#i got some bad news but i gotta let it simmer first before I find the right words to tell whats going on

[donutdrawsthings]

The Privileges Of Adulthood

Donut is canonically 18 years old now. She's born in 2005!

[angry-geese]

Sea, Swallow Me

Satoru Gojo x Reader

Warnings: not OSHA compliant. hurt/comfort, light angst, ex-husband Gojo. angry/hate sex, unprotected sex, oral (cunnilingus), fingering.

Synopsis: some ex-husband Gojo smut except him and the reader are still totally in love with each other >:)

a/n: this has been rattling around in my drafts since like march and I finally got my thoughts gathered enough to write it out lol

Word Count: 4.7k

jjk masterlist

Outside, the sky grows dark, signaling an incoming storm. The weather report called for it yesterday; off and on thunderstorms all night, and well into this afternoon. Not uncommon for this time of year. This morning’s grocery trip was one made with the hope of being back before another downpour started, and from the looks of it, you were successful.

Typically, when you come home, the cat is the first thing to greet you. Today, even after she hears your keys hit the counter, she remains just out of view. You don't mind it so much, even if you do find it odd. It gives you time to put away groceries, and the treats you bought for her without her begging for anything. 

The foul weather makes it as good a day as any to spend inside. Plenty of chores need to be done around your apartment, as work has begun to consume much of your free time. That’s nothing new. Certain times of the year are busier than others at Jujutsu Tech. It certainly doesn't help that two people are out due to injuries, and another is on maternity leave, meaning you’re on call nearly 24/7. 

The cat makes herself known only after she hears a can of food open, chirping as she trots into the kitchen. She stays long enough to finish eating, and get some pets from you, before settling into her spot on the window sill, intently watching leaves being blown around outside. You settle on preparing dinner: thawing meat, and chopping veggies for a soup that’ll take nearly an hour to simmer. 

A noise from the other room draws your attention; in the living room, the TV is on—something you vividly remember shutting off. A drama was playing, but the lead was giving you such bad second-hand embarrassment that you just had to shut it off.

Maybe you really are starting to lose it. 

You’ve seen it happen to others. The stress of the job—this way of life—gets to some. You could chalk it up to forgetting; maybe the cat stepped on the remote, or maybe you really did just forget. Come to think of it, didn't you turn off the lights in the kitchen before leaving too?

The back of your neck prickles with fear. Did someone really break in? You know this isn't a particularly nice part of town, but the chance of that happening is unlikely. Besides, there is no sign of forced entry. It's just a feeling of being watched. Nothing is missing, just some lights are on, and the books on your coffee table have been moved around, as if someone looked through them. Why go through the trouble then?

Nothing in particular tips you off to the presence behind you. It comes suddenly, and without warning. Fight or flight kicks in. With your elbow and wrist parallel to your collarbone, you swing outwards.

Any normal person's elbow would have been shattered by that hit. Satoru blocks it with little effort. He uses the weight of your movement against you, allowing you to fall against him. It doesn't take much time for you to realize what he’s doing, and shove yourself away from him.

“You broke in?” You say, although your voice doesn't carry any surprise. “I gotta admit, Satoru, that's a new low.”

“Technically I didn't,” he says, “I explained to the guy up front that I was your husband and he let me in.”

Internally, you curse your landlord, a sweet old man by the name of Saito. He was one of the few people who would let you move in on such short notice. This was never meant to be a permanent placement, but you suppose you don't have much to complain about here. It's an older building, but maintenance is consistent, and the interior has been completely redone. Your neighbors are quiet, pleasant people, and this is a nice corner of the neighborhood. Not nearly as luxe as your previous home, but not bad either.

As he sits down on the couch, the cat jumps straight into his lap. You know it's not fair to project human emotions onto her. She's just a cat. But you swear you see a smug little look on her face. She chirps, and bumps her head against his hand, purring loud enough it's audible across the room. 

“I think I would have rather dealt with a house robber,” you say.

“I mean, if you're into that kind of thing,” he says, “I can put the mask back on. We'll roleplay…”

“Absolutely not,” you say, snatching the remote for the tv, switching it off, “what do you want?”

Even sitting, he’s nearly eye-level with you. His hand comes up to tug at the silver chain around his neck. You don't know whether to feel angry, or sorry for him. Gojo is almost pathetic enough that you feel bad for him. Almost. 

“What?” He asks, feigning hurt. “I can't drop in to say hello to my lovely wife?”

“Ex-wife,” you say. 

Despite your current irritation with him, the separation was about as amicable as it could be. Although it’s not official in the legal sense yet, the two of you have been living separately for months now. There was no great turning moment in your relationship, just a lifetime of little things that forced a wedge between you two. These things happen. You were young when you married, and so consumed with grief that perhaps there wasn't enough thought put into it. You don't blame yourself for it, or for anything that happened. At the age of eighteen, you had a skewed view of the world. Mistakes were common at that age. That’s just part of growing up. You were young, and every emotion felt so much more potent back then. It felt right at the time. Hell, it was right.

Maybe you still love him. It’s hard to spend so much time with someone—have so many memories with them—and not love them.

“Tsumiki has a game Saturday,” he says, “you coming?”

You're slightly offended at the suggestion you would miss it. She sent you a text about it nearly a week ago. You swore to her you'd make it, even going as far as to make arrangements to leave work early.

“Of course I am.” You say. “I’ll take her—I’m off work early anyway.”

It's better for the kids that you remain an active part in their life. Megumi and Tsumiki have already dealt with so much upheaval in their life. It's cruel enough that one caregiver left them, but two? 

You tell yourself you couldn't do that to them. That alone was enough to get you to stay in your old apartment for a few more months. By then, the kids knew something was up. They're smarter than people give them credit for, and there's only so many excuses you can make for sleeping in separate rooms.

It's been maybe a year since then. Six months since you moved out. You wouldn't call it easy, but you’ve settled into your new routine quite nicely.

“Great,” he says, “why not go together then? I’ll drive. We can get dinner together afterwards.”

Your mouth opens in protest. Although it’s phrased as a question, you know him better than that. Satoru will do everything to weasel his way into this situation. Your barely-pleasant expression sours entirely.

“No, thank you,” you say, gesturing to the door, “now get out of my house.”

“Don't be like that, baby,” he says. His arms stretch out towards you, and you immediately dart out of their path. 

“I hated you calling me that when we were married,” you say, “what makes you think I’ve changed?”

“You haven't.” He says. “That’s why I’m still here.”

Within the air here hangs a rift that time won't heal. This room—this space—is too emotionally charged for you to think straight. Your head spins, clouded with anger and spite.

“Don't tell me you left the kids alone to come bother me?” You say.

Tsumiki is nearly fifteen, and pretty independent, but you don't like leaving the kids alone any longer than you have to.

“Of course not,” he says, almost looking offended, “Tsumiki is off at a sleepover, and I got your mother to watch Megs for the weekend.”

“You what?!” 

A look of shock and betrayal crosses your face. You love your mother dearly, really, but sometimes she can be a bit… much. Early on into your marriage, she was asking when you were going to have children of your own. Being freshly twenty at the time, your answer to her was simple: never. Megumi and Tsumiki were enough. You wanted to be able to devote your time—and attention—to them, not a newborn. 

Satoru catches you in your moment of shock, his arms snaking around your waist. Your hands plant on his wrists to shove them away, yet you stop yourself. 

The sound of your phone ringing in the other room gives you a reason to escape. You free his arms from your waist, heading into the bedroom. You don't hear him get up to follow you, yet you know he does. Sitting on the table beside your bed, still charging, is your phone. It’s Tsumiki. You only glance at your phone long enough to see her name, not what she’s saying. 

The end of the bed dips under his weight as he sits. He tries his best to be covert about it, but you feel his gaze wandering around the room. From the photos on the wall, to the papers on your desk, to the stuffed animals on your bed. Oh, you can hear his snide comments now.

“Those earrings are new,” he says. And you swear you hear a slight tone of disappointment in his voice. “Pretty.”

Goosebumps rise along your arm as he reaches out to feel it, brushing across your shoulder in the process. Crystals, although they may be glass, cut to look like gems, dangling from your ears. They’re blue in color; not a light slate, but a deep cerulean. Subtle enough that they’re rather unnoticeable from a distance.

“Shoko gave them to me,” you say.

She took pity on you once she found out about the divorce. Maybe she felt partially responsible, seeing as she was the one who introduced you two.

Getting sent off to the religious boarding school known as Jujutsu Technical college was a major blow to your teenage social life. At fifteen, all you wanted was to go to a normal high school with your normal friends. Yet you weren't granted such a luxury, and instead were thrown into a world you knew nothing about. You quickly found solace, and a strange kind of companionship in the girl that smoked behind the school: Ieiri Shoko.

If you didn't end up marrying him, you probably would have married her. 

For you, it wasn't love at first sight. You could barely stand him in the beginning. It was a rivalry that slowly turned into friendship, ending in romance, albeit with much prodding from Suguru and Shoko. Teenage love consumed the two of you harshly, and entirely.

It wouldn't be until years later, after the wedding, when you would find out they bet on it.

You don't push him away when he kisses you. Just a peck, nothing more. Like you’re teenagers, exchanging affections in the stairwell between classes. When the higher ups would get upset at you, not him, because he was the strongest and could get away with just about everything.

Of course you still love him. How couldn't you?

You were one of the first to look at him as something other than the strongest. Even after the star plasma vessel, and Toji Zenin. Even after Suguru’s death. Even through your own grief, your presence was constant. To him, the concept of not having you around was strange.

The taste of coffee and lipstick lingers on your lips. Your thumb comes up to wipe away the smudge of red that’s transferred to his lips. And you, so pliable and eager, fall right into his lap.

His lips find your neck, hands wandering from your arms, to your chest, to your waist. He’s savoring your closeness—the scent of your shampoo: coconut. Little do you know, he keeps a bottle of the stuff in his own bathroom. If anyone asks, he claims it’s Tsumiki’s. Only you would know otherwise. She hates the stuff, and has been buying her own since the moment she was able to. Really, he keeps it around because he can't bring himself to throw it away.

“Satoru, we shouldn't do this.” You say. You don't really want him too, it’s only to preserve your pride.

Then why is your body responding so well to him? Your body knows this routine. Maybe the last several months of living alone has sped up the process considerably. Blood rushes where it needs to be, and perhaps most shamefully of all, you’re wet. Although you’re not quite prepared yet, it’s just in the early stages of gathering.

A line of saliva connects his lips and your neck as he pulls away. “If you really wanted me gone, I wouldn't still be here,” he says. 

You tell yourself that, if you really wanted him to stop, then you wouldn't have spent so many nights dreaming of this. You wouldn't reach out to the cold spot on the bed beside you. Your subconscious wouldn't long for him in nearly every way imaginable. 

His hands trace across your waist, coming to take yours. They’re warm, albeit a bit shaky. He’s just itching to undress you—to claim what’s his. It's a sick, possessive side of him that’s only fueled by your recent months apart. He comes to kneel before you like a man bowed in prayer. Satoru sits in worship, but not for the favor of a higher being. You might as well be one to him. Should you wish it, the strongest—wielder of the six eyes—would worship the very ground before you. That devotion would soon become suffocating. It was a bandaid on an already failing relationship.

“Still want me to stop?” He asks, squeezing your hands. Whether that’s on purpose, or an accident, you can't tell. “You say no and I’ll stop here. Just give me the word and we won't ever have to do this again.”

In this moment, your body betrays you: you shake your head. You don't truly want him to go; you know that, he knows that. He wouldn't be poking and prodding at every little unhealed wound if that wasn't the case.

“I need to hear you say it,” he says. That’s when you notice what’s on the chain around his neck: his wedding ring. 

It's like he’s mocking you. Of course he still has it. Of course he saw that yours was still sitting on the bathroom counter. 

Satoru has always been like this. He pokes and prods, finding out where you’re weak. What cracks or wounds he can press his fingers into. Pushing boundaries comes natural to him. 

Maybe you’ve changed. Maybe he hasn't changed at all.

“I just want to get off,” you say. 

“Poor baby,” he coos, “you haven't gotten off at all while I was gone, have you? You should have called me. I would have taken care of you.”

“I think I'd rather call Nanami for that.” You say.

The chuckle he lets out sounds nervous. “I know you're joking,” he says, “but judging by the way he looks at you? I think he'd take you up on the offer.”

You believe it. It was a thinly veiled secret that Nanami harbored a little crush for you. The man would never go as far as to pursue his coworker, let alone his coworker's ex wife. This entire time, he’s kept a respectful distance, only speaking about your marriage if you expressed a want to do so. You’ve considered it. Hell, you’ve given it a lot of thought. You think maybe… just maybe, if the two of you were drunk or desperate enough, something could happen. But fraternizing with coworkers in such a way is ill-advised. 

Satoru is going to give him hell tomorrow when he sees him at work. Nanami will be none the wiser, assuming Satoru is up to his usual antics.

“One last chance to back out of this,” he says, “if you don't want to do this…”

“Are you going to fuck me or not?” You ask.

His fingers trace down the curve of your spine, before coming to the hem of your sweater, pulling it up—and over—your head. From him comes an audible little gasp once he realizes you have no bra on underneath. That part wasn't intentional; you need to do laundry, and your shirt was baggy enough that a bra wasn't necessary. Your nipples stiffen once exposed to the open air. Although you know how this looks, it sends a pang of self-consciousness through you, causing you to cross your arms in front of your chest. It’s not like he hasn't seen this before. Maybe it's a last ditch attempt to preserve your pride. And he’s nearly tripping over himself to undress, pulling off his coat, then button-up, then trousers. Off comes your skirt, the silky fabric pooling around your feet. 

If you could stop for a moment and think, it would be endearing: the desperation that falls over you two like teenagers. He can hardly keep his hands off you, while you don't quite know what to do with yours. Eventually, you settle on wrapping your arms around his neck. 

You sit on the edge of the bed before him, still in your panties. Plain black. Nothing fancy, but cute. Maybe if you knew…

You almost scold yourself for thinking such things. It’s not like you had any way of knowing this would happen. You know part of it was to preserve your pride. Being able to move on without seeming like you needed him. He’s not your husband anymore; why go through the effort of getting dressed up?

Beside you, on the bed, he finds a spot to sit. He’s half hard already. His hands ghost up the outsides of your arms, before coming to cup your face. They soon fall to your waist as you move to straddle his lap.

Satoru leans in to kiss you, and it’s… uncharacteristically sweet. That almost makes things worse. If this were something over and done with quickly, that would be tolerable. You could chalk it up to raw emotions or hormones or something other than the fact you still have feelings for him and haven't come to terms with that.

Sex for the sake of mindless pleasure is one thing. It’s tolerable. You can explain it away easily. But the way he handles you—like you’re going to break—sends a pang of pain through your chest. It's too much. Should he act selfishly, that would be far more bearable than this. 

You almost want him to. It would be so much easier if he just took what he wanted, and left.

“Lay back,” he says, “like that. Good girl.”

You scoot back on the bed just far enough to fall against the pillows. Your thighs part just enough to accompany him. The body above yours is warm. His lips find yours, then your neck, then one of your stiffened nipples, softly biting down on it. That draws a sharp gasp from you, although the shock it sends down your spine is rather pleasurable. 

His fingers hook under the waistband of your panties, tugging them down your legs slowly. Achingly slowly. Shamelessly, his eyes linger on the way they stick to your already slick cunt. This moment is only dragging out because he wants it to. They’re tossed away alongside the rest of your clothes. Long, deft fingers come to trace along your slit; teasing motions done by a man who can barely contain himself. The patience of Satoru Gojo has limits, and you’re testing them.

He palms himself through his boxers. He's completely hard now. That doesn't stop him from trailing long, sloppy kisses down your stomach, and up your thigh. His thumb traces across the bundle of nerves. Slow and steady. Just enough to get you aching for him, but not enough to get you anywhere. You try to angle your hips towards him—to grind against him—but Satoru cruelty pulls his hand away. 

“Just… let me have my moment,” he says, chest heaving as he breathes in. 

So he admits it…

His thumb is soon replaced with his mouth, greedily licking and sucking at the bundle of nerves that is your clit. There's little rhyme or reason but it's just messy enough that it'll get you off. First, his index finger pushes into you, then another. Satoru must be moaning nearly as loud as you. The hand that isn't fucking out is wrapped around his cock, and he's bucking into it like it's a warm body. Judging by the noises he's making, he's going to cum, so he stops himself before he does so. You don't. Satoru guides you through your own orgasm, his mouth leaving your clit only after you've stopped trembling. It felt rushed. You're not quite satisfied.

Satoru makes a show of licking his fingers. When he kisses you, this taste only grows more prominent. He's making you taste yourself and you're not quite sure how to feel about it. It's not unpleasant, akin to unripe persimmons in taste.

“Is it how you remember?" You ask, a coy expression spreading across your face.

“Different,” he says, “better.”

There’s no time to grab a condom. Not that you have any in here anyway. Whatever consequences that result from this will be dealt with in the morning.

A small groan leaves him as he bottoms out. It's obvious that he tries to stifle it, and fails, resulting in a noise that certainly has your neighbors questioning things. You'll avoid their gazes in the hall tomorrow morning. This won't become a regular thing, you tell yourself. 

Hardly a few thrusts in and he knows he is going to cum too soon. You can see it all over his face. Pleasure turns to concentration, then thinly veiled stress. The sound of skin slapping against skin fills your bedroom. Some small, sick little part of you is grateful for your thin walls.

You hate him. You still love him. You wish he would walk out of your apartment right now. But part of you can't bear to sleep another night alone.

“You don't know how much I've been thinking about this,” he says, making a noise between a grunt and a huff, “about the way you feel. Taste. I couldn't get it out of my head.”

His mouth finds yours again and the kiss he exchanges with you is dripping with desperation. Something small, and quiet leaves his lips once they part with yours. You soon recognize it as an “I love you.”

He cums sooner than either of you expected, and from him, your name spills past his lips like a prayer. Though, you suppose that this is the closest he'll ever get to praying.

Your own release is still just out of reach. It doesn't take much effort to get him on his back, and you on top, riding him. He’s still hard, despite having just cum inside you. The fruits of his effort can be seen streaming down your thighs. Your movements grow sloppier as you grow nearer to your release, grinding down against him and his softening cock. Within your stomach, it’s as if an invisible band is tightening. Your own orgasm comes out in the form of a noise that sounds like both a moan and a sob. It's anger and pain mixing with pleasure. Tears of frustration are brimming along your lower lash line. You hate him. You love him. You wish he would leave but you don't want to sleep alone. A rift exists between the two of you that time will not heal.

Instead, you lay beside him on the bed. From beside you, he grabs a blanket for you to cover yourself with. As much as he missed the sight of your naked body, he knows this room is cold, and you’ll be getting up to get dressed anyway. 

To him, there’s not a more beautiful sight: you, laying on the bed beside him, leaking of his cum. It would be better if it were his own bed, he thinks, but this'll do. 

“I take it we’re on speaking terms again?” He asks.

“I don't know yet,” you say, “depends on how this conversation goes.”

From beside you on the nightstand, you retrieve your glasses, putting them back on. Outside, the sky still appears dark, only lit up momentarily by a bolt of lightning. The rain has slowed to a drizzle, running down your window in streams.

“Seems like great weather to stay in bed,” he comments. 

An arm snakes around your waist. You debate with yourself on whether or not to shove it off.

“I think some time apart will do us good.” You say, and the arm around your waist stiffens. He seems to be deciding whether to pull away or not.

“And what? Couples therapy too?” His tone suggests he's making a joke, but not one in bad faith.

“Just in general, you need therapy,” you’re only half joking when you say it, despite it applying to you too, “but I don't think there's one that specializes in whatever you have going on.”

“Funny.” He says flatly.

He lays on his back on the bed, and you lay on your side, watching the steady rise and fall of his chest. 

“I don't know what I want.” You say, finally. “I guess I could use something to eat.”

You had plans to make a nice, elaborate dinner tonight, although you’re no longer feeling like it. You went through the effort of buying the ingredients, and cleaning the kitchen, so you might as well. 

Satoru follows you as you make your way to the kitchen, stopping once to pull on a shirt. It used to be one of his, he notes. Maybe enough time has passed that you don't remember. Maybe you do. It’s just long enough to fall towards the middle of your thighs—you won't be giving the neighbors a show. He stops long enough to pull his boxers back on, leaving the rest of his clothes discarded on your bedroom floor.

From a cabinet, you retrieve two mugs. On goes the kettle to boil. He watches as you fill the french press with one… two… three scoops of coffee grounds. Just enough boiling water goes in to wet the grounds—they have to sit for a few minutes before the rest is poured in. 

Your taste in coffee hasn't changed much over the years. You still take it with cream and sugar. Satoru—when he does drink coffee—takes it with enough sugar to make your teeth hurt. 

“We must be on speaking terms,” he says, “otherwise I'd have been kicked out by now.”

“If I was going to kick you out, I would have done it before we had sex. Not after.” You say, taking a sip of your coffee. 

Something about the casualness of this moment makes your chest ache; like the last year hasn't happened, and the two of you are just sharing a moment over coffee. 

Neither of you notice the front door opening, nor the jingle of keys being inserted into the lock. Tsumiki, standing in the doorway, nearly drops what she’s holding: a book. Her eyes are wide with a mix of shock, before narrowing into anger. 

“‘Miki!” You say, almost as shocked as her, if not moreso. “What are you doing here?”

“Returning this,” she says, holding up the book in her hand, “I sent you a text about it like an hour ago. What are you doing?!”

Truly, you don't have anything to say for yourself. Your mouth opens, and a few, broken fragments of an excuse come out. Satoru, looking nearly as surprised as you, simply waves to her, before disappearing into another room. That won't help your case at all. 

“Having coffee,” you say, “we were just talking about your game on Saturday.”

She seems unconvinced. Tsumiki, like most teenagers, is a lot smarter than people give her credit for. Silently, she sets the book on the counter, before turning back towards the door.

“I’ll see you at dinner," she says, leaving.

[cinnaminsvga]

🌷 social media au where y/n posts an advertisement looking for a new place to stay that is closer to campus, causing seven upperclassmen to make it their mission to recruit her into their dormitories 🌷

A/N: THIS TOOK FOREVER AND I KINDA RUSHED IT AT THE END BUT HOPEFULLY IT MAKES SENSE?? anyway, yoongi didn’t do anything stupid (depending on your definition of stupid) so no need to worry about him being cringey,,, i spared you all from the secondhand embarrassment but i won’t be so kind next time!! anyway... enjoy || W.C. 3.8K

prev // part 11 // next masterlist here.

By the time Seokjin’s phone begins to ring, Yoongi can already feel the dread settle deep inside his bones. The familiar coil of anxiety tightens around his throat like a vice, and Yoongi has to remember how to breathe to keep himself from fainting like a corseted Victorian lady. 

“Well, that must be her!” Seokjin chimes, promptly declining your call without a glance. Yoongi catches a glimpse of your contact photo anyway: it’s an unflattering angle of you from below your neck, giving the illusion of a multitude of chins. If it were any other time, Yoongi might have smiled like a lovesick fool. 

“Don’t you dare let her in here,” Yoongi seethes. He tries to sound menacing, but the effect is severely diminished by how badly his voice cracks. He tugs at Seokjin by the sleeve, but the older man refuses to budge. “Hyung, I’m serious. I know what you’re trying to do.”

“Are you done live-tweeting your confusion now? Finally got the memo? I always knew you were a smart boy,” Seokjin laughs, patting Yoongi on the shoulder with his tomato sauce-covered tongs. “Since we’re on the same page now, why don’t you change clothes while I finish cooking? I know your entire wardrobe is composed of the free t-shirts you got from job fairs, but it would do well to wear a clean, unstained shirt.”

Yoongi swipes at him, hissing like the catboy that he is. “You’re the one who wiped shit on me, asshole. And yes, I figured out what you are trying to do. You think you’re so slick, but I know that you’re just trying to embarrass me in front of Y/N!”

Seokjin shrugs. “It isn’t like I’m trying to be slick. I embarrass you all the time. Besides, I’m setting you up on a date with the love of your life! You should be thanking me, if I’m being honest.”

Yoongi stammers, his jaw dropping in shock. “Love of my–?”

Seokjin waves his tongs in his face, silencing him. “Oh, hush. Don’t even try to hide it, Yoongi. I figured out that you like Y/N. Your weird behavior finally makes sense! After years of you avoiding her, I always thought you were just bad at forming human connections, but turns out you’ve got a gigantic heart boner for my best friend!”

“Please don’t phrase it like that,” Yoongi groans, smashing his head against his kitchen counter. He hopes a few brain cells might have died, just so he can stop processing the words coming out of Seokjin’s mouth. “Actually, just please stop talking.”

Seokjin snorts in exasperation as if Yoongi was the dramatic one between them. “Point is, this is a favor that I’ve chosen to grant you from the goodness of my heart! As I said, I’m giving you the love life you deserve! So stop whining and get moving before Y/N gets up here.”

“There isn’t any goodness nor a heart inside of you. And more importantly, when was the last time you did anything for free, you capitalist bastard!”

Seokjin clicks his tongue, shaking his head. “That’s where you’re wrong, Yoongi-chi. You’ve already paid me for my services by offering me front row seats to watch you lose your fucking mind. And that, my friend, is priceless.”

“Aha! So you do admit that this is all just a ploy to humiliate me!” Yoongi shouts. He grabs a knife from his scabbard, pointing it threateningly at Seokjin. He doesn’t even flinch, instead gently guiding Yoongi by the wrist over to the chopping board where he had placed some garlic cloves beforehand. Without prompting, Yoongi’s hand begins to move, his culinary instincts taking over.

“Yes and no,” Seokjin admits as he grabs Yoongi’s cast iron pan from the top shelf (which he has never gotten to use since he bought it, ever since Seokjin had borrowed it once and placed it too high for him to retrieve.) “I’m honestly trying to help you out here, my dude. Besides, even if shit hits the fan, Y/N isn’t gonna think any less of you. She’s too much of an idiot to resent anyone.”

“Speaking from experience?” Yoongi huffs, eyeing him with intense vitriol. “Can’t say I understand how she’s gone this long without killing you.” The next time the two of them are alone together in the wilderness, he can’t promise that his hands won’t find their way around Seokjin’s throat, and it won’t be sexy.

“Hmm. Yeah, definitely,” he says, nodding absentmindedly. As he begins to season the steak, he hands the cast iron pan to Yoongi. “Start preheating this. We need it to be smoking hot before we can place the steak on there.”

“I know how to cook a steak, fucker. And who said you’re allowed to serve my Wagyu steak? I was saving that for a special occasion!”

Seokjin looks up from his ministrations long enough to raise a brow at him. “So going on your first ever date with Y/N isn’t considered a special occasion?”

Yoongi falters, eyes widening. “N-no, that’s not what I mean!” he defends hotly, but he quickly snaps out of it. “Wait, no! This is not a date! Not when both parties did not agree to any of this!”

Seokjin pauses from his cooking to place a perfectly manicured hand on his hip. “I mean, Y/N agreed to it, so are you going to reject her? Huh? Too good for her and my spaghetti?”

Yoongi scoffs, rolling his eyes. “No, she did not agree to this. She doesn’t even know you’re forcing her to eat lunch with me.”

“How can you say that with such certainty?” Seokjin challenges, puffing his cheeks. “You don’t even know what I told her!”

Except I do know what you said, Yoongi thinks darkly to himself. And more importantly, I know what she thinks you were implying. He is pretty sure that the words “crush on him during high school” have seared themselves underneath his eyelids forevermore.

But instead, he says, “Yeah, well. If what you told her is as vague as what you told me, I have a pretty good hunch that this is going to blow up into a huge misunderstanding.”

Like the absolute menace that he is, all Seokjin does is shrug nonchalantly. “Suppose you are right… Who cares? It’s not like the two of you are strangers, so I’m sure this is going to go great!”

“What the fuck? She is a stranger! I’ve literally only spoken two words to her in the past four years!” Yoongi seethes, his temple throbbing from an oncoming migraine. 

