolve him with empty words he had no right to pronounce, with no power in Heaven to make them worth the breath wasted to utter them.

He was never absolved of the sin. Those absolutions that meant everything to him were nothing. How could he believe they meant anything, even for a moment? That he could sin and be absolved, that it could be so easy? He’d let himself be tricked, debased - defiled. He was no longer worthy of his collar. He could never be a holy man again. He could never go home. .

Horror gripping his throat, he found himself unable to speak for several moments. He could only tremble, and force out words. “You… you… you beast…!”

“No, listen - if this comes out I’m as good as dead, I--”

“What are you!”

Astonishingly, Ernest had the gall to scowl. “A man trying to save his neck, that’s what I am,” he snapped, and made a grab for the letter on the table. But this once, John was faster and he snatched it up first. The man glared at him across the desk; if not for the tears blurring his sight before he blinked them away, John would have seen a flash of something in his eyes. He would have seen murder in them. 

But he didn’t see and perhaps, in that moment, he wouldn’t have even cared. “Tell me what you are!” he hissed, furiously wiping his eyes. “You made a mockery of the holy Church! Of everyone in this parish, of my vows, you-- you vile demon, you--!”

“The Federal army is looking for me, you don’t understand, you stupid gringo!” Ernest hissed, clearly trying to keep his voice low in case anyone walked by the door of the sacristy. Somehow, the words hit him harder than a blow.

Stupid gringo. This is how he sees me. This is how he’s always seen me.

Something within John hurt, intensely enough to make him think it was about to shatter… and then it turned cold, dull. When he wiped his face this time, no more tears spilled out to wet it again. He just looked at that man, expressionless, silent.

“I deserted and ran. If the Federal army finds me, I’ll hang,” he was saying, his voice strained as the word ‘hang’ left his mouth. “And they won’t use me the kindness of making it a clean fall with a broken neck.”

“A suitable end for a criminal.” John’s voice rang out so cold, it seemed to stun that animal into silence. He stared at him, eyes wide, and shook his head. 

“No,” he replied, suddenly defensive. “I am not a criminal, I was just-- I was minding my own damn business, and then they just drafted me, put a rifle in my hand and made me a killer. You have no idea - you wouldn’t last a minute in a battle! You don’t know what I saw! The shit I had to do! I had to get away, whatever it took! I--”

“And you chose to insult the Almighty with this… this ridiculous pantomime!” John spat, and leaned over the desk, furious. “I have met deserters! I have heard their confessions, what they endured, why they fled - none of them dared do what you have done! Have you no shame? You could have asked for help, the parish would have protected you--”

"Oh, that would have worked out great!” Ernest spat back. “I’d have just strolled in Santa Cecilia, a complete stranger, and told everyone I was a soldier of the Federal army until three days earlier - what a great idea! For all I knew, all they’d have given me was the hangman’s noose, or sold me out to them. This was... it wasn't supposed to go on this long. I just needed some time hidden away, and… and then…”

“And then you found you enjoyed mocking God and His Church?”

“I was safe here! If anybody knows - if that letter is found - that would be my death warrant.” Ernest held out his hand as though to take the letter, desperation plain in his voice, and John stepped away, moving around the desk with a sound close to a snarl.

“Such insolence, believing your miserable life is worth more than the sanctity of the Church!”

“I did what I had to do, I… I had no choice--”

"No choice!” John almost screamed. He’d never felt so sickened, so furious, so ashamed, so hurt. He’d trusted him with his secret, with his soul, with his body - and it all had been the sick joke of a godless man to whom nothing was sacred. “How did you have no choice but to defile me! To corrupt me! I was pure, I’d kept myself celibate and you… you…”

No offense, he had said, but I think you’re going to stay a maricón regardless of where you are.

Ah. Of course - of course, now it made sense; he hadn’t made his move until John had expressed his intention to leave, and suddenly he’d been so keen to keep him from doing so, even resorting to indecent proposals with the pretense of trying to help him through his affliction.

What a master manipulator he’d been, faking concern for his safety when, in truth, he only wanted to keep him from leaving and possibly mentioning him by name to the wrong people. 

Like a man such as him could muster care for anyone other than himself.

The hangman’s knot is all he deserves, John thought, but the moment he tried to picture it happening, something within the coldness in his chest ached. And God knew, he hurt him enough already.  

“You ruined me,” he said, very quietly. “It seems fitting I should ruin you in return, but I shall not further sully my soul with your murder. You have three days.”

Ernest blinked, taken aback. “Three days?”

“Three days of my silence before I speak. A fair head start, I believe. If you’re not gone at the dawn of the fourth day, I will expose you,” John said and stepped towards the door.

“No-- wait! Give me that letter! John, listen to me, please--”

When a hand closed around his wrist, he was not surprised - only repulsed. He glared at him, seething, unable to feel the tiniest shred of sympathy for the obvious desperation on his face. He failed, in his horror, to recognize any of it as sorrow. 

“I will scream,” John warned, “and expose you immediately. What does it matter who has the letter? It is enough that I know.”

Ernest’s gaze darkened, but he did let him go, stepping back. John brushed his sleeve like it had touched something filthy. “Three days,” he repeated, and went to the door. He was in the doorway when that man spoke, his voice a growl befitting the debased animal he truly was.

“If you speak, so will I. I will tell them what you let me do to you. I will drag you down with me.”

Ah, there was plenty John could reply to him. He could reiterate just how vile he was, remind him that he had a standing he did not have and that, should it come to it, his word would hold the most weight. But he did not. 

If it came to it he’d confess everything, and throw himself at the mercy of the Holy Catholic Church. 

“Don’t you see it, you foolish man?” John said instead, turning to look at him. His very soul ached; was that scowling lowlife truly the same sleeping man whose face he’d likened to that of an angel only days earlier? Who’d pressed his mouth on his own barely half an hour ago, in that very same room? “You already have. You have dragged me down as low as you could get me, and I can never rise again,”  he said, and turned before he could see the tears filling up his eyes again as he closed the door behind him, the letter still clenched tightly in his hand. When he spoke again, it was to the empty corridor.

“I have nothing left to lose.”

***

Ernesto’s first instinct when the door closed, leaving him alone in the sacristy, was to throw it open, run after that goddamned gringo and rip that letter out of his hands, scream and threaten - grasp his neck and silence him, if need be - or maybe, just maybe, try to plead.

His second instinct was to throw the door open and run exactly in the opposite direction - get everything he had in a sack, make a run for the stables, get on a horse and run as far away as possible before John Johnson was able to utter his death sentence.

In the end, he did neither of those things. He stood there for a full minute, hearing nothing but his own pounding heart and the blood rushing in his ears, stunned by how quickly the ground had been ripped away from beneath him. How quickly John had put it together. How quickly he’d turned against him. It was terrifying, it was infuriating and, in an odd way, it was painful.

I had no choice. He didn’t even listen, why wouldn’t he listen? We harmed no one, we did nothing wrong.  I was only trying to be left in peace through a war I never wanted any part in. 

And war was exactly what he’d find outside Santa Cecilia, whichever direction he chose to flee; the corpse of Jesús Ibarra abandoned on the parish grounds had shown him that very clearly. And why should he leave? He had found refuge in that village, in that parish. Did the people of Santa Cecilia not love Padre Ernesto? Of course they did. 

And they loved him because he’d made it a better place than it was before. He’d made it his own, what right did that gringo have to chase him away? To threaten his life, threaten to destroy everything? No right, that was it. No right at all.

I was trying to survive. He came to my bed willingly. I did nothing wrong. 

Ernesto rubbed his face, pacing across the room, mouth dry and ears buzzing as he considered his limited options. The gringo’s self-righteousness, or maybe his desire to watch Ernesto squirm, had gained him three days if his word was to be believed. Three days to keep him from destroying everything . 

A lot could happen in that time. Plenty of unfortunate incidents could occur in three days. 

Something ached in his chest, gripped his throat, but Ernesto refused to acknowledge it. He’d killed before to save his life, and he could do it again. He would do it again, and John had no one to blame but himself. Ernesto ground his teeth, furious at that idiot for putting him in that position, for forcing his hand. It didn’t have to happen, he didn’t want to do it, but the gringo had made his choice and left Ernesto none. He couldn’t stand idly and do nothing as everything came crashing down on him. 

Todo modo, John had once said, quoting the founder of his order. Ernesto remembered thinking those were certainly words to live by. Words to die by. 

Whatever it takes.

***

As he walked in his room with a heavy heart and reached for his Bible, John had only wanted to pray. Open his Bible, read his father’s letter again - the passage clearly condemning sodomites to the fires of Hell - then pray for forgiveness, absolution, one more chance to set things right. 

But then his gaze had fallen on the camera, that small Brownie he had been so surprised to find tucked away in that corner of Mexico. The one he’d taken with him to photograph Santa Cecilia at dawn only days ago, and… and Ernest’s face, and he slept…

All things bright and beautiful, a mocking voice whispered in the back of his mind, so full of scorn - his father’s voice, so many years after he’d last heard it. All things wise and wonderful - but he’s neither wise or wonderful, is he? A temptation sent by the devil. You ought to have known all along, but you made a different call and it was the wrong one. 

“I trusted him,” John choked out in the empty room, shaking in every limb. His voice was weak as it had been the night he’d been cast out, as he pleaded like the child he was. “I trusted him.”

There’s no depravity a sodomite would not commit. Is that not what I told you? That is why you may never return to my household. How did you forget? How did you let an imposter fill your head with lies? How could you let him make you believe you were hurting no one? Your every act was an offense to God, and yet you returned to him time and time again!

“N-no, I--”

You craved it. You crave it still. 

“No!”

John acted out blindly, without thinking, barely choking back the cry that threatened to tear out of his lungs. The heavy Bible, a present from Father Joseph - son, his poor mentor had called him son despite everything, oh God if he could see him now - was swung in an arc and hit the camera, sending it to crash on the ground. John fell on his knees and brought the Bible down again, and again and again, until the thin aluminium bent, until the lens shattered. 

Panting, arms aching, he let the Bible drop on the floor, and only then realized he’d torn the cover off in his fury. His father’s letter, his rejection, fluttered on the floor next to it. 

Oh. Oh God, I am sorry. Father Joseph, I’m so sorry. Lord have mercy, Christ have mercy...

John opened his mouth, tried to utter a prayer, but his sight went blurry and no discernible words left his mouth as he finally, alone, allowed himself to break.

***

[Back]

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[remywrites5]

May I please have some spideypool banter? Love your writing so much!

Happy New Year! 

***

           Peter sat on top of a high building with his legs dangling over the edge. He had a clear view of Time’s Square without being in the thick of it. He knew there were a few discount Spider-mans in the crowd, posing to selfies with tourists who are out celebrating New Year’s Eve. He probably could have gone down and made some money, charging five bucks a pop to get a picture with him. But as a New Yorker he knew better than to be in Time’s Square on New Year’s.

           Still, he couldn’t be at home with his Aunt for the holiday. Chances were there would be at least some drunk drivers, maybe a few unruly drunks, or even some small crimes that Peter would be able to help with. Sitting at home with his Aunt watching Holiday Inn would just make him a ball of anxiety and guilt that he was shirking his duties as Spider-man. It didn’t mean he liked leaving his Aunt to ring in the New Year by herself but she’d understood he had responsibilities.

           Peter heard some grunting from behind him and turned to see the tip of a red mask pop up over the side of the building. A few moments later the rest of Deadpool appeared as he hoisted himself up, tumbling gracelessly over to side and ending up sprawled on his back looking up at the sky.

           Peter walked over and put himself in Wade’s field of vision. “Need a hand?”

           “Is that an invitation for some sweet jerking it action, baby?” Wade asked, his mask stretching as he grinned. “Because the answer is always yes. Full consent from good old DP for the rest of time. Even if your ass did end up sagging I would still tap it on the reg.”

           Peter shook his head. “Charming as usual, I see.”

           “I just scaled a building for you, Spidey, doesn’t that win me any brownie points?” Wade asked, sitting up and turning to face Peter. Peter figured lying on katanas couldn’t be comfortable even with them being sheathed.

           Peter huffed out a breath.  Wade was always flirting with him when they encountered each other. And while it was easy to pretend he wasn’t affected by it, the truth was Peter was often grateful that he could hide behind his mask. The last thing he needed was Wade knowing just how often he made Peter blush. “It would have meant more if you’d done so with actual brownies,” he quipped, crouching down by Wade but still resolutely on his guard. Even though Wade had never hurt him in the past or even attempted to hurt him, Peter knew the Merc was dangerous if he wanted to be.

           “Wait!” Wade said, rummaging through his pouches. “I think I’ve got a Twix bar in on of these.”

           Peter raised an eyebrow even though he knew Wade couldn’t see it. “Is it fun sized?”

           “Yeah, baby, just like you!”

           Peter couldn’t help smiling as Wade pushed the candy bar into his hands. “I’m not fun sized. You’re just massive.”

           “Oh, you noticed that, huh?” Wade asked, leaning in towards Peter. “I work out.”

           Peter tried to stifle his laughter but it came out anyway. “You’re ridiculous,” he said, wondering why he said it so fondly. Maybe Deadpool was growing on him. The Merc had taken up permanent residence almost six months ago in New York, causing havoc and showing up whenever Peter was on patrol. Peter had left the Merc webbed up to more than a few buildings even though he knew Wade could get out of it with his katanas. Wade had called it foreplay on more than one occasion, making Peter go bright red under his mask with the implications of it.

