#Damn. I hoped my review would be shorter this time but oh well.

[vivalgi]

My spoilery review on Crimes of Passion 2

COP2 was a somewhat mixed bag for me but in general I enjoyed reading it. Although it had some glaring problems and other minors annoyances, the book definitely didn't leave me cold. I have many things to say about the investigation, the villain, Marguerite's controversial outfits and of course the relationship with Trystan.

The best part for me was the murder investigation. Despite the over the top depiction of this weird dystopian Eastern European kingdom and its equally silly royal family, the main plot was fairly fun. I was never fully sure who the murderer could be but I didn't really think it would be the younger siblings due to their age during the events leading to Juliana's murder. Although I still kept my eye on the real murderer, the evidence never quite pointed at at him. Vasili may have acted suspiciously kind natured and nonchalantly but you can't just accuse someone solely based on their personality. You need hard evidence and everything we found, kept pointing at other siblings. Especially when the suspect seemingly tried to sabotage the Act of Heir Equity.

Even though the royal family was already charcterized as twisted individuals, it was still somewhat surprising what a crazy psychopath Vasili turned out to be and what sick things he'd do, even to his most loved ones. I liked that he wasn't just cold and calculating but often acted on impulse and emotions. I guess the book finally lived up to its name.

I think it would have been even more awesome if his accomplice had been someone else but Colette. Was she the hooded figure in the bonus scene at the end of book 1? Since Lydea turned out to be not blood related to the king, imagine how crazy it would have been if she and Vasili had been secret lovers, plotting together. Now that would have been a real plot twist.

I usually have little faith in PB writing believable action scenes but the final 'battle' wasn't too bad. The taser shot was too slow and we had to buy a diamond scene for MC not to seem too clumsy and need our resident knight in shining armor to step in but otherwise it was fine. As usual, I believe that death is an easy way out for a caught criminal so naturally, I chose to let Vasili rot in the dark Drakovian prison instead of killing him.

One of the hot debates has certainly been Marguerite's credibility as a fashion designer. The outfits have been quite a mixed bag throughout the two books. It's actually funny and ironic how confident Mags is about her designing abilities all the time. I only bought the snake leather suit (RIP poor snakes) and the green suit, occasionally wearing the leather jacket and black premium suit from book 1. I quite liked the fashion show outfit too but my MC is an introvert with a major case of stage fright (unless it involves the chance to make out with a certain Drakovian princess named Astrid 🙈), so I had to decline the offer. However, by far the biggest offender was that weird gift wrapping made for female Trystan. I can't remember ever seeing a more horrible outfit made for any character in Choices history, especially an LI. Thankfully, with a few tweaks I was able to give her female MC's green premium dress, which I think suits her very well.

Finally, let's speak about the relationship between MC and Trystan. While I've never been Trystan's biggest fan and would have happily romanced Ruby instead, if this were a book from a distant era with multiple LIs as a norm, I still quite enjoy their dynamic. I love my stoic introvert MC and his sharp tongue and this outgoing nonchalant princess is a nice contrast to MC's personality. Their witty banter is always something to look forward to.

However, when it comes to the romantic side of their relationship then this was my biggest disappointment of the sequel. When that fight between MC and Trystan took place in chapter 4, I was quite intrigued how it would affect their relationship and how the two would solve their differences. I don't think romances have to be all rosy, that would a bit bland, especially in longer stories. Conflicts are a nice device for character growth and ultimately the love can only become stronger if you manage to climb over the obstacles. Unfortunately, good storytelling fell victim to corporate greed. Instead of focusing on mending the riff this fight should have caused, the writers decided to largely gloss over it. The main characters were made to act like a normal young couple so that PB could fit in as many p*rn scenes as possible, because this seems to be only thing readers spend their diamonds on these days.

The relationship felt superficial and one-sided as it seemed like Trystan only needed MC to satisfy her carnal needs. Trystan looked determined to take the crown and MC tried to support her decision but no-one seemed to care about MC's worries. He never got the emotional support he so badly needed. Whenever he tried to bring up the subject, Trystan decided to avoid it and distract him by trying to get into his pants, like during the coronation ball and on the ride back from Juliana's parents. To add at least some angst, In my head canon MC decided to be mad and cold at first after the fight. As the story progressed, he accepted their romance was practically over seeing how Trystan wasn't backing away from her destiny, and tried to act distant with her to get used to the idea of a life without his love. That of course meant declining every 'couple time' scene, which is only PB's loss.

Of course, PB would magically solve the problem in the most predictable and cliché way possible. Who actually didn't see it coming that Trystan would decline the crown at the very last minute? Naturally, I'm happy that at the end she chose love over duty to her country and to return to New-York with MC but what if at first we'd have gone home with a broken heart and we'd have even seen the "Thank you for playing..." dialogue and then suddenly on a rainy evening Trystan knocks on our door.

Ultimately, it was a decently fun book. I enjoyed the main plot of chasing the criminal and there were lots of funny moments but I was let down with how the relationship with Trystan was (non-)developed in book 2.

[favoniuscodex]

intergalactic au w/ zhongli, childe, and xiao

prompt: futuristic/intergalactic!au w/ zhongli, childe, and xiao for my 1.5k follower event pairings: zhongli x gn!reader, childe x gn!reader, xiao x gn!reader, word count: 2.8k words (i really like this au, ok?) a/n: haha oh jeez ok my knowledge of intergalactic stuff is an amalgamation of different stuff so this is gonna involve a few different types of space stuff! some of these are longer than others, apologies for the discrepancies in length! i had to stop some of these from becoming full fics hhhh

ZHONGLI

“so,” you state, unceremoniously slamming your hands down on the metal lunch table in front of you. “rex lapis. discuss.”

the two colleagues sitting in front of you differ in reactions to your noisy gesture. the shorter and angrier of the two, xiao, jumps slightly at the sudden intrusion, despite the bustling noise of the starship’s cafeteria surrounding the three of you. at his side, zhongli sits, regal as ever, sipping on a cup of tea that fails to shake within his grip. the brunette sets the drink down on the table before him and looks at you patiently.

“what do you wish for us to discuss?” zhongli asks while xiao scowls at you in annoyance.

“there’s nothing to discuss,” xiao grumbles, cutting up cubes of the low-grade tofu in front of him with the side of his fork absentmindedly. “he died. the end.”

“did he?” you challenge and xiao lets out a heavy sigh of a man worn out by your mere existence. “alright, zhongli, hear me out on this. what if it’s just a coverup by the liyuean fleet? none of us really even knew what he looked like, who he was, et cetera et cetera, y’know? so like... he could very well be alive.”

“indulging in conspiracy theories,” xiao mutters. “how mature of you.” he grouchily stabs some of the decimated remains of the tofu cubes in front of them and takes a bite, wincing slightly at the low quality texture. however, zhongli’s honey eyes shine with mirth at your proposition. 

“i believe that such notions are never beyond the realm of possibility,” zhongli confesses, causing xiao to sputter and choke on his cafeteria meal.

“you have to be kidding me. that’s the dumbest thing i’ve ever heard. they could’ve just said he retired or something. why would the fleet cover up his existence with a falsified death?” xiao challenges, his gaze flickering between your smug expression and zhongli’s entirely placated one.

“some people say rex lapis turned into a dragon and flew away. oooo~! watch out, xiao, he’s going to come for you, oooo~!” you mimic the sounds of a ghost as you flap your hands in a wing-like motion, leaning in closer to xiao, who leans away in repulsion and fear. xiao shrieks slightly as you breach his personal space and he hides behind zhongli’s figure, whose intense gaze causes you to stop your teasing and sit up straight, despite a soft smile gracing his elegant features.

“(y/n),” zhongli questions in a soft tone reserved only for you. “did you finish your review of the engine room’s oxygen and sediment filter?”

you look sheepishly down at the tray of food in front of you. “no, but... nobody’s allowed in the engine room right now. some dumb intern got his keycard stolen so the whole room is on lockdown while they reprogram everyone else’s.”

“well, if you have no other tasks to complete today, would you like to assist me with my research?” zhongli asks and, with no hesitation, you nod in response.

“of course! do you still need help with analyzing how to best redirect flow of air in the suits of the astronauts traveling to planet 48-ab-9?” you say, looking to make sure you and zhongli are on the same page. he smiles at you, which gives you the answer you need before the words even fall from his lips.

“yes, but there may also be possible diversions to other planets and air pressure within the spacesuits on one planet may cause ruptures in the other and-” zhongli begins, but is interrupted by xiao standing up abruptly, the tofu on his tray barely touched.

“i am full!” xiao declares, which causes you to narrow your eyes at him in disbelief. zhongli, however, buys xiao’s blatant lie. “which means, like every upstanding worker of the liyuean fleet, it’s time to return back to the contractual chains of coding hell!”

you can only watch as the green-haired man scurries off without waiting for your responses, far too eager to return to the cybersecurity job he always seems to complain about.

“so, where were we?” zhongli asks, capturing your undivided attention once more. you let out a soft huff of amusement at the situation and flash a smile in return.

---

zhongli is a consistently overlooked member of the liyuean fleet, residing as one of the few interplanetary geologists on board. to put it simply, zhongli works alongside you, an environmental engineer, to help ensure the safety of liyuean fleet explorers as they venture into unknown territory. you develop the products and do routine maintenance on various air quality-related machinery within the massive mothership of the liyuean fleet, while zhongli studies previously-recorded information about other planets in order to provide hypotheses about what potential new planets’ geological systems may be like and what needs to be done for astronauts to acclimate to them.

the talkative geologist is polite to all, but talkative to few, one of whom is you. while the two of you work side by side, the man has a tendency to ramble about the compositions of different planetary soils and what they means to human life should they encounter it. if you’re being honest with yourself, the topic nearly puts you to sleep, but you find it adorable that he can talk so passionately for so long on such a mundane topic.

you let zhongli ramble for three reasons. one: you don’t have the heart to tell him to stop. two: you have a massive crush on him that only seems to worsen the more you see his amber eyes nearly glow with passion whenever you ask questions about his work. finally, three: you’re waiting for zhongli to slip up and reveal why someone of his talent finally got assigned to the mothership immediately after the supposed death of rex lapis.

as he launches into another rambling session, you can’t help but zone zhongli out as a startling idea pops into your head about the calming man who loves three things in life (history, tea, and rocks, in that order).

could he be...? you push the thought out of your head and decide to accept the liyuean fleet command’s announcement at face value. commander rex lapis is dead and there’s absolutely, certainly, definitely no way that zhongli is the man who once brought the tsaritsa’s warships to a crumbling halt.

right?

CHILDE

the dashing rogue with a heart of gold is certainly one of the most respectable men in the galaxy. he saves damsels in distress and redistributes wealth to the poor. he’s perfect in every manner -- don’t you see his charming smile? how could you not trust him? he’ll lure you in with sweet words and false affections, brushing your hair behind your ear as he makes you giggle and flustered due to his flirtations. the illusion pops when he waltzes away from you with a wink and you realize you’re missing your wallet a few minutes later. 

childe, a man of many aliases ranging from the theatrical tartaglia to the mythological ajax, is one of the galaxy’s most wanted thieves. he’ll insist he’s not a kleptomaniac, but feeds off the golden veins of wealth he steals from others as if he is a vampire, a primal instinct he can’t seem to control. no target is too big or small for the man, especially if a rival is involved.

in this case, it’s you. he finds you at a bar, in which grating electronic music blasts overhead and rainbow lights paint his skin in different colors as they flash to the beat. childe is forced to yell over the music, yet none of his signature charm is lost as he does his best to cozy up to you, buying you a drink and warding off any unwanted suitors, especially the alien with eight hands who wont stop insisting that he just wants to hold one of yours. 

you almost let yourself get swept away in his radiant baby blues and his wispy, ruddy brown hair, but you’re smarter than that. you can see the intelligence in his eyes and you wonder if he can see it in yours. despite his kindness and his genuine enthusiasm to hear what you have to say, he holds an arrogance in his posture that shows that childe is underestimating you. you know what he’s after: the keycard to the liyuean fleet engine room, one you had swiped off some unsuspecting intern earlier in the day to deposit in your own safekeeping, in hopes to one day sell it to likely nefarious evildoers who would pay a pretty penny for an access key like that.

but buyers have never been one to keep secrets and you’re far too aware that loose lips sink ships -- or in this case, the main starship of the liyuean fleet -- and childe is far too aware of the card that lies within your possession. you smile as you feel his hand gently tug your wallet out of your coat pocket, an action that would have gone unnoticed if you weren’t a master thief as well. you let him walk away as he winks at you and promises to see you again, a blatant lie on his behalf.

you’re gone from your seat before he realizes the keycard isn’t in your wallet -- nothing is. it’s empty, aside from a faded business card offering the services of your thievery, with a smiley face drawn on the back and two words: duped ya! emblazoned next to the face that taunts childe. a rush of adrenaline ripples through him and he’s not sure whether it’s due to rage or excitement. as he reaches into his pocket, he decides it’s the former as childe realizes the keys to his ship are missing.

childe can’t help but smile when he sees his ship missing in the public dock nearby. after all, he had a new goal: tracking you, his treasured spaceship, and that damned keycard down, even if he would have to scour the entire galaxy just to see your eyes once more.

XIAO

“hey,” a familiar voice barks, which xiao ignores as he nuzzles his face further into his elbow, having fallen asleep at his desk. “hey!” the voice is more insistent and he feels fingers dig into his shoulder, shaking his slumped over form and moving xiao’s wheeled office chair slightly. “get up. you’re sleeping on the job and night shift is coming soon.”

as the voice continues to not leave him alone, xiao finally realizes who is speaking to him. its you. upon this realization, xiao concedes and sits up, wincing as he adjusts to the harsh fluorescent lights that illuminate the room.

“there is no night shift. we’re in space. that’s not a-” xiao complains, but upon seeing you and realizing what you’re holding up in a bag in your hand, ceases his whining and instead chooses to look up at you with wide eyes. “holy shit, is that surface almond tofu?! how did you get that?!”

“sheesh.” you begin, waving the bag slightly back and forth. “i didn’t think you would get this riled up over it.” 

“i would sell my soul for a bag of that after suffering through the eternal misery that is the food on this godforsaken ship.” xiao deadpans and you can’t help but think he’s almost serious. he extends his hands to you and you can’t help but note the way the sleeves of his uniform are pushed up to his elbows, especially since his forearms showcase a plethora of scars that you rarely get to see. they signal that the man is an outsider to your legion of computer nerds (and that his well-defined forearms are really hot, but that’s beside the point). 

you quickly snap out of your daze as his hands crinkle the bag you’re holding and you lightly swat his hands away from the bag, glaring at him. a scowl crosses his features at your actions and he slumps against the back of his chair, swiveling to fully face you.

“the tofu is yours, but i need something in exchange,” you bargain and you watch as xiao’s eyes narrow at the horrid implication held within your tone. “a lot of my cybersecurity guys are out trying to rework the engine room’s login mechanism... it’s a long story. anyways, i was wondering if you’d find it within the kindness of your heart to pick up one of their shifts.”

“you’re not paying me for this shift, are you?” xiao asks and you can feel your face scrunch up in irritation.

“listen, i went to hell and back to try to get you this tofu so you would say yes and you’re worried about payment? they cover lodging and food when you work he-” you begin to rant, but a rare smile from xiao makes the words die on your lips as you feel heat rise to your face.

“i never said i wouldn’t. you’re always so quick to judge.” his tone is condescending as he smirks smugly at you, reaching to take the bag of tofu from your now slackened grip as you stare at him, visibly flustered by his haughty tone in tandem with a grin you scarcely see.

“oh... uh, alright,” you try to recover, readjusting your posture to stand up straighter, willing yourself to stay composed. his golden eyes stare directly into yours as he plucks a cube of tofu out of the bag with his index finger and thumb. without breaking eye contact, he pops the tofu cube into his mouth and, after swallowing, licks his lips. “let’s um... let’s get started!”

---

xiao is a former yaksha, an elite fighter who served as part of commander rex lapis’s most trusted squadron of soldiers. after an injury rendered him unfit to return to battle, xiao decided to look for other ways to help defend the liyuean fleet, which resulted in him joining your group of cybersecurity experts, who protect the fleet by making sure all systems remain secure and that there are no electronic security breaches.

at the beginning of his job, xiao was fairly terrible with technology and would have been fired nearly immediately for his incompetence if not for his direct recommendation from rex lapis himself. unfortunately for you, you were assigned his superior and nearly lost your mind when the man had to stare at the keyboard in order to know where the keys were as he typed. xiao’s attitude was initially offputting, both sardonic and angry, but he eventually sheathed his bitter defensive weapon of haughtiness and condescension in order to ask you for help outside of work hours to help him learn how to be better at his job.

now, several years later, the two of you are fairly good friends (as good as one can be friends with xiao, you think) to the point where he whines about his dumb bumbling friends (zhongli and some other person you had yet to catch the name of) who run in circles around each other, despite the fact that they blatantly like each other. each time he complains, you scratch your head in confusion, because you and him do the exact same thing.

you’re not entirely oblivious. you’ve realized that xiao acts... different around you than he does around most people. he’s softer and more open, but you don’t want to get your hopes up, so you’ve made yourself more open in return, hoping that he’ll realize your interest. often times, your flirtations will leave him flustered and reeling, but on rare occasions, xiao will take the opportunity to fluster you instead, which is far more effective than any way you could try to charm him. you’re fairly sure he can read you like an open book, so you wait for him to confess his emotions to you.

little do you know, xiao feels the exact same way about you as he awaits your confession. no, he’s not scared of rejection. he’s a former yaksha, do you know how many people he’s taken down? why would he be scared of heartbreak and the utter agony that follows as he’s forced not only to deal with rejection but report to you at work every day? ... oh. maybe he is a little scared. just a teensy, tiny little bit scared.

but hey, if the two of you are lucky, maybe you’ll both confess at the same time after the tension between the two of you nearly suffocates you both.

[winterrose527]

The Favor, Part 2: Rome, Italy

(Part 1 can be found here)

Rome, Italy

“I totally could’ve been a gladiator,” Theon determined as they left the Colosseum.

Jon nodded, “I can see it.”

Robb turned to look at him, “You can?”

“Oh yeah,” Jon agreed, readily, “I often have daydreams of Theon being eaten by lions.”

Robb chuckled as Theon and Jon circled one another.

He had no idea how either of them had this much energy. They’d taken well advantage of the Roman nightlife last night, and hadn’t gotten in until the sun was rising. And what a sun it was. It had to be over a hundred degrees out here, sucking all of the energy right out of him. That mixed with tourists.

The fact that he was one didn’t temper his disdain for them.

He didn’t like to complain, but he couldn’t wait to get to the seaside. They had a train to Naples the next day, and from there they’d go to the Amalfi Coast. They’d stay there for a few days, before flying to Ibiza to meet up with some friends. He was then heading to London to start his new job, and the boys were flying home.

This trip was a bit of a farewell tour to their youth. Or, that’s how he felt now but he always got a little dramatic when he was hungover.

They’d graduated in the spring and thanks to all having their next steps lined up for the fall, had one last carefree summer. Theon was heading to law school, Jon to work for Mormont, who he’d been interning with since his freshman year, and Robb was off to London to put his degree in international business to good use.

When he’d made his decision to take the offer, Theon had suggested a bit of a Eurotrip to send him off and Jon had readily agreed. Since he’d only ever been to France, on a trip with his entire family when he was seventeen, he had jumped at the opportunity for a proper send off.

They’d been making the most of their travels, Theon falling in love with a different girl every night, he and Jon certainly having their heads turned from the sights as gorgeous European girls walked by them arm in arm.

“I need to take a piss,” Theon informed them.

“Me too,” Jon said and then clapped Theon in the chest, “Let’s go to that café, I need another espresso or I’m gonna die.” He looked at him, “You want anything?”

Robb rubbed his temples, “Just a water – flat. FLAT FLAT FLAT.”

Italy’s obsession with sparkling water was the only thing he didn’t like about it.

“I believe you mean agua naturaaaale,” Theon informed him.

“Dude, stop trying to speak Italian,” Jon sighed, “You get laughed at every time.”

“Pardon me for trying to break the Ugly American stereotype,” Theon argued.

“You literally are wearing American Flag shorts as we speak,” Robb pointed out.

“You come for my Chubbies you make me question our entire friendship,” Theon all but shouted at him.

Jon held him back and then pushed him across the street, the two of them nearly getting hit by half a dozen cars on their way over. People were honking, tourists were pointing.

So much for overcoming the Ugly American sterotype.

He looked up at the Colosseum. It had been one of the places he was most excited to see, though he knew that was pretty cliché of him. He couldn’t help it, though. He’d always been fascinated by the bloodier bits of history, and sure, yes, maybe seeing Gladiator had been a defining moment in his youth.

It was unbelievably impressive, structurally, obviously, but as he had walked through it he hadn’t been thinking about that. He hadn’t even been thinking about how gruesome it was.

He’d honestly been thinking of how he would have performed.

Most likely he would have gotten eaten by lions as well as Theon but maybe –

“Excuse me?” an American voice interrupted his thoughts.

“The entrance is over there,” he pointed.

“Yeah the um, line of people sort of tipped me off,” she joked and he turned to her.

Her voice was familiar, but that was only a passing thought when he took her in. She was the prettiest girl he’d ever seen.

A bonafide All-American beauty.

She looked familiar, too. Is she a model? He wondered if he’d seen her in a commercial or in one of Sansa’s magazines. She had the face for it, though admittedly she was a bit short. She hardly even came up to his shoulder.

“Do I know you?” he asked.

She shook her head, “I don’t think so but listen okay so this is going to sound crazy – I actually can’t believe she talked me into it again, but um… can you just – um… please don’t… I can’t even ask…shit.”

He was sort of overcome watching the cutest panic attack he’d ever seen, when all of a sudden she was kissing him.

Oh.

He knew her. Of course he knew her. She had dominated his thoughts for the entire summer in between his junior and senior years of high school. In fact, when he’d shown up for his freshman year of college, he’d have been lying if he hadn’t looked around, hoping to see her at orientation. Though it had been years since he’d thought of her apart from a passing memory.

While he was sorting all of this out, she was kissing him and his arms had wrapped around her without thinking about it.

“Thanks,” she smiled as she pulled away.

“Got it!” a voice said off to the right, “Come on Ella, we’ve got to go!”

“Ella,” he smiled, drinking her in.

“That’s me! Anyway, thanks for your help,” she said, and started to walk away, “You’re a really good kisser. So um, well done.”

He laughed, watching her walk away. A brunette girl going and linking her arm through hers, the pair walking away from the main line of people to a shorter one.

“Wait!” he called, realizing that this was happening again.

He’d made a mistake letting his Mom pull him away last time. He should have gotten her number. Her full name. Her agreement to be his forever.

“Ella-,” he called, but she’d disappeared in the throngs of tourists.

Damn this hangover.

He started moving through them, determined to catch sight of her. She wasn’t in line, but then he heard a laugh that had to be her and he looked through to see her walking into the Colosseum with a smaller group.

There was a guard posted at the entrance she must have gone through.

“Uhh… ciao um… yo necessito, fuck no that’s Spanish,” he sighed, the guard looking at him, “Look I need to get in there really quickly.”

“Private tour,” he shook his head.

“I know, I know I’ve already been in I don’t care about the Colosseum -,” the guard looked at him like he’d just insulted his mother and he shook his head, “No I do it’s great but there… did you see the beautiful girl that walked through here? Blonde? About this high? She is… very very bella,” at this point he was wondering if his butchering of the Italian language could be considered a hate crime but she was now nowhere in sight, “Please can I just go in for one minute.”

“No,” the guard said in a bored tone.

“Look,” he sighed, “Do you believe in love at first sight?”

“Fuck off, man!” the guard shouted at him.

“Alright, alright!” he backed up.

He went around the large line of people and found Theon and Jon looking around for him.

“Where the fuck did you go?” Theon asked as Jon handed him a bottle of water.

“We need to get you guys out of the sun,” Jon said, “It makes me uncomfortable when I’m the one in the best mood.”

“Shut up for a second,” Robb told them, looking around for more exits, “Look, she’s here.”

“Who is?” Theon asked, “That crazy girl from Prague?”

“No! No, her. The girl who kissed me in Paris, do you reme-,” he started.

He was cut off by the groan heard around the world.

Theon shook his head, “I’m not going through this with you again, man.”

Jon was rubbing his temples, his eyes wide but on the ground, “I really thought we were past this.”

“No, shut up, listen to me, she is here. It just happened again,” he told them. “I was just standing here and she came up to me and she’s even hotter than she was then and she just kissed me.”

“Did she know it was you?” Theon asked.

“Um I don’t think so,” Robb answered.