Seokjin ignores him, as per his want. “Grab that plate, will you? I gotta plate the pasta before Y/N starts calling again to let her into the building,” he says, nudging the tongs into Yoongi’s hands. Yoongi squawks, quickly turning the stove off to keep the food from burning. 

Seokjin tears off his (read: Yoongi’s) apron off, wiping his hands on his jeans with a quick smile. “Great! While you finish up here, I’ll distract Y/N for a bit in my room before I lead her in here, alright? You better hurry unless you want to keep her waiting!”

“Oh, like how you kept her waiting downstairs for the past–” Yoongi checks his wall clock, “–seven minutes?”

Seokjin cackles madly, rushing out the door. “Well, that’s where you and I differ, Yoongi-chi! I give no shits about how Y/N thinks about me, so good luck!” After sending Yoongi three flying kisses for good measure, Seokjin slams the door shut, leaving Yoongi to simmer in his bad life choices.

The worst choice that he’s ever made? Being friends with one (1) Kim Seokjin.

“God, just end me,” Yoongi mutters, placing his $80 steak on his pan. It sizzles deliciously, much like how his (nonexistent) love life is about to get burnt to a crisp.

x x x x x

“Took you long enough.” You watch as Seokjin taunts you with a funny little dance by the lobby of his dormitory, the building receptionist not even batting an eye at his eccentricity. That’s the sad side effect of living in close proximity with Seokjin: you start getting desensitized to most things, not even flinching at the sight of a man without a functioning central nervous system.

Seokjin slides his card to open the door, finally allowing you entry. “Sorry. Got busy preparing your lunch! Which by the way, you should be thanking me for.”

“The moment I thank you for anything is the day that you slip on your own cum and die,” you grouse, nudging past him to get on the elevator first. You punch the button for the 5th floor before rapidly trying to close the elevator door on him. Unfortunately, Seokjin makes it in time before his ass gets clamped by the two steel doors.

“Thinking about my cum? Oh my, Y/N… I know you’ve had a dry spell for too long, but I didn’t think you’d be that desperate for some of my butter,” Seokjin says, leaning closely to wink at you.

Against your will, your cheeks brighten furiously, weakly pushing Seokjin away from you. “You wish. At least I don’t spend my spare time loitering outside the campus gym to ogle all the sweaty hot people.”

“And the invitation to join me still stands by the way!” Seokjin singsongs, leaping out of the elevator once you reach his floor. You walk side by side until you reach his room, but you catch him shooting a furtive glance at his next-door neighbor.

“Is Yoongi joining us for lunch?” you ask, failing to keep your curiosity from showing in your voice. If Yoongi does end up joining you for lunch (which has never happened in the past four years, convincing you that he must have a personal grudge against you), then at least it can confirm to you straight away that whatever this “date” is just another prank by Seokjin. You don’t know if you should be disappointed or grateful if it is just a joke.

Seokjin beams in response, a mischievous twinkle in his eye. “You know what? He is going to join us, actually!” 

He had been in the midst of unlocking his dorm when he changes direction, leading you to Yoongi’s door instead. He rifles through his other keys, and you notice one of them looks similar to his own house key, except with a Hello Kitty sticker on it. He pulls that key out and promptly unlocks Yoongi’s door without missing a beat.

What kind of weirdo must Yoongi be to give Seokjin a spare key to his dorm? You’d rather shit out a cactus than let Seokjin have free entry to your home whenever he pleases.

You hesitate by Yoongi’s door, feeling nervous all of a sudden. “Um, Seokjin? Are you sure it’s okay for me to–?”

“HONEY I’M HOOOOME!” Seokjin’s loud guffaw cuts you off before you can finish your question. He bursts through the door and leaves you by the hallway, and you watch as he nearly tackles Yoongi to the ground.

Yoongi, despite looking like he’s half the size of Seokjin on a good day, manages to keep upright despite how his back is now bent parallel to the floor. “Get off me!” he yells, roughly pushing Seokjin off of him. 

Seokjin tumbles to the floor, but the shit-eating grin on his face hardly wavers. He points at you by the doorway, a cheeky grin on his lips. “Look, Yoongi-chi! I brought a guest!”

Yoongi spares you half a glance before returning his attention to whatever he was cooking. “I suppose you did.”

Okay, this date is definitely a joke. Why the hell did you even think for a second that Seokjin might have been into you?

“Um,” you stutter nervously. You grind your heel into the carpet self-consciously, your gaze downcast. “Hello, Yoongi. Sorry for the intrusion, by the way…”

“It’s fine,” Yoongi replies, albeit a little curtly. He clears his throat, his face still tilted away from you so you can’t tell if he’s genuinely annoyed or not. 

You point a glare at Seokjin, who looks shamelessly pleased with himself. After taking a deep breath, you take your first steps into Yoongi’s home before gently closing the door.

As you look around at your new surroundings, you notice that his home is a lot cleaner than you would have expected, though you’re not exactly sure what you should have expected in the first place. It’s minimalist, but not in a barren type of way; it’s seems like Yoongi is fond of simple designs more than anything. It’s certainly a nice change of pace compared to Seokjin’s abomination of a room, with his vaguely yellow-stained bedsheets. 

The smell of freshly cooked pasta and meat being grilled catches your senses immediately. You watch as Yoongi flips over a hefty piece of steak, the aroma causing your mouth to salivate instantly. 

“I… What is… Huh?” you start, not knowing what to ask. You catch Seokjin snickering quietly to himself, but promptly shuts up when you mime punching him in the dick.

“It’ll be finished in a second. Why don’t you sit down?” Yoongi announces quietly, his gaze still fixed away from you. Confused but left with no other choice, you tentatively make your way to his couch, unable to relax as your spine remains ramrod straight and your jaw stays clenched. 

You hear Seokjin shuffling behind you until he eventually makes his way to sit with you, plopping onto the couch as if it were his home. “Ah… I’m soooo hungry. Smells good, doesn’t it?” he asks you, his brow wiggling too much to be considered normal. Either that, or he was having a stroke.

“Yeah, it does,” you say, greatly uncomfortable. You peek at Yoongi once more, who is still dutifully attending to the steak. Making sure he isn’t looking, you twist Seokjin by the nipple, causing the elder to let out a high-pitched squeal. To an outsider, it might have almost sounded like he was being pleasured. 

“Ouch! What the fuck was that for?” Seokjin whines, rubbing his tenderized nipples. 

“You know what that was for,” you hiss, keeping your volume low. “What the hell are we doing here? Why are you making Yoongi cook for us?!”

“For us? It’s for you!” Seokjin snaps back. “Didn’t you say you would only come over if you got fed? Well, this is how you get fed!”

“I was under the assumption that you would be feeding me, not him!” you seethe. You check back on Yoongi, who still hasn’t looked your way once. “The poor boy… No wonder he doesn’t like me! He must think I’m as bad as you!”

Seokjin snorts. “Of course he likes you! This whole lunch date wouldn’t have even fucking happened if he wasn’t assdeep in lo–”

“Lunch is finished,” Yoongi interrupts loudly, his spatula rattling loudly against his pan. The sudden noise makes you jump away from Seokjin, who appears vaguely triumphant. 

“T-thanks,” you stutter, standing up and resisting the random urge to shake his hand. Everything about this situation is so tense and awkward that it feels like you’re being filmed for a prank Youtube video or something. Knowing Seokjin, the odds of that happening are great. 

“That’s my cue to leave then! Bye! You guys have fun!” Seokjin says, jumping to his feet. 

You vaguely hear Yoongi gasp quietly when you launch yourself at Seokjin, just narrowly keeping from escaping. “Oh no, you don’t! Who said you could leave? You’re not going anywhere!”

But like the slippery snake that he is, Seokjin manages to wriggle out of your arms and hop over Yoongi’s coffee table to get to the door. “Too bad! I have classes to get to, so I gotta blast! Use this time to get to know each other or whatever it is that kids do these days,” he says, winking salaciously. With one final sputter of (evil) laughter, Seokjin makes his exit, leaving you and Yoongi to fester in some good ol’ fashioned discomforting silence.

“Um,” you say, just as Yoongi opens his mouth to say something too.

“No, you go first–”

“You go ahead–”

The two of you pause mid-sentence, staring at each other. You grin sheepishly at him, motioning for him to speak first. 

He returns your smile half-heartedly. “So, um… I just wanted to say I’m sorry for letting Seokjin rope you into this. I tried stopping him, but… You know how he is.”

You laugh, sounding a little crazed even to your own ears. That’s the longest sentence you’ve ever heard him speak! 

“Yeah, believe me… I am intimately aware of how he is. Sometimes I wish I wasn’t,” you joke. 

Amazingly, your little quip makes his smile widen, his cheeks puffing up imperceptibly. “Glad we can agree that Seokjin has the amazing ability to ruin people’s lives. It’s almost welcoming to find solidarity in a shared experience.”

“Shared experience? Try shared trauma. That dude is a walking serotonin sucker,” you say dryly. 

You don’t think what you said was remotely funny enough to warrant a laugh, but it causes Yoongi to let out a loud snort regardless. But the amusement on his face is short-lived, his cheeks going red in embarrassment. He slaps a hand to his mouth, breaking eye contact once more. “Oh fuck, that was so unflattering,” he groans, clearly mortified.

His blush, multiplied by his shy demeanor, makes you want to coo at him, but you doubt he’d take that too kindly. So instead, you change the subject to save him. “So, uhh… The food? You don’t have to give me any, by the way. I wouldn’t want you to waste your lunch on me or anything.”

Yoongi snaps out of his previous embarrassment, returning to the more familiar stoic expression you’ve come to associate with Yoongi. “No, that’s fine. Seokjin–er, rather… I made enough for two people, so it would be a waste if you didn’t eat at least some of it. But I don’t care either way if you want it or not.”

For two people? you wonder. So Yoongi had known Seokjin wasn’t going to join for lunch?

“Oh, if it’s fine with you…” you trail off, meekly making your way towards him. The spaghetti and steak look absolutely delicious, though you don’t need to tell him that when your stomach speaks for you. “Oh shit, that’s so embarrassing,” you say, your cheeks heating up this time.

Yoongi chuckles, shaking his head. “Haven’t eaten breakfast yet, I assume? That’s pretty stupid if you ask me. Don’t you have class until 5? How the hell would you have survived until then?”

You choke in surprise. Where did all that sass suddenly come from? “Excuse me? I’m not stupid! I would’ve been fine with a sandwich from the cafeteria if you must know!” you say indignantly. You’re too busy being offended that you don’t fully comprehend his words, failing to notice how he had known you had class until 5 in the first place.

“Sure, whatever you say.” Rolling his eyes, Yoongi starts shifting through his cupboards and pulling out a pink tupperware. He begins to load them with food, nearly overflowing the containers with how much he tries to stuff in them.

“H-hey! What are you doing?”

“Packing your lunch. You have class in a bit, yeah? It’s almost 11:50 and it takes around 15 minutes to get to the main campus. You won’t have time to eat here and make it in time,” he says, pointing you with a look. “Wait. Did you have coffee this morning?”

“Yeah? So?” you ask, defensive. “Are you gonna call me stupid again for not having caffeine or something?”

“No,” he grunts. “If you’re caffeinated, then that means it should only take you 7 minutes to get to class.”

“That doesn’t even make sense!” you exclaim, but you can’t help letting out an incredulous laugh. “Wow. You’re kinda weird, did you know that?”

“You barely even know me, so how would you know?” he retorts. He finishes placing food into the tupperware and promptly clicks the lid in place. He offers it to you, smirking slightly.

You huff, but your ire is all for show. You aren’t actually annoyed by him–he’s just… different from what you expected. A little shy, a little rough around the edges… but you can tell he isn’t a bad guy. You understand why Seokjin loves to torment him; he seems like a fun person to tease. 

“That can be amended,” you respond, taking the tupperware from him. Your fingers graze the backs of his hand by accident, causing him to quickly retract his hand as though he’d been burned. You nearly drop the container in surprise, but luckily your reflexes save your precious food just in time. 

“Sorry. About… you know.” Yoongi gesticulates wildly, his gaze darting anywhere but at you. 

You smile secretly to yourself, amused. Ah. He’s like a human seesaw. Blushy one second and grumpy the next. “No worries, Yoongi. I’ll be sure to return this container soon, so don’t you worry.”

Yoongi shrugs. “Keep it if you want. I don’t care either way.”

Says the guy who has an entire cupboard full of color coordinating food containers. “Roger that, Yoongi.”

Yoongi walks you out the door, pausing outside the hallway with you. “Do you…” he hesitates, swallowing loudly enough for you to hear. “Do you… want me to walk you out?”

His sudden offer almost makes you want to laugh, but you have a feeling he wouldn’t find it amusing at all. Instead, you just shake your head with a smile. “Don’t worry. I won’t get lost. I think I remember where the door is.”

He pouts, his lips jutting out cutely. “Yeah, well. I was just trying to be nice, but you do you.”

You giggle lightly, patting him on the shoulder. “Don’t worry. You were more than nice,” you say, winking for added effect. It does more than you thought it would, causing Yoongi’s cheeks to bloom once more.

With one last wave, you make your way out of the dormitory, your heart a little lighter than before. 

“Huh. That was weird.” You glance at the pink little tupperware in your hands, its warmth keeping your hands safe from the winter chill. As you walk to class, your thoughts are filled with nothing but a shy boy with soft hands and even softer cheeks. Maybe Tuesday isn’t going to be so bad after all.

[arotechno]

Jughead (2015), Issues 1-6: Discussion and Commentary

"I am like unto a god, Archie Andrews. Respect me as such."

Recently re-typed and ready to go, here is a broad discussion of the first volume of the Jughead reboot comic series. I was originally going to review each issue individually, but given that the first six comprise one story arc, I decided to do the whole volume in one go. That means this is a bit crunched for time and therefore not quite as in-depth as I wanted to go! But I encourage you to read the comics for yourself, if you are able.

This will not be spoiler-free, for the record! The images here are taken from my own copy using my phone, so they're not the best quality! But they also aren't especially crucial to this commentary, so you'll have to bear with me.

I just really like the inside cover art for this volume, alright (it's also the cover of issue 5)? I can't help it, I'm aro, I see heart imagery and something in my brain goes haywire.

When we first meet Jughead at the beginning of Volume 1, he comes off as lazy and apathetic, at least on the surface. After an all-nighter of playing video games, Jughead is dragged to school by Archie. There, they find that Betty has started a new campaign to save Fox Forest, a beloved local greenspace that is being threatened by Veronica’s wealthy father, Mr. Lodge. Jughead is… not very interested in Betty’s cause, to put it politely. It’s not that he doesn’t care about Fox Forest, but he does not believe that Mr. Lodge would be convinced to change his mind by a petition. He tells Betty as such, and she remarks that he lives a very hollow life.

“Man, you’re so cynical,” Archie tells him. “Is there anything you’d actually fight for?”

The answer is yes. What ultimately gets Jughead to fight for something? Food—well, kind of, but we’re getting ahead of ourselves.

When Archie and Jughead get to class, they learn that the principal of Riverdale High, Mr. Weatherbee, is being replaced out of the blue by a new guy called Stanger. Stanger is a stiff, serious type, and he immediately starts making changes: new uptight teachers, a strict dress code, new bootcamp-esque curriculum, and most importantly, supposedly nutritious slop to replace the food in the cafeteria.

This sends Jughead down a bit of a rebellious path—he’s not a rule-breaker, but he’s perfectly comfortable with bending the rules in his favor while narrowly skirting around getting into trouble. He starts selling burgers in the cafeteria, with the proceeds benefitting Betty’s fundraiser for Fox Forest.

(Hell yeah, Jughead, unionize that student body! Sell those burgers! You have nothing to lose but your chains!)

This stunt gets Jughead on Stanger’s bad side immediately, and a slowly simmering feud between them ultimately boils over when Stanger plants a knife in Jughead’s backpack to get him expelled. Thankfully, his dad is able to talk his sentence down to a week’s suspension, but that doesn’t stop his friends (and his mother) from worrying about him.

As an aside, I’d like to take a moment to appreciate Mr. Jones.

“Something’s off here and I’m not sure what it is, but I am sure Jughead didn’t bring a knife to school. My boy’s weird, but he’s not a criminal.”

I really like this line from him to Betty. He clearly knows his son and is willing to stand up for him, and it’s comforting to me, especially viewing the story through the lens of Jughead being aroace, that Mr. Jones is not at all bothered by his son being a bit on the strange side, as long as he’s still a good kid. Nothing but respect for Forsythe Jones II in this house.

Something fun and unique about this volume in particular is that in every issue, Jughead either falls asleep or passes out, and has an elaborate imaginative dream about the events of the story. In one he’s a pirate, for example, and in another he’s visited by a descendant of Archie’s from the future, who belongs to the time police. But towards the end of the volume, the line between these daydreams and reality seem to blur for Jughead. He comes to the conclusion in one particular nightmare that Stanger is trying to brainwash them all into becoming mindless agents for his evil organization—and then he realizes he may not be that far off from the truth.

Jughead brings this realization—that Stanger is using the school as a sort of training ground for secret agents—up to his friends, and understandably, they aren’t convinced. They worry that the compounded exhaustion of multiple all-nighters playing games and the stress of being suspended has started to get to Jughead, but he vows to prove it to them.

I mean, damn, Betty, that kind of hurts. (Don’t worry, Betty is actually a good friend, as I’m sure we’ll get into later in the series.)

To make a long story short (and to avoid spoiling the entire plot for those who haven’t read it!), Jughead does find proof, and once he does, his friends are immediately on board. They are ultimately able to save the day, and once it’s revealed that Stanger and the new teachers are ex-CIA trying to brainwash the students (no, seriously), Mr. Weatherbee is re-instated as principal and things return to normal.

I’m leaving out a lot of nuanced details, mostly for the sake of time, but there are a lot of surprisingly weighty moments to this first arc, and Zdarsky’s character writing is incredibly endearing and funny, while still hitting the serious moments when it needs to. There’s an interesting underlying commentary in this arc about military recruitment and U.S. propaganda; Stanger says that he specifically chose Riverdale because the students are so average. There’s something to be said here about the way the military industrial complex preys on average or underprivileged teenagers to convince them to serve when they feel they have no better path to take. It’s an almost funnily serious commentary for Zdarsky to make with a seemingly silly and off-beat comic series, and I respect him for that.

(If you recognize this panel, it’s because it appears on the page where Jughead’s asexuality is canonized. What a good page. So good that nobody ever points out this panel.)

By the end of Volume 1, we see that Jughead maybe isn’t as apathetic and careless as he seemed to be. Sure, he got up in arms about food of all things in the beginning, but it stopped being about food very quickly, once he realized that something truly messed up was going on. And it bothers him, deeply—at one point, the gravity of the situation begins to weigh on him so heavily that he nearly gives up entirely, convinced that there is nothing they can do and that they ought to just lie low until they make it out. But he does end up making things right, with the help of his friends, and in the end, he does decide to help Betty out after all. It’s the least he can do, really. You do get the impression that although Jughead’s friends often don’t take him seriously, they’ll always have his back when it counts—and he’ll do the same for them, even if he’ll insist on being a bit snarky about it.

(That slightly cynical attitude is still there, though, and truthfully, Jughead wouldn’t be the same without it.)

To close out, I am just going to share some of my favorite panels/quotes that didn’t fit elsewhere, including some choice Aro Moods. I hope this (admittedly brief) discussion of Volume 1 convinces you to read the comics, and to join me again when I cover the next arc. Until then, cheers to Chip and Erica.

Jughead’s attitude towards Archie’s romantic problems will never not be funny to me. He’s just like “RIP to you but I’m different.”

Kevin. :/ Kevin come on, man. Mr. Zdarsky, sir, this is character assassination. (Jughead’s face in the corner is a reasonable reaction.)

This one’s gone around so many times before (as have a bunch of other aro moments that I don’t think I need to bother re-posting here), but I just think it’s neat. Don’t worry, Betty lets go.

Aaand lastly, I just really like this line from Jughead. “The world is out of our hands, pal. You just gotta make your own weird way in it.” That we do, Jughead. That we do.

[one-more-offbeat-anthem]

for your valentine's prompts: valentine's proposal? cliche, i know, but so cute! thank you <3

(I'm taking valentine’s prompts! drop 'em in my inbox!)

oh nooooo this is so cute! thank you, anon!!! this is also ~perfect~ timing with the destiel wedding news xP <3

------------------ Dean got the idea a few months ago. 

He was watching one of those rom-coms (that he only watches because Cas likes them, thankyouverymuch) that ends in a proposal and happy tears and glanced over at Cas, who was wiping away tears of his own at the scene before them, and realized with a hard stop that he wanted that with the former angel sitting next to him. 

Then he spent a few days freaking out about it before he asked Sam for help. 

Now it was Valentine’s Day, and maybe that was a cliche and dumb day to propose, but it just seemed right and like something Cas would enjoy, and if Dean had to rank his top priorities, they would be 1) make Cas happy, 2) don’t get murdered, and 3) bug Sam. 

Dean had it all planned out: He and Cas were going to go out to dinner (not that the burgers Dean made in the bunker’s kitchen weren’t killer, but they had those at least once a week) and then for dessert, at which point Dean would get down on one knee and pop the question. 

But, like most things in Dean’s life, nothing went to plan.

Dean was woken up far earlier than usual by the sound of Cas next to him in their bed, coughing like he was about to hack up a lung. Dean sat up and rolled over, pressing a hand to his forehead, to discover that Cas was burning up.

“Lay back down,” Dean ordered, his sleepiness leaving him. He shoved some extra pillows under Cas’ head and went on a journey through the bunker to find cough medicine and painkillers.

It was clear when Cas was still lying in bed, drifting in and out of sleep when he wasn’t being plied with some horrendous herbal tea that Dean had found shoved in the back of the cabinet, at noon that dinner was out of the question. Dean felt panic swirling in his stomach, both for Cas’ well-being and for his proposal plans.

Unfortunately, Sam had already left with Eileen (they had decided to make a real day out of the holiday and were about three hours away), so Dean was on his own. He rummaged through their cabinets and the fridge before gathering the ingredients for chicken noodle soup.

The soup was simmering when Dean heard shuffling footsteps behind him and turned to see Cas, wrapped in a blanket and with the world’s most horrendous bed-head, standing in the kitchen doorway. 

“How’re you feeling?” Dean asked, walking towards him and reaching a hand out to feel his forehead. It was still warm, although less so than it had been this morning.

“Meh,” was Cas’ mumbled reply as he slowly sat down at the table.

Soon enough, the soup was ready, and Dean dished out a bowl for Cas and then one for himself. He opened up a sleeve of crackers between them at the table and put some more medicine next to Cas’ water glass.

“Thank you,” Cas said, the first smile of the day finally gracing his features. It hurt Dean that Cas wasn’t feeling well, but to be the reason that Cas smiled when he felt like shit?

That was pretty damn priceless.

Cas napped again after lunch while Dean did the dishes, but eventually roused in the early evening while Dean was sweeping the war room because Miracle kept tracking mud through it after walks outside. Cas leaned heavily against the table and sighed.

“What’s up?” Dean asked.

“I feel bad for ruining our date,” Cas mumbled.

“You don’t feel well, it’s fine,” Dean replied. “We can watch a movie in the Deancave, though, if you’re feeling up for it. I’ll even let you choose.”

“Alright,” Cas said, but he still seemed upset. 

Dean understood. He’d been in slight panic mode all day, because he had no idea what to do about the proposal, whether he should just go for it or push it off to another time, go on a fancy date next week instead. 

It wasn’t until they were curled up on the couch, watching Ten Things I Hate About You for the umpteenth time (and if Dean was okay with the pick because he got to stare at Heath Ledger, well...that was his business) that the answer came to Dean. He was happiest here, now, with Cas, watching a 90s rom-com and being wrapped up in about six blankets. He was excited to have a whole rest of his lifetime of moments like this. 

“Hey, Cas,” Dean whispered in the middle of the prom night scene, “I gotta question.”

“Mmm?” Cas turned toward him, his eyes drooping with tiredness. He was definitely going to need more cough medicine and sleep after this.

“You wanna get married?”

“Absolutely.” Cas settled back into watching the movie, as if deciding to marry Dean was the easiest thing in the world, but Dean got it. 

Choosing Cas was never hard.

tag list under the cut! lemme know if you want to be added!

@2musiclover2 @smolanxiouscatvoids @hihelloimanerd @pocketsized-prophet@ivegivenupugh @destieldisaster

[sylvie-writes]

Bad: The Unfortunate Ending

Inspired by this song ➳ Bad by Lennon Stella

(Ransom Drysdale x wife reader)

A/n: this is my first attempt at angst so here we go... 

Disclaimer: not part of my fall writing, this is just a lil something bc I needed to write, it makes me happier after days as today. 

Warnings: Cheating, mild profanity, shitty angst & writing. Ransom being an asshole (rip all the soft Ransom stories I’ve written)

Series Masterlist

Never in a thousand years would you have seen yourself sitting in Boston’s most expensive and high end restaurant, a steak simmering at 500 degrees laying out in front of you, and the Ransom Drysdale sweetly smiling at you.

“Wait, before you start eating, I have something to ask you, love.” 

Was he gonna break up with you?

Ransom reached over his plate to reach your hand gently bringing it to his lips while maintaining eye contact with your shocked expression, soon calming.

Oh whew.

The man then set down your hand, and folded up the napkin in his lap before rounding the table, getting down on one knee. Your eyes were already welling up with tears, making it impossible to see all the people staring at you and Ransom.

“(y/n) (l/n)...

… … ...

Will you marry me?” 

After his adoring speech, the four little words came out and the man on his knee was staring up at you like you were a goddess. Overwhelmed, you happily spewed out the words of acknowledgement while Ransom slipped the lavish diamond onto your ring finger, kissing the now ringed finger before scooping you up from your chair, the two of you in a deep kiss amidst the cheers.

A few months later the two of you got married, and everything was a dream. You had a lovely house, and a husband who was practically your closest friend. The two of you spent all your time together, told every joke, talked all the time. Believe or not but Mr. Fancy Pants had preferred that you got married sooner rather than having an extravagant wedding ceremony. 

So that's what you did. One lovely Monday morning, you and Ransom drove to the courthouse, in the beamer, as if it were just any other day. 

You thought then and there, that this was it. Life was finally playing in your favor...

 All the little gifts you gave

I call it over compensating

Feeling just like a princess

Every answer was always yes

You had me living in a dream

 “Oh Ransom!” You played with the little puppy down at your feet, a red ribbon adoring it’s small, yet fluffy neck.The little thing jumped into your arms, causing you to lift off the floor, walking closer to Ransom. 

“Why did you get me a puppy, Hugh?” 

He just cheekily smiled and shrugged, walking by to kiss your cheek. “No reason!” 

You just laughed it off before going outside to play fetch with the energetic fur baby. 

Ransom always treated you for no reason, at times you really hated him for it, but not once would he ever let up.

About four months into your marriage, Harlan had invited you and Ransom to some writer’s charity gala, a black and white party, meaning Ransom was gonna rent a tux and you’d find an overly priced yet attractive dress. 

So, one Saturday afternoon, you and Ransom went to the mall, getting fitted for your clothes. You weren’t about the name brands like Ransom was, but today, Ransom now had full advantage to shower you in expensive clothing having already picked his tux yesterday. His sneaky little plan to go dress shopping with you.

“What about this one?” Your husband held up a black slip dress designed by Prada. Curiously you walked up to him, checking the tag to see its $1,000 price. In all honesty, from the looks of the dress, you had assumed Ransom picked up a simple dress. Sure, it was pretty but you weren’t about to pay that much just for the name. For what it is worth, you could sew and tailor the damn thing yourself. 

“That’s ridiculous, Ransom. I’m not about to pay that much.” 

You went to go walk off before you felt Ransom’s hot breath in your ear.

“Who said you were paying?”

Turning around, you playfully pushed him in the chest to which he laughed and peppered kisses all over your face.

“Ransom! Stop, you’re making a scene!”

He pulled away for a minute, your giggles ceasing.

“Let me treat you and I will stop.”

