#BUT YOU ACTIVELY WORKED TOWARDS MAKING IT SHITTIER

[troonwolf]

Happy for him and he was definitely exploited but his actions were also instrumental in fuelling the antagonism and laws against trans people in the UK. I’d like to see him take responsibility for that and work towards correcting the misinformation he spread throughout his time as a TERF. Irreparable damage was done to trans rights in the UK and that doesn’t just go away.

You walk into the house, destroy all the furniture, leave, then you come back with “sorry my friends peer pressured me to destroy all the furniture :)” and then sit down in the wreckage not bothering to clean it up.

[fullofgutsndopamine]

Sleeping In The Garden (You Broke The Dark)

(or the single dad hasan fic no one asked for)

tw/cursing, insta-love

cavity inducing fluff below the cut, don't say i didn't warn you

more here

you arrived early to the library to set up.

you didn’t need a full hour and a half to unpack a small suitcase full of various cheap school supplies; Crayola paints and old brushes warn with age, stencils and small canvases.

it's winter break at the small school you teach, and to make ends meet, you've been doing small paint and sip activities at local libraries for the kids.

it gets the children out of their parents hair for an hour and a half, and they're usually excited to see the artwork they work on come to life-and the hot chocolate is an added bonus for most kids.

kids file in, and while the class was filled, you can't help but notice the seat in the corner unoccupied as you gather your supplies, say a quiet prayer to whatever god exists, and walk to the front of the room-

the door is thrown open, and a tall man ducks into the room, snow covering his mop of curly brown hair, hunched over so he doesn't tower over his kid, his hand on their back as he speaks quietly to them:

"Go on. You're okay."

She takes a step, but immediately retreats back and hides behind the mans leg, her tiny fingernails dig into his leg.

"Baby," he sighs, "C'mon. I promise-"

He looks up and sees you, his face turns pink and he stands a little straighter, takes the hat off his head and tries to wipe the snow out of his hair.

"I'm so sorry we're late," he sounds genuine, "I can offer you an assortment of excuses, each shittier than the last-"

"Papa."

he realizes his mistake, the curse word, and half turning around, speaks gently: "That's right. My bad. That's a quarter in the jar when we get home, okay?"

finally, a small giggle from behind his legs, and he stands a little straighter, as if proud of this breakthrough.

"You aren't too late," You reassure him, "We didn't even really start."

"Oh, good." and he sounds so genuinely happy, you have to bite your lip from smiling back, "She hasn't stopped talking about this since I signed her up."

"Papa."

A groan from behind his leg that makes him laugh

"You can stay," You say, probably too quick even, borders on pathetic, "If it makes your daughter more comfortable. Plenty of parents stay."

And that's not a lie, necessarily, a few parents stayed, but they mostly linger towards the back, by the various snacks, heads buried in their phones.

"Papa," the voice from behind his legs come, border on pleading: "Stay?"

and then, a little quieter, a little teary, she finishes with a, "Please?"

and listen, you don't know the man in front of you, or the kid either, but as he kneels on the floor, his head titled and voice low, "Okay." He nods, "I'll stay."

he pushes down the laundry list of things he needs to do; phone calls to make, grocery shopping to do-

his daughter comes first, always.

He looks up at you, a small smile on his face: "I won't get in the way, I promise, where do you want us?"

And he stands, and slings his daughter onto his hip, a carbon copy of him, a mop of curly hair on top of her head, some sloppy ponytail and a knit hat shoved over her head-

"There's a seat right there." You bite your lip and turn, pointing towards the empty chair, hoping you turned in time so he doesn't see the red of your face.

"Thank you uh-" He shakes his head, laughs, "Sorry, I didn't get your name uhm-"

You laugh, "Right, It's nice to meet you-"

And you offer your hand, hands in the air and feels awkward for half a second as you introduce yourself, but he laughs, shakes back:

"hasan," he gives the kid on his hip a gentle shake, "And this is Ophelia."

"It's nice to meet you two," You smile at the small figure on his hip, who buries her head into his shoulder blade, her hands hold tiny handfuls of his sweater, makes him roll his eyes but fond at the side of his lips as he bounces her on his hip, "Have a seat, and i'll bring everything over in a second."

He shakes his head, as if dazed, "Of course, right." and walks to the table, trips over his own feet, but manages to help himself from falling.

He sets Ophelia on a chair, and takes his own coat off, sits cross legged next to her on the floor, still towers over her, his voice low but he's smiling and pointing at everything, obviously trying to make her more comfortable-

You stand at the front, slowly starting the beginning instructions after you set hasan and Ophelia up with the supplies, watch as he carefully ties the apron around her waist, a tickle on her side as she finally giggles, reaches over and stars grabbing at the paint exctidely-

you go around, getting ready to serve the small paper cups of hot chocolate, once you realize everyone is mostly comfortable (even Ophelia, who has made friends with the little boy next to her) when you feel a presence by your elbow.

"Sorry, hope I didn't scare you," He smiles, scratches the back of his neck, "Thought i'd ask if you needed help."

He smiles weakly for a second before his eyes go wide, "Not that it doesn't look like you don't have this under control or anything!"

finally, you laugh, and it seems to make some anxiety he has go away.

"That would actually be great," You laugh, "If you wanna carry the tray, I can hand 'em out. We can doule team."

He nods, "Sure, of course-"

"And I can re-pay you," you continue, a smirk on your lips.

"Oh," He shakes his head, "No way. How happy Ophelia is, is good enough payment"

'and meeting you' hangs on the tip of his tongue, but he swallows that down

"The payment is unfortunately," you continue, turning around, "In marshmallows."

you turn back around, a large bag of mini marshmallows in your hand

he laughs, a giggle, his voice teasing, "Hot chocolate and marshmallows?"

"Marshmallows are my love language." You laugh, and before you realize what you're saying he's nodding, like that actually means something

"Good to know," he laughs, "I'll keep that in mind."

And your face blushes red again and you shrug, struggle with the ends of the bag for a second before he takes it, opens it without asking and hands it back

he snorts at himself, "I'm so sorry," he shakeshis head, "I think i'm still in dad mode."

You laugh, shake your head, "That's okay-"

He cuts you off, "You lead the way?" he says gently, "And maybe i can make it up to you later?"

for a second, you wonder what, exactly, he wants to make up, but as he looks at his dirty converse and kicks gently at the ground, his face red, you know what he's getting at.

"Yeah," you shake your head, hoping it doesn't come off as desperate as it feels, "I'd love that."

"Yeah?" his head whips up, and he nods, as if he's calm about the whole thing.

"yeah," he nods a final time, "It's a date."

and you two deliver hot chocolate with marshmallows, both of your faces tinged pink, ignoring the way your hands knock into each other the entire time.

[bisluthq]

I suspect Taylor and Joe’s relationship was pretty sexless towards the end bc in late 2022 along with the random Matty post she was liking a lottt of these thirst trap vids of shirtless hot guys doing that weird corny seductive eboy thing, like “hey girls I love Taylor swift (I’m 6’4 btw)” vibes

I mean, again - I’ve never heard anyone say “I’m miserable in my LTR but the sex is so great it makes me wanna stay”. That just doesn’t happen. The sex is generally one of the first things to get shittier or rarer and you’ll try be like “oh but that’s not important” or “oh everyone has slumps” but unless you actively start fixing it, you will wind up in a roommates situation. I get everyone has different libidos and some people are ace but if you WERE banging all the time and now you’re having sex now and then like on special occasions, either start working to fix the fuck out of it - schedule date nights and getaways and whatnot - or like start considering this might be drawing to a close.

[eriellesudario]

Lets Talk About It: Depression and how it affected me

​​Trigger Warning: Depression

PS: I plan to make a video about this topic in the future

PPS: I’m not trying to get attention. I don’t want pity. I just want to release my thoughts about what’s bothering me. I don’t really enjoy talking it out because it just goes full circle and things just get really complicated and it will make me feel way more shittier than I was hours before. It’s best if I type it out.

PPPS: Not gonna put names and gender pronounce cuz defamation law exist.

Depression sucks.

But before I continue on, I need to tell you what depression is.

According to Beyondblue, depression is more than being sad and moody. It’s feeing really bad about yourself that it affects your physical and mental health. Some of the symptoms involve a lot of things such as being anti-social, feeling guilty, unfocused, headaches, loss of appetite and so many others.

Here is a link to Beyondblue’s site for more information

And for me, I somewhat suffer from it.

Sadly, my condition wasn’t officially diagnosed by a doctor or any medical professional, but based on the observation from my peers, high school teachers (from both high schools I’ve been in), advice from Headspace, my family, and as well as searching it up on Google on symptoms… I pretty much have it and this year, the people around me are getting really concerned about it.

Just recently, one of my co-workers in my part time job thought I just stormed out of work just because I looked ‘really really upset’ but in reality, I went out to get dinner and I had a lot going on in my mind that night.

The reason why I don’t go to a doctor or a professional about it is a really complicated reason involving me and my entire family that’s best not to get into.

But even if I never get it checked, I pretty much have it (I think).

In the past, mental health was never advocated in my primary school back in the Philippines. The only time I got to hear the words ‘bullying’, ‘depression’ and ‘suicide’ was in mid Term 2 in Year 7 when the bullying got worse for me that teachers started to notice that I wasn’t happy in class and theories started to form. They had to confront me and ask what was wrong, and when I mean that, I mean they had to convince me to tell them because as someone who has zero knowledge on what bullying is, I wouldn’t spill the beans due to fear.

From time to time in high school, I still continued to feel like rubbish, but it wasn’t as bad as it was this year (we’ll get to that later). Normally I’d get upset, probably for the whole day and the next day, I’d feel better unless the issue continues.

In senior year however, I pretty much had a grudge against my high school due to the ‘incident’ that I will not go into much detail because it will just trigger memories that I want to forget. But my friends knew how during year 12 that I wanted to get out of high school, to graduate and just go to university.

2016 was one of my best years in regards towards my mental health, not because I got support from university lecturers to pursuit my passions, not because Dan and Phil came to Australia, not because of my average grades, not even because of the Phandom Meet Ups and the extraordinary experiences I’ve done throughout the year. Despite all of those being good valid reasons why I was mentally well that time, the real reason is that I because my social life was balanced. I was able to calm myself down because I wasn’t expected to fully socialise with others. Yes, I have made friends but I was in a situation where I’m satisfied with the bond and relationship we currently have. Mainly because I knew that I wouldn’t see most of these people during second year because of majors and timetable stuff.

Yes, I will admit that there were some rough days and times where I returned to feeling depressed but they didn’t last long or affected me real badly. It didn’t phased me much since the good moments weighed over the bad.

2017 however… this was a game changer.

I started having a more active social life. And it was both a good and bad thing.

Good thing because it means I’m no longer alone and we need to make connections (cuz it’s uni), but bad cuz I have less experience with socialising with others that I tend to do a lot of stupid shit… which leads to terrible outcomes and embarrassment.

If you follow me on Twitter and Tumblr, then you already know before hand what I’m going to be talking about.

Around 6 weeks ago, I met someone. This person was really… REALLY nice. Like they we’re really cool and for some reason, this person knew everything there is to know about me in under an hour. We’ve met IRL a few times but I make use of that time to know them more.

Then one night, we watched a movie together. It was fun. We went to Woolies before the film and I told them that I can eat a large bucket of popcorn alone. They didn’t believe me but I proved them wrong afterwards. After the movie, the uni squad and my online friend Acacia noticed that I was happier than before. They saw this happiness was more than my excitement when I met Dan and Phil for Cool For Summer. It was the feeling of belonging. I told them that this person was like me (and they were), we’re both photography nerds, we plan to go to Vivid Sydney together and my intensions to know them more.

My friends think this person is a cool dude* and wish to meet them in real life (especially Acacia). Some even started to ship us. And I don’t mind since people shipped me with other people before.

Biggest shipper is Acacia.

*I call everyone a dude btw, both girls, boys and anyone in between

But this post is not about me ranting about what my friend did to make me upset.

This post is about how I felt and how it affected me.

Recently, I screwed up a friendship with them. This person who I thought was super cool and super nice… started to treat me badly. People told me to stop being afraid to express myself, to take a chance and be me, knowing that this person is clearly similar to me… except older… and perhaps more nerdier than me.

Basically:

So much is going on in university + me doing stupid shit = The friendship is in the brink of being over.

To be honest, I (and plenty of others) thinks its over but my heart believes that there is still hope for it to last.

But in reality, nope.

This affected me real bad.

How bad?

May 18 2017.

I became an emotional mess. I cried in the library, fandom antics couldn’t cheer me up, YouTube didn’t help and I was pretty much alone because all of my friends were not around to help me.

Minutes later, I DM’ed one of my friends who thankfully was online and vented out about my loneliness and why I’m feeling like rubbish. Then the uni squad finally arrived to my rescue. They allowed me to cry in front of them because they knew I was holding my feelings in for a very long time that I could no longer hold it any longer. I made it sound like I’m fine for a long period of time, that I’m ok with it with everything that happened. But I really wasn’t. I was crying, and really upset, and a few people from uni who were near where my friends and I were, came and comforted me. My friends tried to make me laugh and told me that they will beat this person up for being a nerd (or being more nerdy since I’m also a nerd). But what really comforted me the most was when I asked one of my friends for a hug. This friend wasn’t much of a hugger but our other friends had to convince them to do it because I was in a really, really low mood and I really needed a hug. It was really nice and perhaps one of the best hugs I’ve ever received.

I did eventually feel better but I still wasn’t ok. I still get triggered when I’m in certain locations in university (mostly the library) and I now have a tendency to have a mental breakdown when I’m alone for a long period of time.

Luckily, I managed to calm myself down and was able to get my work done but who knows when I will break down again.

But what I’m worried the most is about what will happen to me when I go to Vivid Sydney.

This person and I planned to go to Vivid Sydney together to take photos (and perhaps model for each other) for portfolio purposes, but due to all the drama that occurred, it’s more likely I will be going alone. I’m totally cool with going solo, but what I’m worried about is having an emotional breakdown… in the middle of Vivid!

People are telling me not to go and cancel. I don’t want to since Vivid is the perfect opportunity for me to practice night photography and this event was like a good luck charm for me. Vivid 2014 was my first vlog that I’ve ever posted on the internet and my blog post for Vivid 2015 was one of the reasons why I made it in to university.

I have to go.

But the question is: Will I be ok?

So how am I feeling right now?

I’m getting better a bit.

It will take a while for me to fully recover but at the moment, I will try to smile a bit. I can’t be this upset forever.

I know I have friends who are already tired of me talking about this and I apologise but please note that it really takes a long while for me to move on. Hopefully by second semester, I’m back to my fangirl self.

And to the person who I’m talking about in this blog post, if you see this, you were a really cool dude. Like I enjoyed having you as company and the reason why I message you a lot is because when I messaged you about a few of my problems, you made me feel better. And I enjoy having you around, you’re easy to talk to.

Guess that’s not happening anymore.

But what can we learn from this?

Don’t take your friends for granted. It’s really hard for me to make friends and when I do, most of the time, we hardly have anything in common except we’re doing the same subjects.

Like I said, this person was almost exactly similar to me. We had a lot of common interest and we can talk about films without anyone getting lost (cuz the uni squad are film nerds). And knowing that I screwed up and the chances of us still remaining friends is really slim, it hurts me emotionally because I constantly blame myself for what happened when my friends constantly tell me that it’s not my fault.

But overall, it’s to try to have control over your mental health. This is easier said than done but for me, I can’t keep blaming myself or feeling hurt over something like this. There will be other people who might be the perfect match.

But right now, I just need to work my way to letting go.

But just saying… I really enjoyed your company and I really did want to know you more. I guess my approach wasn’t… the ideal way to do it.

[dinosaurtsukki]

salty french fries | a tsukishima x f!reader fic

pairing: diner employee!tsukishima x f!reader

word count: 2.2k words

contains: fluff, the slightest of angsts, late-night diner talks, insomniac!reader, puzzles, tsukishima being a softie, salty french fries in case you couldn’t tell

summary: tsukishima works the graveyard shift at a diner near his campus to help pay the bills and ends up noticing you, a regular customer who comes in every night to order the same french fries because you can’t sleep 

a/n: i can’t believe it took me this long to write a full-length one-shot for tsukki as a self-proclaimed tsukki fangirl. this is inspired by me having trouble sleeping and wishing i had tsukki to eat fries at a diner with

knowing that he was attending university on scholarship, tsukishima fully expected having to work in some shitty, part-time job to help pay the bills and earn some money for allowance. he just didn’t quite expect that he’d be working the graveyard shift at a diner just a few blocks away from campus. 

tsukishima didn’t want to take on a job that was too much of a hassle and by hassle, he meant having to interact with customers. so, even though his sleep schedule was kind of fucked with him sleeping at four in the afternoon to go to work at midnight before heading straight to class, tsukishima was still okay with his job. he didn’t really care about the whole ‘night time is sleep time’ idea and the lack of customers during the graveyard shift gave him more than enough time to work on assignments.

during his shift, he’d deal with the usual late-night customers: fellow students who stayed up too late partying or purposely stayed up late to pull all-nighters, truck drivers and fellow late-shift employees hoping to grab a bite before going to work or going home, and the less favorable drunk men who passed out cold on the tables only for tsukishima to have to wake up in the morning. 

with the few customers that tsukishima had to encounter, of course he’d notice someone who regularly came during his shift. and that someone was you.

tsukishima first noticed you a few months into his work at the diner. in fact, you were his only customer on the first night when you came in and you stayed for three hours, eating just a plate of french fries, before leaving at five in the morning. the next night, you did the same thing, and the next, and the next. the thing tsukishima noticed about late-night customers was that there was always a noticeable purpose to their visit: a way to socialize, a place to hang out in the unholy hours of the night, even just getting a bite to eat. however, tsukishima couldn’t for the life of him figure out what your purpose was.

from behind the counter, he couldn’t help but watch as you’d absentmindedly pour ketchup on the side of your plate, dip your fries in one by one, and chew slowly while staring at the wall. it was as if you were just there to pass the time.

...

your visits ended up being frequent enough to finally pique tsukishima’s curiosity and cause him to actually initiate conversation.

“the usual, right?” he asked, taking your order as you sat at the counter.

“you got it,” you smiled up at him. tsukishima noticed that you always wore the same ratty, dark green coat over what appeared to be your pajamas. 

“you must love these fries,” tsukishima said sarcastically, arising a chuckle from you. 

“would you feel bad if i said i think they’re not exactly great?” you cocked your head at him. 

“as long as you don’t tell my manager who never comes in at this time,” tsukishima smirked, handing you your change.

“your secret is safe with me,” you mimed zipping your lips shut and throwing away the key. that one managed to get a laugh out of tsukishima as he strolled over to the kitchen to make your fries. 

“one order of shitty french fries,” he said, coming back a few minutes later. “and ketchup, of course.”

“hey, i didn’t say they were shitty,” you picked up a fry and wagged it at him. “just, kind of soggy and salty and... actuallly yeah, it is kind of shitty,” you giggled, dipping the fry and eating it.

“i can’t believe you thought soggy and salty would be euphemisms,” tsukishima shook his head.

“well, sorry for my brain not being in peak condition at three a.m. enough to read...” you paused and leaned over the counter to look at the book that tsukishima had been reading for class. “...Plato’s ‘The Republic.’”

“i actually don’t read anything, i just highlight stuff to feel good about myself,” tsukishima shrugged.

“that’s a mood right there,” you smirked at him. “so, you must be wondering why i come here all the time.”

“mmm, mostly i was wondering about the fries part but that’s a close second.”

you rolled your eyes at him. “well if you must know, i come here because i can’t sleep.” 

tsukishima blinked and realized, for the first time, how dark your under-eyes were, how weak and almost raspy your voice sounded, and how you always seemed to be vacantly staring at the same wall whenever you came in.

“actually, i do sleep but at most it’s just two hours before i wake up again and decide to come here,” you added. “sometimes i take a twenty-minute nap before studying, but that’s about it.”

“sounds... rough,” tsukishima said, very much aware that there were a million other better things to say. instead, you just smiled and nodded at that.

“pretty much.” 

“well, you’re lucky. the other diner serves shittier fries.” 

tsukishima couldn’t help but smile at the look of incredulity on your face before bursting out laughing. for some reason, it felt like an accomplishment. he couldn’t help but feel as if he should help you with your insomnia but the thought of ‘what can you actually do about it?’ overcame him first.

but ever since then, tsukishima did make an effort to make his fries less shitty.