“And where is she now?” Jon asked.

“In there,” Robb pointed to the Colosseum.

“Okay, so let’s review,” Theon said, “This girl has twice now come up to you - a total fucking stranger and asked you to kiss her. Neither time has she in any way tried to prolong your acquaintance. How do you know she isn’t doing this to a different guy in every city she goes to?”

“Don’t talk about her like that,” Robb warned.

“Don’t do this,” Jon shook his head, “I am not listening to you moon over her for the rest of this trip. I will chuck you over the cliffs of Ravello.”

“So help me find her,” Robb pleaded. And then without warning shouted, “ELLA!”

“Dude!” Theon warned.

“Seriously security is eyeing us,” Jon noted, looking around.

“Guys - ow stop pulling me!” he ordered as both Jon and Theon had grabbed an arm and were currently dragging him away.

“Wouldn’tve lasted a day in their man,” Theon shook his head.

He looked back, as though she might be peering at him through the ruins even now.

*

The next day as they were on the train to Naples, his heart stopped every time he saw a blonde walking by.

“You’re torturing yourself,” Jon told him.

“I should have waited,” he shook his head.

Jon and Theon shared a look, which to his eyes looked a bit guilty – which they should since they all but carried him away from her – and leaned forward.

“Look, if she’s the one, you’ll see her again,” Jon promised.

“And in the meantime, you’ll meet a good English bird and forget all about her,” Theon suggested.

Robb scoffed.

As though any girl in the entire city of London could hold a candle to Ella.

[allthefilmsiveseenforfree]

Godzilla vs. Kong

From the first rumble in the seats in the Dolby theater, I was so glad I chose to see this movie on the big screen. At times it felt like I was on one of those “4-D” roller coasters where the seats rumble and they spray water on your or pipe smells into the audience. That’s how close I was to the action! As at least a casual fan of the previous entries in the Monsterverse, I was looking forward to Godzilla vs Kong and my goodness, those medium expectations sure were met. How medium was it? Well...

I would like the science in this movie to win Best Comedy or Musical in next year’s Golden Globes. This is probably the hardest I’ve laughed in a theater in over a year (obviously there are other reasons for that, but the sentiment still stands). This movie was nonsensical, loud, shiny, dumb fun and I had a great fucking time watching it. Oh, you probably want a plot summary - I’m just gonna refer you to the title of the film. That about covers all you need to know.

Some thoughts:

“Somewhere on Skull Island” - whaaaaat is with this title card? It’s a tiny island. How many possible locations could there possibly be for a giant fuck-off ape to be taking his nap?

I know we’re not here for any semblance of plot but boy, they really sprained something trying to lift these clunky paragraphs of exposition into anything resembling what actual humans would say.

These opening credits are one of the funniest sequences I’ve seen in ages.

My main man Brian Tyree Henry! I had no idea he was in this (frankly I knew virtually nothing about this movie because what do you even need to know about a movie with the title Godzilla vs. Kong). He’s playing a completely different vibe than I’ve ever seen him play - the comedic relief and a mile-a-minute vaguely conspiracy theorist podcast host who is obsessed with Sir Zilla and the other Titans. I really enjoyed seeing this other side of him!

Absolutely terrible waste of Kyle Chandler, who was probably paid more than my yearly salary for 60 seconds of Protective and Frazzled Dad perfection.

One of the highlights of the film is the performance of young actress Kaylee Hottle as Jia. Jia is Deaf, and so is Kaylee in real life, and I’m always here for more Deaf representation onscreen! And her friendship with Kong is one of the few things in the movie that elicits any genuine emotion of any kind. When he booped her I literally said “Aw!” out loud.

The visuals of the hollow Earth are very cool and remind me of those space age desktop backgrounds that most of the guys I know who built their own PCs and spent a lot of time on Tor.com would have had.

Even the most ridiculous films like this one will sometimes include little bits of worldbuilding that are thoughtful and have fascinating implications. For example, the “Titan Shelters” in Hong Kong - who pays for those? The government? Do rich people have reinforced private Titan Shelters while poor folks have to rely on the public ones, which are likely overcrowded and possibly don’t have enough resources? (I think we all know the answer to that).

I am very much enjoying all the neon in the Hong Kong fight, and how much more visually interesting it makes two giant blobs slamming their blob bodies against each other while causing a staggering amount of property damage.

Finally a realistic “I can crack the password!” scene!

Did I Cry? Ok, a teeny tiny bit, about Kong and Jia’s friendship.

Times I laughed LOUDLY in the theater: when Mr. Zilla, who can literally shoot lightning out of his damn mouth just straight up punches Kong in the face. When Kong gets attacked by all those lizard things in the hollow Earth and just uses one motherfucker to slap another motherfucker. When they use an anti-gravity machine (whatever that actually means) as a defibrillator for an ape that is sometimes as big as a skyscraper and other times as big as a mountain.

And now a series of questions:

Why is this high school class just watching the news in the middle of the day? The G-Z has attacked cities at least 3 other times in this universe that we know of. Like, this isn’t their 9/11, this is a thing that just regularly happens.

You decided it was a good idea to transport Kong over the ocean...where Big Daddy G hangs out all the time? Like...that’s where he lives, you guys. You’re basically trying to sneak Kong over the roof of Godzilla’s house and hoping he doesn’t notice.

OH and you had a Kong-sized net and a team of Kong transport helicopters ready the WHOLE TIME? But you still chose “sneaking over Godzilla’s house” as your first plan of action????

How long can Kong hold his breath? He goes underwater for some long ass periods.

In fact, what are the details of Kong’s physiology in general? How tall is he? Because at one point in his fight with The GZA, he’s standing on the floor of the Tasman Sea, no big deal - except the Tasman Sea has a depth of roughly 18,000 feet. And Kong’s just chilling out in the water at waist level? But he’s also shorter than the skyscrapers in Hong Kong? I choose to believe he can grow and shrink at will because that makes more sense than the sloppy joe approach to his biology the screenwriters are using.

I like Millie Bobby Brown as much as the next guy, but does it bother anyone else that she always sounds congested? Is that a consequence of her doing her American accent? It’s incredibly distracting.

Oh, this entire scene is set in Antarctica but no one is wearing hats or gloves? Sure sure sure.

And no one is having any problems breathing the air in the middle of the fucking earth? No one thought to check that the atmosphere was breathable before everyone takes off their helmets? No noxious fumes to worry about in the center of a planet that produces magma and shit?

You’re taking your child to the literal center of the earth? Is this not the ONE TIME you think you might need a babysitter?

The ship that can *checks notes* withstand the forces present during an entire reversal of gravity is crushed by Kong’s fist like it’s a tube of toothpaste?

Even though the Earth is hollow, I’m assuming the distance to reach the core is still about the same, so Godzilla’s lighting can 1) act as a drill to - I cannot reiterate this strongly enough - the CENTER OF THE FUCKING EARTH and 2) Godzilla and Kong can yell at each other for 3,958 miles (give or take) and still hear each other? Do they have superhearing? Is this something we’re studying or are we content to just have them Hulk smash all of that incredibly important evolutionary biology to bits while everyone stands around?

Because this is a “vs” movie, of course there is no clear-cut “winner” at the end. Instead the two parties leave each other with a grudging respect formed, an uneasy truce in place. But I’m obsessed with the way this final scene plays out, as though Godzilla is a bitter ex walking away from Kong after their doomed relationship has run its course. The lighting, the soft music, the absolute melodrama of this giant lizard slinking slowly back into the sea. Godzilla is giving the gays everything they want in 2k21 and I am here for it. Here’s hoping the next entry in the franchise has Kong hooking up with Rodan to make G jealous and they all have a messy public fight over brunch, Real Housewives style.

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[kisekinodrabbles]

helloo! i'd like to request something for the prompt game please :D kasamatsu + band!au + strangers to lovers + dialogue number 14 if that's okay? thanks, sam! and welcome back~

ofc!!! i tried to keep it shorter but im a bit rusty w my kasamatsu hehe hope u enjoy! wc: 2.3k

Kasamatsu admits that balancing his band and college work isn’t exactly an easy task. Between late evenings spent at gigs and all nights at the library, he is on the brink of his sanity, standing right at the tipping point. He yawns as he enters his nine am mandatory calculus class, another mistake made in his overconfidence that he would somehow be able to get his shit together.

You, on the other hand, are a closeted fan of his band, sitting three rows behind him in class. Every Tuesday and Thursday, you watch him drag his feet in and his hand lifting to his mouth in a yawn. Quickly, you duck behind your book as if Kasamatsu would ever give you the time of day. The brunette is well-known on campus with his successful group and good looks, not to mention he also dabbles a little in basketball while also maintaining a decent grade point average across all his classes. Triple threat, they call him.

When you first came into class and saw him there, shocked is an understatement. You’ve been following his band his high school from across the country. To see him in the flesh, so real and so human with his tired eyes, it almost feels like a dream. One you hope nobody would ever pinch you awake from. Thus, you made it your goal to be there before him every morning, which is a feat in itself. Kasamatsu may be grinding through the night and falling asleep in lectures, but he’ll be damned if he shows up late to class.

Throughout several weeks, you’ve seen girls come up to him left and right, shot down almost immediately by his intention to focus on the professor’s words. He lets them down easy and makes it clear that he pays thousands of dollars to study, not play IRL Tinder. This man gets sexier everyday.

You take your time packing your things when class is over, mainly because you’re too distracted watching Kasamatsu do the same. He is blind, or chooses to ignore, the whispers and shy glances thrown his way. Perhaps this is why you haven’t approached him yourself. You’re just one of his many admirers, a stroke in the massive painting of his life. Sighing, you pick up your pitiful self and make your way to the dining hall where you’re supposed to meet your friend for breakfast.

When the two of you settle on a table, you begin your weekly rambling about how beautiful Kasamatsu looks in the morning. Moriyama, being the good friend that he is, nods and listens intently.

Moriyama is an intriguing character. The two of you met because he had tried a line on you. In your perpetual state of flustered embarrassment, you had stupidly confessed to him: “Sorry, my heart belongs to Kasamatsu Yukio.”

In another twist of fate, he revealed that he had actually gone to high school with the guy and knew him pretty well.

“You know I can introduce you to him, right? No need for all this pining and drooling from three feet away.”

“It’s not the same,” you argue, “he’s practically a living legend on campus. I’m too intimidated to even breathe in the same air as him.” Your obsession has perhaps taken you too far, but if you expect to continue being his fan, the last thing you want is to scare him away.

“You’re so overdramatic,” Moriyama rolls his eyes. Coming from him, this sentence means a lot.

“What? It’s not my fault Kasamatsu’s so hot. He could bang me so hard backstage then pretend I don’t exist and I would still pay to watch his next show,” you groan, spooning yogurt into your mouth.

In that moment, several things happen. Moriyama’s eyes widen and fly behind you. Footsteps sounding at that same spot suddenly cease completely. You, realizing what possibly just happened, feel the heat flare up your cheeks.

Kasamatsu, in his sleep deprived state and probably completely delirious, had stopped in his tracks. His head whipped around to the source of the comment, finding Moriyama sitting with someone who looks distinctly familiar, but he can’t quite put his finger on it.

“Kasamatsu—”

Before Moriyama can even finish his sentence, Kasamatsu is already blurting out. “Okay, maybe I’m crazy but did I just hear you say that out loud?”

You want to crawl into your hole six feet underground and never see the light of day again. Ducking your head, you don’t even want to chance a glance up. The utter mortification is chewing away at your bones and you wish you could just evaporate into thin air.

Moriyama quickly interjects with a quick laugh, “Hear what? Also how have you been, man? I haven’t seen you in forever. Come join us for breakfast.”

Kasamatsu’s brows pucker. Maybe he really is going insane. And horny. Which is a very bad combination. Nevertheless, he slides into the empty seat next to Moriyama. He stares at you for a few seconds, squinting, before snapping his fingers. “Oh, I remember now. You’re in my calculus class.”

He knows you? “How do you know me?” you squeak, cursing your fangirl self for losing your voice. You never speak up in class, always choosing to come up to your professor for questions at the end of lecture. You’re quiet and tucked away behind him, so you never expected him to recognize you.

The smile he sends you is blinding. Even with shadows under his eyes, he still looks gorgeous. “You’re always first to arrive and last to leave. Figured you’re a hard worker in class and probably acing it.”

Your mouth dries. Kasamatsu noticed you. He actually noticed you. “Oh, um, I’m okay. I’m okay in class, I mean.”

“The question you should be asking is her name, Kasamatsu,” Moriyama scolds, smacking his back.

Kasamatsu pinks sheepishly. “Sorry, yeah. I’m Kasamatsu Yukio, by the way.”

Idiotically, you blurt out “I know” before your name. When you finally introduce yourself, you also clarify, “I’m a huge fan of Blue Devils. I mean, I’ve been following you guys since like high school. Absolutely love your music.”

The man actually reddens even further, but still he beams proudly. “Thank you! That’s crazy. Have you been to our shows?”

Almost all of them. “A couple, yeah.”

“We have one tonight in an actual venue. Are you coming?”

“Ah, it was sold out before I could get a ticket, actually.”

Kasamatsu blinks, “Oh, you’re more than welcome to come. I can get you a pass. Both of you—if Moriyama’s interested.”

“That would be amazing!” You grin, “Is there anything I can get you in return? I don’t want to just accept a gift from you for free.”

“Well, if you are good at calc, I wouldn’t mind some extra tutoring,” he suggests with a teasing grin.

Moriyama rolls his eyes, “Just ask her out instead of using tutoring as an excuse.” The two of you sputter, face colored a dark shade of red. You’ll kick his ass when you get the chance.

—

That one mistake turned out to be the greatest opportunity of your life. In addition to attending his show that night and meeting all of his bandmates, each one more good looking up close than then other, you manage to have weekly study sessions (you’re holding off on calling it dates) with Kasamatsu. The two of you take turns booking rooms at the library to cram, which mainly consists of you reexplaining concepts to the man. Although he isn’t a bad student, he’s also still struggling a bit to keep up.

“Hey” is what you hear before you feel a warm surface press against your cheek. You look up to find Kasamatsu with a steaming cup in hand. Gratefully accepting it, you catch a whiff of freshly brewed tea. You take a sip and smile. Black tea, no sugar. “Just the way I like it.”

“Noticed you never add anything to your tea,” Kasamatsu says almost proudly.

You raise the cup to him in thanks. Both of you go through your usual routine—you focusing on reviewing material for next week while Kasamatsu pores over his notes from this week, occasionally poking you to ask questions.

Honestly, a big part of you still wonders if this is all a dream. This guy you’ve been crushing on for years is sitting in the flesh right across from you. You peek at him from time to time, watching the way he frowns at his book. His blue, almost grey, eyes shine underneath the flickering lights. Even the way his lips curl unhappily is cute.

When he catches you staring, you quickly drop your gaze back to your laptop, missing the way he smiles quietly.

“Will you come to our show this weekend?” He asks as the two of you pack up.

“Ah, I have a shift at my part-time job.”

He looks surprised, “That late?”

You shrug, “Food never sleeps, I guess. It’s at the burger diner by campus.”

“Oh, are you guys open late?”

“Close at one.”

He nods, “Maybe I’ll see you there after then. The guys usually get really hungry after a gig so we can drive some business your way. I’ll make sure they tip well too.”

Your heart warms at the thought. It’s a thoughtful gesture but you’re even more thrilled at the prospect of seeing him. “Sounds good.”

True to his word, Kasamatsu brings the guys to your workplace at midnight after their show ended. They order quite a spread, practically everything on the menu. Kasamatsu goes as far as to help you carry orders to their table. You shoot him an appreciative smile.

Over the time your friendship has bloomed, Kasamatsu has been nothing but a gentleman. He walks you home to your dorm if you’re studying late into the night. He meets you in class with a muffin or a cookie from his early Starbucks runs. Surprisingly, he begins placing himself next to you each session. “This is better anyway,” he mutters. “Two birds, one stone.”

His vague words had you tilting your head in question.

“I don’t have random people coming up to me to sit with me and, well, I get to enjoy your company.” It’s a nice thought—him enjoying your company, that is. He had blushed a little when he realized what you said, but chose to direct his attention to the slides pulled up before him, missing the way you hide your smile behind your sleeve.

Now, you hear the rowdy boys chattering on as they devour their meal as if it’s their last. They speak through mouthfuls of burgers and fries, but you find the sight endearing, mainly because you’ve never seen Kasamatsu so relaxed. It’s quite refreshing really. Your attention is piqued when you hear one of them ask: “So doing it tonight huh?”

Kasamatsu retorts with a “shut the fuck up” and flings a fry his way. The way the other guy wiggles his brows suggestively has you freezing. What if he was meeting up with someone tonight? What if he was going to do the deed?

Somewhere in the distance, you hear the faint cracking of your heart. Of course, Kasamatsu is popular. It’s no surprise he’s got his nights covered as well. You sigh dejectedly, feeling the hope inside you crumble into dust. The rest of your shift goes by rather uneventfully, but you try to avoid going to their table too much, lest you hear more details about Kasamatsu’s planned tryst. The man himself steals glances your way, wondering if you’ll be checking on them anytime soon.

“Your check,” you smile as you set the bill on the table, “I got the owner to give you a discount since you guys ordered a good amount.”

All of their eyes seem to sparkle as they thank you in unison, their synchrony almost puzzling. As you move to pick up the bill and change, Kasamatsu catches your hand before you move away. “What time does your shift end?”

“Half an hour. Why?”

The other guys are already packing up their things and giving you little waves as they exit the restaurant, leaving the two of you alone. “I’ll walk you home, it’s late,” he murmurs, fingers still wrapped around your wrist.

“Oh, you don’t have to! I usually take the bus back anyway so it’s no big deal.” You want to confirm whether he had plans that night anyway. You’d hate to be in the way of that.

He shakes his head, “I insist. Also, um, are you doing anything tomorrow?”

“Catching up on studying most likely.”

“Oh,” he pauses, “if you have time tomorrow night, do you want to catch a movie with me? Maybe dinner after?”

You blink at him in surprise. Now that you’re looking at him properly, you notice that his cheeks are several shades darker than the red neon glow of the diner sign. He’s shifting on his feet and his other hand finds purchase on the strap of his bag, fidgeting with the material. “Um, like a date?”

“Y-yeah,” he stutters slightly, his throat moving as he swallows. “Sorry, I probably should’ve made that clear,” he coughs, “b-but if you don’t want it to be the we can also go as friends.” Perhaps you’ve tortured the boy long enough but you can’t help but relish in his awkward chuckle as his hand lifts to rub the back of his neck nervously.

Biting back a huge grin, you nod. “It’s a date.”

Kasamatsu’s eyes light up and a pleased grin spread across his face. “It’s a date.”

The hollering outside the building has the two of you whipping to face the window where his bandmates have their faces pressed up against the surface, laughing and smiling to congratulate and embarrass their friend. Kasamatsu flushes, “I’ll see you later to pick you up.”

You nod but he’s already out the door, leaping to kick his friends away. “You stupid idiots!”

Laughing, you watch as the group makes kissy faces at Kasamatsu all the while the man fruitlessly attempts to shut them up. He really is cute.

[ggyuwwoo]

nostalgic; winter.

a cold winter's night brought upon memories of deep pasts.

seventeen imagine inspr. [ j.ww | flame ]

- a small imagine/oneshot based of this picture

word count: 1.7k

a/n: okay, so.... this was pretty abrupt, literally I was scrolling through twitter and saw this picture and I’m like whoa. holdup, gotta make sth real quick. and somehow, a hour later, boom! I really don’t know how this happened but I could say I’m kinda proud of it - not that its amazing and wow i feel just impressed, hell nah more like, wow I actually finished sth - and the time it took was a record for me, so yeah, please I hope you enjoy!

Cold air filled the streets of Seoul, people walking about in coats, padding, scarves, basking in the warmth they provided. Different coloured lights displayed across the street lamps, trees, and almost anywhere people go through. Taking account the small droplets of white falling down from the dark sky, its winter again. 

Hand clutched to his shoulder bag, scrunching his nose from the cold, Wonwoo simply watched as people pass by during the freezing weather. It was a habit of his - when it started, he couldn’t say - observing. He’d take out his small book, a small white composition notebook with minimal design on the front, and starts jotting down things that he thinks would likely be interesting for his book. You could say, it’s his way of inspirations.

Winter has always been something of a change for Wonwoo. Be it the start of something, or the end of another. It was never in-between.

This time around, he was writing something new, something he’d been working on for a while now. Something he has yet to finish. Something in-complete.

Looking through the series of crowds, he spots a young blonde boy in just a white sweatshirt. The boy had just walked out from a building - Red Tiger Dance Studio, Wonwoo notices - and realizing the frosty season, the blonde put on a blue hoodie with the number 10 etched on the back. He ruffled his hair and placed on the hoodie before running off to the underground station. 

Wonwoo smiles, the scene reminded him of such a boy, a boy he knew fondly, knew. Looking back, his smile faded, replaced only by a thin line of his lips and eyes dropping with a sad tone. Only realizing then, he had written down a few things.

Blonde. Tiger. Dance. 10. 

Wonwoo’s eyes was shaking slightly, taken aback to what he wrote. He took his pen, planning on scratching the entirety of what was written. He stopped. Wonwoo let out a long sigh before placing down the pen. His hands were shivering, coldness numbing his fingertips. Taking out a hot-pack from his bag, Wonwoo pushed back his glasses and continued his observation. 

*

It was almost 9 o’clock, Wonwoo realized he hadn’t eaten yet. The raven haired boy got up from his seat to find a nearby diner, hopefully somewhere with accessible view to the streets. After walking for about 30 minutes, he finds one, Universe Diner. 

Walking in, Wonwoo finds a spot right near a corner, with just the right window for him to observe. He goes to the counter, placing an order of hot coffee and a small meal. Going to his seat, he saw a boy in a grey hoodie on the other side of the diner. The boy was focused on his laptop, earphones hanging from the sides. The boy also seemed to be stressed with something, as he was writing down things on a yellow notepad, furiously. 

Wonwoo glanced at the boy, guessing he possibly is a stressed out college kid. He did look rather small, maybe high school? Wonwoo continued his guesses. Remembering his earlier activity, Wonwoo turned his attention to the glass pane that showed the streets. He saw a few couples walking by, hand-in-hand, a group of friends - one being particularly tall, had his arms over the other two’s shoulders - laughing, a boy wearing a suit was waiting by the bus stop, head down staring at his phone, whilst another boy in a rainbow-coloured tie-dye sweater was on his headphones sat next to the boy in the suit. Was he wearing sunglasses??

He took down another series of notes from the people he saw. Reviewing them once again after finishing. 

Love. Friendship. Work. Leisure. Sunglasses?

Wonwoo took in his notes -ignoring the last one- noting how one correlates with the other. He looked up from his book, coming face to face with the boy on the other side of the room. The boy’s head was still focused on whatever he was doing. Sighs, groans, hums, and mutters were audible from time to time. Wonwoo pitied the boy, he wants to help but he was only a stranger. And who knows, maybe he doesn’t like help? There could be a reason why he is sitting there alone. 

Wonwoo took a sip of his coffee once more, before opening up his phone. He didn’t realize it was nearing 11. He has been sitting there since 9. Woah, time does fly.

The sudden sound of a chair backing up was heard, Wonwoo faced up and saw the boy in the grey hoodie, flashing out a smile at his papers and laptop. 

“Finally!” the boy exclaimed. “I’m calling it Downpour.”

The boy hurriedly went to his laptop before closing it and packed the remaining of his items into his bag. He placed his earphones back to his ears, smiling contently while walking out of the diner. Wonwoo couldn’t help but grin at the sight. I guess he didn’t need help, just time.

Upon the thought, Wonwoo’s head flashed with memories of a shorter boy, the boy in his thoughts wearing a content smile as music played in the background. The room had only four occupants - including Wonwoo - all four of them were laughing and smiling. 

Wonwoo placed a hand on his head, feeling a small headache from the sides. He frowned, knowing these are things of the past. He looked back at his notes, finding a few more words below the previous ones. 

Music. Happiness. Satisfaction.

Again, Wonwoo was taken aback for the second time. He knew the things he wrote tonight were from observation, but deep down he felt it was also something more. Something of his past, almost haunting him. Wonwoo’s eyes were getting watery, he didn’t know why. Wiping them off, he took his things. Walking out of the diner, embraced by the chilly winds of winter.

*

Wonwoo walked back to his place, wanting to linger in the cold season a little longer. He used a longer route that circles his neighbourhood before reaching his house. Only a few people were still out on the streets, some looked like they just got off working overtime, some were drunk being carried by their friends, and some were just like Wonwoo, enjoying the breeze of the night. 

