#In no particular order so maybe I should reorganize

[dogsweater]

31 Halloween Movies for 31 Days of October

1.) Nightmare on Elm Street

2.) Coraline

3.) Corpse Bride

4.) Nightmare Before Xmas

5.) Carrie

6.) Blair Witch Trial

7.) Suspiria

8.) Frankenweenie

9.) Paranorman

10.) Monster House

11.) Paranormal Activity

12.) the Scooby doo cat zombie movie

13.) Friday the 13th

14.) Halloween

15.) Psycho

16.) the scooby doo movie with the hex girls

17.) Heredetary

18.) Train to Busan

19.) 6th Sense

20.) Night of the Living Dead

21.) The Vvich

22.) Scream

23.) Ringu

24.) Texas Chainsaw Massacre

25.) Veronica

26.) The Birds

27.) The Craft

28.) Teen Wolf

29.) The Exorcist

30.) Amityville Horror

31.) Hocus Pocus

*I’m thinking of replacing these when I can think of something better. Recommendations welcome

[explorevenus]

hii venus!!! how r uuuu? i was wondering,, since in the first chapter of something permanent u wrote about how they had a conversation while she made his coffee — could u do a drabble of the interaction, i know it sounds silly but it’s been on my mind ^_^

yes!!!!! drabble under the cut so i don’t flood everyone’s dash ;w;

You were not built to work the opening shift. You liked many things about being a barista, and having to get up at the crack of dawn to serve coffee to people who weren’t awake enough yet to be decent wasn’t one of them.

On this particular day, you were one of the unfortunate souls selected to work the opening shift, and given the cafe you worked at was located in the heart of the business district and a mere 10 minutes from the airport, it was busy as all hell from the moment you unlocked the doors. Through a blur of dozens of customers, one approached the counter through the crowd and something about him made you look at him twice.

He was fit and well dressed and looked quite alert for a guy in a coffee shop at 5:30 in the morning. His eyes were a warm sapphire color and his dirty blonde hair fell in front of them in carefully styled wisps.

You smiled softly at him and took his order, a little surprised by what he’d asked for— a hot green tea with a splash of cream. You asked for his name, he said Leon.

He lingered by the counter while you brewed his tea— not uncommon in the afternoons, but you were used to people being in a rush in the mornings. In customer service brain, you chose to strike up a conversation with him.

“No coffee this morning?” You asked.

Leon shrugged, smiling softly. “I never really liked coffee that much.”

“Ah,” You nodded. “Maybe you’ve just never had a good cup of coffee. I bet I could change your mind,” You teased pridefully.

He smirked, drumming his fingers on the countertop coolly. “I’m sure you could. I might have to take you up on that.”

As you handed his drink to him, his fingertips brushed over yours and you couldn’t help the way you gave pause to the feeling. In the rush of people coming in and out of the cafe, he was gone before you had much of a chance to say anything else, and by the time you got home, he was practically forgotten in your mind.

…Until you saw him again weeks later, nearing the last hour of your usual closing shift.

You were alone in the cafe when he entered, idly reorganizing cupboards just to keep yourself busy. Your head turned at the sound of the bell, and you smiled as you recognized him.

“Hey! Leon, right?” You asked over your shoulder. You were stood on one of the countertops, elbow deep in a cupboard full of various syrups and ingredients.

“Yeah,” He grinned as he approached the counter, a bit smitten that you remembered his name. “You’d better be careful up there, sweetheart. Don’t hurt yourself.”

Your heart fluttered a little when he called you ‘sweetheart.’ Blushing, you hurried to a good stopping point and climbed down slowly from the countertop, thankfully unscathed.

“I’m fine, I have to do that all the time,” You laughed, moving over to the sink to wash your hands. “They didn’t build this place for short people.”

“Apparently,” He chuckled, watching you intently from where he stood. You looked so tired from a long day of work, you poor little thing…

“So what brings you in tonight?” You asked, approaching him at the counter. “Last time I saw you, the sun was barely up.”

Leon hummed, fidgeting with a stack of gift cards by the register. “I work some pretty unconventional hours,” He said. “But you said you’d make me like coffee, so I’m holding you to that.”

“Oh god, that’s a lot of pressure,” You laughed softly, already mulling over what you might make for him. “I did say that though, so I suppose I should stay true to my word, huh?”

Leon laughed with you, leaning against the counter as he watched you work. “I trust you. You seem as though you know what you’re doing,” He teased.

You made him something simple and pleasant, something that wasn’t too sweet or too bitter or too strong. When you handed it off to him you were a little nervous, but he seemed pleased enough.

He turned to leave, not before sneaking a $50 bill in your tip jar, and so began an occasional tradition— Leon would wander into the cafe while you were in there alone, just to chat you up and try a new coffee every time.

Coming from you, darling, it tasted so sweet.

[blorboclaw]

Not to re-invent the concept of Pope, but I think the eldest medicine cat in the forest/around the lake should have a particular, higher status than the others. Be the one who directs the group on the way to the Moon-stone/pool, be the one to say "now stop gossiping, we must commune with Starclan", be the one to give their new name to a medcat apprentice... If a medicine cat has a doubt about something, be it a moral question or what herb to use for this rare sickness, it's the cat they'll be looking for.

Not necessarily the eldest though. The most respected or one who did something extraordinary or one chosen by starclan would do too.

In the old forest, Hawkheart was the leader of the medicine cats, because Goosefeather was crazy. But when he killed Moonflower, although in a state of legitimate defense, or so he argued, the mantle went to Sagewhisker. She tried to make her apprentice inherit it, arguing that Yellowfang's capacity to feel the pain of others was a sign from Starclan, but when she was exiled, it went to Barkface. During the Great Journey, he let Cinderpelt assume his duties because he had to care for Tallstar. But then Leafpool was the one who found the moonpool, and despite her young age, she got to bear the charge of being the leader of the medicine cats.

Then Leafpool left with Crowfeather and Cinderpelt died, and Leafpool was stained because she broke her vows. Littlecloud took on the charge, because Barkface couldn't: you can't become leader of the medicine cats more than once, unless Starclan itself brought a sign.

Littlecloud held the charge for longer than many medicine cats before him. When Flametail died, he resigned because grief was too strong. Mothwing was designed by the other cats because she was the most senior still eligible. But she refused, and said it was time for Leafpool to be forgiven her past mistakes. "You can't be the leader twice." Barkface objected. "Unless Starclan sends a sign, and they sent one the first time. So now it's like it was her first time." Mothwing answered.

Leafpool was the senior medicine cat for a long time. When she died, Mothwing finally endorsed the mantle of leader of the medicine cats, as a tribute to her friend. And after all, even if she was critical of Starclan, she believed in them again. This time she was ready to assume the duties.

When Mistystar exiled Mothwing on the impostor's orders, Tigerstar II was delighted to let her in his clan... who controls the leader of the medicine cats controls all of the medicine cats. The only problem was that the medicine cats couldn't talk to starclan at the time. But it was still a power move.

When Shadowsight was tired of being criticized by Mothwing, he bit back his remarks. Not because he didn't want to answer to an elder and to another medicine cat. But because she was the leader of all medicine cats. Puddleshine defered to her and didn't dare question her when she started reorganizing his herbs.

When Mistystar died, Mothwing was too busy with other duties and abandonned her charge. Jayfeather picked it up by sense of duty more than anything else: you can't let Kestrelflight be the leader of the medicine cats now can you? Maybe was it also a way for him to honor his mother's memory.

Pope but for cats.

[emptymanuscript]

reorganizing and trying to figure out how to allocate work again today.

So, as of now, I seem to be:

missing the details of James, Zephyr, and JJ getting from Odd Jobs to the Eshu

having an order problem with how James, Zephyr, and JJ explain the metaphysical to Ferris, there's scenes in conflict with each other that don't mesh

missing the details of James, Zephyr, JJ, and Ferris off the Eshu and onto the Dvergar island

missing the entire trip between Dvergar and Titan islands

having a placement problem with the second sex scene, I'm not sure where that goes other than it goes somewhere between Dvergar Island and Atlantis

missing the details of getting from the Atlantean revival preacher to the sewers

missing an entire six days in Atlantis T_T good lord I need a better sob emoji for this one - this is going to be the BIG issue.

missing the journey from Atlantis back to the Dvergar Island

missing ALL of Avalon, which should be short but still

having a total mess problem with the wrap up but that's not too much of a big deal that's probably mostly work for next draft.

missing sex scene 4

missing a failed sex scene between James and Zephyr

missing Ferris losing her shit a little

missing What the hell happens to Sandra and Belau'aru - though I'm not sure that isn't really for the next draft.

missing Ferris taking the Eshu out again but that may also be for the next draft or never

Ugh, that's a lot. I feel like this is more instead of less work than before. -_-

Most of this is actually connective tissue, though. Short bits to move people from one location to the next logically.

I wonder if maybe I shouldn't shorten the length of stay in Atlantis. There's no particular reason that the time skip has to be seven days. Seven Days in Atlantis at the End of the World just sounded cool.

Though I also feel like it is a shame to get to Atlantis and not explore it a little. I feel like so much of Atlantis affected future plot lines. But did it? Really? *Sigh* What really needs to be there is the First Warlock and the Zodiac. Those are the things that really freaking show up in later stories. So there should be something with that. We need at least a day in Atlantis devoted to that.

I'm really not enjoying this part of writing out of order. Feh.

[faulty-writes]

hello!!! i hope you doing well!!! can i request headcannons iida tenya x f!(preferably or gn! if you want) reader. reader is introverted person and not really care about order but reader have a crush on iida because reader like how passionate iida about his dreams and values and feeling kinda comfortable around him(Iida's and reader dating energy it's like "no energy"(reader) and "too much energy"). thank you. please don't bother yourself if you don't want to write it, don't feel uncomfortable

[ You know what's fun about this particular ask...it appeared in my inbox twice. A glitch in the Matrix? Maybe! However, this is quite interesting...let's see what I can do with this. ]

His words rang in your head, his passionate voice spilling words of admiration for his elder brother and the influence of which blossomed his choice to become a hero.

His values were noble, admiring even, and combined with his selfless acts and encouraging nature it was of little wonder how you ended up falling for him in the first place.

The doubt that he even noticed your existence plagued your mind from time to time, being an introvert wasn't easy. You found it difficult to not only interact with others but form friendships as well.

Sometimes you were jealous of Tenya. His words and way of speech combined with how he continuously rambled off to get to a simple point was an indication he wasn't so skilled with normal social interactions either. Yet, this never stopped him from making friends or being in crowds.

In a way, Tenya's social ability helped in breaking you out of your introverted safe zone. "I do not believe a female, regardless of how strong she depicts herself to be, deserves to be alone. I understand you may be rather comfortable without company, but may I offer you my presence for but a short time?" the fact that he asked was very considerate.

The worst part about having a crush on Tenya was the fact that you allowed your imagination to get the best of you. Sometimes you dreamt of simple things mainly what it would be like to date him. Other times, you thought about marriage and children. You were losing yourself and you weren't sure what to do about it.

Tenya, on the other hand, was quite particular with trying to catch your interest and would often ask you questions pertaining to your favorite things. "Is it not every gentleman's duty to know what items, food, and or other a female enjoys?" you wanted to argue, but instead, your feelings for him got in the way.

"Reorganize this at once!" there was a vast difference between yourself and Tenya, the fact that he craved order and organization while you could care less about it. However, this never stopped Tenya from giving you advice on your rather messy habits.

You should have expected people to start talking when they noticed Tenya was one of the very few people you allowed into your space. But he'd often dismiss their concerns, "I do not believe there is any fault in being what one can describe as 'an introvert' however, I am quite honored Y/n has allowed me the privilege of establishing a friendship with her," you never told him you were equally as glad to be his friend.

[boldlyanxious]

None the Wiser 6

Masterlist

All fic masterlist

Bio-dad Bruce prompt-Fashion show

Marinette was not expecting her day to go well when Rochelle stepped in front of her before they left the locker room. She had spent a few minutes reorganizing her things before heading off to lunch so she could have what she needed ready for the afternoon and now they were alone in there with not even the sound of others in the hallway.

"I need to talk to you," Rochelle said.

Her arms were crossed over her chest and she looked unhappy. Marinette tried to smile even though she was apprehensive.

"What can I do for you?" Marinette responded.

Rochelle pulled out an envelope that Marinette recognised as a response from the fashion competition, but it wasn't like the fancy envelope she received.

"I didn't do very well. I was in the lowest rank."

"I didn't know you entered."

"I didn't tell anyone. I've only been sewing for a couple years and not often."

"Are you wanting pointers?"

"I really want to model. I'll model my own but probably not be noticed. Are you modeling your design?"

Marinette was shocked. She didn't think of using another person as a model mostly because she would usually use Alya but she hadn't made it to fit Alya.

"I don't actually want to. I'm a bit clumsy and it's worse when I get nervous but I made it my size."

"I could do it for you."

Rochelle looked like she wanted to add something but she stopped herself. She stood still while Marinette eyed her then walked around her.

"I think it should work," she said tapping her chin. "I need to touch you for a moment."

She waited for a nod before she pinched a bit at Rochelle's outfit in a few places nodding.

"I don't have a measuring tape with me today. I think our measurements are similar enough aside from the obvious height difference but your additional height is definitely helpful. Can you come over after school today?"

She nodded slowly, "Are you serious? You'll let me model for you?"

"Oh yeah. I was dreading having to do it but you want to and probably already have an idea of what to do if you want to model."

"We aren't really friends though and I haven't been very friendly."

"Well I either missed it or you aren't very good at being unfriendly," she said with a smile.

After they finished with classes they met back at the lockers to walk out together. Marinette took her through the bakery and up through to her room. She was happy with her decision to change her style over the summer so she didn't have an embarrassing amount of Adrien's modeling pictures cut out and plastered everywhere.

She adjusted things so the fold-away screen was set up for changing and pulled out the dress for the fashion show.

"This should work really well. They are good colors for you."

"It's so nice. You are really talented."

"Thank you. I've been working at it a long time."

When Rochelle had the dress on, Marinette checked the fit and made notes for the changes needed. There were no drastic changes and Marinette looked how it looked on the other girl's taller frame. Marinette figured how long it would take to make the alterations and set up a time to do a fitting after that so it would be ready for the show.

---

The day of the show arrived and Marinette feeling like she might not make it. Time kept slowing down so she would dread what was coming and then speeding so fast she couldn't keep up. Her parents didn't know how to get her to sit still and eat something. Bruce would be there as well as Damian and Dick and a couple of Damian's friends. Tim hadn't been able to get away from work and from what they said about Jason she thought maybe they were hiding him until she was more comfortable.

She still hadn't told anyone but Luka about this new family she might have but she was so nervous about the show and him being there that she pulled Alya to the side and told her about meeting him when she went to change during Alya's party.

"Wait, what? That was weeks ago. Is that why you've been acting weird?" Alya asked.

"Well I wasn't sure what was going to happen. My parents thought he might get a lawyer and try to get custody."

"Can he do that?"

"I don't know. We think he probably has more money. His suits are designer and he has made several trips. He will be there today."

"I can't believe you kept this from me! It's so wild. How did he even find out?"

Marinette explained how biology class had given her the wrong results so she took the DNA test. Then relayed what had happened after.

"The boy from school is his son. I guess he's technically my brother. But neither of us are very happy about that." Marinette said.

Alya started with her the rest of the time and they went together to meet Rochelle before going to the location of the fashion show. By the time they arrived the first group was about to go on. They had multiple runways set up with seating and some standing area. The stages would be used one at a time but to keep the flow going they would move to the next stage to have time for the many entrants and to make it easier to find the information.

There was still a lot of time before the final show. After each set there would be a long break to give time to arrange everything again and allow people to come and go as needed. Many would only be there to support the person they knew who entered but for the final show everything would be set up for the big stage similar to a major Fashion show and the seats would all be there. A lot of fashion related figures and publications would be there for only that main event.

