#and bullshit timing things stealing my well deserved win!

[immadicegoblin]

You- you foul monstrosity! You lured me in with tales of rebellion and grand heists! And what do i have to show for my foolishness? Tears! And a throbbing headache from rage!

[the-real-sasuke-uchiha]

Sasuke, I’ve been thinking about this for a few days now. I used to think analyzing people’s reactions to the Uchiha genocide was fascinating. I would say to myself “wow, people treat this like it was some kind of ‘both sides were wrong’ type of thing but I’m sure if it was happening in front of them, they would think differently.” WELL. Now a genocide is happening in front of us and people are REACTING THE SAME WAY. “Oh it’s not a genocide, you are being dramatic.” “They deserved it because they’re all evil.” “Is**** has a right to defend itself against terrorists!” Holy moly… Literally word for word. I feel so naive to have believed in humanity as much as i did.

I feel you, my friend. I never talk about these things because I think it might be upsetting if an anime blog starts talking about real life genocides in between joke posts and memes. I also don't like to parallel fictional and real life crimes for fear that people will find it frivolous and offensive. So please, everyone reading this, know that this is not by any means my intention, and that I am not trying to use real life massacres to justify my take in this fandom or anything, I am just answering a friend here.

I don't know what to say, really, I lost all hope in humanity long ago too. But, it baffles me that I keep seeing people around me repeating the bullshit you describe. And it baffles me mostly because I see this coming too from good people that have nothing to win out of this infamy. Now you are thinking that "good people" would never find excuses to turn a blind eye to a genocide, but I can ensure you they are no monsters, they really aren't. They are not indifferent to human suffering, I saw them committed with other causes, I know they wouldn't hurt a fly, so what is wrong with them?

I am no psychologist so, forgive me if I say something dumb. But I think the thing is, reality is just to damn painful. You just can't accept it like that. A genocide, complete and atrocious extermination of a whole group of people, just because? Just based on hate and lies? Just to steal their land? And you are comfortable at your home, safe just out of sheer luck, because you were born in the right moment in the right place. Two very agonizing realities arise when you become aware of this. The first one is that you, citizen of the so-called "free world", convinced during your whole life that you have the voice and the power in your very democratic country, are practically impotent; unable to do anything or to help anyone, unable to even get your government to officially condemn the genocide, let alone to get them to stop sending weapons to the perpetrator. The second one is that you are only safe until your annihilation can be of purpose to the geopolitical interests of some dominant global power.

So, I believe blaming the victim is a defence mechanism to help us convince ourselves that bad things happen for a reason and that we could never be subjected to such cruelty. Similar to when we blame poor starving people for their bad choices, or when we blame women for being raped because, you know, they were dressed like that, they drank or whatever. We want to believe that we know better, that we are safe because we are clever and not because we are lucky, because that would mean our luck could end one day and we could be susceptible to monstrosities any time. And I guess that is unbearable.

And then, of course, we have the media bringing us those excuses. Thoroughly. Picturing the victims as terrorists for defending themselves and the aggressor as a victim with legit reasons to commit a genocide. It is extremely well-thought and intentional, from the language they use to the things that they decide to tell or not. They know very well how to manipulate people and how to redirect their feelings and empathy to fit the goals and interests of the very rich people behind mass media. Many people speak only one language, never left their homes, never met a foreigner. They have access only to mainstream tv channels and newspapers, and they will never believe anything different from what they consider "official". And you would expect something more from educated people, but even the school curriculum is designed to shape your mind in a particular way that fits the political interests of your nation.

And going back to fiction, of course, I understand that people have a right to enjoy whatever they want and like any character they want and this is no reason to judge their morality. But, indeed, like you, I also find parallels between the excuses people give to overlook or justify fictional massacres and the real ones. I guess fiction mirrors reality and this is why, sometimes, we live this fandom a bit to viscerally. Because when you see someone justifying a fictional genocide you imagine them doing the same in reality and, well. As you say, we don't really need to imagine that at all, it is happening.

[lagoonmatrioska]

Ok so, 5 minutes ago my mother was talking to her sister about my grandma (she is not feeling well psychologically) and her sister said "I asked her if she wanted to go to a therapist" my grandma accepted and, actually, thats a good thing, cause my family doesnt believe in therapist and stuff, the bad thing Is. My aunt started saying bullshit, she started saying that if she was sick it wasn't the family's fault (spoiler: it is) and said that it's the fault of the way she reacts. I was like WHAT?????

She gave an example to my mother, saying "If your husband mistreats you, you learn to behave in a certain way, for example you start to be afraid to do certain things cause maybe he get angry." and at that point I was like "well yeah, you have a point" BUT THEN SHE EXPLICITLY SAID "But it's not your husband's fault, it's your fault that you decided to react like this." I was about to cry fr. What part of your really small brain thight that saying something like that was a good idea????? WHAT THE FUCK?! So yeah if someone r*pe me and I get traumetized about It IS MY FAULT?! CAUSE I DECIDED TO FEEL THAT WAY?! DO YOU LISTEN TO URSELF WHEN U SPEACK?!

I was really, and I mean REALLY. Mad. I told my mom that this is absolutely not how it works and It seems like she proved me right, I hope atleast. This people exist omg, they breath, they steal food, water, space and oxygen from people who actually deserve It. At that Moment I was SHOKED, but then I said to myself "I win and lost at the same time." because living in a family with people who think like that makes me feel intelligent, luckyly I KNOW how psychology works, and that's why they will NEVER be like me, But the worst part is, dear god, I live with people who think that if I'm traumatized, it's my fault. kys. The world would be a better place if people like that didn't exist.

[rovethings]

I know that Lena and Kara fight after Lena discover she's Supergirl and I've seen a lot of people say they were drawing comparisons between SG Lena and SV Lex (often used as an argument against supercorp) but like, I'm not here to talk about supercorp or Lena or wtv but this oversimplification of Clark and Lex relationship in Smallville is ... not for me (and not only because I do ship it), because Lex and Clark didn't fight because Clark lied to Lex, actually, discovering Clark's secret is the last thing Lex does before fucking dying.

Yes, Lex felt entitled to Clark's secret, every time Clark lied Lex wanted to make him suffer because he was lying and Lex wanted to KNOW and they were friends and they should be honest to each other yada yada yada (all the while Lex lied too) and while yes, this is one of the factors they friendship broke apart and Lex do say if Clark trusted him they would've been great together.... this isn't the main factor? We don't see Lex crying and saying he hates Clark because he's a liar, what we see is Lex's growing envy starts to make him stop seeing Clark as someone he should admire and instead someone he wants to take everything from. And we see it getting worse and worse as Lionel start growing closer to Clark and always talking about how Clark is a oh so special boy and how Lex should be ASHAMED for not being like Clark who is a very special boy did I say that yet? Lex you need to listen to me talking about how I wanted Clark to be my son it's Very Important that you do!

I can see why people would think Lex hated Clark only because of the secret issue as Lex is always telling Clark how he never forgives those who lie to him (as an attempt to make Clark tell him his secret? Bald man has no concept of social interactions and ends up causing the reverse of what he wanted to achieve, congrats bald man you're very smart) and in their final scene in s7 Lex does say Clark should've trusted him but that's not why Lex tries to kill Clark, he tries to kill Clark because he thinks Clark is a dangerous alien invader and he's like "honestly you deserve this ngl you're kind of a piece of shit :/" but in their other conversations after Lex turns Evil, and even one that happens before this one what Lex focuses on? How he feels glad that Clark is not human because that means Lex couldn't ever win this competition anyways, how he wanted everything that Clark has because Clark has a perfect family and a perfect girlfriend, and when clone!Lex happens in s10 and their conversation in the finale there's almost (and I say almost because I can't remember if there was even one) no talk about how Clark lied to him, instead we get again the competition issue and how Clark stole Lionel from him, when he already had a perfect dad and didn't need Lex's in the first place.

Like, if we look at their relationship, their mutual lying and distrust drove them apart (especially after Clark discovered Lex's Clark shrine -- I mean, secret room and Lex also grew more and more tired of Clark's bullshit not well thought lies until he couldn't take it anymore) and later on Lionel made sure (I'll never be convinced it wasn't on purpose lol) that Lex felt even more inadequate near Clark, which made his hate grow. Clark could never agree with Lex's human experiments either, and Lex always targeted Clark were it hurt the most after their Official Break Up ("stealing" Lana, saying Clark could never save him anyways) .

Like if we analyze it there was a thousand of little things that grew into a thousand of big things until it exploded, you can't point to one thing and say that was the reason because there simply not one, instead we get a lot of major points that culminates in Clark storming into Lex's office in s5 and even THEN their relationship doesn't complete fall apart until Lionel gets himself in the middle (and we see them caring for each other until late s7 where ... Lex fucking dies).

Anyways Clark & Lex in Smallville had a brotherly bond and I think it's interesting that they have a kind of brotherly schism, especially with Lex's fixation on competitions.

[agrippaspoleto]

Huttslayer’s boys

I have challenged myself to write more by only posting art if I write something about it. We will see how that goes. For now enjoy queer cowboys bickering with each other. Also on AO3.

Poe stood outside their hideaway, staring into the red glow of dawn. He touched his neck absentmindedly, the space where the rope burn had left its traces. Sometimes he still dreamt of that moment where he had lost the ground from under his feet and the rope had cut the air from his lungs. In his nightmares Finn's saving shot never came. No bullet pierced through the hemp stealing his live. And Solo's piercing gaze and cruel smirk never wavered. The dreams reminded Poe that he was living on borrowed time. Had been for a long while now.

"Poe, dammit."

Poe turned towards the door of the abandoned little farmhouse their group of ragtag outlaws had taken shelter in, to see Finn, fully dressed for the last watch, staring at him exasperated.

"I told you to wake me, when the dreams get too much."

Poe smiled fondly, noticing the orange bandana he had given to Finn a few months ago around his friend's neck.

"You needed the rest."

"So do you, nerfherder."

Then Finn sighed.

"Well, if you're awake already, you can make yourself useful and keep me company."

He didn't broker any arguments just grabbed Poe's hand and pulled him to their vantage point.

Finn hated it when Poe got like this. All self-sacrificing and strong walled. As if they weren't close, as if they weren't carrying each other's sorrows together. It drove the whole gang nuts because it meant Poe would do something reckless - which wasn't really the problem, all of them were reckless - but Poe had a tendency to gamble with his life, as if it didn't matter. As if he wasn't their rock as much as they were his. As if he didn't deserve good things.

Poe who took so much care to make Finn believe that he was a good man. That no matter what racist bigoted white folk thought, he was a person who deserved freedom. Who deserved love.

How Poe ever had come to the conclusion that he didn't deserve Finn's love was beyond him. As if Finn didn't love the reckless idiot with all his heart no matter how unexperienced said heart was with romantic feelings. It didn't help that Poe seldomly talked about the occurrences that had made him an outlaw. Finn suspected a connection to the brand on Poe's arm, a capital S. But his friend had never seemed inclined to explain and Finn didn't want to cause him pain.

So, he just sat there next to Poe, their sides touching from shoulder to knee. He felt the other shiver in the morning breeze and rolled his eyes.

"Grab the blanket over there, your shivering is louder than Jess'es snoring."

"What is it with you and bossing me around today?" Poe asked, but he still grabbed the blanket and Finn tugged it around them both. There was a slight red tinge on Poe's cheeks now which had nothing to do with the red of the rising sun.

"Because you don't take care of yourself."

"Oh yeah? I don't think you have any leg to stand on, Mr I-can-rob-a-bank-in-a-white-town-all-by-myself."

Finn winced.

"Touché, that wasn't one of my proudest moments. But we needed the money to get you ransomed before you and Rey took matters in your own hands."

Poe bumbed his shoulder.

“And we did it anyways."

"Yeah, you set a saloon and half a town on fire! You were very lucky no innocent bystanders where hurt. And you broke your wrist and your leg."

Poe's face squinched up as it always did when Finn was about to win an argument.

"Okay, that wasn't one of my finest moments either. But I couldn't let you risk your life like that for me."

"So, it's totally okay for you to sacrifice yourself for me but when I do it for you it's wrong?"

Finn could see it in Poe's face, it was exactly what he was thinking, but at least Poe knew he wouldn’t allow him to say it.

"Dammit, Poe. I don't want to lose you. Especially not to preventable bullshit."

"Finn..."

"Don't you bloody Finn me, Dameron." Finn growled, "I love you, you and your reckless, idiotic and idiotically attractive arse! I don't want to have to fucking bury you if I can help it."

He held Poe's gaze who was staring at him with a gaping mouth. Apparently speechless for once.

"If I had known that a love confession was all it needed to shut you up, I would have done it ages ago."

Finn shook his head fondly and gently pressed his hand to Poe's jaw.

"And close your mouth, you gonna catch flies like that. Ain't gonna kiss you with decaying flies on your tongmmms..."

Hands grabbed his face and a hot mouth descended on Finn's. It was wet and full of tongue, but it was exhilarating. After what felt like a too short eternity their lips parted, but their faces stayed close. Close enough that Finn felt Poe's hot breath on his cheeks as they panted, out of breath as if they had just run for miles, lips glistening with their commingled spit.

"You are such a dick, Finn", was the first thing Poe said after a while.

Finn laughed out loud.

"You like my dick, Dameron, admit it."

Poe groaned and let his head fall into the crook of Finn's neck.

"I ran right into that one, did I?"

"Yep", Finn popped the p obnoxiously, but happy.

Poe curled into him, wormed his hands around his waist and pulling him close.

"Are you sure about this, Finn?" he asked into Finn's neck.

"Despite what you might think I don't go around handing out random love confessions."

Finn's hand curled around Poe's arm where he knew the brand had been violated into his love's skin. He caressed the scarred flesh remembering Poe tending to his own burns on his back. He hadn't necessarily understood his feelings back then, but he had already known that he wanted to hold on to them as fiercely as possible.

"I'm scared, Finn. People don't always understand."

There was a light kiss placed on Finn's neck.

"The people who matter already know, Poe. Probably did before we did. The rest thinks we're outlaw scum anyways."

He felt Poe's smile not only from the movement of his lips but also the release of the tension stringing through his body.

"I had crush on you the moment you had wrenched the bag off my head after you had shot me from the gallows like a modern-day Robin Hood."

Finn chuckled.

"Of course you did."

"What about you?"

"Well, I was scared shitless and you were so roughed up, swollen eye and bloodied. No time for crushes or feelings. So, for me it was when we reunited after the shootout at Takodana, when you told me to keep the jacket."

"It really did suit you."

Finn nodded.

"I'm still pissed I lost it."

Poe lifted his head and held Finn’s gaze.

"I'm just happy I got you back in one piece. I couldn't care less about the jacket."

Finn felt the warmth spreading through himself and kissed Poe again, sweet and slowly. Savoured it.

Just as somebody cleared their throat behind them.

"If this is how you keep watch it's a miracle we haven't been ambushed yet."

Both jumped apart to see Leia Organa smiling smugly at them.

They tried to come up with something to their defence, but she just held up her hand, effectively shutting them up.

"No excuses, boys. Own it. Was about time anyway. The tension was stifling."

Poe groaned and Finn felt his face heat up. He knew Leia saw his embarrassment clearly enough despite his skin being too dark to blush visibly.

She shook her head and grabbed them both in a tight embrace.

"I always knew you would be good for each other. Your mum would be proud of you, Poe. And your father is going to love him."

Poe sniffled as he held on to them. An old wound hopefully closing if not healing.

"Thank you, Leia" Finn whispered for both of them.

Leia clapped their cheeks with a bright smile, genuinely and unguarded in a way one rarely saw from her these days.

"You're welcome, boys. Now hush and make an old frail woman some coffee, so she can wake up properly."

Poe saluted her and grabbed Finn's hand to tug him into the house. Finn turned to Leia one last time and mouthed 'thank you' again. His heart ready to burst from happiness.

Inside the house Poe kissed him again, fast but chaste but with a smile so bright it lit the whole room. The he turned and grabbed coffee grinder and the beans, while Finn readied the stove.

"Finn", Poe said over the grumbling of the coffee grinder and Finn turned to him as he was filling the pot with water.

"I love you too."

Finn's heart skipped a bit and the joy he felt in that moment lit up his whole being. He also overfilled the water pot and nearly killed the fire, but Poe was there right next to him cleaning up the mess. As he should be, it was his fault after all.