The neigbourhood convenience store was coming to view, signaling Wonwoo that he were to turn right later. He notices a tall lanky boy just walking out from the store, holding a black plastic bag over his shoulder. The boy turned to the direction Wonwoo was in. The moment the two faced each other, both pair of eyes were stunned. 

Wonwoo took in the boy’s face and figure, trying to see if it is indeed who he thinks it is. He had a white bandage patch on his cheek, chestnut hair peeking through his hoodie, his size hadn’t change much except for possibly height. Guess he’s taller than me now. Wonwoo chuckled internally.

“..Jun?”

The hooded boy let out a short squeak, getting the confirmation of what he had been wondering. Jun walked over to Wonwoo, smiling like a child who found his long lost pet. “Wonwoo! It’s been so long!”

“Jun, why are - no, wait - you’re here?! But I thought..” 

Jun gave out a nervous but tired chuckled, the older boy knew he probably has a lot of explaining to do. But he didn’t mind. “Yeah, hehe, it’s a pretty darn long story. Have the time for it?” Jun proposed. 

Wonwoo was still in quite the shocked. Seeing his best friend of seven years, who disappeared suddenly, and after five years, meeting him in a coincidence. Well, it’s the third time a memory of the past came to Wonwoo tonight. The third time he was taken aback. 

Third time’s the charm, said the universe.

Wonwoo shrugged the small voice on the back of his head, “Yes, please do.”

The two sat down on the table in front of the convenience store. Jun taking out two cans of sweet drinks - Wonwoo hoped it was beer, it might’ve made the whole thing better - from his plastic bag, handing one to Wonwoo. 

“So, where should I start?” 

*

After an hour of lengthy explanation by Jun, another half an hour of Wonwoo’s extended questioning, and the other half catching up, the conversation was finally over. 

“You know, we would’ve understood.” Wonwoo said, gulping the remaining liquid from his can. Jun stared at his own, a small smile but defeated eyes on his face. “I know, but I didn’t have the guts then.” 

Wonwoo let out a sigh, white puff of smoke visible from his mouth, placing the can down. “Well, I’m glad you managed it. As long as you are fine now, it’s good then.” 

Jun brought out a relieved smile at the younger’s comment. Taking his can, throwing it to the bin besides the stairs. “Yeah, me too. It all happened already and thankfully, is over. I’m just really glad I get to meet you and give out an explanation.”

Wonwoo nodded. 

“Fixing up broken pasts, and repairing them for a better future. It’s nice.”

Wonwoo’s head perked up at the words, Jun may be a chaotic messy cat, but he indeed is insightful. Wonwoo had forgotten about that for a moment. 

“Maybe you should try it Woo, who knows? Maybe it’ll give you a clearer picture about what you are writing.” 

Wonwoo was about to respond when Jun cuts him off, “Oh damn, look at the time, it’s almost two! Uh, I gotta go Woo, I forgot my little brother needed a small night lamp.” Jun waved at the stunned Wonwoo, as he scurried off yelling, “See you! Soon!”

Wonwoo stood there for a minute. 

Fixing broken pasts, huh?

With the night coming to an end, Wonwoo realized something as he walked down the path to his house. The words Jun said had lit up something in his heart, a spark, slowly turning into a flame. It was warm despite the harsh coldness. 

After reaching his room, preparing for what looked to be a long sleep, he took out his phone. Scrolled through a few messages, until he reached the one he was looking for.

<Cats and a Tiger>

Wonwoo opened the chat room, contemplating a while before sending the message he’d written. Pressing send, his heart thumped.

‘Hey. Long time.’

He stared at the screen a while, eyes lighting up at as a small indication changed beside his text bubble. 

Read by 3.

Followed by another,

junhui is typing...

And another,

jihoon is typing...

And another.

soonyoung is typing...

Wonwoo beamed, maybe he’ll be able to finish that book after all. And maybe, just maybe, he’ll title it,

Us, Who Lights a Flame.

*

fin.

[pitviperofdoom]

It’s impossible for me to get into a fandom without coming up with an AU or two. Or ten. I’ve got several for TMA, and I’ve written for a few of them already. 

Under the cut is the beginning scene of the one that I’ve developed the most. I’ve been sitting on it for a while, and I don’t have enough to start posting on AO3, but I thought I’d share this here at least. 

Hope you guys like Head Archivist Martin!

***

When Martin received the e-mail summoning him to Elias Bouchard’s office at his earliest convenience, he thought, Well, that’s it then.

It was only a matter of time. Honestly, it was a miracle he’d made it this long. It was a miracle he’d made it in at all; he’d applied to the Magnus Institute almost on a desperate whim, because surely an academic institution would take the time to run basic background checks on new hires. But then he’d gotten a call back, and then he’d gotten a second interview, and then he’d been called in to fill out all the necessary paperwork, and that had been years ago, now.

And now here he was, staring at a formal message from his boss, requesting his presence for a meeting to discuss “his future with the institute”. And that could only mean one thing.

Of course, Martin thought distantly as he typed out some generically polite response. All things come to an end eventually. It might be a stretch to say all good things come to an end, because sometimes he wondered if this job really was a good thing, if the stress of waiting to be caught in his lie was worth it when he still had to stretch his funds to cover rent and food and Mum’s care and scrape together a rainy-day fund for any inevitable disasters.

Martin got up from his desk, half-heard Hannah’s greeting as he passed her on the way out of the library, and numbly pointed himself in the direction of Elias’s office. Already his mind was racing through the math, calculating how long he could afford to hunt for a new job.

At some point he shook himself. It was no good to walk in panicking. He just had to stay calm, somehow. Be polite. Hope like hell that he’d made himself useful enough to at least broach the topic of listing someone as a reference.

…Yeah, right.

He was lost deep in thought—so deep, in fact, that he didn’t notice his coworker until he was already colliding into them.

Luckily, he was walking slowly enough that the crash wasn’t terrible, even if the other employee seemed to be in a hurry. It was more surprising than painful, and they both kept their footing, so… could have been worse, really.

“Sorry, so sorry—” Martin stammered out, stumbling back, and froze when his eyes landed on his coworker’s face. “O-oh. Morning, Jon.”

The look he got in return could have split rock. “Do try to watch where you’re going.”

Martin couldn’t help but wilt under the glare, for all that Jonathan Sims was nearly a head shorter than him. “Sorry, again,” he said. “Are… you alright?”

“Obviously I’m alright,” Jon retorted, already storming away.

“No, I know, I didn��t mean us crashing into each other, it’s just, I was wondering if…” Martin hesitated, with the growing dread of someone stepping into a minefield. Jon had paused but was looking increasingly impatient, so Martin ripped the bandage off. “I mean, are you alright, work-wise?” Jon’s scowl deepened. “It’s just, if you ever need—I dunno, an extra set of hands, or—” Jon left without a word.

“Guess not,” he muttered, mentally kicking himself. It was stupid to offer anyway, when he was probably minutes away from being let go.

Something about literally running into Jon had knocked his growing nervousness off balance, and he was almost paradoxically calm when he knocked on Elias’s office door. It was mostly open already, but it seemed the polite thing to do.

“Ah, hello, Martin.” Elias’s voice, calm and clipped though it was, brought the nervousness rushing back. “Close the door behind you, if you don’t mind.”

Martin did as he was bade, then took the chair that Elias indicated for him and tried not to fidget. “You, er, wanted to see me?”

“Yes, of course.” Across from him, Elias shuffled papers that Martin was too nervous to look at. “It’s a matter of some urgency, so thank you for coming so quickly.”

“Of course,” Martin said, trying not to fidget. He opened his mouth to say something else, couldn’t think of anything, and closed it again.

“You’ve been with the institute for about six years now, haven’t you?” Elias went on.

“A-almost, yes.” Martin replied, heart pounding in his throat. Distantly he wondered if Elias could hear it.

“Good, good. As I said in the e-mail, I was hoping to discuss your future with—”

“Have I done something wrong?” Martin blurted out, and immediately regretted it. For a moment he longingly imagined vanishing into thin air just to escape the situation. Or a hole opening up underneath him, maybe.

Elias raised an eyebrow at him. “If there’s anything you can think of…?”

“I mean, the wording was a bit ominous,” Martin stammered out. “So I was just wondering if—if there was something wrong… with how I was doing things?”

“Hardly, Martin,” Elias replied, and the relief that flooded through Martin made him light-headed. “Quite the opposite, actually. I was more than satisfied during your last performance review, and you’ve yet to give me any reason to change my mind.” Elias leaned forward, hands clasped neatly in front of him. “I’m sure you’ve heard about… recent developments, with Gertrude Robinson.”

“The head archivist? Y-yes.” Against all odds, he did know about recent developments with Gertrude Robinson, namely that no one had seen her in a while. She was already a reclusive woman—Martin had only met her twice and seen her from afar a few times besides that—but lately she seemed to have vanished outright.

Martin wasn’t close with anyone at the institute, either in the library or elsewhere, but that didn’t mean he didn’t hear the gossip. It didn’t mean he didn’t notice things, like the lack of people coming in to give statements. Or how dark and still the Archives had been over the past week or so.

Or how sullen and angry Jon had been, for about as long.

“Well, work in the Archives is never done, and unfortunately she was already somewhat… understaffed,” Elias went on. “Since the beginning of her absence, I’ve been reviewing employee files in the hopes of finding a replacement.”

“Oh,” Martin replied. In the back of his mind he thought, No, absolutely not, he can’t possibly mean…

“Simply put, Martin, I think it would be best for the position to go to you.”

“Oh,” Martin repeated. “M-me? Really?”

“I can think of no one better for the job,” Elias said with a thin smile.

“Really.” Martin struggled to keep most of the disbelief out of his tone. “No one better? Not… I-I don’t know, the person who’s already been working in the Archives for the past year?” He swallowed, with some difficulty thanks to his dry throat. “I… sorry, I don’t mean to sound ungrateful? But I thought… I thought Jon would replace her, as her assistant… since he’s already been working under her, a-and he’d know the archives better, and…” His voice trailed off.

“I understand,” Elias assured him, his smile turning almost friendly. “And you’re right, I did strongly consider him for a time. But, his duties were largely research and clerical work for Gertrude, and he unfortunately lacks a background in library and information science.” He indicated one of the papers in front of him—a familiar CV, Martin realized. His CV. “You, on the other hand, have been working in our library for the past six years, and you listed a previous job at a records repository.”

“Oh, right,” Martin said faintly. What his CV didn’t say was that he’d been in the night cleaning crew, not the accessions department.

“I understand if it feels a bit daunting, but don’t worry,” Elias went on. “I have great faith in you, Martin. And as you said, Jon’s familiar with Gertrude’s system, so you’ll have his expertise to fall back on.”

Oh God. Oh God, if he took this job then he’d be Jon’s boss. Unqualified, clueless, and living a lie, and Jon—with actual experience and competence and an existing predisposition to dislike him—would be his subordinate.

Oh, the thought made him ill.

Martin took a deep breath. He’d just have to turn it down. There was no upside to taking it; he was technically unfit for the job he already had, and he certainly wasn’t prepared to be anyone’s boss, especially not Jonathan Sims in the archives of the Magnus Institute. If he took this job, they’d find him out for sure.

“So, if that’s settled, we may as well discuss a pay raise and expanding your benefits,” Elias went on lightly. “These things come with a promotion, of course.”

Martin froze in his seat, uncomfortable and stiff in spite of its padding.

He thought of the bills on his kitchen counter, and the perpetually empty rainy-day fund. He thought of his mother, in that care home in Devon that wasn’t going to pay for itself.

“A-alright,” he said quietly, slumping a little in defeat. His eyes were fixed on that damned CV, and because of that he almost missed the look of calm satisfaction in Elias’s eyes.

Twenty minutes later, Martin wandered back out of Elias’s office in a daze. His feet carried him not back to the library, but down to the archives where the air turned dusty and stale. He wasn’t sure what he was there for. Maybe to apologize? Jon must have heard. Elias must have told him first, and that was why Jon was so irritated with him when they ran into each other.

Not that it mattered, in the end. Jon was nowhere to be found down there, and Martin could only search for so long before the air of the place got to him and he fled back to the library.

Even down there, away from the rest of his coworkers and well away from Elias Bouchard’s office, Martin couldn’t shake the feeling that every eye in the institute was on him, just waiting for him to screw up.

[charliesradiodemon]

Charlastor Week Day 7: Free Day

(Requested by my raffle winner @sailormovebitch ^.^ I had a lot of fun this this one, I WENT OFF writing this one day and hit 2000 words. I think the overall word count here is 3000?

Well anyway, enjoy my last submission for Charlastor Week! It’s been a great week! <3)

Day 7: Detectives/Serial Killer AU

A lone detective Charlie Magne gazed at the computer monitor with narrowed eyes. It was another murder victim, but the case was so odd it got passed to her desk. She was no stranger to odd murder cases, but this one was too different yet too familiar. “It doesn’t make any sense...”

The door opened to reveal her partner and boyfriend, Alastor. They’d been working together for five years and dating for four. They were the perfect team and a locally famous duo that solved cases that seemed near impossible to figure out. They were known as Pentagram City’s power couple and over their five years of partnership, they’d brought down the biggest scum in town and they were damn proud of it. 

“What doesn’t make sense my dear?” Alastor asked as he walked into the room and placed his steaming mug on his desk.

“Hey Al,” she waved him over to her own desk, still engrossed in the images on her monitor. “Take a look at this.” Charlie scoot her office chair to the side to make room for Alastor, who pulled up a chair beside her. 

Alastor sided up next to his partner and repressed a chuckle when he realized what exactly he was looking at. It was the familiar sight of his latest work. It was about time, it had been well over a week now after all. “The name is familiar. Looks like the abdominal cavity was completely cut open... There are several bruises and cuts all over the limbs and face,” he reached for the mouse and scrolled down, still anticipating what else CSI could have discovered. “The victim was also castrated... Wait, this wouldn’t happen to be the suspected rapist that was acquitted last month, would it?” If he could, Alastor would have applauded his theatrics tenfold. He’d always been a good actor, but it seemed that he was getting better and better at it every day. 

Charlie turned her gaze back to the monitor. “It is. He was found in his home last night. We’re waiting for the autopsy for more information, but CSI didn’t seem too hopeful.” She tsked. Her gaze was once again glued to the screen with a determined but thoughtful look. 

He gazed down at the shorter blonde. She couldn’t see it, but Alastor’s neutral smile grew into a wicked grin. He felt a rush looking through his own handiwork with his girlfriend and partner. She was completely unaware, as it should be. “So what was the odd part about this case?” He asked with an innocently oblivious tone- a complete contrast to his sinister look. 

“There were no signs of another person even being there. No hairs, fingerprints, tools, and with all that blood everywhere... you’d think there’d be bloody footprints all over the place, but no! Whoever did this knew what they were doing. They have got to be very experienced in murder.” Charlie still couldn’t shake the feeling that she’d seen this before, but she’s seen so many cases in her life. She’d have to look back in the archives. 

Alastor hummed in response, trying to keep his giddiness down. He loved watching her get so close to his cases. ‘You’re much too perceptive my dear.’ Despite her innocent and naive exterior, Charlie wasn’t stupid. She was so damn good at her job that she had very nearly made Alastor sweat with her perceptive mind on more than one occasion. It was simply exhilarating and he couldn’t help but be drawn to her for it. And not to mention how good of a person she was. To Alastor, Charlie was everything good on this cesspool called Earth and he so desperately wanted to preserve it.   

The little detective was on the nose this time. He was a very experienced murderer, though he wasn’t an aimless one. No, he did exactly what he needed to in order to right the wrongs of the world. He needed to punish those who escaped justice thanks to the flawed justice system. He needed to avenge those who have been hurt by monsters, just as his mother had been. He’d seen what the scum of the Earth could do and he needed to purge them for the greater good. Now that he had Charlie, he had something to protect- something to fight for. 

Alastor changed the subject, hoping to get his dearest from thinking too hard about the perpetrator. “How do you know the murder was done in the victim’s home? It could have been done elsewhere.”  

She scrolled to a specific picture of a bloodied chair. She pointed to the floor between the legs of the bloodied chair and glanced up at her partner. “Yeah, but if you look at the floor, there’s a bunch of scuff marks on the wood directly under the victim’s feet. It must have been from the victim’s shoes kicking and digging into the wood while he was being tortured.” Sure enough, there were scuff marks that were only exemplified by the blood that seeped into the fine lines of the scarred wood. 

Alastor chuckled, thoroughly impressed. Since becoming a detective he managed to learn from his mistakes and grew from them. Charlie only sped up the learning process and he was forever grateful for the opportunity to learn from her. “That’s my gal, always so perceptive and quick like a rabbit. Now drink your coffee dear.” He handed her the mug and kissed her temple before getting up from his seat.

Charlie giggled and took the warm mug and watched him walk back to his desk. “Hey we’re at work! What if someone sees?” She glanced around the room’s fully transparent office. She could see several officers and clerks thankfully minding their own business. 

Alastor chuckled and looked over his shoulder as he organized the papers on his desk. “Oh I’m sorry detective Magne, are you embarrassed to be seen with me?” 

She scoffed and walked past him. “I love you, but you’re an ass sometimes. I just hope my dad didn’t see that, he’d explode seeing fraternization going on in his office.” she joked, earning her a lighthearted chuckle from her partner and boyfriend. 

This had been their everyday life for the past four years. Years of teasing, dates and intimacy made Charlie wonder if it was time for them to take their relationship to the next level. They’ve been dating for four years now and they were hardly strangers to each other’s homes, so maybe it was time for them to move in together? She’d have to ask him later when they weren’t working. Talking about moving in together was hardly appropriate in the middle of a murder investigation. 

“Yes, well it wouldn’t be the first time would it?” he smirked, remembering the time the police chief caught the two of them holding hands under the meeting table. The two of them got quite the earful from Lucifer Magne. Had they been caught doing anything else, they could only imagine the dire consequences.

Charlie’s face lit up like a police siren. “Shhh! Dad still hasn’t let me down about it.” Alastor only replied with a hum and an amused chuckle before continuing his task, just waiting for Charlie to announce that they were going to review the crime scene themselves. He’d remind her, but wasn’t in a hurry, He had fruitful work to complete at the station, unlike the lost cause he’d created. 

“Oh right, we need to head down to the crime scene and check it out,” Charlie abruptly spoke, standing up. She set some papers aside in attempt to organize her messy desk space where there was, in fact, no organization in the slightest. Alastor swore he’d clean it up himself sometime, but Charlie was heavily against it. 

After a couple of hearty gulps, Charlie placed the empty mug on the end of her desk and shrugged her coat on. “Come on, Al let’s get to work.”

Arriving at the scene, the place was still taped off and the police were still around to ward off curious eyes. The duo didn’t even need to flash their credentials and were let in immediately. It was a perk that Alastor enjoyed in his years as her partner. It was nice working with a familiar face like the police chief’s daughter. There were simple yet useful perks that really helped them save time as well as grant them access to certain resources. 

They approached the house and suddenly Alastor became fully aware of his heartbeat. His heart began to race upon re-entering the home of his latest kill. It still smelled of the blood that he caked the floors and walls with. 

The smaller detective stood in front of a particularly bloodied wall. “Looks like our perp is a fan of slasher films.” she commented without much thought behind it. Who would have suspected the bloodied wall anyway? There were no visible clues.

Alastor nodded and pretended to study the wall for anything suspicious. Being the only person in the room that knew why that particular wall remained bloodied excited him. He felt giddy like a child with a secret that was near unbearable to hold any longer. This wall wasn’t just an ordinary bloody wall made by a blind lust for blood. No, what laid beneath the blood and gore were symbols- summoning symbols that promised a soul for a summoned creature’s participation in his gruesome murders. With the offering of his victim, Alastor managed to summon several hellish tentacles to effectively beat, lacerate and castrate his unsuspecting victim. The torture was slow and excruciating, but the tentacles from Hell were efficient and didn’t require Alastor to get his own hands dirty. All he had to do was slice into his victim deep enough to draw enough blood for the symbols and then hide the bloodied symbols with more blood.

“I wonder...” he said, attempting to look lost in thought. After another moment he turned his head to a lone, empty bloodied chair in the center of the living room. As Charlie had pointed out, the scuffs on the floor were superficial, but easily noticeable if one was looking for them. He’d have to take note of his minute mistake for his next target. 

He hadn’t noticed that Charlie had left until she came back through the front door. “Have you gotten any statements from the neighbors? Surely they must have heard something.” He asked, though he already knew the answer. He gagged the man before summoning help and from there his anguished screams were muffled by a tentacle stuffed down the man’s throat. He still remembered how the man struggled to breathe, only able to take momentary breaths to prolong his suffering. 

Charlie looked down at her notepad with a frown. “Yeah, looks like no one heard anything.” Alastor nearly cracked into a wide grin at the look of frustration on his lovely girlfriend’s face. She was an excellent detective who’d been at it for a few more years than he, so seeing her get stumped at anything was certainly entertaining. Especially when it was his murders that she couldn’t pin.

Alastor took great care to make sure each of his murders were difficult to track and pin to one individual. Each crime scene was wildly different thanks to his methods and his connections to the other side. Several of those murders were pinned to different guilty individuals as well. Thanks to his excellent framing job, he and Charlie quickly rose to fame for putting truly despicable people in the slammer. They may have been innocent of murder, but they were still criminals walkng freely on the Earth. Thanks to his position, his summons and Charlie backing him up, Alastor truly felt like he was making a difference in the world.

Once he murdered a child abuser and framed the abuser’s wife, who was his partner in the neglect and abuse. The children they abused even testified against her in court despite having no information on their father’s murder. Another time he murdered several business men who happened to be partnered with each other and were stealing money from their employees. By the end of it, the last remaining businessman was sentenced to life for the murders of his fellow partners. 

But not all of his murders were solved cases. Many of his murders remain open in vain. This new case would end just the same. He hated to do it though. Seeing Charlie so upset when there was nothing to go off on was never pleasant. But it had to be done as there was no one to pin the case on. 

He and Charlie had headed several of his own cases and never had she suspected him in the slightest. And when he’d successfully pinned his deeds on another, his dear Charlie would figure it out herself and feel great about putting the scum behind bars. He loved how happy she was when taking horrible people off the streets. 

She truly was the purest thing on Earth and he would kill any and all who would dare harm her. He had done so already, he wouldn’t hesitate to do it again. 

Mirroring Charlie’s frustrated expression without dropping his slight neutral smile, he looked down at Charlie’s notes. “Impossible, the houses are nearly touching.”

Charlie sighed and looked around the crime scene. “Well I guess it’s possible because no one knew anything. We can look into them further because right now they’re all suspects at this point. Did you find anything here?” 

Alastor thought for a moment. Maybe he could pin this murder on someone after all. His dear Charlie seemed to need a pick-me-up, if he looked into his victim’s neighbors, maybe he could find another local scumbag. Then he could plant some evidence for his love to find. “Nothing you haven’t already pointed out to me this morning I’m afraid.” he wasn’t lying. As graphic as the crime scene was, it was a relatively simple scene. It was just how he planned it.

The blonde woman snapped her notebook shut and stuffed it in her pocket. “Okay, well I don’t think there’s much else for us then, let’s head back.” she said as she started back toward their car out front.

Without much effort, Alastor caught up to his partner and sighed. “Not too much hope for the case here is there?” 

Charlie got in the passenger’s seat and shook her head. “Nope. This is probably gonna be our third unsolved case in a row.” she sighed and sunk into her seat and coat. Seeing her like this pained him. The last thing Alastor wanted to do was upset Charlie. He’d have to look into those neighbors quickly, or find an easier target to frame a future murder on. 

Despite Charlie’s feelings on the matter, Alastor pulled out of the scene of the crime feeling satisfied. He placed his hand in his sulking partner’s hand and squeezed. “Don’t worry love. We can’t be expected to catch them all.”

The rest of the day was uneventful as Charlie attempted to solve the hopeless case. No progress would be made until Alastor found someone to frame so he went straight to work on his own investigation. 

It was getting late and Alastor decided it was time to call it for the night. 

“I’ll bring you home.” Alastor insisted as he gathered his few belongings from his desk. Charlie would always walk to work in the morning and before she met Alastor, she’d walk home at night by herself. Alastor had been bringing her home nearly every day for the past five years now.

Charlie’s thoughts about moving in together returned once she got into Alastor’s car. She thought about what she would say and how she would bring it up to him. “Hey Al?” She started, grabbing the hand that wasn’t on the steering wheel. 

“Yes darling?” He asked. Charlie paused, thinking about her next words carefully. But before she could say anything, she suddenly got cold feet. 

“Actually can you drop me off at the corner? I need to pick up some stuff for home.” She blurted, trying her best to sound natural. Charlie felt like bashing her head against the dashboard. 