Quickly, the man resumed his attack, your pleas soon becoming words of compliance.

“Fine!”

His signature smirk danced across his lips, while his free arm snaked around your waist ushering you to the tailor’s stand. 

 What's forever long to you

Did you say that to her too

Making sure that I'd never know

Callin her while the shower goes

 It was a little after midnight and Ransom wasn’t home yet, today he had been out with some friends, not inviting you. Your only company for the day was your precious little puppy, who was curled up against your stomach. The endless worry had kept you up all night as you mindlessly stroked the puppy’s back, trying to calm your own nerves.

Eventually, an hour later, the hallway light shone under the door, Ransom coming in. He was met with your worried look and came to rush over to your side.

“You scared me to death, Ransom. Two hours ago, you were supposed to be back!” 

“I know. I know. I’m so sorry baby. Now, get some sleep, I love you. Forever, my love.”

Ransom gently pulled the blanket over you, kissing you goodnight, then heading off to shower.

Turning on the shower, Ransom pulled the phone out of his pocket, scrolling to the bottom of his contacts and dialing, Blair❤️. 

“Hey baby, today was amazing Ranny!”

A deep chuckle left Ransom’s throat, the woman on the phone giggling.

“I know, angel. You are the best, love ya forever, Sweetheart.” 

Blair continued to gush over the phone, recalling the earlier events of the day at her house where Ransom had spent the whole day. (leaving that sentence to the eye of the beholder.)

Shower, and you, long forgotten, Ransom spent the rest of the night talking to the woman, leaving the bedroom to go downstairs, assuming you were already asleep.

Ironically, that night, you dreamt of all the times you and Ransom would stay up just talking and laughing...

Then crawl back in bed, it's a shame

I probably should've known better

I probably should've known better

 It was 4 am, and Blair had fallen asleep on the phone, leaving Ransom to bid her goodbye and get some shut eye himself. 

It was like sleeping next to a stranger, the warmth of the bed now gone. Coldness, replacing the loving embrace.

About two months ago, your work gave its employees a week off for the holidays. It was once in a blue moon that you got to see your family, so you seized this opportunity. You wished your husband could have come, but Ransom had to stay behind to help Harlan with an upcoming novel. In truth, Ransom never saw himself reverting back to his bad ways, but who knows what entices people to change.

One night, Ransom went out for a drink, a young lady, about twenty-seven years old, came up to the sulking man. He was drowning his sorrows in a couple of beers, wishing he were there with you. Oh how he missed you!

“Hey stranger.”

The sultry voice hit too close to home for Ransom, a voice he knew all too well.

And let’s just say a few drinks later, he came to remember his old fling as Blair.

 I wish that you would've treated me bad

The truth is you couldn't have loved me better

Now I'm left feeling twice as sad

I wish you would've treated me bad bad bad

It felt like you were living a hallmark movie, and never would you have thought any different.

Your feet were propped on the Ransom’s lap as the two of you laid down Uno cards on the coffee table. 

“Ransom?”

“Yes, darling?”

You set the Uno cards in your lap, adjusting on the couch so that you’d be straddling Ransom. The man brightly smiling at you, enveloping you with his muscular arms. In complete bliss, you leaned forward and kissed him, a slow and intimate kiss. Time completely stopped as you were just in your own little world. 

He treated you so well, you’d never be prepared for the heartbreak that’d ensue. 

 I wasn't catching on to you

Blinded by your lips so smooth

Excusing all of your gotta goes

Leaving me to be all alone

 “Do you really have to go, Ransom?” 

Your arms were wrapped around the man’s neck, pleading for him to stay. A small frown made a way onto his lips before he leaned in to kiss you deeply, pulling away from your lips while you were still trying to catch up. 

“I gotta go.”

With that, he rushed out. A business meeting was it? Or was it Harlan? You couldn’t remember. For the past two months, you’ve been accepting all of his excuses, soon all of them blending, yet in the end you were always left standing in the house, alone with your dog.

It's okay, you told yourself. Sure he forgot your birthday last month. It’s fine.

As long as he didn't forget your wedding anniversary next month, everything would be fine…

Right?

 Then you took my heart just the same

I probably should've known better

I probably should've known better

 No it wasn’t fine. He forgot your anniversary. He forgot you. In the mornings, he’d no longer stay with you, instead finding an excuse to rush out, no kisses, not even hugs, Rarely did the two of you talk and soon, it became your new normal.

You should’ve known better.

 Every word you said you was sweet but you was lying

Everything you covered making up just to keep to me from crying

Another late night, Ransom had gone to help his mother at some dinner party for her business, or so he said. He left early this morning, claiming he was gonna help set up and that he’d be home by 8. Yet, here you are, watching the 11 o’clock news, waiting for your husband’s arrival since he had left you with radio silence all day.

Suddenly, the door flew open, a sloppily dressed Ransom, stumbling in, clearly piss-ass drunk.

“Oh you're awake!”

You walked over to help him sit on the couch, just as you were about to turn off the lamp beside the couch, you noticed a tint of red lipstick on Ransom’s lips. You hadn’t worn any lipstick today, right?

Tenderly, you traced your thumb over his lips, as his eyes gazed into yours.

“Ransom, what’s on your lips?”

In a poor attempt, Ransom went to grab your hand, missing and instead grabbing your shoulder, leaning in to kiss you, instead getting your ear. 

“It’s nothing, (y/n).” 

His head was laying on your shoulder, as he was about to fall asleep, his energy suddenly gone.

“Really? It seems like something, you have a woman’s lipstick on your lips for god sake!”

Ransom then perked up and hugged you tightly, whispering reassuring words to you. Drunkenly, his words mashed together, causing you to barely understand his “comforting” speech. 

“I love you so much, sweetheart, I’d never do that to you.”

Sweetheart, a name once reserved for you, now unknowingly shared with another woman.

Believing his lies, because why not? He had never given you a reason not to trust him, not yet anyway.

 I wish that you would've treated me bad

The truth is you couldn't have loved me better

Now I'm left feeling twice as sad

I wish you would've treated me bad bad bad

 That very next week, Ransom had to leave once again, this time a boys’ trip to the club. You thought nothing of it, now used to his absence, keeping to yourself with the dog and some friends.

Later that afternoon, you were enjoying a sandwich and lemonade out on the front porch when a Maseratti pulled into the driveway, a familiar man stepping out.

“(y/n)! Is Ransom home?”

The man pulled you into an embrace, leaving you confused at his presence.

“Why are you here Oliver? Ransom said he was out with you and James.”

Oliver just shrugged his shoulders, he too jumping to the same conclusion. At this point you were just seeing red, storming into the house, Oliver following. You practically were stomping holes into the hallway for your footsteps were as heavy as your heart. Maybe all along you had been suspicious deep inside, maybe you just never wanted to believe it.

Then finding Ransom’s phone in his nightstand, you came back into the doorway to meet Oliver. If your suspicions were true, you’d like to at least embarrass the dumbass in front of his friend. They all knew he was a playboy at heart, but after you, every one had assumed he’d matured somewhat. 

Clearly, they were all wrong.

Your husband was the biggest idiot in the world, making his password your anniversary date, for he was so forgetful. You found this hilarious, because he forgot your first wedding anniversary, god you were so naive. 

Was this wrong? Sleuthing through his phone?

Sure. But it could never equal up to what you were about to find. 

Opening text messages, 50 unread, all from you, your messages definitely ignored as a woman named Blair was at the top of his messages. 

You gagged at the heart by her name, one that used to be by yours. Scrolling through the texts, you found yourself growing angrier by the minute, finally, you just lost it. With great vehemence, you slammed the phone against the floor, making it shatter everywhere, Oliver and your dog, slightly jumping.

It was then that it hit you.

You crashed to the floor, crying hysterically, as the world came crashing down with you. Oliver, crouching down on the floor, trying to calm your sobs.

Tonight you were gonna confront that backstabbing, no good, cheating son of a bitch.

 Tell me the truth

Was it worth it was I worth it for you

'Cause we were perfect we working til you

Forgot to tell me you been seeing someone else for six years

It was 9 pm and you hadn’t expected Ransom’s arrival for another hour or two, so you spent the time packing your bags and drinking some coffee, preparing yourself to tear the man a new one. 

This time, there wasn’t a slammed door signaling Ransom’s presence, rather soft footsteps and his low voice, like the old days.

Ha, the one time he gets home early. Ehh you were ready anyway

“Hey babe! Oooh can I have some?”

Before you could answer, Ransom took your mug and a few swigs of coffee, handing it back to you, placing a kiss on your head. In utter surprise, you looked up at the man who just smiled down at you.

“You look I haven’t kissed you in weeks, my love.”

And with that he pecked your lips quickly, walking to the counter, you still trying to process what had just happened. 

It was true. He hadn’t kissed you in weeks.

No, you weren’t gonna let him win this time.

“It’s because you haven’t.”

Confusion swirled around on Ransom’s face, allowing you to continue.

“You haven’t kissed me in weeks. But you have kissed Blair, I'm sure.” 

The coffee mug in his hand dropped onto his foot, shattering, leaving you smirking at the small victory.

Heartbreak can make one go insane. Afterall, you are losing the one person you loved most, losing yourself along with them. 

“For months I have put up with your bullshit…” 

A good ten minutes passed of you yelling at Ransom, the man unexpectedly letting you finish.

“You’re a cheating, son of a bitch.”

Angrily, you ripped off the wedding ring, now noticing Ransom wasn’t even wearing his, for god knows how long too. Once upon a time, he’d proudly wear it all the time.

“(y/n) wait--”

Ransom grabbed your arm before you slapped him, the man slightly stunned.

“No. I’m tired of your excuses, I’m tired of letting you win. You and Brittany, should have an amazing life together, that is if you can even commit to her like you told me.”

A whisper of defeat left his mouth.

“It’s Blair…”

“The hell with it! You broke my heart Ransom! I knew it was too fucking good to be true. DAMN IT, I LOVED YOU.”

Hysterically laughing, you looked like a mad woman, lowering your voice just a bit.

“You know what makes this hurt 2x worse? I thought you had actually loved me too, because it seemed like it.”

You broke into tears, your heart in a thousand pieces, rushing away to grab your bags, Ransom not even trying to fight, knowing you're too strong this time. He let the best thing that ever happened to him slip away. 

Ages ago you could remember the lovely times with the man you once would die for, yet...

Your love was just an illusion. 

 I wish that you would've treated me bad

The truth is you couldn't have loved me better

Now I'm left feeling twice as sad

I wish you would've treated me bad bad bad

I wish that you would've treated me bad

Truth is you couldn't have loved me better

Now I'm left feeling twice as sad

I wish you would've treated me bad bad bad

a/n: maybe i should stay away from angst bc this sucked.

Updated a/n: this is gonna be a series! If you’d like to be on the taglist lemme know!!

[keelywolfe]

FIC: Drifters ch.10 (spicyhoney)

Summary:  Red's been going along with all this, but it turns out that he has a thing or three to say to his brother.

Tags: Spicyhoney, Violence, Rescued Child, Medical Experimentation, Babybones

Read it on AO3

or

Read it here!

~~*~~

Edge had always had a plan for his life. Since he was a small child forced to spend his days watching Red beg, barter and steal for their meals and shelter, he’d been determined to help his brother provide for them as soon as he could. To bring them out of the dump and the back alleys to something better, from gutter trash to the Royal Guard.

It hadn’t been easy, but he’d done it, and between the two of them they’d managed to make a home for themselves, a decent one he’d always believed. Until his brother began tinkering with that old machine in the basement, the one that would never do anything until it did, and he discovered there was more outside their own little, dust-filled world. So much more, other Universes that didn’t abide by the rule of kill or be killed, where children might be trapped beneath the mountain but still played safely in the street.

There were times he’d thought about leaving their universe, in the darkest nights when fresh LV was settling heavily into his soul like lead while Edge fought his way back out from its shrouding numbness, struggling to keep his sense of self. He’d never let those longing ideas take hold; despite everything, Underfell was their home, there were people that needed him there, Monsters who depended on him.

He’d abandoned it all for the sake of this one child and if this was the new plan for his life, then he would handle it, as he had everything else, no matter what.

Whatever protests Red and Stretch were offering to that decision were drowned out by Blue’s dismissive, “Don’t be silly, of course you’re staying. Aren’t you?” Then with rising alarm, “You wouldn’t be going back to Underfell with her, would you?”

“No,” Edge said, “Not Underfell.” Again, he kept it to himself that that was no longer possible. In his arms, the baby was slowly settling, her drowsy sockets sinking closed again.

Blue was still nattering on in his relief, lowering his voice in deference to the baby’s whimpers easing back into sleep. “Then of course you’ll be staying with us! Oh, but we’ll need to make some changes around here. There’s only two bedrooms, that isn’t enough. Maybe the garage, yes, yes, the garage!” He clapped his hands together in quiet delight. “We can turn it into an apartment, I’ll put my Human cage somewhere else, yes, that’ll be perfect for you and Edge, Papy!”

Stretch only sat on the sofa, blinking a few times, as if the light was suddenly too bright. He was looking at Edge and the baby, but turned to his brother at that, “uh, say what?”

“An apartment for you and Edge, do keep up,” Blue said primly. He raised both brow bones in obvious implication, “Unless you’re about to tell me that the two of you weren’t going to share your room?”

“That won’t be necessary,” Edge repeated patiently before Stretch could answer him. “This is only a temporary arrangement. As soon as I find some employment, we’ll work on getting our own place, you don’t need to rearrange your entire home.”

Red sat up, sputtering, “okay, back it up there, bro, what, now?”

“Why would you do that?” Blue said, perplexed. He tilted his head to the side, reminiscent of the Dogs back in Underfell when Edge gave them an order they didn’t quite understand. “We can’t help take care of the baby if you move out.”

“You don’t need to help care for her,” Edge said, “she’s my responsibility.”

“Nonsense, it takes two to tango as they say and there are four of us!”

“Not if the child is created in a lab!” Edge snapped. The baby stirred and he lowered his voice, “This isn’t about birth control, this is about taking her away from someone who intended to use her as a lab experiment. I chose to take her, she’s my responsibility, and I will do my duty. The three of us won’t be staying here any longer than necessary.”

The silence hung in the air, nearly tangible.

After a moment, Stretch rolled to his feet, slouching across the living room to a side table where he started rummaging through the drawer. He came out with a pack of cigarettes, already stripping off the cellophane as he said, “you heard the man, she’s not ours, she’s his. he’s got a handle on it, let him take care of everything. i’m sure he’s got it all figured out.”

He didn’t look at Edge, walking straight past him in his disheveled shorts and mismatched sweatshirt to the rug where he shoved his feet into a pair of slippers before jerking open the front door, cold air pouring in. He went out, closed the door carefully behind him.

Red groaned loudly, “you really are a dumb fucker, aren’t you, bro.”

Arguing was familiar to Edge, but not while holding a sleeping infant. His kept his voice low and even, did not think of Stretch out in the cold lighting what would surely be the first of several cigarettes. “He doesn’t need to feel responsible. He didn’t choose this.”

The only person responsible was Edge, for coming here to begin with. There hadn’t been much in the way of choice on that, all he could do now was try not to compound the damages by leaving as soon as possible, before his debts grew past his ability to pay them.

Red only glared at him. simmering fury in his crimson eye lights, “yeah? me either, but i’m still fucking here, so i think i get a vote.”

“You’re different.”

“about three feet of different, yeah.”

“That isn’t what I meant, and you know it!” Edge snapped, “You’re my brother.”

“that i am. but i ain’t the only other person with a stake.” Red sounded frustrated and they glared at each other, Blue standing to the side, hands clasped in front of him as he looked nervously between them.

Red did not look away from Edge as he said slowly, "blue. why'nt you go upstairs to your room with your gear, get unpacked, settle in."

Blue didn’t move. He stood uncertainly, his feet shuffling as if they wished to obey.

"blue," Red said, terribly soft and the undertone was pure Underfell, "i ain't askin'.

He nodded then, snatching up his bag and heading up the stairs. His bedroom door closed as softly as the front door had and they were alone.

"okay, just you and me, bro. first things first,” Red held out his arms, “hand me the kid.”

“She’s my responsibility,” Edge repeated doggedly. “I chose this, you didn’t.”

“yeah?” Red demanded, “you come up with that idea all by your bad self? why the fuck you think i brought you to the lab, sightseein’? she was never not gonna leave with us, you just grabbed her first. you so busy tryin' to call dibs, you're forgettin' i saw her first.” Red never looked away, met Edge’s eye lights unblinkingly as he told him, “i been letting it go on account of you bein' new to all this, but now i’m tellin ya. give her here.”

Edge hesitated a moment longer, then stepped over to the sofa.

It was somewhat disturbing to see how easily Red folded her into his arms, cradling her expertly. She settled in with a contended little sigh, snuggling into the fur lining of his jacket. “there we go, honey.” Red crooned with a gentleness that he had never seen in his brother before.

Red said nothing else, only sat with the baby and Edge stood, waiting impatiently, until his brittle endurance broke. “Well? I’m sure you’re waiting to explain to me how I can’t handle this, so let me stop you before you begin. I can and I will, I’m doing fine so far.”

“oh, yeah, you’re doin’ swell,” Red snorted. “wanna take a good look at yourself in the mirror right now?”

Edge resisted the urge to shrink from that pointed comment, tugging Stretch’s robe tighter around himself. “That’s hardly fair, it was my first night with her!”

“ain’t none of this fair,” Red said agreeably. “‘specially not to her. wasn’t fair to you when i slipped us out of the lab before you could get your own special tattoo and we ended up on the streets.”

“Red—“

“wasn’t fair to me that i had ta do it,” Red went on, relentlessly, “but life ain’t fair, that’s a lesson i never had to teach you. you learned it all on your own.” He sighed heavily and settled deeper into the sofa cushions, drawing up his knees into a sort of cage around the sleeping child. “you know all that shit. so, now you wanna tell me what the fuck is wrong with you?” He jerked his chin towards the stairs, then back towards the front door. “we got her outta there and now you got people throwin' themselves at you to help and you just gotta do it all on your own, dontcha. lemme clue you in to something, little brother, the reason i raised you up on my own is ‘cause there wasn't anyone else to help!"

“I don’t need anyone else to help,” Edge hissed. He crossed his empty arms over his chest, gripping his upper arms in both hands so tightly that his phalanges ached. “I can do this on my own!”

“so, what then? we move out of this place and i move in with ya, but i don't get to help with the little miss?” His crimson eye lights were coolly assessing. “gonna go out there and get a job, right? whose gonna watch her while you're raking in the g?”

"I…” Edge faltered, "I'll pay someone. A babysitter."

"someone. someone you can trust more'n us?"

“No!” His soul clenched in his chest, already rejecting his own idea. Who could he possibly trust with her, even in this world, who could look at the symbols on her ribs and not rouse curiosity, perhaps take their questions to another scientist at another lab who might well have read the old paperwork left behind and— "Of course not, that isn't what I meant. I’ll handle it!"

“oh, i getcha. you’re the only you're allowed to take care of her.” Red rubbed a thumb gently down her rounded cheek and her mouth moved briefly as if readying itself for a bottle within her dreams. So small, so fragile in the cradle of his brother’s arms. “lemme ask you somethin' bro, are any of the rest of us allowed to love her, or are you callin' all of that, too?"

He’d never heard his brother so much as mention the word love before and something already tight in his soul clenched harder, painfully. "I can't ask you all to help me with this!"

"bro.” Red looked up at him and his expression was deeply pained and conflicted, none of his emotions hidden behind his normal veneer of sneering indifference. “i know it's hard for you, but you gotta pay attention. you ain't asking for help, heh, really not, not even close. we're offerin'. so let us offer.”

It must be his exhaustion, Edge thought, that made his emotions rise so close to the surface. Lingering heavily in his chest, rising into his throat and refusing to be swallowed away no matter how hard he tried. He was tired, so tired, and not simply from being kept up throughout the night. There was so much he’d lost in only a day’s time, lost and gained, and what he felt most strongly in this moment was a complicated grief.

Red nodded as if he could read every unspoken sentiment on his face. He patted the sofa next to him, scooting to the side, and Edge lurched over to sit next to him on legs that felt detached and shaky, sinking into the cushions. The moment he was settled, Red leaned over to lay the sleeping baby in his arms and he swore she was already putting on tangible weight since he’d first carried her away. She was already growing and changing, all he could do was try to guide it, to make sure she was cared for properly. That she was loved.

Red shifted up to sit on the back of the sofa, his shoulders against the wall. It put him taller than Edge, for once. “i don’t wanna see you running yourself ragged trying to do everything. been there, done that, ya know?"

“I can’t,” Edge whispered, the words soft and broken. He looked at the baby in his arms, at her peacefully sleeping face. He was so tired. Everything was so clear yesterday and now the course of his life was clouded, the linear line of it veering drunkenly along an unknown road.

“sure you can. am i your brother or not?” Edge nearly flinched from the hand that settled on his skull, caught himself just in time and instead leaned into it. He closed his sockets as his brother gently stroked his coronal sutures, the same way he had so many years ago now, on cold nights when Edge couldn’t sleep, holding him close as he crooned vulgar lullabies. There were no songs this time, only words drenched in unspoken promise, “‘cause little brother, i’m still plannin’ on taking care of you, too.”

Edge couldn’t say anything to that, he only nodded.

“good.” That stroking turned into a gentle rap of knuckles against the top of his skull. “now get your head on straight. go out there and apologize to the honey bun for tryin' to take away his kid just when he was gettin' used to the idea of havin' one.

“Our relationship isn’t like that.” Fuckbuddies was the word Stretch used, and it was not one that implied any form of shared parenthood.

“no?” Red said doubtfully. His chuckle was familiar, his humor tickling along the side of unkind. “then you better make damn well sure he knows it. mebbe you should start by askin’ him how he feels before you go on makin’ up his mind for him.”

Edge didn’t reply, but his brother’s point was brutally accurate. He owed Stretch that much and a great deal more. Now all he needed was to shore up his faltering courage and start paying his debts.

tbc

[cupcakesnomnomnom123]

Durarara!! x The Outsider

Crossover

*note* AHHH this cross over is my new thing I swear lol. I don’t usually write fics because I can’t hold my attention down long enough to think about a whole story. I usually like to draw because I love it and it gets my ideas out quicker. But I can’t stop thinking about this scenario and the dialogues between the characters that I have to let it out! This is my first fanfic so please be gentle but still love some criticism to my writing. ☺️ also THANK YOU for the support for the other post. I’m glad y’all like it. Also! Not going to be too much Shizaya yet. I wanted to be more Tom and Shizuo friendship centric here.

<TW> mentions of murder, child rape, cannabilisim

(Scenario: News has spread all over Japan of a brutal sexual assault and murder case of 10 year old Misaki Suzuki in Ikebukoro. Details of the murder was leaked to the public early leading to Tom Tanaka arrest while the public and social media are pushing for his death sentence. Tom is waiting to be put on trial. Shizuo visits his accused friend in jail )

Seeing Tom after a week since the… incident.. it looked like Tom aged 10 years. Shizuo sits down and picks up the phone on the left side of the wall and sees Tom so the same. They wait till security leaves and they were alone.

“Hey Tom.. are you okay?…. Wait, shit uhh sorry…that’s a dumb ass question to ask. How are you holding up?”

“…Not very good honestly… who knew being hunged over, fired and being put to jail on the same day really wears a person out haha…”

Tom laughs to lighten the situation but Shizuo can tell it’s fake and self depreciating. Shizuo raises his right arm and tries to rub the exhaustion from his eyes. He looks earnestly at Tom.

“You didn’t do it.”

Tom drops the small smile he had and his eyes showed what he truly felt inside. Completely hopeless.

“Why do you think that? You even said you saw me. Everyone thinks I did it. Even my family. I know they do…my mother refuses to answer the phone. And she always answers the phone. Hell I’m even starting to believe it too. “

“No”, Shizuo says sternly,”it doesn’t add up. I told the police I was with you most of that night. All those fucked up things that happened to the kid. It doesn’t even make sense….you couldn’t of been the one to do it. I’m sure there were cameras at the bar we were at. You couldn’t be at two places at once Tom. That’s impossible”

“A lot of impossible things happen in this city Shizuo. I’m staring at a guy who can lift trucks with no problem”

“This isn’t the same thing.”

Shizuo hates that Tom is feeling this way. He’s upset and pissed at the whole situation. He was pissed the whole time the police was questioning him. He doesn’t have a problem with them per se, even with his bad history with them. It was the repetitive way they were asking the same.damn.questions. Over and over just said differently. It was to see if he would change his story and it was getting on his last nerves. They were betting on Shizuo to give up Tom because they got DNA evidence and even bite mark evidence. All matching down to the very last tooth. But he hold his ground and kept telling them the truth. The police were obviously getting annoyed but he didn’t give a damn. They were trying to get justice for Misaki. They wanted to blame the person all the signs who is pointed at. It made sense. He still would of beaten their asses. But would not helped his or Toms case at all.

He first thought was Izaya since he’s always the cause of all Shizuos problems. This time, it didn’t have izaya’s stink and it didn’t sit right with Shizuo. Izaya usually makes himself known that Shizuo is the bane of Izaya’s existence. The flea is a coward and ruin people’s lives, however…. this… even he thinks izaya doesn’t cross a certain line.

After dealing with the police for hours he went home but he couldn’t get much sleep. The image of Tom running away covered in Misaki’s blood burned in his mind. When he did sleep he wake up having nightmares of finding Misaki body in that dark alley over and over. At the time, he didn’t knew what he saw being he was buzzed from the night of drinking .He didn’t know it was the little girl till he saw the face. The body itself was almost unrecognizable. The body was mangled and ripped apart like a huge animal had gotten her. She was close to Akanes age and sometimes in his dreams both their faces will merge together staring at Shizuo with those same cold dead eyes. That wasn’t the worst part of his nightmares. The absolute worst part was imagination giving him vivid images what the Tom imposter did before Misaki’s murder. He wished he didn’t know..

“Didn’t you also hear from the police shizuo.?,” Tom avoids his eyes.”They also found my DNA all over the scene. They found dna in the building, the van, clothes, inside-

Toms stopped when his voiced hitched a little.

“…the cops showed me pictures…..They were trying to get me to confess but I really don’t remember after I was drinking. I shouldn’t kept drinking. You were right I should of stopped after drink three I should-“

“Hey”. Shizuo says in a harsher manner than he intended.

While Tom tries not to completely break down in front of Shizuo, Shizuo looks at the situation with pure anger and frustration. He can feel the familiar burning feeling simmering beneath his skin. He’s used of being feared like a inhuman beast he is. People feared, and held animosity towards Shizuo. He’s used to that. But Tom wasn’t. Tom literally has the whole world against him right now.

“You don’t deserve to be here..” he almost whispers in the receiver. “ you’re not the monster everyone says you are. I know this not because I was with you most of that night. I know you. We wouldn’t be friends if you pissed me off.”

Their was silence between them. The pause went on too long for Shizuos liking. Toms smile was tired, a little shaky when he sighed but grateful. It was a sigh of relief someone was there at their lowest.

“I think this is the first time you called me one. I was wondering if you ever referred me besides being your boss.” Tom closes his eyes while slightly leans back in his chair with his arms crossed and one side of his mouth perked up. “It feels weird getting the side of being pepped talked at but….” He looks at shizuo with thankful eyes

“Thanks…for getting angry that night. Well, for my behalf. Honestly, that’s the most nicest thing someone has done for me so far since I’ve been in this cage. I’m glad I still have you as a friend. Though I’m not your boss anymore.”

Shizuo doesn’t let too many people in his life in because of the fear of him accidentally hurting them. But this is Tom. Who was their for him at his lowest. He helped him to get most of the thugs off him during middle school. Gave him the suggestion to dye his hair blonde. Given him a job where everything else has failed. Even with izaya interfering with most of them, he knew his temper alone is the first cause of them. Tom helped him so much more than Shizuo deserved. Tom was the last person to be in this fucked up position. Even with the limited pool of relationships he has, he knew when a friend needed him. So he said what he knew he can do best.

