#fun fact spin the bottle was invented in the us

[mercedesbarnes]

Lovebug

Summary: lovebug (n); the name given to the person with whom you have fallen head over heels in love. to be called a lovebug is the ultimate expression of affection. they are the love of your life.

Pairing: Bucky x Reader

Word Count: 5,207

Warnings: 40s!Bucky, memories in italics, v minor cursing, angsty fluff, sadness

A/N: so I’ve had this idea for a while and it took a life of its own, hence the word count. As always, I love hearing from you! 

A/N: a massive thank you to the american science queen @modestlyconfused for listening to me rant about this and life, helping me with details, and laughing about my autocorrect mishaps. Bucky would get you a crown too❤️

“She’s over here.”

Steve’s voice carries over the rows.  Bucky doesn’t respond. Although the autumn sky is clear and blue, the sun is making its journey down in the sky and the breeze is cool.  It’s only when Steve places a gentle hand on his shoulder that Bucky stirs, tearing his gaze away from the weeping willow and focusing instead on his best friend.

His best friend, who knows where you are.

“Buck…we don’t have to do this if you’re not ready.”

Steve’s eyes search his. He’s reading Bucky like he always does, and as always, he knows what Bucky is thinking.  Bucky says it anyway.

“Yes—“ His voice shakes and he clears it to try again. “Yes we do.”

“I know.”

Bucky needs Steve’s hand on his shoulder like he needs air.  Squeezed tight and solid, Steve keeps his hand there as he guides them through the rows, respectfully keeping to the carefully marked paths.  Each rock speaks of the deceased, the long-lost loves, the ones that got away.

The worst part is that you hadn’t gotten away.  He had you, once, until it was ripped away from him.

Steve stops, Bucky stops, and both simply stare. Y/N Y/L/N.

Steve drops his arm and walks up to your headstone.  He crouches, holding the rock that has your name and the eight numbers that speak of your life yet could never carry the weight of love you brought between each four.

He speaks to you, but the words are lost to Bucky’s ears.  Is he tuning them out for the sake of Steve’s privacy? Maybe. More likely they are lost because of the memories that have thrust themselves into the forefront of Bucky’s mind.  

Laying the bouquet of flowers he brought, Steve rises and tells Bucky he will give him some time alone.

“Hi. It’s me.”

After meeting in seventh grade art class, Steve invites you over to teach him more about shading techniques.  You’re both on the fire escape in the middle of drawing when Bucky lets himself into Steve’s apartment and yells his presence.

“Hi, I’m Y/N.” You introduce yourself with an outstretched hand and a dazzling smile that cannot be outshone by the sun setting on the horizon.

“The name’s Bucky. How you doin’, doll?”

“I’m doing pretty well, handsome. Your friend here is a great artist.”

This makes Steve puff out his chest. He tells Bucky, “She’s the queen of shading.”

“Is that so?”

“Damn right I am, come look.”

He looks, and you are aptly named. Your sketch is enchanting despite being in the middle of construction, your lines capturing the character of the Brooklyn Bridge with impeccable ease.

“Remind me to get you a crown, you are the queen! Can I?” he asks, and you let him flip through the rest of your book. 

Steve likes to draw people; he has tens of sketchbooks full of his mother, of Bucky, of the mailman.  You, however, like to draw places and things: skyscrapers, houses, the graffiti so often found in the alleys where Steve fights. All shaded beautifully. All of Brooklyn.

“It’s home,” you explain when he points this out, “I never want to forget home.”

~

It’s years later that Bucky sits cross legged and leaning back on his hands, amused at the sight of you snatching the bowl of chips away from a greedy hand.

“Will! Stop eating, it’s your turn.”

“Okay, okay, don’t have your kite in a twist.”

Will wipes his powdered hands before spinning the empty glass Coca-Cola bottle the group is using for Spin the Bottle. It wobbles in circles on the carpet before pointing at the lucky person: John.

“Ooo,” Bucky teases, “Pucker up, Johnny boy.”

You’re in murmured conversation with Steve to his right, and his feeling of contentment grows.  He’s surrounded by his friends, at night in Dot’s house, doing what teenagers do during the summer after high school graduation. Eating and drinking and laughing.

John taps his cheek jokingly. He isn’t prepared when Will grabs the sides of his face and crashes his lips to skin, adding an audible ‘mwah’ for dramatic effect. John swipes at the spot.

“Ew, he licked me.”

Bucky pokes Steve, who is massaging away the stitches as you go on with your entertaining story; Bucky had convinced him to tag along, and although he originally hesitated, Bucky knows he’s having a good time.  Your narration and constant inclusion of Steve is a huge factor--you two are both passionate beings and had become fast friends. It’s not possible for Bucky to be more grateful that you’re here.

“Okay, go John.”

Bucky’s not sure if he believes in God, but he’s sure the bottle is guided by the divine: it lands on Mary.  He cheers watching John press a tender kiss to Mary’s cheek.  Pink dusts her face as she gives him a shy smile—they have a crush on each other. It’s positively cute how their eyes catch across the circle.

This game could be a romantic catalyst, he thinks, recalling his lessons in chemistry. Catalysts cause a change.  Reactions happen regardless of catalysts, but with them the reactants mix faster to make the product almost instantaneously. Here, the product could be love.

Bucky loves the idea of love, but he hasn’t found it. Not yet. For now, he kisses girls behind shops, kisses them on the Ferris wheel, woos them, charms them, sweeps them off their feet.

“Mary, don’t forget the rule!” Dot pipes up. “If you land on John, you two have to kiss for thirty seconds.”

“Is that new, Dot? Seems like you come up with more rules every time we play,” you ask, tilting your head. You have that smirk playing at your lips, the one Bucky classifies as reserved for teasing.

“My older sister says it’s how she plays. If two people spin each other they have to!”

If Mary’s hand shakes, no one sees it. Her shoulders fall at the result but only slightly. It’s Bucky, after all. He meets Mary in the middle of the circle and receives his kiss on the cheek. It’s soft, and he remembers how her softness felt on his own not too long ago. She was a good kisser, and if her and John weren’t about to go steady, he’d consider finding her later and doing it again.

Bucky spins idly, and is roused by Steve’s clap on his back.  You.  He smirks and reaches out with both hands.

“C’mere doll.”

Your eyebrows rise, but you move past Steve, who has scooted back to make room. Bucky brings you close and places not one, not two, but three kisses on your cheek.  When you pull away, surprised, Bucky flashes an innocent grin.

“What?”

“You’re somethin’ else, Bucky Barnes, really.”

“Thanks, Y/N Y/L/N,” he grins wider.

There’s something curious in the way you’re looking at him. “I haven’t decided if that’s a compliment yet.”

Your hand reaches for the bottle, breaking eye contact for the second it takes to twirl the glass. It goes fast, then stops suddenly, snagged on a bump in the carpet.  It’s pointed directly at Bucky and your eyes lock.

Will yells, “Go on then! Kiss him!” and you do.  You kiss him, and he thinks he’s in heaven. If Mary’s lips were soft, yours were silk.

He’s so caught off guard by this feeling, this feeling of right, that ten seconds pass before he realizes you two are only connected by your mouths.  You’re tugging at his sleeve and you shuffle closer, enough for him to wrap an arm around your waist and bring you flush against his chest while you run your fingers over his shoulders and in his hair.

When Bucky surfaces at the call of thirty seconds, he is visibly shaken. The thought that he must be red as a tomato flits through Bucky’s muddled brain, because Steve has the exact look his Ma wore whenever he had a coughing fit.

The world is spinning. He likes it.

“Buck, you okay?”

Nothing so articulate as a sentence could be said from him now.  So he says the only word he knows.

“Y/N.”  Yes.

“…you sure?”

“Y/N,” he answers again, dazed.  

His eyes are on you as a small smile creeps onto your lips and they're on you as you hide it and your blush by looking at the carpet. You squirm under the taunts of your friends and Will’s excited cheers. Nobody’s ever seen Bucky rendered speechless. Hell, he doesn’t think he’s ever been. Your smile is well deserved.

Mary nudges you. “I think you broke him.”

Bucky sees you bite your lip, now worried, and turn to Steve. “Maybe he needs to go home? He’s a bit red--”

“Oh no, he’s not leaving. It’s time to play Seven Minutes in Heaven,” Dot announces while clapping her hands, “Y/N and Bucky can go first.”

The seven minutes are spent talking, any teenage awkwardness overshadowed by the sheer comfortableness of your friendship. 

Bucky realizes he wants more.  More time, more you, more than friendship.

Perhaps Cupid’s arrow is not made of wood, but of a red and white glass catalyst.  Whatever it is, whoever shoots it, Bucky knows he’s grateful for that bottle.

Which is why he places another one on your grave, beside Steve’s flowers; the neck of it pointed towards the carved letters of your name.

“I miss our seven minutes in heaven, Y/N. I miss you.”

It is two weeks later that Bucky sees you again, this time at Coney Island on a Saturday.  You’re standing arm-in-arm with Mary, in line for the games. The fabric of your clothes flows lazily as the crowd moves around you.

“Go over there.”

“Hmm?”

“Go over there,” Steve repeats.

“What happened to the Cyclone? You promised you’d come, don’t back out on me, punk.”

“Bucky, you haven’t taken a girl out in weeks. You’ve clearly got it bad for her, jerk, now go.”

“Stevie...”

Steve considers Bucky for a long minute, taking in how he is shuffling his feet, hands in his pockets and his teeth worrying at his bottom lip, yet staring longingly at you. Bucky is surprisingly nervous. He has never been nervous to talk to a girl before.

They ride the Cyclone, and Steve throws up.

“Steve was playing matchmaker; can you believe it? Man,” he says, smiling softly, “I’m so grateful.”

A week of pining and not-so-subtle flirting goes by before Bucky finally asks you on a date, much to Steve’s relief. He had told Bucky that Will made a move on you that morning and you declined. Then Steve pushed him out of the apartment with the threat of “an ass-kicking if you don’t come back with a date.” Nerves be damned, Bucky spends the whole afternoon trying to find you, checking all your regular spots and catching you as you exit a store. You're adjusting your purse and your head raises when he calls your name.

“Y/N!”

Bucky walks backwards, facing you, looking behind him every few moments to make sure he doesn’t bump into anything.

“Hey, Bucky.”

“Going somewhere?”

You nod. “Dot’s asked me to come over.”

“Nah, you’re not going there. We’re doing something fun.”

“Steve said he heard the theatre’s playing a good one--”

“No, no, not with Steve.”

You gasp, holding a hand over your heart. “No Steve? You’re a terrible friend.”

“It must be Opposite Day, I’m a terrific friend. And I’m a boy too, I can show you how terrific of a boyfriend I am.”

Bucky bites his lip and runs his fingers up your arms to brush back your hair, and he blinks when you don’t swoon like other girls at the classic Barnes seduction technique. Had you not seen him in action over the years, maybe, just maybe, you might not have rolled your eyes. No matter how affectionately. It is then that he knows you will challenge him more than any of his trigonometry problems ever could. 

“I can’t ditch Dot...”

“You could...reschedule. Unless you two are meeting Will? Little birdie told me he was asking after you.”

“Steve’s such a gossip. No, we’re not seeing him, look out—”

He twists to avoid hitting a mailbox but he overshoots in excitement and whacks his elbow, making him bite his cheek to stop a colourful string of curses from escaping. All he wants to feel better is your hug, and that’s exactly what he goes for.  

“Ow.”

“Poor Bucky,” you say, your voice sympathetic and muffled by his shirt while your hands rub up and down his back. “Anything I can do?”

It’s clear you mean ice, or a bandage, but you walked right into it and it’s too good of an opportunity for him to ignore.

“Play hooky with me. You can see Dot tomorrow and tell her all about our spectacular date.”

“Spectacular, huh? What are we doing?”

“Well...” Bucky sways you back and forth, slowly walking you back to where you came from. He meets next to no resistance. In fact, you wind your arms tighter around him and prop your chin on his chest to meet his gaze.  “You’ll just have to find out, won't you?”

“You’re making me very curious.”

“Good. Means you’ll come with me.”

His mind is running wild with possible date spots when he hears them, and his head falls onto your shoulder. They're the unmistakable, undeniable sounds of Steve’s righteousness.

“Goddammit Steve.”

You giggle. It’s right in his ear and oh, how he loves the sound. “Go rescue him, the brave stubborn soul.”

“If you’ll go out with me. See? My elbow feels better already and I’ll need more hugs after pulling Stevie out.” You’re shaking your head in wonder at him, that teasing smirk on your lips again. “And I’m more fun than Dot, believe me!” 

Bucky pecks your cheek and runs off, calling over his shoulder, “Seven!” 

It is seven o‘clock, and Bucky has his fist raised, poised to knock on your door when it flies open.  

“Hello.”

Your smile, the one that has him hooked, knocks the wind out of him.  So does the dress that hugs you like it was custom-made. You look beautiful. Ethereal.

“Wow,” he breathes. “Hi.”

Part of being their friend means lounging in their apartment due to Steve’s health, so Bucky is used to seeing you in more casual wear or in his sweaters anytime you got cold.  Regardless of the outfit you’re stunning, but this date look is new and it’s making you glow and he’s more than a fan.

With the way you’re looking at him, you must be thinking the same thing: Bucky has parted his hair neatly and is looking smart in a pair of black dress pants and a blue button up that matches his eyes. His face is clean shaven, just the way you like it, and he’s wearing his best cologne.

“I must say, Barnes, you clean up well for dates,” you wink, running a finger under his chin before turning to lock your door.

“We’re just getting started, doll,” he assures you. 

Never breaking eye contact, Bucky takes your hand and brushes his lips across the knuckles. This gets a soft smile and linked hands, and his heart does a flip-flop. You keep the other on his upper arm while he takes you to the destination.

“Where are we off to, Mr. King of Spectacular Dates? Do I have to wear a blindfold?” 

“Patience is a virtue,” he teases, “And nope. Look! We’re on the way and no blindfold.”

“Give me a hint. No? Not even one? Okay. I’m calling you Mr. King of Secrets instead.”

“For future reference, Y/N, if I’m a king then you’re my queen.”

“You did tell me you'd get me a crown when we first met.”

“What do you think I’m getting you for your birthday?” Bucky grins and it’s rewarded by one of your own.

“I'll be sure to wear it every day.”

“As you should, Your Majesty.”

One night while watching the stars Steve, the hopeless romantic, had asked what was the perfect date? You had said a dinner on the docks; it's simple yet romantic, with the waves lapping at the wooden pier and serenading you as you get to know your companion.

Bucky had filed that information away for the future. Now is the future. It didn’t take too much for him to set up; he just had to call in a few favours with his chef friend, charm the local vendor into selling him your favourite fruit, and promise to switch shifts with the dock workers so they’d keep the area empty for the night. 

Slightly anxious, Bucky awaits your reaction when you reach the docks. Your eyes are wide and you're uncharacteristically quiet, having trailed off from telling him about your mom’s cousin and he’s worried you don't like it.

He scratches at the back of his neck with his free hand and is about to open his mouth to suggest something else but he doesn't have to.

“Bucky…this is...wow…” You speak in a whisper, and it is no whisper of dislike. Wonder, astonishment, but no dislike. Your gaze shifts from the meal on the candlelit table to Bucky. “I can't believe you remembered. I said that years ago.”

“Of course I remembered. I remember everything about you.”  

Your face reflects your awe and gratitude, and it's as if someone lifted a heavy weight off his shoulders: you like it. He just needs to know if it’s as perfect as he remembers the tone of your words being when you described it. 

“It's still true, right? What you said?”

“Yeah.”

Squeezing his hand, you go to the table and he helps you into your chair. You have dinner, your conversation easy and the food delicious, and halfway through you confess the date is more than spectacular. He wholeheartedly agrees. It’s the best date he’s ever been on and it's not even done. You’re the best date he’s ever had.

It's dark when Bucky walks you home, his sleeves pushed up to his elbows, your intertwined hands swinging merrily while he recounts what happened at the docks last week.  It’s a silly little story, but it makes you light up and that’s all that matters.

If only the night could never end.

Dying to get more time with you, Bucky declares through your laughter that he's forgotten where your building is and kidnaps you for another lap of the block. You make him complete two more before he’s allowed to bring you to your doorstep. 

Bucky's ecstatic when you hold off on the goodbye by fiddling with your keys. As a gentleman he doesn’t want to overstep, but he really wants to kiss you goodnight.

“Thank you for tonight, Bucky, I had a really great time,” you murmur, wrapping your arms around his neck. You sigh happily when his encircle your waist. This too, feels right. Maybe he can kidnap you again.

“Mmm,” he hums, breathing in the intoxicating smell of your shampoo, “I did too. Cancel all your plans, doll, we're going out again tomorrow.”

You move but don’t go far. Still, touching noses isn't close enough for Bucky. “Dot won't be happy.”

“I’ll be happy. What do you say, Y/N?” He tilts his chin so his lips feather gently over yours. The taste of your exhales pleases his beating heart, which is screaming at the manners telling him to wait for permission. “Another spectacular date?”

Your eyes flutter closed. “Yes. Now kiss me already.”

It's soft and sweet, and when you melt into him, his eyes roll back into his head. With his previous lovers he is used to being in control, on solid ground. But you are making him fly, over the tallest of buildings, above the highest of clouds, and the feeling he got from the Cyclone is laughable compared to this. He's falling.

“Goodnight, Bucky, ” you say softly when you part, and your hand trails down the side of his face. He takes it and kisses your palm.

“Night, Y/N, see you tomorrow.”

You nod at his words, and turn to open the door. Unsuccessfully, because Bucky still has your hand and uses it to pull you back to him and steal another kiss, lacing your fingers as he does. You whack his arm when he doesn't let go but it’s light and he feels you smiling against his lips.

He’s falling, and has every intention of bringing you with him.

Walking away from your door, running a hand through his hair and grinning like a fool, Bucky stops when you call his name.

“I’ve made up my mind.  You’re really somethin’ Bucky Barnes, and that’s more than a compliment. It's fact.”

“Steve swore he could hear me cheering from blocks away...not sure if he ever told you that.”

He is 22 and he is in love.

“Bucky, please not there—“

“Why not? Dancing is fun!”

You draw circles in the dirt with your shoe and mumble, “I-I don’t know how,” to which he clicks his tongue in disagreement.

“Lying is bad, Y/N.”

“You’re so good, I’ll embarrass you.“

“You could never embarrass me, how could I be embarrassed when I have the best and prettiest girl in all of Brooklyn on my arm?”

“You could, if you saw my moves. I might even break your toe.”

“Doll, you’re being worse than Steve,” he sighs, and you pout. It’s adorable.

“Am not.”

Bucky takes your face in his hands and he kisses your nose, rubbing your cheekbone with his thumb. The trust in how you look at him is everything he’s ever dreamed about and wanted in a love, only it’s better and it’s you. 

“You are. I’ll be right there with you and it’ll be fun, I promise. Let me dance with my lovebug.”

“Okay. I hear our song playing, too.”

You let him lead you to the dance floor, and he thinks, for the millionth time, how perfect your hands fit in his. There have been many dates since the first one and the novelty still hasn’t worn off.

“Ah! Sorry!” you exclaim as you step on his foot again.

“It’s okay. You’re doing great, really fantastic! Now we go left,” he coaxes, guiding you through the movements. It takes a few songs, but he’s an excellent teacher and you’re a fast learner. “That’s it, Y/N, you’ve got it!”

Soon you have forgotten the steps and are simply dancing like nobody's watching.  Because nobody is: there is only you and him, him and you. The music swells and he is laughing and you are laughing, your hair coming undone from its style. Bucky spins you to make more pieces wild, because they frame your face and the sparkle in your eyes.

You are spinning. He likes it.

When a slow song comes on as the last dance of the night, Bucky brings you into him and, resting his forehead on yours, he places his hands at the small of your back. You close your eyes and your hands are warm on his neck.  After all the dancing, both of your heartbeats are fast, though Bucky can feel them slow in the comfort of each other’s arms.

He is 23 and he is in love.

With a phone he has the world in his pocket.  With you, he had the world in his arms.

But the world faces disaster; natural or manmade, none felt as devastating as the writing in that fateful envelope.

Drafted.

It is the best thing to have someone’s love. Though Bucky cannot feel his body much, your hands are on him, smoothing back his hair, wiping away the sweat, and it is nice.

“I don’t want to go.”

“I know, Bucky, I know.”

You don’t say it, yet Bucky hears it loud. You don’t want him to go either. It’s not like he has a choice; his country needs him. If he did, he’d stay with you and Steve in an instant--

“How the hell am I going to tell Steve?!” He bolts up, eyes wide, and he searches your face for the answers he knows you don’t have.

“We’ll find a way,” you soothe, and you guide him back down to the bed. “Let’s get some sleep and think about that tomorrow.”

You lie on your side, facing him, the line of your waist as graceful as the curve of your smile. You reach out and trace the shape of his nose, his jaw, his collarbone.  It makes him shiver; you hurry to grab the blankets, but he isn’t cold.

“I didn’t know it then, but you were memorizing me, weren't you?”  

The first time Bucky notices you drawing a person, it surprises him.

The three of you are sitting on the fire escape as usual, breathing in the afternoon Brooklyn air. You and Bucky are reading a book together, his inner thighs pressed against your outer ones, and his arms are around your waist as you lean against him and read aloud. Steve is across from you, sketching who knows what, his eyebrows drawn into the line only art could cause. It’s perfect.

Then Steve wordlessly passes you the sketchbook, and you untangle yourself from Bucky and take Steve’s place.  He pushes the book into Bucky’s hands and insists, “Keep going.”

Bucky wants to question it, he really does, but the sound of your pencil scratching against the paper and the feeling of his best friend’s chin on his shoulder convince him that, maybe, he does not need to know. Not now, anyway. So he reads; he reads until Steve is shivering from the quickly disappearing sun and must go to bed, but you have not moved save for the satisfied, toothy smile you wear as you admire the sketchbook.

He shuts the novel. “Whatcha got there?”

“Nothin’.”

“Y/N…”

“I’ll tell you tomorrow.“ You set the sketchbook aside and resume your cuddles. You take one of his hands and kiss it. Bucky presses his lips to your temple, and his breaths tickle your ear when he speaks.

“Why can’t you tell me now?”

“It’s a secret.”

“Stevie knows.”

You stay quiet, and Bucky knows you well enough to wait for you to elaborate.  

“I asked him to help me with something. It’ll all be revealed tomorrow. Don’t you worry your pretty little head, lovebug.” You reach up and card your fingers through his hair, and he hums in appreciation. It’s peaceful like this, the stars watching over Bucky, you, and the rest of the city.  “I love you, Bucky.”

“I love you too.” He squeezes you once and you snuggle deeper into his embrace, linking your fingers with his other hand. “We’re going to sleep here? Okay. Are you warm enough?”

“Mhm, you’re warm,” you say, and promptly fall asleep.

Looking down at you, your soft snores rumbling against his body, Bucky’s sure he’s the luckiest man alive. You’re fast asleep by the time he closes his eyes.

Tomorrow comes, and you are not beside Bucky when he wakes up.  Neither you nor the sketchbook are anywhere in the apartment, and Bucky’s seriously wondering if you fell off the fire escape until you walk through the door, completely nonchalant. He wraps you a tight hug, making sure not to squish the sketchbook, which he supposes to be the reason for your disappearance. 

“If telling me you’re a magician is the secret, I don’t think I like it very much,” he mumbles, and you laugh.

“It’s not. I can show you my card tricks to prove it,” you say, releasing Bucky and knocking on Steve’s bedroom door. “Here’s the secret.”

You settle into breakfast with the boys, and pass out three sheets of paper. They all have the same drawing:  you and Bucky, reading, with Steve leaning on Bucky’s shoulder and looking at the book. It’s Steve’s drawing and your shading.

“It turned out great, Y/N.”  Steve bounces giddily.

“Yeah it did! Thanks again for the help, Stevie.” He pats your forearm. “The library’s photocopier works magic,” you wink at Bucky, but he’s too engrossed and he misses it.

What he thought was entirely Steve’s work has yours; the most noticeable parts being your definition of Bucky’s nose, jaw, and collarbone.The sketch is black and white, but all Bucky can see is colour.  He can see Steve’s hair shining, the last rays of light hitting it and turning it golden; the beauty of your hair behind your ear; the blue in his own eyes as he listens, his whole face relaxed.  

Below it are the words:  My home, and my family.

“I love it. I really do, this is amazing.” 

Steve signs his name on all three, and passes the pen along so you and Bucky can do the same. Bucky decides this is the picture he will bring with him.

“I brought it overseas, and you’d know better than me where it ended up. Steve’s a hoarder, by the way.” He glances at the blond, who is admiring the trees a few hundred yards away. “He kept his sketchbook and I framed the new photocopy. It’s on my desk.”

The morning he leaves, you are not crying.  He can see it brewing under the surface, in your shuddering breaths when you think he can’t see, and he’s aware you will cry with Steve later. Right now, he is thankful.  Otherwise he’s not sure he could walk out the door or remotely hold it together here. You are strong for him and that is nearly everything he asks of you.

“James Buchanan Barnes. If you think I won’t be here the moment you come back, I’ll smack you.”

He kisses you, hard. He tries to give you all the words he has said before, the ones he cannot say, and the ones he is about to say.

“I love you so, so much,” he whispers.

“I love you so much, Bucky. Be safe, please.”

“Don’t you dare forget about me.”

“I could never. I’ll be waiting for my lovebug to come home.” You seal your promise with a tight hug and one last kiss. 

Tuberculosis, they told him, got you a year after he left. He supposes it is good, great even, that you never heard the stories of what he would become.

The next thoughts frighten: what if you saw it from heaven? Angels are omniscient, right? Will he have a chance at the afterlife with an angel?

Bucky wants more than seven minutes in heaven with you. He wants it more than anything.

The tears are forming hot and fast now, and he blinks, letting a couple slide down his cheeks, pause on his jaw and continue down his throat before he wipes them away. He swallows hard and collects himself.  You were strong for him, he can be strong for you.

The breeze passes through again, this time warmer.  It swirls around Bucky, running its fingers through the tendrils of his hair, slipping underneath his arms and caressing his cheek.  The air flies straight through his ribs to hug his heart just like you did when you curled up next to him.