Sooner than Marinette could have imagined Marinette was hugging her parents before she headed back to check on Rochelle. Her older sister, Charlotte, was a makeup artist and had done her hair and makeup. Marinette had fashioned a coordinating hair ornament with a necklace, arm cuff and high heel covers.

Charlotte finished with Rochelle and pulled Marinette over so she could do her hair and makeup as well. Diane wanted to know more about covers for the high heels. Marinette told her all about how she loved to make jewelry and accessories. The high heel covers saved money since shoes were expensive and took up a lot of space so she started making covers to go with her neutral heels so they would be more versatile.

She didn't see Bruce and his family before the show but several people peeked out to see the crowd excited when some of the more famous people entered. She was a bit surprised to see someone taking a picture of him while Damian stood further away with his arms crossed. She wasn't sure who they thought he was. Fashion was an area she was pretty confident in her knowledge of all the major players and even a fair bit of the less known designers.

The lights all turned to the stage and the crowd hushed significantly as the music started. Rather than ranking it by type of clothing the organizers had decided the pieces by color starting with white and going through the rainbow and ending with black. Marinette's storm inspired greys and blues with a shock of bright violet put her near the end. Each model walked alone but quickly while the featured designer was named and the outfit was described.

It was over very quickly. For all the work that went into them fashion shows were not typically very long. Even with 50 featured models and designs the beginning had not even been half an hour ago. The smaller runways had already been dismantled to make space for the audience. After all the models and designers headed out the backstage area was being out away to leave only main stage for the announcement once the judges finished deliberating.

As Marinette headed towards the crowd where she could see her parents making awkward conversation with Bruce and the 4 boys with him. She took a moment to tell Rochelle to stay in the dress if she wanted for now. Hopefully it would get a little more buzz for both of them unlike the models or designers who had changed already to preserve their designs.

Marinette approached the group but she was not up for making conversation. She kept peeking nervously at the judges as they were making their final decision. She could never have told anyone what was being discussed but she knew every move the judges made until they all began to stand. Marinette watched as an envelope was walked over to the presenter and she slowly walked to the stage. Her microphone picked up the gentle swish of her skirt and the click of her heels.

Marinette couldn't hear what she was saying she focused on the hands as they worked on opening the envelope with a crinkle of paper as the seal pulled apart. She removed the 12 cards, each printed with the name of a contestant. As she told them they would be read in no particular order she demonstrated the point by shuffling and mixing the cards before restacking them to read the names of the winners.

As each name was called the winner would walk up to the stage and stand to face the crowd. They were handed a packet containing the information about the prize as the cheers died down before the next name was read. As each person walked forward to join the incomplete dozen Marinette became more and more desperate to be called.

She didn't actually think she could win. It was a large contest and she was only in her first year of lycée so many of the contestants were older. She supposed that was why they decided the groups to have all of them be able to publicly share their designs. She took a deep breath to calm herself but she just held it there as she watched the ten people being joined by one more after he was handed his packet.

The woman looked down at the last card and continued smiling as she waited for the hush to fall over the crowd before she read the last name.

"Marinette Dupain-Cheng."

Her parents were cheering what she looked at them and then she saw Bruce and Dick were as well. Alya was bouncing up and down holding her hands while screaming and cheering. She started pulling Marinette towards the aisle and then shoved her forward to propel her to the stage. She joined the line of other winners but she was still in shock. The crowd was cheering again, her section was definitely the loudest even though the presenter had called for another round of applause for all the winners.

Next

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[lesbianlotties]

the only touchstone of truth - I Care A Lot (2020) - Marla x Fran

Chapters: 1/? Fandom: I Care A Lot (2020) Rating: Explicit Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Fran/Marla Grayson Characters: Marla Grayson, Fran (I Care A Lot) Additional Tags: Canon Compliant, Canon Lesbian Relationship, Origin Story, Canon Backstory, First Meetings, First Kiss, First Dates, Getting Together, Morally Ambiguous Character, Illegal Activities, Eventual Smut, Flirting, Partners in Crime, crime wives Summary: The American dream. The small business that Marla Grayson built from nothing. And now it's all crumbling down back to... nothing. Marla is left to pick up the pieces of the broken dream, but this time she's determined to start a fire with what she has left. The problem, or rather, the solution, comes in the shape of Fran, a gorgeous woman that, unlikely as it seems, has just as many tricks under her sleeve as Marla. This is how they meet, this is how they fall into each other's dangerous games, and most importantly, this is how they fall in love. Love, the only honest thing about each other, and the most important part of their story.

Chapter 1:

Marla was sitting behind the counter in her shop, wearing a sharp white shirt and her blonde hair falling in soft waves on her shoulders. The place was desolated, only Curtis stood by, idly reorganizing the shelves for maybe the hundredth time. Restlessness disgusted Marla. When she caught herself starting to lazily spin from side to side on her swivel chair she shook herself out of it by planting her feet firmly on the floor and picking up her vape pen. She’d only started using it to become a master of the trade she’s decided to pursue, but she’d grown quickly attached to it. Like an assassins’ favorite knife, it could be used as a weapon, but it brought comfort in unexplainable ways too.

“Curtis,” Marla exhaled, staring at her friend, “What is… the most American thing you can think of?”

The man smiled, an objectively beautiful smile, and said, “Cowboys.”

Instead of laughing, Marla nodded very seriously. That was, indeed, a very American thing. Men proudly resorting to childish ideals of what it is to be a man, hoping to use boyish charm to earn points in a game nobody could possibly win something worthy of. The problem was, Curtis wasn’t like that, not with Marla at least, and his answer was genuine. Besides, the fictional idea of a traditional cowboy was very American indeed. “What would a cowboy do,” Marla wondered slowly, “when facing a god-awful rival?”

“Get rid of them?” the young man replied. That was a certain answer, and the impulse of making it sound like a question at the end was just a consequence of answering to Marla. It was a common thing, he wasn’t immune to it, and she actually relished the fact that she could make people doubt the most obvious things they should be confident in.

“Exactly,”  Marla clicked her teeth and winked, adding a playful gesture as if she’d just shoot him with an invisible gun.

Her friend and employee chuckled fondly at her. “Yeah, sorry, Marla, but I don’t think you can get rid of them.”

Gracefully, Marla stood up from the chair. What she’d been staring at so intently on her computer’s screen was the view from one of the security cameras outside, pointing across the street at the line of people waiting to get in at the bigger and flashier vape shop that recently opened up. “I know,” she said, almost soft enough to hide the venom in the words of acceptance of her downfall. She spread both hands on the counter and stared. It was the beginning of goodbye. She wasn’t an overly emotional person, she didn’t exactly hold a sentimental attachment with the place, not even to the person she had been when she started this journey. But, she had to say goodbye. However, “I won’t go down without a fight,” Marla stated. She walked around the counter and toward the front of the shop.

Personally, Marla had a different idea of what was the most American thing a person could do. Walk away from a suffocating family to the big city, make the most of what the world currently wants and turn it into a business, build it all from the ground up, turn it into an empire, make yourself rich enough to become a challenge to royalty and deities alike. It was a perfect plan as long as nobody warned you of the impossible to overcome obstacles that would appear in your path. Marla had done her work, she had spent the better part of her youth working inconceivable schedules and begging for loans. She had studied the market, the competition, the ins and outs of one smart investment, and it had worked. Until the grand opening of a monstrous shop close enough for it to be humiliating. They sold a brand, and Marla couldn’t compete. She’d done everything right, perhaps it was time to do a little bit of wrong in order to come out as a winner.

Marla had chosen that particular place to set up her shop because it was convenient for her type of business, but she never liked the place very much. That was something she could admit now that she was saying goodbye to it. She was staring out the glass windows and almost grimacing at the view. She’d always wanted an office that would be at least one floor up from the ground, before reaching the highest level of the building, of course. Now she was making herself the promise not to rest until she achieved her real goals and desires, the bigger the better, no space for conformity with accomplishing the bare minimum, not anymore.

“Maybe they can get rid of me,” Marla finally said, much to the confusion of the young man listening to her. She didn’t have just an idea, she’d just come up with an entire plan

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

The police sirens were a perfect soundtrack, just like Marla had imagined it. But they carried, along with the blinking red and blue lights, unexpected effects. It was the perfect background for a few of Marla’s nightmares, and for most of her dreams. If only she didn’t have to hold back for one reason or another. If the men that threatened her ever came to something. If only she listened to that little voice in the back of her head that encouraged her to push further and harder against life. It felt like every “ what if ” of her life ended up with police sirens and red and blue lights at her back. Only one slight movement of her shoes on the broken glass that covered the floor of her shop was enough to pull her out of her deep thoughts. Only of discreet shake of her head to push her hair off her face was enough to bring her back to the conversation at hand.

“I didn’t see it, at first,” she said in a frail tone of someone retelling an awful nightmare, “it wasn’t until Curtis pointed it out that… Christ. It looks bad.”

Marla, her loyal employee, and the police officer were, of course, discussing the broken windows, trashed shelves and, more specifically at that instant, the graffiti painted on the floor of her place, it was the logo of the big store just down the road.

“There are a few options,” the detective mumbled, “Could be the competition, of course, but could be simple, overenthusiastic buyers with an interest in causing trouble. Nothing out of the ordinary. I’m positive we’ll catch the people responsible for the attack to your shop, Miss Grayson.” After a pause, she added, “I wonder how far they went. May I look over the office, the storage?”

The blonde looked away with a pained expression, “I don’t think I could,” she forced herself to take a deep and steadying breath and when she looked back at the other women she had a perfectly sweet smile on, “Curtis will accompany you, detective.”

As the two of them walked further inside the store, Marla walked out. She’d left her own car parked out front, so she leaned her back against it and put her vape pen on her lips. Only a couple of seconds later, the second officer that had shown up to the place had joined her.

“That’s not going to work,” was the first thing Fran said to Marla.

“Excuse me?”

“Using that guy as bait.”

Marla blinked, reeling back her slight surprise. “And why is that?” she inquired.

Fran shrugged, staring straight at the broken windows of the shop. “Lou’s my ex,” she mentioned as nonchalantly as she should have introduced herself but instead had only nodded when her partner was the one to remember the protocol, “she’s not gonna fall for your boy’s charm.” She finally turned to look at Marla, as if it were the first time, but knowing that since she arrived at the place she’d been casting furtive glances at the striking and intriguing blonde. “You, on the other hand, give her another one of those smiles of yours,” Fran said, with barely a hint of a smile on her pink lips, “and it might work.”

Along with a breathy and quick chuckle, Marla did smile. She wasn’t used to being so blatantly called out for her strategies. People complained all the time about the way she constantly managed to get what she wanted, but nobody ever seemed to know exactly what about her they were upset about. Then there was this complete stranger that with one look and right from the first sentence she spoke, she caught Marla. And the best part, she didn’t even seem to be complaining about it. Marla would have been lying if she said it didn’t feel strangely good. Partially, because she knew she was good at her games, and if no one played at her level then nobody could actually appreciate her. It was pleasant to be seen. Partially, too, it was just because of the way the other woman was looking at her.

“Not that one, though,” Fran continued. She leaned in closer, talked in conspirative whispers, and for some reason was displeased with Marla’s smile. She was fascinating almost to a point of dizziness. Her presence, to anyone of slightly weaker disposition than Marla, would have brought them to their knees. “That one’s sincere,” she said of the smile they were discussing, “and that’s dangerous.”

This time Marla scoffed. She looked away, hoping that the brunette, without looking into her eyes, wouldn’t be able to read how much Marla was struggling to draw the line between being fed a flirtatious line out of the millions of them, and the shockingly unique feeling of it all, something that she’d only seen in Fran.

“You look too young to be a detective,” Marla said, as a way to change the course of the conversation. Only after she said the words she started thinking about what they meant. What could this woman, with the imperfect ponytail, worn leather jacket, and secretive smile, have done in order to get to where she was in life?

“And you look,” Fran started to say, pausing just long enough for Marla to think that if she dared called her old she would simply walk away and never return to the damned shop, “too smart to own a place like this.”

She wasn’t the first person to point out the fact that simply something about Marla’s eyes revealed that she was meant for things greater than a vape shop. She would’ve laughed, or smiled, but that would’ve made things too easy for Fran. “It’s just business,” the blonde said slowly.

“Is that why you did all this?” Fran nodded toward the broken windows and the mess beyond.

Marla turned to look at her and remained speechless for a moment, even if her cold expression did nothing to reveal the spark of surprise that Fran was fueling with every word she spoke. The silence wasn’t as uncomfortable as expected. Marla quickly figured out that if Fran was smart enough to figure out in a few minutes the complexities of her carefully crafted smile, then it wasn’t all that shocking to see her solve a case that she’d probably even seen before.

“Do you think she’ll notice?” Marla finally asked, talking about Fran’s partner. For some reason, she wasn’t worried in the slightest about Fran being the one to ruin her plans.

The younger woman tilted her head from side to side, genuinely thinking it through. The impulse to talk shit about her ex was strong. But she knew and respected the woman as a professional. Plus, a consequence of being so good at pulling the truth out of unwilling people was that she wasn’t that interested in the effort it took to lie.

“There’s a chance,” she replied at last. “But, really, give her one smile,” Fran continued, “and she’ll probably give you that signature you want to take this to court.”

This time, the two women laughed together. When they made eye contact then, it was completely different. No careful glances, no studying the other one, simply looking for the sake of a beautiful and frightening view. Right from the first night, they came across that feeling of absolute freedom and awe of standing at the edge of a cliff that would paralyze in fear those of faint heart, but that they would eventually come to fondly associate with each other.

“And you?” Marla dropped the smile. If Fran could see her tricks, she could return the favor. It was her turn to lean in closer, whisper, and look just disinterested enough as she asked, “What do you want before you give me what I want?”

Fran looked away for just one instant, but they both knew this game well enough to know that such small action would count as a big win for the blonde. When she looked back up at those striking blue eyes, Fran thought for a moment, about what she wanted, what Marla could give, and how far she could push or pull at this unlikely and tremendously exciting situation so she could get the best deal possible.

“I’ll let you know,” Fran announced, pulling out a presentation card and offering it to Marla with a smile. “Someone might break into your business again. So dangerous,” she playfully shook her head and pulled herself away from the car they’d been leaning against, “Call me when you’ll need me.”

[rights-for-redshirts]

Okay, this is vaguely insane, but

If someone from our century were transported backwards in time and reborn as some sort of crown prince/ruler, how far and how quickly could they push their country's development?

I just kinda want a story of a high schooler with no particular interest in anything wake up as, I dunno, some sort of medieval King and be so pissed off by everything that they start scratching all the bits of vague technological, sociocultural, economical, political knowledge together that they should have collected in school, and then kind of ... start. From practically scratch. Or worse because of the social restrictions.

So they try to start with electricity and fail, because they don't actually remember how a battery works, and decide to hire - grinding their teeth - some scientist from a university, only to find that that scientist is a charlatane and more interested in alchemy than actual chemistry. So instead, they hire one of their servants - who turns out to be a bit of a prodigy, even if they can't read - and tell them to start working on steam engines, together with a local blacksmith's daughter who can definitely blacksmith but is forbidden to do so bc of her gender.

The new monarch realizes that in order to get anywhere with anything, they need to delegate.

Long story short, the servant/blacksmith duo manage - with a bit of financial aid - to kickstart the industrial revolution, but the monarch remembers enough angry late night tumblr rants about capitalism and low class workers plus a dozen or so internet history lessons (bc history lessons at school are often useless and more about numbers than how the gears of a society grind together) to put their foot down and grant the workers a livable minimum wage - and to make sure the workers and especially worker's children receive an actual education. Both of which prevents a major societal crisis.