“Why don’t we go together? I’ll bring you straight home after.” 

“Nah it’s fine Al. I need to keep moving, you know how I am.” she squeezed his hand back reassuringly. 

“Are you sure?”

“Very,” she brought his hand up to her lips and kissed his bare knuckles, sending shivers up Alastor’s spine. “Don’t worry, I can handle myself.” 

It was hard to argue with her. She was a fairly capable fighter, but Alastor couldn’t help his concern. “I know.” He replied with a worrisome sigh. 

When Alastor pulled up next to the corner Charlie requested to be dropped off at, a familiar figure caught his attention. ‘It couldn’t be.’ He thought. 

He reached over and kissed Charlie on the lips. “Be careful okay?” He pressed his forehead to her’s as he spoke. 

With a slight blush on her face, Charlie smiled. “Yeah, you too. See you tomorrow.” 

“See you tomorrow.” he brought her hand to his lips and kissed her knuckles. 

Charlie chuckled. “You miss me already?”

“I miss you every second you’re out of sight.” 

Charlie scoffed at his cheesy line and kissed his cheek. “Oh shhhh, you cheeseball. I’ll see you tomorrow. Love you!” She shut the door and already made her trek into the corner store. 

Alastor watched her up until she disappeared into the store and drove off, keeping his eyes peeled. ‘I bet your blood’s boiling now that you saw that.’ It was the perfect night to take down the individual that seemed to be stalking Charlie. With an angry stalker, they were more likely to act irrationally and make mistakes. 

He pulled into an alley parking lot and began his hunt. He backtracked back to the convenience store on foot, securing disposable gloves on his hands. 

Once he was closer, he spotted Charlie leaving the store and heading in the direction of her home a few blocks away. That’s when he noticed the tall figure trailing about a hundred feet behind her. 

‘You’ve finally come out you scum.’

Alastor scouted up ahead, looking for a vantage point. Luckily there were several run down areas quiet and secluded enough to execute his plan. 

He quickly removed his glove and bit his finger. He whipped out a notepad from his pocket and began drawing symbols with his own blood. “I want that creep apprehended. Alive but unconscious. I offer his soul and my blood for this deed.”

Shortly after, he watched as a tentacle emerged from behind the man, smacking the stalker on the back of the head and knocking him out instantly. Another portal opened below the falling figure and he immediately dropped in front of Alastor. His grin widened in amusement. 

He quickly hoisted the man over his shoulder and jumped into the portal the tentacles left open for him. They were always eager to help as much as they could. After all, he fed them with entertainment and the lives of the criminals he cleansed from the world. It was a symbiotic relationship akin to caring for and keeping a pet.

He discovered this magical ability when his mother was murdered half a decade ago. When he had to clean out her home of her personal belongings, he found a notebook full of scribbles and hastily written descriptions of supernatural things. Alastor wasn’t sure when or how his mother got her hands on this knowledge, but he decided it was worth his time to study his mother’s notes. 

In the couple of months it took to decipher the notes he eventually figured it out. It shocked him that the deciphered ritual worked and when he summoned a tentacle to do his bidding, he knew exactly what to do. By then he’d already killed a few times before, but it always came with a risk. Now that he had this ability, his secret life of murder only became easier. 

The night he figured it all out, he tested his new abilities on his guilty father. He’d gotten away with too much over his lifetime and Alastor was a witness to it all. All the abuse his mother suffered at his hand and the possibility that he had in fact murdered his own wife was too much to go unpunished. Alastor raged when he found out that his father was no longer a suspect to his mother’s murder. The justice system failed his mother, but Alastor made sure that he wouldn’t. 

Now, he could get his jobs done faster with his contract-bound friends. That meant he could remove more scum from the planet and keep the love of his life safe. 

Tonight, he was killing two birds with one stone. He’d noticed a shadowy figure hanging around Charlie’s neighborhood for a while now. Alastor played the waiting game to flush out the creep and he finally had him. Now he could rest easy knowing that Charlie was safe. All he had to do now was take out the trash.

He tossed the man in the trunk and drove off into the night. “One less piece of trash off the street...” he chuckled lowly. He just couldn’t wait to sacrifice this scum to his friends. 

[hetacakes]

clink.

terushima yuuji x fem! reader

in which reader is the cute, shy nerd of johzenji high that terushima has for some reason set his eyes on. she lets him in on a little secret of hers, and the two make a bet, deciding the fate of their possible relationship

or alternatively, reader is cute but secretly is a little shit and terushima is head over heels for the duality

i wrote a proper one shot for once (even though it's super self-indulgent) and not a half-assed drabble, yay!

warning for cussing

word count: 4,971

   Terushima really, really liked his tongue piercing. Hell, he loved it, because it a: made people flirt with him more, and b: made people kiss him more. The number of times people have told him his piercing makes them want to jump him couldn't be counted on his fingers, or his teammates' fingers, or the fingers on his whole team combined, which Terushima was very proud of and appreciated, thank you very much. 

   That being said, he did have one question.

   "What does it feel like?"

    If there was a school with the most cliche stereotypes in its student body, it was Johzenji. The student athletes were the volleyball team, the popular kids were the basketball team, and every school has their self-proclaimed outcasts, with their limited freedom to be anti conformist due to the school dress code.

   And of course, there were the smart, always a pleasure to have in class students: top of their classes, and focused only on their studies.

   Lucky for you, you were one of the quiet, bookworm types, unsuspecting and safely away from any spotlight of attention, whereas others are accurately named "teacher's pet". More often than not, you were curled in the corner of the library or classroom, books open in front of you as you wrote neat, organized notes, color coded and highlighted. Yeah, people labeled you as a nerd most of the time, but if being a nerd meant actually having a normal high school life without the added stress of drama, which then made it easier for you to stay on top of your school work, which then would help you get into a good university, and then have a smooth ride from there on out, then whatever, guess you're a nerd now. Plus, it made your parents really proud of you and gave them bragging material to other parents, so if you really needed drama, your parents always knew what gossip floated around.

   Terushima doesn't know why he even bothers. She isn't even his type! Though he doesn't exactly have a type that's more specific than hot, pretty girl. Yet there he was, stepping into his classroom, making a beeline for the desk in the corner. Others find it surprising that he was in the "nerd class", but Terushima knew that he was smarter than most, and wasn't some mindless idiot who knew nothing more than girls and their right hand. But that was a secret he kept to himself, because he liked having that trick up his sleeve, so when other students watched curiously as he walked into one of the top classrooms, he shrugged it off, telling them he wasn't sure why he was there, too.

   You saw him approach from the corner of your eye, and inwardly sigh. Trying your best to focus on reading the notes in front of you and preparing for the history test you had in less than fifteen minutes, a shadow appeared over your notebook as an arm draped over the back of your chair.

   "No book today?" a husky voice whispers directly into your ear, which would've gotten a reaction out of you if you were in a better mood.

   "I don't need to take notes from a book if I already have notes, obviously," you said without looking up from your review, avoiding giving Terushima a satisfying amount of your attention. It was tiring, honestly. All you did was mind your business and study! You never stood out, and most people forget you even exist, at least until they need to copy notes they conveniently forgot to do themselves, to which you always said no. You did nothing to gain his, or anyone's attention, yet there he was, resting his cheek on your shoulder and turning to speak, his breath ghosting over your ear. His persistence was starting to get on your nerves, and you couldn't afford to get distracted from your education with him. You had to figure out a way to scare him off, fast.

   "Aw come on baby, can't you at least let me see your pretty face?" He twirled a lock of your hair around his finger, trying and failing to get any sort of sign that you were even listening to him. Every other girl he flirted with fell for it, so why was it so addicting to him that you never did? Why is he trying so hard for you, why is he so pulled to you? To him, this was as real as soulmates could get without an actual red string manifesting in front of his eyes.

   As usual, you ignored him. Just as he opened his mouth to sweet talk some more, the bell rang, telling him to get over to his seat or face the consequences.

   "I'll see you later, baby." He straightened, sending a wink in your direction.

   While most students filed out of the classroom, ready to either get home or attend club activities, Terushima strolled to the side of the door once everyone left. 

   That is, everyone except you.

   There you were, diligently jotting down something in your planner, slipping both your notebook and textbook into your backpack.

   As you approached the door, he blocked your way, staring down at your shorter form with a charming smile on his face.

  He took in your appearance, noting how your skirt wasn't short, but short enough to let his mind wander, showing him the exposed part of your legs between the hem of the skirt and the top of your socks, which came to your knees. The cream colored sweater you wore over your white blouse gave you a cute and innocent look, sweater paws included, and your olive jacket was tucked neatly over your arm, hanging by your side. He almost drooled at your oh-so-kissable lips, as pink as the ever present rosy liveliness on your cheeks. Your eyes stared up at him, like a kitten, in a way that made him want to coo, and had you not been glaring at him, he would've basked in the cuteness of your appearance, soft clothing and all.

   "Please, just one kiss? Don't you want to feel my piercing for yourself?" he asked suggestively, smirking down at you.

   "Not really. Do you?" You asked as you set your bag down on the nearest desktop.

   He was taken aback by your response. "Well I- I mean- uh-"

   You cut him off by tiptoeing, pressing your lips on his. Oh damn, they were soft as hell. Yeah, this is why he was so attracted to you. Yeah, he'd like to get your kisses way more often. He even almost forgot what you had just said.

   As he licked your bottom lip for permission, he then realized what you meant.

   Clink.

   You pulled away, snickering at the confused look on his face. You pulled a childish face at him, pulling at your eye and sticking your tongue out at him, confirming his suspicions.

   In the middle of your tongue sat a shiny silver bead, the twin to the one in his own mouth.

   "Nobody's gonna believe you," you taunted, slinging your bag over your shoulder and walking out of the classroom as he stepped to the side distractedly, dumbfounded, obviously still processing what just happened. 

   Then it struck him.

   Well, shit.

   "I'm telling you man, she has a tongue piercing too!"

   "Yeah, whatever dude. A girl like her? The most she's ever done is probably truth or dare in middle school, and she'd only pick truth!"

   Terushima had to admit that he used to think the same of you, based on the way you wore mainly comfy sweaters and kept quiet,  speaking softly and rarely. "Bobata, I'm serious. We kissed! I even saw it!" He insisted, yet as the words came out of his mouth, he himself didn't know if they were true or not. If it did happen, then you were right, nobody was believing him, not even himself. 

   "Dude, she probably doesn't even know how to kiss," Bobata laughed as he walked away, joining a two vs. two match.

   Terushima had walked into volleyball practice after he got over what had just happened, though it still felt like some fever dream, and the coach and Hana had gotten mad at him for being fifteen minutes late, and he had to warm up by himself before he could play a match. He would've skipped it, but then they would've killed him for being so careless, and he didn't want to face their combined wrath again.

  "Nah, that was a hella good kiss," Terushima whispered to himself, staring at the ball in his hands, "but was it real?".

   "Can I have another? Please?"

   You almost laughed at the way he was asking you, like a child asking his mom for another cookie or something. "I didn't give you anything," you said, tilting your head.

   Terushima stared. "Yes you did! You gave me the best damn kiss I ever had!"

   "I haven't even had my first kiss yet," you lied straight through your teeth, pretending to look surprised yet embarrassed.

   "Nobody calls a kiss like that their first kiss."

   "I really don't know what you're talking about. Now, stop bothering me." You flushed, proud of the fact that he basically called you one of the best kissers, but you played it off as being embarrassed that he was making a big deal out of your so called "first kiss", or rather, the lack thereof.

   He could see the genuine innocence in your eyes, which frustrated him to no end. Either it was real, or he was on drugs. He hoped it was the former.

   "Then explain your tongue piercing!"

   "Tongue piercing? I would never get something as wild as that. I barely got ear piercings!" You looked scandalized, like a strict mother's embarrassing teenage years being exposed to Helen and all her kids at the PTA meeting.

   "You have one! And how else would I know if you didn't kiss me!"

   "Terushima, I really don't know what you're talking about, and frankly, I'm worried for you." You looked at him, concern in your eyes. "You're in this class with me because you're smart, and as far as I know, you're not flunking out. So why are you saying all this nonsense?"

   Terushima didn't know how to feel. On one hand, he felt like preening, taking in your praise at his hidden intelligence, but on the other, he was frustrated that you kept calling the truth nonsense.

   "Fine! If you don't have a piercing, show me."

   "I'm not a child; I'm not going to stick my tongue out at you."

   "If you don't, you're admitting defeat."

   "Fine! If you insist," You relented, sticking your tongue out at him.

   To his dismay, there was nothing there, no bead, no flash of something shiny.

   He looked you in the eyes.

   Well, shit.

   "Am I tripping or did yesterday actually happen?"

   "Of course yesterday happened, it was yesterday," you sighed, looking at Terushima, not in the mood for more of his antics. Once again, it was you and him in the empty classroom, the campus deserted. Just yesterday, your camera broke, and you turned it over in your hands before slipping it into your bag. So long, photography club.

   "You know what I mean!"

   An idea popped into your head. "If you mean this," you purred, lightly pushing on his chest with one hand until his back hit the wall. You used your other hand to pull him down by his blazer, placing your lips on his.

   Clink.

   "Then yes. Just in case you needed to ring a bell."

   "You damn tease. Why are you doing this?" Terushima's eyes kept flitting to your lips. Who would've guessed that he was also into tongue piercings?

   "At first, I wanted to drive you away by telling you something no one's gonna believe, so you'd go crazy or something. Now, I think I'm having a little bit of fun with it," you said, swiping your tongue across your bottom lip. Terushima watched as the silver bead flashed, reflecting the light coming from the windows.

   "You put it back!"

   "Of course I did, what's the point of getting a piercing just for it to close up? Now, Teru, how about we make a bet?" You stood on your tiptoes, whispering into his ear. There was no way he could've suppressed the shiver that ran down his back. Well fuck him, you were pushing his buttons in all the right ways, a stark contrast from the cold shoulder you've been giving him the past two weeks. Hell, he was loving it, fully pulled in by you and your addictive flirting.

   "Depends on the bet," he whispered back into your ear, lightly kissing it. He held your waist in his hands, humming appreciatively at your sharp intake of air as he pulled you closer to him.

   You backed down. "If you convince at least one person that I've got a tongue piercing, I'll do a favor for you, no questions asked." You wrapped your arms around his waist, resting your chin on his chest.

   Oh god, Terushima was sure he ascended to a higher plane of existence. If his eyes were cameras, he would've taken a dozen pictures of you hugging him, staring up at him with those adorable kitten eyes, chin on his chest, his chest! He couldn't stop himself from cooing, "Awe, well when you're looking up at me like that, how can I say no?"

   You smiled, amping up your cute factor as soon as you realized it was working in your favor. "Then if you win, I…?"

   "You go out with me," Terushima said simply, to nobody's surprise.

   "And if I win, you stop bothering me. Deal?"

   "Deal." Both of you knew that if you won, Terushima wouldn't follow through with his penalty, but well, at least he'll make an effort.

   "Seal it with a kiss?" He knew he sounded desperate, but honestly he was: desperate to kiss you again, to feel your lips on his, to hear the soft sound of your piercings meeting, to finally call you his.

   You didn't answer, instead pulling him down again to give him a light peck on the lips.

   "Bye!" You slipped your backpack over your shoulders, waving a hand in the air as you looked over your shoulder.

   "Wait, not like that! I want a real one!" Terushima called, running out the door, watching as you walked away and out of sight. 

   Well, shit.

   He saw you sitting a few tables away, chatting away with your friends around you. When you caught his eye, you stuck your tongue out at him, taunting him with the bead that only you, your friends, and him knew the existence of. He did the same, watching as the two of you started making faces at each other, each one worse than the last, like elementary school rivals.

   "Bobata, when I tap your knee, you have to look where I'm looking, okay?" Terushima whispered, a plan to win the bet in his head.

   Bobata looked at him weirdly, "Sure dude, whatever you say."

   Grinning, Terushima stuck his tongue out more, making sure his piercing was as clear as day. When he saw you open your mouth to do the same, he quickly tapped Bobata's knee.

   "Dude, I don't even know where you're looking. There's nothing there."

   "What?" He exclaimed, watching helplessly as you turned around, piercing hidden yet again.

   "There's just the back of some girl's head."

   It was then that Terushima realized your friend sat across from you, effectively shielding you from prying eyes.

   Eyes that would've sealed the deal for him, in his favor.

   Terushima turned to Bobata, devastation clear on his face.

   "You've got to be kidding me."

   "Guys, why don't you just believe me?"

   "Believe what?" Futamata looked at Terushima, confused. 

   "He's been going on and on about how the girl that sits in the corner all quiet has a tongue piercing. A tongue piercing! He's gone crazy," Bobata said, leaning back in his chair.

   "It's true! I was gonna show you earlier but some girl was in the way!"

   "Why would she have a tongue piercing in the first place, and why would you know?" Futamata asked.

   "Because it's the only piercing nobody can see unless you show them, so she only told me about it because she knew nobody would believe me! Like you two right now!" Terushima exclaimed. "How often do you guys see my piercing everyday?"

   "All the damn time," Futamata and Bobata said in unison.

   "Okay, how often do you see it when I'm not going around showing it off?"

   "Now that I think about it, I never see it during class the way I can always see your ear piercings," Bobata mused.

   "That's because it's in his mouth," Futamata quipped, hiding his laugh behind his hand.

   "Exactly! Hers is in her mouth too!" Terushima insisted.

   "Why would she show you in particular, though?"

   "'Cause I've been trying to get with her and she always rejected me and she got tired of it but now she's always flirting but nobody believes it and it drives me insane but I finally have a chance if I can just prove it to somebody!" Terushima ranted, exasperation setting in.

   "Dude, you gotta realize how unbelievable your story sounds right now. You're basically saying Hermione Granger from Harry Potter had a tongue piercing," Futamata pointed out, Bobata nodding in agreement.

   "Okay, but Hermione Granger was badass."

   "Yeah, you're right," Futamata said. "But that's not the point! The thing is, all she does is study, take notes, pass classes, and get the highest grades! She's just so, ordinary. She seems so innocent and naive."

   "Yeah, but so was Hermione until we found out she was cool as hell," Terushima said.

   "Good point," Futamata added.

   "Fine, fine. If I see it, I'll believe it, one hundred percent. Deal?" Bobata relented, watching as Futamata repeated after him.

   "Deal."

   Terushima leaned over the desk next to yours, looking down at you. He watched as you looked up at him, memories of yesterday flashing in his head.

   "Can you watch me play volleyball?"

   "What do you mean?" You asked, unsure of what he was asking of you. There were no games, and the Interhigh Prelims were already over, so what could you watch?

   "After school. Sit and watch us during practice, you can even help Hana if you want," Terushima offered.

   You looked at him skeptically. Something about his request felt off, like he had an ulterior motive, but you didn't know for sure, which is why you answered the way you did.

   "Sure, I guess."

   You stood outside the gym doors, shuffling your feet from side to side. Just ten minutes earlier, you were wrapping up some notes and flashcards you were using for an upcoming literature test as Terushima walked out the door, waving goodbye. Back then, you thought nothing of it, deciding to visit their practice after they were done. Now, you regretted that, because you had to open the doors alone, by yourself, and interrupt whatever they were doing.

   Basically, you had to bring attention to yourself, which you hated in the first place, and knowing how chaotic the Johzenji volleyball team can be, you weren't sure you'd live to tell the tale.

   Sighing, you braced yourself, placing a hand on the door handle.

   Three.

   Two.

   One.

   You pulled open the door, timidly peeking inside. As soon as the sound of the door opening echoed throughout the gym, the sounds of sneakers and bumps quieted. It was as if everything has paused, freeze frame. A ball in the air fell to the floor, bouncing away.

   And the whole team was staring at you.

   "Hey! You made it!" Terushima called out as his face lit up.

   "Um, hello. Terushima told me to come and watch the practice," you explained softly, glancing around the gym.

   "Oh, great! Come over here," their manager, who you recognized to be Hana, said, waving a hand at you. You dropped your bag by the door before making your way over.

   "Hi, I'm Hana Misaki, the third year manager, and this is our coach, Anabata Takaaki," Hana introduced, motioning to the coach. He waved politely, saying, "Nice to meet you."

   Someone tapped you on the shoulder, and as you turned around, you were met with the face of a girl, obviously a first year, looking down at the floor.

   "I'm Ryuna Kuribayashi, and I'm the first year manager," she said, shyly looking up at you.

   "Nice to meet you Ryuna," you said warmly before introducing yourself as well, watching as she gave you a gentle smile in response.

   "So, what brings you here? Other than that idiot Terushima," Hana asked, throwing a glare towards Terushima's direction. As if he had super hearing, he turned around, pouting, just as one of his opponents, number eleven, sent a ball in the air, landing on his head.

   You stifled a laugh as you overheard him complain loudly. "Nothing else, he just told me to come by, and since I had nothing to do, I had no reason to decline," you answered sheepishly, rubbing the back of your head.

   "So you have no club activities?"

   "Yeah, I was part of the photography club but my camera broke and I haven't had the time to either fix it or replace it, so I've basically just been a placeholder."

   "Well, how about you become a manager for these bunch of crazy kids? Soon, you'd be the third year manager, and I'd really appreciate it if we continued having two managers, just in case they decide to tear Ryuna apart, since once their tournament is over, I'm leaving," Hana sighed, watching as Ryuna shrugged her shoulders. You looked at the team, playing two versus two matches, jumping and yelling like madmen, then back at Ryuna, who was watching fondly, albeit a bit worried.

   "Yeah, okay. I can see why you can't trust them with one manager." You gestured at them with your head, just as Terushima jumped in the air, yelling his lungs out.

   "Great! If you come here for a second I can give you a form to fill out, and- oh wait. Do you know anything about volleyball?" Hana asked. "It's just one of the things I'm supposed to ask you, since it's a volleyball club and all."

   "Yeah, I played in middle school," you assured.

   "Great! Here," Hana said, handing you a form. Fishing a pen out of her pocket, you took it gratefully before putting the paper against the wall, filling it out.

   "Then that settles it! I'll call a break and tell them the news." Hana turned to the coach, waiting for him to finish correcting one of the teammates. She tapped him on the shoulder and asked for a time out. The coach blew the whistle, and Terushima called, "Alright!"

   Once everyone had gotten water and a towel, Hana called for everyone's attention. "Everyone, this is (L/N) (Y/N)! She's a second year, but most of you know that because I hear a fly keeps buzzing around her." Hana sent a dirty look at Terushima, who put his hands up and stuck his tongue out, guilty as charged. "She's becoming our third manager to take my place once I leave," the team whined, obviously going to miss her, "so when next year comes around, we'll have a third year and second year manager. Since most of you will be graduating with (Y/N), when Ryuna is a third year, we may only need one manager, since she might be actually looking after a volleyball team, not a group of overgrown kids." The team protested, unknowingly proving even more so that they were a childish bunch. "Yeah, yeah, I'm just kidding. Everyone, welcome (Y/N)!"

   "Welcome to the team!" The team chorused, jumping in the air, reminding you of a certain redhead you used to go to middle school with.

   "Thank you," you said, bowing slightly.

   "Alright, back to work!"

   "So I heard you're becoming a manager? Why, you need to keep tabs on your man?" Terushima sidled up to you, towel around his neck, water bottle drained.

   "No, I just feel bad for Ryuna having to deal with you all the time," you replied, looking over your shoulder at Ryuna handing out water bottles to the crowd of teammates around her, looking overwhelmed before Hana came and smacked them in the head.

   "Well then, meet some of the team. Hey, Bobata! Futamata!" Terushima called to numbers 2 and 3.

   "Hey, I'm Bobata Kazuma," number 2 said as he jogged over, tipping his head slightly. 

   "I'm Futamata Takeharu," number 3 introduced as well, nodding towards you.

   "And I'm number one!" Terushima yelled proudly, with you looking unamused. 

   "So who's the captain? I bet it's Futamata, he seems better than you, Terushima," you said, trying to make fun of and get a reaction out of Terushima, and it worked.

   "No! I'm the captain, number one!" Terushima insisted, pulling at his practice jersey.

   "Fine, fine. Do you guys really only play two on two matches?" You asked, looking at the three of them. Damn, they towered over you. No wonder Ryuna was overwhelmed earlier, had you still been your little first year self, you too would've been intimidated.

   "Yeah!" Bobata answered proudly, "It's what makes us the 'party team'."

   "But volleyball is six on six…" you trailed off.

   "Well yeah, but doing two on two makes it more competitive," Futamata pointed out.

   "Yeah, but when game time comes around, you all will be running into each other, because two suddenly tripled." You rolled your eyes, already seeing them crash into each other like bumper cars.