It is then that he knows: whenever the serum wears off, in two weeks, in five years, in a hundred—when it does, you will be waiting for your more-than-seven-minutes together in heaven.

Bucky presses a lingering kiss to your name and then traces the epitaph.

“Goodbye, my lovebug.” 

Bucky stands, letting his fingers trail along the headstone curve, and reunites with Steve by a grip on his shoulder. They stay like that for a long time. The sun sets.

A home doesn’t need to be a house, and family doesn’t need to be related. I’ll never forget home.

{epitaph credit to this pin} 

A/N: thank you for reading❤️ 

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[romantichopelessly]

Not a Cinderella Story

This is my contribution to @dukexietyweek 2020! The prompt was Fairytales and I followed it... very loosely. This is also a bullet fic because I scrapped my plot no less than three times over the course of writing this.

Pairing: Romantic Dukexiety, Implied/Background Mociet

Words: 2072

Warnings: jealousy, misunderstandings, toxic behavior

Synopsis: When Remus, Roman and Virgil were young, they were inseparable. They always played pretend--castles and princesses and dragons. But everyone has to grow up. Things change.

----

Remus Sanders and his twin brother Roman have always been close. “Attached at the hip” some would say. Specifically, their mother, neighbors, and preschool teachers.

They always do the same things. They like the same juice. The same snacks. They play with the same toys, and they always laugh at the same things.

Their bond is unbreakable. They are the perfect duo. They never need anyone else.

Until they meet Virgil Storm.

They meet him early in their second grade year. Virgil is… a weird kid. He wears a purple jacket with cat ears on the hood in the middle of August. He doesn’t try to talk to anyone at lunchtime. He wears different colored socks and carries a lunchbox with cartoon spiders on it that says “Happy Halloween” even when it isn’t October.

He’s odd.

Remus loves him. And because Remus loves him, so does Roman.

The three of them make quick friends, underneath the tree on the playground, sitting in the grass and sharing easy smiles, as children do.

Roman suggests that they play a game that he and Remus invented all on their own--Knights and Dragons.

Virgil is quick to agree, because young children don’t have anything to worry about beyond silly games with their peers.

Remus believes that Knights and Dragons is a much more fun experience with three people. Sometimes Virgil is a knight, with Roman, and they both chase Remus around the school yard, giggling and waving sticks like they’re swords. And other times, Virgil is a dragon with Remus, and the two of them roar and yell and flap their arms like wings.

Virgil makes Remus laugh in ways that he thought only his brother could. Virgil laughs with him, not at him.

Of course, all good things come to an end, and soon, for the imaginative boy that was Roman Sanders, Knights and Dragons is not enough.

Knights and Dragons are boring in the eyes of a third grader.

Roman suggests one day that they add a princess to their game of Knights and Dragons.

Remus (rightfully) thinks that this is a very stupid idea. Princesses are for Disney movies and fairytales. Remus Sanders most definitely does not live in a fairytale.

But Roman loves fairytales. And Roman loves Disney. And, unfortunately, so does Virgil.

So they add a princess to their game. Oftentimes, this princess is played by Virgil, but sometimes Roman steps into the role. Remus is just glad that he gets to stay a big scary dragon.

That is… Until just a princess being kidnapped by a dragon and saved by a courageous knight is not enough for young Roman Sanders.

No, Roman wants more. Roman wants to emulate his favorite movies and his new favorite theme of said movies--

Romance.

So Knights and Dragons and Princesses turns into… Playing Cinderella.

There definitely wasn’t a dragon in Cinderella.

Remus is quickly shoved into the roles of the ugly stepsisters and stepmother. Don’t get it wrong! He loves playing the villain. He loves laughing maniacally and calling his brother funny names and getting away with it without punishment, because it was just pretend.

He doesn’t so much like sitting in the grass of his own backyard, watching while Roman and Virgil twirl around, holding hands and “dancing” to imaginary music while they “fall in love.”

It’s boring.

He’s almost glad when Roman’s phase of playing pretend Disney princesses ends.

Except that he can’t be. Because it ends with the three of them turning twelve and entering the dreaded halls of middle school. It ends with Roman joining the school theater club and making a whole bunch of new friends.

It ends with Virgil and Remus suddenly being left to walk home from school alone one day.

Despite his brother’s popularity, both Remus and Virgil are… outcasts of a sort. And since they just downgraded from a trio to a duo, their friendship is a bit more… strained. They still have the closeness of five years of best friendship, but there’s something… missing.

Cue Janus Duncan.

Janus is also an outcast. Janus is like a fairy godmother who comes in to save the poor outcasts at the last second, turning bleak days into wishes come true (if eating school lunch under the bleachers and snorting with laughter as they mix all the slushie options at 7-11 into one cup can be considered wishes come true), and wearing a super cool leather jacket that was two sizes too big, but definitely influenced Remus’s punk phase.

Because, oh yeah. They definitely both start their punk phases after meeting Janus Duncan.

Honestly meeting Janus really is a wish come true for Remus. A miracle among the comedy of errors that was his teenage years.

Because after about a year of Virgil, Janus and Remus being the perfect trio 2.0, Remus starts to… notice some things.

One thing is the way that his heart seems to inflate like a little balloon in Remus’s chest when Virgil smiles at him. The way that his guts squirm when Virgil laughs at one of his jokes, true and bright. The way that Remus catches himself staring at Virgil’s crooked smile, or his chipped nail polish as his fingers twirl around in his hoodie strings.

The second thing has… a lot of the same signs honestly.

Because Remus starts to notice how Virgil always watches Roman when he’s over at Remus’s house. The way that Virgil always smiles and waves at Remus’s twin brother when they pass one another in the hallway at school, his pale cheeks flushing a soft pink.

It makes a terrible, sickly green emotion curl in Remus’s stomach.

Jealousy.

So when Virgil tentatively brings up trying out for the school play, and asks Remus if Roman would mind running some lines with him, Remus does something he isn’t proud of.

He snaps. He tells Virgil that he shouldn’t try. That he won’t even make it. That he isn’t popular kid material. That Roman isn’t his friend anymore, god, Virgil, can’t you take a hint?

He watches it happen like he isn’t the one controlling his own body. He sees the shock take over Virgil’s features. The years of easy trust crumble before his very eyes as Virgil reels back in horror. He can taste the jealousy on his tongue.

As Virgil leaves, Remus knows that he is the villain of this story.

He can see it as plainly as if he had shattered Virgil’s dreams right in front of him, like so much of a shattered glass shoe on the palace steps.

That night, Janus comes over and lets Remus have it.

For about five minutes, before Remus breaks down and tells the truth to his now one and only best friend and lecturing quickly turns to comforting.

By the time that they start high school, the original trio has withered down to just Remus. The other two thirds are nearly distant memories. One a locked door down the hall, and the other three lockers down, speaking to new friends.

Anyone would choose the prince over the ugly stepsister. He couldn’t blame them.

The spring of their sophomore year, the school announces that they will be putting on a production of none other than Cinderella.

Roman auditions, of course. He gets the role of the Prince.

Virgil doesn’t audition, but he offers himself up for the role of stage manager.

Virgil and Roman’s friends Patton and Logan audition. They get the roles of mice, but they don’t seem at all upset by that fact.

Janus auditions. He gets the role of the fairy godmother.

Janus asks Remus to audition.

Remus refuses. He doesn’t want to play a campy version of the ugly stepsisters in front of the entire school. He may not care about this hell hole, but he isn’t going to make his remaining two years any worse than they have to be.

Janus drags Remus to rehearsals anyway. Kicking and screaming.

By some miraculous happenstance, Remus suddenly becomes the set designer for the show.

He may be imagining things, but he is pretty sure that that has something to do with what Janus, Roman and the director were whisper-arguing about in the first week of rehearsals.

Remus is grateful for it. Not that he plans on saying so. He still can’t bring himself to apologize to Virgil, but watching him from afar still brings those butterflies to Remus’s stomach.

One night, after rehearsal, Remus is putting the finishing touches on the carriage prop, which has quickly gone from inconsequential to him to his very own magnum opus. He’s just testing out its mobility when he hears soft laughter.

Naturally, he follows the sounds.

Stage left, hidden in the wings, Remus sees his brother, in full costume, standing across from Virgil, who is chuckling and gently smoothing his hands across the front of Roman’s costume.

Remus sees green. His old friend Jealousy curls around him like the dragon that he used to love to play.

He barely restrains himself from breaking the very set that he worked so hard on.

Funnily enough, that is progress.

The night before the play opens, there is a house party. Remus isn’t quite sure who is hosting, but the cast and company are the only people invited.

Remus doesn’t want to go.

Janus makes Remus go.

Begrudgingly, Remus has a good time. He has a good time drinking soda and watching the other stage hands tell stories about past productions. He has a good time laughing at Janus as he unsuccessfully tries to flirt with the boy in the bright blue sweater who plays a mouse.

He is still having a good time when the girl who plays Cinderella herself caps a plastic bottle and places it on the ground, calling for everyone to gather around for a game of spin the bottle.

Remus finds himself sitting between Janus and his giggly mouse boy, and some other techie who wears sunglasses indoors.

There are a few fun rounds. Roman has to kiss the girl playing the stepmother. One of the mice has to kiss Cinderella. It’s all in good fun.

That is, until Remus isn’t really paying attention and the mouth of the bottle is suddenly facing him. He blinks.

From across the circle, the studious looking mouse speaks up. “Janus clearly touched the bo-” The hand of one of the set designers covers the mouse’s mouth.

Remus blinks again. “So who’s the lucky bastard I’m making out with?”

All eyes turn to Virgil, who looks like a startled mouse himself.

Shit.

Virgil is up before anyone can say anything, backing away from the circle and spinning on his heel before making a beeline for the kitchen. Remus follows, standing up before his mind even catches up with his body. He sees Roman making to stand up too, but he holds out a hand.

Even after years of not being close, Roman can tell what he means without a word.

Remus follows Virgil into the kitchen and finds him leaning against the counter.

“Didn’t want to kiss the ugly stepsister that badly, huh?”

“What?”

“You… You know, Emo, like that stupid game Roman always made us play when we were ankle biters.”

“Wh- First of all, you and Roman are identical twins. You look exactly the same. That was just a game.”

Remus shrugs, as if he hasn’t carried that game and all it implied with him for the entirety of his teenage years.

“And… No. It wasn’t- I just didn’t want to kiss you in front of everyone.”

Remus pretends like that doesn’t make his heart shatter into a hundred tiny pieces.

Virgil seems to see it anyway. “I mean that I don’t want to… have my first kiss in front of all of them. It’s nothing against you, they just- they just all know about my crush.”

Virgil says it like it’s something stupid. Like being in love is something shameful. Like liking Roman Sanders isn’t something that literally everyone in that room except for Remus has in common.

“Your crush on my brother?”

Virgil looks at him like he’s the biggest idiot on the face of the earth.

He probably is.

Because he doesn’t see it coming for a second when Virgil steps closer, cups Remus’s cheek in his hand like he is made of something precious and priceless, and closes the gap to kiss him.

[cosmiclove-heavenstruck]

Gravity | JJ Maybank (Outer Banks, Season 1)

Pairing: JJ x fem!reader

Wordcount: 2100 words

Warnings: swearing, mentioning of underaged drinking/smoking

a/n: English is not my native language, so there might be spelling/grammar mistakes. Also, this is just a simple oneshot, so don't expect a great plot or anything. Have fun!

“because in my world, i'm constantly havin' a breakthrough or a breakdown, or a blackout, would you make out with me underneath the shelter of the balcony?”

─ clementine by halsey

[ Clementine, better known as Clem by the Pouges, lived on the southside of Outer Banks with her mum, near John B's home. Her mum worked pretty hard and was often out of town, so Clem was usually to herself. Since she began to work for Kiara’s dad two years ago, she sort of grew on the chaotic group and got involved in a lot more shit than expected. Besides serving tables at the restaurant, hanging out in the hammocks or on John B’s boat and handling the one or other mystery on the island, Clementines mind was occupied by a certain blonde guy. ]

The sun was nearly unberable, making me fan myself with my book. Summer had arrived, in full glory and a lot of hot air. I relaxed in my hammock behind our small bungalow and swung from side to side to keep myself from falling asleep, one foot on the dry grass.

Summer break just started two days ago and it was already boiling outside.

My hammock was placed between two thick trees, right beside the water and the wooden dock. Small waves sloshed against it from time to time and seabirds squealed above my head. I felt at peace and my body nearly forgot it already had more than ten hours of sleep last night as my phone vibrated. A new message from JJ lit up on its screen.

get urself ready

5 min.

A smile spread across my face. Within seconds I was back in my room, putting on my bathing suit, a pair of shorts and an open shirt with hawaiian flowers. I packed some drinks into my small cooling bag, slipped into my flip flops and wrote my mum a message in case she would be home before me.

With a towel over my shoulder and the cooling bag in my hand I walked outside again and onto the dock. John B was already steering his white boat towards the wooden planks as I reached the front.

“Aloha boys,” I greeted them with a big smile, and JJ held out his hand so I could easily jump on board.

“Hi Clem.”

“Aloha, darling. Watcha got there?” JJ asked, peeking over his sunglasses.

Once in a while, when I hadn't seen JJ for a day or two, I thought I wasn't completely head over heals for the sunkissed boy anymore and my heart had settled. But then he had the nerve to smile at me again and my whole body began to tingle.

“One for you.” I handed John B a cooled beer bottle which he thanked me for with a fast kiss onto my tempel. He was at least two feet taller than me. “And one for you.”

I threw another one in JJ's direction before getting myself one, placing my stuff under the bench seat and sitting down beside him.

“That just saved my day,” JJ answered and gave the cold glass a kiss, then he kissed me on my cheek. I hid my smile by taking a sip of beer.

“Don't lie, you already had two,” John B said grinning while he navigated the ship to where Pope lived. The boy was standing outside, helping his dad by cleaning some empty, second-hand boxes as usually.

“Hey, Pope, get your ass in here!”

“I told you yesterday, I can't!”

His dad came outside, a broom in his hands as if he wanted to chase us away. It wasn't a secret his dad disliked us.

“Oh, come on, it's summer vacation,” I interfered and waved him. Pope was already putting down the water hose and giving his dad an excusing look.

“I'll do it tomorrow. I promise!”

“Hell nah, you're stayin'!”

“I’ll be back for dinner!” Pope laid the pipe down and snatched a towel from the railing.

“Get in the boat, get in the boat,” John B whispered, whereupon Pope jumped onto the deck of the ship.

“Pope! Get back here right now!”

“We're getting him back safe, promise!” JJ yelled as John B turned the speed back up and we rushed through the waves up to Kie's house.

“Man, your dad is so unrelaxed. He should try one of my joints.”

“Don't you dare. He'll get us all killed.”

I laughed at the boys conversation. Such idiots. But I loved them nonetheless. They were my family.

Kie lived on the rich northside of Outer Banks, even though she hated it with nearly every fiber of her heart. The darkhaired girl was casually walking up to us, in her hand a bag fully of snacks ─ at least I hoped so.

“Morning y'all.”

“Welcome on board, pretty. Are those snacks?”

JJ got up to give Kie a hand, just like he did with me. Her hair was in a messy pointail, held together by a green cloth.

“Oh, you know. Some watermelon slices, stuff like that,” She joked, smiling.

Kiara was pretty. And not just that, she was smart and knew how to handle things. That didn't stay unnoticed by the guys. They were practically all into her, even if they weren't admitting it. Which wouldn't have been a problem if I was that confident in myself too. Or a bit more adventurous, inventive, whatever.

I wasn't jealous of her. In fact, she was one of my best friends, the only female one I may add. She made sure I got a job at her father’s restaurant, for which I couldn't be more thankful.

“Hey Kie.”

“Hey,” She greeted me, hugging me tightly before sitting down next to me. We provided everyone with drinks so we could touch glasses.

“Salud, guys. To the best summer of all times,” JJ announced, holding up his bottle.

“To the best summer of all times,” We echoed him and clinked our bottles together.

John B turned up the speed and the volume of the stereo as the waves splashed against the boat. I closed my eyes, smelling the salty water, my coconut sunscreen and the beer. I had missed summer.

We stayed out all day long on the water, sunbathing and diving in the ocean. Kie connected her phone with the stereo and put on some of our favourite songs. As the sun was slowly going to set, we all laid in the front of the white varnished boat, sandy and drained from all the sun. Within five minutes, we infested Kie's brought snacks and finished the beers.

JJ was passing around a joint he made himself. His skin glowed orange in the evening sun, even though there were some light bruises on his rips. His head was resting on my tanned legs.

After everyone had taken one or two drags, my body didn't feel as tired anymore. Kie started some more upbeat songs and while Pope navigated the boat back to John B's place, we danced. It probably looked horrible, but it was fun.

First, I was just dancing with Kie. Spinning her around and stuff, but she knew about my feelings for JJ. She was the only one I had told, ever. She was also the only one who believed JJ was interested in me too, as much as I tried to talk her out of it.

So, of course she used my blurry state to get me to dance with JJ. To make it less awkward, I stole his sunglasses and put them on, stupidly smiling at him.

“We dancin' now?”

“Absolutly.”

Grinning, he grabbed my hands and pulled me closer to him. Kie winked at me.

JJ put one of his hands on my hips, swaying me around in the front of the boat.

The sun was melting into the water and gave everything an orange touch. My body was glowing because of the heat, my heartbeat was going way too fast. JJ's blond hairstrands fell into his eyes and I couldn't stop laughing. Then he let me make a twist so my back was pressed against his belly and our hands were intertwined. Once he had unknotted us, he dipped me before pulling me up again. We were so close, our noses nearly touched.

“You look good with my glasses.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Then I might keep it.”

I grinned and bit my bottom lip. His eyes looked so pretty. Blue like the ocean.

“Hey guys, not on my boat, okay?” John B reminded us that we still had company around us.

I rolled my eyes and ─ as much as I didn't want to ─ let go of JJ. My hand slipped out of his and it felt like I was suddenly bound to gravity again.

Pope and Kie attached the rope of the boat with the hook on the dock, and I grabbed my stuff and followed the others to John B's house. I placed the now empty cooling box and my towel on the porch. My body felt like the alcohol and weed had left out of nowhere. The sun was barely seeable by now and the wind was colder than expected.

Inside, I put my clothes back over my swimwear and tamed my frizzy hair in a loose bun.

“That. Was. So. Much. Flirting.” Kie bumped her ellbow into rips with a knowing smile on her lips.

“Shut up. That was nothing.”

“Are you kidding me? Have you seen the way he looks at you?”

I crossed my arms, eyeing her in disbelief. My head just couldn't comprehend the idea of someone liking me like that. Especially not JJ.

“He likes you. A lot. Trust me.”

“Come on, Kie. Just because he flirts with me once doesn't mean he has feelings for me. You know how many girls want him.”

She scoffed. “Okay, fine. I'm gonna ask him.”

“Wha─ No. No, Kie!” I whisper-screamed at her and tried to grab her arm, but she escaped my grasp and jogged into the kitchen where the boys probably looted John's fridge. Fuck.

“Uh, guys, my mum texted me. I'm gonna go now, see ya tomorrow!” I yelled and quickly escaping onto the porch. The warmth seemed to have disappeared, thick rain drops where pouring down onto the shelter of the porch.

There was no way I would just let Kie embarrass me because ─ surprise ─ JJ wasn't actually flirting with me. Absolutely not.

I was already on the last step and out in the rain, as someone called me.

“Clem? Wait.” JJ. Goddamnit. I shut my eyes for a second before facing him.

“Yup?” I asked, trying to sound casual.

He scratched the back of his neck. “You─ uh... You still have my sunglasses.”

My heart dropped. Had I honestly expected something else?

“Yes, right. Sorry.”

I shook my head, scoffing as I took them off and went up the stairs again. I left my stuff down on the paveway. Internally, I was shaking like hell. My heart was a wreck. Utterly nervous. Maybe Kie hadn’t said anything, maybe he hadn’t heard her, I thought.

I stood infront of him again, not as close as before though. Without thinking and instead of just handing the stupid glasses over like a normal person, I put them on his face. He didn't need them, the sun had already vanished beneath the ocean. I did it anyway.

JJ pushed them up in his hair.

And then we were just looking at each other and I hade to pull myself together so I wouldn't faint. I gulped and tugged at my own shirt, that ridiculous hawaiian shirt.

“So,” JJ spoke under his breath. The rain was still pouring down onto the plastic shelter. My heart beat felt louder, and I wondered if he could hear it. I was so scared.

“Goodnight, J.”

With that, I turned around and wanted to leave, like I always did when I was too afraid to face the truth.

“I like you too.”

Everything in me froze just to melt in the next second. My heart stumbled. So Kie did tell him.

Slowly, I turned back around.

JJ just stood there, hands in his pockets and sunglasses in his hair, chewing unsurely on his bottom lip. He seemed vulnerable. No smug grin, no stupid joke on the tip of his tongue.

“I mean I really, really like you, Clementine. More than that.”

For once, I didn't want to be afraid. If he could be brave, I could too. Within a second, I was back in front of him, though way closer. Even closer than on the boat.

And this time, I kissed him.

My hands grabbed his hair, pulling his face down to mine, and once he had understood, I felt his arms wrap around my waist. There was no gravity pulling me down when we were this close.

“I really like you, too,” I mumbled between two kisses. I could feel his lips forming a smile as he pressed them onto mine again.

“"I thought you'd never admit it,” He said, grinning.

“Don't get used to it,” I answered, grinning just as wide as he did.

And then he kissed me again under the shelter of the balcony, surrounded by the heavy sound of the rain, while I buried my hands in his hair and he pulled me off the ground.

[moviesrotbrains]

FREAKY slashes up a piece of that horror-comedy pie

Hey, let’s remake FREAKY FRIDAY, but this time it’s about a middle-aged serial killer who swaps places with a 17-year-old girl. That simple yet ridiculous premise is the main plot behind a surprisingly perfect, and fantastically gory, horror-comedy.

FREAKY is one of those movies that could have failed hard. It’s a brilliant idea that could have fallen apart in the wrong hands. Many films have tried to balance genres and get lost along the way. FREAKY is NOT one of those fails. It’s one of those films that had me rooting for it from the first 5 minutes and still had me pleasantly surprised throughout. In addition to being a great body-swap flick, it’s also an engaging horror flick. It’s like someone shoved your favourite FRIDAY THE 13TH scenes in a blender with MEAN GIRLS. It shouldn’t work… but it does. It’s an ode to 80s slashers, but it’s also an ode to high school-centred comedies? And it does all this while keeping hardcore horror fans pleased by giving it a hard R rating?!? And it’s actually really funny?!?

When they first announced this film, I was expecting a fun PG-13 flick in the vein of HAPPY DEATH DAY, and I was okay with that. I really liked HAPPY DEATH DAY (as with FREAKY, also directed by Christopher Landon). HAPPY DEATH DAY, was a smart spin on GROUNDHOG’S DAY that it did a lot of cool things while also being able to do so with a PG-13. It wasn’t trying to be MANIAC, nor did I ever expect it to. I’m an annoying purist, but I’m ok with light pop-corn horror if done right, and that film did it right. 

So with that in mind, I was utterly blown away by the very, very R-RATED kills in the opening 10 minutes. It was a brutal onslaught of gore. It was Landon’s way of saying, “Relax, horror bros, I got you.” It was like a Greatest Hits from decades ago but with a fresh spin on it. Slashers got a little lazy in the last few years, and this film just let it all hang out in that opening scene. It was ballsy as all hell, and I was totally on board. And luckily it didn’t just stop there.

This one has all the tropes of classic stabby fright flicks. Huge emotionless killer? Check. Ominous mask? Check. St upid teenagers getting in trouble? Check. Inventive kills that make you cackle “Holy Shit”? Check. Twists and turns? Check. A growing body count? Check. Final girl? Check. And let’s throw in an occult artifact in the mix that swaps that final girl with that emotionless killer and that’s where you get something new and different!

And if you’re coming into this one from a comedy perspective, this one has all the tropes of classic high school movie. Insecure lead going through an awkward time? Check. Supportive comic relief friends? Check. Parents that just don’t understand? Check. Villainous teachers? Check. Mean girls? Check. Huge awkward misunderstandings? Check. And let’s throw in an occult artifact in the mix that causes said misunderstandings and that’s where you get something new and different!  

That new and different wouldn’t be what it is without the standout performance from the two leads, Vince Vaughn & Kaythryn Newton. Vaughn is the aforementioned creepy masked killer. He’s wonderfully cast here as a towering, silent brute. Vaughn of course might be known for his comedic work, but he’s actually got an impressive range that’s very rarely utilized (see BRAWL AT CELLBLOCK 99 for more details). Here he excels as the Butcher. Effective, brutal, and cold. He’s been on a killing spree lately, which we see a bit of at the beginning, and he’s definitely looking to kill some more. And it looks like he found a spooky looking occult dagger

Newton, known to genre fans from her recurring role in SUPERNATURAL, is very likeable as the main lead, Millie. Having recently suffered from the loss of her father, Millie is currently dealing with the ongoing depression that the loss put on her mother, as well as her own struggles to return to normality. Can she survive a day at school from the usual trials, tribulations, bullies, and high school crushes, let alone a serial killer lurking nearby?

And thus their two paths meet in the most unexpected (or very expected) of ways. We soon witness a thrilling chase, very reminiscent of the best Michael Myers and Jason hunts-- in fact this whole chase actually takes place on the eve before Friday the 13th, a very knowing wink to the genre that birthed this film. And soon the Butcher, with Millie in his grips, claims his latest victim… only he doesn’t… darn those occult daggers!

And that’s when the two leads really showcase their acting chops. Vaughn is now a frazzled high school student, and Newton is the silent and sinister stalker. Both take on their new roles excellently and they both embody (heh) them flawlessly. Vaughn is awkward and fragile and Newton is menacingly fierce as fuck. Newton utterly transforms into someone else and her performance is a total triumph. Vaughn is adorable. 

Seeing them both re-interact/meet with their friends (and foes) in their new forms is endless fun. You see Vaughn run like a girl and Newton go on a homicidal spree. You see Vaughn give off his best flirty eye and Newton’s best glare of doom. They both seamlessly fill their new roles.