[7soulstars]

so glad you opened requests again! can I request an avengers x reader who has huge white wings ,but doesn't know how to fly ..maybe they found her in a hydra base locked in a cage, scarred and frightened and they took her in. thank you 💞

 Hey Darling! Thank you sooo much for sending in a request and for being so patient! I really love this idea and I'll try my best to give it justice it deserves. I really hope you enjoy it ! Love you !

Alate

...............

Pairing: Avengers x Avenger! Reader

Warnings: Reader is traumatised, ANGSTY AF, Overprotective Bucky, OOC Stephen, Avenger Loki (I just love him OKAY !), Floof

Summary: “Man must rise above the Earth—to the top of the atmosphere and beyond—for only thus will he fully understand the world in which he lives.”– Socrates

...............

Alate; having wings or lifted up in flight.

Soaring she moved like the wind would. As if even the winged gods and angels followed her path. Legs dangling she watched the lit up city beneath her, recalling her past.

It had been a regular enough mission. Ambush, Steal Information and destroy base. Natasha, Scott, Steve, Wanda, Loki and Tony moved as the rest directed them through the ear piece in their ear. Scott had managed to break in first through the main door of the warehouse with Wanda following suit. Loki got Tony and Steve in through the back and Nat, well, she slithered in from the top. Then came the problem. The files weren't in the fucking warehouse but at least 30 Hydra Agents were. But then again it never was a big deal when you had even half a handful of superheroes and a villian turned vigilante inside together. 10 minutes and half were either dead or barely alive. Just when they were about to leave Tony noticed the basement. Scott was made to go first since he wouldn't be noticed by anyone. And he definately did not expect to see what he saw.

"I don't like this. Nope."

"What the hell are you talking about Lang ?"

"Get in here !"

"No you tell us what is going on !"

"THEY'VE KEPT THIS GIRL PRISIONER AND HER STATE DOES NOT LOOK GOOD. WE DON'T HAVE TIME FOR BULLSHIT ONE OF YOU GET HER OUT !"

"...........Stark blast the door open..........."

"Don't have to say more Capsicle"

There was a boom and the lead door fell open, almost squashing Scott who yelled a 'watch it' before sizing up.

What they saw was what Peter would say ‘Does not pass the vibe check’

It was a metal box. Only the front covered with bulletproof glass, that was covered with perspiration and probably high amounts of dust. Chains made of lead bound her limbs. Her mouth was muzzled, hair matted, bruises and cuts everywhere, cloth covered something protruding from her back and it looked like it hurt. She cowered into a corner of the box, glaring at the newcomers, visibly terrified as her body trembled.

“What kind of -”

“Sick bastard ? Demon Spawn ?”, Tony continued for Natasha.

“We need to get her out of here”, Loki said grimacing at the way she was being treated.

“She won’t come with us voluntarily.....When, Pietro and I were being controlled by Hydra....We complied so we were never tied down like that.....But the stronger, dangerous ones are.....abused.....Brainwashing probably didn’t work on her....so they may have subdued her and she probably won’t react well to us....”, Wanda said. She felt sick to her stomach at the girl’s state. Old memories came rushing through.

Nat agreed, trying to figure out how to get the other out. They all stood there silently wracking their brains as Bucky and Sam who had stood guarding the outside came in because the others were taking too long.

“ We need to leave they probably called for back-”, Bucky stopped to look in the direction of the cell, “Y/N ??”, he looked shocked as he moved to touch the glass seperating the two. The girl desperately tried to shuffle near to him, struggling with the chains holding her in place. It almost looked like he had forgotten about anyone or anything as he tried to break the glass holding her in. Loki helped in a way too. He somehow unlocked all the chains and the muzzle with his magic. The cloth from her back came loose and there was a bright light blinding everyone for a second. They were wings.....The whitest anyone had ever seen.

The ride in the quinjet was a rather troublesome one. Y/N would hiss at anyone who even tried to mildly interact with her, flinching everytime someone moved and clinging onto Bucky’s arm as she buried her head into his chest. Everthing scared her. The machines, the people, every single thing.

Bucky looked at her in pity.He was angry that he could never get her out of that hellhole. He was angry at himself. You see, Y/N was kidnapped and brought in by Hydra at the mere age of 10. She met Bucky for the first time at the mere age of 16. 

She was one of those who didn’t listen. One of those cases where a brainwashed Soldat was thrown into their cell to discipline them. But she was also one of them whom he refused to bring himself to harm even in that state. She had helped him once. When he was badly injured as he was thrown into her cell . She had looked past her fear and wrapped a scrapped part of her dust ridden gown around his hand. That was the last he had seen of her. He had thought they got rid of her.

Nat had tried. To make the girl at least glance at her. She finally succeeded on offering her food. It made Nat feel a weird kind of warmth something she hadn’t felt ever. 

By the time they reached headquarters Y/N had familiarised herself or at least tried to with everyone. Wanda had helped her in and out of the shower. Nat had brought her clothes. Loki kept apparating and magic-ing stuff to amuse her. Satisfied with a smug look on his face when she let out a soft gasp of excitement. 

Next part was the difficult bit. Equipment everywhere. It recalled the girl of enough horridness. Steve had hesitated and asked if a full health checkup was necessary immediately and it turned out that it was. But Bruce was gentle. At that moment Y/N wondered if such gentleness had ever existed and if it did, why hadn’t she gotten a nibble of it.

Tony had stopped Peter and Thor from attacking the girl with their golden retriever personalities as he constanly kept inquiring to F.R.I.D.A.Y about her origin. Scott and Sam had bickered making Y/N giggle as she sat by Loki and Bucky. For the first time in her life she felt at peace.

Stephen Strange met Y/N a month after her rescue all after winning a bickering contest with Tony when the rest of the Avengers suggested it in the first place saying that ‘It’s not only unfair to him considering his position in the team but he can also help her.’ 

See the thing is that Y/N didn’t know her true potential and the irony is that even with wings she had no idea how the fuck to fly. 

Stephen liked her. Wong did too. She was quiet and spoke only when necessary but there was kindness and fascination in her eyes. She had tried her hand in sorcery and she was learning. Fast though not as fast as Stephen it was surprising. 

Her wings were heavy It was understandable why she didn’t try flying. But Stephen tried. Oh how he did and though embarassingly for him he had also asked the others for assistance but it never seemed to work. 

Y/N had felt what the meaning of being called an Avenger for the very first time and that it was filled with loss and pain. She had looked around her as she threw the magical golden whip at the enemy. Nat was limping. Steve struggled. Peter was down on his knees. A pack of little screams had alerted her as she looked to see a set of civilians at whom guns were being cocked at. She had leapt. Without thing of the consequences as Bucky had yelled a painful no. She lept right in front of the group,Her wings shielding them when she heard the shots go off. She waited for the pain but she felt nothing but little jerks. The battle had turned silent. Everyone had stopped to look and take in what had had happened. Her wings had ricochetted evey single bullet. Hitting them backing into the ones who had fired them in the first place. And for the first time that she had flapped them she felt herself lift off the ground as the shone a blinding white.

Y/N recalls Sundays. The days when everyone sat together at Stark Towers as they lean on Y/N’s wings watching movies peacefully with occasional perks of laughter.

Shimmering gold and green flashed beside her as she sat recalling on top of the building. A hand placing a book by Socrates in her hand. “They’re waiting and I’m tired of being pestered. Come on, let’s go”,he snarked earning a giggle.

She finally knew what the quote meant. She was lucky to be Alate.

--The End --

Finally done! I am so sorry for delaying all the requests I’m really going through a very important and stressful phase of my life. (One which practically determines my future). Thank you so much for being patient and I really hope you will enjoy this fic! Feedback is appreciated and please like, reblog and comment if you like my work to support me! I have made changes in my fic request list so do check it out! Please do not plagarise my work!

~Love, Hri

[thessalian]

Thess vs TLoVM Ep 11

So for the various people who’ve been liking, reblogging, and occasionally following me because of these - hello, and welcome to Thess vs the World. Grab a beanbag, grab a drink (wet bar and kettle off to your left), and enjoy. And for now, liveblogging Ep 11.

Nice clock. Betting Ripley built that thing. Which is kind of awful when you think about it, given Percy wanted to be a clockmaker. Ripley is what Percy could have been, could still be. They are the perfect foil for each other. Which is probably why she’s the one that killed him ... what, three times?

...Oh that ain’t good. Scanlan has the right idea. ...SCANLAN YOU KNOW ABOUT THE FUCKING PLANES SHUT UP. I mean, yay Keyleth having a moment, but COME ON.

Yeah, the Briarwoods are like if Gomez and Morticia Addams went 100% hardcore. I’m just saying.

...Okay, so I have to wonder if that’s Grog not really wanting to take on Sylas again after what happened the last time they did battle. I mean, he probably does and doesn’t. I guess that’s why Pike’s giving him a bit of encouragement. Grog often seems to figure in this that if he’s got Pike with him, he can do anything. ...And all things considered, he’s probably right.

Oh. Oh, that struggle with Orthax is awesome. I wish I’d been sitting in whatever writer’s room the gang shared with the writers to hear what Taliesin’s input was on this one. Wait - who did write this one? ...Eugene Son, works on a lot of Marvel animation and comics ... and Travis. Oh gods, now I want to meet Travis even more; the man can write too? I love writers. I want to talk shop with them and ask them questions about specifics and ... well, generally hug them to bits. Do not underestimate the amount I appreciate the people who give me my best-loved entertainment. Stories are my thing. Anyway.

Oh, Cassandra, ouch. Since I do know you survive this, I imagine any lover or spouse you ever take is going to have to stay away from neck-nibbles or you’re going to go demented with PTSD flashbacks. That or you’ll end up being way more into it than you want to be and that’s a whole different bunch of problems. Tal’dorei needs therapists.

This is actually a phenomenal fight scene. Good showcase of people’s abilities and ... nice visual representation of the Silence spell! Also ... get fucked, Briarwoods.

Yeah, Scanlan, the crush on Pike always made sense but right now? Total, perfect, unbelievable sense. That - even by my untrained ace eye - is hot.

Okay, yeah, the coming to her senses briefly, there may or may not be tears.

(No, okay, there are totally tears and there is no shame in that.)

Oh FUCK YOU SYLAS THEY WERE HAVING A MOMENT.

Go, Keyleth! That was epic. And yeah, on balance, I’m glad we don’t have Stoner-Bro Sun Tree. Loved it in game; but when it’s condensed like this, it’d do weird things to the narrative flow and mood.

“Will you stop hitting me?!?” I’m sorry, Vax, but I think she deserves at least one or two good punches for that dagger through the shoulder. And, y’know, retroactive payback for some armour thievery resulting in the wreck of a resort hotel room a year or so from now.

Grog learns from Vax, apparently. I admit I kind of love how playing on latant homophobia has let them win over two opponents so far in this, just by sheer confusion if nothing else.

Yeah, don’t like the taste of your own medicine that much, do you, Delilah? And Scanlan ... perfect comeback. Not too much, not overegging the pudding. Brilliant.

Well. That’s a sunburn. Poor Grog. Then again, I’m a little unhappy that we still don’t get to see “I want to make him eat a bag of holy dicks”.

...Oh, come on, Percthax. Kill-stealing is not a thing in team PVP unless you’re an asshole who uses their kill count as compensation for ... other, more pants-related deficiencies. Just be happy he’s dead. Not sure a bullet could have killed him anyway.

Aw, they kept “I broke the world for us”. Good.

Starting to regret some of the bullshit you were talking about Kiki now, aren’t you, Vex? Also NOOOO. (I mean, I know she’s gonna be okay but still.)

Oh, right, this is the “There is no magic in this room now because spinny black death ball so heals not a thing” thing. If I recall correctly, it was Vex who was nearly dead and Marisha banging on the table chanting “Get her out of the room - get her out of the room - get her out of the room” so this is an interesting take on that. Then again, cartoon - in RPGs, things just happen (sometimes more narratively appropriate than others, but more often more narratively appropriate than others would think improv RPG stuff could be, though that’s generally the sign of a good DM and good players all with a good feel for a narrative line); in cartoons, writers tend to like being a little more direct. Something to do with a compressed time scale.

I wonder how or if they’re going to manage that bit where Vex shot a clairvoyance arrow through that thing and a Nat 20 gave her a clue that they could keep in their minds for the Whispered One Ascened arc later. I kind of hope they don’t include the bit where Keyleth touched the spinny death orb and nearly ripped her godsdamned hand off. Keyleth’s had enough today.

Right! Short break, possibly food, definitely more coffee, and then the finale.

[powercloud]

At The End of The Day

pairing: tsukishima kei × reader

wc: 2.4k

genre: fluff, pining!tsukki

warnings: timeskip tsukishima, ooc tsukishima maybe(?) He's just so in love with you okay :(

The night was getting colder, the sky already a pretty shade of black, and the moon hung over their heads with a smile. Tsukishima took this as a good sign as if the moon smiling is a green light to pursue his plan. He looks over to you, your eyes distant and looking straight ahead, you were bracing yourself under the blazer he lent you. The view was astonishing. Under you and him the city was busy, flashes of light twinkling brightly, almost nearly outshining the bright stars above. The breeze was noisy as well, blowing your and his hair. But the warmness of Tsukishima’s heart was enough not to completely freeze him over, he was more worried about you though. But after a few stolen, glances he figured you were all right. The rooftop was your favorite, you've gotten used to it.

It's been silent between the two of you. You always fill in the quiet with your antics and puns and dumb realizations, but Tsukki supposes that’s why he was oddly fond of you after a week of knowing you first year in high school.

It’s been years since he concluded he was in love with you. Specifically three, but if he ever mentions the exact number he feels like a hopeless idiot. If he told you about that, would you call him so? He’d never know unless he confesses.

Tsukishima tightens his grip on the metal railings, his knuckles turning white. He bites his lower lip, nearly making it bleed. He’s nervous, he’s scared but he’s willing to push through it. All for you.

Tsukishima steals yet another yearning glance at you, this time his head snaps forward when you caught him red-handed cheeks turn a bit red before he sniffs and got a hold of himself. You laugh gently at his uncharacteristic expression.

“Something bothering you?” you ask, taking one or two steps closer to him. Any more he’d explode.

“Nothing,” Tsukishima lies. And you know this because you always have this certain facial expression where you’re unsure of his answer; one well-defined eyebrow rise, the bridge of your nose scrunched slightly, and your lips on a pout. You always were adorable when you were sure he was lying.

“Well, you don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.” Sometimes Tsukki wishes you knew how close he held you in regard, how he won’t get upset if you push him further into questioning. Hell, he’d tell you the truth right away.

But you turn away, leaving him be and respecting his privacy, eyes back forward and thoughts miles away.

Tsukishima follows where you were looking, and he wonders what you were thinking. The future? The past? The inevitable fall of humanity and the universe?

Him?

Tsukishima would very much like to know if you’d thought of him. He won’t hesitate to tell you he’s thinking of you, too. Most days you never go away from his mind. He wants you to think of him right now as he’s thinking of you, too. But Tsukishima thinks that’s not the case. You never look so troubled when you were thinking of a person unless you worried.

Tsukishima nudges your elbow with his, and finally, he looks at you straight in the eyes, flushing lightly as always. “What’s bothering you?” He asks, his mouth in a straight line, seemingly uncaring.

“Nothing, just—” you sigh deeply, shoulders falling. Tsukki holds his breath, maybe it would be you that confesses? He always thought you liked him back. Tsukki waits as your gaze flutter from the city below then finally to his honeysuckle eyes. “I don’t know if I’d rather wake up in the middle of a war or the middle of a zombie apocalypse.”

He mentally slapped himself for assuming you’d be the first to say something sentimental.

Of course, he thought to himself disappointingly. On a daily, you weren’t even worried about important things like school or true love. You were thinking of choices you’d likely choose in a situation that would never happen, like the zombie apocalypse you mentioned.

You don’t think of me much, do you?

Tsukishima tries to hide his disdain. “I thought you said you had a plan when the zombies come.”

“Yeah, but I mean, like at the beginning of every zombie apocalypse movie, y’know. Like when they start growing in rapid numbers, and the panic rising out of people, the raging undead and their unquenchable thirst for human blood. As in the part where they just start flooding in.” you were very dramatic in using hand gestures. “I don’t know what I would do if that suddenly happened.

“That would never happen,” said Tsukki and you frown, and he smirks, always enjoying irking you. “Neil D. Tyson already said so.”

“Thank God. But still—if it could, what would you rather wake up in the middle of, Tsukki?” you ask him, leaning closer again and his heart palpates. “War or the apocalypse?”