   "But when that happens, you'lll come and save us, right?" Terushima asked, looking at you with puppy eyes.

   "I guess…" you grumbled, not wanting to indulge Terushima.

   "Aw, c'mon! You'll help us with anything, right?" Bobata pulled the same act, dodging as Terushima tried to elbow him.

   "Just say it! If you say it, we'll believe it!" Futamata added, catching on to something, something you were suspicious of.

   "You're being awfully insistent," you looked at them dubiously, raising an eyebrow.

   "Just say it! 'As your manager, I'll help you with anything'," Terushima said, speaking slowly. As he spoke, his piercing glinted in the gym's lighting, the sun already setting, unable to provide its sunlight.

   "No, that's weird."

   "Just do it!"

   "No!"

   "Please?" All three of them chorused.

   "Fine! As your manager, I'll help you with anything," you relented, not noticing the incredulous look on Bobata's and Futamata's faces.

   "Say it slower, just in case I heard wrong," Terushima suggested, looking at you evilly.

   Seeing as you were in no position to refuse, you did so, "As your manager, I'll- oh." Your face fell as you realized why they made you repeat those exact words.

   When you said 'I'll', your piercing was out in the open, exposed to two of Terushima's friends, who were looking at you with disbelief written across their faces. You mentally smacked yourself for overlooking the fact that when Terushima said it, his piercing was visible, too.

   "I believe the bet has come to an end? And the winner is?..." Terushima said slyly, looking like that cat that caught the canary.

   "You…" you mumbled, unwilling to admit it.

   "What? I couldn't hear you."

   "You!" You huffed, looking to the side.

   "Wait, bet? I thought you were just trying to not go insane," Bobata said as Futamata agreed with him.

   "You see, if I was able to prove she had such a piercing to at least one person, I'd be able to do this." He snaked an arm around your waist, pulling you into his side. "And you, Bobata, Futamata, make two people."

   "So what did you win?" Futamata asked, not following.

   "I won this one right here," Terushima replied happily, stepping to the side to hug you from behind.

   "Everyone!" Terushima suddenly yelled, waiting for everyone's attention. "Meet my girl, (L/N) (Y/N)!" Terushima declared proudly, leaning back and lifting you up into the air from the waist, peeking over your side and snickering as you protested loudly.

   "Hey! Put me-"

   You were cut off by the team's wolf whistles and yells, their cries loud enough to be heard miles away as they all jumped in the air excitedly. Do they ever stop jumping? Even Hana and Ryuna were clapping, fond smiles on their faces. 

   Accepting your fate, you crossed your ankles, holding on to Terushima's arms for dear life.

   "Thank god you're in good shape," you whispered, squeezing his bicep.

   Terushima grinned. "Like it?"

   "Love it," you rolled your eyes as he preened, hugging you even tighter, before putting you down.

   "Guess I got my girl after all," Terushima said as those who overheard cheered softly for him.

   "Yeah, yeah, it took you three weeks and a bet to get little old me."

   "Yeah, but little old you tricked everyone by having a tongue piercing, so I wonder, what else are you hiding behind that innocent façade?"

   "I don't know what you're talking about," you said, crossing your arms and petulantly looking to the side.

   "Well, can little miss innocent give me the hottest kiss of my life?" He said mischievously, eyes sparkling at you.

   "Whatever you say, mister handsome-as-hell," you smiled, leaning up as he bent down, your lips meeting in the middle.

   If it was even possible, the team got louder, and even the managers were whooping for you, relieved that you finally got together and happy because you two made a really cute couple.

   Terushima smiled into the kiss, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you even closer.

   Clink.

[ficsandcatsandficsandcats]

request: jaskier x reader enemies to lovers in which the reader is not a jealous asshole lmao

Fandom: The WitcherPairing: Jaskier x ReaderWord Count: 3,273Rating: TTaglist: @heroics-and-heartbreak @whatevermonkey @mynamesoundslikesherlock @magic-multicolored-miracle @writingstudent @mlleecrivaine @coffee-and-stories @ultracolorfulnerdcollection @astouract @your-not-invisible-to-me @kemmastan @mycat-is-mylove @amirahiddleston a/n: Hey! I am a sucker for an academic rivalry and that’s the way I approached this. It’s really long but I hope you enjoy!

You took a deep breath before entering the classroom, plastering on a serene, professional smile. There were more students present than usual which only rankled further, knowing they had come here to see him instead of your usual classes. He wasn’t there yet (typical) but you were grateful. Walking in to see so-called Professor Pankratz beating you to your own class would have been more than you could bear. Then again, he was never on time for class when you were students so luck had been on your side.

“Good morning class, so nice to see that so many of you have recovered for your many ailments and just in time for a presentation for our guest lecturer,” you said. The students chuckled sheepishly and you fixed them with an accusatory look that melted into a smile and a head shake. They were just kids. It hadn’t been terribly long ago you were in their shoes and there were many times you wished you could have jut run off and avoided your responsibilities like others you’d known. Right on cue, the door opened and in strode Julian Pankratz or – as he was known now – Jaskier.

He looked practically the same as he had back then. Chestnut hair shorter and roguishly swept to the side but the same hue, golden highlights catching in the sun that streamed through the large windows. Smile quirked into the exact same cocky little grin, sky blue eyes sparkling with amusement, always on the lookout for a good time. His clothing choices had become more ornate but the same good quality they’d always been, him and all the other nobility thinking nothing of the clothes they wore or the fact that a single doublet would pay for a semester of classes. As he caught your eye a familiar look of smugness came over his features and you bristled. You’d always been academic rivals. You didn’t usually care about someone being smarter than you, most were anyway, but someone who swanned into Oxenfurt Academy, resting on his family’s laurels and roving around missing classes yet still somehow managing to give you a run for your title as Valedictorian was another matter. On the rare occasions he did deign to show up to class he’d usually be half-hungover, lacking all supplies, and yet teacher’s stopped calling on him to make an example because he’d always know the answer. Good answers, too. So no, you didn’t hate Julian because he was smart or handsome or well-liked or even because he was your fiercest competition in school. You hated him because he was all of these things and didn’t work for any of it and didn’t seem to appreciate its value. This position you held as a professor at a university that had been an impossible sounding dream for a child who grew up in poverty meant everything to you. But for Julian, it was just another honor bestowed on him. Hell, he was invited to teach today.

“Ah, Julian, right off time,” you said dryly.

“Professor Pankratz I think it is, Y/N,” he replied. You bristled and bit back a litany of oaths.

“As I was telling the students, Julian, you are here today to provide a guest lecture and if anyone has questions-” two dozen arms shot up in the sky eagerly, “They will wait under after the lesson.”

The arms retracted glumly but the students lit up as you stepped aside, giving the bard a space at the podium.

“Thank you, Y/N. You know, your professor and I go way back. We were school chums just like you. She’s always been incredibly smart. I mean, the record may show that she never could quite top me but she still gave me a good run,” he winked at you as he said the words and then gave you a wicked smile, like a child who knew they were being bad in public and didn’t care what would happen when they got home. You kept the same serene smile on your face like a mask and you spent the next hour and a half of his talk imagining the different ways you would use the historical tools of torture display in the history wing to wipe that smug smile off of his face.

—–

After the lecture (which was exceptional, damn it) Julian suggested the question and answer portion be done outside because it was “such a lovely day” and you “probably wanted to review your notes over his lecture to include in the class’s curricula” and they poured out of your class leaving you in blessed silence. You had to admit you appreciated the extra time to prepare for tomorrow’s class. You finished grading and even had time to clean the chalkboard thoroughly. You were gazing at it in admiration of a job well done when a voice popped up by the open door.

“Admit it, that was brilliant.”

Suddenly your good mood vanished. You cut Jaskier a sharp glance from the corner of your eye.

“The students aren’t here anymore Julian you don’t need to stick around,” you said coolly.

“Oh I know,” he replied, moving into the room further, “I thought I’d ask an old friend for a drink. Catch up properly since I’m in town.”

You scoffed and shook your head, turning to face him.

“We’re not friends, Julian. We never were and I don’t see why we would be now,” you said bluntly. He smiled at your words, not an unpleasant or false one, a genuine, nostalgic smile.

“Gods I’ve missed the way you never put up with my shit,” he said. You blinked at him in surprise.

“What?”

“Everyone else was impressed by the Pankratz name and my other, admittedly many, charms but you always saw through it. I think that’s why I tried to impress you so much. Hell, maybe it’s why I’m still trying,” he said.

“I thought you hated me, you were always a prick. And don’t try that stupid ‘boys torment girls they like’ bullshit with me because that’s bollocks at best and dangerous at worst,” you argued. He smirked.

“Oh no, you were a bitch. You kind of still are. But I’ve grown to develop an affection for bitches.”

“Get fucked, Pankratz.”

“Ooh not as eloquent as you were back in the day. What was it you called me that one time? As stupid as an ox and half as useful?” he quoted. You smiled in appreciation of your younger self’s burn.

“Come have a drink with me,” he offered again. Despite yourself, you were curious about what Julian had been up to. Sure you heard the rumors and the songs and knew he was a celebrity. But you also knew that the stories you heard about people rarely matched the truth and perhaps with enough ale and the right questions you’d get somewhere close to that.

“You’re paying,” you said, taking up your purse and getting out the key to lock the classroom.

“But of course,” Jaskier said in faux surprise, “What kind of a gentleman would I be if I didn’t treat the lady to drinks?”

For the sake of peace, you bit your tongue.

—–

“Alright,” Jaskier said once you’d both ordered your drinks, “Let’s get this out of the way. Ask me about Geralt.”

“The witcher?” you asked. Jaskier nodded, a weary nod that suggested he’d had this talk many, many times before. “I don’t really have any questions.”

Jaskier eyed you suspiciously, disbelief plain on his face but you weren’t kidding. You knew about witchers, had read many different accounts from believe who head varying levels of respect and fear towards them, but you didn’t really concern yourself with them. As far as you could tell their primary trade was killing monsters and you weren’t one so you doubted you’d have any dealings with them.

“People usually want to know what he’s like, if he has horns, does he eat babies, etc.,” Jaskier explained.

“Well those people sound… ill-informed,” you said tactfully, “I do have questions though. Not about Geralt, about you.”

“Me?” Jaskier sounded surprised.

“Of course. A classmate goes off and becomes a renowned bard and you don’t think I’m going to have questions?” you asked.

“You never showed much interest in my life or affairs before.”

“I didn’t have to hear about some new rumor about you every day from students before. Well, actually I guess I did. But there were fewer rumors of immortality and frankly based on how you look I’m starting to think those might be right,” you said, taking a sip of your mead and giving him an assessing look. He laughed and took a drink from his ale.

“Not as far as I know, no,” he said.

“But the rest is true, then? Touring the country, the bard with his pet witcher, wooing and rutting around the countryside with great aplomb?”

Jaskier smiled ruefully as he looked down into his drink, thinking about the portrait you painted of him, that had been painted while he was off. He could lie and tell you it was true but he had a feeling you’d know. As he’d said, you always saw through his bullshit.

“Quite the opposite, really. True my songs are well loved and I have successfully reformed many opinions about Geralt, if not witchers on the whole, but I am more often treated as the “pet” of Geralt. The human that follows him around. It’s… not entirely wrong but it’s also horseshit, you know?”

You were surprised by the vulnerability. This wasn’t the proud, blustering Julian of a decade ago. He was still there but there was also a maturity to him. It was deeply unsettling.

“That must be hard for you. You never did like standing in another’s shadow,” you said.

“I have little experience doing so. You understand,” he volleyed. You glowered at him as you took another drink. Yes, some things were still the same.

“And adventuring? How is that suiting you? You a natural at that as you were everything else?” you asked, a bit of bitterness slipping into your tone.

“Gods no,” he said laughing, “No I am… well, I’m better than I was, but I’ve also nearly died more times than I can count so that doesn’t speak to a great amount of skill.”

You felt a little guilty about how validating it was to hear Jaskier state that there was finally something even he couldn’t fake his way through.

“That must be very difficult,” you said, working to keep the satisfaction out of your voice, “Finding the one thing is this world you aren’t naturally adept at without any effort or work.”

“I worked, Y/N,” Jaskier replied, frowning at the implication, “I wrote the same papers you did.”

“Yes, but yours were written 15 minutes before class or turned into an improvised ballad performed on the spot and mine were toiled over for hours in the library and edited mercilessly. We are not the same,” you argued.

“Do you want me to apologize for being naturally talented?” he asked. You scoffed and shook your head, fighting the urge to throw the remaining contents of your cup in his smug face.

“No, Julian, I want you to appreciate that you’re talented. I want you to stop acting like you’re somehow superior and I want you to stop getting everything you want handed to you because you’re from a titled family and famous and never had to really worry about taking care of yourself,” you snapped.

“You think people took care of me?” he replied incredulously, “Y/N my family didn’t give a shit about me. Hell, I don’t know if they even realized I was gone when I went to school. Even the people around me at the university, I knew they didn’t give a shit, they wouldn’t have my back or stick around if I wasn’t constantly making myself useful to them. And you think that’s somehow different now? The witcher barely tolerates my presence some days and I have to work hard to find ways to be useful because I know that if I stop, even for a moment, he will be gone too.”

After he finished he kicked himself for saying it, waiting for a look of pity from you as you listened to him complain. Or contempt because even he knew that it could be worse. But you just nodded slightly, a look of understanding dawning on your face.

“Well. You’re still an ass,” you said, taking a sip of your drink. A wide smile broke out over Jaskier’s face and you couldn’t help but return it. He had that effect on people. For once it didn’t seem self-serving, though, just genuine happiness.

“So is that what you’re doing with me?” you asked, serious again, “Trying to find a way to be useful or charm me so you’ll have a contact back in Oxenfurt?”

“When you put it that way I sound so self-serving,” he scoffed, “No, Y/N. Frankly I don’t need you as a contact. I was invited to lecture here and I seriously doubt you were the one did that.”

You didn’t say anything, glancing awkwardly down at your glass.

“Wait… no… surely not,” Jaskier squinted at you suspiciously and you heaved a great sigh.

“Fine, alright I did. But only because very begrudgingly I have to admit you know what you’re talking about and this segment is hard for students if they don’t care about what they’re studying and nothing makes students care like hearing it from someone new and exciting and oh for the gods’ sake if you don’t stop grinning at me like that I will kick you,” you snapped. Jaskier didn’t heed your warnings, the grin overtaking his face and this time you could resist the pull to smile back. You crossed your arms in front of you in a huff, waiting for him to throw it back in your face, to make some snide remark about proof that he’s smarter than you after all.

“Thank you,” he said after a beat of silence. There was sincerity in his eyes, also unsettling, but also not a bad look on him. “I enjoyed it. I’ve missed the school, really.”

“I suppose it wasn’t the worst thing that’s ever happened in my classroom. Granted, someone was murdered there a few hundred years ago so the bar is pretty high for that honor,” you sighed. The rest of your evening passed quickly as you shared anecdotes and laughter. Before you knew it the tavern was closing and you were told to get a room or get out. Jaskier had shot you a suggestive smile but you’d rolled your eyes and told him he could walk you home.

“You know this is going to sound silly but I think… Well, I wish maybe we’d been friends in school,” you admitted, lips loosened by the mead and the newfound sense of comradery with the man walking at your side. He laughed, the sound turning to mist in the cool night air, and grinned at you.

“No, I don’t think so,” he said. Your face fell and you began to feel embarrassed.

“No, not because of you!” he explained quickly, “But I wasn’t really the sort of person I think you’d have liked back then. I mean, clearly, because you’ve harbored such a long hatred of me.”

“Hatred is a strong word,” you lied, “But you’re probably right. I could be a bit stuck up myself.”

“I’m glad that we’ve reconnected, though. Or I suppose, connected for the first time,” Jaskier said. You arrived at home sooner than you’d expected and you lingered at the door.

“How long are you in town?” you asked.

“I leave tomorrow.”

“Oh… with, uh, what’s his name?”

Jaskier beamed at you as though you’d just given him the finest compliment in his life. And in a way, you had. For once he wasn’t the one whose name was ignored and forgotten.

“Geralt. And yes, I told him I’d meet up with him. Onto the next adventure,” he explained. He was excited by the disappointment in your eyes, almost as excited as the fact that you weren’t yet going inside, perhaps even considering offering him an invite.

“If you want to come back sometime, to lecture and maybe get another drink with an old…” your voice trailed off as you tried to decide what to call what you were now.

“Colleague?”

“Friend?”

“Yes, alright, friend,” you assented, earning yet another wide, beaming smile from Jaskier, “I’d like that. If you have time. I know you’re very busy and important.”

You said the words sarcastically and Jaskier nodded and sighed heavily.

“It’s true, the world needs its songs. But I would be happy to come back again. And see you. And do my part to enlighten the youths of the world. And see you.”

“You said that twice.”

“I meant it doubly much.”

“Doubly much? That can’t be good grammar.”

“Gods, do you ever turn off?” he huffed in amused exasperation.

“Never, it’s one of my charms,” you replied, smirking. Jaskier moved closer and you were reminded of how tall he was. And broad. And handsome.

“I have half a mind to kiss that smirk right off your face,” he murmured, the pale blue eyes caressing them with his gaze.

“You have a half a mind period,” you sassed, a defensive reaction that struck when you were nervous. Most men were turned away by it, and you couldn’t blame them. But sparring was an old game for the two of you and Jaskier smiled, chuckling darkly before saying,

“Alright now you’re gonna get it.”

His lips brushed against yours, featherlight and teasing, and then swept back, a little firmer, capturing your mouth and pressing in closer, one arm wrapping around your waist and pressing you against the door as he slid his tongue through your slightly parted mouth. You sighed into the kiss and he gave a soft moan in return as your tongue found his, entangling and learning the warmth of each other’s mouths, the brush of teeth against lip, the taste of mead and ale blending in a heady mixture. By the time Jaskier pulled back you were both panting slightly. You swallowed hard and looked up into his eyes.

“Are you going to invite me in?” he asked, peppering your jawline with kisses. Your eyes squeezed shut and you licked your lips, summoning your will to be sensible.

“No,” you replied. His kisses stop and he pulled back to look at you, unabashedly surprised.

“No?”

“No,” you answered, “Go on your journeys, Julian Pankratz or Jaskier de Lettenhove or whoever you are or shall be. Go and then return to me. If you can do that, well… Perhaps.”

“I may die,” he intoned dramatically, though he made no move to continue his seduction, taking your words to heart.

“Then there shall be two great tragedies that day,” you answered in a tone that was just as dramatic, “That you have died, and that you never knew the pleasures of my body.”

He laughed, throwing his head back and then leaning in to plant another kiss on your lips.

“You’re a minx. But alright, it’s a date,” he said. You bit your bottom lip, fighting back an argument that it could only really be a date if they both declared it to be and really they had just agreed to meet up as friends but sometimes even you had to admit there was a time and place for being pedantic.

“It’s a date.”

[deanstop13billyjoeltraxx]

Superposition

a deancas college roommates AU

Dean Winchester had it all at Wichita State University — a second chance, a future devoid of his father, and a roommate-turned-best friend who understands him inside and out.

But his father dies, he fails out in his second semester, and Castiel Novak leaves without so much as a goodbye.

Three years later, Dean has picked up the pieces. He works at the most trusted auto-shop in Lawrence, he’s putting Sam through college. Dean thinks it can’t get much better than that.

Then Castiel Novak gives him a concussion, and everything falls apart. Again.

Chapter 2 is up on AO3 (and below the cut)! Tumblr chapter masterlist here.

Classic Rock and Other Foreign Concepts

Three Years Earlier

Castiel Novak was ready for his second chance. 

Sure, the name “Wichita State University” held no cache, and sure, it was only two hours away from home. But it was a full ride, it was free of old high school acquaintances. It was enough. 

Castiel stood at the door of his empty dorm room, hope blooming in his chest as he regarded the dingy bunks and linoleum floors. 

He didn’t have much in the way of belongings, so moving in was quick and easy, even by himself. Castiel made his bed, hung up his limited outfits in the dresser, and filled his desk with his books and paper. Only one thing remained in his suitcase — a picture of his family, two Christmases ago. Castiel took it out and looked at it for a moment, before deciding to place it on his desk. 

He decided it might be a good idea to familiarize himself with his new surroundings. That was sure to calm down the inevitable anxiety that his first trip to the showers would bring. Castiel strolled down the hallway, doing his best to stay out of the way of all of the other freshmen moving in on his floor. 

After successfully discovering the bathroom and the water fountain, as well as narrowly avoiding an awkward encounter with two giggling girls who were apparently intent upon introducing themselves to him, he returned to his room with a sigh.

Castiel moved to his desk and opened his computer. He pulled up his course schedule, reviewing it again, despite having already committed it to memory. Tuesdays and Thursdays would be difficult, he thought, with financial accounting, economics, and an intro to business. The other days were more interesting, holding philosophy, creative writing, and nineteenth century British literature. 

Castiel was about to read the class descriptions for the millionth time when a loud thud and a grunt interrupted his thoughts. He stood up, fast, almost knocking his head on the bottom of his bed. Castiel got to his open door just in time to almost run into someone. 

“Shit! Watch it, man!”

Castiel found himself face to face with… Plastic storage bins. The man holding them shifted to reveal a mild scowl. Castiel cleared out of his way, and the man set the three boxes down. 

“Sorry,” Castiel muttered. 

“You’re fine,” the man grumbled. “Sorry, long drive.”

“Dean Winchester, I presume?” Castiel said, cautiously. He had seen his roommate assignment online weeks earlier.

“Damn straight,” Dean said, and he offered a hand out to Castiel, who accepted it graciously. “Sorry, man, I’m terrible with names. Have we met?” 

“I’m Castiel Novak,” Castiel replied, then added, “We haven’t met, but the website informed me of your name and email address. I emailed you a few weeks back.” 

Dean nodded. “I definitely didn’t respond. Sorry ‘bout that, I kind of haven’t had access to the internet in… Well, it’s a long story. Anyway, good to meet you.” 

“You as well. Do you need any help unpacking?” 

“Least you can do after nearly killing me.” Castiel tensed, but then Dean clapped him on the back. “Kidding. Help would be great.”

Castiel moved to unpack the box nearest him, but Dean stopped him with a hand on his arm.

“No! Uh, not that one. No offense, but that’s the most important thing I own. Give me a second, you can start on this one.” 

Castiel tilted his head in inquisition, but Dean said nothing more, just got to unpacking the bin. Castiel set to work on the second of the three, first grabbing the sheets to make the bed. 

When Castiel had finished with Dean’s bed, he turned to see Dean had set up a record player and a pair of bookshelf speakers on the floor. 

“Behold,” Dean announced. “My prized possession.” 

“A record player?” Castiel asked. 

“Not just the record player,” Dean said. He went back to the box, which Castiel could now see was filled with vinyl LPs. “The whole collection.”

“It’s quite impressive.”

“Fuckin’ A-right,” Dean said. “Here, you like Zeppelin?” 

“Embarrassingly, I have no idea who that is,” Castiel said, blushing.

Dean’s eyes widened. “Dude! No way! Oh man, it’s time to educate you. How have you survived this long Zeppelin-less?” 

“My father was strict about music.” Castiel felt suddenly very nervous that this, combined with his near-toppling of Dean moments earlier, would have him solidly fixed on Dean’s bad side. But Dean was flipping through his records with animation, as if Castiel’s ignorance was a game to be won. 

“That’s utter bullshit,” Dean declared. “Here, listen to this.”

Dean put on Led Zeppelin IV. Castiel turned back to the plastic bins, intent upon doing something while the record played. He was quiet as he worked, setting up first an ancient-looking coffee maker, then a small, LCD monitor. Dean unpacked his clothes, quietly singing along to the music.

“Do you need help with the rest?” Castiel asked when they had finished, assuming there had to be more than just those three boxes. Dean chuckled quietly. 

“Nah, this is it. Thanks for the help, Castiel.” 

Castiel raised an eyebrow, but only said, “You’re welcome.” Dean had brought even less than he had. 

“That’s a weird name, by the way,” Dean said, turning the volume down on the speakers. “Castiel. It sounds kind of --” 

“Ancient?” Castiel supplied, and Dean nodded. “That’s because it is. It’s adapted from the name of an angel in the third book of Enoch.” At Dean’s blank look, Castiel added, “Christian apocryphal lore. My parents are very religious.” 

“Ah,” Dean said. “And you…?”

“Haven’t been to church since I was fourteen,” Castiel finished. “We are very different, my family and I.” 

Dean nodded. “That them?” He asked, pointing at the picture on Castiel’s desk. 

“Yes,” Castiel said. 

“That’s a lot of kids.” 

“Yes, there’s five of us.” 