But it’s not quite the seamless exchange for Millie and the Butcher. Millie clumsily gets used to their bigger and stronger frame… and the Butcher realizes they are not as strong as they once were. A lot of what works about this ride is seeing how they both adapt to their new struggles and use it to their advantage. The Butcher has a new mask, and Millie soon finds confidence in herself in her new self. 

The supporting cast is used with great effect, too. They all get us to where we need to be. Everyone serves a purpose. From the mom, to older sister/cop, to the comic relief, to the love interest, and classmates of varying degrees of douchebagginess. Everyone is either likeable or unlikeable as they should be. There’s even a nice nod to previous academic farces with a cameo from FERRIS BUELLER’S Alan Ruck as an asshole shop teacher. 

Director Christopher Landon is really slicing out a nice niche of off-kilter spins in the horror genre, and it’s reassuring that he knows what he’s doing. It truly is a well-crafted film. Not just as a horror film, but also from a technical standpoint. The pacing is dead perfect, every joke hits, the story beats and setups are well orchestrated, and not a moment is wasted. It’s tense when it needs to be tense, gory when it needs to be gory, and legit laugh out loud moments when it needs to have those LOL moments.

It’s such a great spin to the body-swap comedy genre, a genre that feels like there’s an endless amount where they all sort of felt very “samey”; especially in the 80s, where at one point three different body-swaps came out within 2 years of each other! This one takes the better elements of those, relishes in them, carves new ground, and adds a bit of Tom Hanks’ BIG in for good measure.

 But homage to a decade old cinematic fad aside, at no point does it ever stop delivering on the humour and slasher content. It’s tight, daring, and keeps you enthralled throughout. Whether you’re a horror junkie, or into well-written oddball comedies, or even into clever thrillers, the end result has you covered.

There’s a great message in there too, as the film tackles school killings, social media, pc culture, and the general malaise many of us experience after the loss of a loved one. It’s about grief and acceptance and moving on… yet it’s very light-hearted. And you still get ample buckets of blood and splatter.

Yes, fans, there’s so many gruesome and cool looking on screen deaths your morbid heart’s desire. Amazing uses of wine bottles, tennis rackets, chainsaws, and industrial equipment. A creepy serial killer flophouse complete with creepy mannequins and various implements of torture. Possibly a severed head in a bloody toilet? Yeah, this film has that too.

You can currently rent this one on various VOD services. Hopefully this one hits the majority of streaming services soon, since it had the misfortune of opening late last year during the pandemic. It definitely needs a wider audience because it’s another one of those instant classics. It’s easily my favourite current horror-comedy, and I’m looking forward to more from Christopher Landon. A film that’s both goofy and gory with just enough twists to keep your attention and please jaded genre fans? That’s freaky.

[confusedweasleys]

Mission Accomplished - George Weasley x Reader

A/N: I’mmmm back! I wrote this requested imagine at you guessed it, crackhead hours. It turned out a lot longer than I thought it would, but I think I like it. As always, leave feedback! Xoxo

Request: @iluvharrypotter172 Could you do 33 from the fluffy prompt list with George Weasley x reader preferably with the reader saying it to George. Thanks in advance!

Prompt: “how’s the hangover?” (#33)

Triggers: Cursing, Drinking

Word Count: 2,295

———————————————————————————————————

    I woke up with a splitting headache. And I mean splitting. I painfully pushed myself into a sitting position from my spot on the floor and glanced around my surroundings. I was sandwiched between the twins’ beds, covered in a heap of blankets and pillows. The occupants of the two beds both snored peacefully, making me feel almost guilty for what I was about to do. Almost. 

“Accio,” I whispered, summoning a metal pot from the kitchen. I steeled myself and banged the pot onto the metal railing of the beds. I winced.

“Shit.” Two voices cussed simultaneously as the twins woke up. 

“Morning Weasleys,” I said, wincing again. That had not been my best idea. “How’s the hangover?” I said, throwing a hand-knit pillow at the younger twin as he sat up. He attempted to bat it away and missed. It him square in the face. I chuckled as he groaned. 

“I haven’t felt this awful since Madame Pomfrey made me drink an entire bottle of Skele-Gro in the third year,” George said, flopping back down onto his bed. “I don’t remember a thing from last night.”

I sighed. “I don’t either.”

“Well that tends to happen when you drink an entire bottle of Firewhiskey,” Fred said, rolling his eyes. I stuck my tongue out at him and tried to go back to sleep.

        Most days, everyone loved mornings at the Burrow were my favorite. Today was not one of those days. For George and I at least. Everyone else seemed perfectly fine. In fact, Harry, Ron, and Hermione had gotten up early to make everybody breakfast, since Mr. and Mrs. Weasley were still out of town. 

“Just coffee for me, thanks,” said George.

“George, you had better eat something or you’ll just feel worse,” Hermione said, sliding a plate of toast his way. “You too, Y/N,” she said, frowning and adding more toast to the plate. George mumbled something into his plate that sounded a lot like ‘Thanks mum’.

“How come you’re so chipper?” I said to Hermione. “In fact, how come all of you seem fine while I feel like my actual brain is bleeding?”

“Because we didn’t drink an entire bottle of fire-whiskey last night,” Charlie said, chuckling. Shit. An entire bottle? I thought Fred had been joking. I didn’t even want to know what happened last night. 

“We might liquor you up more often Y/N, if it makes things as interesting as last night was,” said Ginny, grinning at me. 

“What does that mean?” George said, looking alarmed.

“Yeah Ginny, what does that mean?” I asked.

“Let’s just say you two had a lot more than anybody else,” Ron said, looking up from his food. Fred, who was sitting next to him, smacked him on the head. Ron looked sheepish. I looked at George, who shrugged and mouthed, no clue.

“Seriously guys, what happened last night?” I said, looking around the table.

“Yeah we deserve to know,” George said indignantly. “Fred, are you really not going to tell me?” 

“Sorry Georgie, I can’t help you if you don’t remember,” his twin said with a smile and a shrug. 

“I guess you two will just have to figure it our yourselves,” Harry said. 

“All right listen up you lot, I am tired and I am hungover. I am not in the mood for what ever this little game is. So what the hell happened last night?” I said sternly, looking around the table again. Ginny, Ron, Harry, Hermione, Fred, and Charlie all stayed silent. I groaned. “Fine,” I said. I got up to go back upstairs, only to be stopped by Hermione. 

“Hold up Y/N, Mrs. Weasley left us chores. Plus, we’ve got a lot of cleaning up to do from the party, and Mr. and Mrs. Weasley get back from St. Mungo’s tomorrow.” She then gave us a list of chores that we had to do, half left for us by Mrs. Weasley, and half to hide the evidence of the party we had last night. I had to de-gnome the garden with Ginny, then clear out the broom shack (where we hid most of the rubbish and alcohol from the party) with Fred and George. 

    Not that de-gnoming the garden was ever pleasant work, but a bad hangover and Mid-July heat made it so much worse. 

“Ginny, come on, you have to tell me. What the hell happened last night? And what was Ron on about this morning?” I asked, watching her as she flung a particularly fat gnome over the Burrow’s walls. She glanced over at me. 

“I’m not supposed to tell you,” she said in a sing-song voice.

“You’re in a good mood, I said, changing the subject. “Has that got anything to do with me seeing Harry leaving your room this morning?” She looked over at me and grinned.

“It might,” she said. “But you shut up about that. I don’t want to know what’ll happen to Harry if any of my brother hear.” Perfect.

“I might be persuaded to keep my mouth shut,” I said innocently. “If my best friend was to clue me in on the happenings of last night. Otherwise, who knows what might slip out.” I grinned and shrugged my shoulders. Ginny rolled her eyes at my and flung another gnome over the wall.

“You wouldn’t dare,” she said. “Because then I would be forced to let slip to a certain one of my brothers that you have a crush on them.” Ginny grinned as I went pink. 

“I regret telling you that every day,” I grumbled. I took my frustration out on a gnome that was attempting to escape from its relocation. It sailed a good 30 yards beyond the wall. Ginny giggled.

“Relax, you know I’d never tell,” Ginny said. “Unless I was bored,” she added. “I’m only joking!” she said as I shot her a look. “Anyways, you’re in luck. I’m rather cross with my dear brother Fred at the moment, since he tried to force a very drunk Harry to make an Unbreakable Vow that he would never kiss me again.” 

“How does that help me with my situation?” i asked. 

“It helps you,” she said, “because i am not in the mood to help Fred with another one of his plots at the moment. It was his idea to keep you and George from knowing what happened last night. Which means I’ll tell you what happened last night.”

“Oh thank God. So once again, what the hell happened last night and why is everyone being so weird?”

“Well, I’m sure you remember, the party started pretty much the moment Mum and Dad left the house. You drank about half a bottle of Firewhiskey, which is when I’m pretty sure your memory stops.” I nodded. She was probably right. “And George,” she continued, “well he had about an entire bottle of Firewhiskey. He was gone about an hour after you, right about when Ron said he wanted to go swimming.”

“Which is when we went to the lake,” I said, remembering someone jumping into water last night. Ginny looked at me, alarmed.

“You remember last night?” she asked.

“No, no, I just had a flash of...Charlie, I think, jumping into the lake. Anyways what happened next?” I asked, looking at Ginny.

“Well, once we got to the lake Fred suggested we play Wizard’s Truth or Dare.”

“Wait, what the hell is Wizard’s Truth or Dare?” I interrupted.

“A game Fred claims to have invented. It’s practically muggle truth or dare, except Charlie or Fred, since no one trusted you or George with a wand, would hex you if you whimped out of dare and put Veritaserum in your drink if you chose truth.”

“Sounds like a fun game. But how does it relate to people keeping last night a secret from George and I?” I asked. 

“Well, you got a dare to spin the bottle around the circle, and George got upset. He said no one else in the circle or anywhere else was gonna kiss his girl, and you said you weren't his girl, and then he kissed you.”

“What?” I said. Ginny suddenly looked uncomfortable.

“You guys kissed and then that’s when everyone kinda decided the party was over. Fred told us we weren’t supposed to say anything because it was clear you guys weren’t going to remember anything in the morning and we all agreed it would better if you guys didn’t know. That’s why everyone was acting so weird this morning.” To say i was confused was an understatement. After a while i just said,

“Well - that’s a lot to take in.”

“What’s a lot to take in?” Fred said, walking down the steps to the garden with George. Damn he looked good - even hungover.

“The rules of Wizard’s Truth or Dare,” I said quickly, watching George go a little pale.

“Oh that’s Georgie’s new favorite game,” he said, clapping his brother on the back. George glared at him. Fred shrugged glancing around garden. He clapped his hands together. “Time for new chores little ones!” I groaned. As bad as de-gnoming the garden was, at least it was outdoors. Normally, I would look forward to being crammed in a small, cramped space with George, but not after what I just learned. I hoped he didn’t know, or it would be a very awkward hour.

“That’s not the right attitude,” Fred said, shaking his head at me. I faked a smile at him. “That’s the spirt. Now I’m going to go help Ickle Ronniekins clean up the lake.”

“No Fred, you’re supposed to clear out the shack with George and I,” I shouted at his retreating figure.

“Plans change Y/L/N. Turns out the damage we did at the lake was a lot worse than we thought. Besides,” he yelled. “I’m sure you two have a lot to talk about!”

“What’s the supposed to mean?” I said under my breath. George heard me.

“Ginny didn’t tell you?” George said, speaking for the first time. i looked over at him as we made our way to the broom shack

“Tell me what?” I asked. I knew what he was referring to, but I wanted to hear him say it. Maybe I would be able to tell how he felt about it. I still wasn’t sure how I felt about it myself. Of course I liked him. I’d had a crush on George for the longest time. But it would just be so horrible if we kissed and he didn't feel the same way about me. Not to mention, our friendship would be practically ruined.

"Y/N,” he said, waving his hand in front of my face. 

“Oh sorry what did you say?” We stopped walking as we reached the broom shack, and I stepped into the cramped, dark space. I felt George step in behind me. I turned to look at him. George sighed. 

“I said...” He paused scratching behind his ears, which had began to go red. “Well, apparently we weren’t supposed to know, but it was easy enough to get out of Ron. But we uh- we kissed last night,” he said quickly, looking down at the floor.

“I know,” I said, turning around and grabbing the empty bottles as an excuse not to look at George.

“You know?” he asked, confused. “Then why did you make me tell you?”

Now it was my turn to stutter. “Well- I just- I wanted to see if they told you the same story.” He looked at me. 

“Y/N, I’ve known you since we were seven years old. I can tell when you’re lying. What was the reason?” I sighed.

“I wanted to see how you felt about it.” I looked anywhere but his eyes.

“Oh,” he said looking surprised. “I mean I thought that part was pretty obvious. I’ve been wanting to do that forever. I was just always to scared you wouldn’t feel the same way, and that it would ruin our friendship.” He sighed again. “Some Gryffindor I am, needing a bottle of Firewhiskey to kiss the girl I fancy.” I snapped out of the daze I had entered when he started talking. George fancied me? “Anyways,” he said. “I’m so sorry. I really didn’t mean to make you feel awkward, and i would never want to ruin our friendship-”

“George,” i said, laughing, cutting off his rambling. I pressed a kiss to his lips. “Do you know how long I’ve wanted to do that?” He blinked. “Forever.” He smiled, and wrapped his arms around my waist.

“Forever?” he asked. 

“Yeah.”

“Well then this worked out rather well, didn’t it?” he said, leaning down. 

“Yes, I would say it did,” I replied, connecting our lips again.

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

“Do you think we should tell them that they didn’t actually kiss last night?” asked Ginny, watching Y/N and George walk out of the broom shack hand in hand. She looked over at her brother.

“No I don’t think so,” her brother said, his eyes still on the couple. “Besides, if we hadn’t done something, those two never would have told each other they had feelings for one another. And I don’t think I could’ve taken much more of George’s whining about her. ‘Oh Fred, I like her so much, her hair smells so good, do you think she likes me too?’ Merlin, it never stopped!”

“Do you think Y/N didn’t talk about him all the time too? ‘Do you think he noticed me in Qudditch today? Did you know George held my hand today?’ Honestly, it’s a miracle they were able to admit they had feelings to each other even with the plan. My god, they are so blind.”

“But the plan worked, sis. Mission accomplished.”

[hardman5509]

Secret Santa Project: Alice’s Amazing Holiday Bash

For @arumi-mangotroid under the banner of @touhousecretsanta

So I took a look at the pet peeves section and decided, hey...I could make a story around subverting these concepts! So I had some fun with this one. : >

Please enjoy!

Alice isn't the most social person in Gensokyo, she and pretty much anyone who had ever laid eyes on her knew this. She did like working alone on her various projects, just her and her thoughts to keep her company. And she did want people to respect her privacy and not barge into her home at some random moment for some random thing. That goes for you Marisa. Especially you Marisa.

But Alice isn't some social outcast! She scoffed out loud as she placed down some money to pay for her bill at the cafe she stopped at for a small break while in the middle of a shopping run. Nice spot of tea and some rice-cakes, but were the customers ever so rude! They were discussing rumors about her out loud, right behind her too! False rumors too!

Alice isn't a loner. She does attend some social events, mostly just the parties hosted at the Hakurei Shrine and that one time at the Scarlet Devil Manor...and that would be the only time in the latter's case. She just likes being alone, she's not in love with it! These people in the village think she's the patron saint of edgy loners! She's not some bratty teenager!

And that other rumor...ooh that other rumor! She's not a tsundere!

...far from it too. If not for Marisa's habit of sticky fingers, then Alice might consider just moving in with her. But people saw her being both annoyed and in love with Alice...which is true, but that's about the same with everyone in Marisa's life really. Some more or less so than others for those two qualities. One could turn Marisa's cluttered mess of a home into a museum of Gensokyo history of the last few years. Akyuu had been spending a lot of time as a matter of fact!

And that doesn't annoy Alice! Every girl in Gensokyo has come by Marisa's pad by this point. Not to hit on her or do something romantic; they just wanted their stuff back!

But no, she and Marisa are (maybe, possibly, hopefully) pursuing a romantic relationship, so Alice must be jealous. She has to be a tsundere! That really...

Alice took a stop in her furious walk to try and calm herself down. This isn't helping matters. People are walking by, humans and youkai alike, and discussing her in hushed whispers. She's getting angry, they're saying about her. Must be going through a rough patch with that thieving magician, they discussed out quiet-like. “Probably annoyed she has to be around people NOT as smart as her.” Someone just used their normal voice to talk about her.

Well, time to fix that! Alice put on a confidant smile as she pumped her fists. She's going to show everyone that she's NOT any of those qualities! She's going to throw the best Christmas party ever! At her own house, no less! She's just needs to clean her place up, move all of her special projects to a locked room, get some decorations and some party favors, and send some invites out to the more restrained people of Gensokyo.

...okay, nothing too crazy. She doesn't want to have a bunch of onis running around all drunk in her home and workshop. So just regular fruit punch and no wine or any alcohol. She might need to hire a bodyguard to watch the door and prevent any contraband from entering. Okay she had already gone too far with the preparations. She needed to keep this nice and simple.

She got this. She's going to run the best party ever!

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

Alice sighed as she examined her house. All of the material relating to magic and/or puppets had been cleared off the way and stored into the other rooms of her house. A big deal of cleaning up would have to be done after the party; no way she's going to be able to sleep in her own bed until she did so.

The tables of her house were now decorated with various foods that Alice had procured for the party; both the legal method of buying them up or the method of using magic as a shortcut. She had to buy the things that she realized would require more effort on her part to summon. Various cheese-related products ranging from cubes to cracker-size cuts, chocolates of all different sizes and shapes, several different bowls of punch, and the most important thing for a party: a ice statue of a certain fairy who is absolutely not invited to this little party.

There's some nice music playing. The lights are dimmed down. Alice clapped her hands together. It's perfect.

And there's the doorbell! Amazing invention she had picked up at that junk shop. It allowed her to prepare for visitors by giving her a few more seconds to at least a full minute to actually get ready. Her first visitor! Who is it going to be...

“Howdy Alice!” Waved Marisa as she walked into the house, carrying some bottle-shaped wrapped gift. “Looks like I'm early...” She settled the gift down onto a empty table. “So...” Marisa sighed as she clutched onto her hat, tugging on it. “I think it's a time for me to go ahead and...”

“No, no!” Alice waved her hands around. “Don't strip! Don't strip!”

“What?” Marisa batted a eye over to her. “Nah, I'm just going to...do this!” Marsia started to spin around on the spot, some glittering sparkles starting to shoot all over the area. She's doing some...sort of transformation? Alice couldn't believe she's going to do this! Marisa's body became dominated by a powerful glow of light that forced Alice to look away.

Man, this party hasn't even really started and it's already getting off on a great start. Alice felt like letting out a squeal of pure unadulterated happiness. Marisa is going to be some sexy Santa baby! ...that's what those magazines from the Human World were talking about.

And as the light faded and Alice could see again, she looked on to see...Marisa in a red and green version of her usual witch's outfit, with some dangly Christmas lights strewn around her hat going off at random intervals. “Ta-da!” Marisa announced as she showed off her rather tacky dress. “I've been working on this transformation spell just for parties like this.”

“Oh.” Alice clicked her tongue. She...really didn't like it. She honestly expected something more a bit more interesting; like a magical girl from those other magazines she had been buying from that pawn store. Man, most of her money is going into buying random magazines. She had one hidden around here about something called 'guns'...useless things really.

“I'm going to show this to everyone that comes here.” Marisa flexed her own 'guns' (Equally useless) before going to hit on the cheese platter and not on the host. This has gone down a weird path. Alice held back from clicking her tongue. Okay, nothing really bad happened so far. Just something annoying. Keep a cool head, Alice.

The door-bell went off again. Next guest! Potentially guests. Alice did hear some footsteps coming from outside. She went over to the door and opened it up to find two people: Suika Ibuki and Reimu Hakurei. Or rather, in an weird turn, Reimu is drunk and Suika is dragging her by the arm. “Yo!” Suika announced as she took Reimu inside; Reimu somehow almost tripping despite the

“Reimu got blitzed already?” Alice asked with a gasp. “What happened?”

“Well...” Suika waved her free hand around. “I might have tried to get Reimu to loosen up before going to this party...”

“Heathens, the lot...” Reimu started to splutter out before her voice quietened down and she started to slump. Alice turned her head to see if Reimu had somehow fallen asleep on her feet. Suika gave the shrine maiden a slap on the back, a gentle one. Enough to make Reimu jump and for her to continue: “...I purify 'ya...” Reimu continued as she stumbled across the room.

“She ended up downing a entire keg.” Suika sighed while shrugging. “I'll make sure she controls herself.” She said that right before Reimu picked up the first bowl of punch and lifted it up to her mouth to try and down it all in one gulp. “After this!” Suika flashed a worried smile before she jumped forward to go and yank Reimu away from drink.

Okay, now it's time for her to start panicking. Alice almost considered pulling out a spell card to go ahead and blow everyone out and consider the party a wash. Hey...hey. She's learning. Next year, or just the next time she decides to throw a party, she's going to do better. No annoying party tricks and just kicking out drunk people...

...well, she would kick out Reimu, but Alice didn't want to piss off the shrine maiden. The last time she did that...Alice didn't want to think about it. Sometimes, when she looks into a mirror, she sees the mark of the yin-yang symbol all over her exposed flesh.

Door-bell! Next guest! Please be normal! Please be normal!

“Yuuka?” Alice asked as the green-haired girl stepped into her parlor. The flower-loving youkai had her usual pattern of her faded-black and red plaid, but this one...is an actual Santa baby outfit. Low-cut to show off her belly, skirt and black leggings, and even a plaid Santa cap. But really, Yuuka just dressed this way to show off her shapely body...despite the thin layer of snow and the thick layer of cold wind present all over Gensokyo.

“Yup, it's me.” Yuuka dug a finger into her ear and dug it around. “Medicine couldn't come due to her going to that other shrine up the mountain, so she gave me her invite.”

Alice almost, almost, made a retort about not inviting Yuuka due to her rather...poor relationship skills with others. Reimu and Marisa she's fine with...despite Yuuka having originally sent an army to tear down the Hakurei Shrine when they first met...aaannnddd Marisa having 'borrowed' quite a number of Yuuka's skills.

But why is Yuuka dressed like that?

“Oh, this?” Yuuka whistled as she stood still, doing a little and slow spin to show off her body. And Alice thought for a second that Yuuka is pushing out her chest and her ass...to try and seduce someone? Most of these people are 'accounted' for! “I just wanted to show off how 'friendly' I am.”

“Friendly...” Alice questioned before going wide-eyed. “Are you trying to hit on people?” Yuuka nodded. “You're looking for a one-night stand.” Yuuka pursed her lips, looked off to the side, and then nodded. “Please tell me you're taking them home before...”

“I don't have a house or a bed.” Yuuka shrugged. “So I'll be commandeering either your bed or your couch...your couch have a bed?” Yuuka asked as she went over to the couch so she could examine it.

“Hey, hey!” Alice protested as she scooted past the lumbering Reimu. “This isn't this kind of a party! This is a nice get-to-together...”

“That's nice being nice.” Yuuka admitted as she threw away the cushions. “Shoot, it isn't a bed...”

“Why do you think I will allow this?” Alice actually got a bit angry and confronted Yuuka, grabbing ahold of the woman's arm to yank her away from the couch. This turned out to be a mistake as the moment Alice's fingers even touched against Yuuka's arm, the air in the room suddenly took on a very...violent aura. Yuuka didn't even need to do anything, just her sheer presence of anger convinced Alice to let go.

“Eh, I think this is the best way to try and make friends.” Yuuka commented on as she walked over to a locked door. “I heard that from a human that was picking flowers out of my garden. I let him go...” Alice didn't bother feeling relaxed upon hearing that; let's hear the rest of the statement first. “...but not before he helped tended my fields.”

Alice breathed easily. “And then I ate him.” Alice then groaned.

“Look.” Alice stated after wiping her brow, somehow already stained with sweat. “Having sex is a deeply intimate thing between usually two people, it's not just find someone and then get to a bed...”

“Actually, that's just one way of doing it.” Marisa suddenly appeared from behind Alice to rest a arm across the shoulders. “Sometimes I do it myself, you know, to have some fun when nothing else is going on.”

“...with whom?” Alice just had to ask, right before the doorbell rang. She groaned, raised a finger to put this 'enlightening' conservation on hold so she could greet the next guest. Who could this be, and what sort of headache will they bring to the party.

“Yo.” Greeted Patchouli with a weak wave of her hand. “I have arrived.”

“With a important guest.” Announced the little Remilia, all proud-like as she walked past her librarian and into the house. “And now the party has reached a new level of class!”

“I apologize.” Patchouli bowed. “She refused me to come unless I brought her.”

“Okay...” Alice shuddered as she clenched down on the bridge of her nose. “And where's Sakuya then? I sincerely think she wouldn't allow Remilia to go without her...”

“Babysitting Flandre.” Patchouli shrugged. “Someone has to do it.”

“Oh hey.” Marisa approached Alice...rather slowly and rather awkwardly. “Patchouli...”

“Sorry, I'm here with Remilia.” Patchouli waved to her mistress, currently prodding the somewhat comatose Reimu. Suika seemed to be looking around for a dolly or something to move Reimu around. “I best prevent her from doing anything...idiotic...” She started to mumble something as she went over to pry her mistress off the shrine maiden.

Alice went over to an empty corner of the house and started to take a series of deep breathes. She's not a tsundere, she's not a tsundere, she's not a tsundere! But right now, she's starting to feel like one...even though she already knows that Marisa is a bit of a lay-about, it's just having this information being blatantly displayed right in front of her is really annoying her!

...but she cannot blame anyone but her, she did invite Patchouli. She can complain however about Remilia going around and smugly thumbing her nose all over the place. She had started to talk with the ignored Suika about how Suika is basically a hobo, with Suika clearly trying to break away and look after Reimu.

...speaking of which...

Alice turned towards the table with the punch, and saw Reimu downing down the last bowl. Alice should really go over and knock out the drunk shrine maiden...but Suika might take that the wrong way. Well, whatever. Reimu is actually drinking the stuff down and no-one else seemed interested...hey, speaking of Suika...

“Suika.” Alice pointed to a weird-looking deer-shaped vase that she just noticed that Suika has been carrying around the entire time. “What is that?”