           Peter rolled his mask up to under his nose and took a bit of the Twix. “Are you a right Twix or left Twix person?” he asked as he chewed, not really caring about talking with his mouth full. It wasn’t like Deadpool would chastise him for his bad manners.

           “Left Twix all the way, baby.”

           Peter snorted. “Any particular reason?”

           Wade shrugged. “I mean a man has to take a stand somewhere, right?” He grabbed Peter by the front of his suit and hauled him forward until Peter was straddling his lap while Peter made an indignant sound at being manhandled. “Hmm, that’s better.”

           Peter finished his Twix and shoved the wrapped into one of Wade’s pouches. He was pretty sure his fingers brushed over some loose bullets, reminding him of how dangerous Wade really was. “I don’t think you’ve earned enough brownie points for this,” Peter managed to tease. He attempted to get up but Wade put his arms around Peter and locked him into place.

           “For once the Spider is caught in someone else’s web,” Wade purred. He leaned forward and slid his nose along Peter’s jawline, his breath hot against Peter’s exposed skin, making Peter shiver in response.

           “You gonna let me go?” Peter asked, putting his hands on Wade’s shoulders and getting ready to shove the Merc away. He wasn’t sure why he was hesitating.

           “Fuck baby boy, if the rest of you is as cute as your jaw and lips, I’m in real trouble,” Wade said, burying his face in Peter’s neck and nuzzling him affectionately. “You’ve already been giving me like permanent blue balls with all your teasing. I don’t think I can die of sexual frustration because – you know – super healing factor but it’s still not fun.”

           Peter gawked at him in surprise. “I haven’t been teasing you!” he said, feeling his face heat up in embarrassment. It felt like if anything it was normally the other way around. Although Peter could usually play it cool, Wade had a tendency to make Peter feel equal parts embarrassed and flattered.

           Wade giggled. “Oh baby you’re such a fucking tease, you don’t even know,” he said, sliding his mask up to his nose as well and licking up Peter’s neck.

           Peter made a face and wiped his neck clean. “Are you part Chihuahua or something?’

           “Yo Quiero Taco Bell!” Wade cried out before laughing. “Fuck now I want tacos. Maybe a Mexican Pizza or five. You ever try those cinnabon bites they’ve got there with the icing inside? It’s like they jizz in your mouth except it’s waaaaay better tasting. Although I bet you taste amazing. Bet you taste like sugar, baby boy.”

           Peter felt his blush deeper. “Can’t you behave for like one minute?”

           Wade shrugged. “Where’s the fun in that?”

           Peter sighed. “So is the plan to just sit here until midnight then?”

           Wade grinned. “Wanna kiss me at midnight, Spidey? Gotta start the New Year off right!”

           Peter cocked his head to the side. “I think that would be considered more wrong than right, Wade.”

           Wade dropped his hands immediately, releasing Peter from his impressive grip. The smile was gone from his face. “Ah, I get it,” he said softly. “Not that I blame you, Spider-babe. I wouldn’t want to mac on all of this either.”

           Peter felt bad and not just because he missed the warmth of Wade’s arms encircling him, keeping him toasty against the chilly December night air. He hadn’t meant to hurt Deadpool’s feelings. Usually it was harder to get a read on the Merc with his mask on but with it rolled up Peter could at least see his mouth and how it was nearly pouting, his lower lip protruding just a bit.

           “I don’t know what kind of a whore you think I am,” Peter said, joking lightly. “Kissing on the first not-even-remotely-a-date. What do you take me for? Some kind of a floosy? I don’t put out for Twix bars. Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups, maybe, but not a Twix. Besides, I’m right Twix as my ride or die anyway so this would never work.”

           Peter took it as a personal triumph that Wade was smiling again. “I could be persuaded to go right Twix.”

           “What happened to taking a stand?”

           “Does it look like I’m standing to you?” Wade shot back, putting his hands lightly on Peter’s hips. Not trapping him but holding him gently. Even through the gloves Peter could feel Wade radiating heat. It made Peter shiver again.

           Peter chuckled. “Fine, you can kiss me at midnight but no tongues. I know you’re Canadian and your lot is into the French but you’re in America now buster.”

           Wade wined and shifted under Peter slightly. “But Spidey, I wanna put my tongue in your mouth. How can you disregard my heritage like that? I had no idea you were so racist!”

           Peter shrugged. “Take it or leave it, Wade.”

           The countdown started below them and they had a perfect view of the ball dropping slowly. “Fine, fine, I’ll take it!” Wade said quickly.

           They got down to three and Peter licked his lips in anticipation. On the one he leaned forward and pressed his lips against Wade’s in a soft, chaste kiss. Wade’s tongue flicked against the opening of Peter’s lips and he let out a whimper when Peter refused him entrance into his mouth. He should have known Wade would try and break the rules, after all he was basically known for it. His hands had slid from innocently on Peter’s hips to full on gripping his ass.

           After a moment, Peter pulled back, taking Wade’s hands and putting them back on his hips. “Easy there, cowboy.”

           “Sorry baby, I couldn’t resist,” Wade said, grinning mischievously. “You’ve got the greatest ass since Captain America. What if I had called myself Captain Canada? Do you think I would have a museum exhibit too? I’d definitely have my own flavor of maple syrup.”

           “That would have been lame.”

           “There you go being racist again, baby,” Wade said, shaking his head disapprovingly. “We’ve really gotta get you in some meetings so you can get past your hate of my home country, especially if you’re going to date me.”

           Peter let out a startled noise. “Who says I’m going to date you?”

           Wade laughed. “Immersion therapy,” he said, gently sliding his hands up and down Peter’s thighs. “Come on baby, I’ll be so good to you. And you know they say how you spend your New Years is how you’ll spend your whole year. So that means you’ll be spending it with me.”

           Peter huffed and crossed his arms over his chest. “Is that so?”

           “Yeah baby boy,” Wade said, nodding emphatically. “It’s like the wishbone on Thanksgiving except Thanksgiving is in October you uncultured American idiots.”

           “Now who’s being racist?” Peter teased, biting his bottom lip to keep from laughing.

           “Takes one to know one, Spidey.”

           Peter groaned. “If I spend my year with you I’m pretty sure I’ll go out of my fucking mind.”

           “I’ve already lost mine, baby. Oooh twinsies!”

           Peter leaned forward so he was whispering in Wade’s ear. “I’m not into twincest.”

           Wade moaned. “Those blue balls are going to come back with a vengeance if you keep doing that, baby boy. Like Keanu in John Wick 2…or 3.”

           Peter got Wade’s earlobe between his lips and nibbled on it gently. He surprised even himself with the intimate gesture. He had no idea what had gotten into him but he liked it. He liked having such an effect on Wade. Wade was all hard muscles and dangerous but Peter was fairly certain her could turn Wade into a puddle of goo if he wanted. “You know, we’ve got about fifty-five minutes until it’s New Year’s in Central time. We should probably kiss then too just to make sure we ring in the New Year right. Then an hour after that is Mountain Time and then an hour after that is Pacific time.”

           Wade smirked. “We gonna kiss every hour on the hour?” he asked in amusement. “What will we do in between?”

           Peter shrugged. “Cuddle?” He took his mask off and let Wade see his full face. He figured if he was going to do this he might as well go all in. Wade gasped for a moment and then ripped his own mask off. They stared at each other for a moment, seeing each other with their own eyes for the first time. Peter was struck by just how warm Wade’s eyes were. He took a moment to study the mottled texture of Wade’s skin, reaching out and brushing his fingertips over it lightly.

           “Fuck,” Wade said, his breath shaky. “Spidey, you’re a babe! And I mean that almost literally. How fucking old are you?”

           Peter rolled his eyes. “I’m twenty-one, you asshole.”

           “You still wanna do this, Spidey? Now that you’ve gotten the full picture that is my fucked up face?”

           Peter nodded. “Do you?”

           “Do you really have to ask that, baby boy?”

           “My name’s actually Peter,” he said, holding out his hand. He figured he might as well go for broke as long as he was being completely reckless.

           “Mm, I like it. Suits you,” Wade hummed, shaking Peter’s hand. “Gonna get it tattoed on my ass or at least I would but healing factor means no tats. At that point might as well just use the sticker ones. Get a butterfly or a unicorn or some kind of Lisa Frank type shit.”

           “Please don’t get my name tattooed on you, Wade,” Peter said with a deep sigh.

            “You’re right, you should get my name tattooed on your ass. Property of Wade Wilson. Sounds like a tramp stamp,” he said, wigging his eyebrows playfully.

           “Never in a million years,” Peter said, laughing softly. “And I already told you I’m not a tramp.”

           “Not yet you’re not,” Wade said, giving Peter a wink. “But give me until midnight Hawaii time and I bet I’ll have you sinning.”

           Peter leaned forward and kissed Wade softly on the lips. “There better be breakfast involved. “

           “In the actual act or afterwards?” Wade asked, nipping gently at Peter’s lower lips. “Because I would happily cover you in syrup and lick you clean”

           “Afterwards,” Peter said decisively, ignoring the way heat was pooling in his groin at the thought of Wade licking him all over. “But only if we do proper bacon and not that Canadian shit.”

           Wade tsked and shook his head. “Please at least tell me you like Celine Dion, she’s a fucking treasure.”

           Peter made a face. “Does anyone like Celine Dion?” he challenged with a raised eyebrow.

           “The Bare Naked Ladies?”

           “I only know that one song.”

           “Ugh, you’re killing me, Petey!”

           Peter laughed. “That’s actually impossible.”

           “That’s it!” Wade said, capturing Peter’s lips and kissing him hard. “Tonight will be a marathon fuckfest sountracked by the Bare Naked Ladies. And when you cum you better scream out Oh Canada!”

           Peter laughed harder and got to his feet. “I wouldn’t get your hopes up,” he said, holding his hand out to Wade. Wade took it and Peter lifted him to his feet.

           “Too late,” Wade said, kissing Peter again. “Happy New Year, Peter.”

           “Happy New Year, Wade.”

[bluejaybabbles-archive]

IS IT TOO GAY OF ME TO ASK FOR ALL THREE MIDWEST MONSTERS WIP CHARACTESR FOR THE SOFT MEME... i just love them DEARLY

IT IS EXACTLY THE RIGHT AMOUNT  OF GAY TO ASK FOR ALL THREE OF THEM MAX 

Putting this under a cut bc it got a bit lengthy!

Let’s go in alphabetical order! First up, Antonia Figueroa!

what they smell like

I haven’t thought about this much, but definitely something soft...like fresh laundry, or something floral! She tries to seem aloof and standoffish, but she’s really just. So soft, if you gain her trust, so I think her scent would reflect that! 

what their favorite smells in the world are

Vanilla!! She has far too many vanilla candles. She also loves the smell of the ocean breeze. The last time she went to Puerto Rico, she used her magic to bottle the ocean breeze, and when she’s stressed, she opens the bottle and just sits in the scent for a while.

what pajamas they wear/what they wear to sleep in

Big t-shirts! She has a collection of graphic tees just for sleeping in. A lot of them have the Pepsi logo on them ajsdbsdufh and some of them are just like. You know those tacky shirts with the animals printed on them?? These ones:

[id: a grey t-shirt with images of a bald eagle, a mountain lion, a wolf, and a moose on it.]

Yeah.

my favorite ship (if applicable) and a cute hc about them

okay this one’s gonna be a little hard bc Toni, Javi, and Avery are all in a polyamorous triad so OBVIOUSLY I ship them all together but also! I definitely ship Antonia with Triss, a monster hunter from the Summer Court!! I can’t decide if it’s a casual thing or if Antonia is just also in a serious relationship with Triss, but Triss is over at Toni’s place all the time. Triss takes a big interest in Toni’s witchcraft and asks lots of questions, and she definitely curls up on her couch and reads spell books while Toni’s mixing potions or smth!

my favorite friendship (if applicable) and a cute hc about them

Antonia and Javi!! Like yeah they’re partners but a) they don’t start off as partners, and b) YOU SHOULD BE FRIENDS WITH YOUR PARTNERS!! They’re the kind of friends that bounce snarky fake-insults off each other and then just end up cuddling on the floor and playing with each other’s hair. They’d also definitely bond over their experiences in being Puerto Rican out in the Land of Corn and Ghosts and Corn Ghosts

a song that reminds me of them

Wild Roses by Of Monsters and Men! Specifically this part Gets Me:

Down by the creek, I couldn’t sleep, so I followed a feelin’

Sounds like the vines, they are breathing

(Oh it sounds like, it sounds like, it sounds like, it sounds, oh)

And I’ve seen the way the seasons change when I just give it time

But I feel out of my mind all the time

In the night I am wild-eyed, and you got me now

what animal i think they would be if they were an animal

She would ABSOLUTELY be a cat. 100% a grumpy cat who reveals her True Soft Nature around maybe one or two people. She says “mother I crave violence” but what she really craves is a good snuggle session

what position they sleep in

She starts off on her back, but she’s a restless sleeper, so she usually ends up on her side by the end of the night! She definitely starfishes, though, which becomes a little bit of a problem when she, Javi, and Avery start sleeping in the same bed aifhsidgh

their favorite drink

PEPSI!! She’s specifically a big fan of wild cherry pepsi, but regular pepsi also works. At any given time she’s probably wearing some sort of pepsi memorabilia. 

a gift i would give them if i could

Spell ingredients! Dried plants from my yard! A ticket to PR! also this:

[id: a white shirt with the word Pepsi across the chest in blue. Beneath the word Pepsi is the Pepsi logo, a red, white, and blue circle. The shirt also has several Pepsi logos down the sleeves.]