...

it was safe to say that tsukishima did end up enjoying your company. at first, he was worried that it would be a distraction from his work but you always managed to give pretty good insights on any texts he was reading or papers he had to write. you had a sharp tongue and always managed to keep up with tsukishima’s jokes or have him keep up with you. 

but he noticed you kept coming earlier and earlier, sometimes even before tsukishima’s shift began, and he could tell you were sleeping even less. the voice in his head saying that it wasn’t any of his business steadily grew quieter with that progression.

“wanna try this out?” tsukishima asked, one night. you snapped out of your usual staring-blankly-at-the-wall activity and looked down to find tsukishima pushing what appeared to be a puzzle set towards you.

aside from greasy food, the diner tsukishima worked at had shelves full of board games and puzzle sets. ‘to entertain the student crowd,’ his manager reasoned. tsukishima didn’t know if the day customers actually used them but he’d always been curious about playing with some of the games.

“‘Vincent Van Gogh ‘Cafe Terrace at Night’ puzzle set, one-thousand pieces,” you read. “it’s, a thousand pieces.”

“we could use a puzzle board for it to save progress,” tsukishima shrugged. “only if you want to,” he added, starting to feel nervous that you’d be put off by his suggestion. ‘i could have chosen a one-hundred piece puzzle instead this was dumb of me,’ he couldn’t help but think. instead, you laughed and nodded your head.

“where’s that puzzle board?”

...

“oh my god, why the fuck did you make me agree to this? they’re all the same shades of blue!!” you exclaimed, holding up two puzzle pieces that had the same color but frustratingly didn’t join together.

“i thought it was a good idea at first,” tsukishima muttered, squinting at the mess of puzzle pieces before him. he was trying to put together the cafe part of the puzzle. “wait! i got it!” he suddenly exclaimed, picking a puzzle piece and joining it together with a small clump he had already formed.

“now, i have five pieces together,” he gloated, showing you the part.

“great. now we have nine-thousand, nine-hundred, and ninety-five pieces to go,” you laughed tiredly. the two of you were occupying one of the tables closest to the counter which was now covered with the puzzle board and puzzle pieces. 

when you first decided to visit the nearby diner after another sleepless night, you didn’t expect to befriend the tall, blonde boy who ran the graveyard shift and cooked shitty, but now slightly better, french fries. you didn’t really expect that tsukishima kei also liked to make himself milkshakes with strawberry ice cream or that he got unusually invested in puzzles, or that he looked cute whenever he was excited at joining pieces together.

“ah! i did it! i got a match!” you suddenly exclaimed, grinning and showing tsukishima the two identically colored pieces you managed to join together.

“finally, you managed to get one,” he smirked at you. 

“mean! do you know how hard it is to sift through all of this?” you gestured at the huge sea of blue in front of you. 

tsukishima cocked his head. “are you sure those actually fit right?”

“what do you mean? i just fit it together?”

“nah, i think it doesn’t work. give it here,” he grinned, snatching it out of your hand.

“give it back!” you pouted. “tsukishima!”

...

“tsukishima, it’s been half a month and we’re exactly halfway,” you deadpanned, looking at the puzzle before you that already had clumps of van gogh’s iconic painting formed. 

“i don’t know if i should be happy about this or just depressed,” tsukishima sighed.

“celebratory french fry?” you suggested, picking a fry off the plate.

“celebratory french fry,” tsukishima chuckled, mimicking your action. the two of your crossed your french fries together before eating them. 

“i don’t know if you know this, but this is my favorite part of my day,” you smiled.

“working on a thousand-piece puzzle with a diner employee?” tsukishima snorted. 

“yeah, sad right?” you laughed. “sometimes i just get excited about going to sleep just so that i could wake up and come here.”

“funny enough you have been coming later,” tsukishima pointed out. not that he really thought it was a bad thing because it meant you’ve been sleeping just a bit more. 

“thanks to the puzzle, i’ve actually been able to sleep once i get home,” you added, somewhat excitedly. “and, i don’t know, that makes facing the day less worse.”

“is that why you can’t sleep?” tsukishima asked. 

“pretty much,” you shrugged, taking another fry from the plate. “somehow, being in my own bed in my room gets claustrophobic and i just can’t help but worry about things i should be doing or haven’t done. you know, usual twenty-something problems.”

“well, there is something to look forward to after all that,” tsukishima crossed his arms. you glanced up at him. “climate change.”

you threw a fry at him. “i hate you.”

“it’s the truth!” tsukishima protested. “also, is that any way to talk to someone who’s been trying to help you out?”

“awww, you’ve been trying to help me out all this time?” you gushed, despite the flutter in your chest at having your suspicions finally confirmed.

“i-i mean,” tsukishima stammered, trying to save himself from his slip-up. “well, you just looked so pitiful coming in every night and just eating shitty fries and staring at the wall.”

“that’s true,” you laughed. “but, thanks, i guess. for helping me out in your own salty way.”

“you’re welcome.”

your smile at tsukishima’s response turned into a yawn. “is me boring you to death adding to you feeling sleepy because i guess i’m doing a pretty good job,” he said.

“haha, very funny tsukishima,” you yawned again. “well, let’s hope i’m still sleepy when i get home.” 

“if you want,” tsukishima rubbed the back of his head. “the staff room is actually pretty okay-looking. there’s a couch and everything so...”

“are you inviting me to sleep in the staff room?” 

“well, if you make it sound that way--”

you interrupted him by standing up. “that better be a comfortable couch then.”

...

tsukishima really didn’t want to be like edward ‘sparkle vampire’ cullen and be a creep who watches you sleep but he just couldn’t help it. at first, he thought it would take you quite a while to even close your eyes but you fell asleep as soon as your head hit the couch. the way you were curled up on one side using your hands as a cushion reminded tsukishima of a sleeping cat and he had subconsciously stopped breathing in fear that he would wake you up.

when he first signed up for a job manning the graveyard shift at a diner, tsukishima never expected he would meet a girl who came in every night because she couldn’t sleep and eat fries at two in the morning. neither did he expect he would fall in love with her. 

carefully, tsukishima set down your puzzle board on the coffee table, wincing slightly when he made a noise but you were still deep asleep. he looked down at the partially finished puzzle before methodically picking up pieces and joining them effortlessly together. after all, it was his own puzzle set. 

tsukishima finished just in time for the employee in charge of the next shift to come in for the morning rush. usually, he’d just be in a hurry to leave to try snatch a few hours of sleep for his class. but right now, it was a trivial thing compared to the fact that you were peacefully asleep. 

half an hour later, tsukishima would gently shake you awake because another employee was coming in. you would see the finished puzzle on the table and ironically piece everything together. like tsukishima, the thought of leaving the diner wouldn’t even cross your mind. 

even though eating fries at three a.m. with you wasn’t like anything tsukishima would ever experience, he wanted nothing more than to have breakfast with you. 

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

taglist (still open to anyone who wants in!): @montys-chaos​ @miyumtwins​ @strawberriimilkshake​ @pocubo​ @sugawara-sweetheart @akaashisbabydoll @laure-chan@therainroguefanfiction @atetiffdoesart @stephdaninja @oikaw-ugh@charliefredb @dramaqueenweeb1469 @tremblinghearts @applepienation @doodleniella @haikyuu-my-love @tpwkatsumu  @waitforitillwritemywayout 

[localkatshelter]

Okame’s Underbelly - Explanation |5th|

(ShinsoxOC)

Katsumi’s POV (localvillageidiot#0870) and Shinso’s POV (hecker#8339)

Warning: Contains arguing, name-calling, smoking, swearing, slight misuse of quirk, and Denki and Mina supremacy

Preview (Katsumi’s POV):

| “Shinso,” I said, turning to him, “you like poetry too, right?” I said, giving him a small, inviting smile.

“No, not my thing.” he grumbled, not even turning to answer me directly.

I felt my eye twitch. I am trying. So hard. To be nice.

“Oh really? I got the feeling that you might since I think we met briefly at a poetry house once over the summer.” I said pleasantly, clenching my jaw in secret.

“Did we? Well, even if we did, I don’t think I’d remember you.” he said dismissively.

Okay, now you're just trying to piss me off. |

Unknown source for artwork. (Please let me know who’s it is if you know)

1st Chapter - Anticipation

(Katsumi's POV)

The smell of day old frying oil greeted me as I walked into Marley’s to meet up with Mina. She had asked me to grab a quick bite to eat with her before we went to a party that a friend of hers was having. She knew I would never turn down a good time nor would I ever turn down a Marley’s date. I scanned the room to find my favorite tuft of pink hair waving wildly at me. My smile morphed into shock when I saw an equally wild blonde waving at me as well. I hurried over to the table to greet them but when I arrived I saw Edgelord sitting with them as well. His head was stuck in a menu, apparently trying to seem indifferent about my arrival. I felt a strange mix of anger and anxiety rushing out of him, pushing me back towards the door. It irritated me but I decided to ignore it, focusing my attention on those who were happy to see me.

“Denki, hi! I didn’t think I’d see you so soon.”

“Fate must be bringing us together.” he avowed, comically suave.

I laughed. “It must be. Can’t say I mind though.”

I hugged Mina, who had gotten out of the booth when I walked over.

“Why didn’t you tell me you had friends coming too?” I asked.

“I thought you’d like the surprise!” she beamed.

“You know me, the more the merrier!” I said as we settled into our seats. I slid into the booth next to Edgelord, who still hadn’t said anything. I took off my leather jacket and tucked it into my backpack between my legs.

“Hey Shinso.” I said casually.

“Hey.” he replied gruffly.

Well this is going to be an awkward meal. He’s already on my nerves. I don’t get why he’s acting like this. I let him sleep on my couch and he can’t even muster up a decent hello? Is he trying to hurt my feelings? ... Just play nice Kat. He’s Mina’s old friend and Denki’s roommate. You can do this. Just pretend like he’s not being weird, or better yet, pretend like he’s not even there. Don’t let it get to you. I took a mental deep breath and smiled at the two across from me. The three of us chatted for a while about nothing in particular, just a little small talk about this and that. At some point, Mina mentioned something about a high school memory, which reminded me of how they all knew each other.

“Denki, you went to UA too, right? Your quirk must be really cool.” I said.

“Wanna see how it works?” He raised an eyebrow and smiled mischievously.

I looked over at Mina who smiled encouragingly at me, albeit a bit too eager for my liking.

“Uh, sure why not?”

“Give me your hand.”

I complied, placing my hand in his. He took it and flipped it so my palm was up. He dangled his fingers over my hand dramatically, like a magician about to say their magic words.

“Are you ready?”

I nodded, a bit intrigued. He placed a finger in the middle of my palm and activated his quirk, sending a small zap into my skin. A strange noise came out of my mouth when I felt the slight pain and surprise hit me. The noise sent Mina and Denki into a fit of laughter.

“What- what was that noise?” Mina choked out between giggles.

“Shut up, that hurt!”

“I- I’m sorry! It was just too tempting!” Denki wheezed.

I rubbed the slightly tender part of my palm and glared at them.

“Come on, I’ll make it up to you. Let me kiss it better.” He held out his hands to me.

I looked at him skeptically.

“I won't do it again, promise.”

I gave him my hand and he leaned down, placing an electrified kiss on the same spot as before.

“Ow!” I cried as I pulled my hand back.

Mina and Denki bursted out laughing once more, this time joined by a scoff from Shinso.

“How gullible can you be?” Shinso said under his breath.

I shot him a look but before I could say anything back, our food arrived.

We ate and the three of us continued to chat. Mina and Denki told me stories about their time at UA together. It was so cool to hear what the pro heroes that I was covering were like when they were students. I took some pretty good mental notes, not that I would ever use any of the personal information I gathered in any of my posts. That just felt like an invasion of privacy, but it did help me understand the dynamic I captured between certain heroes in my photographs. It always struck me odd how Dynamite and Deku looked when they fought together. Their relationship vexed me but pulled me in at the same time. The same applied to Dynamite and Red Riot. Hearing that one pair had been childhood friends and the other had become super close in their first year at UA shed some new light and perspective on the scenes that I had captured before.

Some of the stories were just outright hilarious too. Denki was an absolute riot and the way he and Mina played off of each other made my mission of ignoring Edgelord’s attitude super easy. He hadn’t said much of anything since our food had come to the table despite Mina and Denki trying to involve him in their storytelling. He just hummed or gave an unenthusiastic “yeah” whenever they asked him something. I didn’t need to use my quirk to feel the irritation and discomfort rolling off of him. If you don’t want to be here, then leave. I couldn’t help but feel like I was the reason he was so annoyed. I walked myself through my memories trying to figure out when exactly I ran over this kid’s cat. I really was nothing but nice. I practically saved his life, not that he knows that, but still! I bared those emotions for him! It took me forever to claw my way out of that depression hole. On top of that, I gave him a place to sleep it off and helped him move all of his shit up the stairs into his room. Why is he getting under my skin this much? Why do I even care? Everything about this is pissing me off.

“So Kat,” Denki said, interrupting my thoughts. “What do you like to do in your free time?”

“I like to take pictures and I write sometimes.” I said, covering my half full mouth.

“Well duh, you’re a photojournalism major. That doesn't count.”

“Umm,” I thought about my response as I swallowed. “Actually, I used to spend a lot of time at some hole-in-the-wall place near campus. I listened to people perform poetry and stuff like that. I went every Friday at one point to listen to a particular person. The stage name was Okame, but once they stopped performing I kind of lost interest” I checked my watch. “If Okame was still performing, I’d probably be getting ready to head over right about now.”

I felt Shinso tense up next to me. His anxiety was tugging at my quirk like toddlers aggressively tug on a parent’s sleeve. Wow, his anxiety just shot through the roof... You good kid? Maybe I should bring him into the conversation? Is that what this is about?

“Shinso,” I said, turning to him, “you like poetry too, right?” I said, giving him a small, inviting smile.

“No, not my thing.” he grumbled, not even turning to answer me directly.

I felt my eye twitch. I am trying. So hard. To be nice.

“Oh really? I got the feeling that you might since I think we met briefly at a poetry house once over the summer.” I said pleasantly, clenching my jaw in secret.

“Did we? Well, even if we did, I don’t think I’d remember you.” he said dismissively.

Okay, now you're just trying to piss me off.

“Oh yeah? Well I definitely remember you. You were outside. If memory serves, you were having a pretty rough go of it.” I turned to fully face him, shooting him a challenging glare.

I knew the irritation showed on my face, but I honestly didn’t care enough to hide my emotions anymore. He met my glare with his own. The message was clear, he wanted me to shut my mouth and drop it. But why should I? He just continued to stare me down, waiting for me to change the subject, but I had a few questions for him. Mina must have seen me ready to blow a gasket because she decided to jump in to defuse the situation.

“Well, what does it matter where you were or what you're into?” she chuckled nervously. “Kat, have you been writing anything interesting lately?”

“Or do you have any of your professional-grade photographs on your phone? I’d really love to see them! I’m sure they’re amazing!” Denki chimed in, following Mina’s lead.

“I’m gonna head out for a smoke.” Shinso said, looking at me to move.

I got up to let him out. I watched him walk out with his hands deep in his pockets. I was drilling holes into the back of his head and I knew he felt it because his frustration was overcoming his anxiety as he reached the door, but I wasn’t done with him yet.

“I’m actually going to take a step out too.”

Mina gave me a look that said Girl what? You don’t smoke. But I ignored it and followed after Shinso.

(Shinso's POV)

God must be playing some cruel joke on me, either that, or I was a shittier boyfriend than I originally thought and this was my sweet karma. I just can't seem to escape that night. I managed to stifle the buzz in my head for the most part but it keeps manifesting itself, or rather infesting, my present. Time for some more shitty coping. I pulled out the pack of cigarettes from my jacket and pulled one out. It was a bit mangled but it was my second to last one. (I imagine his last cigarettes always end up this way bc he always smokes when his mood is erratic so he just manhandles tf out these ciggies)

"It's in poor condition but it'll have to do." I muttered under my breath.

I swiftly placed it between my lips and raised the lighter to it, but the flame was quickly extinguished. Shit, why does it always have to be so windy today? I hovered my other hand over the flame to block the harsh gusts, as I furrowed my brows in concentration. I was failing miserably to light my damn cigarette. I groaned in frustration before two small hands appeared around mine. My hands jerked back, startled, extinguishing the flame immediately. I looked down and realized it was the little brunette. I composed myself with a sigh and went back to trying to light my cigarette, choosing not to pay her any attention.

"Do you want help lighting your cigarette or not?" she questioned, irritated.

I looked down at her, a stubborn expression on her face. Pick your battles, Shinso. I reluctantly leaned down towards her.

“So...” she said after the cigarette was lit. “I mean this in the nicest, most polite way possible, but what the fuck is your problem?” she interrogated.

Her sudden abrasiveness caught me off guard. "Uh...what do you mean?" When did this become an interrogation all of a sudden?

“I mean, why do you treat me like I ran over your cat on your birthday?

Her absurd question also took me aback but I was quicker to adjust this time. "I don't even know who you are?” Why am I lying? Fuck it I already said it, let's go with it.

“Oh really? So that's why you act so out of pocket any time I bring up the night we met when I found you drunk and ugly crying-”

"Okay okay, fine. Just please stop bringing it up." I interrupted hastily. "Jesus fuck." I muttered under my breath. Why does she insist on bringing it up?

“So you do remember?” she asked with mock surprise. I just looked ahead of me hoping that she would run out of steam and drop it.

“Say it.” She demanded, her volume raising this time.

"Yes." I confirmed begrudgingly. Why the fuck does she have to be so loud? She's a pro at being annoying. "But I can't say it, because I genuinely don't remember your name." This was intended to be a slight jab but I was being honest. I probably could remember it if I wasn’t actively trying to forget it.

“Not like Denki and Mina haven’t said it a million times today. It’s Katsumi.”

"Ooooh right. Kat." My voice was just short of being completely monotone.

“Kat...so you do remember. Asshole.” She rolled her eyes. She has no problem insulting me. It kind of amused me but my aggravation overshadowed it.

I shrugged at her. What does it matter anyway? It's not like we're gonna be best friends. We can barely tolerate each other as it is.

“Listen Edgelord, I think you still owe me an explanation. I’ve been nothing but nice to you. So what gives?” she insisted.

"I don't know what you're talking about. This is how I always am." I technically wasn't lying. I tended to rub strangers the wrong way, either that or I was easily forgettable.

“So you're always a total douche?” she challenged, staring me right in my face.

"Funny. Guess so." I said carelessly with a hint of a smirk at her additional loving nickname for me. Wonder what else she'll call me?

“I know you’re not though. You turn sour as soon as I come around and it bothers me. So fess up. What’s your damage?” Her expression twisted into a scowl at the end of her sentence.

That last question irked me a little more than it should've. My damage?

"Hm I don't know, maybe you being a constant reminder of one of the worst days of my life." I stated with a tinge of bitterness at the end of my words.

This seemed to catch her off guard. She took a moment to configure a response. She was either being very careful with her next words or didn't know what to say at all.

“Oh, okay, yeah. That tracks... Well I’m sorry, but I really couldn’t just leave you there.” Her tone was slightly softer than before.

"I know." I admitted reluctantly. "That's what's so frustrating." I muttered, barely audible. What made her care so much about a complete mess of a stranger? Now we're attached by that occurence and it's so embarrassing.

“Frustrating? What’s so frustrating?” She caught part of it.

"Nothing. I just- I hate that you saw me like that. It's fucking weird. I like to deal with shit on my own."

“It’s really okay, Shinso. I didn’t think about it when I saw you. I was just happy to catch up, because we got along really well that night. It wasn't until you started avoiding me like the plague that I started thinking back to remember where things went wrong.”

"Yeah, I get that. But you're always bringing it up so casually like it's the weather or some shit."

“It was the only thing that got any sort of response out of you. What else did you want me to do? Besides, It didn’t make me think of you in any type of way.” she assured me.

"I just don't get why you care." I said more to myself than to her.

She seemed to genuinely consider this for a second.

“Me either, if I’m being honest. You’re so grouchy. I almost never put up with your type. But here we are.” She shrugged and dropped her arms to her side, comically defeated.

That sentiment actually drew a chuckle out of me. It didn't seem like the most appropriate response for the situation so I tried to stifle it as best as I could.

"Yup. Here we are." I confirmed.

“So we’re friends now.” she asserted, sure of it.

"Uh...I didn't say all that." She really is bold. She keeps catching me off guard.

“But I did.” she doubled down on it.

There was a brief stare down, her amber eyes were unwavering on mine. I guess it doesn't mean much. We're just gonna have to play nice when we're around each other from now on.