“This is booze.” Suika swung the vase around. It looked...so jarring. To both Gensokyo and to the mood of the party. Okay, a deer-shaped vase would be perfect to a Christmas party, but the current mood is currently chaotic. “Want some?” Suika pointed the nose of the vase to Alice. Alice immediately got a huge whiff of sour grapes. Onis just love any booze, regardless!

“No, no!” Alice protested as she clenched her nose shut and walked away, bumping into Patchouli. “Sorry...” Alice apologized as she backed away again, this time away from anyone.

“ASSAULT!” Reimu pretty much burped out. She whipped out her gohei, proceeding to strike out against anyone. Yuuka, who had been casing the joint at her own leisure ever since Marisa overtook the conservation, effortlessly dodged the swinging paper, but everyone else wasn't so lucky. Marisa got smacked across the head, causing the lights across her body to flicker on and off. Remilia got hit as well and started to cower behind Patchouli. Suika took her blow well, pretending to faint to avoid further trouble. And Alice?

Alice got hit several times. She had to cover her head as Reimu rained down blow after blow, trying to use the gohei more of a hammer than a ward. Alice started to run around the room, trying and failing to avoid taking blows to her head. Reimu just seemingly didn't want to stop for any reason. And Alice looked around, hoping that someone would come to her rescue.

But nobody did. Not for a full three minutes. What it took is for Reimu to fall over drunk-asleep on the floor. Alice rubbed her sore, sore head. It honestly felt like she had a mountain of bumps on top of her head. The rest of the party just worked around her, besides Suika, who attended to Reimu and moved her onto the couch after she returned the cushions to it. Alice decided to go ahead and do the most logical thing one should do.

Scream.

“OUT!” She pointed to the door. “EVERYONE!”

“But I've been here for less than ten minutes.” Patchouli shrugged.

“LEAVE!” Alice stomped over to the door, kicked it open, not even caring that she just tore out the top bolt. “Just leave, and let me clean up.”

“Yeah.” Yuuka breathed out as she tossed away the glass of punch, the one surviving thing of punch in the house...and that glass is actually made out of glass, so it shattered against the floor. “No not babes, no hot guys, and the bed is too small for what I have planned.” She thumbed over to the door leading into the bedroom. “Yeah, I also threw off the sheets. Sorry, but I got to go...” Yuuka shrugged and left the house.

“Same.” Suika pursed her lips as she retrieved the hopefully comatose Reimu. “Sorry about this. She's...” Suika started to nervously laugh as she shook around on the spot. “...just having a bad day.”

“Bad day.” Alice merely replied in the dullest voice she could muster. “Bad day.” She commented again in the same tone of voice. Suika nervously chuckled as she shuffled herself out of the door.

“I'll just go home too.” Patchouli stated as she reached out and took ahold of Remilia's hand. Remilia, who really hadn't done much, followed right behind Patchouli. At least they left civilly, unlike the last guest that just stuck around and started to shovel cheese into both of her mouth and into her pockets.

Alice beamed knives at Marisa as she approached the witch, her lights still going off. “Are you going to leave?” Alice asked in the same and dead tone she now adopted.

“Well...?” Maria questioned. “I think you would like some company on a cold night like this.”

“I don't want company, I want to be left alone.” Alice told.

“Oh?” Marisa gave her hips a bit of a shake. “You sure?”

“Certain.” Alice told as she flapped her arms at her sides. “Look, if you want to go around and call me a tsundere or a loner, go ahead.” She turned around and examined the damage. The punch bowls had been drained, and two of them had been thrown onto the floor. The food had remained mostly untouched outside of Marisa's borrowing, and the ice statue's head had been shattered, leaving the thing to melt. Most likely Yuuka doing that as revenge for some that the statue's model had done in the past. “What a mess.”

“Eh, still somewhat more controlled than Reimu's parties.” Maria shrugged as she placed a hand around Alice's shoulders. “But hey, it's Gensokyo, you cannot control how people act or do their usual things. You tried to throw a rocking party, and it failed not because of you, but because of how Gensokyo runs.”

“Yeah..” Alice sighed as she looked down. “I guess I should just leave the parties to the really powerful people...the ones that have more of a presence, more friends, and more power...”

“Nah, small parties are good to have as well.” Marisa told as she both interrupted Alice and placed a kiss on Alice's cheek. That sent a shockwave all across Alice's body that lead her to stand in place like a statue, her jaw slack, and her eyes wide as a powerful blush cam over her face. “And while you do act like tsundere and a loner...” Marisa nudged Alice in the arm with her elbow. “...I don't mind it!”

Alice...really should take out her anger on this rather stupid and insensitive witch. Yes, she likes being called those things alright and totally didn't throw this party to dispel those nasty rumors. Okay, thinking that in her head does make her realize that she does have some tsundere qualities...damn, totally not what she wanted to think right now.

...but hey. It is a cold night, and Marisa is offering to spend it with her. So, somewhat mission accomplished! The mess can wait until morning. Right now, there's only one thing she needs to do: open her bedroom door, put her bed together (Or not) and invite Marisa inside...oh, and to destroy that obxinous outfit of hers when she's not looking or sleeping.

...or perhaps to avoid people looking at her like a tsundere, she just won't do it. A new year's is coming up, so it's high-time she ditches the old thoughts and turns over a new leaf.

[tonystarktogo]

Finally, the second part of Part II: [Or read the whole chapter on AO3]

Most of Tony’s tech — the really good, impressive stuff that would be illegal to keep in your basement if anyone knew that Tony keeps it in his basement — is locked away in his workshop. A hidden room in the basement — because clichés have survived for a reason and Tony would build himself a laguna filled with flesh-eating piranha if he thought he could get away with it — that can only be accessed via a biometric scan, four separate passwords and a security question posed by JARVIS. [The answer to said question is irrelevant, considering acceptance depends on voice recognition, voice modulation and the fact that you have to sing your answer. Not that Tony is paranoid or anything but JARVIS.]

continues below the cut

But because Tony is a sensible person [and would rather carve out his own heart with a screwdriver than lead some unknown assassin with unclear motivations straight to his best, most precious inventions, his family] he’s stuck with the official computer in his office. It’s as up-to-date as can be, of course. Even has some nifty improvements and upgrades that probably violate some terms of agreement or another, but it’s still not the same thing. It can’t match JARVIS’ processing power, for one, and also, it doesn’t joke back. 

Tony has nothing if not high expectations when it comes to his tech.

The USB stick Agent-Definitely-Not-J has handed him is a bit of a nightmare — that’s the only bright side on this whole disaster of a night. Say what you want, but Tony delights in a challenge and the program on this USB stick presents him with one. There aren’t just multiple layers of encryption Tony has to crack, there’s also two separate failsafes in place that will wipe the information if triggered. It’s decent coding — again, Tony is a bit of a snob when it comes to these things — and makes good work of the onion concept. Tony could probably lose himself in this, play around a little with the code, see what else it can do, if he wasn’t hyper-aware of the armed asshole glowering at the screen over his shoulder.

Harry Tasker Version 2.0 doesn’t appear to be as fluent in coding as Tony is — few people are, and the guy wouldn’t be here in the first place if he didn’t need Tony’s help, that much is clear — but Tony suspects that he gets a lot more than he lets on. Not stupid, this guy. Not stupid at all.

It’s a shame his manners are a lost cause.

[There’s a gun aimed at the back of Tony’s head that he’s doing a marvelous job of pretending not to notice. Cleary, Red October has never learned how to play nice. Still, this isn’t the first time Tony’s been held at gunpoint. It’s not even the first time someone has been stupid enough to threaten Tony in his own home. And he would have retaliated already, except— 

If Steve’s really in trouble — is dead — then Tony needs to know. Getting the information home-delivered is a lot easier and less traceable than alternative methods he’d have to use. And besides just because you have a few aces up your sleeve doesn’t mean you shouldn’t play along when it suits you. Because contrary to what Mister Stane liked to accuse him of, Tony is anything but stupid. This James guy has shown up out of the blue, grief and fury at war in his eyes, but that doesn’t mean anything. That doesn’t mean James might not be the person that killed Steve — or is currently hunting him.]

“Who was Steve working for?” Tony asks eventually, leans back into his seat with a sigh and watches his latest program work its magic.

Wannabe-Bond has been careful not to let any names slip so far. On the one hand, that seems like a sensible precaution, if what Tony suspects turns out to be true. [There’s many ABC agencies civilians aren’t supposed to know more about than the occasional rumor or scandal. And then there’s SHIELD, the governments’ preferred way of keeping their hands squeaky clean and burying all their ugly secrets and inconvenient truths in the seedy underbelly of an organization that doesn’t even exists. Not that Tony would know anything about that one, of course.] On the other hand, the truth will likely come out anyway once Tony gets his hand on the data on this stick. And there’s no question that he will get the data— only how long it will take him and how hard he’ll have to work for it.

Tony can feel the Mission-Impossible-Character’s calculating stare on the back of his head, measuring him. He refuses to turn around and meet those cold eyes. It’s easier to keep his voice even when he doesn’t. 

“You don’t want to know.”

And well, that’s not exactly an answer that inspires confidence in you. It’s also a pathetic threat as far as those go. Tony narrows his eyes. If there’s one thing that ticks him off, it’s not being taken serious. So this is how you wanna play it, big boy? Fine. Let’s play.

Opening another three taps almost simultaneously, Tony starts typing again. Faster this time. He switches back and forth between the different programs — most of them trying to isolate the program on the USB stick, ensuring that it doesn’t do anything, attacking the outer layers of the encryption. One of them though is a tiny program Tony has designed to be compatible with every computer system he could think of — and all it really does is communicate with JARVIS. Because, as Tony likes to remind Rhodey regularly, what’s the point in building Skynet if you don’t have it on your side? For some reason, his bet friend doesn’t find that joke as funny as Tony. But then Rhodey knows him better than most people— knows what he can do.

"What’cha doin’?" Wannabe-Bond’s drawled question interrupts Tony’s internal ramblings. He does’t look interested in the answer though, isn’t even looking at the screen any longer. Though where he pulled the knife from that he’s flipping around with his left hand, Tony doesn’t want to know.

"What does it look like I’m doing?" 

The words come out too sharp, too harsh. A testament to his fraying nerves perhaps. Either way, Tony bites his lip, but refuses to take them back. He’s not a pushover, and it takes more than a home visit from an assassin to change that. Besides it’s not like spending time with Steve felt anything less than juggling flamethrowers while standing ankle-deep in gunpowder.

"Are you all bark or can you actually back that big mouth of yours up?" Killer-Cat asks. The fun part is that he doesn’t look angry, just curious. He’s still playing with that knife, twisting and spinning it around his fingers. There’s a not-quite-smile on his lips that looks out-of-place— or maybe out-of-practice. Tony wouldn’t know. He’s leaning against the wall next to Tony’s desk, all loose lines and relaxed muscles. It’s probably not a coincidence that he’s also blocking the door that way.

Not that Tony would use the door if he wanted to get away.

"Let’s hope you won’t have reason to find out," Tony snipes back, not once stopping to type. It’s one thing to play games with an isolated program — though that does require his attention, he doesn’t have JARVIS to secure it, has to do the legwork himself — it’s another to simultaneously coordinate a hack with his precious JARVIS without tipping the trigger-happy time bomb he calls his guest off.

On the bright side, it’s still a challenge. Tony loves challenges.

*

Gaining access to the data on the stick is a painfully slow-going process. It’s far from impossible — Tony doesn’t think the security measures were meant to keep anyone with decent programming abilities out, only to slow them down — but without JARVIS to take over the boring parts, the process drags on. It’s not that Tony can’t do it, but he’s forgotten how much he relies on JARVIS for the parts he doesn’t want to be bothered with.

Oh well, this is still preferable to introducing Double-0-Nothing to JARVIS. Tony would have to kill afterwards — and he doesn’t think the murder strut would suit him as well as his quiet companion.

To be honest, it’s the silence that’s bothering Tony more than the tedious coding or even the fact that he has a killer in his home. [Ha! Like that’s new.] Tony doesn’t do well with silence. There’s a reason the radio is always turned up when he’s working, rock music echoing from the walls, hard enough to envelop him in sound. And it’s not because he aims to be deaf at fifty, no matter how many pointed comments Pepper throws his way.

Still. Two bottles of coca cola — fresh out of the refrigerator this time — and fifteen variations of "Are you done yet?" later, Tony pulls up the files on the stick.

"Well…" he says slowly, not sure what exactly it is that he’s seeing.

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Wannabe-Bond jerk around. The next moment, he’s leaning over Tony’s shoulder, his cheek almost brushing against Tony’s, gaze flickering over the different documents that Tony keeps on opening.

"Mission logs." The murmur is barely audible, but nonetheless distracts Tony from his internal musings of the pretentious secret agents’ smell — a little like dried sweat, a little like rain, a little something else entirely.

He’s right. But that isn’t everything. Oh no. Some of the documents have been scanned, others photographed. Some bear SHIELD’s insignia, some are signed by officials — some names Tony recognizes, most he doesn’t — some have no official capacity. Notes. Scribbles. Sketches. Pictures. Security footage.

Tony inwardly thanks the gods for his eidetic memory as he shifts through the stream of data. Someone would probably kick up a fuss about what is clearly sanctioned kill orders for a couple of high-up foreign politicians, but what really makes Tony twitchy is that none of it is blackened. The agents involved. The addresses of SHIELD’s offices. The handlers. The victims.

It’s all there, black on white. The sort of information a white hat hacker would sell his soul for — and so would a black or grey hat, now that he thinks about it.

"This makes no sense," Jamie McJameson says after they’ve scrolled through a dozen more reports — everything from a psychiatric evaluation of Barton, Clint after a level 7 mission in Luisiana of all places to an order for new pencils by Hill, Maria, personal assistant of Director Pierce.

Tony isn’t sure he agrees. It’s certainly nothing dramatic like he half-expected — evidence for a huge conspiracy that has been working towards turning the entire US into a totalitarian regime, for example — but. 

Information is a tricky business. It doesn’t always reveal its true value at first glance.

"That’s a lot of sensitive information," Tony states. Because Are you sure it isn’t worth killing someone? seems like an impolite thing to ask outright, considering the circumstances.

Wannabe-Bond shakes his head, too long hair flying everywhere. "It’s not enough."

"If you say so."

Maybe the case isn’t up to his usual escapades? Imagine spending your whole life living in an action thriller, only for your friend to get killed over a mundane robbery. That would drive Tony mad for sure.

Tony is about to suggest they run a couple analysis programs, see if something stands out or any information has been embedded in the data — the photos maybe, you never know — when he notices something odd in the meta data. 

"Wait." Tony narrows his eyes and leans closer towards the screen. "All these files are copies and they’ve all been created at the same time — two weeks ago, on Thursday."

It’s the kind of odd JARVIS would’ve pointed out within moments of accessing the stick, but Tony tries not to think too hard about that. Steve would forgive him for not investigating his apparent death with his full capacity. Probably. It’s hard to say, Tony and Steve spent most of their time together arguing.

"Someone pulled all this data on the same day?" The furrow between Fake-James’ eyebrows deepens.

"Looks like it. And not just the same day, within the same three hours. I— Oh." Tony bites his bottom lip. 

"Oh?" There’s a dark undercurrent in Wannabe-Bond’s tone that one word that makes 'killer' sound real for the first time.

"It’s not all data, just the first part. There’s— bundles of it, I guess you could say." Tony murmurs, hands flying over the keyboard. "Around five gigabyte of it, dated from every Thursday of the last month." Tony skims a few more briefings, a budget plan, a handful of complaints for inappropriate workplace behavior. "These files were copied from internal SHIELD servers. Maybe it’s not the information itself that’s valuable at all. Maybe—"

"SHIELD’s been hacked," his murderous guest states with a sort of calm certainty that sends a reflexive shudder down Tony’s back. "Repeatedly. That means-" He abruptly cuts himself off, lips white from how tight he presses them together.

Whatever it is that has just occurred to him, he doesn’t share and he sure as hell doesn’t look happy. So he does what Tony always does when he’s nervous: He babbles.

"It looks like they were just randomly copying stuff. Might not have even been a person at all, maybe an algorithm. But that implies that they’ve been in the system for a while."

"Can you find out who it is? Backhack them?"

Tony tilts his head. Considers it. "It depends. But to even attempt that, I’d first have to hack SHIELD myself."

Wannabe-Bond — because Tony is getting tired of trying to come up with new nicknames and he’s fond of this one — raises an eyebrow. It looks unfairly cool. Tony may or may not want to kick him in his stupid face for it. "So?"

"So I’m not hacking an international secret agency with half a dozen secret prisons across the world from my home computer," Tony says slowly, and yep, that’s a sentence he’d never thought he would say out loud. [Okay, there was that one time when he was fifteen and drunk, but they’ve all unanimously agreed that that was Loki’s fault.]

Wannabe-Bond crosses his arms, handsome features turned to stone and looking about as yielding.

"Let’s find another computer then," he says like it’s really that simple, and oh, Tony can see how Steve and this guy must get along. They’ve got the same brand of insane stubbornness that makes Tony want to run around in a circle screaming or alternatively ram his head against a wall.

Fucking wonderful.

[bastionkeeper]

I feel bad for my lack of updates lately so....

Here! I wrote this in @nonbinarydisaster ‘s dms because we were talking about an rk1k wedding, I neatened it up as much as my exhausted brain let me but it’s still very much a rough fic, regardless I offer it up to you readers for staying loyal during my hiatus <3 enjoy!  Full story under read more! Warning for vague descriptions of coatroom sex ;)

EDIT: forgot to mention but Nathan is what we call Nines and Serenade is an old oc from a different fic

“So, you freaking out yet?”

Connor turned to Hank, stopping with his constant struggle against the bow-tie that won't sit straight and the mirror that shows off every flaw of his suit. His partner was leaning in the doorway with a glass in hand, eyeing him up with a smile. Connor decided to deflect.

"Drinking already?" he asked, turning back to the mirror and fussing over his bow-tie again. "I'm not even married yet and you're already celebrating."

"It's a coke," Hank said, rolling his eyes. "But I'll be hitting that open bar as soon as you say 'I do' make no mistake about that."

Connor smirked, trying to fall back into the classic Hank and Connor banter instead of thinking about saying 'I do.'

"You're definitely freaking out, stop that," Hank sighed, setting his glass aside and slapping Connor's hands away from his tie. He straightened it effortlessly, and moved on to the rest of Connor's suit running his hands over it to smooth it out. "You look fine, Connor."

"I'll be having words with the tailor," Connor huffed.

"And those words will be 'thank you for dealing with my constant pestering,'" Hank said. "You're just nervous, the suit is fine. Lay off it before you work it to shreds."

Connor sighed and took a seat in a nearby chair. He could hear North and the others setting up downstairs, the balcony hid none of the sound even if the curtains hid the reception hall from sight. Connor is tempted to pull back the curtains and watch everyone work, but North gave him strict orders to stop bossing them around and go relax before the ceremony. He was supposed to be having a drink and taking some deep breaths, instead he was staring at his reflection and trying not to bolt.

"What if he deserves better than me...?" Connor said, wringing his hands and looking up at Hank with hunched shoulders and an uncertain gaze.

"S'not about deserve," Hank said, taking a sip of his drink. "He's stuck with you now, and he's happier for it. If you're both happy then stop worrying about deserve and just get on with it."

"As always, your advice brings me relief and confusion," Connor replied dryly, causing Hank to laugh.

"Kid, you've got a good thing here," he said. "Don't ruin it with fear. Just remember, you two have known each other years now. This day isn't a big deal, it's not even 'making it official' it's just a party and some words..."

"And an open bar," Connor remarked, earning another laugh.

"You two are together already, and this day is nothing more than a celebration of the fact," Hank said. "Just ignore all of us and tell him how you feel, alright?"

Connor takes a deep breath, feeling his overworked systems cool as he nods. "Thanks, Hank."

"Hey, it's what a dad's supposed to do when his kid gets married."

Connor heard Hank get choked up at that, and looked at him curiously. He saw Hank quickly wipe at his eyes and the sight made Connor beam.

"Are you...?"

"No, fuck you," Hank sniffed. "I'm gonna go get another fucking soda. I'll see you down there."

Connor let him go express his feelings in private, feeling bolstered by the teary eyed paternal joy.

When North comes to get him, bring him to his place, his anxiety is greatly lessened. It's still there of course, it stays with him the whole while Hank leads him up the aisle to wait for Markus's approach. It only vanishes when he sees him.

Markus looked good in clothes he fished out of a junkyard, so of course he looks breathtaking in an eight hundred dollar tux. Connor forgot himself for a moment and rushed down to meet him halfway, and only realized what he was doing when the crowd rumbled with laughter at his hurried kiss to Markus's temple. He blushed, but Markus laughed and kissed his hand, and then it was just the two of them again.

Markus held Connor's hands and promised him his love, his attention, and to stop splattering him with paint when he's in his good clothes. Connor promised Markus his love, his protection, and to lay off the schedules. A little bit. A slight reduction of about 13%

. Markus laughed a lot, his mismatched eyes crinkling in mirth and everytime he laughed Connor lost himself a little to this man he was going to be with forever. When they're told to kiss, Connor doesn't need to be asked twice. He dips Markus, who is clearly surprised by the passion, but gets his revenge by dipping Connor right back. Connor hears Hank and North wolf-whistle and sees Simon crying and clapping when they pull apart.

"I love you... so much," Markus breathed into his ear, something just for them to share.

There's a lot of applause, and eventually the wedding party all trails out. Nathan took his best man duties very seriously. It didn't matter that Connor never assigned one best man, just asked Nathan and Hank to be there for him (Markus claimed North or else she'd be on his side too), in Nathan's mind it was his job to part the crowd of well-wishers and get Connor and Markus to their table. He might have stood there like a bodyguard all night if Simon hadn't dragged him off to their table.

"Would you like something to drink, Mr. Manfred?" Markus teased. Connor tilted his head.

"I think I would, Mr. Anderson."

They had never decided on abbreviating or just keeping things as they were. Considering last names were a novelty for androids anyway, they had the luxury of time to decide.

Markus, as it turns out, didn’t even need to go get drinks because North kept the champagne and thirium coming with dutiful attention to their empty glasses. Connor also spotted her and Hank making mixed drinks of their own invention whenever they thought Connor was not looking, dumping mini bottles into already potent glasses. Connor let them have their fun, maybe it was the champagne making him dizzy or maybe it was Markus's hand on his leg but he couldn't really seem to care about anything but the man at his side right now.

They dance, and it's all careful programmed steps and showing off for the crowd. When they're alone they let their bodies move as they will, but both Markus and Connor like the way people ooh and aah at how they can move with precision and grace so they put on a little show.

The dance floor quickly fills up, Hank takes North for a spin and Connor is surprised to see Nathan is convinced to dance at least three times by Simon, Markus, and Serenade. He shoots his brother a smile, and is pleased to see him scowl back with a faint blush as each dance partner makes him loosen up and have fun for once.

Hank managed to give a speech with minimal tears, though he did wave his glass around a lot. North cut in on his time, stealing the microphone and calling Connor "her main bitch" and Markus "the best ex turned friend a bot could ask for." Connor pretended to boo them away, pleased at the middle fingers they flashed him and embarrassing stories they told. Nathan gives a much more formal speech, but by the end of it he's crying a little and Connor has to come hug him until he's less overwhelmed. Nathan holds him tight and swears a Hankish amount of times.

Eventually, Markus's hand on his leg grew higher and higher, and both androids found themselves flush with alcohol and newlywed passion as they snuck off to be alone.

"And where do you think you two are going?" North asked, making them both jump with surprise in the nearly empty hallway.

"...breath of fresh air?" Markus says just as Connor says "looking for Hank."

"Hank's sobering up in the bathroom," North said, jerking her head in the direction of the coat closet.

"So, you better take that instead. I'll play lookout for exactly fifteen minutes and then I'm going back to drinking the old man under the table."

Connor doesn't care whose coats they're sending scattering to the floor when he pushes Markus up onto a counter. He pulls his husband's tie free with his teeth and... oh, his husband. He likes the sound of that.

They make love, Markus with a hand over Connor's mouth to keep him quiet, both of them grinning like idiots when they aren't pressing kisses to exposed skin or gasping for breath.

Connor remembers saying "mine now," a few times, much to Markus's delight. He's embarrassed post orgasm, but Markus just laughs and peppers his face in kisses.

"And you have the papers to prove it," he ribbed playfully while Connor covered his face.

"It's the champagne talking," he groaned.

"I sure hope it's not, Mr. Manfred," Markus said, kissing Connor deep.

"We've used up our fifteen minutes, Mr. Anderson," Connor reminded him as Markus pulled Connor's lip with his teeth.

They leave the coatroom wearing each others ties and tucking their shirts back in. Their first argument as a married couple is spent giggling as Connor demands Markus fix his sex mussed hair, as he is too wasted to do so properly. Markus refuses, says he looks cute and that he wants people to see. Connor says that's a terrible idea, but flushes proudly regardless.

"Connor!" Hank says when they come back to the party, throwing arms around both grooms. "Markus! I'm so fucking happy for you two."

"I'm pretty happy myself, sir," Markus laughs, before North drags Hank off again. Connor and Markus take their seats and watch as Nathan is mobbed by children who all want a turn riding on his shoulders.

"You think he's next?" Connor asked, gesturing to Nathan.

"He's good with kids, not long before someone snatches him up," Markus said with a chuckle. "I know a dozen or so androids begging for the chance."

"Well they'll have to get my approval first," Connor huffed. Markus kisses him, and Connor kisses him back and it's been minutes before they stop kissing and laughing so caught up in the moment.

"Eat your cake, you were so excited about it," Markus teased.

"No," Connor growled, nipping at Markus's ear.

"Eat your damn cake!" Markus laughed again, dabbing his finger in some icing and smearing it on Connor's lips. Connor licked it off, and pretended to scowl at Markus, all the while just taking him in. He was so beautiful, Connor just wanted to stare at him forever.

Connor’s not entirely sure how they got home when he wakes up the next morning. He’s dimly aware of him and Markus arguing over who got to carry who over the threshold, and the ensuing wrestling turned affection that came from it. Other than that the night has blurred into North’s loyal drink refilling and Markus’s beautiful eyes.

Connor turned in bed to look at the android in question, finding him slumbering peacefully in rest mode. He took note of the ring on the hand splayed across the pillow, pride and joy both rising in his chest as he eyed it over.