Next up we have Avery!

what they smell like

Avery smells earthy and like. Fresh?? Crisp?? At the same time?? Kind of like a winter morning in the woods! Y’know that smell of “things are still alive here, the cold is just keeping them dormant”? That!!

what their favorite smells in the world are

His senses were enhanced during his time in the Court of the Moon, so he has some OPINIONS about smells ajfhsdiufhud that said! He LOVES fruity smells, specifically citrus scents! He’s also a big fan of the smell of fresh baked goods, whether that be bread or cookies or brownies!

what pajamas they wear/what they wear to sleep in

So Avery sleeps nude and keeps clothes next to the bed so he can put them on really quick if he needs to, HOWEVER! Javi eventually compiles a collection of lounge wear for him! (”Come on, you can’t just be in going-out clothes and armor all the time! Isn’t that uncomfortable?” “If I get uncomfortable I just get naked.” “I’m going out and buying you clothes right now.”) It’s honestly wild to see someone who wears mostly blacks and greys standing around his house in baby blue pajama pants with raccoons on them, or in a sheer green sleep shirt that says “Sunday is for snuggling”

my favorite ship (if applicable) and a cute hc about them

Okay so here I’m gonna focus on him and Antonia because holy WOW they’re so sweet, like!! Antonia feels like she can be herself around him, which is so rare. She’s his main supplier for spells and things since she knows the way he works, but also he says he goes to her because she “casts her spells/brews her potions with love” and that “makes them all the more effective.” He definitely comes to her place if a hunt goes wrong and she does the whole “patches you up while affectionately calling you an idiot” thing

my favorite friendship (if applicable) and a cute hc about them

Avery and Triss!! Triss is the first person Avery really opened up to after being released from the Court of the Moon. Even though the Celestial Courts are...different from the others, he felt that another monster hunter would be the one to understand him most. She helps him open up to more people, and shows him the beauty of the world. I imagine she gathers bouquets of wildflowers and “weeds” and brings them to him sometimes!!

a song that reminds me of them

Some Kind of Disaster by All Time Low! Especially these parts:

I woke up from a never-ending dream

I shut my eyes at 17

I lost every moment in between

I felt the sun rise up and swallow me, yeah

and

I crashed down from a high that felt so real

I never knew how much it would hurt to feel

You gotta hurt sometimes to learn to heal

You gotta get back up and learn to deal, yeah

AND

And it’s all my fault that I’m still the one you want

So what are you after?

Some kind of disaster (Some kind of disaster)

Fuck I gotta. I gotta go listen to this song now. I’m having Feelings

what animal i think they would be if they were an animal

Y’know, I was gonna be tacky and say a wolf, but now that I’m thinking about it...he’d be a coyote. Adaptable, can be a loner or in a pack, tend to be crepuscular when around humans, some people are very adamant about how they should be shot on sight.....

what position they sleep in

If he’s sleeping alone, he’ll sleep on his side, but if he’s sleeping with other people, he sleeps on his back so they can curl up on his chest!

their favorite drink

Water. Like, actually, he really loves ice water. Sometimes he’ll get frisky and drink *gasp* flavored water!

a gift i would give them if i could

A weighted blanket! Like, I know you have to be able to jump right up and get to work if duty calls or whatever, but can you please get one night of deep sleep?? And a hug. Someone hug this man

Last but CERTAINLY not least, Javi Justiniano! 

what they smell like

Fresh rain on dirt, crushed rosemary, and fresh cut wood! 

what their favorite smells in the world are

They absolutely ADORE the smell of peppermint! They’re also a big fan of pumpkin spice candles. It really is a shame they love seasonal scents so much sdifuhdiu I imagine they try to stock up as much as they can to last them through the year

what pajamas they wear/what they wear to sleep in

Okay so Javi is EXTREMELY tacky and will wear like. A sheer nightgown and silly patterned pants as pajamas. So a combination like this:

[id: a pale person with long, dark hair wearing a sheer and lacy white nightgown]

[id: a pair of black pajama pants with a red waistband and a red pocket. The pants are decorated with images of various red lobsters and the words “Pinch Me...I’m Dreaming”]

If anyone asks them about it they just shrug and say “I’m nonbinary, it’s allowed”

my favorite ship (if applicable) and a cute hc about them

Here, I’m gonna talk about Javi and Avery because Holy Shit I Love Them. Javi is EXTREMELY chaotic and Avery rolls his eyes about it but secretly adores everything about them. Like. Javi canonically drunk calls Avery and asks him to carry them to bed because they don’t think they can make it up the stairs and Avery actually does it. And when Avery’s about to leave, Javi asks him to stay until they fall asleep, and he stays until morning, and hold on I gotta sit down--

my favorite friendship (if applicable) and a cute hc about them

So I’ve already talked about how Javi and Toni’s friendship is AMAZING but I wanna give a shout out to Javi’s as of yet unnamed roommates! Like, they have to deal with the random monsters that Javi attracts and at this point they’re pretty unfazed by them. They walk into the kitchen and see a weird floating eyeball with wings or some shit and Javi’s like “I’m sorry it was there when I woke up” and they go “It happens. Does it like peaches bc ours are about to go bad” 

a song that reminds me of them

3am by Halsey! Specifically this part:

My self-preservation and all of my reservations

Are sittin’ and contemplating what to do with me, do with me

Think I took it way too far

And I’m stumblin’ drunk, getting in a car

My insecurities are hurtin’ me

Someone please come and flirt with me

I really need a mirror that’ll come along and tell me that I’m fine

I do it every time

I keep on hanging on the line, ignoring every warning sign

Come on and make me feel alright again

Baby. Has some abandonment issues. It’s probably fine.

what animal i think they would be if they were an animal

DEFINITELY a dog. Like, a big, sweet, clingy dog whose adoption profile labels them as “Thinks they’re a lap dog, so they need to be taught not to fall asleep on top of you. Unless that’s something you want!” 

what position they sleep in

On their tummy or their side! They don’t like going to sleep alone, so they have a couple people-sized stuffed animals to snuggle in bed. When Antonia, Javi, and Avery are all asleep in the same bed, Javi’s in the middle, curled up on Avery’s chest, and Toni is spooning Javi. It’s so good

their favorite drink

An iced mocha with peppermint syrup and LOTS of whipped cream! Most drinks are honestly just a vessel for whipped cream for them

a gift i would give them if i could

A big house with a nice backyard, and also a big dog to snuggle when they have to go to sleep alone! I’m totally not projecting! 

THANK YOU AGAIN MAX, this was a lot of fun and I’m even more excited to write about these characters now!! 

[terror-that-flaps-in-the-evening]

Brownies and Bake Sales

“That’s a hard no from us. I mean, who buys magazines anymore, Stacy,” Drake grabbed onto Launchpad’s elbow when he saw his husband scooting away. He couldn’t have him running out of the meeting like he had the previous week.

“Well, Mr. Mallard-McQuack, I personally find them very enjoyable.” Stacy, the mother of that obnoxious boy in Gosalyn’s class… What was his name again? Jay? Joey? Jake? “And for your information, last time we hosted this fundraiser, Zach sold more than everyone else in the class combined.” Ah, yes, Zach. Drake made sure to erase any memory of the little terror’s name from his brain. Not worth the space.

“Well, if we sold something that was less, well, I’m just going to be blunt with you, if we sold something that wasn’t so dumb, maybe the kids wouldn’t still be sitting in broken desks,Stacy” Drake looked up at his husband, who seemed to have found a very interesting stain on his shirt, which was taking up all of his attention. Drake needed to make sure to take it to the dry cleaner’s before next meeting - the other moms were like hawks! They’d notice in a heartbeat! A swift elbow to Launchpad’s side brought him back to the conversation, “Isn’t that right, Sweetie?”

“Uhhh yeah! I vote we do something like whatever Drake said,” Launchpad threw his hand in the air, much to Drake’s mortification. He fought the urge to snap at Launchpad that this was not at all how they’d practiced, and ohhh boy had they practiced. These meetings were like a war - they were more dangerous than any night out on patrol. He’d had to train Launchpad on what to say, how to say it, when to say it, and most importantly of all - what was okay to eat.

“This isn’t a place for harsh words, Drake,” one of the other moms, Karen, spoke up, instantly dragging an eye roll from Drake. What? He couldn’t help it - they deserved to hear a harsh dose of reality every once in a while. Every once in a while being once a week.

“Well, I’m just saying that we need to be selling something that people are buying. Door to door magazine salesman is a job for a forty-year-old creep. Cookies, popcorn, candy bars, come on people, we have to get our heads in the game!” Drake glanced around the room at the various people in front of him. He and Launchpad were the only dads in the room. The spartanly decorated room, furnished only by one long table and a bunch of miscellaneous slightly broken chairs that were no longer suited for classroom usage, was filled with a variety of mothers - none of whom were fans of Drake Mallard-McQuack.

For whatever reason, they loved Launchpad. They were always asking him if Gosalyn wanted to come over for a playdate if he wanted to organize a carpool with them, if he had anything to add to their newsletter. Blasphemy! Launchpad didn’t even want to be a part of the PTA!

Drake looked around the room, which was full of faces just staring back at him after his outburst. There was Stacy, the idiot chicken who thought that magazine sales were a good way to get his daughter a good education. The talentless parrot who always tried to claim her very obviously store-bought cookies were homemade was Linda. One of the more annoying members of the group was Lisa, who never missed a chance to boast about how her kids were the best. She also had the nerve to say that she made the best casseroles. Joke was on her, because both her kids and her casserole were garbage! Lastly, there was Binkie Muddlefoot… Drake was acutely aware of just how annoyingly nice that Binkie Muddlefoot could be, though she did make some divine pastries.

“Now now, Drake, that wasn’t very nice!” Speak of the devil, and he shall arrive, or, rather, think of Binkie Muddlefoot, and she’ll start babbling. Drake laid back in his seat, propping his feet up on the flimsy table that lay in front of them.

“Being nice isn’t going to get us a bigger budget,” Drake kept his voice smooth, yanking Launchpad’s seat back to its original position when he realized that his husband had been scooting away again. Why was that how every meeting ended up going?

“We should do a bake sale then,” Linda had the nerve to suggest. How dare she suggest an event she’d obviously not be able to contribute to…

“Yeah, right, Linda, like people would pay for the cookies you already paid for,” Drake yanked Launchpad’s chair back to him again. What did that man not understand about the absolute, severe necessity of Drake’s attitude? If he didn’t stand up to the moms, the whole school would be bankrupt!

“As if you can do better,” Lisa finally spoke up, “Now just the other day Gosalyn was telling a story about you burning her birthday cake. I on the other hand, could supply some perfect eateries to this hypothetical bake sale.”

“Launchpad bakes better,” Drake practically shouted, pointing vigorously at his husband, who had scooted ever so slightly away again.

“I’m---” Drake wasted not a second in clapping a hand over his husband’s mouth. When Launchpad started getting nervous, he started introducing himself to people who already knew him.

“So we’re having a bake sale? Oh goody!” Binkie Muddlefoot’s voice created a sensation in Drake that just made him want to break something. He gritted his teeth, resisted the urge to snap at the lady that he had to see every single gosh darned day…

“We are not having a bake sale!” Drake snapped at his neighbor. “A bake sale requires people showing up. We are the ONLY people who show up to this school!” Drake had to lean to the side as far as he could to yank Launchpad’s chair back this time - he very nearly made it to the door, where he’d no doubt make his escape.

“Well then what do you suggest,” Stacy chimed back in, not even looking up from the polish she was chipping off her nails, “Because I still say we should do magazines. Zach is a master salesman, after all.”

“Well, he only won because he cheated,” Lisa mumbled under her breath, “Otherwise, Lindsay would have beat him by a landslide.”

“We didn’t cheat, we just strategically hit your neighborhood first,” Stacy snipped back, flicking a fragment of nail polish deliberately in Lisa’s direction.

“You’re a cheater and a fraud, and you know it,” Lisa was very nearly at her breaking point - a point Drake did not need to see again.

“ENOUGH!” He yelled, drawing all eyes back to where they should be - on him. “Why don’t we just do the chocolate bar boxes? Launchpad buys at least an entire box every time they come to our door. No matter how many times I tell him we have enough.”

“Aww, and Tank always buys so so many of Honker’s chocolates from him when we do that one! I vote chocolates! Very sweet for our sweet little--” Binkie stopped, eyes wide open as Drake began speaking directly over her.

“Yea, yea, you agree, thanks Binkie, moving on, chocolates it is?” He stage whispered, “This is the part where you raise your hand, LP,” but when he looked to his left, he realized that he’d severely slacked in his duty of wrangling his husband - he was gone. Drake sighed and said, “Vote. Now.”

Stacy crossed her arms and harrumphed at Drake, muttering something about magazines being better for the mind than chocolate bars. Everyone else, surprisingly, raised their hands, albeit slightly reluctantly.