I shrugged. "Okay cool." I put the cigarette to my lips again only to discover it is nothing but a dying butt now. All that annoying back and forth made me forget about one of my last cigs. "Fuck, really, Kat?" I complained with a hint of playfulness at the very edge of my tone. I'm due for a pack on Sunday so I'll just have to hold out for a day or so. I pulled out the last one and lit effortlessly. Of course now it lights with no problem.

“Blame your own stubbornness. If you had just given me an answer the first time I asked, you could have smoked until your lungs gave out.” she retorted.

There was a moment of silence as I took my first drag. I could see her eyeing my cigarette, with disgust, if I had to guess.

“Gimme one of those.” She pointed to my pocket where the now empty pack was.

I shot a look down at her, my eyebrows raised. I chuckled in surprise. I didn't take her for a smoker with the way she talks about it. I guess she's one of those self-loathing nic addicts. Kinda same. I'm just not as loud about it.

"A little too late, this is the last one." I took another drag, staring mindlessly at the horizon in front of me.

“And?” she insisted as if that was a dumb response.

I gave her another weird look before it registered. Oh...okay.

"Fine." I gave her the cigarette I was smoking.

She grabbed the cigarette, maneuvering it awkwardly in her hand before settling it between her pointer and middle finger, the typical form. She brought it to her mouth and inhaled with a pained expression. She was barely a second in before she began coughing. Yup, she doesn’t actually smoke. Her sad attempt was endearing in an odd way. It was actually kind of cute. What am I thinking? She was intolerable a second ago. Stop that, brain. You’re being weird. Scolding myself inwardly distracted me from the fact that I was laughing at her outwardly. She rolled her eyes in response, annoyed at my amusement.

“Listen, people seem to smoke when they’re stressed and well, you stress me the fuck out so I thought I’d give it a try. Show me how to do it then, since you wanna scoff at me.” She handed the cigarette back to me before crossing her arms. I followed up her request with another chuckle, shaking my head at her.

“Are you sure you wanna be my friend? I’m already teaching you bad habits.” I teased, a smirk pulling at the corner of my lips. But I obliged and raised the cigarette to my lips obnoxiously slow and inhaled. I blew the smoke in her general direction and she swatted it away with a grimace.

“Tada…” I concluded sarcastically.

“Gross...you know what? Nevermind.”

We laughed in unison. It was followed up with a moment of quiet.

“Well, Edgelord, I’ll see you at the party. Try to smile a little when you’re there. It suits you way more than your resting bitch face.”

“I’m starting to think that you don’t remember my name either. Keep it fresh and switch it up once in a while. Try...I don’t know...buzzkill next, or something.” I criticized, a smile in my voice.

She tilted her head to the side as if to say “good idea”, before I put out my cigarette and headed inside with her.

[havenoffandoms]

Sweeter Than You (Eskel/Lambert, Modern AU)

Based on Kashimalin’s 50 Types of Kisses prompt list.

Prompt: "A kiss that tastes of the food/dessert they are eating."

Pairing: Eskel/Lambert

Content Warning: Modern AU (lawyer Lambert, baker Eskel), implied sexual content at the end of the chapter (nothing graphic)

Read on AO3.

Lambert has had the shittiest day at work. 

First, he got stuck in downtown Novigrad traffic even though his traffic app told him that the roads were all clear, which in turn made him late for his 9am meeting. Real professional, great first impression. His client was understanding about the situation, but Lambert hates being late, especially when he’s trying to score new clients for his firm. The meeting went well despite his tardiness, and Lambert is convinced he’ll get the case settled in no time, but his day just kept getting shittier and shittier. He ended up spilling hot coffee on his brand new suit and the only spare he kept at the office was slightly too snug when he put it on. Great, he apparently put on weight, too. That has to be Eskel’s fault, what with all the treats he bakes for Lambert at the weekend. 

If the day wasn’t bad enough, Lambert’s car broke down on his way to lunch with an important client. It took the tow-truck a whole hour to get to him, which meant that Lambert had to cancel on his client and lose out on a potential settlement agreement. To add insult to injury, the sandwich Lambert ended up buying from a nearby bakery tasted of ass. Though admittedly Lambert’s taste buds have considerably developed since he started dating Eskel, because the man is a literal genius in the kitchen. Lambert can’t eat generic sandwiches anymore without comparing them to Eskel’s creations. 

When the tow-truck finally showed up, Lambert decided to call time of death on this generally miserable day. He called his secretary and told her to clear his diary for the day, which he knew that Essi would pull off. She’s hands down the best secretary in the whole of Novigrad, in Lambert’s eyes anyway, and well worth the considerable salary he pays her each month. After calling Essi, Lambert hailed down a taxi only to find that he left his wallet in his car, which was now being towed away to the nearest garage. Great. Just fantastic. 

Fuck this shit, fuck his car, fuck his job, and fuck the entire universe. 

Lambert just starts walking without a clear destination in mind. His suit is too tight and uncomfortable, but he can’t bring himself to care as he tries to work off the anxious energy bubbling in his chest. He wants to scream, or punch something, whatever yields the most satisfaction. Why is the world against him today? What did he do to deserve this? Lambert considers dialling Eskel, but he knows that his boyfriend won’t be able to hear the phone if he’s at work.

Oh, wait a second. 

Lambert looks around for the first time since storming off and he quickly realises that he’s not actually too far away from Eskel’s shop. The thought brightens his mood a little - if Lambert’s not able to go home and hide away from the world, at least he can spend the afternoon helping his boyfriend out in the bakery. Or just wait until Eskel has a minute to spare so Lambert can hug out all his frustrations in the backroom… or do other things in Eskel’s office. With a renewed spring in his step, Lambert makes haste towards Eskel’s shop. 

It doesn't take long for him to reach Lil Titbits, a quaint-looking shop just off the main street of Novigrad's business centre. It doesn’t look like much from the outside, but Lambert knows just how hard Eskel worked to make the inside of his shop as inviting and cosy as humanly possible. As soon as Lambert steps inside the bakery, the heavenly smell of warm baked bread and freshly made coffee invades his nostrils. If he closes his eyes, he can almost pretend like he’s stepping inside his and Eskel’s home rather than his boyfriend’s shop. 

The little bell above the door chimes loudly, announcing his presence. Lambert instantly notices that the place is quiet - which is not unusual for a Wednesday afternoon, when most of Eskel’s customers are still either at work or at school. Lambert notices an elderly couple sitting in the booth by the window, enjoying a generous slice of lemon-meringue pie - oh fuck, Lambert loves Eskel’s lemon-meringue pies - between themselves. Lambert can’t fathom why anyone would share a slice of pie that good, especially since Eskel’s creations are by far the best fucking thing Lambert’s ever tasted. People are weird. 

Apart from those two customers, the place is empty. It doesn’t take long for Eskel to appear behind the counter, wearing his favourite apron, the one that reads “They Call Me Darth Baker” written in a white font on the black fabric. Geralt, Eskel’s brother, bought him that apron for Christmas, but Lambert never thought Eskel would actually wear it at work, for every customer to see, but that’s Eskel for you. He doesn’t give a flying fuck about what people think of him. Lambert has always admired that about him. 

“Hey babe,” Eskel greets him, his smile bright enough to rival the moon, stars, and the fucking sun.  The deep baritone of his boyfriend’s voice washes over Lambert in calming waves. “Bit early for you to be here. Everything alright?” 

Lambert’s legs move of their own volition, and before he knows it, he’s behind the counter burying himself in the warmth and safety of Eskel’s arms. “I am now,” he breathes, his tone just on that side of pouty, before rubbing his cheek against Eskel’s nerdy apron. He doesn’t give a shit if the customers at the back of the shop see them, nor does he care if he ends up with flour in his beard. He needs this, needs to feel Eskel close, because today’s been a shitty day and the only person who can make it better is his boyfriend. 

“Oh sweetheart, what’s up?” Eskel asks, his voice soft and reassuring like he’s talking to a spooked animal. Lambert only tightens his hold around Eskel, not ready to break the sweetness of the moment by reminiscing about his not-so-good-very-bad day. “Wanna move through to the kitchen?” 

That, in fact, sounds like a great fucking idea. Lambert almost whines when Eskel pulls away from him, but the urge quickly fades when Eskel laces their fingers together and drags Lambert through the back by the hand. Once they have regained a semblance of privacy, Lambert lets Eskel pull him into another soul-crushing hug. 

“I hate everything. And everyone. Well no, not everyone. I don’t hate you.”

“Mmh, good to know,” Eskel rumbles, sounding amused, “what happened, puppy?”

Lambert buries deeper in Eskel’s embrace as he replies, his words slightly muffled by the fabric of Eskel’s apron. 

“Got stuck in traffic this morning, then was late for my meeting, spilt coffee on my suit, my car broke down, I missed lunch with a potential client who’s worth a buttload of money, and I’m getting fat,” Lambert ends, his tone decidedly whiny when he’s reminded of just how snug his emergency suit feels. Damn Eskel and his ridiculously good treats. 

“Naw, hell Lamb,” Eskel shifts and grabs something resting on the working surface behind him. When Lambert looks up, he sees Eskel holding what looks to be a lemon and white chocolate muffin inches away from Lambert’s face. “Open up! My baking always cheers you up.” 

“Your baking is the reason why I’m getting fat!” Lambert grouses half-heartedly, his tongue poking out from between his lips to lick at the buttercream frosting covering the top of the muffin. “Mmmh, white chocolate! I knew it.” 

“Was gonna save it for you to celebrate your new client. Guess it can also be used as a consolatory muffin,” Eskel brings the treat closer to Lambert’s lips and offers a small, encouraging smile, “c’mon, take a bite. I promise you’ll feel better.” 

Lambert can’t resist Eskel’s pretty eyes anyway, so he happily lets his boyfriend feed him the muffin. Lambert takes a huge chunk out, the white chocolate and lemon flavours exploding on his tongue pulling an appreciative moan. Lambert’s eyes flutter shut as he savours his morsel, and when he opens them again, he sees Eskel’s smile has widened into a pleased grin. 

“Good?” he asks, like there’s any fucking doubt about how good his muffin tastes. 

“As always,” Lambert whispers in response, snatching the muffin out of Eskel’s hand and stuffing what’s left of it in his mouth. Eskel levels him with an unimpressed look, clicking his tongue in disapproval at his boyfriend’s actions. 

“You’re gonna choke one of these days,” Eskel tells him, trying not to laugh as Lambert tries to chew around the massive bite in his mouth, “look at your lil hamster cheeks. Adorable.” 

Lambert glares - the full effect of his scowl is probably lost on Eskel, though, with how Lambert is still struggling to swallow his treat - but the intention is there. Eskel shakes his head fondly before leaning in and catching Lambert’s lips in a chaste kiss which probably tastes sweet and lemony, but Eskel doesn’t seem to mind the taste of his dessert on Lambert’s lips. It takes Lambert a little while to swallow the food in his mouth, but when he does, he puckers his lips in a silent request for more of Eskel’s sweet kisses. 

“Yes?” Eskel teases, raising one eyebrow, “can I help you?” 

Lambert’s lower lip juts out into a sad pout at those words, an action that pulls a warm chuckle from deep within Eskel’s chest. He takes pity on Lambert and pulls him impossibly closer to his firm body, rubbing his nose against Lambert’s in a tender gesture. Lambert’s hands come to rest on Eskel’s hips, where he squeezes the soft flesh of his boyfriend’s puppy fat. Gods, but he loves absolutely everything about Eskel. 

“Can you close the shop early today and take me home?” Lambert asks, voice barely above a whisper, as he stretches up to capture Eskel’s mouth in a demanding kiss that leaves very little as to which kind of activity Lambert has in mind for their evening together. His hand squeezes Eskel’s hip more firmly, pulling a needy whine from his boyfriend in response.

“Minx,” Eskel growls under his breath, punctuating his statement with a final kiss, “I’ll see what I can do.”

As Eskel walks away, Lambert doesn’t miss the way his boyfriend has to readjust his pants which are now tenting at the front. Lambert leans back against the worktop of Eskel’s baking table, and first undoes the buttons of his suit jacket, then the top three buttons of his shirt. He, unlike Eskel, isn’t trying to hide the visible bulge forming in his far too tight pants, dammit. 

“You do what you have to do, sweetheart,” Lambert speaks in a sultry tone, the irritation brought on by a rather shitty start to the day long forgotten when he meets Eskel’s lust-blown eyes, “I’ll be right here, looking like a goddamn snack for you the whole time.” 

Eskel curses under his breath, pointedly looking away from Lambert. 

“Bastard. You just wait until we get home,” Eskel threatens half-heartedly before leaving the kitchen to empty the showcases and store the pastries in the refrigerators on the main shop floor. Lambert feels positively giddy with anticipation at the thought of how him and Eskel will spend the rest of the evening. 

Lambert’s day, in spite of everything, doesn’t seem so shitty in the end, not when he’s got Eskel to come home to. 

[blahblahwritings]

Lost and Found.

A/N: Sorry it took so long to get round to this request I’ve had a manic week with hand-ins and work but it’s finished, I hope your like it!

Words: 2390

Warnings: Mentions of dead family members. A curse word here and there.

This was a stupid idea. Going to a flashy party in a flashy building hosted by a flashy company was one of the top activities you tried to avoid. You knew that your shitty minimum wage desk job and even shittier selection of dresses in your closet would make you not just feel but look out of place the moment you walked in. But, being a good friend, you caved when Emma had asked you for the tenth time to go with her, insisting that her friends and colleagues wouldn’t judge, but, coming from a group home, you knew better.

You weren’t a stranger to people thinking they’re better than you, or their fake sympathy when they found out your story, not that you were embarrassed by it. In fact, you had taken pride in it knowing that some of the shit you’d struggled through helped make you a better person. Not that they would care, they never needed a personality because they had the blessing of money and notoriety. Anyway, here you were, in your black dress and heels, a little bit of make-up you were sure had smudged on the car ride here and just enough alcohol in your system to make the night bearable.

Just looking at the exterior of the building made you want to throw-up, then again that could partially be the cheap wine you’d drank. The floodlights in the front shone beams of gold up the brilliant white bricks and the plants surrounding the door worth probably more than your apartment brought a pop of colour to the entrance. Emma finished paying the cab driver and stepped out beside you.

“Come on, it's not that bad. Let’s get inside.” She laughed, noticing your hesitation. Her hair sat in a perfect updo and her dress swayed elegantly as she waltzed forwards. Her whole look matched; the clips in her hair, the colour of her and her shoes, even the clutch she held presented her as a magnificently finished puzzle. You looked like a bag of trash next to her. Her hand gently tugged at your arm and with a deep breath, you made your way in.

The lobby was almost empty, save for a few well-dressed men and who you assumed were their dates chatting languidly by the front desk. Emma’s heels clacked loudly against the marble floors, your own in tow as she threw a friendly wave towards the receptionist before you reached the elevator. Your nerves picked up at the thought of being in a crowded room full of professionals talking business with fine champagnes and little finger sandwiches and stupidly fancy tables for it all to sit on. God, you needed to snap out of it. You’re complaining about the tables.

The doors opened and you stepped in, greeted by your reflection in the walls of the lift. At least your make-up hadn’t smudged. Emma turned to you and gave you a look.

“What?” You asked, eyes darting back at your reflection then back at her.

“Stop worrying so much, you look cute I promise.” She reassured, it kind of helped. Kind of.

A ding, the roll of the doors and suddenly the party was revealed. It didn’t seem the worst, you might even enjoy it. There were large round tables clothed in white fabrics with bottles of expensive champagne on ice standing in the center, large spreads of food were laid out towards the edges of the space as people picked and grazed. It was huge, far bigger than you were expecting and well furnished. The air was filled with laughter and polite conversation, a live jazz band performed on a stage with a sizable dancefloor. Thankfully, there was a well stocked bar for those who didn’t have the aquired taste of champagne and you’d have made a bee-line for it, had Emma not let out a squeal of excitement as a woman with long dark hair and a royal blue evening gown approached, gold jewellery shining in a beautiful contrast.

“Oh my god, hi! How are you? Isn’t this lovely?” She drawled, voice clear and sophisticated.

Emma let out a small chuckle, “I’m good and it’s gorgeous, where are you all sat?” she replied wtih a tilt of her head. The lady gestured vaguely to the left where a table of women gave over-enthusiastic smiles and waves as we peered over.

The three of us wandered through over and joined them. Your heart was in your throat as you tucked yourself in, eyes flitting between the champagne in the middle and the bar, debating fleeing in search of a better tranquiliser for the night.

“Emma, who’s your friend? I don’t believe we’ve met her before.” Another lady with a short blonde bob spoke. You moved to introduce yourself but Emma jumped in. “This is Y/N, she’s one of my closest friends and the nicest person I know, isn’t her dress cute?” The prompt led the girls to all ooh and aah at your outfit as you faked a tight smile and thanked them, shooting Emma a pointed glare which she returned with an apologetic wince. “So! Has Billy arrived yet?” She giggled taking the spotlight off you and you visibly relaxed, shoulders slumping forward, a chuckle escaped you as you shook your head recognising the name. She talked about him often enough, specifically his ‘perfectly styled hair’ and ‘eyes you could just drown in’.

“Unfortunately no, we do have a distinct lack of eye candy at this party.” The blue lady from earlier sighed exaggeratedly, sending them all into another round of giggles. Had you any self control you’d have hidden the grimace that crossed your face. You weren’t overly fond of talking about people in such a way. A waiter came to your table, asking if there was anything he could get, be it food or drink. They requested a second bottle of champagne and as he turned, you gently caught his arm.

“I’d like a whiskey, a double on ice if that's alright.” You tried and he nodded. “Of course, would you like a mixer with that, miss?” He questioned and you shook your head. He quirked an eyebrow at this and shot you an amused smile probably knowing you disliked this ordeal as much as he did. Turning back to the table you engaged in their chatter until you could quietly sip your drink.

Across the room, a tall man in a black tux entered, his hair slicked back and a freshly shaved stubble lining his jaw. He was greeted by a few other party-goers, laughing and complimenting the festivities. Typical, tedious small talk always appeased the businessmen and women. Billy took pride in his work, but that didn’t mean he had to like the sleazy old men in his clientele. He was partially listening to the dramatic but fake story one of the men always told at parties to impress the women as he sipped his drink until someone caught his eye. You. He recognised your face almost immediately but couldn’t be entirely sure for the crowd. Excusing himself from the conversation, he moved with the grace of a cat, eyes never leaving you, sat at the table with a glass of something dark in your hand.

Memories of the group home came flooding back to him, of your laugh and smile, that echoed only feet away from him. He remembered the nights spent talking for hours on the floor of your room about your ambitions and how you were both gonna ditch the place for good. Flashes of you crying, upset at one of the other kids because they said something that hit a little too close to home for you, cuddled into his side as he pressed soft kisses to the top of your head. His whole world fell apart the day you went your separate ways. He needed you just as much as you needed him if not more because you were there in the early hours of the morning when he couldn’t sleep, when he had lost all his cockiness and his wit, coming to you with nothing but glassy eyes and vulnerability.

He continued to stare, unsure of what to do as everything moved in slow motion. It was new to him, this experience of being stuck for a plan, but, he was interrupted as another man came over, a little more drunk than he should’ve been, cheering at Billy. He lost sight of you, just for a moment he took his eyes off you and he pushed past the drunken businessman and into the crowd to get to you. A few people made noises of complaint, quickly hushing as they recognised him.

He appeared by your table, leaving the crowd behind and just gaping at you. He couldn’t believe you were here, and looking like you did? Your eyes perfectly framed by your eyeliner, your dress hugging all the right places and your heels highlighting the shape of your legs? All that ran through his head were words of praise.

Emma stood suddenly from the table, approaching Billy and you watched curious as to where she was going until your eyes landed on him. “Y/N, this is Billy, my boss, he's the host of the party.” She explained. A cheshire grin painting itself on her features. You stood, taking a step towards him and offering your hand. He glanced down at it and his eyebrows furrowed for a split second. Didn’t you recognise him? He took your hand and shook it once, forgetting to take his back. You had to admit, he was incredibly handsome, but there was something about him that you couldn’t quite shake.

“A pleasure to meet you, sir.” You offered a genuine smile, looking into his almost black eyes. He gave a tight smile back, a pang of disappointment shooting through his chest. His hand still held yours and some of the girls giggled amongst themselves. “Uh..” You began awkwardly before an important looking man requested Billy to follow him. His eyes flickered down to your hands and he quickly recoiled, a light flush dusting his cheeks as he leant closer to you so only you could hear him. A whisper of a few words left you dumbfounded.