“You’re staring pretty hard,” Markus mumbled, not so asleep after all. Connor laughed sheepishly, snuggling closer to press a kiss to Markus’s nose.

“How do you know what I’m doing with your eyes closed like that?” he said.

“I’m your husband, I know everything,” Markus said back, yawning to cool biocomponents warmed from inaction under a warm blanket.

“That so, Mr. Anderson?”

“It is, Mr. Manfred.”

[kindofchaoticgood]

Let Me Tell You a Tale where Justice Does Not Prevail

“You can’t do this.”

“I already have, Mr. Hook,” Fairy Godmother says firmly, though she’s starting to get unnerved by how murderous Harry looks. “The schedules have already been set—”

“Fuck that!” Harry snarls, slamming his hands down on her desk. “You told me I couldn’t wear my hook in class, I accepted that. But making sure that Uma and I don’t have any classes together? That’s low, even for your lot.” A dark sneer curls his lips. “What, are ye worried that we’re plotting against the kingdom or something?”

“No, that is not the reason that we decided to separate you two,” Fairy Godmother retorts, trying to keep her voice calm and measured. Though that was most of the teachers concerns . . . “I already told you, the school psychologist thinks that you and Miss Triskelion have an unhealthy co-dependence upon each other—”

“I don’t give a damn about your psycho-babble,” Harry hisses so venomously, that Fairy Godmother instinctively leans back. “And I especially don’t give a rats arse what anybody else thinks is best. Put us together.”

Fairy Godmother gives up on trying to have a neutral expression and scowls at him. “I’m sorry, but we’ve made our decision, and you’ll just have to accept that.”

Harry glares at her so darkly that it makes her itch to have her wand in her hand, but the boy merely warns, “You’ll regret this,” before storming out of the room, red coat billowing behind him.

“I’m sure I won’t,” Fairy Godmother mutters as soon as he’s out of earshot. A flicker of unease lights up in her stomach, but she dismisses it. Harry Hook is just a teenage boy with a crush. She has dealt with them before, and he is no different.

This will all be fine.

***

It’s not fine.

Harry insists on walking Uma to every class, and so each morning, Auradon Prep is treated to the sight of Harry carrying his bag and Uma’s while Uma launches into a speech about feminism and how chivalry is just an idea invented by the patriarchy, so put down her bags, Harry, or else.

Usually, this ends up with Uma chasing Harry and trying to get her bag back while he races ahead of her and taunts her.

“Come on, darling, you don’t want to be late to class!”

“Your class is literally on the other side of the school, you idiot.”

All of this results in Harry strolling into class five minutes late every morning, and then bolting from the room five minutes early so he can sprint across the quad and meet Uma as her class ends.

The first time he does this, Uma walks out the door and sees Harry trying to lean casually against the wall to disguise his ragged breathing.

She gives him a disapproving look as he grins brightly at her. “Walk you to class, love?”

Uma sighs, pulls out her water bottle, and tosses it at him. “You’re such a moron,” she complains as Harry immediately downs half the contents of the bottle.

“Mr. Hook, please just step into class,” Professor Selwyn says tiredly, eyeing them wearily from behind her desk.

“No can do, teach,” Harry replies indifferently, slinging his arm around Uma’s shoulders. “I’m putting all of that chivalry bullshit to work – we can’t let young ladies walk all by themselves across the quad, can we?”

Selwyn rolls her eyes. “I’m sure Miss Triskelion is more than capable of walking across the quad by herself without your assistance.”

“I have been told I have weak ankles,” Uma says with an evil smile. “I might trip and fall, and then where would I be?” she casts a mock-sad glance down at her heels, which elevate her off the ground by at least five inches.

Harry shakes his head solemnly. “Miss, I cannot in good conscience let her risk herself so recklessly.”

Uma gives him a surprised grin. “You’ve been studying the vocab?”

“Doug made me flashcards,” Harry admits, and then snatches Uma’s bag out of her hands. “Just let me get that for you—”

“Give me my bag!” Uma protests, grabbing for the strap of her messenger bag, but Harry shakes his head.

“No way, you might break your fragile arms or something—”

“You little bitch—” Uma yanks the bag out of Harry’s hands and takes off with surprising speed for someone wearing heels. Harry chases after her, yelling, “This is not what chivalry is about!”

Selwyn thinks longingly of winter break and the ski trip that her wife Diana is always insisting that they should take, and briefly considers locking the door so the irritating boy won’t be able to get in when he comes back. Gods knew he wouldn’t care.

When Fairy Godmother calls Uma to her office to ask her to encourage Harry to stop walking her to class, the girl fixes her with a cool stare and reminds her that it was their decision to not let Harry in any of her classes, and that she cannot control him. She concludes this by telling her coldly that even if she could control him, she would never do it for something as sweet as this.

“Him walking me to class is one of the only nice acts that has happened to me in my life, are you really going to take that away from me?”

So she is forced to let the walking to class continue, but tells the teachers that they should not refrain from any sort of punishment, since he is breaking the rules, after all.

Harry racks up ten detentions over the course of the week due to his tardiness and leaving early, and he pins the angry pink slips to the door of the room that he shares with Doug. The dwarf’s son sighs when he sees it, but doesn’t do anything else. Harry might leave his clothes everywhere and snore all night long, but he once threatened to punch Chad after he had mocked Doug’s short stature, so the pirate is alright in his book.

Fairy Godmother is convinced that detention will be enough of a threat to make Harry behave, because if even Mal tries to stay on the straight and narrow to avoid detention, baking with Merryweather will break his spirit into small pieces and leave it whimpering sadly on the floor. (Dear Gods, she has been hanging around too many villain children.)

However, baking obviously doesn’t scare Harry as much as it does Mal. He slips marijuana into the batch of cupcakes that he and Merryweather bake, and no one finds out until it is much too late, and Merryweather has released a stampede of unicorns into the school.

(Trying to take away unicorns from a group of twelve year olds led by Dizzy Tremaine had not been fun.)

(Nor had the situation been made any better when Uma started insisting that the place where they were sending the unicorns was known for animal experimentation.)

(She has never seen Chad Charming so passionate about anything in his life than when he was arguing with her about animal experimentation and threatening to call his lawyers if she didn’t send the unicorns to good homes.)

Harry has to sweep up all of the glitter and rainbow dust, but even that punishment backfires because the next day, two of Uma’s crew, Ashe and Sierra, are selling objects covered in rainbow glitter that they claim have been blessed by unicorns.

So that has to be stopped immediately, because the children end up throwing the glitter-covered rocks at each other in order to activate their 'unicorn powers’.

It frustrates her that Harry isn't at all fazed by their punishments. When she orders him to assist the surly art professor in cleaning up the art wing, she is sure that this will make him compliant. Professor de Villiers has been known to make students cry with his scathing critiques and sharp comments, so she is sure that he will be significantly less trusting of Harry than Merryweather.

But when Fairy Godmother goes down to the art wing to see how they're progressing, she sees Harry painting a giant silver skull on the wall and she cannot repress a shriek of horror.

“What are you doing?”

Harry spins around, a smirk fixed on his face, but then a deep voice booms out, “Verity! I didn't know you would be joining us.”

The professor is walking towards them, holding a bucket of water and a huge paintbrush, and he walks over next to Fairy Godmother.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” He muses to Fairy Godmother, while she tries not to gape at him. “With a bit of refining, he could be almost as good as the princess of Corona.”

Harry scoffs. “Refining? Old man, this is street art, it doesn’t need to meet your approval,”

She half-expects de Villiers to open his mouth and swallow Harry whole, but he just laughs. “Ah, to be young and arrogant again, eh, Verity?”

Harry makes a rude gesture at de Villiers, and then they both grin at each other, which just seems to make the pounding in her head even stronger.

“B-but the w-walls -”

“Yes, it's wonderful, isn’t it? Instead of just hanging artwork on the walls, it would save paper and materials to simply just paint on the wall.”

Fairy Godmother can feel her magic fluttering nervously under her skin, but she makes sure to keep her voice strong when she says, “But a skull, Byron? I'm just not sure -”

“Nonsense,” de Villiers replies dismissively. “The students could stand to benefit from being exposed to different art styles, and Mr. Hook’s art is a prime example of that! In fact, I was thinking of taking him on as my apprentice for the year . . .”

As de Villiers continues to rave about Harry, Fairy Godmother looks at the boy. Harry raises an eyebrow at her smugly, as if to say see, I told you that you would regret this.

For the first time since she's started teaching at the school, Fairy Godmother seriously considers retirement.

It's going to be a long year . . .

[astro-b-o-y-d]

Intoxication (Chapter 2)

Everyone else at the camp goes on a hike, leaving Gwen and Daniel alone. Perhaps she can teach the cultist asshole how to have some real, non-murdery fun. [Read on Ao3]

"That was the best movie I've ever seen in my life."

"You've seen other movies?" Gwen asked.

"You've seen other movies!" Daniel said defensively, as he downed the last of the vodka in his bottle. "And none of them were probably as good as that one! Unless they had more deaths. You said the sequels had more deaths, can we watch those?"

Gwen let out a laugh. "I already told you, Campbell won't give us money for more DvDs."

Daniel reached over and pressed a finger to her lips. "No, shh, we have to watch the sequels. We...we have to!"

"We can't afford them," Gwen said with a giggle as she pushed his hand away.

Daniel felt silent for a moment, deep in thought. "We could sell something and use that money to buy more."

"Oh, yeah?" Gwen asked. "What could we sell?"

Daniel took another sip of vodka as his gaze traveled around the cabin. "...That radio. On the windowsill."

Gwen laughed again. "That old thing? It doesn't get any stations and David got one of his CDs stuck in it, so unless you know a hardcore fan of 'Pocketful of Sunshine', I doubt we'd get shit for it."

"Pocket of what now?" Daniel asked, raising an eyebrow.

Gwen looked at him in surprise. "Don't tell me you didn't listen to music during your cult days?"

"I listened to music," Daniel said. "But like...religious stuff."

Gwen's eyes widened as she rose to her feet and crossed the room. "Okay, okay, we have to fix that. Right now."

She stopped in front of the radio, and gave the on-switch a flick with her finger. The usual silence of the cabin was instantly broken by the peppy lyrics that poured from the speakers and Gwen did a giddy spin before she re-approached the couch. "Come on, Daniel, dance with me!"

Daniel made an attempt to push her away, but the smile on his face and the drunken giggles he attempted to hide behind the hand with his now-empty bottle were quick to give away his true intentions. "Nooo, dancing's illegal."

"Illegal?" Gwen asked.

"The..." Daniel raised a finger as if he were attempting to silence her again. "I...can't remember words. The...the ones. The ones who say it's illegal."

"Haha, you're drunk," Gwen said, and gently pressed a finger to his nose in a playful gesture. "You can't even remember what your Gods are called!"

Daniel gave her a pout and swiped her hand away. "You can't remember what they're called! Anyway, they said I can't dance. Because it's illegal."

"Hey...hey, Daniel?" Gwen said, her voice low as she leaned in close to his ear. "Hey, guess what?"

"What?" Daniel asked, his voice just as low.

"I won't tell if you don't," Gwen said, her words followed by a sneaky laugh.

"That sounds inappropriate," Daniel said, making a face.

"Ew, it does, doesn't it?" Gwen said. "That was an accident. But dancing's fun. Come on, dance with me. Be a rebel and break more of Papa Xemug's rules! Or...the Ancient Ones' rules...Look, I just want to fucking dance, okay?"

Daniel chuckled and let his empty bottle fall to the cabin floor as he rose to his feet. "Fine, but only because you were right about the movie and the alcohol being fun. Because those were really fun. But you have to promise me something if I dance with you."

"Yeah, alright."

Daniel leaned in close to her. "Never tell Gwen I said she was right," he said in a loud whisper. "She'll never let me live it down."

Gwen laughed and took his hands. "Deal!"

Daniel laughed in return as she began to spin with him to the beat of the song that was bursting from the radio's speakers. The motion was ridiculous and silly and the song peppy and annoying with lyrics to match, but Daniel could feel a rush of adrenaline swelling up inside him as the two of them danced around the cabin in a giggling mess.

It had to be the alcohol making him act so foolish. That would definitely explain the headache that had begun to form after the bottles of vodka he had consumed and the fact that his feet were suddenly not doing what he wanted them to do. But he continued to spin with Gwen to the beat of the catchy song that surrounded them, and even laughed with her as the two of them constantly stepped out of rhythm due to their inebriated state.

"God, you really do suck at dancing," Gwen said.

"I told you, we weren't allowed to do it!" Daniel protested. "God, we weren't allowed to do anything fun, were we? Except murder kids. That's fun. I really hate kids, Gwen."

"You're the worst, dude," Gwen said with a smile. "But you're actually kind of fun when you're drunk."

"And you're fun when you're not calling me names that are references I don't understand," Daniel said, smiling in return.

"What about when I'm insulting you for being a murderer?" Gwen asked.

"Oh, I don't care about that," Daniel said. "Murdering is great."

"You're the worst," Gwen said. "Wait, I said that already. And you said that, too."

"We're doing stuff we've done before?" Daniel's eyes went wide as he came to a stop. "Gwen, it's like that movie when the kid had a vision. Are we going to die?"

"Yes," Gwen said, her tone serious as she pulled him closer. "It's too late for us, pal. Death will be knocking on our door at any moment."

Daniel's eyes went wide as he held onto her shoulder. "Should we fight back?"

"We could," Gwen said. "Or...we could go to the Mess Hall and break into the secret snack stash that David and I have hidden from the campers. I don't know about you, but I don't want to die on an empty stomach."

"That's a good point," Daniel said as they approached the cabin door. "But what if death tries to get us before we reach the Mess Hall?"

"Well...then maybe we can throw the platypus at Death, while we run the other way," Gwen suggested.

"I like that idea," Daniel said. "I hate that little freak of nature almost as much as I hate kids."

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

"I love spray cheese. And vodka. I love spray cheese and vodka."

Gwen made a noise of agreement as she placed another piece of candy in her mouth. "Great combo. Whoever invented it is a genius."

"Smartest person ever..." Daniel said, and held the bottle of spray cheese up in the air above his head. "This is to the smart people. May they always be smart and...not dumb."

"Aw, man, we should have done this while we were watching the movie!" Gwen said with an unhappy groan. "Snacks? Drinks? Movies? That would have been so fun!"

Daniel looked over from his spot on the floor to the spot that Gwen had claimed. "I take it back, you're the smartest person ever."

"You wouldn't say that if you weren't hammered," Gwen said, and reached over to touch his face. "You'd be...you'd be killing kids."

Daniel chuckled softly. "Yeah, you're right. Did I say that killing kids was fun yet? It's so fun..."

"Yeah, like five times. Dickhead."

Daniel fell silent, his groggy stare back on the ceiling as the song that had been looping for God-knows-how-long continued to play. He had downed a few more bottles of vodka since the movie and their perilous quest to the Mess Hall for snacks (luckily, neither death nor the platypus had crossed their paths) and he was beginning to feel this odd, floating sensation that spread from his chest to his fingertips to his head and then to the rest of his body.

Was this how it felt to be drunk? Giggly, happy, floating... It was so odd to him, like the way he would behave when he wanted to trick children, only the feelings of giddiness weren't fabricated. Odd, but...not necessarily in a bad way.

The vodka had been a choice that had resulted in fun. The movie had been a choice that had resulted in fun. The dancing, the junk food...

Today had been...fun. Spending time with Gwen had been...fun. Or, at the very least, it had left him without that feeling of overwhelming annoyance towards her mere existence.

He looked over at her. "...Hey, Gwen?"

"Yeah, Drunky McMurder Pants?"

"You weren't even trying with that one," Daniel said with a giggle.

"Shut up, vodka makes my nickname game weak," Gwen said. "What did you want?"

"...You're smart," he said slowly.

Gwen looked over at him. "You said that already. I mean, I'm flattered, but..."

"No, I mean," Daniel continued. "You're smart. You have two degrees. You're a no-nonsense girl. Why work at a camp like this? I mean, this place is awful. But you have the choice to leave. So why don't you?"

Gwen was silent for a moment as she finished eating another piece of candy. "It's because the real world sucks, that's why."

Daniel raised an eyebrow and looked at her again. "Care to elaborate?"

"Gladly," Gwen said. "See, when it comes to being an adult in the real world, you're screwed from the moment you get out of high school. You want to go to college? You need a job to pay for everything. Want a job? You need college experience. Oh, but not too much, because then you're overexperienced. So the only jobs you can really get at that point are shitty retail and fast food ones, where everyone is rude and obnoxious and you can't tell them off for it, because then you'll lose your shitty job. And a shitty job is still better than no job, because at least you're getting somemoney."

She took a drink. "And then there's this fucking camp, where the owner is shady as all Hell and doesn't give two shits about who he hires, so long as they don't ask too many questions and they do their job. It seemed pretty ideal for someone fresh out of community college and stuck in that 'shitty retail and fast food job' loop. At least, that's what I thought until I actually got the job. Now I'm stuck here in the middle of some rundown camp and unable to get another job, no matter how hard I try."

"That sucks," Daniel said.

"It does, but not always," Gwen said. "I got one of the best and most supportive coworkers in the world, the kids are...alright when they want to be, and hey...I guess I now have a new drinking buddy, too. So there's some good things about this place."

"Buddy?" Daniel asked. "You really consider us friends?"

"It's an expression, dude," Gwen said. "I definitely wouldn't consider you my friend. But you are fun to drink with."

Daniel gave her a knowing smile. "Glad to hear we're on the same page. I don't need friends, but...today has definitely been fun. More fun than I've had in a long time."

"Well, I'm glad I could help," Gwen said with a smile. "Hey, how long has this song been playing?"

"I don't know," Daniel said. "It's annoying, though."

"Should I turn it off?"

"No, it's the best song ever!"

"Right?!" Gwen said. "It's so good!"

"So good!" Daniel repeated loudly. "Why is everything you've shown me today the best thing ever?"

"Because a lot of it was your first experience with music and movies outside of your religious stuff, so you have nothing else to compare it to?" Gwen guessed.

"...Yeah, probably," Daniel said.

"Hello? Gwen? We're back!"

Both lifted their heads and looked towards the cabin door at the sound of David's voice. "Aww, fun's over," Daniel whined as he sat up.

Gwen chuckled and rose to her feet. "Come on, we'd better go greet them."

"Do we have to?" Daniel whined. "Can't I just stay here on the floor? It's comfortable and my feet don't work when I try to walk."

Gwen laughed and offered a hand to him. "I'll help you. Come on."

With a pout, he took her hand and let her pull him to his feet. He snaked an arm around her shoulder and the two of them headed outside and around to the front of the cabin as David and the group approached from the hiking trail.

"Sorry we took so long," David said as they came to a stop before the cabin. "We hit a bit of a snag during the hike-"

"We got held hostage by rebel squirrels," Max said bitterly. "For FIVE. HOURS."

"Now, Max, 'held hostage' is a bit of an over-exaggeration," David said nervously. "But...yeah, the hike didn't go quite as expected."

"The squirrels tried to overthrow my rule," the Quartermaster said. "So I killed some of them to prove a point. Turns out that just makes them mad."

"Haha, I've been there!" Daniel said loudly, a wide smile across his face. "Too bad none of you died!"

Gwen snickered and pushed him. "Shut up, you can't say that, asshole!"

"You let me earlier!" Daniel whined.

"Yeah, well, I'm not letting you now!"

The group stared at them, looks of confusion on their faces. "Gwen, what's going on? Did everything go okay?" David asked uncertainly.

"Oh, yeah, we had the BEST time!" Gwen said happily. "I taught Danny Boy here how to have some fun!"

"David..." Daniel said slowly, as he let go of Gwen's shoulder and staggered towards David. "David...I know we've had our differences, but I just want you to know that..." he placed a hand on David's shoulder, "you are the most annoying person in the world and I hate you. But-" he leaned closer to David's ear, his voice lowering to a whisper. "-I feel like I should tell you this as a coworker: your vest is...way too small. I don't know if you know that, but it is."

He had barely finished the sentence before he melted down in a fit of giggles while David stared at him in disturbed confusion. "Gwen, is he drunk?" he asked.

"Oh, my God, is he drunk?!" Max repeated with hopeful surprise. "Please fucking tell me he's drunk!"

"Hell yeah I am!" Daniel said happily. "If the Ancient Ones were real, they'd be SO pissed at all the fun I had today! And I don't even care! Because it was AWESOME!"

"Yeah, you tell him, Daniel!" Gwen said cheerfully. "Unless you start insulting him, then I'll smack you."

"Aww, now you're no fun!" Daniel whined.

"Oh, my God, this absolutely makes up for the shitty ass hike," Max said, a wide smile forming on his face. "This is the best day of my life. Hold on, where's that phone?! I have to record this!"

He began to dig around in his sweater pockets for a moment before he pulled out a familiar cellphone and turned on the camera. "Hey, Daniel, say some more drunk stuff!"

Daniel looked towards Max and shuffled towards him. "You want me to say stuff? I'll say stuff. You're an annoying brat and you ruined my life and...you..." His voice trailed off as his gaze landed on Max's hair. "...soft hair. You have really soft hair."

Max snickered and took a step back as Daniel tried to reach for his hair. "Oh, my God, he really is drunk!"

"Cool!" Nikki said. "Do me next, Daniel! Say some drunk stuff about me!"

"You are..." Daniel said slowly. "...Actually, I don't know much about you, Nikki. You just kinda eat everything you can get your hands on and smell like dirt...Dirt's gross. Why do you smell like it? Take a bath, you disgusting child."

Nikki let out a giggle. "Cool! Being drunk makes him fun!"

"Haha, fun," Daniel said with a smile. "I had so much fun today!"

"Now, kids, don't encourage him," David said. "Alcohol abuse is a very serious thing and should be avoided if you can help it. And drinking in moderation is very important. Also...is that my cellphone?"

"I stole it when the squirrels tied us up and attempted to cook us," Max explained.

"Now, Max, you promised to stop stealing it," David scolded. "I'm very disappointed in you."

"Oh, are you saying I should stop filming Daniel making an ass of himself?" Max asked, an eyebrow raised.

David stared at him for a moment, but did not respond. Instead, he turned his attention back to Gwen. "Gwen, I told you to keep an eye on Daniel, not get him drunk! ...What if he was...you know, indecent with you?"

"Aww, David," Gwen said fondly as she stumbled over to him. "You're so sweet, caring for me. It's why I love you, pal. But you know that if he had done anything like that, I would have snapped him in half like a twig. Just like..." She made a snapping sound with her mouth, and made a motion as if she were breaking a stick in half.

David couldn't help but smile at her words. "Well, I guess you do have a point. But...you really had fun with him today?"

"Hell yeah I did," Gwen said happily. "That pain-in-the-ass actually has a fun side! Can you believe it?!"

David looked towards Daniel, who had drunkenly stumbled through the group of kids before he fell to his knees in front of Space Kid. "Heyyy, kiddo. Did you do what I asked?"

"I'm sorry, Daniel!" Space Kid said sadly. "I couldn't remember if you said I should push Max off a cliff or if I shouldn't! Plus I...didn't really want to push him. And David said it would be mean..."

Daniel gently patted the side of his helmet. "Hey, it's alright, buddy. You're a good kid, and you should be proud of that. You have so much more potential than any of the other brats here and the fact that you wouldn't compromise your morals for anyone is admirable."

Space Kid smiled at him. "Aw, thanks!"

"No, I mean it," Daniel said, and hugged him tightly as tears began to form at the corner of his eyes. "You're just...such a good kid. Why can't all kids be as good as you, and not make me want to kill them instead?"

"Oh, my fucking lord, he's actually crying now," Max said gleefully, the phone's camera still aimed at Daniel. "This is the best day of my life. Who wants a copy of this? I won't even charge for it, just someone find a way to get this online!"

"You know where my computer is," Neil said.

"I'll take one," Nurf said.

"I'm down," Ered added.

David shook his head, but the smile on his face only grew larger. "Alright, everyone. I think we've all had a long day, and we should head to the mess hall for dinner. And as for my intoxicated co-counselors, I think the two of you should retire to the cabin for the rest of the night."

"No work!" Daniel said happily. "Nice! Max is right, this is the best day ever."

"Sorry, David," Gwen said apologetically. "I was just trying to get him to loosen up."

"It's alright, Gwen," David assured her. "You didn't do anything wrong. At the end of the day, the most important thing is that everyone had fun!"

"Yeah, none of us had fun on that hike," Max pointed out.

"...Well, are you having fun now?" David asked.

"...Fair enough," Max said, and finally turned off the camera. "What's for dinner?

David beamed. "Quartermaster, could you please lead the way? I'll join you after I help my co-counselors to their beds."

"Damn cultist," the Quartermaster grumbled as he ushered the kids along. "Can't even handle his alcohol properly... Makin' me waste my day... Ain't got no time to go get my new hooks now."

"Daniel, I have to go to dinner," Space Kid said, and attempted to remove himself from Daniel's clingy grasp. "But we can look at the stars after dinner, if you want."

"Stars..." Daniel said softly, as he let his arms fall to his side. "That sounds nice. We should do that."

"Daniel has to go to bed early tonight, Space Kid," David said, as he helped Daniel to his feet. "But the two of you can look at stars tomorrow!"

Space Kid's smile widened as he hurried after the other campers, while Daniel let himself fall against David. "No, bring him back..." he whined. "He's better than you...Heh...Get it?"

David shook his head as he lead him towards where Gwen had also fallen to her knees. "Now, I don't approve of this behavior at all. But at least your insults are not as mean as they used to be."

"You're...not as mean as you used to be," Daniel said, in a failed attempt to insult him.

"I'll take that as a compliment," David said, as he offered a free hand to Gwen. "Need some help?"

"I can walk," she insisted, and stood up. "I'm fine. Take care of...that guy."

Daniel let out a giggle. "She can't come up with nicknames. Because of the vodka."

"You head on back to your side of the cabin, then," David told her. "Be sure to drink plenty of water! I'll be over to check shortly."

"You got it, hot shot," Gwen said, and formed both her hands into a finger gun motion as she drunkenly backed away. "Stay cute!"

David's face flushed a bit as he watched her go, before he helped Daniel into their side of the cabin. "She must've had fun if she's that giggly. What did you two do?"