He pretends he’s thinking hard, then he just shrugs nonchalantly, then you whine and tell him how he’s such a killjoy. If he were honest and cheesy, whatever situation he’d suddenly wake up to, Tsukishima wouldn’t hesitate to protect you in either one.

“Women can’t fight in a war, pick war,” Tsukki said, and he smirks again as you scoff and roll your eyes.

“You know how much I’m brave.” Oh, he knows alright. You were intensely afraid of heights, yet look where your favorite spot in the whole world is. “I wouldn’t think twice to enlist,” you said, chest puffed out. “’sides, it’s the 21st century, Tsukki, equality is much softer now. It's indulged..”

“And?” Tsukki encourages you to go on as it looked like you wanted to add something.

“War is worse than hell. I’m fine laying down my life for what’s right, but I’m not ok with children dying or starving, or widows crying over their dead husbands or wives, or old people going cripple. I don’t like seeing good people get hurt.”

God, you were always such a fucking wholehearted, good, kind, courageous, generous person. He loves you so fucking much it hurts to think you’d sacrifice your life for the people you don’t even know.

“Always such a martyr, aren’t you?” you punch Tsukishima on his shoulder. He only laughs at your feeble attempt to hurt him. When you push yourself away to frown again, Tsukki softens. “If you think those kinds of people don’t deserve to die you need to know that you don’t deserve it, too. Fuck dying for the country. Wars are bullshit.” Tsukki had to cut out the part where he’d say he’d want you to hide with him. Later, he tells himself, it's too early.

“Well, you’re not wrong,” you said.

“I have never been.”

“Shut up, jackass.”

“You first, dumbass.”

After a few petty insults are thrown at each other you both settle down with Tsukishima letting you win. He doesn’t care if you call him a salty bitch, as long as he gets to see you grin triumphantly after.

Then it was silent again. The wind was stronger this time. One blow and you gripped Tsukishima’s blazer and winced as you took the cold bite. Tsukishima wanted to wrap his arms around you to keep you warm, uncaring of the fact he was cold, too. Very. He had nothing else on besides his thick sweater, apparently not thick enough. Tsukishima wanted to lead you downstairs, back to the party which he’s sure has died down by now. It was nearly 2 in the morning.

But before you two could go he wanted to say something first. Confess before another perfect moment like this slips from his fingers. He looks at you, and you’re so gorgeous. Your hair is a perfect mess behind your head. Your cheeks are flushed, and you kept wetting your lips as the cold had dried them. The city lights shadowed perfectly on the half bottom of your face, the stars mirrored in your eyes. You were serene, too. Seemingly enjoying this time. This time with him.

It was either now or never.

“I love you,” he told you. Except he told the wind instead as another harsh blow blew on the rooftop. You and him wince simultaneously, but both for very different reasons. You hadn’t heard him, that was obvious, because you hadn’t as much reacted any differently. Tsukishima knows you weren’t pretending to not hear him either. Unlike him, you weren’t mean. You would even acknowledge the ignored person who tried to relay a message across a group with a curt nod, and an inviting smile—you listened, as Tsukishima was the reason for that person being reluctant in talking.

Tsukishima frowns, his heart falling. Above him, the smiling moon disappears behind a gray cloud, a red light. Maybe tonight wasn’t the night after all. Maybe no night was the night. But it would be stupid of him to give up after one try. Tsukishima would never forgive himself for letting you go so easily. He knows at the end of the day it’d always be you he loves. He knows he’ll follow his heart to you even though it would break sometimes.

Jesus, he thought. Love is frightening.

A few months later was another perfect moment to tell you Tsukishima’s true feelings. He had just come home from his night shift from the museum, coffee in his hands yet he was still tired and exhausted, but when he saw you sitting down in front of his apartment door, waiting, he smiles to himself.

Once you sensed him, you looked up from the floor you were sitting on, eyes huge and jade. Most people compare eyes to oceans or galaxies. Not your eyes though, they reminded Tsukishima of his favorite thing. Glancing down and his tiny plastic toy dinosaur, and then sliding further down to your green eyes. Tsukishima realized that’s probably why he felt so awake when he was with you. You were like a loud inspiring roar in the morning.

You had plans, you told him. There was a spot in the park, though you suppose it wasn’t even part of the park anymore. There was a forest, more natural than man-made, just beside the park. And when you were bored one day, you ventured through it and found the most amazing spot to view the sky. There were no outside noises, not another human has found it, you prided yourself in that. There were lots of pests and insects though, which was why you brought with you two huge blankets.

So there you two were, beneath the galaxy, feeling small and vulnerable to alien sight. But it was utterly beautiful.

The two of you lie on top of a small hill covered in grass and pretty flowers, there were trees around but it was a clearing where you and he were at. Looking up it was as if the sky was moving and the stars were burning bright. He held your hand shamelessly. And he thanked every God listening when you didn’t pull away, instead you wrapped it firmly as if you’d be taken by a UFO and he’d be your only grip to this Earth.

“Did you see that, Tsukki?” you asked, flabbergasted. You had to let go of his hand to prop yourself up and point to the violet sky. “I think I saw an alien ship!”

“They’re coming to get you,” Tsukishima said. Leaning on his elbow to snicker at you. “Their long-lost family.”

You punch him on his shoulders and he laughs. It’s been years but Tsukishima knows his saltiness isn’t going anywhere.

You lie down again, Tsukishima does the same but this time he can’t hold your hand, not when it's clasped with your other hand and laying on top of your stomach. He hides the fact he’s a tad bitter about that.

“Did you know,” you began, Tsukishima turns to you, intently listening because the stars have never captured him like the way it captured you anyway. What he felt about you, you felt in the infinite universe. Tsukishima’s fine being a close second. “Most people forget dinosaurs have ears because dinosaur ears don’t have bones.”

Tsukishima glares at you incredulously. First of all, how dare you question his lengthy knowledge about dinosaurs. Second, he knows for a fact that’s not true and that you stole it off a kid’s show you watch every fall.

“And that’s a rock fact!” you said, proud and overjoyed. But of what? You didn’t get to fool him successfully.

“No, it’s not, you idiot.” Tsukishima went his way to flick your forehead harshly. When he pulls his hand away you nearly bit off a finger.

Feral bitch, Tsukishima thought affectionately.

“Ok, fine, how about—” you trail off, a finger tapping on your chin, eyes darting from one dead star to another. “Most books on witchcraft tell you witches work naked.” Tsukishima knows which show you got this from off, too. “And that’s because most books on witchcraft are written by men.”

"Now, that I won’t deny.”

The two of you laughed lightly before looking back up again, heart alight. This time, Tsukishima stares at the stars, trying to find reason why you were so smitten with it as he was with you. He tries to find something in between the spaces of dead stars and see if there’s something like that in him, too. So that maybe you can love him as much as you loved the infinitesimal. He doesn’t find anything, unfortunately, he’s distracted by your harmonious humming.

“Tsukki,” his heart skips a beat. You say his name so magically it's hypnotic. He didn’t think he’d fall in love further just by the way you say his name.

“Yeah, y/n?” he cringes at how soft he sounded.

He looks at you, glazes over your direction to see you already looking at him. And his body is on fire. There was something different with you, with the way you look back at him. Something entirely different.

Finally, Tsukishima thought, staring deeper into your glossy eyes, you’re looking at me like I’m something you love, like I put the stars in your sky.

“I love you.”

And the moon in him explodes.

“I love you, too.”

And it’s the end of the day. You’re still and always will be the one that he wants

[moonbeamwritings]

train station kisses

a sequel to one missed call

Summary: After receiving a phone call from Jotaro after ten years of no contact, you attempt to navigate both your feelings and his. Will a reunion around the holidays be just what you both needed?

Author’s Note: I just wanted to say thank you for all of the positive reactions to one missed call! It really means a lot 🥺💕I hope you guys enjoy the sequel just as much!!

With a shaking hand, you reached out to dial his number, taking each digit slowly as a way to delay the inevitable. The line began to ring and you could almost feel your mouth running dry, the thudding of your heart threatening to burst your chest open. You bit your lip in a futile attempt to keep the water in your eyes from spilling over.

After four rings, you could hear Jotaro answer, “Hello?”

The ringing in your ears, the pounding in your heart, they didn’t stop with the sound of his voice.

“Uh hi, Jotaro? It’s me.”

A relieved exhale could be heard through the phone, followed by a brief moment of silence, “Hi.” If his breath had sounded relieved, then his voice sounded even more so. “I thought you wouldn’t call.”

You brought the phone with you as you traveled across the living room, resting back against the couch. “If I’m being honest, I almost didn’t.”

As much as he had convinced himself that he didn’t deserve a call back, Jotaro’s heart sunk into his stomach with the thought that you very nearly didn’t return his message, keeping him nothing but a distant, painful memory.

“Well,” he finally spoke, fidgeting with the pen resting on his desk, “I’m glad you did.”

You let out a nervous huff, quiet and short, “Yeah, me too.”

Silence overtook the conversation once again, entirely too awkward for your liking. Where were you even supposed to start? The man on the other end had confessed his love to you, through a long, emotional message on your answering machine no less, and now you were confronting him after not hearing from him in literal years. What were you supposed to do?

“Jotaro I-”

“Listen-”

You chuckled as you both attempted to speak at the same time.

“You go-”

“You first-”

You could hear his deep, quiet laugh through the phone.

“We’re off to a great start.” You told him, running a hand through your hair.

“We certainly are.”

“Look, Jotaro,” you struggle to find the right words, “I’m not going to lie to you and tell you that I wasn’t hurt that I didn’t hear from you, from anyone.”

A low “mhm” sounded through the phone as you collected yourself.

“But, Christ, is it nice to hear your voice.”

“It’s nice to hear yours too.”

“What were you going to say before?” You asked, pressing the phone between your shoulder and cheek so you could pick at your nails.

“I just wanted to tell you that I meant everything I said. All of it.”

The familiar, erratic beat of your heart returned in an instant as his confession replayed in your head.

The words spilled from your mouth before you can even think to stop them, “You love me?” 

You nearly smacked a hand against your forehead with how stupid, how desperate you sounded. Were you really hearing this right now?

“I do. I figured it was better late than never to tell you, even if it was over the phone. The old man was very convincing.” His voice was dripping with sarcasm as he spoke of his grandfather, clearly not thrilled with his relative’s persistence.

“I-” A shaky breath left your mouth, “I love you too. I always have.”

Jotaro didn’t respond right away. How could he? You’d just told him you love him, even after all of this time, even after he’d left you alone, in the dark. After all of it.

“I miss you.” He knew he sounded pathetic, heart on display for you to hear, but he didn’t care. Jotaro also knew he wasn’t anywhere near as openly emotional as he thought you deserved, but he wanted to be selfish, if only this once, wanted to sink his hands into your heart and never let go. He wouldn’t let you be alone again, not if he could help it.

At his confession, tears pricked at the back of your eyes, stinging as they threatened to fall.

“I miss you too, Jotaro.”

The words hung heavily in the air, years of pent up emotions all laid out for you both to see. You had no idea where to go from here. The previous phone call played through your mind as you searched for the right words. One statement came to the forefront: “You reminded me of everything I felt like I couldn’t have, what I can’t have.”

“Jotaro? Can I ask you something?”

“If you want.”

“Before, you said something about me being something you couldn’t have. What exactly did you mean?”

You heard him sigh into the receiver, sounding dejected as he spoke, “Everyone in my life either leaves or gets hurt, or both. I push people away to keep them out of my bullshit, so they don’t get hurt. I’m not easy to love. You don’t deserve to get wrapped up in the mess I always leave behind.”

Your heart broke.

“Jotaro, you…” A laugh, involuntary and riddled with disbelief, left your throat. “You really are something else, you know that? I’ve already been to Egypt with you, for God’s sake, risked my life for your mom, to defeat DIO. I think you’re kinda stuck with me now. Messes or not.”

His voice was uncharacteristically small as he responded, “You mean that?”

You scoffed. “Of course I do. God, you are such an idiot sometimes. You’re lucky I love you.”

He allowed a tiny smile to work its way onto his face, “Yeah, I am.”

“Ohhh, Jotaro,” you teased, getting a real kick out of Jotaro revealing what was going on in that steel-trap he calls a brain, “I didn’t take you for the cheesy type.”

A groan.

“Good freakin’ grief. I take it back, I don’t miss you anymore.”

“Oh come on. You do. You can admit it.”

The moment of humor was a welcomed break from the downpour of emotions that threatened to flood your mind, a calming reminder of what once was.

“Okay,” Jotaro acquiesced, for once not having the strength to win this fight, “you’re right.”

You ached to see the look on his face on the other side of the phone. You had no doubt his eyebrows were creased in annoyance, a smile reluctantly beginning to form on his lips. What you wouldn’t give to be able to reach over, to poke and prod at his cheeks, to tease and annoy him.

“Ugh, you’re so cute,” you tell him, “What am I ever gonna do with you?”

Cute, Jotaro thought, I’ve never heard that one before.

“Look, enough already I-” Why did you have to make his words catch in his throat so much? It was infuriating. “I wanted to ask if you wanted to meet up. I know it’s the holidays and everything but-”

You cut his rambling off with an immediate answer, “I would love to.”

“Wha- You would?” He hadn’t expected you to agree so quickly, or even at all.

The surprised lilt to his voice is not lost on you. You don’t push it. “Of course, I would.”

“In that case,” he spoke, absently tapping the pen against his desk, “I’ll have the Speedwagon Foundation pay for your travel expenses and you can come visit with my family and I for a few days.”

“Jotaro,” You admonished, “I don’t want to intrude! If you’re spending time with family, we can always wait.”

“I’ve kept you waiting long enough and besides,” you can hear the smile in his voice, “mom would love to cook for someone new.”

“Well, when you put it that way, how could I say no?”

The conversation continued from there, Jotaro telling you he would pass along the information from the Speedwagon Foundation. You spent some time getting caught up, passing information back and forth until Jotaro let out a long, drawn out yawn.

“It’s getting late. I should go.” Jotaro stated, sounding reluctant.

“That’s okay. Goodnight, Jotaro. I’ll see you soon.”

“Night, see you.”

With one final click, the line went dead, sending you reeling back into the quiet hum of your living room. You nearly laughed out loud at the events unfolding before you. The last thing you had expected this holiday season was to go visit Jotaro, all expenses paid.

Before you knew it, you were switching over from the plane to the train that would take you to the station near Jotaro’s childhood home. Even given the time you took to attempt to process all of these new developments, your mind still raced, endlessly whirling and wondering. Jotaro loved you and you were visiting him. He loved you and you were going to get to see him again. It was all relentlessly surreal.

As you boarded the train for the remainder of your journey, you couldn’t help but reflect on that fateful trip to Egypt. Memories flashed behind your eyes, coming and going with the scenery passing you by. Kakyoin’s goofy laugh, Polnareff’s friendly disposition, Avdol’s kind words. Your heart clenched at the thought.

Perhaps your reunion, love confessions aside, could help you process what you’d been dealing with for so long. Maybe it could help you move on, move away from reliving the trauma of those weeks abroad. Just maybe.

Pushing the thoughts from your mind, the voice over the loudspeaker alerted you that you had arrived at the station where you would meet Jotaro. Your heart thudded nervously in your chest, seemingly stealing the air from your lungs.

You grabbed your belongings and stepped out onto the platform, eyes scanning the crowd for Jotaro. He was always so tall, you thought, this should be easy.

At the same time, Jotaro entered the station, hands tucked into his pockets to disguise their slight tremor. He had never felt so nervous in his life, this situation being such uncharted territory that he almost wished he could have Star Platinum fight the feelings off for him. He pulled his hat down to cover the rosiness traveling up his neck.

His eyes scanned the crowd, landing on you across the station. You caught his gaze almost immediately, a small smile overtaking the concerned downturn of your lips. You were here, finally.

You weaved through the crowd as you locked eyes with Jotaro, carefully dragging your suitcase behind you as you moved among the throngs of people. As you reached the other side of the station, you stopped dead in your tracks, staring up at Jotaro.

It was as if a massive weight was lifted from your shoulders, like you had finally let out a sigh of relief after a long day. You wanted to live with this feeling forever.

“Hi.” You finally let out, moving to close the gap between the two of you at long last.

Without even responding, Jotaro bent down to wrap his arms around your waist, lifting your feet off the ground and clutching you against his chest. You smiled as you felt him bury his nose against your neck.

You wrapped your own arms around his neck, one hand resting against the back of his head.