You sat back down, staring through the table. Those words. They triggered something in your brain, flipped a switch. Billy… Billy Russo from the group home. Your mind began racing with the memories of him.

You sobbed, body shaking and hot tears trailing down your cheeks. Billy’s hands moved to cup your jaw, thumbs wiping away the salty droplets. You pressed your head into his palm, the warmth soothing you. You’d just confided in him, told him everything about your past, your parent’s death, your uncle’s suicide all of it. He was the first person you’d opened up to who didn’t just leave. His eyes held a deep sadness but they were also full of love for you. He brought your head into his chest, letting you bury yourself in his hoodie, the sound of your sniffles and heavy breathing muffled by the soft material. Looking up at him, you wiped your face with the sleeve of your shirt and laughed at the wet patches you’d left on his own. He gently pulled your chin up to look him in the eye and said;

“And here you are living, despite it all.”

It hit you like a brick wall and you stood so swiftly that your chair fell backwards behind you. Not bothering to explain yourself you charged through the crowd in the same direction he disappeared in, shrugging off the obvious sounds of disgust at your rudeness. Your eyes raked through the ocean of people, the sounds of obnoxious laughing, energetic jazz and the exaggerated old men’s stories filled your ears becoming unbearable. You span, frantic to find him and explain yourself as you replayed the memory over and over in your head. Bodies bumped and clashed with your own pushing you around until you collided with a firm chest. Spinning on your heel you looked at who you’d hit.

Your eyes met and you couldn’t look away. It was him, standing tall and looking at you with that signature grin. You let out a laugh in sheer disbelief before wrapping your arms around his neck. He quickly returned the embrace, nuzzling into your hair and glad you’d remembered him even if it took those words to jog your memory. He couldn’t blame you for wanting to forget that place.

“I’m so sorry, I didn’t realise, I tried looking everywhere for you after we were separated but I-” You rambled over his shoulder as he softly pushed you back just enough for you to look at him. “Maybe you didn’t look quite hard enough?” He suggested, cocking an eyebrow in jest. You scoffed and rolled your eyes, laughing as you slapped his chest lightly. You looked back up at him, turning serious. “I mean it, Billy, I tried everything and it led nowhe-” You were cut off by him shushing you quietly. “You’re here now, that’s all that matters.” He whispered, tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear. You instinctively leant into his hand, feeling at ease in his presence again. Tears threatened to spill but he pulled you into a tight hug again before they could.

The music faded into something a little softer, and he threaded his fingers into yours tugging you towards the dancefloor. You snorted, rather unladylike, but he just turned back and laughed. “Good to know that hasn’t changed.”

Pulling you closer, his hands moved to just above your hips, ever the gentleman, and started to sway you both to the music. He smirked noticing the blush on your cheeks and you shook your head looking down with a giggle. Who would’ve thought you’d find each other again all these years later? Leading two entirely different lives despite such a similar beginning. He pressed his lips to your forehead, leaving them there for a moment before you looked up at him again. You sighed, content and lay your head against his chest, closing your eyes and taking in the moment, relishing in the fact you had him back. Only this time, you didn’t plan on letting him go.

[strawberrysoup]

Let’s Review || Chapter 2

Peter Parker knew that his big sister would do anything for him to be safe and happy. She’d given up everything for him twice over already and would do it again in a heartbeat. And that’s why, when the criminal mastermind Tony Stark started inextricably following him around, he didn’t say a word. Because he knew without a doubt Penny would do whatever she had to if it meant keeping Peter safe. He had to protect her, just like she always protected him. He never considered what would happen if Stark decided both Parker siblings were worth taking. Never considered who else in Stark’s inner circle would agree. He just wanted to protect her and yet somehow, they both ended up with needles in their necks.

relationship: Steve Rogers/Original Female Character/Bucky Barnes, background Peter Parker/Tony Stark rating: Explicit warnings: Dark Steve Rogers, Dark Bucky Barnes, Dark Tony Stark, Dark Avengers, kidnapping, non-con/dub-con elements, underage Peter Parker, emotional and psychological abuse, very dark, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat

 Penny Parker worked, on average, 108 hours a week between three jobs to make ends meet for herself and Peter. His high school, a stupidly expensive private science academy, sucked the majority of her income up each month despite a scholarship. Rent was $1,200 a month, not including utilities. Peter ate like a quintessential teenage boy, which meant a pound of cereal every morning before school and the equivalent in the evenings when he got home from his clubs.

She didn’t sleep much and only had one rotating day off each week. After learning of Peter’s situation with Tony Stark, she slept even less and spent her days off doing any and all research she could into the man and her options for getting Peter away from him. By the time a month had passed since the revelation that her baby brother was being stalked by a super powerful, criminal mastermind pedophile piece of shit, Penny was a wreck of a human being. Even Peter, who was understandably wrapped up in his own head most of the month, had noticed the bags under his sister’s eyes and the harried look she carried about her at all times.

They joked that Penny had taken every bit of chaos from her parents combined genes, somehow managing to leave behind every ounce of intelligence for Peter. She was a walking, talking disaster on the best of days. He’d seen her stick a fork in a toaster, try to mix bleach and vinegar, hell one time she’d come home from work with a sprained wrist because she’d fallen off a ladder stocking some shelves despite the fact someone had been actively holding the ladder to spot her. But this was an entirely new level of disarray from his sister.

Peter could tell that she wasn’t coming up with any solutions that she was happy with. Despite their inside jokes, Penny had a weird sort of intuitive intelligence. She couldn’t do basic math in her head and forget anything to do with science, hell basic reading comprehension could be a trial at times.

What she knew was that Tony Stark had every police department in New York on his payroll, despite the act they put on that “they were doing everything in their power” to gather evidence on the 87 open investigations into him and his company. She knew that he had several politicians under the same thumb, not because it was public knowledge, but because somehow every bill that was put to vote that could be useful to Tony Stark passed into law (or however that sort of thing worked—Penny didn’t understand bills and laws and the senate or whatever, but who really did?).

She knew that the surrounding states were similarly within his range of power. That his companies’ holdings in California meant he had too much control there too. He had holdings in Alaska, Hawaii, and Puerto Rico as well. It wasn’t public knowledge, but Penny could read between the lines when things seemed too good to be true. Or, too good to be true for one Tony Stark. Everything aligned in a way that was so suspicious, she couldn’t figure out why the FBI or CIA or NSA weren’t on to him too.

In the end, all it meant was that nothing Penny did would really matter in the long run. Tony Stark was infinitely powerful in a multitude of states, rich and influential in a way that one person shouldn’t ever have the ability to be. And Penny Parker had $3,000 to her name and a shitty apartment and an even shittier car. Compared to Tony Stark, she wasn’t even good enough to be dirt.

It meant that she had to be more creative. Penny wasn’t smart, but thinking outside of the usually accepted parameters was kind of her specialty. There was no good way to get Peter away from Tony’s sphere of influence, but there were some ways. Maybe just a single way. A very unpleasant, single way that would rip her heart to shreds. But Penny had decided as a 13 year old that she would do everything she could to keep Peter safe and happy and fuck if she was willing to stop now.

***

“Are you still stalking the webcam feed?” Tony wondered if it was possible to push anymore exasperation into his voice as he walked into the main living room only to find Clint once again watching Peter’s empty apartment on the massive TV.

“Something might happen,” it was the same defense the assassin always used when caught in the act, but Tony knew that the blond actually just wanted to catch a glimpse of Penelope Parker.

In all fairness, even Tony could admit that the young woman was rather beautiful. Where Peter’s skin was milky white and freckled, Penelope had a tan that betrayed her father’s Israeli heritage. She was shorter than Peter, held more weight than her lanky but growing brother. Her hair was long and held a natural wave, the same colour as Peter’s. They had the same eye colour as well, but Penelope’s were more narrow and slanted. It wasn’t Tony’s cup of tea, but he could objectively understand the appeal.

In all honestly, Penelope Parker wasn’t his cup of tea as a person. Every time her name popped into his head, he felt a seething rage begin to build in his chest. Penelope fucking Parker, responsible enough to be deemed guardian of the most precious boy in New York but not responsible enough to actually take care of him.

Back when he thought Peter lived alone off his meager inheritance, the living situation had bothered Tony but not enraged him. After all, sure a teenage boy would be fine living in a shit hole if it fit his budget. But no, his sister was the one who made him live in that rat’s nest. His sister, who worked so often it left poor Peter neglected and alone, was the reason he had to walk through dangerous streets to get home at night. His sister.

His fucking sister.

No wonder Peter hadn’t told him he had a sister. She was probably a fucking monster, as selfish and miserable as the goddamn evil stepsister from Cinderella.

He’d caught enough glimpses of Penelope Goddamn Parker in the last month to last him a life time. She and Peter hardly interacted where the webcam could pick up, although sometimes they caught snippets of audio. Mostly, they witnessed just how addicted to the internet she was. She spent more time on her fucking laptop than she did talking to her own brother.

It drove Tony insane, knowing that the longer he left Peter in her care, the more neglected he would be. His baby boy was trapped in an apartment with an uncaring bitch who spent 90% of her time working and the other 10% ignoring him for whatever bullshit Instagram, Facebook nonsense she was so obsessed with. Tony didn’t even bother keeping a record of her internet history, after the first two days of monitoring had revealed she spent the entire time on Youtube.

“Yeah? And has anything happened in the last, oh, 6 hours since she left for work?”

“No but she should be getting home soon—” Clint winced, having walked directly into the trap Tony set like a dumbass.

“Stop watching the bitch on my TV, all you do is stare down her fucking shirt anyway.”

“The bitch would make a pretty decent lay if you’d give a guy a break.”

Tony Stark did not roll his eyes. Tony Stark was a genius, ran a weapons engineering empire, had the most important politicians in the United States in his back pocket. Tony Stark did not roll his eyes.

So Tony Stark Did Not Roll His Eyes at the blond parked out on his couch with a bowl of popcorn and a beer. No doubt there was a cheap ass pizza on it’s way up the elevator, despite the fact Tony employed some of the best chefs in New York for his private kitchen. Clint Barton was the worst sort of best friend Tony had, but he’d still kill for the dumbass.

“What has Penelope Goddamn Motherfucking Parker done now?” Sam Wilson questioned absently as he walked into the living room from the kitchen, quoting Tony’s general tone of voice when talking about the woman.

“She hasn’t even taken her shirt off where I can see it, can you believe that? Fucking ridiculous. With a rack like that she should be shaking her tits on camera for money daily,” Clint whined in response, gesturing to the empty room on the TV, “I swear she sleeps on that fucking couch almost every night and not once has she undressed in front of the computer.”

“You’re a freak, my dude,” Sam smacked the blond upside the head as he walked past towards the elevator, “Time table still on track, Stark?”

“Steady as she goes,” Tony replied, pulling his phone out of his back pocket, “Where are you going? Movie night starts in 20 minutes?”

Movie night was almost the most ridiculous thing Tony participated in on any given day. His inner circle was made up of the only people in the world he trusted, was made of up assassins and ex-military super soldiers and all sorts of genetically altered freaks, and somehow movie night had become a staple of their existence. To miss a movie night without a doctor’s note or a mission was a crime punishable by near exile in the form of a group silent treatment. Pepper, Happy and Pietro were currently exempt, away on a business trip as executive, body guard, and assistant.

“Just going to change,” Wilson gestured to his workout clothes and shrugged, “need to shower.”

“Now if only we could make you realize that needs to happen more than once a month,” Clint muttered quietly, only to have a dirty shoe nail him in the face a moment later.

The blond fell off the couch with a shout, popcorn flying everywhere as the bowl escaped his grip. Sam, who’s aim was almost as impeccable as Clint’s own, gave the man the finger as the elevator doors closed dramatically.

“You are a disaster of a human being,” Tony commented absently, still watching his phone as the little dot that was his baby boy moved through the city.

He ignored Clint’s protests, flopping onto the couch and making himself comfortable while the rest of the tower’s residents slowly ambled into the communal living room. Bucky and Steve were parked out on the recliner, disgustingly cute and cuddly even from a distance. They, like Clint, had a stupid fascination with fucking Penelope and were watching the webcam feed while they waited for everyone to arrive.

Natasha and Wanda wandered in while chatting, each already having a drink in their hand. Thor, Loki and Bruce all came out of the elevator at the same time, Bruce having come from the labs and the two brothers from the coffee shop on the ground floor of the tower. Sam and Rhodey entered at the same time from the stairwell, both having freshly showered after a long day.

“What are we watching tonight?”

The following argument generally lasted a solid 20 minutes, but Wanda and Natasha won out with a comedy horror they’d all already seen before. It left plenty of room for conversation while the movie played in the background, a deck of cards finding their way onto the coffee table as well.

“So what’s the plan for your boy’s sister, Tones?” Rhodey questioned as Sam dealt cards for their third game of poker of the night.

“I’m sure he’ll be ecstatic to get away from the bitch,” the man grumbled in response as he adjusted his hand, “He’d probably walk right out the front door and leave her in the dust if I asked. I figure I’ll give her an ultimatum: Peter comes with me and she shuts the fuck up, or Peter comes with me and she finds herself in a shallow grave.”

“I think I could draw her tits from memory from how often she’s on her computer and ignoring her brother,” Clint stated, because despite the fact he thought Penelope god awful Parker was hot as all Hell, he knew how much it hurt to have the person who was supposed to care for you most ignore you completely.

Rhodey hummed in agreement, “Maybe we should off her, just in case. I bet she gets some sort of welfare from the state for him and she shouldn’t get to keep raking that in.”

“She shouldn’t get it even while she’s got him,” Natasha stated from over her wine, spread out and lounging on the loveseat closest to the couch, “probably uses it for drugs. It definitely isn’t used for groceries to feed to the poor kid, he looks half starved.”

“Nah, that’s just teenage boy syndrome,” Bucky added a couple of bills to the pot on the coffee table, “Not that I think she’s winning any care taker of the year awards, but I’ve seen that him eat while doing surveillance. Kid could take down a whole ass McDonalds by himself if given the chance.”

“He’s been putting on some weight actually,” Tony felt the corners of his lips tip up in a small smirk, “Muscle mass, one of his friends started dragging him to lift weights on Thursdays.”

“Careful Stark, you get too excited by the thought and you’re gonna pop off in your jeans,” a round of snorts sounded at Rhodey’s words and Tony Stark, Who Did Not Roll His Eyes, gave his friend the finger.

“I say we just go ahead and kill her,” Bruce was focused more on his laptop and the reports there in than the movie, but made sure he always paid attention to the conversation during movie nights, “she’s a liability. It might help Peter adjust too, knowing that she’s gone.”

“And that he has nothing left and nothing to go back to,” Clint added, not mean spiritedly but pointedly and with an exaggerated head tilt.

“He won’t have anything left or anything to go back to,” it was pragmatic and a bit cold, but Steve never pulled his punches, “its best to cut all ties. The more he relies on Tony, the faster he’ll adapt to his new situation. Maybe its manipulative, but this is a weird situation and we might have to get our hands dirty to get him to a good place, mentally and physically.”

“By weird you mean kidnapping a kid?”

“For his own good!”

“Its only kidnapping until he turns eighteen, right?”

“I don’t think that’s how the concept of kidnapping works, Clint.”

“Excuse me, sir,” JARVIS suddenly interrupted, turning on the lights and turning off the movie, “I believe it is important that you watch the webcam footage I’ve been monitoring. The recording begins as of five minutes ago and is still ongoing.”

“Pull it up, J,” Tony ordered quickly, sitting forward on the couch.

Everyone in the room watched in confusion as the TV began to roll on Peter and stupid fucking Penelope sitting in front of the laptop, most likely at the kitchen table. Peter was slightly off to the side, the computer centered more on his sister.

“Penny, please just tell me what you’ve decided on? I’ve been watching you lose your mind for weeks, I know you came up with something last night.”

“You’re… not going to like it Peter,” fucking Penelope’s voice was soft, the laptop microphone too shitty to pick up the quiet cadence well, “If you can think of something better, we’ll go with that. But… I don’t think there’s another choice. I’ve gone through everything I can think of. Try to let me get through this without yelling at me, okay?”

They’d never really seen Peter and fucking Penelope interact before. Most of the time it was just her, on the laptop, all the fucking time. Peter came and went in the background, to and from school and clubs and his friend’s houses, but most of the time she closed the laptop when he was around. They were all a bit surprised by how much affection was in her expression as she looked at her brother. Peter nodded at her, lips already pursed in frustration.

“I’ve been doing as much research as I can on Tony Stark. He’s… God, he’s got more influence than the fucking president. There are entire states in his pocket, Pete. Can you believe that? From what I can figure out, he’s got just about every New York senator on his payroll and don’t even get me started on the police—”

“How’d she figure that out?” Rhodey’s frown was a mixture of concern and irritation, “There’s never been any sort of reporting on your dealings with politicians.”

“I don’t know.”

“The good news is, I don’t think he has any business in Oregon. I’ve looked through as much of the gossip as I can, he’s never spent any significant amount of time there and if I’ve been understanding the weird ass insinuations correctly, his businesses don’t operate in the area.”

“Oregon? Are we gonna go there?” Peter reached out and grabbed his sister’s hands, “I promise, I’m not upset over us having to move Penny, I—”

“Peter, I’m… I’m not moving babe, you are.”

The teenager seemed to draw back slightly, his eyebrows furrowing and his mouth dropping open as he searched for words but was unable to come up with any.

“I don’t think you remember them, the last time we saw them was before mom and dad died, but we have second cousins in Oregon, Paul and Olivia. They’re about ten years older than me, with one kid. When I got custody of you, I contacted them. I wanted to make sure that if something happened to me, I had a sure thing lined up for you. It was years ago, but they promised they’d take you in a heartbeat if I couldn’t care for you anymore, for any reason.”

“You… you wanted to give me to them?” Peter’s eyes were full of tears and they watched as Penelope reacted in horror.

“Peter, no! Never! I would never willingly let you go. I was worried, everyone around us was dropping like flies in freak accidents and I couldn’t let you go into foster care if I died. I just wanted to make sure you would have someone if something happened to me.”

“You thought you were gonna die?”

“My birth father died, and then mom and dad died, then uncle Ben, then aunt May. I didn’t want to leave you alone with no one. I didn’t think I was gonna die, I just… wanted to be prepared. Just in case.”

“Why are you bringing them up? And Oregon? What do you mean that I’m moving? Alone?”

Penelope What the Fuck is Happening Parker’s lips pursed, eyes filling with tears. There was a level of sheer pain on her face that was startling for them all to see, especially considering they’d managed to work her up as an unfeeling monster in their heads for fucking weeks now.

“I’ve tried a thousand ways for us both to go, but I just… I don’t have the money saved for us to move. We’d have to break the lease and even if we left with the clothes on our backs, we wouldn’t be able to afford getting to Oregon. The car won’t make it, I can’t afford plane tickets. I wouldn’t be able to afford to get to Oregon. But I’ve figured out a way to get you there.”

“How Penny?” Peter’s was obviously trying to sound stern, but his voice cracked slightly.

“Not tomorrow, but the day after, we’re going to put in an anonymous call to Child Protective Services and claim that I’m abusing you. Neglecting you. They’ll take you out of my custody and send you to Olivia and Paul, since they’re our ‘closest’ living relatives.” Penelope Oh Fuck Parker’s voice was cracking too, tears running down her face as she explained her batshit crazy plan to her baby brother, who they were quickly realizing was far from neglected or abused.

Tony felt his chest tightening at the sight of the siblings, both with tears streaming down their cheeks. He wasn’t sure how he’d managed to get it so incredibly wrong. Maybe he’d seen what he wanted to see, that his baby boy was easy pickings. That no one really cared for him so it would be easy to sweep him off his feet and spirit him away.

“You’ve never abused me! You’ve never neglected me! How could you even say that, Penny!? Everything you’ve ever done—”

“Peter please, listen,” Penny was nearly sobbing, grasping Peter’s hands tightly with her entire body angled downwards over them, “We have to pretend, okay? We have to pretend because they’ll send you somewhere safe.”

“You’ll go to jail!”

“That’s fine! That’s okay, Peter! As long as you’re safe, I don’t care—”

“You can’t ask me to do this, you can’t ask me to send you to jail, to send you away when you haven’t done anything wrong, ever! I wouldn’t even be able to visit you! I’d be a million miles away and you’d be rotting away in jail because I was too stupid to mind my own business!”