"We..." Daniel stopped for a moment to think. "Movie. There was a movie. People died. It was fun!"

David stared at him for a moment. "You really did have fun, didn't you?"

"Gwen's fun," Daniel said with a wide smile. "She's great. Don't tell her I said that."

David couldn't hold back a laugh as he helped Daniel into bed. "She is pretty great, huh?"

"She introduced me to..." Daniel listed off the items on his finger. "Drinking, movies, dancing...good food. David, David, have you ever had spray cheese? It's so GOOD!"

David chuckled. "Yes, I've had it. I take it Gwen showed you where our snack stash was located?"

"Snacks are so good, David!" Daniel said passionately. "Dancing is fun! Movies are fun! Gwen is fun!"

A fond smile formed on David's face as the blush from before returned. "Yeah, Gwen's amazing."

Daniel stared at him for a moment before his eyes went wide. "...David, do you like Gwen?"

"What?!" David said, his smile replaced with a look of shock. "I-I mean, of course I like her. She's so smart and funny and nice, and she's a great co-counselor-"

"No, no, no," Daniel said, and leaned close to him with a grin that would make the Cheshire Cat blush. "You liiiike her, don't you?"

Biting his lip, David stood up straight and hurried towards the door. "I'd, uh, I'd better go check on the campers at the mess hall. You need to rest, anyway."

"You should tell her," Daniel said as he settled against the pillow. "If you like her, I mean. I mean, she's incredibly annoying, but nice. And you're incredibly annoying, but nice, too! You're perfect for each other and you should tell her if you like her. Because then you can be annoying but nice...together!"

David stopped in the doorway. "...You know, you're a lot more insightful and a lot less threatening when you're drunk."

"Yeah, vodka's amazing!" Daniel said. "I haven't been this happy since my time at the last camp when I watched all the kids reach ascension! That was a fun day..."

"And you're back," David said, shaking his head. "At least you and Gwen enjoyed yourselves today."

"Talk to her, David!" Daniel said in a sing-song voice as David headed back outside. "Sweep her off her feet! Or have her sweep you off yours because you're a weakling with twig arms."

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

"I'm dead. I'm dead and you killed me with vodka, you horrid bitch."

"Oooh, breaking out the 'b' word?" Gwen asked with a weak laugh as she propped herself against the bathroom door. "Also you are the biggest fucking lightweight I've ever met."

"I am never trusting you again," Daniel said with a groan. "Last night was awful. The worst of my life. Vodka was a huge mistake and I regret every sip."

"I don't remember you saying that," Gwen said. "I remember you saying over and over that you had a lot of fun and that you were glad you listened to me."

"I said nothing of the sort!" Daniel argued. "Also I had a dream about a plane and explosions that I'm pretty sure were caused by that stupid movie!"

"Normally, when you get as drunk as you claim to be, you don't dream," Gwen pointed out. "And as for the movie thing, I seem to remember you saying over and over that you loved it and it was your favorite."

Daniel cast her a dirty glare. "How do you remember that? Also, how are you not suffering from this?"

"Because I've drank worse than a couple of Smirnoffs in the past," Gwen pointed out. "Again, you are a HUGE lightweight, dude."

Daniel opened his mouth to retort, but only ended up emptying the contents of his stomach into the toilet he was curled around. "I feel like I drank rat poison again."

"Yeah, sorry about that," Gwen said with genuine regret in her voice. "I should've had you drink some water between the vodkas. That's on me."

"You're the worst," Daniel muttered weakly. "You're the worst and I hate you."

"The feeling's mutual, pal," Gwen said. "But...I did have fun last night."

"Well, how lucky for you," Daniel said bitterly.

"I had fun, and I think you did too," Gwen said. "You just don't want to admit it."

"Oh, so you suddenly know me after a night of drinking?" Daniel asked. "Just go babysit the brats, I don't need your sympathy."

Gwen stared at him for a moment before turning to leave. "Alright. Then I guess you don't want to hear about what I'm doing later today."

"I don't," Daniel said. "Go away."

"I'm heading into town with the Quartermaster while he goes to get his new hooks," Gwen said, ignoring him. "Apparently a new pawn shop opened up there, and they take old radios, no matter how busted."

"What makes you think I care?" Daniel asked.

"Because I was thinking of taking in the radio on my side of the cabin and maybe using the money I get with it to get a cheap copy of the sequels," Gwen said. "I figured I could stock up for the next time the two of us are stuck at camp together again. And as for the dancing...I could just get the music on my phone. Honestly in retrospect, I have no idea why we have the radio at all."

Daniel looked at her with another bitter expression. "Yeah, well...who says I wanted to watch them with you? Who says I want to do anything with you anymore?"

Gwen raised an eyebrow. "So you don't want to watch the movies where people get impaled, burned, crushed, and killed by a nail gun with me?"

Daniel pouted a bit. "...Is there really a death involving a nail gun?"

"Third movie. Seriously, I'm willing to bet that it'll be your favorite out of the bunch."

Daniel was silent for a moment. "...Fine, whatever, get the movies. But I'm not drinking again."

"Fair enough," Gwen said. "Next time, I'll have to introduce you to soda instead. I'll even get you the grape flavor, Sullivan Knoth."

"And we're back to the ridiculous nicknames," Daniel said with a scowl.

"You know it," Gwen said. "Though, I'm not really proud of that one. The game was awful."

Daniel let out an annoyed groan as he once again emptied his stomach. "Fine, whatever, just leave me alone."

"Alright, alright," Gwen said. "Oh, one more thing?"

"What?"

"...David asked me out this morning."

"Ew."

"He says you talked him into it," Gwen said, a smile forming. "Did you?"

"I have no memory of the things I said or did last night," Daniel said. "Anything I did say was the result of too much vodka in my system and I take it all back now."

Gwen chuckled softly. "Well, if you did, then thank you. Honestly, I was...kind of wanting to ask him out for a while. But I wasn't sure if he liked me in that sense. So, I appreciate you kind of...playing the wing man for us, so to speak. The very drunken wing man."

"Does it look like I care about your romantic life?" Daniel asked. "Leave me alone!"

Gwen held up her hands defensively. "Okay, geez. If we start making out, I'm going to make sure we do it in your bed just to piss you off."

"Just so long as that's all you do!" Daniel said. "I may have stepped outside my comfort zone in more ways than one last night, but that's the last thing I want to be exposed to!"

Gwen laughed again as she finally left him alone to once again empty his stomach of the previous night's contents. Never again...

[gallifreyanlibertea]

Beached

a/n: I asked @aph-blue  what they wanted for their birthday and then wrote them the polar opposite of what they asked for, but that’s actually their fault? Because, I had the opportunity to not see a set of pictures and they took that from me, and my mind, haunted by those aforementioned pictures that are now burned into my skull, couldn’t write anything but this, and it is probably bad because I was the one who wrote it.

Beached, but not bloated, and a fuckboy Alfred because why not. Happy birthday, blue!

Alfred caught his first boyfriend when he was seventeen.

The tide had been turbulent that evening and Alfred had seen a guy thrashing in the waters, head bobbing above the waves before going back under, screaming all the way through.

Never mind that he was on the shallow end of the ocean. Alfred was there to save him, jumping off his stand to sprint across the beach and throw himself into the water, dragging the gasping man back onto the sand. After he’d coughed up the ocean, he’d given Alfred his number, and it was then he swore to himself being a lifeguard was the best thing that would ever happen to him.

The pay was less than ideal, yes, but the worship made up for it. Half the beach would congregate around his chair, flaunting themselves for a chance to be his next treat. It was mostly perks, to say the least.

Which is why Alfred rolled out of bed today when he could’ve been sleeping his summer away. It was his turn to claim the afternoon shift, and he did so with a sigh, falling into the familiar routine of lathering on sunscreen, slipping into his shorts and spending ten minutes in front of the mirror to pick which sunglasses he was in the mood for that day.

Beauty was hardly effortless. 

Besides, the lady he’d saved from being ‘sucked into the ocean’ from the shore- a ruse many had used on him from time to time, and a ruse he let himself believe when he found that it benefitted him the most- was going to meet him after his shift today. Lucky for him, weekday afternoon timings were hardly busy, which meant, maybe, possibly, most probably, a romp in the sand.

A romp on top of a towel, actually, he wasn’t about to let himself make that mistake twice.

Alfred stepped out onto the beach with a smile that melted as soon as his boss hollered, “No cell phones, Al!”, through the crummy window of his beat-down tiki bar.

He stepped out closer to the shore, sitting in his lifeguard chair with a grunt.

It was silly, actually. There was something of a no-checking-your-phones rule, partially because his boss seemed to have it out for him and mostly because he wouldn’t be able to see a potential drown-er if he was too busy checking his Snapchat. He could full well be updating his Instagram with an effortless beach selfie, right this second.

Or perhaps a photo of the waves with a filter slapped on, a thought provoking quote as a caption.

It was unfair, keeping him from doing the things his generation loved the most. It had to be a crime, ageism of some sort. He would argue with his boss later.

On the other hand, he had to admit it. Had it not been for the rule, Alfred might not have noticed all the good things about an empty beach in the afternoon, like the waves crashing softly against the shore. The way the sunlight danced on the water, his skin tingling in the heat. The wicked tan that would soon come to replace his current, slightly less wicked tan.

And more importantly, the serious bedroom eyes the guy beside him was serving.

It was a travesty, Alfred couldn’t assess what hid behind the giant bulky rock that covered most of the man’s body from his view. In fact, before today, he had no complaint about the thing- his boss tried to get it removed more than once, but it refused to budge, and Alfred was fine with it as long as it brought cute ‘aspiring photographers’ to the beach for their tacky photo ops.

So at the moment, Alfred was stuck having to settle for a clear view of the guy’s chest and above. The way those green eyes were practically fluttering in his direction.

Alfred couldn’t say he wasn’t used to the attention, but men hardly ever put themselves out like that and he had to say, it was a shame. They really should.

“Hey, there.” He offered, but received no response. The stranger instead propped himself onto his side with a coquettish smile.

Alfred’s next move consisted of pulling down his sunglasses for a quick wink, to which the stranger replied with an almost bashful bite of his lip, and to Alfred’s further delight, a welcoming crook of his finger.

Say no more.

It didn’t matter that from what he could see, the man looked a tad bit sunburnt, or that his blonde hair seemed disheveled. It was a sexy kind of unkempt and Alfred was all for it, leading to him practically scrambling out of his chair to try his luck with the guy.

After all, the beach was more or less empty. No one would miss him for a while.

“You can talk, can’t you?” He chuckled, patting the rock as he knelt on the other side of it, watching as big green eyes blinked at him idly for a moment.

The man broke out into a grin, “Ah, I’ve still got it.”

“What?”

Another small shift towards the stranger answered all his questions, and additionally, sent him scrambling backward with an embarrassingly audible squeak.

“What the fuck, dude?”

The guy was a fish.

An actual, factual fish, with those slim, creamy pale hips melting into a long fish bottom. A green tail, a blueish tint, with a brilliant sheen that glittered under the light of the sun, like tiny emeralds crafted into scales, all of which seemed tangled into what looked like a net.

“No, no! Come back!” A British fish, at that, but Alfred was already poised to run for his life the very moment he remembered how to use his legs. “Please, I need your help!”

“Dude, you’re a fish.”

“I’m a merman.” He shifted his position so that he was on his stomach, propped up on his elbows, blinking innocently in Alfred’s direction. “And I’ll die soon without your help, please.”

And Alfred paused, brows pulled together in suspicious contemplation. “This is a joke.”

“No, this isn’t a joke, I-”

“What are you, like, a YouTuber or something? Because mermaids stopped being funny last year.”

“No, I-”

“Mermaids can’t even speak English, they’re like… yanno, how aliens don’t speak English? It’s like that.” Alfred pointed out, because it was true, and if someone was pranking him, they really should’ve done their research. “Real funny, jerk.”

“It’s typical of you sailors to take from merpeople. To think you bumbling lot invented the language, hah.” The guy grumbled before blinking up at Alfred, “You are a sailor, yes? When did you all stop wearing clothes- why are your bifocals so black?”

“Cut it out, man.” Alfred sighed, casting a glance around the beach before turning to look back down at the ‘merman’. 

YouTube prankster or not, the guy was smokin’ and the beach was empty. 

“Truce, okay? You’re hot, I’m hot, and this-” He gestured to the tail, to what appeared to be slight gills along that slender neck, to the makeshift clam necklace resting on that flushed chest. “-is clearly not working. So... how about we try something that’ll definitely be more fun for the both of us?”

When the stranger didn’t seem to understand, Alfred clarified with a wink, “If you catch my drift.”

“Very well, take off my costume.”

The merman rolled over. It was quite an act- the slight wince in those features as he shifted his ‘tail’ in the net, elbows propped up behind him as he put a slight arch in his back. 

“Freaky… out here?” Alfred whispered with a laugh, but an offer was an offer.

He shifted closer to press a warm palm against that flat, strangely cold stomach, drawing a soft gasp from the guy’s lips. Inching lower, lower, maintaining firm eye contact that most others would’ve shied away from but strangely, green eyes remained adamant to hold. Alfred tucked his fingers under the flap of the tail with a smirk.

Except there wasn’t a flap, nor was there a smirk.

“You’re actually a fish.”

“Merman. Stop touching me.”

Alfred snatched his hand back like he’d taken it from a flame, “And you’re going to die without my help.”

“Most definitely.”

On one hand, whatever someone could say about his lack of understanding the responsibility of his job, it was Alfred’s duty to protect anyone who needed protecting on the beach, even if they were only half human.

Whereas on the other hand, the guy was half human. It could be some sort of trick, and he could get dragged into the ocean and killed, or eaten. 

“Please, it’s not much to do.” The fish pressed, and suddenly the decision wasn’t all that hard. Alfred was caught in those big green eyes, and those long, dark lashes, freckles splashed across those cheeks, plump coral lips parting to-

It was a spell. It had to be magic, because now, the guy before him seemed a bit duller, and those lips, if anything, were slightly chapped.

“Woah, what-”

“To top it off, my power’s wearing out.” The merman hissed, falling backward into the sand and exclaiming between grit teeth, “Oh, Neptune.”

“You should teach me that shit, man.”

Through the stranger’s personal misery, he managed to shoot Alfred a withering look. “I don’t have time for your jokes, boy, fetch me some water.”

And an order was an order, despite the fact that there was no magic to make him do it.

Alfred slunk back to his chair.

He’d developed the habit of bringing things with him to help him through his shifts. It was a typical red backpack full of the essentials- some chips he would eat when hot people weren’t looking at him, an apple he would eat when hot people were looking at him, a bottle of water, a few other things, and for more recent purposes, a giant beach towel to fight off the possibility of sand in all his crevices.

Which he would most probably not be using if his new fishy friend had anything to say about it.

Alfred cast a few looks around him. To his relief, the beach was as empty as it was before his life took a spinning dive.

“I could like, poke a hole in the lid and spray you with the water if you want.”

“Don’t be daft, I’m just thirsty.” The creature watched with curious eyes as Alfred unzipped his bag, handing him a plastic water bottle, “What am I to do with this... Contraption?”

A possibly ancient, magical aquatic creature, and Alfred’s water bottle was the weird thing.

He smirked, “You open the lid and drink from it, like this.”

He was never one to turn down the opportunity to amaze. The creature watched with awe as he twisted the cap open, tilting it to his lips for a small sip.

“Your turn.” There was no way fishboy could sit up proper enough to drink the water all on his own. Alfred wasn’t sure how his body worked, whether it could bend that way or if the tail in the net kept him from sitting up, but when the merman propped himself back up and those lips parted expectantly, Alfred couldn’t help being thrown off for a bit before remembering the bottle in his hands.

If he pretended not to notice the tail, or, if Alfred could find some way to do it- he was pretty damn sure he would hit that.

“I haven’t got forever, human.”

“Right, open up.” He pressed the bottle’s opening to that plump lower lip and watched as relatively cool water trickled out into the creature’s mouth. The merman gulped it down erratically, almost desperately, and Alfred really took the time to assess what was before him.

An obviously beached fish.

He could now see the slight dull glaze on the tail, that smooth, pale skin beginning to take on a red hue, the chapped lips, they were clear indicators.

The stranger pulled away from the stream and arched his back as if to let the water run down his sore, sunburnt chest, tilting his head back with a satisfied sigh.

Alfred swallowed around the lump in his throat and took it as a cue to drizzle the water over the parched body before him, ignoring the heat in his cheeks because there was no fucking way he found anything erotic about a fish.

“I’m Alfred, by the way, wh- uh, what do I call you?” He said as he tucked the empty bottle back into his bag.

“My name is-” Alfred, who thought nothing else could ever surprise him, let his jaw hang as the creature made what sounded like clicking noises, and something else mixed in, possibly the call of an aquatic animal. “I suppose, anglicized, it would be Arthur.”

“Okay. I’ll stick with Arthur, and I’m assuming that net isn’t very comfortable for you.”

Arthur watched with brows furrowed as Alfred’s hands hovered toward his tail, slowly, gently, like a hand reaching to pet an upset animal.

The first contact with the surprisingly smooth scales seemed to startle Arthur because he flinched. “You humans throw so many things into the water, you know? This net could’ve choked me to death.”

Alfred rolled his eyes, smoothing his hands over the scales, searching for an opening. 

There was one toward the end fins. Arthur couldn’t possibly have reached it on his own. Alfred scooted down, gingerly tugging at the net until it shook free. He hooked his arm underneath the tail and lifted it with a grunt, sliding the coarse lump of wire and rope out from below.  

“Thank you.” Arthur flexed his fins with a slight whine, “They’re rather dry, I’ve been here since last night.”

“Let’s get you back into the water, then.”

Green eyes widened, “No!”

Okay.

Fearing a possible magical beat-down, “What do you… um, what do you want, then?”

That was how Alfred found himself digging a pit under the hot, hot sun, with a mystical aquatic mer-creature propped up and goading him on from under an umbrella, sucking on a popsicle Alfred had stolen from the tiki stand.

Arthur had decided to wear his sunglasses too because the ‘black bifocals’ could help shield his poor, distressed, fatigued eyes from the sun. Like Alfred’s eyes didn’t need shielding either.

So to put it in simpler words, Alfred was Arthur’s bitch now.

And the cherry on top, the way Arthur was sucking that popsicle was too reminiscent of one of Alfred’s escapades earlier that week. A little too much for him not to be a bright shade of red, and to completely focus on the task at hand.

“Arthur, could you not do that?”

“Do what?” Arthur replied innocently as he paused deep-throating his popsicle, “I really must thank you for this, you’re doing a wonderful job keeping me cool, human.”

He resumed licking his treat, sucking on the tip. With a pleased sigh, he went as far as lightly bobbing his head, thrusting it into his mouth in an even, shallow rhythm as he let his tongue lap at the underside.

Alfred stared at him. “Dude.”

“Why did you stop?” Arthur snapped, tail twitching in mild annoyance. The blue-raspberry had begun to drip from the popsicle, running in small streams down the merman’s arm. He bent his head to drag his pink tongue across the skin, scooping it back up.

Alfred swallowed. He went back to digging his pit.

The plan was to get it deep enough to fit Arthur. Alfred would then be saddled with the task to fill the sandy pit with water, all the while tossing a cautionary eye out for other human beings.

Arthur wasn’t making the task any easier. “Ah, yes, I’ve forgotten you humans’ strange ways of correlating innocent objects to sexual organs.”

“Yeah?” Alfred replied with a grunt as he finished scooping one last handful of sand behind him, “Welcome to humanity.”

Arthur hummed in response.

“We’re close to the shore, I can carve out a tunnel to the waves to help fill this up.”

When Alfred received not one encouraging response, he set to work.

He had no idea why he agreed to all of this. How much time did it take to get back into his chair and pretend not to notice the frankly rude and inconsiderate merman behind the rock? It was certainly less time than it took to save him, and certainly less energy than it took to dig tunnels without, as Alfred snidely made a mental note of, one word of thanks, and under the broiling afternoon sun too.

Which reminded him, “Hey, check my bag for some aloe gel, you look kinda burnt.”

Arthur blinked in response, “Erm, how do I do that exactly?”

“Pull on the zipper.”

“The what?”

Alfred dragged his foot through the sand, watching as the water from a wave followed behind on the beach’s natural slope. It wasn’t much and it soaked up rather quick, but he managed to pave the way for the new waves in no time, etching the sand tunnel into the pit. “The metal bit, just pull it.”

Arthur pulled on the zipper quite literally, tugging at it helplessly until Alfred stomped over and did it himself, pulling out an emergency bottle of aloe he kept in case some rather appealing individuals complained of a sunburn.

Well, the case wasn’t too off.

“This is for your skin, to keep it from hurting from the sun,” Alfred said slowly as he uncapped the bottle, squirting a pile onto his palm. “May I?”

Arthur offered him his arm.

“You humans are quite the innovators.” He mused as Alfred toiled over him, smoothing the cool gel over his arm as gingerly as he could.

“We kinda have to be, it’s not easy living under the sun, yanno?” Alfred moved to the other arm.

“It’s difficult underwater too, I’ll have you know. There are a lot of predators down there.”

“Is that why you won’t go back in?”

Alfred hesitantly gestured to Arthur’s chest, to which the merman responded with a roll of his eyes, offering himself to Alfred’s hand with an arch of his back.

“I’m running away.” Arthur hissed at the feeling of the cool gel on his tender, sunburnt skin. “I just happened to be caught in a net and dragged onto shore, and I thought I could claw my way towards shade and wait for a human to help.”

Arthur’s skin was silken under his fingertips, smooth and cool, like one would expect a creature of seduction to feel like.

“That’s not a very good plan.”

“This feels nice.” Arthur set his sunglasses aside with another flutter of those dark lashes as he held Alfred’s gaze. There was just something about him- despite the strangely thick, dark brows that framed his face, despite his lack of anything more than a torso, and despite the fact Arthur claimed his magic had declined, Alfred could’ve sworn he was under some spell.

“I- um, I think the pit’s filled enough, let’s get you in there.”

Arthur let himself be pulled up into Alfred’s arms and lowered into the saline pool. It was an almost immediate change in character. A happy twitch of his fins and a small genuine smile.

The merman nipped at his popsicle. “This feels nice as well.”

Alfred moved to the back, lathering more aloe into his skin, “Why did you run away?”

Arthur leaned back into Alfred’s touch, tilting his head back with a lazy smile. It left Alfred reminding himself, for what felt like the hundredth time within the span of the hour, that what was before him was a fish, it was just a fishdude and Alfred shouldn’t be feeling this way.

“My father wanted to give me to the sleazy King of the Pacific.”

Alfred blinked. “Like, make you… marry him?”

“I can’t go back, Alfred, you understand this, yes?”

Alfred capped the aloe bottle and slipped it back into his bag. “I mean, you can’t stay in this pit forever.”

A cool hand on Alfred’s arm and Alfred watched as Arthur turned to look at him, lips twitching into a smile.

And Alfred smirked back, on the brink of losing himself again in those bright eyes.

“That’s why you’ll be taking me to the Indian Ocean.”

Alfred didn’t hear that.

He couldn’t have heard it, impossible, no, because Alfred was on a beach in the Southern U.S., on a minimum wage lifeguarding job, and Arthur was a merman, and Alfred could not, no, was not going to fly him tens of thousands of miles away to the Indian Ocean.

He probably said all of this out loud.

“Alfred!” Arthur practically whined, gripping Alfred’s bicep with a strength Alfred had no idea Arthur possessed, “My father owns the Atlantic, the Pacific is out for me, I have a friend, Bharat, who’s willing to keep me safe in there and you have to do this.”

“I literally can’t take you to the Indian ocean.”

Arthur pouted and Alfred ran through it all again. He was a merman, a fish, and a ticket to India was at least a few hundred dollars, and Alfred just met him, and he should not be wanting to spend all his savings on him, this was insane!

Congrats to Arthur because his magic was definitely back. There was no other way Alfred could be considering helping the guy, because that would be insane.

“Hey.”

Arthur folded his arms, “What?”

“Can you tell me, for super, super certain, that you are not using that magic stuff right now.”

“It stopped working, so no.”

Alfred pulled out the giant beach towel and soaked it in the pit.

Alright, new plan, there was no magic, there was no deceit, Arthur was a genuine damsel in distress and it was somehow better than the romp in the sand he’d been waiting for. So Alfred scooped Arthur up, wrapping his damp beach towel around Arthur’s tail and holding him to his chest closer than he would’ve ever let a human-animal hybrid creature be near him before today.

This was his new plan. Arthur wasn’t using magic, and if somehow, despite that, Alfred still wanted to help the merman- if somehow, the weird, fluttering pressure in his chest wasn’t because of a spell or the shameless prospect of sex in the sand- it had to mean something beyond Alfred’s comprehension.

“Alfred, what’re you-?”

“I’m taking you home… and that’s as far as the current plan goes.”

“Marvellous!”

Arthur practically squealed, throwing his arms around Alfred’s neck, nuzzling into his chest with the affection of a newly adopted pet. “Do humans still have tubs? It would be perfectly charming to stay in one, I wouldn’t mind it at all. Human food must be different as well, this is all so exciting, I-”

Alfred eased Arthur back into the pool. “Funny story, I get out of work in like, two hours, totally forgot about that.”

He knelt to wrap the towel around Arthur’s shoulders, watching with a triumphant smile as the merman curled into the makeshift blanket, “But I, I will definitely help you out, fishboy.”

“And I,” Green eyes met blue, and an impish smile spread across those cheeks that served to set Alfred on fire despite the slightly chapped lips that served them. “I will definitely be sure to reward you, human.”

Whatever that entailed from a merman, Alfred was ready for it. Although his bathtub wasn’t the Indian ocean, he was pretty damn sure the King of the Atlantic ocean wouldn’t snatch Arthur away, so that was that, consider him saved.

Now.

Now, Alfred was fairly certain that nothing in the world could surprise him.

“Wait, hold up, Arthur, what did you say something about merpeople creating the English language?”