“You’re here.” His voice was muffled by your shirt, but you could hear him clear as day.

“I’m here.”

You remained like that for who knows how long, embracing one another like touch-starved fools, so lost in each other that you didn’t even register the stares from passersby.

After some time, Jotaro took his face away from your neck, returning your feet to the ground. Both hands were quick to cradle your cheeks, looking you over carefully with a cute upturn of his lips.

It was all so uncharacteristically soft that you almost felt as though he was a different person.

He hunched down, bringing his lips to yours in an emotional kiss. His lips moved against yours like a man starved, hand moving to feel your hair between his fingers. As he broke away to catch his breath, he pressed his forehead against your own.

“I love you, he spoke like it was a secret, something so important it was for your ears only, “so much.”

“I love you too, Jotaro.”

He kissed you again, a brief peck to your lips as if to seal your quiet promise, to legitimize it.

Before you could even stop them, tears began flowing down your cheeks only to be swiped away by Jotaro’s thumb.

“Oh, good grief,” he said, but it was nowhere near as biting as it could’ve been, “don’t cry.”

You chuckled at his assertion. This was the Jotaro you knew and loved. “Sorry.”

He pressed a sweet kiss to the crown of your head, hand reaching up to ruffle the hair there.

“Come on, mom’s making dinner.”

He grabbed your suitcase and turned to head towards the door, leaving you in the dust. Typical.

When you fell into step beside him, you laced your fingers with his, running your thumb along the back of his hand.

God, you could get used to this.

[fandomscombine]

Make The First Move

George Weasley x Reader

BG: The Yule Ball is only a month away, but the boy you were hoping to ask you out still hasn’t make a move. So you decided to take matters into your own hands.

(With guess appearances of Fred and Cedric)

This is an entry for @heloisedaphnebrightmore​ ’s 1k Followers Writing Challenge

Fluff prompt #1 “Do you find it sexy when girls make the first move, or should I wait for you to do it yourself?”

Fluff prompt #6 “If you want to make a move, today would be the perfect time to go for it.”

Trope #8 Friends to lovers

WC: 2623

>>>MASTERLIST<<<

>>JOIN MY WRITING CHALLENGE!<<

y/n l/n is not a girly girl. You would categorize your fashion mentality to value comfort and functionality more than style.

Yes, during the weekends, you do tend to rock a graphic tee, jeans, soft sneakers and a outwear of choice, depending on what you’re feeling that day- be it a leather jacket, causal blazer to a denim jacket.

Hey in your defence, the Scottish Highlands where Hogwarts is located isn’t exactly the warmest place, besides students are only allowed to wear casual clothes during the weekends.

But every now and then you do wanna pop on a skirt or a dress, especially when its warm outside.

This upcoming event though…. you, like everyone else is oh so very much do want to feel like a star! To feel elegant! Luxurious!

That’s right the Yule Ball is only a month away. It is all that is in every single student’s mind ever since it was announced. Who would their date to the ball be? What outfit would they wear?

A number of students had already picked their respective dates and dresses. However, a remaining select few have not done either- Like yourself. Time is running out and the pool of available potential partners is decreasing day by day.

You didn’t mind going alone, as long as you have a great time with friends, going alone it isn’t really a big deal. But there is a small childlike wishful thinking that wants to have a fairy tale experience.

It also isn’t helpful that you had started to develop feelings for a certain redheaded twin over the summer. You swear that he too felt the dynamic changed between the two of you- who knew that 3 weeks tinkering with joke shop ideas and fixing out the burrow’s garage could be so impactful.

Though now coming to think of it, could you have just read the signs all wrong? The lingering stares, the tighter and longer hugs… Could this be signs that he planning of ways to murder you? Because if this were all romantic signs, wouldn’t he have had asked you out to the ball by now? It was no secret that you hadn’t said yes to anyone yet.

So, what’s taking so long? George Weasley is one of the most confident and popular guys on campus. Surely, he wouldn’t chicken out or get nervous to ask you.

Right??

Pushing boy trouble aside, you focus back on the dress catalogue your mum had sent you earlier today.

Flipping through the pages, 2 dresses caught you eye. One was a short tule the other had a long side leg slit.

You were in the process of bookmarking the page when you felt the catalogue being pulled out of your grasp.

‘Hey!’ You instinctively shouted to the culprit.

‘What’s this?’ George said, turning to the front cover. ‘“Madam Bella’s Evening Gowns, Autumn/Winter 1994”’

‘Give it back George!’ You tried to take it from him, but he quickly held it above his head.  

You stood on the bench in hopes to extend your reach. You could almost take hold-

‘Catch Freddie!’ Shouted George and threw it across the table.

Fred flipped to the dogeared pages. ‘Ahh..’ He was scanning through the choices you had circled. ‘Great choices indeed, my dear y/n!’

At first you weren’t sure if he was teasing you or being sincere.

That must had shown on your face as Fred continued, ‘I’m serious y/n/n!’ He placed his left hand on his heart and raise his right. ‘I swear! But you would look good in any dress anyway.’

You blushed at his compliment. ‘Thanks for the confidence boost Freddie.’

He hands back the catalogue to you, and as you took it, he whispered in your ear. ‘A little hint though,’ He shifts back a bit- now being face to face. ‘My vote is on the slit dress...’

Your brows scrunched together- was this boy seriously giving you fashion advice?

‘….I know George would like that..’ He steals a quick glance towards his twin, who has now turn bright red, both from being embarrassed and furious at him. ‘… I-I mean, it would match George’s dress robes.’

Fred sends you a final wink and bids you both goodbye.

You watch Fred exit the Great Hall, never letting him out of sight until he turns the corner. Which George to grateful for, as that had bought him time to calm his face down.

That was the one of the weirdest exchanges you’ve ever had yet, but you also couldn’t help but wonder if there was some truth to it.

George cleared his throat ‘So…y/n...Have you got a date yet?’

‘No why?’ You look over at him and you thought that you might give your hypothesis a try. Smirking hopefully, you asked ‘Are you gonna ask me?’

If you only knew what was going on inside of George’s head, the boy was panicking.

It was as if time slowed. Or it was because George’s thoughts are going a thousand miles a second.

Of course, he wanted to ask you to go with him!

But his brain was feeding him of insecurities. What if you didn’t want to go with him? What if you did say yes but only as a friend?

Plus, he didn’t want to ask you in front of all these people, thinking that you might be pressured by the crowd to agree.

No, he wanted to do it in a private, more intimate setting. Deserving of your beauty and grand place to confess his feelings.

He’d dream that in return you would say ‘Yes, I loved to go to the ball with you, George!’ and perhaps even say those 3 words he’s been dying to hear-more in the romantic nature than of friendship- and if he was lucky, maybe even share a kiss, that would be the best case scenario.

The worst-case scenario would be you rejecting him, possibly forever ruining the relationship with his best friend and having his heart broken- at least that case, nobody else would witness that.

‘Eh George?? Georgie?? Hello??’ You frantically wake a hand in front of him. ‘Earth to George Weasley!!!’

Great, when you finally had the courage to ask him to be your date-albeit indirectly- You broke him.

‘uuh.. I… I have to go...’ George looked like a deer caught in headlights

‘What?’

His eyes, dart upwards, thinking of an excuse. ‘Yes, I have to go… GO CLEAN MY SOCKS!’ Unfortunately, for him, in an uncharacteristic manner, he failed to think of a believable lie. ‘I’ll see you later!’

And with that he rushed out the Great Hall, leaving you once again gawking with a confused face at another Weasley twin.

~

You had your back against one of the rock formations near the Black lake, deciding which of the 2 dresses you would be wearing to the ball.

You were enjoying the last good sunny autumn days, taking in the sights of other students having a picnic on this beautiful Saturday. When suddenly a figure had landed right in front of you.

‘Ahhh!’ You had jumped in fright, causing you to slip a bit.

‘I got you, I got you!’ You felt arms holding you tight, preventing you from falling off the rocks.

Once you had regained your balance you check to see the perpetrator that had gave you a heart attack.

‘CEDRIC DIGGORY!!!!!!!! I TOLD YOU TO STOP DOING THAT!!’

The boy chuckled. ‘I know y/n/n, but I just couldn’t help it!’

You narrowed your eyes at him. Which made him laugh even more.

‘You know you love me.’ He gushed, bring you into a hug.

‘And that is my weakness’ Your reply being muffled by his shoulder. You Cedric were as close as brother and sister, having basically grew up together as both your families super close. Your father is best friends with his father and so are your mothers ever since their Hogwarts days. Therefore, naturally you and Cedric have a close bond too, being joined at the hip since birth-the only time part was the 3 months that you are older by.

It has been a while since you two had caught up with each other, him being busy with the Triwizard Tournament ofcourse.

‘Have you got any idea about the second task?’

‘Yeahh’ Cedric gulped.

You crocked a brow. Not buying his bullshit.

Cedric scratched the back of his neck. ‘Fine, I haven’t….’ Gazing towards the lake, he continued. ‘But I think it’s got something to do about the water.’

You take hold of his hand. ‘Hey, it’s alright. You’ll figure it out. We’ll figure it out.’

‘Thanks y/n. I thought initially you wouldn’t be against me joining.’ He confessed.

‘You know I would support you no matter what. But don’t get me wrong, I’m worried for you Ced, always am. The tournament just upped it to level 1000! But I know that you have it in you to win this, to be the Triwizard Champion!’ You beamed. ‘Imagine that Ced, a Triwizard Champion in the family!’

‘It would be great, would it?’

‘Now to the matter at hand, The Yule Ball.’

‘What about it?’

‘Have you asked someone yet? You enquired.

‘Well there is this gorgeous lady that I’ve been meaning to ask…’ He hinted. ‘Though I am waiting for the right opportunity to ask her, you see everything has to be perfect!’

‘Awww, what an absolute sweetheart!’ You swooned.

Behind Cedric, you could have sworn that you saw someone in the trees. However, in your eagerness to know more of Cedric’s possible date, you brushed it off as the swaying of the branches and falling autumn leaves.

‘How about you? Has Mr. Beater asked you yet?’

You sighed. ‘Not exactly…’

Cedric leaned forward with hands on his chin, interested to hear more.

‘He asked if I had got a date yet, to which I said no. Then teased if he was gonna ask me.’ You recalled. ‘Then he froze. I guess I broke him, cause the next thing he said was that he’s got to go clean his socks.’

That had Cedric doubling over. ‘George really said that?!?!!?’ He had his arms wrapped around his stomach. ‘Clean his socks?!!??’

‘Yeah yeah yeah, laugh all you want Diggory. But you still hadn’t asked Cho out yet.’

‘Heyy! I told you I am waiting for the right moment!’

‘C’mon Ced, Sweet intentions aside. Cho has been declining offers to the ball, time is running out and I bet she is getting tired waiting for you to make a move, especially this close to the ball.’ You know how much Cedric likes Cho and hate to see him sad if and when Cho doesn’t get tired of waiting for him. ‘Sooner or later she might just say yes to some other guy, cause you’re talking so long!’

‘I’m sorry Cedric.’ You had realized that you projected your own frustrations on him. ‘I didn’t mean to go off on you like that.’

‘I know y/n, it’s alright really.’ He smiled, having come up with an idea ‘How about this, the next time you see George, YOU ask him out?’ He suggested.

‘ME?!?’

‘Yes.’ He insisted. ‘That why we would get a definite answer. And this time not more asking in an indirectly direct way. - We don’t want another system error in that head of his. Deal?’

‘Deal’

Picking up the discarded catalogue, he remarked. ‘Hmmm, I think that the long one would suit the occasion better, don’t you think? Being it a formal event and all.’

You agreed. ‘and you‘re not the first one to say that too.’ You muttered-more to yourself.

‘Huh?’

‘Nothing!’

‘So what color are you thinking? Blue or…’

‘Oh I got that all figured out! I was thinking that since the point of the Triwizard Tournament is school unity, I want the grown to be featuring my house colours.’

~

Fred had ran back to the Gryffindor dormitories as fast as he could. Glad to spot that his twin brother laying down on the bed.

As much as he enjoys teasing his siblings. He could no longer endure the obliviousness of his brother and y/n. He can no longer take the constant nonessential pining, especially when they obviously like each other.

Fred had been trying to get them together for the past month, but it seems that subtly pushing them to the right direction isn’t working. Which leaves him with no choice.

‘If you want to make a move, today would be the perfect time to go for it’ Stated Fred.

‘What?’

‘I can’t take it anymore Georgie!’ He grabs his brother by the collar. ‘I CAN’T TAKE IT ANYMORE! I KNOW YOU LIKE Y/N AND BELIEVE ME GEOGRE WHEN I SAY THAT SHE LIKES YOU BACK OKAY.’ Fred pleads, shaking George with each word. ‘AND YOU HAVE GOT TO MAKE A MOVE TODAY! NOW! ASK HER TO THE BALL BEFORE CEDRIC DOES.’

George now dizzy, mumbled. ‘What? How?.....How do you know this?’

‘I saw them together at the lake and me being the best brother that you have decided to eavesdrop.’ Fred admitted. ‘And guess what, Cedric plans to ask a gorgeous lady- y/n- to the yule ball but is just finding the perfect opportunity.’

‘Therefore, brother dearest, it’s only a matter of time til that happens. And I your very supportive wingman urge you to freaking ask y/n out RIGHT NOW before it’s too late.’

That news that Cedric might ask y/n to the ball before he does, had put George back into his senses.

In record time, George had tidy up his clothes and fixed his hair. ‘Right.’ He turned to Fred who was looking smug leaning on the door frame. ‘How do I look?’

‘Smashing.’

‘Great, Now get out of the way you prick.’

~

George was busy thinking on how to ask y/n out to the yule ball and possibly even side in the chance to ask to go on a date with him, when he accidentally bumped into someone.

‘Wooooahh careful George!’

Damnit! he thought, out of all the people in this huge school, he just had to bump into the one person he doesn’t want to see.

‘Diggory.’ George growled.

‘You two alright?’ Said a voice beside them.

In his annoyance towards Cedric, George hadn’t noticed that you were close by. ‘Yeah, I’m good.’

‘Heyy’ Cedric interrupted. George had to stop himself from rolling his eyes. ‘I’ll see you later okay?’

Cedric kissed your forehead and whispered. ‘Good luck.’

This was is. George interpreted that sibling affection as you going out with Cedric to the ball.

Accepting defeat, he cleared his throat. ‘I guess imma go too-‘

‘Wait George!’ You held onto his arm to prevent him from leaving. ‘I wanted to ask you something.’

‘Go ahead.’ Replied George, curious onto what it is that is so important to ask him.

‘Do you find it sexy when girls make the first move, or should I wait for you to do it yourself?’

‘Hmm?’ George once again confused.

‘Gosh you are slow sometimes aren’t you.’ You chuckled. You take a step closer to him, coming up face to face. ‘George Weasley will you go to the ball with me?’

It took a second for George to believe what he was hearing. ‘YES!!’ He exclaimed then recomposed himself. ‘Yes, I would love to go to the ball with you.’

Wrapping his arms around your waist, he decided to take it one step further- cause what else has he got to lose? ‘Will you y/n l/n go on a date with me?’

You bring your arms to his neck, his him close. ‘I’d love nothing more.’ You grinned, pulling him into a long awaited kiss.