“Road trips must have been fun,” Dean said.

This actually got a laugh out of Castiel. 

“I’ve only got one. My kid brother, Sam,” Dean said.

“How old is Sam?”

“God.” Dean rubbed his face, considering. “I guess he’s fourteen now. It’s weird — I feel like I can never see him as any older than, like, eight.”

“I can’t say I understand,” Castiel replied. “I’m the youngest.” 

“Damn, that must suck, four older siblings. What’re their names?”

Castiel picked up the picture. “The boy on the left — he’s the oldest — that’s Gabriel. The other is Bartholomew. The redhead is Anna. And then there’s Hannah, she’s just a couple years older than me.” 

Dean nodded, moving to his record player. He pulled a small, worn piece of paper from the inside. 

“This is old as hell,” he said, showing Castiel the picture, “but that’s my dad, and that’s Sam when he was… ten, maybe?” 

“It’s just the three of you?”

“Yeah, my mom died when I was, like, four.”

“I apologize, I didn’t mean to --” 

“No worries, man,” Dean said. “Long time ago.”

There was an awkward pause that made Castiel want to open his computer just to look preoccupied, but Dean spoke. 

“I’m sorry, I can’t get over this name stuff. I can’t be roommates with a dude named after an angel.” 

Castiel felt his entire body deflate. Day one, and just his name was already making things difficult. “I’m… Sure there’s a way to switch roommates. But, what’s wrong with being named after an angel?”

“Dude, I was totally joking,” Dean said, putting his hands up defensively. “I’m not switching roommates — unless you’re secretly a vampire or something.” Castiel smiled at that. “And there’s nothing wrong with it, I’m just not into the whole religion thing. Makes me feel weird. Nah, I’ll just have to call you something else. Any suggestions?” 

“I’ve always just been ‘Castiel.’” 

“Man, haven’t had many creative friends,” Dean said. “Cas it is, then.” 

“Cas?” Castiel replied. He considered the new nickname. Castiel actually found it strange that no one had ever thought of it before, now that he had heard it. “I suppose it is a great deal shorter.”

“Easier to say, too,” Dean said. “It fits.”

Castiel smiled tentatively. “Sure.” 

The music faded, and Dean flipped the record to the B-side. 

“What do you think so far?” He asked. 

“It’s certainly different than what I’m used to. In a good way,” Castiel added. 

Dean beamed at him. “Awesome. I have more in here, too, and it’s not just Zep. Mostly the classics — the Stones, Rush, AC/DC… And a shit load of grunge, too. Man, wait til you hear Alice in Chains…” 

Castiel smiled at his animation. “Music is important to you?” 

“Dude, I couldn’t function without music. I feel like every time I listen to a song I like, I find something new that makes it even better.” Dean chuckled to himself. “Sorry, I’m geeking out about classic rock.”

“I don’t mind,” Castiel said, and he found that it was true. “I feel similarly about books.” 

“You like to read?”

“Immensely.” 

“You’ll have to give me some recommendations. I read Vonnegut in high school, and that was cool, but other than that and Harry Potter I think I’m pretty hopeless.”

“I will,” Castiel said, even though he knew he wouldn’t, even though he knew Dean was simply saying the polite thing. He had learned by now that when people asked about him to talk about the things he liked, they were just being nice. 

Dean asked Castiel which end of the hall the bathrooms were on, and excused himself.

When he returned, Dean clapped his hands together. “So,” he said. “I gotta ask you the Freshman Questions.” At Castiel’s confused look, he elaborated: “You know, the two things you ask everyone for your whole freshman year. Where are you from, what are you majoring in?” 

Castiel nodded. “I see. I didn’t know there was a procedure.” 

Dean looked at him for a moment. “It’s not — I was kinda joking.” 

“Oh. Right,” Castiel said, rubbing his neck. “Well, I’m from Guthrie — it’s a small town in Oklahoma, just a few hours south of here. And I’m studying accounting and creative writing.” 

“Guthrie… I’ve driven through there, on our way to Oklahoma City for a job my dad worked once,” Dean said. 

“It’s not very impressive.” 

Dean laughed. “Nah, not really.” 

“What about you, Dean?”

“I’m from Lawrence — it’s northeast of here. And I have no fucking idea what I’m gonna major in,” he said. “I’m not really… Well, Sam is the smart one. That kid is gonna kick ass when he goes to school. I’m kinda just here to…” Dean trailed off. 

“Experience it?” Castiel suggested. Dean shrugged. 

“Yeah, I guess.” He cleared his throat. “Why accounting? I get the writing thing, you said you like books — but accounting? I feel like those two don’t mix.”

“They don’t,” Castiel agreed. “But I don’t want to be a starving author. I do want to be able to take care of myself.” I want to be far, far away from everything I’ve ever known. I want to leave and never look back.

“Fair,” Dean said. “I don’t know about you, Cas, but I’m starving. Wanna grab some dinner?” 

“Sure,” Castiel said with a smile.

 The next day, in his first creative writing class, the professor asked each of them to share their major, their hometown, and a fun fact. He called, “Novak, Castiel?” 

“Double major in accounting and writing. I’m from Guthrie, Oklahoma. I suppose a fun fact is that I’m named after an angel, but you can just call me Cas.” 

[wolfywordweaver]

Celebratory One-Word Prompt One-Shot

Hello beautiful people! While this was finished by last week I had RL stuff that kept me busy enough to not be able to post this until now. It’s short, sweet, and I got all the one-word prompts in! XD

Many thanks to @felicja-j, @narrowredoubt, @prussian-bog-monster, @curlyy-hair-dont-care, @pan-and-ready-to-stan, @lov-lyness, @peace-wisepenguin, and @kingfoxjellyfish

Prompts: island, rain, angelic, blush, pineapple, tea, and penguin  Bonus: Tomarry in a dungeon cell

[now here on AO3 if you prefer to read over there]

----    -----    ----

"I can't believe that we're really doing this," Remus murmured as he ran his fingers through his unruly grey-streaked hair.

"Damn, Moony; you make it sound like I never take you on vacation." Remus shoot a look towards his husband. "Okay, okay, this is the first time I've taken you on vacation."

"My income contributed to this too, you know," the shorter man huffed as he glanced at the mirror once more. 

How was a middle-aged man vacationing on a beach on a whole different hemisphere supposed to look for a casual walk? His usual professor-esque uniform of sensible slacks and well-worn jumpers had been vetoed by Sirius but he felt almost too touristy in the cargo shorts and plain white t-shirt. He was showing far too much pale skin and worried that he would be the laughing stock of the beach if he left the house like this. 

"We wouldn't be here if it wasn't for you too, my love," Sirius stated breezily before pressing a wet and scruffy kiss to his husband's cheek. "And don't overthink the outfit. You look great."

"Easy for you to say," Remus murmured back as he stared at the reflection.

Sirius Black looked good no matter what he wore, regardless of how ridiculous it was. In fact, he was currently leaning onto Remus' shoulder casually while wearing denim hot pants and a pink t-shirt with little pineapples screenprinted all over it. Ridiculous for a man with grey hairs starting to make an appearance at his temples, but the tall man wore them so confidently that no one would even bat an eye.

"C'mon," Sirius groaned as he dragged Remus away from the mirror. "What's the fun of spending years saving up for an island vacation in the Caribbean only to get there and spend the whole time holed up in the hotel room because you're feeling self conscious of your outfit? You look hot, and my opinion as your husband is the only one that counts."

Taking a deep breath, Remus nodded. "You're right. We've only got a week here and it would be foolish to waste it away in the room." Sirius beamed proudly and Remus couldn't help but feel that twinge of affection that only Sirius could stir in him. "Should we go walk to the aquarium today? I think that the pamphlet said something about a penguin exhibit."

"Yes!" Sirius cheered as he rushed out the door. "Penguins!!!"

By the time they made it to the beach, Remus was already feeling better about his outfit. The tourists coming fresh off the cruise ship were wearing all manner of strangely gaudy outfits, and Sirius had a grand time giving his scathing reviews of their clothes. A short walk through the beach and up a hill and they could see the aquarium in the distance. The men entwined their fingers as they walked down the street with Remus chatting away about the most recent literature review he'd written and the work of two of his students who were trying to get published in an academic journal. A large raindrop splashing against his nose broke the conversation and soon they were huddled together under the metal awning of a food truck to avoid the downpour.

"Dang it, I hope my phone didn't get too wet," Sirius grumbled as he pulled the device out for inspection. His sudden barking laugh made Remus look over the top of the screen.

"Oh Merlin, not again," he groaned with a smile.

"Wait, listen to what James wrote. Ahem, 'Padfoot I think that we're going to need to stage an intervention for my boy when you guys get back. Is there like a gay code or something you can use to get through his thick skull that getting repeatedly stuck in compromising places with the same boy is not a coincidence?'"

Remus was outright laughing and he smooshed into his husband's side to get a better look at the accompanying photo. "That must be that theater stage set they were working on," he chuckled.

"What kind of play has a fucking dungeon?" Sirius shot back in amusement.

"Phantom of the Opera, I think." He squinted his eyes at the picture and just shook his head. "How long did James let them stay stuck in there?"

Sirius bit down on his lip as he tapped away on the screen before snickering at a message that came through. "Ooh, Lily wouldn't let him rescue them for over an hour. She was hoping that would be enough for the boys to work out their sexual tension."

"Let me guess," Remus chuckled as he looked back at the picture with a highly annoyed Tom and a blushing Harry, "that didn't work. And I'm sorry, but bringing the pining idiot and the oblivious idiot to talk to their son isn't going to help much either."

"I wasn't oblivious for that long," Sirius defended weakly before grinning sheepishly. 

"Sirius. It was over three years of overt flirting on my part before you realized that I wanted to date you."

"Yeah, well, we've been together for over 13 years so that's like a drop in the bucket of time! Now we're just romantically in love idiots."

Remus glanced up into that stupidly angelic face and sighed happily. True, three years had seemed like an eternity when he was in the midst of trying to woo his best friend but he would do it over again in a heartbeat if it meant keeping these years together.

"Best 13 years of my life," Remus murmured before leaning forward and pressing a soft kiss to those smirking lips. "Do you think they serve tea anywhere around here?" he asked when he pulled away. The soft rain reminded him of home, although the still hot temperatures reminded him that they were half a world away. 

The tall, dark-haired man was absolutely beaming down at his husband and gave him an affectionate squeeze. "I'll find you some, love."

Thirteen years down, and forever to go.

[welcometophu]

Not Your Guardian Angel: Chapter 12

Marked Book 3: Not Your Guardian Angel

Chapter 12

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Pels looks up The Dog Shack on Saturday morning, trying to find something about them online. She learns that they’re in Unity (which she knew) and she finds the phone number to call, but while there are plenty of reviews online, she can’t find a menu or a way to order.

So she presses the numbers and makes the call.

“Hello, this is The Dog Shack. How many dogs would you like and what name should the order be under?” a voice sings out cheerfully.

“Just how many and what name?” Pels asks. “There aren’t any options?”

“Ah, you’re a first timer.” She can hear the deep breath that the speaker takes before blurting out, “Our dogs are all mini dogs on a white-bread bun, which are made fresh three days a week. Each dog comes with cheese, meat sauce, and pickled onion, with optional ketchup and mustard. We don’t have any vegetarian options, and the cheese is a shredded Vermont sharp because our owner doesn’t like New York sharps and thinks cheese sauce is a copout unless it’s made fresh and we don’t have time for that. The wait time will be about fifteen minutes for us to prep your order, and we take cash, credit, or school dining dollars at the counter when you come to pick up. Your order will be packed in foil first, then a biodegradable cardboard carton which we hope you recycle. Each dog costs only $1.50, and you can get ten for $12.”

“Oh.” Pels has no idea how filling a mini dog could be, and at that price they seem like they must be small. “I’ll take… four? And do you have fries or anything?”

“Do you want your fries topped the same as your dogs?”

“Sure. Can I get ketchup on the side for both?” Pels has no idea what she’s doing, but it sounds good anyway, and in the end it sounds like maybe she’s getting breakfast and lunch both for under $10 total, which is a good thing.

Fifteen minutes later she’s waiting in line at the small shack, and ten minutes after that she’s already finding a spot in the stands to sit while teams from four different colleges warm up on the track below. She opens the first cardboard container and takes out a piping hot mini dog and takes a careful bite, meat sauce and cheese dripping back into the container below.

She burns the roof of her mouth, but she thinks it might be worth it, because it really does taste so damned good.

“Isn’t that your friend’s friend’s girlfriend?” Dad murmurs, nudging her shoulder to get her attention.

Where…? Oh. There, standing at the lowest level right below where Pels sits, looking up at her. Cass has her hair in a high ponytail and is wearing a denim jacket with embroidered flowers along the shoulders, her hands shoved into the pockets. She doesn’t seem ashamed to be caught staring.

Pels lifts one hand, then gestures to the seat Dad occupies since to Cass it should look empty.

Cass’s body language is a clear huff of “well, fine” before she climbs the stands and cautiously takes the seat next to Pels. “You’re Nate’s friend,” Cass says.

“One of them,” Pels agrees. She gets the feeling that Nate knows everyone but doesn’t have a lot of friends, which seems almost as sad as knowing no one and having few friends. Maybe even more sad. “And you’re Dax’s girlfriend.”

Cass makes a small noise and pointedly looks down at the track, where Nate and Dax are stretching side by side, talking.

“Not much of a talker, is she?” Dad says.

Pels takes another bite of hot dog. If she’s not talking, she might as well eat.

Two dogs disappear for breakfast, and by the time the first races are starting she’s working on the fries. She burps and is pretty sure she’ll be tasting cheesy meat sauce for the next several hours; thankfully it’s a good kind of taste.

“Hey there.” Shane slides onto the bench on her other side, Jess just beyond him. His cane clatters against the metal, and his hand brushes against Pels’s knee as he reaches for it to set it back within reach. “Did we miss anything?”

“It’s a track meet,” Cass says sharply. “We’ll be sitting around and waiting all day for five minutes of running that will be over before we blink.”

“If that’s how you feel about it, we can just text you when the race is coming up and you can go do something else if you’d rather,” Pels responds before she thinks about it.

Cass closes her mouth, lips pursed tightly.

Jess leans across Shane. “I told Shane that you’d been watching practices, and that you were going to cheer Nate on today. So we thought we’d come lend our voices.”

Cass huffs. “I know why I’ve been watching practice. What’s your reason? You know Nate’s not—”

“It’s peaceful.” Pels cuts her off before she can get into a full rant. “And why are you so angry about it? Nate’s my friend. It’s nice up here, and it isn’t crowded when they’re practicing. I like coming up here to sit in the sun and work.”

Shane leans in close on her other side, his knee and hip pressed against her. “Ignore her. She’s always cranky. Don’t let her drag you into whatever’s got up her ass.”

“I can hear you,” Cass snaps.

“Then try being nice,” Shane counters. “Or go sit somewhere else.”

It’s different from watching practice. When more people wedge into the bench, Jess moves to sit in front of Shane instead, leaning forward as she cups her hands around her mouth and calls out to cheer on a runner that Pels doesn’t recognize.

“Hey.” Shane nudges her again, his hand covering hers where it rests on her knee. “Is this okay?”

Um.

The loudspeaker goes off, but Pels doesn’t process the words, all too aware of Shane’s hand on hers, and the way his fingers dip to thread between hers.

“Nate and Dax are heading to line up.” Shane points as Jess calls out both names loudly. Nate waves back at them, while Dax just looks up, brow furrowed.

Pels waves back with her free hand because it seems like the right thing to do. Her other hand is too warm, and her stomach is doing little flip-flops like maybe the dogs and fries were a bad idea. She still has half of them left for later, sitting on the floor by her feet. Maybe she’ll offer them to someone else, if her stomach doesn’t improve. She can’t decide if this is bad or not.

“This one is the 1500,” Jess says. “It’s short for a long distance runner. I think they’ll be doing a 5k today, too. I don’t know if this meet has a 10k; those are a little more boring to watch, since it’s basically a half hour of running around the track. They’re usually the last event of the day, while everyone else is cleaning up.”

“Dax said he’s running the 1500 and 5k today,” Cass says tightly. “The 5k is mid-afternoon.”

Shane squeezes Pels’s hand. “They’re going to kill it,” he says.

Her hand is warm. Not overheated, not on fire, just comfortably warm. And her stomach is settling, slowly, although it still feels like butterflies might have taken root. Or maybe bees. Yes, bees, buzzing around but also building a honeycomb sweetness that spreads through her limbs.

Who knew holding hands could feel so… nice.

The loudspeaker burbles again, and the runners resolve into a single line across the track. Nate stands next to Dax, tall and lanky, bouncing on his toes as he shakes his arms. Most of the runners look like Nate—thin and rangy, some shorter than others. Dax has a heavier build, with a longer torso and shorter legs. He looks out of place on the field, both in build and in the way he stands quietly with no outward energy.

A sharp noise sounds, and the runners all crouch in position, and with a popping sound, they’re off.

They crowd together, and for a moment it’s hard to figure out who’s who. Pels sees a mass of jerseys and tries to pick out the white with gold and purple trim that are Nate and Dax. She holds her breath as they go down the long, straight length, and as they enter the first curve she realizes that they’ve moved from across the track into a small pack in the two inner lanes. She finally finds Dax in the middle of the pack, his curls just long enough to bounce with every step. Nate is second from the front, edging away from the pack, just behind the frontrunner dressed in red and blue.

For the first time, Pels notices Nate’s running shoes, which are a vivid gold, shining with every step, matching the stripes on his jersey.

“Go Nate! Go Dax!” Jess screams, her hands cupped around her mouth like a megaphone.

Pels realizes she’s gripping Shane tightly as the first minute passes and the first lap completes. She glances at him, and he only smiles and squeezes her fingers gently as if to say that it’s fine. She holds on tight and turns her attention back to the race.

The runner in red and blue keeps inching away from the pack, but Nate keeps up with him, staying just a step behind, so close that Pels is afraid they could trip over each other. She can see the way the runner at the lead glances back as if to see if Nate’s still there, and he always is. They move away from the main pack, and Dax moves up, sliding into the third position at the head of the middle group. Two of the runners are falling behind, the pack leaving them as they keep running through the second and third laps.

As the final lap begins, the pack has stretched out, and the results look clear cut. The runner in red and blue picks up the pace again, his face flushed, and Pels imagines she can see the stridor of his breath.

From behind, Dax puts on a burst of speed, moving into the second lane as he approaches Nate. But Nate must hear him coming, because he speeds up as well, passing the runner who was in first before Dax can. They both go flying by him as if he’s standing still, and Nate crosses the finish line just ahead of Dax. They fall on each other on the other side, holding each other up and patting each other’s backs as the crowd screams.

Cass exhales roughly.

“That’s our boys!” Jess shouts, her voice hoarse from yelling. “Go PHU!”

That was possibly the most intense three and a half minutes of Pels’s life. As the adrenalin fades, she realizes she’s still anchored with Shane’s hand around hers, and the liquid honey in her gut has warmed her all the way up to her eyeballs. She’s light-headed; as she slowly disengages and stands, she wavers until Dad props her upright.

Shane grabs his cane, bracing himself to rise as well. He reaches one hand for her shoulder. “You okay?”

“Yeah. Of course. I’m just going to—” Pels is blocked in with Shane on one side and Cass on the other. She stands carefully so she doesn’t step on the food she has resting at her feet, and she can’t go down because Jess is in front of them.

No one is sitting directly behind them, and Pels carefully climbs up to the next row in the stands. “I’m going to go pee,” she says bluntly, and heads for the stairs. She thinks there’s conversation behind her, but she doesn’t stick around to find out what it might be.

They’re sitting in her usual spot for watching practice, on the opposite side of the track from the building. She makes her way around the perimeter, and by the time she gets inside she’s breathing more evenly. “What even was that?” she grumbles.

“Were you flustered by holding hands, or by the race?” Dad grins when she glares at him. “Holding hands, then. That’s called attraction, Pels. Which you feel for Shane. Your soulmate.”

“I don’t like it.” It’s a lie, of course. That warm honey sensation was nice, just confusing. And overwhelming. Maybe she does like it, but she hates it at the same time, like something’s just slipped out of her control again.

Being on her own she can control. When it’s just her—well, and Dad—she knows what to expect. This is throwing in all kinds of variables and turning her life from simple addition into calculus. And unlike some people who are math majors, she really doesn’t enjoy calculus.

She pushes open the door of the bathroom and waits for a turn at the sink so she can wash her face and push at her hair as if she can do anything about the curls. She fingercombs them, taking them from windswept to just slightly messy, and pats everything back in place.

“Here.”

Cass stands to her left, a hair tie dangling from one fingertip. When Pels just looks at her, Cass pushes her hand closer. “Take it,” she orders. “Do something about that mop or when the wind kicks up again you’re going to lose an eye from it blowing all over. Or someone else will.” As soon as Pels cautiously takes the hair tie, Cass stands with her hands on her hips, head tilted as she looks her over critically. “Your hair is such an odd length. Do you style it?”

“It doesn’t really hold a style, so I just pick a length and run with it, and try to remember to keep it from getting too long. I’m lucky it doesn’t frizz.” It’s more like ringlets as long as she remembers to keep it from going wild. Many ringlets. Shorter ones for bangs and gradually longer down the side of her face. She can just barely pull it back into a ponytail, but it does keep the bulk of it away from her face, which isn’t a bad thing. “Thanks.”

“Hmph.” Cass tugs the scrunchy out of her own hair, running her fingers through it before braiding it quickly and tying it again. “You need all the help you can get.”

“Rude,” Dad says.

“You don’t need to take it out on me,” Pels tells her. The bathroom is less crowded now, so Pels turns to lean against the sink next to Cass, figuring if someone needs it, they’ll tell her to move. “I get it. You’re cranky.”

Cass pulls lip gloss out of her bag and leans closer to the mirror, pursing her lips before carefully putting it on. “You don’t know me, and I don’t know what you think about me—”

“You don’t like Dax doing track.”

Cass straightens quickly, hand falling as she looks at Pels. No, not looking—staring. Pels feels as if Cass is trying to look through her and see her squishy guts on the inside. Pels crosses her arms and glares back.

“I’m right,” Pels says.

“So what if you are?” Cass counters.

“You could talk about it.” Pels shrugs one shoulder. “I mean, I already know you’re angry, so it’s not like you’ll lose any points if you bitch about it. And you’ve already got acting like a complete bitch nailed so far, so.” She shrugs again. “Just go for it already.”

“I just don’t understand why he has to take up another sport,” Cass mutters under her breath. She puts away the lip gloss and pulls out mascara, touching up her lashes. “He’s so busy with football in the fall, and with everything going on—” She cuts off. “I just thought that maybe we’d get a break this spring. That we could spend more time together. And now he’s got practice every afternoon and he’s spending extra time working with Nate, and he hasn’t got any time left for me.”

“So you’re jealous,” Pels says quietly.

“You do understand human emotion,” Dad observes.

It’s always easier to see something from the outside, especially something like this. Besides. Being angry because something’s out of her control is a feeling that Pels is intimately familiar with, and it’s not difficult to recognize it in Cass.

“Dax is really good at it,” Pels says slowly. “I mean, he and Nate took first and second in that race and made it look easy. When they started passing that guy, he couldn’t keep up. There was nothing anyone else could do, and it looked like if he’d tried, Dax and Nate would’ve passed him anyway. Aren’t you proud of your boyfriend?”

“Hmph.” Cass tucks her mascara away and leans on the edge of the sink, looking down.

Pels isn’t sure if sad is better than angry.

“I thought you were all tiny, sharp angles.” Cass’s voice is sharp, but muted. “Where’s this sympathy coming from?”

“Oh, I suck at people, and yes, I know what it’s like to be angry all the time. Which means you are a person I suck a little less at getting because you might not be small, but you try to keep a barbed wire fence around yourself,” Pels shoots back. She smirks because Cass’s scowl means she’s got it right. “Besides. I like Nate. He’s not trying to steal your boyfriend. I don’t think he could if he tried. I mean. Would any guy who doesn’t love you to the moon and back put up with your shit?”

Dad laughs loud enough that Pels winces. “Now who’s being rude?” He sounds proud of her for it.

Cass huffs. “Whatever. I need a coffee. Come on.”

Somehow Pels ends up with a coffee in each hand while Cass carries two as well. When they make their way back to the bleachers, Cass shoves one of her cups towards Jess. “Here,” she says, before dropping a small bag of sugar, cream, and stirrers on the bench next to her.

Pels gives one of hers to Shane, then opens her cup enough to inhale. It’s a small cup, which isn’t nearly enough caffeine in her opinion, but it is warm on her hands. She cradles it, enjoying the warmth more than the taste for the moment.