“I’ll kill the asshole who put you in this mess. You didn’t kill the girl. I will prove your innocence one way or another. No matter what. I’ll be honest, I’m not sure where to start but I will find them.”

He can’t ask Tom to trust him. He’s afraid to ask. It would be too much faith to ask he had on him when he didn’t had that much faith in himself. Back of his mind, he’s afraid to fail. The voice nagging him, telling him he’s a fuck up. He’s nothing more than a beast destroying everything in his wake. But he’s gotta try. He’s too scared of the alternative option. Tom dying alone believing he’s not worth saving. So he squashes, pushes, kickes and punches that voice back as far it can go. Tom needed to see he’s trying. Tom just smiled at him.

“I trust you on that shizuo. I don’t usually go for violence but this is a special case. I wish I can be there to witness you do it. You still owe me a drink.”

“You still want to drink after this?” Shizuo jokes. Tom smiles a little wider and puts his left hand on his chin in contemplation.

“Hmmm You right. I’m done with drinking for a while. I’ll just settle with trying not to get killed in prison.”

*Aannnd that’s it! Im not sure how much I can do writing before I burn out but the dialogue is the fun part. Doing backgrounds will forever be a fun and the bane of my existence. I hope I stayed IC. I want to do a scenario where shizuo and izaya will work together but my brain will go straight to fluffy moments lol. *

[3pirouette]

Fic: An Experimental Design (7/?)

Title: An Experimental Design By: TriplePirouette/3Pirouette Disclaimer: They're not mine. Word Count: Distribution: AO3 Anyone else please ask first :) 

Story Summary: Sequel to “What Number?”, also prompted from Steggy Bingo Bash Prompts.  Takes place about a week after that fic.

Chapter 7: We Have a Plan

A/N: Sorry it’s taken so long to get this out. RL has to come first, and it has been busy and stressful leaving me little time to write. Story will still be continued AND finished, just not on a regular timeline, though I will TRY for a new chapter every weekend going forward.

~*~

“We have a plan,” Howard said, sitting across from them in his lab the next morning.

“We?” Peggy asked, a single eyebrow raised. She grasped Steve’s hand tight, both excited and concerned.

Howard frowned. “I had to reach out to a researcher in California. It may be hard for me to admit,” he stood, rounding the table and shoving his hands in his pockets as he leaned against it, “but I’m out of my depth.”

Peggy dropped her head, closing her eyes tight. “Yes, well, I’m sure we’re quite the medical oddity.”

Howard dipped, waiting to catch her eyes before he spoke. “If you think, for one second, that I’m taking any of this lightly, Peg…”

“No. I—” She took a deep breath, looking at him, brown eyes full of sadness. “It’s just quite the turn for a spy to feel so exposed. I feel like everyone on this base knows all my business now.”

“Not from me, they don’t,” Howard replied, stern. “And I told my colleague in California only what he needed to know, no more.”

Howard watched her square her shoulders, her ability to compartmentalize and focus her energies at will always somehow so astounding to him. “So, what’s the plan?”

“Synthetic hormone injections.” Howard pulled his hands out of his pockets, moving them around frantically as he explained. “Somehow, they’ve been able to force your bodies to regulate your hormone levels through touch, specifically touching each other. I’m not even sure if this is what they intended to do, or if it’s just a side effect, but touching,” he gestured to their clasped hands, “keeps them on an even keel.”

Howard shifted, sitting on the table. “Once you stop touching, your bodies loses the ability to regulate. Now- we had some of the samples of Peg’s from while Steve was away, and I compared them to what we took yesterday and today- and I think…” he shook his head, sliding his hands across an invisible timeline in front of him. “What we actually know is when you guys were rationing how much you touched, it came on quicker, but built up slower.” He made a gentle slope in the air, their eyes following. “But after you shacked up and were touching all the time, it took a lot longer to come on, but the pain increased at an exponential rate.” His hands bounced through the air, trying to show them the competing graphs from his mind.

“And that means…?” Steve led, hoping for more answers.

Howard shook his head and shrugged. “I don’t know. I don’t know if this is how they intended it to work of if this is a side effect. Phillips has half the battalion out now looking for more small bases we’ve ignored hoping they’ll have something, and the other half pawing through old boxes of Hydra contraband for anything referencing Anchor or Winter Soldier.”

“So, when do we start?” Peggy squared her shoulders, ready to move forward.

Howard moved back to his chair, sitting heavily. “As long as the lines hold, we’ll have a batch of hormones here tomorrow.”

Steve’s shoulders fell at the thought of having to wait much longer for a solution. “And until then?”

The scientist shrugged. “You guys know what happens. You touch a lot, no pain for a while but it goes up quick. Not a lot, a little pain but longer until it gets bad.” He looked back and for the between them. “You pick. Six of one, half dozen of the other. At this point I don’t have any evidence that one approach is better.”

~*~

He sat apart from her in the car on the way back to the apartment, his hand close, but not touching in the backseat. They sat in silence for the first few minutes, Howard’s driver very carefully indifferent towards them.

“I’m starting to get used to the apartment,” Peggy muttered, her eyes on the military barracks they were passing through the window. “It’ll be a shame when we have to go back to cots and tents.”

He could feel her vibrating next to him, full of emotions and energy, concerns and questions, none of which either of them wanted to voice in front of a stranger. “There will be a lot of difficult things about going back.” She kept her head turned, not looking at him as he continued. “What do you think about Howard’s… options?”

She found his eyes in the refection in the glass, but didn’t say anything. Peggy simply crept her hand to the side, finding his fingers and holding tight.

Steve felt like he could breathe again.

The thought of holding back, of trying to avoid touching her seemed like a monumental task. He tried to keep his fingers still as the car trudged on, moving through bombed out husks of neighborhood and back through apartment buildings that had fared better. He tried to build a plan of keeping things to small, little touches, to holding hands and pecks good night with walls of pillows built up between them.

It would be so much better, in the long run, if she could fare for longer periods of time without him.

And yet he hated the idea of being so close yet so far. Despite the circumstances, despite the pain she felt and the scrutiny they were under, their quiet morning, lounging naked together and indulging in soft touches, had been a glimpse into paradise. Their days before that, in the apartment, had been a peek into the future he so desperately wanted once the war was over.

He’d never meant to let it go that far, to let Hydra take that last little bit of private intimacy away from them. He hadn’t been in control, though, and admitting that was more frightening than he thought. He was feeling less and less in control as the days passed. The more Peggy got of him the better she was, but the more he was around her, the worse off he was. She was like a drug: the more he had, the more he wanted and there didn’t seem to be any satiating his hunger.

Steve wanted to believe that, based on everything they’d already been, the desire between them was real, that it was only enhanced by the hormones, only morphed and twisted by the chemicals coursing through their bodies. He wanted to believe that eventually all of the hand holding and stolen kisses would have led to the same, blistering desire he was feeling now, if only farther in the future. Knowing her, seeing her, tasting her, had left an indelible mark on the slowly simmering desire he’d felt. He wasn’t sure how he was going to avoid touching her as casually as they had been before, how he was going to avoid pressing close to her in the kitchen or cuddling up with her at night in bed, without making her feel like he was upset with her or avoiding her.

He almost jumped out of his skin when her fingers started stroking over his, her hand pulling away and stroking at his wrist before it fell heavily on his thigh, all the while her eyes still looking out to the horizon.

~*~

She hadn’t meant to let it go that far. They’d never lost their heads like that. If she had thought it would have been a true possibility, she’d have prepared better.

She wasn’t upset, precisely, but rather disappointed that a moment she’d tucked away and looked forward to had been squandered so uselessly.

She could barely even remember it. It was a jumble of legs and arms and bodies and pain and passion.  

She wanted to know what his face looked like when he pushed into her the first time, to memorize the way it felt, to know what his eyes looked like when he lost control, and how he sounded, spent and lying next to her.

But she couldn’t remember, and they’d never have this for the first time again.

It seemed so silly to her, as she looked out at the passing houses, to put such big meaning on such a little barrier. They’d come so close so many times and she knew him so intimately. She knew how he breathed when he was close to losing control, what his lips felt like on her nipples, how his hands palmed her ass and squeezed when he was spurring her on, what his stubble felt like along her inner thigh… For over a month they’d learned each other in the most intimate of ways and yet, she held this one little thing so high…

She just wanted one thing that wasn’t touched by this war. One.

She tried to focus. She hadn’t decided, not really, about how she wanted to proceed when they got back to the apartment. The idea of staying away from him until she started to feel the tingling seemed insane to her, but she feared dependence. She feared they’d touch so much, drunk on each other’s skin, that eventually she wouldn’t be able to exist away from him.  

Her body hummed, vibrating on the same frequency as his, so aware of how stiff and tired and frustrated he was, as well.

They were all each other had in this.

Peggy moved her hand to his thigh, never turning her face, keeping quiet for the benefit of the driver.

She’d made her decision.

~*~

Before the door to the apartment was even closed, he had her pushed up against it, his lips running down her neck, leg hitched up over his hip.

“Tell me to stop, Peg,” he murmured, kissing across the exposed skin at her collar bone.

“I won’t.” She ran her fingers through his hair, holding him tight to her. “I can’t.”

He pulled away, breathless, looking into her eyes. “This is a bad idea.” He shook his head, letting his forehead gently fall to hers. “You gotta be able to exist without me. What if--”

She moved her hand fast, covering his lips. “Don’t even,” she reprimanded harshly. The thought of them being separated, permanently because of the war or any other reason, was not something she wanted to contemplate right now.

He sighed, eyes closed tight as he pressed a kiss to her fingers. “Peg…”

“Tomorrow, Howard is going to pump us full of god knows what in the hopes that something might help. But we don’t know. We don’t know if it’ll make it worse or better. If it will help or hurt or do nothing.” She shifted, her leg falling from his hip as she cradled his face in her hands, waiting for him to look at her. Her voice fell to a tremulous whisper. “What if, after tomorrow, I can’t touch you without it hurting?”  

His heart seemed to stop at that one possibility, a thought that had never crossed his mind. He’d been so focused on the hell she was enduring now that he hadn’t imagined there could be others. Peggy had. She’d probably imagined more tortures than he could ever fathom.

Peggy moved her hand to smooth over his furrowed brow. “I’m not waiting and hoping, Steve.” She kissed him, full and alive and passionate, sliding her arms over his shoulders and down his back. “I’m enjoying what we have, right here, right now.”

In one smooth move he grasped her under her thighs and lifted her off her feet, her hands holding his shoulders tight as he carried her over to the couch, gently sitting on the edge with her in his lap. She shifted to her knees as he slid back, keeping her body close to his, a smile widening across her face.

~*~

She was half asleep in his arms, her naked body still tangled in the sheets around them. It hadn’t taken them long to make their way from the couch to the bedroom, availing themselves of more than one of the condoms she’d swiped from the supply closet while they were on base along the way.

She wondered if Martins would miss them, or if he was used to GIs sneaking into the supply closet and messing up his inventory. Peggy suspected the latter, but giggled to herself, imagining the man trying to blabber his way through a briefing detailing the number of condoms missing and why they were so important to keep gun muzzles dry in the field.

Steve’s arms wrapped tighter around her. “Something amusing?”

Peggy ran her hand over his chest. “Just thinking of Martins discovering that I managed to shove a whole case of condoms in my purse.” She felt him rumble beneath her. “How often do you think he has that problem?”

“A case?” Steve sighed happily, kissing her head. “Rarely. If the guys who sneak in manage more than a handful they start trading them around like cigarettes.”

“So that happens a lot, then?” Peggy shifted, leaning up on her elbow.

Steve blinked his eyes open, looking at her, He lifted his hand to run his fingers through her hair, tucking it behind her ear. “We get issued a certain amount per month for all kinds of uses. Guys generally don’t want Phillips to know if they’re using them for non-waterproofing reasons.”

Peggy leaned down, gently letting her lips fall to his in a soft kiss. “Think we have enough, Captain?”

Steve chased her lips as she pulled away, smiling. He shifted, leaning over the edge of the bed to dramatically survey the dozens of little silver packets that were strewn across the floor.  He didn’t think he’d ever get the image of her, standing only in her panties and garters, pulling handful upon handful of condoms out of her purse, smile shining bright and eyes so full of desire it looked like she wanted to eat him alive. “Nope,” He laughed, flopping back on the bed and pulling her close to him. “I’d say we could use a few more.”

Peggy shook her head, smacking him gently. “Then you’ll be doing the sneaking into the supply closet next time.”  She sat up, looking around them and finally settled on pulling on Steve’s undershirt before slipping out of bed. She picked up Steve’s boxers and tossed them to him before collecting the packets strewn on the floor. “I’m famished. Lunch?”

Steve caught his boxers mid-air, shimmying into them under the blanket. “I do seem to have worked up an appetite.” He wagged his eyebrows at her as she set the condoms in a pile on the side table.

She just shook her head, grabbing her panties and slipping them on, enjoying the lighthearted flirting. “You’re insatiable.”

She held back a squeal as Steve snuck behind her, turning her quickly and playfully backing her against the wall. “One hundred percent your fault that I can’t keep my hands off of you.” He’d meant it as a compliment, but they both knew that the words had been wrong the second they came out of his mouth. “Peg- no. I meant that—”

Her smile was soft, not forced but not full blown. “I know.” She bit her lip and looked away, her hands sliding around his waist to pull him close. She took a slow, shuddering breath as he wrapped his arms around her. “One day, you’ll be able to say that to me simply because you find me unbelievably attractive, not because my very life might depend on it.”

He leaned back, nudging her nose gently with his until she looked at him. “I do, actually, find you unbelievably attractive,” he whispered gently.

She couldn’t help but laugh at his sincerity, at how hard he had been trying just for her. “Flatterer,” she huffed lightheartedly, trying to find the little bubble of happiness they’d just been inhabiting before his poor choice of words. She pulled back, taking his hands in hers. “Come on, I’m hungry and of the two of us, you’re the far better cook.”

Steve had joked with her though much of lunch that he was sure she could warm up a can of soup about as well as he could, but she swore up and down she’d manage to burn it somehow. She claimed dish duty, hands carefully cleaning out the bowls and pans as Steve molded himself to her back, his hands resting on her hips, slipping under the cotton of his shirt, fingers dancing playfully at the edge of her underwear. It was nice to have him so close, so gentle with her.

Peggy smiled, flicking water over her shoulder at him playfully as she cleaned the last dish. “Eager?”

He chuckled, pressing closer to her so she could feel just how eager he was. “Maybe.” He kissed her neck, following along the curve of it as she tipped her head to allow him more access. “Just taking advantage of our time here together.”

She set the last dish aside and turned in his arms, her damp hands sliding over his shoulders. “Well?” she asked, teasing and expectant.

He lifted her swiftly onto the counter next to the sink and kissed her in earnest.

~*~

Peggy sat in bed, unashamed of her nudity as she pulled her brush gently through her hair, eye on the mirror across from her. “I’ll have to get up early tomorrow,” she muttered, both hands working out a tangle. “If I walk in with my hair looking like this there won’t be a single question as to how we’ve been spending our time. I look absolutely debauched.”

Steve, laying behind her, smiled, meeting her eyes in the mirror as he let a finger glide over her hip where the sheet pooled around her legs. “I think you look gorgeous.”

Peggy bit her lip as she looked over her shoulder at him. There was something far more intimate about how they were right here, right now, than they had been this whole time. Sharing a bed, chatting as she brushed her hair, naked but for the single sheet laying over their hips… she wouldn’t quite call it domestic, but she didn’t have another word for the rightness of it, couldn’t quite voice how it made her feel inside to see his bright blue eyes lock onto hers and know for sure that he loved her and she loved him. It made her feel like a giant, like a superhero, and in this little room, as night fell with just the warm light from the bedside lamp on them, she felt like nothing could touch them.

She could pretend tomorrow wasn’t happening, that there was nothing wrong with her, that there wasn’t a war on, and that it could be like this forever.

She turned back to the mirror, focused on getting the tangles out of her hair. “This is your fault, you know.”

Steve’s finger gently slid over her hip and to the other, teasing. He kissed the dimple in her low back. “I take full responsibility.”

“First the counter… then on the couch…” she took a deep breath and shook her head, putting her brush down on the bedside table. “then back in here again after dinner. It’s a wonder I’m not bruised and battered.” She rolled her eyes when Steve’s brows knit together, his teasing touch turning more concerned and exploratory. “I’m teasing!” She sighed, turning and laying against him. She pecked him on the cheek. “Only real casualty was my elbow when we took that tumble off the couch.”

Steve lifted her arm, examined it, and though he didn’t see a black and blue forming, he kissed it gently anyway. He tucked her arm tight to his chest and leaned up, kissing her forehead. “Alarm is already set for bright and early.” He tipped his head towards the light, asking if she wanted him to shut it off. “Ready?”

Peggy nodded, but she could feel the lump forming in her throat, could feel the enormity of how going to sleep brought her so much closer to tomorrow’s unknowns. Steve reached over, flipping off the light and plunging them into darkness before turning back to her and tucking her tight to his side. “G’night, Peg,” he whispered after a quiet moment, squeezing her tight.

She turned her head, pressing a kiss to his chest, knowing she wouldn’t get a moment’s rest tonight. “Goodnight, my darling.”

[asthesamcroflies]

REQUEST: Shattered

So, I had a request come in via messages, which is fine by the way, I can just post the details of it in order to reply publicly - I have to confess it’s something different for me, but I decided to give it a go to challenge myself. I don’t think I’ve ever written anything with that Son-on-Son vibe before, not for any particular reason, I just tend to have stuck closer to canon. Hopefully it’s not terrible lol - I did end up not going down the smut route, just cause I thought that slightly ambiguous, unspoken feel worked for this. I did kinda get all up in my own feels lol, so fingers crossed you guys like it...

Here’s the request details: Chibs, Tig, Juice (mentioned. Post series.) - Sad, Romantic, Smutty (if you want, it's not required) - 18, 15, 21 Past Chibs/Juice. Prez/VP dynamic. Chibs is shattered, he needs love, he needs peace of mind. Tiggy sees clearly this.

Prompt 18: “Please don’t do this.” 15: “Do you still think about her/him?” 21: “Would a kiss help?”

Shattered

It was late. Or early depending on how you wanted to look at it.

For once though, the Samcro clubhouse lay quiet and deserted. Almost. The new, eager-to-please prospect had tried to stay on to clear up, but had probably been barked at to get the hell out. That was an end to the night that was becoming more and more common – Sons, hangers-on and croweaters slipping away in the face of their stern president’s glare.

His vice president sighed heavily at that, wiping a hand over his face as he leaned in the doorway and took in the slumped shoulders and reaper on the back of the man he’d vowed to support come hell or high water. He could remember a time when the brash Scotsman was the life and rowdy soul of every fucking party.

Heavy is the head that wears the crown, huh?

Tig knew, perhaps better than most, what it was to carry guilt, remorse, self-loathing. He’d been there for the near-apocalyptic series of clusterfucks that had torn right to the heart of their club and all but destroyed it, so he knew the burden Chibs now had to bear in trying to see what could be salvaged from the ashes – all while desperately trying not to ignite any simmering embers that could flare up and burn them all to the ground all over again.

But it never got any easier to see him struggle under that weight.

He was about to speak, to make his presence known, when Chibs downed whatever was left in his glass and slammed it down on the bar, before stumbling to his feet and crossing the room to stand in front of the framed mugshots of members past and present, those honoured and those who now hung upside down, crossed out, disgraced and a warning to those who may come after them not to stray too far from the club’s rules, spoken and unspoken.

Tig knew from his own reaction to that wall, once a source of pride, how deep it cut Chibs to see it now. In both their minds, Jax Teller still deserved better than to be remembered solely as having brought shame on the patch. Their young president had lost his way, had made mistakes – catastrophic mistakes at that – but he had suffered for it enough and, at the last, had owned his part in his own downfall. Those he had left behind couldn’t help but cling to their love for their young president, or else what had it all been for?

But they had to put up a façade to appease Packer and the other club presidents. They knew the enormity of Jax’s crimes and the price that had to be paid. It didn’t mean they had to like it.

But as Chibs’ hand reached out for a different photo, touching it lightly before his fingers curled into a tight fist, Tig knew there was a fate that was even more complicated for the Scot to come to terms with. He had loved Jax like a brother, like a son even. Juice … Juice had been something else.

That fist lashed out, shattering glass that bit into flesh and drew a hiss of pain, even through what was undoubtedly an alcohol-induced fog. But despite lifting the hand to examine the damage, despite seeing the shard of glass still embedded in it, Chibs only slowly clenched that fist again, forcing it deeper as blood seeped from the ragged wound.

Tig was the one who winced.

“Please don’t do this,” he blurted out, unable to witness any more of this without intervening.

Chibs slowly uncurled his fingers, never turning around. “Go home, Tiggy,” he murmured, the words slurred and his accent thicker than ever.

“Yeah, ‘cause I’m gonna leave you in this fucking state,” his VP scoffed, finally galvanised into action and snatching up what he hoped was a clean cloth as he strode across the clubhouse to take charge. “Lemme see this mess. Jesus…”

He had to force himself to be less gentle than he’d have liked, for reasons he didn’t care to fully explore, but he was still careful as he examined the bloody hand Chibs had been left nursing, tutting over the shard of glass before slowly working it out and pressing the cloth to the wound to stem the bleeding. It looked worse than it was, but it was still bad enough.

“You might get away without stitches,” Tig decided. “So you wanna thank your lucky stars, brother, because I can’t sew for shit.”

“Lucky,” Chibs echoed dully, with a bitter little laugh. “Aye, that’s me – real fucking lucky. I need a damn drink…”

“No, you fucking don’t,” Tig insisted, grabbing him by the shoulders to steer him away from the bar and into a seat.

“Just leave me be, Tigger,” the weary president sighed, raking his uninjured hand through the salt and pepper of his hair. “I ain’t exactly good company right now.”

“What’s new?” Tig snarked, but there was nothing but sympathy and concern in those sharp blue eyes as he sat down opposite his closest of brothers. “You can’t go on like this, man. Ain’t right.”

“Got a choice, do I?” Chibs demanded, the raw agony in his voice and in his brown eyes making even his battle-hardened VP flinch. “Want me to throw up a rope and have done wi’ it? Like… Like Juice.”

Tig stood up so fast his chair overturned with a crash and he jabbed a furious finger in his friend’s face. “Don’t you fucking dare,” he seethed. “Don’t you fucking dare! Tell me that’s bullshit. Tell me you wouldn’t. Tell me!”

“Aye, aye, fine,” Chibs reneged, taken aback even through his haze by the strength of the response to his flippant suggestion. “Fuck, I … I ain’t taking that way out. I ain’t, brother. Sit the fuck down.”

Still furious, Tig glared at him the whole time he was righting his chair and banging it back into place, before sitting down opposite him again. “Asshole,” he snapped, his glare only intensifying when Chibs actually managed a little laugh, wiping his hand over his face.

“Ah, Tigger,” he sighed. “Good to know ya care, brother.”

“Course I fucking care, shithead,” came the heated response. “You think I stuck around for the good of my fucking health? I said I’d always have your back and I damn well meant it. So you don’t get to punk out on me like a little bitch.”

“Your TLC could use some work…”

“Fuck you.”

Chibs chuckled humourlessly. “Love you too, Tigger. You gonna at least let me have one wee drink now me hand’s stinging like a motherfucker?”

“You’ve already had the better part of one wee bottle, by the looks of things,” Tig grimaced, before relenting and getting up to retrieve a couple of glasses and the nearly empty bottle of whiskey, pouring them both a drink and downing his swiftly. He figured he had a lot of catching up to do.

Seeing Chibs’ gaze land somewhere over his shoulder, Tig looked around to follow it back to the photos on the wall and specifically to the one that now hung behind shattered glass. And not for the first time.

“Do you still think about him?”

It was a stupid question, Tig knew that. The answer couldn’t be more obvious. But it was actually the only way he could think to even broach the subject of something deeper.

“I let that lad down,” Chibs mumbled, taking another swig of his drink. “I coulda done somethin’, stopped it ever gettin’ that far.”

“He was a rat,” Tig reminded him, although not unkindly. “That’s on him.”

“He was an easy target,” Chibs shook his head. “He tried to come to me wi’ it. I didn’t hear him out. Not properly. We were all he had and I didn’t listen, didn’t see what was goin’ on in front o’ me own bloody nose.”

For a long moment, his VP could only sit in silence, musing on all the mistakes he’d made in his own life. The hurt he’d caused, to himself and his family, to others caught in his crossfire. He knew what it was to bear that burden. He didn’t want that for Chibs.

“What’s done is done,” he said finally. “Can’t change it, any of it. Can only learn from it. But you gotta let go, brother. You gotta let go or this is gonna eat you up from the inside out.”

“Easier said than done,” Chibs said quietly, his forced smile wry. “You know that.”

“I do,” Tig nodded, after a pause. “But I had you. And you’ve got me. So don’t forget that, you prick. You’ve got me. And I fucking need you. I can’t do any of this shit without you.”

Chibs looked up at the crack in his VP’s voice to find Tig was the one with his head down now. Slowly, he reached out to let his fingers trail through those wild dark curls.

“Oi,” he said roughly. “I ain’t goin’ anywhere, you hear me?”

“Didn’t sound like that,” Tig mumbled. “Never does when you start talking like that.”

“Look at me,” Chibs demanded, finally trying to pull himself together at the realisation of what he’d done. “Look at me, Tigger. I ain’t goin’ anywhere. I promise you, my brother.”

“How do I know you ain’t just bullshitting me again?”

“When have I ever lied to you? About anything serious?” Chibs demanded, albeit with a swift amendment to account for the creative ways he had been known to get around his VP when he had to.

“You said you’d stop blaming yourself.”

The hurt beneath the accusatory tone stopped the Scotsman dead and he reached out to rest a hand on his VP’s shoulder. “I am trying, brother.”

“I know,” Tig sighed, covering the hand with his own ringed fingers. “I know.”

Chibs pulled him close. “Would a kiss help?” he murmured, already planting a firm kiss on the other man’s cheek.

“You ain’t getting off that light, asshole.”

Chibs could only laugh at that despite himself, his lips grazing skin again. “Ah, Tigger, last two standing… Never thought it would be us.”

“As long as it ain’t just me,” came the quiet, yet fervent response.

It was a sentiment that both warmed and broke Chibs’ heart.

[itzagothamcitysiren]

Welcome to the Family

I’ve always struggled finding someone who I think would make a good Damian. I love the voice actor from the DCAU, and even the kid who did the voice in the Harley show lol, but live action wise I’ve never really settled on a kid I’d think would do a really good job.  I’d love to know everyone’s own fan casting and who they would think would make a good Damian. :)  

Mother’s Day pt.2          

  Damian couldn’t stop himself from watching the whole scene play out in front of him, cursing Drake as he knew that this was his plan all along. Drake wanted to rub it in his face no matter how hard he would deny it when Damian confronted him on it later. The bitter taste of the sweat was all Damian could taste as he slowly began to peel off his costume after a long and tiring night of patrolling Gotham City. His eyes darted from person to person, trying to keep the sudden annoyance down in the pit of his stomach.

           His father stood off near the batcomputer, slowly getting ready to call it a night, overlooking some files. His father had his cowl off, the tiredness of a long night out in the city showing on his face. A little ways away stood his sister, politely excepting the water bottle Alfred was now handing out to each of them. He started to head towards the pair to retrieve his own but halted. Drake approached them, clearly hiding something behind his back, underneath his cape. He turned around, simmering but kept listening as Drake began to speak.

           “Hey, staying the night?” Tim cleared his throat as he approached Halley, a hint of hopefulness reaching his voice.

           The girl chugged her water bottle, capping it off with a sigh. The cold liquid felt good running down her throat. Placing the near empty bottle on a nearby desk she turned to give Tim her full attention. With a smile, she leaned up against the desk, her muscles sore. “Nah, I have to head to the library first thing tomorrow, finish up my term paper.”  

           “I can help you. Use the library here,” Tim frowned, offering his help. He hadn’t seen his sister as much as he’d like over the past few months. She’d been busy with her last year of college and the internship she started this year at the Gotham Gazette.