 Taglist [All/General]: @gruffle1​

[relaxxattack]

me: *is about to go to sleep* *sees the ran and jackie classpect post* *rises from my bed and looks at the notes i have* well if i must <3 (warning this is long as hell im sorry KXNSKBS i spent. two hours on this. it is 2am in my timezone now)

jackie is a breath player through and fucking through. a focus on self satisfaction, finding a quest and going after it, being so focused on the positive that he can see a negative thing happen and go "oh well, thats unfortunate. anyways," (think how he hears that ran probably died and just went "aw i liked him" then just sort of. keeps going anyways. picks one thing to really dedicate himself to it and sticks to it, shows negative reactions when they happen but doesnt dwell on them (whether out of discomfort or something else). basically, jackie is all of tubbos breath influence without any of the space influence. accidentally winning just because he really was just that damn dedicated

classwise, jackie is.. a bit difficult to get a handle on, if only because hes very breath like, but at the same time while he seems unconcerned with the idea of losing ran, he still very much so *wants* ran. its that want of a connection, of even just one person to keep around, that takes away the possibility of jackie being a class that would make him detach himself from others at will. hes not a class that would make him desperate for someone to help him take a certain direction, really he seems to want to take others in the same direction he already chose. he also accepts being tethered to one place/thing, he just wants to have freedom w how he goes about it, and it seems like its been this way for a while. ssoooo i want to say witch of breath. manipulating breath or through breath. strong personalities, friendly but terrifying and a force to be reckoned with, knowing what they want and, if healthy, how to get it. often pulling others along for the ride. generally, jackies a healthy witch of breath. he wants someone to show the same freedom he has, but knows he has limits and tethers and works with them, and ultimately hes not too pressed when he cant get his way fully. generally- jackie knows whats going on and what to do about it, but hed rather have fun with it all and show others how fun it all is too

now. ran. this is unfortunately difficult because ran didnt get as much screentime as was planned. L. anyways aspectwise hes definitely one of the ones that thinks theres not really a meaning to life (think of how he just goes "well this place is going down anyways". he doesnt care what choices are taken, hes already real fuckin sure of the end result. cocky bitch). hes not one about facades or selves, bc its rather clear that his blunt and coolguy attitude is, kind of just him, and he doesnt seem interested in deconstructing how others work, just interested in seeing how events play out. i want to say that ran is either void, time, or doom. void fits rans secrecy and overall "irrelavance" (in the sense that he doesnt seem to have contributed anything, not really), but void players are more angsty about how things dont matter rather than accepting it. which leaves time and doom. ultimately, id say time. doom players arent cocky in the right way </3. also just, yknow, the whole possible time traveler ran thing, the drama, the bluntness, internalization, the end of things, fake deep metaphors, etc etc. does mean that there really has to be a focus on the right class to truly pin him down, because most classes when paired with time are more emotional than ran is

so.. rans class. after a lot of deliberation, my main two thoughts are either a maid or a page. however, page means that before the pit, ran didnt have a good grasp on his aspect and after a long while of self awareness training does now, while maid means that either before or during the pit he relies on others to define his aspect. either way, he has a good grasp on it, but its clear that hes not letting himself really be free with it. this is why i want to say maid, because pages are sort of like starting with a disadvantage and just continuing with it even though you could probably fix it if you really tried, but youd rather just focus on what you have and being the best at it. maids are about growing into what you could have. doing what theyre expected at first and getting their aspect from somewhere else. they dont like being passive, but its what gets them the best results, right? but what defines a maid is getting out of that stage, of standing up for themself and defining their aspect for themselves and getting it by themselves, stubborn and becoming powerful and often terrifying, almost more than a witch if they do it correctly. so, basically, rans an aradia kinnie, hes just in his aradiabot phase right now. if he let himself get past that stage though, i think hed be happy

so basic summary: jackie understands that he has limits and tethers and focuses on what freedom he does has, and wants to have someone to experience that freedom with, and is a witch of breath. ran is leaning into the whole "its all hopeless anyways" because those that he relies on define it as such, but he has the potential to be happy and reach his full potential if he just lets himself choose his own path for once (and one thats not unhealthy), and is a maid of time. ultimately its why they work well together, once jackie gets ran to choose to be free with him, theyll both be happy. jackies already at his full potential, and has the power to get ran to choose to reach his full potential as well. bada bing bada boom baby really shows how much absolute Bullshit goes into classpecting because with fuckin classpecting terms you really can squeeze the hell out of characters with 1-2 sentence blurbs of characterization at most. white boys have ruined my life, zayne -🎭🎪

OH MY FUCKING GOD DUDE THIS IS SO GOOD

i will actually be stealing all of this for the fic, thank you so much oh my god. this is pretty much the only real good ran and jackie analysis to exist, im going to fucking scream and cry this is awesome

i hope you have SUCH a good sleep you deserve it

wow i cant express how thankful i am for this

(i find it really interesting that both ran and jackie seem to have an end-of-the-world-nothing-matters mindset, but different ways of going about that... genuinely can’t wait to explore that and then let them naturally develop, because hell yeah dude)

[nyctophilin]

Stay Winning

@txtmoalove​⤀ Hey! As for my first request here , can I request a Felix smut? Something that'll include voice kink for his deep voice? 🥺 Maybe even an enemies to lover's au! I hope it's not too much !! 💕

Description⤀  He was always making remarks about her and making fun of her work. He was speculating about how her work was always chosen as the best and was creating rumors. She despised him. Or did she?

All rights reserved © nyctophilin 2020. Re-posting, copying and translating any of my works is prohibited.

Pairing⤀ Felix x fem!Reader

Word count⤀ 3k

Genre⤀ Office!AU, Enemies to lovers, Smut, Angst(?)

Warnings⤀ dom!felix, grinding, fingering, spanking, unprotected penetration, spelling/grammar mistakes 

Pearl Note⤀ This was so fun to write. I really hope you like it! Please don’t hesitate to tell me what you think!

      “This concludes our meeting today. I’ll see everyone again on Wednesday at the same hour. Mrs L/N and Mr Lee I want you both to present your ideas and we will see which we can choose or if we have to combine them. Have a good day everyone!” Mr Bang spoke as he got up from his chair and left the room to go to his next meeting. Everyone else started gathering their things right after the CEO left and a general bustle settled in the room. Disturbing screeching sounds were made by the pushed chairs of the people who hurriedly wanted to reach either the cafeteria or their cubicles to get some more work done.

      Y/N wasn’t in a hurry like everyone else. She gathered her things calmly and was the last to leave the meeting room carelessly making her way towards her cubicle to leave the unnecessary things there before going for lunch. The clicking of her hills could be heard every time she stepped on the marble floors. Upon reaching her destination she left everything on the desk and took her purse with her.

      She walked up to another cubicle and used her knuckles to knock on the plastic walls. The raven-haired man lifted his eyes from the manuscript he was currently trying to check and a smile coated his facial features at the sight of her. “Can I steal you from your work for half an hour so we can eat? I’m paying.” She brought her purse to the same level as her face as further reassurance to the man that she meant what she said.

      “I thought you’ll never ask. I was starving there!” The man got up from his chair abandoning his files on the desk and put one arm around her shoulders. “Lead the way, Ma’am!” Y/N chuckled at his childish gesture and they both started walking towards the cafeteria. “How did the meeting go?” The man asked when they sat down at a table in the busy room.

      “It went well. Mr Kang is really excited to work with us and he thinks that everything will turn out great.” She hummed satisfied after taking a bite from her food. She will always be grateful to Mr Bang for choosing to actually give a shit about his employee’s health. Immediately after a bittersweet taste let itself in her mouth. “I have to work against Felix for marketing though. Mr Bang said he’ll choose whichever he likes best so I have to work hard to beat that loser.” She was squeezing the chopsticks in her hand at the thought of him.

      “Why does it matter that much? It’s not like there are infinite ways to market a book and Mr Bang seems to be fond of your work. If he wins once what is so bad about that?” Y/N sighed at her friend’s naive statement.

      “Jeongin, let’s say you are in a really good soccer team and you always win. Would you let the other team win once just because you did so many times before? If I purposely don’t do a good job right now, Mr Bang might think that my skills are not as good anymore which might result in me getting fewer opportunities to work on books that I really like. Plus that little shit is always trying to pick a fight with me.” She rolled her eyes when she remembered the kind of treatment she gets from her superior.

      “You always say that. What does he even say that get you so worked up all the time?” Jeongin’s question was a genuine one. He has worked at the publishing company for over two years now and ever since Y/N has started working there a year and a half ago he can’t remember one time when the two weren’t at each other’s throats. At first, he thought the rivalry between the two was because they both had the same job and it was normal for them to want they work to get chosen but then he realised that it was more than that.

      “He always looks down on me and thinks that just because he is older and has been working there longer his ideas should be chosen more often. ‘Even a kindergarten student could think of that.’, ‘He chose you just as an encouragement.’, ‘Maybe if I also had a short skirt Mr Bang would choose me as well.’...”

      “Don’t forget about the cleavage.” A deep voice suddenly ringed in her ear making her jump in surprise. She immediately turned her head in that direction and her nose was only one centimetre away from Felix’s nose.

      “What?” This is all she could say since she was still shaken by his deep voice in her ear.

      Felix got up from his bent position and a smirk tugged at his lips when he realised the effect his sudden appearance had on her. “I also say about the cleavage. I’m pretty sure that if I had boobs I’ll get just as many deals as you.” His eyes travelled from her face down to where her shirt had the first two buttons undone. He visibly licked his lips at the sight before looking back at her eyes and winking.

      His eyes made her uncomfortable but she stood her ground and rolled her eyes back at his gesture. “Oh sweety, it’s so funny that this is what you tell yourself to feel better about your failure. We both know that Mr Bang doesn’t do this kind of thing. And unlike you, he does not need to get on my good side. I’d fuck him even if he was choosing your work.” A fake smile was painting her lips as she finished talking. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to finish eating so I can go back to making a better marketing strategy than yours.” She turned back towards Jeongin and continued eating her food.

      As she heard his steps getting farther away from her she let out a breath she was holding in for a long time. She hated the way his voice affected her. He might be an asshole but damn he had a nice voice. She ignored the moist feeling that started forming between her legs and continued talking with Jeongin about different topics the rest of their lunch break.

      Y/N let out a sigh and rubbed the back of her neck trying to ease the pain she was feeling. She squeezed her eyes shut trying to calm the burning sensation from looking at the computer screen for too long. It was currently 11:36 PM on a Tuesday and she was still in the office. For the last couple of days, she didn’t have enough inspiration to work on a marketing strategy for Mr Kang’s book that would satisfy her so she just did something lousy in order not to show up with nothing. An hour prior, however, she got a really good idea and she had to stay over program to do it.

      She was pretty sure there wasn’t anyone else in the office with her at that hour and if there was they were far away from her and awfully quiet. She stretched her tired arms moaning at the pleasurable sensation of tension leaving her body after a long time. She leaned back on her leather chair deciding to take a short break from work for a few minutes. She kicked her stiletto’s off her feet letting another moan leave her lips at the free sensation. She really hated hills for always making her uncomfortable and hurting her feet.

      She closed her eyes and started humming a calming melody while trying to relax both her brain and her body. “I see that you are enjoying yourself.” The same deep voice that annoyed and turned her on so much was heard in the room and she opened her eyes with an exasperated sigh.

      “What are you doing here?” She questioned him as she turned her chair towards the door of her cubicle.

      “I heard you moaning and I told myself that it is impossible for sweet perfect Y/N to be masturbating on the job. The second time I had to come check it myself.” Y/N rolled her eyes and looked to the side sucking her cheeks in. She absolutely despised the way his voice could soak her and his words could make her want to stab him with a pencil.

      “Are you serious right now? That’s low even for you.” She was so done with his bullshit.

      “You are right. It would have been more logic to think that you were in here with Mr Bang. I doubt he would take you to his house.” She rolled her eyes at his words before getting up abruptly.

      “You know that you are really pathetic? Just because someone else took something YOU think you deserve that doesn’t mean they did something unethical to obtain it. I don’t care what you think about me as a person but. Don’t. Insult. My. Work!” She was now right in front of him and she pushed her index finger against his chest when she said the last few words. “You are 23 years old and you behave like a pre-teen. Making comments about my work and the way I talk and my clothes. Do my clothes bother you in any way?”

      Y/N lets out a yelp as Felix picks her up and carries her to her desk and harshly puts her down, definitely making some of the papers on it to wrinkle. He leaves a trail of kisses from her jaw to her ear before speaking. “Do your clothes bother me? They sure as hell do, darling! How do you think I feel every time I see your thigh ass in one of your pencil skirts or when you have your boobs out for everyone to see?” His deep voice was vibrating in her ear making an involuntary moan leave her mouth. Her private parts already started becoming wet and that was just from a few words from him.

      She tried freeing herself from his grip wanting to escape from that embarrassing situation. Her pathetic attempts only stirred Felix more and a sound resembling a growl left his throat. The sound went right through her cunt and she pushed her thighs together while throwing her head back and letting a groan out. Felix raised an eyebrow as he looked at her ecstatic form. He let another groan out and when he noticed the way her body jolted a smirk appeared on his face.

      “Do you like my voice darling? Does it turn you on? Is this why you always get flustered every time we fight?” His voice went an octave lower if that was possible and Y/N smashed their lips together taking the male by surprise. She desperately pushed her tongue into his mouth wanting nothing more than to shut him up so she can regain her composure.

      Y/N backed away leaving his lips for only a second before he forced her back into the kiss. With one hand he grabbed her thigh and yanked her towards him pressing their hips together and tilted her back more. The contact of her drenched pussy with his already erect shaft had her bucking her hips against him. A delicious groan left his lips and Y/N whimpered into the kiss repeating her action.

      Fed up with her actions Felix pushed her to lay on the desk, the sudden contact with the wooden surface making the oxygen leave her lungs for a few seconds. His hand made its way up her inner thigh until it reached her dripping core. Upon feeling her wetness through her panties a smirk appeared on his face. “Fuck, you are already so wet, darling. And all from my voice, just like a slut.” She whimpered at his words and bucked her hips into his hands desperately needing to feel any sort of relieve.

      A loud noise echoed through the empty office as his hand smacked her thigh in an attempt to make her stop moving. “Now darling, stay put or I won’t touch you!”

      “Fuck you!” She spit taking one of her hands and placing it over her clothed heat. If he won’t help her then she will do it herself.

      “Oh darling, trust me. I will!” Felix harshly yanked her hand from her sensitive parts and in a swift motion, he stripped her of her panties. His touches were feather-like as he explored her cunt for the first time. He felt his dick jolt at how wet she was and without warning pushed two digits inside her. Y/N let out a surprised yelp both her hands instantly grabbing his and her back arching dramatically. “Fuck, I wish you could see the way your pussy swallows my fingers so eagerly. Can’t wait to get my dick in there.” His voice was raspy and a pleasurable shiver crossed her body.

      “Maybe if you stopped fucking talking we would actually get there.” She was moving her hips on her own making his fingers go in and out of her dripping pussy. A dark aura enveloped him at her words and he started pumping his fingers at an impossibly fast pace. Breathy moans and occasional groans were leaving her mouth as she struggled not to squirm around too much.

      Y/N could feel a knot forming in her stomach and she started moving her hips in time with Felix’s hand. Feeling her cunt squeeze his fingers desperately he caught on the fact that she was close and he removed his fingers from inside her at once.

      “You asshole! Why did you…” She couldn’t finish her sentence cause Felix flipped her over pushing her face into the desk.

      “Did you really think I would let you cum on my fingers after you cried for my dick like a slut? You better stop complaining and take what I give you.” She heard how he unbuckled his belt and the faint sound of a zipper before feeling his head slide over her moist lips. Felix bent down over her and inserted his shaft in slowly giving her time to get used to his girth. He let out delicious groans as he felt her tight cunt squeeze around him and her sense went in overdrive from him groaning in her ear.

      His dick stretched her perfectly and she bit her bottom lip suppressing a moan. When he bottomed inside her, he stilled for a few moments under the pretext of giving her time to adjust to him but in reality, he was afraid that if he moved he’ll come instantly just like a teenage boy having sex for the first time. Soon after Y/N tapped his hand urging him to start moving. He started moving slowly, savouring every moment he was inside of her.

      Moving his hands in front of her, he ripped open her shirt somehow managing not to bust any buttons. He pulled her bra down and pinched her erect nipples adding on to her pleasure. His trusts became more urgent and he smacked her right boob ripping a moan out of her. He moved her hips in sync with his, meeting him halfway. She could feel the knot forming again in her stomach and she grabbed the edge of the desk for support.

      “Felix, I’m cuming!” Y/N managed to breathe out between moans.

      Felix moved his hand to her clit and started circling it frantically bringing her closer to her release. “Cum darling!” The ringing of his voice in her ear tipped her over the edge and she released with a loud moan that she was sure could be heard from a few blocks away.

      Felix quickened his pace chasing his own high and overstimulating her at the same time. Y/N’s cunt was squeezing him so heavenly that he thrusted a few more times before pulling out and releasing on her ass. The office was filled with their heavy breaths as they both tried coming down from their highs.

      “Y/N, what are you doing here?” Jeongin gave her a concerned look, confusion present on his face.

      “What am I doing in my own cubicle?” Her voice was dripping with sarcasm as she turned around in her chair to look at him.

      “No, I mean what are you doing here now? Didn’t the meeting for the marketing strategy started 48 minutes ago?” His eyebrows were furrowed and he checked his watch a few times in a row to make sure that he was correct.