Shane adds cream to his coffee, while Jess adds both sugar and cream. As Shane sits back, he leans closer to Pels, and she leans into his warmth before she thinks better of it. Shane shifts his coffee to the hand further from Pels, then lifts his arm.

“He’s offering to keep you warm,” Dad points out.

“Oh,” Pels exhales. She slides the few millimeters closer to Shane, his warmth heavy against her side as he drops his arm over her shoulder and somehow tucks her even closer.

It’s not awful.

It might even be good.

Jess is screaming at someone in purple and gold that Pels doesn’t recognize, standing up and punching the air when they finish the race in second place. Pels keeps close to Shane to avoid being touched, relaxing as Jess settles down again.

Jess somehow seems to know more people on the track team than any of them, and she keeps up a running commentary through the afternoon. She even manages to pull Cass into conversation, begrudging as it seems. Pels uses the time to just watch them all, and eventually eat the remains of her hot dogs and fries, which are still somehow good when cold.

By the time the final race comes up, and Nate and Dax line up for the 5k, Pels can almost ignore the fact that her butt is cold and a little numb from sitting too long. She knows there’s only fifteen minutes more to watch, and around the track most of the teams are already cleaning and packing gear.

As they start, there are more than twenty runners on the track, spread out across, bunching up as they all try and make it to the inner lane. Somehow Nate and Dax are in the middle of the pack. Pels clenches her hands together tightly to see them there, walled in by bodies all around them. But both Dax and Nate seem relaxed, running easily through the first lap.

It’s not an exciting race for most of it. There comes a point about halfway through where some of the pack fall behind, maybe a half dozen racers trailing the rest. Another lap, and a few more fall away, until only a handful remain in a tight group at the head.

One of the racers makes his move with three laps to go, pulling away and putting several paces between himself and the pack. Nate moves up as well, taking the space between him and the pack, and Pels can see the plan clearly after the earlier race. When the final lap begins, Nate starts pushing around the outside, forcing the runner in first to speed up. Dax comes out of the pack, stride lengthening just enough to keep him close to the frontrunners along with one other racer. By halfway through the lap, it’s obvious that unless someone else makes a move now, these four are vying for the top spots.

When they hit the straightaway, Dax somehow seems to go into overdrive, head down just a little as he pushes past both Nate and the other runner. Nate glances at him, and joins him, loping a half step behind him, leaving the others in the dust even as he’s losing ground when Dax somehow sprints through the final run. Dax slows after he crosses the line, and Nate catches up, and together they walk around the ring, Nate’s arm slung across Dax’s shoulder.

Pels joins her friends in jumping up and screaming, because that seems to be the right thing to do.

Cass grabs her phone and fires off a text. “Come on. They’ll meet us at Teas Please, because no one ever seems to have anywhere else to go.”

Dad bumps into Pels, and she stumbles forward, hands reaching out. For a moment she’s afraid she’s either going to fall into Jess or over the bench and crack her head open on the one below, then Shane’s arms wrap around her, pulling her back against him.

“You okay?” he murmurs, breath warm against her ear.

Pels’s cheeks heat up. “Yeah. I’m fine,” she says.

Jess bites her lip and turns away. There’s an uncomfortable twist in Pels’s gut, like she knows she’s done something wrong and it wasn’t even her fault.

“Sometimes I’m a klutz,” she says, which isn’t the whole truth, but isn’t a lie either. Cass wasn’t there for the guardian angel reveal, and Pels isn’t sure she’s ready to be that out to the school about her Talent yet. “Thanks for the save.”

“If I hadn’t, Jess would’ve,” Shane says. He grabs his cane, and Pels thinks he’s favoring his leg as he inches down the row to the stairs.

“And that’s my fault,” she mutters. “Good job, pushing people around until they get hurt.”

“If you’d just—”

“Stay out of it,” she hisses under her breath, cutting Dad off. “Don’t try to help.”

“Whatever it is you’re talking about, rest assured that I wasn’t trying to help,” Cass says idly. “But you’re in my way, so just keep moving and we can get out of here.” She gives Pels a little nudge.

They make it out of the bleachers without further mishap. The teams have somehow already managed to leave the field, and Cass is half focused on her phone and half on walking, giving small reports on the status of Nate and Dax as they move along. They have to cross campus entirely to get to Teas Please, and Nate and Dax manage to catch up with them before they do so.

Dax picks Cass up and kisses her, one hand in her hair and one on her ass as Cass wraps her legs around him to hold on. Pels can’t figure out how Cass could possibly be insecure in that relationship.

Nate, on the other hand, wears his heart on his sleeve when he watches the way Dax greets Cass. Despite the smile he pastes on as they walk into Teas Please, Pels can see that he’s still wistful.

God, when she actually looks, apparently she can see people being emotional. She blames this entirely on Dad. She can barely handle her own emotions; she really doesn’t want to have to deal with everyone else’s as well.

Speaking of… Pels twists and looks behind herself. Where the hell did Dad even go? Is she actually being let out on her own?

“I don’t have your table.” Serina looks up as soon as they enter, her brow furrowed. There are bags under her eyes, and she pauses long enough to yawn before she grabs a stack of menus. “How many—” She counts under her breath, then nods quickly. “Okay. Six. I’m sorry, I can’t get the booth, but we can pull a couple tables together in the front. It’s like everyone who was at your meet came in here all at once, and there’s a group from UAlbany at the big back table, and I just—”

“It’s okay.” Nate lays a hand on Serina’s shoulder and she just stops dead, shoulders slumping like a string’s been cut. “Hey,” he says softly. “Have you been sleeping?”

She shrugs one shoulder. “Sometimes. Maybe. Mostly. I don’t know. It’s weird. Everything’s weird, y’know? I’m just kind of tired and over everything, and it’s a bit much, and I just need Carolyn to come back and then everything will be okay. I think I failed a test this week.”

Everyone’s still missing. It’s been a week, and there’s been no sign of Nikita.

And Pels just somehow… forgot.

Not entirely. She’s seen Rory seeming lost without Alaric around, and Kit looking much the same. But it slips from her mind in the times between, not affecting her the same way it affects them.

She feels bad about that.

“They’ll be back,” Nate says firmly. “I’m sure of it. Carolyn would never leave you and Kit behind.”

“Besides,” Dax says. “Orson’s not settled. I can still feel his unfinished business.” He taps the side of his head. “Which means Alaric has to come back, or I’ll kill him myself, then yell at his ghost.”

“Honestly,” Cass mutters. “Can’t we have one meal without drama?”

“Hey.” Shane catches Pels’s hand. “Can we talk for a minute? Before we go in?”

They’re already in, crowded into the space around the podium at the front of the restaurant. But Pels nods and lets Shane tug her back outside, as the others go on to claim space inside Teas Please.

“I forgot,” she says with a low sigh. “Nikita’s missing, and I forgot.”

“Are you worried?” Shane asks, and when she nods, he keeps going, “then it’s fine. It’s like grieving. It doesn’t happen all the time, and you have to keep living your life, too. She’ll be back. They’ll be back.” He drops her hand and takes a step back, leaning on his cane. “I just wanted to ask you something.”

Pels glances to her right and left. Dad’s still suspiciously missing, and she doesn’t know why. Being on her own is unusual. “Okay,” she says slowly.

“You went out with Jess.” Shane leans back, letting the front wall of the restaurant take his weight. “And I’d like you to go out with me. Just us. On a date.”

“I feel like you guys are trying to woo me,” Pels grumbles. “Like you set up some kind of a plan to tag team to tame the wild thing—” She cuts off as his expression twists into something rueful. “You did. You totally did.”

“Maybe a little,” Shane admits. “Still. What do you think? I just—I feel like we should give this a chance.”

This.

She doesn’t look down at her wrist, but she knows the ink is there.

Dad’s nowhere around, but she can still hear his voice saying, “He’s right. Just give it a chance,” or maybe, “going out with Jess didn’t kill you, did it?”

It’s funny how he impacts her life without even being present.

She sighs heavily, crossing her arms. “Fine.”

“Fine?”

“Fine,” she repeats. “Okay. Yes. Fine. We’ll go on a date. That is not a group thing like this. You can even hold my hand since obviously touching you is not destroying my soul any more than it already has.”

“We don’t want to destroy your soul,” Shane says quietly. He carefully stands again, balanced with one hand on his cane and the other held out to Pels. She slips her hand in his and matches his pace as they walk in.

They may not want to destroy her soul, but they could. It’d be so easy, and Pels is so used to it. Every time she gets used to something it’s snatched away.

And this time Dad isn’t even here telling her that maybe it’s okay, that maybe this time everything will turn out just fine.

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[eclecticstarlightconnoisseur]

EDINBURGH TO BOSTON - CHAPTER 14 - THE ARGUMENT: WE SAID MORE THAN WE MEANT

Good evening all, I am excited to have Chapter 14 ready as I promised. This picks up right after Chapter 13. Our lovebirds continue to grapple with the events of the evening. Claire has some fear and anxiety while Jamie is dealing with insecurity and guilt. None of these feelings are a good mix. I do need to thank my betas for their magnificent and tireless help, suggestions, and comments. Thank you @curlsgetdemgurls and @scubalass. You guys keep me on my toes and push me to do my best. I honestly don’t know how I would do this without you. 🧡🧡🧡🧡

As always I welcome any thoughts suggestions, comments you would like to share with me.

I hope you enjoy reading.

Without further ado I give you:  Edinburgh to Boston

Chapter 14

The Argument: We Said More Than We Meant

Hyperawareness. All of her senses became heightened. Sight. Hearing. Smell. Taste. Touch. She craved these sensations wishing to imprint them forever in her heart and mind. Because that would be all that would be left of these last moments with him after she admitted the truth. It would all go to hell after she told him how she traded her honor in order to keep his intact.

Sight.

Looking up she took in Jamie’s vivid blue eyes, the color of a cloudless summer sky. He beheld her in loving adoration. Would he, could he ever look at her this way again? His glorious mane of hair thick, luxurious and curling at the nape. For the first time, she noticed it had a multitude of colors, cinnabar, gold, cinnamon, and the wee odd bit of silver. How she loved to run her fingers through his locks. Those lips, full, soft, and oh so tender. And what they did to her. She would miss these things. She would miss everything about him even looking at his scars. He thought them ugly, disfiguring. The deformity formed a webbing of thickened tissue, wheals, and ridges as if created by a blind and demented spider. She thought them noble. His badge of courage as she came to think of them. They embodied him, his true character, brave, selfless, compassionate, loyal. She shuddered with the thought of her imminent loss.

Hearing.

Placing her ear over the center of his chest, she listened to the steady cadence of his heart.  Even and strong. At that moment she believed with complete surety, it beat only for her. Would it continue to do so, or would it change becoming discordant, erratic, or worse yet, perhaps silent to her?  The sound of his voice, deep, rich, and smokey like a fine aged whisky. When he spoke to soothe the frightened, his tone was soft, dulcet and as smooth as melted honey. And when in the throes of passion, his voice became husky, sensuous, tantalizing.  A voice that could ignite a blazing need in her smoldering in her core sending her to near completion. Fear overcame her that his heart and voice would grow cold to her. 

Smell.

She took a deep breath, breathing him in. He smelled of wine, whisky, and a coppery tang of blood. Not his, but another’s. And there was something else. Something that could only be described as unique, heady, and blatantly male about his scent. A smell that one could only describe as Jamie. Warm, woodsy, with a musky essence. Would she be able to continue to inhale and savor his own personal perfume or would she be condemned to a life void of his fragrance?

Taste.

The sense of taste embodied the essence of Jamie. His mouth, tongue, and breath exuded his own fundamental substance. And what they could do to her! They brought her to heights of pleasure causing her to shiver and her knees buckle.  His kiss! How his kiss intoxicated her! His kiss, rich and full-bodied as a fine red wine, inflamed her making her recklessly wanton. Oh, and the taste of his skin, salty with sweat after their exertions. Ah, to know the flavor of his manhood, tangy, musky. The looming loss of their intimacy made her want to weep.

Touch

She hungered for Jamie’s touch. She needed it like she needed air to breathe. Fingers linked together. Meaningless patterns stroked over her hands and body. Fingertips light, sure, dancing over her skin like the wings of a butterfly. Cupping her cheek in tenderness, melting into the caress. Safe. Always safe as he clasped her tightly to his chest surrounding her with his arms.  When he spoke, she could feel his burr resonate, vibrating in his chest. He virtually purred, she thought, much like a large ginger cat. His intimate touches. Large, strong hands slid over her cataloging every curve and dip. Embracing. The bold caress of mouth and tongue raining a trail fiery kisses down her body. They left her burning white-hot like the tail of a comet leaving the sun’s orbit causing her to quiver and scream. Would she survive without his touch? She doubted it and mourned its loss.

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

“Mo chridhe will ye no’ tell me what ails ye? I could see that ye were fashed about something after ye spoke with Joe,” Jamie implored. They stood near the ED door preparing to exit. Each time the door slid open a gust of cold wind brushed over their skin.

She let out a breath she didn’t know she was holding.“Actually, I’m not sure how to tell you this. In all honesty, I thought I would wait until we returned to Scotland to tell you.” Jamie began to speak, but Claire raised a hand seeking his silence. “I’m not pressing charges against Frank,” she said bluntly.

Jamie’s jaw dropped open, his eyes widened. “Ye canna be serious. Ye must! I canna believe... He deserves to be punished, Sassenach,” he sputtered.

“No, I gave him my word that I wouldn’t press charges against him if he dropped his threat of having you arrested. I won’t allow it. I will not let you go to jail because of me. It’s simply out of the question.” She struck a defiant pose chin jutting out and tiger eyes gleaming daring him to challenge her,  “I don’t want you to have an arrest record even though you’re innocent because you acted to defend me. Christ, Jamie, think. You will have to report it at home to the licensing board, and the hospital. The documentation. The questions. The innuendos. You may come up for review. It will follow you forever.” She had chosen her path and no one, not even Jamie Fraser, could deter her from it. “I won’t let this happen to you because of me,” she said adamantly. Claire broke out of his arms giving him a piercing look.

“I see. And yer telling me I have no say in this matter then?” He stared at her angrily balling up his fists tightly at his side. His furor near out of control, like a volcano ready to erupt. 

“Frank assaulted me! I think I should choose what I want to do about it,” she retorted.

Jamie made a Scottish noise of disgust in the back of his throat. 

“Claire,”  he said with as much patience as he could muster, “I believed that as a couple, we should talk about things together, ye ken? Especially when it affects both of us. Ye made a decision about my life, my practice, and our relationship without consulting me did ye no’?”

He scrubbed his hand over his face, rucking his hand through his hair making it stand on end.

“Damn it, Sassenach! Ye take it into yer mind to do as ye please. First, ye dinna follow behind me. No! Why should ye? I’m only yer man, why come with me? Then, I hear ye scream and what do I see? Hmm? I see that bastard touching ye in a filthy and disgusting way! In front of the whole restaurant no less! People will think I’m no’ a man and canna protect my woman!” he huffed.

His Scots accent became increasingly broader, a sure sign of his increasing agitation. A burgeoning redness slowly crept up his face. He kept his teeth clenched firmly shut, narrowing his eyes to slits. Jamie looked like a man on the verge of exploding.

“Oh, your woman, your woman! So, you believe this is all about you, hmm? About what you think and how you feel? As you see it, I’m only fit to do as I’m told, huh? I’ll wager you think that this is all my fault, don’t you? Well, your bloody wrong about that James Fraser. Bloody wrong.”

“Wrong, ye think? If ye had followed right behind me, instead of doing god knows what none of this would have happened,” he snarled.

“Do you think I did that on purpose? That I deliberately let him touch me. Do you think I liked what he did to me? Well, you certainly need to reconsider your opinion.” Claire raised her hand to slap Jamie across the face. 

He caught her hand by the wrist before contact. “I would strongly suggest that ye dinna do that, Claire. Ye would regret it,” he growled fiercely. 

“Why? Will you beat me if I do? Like some 18th century man putting his wife in her place?” Tears burned in the back of her eyes. Damn it if she would let him see her cry. No man would ever strike her again.

Jamie’s eyes opened wide, his mouth hung open. Her implication struck him deeply as if someone punched him in the gut. She misinterpreted what he said. He let go of Beauchamp’s wrist. “Claire, no. Never! I couldna… wouldna ever,” he stammered. “Ye need tae believe me, I wouldna. All I meant was that you would feel bad if ye did. It’s not like you to behave like this.  Please believe me, I would never hurt ye,” he implored.

A crowd began to gather listening to them argue.  Someone had reported a disturbance at the exit of the ED to security. Two members of the team approached the scene warily evaluating the altercation.

“Is everything alright here?” queried Sargent O’Brien. Sargent O’Brien stood 6 feet tall just several inches shorter than Jamie. A trim man with dark chocolate eyes and sandy-colored hair he looked every bit the person in charge. His partner Officer Roberts, by contrast, wore his black hair clipped into a short crew cut. His emerald green eyes bore a striking resemblance to a snake. Small, round, beady, with thick lids. Powerfully built, he obviously served as the muscle for the pair. He made an imposing presence. The man unnerved Claire.

“Aye, Sargent O’Brien, Jamie said after reading the man’s name tag.  ‘Tis fine. It has been a long day and a long evening. ‘Tis nothing serious, we both said more than we meant.” Jamie looked to Claire for confirmation that she gave with a nod. 

Joe Abernathy strode purposely toward the fracas, “Officers, is everything alright?” 

“Dr. Abernathy, someone reported a disturbance. We came upon these people having a rather heated discussion.”

“Well, I can vouch for them,” said Joe. “They are close personal friends and had a pretty rough day.  I think they just need to go home and get some sleep.” He looked at both of them with eyebrows raised in suggestion. 

“Aye, yer right. Come, Sassenach, I think we should follow Dr. Abernathy’s advice.”

Claire walked over to Joe, gave him a kiss on the cheek whispering, “Thanks for rescuing me again Joe. You’re the best.” Likewise, Jamie shook his hand thanking him again.

They left quickly to their waiting car. Their behavior toward each other remained cool and detached. Jaime entered the car on the left while Claire got in on the right. Each sat back staring out the window engrossed in their own thoughts. The gulf steadily widening between them. They rode back to the hotel in self-absorbed silence.

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

Jamie opened the hotel door allowing Claire to enter first. Removing her coat and shawl, she let out a deep sigh of relief that the trauma of the night, hopefully, appeared over.  The Scot followed suit removing his overcoat and jacket. Neither of them spoke to the other.

Rummaging through her clothes, Claire found her black yoga pants and her favorite soft tee shirt. Taking both she went to change in the bathroom. Closing the door behind her she let out her breath. Muttering to herself, “Now what the fuck should I do?” She did not expect this type of reaction from him, sullen and uncommunicative. Normally, when things bothered him, he spoke his mind. Now...he spoke to her only if he had to. She washed what makeup that remained on her face off and changed quickly into her clothes. She suddenly did not feel comfortable wearing her nightgown in front of him now.

Jamie took advantage of Claire’s absence to similarly change. He struggled with buttons and zippers because of the splints but managed to accomplish his task. He dressed in his winter running gear. If you asked him why he dressed that way, he couldn’t have told you. He sat there on the edge of the bed, running his hand through his hair and over his face. “Now what?” All through the drive back to the hotel, he asked himself the same question. An answer. That’s what he wanted and needed. She still held something back from him, but what? What could she not tell him, he wondered. What he really wanted to know, did she still love the bastard and want him. He never wanted to push her to tell him more than she seemed comfortable with, but he had to ask.

Claire emerged from the bathroom and cleared her throat to make her presence in the room known.  Looking at her, he thought she felt the awkwardness between them too.

“Fancy a dram, lass?”

“That would be nice.” She made no move to come near him. 

“Nice,” he thought. Could she have given a more bland answer? He poured them each a dram of whisky and gave her one of the glasses.  

“Slàinte,” he said as he tipped the glass back drinking it in one swallow.

She sipped her whisky offering him a weak smile. He stopped calling her all the pet names he had for her. The ones that she couldn’t pronounce or even knew what they meant. She had never bothered to ask.

The Scot refilled his glass with a large measure of the amber spirit observing that it matched the color of her eyes. Jamie sat down heavily on the bed and began to roll the glass between his palms as if to warm the liquid. 

He looked up at her. She looked so small, so lost standing there as if she didn’t know what to do.

“Claire, I dinna mean to push ye to tell me something ye dinna want to, but I need to ken. I need the truth.”  He took a deep breath steeling himself to ask the questions he needed answered. Speaking softly with a slight tremor in his voice, “Do ye love the man? Do ye want him back? I mean after ye saw him, maybe ye had a change of heart. He was yer husband. Is that why ye dinna want him arrested?” He looked at her with the most pained expression on his face. A face in literal torment. 

She watched as the glass fell from her hand. The tawny fluid spilled out as the crystal spiraled downward. Hitting the hardwood floor, it splintered into hundreds of prismatic pieces reflecting the light of the room.

She stood in front of him shaking violently. “You fucking bastard!” she thundered at him. “I told you about him and what he did to me. The ridicule, the humiliation, the embarrassment. For years and years, it went on. Why would you even think...why would you suggest that I would want him back?” 

“You know what I think, Fraser? I think this is about you and your pride. You left me there alone.    He touched something that you believe is yours and you can’t stand it. Can you?” she growled.  Her hands were clenched tightly at her side. “You left me to fight him off on my own, to...to defend myself. You promised to always see me safe. And you didn’t.” She began to breathe rapidly in short rasping gulps trying to fill her lungs with enough air. “Now you have the gall, the unmitigated audacity to ask me if I still want him if I still have feelings for him? Jesus Christ, I can’t believe that you asked me that! Don’t you understand that it’s you that I love and only you?” 

But you didn’t tell him the whole truth now, did you? That’s your dark little secret. He doesn’t know the depth of what happened. How could he understand any of this? You need to tell him and trust him.

There it was.  A flood of feelings rushing over her like a cataract of water making its downward descent. Anger. Helplessness. Terror. The memories of that night long ago. It became all too clear, all too vivid to her. 

 He stood, walking toward her, wanting to take her in his arms to comfort and console her. He wanted to erase what happened and replace it with his love.

“Claire, I…” 

She turned and strode away from him, arms wrapped tightly around her own body giving herself the comfort she believed he could not.

He looked at her wishing he could find something to say, something to do that would ease her pain, her grief. But nothing came to mind. What could he say? She was right. He had failed her in a most abysmal way.

Walking toward the closet, Jamie grabbed his jacket, took the room key, and picked up a bottle of whisky.

Claire watched as the big Scot walked over to the door and left the room. The last thing she heard was the sound of the latch as it clicked shut behind him.

[hollenka99]

The One Where Jackie Meets The Others

Summary: Chapter 4. Jackie enjoys a couple trips out with Marvin.