Parallel to the whole economy trip is the whole political thing, which they manage to navigate with a bunch of random political/historical facts and anecdotes (they pop up at the beginning of each chapter and seem to be there just for fun, but become suddenly VERY relevant when the right situation arises). Our monarch begins to realize that, in their growing scientifical staff (since the first two are now platonically married and taking over the national market as well as parts of the international one), there is actually more brain to be found than with them, so they begin to write down everything they can remember, from chemistry and artificial fertilizer to physics to maths, in one large (not so large) book and add in a larger (much larger) book all the stuff they know is important but the actual information was completely buried under facts like what a mitochondria is. They slam down the books in front of their scientists (i.e. make sure our farmers can a) provide enough food for themselves, b) get acceptable living conditions, c) can provide enough food for our booming cities, d) get an increased range of mobility through ... trains or something, e) get enough of a decreased workload to be able to send their children to school and f) ... I don't know) and sic them on the different problems.

Then, their Highness turn their attention back to ruling because, . There is a lot of stuff going on in their kingdom, and a lot of it isn't good. They begin to abolish the old system of inequality before the law (nobles are outraged). They write a constitution that includes some of the fundamental human rights. They establish a law system. They keep escaping murder attempts because they grew up on a diet of period dramas, game of thrones and serial killer documentaries.

They reorganize the administration and weed out corruption by making it punishable by ... something, idk.

Universities are next.

They write a book about common sense that they get pope-approved by bribing the cardinals. Subsequently, they realize that they completely forgot about printing books, and promptly follow their book up with the invention of the printing press (how did they forget about that??!)

The social and the educational processes speed up by 500% in the following few years.

The invention progress gets done a lot earlier than in canon history because the monarch a) knows EXACTLY what the scientists and professors and clever kids (that they actively collect) need to be looking for and b) because they remembered not too late into their reign to just ... send people into other civilizations and ask. As easy as that. China had black powder, paper and a lot of other cool stuff. (They finally get to eat rice noodles again a few years into their reign. Hey, being an absolutist ruler has to have some perks. If you can't send a group of diplomats into the far east to retrieve the recipe of your favourite food, then what's the point?)

Also, they had planned to subtly undermine the influence of the catholic church on their people, bit as it turns out, education does a whole lot against superstition. The law for freedom of religion and confession passes almost without a hitch after some dude named Luther nailed a textpost rant of several pages against a church door.

They are several decades into ruling when they realize. They have brought freedom and prosperity and rational thinking and instant noodles (of a sort) to their country. People study arts and science and discuss politics and exchange ideas and knowledge with other cultures. It's the renaissance come early but better because they remembered about the molding bread and the bacteries (the scientists very obviously thought them insane, but eventually managed some decent penicilline; additionally the monarch added their corona-induced knowledge about hygiene and quarantine to the national curriculum).

But they remember some pretty inconvenient stuff: colonialism. They brought freedom to their own people. Now how can they save the free people of the other continents from the europeans? Bc not gonna lie, europe's history is pretty bloody, not only at our own doorstep. (Looking at you, US. ) Anyways they realize that the Native Americans and Australians are pretty happy and actually don't want to change much (at least I think so?? No offense meant if wrong).

The aztec empire, though, is a completely different matter. They are warned of some dude named Cortez, and seem very pleased about the gift of a few dozen horses (or did I misremember how that story went? Cortez being believed a God bc of the horses?).

So is the Chinese one. (They are thoroughly warned against some stuff named opium coming from England, even if that's centuries away.)

They establish diplomatic relations with a badass african queen who is more than willing to trade supplies for more sophisticated technological devices against technological knowledge.

At some point the ruler realizes they didn't age in the last seventy years, so the point of a marriage of convenience for an heir is kinda moot (not that they had remembered anyways). Probably some offhanded remark of a noble. Or seeing the industry duo's adopted children's children.

Also, one of the other nations, maybe india, surprisingly ups their technology game and does everything better than the european country, because I'm tired of western/white supremacy.

Feel free to add/change whatever suits your purposes. If someone ever writes the book, let me know.

[roguish-gallery]

Can I ask for HCs for what activities the Rogues would partake in if a situation required them to stay at home for a while.

Hello! Of course you can!

I had a lot of fun working on these, so I hope you enjoy them! (and I mean... it’s very topical, so it’s something I think we can all relate to atm) Apologies in advance for any spelling/grammar mistakes!

Rogues + Staying Home HCs!

Bane:

He mostly works out, meditates, and tries to learn at least one new skill.

Tbh he’s gotten pretty fucking good at sewing? Threading the needle is an absolute bitch but he’s glad he can fix his clothes because he hates having to go to the tailor or buy more clothes every time he tries to flex.

Finally… he can make clothes for Osito now...

Catwoman:

Selina finds that time off is a great excuse to tidy up her apartment, and since she’ll be home for longer, she’ll foster all the homeless cats she can find until they get adopted.

She’s pretty behind in all the shows her “rich friends” keep recommending her… so she’ll try and catch up on those.

Definitely the type of person to use this as an excuse to “treat herself”. She has an entire wishlist set aside for this exact reason

Clayface:

He’ll practice impressions in the mirror for like, hours. Celebrities, cartoon characters, it doesn’t matter, he’s bored.

He’ll spend at least a few hours trying to come up with new characters he can disguise himself as. Like, figure out how they talk, move, and what their backstories in case he ever needs to quickly disguise himself.

If he’s with friends, he’ll play a movie he knows everyone will enjoy ripping apart. If he’s alone, he’ll use this opportunity to watch some guilty pleasures he’s normally too embarrassed to acknowledge otherwise.

Harley Quinn:

She HATES being inside for so long :( :( :(

She will literally watch and rewatch everything on tv and on Netflix and just hope and pray that that’s enough to pass the time.

If she’s with someone, she’ll probably start bugging them until they agree to do something with her. Otherwise, she’ll just call up friends and she’ll chat with them for as long as they’re willing. They don’t have to talk about anything in particular, she just likes their company.

Joker:

He also gets stir crazy but like he’s so much worse than Harley is at controlling it.

He’ll use his time inside to draft up more plans to beat the shit outta batman or key Commissioner Gordon’s car. He doesn’t really NEED a super elaborate plan to key Gordon’s car, but the more convoluted it is, the funnier gets.

There’s a 50% chance he kick his foot through the television just to see what will happen and he’ll do that with all the other shit in his hideout until Batman has to come in and stop him, it’s literally:

Killer Croc:

Mostly uses this time to nap. He deserves it.

Might work out a little, but not much.

Works on his art! It would be nice to make something new!

Mad Hatter:

He bakes a lot of sweets, and sews more hats and bowties for himself!

If he’s missing a specific ingredient for the cookies he’s making… well. He’ll just use a substitute! This works for the first few recipes until he’s trying to use olive oil and sour cream as a milk-substitute and he’s like… yeah… he should probably order some groceries when he can. At least he had fun!

He’ll throw on all of the hats and outfits he hasn’t worn recently, and vogue in the mirror for hours, just trying different combinations of clothes. Also! He has consumed so much sugar and sugar-substitutes that he literally cannot fall asleep, so throwing a one-man fashion show is the only way to ride that shit out till he crashes 30 hours later.

Mr. Freeze:

Kdfj;sldkfjslkfj he’s already inside most of the time!!! He just wakes up and looks at his watch like “mmmhhhhmmmmm. Same shit as always.”

Broods. Yearns. Pines. Aches. Languishes.

He’s just glad that with him being stuck home, he can just focus on working on a cure for Nora. Sometimes, he’ll sit next to her and just talk to her till his throat is sore.

Penguin:

He already does this regularly, but he always likes using his extra time inside to go through his finances and records and organize everything thoroughly. Updates what debts he owes others… and what debts others owe him...

Of fucking COURSE he spends time with his birds!!! No time off is complete without spending some of it with his pets!!!

He’s a basic bitch at heart so he WILL take a long-ass bath with his secret stash of boxed wine and he’ll read Wuthering Heights for the 50th fucking time.

Poison Ivy:

Sweatpants, babey!!!!

No makeup! No rules!!! She is going to paint her nails with all of the fun, oversaturated nail polishes that Harley leaves in her lair!!!

Self care for HER, and ALL of her plants! Moisturizing, exfoliating, relaxing! The works!

Riddler:

He’s gonna play video games!!! He will NOT sleep!

If he doesn't want to play games, he’ll do a bit of coding for his own! It’s not something he spends a ton of his free time on, but sometimes it’s really fun to add more stuff to his own game!

If he gets bored, he’ll mess around with any of the puzzles in his lair. Like, he can easily solve a Rubik’s Cube, but it’s more about keeping his hands busy, you know?

Scarecrow:

“Oh? More time to make fear toxin? Alright, then.”

If he isn't fiddling with chemicals, he’ll actually do a little spring cleaning around his lair. Dust places that don’t really get dusted, reorganize his books, FINALLY go through his pantry and throw out the sleeves of crackers that had been in there for 5+ years, and maybe repurpose old clothes he doesn’t wear anymore.

He’ll brew some tea, grab a box of those frosted sugar cookies you buy at the grocery store, and find a quiet spot to read some poetry. The more blankets and pillows he has, the better.

Two-Face:

He’s like Eddie in the sense that he really likes keeping his hands busy. He’ll flip a coin, or goof with some fidget toy he keeps in his desk. It’s minor, but it helps time pass quicker.

He’s actually pretty fond of solitaire, so he’ll park himself in his living room with a deck of cards and some coffee or a beer and knock a few hours out that way.

Harv also likes to comb through his music collection! His playlists are always messy and disorganized but it doesn’t matter to him because it’s all music he likes, anyway! He doesn’t really sing along to anything but he’ll hum and bop his head along to the music.

[jungkookiebus]

Coffee Shop (m)

Genre: smut, nonidol!au Word Count: 3.3k Pairing: nonidol!Taehyung x reader Warnings: cunnilingus, semi-exhibitionism (again), unprotected sex (be safe!) Summary: Taehyung has always been this illusive creature that was way out of your league so you settled for staring at him in bio chem. One night at the 24 hour coffee shop that you work at, Taehyung walks in and proves that he’s noticed you more than you thought.  

“Who are you looking at?” Jiwoo asked waving her hand in front of your face.

You were both in your early morning bio chem lecture and you most definitely were zoned out on the lecture and you were most definitely not looking at the professor.

“What?” you asked coming out of your reverie.

“I asked who are you looking at? You’ve been staring wistfully off in that direction for at least fifteen minutes.”

The lecture hall was huge with stadium seating so there was no way that Jiwoo would know exactly who you were looking at.

“I’m not looking at anyone.”

“Bullshit. I know that look. You basically have heart eyes right now. Spill it.”

“kimtaehyung,” you mumbled under your breath.

“What?” she asked leaning closer to your face.

“Kim Taehyung,” you said quietly.

Jiwoo leaned out to look over the heads a few rows down and scanned until she found who she was looking for.

“You mean the super-hot theater nerd that has a thousand friends?” she asked leaning back again.

“The same one.”

“I heard he’s dating Choi Seoyun.”

“Figures. She’s gotten everything she’s wanted since high school.”

“No offense, but I don’t think Kim Taehyung would look twice at either of us.”

“Okay, screw you,” you said feigning hurt.

“If I were him, I would date you, but that’s just me,” she added with a wink. “Maybe you should join theater.”

“Fuck. That,” you said firmly. “I would make a bigger fool of myself.”

“You’re right. I don’t know what to tell you, man.”

“For now, he’s nice to look at.”

_________________________________________

“It’s going to be slow tonight,” Yoongi said beside you while tying his apron.

You were both on the night shift of the 24 hour coffee shop you worked at. Being a university town, the coffee shop was normally busy during exams, but during the regular semester you rarely saw more than five students a night. Friday nights in particular were slow since most students were out partying.

“I brought some homework to work on,” you said straightening out some brochures on the counter.

“Wow, you’re boring.”

“What else would you like to do?” you asked leaning on the counter and putting your hand on your hip. “It’s not like we can clear out the tables and play basketball in here.”

“Wouldn’t that be nice?” he laughed.

You began pulling your books out of your bag and setting them on the counter. You had a clear enough space, a stool, and a good line of vision in case a customer walked in.

“Go play on your DS or something,” you said before jotting down some notes.

He huffed and walked away from you to go do whatever it was Yoongi did while you weren’t busy. A couple of hours later, around 11:30, the chime sounded on the door. You had been so fully immersed in your reading that you hadn’t even heard it, nor did you notice when someone walked up to the counter. That was when you heard a polite cough come from you left. You nearly jumped out of your skin, raking a few cups off the counter and throwing the brochures that you had arranged earlier.

“Shit!” you yelled while clutching your chest. When you looked up your breath caught in your throat. Before you stood none other than Kim Taehyung.

“I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you that badly,” he said while a small smile crept across his face. “But I must say your reaction kind of made my night.”

You felt your face grow hot as you looked down. You really wanted to pass out and die right now. You cleared your throat and stood up from the stool and tried to plaster on your best smile.

“What can I get for you?”

“Uh, can I get some green tea please?” He scratched the back of his neck as if he were antsy. Taking this as a sign that you needed to hurry you immediately sprung into action.

“Yea! Absolutely!” You ran to set some water to boil, while dropping the thermometer you readied the tea to steep once the water got to the perfect temperature. You were trying your best to keep yourself busy, so that you wouldn’t look at him and be forced to make polite conversation. As it was right now, your mouth wanted to blurt out something stupid just to have a reason to talk to him, but you forced yourself to focus on your task at hand. At that moment Yoongi walked to the front from god knows where.

“Everything okay up here?” he asked looking between you and Taehyung.

“I scared the shit out of her,” you heard Taehyung laugh.

“Yea, well, I usually do that as a past time, but it looks like you beat me to it.”

You heard Taehyung laugh out loud this time, loudly.

“I’m fine, Yoongi,” you said bitterly without turning to look at him.

“Well, if you need me, I’ll just be in the back reorganizing everything for the fifth time.”

When you heard the swinging door’s rubber barrier slide across the floor, you grabbed the pot of water and slowly poured it over the tea leaves and set the timer to steep.

“So…,” you heard Taehyung begin.

You turned to see him still standing awkwardly at the counter.

“Yes?” you asked.

“You’re _____, right?”

Your hand slipped off the counter you were leaning on in surprise as you tried to play it off.

“…yes?”

“Bio chem with Kim?” he laughed at his own joke.

How in the hell did he know you had bio chem together? He always sat somewhere in front of you, so it’s not like he had seen you before.

“Yea,” you laughed. “It’s how I like to spend Monday and Wednesday mornings at eight a.m.”

He chuckled again while rearranging the brochures you had previously shuffled in your surprise.

“Listen, this might sound a little strange, but would you want to have some tea with me?”

You were pretty sure your eyes bulged out of your head.

“Right now?”

He looked around the empty café before turning back to you. “I mean, there’s not really anyone in here. Would you be able to? I don’t want to get you in trouble.”

“Uh…I…yea…that’s totally fine! Though I’m a coffee girl really.” You busied yourself to start an Americano before your timer went off. “You can go find a seat if you want! I’ll bring your tea to you.”

Taehyung simply smiled and scanned the café for the perfect spot. Once he had turned away you quickly grabbed your phone to text Jiwoo.

[You]: Bitch!!! Taehyung is in the café and he knows who I am and he just asked me to sit and have tea with him!!!!! The fuck!!!!!!!

[Jiwoo]: Are you fucking kidding me?! Wait, how does he know who you are?

[You]: I’m wondering the same thing. I’ll text you once I find out.

The timer went off for Taehyung’s tea and you carefully took out the infuser. You looked up to see Tae sitting at a table in the far corner of the restaurant. You carried both mugs to the table and set his in front of him.

“Thank you,” he said gratefully as he pulled the steaming mug into his hands.

“I don’t mean to sound rude, but how do you know me?”

Taehyung choked on the tea he had just sipped.

“I’m sorry is it too hot oh my god I fucked up,” you started to ramble.

He held up both hands in surrender while trying to get over his coughing fit. “No, no it’s not that. It’s just why wouldn’t I know you?”

“…what?”

“We have class together.”

Oh. That’s what he was talking about.

“Y-yea. So…do you like bio chem?”

“Hate it.”

You laughed. “So do I. I wouldn’t have taken it if it wasn’t required.”

“Yea your major is pysch, right?”