           He did get to see her two weeks ago but that didn’t really count. He’d never gotten to meet the Robin before him, Jason Todd, but Halley spoke very fondly of him. They had grew extremely close he learned and she was absolutely devastated when the Joker killed him six years ago. And for the last couple of years, Tim would accompany with her to visit Jason’s grave on his death day because she could never bring herself to handle going alone.

           “As much as I would love that, it’s actually a study date.” She bit her lip, looking at her feet.

           “Wow, like a date, date?” Tim was taken aback, almost looking proud at the older girl. All the years he’s known her, she’s never been one for dating or having interest in anyone.

           “Yeah, we’re going to go to this café; the one on fifth, the one you said had really good coffee muffins.” She nodded, still timid about the date itself. She hadn’t been on a date in six years. It felt weird, but Dick told her it was time to start moving on and Dick had never led her astray before so, she was going to try. Jason would want her to anyway, she kept telling herself.

           “Well, I hope you have a good time. And actually get some work done.” Tim chuckled. “Well since I won’t see you in the morning and it’s technically the tenth right now, here you go,” Tim said, pulling out what was hidden behind his back.

           Halley looked down at the items that were being outreached to her, her eyes already getting watery. Tim really didn’t understand how much this stuff meant to her. Glazing over the card, seeing it goofily decorated with glitter and cute little doodles, Halley couldn’t help but let out a chuckle. She thought it was adorable. Opening it up, she read what he wrote inside, chuckling more at the little stick figures of Nightshade and Red Robin. Inside it read:  A mother is the person you can always call to see how long chicken can last in the fridge.

           Shaking her head at him she moved to the other item he handed her. It was a medium sized box wrapped in wrapping paper with little cute cartoon pugs and an oversized purple bow. Putting the card in between her armpit, in order to not drop it, she tore the wrapping paper apart, letting out a squeal, causing everyone to look at her in shock; it took a lot to make the former assassin to squeal in pure giddiness.    

           Damian was now almost fuming as Halley lunged herself into Tim, nearly tripping the boy over in her excitement. Her grip on him was tight, as was her grasp on the gift she still held in her hand, as if holding onto it for dear life. She couldn’t believe he got her this,

           “How did you get this? It sold out in seconds!” She pulled away, now hugging the object to her chest, “Tim you really didn’t have to do this, I totally didn’t realize the date, with school and-,”

           “I knew how much you wanted it and were bummed when you had to go on that mission with the Titans when it went on sale and so I ordered it for you, so you didn’t miss out.” Tim cut off her rambling, shrugging her off. “I was going to give it to you for Christmas, but it didn’t come in on time so I saved it for this.”

           “I can’t wait to show Steph!” She excitedly held it up to look at the smooth and shiny new box, revealing it to everyone in the room the newest Jeffree Star and Shane Dawson palate. “You’re literally the best Tim.” She pulled him into another hug, this time a quick one, no one noticing how Damian was now practically steaming. “What are you doing Wednesday? I’m only at the Gazette until like noon, we should hang out, go to the movies or arcade or something once you’re out of school. I’ll pick you up.”

           “I promised I’d help the Titans with something, it’s not an emergency though-” Tim frowned, hesitating, he could try and reschedule.

           “No, no it’s okay. I know you’ve missed them, being busy with school and all,” She waved off, scrunching up her nose. “We’ll figure it out, but soon, we gotta at least go get burgers or something. It’s been too long.”

           Damian watched as Halley began to start saying her goodbye, realizing that it was nearly five am at this point and wanted to try to get at least three or four hours of sleep before she had to be up for her date. She called out a goodbye to Bruce and Alfred, shooting Tim another thank you and smile before heading to the showers to change and grab her bag to head to her apartment in the city. On her way out, Damian felt his cheeks turn red as she nicely wished him goodnight, smiling wider than she did to Tim. Feeling a strange pang in his chest, he brushed her off, muttering a grumpy ‘night, before curtly turning to head up to the Manor.

           He was unamused by the exchange between her and Drake. He was only under the impression that he was giving her that immature card, not a gift as well. She looked so happy that it almost appeared that Drake was indeed the favorite brother, which absolutely could not possibly be true.  He was the blood brother, he reminded himself. He couldn’t let Drake outshine him like that. It wasn’t even because he cared that much, it was just unacceptable. If it had been Grayson it might sit a little easier with Damian but Drake?

           Damian thought about it until the sun shined through his windows, making him even angrier. Why was he letting this get to him as badly as it was? It was just a stupid card and a box of colorful dirt. But that stupid card and box of colorful dirt still stood in his mind for the following days, making it nearly impossible for him to concentrate on anything else. His father asked him what was wrong during patrol the following nights, only to get a growl here and a grunt there in response. If Damian had to see Drake’s smug look one more time during these moments, he’d finally kill him, his father be damned.

           Damian couldn’t believe how much he let this get to him. He tried to deny it; blame it on hormones or whatever Grayson called the cause of his mood swings. He didn’t even begin to consider admitting he was jealous of his sister’s close relationships with his so called brothers until he found himself standing in front of the Gotham Gazette at 1:50pm. Gritting his teeth, he walked straight in. Once he reached the front desk, he said he was here to see his sister. He was a Wayne, they knew who he was and the woman nervously pointed him to the way to the office his sister worked in.

           The look of worry and shock his sister wore as he stood in front of her desk confirmed that this had indeed been a terrible idea.  She had been head deep in her computer, typing away furiously, while on the phone, barking out questions and demands; something about needing to have some interview with some councilman rescheduled ASAP. Damian was impressed as she spoke. He was used to her stern voice from working with her on missions but this was different, she seemed so professional but scary; he almost felt bad for whoever she was talking to on the phone, but also felt proud by the way she was demanding things like an al Ghul would.

           She must have thought that he was someone else who knocked on her door for when she slammed the phone down, she didn’t even look up at him, just outreached her hand waiting to be passed something. She was expecting someone. She was busy. This was a terrible idea, Damian thought to himself in a slight panic. Was that sweat starting to form on his brow? Grow up Damian, he spat to himself.

           When her hand stood empty she shook it aggressively as if silently saying to hand her something.  Damian raised an eyebrow at her and when she was still left empty handed, she whipped her head up, clearly irritated. She was tired from another all-nighter. She couldn’t even consider going on patrol last night, which was something she never missed up until the last couple of months. She was itching to be done with school already.

           She had to stay up all night trying to make a backup plan for her final article and paper. She was writing about the coming election, making a strong article highlighting the past Mayor’s and city officials. It was a puff piece, but a damn good one. She wanted it to be perfect so that way when she graduated in June she’d hopefully get to stay at the Gazette permanently. But at the same time, she was also just trying to use her connection with the paper to weasel her way into an interview with councilman, Rupert Thorne.

           Her paper had been her obsession since starting it; she was exposing the corruption of city hall and it was at the point where her grade didn’t matter, she just wanted it to be done so she could publish it. Everyone knew that Gotham was corrupt, but no one really talked about, just complained about the crazy, dressed up weirdos that tormented the city at night. People like Scarecrow, Riddler and the Joker make people overlook villains who in her opinion where just as bad. For example, Rupert Thorne

           He had his nose deep in too many illegal operations running out of Gotham that Halley and even Bruce lost count. He had the audacity to run for mayor this election season, as being a councilman wasn’t enough for someone like Thorne. If he won this, Gotham was more screwed then it already was. Without at least speaking with him once her entire paper and grade would be ruined. And she couldn’t exactly go as her alter ego and force him to talk to her. That would raise too many questions. She didn’t even care as she named dropped Bruce, making sure they knew that she was Halley Wayne; she was desperate.          

           When she saw Damian though all thoughts about Thorne left her mind and her face softened before scrunching up again with concern. Damian never visited her before a she had been pretty sure he forgot that she interned here a couple days out of the week. Stopping her work, she looked up at him, looking around the room as her co-workers eyed them curiously.  “Damian, is everything okay? What happened?”

           “Tt.” He crossed his arms.

           “Damian, is everything okay?” She pressed, seeing that look in his eyes when he looked stressed or in trouble.

           “Nothing is wrong, I-,” He paused. He hadn’t figured out what to say. He didn’t prepare for this. Gulping down his anxiety, he took the seat that was across from her desk. He could see the bags underneath her eyes and the untouched food sitting at the other end of the desk. He also noted how the clock said that it was now a couple minutes past two. “Didn’t you tell Drake you were done with work at noon?”

           Halley blinked a few times, now knowing that there was no emergency but instead was just thrown off. What was he talking about? Looking down at the time on her laptop it clicked. Her conversation with Tim in the cave, about possibly hanging out today. Oh right, she remembered.  Looking back up at her younger brother she gave him an unsure look, she didn’t understand why he was here.

           “Um, yeah, well I don’t have a concept of time when I’m in here.” She lightly chuckled, trying to get a vibe on why he was here. Rubbing the black beanie on her head, itching her head awkwardly, “Most times the janitor has to kick me out.”

           She looked at him when he just nodded at her, still not stating why he was sitting in front of her. She was surprised he remembered her conversation with Tim, she hadn’t thought he had been listening and it was like they were talking that loudly for him to be forced to overhear him. She had taken note of Tim texting her about how unbearable he’s been since last Sunday though. She bit the inside of her cheek, was Damian jealous? She laughed to herself, there was no way. But when she have him another look over she saw his green eyes staring at her messy desk with a slight pout on his face. Oh he was totally jealous of Tim, she thought.            

           She looked at her untouched lunch, having totally losing herself in her work and forgetting it even existed. She then felt her stomach growl, seeing how Damian noticed it as well, raising his eyebrow higher, if that was even possible. Quickly saving the document she was working on, she slowly closed her laptop, letting what she was about to do sink in. Trying to contain her smile, not wanting to scare him off before she could even begin, she cleared her throat.

           “So do you like Burgers?”

[stillness-in-green]

Spinaraki Week, Day 3: Emptiness | Harmony

Hope it’s closer, hope it’s somewhere When it’s over, hope we don’t care I’ll be there, too, there when it comes true So take me down with you

A fan soundtrack — with accompanying fanfic shorts, if desired  — for Shigaraki and Spinner, from Gigantomachia, to Jaku, and beyond.   

(google drive  |  youtube playlist)

Below the cut, the fanfic shorts and links to the lyrics.

forever or never  — cinema bizarre  //  take me under  — man with a mission  //  so cold  — breaking benjamin  //  silver lining  — hurts  //  all i need is love  — sakai mikio  //  stay alive  — may’n  //  fake wings ~ bitter sweet ver.  — kajiura yuki  //  roads untraveled  — linkin park  //  all of my days  — alexi murdoch  //  shØut  — sawano hiroyuki

                                                 ———–

Track 1 |   Forever or Never

They were two weeks into fighting Machia and Spinner right in the middle of another series of complaints about what kind of food Shigaraki was eating—as if he could even make time for anything more complicated than supplements and protein drinks when getting enough sleep was way harder to manage—when Shigaraki made up his mind, leaned forward, and kissed him.  

“S’nice that you’re worried about me,” he said to Spinner’s gawping.  “But if you’ve got something to say, you should come out and say it.”  He was floating on sleep deprivation, the world too many colors, too bright and too fuzzy, and Spinner sitting right in front of him, the most colorful splotch of green on the smudgy brown woods, pink eyes staring—they’d been staring a lot lately.

“Machia could break me in half tomorrow.  Tonight, even.”  He laughed raggedly.  The knowledge felt like his family’s hands—too heavy, nausea-inducing, but still offering an endless freedom.  “I don’t want your last words to me to be, ‘Shigaraki, you need more carbs.’”

“…Well, you do!” Spinner sputtered, but he set the latest round of pills and juice packs down roughly in front of Shigaraki and beat a hasty retreat. Shigaraki watched him flee; a lazy grin sat on his face with alien comfort.

  Track 2 |   Take Me Under

Somehow, even though he looked like he was about to pass out mid-stride, Shigaraki was still pulling away from him.  Everything he touched dissolved into flecks of ash, while the zealots on the bad end of Spinner’s blades remained doggedly fleshy, snarling and wrathful, all shouting voices and grasping, tearing hands and maybe Shigaraki had nightmares like this, maybe he was used to them and that was why he cut through it all so easy.  

Spinner dragged his arm through another vicious slice, dragged his legs through another step, focusing on Shigaraki’s narrow shoulders.  Don’t go without me, he willed.  Bring me with you!  I wanna see it too!

  Track 3 |   So Cold

“Not gonna talk about Stain-sama anymore?” Shigaraki asked, an edge of challenge leaking into his voice.  Spinner had been weird since Deika, hanging on Shigaraki’s words with a hushed air of attentiveness that made Shigaraki too aware of the sound of his own voice when he’d hardly ever worried about that kind of thing before, and definitely not among allies.

Spinner flushed, the suffusion of red across his scales suggesting he had a bit of chameleon in there somewhere, but not a very cooperative bit.  He rubbed his neck, looking away at the common room the League had requisitioned for their private meetings.

“….Maybe now and then?” he hedged.  “I mean, he was the reason I got out.  I’m grateful to him for that.  But it's like I said back at the shack.  I joined the League to find a purpose.  It wasn’t—it wasn’t ever about Stain himself, exactly.”

“You find something better?” Shigaraki tipped his head on one side. There was a vague itch in his chest, a wiggling little need to hear about this new purpose—it was a leader thing, probably; he got Mr. Compress his sushi, and Toga was never shy about what she wanted, and now here was Spinner ready to spill his big goal.  Like getting a 100% complete, taking stock of what it was going to take for his allies to get what they wanted.

Spinner looked back up, expression weird—eyes a little wide, vulnerable, like he’d just been hit or he was bracing for it, but the set of his mouth around his beak firm.  He looked at Shigaraki like he was trying to stare a hole through him, but he nodded.

“Gonna tell me what it is?” Shigaraki pressed.

“It’s…  You don’t need to worry about what it is.”  Cagey asshole.  “We just gotta keep going.”

Shigaraki drew his nails down his neck almost idly, a simmer of dissatisfaction in his skin, holding Spinner’s gaze long enough for him to go through both awkward shifting and a stubborn bounce back.  His eyes were clear—too clear, Shigaraki thought, and it hit him.  

The horizon.

He folded forward, struck to laughter, though the annoying feeling in his chest worsens.  Spinner had showed up all enamored with Stain’s ideas about a purge this, a cleansing that.  Or course he could see the appeal of emptiness.

“Who’d have thought you were fucked up enough to want that?” he murmured, snorting when Spinner stiffened in offense.  “Okay. We’ll keep going, then.”

  Track 4 |   Silver Lining

Shigaraki after the first stage of the surgery looked pale—even more so than usual—and drained in ways even Gigantomachia hadn’t left him.  He didn’t want to talk about how it went.  He pressed an unselfconscious kiss to the corner of Spinner’s mouth and leaned against him, listening and nodding to Spinner’s faltering report on how things are going with the Front, chipping in now and again with an opinion or an order. To Spinner’s immense relief, he even managed a few sarcastic comments.  

When Ujiko came for him, Spinner almost couldn’t breathe, didn’t even really try until the black gunk welled up in his throat to send him back to the villa.  He wiped his mouth after coughing it all up and straightened.  

There was work to do.  

  Track 5 |   All I Need Is Love

Endeavor hit him with another blast of fire and the meaninglessness of it all pulled laughter out of Shigaraki like broken teeth.  He let himself fall back from the force of it, landed on feet that seemed to know what to do with only minimal guidance from him.

His body hurt—hurt in ways he’d really thought he was past feeling, but then, fire had always been a particular brand of all-over pain—and the feeling in his chest was worse.  The awareness floated at the back of his mind, a list of cold facts pinned up in his brain under a spotlight, cognition in the style of lepidopterology.

Heroes had found the lab. 

The Doc had kept that lab hidden for longer than Shigaraki’d been alive.  The heroes had to have gotten new intel somehow.

All the possible sources for new intel were holed up in the mountain villa.

Flying heroes were rare, but not so rare that there wouldn’t be more fighting him here (Majestic alone would be doing a better job playing keep-away with Eraser Head) if they weren’t occupied elsewhere.

The conclusion sat at the bottom of the list: Machia was on his way, but Shigaraki wouldn’t know who he’d lost until the moment the big gorilla got here.

Still, there was just the barest trace of comfort there—Machia was on the way, and either the others had made it or they hadn’t, and soon he’d find out whether Spinner meant it or not, about wanting to see this horizon.

   Track 6 |   Stay Alive

Earlier than expected, Toga had said.  Spinner clung onto Gigantomachia for all he was worth, eyes on the horizon as the chaos of the battle at the villa finally receded behind them.  His heart pounded so hard it hurt, throbbing with the memory of Shigaraki at the bottom of that crater in Deika, his tangled hair and bare shoulders all but glowing, pearl white, in the shafts of pale sunlight filtering back down through the scattering debris.  Shigaraki tucked up against him in the cheap bed Ujiko kept in the lab, tracing his fingers along Spinner’s scales with unthinking abstraction, not afraid, not disgusted, not even paying all that much attention.  

Spinner had been helpless then and he was no better now, terror thick in his throat as he watched the horizon for anything—the hospital, a telltale cloud of dust, a sign, just—just anything to give him a bit of hope.  

  Track 7 |   Fake Wings ~ bitter sweet ver.

Shigaraki hadn’t regained consciousness yet.  His burns had healed, but the deep, dry fissures in his skin wee slower to close.  They corkscrewed down his arms and speared out viciously over his chest, cicada shell cracks, and who knew what had been trying to pull itself out of that body when Spinner and the others had finally made it to him?

Two crevices ran up either side of his spine in eerie symmetry, each branching once before continuing up, angling along the inside edges of his shoulder-blades.  Spinner tried not to look at them more than he had to—every time he did, he’d get horrible mental images of wings shuddering their way free, sticky and wet with blood and enzymes.  

He smiled.  Spinner reminded himself of that every time he sat down to reapply hydrocortisone and calamine.  When he saw us on Machia, he looked at us and he smiled.  

It had looked pretty ghoulish, but a lot of Shigaraki’s smiles did.  More importantly, though, he’d looked at them with recognition.  Whatever had been brewing in him to make him look like some kind of haggard, slough-skinned revenant, Spinner had watched it recede when Shigaraki’s red eyes fell on them, on him.  

He dared to run one hand over Shigaraki’s hair, rinsed painstakingly clean by Spinner and Mr. Compress as soon as they’d gotten settled in the tiny, two-road hamlet Skeptic had directed them to.  They were laying low for now, hoping to meet up with stragglers from the villa, Re-Destro and the rest, but Spinner couldn’t make himself think about it with any clarity.  Not when Shigaraki was still out and they didn’t have Ujiko around to tell them what was wrong.

Wake up, Shigaraki. Please.  Please.

  Track 8 |   Roads Untraveled

“Did you see it?”

“Shigaraki!”  Spinner started violently when Shigaraki whispered the words.  “You’re awake!”  

“And you’re loud,” Shigaraki grumbled.  Pain ran a latticework over his body; he wrestled one arm out from under the sheets someone had tucked him into and examined it.  A freshly-healed scar spiraled up his arm, putting him vaguely in mind of narutomaki.  Skimming the injury, his eyes caught on the hole in his palm and it struck him, foggily, that he didn’t actually know if Sensei had always had those or if they came with Air Cannon.  

Sensei.  He thought the name slowly, deliberately, letting the syllables prod at his own mind, seeing if there was any response. Nothing poked back, though he still felt strange, emptied out and scraped back into a new container, all mushed up from the transition.  Weird. Nothing he couldn’t get used to, but still.

Spinner was still talking, he realized belatedly, and tuned back in in time to hear, “I’m sorry we didn’t get to you sooner.  It just got so crazy so fast, we—”

“Spinner,” he interrupted, because there was a ring of shame in Spinner’s voice and Shigaraki wasn’t in the mood for it.  “What’d you think of it?”

“Of what?” Spinner asked. He’d changed clothes, out of his polka dot vest and dark cargo pants and into a plain cotton button-up that fit him too tight around the shoulders.  Not one of his, and not his style, either, so probably a loaner, or stolen, which meant they were in another hideout.

Shigaraki briefly debated whether he was angry about that and immediately decided that anger was much too intense for how empty he was feeling at that moment.  He answered Spinner instead.  

“You know what.”  

It took Spinner a second to put it together.  He might have done better if Shigaraki had stopped staring at him for a minute, but Shigaraki didn’t much feel like doing that, either.  Spinner’s awkwardness was comfortably familiar.

“It…  It was amazing,” he answered finally.  “Practically the whole city was gone.”

“Bigger than in Deika?” Shigaraki asked, more for confirmation than reassurance.

“Way bigger.”

“Papers have a death toll yet?”  

“They’re still just talking about casualties—a few thousand, ‘expected to rise.’  But Skeptic says they’re way underreporting.”  

That’s still too low. They must have figured us out, Shigaraki thought, even as Spinner frowned, somewhere between angry and distraught.

“Hawks got information out somehow,” he went on.  “I’m sorry. We should have—”

“We didn’t.  That’s all.  We’ll just do it better next time.”  Shigaraki tried to lever himself up.  Immediately, Spinner leaned in next to him—not trying to browbeat him into resting, which was a nice change, but hooking an arm around his back and giving him a good sturdy vertical surface to brace against.  Or maybe just rest against.  Fuck, he was tired.  I’m gonna kill the Doc; super-regeneration is supposed to work better than this.

“How’re you feeling?” Spinner asked anxiously.  Spinner was—weirdly comfortable.  Warm.  Solid.  Shigaraki lost whatever his response was going to be, letting himself go lax against Spinner’s side.  “Shigaraki?”

“Feel like I’ve been cold since I got out of the tube,” he answered, too tired to bother with anything but the truth, to which Spinner immediately held him closer.  Heh.  Bonus. “How about you?  Find anything to fill you up while I was away?”

“Not that I’ve got to show you.  The whole villa was—” Spinner paused, frustration giving way to suspicion.  “Was that a dirty joke?”  

Shigaraki snickered and leaned back, pulling Spinner down into the bed with him.  Spinner fell with a muffled yelp.  “Eh.”

“I don’t believe you,” Spinner said, but quietly, and didn’t follow it up.  Slowly, his hands found their way up to Shigaraki’s face, those sharp claws of his infinitely careful as he pushed back Shigaraki’s hair.  “Gonna sleep some more?”

“Gonna make me?”  It didn’t sound like such a bad idea, honestly. Spinner would have told him something by now if wherever they were wasn’t safe.  

“I don’t think I could if I wanted to,” Spinner muttered.  “You got really ripped.”  

The confused, not quite envious tone dissolved Shigaraki into dry cackling.  Of all the shit to focus on.

“Guess I did.”  He decided to let himself have the moment—no telling how long it’d last, after all—and relaxed with a sigh into the circle of Spinner’s arms.

  Track 9 |   All of My Days

Shigaraki slept in his arms.

There were a thousand other things to worry about, things Spinner had sworn he’d start thinking about as soon as Shigaraki woke up, but that boat had obviously sailed, seeing as Spinner’s brain had decided that now was the perfect time get stuck on things like, Thank god he’s still him, and, How did it wind up like this? not to mention a repeating chorus of, I’m so glad he’s alright, and a bunch of fragments like, I never thought I— and, Back then, I—

He exhaled, stirring Shigaraki’s hair.  Splayed lazily on his chest, Shigaraki snored softly, undisturbed, drawn back from hazy-eyed detachment by that last burst of laughter, which had been cutting and mean and perfect—and, judging by how fast he’d dropped back off, had also tired him right back out.  He’d gotten heavier, which Spinner already knew from muscling him around the house for the last two days, but like this, his weight just felt right.  Reassuring.  

Savior and liberator, those were the words Re-Destro used for Shigaraki, and Spinner had always rolled his eyes about it, because it was too much, flowery and over-exposed.  But when he thought back on his life before, just a set of scales stretched thin over a hollow ache, just fitful anger with nowhere to turn but inward…  

He sighed again and tightened his grip, just a little.  There was a lot ahead of them still, bad news to break, temporary separations and permanent losses.  But despite that, just in that moment, Spinner felt—okay.  Like things would be all right.  Like the moment he was in was enough.  And it’d been such a long time since he’d felt that way that he couldn’t even bring himself to feel guilty for it.  

Shigaraki slept in his arms, and Spinner let himself breathe.

  Track 10 |   Shout

The little house they were in—a guest house, the impersonal decor of which had not survived half a week with Toga, Mr. Compress and Skeptic all under one roof—was steadily transforming into their new base of operations.  Gigantomachia had been hollowing out a space below ground, dank and shabby compared to the repurposed flood cisterns beneath the villa, but it was slowly filling up with people—stragglers the old MLA smuggled in, because Hawks might have figured out who the Army’s heroes were, but even he was never going to get a full member list; the Army hadn’t even kept one.  They’d been doing the hide-in-plain-sight operation for generations, and being back in a scenario where they could get raided again mostly just seemed to fire them up.  

Shigaraki was back on his feet again like he’d never been off of them, scars—what was left of them—faded to thin white lines and mostly hidden behind his clothes.  He was right back to black, too, courtesy of a fashion expedition Toga and a few local kids had run to the nearest town over.  

The news was still going crazy; no matter where Spinner went in town, there was always a boxy little TV or an old radio on with people standing around paying keen attention to the complete meltdown happening across the country—the destruction of Jaku City, Shigaraki’s escape, the discovery and capture of Ujiko, Endeavor’s connection to Dabi (which Shigaraki had apparently figured out half a year ago, in the aftermath of that very first Vanguard Action Squad attack), Hawks’ disfigurement, quirk-erasing bullets, the resurgence of the Meta Liberation Army—a 24-news cycle wasn’t enough to cover everything, and while “vindictive glee” wasn’t quite what Spinner had had in mind back when worried about keeping morale up, well, he still wasn’t going to complain.

They had their feet under them now.  Every day, plans were being redrawn, the math being refigured: subtract the element of surprise from the MLA’s operations, but add in the damage done to the Hero Billboard Chart’s precious top ten; take away the Noumu, but wait, actually, maybe don’t, because just how impregnable is Tartarus, exactly?  Shigaraki was free, and if he wasn’t quite at 100%, well, Ujiko wasn’t going to be around to finish the job for a while, so there was nothing for it but to move forward, and the way forward stretched before them unobstructed.

Shigaraki still planned to tear it all down, stone from stone—if anything, his fight with the heroes in Jaku and finding out about Twice afterwards had left him even more determined.  Somehow, no one seemed to mind.  The ordeal had burned their leader clean and sharp, a light burning at the end of the universe, impossible to blot out.

Spinner had never felt more ready to take on the world.

[glimmerglanger]

your mirror au and i am such a fan! wondering if you would be down to write further about when mirror obi-wan and anakin first got together! it would interesting to see the similarities and differences from the prime obiwan and anakin!

Anonymous said:

Your morrorverse au is wonderful and amazing!! Seriously, I love it so much, the idea, your beautiful writing, the characterisation, delicious! I gotta ask though, becquse I love spicy details, how did mirror!boys' first time go? Was it gentle? Rough? How old was Anakin? Did Obi-Wan have bad flashbacks? How long did it take for them to learn each other preferences? 👀

Anonymous said:

Absolutely LOVE Mirror AU!! But I'm also so curious Bout how Shadow and His Obi got together? Bc from the bits of Obi'd past and how little he thought Anakin truly cared for him, I'm curious about how they started. And if they ever actually address Obi's insecurities regarding how he views himself through others eyes, versus how Anakin actually views him.

A subject that must be explored further :D Generalized warnings for everyone being Darksiders, mentions of Obi-Wan’s screwed up past, Emperor Palpatine being just a HUGE and inappropriate creeper, especially with young Anakin.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The very first time Anakin thought he might get to experience some of things he imagined - more and more often, as he got older - was in a dark club in Coruscant’s lower levels. He’d slipped away from Obi-Wan, managed to snag the attention of a slim figure with a sharp little smile and wandering hands, and had gotten as far as kissing them when suddenly he was pulled back and shoved a step to the side.