Warnings: death and blood mentions

@bupine @badlypostedeverything

Things don't smoothly transition back to the way they were following that morning. However, they both agreed it was clear Anti's intentions were to divide them. Therefore, it would be dumb to give him that satisfaction. When Marvin asks, out of pure curiosity, about the mullet, Jackie doesn't really have an answer. He'd simply liked the style. But maybe it was time to move on. The chances of him returning to the '80s were particularly slim. With the green having faded weeks ago, he has it cut so it now only reaches his ears. The style is nice but he does miss his old look. He supposes Marvin was pleased with this development. He definitely got a lot of joy from teasing Jackie about how much curlier his shorter hair became following showers. The only quip he has in response is that the hero's hair wasn't much better when wet either. The next thing on the agenda was the excursion to Pizza Hut. The four of them agree to meet on Thursday. In preparation, Marvin offers Jackie a copy of the restaurant's document on allergy information. Marvin faces falls when he learns just how many items he loved posed a certain risk to Jackie's health. Nope, no pepperoni for him. No garlic breadsticks or cheesy fries either. Fried items were a contamination risk too, apparently. He lies when his friend asks about stuffed crust. Jackie trying the crust option was one of the main reasons they'd agreed to visit the establishment. Besides, it wasn't guaranteed it would trigger a reaction. He could possibly get away with sampling a little of Marvin's crust if he didn't push his luck. It is comforting to learn Henrik, the friend who made educational videos for others, had coeliac's disease and therefore had to be wary when eating as well. Jameson was Marvin's cousin of sorts. Their grandmothers had been sisters. Then their mothers were friends, leading to their sons to develop a good relationship while growing up. Jameson was a performer who used his control over time and sound for entertainment purposes. He and Marvin frustratingly run late due to the hero misplacing his wallet. They are apologetic to Henrik and Jameson who have already found a table and ordered drinks for themselves. Jameson has neat brown hair that extends down his face to his jawline and closely surrounds his mouth. Henrik, on the other hand, has black hair which has been swept back as well as glasses. The two of them promise they don't mind the delay. They haven't been here for ages anyway. In time, four pizzas are delivered to the table. There is the pan BBQ americano, gluten free Hawaiian, cheesy bites pepperoni and stuffed crust BBQ beef and onion. Marvin suggests he and Jackie trade a slice. His friend makes a supposedly humourous comment about how he identifies as Jackie's pizza base but it's lost on the former drummer. How someone can deeply relate to dough that's been baked in a pan, Jackie has no clue. He allows Marvin to take a slice regardless. However, when it comes to him returning the gesture, Jackie insists he only wants a little bit of his friend's crust. Half a slice's worth of stuffed crust is placed on top of his own pizza. Jackie regrets it as soon as it enters his mouth. God damn it, it was actually really tasty. He could see why Marvin was so enthusiastic about it. His expression remains neutral as he chews, well aware he has an audience. He hates how disappointed Marvin looks when Jackie gives a bullshit review about the cheese within being too chewy. Allergies and cross-contamination risks fucking sucked. Screw his body for being an asshole who overreacted to a commonly used spice. "Oh well, more for me." Marvin winks as he recovers from the blow before stealing a piece of chicken from Jackie plate. Alright, maybe letting one small inconvenience ruin tonight in his mind was stupid. Marvin had said he'd act as translator. Which was a lovely gesture. Jackie was grateful he was prepared to sacrifice part of his evening to play the middleman so he and Jameson could communicate. Except Marvin got sidetracked at one point and had delved into a whole conversation with his cousin, spoke entirely in BSL. It looked like a funny one too. Jackie was glad the pair were enjoying their evening. He stuck to conversing with Henrik instead. It's a struggle as they don't seem to have much in common. That is until Jackie absentmindedly asked what sort of food Henrik enjoyed. This in turn triggered the German man sitting opposite him to enthuse about fried potato slices with pieces of bacon and onion. Jackie himself launches into a story about how his mother used to work with a woman who had family in West Germany. Then this German colleague would sometimes write down a recipe or two to give to them. In no uncertain terms, those foreign dishes beat jacket potatoes or beans on toast any day. The four men give their stomachs a chance to settle a little while they chat as a group. Then it was time to finish off the night with ice cream shakes. Two strawberries, an oreo and a chocoholic are brought to the table. Although there had been several mentions of what Jameson did for a living, it is only at this point that a proper conversation about is initiated. "Jameson's doing a show on the 4th. I think we should go. What do you say?" Jackie's response is delayed due to Marvin making the suggestion just as he takes a long sip of his strawberry shake. "Oh uh, yeah, sure. What exactly will be in the show? Time stuff, right?" Jameson taps the side of his nose with a wry smile. The younger of the cousins translates this as "I believe he's saying that's for him to know and for you to find out." The performer signs something. "Expect the unexpected." Marvin rolls his eyes with a smile remaining on his face. "Oh yeah, like when you get a younger member of the audience to volunteer for your sound tricks. I once heard Hacker T Dog from CBBC sing Thinking Out Loud, you know. That was an experience." Jameson makes a comment. "I haven't seen the weirdest combinations? Well yeah, I sure hope I haven't. Kids' minds can come up with bizarre things. Henrik, especially, should know that." Henrik nods to this with a sense that this was a profound understatement. The banter carries on and Jackie soon feels like less of an outsider. The ice creams shakes eventually get drained as the evening draws to a close. Once all the goodbyes and "It was nice to meet you"s are over, the tow of them hop into Marvin's car to head home. Bohemian Rhapsody happens to begin playing on the radio as they set off. Jackie doesn't even have to ask before he's turning the volume up for both their benefits. They haphazardly fall into a duet. Jackie's heard Marvin singing absentmindedly to himself before this. He therefore already knows he has a good voice. But it isn't until tonight that he's able to hear it out loud. "I need you to do me a favour. Do you mind headbanging like in Wayne's World?" "What?" "Wayne's World. Never seen the film myself but there's a pretty well known scene where a bunch of them are in the car while this song is playing. Then during the instrumental that's coming up, they really rock out. I've always wanted to do it while in a car but I always seem to be the driver when I get the chance. So do you mind rocking out in a minute on my behalf?" Jackie chuckles. "Sure. My pleasure." As Freddie finishes claiming Beelzebub has a devil put aside for him, Jackie springs into action. He moves his head back and forth in rapid succession to the music. The pair follow along with the next verse as loudly as possible. At least, they attempt to. It isn't long before they have both descended into raucous laughter. "Thanks!" Marvin manages in between breaths when it calms. "We should do that again. With us stationary next time so you can do it too." "Deal." Marvin bursts into laughter once more and Jackie thinks he's growing particularly fond of it. --- Another crime scene, another person fighting to remain alive while bleeding from the neck. Cat is only able to stand by while the paramedics do their job. He'd like to beg them to not take this guy to hospital, to not risk history repeating itself. But it's not like he can ask anyone to skip properly treating the victim. He's sure everyone here knows this situation is a catch 22. However, they can't do anything other than perform their jobs. It takes great deal of convincing but Cat is allowed to stay outside the patient's room for the night. He's been standing guard for a good while when midnight passes. A doctor comes along on her rounds. She speaks to Cat and the other member of security he's been spending the night with. While she's talking, Anti's latest victim begins coding. Any and all resuscitation efforts prove futile. The guy is gone. So is the doctor. If she even existed in the first place. And Cat suspects Anti himself is long gone too. The day afterwards, he catches some reporting of the murder while flicking through channels. The victim has an identity now. There's a name, age and grieving loved ones. The television is bitterly switched off as Marvin searches for his notebook instead. Joining the countless other entries is 27/4/19 - Nick Shaw, 34, wife + 2 little kids The next time he sees Anti, he's not fucking around. Enough was enough. Marvin was putting a stop to this once and for all, by whatever method was necessary. --- The first Saturday of May is a cloudy one. That doesn't stop a crowd from flocking to the Jolly Gentleman's show. Chase is still getting out of the car when Niamh races out, the name Oscar having barely left her mouth before doing so. It is with great relief that Chase witnesses his daughter collide with a familiar man. The pair of single fathers briefly kiss as a part of a greeting while the five year old girl is returned. Her twin sister and older brother hover around as the greetings continue. Eventually, Fletcher drifts into his own group with both of Oscar's boys. The seven of them make their way inside. "So where is this friend of yours?" Oscar asks as they take their seats. "Do you see him?" "Not yet. He should be bringing his new roommate with him." His scanning of the tent is halted. "Speak of the devil." Chase spots Marvin entering the area, along with another man whom his best assumptions identified as Jackie. They seat themselves in the same row as the fathers. The children sit directly in front of the adults. Marvin introduces him to Jackie as Dr Chase Brody, emphasising the title. "I'm just spending the day out with my kids, there's no need to be throwing my doctorate around. Chase." He offers his hand for Jackie to shake. "And this is Fletcher, Ciera and Niamh." Oscar carries on the round of greetings by introducing himself, Milo and Max. They spend a full minute going through the mundane pleasantries before Marvin and Jackie finally stay seated. As the performance begins, Chase relaxes. They'd filled the wait time with small talk and chatter amongst themselves, however, he had intended for today to be a chance to spend time with his partner. He gives Marvin the benefit of the doubt. The thing is, Jackie came across as a decent enough guy. He also understandably seemed a little overwhelmed by the amount of people in the group. If the chit chat served as a distraction, then fine by him. Besides, he only looked like he was in his late teens anyway. They did share a history of drumming when they were younger though which was a nice surprise. That certainly allowed for a whole avenue of conversation. As soon as Jameson emerged to start his performance, the auditory atmosphere changed. There were speakers around the place and at certain points of the show it almost felt as if the sound was travelling around the space as a physical thing. He also seemingly teleported to a different spot than moments before. A woman was completely flabbergasted when she discovered a small thank you card in her handbag that certainly hadn't been there when she arrived with no easy explanation for how it got there. Throughout the performance, one of his colleagues acted as his commentator. Among his other tricks, the Jolly Gentleman sets a row of plants on fire with an elongated lighter. One of his colleagues dramatically shows up with a bucket of water to extinguish it. The performer stops him with a raised hand. He then holds the lighter, still producing a flame, up for the audience. It trails across the plants, erasing any evidence that there had been any combustion taking places. Not a single scorch mark or hint of smoke in sight. A little girl is summoned from the audience. She's about the twins' age, maybe slightly younger. After being asked what her favourite character was (Daddy Pig, of all things) she was encouraged to sing a song she really liked (I'm a Little Teapot). Already familiar with work stories his friend had, he knew what to expect. The crowd was treated to Daddy Pig's rendition of I'm a Little Teapot, complete with actions. Or at least, they were partially treated to it as the volunteer kept giggling into the microphone throughout her performance. It is evident that Jackie is too enthralled by the show to notice the barely subtle yet fond glances in his direction from the one sitting next to him. Ah, so it was like that, huh? Good for them. Chase catches Marvin's arm as they head out, taking advantage of Jackie going to speak with Jameson. It would be more discreet if Marvin's friend wasn't in earshot. With a wink, he teases his friend. "And they were roommates." "Hey, shut up. It's not like that." "Sure. And Oscar is nothing more than my buddy." "Chase-" "Seriously, what have you got to lose? If he's straight then it might get a little awkward for a moment. But I feel like he would be reasonable and appreciate the honesty. Well, you know him better than I do. You tell me." "You sure?" "Listen, I was already married to a woman when I started being cool with liking dudes. But since the split I've been around the block a few times. It is going to be fine." Marvin moves towards his car as Jackie re-emerges from backstage. It's clear he's still very much skeptical about it all. "If you say so, Chase." ---- Joel makes the judgement that Jackie would probably be fine to travel through his portals a week later. His apartment is pleasant. The ledge of one of his windows has a cushion to improve comfort. Jackie notices remnants of blu tack on the wall where something had clear been removed, which was odd. He almost makes a joke about it but decides against it. "Well... fáilte!" Joel spreads his arms to gesture to the whole room. "Wait, you know some Irish?" "Yep. Had an Irish grandmother who got me conversational." "Really? Nice. In that case, go raibh maith agat." Jackie chuckles. "So... anyway, you going to tell me how you know I'm from '86 or not?" "Okay, so you already know about my portals." "Are you trying to tell me you portalled me through time?" "What?! No, of course not. Bold of you to assume I have any control over the 4th dimension. I meant, I have powers and therefore I inherited the ability to have them." "So how then?" "One of my dads has a time based power and I guess, that trickled down to me a little. Stuff like that happens sometimes. I think Jameson might have an unusually strong immune system because his mother has enhanced immunity. Either way, I just have a sixth sense for time stuff." "...Right." Joel huffs in annoyance. "Alright, believe me or don't. The point is I want to help you go back to your own time if that's what you want." Ah. That's where that elephant was hiding. He was slowly getting used to the future but there was an inexplicable longing to return to where he came from. He was never meant to be 20 in 2019. There was no denying that fact. And as much as he enjoyed hanging out with Marvin and the rest of his new friends, it felt wrong somehow. That said, he was particularly good at going with the flow where necessary. If he was stuck in this century for good, then he'd deal with that. But if there was a chance he could be returned to 1986, there was no way he wouldn't take it. "How?" A sly smile appears on Joel's face. "Ah, for that, we will need Jameson and Henrik's help. All we have to do is wait for the right moment to ask for it. And seeing as it's now May, I don't think we'll have to wait that long."

[firebrands]

acta non verba

Steve Rogers/Tony Stark, T, college AU, 2.5k words

fill for stony bingo prompt: gladiator

also onao3

*

There are few things in academia that Tony actively dislikes, and being called to his lab advisor’s office after class is definitely one of them.

 Tony fidgets as he stands in front of his professor’s large oak table.

 “You can sit,” Dr. Pym says, motioning to the couch across his table. Tony doesn’t move, hoping that by standing up, they can keep this discussion short.

 “After the explosion last week—” his professor starts, and Tony immediately opens his mouth to defend himself. Unfortunately, Pym has spent a sufficient amount of time with Tony, and raises a finger to silence him before Tony can make a sound. “—we believe that the best way you can give back to the school is to serve your mandatory hours tutoring,” he finishes.

 A moment passes. 

 “I would rather die,” Tony says emphatically.

 “Spare me the theatrics, Tony,” Pym says, sighing. “Just two hours, twice a week. We have some engineering, math, and physics students who’ll do this as well, so you’ll only have one tutee.”

 “From where?” Tony grinds out. “Can’t I just… make a program to teach math…?” he asks hopefully.

 “While that would be fantastically helpful, I don’t want you spending more time on something that can be solved by just showing up,” Pym says primly. He pushes a piece of paper across his desk. “We’re having the orientation tomorrow morning.”

 Tony wants to throw a tantrum, because morning? Tutoring? Tutoring in the morning? But he also knows that battles with Pym rarely ever end in his favor, so he doesn’t. 

 Instead, he finds satisfaction in slamming Pym’s door as he leaves.

 *

 Tony, after two years in university, has come to realize that a lot of it is about weighing costs. This is what he tells himself as he takes two steps at a time to get to the assigned room Pym had given him. It’ll be even more annoying if I don’t do this, Tony reassures himself, as he pulls open the door.

 “Nice of you to join us,” says Pym coolly. He motions to an empty chair, and Tony sags into it, breathless from his mad dash from his dorm room to the classroom. Tony doesn’t have time to survey the rest, instead focuses on blinking away the spots in his vision. Too early to be this tired , he thinks.

 Pym talks about the importance the school gives on providing support for all students, or something, Tony isn’t really paying attention, even if his condition has stabilized.

 “Since you’re all from different colleges, we’ve partnered you up.” A table flashes on screen with their names. “Let’s go around the room introducing ourselves.”

 Tony rolls his eyes and plays videogames on his phone as people introduce themselves. Eventually, he’s called to stand. “Tony,” he says, then sits back down.

 Eventually, people stand to introduce themselves; again, Tony isn’t really paying attention, until someone hovers beside him awkwardly.

 “Hi,” says the hoverer.

 Tony sighs, and looks up, meaning to say “hi,” in the least friendly way possible just because it’s 9AM and no one should ever be friendly in the morning.

 He meant to say that.

 Now he’s just staring at the beautiful, blonde, buff guy standing beside him. His shirt is a size too small, and Tony wants to write a check to whoever told him that it was the right fit. Good lord, Tony thinks. And then the rational part of his brain, small as it is, finally catches up with him.

 “Hey,” Tony says, doing his best to sound suave.

 “I’m Steve,” he says, offering a hand. Tony shakes it. A good grip. A good hand. Oh, god. His thoughts on Steve’s hand stutter to a halt when Steve tells him what he’s taking.

 “An art student?” Tony scoffs. 

 Said art student raises an eyebrow in response.

 “Why are you even taking a math class?” 

 “It’s part of the curriculum?” Steve’s brows knit together and that’s when Tony realizes: hey, he’s even cuter when he’s annoyed.

 “Okay well I’m only ever free Tuesday and Thursday evening,” Tony says. 

 Steve bites his lip and looks irritated. “Fine. I can move stuff around. You better be fucking great at math,” he huffs.

 “Oh darling, I’m fucking great at a lot more than math,” Tony smirks.

 Steve, god bless him, blushes.

 *

 Steve’s late for their first session. They’d chosen the study hall for their lessons; it was situated right at the midway point between their two colleges, and it was usually only filled up by quiet freshmen (the library, on the other hand, was filled with over caffeinated seniors, which didn’t sound very productive to be around).

 Tony’s scribbling calculations about the battery he’d been trying to figure out when Steve comes rushing in. “Sorry I’m late, but I got you coffee to make it up to you,” Steve says, and Tony hides a smile by taking a sip of coffee.

 Steve’s wearing a dark blue henley that brings out the color in his eyes and Tony thinks that he should probably inform Dr. Pym that he is no longer qualified to tutor as he’s going to lose his damn mind.

 When Steve starts solving the problems on the worksheet Tony prepared,  Tony sends Rhodey a message: Oh no. hes stupid cute.

Rhodey immediately responds: ur so dumb istg

 Steve touches Tony’s arm to get his attention. “Okay, I don’t understand how you got from this,” he motions to his calculations, “to this,” he finishes, pointing at the equation Tony had written out.

 Tony stares at the problem equation, then casts a glance at Steve’s hand on his arm. He wants Steve’s hand everywhere, he thinks, with a hint of mania. 

 Steve follows Tony’s gaze and snatches his hand away. Tony tries not to weep at the loss, and instead writes out step by step how he got to the solution.

 After an hour, Tony stands up to get another cup of coffee, and he’s so distracted by the weight of Steve’s hand on his arm that now he can’t remember where they were sitting. Tony peers around and spots Steve resting his face on his palm, seemingly lost in thought.

 Tony stares, memorizing the slant of his nose, the soft curl of his lips.

 And then he walks straight into the glass door.

 Thankfully, the coffee is safe. Tony’s reputation, not so much: everyone had turned to look, and Steve covers up a laugh with his hand.

 “Don’t laugh, do your worksheet,” Tony hisses, sitting back down beside Steve.

 Steve continues to chuckle as he does his calculations. 

 Now it’s Tony’s turn to cover his mouth with his hand, horrified by how fond his smile is.

 *

 “Earth to Tony!”

 Tony looks up from his laptop, where he was preparing a new worksheet for Steve. “What?”

 Rhodey frowns. “I was asking what you wanted to get for lunch.”

 “Whatever you’re getting, honeybear,” Tony responds absently, still tweaking equations as Rhodey huffs and walks away.

 Tony’s reviewing the worksheet when Rhodey comes back with their meals and gently pushes down the monitor of Tony’s laptop to get his attention.

 “Okay! Okay already!” Tony screeches, snatching his laptop away from Rhodey’s reach and saving the file before folding it shut. “Jeez,” he says.

 “Didn’t think you’d have it this bad,” Rhodey smirks, digging into his mashed potatoes.

 “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Tony sniffs, removing the plates of food from his tray and arranging them on the table. “It’s—it’s not that big of a deal,” he says. “Totally harmless, he’ll be out of my hair in a few months.”

 “You guys are a walking thinkpiece about the need to bridge the gap between STEM and humanities,” Rhodey says, rolling his eyes.

 *

 Tony spends more and more time with Steve, eventually meeting his friends (and vice versa). It’s nice, mostly because having more friends means more people forcing him out of the lab and forcing him to live a life, which—it’s nice.

 None of these things matter, of course, at 3 in the afternoon on a Saturday, where Tony is sitting on the floor of Rhodey’s dorm room with his head in his hands.

 Thor pats Tony’s head consolingly. “You could try and talk to him?”

 “He doesn’t like me that way, okay?” Tony’s voice is small, muffled by his position.

 Rhodey groans. “Everyone can see it,” he says.

 “That he doesn’t like me?” Tony asks despairingly. 

“No, that he does like you,” Thor says, rubbing Tony’s back. “Like, everyone. Both sides.”

 Tony curls even deeper into himself. “Yeah, but you’re all idiots,” he mewls.

*

The October air is crisp with the onset of autumn, and Steve lets out an exasperated puff of breath as he pulls up the blanket draped over his shoulder. Sam raises an eyebrow in response.

 Behind them, Bucky slams the door to their apartment shut with a triumphant woop, and begins hustling Steve and Sam down the street: “Let’s go! ”

 Steve’s toes are cold in the night air, and he has never hated Halloween more in his life. Yes, even more than that one time his mom and Bucky’s mom had plotted against him and dressed the two of them up as Woody and Buzz, forcing them to go around the neighborhood much to ten year old Steve’s chagrin.

 “I hate costumes so much ,” Steve whines, and it’s likely the fifth time he’s said it this evening alone, but it bears repeating. Sam and Bucky roll their eyes in tandem. 

 *

 Thor’s house is noisy and cramped and Steve bites down hard on any more complaints, instead making a beeline for the kitchen. Sam and Bucky follow after him, carrying a bottle of tequila and vodka each. 

 Of course, the kitchen isn’t any better—in fact, it’s worse. Still, Steve needs a drink, or fifty, to make this night somewhat bearable. The things he did for his friends, really.

 Thor is in the kitchen, dressed as a pirate (wide brimmed hat and eyepatch included). He’s talking to a guy dressed up as a gladiator, wearing a gold chestplate on top of red robes, and as they approach, Steve realizes who it is.

 “Tony!” Bucky grins, draping an arm around the shorter man and pressing a kiss to his cheek. Tony smiles up at him and the disentangles himself to give Sam a quick hug. “Elvis and… hot professor?” Tony asks, turning from Bucky to Sam, respectively. 

 Sam is clearly taken aback, but before he can correct Tony, Bucky says, “and obviously you went above and beyond with the costume again.”

 Tony preens, and Steve has to wrench his eyes away from the way muscles in Tony’s arms flex as he wipes nonexistent dust off his chest plate. “What can I say? Not all of us can come in wearing a blanket and look as good as him,” he says as he nods at Steve, who's wearing a toga and a crown made of fake golden laurel leaves. 

 “Ugh,” Steve says, eloquent as ever.

 Tony takes this as an opportunity to keep teasing. 

 “Oh boys,” Tony says as he’s approaching Steve, “did you oil him up?” He traces a finger down Steve’s bicep.

 Steve flinches away. 

 Sam laughs. “That’s just his sweat,” he says. 

 Now it’s Tony’s turn to laugh and Steve fights down a blush as he begins looking around for something to drink. 

 *

 So the party’s pretty fun, and it was a blessing in disguise that Steve was barely wearing anything. It’s so crowded in the house, and everyone is sweating. 

 Steve bends down to pull out a beer from one of the coolers stationed strategically around the house and when he straightens back up, Tony’s standing right in front of him. Steve, momentarily disoriented by how stupidly hot Tony is, hands him his bottle of beer.

 Tony, the unflappable flirt, winks at Steve.

 Steve’s however many drinks in, so it’s not his fault that he’s flustered. It’s awful, how flustered he is. 

 Tony laughs, and blows him a kiss as he’s walking away.

 Steve turns to the cooler and briefly considers just dunking his head into the ice water.

 *

 Natasha passes Steve the joint, angling her head away from him as she blows out a cloud of smoke. 

 She juts her chin forward, motioning at the general area where Tony is currently talking to Bucky. Tony looks regal, which is crazy considering he’s wearing sandals, to match the rest of his costume. Still, Steve lets his eyes wander over the expanse of exposed flesh. Tony’s legs, Tony’s arms—Steve swallows as he checks out Tony’s ass.

 “You two should take a picture. It’s cute,” she says, jolting Steve out of his thoughts. Natasha smirks, fully aware of what Steve was doing.

 Steve does not deign to respond, and scowls at her as he takes a hit.

 “Why are you so huffy?” Natasha asks, rolling her eyes.

 “It’s just like,” Steve says, passing her the joint, “you know! He’s just fucking with me.”

 Natasha’s face crumples with disbelief. “You are so dumb.”

 *

 Steve is leaning back on the couch, watching the strobe lights make patterns on the ceiling. He’s having fun, even if he’s just seated with his legs sprawled out in front of him. This is what a good time is like, for Steve: a little tipsy, a little stoned, and very comfortable. He’s not really into parties, much less costume parties, but Sam and Bucky had forced him to come. But they all shared in the knowledge that Steve only agreed because he knew Tony would probably be at Thor’s party, too.

 After a while, Steve gets bored of the lights and he toys idly with the label of his beer bottle, and startles out of his concentration when Tony flops down beside him.

 “Hey,” he says. “You good?”

 “Yeah.” Steve smiles slowly and nods at him. 

 Tony leans against Steve’s bare arm and Steve has never felt so happy to be in costume in his life, he thinks serenely. He hazards resting his hand on Tony’s leg, reassuring himself that if Tony said anything, Steve would just laugh it off and say he was drunk and high (which is sort of true). 

 Thankfully, Tony doesn’t say anything. Instead, he spreads his legs a bit wider, pressing his thigh against Steve’s. 

 Steve lets out a shaky breath. 

 Tony turns to look up at him, his chin resting on Steve’s shoulder. Their eyes meet, and they stare at each other for a moment; Steve can feel Tony’s shallow breaths, can smell the alcohol on him, along with a hint of tobacco. Where would Tony have a pocket to keep cigarettes? Steve thinks, as he continues to chart the plains and valleys of Tony’s face, from the thick lines of his eyebrows to the soft swell of his lips. Steve bites his lip, and he sees that Tony’s eyes flick down at the movement.

 Tony looks up at him again, and he offers Steve a small, apologetic smile.

 “I want to kiss you,” he whispers.

 Steve smiles and leans forward, finally locking their lips together.