It was your turn to choke on your drink as Taehyung made a face that read that he had released too much information.

“How did you know what my major is?”

“I, uh, saw your books on the counter when I was ordering.”

You thought back to your homework spread on the counter.

“Oh, shit, yea. I’m sorry. I thought you were psychic or something. Just very observant.”

“You’re funny,” he laughed.

“I’ll be here all night.”

The both of you fell into comfortable conversation with no one entering the café and Yoongi never made an appearance from the store room; he tended to either work on his music in there or take a nap. You were both laughing about something Taehyung had said when he unconsciously laid his hand on top of yours. You both froze as you felt your skin turn red hot under his touch. He quickly pulled his hand away and looked at you uncomfortably.

“I’m really sorry. I’m not sure why I did that.”

You were embarrassed because of course Taehyung wouldn’t be the slightest bit interested in you.

“It’s just,” he began looking away from you. “I’ve kinda had a crush on you for some time now.”

“Excuse me, what?”

“Okay, I shouldn’t have told you that, I’m clearly stepping over a boundary.” Taehyung made to stand up and leave, embarrassed by his confession. You grabbed his wrist before he could go any further.

“No! No, it’s okay, but what about Seoyun?”

He looked at you confused. “Who?”

“Seoyun, the girl…you’re dating?”

“Wait, wait, wait. Choi Seoyun? I most definitely have nothing to do with her. Last I checked she was a stuck up bitch.”

“I always wondered why someone like you would date such a wretched human being, but admittedly, I’ve stared at the back of your head since day one of bio chem.”

“Wow.”

“Oh god, that’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever admitted.”

He laughed as he grabbed your hands from your face. “You’re cute,” he said kneeling down to your level as you sat.

You both stared at each other a second too long, the atmosphere in the café seemed to freeze, and your breathing became shallow. You felt too hot for your own skin and you were highly aware that you were wearing grubby clothes and a coffee stained apron. Before you could take a second breath Taehyung’s lips were on yours. You felt heat flush through your body as his soft lips moved over yours. They were everything you expected and then again, not at all. His hands were warm on your face and his breath quickened with yours. He broke away too soon and looked directly in your eyes.

“I’ve wanted to do that for so long,” he whispered.

“So did I,” you said before grabbing his head and bringing his lips back to yours.

You both forgot that you were in the café for a few minutes when you heard the heater kick on loudly. You nearly jumped out of your skin at the sound and looked around as if you had just been caught. You grabbed Taehyung’s hand and drug him to a separate store room that wasn’t Yoongi’s napping spot. Once inside, you were both all hands and tongues as he pushed you up against a shelf, causing bags of coffee beans to fall to the floor but you were both too involved with one another to care. You busied yourself by untying your apron and letting it fall to the floor.

Taehyung reached for the hem of your shirt. “May I?”

“Yes,” you answered him breathlessly. He was quick in his movements. He had your shirt over your head in seconds and then his lips were back on yours. He grabbed the hair on the back of your head to bring it back as he kissed along the vein in your neck.

“I’m going to make it so that every time you walk in this room, you’re going to instantly soak your panties.”

“I think they already are.”

He chuckled against your neck as he slowly ran his tongue back to your ear where he brought your earlobe between his teeth. You pressed your chest against his as he moved his mouth down to suck the skin beneath your ear.

“Please,” you whimpered.

“Please what?”

“Touch me.”

Taehyung reached down to unbutton your shorts. “Is this okay?”

“Quit asking me if everything is okay and just do it.”

“As you wish.” Taehyung dropped to his knees and pulled your shorts and underwear down in one go as soon as he had the zipper down. A moan emanated deep from within his chest as soon as you were revealed to him. “Do you know how many times I imagined this when you’d walk into class? It was like you knew I’d be watching you. Except, when I thought of this happening it was more along the lines of having you laid out in my bed while I fucked you until you couldn’t remember your own name. You really are as beautiful as I imagined.”

He started to place soft kisses along your hipbone to your navel before travelling down. He brought his mouth down and you watched as his tongue slowly slid over your clit and in that instant his eyes snapped up to yours. You wanted to pinch yourself or check your temperature to make sure you weren’t having a fever dream; the sight below you was everything you had ever dreamed of. His dark hair was swept off his forehead and his eyes glistened in the overhead fluorescent lights. In was in that instance that you heard the chime from the front door. Taehyung gripped your thighs tighter and continued his assault on your clit.

“T-tae…I have to g-go help,” you whispered.

He pulled back from you to say, “Let Yoongi get it.” before diving back in. This time he sucked your clit into his mouth, eliciting a moan from you when you heard Yoongi greet the customer in the front. Your thighs were incredibly and thoroughly soaked at this point and Taehyung was not letting up. You heard the chime again as the customer left and a very aggravated Yoongi calling out your name.

“Be quiet,” Taehyung whispered heatedly against you.

You clapped your own hand over your mouth to keep from giving yourself away. Yoongi’s footsteps drew closer to the door and you held your breath in anticipation to him opening it.

“Did she really fucking bail?” you heard him grumble before moving away back to where he came from.

At that moment Taehyung stood up and turned you around. “Hands on the shelf.”

You did as you were told and unconsciously spread your legs. Behind you, you heard him unzipping his pants and letting them drop to the floor. He ran his hands down your sides and to your ass where he spread your cheeks, looking.

“Such a pretty ass, but that’s for another day. Can I?” he asked while rubbing his cock in between your legs.

“What did I tell you about asking?” you panted. You were so ready to get fucked that you felt your whole body throbbing.

Without a word, he slid slowly inside of you. You both stifled a moan of satisfaction.

“You’re so fucking tight, ______.”

“Yea, well, it’s been a while,” you tried to joke.

“No one is going to fuck this tight cunt besides me from now on.”

Heat flushed through your body at his words. The prospect of a next time that didn’t involve a store room filled with coffee beans excited you. You felt his breath hot on your neck as he leaned down into you. His strokes inside of you were long and deep; he was taking his time with you. You felt his long fingers travel up your stomach and to your breast where he cupped you lightly before pinching one of your nipples through your bra. Your fingers gripped the shelf in front of you tightly; trying to hold yourself up and keep most of the contents from making noise.

“Do you think Yoongi will hear us?” he whispered in your ear.

“I hope not,” you gasped. His pace inside of you was still too casual. Part of you wanted him to fuck you into next week because that’s what you wanted, and the other part wanted it over so you didn’t get caught with your pants down at work. Something told you that Taehyung liked the excitement of this semi-public tryst. “Do you fuck people at work often?”

He laughed lowly as he took a step back, taking you with him, and never leaving his position inside of you. He ran his hand slowly up your back until you were at a ninety-degree angle, gripping the next shelf down, and grabbed your hips again. He leaned down low over your back to bring his lips to your ear once more. “No, just this girl I’ve been checking out since the beginning of the semester.”

This time his pace quickened. Your ears were filled with his skin hitting your ass at a rapid pace, his heavy breathing, and the roaring silence of the café beyond the door. Taehyung reached around to grab your throat and bring you back up against his chest.

“I can’t wait until I have you writhing beneath me, wrapped up in my sheets, and begging me to stop.” He was trying to get you to come as quickly as possible. He brought his fingers to your clit. “I’m going to taste this sweet pussy of yours and I’ll never be able to come back from it. I have a feeling I’m going to want to be between these legs for quite some time.” Your head fell back against his shoulder as you concentrated on his words, his fingers on your clit, and his heavy cock sliding in and out of you. “Then I’m going to fuck you until those pretty brown eyes roll back in your head. I’m going to find out your every fantasy and play them out for you. I want to worship this body every chance I get.” Your mouth fell open in a silent cry as you clenched hard around him feeling your orgasm as harshly as stepping outside on a hot, summer day. “And then when you think I’m done with you, I’m going to do it all over again.”

He pulled out from you, but held you close as you regained feeling in your legs; wrapping an arm around your waist affectionately. He kissed down your neck and shoulder before letting go to gather your clothes. He sat them on the shelf before pulling up his own pants.

You turned to look at him. “What about you?”

He looked down at his watch. “You get off in, what, an hour?”

You nodded.

“One thing you’ll find out about me,” he said walking up to you and placing a hand on your cheek, “is that not only do I want to make sure you’re satisfied, but I do like to play; you know, edging, overstimulation, and the like. That also means I like it done to myself. Let’s just say I’m saving myself for when you get off work.” He finished his statement with a wink.

You gulped, wondering exactly what he was into, and it also peaked your arousal again.

He kissed you lightly on the forehead. “I’ll meet you here when your shift is over.”

He watched as you dressed and then bid you a good rest of your shift before heading out. Yoongi came out of the other store room, looking aggravated at having to help someone when he heard the chime on the door.

“Where the fuck have you been?” he asked looking you up and down. “And why do you look freshly fucked?”

[andersunmenschlich]

Episode 3: Across the Street

All right, this one's the statement of an "Amy Patel," given when I was 27 years old.

We've got another student—an office worker taking a Criminology course at night as a sort of distraction from her boring job. One of her fellow students is a man named Graham, about a decade older than her, and a bit off-putting.

He smokes a lot, which means I wouldn't be able to even be around him because the smell would burn like acid and sandpaper in my nose and lungs and throat. Apparently this isn't a problem for Amy Patel though, which I find kind of enviable because dang it, isn't my life painful enough without all the extra pain any time I'm around anyone who smokes? They may think they're covering it with deodorant or perfume or aftershave or whatever, but they’re not, and the extra scents just make it worse, really... and those chemicals smell like poison.

He also scribbles furiously in a notebook during lectures, but says he doesn't take notes.

So either he doesn't realize he's doing it, or what he's writing has nothing to do with the lectures he's in, which... what's the point of being in the lecture, then?

She only sees him in classes until one night when they're both on the same bus. He's in front of her, so she's able to watch him without him knowing (which, personally, I think is the best way to watch people), and he's staring out the window like he's looking for something, scanning streets and rooftops.

At which point Amy Patel does a quite incomprehensible thing and goes and says hi.

And sits down next to him.

And talks to him.

Who, may I ask, thinks that's an okay thing to do?

Bafflingly, Graham seems fine with it. In fact he almost seems to like it, since he relaxes when she sits down by him, and apparently carries on a conversation about nothing with reasonable facility. I don't understand either of these people.

Then it turns out they've both got the same stop, at which point Amy returns to sanity for a bit and isn't comfortable with him knowing where she lives.

They get off the bus and they're both heading the same direction, and it's looking like they live on the same street, actually, when Amy (walking behind Graham) gets grabbed from behind and thrown into the street. By... apparently no one. Ooh, I'm thinking we've just encountered whatever Graham was scanning the streets for on the bus!

Strange that it would go for her, though.

Because it's the middle of the night and there are basically no cars, she doesn't get run over. But she does get a concussion.

Actually she gets knocked out for a bit, and because of the way head wounds bleed there is apparently a notable amount of blood and Graham calls an ambulance. The paramedics patch her up and tell her not to be alone for the next few hours because concussion.

That sounds terrible, frankly.

Even if I had a concussion, I think I'd be fine on my own, thanks. I can set alarms and things. Plus I've always been quite disciplined mentally.

In any case, she doesn't want Graham knowing where she lives, so she goes home with him—which doesn't strike me as much better, as these things go, but I suppose if one had to choose... well, why not find an all-night store or a restaurant or something?

It turns out all right, though, because she's able to learn that Graham's apartment is just across the street from hers and only two floors lower, which is not ideal for spying but not bad for it either. Also she spots a couple of hooks inside the window and assumes they support a window box, but when she looks again the hooks are gone. I'm... that's worrying. That's delightfully shivery, and brings back memories of whatever shoved her and vanished.

Graham has a lot of bookshelves, which I approve, but apparently they all hold notebooks, which I'm less sure about.

I mean, I have seven or eight bookshelves myself, but they all have books on them. Proper books, written by people who aren't me, mostly in English but maybe 200 or so in Japanese and a couple in, you know, German and Greek and that—normal books, is my point.

Not notebooks.

Also, they're categorized by language, then genre, and within genre, ordered by author's family name. Graham's notebooks, on the other hand, don't seem to have any system at all.

I do not approve.

So he settles her down on the sofa and gets her an icepack for her head and some tea for her insides, which is nice, and then he doesn't know how to handle silence, which is less nice. I mean, don't get me wrong: it's enjoyable to learn things about people. I can't count the number of times complete strangers have come up to me and told me things about themselves I never asked, and I've never objected. But when one has a concussion, I feel, people should leave one alone.

In any case, Graham tells Amy his life story, and she becomes thoroughly enraptured by his living room table in preference to listening to him.

The table interests me, too.

Apparently it's wooden, ornately carved, and has a hypnotic pattern of weaving lines on the surface which lead toward the center of the table, where there's a small square hole. Graham notices her staring and provides some information: he found it in a secondhand shop in bad shape and fixed it up but can't find the bit that goes in the middle.

Meanwhile, outside the window that doesn't have a window box in it, there are weird noises that Amy Patel assumes are pipes but I do not.

I'm thinking whatever it was that threw her into the street is hanging outside the window with its hook-hands, being creepy. Ooh, that's such a spooky thought! I really like it. I believe it's after Graham, but clearly it's not averse to going after her as well, so....

Anyway, Amy Patel heads off to be alone sooner than the medics said was okay, which I really can't fault her for, and does just fine.

A few days later, though, she starts spying on Graham.

Because she knows where he lives now, of course, and which window is his!

Honestly, I would have started spying a lot sooner. Actual real-life humans are far more interesting than fictional ones, and I like information, especially when it's about particular humans and no one knows I have it. Here, at least, Amy Patel makes sense to me. She makes Graham-watching her hobby "purely out of a detached interest in his life." I understand that.

And what she sees is weird.

He's obsessed with his notebooks, apparently, but can't seem to order them properly no matter how many times he reorganizes them, and sometimes he writes even in the ones that are already full.

Oh, and then there's the time he pulls down a notebook, tears out its pages, and eats them one at a time.

See, that's just weird.

Plus he's constantly freaking out any time there's an unexpected noise, running to the window and craning around like he's looking for something (then calming down when, apparently, he doesn't see it). And when he's not doing weird things with his notebooks, he just sits around chain smoking and staring at nothing, or at that strangely hypnotic table.

Which doesn't seem healthy to me. But Amy Patel says he leaves the apartment regularly and she doesn't follow to watch him outside it—which I might do—so who knows what all else he gets up to?

They're not in the same course anymore because she had to drop out, so he never sees her.

And then on Friday, April 7th, the real spooky happens.

Amy Patel is staring into Graham's living room via the window, and his light's on but he isn't in the room, so she's waiting for him.

Then she notices that there's a water pipe outside the window where there never was one before. And then it bends. And Amy Patel realizes that it's a long, thin arm—which reminds me of the long, thin arm in that dark alley from the first episode! Is this that same monster? It is the same world....

Anyway, it hooks the end of itself through the window.

Told you those weren't window box hooks.

And then the whole thing pulls itself through the window really fast, which is unhelpful. I'd quite like a better description! It's mottled gray, apparently, with at least four limbs. It whisks inside and the window slams after it and the light in Graham's flat goes right out.

Whereupon Amy Patel calls the police and reports a break-in.

I... I wouldn't do that.

I mean, it's not that it doesn't seem like a good thing to do, but I just wouldn't. I don't like using the phone. Text messages are fine, but one can't exactly text the police, can one? And that's about all I'd be comfortable doing.

She stares at the window until the police arrive—and when they do, the light goes back on in Graham's apartment.

The police go up, and a stranger lets them in: somebody shorter than Graham, with blond curly hair instead of short, dark hair... somebody wearing Graham's clothes. And the police search the place, looking for an intruder, and find nobody (because the intruder is right there, pretending to be the lawful owner of the place).

Which pretense you'd think would've gone right out the, uh, window it came in by when one of the cops finds a passport—but no! She looks at the passport, looks at the stranger, and decides they're the same person.

Oooh, that's freaky. I like it.

The police drive away and Amy Patel watches them go... and then she looks up and the imposter is looking right at her.