“Peter none of this is your fault,” the tone was so stern and determined as Penny sat straighter in her chair, squeezing her brother’s hands reassuringly even as her chest heaved with grief, “it’s that fucking pedophile, piece of shit Tony Goddamn Stark’s fault, don’t you ever think that you are at all to blame for any of this—”

“I probably deserve at least half of that rage,” Tony stated absently, almost guilty at the word ‘pedophile’.

“Half? Hah!” It was an absent response, more instinct than intention but got the point across even as the entire group was absorbed by the pain playing out on the TV.

“I went to that stupid tower!” Peter wailed suddenly, making Penny go stiff, “After you got that note telling you not to report the assault, I went to the tower because I knew he worked there and I wanted him to suffer. You wouldn’t go to the police because they threatened your family but I thought… It doesn’t matter. What matters is that I was stupid and I went to fucking Stark Tower and that’s where he saw me. It’s all my fault.” Peter’s sobbing was viscerally painful to hear, even through the shitty microphone.

“What assault? A note? JARVIS, figure out what he’s talking about!” Tony barked, already on his feet and pulling out his phone, “Give me the surveillance footage from that day, who was my boy here looking for?!”

“As the conversation is roughly five minutes delayed, I took the liberty of deciphering Mr. Parker’s statements already, sir,” the AI stated calmly, “six months ago, Mr. Brock Rumlow of level six security sexually assaulted Ms. Penelope Parker in a club in Queens. In order to prevent any bad press upon the company, a persuasive letter was sent from the Tower’s security to Ms. Parker to ensure her silence on the matter. I assume the day you came across Mr. Parker was the day he arrived to confront Mr. Rumlow over the assault and threat.”

“Find him,” Tony snarled towards Rhodey, who was already on his feet and typing away at his phone, heading towards the elevator, “Alive, Rhodey!”

“I’ll see what I can manage,” the man muttered darkly as the doors shut and he began descending towards level six, leaving the rest of them in the living room.

“He… he saw you… there? Oh, god… Oh god he saw you because you went to the tower, oh my God you went there because of me and he saw you— Oh my God!” Penny’s reaction was so emotionally brutal that it verged on physically violent. Her entire body seemed to lock up for a solid thirty seconds before she threw herself out of the chair and they could hear retching in the background a moment later. Peter was still sitting on the far side of the screen, sobbing into his hands.

Almost five minutes later, Penny ambled back into view. Her face was so pale compared to her usually tan complexion that she looked like a ghost. A fine tremble ran through her entire body, goosebumps visible on her exposed arms.

“I’m so sorry,” Peter’s voice broke through his sobs, bone achingly sad, “I’m so sorry I did this to us.”

“You didn’t do anything wrong, bud,” Penny’s eyes were almost blank, the pain so overwhelming that she couldn’t force any other expression, “I set all of this in motion. I made a mistake and I’m so sorry you’re having to pay for it. I should’ve protected you better, you never should’ve even known what happened, let alone who— it doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter. Everything is going to be okay Peter. We have a plan and everything is going to be alright.”

“You’re going to go to jail, Penny! For a horrible crime that you’d never, ever commit! Because I was stupid and immature and—”

“Stop Peter,” Tony’s eyes watered as Penny gently ran her fingers through Peter’s hair and left it to rest on his cheek, “don’t blame yourself for this. No matter what you did, no matter what choices you made, you didn’t deserve to be frightened and stalked. What’s happening is happening because there’s a man out there with a sick mind, who thinks he can take whatever and whoever he wants for whatever he wants. That’s not on you, babe. That’s on him. And everyone who built him up and let him get to this point.”

She let Peter cry for several minutes and the group in the living room found themselves left to digest the situation to the sound of his sobs. Discomfort ran through all of them, for different reasons. Because they’d judged Penelope Too Good for This World Parker so wrong. Because they were the ones enabling Tony to do something terrible. Because they didn’t actually feel guilty for enabling Tony but they did feel guilty for the pain it was causing the Parker siblings.

“You’ll take such good care of him, Tony,” Natasha said quietly after a moment, seeing the pain in the man’s face, “He’s never going to want for anything ever again. He’s going to live in comfort and luxury for the rest of his life and that’s because of you.”

“He’s scared right now, Tones,” Clint jumped in quickly when it looked like Tony might protest, “They both are and we can’t blame them for that. But once they’re—he’s here, he’ll realize that it’s not a bad thing and that he has nothing to be afraid of. That we’re going to take care of them—him, all of us.”

Mind running at a million times per hour, Tony considered their words. Actually, he considered Clint’s words. Clint’s misspoken statements that implied both Parker siblings would be in the tower. Both of them would be safe and cared for. Both.

“They’ll never want for anything ever again,” Tony repeated quietly, all eyes in the room locked carefully on him, “Peter and Penny shouldn’t be separated.”

“You’ve given up everything for me, Penny,” Peter whispered after his cries calmed, “You dropped out of high school, dropped out of college, started working three jobs so I could go to that stupid school, you don’t sleep, you hardly eat, and I know it’s all for me. I can’t let you give up your freedom, I can’t let you give up anything else for me.”

“Oh my God no wonder she’s so skinny,” Wanda suddenly gasped, tears pouring down her cheeks in continuous rivers, “we thought Peter was skinny, but look at her, look at her collar bones! JARVIS, give me a record of all credit and debit card transactions she’s made in the last month and—” The redhead cut herself off when Penny began speaking again.

“All I want is for you to be happy Peter,” Penny whispered, the blank look in her eyes fading into grief again, “All I’ve ever wanted was for you to be happy. You’re everything to me, you’re my baby brother. I’ll do anything to keep you safe, bud, anything.”

“I won’t do it, Penny, I won’t—”

“Yes, you will, Peter,” resolve hardened Penny’s voice and she squeezed her brother’s hands, “You’re going to do as I say. Tomorrow you’re going to go to school and I’m going to call out of work. I’m going to throw most of your clothes away, all of the food in the house. I’m going to switch my stuff for yours, so it looks like I make you sleep on the couch while I take the bedroom.”

“Oh God she does sleep on the couch every night,” Professional Perfect Person Penelope Parker Stalker Clint Barton gasped in horror as he recalled his earlier comment on her sleeping habits and her undressing habits oh no.

“I’m going to trash the place as authentically as I can and I’m… God I’m going to destroy some of your stuff, Pete,” Penny looked pained at the thought, scraping a hand down her face, “But I’m going to transfer all of my savings into your name, so you’ll only be without your stuff for a little while. You can rebuy everything you need once this is over.”

“I can’t take your money, Pen—”

“Hush Peter. I don’t have much saved up, but I’ll put it under your name tomorrow. Now, when I turn 25 in a few months I’ll be able to use my portion of the money mom and dad left us. I’m going to transfer that to you as soon as I can, it should be enough for you to live off of once you turn 18 as long as you use it wisely.”

“Penny, please, you can’t expect—”

“I expect you to do as I say, Peter!” She cut him off with all the flare of a bossy big sister, “I want you to apply to universities outside of the United States. Focus on places like Norway, Australia and New Zealand. Avoid Mexico, Canada and the UK because I think he has business dealings in those countries and I don’t know how long he’ll be willing to search for you, so don’t risk it.”

“How does she know about our business in those places?” Tony threw his hands up in confusion.

“Sir, from what I can gather from Ms. Parker’s search history, she has done her best to track yours and your staff’s movements around the world for the last five or so years by means of social media and gossip blogs—”

“Well holy fuck, who would’ve thought to do that?” Sam’s eyebrows were raised nearly to his hairline, “that’s ridiculous, no wonder she was on the laptop constantly.”

“Once you turn 25 you’ll come into your inheritance too. By that time I’ll probably be out of jail but… Peter I want you to leave me alone, okay? We don’t know… we don’t know if Stark will let this go, if he loses you. He might use my location and contacts to find you and I can’t let that happen.”

“You want me to just cut you out of my life forever? Like you’re some horrible monster I never want to see again? I can’t—”

“We don��t have a choice bud,” Penny was quiet, soothing as she ran her fingers over his wrists and hands, “Tony Stark is a dangerous man and he has more connections and money than we could ever hope to fight. The police won’t help us, the law won’t help us. All we have is this plan and I need you to follow it. I need to be able to trust that you’ll follow the plan, so that you’ll be safe.”

“What about you, Penny!? You won’t be safe! You’re always so worried about, about me being safe and happy that you forget about yourself! Do you understand that you’re telling me you want to go to jail? That you want me to abandon you forever?”

Penny seemed to waiver for just a second, as if she might actually let some tiny ounce of selfishness set in and change her mind, before her resolve hardened once again and she stood, putting herself nearly out of frame, “This is happening, Peter. This is the plan. This is what we’re doing. Because I won’t let him hurt you. I will literally do anything to keep you safe Peter, this doesn’t even make a wave in the pool of batshit crazy I’m willing to go if I need to. I love you. Now go to bed, you have school in the morning.”

[justjessame]

Babysitting Butcher Chapter 53

How would a normal person unwind after a day of learning that a trio of assholes literally stood over her body while she was bleeding out basically watching to see if she was going to go “BOOM” and then learning that a little boy had three bleeping microchips inside of him to keep a part of his being neutered because it was easier than teaching him how to control himself?  

I’m not asking because I’m clever and want to brag about my ways, I’m asking for ideas.  I was completely fucking twisted into a tight bundle of nerves and tension and Billy wasn’t much better.  Even knowing that there was a way to inhibit supe powers that didn’t include packing their poopers with C4 didn’t really completely bring him back down to less amped Butcher levels.  

We called Mom from the office, asking her to keep Terror overnight.  Whatever she heard in Billy’s voice, or mine when I got on to tell her everything was fine, we just needed a night to ourselves, she didn’t pry.  We picked up take out, and if you ask me what kind - no fucking clue.  I’m still not entirely sure we ate it.  All I know is that the drive home was a feat of muscle memory.  Getting inside, eating (if we did it), locking up the house for the night, all of it was literally just from routine.  

Once the doors were locked, once night fell, when we were alone and secure in OUR house, away from everyone and everything, though?  That’s when I didn’t need ideas for how to unwind after anything with Billy.  Because that’s when our real muscle memory took over, and when his hands reached for me, we looked for a distraction from the reality of the shit show that surrounded our bubble.  Outside of Billy and me?  We knew we couldn’t be certain of the answers to any of it, or how it would turn out, but here, as his fingers slid down my bare spine and mine danced up his biceps, which I would swear that some sculptor had seen in a vision and based those Greek gods on- here we could be certain of.  

Billy Butcher and Ronnie Taylor. Together. This was something I would be the farm on. Time and time again. Because we’d faced down death and beat it. Repeatedly.  What could possibly pull us apart after that?

We woke up, tangled limbs and sheets.  My face pressed tight against Billy’s chest, his arms wrapped around my shoulders holding me tight against him, not a hair’s breadth between us. The sun was barely cresting the horizon, but we were waking after a well earned rest that came after psychically demanding everything we dared to from one another. Knowing damn well the other would answer with a challenge.  

The night hadn’t been about rewards and gold stars, even if we’d both seen celestial bodies, it had been about remembering that throughout everything that the world threw at us, we had one another.  And when push came to shove, we would always be the best distraction for one another.  

“Hey you,” I smiled into the warmth of his peck, the growl of his voice harsher this morning with hoarseness from overuse and I liked to think I helped cause it.  “Don’t know about you, Ronnie, but I’m tempted to call in sick.”

Chuckling into his skin, I didn’t fight my urge to kiss the smoothness of it.  Salty from a well earned sweat, and uniquely Billy, I propped my chin so I could look up at him.  “Quitter.” It was a mocking dare, but honestly I was pretty damn sore and I hoped he’d call my bluff and roll me over and make me forget I dared utter the damn word.  

His smirk coupled by a flash of those white teeth of his and I was on my back, making me wonder if he could read my mind.  “Not hard to do, Ronnie, you’re practically telepathic when you want me.”  I gasped as our bodies joined, tender from our arduous activities overnight, but Billy knew me too well to give me an inch of leniency.  “Tell me this ain’t what you were hoping for.” His breath fanned hot across my face, and instead of answering him with words, I arched up and his forehead came down, meeting mine.  “That’s what I thought.”  

We didn’t call in sick.  We are actually adults, even if we act like sex crazed teenagers - A LOT.  We got showered, dressed, and we even ate breakfast.  We managed to get to work earlier than usual, simply because we’d been HORRIBLE pet parents and left Terror with his grandparents all night, but Billy and I promised each other that we would not only stop and get him on the way home, but we’d stop and grab him a treat first.

“Not a stuffy,” I muttered, thinking that someone had to put their foot down about Terror’s sexual deviancy before it got out of hand.  “He can have a bone or a box of nibbles, but NOT another STUFFY.”  

Billy was grinning a little too widely to allow me to believe I was winning the argument, but we were in the parking lot and work was a reality that couldn’t be put off.  Since our only avenue for the video sent me would be to have the trio who arrived first enhanced, hopefully so we could do facial recognition on at least one, should some tech magician find an angle that showed one of them NOT shielding themselves completely, we sent that on its way and Billy fired up the drone footage that they’d shot of Ryan’s neighborhood.

We must have watched it fifty times, even with the break for lunch - longer than usual because I found a specialty pet store that we stopped by to grab Terror some guilt gifts - and the verdict was simple.  Ryan’s new placement was shittier than either of us had considered.  Becca might not have had the best option, with Vought’s little cookie cutter make believe shit, but this?  This wasn’t even that.

“Facial recognition has the tutors as teachers, or at least they have certificates to teach.”  I’d brought up the man and woman’s information, throw away lower level agents.  “Nothing special, they’ve been in the CIA for years, utilized for non-dangerous assignments.  This is right up their alleys.”  The neighbors bothered me more.  None of them were recognized.  None.  “Not a single one of these people come up in anything, not CIA, FBI, NSA, OGA.”  I sighed and sat back, licking my lip and trying to think of another avenue.  “Why populate the neighborhood with anyone, let alone untraceable people?  While you happen to be inhibiting his powers?”  If they were, which I was starting to really lean toward.  

Billy was looking out the wall of windows, eyes not focused on anything in particular.  “Going in with you,” I could hear the uncertainty in his voice.  “It’ll be the first time I’ve seen him since -”

“I know,” I could have moved to him, curled into his lap and distracted him, but not now.  Becca was in his head, his vision was on her, his last moments with her and Ryan.  He didn’t need me muddling that up.  “I know it’ll be the first time, but he’s a little boy who is all alone and he has no one, but you.” I hated to say it, to weaponize it, but it was true.  Ryan had no one, and he bore Billy’s name.  And a promise his mom forced out of Billy.  That was it.

“What if I look at him -” Billy stopped, eyes closing as he took a deep breath.  “And I see HIM.”  

“You won’t.”  I wanted to feel more sure than I did, but I wasn’t.  I could only hope that having me next to him, knowing that when I looked at Ryan I didn’t see Homelander would somehow help, but I couldn’t swear.  “And I’ll be beside you.”  

“Until ya get sick of me,” he turned then, eyes open and blazing when they met mine.  

“There you go, making me promise to become immortal,” I shook my head, even as he was reaching for me, needing so badly that reminder of us, and our permanence.  

[night-filled-mountain]

This has been bugging me for a while, but this episode made it abundantly clear: Jasper and Victor see their relationship in two completely different ways. And I think it has to do with the fact that the only relationships Jasper could imagine having with other Kindred (pre-Annabelle) were (1.) “My boss” and (2.) “Food.”

Freedom is not a thing for Jasper. Independence is not a thing. Not since he was turned. That’s the essential crux of the awe and envy with which he views Annabelle, and it’s clear now that it subtly defines his views of Victor, too. Since he was sired, he’s been entirely under the control of (1.) his sire, presumably--I still don’t know who that was or what went down there, but it was nothing good, and (2.) Baron Abrams, who uses him as a jailor and a killing tool, full-stop. With absolutely no contact with loved ones or the mortal world, those duties for Abrams--duties that explicitly violated Jasper’s personal principles--defined his whole unlife. Hence, we get Feral Jasper, whose only remaining moral code lies in feeding on his own kind, and whose only pleasure lies in exploring an underground labyrinth of horrors. No wonder he protected the secret of that labyrinth so fiercely--it’s not, as I used to think, because he’s ashamed or frightened of it, but because it’s the only thing in the world that’s his.

But then the coterie forms (I’m still dying to know the details of when/how/why), and Jasper gets sort of sub-contracted, and spends part of his time working with/for Victor and Nelli. It’s not clear to me what official power dynamics (if any) exist within the coterie; all three vampires answer to Baron Abrams, and we’ve never seen Victor or Nelli treat Jasper (or each other) like anything less than a colleague and friend who’s on equal footing with them. And I think Jasper has always been low-key confused about that. Victor and Nelli are older than he is, a hell of a lot wealthier, and wield a great deal of influence in the mortal world (and possibly the Kindred world as well, though Jasper has his own connections). I think Jasper’s always been more-or-less convinced that they’re “in charge,” while recognizing that they (and Victor in particular) never act like that’s the case--not toward him, anyway (their behavior toward Annabelle is another story).

He must have recognized that things were better with them. He tells Annabelle that all Kindred are monsters except for her--that, essentially, he doesn’t care about any fellow Kindred except for her--but that he, Victor, and Nelli “work well together.” I can’t believe that he didn’t find at least some relief in the company of vampires who don’t see him as a tool for violence (if anything, they mostly seem to rely on him for stealth), who don’t make him keep other vampires in cages, who tease him and joke with him and even (in Victor’s case) tell him he’s beautiful. I genuinely wish that flashbacks were a thing in LA By Night, because I’m dying to see how Feral Jasper adjusted to that dynamic--and even started teasing and joking back. We’ve seen him change and grow in leaps and bounds because of Annabelle (I mean, who wouldn’t!?), but Victor and Nelli must have helped him begin that process, if only by their habit of not actively hurting him.

But then Victor became a baron. And it brought out all the underlying tension between Victor’s and Jasper’s respective views of the coterie.

“I’m not moving,” Jasper tells Victor almost as soon as he hears, and he doesn’t say it matter-of-factly--he says it defiantly, like he assumes Victor will demand that he move to the Valley in order to be properly under Victor’s authority. Jasper doesn’t go for open defiance very often--snark and sarcasm, absolutely, but at heart, he’s basically the embodiment of a defeated sort of “keep your head down and follow the rules” philosophy. When it comes to the labyrinth, though--his home, his sanctum--he’s willing to fight back, even when there’s nothing to fight. Victor wouldn’t dream of making him move; I’m 99% sure Victor has literally never given Jasper an order. But in Jasper’s mind, rank and power (and wealth and beauty) are tools to be used against him, to keep him in his place. Despite their completely easygoing relationship, he assumes that belonging to the coterie means belonging to Victor, because that’s the only way he’s ever learned to relate to literally any Kindred ever (...again, pre-Annabelle).

And then we get to the latest shenanigans (for me) (i.e. s1e8 😛), with all of Jasper’s dark secrets bubbling to the surface, and Jasper straight-up asking Victor, “What do you want to do? Specifically, with me.”

That moment absolutely murders me, because Jasper has just spent a good hour of the episode in hyper-defensive mode. He’s been at his angriest and snarkiest, his most scornful and defiant, as he tries to explain and/or justify all his shady, disturbing behavior to the rest of the coterie. All the things the baron’s been making him do, as well as his own coping strategies. All the aspects of his life that are (and he must realize they are, even as he proclaims all Kindred [except Annabelle!] “monsters” over and over again) so much shittier than his experiences with the coterie that he’s seen fit to be incredibly secretive about them, even though they were ordered by the “legitimate” authority they all follow.

And then that question.

Jasper broke zero rules, he was acting against his own will 99% of the time, and he still thought Victor had the authority--and the motive--to punish him for it all.

The first thing Victor did before answering him was put away his gun.

I just...can’t get over the fact that there is no more apt demonstration of their respective views of their relationship than Jasper casually, discreetly asking Victor if he’s planning to execute him, and Victor sheathing his weapon with that soft smile of his and saying, “We’re all monsters, man.”