[s1xthhouse]

gwenkota 11, percabeth 20 bc i thrive on drama

[send me writing prompts using this]

ask and u shall recieve, drama hoe

11. things you said when you were drunk

For the first time in Gwen’s life, she had actually cut loose and let herself get roaring drunk. The senorio was perfect; Dakota invited people over to the little house he rented for a party, plenty of poisons and chasers and even a keg. Togas, plastic goblets, laurels, and very, very loud music. It was a classic rager and Gwen a thrown herself to it, letting the atmosphere lure her into drunkenness. As the host, Dakota made sure everyone was having fun, but he found himself playing games with Gwen the whole night; beer pong partners, mates during king’s cup, and just narrowly avoiding each other every turn of spin the bottle.

By 1 AM, the party had already hit its climax and people were either drunkenly walking home or had passed out somewhere in Dakota’s house, save for his room. If it wasn’t for the fact that the housing community in New Rome was small, people walking home would’ve seen questionable, but it gave the neighborhood police something to do if someone ended up streaking down the street. Despite all this, Gwen was still up and swaying slowly to the music playing, she was nursing a solo cup in hand. Dakota was pretty drunk, he was comfortable in his foggy headedness, it was enough for him to feel different and yet still conscious enough for him to get a head start cleaning.

“Can I help?” Gwen offered, but Dakota just waved it off, telling her to sit at the counter while he capped all the booze and threw out all the empty cups. They talked quietly in the kitchen, with Gwen still taking sips from whatever was in her cup. “Mm, I had a good time.” She sighed.

“Yeah?” Dakota tied a full garbage bag up “That’s a first.” Gwen stuck her tongue out. “I mean you don’t really let yourself have fun.” Dakota walked over to the counter she was sitting on, he leaned on his hand propped next to her, not quite leaning into her. He swayed a little in intoxication, but she was actually nodding off a little. “You’re a spectacular beer pong player.”

Gwen started to play with the laurel in Dakota’s hair, a big goofy smile on her face. Her freckles were drowning in her flushed face, her cheeks looking like fresh apples. Gwen was softly humming the song still playing on the stereo, and she wasn’t pulling her hand away from his face. “I think you should get some sleep.” Dakota suggested, before he let himself do something stupid. Gwen’s hand dropped. “You can sleep with me in my room.”

Gwen nodded, slipping down off the counter, stumbling a little into Dakota’s chest. She giggled, rattling his heart in the process. “Oh, I’ll sleep with you.” Dakota shook his head at her attempt at drunk flirting, chuckling slightly. Gwen finished her drink and walked with Dakota into his room, one of her hands absentmindedly played with his toga. A dark part of Dakota secretly loved this; he loved that Gwen was being open like this, that the drunk version of herself was flirty towards him. He would never take advantage of this, which is why his want to be intimate with her remained in his fantasies.

She flopped into Dakota’s half-made bed, her toga coming up to reveal the short-shorts she was wearing underneath the bed sheets. Dakota went back into the living room to turn off lights and the music, saying goodnight to some of the people passing out on the chairs and couches. Before going back into his room, he grabbed what was left of a handle of vodka. Gwen had settled herself into bed, she had taken off her laurel and put it on the bedside table, her red hair in a sort of tangled mess. Dakota sat up in bed, Gwen cuddling with his arm. Every now and then they would cuddle after a party, mostly because Dakota was very cuddly, but the shoe was on the other foot and Dakota suddenly didn’t know how to feel.

He took a swig from the handle, burning his mouth. If her drank enough he would pass out soon, he’d forget that his heart was beating fast because of Gwen. “Hey,” She mumbled. Dakota looked down at her, her eyes were closed but she still seemed to be awake. “I wisshed we hab kished duurin spbin th boddle.” She slurred, her face squished against the blankets. “You neber remmemm our kishes.”

What did that mean, he thought. When they were twelve they were each other’s first kiss, but that was just so they could say they had been kissed before. Since then, nothing. Gwen must’ve been talking about someone else, Dakota decided. There was no way in one of his stupors he had kissed Gwen… Dakota drank some more.

20. things you said that i wasn’t meant to hear

Percy was having yet another existential crisis, far more than he should be having in the span of one month. A normal person probably has one about three times in their life, Percy clearly was an outlier. With his mom pregnant, Percy found himself thinking a lot about his own future, which wasn’t something he should dwell on too much. Much of his life consisted of near death experiences, any demigod could relate, so the thought of thinking any further than the weekend was the last thing people like him should be thinking about.

Right now he just needed to get through school; his finals had kicked his ass, but he had done well enough in summer school that he could spend the next month and a half at camp. He didn’t want to think about Annabeth’s plans for them to go to university across the country, how at some point he had seen himself living in California for his whole life. That had been before his mom told him he was going to be a big brother, before he felt obligated to help his mom out despite her telling him it wasn’t necessary.

A buzz went off in Percy’s pocket, speak of the devil. “Hey, mom.” He answered. A while back, Leo had managed to invent a cell phone that was monster-tracking proof (within reason) and worked well within camp. The Iris Message was still the prefered mode of communication, but for practicality the lPhone worked better. He had just put his duffle bag under his bunk in Cabin 3, he sat down into the freshly made bed.

“Hi, Percy,” His mom greeted back. “I was just checking in, did you make it to camp alright?”

“Yeah,” He replied. “Argo’s bringing the car back now, I think.”

“I don’t know why you didn’t call to be picked up, you had to drive there yourself.”

“You know me, I like to make things harder on myself.” Sally sighed on the other line, Percy gave a half hearted smile to himself.  It was as if she saw it when she asked if he was alright. “Yeah,” he replied. “I just have a lot on my mind, nothing new.”

“You don’t want to talk about it?” His mom asked. “Is it about school?”

“Kind of,” Percy rubbed his face and sighed. “I was just thinking about Annabeth, what she wants to do in New Rome. It’s not like I don’t want to be with her, it’s just I did a lot of work to try and catch up with her and I feel like my brain is fried from all the studying I did. I just… I don’t know if I want to go to California and do it all over again, and to do it so far from home.”

Sally was quiet for a moment, but Percy could still hear the faint sound of her breathing. “I’ve never once thought about what I wanted to do with my life,” he continued. “Because I didn’t think I was going to have one, so many of my teachers just see me as a failure-”

“Percy,” Sally tried to console him, tell him it wasn’t true.

“In the past,” Percy corrected himself. “In the past, but I still think about it. No matter how much support I have between you and Annabeth I still doubt myself and I doubt this future she has planned for us.”

Again, Sally didn’t say anything, then a beat passed and she spoke: “I know you feel this pressure to make up your mind soon, especially since you’re going to be a senior, but you still have time to decide what you want to do with your life, Percy.”

Percy felt his heart clench with anxiety, he felt his mom didn’t understand, that she didn’t understand that he felt pressure from Annabeth more than anything. Percy loved Annabeth, he could see himself with her for a long time, but he also didn’t want their lives to start together immediately after high school.

“But I think you should talk to Annabeth about this,” His mom continued. “I know you think it will be the end of everything if you disagree on one thing, but she needs to hear how you feel. She doesn’t want to feel like she’s trapped you into this life that you don’t really want.” Percy felt himself choke up a little, all the stress from school and his mental turmoil had built up and released. He had to tell Annabeth, he had to own up to his insecurities.

“You’re right,” Percy sniffed. “Yeah, I gotta do that.”

“I have to go now,” Sally said. “But call me soon, okay?”

“Yeah.” He sighed, trying not to cry. A wave of catharsis had crashed on Percy, a feeling he only ever got from talking to his mom. “I love you, mom.”

“‘Love you, too.” Percy hung up, gently tossing his phone onto his pillow. Percy looked up for the first time since he answered the phone, and Annabeth was standing in the doorway to the cabin. The sight of her made his heart jump out of his chest in more ways than one; she was beautiful as always, but the question still stood: how long had she been standing there.

Percy’s head blanked from fear, he sighed every imaginable curse he could muster. Annabeth didn’t look angry, but her eyebrows were knitted together at the center, her mouth turned downwards slightly. Percy stood up and was about to go over to her but she beat him to it, she wrapped her arms around him tightly. Maybe she hadn’t heard him, Percy thought for a moment. If she hadn’t that would be a huge weight off his chest, but she would need to know sooner or later.

Annabeth looked up at him, her chin resting on his chest. Her grey eyes were filled with concern, almost glossy with tears herself. “I didn’t know you felt this way.” She said, nearly whispering. “I-I didn’t mean-”

“Annabeth,” Percy laid her head back down, his hand petting her blonde curls. “It’s not your fault your boyfriend is a pushover.” He felt her chuckle a little. Percy took a deep breath, a much needed deep breath. “I want you to know I haven’t been doubting your plans for a long time, I was just thinking about it recently.”

She stepped away a little, her arms still around him and his hand still cupped the side of her face. “I’m sorry,” Annabeth turned her head so she could kiss the inside of his hand. “I know you’ve worked really hard in school, and I don’t want you to do it just because I want you to.” Percy felt himself tear up again, and he kissed her.

Kissing Annabeth always felt right, there was no doubt about it. Her hands gripped the back of his shirt, and she leaned back into him. Percy then kissed the tip of her nose, and then under her eyes, and then her forehead, peppering her with little kisses, making Annabeth giggle a little. “Don’t worry,” he whispered. “I still have part of a year to get my shit together.”

[mildlymaddy]

For @umthatsliam on her birthday (it’s still the 28th here it’s not my fault you’re ahead), have 4K of fake boyfriend Lirry. This is the beginning from that I Used To Be A Baker fic that I never finished. :/ I hope you’ll love it. <3

“Whatever he's saying, he's lying!” Liam rushes out, slinging an arm around Harry’s shoulders in what he hopes is a comfortable couply way. He's a little out of breath, having ran from one end of the dance floor to the other as soon as he spotted Harry talking to Ruth.

“So you're not the best thing that's ever happened to him?” Ruth asks, drinking her champagne in a very pointed way.

Liam snaps his head to Harry, who is staring at the buffet table, apparently enthralled with the pasta salad. He's blushing a little, and Liam wishes he was that good at pretending. Harry gets the act down pat.

Harry has been very kind in agreeing to pose as Liam's boyfriend for one night, saving Liam from the blind date his mum had set him up on, because apparently thirty year anniversaries are a great time to try and play matchmaker for your son (as are christenings, birthdays, and trips to the supermarket). Harry has been very kind, but he's also been very eager, inventing an entire backstory on how they got together. According to Harry, he wooed Liam over many months, setting up dates that Liam mistook for casual hanging out and sending him frantic signals Liam was too blind to see. He kinda resents Harry for turning him into the clueless one, if he's honest, but the most dangerous thing is that while Harry seems to have this entire thing memorized, Liam is hazy on the details at best, and every discussion with his family has him feeling like he’s walking through a minefield in clown boots.

“... well, I guess he's only exaggerating then,” Liam finally says, and even though he doesn't look away from the buffet, Harry slips an arm around Liam’s waist, his lips curling up in a small smile.

“God you're both disgusting,” Ruth says. “Please never break up.”

She leaves them to go talk to some aunt or other (Liam is clueless about who most of the people in this room are. It looks like his parents have invited anyone they’ve ever talked to), and Liam lets go of Harry’s shoulders. Harry keeps his arm where it is.

“D’you know she's never been this nice to anyone I've dated before?” Liam asks, because it's true. Harry's the first person not to face the near police-like interrogatory both his sisters have subjected all his girlfriends to.

“Really?” Harry asks, turning to him with a grin that looks 100% genuine. Harry does love being loved. It helps that he's really easy to love.

“Might get me in trouble actually. They'll hate me when I tell them we broke up.”

Harry slips his arm away from Liam's waist, grabbing a flute from a passing waiter and gulping down half of it as if it’s milk. “Ah well, you don't have to tell them straight away,” he says. “Might need me for another family reunion.”

Liam chuckles, but Harry’s got a point, actually. Ruth’s wedding is coming up in a couple of months, and she's probably already adding a seat to the wedding dinner as they speak. Plus, it's actually lovely, playing pretend with Harry. Liam’s having more fun than he ever has at such events, and he kinda likes seeing his mum looking so happy for him, even though he hates lying to her.

“You wouldn't mind?” he asks, still, because he doesn't want to force Harry to do something he might not be comfortable with. They've only had to do the bare minimum for now, like holding hands and pecking each other on the cheek from time to time, which to be honest is not that different from how they usually act around each other. But if this becomes a thing, people may start expecting more blatant displays of affection.

“I get free booze, free food, and good company,” Harry says, kissing Liam on the cheek. His aim is poor and he catches the corner of Liam's lips. “What's not to like?”

“When you put it like that…” Liam feels lighter all of a sudden. If Harry is okay with extending the charade, then there is less pressure on getting things exactly right tonight.

--

When his mother called him to say that she was planning on inviting a “surprise guest” to their anniversary, Liam told her he already had a date without thinking, even though he had no name in mind. He just didn’t want to go through yet another party making awkward conversation with the daughter of one of his mum’s many friends. She meant well, he knew it, but still he wondered why it was so important to her that her son find someone. He was only 22. He was still in college. He had time.

He figured if he was to invite anyone as his date, it should be someone he’d be happy to talk to for an entire evening, and after that asking Harry had been so obvious Liam hadn’t even thought about it twice.

It wasn’t until they stepped into the party hall and his parents’ eyes went wide and incredulous that Liam realized the magnitude of his decision. He gripped Harry’s hand, feeling his cheeks getting hot in a flash, and introduced Harry with barely more than a croak, not daring to meet his father’s eyes. He only looked up when his mum engulfed him in her arms, pressing a wet kiss to his cheek and asking in a tearful whisper, “Why didn’t you tell me before, you… you idiot!”

He felt Harry tug his hand free and wrapped both of his arms around his mum, nuzzling his face into the warm skin of her neck. His utter relief made no sense, since he wasn’t actually gay, but he couldn’t help but feel dizzy with happiness at knowing his mum would love him no matter what.

When he finally looked at his dad, Geoff was red cheeked and looking like he’d rather be anywhere but here, but he extended his hand to Harry, before pulling him into an awkward one-armed hug, gruffly mumbling something about welcoming Harry to the family and being happy that there’d be another guy around at last.

His sisters pretended they weren't the least bit surprised, probably to make Harry more comfortable. Liam hugged them extra hard.

It’s only when his mouth started to hurt that Liam realized how hard he’d been grinning.

--

The dinner is a lovely affair, even though Liam and Harry somehow end up at the kids’ table. His mum apologizes about two hundred times for the mix-up and offers to make room for them at another table but Harry just laughs it off, sitting down next to a five-year-old girl and instantly striking a conversation with her about the difficulty of braiding curly hair.

It turns out that kids are much better company than grown-ups when Harry is around to entertain them with wild stories and silly dares. Liam gets dared to throw a spoonful of peas into the wide hat of an elderly lady sitting a little way from them. Some of the peas end up into the lady’s glass and she glares at Liam for the rest of the meal, but the children’s laughter and the way Harry beams at him are worth it.

The dinner flies by and Liam’s taken by surprise when waiters start pushing the tables to make way for dancing. The music gets loud, and he's thinking about escaping to the grounds outside with Harry and a bottle of wine to have a discussion that doesn't revolve around Thomas the Tank Engine when Harry grabs his hand, dragging him to the dance floor.

“Oh no no, I don't dance,” Liam shouts, trying to make himself heard above the music. They're playing one of Abba’s, his mum’s favourite band. Liam's not even sure of how you're supposed to dance to their songs.

Harry mustn't hear him, or maybe he just doesn't care; he only stops once they're in the middle of the room, turning back to Liam with a smile that makes Liam's spine tingle in a strange, deer-caught-in-headlights way.

Harry mouths along to the song, slipping both arms around Liam's waist and pulling him in, until Liam is close enough to hear Harry’s singing about not wasting his emotions, right against his ear. Harry’s got a nice voice, and Liam doesn't move away, carefully placing both his hands on Harry’s upper arms.

Harry clearly doesn't know what kind of dancing is appropriate for such a song any more than Liam does, but he makes it work somehow, until the playlist abruptly moves on to some kind of waltz and Harry starts wildly spinning them around until Liam is laughing so hard he can feel tears at the corner of his eyes. It's not long until Liam inadvertently knocks the stucky lady’s hat off her head, apologizing profusely in the middle of the dance floor while Harry’s bent in two with laughter next to him. The lady wrenches her hat away from Liam's hands and goes back to her husband, and Liam suddenly finds himself being tugged backwards to the dark hallway that leads to the coat racks.

“I don't think she's going to attack me, Harry,” Liam says with a chuckle, a little breathless. His head is still spinning from their dance, and maybe also from the two bottles of Champagne they drank during dinner, stealing them from the neighbouring tables since the only thing on their table was fake cider and soda.

He feels… really, really good. Better than he has in ages, in fact, and when Harry smiles and tugs him forward so that they're nose to nose, Liam goes with it, smiling back at him. It's only then that he notices Harry’s fingers have slipped from Liam's wrist to loosely wrap themselves around Liam's fingers instead. Harry's hand feels incredibly slender inside Liam's big paw, and Liam hopes his palm isn't as sweaty as he fears it is.

“Who are we hiding from, then?” he asks, even though he doesn't really care about the reason. The hallway they're standing in is cut off from the main room by a fire escape door, which so effectively shuts off sound that it feels like the party is happening miles away from them, in another building, on another planet. It's only the two of them here, and usually that'd make Liam feel a bit antsy, but he can't feel anything but happiness right now. The effect of the alcohol, surely.

If Liam is honest with himself, it's also that he's always liked Harry best when he doesn't have to compete with anyone for Harry’s attention. It's a little selfish of him, but people gravitate to Harry like stars around the sun and some days Liam fears that Harry will replace him with someone new, someone funnier, more adventurous, more worthy of Harry’s time.

Right now they're alone though, and the soft hesitant smile on Harry’s lips is only for Liam. Harry’s fingers curl up tighter around Liam's hand as he leans forward, his nose bumping against Liam's before Harry tips his head to the side a fraction of an inch, his eyelids falling shut as he presses a kiss to Liam's lips.

Harry’s lips are really soft. For some reason that’s the only thought Liam can hold on to as the seconds tick away, slow like treacle. That and the freckle Harry’s got under his right eye that Liam’s never noticed before. He doesn’t kiss back, and by the time he thinks of reciprocating, Harry’s already leaning away, nervously biting on his bottom lip, eyes wavering.

“I’m sorry,” Harry whispers; he’s still so close Liam can feel the puff of breath on his lips when Harry speaks; it smells like champagne and chocolate cake. “I… I shouldn’t have.”

“Y’know, it’s the first time I hear someone apologizing for kissing their boyfriend.”

When Liam and Harry turn to the door, Liam taking one step back before remembering that he’s supposed to be this close to Harry, Nicola is standing with one hand braced against the open door and the other idly waving her half-empty champagne glass in the air as if she’s airing it out. The bright lights spilling out from the main room frame her silhouette and make her look like an angel, the intimidating “knows all sees all” kind. The music is loud, and for a second Liam wonders how they could not have noticed the second the door opened.

He stares at his sister, feeling as subdued as he did a few seconds ago when Harry was kissing him, but Harry steps forward, a hesitant hand coming up to rest on the nape of Liam’s neck. “Li didn’t want to risk shocking any of your parents’ friends,” he says, and his voice is clear and casual, as if he hadn’t just kissed Liam out of the blue, in a dark hallway away from prying eyes. “I’d promised him I wouldn’t do anything too… couply. But I couldn’t resist.” The last words come out strangled, as if Harry’s changed his mind halfway through saying them and tried to keep them in.

Nicola snorts, taking a sip of her drink. Liam’s pretty sure she’s rolling her eyes, even though her features are obscured. “You have to stop caring so much about what other people think, baby brother,” she says, her tone not unkind.

“That’s what I always tell him,” Harry says, the pressure of his fingertips against the back of Liam’s neck intensifying for a beat before his hand drops away. He’s not lying. Liam can’t count the number of times he’s felt self-conscious about not being cool enough or not being smart enough, and Harry’s been there to shake some sense back into him. Without thinking too much about it, he reaches out, intertwining their fingers again. The surprised smile on Harry’s face, his eyes darting to the side to look at him, makes Liam tighten his grip in what he hopes is a reassuring fashion.

“Well, I guess aunt Glenda might be a bit shocked if you start snogging on the dancefloor, she’s an old coot…” Nicola says, before abruptly turning her back on them, the bracelets around her wrist glinting in the light. “I’ll stand watch,” she says, tipping her head back to them. “You two have a proper snog, at least. I promise not to peek.”

Harry lets out a started chuckle that sounds exactly like Liam feels.

“We’re not gonna-” Liam starts, but Nicola waves him off without even looking.

“Oh come on! I know how it is when it’s brand new, keeping your hands off each other must be torture!”

Liam turns to Harry, and Harry's already looking at him, the biggest grin on his face, eyes shining with mischief. Maybe it's the champagne still bubbling up in Liam's veins, maybe it's the hour of the night or just the fact that Harry's so nice and Liam's been looking for a way to show him how grateful he is for… everything, really, but leaning in and kissing Harry feels like the most natural thing right then.

At first it's little more than a press of lips, both of them giggling into the kiss, until the tip of Harry’s tongue peeks out to take a lick at Liam’s upper lip, wiping the grin off his face. Harry’s teeth gently close around Liam’s bottom lip next, tugging on it before letting it go, and Liam can't think of anything beyond the fact that he wants more. Harry’s breath is hot and heavy against Liam’s mouth, and Harry’s hand is warm when he cups Liam’s jaw, fingertips stroking Liam's earlobe. Liam can only grab a hold of Harry’s hips and kiss back, trying to time it right, but he keeps darting his tongue out when Harry’s lips are closed and closing his when Harry’s mouth parts, until he’s giggling against Harry’s mouth once again, opening his eyes to find Harry’s own eyes crinkled with mirth.

“Sorry,” Liam whispers, still standing so close his lips brush against Harry’s as he speaks. “God, we’re terrible at this.”

“We are. Just… let me…” Harry mumbles, and then he’s angling Liam’s head back a bit, slotting their mouths together, and all at once it’s perfect, Harry’s lips wet and warm against his, Harry’s tongue slipping effortlessly into his mouth until they’re full on snogging, Harry’s fingers tight in Liam’s short hair, standing in a darkened hallway next to the coat rack.

Deep down, Liam reckons it's pretty ironic that the best kiss he's ever had should be a fake kiss with his fake boyfriend.

When they break apart Liam realizes just how much he’s drunk; the room’s spinning, and his face feels piping hot. His legs threaten to vanish from under him when he takes a step back, reaching out to steady himself with the coat rack.

Nicola is gone, the door closed, and Liam finds himself wishing she was still there. Part of him wants to turn back to Harry, step back into his space and kiss him again, which makes not a shred of sense and is probably just prompted by the alcohol. He can feel his heartbeat all the way down his arms to his fingertips, and for a second he wonders if maybe he’s going to be sick, which would be even more mortifying.

“You okay?” Harry asks, startling Liam into looking at him at last. Harry’s eyebrows are furrowed, and his lips are red and shiny from their kiss; Harry licks them nervously, and Liam looks away, hand clenching around the rail of the coatrack. He really shouldn't have drunk so much.

“M’alright,” he says, because he doesn't want Harry to worry. He takes a long breath and the ground feels steadier under his feet when he steps towards the door. “We should probably head back.”

“Alright,” Harry says, voice soft. Liam pushes the door open, and anything else Harry might have said gets drowned out by the sudden blast of music and laughter.

--

They’re the last ones to leave, helping clean the reception room and piling the chairs back against the walls. Harry dances as he sweeps the floors, his lack of coordination threatening to send him arse first on the floor more than once. He looks like Bambi trying to learn how to walk, even though Liam's pretty sure Harry’s trying to look dashing.

“Hey, how about you help me fold the tablecloths instead of gawking at your boyfriend, Limehead?”

Liam startles. He hasn't been staring, surely; he’s barely glanced at Harry. “I'm not staring,” he says, not looking at his sister. He can still see her smirking in the corner of his eye. Harry’s standing in the middle of the floor, crooning into the handle of his mop. He really has a great voice. They should do a karaoke night together.

“I'm not blaming you, mind, he's a catch,” Ruth continues, circling Liam so she's standing right in front of him, holding up two corners of the tablecloth. “And it's nice to see you so happy.”

Liam shrugs, hiding his grin by ducking his head. For all that Ruth is mistaken about the situation, she's still right. Harry does make him happy; just… not in the way everyone thinks.

He feels sleepy in the car, and doesn’t shrug Harry off when the latter cuddles up against him, Harry’s hair tickling Liam’s nose as he nestles his head on Liam’s shoulder. It's nice and quiet, his mum dozing in the front seat, until Harry breaks out into a snore so loud Geoff almost drives the car off the road in surprise.

Liam desperately tries not to laugh, but his shaking shoulders wake Harry up just as surely. Harry grumbles, then turns to lean against the car door instead, leaving Liam much colder, and more eager than ever to get home.

He has to shake Harry awake when they finally make it there, Harry following with half-lidded eyes as Liam climbs the stairs to his old room. His bed is a singles, but his mum’s prepared an inflatable mattress for Harry, squeezed in tight between Liam’s bed and the window. The only singles sheets left in his mum’s house date back to when Liam and his sisters were kids, and he blushes crimson when he turns on the light to reveal that Harry’s makeshift bed is proudly adorned with Barbie’s Best Day Out. Harry beams, says he doesn’t mind, and Liam has to quickly avert his eyes as Harry suddenly strips down to his pants in the middle of the room with no warning whatsoever. He’s known Harry for over six months and he still hasn’t gotten used to Harry’s utter lack of self-awareness. Whenever Liam comes over for pizza and movies, Harry ends up plopping himself down on the couch in nothing but his pants, and Liam always feels underdressed and overdressed all at once.

He focuses on his own clothes now, frowning down at the buttons of his dress shirt as if it would intimidate them into opening faster. He thought they’d get changed in the bathroom, but it’s going to look weird if he goes now that Harry’s stripped off right next to him. He doesn’t look back as he slips on a t-shirt and some sweatpants as fast as humanly possible, the late hour and the remnants of the alcohol he’s drunk making him clumsy and almost sending him crashing into his desk when his foot gets caught in the leg of his sweatpants. When he turns back to his bed, cheeks aflame, Harry’s disappeared from view, the only proof of his presence the woosh-woosh noises coming from the floor as he settles on the air mattress.