And he grins.

And pulls the curtains.

Oh, geez louise! That's lovely. That's just beautiful; I love it. That is so creepy.

So now Graham's gone. There's only this new person, who apparently throws away all Graham's notebooks, and keeps the curtains closed except when he's staring at Amy Patel's window, which he does every night. I suppose turnabout is fair play, but when the one doing the turning isn't—well, that doesn't seem right!

Personally, I would've gone through the garbage. I mean, you never know: maybe those notebooks would've cleared some things up... and even if they didn't, more information is always welcome.

Ooh, and whenever she finds a picture with Graham in it, it's always this new guy! While nobody from the course seems to remember him at all.

That is some power. I am impressed.

And then she runs into Not-Graham one day before work and he says he'll need to visit her one of these days, whereupon she moves away. And this seems to do the trick, since she says she never saw him again.

These stories are so good! I know this is only the third one I've listened to so far, but my. We are off to a good start.

Mr. Sims would like to dismiss this particular story, I think, but he's having trouble because Amy Patel is frankly very sane. Which he knows because Tim (the same assistant from last time) got hold of her medical records. Which doesn't seem legal? Jonathan Sims doesn't seem to care about legality so much he does as finance, though.

"He'd better not be using Institute funds to woo filing clerks again," he says.

Again?

Uh.... I'm not sure what kind of research the Magnus Institute does, but it looks like Mr. Sims, at least, is more interested in getting information than in following the rules.

Interestingly, the Institute somehow managed to get a whole bunch of photos of Graham (last name Folger, like the coffee), and only the Polaroids show the original Graham. Which reminds me of the bit in the first episode where Mr. Sims said some of the archive files apparently couldn't be recorded except with an old-fashioned tape recorder....

Ooh, and they got one of his old journals!

Which was apparently just full of "Keep Watching," written over and over again. So... way less helpful than I'd hoped. Oh well. Still nice to know.

I'm not sure this is the same monster from the first episode. I mean, that one seemed to vanish people for good and all, not replace them. But they—I dunno, they strike me as similar somehow. So perhaps they're, sort of, monstery cousins or something?

The coffin one seems very different from these two.

But I suppose I could be wrong.

[thesilverdragoon]

The Inn at Journey’s Head

Previous: To Amh Araeng

Next: The Cabinet of Curiosity

“N-no I...I really-”

“Rhon Ron insists! Please!! Stare, even sniff!! Plenty to choose from! All delicious!”

Vesevont’s stomach gurgled at the sight of the ‘food’ that lied before him on a dusty looking mat covered with sand.

In clay jars there were frogs on sticks that looked half cooked and gooey, and just below them were plates filled with fat, juicy grubs that still wriggled and writhed, mounds of red and rare meat of unknown origin that even the flies were not touching, and some sort of...stuffed flat-bread?

The worm inside his chest buzzed with excitement, despite the off-putting smell.

“What should we have? I WANT IT ALL!!!” The elezen heard in his head, or perhaps his ear.

His expression fell even further. “Uhm...”

“Can stand here all day deciding! Not a worry! Choose something! What do you like? Chewy, slimey, crunchy?” The kobold- no, the mord insisted again, bouncing up and down in its place at its little merchant’s stall, which was really an over-glorified rug with a covering over it.

“R-really I’m not very hungry-” Without any sort of consent, Ves’ hand moved forward towards the red meat before he tensed and jerked it back, with little success.

“STOP it-”

“FOOD!!!”

“NO!! NOT THAT!” For once, he didn’t want to eat. But, perhaps thankfully, he was able to redirect his defiant hand towards the flatbread, plucking up one of the huge round pieces and violently shoving it into his mouth as though it would be the last thing he’d ever eat again.

He was going to kill that worm the minute they got back to the Crystarium.

The maskless mord jumped back in fright before growing interested again, taking the ravenous eating (and choking) as a compliment. “See?! Very good! Very tasty! More where that came from! Have as much as you like!! Rhon Ron has much more!”

“I think we’ll be fine with that much, thank you, Rhon Ron.” The Exarch gently interjected, patting Ves on the back as he coughed onto the floor.

“Nice glazed wrigglers for the Exarch! Too thin! Need to fill up before heading into the desert!” “Erm...really it’s all right I-”

“Take one! Or ten! As many as you like! Please!! Eat!!!”

________

“Quite obviously you’ve seen the massive wall of crystal just on the horizon, looming over the entirety of what remains of Amh Araeng. That is where the Flood was stayed by the Oracle of Light.”

The two sat on a brick wall on the edge of the mord settlement of Mord Souq, occasionally clutching their stomachs as the cramps continued on (though they were beginning to die down, gazing upwards at the almost glowing wall of crystal that stared back at them in the distance.

“It’s like a massive wave from the ocean...” Ves muttered, still unsure if what he was seeing what in fact real.

It was too big to be real.

“...Is that where the sin eaters appeared from?” “Yes, from the great emptiness that lies behind the wall, they came in droves, descending upon those who had survived.”

Ves’ ears wilted a bit as he tried to imagine such a thing. “It’s almost similar to stories from back home, from Ishgard. How dragons would descend upon civilians and soldiers in the night, plucking them away and flying off, if they hadn’t killed them beforehand.”

These sin eaters were hardly any different than those dragons.

“They are, in a way.” The Exarch nodded, before hopping down lightly with a small ‘oof’. “Come, the more we walk, the less everything else will ache.”

Ves groaned and reluctantly followed, still clutching his stomach even as he felt Puffy giggle. “I don’t think I care much for mord cuisine...”

“I… I certainly will not be having dinner this evening tonight.”

The two meandered out of town and onto the top of a sandy slope, gazing outwards towards the rocky crags that lied beyond, all on a slanted downhill.

One particular outcrop caught the elezen’s attention.

“What’s that one there? Is that another small settlement?” The Exarch glanced up towards him, and then in the direction he was looking. “That one there? Yes, that is our next destination. It is called Journey’s Head.”

“What kind of people live there? A mixed crowd, like here?”

“It is a place where refugees go when they have been struck by a sin eater, and are on the path to turning.”

As the Exarch continued walking, Ves had to give pause, only to stare at his back.

“They… they come here?” He asked, almost in a smaller voice like a child would, before jogging to catch up to the man again.

“From all over, yes. They make their final pilgrimage here to Journey’s Head, and are cared for as they slowly begin to deteriorate.”

A lump formed in the knight’s throat as memories of being surrounded by nothing but hot, searing white came back to him. If that was what it was like…

Only with no end….

The worm slithered out of his shoulder to have a look around. “Hot. It’s hot here. And sandy.” “It’s a desert, what do you expect?” “Hah, we going to a place fulla people who get stabbed just like you? Oh man,” Puffy snickered.

Ves scowled at him. “It’s not funny. Not in the slightest.” “OK ok, it’s a little funny.”

“It is NOT.”

“I would advise that you remain hidden while we are there visiting,” The Exarch suggested without stopping or turning to address the worm, or Ves for that matter.

Puffy made some indignant ‘ugh’. “Why? No biggie if they’ll just see me. They’re gonna die anyway.”

“I do not think it would do well for their already frail mental health.”

“HMPH.”

Ves winced as Puffy slithered out of view once again. “I don’t understand… when we’re apart, he’s not… he’s not like this… But when we’re together then he’s completely insufferable.”

“YOU’RE INSUFFERABLE!!” A mouth suddenly morphed out of his neck and yelled at him before closing up as though nothing had ever happened.

The knight coughed and bent forward momentarily before jogging to catch up with the Exarch once again.

“Perhaps there is some change that occurs when he is powered by the aether of the Crystal Tower? I was never as well studied in the field of voidsent and the manners of creatures that dwell within their world.” The Exarch smiled sympathetically.

Ves sighed loudly. “Maybe…

I have a feeling I’ll never know.”

“Be that as it may...” As they passed another hill of sand, they spotted a group of people up ahead, shuffling along at an almost leisurely pace (not that Ves could or would blame them, it was hot out here. Pacing yourself would keep you from keeling over from dehydration.)

“Travelers?”

“I believe so.”

They caught up with them eventually, some of the strangers in cloaks quite startled to be in the presence of the Crystal Exarch himself.

“Y-You’re from the Crystarium aren’t you?” One of the cloaked humes stammered, eyes wide as he looked back and forth between the Exarch and Vesevont. There were a few murmurs amongst the travelers.

“Yes, were you on your way to Journey’s Head?”

The man nodded with a grim look brushing over his features. “We are, yes.”

“Then would you mind terribly if we were to accompany you and yours? My companion and I were on our way ourselves just now.”

“W-why yes of course! Of course! Please, by all means!”

The group reorganized themselves and continued along, with the Exarch and Ves in tow.

None of them glanced over their shoulders at them, which Ves found strange. Usually people were nosey and wanted to see what was going on. But their state of affairs was far too dire for them to even do that, or so Ves had guessed.

In between some of the adults he noticed one particular short traveler who would look back every now and again. All of them had their hoods up, obscuring everything but their faces and hands and shoes, but with how many times their much-smaller-compatriot turned around, their hood kept sliding back down (only for them to pull it up again.

A child.

Immediately Ves felt a pit in his stomach as his anxiety rose.

Journey’s Head was upon them at last however, and almost immediately from the encampment came another hume woman to greet them.

The two stood a distance away as the group shuffled in one by one, pulling their hoods down in relief as though they had just reached sanctuary.

The child from before- a little girl with long blonde hair held onto a rather pale and fragile looking woman’s hand as one of the residents guided them further inside.

Maybe it was her mother?

Ves couldn’t help but watch them in particular, before the first woman approached them. “Exarch-” She tried her best not to stammer with surprise and even bowed a little. “What brings you here so far away from the Crystarium?” She looked confused more than anything else, eyeing Ves up and down warily.

“My companion you see here hails from the same homeland as I, and I have decided to show him the nearby regions outside of Lakeland and offer whatever assistance I may for the day here.” The man smiled warmly.

The woman copied the gesture, albeit with a sad undertone. “You’ve a kind heart, sir. We certainly could use all the help we can get out here, thank you. Would you like to have a look around?” She asked, looking to Ves expectantly this time.

The Exarch bobbed his head to the side, silently motioning for him to accept the offer.

Swallowing again, the elezen nodded, unsure.

“Well come on then, look lively.

You’ll have to, for the others.”

________

Despite the everlasting light in the sky, it was always the sheer amount of work that had helped the time pass. Or maybe it was the exhaustion that it would incur. Whatever it was, Ves hardly found any moment worthy of complaining about it.

Not with the pale faces that surrounded him, staring off into the distance with a glazed over look in the eye surrounded by ivory skin.

Everyone of the residents there at Journey’s Head was at a different stage of the sickness, but they all displayed the same symptoms.

Stiffening joints, ivory skin, a fog in the mind- In a way, it was like aging, only the end result would be that they turn into a horrific monster that would prey on others in order to make more of its own kind.

And it would be painful throughout the entire process, so he was told.

Squeezing his eyes shut for a moment, he shook his head and focused on the carrot and peeler in his hands. Such heavy thoughts for something so simple as chopping up vegetables for a stew… But he couldn’t help it.

Even Puffy hadn’t come out to poke around or make comment. Whether or not any of it was getting through to the worm- Ves furrowed his brows, again shifting his attention to anything else.

Like the light footsteps that approached his side.

He looked up, ears practically rising along with his brows. “Oh-”

It was the little blonde girl from before. Only, she held her hands together and looked downcast and sullen, but still a bit curious as to what he was doing. Shy would be the word.

Ves eyed her, and then the carrot, before snapping off a piece and offering it. “Would you like to help me?” He asked.

The girl blinked (or winced) with surprise before taking the piece nervously. “Uhm- well- I-”

“I have some potatoes over there that need peeling. They’re going to make a tasty stew for everyone for supper.” He smiled, going back to peeling.

“A stew? Sure, I can help,” She nodded, going over to the bag full of roots and plucking a big potato up as she found a place to sit nearby afterwards. “My mother taught me how to cook a little,”

“Oh? That’s handy to know, I’m sure. I’m not very good at cooking myself.” Despite everything, he found himself chuckling at the statement more than he thought he would have.

“That’s all right, you’re a soldier aren’t you? You’re probably too busy protecting anyone to practice.” She answered, smiling a little more as the potato skin rolled off into a neat spiral. “I’m Tesleen.”

“I’m Vesevont.”

“Vesevont… What an unusual sounding name… Where are you from?”

“Ah- from the Exarch’s homeland. I’ve come a long way to help him. So he’s been showing me around all sorts of places.”

“Mmm.” She nodded once. “We came from far away too. You saw some of the others, and… and how they look. Mother too,” Tesleen slowed down in her peeling, staring at the dirt instead.

Ves watched as he threw the bits he’d finished into the big pot, brows furrowed with concern. “Your mother?”

“Yes, she- well…” Tesleen cleared her throat again and reached for another potato. “Where we lived- sin eaters attacked everyone. Not many made it to safety. She… She made sure I was safe.”

“Oh… I see.” His ears wilted somewhat, before he sucked in a breath and let it out slowly. “That was very brave of her. I’ve seen a lot of brave people all around lately, you know?

It’s very admirable.” “Admirable?”

“Yes.” He nodded. “To see that even during times like these, there are still people willing to fight. And not give up.

That’s what everyone needs to survive.”

Tesleen nodded back in agreement. “I think so too.”

“She’s going to need you more than ever. Your mother, that is.”

Tesleen swallowed the lump forming in her throat and blinked several times. “I know,” She answered in a smaller voice. “It’s… It won’t be easy.” She sighed, her peeling picking up speed once again as though she’d found a pocket of renewed vigor somewhere. “Good things rarely ever are, she says. That the things you struggle for the most are the ones well worth it in the end.”

“She’s right you know. I’d like to be as smart as her someday.”

They both laughed a little bit as the pot slowly filled up with peeled vegetables.

“There we are.”

“Do you think that’s enough for everyone? Perhaps we should try to find them a bigger pot… The mord might have one back in their town!” Ves balked internally at the idea of walking all the way back to Mord Souq (and being assaulted by Rhon Ron’s insistence again.) “I think it’ll be enough. Your eyes are usually bigger than your stomach, even when you’re really hungry.” He bent his knees slightly as he lifted the pot up to bring it closer towards the cooking fire that another carer was already tending to.

The roegadyn (er...galdjent was it?) man looked up, “Got it done, elf?” He asked, eyeing the pot almost critically and even coming over to pluck up a few pieces, turning them over like gemstones that had just been dug up.

“Yes, the pot’s filled halfway just like you asked. Tesleen was of great help.”

Tesleen beamed and held her hands together as she swiveled back and forth in her spot.

The carer hrm’d aloud, but otherwise seemed pleased. “Very good. Thank you both for your help. Everyone will get a hearty portion for supper, rest assured.”

The knight and the girl eyed each other as if to confirm their lingering doubts, the two of them finally at ease.

“Is there anything else you need help with?” “Yes! Let us help!” “Well now, let me see, I-”

Before the carer could go on, the Exarch raised his hand to wave at Vesevont from afar, towards the way they’d come.

“Ah, I do believe the Exarch is calling for you. Perhaps another time.”

Ves turned to look back over his shoulder at the waving hooded-man.

It was time to go.

Rather than rushing off, he turned back to the girl Tesleen and knelt down so that they were closer to eye-level with one another. “Will you be all right here?”

Tesleen nodded enthusiastically almost. “I will. I’ve got to look after mother. And help everyone else who needs it too.”

Ves wasn’t sure if he was necessarily calmed by it, but he could find the conviction she showed positively endearing. It made leaving sting all the more. “You’ll do a good job of it. I’ll come and visit every now and then and we can help everyone together?”

“I’d like that! Yes.” She grinned, before looking down at his extended prosthetic hand, which she then shook as though she were making a pact. “You’re not too bad at peeling carrots. I could show you how to peel them faster next time!” The knight laughed, “I’d very much like that.”

He stood up and gave a brief nod to the galdjent before leaving to rejoin the Exarch.