“Wonderful. As treasurer,” Drake always made sure to put some emphasis on his illustrious title, “I’ll get to ordering those tonight. Remember to send out the newsletter this time, Linda. We can’t have another mishap like last time.” Drake also never missed a chance to point out that, honestly, Linda was a terrible secretary.

The worst of them all though, was yet again, Stacy, who immediately piped up, “Well, Mr. Mallard-McQuack, as residing president of this Parent-Teachers Association, I do believe I should be giving the orders. I have half a mind to order you to get magazine brochures instead!”

“Yeah, well you only have half a mind to begin with,” Drake retorted, deliberately writing on his notepad Remember to order chocolate boxes as large as he could manage.

“Kind words breed kind thoughts,” Binkie said, all of the sudden sitting in Launchpad’s vacated seat, pulling up directly to where Drake had been trying to keep his husband. “And I think we all need to speak a few more kind words. Don’t you ladies? And Drake. I don’t mean to discriminate, dear.”

“It won’t be my fault when I snap,” Drake nearly went through his whole typical reaction of clasping a hand over his mouth and trying to shove the words back in, inevitably failing, but the hell to it. They deserved to hear how much he despised every single second he spent in their presence.

“On to the last order of business then,” Stacy said, staring directly at Drake as she added on, “Which I am in charge of as president.”

“Oh, whatever shall I do, I’m being looked at meanly,” Drake’s voice was laden with sarcasm. He waved his hands in front of his face as if he were trying to fend off a swarm of gnats. Drake might be a parent, but he never claimed to be a real adult.

“I’m living in a world of idiots,” Drake heard muttered from across the room, snapping his attention in the direction of Lisa, who, he had to be honest, had no right to be saying anything about anyone else’s intelligence.

“Move on already,” Drake groaned. He had to be a part of this organization, because he had to be a part of Gosalyn’s school. How else would he ensure his pumpkin got the best education she could? He didn’t want to waste a single second longer with these casserole addicts when he could be spending it with his husband and daughter!

“Stop bitching, already,” Linda snapped right back at him. “Go on darling,” she patted Stacy’s arm gently and shot her that sickly sweet smile she was so good at.

“Last order of business,” Stacy over-pronounced her words as per usual, speaking with the volume that one would use for a full auditorium, “We need to decide whether Launchpad’s brownie recipe gets added to the newsletter or whether Linda’s blondie recipe gets added.” Stacy gave her henchman Linda a little smile before opening her arms to the group and saying, “No discussion! A simple vote is all.” She jabbed her finger in Drake’s direction as if he were some problematic force in this room.

“Launchpad at least makes---”

“NO Discussion, Mr. Mallard-McQuack!” Stacy shouted over him, deafening the room with her annoyingly high pitched voice. “All for Linda’s recipe?” She raised her hand in the air, holding it in solidarity with Linda, the only other one to vote for her own recipe. Stacy still made a huge show of adding two tally marks by Linda’s name. “And those for Launchpad,” her words were spoken with a roll of her eyes that made Drake just want to jump across the table and--- He took a deep breath. Be civil, Drake, he told himself and took another deep breath.

Of course the second Launchpad’s name was out of her mouth, his hand shot up in the air, along with the hands of Binkie and Lisa. Lisa made it very clear to Drake that this was not a favor to him. “Launchpad is a friend. You’re the enemy,” she whispered in Drake’s direction, sending a slight shiver down his spine. A war room - just like he’d told Launchpad during their practice sessions.

“Very well. We’ll add Launchpad’s recipe. You all are dismissed, I’ll see you again next week, darlings,” Stacy said, jotting a few more things down as the rest of the group filed out the door. Drake walked as fast as he could, trying to outwalk Binkie. She just had such a height advantage on him though…

“And then I watered the flowers again, because I figured the poor dears must be parched with this heat wave! And then…” Drake was practically running to avoid the onslaught of superfluous information that was constantly pouring out of Binkie’s mouth. When they finally made it to Drake and Launchpad’s car, Drake dove in without a word to his neighbor.

“Ugh, they always get so unnecessarily heated at those things, am I right?” Drake said to Launchpad, with a smile on his face.

Launchpad just stared back at him, which Drake took as an affirmation that yes, everyone but himself was an absolute whacko at those meetings. Drake Mallard-McQuack, however, was a star at being a PTA mom, and he wasn’t ashamed of it one little bit.

[solei28]

Coffee, Pie, You- Chapter 2

James found himself at Curious Delights every night it was open. He was there so often, that the team began questioning him. He didn’t tell them, however. It was the one place he could go and have peace of mind. He enjoyed talking to you and he loved your food.

Through your conversations, he found out you’ve been in the kitchen since you were 11. It was your first passion in life. You found cooking and baking to be therapeutic and had turned to it in times hardship. Once, you realized how much you liked it and how happy it made you when others enjoyed what you made, you knew you wanted to share it with the world.

James found it easy to talk to you about what it was like growing up in the ’40s. He told you about the shenanigans him and Steve would get into. He loved making you laugh with his anecdotes. He was careful not to bring up the darker parts of his life. He enjoyed his time with you too much and didn’t want to risk scaring you off.

James was well aware that you knew about the darker parts, but he didn’t want to either confirm or elaborate on them. He was extremely grateful that you didn’t pry. That was probably made it so easy to talk to you. You let him open up at his own pace. Every night he spent with you, he grew fonder. He still didn’t know how to ask you out on a real date, though.

“So, Y/N, what do you do on your days off?” James asked taking a bite out of BLT you made him. “Oh, man, this is really good,” he added.

“It’s a little hard to mess up a BLT,” you chuckled. “I don’t really have off. I spend Mondays and Tuesdays painting. I take commission requests during the day on Sunday. Wednesdays I spend baking and getting ready for opening shop.”

“You paint? What do you paint?” James was intrigued.

“Mostly nature pieces like landscapes and seascape. I do occasionally get requests for still lifes. Those are harder to do, but I relish the challenge,” you explained.

He hummed. “So, you have a competitive side?”

“To an extent. It depends on what I’m being challenged to do. Need a refill?” You pointed to his cup.

He handed it to you. “Please?”

“What about you, Buchanan? Do you have any hobbies?” You asked handing him the coffee.

James thought about it while he chewed. “I read a lot if that counts.”

“Reading is good, but maybe you should try your hand at something. Is there anything you’re good at or always wanted to try?” You were now enjoying a double fudge brownie. You broke a piece off and offered it.

James took it and popped into his mouth. “Ok, I’m going to get fat if you keep feeding me these delicious treats.” His heart quickened when you laughed. “I don’t think there’s anything I’ve wanted to try. I am pretty good with my hands, though. I can build and repair things.” He shrugged.

You raised an eyebrow at him. “Really? Because I have a few things at home that need repairing.”

James looked at you inquisitively. Were you inviting him over? “What needs repairing?” he asked trying not to sound too eager.

“A few bookshelves, some kitchen cabinets, and an end table,” you nonchalantly listed off.

He smirked. “I’m sure I can fix them. Just tell me when.”

You put a finger on your chin and thought about it. “It would have to be on a Wednesday. Just not sure which one. I’ll let you know!”

James studied the way genuinely thought about when would be a good day for him to come over for repairs. He also felt butterflies in his stomach at the thought of going to your house. Going to your house would allow him to get to know a more intimate side of you. Not in the, hey let’s get naked sort of way, although he wouldn’t mind at all, you are very beautiful and attractive. In a, so you like to eat with a vase of flowers on your table and have a corner full of nick- nacks you’ve collected over the years way.

You were thinking about the mess in your house and how you must absolutely clean it before he was anywhere near it. Your house was full of art supplies in every corner. If you got any more, you were sure you could open your own craft store and compete with Michaels. You were excited by the thought of having him over. Maybe, you’ll put together a special dinner together for that night…

A buzzing sound snapped out of your thoughts. James phone was going off in his pocket. He winced as he took it out and looked to see who was calling. “Excuse me. I gotta take this,” he said apologetically.

You nodded at him and watched him walk off to the side. He had on a leather jacket and dark blue jeans with black boots. The jeans were tight on his thighs and your mind may have slipped to what it would feel like to sit on them. He was truly a specimen and it made you gitty at the amount of time you have spent with him over the past few weeks.

He pushed the phone back into his pocket and came back over to you. He looked upset and you were worried what the call was about.

“Is everything alright, Buchanan?”

James let out an exasperated breath. “Something came up. I have to go. I’m sorry, Y/N. I wasn’t planning to leave just yet.”

You smiled at him sweetly. “There’s nothing to be sorry about. Duty calls.” You ducked down and grabbed a double fudge brownie. “Here, take this for the road.”

“You’re really trying to get me fat, huh?” James chuckled as he took the brownie.

“That’s my goal,” you said and winked at him.

He shook his head laughing. “How much do I owe-”

You put your hand up. “Don’t worry about it. I’ll start a tab for ya. You can take care of it on your next visit.”

He smiled from ear to ear and grabbed your hand. He kissed it ever so gently and you had to stop yourself from shivering. “I’ll see you soon, Y/N. Have a good night.”

“Good night, Buchanan. Stay safe out there.”

James grabbed a cab on the corner and headed for the tower. Steve had called him about some intel they got about a possible HYDRA operation. Every time they thought they had ended them for good, HYDRA would resurface not long after. He wanted to put an end to them once and for all already.

He put his head back on the seat and looked out the window. He was thinking about the conversation he had with you. How he would be going to your house to make some repairs soon. The corners of his mouth twitched up as he tried to imagine what your house looks like. He couldn’t wait.

When he got to the tower, Sam was waiting for him in the lobby. He had a sly smile on his face.

“You were with your secret lover again, playboy?” Sam waggled his eyebrows.

James rolled his eyes. “Shut up birdbrain. Where’s Steve?”

Sam laughed. “Upstairs. Come on.”

When they got into the elevator, James noticed Sam eyeing the brownie. You hadn’t put it into a bag and he didn’t think to ask for one.

He looked Sam in the eye. “No, you can’t have any.”

“But, it looks so good,” Sam whined.

“It is so good,” James said with an evil smirk.

Sam followed James out of the elevator pouting. They found Steve sitting in conference room C with Tony.

“Oooh, what you got there?” Tony asked with wide eyes looking at the brownie.

“Nothing for you, Stark,” James said sternly.

“I already tried,” Sam said still pouting. “It’s from his secret lover.”

Steve looked at him confused. “Secret lover?”

“Shut up! Can’t a man buy a damned brownie without being interrogated?” James snapped.

“Oh, there’s definitely a secret lover,” Tony quipped.

James growled. “Can we just get to the business at hand, please?”

After the meeting: Tony: So, who's up for following Frostbite and finding out who the mystery person is? Sam: Me! Steve: Me! Tony: Excellent.

[vampiresmiled]

✩ watergate

i want to preface this by saying that i hate watergate and the fact that this meme is four-hundred pages long only furthered my hatred for this abomination of a ship. and yes, i am using kennedy walsh as a mascot for this occasion. mind your own.

DISAGREEMENTS

who is more likely to raise their voice? we been through this. it’s mickey, he inherited his father’s temper. giving a whole new meaning to the phrase ‘daddy issues.’who threatens to leave but never actually does? mickey. the man is full of empty promises. who actually keeps their word and leaves? emma. mickey would never leave, he’s mickey : abandonment issues and all. who trashes the house? worst case scenario, mickey. but normal circumstances, nobody. they’re not wolfgang circa 2016, post ziba finding out about his heart issues, oil on canvas. do either of them get physical? i mean, #basementgate … ringing any bells ? it’d be a mistake on mickey’s part, otherwise no. how often do they argue/disagree? only when their collective insecurities start acting up. and if my memory serves me right, that’s like every other week. who is the first to apologise? both, simultaneously. 

SEX

who is on top? do you remember You 1x04 ? joe was on top … let’s aim for nine seconds, okay.who is on the bottom? did i not just answer that. who has the strangest desires? what is this, an episode of lucifer ? jokes, all jokes. probably emma. shy in the streets, freaky in the sheets. any kinks? does … harmonicas count ? literally retire the joke, mads – RETIRE IT.who’s dominant in bed? neither. they’re vanilla and boring and i hate them.is head ever in the equation? it’s always in the equation, we’re no dj khaled stans here.if so, who is better at performing it? mickey will toss your salad like he’s aidan gallagher’s biggest fan.ever had sex in public? public sex for them is in her car. so, yes.who moans the most? emma ‘cos she never knows when to zip it.who leaves the most marks? mickey. mark your territory, y’know. it’s critical.who screams the loudest? i said what i said.who is the more experienced of the two? big oof @ emma’s bodycount. do they ‘fuck’ or ‘make love’? they make sweet, sweet love.rough or soft? soft as hale.how long do they usually last? 9 seconds. however adequately long is … that’s how long. they drag it out. make a day out of it. is protection used? they never wrap it before they tap it. and with is history of … you know, [ finger banging motions ] emma should’ve had chlamydia by now. but yes, they wrap it. sometimes. they don’t remember that often.does it ever get boring? nope. where is the strangest place they’d have sex? on his mother’s grave. or maybe not. i dunno, would they fuck at a preschool ? i don’t put it past them.