It had been startling, for a number of reasons, to look over at Obi-Wan’s scowling face, to listen to Obi-Wan snapping at Anakin’s companion to move away, immediately, his voice laced with the Force.

Anakin knew he ought to be upset, really. But the thing was… the kiss hadn’t really been as satisfying as he thought it would be, anyway. He’d been - been dissatisfied, been thinking about Obi-Wan, and it seemed like, in a way, Anakin had simply summoned him there with a thought.

Besides, Obi-Wan’s hand was still on his shoulder, and he thought, maybe--

“Are you alright?” Obi-Wan asked, turning to frown over at him as Anakin’s companion slipped away without another word. He was not radiating jealousy or want, Anakin noticed, with a little kick of disappointment. Instead, it seemed Obi-Wan was worried.

Anakin frowned, straightening to his full height - only just taller than Obi-Wan, now - and said, “Yes, I’m fine, why’d you do that?”

Obi-Wan rolled his eyes, but he felt strange, inside, his emotions all a jumble. “It’s my responsibility to look after you,” he said, turning, as though he intended to go back out into the bar, as though the discussion were over.

“Look after--I wanted to,” Anakin said, following behind.

Obi-Wan snorted, shaking his head, and said, “You’re too young to know what you want.” And Anakin wanted to protest; he was fourteen, and - and he’d had a pretty good idea of exactly what he wanted for months, and--

A comm from the Council, new orders relayed from the Emperor, cut Anakin’s protests off, leaving him to simmer over them.

#

Anakin kept his further explorations of the things he desired well away from Obi-Wan’s attention. It wasn’t that difficult, really. The Emperor was happy to help Anakin slip away for a few hours, here and there. Sometimes he even introduced Anakin to people, who were more than happy to… help out.

And after each time, if the Emperor asked what he had thought, if he’d like to see this person or that person again…

Well, Anakin’s answer was always the same. He was learning all kinds of things, many of them about what he wanted. Who he wanted. 

It was strange, how he thought he’d known all along.

#

The problem, as Anakin saw it, was that he wanted Obi-Wan, but he got the distinct impression he was not desired in return. He learned how to tell the difference, in his forays in darkened rooms and tangled sheets. Not all of the partners he spent time with wanted him, some just… went through the motions, while others lit up on the inside with desire.

He turned away those without want after the first time or two, because the entire experience left him feeling… off. It made him remember what he’d been told about Obi-Wan, brought back the memories of his nightmares, and--

And Anakin knew he could have them, but he found he didn’t want them, not like that. He didn’t want to be someone Obi-Wan had nightmares about.

#

It was years before Anakin caught a flash of anything resembling desire from Obi-Wan. They were on some terrible planet - Geonosis - where they’d been forced into a gladiatorial arena. Understanding that everyone involved was going to pay with their lives did little to dampen Anakin’s anger at being tossed - without a weapon - across the sands to fight the huge creatures in the arena.

His anger only burned hotter because they’d dragged Obi-Wan out before him and chained him up, put him on display in the center of the space, as the stands above hurled abuse and rocks down. Most of the stones did not manage to come close to the center of the arena, to Obi-Wan’s arms or bare chest, but--

But Anakin was seeing red by the time he was shoved from the chariot delivering him into the arena. He rolled across the sand, coming to his feet, listening to the wall of sound coming from the crowd and sneering up at all of them.

They seemed to think that he would be helpless with his hands bound. They seemed to think they’d won. They seemed to think many things, and Anakin was happy to show them how wrong they were.

The fight that followed took his concentration, left him panting hard with his hands bloody and his chest heaving. He looked over at Obi-Wan, standing there under the sun, free from the pillar, battered but alive and--

And found Obi-Wan looking at him, already, expression surprised and eyes wide. And Anakin felt the flare of want, of desire, recognized it with an answering jolt, and would have charged forward to pursue it, right there and right then, had not the rebel Dooku shown up at that moment.

#

Anakin lost his hand on Geonosis, spent too much time in a bacta tank, and only found out that Obi-Wan had been punished for failing to look after him after he was released. He found out only that he was to take the Brand, to be considered fully trained, after the healers let him go.

It burned, the blazing metal, when it was pressed against the back of his neck, but Anakin had suffered worse hurts. He complained not about it, especially because the Emperor had left marks on Obi-Wan that had yet to fade. A single burn hardly compared.

Anakin was given his own quarters - far finer than he’d expected - and he stayed within them for perhaps thirty seconds before he turned and left, seeking out Obi-Wan. The burn on the back of his neck still ached. He could only barely operate the prosthetic attached to his arm, but--

But none of that mattered, really. Obi-Wan wanted him - had wanted him, for at least a few heartbeats - and Anakin had been waiting for such desire for so long… 

Obi-Wan had the door open before Anakin even knocked. Anakin slipped inside the familiar space, drawn to where he sensed Obi-Wan, in the little kitchen. He held a cup of tea, glancing over as Anakin lingered in the doorway, just… looking at him.

There was a bruise, fading on Obi-Wan’s cheek. His hair only partially covered it, falling forward over his shoulder. He was wearing soft tunics, his feet bare, and--

And Anakin crossed to him, drawn forward by years of aching wants. Obi-Wan said, “Are you feeling--”

Anakin slid a hand across his jaw, feeling him go still, and leaned down, kissing the question off of his mouth. Obi-Wan startled, would - perhaps - have spilled tea on both of them, if Anakin hadn’t closed his fingers around the cup and taken it away, using the Force to place it on the counter.

He pulled back, after only a second, to find Obi-Wan staring at him, wide-eyed. “Anakin,” he said, his voice calm and still, “what are you doing?”

“What I’ve always wanted to do,” Anakin told him, stroking a thumb across the line of his cheek, sliding his other arm around Obi-Wan’s back. He brushed a kiss across Obi-Wan’s mouth and then another, and felt a hot spark of want that settled in his gut like the taste of victory. His mouth curved into a smile, and he added, “What you want me to do.”

Obi-Wan’s breath punched out, and he said, “Surely you don’t--”

Anakin kissed him, because it seemed the best way to prove that he very much did. He pushed at their connection at the same time, all the warm, tangled feelings he had for Obi-Wan, built and nurtured over so many years, all the wants, all the desires, all the needs.

Anakin had been strong enough to take what he wanted for years. He’d known it, the first time he managed to pin Obi-Wan during a sparring match. The Emperor had even told him as much, told him he had the power to take whatever he liked, while looking pointedly at Obi-Wan, and - as it turned out - what Anakin liked was Obi-Wan, reaching out to clench him closer, responding to all Anakin showed him.

It was a stunning delight to feel the other side of their connection open, to have warmth and want curl back out to him, and, oh, he’d been right to wait. It had been worth it, for the way Obi-Wan gripped at him, the way he groaned and panted and pulled Anakin closer, all while Anakin got everything he’d wanted.

[is0gild]

Ice Cream and Fire Oven Pizza - Chapter 23

Pairing: Elsa x Lea/Axel || Side Pairing: Riku x OC

Summary: Modern AU. She's an introvert ball of nerves who works at Ice Palace, a mall food court ice cream shop. He's the outgoing, sassy goofball who works at the Pizza Planet across the way. Hilarity, snark, and fluffy romcom hijinks ensue.

Word Count: 11,552

FIRST CHAPTER || PREVIOUS CHAPTER || NEXT CHAPTER

Credit for super friggin’ cute and super friggin’ amazing cover art goes to the super friggin’ talented ky-jane here on tumblr!

"Sorry, did I miss a point back there where my car transformed into a submarine to cross the Atlantic Ocean?"

I turned my head towards Lea, knitting my eyebrows together. "Pardon?"

"Well I just don't see how else we would have ended up at freaking Buckingham Palace," he muttered, keeping one hand on the steering wheel while the other tipped his aviators forward for a better look at the mansion at the end of the long, extravagant driveway he was currently cruising his car down. He gave a low whistle, "Shit, all it's missing are those dudes in the highschool band uniforms and big fuzzy hats."

Rolling my eyes, I snorted softly. "Oh come now, it's not that big."

He scoffed, "'Not that big' is something girlfriends say about their exes to protect their insecure boyfriends' fragile male egos. It's not what you say about the Taj Ma-fucking-hal here."

The dreaded weekend was upon us at last.

You know. The Weekend. Capital T, capital W.

Aka, the visit with my parents.

Operation Boyfriend But Shh Not Really was about to be tested to the extreme limits.

The chateau in question (maybe villa would be a better word? Or manor, perhaps? Really, it wasn't big at all, Lea was just exaggerating) belonged to my parents. This was the home I'd grown up in. It was weird coming back here now after all that had happened. Was still in the process happening, I suppose. My fingers fidgeted with my braid as the mansion loomed ever higher the closer we got.

Actually… now that we were more up close and I was really seeing it again… oh gosh, it was rather enormous, wasn't it?

...had it somehow grown in size since last I-?

Shush, now, don't be ridiculous. That was just the anxiety talking.

Of which I was in no short supply of. I still had no clue what was in store for this weekend. Anna seemed almost just as much in the dark as I was, which was strange seeing as how she still lived here. Then again, I was pretty sure she'd been spending a lot less time around home lately in favor of staying over at her new boyfriend's place. A man I still surprisingly knew absolute zilch about, but I was hoping Anna had invited him to join us for this weekend as well. That way, I'd get to meet him and maybe even have a little of the attention taken off me. Long shot, I know, considering he was only Anna's still relatively new beau whereas I'd skipped out on my own wedding and shamed my whole family (apparently), so this guy was kind of small potatoes by comparison. But hey, a girl can dream, can't she?

It was actually Friday evening right now, so we were going to be in for more of a long weekend - in every sense of the word. Lea and I had both worked early shifts today before going to our respective homes, getting changed, packing bags for staying over for two nights and then finally heading up. Not knowing what this weekend was going to entail was wreaking no small amount of havoc on my nerves. That said, it could have been worse. Pretty sure I'd actually been more nervous for the audition a couple days ago than I was for this. Maybe that was because the audition had just been so last minute, whereas I'd been preparing for this little get-together for a couple weeks now. Even I had to admit that Lea and I made a pretty convincing couple at this point. Sure, I still got a bit awkward with PDAs, but I was no longer anywhere near as bad as I had been the day I'd seen father at my old condo.

...then again, doing the whole relationship act around the mall for the past couple weeks was one thing. Trying to pull off the same charade in front of my parents now, not to mention the Duke as well? Probably was going to be a lot more complicated.

I really had no idea what was going to happen the moment we passed through those ornate double doors leading into my parent's home.

But I was about to find out.

Whether I liked it or not.

"Alright, we made it," Lea announced as he parked the car next to the big fountain in the middle of the circle driveway, shutting off his engine. He shot me a grin, "You ready for this, my lil sötnos?"

I blinked over at him, then narrowed my eyes. "Do I even want to know?"

"It's a Swedish term of endearment. Its literal translation is sweet nose. And if yours ain't the sweetest, I dunno what is," his grin twitched wider as he reached over to tweak said nose.

"Sweet n-" I groaned, swatting his hand away. "Veto."

"Aw c'mon, I thought that one was cute!" he gave a little whine. I just drooped my eyelids at him and he sighed, stretching over to open his glove compartment and pull a black marker from it. "Guess America's just not ready for the sweet nose," he grumbled, pulling the cap off with his teeth and marking something off on his palm.

I frowned. "...what are you doing?"

"Regrettably giving up on what is arguably the greatest pet name of all time, that's what."

"No, I meant with your hand." I snatched his in both mine, yanking it over in front of my face to discover a small list written on the inside of his palm, located at the top of which was sötnos with a line struck through it. "...are these... more terms of endearment for me?"

He smirked as he leaned in closer to stare down at his palm alongside me. "Yup! Since the big weekend's here, figured I'd best come prepared. This is important stuff we gotta nail down!"

I squinted at the words before me, reading, "Kruzynko…?"

"It means breadcrumb."

Scrunching up my nose, I stole the marker from him and crossed that one off. "No. Bogárkám?"

"My little bug," Lea supplied, sounding more confident in this one.

A snerk. "Nope," I popped the P. And another one bites the dust. My tongue tripped uncertainly over the next one, "Blodyn tatws?"

"Heh… potato flowers?" he asked hopefully.

"Oh wow, I love that one."

He perked up, "Really?"

"Absolutely... not," I said flatly, looking him dead in the eye as I drew a line across it as well.

"Aw man, not cool!" He pouted, then pursed his lips to one side. "Hey, is now really the best time to be doing this? We, uh…" he chuckled sheepishly, holding up his second hand to reveal a whole other list scrawled on that one too, "...might end up being here all day."

I stared blankly at him. "Just how many more of those do you have?"

"I'd show ya, but that'd require me going a lil more half monty than you'd probably prefer I'd get in your parent's driveway."

My brow furrowed and I leaned away slightly, eyeing him up and down. "...where…?"

He waggled his eyebrows at me, "That's for me to know and you to find out."

I let his hand drop from my grasp, "I'm good, thanks." As he snickered, I looked away, rubbing my fingertips over one of my (now brought to a low simmer) cheeks. "Can't you just stick to El? It's simple. Nice… I like El."

"You do?" I heard him ask and I directed a furtive sideways glance in his direction. A slow smile was curling his lips, "Alright… El it is." But then he was peeking down at his palm again. "...and also krúttið mitt."

Biting back a grin, I swat his shoulder. "How would you like it if I kept calling you some weird pet name in a foreign language all the time?"

Lea beamed, "I'd like it very much actually."

"Really? Fine," I took up his hand again, scrutinizing his palm, "...mo chuisle it is then."

His eyes lit up, "Ooo, that one's spicy!"

Oh dear, why had I thought this was a good idea again?

"...what's it mean?"

He bent towards me, eyes hooded as he purred, "You just called me your pulse."

I've made a grave error this day.

"Ah-ah!" he chirped, pressing a finger to my lips as they began to part. "Too late! No take-backsies!"

I huffed, unbuckled my seatbelt and got out of the car, slamming the door shut behind me.

Lea looked far too smug as he climbed out himself, retrieving both our bags from the backseat of the car on his way out and slinging them over his shoulder. He removed his aviators, hooking them into the collar of his black, fitted v-neck shirt as his eyes took in the mansion before us once again. He'd reclaimed his leather jacket to wear for this, accompanied by snug jeans tastefully ripped at just one knee and a pair a black, heavy, steel-toed boots. He'd blinged out a bit as well, sporting a small sun medallion that hung from a chain down to his mid-chest, along a few strappy leather bracelets and a couple of rings decorating his fingers. His winged guyliner was somehow even darker and bolder than usual and his hair had been pulled back into a half-tail.

Not going to lie, my traitorous fingers practically itched to pet that little red tuft at the back of his head.

Instead, I settled for fussing with the necklace that rested against my skin just above my collarbone. The pendant was formed of three blue, almond-shaped gemstones gathered together at one point. A present from Rayne to wish me luck on this trip. I was a much bigger fan of her good luck charm than I had been of the one Lea had "gifted" me with for the musical tryouts. I wore the small charm with a classic little wrap dress in a soft lilac. Off the shoulder of course - it was me we were talking about here, so you can probably guess it before I even say it at this point - and with the hem of the skirt flaring out around the knees.

Needless to say, looking at him and me side-by-side right now, it was clear one of us was either severely over or underdressed. Considering it was my parents' door we were about to knock on, one guess as to who was what.

"Try not to scratch the paint, chief!" Lea chipperly called out as he was suddenly tossing his keys at one of the staff under my parents' employ who just so happened to be walking past us in that second.

Eyes widening, the man fumbled to catch them. As Lea turned to head towards the front door, I followed, quirking my eyebrow at him. "What was that?"

"I'm blending in," he flashed a cheeky smile, shoving a hand into one pocket of his jacket. "Whatcha think, do I sound like a rich asshole or what?"

I tipped my head to one side. "...actually, you kind of sounded like my ex."

A snort escaped through his nose. "I'll take that as a yes then."

We walked a couple steps in silence. Then, "That wasn't a valet, by the way."

He froze midstep, looking at me sharply. "What?"

"That was a gardener. My parents don't even have a valet."

"Oh." Lea glanced back over his shoulder, frowning. "...maybe I should go get my keys back then."

I hid a small grin behind my fingers. "Maybe you should."

Waiting politely, I watched him jog back towards the worker to do just that, along with offering what looked to be quite the humble apology. "Got 'em!" he declared once he'd rejoined me, flinging them up into the air before catching them again to slip into his pocket. "So even a proper gent like your old man feels the need to prove what a hot, young stud he still is, eh? Wouldn't of thought him the type."

"What?" I blinked a couple times. Where'd that come from?

He tossed his chin back towards his vehicle. More specifically, at the few other cars he'd parked next to. "I recognize Anna's Porsche over there, but that blue Ferrari reeks of midlife crisis."

"...that's my car." Then I grimaced and amended, "Rather, was my car."

"Huh?" he looked taken aback. "You drive? Since when?"

I gave a small shrug, "Since always."

"Then why're you always having me n' your roomies chauffeur you around? Not that I mind..."

"I don't have a car or the funds to purchase one." He wordlessly jerked his thumb back towards the Ferrari, face blank. I sighed, "My parents bought me that. It didn't feel right keeping it after… everything. Not with me trying to separate myself from them and make it on my own. No, I plan to buy my own once I've saved up enough."

"Shit, still shoulda kept it," Lea said and I gave him a dull look. He hastily waved a hand in front of him, "Even if ya didn't want it, you coulda sold it and made bank before giving all that munny away to charity. Ya know, just so you could really stick it to your folks."

Shaking my head with a soft chuckle, I started walking towards the entrance again. "Let's just get on with this."

"Aye aye, Capitaine," he gave me a two-fingered salute, catching up to me with his long strides.

Feeling my chest start to constrict as we drew nearer to those doors, I blew out a soft, slow breath. "I hope we're not late. I shouldn't have let you talk me into that salon visit after we got off work."

"What, you needed something to help ya relax and a quick spa day was just the ticket! 'Sides, I wanted to make myself all pretty for this! Whaddya think?" He stretched his arm out before us both, fingers wiggling to show off his fresh coat of black nail polish. "If this doesn't impress your folks and tell 'em what a man of sophisticated tastes I am, I dunno what will!"

I snorted. "I think my father is more of a mauve man himself."

"Really? Crap, you shoulda said something! I'd have asked for a matching color so he and I could be twinsies! Shucks," he snapped his fingers, "missed opportunity."

Coming to a stop on the doorstep, I reached for the bell, but my fingers hesitated.

This was so strange. I'd lived here. Spent my childhood here. I'd never had to use the doorbell before.

...why did the idea of doing so now seem so hard?

A sudden warmth enveloped my other hand. I looked down to discover Lea was holding it. He gave it a small squeeze as he said softly, "Hey. Whatever happens in there, just know I'm here for you."

I felt a small stutter in my chest as a tiny smile tugged at my lips. "...thank you," I murmured, squeezing back before looking to the doorbell once more. Taking a deep, calming breath, I pushed the button at last and a heavy chime could be heard within.

While we waited, a glimmer of something at Lea's waist caught my eye and I turned to see what it was. A crease formed between my eyebrows. "...is that… a wallet chain?"

How had I missed that thing until now?

"Hm?" he followed my gaze. "Oh! Yup! Heh, thought it might really pull the whole look together! Do I look like a punkass bad boy now or what?"

"Or what," I fixed him with a deadpan stare. "You look ridiculous."

He splayed a hand against his chest in mock offense. "Rude. Can't believe you'd talk to your pulse like that."

Face warming, I hung my head. "...I'm never going to hear the end of that, am I?"

"Nope!" he grinned wickedly.

"Would you just take that silly thing off?"

"No can do, sweetcheeks! Boys like to accessorize too, ya know," he sniggered, giving the chain a little twirl. "Just be grateful I left the spiked choker in the glove compartment."

"Spi-?!" I spluttered over the word before managing a scoff and crossing my arms. "Oh, trust me, I am. The point is to get my parents to back off, not to send them into cardiac arrest!"

...huh… Lea in a spiked choker…

"You're trynta imagine what I'd look like wearing it now, aren't ya?" he'd hunched down beside me to whisper into my ear with a smirk.

My cheeks burned so hot, you could have roasted marshmallows on the damn things.

"...am not."

I was almost grateful when the door swung open just then. And also a little surprised, because the face that greeted me wasn't that of my parents' house maid Gerda.

No, instead it was that of a pale, wide-eyed, huffing and puffing Anna.

(With Gerda right behind her, looking quite harried and put out by the fact that my sister had stolen her job.)

"Elsa!" she cried out in relief. "Finally! What took you so long?!"

Furrowing my brow, I began, "Anna? What-?"

"No time! Get." She lunged towards me. "In here." Her hands seized my shoulders. "Now!" I was forcibly yanked inside.

I heard the door booming shut behind me and could only hope that Lea had managed to slip in himself in time as well. Gripping my sister's arms, I tried again, "What's going on? We couldn't be more than a few minutes la-"

Her hand suddenly shot out to squeeze my cheeks together between her thumb and fingers, squishing my face and effectively silencing me. "Shush! No talkie! Only listen! Oh, it's bad, Sis. Really, really bad! It's him! He's here! Like, here here! Right friggin' now!"

"Who's here?" I asked, tugging my face free of her vice-like grip and working my jaw. I knit my eyebrows together at Gerda, who was frantically circling us as she kept trying and failing to get a word in edgewise. "The Duke? I already knew-"

"No! Not the Duke! Of course not, he won't be here until tomorrow! Gah! You know, Sis, sometimes you can be really-" Anna cut herself off in a tiny snarl, fingers curling in front of her to strangle empty air. "Ugh! Anyway, it's- I didn't- It was just- Out of nowhere- Mom and Dad, they- He- His-"

"I think she's trying to tell us something. What is it, Lassie? Timmy trapped in the well again?" Lea snerked as he let our luggage fall to the foyer floor beside his boots.

Ignoring him, I gently rubbed my hands up and down Anna's arms. "Breathe. Calm down. Take a minute to gather your thoughts."

"People!" she suddenly blurted out, startling me a bit. "Lots of them! Loads of them! So many people!"

I frowned. "People? Where? You mean here, now?"

She shook her head rapidly, "No, no, no, no! Not now people! Future people! Tomorrow people! And… and caterers! And musicians! And decorators and, and, and him! He's- Right now, he's- just down the hall, he's- he's-"

"Who, Anna? Who?" I insisted.

Her hands violently shook me, "Him!"

Right. Thanks, Sis. Big help you are.

Why was she like this?

The maid finally managed to pipe in, "What Miss is trying to tell you is that your-"

"Got it, Gerda, thanks!" Anna huffed out with a tiny scowl. Then she took in a deep breath, preparing to say something.

"Crap, I think that dude just robbed us," Lea chimed in first.

Holding a finger up to Anna, I whipped my head around to see what he was talking about: an older gentleman in a black suit walking briskly away with our bags. "Oh, that's just Kai."

Lea cocked an eyebrow at me, "The robber's name is Kai?"

"No, the butler's name is Kai."

"Why would the butler rob us?"

"He's not robbing us, he's just taking our things up to our room." I blanched. "Rooms." Plural. As in more than one. My parents would never, not in a million years, have put Lea and me in the same room under their roof… right? Oh gosh, why was the possibility only just now occurring to me? "He's, uh… he's p-putting them where we'll be staying. Separately. As in, not together. Completely and one hundred percent apart," I (overly) clarified, fighting that blush I felt creeping up my neck now.

Anna suddenly grabbed my head with both hands and forced me to look at her again, grounding out through her teeth, "You're. Not. Listening to me!" Then with a grumbling sigh, she snagged my hand in hers and started dragging me down one of the many corridors that branched off from the foyer. "Come on, we better hurry, they're probably wondering what's taking so long."

Gerda squeaked and scurried after us. "Right this way, please, and I'll see you to the Marigold Room where your hosts await your presence!" she awkwardly trilled, trying to maintain some semblance of performing her duties despite Anna's continued interference.

A whistle from Lea confirmed he was following as well. "Lemme guess. The Duke in the conservatory with the candlestick."

"Wha-?" my voice faltered as my feet tripped trying keep up with Anna, only barely managing to keep myself upright.

He grinned down at me as he strode along, shrugging. "This whole place is a legit, life-sized Clue board. Just trynta play the game here."

I stumbled again. "Ow, Anna! Not so hard. What is the rush?"

Not slowing down, she glanced back at me over her shoulder. "Come on, Elsa, think! What day is it?"

"Uh…" Was this a trick question? "...Friday?"

A low, agitated noise emitted from her throat. "No, what day?"

I squinted up at the ceiling in thought. "...the seventh?"

"Yes!" she spun around to tap her nose excitedly, her feet still moving backwards. "Which would make tomorrow…?"

"The eighth." Lost by this line of questioning? I know I was.

"Of?" she pressed. "What month, Elsa?"

"The eighth of… oh!" It finally clicked and I staggered again, my eyes growing round. "...oh no. It's his birthday. Oh gosh, he's here?! Right now?!"

"Yes! Finally! Thank you!" Anna cried out in exasperation.

"Who?" Lea asked, both eyebrows shooting up his forehead at my sudden change of attitude.

"It's-" I began, but that one word was all I got out before Anna took a sudden sharp turn, yanking me into the Marigold Room with her and bringing us face to face with-

"Grandfather!" I breathed, feet faltering as Anna brought us both to a sudden and jerky stop before him.

He cut an imposing figure, my grandfather. Tall, like father, and with the same red hair too that had been passed down to Anna. His however bore prominent streaks of grey at his temples - really the only sign of him getting on in years as he otherwise looked remarkably good for a man of his age. Still fit as a fiddle, barrel-chested, with a strong, square jaw and a sharp, piercing gaze.

A gaze that was so cold right now that I didn't know how I wasn't frozen into solid ice on the spot.

Anna had been wrong.

This wasn't bad.

This was catastrophic.

Because my grandfather? Not exactly the nicest person. Remember what my father had been like? Well, just think - he'd had to learn it from somewhere. And next to Grandfather, my father seemed warm and cuddly. Like sunshine and rainbows. Heck, Father was as friggin' teletubby by comparison to the man who'd raised him. Grandfather was cut from the same cloth as his brother, the Duke. The epitome of old fashioned and proper etiquette. The thing was, where the Duke was all bluster and tantrums, Grandfather just got quiet when he was angry. Like... really, really quiet. An ominous kind of quiet. A bone-chilling kind of quiet. Whenever Grandfather stopped talking, that's when I really got scared of the man.

No, scratch that. That was when I got petrified of the man.

So the fact that he was just staring down his nose at me right now, eyes narrowed, lips set into a grim, disapproving line, and not uttering a single word? Would have been enough to turn my hair stark white if it weren't pretty damn close already.

And to make matters worse? Mother and Father stood not five feet behind him looking rather unamused with me themselves.

Oh gosh, this wasn't going to be some pleasant, little family gathering.

This was going to be an execution. Mine, to be exact.

Gerda suddenly appeared off to one side, panting to catch her breath and making a hasty curtsy towards my parents and grandfather before announcing, "Elsa and her guest have arrived."

...thanks, Gerda. I think they figured that out already.

I watched as she turned and hurried to make her exit before reluctantly returning my gaze to Grandfather. Still, he said nothing. Just arched one bushy eyebrow at me and waited.

Oh fudge, he wanted me to be the first one to speak? Where do I even begin? What do I even say? Could I even talk right now? I don't think I could, not with how heavy my tongue suddenly felt, like it had turned into solid lead. What was I supposed to do here? How-

Suddenly, I felt it. A hand. Lea's hand, slipping across the small of my back and coming to rest on my hip, pulling me gently into his side. "Aren'tcha gonna introduce me, babe?" he asked, voice low and sugary-sweet as he grinned and pressed a kiss to my temple.

Grandfather's thick mustache gave a little twitch.

That's all it took for me to know. Not thirty seconds into this and there was absolutely zero doubt in my mind.

Before this weekend was out, Grandfather was going to murder Lea.