[akechicrimes]

Hey have you done any thinking on how the Bad End would resolve any "conflicting" dreams? I just thought about it when I saw Morgana and Ann's credit scenes. I guess, technically, they don't contradict each other. Morgana canonically want to date Ann, and Ann (unfortunately) doesn't say anything explicitly about wanting to date Shiho. But the fact that there WILL be people with conflicting wishes and we don't know how that works is making me a little crazy.

i actually have, and i say this with respect and love for takuto, and a deep appreciation for what he was trying to do, and also a deep appreciation for how very very very in the wrong he was, and also a grain of salt because again, i used google translate on an incomplete playthrough.

also this is all speculation, so:

Option A: he only fulfills wishes that don’t conflict. i don’t think morgana’s wish to be human necessarily includes dating ann; i always saw his desire to at least have a shot with ann as him thinking, “when ann sees me as someone she could potentially date, then that’ll be the mark that I’ve finally become a Real Human” (a little bit like how a trans person feels validated when they pass in public lmao). so i dont even think there’s a conflict there. 

but personally i don’t think that’s likely because it’s unsustainable; people will inevitably have their wishes change and start to desire other things that could potentially conflict. i mostly just put it up as a potential idea because option B is so much shittier.

Option B: he erase conflicts manually. like he does with kasumi in the flashback cutscene, he modifies memories until everyone forgets they ever wanted anything that would conflict with another wish and everyone gets along. he essentially overwrites any conflicting wills so that everyone lives in perfect harmony. if humanity is wishing to give up control and have their happiness given to them, then it’s a pretty good license to start, uh, “pruning” wishes that don’t agree with social harmony.

it’s not really very different from removing distorted desires a la the phantom thieves, but the PT used it as a last resort against truly terrible motherfuckers who were causing active harm, not as a mass blanket policy for everyone everywhere.

in this option, he literally does become god–again, fitting with his god/adam imagery–in that he becomes the Benevolent Hand that guides everyone towards peace and harmony, whether you like it or not. 

no room for anger or sadness or upset. no room for drawing strength from your pain and pushing back against the wrongs that have been done for you. you will be only happy. you have no choice.

but again, this is speculation.

[badwolf-in-the-impala]

~When Love & Hate Collide -- Ch.1~

Moodboard made by myself @badwolf-in-the-impala. I do not own or take credit for any photos used. 

Edit to add: So I’m a ditz and forgot to change the ‘82 to ‘81, after doing the research and realizing that Crüe was touring in Canada in ‘82...and I had wanted this to start this off before they got actively into touring and became a huge deal...So keeping it in ’81 when they were just getting popular and shit...So yeah, thanks for coming to my TED talk on why I’m an idiot lol enjoy!  

A/N: So this is by no means going to be perfect, I’m sure...I’ve already re-written it twice, cause I’m a nitpick **insert nervous laughter here** But this is based off the movie ((The Dirt)) version of the band. Iwan!Mick needs more love/appreciation! Anywho, I hope you guys like it. 

Pairings: Iwan Rheon!Mick Mars x OC ((Faceclaim - Alison Mosshart))

Rating: Mature/18+

Chapter Warnings: Language, smoking, mentions of drug use, implied abuse...

Word Count: 5,267

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

Summer - 1981

Roxanna Hale traveled South, down I-5 to West Hollywood, CA, from Seattle WA. The old 1969 -- Black with White racing stripes -- Chevelle SS that she drove, rumbled along loudly, headlights illuminating the dark stretch of blacktop as Dawn slowly began to break and light the sky. The muscle car blowing around another line of cars with ease, the windows down and rock music blaring from the speakers as she fought to keep herself awake, lighting what felt like her hundredth cigarette.

She exhaled a cloud of smoke from the long drag she took, letting it trail from her red lips slowly as her thumb flicked against the filter, ashing it out the open window. The nicotine did little to quell the anger that still surged through every fiber of her body, as she sped towards her destination.

The last thing she had expected to happen when she woke up yesterday morning, was to walk in on her ex screwing some other chicks brains out...The fact that chick had turned out to be her best friend, and fellow band mate, only added insult to injury. Leading Roxxy to pack all of her shit -- music material and demo included -- before taking off for good; the incident occurring at a less than convenient time.

They had been scheduled, for today as a matter of fact, to audition for a spot as ‘Opening Act’ for another, more well known, band that was getting ready to kick off a tour. Nothing huge, but it was a long awaited opportunity that Roxxy had been waiting on for a very long time. She had headed over to the apartment where her -- now -- ex finance lived to start packing up their gear in preparation for the 18 hr drive to California, they had ahead of them when she walked in on the situation in question.

“C’mon, Baby!” Her ex begged as she continued shoving what she could fit into her backpack. “It- It was just an accident. I swear!” He added, still clinging to the sheet wrapped around his waist as he took a step back; Roxxy rounding on him.

“So what? You just like slipped and accidentally landed with your dick in her vagina?! Is that what you’re trying to tell me?” She nearly screamed, getting in his face. Roxxy’s anger only worsening as she watched him stutter over his words, trying to come up with some bullshit way to justify what he had done, but it was far too late for that as Roxxy cut him off before he could even finish. “I’m not a fucking moron, Kyle!

“Please, Baby, don’t do this! Not now, not with the audition tomorrow!”

“Yeah? Well maybe you should’ve thought that over better before you stuck your cock in my best fucking friend, the lead goddamn singer of MY band!” Roxxy seethed as she slung the backpack over her shoulder and picked up her guitar case as she turned for the door; stopping abruptly as Kyle grabbed her roughly by the upper arm and tried to drag her back. “Let go of me!” She rounded on him as she yanked her arm free, more than a little caught off guard by the sting of his hand as it connected with the right side of her face.

“You don’t get to fuckin’ talk too me like that, bitch--” Kyle had started but was cut off by the cold laugh that fell from Roxxy’s lips as she sneered up at him, wiping at the small trickle of blood from her lower lip with the back of her hand.

“Why, because you think you’re somebody fucking important now? Newsflash, you better think again, Baby.” Roxxy replied, making sure to emphasise the sarcasm in her voice as she called him ‘Baby’. “Because I built this, all of it!” She gestured around his living room at all the band equipment and gear laying around. “You, and this fucking shithole of a band, are nothing without me. So, you know, have fun playing dive bars and garage gigs for the rest of your life. ‘Cause I’m out!”

~

Her blood boiled as the memory of the argument replayed over and over in her mind. She had spent the last three and half years busting her ass for that band; HER band -- working two jobs and pinching pennies just to be able to play shitty dive bars and even shittier backyard parties, on the weekends.

Roxxy had been through hell and back, bending herself over backwards nearly her whole entire miserable, fucking life to try and achieve her dreams; and just when they were about to finally get their break...The whole fucking world comes crashing down on her. Just like it always does.

Now here she was, right back at square one with no money, no band, and the fucking audition of a lifetime that was now hanging in the balance...And as if her life couldn’t get any worse, what ever higher power that had been shitting on her life, apparently decided that now was the perfect moment for her car to blow a head gasket; still some 20-30 miles outside of her destination.   

“You have got to be fucking kidding me.” Roxxy whined as she hit her hazard lights and coasted the car off onto the shoulder of the road before cutting the engine and popping the hood as she bailed out to take a look. Waving her hand in front of her face with a cough as she lifted the hood and a cloud of white smoke from the overheated engine rolled up into her face, causing her to she take a step back. 

“Son of a bitch!” She slammed the hood shut, too dark still to see much of anything, but already knowing the engine was fucked as she rested her hands against the car, attempting several deep breaths so she didn’t lose her shit, completely; not that it helped. Roxxy picking up the nearest rock and chucking it into oncoming traffic as she screamed out angrily, fisting both hands into her dark hair before tossing them up entirely.

“Seriously! What the fuck have I done in my life to deserve this fucking shit?!” Roxxy yelled up at the sky. “Because I sure as shit don’t fucking remember!” She added, standing there for a few seconds longer, as if she would actually receive some kind of answer. But only the sounds of passing traffic surrounded her. Leaving her to heavily sigh as she grabbed her bag and guitar case from the backseat before locking up her beloved car, and began walking.

Praying that this day didn’t get any worse...Someone clearly taking that as a challenge as the next 8 hrs of walking only brought more hell down on her life. From being pelted by rocks kicked up by passing cars, too nearly being run over by an 18-wheeler that had veered off the road at one point -- causing her to bail off into the bar ditch in order to avoid being turned into roadkill; the gravel biting into her skin, scraping up her arms and hands.

But the icing on the cake had been the sudden surprise of a thunderstorm that now had her drenched. Leaving her exhausted and more than a little irritable as she finally made it to the Bar she and her band has been signed up to audition at...Four hours earlier. Roxxy made her way into the nearest restroom as she pushed her way inside and through the groups of people that crowded the place -- for what appeared to be some kind of open mic deal. Doing her best once making into the bathroom to clean herself up before finding an empty booth in a dark corner to hide herself in for a while; after putting in a phone call to towing service.

“Can I get’cha something, Sweetheart?” A pretty blonde woman -- that Roxxy assumed to be a bartender -- asked as she made her rounds on the floor; breaking Roxxy’s attention away from the man up on stage she had been watching, as she dug around in the back pocket of her jeans for her wallet, a frown tugging down the corners her mouth as she opened it to reveal her last five dollars.

“Um...Just a coffee, please?” Roxxy forced a soft smile as she pulled a couple dollars out and tried to hand them over, but the woman simply shook her head and held up her hand with a polite smile as she gave Roxxy a wink and said, “Keep it, Doll. Coffee’s on the house.” Roxxy heaved a sigh as the woman disappeared, returning only a few minutes later with a hot cup of coffee and a clean, dry, bar towel.

“Thank you.” Roxxy gave a genuine smile this time around as she accepted the towel and brought it up to her dark hair, the woman giving her a polite nod before turning to head back to her post behind the bar; Stopping when Roxxy spoke up again, catching her attention. “Hey, what does one need to do to go up on stage?”

“Nothin’ special.” The woman shrugged, glancing over to notice the guitar case that sat propped up against the booth. “Open mic. First come, first serve. Just give that man up there by the stage your name and he’ll put you in the line up.” She smiled before returning behind the bar, leaving Roxxy to contemplate if she was up for it or not. But at this point, what more did she have to lose? Aside from her dignity, maybe.

~

The first thing that caught Mick’s attention was the sound of the guitar and the heavy riff that fell effortlessly from it as her fingers changed over the strings with ease. The smoky, alluring sound of her voice filling the bar speakers as the words from Pat Benatar’s, ‘Heartbreaker’, fell from her lips, capturing the attention of the small audience that had gathered -- as well as his own band, who had been enjoying drinks. The room falling silent for a brief moment before people got into the rhythm of the song and actually started enjoying themselves; unlike with most of the prior participants whose performances had gone ignored. Save for a few of the die hard local fans that cheered them on.

They had seen their fair share of dive bar performers before, but never someone as confident as the dark haired woman up on stage now, who was venturing into territory few women had dared to dive into, yet, in this industry. Her rough, road worn appearance only adding to the edge she already had over most of tonight's participants; which drew the crowd further in as their curiosity peaked. It being easy enough to tell that she wasn’t a local by her ballsy taste in music.

“Hooooly shit!” Tommy was the first to speak up -- over the music -- among their group as he glanced excitedly between his friends and fellow bandmates, and the woman up on stage. “Are you dudes seeing this?!”

Mick simply rolled his eyes behind the pair of dark aviators he worse, shaking his head at the obviously stupid question...wondering for a moment why he ever agreed to put up with these dumb asses he called friends. The rest of the guys smirking and giving their drummer shit before ordering another round of drinks and returning to their conversation. But not Mick; no. He never took his eyes off the woman up on stage.

There were a few things he found intriguing about her and not all of it had to do with her looks; not that he was complaining. She was very easy on the eyes, as far as he could tell from his seat at the end of the bar. Her dark, layered, mess of feathered hair hung down in her face as she sung. Hiding behind it the striking features of her face. Full lips, high cheekbones, sharp jawline...it was like staring at God’s greatest creation. She was clad in a pair of ripped slim fit denims, a cropped muscle tank, that showed plenty of midriff, and a pair of combat boots. Rings and leather cuffs adorned her fingers and wrists.

What truly caught his attention though, was the guitar she played, or rather, the fact that she played it left handed...and upside down. But with her level of skill and confidence, you would never have been able to tell the difference, unless you knew exactly what you were looking at; as Mick did, obviously having played for enough years himself to know. She was good, to good in fact. Which left him to ponder how a woman with that kind of natural talent was still playing the bar/nightclub scene.

“Bitch has some pipes.” Vince mused with an impressed smirk as he passed Mick a shot, forcing him out of his thoughts as he finally tore his gaze away from the stage, give a curt nod to Vince in reply before he said, “She’s got some experience, that’s for sure.” before knocking back the contents of his shot glass. “She plays with a confidence not many possess...especially chicks.” Mick added.

“Yeah, dude, she may even be better than you are.” Tommy joked drunkenly, flinching as Nikki’s hand connected with the back of his head, and Mick rolled his eyes again in return.

“Maybe in your fuckin’ dreams...fuckin’ drummer.” Mick scoffed with a mildly irritated sneer. “She’s good, but not that good.” Mick added with half a lie. Because she really did have talent and with the right person to teach her, she could definitely go places.

“Don’t listening to him, Mick.” Nikki chuckled. “We’re jus’ givin’ you shit.” He added, earning a mumbled, “Whatever...fuckin’ teenagers.” From Mick as he turned his attention back to the woman on stage. Watching with great intent as she closed out the song with the it’s Solo; playing right over the top of other guitarist. The bar erupted into applause once she finished, giving a brief, yet humble bow, before unplugging the Fender Starcaster she played, that she carefully placed it back into its case before jumping off the stage and retreating back to the far corner booth she had been hiding in earlier. Mick and his group watching her for a bit out of curiosity and talking among themselves about her performance.

“Dude’s, we should like totally invite her the party later!” Tommy stated before taking another shot, the rest of the guys giving a mutual nod of agreement; even Mick. Though his aviator covered blue eyes never left the mysterious woman who sat alone, just across the bar.

~

An hour or so had passed since Roxxy returned to hiding in her booth; going through two more cups of coffee, intending on staying until they closed and had to kick her out. Not looking forward to having to potentially spend a night outside, especially if the weather didn’t straighten up before then. A small jolt of anxiety surging through her as the bartender approached her booth, again; fearful that was about to become a possibility.

Roxxy was just about to speak up -- shit, she’d beg if she had too -- in order to stay as long as possible, when the woman set a whiskey in front of her on the table. Earning a  very confused look from Roxxy as she looked up.

“From the gentleman, at the end of the bar.” The blonde yelled over the music, vaguely gesturing to a group of men who had their backs turned, up at the bar. “He said you looked like you could use something a little stronger than the coffee.” Roxxy’s lips curved down in a slight frown as she looked down at herself, giving a sigh.

“Well, um...tell him I said thanks.” Roxxy cleared her throat awkwardly, giving the bartender a soft smile before the woman walked away. Roxxy watching as she went back behind the bar and leaned over to the man at the very end, relaying what she assumed to be her thanks...Roxxy’s stomach nearly falling out of her ass as she recognized him, immediately, as he turned around to face her while holding up his own glass with a nod of ‘cheers’. Roxxy nearly knocking over her own drink as she blindly grabbed for it in order to return the gesture. Almost certain she looked like a deer in the headlights as he gave a smirk before returning to his drink.

“Mick Mars, of thee fucking Mötley Crüe, just bought me a drink.” Roxxy muttered to herself, still half shocked. “And I look like a mother fucking trashcan....could this day get any worse?!” She whined as she placed her forehead against the table, banging it softly against the wood a few times before sitting up and knocking back the entire contents of the rocks glass in front of her. Relishing in the burn that the amber liquid left in its wake, as it traveled down her throat. Wincing softly at the sensation before turning her attention to digging around in the pocket of her leather coat for her smokes, pulling out the last one and lighting it.

“I don’t fucking mean that seriously, either.” She threatened with a pointed finger, speaking to whatever unknown deity happened to be listening as she glanced up at the ceiling and exhaled the puff of smoke from the drag she just took. “I’ve had enough of your shit for one day!” A rush of embarrassment snapping her back to reality as the sound of someone clearing their throat caught her attention, turning to find the bartender back; bottle of Jack in hand as she smiled, jerking her chin over her shoulder at the bar. Roxxy giving a nod of understanding as she pushed the rocks glass over to be filled.

“Rough day?” The woman asked with a soft laugh as she filled the glass.

“You have no idea.” Roxxy groaned as she rubbed her temples with her fingers. “Thanks. Again.” She lifted her glass and gestured towards the bar before taking a sip.

“You know...you could always go tell him yourself.” The woman implied with a grin, giving a laugh as Roxxy starred up at her with a dumbfounded expression. Opening and closing her mouth several times before giving up entirely. This woman couldn’t possibly be serious, suggesting that she -- a complete and total nobody-- go up and talk to a band member of Mötley fucking Crüe; more importantly, the guitarist she had spent the last year idolizing.

“Just a suggestion.” The woman shrugged with a polite smile before leaving again.

Roxxy sat there for a while, weighing her options and sipping on her drink as she considered actually going up to the bar. I mean at this point, what was the worst that could really happen...she had already had a shit day, and besides, she was out of smokes and desperately craving another one, the nicotine somewhat staving off the withdrawals from lack of cocaine use. Having left her entire stash behind at her ex’s.

With a sigh, Roxxy scooted herself out of the booth and grabbed her jacket; draping it over her shoulder as she grabbed her guitar case, and bag before picking up the whiskey glass, knocking back the rest of the Jack Daniels it held before maneuvering her way through the crowd and up to the bar. Propping her stuff in the corner and placing her jacket on the last, empty bar stool, as she took a seat and set her glass on the bar. Mick glancing at her out of the corner of his eye with a raised brow, flagging down the bartender as Roxxy cleared her throat awkwardly.

“You really don’t have too–” Roxxy started, immediately cutting herself off with a mortified look, afraid she was going to offend him as Mick turned to look at her; raising his sunglasses. “I mean, t-thank you– I’m flattered, b-but, really, you don’t–”

“It’s cool.” Mick held up a hand, putting a cease to her ramblings with a half grin. “Wouldn’t be doin’ it if I didn’t want to.” He added as he pushed the now full glass towards her with a middle finger.

“Of course– I mean, I didn’t mean– You know what, I’m gonna shut up.” Roxxy rambled as she took a sip of her whiskey and tossed the empty carton of cigarettes onto the bar top as she fished out her wallet, opening it as she yanked out her last five dollars and tossed it beside the empty carton as she muttered, more so too herself, “I’m usually much more a bitch.” Mick nearly snorting his own drink out his nose as her overheard the comment.

“At least you’re honest.” He replied, motioning for bartender to leave her money and add it to whatever tab he had running. “Besides, looks like you’ve had a shit day.”

“That’s an understatement and a half.” Roxxy snorted with a laugh as she packed her fresh carton of Marlboro’s before opening it and pulling one out and lighting it; taking a drag as she offered the pack to Mick, who accepted and held it to the flame of the zippo lighter in her hand. Nodding his thanks as she snapped it shut and shoved it back into the pocket of her jeans. “I’m Roxanna, by the way.” She added while exhaling a trail of smoke as she offered him her hand. Mick chuckling softly as he glanced down at her hand before he shook it; catching sight of the ‘Mötley Crüe’ logo that was plastered to the front of her cropped tank top.

“Mick. But I’m going to assume you already know that?” He replied. Fighting to stave off the grin that tugged at the corners of his lips as he watched her cheeks tint red with a blush as she nodded, flashing him a coy smile.

“Guilty.” Roxxy replied with a soft chuckle before taking another drag from her cigarette. She exhaled slowly as she pushed a hand through her mess of dark hair, shoving it back and away from her face as she stared up at him with Emerald eyes from beneath her dark lashes. Mick looked as though he were about to say something else, when suddenly, Vince appeared between the two of them and wrapped an arm around Roxxy’s shoulders. A cocky grin plastered to his face as he leaned in close.

“Tell me somethin’?” He started in a confident tone as Mick rolled his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose as he inhaled deeply while muttering, “Jesus...here we fuckin’ go.”

“Did it hurt?” Vince continued, his smirk growing wider as Roxxy looked up at him with feigned interest; cocking her head to one side as she batted her eyes and smiled. Having heard this line one too many times for her liking.

“When I fell from heaven?” She finished for him, momentarily catching Vince off guard, but he was quick to recover, his tongue darting out over his lower lip as his grin widened into that signature sexy smile of his. Mick heaving an audible sigh of annoyance as he finished off his Vodka and ordered another.

“Exactly, Baby--” But before Vince could finish whatever he was about to add as a recovery to the botched pickup line, Roxxy cut him off.