FAMILY

do your muses plan on having children/or have children? together they haven’t spoken about it. but separately, fuck yeah. if so, how many children do your muses want/have? i feel like emma wants two or three, mickey wants a football team.who is the favorite parent? since mickey is gonna be a stay-at-home dad, fuck you, him. who is the authoritative parent? odette. they hire her to come in every week to stare real hard at the kids until they clean the entire house unprompted. works like wonders. super nanny who ?who is more likely to allow the children to have a day off school? mickey. who lets the children indulge in sweets and junk food when the other isn’t around? mickey, mickey, mickey. emma’s all about carrots and nutritions. fuck that, we’re going to mcdonkey d.who turns up to extra curricular activities to support their children? mickey organizes the extra curricular activities. he’s that dad.who goes to parent teacher interviews? emma ‘cos mickey gets mistaken for flirting with the the mrs. grundy looking teach every single time. not riverdale!grundy, comics!grundy. [ chicken girls vc ] spicy … who changes the diapers? mickey avoided it for the first couple of months by sheer magic and a lot of pampering @ emma. but she caught on, and then he was on diaper duty for a full year. after that the kid doesn’t need diapers so … unless they wee the bed then we have another problem on our hands. who gets up in the middle of the night to feed the baby? mickey, that’s how he avoided diaper changes. who spends the most time with the children? mickey ‘cos he’s ugly and unemployed. who packs their lunch boxes? emma ‘cos mickey would sneak brownies in there and all the other kids would get jealous and cry during lunch. true story, i was there. who gives their children ‘the talk’? mickey would want to but seeing as he’s who he is, emma took it upon herself to give them a more science based talk. ironic considering what his current job is but … who cleans up after the kids? mickey-boy.who worries the most? emma by a long shot. mickey has zero cares in the world. he’s the type of dad to toss the kids up 375ft into the air while emma yells frantically in the background of the video odette is filming. she’s there for chaos, not so much for telling mickey the kid’s neck can break. who are the children more likely to learn their first swear word from? i think emma. mickey’s gonna be super good with coming up with psuedo-swears like motherflubber and fudge. emma will slip up, i know she will.  

AFFECTION

who likes to cuddle? both.who is the little spoon? mickey, he likes to be held – it makes him feel safe.who gets naughty in the most inappropriate of places? fucking mickey the horn-dog. who struggles to keep their hands to themself? did you not see what i just said.   how long can they cuddle until one becomes uncomfortable? several hours. they never get uncomfy, fuck off. who gives the most kisses? listen, mickey loves giving love. whatever that touchy feely result was on the love language quiz, that was he. so, – he’ll smooch her everywhere and whenever. try and stop him, you can’t. except they’re not dating right now so i guess he’s successfully kept at bay. barely. what is their favourite non-sexual activity? banter. like genuinely. they just sit on the sofa and tear each other apart. it’s a good old time. that or soaps. mickey’s a huge fan of days of our lives.where is their favourite place to cuddle? probably couch. who is more likely to playfully grope the other? mickey. but emma’s known to grab his ass at times which is honestly childish, emma quit it. how often do they get time to themselves? seeing as they’re currently childless and also single, all the time in the world.

SLEEPING

who snores? emma, i said it.if both do, who snores the loudest? emma …do they share a bed or sleep separately? they’re not the weathers, ok.if they sleep together, do they cozy up together or lay far apart? close, so very close.who talks in their sleep? mickey. he says some dumb shit, she writes it down.what do they wear to bed? dicks out. kidding. mickey sleeps shirtless, and emma sleeps in his shirt. fair deal. are either of your muses insomniacs? no.can sleeping pills be found by the bedside? only if he wanna knock her out for some quiet. but also no.do they wrap their limbs around each other or just lay side by side? they’re a whole ass pretzel, k. who wakes up with bed hair? emma might have more hair but mickey’s is untamed. who wakes up first? emma. who prepares breakfast in bed for the other? mickey is a king in the kitchen, so.what is their favourite sleeping position? his face full on in the crook of her neck and like completely wrapped up in each other like my headphones after 2 minutes.who hogs the sheets? both of them, every night is a struggle.do they set an alarm each night? emma does. mickey likes to wing it.can a television be found in their bedroom? no, emma said that’s not allowed and that’s why she’s currently sexless. who has nightmares? neither … who has ridiculous dreams? mickey, hence the talking. who sprawls out and takes up most of the bed? mickey probably.who makes the bed? emma, she’s so responsible.what time is bed time? like two hours after they decide it’s time to sleep. they talk alot. and … do other things we shall not mention ( discuss the current political climate ). and they fuck. any routines/rituals before bed? dental hygiene is very important to them both so they spend like 20 minutes in the bathroom. who’s the grumpiest when they wake up? emma. mickey is ready :clap: to :clap: go !

WORK

who is the busiest? mickey. being a nurse is no joke. neither is having to take up shifts at the hardware store ‘cos your dad’s a drunk.who rakes in the highest income? i dunno. they both have shite jobs in terms of salary. google it. are any of your muses unemployed? not yet. who takes the most sick days? honestly, neither. mickey’s the type to go work with a flu and emma is too much of a suck-up to risk looking like a bad employee. who is more likely to turn up late to work? mickey. who sucks up to their boss? both. love that for them.what are their jobs? er nurse and preschool teacher. if you didn’t know that by now, kill yourself.who stresses the most? emma, no doubt, no doubt.do your muses enjoy or despise their careers/occupations? LOVE. are your muses financially stable? * laughs in the spirit of president snow choking to death on his own chortles * no.

HOME

who does the washing? mickey mixed the reds and whites once, so … take a gamble.who takes out the trash? mickey whenever he leaves for work. get it? ok.who does the ironing? mickey also burnt a hole in one of her shirts.who does the cooking? MICKEY. so stay out of the kitchen if you can’t handle the heat, woman.who is more likely to burn the house down just trying? emma.who is messier? mickey. who leaves the toilet roll empty? mickey, but it’s on purpose. you see … he likes to do it just so she’ll have to yell at him to get her some. it’s just funny. every time. sometimes he forgets to put it back before he leaves. those are the times he gets a roll thrown at his face when he gets home.who leaves their dirty clothes on the floor? mickey. it’s charming.who forgets to flush the toilet? ew, no one.who is the prankster around the house? they’re both equally pranky … not a word ! mickey just tends to be more unexpected in his pranks. who loses the car keys when it comes time to go somewhere? emma. mickey doesn’t have his own car.who mows the lawn? they’re apartment people, buzz off.who answers the telephone? no one, their answering machine message is just too good to go to waste.who does the vacuuming? emma.who does the groceries? mickey.who takes the longest to shower? mickey. he’s depressed.who spends the most time in the bathroom? emma.

MISCELLANEOUS

is money a problem? of course it is. they’re broke.how many cars do they own? one.do they own their home or do they rent? rent.do they live near the coast or deep in the countryside? … fuck if i know. where even is sheffield.do they live in the city or in the country? downtown, asshat.do they enjoy their surroundings? sure.what’s their song? i know it’s not 1998 yet. but – closing time by semisonic is a bop i’ve mentioned for them before. what do they do when they’re away from each other? pine.where did they first meet? i wanna say her place but she’s not that stupid. probably joe’s or something. how did they first meet? when mickey answered the roommate ad. who spends the most money when out shopping? mickey. it’s all on food.who’s more likely to flash their assets? like tits ? neither.who finds it amusing when the other trips over? mickey. and emma. both. they’re ten.any mental issues? plenty to go around.who’s terrified of bugs? emma.who kills the spiders around the house? mickey carries them outside, thank you very much.their favourite place? at home. yeah, they’re like that.who pays the bills? emma pays pays them, but like … he gives her money.do they have any fears for their future? so many we cannot get into that right now.who’s more likely to surprise the other with a fancy dinner? mickey. but like home-cooked ‘cos he’s a poor, poor man. who uses up all of the hot water? mickey.who’s the tallest? [ softly ] don’t. who’s more likely to just randomly hop into the shower with the other? ickey-mickey.who wanders around in their underwear? MICKEY. who sings the loudest when singing along to the radio? they both try and out-sing each other. he starts it, she ends it. what do they tease each other about? harmonicas and their deepest insecurities. who is more likely to cringe at the other’s fashion sense at times? remember the bee shirt.do they have mutual friends? no, jack hates him and i hate jack.who crushed first? i wanna say … mickey.any alcohol or substance related problems? nope.who is more likely to stumble home, drunk, at 3am? mickey, it’s in his genes.who swears the most? neither of them swear that much but i guess i’ll have to go with the ugly one.

[slashtakemylife]

Sheith was NEVER meant to be canon

First of all, I will NEVER EVER discourage a ship, I welcome all ships, heck send me right now a message about sheith HC and I'll encourage you and even HC with you as well

But please, Sheith was NEVER in any point supposed to be canon and yes I've seen and read a LOT of theories and let me tell you, you all need to watch all of captain america's movies but that comes later, first here's some arguments

Brotherhood: Yes I know you get this argument a LOT but the Brotherhood (TM) story line is extremely common

The Hobbit (Bilbo and Thorin) Sherlock, both movies and BBC (Sherlock and Watson) Merlin (Merlin and Arthur) and my main base Captain America (Steve and Bucky) I'm sorry I can't bring you child shows because none come to mind right now

All this shows and even more, show a bond between males that go beyond friendship, become brothers, even stronger than blood but also these guys are actually the most popular ship in their franchise and it's no surprise why, even Queerbaiting comes from here because they KNOW people are invested in them and deliberately make scenes that encourage people DESPITE knowing they will never follow through, so you are not new, the first or even the last

The Beard

So it comes a point were this male/male relationships are so close you begin to think, hmmm, I wonder if there's more? Could it be romantic?! And at this exact moment content makers pull out their trap card, The Love Interest!

Nothing a seldom developed female character can't fix, right? They can add a female character and push her solely for romance (since they don't actually know what to do with a female character, wtf do vaginas even do?) with a few character development moments and also to show like, No they are not gay, look at this happy HETERO couple!

Now is the moment were I confess I am a rabbid Adashi shipper, YES I will protect my son Adam from ANYONE and right now I'm gonna tell you the real deal, the absolute tea of my boy Adam!

Adam is a freaking Beard

So yeah, when S6 ended, it also came to a point were they realized things had gone way to gay and considering how they had hyped LGTB, they knew now was the time to deliver and put an end to a romantic Sheith with the respective Beard (Acxa I think was considered to be Keith's beard but maybe they cast it out later on?) but wait! Ohhh f*ck, we forgot Shiro was gay, uh oh, that means Shiro's beard is a guy, yeah, remember that boy Adam back from when we were doing S2?

In case you don't remember, here's some history, Shiro was supposed to die back in S2 so that Keith could rise into the BP, in an interview, JDS and LM said that S7's Adam flashback was supposed to happen in S2, so those scenes were prepared beforehand, they were actually going to show a gay Shiro and then he was going to die but since they didn't want to do the BYG trope, *cough* bullshit *cough* toy sales and Shiro being Very popular *cough*, they let Shiro live, be the BP and also help make a storyline were Keith goes with the blades instead of immediately into BP and also create this amazing brotherhood that would guide both their characters (the only reason S6 gets a pass is mostly that emotional, visually beautiful fight between Shiro and Keith)

But then as I said, it reached the point were it was way to gay and the beard was needed but unfortunately, the beard was gay and honestly they didn't want to spend too much time on the gay, luckily all they need is a beard, nothing more so here VLD tried to be sneaky with these easy steps:

Put Shiro's gay beard

Get brownie point for the rep they promised

Kill Sheith in the process

Also kill Klance since it's stablished Shiro is he only rep

Kill the beard as well since we don't actually want to put a whole gay storyline, we only need to stablish Shiro as gay

Success!