“So? Was the day productive after all?”

“It was, very much so.”

“I’m glad to hear it!”

As they left Journey’s Head behind them, Ves couldn’t help but turn to look back every so often.

Even the Exarch noticed. “Is there something troubling you?” He asked.

“...I didn’t… realize just how bad it...” The Ishgardian couldn’t even bear to finish his sentence.

They’d spent the day in a hospice. Every one of the patients there was destined to die to poison in their favorite meal, and until that day came, they would spend every waking minute of it in numbing agony.

The corner of his eyes began to sting as a heavy feeling weighed down in his chest. Not that it was physical pain.

But sadness.

The Exarch reached out and rested his hand on his arm briefly. “I am grateful you agreed to come with me today. You did much more than you know for them, by spending even just hours there.”

Ves let out a clipped sigh and couldn’t find the words to answer him with. So again, he only nodded.

As they climbed back up the sandy slopes back to Mord Souq, he couldn’t help but wonder why Puffy had not come out to talk. The worm hadn’t even so much as wriggled the entire time they had been there.

The old man could only wonder.

[tomsgreg]

Worst-Case Scenarios

Hey! Here’s my fic for this year’s @stoziersecretsanta!

Giftee: @rhonas-indomitable

Title: Worst-Case Scenarios

Summary:  Stan and Richie have both had things for each other for years, but when Stan confesses his feelings Richie freaks out and it leads the both of them to think the worst of their situations.

Includes: high school au, mutual pining.

Ao3 link: Worst-Case Scenarios

Stan was with Beverly in his bedroom, she was sitting on his bed while he was reorganizing his bookshelves, stacking and restacking everything until it was just right, it was a nervous habit, it calmed him down. When everything else was in order, he felt as though he himself were also in order. 

“You know Stan, I could help if you need it.” 

Stan shook his head, “No. You won’t do it right. I have to do it.” 

Beverly nodded her head, understanding Stan had his own ways of dealing with stress, even if she didn’t quite understand how they helped, “So what’s wrong, Stanny? Why are you so stressed out?” 

“Stressed?” Stan asked, turning to face Beverley instead of his shelf. “I’m not stressed at all, what makes you think I’m stressed?” 

Bev shrugged, “I know you, Stan. I know when something’s off with you. So tell me, what’s wrong?”

Stan sighed, walking to his bed before sitting next to Bev, “It’s about Richie.”

“What did he do?” She asked.

“Nothing. He didn’t do anything. He just exists and I hate him for it!” Stan began pulling at his hair, and Bev took his hands reassuringly.

“Well, you can’t exactly stop him from existing, but that’s irrelevant. Isn’t he your best friend?”

“Yes, but he’s not just my best friend. I like him, a lot”

Bev gasped, trying to seem shocked, “No way! This is new information!”

Stan rolled his eyes, “Shut up. It’s not funny.”

Bev looked down, “Right. Sorry. Just trying to lighten the mood.”

Stan sighed, “I know, and I’m sorry. I just don’t know what to do.”

“Well, there is an obvious solution. Ask him out.” 

Stan laughed incredulously, and Bev’s jaw dropped, “What’s so funny about that?”

“I can’t just ask him out, Bev. Too much can go wrong.”

“Like what?” She asked.

“Well let me paint you a picture of my worst-case scenario” He replied. 

---

Stan took a deep breath before walking out of his final class and heading to his own locker next to Richie’s. He quickly exchanged any books he would and would not need and he waited for Richie to come from his own class. Stan was shaky, but he was determined to do this. He had to. It was the only way Richie would know how he felt, and after all, Richie deserved to know.

“Hey Stanley the Manley, what’s up?” Richie asked, opening up his locker and putting his books away before taking out the books he would need for the night’s homework.

“Oh not much, can we just talk for a second? It’s kind of important.” Stan said, his heart beating a mile a minute.

“Sure, what is it?” Richie asked, closing his locker and facing his friend. 

“I don’t know how to say this, so I just will. I like you. A lot. And I understand if you don’t feel the same way, but I thought you should know.” 

Richie stared at his friend for a minute before pointing at him and laughing. Within seconds, the whole hallway was laughing, and in minutes, the school. The noise was so loud Stan felt as if the world would explode, and then it did. 

----

“So let me get this straight.” Beverley said, “The worst-case scenario is that everyone laughs so loudly the world explodes?”

“Yes,” Stan said, nodding his head.

“Stan, not only is that ridiculous, but I’m pretty sure it’s straight out of Phineas and Ferb. And even Phineas and Ferb made it a ridiculous worst-case scenario.”  

“Well, Bev, it’s a bit of an exaggeration, but it’s still a really big fear. I don’t want him to laugh at me. He’s my best friend and I don’t want to make things all fucked up between us.” 

Beverly took her hand from Stan’s and pat his shoulder, “Stan, you won’t fuck things up, and if he makes you feel like that, let me know and I’ll smack some sense into him. You can do this.”

Stan nodded his head and smiled, “Yeah Bev. I got this. Thank you.”

Beverley smiled back, “Anytime Stanny”. 

----

Well, today was the day. Stan was going to swallow his pride and tell Richie how he feels about him. He could do this, he would do this. Stan went through his day, less focused than usual. He hated that he’s been getting like this over a stupid boy, but Richie was his stupid boy, and he couldn’t help letting later in the day occupy his thoughts. He went through his day as normally as he could anyway, pushing through what felt like the longest six hours of his life to see Richie and tell him what he wanted to say for years. When 8th period finally let out he got to his locker as quickly as possible and took care of his books before patiently waiting for Richie to arrive. 

“Guess who, Stanny?” said Richie, covering his shorter friend’s eyes with his hands.

“Is it the cold clammy hands of death?” Stan asked sarcastically.

“My hands are not clammy,” Richie said, feigning offense and taking his hands off Stan before attending to his own locker. 

“Uh, Rich?”

“What is it?”

“Can I tell you something?” Stan said, his face red, looking down to avoid looking at Richie.

“Anything, but you have to look at me. It’s hard to hear when your words are directed to the floor, ya know?” Richie said, smiling playfully at his friend.

Stan sighed and looked up at Richie, “I like you. Like, not as a friend, and I hope things don’t become awkward, but I needed to get it off my chest.”  

Richie’s face was bright red and he was frozen still, Stan looked at him, confused, “Rich? You okay?” 

Richie shook his head, “Yeah. I, I just- I uh...gotta go!” Richie said before running down the hallway and out of the building before he even remembered to close his locker. 

Bev came up to Stan, who was still staring at the door, “How’d it go Stan?”

“He ran off.”

“He what?”

“He. Ran. Off. Thanks for the advice, Bev. Worked out well.” 

“Hey hey, I’m sorry. Let’s run to the diner by my place. We can talk about it there.” 

Stan sighed and nodded, silently following Beverley out of the building. 

----

Out of breath, Richie rang Bill’s doorbell hoping that Bill could drive faster than Richie could run. 

“Fuck, my car!” Richie screamed out to no one in particular. He got so freaked out that he forgot a car. “How is that even possible?” He asked himself.

“How is what possible?” Bill asked. 

Thank god Bill had gotten home, “Stan said he liked me and I got so freaked out that I ran off and forgot I had a whole ass car to use to get here.” 

Bill sighed, “So what? You want me to drive you back to school to get your-wait what?”

“Stan said he liked me and I got scared and ran!” 

“Fucking hell Rich, why would you do that?”

“I don’t know Bill! I got scared!”

Bill shook his head before stepping aside to let his taller friend in the house before leading him up the stairs to his room where Bill sat and Richie began pacing. 

“So what exactly happened?” Bill asked.

“Okay so I went to my locker right, and Stan was there so I was all like, 'Guess who?’ and he was like ‘The cold clammy hands of death?’ So I was like-” 

“Rich, please” Bill interjected, “Skip to the important part”

“Right.” Richie said, taking a breath, “Basically he told me he liked me and I didn’t know what to do! So I panicked and ran, and now I’m here!” 

“You didn’t know what to do?” Bill asked, “You tell him you feel the same way you absolute nimrod!” Bill says, in that voice that he wants to yell, but knows he shouldn’t because it’ll just upset Richie more. 

“I can’t do that! In fact, I can’t even hang out with him anymore!”

“And why not?”

“Well, you see…”

----

Stan and Richie sat together in the bed of Richie’s pickup truck. The pair had been there the whole night just holding onto the other wrapped up in blankets. They had brought a few beers, finished long ago when they had first arrived, but the smell on their breath still lingered. Not that Richie has been being a total creep the whole night. He definitely would never intentionally sniff his best friend’s breath, but Stan was so close. His shoulder touching Richie’s chest, looking up at him. Whenever he spoke the scent wafted up. Richie was intoxicated by the idea of gently grabbing his friend’s face and just gently kissing him. He couldn’t though. If he was going to kiss his friend he was going to do it sober. He had to, it wouldn’t be fair to Stan, or frankly, himself if their first kiss was some mistake they both made when they were tipsy off of a 6 pack of cheap beer. 

“Richie.” Stan said, lightly hitting his friend’s chest, “Rich, you okay?”

“Hm?” he questioned, coming back to reality, “Yeah I’m okay. Just got lost in thought.” 

“Whatcha thinkin' about?” 

“Just how beautiful everything is out here. It’s quiet, the stars are bright. I could live here.” Richie’s softly smiled.

“I don’t think you could live anywhere this quiet, trash mouth.” Stan chuckled playfully. He was definitely drunker than Richie was. He was smaller and didn’t drink nearly as often. Textbook lightweight, but Richie didn’t mind. Richie thought it was cute, the same way he thought everything Stan did was cute. If you asked Richie, the sun shines out of Stan. 

Richie stared at his best friend, and he took a deep breath before replying, “Maybe I could if I had you with me.” 

Stan stared back, looking at Richie quizzically, “What do you mean?” 

“I just mean I really like you, and I think even I could live out here in nature, with nothing else to entertain me, if I had you.” 

Stan kept staring, his gaze softer now, Richie’s heartbeat so fast he could hear his pulse in his ears, then Stan chuckled, “Kiss me” 

“Huh? Stan, I don’t know if we should. I mean, there’s a lot that can go wrong. What if you wake up tomorrow and you’re like ‘ew why did I do that?’ and then you start avoiding me? I don’t think I want to risk losing you.”

“Well, worry about tomorrow, tomorrow.”

“Huh?”

“Who gives a shit about tomorrow? We can worry when it comes.”

“Stan, since when are you willing to dive into anything without thinking?”

“Since I’ve wanted to kiss you since freshman year. So kiss me before I change my mind.” 

Richie was still staring, hesitant to move. What if this was one of Stan’s weird jokes? That he didn’t really like Richie and when Richie moved and Stan started laughing? Richie was pulled out of his thoughts when he felt Stan move so that he was sitting upright facing him. 

“So? Are you gonna kiss me?” Stan asked.

Richie was still hesitant, but moved closer and gently cupped Stan’s face. He moved his face closer to the other boy’s and stopped just before their lips touched, taking a moment let himself believe this was really happening, “You know, I’ve never kissed anyone before” he said, once again pulling away. 

“Neither have I” Stan admitted before pulling Richie in and crashing their lips together. It was awkward and clumsy, but perfect. It was perfect because it was them and it was everything they wanted for years. Maybe Richie wasn’t the best kisser, but he hoped he had a lot of time to practice. 

Just as he was the one to initiate the kiss, Stan was the first to pull away, smiling “You know Rich? That was…” he paused, and Richie smiled hopefully, “horrible.” 

Richie frowned, “Horrible?”

“Yeah. Horrible. Please never speak to me again. Bye.” Stan said, getting out of the bed of the truck and heading home.

----

“And THAT, Bill, is why I can’t hang out with Stan anymore,” he said, pacing the floor just as he had been for the last 10 minutes.

“And why is that?” Bill asked, sitting on his bed.

“Because, we’ll be hanging out on a date, and everything will be normal, and it’ll be nice it’ll be just like it always is. BUT THEN! I’ll slip up, and I’ll say something stupid. And I’ll be such a bad kisser that he’ll hate me and never wanna hang out with me again!” 

“Richie, you hang out with Stan all the time. This has never been an issue before. Why is it a problem now?” 

“Because I didn’t like him before!” 

Bill scoffed, “Richie stop with the bullshit. We both know you’ve had a thing for Stan since 8th grade.” 

Richie rolled his eyes, “Fine, but now I know he likes me, and I’ll fuck it up if I keep hanging out with him! Do you see the problem now?”

“Richie if you haven’t fucked it up yet you never will. UNLESS you let him think you’re uninterested. He won’t wait forever.” 

“So why doesn’t he tell me he likes me?”

“Richie. He did. You freaked out and ran away. Now we’re here. None of which will make you seem even remotely interested in him.”

“But I am!”

“Then tell him that!”

“I can’t!” Richie said, practically yelling. 

Bill rolled his eyes, letting out a long sigh before falling back onto his bed.

“Bill?”

Bill sat back up, “Richie, everyone knows you like him. Just go for it. Clearly he likes you too, but I’ll be honest you really fucked up. Before it gets any worse, I’d go now.” 

Richie nodded, with a new determination he hadn’t had before, “You’re right Bill. Now if you excuse me, I have to go win my boyfriend back.” he said, running down Bill’s stairs and out the door

“He’s not your boyfriend!” Bill yelled from the top of the stairs.

“Not YET he’s not!’ Richie replied, once again running, but this time to Stan. 

----

“Bev, this is EXACTLY why I didn’t want to tell Richie I liked him. This is even worse than what I thought would happen.” Stan said, sitting across from Beverely in the greasy diner. 

“You think this is worse than your worst-case scenario of ‘he laughs so hard the entire earth blows up’?” 

“That was an exaggeration of my fears and you know it.” He said, twiddling his thumbs, trying to avoid biting his fingernails from nervousness. 

“Okay fine. So you think Richie turning bright red, and running away, clearly freaked out, is worse than him laughing at you?” She asked before taking a sip of her coke. 

“It is, because if he laughed at least I’d know it was ridiculous right? I’d know I had no shot. Now I have no idea. Did he run away because he didn’t want to hurt my feelings? Did he run away because he just didn’t know how to deal with his feelings?”

“Ding ding ding! It’s the second one.”

“How do you know?”

“Without throwing Richie under the bus, I know for a fact he likes you. You don’t listen to the boy talk about you for two minutes without figuring it out.” 

Stan turned his head, like a curious puppy at a new noise, “What do you mean?”

“I mean, he once compared your eyes to, and I quote, “the prettiest rocks I’ve ever seen”

Stan chuckled, “He doesn’t have much of a way with words, does he?”

“No. Which is why he ran away from you.” 

Stanley nodded, “So what do I do? Let him come to me? Go after him? I feel like I should give him space, right?” he looked at Bev, practically begging for an answer.

She shrugged in response, “How am I supposed to know, Uris? He’s your boyfriend.”

“Not my boyfriend” Stan corrected.

“Not yet,” replied Bev, smiling at her friend who finally seemed to have calmed down. 

---- 

When Richie arrived at Stan’s house he wasn’t there, and Richie isn’t sure if he was grateful for this or not. On one hand, he has time to catch his breath and find the perfect way to tell his best friend how he feels. On the other hand, he has time to think about all the ways he can and probably will fuck this up for himself. He was trying his best to stay positive, but it was proving difficult. Especially when Beverley drops Stanley off in front of his house and suddenly Richie’s hour of practicing what he was going to say felt like a minute if that. 

“Richie, what are you doing here?” Stan asked, trying to remain calm in case Bev was wrong about Richie’s feelings.

“I came to apologize about before.” He replied, sheepishly scratching at the back of his head.

“Rich, there’s no need to apologize. If you don’t feel the same way then I’m okay with that I just-”

“But that’s the thing Staniel! I do feel the same way! I’ve liked you for years, I just never thought you liked me!” 

“So when you got confirmation that I did in fact, like you, you ran away?”