“No...but I did scrape the shit out of my knees during my climbing out of hell.” She finished with a mildly suggestive smirk as she removed his arm from around her shoulders and finished off her cigarette before stamping the last bit out in the ashtray that sat between her and Mick. Vince standing there, slack jawed and bewildered by her response as a soft scoff left his lips. Making it obvious that he wasn’t used to being rejected in such a manner and the fact that Nikki and Tommy were now howling hysterically from a table behind them, didn’t help matters much.

“Did that really just--?”

“Happen?” Mick said, cutting Vince off; his own expression almost as surprised as the lead singers. “Yeah. It happened.” He added, Vince giving a curt nod before skulking back to the table he and the other two band mates had taken up residence at. Leaving Mick to stare at Roxxy with a look of astonishment on his face.

“Holy shit…” Roxxy said with a nervous laugh. “Did I really just offend, Vince Neil?!”

“Yes, and it was fucking fabulous.” Mick smirked as he held up his glass, Roxxy taking the hint and picking up her own as she clinked it against his and took a sip before turning around to the table behind them.

“Is you’re ego gonna alright?” Roxxy asked honestly, though it came out a little more sarcastic than she intended which earned another round of laughter. “No, I mean like really?!” She added.

“Dude!” Tommy howled with laughter, nearly doubling over as he tried to catch his breath. “She’s like the chick version of Mick!” He added, Roxxy fixing him with a glare as she pointed her finger and said, “Watching yourself, drummer boy.” The comment eliciting more laughter, this time including Vince as he turned to look between herself and Mick; who were both glaring at the group in front of them.

“That’s fucking disturbing.” Vince laughed.

“What’s your name, Sweetheart?” Nikki chuckled as he took a sip of his beer, trying to change the subject before Mick started knocking their heads together for his own satisfaction.

“Roxanna.” She replied. “Most everyone calls me Roxxy, though.”

“Oh dear Jesus, not another one.” Nikki gave a short laugh as he turned to look at Tommy, who’s complexion had paled considerably, which caused Roxxy to raise an eyebrow. “Long story.” He added. “Nikki, by the way.”

“She’s aware.” Mick stated as he leaned back against the bar, vaguely gesturing to her shirt. The rest of the guys giving a collective, “Ooh” in response as Roxxy gave a nervous chuckle. Not even sure how any of this was happening right now.

“Come. Sit.” Nikki nodded at their table as Tommy pulled two more stools over for her and Mick. Roxxy briefly giving them a skeptical look, somehow waiting from them to laugh and say they were just kidding...but when that didn’t happen, she moved her things and took a seat at the table between Tommy, and Mick, who took the other seat beside her. “So, what’s your story?” Nikki added curiously after Roxxy was settled at the table.

“Like, the short version?” Roxxy snorted as she took a sip of her whiskey, cocking an eyebrow as she looked up at the band’s bassist. “Woke up yesterday morning to help my band pack for a gig ‘slash’ audition, showed up, walked in on my ex screwing my best friend; the bands lead singer. Packed my shit. Left. Drove 12 fucking hours from Seattle till my car broke down, had to walk, nearly died, missed my fucking audition, got rained on...and now, here I am.” There was a few minutes of collective silence as the guys sat there, staring at her as they tried to process that output of information.

“Jesus.” Mick mumbled into his glass.

“Yeah...And that’s only the last 24 hrs.” Roxxy replied. “A fuckin’ cake walk compared to the rest of my life.”

“Well, fuck that guy.” Nikki finally spoke as he offered her shot glass. “And fuck this day! I mean, at least it’ll end on a note of awesomeness; sitting around having a drink with this group of fucking degenerates!” He added, reaching a hand over and bouncing Tommy’s forehead off the table, which earned a round of laughter from the group.

“Not gonna argue with that.” Roxxy chuckled with a shake of her head before knocking back the contents of the shot glass and placing it upside down on the table. Taking a drag from her cigarette before adding, “I mean honestly, if someone had told me a year ago that I would be sitting in a bar sharing drinks with Mötley Crüe...I probably would’ve punched ‘em in the face.”

“You should most definitely come to our party!” Tommy stated excitedly after pounding two more shots. Roxxy raising a questioning brow as she waited for him to continue, but before he could they were interrupted by the bartender who brought over a telephone and held it out for Roxxy to take; giving a very confused, “Hello?”

“Are you a Miss,” He paused, the sound of papers being rifled through filling the silence on the other end of the line before he continued. “Roxanna Hale?”

“Yeah, that’s me?” Roxxy stated as she waited for the man to continue.

“This is Dan, I’m with Auto Doc’s 24 hr towing service. You called earlier this evening about your car? A Black ‘69 Chevelle?”

“That would be mine.” Roxxy sighed as she pinched the bridge of her nose, waiting for what she assumed would surely be bad news.

“Well, we picked it up and got it back to the shop. Someone should be able to take a look at first thing in the morning...but um, we’re gonna need the keys. I also have some papers I need you to sign off on before we’d be able to look at it? I understand it’s late, so if you can’t--”

“No, no, it’s cool.” Roxxy replied as she grabbed a napkin off the table and gestured for a pen, three suddenly appearing in front of her face as she grabbed one. “What’s the address?” The man gave it her, along with the shop number before she hung up and downed what was left of her whiskey.

“Wait, you’re not leaving already, are you?” Tommy asked with a mildly dejected puppy dog expression as they watched Roxxy stand and slip on her leather jacket; flipping her hair out of the collar as she smiled softly at him.

“Yep, unfortunately...gotta go sell my soul to the devil so I can get my car fixed.” Roxxy replied jokingly as she threw her bag over her shoulder and picked up her guitar case. “It’s been a pleasure, boys, truly.” She added, turning to address Mick separately as she said, “And thank you for the drinks.”

“No problem.” Mick gave a slight nod as he slipped his sunglasses back on. Disappointed she was leaving already, but not about to show it as he turned back to his drink as Roxxy turned to head for the door, the rest of guys turning to stare at him in disbelief. “What?” Mick stated as he glared at his band mates from behind his glasses.

“You’re seriously gonna let that just walk outta here?!” Vince arched a brow skeptically as he spoke up.

“So?” Mick retorted in a gruff tone as he took another sip of his Vodka.

“So?! You could at least give her the address to the apartment?!” Vince exclaimed as Mick simply shook his head, ignoring him entirely. “You know what, fine. I’ll do it.” He added, reaching for one of the pens on the table. Tommy beating him too it as he snatched one and bounded off towards the door to catch Roxxy. Returning a short while later, grinning triumphantly as he returned the pen.

“Fifty bucks says she shows up.” Vince smirked as he glanced over to Mick who had finished off his drink and was making to leave, himself. Pausing for moment as he turned back to the lead singer with his usual, disgruntled, expression as he replied, “Hundred bucks says she won’t.”  

And without another word, Mick disappeared into the crowd.  

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

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[diningpageantry]

Don’t @ Me

Archive Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18215168/chapters/43092371

Chapter 1/10 of It’s A Handheld Disaster

Word Count: 3118

Fic Summary: Teenage life is hard enough, but with the added weight of their lives, both Simon and Baz thrive online in a fandom for the British crime show, Gastrell, about the genius Huxley and his "flatmate" Sam. Through Tumblr, they find each other, and sink into something more than just being mutuals.

Chapter Summary: A shitpost is taken a little too personally, and an argument breaks out. In true Baz fashion, he seeks to prove himself right in the most ridiculous way possible.

BAZ

Morning routines are the most menial shit in the realm of existence of arbitrary tasks.

Everyone seems to have them, yet nobody really has a set one. For example, my step-mum has a long, seemingly pointless hour of simply facial cleansers, serums, and hair products. When I’d asked her years ago why she does it all, she shook her head and said “You’ll never be an aging woman, Basilton.”

I couldn’t quite argue with that.

Regardless, it’s a part of life. The routines. Wake up, morning routine, morning activity, eat, afternoon activity, usually afternoon snack, evening activity, dinner, night-time activity, sleep.

A boring, underwhelming cycle of the day.

Although, I suppose it’s shittier for me, since the homeschooling doesn’t give me a chance to do much besides sit and read. Of course, I have my car and I can drive off to whatever. Hell, father even suggested I get a job to occupy myself, but I don’t quite see the point given how much money we have (and the risk factors with moving around so frequently).

So, here I am. Finishing my classes in a matter of months, then having an entire year of pointless bullshit.

Needless to say, my entire day’s routine isn’t the most thrilling. Wake up at 10 on a good day, check social media and emails, then just lay here until I can’t wait to piss. Piss. Go to eat breakfast and get greeted by screaming children and my poor step-mum trying to wrangle them in. Go upstairs, go back online, see whatever’s on my dash, reblog some shit, then try to do something vaguely productive. Check Archive, check email again. Nothing’s on the emails, ever. Text Dev and Niall, who get awfully pissed since they are in school. Get more food. Eat. Bring tea upstairs, despite the disdained look from our maid (who hates collecting my piles of mugs). Write for a couple hours. Take an afternoon nap, if I please. Wake up and sit there (again). Maybe lonely wank. Go back to the bathroom, stare at myself in the mirror for a good few minutes. Sit on the toilet for half an hour for no reason besides the fact that my phone seems more interesting while sitting there as compared to sitting in bed. Sit then on the bathroom floor doing the same thing. Go back to my bed, listen to music on my phone and work on my laptop. Write, maybe scroll. Get dinner brought to me as they tut that I should be more active. Eat. Go downstairs for an evening workout (they’re right, I shouldn’t confine myself to my bed). Come back, do exactly what I do for half the day until I pass out somewhere around 3 am. Repeat.

Dream life for an 17 year old. Social life of a god.

Somewhat.

It’s shit to say (and sort of embarrassing to share) that there’s sort of a social media presence around me. Not quite the Instagram model bullshit, but based around fan life.

Yes, it’s a laughing stock. That’s where my popularity lies--a mixed grab-bag of various ages gathering around various platforms to enthuse about certain topics. And I’m somehow lucky enough to have the slightest bit of popularity here.

As in, a large following. A large, somehow active following.

It isn’t exactly thrilling as one would like to think. Sure, it’s fun to see a scattered group of regulars pop up, and I have my mutuals, but it’s a sad existence to sit around and make various shitposts with nothing better to occupy my mind. Or, at least, that’s what Dev and Niall tell me.

All in all, I blame Fiona. She’s the one who got me into the show, saying she thought the character was a bit like me. After I saw it, I found the three connections she’d grasped at.

Gay, dark-haired, and violinist.

As if that’s a rarity.

Yet, surely enough, I did love it. The cinematography, the characters, the storyline. It was intriguing--captivating.

It doesn’t hurt that the online community was still on the smaller side when I first got there. The show was only a season in when I made my blog, and I’ve stuck through all this bullshit to get me here. One of the regulars. Reposted everywhere, uncredited usually. Big fics, large interactions. Shitposts with thousands upon thousands of notes. I’m recognizable; a suggested name.

Don’t get me wrong, the attention is spectacular. I love interacting with people beyond this depressing household, and they’re usually fairly nice (usually) (except those ravenous for an argument). It’s just awkward to share at times when people ask why your mobile’s got 99+ symbols next to the apps and you just shrug and say “I’m shit at checking it” to avoid the conversation because most people see it as childish.

It’s a shame, really. Especially since I feel emotionally attached to these goddamn fictional fuckers.

I suppose that’s what makes it all the more personal, then. Even the shitposts mean something to me.

Which is what makes this is a long, winded way of saying fuck whoever’s arguing with me about whether or not Huxley is a fucking Ravenclaw. (He is. Hands down.) How’d I get here, staring at my mobile in disbelief at a brief back and forth post turned fight? Because it feels like a reasonable question to wonder.

I got here because, as almost all mornings, I woke up, opened my phone, read my notifs, then sat here, thinking of something. Anything. Then, in a tired haze, typed out a single text post on tumblr.

huxley gastrell is a ravenclaw send tweet

Following so, I went about my typical morning. Of course. Then--then--I check my phone as I’m going downstairs and I see it. I see the “@bi-sammy mentioned you in a post!” notif, then read the God-forsaken reblog.

@gaystrell op do you take criticism on your posts?

I frowned at my phone, typing out a quick response before tucking it back into my pocket.

@bi-sammy no.

What I hadn’t anticipated, though, was the reply I’d open up to soon after I’d started poking at my morning meal.

@gaystrell well too bad bc ur WRONG and ur opinions are UGLY

#he’s clearly a slytherin this is slytherin oppression #don’t tell me he and bryonie aren’t from a slytherin family

Now I sit, staring and completely awestruck at such a post. Now, I won’t deny Bryonie Gastrell is definitely, in all possible ways, a Slytherin. Cunning and ambitious as fuck, as any political spy may be, but fuck anyone who tries to dismiss Huxley’s clear Ravenclaw leanings.

It takes me a moment to fully process, mouth robotically chewing my eggs as I contemplate my answer.

@bi-sammy there is absolutely no proof of huxley being a slytherin and more than enough support towards him being a ravenclaw. get your clueless negativity off my blog, you utter tit.

With that, I settle my phone face down onto my table and try to enjoy my lovely plate of scrambled eggs, barely ignoring the boiling of my blood.

SIMON

My phone lights up with the new notification, dragging my attention away from my laptop as the words slide down onto the screen. “@gaystrell mentioned you in a post!” I hate to admit that I get a little pattering in my heart, urging my hand out to grasp the mobile as I pause the Youtube video currently playing. As I read his words, I slowly blink out of my excitement.

Tit. He called me a bloody tit.

Of course this fucking wanker called me a tit.

He must think that since he’s this big bad blogger, he can call me a tit right out in the open. (Although, he is talking to me, so that’s a plus) (No! No no no, bad validation, Simon. Bad). What, with his thousands of followers and fans of his own, he thinks he can try to say shit out in the open?

Fuck it. He’s either getting a DM or a bloody fist fight from me. I’ll take a train to wherever the fuck he lives (which is somewhere in England, since that’s what his bio says) (and his aunt lives in London, since he’s posted about visiting her) (I really do wonder where he’s from and how close he might be--what if I run into him one day?) (No wait fuck I don’t want that anymore).

Clicking on his blog, the little person drop down gives me the option of a message. I barely think as I type it out, vision going spotty from the adrenaline of the twinging anger.

bi-sammy: i swear to god there was no point to the battle of hogwarts if you’re just going to go around and absolutely slander the slytherin name and dare say that huxley is not one of them and, rather, is a ravenclaw

At first, I grin at it, watching my lone message appear into the empty chat. It’s so freeing--so powerful to send it. I pride myself, in the moment, for this solid move of communication. Of course I’m fucking proud. I messaged the arse myself and gave him a space to fight.

Maybe Penny’s right, I should dial down the confrontation, but it’s just the internet. Nothing important happens through a stupid little argument over Huxley’s true Hogwarts house (although, I’m sure I know I’m right in my heart), but it is a bit of fun to fuck around with someone. It’s a distraction. And that’s why I’m here, afterall. To have a distraction.

Penny thinks it’s a bit silly, but she doesn’t really complain. All she’s ever said was  “I thought we left fandom stuff behind us when we were 14.” She said it over lunch, watching me scroll through my at-the-time new tumblr.

It’s funny, I thought I did leave it behind when I was younger. It seemed unneeded as life shifted. I’d just found a stable foster home, with someone who was going to keep me for a while. I found Penny a couple months before I deactivated my old account. I was happy; we were free. I didn’t need a venting place.

Shits been sort of hitting the fan recently, though. No uni plans, David’s been getting more controlling, and of course, Agatha dumping me. It all crashed on top of me a few months ago, and somehow, the only place that I could find healthy coping was online. So, I started fresh. Made a blog and settled in. It’s not big, but I’ve had a few posts get noticed. I have a good few hundred followers, and one nice anon who asks me how I am every few weeks. It’s not a lot, but it’s comforting.

I feel at home here, even with a little discourse.

Well, only when the discourse is answered. Which, in this situation, I don’t know if it will be, given it’s been over an hour now and Baz hasn’t answered.

If that’s even his name.

It’s what his bio says, at least.

baz. 17. cisguy (he/him). gay. don’t interact if you think huxley is remotely straight.

I’ve wondered for a while what Baz stands for. He refuses to answer it in asks; he always says it’s too personal. He’s sort of odd like that--never posts pictures of anything that could be linked back. Seems sort of creepy, but then again, a lot of people follow him. It’s reasonable to want space.

Maybe that’s why he’s not answering. He probably wants space of some sort, but it’d be at least decent to answer someone who tried to have a discussion (that’s at least what I’m calling that message I sent--a discussion starter).

I frown at my phone, keeping it on silent as I slide it into my front pocket and settle into my seat in maths. I’ll say it--I sulk in class, a little bitter that I don’t have his attention (despite the fact that he seems like he’s always active online, which seems odd). Eventually, I exhale and try to let it slip away. There went my one interaction with him. My few seconds of the weirdest fucking bliss online, gone.

Then, it happens. As the class is ending, I pull out my screen just enough to see and there it is. A clear notification telling me he’d answered. Oddly enough, it’s just him sending me a link to a Google Doc.

Weird.

I ignore it for the moment being, letting myself ride the wave of relaxation that I actually got a reply. It passes my mind until I’m sitting in the back of Agatha’s car, listening to Penny and Aggie in the front talking about whatever’s on their mind. The rides are sort of awkward as of recently. At least Agatha agreed to drive me home (it’s a good 45 minute walk, if not) after some convincing from Penny, but her and I don’t really chat. It’s just the two of them.

Given that time, I have a chance to pull out my mobile and thumb through what was sent.

gaystrell: https://docs.google.com/document/d/175qFASmqD7hey8lE0eoE-6VhhFYE9DP6bpnI32Aay98/edit?usp=sharing

I click on it, not expecting that much (or, really, not expecting anything at all). Yet, the second it pops up and loads, my jaw drops.

“Jesus fuck,” I say aloud, scrolling through it. Penny turns her head, frowning as I stay locked on my screen.

“What? What’s wrong?”

“No--no nothing,” I say, waving a hand. “It’s nothing.”

“It’s got to be something for that reaction,” she says, keeping turned in her seat as she eyes me up. “Just tell us, Si.”

“I mean it when I say it’s nothing.” My voice gets quieter as I shift, reading the title. “It’s just fandom stuff. It’s really nothing.”

I hear her disgruntled huff as she turns back, mumbling something about me reacting too dramatically to this. “It isn’t even real.” It’s said under her breath, yet it still rings clear in my ears.

It isn’t really fake, either.

Hell, this is six pages of real. “Why Huxley Gastrell is, Without a Doubt, a Ravenclaw”. Shared by Basilton Pitch (is that his actual name?!). Fucking hell, it’s detailed to no ends. You’d think, with this much writing, there’d be pages of pointless filler where he’d just type “im gay hi huxley is also a gay we’re all gay here aren’t we”, but no. It’s full, grammatically correct sentences detailing his points.

It’s a bit much to read in the car, so I settle my mobile face down onto the seat as I’m left reeling. That… was a bit more than I’d expected.

Shit, did he write that for me?

This isn’t real. This can’t be real.

BAZ

Whoever says that having a flair for the dramatics is pointless has clearly never met me, because I wouldn’t quite call this masterpiece of an essay “pointless”. In fact, I should send it to academics. Rename it “A Study In Multi-Dimensional Characters and their Associated Generalized Personality Traits”. I’ll be hailed as a genius, as I deserve to be.

I crack my knuckles, and see the little person pop up.

Surely enough, it’s @bi-sammy’s name that he has listed online, Simon. It’s curious, he has his last name listed as “Snow”. Although, the smallest part of me believes it’s a pseudonym. Given our interactions, I doubt he’s clever enough to think of a solid pseudonym. And, even at that, why pick Snow?

Either way, it’s surprisingly endearing. Simon Snow. Sounds sweet. Sounds innocent.

I watch his cursor turn on, then his icon goes grey after a few moments. My heart starts to trip, making my cheeks begin to flush. Is… he ignoring this?

No. He can’t be. I put in hard work and dedication into this work, and I deserve the respect I’d sent into it. Fucking hell, three fully developed points (his devotion to intellectual work, his effort to step out of public light for Sam’s sake, and his overall lack of ambition for moving forward). I clearly set it out, and ended it properly; I’d proven that Huxley is a Ravenclaw. Case and point, opinion made, the end.

And, here I sit, watching him have the audacity to open it up then close it back. That was my hard work put in there, and he closes it? Who in the name of all that is sacred thinks he’s that above other people to the point where he just ignores--

Oh. He’s back on. Nevermind.

He’s… probably a school student. It’s roughly the time that most classes end, I suppose.