This is very VERY clear in how they justified Adam's death by saying it was tragedy, war and loss, specially when they mentioned that Shiro is the rep, no one EVER made an intention to give Shiro a full GAY romance in ANY way or with any character, but their plan went to shit when everyone (rightfully) called out their BS so they needed a quick fix specially with the coming S8 which was probably mostly done

Why didn't they just make Shiro marry Keith? Their relationship was very developed it was a very easy step, in fact! We have clear evidence they cut out big Sheith moments and interactions and deliveratedly added more Curtis in the BG to justify the ending

If they had prepared a Sheith canon finale it would've saved their ASS, all they had to do in S7 was say 'there's more rep to come!' And be done with the controversy and you are right, ot would've been a slow build relationship

I wholeheartedly believe they cut Sheith scenes and added more Curtis, I do, but here's why, S8 was mostly done, they had done their LGTB duty and S7 should have all the rep the fandom needed, things were good, we could forget that pending and move on with the finale, then the fandom exploted (rightfuly mind you

So VLD had to fix this, they knew S8 also had Sheith PLATONIC moments since they thought they were safe, we were supposed to know this was a friendship, not a relationship, that was the point of the beard! But the beard and the rep both failed (you mean an ambiguous scene and later kill the SO doesn't work? *pikachu face*)

They cut Sheith platonic moments, made klance open ended, used the deus ex machina card for Ezor and Zethrid and rush a Shiro wedding

Look I'm an Adashi, my ship IS canon but one is dead and the other married off, if they had added Adam at the wedding it would've also felt awkward, this Shiro friend that we barely saw is now married to him? Only if you know their true relationship would you understand but it would also feel out of the blue (they did broke up) specially since their scene felt final and not a petty dispute or a misunderstanding but a really sad but necessary choice, none were in the wrong

So I understand the canon and the behind the scenes as to why this happened, but that doesn't mean I'll stop shipping them (F*ck VLD, I'm he captain now) I choose to drown in fanfiction but I won't hate or belittle Curtis because he really is a backgroungd character that got roped into this but people like him, so respect him, his relationship with Shiro and their shippers

So back to my Captain America, I chose this pairing because they went through the same, in Cap 1 there was a balance between the friendship between Steve and Bucky and the slow buildup of Steve and Peggy so while you could definitely ship Stucky if you wanted, the clear canon was Steggy, what happens in Cap 2? The Stucky relationship gets more screen time and the developing romance Staron is very little (non-existent) so when we get to Cap 3 were Cap goes against everyone FOR Bucky, well #GetCaptainAmericaABoyfriend was trending, why? Because The Beard, Sharon as a character and Staron as a couple was so underdeveloped that we all felt wierd with that kiss, sure we knew it was going to happen and that there was something there but suddenly in our faces? People felt comfortable with Stucky because it was more developed that the actual canon relationship, if they had actually made an effort to flush out Sharon and her relationship with Cap, I think it wouldn't have feel so akward, it doesn't help that we repeatedly get reminded of Peggy so they never really pay time to poor Sharon (Yes I'm a Stucky but if a female is done right I can accept her because I actually love Steggy as well)

So Sheith went through the same, they coded their relationship a certain way and failed to separate the romance and bromance, it's never fun to be the obligatory love interest to push away that gay sh*t, Lance actually went through thos since S8 has him mostly worry for Allura

So this is a long rant so thanks for reading

[ladyjessmusic]

TONI MORRISON TRIBUTE PROJECT AT THE SCHOMBURG :: UPDATE I

After days of procrastination, days of research-laden procrastination...

I have finally managed to at least outline, through excerpts, how I’m going to structure this tribute piece to TM. From the minute I was asked, I’ve been planning. It has been overwhelming, to say the least. How to put together something about someone who means so very very much to me? How to represent that in the most fitting way possible? ..shuddering at the idea of gaming the queen from wherever she is observing in the afterlife...

SO HERE, HERE IS THE QUOTE OUTLINE I HAVE CONCOCTED:

___

MAVIS (pg 21): 

The neighbors seemed pleased when the babies smothered. probably because the mint green Cadillac in which they died had annoyed them for some time.

___

GRACE (GIGI) (pg 65):

The man with the earring didn't come looking for her. She sought him out. Just to talk too somebody who wasn’t encased in polyester and who looked like he might smoke something other than Chesterfields. 

He was short, almost a dwarf, but his clothes were East Coast hip. His Afro was neat, not ragged, and he wore seeds of gold around his neck, one matching stud in his ear,

They stood next to each other at the snack bar, which the attendant insisted on calling the dining car. She ordered a Coke without ice and a brownie. He was paying for a large cup of ice only.

“That ought to be free,” Gig said to the man behind the counter. “He shouldn’t have to pay for the cup.”

“Excuse me, ma’am. I just follow the rules.”

“I ordered no ice. Did you deduct anything?”

“Course not.”

“Don’t trouble yourself,” the short man said.

“I ain’t troubled,” Gigi told him, and then, to the counterman: “Listen, you. Give him the ice you weren’t going to charge him for, okay?”

“Miss, do I have to call the conductor?”

“If you don’t, I will This is train robbery all right - trains robbing people.”

“It’s all right,” said the man. “Just a nickel.”

“It’s the principle,” said gig.

“A five-cent principle ain’t no principle at all. The man needs a nickel. Needs it real bad.” The short man smiled.

“I don't need nothing,” said the attendant. “It’s the rules.”

“Have two,” said the man, and flicked a second nickel into the saucer.

Gig glaring, the eagle man smiling, they left the snack bar together. She sat down across the aisle from him to expand on the incident, while the man crunched the ice.

“Gigi.” She held out her hand. “You?”

“Dice,” he said.

“Like chopping small?”

“Like pair of.”

___

SENECA

“The chauffeur had picked her up for Norma like a stray puppy. No, not even that. But like a pet you wanted to pay with for a while - a little while - but not keep. Not love. Not name it. Just feed it, play with it, then return it to its own habitat. She had five hundred dollars, and other than Eddie, no one knew where it was. Maybe she ought to keep it that way. 

Seneca hadn’t decided much of anything when she saw the first place to hide - a flatbed loaded with cement sacks. When she was discovered she was held against a tire, splicing his questions, curses and threats with mild flirtations. Seneca said nothing at first, then suddenly begged permission to go to the bathroom. “I have to go. Bad,” she said. The driver sighed and released her, shouting a final warning at her back. She hitched a few times after that but so disliked the necessary talk she accepted the risk of stowing away in trucks. She preferred traveling resolutely nowhere, closed off from society, hidden among quiet cargo - no one knowing she was there. When she found herself among crates in a brand-new ‘73 pickup, jumping out of it to follow. coatless woman was the first pointedly uninstructed thing she had ever done.”

___

DIVINE

“Let me tell you about love, that silly word you believe is about whether you like somebody or whether somebody likes you or whether you can put up with somebody in order to get something or someplace you want or you believe it has to do with how your body responds to another body like robins or bison or maybe you believe love is how forces or nature or luck is benign to you in particular not maiming or killing you but if so doing it for your own good.

Love is none of that. there is nothing in nature like it. Not in robins or bison or in the banging of tails of your hunting dogs and not in blossoms or suckling foal. Love is divine only and difficult always. If you think it is easy you are a fool. If you think it is natural you are blind. It is a learned application without reason ro motive except that it is God.

You do not deserve love regardless of the suffering you have endured. You do not deserve love because somebody did you wrong. You do not deserve love just because you want it. You can only earn-by practice and careful contemplation-the right to express it and you have to learn how to accept it. Which is to say you have to earn God. You have to practice God. You have to think God-carefully. And if you are a good and diligent student you may secure the right to show love. Love is not a gift. It is a diploma. A diploma conferring certain privileges: the privilege of expressing love and the privilege of receiving it. 

How do you know you have graduated? You don’t. What you do know is that you are human and therefore educable, and therefore capable of learning how to learn, and therefore interesting to God, who is only interested in Himself which is to say He is interested only in love. Do you understand me? God is not interested in you. He is interested in love and the bliss it brings to those who share and understand that interest. 

___

PATRICIA

“What did Daddy say to you at that AME Zion picnic? The one held for colored soldiers stationed at the base in Tennessee. How could either of you tell what the other was saying? He talking Louisiana, you speaking Tennessee. The music is so different, the sound coming from a different part of the body. It must have been like hearing lyrics set to scores by two different composers. But when you made love he must have said I love you and you understood that and it was true, too, because I have seen the desperation in his eyes ever since-no matter what business venture he thinks up.”

___

CONSOLATA

“It was while Consolata waited on the steps that she saw him for the first time. Sha sha sha. Sha sha sha. A lean young man astride one horse, leading another. His khaki shirt was soaked with sweat, and at some point he romped his wide flat hat to wipe perspiration from his forehead. His hips were rocking in the saddle, back and forth, back and forth. Sha sha sha. Sha sha sha. Consolata saw his profile, and the wing of a feathered thing, undead, fluttered in her stomach.”

...

“Casually, perfunctorily, he looked her way. Consolata looked back and thought she saw hesitation in his eyes if not in his stride. Quickly she ducked into the sun-baked Mercury, where the heat emend to explain her difficult breathing. She did not see him again for two months of time made unstable by a feathered thing fighting for wingspread.”

...

“They drove for what Consolata believed were hours, no words passing between them. The danger and its necessity focused them, made them calm. She did not know or care where headed or what might happen to them when they arrived. Speeding toward the unforeseeable, sitting next to him who was darker than the darkness they split, Consolata let the feathers unfold and come unstuck from the walls of a stone-cold womb. Out here where wind was not a help or threat to sunflowers, nor the moon a language of time, of weather, of sowing or harvesting, but a feature of the original world designed for the two of them.

Finally he slowed and turned unto a barely passable track, where coyote grass scraped the fenders. In the middle of it he braked and would have taken her in his arms except she was already there.

...

“He kisses her lightly, then leans on his elbow. “I’ve traveled. All over. I’ve never seen anything like you. How could anything be put together like you? Do you know how beautiful you are? Have you looked at yourself?

“I’m looking now.”

...

“Let your mind grow long and use what God gives you.”

...

“They had promised to take care of her always but did not tell her that always was not all ways nor forever. Prisoner wine helped until it didn’t and she found herself, full of drinker’s malice, wishing she had the strength to beat the life out of the women freeloading in the house. “God don’t make mistakes,” Lone had shouted at her. Perhaps not, but He was sometimes overgenerous. Like giving satanic gifts to a drunken, ignorant, penniless woman living in darkness unable to rise from a cot to do something useful or die on it and rid the world of her stench. Gray-haired, her eyes drained of what eyes were made for, she imagined how she must appear. Her colorless eyes saw nothing clearly except what took place in the minds of others. Exactly the opposite of that blind season when she rutted in dirt with the living man and the thought that she was seeing for the first time because she was looking so hard. But she had been spoken to, half cursed, half blessed. He had burned the green away and replaced it with pure sight that damned her if she used it.”

...

“Non sum dignus,” she whispered. “But tell me. Where is the rest of days, the aisle of thyme, the scent of veronica you promised? The cream and honey you said I earned? The happiness that comes of well-done chores, the serenity duty grants us, the blessings of good works? Was what I did for love of you so terrible?”

Mary Magna had nothing to say. Consolata listened to the refusing silence, more wondering than annoyed by the sky, in plumage now, gold and blue-green, strutting like unrequited love on the horizon. She was afraid of dying alone, ungrieved in holy ground, but knew that was precisely what lay before her. How she longed for the good death. “I’ll miss you,” she told Him. “I really will.” The skylight wavered.

...

“My child body, hurt and soil, leaps into the arms of a woman who teach me my body is nothing my spirit everything. I agreed her until I met another. My flesh is hungry for itself it ate him. When he fell away the woman rescue me from my body again. Twice he saves it. When her body sickens I care for it in every way flesh works. I hold it in my arms and between my legs. Clean it, rock it, enter it to keep it breath. After she is dead I cannot get past that. My bones on hers that only good thing. Not spirit. Bones. No different from the man. My bones on his the only true thing. So I wondering where is the spirit lost in this? It is true, like bones. It is good, like bones. One sweet, one bitter. Where is it lost? Hear me, listen. Never break them in two. Never put one over the other. Eve is Mary’s mother. Mary is the daughter of Eve.”

_______________________________________

These are the quotes I’ve chosen to use to frame the piece. These are the quotes that have struck me at my core, the pieces of this masterpiece that stick to my soul like glue (for lack of a better way to describe the intensity with which these vignettes travel my bloodstream). 

The plan is to structure cells that apply to each character. Within each cell, I will record an idée fixe that works for each character of the novel, each representing a different nuance that any black woman may or may not experience.  

This morning was the first time that I’d even conceived of using the cadenza I wrote to accompany the CSG Concerto in G. In lieu of a standard cadenza, I wrote my own. The work exits as a standalone piece as well, and I wrote it, contextually, from a place that gives consideration to the emotional profile of CSG’s mother, a free slave from Guadeloupe. It’s incredible how this writing, hundreds of years later, completely removed from the life of its author, or from my own, can serve as such a powerful link between cognizant realities.

[diamondsareapearlsbestfriend]

Sans/Toriel 30 Day OTP Challenge: Day Twelve

AO3 | Day One | Day Two | Day Three | Day Four | Day Five | Day Six | Day Seven | Day Eight | Day Nine | Day Ten | Day Eleven

day twelve: shopping

prompt: “Your OTP shopping together. What are they shopping for? Are they just running errands, or are they buying gifts for each other?”

In all her years, Toriel had never seen anything quite like it. Rows upon rows of shelves, filled to the brim with unfamiliar items with the strangest names. It was a far cry from the cosy, traditional shops with their lovingly home-made goods she preferred to purchase from in the Underground; even at the most extravagant royal banquets, she could never recall seeing this much food all in one place. Just looking at the swarms of monsters and humans pushing and grabbing their way through the aisles, Toriel already felt quite exhausted – but that did not matter, for she had promised her child a party, and they were going to have all the peculiar human foods their little heart desired. Fortunately, however, she would not be navigating such uncharted territory alone.

"Sans," Toriel said, her hands tightening around the handle of their (as of yet) empty cart as she turned to him with a look of steely resolve, "read me the list, if you please."

"The whole list?" Sans did not sound any more enthusiastic than she did – although that was not unusual – about the prospect, but he obediently pulled the crumpled piece of paper from his pocket, trailing almost all the way to the floor, and began to read: "Cheese, milk, eggs, cupcakes, cotton candy, party hats..."

"Thank you – that will be enough for now." Toriel held up a hand to silence him – a habit from school she could not quite shake – as she scanned the aisles. "Very well, let us start with cheese!" That sounded simple enough – they had had plenty of cheese in the Underground, after all. "Now...can you see any cheese...?"