Richie sighed, “Yeah. It wasn’t my proudest moment. The thing is though, I’m scared too. You’ve been my best friend for as long as I can remember. God forbid something happens and I lose you? I don’t know what I’d do without my best friend. I love you Stanny, you’re important to me. Not even just romantically.” 

Stan sighed and smiled, “I was worried about that too, but if it helps,” he said, stepping closer and grabbing Richie’s hand, “I feel a lot better knowing that if something happens, neither of us are willing to throw away our friendship.” 

Richie smiled softly, “Right. You’re right. So, does this mean we’re dating?”

“Does it?”

“Not yet,” Richie said, his soft smile becoming flirtatious. 

Stan’s face mirrored Richie’s own, “And why is that?” he asked.

“I still haven’t kissed you,” he said, pulling Stan close to him and gently pressing his lips to his friend’s. It was soft and tender and definitely not how Stan would’ve pictured kissing Richie for the first time, but it was everything Richie had imagined and more. 

Richie pulled away first, still holding onto Stan, “How was that for my first try?”

“You could use more practice, but don’t worry. So can I.” Stan replied, his smile stretching ear to ear, his eyes crinkled in the corners before pulling Richie in for another kiss.

[angelofrainfrogs]

Serendipity (Part 1/3)

Fandom: Good Omens

Pairing: Aziraphale/Crowley (but not the main focus)

Other Characters: Warlock Dowling

Description: Seven years after Armageddidn't, a boy wanders into A.Z. Fell and Co. and finds something more priceless than a first-edition novel- a reunion he (and his childhood caretakers) never thought possible.

Rating: G

Genre: General/Family/Mild Hurt/Comfort

Read on Ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20432192/chapters/48473378

Part 1

Aziraphale raised his head from his book as the bell over the shop door jingled merrily. The angel carefully set the book and his glasses on a nearby table, standing up with a small sigh. Today had been blessedly quiet and he’d hoped that it would remain as such- this was only his third customer and it was already mid-afternoon. Still, he knew that if he let whoever had just walked in wander aimlessly, they might feel the urge to buy something; it was best to check on the visitor and see what their mission was before they tried anything rash.

“Hello!” Aziraphale said warmly, rounding the corner of an overstuffed bookshelf to find a boy examining a section of Italian poetry. The boy was in his late teens, with a lanky build just a smidge taller than Aziraphale. He wore dark jeans and a V-neck t-shirt bearing the logo of some pop band the angel would never understand. His hair, a cross between dirty blonde and light, light brown, was cut short, save for the unruly swathe of bangs that fell in front of his bright blue eyes.

“Hey,” the boy replied, pushing his bangs out of the way to get a better look at Aziraphale.

The angel blinked as he was hit with a wave of strange familiarity. A slight crease between his eyes was the only thing that alluded to this; otherwise, he kept himself composed. Aziraphale had seen so many humans over the years, he got the occasional twinge of feeling that he knew someone passing by in the street, but it always turned out to be a double of someone he’d met long ago. This boy, surely, was no different.

“Is there anything in particular you’re looking for, young man?” Aziraphale asked, clasping his hands behind his back.

“No, I just… kinda wandered in to look around, honestly.” The boy laughed and Aziraphale couldn’t stop his smile from widening. The laugh, coupled with the boy’s American accent, triggered something deep within his memory, though he couldn’t quite reach it. “The Yelp reviews of this place are wild; I wanted to see what it’s like for myself.”

“Yelp reviews?” Aziraphale questioned, tilting his head. He’d heard of this before from some of the other customers. From what he gathered, Yelp was a platform where people could post reviews of places they’ve visited. Based on what Aziraphale had been told, his bookshop would be classified as having a “mixed rating.”

“Yeah, people have said all kinds of shi- er, stuff about this shop,” the boy replied, correcting his near-curse as he guiltily met Aziraphale’s gaze. Something told the boy that the shop owner wouldn’t appreciate that sort of language. Remembering a particularly interesting review, the boy’s face lit up. “Is it true there’s a giant snake in here?!”

“Ah, well… sometimes,” Aziraphale admitted, a bemused light in his eyes. “He tends to wander, though; he’s out at the moment.”

The boy’s face shifted into an expression of mingled confusion and curiosity. Aziraphale’s unneeded breath caught in his throat. The strange sensation pulsed in the back of the angel’s mind, the feeling that he definitely knew this boy. He wanted more information on his origins, but it wouldn’t do to push too hard, lest he scare the boy off- Aziraphale had been told on more than one occasion that he could be rather “ruthless” (according to a certain demon, though the phrase made the angel scrunch his nose up in disgust) when it came to gathering information he desperately wanted to know.

“We don’t usually get many visitors from out of the area; are you on holiday?” Aziraphale asked, busying himself with reorganizing a shelf of books that had been shifted out of alphabetical order. There had to be some connection- he’d probably met the boy’s family or long-distant relative on a trip to America many years ago.

“No, I’m going to college here- university, whatever you want to call it,” the boy replied with a shrug. “Well, I mean, I don’t have class today- I’m not skipping or anything.” Again, there was that guilty look, as if the boy was afraid of disappointing the man in front of him- which was odd, since the boy had certainly never met the elusive Mr. Fell before. “I’ve got a day off, so I figured I’d check out Soho. I never really got to just, like… explore England when I was a kid.”

The angel froze mid-task. His slowly turned, focusing on the boy’s face and really looking. Time seemed to fade before his eyes, the boy’s defined features softening into the lanky face of a pre-teen, then melting further into the chubby visage of a child with a smudge of dirt on his cheek from where he’d rubbed his face while planting flowers-

“You okay, Mr. Fell?” the boy asked, noting the slight tremor in Aziraphale’s hands. The angel blinked, quickly composing himself.

“Yes, I-I’m fine, young W-… dear boy.” Aziraphale caught himself as his voice slipped into an accent he hadn’t used for over seven years. He shook his head; there was absolutely no way this could be the same child whose bruises he’d healed with a loving kiss and a touch of divine miracle.

“…Okay.” The boy didn’t sound convinced but decided to let the matter drop. He’d heard that the owner of the bookshop was eccentric and figured that the hyper-focused attention he was receiving was part of the package. Although, the boy had to admit that, just for a second, the man had sounded terribly familiar.

An awkward silence followed, neither of the two knowing how to continue the conversation. Aziraphale’s mind was racing, trying to figure out if this really was the boy from his memory and, if this was true, why in the world he had chosen to visit the bookshop. Aziraphale and Crowley had a discussion many years ago about whether they should try to reconnect with Warlock Dowling and had concluded that they’d already interfered in the boy’s life enough. His personality had seemed fairly balanced when they’d left, save for a tendency to be extremely blunt when speaking his mind. They had no idea what they'd really done to the poor mortal boy’s psyche and decided it best to leave him be and hope that he grew up as normal as he could from his eleventh birthday onward.

So, Crowley and Aziraphale stayed far away from the Dowlings for nearly a decade. They were so strong in their conviction of never going to see Warlock again that they hadn’t even entertained the possibility that the boy might find them.

No, it’s too much of a coincidence, Aziraphale thought, watching the teenager as he started looking through the poetry books in front of him. The angel glanced towards the ceiling, his lips pursed. Unless this is another part of Your ineffable plan…

“Hey, Mr. Fell?” The boy’s questioning tone brought Aziraphale back to Earth instantly. “I know you don’t, like… actually like to sell stuff, so the internet says, but maybe you could help me find a book for my mom’s birthday? I honestly don’t think she’d notice if I bought her a first edition Shakespeare collection or whatever, but… I dunno.” The boy shrugged. “I thought I could try something different and see what she thinks.”

The look in the boy’s eyes is what ultimately convinced the angel that his instinct was true. Aziraphale had seen that look much too often for his liking- it was a look of sad resignation that Warlock's parents, ever-distant and too wrapped up in the political world to raise their own child, didn’t care about him nearly as much as they should. A twinge of ice shot through the angel’s heart. He’d hated seeing that expression on a child’s face, but he utterly despised it now, knowing that things didn’t seem to have changed nearly a decade later.

“Hey, are you sure you’re okay?” the boy asked, seeing Aziraphale’s face slip into a strange expression. “You look-” He was about to say “weird,” but it was at that exact moment that the nagging familiarity that had also been gnawing away at his own mind came to the surface. He saw the face in front of him sporting a shining collection of bad teeth framed within a cloud of fluffy hair, though the mental image was skewed as if he had to look up from a much shorter height than he was now.

But, as with Aziraphale’s own recognition, it was the eyes that ultimately broke through the fog of childhood memories- the eyes currently gazing at Warlock full of more love than anyone should be able to comprehend. Without warning, Warlock felt tears prick at the edges of his vision.

“…Brother Francis?” he choked out in a small voice. Aziraphale smiled, and if Warlock had any remaining doubts about the man's identity, they were blown away like the shadows of night banished by the rising sun.

“Oh, my dear, dear boy,” Aziraphale said warmly, opening his arms, and Warlock fell into the hug without hesitation. They gripped each other tightly, and the angel realized what a fool he’d been for leaving the boy without a word. He and Crowley should have gone back after the apocalypse was thwarted, or at the very least written a letter explaining why they’d left; judging by the way Warlock held onto Aziraphale as if he were a lifeboat in the midst of a stormy sea, the angel realized that the boy must have missed them just as much as they’d missed him.

Aziraphale and Warlock stayed in the embrace for a while longer, and then the boy gently, almost reluctantly, unwrapped his arms and took a step back to give Aziraphale a proper once-over.

“What happened to you?!” Warlock asked, astonishment dripping from every word. Then, suddenly, a fierce frown twisted his face. “And why the hell did you and Nanny leave without saying anything?! Er, sorry, I mean why the heaven- ugh, you get my point!”

Aziraphale smiled again; this was the boy he used to know, attitude and all. Warlock always had a penchant for speaking his mind, a fact that was encouraged wholeheartedly by his Nanny. While Aziraphale didn’t want Warlock to stop expressing his feelings and asking questions either, he had been bothered by the boy’s increasing vocabulary of unsavory expressions, which the angel had tried to remedy by correcting him with more docile phrasing. Apparently, the instinct to do so still was still present.

“Hellooo?” Warlock said, waving a hand in front of Aziraphale’s face. “Brother Francis- Mr. Fell… whoever you are! This is really weird, and I need you to explain a lot of things!”  

“Oh, I do apologize, my dear; I get a bit lost in my thoughts, sometimes,” Aziraphale admitted with a guilty chuckle. He hesitated for a second and then gestured towards the back of the shop, where a comfortable couch and coffee table resided. “Yes, we… we really should have a little chat. Please, have a seat and I’ll put on a pot of tea and join you.”

Warlock didn’t move, instead narrowing his eyes. Aziraphale blinked at him.

“…Would you prefer coffee instead?” the angel ventured. Warlock rolled his eyes and crossed his arms in front of him, slouching to the side in a pose uncannily similar to someone else Aziraphale knew.

“You literally just up and left me when I was eleven years old,” the boy explained, a scathing bite to his words that made Aziraphale wince. “According to the internet, you’re some weird cryptid- which I can now confirm, knowing who you really are, because you and Nanny were definitely not normal. How do I know you won’t just-”

And here the boy cut himself off, realizing how vulnerable finishing that sentence would make him seem. He knew that Brother Francis had seen all sides of him, weak ones and all, but that was many years ago. He’d still been a kid then; now he was older and much more practiced at hiding his true emotions, since the only people who’d had time for them disappeared after his eleventh birthday. Just because he’d found his beloved gardener and confidant again through some divine- or hellish, he never knew which to believe- turn of events, it didn’t mean that things would instantly go back to the way they were before.

Warlock didn’t think it was possible for Brother Francis’ expression to soften even more, but apparently it could. Slowly, as if afraid of spooking him, the angel reached out and gently brushed Warlock’s bangs out of his face, tucking them behind his ear before cupping the boy’s cheek in his hand.

“I’m not going to leave you again, dear boy, please believe that,” Aziraphale said, injecting as much truth into his words as he possibly could. “It was a rash decision and your Nanny and I should never have disappeared without a word. I’m just going to flip the Closed sign on the door and put the kettle on, and then we can talk, alright?”

Warlock nodded almost imperceptibly, but Aziraphale saw the gesture. He gave the boy’s cheek a light pinch and winked, earning a cry of embarrassment. With a laugh, the angel disappeared around a bookshelf, moving towards the front door. Rubbing his cheek and pouting, Warlock shuffled to the couch in the back of the shop. He’d forgotten how endearingly annoying his old gardener could be.

Aziraphale flipped the “Open” sign to “Closed” and leaned back against the old wooden door, shutting his eyes. He was overjoyed to see Warlock again, certainly, but he was completely unprepared for this situation. What was he supposed to tell the boy? What excuse could he possibly give for Warlock’s closest companions abandoning him without so much as a “goodbye?”

Aziraphale and Crowley always regretted the way they’d handled that situation, but they had bigger concerns at the time- namely, the impending apocalypse and the fact that Warlock was not the antichrist they thought he was. Aziraphale grimaced, running a stressed hand through his hair; what should they tell Warlock about that? Should they expose him to the supernatural world he’d unintentionally been apart of for the first half of his life?

“…Probably best not to bring that part up,” the angel murmured to himself. He adjusted his waistcoat and steeled himself for the afternoon ahead. He would make Warlock a nice cup of tea, call Crowley to give him a warning on who awaited him back at the bookshop, and then bide his time until the demon showed up and they could have a proper conversation about what to do now that the boy was back in their lives. Yes, that seemed like a perfectly reasonable plan.

So, of course, it was guaranteed that things would not turn out the way Aziraphale hoped. As the angel busied himself in the tiny kitchenette area in the back of the shop, the bell over the front door rang again.

“Angel!” a voice called, and Aziraphale let out a strangled yelp. He rushed out of the back room and was greeted with the sight of Warlock, standing by the couch slack-jawed and staring straight ahead. Trapped at the end of Warlock’s gaze stood Crowley, wearing an eerily similar expression of shock. The two of them gazed at each other questioningly for an agonizing few seconds, before Warlock asked, in a trembling voice:

“N… Nanny Ash?”

“…Ah,” Aziraphale said when Crowley turned his helpless expression upon him. Though the demon’s eyes were hidden behind dark sunglasses, Aziraphale knew they were giving him a look of utter confusion. “Crowley, we… we have a very special visitor.”

“Ngk,” the demon replied.

And then, suddenly, Warlock was in Crowley’s arms, holding him tight, and Crowley returned the gesture without a second thought, overwhelmed with a great sense of relief. The boy was shaking, obviously trying very hard not to cry, and the demon instinctively gripped him closer and grinned into his hair.

“Hey, little hellspawn. Good to see you again.”

                                                             ***

Read Part 1. (You are here.)

Read Part 2. 

Read Part 3.

[zuzia-suchorska]

Thea Ballard interviews Andrea Zittel

BlouinArtinfo. Newsmaker: Andrea Zittel BY THEA BALLARD, MODERN PAINTERS | JANUARY 06, 2016

Interview excerpt: 

‘Since the early 1990s, Andrea Zittel has merged an insistent sense of functionality with a flair for the imaginary: the chicken-and quail-breeding units, minimalist uniforms intended to be worn for six months straight, compact living units, and floor-bound ��furniture” comprising different-size swaths of carpet that characterized her early career conjured an elsewhere through their odd—but always intentional—reorganization of day-to-day norms. Following a relocation from New York to California’s Mojave Desert in 2000, she opened A-Z West in Joshua Tree, a studio compound where visitors can stay in encampments of Zittel’s own creation and otherwise engage with the artist’s designs. Recent works move between abstraction and utility, adopting, too, a dusty desert palette; an exhibition of new works at Sprüth Magers in Berlin is on view until January 18, and another solo opens in September at Andrea Rosen Gallery in New York. Modern Painters senior editor Thea Ballard spoke to Zittel about living outside the art world and negotiating function within a gallery space.

Thea Ballard: What are you working on for your two latest shows? 