Liam turns off the light and climbs into bed, lying on his back for the whole of 30 seconds before shifting to his side, one hand curled around the bed frame. He can’t see much of anything at first, but after a while his eyes adjust to the darkness and he makes out the shape of Harry’s body, one of Harry's arms shielding his eyes from the timid ray of moonlight sneaking its way into Liam’s room from the half parted curtains.

“G’d’night Harry,” Liam whispers, as if they weren’t the only two people in the room.

“Good night,” Harry says, shifting on his mattress. There’s a brush of fingers against the back of Liam’s hand, a weird half-gesture that makes Liam want to reach down and grab Harry’s fingers, but he slips his hand under his pillow instead, skin tingling.

Back in the car he thought he’d never even make it up the stairs to his bed, but now that he’s lying down in the quiet of his room, Harry’s soft breathing for only lullabye, Liam finds he can’t sleep.

Slowly, very slowly, he slides his hand out from under his pillow, resting it against the bed frame for a while before gingerly letting his arm dangle from the bed. His knuckles bump against Harry’s mattress, inches away from Harry’s face, and Liam holds his breath, staring at the window. The moon keeps being obscured by clouds, but it always comes back out again, casting the tree outside Liam's window in sharp shadows.

The first touch of Harry’s fingertips against his hand startles Liam so badly he almost jerks it away, but he catches himself in time. This is all very silly, and it doesn't make sense, but as Harry’s fingers slowly curl around Liam's hand, fingertips pressed against Liam's palm, something settles inside Liam's chest, as if the restlessness is finally abating.

He falls asleep with Harry's hand in his, and dreams of karaoke nights and dancing on the ice.

[commonsenseapocalypse]

The gravity of the situation

With the most recent mass shooting, the liberal left and the uneducated are in a full-on feeding frenzy over gun control and banning so called “assault rifles”. I’m going to offer up my opinion on how we got to where we are and it’s not going to be popular, but it will be truthful and please keep in mind, this is my opinion, how I see things from a perspective that hasn’t been overly involved in politics.

Sixty years ago, the democratic party was completely against desegregation and equal rights. President Johnson voted against civil rights, it’s a fact. Civil rights were pushed for by republicans. Why? Because most conservative republicans believe that people should work for a living, earn their own way and live their lives in peace, free from heavy handed government oppression. The democrats, former plantation owners, slave owners and founders of the KKK, believe that those who work should give x-amount to the government to support unnecessary programs that ultimately line the pockets of the politicians on the left. The democratic party is the establishment that we should be rallying against. There is no better example of democratic corruption than Hillary Clinton.

When Hillary started her political career, she was, in fact, a republican. Soon after she realized the huge potential for personal gain off the backs of hard working American men and women, so she switched sides. The fundamental difference between conservatives and liberals is this; conservatives believe that you should get to keep what you work for, liberals believe that they are owed a part of what you work for. This is it, in its simplest form.

The two biggest catalysts that I feel are responsible for the degradation of the American social construct are: welfare and social media. I’ll explain in a minute, but I also want to say that I’ve seen and heard on both traditional media and social media is that we need God in schools. I don’t believe that. What I do believe is that there are good lessons in every religion that can be incorporated in the home, in schools and in the workplace. That being said, let’s move into welfare and social media.

Welfare: I firmly believe that our government, in their infinite wisdom, had the best interests of its citizenry at heart. There must be a safety net for those who fall on hard times, but it MUST be temporary and used sparingly and as a last resort. The federal welfare program has an annual budget of ONE TRILLION DOLLARS. ($1,000,000,000,000.00) That is a whole lot of zeros. Here is the mind-blowing part, only 25% of that goes to recipients. The remaining seven hundred fifty billion goes to administering the funds. Imagine, if you would, a smaller, more efficient government that distributed double that amount ($500,000,000,000.00) and split it among the states and eliminated the federal program. We would have double the available funds to the people for when they needed it AND we would reduce our spending by half of a trillion dollars EVERY YEAR! Win-win, right? Not in the eyes of the democrats. Their inability to give up control over the people, they would spin this as a right-wing attack on welfare, when, in fact, it would double the available funds and put the money in the hands of the states, who also have their own welfare programs. Do you think the states would benefit from an additional ten-billion dollars a year?

I firmly believe that welfare recipients should be able to pass a drug screening, be subject to well-being checks by an officer of the state and should be made to comply with rules and regulations regarding the receiving and spending of state funds. Some of those funds could and should be used to supplement educational and vocational rehabilitation programs to help those get back into the workforce. There should also be time limits on how long you can receive benefits due to hardship. Welfare is a safety net, not a career. Don’t confuse welfare programs with disability programs. They are two different things and I’m not discussing disability programs here.

The objective of the liberal left is to keep as many people on welfare as possible. It is their vision that the state (government) is the provider for the people and since people have a limited field of vision, they are conned into believing that that government is good because it gives them free money, free housing and free food along with low or no cost medical, cellular phones, internet and utilities. This is phase one of the lefts agenda to create an oligarchy. Long term welfare is nothing more than government sponsored slavery and oppression. In effect, it is racism at it’s highest level, by providing these “benefits” to minorities and immigrants, the left is keeping minorities out of the workforce, not by race, religion or creed, but by catering to minorities under the guise of “caring” and “tolerance”. If they really were concerned, they would be doing more to lift up minorities through education, family planning and getting people to work, to owning a small business or generally contributing to society as a whole. Try instilling values instead of supporting cultural deconstruction through music and movies that glorify violence towards women, drug abuse and catering to mental illness instead of making excuses for it. There is a fine line between art and obscenity.

Social Media: I could talk about the dangers of social media for years, but for the purpose of this, I’ll keep it limited. The purpose of the invention of the internet (thanks Al Gore!) was to share information, quickly and globally, and to that end it has been a huge success. The introduction of social media, i.e., Twitter, Facebook, Instagram, Snap chat and the like however have completely changed the paradigm of factual truth. In an open society like this, people bump and run. What I mean by that is people see something and blindly run with it, sharing it unchecked, uncontrolled and therefore spread inaccuracies, fallacies and downright blatant misinformation as fact. People post half truths or flat out lies and then others, claiming to be “social justice warriors” blast out complete falsehoods. That translates to real life and pollutes the system. It contributes to the decline of civilization as a whole and transmits grotesque violence and ignorance. Unfortunately, this genie is out of the bottle and there is no going back. The only hope we have is a global catastrophe, like a massive CME that completely wrecks our power grid and disables this monster long enough for civilized people to reset our culture.

I read a shared post on Facebook of another “threat” to a school and the perpetrator used the phrase “30 kill streak”. Think about that for a moment. A phrase taken directly from violent video games. The culture has desensitized our youth and has bred a mentality that the more you kill, the more you win. There is a serious problem with that. It creates a mindset of action without consequence, much like participation trophies creates a mindset of unearned gratification. If you get the same result without earning it, that evolves into the “why try if I’m going to win anyway” attitude. The progressive movement has removed honor, dignity, consequence and personal responsibility.

To this end, I liken progressivism to religion. People blindly believe in the agenda without knowing the agenda, much like people follow the doctrine of religion based on belief and faith. Progressive liberals are the single most dangerous threat to our freedom and national security. Think I’m crazy? Who was recently defending North Korea’s dictator? Who has developed sanctuary cities for undocumented aliens from countries that support extremist groups and drug cartels? Who believes that things should be free “unearned” like college and health care? Who, and this is my absolute favorite, condemns a rifle because it has been used to kill less than 300 people in acts of violence since 1984, but supports safe spaces and clean needles for heroin addicts? Overdoses account for 64,000 deaths per year. Add that up… it makes no sense. Just for comparison, Daily statistics:

 -          All gun related deaths (suicide, accidental, murder and police involved) averages 86 per day, but murder only accounts for 33 per day on average

-          All drug related overdose deaths average 175 per day

-          Alcohol-impaired driving deaths (2015) average 33 per day

-          All vehicle related deaths (2017) average 110 per day

-          Abortions in the U. S. average 1,800 per day

-          16 million children in the U. S. alone do not have the minimum food requirements, every day

Just putting it perspective, the left’s attack on the AR-15 and the second amendment is both under-warranted and extremely dangerous. Dangerous in the sense that it leaves our citizenry unprotected against all threats, foreign and domestic. Case in point, 1946 – Athens, Tennessee, armed citizens removed a corrupt local government from power; 1941 – Empire of Japan attacked the U. S. Territory of Hawaii, but refused to attack the U. S. mainland due to the simple fact that our citizens were armed.

The Second Amendment to the U. S. Constitution reads: “A well regulated Militia, being necessary to the security of a free State, the right of the people to keep and bear Arms, shall not be infringed.” For fun, here is the definition of both Militia and infringed:

Militia: a group of people who are not part of the armed forces of a country but are trained like soldiers. Citizens who can mobilize as a military unit without being a part of the country funded military.

Infringed: to wrongly limit or restrict.

With that, I can see where people would take “wrongly” into their own context and say that restricting the rights of the people to keep and bear arms isn’t “wrong”, but it is as equally guaranteed as freedom of speech, religion and the press. If states continue to infringe upon the Second Amendment, once the people are disarmed, what is to stop them from revoking other amendments?

I know this seems like a bashing of the liberal left, and it is, but that being said, I have fundamental issues with the right as well. In order for us, as a nation to come together as a united front, we need compromise and open dialogue and we have to start by NOT trusting politicians and our elected officials. Anyone who says “I’m a politician” is a criminal. No one says “I’m a public servant” and there is a very distinct difference in the two.

We have, as a whole, given free reign to Congress and that needs to end. We need term limits and any benefit and pay that is given to Congress needs to be voted on by the public, not an in-house vote. Of course, I would vote for a raise for myself every single time if it were an option.

I know I touched on “free stuff” but just handing out free health care and free college isn’t a feasible option and in the “golden countries” like Denmark, it puts an unhealthy tax burden on the citizenry. If you want to fix health care, tuition costs and housing costs, put formulas in place to regulate what they can charge. I know the socialists like to tout the benefits of Denmark, but completely neglect to mention other socialist countries like Venezuela where it is failing. If you want to fix the deficit, take away foreign aid and tax shelters for the Fortune 500 companies. Make them pay their fair share and if they move operations to another country, impose a tariff to import back to the U. S. or to conduct business here.

I don’t have the solution to why some people choose to kill as many people as they can, but it’s not the AR-15 or any of it’s accessories that are the problem. Since the shooting in Parkland, Florida, over 200 people have been killed and/or wounded in two separate knife attacks, one here and one in China. If someone wants to rack up casualties, they will find a way, guns or no guns. Recently, people have used their cars and trucks as weapons and the terrorists of 9/11 used razor blades and airplanes. There is no legislation that we can put in place that will prevent acts of violence and/or terror. None. There are more guns in America than there are people. Even with a new ban on the AR-15, you will never, ever get enough guns off the streets to prevent these types of attacks.

People compare Japan’s gun laws to ours, there are two fundamental differences here. First, Japan isn’t a republic and their government wasn’t founded as ours was. Second, the Japanese teach discipline, honor and respect in their households and they have an acute focus on education. Their curriculum isn’t standardized, and they don’t lower the expectations to give everyone a fair chance. You succeed, or you don’t. They don’t have a need to legislate equality in education because they push their students to succeed and learn, they don’t have cry rooms, safe spaces and participation trophies. So compare if you want, but there are vast cultural differences between our two countries and it truly is like comparing apples to rocks.

A good place to start; cut foreign aid by 50%. That is roughly 17 billion dollars annually, that we could invest in teachers, school supplies and other educational benefits. Cut federal welfare and disperse half of the one trillion dollars to states to boost their own welfare programs and invest the other five-hundred billion dollars in infrastructure, creating more living wage jobs, invest in pharmaceutical programs that limit out of pocket expenses for citizens and foster family and meal planning programs that would help people make better food choices that leads to healthier citizens, both physically and mentally. I truly believe that the increase in mental health issues are directly related to diet, exercise and the lack of stable households. With family and meal preparation education and planning, we can fix a percentage of the issues that plague our country.

I suppose my bottom line is this. I have a deep rooted distrust for the government as a whole and I’m a firm believer in the Second Amendment for that reason alone, but I also believe that I should have the right to defend myself on the street against any threat, especially from people who believe that selling drugs illegally, perpetrating violence against women and taking things that aren’t theirs is their “cultural right” and who just have a general disregard for life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness. We can fix a lot of our own issues, but it will take real work and real world action, not posting and sharing things on Facebook. That’s like spritzing water from a 3 oz. bottle on a wildfire. It makes zero difference. Instead of vilifying the NRA, how about a partnership, with government funds, to create a national gun safety program? Of course charge people who want to own guns for taking the class.

The more the government imposes its will on the people, the more people will resist. That’s why we have the president that we have. Get woke folks.

[charllieeldridge]

New Orleans Bars: 10 Best Places To Grab a Drink

There’s perhaps no city in the US that knows how to party quite like New Orleans. Now I know New York can throw it down, and I realize they call Las Vegas Sin City for a reason, but you just can’t beat the Big Easy when it comes to nightlife. There are so many awesome New Orleans bars that you could go out every night for a year and not have a single repeat.

Think I’m joking?

As of the last count, New Orleans has the highest amount of bars per capita in the country! In the French Quarter – and especially on Bourbon Street – it seems as if every other establishment is a bar. With so many choices, how does one choose where to wet their whistle?!

I’ve been to NOLA a few times now, and I spent a vast majority of my trips there bar-hopping with friends. In one weekend, I managed to hit a swanky hotel rooftop bar, a heavy metal joint, and one of those New Orleans Bourbon Street bars where cocktails come in giant plastic tubes.

While the memories may be a tad bit fuzzy, rest assured I did proper research for this one!

If you’re planning a trip to the Big Easy and are wondering where to grab a drink, read on for a look at some of the best bars in New Orleans. I’ve made sure to include a variety of places to appease beer, wine, and cocktail connoisseurs, so there should be something for every drinker in this guide. 

An Introduction to New Orleans Bars

Bars in New Orleans run the gamut from grungy dive bars to classy cocktail lounges. The city has secret speakeasies, craft breweries, fancy wine bars, and everything in between. Whether you’re looking for a casual night out or you want to end up dancing on tables, there’s a bar for you here.

One interesting thing about New Orleans bars is that they can stay open 24/7. The phrase “last call” might as well be in a foreign language here! Oh yeah, and did I mention that you can take your drinks to go here as well?

New Orleans is one of very few places in the US that has no open container laws. Just make sure you’re not drinking out of glass on the street and you’re good to go!

Another really cool thing about the bars in New Orleans is that you can try several cocktails in the very bar where they were invented. It’s pretty amazing to pull up a stool at a bar that’s hundreds of years old and try a famous cocktail in its birthplace. Be sure to check out this post on New Orleans cocktails so you can familiarize yourself with the city’s most popular adult beverages.

Seriously, the world is your oyster when it comes to drinking in NOLA. Speaking of oysters, go ahead and have some with your drink! After all, you can’t be drinking on an empty stomach, especially not in New Orleans.

It’s always a good idea to put some food in your belly before a big night out, and there’s plenty to eat in this foodie haven. Speaking of food, be sure to bookmark this post on the best New Orleans food to try when you’re in town. 

Alright, let’s get this party started. There are so many awesome New Orleans bars that it’s near impossible compiling a definitive “best of list,” but I sure tried. Here are 10 of the best bars in New Orleans, based on my booze-fueled adventures in the city, recommendations of friends who live there, and TripAdvisor ratings. 

Top 10 New Orleans Bars

Sazerac Bar

Must Try: A Sazerac, of course! 

Prices: $7-8 for beer, $9-18 for wine, $12-21 for cocktails (a Sazerac is $18)

Hours: 7 days a week from 11AM-2AM

Location: 130 Roosevelt Way (in the Roosevelt Hotel)

Our tour of the best bars in New Orleans begins at Sazerac. There’s a lot of history at this place, as it’s named after what some consider to be the first real cocktail. The classic Sazerac dates back to the 1830s, and it’s been a go-to cocktail for New Orleanians ever since.

Legendary former governor of Louisiana Huey Long used to hang out here, Ramos Gin Fizz in hand, chatting it up with his constituents. These days, you’ll find a mix of locals and tourists, who flock here to enjoy their creative cocktails. 

The Sazerac is definitely one of the classiest of the many New Orleans bars. Recent renovations here uncovered some 1930s murals by painter Paul Ninas, which you can admire while sitting on one of their elegant bar stools. It’s especially lovely here in December when the hotel lobby transforms into a veritable winter wonderland. 

The Carousel Bar & Lounge

Must Try: The Viuex Carre is the signature drink here; the Fleur de Lis was also created here

Prices: $12-15 for cocktails

Hours: 7 days a week from 11AM-1AM

Location: 214 Royal Street (inside the Monteleone Hotel)

One of the most quintessential New Orleans bars is definitely the Carousel. In case you’re wondering, that’s not just a clever name — the bar is an actual, fully functional carousel here. Thankfully they replaced the animals with proper bar stools, so you don’t need to straddle a horse to get a drink here.

While the thought of drinking while spinning around in circles may seem nauseating, rest assured that it’s a pleasant experience. The carousel takes about 15 minutes to make a rotation, so you’ll barely even notice it. You’ll be too busy chatting it up with the expert mixologists here and trying their classic cocktails. 

Fun fact, the famous Viuex Carre cocktail was actually invented here! Sip on one of these as you enjoy the sounds of some live jazz, as they usually have live music from Wednesday to Saturday. It’s often crowded here, but it’s worth the wait to have this classic New Orleans drinking experience.

Lafitte’s Blacksmith Bar & Shop

Must Try: Frozen daiquiris are popular here, but most just drink standard cocktails or beers

Prices: $5 and up for everything

Hours: 7 days a week from 10AM-3AM

Location: 941 Bourbon Street

It’s not every day that you get to drink in a bar that’s 300 years old. That’s precisely what you can do at Lafitte’s Blacksmith, which tops the list of oldest bars in New Orleans. It’s actually said to be the oldest building used as a bar in the country! 

This historic bar is named after Jean Lafitte, a 19th-century French pirate. It’s said that he once hid out here when he needed a safe place to smuggle his pirated goods. Whether or not that’s true, he would most likely approve of the cheap, strong drinks that they pour here.

While this bar is in fact located on Bourbon Street, it’s pretty far removed from the chaos. Personally, I’m not a big fan of New Orleans Bourbon Street bars, but this one is a winner. It’s candle-lit and one of the very few piano bars in the city, making for a very fun atmosphere. 

Courtyard Brewery

Must Try: Beer (duh!) – they have over 30 beers on tap here

Prices: $3 and up

Hours: 7 days a week from 11AM-10PM or 11PM

Location: 1020 Erato Street

When most people think of New Orleans bars, they picture people slamming down sugary Hurricane drinks and mass-produced beers. While there’s certainly plenty of that going on, the city is also home to a burgeoning craft beer scene.

One of the best bars in New Orleans to get your hop fix is Courtyard Brewery. They have an impressive selection of draft beer that’s made in house as well as quite a few guest taps. Whether you fancy an IPA, stout, or sour, they’ve got a brew for you here.

They don’t have a restaurant here, but they do host rotating food trucks for when you need something to soak up the booze. Courtyard also hosts an annual craft beer and food festival called Hopfest, so you might want to check that out if you’re in town at the same time.

Arnaud’s French 75 Bar

Must Try: The French 75 (a mix of champagne and cognac)

Prices: Cocktails from $12.50-14

Hours: 7 days a week from 6-10PM and 10AM-2:30PM on Sunday

Location: 813 Bienville Street

Not only is this one of the best bars in New Orleans, but Esquire Magazine named French 75 one of the top five bars in the country. Originally a “gentlemen only” place, these days everyone can enjoy this classy bar. This is the kind of place where the servers wear tuxedos, so you may want to dress up a bit for this one.

The current incarnation of this legendary NOLA drinking establishment focuses on making classic cocktails with premium spirits. As the name would suggest, the French 75 is their signature drink. There are lots of other excellent options on the menu, though.

Even if you don’t plan to have dinner at the restaurant next door, you can still enjoy some of the food. From 6-10PM, the bar serves a varied snack menu featuring oysters en brochette, cheese puffs stuffed with prosciutto, and much more. 

Bacchanal Wine

Must Try: Wine and cheese! Take your pick from countless varieties.

Prices: Very reasonable (retail prices for wine)

Hours: 7 days a week from 11AM-Midnight or 1AM

Location: 600 Poland Ave

Alright winos, I’m sure you’ve been wondering when I’d get to the New Orleans bars for you. Wine lovers will absolutely love Bacchanal, which bills itself as the city’s “backyard party.” The city shut down them down due to a lack of permits, but thanks to local support they managed to bring their wine-fueled shindigs back to the city’s Bywater district.

At first glance, Bacchanal doesn’t look like much. From the outside, it just looks like a regular old storefront. Head in and purchase a bottle of wine (at retail price!) and then head out into their lovely courtyard where there’s live music seven days a week (weather permitting). As it’s in the Bywater, you’ll find way more locals than boozed up tourists here.

One reason that Bacchanal is definitely one of the top New Orleans bars is that they do a bi-weekly free wine tasting. These happen on Wednesday from 1-3PM and Saturday from 3-5. Oh yeah, and it was even featured on the HBO series Treme! How cool is that?

I’m not a huge wine drinker, but even I can admit that Bacchanal is one of the coolest New Orleans bars around.

Pat O’Brien’s

Must Try: The Hurricane is the signature drink here

Prices: $6-8.50 for their cocktails (Hurricanes cost $8.50)

Hours: Monday-Thursday from 11AM-2AM, Friday-Sunday from 10AM-4AM

Location: 718 St. Peter

The Hurricane is one of the most famous New Orleans cocktails, and you can try one in the very bar where it was created! As the story goes, the owner of Pat O’Brien’s once found himself with an excess of rum. At the time, distributors made bar owners buy vast quantities of rum before they would sell them more desirable liquors like bourbon. 

In an effort to get rid of this abundance of rum, he mixed it in with passion fruit syrup and lime juice. He poured the new concoction into a glass that resembled a hurricane lamp, and the rest is history. While most New Orleans bars serve Hurricanes, you’ve got to try one in the original spot where it was made.

Pat O’Brien’s is actually three bars in one. There’s the main bar where you can catch sporting events on TV, the patio centered around their famous “Flaming Fountain,” and even a dueling piano lounge. This place is fun any day of the week, but it’s especially lively on St. Patrick’s Day.

Napoleon House

Must Try: They’re famous for their Pimm’s Cup here

Prices: $4.50-7 beer, $7-12 for wine & cocktails 

Hours: Sunday-Thursday from 11AM-10PM; Friday-Saturday from 11AM-11PM

Location: 500 Charles Street

One of the oldest bars in New Orleans is the famous Napoleon House. This historic building dates back over 200 years. Back in those days, then mayor Nicholas Girod was living here. He offered the house to none other than Napoleon Bonaparte during his exile. 

Actually, Napoleon never made it, but his name did. The bar has been here since 1914, and it feels as if time stood still here. With its peeling walls, multiple paintings of Napoleon, and classical music playing, it feels like stepping back in time. You’ll often hear Beethoven’s Eroiqua, which was actually composed for Napoleon. 

There’s no way to top the description of Napoleon House than what they have on their website – they claim that the bar “exudes a European charm that is a mecca for civilized drinking and eating.” Order up a Pimm’s Cup and a classic Muffuletta and settle in for an evening at one of the best bars in New Orleans.

21st Amendment Bar at La Louisiane

Must Try: The La Louisiane is their signature cocktail

Prices: Happy Hour Monday-Thursday is $4 beers, $5 wine, and $6 cocktails

Hours: Sunday-Wednesday from 2PM-11PM, Thursday-Saturday from 2PM-2AM

Location: 725 Iberville Street

For those who flunked (or never took) American History, the 21st Amendment officially repealed Prohibition and made the consumption of alcohol legal again. When he signed it, President Franklin Roosevelt exclaimed, “What America needs now is a drink!” With the stroke of a pen, he did away with one of the least popular amendments in American history.

The 21st Amendment Bar is a tribute to the Prohibition era when underground speakeasies flourished and mobsters ran the alcohol trade. Look around the bar and you’ll spot pictures of many of them. As a matter of fact, the place was actually run by mobsters for many years when it was a hotel & restaurant.

These days, 21st Amendment is a popular hangout for both locals and tourists alike. They mix up hand-crafted cocktails here and there’s live music every day of the week. Be sure to check their calendar to see what’s playing and add Napoleon House to your list of must-visit New Orleans bars.

Snake & Jake’s Christmas Club Lounge

Must Try: Cheap beers and standard cocktails are tops here

Prices: $2-4 for beer, $5 and up for wine, $4-6 for cocktails

Hours: 7 days a week from 7AM-7PM

Location: 7612 Oak Street

No list of New Orleans bars would be complete without the city’s most infamous dive. It’s Christmas year-round at Snake & Jake’s, as they’re like your neighbors who never take the lights down. 

This is often called the “diviest of dive bars,” and that’s a pretty fitting description for this late-night haunt. From the street, it looks like the kind of place your mom told you never to frequent. Inside, however, you’ll find jovial bartenders and a few furry friends roaming about. You’ll also find some of the cheapest drinks in town, especially during their nightly Happy Hour from 7-10.

On your bucket-list of booze-fueled things to do in New Orleans, you should definitely add a nightcap at Snake & Jake’s. They stay open until 7AM, which always makes for an entertaining scene. 

Ready to Hit The New Orleans Bars?

I don’t know about you, but I’m ready to party after getting through this post! It really is amazing just how many unique New Orleans bars there are. Once you get past the tourist traps pouring cheap, excessively sugary drinks, there’s an abundance of excellent drinking establishments in the Big Easy.

Just think about all the history behind the walls of these bars in New Orleans. Where else in the world can you drink at a place named after Napoleon and another one named after a 19th-century French pirate? Or try famous cocktails right where they were created? 

The variety of bars in New Orleans is quite impressive as well. With a few nights in the city, you can experience a bacchanal backyard party, sample some of the city’s finest craft beers, and sip on a historic cocktail while riding a carousel. And that’s only just the beginning. There are so many fantastic New Orleans bars that couldn’t fit into this condensed list. 

If you’ve been out in the Big Easy and have a recommendation for a great bar or two, drop a comment below and let us know about it!

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