      “I told Mr Bang that I came up with no idea and I would rather not take part in the meeting. Plus they have Felix there, it’s not like they actually need me if I got nothing.” She said that nonchalantly turning back on her chair to resume her previous activity.

      “Why would y…”

      Before the man could finish his sentence Felix stormed inside and went to hug Y/N tightly. “Thank you so much, darling! Mr Bang loved the idea. I promise I will make it up to you. Now I have to go. We have a meeting with Mr Kang to present the strategy to him. Love you!” The man cupped her face and placed a tender kiss on her lips before hurriedly getting out and completely ignoring Jeongin.

      Y/N turned her head towards the entrance of the cubicle and noticed how Jeongin was leaning against the plastic wall, hands crossed and a smirk on his lips. She bit her bottom lip before gulping visibly.

      “So tell me Y/N, what was that thing with the soccer team?” He asked, raising an eyebrow.

      “Oh, please! Like I actually know anything about soccer!”

[seasonofthewicth]

hellas in a handbasket

Thanks to Hannah (@cicada-bones) for planting the idea in my mind of what could have been in store for Lorcan and Aelin post-koa, and also for the title. 

5 times Rowan finds drunken Aelin and Lorcan causing trouble + 1 time he gets them started. post-koa aelorcan bonding. (4.7k)

prompts used

-- 

Lord Lorcan Lochan, she still laughs every time she hears his name, is not her favourite person. He is her favourite person, however, to beat at cards. 

Aelin isn’t sure how they ended up here, just the two of them. He and Elide are visiting from Perranth on ‘official business’ which she knows is just code for visiting their friends. Aelin has loved having Elide here; she missed out on so much time with Elide in the years they were apart, and she takes every chance she can to see her now that Terrasen has begun to settle and rebuild. 

She’s not sure what time Elide drifted off to bed, and she knows Rowan’s meeting with the Ambassador from Wendlyn is likely to run long, but she hadn’t expected herself to end up here, in a booth in the back corner of a small, dark tavern in Orynth with Lorcan. 

Their relationship is… better than it was. Better than when they first met and he had hated her with a burning passion for stealing Rowan away, better even than when he had begrudgingly sworn the blood oath to her on that small boat just over a year ago. 

That said, it doesn’t stop him from slurring, “You’re a fucking bitch.”

He swipes a hand over the back of his mouth, wiping away any droplets of the ale left in his thick stubble. She frowns in disgust. 

“Speak for yourself,” She says properly, looking back down to where she’s spread her winning hand on the sticky tabletop. “It’s not my fault you’re awful at this game.”

He offers her a sarcastic smile, unamused as always at her sense of humour. 

“I could always make you win,” She says, all too sweetly. “Deal another round.” 

With a gentle tug on the blood oath between them she cocks her head at him. Lorcan bears his teeth but gathers the cards up to deal again, unable to fight the order, no matter how small. 

Aelin leans back in her seat, smiling slightly, as he flips the cards neatly into two piles in front of them. 

She revels in the fact that she never normally has to use the pull of the oath, confident in the devotion Rowan, Aedion and Fenrys offer her without question- well, without serious question. None of them are inclined to bite their tongue if they ever disagree with her, but still, she never feels the need to use it. 

She wants to with Lorcan sometimes, simply just to wind him up, but Rowan always seems to catch her mid thought and raises a silver eyebrow. 

It’s always some version of causing trouble again, Fireheart?

She only ever answers yes. 

She picks up her cards, and grins over the top of them at Lorcan, who is already scowling at her and then back down at his cards. It really is just luck how she keeps winning, but he doesn’t need to know that. Let him believe she’s a cheat, Aelin doesn’t care, she will empty his pouch of gold by the end of the night. 

She tosses a card down onto the table and takes another swig of her ale as Lorcan frowns at the card she has put down. His knee begins bouncing under the table and she knows she’s won again already. 

She bites her lip to try and stop the cunning grin from spreading across her face, but from the dark rumbling sensation she feels stirring it doesn’t work. He picks the card up and throws down one of his own, and as if by magic, it’s the card she needs. 

With half a thought she decorates her brow with a glowing circlet of fire and Lorcan throws his cards onto the table with a growl. The rumbling grows louder, and the tavern seems to darken. 

She has half a mind to look around and check none of the other patrons have noticed, she knows they will have, but winding Lorcan up is worth the tongue-lashing she’ll get from the Lords of Terrasen about her un-queen-like behaviour. 

In a second though the darkness is gone, and the crown of flame atop her head is put out. The scent of pine and snow fills her and she settles into the presence of her mate. 

“You two,” Rowan starts, “Are causing a little bit of a commotion.”

He’s smiling at them though as he approaches, his sharp canines shining in the dim light, so she knows they’re not in trouble. 

“She started it,” Lorcan mutters and she laughs in his face. 

Rowan only sighs, the sound of someone tired of playing mediator, but he signals to the barkeep for another round and takes the seat next to her, picking up the discarded cards to shuffle for another round. 

-- 

Lorcan knows he has mellowed in the past year or so. The release from the torment that was serving under Maeve, and the torturous longing that came with it, was more than a weight off his shoulders. 

But he maintains that he still hates Aelin Galathynius, or whatever the far too long string of words her name is. He hates her. 

“You know this is a bad idea,” He says as he strides into the small study he knows she works in in the cold of a winter afternoon.

The fire is burning bright in the fireplace, but the carefully arranged stack of wood doesn’t seem to char, and he scowls even more. 

She turns a clearly fake look of innocence onto him, “What is, my darling blood-sworn?”

He hates that too, hates that he is sworn to her and her country, as if she hasn’t already won everything else in her pathetically short life, she’s won him too. Even if a small part of him reluctantly respects her for the way she runs her court. 

The oath is to protect and serve Terrasen, not her, and he can feel it in his blood. Without it he would protect Elide until his dying breath, and even then he’d go down fighting, but the openness of this oath, the freedom it allows him, is refreshing. And he’ll never admit it, to anyone, but he’s proud to serve Terrasen. 

“This,” He says and holds up the proposal she had drafted for the arrangements for the court to travel to the witch territory. He doesn’t want to see that other bitch-queen either, but Elide is excited, so he’ll put up and shut up. 

She stands, the loose cotton of her dress unrolling as she glides over to a drinks tray in the corner of the room. 

“Take a seat,” is all she says. 

She doesn’t use the oath, and he appreciates how little she does, but he would have expected it at something as small as that. She likes to use it on him just when she knows it will rile him the most, on stupid shit that she knows he’ll do anyway, with or without the tug deep within him. 

He almost deliberates over it, but decides ultimately it isn’t worth it. Young she may be, but the queen in front of him can put a male in his place. 

She hands the small glass, with an inch of a brown spirit in the bottom, to him as she takes her own seat opposite him. 

“So?” She raises an eyebrow as she curls up opposite him, taking a sip of her own drink. 

“So you need to redo it all.” 

He has trained for centuries for how to navigate these things. This stupid young girl knows nothing. She only smirks at him over the rim of his glass, and he curses himself for what he’s about to say next. 

He tosses the piece of parchment across the floor between them and it flutters to the ground. “I added my suggestions for what would work better.”

The way she balances her chin on her fist, with the corners of her lips pulled upwards, tells him he’s fallen right into her trap. She knows the plans were bullshit, she just also knows he would plan it far better than she would. 

“Bitch,” He curses but she only smirks. 

“You’re centuries old, do you not know any other words? Bitch is so old by now.”

He draws up a tiny reel of his power, Whitethorn would skin him if he touched a pretty hair on the head of his mate, but it still feels good to do it. 

“Bitch,” is all he says as he sends the tendril of his power over to her. 

“Dog,” She snarks back as he feels the warmth of flame across his brow. She didn’t even have to blink to throw it at him, and he dulls the part of his brain that is impressed at her skill. 

His next retort is on the tip of his tongue as he realises he’s actually having fun messing with her. She can give as good as she gets, and she doesn’t roll her eyes and refuse to bite the way Whitethorn would, doesn’t take it too far the way the young wolf would. 

“You’re scaring the staff.” Whitethorn’s voice is amused as it drifts in from the doorway where he leans, broad arms crossed over his chest, pulling against the deep green tunic he wears. 

He hadn’t realised how dark he had let it get, or how warm the queen had managed to make it. 

“It’s all him,” she says, as her mate comes to rest by her side. 

Rowan brings a hand up to lightly stroke a path down her back, and Lorcan thinks it’s nice to see Whitethorn so happy. Gods, he’s getting soft in his old age, but maybe Elide has shown him it is more than okay to feel this way. 

He’ll pretend that isn’t another thing he owes to the Queen of Terrasen. 

-- 

Aelin likes messing with Lorcan, loves it even, but honestly, this time was an accident. 

She probably didn’t need to invite Elide and Lorcan on their trip to the Southern Continent but she thinks she deserves the trip, and the sunlight. Perranth is known for the rain and she knows that no matter how much Elide loves to be home she doesn’t love the rain. 

She doesn’t give a shit how Lorcan feels, but where Elide goes, he goes. 

And maybe that’s a lie, maybe she’s glad he’s here too, and not just for Rowan. Maybe she enjoys it when they end up just the two of them, drinking and talking shit. Maybe she knew exactly what would happen when she asked everyone if they fancied a drink and Lorcan was the only one up for it. 

She’d rather burn all her favourite gowns than tell him that though. 

Aelin hadn’t meant for the fighter to overhear her comment to Lorcan while they watched the street fight from a distance. They were beginning to make their way back to the palace after drinking their fill in one of the taverns nearby. 

“Trust me, you could beat him blindfolded,” she had said, slapping the back of her hand against his chest. 

“Shut up,” He had all but growled, barely in the mood to play tonight, still grouchy from his inability to sleep during their journey across the sea. 

Apparently she had spoken too loudly for them to go undetected and the organiser had called out to them. 

“You don’t trust her?” He had asked, his accent twisting around the words.

Aelin doesn’t know how he knew to use the common tongue, maybe something about them stood out in the crowd. Maybe Lorcan’s height or the dark energy that emanates from him at all times. 

She’s hoping the hood of her cloak hides her identity, hopes it hides the bright gold of her hair, and keeps it a secret that the Queen of Terrasen is hidden away in the crowd, watching this street fight unfold. 

Lorcan had only snorted and replied, “Our friendship is purely built on lies, I second guess everything she says.”

She had smacked him again as the organiser proposed his challenge to Lorcan, but she couldn’t help the warmth that bloomed at his choice of words. Friendship.  

She should have put an end to it there, and when Rowan asks, she tried, but she couldn’t resist poking Lorcan when the challenge was made.

Now he stands in the centre of the crowd, knees bent and fists raised in front of himself. She wasn’t serious about the blindfold, but apparently the townspeople were. The man strikes and Lorcan blocks, the smile still not leaving his face. She shouts a taunt and he flips the finger in her general direction. The man uses it as an opportunity to strike, but Lorcan doesn’t miss it. 

He uses an arm to block the man’s blow and uses his leg to trip the man’s feet out from under him. The man hits the ground with an oof and Lorcan tugs the blindfold off. Game over. 

This street fight isn’t the same level as the ones in the pits that Arobynn challenged her to fight in. She would have never put Lorcan forward if it was. It might be questionable for a queen and one of her blood-sworn to be here, but it’s still technically legal. She’s tipsy, not stupid.

Lorcan sketches a mocking bow to the crowd and she cheers as a strong arm wraps around her waist and the warmth of her mate appears at her back. She leans back into him automatically and he presses a kiss to the crown of her head. 

“I take it, this is your doing?” He asks, his tone bright with amusement.

She knows he used to be concerned about her relationship with his former commander, knows it used to worry him how they were at each other's throats, and she’ll never forget the look on his face when Lorcan had a blade to her throat that day in Rifthold. She’s confident he knows they’re settled now. 

She turns in his arms to look up to his face in the dark. 

How could you assume such a thing? She raises a brow, but beneath the cloak he probably can’t see. 

All she can make out beneath his own hood is the shine of his fangs through his smile and the etchings of his tattoo across the lower planes of his handsome face. 

Because it’s you. He leans down to press the briefest of kisses to her lips. And him. 

She only shrugs, she can’t deny the regularity at which she ends up in situations like this with Lorcan. She can’t deny enjoying them either. 

-- 

“What, you don’t like my majestic beard?”

Lorcan knows he’s over five centuries old, but he has downed enough ale that he doesn’t care as he leans over to the young Queen of Terrasen, close enough to get in her space and risk rubbing his rough beard across her skin.

She isn’t amused, the fire of her temper already prompting beads of sweat down the back of his neck.

“I want to burn that animal off your face.”

Lorcan laughs far too loudly, and he’s vaguely aware of some of the young sentries at the nearest table looking over with concern, before quickly emptying the table at the dark sound erupting from his chest. 

“So touchy today, been a while without Whitethorn has it?”

Something flickers in her unusual eyes at the mention of her King-Consort, her mate, and his trip to Adarlan. The striking contrast of the blue and gold is something he has always found intriguing about the Ashryvers of Wendlyn. Meeting the queen and the pain in his arse that is her cousin quickly ended his curiosity. 

He’s struck, deep and low in his chest, at the thought of the General, and his father who Lorcan served beside for hundreds of years. Gavriel. He thinks about the male often, misses him every day in ways that he hadn’t thought himself capable of. 

The tribute to the Lion of Doranelle that now stands in Orynth is something he takes time to visit everytime he comes to Terrasen. He has to give the Queen that, it’s a beautiful statue, and paints Gavriel in the light he deserves. 

He shakes himself, he’s a fucking morose drunk sometimes. Gavriel wouldn’t want him here moping. 

Aelin seems to do the same, ready to fight fire with fire. “I know what you and Elide got up to last night, in my castle I might add, so I’m surprised you’re still so tightly wound. Struggles performing, old man?”

“Fuck you,” He says but he’s grinning at the blonde woman staring him down. He finally knows by now that the twist of her mouth isn’t anger, she’s trying to hold back her own laughter. 

He brings a hand up to poke her on the nose, but she bats it away before he can get there. Shit, maybe he’s had more to drink than he thought. 

“That’s not my job,” She grins at him and he throws his head back to laugh. 

“You’re disgusting,” He tells her, barely holding down the urge he has to yank on her braid. 

She just grins up at him and takes a very un-royal swig of her ale, before slamming the tankard back down on the table beside them. 

“I’m not sure I want to know what this is about,” His wife’s voice sounds behind him and he spins so fast he stumbles to the side. 

He hears the queen cackle behind him and he flips her off as he nods his greeting to Whitethorn who scoops her up under an arm. 

“You’re back!” He hears the queen cry, the words a shriek that travels over the noise of the tavern.

He throws himself at Elide, wrapping the delicate woman tightly into his embrace and breathing her in. He doesn’t trust his mouth to land on hers if he tries to kiss her, so he settles for pressing his face into her hair and breathing her in deeply. 

Elide laughs and he squeezes her in even tighter. He’s less afraid of displaying his feelings now, now that he’s not constantly waiting for the disaster around the corner. He trusts Aelin’s rule, and she has Whitethorn at her side, and what’s left of his Cadre. 

She has him too, if she ever needs him. 

-- 

She’s past the point of pretending she’s not seeking Lorcan out, and she thinks he’s at the same point too. She likes spending time with him, just the two of them, and who could have ever seen that coming?

Rowan has this one small smile when she says she’s off to see Lorcan, one that says he’s elated, but doesn’t want to make too much of a big deal in case she changes her mind. She thinks Elide probably has one of the same. 

This tavern is busy and they probably could have gone somewhere quieter, but she likes it. She likes being with her people, in the crowds and the conversations. She basks in it, and she’s unashamed in her belief that it’s where she’s meant to be. 

It’s her turn to get their round. They’ve set up camp at a small wooden table in the back of the dark room, and she weaves in and out of the crowds to make her way back, the two large tankards clasped in her hands. 

The thing is, Aelin is a trained assassin. She’s been trained by the most powerful Fae male alive, she should be able to keep her footing, but apparently she’s a lightweight. Sober Aelin would have seen the spill on the floor, or at least would have been able to stay upright. 

Drunk Aelin is another story altogether, and drunk Aelin slides. 

She manages to right herself relatively quickly, but the ale is out of her hands before she can blink, waves of it flying over the wooden floor and sloshing up the boots of the nearest patron. 

The young demi-fae turns, and she knows from the expression on his face that this is going south. Quickly. 

“Watch it,” He hisses. 

She has her hood up, golden hair and striking blue eyes hidden away, but she likes to think that she should still be recognisable, even in the woolen tunic and trousers she wears. It’s a far cry from her usual queenly get-up, but still. 