"One sec." Without warning, Sans hopped up onto the front of the cart for extra height, and Toriel grabbed onto the handle before the whole thing capsized as he looked around, then pointed to a sign hanging a few aisles away from them. "Looks like cheese over there. Full steam ahead, Tori."

Toriel sighed, exasperation mingling with affection, but she allowed him to remain hanging onto the front of the cart as she steered them towards what she now recognised as the dairy aisle. There was indeed an impressive variety of cheese, not to mention all the milk, butter, cream, yoghurts...

"Well, there is certainly no shortage of cheese," she observed, glancing over them all – great blocks of cheese, grated, cream, somewhat dubious-looking cheese in a tube...even 'goat's cheese', which brought several questions to mind. "But which kind do you think is most suitable for a party?" 

"It says here Frisk wants...'cheese on sticks, with pineapple'." That was not tremendously helpful, as none of the cheese appeared to be served on a stick, but Sans grinned, a familiar gleam in his sockets as he caught Toriel's eye. "Hey, Tori."

"Yes?" 

"What kind of cheese do you use to hide a horse?"

"Hide a horse?" Toriel blinked, shaking her head in bemusement. "I do not – is that some sort of party game...?"

"Nope. You gotta use..." He took a tub of creamy cheese from the shelf and held it up in front of her, "marscapone."

"Oh!" It took her a moment, but Toriel let out a braying snort of laughter, some of the tension in her body beginning to evaporate. "Mask a pony! That is perfect – put it in the cart. I am sure the children could dip their pineapple in it, if they wish." Sans tossed it in, just as inspiration struck: "Oh, I know one! Sans, what do you call cheese that does not belong to you?"

"Is it 'RESERVED FOR USE IN THE GREAT PAPYRUS' GREAT CULINARY CREATIONS! DO NOT EAT! ESPECIALLY IF YOU ARE A SMALL DOG OR SANS! YES, BROTHER, I AM IMPLICATING YOU IN THE TRAGIC YET INEVITABLE FUTURE DISAPPEARANCE OF THIS CHEESE!'?"

"No! Or, well – perhaps, but that is not the answer I was thinking of," Toriel giggled, clasping her hands together in appreciation of Sans' attempt at his beloved brother's impassioned rattle. "Because it is...nacho cheese!"

Sans snorted and pointed double finger-guns at her in approval. "That...was super cheesy."

"Myself, I thought it was rather Brie-lliant." Toriel winked back at him, and once they started to laugh neither of them could stop, despite – or perhaps further fuelled by – the alarmed glance they received from a lady across the aisle. She could happily have continued in a similar vein forever, or at least until they ran out of cheese jokes, but there was still much to be done in preparation for the party tomorrow, so Toriel attempted to compose herself before taking charge again. "Okay, we have cheese – what is next?"

"Chips."

"Ah, chisps, I am sure we can find –"

"No, chips."

Toriel frowned. "That is what I just said. Popato chisps."

"No, Tori – it says potato chips."

"What? Let me see that." Toriel plucked the list out of Sans' hands – if he was playing a prank on her, it was not very funny, but upon investigation Frisk had indeed specified chips, no 's'. "Well, how very strange. I wonder what the difference is? In any case," she added, trying to remain optimistic, "it is fascinating, is it not, how much we are learning about the unique wares of the surface?"

It was almost like one of Papyrus' puzzles, the two of them making their way through the aisles in search of all manner of party foods – some of which was familiar, some not, and almost all of it of dubious nutritional value. Cupcakes adorned with smiley faces, brightly coloured sodas, brownies, jelly, ice cream (just the regular kind – or, as Sans dubbed them, 'Not Nice Creams', which sent them off on a tangent thinking up the most amusing insults one could print on the stick as an alternative; Toriel had overheard some particularly creative ones at school, although she would never dream of repeating them under normal circumstances)...She may have gone off-list, but Toriel also insisted on picking up some nutritious brown bread and cucumber slices for sandwiches, as she felt it was probably sensible to have something on the table that was not loaded with sugar.

"Oh, Sans, look at these!" She held up a charming little selection platter of miniature pizzas. "Aren't they adorable?"

"Tori, they're pizzas, not puppies," Sans replied, smirking as he levitated a stack of mozzarella sticks into the cart with a flick of his wrist.

"I am aware of that – but they are perfect, are they not? I am certain Frisk will love them." Toriel smiled, already picturing her child's excited little face. "And they are so versatile! We could make a game of it – I could throw them, and you could try to catch them in your mouth!"

"Heh – really?" Sans glanced back over his shoulder, his grin somewhere between fond, amused and just a touch concerned as he caught her eye. "Sounds...messy, not to mention potentially dangerous." It was not long, however, before the mischievous twinkle was back. "I'm in."

"I knew you would not be able to resist a pizza the action." Toriel began piling pizza boxes into the cart with glee, starting out with two, but Frisk had a lot of friends and she did not want any child to go hungry, so they would need extra, and then extra extra just in case the extra ran out...the pile was wobbling a little, but it was better to be safe than hungry. "What is next?" She had lost sight of Sans over the pizzas, but her brow creased in concern when she peered around them and he was still nowhere to be found. "Sans...?"

"Over here, Tori – next aisle to your left," came Sans' disembodied voice, evidently having teleported when she was not looking; Toriel might almost have suspected he was trying to wriggle out of shopping duties, had she not known better, before rounding the corner to find him contemplating shelves full of ketchup. 

"Ah, do they have the kind you like?" Toriel could not help but smile as she pushed the cart over to join him, for she would never have described Sans as a picky eater, or particularly picky about anything, but he was studying the back of the ketchup bottle as intently as if he were to be taking an exam on it.

"The surface stuff's all pretty much the same," he answered. "I mean, it's okay, but it's got nothing on Grillby's." He put the bottle back on the shelf, a wistful, almost longing expression passing over his face. "Grillbz won't tell anyone how he makes it, though – trust me, I've tried. But you know that guy...keeps it all bottled up."

"Indeed." Toriel let out a sympathetic chuckle as she picked up a bottle for herself – usually, she much preferred her meals home-cooked, but even she had to admit there was just something about the food at Grillby's, greasily guilty yet sinfully satisfying. Reading the ingredients to this concoction, however, she was unimpressed; it appeared to consist mostly of water, sugar and artificial colourings that would probably turn one's insides – or lack thereof – bright red. "Do you know what, Sans?"

He smiled at her, most likely anticipating another joke. "What, Tori?"

"I am going to make you some ketchup myself," she declared with a decisive nod. "With real tomatoes! And only the very finest ingredients the surface has to offer!"

"What – seriously?" Sans' sockets lit up, before he predictably attempted to downplay his enthusiasm with a shrug. "Come on, Tori, you know you don't have to go to all that trouble for me. I'll eat anything, it's no big –"

"Do not be silly – it is no trouble, and you know how much I enjoy cooking new things. Besides, I do not want you eating just anything." Toriel sidled a little closer to him, batting her eyelashes beguilingly as she slipped her arm around his shoulders, stroking her thumb along the upper ridges of his spine. "You will need to keep your strength up when you are helping me keep a socket on all those children, will you not?"

 "Oh, I see what you're doing here." Sans folded his arms in a somewhat futile attempt to appear offended. "Think you can pay me off with food, huh, Tori? Well, you're...totally right. Damn it." Judging from the grin now stretching from cheekbone to cheekbone as she felt him melting into her touch, however, Toriel suspected he was not too upset about this undeniable truth.

"I am afraid you are simply too easy to see through, my dear," she replied, just a hint of smugness in her smile – of course, she would have made it for him anyway, but a little extra incentive never hurt. "And, hmm – if it goes well, perhaps I will open up a restaurant of my own! We could serve pie and hot dogs, and I could call it...Tori's."

"Now you're talking." Sans' brow bone lifted in interest. "Although – you trying to put Grillbz out of business? That's pretty cold." He looked up at the precariously balanced array of goods stacked in the cart. "Anyway, we done here? 'Cause that's one very, uh...leaning tower of pizza."

Toriel reached once again for the list, her eyes skimming over hurriedly. "Yes, I believe we are just about – oh, one last thing. We need some more snails."

"Party snails...?"

"Well, why not – they are full of nutrients! And we can arrange the shells into patterns to create a pleasing display?" While Toriel and Sans shared many common interests, she was aware that her passion for gastropods – both aesthetic and culinary – was not one of them. Nonetheless, he simply shrugged and nodded with an expression she recognised as 'I don't get it, but I'll go along with whatever you say'. "Now, I wonder where we might find some in here?"

As Toriel glanced around the store, her eyes fell upon a pair of colourfully dressed shop assistants: two monsters, an alligator and a cat, who appeared to be waving to them from behind their counter at the back of the store. As her energy levels were fast depleting, her feet beginning to ache from trudging around all afternoon, she decided they seemed as reasonable a source to ask as any.

"Hey! Check it out!" The alligator waved as they wandered over, flicking her blonde curls over her shoulder with one hand and indicating the selection of glistening scales on offer with the other. "You should totally buy some of our fish!"

"It's like, the best fish," her friend added, nodding vigorously. "We tested it ourselves, right, Bratty? Like, you will literally die when you taste this fish, it's so good."

"Literally. Except, like – metaphorically, obviously. It'd kind of suck if you actually died. But you almost definitely won't, 'cause me and Catty are fine. Hey, wait a sec –" Bratty, as she was apparently known, paused to narrow her eyes over her long, lipsticked snout. "Don't we, like, know you from somewhere?"

"Oooh, yeah, I remember now!" Catty chimed in. "You used to open for Mettaton, right? At the resort?"

“Me?” They all turned to look expectantly at Sans, who simply shrugged noncommitally, though the way his sockets dimmed for just a moment suggested the memory was not a particularly pleasant one; Toriel made a mental note to ask him about it later. “Oh...yeah, maybe, a couple times.”

"Called it! So...is it true?" Catty leaned forwards over the fish, her big, yellow eyes growing increasingly wider with curiosity. "That you guys are dating now?"

"Uhhh – what?" That got a reaction; Sans let out an incredulous splutter as though unsure whether he found the insinuation hilarious or horrifying. "Me and Mettaton?!"

"Mettaton and I," Toriel could not resist correcting him, attempting unsuccessfully to stifle a giggle into her paw. "Well, Sans – is there something you would like to tell us?"

"Catty, I told you that wasn't him!" Bratty interrupted, elbowing her in the side. "It was the other skeleton – the tall hot one, remember? It was all over Mettanet."

"Ohhh. Okay, my bad." Catty giggled sheepishly, holding up her paws in a shrug. "That makes so much more sense. 'Cause you...really don't seem like his type. Um, no offense and stuff."

"Least amount of offense ever taken," Sans replied with a dry chuckle, regaining his composure save for a slight crease in his brow which suggested he would have much to discuss with Papyrus when they got home. "Anyway, we were just looking for..."

"But this one's hanging out with the queen, which is maybe...half as cool as that, I guess?" Bratty continued. "So what are you, like, her servant or something?"

"Oh my god, does Mettaton need a servant? Because we totally volunteer."

"We would be the best at that job."

"I feel like maybe we, like, already have that job?"

"He just doesn't know it yet. Also we don't get paid or actually have to do anything."

"Yet!"

"Let's go with 'or something'," Sans eventually managed to get the words in edgeways, slipping his hand into Toriel's below the counter with a discreet but meaningful squeeze; just enough for her to feel –while he wasn't one for grand public gestures – he was happy and proud to be with her, and it must have shone through from her soul to her smile as Bratty raised an eyebrow.

"Aw, really? That's cute! And...kinda weird?" She looked them both up and down with a vaguely perturbed expression Toriel was by now too familiar with to be offended by. “'Cause you're all...”

“And then you're like...”

“But, like, whatever! We're totally not gonna judge and stuff.”

"Also," Catty added, her ears quavering hopefully, "if you guys are together, does that mean Asgore is, like...single?"

Bratty snorted, shaking her head pityingly. "God, Catty, stop being so thirsty."

"I'm taking a healthy interest in our royal affairs, Bratty!” Catty shoved her, and the two of them promptly dissolved into giggles.

"Ladies," Toriel interrupted eventually, in her most pleasant yet authorative tone usually reserved for reclaiming the attention of an overexcited Friday afternoon class, "while I would love to stay and chat, I am afraid we are on a rather tight schedule at this moment! So if I might possibly trouble you, we were wondering whereabouts in this place one might find the snails?"

"Oh, snails...?" As they sobered up, Bratty and Catty exchanged a puzzled look.

"Oh...snails." 

"We have a monster food section...um, somewhere over there, I think?" Bratty pointed a manicured claw vaguely towards the front of the store. "But it's like..."

"Super small and hardly has any of the good stuff." Catty wrinkled her nose.

"They don't even sell Glamburgers."

"Oh my god, right?! Everyone knows they're like, the greatest achievement of monsterkind or something."

"Not that we ever actually got to taste any..."

"Which is like, the most tragic tale in the Underground, right, Bratty?" Catty draped a paw theatrically across her forehead, pretending to faint against her friend; Bratty scoffed, but let Catty's head linger on her shoulder a moment before her eyes snapped open again. "Oh, wait, actually. I think there is a snail farm around the block!"

"Um, isn't that a record store now?" 

"Yeah, I guess, but they still race snails out back! It's like, a whole thing."

Bratty giggled. "Catty, since when did you become, like, the expert on snails around here?"