Inhaling and exhaling, I wrung my hands together and somehow figured out how to do this thing called 'talking' once again. "F-Father, you've already had the, uh… the pleasure, but Grandfather, Mother… this… this is…" I screwed my eyes shut, trying to steel myself.

Come on, Elsa, you can do this. Just one word. Just one measly, little word.

"This is my boooooo-" What was this? What was I doing here? "-oooooooooooooooo-" Why was I stretching the syllable out so friggin' long? What, had I gotten stuck? "-oooooooooooooo-" Dear god, how was there this much oxygen in my lungs? "-oooooooooo-" I didn't think there was even this much oxygen on the whole planet, much less inside my lungs. "-oooyyyyyyy-" Oh good. Progress. At this rate, I'd complete the word sometime this century. "-yyyyyyyyy-"

Anna, my divine saviour and blessed angel of mercy, jabbed her elbow into my gut.

"-friend!" I finished at last with a cough. "Boyfriend. This is my...my boyfriend. Yes. This is he. He is this." A beat. Then, "Lea! By the way. His name, that is. Yup. Lea the Boyfriend. My boyfriend. That's right, Lea is my boyfriend. My boyfriend is-"

"I think they get it, Sis," Anna hissed quietly out of the corner of her plastered-on smile.

Gee, I was getting so good at this whole lying thing, wasn't I?

"Pleased to meet ya, Gramps," Lea stretched out a hand towards him.

Grandfather didn't take it. Instead, he just stared long and hard at it. At the black nail polish and rings adorning it. Finally, he lifted his chin with a sniff and straightened his already ramrod posture even further. "That'll be Sir to you, young man."

"Oo, how formal. Whatever you say," he retracted his hand with a smirk, "Sir Gramps."

This had been a mistake, using Lea as my rent-a-boyfriend.

Actually… no, mistake would be an understatement. This was a powder keg and Lea was a goddamn burning match.

Pushing past my now rigidly stiff grandfather, Lea approached my parents next. "Pops, always a pleasure. Ma'am," he took my mother's hand in his to politely press his lips to the back of it, "lovely to make your acquaintance."

She looked slightly taken aback, blue eyes widening. However, Mother recovered quickly, delicately plucking her fingers from his grip to smooth at the tight bun her brown hair was currently up in before primly folding her hands together just below her waist. When she smiled, it was gracious but tight. "As it is yours," there was a briefest of pauses before she tacked on a hesitant, "Lea. Please, take a seat. Dinner should be ready shortly, but would anyone like a drink prepared while we wait?"

I was relieved to hear Lea answer with, "I'm good, thanks." Because a return of Wine Tipsy Lea was by far the very last thing this situation needed right now. As I declined as well, a quick look around brought to my attention the fact that we were the only two not partaking as it seemed the others had already started before we'd gotten here. Mother and Father were sipping at what looked to be some sort of dark red cabernet, while Anna retrieved her own glass and moved towards the mini bar to refill it - most likely with something sweet, fruity and potent enough to bring down an elephant, knowing her. On the low table around which all the seats gathered was a sturdy glass full of ice and an amber liquid. Probably Grandfather's. Probably bourbon.

I shifted over towards the sofa opposite the table from my parents and all three of us took a seat at the same time. Lea joined me soon after, slipping his arm around my shoulders as he flumped down into the cushions beside me. Grandfather, however, hadn't budged from where he stood since we'd entered the room. Not one inch. "Father," was all my father said to him - partially warning, partially pleading.

Grandfather's mustache twitched again and his left eye ticked. But then he moved to sit down in the armchair in front of the bourbon, snatching up the glass and sullenly nursing it.

Dear lord, this was a nightmare. No, this was Hell. That had to be it - I'd died and was now in my own little corner of the Underworld specifically designed and crafted to torture me in the cruelest way possible. I could already feel the stress burning an ulcer into my stomach and no amount of Lea's fingers lightly trailing up and down my arm would calm me down.

There was no point in putting it off, right? I should just do it now. Bring up the thing that was on all of our minds but no one was talking about. You know, the thing. The wedding thing… or rather, the whole lack of the wedding thing. I should just get this over with. Rip the bandaid off. Getting it all out in the open now had to be better than this. Anything had to be better than this… right?

Hands fidgeting furiously in my lap and this close to dislocating a finger, I licked my dry lips and managed to find my voice. "Perhaps now… we should discuss what exactly h-happened on… on my-"

"That is a topic that would be best saved for later," Father talked over me, his stern voice cutting me off. "Let us speak of other things right now."

My head rocked back at that, my forehead wrinkling. I flicked my gaze over to Grandfather briefly - who was still stewing quietly over his drink - then back to my parents. "But I thought-"

"Now's not the time, Elsa," Mother insisted firmly. "This is not a discussion that will be brief, nor will it be suitable to have over dinner. Besides, your father and I will have our hands full preparing for the party tomorrow evening, so this is a conversation that will just have to wait until the day after."

A frown tugged at my lips. "You're hosting a party?"

"For Grandfather's birthday," Anna plopped down onto the sofa beside me, freshened drink in hand. "Since, ya know, it's such a huge one. The big seven-oh. The whole family is going to be there to celebrate. And I mean, the whole family," she shot me a pointed look over the rim of her glass as she took a swig.

Oh. So that's what she'd meant earlier by "tomorrow people."

Why couldn't she have been this articulate when she'd greeted me at the door?

Mother added, "You are, of course, invited to attend the celebration as well, Lea. I know Father would be thrilled for you to join us."

Uh-huh. Sure. Grandfather looked positively pleased as punch over there at the very prospect.

"Sounds like a blast, count me in," Lea grinned.

Alright so… the birthday soirée would be tomorrow, then The Talk™ would be the day after. Roughly two days… forty-eight hours of waiting and worrying and dreading and- oh dear, I had to wonder what the world record for longest sustained panic attack might be. Start the timer, I was about to shatter that sucker.

A hush fell over the room, with the only sound coming from the clinking of the ice in Grandfather's drink accompanied by the ticking of the ancient but well-kept longcase clock in the corner. The ticking seemed to get louder with each passing second.

After one painfully long minute, Mother was finally the one to break the silence. "So Lea," she began, her eyes intent on him, "please… tell us a little about yourself."

"Where to even begin? Lessee here." Uh oh. I didn't like that little gleam he had in his eye as he rubbed a curled finger over his chin. "Well, I guess ya could say I had the kinda childhood every lil tyke dreams about: full of joy and love and the foster system." It was probably a good thing I hadn't gotten a drink because I'd probably be choking on it right now just like my parents were with theirs. "But I mean, with a druggie dad who bought the farm and a druggie mom who split outta my life first chance she got, where else was I s'posed to go?

"As for the rest after that, let's just give ya the highlights." Now he started ticking off his fingers, "College dropout. Ride a motorcycle. In a hardcore death metal band. Smoke ten packs a day." For the love of… he did remember the part about not giving my parents a heart attack, right? "Just got my thirty-day chip from AA - hey, fifth times a charm, right? Oh, I'm also a wanted felon in three different states. Wait…" he squinted one eye, pursing his lips to the left, "...make that four. Always forget about Connecticut. Which reminds me, I need to check in with my parole officer."

"He's joking!" I said quickly with a tiny, nervous laugh.

"Or am I?" he leaned forward in his seat to whisper conspiratorially, eyebrows bouncing. I pinched his arm, forcing a soft tch from him. "But let's not forget the most important thing ya need to know about me: how completely," he kissed my pinky, "and totally," another one for my ring finger, "head over heels," three more, one for each word and each remaining finger, "I am for your daughter."

Alright, you need to cool your jets, cheeks. This was all just part of the show, after all.

A show that was possibly being performed a bit too well. Grandfather's knuckles had gone so white around his glass, I was surprised the poor thing hadn't shattered into a million pieces yet.

Lea tapped his index to his lips now, "Hmmm, what else? Oh! Got a pretty cool story about this gnarly scar my half-brother gave me with a-"

"Anna!" I suddenly burst out, turning towards her at the same time I snagged Lea's hand, keeping him from lifting the hem of his shirt. She froze mid-sip, glancing at me out of the corner of her eyes. "What about you? What's new with you? You have that new boyfriend of yours, right? What about him, will he be joining us this weekend?"

Who me? Trying to change the subject? Psh, I would never!

She winced, averting her gaze and lowering her drink as she traced a finger around the rim. "Oh jeez, my…? Well... he, er… he was going to make it for dinner tonight but… something… unfortunately came up! But he should definitely be here in time for the party tomorrow, so… don't worry! Heh… I- oo, little cheeses!" she cried out excitedly as Gerda abruptly appeared once more to place a small platter of hors d'oeuvres on the coffee table. Anna immediately proceeded to stuff her face with them before pointing at her bulging cheeks and shaking her head, signaling she could no longer talk.

A crease formed between my eyebrows.

Huh… was it just me or was Anna acting kind of weird?

Maybe the tension around the room just had us all on edge, even her. Yeah, that was probably all it was.

"And you, Elsa?" Father's cool tone snapped my attention back to him. Each word that followed was slow and measured, as if he were picking them very carefully, "Tell us how you have been keeping yourself occupied during these past several weeks."

"Oh!" I gnawed on my lower lip, my fingers already tugging at my braid before I'd even realized it. "Well, I've… reconnected with an old friend - you remember Rayne from when I went to summer camp? Well she's married now with a baby on the way, can you imagine? And… and I've gotten myself a place to live and have found a job and-"

-and auditioned for a musical.

That was what I'd been about to tell them. However when I tried, the words got caught in my throat.

I knew they'd disapprove. That they'd probably scoff and wonder why I was still wasting my time on such childish, useless things. But it wasn't childish or useless, at least not to me. To me, the audition had been so important, had brought me so much happiness. I didn't want to give my parents the chance to belittle and ridicule it. I didn't want them to take this thing that was so special away from me.

So instead I released my braid and folded my hands in my lap, sitting up a little straighter as I simply said, "...and that's it really."

I could sense Lea's eyes on me. I think he knew what I'd purposely omitted. Thankfully, he kept his mouth shut about it.

"So… Lea…" Grandfather spoke up suddenly, his voice dangerously low and making me flinch. "I hear you're in the…" his lip curled in a slight sneer, "...pizza business? Is that right?"

Smirking back, he slouched a bit more comfortably into his seat. "That's right. I sling dough at a lil pizza joint in the local mall food court. Great place by the name of Pizza Planet… you ever been?"

His jaw clenched ever so slightly. "No, can't say that I have. But this... Pizza Planet," he said it like those were the two most offensive words in the english language, "...is that where you see yourself working for the rest of your life?"

Lea chuckled, his hand batting the air, "Nah, that'd just be silly! No, I won't be selling pizza forever." His mouth curved into a cheshire grin, "Instead I'll be selling ice cream."

"He plans to own his own business, Grandfather," I hastily clarified.

"His own business… selling ice cream," he growled, pointer finger incessantly tapping against his glass now. "And this is how you would plan to provide for and take care of my granddaughter."

"Pardon me, Sir Gramps," there was a hint of an edge to Lea's voice now, despite his unwavering smile, "but I was under the impression that your granddaughter was her own person fully capable of taking care of herself."

You know that chilling, goosebump-inducing, hackles-raising energy you can feel crackling in the air right before a devastating storm strikes and ravages the land?

That was exactly how it felt right now in the space between Grandfather and Lea.

Luckily, Gerda appeared in the nick of time to divert the tempest by announcing, "Dinner is ready!"

"Thank you, Gerda," Mother had stood in the blink of an eye and was already making her way over to Grandfather. "If you would be so kind as to escort me, Father?"

His hard, unblinking gaze was still on Lea and for a second it seemed like he hadn't even heard her. But at last he tore his eyes away with a harrumph and put his drink back down on the table with a sharp, audible clink. "Of course, my dear," he said evenly as he rose from his own chair, offering her his arm and leading her out of the room.

I turned to Anna, but before I could say anything she'd already bolted up and around the table to grab both of Father's hands in hers. "C'mon, Dad! Walk me to dinner too!" she yanked him up, startling a soft grunt out of him as he staggered to his feet. Then she was hooking her arm through his elbow and all but dragging him out of the room with her.

What the…?

...maybe Anna was just super hungry?

"I think that went really well!" Lea chirped, giving me a thumbs up.

I merely drooped my eyelids at him and said nothing.

Later that night found me in my old bedroom. I'd deduced this was where I was expected to sleep, seeing as how this was where Kai had deposited my luggage. As suspected, Lea had been set up in one of the guest rooms further down the hall, so it was just me alone in here now.

It felt odd being back in this room. Just like it'd felt odd returning to my parent's home or going back to my old condo. I don't know, I guess I just didn't feel like I... belonged here anymore. Like I was some piece that everyone else was trying to force into the wrong puzzle, even though my edges didn't fit and the picture didn't match at all.

Sighing, I shifted in my chair to face the mirror on my vanity once more - this one a lot nicer than the one we'd scrounged up for my room back at the apartment I shared with Rayne and Riku, as you might imagine. Having just finished combing out my hair, I set my brush aside and my fingers idly went to work on rebraiding as my thoughts began to wander.

Dinner had ended up just being the sequel to drinks in the Marigold Room. My parents had continued to try and maintain some semblance of being hospitable hosts while keeping up strained conversation. Grandfather had continued to be a seething ball of barely-held-in-check fury and I don't think he'd said more than two words for the rest of the evening. Lea had continued to… well, be Lea. And as for my sister…

I quite honestly had no idea what was going on with her. Maybe it was just my imagination but it seemed every time I'd tried to talk to her, something else had always gotten in the way. Like I'd open my mouth to speak but before I could so much as make a peep, she'd already engaged Mother or Father in some new topic. Or I'd ask her a question only to have her look at me, lips pursed shut against a mouth full of food and shoulders shrugging. There was even one time where all I'd said was her name before she'd accidentally knocked over her drink. At least, I thought it'd been accidental… unless...

Could it be that she was... purposely avoiding talking to me? Had I done something to upset her? I couldn't even begin to think what. Last I'd seen her a week ago, she'd been fine. Everything had been normal between us. What could have possibly changed since?

...maybe I was just reading too much into it. It was probably just a lot of coincidence and poor timing. In fact-

There was a knock at my door just then.

Ha! Bet you that was her now. See? Nothing to worry about, I'd just been overthinking it all. Tying off my completed braid, I rose to answer the door.

And indeed, it was a redhead that I found waiting in the corridor on the other side.

Just not the redhead I'd been expecting.

"Lea?" I frowned, both my eyebrows rising.

He snerked, "Yeesh, don't act too excited to see me."

"What? No, I'm- You're just not who I-" I pressed my lips shut, heaving a small sigh through my nose. "...nevermind. What brings you here?"

"Brought ya something," he grinned and for the first time, I realized he was hiding his hands behind his back. "May I come in?"

My head tipped to the right. "Uh...sure," I opened the door wider, my bare feet stepping off to one side as I absently smoothed at my dress - the same one from dinner. Lea had arrived just before I'd been about to change for bed.

He was still in his earlier clothes as well, though he'd left behind his boots and jacket. I couldn't help but notice he hadn't taken that cute little half-tail out of his hair yet. I also couldn't help but notice the way he carefully managed to keep whatever he had behind him out of sight, even as he walked past me into the room. I closed the door and when I faced him, he hunched down to my eye level, "Ya ready?"

I crossed one hand over my abdomen and gestured with the other for him to continue.

"Ta-da!" he brought one hand forward now, revealing a little black strip lined with sharp, metal points dangling from the clasp pinched between his fingertips.

That's right. It was the spiked collar.

...whatever I'd been expecting, it hadn't been this.

My eyes blinked once. Then twice. "...you were serious? You actually have one of those?"

"Course! What, didja think I was lying? I'm offended, madame," he hmphed, putting his free hand to his breast.

I snorted with a roll of my eyes, "Well no, not lying, but more so just joking."

"I never joke about studded leather," he waggled his eyebrows at me.

Nose crinkling, I delicately poked a finger into one of the spikes. "Alright, so why exactly are you showing me this?"

Lea smirked and shrugged. "Your curiosity just seemed so piqued when I mentioned it earlier."

I gave him a flat look. "It was not piqued."

"Keep telling yourself that," he chuckled then paused, eyes crinkling. "...so you wanted to know what it looked like on me, right?"

Cheeks lightly toasted now, I scowled, "I never said-"

He wrapped the thing around his neck, holding it in place with a hand instead of fastening the tiny buckle in back.

Oh.

Oh, I see.

...it was, um… hrm, it was… interesting.

Damn it, face, be cool. That goes double for you, heart! Don't go thinking I can't hear that racket you're making down there!

"Well, I guess that's one mystery solved," was all I said as I glanced away, hand coming up to cover one cheek in a vain attempt to hide the growing blush.

"Glad I could be of service," he murmured as he (mercifully) removed the collar from his throat once more.

"...why do you even own one?" I asked, hesitantly reaching for the accessory now.

He let me take it from him. "Just a relic from my pissed-off, rebellious juvenile delinquent days that I managed to dig up again recently. What a punkass lil poser I was back then, huh?" he hummed a tiny laugh as he looked down at his feet, lightly scuffing one against the carpet.

Intrigued by it now, I turned it over in my hands as he spoke before taking it over to the mirror on my vanity. "I suppose we all try to find different ways to express ourselves when we're young. Just a part of growing up and figuring out who we are," I said distractedly as I watched my reflection bring the choker up to encircle her neck, tilting her head slightly to the left with a thoughtful frown.

"Well I guess that'd make me a-" whatever quip he'd had locked and loaded was forever lost as he made a sudden strangled, choking noise.

I looked over at him sharply, brow furrowing as I lowered the spiked collar once more. "You okay? What happened?"

His fist thumped his chest as he fought for breath, which was making his face red. "N-nothing," he wheezed, rapidly shaking his head. "Just oxygen, man. That shit'll kill ya, am I right? Heh."

I squinted at him dubiously.

Lea was such a weirdo sometimes.

He averted his gaze now, rubbing at the back of his neck. "You, uh… that choker looked good on ya. Like really, really good."

"You think so?" I frowned down at where it rested in my palm before holding it out to him, "I'll just have to take your word for it."

"Keep it," he grinned, pushing my hand back towards me. "Ya never know when you'll need one for an impromptu angry goth phase."

I smiled at that, "I think I'm in the clear. Isn't that more of a teenager thing?"

"Please. Angry goth isn't an age, it's a state of mind."

"If you say so," I snorted, but put the choker down on my vanity. I had to wonder what my parents might say if they ever discovered it in here with the rest of my things.

"So," he piped up once more, pulling my attention back to him, "this is the bedroom that sweet lil El grew up in, huh?"

As I watched Lea take a few steps further in now, it suddenly occurred to me... this was the first time a boy had ever been in my bedroom. And not just any boy - this was my crush.

Wow… it felt so highschool when I put it that way.

To be fair though, this wasn't an experience I'd ever got to have while I was actually in highschool.

Better late than never, I suppose?

I only wish it didn't make me want to squirm so much as his eyes roved over everything in here, from the big, purple, gauzy canopy bed to the embellished, oversized wardrobe and matching dresser set. From the cushy, inset bench beneath a grand window in the unique shape of a triangle to the tall, antique shelves of neatly arranged novels and DVD cases of old musicals and plays. From the small sitting area in one corner furnished with plush red chairs to the vintage Broadway posters hanging from the walls in expensive frames.

The room was not small by any means, but him being in it somehow seemed to make it shrink. Like here was this big guy that had somehow found his way into a cutesy little dollhouse room. The comparison did not make me want to fidget any less.

Trying to take my mind off it, I began, "So… earlier at drinks and dinner, did you really have to be so…" I bit down on my bottom lip, trying to find the right word. "...just so, ah…"

"So much of a grade-A jackass?" he suggested brightly. Not exactly the word I would have used, but still, I gave a slow nod and he laughed. "Remember, the whole point was for me to be a total hooligan so they didn't just think me some pushover they could boss around or scare off. Think they got that message loud and clear. 'Sides, pushing every last button of the girlfriend's folks is kinda a hallmark of being a classic bad boy."

My fingers found their way to my braid, running up and down it. "But there's a big difference between pushing a few buttons and having a deathwish."

"Aw, how sweet, you worried about lil ol' me, El?" He paused briefly in his casual perusal of my room to glance my way, flashing me that cursed dimple of his, "I'm so flattered."

I shook my head, "I just think you didn't have to go to such extremes or be quite so-"

"Gotta question for ya," he interjected, coming over to stand in front of me. "Say I had showed up on my very best behavior. The perfect gentleman, minded all my P's and Q's and was just the saintliest boyfriend to ever saint. Do you think your family would be singing my praises right about now?"

My eyes shifted about and I tried weakly, "...well… maybe if-"

"Do you truly, honestly believe that your family would ever accept a white trash lil nobody like me dating their precious princess of a daughter?" he pressed quietly yet firmly.

I tucked in my lower lip, hesitating for a long moment before a tiny grimace twisted my face and I mumbled, "Probably not, no."

Lea gave a little smile that almost seemed a touch sad before he turned away once more, returning his attention to exploring the bedroom. "Thought so. I was screwed the second I so much as dared to breathe the same air as your gramps. So if they're all gonna hate my guts whether I play the part of boy scout or hoodlum, might as well go with door numeros dos and at least have some fun while I'm at it," he chuckled.

"Fine, I see your point," I crossed my arms with a frown. "But still, you might want to tone it back just a smidge. Grandfather has munny and connections. He can seriously make you disappear."

A snerk. "I'd like to see him try. I'm one tough son of a bitch to get rid of," he muttered as he neared my bed now, reaching out a hand to poke some of the draping aside as he peeked in, "Trust me, no one axes me that easily, got it memorized? He's in for one rude awakening if he thinks he can just- gah!" he stumbled back in surprise, blinking a couple times before shifting the canopy again for a second look. "The fuck is that ugly lil bastard?!"

I rushed over, snatching up the stuffed plushie sitting atop my neatly made bed and hugging it close as I glared at Lea. "It's a snowman and shush, he's cute! Cuter than you anyway!"

His horrified gaze darted from me to the doll and back. "Dear god, I hope not!"

Sitting down on my mattress, I spun the little guy around in my lap for a better look at him - it'd probably been at least four-some-odd years since I'd last seen the plush, after all. And okay, sure, I could admit he probably wouldn't be winning any beauty contests any time soon, but give the poor, stuffed snowman a break! I had had him since I was a baby and he had had to endure more than one stitch repair job, especially with what a destructive little toddler Anna had been. Despite all that, I still thought him rather handsome with a unique, quirky charm to him.

Giving Lea a flat look and hitching my chin, I said dryly, "My statement stands."

"Wow, guess it's true what they say, beauty really is in the eye of the beholder," he grumbled, narrowing his gaze on the plushie as I snuggled it close to me once more. But then one corner of his lips quirked up and he bowed down to look me in the eye, tipping his head to one side as he murmured, "Hope I at least rate a close second."

Resident cheeks be advised: flash fire warnings are now in effect.

I held my tongue and just glanced away.

The corners of his eyes crinkled as he straightened back up and shoved his hands into his pockets. "So… about that big party tomorrow…"

Thank goodness, a new topic! "What about it?"

Shrugging, Lea said, "Just wanna know what to expect."

My fingers idly stroked at the snowman's head - the fabric still felt soft after all these years, even if it had taken on more of a dull gray color by now as opposed to its original pristine, snowy white. "Well… it'll probably be held in our ballroom-"

"This small palace has a freaking ballroom too?" He shook his head with a snort, "I was kidding before, but this place really is just one big damn Clue board."

Rolling my eyes, I continued, "And it'll probably be packed with all our relatives. Believe me, there are a lot of us on both sides of the family. Acquaintances too. Honestly, it'll most likely all be rather boring. Just a whole lot of mingling, maybe a speech or two, and an over abundance of food accompanied by music."

"Music…" he repeated, frowning up at the ceiling now as one hand went to the nape of his neck, tugging at the little hairs there. "So that mean there'll be dancing? Like… the fancy kind?"

I cocked my head at him. "Are you worried about having to waltz?" Resting my stuffed doll against my pillows, I stood up, "I can teach you if you'd like."

He blinked at me, expression unreadable. Then, "Alright."

I stepped over to stand before him. Now that I got close, I was reminded of just how freakishly tall the man was. My stomach did a little somersault at that and I was already regretting this decision. But it was too late to turn back now. Beating the blush back, locking it up and throwing away the key, I schooled my face into seriousness.

I was going to handle this like a professional, damnit!

"It's fairly simple really, and you've probably seen more than your fair share of it in those sappy movies you like so much. Our hands come together, like this," I joined my right with his left, holding them up to one side. "While your other hand goes…" gingerly taking his wrist in my grasp, I tentatively guided his palm to rest on my hip, hoping the action didn't seem as awkward as it had felt, "...right there." Finally, I settled my left hand on his shoulder and looked up the few inches that separated us.

Big mistake.

Jeez, having eyes as green and beautiful and heart spasm-inducing as his should've been illegal!

And being surrounded by his warm, cinnamony boy scent was not helping matters one bit.

I hastily broke eye contact, opting to look down at our toes instead. Toes are nice. Toes are safe. "It's, uh... it's very easy. You just take steps in the shape of a square. Watch my feet and follow along, I'll go slow. Forward with your left foot first," I took a step back and he moved with me, "then to the side with your right… now bring them together… Good. Then back with your right… out with your left… and together again." I took him through it a few more times without issue. "See? Simple. You're already getting the hang of it."

"I just must have a really good teacher," he said in a low hum.

"At this rate I'll soon be the one following your lead instead of… wait," my forehead wrinkled, "...you are already leading." I looked up at him suspiciously. "Did you already know how to ballroom dance?"

He smiled sheepishly, "Heh… guilty?"

"You brat, why did you tell me you didn't?" I laughed, trying to step away from him.

"I said no such thing," his hand shifted from my hip to the small of my back, not letting me escape. To be fair, I didn't try that hard. "You just assumed I didn't know how. And you know what they say when you assume," he teased as he continued to lead me in our little dance.

I scoffed in spite of the upward tug I felt at one side of my mouth. "Where did you even learn to waltz?"

"My lil secret," Lea winked. "But you know the deal. I'd be willing to give it up for one o' yours."

"You want me to give you a secret?" My eyes darted to the left. "I'm not sure I even have anymore…"

He snerked, pulling me ever so slightly closer to him. "Now I know I don't believe that. You must be able to think of at least one."

...actually yes. There was… at least one more I could think of…

That of certain feelings I was having for a certain redhead.

Sensing a small, familiar heat creeping up into my face, I cleared my throat and shook my head, still not meeting his gaze. "No… no I don't think so. Pretty sure I'm all tapped out."

He dipped his head down next to mine and I could feel him smirking against my ear as he whispered, "You wouldn't be lying to me now, would you?"

His warm breath tickled and I had to suppress a shiver. Conceal, don't feel. Don't let him know. I finally looked at him with a small, playful smile that I hoped didn't betray my hammering heart. "Come now… does this look like the face of someone who'd lie to you?"

Lea bit back a tiny, crooked grin as his eyes hooded, his thumb tracing small circles against the fabric of my dress. Then his lips parted, about to speak.

That was when, for the second time that night, a knock came at my door.

That must be Anna. Smile widening as I continued to stare up at Lea, I called out, "Come in."

I heard it open followed by a soft, "Oh!" that caused me to pale and my feet to stumble.

That wasn't the sound of my sister's voice.

My head whipped towards it as I stammered, "M-Mother!" This time when I attempted to break free of Lea's hold, he let me.

She stood there, posture perfect and hands clasped together in front of her. "Sorry, I didn't think you already had company."

"S'okay, I was just leaving," Lea said before pressing a tender kiss to my forehead. "Night," he told me, voice low as his fingers tucked some of my hair behind my ears. Apparently, he couldn't just depart without giving me one final whammy of the warm fuzzies. Jerkface. "Ma'am," he nodded to my mother as he walked past her towards my door, closing it behind him on his way out.

My gaze followed his exit before drifting over to my vanity right beside the door.

More specifically, to the spiked collar still resting on top of it.