She’s almost offended. 

“I’m sorry,” She says all too sweetly, too pissed to pretend to mean it, and the demi-fae narrows his eyes. He hasn’t missed her tone, or her dismissal of his command.  

“I said watch it.” He steps closer to her now, and she levels her stare at him. Her power is writhing within her, hot and angry, begging to be let out on this male, and she clenches her fists. 

Aelin takes a deep breath. She is his queen, and she is better than allowing her temper to run wild, no matter how much she wants to let her body drop into a fighting stance. 

But she doesn’t need to. She blinks and Lorcan is at her side, his teeth bared at the offender. 

His voice is low and dark, and quiet in a way that promises violence, as he says “I would suggest that you watch your mouth.”

The demi-fae makes a reckless move and laughs, she’s not sure how he has the confidence to stand against both her and one of her blood-sworn, but they’re both still hidden under the hoods of their capes. 

She can feel the restrained violence in Lorcan’s posture next to her, she can feel the waves of darkness beginning to wash over her, and she’s reminded of the fact that it’s a comfort now to feel that. Gone are the days when the touch of Lorcan’s power drew fear up inside of her. 

She knows he won’t move until she says, knows that he understands she can handle herself, but she appreciates his swiftness to act in her defense. 

Aelin opens her mouth, a fiery retort waiting on the tip of her tongue, but the tavern falls silent. She snaps her mouth shut as she hears the murmurs that build throughout the room, your highness, they say. 

“Good evening,” Rowan nods to the group of demi-fae as he slots into his place beside her. She’s flanked now by two of her blood-sworn warriors. “Is there a problem here?”

She knows from his tone of voice that his expression is icy, daring one of the males to raise a challenge. She tugs down her hood and the one to start the commotion pales at the sight of her. 

“No-no, your majesty. Ap- apologies,” He stutters. 

Aelin offers him a tight nod, says “Sorry about your boots,” and turns to the door, her jovial evening over. 

Once outside Rowan turns to them, “What was that?”

She feels as if she’s back at Mistward, looking up at Rowan wearing the expression of a disappointed mentor. 

“She started it,” Lorcan mumbles under his breath, and she jerks to glare at him.

“That is such shit-” She starts, readying to defend herself even though it was totally her fault, as she turns back to Rowan. But he’s biting his lip, his green eyes creasing at the corners as he holds in his laugh. 

“You two don’t go anywhere without adult supervision,” He says laughing and slinging an arm around her shoulders. 

She pokes her head around Rowan to stick her tongue out at Lorcan. His returning middle finger makes her laugh, loud and joyously. 

So maybe Lord Lorcan Lochan is one of her favourite people.

-- 

Being King-Consort to the Queen of Terrasen is a position Rowan Whitethorn Galathynius enjoys. He loves the people of Terrasen, and the country itself. He loves serving a queen who is noble and brave and strong. 

He loves his wife, his mate, and the life they live together. He thanks the gods every day that he gets to spend the rest of his existence by her side. 

One thing he does not love is the paperwork. 

He runs a hand down his face, scratching the lines of his tattoo, as he squints at one of the pages. He stopped being able to think properly a couple of hours ago. Rowan skims through the words on the paper, holding the sheet up to the one remaining candle on his desk. The only ones of note are Adarlan and Terrasen, and he decides that everything else can be a task for tomorrow. 

He shuffles the papers into a somewhat orderly pile and rises from his desk, sending a tendril of his power to blow out the candle as he leaves the room. 

A sentry bows before him and hands him a small note as he makes his way to his wife. He nods his thanks as he continues down the dimly lit halls. 

The palace at Orynth is a place he is glad to call home, it’s not the oldest castle he has known in all his years, but it has character and history. It’s kept warm by the remnants of power his wife managed to cling on to. 

He reaches the royal quarters quickly and finds his mate in bed. Aelin is curled beneath the sheets with a book clutched in her hands. 

The smile she gives him when he enters is bright and easy and it makes his chest feel warm. 

“This might be Dorian’s best recommendation yet,” She says as he comes over to her side, holding the book high with a finger wedged between the pages to keep her place.

“Is that so?” He says with a smile. 

His mate’s relationship with the King of Adarlan is another thing he is thankful for. He knows Aelin loves the correspondence she receives and the gifts he sends. Aelin always has him on the lookout for ones she can send in return. 

Aelin nods enthusiastically as he takes a seat by her feet. 

“Is this you all tucked up for the night?” He asks. Aelin raises an eyebrow and places the book carefully on the table by the side of the bed. 

“I’m not tired,” She says and begins to throw the sheets back, a hungry look in her eyes. 

Rowan cups her cheek with his palm and drops a delicate kiss to her lips. He allows himself to place another before gently pulling back. “Not exactly what I had in mind, but I like where your mind is going.”

Aelin kisses him again, rising up to her knees to press into the kiss. 

Rowan allows himself a minute before pulling back finally to pass along the message he received. “Our guests have arrived, slightly ahead of schedule.”

Aelin jerks back, enough to smile widely at him, before throwing herself out of the bed and tugging her boots onto her feet. 

The stables are always cold, the winters in Terrasen are known for being brutal, but he just presses himself further into his mate as they wait. The smell of her is divine, and he feels settled as he breathes her in. 

Finally, their guests appear a short distance away, and his wife throws herself out of the circle of his arms and into those of his former commander. 

He smiles at Elide and presses a friendly kiss to her cheek as they watch their lovers embrace. 

Aelin is dangling above the floor as she clings to the Lord of Perranth and Rowan smiles as she returns to the ground. They’re already bickering about something Rowan is unaware of, but it’s not unexpected, he knows how they work by now. 

He had hoped that their relationship would have the opportunity to develop but he could have never dreamed that they would reach this point. Rowan thinks they could be closer than he and Lorcan ever were themselves, and the thought isn’t unpleasant. 

The pair reach where he stands with Elide and their contrast is stark. Lorcan, with his dark hair and sharp features towers over where Aelin stands, glowing bright and gold. 

He clasps hands with Lorcan, who nods his head in acknowledgement. 

“Good to see you, is it too late for a drink?” He proposes. 

Aelin and Lorcan share a look, and something passes between them before she turns back to Rowan. Aelin smiles brightly as she links her fingers through Rowan’s and leads the way back into the castle.

[crypty]

Rät

I come from scientists and atheists and white men who kill God They make technology high quality complex physiological Experiments and sacrilege in the name of public good They taught me everything Just like a daddy should

Almost everything Tommy knew, he learnt from Wilbur. How to make speeches, how to strategize, how to fight. They rebelled against Dream to make potions. They rebelled so everyone could benefit. They rebelled against tyranny. He would do anything for his brother. Tommy went to war with Wilbur but only found out what he lost afterwords. Sacrifices for everyone, put the burden on the children who fought for the land. The foundation of L’Manberg was blood, after all. 

And you were beautiful and vulnerable And power and success God damn I fell for you your flamethrowers Your tunnels and your tech I studied code because I wanted To do something great like you And the real tragedy is half of it was true

Wilbur was powerful and successful. He was general of an army, fighting against a nation much larger than his own. Tommy watched everything the brown haired man did. He wanted to be just like Wilbur. He wanted to be as charismatic and influential as his brother. He wanted to be great, to do great things. He ended up sticking with his brother to the end. He did end up doing great things, both of them. Both brothers ended up seeing their hard work blow up in front of them. Only one had a choice. 

But we've been fucking mean We're elitist We're as flawed as any Church And this faux rad west coast dogma Has a higher fucking net worth I bit the apple 'cuz I trusted you But it tastes like Thomas Malthus Your proposal is immodest and insane And I hope someday Selmers rides her fucking train

They ran for president. Tommy would have been Wilbur’s vice. The ones who fought with Wilbur, the ones loyal to him, would have been high ranking in their new government. Tommy trusted Wilbur. When they were exiled, Tommy stuck with his brother. The new government was flawed. Schlatt was a horrible president. He was drunk and abusive but he won the game of politics. Tommy hated him. He and Wilbur formed Pogtopia. He would have followed Wilbur to hell. Eventually, he did. 

I loved you I loved you I loved you it's true I wanted to be you And do what you do I lived here I loved here I thought it was true I feel so stupid I feel so used I feel so used

He loved his brother. Tommy felt broken when he died. As he saw the crater where his nation once stood, as he fought for what little remained, he loved his brother. He wondered if, at the time of his death, there was enough of Wilbur to love Tommy back. He fought for L’Manberg. He fought for his friends. He wondered what Wilbur fought for. He wondered how much was lies. He wondered how much his general used his blind loyalty. He still loved his brother. That’s what hurt the most. 

I was your baby Your first born The hot girl in your comp sci class And I was Darwin's prep school dream Bred born and raised to kick your ass I fell for circuit boards Rocket ships Pictures of the stars If you could only be what you pretend you are

Sapnap and George were left alone. The Dream Team. The ideal friendship. They were everything. They were strong and powerful. Two were genuine. Their leader wasn’t. The Dream Team fell apart. They should have seen the warning signs. They should have noticed Dream faking everything. They should have noticed the power hungriness. They watched the stars and fell into his trap. They should have noticed Dream’s manipulation. They were everything and then they were nothing. 

When I said take me to the moon I never meant take me alone I thought if mankind toured the sky It meant all of us could go But I don't want to see the stars if they're just One more piece of land for you to colonize For us to turn to sand

Dream ruled the SMP. He wasn’t a king or a dictator but he was the leader. He was a good leader for so long. Not all agreed. When Wilbur declared independence, George and Sapnap were the first to take Dream’s side. All three were ambitious and believed they could win. When the first battle came, George realized he was fighting and hurting his friends. Sapnap realized he was fighting children who didn’t truly know what war meant. Neither wanted the war to continue. Dream didn’t either. The war ended quickly. There were smaller battles, smaller wars. Nothing that involved a whole nation. No one in the Dream Team wanted that. As they kept upgrading, they watched L’Manberg have fun. They watched them lose and sometimes win. L’Manberg lost so much. Perhaps that was why it crumbled to dust when Schlatt came. 

Because we're so fucking mean We're so elitist We're as fucked as any church And this bullshit west coast dogma Has a higher fucking net worth I bit the apple 'cuz I loved you And why would you lie And then I realized You're just as naive as I am You're so traumatized it makes me wanna cry

Dream, George, and Sapnap. Some of the strongest fighters in the land. The best armor, the best weapons. They could buy, or steal, anything they wanted. The three of them trusted each other, relied on each other. Why would any of them betray the other two? Dream left them. He wanted more power. He landed himself in the prison and changed. He seemed smaller, sadder. Sapnap visited his old friend. He seemed traumatized. After the visit, Sapnap went to George’s houses. They talked. Sapnap returned to his own house and broke. 

You dumb bitch I loved you I loved you I loved you it's true I wanted to be you And do what you do I lived here I loved here I bought it it's true I'm so embarrassed I feel abused

He yelled at Dream in the prison. It reminded him of earlier arguments. Fights with clenched fists and subtle begs for Dream to go back to normal. Fights that broke their already crumbling friendship. Sapnap once wanted to be his friend. Confident and powerful. The land of the Dream SMP where Sapnap built his home. He should have seen the warning signs. His friend hurt him and now he didn’t know what to do. 

Well I don't wanna eat the rich I'd have to eat my hero's first And my tuition's paid by blood I might deserve your fate or worse But I don't need your goddamn money I don't need jack shit from you So when I speak you bet your life my words are true

Quackity was Schlatt’s right hand man. They were friends, perhaps more. He joint his votes with Schlatt’s during the election. When George bailed on him, Schlatt was Quackity’s hero. He went through so much to stay with Schlatt. He went through abuse, verbal, mental, and physical, to be with the president. He oversaw the Festival to keep power. He saw a young boy get torn apart by rockets to keep his position. He snapped by the end. He didn’t need Schlatt. He learn from the former president. He changed. 

Let me level with you man As someone guilty of the game I took the help I took the cash I would've taken your last name So if any girl on earth Should get to make a call about this It would be me and as I see it You're a dick

He tried to talk Schlatt out of it. By the end of his presidency, he was more drunk and crude then ever before. Quackity saw a man who had helped him and Quackity wanted him to be better. Schlatt wouldn’t change. Schlatt stiill saw himself as above others. Quackity rose up in the past few months. He took Schlatt’s help and influence. He took anything he was offered. Perhaps that’s why he wanted to help Schlatt. He saw Schlatt at his glory and his fall. He saw the best and worse and everything in between. Schlatt was beyond saving. 

So fuck your tunnels fuck your cars Fuck your rockets fuck your cars again You promised you'd be Tesla But you're just another Edison Because Tesla broke a patent All you ever broke were hearts I can't believe you tore humanity apart With the very same machines That could've been our brand new start

Fuck everything that Schlatt had. His power, his office, his mercenaries, his land. He tried his best to break the people who resisted him. He destroyed what the country stood for. He showed everyone his true colors at the Festival. He forced Technoblade into killing Tubbo with rockets. The same fireworks that could have signaled a new land. The same boy who represented the future. Schlatt destroyed L’Manberg, even if Wilbur was the one who blew it up. 

And the worst part is I loved you I loved you I loved you it's true And sometimes I feel like I still fucking do I lived here I loved here I thought it was true I'm so embarrassed I feel abused

The part that made shame rise in Quackity’s throat was that he did care about Schlatt. Maybe he still did. He lived in Manberg, he loved its president and yet he saw it turn to rubble. He was ashamed to have been the one who worked closest with Schlatt. Some people forgave him, some didn’t. Tubbo forgave him. He worked with Tubbo, after Schlatt’s death. He amassed enough power to still be part of the government. He wondered if it was worth it.