Catty flipped a tuft of blue hair out of her eyes, flashing them a smug smile. "Since I heard how Mettaton totally goes there, like, all the time?"

"Wait, seriously?!"

Toriel sensed the pair would not yield any more useful information, as charming as they were in their own way. "Ah, I understand – well, thank you both very much for your time. It has been a pleasure, but I think it is time we were on our way." She nudged Sans and tilted her head pointedly back towards their cart, and he nodded in understanding, offering Bratty and Catty a wave in return.

"Laters!"

"If it doesn't work out with Mettaton, tell him to call me!"

"Really, Catty, really?"

"Okay, sorry –"

"She means tell him to call us!"

"So...you wanna check out that snail farm on the way home?" Sans asked after they had left them to it, making their way back to the front of the store towards the cashiers. 

"Ah..." Toriel hesitated, allowing herself one lingering thought of a succulent, slimy snack before she shook her head. "No, we do not have to do that. We have plenty of food as it is, and besides, you were right – the children will not want to eat snails."

"Probably not, but you do," he pointed out, shooting her a knowing but sympathetic look, and Toriel could not very well deny it. "C'mon, maybe it'll be fun. My treat?"

It had been a long afternoon, and they both knew that staying out a moment longer when he could be at home sleeping was not Sans' idea of fun; the knowledge that he was doing this for her melted Toriel's heart, just a little, as her face softened into a smile and she widened her eyes in mock surprise. "Do you mean to tell me that you actually have money?"

"Okay, so maybe I wouldn't go that far," he admitted with a sheepish chuckle, "but...I might just have some Thundersnail winnings long overdue for collection. Whaddaya say?"

Toriel tutted half-heartedly, but she was unable to keep the smile from growing across her face as she squeezed Sans' hand gratefully in return, before turning her attention to packing away their considerable purchases.

"Oh, very well, then. I suppose it couldn't hurt to take a look."

Frisk's birthday party had, by all accounts, been a great success – which naturally meant that it had also been total chaos. The house was filled with excitable children, running around all over and getting into places they should not be; there were pizza splatters on the walls that Toriel could admittedly not blame entirely on the children (she did not have the best aim, and Sans was not quite as skilled at catching them in his mouth as he claimed, but they had enjoyed themselves trying anyway); and Sans was currently sporting an assortment of crudely drawn...appendages across his face, an unidentified assailant having evidently gotten to him when he'd dozed off during Pin the Gyfts on the 'Trot. Toriel had her own hands full attempting to pick up all the chocolate cupcakes from the carpet while balancing a tower of paper plates when she felt something tugging on her skirt.

"Miss Toriel!" 

She glanced down over the plates into the eyes of an increasingly distressed-looking child. "Is everything alright, Grant?"

"I, um...I don't feel so good..." Clutching his stomach, Grant began to turn alarming shade of green, and Toriel's heart sank as she recognised all too well what was about to happen.

"Oh, goodness, my child, you do not look at all – Sans!" she yelled out in desperation, unable at that moment to provide adequate assistance herself. "Could you please come over here and help..."

"On it." Toriel had never been so grateful for Sans' penchant for materialising out of nowhere, much as it made Grant jump as he tentatively patted the child on the back. "C'mon, buddy, let's get you to the..."

But it was too late – Toriel heard him retching, moments before the unmistakable sound and stench of copious vomiting assaulted her senses. She promptly dropped the plates, letting them flutter to the floor in her haste to assess the damage.

"...bathroom," Sans finished helplessly, cringing as Toriel clamped both hands over her mouth and nose, barely suppressing the urge to gag herself at the unappealing cocktail of what had once been birthday cake, pizza, jelly, ice cream, soda and anything else Grant might have consumed – all floating in Frisk's brand new, custom designed, exquisitely bedazzled and very expensive MTT-brand beach hat.

"Oh, please, no..." Toriel and Sans exchanged wide-eyed expressions of pure horror just as Grant, evidently feeling better, leapt to his feet and ran away to join the crowd chasing the little white dog that had somehow wriggled in during the commotion and was barking joyously. "Maybe – maybe it will be okay!" she declared, much more optimistically than she felt. "We will find a way to clean this up, just so long as Frisk does not..."

She really ought to have known better – before either of them could move, Frisk burst in. 

"Mom, Sans, have you guys seen my – oh, never mind, there it is!"

Toriel made a desperate grab for the hat, but her child had already seized it with a satisfied, if short-lived smile. "Frisk, no – do not put that on your –"

It would be mere seconds before the room exploded with ear-splitting screams and howls; weeks before Toriel was able to scrub the horrible stench out of Frisk's hair; months before anyone dared to tell Mettaton the real reason they were not wearing their fabulous hat; and – needless to say – a lifetime before any of them would ever forget that particular party.

[thinkgloriathink]

9 Memorable Thoughts and Reflections about my College Studenthood: Freshman Year Recap (Part 3 of 3)

Well... that was fast. I think now would be an appropriate time for me to put into words a lot of the things that I’ve learned and pondered about during my first year of college. I wonder if anybody finds these thoughts relatable? 

F.O.M.O (Fear of Missing Out) shouldn’t be reason enough to do things. FOMO’s a familiar feeling: the dreadful ache that makes boredom and loneliness that much more agonizing, and tempts me to do things I’d rather not do. Naturally, FOMO was that uninvited guest that occasionally crept up on me on those Friday and Saturday nights where I chose to stay in my dorm. Though I always enjoyed chilling in the room for tea and conversation with my roommate, the rollicking commotion outside our window during those nights weren’t always easy to ignore. I’d get passing thoughts that made me wonder if I was doing this “college experience” thing right, and if I really understood the meaning of fun, since our usual evenings of comfortable silences and chats about the simple pleasures in life didn’t seem as thrilling as whatever those people outside would be shrieking and laughing about. FOMO also happened with big campus-wide events, including a massively-hyped speech on campus by David Cameron, and the famed Spring Weekend. On both occasions, I admit that I got FOMO’ed into buying tickets. It was like seeing a mosh pit of people fighting over some items on Black Friday, and me deciding to thrust myself into that pile of bodies to grab one for myself, without even pausing to see what those items really are. Though both experiences turned out to be pretty pleasant in the end, it didn’t sit well with me realizing that I’ve just mindlessly made the time and money commitments to do something just out of a blind urge to leap onto a bandwagon. Coming out of this, I’ve vowed not to let FOMO get the better of me in my future decision making. I’ve decided that of all the reasons and motivations I have for doing things in the future, FOMO could make an appearance on the T-chart, but I won’t give it any standalone legitimacy or place it above my own real wants. Easier said than done, but I think this’ll serve me well and give me a stronger sense of agency.

Getting into the habit of challenging old rules is good for the most part. I should still call my parents though. Growing up, I listened pretty compliantly to all the “should’s” in my life. I should obey my teachers, I should be a dutiful daughter, I should do X Y and Z to achieve success in life. Partly from the influence of my philosophy professor and my peers at school, I’ve started to chip away at my respect for a lot of the holy should’s imposed on me from before. For one, I’ve realized that hunkering down and studying my way to the top using brute force and self-discipline like I’ve been told to do before might not be the only way to get by in college. Along with questioning all my academic should’s, I started wondering about the should’s tied to familial responsibility. My philosophy professor is the most pro-individual advocate I’ve ever met, and she seems to be of the persuasion that there really aren’t robust moral justifications underlying a lot of traditions and social contracts. She points out the phoniness of actions like saying “I love you” to people you don’t actually love or want to love, or being forced to construct friendships solely out of politeness or obligation. Suddenly, I found it a lot more difficult to justify my routine but sometimes bland keep-in-touch conversations with family members. Of all the many positive ways college has encouraged me to challenge my should’s, the family duty thing is something I’m still feeling conflicted about. Though I probably can’t come up with a rigorous proof of why calling my parents or grandparents every week to talk about the weather is an obligatory moral good, I see the importance of keeping such things going, as I get the sense that there’s a responsibility I have that’s bigger than myself and my personal wants. Maybe it’s not the content of these conversations that are important, but rather the gesture that counts.

College life makes the highs higher and the lows lower. College does a weird thing of amplifying my life experiences. When I’m having fun with friends and sharing good times, I’ve experienced joys that I don’t think I’ve had at home. Nothing smells like youth and freedom like throwing rules out the window every once in a while, staying up late, and (gasp) skipping classes for better adventures like getting bubble tea. I admit, though, that I’ve also experienced some of my lowest moments here as well. I take it as a sign that college is the place for me to learn how to get all my shit together, or at least in the places where it counts.

College isn’t like real life. The same kinds of things that would gain you brownie points at school (nerdy talents, a zealous mind for philosophical discussions, an optimistic and carefree outlook about my own future) wouldn’t raise many eyebrows (in the good way, at least) from people outside the university. Also, the “real world” is so large that I think I understand now why it can be so difficult to make new friends after college. I didn’t really become aware of how deeply engrossed I was in the college bubble until I returned home in NJ. I remember standing in line at Costco one afternoon, seeing more disgruntled and bored middle-aged people and noisy little kids than I’ve encountered all year while I was in school. I got the sense that everybody out here was too busy with his/her own life to care about the affairs of whoever was standing nearby. At Brown, every new person you incidentally encounter already has something in common with you, be it a shared class, or similar daily schedule, or (at the very least) a shared Brown-student identity. At Brown, standing next to somebody was good enough of a reason to say hi. At Costco, I was standing in a crowded warehouse filled with more people than I could count, but I was feeling alone as ever. How dispiriting!

Routine makes time go faster. Being present and being deliberate at school is a skill that I still need to hone. When the novelty of a new experience wears away, and monotony and routine take over, time seems to roll by at frightening speeds (Before Einstein crawls out of his grave to waggle his finger bone at me, I’ll qualify that I’m talking about something completely conjectural and non-scientific). When cool stuff is happening, my time perception slows so I can savor the experience. I felt as though my rocky adjustment period in September seemed to last forever, but two finger-snaps later, I’m looking back on it all as a misty-eyed sophomore. I wonder how that happened. It seems that the best way to slow the accelerating time treadmill is to first notice that it exists in the first place. I really like college, and sometimes I fear that it’ll pass me by if I get too complacent. These four years are too valuable to me (so much so, in fact, that it’ll be 4% more valuable next Fall!), to be squandered like a roll of toilet paper when I get too caught up in the relentless grind of problem sets and exams. For the future, I’m going to try to make a point of trying new things, meeting new people, smelling the flowers more, tasting my food more, and appreciating the loveliness of people’s company more. None of this actually dilates or contracts time (hoho I am way out of my depth with these references to physics), but it really makes it more meaningful.

I’ve began to wonder when the world stops treating you like a precious investment and begins to expect you to be paying out. Education is all about incubating young people, showering them with knowledge and resources and money so that they can develop into productive citizens. A love for learning is such a great virtue for young people, because it shows their potential. But when does your hungry (and sometimes haphazard) pursuit of knowledge and self-improvement start to shift in people’s eyes from a laudable virtue to a somewhat selfish extracurricular activity? When is it time to stop stroking our chins over the same deep mysteries in life, and look to what we are actually able to do with all this laborious thinking? Being at Brown, I’ve rarely bogged myself down with pre-professional anxieties, as the atmosphere did a great job at making me feel good about learning for the sake of learning. Where is aggressive book-reading and aimless pontificating and whimsical soul-searching more encouraged than at an elite University? I wondered at points if I was starting to lose touch with reality. To some extent, I think I have. I’ll be counting on this summer break working in NYC to bring me back to my senses a little.

I’m trying to be openly wrong more often. I’ve always been pretty reticent about voicing my thoughts or opinions for fear of being challenged. For some reason, I never put something out in the open unless I am certain that I will be able to defend myself, or convince others that I’m correct. Jesus— could I be any more wrong? If attaining the most correct truth is my goal, waving my unpolished ideas out in the wind will be the fastest way for me to locate and fix its problems. I think I’ve begun to learn the importance of this after getting to know my philosophy professor, who is delighted when she is proven wrong about things. Her mental framework of logic is terrifyingly sturdy, all thanks to the forty-years-worth of counterarguments that have been slung at her from all directions.

Should I accept this opportunity to _______, even though I’m not sure if I’m qualified or prepared enough? I’m trying to say yes as often as I can. The outcome usually doesn’t turn out as bad as my thoughts like to conjure it up to be. I’ve now gotten a lot better at biting the bullet and just “going for it”, though overcoming apprehensions about new things will always be an ongoing struggle for me. The one experience I love to cite when it comes to this is the Hackathon I attended back in November. I still consider it one of the best impulse decisions I’ve ever made.

Post-finals slump is a thing? For some reason, I’ve always found the immense relief of finishing a tough final or midterm disappointingly short lived. After the initial euphoria I feel from being freed from long hours at the library and crying over my open textbook, I always get filled with this cavernous feeling of emptiness. As someone who is always aching to be productive or busy, the ennui I get from having nothing to do or look forward to is almost as agonizing as having too much to do. I realized that this post-finals slump thing might’ve been a sign that I was relying too much on external achievements for my sense of satisfaction and fulfillment. I won’t have “nothing” to do if I decided to take things into my own hands and start my own pet project, or set some ongoing long term goals that took me beyond academics, so I can always have a reason to get up in the morning. And so that’s why I made this blog.