I make a mental apology to him, despite having never ranted directly to him in the first place.

He stays active for a good bit; long enough to show he’s reading. I assume that he’d just close off and message me, but after minutes, I notice a little highlighted comment pop up on the last sentence.

Simon Snow i………. owe you every single possible apology

Each word makes me grin like I haven’t in a while. A wide, cheek-creasing grin. There’s something so sweet to that--so personal. It feels like a note passed to me in a classroom under the tables. Like a cute “Blink if you like me”, although I doubt he has quite an intention.

Nevertheless, it warms my chest, sending my head back as I smile. I’m not sure whether or not it’s the satisfaction of winning, or his words, but I laugh outwardly into the room. It stays with me, reverberating onto my skin and my throat.

I look back at the comment, then leave it untouched. If he won’t remove it, then I won’t either.

With a glance at our personal messages tab, I figure that’s that. Even field, no more argument. No more interaction. It’s a bit of a shame, given the effort I’d just extorted for his sake, that he hasn’t answered in our chat.

While I’m disappointed to close off the document, I smile at it one last time. Sometimes I have to move on from random people, especially when they come on a bit strong.

Except, I find, moments later that I’m wrong about one thing--the moving on. He didn’t just stop his interaction, but instead made a public post.

“@bi-sammy mentioned you in a post!”

This time, I really laugh. A full bellied, hand-covering-mouth laugh.

i guess i have to suck @gayhuxell’s cock now because i was wrong and the bloody arse was right. huxley is a ravenclaw.

#fuck me i guess

I take a minute, rereading over his words a few times before typing a simple answer with my reblog.

i’m available anytime behind a mcdonald’s parking lot

[alittledizzy]

stray puppy appeal rating: pg word count: 2.5k Summary: There's a stranger sleeping in Dan's bed, and he's not sure how to feel about it. Notes: Written for @velvetnautilus for my thirty minute fics for charity fundraiser to benefit PhandomGives.

[read on ao3]

There's a stranger sleeping in Dan's bed, and he's not sure how to feel about it.

*

Most of the time people checking into the hotel during Dan's ten pm to four am shift aren't really looking for conversation. They're looking for a bed to sleep in or a bed to fuck in and either way they're not going to stand around making small talk with the guy behind the counter who is doing his level best to project a disinterest in any interaction outside the structure of doing his job. He finds reservations, activates key cards, and sends them on their way.

But Dan's got a sixth sense about people who are going to need something from him, and because he's the only one working the front desk during the graveyard shift he's got no way to avoid it.

That sense starts to tingle the minute the door opens and a man walks in wearing a very respectable suit and tie with a stain on the front and no luggage at all. The man looks around with a slightly wild expression that means he's either drunk or exhausted. If he's drunk, at least Dan can ring security.

"Can I help you, mate?" Dan asks. His voice carries across the small lobby.

The man looks at him like he's only just realized someone else was there. "I think my driver stole my wallet," he says. "And my mobile's dead, and the airline lost my luggage."

Okay. Not drunk. Damn. And it's so close to his shift ending.

"Do you have a reservation here?" Dan asks.

"I'm with the conference," Phil says.

"... conference?" Dan repeats.

There is no conference.

"Yeah," Phil says again. "The conference. We're supposed to have rooms booked out."

"There's no conference here," Dan says. "Are you sure you're at the right hotel?"

The man looks slightly queasy now. "No," he admits. "Is this the City Centre hotel?"

"... mate." Dan barely manages not to laugh. "No. It is not. You're about thirty minutes in the wrong direction."

The man rubs his forehead and lets out a very quiet, passionate. "Fuck."

*

It’s painful watching Phil sit in the straight back chair in the lobby. It’s not comfortable. Dan knows that, because he knows the furniture was chosen with the intent of keeping people from wanting to linger too long using the free lobby wifi.

He’s only got ten minutes left until shift change. He knows who comes in after him, and he knows Phil won’t be allowed to loiter without a reservation and looking as he does. He’ll be told politely but firmly to leave, and Dan has a vivid mental image of Phil Lester walking down the street helpless and lost and broke.

There’s a chance of rain, too.

Dan sighs. He had plans. Those plans involved going home, eating something horrible for him in front of the television, playing Guild Wars for a couple hours, then crashing until time for the routine to start again.

“Hey,” Dan says, voice cutting through the quiet of the small lobby. “If you need somewhere to crash for a few hours, you can come home with me.”

Phil looks startled. “I can’t do that.”

Dan shrugs. “Fine.” Thirty seconds later. “Not like I’m trying to rob you or anything, though. Doesn’t sound like the last guy left much anyway.”

Phil almost appears affronted, but the expression fades into something more miserable almost right away. “I’ve still got organs. You could harvest those.”

“If I were in the organ harvesting trade, you think I’d still be working this shit job?” Dan asks. “I could probably pay my rent on one good spleen. Unfortunately I’m chronically undermotivated, so your spleen is safe.”

“Good,” Phil says. “I’ve only got the one. I think. Do humans have two spleens?”

“Just one,” Dan says. He sounds confident even though he’s not sure. He’ll google it later.

“But I really can’t.” Phil has polite-voice on.

“Suit yourself.” Dan goes back to looking at his phone. Eight more minutes, and he’s free.

*

There are a lot of things Dan would list about himself under the column of personality flaws. He's sullen and quiet, anxious, prone to depressive spells, lacks the ability to follow through on commitments, and frequently isolates himself from the people in his life that care about him.

But he's not a bad person. So when his shift ends at four in the morning he looks at Phil and says, “Come on.” and leaves work with a stray following close on his heels.

Phil a consultant for an editing software firm, and he's clearly having a worse day than Dan is but that doesn’t stop him from being chatty.

"I'll just charge my phone for a bit," Phil promises. "Then I'll be able to ring someone and figure out money.”

Dan doesn't really have money to give him. All of his meager paycheck goes towards rent for an overpriced one bedroom flat in one of the shittier London neighborhoods.

"Figure it out tomorrow," Dan says, waving a hand. If nothing else he'll be a nice person and put Phil into a car.

"It's already tomorrow, isn't it?" Phil says. "I'm all messed up with times. I flew here from California."

"Yeah?" Dan asks. He’s knows he sounds disinterested, but he’s really just… tired. He’s always tired.

"I'm actually from Manchester. But they flew me out to California to train me on the software, and I'm supposed to present it at this conference. At least it doesn't start until tomorrow, right?" Phil laughs a tepid laugh. He seems aware that he's mostly talking to himself. "Right. Where are we going?"

Dan gives him an amused look. "Would you know even if I told you? It's only five more minutes."

Walking to and from work is the only exercise Dan gets most of the time. There are days when he'd probably skive off work altogether if not for how much he enjoys his early morning walks.

"Right," Phil says a third time. "Okay."

*

In the bright light of Dan's kitchen, Phil looks even worse for wear.

"When's the last time you slept?" Dan asks. He'd really just planned on making some coffee while Phil's phone charged enough to make do and then sending him on his way, but now safe within his own territory Dan feels a strange stirring to do something more.

It's not often he's the one that can help other people. It's not often he feels like he can offer something that makes a difference to someone else.

Phil shrugs. "I can't sleep on planes, and the flight was twelve hours. And the night before they took me out for dinner and kept buying me drinks and then I had to go back to the hotel room and pack..."

"So, it's been a while." Dan abandons the coffee idea and heads into his bedroom.

Phil follows after him, but stops in the doorway. "What-"

Dan looks over his shoulder. "You want something more comfortable to wear? Maybe a shower?"

Phil looks surprised. "You're not going to harvest my organs, are you?"

"No," Dan says. "Can't be bothered cleaning up after that kind of mess today. But you look like shit, mate."

Phil looks down. "I spilled coffee on myself at the airport. I thought that would end up being the worst part of my morning. Before the airline losing my luggage, and the car driver taking my wallet."

He's already rung his bank and credit card company to cancel the cards, taking care of that from the hotel phone behind the reception desk.

Dan tosses him a t-shirt and a pair of joggers. "The shampoo in my bathroom is for curly hair, but have at it."

"Thanks," Phil says, holding the bundle of clothes. Dan looks up again when he doesn't move. "Where's the bathroom?"

*

Phil's shower is fast. Dan's not sure if he's always quick at it, or if he's just uncomfortable in Dan's space. His hair is wet and falls limply over his forehead and somehow the five o'clock shadow on his face seems a touch darker.

"Thanks," he says. "I feel more human now."

"You don't look it," Dan says bluntly.

Phil shrugs. He's at his phone already. "I'm at forty percent now. If you need me to go..."

"Didn't say I did, did I?" Dan asks. "Are you sure you're even safe to go out there? Why don't you just, I don't know, have a nap."

Dan's tired himself now, or beginning to be. He usually falls asleep around sunrise and wakes late afternoon. But Phil looks ten times worse.

"I couldn't-" Phil starts to say. "I couldn't impose."

"Fine." Dan shrugs. "I'm still offering, though."

Phil looks back down at his phone. "I could just... ring someone. To get me."

"You know people in London?" Dan asks.

Phil shakes his head. "But I could call the convention organizers..."

"At-" He looks at the time. "Five seventeen in the morning."

Phil winces. "I guess not."

"Just sleep," Dan says. "I still won't harvest your organs."

Phil gives him a grateful look. "Thank you."

*

Dan's a nice guy, but also a bit of a creep sometimes.

He definitely watches Phil sleep. He stands in the doorway of his bedroom and stares, because now that the buzz of a weird new situation has faded a bit he's able to recognize that Phil is quite fit.

There haven't been any fit guys in Dan's bed in a while. No fit girls, either. No one at all, except Dan and his laptop and his left hand.

Not that he's thinking of having sex with a random businessman that wandered into his workplace. He's not that hard up. Sex isn't even the first thing on his mind most of the time. He's got too much other shit to get together.

Dan stares just a bit longer, then turns and walks away. He'll nap on the sofa for a while.

*

He doesn't really sleep, but awareness fades in and out in stretches of five and ten minutes at a time until the sun is beaming down too directly on his face. He squints and rubs a hand over his eyes. He's tired, bone deep weary, and there's a stranger in his bed.

He opens the fridge and there's not much there. He takes his lunch around two am most days, and doesn't eat again until late afternoon. There's a lot of takeaway in his life, a lot of freezer meals.

Can't feed a freezer meal to a stranger. His nana would drive all the way from Reading just to slap him for it.

He doesn't even know what Phil likes to eat. Is he vegetarian? Vegan? Gluten free? Does he watch his carbs?

Indecision is paralyzing, but Dan's hungry and he needs something to do. He orders a pizza, but he orders what he'd normally get for himself. It's not a date, he tells himself. No need to try all that hard.

*

Tall, dark, and handsome-if-you-like-that-type stumbles bleary eyed from the depths of Dan's sleep cave at half two.

"Oh my god," he says, sounding mildly horrified. "I can't believe I slept so long."

Dan's on his laptop. He barely glances up. "Must have needed it."

"My phone's charged," Phil says. "If you need me to go."

Dan ignores the comment and says, "There's pizza."

"Pizza?" Phil's interest is definitely piqued.

"You must be hungry, right?" Dan asks.

"Starved," Phil says. He opens the box. The pizza's gone cold by now but he doesn't seem to mind. He takes a bite and moans slightly. "This is amazing."

"It's Dominoes," Dan says, "But it's good to know that's where your taste level is at."

"Nothing wrong with a Dominoes," Phil says.

Dan does happen to agree.

Phil eats his pizza standing. Dan pretends to be doing work on his laptop, when in reality he's refreshing twitter and watching Phil out of the corner of his eye.

When Phil's done eating, he wipes his hands on his (Dan's) joggers and then walks back into the bedroom.

Dan has a sinking feeling in his gut, and he's not sure what put it there. All he knows is that this day stands out from every other day already, and he's reluctant to let that go.

But then there's Phil, this person Dan barely knows, with whom Dan has barely even had a real conversation, and he's walking out of Dan's bedroom dressed again and regret for that unknown reason blooms even brighter.

"Guess you'll be going then?" Dan asks.

He can tell his voice sounds clipped. Phil can too, apparently. "If that's alright? Or did you change your mind on the organ harvesting?"

"Still can't be bothered," Dan says, shutting the laptop. Phil's wearing his own trousers and a button up.

"I need to get to my hotel," Phil says. "And then ring the airport about my luggage, and have someone wire me some money."

Dan can see the discarded tie making an unsightly lump in his trouser pocket, and he's got his jacket over one shoulder. The coffee stain looks even worse in the light of day. He's got Dan's hoodie clutched in his other hand.

"You can take that if you want to."

Dan's not sure where the offer comes from. He likes that hoodie.

Phil looks down at it. "Really?" He asks. "We could... we could meet up. For me to give it back to you. And pay you back."

"Pay me back?" Dan asks.

"For the money I'm about to ask to borrow so I can get the tube to where I need to be." Phil says meekly.

"Oh," Dan says. "Yeah, right."

"But I want to make it up to you." Phil takes a breath and then looks at Dan almost imploringly. "Dinner? When's your night off work?"

"Don't worry about it," Dan says. He grabs his wallet and pulls out the only cash he has. He doesn't even count it. "You don't need to pay me back. If you want to return the hoodie, drop it by the hotel."

Phil looks down at where Dan's offering it out to him. He's frowning, and Dan's starting to wonder exactly what's wrong when Phil says, "What if I just want to take you out?"

"What?" Dan stares at him.

"You're - am I wrong?" Phil asks. "I just.. I saw your quilt. And the sticker on your mirror.”

The warm, heavy quilt his friend made him in the colors of a rainbow flag. The equality sticker. "Are you asking me out? Are you even gay?"

The moment feels like a step beyond surreal.

Phil lifts up his trouser leg. His socks have little rainbows on them. Phil shrugs. "A bit?"

"You're a bit gay, or you're a bit asking me out?"

"Both?" Phil says.

"Okay I get how you can be a bit gay, but - how do you just ask someone out a bit?" Dan asks.

Phil begins to look uncomfortable. "If you don't want to, that's fine. I'll have your hoodie sent-"

"I don't work Sunday night," Dan interrupts him.

"Sunday," Phil repeats, smiling. "Alright. I'll bring the hoodie then. And buy you dinner."

*

Sunday comes, and Sunday goes. Dinner turns into a drink after and then a slow stumble through Dan's doorway with hands and mouths exploring. Monday morning dawns bright and early.

There's a stranger in Dan's bed again, and this time he knows exactly how to feel about it.

[mindmischiefrp]

welcome to the yosul school for witches and wizards

oh saerim 05.10.1987 (33) transfiguration and art prof (baek ho alumni) half-blood

2009

saerim returns with an armful of supplies and a joke on the tip of her tongue when she catches her girflriend, yoonmi, in the midst of unbuttoning her slacks. her materials fall to their kitchen floor, clattering noisily in tandem with her quickening heartbeat—a painful staccato that makes her ribcage feel full yet empty as the very breath within her lungs escape her. she’s beautiful, a fact that is often left forgotten as their days blend together. saerim takes a step back to appreciate the woman yoonmi grew into, a stark contrast from the awkward and gangly adolescent she had been. saerim had been with her all throughout her metamorphosis, has learned to love every facet of her, including the ones she was ashamed of—loving her until yoonmi learned to love herself.

she smiles whilst quietly picking up her belongings, gesturing yoonmi towards their threadbare couch which they had thrown a duvet over for her comfort. she repositions her girlfriend to her liking, using a critical eye to get yoonmi where she wants her. satisfied, saerim settles into the chair she had dragged in earlier, getting comfortable while admiring how the early morning sun painted yoonmi golden, adding an ethereal glow to her skin.

“hold that position for a few minutes,” saerim admonishes with a frown when she shifts her shoulders, rearranging her long limbs which had gone numb long ago. “don’t move ! we’ll try something new in just a sec.”

“my ass is getting itchy, okay ?” yoonmi laughs, crow’s feet appearing at the corners of her eyes as she sends a cheeky grin her way. “the wool duvet does not agree with me.”

“well make it work !” she huffs, hand furiously moving over the page to compensate with her sudden movements. “god you’re the worst…”

2012

09:32AM 📞 ➠   《 💓my boo thang 🥺 》 : training is a lot harder than i had originally thought. the hours are shit, and my trainer is even shittier. never givin’ me a chance to fuckin’ memorize what i just learned and process it properly. does this bitch not know that retention is important?? i swear he’s out to kill me, fuck…i don’t know what i was thinking, but it’s what dad woulda wanted for me yanno? and…all i really wanted was to make him proud. he’s not around anymore, and it’s got me thinkin’…is this really all worth it?

10:05AM 📞 ➠   《 💓my boo thang 🥺 》 : i’m sorry for unloading on you, baby…please just ignore that last voice message. i’m just in a funk right now. i’ll figure it out. thank you for always being there when i need you. i love you.

2017

ALL INDIVIDUALS HANDLING THIS INFORMATION ARE REQUIRED TO PROTECT IT FROM UNAUTHORIZED DISCLOSURE IN THE INTEREST OF THE WIZARDING GOVERNMENT OF SOUTH KOREA.

HANDLING, STORAGE, REPRODUCTION AND DISPOSITION OF THE ATTACHED DOCUMENT WILL BE IN ACCORDANCE WITH APPLICABLE EXECUTIVE ORDER(S), STATUTE(S) AND AGENCY IMPLEMENTING REGULATIONS.

REFERENCE(S):

█████████ (ACTIVE)

███████████ (ACTIVE)

████████ (ACTIVE)

NO. 0103 ████████ has completed the necessary trials and has been registered as an animagus under the jurisdiction of WIZARDING GOVERNMENT OF SOUTH KOREA. Attached are references and proof of completion.

STATUS: APPROVED AND FILED FOR ARCHIVING

2018

00:49AM 📞 ➠   《 ██████████ 》 : hello this is healer briggs of saint mungo’s hospital for magical maladies and injuries. you were named as miss oh’s emergency contact, and following procedure, it is unfortunate that we have to inform you of miss oh’s critical condition. she is currently being held in the british wizarding ministry’s custody until she can safely be moved to her country of origin. should you like to make arrangements to be with her during these trying times, please call the following number and ask for ███████ .

2019

“do you think this is a good idea?” saerim asks, knuckles white as she drags her luggage behind her. “you don’t think they’re making a mistake? can you even see me as a professor? of transfiguration of all things?”

“of course i can, it’s what you double majored in, so i know you’re going to do amazing,” yoonmi replies, pressing a comforting kiss to her girlfriend’s temple as they enter their alma mater for the first time in years. “you’ve always been great with people. they’re going to love you! and if you can’t find it in you to believe in yourself—believe in me who believes in you.”

“now isn’t a good time to quote kamina,” she replies with a roll of her eyes, though visibly less shaken and tense than before. a barely there smile quirks the corner of her lips upward, if just for a moment. “god you’re such a weeb…how have we stayed together this long is beyond me.”

“ouch, you wound me ! ” she dramatically clutches her heart, feigning injury before standing upright when saerim begins to painfully prod her side. “okay, okay okay, uncle ! but seriously, if you’re ever in doubt, i’m a phone call away. i’ll gas you up, baby.”

“i know, and i appreciate you, truly,” she murmurs, leaning into yoonmi’s side when they come to a stop in the courtyard. “the only person ever.”

“better wife me before someone else snatches me away,” she teases, throwing an arm around her shoulders.

with a roll of her eyes, she disentangles herself, “shut up, you’re so embarrassing—” leaving her luggage behind with yoonmi as she takes a step towards the headmaster’s office “—stay here, i just need to check in with the headmaster and get through all the paperwork so that i can officially be instated as a professor—” she sighs, suddenly mellow “—are you sure this is a good idea?”

“shut up, oh saerim,” she says, voice louder than necessary, drawing a few eyes their way. “you’re amazing. you’ll do amazing. i believe in you. please believe in yourself a little bit more, okay?”

“okay.”

2020

“alright you heathens, settle down firsties! i’m professor oh, and welcome to transfiguration 101, an introductory course on the wonderful branch of magic that teaches you the parlor trick of turning one object into another,” with a flourish of her wand, saerim summons a stack of syllabi, and with a flick of her wrist, distributes them. “that was a joke by the way. transfiguration, although seen as a simple concept, is scientific, systematic, and complex in practice. over the course of seven years, we will work together until you all have this down to a science. it’ll require hard work, but we will have fun along the way.”

turning on her heel, she turns her gaze upon her students from over the rim of her bifocals, “now that we got pleasantries out of the way: open your book to page 394. we’ll start on gamp’s law of elemental transfiguration.”