I feel so used I feel so used Take me to the moon Because I feel so used I feel so used

~~~

Inspired by Rät by Penelope Scott

Masterlist

https://thelullabyer12.tumblr.com/post/639129395216433152/masterlist-of-2021

[occult-castiel]

Leave a message (after the beep!)

Suptober. Day 13: Rewind Dean has a few things to say to Cas. Word count: 2542 [Read on Ao3]

3 Weeks.

Dean's been stealing glances at his phone for over an hour. The dim light of the hall that creeps from under his door is the only reason he can see the thing, blurred out to a barely-there grey hunk of plastic.

The idea is fucking stupid. He doesn't care what Sam thinks. Sam wasn't even supposed to know. Let alone have fucking opinions.

But Dean slipped.

And it took more effort than he will ever admit to walk out of the kitchen without clocking his brother in the goddamn jaw.

Fuck Sam and fuck the phone.

He turns around, away from the stupidest temptation of his life, and demands sleep come.

It's only mildly successful.

2 Month, 1 Week.

Nothing bad can happen from a phone call. Doing it once can’t hurt you any more than you are now

Sam's a well-meaning kid. He really is. But sometimes he just needs to can it.

'Cause he had to go and say some shit like that, completely unprompted — they were talking about potential witch activity in Utah, not Dean's feelings, for Christ's sake — and now it's all Dean can think about now that the distractions of the day have bled into a dark room and cold bed.

And that gray hunk of plastic on his desk is laughing at him. He could reach it if he sat up. Stretched a bit.

But the idea is dumb. And Sam doesn't get it. He really fucking doesn’t.

Except Dean knows he's kind of full of crap.

He grits his teeth, shoves the covers to the side, and grabs his phone.

With each passing buzz, his heart stutters, breath cut into shorter and shorter spurts.

Stupidstupidstupid.

It- it isn't like he's gunna answer. Dean knows he not, but it just rings and rings and —

"This is my voicemail. Make your voice… a mail."

And it hurts.

He calls again every night for the next week. Of course, he never picks up. Sam doesn't ask.

4 Months.

Dean kicks the door after it slams shut. Throws his gun at his headboard, if it goes off and shoots him, oh fucking well. It's great. Just fantastic.

He pulls his phone out without thinking. Clicks Cas.

It rings, and for a moment his shoulders relax as the familiar greeting plays. Cause its Cas' voice. And fuck. Just… fuck.

Then it beeps, and he actually does the one thing he's wanted for months.

"None of your douchebag family will answer me. And I've tried friggin' everything, I swear to Christ."

He runs his hand over his face, glances up at the sour-yellow ceiling.

"How you ever stood them is beyond me dude."

And then, like a rational human being. He hangs up and pretends that whatever that was didn't happen.

Once the bitter taste of angels that don’t pick the fucking phone up from earlier that day fades, Dean stares at the darkened ceiling.

He left a voicemail. A fucking voicemail.

Pathetic.

4 Months, 3 Weeks.

So he hasn't called again since his, uh, slip up. And Sam keeps giving him these little looks. And he knows that Sam knows, and knows he isn't calling because he's a changed man or whatever.

Maybe Sam would drop it, whatever the hell he thinks Dean's mess is, if he could manage to eat.

Jody, Claire, Kaia, and Alex are all around the table with them. Jody's the charmer she always is, talking about how she's grateful for the help and oh, of course you guys are gunna stay for dinner! Ah-ah! No buts.  

There was a hunt in town she tracked down with Claire, a huge vamps nest — we're talking dozens — and called them over for help. And is now feeding them. Because she's a saint and never deserved to be in the know in the first place.

Dean looks at the food. Pork lathered in dark brown graveyard with a mountain of buttery mashed potatoes. There's a pile of carrots on Sam's plate. Dean opted out.

Not that he's eating now. No, mostly just pushing it all around. He does eat in general.

But Claire isn't looking at him. Hasn't. She barely managed a glance up when he saved her — just a small nod and weary glance.

Sam, on the other hand, may as well be ogling.

Dean wishes he could read Sam's mind, find out where he's keeping it so Dean can wallow in misery without his brother being keen on some of the finer details, thank you very much.

He manages a few bites. Its excellent, mouth-watering, home-cooked goodness he's missed fiercely since he got a taste for it the few days Mrs. Butters was around.

But right now? Turns his stomach.

On the way back home, Sam clears his throat. Dean grips the wheel a little tighter.

"So —"

"I didn't ask for your opinion, Samantha."

In the corner of his eye, Sam's shoulder slump. His brother looks down and sighs out a sad little noise.

But the rest of the drive is quiet. And that's a win in Dean's book.

*

It's roughly midnight, and books are scattered across the library table. They're all open to different pages, but none of it matters. Not really.

Dean's combing through it all anyway. Has been since Heavens decided they have a no-call policy with anyone named Winchester.

The piles he has laid around him have grown increasingly larger as the weeks have drug on. Spiked exponentially when he decided not to call anymore.

"Hey Dean."

Dean snaps his head up mid-sentence. Sam stands in the threshold, holding a plate. In pajamas.

Dean just looks at him. "What?"

"Made you food." He lifts the plate up a fraction

"That looks like a cold cut, so made is a generous word."

Sam has the audacity to slump into himself, full-on wounded-puppy mode. So Dean rolls his eyes and waves him over.

The plate gets sat down with a distinct clank, and Sam pats his shoulder.

"You know I just… want what's best for you."

Dean tenses his shoulders, closes the book in front of him. He speaks through his teeth.

"Yeah, well I never had it in the first place. And now it is gone, and there's nothing I can do."

"You don't know that Dean."

He glues his eyes to the back of the book. Balls his fists.

"Don't I? That — That fucking thing just —"

"I know. But it's also gone. We don't know what happened."

Dean chooses then to look over, fix his brother with a proper glare so he'll go the hell away — but sees it.

Sitting innocuously on the plate, like it isn't an affront to everything Dean would rather not, is a peanut butter and jelly sandwich.

Sam's talking but he can't hear it. His brains turned to mush, a radio-static circus of nothing.

The bottom of his chair screeches as it drags against the floor.

And Dean can’t see.

Sam grabs his arm, he shakes it off. He moves decisively, tries too, but his eyes prickle and he can’t see shit, and he isn’t about to cry right there in front of his brother, validate every stupid thought the guy has that’s probably one-hundred percent right.

His door clicks shut, and he pressed himself against it. Slides down until he hits the icy floor.

Dean's throat is a constricted cage, each breath in has to be muscled in, down, out. Each wobble as much as the last.

Sam doesn't know shit. He doesn’t know what he's talking about. He really doesn't.

Calling someone who can’t answer, won’t ever answer, is fucking stupid. It's not therapeutic.

When he rubs a hand over his face. It comes back wet, and his eyes sting.

"Fuck."

He fishes for his phone. Going to Cas' number is muscle memory at this point.

It rings. Cause Sam can't help but keep the thing charged.

"This is my voicemail. Make your voice… a mail."

The ball in his chest is impossibly tight. Why hasn't he called? Just to hear him again, the gruff tenor that's like gravel and silk and the only thing he ever wants to hear, ever. And now he only has nine words he'll ever hear him say again.

That's it. Two sentences.

You saved the whole world. He didn’t save shit.

And what the fuck is he supposed to do now? How is he supposed to do anything? He’s never been any good, not as good as he needs to be. Maybe if he would’ve been — or did somethin’ different, anything different —

Dean threads his fingers in his hair and balls his fist. Squeezes his eyes shut against the pool of tears that just leak out, and curls in on himself. His guts are twisted and tight, just like the rest of him. Every part of him shakes, the hand vice-gripping his hair should hurt, should be enough to pull him back to sanity, but the tears don’t stop.

And really what does it matter if he cries. Chucks gone, and The Empty, that — that thing got what was coming to it.

But Cas didn't come back.

He lulls his head against the door, untangles the hand from his hair like his fingers piston operated they ache so bad

God, Cas should’ve just left him in Hell.

Maybe he's Heaven, Billy had said with a shrug. Casual. Like she didn't understand. And Dean knows she does. She gets it more than any of them, saw just what this shit did the last time. Saw exactly how much he didn't want to be around.

Jack had to fuck off to put the universe in balance, so he’s MIA and no help. And Heaven doesn't seem to give a shit.

There must've been a beep somewhere, so Dean just goes with it. Presses the phone to his ear again and works his jaw open until it’s loose enough to allow something resembling words can happen.

"It's — it's bullshit." God Dean can't recognize his own voice, pulled thin and hoarse. "You — you know that right? Bullshit." He shakes his head. Tries to take a deep breath that comes out only slightly less ragged. "You always left. And I — I get that you had to sometimes. But no one wanted you here more than me."

He wipes his face off with the collar of his shirt. His skull screams in sharp pain, and his temples thud. And normally this would be too long of a pause, but normally you don't start a voicemail off trying not to sob, and normally they're made for people who can actually listen to them. So whatever.

"This is stupid. It's not — voicemails ain't your style." His breath leaves, and exhaustion sets deep into his bones. "You always just called back for the explanation. You'd leave 'em, though."

At least Dean assumes. Every call back he'd ever gotten from the guy he'd have to fill him in on whatever was happening anyway. Guess it makes sense in a way. If you have enough time to listen to a message, you've got enough time to call.

The space behind his robes aches when he says, "We both shoulda picked up more, I guess. And Sammy wants me to call now. Like it makes up for shit. It doesn't."

He swipes the little red phone to the left, and stares at the word Cas in his contacts page.

But the screen goes blank, and all he can see are his puffy red eyes reflected in the black screen, and that's motivation, so he gets ready for bed.

1 Year, 10 Months, 13 Days

He calls a few times after that. But tries not to leave voicemails for someone that's just gone, in every sense of the word.

It’s dumb. Still really dumb. And he has no defense for it. Eventually Sam hands him Cas' old phone and a charger. All of the missed voicemails untouched.

Dean could swear he remembers ever last one.

They're mostly simple crap, sometimes. Updates.

"Sam and Eileen are getting hitched. They're pretty fucking disgusting together. But sometimes they look at me, and I can just see it, man. See how they like, bubble themselves off." He laughs, but it's strained.  "Guess it just be written on my face. Which is just friggin’ fantastic. Cause I'm happy for them. I've always wanted that for Sam. But I wanted it for us too. Fucked up that I can only say it now, huh."

"I don't like the way burgers taste anymore. And I, uh, have a bumper sticker now. It's a bee. I kept it together until Sam got misty-eyed." There's a pause for a touch too long, then, "That mixtapes been the only thing in Baby for a month."

"I kept the trenchcoat. Wore it earlier. Got cold out for the first time since —" he sighs. "You wore it better. Looks like shit on me. It pretty much lives in my closet. Can't get monster guts on it that way."

But sometimes it's just a confession, none of the other bullshit. Just the truth.

"Look. I'm not mad. So don't think that. Cause I'm not. Wish I was. It's — it's always been easier. But I was trying to get my head on straight. I would've for you. I just… Don't know how now."

"Can't tell if I like using your old angel blade or fucking hate it. Don't like much of anything anymore. You were better with it."

"Id pray to you, but this is all I got. And I wish I could hope you're up there. But then I'd hope there isn't any pay per view Earth or whatever. Cause this shit? Is pitiful." A sigh. "G'night, Cas."

And one night, a long time later, he's sitting with his back against his bed, nestled next to the end table he never used, he says the truth in a way he knows he should've years and years ago.

"Guess this is like prayin', ain't it? Sammy caught me a few months ago. He wasn't even surprised I'm still doing this. Told me it was, uh — It was okay. Even if I just… never did. And you know what? I don't think l can." He gives a small laugh. "Hell, I only leave messages when I'm feeling, I dunno, brave? Like some part of me thinks you could still hear it and tell me to get lost."

Logically, he knows Cas wouldn't have kicked him to the curb. Wanted him just as much.

"God I listen to it almost every night dude. Just hearing this stupid fucking line —  It's like hitting rewind, for a few seconds."

The rest comes off easy, in its own way

"I miss you, Buddy. And I — I love you more than I know what to do with. I wish it would've been enough. But instead, it killed you."

He ends it, and calls back. Just to listen to the only thing he'll ever hear Cas say again. It’s not a replacement, never will be until he can see if Heaven really does have an angels left.

But the only faith he ever had is just an echo on the other end.

"This is my voicemail. Make your voice… a mail."

[xbaebsae]

“You think too much.”

I was lucky to get another commission from the extremely talented @reidreamer​! Honestly she’s one of my favorite artists ever, go commission her if you get the chance, I mean look at this?! Hot damn, I love it so much!

If you want to read the whole scene for this you can do so under the cut :’) ♥

________________________________

A plethora of crates unfolded in front of me as I stepped into storage room four. I couldn’t say I was surprised that nobody else had volunteered to tidy up that mess but, unbeknownst to them, they had actually done me a favor. Mundane, annoying tasks like these were the perfect distraction from all the mess going on in my head. I’d thought that finally accepting this whole whatever-it-was between Jakob and me would improve my mind situation. But once again, it hadn’t exactly worked out as I’d hoped. I should’ve been mad because he hurt me - kind of - , but instead I was mad that he was mad that he had hurt me. What sense did that make? How twisted was I at this point?

Angry at myself, I pried open the first crate only to find it filled with illegal bottles. Wine, Whiskey, I even found a bottle of Champagne - what a disgrace. It was one of those days where I’d let it slide. The ‘No Alcohol’ rule in the project had always bothered me anyway, especially considering John’s expansive cellar repertoire of only the priciest of brands; and Jakob’s fridge that never missed beer. Faith, and even Joseph himself, probably had their own storage of whatever their favorite drinks were, making them all hypocrites. 

Just as I was about to close the lid, I couldn’t fight the urge to steal one of the whiskey bottles anymore. Nobody would notice and I really needed it. Yeah, solving problems with alcohol was never a good thing but the mere thought of it numbing at least some of the confusion was too tempting. I hopped onto the crate, opened the bottle and took a large sip, large enough to burn a little in the throat and to give me the warm feeling of getting tipsy. And after another few, the day suddenly seemed a lot less bad.

“Why’s it that half the time I run into ya there’s alc involved?” I stood corrected, the day was bad. The one fucking voice I didn’t want to hear, owned by the source of my problems. “Weren’t you supposed to be in the Henbane today?”, I asked dryly and refused to look at him. “I guess we’re both not doin’ what we’re supposed to do, Shorty.” “I’m tidying up, that’s what Tucker asked me to do. So the only person in the wrong place is you.” From the corner of my eye I could see that he was leaning against the door frame, arms crossed and if I had actually bothered to look properly, I’d have found him staring me down. This wouldn’t end well, it never did. “Y’know the good thing ‘bout being the boss is that I can change my plans whenever I wanna.” “And why exactly did you decide getting on my nerves is the better option? The Henbane business sounded important.” I needed more whiskey for this. 

Jakob remained silent for a moment that felt like an eternity. Not that I desperately wanted him to talk, but whenever he got caught up in his thoughts I didn’t know what to make of him. Part of me expected him to get angry again, this time shouting at me for going radio silent for a couple of days. Though, I did have to admit that it was a stupid and childish thing to do. I needed to learn how to talk things out at least as much as he did, but instead we were both unbelievably bad at it. “You finally gonna tell me why the fuck ya left the other day.” The demanding tone in his voice bothered me immediately and I swallowed an unspoken ‘or what?’. 

When I didn’t answer right away he came closer, too close. He rested his palms on each side next to me on the crate and I finally looked him in the eyes. “I’ll get ya to talk one way or the other, you know that.” I knew that. But instead of talking I rolled up my sleeve and held up my bruised arm in front of him. The one that hit the counter when he pushed me away the other day. “This is why.” He immediately pressed his lips together and I could see the anger he tried to suppress. It wasn’t anger towards me. “Ya said we’re good”, slipped through his teeth. “I’m not mad at you.” “Then why?” I averted my eyes. “I’m mad at myself.” “What?” He didn’t understand and I couldn’t blame him. “I should be more bothered by this Jake! It’s not fucking okay! But instead I... “ Not even knowing how I had initially planned to finish the sentence I clung onto the bottle once more. Finishing it would knock me out enough to not give a fuck anymore for sure. 

Unfortunately he picked up on my thoughts and swiftly pulled it out of my hands. “Give it back for fucks sake!” But he ignored me. As usual. I let out a sigh and gave up my effort to not look at him. “It’s not okay, you right. Though, we both beat each other up worse before in training.” “Intentions, Jakob. They matter. They should matter. And that’s the god damn problem!” Another hopeless attempt to get the bottle back failed. “I should be fucking mad that you pushed me. For fucks sake, that’s what normal people would do, right? But you know what I do? I feel mad because ...because you got mad, because at the end of the day I don't care about it. I know you weren't...you. And that makes me angry because it’s wrong!” 

He raised an eyebrow and frowned, then finally shook his head. “You think too much.” “Well, I can’t help it. You do see what’s wrong here don’t you?” “Does it really matter, Rheese?” Now I was the one who didn’t understand. “If ya start with that right or wrong bullshit, I think ya gonna find a lot more wrong here than right about everythin’.” After a short pause he added: “Hell, almost all of this is wrong anyway.” Now he was the one taking a giant sip out of the whiskey bottle. Pouting, I watched him lower it while making damn sure to keep it out of my reach. “So I wanna know, does it really matter?” 

After my own moment of silence I shook my head. “It’s just a damn mess”, I said in defeat and he gave me the hint of a smile. “Can I have my bottle back now? I need more drinks for this.” “Ain’t yours when ya stole it.” His smile turned into the cursed one I always wanted to rip out of his face. My blood started to boil. “Stop being an ass! I had it first!” “Thief complaining about being robbed, if it were someone else I’d have called it cute.” I punched his arm. “Fucking asshole! I just want more whiskey and I damn right deserve it for putting up with you!” He roughly grabbed my chin and forced me to look at him. “Didn’t I tell ya to be careful ‘bout how you talk to me?” “Where’s the fun in that?”, my voice sounded more seductive than I wanted it to, but I couldn’t deny that I missed certain things between us. 

He took another sip from the bottle but I realized he didn’t swallow. Instead, he held my face in place and I’d already opened my mouth in anticipation as our lips met. The Bourbon tasted sweeter than before and a strange feeling of urgency overcame me. I leaned into the kiss more and the hasty movement caused some of it to drip out of my mouth. Jake moved his hand further back and tightened his grip, making sure I wouldn’t pull away. Not that I had any intention to. My fingers started to cling onto his shirt and I made damn sure he wouldn’t move away from me either.

After a long while that still felt too short, he stopped and fixed his posture. “You’re disgusting’’, I laughed, still holding onto his shirt. “The one time I do what ya ask me for.” He smiled meanly, removing my hands from his shirt and resting them on my own lap. “Not a very efficient way to get drunk, but I could live with it”, my voice sounded a little weaker than I’d liked. Slowly he moved away from me and towards the door, where he stopped and looked back at my flustered self with that damned smug smile on his face. “If ya wanna continue, come home tonight.” He was sure I would agree, with the face expression of someone too used to getting what he wanted. 

And maybe he would win this time. But he didn’t need to know that just yet. “Maybe, if I don’t have anything better to do.”