Fudge. Had I wondered what my parents' reaction would be if they ever discovered it in here? Yes. Did I particularly need to find out the answer to that little question this very night? Hell no!

Luckily Mother hadn't seemed to notice it on her way in and her back was currently to it as she said, "That young man is… quite the character."

Funny. That's what Father had said. Almost verbatim. I wondered if my parents rehearsed these things.

"He, uh…" I sidled past her, putting myself between her and the choker, blocking her line of sight to it. Then I forced an innocent smile and a weak chuckle, "...he makes me happy."

If she thought my movements strange, she was good at hiding it. "And he seems very fond of you."

"Ah… yes, I suppose so." I casually leaned back against the piece of furniture and slipped a hand behind me, discreetly moving the offending item into one of the vanity's small drawers.

Whew! Mission Hide The Goth Contraband was a success!

The small feeling of victory swiftly waned however and I frowned. "Mother, I…" I began, only to find I had no idea what to say to her.

I hadn't had any idea for years now.

It had not always not always been like this. In fact when I'd been very little, I'd felt like I could share anything and everything with her. She'd been my biggest supporter in all things, especially in my love of the performing arts. As I'd always been such a shy child, she'd gone so far as to even encourage the activity, perhaps in the hopes that it would build my confidence and make me more outgoing.

But as I'd grown older, our relationship had changed. She became more aloof and distant. I suspect she and Father had hoped my interest in theater was just a phase, one I'd grow out of eventually. But when it seemed I wasn't going to - not on my own anyway - she'd started taking a sterner approach with me. That's when she stopped being my friend. That's when it became harder to talk to her. And it'd only gotten harder and harder with time. Things were never quite the same between us after that.

She watched me now, patient for me to continue. Worrying my bottom lip between my teeth, I finally settled on, "Why are you here?"

"I would think the answer should be obvious." Her small, gentle smile caught me off guard, but not nearly as much as her now stepping forward to take both my hands in hers. "I wanted a little time alone with my daughter. Away from your father and grandfather... just the two of us."

My breath hitched, my chest constricted, and before I knew it I was blurting out, "I auditioned for a musical."

Her head reeled back slightly and I winced.

Welp. So much for not letting that cat out of the bag.

I swear, mouth, I can't take you anywhere.

Waiting with bated breath, I searched her wide-eyed gaze for any clue as to what she might be thinking. Was she angry? Annoyed? Disappointed? I couldn't tell as her face gave away nothing for several long seconds. Finally though, she tipped her head to one side, "...did it go well?"

I blinked, a crease emerging between my eyebrows. "I, uh… yes, I think it did. But they won't announce casting until next week."

"I see. Well," and here she was smiling again as she leaned in closer to whisper, "we can just keep that our little secret, hm?"

...who was this woman and what had she done with Mother?

I stared at her before slowly nodding. It was all I could do. Words abandoned me at the moment. I hadn't been prepared at all for this.

And I was even less prepared for what came next.

Mother's gaze softened as she brought her hand up, cupping her cool fingers to my cheek. "That must have taken a lot of courage. I'm very proud of you."

My throat tightened and I swallowed past the lump I felt forming in it. I blinked away some tears, my voice hoarse as I somehow managed to get out, "Th-thank you… Mother."

Had I entered some sort of Twilight Zone? If so, I never wanted to leave.

She regarded me kindly for a second more before her expression turned to that of concern. "You look tired. Have you been sleeping well?"

Honestly, I hadn't. The last good night's rest I'd had was the unplanned sleepover in Lea's room. Every night since then was one night closer and closer to this weekend and whatever unspeakable horrors awaited me. Every night had been less and less dreams, replaced by more and more tossing and turning. I'd actually spent all of last night wide awake, just staring up at my ceiling until the sun had at last arisen.

So, naturally, my answer to Mother was, "Yes."

Her quiet tsk said she didn't believe me. "Come here," she turned away, walking towards my bed and lowering herself down onto it. I hugged myself, feet rooted to the spot as I stared after her, bewildered. Sitting back against my pillows and tucking in her legs, her hand patted the spot on the mattress beside her, "Cuddle close, scooch in."

Instantly I was transported back to when I was a little girl. Back to the last time I'd heard her say those words to me. My response was automatic and before I'd realized it, I'd already curled into her side and was resting my head against her shoulder.

She started humming a familiar lullaby. One she had used to sing for me all the time when I was small. It was from my favorite musical, the same one that the song I'd sang in the tryouts had been from.

This was nice. It wouldn't put me to sleep, but still, it was... nice. Comforting. Nostalgic. Her hand was lightly stroking my arm, my hair, my cheek. Then she was trailing the tip of her pinky down the bridge of my nose slowly before bringing it back up to do it again. An old trick she'd used to use to get me to pass out. Cute. That may have worked when I was a child, but I was an adult now. There's no way it could still possibly have the same effect on me now, not in a million-

Within minutes I was out like a light.

Author's Note: Ah, it's finally here! The dreaded weekend with (dun dun dun)… The Parents (TM)! Elsa's spent most of the story in Lea's KH universe, now it's his turn to spend a few chapters in her Frozen world xP Let me tell you, when I was writing outline notes for this whole story, I had very little planned for this arc at first. I had a smattering of a few vague ideas, but hardly enough to fill even so much as one chapter with! But thankfully, Frozen 2 was released, coming to my rescue and giving me a whole new host of Frozen characters to include xD Then the ideas started flowing, thank goodness! Soooooo, more F2 characters to be introduced in the chapters to come! Fun Fact: Elsa's dress this chapter (complete with lil necklace) is loosely based on the dress she wears at the beginning of F2 for the Some Things Never Change song, just picture it shorter (cuz apparently I just want to do that to all her dresses) and with a maybe slightly poofier skirt.

Next chapter, what new trial and tribulations does The Weekend (capital T, capital W) hold in store for our couple? Is there something up with Anna or she just being her normal oddball self? Was there a reason behind Mother's unexpected show of affection? Will there be trouble brewing at Gramps' bday shindig? Just who REALLY is the cuter cutie to ever cute: Lea or Elsa's wonky snowman plushie? Stay tuned!

Thanks for reading, I super duper appreciate it! And an extra BIG thank you to those of you who’ve liked, reblogged, and followed so far, seeing those lil notifications always brings the biggest, goofiest smile to my face!

FIRST CHAPTER || PREVIOUS CHAPTER || NEXT CHAPTER

[impala-dreamer]

The Game

SPN FanFic

~Look, when you're stuck on set for upwards of 18 hours a day, sometimes you gotta come up with things to amuse yourself. Enter: The Game. Three handsome men, one beautiful and willing woman, endless possibilities.~

J2M x Reader (Jared x Reader, Jensen x Reader, Misha x Reader, no m/m entanglement)

2,370 Words

Warnings: NSFW! Bukkake! Circle-Jerk. Masturbation. All the cum. Um... it's just fun fluffy porn.

A/N: This gem is for my Bukkake Square for @spnkinkbingo 2019. Hope you enjoy!

It was a little game they played sometimes, when the crew was delayed or the weather was bad; when something held up production and gave them a large gap of downtime. It was a particularly fun game, as really there were no losers, and those were always the best sorts of games.

There wasn't really a name for it, but Jared like to call it Jackson Pollack, because that's what you looked like when they were done with you. Just a ruined canvas splattered with their paint.

On this particular Friday afternoon, a freak hail storm had closed down the set for a few hours, and Jensen had beckoned you to his trailer for a round of play. Excited by the idea, you were practically dripping by the time you reached his door, and Misha met you with a smile, taking your hand to help you up the stairs.

“Hey, Y/N,” he greeted with a smile; pink lips spread wide, cheek shadowed in Castiel's scruff. Unfortunately, he had already been to wardrobe and no longer wore the costume, but his tight black t-shirt was a fine, sexy replacement for the suit.

“Great scene this morning,” you said, hitting the top step. “Very growly.”

Misha laughed and came up behind you, wrapping himself around your back. He nuzzled into the crook of your neck and growled as he nipped at your tingling flesh.

“Yeah, just like that,” you murmured mid swoon, blood already simmering.

His lips rose and pulled at your ear, sending a shiver through you that would have knocked you down had his wide hands not been locked around your front. He stroked your breast with this big thumb and your nipple popped to greet it.

“Hey now... save some for me.” Jensen appeared from the bedroom, bottle of beer dangling from his fingertips, a slick smile gracing his lips.

Misha’s grip slackened and you slipped away, swinging your hips as you walked to Jensen. “You know there’s always enough for everyone.” The blush was full in your voice as well as your cheeks and Jensen pulled you close as soon as you were within arm’s reach, wrapping one big hand around the nape of your neck to drag you forward. You looked up and gasped gently as his kiss closed your eyes. His lips were soft and wet with beer, his tongue hungry as it pressed between your lips.

He hummed and let you go, watching with dark forest colored eyes as you swayed on your feet, a little dizzy from his kiss. “Got a special treat for you today,” he teased.

You came back to Earth with a happy sigh and batted your lashes at him. “Oh, really?”

“Mhm.”

You laughed and licked your lips, catching a final hint of his beer. “I’m excited.”

Jensen coyly reached out and pinched your nipple, still hard and visible from Misha’s attention. He cocked an eyebrow and smirked. “I can see that.”

“Where’s Jared?” you asked, trying to get a move on the game before you came simply from anticipation. The ache between your legs was growing stronger with each sly smile and pass of fingers against your sensitive skin.

Jensen nodded towards the bedroom behind you. “Setting up your surprise.”

The bedroom was at the very back of the trailer and wasn’t big, but it was twice the size of yours. The double bed was made and clear of anything but a few pillows. You frowned at it, expecting to see your usual bondage kit, but turned your eyes to see Jared bent over, fiddling with something on the floor. There was about four feet of empty space between the bed and the closet, and Jared took up most of it, his sexy ass displayed in your direction beneath Sam’s dark blue jeans.

“Well, that is a nice surprise,” you laughed, tilting your head to take in the view.

Jared twisted around as he stood and gave you a grin. “That’s for later,” he joked, and then stepped aside to reveal your true present with a wave of his big hand. “That’s your surprise.”

Standing erect on the laminate floor was a large, bright purple, suction cup dildo, complete with a firm set of balls that seemed to sparkle in the light.

“Oh…”

Jared pushed up behind you and slipped his thumbs beneath the waist of your jeans, slowly drawing them around as he bent to your ear. “You’re gonna ride it.”

“I am,” you agreed in a weak voice, breath catching as he popped the button on your pants.

“You’re gonna put on a nice show for us…”

“Uh huh…” Your head rolled back against his chest as his long fingers snuck inside your panties.

“And then we’ll see who wins you tonight.”

Two fingers spread your lips as he pressed up against your clit, and your shoulders shook against him. “Please.” Your voice was a deep whimper that drew the other men into the room.

“Already begging,” Misha noted with excitement. “This is gonna be fun…”

Jensen shut the door.

Jared drew the blinds.

Misha caught your shirt as you flung it across the small room.

“Hey, slow down,” he told you with a laugh. “Take your time.”

Jared perched on the end of the bed, long legs spread, hand on his thigh. “I said we wanted a show.” His voice was dark and sexy, and your pussy clenched at the hard tone.

“OK…”

Jensen leaned back against the door, his arms crossed, lip pulled tight between his teeth. His eyes were glued to your body as you slowly slid the denim from your hips, inching it down.

“Like this?” you asked coyly, flashing him a sexy pout.

He licked his lips automatically and your clit throbbed. “Just like that.”

You turned when you jeans were around your knees and bent over at the waist, giving each man the perfect view of your tiny panties. You could feel the thin cotton sneak upwards between your ass cheeks and you knew that Misha, in particular, would appreciate it. He liked to play with you like that, yanking the fabric up into your pussy, rubbing it through your slick. He was a bit more...kinky than the others, and you didn't mind one bit.

“So sexy, Y/N/N,” the angelic actor sighed.

His voice made you shiver and you shot him a wink as you stood, reaching around your back to unhook your bra. When the clasp was open, you drew an arm across your chest, covering your tits as you pulled the fabric away. Chewing your lip, you spun around to face your audience and dangled the bra between two fingers.

“Who wants it?” you asked, grinning as three sets of gorgeous eyes tried to pry behind your forearm.

Jensen clicked his teeth and you tossed the bra his way, nearly knocking him in the face with it. The silk fell at his feet and he dipped his head to look at it. “Nice. Keep going.” His eyes flipped up to yours, thick lashes framing the green, and you all but lost your train of thought as his gaze bore into you. “Now.”

Heart racing, you slowly dropped your arm and hooked both thumbs around the elastic of your panties, pausing to make sure you had their attention.

Jared’s eyes were wide and dark, staring at your newly exposed breasts. “Go on,” he said softly, bottom lip wet and bright pink as he bit down into it.

Misha whistled in admiration as you pulled your panties down, taking your time to slide them off of your legs and step out. You made sure to stay bent over a bit longer than necessary, knowing how much he liked to watch your tits swing.

“Better?” you sang, standing straight up and popping your hip. The rush was intense, every man staring at your nakedness, lust and dominance visible in their eyes. They wanted you and it made your pussy clench almost painfully.

“Much.” Jared’s voice cracked, deep and raspy. “Now why don’t you try out your new toy?”

Your stomach flipped at the idea and you slowly backed up until the huge purple cock was between your legs.

“Like this?” you asked, sinking to your knees.

Jensen pushed away from the door frame. “Might wanna get it wet first…”

Nodding in understanding, you dropped down onto all fours and slowly licked the tip of the dildo. Misha hummed, Jared shifted, and Jensen stepped closer, squinting as he watched you take the shiny silicone between your lips.

“That’s beautiful,” he grinned, turning towards Jared. “You see that? Beautiful.”

“She is,” Jared replied, big hand sliding up and down his thigh firmly. “Very nice.”

You set your hands on the floor beside the dick and went to work, bobbing up and down, doing push ups as you slicked the toy up nicely. After a final gag, you sat up, a nice line of drool strung between your lips and the tip, and looked over at Jensen innocently.

“Is that good?” you chirped, batting your eyes at him.

Jensen smacked his lips and glared. “Why don’t you go for a ride and find out?”

The dildo was warm from your mouth and slick enough to impale yourself with little trouble. It was thick but the stretch was delightful, making you moan as you lowered your cunt around it.

“Well?” Misha asked from the back.

You popped an eye open and smiled. “So good.”

“Glad you like it,” Jared said. “Now, ride it.”

You started moving, slowly rolling your hips over and over, enjoying the tightness, the full feeling of the new toy. Once you were sure it wasn’t going to move from its spot on the floor, you picked up speed, riding until your thighs began to burn.

Jensen was the first to step up, dragging the zipper on his jeans down with two thick fingers. Your eyes flew instantly to his hand as he pulled his dick free and began to jerk slowly.

“Oh, fuck,” you moaned, mouth watering as Jensen’s beautiful cock loomed so close.

“Not today, Princess,” he said, shaking his head. “You just keep doing what you’re doing.”

Misha was next, dropping his pants when he reached your side. He stood opposite Jensen and bit his tongue as he whacked off, firm stomach tensing beneath his tight tee as he watched you fuck yourself.

Jared held out the longest, simply staring quietly as your cunt swallowed the purple dick again and again. He rubbed himself through his jeans, palm open, fingers splayed, teasing until it hurt too much to keep going.

“We ready?” he asked the guys as he joined the circle, standing right in front of you and pulling out his massive cock.

Misha grunted and Jensen nodded, too intent on winning the game to answer him properly.

Jared fisted his cock and looked down over you. “Are you ready?” he asked sweetly.

Biting your lip, you looked up with pathetic eyes, your own pleasure dull against the thought of them dumping their loads on you. “Yes, Jared. Please.”

“Faster,” he ordered and you bounced with all your remaining strength, fucking yourself for their amusement.

You weren’t sure who came first, you or Misha, but there was a moment of shuddering breath and rolling eyes when your orgasm nearly knocked you off your knees and his hot spunk hit your chest. It flowed down in a sticky wave, droplets leaving the stream to dance around your nipple.

“Fuck!” He backed away, victorious and spent.

Jared’s fist was a blur, whipping up and down so quickly that you could barely see it. Your pace had slowed, but you kept riding, your pussy throbbing around the giant purple dildo.

“Right...there!” Jared grunted as he came, shooting his cum straight and true, hitting your chest and sliding down between your breasts, painting your stomach as well. He staggered backwards with a huff, chest heaving and brow sweating as he retreated.

Your legs were shaking but you kept on, one last player to go.

“Come on, Jen,” you whispered, eyes flickering up to his. He stroked his cock hard, beating away, teeth clenched, shoulders tight. “Please, Jensen…” You opened your mouth and laid out your tongue for him, begging for his cum.

“God...fuck!” He missed your tongue, but it didn’t matter. Jensen spilled onto your tits, hot and wet, making your entire body shiver.

You were covered in them, painted like the perfect canvas Jared always said you were.

He helped you up, strong hands coming to your rescue as your legs refused to work.

“Alright there?” he smiled and smoothed the hair back from your eyes.

You laughed, a little giddy and lightheaded. “Oh, yeah. Mhm. Alright is a little weak in the word things.”  

Misha chuckled as he fiddled with his giant belt buckle. “Awe, we broke her.”

“You sir,” you said, wagging a finger at him, “you’re the broken.”

“I might be broken,” he said, with a wink, “but I won.”

Jensen cleared his throat. “What? No, you didn’t.”

Misha gawked at him. “Yeah, I did. I came first. I win.”

“It’s not who comes first, ya moron,” Jensen retorted, shaking his head at Misha. “It’s who lasts longest. How many times do we have to go over this?”

“Ya know,” Misha nearly pushed you aside as he rushed to Jensen, his finger wagging just as yours had a moment ago. “When it’s you cumming first, you always win. When it’s me, forget it. You can’t just change the rules when it suits you.”

Jensen gasped and clutched imaginary pearls. “Like hell I change the rules! You never even knew the rules to begin with!”

“I helped make the rules!”

“You’re insane!”

While Misha and Jensen argued, you looked up at Jared and smiled sweetly. “Wanna take me to dinner?”

He laughed and kissed your cheek. “Go hop in the shower, babydoll,” he said, giving you a gentle shove towards the bathroom. “You’re mine tonight.” He tapped your ass with his palm as you went and you jumped, spinning to blow him a kiss.

“Guess you win!”

Jared grinned and nodded. “I always win.”

2019 Forever Tags:

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[headoverhiddles]

Go On, Smile - Marilyn Manson x Reader

Synopsis: You and the band terrorize the local mall. AKA The totally fictional, fucked up origins of the samples from Cake and Sodomy. 

Notes: Portrait era! Warning for intentions of assault (not from Manson) and general immature debauchery. 

There's nothing left to do in this town.

You, your boyfriend, and a few members of his band that aren't still sleeping, are wandering around the small town they're set to perform tonight. The venue's gonna be tiny, just like the town, but at this point, any gig is a good gig. They're touring their asses off to promote their first studio album, an album nobody thought could possibly get produced. Lots of touring meant a few shitty stops (okay, a fair amount), and it meant days of either doing drugs in hotel rooms, pasting flyers around the city, or trying to do normal things.

"We could vandalize buses," Jeordie suggests. 

"There's only one bus that comes by here, once every hour at half past sharp," Pogo replies, staring at the palm of his hand. "I've been watching it."

"What about the mall?" you suggest.

"Does barbie want to go shopping?" Pogo mutters. You throw a crumpled up fast food bag from the ground at him.

Brian finally speaks up. "The mall's not a bad idea, actually. There might be makeup stores there, I can swipe some pancake shit for tonight's show."

Now that their fearless leader had spoken, everyone grunted their own form of agreement, getting up off the park bench.

Making it to the mall, Jeordie runs over to the directory. "I'm going to the candy store." Pogo seems to like that idea, and the two walk off. Brian calls after them.

"Assholes! Meet us back at the doors by six, we've got a show to get to!" He turns to you, taking your hand and rolling his eyes. "As if they don't get enough drugs. Now they need sugar highs too."

The two of you walk toward the drugstore to check out the makeup. Brian immediately heads over to the lip aisle, and starts pocketing some reds and plum colours.

"You know... I wouldn't mind a bit of candy," you tell him, swinging your hand with his, "A nice, big lollipop."

Brian licks his lips. "How would you lick it, baby? Swirl your tongue over the tip?"

"I'd get it all into my mouth, then when it hits the back of my throat, I'd swallow all that sweet sugar." Brian groans, starting to walk toward the candy store with you too, and you shrug. "But I'd settle for some sugar babies."

"You get the sugar babies," he smirks, "I'll get the sugar daddy."

"You are not a sugar daddy," you laugh. He scoffs.

"I could be!" He slides his hand down to feel up your ass. "I could be your daddy, babygirl."

"You're the same fucking age as me, and you've got no money."

He shakes his head. "Just give this record a little more time. Once Interscope pushes it and Portrait sells a billion copies, stadiums all over the world'll want Marilyn Manson to scare the crap out of their upstanding citizens. We'll be in demand! Then I can buy you all sorts of weird relics."

"Special," you smile, "Normal sugar daddies buy their babies diamonds. No, I get prosthetic hands and Eichmann's aluminum dentures."

"You love it." 

"I do," you giggle, and his eyes suddenly take on that mischievous glint.

"Photo booth."

"Bri, really?"

"We gotta go in, and do a porno shoot."

"What?!"

"There's nobody around but us. Come on baby, let's take really fucking dirty pictures."

"You know, they probably save these somewhere to print them, right?"

"Good, you can flash your tits, make the mall cop jack off. Here, we can record, and put it on the new single, Cake and Sodomy! It'll be perfect."

You blush, and he pulls you into the little tent in the middle of the pathetically empty strip mall. He sets up the camera, closes the curtain, and you keep giggling.

"You go here," he sets you up on mark like a master movie director, and you check the screen, making sure the star anatomy is properly centered. Then you reach down and pull your top over your head, unhooking your bra. Brian bites his bottom lip.

"Shit, you're gonna make me have to jack off." You knee him lightly in the crotch playfully.

"Focus on the shoot, Spielberg." He puts his hands over your breasts from behind, and you yelp.

"Jesus Christ, Brian!"

"What?!"

"At least warm your hands up a little. God, it's like being fondled by the Grim Reaper!”

“Geez--”

“Boobs are very delicate things, okay, they're not like dicks, you can't just whip them out and expect--"

"Okay, alright, there. There! All warmed up. You happy?" 

"Yes," you pout, and he kisses your cheek quickly, before darting forward to press capture and resuming his position. The first flash goes off, with Brian's hands grabbing your breasts. Second one begins to count down.

"What should we do, quick, what should we do?!" you squeal, laughing, and he looks around. He gets on his knees, bringing his face up, and sucks on your nipple for the third shot.

"Get your dick out," you urge, "Hurry, do it!"

He unzips his pants, and gets his dick as close as he can to the camera.

For the fifth shot, you get on your knees this time, holding Brian's dick and licking the tip as the last flash goes off. He presses play on his tape recorder, and you stand up, kissing him and making the sexiest noises you can.

"Alright.... mmm... mmmm!"

The two of you are laughing uncontrollably like children as you exit the booth with the printed strip. "Gorgeous," you nod, inspecting it.

"We're hot. I'd wanna fuck us," he says.

"God, same."

"We should use these as album art."

"Go for it," you shrug, "I'm sure it'd help sell all those billions of copies you promised." You bite your pinkie nail, looking back at the booth. "What if there were cameras that were watching inside, though? Like other cameras?" He massages your shoulders as you walk.

"I told you, there probably were. I already shoplifted, might as well be arrested for public indecency as well. It'll help my, uh... dangerous rock star image."

You groan, hiding your face in Brian's shoulder as you two keep walking.

You meet up with Jeordie and Pogo in front of the candy shop, Brian having shoved the strip down his back pocket. Jeordie has a bag full of sweets.

"What did you get?" you ask, burrowing inside it. He hands you some laffy taffy.

"I know you like this stuff."

"Jeord! I absolutely love you!"

"I know." He grins. "Hehe, Star Wars."

Just then, a big, hairy motherfucker of a security guard approaches you four quickly. He's an imposing figure, even on your 6'1 boyfriend.

"I promise I paid for all these gummy worms," Jeordie begins to tell him, but he looks at you and Brian.

"You the kids from the photo booth?"

You're too shocked to speak, so Brian, ever the antagonist, nods, sizing him up. "Yeah. Is there a problem?"

"You're going to have to come with me," the portly guard says sternly, and Brian shoves him off.

"Like hell, buddy." 

The guard starts to take something out of the back of his belt, so before either of you can find out what, you stop him.

"Wait! Wait, it's okay. We'll go." You lean in to Brian pleadingly. "The most he can do is give us a warning. Don't get your show banned here over some stupid, bloated mall guy with a bone to pick."

"Fine." You and Brian turn, noticing Jeordie and Pogo had fled the scene. "Great friends," Brian mutters, and the two of you start walking.

The guard leads you into a dark, grimy room down some steps under the mall's CVS, where you see a bunch of security camera feeds, and... your topless photos displayed on one of them. It smells strange down here, like spoiled chicken and vaseline. The guard sits down.

"So. You think creating pornography in public is funny, do you?"

Brian lets loose a stream of vitriol you knew had been simmering. "I do. In fact, I think it's the most goddamn hilarious thing I've ever done, you stuffy old dickhead!"

"Brian..."

"You wouldn't know much about that though, since you're probably so miserable working overtime for a mall who sees the local crackhead walk through maybe once every month or so and that's it--"

"Brian."

"--Getting paid to sit behind a desk in the dark, eat donuts and creep on people like a glorified cam-stalker--"

"Brian!"

"I bet you liked looking at my girlfriend's tits, huh? You like em, you fucking pervert? Why don't you--"

The guard finally has enough, and gets up out of his chair, walking behind Brian and tying a gag around his mouth. You go to stop him, but he grabs some duct tape, and sits you down, tying your wrists behind the chair. He does the same to Brian, restraining him. Shaking in fear, you sit still, paralyzed, as the guard sits back down in front of you two.

"You kids now and your alternative lifestyles. Think that acting outlandish and wearing black, Satanic clothing that never would've flown in my day is the way to give us civilized folk here in this good, god fearing little town the middle finger, huh?"

He sneers down at your leather miniskirt, and then to Brian's thick platform boots, looking him up and down. He's not really helping disprove the man's point about outlandish clothes, with his lipstick and shaved eyebrows. You think you see Brian fiddle with something in his back pocket, but your attention is directed back to the guard.

"Performing sexual acts in my mall. You won't get away with that."

"What are you gonna do?" you whimper.

"Put on a little show of my own," he starts to smile sadistically. You start to feel cold all over. He doesn't mean...

Brian's eyes close. Of course the two of you had found the Buffalo Bill of mall cops. Fucking lucky. Well. It'd be a story for the show.

The man sits back. "Smile."

Brian watches the guy closely. "You touch her..." your boyfriend warns. You struggle to pull your restraints free.

"Smile for me," the guard repeats, growing impatient.

You swallow. "Just let us go. We're really sorry about the photos!"

He finally stands up, cracking a fist. "Go on smile, you cunt!"

Brian jumps up, and though his wrists are still bound like yours, he turns around to grab you, pulling you both to the door. He spits the gag out. "Run."

The two of you dash out the side entrance to the mall, and keep running until you can't hear the guard yelling anymore.

Jeordie and Pogo come out of the woodwork, quickly gathering around you.

"Fuckin' redneck tyrant!" Brian shouts back, grabbing and tossing Jeordie's milkshake at the building. Jeordie stares in longing at the destroyed strawberry goop on the ground, debating if the 5 second rule worked for drinks too. Pogo takes a switchblade out to cut you two loose.

"I got the perfect sound bites on tape we can sample for Cake and Sodomy, of you moaning like a whore and that guy being a general asshole," Brian tells you, and you roll your eyes.

"After nearly being killed by a psychotic mall cop, that's all you have to say? Typical."

"What did you guys even do?!" Jeordie asks.

You dig out the photo strip from Brian's back pocket, and pass it to the other guys. Pogo nods, stroking his goatee like a critic.

"That's art."