Andrea Zittel: I’ve been making works based on the simple format of a plane or a panel. These planar elements actually go all the way back to some of my early pieces from the ’90s, with projects like the A-Z Cover (a blanket that can have any function) and A-Z Personal Panels (garments made entirely out of rectangles). The idea of a plane or a panel bridges so many different classifications and ways of perceiving things—both in terms of function and social roles. It’s also interesting that on some base level, anything that is flat and has straight edges is man-made. So the rectangular form speaks to a certain kind of human production; it allows you to take on the entire built world through a single elemental shape.

TB: Tell me about some of the applications you see for the panel. AZ: An example that’s in front of me right now is a sheet of plywood. A table is also an example of a planar element that has been given a function, or a bench or a sheet of printer paper. One of the things I’ve been interested in is how these panels can also represent different realities. A game board is an example of that—most game boards are flat and rectangular and roughly the same size. But the rules are totally different, depending on the particular game’s “reality field.” 

TB: Do you find that there’s an architectural element to how you’re using it? AZ: It has allowed me to go back to working on a more architectural scale, which has been one of my core interests since the early ’90s. I’m working on plans for a new large-scale sculpture out here in the desert. The work will eventually consist of concrete wall sections scattered over about 25 acres of A-Z West. The part of the desert where I live is a weird place, and everything is in a state of transition right now. Parts of it are completely wild and natural, but there are also a lot of houses and developments moving in. I’m interested in making structures that, when you’re inside them, shift or alter your perception of the surrounding landscape. TB: What materials are you using? AZ: For the outdoor architectural works, I use materials that will hold up, such as steel, concrete, and wood. I’m also working on pieces for interior domestic spaces that are made from textiles. As panels, these handwoven pieces are inherently two-dimensional, but if you fold or drape or use them in any way, they transcend two dimensions to become three-dimensional.

TB: Tell me about living in Joshua Tree. AZ: It’s such an interesting and complicated place. I originally moved here because I wanted to be in a community that was, for the most part, separate from the art world. My mother’s side of the family is from the desert, so I’m also sort of hard-wired for this environment. I’ve heard people talk about the desert using these romanticized terms, like landscape, isolation, or nature. But it’s also a very politicized landscape. Right now there is a massive rush to use our area for large solar and wind farm developments. I can see the largest Marine base in the country from my studio—when they run their artillery target practice it shakes the entire house, sometimes for days on end. And then on the other side of A-Z West is an incredibly beautiful national park.

TB: Have you seen significant changes to the landscape you’re living in? AZ: It has changed a lot in the time that I’ve been living here. I find myself getting very emotional, wanting to fight for a certain way that I believe people should live and respect land, but at the same time, in order not to go completely crazy, you have to learn to accept the inevitability of change. I’m at a point in my life where I’m trying to wrap my head around the idea of change and be OK with it, so it’s feeling like a very existential moment.

TB: How is that sense of change emerging specifically in your art practice? AZ: There’s part of me that believes there’s a right way to do everything, a right way to live. And then, following this impulse, my next realization is that each person’s right way is different. These are ideas that I try to address in my works as well. My early work in the 1990s really confused people, because I would embody a position completely, and I would treat these positions as moral truths. For instance, I believe that you need to have only one garment per season, and you don’t need any dishes other than bowls, and a 30-inch-wide bed is the perfect width—anything more just takes up room and is unnecessary. People would get upset because they couldn’t tell if I was being critical or not. But I was fascinated by ideology and wanted to explore how it felt to be unquestioningly immersed in a position. At this point in my life, though, it’s impossible for me to believe in anything so fully anymore. My work has gotten a lot more philosophical as a result: Instead of making idealized products to live with, I’m making more abstract and open-ended living environments, though these are still things people can use in day-to-day living.

TB: How does an object express this philosophical quality? AZ: Lately I’ve been thinking about the notion of living in abstraction. An example of this would be a piece of furniture to which you can’t assign any single role. Essentially, we live on all these different horizontal surfaces (chairs, tables, beds, counters, desks), and the materials from which they’re made—or things like height or other subtle material clues—generally indicate their function. A philosophical object disorients you, but in a subtle way. I’m not interested in deconstructing function so much as disrupting some of the quick assumptions that we make when we assign roles to things that we think we may already know well.

TB: How do you feel your objects operate in a gallery space? AZ: Oh, man. The gallery has been one of the most challenging spaces for my work. I’m so much more interested in making things that function in daily life or in the larger world. I’m not opposed to the gallery as a site of exchange or commerce, since this is how all products enter the world. And I support my larger endeavor and noncommercial projects by selling works through galleries. But I have struggled with the context of the gallery for years. A lot of my earlier works, such as the Living Units, really felt like caricatures of themselves when I saw them in gallery spaces. This is a big part of the reason that I wanted to make spaces like A-Z West in the California desert, or A-Z East in Brooklyn.

TB: Have you been wrestling with that context recently as you prepare for these two shows? AZ: This morning I oriented a new group of residents who will be staying in our Wagon Station Encampment here at A-Z West for the next several weeks. After we finished talking about the structure of the camp, we spent an hour shoveling and moving dirt (our morning “power hour” is one of the criteria for being allowed to stay here). Half of my practice takes place totally outside the market and gallery system, and involves active, lived experiences. The other part of my practice is becoming increasingly object oriented and contemplative. I wonder if I should have a problem with this split, if I should attempt to make these two parts align. But I feel that the duality is working for me right now—it allows two opposites to create a larger whole in which each side accomplishes something that the other can’t.

TB: The work that can live in a gallery, that’s a form of multifunctionality, too. AZ: Yes, though it’s funny that the works that are clearly functional and meant to be lived with actually feel the most commercial in a gallery, because there, you’re made aware of the fact that you can’t actually use them unless you buy them. But the works that are maybe a little more theoretical or cerebral, they work for everyone—you don’t have to own them to get something from them.

TB: Do you think your project and your living situation are part of your attempt to create a different economy? AZ: I’ve thought about different economies a lot over the years, and running A-Z West takes this thinking to a whole new level, because it’s expensive to maintain and to make available to people. Right now the project is funded entirely by my commercial practice, and I’m so lucky I can do that, but I worry about what will happen if I’m not here someday. It needs to become financially self-sustaining. Figuring this out will allow me to focus on projects that aren’t always linked to a need to generate income. I think that right now, finding other economic models is probably more important than finding other formal models. That will open things up for artists more than anything.’

[universalfanfic]

*tears streaming down my face*

I ... did it. ... I wrote something. There is relief in my soul. 

Here is my continuation of @gracieinanovel‘s Wedding Planner AU, because I love it and I needed to join in. :) 

Cora belongs to her, of course. 

Sutton froze over the table, fingers reaching, and Cora wasn’t sure if the woman had meant to try and flee the room or attempt strangling her. Her face was blooming the most vibrant red, and it appeared it took some effort to remove her tongue from the roof of her mouth. 

“Steve!” Sutton finally managed to squeak. “Hi. I’m- I’m good. You? I mean, how have you been?”

“Good. Good.”

Cora almost felt bad about springing this on her. Almost. But if Sutton had gone the entirety of her Paris trip without contacting Steve, then this was on her. She obviously needed a push. 

Steve still looked morose and longing as he shifted further into the room. It must have still been raining, because he looked just as wet as Cora did coming in. 

“Perhaps Steve would like a drink?” Cora prompted. 

Sutton jumped at the direction and opportunity to have something to do. 

“Right; of course! I have some coffee. Coffee good?” 

There was a coffee pot behind the counter; it was still half full and probably should be either poured out or drank before it burned. 

“Do you want a sweet too,” she called out over pouring a mug. “I have a new cupcake-” 

“Oh, just coffee is fine. Thank you.”

Steve rubbed his hand through his wet hair and pulled a chair over to their table. Sutton’s expression flickered before settling back on a forced smile. 

“Ok.” 

Cora internally groaned. 

Watching them interact was like watching two junior highers dance around each other. She’d thought after Steve’s confession things would move forward between them, but Sutton’s doubts about his sincerity and then her internship felt like it’d dragged them three steps back again. 

But there was time for the both of them later. Cora reorganized the paperwork she’d brought and brushed a lock of hair behind her ear. This was still a business meeting, after all.

They ought to get something done.

Sutton sat awkwardly between Steve and Cora, unable to scoot her chair away from him without being obvious, and she passed over his mug as she cleared her throat. 

“So, you probably know who the wedding is for.”

“I might,” he said. “But I might have also signed a non-disclosure.”

Both Cora and Sutton groaned in response. 

“I suppose that just leaves us to figure out the details,” Cora relented. “So, which rooms will we be using, and what are our times?”

They discussed timing and plans and room ambiance. The wedding ceremony was going to be held on the main balcony overlooking the bay, with plenty of twinkling lights and foliage covering the space. The reception would be held in the estates most lavish room, fondly referred to as The Fondue Room due to the high rental costs. 

Eventually, one of them yawned and they noticed the time. The rain had pittered to a spitting mist and the moon rose higher. Sutton collected their empty mugs while Cora collected her files.

“Well, that’s more progress,” she said, forced cheer in her voice. 

Steve and Sutton both nodded, sneaking a look at each other before turning away again quickly. 

“I guess we’ll see each other at the wedding.” Sutton glanced between the pair, rubbing nervously at her sore knuckles. “Unless Fury gives you a free moment before then,” she added hopefully, directed towards Cora.

“Oh, I wish, but I’m afraid I can’t count on it.” Cora smiled ruefully. “You know how Fury is, and with this wedding booked he’s been more frantic than usual. Obviously, because I’m here at this time of night.”

Sutton looked disappointed, but not surprised. 

“I’m telling you,” she said, “you have to start your own business. You’ve got the talent for it, and it’s probably the only way you’ll get your freedom.” 

Cora made a face and shrugged.

“I don’t know,” she said. “At the rate I’m working, anyway, it’d be impossible to find the time.” 

Steve cleared his throat and Sutton finally looked at him, shifting on her feet. 

“It, uh, was nice seeing you again too. Steve.” 

“Yeah. You’ll have to tell me about your trip sometime.” 

“Right, sure!”

Cora winced, but luckily the expression went unnoticed by the other two. She and Steve exited together and Sutton bid them both a goodnight, locking up before moving through the shop to prep for another early morning. 

The quiet night air settled around them and Steve let out a long sigh as he ran his hand through his hair again. 

“Well,” he said, “that… happened.” 

Cora placed a hand on his arm. 

“Hey, everything is going to work out.”

“Three months,” he said. “I just- is it because we-?”

“What? Went on one date?” Cora laughed lightly. “Steve, please. Sutton can just be a nervous person. She thinks-”

At her pause Steve looked over, his eyes prompting her to continue, and Cora shook her head. 

“You both will have to talk if you want this worked out. Now, I better get at least a couple hours of sleep before Fury decides to blow my phone up again. I’ll see you at the wedding.” 

Steve sighed and dug in his pocket for his keys. 

“Drive safe,” he said. 

He waited until Cora was in her car with the doors locked before he started up his own car. Their headlights disappeared into the night and the low lights in the bakery popped off shortly afterwards.

[]

The bell in the shop rung as Sutton pushed open the door to Banner’s Botanicals; the smell of soil and fragrant flowers were heady in the air. 

“I’ll be one moment!”

“Take your time, Bruce.”

A head of dark wavy hair popped up from behind a shelving unit holding some sort of flowering cacti, and Sutton reached her hand up to wave.

“Long time, no see. Not going to lie. I thought you were really done for good this time.”

Bruce Banner pushed around some nearby ferns as he made his way to the front of the shop. 

“Hey Sutton,” he said. “So did I. But apparently I can still be coerced.” 

He frowned at that, and Sutton suppressed a wry smile. Bruce could be stubborn, sure, but he was also a bit of a peacekeeper. It took quite a bit to actually get him to explode. 

“I’m guessing they at least weren’t asking for lil-” “Don’t.” He cut in sharply. “Don’t mention the lilies.”

Sutton held her hands up in surrender and chuckled. 

“Ok. But I would like to see what they did ask for. I’m supposed to incorporate some floral aspects into their cake.” 

He sent her a look before letting out a breath of air and waving her to follow him to the back of the shop. 

“You and Cora,” he said. “You know there’s a thing called email? You can attach pictures? Or maybe even use google?”

“Sure,” said Sutton. “But this gets us out of our offices for a bit. And anyway, isn’t technology just ruining face-to-face interactions?” 

Bruce rolled his eyes.

The further back in the shop, the more expensive the plants got. And for a man who’d sworn to only work with succulents from now on, he sure had a selection of flowers at his disposal. 

“The bride wanted whimsical but elegant,” he said. “And for once, there was even a list of suggestions to work from. We decided on white wisteria, some assorted peonies, and a few gardenias sprinkled throughout. And greenery, of course. I’m thinking mostly ferns. Probably some Israeli Ruscus.”

Sutton ooh-ed over the samples and took out her phone to get some pictures. His selection of plants were second-to-none. No doubt that was the reason this mystery couple chose him. And they certainly had some cash on them, because he was making an example bouquet as well. 

“Can I get a few small samples to take back? Are you still selling individual stems?”

“Do you have any samples?”

Bruce flashed her a cheeky grin and Sutton returned it. 

“All my friends are opportunists,” she lamented. Still, she pulled a small paper box out of her purse and taunted him with it. “I thought you might like some inspiration as well.” 

They exchanged goods, one looking a tad more excited than the other. Sutton sighed as she eyed the delicate petals and the complicated layering of the wisteria. 

“I might be ordering some of these from you. Their order expressly stated little to no fondant on the cake. And these?”

She made a tsk-ing sound against her teeth and shook her head. Bruce spared her a pitying glance until he looked back to his set of cupcakes, and grinned. 

“At least you know they have good taste. Fondant is gross.”

Sutton raised a stern pointer finger as she sucked in a breath.

“Ok, listen-” 

[]

Cora nibbled at her bottom lip as she used a spare, quiet moment to do some personal research. It wasn’t that this particular wedding was giving her an odd feeling, she’d worked a few weddings that had demanded discretion, but generally she could accurately guess who it was for. 

There wasn’t anything in the celebrity gossip tabloids that mentioned possible weddings coming up, no matter how thoroughly she looked. Boo. She supposed she’d just have to wait for the big day to find out the big secret. She pouted and drummed her fingers on her laptop as the digging stopped at a dead end. 

Her notebook was just to the left of her computer and she could see that name amongst the rest of her notes. 

Loki Laufeyson.

She still didn’t understand how one person could’ve garnered such a negative reaction out of Sutton, and so far she hadn’t had the opportunity to really pry into why. Cora cocked one eyebrow and tilted her head as her fingers danced over her keyboard.

Well, she still had a moment. Why not look?

His website was sleek and clean, with accents of dark green and gold adding a sense of wealth and elegance to the layout. He was the sort of wedding coordinator that you had to call to ask about his rates, which generally meant the average person shouldn’t even bother. 

From his gallery, it seemed he’d been involved in some high profile weddings and other various events. Cora hummed. There wasn’t anything that she could glean from his about page to give her any hints.

Even if he was wildly arrogant and obnoxious, Sutton probably would have just said he was a character, or annoying. 

“Are you sitting? At a time like this?”

Cora jumped at Fury’s voice as he swept into the room, camera bags and a tripod precariously cradled in his arms. 

“Do you know how many jobs we have to complete? There’s the party on the seventeenth, the charity event coming up, and that mo-”

“Yes,” Cora cut in. “The wedding, I know.” She hopped up and closed her notebook, gathering all her things and making herself busy. “I have everything under control, sir.”

Fury shot her a piercing look, which was always impressive given he only had one eye. 

“Under control isn’t good enough. This wedding could be what really launches this business into the public eye. Everything has to be perfect. Which is why you’re going to meet up with that Laufeyson and get all the details sorted out. Got it?”

Cora wanted to give him a flippant salute, but she still did need the paycheck. Instead, she grit her teeth behind closed lips and forced a smile. 

“Crystal clear, sir.” 

Well, perhaps she’d get some answers about this guy sooner than she thought.